There is one truth which my studies have led me to observe, which
perhaps it would be worth while to set down briefly here. It is this,
that by a natural law the Sublime, besides receiving an acquisition of
strength from figures, in its turn lends support in a remarkable manner
to them. To explain: the use of figures has a peculiar tendency to rouse
a suspicion of dishonesty, and to create an impression of treachery,
scheming, and false reasoning; especially if the person addressed be a
judge, who is master of the situation, and still more in the case of a
despot, a king, a military potentate, or any of those who sit in high
places.[1] If a man feels that this artful speaker is treating him like
a silly boy and trying to throw dust in his eyes, he at once grows
irritated, and thinking that such false reasoning implies a contempt of
his understanding, he perhaps flies into a rage and will not hear
another word; or even if he masters his resentment, still he is utterly
indisposed to yield to the persuasive power of eloquence. Hence it
follows that a figure is then most effectual when it appears in
disguise.
[Footnote 1: Reading with Cobet, +kai pantas tous en huperochais+.]
2
To allay, then, this distrust which attaches to the use of figures we
must call in the powerful aid of sublimity and passion. For art, once
associated with these great allies, will be overshadowed by their
grandeur and beauty, and pass beyond the reach of all suspicion. To
prove this I need only refer to the passage already quoted: "I swear it
by the men," etc. It is the very brilliancy of the orator's figure which
blinds us to the fact that it _is_ a figure. For as the fainter lustre
of the stars is put out of sight by the all-encompassing rays of the
sun, so when sublimity sheds its light all round the sophistries of
rhetoric they become invisible.
3
A similar illusion is produced by the painter's art. When light and
shadow are represented in colour, though they lie on the same surface
side by side, it is the light which meets the eye first, and appears not
only more conspicuous but also much nearer. In the same manner passion
and grandeur of language, lying nearer to our souls by reason both of a
certain natural affinity and of their radiance, always strike our mental
eye before we become conscious of the figure, throwing its artificial
character into the shade and hiding it as it were in a veil.