full title of Herr Professor, Herr Journalist, or whatever he might claim for his distinction. Here his self-esteem suffers a shock, for, in the language of the country, he becomes simply “Mister.” This universal custom, unimportant in itself, is significant of a national habit of mind. Men in high places, as heads of universities, are addressed by their colleagues by their first names. In the familiar Russian and Polish novel we find nobles and military leaders regularly with the simple title Pan (Mr.), which is a term of respect but not of distinction. In fact the attitude of the noble and the peasant toward each other is not that of superiority and servility, but as elder and younger brother. The name Little Father which is applied to the Czar expresses the attitude of familiarity rather than of awe. Compare this with the worship of uniform in Germany, where a policeman will not answer your question unless you salute him and an omitted title is an insult. In Petrograd during student riots it is not an uncommon thing for the students to kick the shins of the police and no one thinks of it as lèse majesté. The Russian officer and soldier are more nearly comrades than in any other army in the world.
These habits have not been assumed deliberately, but are the product of underlying institutions out of which they have grown naturally. At least
