d provided the most
amazing interpretations for them. A letter which I contributed in 1893
to the _Westminster Gazette_ records an incident which throws a curious
light on the subject and may be worth preserving. "At a recent first
night," I wrote, "I happened to be seated just behind a well-known
critic. He turned round to me and said, 'I want you to tell me what is
YOUR theory of those "nine lovely dolls." Of course one can see that
they are entirely symbolical.' 'I am not so sure of that,' I replied,
remembering a Norwegian cousin of my own who treasured a favourite doll
until she was nearer thirty than twenty. 'They of course symbolise the
unsatisfied passion of motherhood in Mrs. Solness's heart, but I have
very little doubt that Ibsen makes use of this "symbol" because he has
observed a similar case, or cases, in real life.' 'What!' cried the
critic. 'He has seen a grown-up, a middle-aged woman continuing to "live
with" her dolls!' I was about to say that it did not seem to me so very
improbable, when a lady who was seated next me, a total stranger to both
of us, leant forward and said, 'Excuse my interrupting you, but it
may perhaps interest you to know that I HAVE THREE DOLLS TO WHICH I AM
DEEPLY ATTACHED!' I will not be so rude as to conjecture this lady's
age, but we may be sure that a very young woman would not have had the
courage to make such an avowal. Does it not seem that Ibsen knows a
thing or two about human nature--English as well as Norwegian--which
we dramatic critics, though bound by our calling to be subtle
psychologists, have not yet fathomed?" In the course of the
correspondence which followed, one very apposite anecdote was quoted
from an American paper, the _Argonaut_: "An old Virginia lady said to
a friend, on finding a treasured old cup cracked by a careless maid,
'I know of nothing to compare with the affliction of losing a handsome
piece of old china.' 'Surely,' said the friend, 'it is not so bad as
losing one's children.' 'Yes, it is,' replied the old lady, 'for when
your children die, you do have the consolations of religion, you know.'"

It would be a paradox to call _The Master Builder_ Ibsen's greatest
work, but one of his three or four greatest it assuredly is. Of all his
writings, it is probably the most original, the most individual, the
most unlike any other drama by any other writer. The form of _Brand_ and
_Peer Gynt_ was doubtless suggested by other dramatic poems--notably by
_