Certain lines
pursue me incessantly and will continue to do so for long, no
doubt--they are so intense.... Every day and every hour he subjugates me
more and more, mind and soul--against my will, despite my resistance.
His every word and look, his slightest action sinks into my heart.
'_September 23rd._--When we converse with one another, I sometimes feel
as if his voice were an echo of my soul. At times, a sudden wild frenzy
comes over me, a blind desire, an unreasoning impulse to make some
remark, utter some word that would betray my secret weakness. I only
save myself from it by a miracle, and then there falls an interval of
silence, during which I am shaken with inward terror. Then, when I do
speak again, it is to say something trivial in the lightest tone I can
command, but I feel as if a flame were rushing over my face--that I am
going to blush. If he were to seize this moment to look me boldly in the
eyes, I should be lost!
'I played a good deal this evening, chiefly Bach and Schumann. As on the
first evening, he sat in a low chair to the right but a little behind
me. From time to time, at the end of each piece, he rose and leaned over
me, turning the pages to point out another Fugue or Intermezzo. Then he
would sit down again and listen, motionless, profoundly absorbed, his
eyes fixed on me, forcing me to _feel_ his presence.
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