considerable time, gradually modifying it in a Conservative direction. One wonders what the simple-minded and stalwart Björnson thought of being quietly told (March 28, 1884} that the lower classes are nowhere liberal-minded or self-sacrificing, and that “in the views expressed by our [Norwegian] peasants there is not an atom more of real Liberalism than is to be found among the ultramontane peasantry of the Tyrol.” In politics Ibsen had now become a pagan; “I do not believe,” he said, “in the emancipatory power of political measures, nor have I much confidence in the altruism and good will of those in power.”
This sense of the uselessness of effort is strongly marked in the course of the next work on which he was engaged, the very brilliant, but saturnine and sardonic tragi-comedy of The Wild Duck. The first sketch of it was made during the spring of 1884 in Rome, but the dramatist took it to Gossensass with him for the finishing touches, and did not perfect it until the autumn. It is remarkable that Ibsen invariably speaks of The Wild Duck, when he mentions it in his correspondence, in terms of irony. He calls it a collection of crazy tricks or tomfooleries, galskaber, an expression which carries with it, in this sense, a confession of wilful paradox. In something of the same spirit, Robert Browning, in the old days before he was
