Monday, 17 November 1873

In the Galignani again -- horrors. The Duke of Hamilton is marrying on the 10th or 11th of next month; the Duchess and the Princess of Monaco are going to London to attend the wedding. I am still all bruised; I cannot accustom myself to this idea.
I have further considered that in name and position the Duke of Hamilton is an irreparable loss. And I do not believe I shall meet another so complete and who pleases me. For the pain of losing Hamilton is enormous, but the duke of... is also much. He united every quality, and in addition I loved him. One does not have what one wants in this world. All the same I am very, very unhappy -- extremely; I wanted him so much, so much, and now all my castles in Spain are crumbling. I write coldly, for I am occupied with my fall from the horse, but on reading the newspaper I trembled, I became dazed, my face timid and my voice low. Since the first day of my misfortune, today is the most dreadful. Never have I felt his loss more keenly.
One must not think I think only of love -- not at all. I think even more of the name, the money, and the luxury. Poor love does not last long, until the... (no, I am too young to say such things) -- but rich love is sometimes durable, and if not, the cooling is warmer -- no, nobler, more delicate, more proper. I have already explained what would happen if I dared love a poor man of an ordinary name. As I am losing a rare perfection, made for me -- that is to say, if one could order a husband to one's taste I could not have ordered anything else -- I shall become cold and marry the first rich man of good family. For a long time no one will please me; that is to say, Hamilton will always be my idol, but secretly, even from myself. I shall no doubt love my husband, but if I see the duke again I shall have to sing a Miserere with variations. Since they do not wish me to be completely happy, I shall have no more scruples; I shall take the one who suits me best, and then... and then -- "I dare not." No! The horror. God, do not punish me for these atrocious thoughts! And forgive my deceits! I shall amuse myself, but I shall be honest all my life. Despite my folly I am a good and honest creature, and I would die if I had a single stain on me, like the ermine. Everything I write will never say what I feel. I am stupid, mad, magnificently offended; it seems to me they are stealing from me by taking the Duke of Hamilton. I was so sure -- too sure, alas! And I am punished for it. But truly it is as though they were taking my property, which is mine, tearing it from me, robbing me.
I leave the dining room the moment I arrive, on the pretext of some dish or other. I nearly wept; I go to my room -- there, alone, I am better. I rage against everyone; I want to scream at the slightest noise; at every word addressed to me I want to answer with impertinences. What a deplorable state! I do not know how to express myself; everything seems too weak, for I use the strongest expressions for the smallest things, and when I wish to speak seriously I find myself dry. It is like... no, enough -- if I begin drawing conclusions, examples, and comparisons, I shall never finish. Ideas push one another, blend together, and end by evaporating. But what is curious is that I fell from the horse. I had ordered the grey horse Kitty, but I do not know by what chance they gave it to Helene, and I had Paul's -- a prancer; but I took the instructor's horse, which went well enough but had no trot. Dina comes too; the man holds her on a lead -- it is ignoble. She so wretched on horseback, she is afraid -- oof!
Opposite No. 57, I do not know how, my horse falls and I find myself on the ground; in a moment I leap up and there I am on the pavement, safe and sound. Meanwhile an Englishman -- the father of the three Bemis girls, Barter I believe -- takes the horse and asks if I have hurt myself.
"Not at all, Monsieur, thank you," I answered gaily.
Poor Dina is nearly dead with fright. As for me, I calmly remount the horse, which bleeds, and we go on like this as far as the Howard villa. I marvel only at how I managed not to fall, with a sidesaddle, the riding habit, and all those encumbrances! I do not understand how I am unhurt. Yes, I understand -- I owe it to God! It is He who saved me.

^[In English in the original.]
It is very pleasant to sink down with the horse, for it went down on all fours, and I immediately dismounted.
Now I know what it is to fall from a horse -- but so prettily that I did not even get dirty. Besides, I did not fall. I tell Maman everything near the Howard villa, for fortunately she did not see.
I am at the same time very vexed by this accident because of the Howards. Although I do not care at all to ride with them, still it is very disagreeable. When Helene finishes her ride, I take Kitty to return, and in a good comfortable trot I go home. We then go out again to speak to and scold the stable master. I am growing thin and pale; at every moment I am gnawed from within. I cannot help it. I am shattered.