R460710A. Luria and A Soul’s Tragedy.
New York Daily Tribune. 10 July 1846, p. 1.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 13, 397–398.
In closing this series of dramatic and lyrical sketches, Browning explains his plan and title thus:
“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 endeavor toward 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 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 with blossoms of the same.”
That the poet should have supposed the symbol would be understood at once, marks the nature of his mind, a mind which soars in the creative element, and can only be understood by those who are in a state of congenial activity.
The two pieces before us display, or rather betray, a deep and growing acquaintance with the mysteries of the breast. If one tithe of what informs this little pamphlet were brought out into clear relief by the plastic power of a Shakspeare, the world would stand transfixed before the sad revelation.
In the first piece, Luria, a Moor, is put in command of the Florentine army against Pisa; but spies are set around him, and the base mistress sits in trial on the hero she has won by smiles to fight her battles. His great, simple, fiery nature is captivated by the grace, deep sagacity and self possession of the Florentines. He glows with delight at feeling in himself the birth of a more intellectual life beneath their influence. But when he finds the treachery hid beneath all this beautiful sculptured outside, he stands amazed, not lost, not overwhelmed, but unable to meet or brave what is so opposite to his own soul. He is, indeed, too noble to resent or revenge, or look on the case other than as God may,
Luria—In my own East—if you would stoop to help
My barbarous illustration—it sounds ill
Yet there’s no wrong at bottom—rather praise.
Dom—Well!
Luria— We have creatures there which if you saw
The first time, you would doubtless marvel at,
For their surpassing beauty, craft and strength,
And tho’ it were a lively moment’s shock
Wherein you found the purpose of their tongues—
That seemed innocuous in their lambent play,
Yet, once made known, such grace required a guard,
Your reason soon would acquiesce, I think,
In the Wisdom which made all things for the best,
So take them, good with ill, contentedly—
The prominent beauty with the secret sting.
I am glad to have seen you wondrous Florentines.
And having seen them, and staked his heart entirely on the venture he went through with them—and lost. He cannot survive the shock of their treachery. He arranges all things nobly in their behalf and dies, for he was of that mould the “precious porcelain of human clay” which
Breaks with the first fall,
but not without first exercising a redeeming power upon all the foes and traitors round him. His chivalric antagonist, Tibernia, needed no conversion, for he is one of the noble race who
joy to feel
A foeman worthy of their steel.
and are the best friends of such a foeman. But the shrewd, worldly spy, the supplanted rival, the woman who was guilty of that lowest baseness of wishing to make of a lover the tool of her purposes, all grow better by seeing the action of this noble creature under the crucifixion they have prepared for him; especially the feelings of the rival, who learns from his remorse to understand genius and magnanimity, are admirably depicted. Such repentance always comes too late for the one injured; men kill him first, then grow wiser and mourn; this dreadful and frequent tragedy is shown in Luria’s case with its full weight of dark significance, spanned by beauty that springs from the perception of truth and nobleness in the victim.
The second piece, “A Soul’s Tragedy,” is another of the deepest tragedies—a man fancying himself good because he was harsh, honorable because he was not sweet, truer than the lovely and loving natures because unskilled to use their winning ways. His self-deception is revealed to him by means the most original and admirably managed. Both these dramas are full of genius; both make the heart ache terribly. A text might well suit the cover—a text we must all of us learn ever more and more deeply to comprehend. Let him who thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.
We hope these eight numbers of “Bells and Pomegranates” will now be reprinted here. They would make one volume of proper size to take into the woods and fields.
[Margaret Fuller]
Reviewed:
Bells & Pomegranates. No. VIII. Luria; and A Soul’s Tragedy (RB), London: Edward Moxon, 1846.
___________________
