Produced by Gary R. Young
A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON
By Robert Browning
Transcriber's comments on the preparation of this e-text:
Closing brackets i.e. "]" have been added to some of the stage
directions.
Leading blanks are reproduced from the printed text. Eg.:
GUENDOLEN. Where are you taking me?
TRESHAM. He fell just here.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
ROBERT BROWNING stands, in respect to his origin and his career, in
marked contrast to the two aristocratic poets beside whose dramas his
"Blot in the 'Scutcheon" is here printed. His father was a bank clerk
and a dissenter at a time when dissent meant exclusion from Society; the
poet went neither to one of the great public schools nor to Oxford or
Cambridge; and no breath of scandal touched his name. Born in London in
1812, he was educated largely by private tutors, and spent two years at
London University, but the influence of his father, a man of wide
reading and cultivated tastes, was probably the most important element
in his early training. He drew well, was something of a musician, and
wrote verses from an early age, though it was the accidental reading of
a volume of Shelley which first kindled his real inspiration. This
indebtedness is beautifully acknowledged in his first published poem,
"Pauline" (1833).
Apart from frequent visits to Italy, there is little of incident to
chronicle in Browning's life, with the one great exception of his more
than fortunate marriage in 1846 to Elizabeth Barrett, the greatest of
English poetesses.
Browning's dramatic period extended from 1835 to the time of his
marriage, and produced some nine plays, not all of which, however, were
intended for the stage. "Paracelsus," the first of the series, has been
fairly described as a "conversational drama," and "Pippa Passes," though
it has been staged, is essentially a poem to read. The historical
tragedy of "Strafford" has been impressively performed, but "King Victor
and King Charles," "The Return of the Druses," "Colombe's Birthday," "A
Soul's Tragedy," and "Luria," while interesting in many ways, can hardly
be regarded as successful stage-plays. "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon" was
performed at Drury Lane, but its chances of a successful run were
spoiled by the jealousy of Macready, the manager.
The main cause of Browning's weakness as a playwright lay in the fact
that he was so much more interested in psychology than in action. But in
the present tragedy this defect is less prominent than usual, and in
spite of flaws in construction, it reaches a high pitch of emotional
intensity, the characters are drawn with vividness, and the lines are
rich in poetry.
A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON
A TRAGEDY
(1843)
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MILDRED TRESHAM.
GUENDOLEN TRESHAM.
THOROLD, Earl Tresham.
AUSTIN TRESHAM.
HENRY, Earl Mertoun.
GERARD, and other retainers of Lord Tresham.
Time, 17--
ACT I
SCENE I.--The Interior of a Lodge in Lord Tresham's Park.
Many Retainers crowded at the window, supposed to command
a view of the entrance to his Mansion.
GERARD, the Warrener, his back to a table on which are flagons,
etc.
FIRST RETAINER. Ay, do! push, friends, and then you'll push down me!
--What for? Does any hear a runner's foot
Or a steed's trample or a coach-wheel's cry?
Is the Earl come or his least poursuivant?
But there's no breeding in a man of you
Save Gerard yonder: here's a half-place yet,
Old Gerard!
GERARD. Save your courtesies, my friend. Here is my place.
SECOND RETAINER. Now, Gerard, out with it!
What makes you sullen, this of all the days
I' the year? To-day that young rich bountiful
Handsome Earl Mertoun, whom alone they match
With our Lord Tresham through the country-side,
Is coming here in utmost bravery
To ask our master's sister's hand?
GERARD. What then?
SECOND RETAINER. What then? Why, you, she speaks to, if she meets
Your worship, smiles on as you hold apart
The boughs to let her through her forest walks,
You, always favourite for your no-deserts,
You've heard, these three days, how Earl Mertoun sues
To lay his heart and house and broad lands too
At Lady Mildred's feet: and while we squeeze
Ourselves into a mousehole lest we miss
One congee of the least page in his train,
You sit o' one side--"there's the Earl," say I--
"What then?" say you!
THIRD RETAINER. I'll wager he has let
Both swans he tamed for Lady Mildred swim
Over the falls and gain the river!
GERARD. Ralph,
Is not to-morrow my inspecting-day
For you and for your hawks?
FOURTH RETAINER. Let Gerard be!
He's coarse-grained, like his carved black cross-bow stock.
Ha, look now, while we squabble with him, look!
Well done, now--is not this beginning, now,
To purpose?
FIRST RETAINER. Our retainers look as fine--
That's comfort. Lord, how Richard holds himself
With his white staff! Will not a knave behind
Prick him upright?
FOURTH RETAINER. He's only bowing, fool!
The Earl's man bent us lower by this much.
FIRST RETAINER. That's comfort. Here's a very cavalcade!
THIRD RETAINER. I don't see wherefore Richard, and his troop
Of silk and silver varlets there, should find
Their perfumed selves so indispensable
On high days, holidays! Would it so disgrace
Our family, if I, for instance, stood--
In my right hand a cast of Swedish hawks,
A leash of greyhounds in my left?--
GERARD. --With Hugh
The logman for supporter, in his right
The bill-hook, in his left the brushwood-shears!
THIRD RETAINER. Out on you, crab! What next, what next? The Earl!
FIRST RETAINER. Oh Walter, groom, our horses, do they match
The Earl's? Alas, that first pair of the six--
They paw the ground--Ah Walter! and that brute
Just on his haunches by the wheel!
SIXTH RETAINER. Ay--ay!
You, Philip, are a special hand, I hear,
At soups and sauces: what's a horse to you?
D'ye mark that beast they've slid into the midst
So cunningly?--then, Philip, mark this further;
No leg has he to stand on!
FIRST RETAINER. No? that's comfort.
SECOND RETAINER. Peace, Cook! The Earl descends. Well, Gerard, see
The Earl at least! Come, there's a proper man,
I hope! Why, Ralph, no falcon, Pole or Swede,
Has got a starrier eye.
THIRD RETAINER. His eyes are blue:
But leave my hawks alone!
FOURTH RETAINER. So young, and yet
So tall and shapely!
FIFTH RETAINER. Here's Lord Tresham's self!
There now--there's what a nobleman should be!
He's older, graver, loftier, he's more like
A House's head.
SECOND RETAINER. But you'd not have a boy
--And what's the Earl beside?--possess too soon
That stateliness?
FIRST RETAINER. Our master takes his hand--
Richard and his white staff are on the move--
Back fall our people--(tsh!--there's Timothy
Sure to get tangled in his ribbon-ties,
And Peter's cursed rosette's a-coming off!)
--At last I see our lord's back and his friend's;
And the whole beautiful bright company
Close round them--in they go!
[Jumping down from the window-bench, and making for
the table and its jugs.]
Good health, long life,
Great joy to our Lord Tresham and his House!
SIXTH RETAINER. My father drove his father first to court,
After his marriage-day--ay, did he!
SECOND RETAINER. God bless
Lord Tresham, Lady Mildred, and the Earl!
Here, Gerard, reach your beaker!
GERARD. Drink, my boys!
Don't mind me--all's not right about me--drink!
SECOND RETAINER [aside].
He's vexed, now, that he let the show escape!
[To GERARD.]
Remember that the Earl returns this way.
GERARD. That way?
SECOND RETAINER. Just so.
GERARD. Then my way's here.
[Goes.]
SECOND RETAINER. Old Gerard
Will die soon--mind, I said it! He was used
To care about the pitifullest thing
That touched the House's honour, not an eye
But his could see wherein: and on a cause
Of scarce a quarter this importance, Gerard
Fairly had fretted flesh and bone away
In cares that this was right, nor that was wrong,
Such point decorous, and such square by rule--
He knew such niceties, no herald more:
And now--you see his humour: die he will!
SECOND RETAINER. God help him! Who's for the great servants' hall
To hear what's going on inside! They'd follow
Lord Tresham into the saloon.
THIRD RETAINER. I!--
FOURTH RETAINER. I!--
Leave Frank alone for catching, at the door,
Some hint of how the parley goes inside!
Prosperity to the great House once more!
Here's the last drop!
FIRST RETAINER. Have at you! Boys, hurrah!