Wednesday, 1 April 1874

April Fool’s Day! Paul caught me out several times, but I did better -- I wrote Walitsky a letter on behalf of the Englishman whom he slapped last Saturday in Monaco for an impertinence toward Paul.

In this letter I ask him to come tomorrow to the Hotel de la Mediterranee at nine o’clock.

If he does not guess, it will be delightful.

Yesterday I was already in bed when I saw it -- so clearly that it is almost incredible.

We were at 55, then I left Maman, my aunt, and Walitsky at the station.

I thought of sending to all of Fedus’s friends “He is a newcomer,” but I must consult Maman -- perhaps it would be too great a folly.

I think only of the moment when I shall be in Paris -- but first, Geneva. I adore Geneva for a fortnight, but Paris forever. I know at last what I want: Paris. I would have wanted London, but Hamilton is no more. Even without him I hesitate -- Paris or London -- so that once again I do not know what I want; I want to divide myself between Paris and London, which I love without ever having seen it. I adore the English, and that is enough.

Maman returns at ten o’clock and the others too, but they have supper at the London House. Toward eleven o’clock everyone is home, and they report that M. Karitoff¹, his wife, etc. are all in love with me -- my bearing, my voice, my face, my smile, my manners above all; everything seems admirable to them. They even have an excellent fiance² for me -- four hundred thousand roubles a year, one of their sons-in-law or cousins or brothers of the wife of their son, a Sorokooumovski³ -- the good shopkeepers!⁴ The Sorokoo-- etc.⁵ sell furs. But what a horror to be called So-ro-ko-ou-mov-ski!⁶

I think with sorrow that there are Sorokos, etc. who are enormously rich, while I am not.

Ah, if only I were rich!