The memoirs of a wise old man
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I used to be a very wise old man.
Now I am not quite right; you may even consider me not to exist at all. But there was a time when any one of you would have come to me and, whatever burden may have oppressed a person, whatever sins may have tormented his thoughts, I would have embraced him and said: - My son, take comfort, for no burden is oppressing you and I see no bodily sins in you - and he would scamper away from me in happiness and joy.
I was great and strong. People who meet me on the street would shy to one side and I would pass through a crowd like a flat iron.
My feet would often be kissed, but I didn't protest: I knew I deserved it. Why deprive people of the pleasure of honouring me? I myself, being extraordinarily lithe of body, even
