determined to see Grieg in his
surroundings. We hired a carriage in Bergen and started on our
pilgrimage. It needed not only the energy of an American, but the
tongue of a Dane and the perserverance of Danaides. The Griegs live in
the most unget-at-able place that you can imagine, because he does not
want any one to get at him.

However, after driving for miles and worrying the life out of our
driver by poking him in the back with our umbrellas and asking him if
we had not arrived and when we should arrive, and such useless
questions, our poor tired steed climbed a long hill where the road
suddenly ended its course. We were obliged to leave the carriage and
make the rest of the hill on foot, only to encounter, on arriving at a
gate bearing these large and forbidding letters: "_Her boer Edward
Grieg, som oensker at vaere fri for folk._" ("Here lives Edward Grieg,
who wishes to be let alone.")

But Nina and I were not to be balked by such a trifle as Edward Grieg's
wishes, and with some difficulty we managed to unfasten the hasp of the
wooden gate. We expected to see a dragon or a ferocious bulldog fly at
us, but all was peaceful within, and we walked into the lair without
being molested, and marched boldly to the front door of the villa.
There Mrs. Grieg opened the door to us and was (she said) delighted to
see us. "And," she added, "how happy Grieg will be, too!" This, we
thought, was doubtful, but Grieg pretended to be very "happy."

We stayed as long as we dared, and, on being offered tea and cakes and
urged to stay longer, we were shown, as a great privilege, the little
summer-house at the bottom of the hill where Grieg retires when he
wishes to compose, and where Mrs. Grieg or any other angel dare not to
tread. He has a grand Steinway. This is about the only American thing
which Grieg does not hate. He said that he would have been a rich man
if America had given him a royalty on his music, which is, as he said,
played in every house in America. They bemoaned that they were overrun
by American lady reporters. That was the reason they had put that
notice on the gate--to keep them off the premises. They would beg, he
said, "just to look at the garden and pluck a little _ukrut_ [weed],
and then go away and write all sorts of nonsense, as if they had
dragged all my secrets out of me. They are terrible," he added, "your
lady compatriots."

[Illustration:

FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM GRIEG

A LETTER FROM GRIEG