Wednesday, 20 February 1878

I knocked an inkwell over yesterday’s feet — which is a small act of cowardice. They have been started again, and all is going very well.
Berthe was with me when I received the following telegram.
[Florence, Wednesday 20 February 1878, 6:45 p.m.] At Naples no public carnival come at once will write.
Marcuard
I had asked the good Swiss for news of the carnival, and mentioned to him the plan that an English lady of our acquaintance had of taking us with her. And the man replies by telegram! Telegrams always unsettle me. I am tempted to arrange a rendezvous with him at Naples, or Rome, or Genoa, and do as I did with the Grand-16 at the Café Anglais. People unaccustomed to money abuse it once they have it.
I am so impatient! I fear Cassagnac may be too old, or... something else — that it may be too late, in short, by the time I can give him my attention. For the moment, he can only disturb my work.
I very much want to go to Italy for a week — a mad jaunt with Yorke and Berthe.
It would be a pity if he were to grow still heavier. Now is precisely the moment — a little more and it will be too late. If he were to grow thin, that would delay the decline — yes, but who is to say he will grow thin? What if he were to grow fatter still! I give him two years at most; more would be too much.