PARIS, _September 27, 1867_.
DEAR FRIEND: What has become of you? It is an age since I heard from
you. I have just done something reckless: I spent three days at my
cousin’s home in the country, near Arpajon, and I feel very little the
worse for it, although the country seemed to me cold and damp. I do not
believe, however, that it is warm anywhere, nowadays. I suppose that
at ---- you are enveloped in constant fogs.
I spend my time as well as I can, in absolute solitude. I am seized
sometimes with the desire to travel, but the impulse does not last long
enough to amount to anything. Moreover, I am terribly depressed. I
believe something serious is the matter with my eyes. I wish, and at the
same time I dread, going to consult Liebreich; yet, if I should lose my
sight, what would become of me?
In society there is a certain prince Augustine Galitzin, who has become
a convert to Catholicism, and who is not very proficient in Russian. He
has translated a novel by Tourguenieff, the title of which is _Smoke_.
It is now coming out in _Le Correspondent_, a clerical newspaper, some
of the capital of which is furnished by the prince. Tourguenieff has
asked me to review the proofs. Now, in this novel are some rather lively
situations, which are the despair of prince Galitzin; for instance,
something unheard-of: A Russian princess is in love, which is made worse
by adultery. He skips the passages which shock him too deeply, and I
reinstate them in the text. He is sometimes over-sensitive, as you shall
see. The great lady condescends to visit her lover in a hotel, at Baden.
She enters the room, and the chapter concludes. The story is resumed in
the Russian original as follows: “Two hours later, Litvinof was alone on
his divan.” The neo-Catholic has translated it thus: “An hour later,
Litvinof was in his _room_.” You see it is much more moral, because to
suppress an hour is to diminish the sin by half. Then, _room_, instead
of _divan_, is much more virtuous, a divan being associated with
criminal acts. I, inflexible in carrying out my orders, have reinstated
the two hours and the divan, but the chapters in which they occur have
not been published in _Le Correspondent_ of this month. I suppose the
respectable people who edit it have exercised a strict censorship. I am
greatly amused by it. As the story continues, there is a delightful
scene, in which the heroine tears up some point lace, which is a much
more serious matter than the divan. I am waiting to see what they will
do with this.
Good-bye, dear friend. Let me hear from you. I am terrified by the
rapidity with which winter is approaching.