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].”
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._
This sword a dagger had his page,
That was but little for his age;
And therefore waited on him so
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do.
_Hudibras, canto 1._
Desciption of Hudibras’s horse:
He was well stay’d, and in his gait
Preserv’d a grave, majestic state.
At spur or switch no more he skipt,
Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt:
And yet so fiery he would bound,
As if he griev’d to touch the ground:
That Cæsar’s horse, who, as fame goes,
Had corns upon his feet and toes,
Was not by half so tender hooft,
Nor trod upon the ground so soft.
And as that beast would kneel and stoop,
(Some write) to take his rider up;
So Hudibras his (’tis well known)
Would often do, to set him down.
_Canto 1._
Honour is, like a widow, won
With brisk attempt and putting on,
With entering manfully, and urging;
Not slow approaches, like a virgin.
_Canto 1._
The sun had long since in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap;
And, like a lobster boil’d, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
_Part 2. canto 2._
Books, like men, their authors, have but one way of coming into the
world; but there are ten thousand to go out of it, and return no
more.
_Tale of a Tub._
And in this the world may perceive the difference between the
integrity of a generous author, and that of a common friend. The
latter is observed to adhere close in prosperity, but on the
decline of fortune, to drop suddenly off: whereas the generous
author, just on the contrary, finds his hero on the dunghill, from
thence by gradual steps raises him to a throne, and then
immediately withdraws, expecting not so much as thanks for his
pains.
_Tale of a Tub._
The most accomplish’d way of using books at present is, to serve
them as some do lords, learn their _titles_, and then brag of
their acquaintance.
_Tale of a Tub_.
Box’d in a chair, the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clatt’ring o’er the roof by fits;
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed,
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, run them through),
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprison’d hero quak’d for fear.
_Description of a city shower. Swift._
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder seen,
With throngs promiscuous strow the level green.
Thus when dispers’d a routed army runs,
Of Asia’s troops, and Afric’s sable sons,
With like confusion different nations fly,
Of various habit, and of various dye,
The pierc’d battalions disunited, fall
In heaps on heaps; one fate o’erwhelms them all.
_Rape of the Lock, canto 3._
He does not consider, that sincerity in love is as much out of
fashion as sweet snuff; no body takes it now.
_Careless Husband._
_Lady Easy._ My dear, I am afraid you have provoked her a little
too far.
_Sir Charles._ O! Not at all. You shall see, I’ll sweeten her, and
she’ll cool like a dish of tea.
_Ibid._