Browning and the Dramatic Monologue Part 17

The interpretation of a poem or any work of literature demands an intensifying of the processes of thinking, and the pause and touch const.i.tute the language by which this increase of thinking is expressed. A language is always necessary to the completion or, at least, to the accentuation of, any mental action. The impression received from each successive idea must be so vivid as to dominate the rhythm of breathing, and the expansion and other actions of the body.

The progressive movement of mind from idea to idea implies consequent variation and discrimination more or less vigorous. This is revealed by change of pitch in pa.s.sing from idea to idea or phrase to phrase, and the extent of this variation is due, as a rule, to the degree of discrimination in thinking.

In the employment of these three modulations, pause, touch, and change of pitch, each implies the others. The degree of change in pitch and the vigor of touch justify the length of pause. Lengthening the pause without increasing the touch suggests tameness, sluggishness, or dullness of thought.

Notice the long pauses, the intense strokes of the voice, and the decided changes of pitch harmoniously accentuated, which are employed to indicate the depth of pa.s.sion in rendering "In a Year" (p. 201). Pauses are of special importance in a monologue. This woman shows by long pauses and abrupt changes her struggle to comprehend the real meaning of the coldness of the man whom she loves,--to whom she has given all. The touch and the changes of pitch show the abruptness and the intensity of her pa.s.sion.

The careful student will further perceive an inflection in conversation, or change of pitch, during the utterance of the central vowel of each word, and a longer inflection in the word standing for a central idea.

Inflections show the relations of ideas to each other, the logical method, the relative value of centres of attention, and the like. Marked changes of topics, for example, will be indicated by a long inflection upon the key-word.

In rendering Browning's "One Way of Love," the word "rose" in the first line is given saliency. It is the centre of his first effort. Note the long pause followed by decided rising inflections on the words:

"She will not turn aside?..."

succeeded by a pause with a firm fall,--

"Alas!

Let them lie...."

In the second stanza, note the falling inflection upon "lute," which introduces a new theme, a new endeavor to win her love. Then follows another disappointment with suspensive or rising inflections denoting surprise with agitation, and then new realization

ONE WAY OF LOVE

All June I bound the rose in sheaves.

Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strow them where Pauline may pa.s.s.

She will not turn aside? Alas!

Let them lie. Suppose they die?

The chance was they might take her eye.

How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute!

To-day I venture all I know.

She will not hear my music? So!

Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

My whole life long I learn'd to love.

This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my pa.s.sion--heaven or h.e.l.l?

She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well!

Lose who may--I still can say, Those who win heaven, bless'd are they!

of failure with a falling inflection indicating submission. The same is true of the word "love" in the last stanza which brings one to the climax of the poem. This has a long, firm falling inflection. Note the suspensive intense rise upon "heaven" and the falling on "h.e.l.l." The question:

"She will not give me heaven?..."

reiterates the earlier questions, only with greater grief and intensity.

The character of his "love," which a poor reader may slight, neglect, or wholly pervert, must suggest the n.o.bility of the man, and the last words must reveal his intensity, tenderness, and, especially, his self-control and hopeful dignity.

Note in Browning's "Confessions" (p. 7) that the rising inflections on the first words indicate doubt or uncertainty, and seem to say, "Did I hear aright?" But the firm falling inflection in the answer,

"Ah, reverend sir, not I!"

indicates that the speaker has settled the doubt and now expresses his protest against such a view of life. The inflections after this become more colloquial.

There is, however, still a suggestion of earnestness as the description continues until at the last a decided inflection on the word "sweet"

expresses his real conviction. Though life may appear but vanity to his listener, such is not his experience. The modulations of the voice in speaking "sad and bad and mad" can show that they embody his hearers'

opinions and convictions, not his own, and "it was sweet!" can be given to show that they are his own.

Inflection, especially in union with pause, serves an important function in indicating the saliency of specific ideas or words. Note, for example, in Browning's "The Italian in England" that in the phrase "That second time they hunted me," there is a specific emphasis on "second." This word shows that he is talking of his many trials when in Italy and the narrowness of his escape, while also indicating some other time when he was hunted by the Austrians. This sentence, and especially this word "second," should be given the pointedness of conversation, and then will naturally follow the account of his escape.

In this poem, Browning suggests what difficulties were encountered by the Italian patriots who labored to free their country from Austrian rule. It is a strange and unique story told in London to some one who is planning with the speaker for Italian liberty.

THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND

That second time they hunted me From hill to plain, from sh.o.r.e to sea, And Austria, hounding far and wide Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, Breathed hot an instant on my trace,-- I made, six days, a hiding-place Of that dry green old aqueduct Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked The fire-flies from the roof above, Bright creeping thro' the moss they love: --How long it seems since Charles was lost!

Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed The country in my very sight; And when that peril ceased at night, The sky broke out in red dismay With signal-fires. Well, there I lay Close covered o'er in my recess, Up to the neck in ferns and cress, Thinking on Metternich our friend, And Charles's miserable end, And much beside, two days; the third, Hunger o'ercame me when I heard The peasants from the village go To work among the maize; you know, With us in Lombardy, they bring Provisions packed on mules, a string With little bells that cheer their task, And casks, and boughs on every cask To keep the sun's heat from the wine; These I let pa.s.s in jingling line, And, close on them, dear, noisy crew, The peasants from the village, too; For at the very rear would troop Their wives and sisters in a group To help, I knew. When these had pa.s.sed, I threw my glove to strike the last, Taking the chance: she did not start, Much less cry out, but stooped apart, One instant rapidly glanced round, And saw me beckon from the ground.

A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; She picked my glove up while she stripped A branch off, then rejoined the rest With that; my glove lay in her breast.

Then I drew breath; they disappeared: It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown.

Meanwhile came many thoughts: on me Rested the hopes of Italy.

I had devised a certain tale Which, when 'twas told her, could not fail Persuade a peasant of its truth; I meant to call a freak of youth This hiding, and give hopes of pay, And no temptation to betray.

But when I saw that woman's face, Its calm simplicity of grace, Our Italy's own att.i.tude In which she walked thus far, and stood, Planting each naked foot so firm, To crush the snake and spare the worm-- At first sight of her eyes, I said, "I am that man upon whose head They fix the price, because I hate The Austrians over us; the State Will give you gold--oh, gold so much!-- If you betray me to their clutch, And be your death, for aught I know, If once they find you saved their foe.

Now, you must bring me food and drink, And also paper, pen and ink, And carry safe what I shall write To Padua, which you'll reach at night Before the duomo shuts; go in, And wait till Tenebrae begin; Walk to the third confessional, Between the pillar and the wall, And kneeling whisper, '_Whence comes peace?_'

Say it a second time, then cease; And if the voice inside returns, '_From Christ and Freedom; what concerns The cause of Peace?_' for answer, slip My letter where you placed your lip; Then come back happy we have done Our mother service--I, the son, As you the daughter of our land!"

Three mornings more, she took her stand In the same place, with the same eyes: I was no surer of sun-rise Than of her coming. We conferred Of her own prospects, and I heard She had a lover--stout and tall, She said--then let her eyelids fall, "He could do much"--as if some doubt Entered her heart,--then, pa.s.sing out, "She could not speak for others, who Had other thoughts; herself she knew:"

And so she brought me drink and food.

After four days, the scouts pursued Another path; at last arrived The help my Paduan friends contrived To furnish me: she brought the news.

For the first time I could not choose But kiss her hand, and lay my own Upon her head--"This faith was shown To Italy, our mother, she Uses my hand and blesses thee."

She followed down to the sea-sh.o.r.e; I left and never saw her more.

How very long since I have thought Concerning--much less wished for--aught Beside the good of Italy.

For which I live and mean to die!

I never was in love; and since Charles proved false, what shall now convince My inmost heart I have a friend?

However, if I pleased to spend Real wishes on myself--say, three-- I know at least what one should be I would grasp Metternich until I felt his red wet throat distil In blood thro' these two hands. And next, --Nor much for that am I perplexed-- Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, Should die slow of a broken heart Under his new employers. Last --Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast Do I grow old and out of strength.

If I resolved to seek at length My father's house again, how scared They all would look, and unprepared!

My brothers live in Austria's pay --Disowned me long ago, men say; And all my early mates who used To praise me so--perhaps induced More than one early step of mine-- Are turning wise: while some opine "Freedom grows license," some suspect "Haste breeds delay," and recollect They always said, such premature Beginnings never could endure!

So, with a sullen "All's for best,"

The land seems settling to its rest.

I think then, I should wish to stand This evening in that dear, lost land, Over the sea the thousand miles And know if yet that woman smiles With the calm smile; some little farm She lives in there, no doubt: what harm If I sat on the door-side bench, And while her spindle made a trench Fantastically in the dust, Inquired of all her fortunes--just Her children's ages and their names, And what may be the husband's aims For each of them. I'd talk this out, And sit there, for an hour about, Then kiss her hand once more, and lay Mine on her head, and go my way.

So much for idle wis.h.i.+ng--how It steals the time! To business now.

The conversation takes place preliminary "to business." It is a fine example of the monologue for many reasons. It takes simply a single moment in life, a moment in this case when a turn is made from serious business into personal experiences. The speaker is probably waiting for other reformers to take active measures for the liberation of his country. In this moment, seemingly wasted, light is thrown upon the inner life of this patriot.

This beautiful example of Browning's best work will serve as a good ill.u.s.tration of the force and power of a monologue to interpret life and character and also the elements necessary to its delivery. The student will do well to thoroughly master it, noting every emphatic word and the necessity of long pauses and salient inflections to make manifest the inner thought and feeling of this man.

From such a theme some may infer that the monologue portrays accidental parts of human life, but Browning in this poem has given deep insight into a great struggle for liberty. Such irrelevant words spoken even on the verge of what seems to us the greater business of life may more definitely indicate character, and on account of the fact that they spring up spontaneously may reveal men more completely than when they proceed "to business."

Note the importance of inflection in "Wanting is--what?" In giving "Wanting is--" there is a suspensive action of the voice with an abrupt pause, as if the speaker were going to continue with "everywhere" or something of the kind. The dash helps to indicate this. The idea is still incomplete, when the att.i.tude of the mind totally changes, and he gives a very strong and abrupt rise in "what," as if to say: "Will you, Browning, with your optimistic beliefs, utter a note of despair?" The understanding of the whole poem, of the pa.s.sing from one point of view to another, depends upon the way in which this abrupt change of thought in the first short line is given by the voice.