“My son, beware of women’s favor,” says a great writer—or whatever it is that a great writer says. Karlsen was a weakling, an idealist who died because of his strong feelings, that is to say, because of his weak nerves, which again is to say, because of the lack of a nourishing diet and outdoor work—heh-heh—and outdoor work. “May your steel be as sharp as your final no!” He ruined his entire earthly reputation by a quotation from a poet.8 If I had met Karlsen in time, on his last day as lief as any, but still half an hour before the disaster, and he’d told me that he would quote someone when he was dying, I would’ve said something like this: Look at me! As someone of sound mind, I’m concerned on behalf of humankind that you do not blacken your last moments by quoting some great poet or other. Do you know what a great poet is? Why, a great poet is a person without shame, someone who never blushes.9 Other fools have moments when they blush with shame by themselves, in private; not the great poet. Look at me again: if you want to quote someone, quote a geographer and don’t give yourself away. Victor Hugo—do you have a sense of humor? One day Baron Lesdain was talking to Victor Hugo. In the course of the conversation the artful baron asked, “Who, in your opinion, is the greatest French poet?” Victor Hugo made a face, bit his lip and finally said, “Alfred de Musset is the second greatest!” Heh-heh-heh. But perhaps you don’t have a sense of humor?10 Do you know what Victor Hugo did in 1870? He wrote a proclamation addressed to the inhabitants of the earth in which, in the strictest possible terms, he forbade the German troops to besiege and bombard Paris. “I have grandsons as well as other family here, and I don’t want them to be hit by shells,” said Victor Hugo.11

Can you believe it, I still have no shoes. What has Sara done with my shoes? It’ll soon be eleven, and she hasn’t yet brought them.12

So we’re going to quote a geographer—.

Incidentally, that Sara has a delicious figure. When she walks, her hips quiver, they’re like the flanks of a really sleek mare. It’s perfectly splendid. I wonder if she has ever been married. In any case, she doesn’t squeal very loud if you poke her in the ribs, and she would probably be game for anything—. Oh, what a marriage I once witnessed, I might even say attended. Hm. Gentlemen and ladies, it took place on a Sunday evening at a railroad station in Sweden, the Kungsbacka station. I beg you not to forget that it was a Sunday evening. She had large white hands, he a brand-new cadet’s uniform and still no beard, that’s how young he was. They were traveling together from Göteborg—and she was very young, too, they were both mere children. I was observing them from behind my newspaper; they were quite helpless with me being there. They never took their eyes off each other; the girl was bright-eyed and couldn’t sit still. Suddenly the whistle blows for Kungsbacka and he grabs her hand—they understood one another: as soon as the train stopped they promptly jumped off. She runs toward “For women,” he strides after her, at her heels—by God, he makes a mistake, he too steps into “For women”! They quickly shut the door behind them. At that moment the church bells burst out ringing in the center of town, because it was a Sunday evening; their visit was accompanied by a full peal of bells. Three minutes, four minutes, five minutes go by, what has become of them? They’re still in there and the bells keep ringing—God knows whether they won’t be late! Finally he opens the door and peeps out. He is bareheaded, she stands right behind him putting on his cap, he turns to her and smiles. Then he jumps down the steps, followed by her, still fiddling with her dress, and when they reached the train and got back to their seats not a soul had noticed them, no, not a soul except me. The girl’s eyes were perfectly golden when she looked at me and smiled, and her little bosom was bouncing up and down, up and down. A few minutes later they were both asleep; they just faded away, so deliciously tired were they.

What do you think? Gentlemen and ladies, my story has come to an end.