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cultural resources in henrik ibsen's early environment - Ibsen.net

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garland around the cover<strong>in</strong>g of the past, comfort<strong>in</strong>gly it will promise a<br />

Spr<strong>in</strong>g!<br />

I was very impatient until even<strong>in</strong>g came, when it would become quiet <strong>in</strong> the<br />

pharmacy, and I could br<strong>in</strong>g <strong>Ibsen</strong> the paper. Warmly sympathetic, with a look of triumph<br />

on my friend's behalf I showed him his "first <strong>in</strong> pr<strong>in</strong>t". <strong>Ibsen</strong> first grew completely pale<br />

with emotion, but soon a happy blush flowed up <strong>in</strong> his face, and I am conv<strong>in</strong>ced that later<br />

on he scarcely felt so happy to see his<br />

work pr<strong>in</strong>ted as at this moment - "the first time".<br />

In a poem "When I saw my first <strong>in</strong> pr<strong>in</strong>t" ("Byggeplaner," i.e., "Build<strong>in</strong>g Plans")<br />

he has immortalized this sentiment. The first verse goes like this:<br />

I remember so pla<strong>in</strong>ly, as if it were happen<strong>in</strong>g today, the first time I<br />

saw a poem of m<strong>in</strong>e pr<strong>in</strong>ted <strong>in</strong> the newspaper; I sat <strong>in</strong> my room and<br />

smoked my pipe with puff<strong>in</strong>g drags <strong>in</strong> blissful self-satisfaction.<br />

Somewhat later <strong>Ibsen</strong> also wrote a poem on the occasion of Oehlenschläger's<br />

death, entitled "Skald <strong>in</strong> Valhalla" (“Skjalden i Valhal”). It was an enthusiastic tribute to<br />

the departed poet, who is welcomed by the valkyries and offered mead from a dr<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g<br />

horn. I sent that as well to Christiania-posten, where it was immediately given a place <strong>in</strong><br />

its columns. After this experience my <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> this new friend naturally <strong>in</strong>creased<br />

substantially. But we preserved as a deep secret <strong>in</strong> our comradeship, that <strong>Ibsen</strong> wrote<br />

poetry of that k<strong>in</strong>d.<br />

IBSEN IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS<br />

398

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