What must remain striking to a teacher of languages is the
Russians' extraordinary love of words. They gather them up; they cherish
them, but they don't hoard them in their breasts; on the contrary, they
are always ready to pour them out by the hour or by the night with an
enthusiasm, a sweeping abundance, with such an aptness of application
sometimes that, as in the case of very accomplished parrots, one can't
defend oneself from the suspicion that they really understand what they
say. There is a generosity in their ardour of speech which removes it as
far as possible from common loquacity; and it is ever too disconnected
to be classed as eloquence.... But I must apologize for this
digression.
It would be idle to inquire why Mr. Razumov has left this record behind
him. It is inconceivable that he should have wished any human eye to see
it. A mysterious impulse of human nature comes into play here. Putting
aside Samuel Pepys, who has forced in this way the door of immortality,
innumerable people, criminals, saints, philosophers, young girls,
statesmen, and simple imbeciles, have kept self-revealing records from
vanity no doubt, but also from other more inscrutable motives. There
must be a wonderful soothing power in mere words since so many men have
used them for self-communion.
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