ng of his career. But this little tale, although no
trace of what the Germans call "tendency" is to be found in it, is still
significant as being the poet's first indirect manifesto, and as such
distinctly foreshadowing the path which he has since followed.

First, in its purely literary aspect, "Synnoeve Solbakken" was strikingly
novel. The author did not, as his predecessors had done, view the people
from the exalted pedestal of superior culture; not as a subject for
benevolent preaching and charitable condescension, but as a concrete
phenomenon, whose _raison d'etre_ was as absolute and indisputable as
that of the _bourgeoisie_ or the bureaucracy itself. He depicted their
soul-struggles and the incidents of their daily life with a loving
minuteness and a vivid realism hitherto unequalled in the literature of
the North. He did not, like Auerbach, construct his peasant figures
through laborious reflection, nor did he attempt by anxious
psychological analysis to initiate the reader into their processes of
thought and emotion. He simply depicted them as he saw and knew them.
Their feelings and actions have their immediate, self-evident motives in
the characters themselves, and the absence of analysis on the author's
part gives an increased energy and movement to the story.

Mr. Nordahl Rolfsen relates, _a propos_ of the reception which was
accorded Bjoernson's first book, the following amusing anecdote:

"'Synnoeve Solbakken' was printed, and its author was anxious to have his
friends read it. But not one of them could be prevailed upon. At last a
comrade was found who was persuaded to attack it on the promise of a
bottle of punch. He entered Bjoernson's den, got a long pipe which he
filled with tobacco, undressed himself completely--for it was a hot
day--flung himself on the bed, and began to read. Bjoernson sat in the
sofa, breathless with expectation. Leaf after leaf was turned; not a
smile, not a single encouraging word! The young poet had good reason to
regard the battle as lost. At last the pipe, the bottle, and the book
were finished. Then the merciless Stoic rose and began to dress, and the
following little exclamation escaped him: 'That is, the devil take me,
the best book I have read in all my life.'"

Bjoernson's style was no less novel than his theme. It may or it may not
have been consciously modelled after the saga style, to which, however,
it bears an obvious resemblance. In his early childhood, while he