Part 2

By this time I imagine the different purposes of comparison, and the various impressions it makes on the mind, are sufficiently illustrated by proper examples. This was an easy work. It is more difficult to lay down rules about the propriety or impropriety of comparisons; in what circumstances they may be introduced, and in what circumstances they are out of place. It is evident, that a comparison is not proper upon every occasion; a man in his cool and sedate moments, is not disposed to poetical flights, nor to sacrifice truth and reality to the delusive operations of the imagination; far less is he so disposed, when oppressed with cares, or interested in some important transaction that occupies him totally. The region of comparison and of all figurative expression, lies betwixt these two extremes. It is observable, that a man, when elevated or animated by any passion, is disposed to elevate or animate all his objects: he avoids familiar names, exalts objects by circumlocution and metaphor, and gives even life and voluntary action to inanimate beings. In this warmth of mind, the highest poetical flights are indulged, and the boldest similes and metaphors relished[11]. But without soaring so high, the mind is frequently in a tone to relish chaste and moderate ornament; such as comparisons that set the principal object in a strong point of view, or that embellish and diversify the narration. In general, when by any animating passion, whether pleasant or painful, an impulse is given to the imagination; we are in that condition wonderfully disposed to every sort of figurative expression, and in particular to comparisons. This in a great measure is evident from the comparisons already mentioned; and shall be further illustrated by other examples. Love, for example, in its infancy, rousing the imagination, prompts the heart to display itself in figurative language, and in similes:

_Troilus._ Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India, there she lies, a pearl: Between our Ilium, and where she resides, Let it be call’d the wild and wandering flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. _Troilus and Cressida, act 1. sc. 1._

Again,

Come, gentle Night; come, loving black-brow’d Night! Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him, and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heav’n so fine, That all the world shall be in love with Night And pay no worship to the garish sun. _Romeo and Juliet, act 3. sc. 4._

The dread of a misfortune, however imminent, involving always some doubt and uncertainty, agitates the mind, and excites the imagination:

_Wolsey._---- Nay, then, farewell; I’ve touch’d the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting. I shall fall, Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. _Henry VIII. act 3. sc. 4._

But it will be a better illustration of the present head, to give examples where comparisons are improperly introduced. I have had already occasion to observe, that similes are not the language of a man in his ordinary state of mind, going about the common affairs of life. For that reason, the following speech of a gardiner to his servants, is extremely improper.

Go bind thou up yon dangling apricocks Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government. _Richard II. act 3. sc. 7._

The fertility of Shakespear’s vein betrays him frequently into this error. There is the same impropriety in another simile of his:

_Hero._ Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice; Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse Is all of her; say, that thou overheard’st us: And bid her steal into the pleached bower, Where honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun, Forbid the sun to enter; like to favourites, Made proud by princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it. _Much ado about nothing, act 3. sc. 1._

Rooted grief, deep anguish, terror, remorse, despair, and all the severe dispiriting passions, are declared enemies, perhaps not to figurative language in general, but undoubtedly to the pomp and solemnity of comparison. Upon this account the simile pronounced by young Rutland under terror of death from an inveterate enemy, and praying mercy, is unnatural:

So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks insulting o’er his prey, And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat’ning look. _Third part Henry VI. act 1. sc. 5._

Nothing appears more out of place, or more aukwardly introduced, than the following simile.

_Lucia._--------Farewell, my Portius, Farewell, though death is in the word, _for-ever_!

_Portius._ Stay, Lucia, stay; what dost thou say, _for-ever_?

_Lucia._ Have I not sworn? If, Portius, thy success Must throw thy brother on his fate, farewell: Oh, how shall I repeat the word _for-ever_!

_Portius._ Thus, o’er the dying lamp th’ unsteady flame Hangs quivering on a point, leaps off by fits, And falls again, as loath to quit its hold. ---- Thou must not go, my soul still hovers o’er thee, And can’t get loose. _Cato, act 3. sc. 2._

Nor doth the simile which closes the first act of the same tragedy, make its appearance with a much better grace; the situation there represented, being too dispiriting for a simile. A simile is improper for one who dreads the discovery of a secret machination.

_Zara._ The mute not yet return’d! Ha! $1’the King, The King that parted hence! frowning he went; His eyes like meteors roll’d, then darted down Their red and angry beams; as if his sight Would, like the raging Dog-star, scorch the earth, And kindle ruin in its course. _Mourning Bride, act 5. sc. 3._

A man spent and dispirited after losing a battle, is not disposed to heighten or illustrate his discourse by similes:

_York._ With this we charg’d again; but out! alas, We bodg’d again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching waves. Ah! hark, the fatal followers do pursue. And I am faint and cannot fly their fury. The sands are number’d that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. _Third part Henry VI. act 1. sc. 6._

Far less is a man disposed to similes who is not only defeated in a pitch’d battle, but lies at the point of death mortally wounded.

_Warwick._-------- My mangled body shews, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shews, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the ax’s edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle; Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top-branch overpeer’d Jove’s spreading tree, And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind. _Third part Henry VI. act 5. sc. 3._

Queen Katharine, deserted by the King and in the deepest affliction upon her divorce, could not be disposed to any sallies of imagination: and for that reason, the following simile, however beautiful in the mouth of a spectator, is scarce proper in her own.

I am the most unhappy woman living, Shipwreck’d upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friends, no hope! no kindred weep for me! Almost no grave allowed me! like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish’d, I’ll hang my head and perish. _King Henry VIII. act 3. sc. 1._

Similes thus unseasonably introduced, are finely ridiculed in the _Rehearsal_:

_Bayes._ Now here she must make a simile.

_Smith._ Where’s the necessity of that, Mr Bayes?

_Bayes._ Because she’s surpris’d; that’s a general rule; you must ever make a simile when you are surprised; ’tis a new way of writing.

A comparison is not always faultless, even where it is properly introduced. I have endeavoured above to give a general view of the different ends to which a comparison may contribute. A comparison, like other human productions, may fall short of its end; and of this defect instances are not rare even among good writers. To complete the present subject, it will be necessary to make some observations upon such faulty comparisons. I begin with observing, that nothing can be more erroneous than to institute a comparison too faint: a distant resemblance or contrast, fatigues the mind with its obscurity instead of amusing it, and tends not to fulfil any one end of a comparison. The following similes seem to labour under this defect:

Albus ut obscuro deterget nubila cœlo Sæpe Notus, neque parturit imbres Perpetuos: sic tu sapiens finire memento Tristitiam vitæque labores Molli, Plance, mero. _Horace, Carm. l. 1. ode 7._

Medio dux agmine Turnus Vertitur arma tenens, et toto vertice supra est, Ceu septem surgens sedatis amnibus altus Per tacitum Ganges: aut pingui flumine Nilus Cum refluit campis, et jam se condidit alveo. _Æneid ix. 28._

Talibus orabat, talesque miserrima fletus Fertque refertque soror; sed nullus ille movetur Fletibus, aut voces ullas tractabilis audit. Fata obstant: placidasque viri Deus obstruit aures. Ac veluti annoso validam cum robore quercum Alpini Boreæ, nunc hinc, nunc flatibus illinc Eruere inter se certant; it stridor; et alte Consternunt terram concusso stipite frondes: Ipsa hæret scopulis: et quantum vertice ad auras Æthereas, tantum radice in tartara tendit. Haud secus assiduis hinc atque hinc vocibus heros Tunditur, et magno persentit pectore curas: Mens immota manet, lacrymæ volvuntur inanes. _Æneid iv. 437._

_K. Rich._ Give me the crown.--Here, cousin, seize the crown, Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owes two buckets, filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen and full of water; That bucket down, and full of tears, am I; Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. _Richard II. act 4. sc. 3._

_King John._ Oh! Cousin, thou art come to set mine eye; The tackle of my heart is crack’d and burnt; And all the shrowds wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered. _King John, act 5. sc. 10._

_York._ My uncles both are slain in rescuing me: And all my followers, to the eager foe Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind, Or lambs pursu’d by hunger-starved wolves. _Third Part Henry_ VI. _act 1. sc. 6_.

The latter of the two similes is good. The former, because of the faintness of the resemblance, produces no good effect, and crowds the narration with an useless image.

The next error I shall mention is a capital one. In an epic poem, or in any elevated subject, a writer ought to avoid raising a simile upon a low image, which never fails to bring down the principal subject. In general, it is a rule, that a grand object ought never to be resembled to one that is diminutive, however delicate the resemblance may be. It is the peculiar character of a grand object to fix the attention, and swell the mind: in this state, it is disagreeable to contract the mind to a minute object, however elegant. The resembling an object to one that is greater, has, on the contrary, a good effect, by raising or swelling the mind. One passes with satisfaction from a small to a great object; but cannot be drawn down, without reluctance, from great to small. Hence the following similes are faulty.

Meanwhile the troops beneath Patroculus’ care, Invade the Trojans, and commence the war. As wasps, provok’d by children in their play, Pour from their mansions by the broad high-way, In swarms the guiltless traveller engage, Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage; All rise in arms, and with a general cry Assert their waxen domes, and buzzing progeny: Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms, So loud their clamours, and so keen their arms. _Iliad_ xvi. 312.

So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o’er) Repuls’d in vain, and thirsty still of gore; (Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings Untam’d, untir’d, he turns, attacks and stings. Fir’d with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, And sent his soul with ev’ry lance he threw. _Iliad_ xvii. 642.

Instant ardentes Tyrii: pars ducere muros, Molirique arcem, er manibus subvolvere saxa; Pars aptare locum tecto, et concludere sulco. Jura magistratusque legunt, sanctumque senatum. Hic portus alii effodiunt: hic alta theatris Fundamenta locant alii, immanesque columnas Rupibus excidunt, scenis decora alta futuris. Quails apes æstate nova per florea rura Exercet sub sole labor, cum gentis adultos Educunt fœtus, aut cum liquentia mella Stipant, et dulci distendunt nectare cellas, Aut onera accipiunt venientum, aut agmine facto Ignavum fucos pecus a præsepibus arcent. Fervet opus, redolentque thymo fragrantia mella. _Æneid_ i. 427.

To describe bees gathering honey as resembling the builders of Carthage, would have a much better effect.

Tum vero Teucri incumbunt, et littore celsas Deducunt toto naves: natat uncta carina; Frondentesque ferunt remos, et robora sylvis Infabricata, fugæ studio. Migrantes cernas, totaque ex urbe ruentes. Ac veluti ingentem formicæ farris acervum Cum populant, hyemis memores, tectoque reponunt: It nigrum campis agmen, prædamque per herbas Convectant calle angusto: pars grandia trudunt Obnixæ frumenta humeris: pars agmina cogunt, Castigantque moras: opere omnis semita fervet. _Æneid._ iv. 397.

The following simile has not any one beauty to recommend it. The subject is Amata the wife of King Latinus.

Tum vero infelix, ingentibus excita monstris, Immensam sine more furit lymphata per urbem: Ceu quondam torto volitans sub verbere turbo, Quem pueri magno in gyro vacua atria circum Intenti ludo exercent. Ille actus habena Curvatis fertur spatiis: stupet inscia turba, Impubesque manus, mirata volubile buxum: Dant animos plagæ. Non cursu segnior illo Per medias urbes agitur, populosque feroces. _Æneid._ vii. 376.

This simile seems to border upon the burlesque.

An error opposite to the former, is the introducing a resembling image, so elevated or great as to bear no proportion to the principal subject. The remarkable disparity betwixt them, being the most striking circumstance, seizes the mind, and never fails to depress the principal subject by contrast, instead of raising it by resemblance: and if the disparity be exceeding great, the simile takes on an air of burlesque; nothing being more ridiculous than to force an object out of its proper rank in nature, by equalling it with one greatly superior or greatly inferior. This will be evident from the following comparisons.

Fervet opus, redolentque thymo fragrantia mella. Ac veluti lentis Cyclopes fulmina massis Cum properant: alii taurinis follibus auras Accipiunt, redduntque: alii stridentia tingunt Æra lacu: gemit impositis incudibus Ætna: Illi inter sese magna vi brachia tollunt In numerum; versantque tenaci forcipe ferrum. Non aliter (si parva licet componere magnis) Cecropias innatus apes amor urget habendi, Munere quamque suo. Grandævis oppida curæ, Et munire favos, et Dædala fingere tecta. At fessæ multâ referunt se necte minores, Crura thymo plenæ: pascuntur et arbuta passim, Et glaucas salices, casiamque crocumque rubentem, Et pinguem tiliam, et ferrugineos hyacinthos. Omnibus una quies operum, labor omnibus unus. _Georgic._ iv. 169.

Tum Bitian ardentem oculis animisque frementem; Non jaculo, neque enim jaculo vitam ille dedisset; Sed magnum stridens contorta falarica venit Fulminis acta modo, quam nec duo taurea terga, Nec duplici squama lorica fidelis et auro Sustinuit: collapsa ruunt immania membra: Dat tellus gemitum, et clypeum super intonat ingens. Qualis in Euboico Baiarum littore quondam Saxea pila cadit, magnis quam molibus ante Constructam jaciunt ponto: sic illa ruinam Prona trahit, penitusque vadis illisa recumbit: Miscent se maria, et nigræ attolluntur arenæ: Tum sonitu Prochyta alta tremit, durumque cubile Inarime Jovis imperiis imposta Typhoëo. _Æneid._ ix. 703.

Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring, So roar’d the lock when it releas’d the spring. _Odyssey_ xxi. 51.

Such a simile upon the simplest of all actions, that of opening a lock, is pure burlesque.

A writer of delicacy will avoid drawing his comparisons from any image that is nauseous, ugly, or remarkably disagreeable: for however strong the resemblance may be, more will be lost than gained by such comparison. Therefore I cannot help condemning, though with some reluctance, the following simile, or rather metaphor.

O thou fond many! with what loud applause Did’st thou beat heav’n with blessing Bolingbroke Before he was what thou wou’dst have him be? And now being trimm’d up in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provok’st thyself to cast him up. And so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard, And now thou wou’dst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl’st to find it. _Second Part Henry IV. act 1. sc. 6._

The strongest objection that can lie against a comparison, is, that it consists in words only, not in sense. Such false coin, or bastard wit, does extremely well in burlesque; but is far below the dignity of the epic, or of any serious composition:

The noble sister of Poplicola, The moon of Rome; chaste as the isicle That’s curdled by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian’s temple. _Coriolanus, act 5. sc. 3._

There is evidently no resemblance betwixt an isicle and a woman, chaste or unchaste. But chastity is cold in a metaphorical sense, and an isicle is cold in a proper sense; and this verbal resemblance, in the hurry and glow of composing, has been thought a sufficient foundation for the simile. Such phantom similes are mere witticisms, which ought to have no quarter, except where purposely introduced to provoke laughter. Lucian, in his dissertation upon history, talking of a certain author, makes the following comparison, which is verbal merely.

This author’s descriptions are so cold, that they surpass the Caspian snow, and all the ice of the north.

Virgil has not escaped this puerility:

---- Galathæa thymo mihi dulcior Hyblæ. _Bucol._ vii. 37.

---- Ego Sardois videar tibi amarior herbis. _Ibid._ 41.

Gallo, cujus amor tantum mihi crescit in horas, Quantum vere novo viridis se subjicit alnus. _Buccol._ x. 73.

Nor Tasso, in his Aminta:

Picciola e’ l’ape, e fa col picciol morso Pur gravi, e pur moleste le ferite; Ma, qual cosa é più picciola d’amore, Se in ogni breve spatio entra, e s’asconde In ogni breve spatio? hor, sotto a l’ombra De le palpebre, hor trà minuti rivi D’un biondo crine, hor dentro le pozzette, Che forma un dolce riso in bella guancia; E pur fá tanto grandi, e si mortali, E cosi immedicabili le piaghe. _Act 2. sc. 1._

Nor Boileau, the chastest of all writers; and that even in his art of poetry:

Ainsi tel autrefois, qu’on vit avec Faret Charbonner de ses vers les murs d’un cabaret, S’en va mal a’ propos, d’une voix insolente, Chanter du peuple He’breu la suite triomphante, Et poursuivant Moise au travers des déserts, Court avec Pharaon se noyer dans les mers. _Chant. 1. l. 21._

---- But for their spirits and souls This word _rebellion_ had froze them up As fish are in a pond. _Second Part Henry IV. act 1. sc. 3._

_Queen_. The pretty vaulting sea refus’d to drown me; Knowing, that thou wou’dst have me drown’d on shore With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness. _Second Part Henry VI. act 3. sc. 6._

Here there is no manner of resemblance but in the word _drown_; for there is no real resemblance betwixt being drown’d at sea, and dying of grief at land. But perhaps this sort of tinsel wit, may have a propriety in it, when used to express an affected, not a real, passion, which was the Queen’s case.

Pope has several similes of the same stamp. I shall transcribe one or two from the _Essay on Man_, the gravest and most instructive of all his performances.

And hence one master-passion in the breast, Like Aaron’s serpent, swallows up the rest. _Epist. 2. l. 131._

And again, talking of this same ruling or master passion.

Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse; Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse; Reason itself but gives it edge and pow’r; As heav’n’s blest beam turns vinegar more sowr. _Ibid. l. 145._

Lord Bolingbroke, speaking of historians:

Where their sincerity as to fact is doubtful, we strike out truth by the confrontation of different accounts; as we strike out sparks of fire by the collision of flints and steel.

Let us vary the phrase a very little, and there will not remain a shadow of resemblance. Thus, for example:

We discover truth by the confrontation of different accounts; as we strike out sparks of fire by the collision of flints and steel.

Racine makes Pyrrhus say to Andromaque,

Vaincu, chargé de fers, de regrets consumé, Brulé de plus de feux que je n’en allumai, Helas! fus-je jamais si cruel que vous l’etés?

And Orestes, in the same strain:

Que les Scythes sont moins cruels qu’ Hermione.

Similes of this kind put one in mind of a ludicrous French song:

Je croyois Janneton Aussi douce que belle: Je croyois Janneton Plus douce qu’un mouton; Helas! helas! Elle est cent fois, mille fois, plus cruelle Que n’est le tigre aux bois.

Again,

Helas! l’amour m’a pris, Comme le chat fait la souris.

A vulgar Irish ballad begins thus:

I have as much love in store As there’s apples in Portmore.

Where the subject is burlesque or ludicrous, such similes are far from being improper. Horace says pleasantly,

Quanquam tu levior cortice. _L. 3. ode 9._

And Shakespear,

In breaking oaths he’s stronger than Hercules.

And this leads me to observe, that beside the foregoing comparisons, which are all serious, there is a species, the end and purpose of which is to excite gaiety or mirth. Take the following examples.

Falstaff, speaking to his page:

I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one.

_Second Part Henry IV. act 1. sc. 4._

I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover’d goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.

_As you like it, act 3. sc. 10._