Saturday, 19 July 1873

Crookedmouth — that shall be the name of my horse, in memory of yesterday's conversation about M. Krivorotoff and my aunt.
Another sitting; the portrait is not like me — he has given me an impertinent, brazen, and above all vulgar look. I am obliged to write with this fine pen, for the paper drinks the ink. Princess Galitzine said this evening, during our customary drive, that I have a sly, lively air, slightly tilted, languorous — and not that expression of some nameless baseness. This is (agreeable) news, especially for me — to hear that I am as the Princess says; my eyes especially are so, she says.
I have rearranged my room again — it is prettier without the table in the middle. By one window I set up my dressing table (some time ago), and by the other a sort of writing-table with an album, several trifles, a travelling inkwell in Russia leather, a small pen-pencil, and two old travelling candlesticks that had long been put in the forgotten box. I waxed them, cleaned them, and now they cut a figure. That is how I am!
I cannot pass our former villa without nearly weeping. It is so beautiful — the most beautiful in Nice! And then I love it, and the Promenade itself is paradise. Whereas the wretched place where we are now!... I did not think I should miss Acqua Viva. It pains me even to go to the Promenade; I cannot remember without sadness that we no longer live there. I feel snatched from the world, having left the Promenade (the mosquitoes are biting me fiercely and preventing me from writing). I had something to say... I forget; never mind.
[In the margin: Hamilton.]

Notes

"Crookedmouth" in English in the original. A footnote in the manuscript explains: "In Russian, it means 'crooked mouth.'"
"Writing-table" in English in the original.
"Snatched from the world" in English in the original.