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 Tennyson's "Queen Mary"; a criticism 
 
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TENNYSON'S 
 
 "QUEEN MA R Y:" 
 
 % Criticism. 
 
 By G. M. BRODY. 
 
 JElrtniJurst): 
 MACLACHLAN & STEWART, 
 
 BOOKSELLERS TO THE VNIYERSITY. 
 LOKDON : SIMPKIN, MAKSHALL, & CO. 
 
 PEIOB ONE SHILLING. 
 
TENNYSON'S "QUEEN MARY." 
 
(( 
 
 TENNYSON'S 
 
 QUEEN MA R Y:" 
 
 % Critkim. 
 
 By G. M. BRODY. 
 
 lElrtitbursii: 
 
 MACLACHLAN & STEWART, 
 
 BOOKSELLEBS TO TEE XTNIVEBSITY. 
 
 LONDON : SIMPKIN, MAKSHALL, & CO. 
 
AAioS^^irH 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 f RtNTED BY LORIMER AND GILLIES, 
 
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QUEEN MARY: 
 
 % g r a m a» 
 
 [WO works, remarkable for their authorship, 
 have lately appeared within a short time 
 of one another. The one is by one of 
 England's greatest ministers : the other by her Poet- 
 Laureate. It is impossible there could be a wider 
 contrast than that between the form and substance of 
 Mr. Gladstone's work, " Eome, and the Newest 
 Fashions in EeUgion," and the form and substance of 
 Mr. Tennyson's drama, " Queen Mary;" yet, differing 
 widely as they do in these particulars, they have one 
 thing in common. Both of them are well calculated 
 to arouse and foster a lively detestation of Eome and 
 aU her works. They show in a striking manner that 
 the toleration of which we hear so much is but the 
 talk of the lips, and that, disguise it how we may, 
 hatred stUl rankles in the heart. We may offer the 
 hand in friendship, but, do what we will, the memory 
 of the past steals over us, and the hand will not close 
 as on a friend. But these impressions are of little 
 
2 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 account now. "We have freed ourselves, soul and 
 body, from the power of Eome, and we have taught 
 the nations of Europe how to live and prosper without 
 her. If she is bestirring herself more than usual, and 
 her policy is wearing more the appearance of aggressive- 
 ness, it is but the survival of an hour, the quickened 
 impulse of a death-throe. She hastens even now to 
 her end. She will disappear before a power mightier 
 than herself, and more lasting — a power which is 
 gathering strength every day : the power of universal 
 intelligence, down which headlong current will be 
 borne away both the arrogance of centuries and the 
 fears of an hour. 
 
 Having noticed the coincidence of effect in the two 
 works we have mentioned, we now proceed to the task 
 which we have set ourselves, which is to examine the 
 drama of " Queen Mary." Not only do we think Mr. 
 Tennyson has made an unhappy selection in trying to 
 make a heroic subject of the English Mary; but we 
 think he would have shown more judgment if he had 
 made no attempt to write a drama at all. Perhaps in 
 thus offending the poet is less to blame than his 
 critics. We do not believe Mr. Tennyson is more 
 above the influence of opinion than the majority of 
 men. It is diJB&cult for a popular writer to preserve 
 himself from it. And it is not surprising that in an 
 evil hour he should yield to it. When the " Northern 
 Farmer" appeared it was considered, making all 
 allowance for the scope it traverses, second to nothing 
 which up to that time its author had written. Nay 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 3 
 
 more, it was discovered that Mr. Tennyson had 
 resources of which the world had never dreamed, and 
 of which this was a first and brilliant sample. It was 
 so unlike, so opposed to the quality of the author's 
 former writings, that it is no wonder it caught the 
 wise ones of the earth napping. In haste it was pro- 
 claimed that the rough and burly Yorkshire boor was 
 a creation. The use of externals and the association 
 of a patois showed how easily your profound critic 
 is imposed upon. Mr. Tennyson was now a dramatist. 
 That Northern Farmer could take his ale and smoke 
 like a human being. It never was imagined Mr. 
 Tennyson's powers could produce such an entity. 
 Time alone was the desideratum, the one thing need- 
 ful, and the Poet-Laureate would appear as a full- 
 fledged dramatist. This was said in those days. It 
 ought never to have been said at all. The " Northern 
 Farmer " does not contain the proof it was said it did. 
 We wlU see if it does. Suppose we were let loose in 
 Yorkshire, and wanted to find out this farmer, what 
 have we wherewithal to describe him ? We are told, 
 that he has been in the habit of drinking ale for more 
 than thirty years, that his cows have to calve, and 
 that he has a moor to plough. Now, we would find a 
 hundred farmers of whom these things could be said — 
 a hundred Yorkshire boors who had been drinking 
 ale for thirty years and more, had cows to calve, and 
 moors to plough. There is no individuality here. 
 These are the mere particulars of a farmer's occupa- 
 tion. They appear humble to a poetic mind, but yet 
 
4 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 they seem crossed with adequate pleasures. They are 
 incidents and actions common to a profession, and there- 
 fore cannot place us in possession of the personality of 
 any individual associated with them. We would never 
 find out the man we wanted. A description of a man's 
 profession or occupation, we submit, is surely not a 
 description of the man himself. Suppose we wanted 
 to find out the character of a man, and we were told 
 he was a glass-blower, and he worked nine hours 
 a-day, earned thirty shillings a-week, and went to bed 
 at ten o'clock, what would we know of him ? As 
 much as we know of the farmer, whom we would 
 never be able to pick out in the market-place, or lay 
 hands on in Baker Street. If Mr. Tennyson had made 
 us feel the presence of his .farmer as we feel the 
 presence of Dandie Dinmont, then there was room for 
 some of the fine things which were said about him. If 
 we knew him to have been witty and wise, grave or 
 gay, splenetic and sour, or warm-hearted and kind — 
 a man whom we could trust, or one whom we could 
 not, one whom We might respect and love, or contemn 
 and despise, we should then have known something 
 of what is called the character of a man. And if we 
 had seen him speaking and acting in accordance with 
 his character, we would have had in embryo the work 
 of a dramatic tyro, and it would have presented us 
 with a reasonable margin for hoping that we might 
 have a finer picture on a larger canvas from the same 
 hands. But such a proof of dramatic capacity is not 
 to be found in the " Northern Farmer," And what is 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 5 
 
 more, it is not to be found in any of Mr. Tennyson's 
 poems. Mr. Tennyson is a poet of a specific order : 
 a man of fine feeling and refined cultivation. His 
 poems are strongly characterised by tenderness and 
 pathos, and perhaps reflect -too much the fastidious- 
 ness of a mind looking for effect from mere refinement 
 and a high-pitched and somewhat unnatural concep- 
 tion of a cultivated taste. We regard this as a source 
 of weakness. With such notions as these variety and 
 vigour are incompatible. And these are the mainstay 
 of the dramatist. If we allow taste to check our 
 observation and appreciation of human nature, it is 
 impossible that we can appropriate its characteristics 
 and so sympathise with them, that we shall lay in a 
 large store of them, and reproduce them in various 
 forms when required. Besides, even if so minded, it 
 is not withia the power of every one to appropriate 
 character. One may distinguish character, but the 
 appropriation of it is something more. The man who 
 distinguishes character may lack the imagination -and 
 the power of invention which would enable him to 
 appropriate and reproduce it. Men's gifts are varied 
 both in number and extent ; and men will appreciate 
 and' judge of one another as they are variously gifted. 
 It may be taken as certain that the appreciation of 
 gifts is dependent on the -possession of like gifts ; not 
 necessarily like ia extent, but like in character. Thus, 
 the humourist is dependent on the possession of 
 humour in others. If, then, a man is naturally 
 awanting in humour, he wiU be unable to appropriate 
 
6 QUEEN MARY : A DKA.MA. 
 
 the various forms in which it comes before him. Now, 
 humour plays a part of so much consequence in the 
 natural actions of mankind that any one who lacks it 
 may be regarded as seeing only the half of human 
 nature. To the dramatist humour is indispensable. 
 It adds to the action, colours the sentiment, and 
 enriches the language of tragedy. A tragedy written 
 by a dramatist wanting humour would be but a series 
 of murders. It is Shakespeare's interminable humour 
 which gives the warmth and glow of life to his 
 grandest tragedies. What a mere skeleton of revenge 
 would lago be were it not for the rich humour which 
 is half his character. Notwithstanding the strength 
 of the passion which dominates over the "native 
 act and figure of his heart," his humour not only 
 visibly breaks out occasionally, but runs underneath 
 the whole current of his thoughts. And although the 
 bent of the play is to make us sympathise with 
 Othello, yet we prefer lago as possessing the more 
 fully-equipped mind. That we do not overrate the 
 possession of humour in a writer of tragedy is 
 amply proved by instancing Addison's " Cato." As 
 an example of the graceful union of classic with 
 idiomatic language the tragedy of " Cato " is without 
 a rival. It has a sweep and elasticity of its o^\ti. 
 Yet there is no glow of life in it, no language of the 
 heart. It is a piece of inteUectualism most admirable 
 of its kind, but as a tragedy it is incomplete, for 
 neither is the action sufficiently varied, nor the lan- 
 guage as full and pregnant as the tragic incidents and 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 7 
 
 powerful passions exhibited would seem to demand. 
 Notwithstanding the acting of Booth and Gibber and 
 Mrs. Oldfield, the play did not keep the stage. It 
 was too calm, too passionless, and bore too much the 
 habitude of reflection and meditation to be pleasing as 
 a faithful representation of human nature when the 
 emotions are thoroughly roused and the heart probed 
 to the very core. Now, all this is just what might 
 have been expected. 
 
 Addison was a grave man — grave almost to solem- 
 nity. Without humour, his mind naturally was 
 lop-sided ; and thus the cast of it, which we see in 
 "Cato," wears a grave and sober expression. His char- 
 acters speak well-conceived and lofty sentiments, but 
 the thought is not coloured by the various sources from 
 whence it springs. The bane of this is, that, shift the 
 scene as you please, the play becomes intolerable, 
 because it fails to associate the actor with a definite 
 character. Now, Mr. Tennyson, in the same sense as 
 we have applied the term to Addison, is lop-sided. His 
 natural tendency towards thfe grave and pathetic is not 
 counteracted by the ability to appropriate what is 
 humourous in human nature. This is very palpable 
 in his case — as palpable as in Spenser and Milton. 
 Milton's one attempt is the acme of grimness. If you 
 find yourself laughing, you feel, like Mr. Mould, the 
 undertaker in Martin Chuzzlewit, that you are break- 
 ing a commandment, and you speedily apply yourself 
 to make your expression assume that consonance which 
 betokens a devout frame of mind. In Milton the 
 
8 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 balance was struck in favour of a sublime attitude of 
 mind, which goes far to conceal what was wanting in 
 another direction. "Paradise Lost" is a princely- 
 excuse for the " Cambridge Carrier." Whether that 
 " poem unlimited " of Mr. Tennyson's is more than an 
 equivalent or not for his want of humour, we leave to 
 others. Certain it is that without it he cannot be 
 master of those resources upon which the dramatist 
 depends for enriching his fancy and prompting his 
 invention. It supplies that variation in situation and 
 sentiment which conceals the directness of the plot, 
 and leads away the mind from a too close following of 
 the overruling passion which is to give to it its con- 
 summation. As an example of the skilful and wise 
 use of humour in tragedy, we select "Hamlet" — ^the 
 masterpiece of our peerless dramatist. First of aU, 
 there is a vein of humour in the philosophic prince, 
 which, were it not for the trying circumstances which 
 so heavily oppress him, would have been more fruitful 
 in its workings in better seasons. It sharpens the 
 shafts directed at " old Jephthah," crops up in the 
 dialogue with Rosencrantz and GruUdenstern, flashes 
 across the advice given to the players, and matches 
 itself against the badinage of the grave-digger. It is 
 an element in the character of Polonius. And it gives 
 a specific tone to a great part of the scene in the grave- 
 yard. Nor is this, its more particular expression, all 
 the part it plays. It animates the whole play, and so 
 adjusts the balance of thought and expression, that we 
 obtain a general healthy tone for the current dialogue, 
 
BY ALPilED TENNYSON. 9 
 
 where it is not specially lowered by the influence of 
 the more painful emotions. There is no appearance 
 in such situations of the knowledge, on the part of the 
 author, that a terrible tragedy is to be committed. 
 We have the full, healthy, flow of every-day life, 
 untinctured by premonitions and forecasts, running 
 through all the collateral scenes, entirely independent 
 of and uninfluenced by the ultimate issue. When this 
 is the effect, it must be conceded, we have not rated 
 the possession of humour too highly. We regard Mr. 
 Tennyson, and we say it with regret, thus lightly 
 equipped, as marching to sure and certain defeat. 
 
 In choosing the English Mary as the subject of his 
 drama, Mr. Tennyson, we think, has been peculiarly 
 unfortunate. There is no historic character in our 
 annals less fitted for the part of tragedy-queen than 
 the child which Henry had by Catharine of Arragon. 
 Every school-boy is taught to hate her. The abhorrent 
 epithet prefixed to her name to distinguish her from 
 the other Mary is never forgotten. If there is one 
 story more than another which in after years is remem- 
 bered, with all the freshness of its first acquaintance, 
 bringing up again the feelings of hatred and disgust 
 which it excites, it is the story of two brave hearts 
 perishing amid the flames at Oxford, the victims of a 
 malign and cruel bigot. Thus early are we made 
 partisans in the cause of Eidley and Latimer, and are 
 learned to stigmatise the oppressor with the repulsive 
 epithet which distinguishes her. As queen, there is 
 nothing in Mary's life which afibrds that wealth and 
 
10 QPEEN MARY : A DBAMA. 
 
 variety of incident and occurrence which supply the 
 groundwork of a drama. It is discoloured and dis- 
 torted by a, sequence of events which has made it pro- 
 minent in English history as a period of unmitigated 
 cruelty, bliad zeal, and fanatical persecution. Leaving 
 out of account the tragic events which happened from 
 the bitter and relentless spirit of r,eligious hate, the 
 reign of Mary is a blank. It could not be well other- 
 wise. The vigour and vigilance which were spent in 
 hunting down and burning heretics could only be 
 turned to such base uses and unprofitable ends, with 
 the sure and certain effect of inducing much loss to the 
 country, both at home and abroad. If the incidents 
 which are seen to circle round the queen do not group 
 themselves into such scenes as might tempt the drama- 
 tist to utilise them, much less does the individuality of 
 Mary present those noble and amiable qualities of mind 
 and disposition which have been conspicuous in those 
 characters who have acted a heroic part in life. She 
 inherited Henry's arrogance, obstinacy, and cruelty, 
 without his frankness and liberality, and the narrow, 
 zealous spirit of her Spanish mother. Any one more 
 unlovable, more uninteresting, less heroic, and less 
 generous and attractive, could never be dragged before 
 the public to play the tragic-queen. Disrobe this 
 sceptred thing, and there stands before us an uncouth, 
 ungainly figure, on whose face there is a low and coarse 
 expression — a somewhat too prominent and faithful 
 witness of the distorted and hard heart which animated 
 it. Across the path of this benighted, disconsolate 
 
BY AL£"RED TENNYSON. 1 1 
 
 woman, memory can find no trace of a pure, and deep, 
 and lasting affection ; no mild radiance sheds itself 
 upon it from thoughts which ennoble, and sentiments 
 which refine ; but overhead there hangs a dark and 
 portentous cloud, thickening, as it were, the atmo- 
 sphere all around, and poisoning the breath of life ; 
 while from the ground there rises a stifled cry — the 
 cry as of a brother in agony. Thus it is, we think, 
 Mr. Tennyson has been peculiarly unfortunate in his 
 choice. First of aU, he has to overcome the prejudices 
 produced by historical relations ; and then he has 
 nothing to inspire him but the fanatical zeal of a cruel 
 despot and her minions. Need we say that the effect 
 has been most calamitous ; that Queen Mary, instead 
 of being a drama, is a history ; that the spirit which 
 inspires it throughout is one and the same, and the 
 action is like unto it. 
 
 Before we proceed to examine Mr. Tennyson's drama 
 in detail, we will take a rapid glance at the sources of 
 the drama, and observe its limits. A Manlius may 
 seek the shores of Greece to learn thence the eternal 
 principles of justice and mercy ; but we have no need 
 to betake ourselves to the land where Sappho tuned 
 her lyre to learn the art of dramatic writing. This 
 art has been taught by one who has no compeer, and 
 who has left a treasure from which every one may 
 enrich himself. Shakespeare is the acknowledged 
 master of human nature. Of the natural workings 
 of human appetite and reason his subtle delineations 
 are a marvel, both on account of the graphic descrip- 
 
12 QUEEN MARY : A DEAMA. 
 
 tion of their operations as well as the clear apprehen- 
 sion of their source and scope. No one has so vividly 
 illustrated the potency of those secret agents which 
 compel a birth of shameful deeds, nor depicted with 
 such rare insight the effects of their influence, and 
 shown how frequently great events from little causes 
 flow. Thus, from the ambition of Claudius flow " car- 
 nal, bloody, and unnatural acts, accidental judgments, 
 casual slaughters, and deaths put on by cunning and 
 forced cause." The events in " Hamlet" are the effects 
 of one cause. The deaths of Polonius, Ophelia, Clau- 
 dius, Gertrude, Hamlet, Laertes, Rosencrantz, and 
 .Guildenstern are determined by one and the same 
 cause — the ambition of Claudius. Ambition is uni- 
 versal. In this elbowing, striving, cheating, smiling 
 world it plays a large part. Its influence extends 
 itself everywhere, although the sphere of its action is 
 as varied as its operations. It has its hiding-place in 
 all hearts. Every one is capable, therefore, of appre- 
 ciating and conceiving its influence. Being a power 
 which moves all hearts more or less, be the aim the 
 most exalted or the most humble, its delineator will 
 always find fit audience and sure. And this ^ is the 
 reason why those authors who have dealt in universals 
 are most read and appreciated ; this the reason why 
 certain books shelve themselves in the homes of the 
 poor and the rich alike. They speak in a tongue 
 known to all, of things which have an interest for all. 
 Bunyan gets at all men, prince and beggar alike. 
 The name of him who wrote the wonderful tale of 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 13 
 
 " The Pilgrim's Progress " is known throughout the 
 world, while, on the other hand, the author of the 
 " Medal" is known only to the literary student. Thus, 
 again, Wordsworth has a world of his own ; few, it 
 must always be, his hearers. For he who was en- 
 shrined a " dedicated spirit," in early morn, by a vision 
 of the glory of this fair world as it revealed itself to 
 him by the shores of his own much-loved lake, had a 
 ken which marked, as never man, that spirit of beauty 
 which clothes herself, now with the mists of the hiUs, 
 anon with the mid-day sunbeams, or with the more 
 modest hues of twilight ; but there be many who wot 
 not what the spirit says. But he who poured out 
 his spirit o'er his Mary's dear departed shade will ever 
 bear sway over a wider dominion and greater empire, 
 because in Burns' verse there is a throb of his heart in 
 every line. And it is over this universal domain that 
 Shakespeare bears imperial sway. From him we 
 gather that the source of the drama springs from the 
 heart, and that its limits are defined by the works 
 which bank it in its progress. This clears the way for 
 a concurrent display of human emotions, aU of which 
 have been set in motion by one cause. Thus Claudius, 
 for his own ambition, murders his brother, seizes his 
 crown, and marries his queen. This carnal, bloody, 
 and unnatural act breeds an unwholesome melancholy 
 in Hamlet, from which a phase of human suffering, 
 characterised by morbid sensitiveness, is generated, 
 which begets in its turn feelings, doubts, reasonings, 
 and actions which otherwise would have slept in 
 
14 QUEEN MAKY : A DRAMA. 
 
 silence. Here we have the circumstances of life, 
 which in no two cases in human existence are of 
 exact correspondence, tempering and shaping against 
 the will and natural desire that life in which we live, 
 and move, and have our being. The scene of action 
 expands, and brings new forms of thought and feeling 
 before us. The casual slaughter of Polonius and Ham- 
 let's attitude wreck the sweet reason of the " rose of 
 May." Thus, again, events are quickened and griefs 
 multiplied, and another phase of human sorrow opened 
 out by the hand of another's woe. Then foUow " pur- 
 poses mistook," and " deaths put on by cunning and 
 forced cause " — Hamlet's attitude towards Ophelia ; 
 his love turned in upon itself ; Laertes' poisoned 
 mind ; and the crowning act of retribution which, 
 without discrimination, falls upon the just and unjust 
 alike. And so we trace this concurrence of events — 
 this ever-admirable and wonderful masterwork of the 
 drama — to one cause — to ambition. And from this 
 source sprang the immortal tragedy of Shakespeare. 
 It has nothing to do with externals. From beginning 
 to end it relies upon the secret conflicts of the heart. 
 It is these which are described, these which are 
 arrayed the one against the other. No splendid spec- 
 tacular displays here needed to excite or maintain an 
 interest. No varied scenic changes may hope to cope 
 with such a succession of the deepest, truest, tenderest, 
 and most heart-stirring emotions here finding utter- 
 ance. And what is of much consequence to be noted 
 is, that the whole action of the play is subordinated to 
 
BY ALFRED TBKNYSON. 15 
 
 the thought. Whatever combinations of events or 
 incidents arise in course, they seem to emerge natu- 
 rally from known causes, and do not look like mere 
 mutes or audience to the act. What goes before ad- 
 vises us of what comes after. Incident succeeds inci- 
 dent without abruptness, because the emotion which 
 drew it on prepared the way for it. And the mind, 
 being centred, not on a grotip of historical events 
 gathered from all quarters whither they showed them- 
 selves, and jumbled together to make up a play, but 
 on a series of incidents which is the natural sequence 
 of a master-passion, working out its way towards its 
 realisation, is harmoniously led by anticipation through 
 aU the scenes, until the end of the play is reached, 
 and its unity revealed. Such is the principle we 
 extract from the structural method of Shakespeare's 
 plays. From its observance we have derived that 
 strangely varied insight of the secret workings of the 
 heart which Shakespeare alone has depicted in charac- 
 ters which will live while memory lasts. Whatever 
 can ruffle the human breast, agitate the tranquil 
 heart, fire the reason, or distract the soul — whatever 
 thought can breed within the mind— whatever feeling 
 can rise from corporate sense and grow to action — 
 each and all by turns, sometimes singly, sometimes 
 hand in hand, have yielded in due measure of their 
 native growth to produce truth's fair complexion. 
 Thus it is we see the " very persons of the noble story 
 as they were living;" thus it is that Shakespeare has 
 "amazed indeed the very faculties of eyes and ears." 
 
16 QUEEN MARY : A DEAMA. 
 
 Mr. Tennyson has amazed us indeed — amazed the 
 faculty of our eyes. The " boys who thunder at the 
 playhouse, and fight for bitten apples," will be mute 
 at the number of illustrious strangers who figure as 
 dra/matis personcB. We know not what stage will 
 support so many great and noble people. It will con- 
 found the philosophy of the most ancient of managers 
 how to marshal and control such a troop. The call- 
 boys must be increased fourfold. The prompter will 
 " look pale and tremble at this chance." Such a 
 chance he will devoutly pray " may, of aU the days i' 
 the year," never come his way again. Amazement 
 will sit on the brow of every needlewoman in the 
 establishment. The demand for silken hose and 
 velvet doublets, slashed with satin, will intoxicate the 
 senses of every Israelitish costumier for a mile round 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 Mr. Tennyson is too historical. Impressed himself 
 with the aflEuence of his researches, he has unhappily, 
 sitting too close to the hour of his labours, left behind 
 him the character of this impression. Had he given 
 himself more time for digestion, he would not have 
 seen so brightly the passage of incidents, nor felt so 
 strongly the pressure of events. In due season the 
 force of these would have subsided, and their import- 
 ance would have adjudged them their proportion of 
 effect in the drama. Mr. Tennyson would then have 
 seen that, like the great master of the art, he could 
 or might have produced a better drama with half the 
 number of his dramatis personce. As it is, they are a 
 
BY ALFEED TENNYSON. 17 
 
 tag upon him. He must find a place for them — fit 
 them in between two pieces as best he may. The 
 whole of this blundering arises from Mr. Tennyson 
 not having a clear apprehension of dramaturgy. He 
 would have made better stuff out of his historical- 
 cram, and would have made a comparison between 
 his drama and the examination paper of a " promise- 
 crammed " candidate striving for the distinction of 
 starving himself in the service of Her Majesty for the 
 sake of his country impossible, if he had perceived 
 that the course of events should form merely the back- 
 ground in a play. It is this want of comprehension 
 to perceive the relative value of historical events in 
 the evolution of a drama that has made Mr. Tennyson 
 give such a fatal prominence to them in "Queen Mary." 
 Instead of relying upon the suggestiveness of internal 
 struggles he has sought for inspiration from external 
 conflict. This has been most disastrous. It turns 
 the drama of " Queen Mary " into an empty show — a 
 show of which one soon grows weary. It is medicated 
 history. Each of the famous forty-five has a small 
 portion assigned to him. Of its consequence or its 
 necessary association with the main conclusion there 
 is no adequate sign. It seems to foUow nothing, nor 
 to make anything follow it. The effect of this is, that, 
 regarding the drama as a whole, it is heterogeneous 
 and disunited. This same pernicious influence, per- 
 meating as it does the entire body of the play, makes 
 itself felt in an intolerable degree through the dialogue. 
 It is entirely awanting in spontaneity and naturalness. 
 
18 QUEEN MAUY : A DRAMA. 
 
 The speeches, instead of being prompted by inward 
 feelings, are "moulded by reflection on given facts." 
 They fail to impress and describe the subjectivity of 
 the speaker. This could not be otherwise, for how can 
 any man understand the character of another if he 
 never says anything of himself, but is continually 
 talking about something that is going on, or has gone 
 oflF, in one of the four quarters of the globe. Here a 
 heretic to be burned or having been burned, there a 
 priest bolting or having to bolt, everywhere somebody 
 or everybody making the best use of the Hmbs nature 
 has wisely and liberally provided them with, with an 
 eye to dramatic effect. This keeps the forty-five well 
 employed, and if they have little to say, and less to 
 think about, their activity must make amends for 
 these defects. We might have desiderated the natural 
 conjunction of head and trunk with limbs, but this 
 will appear to be a consideration of secondary import- 
 ance when it is kept in view that the Demosthenian 
 principle of action is the inspiring genius of the play. 
 When this is the case it is not surprising that " Queen 
 Mary " fails to excite interest or gather sympathy. As 
 to sentiments, it would need a person with as strong a 
 penchant as Sir Peter Teazle to find them out. And 
 for soliloquies, that principal channel for individuality 
 finding an outlet, there is not one which can be said 
 to be characterised by naturalness. No humanity 
 finds expression in them : no love of a Juliet, no 
 faithfulness of an Imogen floats on the soft winds of 
 evening to them whose spirits house with theirs ; no 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 19 
 
 merry laugh in tlie forest to tell of a heart as light as 
 the winds which paint the blushes on the fair cheeks of 
 a Rosalind ; no high-blown pride of a Wolsey breaking 
 and mastering the heart that fed on it ; no discordant 
 music from the broken heart-strings of a Lear longing 
 wistfully to pOlow the sorrows of a life on the bosom 
 of affection ; none of these things to make the drama 
 " Hve i' the presence." Nothing but the ghost of 
 religion haunting everything and everybody. This is 
 the sunken rock on which " Queen Mary " founders. 
 How is it possible to make a drama square with 
 human nature when the principle of religious belief is 
 the spirit which animates it ? What thought can it 
 inspire ? What events may it beget ? To whom wiU 
 it appeal ? Only to them who think with it. A 
 small audience this, and variable. Eeligious belief is 
 a variable quantity, ever passing into new forms and 
 phases. On the sands of time it marks a different 
 flow and ebb. But so alters not human nature : from 
 first to last it is the same. Eeligions come and go, 
 but. humanity remains. Its inspirations need no 
 teaching. Its source is one ; its culture one. Its 
 language is imiversal. But religious beliefs are not 
 universal. They do not come from the heart. They 
 enter in at the ear, and take possession of the mind. 
 They rule it and mislead it. They provoke hate, 
 engender fear, and prompt to acts of bitterness and 
 revenge. They have set the world astir endless times, 
 and their reputation for working mischief wUl always 
 cling to them. It may be asked, If religious belief 
 
20 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 provokes hate, engenders fear, and prompts to acts of 
 bitterness and revenge, does it not produce those 
 very passions which it is the aim of the dramatist to 
 describe ? No, we answer. The hate, fear, bitter- 
 ness, and revenge begot by religious fanaticism are as 
 different in their development and scope of action 
 from the hate, fear, and revenge which rise from the 
 heart as the source of the one differs from the source 
 of the other. The prejudice of a dogma may array 
 one sect against another, but the hate of an lago can 
 put the world in arms. And as the scope of action 
 varies so does the character, and the character of 
 the action with the character of thought from which 
 the action springs. Eeligious controversy is bred in 
 the head. It is a sort of iatellectual pastime. Being 
 entirely of the intellect, it is impossible to associate it 
 with outward show. We may believe ia a creed, but 
 we cannot by concurrent gesticulations unfold its 
 dogma nor describe its teaching. Mr. Tennyson evi- 
 dently thinks otherwise. For what is " Queen Mary " 
 but a dogma in trousers, to make it palpable to sense. 
 Mr. Tennyson's forty-five may be described as a holy 
 family. Every one is more religiously inclined than 
 another. It is difficult to conclude who is the holiest 
 of this saintly crew. Brave Mr. Talkative would have 
 no chance with them, for they act religiously as well 
 as talk about it. Such consistency in religious con- 
 duct is admirable ; but having regard to its influence 
 upon the drama, such as we see iu " Queen Mary," 
 it is not only most objectionable, but it is ridiculous 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 21 
 
 as well. It has marred the play — made it unplay- 
 able, for it is impossible to suit the action to the 
 word. 
 
 As Mr. Tennyson is in the act of reducing " Queen 
 Mary" to suit the limits of the stage, we think he 
 could not make a better beginning than at once 
 leaving out the first scene, and making the curtain 
 rise on a room in Lambeth Palace — Cranmer meditat- 
 ing moodily. Scene first is an example of what we 
 have called medicated history, which has no influence 
 upon the story and action of the drama. It suggests 
 no ulterior event, and developes nothing of the leading 
 action of the play. Besides, it is something novel to 
 introduce the heroine as a mere mute to the audience. 
 This may pass on paper, but it will hardly pass 
 muster on the stage. There is not in the whole 
 drama a more glaring example of the prominence of 
 historical events than the opening of Scene 2, which 
 we quote : — 
 
 Cranmer. To Strasburg, Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, Worms, 
 Geneva, Basle — our bishops from their sees 
 Or fled, they say, or flying — Poinet, Barlo-w, 
 Bale, Scory, Coverdale ; besides the deans 
 Of Ghristchurch, Durham, Exeter, and "Wells — 
 Ailmer and Bullingham, and hundreds more ; 
 So they report : I shall be left alone. 
 No : Hooper, Ridley, Latimer, will not fly. 
 
 What drama ever afforded such information as 
 this 1 Look at the abruptness of it : see how forcibly 
 it declares the influence of the life of the nineteenth 
 
22 QUEEN MAKY : A DEAMA. 
 
 century. It commences like a railway time-bill. So 
 much are we impressed with this association, that we 
 actually hear the guard calling, "Now, any more 
 passengers for Strasburg and Frankfort ? • Take seats 
 all those for Geneva and Basle ! Start immediately !" 
 This is an odd fashion in which to make a man think 
 — a man like Cranmer. Imagine the act-drop just 
 pulled up, and an actor commencing, " To Strasburg, 
 Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, Worms, Geneva, Basle." 
 The stare and gasp of QuintUian would be a mere 
 yawn compared with the effects produced by such a 
 rare and irrelevant harangue. Most of the audience, 
 we believe, wiU there and then make for the money- 
 taker's box and demand to be refunded, on the plea 
 that they do not care to go out of town at present. 
 But to place exception on higher ground, this soliloquy 
 of Cranmer should have been an interpretation of his 
 thoughts in general language. His thoughts should 
 arise from two sources — the consideration of the state 
 of emergency in which his friends have been placed, 
 and the state of events as bearing on his position and 
 fortunes. History will not describe this. History has 
 nothing to do with feelings, and it is with feelings we 
 have here to do. We want to know how Cranmer is 
 affected by the plight in which he feels himself to be 
 placed by the outstanding circumstances which he 
 knows menace him. We have a right to expect an 
 appropriate description of the thoughts which must 
 naturally arise in Cranmer's mind under such condi- 
 tions. We should see him groping his way to future 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 23 
 
 probabilities by such light as present circumstances 
 afford. Instead of thinking after the fashion of a 
 railway time-table, we can imagine Cranmer brooding 
 thus : — 
 
 Cranmer. Heaven grant that no ill wind may set i' the teeth of 
 their adventure, and force to less compass the sail which is to 
 carry those holy men heyond apostate reach. May they find a 
 peaceful haven at the end of this their most cruel and compelled 
 journey. This growing heresy has loosed the bonds of foul hate 
 and deadly malice, and no one may reck himself free from out its 
 grasp, nor know how soon he may feel its grip. The clouds are 
 gathering, and soon the storm — 
 
 Enter Servant, in haste. 
 
 Cran. Why make you such haste into our presence ? 
 
 Ser. The Queen's messengers, my lord, have arrived, and de- 
 mand an audience. 
 
 Gran. How bear they themselves ? 
 
 Ser. Indeed, my lord, to speak in the face of truth, somewhat 
 royally. 
 
 Cran. Bid them enter. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 The storm has cracked o'erhead ere I could charge myself with 
 its appearing. 'Tis the Queen who hath guided it to this sudden 
 utterance. I know she hates me — hates me enduringly, spitefully, 
 as a woman hates another who outweighs her in the eyes of him 
 she loves. This hate works like venom in the veins : what mis- 
 chief it begets ! It hath made winter of my hopes, and turned to 
 blight the fair promise of the spring. I had hoped to see our 
 Church, the Church which Edward reared, growing to manhood ; 
 but now my hopes pass from me like a sigh. I've stood by the 
 wild sea, and seen a goodly ship, whose masts had topped the sun- 
 shine of bright days, wrecked by the angry waves, and heard the 
 cry of men for help, when help I could none. E'en now like pity 
 moves my heart for them whom I must leave to the fury of the 
 storm which rages round me. May Heaven, which uses well the 
 
24 QUEEN MARY : A DKAMA. 
 
 folly of mankind, make boot from out these troubles, and turn to 
 good account this wreck of good men's lives. (Soliloquy con- 
 
 Mr. Tennyson, whatever he may mean to do, is only 
 relating historical incidents. The aim of the dramatist 
 is to show the effects of these incidents upon them 
 who have acted part in them, and not the incidents 
 only. The incidents are only to serve as the plot 
 of the play ; but they are not the play itself. For 
 instance, we want to know what Cranmer thinks and 
 feels, not what he knows, which is another thing 
 altogether. We do not want to know what stands 
 first but was written last, or what the judges had pro- 
 nounced, or whether it was a wheedling monk who 
 set up a mass at Canterbury or not. We want to 
 see the effect of hate, and not merely tb hear about it. 
 All this knowledge about wheedling monks, and things 
 written last and standing first, is only on the surface. 
 It may be acquired by any one. But the dramatist 
 plunges deeper, and brings hidden things to light. 
 Mr. Tennyson never gets below the surface. Making 
 all allowance for the difficulty of dealing with a 
 chapter of incidents which spring from an intellectual 
 source, Mr. Tennyson fails completely in describing 
 the effect of these incidents on them who are influ- 
 enced by them. And this incapacity to depict the 
 inner man would seem to justify the saying of that 
 poetic priest, George Macdonald, that "there is no 
 thought in Tennyson." We would not like to go so 
 far as this. We believe that Mr. Tennyson thinks. 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 25 
 
 But that he has not that copious wit, that keen 
 observation and ready invention, that bright and 
 vigorous fancy of the dramatist who can turn the 
 handle of events, and open the secret chambers of the 
 heart when he lists, " Queen Mary" shows, and the 
 illustration we have used amply attests. What pity 
 does any one feel for Cranmer ? How is the passage 
 of his thoughts described ? Do we see disappoint- 
 ment, grief, the " oppressor's wrong," weighing down 
 the heart ofJ^anmer ? Do we listen to that which 
 comes from within or without ? It is not to the 
 dogmas of the heart, but to the dogmas of the mind 
 that we listen, and where these came from we have 
 already shown. Besides these faults, there is another 
 in the treatment of Cranmer. There is no perspective 
 observed in the delineation. What would be thought 
 of an artist who, in an historical painting, should place 
 one of his prominent characters behind a hedge in the 
 background, or make him chuck his head out at a 
 window at the end of an alley less than half-a-mile 
 long ? The hedge which hides Cranmer is the dialogue 
 with Peter Martyr. We make a martyr of Peter 
 because we wish to make Cranmer stand alone in his 
 greatness, like " the aged tree on the greene, whilome 
 had been the king of the field." Cranmer played a 
 great part, and we would make him look his part. 
 Such greatness has a solitude of its own. We would 
 show him resting on the dignity of his own nature, 
 and although oppressed and weighed down, yet in the 
 end triumphing over aU. Not only is the fault we 
 
26 QUEEN MABY : A BEAM A. 
 
 have mentioned observable in this case, but it is appa- 
 rent more or less throughout the drama. But of this 
 we can take no further heed, as we must pass on to 
 take notice of other shortcomiags. 
 
 In the scene between Elizabeth and Courtenay, the 
 appearance of Queen Mary, like a peeping Tom, is out 
 of place. But the exit of the Queen and Courtenay 
 simultaneously is worthy of a writer of burlesque. It 
 is most effective the wrong way. Then the butterfly 
 twaddle is hardly for the nineteenth century. The 
 idea which underlies the sentiment is none of the 
 choicest. And who can imagiae Elizabeth, that dis- 
 creet and reserved princess, with whom the commis- 
 sioners of 1554 could find no fault, telling Cousin 
 Courtenay not to pout ? 
 
 We have noticed Mr. Tennyson's want of humour ; 
 and this assertion of ours we wiU allow him to prove 
 himself, from a part of the dialogue of the fifth Scene : 
 
 Maey (kissing the miniatv/re). 
 
 Most goodly, kinglike, and an emperor's son, — 
 A king to be,— is lie not noble, girl ? 
 
 Alice. 
 Goodly enougb, your Grace, and yet, methiaks, 
 I have seen goodlier. 
 
 Mart. 
 
 Ay ; some waxen doll 
 Thy baby eyes have rested on, belike ; 
 All red and white, the fashion of our land. 
 But my good mother came (God rest her soul !) 
 Of Spain, and I am Spanish in myself, 
 And in my likings. 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 27 
 
 Alice. , 
 
 By your Grace's leave, 
 Your royal mother came of Spain, but took 
 To the English red and white. Your royal father 
 (For so they say) was all pure Uly and rose 
 In his youth, and like a lady. 
 
 The efiPect of this we leave to our readers, with the 
 remark that there is warranty for the red and white, 
 and pure Hly and rose. Lucretia looked thus in the 
 eyes of Sextus Tarquinius. But Mr. Tennyson sadly 
 needs a lesson in the Ovidian art. Can he not take 
 one from that veteran hand, Mr. Disraeli ? There is 
 not a sampler miss who has just left off pricking her 
 fingers but is captivated by the novel- Premier. For 
 instance, there is the commonplace Mary-Ann, with 
 her plain father and mother, living in a plain house, 
 with a plain plot of ground in the front, and a plainer 
 behind, with an apple-tree in the middle of it, and a 
 blackbird on the top of the apple-tree, sighing half 
 the day over the pages of " Lothair." " What a hand- 
 some youth Lothair is ! How delighted Corisande 
 must have been to walk with him in the garden, and 
 then to be presented with a rose ! I hope my noble 
 Charles will behave in the same manner when he — 
 
 when he Yes, oh, it's beautiful ! I wish papa 
 
 was Hke Mr. Disraeli. What a noble-minded man he 
 must be, to be sm'e ! " Mr, Tennyson, we are afraid, 
 wiU never produce such effects as these. He isn't coy 
 enough. His love is far too demonstrative. Although 
 
28 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 love is fond, and does many foolish things, it knows 
 how to keep its own secrets. When Juliet whispered 
 hers, the mask of night was on her face. But here it 
 is bright morning, and every one is made partaker of 
 it. First of all, it is Alice, then Gardiner, Noailles, and 
 Renard. Strange counsellors in Cupid's cause ! — a 
 lady-in-waiting, the Lord Chancellor of England, the 
 Spanish and French ambassadors. Of course, Mary 
 only wants to know whether or not her Philip re- 
 sembles the Philip of the miniature. She knows that 
 there is a good deal of the Christy Minstrel about 
 Philip. But she prepares herself for this. She is 
 Spanish in her likings. Philip had not inherited the 
 beauty of his grandfather, the handsome Archduke of 
 Austria, whom his wife,. Donna Anna, after his death, 
 decked out in his robes and laid on a bed, beside 
 which she watched for his coming again to life, as the 
 priests had told her. However, love is blind, and 
 there is no doubt PhUip would look as pretty as her 
 father, who was all pure lily and rose, and like a lady. 
 Mary receives but doubtful assurances from her coun- 
 sellors. Her audiences with them are most tiresome 
 and ridiculous, and we are not surprised that the queen 
 should be " faint with her long talk." 
 
 We do not yet quit the fifth Scene, for we have to 
 point out a fine passionate speech. Alice has just 
 told Mary that Lady Jane Grey, when passing sonie 
 chapel down in Essex, would not bow down to him 
 within the pyx, because the baker made him. Then 
 Mary thus : — 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 29 
 
 Monstrous ! blasphemous ! 
 She ought to burn. Hence, thou ! [Exit Alice.] No^ 
 
 being traitor, 
 Her head will fall : shall it ? She is but a child. 
 We do not kill the child for doing that 
 His father whipt him into doing — a head 
 So full of grace and beauty ! -would that mine 
 Were half as gracious ! Oh, my lord to be, 
 My love, for thy sake only. 
 I am eleven years older than he is. 
 But will he care for that ? 
 No, by the holy Virgin, being noble. 
 But love me only : then the bastard sprout. 
 My sister, is far fairer than myself. 
 Will he be drawn to her ? 
 No, being of the true faith with myself. 
 Paget is for him — for to wed with Spain 
 Would treble England^Gardiner is against him ; 
 The OouncU, people, Parliament against him ; 
 But I will have him ! My hard father hated me ; 
 My brother rather hated me than loved ; 
 My sister cowers and hates me. Holy Virgin, 
 Plead with thy blessed Son ; grant me my prayer ; 
 Give me my Philip ; and we two will lead 
 The living waters of the Faith, again 
 Back thro' their widow'd channel here, and watch 
 The parch'd banks rolling incense, as of old. 
 To heaven, and kindled with the palms of Christ ! 
 
 This is a rapid passage — one of the most rapid on 
 record ; and as in a rapid journey you do not see all 
 that lies around you, so here, in this passage, you do 
 not gather the fuU. sense at first sight. But it is not 
 the reader's fault. There is much ambiguity in it. 
 Mary appears more to rave than to reason ; and yet, 
 strange, she is reasoning ! She is calculating the 
 
30 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 chances of Philip loving her for herself, and anticipat- 
 ing the amount of objection which her choice may 
 meet from her guardians — the Council, people. Parlia- 
 ment. Whether Mary thought reasoning worse than 
 scolding we cannot tell ; but she deserves a good 
 scolding for her reasoning. Lady Jane ought to be 
 burned because she said the baker made, him; but, 
 being a child, her head should fall. Then Mary argues 
 that children are not kiUed for doing what their father 
 told them, because their heads are fuU of grace and 
 beauty. This was the first impression this passage 
 made on us. But it does not mean this; it means 
 that, although the queen could not blame Lady Jane 
 for her faults, yet she would like to have a head like 
 hers, although it is evident there is a chance of its 
 being roughly handled. Then, with a hop from Lady 
 Jane to her lord — 
 
 Oh, my lord to be. 
 My love, for thy sake only. 
 I am eleven years older than he is. 
 
 What this " for thy sake only " meant we could not 
 tell at first. We thought it meant that Mary was 
 congratulating herself that she was eleven years older 
 than Philip, but only for Philip's sake. We dis- 
 covered our mistake when we saw the period after 
 only. It was a mystery to us until, after several 
 attempts, we discerned its solution. Then Mary asks 
 if Philip will care for her, being eleven years older 
 than herself, and she answers — 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 31 
 
 No, by the holy Virgin, being noble, 
 But love me only. 
 
 Then Mary rattles on from the " bastard sprout," 
 until at last she comes to the holy Virgin, to whom 
 she addresses the most extraordinary petition, we be- 
 lieve, that was ever presented. We congratulate Mr. 
 Tennyson's good sense, which anticipates his reader's 
 thoughts by placing a point of exclamation at the end. 
 We rather object to the " parch'd banks rolHng in- 
 cense " being called an old trick. To us it is some- 
 thing new. Banks cannot roll anything ; they may 
 be rolled. Moreover, incense, when it goes to heaven, 
 does not roll — it rises or ascends. We have heard of 
 the rolling of a ship, the rolhng of the eyes, the roll- 
 ing of a stone down a hiU ; but we never heard until 
 now of parch'd banks roUing incense to heaven. 
 However, the strange manner in which it is kindled 
 may account for the new-fashioned mode in which it 
 ascends thither. 
 
 We pass on to the first Scene in the third Act, leav- 
 ing unnoticed several passages of which we meant to 
 have taken notice. And here we quote what will 
 appear a strange answer to a question. Stafford, who 
 is anxious to know about the last moments of Lady 
 Jane Grey's life, asks Bagenhall — 
 
 Yet doubtless you can tell me hew she died ? 
 
 Bagenhall. 
 Seventeen — and knew eight languages — in music 
 Peerless — her needle perfect, and her learning 
 Beyond the churchmen. 
 
32 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 Now, this arises from Mr. Tennyson adjusting the 
 answer from his foreknowledge, and not making such 
 an answer as might be expected from one who was 
 witness of the circumstances. He should make him- 
 self a spectator of his own play, and then he will see 
 how outrS this answer is. Bagenhall ought to com- 
 mence his speech with, " She came upon the scaffold." 
 The rest of Bagenhall's speech does not produce on us 
 that effect which it evidently is meant to produce. 
 The abruptness of " But aU in English, mark you ; 
 rose again," is very jarring ; while the " all in Eng- 
 lish, mark you," is somewhat comical. The excision 
 of this is advisable. The following, from a part of 
 Pole's speech, seems to be a mixture of Eob Eoy 
 braggadocio and the reminiscence of a returned con- 
 vict : — 
 
 Thus, after twenty years of banishment, 
 Feeling my native land beneath my foot, 
 I said thereto : " Ah, native land of mine, 
 Thou art much beholden to this foot of mine." 
 
 Is not " Sit benedictus fructus ventris tui ! " a 
 strange blessing for the daughter of God ? 
 
 In the second Scene of the third Act, Mary alone, 
 thus : 
 
 He hath awaked ! he hath awaked ! 
 ■ He stirs within the darkness ! 
 Oh, Philip, husband ! now thy love to mine 
 Will cUng more close, and those bleak manners thaw, 
 ' That make me shamed and tongue-tied in my love. 
 The second Prince of Peace — 
 The great unborn defender of the Faith, 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 33 
 
 Who will avenge me of mine enemies — 
 
 He comes, and my star rises. 
 
 The stormy Wyats and Northumberlands, 
 
 The proud ambitions of Elizabeth, 
 
 And all her firiest partisans— are pale 
 
 Before my star ! v 
 
 The light of this new learning wanes and dies : 
 
 The ghosts of Luther and Zuinglius fade 
 
 Into the deathless hell, which is their doom, 
 
 Before my star ! 
 
 His sceptre shall go forth from Ind to Ind ! 
 
 His sword shall hew the heretic peoples down ! 
 
 His faith shall clothe the world that will be his 
 
 Like universal air and sunshine ! Open, 
 
 Ye everlasting gates ! The King is here 1 
 
 My star, my son ! 
 
 We have often seen the subhme and the ridiculous 
 met together. We all make slips at times, great and 
 small alike. And as we are all open to error, so we 
 should aU alike be open to advice. If Mr. Tennyson 
 is not above taking advice, we advise him to let Mary 
 " inherit the Great Silence." This passage is not fit for 
 the stage. We can make great allowance for a poet 
 working up the agonies to a high point, but it is 
 possible to go too far. This is all we say ; but it is 
 not all we meant to have said about this sohloquy. 
 
 In Pole's speech. Act III. Scene 3, there is a very 
 palpable error — 
 
 For as this 'people were the^r«< of all 
 
 The islands called into the dawning Church 
 
 Out of the dead, deep night of heathendom. 
 
 From the same Act, but in the succeeding Scene, we 
 extract the following : — 
 
34 QUEEN MAEY : A DKAMA. 
 
 Gardiner. 
 
 Eight, your Grace. 
 Paget, you are all for this poor life of ours, 
 And care but little for the life to be. 
 
 Paget. 
 
 I have some time, for curiousness, my Lord, 
 Watch' d children playing at their life to he. 
 And cruel at it, killing helpless flies ; 
 •Such is our time — all times for aught I know. 
 
 Gaediher. 
 
 "We kill the heretics that sting the soul ; 
 
 They, with right reason, flies that prick the flesh. 
 
 Paget. 
 
 They had not reach'd right reason ; little children ! 
 They kill'd but for their pleasure, and the power 
 They felt in killing. 
 
 Gardiner. 
 
 A spice of Satan, ha ! 
 Vhy, good ! what then? granted ! — we are fallen creatures ; 
 Look to your Bible, Paget ! we are fallen. 
 
 Paget. 
 
 I am but of the laity, my Lord Bishop, 
 And may not read your Bible, yet I found 
 One day, a wholesome scripture, " Little children. 
 Love one another." 
 
 Gardiner. 
 
 Did you find a scripture, 
 " I came not to bring peace but a sword " 1 The sword 
 Is in her Grace's hand to smite with. Paget, 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 35 
 
 You stand up here to fight for heresy, 
 You are more than guess'd at as a heretic. 
 And on the steep-up track of the true faith 
 Your lapses are far seen. 
 
 Who is right, Tennyson or Wordsworth ? Words- 
 worth says, that " heaven lies about us in our infancy." 
 Here there seems to lie a good deal of the other place. 
 Paget has watched children playing at their life to be, 
 and cruel at it. We have watched children as well as 
 Paget, and we never saw this spice of Satan in them. 
 This kind of spice is indulged in at a later period of 
 life, as everybody knows. We are certain Paget must 
 have been cruel himself when in petticoats, and that 
 this is the way he amused himself Besides, who ever 
 saw children playing at their life to be ? What do all 
 these fly-catchers know of life ? How can they 
 imitate it or play at it ? Imitation presumes a know- 
 ledge of the thing imitated. What knowledge has a 
 child of its life to be ? It can have no knowledge. 
 Life is a thing fashioning itself day by day, changeful, 
 fitful, unknown, impossible of anticipation. 
 
 "This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely. 
 His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root. 
 And then he falls." 
 
 Paget appears to us to be a muddle-headed man, 
 one with a lean pate and a fat paunch. First of all 
 
36 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 he says he has watched children playing at their life 
 to be ; and then he says they hadn't reached right 
 reason, when they were killing helpless flies. We see 
 the fly-catchers in two states — one with right reason, 
 the other without it. We have then a life which 
 will be framed in accordance to the dictates of right 
 reason ; and we have also a life framed in opposition 
 to the dictates of right reason. According to Paget, 
 the life which is framed in accordance with the dic- 
 tates of right reason, can be played at by them who 
 have no right reason. We disown Paget both on 
 account of his bad logic, as well as the bad impression 
 he gives us of the little fly-catchers. 
 
 In the same there occurs the following : — 
 
 Bonner. 
 So then you hold the Pope — 
 
 Gardiner. 
 
 I hold the Pope ! 
 What do I hold him? what do I hold the Pope? 
 Come, come, the morsel stuck — this Cardinal's fault — 
 I have gulpt it down. I am wholly for the Pope, 
 Utterly and altogether for the Pope, 
 The Eternal Peter of the changeless chair, 
 Crown'd slave of slaves, and mitred king of kings, 
 God upon earth ! What more ? what would you have ? 
 
 We now pass on to the fifth Scene, in which the 
 following takes place. The scene, Woodstock ; Eliza- 
 beth alone : — 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 My jailor — 
 Enter Sir Henry Bedingfield. 
 
BY ALFKED TENNYSON, 37 
 
 Bedingfield. 
 
 One, whose bolts, 
 That jail you from free life, bar you from death. 
 There haunt some Papist ruffians hereabout 
 Would mvirder you. 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 I thank you heartily, sir, 
 But I am royal, tho' your prisoner. 
 And God hath blessed or cursed me with a nose. 
 Your boots are from the horses. 
 
 Bedingfield. 
 
 Ay, my Lady. 
 When next there comes a missive from tho Queen, 
 It shall be all my study for one hour 
 To rose and lavender my horsiness 
 Before I dare to glance upon your Grace. 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 A missive from the Queen : last time she wrote, 
 I had like to have lost my life : it takes my breath : 
 O God, sir, do you look upon your boots, 
 Are you so small a man 1 Help me : what think you, 
 Is it life or death ? 
 
 Bedingfield. 
 
 I thought not on my boots ; 
 The devU take all boots were ever made 
 Since man went barefoot. See, I lay it here. 
 For I will come no nearer to your Grace. 
 
 [Laying dovm the letter. 
 And, whither it bring you bitter news or sweet. 
 And God hath given your Grace a nose or not, 
 I'll help you, if I may. 
 
 If, as affirmed by Diogenes, " we cannot see horse- 
 ness," it is quite plain that the philosophy of the 
 
38 QUEEN MAKY : A DRAMA. 
 
 nineteenth century can predicate its existence by the 
 operation of another sense. Here is a proof, if proof 
 were needed, that there are more things in heaven 
 and earth than are dreamt of in onr philosophy. For 
 what philosophy will explain Mr. Tennyson's penchant 
 for- that which is offensive to the olfactory nerves ? 
 Last time it was kitchen grease. Now we have to 
 follow our poet from the kitchen to the stable midden. 
 We have no appreciation of such delicate morsels as 
 these. Kitchen grease and horsiness. As the wise 
 physician searcheth out and prescribeth for the cause 
 of his patient's malady, so we, in like duty bound, in 
 order to restore the olfactory nerves of our poet to their 
 normal and healthy condition, prescribe a breezy trip 
 with Ariel or a journey with Thyrsis to the corners of 
 the moon ; and if these remedies fail, as oft seemingly 
 good remedies do fail, then let him abide some time 
 with Titania, or foUow the peregrination of the bee, 
 and note its infantile propensities. The home of the 
 fairy and its pleasant domestic arrangements, as 
 described by Oberon, answer in all particulars to the 
 desiderata recommended by the wise physician for 
 them whose nervous system is in an abnormal state — 
 country air and light amusements. Let us glance at 
 the home of Titania. 
 
 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
 With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
 Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight." 
 
BY AliFRED TENNYSON. 39 
 
 Poetic home ! What would a month's residence here 
 not effect ? A month among sweet musk roses and 
 eglantine ! That such a sojourn would be beneficial, 
 we cannot doubt. Then the odours of a Gareth and 
 a Bedingfield would be exchanged for the sweet exhala- 
 tions of a More and a Fenton — a reeking midden for a 
 bed of roses. 
 
 We now pass on to the fourth Act and to the second 
 Scene, and we find Cranmer thinking again, on a 
 different subject, but in the same order or style — of 
 course, this is consistent. 
 
 Disgraced, dishononred ! — not by them, indeed, 
 By mine own self — by mine own hand ! 
 
 thin-skianed hand and jutting veins, 'twas you 
 That sign'd the burning of poor Joan of Kent ; 
 
 But then she was a witch. You have written much, 
 But you were never raised to plead for Frith, 
 Whose dogmas I have reach'd : he was deliver'd 
 To the secular arm to burn ; and there was Lambert ; 
 Who can foresee himself? Truly these burnings. 
 As Thirlby says, are profitless to the burners, 
 And help the other side. You shall burn too. 
 Burn first when I am burnt. 
 Fire — ^inch by inch to die in agony ! Latimer 
 Had a brief end — not Ridley. Hooper burn'd 
 Three-quarters of an hour. WUl my faggots 
 Be wet as his were 1 It is a day of rain, 
 
 1 will not muse upon it. 
 
 My fancy takes the burner's part, and makes 
 The fire seem even crueller than it is. 
 No, I not doubt God will give me strength, 
 Albeit I have denied Him. 
 
 The plain, and at the same time painful, effect of this 
 nicety of detail in this retrospect of Cranmer, is to 
 
40 QUEEN MARY : A DEAMA. 
 
 make one laugh. What a strange rigmarole it is ! 
 This all comes of dependence on externals — or relating 
 history and biography , instead of thoughts and feelings. 
 How unequal the sentiments and the language to the 
 situation. What a strong situation, what weak ideas, 
 and frivolous, paltry language. Here, if anywhere in 
 the whole drama, is a situation for a dramatist to show 
 his metal. Here cause to drown the stage with tears ! 
 Could Mr. Tennyson not manage to be Cranmer for a 
 short time, and conjure up something that would 
 naturally grow out of his condition. Wby wiU he put 
 himself in bonds to history ? Where the history in 
 Juliet's conception of her thoughts and feelings when 
 housing with her buried ancestors ? or in the miseries 
 of Wolsey ? Can he not perceive that his faithfulness 
 to the narrcation of facts tethers his imagination, and 
 prejudices the bent of it. If it is desirable to excite 
 sympathy for the sufferings of Cranmer, how is it 
 possible to induce this result by making Cranmer talk 
 about witches and dogmas, and Latimer, and Eidley, 
 and Hooper, and the state of the weather ? "Fire — inch 
 by inch to die in agony," will never do. It is far too 
 sudden. It is like a summons to a fire-engine. It has 
 in it the ideas of haste, alarm, and bustle, when it comes 
 tumbling out in this fashion. Suppose we overlook 
 this abruptness, why does Cranmer not continue the 
 train of thought? , Why does he jump at once to 
 Latimer ? This is most unnatural. When the mind 
 is deeply absorbed in what is personal, it gives little 
 heed to what passes outside of it — at least, such a mind 
 
BY ALFEBD TENNYSON. 41 
 
 as Cranmer's. It is very much out of place to make 
 Cranmer think like sweet seventeen, about everything 
 in less than a minute, from her pet dog Dash to 
 her dear cousia Julia, who is to be married to a hand- 
 some officer next week. We are sorry for Cranmer, 
 because he tells us he is going to be burnt ; but as he 
 does not seem to feel it much, neither can we. 
 
 We finish our quotations by making our friend 
 Paget show that our diagnosis of his character is true 
 to the life, and that there is more of Menenius Agrippa 
 in. him than appears at first sight. In fact, we sus- 
 pected that Paget was given to " converse more with 
 the buttock of the evening than the forehead of the 
 morning." 
 
 Paget. 
 
 My Lord, the world is like a drunken man, 
 
 Who cannot move straight to his end, but reels 
 
 Nq-w to the right, then as far to the left, 
 
 Push'd by the crowd beside — and underfoot 
 
 An earthquake ; for since Henry for a doubt — 
 
 Which a young lust had clapt upon the back, 
 
 Crying, " Forward " — set our old Church rocking, men 
 
 Have hardly known what to believe, or whether 
 
 They should believe in anything ; the currents 
 
 So shift and change, they see not how they are borne, 
 
 Nor whither. I conclude the King a beast ; 
 
 Verily, a lion, if you will — the world 
 
 A most obedient beast and fool — myself 
 
 Half beast and fool as appertaining to it. 
 
 When we look back on the drama of " Queen 
 Mary," we find ourselves very much in the same state 
 of mind as the little boy, when looking at a piece of 
 
42 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 canvas purporting to describe the passage of the 
 Israelites through the Eed Sea, but which represented 
 nothing but an expanse of turbulent waters. " If you 
 please, sir," said the little boy to the showman, 
 "where are the Israelites V " Them His-rill-lights, as 
 you see, has arrived at the end of their journey, and 
 took to their tents, according to Scripture." " Then, 
 if you please, sir, where are the Egyptians ?" '.' Them 
 Hee-jip-shins, as you see, is aU drowned, every man 
 alive, according to Scripture." So we who paid our 
 money to see an exhibition of human nature have 
 witnessed nothing but historical incidents, doctrinal 
 asseverations, and dogmatical phillipics. We cannot 
 accept this as a drama. The aim of the dramatist is 
 to exhibit human nature in aU its phases, not a phase 
 of religious belief. Humanity is the groundwork of 
 every drama. It is the source from which every play- 
 wright seeks inspiration. And it is the depiction of 
 it which constitutes the drama. Mr. Tennyson has 
 failed for obvious reasons. We have pointed out his 
 lack of humour. We do not make this a capital 
 charge against him. The blame is not his. But in 
 treating of the drama this defect could not be passed 
 over unnoticed. We have shown how needful it is 
 to the dramatist, and " Queen Mary " shows what 
 happens when it is awanting. There is no sparkle, 
 no brightness, no fitful sunshine through the deep 
 darkness. All is carried on in solemn undertones. 
 Every one is of a fearful visage, and looks like the 
 personification of persecution. This may be regretted. 
 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 43 
 
 but it cannot be helped. We cannot create, but we 
 may direct. We have said that Mr. Tennyson chose 
 badly when he chose Queen Mary for his tragedy- 
 queen. We have pointed out the obstacles he had to 
 overcome. He has not overcome them. We have 
 shown why. We have proved his preference or his 
 leaning towards the narration of facts instead of 
 thoughts and feelings. It is plain that Mr. Tennyson 
 has not that strong imagination which is the prime 
 factor in the conception of the dramatist, which 
 enables him to think and feel like the very persons of 
 the noble story as they were living. Take a promi- 
 nent feature in Mary's character — her love for 
 her PhUip. How is it depicted ? Has it the 
 strength of nature in it ? Is it not, on the con- 
 trary, most disagreeable from the strained artificial 
 aspect which is so conspicuous ? We cannot feel for 
 Mary. Yet a dramatist who was master of his art 
 would have compelled the sympathy of others to 
 move at the sight of her " golden sorrow." We would 
 have seen love depicted in its passage to an enduring 
 living regret, the picturing of bright fancy and joyous 
 hopes overshadowed by death in life. We would 
 have pitied Mary the woman in spite of aU the 
 actions of Mary the queen. But we never see Mary 
 without her royal robes, no, not even when she loves 
 — she is stUl the queen, and, to make it worse, she 
 loves a king. Another illustration of the defect of 
 imagination is Elizabeth's thoughts when in the 
 Tower. We know what some men have conjured up. 
 
44 QUEEN MARY : A DRAMA. 
 
 Look at the conjuration of Dickens in a Rudge, a Bill 
 Sykes, and a Jonas Chuzzlewit. What is it that 
 follows Rudge for twenty years ? "What is at the 
 back of Bill Sykes wherever he goes ? Take these 
 powerful descriptions and place them side by side 
 with- the description of Elizabeth's thoughts in the 
 Tower, and the apparency of the want of strong 
 imagination in the latter is most glaring. But we 
 cannot linger over this. Our work completes itself. 
 We have tried this drama by the accredited standard, 
 and we find it wanting. We have not hesitated to 
 say what we think. But our accusations are sub- 
 stantiated by irresistible proof, and, in the face of it, 
 we can accept of no other verdict than that of 
 " Found Proven." ' 
 
 LORIBISR ANP OtliLISS. PRIKIERS, UL-YDB STREET, EDINBTrRGQ.