That is the young Norway. I see them on
the streets occasionally. They stalk past me as poets should stalk past
ordinary people. They are brimful of new intentions, new fashions. They
are fragrant with perfume--in brief, there is nothing lacking. When they
show up everybody else is mute: 'Silence! The poet speaks.' The papers are
able to inform their readers that Paulsberg is on a trip to Honefos. In a
word--"
But this was too much for Gregersen. He himself had written the news notes
about Paulsberg's trip to Honefos. He shouted:
"But you have the most infernal way of saying insolent things! You look as
if you were saying nothing of consequence--"
"I simply cannot understand why you lose your temper," said Milde
tranquilly, "when Paulsberg himself told us to grin and bear it!"
Pause.
"In a word," resumed Coldevin, "the people do their duty, the papers do
their duty. Our authors are not ordinary, readable talents; no, they are
flaming pillars of fire; they are being translated into German! They
assume dimensions. This, of course, can be repeated so often that people
at last believe it; but such a self-delusion is very harmful.
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