He intimates plainly enough that
Tegner's philosophy of life, in so far as it ignores sin and sorrow,
which are too real to be banished by song, is a hopelessly shallow one.
"The undissolved dissonances," he says, "in the sense in which Mr.
Tegner uses the expression, certainly betray a disease of the soul, but
this disease is not peculiar to a temperament which is fostered by a
personal emotional affinity for lugubrious topics and ideas given by
birth and developed by circumstances; but it is inherent in the weakness
(which at times doubtless surprises even the strongest ...) of desiring
to set up its sorrowful view of the world as a theory, and treat it as
absolutely true and fundamentally valid for all. Sorrow, as such, is no
more a diseased state than is joy; both are alike primordial, necessary,
indispensable elements and halves of human life. Who would venture to
assert that the day might dispense with the night? And does not the
latter's glorious starry sky rival in majesty (though different in kind)
the former's bright and dazzling blitheness?"
The fact was that Tegner's cheery sun-worship was as much temperamental
as was Atterbom's sentimental reveries and nocturnal melancholy.
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