God give me strength to draw, to understand the whole synthesis of the psychology and psychological history of the Portuguese nation!

Every day the papers bring me news of facts that are humiliating, (...) to us, the Portuguese. No one can conceive how I sufer with them. No one can imagine the deep despair, the mighty pain that seizes me at this. Oh, how I dream of that Marquis of Tavora who should come and redeem the nation - a saviour, a true man, great and hold that would put us right. But no suffering can equal that when I bring myself to understand that this is no more than a dream.

I am never happy, neither in my selfish, nor in my unselfish moments. My solace is reading Antero do Quental. In me, after all, Luther-spirit. Oh, how I understand that deep suffering that was his.

I must write my book. I dread what the truth may be. Yet, be it bad, I have to write it. God get the truth be not bad!

I should like to have written this in better style, but my power of writing is gone.