The most vigorous product of this last period is the dramatic poem
"Ahasuerus," an emphatic prologue of the Last Judgment. We experience,
with the cobbler of Jerusalem, the last day of the world, learn from
him of the course of earthly life since Christianity redeemed humanity,
are informed how beastliness followed close upon the heels of humanity
until the rule of the animal nature was followed by the Antichrist, as
described in the poem. It is a drama to which Joseph de Maistre might
with rapture have signed his name, and its attacks on constitutionalism
and tolerancy form a versified commentary on the syllabus of the
Vatican. The poem denotes, in common with some of the later writings of
Kierkegaard, the crisis of the reaction in Danish literature against
the eighteenth century. In its monologue there are some very tedious
portions; but it has some dazzlingly superb, and at the same time,
exceedingly touching passages in the songs of the choruses, which
express the anguish of mortals in the contemplation of the coming
misfortune, and no less in the exquisite song of the angels who lull
Ahasuerus into eternal repose. Yet the most individual part of the
poem, a passage which displays an almost Michael-Angelo-like grandeur,
is that where the trumpet tones evoke annihilation in all that is
finite. Let me cite the first three stanzas:--
"_The Trumpet_ (from the clouds).
"Kneel, kneel, O earth! in sack-cloth clad and ashes,
Discard the mask with boastful pride that flashes!
The angel hosts in the sky are now appearing;
Your doom is nearing!
"Down, down to dust, ye vanities resplendent,
Ye stones of nature, works of art transcendent!
Each crowned turret, and each lofty tower,
Destroyed your power.
"Down, down to dust, the cup of death there draining,
From dreams of honor, schemes of pride refraining,
Down, down, and learn the worth, all steeped in degradation,
Of reputation."
These trumpet tones are the _résumé_ of Paludan-Müller's poetry.
As an antithesis to the repentant Wandering Jew in "Ahasuerus" is
given the Antichrist. Unfortunately the weakness of this form is
somewhat prejudicial to the effect of the poem. This Antichrist
accords thoroughly with ecclesiastical tradition; he is no Lucifer, no
fallen angel; in his commonplace, feeble attitude he vividly recalls
the vacillating, deceitful Antichrist of Luca Signorelli in the
cathedral of Orvieto. Moreover, it can readily be comprehended that
Paludan-Müller, in his adherence to the orthodox impressions of his
childhood, might fancy he could not paint the devil black enough, or,
more correctly speaking, flat enough. Now, in order to invest the drama
with play and counter-play, and thrilling interest, the Antichrist
should have been equipped with powerful and brilliant qualities,
that would in themselves have explained his authority. If Alexander
was placed at a disadvantage, however, still less justice was done
the Antichrist, and no better fate was reserved for the Lucifer in
Paludan-Müller's double drama "Paradise." This Lucifer, to be sure, is
enterprising and keen-sighted; he conceives, for instance, the original
idea to split the kernel from which the Tree of Knowledge is to grow;
but such a Lucifer after the "Cain" of Byron is after all only an
Iliad after the Iliad of Homer. The first half of "Paradise" contains
the most exquisite lyric strains. In the alternating song between
spirit and nature, and in the song of the angel to the morning star,
may be found a cosmic poetry which, in its purity and freshness, is
only surpassed by that of Shelley; but the insignificance of Lucifer
combined with the unsuccessful, and by far too childish naïveté of
Adam and Eve, weakens the impression of the great plan of the poem.
The orthodoxy of Paludan-Müller checked the flight of his fancy
in "Ahasuerus" as well as in "Paradise": _in majorem gloriam dei_
Antichrist became a prattler; Lucifer a spirit of the second rank.