Friday, 18 December 1874

Bitterly cold — a wolf-cold — and we walked with Florence, wrapped in beautiful blue-fox furs. Enoteas and Terffidua (Saëtone and Audiffret reversed) were out promenading; then Lewin and Clémentine flashed past like lightning. Let us hope that spiteful creature does not disturb that household.
We had chocolate at the Cercle de la Méditerranée — at Rumpelmayer's.
Paul — that lost, wretched creature — scarcely shows himself anywhere; he spends his life in the lowest company, in the servants' clubs, in taverns, and so forth. He borrows money everywhere and runs up debts. After the events at Ostend, what was to be expected? My mother has tried everything — anger, tolerance, tenderness, severity — and she has forgotten the one thing that might perhaps save him: firmness. She has none; it is not her fault. This boy is so corrupt and vicious that the only thing that can save him — and save us — is his death. When my mother speaks to him he pays no attention to what she says, as if he were deaf, or as if her reproaches did not concern him. Such callousness, such corruption in so young a being, is both revolting and terrible!
Everyone will blame the mother — and what can she do with such a monster?
From the school of Hactius at Geneva — a school of great repute — she was obliged to remove him. She placed him with Wash; she removed him from there too, because they would not keep him. At the lycée — a serious, classical state establishment — the same thing happened. At last this poor mother resolved to keep him at home and prepare him for the university. She called for him and spoke to him gently; begged him to mend his ways; wept. He wept too — the hypocrite! — but did not take in the excellent arguments she offered. She took him on a journey, hoping that away from Nice, away from the bad company into which he had fallen, he might reform in her company — and then at Ostend he showed how thoroughly reformed he was. [Interlinear: Duk superbus.] She wished to take him to Germany and place him in a strict school, but she had no money and was obliged to bring him back to Nice — where she learned of Émile's death. That death moved her deeply; she called Paul again; he wept and begged her to let him stay near her, promising to behave — and she had the weakness to yield, and to believe him.
It is impossible to say how vicious he is! When she spoke to him of Ostend, he showed not the slightest emotion and maintained a hideously indifferent composure.
[Crossed out: He has] But such callousness cannot exist, I have often thought — yet it does exist; I know it, and I cannot believe it. My heart has not been sufficiently steeped in human vices to admit of [Crossed out: such] such horrors!
Today a policeman came asking for him — but no one knows where he is; does one ever? What can he have done? He has stolen, perhaps. Ah! How painful it is to know that this creature is my brother! His vices can grow no larger — or else he cannot go on living; for if they increase with age he will be a monster beyond conceiving, a monster that cannot exist, a monster such as has never yet been on earth. At present he already has every vice a man can have — ah, I forget murder... That is still lacking. But no — he will not be a murderer. To kill, one still needs a certain grandeur d'âme; he is too vile, too base, too filthy. He will rot in his wretchedness.

Notes

"A wolf-cold" — un froid de loups: French idiom for bitter, penetrating cold.
"Enoteas" = Saëtone backwards; "Terffidua" = Audiffret backwards. Marie's reverse-spelling privacy device.
Duk superbus — Latin; "the proud/arrogant Duke." Written between the lines as an interlinear annotation; possibly a reference to the Duke of Hamilton.
In English in the original.