Adopting in the same given instance this popular wisdom formed by centuries and expressed by a stick, which, as was said, indeed has two ends, one end of which is considered good and the other bad, then if I use the aforesaid automatism which was acquired in me thanks only to long practice, it will be for me personally of course very good, but according to this saying, there must result for the reader just the opposite; and what the opposite of good is, even every non-possessor of hemorrhoids must very easily understand.
Briefly, if I exercise my privilege and take the good end of the stick, then the bad end must inevitably fall “on the reader’s head.”
This may indeed happen, because in Russian the so to say “niceties” of philosophical questions cannot be expressed, which questions I intend to touch upon in my writings also rather fully, whereas in Armenian, although this is possible, yet to the misfortune of all contemporary Armenians, the employment of this language for contemporary notions has now already become quite impracticable.
In order to alleviate the bitterness of my inner hurt owing to this, I must say that in my early youth, when I became interested in and was greatly taken up with philological questions, I preferred the Armenian language to all others I then spoke, even to my native language.
This language was then my favorite chiefly because it was original and had nothing in common with the neighboring or kindred languages.
As the learned “philologists” say, all of its tonalities were peculiar to it alone, and according to my understanding even then, it corresponded perfectly to the psyche of the people composing that nation.
I can now write in either of these languages with ease, but to my pained regret, the niceties of philosophical questions cannot be expressed in Russian, while, to the misfortune to all contemporary Armenians, although this is possible in Armenian, it has now become quite impossible to employ that language for contemporary questions.
In my early youth, when I first became interested in and was much absorbed in philological questions, I preferred the Armenian language above all others I spoke.
This language was then my favorite chiefly because it was original and had nothing in common with the neighboring languages, of which there is today an innumerable host.
All of its tonalities were peculiar to it alone, and according to my understanding then, based of course, as is characteristic of young people who have not yet tasted the “delights-of-life,” upon the impulses of “self-imagining,” “self-enthusing,” “self-puffing-up” and so on, it responded perfectly to the psyche of the people composing that nation.