the Phoenix of life supplies itself anew with | Our Lord made himself so eighteen hundred stronger, with more beautiful wings. years ago. Thus has the philosophical consciousness of the North adopted the primitive understanding of life peculiar to the North, that which is expressed in the myth of the life of the gods and heroes in Valhalla, in which every day is a combat, but combat a sport, and every night a feast of victory. "The Letters of Gabriel," have the same relationship to Sibbern's Pathology that the flower has to the fruit. And he who becomes acquainted with the author of these works cannot but wish that he would continue the Letters of Gabriel, and show us in a complete biography how suffering and combat may produce fruit in life and in science; how the noble enthusiast may become a wise man; how the suffering youth may change into the most happy and amiable of old men. But it is not Sibbern alone-it is all the great minds of Denmark at the time who pay homage to this philosophy of life. And if you inquire of this from those young men with silvery locks, Mynster, Grundtvig, the brothers Oersted, Sibbern, Ingemann, all so different in minds, in science and in genius, you would hear them all acknowledge the same views of life; hear them all express words which make it a pleasure to live-nay even to suffer. You will perceive in them that the race of "Yenglinger" is not extinct that it lives still on in the North. The theologian philosopher, H. MARTENSEN, is in eminent meaning a spiritual sower. Young yet, and in the prime of his mental powers, he scatters around him through his living word, and through his philosophical writings, (highly prized in Sweden and Germany, as well as in Denmark,) the seeds of a new development of religious life in the church and in science, and this through a profounder understanding of its being, through the explication of the life of faith by the life of reason, through the union of the deep feeling with the logical intellect. In his Systematic Exposition of the Christian Doctrine," which is shortly expected from the press, a full statement of his views is looked for. By what is known of these views, from the works he has already published, it is hoped that they will lead to a new birth in the life of the Church, in great and in small, in the state and in the solitary heart. The extraordinary clearness and distinctness with which this richly-gifted mind can set forth in words the most profound speculative philosophy, together with his interesting and genial mode of expression, make him a popular writer. In his Systematic Exposition of Christian Doctrine we expect to find a work not alone for the learned. It is high time that theology is made popular. 66 Whilst Martensen with his wealth of genius casts from his central position light upon every sphere of existence, upon all the phenomena of life, SÖREN KIERKEGAARD stands like another Simon Stylites upon his solitary column, with his eye unchangeably fixed upon one point. Upon this he places his microscope and examines its minutest atoms; scrutinizes its most fleeting movements; its innermost changes; upon this he lectures, upon this he writes, again and again, infinite volumes. Everything exists for him in this one point. But this point is the human heart; and as he ever reflects this changing heart in the eternal, unchangeable, in that "which became flesh and dwelt amongst us," and as he amidst his wearisome logical wanderings often says divine things, he has found in the gay, lively Copenhagen not a small public, and that principally of ladies. The philosophy of the heart must be near to them. Of the philosopher who treats on this subject, people say good and bad, and-wonderful things. Solitary lives he who wrote for the solitary," inaccessible and in fact known by no one. During the day, he may be seen passing up and down the most crowded streets of Copenhagen, in the midst of the throng, and by night light is seen to shine within his solitary house. Rich, independent, he appears to be rather of a jaundiced and irritable temper, which will quarrel with the sun if it shines otherwise than as he wished. For the rest, in him is seen something of that metamorphosis of which he likes to write, which he has experienced in himself, and which has led him from a sceptical waverer, through sorrow and trembling "to the hill of light from which he now expatiates with inexhaustible power upon "the gospel of suffering," upon "deeds of love," and "the inner mysteries of life." Sören Kierkegaard belongs to those few, introverted characters, who have been met with from the remotest times in the North, though oftener in Sweden than in Denmark, and it is to his kindred spirits that he talks about the sphinx in the human breast; that silent, enigmatical, above all, mighty heart. From the problem of the inner life we will now pass to the outer, to that which the great struggle of the day is endeavouring to solve. There appears to be a gulf between these, but we do not regard it as such, and we will cast some light upon that. In political development the Scandinavian North does not stand behind, but rather takes "To the solitary souls" is the only dedication which Sören Kierkegaard prefixed to his "Instructive Tales.” precedence of the lively South. The freedom of mistake that natural needful aristocracy which is founded by the ordination of the Creator, which consists in a true superiority, above all, in that which the human being acquires for himself by ability and virtue. Does not the prophetic Iduna stand in the circle of the northern gods, goddess alike of youth and piety, bearing with her the fruit of renovation, that fruit without which the gods themselves must become old? the people is an old idea up in the North. Its sovereignty was first acknowledged in Sweden, later in Norway, latest in Denmark, but there it is now most supreme. The political evolution which, without revolution, has lately occurred in Denmark, and which has changed the government from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy based on democratic principles, has, nevertheless, roots which strike back into remote times. And it may be said that the The authority of the people-that is in reality absolute monarch, Frederick the Third, com- the aim for which the people are striving, an menced the enfranchisement of the people, aim far higher and nobler than that of earthly which, continued by Frederick the Sixth, was prosperity. The people, the nation, must come completed under the reign of Frederick the to majority, must become of age, as well as the Seventh. This was accomplished unanimously individual-they must by free will alone, withby king and people, in a moment of great out-out outward compulsory power, know how to ward danger, when the country was attacked by a powerful enemy. Then did king and people join together and stand as one man, ready to offer up goods and life for the common fatherland-for the right and honour of Denmark. This great movement, which still swells in the heart of the people, has given a strong impulse to the highest moral and political development, and a new strength to monarchy in the North. The spirit of freedom has called forth even here some of those darker phenomena which have gloomed and retarded the advance of freedom in other countries. The strife between gods and giants still goes forward in this day. Which shall become the conqueror? We look back with hope to the oldest history of the North, to that prophecy which is contained in the first appearance of the first settlers in the North under the peaceful guidance of Asarna, and to the voluntary homage paid by the people to their superior wisdom. We look upon the great rising middle class which daily grows in the North by additions from the aristocratic order as well as from the artisan classes, who make labour their honour, and the noblest humanity the object of their education. We behold an emancipation, in the best sense of the word, which raises more and more the subjected classes, and levels the separating barriers of rank and fashion. Lastly, we look with confidence upon the oldest sanctuary of the North, on domestic life, and on home. We see the home as it was formerly in the North, a "holy room," unspoiled by the storms either of times or seasons, as it was of old, and more than of old, a home for the divine powers of truth, of fidelity, of selfsacrificing love. We see the sacrificial hearth stand in the home, and the altar in the church in the northern land; and upon these we build our trust, that here the development of freedom will become mighty without its counter-balancing evil, and that here the people will not determine its destiny. But powerful is no one, and great is no one in the last instance, who does not acquire rule over (the word must be spoken, for a truer cannot be found) his own sinful heart. The kindred people of the North seem to be called upon by character and history, as well as by the development of the nations, to set an example to other people by a noble, a powerful, and an independent life. The spring approaches. It seems as if it this year would come early in the North. Nature comes forth to her festival of gladness. Shall human beings advance against each other in the work of destruction? That is the question of the day. In Denmark they are arming for war, and above the blue waters of the Sound floats the purple-red flag of the ships of war— floats" Dannebrog," (the national flag.) We acknowledge that all our sympathies are for this beautiful land, for the amiable people here, for the nation of faithful subjects, of oppressed peasants, who from Schleswig call on the mother-country for help, and who, as in the peasant Lorenz Skow, find an interpreter possessed of the most fervid eloquence. We have already referred to the silent work of peace which is going forward here, and which is preparing a future for Denmark over which war and death cannot have any real power. Peaceful and fruitful seasons, good rulers and statesmen have, during the last thirty years, made the land rich and happy.* Little Denmark is for the present one of the most flourishing and best governed states in Europe. The sense of this increases the naturally buoyant and sanguine temper of the *As one of the remarkable statesmen ought to be mentioned Professor David, an industrious improver of prisons and prison discipline in this country. The active educational spirit in the country, and the great demand to which it has led for knowledge and ability, has conduced very much to the formation of a distinguished class of officials who now contribute greatly to the strength of the nation. people. Nothing can be a stronger proof of this than the life which prevailed recently in Copenhagen, just at the conclusion of one war, and when another was threatening to break out. At no time had the genius of the poets and the authors been more productive; at no time has the public been more receptive, more inclined to read, or more interested by poetry and romance, and never, for many years, has the exhibition of the Academy of Pictures displayed such an affluence of remarkable works. Neither were purchasers of these wanting, although contributions remained undiminished for the aid of those who had suffered by the war, and for other good works. "Denmark," say the Danes, "is a good little fellow." True; then he has at the same time a warm heart and a full purse. And thus stands he undaunted, ready for war as for peace. War!-we will not believe it. It seems almost irrational that at the present day war, bloody war should arise between two highly cultivated nations; it seems almost an injustice to them to believe that they could not settle a dispute without blows; that they could not come to an amicable arrangement of their differences. It seems to those who are quietly looking on, as if people had now something better to do than to kill one another; as if the time was come when the spirits of the people, like the heroes around King Arthur's table, might come together as into a great castle-hall, to tell one another their legends and fairy tales-and Holger, the Dane, knows wonderful ones;-to entertain one another, to drink together in peace and goodfellowship, and to wrestle and strive together on their hills in the glorious combat of mind. And have they not already begun to do so? Have not the people of the earth within the last few years visited one another by the paths of mind, on the wings of steam; kindly entertained by each other; delighted by each other's wealth, and enriched thereby? The Scandinavian people have done this among themselves in a still deeper sense than any other nations. They have in consequence of this new acquaintance, acknowledged each other as brethren. And the feeling of that union, for which they were formed both by nature and spirit, has now become too strong for any outward accidental circumstance to destroy. It is a union of heart and intelligence, a spiritual bond out of which ascends for the future a lofty and glorious life in the North. CHAPTER VI. WE here intended to conclude, and we ought perhaps to have done so, but we could not. We find ourselves prevented by many little magical beings which despotically seize upon our imagination and our heart, and compel us to pay attention to them. And they are right. We began by speaking of the neglected, the least happily circumstanced children in Denmark, we ought not to end without saying a few words about the fortunate little ones, the many who are guarded by the tenderness of parents, whom the sun of fortune shines upon, about the most beautiful buds in the tree of Denmark's future. They are too loveable for us not to observe them nearer for a moment. And that can easily be done if you walk into the neighbourhood of the King's New Market, or into the royal garden at the Castle of Rosenberg, where the little boy of marble rides in such wild merriment on the swan, and, as in terror, or in very joyfulness, throws up six beautiful water-jets which, clear as crystal, glitter in the sun. There you may see many of the little ones with their "gold nurses," peasant women from Hedebo, with their broad-bordered green petticoats and broad ribbons, red or black, hanging from their necks a long way down their backs. And what backs!-so broad and stately! One can really put confidence in these women only by looking at their backs, and when we see their countenances, bearing the stamp of health and honesty, one is confirmed in one's opinion. These women must have been made on purpose to have the care of children. But it was about the little ones I was going to speak; about the pretty, friendly, elegant little ones, the most lovely Danish children. Describe them I cannot, neither portray them, which is a pity. But more lovely children I never saw, neither in Sweden nor Norway, England nor France, Switzerland nor Holland. Yes, I am certain of this, that they would-if it came to the trial-captivate even Germany! CHAPTER VII. Spring is now in full bloom and advances towards midsummer. The islands of Denmark have put on their glorious attire. The beech woods murmur by the blue creeks. The groves are become vocal; the stork has arrived; the meadows are in bloom; the golden locks of the laburnum wave in the wind. But there arises no joyful sound of human voices from the friendly islands. Tears, bitter tears, the tears of mothers, wives, and brides, fall upon the beautiful, flower-clad earth. Alas! war has again broke out and many of the sons of the country, have fallen and still fall in the hopeless combat against a conquering, superior force. A little band of men stand fighting against a host which is composed of their own number many times multiplied; one million against thirty millions. How can there be any hope? And yet-wonderful, but true, there is no doubt, no despondency in that little band. Such firm faith have they in their own righteous cause, and in the righteous arbitrator of the people's fate. Nothing can more truly characterize the temper and the disposition of the Danish people, than the effect which has been produced by that unfortunate affair at Eckernförde. The tidings of this reached Copenhagen on Easter Eve. What a murmur of sorrowful terror there was that evening in the city, especially in the neighbourhood of the post-house. Sorrow and amazement was upon every countenance. People talked to each other without the ceremony of introduction, high and low communicated to each other what they had heard, what they knew, and what they thought, and wept together. It was as if every family had lost a child. On Easter Sunday people streamed into the churches. The preachers spoke publicly from the pulpits of the great misfortune which had occurred, lamenting, comforting, and encouraging. The immortal theme of death and resurrection had a new and an irresistible significance. The people listened and wept. It was like a day of lamentation in Israel. The misfortune of the fatherland was the misfortune of every individual. The blow which had struck the maritime power of Denmark, struck the silent pride and hope of every heart. I saw young girls shed tears, not for the fallen-not for the dead, but for "our banner, for Dannebrog!" That was Easter Sunday. On Easter Monday it was silent in the gay Copenhagen. The theatres were closed; the people spoke in whispers; nothing was to be heard but sighs and talking of broken hearts, dying wives, and brides! That was the second day. On the third, life again raised itself with strength. Volunteer sailors came forwards by hundreds, came singing, and offering themselves in place of those, who at Eckernförde had fallen either by death or into the hands of the enemy. Contributions of money poured in from all sides, for a new preparation for war; for the families of the killed and wounded. The rich gave abundantly of their wealth; the poor widow gave her mite, and the mothers, beautiful to say-encouraged their sons to go and fight for the fatherland. A few days later, and the public mind was again calm and collected, and the theatres were again full of people. But all hearts, all noble feelings seemed to have opened their fountains for a more abundant flow. The Danish people were now only one great family, who in the day of sorrow drew nearer together to comfort and to support each other. We will here permit ourselves to introduce a little incident which will show the feeling of those days. Among the many who were named in the newspapers as having fallen at Eckenförde, was a young man who had not fallen, and who having saved himself in an almost miraculous manner, had now returned unexpectedly to his home in Copenhagen. His mother and his sisters sat in their all at once, the lost son and brother stood mourning, which they had just prepared, when amongst them! The mother must have died of joy at this moment, but for a strong secret persuasion which had filled her mind that her son lived, and thus she was prepared for this surprise. The news of this circumstance went like wild-fire through Copenhagen. People rushed from house to house, to the coffeehouses, and to the news-rooms to announce it. All were glad; all rejoiced as if they had recovered a lost brother. Tears of joy and sympathy fell from many eyes. People began to and return. Strangers to the happy family hope that other fallen ones might likewise arise hastened to them to express their joy and their sympathy and to embrace him who had returned. The whole city was one family of love. Days, weeks, months have passed since this, and the war continues; aspects grow dark, and the foe goes on conquering. But calm and firm stands the little nation, determined to dare their utmost, and to fight to the last drop of blood. There is now no song of rejoicing upon the beautiful islands, neither is there any lamentation. They make themselves ready for new efforts and for new sacrifices. There is a strong will, a great courage, and a great patience in the Danish people at this time. No one can see it without emotion and without admiration. And therefore Friendly islands, enchanting islands, whether tears still longer fall upon your soil, whether the enemy shall suck your marrow, and the trial become still severer, friendly islands, lovely islands, blessed are you still! There is an honour, a victory, an immortality which every people as well as every man can acquire for himself, even when apparently he is borne down by an outward, superior force. And therefore-tears of Denmark's daughters fall, fall still if it must be so! The soil which you water is the soil of the hero, and the noble sorrow is the mother of a noble joy. You shall live to see that which has been sown in bitterness bearing the sheaves of a noble harvest, and your beloved Dannebrog waving in joy over the waters of Denmark, over the great victory over the insurgents at Fredericia blue billows! on the 5th of July. When the life of a people is what it is here at this time, then awakes its genius, then is it near at hand with a saving power. The genius of Denmark has said it: When life blooms forth in the heart of the Dane, And the poets sing my praises. My name is known to the toiling hind, I live in the soul of the nation. As in Denmark's ancient story.* I had hardly written the foregoing lines, (July 7th, 1849,) when resounded through Copenhagen the glad tidings of Denmark's Holger the Dane, by B. S. Ingemann. If ever a people deserved victory, it was the Danes at that time, from the manner in which they had borne adversity, and then received victory. At that moment, joy was counterbalanced by sorrow for the many fallen. All trembled for their beloved. The death of the brave General Ryes was universally deplored. But well for him! The 5th of July was his birthday. "I intend to celebrate this day in a remarkable manner," wrote he shortly before to his wife, "whether it bring me victory, or whether I remain on the field of battle." It was on the 5th of July that he won a victory and died the death of a hero, at the moment when, after having had two horses shot under him, he again, on foot, led the assault against the enemy's battery, calling to his troops, "Nay, my children! There is no talking of a retreat to-day!" And he went forth to death and to immortality! Hail to the brave man! Hail to his people! HEROIC exile! why forsake KOSSUTH. BY MARGARET Thy dear Hungaria's cherished sod, Which ever precedence did take In thy warm bosom, next to God? How couldst thou leave those verdant plains, A worn and broken-hearted man? Ask Russia, why?-and she may turn To her base hordes, and baser gold, And taunt thee with the thought thou'lt spurn- A nation's tears could move her not, Yet England could forbear to rush Was perishing within her view! To drive the oppressors back again? And answer with consuming shame,- JUNKIN. Which, but for her, had blazed once more, A rival light on Tiber's shore ! Thy glorious dream is broken! All The thousand aims, and hopes, and fears, That started at thy country's call, And filled thy lofty soul for years,— Must pass away! Thou didst thy part Like Freedom's hero,-nobly well, With thy compatriots, heart to heart Sustaining,-yet Hungaria fell! And thou the tyrant's wrath must brave, Or elsewhere seek a home and grave. Come to our country's yearning breast; Its flood of tenderness on thee;And she will own, that pride can fill Her aged eye with transports still! Come with thy precious household band, Where find so fit a place of rest, "My poor, true-hearted wife, my children, and my noble old mother, are wandering about Hungary."-Kos suth's Letter to Lord Palmerston. |