"Our poets, yes! Have you read
any of them? Have you, for instance, ever come across the name of
Paulsberg, the name of Irgens?"
Aagot could not refrain from observing her old tutor. She was surprised to
note that this man, who invariably used to yield when he was contradicted,
now sat there with a ready reply to every remark and did not look very
timid either.
"You must not take offence at what I say," he begged. "I admit that I have
no business to express such opinions here; I ought to leave that to others
who understand these matters better than I; but if you want to know what I
think, then I must say that, according to my lights, our younger writers
do not seem to improve the conditions greatly. Of course, there can be no
fixed standard; everything depends on the point of view, and yours is not
mine; we are bound to differ. But, anyway, our younger writers do not lift
the level greatly; hardly, according to my understanding. It would seem
they lack the ability. Of course, that is no fault of theirs; but then
they have no right to pose as being greater than they are. It is a pity
that we lose sight of the greater and make mediocrity take its place.
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