Tuesday, 17 October 1882

And instead of him I dreamed of that Orleanist Tony — we were looking at the same album, our heads touching, which was not unpleasant, quite the contrary; but what a difference from the other's handclasp. These two dreams come as though to illuminate the abyss between what a charming man in love (he was, in the dream) can inspire and the man one truly loves. But I dwell too much on dreams — reality is no laughing matter... Papa replied to the young Pomars, who asked permission to come to luncheon one of these days, that he would be delighted to see them; and since their letter said that Michka was their prisoner, Papa wrote: in any case, tell your prisoner that my daughter absolutely wishes to see him here this evening. He came neither yesterday nor today.
I made sketches in the evening. There is a M. Garnitsky, rather old and gentlemanly; then Catherine, Paul's sister-in-law, and Nicolas Yakovlevitch, her brother (the brother of Paul's wife's sister). The brother is a coarse, common man — but intelligent and musical; [Crossed out: stifled and deadened by the milieu in which] he lives. We made music in the evening. All day and into the evening I do nothing but talk — but here is what I write to Julian: ...
"It is too cold to work out of doors, and indoors one is too much disturbed; besides, it may be a good thing to remain outside of everything for a fortnight. I change air as a gambler changes chairs... In the end you will never know how disgusted I am with myself. The words art, work, painting hurt me like blows on bruised skin... The impression is almost physical. And if I preserve some semblance of courage it is because it is useless to gratify humanity by displaying one's wretchedness. It is a kind of modesty. I come to seeking consolation in comparisons — but to be like others, whoever they may be, is already a degradation and a despair. Enough of this — for I know I shall try to deceive you after having covered myself in ashes."...