The interpreter of a monologue must study nature; must train his voice and body to the greatest degree of flexible responsiveness, and become acquainted with the human heart. He must cultivate a sympathetic appreciation of all forms of literature; must understand the subtle influences of one human being over another, and comprehend that only by delicate suggestion of the simplest truth can the imagination and sympathies be awakened. He must have confidence in his fellow-men, and be able, by a simple hint, to awaken men’s ideals. In short, faults in rendering monologues must be prevented by genuineness, by developing taste, and awakening the imagination, dramatic instinct, and artistic nature.
XVI. IMPORTANCE OF THE MONOLOGUE
When we have once discovered the nature and peculiarities of the monologue, the character of its interpretation, and its uses in dramatic expression, its general importance in art, literature, and education becomes apparent.
In the first place, its value is shown by the fact that it reveals phases of human nature not otherwise expressed in literature, or in any other form of art.
To illustrate this, let us take Browning’s “Saul.” It is founded upon a very slight story in the Book of Kings to the effect that when Saul was afflicted with an evil spirit, a skilful musician was sought to charm away the demon, and the youthful David was chosen.
Browning takes this theme, transfigures it by his imagination, and produces what is considered by some the greatest poem of the nineteenth century. Without necessarily subscribing to this judgment, let us study this poem which has called forth from some critics so much enthusiasm.
Browning makes David the speaker in the monologue, and its occasion after the event, when he is “alone” with his sheep, endeavoring to realize what happened while playing before Saul, and what it meant.
The poem begins with his arrival at the Israelitish camp, and Abner’s kindly reception and indication to him of his duty. Browning isolates Saul in his tent, which no one dares approach. This stripling with his harp must, therefore, go into that tent alone. After kneeling and praying, he “runs over the sand burned to powder,” and at the entrance to the tent again prays. Then he is “not afraid,” but enters, calling out, “Here is David.” Presently he sees “something more black than the blackness,” arms on the cross-supports (note the cross). Now what can David, a youth, before the king, sing or say or do?