2–8 March 1857

Went to Paris. The misfortune of railways. Dined. Mrs. Fitz James’s calves ! Turgenev, “ nothing, silence ”.a A stupid disgusting ball.

Got up at one. Went to the Louvre with de M. — Rembrandt’s portrait and Murillo. Dined at home, then La Fille du rigiment , dances, and champagne alone.

Got up late. Went to V Hotel des In - valides. This deification of a malefactor is awful. Soldiers — animals trained to bite everybody They ought to die of hunger. Legs tom off — serve them right. Notre-Dame de Dijon is better. Fontainebleau. Am dreadfully depressed. Spent a heap of money. Was late for dinner at the Trubetskoys’. Have ceased liking the Princess. Hume succeeded and failed. I must try it myself.® Called at Turgenev’s. He is a bad man because cold and Tolstdy had gone with Turgenev to Dijon. useless, but artistically he is very clever and harms nobody. Had a telegram from Serezha and replied. Am very sad. Activity is the only remedy.

Got up at twelve and more or less arranged my portfolio. Went to the Louvre with Orl6v. I like it better an<^ better. Orlov is an awfully dull creature. He will become bad. Called on the Lvovs. He is jealous of me. Dined at home. Fitz James is dull. Luckily instead of Rigoletto I saw Le Barbier de Seville. Looked in on Turgenev. No, I want to avoid him ! I have paid tribute enough to his manifold merits : to be intimate with him is impossible.

Got up at one. Having dressed I went to the Bourse and did some shopping. The Bourse is awful. Dined at home, am disgusted with my fellow- countryman. Went to the Bouffes-Parisiens. A truly French affair. Funny. Comedy so good-natured and spontaneous that everything is permitted it. Gadded about the streets for an hour with evil thoughts, returned home at one and want to write a little. In the morning called on Lvov, refused the theatre, and Trubetskaya refused me. Lvov is jealous of me and, Heaven knows why I am deprived of his wife’s agreeable company. My chief mis- fortune is precipitancy, lack of character, and engaging on several things at once — above all the last.

Last night I was suddenly tormented by doubts of everything , which arose in me. And now, though they do not torment me, they are still in me. “ Why ? And what am I ? ” More than once it seemed to me that I was solving these questions : but no, I have not fixed them in my life. Got up earlier, worked industriously at Italian. Went for a walk round the Colonne Venddme and along the boulevards. At five Turgenev called as if feeling guilty. What am I to do ! I respect, value, and am perhaps even fond of him, but I feel no sympathy with him, and this is mutually so. Mrs. Fitz James, perspir- ing, coquets dreadfully. Aux Varies ! La cadrille des "i Landers , chai-ming ! Walked about the boulevard calmly, and despite Rudkin’s and Fitz James’s invitation to a ball I am going to bed at one.

Got up late, wrote a little, Orlov came, went for a walk with him. Colonne Vendome, Chapelle St. Louis. The Lvovs. Dined at home. Les Plaideurs, rubbish. Rudkin is no good.