"It was indeed so, and he showed his colors at the start.
The same dean and Bjornson became the best of friends afterwards,
and found much sport in interchanging genial jests whenever they met."

Frits Thaulow, the painter, thus wrote to Bjornson 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 demands upon you. Like
the sun you shone upon us and made the best that was in us
to grow, but I shall always keep a deep artistic affection for
what comes 'after twelve.'"

Henrik Cavling tells the following story of the poet in Paris:

"It was one of Bjornson's peculiarities to go out as a rule
without any money in his pocket. He neither owned a purse
nor knew the French coins. His personal expenditures were