R370513A. Strafford.
The Casket, 13 May 1837, pp. 297–298.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 404–406.
Mr. Browning makes a just distinction when he calls this play one of Action in Character, rather than Character in Action, a circumstance heightening, perhaps, our interest in the closet, but very injurious, we should conceive, in the representation of the play. However, as he tells us that “trifling success would much gratify,” and “failure not wholly discourage him from another effort,” we hope to see him proceed,
And as the year returns,
Still snatch some new old story from the urns
Of long-dead virtue;
for, assuredly, he has the right passport into the company of the illustrious shadows of the past, intense sympathy with their struggles—an ennobling apprehension of their greatness.
The first Charles is here, with all his vacillation, cold-heartedness, calculating selfishness, and debasing falsehood, surrounded by “the breed of silken creatures” who pandered to his vices, and flattered his weaknesses,—Holland, Savile, and the elder Vane. With, but not of these, is Strafford, the willing tool of tyranny, because to be such was also to be loyal and devoted to the tyrant. How impressive and instructive is the moral involved in that tyrant’s desertion of one who had sacrificed talent, character, and conscience in his service. We have the stern patriotism of Pym—the lofty spirit of Hampden—the pure enthusiasm of Vane—
Than whom a better senator ne’er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
The fierce Epirot. Milton.
Mr. Browning refers, in proof of the faithfulness of his portraits, to the subtle and eloquent exposition of the characters of Eliot and Strafford, in the lives of eminent British Statesmen now in the course of publication in Lardner’s Cyclopædia, “by a writer whom he is proud to call his friend; and whose biographies of Hampden, Pym, and Vane, will, he is sure, fitly illustrate the present year—the second centenary of the trial concerning Ship Money.” Henrietta is also, in Mr. Browning’s hands, the active and intrigueing queen of the best historians. Lucy Percy, however, is purely imaginary. “I at first,” says Mr. Browning, “sketched her singular likeness roughly in, as suggested by Matthew and the memoir-writers—but it was too artificial, and the substituted outline is exclusively from Voiture and Waller.”
Lucy Percy is a delicate and exquisite creation—a shape of light and beauty, gliding among the shadows thrown by reckless oppression on the one side, and glorious resistance on the other. The pure-hearted intensity of her affection for Strafford is among the most beautiful recollections with which our reading has supplied us; nor is their [sic] aught in tragedy superior to the conception of her endeavour to preserve her idol’s life, and the concentrated agony of her Strafford! Strafford! What other word—what lengthier expression was required to depict the mighty agony of that breaking heart.
The first scene of act IV. is, we think, a fair sample of the beautiful style in which this play is written, and is, unfortunately, all that we can find room for in support of the high praise which we have felt impelled to award it.
Carlisle. Answer them, Hollis, for his sake!—One word.
Charles. (To Hollis.) You stand, silent and cold, as though I were
Deceiving you—my friend, my playfellow
Of other times! What wonder, after all?
Just so I dreamed my people loved me!
Hollis. Sire,
It is yourself that you deceive, not me!
You’ll quit me comforted—your mind made up
That since you’ve talked thus much and grieved thus much,
All you can do for Strafford has been done,
Queen. If you kill Strafford … come, we grant you leave,
Suppose …
Hollis. I may withdraw, sire?
Carlisle. Hear them out! ’Tis the last chance for Strafford! Hear them out!
Hollis. “If we kill Strafford”—on the eighteenth day
Of Strafford’s trial—We!
Charles. Pym, my good Hollis—
Pym, I should say!
Hollis. Ah, true—Sire, pardon me!
You witness our proceedings every day,
But the screened gallery, I might have guessed,
Admits of such a partial glimpse at us—
Pym takes up all the room, shuts out the view!
Still, on my honour, sire, the rest of the place
Is not unoccupied: the Commons sit
—That’s England; Ireland sends, and Scotland too,
Their representatives: the Peers that judge
Are easily distinguished; one remarks
The people here and there … but the close curtain
Must hide so much!
Queen. Acquaint your insolent crew,
This day the curtain shall be dashed aside!
It served a purpose!
Hollis. Think! This very day?
Ere Strafford rises to defend himself?
Charles. I will defend him, sir! sanction the past—
This day—it ever was my purpose! Rage
At me, not Strafford! Oh, I shall be paid
By Strafford’s look!
Carlisle. (To Hollis.) Nobly! Oh, will he not
Do nobly?
Hollis. Sire, you will do honestly;
And, for that look, I too would be a king!
Charles (after a pause). Only, do this now—just when they seek
To make me out a tyrant—one that’s deaf
To subjects’ prayers,—shall I oppose them now?
It seems their will the trial should proceed …
’Tis palpably their will!
Hollis. You’ll lose your throne;
But it were no bright moment save for that!
Strafford, your prime support, the sole roof-tree
That props this quaking House of Privilege,
(Floods come, winds beat, and see—the treacherous sand!)
Doubtless if the mere putting forth an arm
Could save him, you’d save Strafford!
Charles. And they mean
Calmly to consummate this wrong! No hope?
This ineffaceable wrong! No pity, then?
Hollis. No plague in store for perfidy! Farewell!
You summoned me … (To Carlisle.) You, lady, bade me come
To save the earl! I came, thank God for it,
To learn how far such perfidy can go!
… You dare to talk with me of saving him
Who have just ruined Strafford!
Charles. I?
Hollis. See, now!
Eighteen days long he throws, one after one,
Our charges back: a blind moth-eaten law!
—He’ll break from us at last! And whom to thank?
The mouse that gnawed the lion’s net for him
Got a good friend,—but he, the other mouse,
That looked on while the lion freed himself—
Fared he so well, does any fable say?
Charles. What can you mean?
Hollis. Pym never could have proved
Strafford’s design of bringing up the troops
To force this kingdom to obedience: Vane—
Your servant, Vane …
Queen. Well, sir?
Hollis. … Has proved it.
Charles. Vane?
Hollis. This day! Did Vane deliver up or no
Those notes which, furnished by his son to Pym,
Have sealed … [p. 298→]
Charles. Speak, Vane! As I shall live, I know
Nothing that Vane has done! What treason next?
I wash my hands of it! Vane, speak the truth!
—Ask Vane himself!
Hollis. I will not speak to Vane
Who speak to Pym and Hampden every day!
Queen.—Speak to Vane’s master, then ! Why should he wish
For Strafford’s death?
Hollis. Why? Strafford cannot turn
As you sit there—bid you come forth and say
If every hateful act were not set down
In his commission?—Whether you contrived
Or no that all the violence should seem
His work, the gentle ways—your own, as if
He counteracted your kind impulses,
While … but you know what he could say! And then
Would he produce, mark you, a certain charge
To set your own express commands aside,
If need were, and be blameless! He’d say then ....
Charles. Hold!
Hollis. .... Say who bade him break the Parliament,—
Find out some pretext to set up sword-law …
Queen. Retire, sir!
Charles. Vane—once more—what Vane dares do
I know not … he is rash … a fool … I know
Nothing of Vane!
Hollis. Well—I believe you; sire
Believe me, in return, that …
(Turning to Carlisle.) Gentle Lady,
The few words I would say the stones might hear
Sooner than these … I’ll say them all to you,
You, with the heart! The question, trust me, takes
Another shape to-day: ’tis not if Charles
Or England shall succumb,—but which shall pay
The forfeit, Strafford or his Master: sire,
You loved me once … think on my warning now! (Exit.)
Charles. On you and on your warning both!—Carlisle!
That paper!
Queen. But consider!
Charles. Give it me!
There—signed—will that content you?—Do not speak!
You have betrayed me, Vane!—See—any day
(According to the tenor of that paper)
He bids your brother bring the army up,
Strafford shall head it and take full revenge!
Seek Strafford! Let him have it, look, before
He rises to defend himself!
Queen. In truth?
Clever of Hollis, now, to work a change
Like this! You were reluctant …
Charles. Say, Carlisle,
Your brother Percy brings the army up—
Falls on the Parliament——(I’ll think of you,
My Hollis!)—say we plotted long … ’tis mine,
The scheme is mine, remember! Say I cursed
Vane’s folly in your hearing! If that man
Does rise to do us shame, the fault shall lie
With you, Carlisle!
Carlisle. Nay, fear not me! but still
That’s a bright moment, sire, you throw away …
Oh! draw the veil, and save him!
Queen. Go, Carlisle!
Carlisle. (aside, and going.)
I shall see Strafford—speak to him: my heart
Must never beat so, then!
And if I tell
The truth? What’s gained by falsehood? There they stand
Whose trade it is—whose life it is! How vain
To gild such rottenness! Strafford shall know,
Thoroughly know them!
The Queen (as she leaves the King, &c.) Trust to me! (To Carlisle.) Carlisle,
You seem inclined, alone of all the Court,
To serve poor Strafford: this bold plan of yours
Merits much praise, and yet …
Carlisle. Time presses, madam.
Queen. Yet … may it not be something premature?
Strafford defends himself to-day—reserves
Some wondrous effort .. one may well suppose—
He’ll say some overwhelming fact, Carlisle!
Carlisle. Aye, Hollis hints as much.
Charles. Why linger then? Haste with the scheme—my scheme—I shall be there
To watch his look! Tell him I watch his look!
Queen. Stay, we’ll precede you!
Carlisle. At your pleasure,
Charles. Say …
Say .. Vane is hardly ever at Whitehall!
I shall be there, remember!
Carlisle. Doubt me not!
Charles. On our return, Carlisle, we wait you here!
Carlisle. I’ll bring his answer; sire, I follow you. (Exeunt K. &c.)
Ah .. but he would be very sad to find
The King so faithless, and I take away
All that he cares to live for: let it go——
’Tis the King’s scheme!
My Strafford, I can save …
Nay, I have saved you—yet am scarce content,
Because my poor name will not cross your mind ..
Strafford, how much I am unworthy you! (Exit.)
Reviewed:
Strafford (RB), London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, 1837.
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