Chapter 4

Ibsen threw on his tomb the characteristic bunch of bitter herbs called _Til de genlevende_--"To the Survivors," in which he expressed the faintest appreciation of those who lavished posthumous honor on Heiberg in Denmark:

In your land a torch he lifted; With its flame ye scorched his forehead.

How to swing the sword he taught you, And,--ye plunged it in his bosom.

While he routed trolls of darkness,-- With your shields you tripped and bruised him.

But his glittering star of conquest Ye must guard, since he has left you:

Try, at least, to keep it shining, While the thorn-crowned conqueror slumbers.]