A Philistine View

THE circumstances connected with the production of Browning’s play of A Blot in the ’Scutcheon have been almost from the beginning a subject of controversy and of contradictory statement. Macready’s diary, to which we should naturally look for full information, affords us here no help. The relations between him and the poet had been intimate. The quarrel arising on this occasion caused an estrangement which lasted for years. But in the diary as published there are only three references to this tragedy, and they are all very meagre. Nor do we find in them any opinion expressed by the actor as to the fitness of the play for the stage, nor any information given as to its success or failure. It seems probable that anything and everything on this matter, which could provoke the slightest discussion, was carefully edited out of the work when it was given to the press.

Talk about it — talk involving the idea that it had been a failure — undoubtedly abounded among the friends of Macready. No authoritative statement to that effect, however, was put forth on his side. On the part of Browning there existed the same reticence. No published account, giving his view of the circumstances, came from him while he was living ; but when Mrs. Sutherland Orr’s biography appeared, in 1890, it contained two letters of the poet bearing directly upon the subject. There had been in 1884 a performance of the play in London, under the auspices of the Browning Society. In America it had been brought out by Barrett. This partial revival led to the preparation of an article for a London daily paper, in which was repeated the common assertion that the play as originally produced had been a failure, and a failure, too, in spite of the efforts of powerful and experienced actors to insure its success. The editor entertained some doubt as to the truth of this statement. Consequently, before the piece was published he submitted a proof of it to Browning himself. In reply he received the two letters just mentioned.

In these letters Browning tells us that so long as the misstatements about the play, to which Macready and his friends had given currency at the time, were confined to private circles, he had chosen to keep silence. Now, however, that they were passing from conversation into print, now that he was compelled not merely to hear them, but to read them, their untruth was becoming somewhat hard to bear. He furnished the editor, therefore, not for publication, but for his personal information, the true story of the events connected with the production of this tragedy. It was an altogether different story from the one which had hitherto been current. Since its appearance in Mrs. Orr’s biography, it has been pretty generally, perhaps universally, regarded as an authoritative and indisputable account of the occurrences that then took place, and as a complete answer to the misleading reports that had been previously in circulation. In fact, when the consideration of this play is reached, in one of the latest notices of his career, we are informed that “a favorite weapon in the hands of the Philistines has been the oft-reiterated statement that the performance was a failure. A letter from Browning to Mr. Hill, editor of the Daily News at the time of the revival of The Blot by Lawrence Barrett in 1884, drawn out by the same old falsehood, gives the truth in regard to the matter, and should silence once for all the ubiquitous Philistines.”

There has come to be a widespread feeling in our day that if the Philistines had left us a version of the events connected with the controversies they had with the children of Israel, quite a different impression would now prevail in regard to their character and conduct. The mistake they made was in conforming to the policy of silence here recommended. Their side we do not know. Accordingly, there is a possibility, to say the least, that they have been unduly disparaged. Their descendants at this day should learn from their fate not to repeat their error. It may therefore he permitted a humble inhabitant of Gath to examine this true story which is to put to shame his ubiquitous countrymen, and to test the accuracy of its statements. That Browning himself believed every word of it he wrote, no one would think of denying. A man of his lofty character was absolutely incapable, even in thought, of making an intentional misstatement, and least of all in his own favor. None the less is it true that a strict examination of his two letters brings to view no small number of irreconcilable discrepancies, of confused dates, and of variations from easily ascertainable fact.

In this discussion, the central point to be kept in mind is that A Blot in the ’Scutcheon was brought out at Drury Lane Theatre on February 11, 1843, while Macready was manager. Furthermore, it is not to be forgotten that Macready himself did not act in it ; that the part which he naturally would have assumed was taken by Samuel Phelps. With these facts in mind, and disregarding the details which Browning gives of the occurrences which led to the rupture of his friendship with the great actor, let us confine our attention exclusively to the statements he makes which bear directly upon the fortunes of the play. They number six, and are as follows : — (1.) Macready received and accepted A Blot in the ’Scutcheon while he was playing at the Haymarket Theatre, and retained it for Drury Lane, of which he was about to become the manager. Of any such plan on his part Browning was ignorant at the time.

(2.) It was not accepted by Macready at any one’s “instigation,”and Charles Dickens, who is the person really alluded to, was not in England when it was accepted ; nor did he see the play till it was read to him by Forster, after his return.

(3.) When the Drury Lane season began, Macready informed Browning that he should act A Blot in the ’Scutcheon when he had brought out two other plays, The Patrician’s Daughter and Plighted Troth.

(4.) After he had brought out these two, he wrote to Browning that the former had been unsuccessful in moneydrawing, and that the latter had “ smashed his arrangements altogether.” Nevertheless he would produce the poet’s play.

(5.) Macready at first decided not to take any part in the play, himself, and his rôole was assigned to Phelps. Afterwards he manifested a willingness, if not desire, to assume the character which had been given to his subordinate. Browning refused to allow Phelps to be deprived of his part, and this was the main cause of the estrangement that followed. Naturally, this circumstance tended to make Macready indifferent to the success of the play.

(6.) The play was treated most unfairly. Nothing was spent upon it in the way of scenery and dresses. Yet, with all its hurried preparation and lack of accessories to adequate representation, it was sufficiently successful. “ It ‘ made way ’ for Macready’s own benefit, and the theatre closed a fortnight after.” This last sentence is in Browning’s own words.

These are the principal statements of the author of the play in regard to the circumstances attending its production. Certain of them can be accepted without hesitation; but in the case of several there seems no escape from the conclusion that Browning’s memory, after the lapse of forty years, had played him false. Let us recount some of the difficulties in the way of his report being regarded as an entirely trustworthy representation of the events that then took place.

First, Macready ended his engagement at the Haymarket Theatre on December 7, 1841. He began the management of Drury Lane a little while after. Hence, if A Blot in the ’Scutcheon was accepted by him while he was still acting at the former theatre and retained for the latter, it must have been written some time during the closing months of 1841. — probably in November. As it was not produced until February 11, 1843, this necessitates the conclusion that it was kept by Macready in his possession for a year and a quarter at the least, and apparently without his exhibiting any intention during that time of bringing it out. Of course this is possible. Yet it does not accord well with the generally received statement that the piece was written in five days ; for while such rapid composition does not actually require us so to believe, it nevertheless gives the impression that it was produced under the stress of an urgent demand. Still less does this long delay harmonize with Browning’s further assertion in these letters that he had contributed the play as a proof of personal friendship for the actor.

In the second place, the time of the composition of the play necessitated by Browning’s statement does not agree with his further assertion that Dickens was not in England at the time it was accepted by Macready. Dickens was in England in 1841. It was on the 4th of January, 1842, that he set sail for the United States, from which he returned in the following June. His enthusiastic letter eulogizing the play is dated November 25, 1842. The manuscript had just then been shown him by Forster.

Thirdly, Macready’s diary testifies that it was not until August 29, 1842, that he read for the first time Marston’s Patrician’s Daughter. He liked it, and added, “ I will act it if I am prosperous.” Yet if Browning’s statement can be trusted, he had already had A Blot in the ’Scutcheon in his hands for eight months, at least. Furthermore, Macready had informed him, according to this same statement, at the opening of his first Drury Lane season, — which took place December 27,1841, — that he could not bring out his play till he had produced The Patrician’s Daughter. Yet it is clear from what has just been quoted that at that time he had never seen The Patrician’s Daughter, if indeed he had ever heard of it ; for it is doubtful if it was then in existence.

It may be conceded that it was confused recollection on Browning’s part that led him to attribute the composition of A Blot in the ’Scutcheon to the period in which Macready was playing at the Haymarket; that it was not Macready’s first Drury Lane season of 1841-42 that he really had in mind, but his second one of 1842-43. In that case, he would have written his play in the summer or autumn of 1842. This would harmonize perfectly with Macready’s remarks in August about The Patrician’s Daughter, and with the perusal of Browning’s own manuscript in November by Dickens. It thus meets most of the requirements of the situation, so far as they have been indicated, and would furnish a perfectly satisfactory explanation of what might justly be termed a venial slip of memory.

But, in the fourth place, we are confronted at this point with still another difficulty. Browning was informed that The Patrician’s Daughter was to be produced before his piece could be performed ; also Darley’s Plighted Troth. But Darley’s Plighted Troth belongs to Macready’s first Drury Lane season, not to his second. It was on April 20, 1842, that this piece was brought out. It met with a reception so unfavorable that it was withdrawn after the second night. It was not played again during that season,— which closed May 23, 1842,— nor was it revived during the season that followed. These facts, taken in connection with the poet’s own assertions, lead to the following perplexing situation. If Macready’s communication to Browning in regard to the time of producing his play was made at the beginning of his Drury Lane season of 1841-42, he could not then have informed him that his piece would have to wait until The Patrician’s Daughter had been brought out ; for The Patrician’s Daughter was not submitted to Macready’s inspection till late in the summer of 1842, more than three months after that season had closed. If, on the other hand, the communication was made at or near the date of the opening of the season of 1842— 43, Macready could not then have told Browning that he would have to wait for the production of Plighted Troth ; for Plighted Troth had been brought out the previous season, and had been most effectually damned.

The fifth point to be mentioned is that the season of 1842—43 — during which Browning’s tragedy was produced — opened on the 1st of October. On the 10th of the following December John Westland Marston’s play of The Patrician’s Daughter was presented. During the season it was acted ten times, the last performance being on January 20, 1843. While this cannot be deemed a success, it can hardly be called a failure ; for those were not the days of long runs.

Browning’s own production was brought out, as has been said, on February 11, 1843. It was subsequently acted two nights, —the 15th and the 17th. Then it was permanently withdrawn. Mr. Browning tells us that it gave way to Macready’s benefit. Macready’s benefit took place on the 24th of February. In the interval between February 17 and February 24 there had been played She Stoops to Conquer, Macbeth, The Lady of Lyons, and As You Like It.

Lastly, Mr. Browning tells us that the theatre closed a fortnight after. The fact is that Drury Lane closed for this season just about four months after the production of A Blot in the ’Scutcheon. The final performance was on June 14, when Macbeth was acted. Furthermore, during these four months Macready had tried his fortune with two new plays: James Sheridan Knowles’s Secretary, first acted on April 24, 1843 ; and William Smith’s Athelwold, first acted on May 18. Both were unsuccessful.

With these great discrepancies between the facts and Browning’s report of the facts, variations of little moment need not be too much considered. One may be taken as an illustration. The play was originally read to the company by the prompter, who murdered it. On Browning’s protest it was then read by Macready himself, and, as the poet tells us, read very adequately. But he further informs us that it was acted the fifth day after Macready’s reading, so that Phelps, who had been ill, had but two days in which to rehearse his part. Macready’s diary shows that the play was read by him to the company on February 4. This would be seven days before it was acted, instead of five. The variation is not a matter of consequence, but it doubles the time afforded Phelps for preparation.

It may be worth while to add, in passing, that the dates of performances here given can be verified for himself by any one who will take the trouble to consult the columns of the London daily papers of that period which contain theatrical advertisements. The facts thus revealed impart a somewhat depressing feeling as to the value of the most trustworthy human testimony. If we cannot rely upon the recollections of a man of Browning’s lofty character, great intellect, and keen sense of honor, in regard to a matter in which he himself was profoundly interested, to what quarter are we to look for accuracy ? A peculiar proneness to error seems indeed to have overtaken the memory of every one who has dealt with the fortunes of this particular play. Here, for instance, is one reference to it by Mrs. Bridell-Fox, the daughter of the man whom Browning styled his " literary father,” given in a contribution to the Argosy of February, 1890. “ In this play,” she wrote, “ Macready took the part of Lord Thorold, the elder brother, on the first night of its representation only. I well remember his noble bearing and dignified grace. It was, however, produced by him in the latter days of his management of Drury Lane, when, worn out with fatigue and anxiety, he was unable to continue to sustain the part, and handed it over to Mr. Phelps for the remainder of the nights the play ran.” As Macready never acted in the play at all, the noble bearing and dignified grace he exhibited necessarily belong to some other occasion. We are not much better off when we come to the actor who took originally the leading part. Phelps, as is well known, revived the play in 1848, while he was manager of the theatre at Sadler’s Wells. It was there more successful than at Drury Lane, but its success then cannot be regarded as conspicuous. Yet Mr. Phelps’s nephew and biographer wrote in all honesty and sincerity to the Browning Society that " on its reproduction in November, 1848, it was played four nights a week for an entire month (the run he usually gave a play produced by him at that period) to large and enthusiastic audiences, as I can testify, having been in the theatre the greatest part of each evening.” This would make at least sixteen performances in all. Now the facts are that the play was brought out and first acted at the Sadler’s Wells Theatre on November 27, 1848. It was subsequently performed on November 28 and 29, and on December 7, 8, and 9. It was not acted again during that year, and but twice more — on February 2 and 3, 1849, — before the season closed, at the end of May. The run of four nights a week for an entire month is consequently an error, and instead of being played sixteen times at least, it was actually played but eight during this revival.

So much for the history of the production of the play. There is assuredly a good deal in the facts here given to furnish the Philistine with a certain justification for his belief that it was not a success. But there now arises another question, of a somewhat different character. Whether A Blot in the ’Scutcheon is fitted to succeed or not as an acting play, how will it stand the test of close scrutiny as a work of art ? Does it fulfill the Shakespearean ideal of holding the mirror up to nature ? In this respect, there is one test in particular by which a play must stand or fall as an artistic production. The plot may be what you please. The story upon which it is based may be so far from probable that it verges upon the impossible. But this, while objectionable, can be pardoned. What is without excuse is to find the characters acting without adequate motive ; or, if the motive be adequate, to find them acting in the most incomprehensible way for rational beings.

In the observance of what may fairly be called dramatic propriety Shakespeare stands at the head of all writers for the English stage. It is only in two or three instances that we discover the personages of his creation behaving in a way that jars upon our feelings as being unsuited to their character, or as pursuing a course of action which in real life would seem, for them at least, irrational and unnatural. The plot of his play may rest upon a story which is simply incredible, as is notably the case in The Merchant of Venice. All that Shakespeare asks is that the story shall be one which his hearers are willing to accept as likely to happen, whether in itself likely or not. This granted, there is no further demand upon our trust in him as opposed to our judgment. We say of every situation : This is the natural way for the characters, as here portrayed, to think and feel and act. The motives are sufficient; the conduct that follows is what we have a right to expect.

Let us then test by this standard A Blot in the ’Scutcheon. It is of course understood that the production is here treated from the uncultured, unspiritual Philistine point of view exclusively. This involves the consideration of it not as a poem, but as a play ; not as a contribution to literature, but as an attempt at a dramatic representation of real life. In order to make the discussion of it clear, it is desirable to begin with a brief statement of the situation upon which the action of the tragedy turns.

Mildred, a young and beautiful girl, is the idolized sister of Lord Tresham, a man of noblest character, but possessed of boundless pride in the spotlessness of his lineage. Unfortunately, she has become engaged in a secret criminal intrigue with the youthful Earl of Mertoun. The lovers are preparing to condone their guilt by marriage ; and the play opens with a portrayal of what is going on in the Tresham household at the time the earl presents himself to make a formal application for Mildred’s hand.

Naturally, the first thing that strikes with surprise the purely practical man is, how the situation described could ever have arisen under the conditions given. How could a girl, so loved, so surrounded, so tenderly watched over, have had the opportunity to become involved in this love affair, and to have carried it on for months, without any notice taken of it, without even any suspicion entertained of it by those most deeply interested in her welfare and associating with her constantly ? We need not, however, lay too much stress upon this point. Dramatic writers have been so accustomed to make demands upon our faith, if not our credulity, in their plots, that it would be hard to hold Browning censurable for complying with a practice so frequently adopted. The objection to the play as a picture of any real life goes much deeper. The characters throughout scrupulously avoid doing what they might reasonably be expected to do; while the things they would naturally be expected to avoid are the very things which they do not seem to conceive the idea of refraining from doing. The play consequently violates every motive which is supposed to influence human conduct ; it outrages every probability which is supposed to characterize human action.

Let us take up first the initial conception. Here are two young persons who are depicted as possessed of the finest character, and as animated by the noblest feelings. They are represented as being desperately in love with each other. They belong to the same station in life. There are no difficulties existing in the way of their union. In fact, it is a natural one, suitable from the point of view of parity of age and neighborhood of estates, as well as of mutual love. The proposed alliance would not only have met with no opposition; it would have been gladly welcomed, as the trial proved. What motive was there, then, for two persons, such as these are supposed to be, engaging in an intrigue of this sort? There is no reason why the hero should not from the very outset have wooed the heroine in the way of honorable marriage, as he is represented as doing at the time the play opens. What has prevented him ? it will reasonably he asked. Why has not this loftyminded lover applied to the head of the house for the hand of the woman he cherishes so ardently ? Only one reason is given for his failure to follow this most natural of all courses. He tells Lord Tresham, in his dying moments, that it was fear of him and his surpassing reputation, fear of him, the all-courted, the all-accomplished scholar and gentleman, that had kept him from presuming to take this daring step. Unfortunately, this fear had not extended to the other members of the family, where it would have been more in place. The timidity which trembled before man’s austerity stood in no awe of woman’s purity. That which had prevented him from seeking from the brother what could have been had for the asking did not prevent him from engaging and succeeding in the effort to overcome the virtue of the sister.

Let us next take the other party in the affair. She is portrayed as an embodiment of purity. Such she is, at least, in the eyes of her lover and of her nearest of kin. She is filled with the most agonizing remorse for her guilt. Yet no more than he could she have been ignorant of the fact that there were no insurmountable obstacles in the way of her lover securing her hand. Certainly, the experiment might have seemed to her well worth trying, before she yielded herself up to his solicitations. A perfectly pure woman at heart can indeed be made the victim of an overpowering passion. But she would never be likely to sacrifice original modesty and maidenly reserve on a slight pretext; least of all on one so attenuated as this, that her suitor felt a certain timidity about making an application for her hand in regular form. Had the situation been different ; had there existed between the two an all-absorbing affection, to the prosperous issue of which circumstances had opposed an impregnable barrier ; had there been between the two families a hostility so bitter that the obstacles raised by mutual enmity were, or appeared, insurmountable ; had their positions in life been so different that a proposition of marriage on the part of the lover would have seemed to her brother to partake of the nature of unwarrantable presumption, if not of actual insult : under such circumstances there would have been palliation for the conduct of the two in the eyes of the austerest of those who might have been unwilling to grant pardon. But not a single one of these mitigating circumstances existed. What had been done was done with the full knowledge of both that there was not the slightest necessity of doing it.

Here, then, at the very outset, is exhibited the lack of adequate motive for the existence of the situation in which the lovers are represented as being at the time the play opens. And this is followed by a succession of acts each one of which seems to vie with the one preceding in folly, if not to surpass it. It is a kind of behavior to which nearly all the characters are addicted. It is simply impossible to conceive rational beings in real life conducting themselves with so thorough a disregard of ordinary sense. The earl has overcome his dread of Mildred’s brother sufficiently to venture to ask for her hand in due form. He has been graciously, even warmly received. Both hero and heroine now know that it is in their power to atone, so far as in them lies, for the past ; that the former can henceforth visit the latter as her acknowledged and accepted suitor. Only two days at most must pass — one day is all that is really necessary — before he can claim openly as his promised bride the woman he loves. It would certainly seem that during this brief interval the two might conduct themselves with common prudence ; they might refrain from doing the slightest thing that would so much as remotely tend to bring about the revelation of their secret. The meeting in her chamber must always have been hazardous, — so hazardous that its having remained so long undiscovered is one of the inherent improbabilities of the plot which we have accepted without murmur. But now that perfect safety is in sight, there is surely no need of running further risk. Such a common-sense procedure was evidently something that never occurred to the minds of Browning’s two lovers. The earl takes the occasion of the night following the day of his acceptance by Mildred’s brother to visit Mildred herself in her own chamber. As secrecy was all important, it would have been natural for him in real life to have preserved the profoundest silence till the haven was reached. On the contrary, he announces his coming with a song. It is a beautiful lyric. Too much cannot be said in praise of its passionate intensity. It cannot, however, be regarded as in the least appropriate to the circumstances, and not altogether so to the character. It must jar upon the feelings of the auditors, who can hardly help knowing the facts, to have the heroine saluted with its opening line : —

Pure at heart she may be conceded to be, in spite of all that has happened. It would have been fitting for her lover to have assured her, when alone with her, that such she was in his eyes. But the song is as much addressed to the audience as it is to her it celebrates. It can hardly fail to grate upon their feelings to have it chanted to them, almost defiantly, that the woman who to their knowledge has fallen is actually purer than the purest among them, or the purest anywhere. It is not surprising to learn that the first night this play was presented the irreverent were disposed to laugh.

Let us move forward another step in this prosaic examination. The fact of the long-continued series of visits to the chamber has at last been revealed. Mildred is reproached for her course by her agonized brother. She does not deny her guilt, but refuses absolutely to disclose the name of her guilty partner. At the same time she expresses her perfect willingness and intention to go on with the contemplated marriage. Naturally, her brother is horrified at the apparent dishonor to be inflicted by his family upon an honorable man. One can understand her refusal to reveal her lover’s name, if she has made up her mind to expiate her sin by leading henceforth a life of solitary contrition. But so long as she purposes to persist in marrying the suitor she has accepted, why not disclose the fact, in the situation in which she finds herself, that he and the nightly visitor to her chamber are the same person ? Several defenses have been pleaded for her refusal to make a revelation which is morally obligatory, if she intends to enter into the proposed union. They have been put forth from the point of view of high art, and again from that of profound philosophy of human nature. The moment any one of them is subjected to careful scrutiny, it is seen to be an effort, equally laborious and futile, to explain what in these ways is unexplainable. But looked at from the point of view of the author, there is no difficulty whatever in accounting for her course. Had she told the name of her lover, the play would have had to stop ; the catastrophe planned would have had to be thrown aside. In fact, this tragedy has all along a series of narrow escapes from coming to a happy termination ; and nothing has been able to save it from that fate but a corresponding series of peculiarly irrational acts on the part of the characters.

We come now to the conduct of Guendolen, who is represented as possessing fully that common sense which is conspicuous for its absence in the conduct of the lovers. She it is who surprises Mildred’s secret. She discovers by her own intuitive sagacity that Mildred’s midnight visitor and her affianced husband are one and the same man. She learns, too, that the brother has gone off in an agony of desperation, and is lost to any direct communication. Yet she has her own lover, Austin, at command. To a certain extent, therefore, she is mistress of the situation. Now that the truth is known, it is all important that the earl should not venture the ensuing night to Mildred’s chamber. In real life, that would be the one absorbing thought which would be uppermost all the while in the mind of even the foolishest person, once made acquainted with the facts. There is absolute certainty that the earl’s coming will be watched, and will be watched by hostile eyes. Consequently, the visit must be prevented, at all hazards. This is a precaution the necessity of which flits across the brain of each of the persons chiefly interested, but seems to make no permanent lodgment in that of any one of them ; at least it does not affect their conduct. What action does Guendolen take to warn the earl of what she recognizes as his inevitable danger ? She discovers that Lord Tresham has disappeared and cannot be found. With the knowledge of that fact her responsibility apparently ceases, in her own eyes. Everything is against us, she remarks, and then all effort collapses. This woman of tact and resource simply folds her hands and awaits the results of the coming storm ; and though she has learned Mildred’s secret, she does not even act as her counselor.

On her part, Mildred remains to the last faithful to the ideal of conduct to which she has conformed from the outset. She cannot and she does not fail to foresee the deadly peril which threatens the earl. She declares to Guendolen that he is lost if he comes to her chamber that night. Yet, with almost inconceivable fatuousness, she takes the very course which is certain to lure the man she loves to his destruction. She proceeds to transfer the lamp from the red square in the painted glass to the small dark blue pane, higher up. That is the appointed signal. The lover of course obeys it. The result follows which any one not a positive idiot would expect. The earl is intercepted. When he discovers who it is that has waylaid him, he makes only a pretended defense, and the lofty-minded Lord Tresham contributes an additional lustre to the purity of his ’scutcheon by slaying a man who makes no resistance. The earl’s death is followed by that of Mildred, and hers by the suicide of her brother. The cold-blooded, hard-headed, and hard - hearted practical man feels that persons who display so little sense ought to die; for they are not fit to live in a world of rational or even semi-rational beings.

That these repeated violations of what we feel to be right and reasonable escape ordinarily the attention of the reader is perhaps the highest sort of tribute to the genius of the author. We are so carried along by the fervor and fire and passion which he puts into his production that we pay no heed to its failure to fulfill the first conditions of dramatic propriety. But a play as a literary product must stand, not upon the excellence of detailed scenes, but upon its perfection as an artistic whole; not upon the beauty of its poetry, but upon its adequate representation of life. The necessities of the drama at times exact, or at least permit, an occasional neglect of probability in the conduct of the characters ; but they certainly do not require a persistent defiance of it, as is exhibited throughout this tragedy, which is in no sense a picture of any life that was ever lived. We are in a world of unreal beings, powerfully portrayed ; for the situations are exciting, and the pathos of the piece is harrowing. But the action constantly lies out of the realm of the reality it purports to represent, and therefore out of the realm of the highest art.

Thomas R. Lounsbury.