A paragraph relating to Magdalene Thoresen followed. But what is here
cited is the essential part of the letter. Had its recipient known
Bjoernson better, he would in this have found a foundation to build upon.
But as things were, I altogether overlooked the honestly meant
friendliness in it and merely seized upon the no small portion of it
that could not do other than wound. My reply, icy, sharp and in the
deeper sense of the word, worthless, was a refusal. I did not believe in
Bjoernson, saw in the letter nothing but an attempt to use me as a
critic, now that he had lost his former advocate in the Press. The
prospect of the journey to the North did not tempt me; in Bjoernson's
eyes it would have been Thor's journey with Loki, and I neither was Loki
nor wished to be.
But even had I been capable of rising to a more correct and a fuller
estimate of Bjoernson's character, there was too much dividing us at this
time for any real friendship to have been established. Bjoernson was then
still an Orthodox Protestant, and in many ways hampered by his youthful
impressions; I myself was still too brusque to be able to adapt myself
to so difficult and masterful a personality.
Eight years elapsed before the much that separated me from Bjoernson
crumbled away. But then, when of his own accord he expressed his regret
on a public occasion at the rupture between us, and spoke of me with
unprejudiced comprehension and good-will, I seized with warmth and
gratitude the hand stretched out to me.
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