The Susanne

“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)

You may have heard of a man called Aubrey Beardsley… well, my thesis advisor tipped me off about this frontispiece which he did for the English translation of Björnson’s ‘Over Ævne’ (Pastor Sang) in 1893. Interestingly enough it positions Björnson very far from the Norwegian peasant tales which at first made him noticed in the UK. Very interesting indeed.

Sometimes it’s nice to know that you can escape the craziness of city life and spend a peaceful evening in the country with dad. Mounds of perfectly succulent lutefisk for dinner followed by a walk by the lake at sunset. The night frost beginning to set in, nipping at your nose and colouring your cheeks, the sun setting behind the hills and colouring the world. Red, gold, blue. Stunning.

I love checking stats to see what people have searched for to reach my blog. Today’s top search keywords are alcoholic coma and moose love. LOL

A great pannacotta totters and wobbles like a Rubensesque woman on five inch stillettos. Gorgeous!
-Matt Preston