Ivanovitsch.

"Yes, cunning, and thereby clever; quick in imitation, quick in
appropriating what is new or useful--ready prepared for civilization.
Try to teach a laborer in foreign countries anything out of the way
of his daily occupation, and he will still cling to his plow: with
us, only give the word, and the peasant becomes musician, painter,
mechanic, steward, anything you like."

"Well, that's true," remarked Vassily Ivanovitsch.

"And besides," continued Ivan Vassilievitsch, "in what country can you
find such a strongly-marked and instinctive notion of his duties,
such readiness to assist his fellow-creatures, such cheerfulness, such
benignity, so much gentleness and strength combined."

"A splendid fellow the Russian peasant--a splendid fellow indeed;"
interrupted Vassily Ivanovitsch.

"And, nevertheless, we disdain him, we look at him with contempt; nay,
more, instead of making any effort to cultivate his mind, we try to
spoil it by every possible means."

"How so?"

"By the loathsome establishment we have--our household serfs. Our
house serf is the first step toward the tchinovnik. He goes without a
beard and wears a coat of a western cut; he is an idler, a debauchee,
a drunkard, a thief, and yet he assumes airs of consequence before
the peasant, whom he disdains, and from whose labor he draws his own
subsistence and his poll-tax. After some time more or less, according
to circumstances, the household serf becomes a clerk; he gets his
liberty and a place as writer in some district court; as a writer in
the government's service he disdains, in addition to the peasant, his
late comrades in the household; he learns to cavil in business, and
begins to take email bribes in poultry, eggs, corn, &c.; he studies
roguery systematically, and goes one step lower; he becomes a
secretary and a genuine tchinovnik. Then his sphere is enlarged; he
gets a new existence: he disdains the peasant, the house serf, the
clerk, and the writer, because, he says, they are all uncivilized
people. His wants are now greater, and you cannot bribe him except
with bank notes. Does he not take wine now at his meals? Does he not
patronize a little pharo? Is he not obliged to present his lady with
a costly cap or a silk gown? He fills up his place, and without the
least remorse--like a tradesman behind his counter--he sells his
influence as if it were merchandise. It happens now and then that he
is caught. 'Served him right,' say hi