Thursday, 23 October 1873

I took up Le Derby last evening, which I had not yet read. Between the declarations of forfeits and the engagements I read: "We read in the English papers that the engagement of the Duke of Hamilton to Lady Mary-Louise-Elisabeth Montagu was celebrated at the court of Baden on the 9th instant."
I went cold at first, then hot. What horror. I did not think it would last so long.
This marriage has caused such a sensation that even Le Derby speaks of it among its horse engagements. But is it not an engagement? -- of an ass.
I am going to ride; it has been so long since I rode.
I went out into the garden where Papa, Bete, and Dina were. I wanted to shoot and was looking for Paul.
Mme Friedlander comes to see Maman, who is not at home. She is very kind, this old lady. So amiable and gentle. She took my arm and we did un pezzo di cammino insieme.
Today's horses are from Caubet. I have the little black one from last year. They have not been out for ten days and are very high-spirited. There is a band concert today. We go to the promenade; it already smells of winter. The horses are charming -- they play, they leap, they prance, especially mine.
I galloped to calm my steed. Maman, Bete, Dina, and Papa follow us in the carriage.
I saw Wittgenstein alone; he is better alone. One can see that that little vixen dominates him, and he looks crushed beside her -- he dares not look right or left. I spoke Russian to Paul as Wittgenstein passed.
We met him once more, when we turned. I did not look at him; for some time now I look at no one directly -- it is too stupid.
I do not know why, but everyone at home has hanged men's faces.
During my Italian lesson Walitsky flings open the door furiously and says Mme Markevitch is coming. She telegraphs: "What happiness, in two days I leave Pau. What happiness to be with you all.
Barbe Markevitch"
We spoke with the Galignani-Howards.
We go to the Theatre Francais. If only the Duke of Hamilton would marry sooner! I am in suspense, and that is worse than going to the devil.
Truly, a year ago I did not think I should grieve for him seriously, but I grieve very seriously -- more seriously than one supposes. I loved him -- what am I saying? I love him still; and when one loses the one one loves, it is not like losing a hundred francs at Monaco.
Only I am calmer. But something is missing; I am no longer inspired -- I am tranquil, and this tranquility wearies me. I cannot live like this. Ah, if only I could forget him! Oh no, no -- I do not want to forget him; nothing remains to me but the memory, and if I lose that I shall be truly unhappy. No, I want to remember, I want to suffer, I want to be martyred -- I love him, and sufferings for his sake are better than being made of stone.
Hamilton, you are an ass.
Sooner or later you will repent.
Ah, animal! Rufus -- you do not know where your happiness lies, and it is not your fault, since you do not know.
May God inspire you to see it.

Notes

A bit of the road together (Italian).
In English in the original.