ts who have more moral influence than their fellows,
attracts the others, and the discussion becomes general. Two or more
peasants may speak at a time, and interrupt each other freely--using
plain, unvarnished language, not at all parliamentary--and the
discussion may become a confused, unintelligible din; but at the
moment when the spectator imagines that the consultation is about to
be transformed into a free fight, the tumult spontaneously subsides,
or perhaps a general roar of laughter announces that some one has been
successfully hit by a strong argumentum ad hominem, or biting personal
remark. In any case there is no danger of the disputants coming to
blows. No class of men in the world are more good-natured and pacific
than the Russian peasantry. When sober they never fight, and even when
under the influence of alcohol they are more likely to be violently
affectionate than disagreeably quarrelsome. If two of them take to
drinking together, the probability is that in a few minutes, though they
may never have seen each other before, they will be expressing in very
strong terms their mutual regard and affection, confirming their words
with an occasional friendly embrace.

Theoretically speaking, the Village Parliament has a Speaker, in the
person of the Village Elder. The word Speaker is etymologically less
objectionable than the term President, for the personage in question
never sits down, but mingles in the crowd like the ordinary members.
Objection may be taken to the word on the ground that the Elder speaks
much less than many other members, but this may likewise be said of the
Speaker of the House of Commons. Whatever we may call him, the Elder is
officially the principal personage in the crowd, and wears the insignia
of office in the form of a small medal suspended from his neck by a thin
brass chain. His duties, however, are extremely light. To call to order
those who interrupt the discussion is no part of his functions. If he
calls an honourable member "Durak" (blockhead), or interrupts an orator
with a laconic "Moltchi!" (hold your tongue!), he does so in virtue of
no special prerogative, but simply in accordance with a time-honoured
privilege, which is equally enjoyed by all present, and may be employed
with impunity against himself. Indeed, it may be said in general that
the phraseology and the procedure are not subjected to any strict rules.
The Elder comes prominently forward only when it is necessary t