Ibsen's early plays alternate between poetic romances and historical dramas, often of a nationalist flavour. Certainly we don't get more stereotypically Norwegian than a play about Vikings, the subject of Ibsen's third play based on the national history of his country, and his seventh play in total.
The story is not especially remarkable. It revolves around two Vikings, the peaceable Gunnar and the courageous Sigurd. Both are married to a wife who would perhaps have been better suited to the other warrior. Sigurd's wife is loving and timid, and hardly a good match for the ambitious fighter. Gunnar is married to the dangerously passionate Hjordis.
It is Hjordis who drives the story along, inciting conflicts between the two men, and indeed her own adopted father, leading to a growing sense of tragedy. She is not the first harpy in Ibsen's fiction, In fact the relationship between her, Sigurd and Dagny (Sigurd's wife) echoes that of the three protagonists in Cataline. Indeed, Ibsen will go on to portray many more such female characters, culminating in Hedda Tesman, who greatly resembles Hjordis.
The essential dilemma facing Sigurd is also a familiar one for anyone who has rid Ibsen's other plays. The hero has a choice between the dutiful wife, or the exciting other woman. Both options spell death for the hero - the stultifying death-in-life of his placid wife that hardly meets his passionate needs, or the wild and dangerous freedom of choosing who he wants, that will eventually culminate in his actual death.
Beneath this, we can see another dilemma that this choice symbolises. That is, the choice between duty (often a negative word in Ibsen's world) and freedom. To choose one is to be trapped by the past and to risk losing one's happiness. To choose the other option is to be irresponsible or dissolute. This dilemma will continue throughout Ibsen's later works, and is never truly resolved.
The play is an interesting addition to Ibsen's category. The plot is far less convoluted than his last nationalistic play, Lady Inger of Ostrat, and contains fewer contrivances than his other romantic plays (although it is still heavily-contrived).
There are moments of real pathos (Ornulf, Dagne and Hjordis's father, rescuing Gunnar's son, only to learn that Gunnar has killed his own son instead) and psychological interest (the scene in the third act where Sigurd and Hjordis confess and discover the depths of their feelings for one another).
These fine passages help to compensate for the rather mundane plot.