R370507E. Strafford.
The Weekly Dispatch, 7 May 1837, p. 224.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 403–404.
About two years ago we had occasion to review a tragedy, entitled Paracelsus, emanating from the pen of Mr. Browning. The author himself avowed his conviction that it was not dramatic, and we quoted several passages which rendered it totally unfit for the purposes of the stage. The same gentleman has again entered the field, and on Monday evening we witnessed the representation of Strafford, at Covent-Garden. The important events which characterized the reign of Charles the First must be indelibly imprinted on the memory of every man who is familiar with the history of his country. We are, therefore, relieved from the task of entering into a minute detail of the plot, as the author has dealt only with facts. He represents Charles as he was—vacillating, weak and wicked; the Queen’s baneful influence and base designs are forcibly brought before us; the devotion of Strafford to his master’s interests is skilfully developed, and the uncompromising “fixedness of purpose” which marked the career of John Pym, stands forth in all its native sternness. The feuds in Ireland and in Scotland, antecedent to the elevation of Strafford, form the ground-work of the drama, and his subsequent impeachment leads us to the catastrophe. Mr. Browning has succeeded in producing a tragedy which, regarded as a literary composition, must certainly become popular. Several of the incidents are managed with singular tact, and the denouement is worthy of Shakspeare. The dialogue can only be termed didactic, and we frequently thought that the “matter-of-fact” style was too common-place in an historical tragedy. When we find the hero of such a drama talk of a “vast deal of import”—the heroine using “to nibble” as a synonyme for “to detract”—John Pym saying with the utmost solemnity:—
I told you I would never leave him,
And I have not left him,
we are naturally disposed to reprobate such colloquialisms as actually bordering on the ludicrous. In the second scene of the second act, Strafford addresses the King in the following sample of “prosaic poetry:”—
We’ll make a shift! Leave me the Parliament!
They help us ne’er so little, but I’ll make
A vast deal out of it. We’ll speak them fair:
They’re sitting: that’s one great thing: that half gives
Their sanction to us: that’s much: don’t despond!
Why, let them keep their money, at the worst!
The reputation of the people’s help
Is all we want: we’ll make shift yet!
The whole of this scene is extremely unnatural. Charles was not the man to be bullied, sans ceremonie, by Strafford, or any other person, and the abrupt, unbidden entrance of the disaffected Representatives is at variance with history. The exhibition in the lobby of the House of Lords is a palpable absurdity, and Pym’s enforcement of the King’s signature to a bill before it had been introduced into Parliament, is open to the same objection. The character of Lucy Percy is avowedly an interpolation, but it has been most happily sketched. It tends to relieve the play and to dissipate the languor which every one must feel on listening to dry details. The third act is that which reflects the most honour on Mr. Browning, so far as the writing is concerned; but the scene with the children in the fifth is more effective in the representation. He has been actuated by a laudable ambition in endeavouring to found a new school of dramatic composition; and, regarded as his first effort, it gives goodly token of future success. Strafford has been coldly received, owing to the circumstances which we have briefly noticed, and we are only surprised that the audience were so indulgent, when we reflect on the manner in which it was produced. Those intrusted with the “getting up” must be lamentably ignorant of history, or they never could have been guilty of such glaring anachronisms respecting costume and appointments. The idea of dressing the Scottish Representatives after the fashion in which they appear, was only calculated to suggest a doubt as to the identity of the parties so unwarrantably disguised. The piece was played for the benefit of Mr. Macready—a gentleman whose historical knowledge is indisputable, and we cannot for a moment imagine that he was aware of the character of the equipments which were to be provided. We are sorry that we are compelled to speak thus plainly on the subject, but several dramas have lately been produced at this theatre in a manner which imperatively demands correction at head-quarters. Within the last two months every thing appears to have been done on a reduced scale, and we have received several communications from some influential patrons of Covent-Garden, complaining of the grievance in unmeasured terms of reprobation. This is not the season for tampering with the patience of the public, who recollect how business was formerly conducted here, and who know how it ought to be conducted now. We grant that in the present instance, the three principal characters were in the hands of deservedly popular performers, but the “filling up” was meagre in the extreme, and consequently the illusion was entirely lost. Macready’s Strafford was characterized by all those blemishes which mar his acting without any of those redeeming beauties which almost make us forget them. He was restless, fidgetty, and affected. He literally “jerked” about the stage till we fancied that he must become giddy from his perpetual twirlings and twistings. His elocution was marked by all those unnatural transitions and unmeaning pauses which so closely unite the “sublime” and the “ridiculous.” The author, in fact, seems to have written some disjointed speeches merely for the purpose of enabling him to fly off at a tangent. We give the following as an instance:—
When for some little thing my whole design
Is set aside—(where is the wretched paper?)
I am to lead—(ay, here it is)—to lead
His English army? Why? Northumberland
That I appointed—chooses to be sick—
Is frightened; and, meanwhile who answers for
The Irish Parliament? or army, either?
Is this my plan? I say, is this my plan?
In this passage, and in a dozen others, the mannerisms to which we have alluded were disagreeably prominent, and we deeply regret that the fault seems to be rapidly gaining ground. Had an actor of inferior standing been guilty of such affectation he would have been fairly laughed off the stage. Macready only compelled us to regret that a man of talent was sacrificing himself on the sh[r]ine of trickery. The author has much to answer for in representing Strafford as being attached to his Sovereign merely from personal friendship, while he has drawn the character of Charles in such colours as to render it impossible that any man, save a knave or a fool, could espouse his cause. Vandenhoff’s John Pym was the gem of the piece, and his chaste elocution; “shone by contrast” when compared with that of Macready. The part affords little scope for display, but it is impressive and natural. Mr. Brow[n]ing has evidently taken great pains with it, and the actor has filled it up most admirably. Miss Faucet [sic] rendered the character of Lucy Percy extremely excellent, and proved that she is making rapid strides in her profession. Miss Vincent was the Queen—for what reason we cannot divine, as we believe Mrs. West is still engaged in the theatre. She did not look the part, and she could not play it—two serious drawbacks. Dale was the Charles, and a more discreditable representative of Royalty we have never beheld. This gentleman played two or three parts in a very creditable manner last year, and we are quite at a loss to know how he has contrived at once to lose ground. John Webster, as the Younger Vane, raised many a smile when, at the top of his high-set voice, he talked of “dear Pym.” The last monosyllable is certainly not very poetical, but he contrived to render it perfectly burlesque. One unfortunate chamber-scene had to perform quadruple work during the play; and, as it is not in the best possible condition, its perpetual introduction seemed to annoy the audience considerably. Strafford, if justice had been done to it, might have proved attractive for a few nights. As it is, we fear it will never draw.
Reviewed:
Strafford (RB), London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, 1837.
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