Women -- Social and moral questions; Women in literature
A few years ago I was travelling on foot through Norway, aided by the
national means of locomotion, the “skyds.” It was slow work, but it
afforded me numberless opportunities of coming in contact with the
sons of the soil. On one occasion I met with a peasant on his way home
from the “saeter,” who was content to be my guide for hours together,
and he gave me some insight into his admiration for Björnson as a
political speaker; another time, while I was waiting for horses in a
“skyds station,” I examined a little book-case which was hanging over
the writing table in the superintendent’s room, and there I found an
almost complete set of Björnson’s works. And once it was the “skyds”
boy himself who asked me if I knew Björnson. All the women teachers
and book-keepers who, with knapsacks on their backs, wander across
the mountains of their native land, carry his name upon their lips
and his books in their hearts. High up at the foot of Skineggen in
Jötunheimen, in the midst of eternal snow, I asked a haggard-looking
old Valdres peasant who kept the tourist’s house there during the six
weeks of summer, which was my nearest way to Björnson, and he answered
with an approving smile addressing me in the second person singular:
“Thou knowest Björnson, thou art an intelligent young lady. Trust me
and I will tell thee all that thou wouldest know.” Whereupon he went
indoors and fetched a large map of the Norwegian mountains, which he
spread out on the short grass between us, and proceeded to point up
and down with his finger into Gudbrandsdal and from thence to the
south till he came to a spot where he stopped short, and said: “Here
is Aulestad, Björnson’s place. Every one who wishes to go there may do
so, thou also.” Then he began a long complicated account of the why
and the wherefore Björnson is beloved by the peasant, said that he was
a “homely man” who went “straight ahead”; and then he told me of the
difficulties that he and his neighbours had encountered in order to
hear him speak, and how they had gone long journeys to attend meetings
in distant places.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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