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

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. The story of Joseph, the march in the wilderness, the history of David, are full of it.
There are not only dramatic dialogue and movement, but dramatic monologue and episode. For illustration, we might refer to Hagar in the wilderness. Her tragic loneliness