Browning and the Dramatic Monologue Part 18

WANTING IS--WHAT?

Wanting is--what?

Summer redundant, Blueness abundant,-- Where is the blot?

Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,-- Framework which waits for a picture to frame: What of the leaf.a.ge, what of the flower?

Roses embowering with naught they embower!

Come then, complete incompletion, O Comer, Pant through the blueness, perfect the summer!

Breathe but one breath Rose-beauty above, And all that was death Grows life, grows love, Grows love!

Change of point of view, situation, or emotion is revealed by a change in the modulation of the resonance of the voice, or tone-color. In this poem, note the joyous, confident feeling in the short lines, beginning with the word "what," then after a long pause, the change in key and resonance to the regret and despair expressed in the first of the long lines. Then there is a pa.s.sing to a point of view above both the optimistic and pessimistic att.i.tudes which have been contrasted. This truer att.i.tude accepts the dark facts, but sees deeper than the external, and prays for the "Comer" and the transfiguring of all despair and death into life and love.

Note also the importance of pause after a long falling inflection on the word "roses" to indicate an answer to the previous question. The first two words of the poem, this word, and the contrast of the three moods by tone-color are the chief points in the interpretation.

Read over again also "One Way of Love" (p. 150), and note that there are not merely changes in inflection in pa.s.sing from the successive questions and from disappointment to acquiescence, but change also in the texture or tone-color of the voice. This contrast in tone-color becomes still more marked in the last stanza between the vigorous suspense and disappointment in

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

and the heroic resignation of "'Tis well!" with a change of key still more marked. Between these clauses there is a long pause and an extreme change of pitch which are suggestive of the intensity of his sorrow as well as of the n.o.bility and dignity of his character. He does not exclaim contemptuously, that "the grapes are green."

Everywhere we find that changes in situation, dramatic points of view, imaginative relations, sympathetic att.i.tudes of mind, or feeling resulting from whatever cause, are expressed by corresponding changes in the modulations of the texture or resonance of the tone, which may here be called tone-color.

One of the most elemental characteristics of conversation is the flexible variation of the successive rhythmic pulsations, that is to say, the movement. This variation is especially necessary in all dramatic expression. One clause will move very slowly, and show deliberative thinking, importance, weight, a more dignified point of view or firm control; another will be given rapidly, as indicative of triviality, mere formality, uncontrollable excitement, lack of weight and sympathy, or of subordination and disparagement. A slow movement indicates what is weighty and important; a rapid one excitement or what is unimportant.

These are the elements of naturalness or the expressive modulations of the voice in every-day conversation. For the rendering of no other form of literature is the study and mastery of these elements so necessary as in that of the monologue. Monologues are so infinitely varied in character, they reproduce so definitely all the elements of conversation, even requiring them to be accentuated; they embody such sudden transitions in thought and feeling, such contrasts in the att.i.tude of the mind, that a thorough command of the voice is necessary for their interpretation.

Not only must the modulations of the voice be studied to render the monologue, but a thorough study of the monologue becomes a great help in developing power in vocal expression. Because of the necessary accentuation of otherwise overlooked points in vocal expression, the orator or the teacher, the reader or the actor, can be led to understand and realize more adequately those expressive modulations upon the mastery of which all naturalness in speaking depends.

Not only must we appreciate the distinct meaning of each of these modulations, but also that of their combination and degrees of accentuation, which indicate marked transitions in feeling and situation.

In fact, no voice modulation is ever perceived in isolation. They may not all be found in a sentence, but some of them cannot be present without others. For example, touch is meaningless without pause, and a pause is justified by change of pitch. Inflection and change of pitch const.i.tute the elements of vocal form which reveal thought, and all combine with tone-color and movement, which reveal feeling and experience. Naturalness is the right union and combination of all the modulations.

MEMORABILIA

Ah, did you once see Sh.e.l.ley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again?

How strange it seems, and new!

But you were living before that, And also you are living after; And the memory I started at-- My starting moves your laughter!

I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about:

For there I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather!

Well, I forget the rest.

Read over any short monologue several times and satisfactorily locate and define the meaning of each of these modulations. Observe also the great variety of changes among these modulations and their necessary union for right interpretation.

Take for example "Memorabilia," one of Browning's shortest monologues, and observe in every phrase the nature and necessity of these modulations of the voice.

The reading of a volume of Sh.e.l.ley is said to have greatly influenced Browning when a boy, and this monologue is a tribute to that poet. Some lover of Sh.e.l.ley, possibly Browning himself, meets one who has seen Sh.e.l.ley face to face. He is agitated at the thought of facing one who had been in the presence of that marvellous man. Note the abrupt inflections, the quick movement indicating excitement, the decided touches, and animated changes of pitch.

At the seventh line a great break is indicated by a dash. The speaker seems to be going on to say: "The memory I started at must have been the greatest event of your life." But as he notes the action of the other, the contemptuous smile at his enthusiasm, perhaps a sarcastic remark about Sh.e.l.ley, there is a sudden, abrupt pause after "started at" which is given with a rising or suspensive inflection. "My starting" has extreme change in pitch, color, and movement. Astonishment is mingled with disappointment and grief. Then follows a still greater transition. In the last eight lines of the poem, the speaker, after a long pause, possibly turning slightly away from the other and becoming more subjective, in a slow movement and a total change of tone-color, pays a n.o.ble, poetic, and grateful tribute to the object of his admiration. He carefully weighs every word, and accentuates his thought with long pauses, and decided touches upon the words. He gives "moor" a long falling inflection, pausing after it to suggest that he meant more than a moor, possibly all modern or English literature or poetry. He adds

"... with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt,"

as a reference to English poetry or literature and to show that he was not ignorant of its beauties and glories. Still stronger emphasis should be given to "hand's-breadth," with a pause after it, subordinating the next words, for he is trying to bring his listener indirectly up to the thought of Sh.e.l.ley. "Miles" may also receive an accent in contrast to "hand's-breadth." Then there is great tenderness:

"For there I picked up ..."

Note the change in the resonance of the voice and the low and dignified movement. There is a long inflection, followed by a pause on the word "feather" and a still longer one on the word "eagle." Now follows another extreme transition. Thought and feeling change. He comes back to the familiarity of conversation. He shows uncertainty or hesitation by inflection and a long pause after the word "Well." He has no word of disparagement of other writers, but simply adds,

"Well, I forget the rest."

All else is forgotten in contemplating that one precious "feather" which is, of course, Sh.e.l.ley's poetry.

It is impossible to indicate in words all the mental and emotional actions, or the modulations of the voice necessary to express them. The more complex the imaginative conditions, the more all these modulations are combined. Notice that change of movement, of key, and also of tone-color combine to express extreme changes in situation, feeling, or direction of attention. When there is a very strong emphatic inflection, there is usually an emphatic pause after it. Wherever there is a long pause there is always a salient change of pitch or some variation in the expression to justify it. After an emphatic pause when words are closely connected, there is always a decided subordination, and thus a whole sentence, or, by a series of such changes, an entire poem, is given unity of atmosphere, coloring, and form.

No rules can be laid down for such artistic rendering; for the higher the poetry and the deeper the feeling, the less applicable is any so-called rule. Only the deepest principles can be of lasting use.

Take, for example, Browning's epilogue to "The Two Poets of Croisic,"

printed also by him in his book of selections under the t.i.tle of "A Tale:"

A TALE

What a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time --Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or was it rhyme, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head.

Anyhow there's no forgetting This much if no more, That a poet (pray, no petting!) Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, Went where suchlike used to go, Singing for a prize, you know.

Well, he had to sing, nor merely Sing but play the lyre; Playing was important clearly Quite as singing: I desire, Sir, you keep the fact in mind For a purpose that's behind.

There stood he, while deep attention Held the judges round, --Judges able, I should mention, To detect the slightest sound Sung or played amiss: such ears Had old judges, it appears!

None the less he sang out boldly, Played in time and tune, Till the judges, weighing coldly Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, Sure to smile "In vain one tries Picking faults out: take the prize!"

When, a mischief! Were they seven Strings the lyre possessed?

Oh, and afterwards eleven, Thank you! Well, sir,--who had guessed Such ill luck in store?--it happed One of those same seven strings snapped.

All was lost, then! No! a cricket (What "cicada"? Pooh!) --Some mad thing that left its thicket For mere love of music--flew With its little heart on fire, Lighted on the crippled lyre.

So that when (Ah joy!) our singer For his truant string Feels with disconcerted finger, What does cricket else but fling Fiery heart forth, sound the note Wanted by the throbbing throat?

Ay and, ever to the ending, Cricket chirps at need, Executes the hand's intending, Promptly, perfectly,--indeed Saves the singer from defeat With her chirrup low and sweet.

Till, at ending, all the judges Cry with one a.s.sent "Take the prize--a prize who grudges Such a voice and instrument?

Why, we took your lyre for harp, So it shrilled us forth F sharp!"

Did the conqueror spurn the creature, Once its service done?

That's no such uncommon feature In the case when Music's son Finds his Lotte's power too spent For aiding soul-development.

No! This other, on returning Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning: (Sir, I hope you understand!) --Said "Some record there must be Of this cricket's help to me!"

So, he made himself a statue: Marble stood, life-size; On the lyre, he pointed at you, Perched his partner in the prize; Never more apart you found Her, he throned, from him, she crowned.