THE RUSSIAN SERF.
"In the Russian peasant lies the embryo of the Russian chivalric spirit, the origin of our nation's grandeur."
"Cunning fellows they are, the vagabonds," remarked Vassily 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 his comrades then; 'take bribes, but take them prudently, so as not to be caught.'"
"But they are not all as you describe them," remarked Vassily Ivanovitsch.
"Certainly not. Exceptions, however, do not alter the rule."
"And yet the officers in the government service with us are for the most part elected by the nobility and gentry."
"That is just where the great evil lies," continued Ivan Vassilievitsch. "What in other countries is an object of public competition, is with us left to ourselves. What right have we to complain against our government, who has left it in our discretion to elect officers to regulate our internal affairs? Is it not our own fault that, instead of paying due attention to a subject of so much importance, we make game of it? We have in every province many a civilized man, who backed by the laws, could give a salutary direction to public affairs; but they all fly the elections like a plague, leaving them in the hands of intriguing schemers. The most wealthy land-owners lounge on the Nevsky-perspective, or travel abroad, and but seldom visit their estates. For them elections are—a caricature: they amuse themselves over the bald head of the sheriff or the thick belly of the president of the court of assizes, and they forget that to them is intrusted not only their own actual welfare and that of their peasantry, but their entire future destiny. Yes, thus it is! Had we not taken such a mischievous course, were we not so unpardonably thoughtless, how grand would have been the vocation of the Russian noble, to lead the whole nation forward on the path of genuine civilization! I repeat again, it is our own fault. Instead of being useful to their country, what has become of the Russian nobility?"
"They have ruined themselves," emphatically interrupted Vassily Ivanovitsch.—The Tarantas: or Impressions of Young Russia.
Footnote 1: [(return)]
The Autobiography of Leigh Hunt. Two volumes. Harper & Brothers. 1850.
Footnote 2: [(return)]
An Irish term for wearing jockey-boots.
Footnote 3: [(return)]
An Irish gentleman shot in a duel in lang syne, was poetically described as having been left "quivering on a daisy."
Footnote 4: [(return)]
In Ireland this functionary's operations are not confined to the dead, but extend very disagreeably to the living.