“I don’t know in what place and at what time, yes, it seems, I don’t know why, there lived a man, a Russian man with a Russian name, Pakhom, but that’s not the point... he knew how to read and write as much as he needed , and whoever understood him more did not contradict him, and he did not believe that someone else, even though literate, would talk about overseas things. If it turns out that he swallowed French dust, and ate English ham with a German roll, and cut cobblestones with his feet in foreign lands, and he will begin to tell about various unprecedented wonders there...”