“Why didn’t you send me word earlier?” I asked.

“We were not bound to do so without the extra stamp,” replied my dapper official.

“But why has my application been refused?”

“Too many people are seeing that journal; some one must be refused.”

“Nonsense,” said I.  “And if it is really so, I am not the proper person to be rejected.  It will hurt some of these Russian subscribers more than it will me, because it is only a question of when I shall read it, not of whether I shall read it at all.  I wonder that so many demoralizing things do not affect the officials.  However, that is not the point; pray keep for your own use anything which you regard as deleterious to me.  I am obliged to you for your consideration.  But you have no right to spoil three or four articles; and by a proper use of scissors and caviare that can easily be avoided.  In any case, it will be much better to give me the book unmutilated.”

The official and the occupants of the reception-room seemed to find my view very humorous; but he declared that he had no power in the matter.

“Very well,” said I, taking a seat.  “I will see the censor.

“I am the censor,” he replied.

“Oh, no.  I happen to be aware that the head censor is expected in a few minutes, and I will wait.”

My (apparently) intimate knowledge of the ways of censors again won the day.  The chief actually was expected, and I was granted the first audience.  I explained matters and repeated my arguments.  He sent for the assistant.

“Why was not this application granted?” he asked impressively.

“We don’t know, your Excellency,” was the meek and not very consistent reply.

“You may go,” said his Excellency.  Then he turned graciously to me.  “You will receive it.”

“Uncut?”

“Yes.”

“But will they let me have it?”

“Will—­they—­let—­you—­have—­it—­when—­I—­say—­so?” he retorted with tremendous dignity.

Then I knew that I should have no further trouble, and I was right.  I received no written permission, but the magazine was never interfered with again.  Thus it will be seen that one practically registers periodicals wholesale, at a wonderfully favorable discount.

During the whole of my stay in Russia I received many books unread, apparently even unopened to see whether they belonged on the free list.  In one case, at least, volumes which were posted before the official date of publication reached me by the next city delivery after the letter announcing their dispatch.  Books which were addressed to me at the Legation, to assure delivery when my exact address was unknown or when my movements were uncertain, were, in every case but one, sent to me direct from the post-office.  I have no reason to suppose that I was unusually favored in any way.  I used no “influence,” I mentioned no influential names, though I had the right to do so.