There is nothing more paradoxical than the fe-male mind;it is difficult to convince a woman of anything;they have to be led into convincing themselves.The order of the proofs by which they demolish their prejudices is most original;to learn their dialectic it is necessary to over-throw in your own mind every scholastic rule of logic.For example,the usual way:
"This man loves me;but I am married:
therefore I must not love him."
The woman's way:
"I must not love him,because I am married;but he loves me --therefore"...
A few dots here,because reason has no more to say.But,generally,there is something to be said by the tongue,and the eyes,and,after these,the heart --if there is such a thing.
What if these notes should one day meet a woman's eye?
"Slander!"she will exclaim indignantly.
Ever since poets have written and women have read them (for which the poets should be most deeply grateful)women have been called angels so many times that,in very truth,in their sim-plicity of soul,they have believed the compli-ment,forgetting that,for money,the same poets have glorified Nero as a demigod...
It would be unreasonable were I to speak of women with such malignity --I who have loved nothing else in the world --I who have always been ready to sacrifice for their sake ease,am-bition,life itself...But,you see,I am not endeavouring,in a fit of vexation and injured vanity,to pluck from them the magic veil through which only an accustomed glance can penetrate.
No,all that I say about them is but the result of "A mind which coldly hath observed,A heart which bears the stamp of woe."Pushkin:Eugene Onyegin.
Women ought to wish that all men knew them as well as I because I have loved them a hundred times better since I have ceased to be afraid of them and have comprehended their little weaknesses.
By the way:the other day,Werner compared women to the enchanted forest of which Tasso tells in his "Jerusalem Delivered.""So soon as you approach,"he said,"from all directions terrors,such as I pray Heaven may preserve us from,will take wing at you:duty,pride,decorum,public opinion,ridicule,con-tempt...You must simply go straight on without looking at them;gradually the monsters disappear,and,before you,opens a bright and quiet glade,in the midst of which blooms the green myrtle.On the other hand,woe to you if,at the first steps,your heart trembles and you turn back!"Canto XVIII,10:
"Quinci al bosco t'invia,dove cotanti Son fantasmi inganne vole e bugiardi"...
CHAPTER XV
24th June.
THIS evening has been fertile in events.
About three versts from Kislovodsk,in the gorge through which the Podkumok flows,there is a cliff called the Ring.It is a naturally formed gate,rising upon a lofty hill,and through it the setting sun throws its last flaming glance upon the world.A numerous cavalcade set off thither to gaze at the sunset through the rock-window.
To tell the truth,not one of them was thinking about the sun.I rode beside Princess Mary.On the way home,we had to ford the Podkumok.
Mountain streams,even the smallest,are danger-ous;especially so,because the bottom is a perfect kaleidoscope:it changes every day owing to the pressure of the current;where yesterday there was a rock,to-day there is a cavity.I took Prin-cess Mary's horse by the bridle and led it into the water,which came no higher than its knees.We began to move slowly in a slanting direction against the current.It is a well-known fact that,in crossing rapid streamlets,you should never look at the water,because,if you do,your head begins to whirl directly.I forgot to warn Princess Mary of that.
We had reached the middle and were right in the vortex,when suddenly she reeled in her saddle.
"I feel ill!"she said in a faint voice.
I bent over to her rapidly and threw my arm around her supple waist.
"Look up!"I whispered."It is nothing;
just be brave!I am with you."
She grew better;she was about to disengage herself from my arm,but I clasped her tender,soft figure in a still closer embrace;my cheek almost touched hers,from which was wafted flame.
"What are you doing to me?...Oh,Heaven!"...
I paid no attention to her alarm and confusion,and my lips touched her tender cheek.She shud-dered,but said nothing.We were riding behind the others:nobody saw us.
When we made our way out on the bank,the horses were all put to the trot.Princess Mary kept hers back;I remained beside her.It was evident that my silence was ****** her uneasy,but I swore to myself that I would not speak a single word --out of curiosity.I wanted to see how she would extricate herself from that em-barrassing position.
"Either you despise me,or you love me very much!"she said at length,and there were tears in her voice."Perhaps you want to laugh at me,to excite my soul and then to abandon me...
That would be so base,so vile,that the mere supposition ...Oh,no!"she added,in a voice of tender trustfulness;"there is nothing in me which would preclude respect;is it not so?
Your presumptuous action ...I must,I must forgive you for it,because I permitted it...
Answer,speak,I want to hear your voice!"...
There was such womanly impatience in her last words that,involuntarily,I smiled;happily it was beginning to grow dusk...I made no answer.
"You are silent!"she continued;"you wish,perhaps,that I should be the first to tell you that I love you."...
I remained silent.
"Is that what you wish?"she continued,turning rapidly towards me....There was something terrible in the determination of her glance and voice.
"Why?"I answered,shrugging my shoulders.
She struck her horse with her riding-whip and set off at full gallop along the narrow,dangerous road.It all happened so quickly that I was scarcely able to overtake her,and then only by the time she had joined the rest of the company.
