Saturday, 30 December 1882

It is progressing in there. There — now I am beginning to exaggerate. No, but it is true, it is progressing, and impossible to set about... [Part of the page left blank in the manuscript] — who is neither just nor good, who will probably punish me still for daring to say it. He frightens me so much that I am going to submit — a submission that will not be credited to me since it is out of fear. Provided that... The fact is I cough a great deal, and I hear things in my chest... In any case, let us postpone everything to the 14th. Provided I last tolerably well until then. No fever, no drawn face... The trouble is it is so difficult if... Afterwards perhaps it will be too late — it makes such rapid progress; both sides, just think of it. Ah, wretchedness. And what makes all this especially dangerous is that in order to treat myself I must hide it...