BOOKS.

FREDERIK PALUDAN-MtiLLER.*

WHEN Jens Paludan-Miiller, the venerable Bishop of Aarhuus, fell asleep at a good old age, be had the satisfaction of leaving behind him three excellent sons, who have revived and exalted his memory. One of them is the greatest living historian and another the greatest living poet of Denmark, and in the bands of such men there is no fear that the brave old Bishop's name will be forgotten. It was when the latter was priest at Kjerte- minde, in Funen, that his poet-son, Frederik, was born, in 1809, just four years after his most eminent contemporary, H. C. Andersen, another native of Funen. The lives of these two poets have been curiously interwoven ; in the first place, the younger went to school at Odense a few months after Andersen—poor little forlorn adventurer that he was—left that city for the capital, and ever since their orbits have crossed one another at intervals. The life of Paludan-Miiller is simply a catalogue of his works. His best period of production began in 1833, when be published a fine poem, Dandserinden, "The Dancer," and cul- minated in 1841, when he came back from a long Continental ramble with Venus in MS., and Adam Homo taking shape in his brain. Adam Homo, which appeared at intervals from 1841 to 1848, marked an epoch in the history of Danish literature. It is an epic of Danish life, witty and satiric, paphetio and tender, full of bright fancy and a lofty philosophy. From this time Paludan-Miiller's name became illustrious over the whole North of Europe, but to us in England he has remained a name, and nothing more, for unfortunately, the only book of his which has been translated into our language, Unydomskilden, "The Fountain of Youth," is the least characteristic of all his works.

The volume which lies before us, and which has suggested these

* Sex Digte, At Fr. Faludan-MtIller. Tredie Udgare. Copenhagen : 1872. remarks, is an edition of six of the poet's best later pieces, none actually unprinted before, but now first collected in a compact form. Like Tennyson, Paludan-Miiller incessantly touches up

his text, but in a note at the end of this book he announces that these poems are now finished, and one may look at this as a con- tribution to what will eventually become a standard edition of his- works.

Nearly half of this thick volume is occupied by the lyrical tragedy of Kalanus, a poem first published in 1857, and the top- stone of Paludan-Miiller's poetical monument. This drama, per- haps the greatest work of modern-Danish art, has never yet been described or quoted from in England, to the best of our knowledge,

and we therefore think it will be not uninteresting to give an analysis of its contents.

The scene is laid far back in heroic times, when the great presence of Alexander overshadowed the ancient world, and the story of his patience, and his labour, and his glory was in the mouth of all men living. Kalanus, an Indian, born by the Ganges,.

and brought up in a temple of Brame, has been living in the hills near the sources of the Indus, as a solitary mystic, worshipping the Invisible Unity whom men call Brame. Day after day, kneeling by the river-side among the palms, he has prayed ancl longed for a manifestation of the incarnate Godhead. Born about the same time as the son of Philip of Macedon, his life has been spent in the silence of unbroken devotion, tended by his old: mother and a faithful slave. Meanwhile, Alexander has driven like a tempest through the world, achieving the ultimate possible- aim of an active sensuous nature. To Kalanus in his mystical ex- istence of almost supernatural calm comes the glorious Alexander, sailing up the Indus with his fleet ; the mystic had been praying

most importunately for the divine vision :—

"There by the prow I saw him stand, With helmlesa hair, and like the morning sun! His lotus-eyes flashed beams of radiance round! For ever all my heart and soul are his!"

In absolute faith that this is Brama, he forces himself into- Alexander's presence. The conqueror, pleased with his enthusi- asm, invites him to join his train, and forthwith Kalanus, his old mother, and all their small possessions, are moving with the Greek army in its westward retreat. The first important halt is at Pasargad, in Persia, and here the play opens and continues to- the end.

The first act begins with a fine symphony that strikes the key- note of the whole play at once. Kalanus and his mother are saluting the rising sun with their song of morning prayer, that their pure souls may rise with his into the ethereal kingdom of the Truth, losing body and sense in the perfection of the soul. This- is the day on which Kalanus is to have audience of Alexander, and he counts the hours till the splendid moment shall arrive. Sankara, his mother, who knows nothing of his conviction, is troubled by his sudden passion for the Great King, and asks its cause. "Why," she asks, "is the clear flame of thy devotion, which. no wind could move, now become a quivering tongue of unsteady fire? Has the sight of one man so changed thee?" Then he unfolds to her his new-born faith, that this hero, that man called Alex- ander, is no other than the universal Brama made flesh to visit humanity. To his dazzled and inexperienced imagination all things seem to point to this one goal, and his intensity easily wins Sankara to his view. Most subtly is the growth of this new faith, born of desire and introspection, and fed by distance from its- object, sketched by the poet in Kellum& confession to his mother ; we are won into love and respect for the mild mystic at once, and the dreamier his speculations are, the- more musical is his expression of them. Passing over some side-scenes of great interest, we move on to the meeting of Kalanus and Alexander. The Indian approaches the palace as if it were a sanctuary, but his soul has no fear of the divinity ; all his nature is absorbed in that pure love that casts out fear ; he will at last wind his frail hmnanity round the omnipotent deity, as the ivy curls round the straight stein of the cocoa-palm. Alexander meets him with the light patronage of an emperor at his ease, rallying Kalanus good-naturedly on his reticence and' gloom, but saying nothing so obviously mortal as to shake the Indian in his confidence. Presently the conversation turns on those questions of divine ethics which are nearest to the heart of Kalanus. The reticence of the mystic melts in the fiery heat of his own ecstasy, and pours itself along the channels of Alexander's activities and aims, so strange to him. His soul overflows with the- sudden accession of new thoughts and new desires, and the King, becoming deeply interested in his impassioned admirer, adopts

a seriousness unusual to him, and exerts his great and masculine intelligence in presenting new ideas of energetic action to the passive Indian. The soul of Kalanus, in his own esteem, now first wakes into full bloom of thought ; this one interview with the divine though concealed Brama has effected it,—

" As in my country, after one night's rain,

The desert blossoms with a million flowers," —and he throws himself into the dust in adoration.

The beginning of the next act is occupied with the humours of two Greek philosophers, Mopsos, a sensual atheist and scoffer ; Pyrrhon, a troubled doubter, who argue and after a while com- bine to cross-question Kalanus and to trouble his pure soul, unused to such a spirit of false philosophy. To Mopsos the enthusiasm of Kalanus for the King is merely the cringing of a toady ; to Pyrrhon, it is a mystery of genuine belief almost in- credible in its novelty. Alexander and Hephiestion join the three, and Kalanus once more basks in the sunlight of Brama's supposed presence. All minor vexations are lost in the joys of adoration. The progress of this long scene is in the highest degree masterly ; the five characters are drawn with a firm and vigorous hand, and the interest, though of a purely intellectual character, is sustained And heightened to the end. Kalanus, whose utterances during his season of complete conviction were conspicuous for harmony, be- -comes more and more fragmentary and discordant as Alexander, in the easy neighbourhood of friends, slips into a frivolous vein of badinage that is most unlike the spirit of Brama. As the wine heats his brain, Alexander becomes still more jocose, and orders Kalanus to dispute with Mopsos on philosophical questions; the Indian, struggling against his own dejection, obeys. The selfish scepticism of Mopsos is reproved by the sublime mysticism of his opponent, who proclaims that the ultimate desire of the soul is to be absorbed into the Eternal,— "Returning like a drop of dew, and lost

In that great fountain-ocean whence it came."

As this great idea, new to all the scoffing Greeks, is being dis- -cussed and ridiculed, the doors burst open, and the whole changes into one of those splendid scenes of glowing, sensuous colour, in painting which Paludan-Miiller shows a singular delight. A -chorus of girls, led by two of the most distinguished hetairai of the time, all garlanded, and singing to the music of stringed instruments, rush into the palace. No one heeds Kalanus, who has risen behind Alexander, and stands there rigid and pale with passion. There follows some exquisite choral writing, and at last "Thais, pouring out her soul into a lyric that is like a "god's voice hidden in a bird," throws her lute aside and flings herself into the arms of Alexander. But before she can reach her royal lover, Kalanus is between them, with a knife, ready to sacrifice the impious nymph. The King angrily brushes him aside, Thais rushes to embrace Alexander, and the whole company, singing and shouting, leave the palace to seek fresh revels elsewhere. Kalanus is left alone, a dying priest in a polluted shrine ; the god be has been worshipping proved to be a mere man, the slave of wine and women, tossed about by vulgar and ungodlike passions. Ile departs in unutterable sorrow.

In the third act, Alexander, repenting of his folly under the

-exhaustion of the morning after the revel, is troubled at the absence of Kalanus, and learning that a pyre is being built on which it is reported that the Indian is about to destroy himself, he supposes that the cause of Kalanus's despair is his own harshness, and starts in person to reassure him of favour. In a later act Sankara and her son are discovered in their hut, and Kalanus is sleeping. He wakes calm and quiet, but when Sankara attempts to dissuade him from self-immolation, his purpose is shown to be firm and absolute, and again she gives way before his more powerful will. But in his sleep he has had a glorious vision of Brama, and his fancy is no longer haunted by the desire of an anthropomorphic revelation of the Godhead, but is securely content to pass into the splendour of -a Presence whose form and fashion he knows not, but which he trusts in with an infinite repose. This vision of glory, and a clearer intellectual perception of the mystery of divine things, lift him above all mundane hopes and feals. His mother leaves him to prepare the bath of purification, and Alexander enters, address- ing Kalanus with gracious courtesy. To the conqueror's intense surprise, he finds, instead of a suppliant, broken-hearted at his feet, a calm and resolute opponent. Alexander assures him of his friendship, takes for granted that this report of a funeral pyre is untrue, commands, entreats, at last kneels to him for a promise to save his own life, storms at him with sudden passion, entreats -again, but to no avail. Kalanus stands outside the magic ring, and in the power of his parity is stronger of will than the world's master. This is one of the most powerful scenes in the poem. 'Tired out with his efforts, Alexander leaves him at last, swearing to prevent his purpose with physical force. But here also the mystic's will is stronger than the King's, and in the last act Alex- ander sanctions the burning of Kalanus. The philosopher ap- proaches his own fiery tomb with a solemn elation, a sublime joy. Dismissing the troops, casting aside the adornments that Alex- ander has sent to do him honour, he gathers his own countrymen about him, mounts the pyre, and in the midst of a choral invoca- tion to the spirit of Brame, expires, his soul rising to the skies like wine poured out into the fire. The chorus around proclaim his absorption into the Universal Oneness that is spirit and light.

Such is Kalanus, a sublime work, conceived in a bold and original spirit, and carried out with the broad and full execution of a great master in the prime of his powers. To explain why we consider it a greater work than Adam Rome, usually quoted as Paludan-Miiller's master-piece, would take too long, and would scarcely interest any but Danish readers.