Sir Rodin convinced my parents to have me committed; they are all in Paris to arrange it.

I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange. Of the dream that was my life, this is my nightmare.

I have all sorts of problems and feel discouraged.

Send me one hundred francs on our future deals, otherwise I will disappear in a cataclysm.

It is in fact agreed that I am the plague, the cholera of the benevolent and generous men who are interested in art and that, when I show myself with my plasters, even the Emperor of the Sahara would flee.

Last night, two men tried to force my shutters. I recognized them: they are two of Rodin's Italian models. He told them to kill me. I am in his way; he wants to get rid of me.

I don't want to say anything because I know I am unable to protect you from the harm that I see.