' He passed with his wise,
exact gaze over the faces of the prostitutes and impressed them on
his mind. But that which he did not know he did not dare to write.
It is remarkable, that this same writer, enchanting with his
honesty and truthfulness, has looked at the moujik as well, more
than once. But he sensed that both the tongue and the turn of
mind, as well as the soul of the people, were for him dark and
incomprehensible ... And he, with an amazing tact, modestly went
around the soul of the people, but refracted all his fund of
splendid observation through the eyes of townsfolk. I have brought
this up purposely. With us, you see, they write about detectives,
about lawyers, about inspectors of the revenue, about pedagogues,
about attorneys, about the police, about officers, about sensual
ladies, about engineers, about baritones--and really, by God,
altogether well--cleverly, with finesse and talent. But, after
all, all these people, are rubbish, and their life is not life but
some sort of conjured up, spectral, unnecessary delirium of world
culture. But there are two singular realities--ancient as humanity
itself: the prostitute and the moujik.
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