Wednesday, 15 October 1873

[Notebook No. 11 -- Misfortune -- begun Wednesday, 15 October 1873, finished Saturday, 1 November 1873, belonging to Mlle Marie de Bachkirzeff [sic], rue du Temple, Villa Baquis, Nice]
Since that wretched moment when that silly creature told me this horror, I continue to be breathless. As if I had been running for an hour -- exactly the same sensation -- and even my heart hurts and pounds. It rains in torrents until eight, nine o'clock; the rest is very fine -- one would never suspect there had been such a violent downpour. Elder comes; it is not with pleasure that I see her, that bird of ill omen.
I armed myself with the atlas and meant to ask where she had heard that the Duke of Hamilton is going to marry lady Manchester. But I could not utter a single word. My fingers turned cold and stiff, my heart pounded, and I became ten thousand times more breathless. I wanted to say the name of a river, but my voice still trembled. At last, with a supreme effort, I asked: Where have you read that the Duke of Hamilton is going to be married, we had such a long dictation last time that I had not time to ask you. The last words were muttered.
"In the 'Morning Post' -- it is a newspaper where all the parties are described, the parties, the marriages of the fashionable world, the balls and all that sort of things."
I am going to subscribe to this newspaper to read the description of his wedding. I am so agitated that while writing the dictation my hand trembled -- you can see it in the last two dictations.
I am devoured by I know not what. I cough, I wheeze, I am hoarse. I am hoarse. I played the piano with fury, but right in the middle of the fugue my fingers grew weak, left the piano, and I sank back in my chair, exhausted. I begin again -- same story -- and for at least five minutes I started and stopped. I am heart-broken; something forms in my throat that prevents breathing. Ten times I leap from the piano to the balcony. Oh, what a state! My God, what a state!! I go to dress (green dress, very good -- why?). It is cool, fortunately; people are arriving. The name of that man Oimara, the lame one who was always with Addy, is Willy. He was on foot and we in the carriage -- well, the animal stopped and stared at me until one could no longer see. Swine! There are English and Americans. [Sketch]
But Nice is no longer Nice. Gioia is gone, and Wittgenstein too.
This Wittgenstein with his villa meant nothing at all to me; I saw him once a month, not even that -- his beauty too. But I feel grieved because they are leaving. I grow attached to everything; I am a little creature. But all of it is bound up with the Duke, and that is why my heart literally tears at the sight of these two empty houses. Everything that attached me to Nice was him! I hate Nice; I can barely endure it!
I have no more purpose. I go out for the sake of going out. I am bored -- ah, I am bored, I am bored!
My dreaming soul
Dreams only of him, I am wretched, Hope has fled.
I cannot calm myself, and do I not wish to?
There was the whole motley crew at the promenade: Mme Vigier, Mlle de Comar, Richaud, the Kondratieff cousin, and several more. Another crowd -- Audiffret, Saetone, the Rodionoffs, and another five or six.
How happy I was last winter! Every day I went out; I saw Gioia; I sometimes saw the Duke too. Everything was going well; everything was calm. But how stupid I am to think it could always go on like that! I thought (poor innocent!) that the day would come when Gioia would be cast aside for me, and I waited (poor fool!) patiently for that day. I imagined it was bound to happen, and I remained sure of myself and of him, thinking that soon this interval would end, that all that was happening was only an intermission, and that soon, soon... I...
I watched Gioia pass, and despite myself, without wanting to, without even noticing it, I told myself that she too would come to an end -- and all of it for me!
Before, I thought I merely hoped; but now I see with dread that I did not hope -- I was certain of what I wanted, and I was only waiting for the moment to come. It is to punish me for this presumption that what is happening is happening. My God, do not abandon me! Sustain my faith! Oh Christ! Save me from misfortune!
My God, my God, give me back the Duke of Hamilton!
Forgive my sins, be merciful, do not punish me! I would be so happy! But it is finished! Finished! My face becomes wild when I think it is finished. Oh my God, You alone have the power! Do it!...

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.
In English in the original.