Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 4, no. 22, August 1859 | Page 3

drama be dialogistic, we find the Bible formed on
the same model. If the writers of the former disappear under the
personages of their fancy, the writers of the latter disappear under the
personages of fact. As in the one, so in the other, strangers are
introduced to tell their own story, each in his own way.
In the commencement of the Bible, after a brief prologue, the curtain
rises, and we, as spectators, look in upon a process of interlocution. The
scene is the green, sunny garden of Eden, that to which the memory of
humanity reverts as to its dim golden age, and which ever expresses the
bright dream of our youth, ere the rigor of misfortune or the dulness of
experience has spoilt it. The dramatis personae are three individuals,
Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. There are the mysterious tree, with its
wonderful fruit,--the beautiful, but inquisitive woman,--the thoughtful,

but too compliant man,--and the insinuating reptile. One speaks, the
other rejoins, and the third fills up the chasm of interest. The plot
thickens, the passions are displayed, and the tragedy hastens to its end.
Then is heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the cool (the wind)
of the garden, the impersonal presence of Jehovah is, as it were, felt in
the passing breeze, and a shadow falls upon the earth,--but such a
shadow as their own patient toil may dissipate, and beyond the confines
of which their hope, which has now taken the place of enjoyment, is
permitted ever to look.
Without delaying on the moral of this passage, what we would remark
upon is the clearness and freedom of the dialogue,--a feature which we
find pervading the whole of the sacred writings.
In the account of Cain, which immediately succeeds, the narrative is
inelaborate, casual, secondary; the dialogue is simple and touching. The
agony of the fratricide and his remorse are better expressed by his own
lips than could be done by any skill of the historian.
In the deception which Abraham put upon the Egyptians, touching his
wife,--which it is no part of our present object to justify or to
condemn,--what a stroke of pathos, what a depth of conjugal sentiment,
is exhibited! "Thou art a fair woman to look upon, and the Egyptians,
when they see thee, will kill me and save thee alive. _Say, I pray thee,
thou art my sister; that it may be well with me for thy sake, and my
soul shall live because of thee_."
Viola appears very interesting and very innocent, when, in boy's clothes,
she wanders about in pursuit of a lover. Is not Sarah equally interesting
and equally innocent, when, under cover of an assumed name, and that
a sister's, she would preserve the love of one who has worthily won it?
Will it be said that the dialogue of the Bible lacks the charm of
poetry?--that its action and sentiment, its love and its sorrow, are not
heightened by those efforts of the fancy which delight us in dramatic
authors?--that its simplicity is bald, and its naturalness rough?--that its
excessive familiarity repels taste and disturbs culture? If we may trust
Wordsworth, simplicity is not inconsistent with the pleasures of the
imagination. The style of the Bible is not redundant,--there is little
extravagance in it, and it has no trickery of words. Yet this does not
prevent its being deep in sentiment, brilliant with intrinsic thought or
powerful effect.

In the "Two Gentlemen of Verona," Valentine thus utters himself
touching his betrothed:--
"What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Sylvia be
not by? Except I see my Sylvia in the night, There is no music in the
nightingale. Unless I look on Sylvia in the day, There is no day for me
to look upon. She is my essence; and I cease to be, If I be not by her
fair influence Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive."
Compare with this the language of Abraham. "Thou art fair, my wife.
Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister; that it may be well with me for thy
sake, and my soul shall live because of thee." The first is an instance of
poetic amplification and _abandon_; we should contend, for the last,
that it expresses poetic tenderness and delicacy. In the one case, passion
is diffuse,--in the other, concentrated. Which is the more natural, others
must judge.
"Euthanasy," "Theron and Aspasio," the "Phaedon" of Plato are
dialogues, but they are not dramatic. It may be, that, for a composition
to claim this distinction, it must embody great character or deep
feeling,--that it must express not only the individuality, but the strength
of the passions.
Observing this criticism, we think we may find any quantity of
dramatic dialogue in Scripture.