Strafford, Robert Browning
Strafford
Robert Browning
Category: Verse
Genres: Tragedy,Historical fiction,Poetry
Level 8.372:17 h
Strafford is an 1837 tragedy by the British writer Robert Browning. It portrays the downfall and execution of Lord Strafford, the advisor to Charles I shortly before the English Civil War.

Strafford

A Tragedy

by
Robert Browning

Strafford

Introduction

London, April 23, 1837

Paracelsus found an enthusiastic reader in the actor Macready, who begged Browning to write him a play, even suggesting the subject to him, which did not awaken the poet’s interest. More than a year passed, when the two met at a supper given by Macready after the successful presentation of Talfourd’s Ion. As the guests were leaving, Macready said to Browning: “Write a play, Browning, and keep me from going to America.” “Shall it be historical and English?” replied Browning. “What do you say to a drama on Strafford?” and the poet now had his subject. His choice is readily explained by the fact that he was at this time helping his friend John Forster with his Life of Strafford contained in Lives of Eminent British Statesmen. Indeed, Mr. Furnivall says without hesitation that the agreement of the Strafford of the play with the Strafford of Forster’s biography is due to the fact that Browning wrote the whole of the Life of Strafford after the first seven paragraphs.

When the play was rehearsing Browning gave Macready a lilt which he had composed for the children’s song in Act V. It was not used, because the two children who were to sing wished a more pretentious song. The lilt which Browning composed was purposely no more than a crooning measure. He afterward gave it to Miss Hickey for her special edition of Strafford, and it is reproduced here in its place. The following is Browning’s preface to the first edition: —

“I had for some time been engaged in a Poem of a very different nature, when induced to make the present attempt; and am not without apprehension that my eagerness to freshen a jaded mind by diverting it to the healthy natures of a grand epoch, may have operated unfavorably on the represented play, which is one of Action in Character, rather than Character in Action. To remedy this, in some degree, considerable curtailment will be necessary, and, in a few instances, the supplying details not required, I suppose, by the mere reader. While a trifling success would much gratify, failure will not wholly discourage me from another effort: experience is to come; and earnest endeavor may yet remove many disadvantages.

“The portraits are, I think, faithful; and I am exceedingly fortunate in being able, in proof of this, to refer 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 Cyclopedia, by a writer [John Forster] whom I am proud to call my friend; and whose biographies of Hampden, Pym, and Vane, will, I am sure, fitly illustrate the present year — the Second Centenary of the Trial concerning Ship-Money. My Carlisle, however, is purely imaginary: I at first sketched her singular likeness roughly in, as suggested by Matthews and the memoir-writers — but it was too artificial, and the substituted outline is exclusively from Voiture and Waller.

“The Italian boat-song in the last scene is from Redi’s ‘Bacco,’ long since naturalized in the joyous and delicate version of Leigh Hunt.”

PERSONS

Charles I.
Earl of Holland.
Lord Savile.
Sir Henry Vane.
Wentworth, Viscount Wentworth, Earl of Strafford.
John Pym.
John Hampden.
The younger Vane.
Denzil Hollis.
Benjamin Rudyard.
Nathaniel Fiennes.
Earl of Loudon.
Maxwell, Usher of the Black Rod.
Balfour, Constable of the Tower.
A Puritan.
Queen Henrietta.
Lucy Percy, Countess of Carlisle.
Presbyterians, Scots Commissioners, Adherents of Strafford, Secretaries, Officers of the Court, etc.
Two of Stafford’s Children.

Act I

Scene I. A House near Whitehall. Hampden, Hollis, the Younger Vane, Rudyard, Fiennes and many of the Presbyterian Party: Loudon and other Scots Commissioners

Vane. I say, if he be here —

Rudyard. (And he is here!) —

Hollis. For England’s sake let every man be still
Nor speak of him, so much as say his name,
Till Pym rejoin us! Rudyard! Henry Vane!
One rash conclusion may decide our course
And with it England’s fate — think — England’s fate!
Hampden, for England’s sake they should be still!

Vane. You say so, Hollis? Well, I must be still.
It is indeed too bitter that one man,
Any one man’s mere presence, should suspend
England’s combined endeavor: little need
To name him!

Rud. For you are his brother, Hollis!

Hampden. Shame on you, Rudyard! time to tell him that
When he forgets the Mother of us all.

Rud. Do I forget her?

Hamp. You talk idle hate
Against her foe: is that so strange a thing?
Is hating Wentworth all the help she needs?

A Puritan. The Philistine strode, cursing as he went:
But David — five smooth pebbles from the brook
Within his scrip …

Rud. Be you as still as David!

Fiennes. Here’s Rudyard not ashamed to wag a tongue
Stiff with ten years’ disuse of Parliaments;
Why, when the last sat, Wentworth sat with us!

Rud. Let’s hope for news of them now he returns —
He that was safe in Ireland, as we thought!
— But I’ll abide Pym’s coming.

Vane. Now, by Heaven,
Then may be cool who can, silent who will —
Some have a gift that way! Wentworth is here,
Here, and the King’s safe closeted with him
Ere this. And when I think on all that’s past
Since that man left us, how his single arm
Rolled the advancing good of England back
And set the woeful past up in its place,
Exalting Dagon where the Ark should be, —
How that man has made firm the fickle King
(Hampden, I will speak out!) — in aught he feared
To venture on before; taught tyranny
Her dismal trade, the use of all her tools,
To ply the scourge yet screw the gag so close
That strangled agony bleeds mute to death —
How he turns Ireland to a private stage
For training infant villanies, new ways
Of wringing treasure out of tears and blood,
Unheard oppressions nourished in the dark
To try how much man’s nature can endure
— If he dies under it, what harm? if not,
Why, one more trick is added to the rest
Worth a king’s knowing, and what Ireland bears
England may learn to bear: — how all this while
That man has set himself to one dear task,
The bringing Charles to relish more and more
Power, power without law, power and blood too
— Can I be still?

Hamp. For that you should be still.

Vane. Oh Hampden, then and now! The year he left us,
The People in full Parliament could wrest
The Bill of Rights from the reluctant King;
And now, he’ll find in an obscure small room
A stealthy gathering of great-hearted men
That take up England’s cause: England is here!

Hamp. And who despairs of England?

Rud. That do I,
If Wentworth comes to rule her. I am sick
To think her wretched masters, Hamilton,
The muckworm Cottington, the maniac Laud,
May yet be longed-for back again. I say,
I do despair.

Vane. And, Rudyard, I’ll say this —
Which all true men say after me, not loud
But solemnly and as you’d say a prayer!
This King, who treads our England underfoot,
Has just so much ... it may be fear or craft,
As bids him pause at each fresh outrage; friends,
He needs some sterner hand to grasp his own,
Some voice to ask, “Why shrink? Am I not by?”
Now, one whom England loved for serving her,
Found in his heart to say, “I know where best
The iron heel shall bruise her, for she leans
Upon me when you trample.” Witness, you!
So Wentworth heartened Charles, so England fell.
But inasmuch as life is hard to take
From England ...

Many Voices. Go on, Vane! ‘T is well said, Vane!

Vane. Who has not so forgotten Runnymede! —

Voices. ‘T is well and bravely spoken, Vane! Go on!

Vane. There are some little signs of late she knows
The ground no place for her. She glances round,
Wentworth has dropped the hand, is gone his way
On other service: what if she arise?
No! the King beckons, and beside him stands
The same bad man once more, with the same smile
And the same gesture. Now shall England crouch,
Or catch at us and rise?

Voices. The Renegade!
Haman! Ahithophel!

Hamp. Gentlemen of the North,
It was not thus the night your claims were urged,
And we pronounced the League and Covenant,
The cause of Scotland, England’s cause as well:
Vane there, sat motionless the whole night through.

Vane. Hampden!

Fien. Stay, Vane!

Loudon. Be just and patient, Vane!

Vane. Mind how you counsel patience, Loudon! you
Have still a Parliament, and this your League
To back it; you are free in Scotland still:
While we are brothers, hope’s for England yet.
But know you wherefore Wentworth comes? to quench
This last of hopes? that he brings war with him?
Know you the man’s self? what he dares?

Lou. We know,
All know — ‘t is nothing new.

Vane. And what’s new, then,
In calling for his life? Why, Pym himself —
You must have heard — ere Wentworth dropped our cause
He would see Pym first; there were many more
Strong on the people’s side and friends of his,
Eliot that’s dead, Rudyard and Hampden here,
But for these Wentworth cared not; only, Pym
He would see — Pym and he were sworn, ‘t is said,
To live and die together; so, they met
At Greenwich. Wentworth, you are sure, was long,
Specious enough, the devil’s argument
Lost nothing on his lips; he’d have Pym own
A patriot could not play a purer part
Than follow in his track; they two combined
Might put down England. Well, Pym heard him out;
One glance — you know Pym’s eye — one word was all:
“You leave us, Wentworth! while your head is on,
I’ll not leave you.”

Hamp. Has he left Wentworth, then?
Has England lost him? Will you let him speak,
Or put your crude surmises in his mouth?
Away with this! Will you have Pym or Vane?

Voices. Wait Pym’s arrival! Pym shall speak.

Hamp. Meanwhile
Let Loudon read the Parliament’s report
From Edinburgh: our last hope, as Vane says,
Is in the stand it makes. Loudon!

Vane. No, no! Silent I can be: not indifferent!

Hamp. Then each keep silence, praying God to spare
His anger, cast not England quite away
In this her visitation!

A Puritan. Seven years long
The Midianite drove Israel into dens
And caves. Till God sent forth a mighty man,
(Pym enters.)
Even Gideon!

Pym. Wentworth’s come: nor sickness, care,
The ravaged body nor the ruined soul,
More than the winds and waves that beat his ship,
Could keep him from the King. He has not reached
Whitehall: they’ve hurried up a Council there
To lose no time and find him work enough.
Where’s Loudon? your Scots’ Parliament …

Lou. Holds firm:
We were about to read reports.

Pym. The King
Has just dissolved your Parliament.

Lou. and other Scots. Great God!
An oath-breaker! Stand by us, England, then!

Pym. The King’s too sanguine; doubtless Wentworth’s here;
But still some little form might be kept up.

Hamp. Now speak, Vane! Rudyard, you had much to say!

Hol. The rumor’s false, then …

Pym. Ay, the Court gives out
His own concerns have brought him back: I know
‘T is the King calls him. Wentworth supersedes
The tribe of Cottingtons and Hamiltons
Whose part is played; there’s talk enough, by this, —
Merciful talk, the King thinks: time is now
To turn the record’s last and bloody leaf
Which, chronicling a nation’s great despair,
Tells they were long rebellious, and their lord
Indulgent, till, all kind expedients tried,
He drew the sword on them and reigned in peace.
Laud’s laying his religion on the Scots
Was the last gentle entry: the new page
Shall run, the King thinks, “Wentworth thrust it down
At the sword’s point.”