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“Bah!” interrupted Rymsza; “why, in my youth I saw Kosciuszko, the chief of our nation: he was a great man, but he wore a Cracow peasant’s coat, that is to say, a czamara.” “Much he wore a czamara!” retorted Wilbik. “They used to call it a taratatka.”82 “But the taratatka has fringe,” shouted Mickiewicz, “and the other is entirely plain.”
The chances of the market have to be discounted, and the peasant falls into the hands of money-lenders. Here is one of the cases in which social policy clashes with a purely economical policy. Political vicissitudes have added their influence to that of economical changes in disturbing that dim instinct, that reverence for traditional custom, which is the peasant’s principle of action.
At that hour we felt we could understand and sympathise with the poor untutored peasant’s fear and avoidance of these lonely ruins, for superstition is often as much the result of chance environment as of crass ignorance.
And Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, “the babe,” and he liked the peasant’s calling it a “babe.” There seemed more pity in it. “But why is it weeping?” Mitya persisted stupidly, “why are its little arms bare? Why don’t they wrap it up?” “The babe’s cold, its little clothes are frozen and don’t warm it.” “But why is it? Why?” foolish Mitya still persisted.
“Well, mademoiselle, I think I could manage to escape if I had but a little help. For example, from the top window of this house I think I could manage to jump upon the wall, and if you could but furnish me with a rope I could easily make my escape. Of course I should want a suit of peasant’s clothes, for, you see, I should be detected at once if I tried to get away in this uniform.
Thor invited the peasant and his wife and two children to eat with him. The peasant’s son was called Thialfi and the daughter Roskwa. Then Thor laid the goats’ skins near the hearth and said that the peasant and his family should throw the bones onto the skins. Thialfi, the peasant’s son, had the thigh bone of one goat and cut it in two with his knife to get the marrow.
In some places, even in French districts, this feeling is strongly symbolized by the practice of the peasantry, on certain festival days, to dress the images of the saints in peasant’s clothing.
“Who’s there?” shouted some one in a loud and very angry voice. Then Alyosha opened the door and crossed the threshold. He found himself in a regular peasant’s room. Though it was large, it was cumbered up with domestic belongings of all sorts, and there were several people in it. On the left was a large Russian stove.
But he blubbered and blubbered like a peasant’s baby: ‘Father, you may kill me, but I must go there!’ and he kept on sobbing. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I asked, and he told me that he was in love with Zosia, and wanted to have a look at her!
At two o’clock she had reached the station at Ansbach; at four she arrived in Nuremberg. Carrying her hand-bag, she asked her way to Plobenhof Street at every corner. Theresa sat at the cashier’s desk. Her brown hair on her square peasant’s skull was smoothly combed. Zwanziger, the freckled shop-assistant, was busy unpacking books.
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