e been thwarted in her aspirations and checked
in her development. That preface, by the way, dated Paris, October,
1885, is one of the most forceful and luminous of his political
pronunciamientos. It rings from beginning to end with conviction and a
manly indignation. His chief purpose, he says, in writing this drama
was, "to extend the boundaries of free discussion." His polemics against
the clergy are not attacks upon Christianity, though he contends that
religion is subject to growth as well as other things. The ultimate form
of government he believes to be the republic, on the journey toward
which all European states are proceeding fast, or slow, and in various
stages of progress. There is something abrupt, gnarled, Carlylese, in
his urgent admonitions and appeals for fair-play. The personal note is
so distinct that I cannot read the play without unconsciously supplying
the very cadence of Bjoernson's voice.

A further attempt to extend the boundaries of free discussion is made in
the two dramas, "Leonarda" (1879) and "A Glove" (1883), which both deal
with interesting phases of the woman question, and both wage war
against conventional notions of right and wrong. The former elucidates
the attitude of society toward the woman who has been compromised
(whether justly or not), and the latter its attitude toward the man. I
confess there is something a trifle hazy in his exposition of the
problem in "Leonarda;" and I am unable to determine whether Leonarda
really has anything to reproach herself with or not. In her conversation
with the bishop in the second act, she appears to admit that she has
much to regret. She begs him "help her atone for her past." She
practically throws herself upon his mercy, reminding him that his
Master, Christ, was the friend of sinners. But in the last act she
appears suddenly with the halo of martyrdom. General Rosen, who has been
the cause of her social ostracism, turns out to be her husband, whom she
has divorced on account of his dissipated habits, and now keeps, in the
hope of saving him, on a sort of probation. She believes that without
her he would go straight to perdition, and from a sense of duty she
tolerates him, not daring to shirk her responsibility for the old
reprobate's soul. Truth to tell, she treats him like a naughty boy,
punishing him, when he has been drunk, with a denial of favors; and when
he has been good, rewarding him with her company. I suppose there are
men who mig