Peredonov looked angrily at Vladya.
"The mind is for learning, and you don't learn," he said.
Vladya sighed and turned away and began to watch the cob's even trotting. But Peredonov continued:
"The Jews are clever in everything. Clever in learning and in everything. If the Jews were allowed to become professors, all professors would be Jews. But the Polish women are all sluts."
He looked at Marta and noted with satisfaction that she blushed violently. He became amiable:
"Now, don't think that I'm talking about you. I know that you would be a good housekeeper."
"All Polish women are good housekeepers," replied Marta.
"Well, yes," said Peredonov, "they're good housekeepers. They're clean on top, but their petticoats are dirty. But then you had Mickiewicz.[1] He's better than our Pushkin. He hangs on my wall—Pushkin used to hang there, but I took him down and hung him in the privy. He was a lackey."
"But you're a Russian," said Vladya. "What's our Mickiewicz to you? Pushkin's a good poet and Mickiewicz's a good poet."
"Mickiewicz is better," asseverated Peredonov. "The Russians are fools. They've invented only the samovar—nothing else."