"Do you not consider, M. le Comte, that a translation of the Scriptures into the language of this country is very desirable?"
"Certainly; nevertheless, if you will permit me a slight remark, I can tell you that amongst the people who know no other language than the Jmoudic, there is not a single person who can read."
"Perhaps so, but I ask permission of Your Excellency[3] to point out that the greatest obstacle in the way of learning to read is the absence of books. When the Samogitic countries have a printed text they will wish to read it, and will learn to read. This has already happened in the case of many savage races ... not that I wish to apply such a term to the people of this country.... Furthermore," I went on, "is it not a deplorable thing that a language should disappear, leaving no trace behind? Prussian became a dead language thirty years ago, and the last person who knew Cornic died the other day."
"Sad," interrupted the Count. "Alexander Humboldt told my father he had met with a parrot in America that was the only living thing which knew several words of the language of a tribe now entirely wiped out by small-pox. Will you allow me to order our tea here?"
While we drank tea the conversation turned upon the Jmoudic tongue. The Count found fault with the way Germans print Lithuanian, and he was right.
"Your alphabet," he said, "does not lend itself to our language. You have neither our J, nor our L, V, or Ë. I have a collection of daïnos published last year at Kœnigsberg, and I had immense trouble to understand the words, they are so queerly formed."
"Your Excellency probably speaks of Lessner's daïnos?"
"Yes, it is very vapid poetry, do you not think?"
"He might perhaps have selected better. I admit that, as it is, this collection has but a purely philological interest; but I believe if careful search were made one would succeed in collecting the most perfect flowers of your folk-poetry."
"Alas! I doubt it very much, in spite of my patriotic desires."