I remember well the lamentations of one of the best living authors in Russia in speaking of his works, and his bitter regrets that the very parts he had most valued were not allowed to be published. Among others he mentioned a play, which really contained some most admirable speeches, but when it returned from the censor’s office he showed us that they had all been erased, leaving nothing but the light conversations and “parties légères,” which alone were thought suitable for public amusement; of course the play was never performed, for, as he said, “c’était parfaitement ridicule.” How can a nation possess great poets, historians, or other literary men when such an embargo is laid on mind and thought? “Our cleverest men are in Siberia,” said a Russian one day: perhaps the remembrance of its snows serves to chill many a rising genius that would make his country greater than their vaunted army of a million of warriors. We were told that Karamsin, the modern historian, was obliged first to read over his pages in the presence of the Emperor before they were allowed to go forth to the world; it may, therefore, easily be conceived to what extent the truth of his statements may be relied on. So exceedingly strict are the regulations of the censor’s office, that I used jestingly to say that the introduction of foreign literature would be, at last, restricted to the alphabet! A short time ago a gentleman of literary pursuits, being anxious to write a play, the subject of which was to be taken from English history, was making some notes on the different events, but every one of them was either too expressive of the love of liberty, or some equally well-founded objection was discovered. “But why not, then, take the story of Elfrida, the daughter of the Earl of Devonshire?” proposed I; “it is a thousand years ago nearly, and cannot much influence the present century.” “Impossible!” was the reply; “it would never be allowed to pass the censor’s office, or be permitted to be performed on the stage here.” “But what is the objection?” “Why, they would never let a play be represented in which Elfrida’s husband deceives the king.” “But he was not the Czar of Muscovy.” “That does not signify; the _act_ is still the same, and the possibility of a crowned head’s being deceived would on no account be allowed.” By this it may be seen how impossible it is for a Russian author to write anything better than the silly farces and absurd comedies which are nightly performed to amuse the public in St. Petersburg. CHAPTER IX. Russian courtship—State of household servants—Anecdotes—Trousseaux—The matrimonial candidate—Matchmakers—Serfs’ weddings—Rich dowry—Matchmakings—Curious custom—Russian marriages—Blessing the threshold—Bridal parties—Statute-fair for wives in St. Petersburg—Habit of painting—Lottery of marriage, &c.