or other sleight of wizardry—is eliminated. "We feel that he behaves like a nincompoop in despairing of winning her for himself, merely because she does not show an obviously "coming on" disposition, and like an immoral sentimentalist in handing her over to Gunnar. This, to be sure, is the poet's own criticism of his action. It is the lie which Sigurd and Gunnar conspire to tell, or rather to enact, that lies at the root of the whole tragedy. We have here Ibsen's first treatment of the theme with which he is afterwards so much concerned—the necessity of truth as the basis of every human relation. Gunnar's acquiescence in Sigurd's heroic mendacity is as clearly condemned and punished as, in Pillars of Society, Bernick's acquiescence in Johan's almost equally heroic self-sacrifice. Both plays convey a warning against excesses of altruism, and show that we have no right to offer sacrifices which the person benefiting by them has no right to accept. But to indicate a correct moral judgment of Sigurd's action is not to make it psychologically plausible. We feel, I repeat, that the poet is trying in vain to rationalise a series of actions which are comprehensible only on the supernatural plane.
This unreality of plot involved a similar unreality, or at any rate extreme simplicity, of characterisation. All the personages are drawn in large, obvious traits, which never undergo the smallest modification. Sigurd is throughout the magnanimous hero, Dagny the submissive, amiable wife, Hiördis the valkyrie-virago, Gunnar the well-meaning weakling, not cowardly but inefficient. By far the most human and most individual figure is old Örnulf, in whom the spirit of the family-sagas is magnificently incarnated. We feel throughout the inexperience of the author, his incuriousness of half-tones in character, his tendency
