MADRID -- 1 JANUARY 1883 - NOVEMBER
1884
1st January 1883
Night, I don't know what
vague melancholy, an indefinable loneliness, smothers my soul. It is similar to
the profound sadness that cities manifest after a tumultuous rejoicing, to a
city after the happiest celebration. Two nights ago, that is, 30 December, I
had a frightful nightmare when I almost died.1 I dreamed that, imitating
an actor dying on the stage, I felt vividly that my breath was failing and I
was rapidly losing my strength. Then my vision became. Read more >
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