New Year 1911. I spent the day writing a long letter to Marthe, and afterwards, I wrote my will, for, in spite of my few devoted friends, in spite of music and good books, life didn't seem worth living—without my daughter—and when one has such thoughts, the end soon comes. In my case I longed to die.
Day after day, week after week, month after month, I waited and waited for news from my daughter.... Once, French newspapers declared that she was about to enter a convent of Carmelites, and later a description of how my daughter took the veil was even published.... Then the whole story was denied. From time to time, a kind-hearted woman in Paris wrote to me words like these: "I saw Mlle. Marthe passing in a street, yesterday... she looked pale but otherwise well...."
Then in June 1911, on a day which I shall never forget—the happiest day of my life since the day when in her childhood, Marthe recovered from a grave illness—I received a letter from my daughter, and it seemed, as I read each word, as though happiness ran through my very blood, as though life had a new meaning, a marvellous, divine, undreamed of, meaning.
She asked to be forgiven. She had been influenced against me; she had been made to dread me. For over a year and a half, she had been a toy in the hands of a few unscrupulous persons, and had been made to suffer endlessly—and yet she had felt almost grateful to these false guardians, because considering herself abandoned by nearly all, and even by me, she was glad to think that at least these two or three persons did not quite treat her as a pariah. My heart bled as I read her long letter and without reading it to the end, I hastened to write to her that I adored her, that I had always adored her, and that whatever happened, she could rely on me.
Afterwards, I received many other letters from Marthe. I read with amazement and despair that she was all alone in the world, alone to fight the great battle of life.... And she so young, so frail!
I read that she had been abjectly deceived, that she had been made to sign all kind of papers, blindly. I read that she had starved, in her own house, although she paid for her board. I read that no sarcasm, no insults had been spared the poor child. She had been advised to enter a convent, and had been told: "That is the wisest thing you could do. You will be happy there; as for the house, you can give it us before you become a nun."... When "the family" saw that Marthe had no leaning towards convent life, they found a would-be husband for her, a young nonentity, who resided in far-away California, and who was staying in Paris at the time.... If she followed him to America, she could still leave the house to her protectors.
But although she was worn and miserable, although she had actually to do the washing-up and clean the house; although she spent fourteen to sixteen hours out of every twenty-four in sewing and embroidering, in order to earn her living; although when she returned a little late at night after running through the streets of Paris to deliver her work, she found only a little chocolate in front of her door—instead of the dinner for which she paid—or nothing at all, Marthe, the brave little creature, did not lose heart, and still trusted her so-called guardians. She still allowed herself to be led astray, did not see the truth, or understand why she was prevented from seeing her mother, or even corresponding with her.
The large house in the Impasse Ronsin which, after the murder I had had divided into a number of apartments, was let to various persons—and that was Marthe's chief source of income—but she was not even allowed to see the different contracts and leases. She was merely asked to sign at the foot of documents which she had not even read. Then, when serious difficulties arose, her protectors left her.
It was only when she was near me—when, for instance, I showed her certain documents—that the scales quite fell from her eyes.
Marthe, who had met a young Italian painter called R. del Perugia, was gradually drawn to the young man's straightforward and attractive nature, and both of them soon wrote asking for my consent to their marriage. I granted it, of course.