DE TOCQUEVILLE.
Tocqueville, July 25, 1855.
I wrote to you yesterday, my dear Senior, a long letter according to my
promise.
But when I read it over I felt that it was absurd to send such a letter
by the post, especially to a foreigner, and I burnt it.
Since the assault of the 18th,[1] the interference of the police in
private correspondence has become more active. Many of my friends as well
as I myself have perceived it. More letters have been kept back and more
have been stopped. Two of mine have been lost. You may remember that two
letters from me failed to reach you, three years ago. The danger is
greater in the country, where handwritings are known, than in Paris. You
advise me to put my letters into a cover directed to your Embassy, which
will forward them. But this is no security. If a letter be suspected, it
is easy to open and re-seal it, and still easier simply to suppress it.
And, in fact, after all, you have lost little. I wrote to you only what I
have a hundred times said to you. We have lived so much together, and
with such perfect mutual confidence, that it is difficult for either of
us to say anything new to the other.
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