Browning and the Dramatic Monologue Part 11

One of the best examples of what we may call the dramatic argument of a monologue is found in Browning's "The Bishop orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church," one of the ablest criticisms ever offered upon both the moral and the artistic spirit of the Renaissance. Notice that "Rome, 15--"

is a subt.i.tle. The Bishop begins with the conventional lament, "Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!" He is dying, and has called his nephews,--now owned as sons, for he has been unfaithful to his priestly vow of chast.i.ty,--about his bed for his farewell instructions. His greatest anxiety is regarding his monument, and as he thinks of this purpose of his life, his whole character reveals itself. We perceive his old jealousy and envy of a former bishop, and the very thought of this predecessor causes sudden transitions and agitations in the dying man's mind. We discover that his seeming love of the beautiful is only a sensuous admiration entirely different from that true love of art which Browning endeavored to interpret. To his sons he speaks frankly of his sins. His pompous and egotistical likings are shown in his causing his sons to march in and out in a stately ceremonial. This adds color to the poem and helps to concentrate attention upon the character of the speaker.

Ruskin has some important words in his "Modern Painters" upon this poem: "I know no other piece of modern English, prose or poetry, in which there is so much told as in these lines, of the Renaissance spirit,--its worldliness, inconsistency, pride, hypocrisy, ignorance of itself, love of art, of luxury, and of good Latin. It is nearly all I said of the central Renaissance in thirty pages in 'The Stones of Venice,' put into as many lines, Browning's being also the antecedent work. The worst of it is that this kind of concentrated writing needs so much solution before the reader can fairly get the good of it, that people's patience fails them, and they give the thing up as insoluble."

In studying the argument the reader should note the many sudden changes in almost every phrase, especially at first. For example,

"Nephews--sons mine ... ah G.o.d, I know not!"

And so he continues: "She is dead beside," and

"Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace."

Note his break into business:

"And so, about this tomb of mine...."

This must be given with much saliency in order to show that it is the chief point he has in mind and the purpose of his bringing them together.

Most of the other sayings are only dramatic asides, which, however, must be strongly emphasized as indicative of his character.

Note the expression of his hate in "Old Gandolf cozened me," though he fought tooth and nail to save his niche. But still, his enemy had secured the south corner:

"He graced his carrion with, G.o.d curse the same!"

Yet he accepts the result, and feels that his niche is not so bad:

"One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side."

"Onion-stone" and "true peach" are, of course, in direct opposition. Then he tells the great secret of his life, how he has hidden a great lump of

"... lapis lazuli, Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape,"

and where it can be found to place between his knees on the monument. And in this he shall have a great triumph over his enemy--

"For Gandolf shall not choose but see and burst!"

After this outbreak of selfishness and envy he resumes the conventional whine:

"Swift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years."

Suddenly, with a totally different inflection, he returns to the thought of his tomb:

"Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Black-- 'Twas ever antique-black I meant!"

This is said suddenly, and with the most positive and abrupt inflections.

Notice that amid the gloom he will even laugh over the bad Latin of old Gandolf the "elucescebat" of his inscription, and abruptly demands of his sons that his epitaph be

"Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's every word."

Observe his sudden transition from

"Nay, boys, ye love me--all of jasper, then!"

to his appeal to their superst.i.tion because he has

"... Saint Praxed's ear to pray Horses for ye...."

and his sudden threat:

"Else I give the Pope My villas!"

If we realize his character, this kind of "concentrated writing" will not need "so much solution" before the reader can "get the good of it."

Certainly people's patience should not fail them, nor should they "give the thing up as insoluble." On the contrary, one who follows the suggestions indicated, understands the natural languages, and has any appreciation of the dramatic spirit, will feel that Browning's form is the best means of giving with a few strokes a thorough understanding of the character of a great movement and era in human history.

This is one of Browning's "difficult" poems. Why difficult? Because most "concentrated"; because it gives the fundamental spirit of a certain era of the world; because the poet uses in every case the exact word, however unusual it may be, to express the idea. He should not be blamed if he send the reader to the dictionary to correct his ignorance. Why should not art be as accurate as science? Why should it perpetuate ignorance?

To understand a monologue according to these suggestions the student must first answer such questions as, Who speaks? What kind of a man says this?

To whom does he speak? Of whom is he talking? Where is he? At what point in the conversation do we break in upon him in the unconscious utterance of his life and motives? Then, last of all,--What is the argument? The general subject and thought will gradually become plain from the first question and the argument may be pretty clear before all the points are presented.

When the points are taken up in this order, the meaning of a monologue will unfold as naturally as that of an essay or a simple story, and at the same time afford greater enjoyment and express deeper truth in fewer words.

All of these questions are not applicable to every monologue. Sometimes one has greater force than the others. Some monologues are given without any necessity of conceiving a distinct place; some require no definite time in the conversation; in a few the listener may be almost any one; but in some monologues every one of these questions will have force. The application of these points, however, is easy, and will be spontaneous to one with dramatic instinct. Only at first do they demand special attention and care.

The application of all the points suggested or questions to be answered will be shown best by an ill.u.s.tration,--a short monologue which exemplifies them all. Let us choose for this purpose Browning's "My Last d.u.c.h.ess."

The speaker is the Duke, and the meaning of the whole is dependent upon the right conception of his character. He stands before us puffed up with pride, one who chooses "Never to stoop."

The person spoken of, the d.u.c.h.ess, and her character form the real theme of the poem, and the character of the Duke is made to look blacker by contrast. How her youth, beauty, and loveliness s.h.i.+ne through his sneers!

"She liked whatever she looked on, and her looks went everywhere," and he was offended that she recognized "anybody's gift" on a plane with his gift of a "nine-hundred-year-old name." This grew, and he "gave commands, then all smiles stopped together."

MY LAST d.u.c.h.eSS

FERRARA

That's my last d.u.c.h.ess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will't please you sit and look at her? I said "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and pa.s.sion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only called that spot Of joy into the d.u.c.h.ess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much," or, "Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace,--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, When'er I pa.s.sed her; but who pa.s.sed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat, The Count your master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

To whom is the Duke speaking? From the phrase, "The Count your master,"

and other hints, we infer that the listener is the legal agent of the Count who is father of the next victim, the new d.u.c.h.ess, and that this legal agent has stepped aside to talk with the Duke about the "dowry." The Duke has led the agent upstairs, drawn aside the curtain from the portrait of his last d.u.c.h.ess, and monopolizes the conversation.

The situation is marvellously suggestive. He draws the curtain which "none puts by" but himself, and a.s.sumes an att.i.tude of a connoisseur of art, and calls the portrait "a wonder." Does this admiring of art for art's sake suggest the degeneracy of his soul? He asks the other to "sit and look at her." The subject in hand is shown by the word "last." How suggestive is the emphasis upon the word, for they have been talking about the new d.u.c.h.ess. In a few lines, as dramatically suggestive as any in literature, his character and motives are all revealed, as he intimates to his hearer what is expected from him.

Why did he say all this to such a person? To overawe him, to show him what kind of man he had to deal with, and the necessity of accepting the Duke's terms lest "commands" might also be given regarding him, and his "smiles"

stop, like those of the lovely d.u.c.h.ess. It is only an insinuation, but in keeping with the Duke's character. The rising at the end shows that he takes it for granted that everything is settled as he wished it. Notice that the agent falls behind, like an obedient lackey, but as this would not appear well to the "company below," the Duke says:--

"Nay, we'll go Together down."