Monday, 3 May 1875

[Lines cancelled: Hamilton and the English. Why do I love him? I do not love him.]
I no longer remember on what occasion, but Maman and my aunt began saying unkind things about the English.
They began with the Prince of Wales, and my aunt said he smelled of wine and tobacco, and that all Englishmen smelled unpleasant.
"And Hamilton," Maman hastens to add.
"Oh, as for him — you've sniffed him right into his very mouth, haven't you, Maman?"
"Indeed, a hundred times at the roulette tables at Baden — I was quite close by — and really, one could faint," she says to Collignon.
I laughed but said nothing. This poor mother who wants to put me off the Duke. Truly there is no need — I love him so little, so very little today, that it is not worth mentioning. I have forgotten him, this beautiful Alcibiades — forgotten him so entirely that I no longer understand any of it. How did I love him? Why? I no longer love him.
So much for that day — and what Maman said contributed not to the forgetting but has put me off all men in general; they all seem ugly to me.
And yet he was very handsome. Tomorrow perhaps he will flash back through my mind like lightning, and I shall dream of him for a while. There is no such thing as forgetting.
It is remarkable, even so, to have held out so long. From Friday, 13 December 1872 — the day I saw him for the first time since the idea of loving him that I had conceived in the course of May of that same year — until Wednesday, 12 February 1873, when I saw him for the last time. Between 13 December and 12 February I saw him in all fourteen times — though sometimes more than once on the same day. By fourteen times I mean fourteen days. Those days are:
— 1872, December: Friday the 13th, Saturday the 14th, Monday the 16th, Wednesday the 18th, Friday the 20th, Wednesday the 25th.
— 1873, January: Sunday the 5th, Sunday the 19th (long interval!), Monday the 20th, Friday the 24th.
February: Friday the 7th, Saturday the 8th, Sunday the 9th, Wednesday the 12th.
Since Wednesday, 12 February 1873, two years, two months, and twenty-one days have passed, during which time I remained faithful to him — apart from a few follies, but these follies were nothing; he dominated everything.
Nothing withstands ridicule and sordidness. Without what has been said, I would not have realised I had forgotten, and the spell would have prolonged itself indefinitely.
You have put me off the Duke of Hamilton and all men, Madame my mother — for a while at least; but I am terribly angry with you, and I shall remember your nasty method only with rage and bitterness.
Rest easy — it is only for today; tomorrow I shall forget it.
Everything passes and everything fades — I remember having said this in one of my earliest notebooks.
The Duke of Hamilton — the Alcibiades, the extravagant, the Antiochus Epiphanes (or Epimanes) — the hero, the rake, the god — has been erased! But let him come, or less than that: let me hear him spoken of in a certain way, let me read something in a newspaper in his manner, or more simply still, let me revisit my journal at the time of great events, or have him recalled to me — whether by the light of a day, by a carriage, by a hat, by anything, even by my own face in the mirror — and I shall go mad over him again.
I am proud, moreover, to have loved for two years, two months, and twenty-one days. More even than that — for from the 13th of December it seemed to me I had loved him since Baden, since the very first instant.
Oh! Oh! What does this mean? Nothing surprising — what I have written was enough to turn me upside down. Page 47: I no longer loved him. Page 48: I love him still.
That is how I am made.
Oh, dear mother — how glad I am to escape your nasty scheme and to triumph over everything, and to keep the man, and Alcibiades, and Hamilton, and God!
After all, loving him keeps me stirred up and prevents me from growing numb.
It is poor Fritz who is forgotten.
And why am I faithful to Hamilton? For a reason more simple, and not at all to my credit: because I have met no one better.
And also because there is no one better.
Besides, could I have chosen anything less than the best? If I lower myself to the point of loving, I do not lower myself for nothing.

Notes

Antiochus IV Epiphanes (175–164 BC), Seleucid king, who called himself Epiphanes ("God Manifest") but was nicknamed Epimanes ("the Mad") for his eccentricities.