The Susanne

“With all due admiration for Dostoievsky and the ablest of his confrères among the pessimists, I cannot but think it would be a better sign if Björnstjerne Björnson were to become the vogue. It is not so much a question of optimism versus pessimism as of perfect sanity of mind and body against baffling weariness, disease and despair. We have much to learn from a writer such as Dostoievsky: perhaps we have a really deeper and worthier lesson to learn from men like Björnson”

William Sharp, ‘Björnson’s In God’s Way: book review’, The Academy, London:1890

“While German literature darkens under the malignant star of Deutschthum, while French Art sickening of its long diesase crawls like a Leper through the light and wholesome world, while all over the European continent one wan influence or another asserts its despair-engendering sway over books and men, whither shall a bewildered student fly for one deep breath of pure air and wholesome ozone?”

Robert Buchanan, ‘Björnstjerne Björnson’, Contemporary Review, London:1872

“There he lay, the greatest the North has ever known, the King of Life on the journey of death, resting on the improvised couch as if on a bed of state. We were grouped around him – only a few intimate Danish friends, together with Norway’s Ambassador, who had come to wait on him in order to pay his country’s respects. The Ambassador, a highly gifted and distinguished lawyer, bent respectfully down over the invalid and kissed him on the forehead.

It was so entirely spontaneous that it impressed ur all by its solemnity, with the religious reverence of public worship. The old poet’s eyes were dim with tears. He grasped both the Ambassador’s hands – grasped them both – and drew them to his lips and kissed them over and over again, whilst with breaking voice he whispered: ‘Thank you! thank you!’

I thought, and involuntarily formed the words in my mind, 
‘Now Björnson and Norway bid farewell to each other.’”

Peter Nansen, ‘The last meeting with Björnson’, The Fortnightly Review, London: 1910

“And out of this young and sturdy nation two writers have arisen who wear laurels on their brows and are smiled on by Apollo. Björnson is well known, by this time, to many Englishmen; he represents the happy buoyant side of the life of his fatherland; he is what one would naturally expect a Norwegian author to be – rough, manly, unpolished, a young Titan rejoicing in his animal spirits. Ibsen, on the other hand, is a quite unexpected product of the mountain-lands, a typical modern European, a soul full of doubt and sorrow and unfulfilled desire, piercing downward into the dark, profound, Promethean, a dramatic satirist.”

Edmund Gosse, ‘Ibsen, the Norwegian Satirist’, The Fortnightly Review, London: 1873

“He [Björnson] distinguishes between a formal and a real marriage, and suggests that if the social union is founded on falsehood, it should be broken as soon as possible” 

Edmund Gosse, preface to Synnöve Solbakken. London: Heinemann 1895

“With the vigour of giant forefathers in his veins, Björnstjerne Björnson, ever a fighter, has for months made a valiant stand against death. But even the mightiest chieftain must at last take what the sagas call his bane-wound; and at last the brave white head lies low.

Europen literature has suffered no such loss since the death of Victor Hugo. Greater men have there been in this department or that, but none that was a master in so many fields, none that lavished his genius so inexhaustibly in the service of his country and of humanity.”

Willam Archer: ‘BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON’ in The Athenæum, London: 1910

“My work is my life; the more work I have in hand the happier I am. Music is my amusement, and digging is my recreation. You smile when I say digging is my recreation; but it is so. Your Gladstone fells oaks; I dig with a spade, and I am much prouder of having my name on a spade than in a book.”

Björnstjerne Björnson
-as quoted by Mrs. Alec Tweedie in ‘Henrik Ibsen and Björnstjerne Björnson’, Temple Bar, London: 1893

“Within a few hours of our arrival in Christiania the hotel servant came to tell us someone wanted to speak to us through the telephone… ‘Have you arrived?’ called a cheery voice in English, which we at once recognised as Dr. Fridtjof Nansen’s.
‘Yes, and very tired from the over-land and over-ice journey of 1300 miles.’
‘Please don’t be tired–rest a bit, and come to a party at my mother-in-law’s at eight o’clock.’

After a good deal of talking, tired as we were, we arranged that we would go, as it was a special party got up for a son-in-law’s birthday, and we would meet many old friends and some new ones. So at eight o’clock we went.

In a moment Dr. Nansen came forward and bore us off to the second drawing-room, to introduce us to his mother-in-law, who, unfortunately, being a very old lady, could not speak anything but Norsk.

As soon as we had time to look around, we noticed that one end of the room was draped with a large Norwegian flag, in front of which there were three busts – not of the King, but the busts of the great Radical leaders, all of whom were in the room in the flesh. Björnson was in the middle; Grieg, the composer, was on the right, while on the left was Professor Ernest Sars, the son of the hostess, and one of the prime leaders of the Radical Party.”

Mrs. Alec Tweedie: ‘Henrik Ibsen and Björnstjerne Björnson’ in Temple Bar, London: 1893

I: I don’t know what’s going on with me, for the first time ever I’m absolutely loving winter and feel an incredible urge to interact with nature. I must be going mad!

He: You’re becoming an adult, Susanne.

I: (Feeling chuffed)