Friday, 22 November 1878

I am frightened by Breslau's future. I am irritated by it, darkened, saddened. Is that not wretched of me!
She composes, and there is nothing feminine, banal, or misshapen in what she does. She is already an artist, and she is only twenty-two.
It appears the wealthy merchant who had offered 50,000 francs for the Condom election does exist, and that Acard's husband has been designated his heir — a fortune approaching 2 million francs.
No — my painting comes before the Acards, for the moment. I am having a bad day; everything seems dark to me.