Part 1

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ELEMENTS

OF

CRITICISM.

VOLUME III.

EDINBURGH:

Printed for A. MILLAR, London; AND A. KINCAID & J. BELL, Edinburgh. MDCCLXII.

ELEMENTS

OF

CRITICISM.

CHAP. XIX.

COMPARISONS.

Comparisons, as observed above[1]; serve two different purposes: When addressed to the understanding, their purpose is to instruct; when to the heart, their purpose is to give pleasure. With respect to the latter, a comparison may be employ’d to produce various pleasures by different means. First, by suggesting some unusual resemblance or contrast: second, by setting an object in the strongest light: third, by associating an object with others that are agreeable: fourth, by elevating an object: and, fifth, by depressing it. And that comparisons may produce various pleasures by these different means, appears from what is said in the chapter above cited; and will be made still more evident by examples, which shall be given after premising some general observations.

An object of one sense cannot be compared to an object of another; for such objects are totally separated from each other, and have no circumstance in common to admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects of hearing may be compared, as also of taste, and of touch. But the chief fund of comparison are objects of sight; because, in writing or speaking, things can only be compared in idea, and the ideas of visible objects are by far more lively than those of any other sense.

It has no good effect to compare things by way of simile that are of the same kind, nor to contrast things of different kinds. The reason is given in the chapter cited above; and the reason shall be illustrated by examples. The first is a resemblance instituted betwixt two objects so nearly related as to make little or no impression.

This just rebuke inflam’d the Lycian crew, They join, they thicken, and th’ assault renew; Unmov’d th’ embody’d Greeks their fury dare, And fix’d support the weight of all the war; Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian pow’rs, Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian tow’rs. As on the confines of adjoining grounds, Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds; They tugg, they sweat; but neither gain, nor yield, One foot, one inch, of the contended field: Thus obstinate to death, they fight, they fall; Nor these can keep, nor those can win the wall. _Iliad_, xii. 505.

Another from Milton labours under the same defect. Speaking of the fallen angels searching for mines of gold:

A numerous brigade hasten’d: as when bands Of pioneers with spade and pick-ax arm’d Forerun the royal camp to trench a field Or cast a rampart.

The next shall be of things contrasted that are of different kinds.

_Queen._ What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform’d and weak? Hath Bolingbroke depos’d Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o’erpower’d: and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility? _Richard II. act 5. sc. 1._

This comparison has scarce any force. A man and a lion are of different species; and there is no such resemblance betwixt them in general, as to produce any strong effect by contrasting particular attributes or circumstances.

A third general observation is, That abstract terms can never be the subject of comparison, otherwise than by being personified. Shakespear compares adversity to a toad, and slander to the bite of a crocodile; but in such comparisons these abstract terms must be imagined sensible beings.

* * * * *

I now proceed to illustrate by particular instances the different means by which comparison can afford pleasure; and, in the order above established, I shall begin with those instances that are agreeable by suggesting some unusual resemblance or contrast:

Sweet are the uses of Adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in her head. _As you like it, act 2, sc. 1._

_Gardiner._ Bolingbroke hath seiz’d the wasteful King. What pity is’t that he had not so trimm’d And dress’d his land, as we this garden dress, And wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; Left, being over proud with sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself. Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have liv’d to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down. _Richard II. act 3. sc. 7._

See, how the Morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun; How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trim’d like a yonker prancing to his love. _Second Part Henry VI. act 2. sc. 1._

_Brutus_. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire; Who, much inforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. _Julius Cæsar, act 4. sc. 3._

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief: As when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds, Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, o’erspread Heav’n’s chearful face, the lowring element Scowls o’er the darken’d landscape, snow, and shower; If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet Extend his ev’ning-beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. _Paradise Lost, book 2._

The last exertion of courage compared to the blaze of a lamp before extinguishing, _Tasso Gierusalem_, _canto_ 19. _st._ 22.

As the bright stars, and milky way, Shew’d by the night, are hid by day: So we in that accomplish’d mind, Help’d by the night, new graces find, Which, by the splendor of her view Dazzled before, we never knew. _Waller._

None of the foregoing similes, as it appears to me, have the effect to add any lustre to the principal subject; and therefore the pleasure they afford, must arise from suggesting resemblances that are not obvious: I mean the chief pleasure; for undoubtedly a beautiful subject introduced to form the simile affords a separate pleasure, which is felt in the similes mentioned, particularly in that cited from Milton.

The next effect of a comparison in the order mentioned, is to place an object in a strong point of view; which I think is done sensibly in the following similes.

As when two scales are charg’d with doubtful loads, From side to side the trembling balance nods, (While some laborious matron, just and poor, With nice exactness weighs her woolly store), Till pois’d aloft, the resting beam suspends Each equal weight; nor this nor that descends: So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might, With fates prevailing, turn’d the scale of fight. Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies, And fires his host with loud repeated cries. _Iliad, b._ xii. 52

Ut flos in septis secretis nascitur hortis, Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro, Quem mulcent auræ, firmat sol, educat imber, Multi illum pueri, multæ cupiere puellæ. Idem, cum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, Nulli illum pueri, nullæ cupiere puellæ. Sic virgo, dum intacta manet, dum cara suis; sed Cum castum amisit, polluto corpore, florem, Nec pueris jucunda manet, nec cara puellis. _Catullus._

The imitation of this beautiful simile by _Ariosto, canto 1. st. 42_. falls short of the original. It is also in part imitated by Pope[2].

_Lucetta_. I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, But qualify the fires extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

_Julia_. The more thou damm’st it up, the more it burns: The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know’st, being stopp’d, impatiently doth rage; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with th’ enamel’d stones Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport, to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course; I’ll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I’ll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 2. sc. 10._

She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought; And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at Grief. _Twelfth-Night, act 2. sc. 6._

_York._ Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem’d to know, With slow but stately pace, kept on his course: While all tongues cry’d, God save thee, Bolingbroke.

_Duchess._ Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?

_York._ As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac’d actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cry’d, God save him! No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience; That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel’d The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted; And barbarism itself have pitied him.

_Richard_ II. _act 5. sc. 3._

_Northumberland._ How doth my son and brother? Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so wo-be-gone, Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn’d; But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue: And I my Percy’s death, ere thou report’st it. _Second Part Henry_ IV. _act 1. sc. 3._

Why, then I do but dream on sov’reignty, Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he’ll lave it dry to have his way: So do I wish, the crown being so far off, And so I chide the means that keep me from it, And so (I say) I’ll cut the causes off, Flatt’ring my mind with things impossible. _Third Part Henry_ VI. _act 3. sc. 3._

---- Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. _Macbeth, act 5. sc. 5._

O thou Goddess, Thou divine Nature! how thyself thou blazon’st In these two princely boys! they are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, (Their royal blood inchas’d) as the rud’st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain-pine, And make him stoop to th’ vale. _Cymbeline, act 4. sc. 4._

The sight obtained of the city of Jerusalem by the Christian army, compared to that of land discovered after a long voyage, Tasso’s _Gierusalem, canto 3. st. 4._ The fury of Rinaldo subsiding when not opposed, to that of wind or water when it has a free passage, _canto 20. st. 58._

As words convey but a faint and obscure notion of great numbers, a poet, to give a high notion of the object he describes with regard to number, does well to compare it to what is familiar and commonly known. Thus Homer[3] compares the Grecian army in point of number to a swarm of bees. In another passage[4] he compares it to that profusion of leaves and flowers which appear in the spring, or of insects in a summer’s evening. And Milton,

---- As when the potent rod Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day Wav’d round the coast, up call’d a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung Like night, and darken’d all the land of Nile: So numberless were those bad angels seen, Hovering on wing under the cope of hell, ’Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires. _Paradise Lost, book 1._

Such comparisons have, by some writers[5], been condemned for the lowness of the images introduced: but surely without reason; for, with regard to numbers, they put the principal subject in a strong light.

* * * * *

The foregoing comparisons operate by resemblance; others have the same effect by contrast:

_York._ I am the last of Noble Edward’s sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war, was never lion rag’d more fierce; In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild; Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast; for even so look’d he, Accomplish’d with the number of thy hours. But when he frown’d, it was against the French, And not against his friends. His noble hand Did win what he did spend; and spent not that Which his triumphant father’s hand had won. His hands were guilty of no kindred’s blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. Oh, Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. _Richard_ II. _act 2. sc. 3._

Milton has a peculiar talent in embellishing the principal subject by associating it with others that are agreeable, which is the third end of a comparison. Similes of this kind have, beside, a separate effect: they diversify the narration by new images that are not strictly necessary to the comparison: they are short episodes, which, without distracting us from the principal subject, afford great delight by their beauty and variety:

He scarce had ceas’d, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore; his pond’rous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At ev’ning from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. _Milton, b. 1._

---- Thus far these, beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ’d Their dread commander. He, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tow’r; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear’d Less than arch-angel ruin’d, and th’ excess Of glory obscur’d: as when the sun new-risen Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. _Milton, b. 1._

As when a vulture on Imaus bred, Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, Dislodging from a region scarce of prey To gorge the flesh of lambs, or yeanling kids, On hills where flocks are fed, flies toward the springs Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams, But in his way lights on the barren plains Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With sails and wind their cany waggons light: So on this windy sea of land, the fiend Walk’d up and down alone, bent on his prey. _Milton, b. 3._

---- Yet higher than their tops The verdurous wall of Paradise up sprung: Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into this nether empire neighbouring round. And higher than that wall, a circling row Of goodliest trees loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, Appear’d, with gay enamel’d colours mix’d, On which the sun more glad impress’d his beams Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, When God hath show’r’d the earth; so lovely seem’d That landscape: and of pure now purer air Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair: now gentle gales Fanning their odoriferous wings dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea North-east winds blow Sabean odour from the spicy shore Of Arabie the Blest; with such delay Well pleas’d they slack their course, and many a league, Chear’d with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. _Milton, b. 4._

With regard to similes of this kind, it will readily occur to the reader, that when the resembling subject or circumstance is once properly introduced in a simile, the mind passes easily to the new objects, and is transitorily amused with them, without feeling any disgust at the slight interruption. Thus, in fine weather, the momentary excursions of a traveller for agreeable prospects or sumptuous buildings, chear his mind, relieve him from the langour of uniformity, and without much lengthening his journey in reality, shorten it greatly in appearance.

* * * * *

Next of comparisons that aggrandize or elevate. These make stronger impressions than any other sort; the reason of which may be gathered from the chapter of grandeur and sublimity, and, without reasoning, will be evident from the following instances.

As when a flame the winding valley fills, And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills, Then o’er the stubble up the mountain flies, Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies, This way and that, the spreading torrent roars; So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores. Around him wide, immense destruction pours, And earth is delug’d with the sanguine show’rs. _Iliad_ xx. 569.

Through blood, through death, Achilles still proceeds, O’er slaughter’d heroes, and o’er rolling steeds. As when avenging flames with fury driv’n On guilty towns exert the wrath of Heav’n, The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly, And the red vapours purple all the sky. So rag’d Achilles: Death, and dire dismay, And toils, and terrors, fill’d the dreadful day. _Iliad_ xxi. 605.

Methinks, King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thund’ring shock, At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. _Richard_ II. _act. 3. sc. 5_.

I beg peculiar attention to the following simile, for a reason that shall be mentioned.

Thus breathing death, in terrible array, The close-compacted legions urg’d their way: Fierce they drove on, impatient to destroy; Troy charg’d the first, and Hector first of Troy. As from some mountain’s craggy forehead torn, A rock’s round fragment flies with fury born, (Which from the stubborn stone a torrent rends) Precipitate the pond’rous mass descends: From steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds: At every shock the crackling wood resounds; Still gath’ring force, it smoaks; and urg’d amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain: There stops--So Hector. Their whole force he prov’d, Resistless when he rag’d; and when he stopt, unmov’d. _Iliad_ xiii. 187.

The image of a falling rock is certainly not elevating[6]. Yet undoubtedly the foregoing image fires and swells the mind. It is grand therefore, if not sublime. And that there is a real, though delicate distinction, betwixt these two feelings, will be illustrated from the following simile.

So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield Such ruin intercept. Ten paces huge He back recoil’d; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstaid; as if on earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong had push’d a mountain from his seat Half sunk with all pines. _Milton, b. 6._

A comparison by contrast may contribute to grandeur or elevation, not less than by resemblance; of which the following comparison of Lucan is a remarkable instance.

Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa Catoni.

Considering that the Heathen deities possessed a rank but one degree above that of mankind, I think it scarce possible, by a single expression, to elevate or dignify more one of the human species, than is done by this comparison. I am sensible, at the same time, that such a comparison among Christians, who entertain juster notions of the Deity, would justly be reckoned extravagant and absurd.

* * * * *

The last article mentioned, is that of lessening or depressing a hated or disagreeable object; which is effectually done by resembling it to any thing that is low or despicable. Thus Milton, in his description of the rout of the rebel-angels, happily expresses their terror and dismay in the following simile.

---- As a herd Of goats or timorous flock together throng’d Drove them before him thunder-struck, pursu’d With terrors and with furies to the bounds And crystal wall of heav’n, which op’ning wide, Rowl’d inward, and a spacious gap disclos’d Into the wasteful deep; the monstrous sight Strook them with horror backward, but far worse Urg’d them behind; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of heav’n. _Milton, b. 6._

In the same view, Homer, I think, may be defended, in comparing the shouts of the Trojans in battle, to the noise of cranes[7], and to the bleating of a flock of sheep[8]: and it is no objection, that these are low images; for by opposing the noisy march of the Trojans to the silent and manly march of the Greeks, he certainly intended to lessen the former. Addison[9], imagining the figure that men make in the sight of a superior being, takes opportunity to mortify their pride by comparing them to a swarm of pismires.

A comparison that has none of the good effects mentioned in this discourse, but is built upon common and trifling circumstances, makes a mighty silly figure: “Non sum nescius, grandia consilia a multis plerumque causis, ceu magna navigia a plurimis remis, impelli[10].”