Brenda, My Darling
The
love letters of
Fridtjof Nansen
to
Brenda Ueland
Edited by
Eric
Utne
With a Foreword
by
Per Egil Hegge
Copyright © 2011
by Eric Utne
An UTNE Institute Book, October 2011
Smashwords
Edition
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This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you
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part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,
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written permission of the UTNE Institute.
Published in the United States by the UTNE Institute, Inc., a 501c3 public charitable organization, with offices at 4259 Linden Hills Blvd., Minneapolis, Minnesota 55410 USA.
Portions of this book have appeared elsewhere. Grateful acknowledgment is made to the Schubert Club and the Estate of Brenda Ueland for permission to reprint previously published material.
*
To Susan, my Beloved
*
Books by Brenda Ueland
If
You Want to Write
Me: A Memoir
Strength to Your Sword Arm:
Selected Writings
Mitropoulos and the North High Band
O Clouds
Unfold! Clara Ueland and her Family
✴
Books by Fridtjof Nansen
The
First Crossing of Greenland
Eskimo Life
Farthest North: The
Voyage and Exploration of the Fram, 1893-96
Norway and the Union
with Sweden
In Northern Mists: Arctic Exploration in Early
Times
Through Siberia: The Land of the Future
Sporting Days in
Wild Norway
Russia and Peace
Adventure, and other
papers
Armenia and the Near East
Through the Caucasus to the
Volga
Table of Contents
It is no exaggeration to say that these love letters from Fridtjof Nansen to Brenda Ueland make for compelling reading. Nansen’s fiery confessions of his great love for Ueland would have been considered semi-pornographic only a half century ago. The Norwegian saying “when the old house catches fire, it burns with great heat,” fully applies. But, because the letters are so earnest, so intense and so beautifully written, it is more appropriate to classify them as literature - a true love song.
Nansen’s English is poetic and aesthetic, but then he had 40 years of practice. As a young man he taught himself to quote long passages of Byron and Keats by heart. Moreover, he had been on several speaking tours in the United Kingdom and the United States, where he lectured about his adventures skiing across Greenland and his voyage over the Arctic Ocean, from the pulpit of the Royal Geographical Society in London.
What is most remarkable about these letters is how Nansen opens up and exposes himself for Ueland, who was younger than him by 30 years. The aloof and taciturn aristocrat we have come to know from his other writing is rarely seen in these letters.
Fridtjof Nansen's strong interest in the other sex, and his appeal to the same, was never a secret, including for his immediate family. One could say he earned his reputation as a lover of women. In fact it was a strain in his marriage to Eva Sars. In December 1907 Nansen was in London, where he was in the process of completing his assignment as a diplomat. Preparing to return home to Norway, he received news that Eva had suddenly become seriously ill. He left immediately, but he did not reach her deathbed in time. Eva Nansen died at the age of 49. He regretted the suffering he caused Eva for the rest of his life.
Fridtjof Nansen was one of the first Norwegians interested in Sigmund Freud's scientific work. There are five references to Freud in Nansen’s doctoral thesis. Freud was occupied at the time not with human mental life, but with liver cancer and diseases of the nervous system. But both men realized early - with completely different paths for their own careers - the role of eroticism and sexuality in human emotions.
Brenda Ueland (1891-1985) and Fridtjof Nansen (1861-1930) first met in 1929. Nansen was in the U.S. on what would be his last U.S. visit. Brenda wrote to him as a freelance journalist requesting an interview. But she admits that it was a pretext. She was more curious about the person than in the interview. As Ueland’s grandson Eric Utne writes in this book’s Introduction, their mutual interest must have turned into an immediate attraction, quickly becoming an almost unmanageable infatuation.
In the brief period they were together in New York City and Connecticut, there may not have been many opportunities to pursue their attraction. Their correspondence began immediately after his return to Norway. She could sit for five hours at a time writing letters to him. He told her that he did not think about anything, and certainly no one, other than her. He held little back when he described his erotic obsession with her. He became upset when too much time passed between letters - that is to say more than two weeks.
As usual, he was carefull to be discrete. He told her to send her letters in envelopes that appeared to be official, and to be sure that the name and address were typed rather than written by hand.
In these letters Nansen revealed to Ueland something about his past relationships that none of his many biographers seems to have discovered: that he and Marie Holdt were lovers. Mrs. Holdt, married to Pastor William Holdt, was Nansen’s much older hostess when the young scientist lived in Bergen from 1882-1888. Fifteen years his senior, she took care of more of her young tennant’s needs than you can reasonably expect of a landlord. Of this relationship he writes poetically, gently and beautifully.
As an old woman, Brenda Ueland gave a brisk interview to Erik Bye on NRK, the Norwegian equivalent of PBS. She said, "I'm so old they’ll need to shoot me on Judgment Day." She was 93 years, and was both fresh and discrete about the past. She could have brought her secret to the grave, except for the hints in her autobiography. But she did not burn his letters. Over 80 years after they were written, these letters take us far from the mists and glaciers of Nansen’s Arctic adventures. They give us the opportunity to admire the literary Fridtjof Nansen and to savor the heart-felt expression of his poetic soul.
So burning are these letters that one is tempted to recall a bit of 1 Corinthians. “Three things will last forever--faith, hope, and love--and the greatest of these is love.”
Per Egil Hegge
September 2011
Oslo, Norway
“Listen to the
reed and the tale it tells,
How it sings of separation…”
–Rumi
“You cannot possibly understand what your letter means to me, it is as if a flood of strength suffuses my whole body and soul, and I feel that you are near…What an irresistible attraction towards you, what a warm feeling of tenderness, also because you wish me to know you exactly as you are. And I feel the same desire; there is not a corner of my heart or soul which I do not wish you to look into…simply because it is all parts of my own self, and you have to know it. I have a feeling that I could talk to you about everything, as I have never had before, and you would always understand…”
—Fridtjof Nansen to Brenda Ueland, 25 April 1929
Passion may be greatest when there are great obstacles. In the 12th century, Heloise, forcibly separated from her much older lover Abelard, wrote to him, “While I am denied your presence, give me at least through your words some sweet semblance of yourself.” So too with Rumi’s 13th-century poems of longing for his beloved Shams of Tabriz, and Elizabeth Barrett’s tender correspondence with Robert Browning [“Sonnets from the Portuguese” (1847)]; separation breeds passion, creativity, and the power of the imagination.
This book is the record of another such literary love affair, one that took place in the 20th century, reached across a vast ocean, and spanned a thirty-year age difference. The letters from Fridtjof Nansen to Brenda Ueland are evidence that two questing souls found each other, and, through an intense, clandestine correspondence, transformed each other’s lives. Promising absolute honesty, they practiced uncommon candor. They revealed their innermost thoughts, and swore never to destroy, censor, or even withhold anything they’d written from the other. Thus, they inspired each other’s most passionate and eloquent thoughts, their very best selves.
Readers will find here only half of Nansen and Ueland’s year-long correspondence. Unfortunately, Ueland’s letters to Nansen, which must have been absolutely incendiary, were probably burned by his son Odd and daughter-in-law Kari when they found them after Nansen’s death. Fortunately, Ueland was a gifted and prolific writer. You will learn why Nansen was so besotted with her, through selections from her published works and heretofore unpublished diaries.
Brenda Ueland and Fridtjof Nansen met in early 1929, when she was 37, he 67. She was a free-lance writer and single mother living in Stamford, Connecticut, and working in New York City. He was a world-famous explorer, statesman, and humanitarian preparing for his next Arctic expedition. They had a brief love affair—just a few days spent together in New York and Stamford, followed by a year-long correspondence that lasted until shortly before Nansen’s death on May 13, 1930.
This is a true love story, as poignant and fraught with intrigue and anguish as that of Tristan and Isolde, or Abelard and Heloise. Like theirs, it is a literary love affair, played out at a distance. Fridtjof and Brenda, separated by the Atlantic Ocean and a three-decade age difference, came to know each other and consummated their passions primarily in their imaginations.
An Unconventional, Rule-Breaking Woman
Brenda Ueland was born October 24, 1891, in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her grandfather, Ole Gabriel Ueland, was a farmer and statesman who served in the first Norwegian Storting (parliament). Her father, Andreas Ueland, immigrated to the U.S. as a child, dug sewers as a young man, and eventually prospered as a lawyer and judge. Her mother, Clara Ueland, was a prominent, civic-minded suffragette and progressive parent who gave her seven children great freedom. “My parents were political idealists, feminists, democrats,” Brenda wrote. “They wanted their children to be light-hearted and athletic, to live outdoors and eat oranges and apples. My mother thought the girls should not be the menials of the boys, and so the boys made their own beds and the girls were on the football team in the pasture. She thought that if mothers were what they should be, surrounding their children with every freedom and happiness and cheerful intelligence, we would have the Millennium in one generation. She taught the baby how to hold and smooth the cat. She never cautioned us. We could walk endless miles in the country, swim across the lake, ride bareback.”
Brenda attended Wells College in upstate New York and Barnard College in New York City. Living in Greenwich Village she traveled with such bohemian free thinkers and literary lions as Mabel Dodge, Emma Goldman, Theodore Dreiser, Willa Cather, Eugene O’Neill, and John Reed. She married in 1916, had a daughter, Gabriel [Gaby], in 1921, and was divorced in 1926. In the 1930s Brenda wrote her two best-known books, If You Want to Write (1938) and Me (1939), both published by G.P. Putnam’s Sons.
If You Want to Write begins, “Everybody is talented, original, and has something important to say…” and Brenda believed it. When the book came out an incredulous Saturday Review of Literature reviewer attacked Brenda’s idea that most people should write. “Let the mediocre stick to reading,” he advised. Don’t offer “false hopes to the untalented.” Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and biographer Carl Sandberg thought otherwise. He called If You Want to Write “the best book ever written about how to write.” (As of this writing the book has sold more than 300,000 copies since 1987, with a devoted following.)
The next year G.P. Putnam’s Sons published Me, the story of the first half of Brenda’s self-described “very unconventional life.” In an edition re-issued in 1993, memoirist Patricia Hampl wrote that Brenda was a true “rule-breaking woman,” and that Me was her “masterpiece.”
In the 1940s Brenda wrote a column for the Minneapolis Times, and in 1945 received Norway’s highest honor, the Knights of St. Olaf medal, for her coverage of Vidkun Quisling’s trial and her relief work after World War II. She corresponded with, and was admired by, Langston Hughes, Paul Robeson, Eleanor Roosevelt, Upton Sinclair, Robert Penn Warren, and Carl Sandburg, among countless others.
During the last three decades of her life Brenda lived in a small, wood-frame house near Lake Harriet, a lovely, spring-fed urban lake whose forested public shoreline held park-like trails. She walked the lake twice a day, “Once for the body and once for the soul.” She was recognized around the city for her frequent, meandering 20-mile walks. “It is much better to walk alone,” she wrote, “no cackle of voices at your elbow to jar the meditative silence of the morning.”
Toward the end of her long life, with her typical tongue-in-cheek braggadocio, Brenda told me she had “three husbands and a hundred lovers.” But, she added, striving never to be dishonest or cruel, she “tried not to have a love affair with a married man unless he brought a note from his wife.” She got one once. It said, “You can have him!”
Brenda’s true love was life itself. “While you are alive, be alive!” was one of her favorite maxims. She had little patience for those who merely endured life rather than celebrating it. Her days were filled with passionate curiosity and conversation—about Tolstoy, Blake, Joan of Arc, railroad bums, marching bands, courage, and beauty. These were also the subjects of her writing.
She worked in her sunny, second floor studio, looking out over the lake, “Like Captain Ahab, watching the whales spouting,” she said. She wrote for local periodicals, lectured widely, and kept extensive diaries. She took in stray cats and stray people with regularity. She set three AAU swimming records in the over-80 category, “because it took me longer to sink than the competition.” She maintained the house herself, changing her heavy storm windows atop a stepladder well into her 80s. At 90, she fell from the ladder and broke her hip. She said the worst part of it was that she could no longer “dart from in between parked cars in the middle of city blocks and dodge on-coming traffic.”
Brenda wrote every day—short stories, essays, newspaper columns, a journal, serials—by her estimate over six million published words. In her later years she became mentor and advisor to a circle of young writers. She would tell them stories of her life, if asked, but mostly she would listen, asking many questions of her young friends. “If you want to be interesting,” she’d admonish them, “you have to be interested.” She was interested in everything—politics, natural foods, beauty, bravery, protecting defenseless animals, and the Minnesota Vikings football team.
Brenda’s secret for healthy living was the same as for good writing—slow down, as in, “long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.” And this: “…inspiration does not come like a bolt, nor is it kinetic, energetic striving, but it comes slowly and quietly and all the time, though we must regularly and every day give it a little chance to start flowing, prime it with a little solitude and idleness… you should feel when writing not like Lord Byron on a mountaintop, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten—happy, absorbed, and quietly putting one bead on after another.”
Even as she unfailingly encouraged others, she mercilessly criticized herself. She wrote in her diary in 1958:
I remembered this morning to be WHOLE, to not suppress any of many manifold personalities—the seventeen wrapped into one. Sainthood commingled with Satanic-hood—it is this that leads to illumination and mental aliveness…I am physically NOT as fine as I should be—stiff, and thick through the waist. I have been trying to correct this PHYSICALLY—by more exercise, walking, better food etc. But I have neglected the spirit, imagination, laboring travailing mind and spirit. THIS one gets only by writing, I think, for hours, hours every day. I am sure of it. I see it suddenly now, and clearly. I have seen it intermittently for many years, but have forgotten it again.
A Love Story
Our love story begins in 1928. Brenda described it in her autobiography Me:
Now I come to a love story. In 1928 my father went to Norway and wanted me to go; but I was too anxious about making a living. He wanted to take care of all that, but there was my old complex about not being an expense, a nuisance. Besides, freelancing is not like a salaried job. The work you do this month may not be paid for, for six months or two years, or ever. So I was dogged by conscientiousness. And all the time living expenses, rent and so on, went right on ticking off hundreds of dollars, like a kind of relentless gas meter.
So I would not go. But I saw Father off on the boat and felt sorry about it, and sorrier later, because on this boat he got to know Fridtjof Nansen, the Arctic explorer. He was the great man of Norway. As well as an explorer, he was a famous scientist, a zoologist and oceanographer; he had been ambassador to London during the critical period of disunion from Sweden in 1905; and as the representative of Norway to the League of Nations, it was he who had repatriated millions of prisoners of war.
That winter Nansen came to this country [the U.S.]. I read it in the newspaper. He was planning, it said, to go with Eckener in the Graf Zeppelin across the North Pole, and he had come to make arrangements with the United States government, for mooring masts in Alaska.
I wrote him a note and asked for an interview. I did not really want the interview so much as to see him and to talk to him. This was my hero-worship. I felt that he was really great. If I could just get near and see him and hear him talk a little. In answer, he wrote me that he must go west but after that, when he returned to New York in March, he would surely see me…
For a year we wrote each other every week, until his death. We had a plan that when he came the next spring to go in the airship across the Pole, I would go with him. He would arrange it…
I was so much in love with him that it was hard to keep from writing to him all the time. I could easily spend five rapt, vanishing hours on a single letter. And a letter from him was the light of my days, and I have never in my life felt just this way at any time. The most disconnected things would sing through me like music, just looking out on a spring morning, toward the Sound, toward the poplar tree and the tangled ragged meadow of gorse. The words: “Whose name is writ in water” went across my mind, and such a strange and unconnected thought like that, but it struck me and sang through me and made gold harp wires of me. Those words and something vague about Keats would make tears of inexplicable rapture come into my eyes.
Of course when I think of my letters to him, I have my usual dislike for myself of yesterday, because they were so planned, so composed. I wrote them over and over, as though they were poems. That wish to be effective—I am always so afraid there is insincerity in it. Yet I did love him unutterably and there has never been anything like it.
And all the time, you understand, it was a sort of dream love affair, a literary one. We never really believed we would see each other (again). And yet I know my letters were comforting and exciting to him. I can tell from his. And I am so glad they were.
Explorer, Scientist, Statesman, Humanitarian
Fridtjof Nansen was possibly the first truly global citizen, one of the best-known explorers and most popular personalities of his day. He is still Norway’s favorite son. He earned his fame in 1888 as the first person to cross Greenland on skis. In 1895, he got closer to the North Pole than anyone before him. An oceanographer, he observed a current in the far North previously undetected. That discovery led to his audacious idea to build a sturdy, round-hulled, crush-resistant ship, the Fram, and deliberately freeze it into the Arctic ice flow. For more than a year and a half he and his crew of twelve men drifted until they were close enough for Nansen to make a dash for the pole with one other man and a team of twenty-eight sled dogs. The “dash”, planned to take three months, took fifteen and the entire journey more than three years. Nansen’s daring feat won him world fame and universal admiration. He was a noted zoologist and a pioneer of neuron theory. He was also a distinguished diplomat and humanitarian, eventually becoming High Commissioner of Refugees for the League of Nations, for which he won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1922. The Nobel Peace Prize Institute describes Nansen’s humanitarian work:
In the spring of 1920, the League of Nations asked Nansen to undertake the task of repatriating the prisoners of war, many of them held in Russia. Moving with his customary boldness and ingenuity, and despite restricted funds, Nansen repatriated 450,000 prisoners in the next year and a half.
In June, 1921, the Council of the League, spurred by the International Red Cross and other organizations, instituted its High Commission for Refugees and asked Nansen to administer it. For the stateless refugees under his care Nansen invented the “Nansen Passport,” a document of identification which was eventually recognized by fifty-two governments...
The Red Cross in 1921 asked Nansen to take on yet a third humanitarian task, that of directing relief for millions of Russians dying in the famine of 1921-1922. Help for Russia, then suspect in the eyes of most of the Western nations, was hard to muster, but Nansen pursued his task with awesome energy. In the end he gathered and distributed enough supplies to save a staggering number of people, the figures quoted ranging from 7,000,000 to 22,000,000.
In 1922 at the request of the Greek government and with the approval of the League of Nations, Nansen tried to solve the problem of the Greek refugees who poured into their native land from their homes in Asia Minor after the Greek army had been defeated by the Turks. Nansen arranged an exchange of about 1,250,000 Greeks living on Turkish soil for about 500,000 Turks living in Greece, with appropriate indemnification and provisions for giving them the opportunity for a new start in life.
Nansen’s fifth great humanitarian effort, at the invitation of the League in 1925, was to save the remnants of the Armenian people from extinction. He drew up a political, industrial, and financial plan for creating a national home for the Armenians in Erivan that foreshadowed what the United Nations Technical Assistance Board and the International Bank of Development and Reconstruction have done in the post-World War II period. The League failed to implement the plan, but the Nansen International Office for Refugees later settled some 10,000 in Erivan and 40,000 in Syria and Lebanon.
A Tortured, Restless Dreamer
Dr. Gro Harlem Brundtland, the former Prime Minister of Norway, described Nansen as a “tortured, restless dreamer”:
This description of Nansen may come as a surprise to many. Steely determination, will power, and almost superhuman perseverance are the characteristics for which he is best known. And rightly so. These are the qualities which got him across Greenland on skis, brought him next to the North Pole, and made him survive the harsh Arctic winters.
But there is no contradiction here. It is hardly an original observation that greatness only occurs when passion and reason meet. Often this encounter leads to violent clashes, torturing the poor soul who has to balance his intense desires with his sense of duty and discipline.
These clashes are so evident in Nansen, who despite his great exploits rarely seemed at peace, and who—we may observe—was never able to fully enjoy his own achievements. Nansen, it seemed, always wanted to be somewhere else, with someone else, and doing something else. Yet, he always completed what he set as tasks for himself, and he did them brilliantly.
A fundamental element in understanding his achievements is to realize how he—despite his continuous internal battles—was able throughout his life to combine passion with reason and harness the energy this fusion created to do great things.
Through his work as researcher and explorer, and his path-setting humanitarian work after the First World War, he mobilized fellow citizens and world opinion. In surmounting obstacles and sometimes bursting conventions, he led the way to actions in humanitarian assistance, which have become a national pride to his own country and an inspiration for other people and nations. He developed ways to assist women, men, and children in need, and he bore the torch for human rights, long before they were put down on paper as we know them today.
Through all this he helped politicians to realize that “charity is Realpolitik,” as Nansen put it. When all is said and done, this may be his greatest humanitarian legacy…Sergei Rachmaninoff, Igor Stravinsky, and Marc Chagall could all testify to this. They were among the many who were given new legitimacy with the “Nansen Passport,” an identity document guaranteed by the League of Nations that gave these Russian refugees a legal status and allowed them to travel freely.
Fridtjof Nansen knew the urgency of an emergency. One tale from his arctic adventures is frequently told to young generations of Norwegians. Nansen had nearly reached the North Pole with his companion Hjalmar Johansen... [when]they had to turn around to head towards the mainland farther south.
Since they had to cross open stretches of water, the two men [used] their kayaks. As they prepared to enter their small unstable boats, Hjalmar Johansen was attacked by a huge polar bear. The bear threw the man onto the ice. Johansen, known for his incredible strength, stretched his arms and held on to the cheeks of the bear. Nansen, in the meantime, desperately reached for his gun, which he had already placed in his kayak. But the boat slipped away and the great explorer had to struggle to get hold of his kayak and his rifle.
Johansen, looking into the terrifying teeth of the polar bear, could hardly hold on for much longer, but he kept his calm and respectfully spoke these famous words to his patron:
‘Sir, I do believe you need to hurry up—if not it will be too late.’
Nansen finally did get hold of his rifle and shot the bear.
We too need to hurry. The life and the efforts of Fridtjof Nansen provide us with the inspiration to strive for human progress, dignity, and development—for this generation and those to come.
Quisling Karma
Vidkun Quisling played a strangely significant role for both Nansen and Ueland. During the 1920s Quisling was Nansen’s trusted assistant and representative to his famine relief work in the Ukraine. He was also Nansen’s delegate in his attempts to defend the remaining Armenian people after the genocide in Turkey in 1915-1922. By all accounts Quisling was an able, tireless man, fluent in Russian and, in Nansen’s words, an “absolutely indispensable” envoy. But fifteen years later Quisling’s name would become infamous as the arch-collaborator and traitor during the Nazi occupation of Norway. He was tried and executed for treason in 1945. His name is now a noun, defined as, “a person who betrays his or her own country by aiding an invading enemy, often serving later in a puppet government.”
Brenda traveled to Norway to cover the Quisling trial that summer. In one of her columns for the Minneapolis Times, dated August 22, 1945, she wrote:
At Quisling’s trial he was brought in by two unsmiling young soldiers. Everybody rose quietly to gaze at him. He is a big man with an extraordinary flabby white and blotched face. His eyes, under puffed lids, have dark glittering surface glare, not unlike Hitler’s.
The Norwegian spirit is remarkable. On the surface, in judges, audience, people outside on the street, there is a quiet, searching conscientiousness to know the truth, to be fair.
But underneath one can sense how this man has caused continuous terror, anguish to every family in Norway for five years.
There are four judges and five jurymen sitting in now like our supreme court, and the trial is more informal than ours, less held up with legal technique. One feels there is a more simple search into truth.
Quisling stands up often to say he was saving Norway from England, that documents captured in Berlin aren’t true, and he and the judge talk back and forth in their mild harmless-sounding Norwegian inflection.
Quisling in power ranted like Hitler, now he is humble, horribly beseeching. You feel he is making an agonized effort to save his life.
Brenda was awarded the St. Olaf Medal by Norway’s King Haakon VII for, “commendable spreading of knowledge about Norway abroad, and for promoting connections and solidarity between emigrated Norwegians and the homeland.” Years later she joked that she’d been “knighted by the king of Norway.” Asked if she told the king at her award ceremony that she was descended from Norway’s King Sverre, circa 1150 AD, Brenda replied, “No, I didn’t mention King Sverre because I didn’t want King Haakon to feel uncomfortable. He might feel I thought he was only a pretender and not in the direct line.”
“He talked always about you to me”
In 1938, eight years after Nansen’s death, Brenda received a letter from Kari, his daughter-in-law. Kari wrote, “…I am sure I will make you happy by sending you this letter from F.N.—I found it here by his papers just after his death—but I could not send it without your address—and for 8 years I have been still hoping you would give me a “sign” sometime…. I have always understood that you were in love with each other—and here at home some lovely pictures were found too [of Brenda] but we put them to fire because we were afraid some people could find them, who would not understand. I love you because I feel so well that you had the right feelings about him—and he talked always about you to me....”
Two Seekers After Wisdom
In 1926, Nansen was inaugurated as Lord Rector of St. Andrews University, Scotland, joining the ranks of previous honorees Rudyard Kipling and J.M. Barrie. In his address, titled “Adventure,” he told the students, “You will find your adventure, for life itself is an adventure....The first thing to do is to find yourself. And for that you need solitude and contemplation...deliverance will come not from the rushing, noisy centers of civilization. It will come from the lonely places. The great reformers in history have come from the wilderness.... True wisdom is found far from men, out in the great solitude, and can only be attained through suffering. Privation and suffering are the only road to wisdom....”
In his remarkable quest for wisdom, Nansen personifies a 20th century Odin, king of the Norse gods—god of war, wisdom, poetry and magic. In one of his manifestations, Odin is called Vegtam, the Wanderer, traversing the world seeking wisdom so intently he gives up an eye to attain it.
Brenda Ueland personifies a 20th-century Freya, the Norse goddess associated with love, beauty, fertility, magic, prophecy and death—the most beloved, honored, and renowned among the Norse goddesses. Brenda too was renowned. Hundreds of thousands have been inspired by Brenda’s book If You Want to Write. Like Freya, (and Shakespeare’s Sylvia), Brenda was “holy, fair, and wise.” And a mystic. In the introduction to her book, Beauty and Bravery [unpublished], Brenda sounds positively Freya-like:
The word “health” also means “whole” and “holy.” And you cannot have beauty and bravery and grandeur and exuberance, generosity and joviality and a kind of affectionate fearlessness unless you have health. Nor indeed can you be really sane.
Odin and Freya were both married to others—Odin’s wives were Frigg and Jodd (the Earth), and Freya’s husband was Odr. Yet Odin and Freya were really meant for each other—they were true partners and natural soul mates. These letters from Fridtjof Nansen to Brenda Ueland are the letters Odin would have written to Freya.
“Ah well, we are all complex”
Because Brenda’s letters to Nansen were lost or perhaps “put to fire,” we turn to Brenda’s diaries to learn her thoughts at the time of their correspondence. Until reading these diaries, in a restricted section of the archives of the Minnesota Historical Society, I thought Brenda was kidding me when she claimed she’d had “three husbands and a hundred lovers.” Now I believe her. During the roughly twelve months that Ueland and Nansen corresponded (April 1929-April 1930), Brenda was involved in a number of intimate relationships, with both men and women, including the author and fashion illustrator Grace Hart, whom Brenda refers to only as Tomola. When Brenda met Nansen, in March 1929, she had been married once, to William Benedict from 1916-1926, and in 1921 had given birth to Gaby, her only child. After Nansen, Brenda would marry twice more: Manus McFadden, editor of the Minneapolis Times, followed by Norwegian American artist Sverre Hanssen.
The only surviving letter from Brenda to Nansen that has been found is the following abridged letter she entered into her diary Monday, February 24th 1930:
Darling Fridtjof,
I have been working very hard and this is not just the usual protest of one who has been soldiering, malingering (which is usually so in my case), but I have sworn to write an article in two weeks, instead of taking the usual five or six...
Today I am kind of tired, not enough sleep and too much work. But it is a glorious day with thick yellow sun drowning the earth and it is as warm as May and so it has been for three or four days, so that I go walking without stockings or sleeves and have already a thin, mottled, jaundiced looking tan. I have so much to tell you. I ought to tell you everything, but there is so much. That is the trouble with writing so infrequently, if one could only write every day, one could write many pages. But when it is put off there is too much to tell and so it only becomes a bleak resume. But now I will see what I can get said.
I feel quiet and because inevitably our vigorous interest in each other must wane a little, though this is only because of discouragement and because there is no certain possibility of seeing each other. But if only the definite possibility turned up, say I heard you were coming to this country, six months from now, why my feelings would be revived in all their fierceness. I wish you were coming...
There is a man in love with me now and I have experimented with a love affair again; a nice, nice honorable manly fellow whose wife is away in Florida and who does not love him at all though he is too simple and honest to be aware of this. She leaves him for six months every year and then he must live alone in a boarding house in Bridgeport and his company is failing and carrying down in its crash all his money. (His wife has money of her own.) So I have been very good to him, make him come down here for dinner, got him to fall in love with me. You once said that in your case, flirtations and so on were due to the explorer in you and this is true in my case also...Ah well, we are all complex...
“Do not forget your lonely Viking”
We probably will never find any more of what Brenda wrote to him than this, but Nansen’s letters to her reveal much about each of them. He comes across as a man revitalized and opened wide. He writes to her, “...there is not a corner of my heart or soul which I do not wish you to look into – not because I think that there may not be much which is ungraceful or offensive, but simply because it is all parts of my own self, and you have to know it. I have a feeling that I could talk to you about everything, as I have never had before, and you would always understand.”