The Jonas Lie MEGAPACK ® - Jonas Lie

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In this mood he reverted to the trusty Finn of his bosom who so long had lain dormant, and let him discourse on life and human nature. He proved voluble, resourceful, and original. The result was published in two volumes (1891 and 1892), entitled Trold. They are, in part, phantasmagorias charged with the symbolism of Norse legendary lore, where trolls are the personified manifestation of evil forces in nature. The opening sentence of the illuminating introduction says: “That there are trolls in human beings every one knows who has an eye for that sort of thing.”

      In the most characteristic of these stories, of which there are a dozen in each volume, Lie has personified primal instincts—allegorized some of the strange facts and mystic forces of nature, man, and society. Others are in lighter vein and have a more human cast, being mere playful satires on social phenomena. They form a marvellous medley. At first it seems quite impossible to believe that the author of ‘The Family at Gilje can be the begetter of things so fantastic and grotesque. But when the reader thinks of the early Nordland stories, he understands, and then feels inclined to regret, that the Finn had so long lain dormant. One is tempted to believe that a little of the troll element could easily have been used to give a tinge of terror to his calm realism; and this is in fact what he has done most effectively in the novel Dyre Rein (1896), which in other respects much resembles ‘The Family at Gilje.

      After the publication of Trold, Lie, even where he does not introduce troll effects, is not hesitant about using more tragic methods and more dramatic scenes than during the period of the strictly realistic novels. There is, moreover, a decided trend toward a wider scope and more cosmopolitan aims, as in When the Iron Curtain Falls (1901), a bolder symbolism, as in Niobe (1893) and in his last work, East of the Sun, West of the Moon, and Beyond the Towers of Babylon (1905), in which, however, as the title indicates, the story is top-heavy with symbolism. It runs parallel with the main narrative as an introduction to each chapter. The whole is the tale of a genius, hampered and harassed by malicious trolls in human guise—evidently an adumbration of the author’s own personal experience. But he is, as always, charitable: “Human nature is so complex!”

      In other words: the last fifteen years of Lie’s authorship reveal him in full possession of the realistic powers of the preceding period, illuminated by a profound comprehension of the mystic forces of life that so often determine human fates.

      * * * *

      Like Ibsen, Lie lived abroad for many years, mainly in Paris, but usually spending his summers in the Bavarian Alps, where most of his writing was done. There were too many distractions in Paris, where his home was a centre of the colony of Scandinavian artists and literary workers. In the summer of 1893, after an absence of ten years, he felt the need of visiting Norway again. An intense feeling of homesickness had seized him, as the following incident will indicate. He had called on a Norwegian family in Paris who had just received a plant from Norway in Norwegian earth. “Thinking himself unobserved,” one of his daughters tells, “I saw him turn from the company, take a pinch of that earth and put it to his mouth. Whether he kissed it or ate it I do not know. But he looked very solemn.”

      In Norway he was received most cordially. On the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Brandes proclaimed him “the most amiable of geniuses.” He was interviewed, banqueted, and serenaded almost to distraction, and was glad to get back to Paris, happy, however, in having experienced the touching devotion of his countrymen. A decade of arduous toil followed, after which he began to make plans for returning to Norway to spend the last years of his life. A cozy home was built at Fredriksvaern, on the southern coast, and in 1906 the family took possession of it. The next year, however, his faithful wife, the guardian of his genius, passed away. Dependent upon her companionship and solicitous care, he did not long survive her. He died July 5, 1908.

      The Norwegian Storting took fitting cognizance of his death, and, as had been done at Ibsen’s demise, decreed that interment should be made at the expense of the State.

      “Blessed are the merciful,” said the pastor at his bier.

      “Be merciful!” is the sentiment that echoes and reechoes throughout Jonas Lie’s pages.

      —Julius E. Olson

      The University of Wisconsin

      February, 1920

      INTRODUCTION TO WEIRD TALES FROM THE NORTHERN SEAS, by R. Nisbet Bain

      Jonas Lie is sufficiently famous to need but a very few words of introduction. Ever since 1870, when he made his reputation by his first novel, “Den Fremsynte,” he has been a prime favourite with the Scandinavian public, and of late years his principal romances have gone the round of Europe. He has written novels of all kinds, but he excels when he describes the wild seas of Northern Norway, and the stern and hardy race of sailors and fishers who seek their fortunes, and so often find their graves, on those dangerous waters. Such tales, for instance, as “Tremasteren Fremtid,” “Lodsen og hans Hustru,” “Gaa Paa!” and “Den Fremsynte” are unique of their kind, and give far truer pictures of Norwegian life and character in the rough than anything that can be found elsewhere in the literature. Indeed, Lie’s skippers and mates are as superior to Kjelland’s, for instance, as the peasants of Jens Tvedt (a writer, by the way, still unknown beyond his native land) are superior to the much-vaunted peasants of Björnstjerne Björnson.

      But it is when Lie tells us some of the wild legends of his native province, Nordland, some of the grim tales on which he himself was brought up, so to speak, that he is perhaps most vivid and enthralling. The folk-lore of those lonely sub-arctic tracts is in keeping with the savagery of nature. We rarely, if ever, hear of friendly elves or companionable gnomes there. The supernatural beings that haunt those shores and seas are, for the most part, malignant and malefic. They seem to hate man. They love to mock his toils, and sport with his despair. In his very first romance, “Den Fremsynte,” Lie relates two of these weird tales (Nos. 1 and 3 of the present selection). Another tale, in which many of the superstitious beliefs and wild imaginings of the Nordland fishermen are skilfully grouped together to form the background of a charming love-story, entitled “Finn Blood,” I have borrowed from the volume of “Fortællinger og Skildringer,” published in 1872. The remaining eight stories are selected from the book “Trold,” which was the event of the Christmas publishing season at Christiania in 1891. Last Christmas a second series of “Trold” came out, but it is distinctly inferior to the former one.

      THE FISHERMAN AND THE DRAUG

      There could be very little doubt that the lonely Kvalholm was haunted. Whenever her husband was away, Karen heard all manner of uncanny shrieks and noises, which could mean no good. One day, when she was up on the hillside, mowing grass to serve as winter fodder for their couple of sheep, she heard, quite plainly, a chattering on the strand beneath the hill, but look over she durst not.

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