very boisterous in their glee. In the middle of the floor
an immense Christmas tree was enthroned and brightly lighted.
All the servant-folk came in, and Bjornson spoke, beautifully and
warmly, as he well knows how to do. 'Now you shall play a hymn,
Grieg,' he said, and although I did not quite like the notion
of doing organist's work, I naturally complied without a murmur.
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, Bjornson 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 Bjornson come to the Gausdal at last?'