Chapter 37: Russian Censor

Regarding the matter of Pyotr Petrovich, Mikhail did not intend to say much to this somewhat annoying Mr., waiting only until his mother and sister arrived to resolve the issue.

And as soon as the royalties came in, Mikhail calculated the accounts once more, then squeezed out as much as he could to send to his mother and sister.

To be honest, although Mikhail had been here for quite some time, his financial situation had not improved; basically, any surplus money was spent on others.

Never mind, let it be for now; he still needed to push the anthology forward as soon as possible, and then make a big move later.

Before that, besides "Sleepy," Mikhail also prepared to release another short story, intending to form a simple contrast with "Sleepy," so that both stories could achieve a better effect to some extent.

As for what this short story is, let that be discussed later for now.

Broadly speaking, it was time to plagiarize old Tolstoy; relying solely on Chekhov for a while was starting to feel a bit embarrassing.

Another point worth mentioning is that regarding old Dostoevsky, his literary achievements were reflected more in his novels, whereas in the field of short and medium-length stories, old Dostoevsky was probably slightly inferior to old Tolstoy.

After agreeing to this matter, Mikhail immediately retreated to his small room to continue working; unless there was another salon gathering, he would not step out of his room, because as long as he went out, the few coins in his pocket would inevitably decrease by a bit.

Of course, he also needed to catch up on various philosophical and artistic thoughts; later, he would ask Dmitri and Belinsky to lend him some books.

While Mikhail was getting busy on his end, Belinsky, at this very moment, was also preparing to wrangle with the censor.

In this current period, censors were often a huge mountain pressing down on authors and various magazines; some among them were still somewhat human, while others were completely anthropomorphic, just like a censor of this period named Krassovsky, who, when a manuscript reached his hands, would not only cut and alter it into pieces but also write a commentary on it.

Besides lacking cultural cultivation, this censor viewed every author as an atheist and a lecher.

Mikhail could accept being called an atheist, but being called a lecher was something he couldn't even pretend to be.

As for what his comments looked like, they were basically the following situations.

At that time, a poet wrote as follows:

"Ah, I dare swear, I and you lived very beautifully,

I saw a fairy-like smile on your lips."

Krassovsky's comment was: "Exaggerated! A woman's smile does not deserve to be called fairy-like!"

Then came this line: "I silently fixed my gaze upon you."

The comment was: "This sentence contains a frivolous implication."

He wrote comments as he pleased, but Mikhail dared to bet that the old man's eyes were absolutely not as honest as he wrote.

Then the poet wrote again:

"The opinions of others mean nothing to me. Your gentle glance,

Is more precious than the attention of the whole world."

The comment was: "Exaggerated! Moreover, there are still the Tsar and the legitimate government in the world; their attention should be cherished."

People write a love poem and still have to throw in a line about the Tsar and the legitimate government; what difference is there between that and someone buying a phone or watching a movie and having to drag in patriotism?

Of course, patriotism is good.

Then the poet wrote again:

"Ah! How I long for that remote and quiet place,

To hide my name and enjoy the highest pleasures by your side."

The comment was:

"This kind of thought must never be spread; the meaning of these words is: the author, in order to remain forever with his lover, no longer wishes to serve the Emperor. Furthermore, the highest pleasures can only be enjoyed from the 'Gospel,' not from women."

The poet added another line: "Ah! I wish to dedicate my entire life to you!"

The comment was: "What is left to give to God?"

The poet was still not done and continued:

"Sometimes I tune the strings at your feet and sing for you."

The comment was: "A Christian actually squatting at a woman's feet, truly outrageous! Too undignified!"

Although there were many more amusing instances, to avoid getting scolded for talking too much, let's just add one more as the final closing.

The poet wrote affectionately:

"I know beforehand all your secret desires; I press your head tightly against my chest."

This censor, Krassovsky, waved his pen and bluntly commented: "Erotic poetry!"

Honestly, the current Russian censorship system and censors can only be described as extremely hard to endure.

If not for the fact that some censors indeed possessed excellent literary cultivation, plus in a despotic country like Russia, officials and nobles at all levels had intricate relationships, and some among them naturally held greater power, meaning that as long as one used personal connections and understood social etiquette, one could completely use backdoors to get one's articles through censorship.

Otherwise, who knows how trashy the articles of this era could become.

Of course, some magazines' methods were even more direct; they simply arranged a position in their magazine for a certain censor. There was no work to do, but the money was plentiful; for such magazines, the articles they published often received a clear green light all the way.

One can only say that there is nothing new under the sun; some methods will not be outdated even after another century or two.

And just such an unbearable censorship system and censors would welcome a major strengthening when 1848 arrived; the current times could truly be considered good days, at least where using connections could still work.

Additionally, from the comments of the censor mentioned above, one could roughly see what kind of minds some officials and nobles in current Russia possessed; one can only say that the smell of decay was simply too strong.

As for Belinsky's method of dealing with censorship, he would generally go through the basic procedures first; if that really didn't work, he would take it back, leave it unchanged for two days, and then show it to the censor again, at which point some censors would simply nod slightly and say: "Hmm! The revisions are not bad!"

For those like this, they basically liked to use their power to show off and gain some benefits for themselves; these were actually the easier ones to deal with.

If he truly encountered someone whose mind was as rigid as a rock or whose appetite was too big, Belinsky could only try to find those noble friends he knew in the literary world.

By the way, when the previous two short stories, "Vanka" and "Grief," were being reviewed, the censor said as follows:

"Although I do not understand why you write about lowly serf grandsons and coachmen, since you are willing to publish such boring text, then you may publish it."

(End of this chapter)