. It was one of Grundtvig's hymns in 32--thirty-two
verses. I resigned myself to my fate with stoicism. At the beginning
I kept myself awake, but the endless repetitions had a soporific
effect. Little by little I became as stupid as a medium. When we had
at last got through with all the verses, Bjoernson said: 'Isn't that
fine. Now I will read it for you!' And so we got all thirty-two
verses once more. I was completely overawed."

When the poet purchased his country estate which was his home from the
late seventies to the end of his life, his coming was looked forward to
with mingled feelings by the good country folk of the neighborhood.
Kristofer Janson thus tells the story of his arrival:

"His coming was anticipated with a certain anxiety and apprehension,
for was he not a 'horrid radical'? The dean in particular thought that
he might be a menace to the safe spiritual slumber of the village. As
the dean one day was driving through the village in his carriole, just
where the road turns sharply by the bridge below Aulestad, he met
another carriole which was rapidly driving that way and in it a man
who, without respect for the clerical vehicle, shouted with all the
strength of his lungs: 'Half the road!' The dean turned aside, saying
with a sigh: 'Has Bjoernson come to the Gausdal at last?' "It was indeed
so, and he showed his colors at the start. The same dean and Bjoernson
became the best of friends afterwards, and found much sport in
interchanging genial jests whenever they met."

Frits Thaulow, the painter, thus wrote to Bjoernson reminding him of a
festive gathering of students:

"The manager came in and announced with a loud voice that it was past
twelve. Then you sprang up.

"'Bring champagne! Now I will speak of what comes after twelve
o'clock! of all that lies beyond the respectable hour for retiring!
For the hour when fancy awakens and fills us with longings for the
world of wonderland; then the painter sees only the dim outline in the
moonlight, then the musician hears the silence, then the poet after his
thoughtful day feels sprouting the first shoots of the next. After
twelve freedom begins. The day's tumult is stilled, and the voice
within becomes audible.'

"Thus you spoke, and 'after twelve' became a watchword with us.

"Many a spark has been kindled in your soul by the quiet evening time.
But later in life, when you become a chieftain in the battle, broad
daylight also made its dem