Sunday, 26 December 1875

At the bandstand concert, Gonzales comes to speak with us and says to me, among other pleasantries:
— Maria, I should like to share my experience with you; I am so fond of you — truly, Madame, (turning to my mother) — her mind is so extraordinary, so developed, so broad, but she lacks experience. Maria, my child, I shall give you some counsel.
— Give it, Monsieur, give it.
— Very well, then: never love seriously, for you see, in all the world there is not a single man worthy of your love.
— That I know — I know men are worth nothing; why, you are not worth your wife, I can tell you that to your face!
— You are right, Maria.
He is right; and so I shall never love, not completely. I shall adore, I shall rage, I shall commit all manner of follies, and even, should the occasion arise, a little romance — but I shall never truly love, for in my heart of hearts, in my deepest soul, I am utterly convinced of the vileness of men; and not only that, but I find no one worthy of my love, either morally or physically.
Say what I will, think what I will, Audiffret will never be more than a pretty Niçois, a pleasure-seeker, almost a fop. Oh, no — I am being too harsh. Every man has some flaw or other that prevents one from loving him completely. One is stupid, another clumsy, another plain, another still — well, in short, I am searching for perfection of mind and body combined.
Take Loftus, for instance — well, he lacks vigour, and his profile makes too sharp an angle, like this: >, the forehead recedes and the chin recedes, and the nose forms the point. He is very handsome but he is not perfect. Would you like to know who the perfect man will be for me? The man I love. I contradict myself at every turn — I just said I shall never love. Ah, good God, if I had to comment on everything I say I should never be done.
I never develop my ideas fully, for lack of time, which is why I often appear to be talking nonsense when in fact I am treating a subject of high philosophy or high morality. Oh, do not laugh — even now I appear to have been joking, but no, I have not been joking in the least. If I had the patience to write twenty pages, your eyes would grow very wide; but since I shall not write them, they will not open at all.
And there you have it.