[See Note
below] In August, 1852, rich with the spoils of time, but otherwise poor
indeed, Ibsen made his way back to his duties in Bergen.
[Note: Perhaps no author, during the whole of his career, more deeply
impressed Ibsen with reverence and affection than Johan Ludvig Heiberg
did. When the great Danish poet died (at Bonderup, August 25, 1860),
Ibsen threw on his tomb the characteristic bunch of bitter herbs called
_Til de genlevende_--"To the Survivors," in which he expressed the
faintest appreciation of those who lavished posthumous honor on Heiberg
in Denmark:
In your land a torch he lifted;
With its flame ye scorched his forehead.
How to swing the sword he taught you,
And,--ye plunged it in his bosom.
While he routed trolls of darkness,--
With your shields you tripped and bruised him.
But his glittering star of conquest
Ye must guard, since he has left you:
Try, at least, to keep it shining,
While the thorn-crowned conqueror slumbers.]
CHAPTER III
LIFE IN BERGEN (1852-57)
Ibsen's native biographers have not found much to record, and still less
that deserves to recorded, about his life during the next five years.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71