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Two weeks after your application, I get news of you. Robert Sherard, that bravest and most chivalrous of all brilliant beings, comes to see me, and amongst other things tells me that in that ridiculous Mercure de France [43.1], with its absurd affectation of being the true centre of literary corruption, you are about to publish an article on me with specimens of my letters. He asks me if it really was by my wish. I was greatly taken aback, and much annoyed, and gave orders that the thing was to be stopped at once. You had left my letters lying about for blackmailing companions to steal[43a], for hotel servants to pilfer, for housemaids to sell. That was simply your careless want of appreciation of what I had written to you. But that you should seriously propose to publish selections from the balance was almost incredible to me. And which of my letters were they? I could get no information. That was my first news of you. It displeased me.
在你申请后两周，我得到了你的消息。罗伯特?舍拉德，这位最勇敢最侠义的好人，前来看我，除了别的事外，也告诉我那份荒唐的《法兰西信使》，及其作为文学腐败的真正中心是如何扭捏作态，说你就要在上面发表一篇文章谈我的事，还要附上我的一些信件。他问我是否真的希望这么做。我听了大吃一惊，非常恼火，命令这事马上停止。你曾经把我的信四处乱放，让你那一伙人偷了来敲诈[43a]，让旅馆的仆人窃取，让家里的佣人出卖。那不过是你对我写给你的信掉以轻心，无法欣赏罢了。而你竟然认真提出把剩下的信选出来发表，这几乎使我不敢相信。你会选些什么信呢？我无从知道。这是我得到的关于你的第一则消息。它让我很不愉快。
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