‘One day, as the poet was discussing the matter with Mr. Edward Moxon, the publisher, the latter remarked that at that time he was bringing out some editions of the old Elizabethan dramatists in a comparatively cheap form, and that if Mr. Browning would consent to print his poems as pamphlets, using this cheap type, the expense would be very inconsiderable. The poet jumped at the idea, and it was agreed that each poem should form a separate brochure of just one sheet — sixteen pages in double columns — the entire cost of which should not exceed twelve or fifteen pounds. In this fashion began the celebrated series of ‘Bells and Pomegranates’, eight numbers of which, a perfect treasury of fine poetry, came out successively between 1841 and 1846. ‘Pippa Passes’ led the way, and was priced first at sixpence; then, the sale being inconsiderable, at a shilling, which greatly encouraged the sale; and so, slowly, up to half-a-crown, at which the price of each number finally rested.’
Mr. Browning’s hopes and intentions with respect to this series are announced in the following preface to ‘Pippa Passes’, of which, in later editions, only the dedicatory words appear:
‘Two or three years ago I wrote a Play, about which the chief matter I care to recollect at present is, that a Pit-full of good-natured people applauded it: — ever since, I have been desirous of doing something in the same way that should better reward their attention. What follows I mean for the first of a series of Dramatical Pieces, to come out at intervals, and I amuse myself by fancying that the cheap mode in which they appear will for once help me to a sort of Pit-audience again. Of course, such a work must go on no longer than it is liked; and to provide against a certain and but too possible contingency, let me hasten to say now — what, if I were sure of success, I would try to say circumstantially enough at the close — that I dedicate my best intentions most admiringly to the author of “Ion” — most affectionately to Serjeant Talfourd.’
A necessary explanation of the general title was reserved for the last number: and does something towards justifying the popular impression that Mr. Browning exacted a large measure of literary insight from his readers.
‘Here ends my first series of “Bells and Pomegranates”: and I take the opportunity of explaining, in reply to inquiries, that I only meant by that title to indicate an endeavour towards something like an alternation, or mixture, of music with discoursing, sound with sense, poetry with thought; which looks too ambitious, thus expressed, so the symbol was preferred. It is little to the purpose, that such is actually one of the most familiar of the many Rabbinical (and Patristic) acceptations of the phrase; because I confess that, letting authority alone, I supposed the bare words, in such juxtaposition, would sufficiently convey the desired meaning. “Faith and good works” is another fancy, for instance, and perhaps no easier to arrive at: yet Giotto placed a pomegranate fruit in the hand of Dante, and Raffaelle crowned his Theology (in the ‘Camera della Segnatura’) with blossoms of the same; as if the Bellari and Vasari would be sure to come after, and explain that it was merely “simbolo delle buone opere — il qual Pomogranato fu pero usato nelle vesti del Pontefice appresso gli Ebrei.”‘
The Dramas and Poems contained in the eight numbers of ‘Bells and Pomegranates’ were:
I. Pippa Passes. 1841.
II. King Victor and King Charles. 1842.
III. Dramatic Lyrics. 1842.
Cavalier Tunes; I. Marching Along; II. Give a Rouse;
III. My Wife Gertrude. [‘Boot and Saddle’.]
Italy and France; I. Italy; II. France.
Camp and Cloister; I. Camp (French); II. Cloister (Spanish).
In a Gondola.
Artemis Prologuizes.
Waring; I.; II.
Queen Worship; I. Rudel and The Lady of Tripoli; II. Cristina.
Madhouse Cells; I. [Johannes Agricola.]; II. [Porphyria.]
Through the Metidja to Abd-el-Kadr. 1842.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin; a Child’s Story.
IV. The Return of the Druses. A Tragedy, in Five Acts. 1843.
V. A Blot in the ‘Scutcheon. A Tragedy, in Three Acts. 1843.
[Second Edition, same year.]
VI. Colombe’s Birthday. A Play, in Five Acts. 1844.
VII. Dramatic Romances and Lyrics. 1845.
‘How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. (16 — .)’
Pictor Ignotus. (Florence, 15 — .)
Italy in England.
England in Italy. (Piano di Sorrento.)
The Lost Leader.
The Lost Mistress.
Home Thoughts, from Abroad.
The Tomb at St. Praxed’s: (Rome, 15 — .)
Garden Fancies; I. The Flower’s Name;
II. Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis.
France and Spain; I. The Laboratory (Ancien Regime);
II. Spain — The Confessional.
The Flight of the Duchess.
Earth’s Immortalities.
Song. (‘Nay but you, who do not love her.’)
The Boy and the Angel.
Night and Morning; I. Night; II. Morning.
Claret and Tokay.
Saul. (Part I.)
Time’s Revenges.
The Glove. (Peter Ronsard loquitur.)
VIII. and last. Luria; and A Soul’s Tragedy. 1846.
This publication has seemed entitled to a detailed notice, because it is practically extinct, and because its nature and circumstance confer on it a biographical interest not possessed by any subsequent issue of Mr. Browning’s works. The dramas and poems of which it is composed belong to that more mature period of the author’s life, in which the analysis of his work ceases to form a necessary part of his history. Some few of them, however, are significant to it; and this is notably the case with ‘A Blot in the ‘Scutcheon’.
Chapter 8
1841-1844
‘A Blot in the ‘Scutcheon’ — Letters to Mr. Frank Hill; Lady Martin — Charles Dickens — Other Dramas and Minor Poems — Letters to Miss Lee; Miss Haworth; Miss Flower — Second Italian Journey; Naples — E. J. Trelawney — Stendhal.
‘A Blot in the ‘Scutcheon’ was written for Macready, who meant to perform the principal part; and we may conclude that the appeal for it was urgent, since it was composed in the space of four or five days. Macready’s journals must have contained a fuller reference to both the play and its performance (at Drury Lane, February 1843) than appears in published form; but considerable irritation had arisen between him and Mr. Browning, and he possibly wrote something which his editor, Sir Frederick Pollock, as the friend of both, thought it best to omit. What occurred on this occasion has been told in some detail by Mr. Gosse, and would not need repeating if the question were only of re-telling it on the same authority, in another person’s words; but, through the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Hill, I am able to give Mr. Browning’s direct statement of the case, as also his expressed judgment upon it. The statement was made more than forty years later than the events to which it refers, but will, nevertheless, be best given in its direct connection with them.
The merits, or demerits, of ‘A Blot in the ‘Scutcheon’ had been freshly brought under discussion by its performance in London through the action of the Browning Society, and in Washington by Mr. Laurence Barrett; and it became the subject of a paragraph in one of the theatrical articles prepared for the ‘Daily News’. Mr. Hill was then editor of the paper, and when the article came to him for revision, he thought it right to submit to Mr. Browning the passages devoted to his tragedy, which embodied some then prevailing, but, he strongly suspected, erroneous impressions concerning it. The results of this kind and courteous proceeding appear in the following letter.
19, Warwick Crescent: December 15, 1884.
My dear Mr. Hill, — It was kind and considerate of you to suppress the paragraph which you send me, — and of which the publication would have been unpleasant for reasons quite other than as regarding my own work, — which exists to defend or accuse itself. You will judge of the true reasons when
I tell you the facts — so much of them as contradicts the statements of your critic — who, I suppose, has received a stimulus from the notice, in an American paper which arrived last week, of Mr. Laurence Barrett’s intention ‘shortly to produce the play’ in New York — and subsequently in London: so that ‘the failure’ of forty-one years ago might be duly influential at present — or two years hence perhaps. The ‘mere amateurs’ are no high game.
Macready received and accepted the play, while he was engaged at the Haymarket, and retained it for Drury Lane, of which I was ignorant that he was about to become the manager: he accepted it ‘at the instigation’ of nobody, — and Charles Dickens was not in England when he did so: it was read to him after his return, by Forster — and the glowing letter which contains his opinion of it, although directed by him to be shown to myself, was never heard of nor seen by me till printed in Forster’s book some thirty years after. When the Drury Lane season began, Macready informed me that he should act the play when he had brought out two others — ’The Patrician’s Daughter’, and ‘Plighted Troth’: having done so, he wrote to me that the former had been unsuccessful in money-drawing, and the latter had ‘smashed his arrangements altogether’: but he would still produce my play. I had — in my ignorance of certain symptoms better understood by Macready’s professional acquaintances — I had no notion that it was a proper thing, in such a case, to ‘release him from his promise’; on the contrary, I should have fancied that such a proposal was offensive. Soon after, Macready begged that I would call on him: he said the play had been read to the actors the day before, ‘and laughed at from beginning to end’: on my speaking my mind about this, he explained that the reading had been done by the Prompter, a grotesque person with a red nose and wooden leg, ill at ease in the love scenes, and that he would himself make amends by reading the play next morning — which he did, and very adequately — but apprised me that, in consequence of the state of his mind, harassed by business and various trouble, the principal character must be taken by Mr. Phelps; and again I failed to understand, — what Forster subsequently assured me was plain as the sun at noonday, — that to allow at Macready’s Theatre any other than Macready to play the principal part in a new piece was suicidal, — and really believed I was meeting his exigencies by accepting the substitution. At the rehearsal, Macready announced that Mr. Phelps was ill, and that he himself would read the part: on the third rehearsal, Mr. Phelps appeared for the first time, and sat in a chair while Macready more than read, rehearsed the part. The next morning Mr. Phelps waylaid me at the stage-door to say, with much emotion, that it never was intended that he should be instrumental in the success of a new tragedy, and that Macready would play Tresham on the ground that himself, Phelps, was unable to do so. He added that he could not expect me to waive such an advantage, — but that, if I were prepared to waive it, ‘he would take ether, sit up all night, and have the words in his memory by next day.’ I bade him follow me to the green-room, and hear what I decided upon — which was that as Macready had given him the part, he should keep it: this was on a Thursday; he rehearsed on Friday and Saturday, — the play being acted the same evening, — of the fifth day after the ‘reading’ by MacReady. Macready at once wished to reduce the importance of the ‘play’, — as he styled it in the bills, — tried to leave out so much of the text, that I baffled him by getting it printed in four-and-twenty hours, by Moxon’s assistance. He wanted me to call it ‘The Sister’! — and I have before me, while I write, the stage-acting copy, with two lines of his own insertion to avoid the tragical ending — Tresham was to announce his intention of going into a monastery! all this, to keep up the belief that Macready, and Macready alone, could produce a veritable ‘tragedy’, unproduced before. Not a shilling was spent on scenery or dresses — and a striking scene which had been used for the ‘Patrician’s Daughter’, did duty a second time. If your critic considers this treatment of the play an instance of ‘the failure of powerful and experienced actors’ to ensure its success, — I can only say that my own opinion was shown by at once breaking off a friendship of many years — a friendship which had a right to be plainly and simply told that the play I had contributed as a proof of it, would through a change of circumstances, no longer be to my friend’s advantage, — all I could possibly care for. Only recently, when by the publication of Macready’s journals the extent of his pecuniary embarrassments at that time was made known, could I in a measure understand his motives for such conduct — and less than ever understand why he so strangely disguised and disfigured them. If ‘applause’ means success, the play thus maimed and maltreated was successful enough: it ‘made way’ for Macready’s own Benefit, and the Theatre closed a fortnight after.
Having kept silence for all these years, in spite of repeated explanations, in the style of your critic’s, that the play ‘failed in spite of the best endeavours’ &c. I hardly wish to revive a very painful matter: on the other hand, — as I have said; my play subsists, and is as open to praise or blame as it was forty-one years ago: is it necessary to search out what somebody or other, — not improbably a jealous adherent of Macready, ‘the only organizer of theatrical victories’, chose to say on the subject? If the characters are ‘abhorrent’ and ‘inscrutable’ — and the language conformable, — they were so when Dickens pronounced upon them, and will be so whenever the critic pleases to re-consider them — which, if he ever has an opportunity of doing, apart from the printed copy, I can assure you is through no motion of mine. This particular experience was sufficient: but the Play is out of my power now; though amateurs and actors may do what they please.
Of course, this being the true story, I should desire that it were told thus and no otherwise, if it must be told at all: but not as a statement of mine, — the substance of it has been partly stated already by more than one qualified person, and if I have been willing to let the poor matter drop, surely there is no need that it should be gone into now when Macready and his Athenaeum upholder are no longer able to speak for themselves: this is just a word to you, dear Mr. Hill, and may be brought under the notice of your critic if you think proper — but only for the facts — not as a communication for the public.
Yes, thank you, I am in full health, as you wish — and I wish you and Mrs. Hill, I assure you, all the good appropriate to the season. My sister has completely recovered from her illness, and is grateful for your enquiries.
With best regards to Mrs. Hill, and an apology for this long letter, which however, — when once induced to write it, — I could not well shorten, — believe me, Yours truly ever Robert Browning.
I well remember Mr. Browning’s telling me how, when he returned to the green-room, on that critical day, he drove his hat more firmly on to his head, and said to Macready, ‘I beg pardon, sir, but you have given the part to Mr. Phelps, and I am satisfied that he should act it;’ and how Macready, on hearing this, crushed up the MS., and flung it on to the ground. He also admitted that his own manner had been provocative; but he was indignant at what he deemed the unjust treatment which Mr. Phelps had received. The occasion of the next letter speaks for itself.
December 21, 1884.
My dear Mr. Hill, — Your goodness must extend to letting me have the last word — one of sincere thanks. You cannot suppose I doubted for a moment of a good-will which I have had abundant proof of. I only took the occasion your considerate letter gave me, to tell the simple truth which my forty years’ silence is a sign I would only tell on compulsion. I never thought your critic had any less generous motive for alluding to the performance as he did than that which he professes: he doubtless heard the account of the matter which Macready and his intimates gave currency to at the time; and which, being confined for a while to their limited number, I never chose to notice. But of late years I have got to read, — not merely hear, — of the play’s failure ‘which all the efforts of my friend the great actor could not avert;’ and the nonsense of this untruth gets hard to bear. I told you the principal f
acts in the letter I very hastily wrote: I could, had it been worth while, corroborate them by others in plenty, and refer to the living witnesses — Lady Martin, Mrs. Stirling, and (I believe) Mr. Anderson: it was solely through the admirable loyalty of the two former that . . . a play . . . deprived of every advantage, in the way of scenery, dresses, and rehearsing — proved — what Macready himself declared it to be — ’a complete success’. So he sent a servant to tell me, ‘in case there was a call for the author at the end of the act’ — to which I replied that the author had been too sick and sorry at the whole treatment of his play to do any such thing. Such a call there truly was, and Mr. Anderson had to come forward and ‘beg the author to come forward if he were in the house — a circumstance of which he was not aware:’ whereat the author laughed at him from a box just opposite. . . . I would submit to anybody drawing a conclusion from one or two facts past contradiction, whether that play could have thoroughly failed which was not only not withdrawn at once but acted three nights in the same week, and years afterwards, reproduced at his own theatre, during my absence in Italy, by Mr. Phelps — the person most completely aware of the untoward circumstances which stood originally in the way of success. Why not enquire how it happens that, this second time, there was no doubt of the play’s doing as well as plays ordinarily do? for those were not the days of a ‘run’.
. . . . .
. . . This ‘last word’ has indeed been an Aristophanic one of fifty syllables: but I have spoken it, relieved myself, and commend all that concerns me to the approved and valued friend of whom I am proud to account myself in corresponding friendship, His truly ever Robert Browning.
Mr. Browning also alludes to Mr. Phelps’s acting as not only not having been detrimental to the play, but having helped to save it, in the conspiracy of circumstances which seemed to invoke its failure. This was a mistake, since Macready had been anxious to resume the part, and would have saved it, to say the least, more thoroughly. It must, however, be remembered that the irritation which these letters express was due much less to the nature of the facts recorded in them than to the manner in which they had been brought before Mr. Browning’s mind. Writing on the subject to Lady Martin in February 1881, he had spoken very temperately of Macready’s treatment of his play, while deprecating the injustice towards his own friendship which its want of frankness involved: and many years before this, the touch of a common sorrow had caused the old feeling, at least momentarily, to well up again. The two met for the first time after these occurrences when Mr. Browning had returned, a widower, from Italy. Mr. Macready, too, had recently lost his wife; and Mr. Browning could only start forward, grasp the hand of his old friend, and in a voice choked with emotion say, ‘O Macready!’
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 409
