Ludvig Holberg, The Founder of Norwegian Literature and an Oxford Student

by S. C. Hammer

In 1728 Copenhagen was devastated by a fire, the extent of which, comparatively speaking, can only be likened to the famous fire of London sixty-two years earlier, to which I have already made a reference. In its consequences, it was even more far-reaching. It closes a chapter of high political and cultural interest in the history of the Dano-Norwegian monarchy, and opens a new one, imbued with an entirely different spirit, the characteristic features of which were Pietism and Germanism. Denmark, and more especially Copenhagen, became an intellectual province of Germany, customs and manners being stamped by the new religious movement, and ordinary life surrounded by a serenity which closed the door on all pleasures and enjoyments. It goes without saying that theatrical performances were considered most sinful, and that, even if the national stage had not had to go into bankruptcy some years before the fire, playgoing would have been promptly forbidden along with balls, masquerades, and other public and private entertainments.

Under these circumstances Holberg who, not long ago had published his autobiography as a sort of apology—a literary event which, for various reasons, has been very much discussed by Holberg students—had to give up his activity as a playwright and turn to a work more in conformity with his position as a professor in the University of Copenhagen. But before he did so, he felt it his duty to inform the public that he was the author of the comedies which had hitherto appeared under the fictitious name of a citizen of a provincial town. He certainly did not tell the public anything new by this information, but he impressed it favourably and, what is more important still, he has profited by it in the eyes of posterity. We are pleased to learn, through the authority of Holberg himself on the eve of his long silence as a playwright, that he admits the authorship of his immortal comedies in face of enemies whose machinations might have overthrown him from behind, if he had not turned round to meet them and confronted them with an open visage.

In 1730 Holberg was appointed Professor of History, and for the next sixteen years, covering the whole of the reign of Christian VI., he displays the activity of an historian, an essayist, and a philosophical writer—another proof of the remarkable versatility of his genius. Within recent years this phase of Holberg's authorship has been subjected to a close and interesting examination, especially by Norwegian Holberg students, and many valuable features, adding to the correctness of Holberg's portrait as an author and as a man, have been established beyond doubt. His historical works, obsolete though they are and superseded by modern contributions, are imbued with the same spirit as Peder Paars and the Comedies. In his History of Denmark (I.-III.) his greatest and most mature work; in his Description of Denmark and Norway; in his Description of Bergen; in his General History of the Church; in his History of Heroes and in his History of Heroines, to mention only the most important historical works of this part of his life, in all of them we discover the same qualities which struck us as characteristic features in his first work, deepened by his experiences and sharpened by his superior faculty of observation. In particular, we notice the light thread of irony running through the whole tissue of his reflection and composition, stamping argument and style alike by the irresistible humour of his genius. It is as if the playwright is constantly casting a glance on the manuscript over the shoulder of the historian, and as if merry Thalia always takes a fancy to tease her serene sister Kalliope.

In the midst of his learned studies Holberg, in a relapse, as it were, to his former satirical humour, surprised the public by a work which very soon got international reputation. It appeared at Leipzig in 1741, in Latin, under the title of Nicolai Klimii Iter Subterraneum, and was promptly translated into a number of European languages, among them English. The first English translation of Niels Klim dates from 1742; the next from 1828.[3] It ought to reappear in a new translation, and be included among the World's Classics, for next to Gulliver's Travels there is hardly a work in any literature to which it can be adequately compared.

Niels Klim is a Norwegian student—from Bergen, course—who, after having taken his degrees at the University of Copenhagen, both in theology and philosophy, has "returned penniless from the temple of the Muses, like all other Norwegian students." Strolling about one day among the hills which surround the city, he comes across a big cavern, remarkable "from time immemorial" for a continual groaning caused by the circulation of the air which is being drawn into the hole and again expelled. He makes up his mind to investigate the phenomenon and a few days later, assisted by four labourers, with rope and boat-hooks he makes his descent, being lowered gently down the centre of the hole. Unfortunately the rope suddenly snaps when he is only 12 feet down, and in the midst of a thick darkness Mr. Klim, with tremendous rapidity, falls straight through the globe until he ultimately finds himself perfectly unhurt on another planet. He is startled at discovering that the inhabitants of the country, the name of which is Potu, are walking trees, moving about with an extreme slowness and gravity. He afterwards finds out that the mental qualities of the Potuites are in every respect in conformity with their outward appearance.

Potu is England, as Holberg saw it—and wished to see it—and in the local description of it we quickly discover scenes of an unmistakable English kind. The Potuites are possessed of a highly conservative temper, but at the same time they are imbued with a true liberal spirit, which makes their institutions, customs and manners—in short, their community as a whole—contrast favourably with the communities of contemporary Europe.

In Potu there are no religious quarrels, because the whole creed of the population is contained in a few, easily intelligible, and very concise sentences. There are no "suffragettes" either, to use a modern term, for the women enjoy all the rights which among the European nations, are bestowed upon men alone. A highly esteemed widow holds the office of Minister of Finance; an elderly unmarried lady is Chief Justice—both to the perfect satisfaction of their compatriots. The sciences taught at the academies of Potu are History, Economy, Mathematics and Jurisprudence. Medicine is considered superfluous, as an academic science, owing to the temperate and regular habits of the Potuites, while Metaphysics is strictly prohibited, those inclined to such studies being promptly banished to the interior of the firmament. The government of Potu is based upon the principles of absolutism, but as the Princes always rule strictly in accordance with the principle of justice and there is a perfect equality among the citizens—all ranks and titles having been abolished centuries ago—the Potuites are very pleased with the state of public affairs and do not want any change. It is not absolutely prohibited to make proposals tending to change the existing conditions, but reformers had better take care before launching their proposals, for if they are deemed futile by the commission appointed to consider them, the schemer is sure to be hanged.

Mr. Klim, who is considered too versatile to hold any office of importance in the Principality of Potu, is vexed to see himself entrusted with the office of a royal courier, for which the Potuites find him excellently fitted owing to his fast legs. In this capacity he travels all over the principality, having a number of remarkable experiences, visiting, among other places, the famous site of learning of Keba, the subterraneous Oxford. Unfortunately, Mr. Klim cannot control his European ambition as a reformer, but owing to his foreign origin and his inexperience, he escapes the gallows and is expelled instead. He subsequently arrives in the Republic of Martinia, the inhabitants of which form the most complete contrast to the Potuites. The Martinians are apes, and in their country, which, as can easily be seen, is meant to be a sort of underground France, everything goes with a tremendous speed. Proposals and schemes of every kind are flying about; the number of schemers is unlimited; innovations are hailed with rapture, their popularity being always in proportion to their foolishness. Mr. Klim becomes the hero of Martinia and is considered a true benefactor of the nation when he invents the wig, which is promptly adopted by the Martinians. Unfortunately a Martinian lady, the wife of one of the most prominent men of the Republic, falls in love with him, and as he declines her advances, her love is changed into hatred and she gets him banished from the country.

After a series of remarkable adventures Mr. Klim ultimately lands in Quama, the inhabitants of which are human beings at a very low level of civilisation, among whom he appears in the quality of a reformer. In Quama he discovers a highly interesting manuscript, the work of a Quamite, describing his experiences in a European journey. It is a first-rate eighteenth century satire on European conditions and the customs and manners of the principal countries of Europe. Even here Holberg's predilection for England does not fail. The English, I think you will be pleased to learn, are let off most easily. Like his countryman, Peer Gynt, a century later, though under somewhat different conditions, Mr. Klim ultimately is chosen Emperor by the Quamites, but this proves to be too much for him. His ambition very soon passes all reasonable limits and his reign only knows the two alternatives: World-power or Downfall. It need hardly be said that the latter becomes the natural issue, and as a dethroned monarch he has to hide himself in a deep cavern to escape the rage of his embittered subjects, whom he has utterly duped and destroyed. Suddenly he loses his footing and falls with a tremendous rapidity through the earth the opposite way to that by which he arrived on the underground planet. He naturally lands again outside of Bergen and ends his days as a modest parish clerk, although never forgetting that once upon a time he used to be an Underground Emperor.

Niels Klim is, no doubt, the highest revelation of Holberg's genius. We find in it all the humour of Peder Paars and the Comedies; his sound judgment and his keenness of observation as an historian; his broad-mindedness as a philosopher; his tolerance as a moralist. As a work of fiction, it yields to none in exuberant phantasy, and the imperturbable calmness of the argument and of the style only adds to its worth.