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It was coloured by modern ideas; it was first
socialistic, then nihilistic, and tended finally to a
general dissolution of society. It had besides a fin
de siècle flavouring of Satanism and decadence.
The head of that party, the most conspicuous of
their champions, a friend of mine, whom I have
not seen for three years, pays me a visit. Dressed
like myself in a monkish-looking mantle of a
grey colour, grown old, lean, with melancholy
aspect, he shows his history in his face.
“You also?” I ask him.
“Yes! It is all up with us.”
On my inviting him to take a glass of wine,
he declares himself a teetotaller.
“How are the ‘Old Boys’?” I ask.
“Dead, come croppers, turned into Philistines
and steady members of society.”
“It is a case of Canossa, then!”
“Canossa all along the line.”
“Then it is Providence Itself which has
brought me here.”
“Providence! That is the right word.”
“Do they know the ‘powers’ in Lund?”
“The ‘powers’ are preparing to return.”
“Do people sleep well here?”
“No; they complain of nightmares, constrictions
of the breast and heart.”
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