Part 5

In viewing a group of things, we have obviously a natural tendency to bestow all possible perfection upon that particular object which makes the greatest figure. The emotion raised by the object, is, by this means, thoroughly gratified; and if the emotion be lively, it prompts us even to exceed nature in the conception we form of the object. Take the following examples.

For Neleus’ sons Alcides’ _rage_ had slain.

A broken rock the _force_ of Pirus threw.

In these instances, the rage of Hercules and the force of Pirus, being the capital circumstances, are so far exalted as to be conceived the agents that produce the effects.

In the following instance, hunger being the chief circumstance in the description, is itself imagined to be the patient.

Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days. _Jane Shore._

As when the _force_ Of subterranean wind transports a hill. _Paradise Lost._

As when the _potent rod_ Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day Wav’d round the coast, upcall’d a pitchy cloud Of locusts. _Paradise Lost._

SECT. V.

_A figure, which, among related objects, extends properties of one to another._

This figure is not dignified with a proper name, because it has been overlooked by all writers. It merits, however, place in this work; and must be distinguished from those formerly handled, as depending on a different principle. _Giddy brink_, _jovial wine_, _daring wound_, are examples of this figure. Here are expressions that certainly import not the ordinary relation of an adjective to its substantive. A _brink_, for example, cannot be termed _giddy_ in a proper sense: neither can it be termed _giddy_ in any figurative sense that can import any of its qualities or attributes. When we attend to the expression, we discover that a _brink_ is termed _giddy_ from producing that effect in those who stand on it. In the same manner a wound is said to be daring, not with respect to itself, but with respect to the boldness of the person who inflicts it: and wine is said to be jovial, as inspiring mirth and jollity. Thus the attributes of one subject, are extended to another with which it is connected; and such expression must be considered as a figure, because it deviates from ordinary language.

How are we to account for this figure, for we see it lies in the thought, and to what principle shall we refer it? Have poets a privilege to alter the nature of things, and at pleasure to bestow attributes upon subjects to which these attributes do not belong? It is an evident truth, which we have had often occasion to inculcate, that the mind, in idea, passeth easily and sweetly along a train of connected objects; and, where the objects are intimately connected, that it is disposed to carry along the good or bad properties of one to another; especially where it is in any degree inflamed with these properties[24]. From this principle is derived the figure under consideration. Language, invented for the communication of thought, would be imperfect, if it were not expressive even of the slighter propensities and more delicate feelings. But language cannot remain so imperfect, among a people who have received any polish; because language is regulated by internal feeling, and is gradually so improved as to express whatever passes in the mind. Thus, for example, a sword in the hand of a coward, is, in poetical diction, termed _a coward sword_: the expression is significative of an internal operation; for the mind, in passing from the agent to its instrument, is disposed to extend to the latter the properties of the former. Governed by the same principle, we say _listening_ fear, by extending the attribute _listening_ of the man who listens, to the passion with which he is moved. In the expression, _bold deed_, or _audax facinus_, we extend to the effect, what properly belongs to the cause. But not to waste time by making a commentary upon every expression of this kind, the best way to give a complete view of the subject, is to exhibit a table of the different connections that may give occasion to this figure. And in viewing this table, it will be observed, that the figure can never have any grace but where the connections are of the most intimate kind.

1. An attribute of the cause expressed as an attribute of the effect.

Audax facinus.

Of yonder fleet a _bold_ discovery make.

An impious mortal gave the _daring_ wound.

To my _adventrous_ song, That with no middle flight intends to soar. _Paradise Lost._

2. An attribute of the effect expressed as an attribute of the cause.

Quos periisse ambos _misera_ censebam in mari. _Plautus._

No wonder, fallen such a _pernicious_ height. _Paradise Lost._

3. An effect expressed as an attribute of the cause.

Jovial wine, Giddy brink, Drowsy night, Musing midnight, Panting height, Astonish’d thought, Mournful gloom.

Casting a dim _religious_ light. _Milton, Comus._

And the _merry_ bells ring round, And the _jocund_ rebecks sound. _Milton, Allegro._

4. An attribute of a subject bestowed upon one of its parts or members.

Longing arms.

It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc’d the _fearful_ hollow of thine ear. _Romeo and Juliet, act 3. sc. 7._

Oh, lay by Those most ungentle looks and angry weapons; Unless you mean my griefs and killing fears Should stretch me out at your _relentless_ feet. _Fair Penitent, act 3._

And ready now To stoop with _wearied_ wing, and _willing_ feet, On the bare outside of this world. _Paradise Lost, b. 3._

5. A quality of the agent given to the instrument with which it operates.

Why peep your _coward_ swords half out their shells?

6. An attribute of the agent given to the subject upon which it operates.

High-climbing hill. _Milton._

7. A quality of one subject given to another.

Icci, _beatis_ nunc Arabum invides Gazis. _Hora. Carm. l. 1. ode 29._

When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his _drooping_ chair. _Shakespear._

By art, the pilot through the boiling deep And howling tempest, steers the _fearless_ ship. _Iliad xxiii. 385._

Then, nothing loath, th’ enamour’d fair he led, And sunk transported on the _conscious_ bed. _Odyss._ viii. 337.

A _stupid_ moment motionless she stood. _Summer, l. 1336._

8. A circumstance connected with a subject, expressed as a quality of the subject.

Breezy summit.

’Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try. _Iliad_ i. 301.

Oh! had I dy’d before that well-fought wall. _Odyss._ v. 395.

From this table it appears, that the expressing an effect as an attribute of the cause, is not so agreeable as the opposite expression. The descent from cause to effect is natural and easy: the opposite direction resembles retrograde motion[25]. _Panting height_, for example, _astonish’d thought_, are strained and uncouth expressions, which a writer of taste will avoid. For the same reason, an epithet is unsuitable, which at present is not applicable to the subject, however applicable it may be afterward.

_Submersasque_ obrue puppes. _Æneid. i. 73_.

And mighty _ruins_ fall. _Iliad_ v. 411.

Impious sons their _mangled_ fathers wound.

Another rule regards this figure, That the property of one object ought not to be bestowed upon another with which it is incongruous:

_K. Rich._---- How dare thy joints forget To pay their _awful_ duty to our presence. _Richard_ II. _act 3. sc. 6._

The connection betwixt an awful superior and his submissive dependent is so intimate, that an attribute may readily be transferred from the one to the other. But awfulness cannot be so transferred, because it is inconsistent with submission.

SECT VI.

_Metaphor and Allegory._

A Metaphor differs from a simile, in form only, not in substance. In a simile the two different subjects are kept distinct in the expression, as well as in the thought: in a metaphor, the two subjects are kept distinct in thought only, not in expression. A hero resembles a lion, and upon that resemblance many similes have been made by Homer and other poets. But instead of resembling a lion, let us take the aid of the imagination, and feign or figure the hero to be a lion. By this variation the simile is converted into a metaphor; which is carried on by describing all the qualities of a lion that resemble those of the hero. The fundamental pleasure here, that of resemblance, belongs to thought as distinguished from expression. There is an additional pleasure which arises from the expression. The poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, goes on to describe the lion in appearance, but in reality the hero; and his description is peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues and qualities of the hero in new terms, which, properly speaking, belong not to him, but to a different being. This will better be understood by examples. A family connected with a common parent, resembles a tree, the trunk and branches of which are connected with a common root. But let us suppose, that a family is figured not barely to be like a tree, but to be a tree; and then the simile will be converted into a metaphor, in the following manner.

Edward’s sev’n sons, whereof thyself art one, Were sev’n fair branches, springing from one root: Some of these branches by the dest’nies cut: But Thomas, my dear Lord, my life, my Glo’ster, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is hack’d down, and his summer leaves all faded, By Envy’s hand and Murder’s bloody axe. _Richard II. act 1. sc. 3._

Figuring human life to be a voyage at sea:

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. _Julius Cæsar, act 4. sc. 5._

Figuring glory and honour to be a garland of fresh flowers:

_Hotspur._---- Would to heav’n, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

_Pr. Henry._ I’ll make it greater, ere I part from thee; And all the budding honours on thy crest I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head. _First Part Henry IV. act 5. sc. 9._

Figuring a man who hath acquired great reputation and honour to be a tree full of fruit:

Oh, boys, this story The world may read in me: my body’s mark’d With Roman swords; and my report was once First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off: then was I as a tree, Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night, A storm or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves; And left me bare to weather. _Cymbeline, act 3. sc. 3._

I am aware that the term _metaphor_ has been used in a more extensive sense than I give it; but I thought it of consequence, in matters of some intricacy, to separate things that differ from each other, and to confine words within their most proper sense. An allegory differs from a metaphor; and what I would chuse to call _a figure of speech_, differs from both. I shall proceed to explain these differences. A metaphor is defined above to be an operation of the imagination, figuring one thing to be another. An allegory requires no operation of the imagination, nor is one thing figured to be another: it consists in chusing a subject having properties or circumstances resembling those of the principal subject; and the former is described in such a manner as to represent the latter. The subject thus represented is kept out of view; we are left to discover it by reflection; and we are pleased with the discovery, because it is our own work. Quintilian[26] gives the following instance of an allegory,

O navis, referent in mare te novi Fluctus. O quid agis? fortiter occupa portum. _Horat. lib. 1. ode 14._

and explains it elegantly in the following words: “Totusque ille Horatii locus, quo navim pro republica, fluctuum tempestates pro bellis civilibus, portum pro pace atque concordia, dicit.”

There cannot be a finer or more correct allegory than the following, in which a vineyard is put for God’s own people the Jews.

Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt: thou hast cast out the heathen, and planted it. Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were covered with its shadow, and the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. Why hast thou then broken down her hedges, so that all which pass do pluck her? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard thy right hand hath planted, and the branch thou madest strong for thyself.

_Psalm 80._

In a word, an allegory is in every respect similar to an hieroglyphical painting, excepting only, that words are used instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the same. A hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind; one seen, which represents one not seen. An allegory does the same. The representative subject is described; and it is by resemblance that we are enabled to apply the description to the subject represented.

In a figure of speech, neither is there any fiction of the imagination employ’d, nor a representative subject introduced. A figure of speech, as imply’d from its name, regards the expression only, not the thought; and it may be defined, the employing a word in a sense different from what is proper to it. Thus youth or the beginning of life, is expressed figuratively by _morning of life_. Morning is the beginning of the day; and it is transferred sweetly and easily to signify the beginning of any other series, life especially, the progress of which is reckoned by days.

Figures of speech are reserved for a separate section; but a metaphor and allegory are so much connected, that it is necessary to handle them together: the rules for distinguishing the good from the bad, are common to both. We shall therefore proceed to these rules, after adding some examples to illustrate the nature of an allegory. Horace speaking of his love to Pyrrha, which was now extinguished, expresses himself thus.

Me tabulâ sacer Votivâ paries indicat uvida Suspendisse potenti Vestimenta maris Deo. _Carm. l. 1. ode 5._

Again,

Phœbus volentem prælia me loqui, Victas et urbes, increpuit lyrâ: Ne parva Tyrrhenum per æquor Vela darem. _Carm. l. 4. ode 15._

_Queen._ Great Lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But chearly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still. Is’t meet, that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea; And give more strength to that which hath too much? While in his moan the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav’d? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! _Third Part Henry VI. act 5. sc. 5._

_Oroonoko._ Ha! thou hast rous’d The lion in his den, he stalks abroad And the wide forest trembles at his roar. I find the danger now. _Oroonoko, act 3. sc. 2._

The rules that govern metaphors and allegories, are of two kinds: those of the first kind concern the construction of a metaphor or allegory, and ascertain what are perfect and what are faulty: those of the other kind concern the propriety or impropriety of introduction, in what circumstances these figures may be admitted, and in what circumstances they are out of place. I begin with rules of the first kind; some of which coincide with those already given with respect to similes; some are peculiar to metaphors and allegories.

And in the first place, it has been observed, that a simile cannot be agreeable where the resemblance is either too strong or too faint. This holds equally in a metaphor and allegory; and the reason is the same in all. In the following instances, the resemblance is too faint to be agreeable.

_Malcolm._---- But there’s no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust. _Macbeth, act 4. sc. 4._

The best way to judge of this metaphor, is to convert it into a simile; which would be bad, because there is scarce any resemblance betwixt lust and a cistern, or betwixt enormous lust and a large cistern.

Again,

He cannot buckle his distemper’d cause Within the belt of rule. _Macbeth, act 5. sc. 2._

There is no resemblance betwixt a distempered cause and any body that can be confined within a belt.

Again,

Steep me in poverty to the very lips. _Othello, act 4. sc. 9._

Poverty here must be conceived a fluid, which it resembles not in any manner.

Speaking to Bolingbroke banish’d for six years.

The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. _Richard II. act 1. sc. 6._

Again,

Here is a letter, lady, And every word in it a gaping wound Issuing life-blood. _Merchant of Venice, act 3. sc. 3._

The following metaphor is strained beyond all endurance. Timur-bec, known to us by the name of Tamarlane the Great, writes to Bajazet Emperor of the Ottomans in the following terms.

Where is the monarch who dares resist us? where is the potentate who doth not glory in being numbered among our attendants? As for thee, descended from a Turcoman sailor, since the vessel of thy unbounded ambition hath been wreck’d in the gulf of thy self-love, it would be proper, that thou shouldst take in the sails of thy temerity, and cast the anchor of repentance in the port of sincerity and justice, which is the port of safety; lest the tempest of our vengeance make thee perish in the sea of the punishment thou deservest.

Such strained figures, it is observable, are not unfrequent in the first dawn of refinement. The mind in a new enjoyment knows no bounds, and is generally carried to excess, till experience discover the just medium.

Secondly, whatever resemblance subjects may have, it is wrong to put one for another if they bear no mutual proportion. Where a very high and a very low subject are compared, the simile takes on an air of burlesk; and the same will be the effect, where the one is imagined to be the other, as in a metaphor, or made to represent the other, as in an allegory.

Thirdly, these figures, a metaphor in particular, ought not to be extended to a great length, nor be crowded with many minute circumstances; for in that case it is scarcely possible to avoid obscurity. It is difficult, during any course of time, to support a lively image of one thing being another. A metaphor drawn out to any length, instead of illustrating or enlivening the principal subject, becomes disagreeable by overstraining the mind. Cowley is extremely licentious in this way. Take the following instance:

Great, and wise conqu’ror, who where-e’er Thou com’st, dost fortify, and settle there! Who canst defend as well as get; And never hadst one quarter beat up yet; Now thou art in, thou ne’er will part With one inch of my vanquish’d heart; For since thou took’st it by assault from me, } ’Tis garrison’d so strong with thoughts of thee} It fears no beauteous enemy. }

For the same reason, however agreeable at first long allegories may be by their novelty, they never afford any lasting pleasure: witness the _Fairy Queen_, which with great power of expression, variety of images, and melody of versification, is scarce ever read a second time.

In the fourth place, the comparison carried on in a simile, being in a metaphor sunk, and the principal subject being imagined that very thing which it only resembles, an opportunity is furnished to describe it in terms taken strictly or literally with respect to its imagined nature. This suggests another rule, That in constructing a metaphor, the writer ought to confine himself to the simplest expressions, and make use of such words only as are applicable literally to the imagined nature of his subject. Figurative words ought carefully to be avoided; for such complicated images, instead of setting the principal subject in a strong light, involve it in a cloud; and it is well if the reader, without rejecting by the lump, endeavour patiently to gather the plain meaning, regardless of the figures:

A stubborn and unconquerable flame Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of life. _Lady Jane Gray, act 1. sc. 1._

Copied from Ovid,

Sorbent avidæ præcordia flammæ. _Metamorphoses, lib. ix. 172._

Let us analize this expression. That a fever may be imagined a flame, I admit; though more than one step is necessary to come at the resemblance. A fever, by heating the body, resembles fire; and it is no stretch to imagine a fever to be a fire.

Again, by a figure of speech, flame may be put for fire, because they are commonly conjoined; and therefore a fever may also be imagined a flame. But now admitting a fever to be a flame, its effects ought to be explained in words that agree literally to a flame. This rule is not observed here; for a flame _drinks_ figuratively only, not properly.

King Henry to his son Prince Henry:

Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart To stab at half an hour of my frail life. _Second Part Henry IV. act 4. sc. 11._

Such faulty metaphors are pleasantly ridiculed in the _Rehearsal_:

_Physician._ Sir, to conclude, the place you fill has more than amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot; and all these threatening storms, which, like impregnate clouds, hover o’er our heads, will, when they once are grasp’d but by the eye of reason, melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people.

_Bayes._ Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good?

_Johnson_. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye, is admirable.

_Act 2. sc. 1._

Fifthly, The jumbling different metaphors in the same sentence, or the beginning with one metaphor and ending with another, is commonly called a mixt metaphor. Quintilian bears testimony against it in the bitterest terms: “Nam id quoque in primis est custodiendum, ut quo ex genere cœperis translationis, hoc desinas. Multi enim, cum initium a tempestate sumpserunt, incendio aut ruina finiunt: quæ est inconsequentia rerum fœdissima.” _L. 8. cap. 6. § 2._

_K. Henry._---------- Will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light? _First Part Henry IV. act 5. sc. 1._

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The stings and arrows of outrag’ous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. _Hamlet, act 3. sc. 2._