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The longest of his foreign journeys was that which brought him to the United States in the winter of 1880-81, for the purpose of addressing his fellow countrymen in the Northwest. His home for the last thirty years and more has been his estate of Aulestad in the Gausdal, a region of Southern Norway.
A mere pen, a mere sword of what use are they, save as mural decorations, without a man behind them? And that recalls a memory of mine, which, as both great men are now drinking wine in Valhalla out of the skulls of their critics, there can be no harm in recalling. Some years ago I was on an unforgettable visit to Björnson, at his country home of Aulestad, near Lillehammer.
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.
Next he was setting out for Trondhiem, whence in a few days he would join his friend Bjornstjerne Bjornson, the novelist, at the latter's estate of Aulestad in the Gudbrandsdalen. Bjornson, as it happened, was then at Munich, in Germany, but this circumstance did not weigh for a moment with the newspapers.
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