Browning and the Dramatic Monologue

by S. S. Curry

Art, especially dramatic art, is a necessity of human nature. “Without art,” says William Winter, “each of us would be alone.” Only by art are we brought near together, and chiefly in our art will be found our true advance in civilization. The monologue is a new method, a new avenue of approach from heart to heart.

Dramatic art must have many forms. When no longer truthfully presented by the play, as is often the case; when it has become corrupted into a spectacular show, into something for the eye rather than for the mind; when no longer concerned with the interpretation of character and truth, or when debased to mere money making, then the irrepressible dramatic spirit must evolve a new form. Hence, the origin and the significance of the monologue.

Whether the play can be restored to dramatic dignity or not, the monologue has come to stay. As a parallel, or even as a subordinate phase of dramatic art, it has become a part of literature. It is distinct from the play, and from every other literary form or phase of histrionic expression.

Of all forms of art, the monologue has most direct relation to one character only, a character not posing for his portrait. It portrays and interprets an individual unconsciously revealing himself. It presents some crucial situation of life, and brings one character face to face with another character, the one best calculated to reveal the hidden springs of conduct.

It must not be implied that the monologue is superior to other forms of art. It certainly will supersede no other form of poetry. It is unique, and its peculiar nature may be seen in comparing it with a play.

A monologue may be of any length, from a few lines to that of “The Ring and the Book,” which is really a collection of monologues, the longest poem, next to “Faerie Queene,” in the English language. The subject of the monologue can be infinitely varied. By its aid almost everything can be treated dramatically. It is far more flexible than the formal drama, because the same movement and formality of plot are not required as in the play.

It can be conceived upon any plane,—burlesque, farce, comedy, or tragedy. It can be prose in form, or it may adopt any metre or length of line. It may employ the most commonplace slang, and the dialect of the lowest characters, or it may adopt the highest poetic diction.

A monologue can be presented anywhere, for it demands no stage, no carloads of expensive scenery, no trained troupe of a hundred artists.

It does require, however, an artist, a thoroughly trained artist,—with perfect command of thought, feeling, imagination, and passion, as well as complete control of voice and body. Fully as much as the play, it requires obedience to the laws of art, and demands that the artist be not fettered and trammelled as to his ideal. He is not compelled to repress his finest intuitions, or to soften down his honest conceptions of a character and the place of that character in a scene, for the sake of some “star.”

The monologue is not in danger of being spoiled by some second-class actor in a subordinate part. The artist is free to adopt any means to meet the taste, judgment, and criticism of the audience, and to realize for himself the true nature of art. The monologue is less likely than the play to be degraded into a spectacular exhibition.