There are translations of _some_ of Shakspere’s plays performed; the two most frequently witnessed are Hamlet and King Lear; the class of shopkeepers, who may be called the _people_ in Russia, for the others are mere serfs, are those by whom they are chiefly appreciated, and Shakspere is reverenced by most of them nearly as much as in England, although they have read his works only in a translation; perhaps at some future time his lofty thoughts will have a good effect upon their opinions and conduct. When I was at Twer I saw the part of Hamlet exceedingly well performed by a young actor, and the audience, even in this small provincial town, seemed thoroughly to appreciate it. I once went to a shop in St. Petersburg, when I remarked to a lady who was with me “that the proprietor much resembled the portraits of Shakspere;” although the remark was made in French, the shopkeeper understood it, and to my astonishment made me a low bow and thanked me. It was only a small fruit-shop, and we neither of us had the least idea that he had ever heard the poet’s name. Such of Shakspere’s plays as Julius Cæsar, and others containing sentiments of freedom, are not permitted to be performed, and are not even translated. The Russian stage is very destitute of good pieces, but I saw one which, being truly national, may serve to give an idea of their plays. It was the best I ever witnessed on the Russian stage, and it gives too true a picture of the unjust extortion and bribery which are also truly national, for they pervade all ranks in an equal degree. I was in perfect astonishment that the piece was allowed to be played at all; one would think that pride alone would have prevented such an exposure of their prevailing vice to the foreigners with whom the capital is crowded. It was called the ‘_Reviseur_,’ that being the title of an officer sent from time to time into the provinces to examine into the state of the government, and to report concerning the manner in which it is carried on. The play opened by a domestic scene, in which the police-master, his wife and daughter, are all eagerly conversing on the shortly-expected visit of the _Reviseur_, and we are let into the secret of various amiable weaknesses and domestic plans to keep up an appearance of propriety, in the midst of which the elder lady suddenly sees a carriage pass, which she is sure can be no other than that of the great man himself. An extraordinary bustle ensues: the police-master, in all haste, gives various absurd orders to the _employés_ under him, one of which is that “the soldiers should not on any account be seen without their coats, as it would be then discovered that they had no shirts on,”—the money furnished by the crown for providing them has of course been pocketed by himself and the colonel. After taking all the precautions he can think of, he hastens to inform the other principal men of the arrival of the Reviseur.