"what are you going to do about your Moki Kifovitch? We get no rest from
him, he is so above himself." "That is only his play, that is only his
play," the father would reply. "What else can you expect? It is too late
now to start a quarrel with him, and, moreover, every one would accuse
me of harshness. True, he is a little conceited; but, were I to reprove
him in public, the whole thing would become common talk, and folk would
begin giving him a dog's name. And if they did that, would not their
opinion touch me also, seeing that I am his father? Also, I am busy with
philosophy, and have no time for such things. Lastly, Moki Kifovitch
is my son, and very dear to my heart." And, beating his breast, Kifa
Mokievitch again asserted that, even though his son should elect
to continue his pranks, it would not be for HIM, for the father,
to proclaim the fact, or to fall out with his offspring. And, this
expression of paternal feeling uttered, Kifa Mokievitch left Moki
Kifovitch to his heroic exploits, and himself returned to his beloved
subject of speculation, which now included also the problem, "Suppose
elephants were to take to being hatched from eggs, would not the
shell of such eggs be of a thickness proof against cannonballs, and
necessitate the invention of some new type of firearm?" Thus at the end
of this little story we have these two denizens of a peaceful corner of
Russia looking thence, as from a window, in less terror of doing what
was scandalous than of having it SAID of them that they were acting
scandalously. Yes, the feeling animating our so-called "patriots" is not
true patriotism at all. Something else lies beneath it. Who, if not an
author, is to speak aloud the truth? Men like you, my pseudo-patriots,
stand in dread of the eye which is able to discern, yet shrink from
using your own, and prefer, rather, to glance at everything unheedingly.
Yes, after laughing heartily over Chichikov's misadventures, and perhaps
even commending the author for his dexterity of observation and pretty
turn of wit, you will look at yourselves with redoubled pride and a
self-satisfied smile, and add: "Well, we agree that in certain parts of
the provinces there exists strange and ridiculous individuals, as well
as unconscionable rascals."

Yet which of you, when quiet, and alone, and engaged in solitary
self-communion, would not do well to probe YOUR OWN souls, and to put
to YOURSELVES the solemn question, "Is there not in ME an