It must be apparent to those who have not read or seen the Ibsen
plays that, despite this huddled and foreshortened account, they
are in essence quite different from what has been reported of them.
Idealistic, symbolistic, moral, and ennobling, the Ibsen drama was
so vilified by malice and ignorance that its very name was a portent
of evil. Mad or wicked Ibsen is not. His scheme of life and morals
is often oblique and paradoxical, his interpretation of truths so
elliptical that we are confused. But he is essentially sound. He
believes in the moral continuity of the universe. His astounding energy
is a moral energy. Salvation by good works is his burden. The chief
thing is to be strong in your faith. He despises the weak, not the
strong sinner. His Supermen are the bankrupts of romantic heroism.
His strong man is frequently wrong-headed; but the weakling works the
real mischief. Never admit you are beaten. Begin at the bottom twenty
times, and when the top is achieved die, or else look for loftier peaks
to climb. Ibsen exalts strength. His "ice-church" is chilly; the lungs
drink in with difficulty the buffeting breezes on his heights; yet how
bracing, how inspiring, is this austere place of worship. Bad as is
mankind, Ibsen, who was ever in advance of his contemporaries, believed
in its possibility for betterment. Here the optimist speaks. Brand's
spiritual pride is his downfall; nevertheless, Ibsen, an aristocratic
thinker, believes that of pride one cannot have too much. He recognised
the selfish and hollow foundation of all "humanitarian" movements.
He is a sign-post for the twentieth century when the aristocratic of
spirit must enter into combat with the herd instinct of a depressing
socialism. His influence has been tremendous. His plays teem with the
general ideas of his century. His chief value lies in the beauty of
his art; his is the rare case of the master-singer rounding a long
life with his master works. He brought to the theatre new ideas; he
changed forever the dramatic map of Europe; he originated a new method
of surprising life, capturing it and forcing it to give up a moiety of
its mystery for the uses of a difficult and recondite art. He fashioned
character anew. And he pushed resolutely into the mist that surrounded
the human soul, his Diogenes lantern glimmering, his brave, lonely
heart undaunted by the silence and the solitude. His message? Who shall
say? He asks questions, and, patterning after nature, he seldom answers
them. When his ideas sicken and die--he asserted that the greatest
truth outlives its usefulness in time, and it may not be denied that
his drama is a dissolvent; already the early plays are in historical
twilight and the woman question of his day is for us something quite
different--his art will endure. Henrik Ibsen was a man of heroic
fortitude. His plays are a bold and stimulating spectacle for the
spirit. Should we ask more of a dramatic poet?
X