R370502B. Strafford.
The Morning Chronicle, 2 May 1837, p. 3.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 388–389.
Covent-Garden Theatre. Mr. Macready took his benefit last night, on which occasion a new historical tragedy, entitled Strafford, was successfully produced. It is from the pen of Mr. Browning, the author of Paracelsus, a play, or rather poem, which, at the time of its appearance, gave promise that if the author assiduously cultivated his powers he might one day be able to produce a good acting tragedy. Those who formed that estimate of his powers will probably not be disappointed by his present effort. We, who formed no anticipations upon the subject, and who thought that praise was too extravagantly showered upon his former production, must own, nevertheless, that Mr. Browning has written a tragedy which does great credit to his judgment, and shows that a little more study will enable him to take a very high rank among modern dramatic poets. It has been said that a good reading play is seldom a good acting play; and some have carried out this assertion still further, and affirmed that a good acting play ought not to read well. We do not profess to go to this length in all cases, but must admit that the mere perusal of Mr. Browning’s Strafford produced an unfavourable impression upon us. We could find no new thoughts—no bursts of impassioned eloquence—no inspiration, no choice sentences full of truth and poetry, which the mind, if it once receives, retains for ever—nothing, in fine, that could induce us to pause over the page and say to ourselves, “This man is a poet.” We entered the theatre with this unfavourable impression, but as the play proceeded it wore gradually away, and when the curtain fell we were convinced that we had done the author injustice. We found that it was part of his plan to avoid those sparkling poetic passages which may charm in the closet, but which fall monotonously upon the ear when drawled forth by a second-rate actor, and distract the attention which longs to fix itself upon the incidents of the play. Mr. Browning is, to a certain degree, right, and seems to have formed a tolerably correct estimate of the real difference between a dramatic poem and a play, and it was this, and not a want of inspiration, which made the tragedy so dry in the perusal.
The author adheres in general so closely to historical accuracy that it is unnecessary to detail the plot, which embraces the last scenes in the career of the devoted Strafford, the unfortunate servant of ungrateful royalty. Mr. Macready performed the part of Strafford in a manner which would have made the play go off triumphantly had it had nothing else than his exertions to rely upon. It was a noble and touching performance, and well calculated to leave a favourable impression of his genius even upon the minds of those who are not inclined to rank him so high as his admirers have placed him. It was well sustained throughout; but in the last act, where he is a prisoner in the Tower, the scene with his children was a triumph of histrionic art, and was only equalled, but not surpassed, by the final scene with the vacillating and unworthy Charles. The character of his accuser, Pym, was also well sustained by Vandenhoff; but, as it offered nothing peculiarly worthy of remark, we pass to that of the Countess of Carlisle, which was performed by Miss Helen Faucit in a manner in the highest degree creditable to her talents. The character itself, considered as a poetical creation, is tenderly and beautifully drawn; and her love for Strafford, which is darkly shadowed forth rather than fully developed, is all the more touching in its devotedness from being thus dimly shown. In the third act, when Strafford suddenly returns from the north, with the power, as he hopes, of crushing his enemies, the Countess of Carlisle aids him, for the love she bears him, in all his schemes, and nobly takes his part when he is assailed by his traducers. Strafford, however, sees but friendship, and never dreams that love inspires her enthusiasm. Having intrusted her with a missive to deliver to Laud, she soliloquizes after he has left her—
The king—ever the king!—
No thought of one beside!—
Ah! have I spared
Strafford a pang, and shall I seek reward
Beyond that memory? Surely, too, some way
He is the better for my love—No, no!
He would not look so joyous—I’ll believe
His very eye would never sparkle thus,
Had I not prayed for him this long long while.
This passage, which was much applauded, opens out the whole character of the Countess, which, upon the whole, reflects more credit upon the author’s skill than that of Strafford, where the greatest portion of praise is due rather to the actor than the author. In the last act the children of Strafford, who are with him in the Tower, innocently sing an Italian barcarolle, and give occasion to some fine touches of nature on the part of the father. We have said thus much in praise of this tragedy, but impartiality compels us to add that all the characters were not equally well sustained. Hampden was not made prominent enough, and King Charles found a very miserable representative in the person of Mr. Dale.—At the fall of the curtain there was a vehement cry for Mr. Macready, who, after some delay, appeared, and made his bow to the audience. A similar compliment was afterwards paid to Vandenhoff and Miss Faucit, and some persons were so ill-advised as to call loudly for the author. The author, however, did not come forward; and Webster, the stage-manager, had some difficulty in silencing the rioters by the assurance that the author was not in the house. The tragedy was announced for repetition to-morrow.
Reviewed:
Strafford (RB), London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, 1837.
___________________
