I am very glad that "The Story of the Seven Who Were Hanged" will
be read in English. The misfortune of us all is that we know so
little, even nothing, about one another-neither about the soul, nor
the life, the sufferings, the habits, the inclinations, the
aspirations of one another. Literature, which I have the honor to
serve, is dear to me just because the noblest task it sets before
itself is that of wiping out boundaries and distances. As in a hard
shell, every human being is enclosed in a cover of body, dress, and
life. Who is man? We may only conjecture. What constitutes his joy
or his sorrow? We may guess only by his acts, which are oft-times
enigmatic; by his laughter and by his tears, which are often
entirely incomprehensible to us. And if we, Russians, who live so
closely together in constant misery, understand one another so
poorly that we mercilessly put to death those who should be pitied
or even rewarded, and reward those who should be punished by
contempt and anger - how much more difficult is it for you
Americans, to understand distant Russia? But then, it is just as
difficult for us Russians to understand distant America, of which
we dream in our youth and over which we ponder so deeply in our
years of maturity.
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