There are not enough events here to make a story, and the mere statement of them awakens little interest. But Browning writes a monologue upon this slender theme which is so short that it can be printed here entire.
All's over, then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes? Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter About your cottage eaves!
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that, to-day; One day more bursts them open fully: You know the red turns gray.
To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we,--well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign:
For each glance of the eye so bright and black, Tho' I keep with heart's endeavor,-- Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Tho' it stay in my soul for ever!--
Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer!
Here we have as speaker a distinct type of man, and the precise moment is chosen when he is bidding good-bye. Attention is focussed upon him for a single moment during a single speech. Observe the naturalness of the reference to insignificant objects in stanzas one and two. In the hour of bitterest experience, every one remembers some leaf or tree or spot of sunshine that seems burnt into the mind forever. Note the speaker's hesitation, and how in the struggle for self-control he makes seemingly careless remarks. How true to human nature! Here we have presented an instant in the life of a soul; a trying moment, when, if ever, weakness will be shown; when refuge is taken in little things to stem the tide of feeling, as the man gives up the supreme hope of his life. This is dramatic, and the disclosure of character is unconscious, spontaneous, involuntary.
Again, take as an illustration a longer monologue.
A certain young duke has been taken away by his mother to foreign parts and there educated, and has come back proud and conventional. He must marry; and a beautiful woman, chosen from a convent, is elevated to his exalted sphere. But, regarded as a mere flower cut from the woods and brought to adorn his room, she is not allowed to exercise any influence over her supposed home. Desiring to revive the medieval customs, the Duke arranges a ceremonious hunt, with costumes of the period, and the Duchess is given the part of presiding at the killing of the victim. This part she refuses. As the angry Duke rides away to the hunt, he meets an old gypsy, and, to punish the Duchess, instructs this old crone to give his wife a fright, promising her money for the service. When the Duke returns, Duchess and gypsy have fled.