e position in life, as one dependent upon the bounty of
friends, had hitherto oppressed Tegner, and at times made him moody and
despondent. He had felt impelled, in justice to himself and to satisfy
the expectations of his patrons, to apply himself to his studies with a
perseverance and industry which came near undermining his health. He
looked during his student days overworked, and if nature had endowed
him with a less magnificent physique he would, no doubt, have succumbed
to the strain of this perpetual over-exertion. But after his marriage a
happy change came over him. The joyous substratum of his nature (what he
himself called his pagan self) broke through its sombre integuments and
asserted itself. No sooner had he taken his place among the teachers of
the University than his clear and weighty personality commanded
admiration and respect. In social intercourse his ready wit and cheerful
conviviality made him a general favorite. His talk, without being in the
least forced, was full of surprises; and there was a charm, in the
redundant vigor and virility that seemed to radiate from him. But it may
as well be admitted that he began at this time to show what may
euphemistically be styled his paganism, in the relish which he evinced
for jests of doubtful propriety. He was indeed as far as possible from
being a prude; many years later, when he was a bishop and a great
ecclesiastical dignitary, he wrote to his friend the poet Franzen:

"I thank God that I can yet, at times, be merry and give vent to my
mirth in prose and verse. I don't scruple to make a good joke even
though its subject be the bridal bed. All prudery--and frequently
the clerical dignity is, in social intercourse, nothing else--I
detest and despise."

His inability to restrain his wit in this particular direction has done
some injury to his memory. Not that his fancy had any taint of
uncleanness. It was open and cheerful as the sunlight; and as the
sunlight played brightly over all things without fastidious
discrimination. There was a rich, and healthy humanity about him which
manifested itself in an impartial, all-embracing delight in the glow and
color of mere sensuous existence. There has scarcely ever been a great
poet (Dante perhaps excepted) who has not had his share of this pagan
joy in nudity. Goethe's "Roman Elegies" are undisguisedly Anacreontic,
and the most spiritual of modern poets, Robert Browning, is as deep and
v