[TRANSLATED.]

INTRODUCTORY LETTER

FROM

BISHOP TEGNÉR TO GEORGE STEPHENS,

Dated Östrabo, April 22, 1839.

        At the time when “Fridthjof: was composed, it was commonly enough believed among the literati of Sweden–and I need only mention Leopold as an example–that what was called the Gothic poetry was, notwithstanding the talent it was admitted had been employed on it, altogether and organically unsuccessful. This poesy, it was asserted, rested for fundamental support on a wildness of manners and opinions and an only partial development of the relations of society, impossible to reconcile with the poetry of present times. the latter was, properly enough, regarded as the daughter of modern civilization, and in her countenance it was that the age recognized, though beautified and idealized, the features of itself. And indeed it is quite true that all poetry must reflect the progress and temperament of its time; but still we find those general human passions and circumstances which must remain unchanged in every period, and may be regarded as the foundation of poetry. Even before this, though with various success, Ling had treated several Northern subjects, for the most part in a dramatic form. It has been observed that his great poetic talent lay more in the lyric than the drama, and that he paints exterior nature far better than the ever changing soul. That the Northern saga can successfully assume the dramatic form is, however, abundantly proved by the tragedies fo Oehlenschläger. It is with pleasure I acknowledge that his “Helge” first gave me the idea of “Fridthjof.”
        It was never my meaning, however, in this poem though such seems to have been the opinion of many simply to versify the saga. The most transient comparison ought to have shown, not only that the whole dénouement is different in the poem and the saga, but also that several of its parts, such as Cantos II, III, V, XV, XXI, XXIII and XXIV, have either little, if any, or at least a very distant ground in the legend. Indeed it is not in this one, but in other Icelandic sagas, that we ought to seek the sources of the incidents I have chosen. My object was to represent a poetical image of the old Northern Hero-Age. It was not Fridthjof, as an individual, whom I would paint; it was the epoch of which he was chosen as the representative. It is true that I preserved, in this respect, the hull and outline of the tradition; but, at the same time, I thought myself entitled to add or to take away, just as was most convenient for my plan. This, as I supposed, was a part of that poetic liberty without which it is impossible to produce any independent treatment of any poetical subject whatsoever.
        In the saga we find much that is high minded and heroic, and which, equally demanding the homage of every period, both could and ought to be preserved. But, at the same time, we meet occasional instances of the raw, the savage, the barbarous, which required to be either altogether taken away or the be considerably softened down. To a certain extent, therefore, it was necessary to modernize; but just the difficulty here was to find the fitting lagom. (1) On the one hand the poem ought not too glaringly to offend our milder opinions and more refined habits; but on the other it was important not to sacrifice the national, the lively, the vigorous and the natural. There could, and ought to, blow through the song that cold winter air, that fresh north wind which characterizes so much both the climate and the temperament of the North. But neither should the storm howl till the very quicksilver froze, and all the more tender emotions of the heart were extinguished.
        It is properly in the bearing of Fridthjof’s character that I have sought the solution of this problem. The noble, the high-minded, the bold–which is the great feature of all heroism–ought not, of course, to be missing there; and materials sufficient abounded both in this and in many sagas. But together with this more general heroism, I have endeavored to invest the character of Fridthjof with something individually Northern–that fresh-living, insolent, daring rashness which belongs, or at least formerly belonged, to the national temperament. Ingeborg says of Fridthjof (Canto VIII),

                How glad, how daring all, how full of hope!
                His good sword pointing to the norn’s own breast,
                “Thou shalt,” saith he, “thou shalt give way!”

        These lines contain the key to Fridthjof’s character, and, in point of fact, to the whole poem. Even the mild, peace-loving, friend-rich old king Ring is not destitute of this great national quality, at least in the manner of his death; and it is for this reason I let him: carve himself with geirs-odd” (2) –undoubtedly a barbarous custom, but still characteristic of the time and the popular manners.
        Another peculiarity common to the people of the North is a certain disposition for melancholy and heaviness of spirit common to all deeper characters. Like some elegiac key-note, its sound pervades all our old national melodies, and generally whatever is expressive in our annals, for it is found in the depths of the nation’s heart. I have somewhere or other said of Bellman, the most national of our poets:

                And mark the touch of gloom his brow o’ershading,
                A northern minstrel-look, a grief in rosy-red!

For this melancholy, so far from opposing the fresh liveliness and cheerful vigor common to the nation, only gives them yet more strength and elasticity. there is a certain kind of life-enjoying gladness (and of this, public opinion has accused the French) which finally reposed on frivolity; that of the North is built on seriousness. And therefore I have also endeavored to develop in Fridthjof somewhat of this meditative gloom. His repentant regret at the unwilling temple-fire, his scrupulous fear of Balder (Canto XV),

                Who sits in you sky, gloomy thoughts sending down;
                Ne’er my soul from their sadness is freed!

and his longing for the final reconciliation and for calm within him, are proofs not only of a religious craving, but also and still more of a natural tendency to sorrowfulness common to every serious mind, at least in the north of Europe.
        I have been reproached (though, I cannot help thinking, without good reason) with having given the love between Fridthjof and Ingeborg, for instance in “The Parting,” too modern and sentimental a cast. As regards this I ought to remark, that reverence for the sex was from the earliest times, long before the introduction of Christianity, a national feature of the German peoples. On this account it was that the light, inconstant and simply sensual view of love which prevailed among the most cultivated nations of antiquity was a thing quite foreign to the habits of the North. Song and saga overflow with the most touching legends of romantic love and faith in the North, long before the spirit of chivalry had made woman the idol of man in the South. The circumstances assumed between Ingeborg and Fridthjof seem to me, therefore, to rest upon sufficient historical ground, if not personally, in the manners and opinions of the age. That delicacy of sentiment with which Ingeborg refused to accompany her lover, and rather sacrificed her inclination than withdrew herself form the authority of her brother and guardian, seems to me to find its reason in the nature of each nobler female, which is the same in every period and in every land.
        The subjective thus contained in the events and characters demanded, or at least permitted, a departure form the usual epic uniformity in their treatment. The most suitable method seemed to me to resolve the epic form into free lyric romances. I had the example of Oehlenschläger, in his “Helge,” before me, and have since found that it has been followed by others. It carries with it the advantage of enabling one to change the metre in accordance with the contents of every separate song. Thus for instance, I doubt whether “Ingeborg’s Lament: (Canto IX) could be given with advantage in any language in hexameters or ten-syllabled iambics, whether rhymed or not. I am well aware that many regard this as opposed to the epic unity, which is, however, so nearly allied to monotony. But I regard this unity as more than sufficiently compensated for by the freer room and fresher changes gained by its abandonment, Just this liberty, however, to be properly employed, requires so much the more thought, understanding and taste; for with every separate piece one must endeavor to find the exactly suitable form, a thing not always ready for one’s hand in the language. It is for this reason that I have attempted (with greater or less success) to imitate several metres, especially from the poets of antiquity. thus the pentameter iambic, hypercatalectic in the third foot (Canto II), the six-footed iambic (Canto XIV), the Aristophanic anapests (Canto XV), the trochaic tetrameter (Canto XVI) and the tragic senarius (Canto XXIV), where little, if at all, heard of in Swedish previous to my attempts.
        As regards the language in itself, the antique subject invited one sometimes to use an archaism, especially where such an expression, without being obscure, seemed to carry with it any particular emphasis. Still this care is at all events lost abroad, and sometimes even at home. It demands, nevertheless, very much prudence. For the great stream of words in a modern poem must, naturally, flow from the language fo the day, although an obsolescent word or two may occasionally be employed.
                                                        Es. Tegnér.