Monday, 7 April 1873

Grey sky. I rose at nine o'clock.
Italian at ten and Bensa at eleven. At half past eleven I left to go dress, for this time I did not want to miss it (black dress, vicuna wrap) —
we went to Monaco, just the two of us — my aunt and I. In the railway carriage with Mrs. Howard — I spoke a great deal of English, rather well; she complimented me enormously on my English; I am delighted.
At last we were in the omnibus to the Casino, where my aunt played for about half an hour, then at last to the pigeon shooting (good).
The same crowd as the other day; we placed ourselves on the left side and found there Madame and Mademoiselle Durand with Lewin, who was courting them.
There were many Englishmen, rather smart. We were just beside the box where they put the dead pigeons. It seemed to amuse my aunt, and she took great interest in everything — though not wanting to admit it; it interests her, and she pleases me, for there is nothing so disagreeable as remaining with someone who is bored. I exchanged a few words with the Durands.
I quickly procured a program, for I was at my ease — not like with Walitsky. I marked the shots.
The first prize of two thousand five hundred francs was won by Maurice de Ferreire (the same who struck Selemeff a few days ago — they fought a duel, nothing came of it). He shoots remarkably well, and with sang-froid.
There was another very good shot, Captain Preston, who contested the second prize — a magnificent rifle worth eight hundred francs — with a young Koucheleff adopted by Princess Souvoroff, a boy of seventeen, I suppose. There is an extraordinary marksman — what calm, sang-froid, indifference! He won the prize. Everyone was shouting and applauding at each shot. They were thrilled to see this child prevail over a man of forty — I too; this contest interested me enormously.
I wish Paul could shoot. What! I should like to shoo-oot myself — I am thrilled, transported.
It was today that I saw — when I did not have a bored person beside me — how much I adore the pigeon shooting. Yes, that is the word: I adore it. I love it for the Duke, too, but I love it on its own as well. There is nothing in the world that delights me like these amusements. There is nothing like it. It is born in me; it is my nature, my element, my happiness, my life! There is nothing that animates me so.
I amused myself today as never before, because previously I went to the pigeon shooting to see the Duke, and the shooting interested me only on hearsay. But now — though I would be in paradise if I could merely see him — I dared not hope to see him; I went for the shooting itself, and I understand all the terms, everything, everything. I take an immense interest in the marksmen, for I understand what is easy, what is difficult; I take a real interest in the shots to be fired. I distinguish the skilled from the unskilled; I observe the physiognomies. It is as if I were reading a beautiful book in which a chapter was missing — the principal chapter, which contained all the meaning, and without which the book was nothing — and then I read that chapter, and I understand everything; I recall beauties I had passed over unnoticed, which I now understand. I do not know if this comparison is good; I think it is stupid. In a word, I know what the pigeon shooting is — I have tasted of this incomparable pleasure.
[Written across the page: Yes, good.]
(Explanation for what precedes)
That chapter is the program — the names of the marksmen — and marking the shots; for if one sits like a fool watching men come and hit or miss and go away, it is naturally less interesting — stupid, even. But when one observes, marks, sees which one has how many shots and how many he needs to win — or one sees someone who, if he misses one more, is put out of the contest — and finally, when only two remain to fight it out, that is the finest thing! And a thousand other things besides, which I cannot and yet can say! There are the amusements I love; besides, I love everything that amuses me, but not everything amuses me — there it is.
[In the margin: I already knew Fédus.]
I was so engrossed that I nearly forgot (what shame!) the absence of the Duke of Hamilton.
It seems to me that so great an abyss separates us, especially if we go to Russia this summer — they speak of it enormously. How can I believe I shall ever have him? He does not think of me any more than of last winter's snow; I do not exist for him. Remaining in Nice another winter, I can hope — but it seems to me that with the departure for Russia all my hopes crumble; everything I thought possible vanishes. I feel, at these thoughts, my heart — not break, but I feel a slow, calm pain that is dreadful! I am losing everything I thought possible! I am in a moment of the greatest suffering; it is a change of everything in my being. How strange — just now I was thinking of the gaiety of the pigeon shooting, and now I have the saddest ideas imaginable in my head.
I am broken by these thoughts. Oh! my God — at the thought that he will never love me, I die of pain! I have no more hope.... I was mad to desire things so impossible.... I wanted what was too beautiful! Ah, but no! No! I must not let myself go like this! How dare I despair thus! Is there not God, who can do all, who protects me? How dare I think this way — is He not everywhere and always watching over us? He can do all; He is all-powerful; for Him there is neither time nor distance. I may be in Peru and the Duke in Africa, and if He wills it, He will unite us! How could I have admitted for one minute a thought of despair? How could I for one second have forgotten His divine goodness? Is it because He does not give me at once what I desire that I dare deny Him? No, no — He is more merciful; He will not leave my weak soul torn by criminal doubts! Oh! my God! hear my prayer! sustain me!
These thoughts came to me like a flash of light after the misery in my mind. I shall go to bed calmer, happier. I remembered that no distance is anything, if I deserve in His eyes to receive what I ask. And so I pray. "Knock, and it shall be opened unto you" — these holy words sustain me! Oh! there is no consolation like [Crossed out: religion and Faith] God. Unhappy those who believe in nothing. Thank you, my God.