His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music!
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music!
Warner - World's Best Literature - v03 - Bag to Ber
1757 (#555) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1757
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN
0"
HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802,
H! YE who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and
misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you
know the secret cause of what appears thus to you! My
heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to the most ten-
der feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish
something great. But you must remember that six years ago I
was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskillful
physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief,
and at length forced to the conviction of a lasting affliction (the
cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove
impracticable).
Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly sus-
ceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in
life to isolate myself, and to pass my existence in solitude. If I
at any time resolved to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I
again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defect-
ive hearing ! - and yet I found it impossible to say to others:
Speak louder, shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim
the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect
with me than with other men - a sense which I once possessed
in the highest perfection, to an extent indeed that few of my
profession ever enjoyed! Alas! I cannot do this! Forgive me
therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I
would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from
causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recrea-
tion in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual out-
pourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society
when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile.
I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread
of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It
was the same during the last six months I spent in the country.
My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing
as much as possible, which was quite in accordance with my
present disposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural
inclination for society, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it.
But what humiliation when any one beside me heard a flute in
the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a
In company
## p. 1758 (#556) ###########################################
1758
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought
me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused me to put
an end to my life. drt! art alone, deterred me. Ah! how
could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I
felt it was my vocation to produce? And thus I spared this
miserable life—so utterly miserable that any sudden change may
reduce me at any moment from my best condition into the worst.
It is decreed that I must now choose Patience for my guide!
This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail me, stead-
fastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut
the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not.
I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a philosopher
in my twenty-eighth year! This is no slight trial, and more
severe on an artist than on any one else.
God looks into my
heart, he searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of
benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day
read this, think that you have done me injustice; and let any
one similarly afflicted be consoled by finding one like himself,
who, in defiance of all the obstacles of nature, has done all in
his power to be included in the ranks of estimable artists and
men. My brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am no more,
if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to
describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis of
my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be
reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both
heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly,
agree together and assist each other. You know that anything
you did to give me pain has been long forgiven. I thank you,
my brother Carl in particular, for the attachment you have shown
me of late. My wish is that you may enjoy a happier life, and
one more free from care than mine has been. Recommend l'irtue
to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can insure happiness.
I speak from experience. It was l'irtue alone which sustained
me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having
ended my life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I grate-
fully thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and
Professor Schmidt. I wish one of you to keep Prince L-'s
instruments; but I trust this will give rise to no dissension
between you.
If you think it more beneficial, however, you have
only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I can serve
you even in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to meet
## p. 1759 (#557) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1759
Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of de-
veloping all my artistic powers, then, notwithstanding my cruel
fate, he will come too early for me, and I should wish for him
at a more distant period; but even then I shall be content, for
his advent will release me from a state of endless suffering.
Come when he may, I shall meet him with courage. Farewell!
Do not quite forget me, even in death: I deserve this from you,
because during my life I so often thought of you, and wished to
make you happy. Amen!
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
[Written on the outside. ]
Thus, then, I take leave of you, and with sadness too. The
fond hope I brought with me here, of being to a certain degree
cured, now utterly forsakes me. As autumn leaves fall and
wither, so are my hopes blighted. Almost as I came, I depart.
Even the lofty courage that so often animated me in the lovely
days of summer is gone forever. 0 Providence! vouchsafe me
one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from
the glad echo of true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again
feel it in the temple of nature and of man? — never? Ah! that
would be too hard!
To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl
and Johann.
TO THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HIGH COURT OF APPEAL
T"
JANUARY 7th, 1820.
He welfare of my nephew is dearer to my heart than it can
be to anyone else. I am myself childless, and have no
relations except this boy, who is full of talent, and I have
good grounds to hope the best for him, if properly trained.
My efforts and wishes have no other aim than to give the boy
the best possible education — his abilities justifying the brightest
hopes — and to fulfill the trust placed in my brotherly love by
his father. The shoot is still flexible; but if longer neglected it
will become crooked and outgrow the gardener's training hand,
## p. 1760 (#558) ###########################################
1760
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
and upright bearing, intellect, and character be destroyed for
ever.
I know no duty more sacred than the education and training
of a child. The chief duties of a guardian consist in knowing
how to appreciate what is good, and in adopting a right course;
then alone has proper attention been devoted to the welfare of
his ward, whereas in opposing what is good he neglects his duty.
Indeed, keeping in view what is most for the benefit of the
boy, I do not object to the mother in so far sharing in the duties
of a guardian, that she may visit her son, and see him, and be
apprised of all the measures adopted for his education; but to
intrust her with his sole guardianship without a strict guardian
by her side would cause the irretrievable ruin of her son.
On these cogent grounds I reiterate my well-founded solicita-
tion, and feel the more confident of a favorable answer, as the
welfare of my nephew alone guides my steps in this affair.
TO BARONESS VON DROSSDICK
I
LIVE in entire quiet and solitude; and even though occasional
flashes of light arouse me, still since you all left, I feel
a hopeless void which even my art, usually so faithful to me,
has not yet triumphed over. Your pianoforte is ordered, and
you
shall soon have it. What a difference you must have dis-
covered between the treatment of the Theme I extemporized on
the other evening, and the mode in which I have recently writ-
ten it out for you! You must explain this yourself, only do not
find the solution in the punch! How happy you are to get
away so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy this luxury till the
8th. I look forward to it with the delight of a child. What
happiness I shall feel in wandering among groves and woods, and
among trees and plants and rocks! No man on earth can love
the country as I do! Thickets, trees, and rocks supply the echo
man longs for!
## p. 1761 (#559) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1761
M
TO ZMESKALL
1811.
Ost high-born of men!
We beg you to confer some goose-quills on us; we will
in return send you a whole bunch of the same sort, that
you may not be obliged to pluck out your own. It is just possi-
ble that you may yet receive the Grand Cross of the Order of
the Violoncello. We remain your gracious and most friendly of
all friends,
BEETHOVEN.
TO ZMESKALL
M
FEBRUARY 2d, 1812.
ost wonderful of men!
We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up
my apartment; as he is acquainted with the lodgings, he
can fix the proper price at once. Do this soon, you Carnival
scamp! ! ! ! ! ! !
The inclosed note is at least a week old.
TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN
TH
BADEN, May 6th, 1825.
HE bell and bell-pulls, etc. , etc. , are on no account whatever
to be left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever
made to these people to take any of my things. Indis-
position prevented my sending for it, and the locksmith had
not come during my stay to take down the bell; otherwise it
might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as
they have no right whatever to retain it.
Be this as it may,
I am quite determined not to leave the bell there, for I require
one here, and therefore intend to use the one in question for
my purpose, as a similar one would cost me twice as much as
in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most expensive things locksmiths
have. If necessary, apply at once to the police. The window
in my room is precisely in the same state as when I took pos-
session, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in
the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will
not pay for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was
II-III
## p. 1762 (#560) ###########################################
1762
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
fastened or nailed up when I came, and remained in the same
condition till I left; there never was a key, so of course neither
I myself, nor those who preceded me, could make use of one.
Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, in which case I am
willing to put my hand in my pocket.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING
M*portrait I now send.
My dear and much loved Stephan :
AY our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the
portrait I now send. I know that I have rent your heart.
The emotion which you cannot fail now to see in mine has
sufficiently punished me for it. There was no malice towards
you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy of your
friendship. It was passion both on your part and on mine; but
mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us,
unworthy both of you and of me.
My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it
was destined for some one—and to whom could I give it with
such warmth of heart, as to you, my faithful, good, and noble
Stephan ?
Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself
suffer less when I no longer saw you near me. I then first
keenly felt how dear you were, and ever will be to my heart.
Surely you will once more fly to my arms as you formerly did.
## p. 1763 (#561) ###########################################
1763
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
(1740-1795)
BY OLGA FLINCH
ARL MICHAEL BELLMAN was born in Stockholm on the 4th of
February, 1740. His father, son of a professor at Upsala
University, held a government office; of his mother he
wrote that she was “fair as day, unspeakably good, dressed prettily,
was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and had an excellent
voice. ” From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, genial heart
which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house was the
rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the
poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's
unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give
him the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during
which he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised
songs in a clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught
him, besides the art of making verse,” English, French, German,
and Italian; and he progressed far enough in these studies to trans-
late several German hymns and religious and philosophic essays, no
doubt influenced in this choice of subjects by the religious atmosphere
of his home. Moreover, he taught himself to play the zither, and
very soon began to pick out his own melodies as an accompaniment
to his songs.
The instrument he used had been brought home from
Italy by his grandfather, became his closest companion throughout
life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts at Stockholm.
At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while
there wrote a satirical poem, "The Moon,' which he submitted to the
criticism of Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It
was written in the manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influ-
enced by the latter until his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and
within the same year, his father and mother died, and seeking
among his friends the social stimulus which his nature craved, he
became a frequent guest at the inns in the company of Hallman and
Krexel, who were making their mark by their poetic and dramatic
writings. It was then that his peculiar talent came to its own; he
threw away all foreign influence and began to sing his songs, born
of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of spon-
taneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he
## p. 1764 (#562) ###########################################
1764
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
was soon
sang to the sound of his zither, ofteri fashioning them to suit well-
known melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for
the greater part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so
inseparably linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to
any one to set any other music to Bellman's songs than what he
originally chose. He took all his characters out of the life he saw
around him; and with the appreciation of the man to whom the
present is everything, he seized the charm of the fleeting moment
and expressed it with such simplicity and truth, and deep feeling
withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh and young. A number
of these songs have probably been lost; he had no thirst for fame,
and took no pains to circulate them, but they found their way to the
public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name
known throughout the country.
This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, how-
ever, not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He
had made two attempts to go into business, but the more he was
seen at the inns, the less he was seen at his business.
Fortunately for him, Gustavus III. , who was himself a poet, be-
came at this time king of Sweden.
He was
an adherent of the
French school of poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said
to belong to this: but with considerable talent as a dramatic writer,
Gustavus appreciated the dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and
when Bellman sent him a rhymed petition, still kept, in which he
wrote that “if his Majesty would not most graciously give him an
office, he would most obediently be obliged to starve to death before
Christmas,” the king made him secretary of the lottery, with the title
of court secretary, and a yearly income of three thousand dollars.
Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, who did the
work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half with a
superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he
could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Grönlund,
a girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ulti-
mately had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being
left altogether to her.
Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of
Fredman's Songs) and Actions concerning the Chapter of Bac-
chus order,) both rich in lyric gems; he was the favorite compan-
ion of the King, to whom his devotion was boundless, and he was
happy in his chosen friends whose company inspired him. Never-
theless he was now, as ever, in need of money. Atterbom tells that
“One day the King met him on the street, so poorly dressed that
he instinctively exclaimed, My dear Bellman, how poorly you are
clad! The poet answered with a bow, I can nevertheless most
## p. 1765 (#563) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1765
obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire ward-
robe. ) » His ready wit never left him. “How goes the world with
you ? ” asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me
as if you could turn a single rhyme to-day. ” The poet bowed and
replied on the spur of the moment:
“No scrip my purse doth hold;
My lyre's unstrung, alas !
But yet upon my glass
Stands Gustaf's name in gold. ”
Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to
bring him in whatever condition they found him. “He was found
not entirely free from drink, and not very presentable, but was never-
theless carried off, zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank
some champagne, sang some songs, drank a little more, and finally
fell asleep. The King left him so to go to his supper; and when he
returned and found his guest still sleeping, he remarked, I wonder
what Bellman would say if I awoke him now and asked him to give
a song. ' The poet sat up, blinked with his eyes, and said,
“Then Bellman would say, — listen;' whereupon he sang to the tune
of Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-
me
<<<Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing,
The clouds over Haga are sailing,
And the stars their bright glances are veiling,
While woods in the gloom disappear.
Go, King, thy rest is dear,
Go, King, thy respite taking,
Rest softly, rest softly, then waking,
When dawn through the darkness is breaking,
Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!
Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home
asleep with a little gift in his hand. ”
The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works feil
entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would
probably never have been collected, much less published.
During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his
health grew very poor.
In 1791 he was invited to be present at
the distribution of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned
a toast with a song born of the moment; but his voice had grown so
weak from lung trouble that only those nearest to him could hear
him. To add to his sufferings, he had to meet the great sorrow of
his King's death at the hand of a murderer, and his poem on the
Death and Memory of the King' was not of a nature to make
friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened that, poor and
## p. 1766 (#564) ###########################################
1766
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in the very
castle where he had been so happy a guest.
Hallman and Krexel
and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were
unable to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some
one, who as recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs,
and in his poor broken voice he sang Drink out thy glass, see,
Death awaits thee. ) Atterbom remarks about the man in question,
"And maybe he did not find that song so jolly after all. ”
While in prison he sent in a petition to the King, somewhat
different from his first petition to Gustavus III. ,- in which he asked
permission to live in the castle until his death. The following is one
of the verses:-
«Spring commands; the birds are singing,
Bees are swarming, fishes play;
Now and then the zephyrs stray,
Breath of life the poet bringing.
Lift my load of sorrow clinging,
Spare me one small nook, I pray. )
Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-
“He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content with the
mere necessities of life, free from every care, not even desiring the immor-
tality of fame; moderate in everything except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed
to the full what he wanted, — friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to
see the shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last hour was
not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends that a meeting with them as
in old times would be dear to him. He came to meet them almost a shadow,
but with his old friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however
moderately, and then he announced that he would let them (hear Bellman
once more. The spirit of song took possession of him, more powerfully than
ever, and all the rays of his dying imagination were centred in an impro-
vised good-by song. Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration,
he sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to Providence, who
let him be born among a noble people in this beautiful Northern country, -
finally he gave his grateful good-by to every one present, in a separate stro-
phe and melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one addressed
and his relation to the poet.
His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music! )- emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at
dawn the last verse of his song. "
After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed,
lingered for ten weeks, and died on the uth of February, 1795, aged
fifty-four years.
He was buried in Clara cemetery.
Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his
personal character. Some have thought him little better than a
## p. 1767 (#565) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1767
coarse drunkard; others again have made him out a cynic who
sneered at the life he depicted; again others have laid the weight
on the note found in “Drink out thy glass,' and have seen only the
underlying sad pathos of his songs. His contemporaries agree that
he was a
man of great consideration for form, and assert that if
there are coarse passages in his songs it is because they only could
express what he depicted. All coarseness was foreign to his nature;
he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the company of his
chosen few did he open his heart.
His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his
works. If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting senti-
mentality and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance
with his entire life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as
a bird sings, simply because it must sing.
Olga
Glinch
TO ULLA
U"
LLA, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish market? So ?
"Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? " "Ah yes!
«And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness ?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
## p. 1768 (#566) ###########################################
1768
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
Skål and good-noon, fair one in window leaning,
Hark how the city bells their peals prolong!
See how the dust the verdant turf is screening,
Where the calashes and the wagons throng!
Hand from the window – he's drowsy, the speaker,
In my saddle I nod, cousin mine -
Primo a crust, and secundo a beaker,
Hochländer wine!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
" See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes!
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
Look, Ulla dear! To the stable they're taking
Whinnying prancing, my good steed, I see.
Still in his stall-door he lifts his head, making
Efforts to look up to thee: just to thee!
Nature itself into flames will be bursting:
Keep those bright eyes in control!
Klang! at your casement my heart, too, is thirsting.
Klang! Your Skål!
Isn't it heavenly - the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly ! »
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes! )
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? - Confess! ».
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
## p. 1769 (#567) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1769
CRADLE-SONG FOR MY SON CARL
L
ITTLE Carl, sleep soft and sweet:
Thou'lt soon enough be waking;
Soon enough ill days thou'lt meet,
Their bitterness partaking.
Earth's an isle with grief o'ercast;
Breathe our best, death comes at last,
We but dust forsaking.
Once, where flowed a peaceful brook
Through a rye-field's stubble,
Stood a little boy to look
At himself; his double.
Sweet the picture was to see;
All at once it ceased to be;
Vanished like a bubble!
And thus it is with life, my pet,
And thus the years go fying;
Live we wisely, gaily, yet
There's no escape from dying.
Little Carl on this must muse
When the blossoms bright he views
On spring's bosom lying.
Slumber, little friend so wee;
Joy thy joy is bringing.
Clipped from paper thou shalt see
A sleigh, and horses springing;
Then a house of cards so tall
We will build and see it fall,
And little songs be singing.
AMARYLLIS
U”
(P, AMARYLLIS! Darling, awaken!
Through the still bracken
Soft airs swell;
Iris, all dightly,
Vestured so brightly,
Coloreth lightly
Wood and dell.
## p. 1770 (#568) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1770
Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing,
Thee in Neptune's cool embrace announcing,
Slumber's god the while his sway renouncing,
O'er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell.
Now comes the fishing! The net we fasten;
This minute hasten!
Follow me!
Don your skirt and jacket
And veil, or you'll lack it;
Pike and trout wait a racket;
Sails flap free.
Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken!
Let me not by thy smile be forsaken:
Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken,
In our gay boat we'll sport in company.
Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking!
The day is breaking;
Hasten thee nigh!
Sweet little treasure,
Think ill in no measure;
For thee 'twere no pleasure
Me to deny.
Let us to the little shallows wander,
Or beside the inlet over yonder,
Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder,
O'er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh.
Step in the boat, then — both of us singing,
Love his wand swinging
Over our fate.
Æol is moving,
But though wild proving,
In your arms loving
Comfort doth wait.
Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding,
By thee clasped, vain 'twere this dear thought hiding:
Death shall find me in thy pathway biding.
Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate!
## p. 1771 (#569) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1771
ART AND POLITICS
"G
Oop servant Mollberg, what's happened to thee,
Whoin without coat and hatless I see?
Bloody thy mouth -- and thou’rt lacking a tooth!
Where have you been, brother ? — tell me the truth. ”
«At Rostock, good sir,
Did the trouble occur.
Over me and my harp
An argument sharp
Arose, touching my playing - pling plingeli plang;
And a bow-legged cobbler coming along
Struck me in the mouth — pling plingeli plang.
«I sat there and played -no carouse could one see —
The Polish Queen's Polka - G-major the key:
The best kind of people were gathered around,
And each drank his schoppen down to the ground. '
I don't know just how
Began freshly the row,
But some one from my head
Knocked my hat, and thus said:
(What is Poland to thee? ! — Pling plingeli plang —
(Play us no polka! Another one sang:
Now silent be! ! — Pling plingeli plang.
« Hear, my Mæcenas, what still came to pass.
As I sat there in quiet, enjoying my glass,
On Poland's condition the silence I broke:
Know ye, good people, aloud thus I spoke,
(That all monarchs I
On this earth do defy
My harp to prevent
From giving song vent
Throughout all this land - pling plingeli plang!
Did only a single string to it hang,
I'd play a polka — pling plingeli plang! )
« There sat in the corner a sergeant old,
Two notaries and a dragoon bold,
Who cried Down with him! The cobbler is right!
Poland earns the meeds of her evil might! !
From behind the stove came
An old squint-eyed dame,
## p. 1772 (#570) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1772
And flung at the harp
Glass broken and sharp;
But the cobbler — pling plingeli plang –
Made a terrible hole in my neck — that long!
There hast thou the story — pling plingeli plang.
“O righteous world! Now I ask of thee
If I suffered not wrongly ? ” «Why, certainly! ”
“Was I not innocent ? » « Bless
you, most sure ! »
“ The harp rent asunder, my nose torn and sore,
Twas hard treatment, I trow!
Now no better I know
Than to go through the land
With my harp in my hand,
Play for Bacchus and Venus — kling klang -
With masters best that e'er played or sang;
Attend me, Apollo! - pling plingeli plang. ”
DRINK OUT THY GLASS
DRI
RINK out thy glass! See, on thy threshold, nightly,
Staying his sword, stands Death, awaiting thee.
Be not alarmed; the grave-door, opened slightly,
Closes again; a full year it may be
Ere thou art dragged, poor sufferer, to the grave.
Pick the octave!
Tune up the strings! Sing of life with glee!
Golden's the hue thy dull, wan cheeks are showing;
Shrunken's thy chest, and flat each shoulder-blade.
Give me thy hand! Each dark vein, larger growing,
Is, to my touch, as if in water laid.
Damp are these hands; stiff are these veins becoming.
Pick now, and strumming,
Empty thy bottle! Sing! drink unafraid.
Skål, then, my boy! Old Bacchus sends last greeting
Freya's farewell receive thou, o'er thy bowl.
Fast in her praise thy thin blood flows, repeating
Its old-time force, as it was wont to roll.
Sing, read, forget; nay, think and weep while thinking.
Art thou for drinking
Another bottle? Thou art dead? No Skål!
## p. 1773 (#571) ###########################################
1773
JEREMY BENTHAM
(1748-1832)
B
ENTHAM, whose name rightly stands sponsor for the utilitarian
theory of morals in legislation, though not its originator,
was a mighty and unique figure in many ways. His child-
hood reminds us of that of his disciple John Stuart Mill in its pre-
cocity; but fortunately for him, life had more juice in it for young
Bentham than it had for Mill. In his maturity and old age he was
widely recognized as a commanding authority, notwithstanding some
startling absurdities.
He was born in London, February 15th,
1747–8; the child of an attorney of ample
means, who was proud of the youth, and
did not hesitate to show him off. In his
fourth year he began the study of Latin,
and a year later was known in his father's
circle as “the philosopher. ” At six or seven
he began the study of French.
He was
then sent to Westminster school, where he
must have had a rather uncomfortable time;
for he was small in body, sensitive and deli-
cate, and not fond of boyish sports. He
had a much happier life at the houses of JEREMY BENTHAM
his grandmothers at Barking and at Brown-
ing Hill, where much of his childhood was spent. His reminiscences
of these days, as related to his biographer, are full of charm. He
was a great reader and a great student; and going to Oxford early,
was only sixteen when he took his degree.
It must be confessed that he did not bear away with him a high
appreciation of the benefits which he owed to his alma mater.
“Mendacity and insincerity — in these I found the effects, the sure
and only sure effects, of an English university education. ” He wrote
a Latin ode on the death of George II. , which was much praised. In
later years he himself said of it, “It was a mediocre performance on
a trumpery subject, written by a miserable child. ”
On taking his degree he entered at Lincoln's Inn, but he never
made a success in the practice of the law. He hated litigation, and
his mind became immediately absorbed in the study and development
of the principles of legislation and jurisprudence, and this became
## p. 1774 (#572) ###########################################
1774
JEREMY BENTHAM
the business of his life. He had an intense antipathy to Blackstone,
under whom he had sat at Oxford; and in 1776 he published anony-
mously a severe criticism of his work, under the title (Fragments on
Government, or a Commentary on the Commentaries, which was at
first attributed to Lord Mansfield, Lord Camden, and others. His
identification as the author of the Fragments) brought him into
relations with Lord Shelburne, who invited him to Bowood, where he
made a long and happy visit, of which bright and gossipy letters tell
the story
Here he worked on his "Introduction to the Principles of
Morals and Legislation, in which he developed his utilitarian theory,
and here he fell in love with a young lady who failed to respond to
his wishes. Writing in 1827, he says:
“I am alive, more than two months advanced in my eightieth year, more
lively than when you presented me in ceremony with a Aower in Green
Lane. Since that day not a single one has passed, not to speak of nights,
in which you have not engrossed more of my thoughts than I could have
wished. . . Embrace —; though it is for me, as it is by you, she will
not be severe, nor refuse her lips to me as she did her hand, at a time per-
haps not yet forgotten by her, any more than by me. ”
Bentham wrote voluminously on morals, on rewards and punish-
ments, on the poor laws, on education, on law reform, on the codifi-
cation of laws, on special legislative measures, on a vast variety of
subjects. His style, at first simple and direct, became turgid,
involved, and obscure. He was in the habit of beginning the same
work independently many times, and usually drove several horses
abreast. He was
very severe in his strictures upon persons in
authority, and upon current notions; and was constantly being
warned that if he should publish such or such a work he would
surely be prosecuted. Numerous books were therefore not published
until many years after they were written. His literary style became
so prolix and unintelligible that his disciples - Dumont, Mill, and
others - came to his rescue, and disentangled and prepared for the
press his innumerable pamphlets, full of suggestiveness and teeming
with projects of reform more or less completely realized since. His
publications include more than seventy titles, and he left a vast
accumulation of manuscript, much of which has never been read.
He had a wide circle of acquaintances, by whom he was held in
high honor, and his correspondence with the leading men of his
time was constant and important. In his later years he was
pugnacious writer, but he was on intimate and jovial terms with his
friends. In 1814 he removed to Ford Abbey, near Chard, and there
wrote (Chrestomathea,' a collection of papers on the principles of
education, in which he laid stress upon the value of instruction in
a
## p. 1775 (#573) ###########################################
JEREMY BENTHAM
1775
science, as against the excessive predominance of Greek and Latin.
In 1823, in conjunction with James Mill and others, he established
the Westminster Review, but he did not himself contribute largely
to it. He continued, however, to the end of his life to write on his
favorite topics.
Robert Dale Owen, in his autobiography, gives the following
description of a visit to Bentham during the philosopher's later
years:
“I preserve a most agreeable recollection of that grand old face, beaming
with benignity and intelligence, and occasionally with a touch of humor
which I did not expect.
I do not remember to have met any one of
his age [seventy-eight] who seemed to have more complete possession of his
faculties, bodily and mental; and this surprised me the more because I knew
that in his childhood he had been a feeble-limbed, frail boy. . . I found
him, having overpassed by nearly a decade the allotted threescore years and
ten, with step as active and eye as bright and conversation as vivacious as
one expects in a hale man of fifty.
«I shall never forget my surprise when we were ushered by the venerable
philosopher into his dining-room. An apartment of good size, it was occupied
by a platform about two feet high, and which filled the whole room, except a
passageway some three or four feet wide, which had been left so that one
could pass all round it. Upon this platform stood the dinner-table and chairs,
with room enough for the servants to wait upon us. Around the head of the
table was a huge screen, to protect the old man, I suppose, against the
draught from the doors.
“When another half-hour had passed, he touched the bell again. This
time his order to the servant startled me:-
« John, my night-cap! '
“I rose to go, and one or two others did the same; Neal sat still. Ah! )
said Bentham, as he drew a black silk night-cap over his spare gray hair,
(you think that's a hint to go. Not a bit of it. Sit down! I'll tell you when
I am tired.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1757
TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN
0"
HEILIGENSTADT, Oct. 6th, 1802,
H! YE who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and
misanthropical, how unjust you are, and how little you
know the secret cause of what appears thus to you! My
heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to the most ten-
der feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to accomplish
something great. But you must remember that six years ago I
was attacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskillful
physicians, deluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief,
and at length forced to the conviction of a lasting affliction (the
cure of which may go on for years, and perhaps after all prove
impracticable).
Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly sus-
ceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in
life to isolate myself, and to pass my existence in solitude. If I
at any time resolved to surmount all this, oh! how cruelly was I
again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defect-
ive hearing ! - and yet I found it impossible to say to others:
Speak louder, shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim
the deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect
with me than with other men - a sense which I once possessed
in the highest perfection, to an extent indeed that few of my
profession ever enjoyed! Alas! I cannot do this! Forgive me
therefore when you see me withdraw from you with whom I
would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from
causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recrea-
tion in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual out-
pourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society
when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile.
I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread
of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed. It
was the same during the last six months I spent in the country.
My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing
as much as possible, which was quite in accordance with my
present disposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural
inclination for society, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it.
But what humiliation when any one beside me heard a flute in
the far distance, while I heard nothing, or when others heard a
In company
## p. 1758 (#556) ###########################################
1758
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
shepherd singing, and I still heard nothing! Such things brought
me to the verge of desperation, and well-nigh caused me to put
an end to my life. drt! art alone, deterred me. Ah! how
could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I
felt it was my vocation to produce? And thus I spared this
miserable life—so utterly miserable that any sudden change may
reduce me at any moment from my best condition into the worst.
It is decreed that I must now choose Patience for my guide!
This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail me, stead-
fastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut
the thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not.
I am prepared for either. Constrained to become a philosopher
in my twenty-eighth year! This is no slight trial, and more
severe on an artist than on any one else.
God looks into my
heart, he searches it, and knows that love for man and feelings of
benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one day
read this, think that you have done me injustice; and let any
one similarly afflicted be consoled by finding one like himself,
who, in defiance of all the obstacles of nature, has done all in
his power to be included in the ranks of estimable artists and
men. My brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am no more,
if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to
describe my malady, and to add these pages to the analysis of
my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be
reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you both
heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly,
agree together and assist each other. You know that anything
you did to give me pain has been long forgiven. I thank you,
my brother Carl in particular, for the attachment you have shown
me of late. My wish is that you may enjoy a happier life, and
one more free from care than mine has been. Recommend l'irtue
to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can insure happiness.
I speak from experience. It was l'irtue alone which sustained
me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having
ended my life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I grate-
fully thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and
Professor Schmidt. I wish one of you to keep Prince L-'s
instruments; but I trust this will give rise to no dissension
between you.
If you think it more beneficial, however, you have
only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I can serve
you even in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to meet
## p. 1759 (#557) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1759
Death. If he comes before I have had the opportunity of de-
veloping all my artistic powers, then, notwithstanding my cruel
fate, he will come too early for me, and I should wish for him
at a more distant period; but even then I shall be content, for
his advent will release me from a state of endless suffering.
Come when he may, I shall meet him with courage. Farewell!
Do not quite forget me, even in death: I deserve this from you,
because during my life I so often thought of you, and wished to
make you happy. Amen!
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
[Written on the outside. ]
Thus, then, I take leave of you, and with sadness too. The
fond hope I brought with me here, of being to a certain degree
cured, now utterly forsakes me. As autumn leaves fall and
wither, so are my hopes blighted. Almost as I came, I depart.
Even the lofty courage that so often animated me in the lovely
days of summer is gone forever. 0 Providence! vouchsafe me
one day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from
the glad echo of true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again
feel it in the temple of nature and of man? — never? Ah! that
would be too hard!
To be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl
and Johann.
TO THE ROYAL AND IMPERIAL HIGH COURT OF APPEAL
T"
JANUARY 7th, 1820.
He welfare of my nephew is dearer to my heart than it can
be to anyone else. I am myself childless, and have no
relations except this boy, who is full of talent, and I have
good grounds to hope the best for him, if properly trained.
My efforts and wishes have no other aim than to give the boy
the best possible education — his abilities justifying the brightest
hopes — and to fulfill the trust placed in my brotherly love by
his father. The shoot is still flexible; but if longer neglected it
will become crooked and outgrow the gardener's training hand,
## p. 1760 (#558) ###########################################
1760
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
and upright bearing, intellect, and character be destroyed for
ever.
I know no duty more sacred than the education and training
of a child. The chief duties of a guardian consist in knowing
how to appreciate what is good, and in adopting a right course;
then alone has proper attention been devoted to the welfare of
his ward, whereas in opposing what is good he neglects his duty.
Indeed, keeping in view what is most for the benefit of the
boy, I do not object to the mother in so far sharing in the duties
of a guardian, that she may visit her son, and see him, and be
apprised of all the measures adopted for his education; but to
intrust her with his sole guardianship without a strict guardian
by her side would cause the irretrievable ruin of her son.
On these cogent grounds I reiterate my well-founded solicita-
tion, and feel the more confident of a favorable answer, as the
welfare of my nephew alone guides my steps in this affair.
TO BARONESS VON DROSSDICK
I
LIVE in entire quiet and solitude; and even though occasional
flashes of light arouse me, still since you all left, I feel
a hopeless void which even my art, usually so faithful to me,
has not yet triumphed over. Your pianoforte is ordered, and
you
shall soon have it. What a difference you must have dis-
covered between the treatment of the Theme I extemporized on
the other evening, and the mode in which I have recently writ-
ten it out for you! You must explain this yourself, only do not
find the solution in the punch! How happy you are to get
away so soon to the country! I cannot enjoy this luxury till the
8th. I look forward to it with the delight of a child. What
happiness I shall feel in wandering among groves and woods, and
among trees and plants and rocks! No man on earth can love
the country as I do! Thickets, trees, and rocks supply the echo
man longs for!
## p. 1761 (#559) ###########################################
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
1761
M
TO ZMESKALL
1811.
Ost high-born of men!
We beg you to confer some goose-quills on us; we will
in return send you a whole bunch of the same sort, that
you may not be obliged to pluck out your own. It is just possi-
ble that you may yet receive the Grand Cross of the Order of
the Violoncello. We remain your gracious and most friendly of
all friends,
BEETHOVEN.
TO ZMESKALL
M
FEBRUARY 2d, 1812.
ost wonderful of men!
We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up
my apartment; as he is acquainted with the lodgings, he
can fix the proper price at once. Do this soon, you Carnival
scamp! ! ! ! ! ! !
The inclosed note is at least a week old.
TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN
TH
BADEN, May 6th, 1825.
HE bell and bell-pulls, etc. , etc. , are on no account whatever
to be left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever
made to these people to take any of my things. Indis-
position prevented my sending for it, and the locksmith had
not come during my stay to take down the bell; otherwise it
might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as
they have no right whatever to retain it.
Be this as it may,
I am quite determined not to leave the bell there, for I require
one here, and therefore intend to use the one in question for
my purpose, as a similar one would cost me twice as much as
in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most expensive things locksmiths
have. If necessary, apply at once to the police. The window
in my room is precisely in the same state as when I took pos-
session, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in
the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will
not pay for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was
II-III
## p. 1762 (#560) ###########################################
1762
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
fastened or nailed up when I came, and remained in the same
condition till I left; there never was a key, so of course neither
I myself, nor those who preceded me, could make use of one.
Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, in which case I am
willing to put my hand in my pocket.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING
M*portrait I now send.
My dear and much loved Stephan :
AY our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the
portrait I now send. I know that I have rent your heart.
The emotion which you cannot fail now to see in mine has
sufficiently punished me for it. There was no malice towards
you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy of your
friendship. It was passion both on your part and on mine; but
mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us,
unworthy both of you and of me.
My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it
was destined for some one—and to whom could I give it with
such warmth of heart, as to you, my faithful, good, and noble
Stephan ?
Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself
suffer less when I no longer saw you near me. I then first
keenly felt how dear you were, and ever will be to my heart.
Surely you will once more fly to my arms as you formerly did.
## p. 1763 (#561) ###########################################
1763
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
(1740-1795)
BY OLGA FLINCH
ARL MICHAEL BELLMAN was born in Stockholm on the 4th of
February, 1740. His father, son of a professor at Upsala
University, held a government office; of his mother he
wrote that she was “fair as day, unspeakably good, dressed prettily,
was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and had an excellent
voice. ” From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, genial heart
which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house was the
rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the
poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's
unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give
him the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during
which he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised
songs in a clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught
him, besides the art of making verse,” English, French, German,
and Italian; and he progressed far enough in these studies to trans-
late several German hymns and religious and philosophic essays, no
doubt influenced in this choice of subjects by the religious atmosphere
of his home. Moreover, he taught himself to play the zither, and
very soon began to pick out his own melodies as an accompaniment
to his songs.
The instrument he used had been brought home from
Italy by his grandfather, became his closest companion throughout
life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts at Stockholm.
At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while
there wrote a satirical poem, "The Moon,' which he submitted to the
criticism of Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It
was written in the manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influ-
enced by the latter until his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and
within the same year, his father and mother died, and seeking
among his friends the social stimulus which his nature craved, he
became a frequent guest at the inns in the company of Hallman and
Krexel, who were making their mark by their poetic and dramatic
writings. It was then that his peculiar talent came to its own; he
threw away all foreign influence and began to sing his songs, born
of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of spon-
taneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he
## p. 1764 (#562) ###########################################
1764
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
was soon
sang to the sound of his zither, ofteri fashioning them to suit well-
known melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for
the greater part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so
inseparably linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to
any one to set any other music to Bellman's songs than what he
originally chose. He took all his characters out of the life he saw
around him; and with the appreciation of the man to whom the
present is everything, he seized the charm of the fleeting moment
and expressed it with such simplicity and truth, and deep feeling
withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh and young. A number
of these songs have probably been lost; he had no thirst for fame,
and took no pains to circulate them, but they found their way to the
public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name
known throughout the country.
This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, how-
ever, not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He
had made two attempts to go into business, but the more he was
seen at the inns, the less he was seen at his business.
Fortunately for him, Gustavus III. , who was himself a poet, be-
came at this time king of Sweden.
He was
an adherent of the
French school of poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said
to belong to this: but with considerable talent as a dramatic writer,
Gustavus appreciated the dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and
when Bellman sent him a rhymed petition, still kept, in which he
wrote that “if his Majesty would not most graciously give him an
office, he would most obediently be obliged to starve to death before
Christmas,” the king made him secretary of the lottery, with the title
of court secretary, and a yearly income of three thousand dollars.
Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, who did the
work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half with a
superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he
could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Grönlund,
a girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ulti-
mately had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being
left altogether to her.
Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of
Fredman's Songs) and Actions concerning the Chapter of Bac-
chus order,) both rich in lyric gems; he was the favorite compan-
ion of the King, to whom his devotion was boundless, and he was
happy in his chosen friends whose company inspired him. Never-
theless he was now, as ever, in need of money. Atterbom tells that
“One day the King met him on the street, so poorly dressed that
he instinctively exclaimed, My dear Bellman, how poorly you are
clad! The poet answered with a bow, I can nevertheless most
## p. 1765 (#563) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1765
obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire ward-
robe. ) » His ready wit never left him. “How goes the world with
you ? ” asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me
as if you could turn a single rhyme to-day. ” The poet bowed and
replied on the spur of the moment:
“No scrip my purse doth hold;
My lyre's unstrung, alas !
But yet upon my glass
Stands Gustaf's name in gold. ”
Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to
bring him in whatever condition they found him. “He was found
not entirely free from drink, and not very presentable, but was never-
theless carried off, zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank
some champagne, sang some songs, drank a little more, and finally
fell asleep. The King left him so to go to his supper; and when he
returned and found his guest still sleeping, he remarked, I wonder
what Bellman would say if I awoke him now and asked him to give
a song. ' The poet sat up, blinked with his eyes, and said,
“Then Bellman would say, — listen;' whereupon he sang to the tune
of Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-
me
<<<Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing,
The clouds over Haga are sailing,
And the stars their bright glances are veiling,
While woods in the gloom disappear.
Go, King, thy rest is dear,
Go, King, thy respite taking,
Rest softly, rest softly, then waking,
When dawn through the darkness is breaking,
Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!
Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home
asleep with a little gift in his hand. ”
The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works feil
entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would
probably never have been collected, much less published.
During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his
health grew very poor.
In 1791 he was invited to be present at
the distribution of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned
a toast with a song born of the moment; but his voice had grown so
weak from lung trouble that only those nearest to him could hear
him. To add to his sufferings, he had to meet the great sorrow of
his King's death at the hand of a murderer, and his poem on the
Death and Memory of the King' was not of a nature to make
friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened that, poor and
## p. 1766 (#564) ###########################################
1766
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in the very
castle where he had been so happy a guest.
Hallman and Krexel
and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were
unable to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some
one, who as recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs,
and in his poor broken voice he sang Drink out thy glass, see,
Death awaits thee. ) Atterbom remarks about the man in question,
"And maybe he did not find that song so jolly after all. ”
While in prison he sent in a petition to the King, somewhat
different from his first petition to Gustavus III. ,- in which he asked
permission to live in the castle until his death. The following is one
of the verses:-
«Spring commands; the birds are singing,
Bees are swarming, fishes play;
Now and then the zephyrs stray,
Breath of life the poet bringing.
Lift my load of sorrow clinging,
Spare me one small nook, I pray. )
Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-
“He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content with the
mere necessities of life, free from every care, not even desiring the immor-
tality of fame; moderate in everything except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed
to the full what he wanted, — friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to
see the shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last hour was
not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends that a meeting with them as
in old times would be dear to him. He came to meet them almost a shadow,
but with his old friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however
moderately, and then he announced that he would let them (hear Bellman
once more. The spirit of song took possession of him, more powerfully than
ever, and all the rays of his dying imagination were centred in an impro-
vised good-by song. Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration,
he sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to Providence, who
let him be born among a noble people in this beautiful Northern country, -
finally he gave his grateful good-by to every one present, in a separate stro-
phe and melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one addressed
and his relation to the poet.
His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music! )- emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at
dawn the last verse of his song. "
After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed,
lingered for ten weeks, and died on the uth of February, 1795, aged
fifty-four years.
He was buried in Clara cemetery.
Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his
personal character. Some have thought him little better than a
## p. 1767 (#565) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1767
coarse drunkard; others again have made him out a cynic who
sneered at the life he depicted; again others have laid the weight
on the note found in “Drink out thy glass,' and have seen only the
underlying sad pathos of his songs. His contemporaries agree that
he was a
man of great consideration for form, and assert that if
there are coarse passages in his songs it is because they only could
express what he depicted. All coarseness was foreign to his nature;
he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the company of his
chosen few did he open his heart.
His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his
works. If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting senti-
mentality and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance
with his entire life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as
a bird sings, simply because it must sing.
Olga
Glinch
TO ULLA
U"
LLA, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish market? So ?
"Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? " "Ah yes!
«And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness ?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
## p. 1768 (#566) ###########################################
1768
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
Skål and good-noon, fair one in window leaning,
Hark how the city bells their peals prolong!
See how the dust the verdant turf is screening,
Where the calashes and the wagons throng!
Hand from the window – he's drowsy, the speaker,
In my saddle I nod, cousin mine -
Primo a crust, and secundo a beaker,
Hochländer wine!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
" See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes!
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
Look, Ulla dear! To the stable they're taking
Whinnying prancing, my good steed, I see.
Still in his stall-door he lifts his head, making
Efforts to look up to thee: just to thee!
Nature itself into flames will be bursting:
Keep those bright eyes in control!
Klang! at your casement my heart, too, is thirsting.
Klang! Your Skål!
Isn't it heavenly - the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly ! »
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes! )
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? - Confess! ».
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
## p. 1769 (#567) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1769
CRADLE-SONG FOR MY SON CARL
L
ITTLE Carl, sleep soft and sweet:
Thou'lt soon enough be waking;
Soon enough ill days thou'lt meet,
Their bitterness partaking.
Earth's an isle with grief o'ercast;
Breathe our best, death comes at last,
We but dust forsaking.
Once, where flowed a peaceful brook
Through a rye-field's stubble,
Stood a little boy to look
At himself; his double.
Sweet the picture was to see;
All at once it ceased to be;
Vanished like a bubble!
And thus it is with life, my pet,
And thus the years go fying;
Live we wisely, gaily, yet
There's no escape from dying.
Little Carl on this must muse
When the blossoms bright he views
On spring's bosom lying.
Slumber, little friend so wee;
Joy thy joy is bringing.
Clipped from paper thou shalt see
A sleigh, and horses springing;
Then a house of cards so tall
We will build and see it fall,
And little songs be singing.
AMARYLLIS
U”
(P, AMARYLLIS! Darling, awaken!
Through the still bracken
Soft airs swell;
Iris, all dightly,
Vestured so brightly,
Coloreth lightly
Wood and dell.
## p. 1770 (#568) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1770
Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing,
Thee in Neptune's cool embrace announcing,
Slumber's god the while his sway renouncing,
O'er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell.
Now comes the fishing! The net we fasten;
This minute hasten!
Follow me!
Don your skirt and jacket
And veil, or you'll lack it;
Pike and trout wait a racket;
Sails flap free.
Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken!
Let me not by thy smile be forsaken:
Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken,
In our gay boat we'll sport in company.
Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking!
The day is breaking;
Hasten thee nigh!
Sweet little treasure,
Think ill in no measure;
For thee 'twere no pleasure
Me to deny.
Let us to the little shallows wander,
Or beside the inlet over yonder,
Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder,
O'er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh.
Step in the boat, then — both of us singing,
Love his wand swinging
Over our fate.
Æol is moving,
But though wild proving,
In your arms loving
Comfort doth wait.
Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding,
By thee clasped, vain 'twere this dear thought hiding:
Death shall find me in thy pathway biding.
Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate!
## p. 1771 (#569) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1771
ART AND POLITICS
"G
Oop servant Mollberg, what's happened to thee,
Whoin without coat and hatless I see?
Bloody thy mouth -- and thou’rt lacking a tooth!
Where have you been, brother ? — tell me the truth. ”
«At Rostock, good sir,
Did the trouble occur.
Over me and my harp
An argument sharp
Arose, touching my playing - pling plingeli plang;
And a bow-legged cobbler coming along
Struck me in the mouth — pling plingeli plang.
«I sat there and played -no carouse could one see —
The Polish Queen's Polka - G-major the key:
The best kind of people were gathered around,
And each drank his schoppen down to the ground. '
I don't know just how
Began freshly the row,
But some one from my head
Knocked my hat, and thus said:
(What is Poland to thee? ! — Pling plingeli plang —
(Play us no polka! Another one sang:
Now silent be! ! — Pling plingeli plang.
« Hear, my Mæcenas, what still came to pass.
As I sat there in quiet, enjoying my glass,
On Poland's condition the silence I broke:
Know ye, good people, aloud thus I spoke,
(That all monarchs I
On this earth do defy
My harp to prevent
From giving song vent
Throughout all this land - pling plingeli plang!
Did only a single string to it hang,
I'd play a polka — pling plingeli plang! )
« There sat in the corner a sergeant old,
Two notaries and a dragoon bold,
Who cried Down with him! The cobbler is right!
Poland earns the meeds of her evil might! !
From behind the stove came
An old squint-eyed dame,
## p. 1772 (#570) ###########################################
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1772
And flung at the harp
Glass broken and sharp;
But the cobbler — pling plingeli plang –
Made a terrible hole in my neck — that long!
There hast thou the story — pling plingeli plang.
“O righteous world! Now I ask of thee
If I suffered not wrongly ? ” «Why, certainly! ”
“Was I not innocent ? » « Bless
you, most sure ! »
“ The harp rent asunder, my nose torn and sore,
Twas hard treatment, I trow!
Now no better I know
Than to go through the land
With my harp in my hand,
Play for Bacchus and Venus — kling klang -
With masters best that e'er played or sang;
Attend me, Apollo! - pling plingeli plang. ”
DRINK OUT THY GLASS
DRI
RINK out thy glass! See, on thy threshold, nightly,
Staying his sword, stands Death, awaiting thee.
Be not alarmed; the grave-door, opened slightly,
Closes again; a full year it may be
Ere thou art dragged, poor sufferer, to the grave.
Pick the octave!
Tune up the strings! Sing of life with glee!
Golden's the hue thy dull, wan cheeks are showing;
Shrunken's thy chest, and flat each shoulder-blade.
Give me thy hand! Each dark vein, larger growing,
Is, to my touch, as if in water laid.
Damp are these hands; stiff are these veins becoming.
Pick now, and strumming,
Empty thy bottle! Sing! drink unafraid.
Skål, then, my boy! Old Bacchus sends last greeting
Freya's farewell receive thou, o'er thy bowl.
Fast in her praise thy thin blood flows, repeating
Its old-time force, as it was wont to roll.
Sing, read, forget; nay, think and weep while thinking.
Art thou for drinking
Another bottle? Thou art dead? No Skål!
## p. 1773 (#571) ###########################################
1773
JEREMY BENTHAM
(1748-1832)
B
ENTHAM, whose name rightly stands sponsor for the utilitarian
theory of morals in legislation, though not its originator,
was a mighty and unique figure in many ways. His child-
hood reminds us of that of his disciple John Stuart Mill in its pre-
cocity; but fortunately for him, life had more juice in it for young
Bentham than it had for Mill. In his maturity and old age he was
widely recognized as a commanding authority, notwithstanding some
startling absurdities.
He was born in London, February 15th,
1747–8; the child of an attorney of ample
means, who was proud of the youth, and
did not hesitate to show him off. In his
fourth year he began the study of Latin,
and a year later was known in his father's
circle as “the philosopher. ” At six or seven
he began the study of French.
He was
then sent to Westminster school, where he
must have had a rather uncomfortable time;
for he was small in body, sensitive and deli-
cate, and not fond of boyish sports. He
had a much happier life at the houses of JEREMY BENTHAM
his grandmothers at Barking and at Brown-
ing Hill, where much of his childhood was spent. His reminiscences
of these days, as related to his biographer, are full of charm. He
was a great reader and a great student; and going to Oxford early,
was only sixteen when he took his degree.
It must be confessed that he did not bear away with him a high
appreciation of the benefits which he owed to his alma mater.
“Mendacity and insincerity — in these I found the effects, the sure
and only sure effects, of an English university education. ” He wrote
a Latin ode on the death of George II. , which was much praised. In
later years he himself said of it, “It was a mediocre performance on
a trumpery subject, written by a miserable child. ”
On taking his degree he entered at Lincoln's Inn, but he never
made a success in the practice of the law. He hated litigation, and
his mind became immediately absorbed in the study and development
of the principles of legislation and jurisprudence, and this became
## p. 1774 (#572) ###########################################
1774
JEREMY BENTHAM
the business of his life. He had an intense antipathy to Blackstone,
under whom he had sat at Oxford; and in 1776 he published anony-
mously a severe criticism of his work, under the title (Fragments on
Government, or a Commentary on the Commentaries, which was at
first attributed to Lord Mansfield, Lord Camden, and others. His
identification as the author of the Fragments) brought him into
relations with Lord Shelburne, who invited him to Bowood, where he
made a long and happy visit, of which bright and gossipy letters tell
the story
Here he worked on his "Introduction to the Principles of
Morals and Legislation, in which he developed his utilitarian theory,
and here he fell in love with a young lady who failed to respond to
his wishes. Writing in 1827, he says:
“I am alive, more than two months advanced in my eightieth year, more
lively than when you presented me in ceremony with a Aower in Green
Lane. Since that day not a single one has passed, not to speak of nights,
in which you have not engrossed more of my thoughts than I could have
wished. . . Embrace —; though it is for me, as it is by you, she will
not be severe, nor refuse her lips to me as she did her hand, at a time per-
haps not yet forgotten by her, any more than by me. ”
Bentham wrote voluminously on morals, on rewards and punish-
ments, on the poor laws, on education, on law reform, on the codifi-
cation of laws, on special legislative measures, on a vast variety of
subjects. His style, at first simple and direct, became turgid,
involved, and obscure. He was in the habit of beginning the same
work independently many times, and usually drove several horses
abreast. He was
very severe in his strictures upon persons in
authority, and upon current notions; and was constantly being
warned that if he should publish such or such a work he would
surely be prosecuted. Numerous books were therefore not published
until many years after they were written. His literary style became
so prolix and unintelligible that his disciples - Dumont, Mill, and
others - came to his rescue, and disentangled and prepared for the
press his innumerable pamphlets, full of suggestiveness and teeming
with projects of reform more or less completely realized since. His
publications include more than seventy titles, and he left a vast
accumulation of manuscript, much of which has never been read.
He had a wide circle of acquaintances, by whom he was held in
high honor, and his correspondence with the leading men of his
time was constant and important. In his later years he was
pugnacious writer, but he was on intimate and jovial terms with his
friends. In 1814 he removed to Ford Abbey, near Chard, and there
wrote (Chrestomathea,' a collection of papers on the principles of
education, in which he laid stress upon the value of instruction in
a
## p. 1775 (#573) ###########################################
JEREMY BENTHAM
1775
science, as against the excessive predominance of Greek and Latin.
In 1823, in conjunction with James Mill and others, he established
the Westminster Review, but he did not himself contribute largely
to it. He continued, however, to the end of his life to write on his
favorite topics.
Robert Dale Owen, in his autobiography, gives the following
description of a visit to Bentham during the philosopher's later
years:
“I preserve a most agreeable recollection of that grand old face, beaming
with benignity and intelligence, and occasionally with a touch of humor
which I did not expect.
I do not remember to have met any one of
his age [seventy-eight] who seemed to have more complete possession of his
faculties, bodily and mental; and this surprised me the more because I knew
that in his childhood he had been a feeble-limbed, frail boy. . . I found
him, having overpassed by nearly a decade the allotted threescore years and
ten, with step as active and eye as bright and conversation as vivacious as
one expects in a hale man of fifty.
«I shall never forget my surprise when we were ushered by the venerable
philosopher into his dining-room. An apartment of good size, it was occupied
by a platform about two feet high, and which filled the whole room, except a
passageway some three or four feet wide, which had been left so that one
could pass all round it. Upon this platform stood the dinner-table and chairs,
with room enough for the servants to wait upon us. Around the head of the
table was a huge screen, to protect the old man, I suppose, against the
draught from the doors.
“When another half-hour had passed, he touched the bell again. This
time his order to the servant startled me:-
« John, my night-cap! '
“I rose to go, and one or two others did the same; Neal sat still. Ah! )
said Bentham, as he drew a black silk night-cap over his spare gray hair,
(you think that's a hint to go. Not a bit of it. Sit down! I'll tell you when
I am tired.
