The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition. Robert Browning
seriously than it deserved, and condensed the language of this his next important publication into what was nearly its present form.
In leaving ‘Sordello’ we emerge from the self-conscious stage of Mr. Browning’s imagination, and his work ceases to be autobiographic in the sense in which, perhaps erroneously, we have hitherto felt it to be. ‘Festus’ and ‘Salinguerra’ have already given promise of the world of ‘Men and Women’ into which he will now conduct us. They will be inspired by every variety of conscious motive, but never again by the old (real or imagined) self-centred, self-directing Will. We have, indeed, already lost the sense of disparity between the man and the poet; for the Browning of ‘Sordello’ was growing older, while the defects of the poem were in many respects those of youth. In ‘Pippa Passes’, published one year later, the poet and the man show themselves full-grown. Each has entered on the inheritance of the other.
Neither the imagination nor the passion of what Mr. Gosse so fitly calls this ‘lyrical masque’* gives much scope for tenderness; but the quality of humour is displayed in it for the first time; as also a strongly marked philosophy of life — or more properly, of association — from which its idea and development are derived. In spite, however, of these evidences of general maturity, Mr. Browning was still sometimes boyish in personal intercourse, if we may judge from a letter to Miss Flower written at about the same time.
* These words, and a subsequent paragraph, are quoted from Mr. Gosse’s ‘Personalia’.
Monday night, March 9 (? 1841).
My dear Miss Flower, — I have this moment received your very kind note — of course, I understand your objections. How else? But they are somewhat lightened already (confess — nay ‘confess’ is vile — you will be rejoiced to holla from the housetop) — will go on, or rather go off, lightening, and will be — oh, where will they be half a dozen years hence?
Meantime praise what you can praise, do me all the good you can, you and Mr. Fox (as if you will not!) for I have a head full of projects — mean to song-write, play-write forthwith, — and, believe me, dear Miss Flower, Yours ever faithfully, Robert Browning.
By the way, you speak of ‘Pippa’ — could we not make some arrangement about it? The lyrics want your music — five or six in all — how say you? When these three plays are out I hope to build a huge Ode — but ‘all goeth by God’s Will.’
The loyal Alfred Domett now appears on the scene with a satirical poem, inspired by an impertinent criticism on his friend. I give its first two verses:
On a Certain Critique on ‘Pippa Passes’.
(Query — Passes what? — the critic’s comprehension.)
Ho! everyone that by the nose is led,
Automatons of which the world is full,
Ye myriad bodies, each without a head,
That dangle from a critic’s brainless skull,
Come, hearken to a deep discovery made,
A mighty truth now wondrously displayed.
A black squat beetle, vigorous for his size,
Pushing tail-first by every road that’s wrong
The dung-ball of his dirty thoughts along
His tiny sphere of grovelling sympathies —
Has knocked himself full-butt, with blundering trouble,
Against a mountain he can neither double
Nor ever hope to scale. So like a free,
Pert, self-conceited scarabaeus, he
Takes it into his horny head to swear
There’s no such thing as any mountain there.
The writer lived to do better things from a literary point of view; but these lines have a fine ring of youthful indignation which must have made them a welcome tribute to friendship.
There seems to have been little respectful criticism of ‘Pippa Passes’; it is less surprising that there should have been very little of ‘Sordello’. Mr. Browning, it is true, retained a limited number of earnest appreciators, foremost of whom was the writer of an admirable notice of these two works, quoted from an ‘Eclectic Review’ of 1847, in Dr. Furnivall’s ‘Bibliography’. I am also told that the series of poems which was next to appear was enthusiastically greeted by some poets and painters of the pre-Raphaelite school; but he was now entering on a period of general neglect, which covered nearly twenty years of his life, and much that has since become most deservedly popular in his work.
‘Pippa Passes’ had appeared as the first instalment of ‘Bells and Pomegranates’, the history of which I give in Mr. Gosse’s words. This poem, and the two tragedies, ‘King Victor and King Charles’ and ‘The Return of the Druses’ — first christened ‘Mansoor, the Hierophant’ — were lying idle in Mr. Browning’s desk. He had not found, perhaps not very vigorously sought, a publisher for them.
‘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 goodnatured 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