I walked out with Gioia (the monkey) and with Walitsky, but I do not feel as well as other days. I met only the Hungarian I saw yesterday; Walitsky sees him at the roulette. Besides, here there is still no one.

I received my dark blue wool dress from Worth; it is pretty.

I have definitively placed my books in two cupboards and my chemistry in the third; all four walls of the room are covered [Crossed out: with paint] with studies by Dina and me — it is picturesque.

In the evening they spoke of my horse and everyone criticised it and abused it without ever having seen it. But that is the custom: one cannot have a thing without its being ruined and torn apart in advance by everyone, and without all sorts of tugging and pulling spoiling the pleasure of having it, making me think: Why, my God, is everything thus poisoned in advance for me? One would say it is a bewitchment — that I shall have everything I desire, but everything will be poisoned, and I shall have no pleasure in having it.

Truly this fills me with despair far more than I can say.

Maman says they are making fools of us by asking ten thousand francs. Georges says one can have a magnificent horse for a thousand francs; Papa also says something, Walitsky too, and everyone too!

Why then do I have such an unhappy temperament! Why have I not the strength to ignore what is said out of spite, or for the sake of saying something, or to grieve me, or for the satisfaction of tormenting someone!!!

Now they (this cursed they!) have said so much that I do not know whether I should buy the horse. I hesitate — whether my aunt should write or not. I am afraid, and it seems to me too that they have deceived us, that this horse is ugly. Frankly, deep within myself, I cannot say whether the horse is beautiful or ugly, or whether it pleases me!!

It is most unfortunate. My God, grant that they not persecute me so. Give me fewer things but let them not be poisoned in so revolting a fashion.