Friday, 22 February 1878

* Florence, 20 February 1878. Dear Mademoiselle,
Arrived at Menton where I had gone to see my brother, who is gravely ill, I found your kind lines and, not wishing to keep you waiting, telegraphed my reply. Carnival this year is nothing — the deaths of the King and the Holy Father have killed every form of entertainment; on the other hand, the weather is ravishing and the sun superb, and all of that is worth all the confetti in the world. Come all the same, and your friends will receive you with all the admiration and respect that are your due. Melissano is here, as is Alexandre, who has just broken his carriage-shaft — he has become very wise and is beginning to justify all the goodwill one has for him. I close in haste, not wishing to delay this letter's departure.
At Monte Carlo I encountered M. des Perrières of the Figaro, who announced to me your marriage to M. P. de Cassagnac. I believed it for a moment, given your obstinate silence — but with a little reflection I easily abandoned the idea, and I believe I was not mistaken. Would you hide so important a thing from an old friend such as myself?
A thousand kind regards to your family, and believe me always your most devoted servant.
F. de Marcuard
You have read that letter! How detestable of that des Perrières.
I immediately write a reply, in Blanc's presence,
^3^ Ibid. p. 187
to Marcuard. Having written it, I wished to include a few violets — [Words blacked out] — the following phrase: I send you a few violets that have been sent to us from Nice. I know they are not worth the roses of Florence!! — and I had written that phrase because for the past ten minutes Maman had been tormenting me to ask Marcuard for flowers. No sooner had I taken up the wretched violets than Madame my mother told me in Russian not to do it, because: You have sent violets to Alexandre and now you send them to this one, and Alexandre will tell him you want an amourette with him too.
Naturally I immediately threw my letter into the fire, and flung myself half-reclining on the sofa — thoroughly vexed, thoroughly disagreeable, thoroughly offended.
That is how any imbecile can unhinge my spirits for twenty-four hours.
I shall go to bed late and be ugly tomorrow.