I was far from feeling that I had been understood, and for
that reason warned against extremes; on the contrary, I saw myself only
caricatured, without even wit or humour, and could not forget that the
man who had sketched this picture of me had done his utmost to injure
me. And he compared me with P.L. Moeller!
The fact that the conclusion of the letter contained much that was
conciliatory and beautiful consequently did not help matters. Bjoernson
wrote:
When you write about the Jews, although I am not in agreement with you,
_altogether_ in agreement, you yet seem to me to touch upon a
domain where you might have much to offer us, many beautiful prospects
to open to us. In the same way, when you interpret Shakespeare (not when
you make poetry by the side of him), when you tranquilly expound, I seem
to see the beginnings of greater works, in any case of powers which I
could imagine essentially contributing to the introduction into our
culture of greater breadth of view, greater moral responsibility, more
affection.
When I now read these words, I am obliged to transport myself violently
back, into the feelings and to the intellectual standpoint that were
mine at the time, in order to understand how they could to such a pitch
incense me. It was not only that, like all young people of any account,
I was irritable, sensitive and proud, and unwilling to be treated as a
pupil; but more than that, as the way of youth is, I confused what I
knew myself capable of accomplishing with what I had already
accomplished; felt myself rich, exuberantly rich, already, and was
indignant at perceiving myself deemed still so small.
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