"He was a good man, tipped very generously, but he never ceased to rage against the censor. When he saw his manuscripts marked with red crosses, he became furious. One day, in order to console him, I said:
"'Bah! why torment yourself?'
"'Why,' he cried, 'but it is blood that is flowing,—blood,—my blood!'"
A great deal of blood was thus shed. And in order to accentuate the action of the censor the police dealt cruel blows to the authors. One day Pushkin was called to the head of the department. They believed that they had recognized in one of his satires a certain gentleman, named N. G., who demanded that Pushkin be severely punished. Unnerved by the cross-examination to which he was put, the poet cried:
"But it isn't N. G. whom I have drawn!"
"It is you, yourself," replied the poet.
"That is madness, sir," the high dignitary cried out with wrath. "You say that wood belonging to the state was stolen. And at the time when these thefts were committed I was away."
"Then you do not recognize yourself in my satire?"
"No, a thousand times no!"