Saturday, 2 July 1881 – 20 June

Micha is sometimes here, sometimes at his estate two hours away. His presence being unremarkable, I shall indicate neither his departures nor his returns.
My two uncles Etienne and Wladimir are here. Wladimir has a very amusing talent for imitation.
The rain had interrupted my work; with Micha there pestering me, I put my coat and large hat on him and so disguised he mounted a horse and galloped past the windows. Maman, knowing perfectly well that I am capable of riding like a man and in a dressing-gown, was enormously alarmed — everyone was taken in for a moment. And that is all. I am always horribly persecuted — always out of love, it appears. It is warm, we are in full summer, and Dina hides herself to bathe in the river for fear of giving me the idea. Then Maman, without appearing to, is displeased when Nini and Dina walk after dinner lest I should walk too. Then milk is offered to me like a medicine the whole time, whereas I would gladly take some as a pleasure if they did not pester me so.
Well — this evening is divine: a new moon, a fragrant air, all the doors open. I go to look out through the balcony door and Maman immediately cries that I must not go outside — I went out and walked about on purpose, still hoping to cure her of this habit of beating me down like a galley slave. And everyone joins the persecution: poor Sperandio brings a cloak; Wladimir rushes up with a glass of milk; Nini invents stratagems to protect me without irritating me. How cheerful it is at my age to be such an exception — treated as an invalid and a crank. It is enough to make one weep. And the quarter-hour of rage that these excellent creatures cause me does me more harm than a walk on a late-June evening, certainly! And then these ridiculous scenes in front of everyone.