cities, and from the cities to the capitals. The villager is compelled to give it all up in order to satisfy the demands made on him and the temptations that entice him, and, having given up all his wealth, he is left in arrears; he is compelled to go to where his wealth has been taken, and there he partly tries to recoup the money which he needs for his first wants in the country, and partly, being carried away by the temptations of the city, enjoys, with others, the accumulated wealth.
Everywhere, in the whole of Russia, and, I think, not only in Russia, but in the whole world as well, the same thing takes place. The wealth of the country population passes into the hands of traders, landowners, officials, manufacturers, and the men who have acquired this wealth want to enjoy it; but it is only in the cities that they can fully enjoy it. In the country it is, in the first place, impossible, on account of the thinness of the population, to find a gratification for all the wants of rich people: they miss all kinds of shops, banks, restaurants, theatres, and all kinds of social amusements. In the second place, one of the chief enjoyments furnished by wealth—vanity, the desire to startle and outdo others—can again, on account of the thinness of the population, be with difficulty gratified in the country. In the country there are no connoisseurs of luxury, and there is nobody to startle. No matter what adornments of the house, what pictures, bronzes, carriages, and toilets the country dweller may provide himself with, there is no one to look at them and envy him, for the peasants have no understanding about this whole matter. In the third place, luxury is even disagreeable and dangerous in the country for a man who has a conscience and fear. It is awkward and troublesome to take milk baths in the country and to feed puppies on milk, when the children near by have none; it is awkward and troublesome to build pavilions and set out gardens among people who live in cabins which are
