Tuesday, 8 June 1880

Soutzo tried to mesmerize me last evening, and I almost fell asleep, or rather grew numb under his eyes; it is an agreeable sensation, and I fear he has little magnetism. A young man in love who fixes his eyes on yours and, every time the aunt leaves, takes your hand. You let him do it under the pretext that you are asleep; this pretext also allows you to make the most languorous, the most... indecent eyes in the world. Yet yes, he does have magnetism in his gaze — the other evening already he troubled me by fixing me closely...
I had him read Balzac's Beatrix, my aunt and I seated and he at our feet, but he cannot read it seriously. He does not understand Balzac. I do not believe he has read anything since leaving school. No, his soul will not yet be the sister of mine. It looks like a novel, a quoted passage, an affectation, this kinship of souls — and yet it is the most serious thing in the world...
Can I converse with this fellow? But no. I can joke, ask him what he has done, remind him of his classes, play tricks on him — not too mean — and tell him very nicely that he is stupid. We can even agree to mock others, whether they are stupid or whether we have the key to some joke; but from there to a real understanding is far, alas!
"Do you think," I said to him, "that I would not be delighted to love you? It would cut short many things... but can one command that!"
He thinks I am joking... in fact he may well believe I love him a little. Last evening, that magnetism, and then my little suffering air that my sore throat gave me... could have made him believe in some tenderness.
Dining out this evening, he came here before dinner. I said hello and went to dress [two words crossed out: for dinner], leaving him to play and go away. Wodzinski came in the evening.
I have lost my voice and am in such pain I can barely open my mouth, and a continual cough.