SOURCE: “The Monologue as Monodrama in Grillparzer's Hellenic Dramas,” in Journal of English and Germanic Philology, Vol. 37, October, 1938, pp. 513-23.

Hans Sittenberger in his essay “Der Monolog”¹ distinguishes three types of monologue: (1) the expository monologue; (2) the lyric monologue; (3) the dramatic monologue. The dramatic monologue, according to his definition, is the one which not only fits into the dramatic structure of the play, but which “in seinen einzelnen Gliedern deutlich erkennbar dramatischen Bau aufweist.”² He continues: “Das trifft bei allen jenen Monologen zu, die aus widerstreitenden Empfindungen zu einem Entschlusse führen, der eine Aenderung der Lage und damit neue Verwicklungen oder Entwicklungen bewirkt.”²

A monologue of this third type is sometimes built up as though it were a miniature drama. It is possible to identify rising and descending action and a central dramatic conflict. Out of the conflict one or the other of the contending forces becomes dominant and carries the character along in a course of unhindered action, thought, or emotion. When a monologue has this independent unity in addition to its function as an organic part of the drama as a whole it is a true monodrama, i.e. a drama acted by a single character.

Grillparzer's dramas contain interesting examples of all three types of monologue, but the present study is concerned only with the dramatic monologue insofar as it may be called monodrama. The treatment will be limited to the Hellenic (or classical) dramas: Sappho, Das goldene Vliess, and Des Meeres und der Liebe Wellen. By analyzing the monologues as to structure and motivation we shall try to show the nature of the dramatic conflict and offer justification for applying the term monodrama.

In Sappho there are three monologues which merit consideration here.³ All three are spoken by Sappho. In her monologue at the opening of Act III dramatic interest is centered around the conflict between dream and reality, between the wish to believe and the doubts created by objective evidence. At the beginning of the monologue Sappho is tortured by the memory of Melitta in Phaon's arms. Though she sees her fears of losing her lover already confirmed by the scene she has just witnessed, she struggles to free herself from the thoughts of hateful reality. The dramatic climax is reached when, after recalling the kiss Phaon gave Melitta, Sappho breaks off with the words:

… —fort! ich will's nicht denken! Schon der Gedanke tötet tausendfach!—

(801 f.)⁴

The will to believe in Phaon's innocence is stronger than her fear, and she argues with herself that what she has seen is only the expression of a trifling whim and without further significance. Some conflict still continues beyond the climax, but fear has been almost completely suppressed and no further open clash of the opposing forces occurs. During a long flight of rationalizing (803-841) Sappho regains outward composure, and her last doubts are silenced when forced optimism is strengthened by emotional certainty. She finds Phaon sleeping, and his innocent expression and her own love convince her that her fears were groundless. She succumbs to her dream of perfect love and finds it impossible to believe ill of her lover. Disarmed by his smile and eager to hear him speak her name she wakens him and thus paves the way for the disillusionment which follows.

As a monodrama this monologue has very evident shortcomings. The relatively short duration of the active conflict weakens the dramatic force, and the long rationalizing lyric passage detracts from the unity and disturbs the structural balance.

In Sappho's next monologue (Act III, scene ii, 927-975), which comes after she has been convinced of Phaon's faithlessness, a new conflict arises between pride and thwarted love. This time there is no single climax. Feelings of disappointed love alternate with the consciousness of personal pride in such a way that there is a continual course of rising and falling action, a rapid succession of emotional ups and downs. As soon as Sappho recovers from the first shock of her discovery that Phaon is in love with Melitta she feels the acute pain of loss. She asks herself whether it is possible that Sappho is scorned for a slave girl. When she mentions the word “verschmäht” (933) she is stung by its meaning, and her mood immediately changes from pain to violent anger. In a burst of pride she reminds herself of her superiority over Phaon and Melitta, of her poetic genius and her fame. Glorifying herself and her achievements she works herself up to a peak of exultation (939 f.). Then the emotional reaction comes and she bitterly regrets that she ever left her high station (941 ff.). She rationalizes that she has been mistaken in trying to unite art and life. But even when she is expressing forced acceptance of her fate she realizes that she can no longer be content with art alone. There is distinct longing in the words which begin,

Mag auch das Leben noch so lieblich blinken,
Mit holden Schmeichellauten zu dir tönen …

(958 f.)

In a moment a third and final shift in mood takes place. Still longing for love, she becomes jealous of Melitta. At the same time pride makes her half-incredulous of the slave girl's charms. Jealousy and curiosity lead her to send for Melitta. The monologue thus ends with a mood which combines elements of both conflicting forces. In this example of monodrama there is a series of climaxes instead of just one, and there is no clear-cut settlement of the conflict. Dramatic life, however, continues through the whole course of the monologue.

In the monologue at the beginning of Act IV (1189-1243) Sappho carries on a dramatic struggle against emotions which threaten to engulf her. Twice emotion rises to a climax. The first time resistance is partially effective, but the force of anger persists and when the second climax is reached Sappho is swept on to action.

The initial portion of the monologue is a lyric passage in which Sappho expresses her great suffering and the longing for the peace and forgetfulness of death (1189-1205). The thought of waking reminds her of the tortures to which she will have to awake. The memory of Phaon's ingratitude arouses her to full awareness of what has happened (1206). Dull pain now gives way to anger. As she describes the crime of ingratitude her anger rises in a crescendo until she becomes almost hysterical. The height of emotion and the first climax of the monologue are reached when she says of ingratitude:

Er lügt, er raubt, betrügt, schwört falsche Eide,
Verrät und tötet! Undank! Undank! Undank!

(1217 f.)

This extreme of emotion frightens Sappho so that she appeals to the gods to protect her from the demons within (1219 ff.). In the relative calm which follows her prayer she recalls to herself the glorious life she had planned for Phaon. Constantly enlarging the list of favors which she wished to bestow on him, she gradually works herself up to a new crest of emotion. The new climax comes with the impassioned outcry:

Und er—lebt ihr denn noch, gerechte Götter?

(1232)

This time there is no resistance against passion, and immediately after this line Sappho hits upon her plan for revenge. She now sees the way clear for the gratification of her anger and no longer feels any inhibiting force. The conflict is decided, and the last ten lines of the monologue are filled with the mood of exhilaration.

Of the three monologues so far discussed this last is clearly the strongest and most closely-wrought monodrama. It portrays in highly dramatic form the fluctuations of mood from deepest despair and resignation to resentment and anger, then from fear through regret to rage and finally to exultation.

In the trilogy Das goldene Vliess there are three monologues which could be called monodramas. One occurs in Die Argonauien, two in Medea. The two in Medea, as will be pointed out later, may be regarded as parts of one longer monodrama.

The dramatic power of Medea's monologue in Act I of Die Argonauien (379-420) lies in the conflict between fear and anxiety on the one hand and duty on the other. Medea enters the gloomy tower room to call upon the gods to help her people against the invading Greeks. At first the mere sense impressions which she receives from the dismal room—sultriness, dampness, darkness—induce a vague feeling of uneasiness. Then a sound startles her and raises anxiety to irrational fear (382 f.). She is able, however, to calm her emotion by reminding herself of the importance of her task. She succeeds in concentrating on the conjuration ritual, but when she completes the wild prayer and receives no response her fear returns, stronger than before. In a moment it displaces all other feelings, and her final impassioned plea to the gods springs from terror rather than from any wish to help her country. The monodrama is thus made up of a brief development to a crest of fear, then descending relative calm, followed by a long passage of intense concentration, and finally an abrupt upward swerve of irresistible terror.

In Act IV of Medea occur two monologues (2065-2117; 2125-2152) which are highly important in leading up to Medea's final act, the murder of the children. From the standpoint of dramatic structure these two monologues are in fact two divisions of one long monodrama. The interruption (2118-2124) just at the climax, which breaks the monodrama into two parts, is very brief and serves to heighten the tense dramatic effect of the whole.

The monologue begins with a lyric passage devoted to a description of the night and to a comparison of the uniformity of nature with the instability of man and his fate. Medea then imagines herself listening to the story of her life told by another. She sees herself interrupting the narrative, incredulous that the same person who led the carefree life in Colchis could be capable of her later horrible deeds. Visualizing her youth and describing it as through the eyes of an objective observer, she is carried emotionally upward to a climax of joy. The passage takes on some appearance of dialogue, first by the interjection of questions such as: “Wo geht sie hin?” (2081) and “Was sucht sie Waldespfade?” (2084), and later by the direct address of Medea to her brother and father (2092 ff.).

As she becomes more and more moved by the picture she is painting, Medea drops the rôle of narrator and greets the figures which appear so vividly in her imagination. But just as she reaches the height of pleasure in contemplating her family, a single word shatters the whole illusion. The moment she hears herself say, “gute Tochter!” she sees the irony of the adjective and adds, “Gut? Ha gut!” (2098).

And now after the calm which came with enjoyment of the idyllic scene she has pictured, Medea gives way to a burst of fury. A new train of thought is introduced by her violent exclamation,

's ist Lüge! Sie wird dich verraten, Greis!

(2099)

She is then whirled along to a new climax, this time a climax of wild fear and desperation (2117). There is a striking contrast between this passage (2099-2117) and the one preceding (2073-2098). The idyllic passage is in fairly regular blank verse, the form of speech used by the Medea who has tried to adapt herself to civilized Greek ways. But in the later passage, in the heat of violent emotion, she reverts to the wild irregularity of Colchean speech, so that form and content are in agreement. In the first passage mounting calm and peace blot out all thoughts of present despair, and the development is all toward a mood of happy contemplation. The second passage begins with a wild outcry and heaps up horror upon horror of her terrifying life. When she repeats her father's curse and describes its fulfillment her tortured imagination conjures up the figure of Aietes, her father. He seems to be advancing toward her. She can stand no more and in a frenzy of fear flees to the children. This is the climax of emotion and of the monodrama.

After a brief dialogue between Medea and the boy the monologue continues, and this latter half (or second monologue) forms the descending action of the monodrama. As soon as the children leave, Medea returns to thoughts of her predicament and the barren future ahead of her. Bitter hatred of Jason and the Greeks urges her on to the murder of the children and completion of revenge (2127 ff.). Gentler feelings still persist (2141 ff.) and struggle against the “Mordgedanken,” thus injecting an element of suspense. Medea hesitates before the deed, but she is driven on by force of circumstances. When she hears the outcry and sees flames rising from the palace she knows it is too late to turn back and so hurries to finish her murderous work.

This monologue not only occupies a key position in the play but is itself a real monodrama containing lyric, epic, and dramatic elements. Almost the whole action of the trilogy passes in review in the brief space of the monodrama. Moreover, Medea's character is here portrayed in practically all its phases. We see her as the thoughtful observer of nature and life, as the carefree young girl, as loving sister and devoted daughter. We see her in the wild fury which is the other side of her nature. We see her tenderness, her suffering, her love, her jealousy, and her hatred. We see her energetic activity and feel her inner conflict. Here, as in the monologues in Sappho, the motivation is dependent upon rapid shifts of mood and feeling.

Of the several examples of monodrama in Des Meeres und der Leibe Wellen Hero's monologue in Act III (1003-1060) is the finest and most interesting. The conflict around which this monologue centers is neither as intense nor as stubborn as that experienced by Medea just before she kills her children. The most important function of Hero's monologue is the portrayal of the development of a mood. It is full of fine nuances of feeling and the subtle responses of a sensitive nature to rapidly shifting external and internal stimuli.

In the first ten lines we see the conflict between the asceticism to which Hero has pledged herself and her awakening love. The contradiction, however, causes no emotional upheaval. In the calm self-assurance which is one of her basic traits she thinks to lay aside love as she does her cloak (1020). Nevertheless passion, although it is below the level of consciousness, continues as the motivating force behind all that she says, does, and feels. It is responsible for her restlessness and loneliness. It expresses itself in the maternal tenderness with which she compares the waves with softly whispering children (1027 f.) and in the imagined dialogue between mother and child (1041 f.). Scarcely any disguise of real motive remains when she places the lamp in the window to cheer the wanderer and to gleam across to the opposite shore (1031 ff.). Indeed, the direction of her feeling is so clear at this point that immediately after the reference to the opposite shore Hero becomes aware of what she has been saying. She tries again to extinguish the flame within her (1039 f.), but it only burns more brightly. She does for the moment banish concrete thought of Leander, but the dominant emotion is unchanged. When she finds herself softly singing the voluptuous song about Leda and the swan, she wonders why it so often comes to mind (1045). Her very words, however, about gods no longer climbing to desolate towers and about her own loneliness (1046 ff.) point to the undercurrent of passionate longing. As her restlessness increases Hero wishes that she could play the lyre which she finds in the room, for in music she might find relief from her confused thoughts and feelings (1049 ff.). A moment later comes conscious recognition that she cannot subdue thoughts of Leander, and she finally surrenders to her feelings (1054 ff.).

Through successive shifts of feeling in the monologue there is a progressive development of the central emotion. The partial suppression at the beginning makes love seek other than conscious outlets. Discursiveness and confusion are the result, with passion moving in first one direction, then another. When it threatens to reach consciousness Hero once more tries to suppress it. But when all the pent-up force of emotion at last breaks through the thin veneer of habitual morality, it brings with it clarification and a new integration of thought (1055 ff.).

The dramatic unity of the monodrama is due to the steady persistence of the one emotion from beginning to end. Animation is achieved not only by the volatility of feeling expressed in words, but by physical activity as well: the laying aside of the cloak, the frequent significant maneuvering of the lamp, the removal of the ornament from her hair, and various changes of position. At several points the illusion of dialogue is created by questions which Hero asks herself and then answers. It is even more dramatically effective when she personifies inanimate objects and talks to them as to intimate friends, as she does with the cloak and the lamp. This is all motivated by her loneliness and longing for human companionship, which reaches its peak in the imagined conversation between mother and child.

In Act IV at another critical point in the drama a monologue by Hero has all the characteristics of monodrama (1772-1815). This is spoken just after she has lighted the lamp which is to guide Leander across the Hellespont. The conflict at the heart of the monologue is the struggle which Hero's will to stay awake wages against fatigue and drowsiness. Even in the opening lines she shows that she is mentally as well as physically weary, for she has already forgotten why the priest wanted her to bring the letter (1772 f.). Her mood of tender, amorous longing finds expression in the lyric passage in which she addresses her lamp (1774 ff.). In her weariness and anticipation of Leander's visit she is still aware, but not intensely aware, of the dangers which lie ahead. She speaks of her intention of watching over the light so that the wind may not extinguish it. She refers also to the oppressive air in the tower, which threatens to put her to sleep, and adds:

Das aber soll nicht sein, es gilt zu wachen.

(1784)

Fatigue and drowsiness, however, have so dulled Hero's powers of reasoning that she can see no connection between Leander's expected visit and the fact that her uncle has driven her to the point of exhaustion (1785 ff.). Even in her attempt to understand her uncle's motives her speech becomes incoherent and she all but falls asleep (1788 f.). When a moment later she is startled into wakefulness by the sound of the wind, her first thought is not that the lamp may be blown out but that Leander will perhaps come earlier because of the rising wind (1791 f.). Then she scolds herself and once more resumes her vigil.

When definite fear takes shape in her mind that the priest and his servants are suspicious and lying in wait for her lover, Hero is shocked momentarily by the thought of the possible consequences (1797 f.). This is the climax of the monologue. Almost at once, however, the blind optimism of the lover calms her fears. She expresses confidence in her ability to protect Leander from danger (1801 ff.), but even as she speaks fatigue is overpowering her. The unequal conflict is already decided.

In the final section of the monologue (1807-1815) there has ceased to be even a faint struggle against hostile forces. Hero no longer regards the wind as a dangerous threat to her happiness. Instead she welcomes it (1807 f.). The pleasurable anticipation of the expectant lover merges with physical and mental languor. In this transition between waking and sleeping Hero is susceptible to sensation but incapable of active thought. In a feeling of voluptuous exhilaration she gives herself up to the sensuous enjoyment of the cool breeze and finally falls asleep.

Here, as in the monologue in Act III, purposive forces lack vigor and clarity. They can offer but slight resistance to the power of fatigue, just as in Act III they were ineffective against the surge of emotion. But although the conflict is only the unequal battle against sleep, dramatic suspense is not lacking in the monologue. The alternation of drowsiness and vigilance keeps the outcome in doubt for a time. This suspense reaches its crest with the exclamation, “Mitleidsvolle Götter!” (1797). At this point it still seems possible that fear will dispel all threat of sleep and rouse Hero to aggressive action. But instead there follow only false optimism and gradual forgetfulness of danger.

This monologue, as well as that of Act III, is enlivened by actions and gestures which express changing sensations. Hero sits down when she notices her fatigue, rests her head in her hand when she tries to organize her confused thoughts. She springs to her feet when startled by the sound of the wind. As she gives in to sleep she pulls first one, then the other foot onto the bench. Here, as in the earlier monologue, personifications, this time of the lamp and the wind, add animation and again show Hero's longing for affection.

The priest, Hero's uncle, has three monologues in the drama, but although two of them contain dramatic elements (that beginning with 1352 and that beginning with 1751) the only one which could be called a monodrama is spoken in Act IV (1751 ff.), just after Hero has been sent to the tower to get the letter. Here the dramatic conflict experienced by the priest is between rational thought and emotional inclination, between the conviction that Hero is guilty and affection which would declare her innocent. As he watches her walk away his fondness for the girl who has been as a daughter to him crowds out thoughts of duty. He feels that he must warn her of the misfortune which is ahead (1753 f.). Quickly, however, it occurs to him that Hero's self-assurance and composure are evidence of her guilt (1755). He suppresses his impulse to treat her gently and tells himself that hesitation on his part will lead to the girl's complete ruin (1756 ff.).

But again doubts arise and the priest attempts to excuse Hero by suggesting to himself that she is not necessarily guilty, even if Leander has made bold advances (1761 ff.). At the climax of this apology, however, just as he is doubting that she will go so far as to aid the intruder, the lighted lamp appears in Hero's tower window. Immediately the tension snaps; the dramatic conflict is resolved. The priest cannot resist this final evidence of Hero's complete connivance, and duty and reason now gain undisputed control of his conduct. The last two lines of the monologue, which constitute a brief descending action, show the priest as the relentless judge about to inflict punishment.

We have seen that the various monologues dealt with above vary widely as to length and structure, but that all of them have the characteristics of true monodrama. Monologues of this type appear in some other dramas of Grillparzer,⁵ but except in Die Ahnfrau, which contains a number of excellent examples, they are of rare occurrence and, as monodramas, not on a par with those in the Hellenic dramas.

We have noted that each of the monologues studied centers around a conflict of emotions or a conflict induced by emotion, and in each case the termination of the conflict either leads directly to or prepares the way for a major event in the larger drama. These peculiarly compact and unified miniature dramas demonstrate nicely the type of motivation which is fundamental with Grillparzer. His characters invariably act in response to feeling and impulse rather than on the basis of reasoned thought. Fluctuations of mood and shifts of feeling are the determining forces in the monologues as in the dramas as a whole. Kleist, as well as Grillparzer, had this highly developed skill in portraying the finest shadings of sensations and states of mind.⁶ And in the work of both dramatists this romantic motivation is a basic characteristic.

Notes

1. In Das literorische Echo, II, 15, p. 1034 ff.

2. Ibid., p. 1038.

3. A fourth, by Phaon, at the beginning of Act II (456-513), although it contains dramatic elements, is essentially expository and therefore will not be included here.

4. Line references are to the Historisch-kritische Gesamtausgabe, Wien: Schroll, 1909 f.

5. Die Ahnfrau, II, 753 ff., 1504 ff., IV, 2598 ff., V, 2914 ff., 3184 ff.; Ein treuer Diener seines Herrn, II, 772 ff.; Weh dem, der lügt! III, 1111 ff., V, 1564 ff. (Stefan Hock edition); Libussa, III, 1006 ff.; Ein Bruderzwist im Hause Habsburg, V, 2597 ff.

6. For a detailed treatment of this and related problems see Martin Schütze: “Studies in the Mind of Romanticism,” Modern Philology, XVI, No. 6, XVI, No. 10, XVII, No. 2.