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.
CCCII
Paris, Monday night, October 28, 1867.
You speak of vegetating. Indeed, that is the sort of life one would wish to lead nowadays, but the age is one of movement. Human vegetables are as unfortunate as those which live at the foot of Etna. From time to time upon them falls a deluge of fire, which usually annihilates them by its sulphurous vapours.
Do you not consider it calamitous that Pius IX and Garibaldi, both fanatics, should, by their obstinacy, turn everything into confusion? As an evidence of the morals of the age is the reply of those who disapprove the sending of our troops to Rome, when they are reminded of the treaty of September 15th: “What matters a treaty? M. de Bismarck does not observe them.” I should like to steal a watch from one of them, and then say that there have been precedents of watches being stolen. The most deplorable feature of the whole matter is, that we are pledging ourselves anew, for I know not how long a time, to protect the Pope, who shows not the slightest gratitude towards us....
Le Correspondent has yielded, and is publishing the continuation of Tourguenieff’s novel, without, however, permitting the interview between Litvinof and Irène to last more than one hour. I think I told you about it. Are you reading it? Le Correspondent certainly goes to ——, where you are. Anyway, I will give you the novel on your return.
I am still ill, breathing painfully, and at night not breathing at all. This sudden death of M. Fould has grieved me very much. It was, however, as easy as one could wish; but why so sudden? He wrote eighteen letters the same morning of his death, and two hours before retiring seemed perfectly well. He had not made the least movement after lying down, and his features bore no evidences of contraction. His death was precisely the same as that of Mr. Ellice; “a visitation of God” is what the English call it.
I am expecting to start early in November. I am urged to go, in order to escape colds, which are so difficult to avoid in Paris. I am finishing an article for the Moniteur, on a Greek manuscript, and shall depart just as soon as it is completed.
Good-bye, dear friend. I hope you will come back before I go. Abandon those hideous fogs, and take care of your health. Again, good-bye....