Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 20 October 1873

I read in Galignani that the Duchess of Manchester and Lady Mary Montagu arrived in London on Thursday, from Germany. I believe the wedding will take place in London. I am no better. Paul bought a charming rifle. And we went shooting. I shot at the target:
First shot -- 68 paces!
Second -- 100 paces. And I hit it. Now I must learn to shoot in flight. I believe I shall become passionate about shooting. I was playing the piano and heard shots. I could not resist; I ran to find Paul and shoot -- a gunshot is irresistible. In a photograph from the shooting event I found only the back and ear of the Duke. But I recognized his nape and his ear. And how pleased I am!
I am beginning to give up wearing linen; it is cool.
We go out, but I get into the carriage at the garden, for I was near Paul, who was hunting on the plain. Oh, how I detest Nice! How bored I am! Not a charitable soul promenading (green dress, good). The liveries have arrived; they are fine. Papa again said he is astonished why Hamilton is marrying. That he would be a hundred thousand times happier not to know the mysteries of domestic life, especially if he loved Gioia, etc. etc. But I presented him with reasons for the marriage, saying that one does not love those women. He had her because for a rich, young, free man she is necessary -- like horses, like a piece of furniture.
But I pity this Hamilton. He married, he a husband, he with a wife! For shame -- how none of it suits him!
I alone could be his wife without it seeming absurd. I am made for him and he for me. But God thinks otherwise. "I shall cease to hope when I cease to live." There is my motto. He is married, but he can become a widower; he can divorce, and so on.
[Written across the page: Yes, yes, the same ideas as now.]
We walk with Bete. There is no one! How tedious! We talk a great deal, and I even jumped while on her arm. We speak again of the marriage of that animal. She tells me the Duchess of Manchester is superb.
"The daughter too must be beautiful, for otherwise..."
"Oh, that proves nothing -- it may be a family marriage, one of convention."
"It is a marriage of convention; it is the doings of the old Duchess, who wants heirs to the name and is marrying off her stout son."
"Console yourself, Bebelle -- it is only the old Duchess!"
We get back into the carriage; the lanterns are lit; it is nearly dark. I fall into reveries along the way, and Bete rouses me:
"Speaking of whom -- too early, too early..."
But I am quite exhausted. I am quite heart-broken. I have so little strength of mind that when I seat on a chair I forget everything and would not move if somebody did not awake me.
Oh! how cruel it is, that I am so unhappy, and so deceived in all my schemes! He would be so happy with me!
I cannot believe that he wil [sic] be happy with her! I alone am for him, and he alone is for me.
I am becoming very nervous, and I seize the slightest occasion to weep. At dinner there was no kasha, and I weep. I am ill; I sat in the great armchair near the fireplace and closed my eyes; I remained so for at least a quarter of an hour. Ah, how I pity those in my position, and I understand them.
I am half-murdered; I await the mortal blow: the celebration of the wedding.
[Annotation: 1875. My word! The mortal blow did not kill me. Was it for the better or the worse?]

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. ↩