Fyodor Dostoevsky

Westerner there has become historically added--though this is

not his chief point--a capacity for acquiring capital; whereas,

not only is the Russian incapable of acquiring capital, but also

he exhausts it wantonly and of sheer folly. None the less we

Russians often need money; wherefore, we are glad of, and greatly

devoted to, a method of acquisition like roulette--whereby, in a

couple of hours, one may grow rich without doing any work. This

method, I repeat, has a great attraction for us, but since we

play in wanton fashion, and without taking any trouble, we

almost invariably lose."

"To a certain extent that is true," assented the Frenchman with

a self-satisfied air.

"Oh no, it is not true," put in the General sternly. "And you,"

he added to me, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself for

traducing your own country!"

"I beg pardon," I said. "Yet it would be difficult to say

which is the worst of the two--Russian ineptitude or the German

method of growing rich through honest toil."

"What an extraordinary idea," cried the General.

"And what a RUSSIAN idea!" added the Frenchman.

I smiled, for I was rather glad to have a quarrel with them.

"I would rather live a wandering life in tents," I cried,

"than bow the knee to a German idol!"

"To WHAT idol?" exclaimed the General, now seriously angry.

"To the German method of heaping up riches. I have not been

here very long, but I can tell you that what I have seen and

verified makes my Tartar blood boil. Good Lord! I wish for no

virtues of that kind. Yesterday I went for a walk of about ten

versts; and, everywhere I found that things were even as we read

of them in good German picture-books -- that every house has its

'Fater,' who is horribly beneficent and extraordinarily

honourable. So honourable is he that it is dreadful to have

anything to do with him; and I cannot bear people of that sort.

Each such 'Fater' has his family, and in the evenings they

read improving books aloud. Over their roof-trees there murmur

elms and chestnuts; the sun has sunk to his rest; a stork is

roosting on the gable; and all is beautifully poetic and

touching. Do not be angry, General. Let me tell you something

that is even more touching than that. I can remember how, of an

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