In An Enemy of the People, as already stated, he momentarily deserted that method, and gave us an action which begins, develops, and ends entirely within the frame of the picture.  But in the two following plays, The Wild Duck and Rosmersholm, he touched the highest point of technical mastery in his interweaving of the past with the present.  I shall not attempt any analysis of the fabric of these plays.  The process would be long, tedious, and unhelpful; for no one could hope to employ a method of such complexity without something of Ibsen’s genius; and genius will evolve its methods for itself.  Let me only ask the reader to compare the scene between old Werle and Gregers in the first act of The Wild Duck with the scene between Nora and Mrs. Linden in the first act of A Doll’s House, and mark the technical advance.  Both scenes are, in a sense, scenes of exposition.  Both are mainly designed to place us in possession of a sequence of bygone facts.  But while the Doll’s House scene is a piece of quiet gossip, brought about (as we have noted) by rather artificial means, and with no dramatic tension in it, the Wild Duck scene is a piece of tense, one might almost say fierce, drama, fulfilling the Brunetiere definition in that it shows us two characters, a father and son, at open war with each other.  The one scene is outside the real action, the other is an integral part of it.  The one belongs to Ibsen’s tentative period, the other ushers in, one might almost say, his period of consummate mastery.[13]

Rosmersholm is so obviously nothing but the catastrophe of an antecedent drama that an attempt has actually been made to rectify Ibsen’s supposed mistake, and to write the tragedy of the deceased Beata.  It was made by an unskilful hand; but even a skilful hand would scarcely have done more than prove how rightly Ibsen judged that the recoil of Rebecca’s crime upon herself and Rosmer would prove more interesting, and in a very real sense more dramatic, than the somewhat vulgar process of the crime itself.  The play is not so profound in its humanity as The Wild Duck, but it is Ibsen’s masterpiece in the art of withdrawing veil after veil.  From the technical point of view, it will repay the closest study.

We need not look closely at the remaining plays. Hedda Gabler is perhaps that in which a sound proportion between the past and the present is most successfully preserved.  The interest of the present action is throughout very vivid; but it is all rooted in facts and relations of the past, which are elicited under circumstances of high dramatic tension.  Here again it is instructive to compare the scene between Hedda and Thea, in the first act, with the scene between Nora and Mrs. Linden.  Both are scenes of exposition:  and each is, in its way, character-revealing; but the earlier scene is a passage of quite unemotional narrative; the later is a passage of palpitating drama.