Tuesday, 13 April

Oh! The terrible thing! Brunet brings me a dream book^[In French in the original: Clef des songes (“Key to Dreams”), the generic name of the popular dream-interpretation manuals.] and I read: To see stars fall: death. — Ugh! How horrible. I believe in dreams — but not always in the interpretations. And besides — death — death for me, or for someone close?
Or perhaps — not having deserved happiness — I shall die. God, not wishing to give me what I want, will make me die out of pity.
No — that would be unworthy.
I wished four times to be Duchess of Hamilton — in my dream, each time a star fell. The fifth was not a star, but a scrap of silver paper that I detached with my thumb. I also saw a sky scattered with bright stars, which according to the same book means all manner of prosperities — and then every night I dream of gardens, and garden means marriage. How does one reconcile all this?
Quite simply — I shall marry, shall be very happy, shall have many children (a sky scattered with stars means many children — how on earth did I manage to say all manner of prosperities!), and then shall die, since die one must.
In my view, these four stars signify that I shall see four great fortunes fall? And the fifth will fall through me, and upon these five fortunes I shall build my own — since, seeing them all, I wished, and then I stretched out my hand and without any difficulty I touched the sky. True, that sky was made of cardboard.
Enough! Pleasant dreams foretell pleasant things, unpleasant dreams unpleasant things. That is the truth.
Maman arrives from Cannes and we stay with her. Everyone laughs at my dreams:
— Yes, I say, go on, laugh, laugh away. I shall be widowed four times, of four illustrious husbands, and my fifth fiancé will die. I shall be four times a duchess — at the risk of displeasing you — and shall become so celebrated that you will be dazzled.
— Well, in truth I believe it.
(Oh! How pretty I am this evening.)
At four o’clock we go out — Dina, Marie, Olga, and I.
There is a concert. We have agreed not to look at Terffidua.
He appeared to be following us, which made my three companions swoon with happiness, and which rather amused me, for my part.
It seems Collignon was never away.
I am so in love with Johnstone that I speak of him on every occasion, and my aunt gets angry. This evening I was listing the men I found handsome — I did not name Hamilton; Marie named him:
— No, that one is not handsome.
— You are mad! my aunt says to me sharply.

Notes

In Italian in the original: Basta ! ↩