Monday, 5 July 1880

It is I who am surprised to find Soutzo upon my return. A peculiar surprise: I had written to a man who was far away, and here he arrives asking for an interview.
I received him coldly, but in the evening, as he insisted on making a confidence and we were all three laughing about it, my aunt left the room and it began. I was mocking despite myself and did not depart from the phrases of the letter, and he, exasperated at losing all his prepared speeches --- in short, after thirty-six struggles back and forth, he finds himself unable to say anything, though he clearly came to say something. He began by speaking of paragraph no. 1,200,000, which starts with the words: "Since I have been kind enough to give you the choice between an immediate dismissal and a delay of six months, etc." --- he asks for an explanation, utterly frozen by: immediate dismissal. But I did not understand his muddled speeches, rendered impossible by my interruptions, which were very funny --- perhaps for the absent public, but exasperating for him. He wept.
I play the good person, tell him to calm down, and resume my talk of dowries, expenses, characters. I blacken myself deliberately, but he cries that I do not know myself, that I shall be the ideal wife. And he begins again to offer to ruin himself in two years and then divorce.
"You would not have that generosity, Monsieur."
In short, he finds it dreadful that I reason and take inventory of every word... But just think: the poor devil returns from Compiegne where he devoured newspapers, believes himself up to date on politics, and commits three blunders in five sentences.
"That I am always posing."
"A born performer, my dear, what do you expect?"
Do you think I would take the trouble to converse with you if I did not imagine that three thousand people were listening to me? And that is true.
To my fine phrases, he replies that I am posing as a woman of genius.
"So you do not think I am one. You do not love me. And listen carefully once and for all: never permit yourself either blame or criticism, or else leave."
I want one to be prostrate before me or not at all. Your only excuse would be to lie prostrate in the dust; otherwise take the door.
But you cannot grasp these extraordinary words unless I tell you that I spoke them with absolute seriousness.
In short, what do you want? I am odious? If you love me, you do not believe it. Have 200,000 francs in income this evening and tomorrow I am your wife; I would even take you without too much repugnance.
"You have nothing. What do you offer me? I do not love you. Make your fortune, speculate! What do I know. Rob your brother-in-law in his capacity as banker --- he is a thief himself --- well, work it out, and if you make your fortune, come back." And upon all this I amused myself by comparing myself to those odious women in novels.
"You blacken yourself deliberately."
"If you are convinced of what you say, you are not as stupid as I thought."
In the end, he begs forgiveness, rallies to all the commandments of my Holy Scripture, and departs promising himself to make money in that affair at Lille.
I let him kiss my hands, and I am not pleased about it. If he loves me, I do not love him.
If you love me, you must be in despair at my way of being; why do you not kill yourself? God forbid that I should be the cause of a suicide, but in your place, I would go home and blow my brains out.