Thursday, 26 March 1874

Every evening my right ear burns; every evening, regularly.
I prepared myself to go to Monaco, but they come to fetch me too late. I am irritated and I weep in the carriage (brown dress); even on arriving at the Promenade the traces of tears were still visible. There are few people. We go to 55, where Maman, Machenka, and Stiopa are. I saw the dog again -- the dog of Martin-Baton, our gardener. This dog is ordinary and is, I still believe, a young dog. I like him very much and would very much like to have him. He is a poodle and very original. On seeing him, Maman said he looks exactly like Lambertye. I had never noticed this resemblance, but when Maman said it I found that indeed the dog's head is the portrait of Lambertye -- the same expression, the same eyes, the same smile.
Maman wanted to go to Monaco, but I beg her to stay to choose me a dress; but as usual there are bloody scenes -- not about not going to Monaco, but about the choice.
I see decidedly that I cannot dress myself in Nice -- nowhere but in Paris. We have therefore decided, after a thousand horrors, to repeat my green costume from Francine's.
At dinner my brother does me another meanness. I had ordered fresh cucumbers and they were sent to me, but Paul arrived first at the house and took them. They were for me, and Maman tried to take them back; my aunt tried to buy more -- but nothing. Then he played the victim, with poor Papa on his side. I did not want those cucumbers after that.
What a cowardly boy!
I must buy books for my journal; every day I forget, and these loose pages are wretched.
How I wish I could leave!
We saw the Prince de Wittgenstein twice with his lady. Who can find him handsome? Lambertye is ugly but he is amusing, whilst this one is a great boor and nothing more. Sometimes he even has a repulsive and revolting face, as if he were pockmarked, and on seeing him I would turn away as from something repugnant. It is, I believe, when he is drunk. But sometimes he is not bad. Today he was passable. As for her, she is a little creature, very prim and very disagreeable.
How happy she is, for to be loved and kept by a handsome man, a great lord and rich, is a nameless happiness for a slut like her. They say they are even married -- then triply, a hundred times happier, and worthy of being envied even by me.
But I do not believe it is true. They said Hamilton was married; it is true that Hamilton did not go about with Gioia -- besides, it is because he is English, whereas a Russian pig shows everything one conceals. And then it depends on character.
I did not blush at all, and the tears were not quite dry yet. He turned towards her and found himself facing us; I looked at him indifferently, full in the face, as one looks at a dog. He too looked at me. I did not see him -- he is so tall that I had not the time to reach his face, having begun at Madame's dress. It is the same when he is with Lambertye.