All these poems show the necessity for classification as lyric monologues; that is, poems lyric in every sense of the word, which yet have a certain dramatic or objective form peculiar to the monologue to give definiteness and point.
The reader, however, must be very careful not to turn lyrics into monologues. The pure lyric should be rendered subjectively, neither as dramatic, on the one hand, nor as oratoric on the other. To render a lyric as a dramatic monologue is as bad as to give it as a speech. The discussion of the peculiar differences between the lyric and the monologue, and the discrimination of lyric monologues as a special class, should suggest the great variety of lyrics and monologues, how nearly they approach and how widely they differ from each other. Whether a poem is a lyric or a monologue must be decided without regard to types or classifications, except in so far as comparison may throw light upon the general nature and spirit of the poetry. Different forms are often used to interpret each other, and the spirit of nearly all may be combined in one poem.
A peculiar type of the monologue, found occasionally in recent literature, may be called the epic monologue. Tennyson’s “Ulysses” seems at first, in form at least, a monologue. Ulysses speaks throughout in character, and addresses his companions. But we presently find that Ulysses stands for the spirit of the race. He is not an individual, but a type, as he was in Homer, though he is a different type in Tennyson; and the poem typifies the human spirit advancing from its achievements in the art and philosophy of Greece into a newer world. Western civilization is prefigured in this poem, and Ulysses meeting again the great Achilles symbolizes the spirit of mankind once more entering upon new endeavors, these being represented by Achilles. “Ulysses” is thus allegoric or epic. The monologue elements are but a part of the objective form that gives it unity and character.
The same is true of “Sir Galahad.” While Sir Galahad is the speaker, and the poem is in form a monologue, yet to regard him as a mere literal character would make him appear egotistic and boastful, and this would totally pervert the poem. The knight stands for an ideal human soul. Every person identifies himself with Sir Galahad, but not in the dramatic sense. While in the form of a monologue, it is, nevertheless, allegoric or epic, and the search for the Holy Grail is given in its most suggestive and spiritual significance.
If the monologue is a true literary form, it has not been invented. If it is only a mechanism, such as the rondeau, it is unworthy of prolonged discussion; but that it is a true literary form is proven by the fact that it necessarily co-ordinates with the lyric, epic, and dramatic forms of literature. These show that it is not mechanical or isolated, but as natural as any poetic or literary form. That the monologue is fundamental, no one can doubt who has listened to a little child talking to an imaginary listener, or telephoning in imagination to Santa Claus. That the monologue can reveal profound depths of human nature, no one familiar with Browning can deny. That the form and the spirit of the monologue are almost universal, no one who has looked into English literature can fail to see. This power of the monologue to unite and enrich other phases or forms of literature proves that it is an essential dramatic form, and that its use by recent authors cannot be regarded as a mere desire to be odd.
The fact that a story is told by a single speaker does not necessarily make a poem a monologue. Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride” is told by the old innkeeper, but the only indication of this is in the opening clause, “Listen, my children.” There is hardly another word in the story that takes color from his individual character. The poem is simply a narrative, and the same is true of all “The Tales of a Wayside Inn.”
Mr. Chesterton calls “Muléykeh” and “Clive,” by Browning, “possibly the two best stories in poetry told in the best manner of story-telling.” Now, are these poems stories or monologues? They are both of them monologues. The chief interest is not in the events, but in the characters portrayed. Every event, every word, and every phrase has the coloring of human motives and experience.
The events of “Muléykeh” from the narrative point of view are few. Muléykeh, or Pearl, is the name of a beautiful horse belonging to Hóseyn, a poor Arab. The rich Duhl offers the price of a thousand camels for Muléykeh, but his offer is rejected. He steals Pearl by night. Hóseyn is awakened and pursues on another horse. He sees that “dog, Duhl,” does not know how to ride Muléykeh, and shouts to the fellow what to do to get better speed. The thief takes the hint, and touching the “right ear” and pressing with the foot Pearl’s “left flank,” escapes. His neighbors “jeered him” for not holding his tongue, when he might easily have had her.
“‘And beaten in speed!’ wept Hóseyn:
‘You never have loved my Pearl.’”
This poem is in the form of a story, but it is colored not only by the character of the Arab and his well-known love of a horse, but by a narrator who can reveal the character and the peculiar love of the weeping Hóseyn.