FIGURES.

THe reader must not expect to find here a complete list of the different tropes and figures that have been carefully noted by ancient critics and grammarians. Tropes and figures have indeed been multiplied with so little reserve, as to make it no easy matter to distinguish them from plain language. A discovery almost accidental, made me think of giving them a place in this work: I found that the most important of them depend on principles formerly explained; and I was glad of an opportunity to show the extensive influence of these principles. Confining myself therefore to figures that answer this purpose, I am luckily freed from much trash; without dropping, so far as I remember, any figure that merits a proper name. And I begin with Prosopopoeia or personification, which is justly intitled to the first place.

SECT. I.

PERSONIFICATION.

THis figure, which gives life to things inanimate, is so bold a delusion as to require, one should imagine, very peculiar circumstances for operating the effect. And yet, in the language of poetry, we find variety of expressions, which, though commonly reduced to this figure, are used without ceremony or any sort of preparation. I give, for example, the following expressions. Thirsty ground, hungry church-yard, furious dart, angry ocean. The epithets here, in their proper meaning, are attributes of sensible beings. What is the effect of such epithets, when apply’d to things inanimate? Do they raise in the mind of the reader a perception of sensibility? Do they make him conceive the ground, the church-yard, the dart, the ocean, to be endued with animal functions? This is a curious inquiry; and whether so or not, it cannot be declined in handling the present subject.

One thing is certain, that the mind is prone to bestow sensibility upon things inanimate, where that violent effect is necessary to gratify passion. This is one instance, among many, of the power of passion to adjust our opinions and belief to its gratification[12]. I give the following examples. Antony, mourning over the body of CÆsar, murdered in the senate-house, vents his passion in the following words.

Here Antony must have been impressed with some sort of notion, that the body of CÆsar was listening to him, without which the speech would be foolish and absurd. Nor will it appear strange, after what is said in the chapter above cited, that passion should have such power over the mind of man. Another example of the same kind is, where the earth, as a common mother, is animated to give refuge against a father’s unkindness.

Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for vent. A soliloquy commonly answers the purpose. But when a passion swells high, it is not satisfied with so slight a gratification: it must have a person to complain to; and if none be found, it will animate things devoid of sense. Thus Philoctetes complains to the rocks and promontories of the isle of Lemnos[13]; and Alcestes dying, invokes the sun, the light of day, the clouds, the earth, her husband’s palace, &c.[14]. Plaintive passions carry the mind still farther. Among the many principles that connect individuals in society, one is remarkable: it is that principle which makes us earnestly wish, that others should enter into our concerns and think and feel as we do[15]. This social principle, when inflamed by a plaintive passion, will, for want of a more complete gratification, prompt the mind to give life even to things inanimate. Moschus, lamenting the death of Bion, conceives that the birds, the fountains, the trees, lament with him. The shepherd, who in Virgil bewails the death of Daphnis, expresseth himself thus:

Again,

Again,

Earl Rivers carried to execution, says,

King Richard having got intelligence of Bolingbroke’s invasion, says, upon his landing in England from his Irish expedition, in a mixture of joy and resentment,

Among the ancients, it was customary after a long voyage to salute the natal soil. A long voyage, was of old a greater enterprise than at present: the safe return to one’s country after much fatigue and danger, was a circumstance extremely delightful; and it was natural to give the natal soil a temporary life, in order to sympathise with the traveller. See an example, Agamemnon of Æschilus, act 3. in the beginning. Regret for leaving a place one has been accustomed to has the same effect[16].

Terror produceth the same effect. A man, to gratify this passion, extends it to every thing around, even to things inanimate:

Speaking of Polyphemus,

Racine, in the tragedy of Phedra, describing the sea-monster that destroy’d Hippolitus, conceives the sea itself to be inspired with terror as well as the spectators; or more accurately transfers from the spectators their terror to the sea, with which they were connected:

A man also naturally communicates his joy to all objects around, animate or inanimate:

I have been profuse of examples, to show what power many passions have to animate their objects. In all the foregoing examples, the personification, if I mistake not, is so complete as to be derived from an actual conviction, momentary indeed, of life and intelligence. But it is evident from numberless instances, that personification is not always so complete. Personification is a common figure in descriptive poetry, understood to be the language of the writer, and not of any of his personages in a fit of passion. In this case, it seldom or never comes up to a conviction, even momentary, of life and intelligence. I give the following examples.

It may, I presume, be taken for granted, that, in the foregoing instances, the personification, either with the poet or his reader, amounts not to a conviction of intelligence; nor that the sun, the moon, the day, the morn, are here understood to be sensible beings. What then is the nature of this personification? Upon considering the matter attentively, I discover that this species of personification must be referred to the imagination. The inanimate object is imagined to be a sensible being, but without any conviction, even for a moment, that it really is so. Ideas or fictions of imagination have power to raise emotions in the mind[18]; and when any thing inanimate is, in imagination, supposed to be a sensible being, it makes by that means a greater figure than when an idea is formed of it according to truth. The elevation however in this case, is far from being so great as when the personification arises to an actual conviction; and therefore must be considered as of a lower or inferior sort. Thus personification is of two kinds. The first or nobler, may be termed passionate personification: the other, or more humble, descriptive personification; because seldom or never is personification in a description carried the length of conviction.

The imagination is so lively and active, that its images are raised with very little effort; and this justifies the frequent use of descriptive personification. This figure abounds in Milton’s Allegro and Penseroso.

Abstract and general terms, as well as particular objects, are often necessary in poetry. Such terms however are not well adapted to poetry, because they suggest not any image to the mind: I can readily form an image of Alexander or Achilles in wrath; but I cannot form an image of wrath in the abstract, or of wrath independent of a person. Upon that account, in works addressed to the imagination, abstract terms are frequently personified. But this personification never goes farther than the imagination.

Thus, to explain the effects of slander, it is imagined to be a voluntary agent:

As also human passions. Take the following example.

Virgil explains fame and its effects by a still greater variety of action[19]. And Shakespear personifies death and its operations in a manner extremely fanciful:

Not less successfully is life and action given even to sleep:

I shall add one example more, to show that descriptive personification may be used with propriety, even where the purpose of the discourse is instruction merely:

Hitherto our progress has been upon firm ground. Whether we shall be so lucky in the remaining part of the journey, seems doubtful. For after acquiring some knowledge of the subject, when we now look back to the expressions mentioned in the beginning, thirsty ground, furious dart, and such like, it seems as difficult as at first to say what sort of personification it is. Such expressions evidently raise not the slighted conviction of sensibility. Nor do I think they amount to descriptive personification: in the expressions mentioned, we do not so much as figure the ground or the dart to be animated; and if so, they cannot at all come under the present subject. And to show this more clearly, I shall endeavour to explain what effect such expressions have naturally upon the mind. In the expression angry ocean, for example, do we not tacitly compare the ocean in a storm, to a man in wrath? It is by this tacit comparison, that the expression acquires a force or elevation, beyond what is found when an epithet is used proper to the object: for I have had occasion to show[20], that a thing inanimate acquires a certain elevation by being compared to a sensible being. And this very comparison is itself a demonstration, that there is no personification in such expressions. For, by the very nature of a comparison, the things compared are kept distinct, and the native appearance of each is preserved. It will be shown afterward, that expressions of this kind belong to another figure, which I term a figure of speech, and which employs the seventh section of the present chapter.

Though thus in general we can precisely distinguish descriptive personification from what is merely a figure of speech, it is however often difficult to say, with respect to some expressions, whether they are of the one kind or of the other. Take the following instances.

With respect to these and numberless other instances of the same kind, whether they be examples of personification or of a figure of speech merely, seems to be an arbitrary question. They will be ranged under the former class by those only who are endued with a sprightly imagination. Nor will the judgement even of the same person be steady: it will vary with the present state of the spirits, lively or composed.

Having thus at large explained the present figure, its different kinds, and the principles from whence derived; what comes next in order is to ascertain its proper province, by showing in what cases it is suitable, in what unsuitable. I begin with observing, upon passionate personification, that this figure is not promoted by every passion indifferently. All dispiriting passions are averse to it. Remorse, in particular, is too serious and severe, to be gratified by a phantom of the mind. I cannot therefore approve the following speech of Enobarbus, who had deserted his master Antony.

If this can be justified, it must be upon the Heathen system of theology, which converted into deities the sun, moon, and stars.

Secondly, After a passionate personification is properly introduced, it ought to be confined strictly to its proper province, that of gratifying the passion; and no sentiment nor action ought to be exerted by the animated object, but what answers that purpose. Personification is at any rate a bold figure, and ought to be employed with great reserve. The passion of love, for example, in a plaintive tone, may give a momentary life to woods and rocks, that the lover may vent his distress to them: but no passion will support a conviction so far stretched, as that these woods and rocks should be living witnesses to report the distress to others:

No lover who is not crazed will utter such a sentiment: it is plainly the operation of the writer, indulging his imagination without regard to nature. The same observation is applicable to the following passage.

One must read this passage very seriously to avoid laughing. The following passage is quite extravagant: the different parts of the human body are too intimately connected with self, to be personified by the power of any passion; and after converting such a part into a sensible being, it is still worse to make it be conceived as rising in rebellion against self.

Next comes descriptive personification; upon which I must observe in general, that it ought to be cautiously used. A personage in a tragedy, agitated by a strong passion, deals in strong sentiments; and the reader, catching fire by sympathy, relishes the boldest personifications. But a writer, even in the most lively description, ought to take a lower flight, and content himself with such easy personifications as agree with the tone of mind inspired by the description. In plain narrative, again, the mind, serious and sedate, rejects personification altogether. Strada, in his history of the Belgic wars, has the following passage, which, by a strained elevation above the tone of the subject, deviates into burlesk. “Vix descenderat a prÆtoria navi CÆsar; cum foeda illico exorta in portu tempestas, classem impetu disjecit, prÆtoriam hausit: quasi non vecturam amplius CÆsarem, CÆsarisque fortunam[21].” Neither do I approve, in Shakespear, the speech of King John, gravely exhorting the citizens of Angiers to a surrender; though a tragic writer has much greater latitude than a historian. Take the following specimen of this speech.

Secondly, If extraordinary marks of respect put upon a person of the lowest rank be ridiculous, not less so is the personification of a mean object. This rule chiefly regards descriptive personification: for an object can hardly be mean that is the cause of a violent passion; in that circumstance, at least, it must be an object of importance. With respect to this point, it would be in vain to set limits to personification: taste is the only rule. A poet of superior genius hath more than others the command of this figure; because he hath more than others the power of inflaming the mind. Homer appears not extravagant in animating his darts and arrows: nor Thomson in animating the seasons, the winds, the rains, the dews. He even ventures to animate the diamond, and doth it with propriety.

But there are things familiar and base, to which personification cannot descend. In a composed state of mind, to animate a lump of matter even in the most rapid flight of fancy, degenerates into burlesk.

The following little better:

Speaking of a man’s hand cut off in battle:

The personification here of a hand is insufferable, especially in a plain narration; not to mention that such a trivial incident is too minutely described.

The same observation is applicable to abstract terms, which ought not to be animated unless they have some natural dignity. Thomson, in this article, is quite licentious. Witness the following instances out of many.

Thirdly, it is not sufficient to avoid improper subjects. Some preparation is necessary, in order to rouze the mind. The imagination refuses its aid, till it be warmed at least, if not inflamed. Yet Thomson, without the least ceremony or preparation, introduceth each season as a sensible being:

This has violently the air of writing mechanically without taste. It is not natural, that the imagination of a writer should be so much heated at the very commencement; and, at any rate, he cannot expect such ductility in his readers: but if this practice can be justified by authority, Thomson has one of no mean note: Vida begins his first eclogue in the following words.

Even Shakespear is not always careful to prepare the mind for this bold figure. Take the following instance:

Fourthly, Descriptive personification ought never to be carried farther than barely to animate the subject: and yet poets are not easily restrained from making this phantom of their own creating behave and act in every respect as if it were really a sensible being. By such licence we lose sight of the subject; and the description is rendered obscure or unintelligible, instead of being more lively and striking. In this view, the following passage, describing Cleopatra on shipboard, appears to me exceptionable.

Let the winds be personified; I make no objection. But to make them love-sick, is too far stretched; having no resemblance to any natural action of wind. In another passage, where Cleopatra is also the subject, the personification of the air is carried beyond all bounds:

The following personification of the earth or soil is not less wild.

Shakespear, far from approving such intemperance of imagination, puts this speech in the mouth of a ranting lover. Neither can I relish what follows.

The chearfulness singly of a pastoral song, will scarce support personification in the lowest degree. But admitting, that a river gently flowing may be imagined a sensible being listening to a song, I cannot enter into the conceit of the river’s ordering his laurels to learn the song. Here all resemblance to any thing real is quite lost. This however is copied literally by one of our greatest poets; early indeed, before maturity of taste or judgement.

This author, in riper years, is guilty of a much greater deviation from the rule. Dullness may be imagined a deity or idol, to be worshipped by bad writers: but then some sort of disguise is requisite, some bastard virtue must be bestowed, to give this idol a plausible appearance. Yet in the Dunciad, dullness, without the least disguise, is made the object of worship. The mind rejects such a fiction as unnatural; for dullness is a defect, of which even the dullest mortal is ashamed:

The following instance is stretched beyond all resemblance. It is bold to take a part or member of a living creature, and to bestow upon it life, volition, and action: after animating two such members, it is still bolder to make them envy each other; for this is wide of any resemblance to reality:

Fifthly, The enthusiasm of passion may have the effect to prolong passionate personification: but descriptive personification cannot be dispatched in too few words. A minute description dissolves the charm, and makes the attempt to personify appear ridiculous. Homer succeeds in animating his darts and arrows: but such personification spun out in a French translation, is mere burlesk:

Horace says happily, “Post equitem sedet atra Cura.” See how this thought degenerates by being divided, like the former, into a number of minute parts:

The following passage is, if possible, still more faulty.

Let grief or love have the power to animate the winds, the trees, the floods, provided the figure be dispatched in a single expression. Even in that case, the figure seldom has a good effect; because grief or love of the pastoral kind, are causes rather too faint for so violent an effect as imagining the winds, trees, or floods, to be sensible beings. But when this figure is deliberately spread out with great regularity and accuracy through many lines, the reader, instead of relishing it, is struck with its ridiculous appearance.

SECT. II.

APOSTROPHE.

THIS figure and the former are derived from the same principle. If, to gratify a plaintive passion, we can bestow a momentary sensibility upon an inanimate object, it is not more difficult to bestow a momentary presence upon a sensible being who is absent.

This figure is sometimes joined with the former: things inanimate, to qualify them for listening to a passionate expostulation, are not only personified, but also conceived to be present.

This figure, like all others, requires an agitation of mind. In plain narrative, as, for example, in giving the genealogy of a family, it has no good effect:

HYPERBOLE.

IN this figure we have another effect of the foregoing principle. An object uncommon with respect to size, either very great of its kind or very little, strikes us with surprise; and this emotion, like all others, prone to gratification, forces upon the mind a momentary conviction that the object is greater or less than it is in reality. The same effect, precisely, attends figurative grandeur or littleness. Every object that produceth surprise by its singularity, is always seen in a false light while the emotion subsists: circumstances are exaggerated beyond truth; and it is not till after the emotion subsides, that things appear as they are. A writer, taking advantage of this natural delusion, enriches his description greatly by the hyperbole. And the reader, even in his coolest moments, relishes this figure, being sensible that it is the operation of nature upon a warm fancy.

It will be observed, that a writer is generally more successful in magnifying by a hyperbole than in diminishing: a minute object contracts the mind, and fetters its power of conception; but the mind, dilated and inflamed with a grand object, moulds objects for its gratification with great facility. Longinus, with respect to the diminishing power of a hyperbole, cites the following ludicrous thought from a comic poet. “He was owner of a bit of ground not larger than a Lacedemonian letter.[22]” But, for the reason now given, the hyperbole has by far the greater force in magnifying objects; of which take the following specimen.

Speaking of Polyphemus,

The following may also pass, though stretched pretty far.

Quintilian[23] is sensible that this figure is natural. “For,” says he, “not contented with truth, we naturally incline to augment or diminish beyond it; and for that reason the hyperbole is familiar even among the vulgar and illiterate.” And he adds, very justly, “That the hyperbole is then proper, when the subject of itself exceeds the common measure.” From these premisses, one would not expect the following conclusion, the only reason he can find for justifying this figure of speech. “Conceditur enim amplius dicere, quia dici quantum est, non potest: meliusque ultra quam citra stat oratio.” (We are indulged to say more than enough, because we cannot say enough; and it is better to be over than under). In the name of wonder, why this slight and childish reason, when immediately before he had made it evident, that the hyperbole is founded on human nature? I could not resist this personal stroke of criticism, intended not against our author, for no human creature is exempt from error; but against the blind veneration that is paid to the ancient classic writers, without distinguishing their blemishes from their beauties.

Having examined the nature of this figure, and the principle on which it is erected; I proceed, as in the first section, to some rules by which it ought to be governed. And in the first place, it is a capital fault to introduce an hyperbole in the description of an ordinary object or event which creates no surprise. In such a case, the hyperbole is altogether unnatural, being destitute of surprise, the only foundation that can support it. Take the following instance, where the subject is extremely familiar, viz. swimming to gain the shore after a shipwreck.

In the next place, it may be gathered from what is said, that an hyperbole can never suit the tone of any dispiriting passion. Sorrow in particular will never prompt such a figure; and for that reason the following hyperboles must be condemned as unnatural.

Thirdly, a writer, if he wish to succeed, ought always to have the reader in his eye. He ought in particular never to venture a bold thought or expression, till the reader be warmed and prepared for it. For this reason, an hyperbole in the beginning of any work can never be in its place. Example:

In the fourth place, the nicest point of all, is to ascertain the natural limits of an hyperbole, beyond which being overstrained it has a bad effect. Longinus, in the above-cited chapter, with great propriety of thought, enters a caveat against an hyperbole of this kind. He compares it to a bowstring, which relaxes by overstraining, and produceth an effect directly opposite to what is intended. I pretend not to ascertain any precise boundary: the attempt would be difficult, if not impracticable. I must therefore be satisfied with an humbler task, which is, to give a specimen of what I reckon overstrained hyperboles; and I shall be also extremely curt upon this subject, because examples are to be found every where. No fault is more common among writers of inferior rank; and instances are found even among those of the finest taste; witness the following hyperbole, too bold even for an Hotspur.

Hotspur talking of Mortimer:

Speaking of Henry V.

Lastly, an hyperbole after it is introduced with all advantages, ought to be comprehended within the fewest words possible. As it cannot be relished but in the hurry and swelling of the mind, a leisurely view dissolves the charm, and discovers the description to be extravagant at least, and perhaps also ridiculous. This fault is palpable in a sonnet which passeth for one of the most complete in the French language. Phillis is made as far to outshine the sun as he outshines the stars.

There is in Chaucer a thought expressed in a single line, which sets a young beauty in a more advantageous light, than the whole of this much-laboured poem.

SECT. IV.

The means or instrument conceived to be the agent.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

7. A quality of one subject given to another.

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

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.

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

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.

Figuring human life to be a voyage at sea:

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

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

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,

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.

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.

Again,

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.

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,

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

Again,

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

Speaking to Bolingbroke banish’d for six years.

Again,

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.

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:

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:

Copied from Ovid,

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:

Such faulty metaphors are pleasantly ridiculed in the Rehearsal:

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 coeperis translationis, hoc desinas. Multi enim, cum initium a tempestate sumpserunt, incendio aut ruina finiunt: quÆ est inconsequentia rerum foedissima.” L. 8. cap. 6. § 2.

In the sixth place, It is unpleasant to join different metaphors in the same period, even where they are preserved distinct. It is difficult to imagine the subject to be first one thing and then another in the same period without interval: the mind is distracted by the rapid transition; and when the imagination is put on such hard duty, its images are too faint to produce any good effect:

In the last place, It is still worse to jumble together metaphorical and natural expression, or to construct a period so as that it must be understood partly metaphorically partly literally. The imagination cannot follow with sufficient ease changes so sudden and unprepared. A metaphor begun and not carried on, hath no beauty; and instead of light there is nothing but obscurity and confusion. Instances of such incorrect composition are without number. I shall, for a specimen, select a few from different authors:

Speaking of Britain,

In the first line Britain is figured to be a precious stone. In the following lines, Britain, divested of her metaphorical dress, is presented to the reader in her natural appearance.

The following is a miserable jumble of expressions, arising from an unsteady view of the subject betwixt its figurative and natural appearance.

Dryden, in his dedication to the translation of Juvenal, says,

This fault of jumbling the figure and plain expression into one confused mass, is not less common in allegory than in metaphor. Take the following example.

Lord Halifax, speaking of the ancient fabulists: “They (says he) wrote in signs and spoke in parables: all their fables carry a double meaning: the story is one and entire; the characters the same throughout; not broken or changed, and always conformable to the nature of the creature they introduce. They never tell you, that the dog which snapp’d at a shadow, lost his troop of horse; that would be unintelligible. This is his (Dryden’s) new way of telling a story, and confounding the moral and the fable together.” After instancing from the hind and panther, he goes on thus: “What relation has the hind to our Saviour? or what notion have we of a panther’s bible? If you say he means the church, how does the church feed on lawns, or range in the forest? Let it be always a church or always a cloven-footed beast, for we cannot bear his shifting the scene every line.”

A few words more upon allegory. Nothing gives greater pleasure than this figure, when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, in all its circumstances, to that which is represented. But the choice is seldom so lucky; the resemblance of the representative subject to the principal, being generally so faint and obscure, as to puzzle and not please. An allegory is still more difficult in painting than in poetry. The former can show no resemblance but what appears to the eye: the latter hath many other resources for showing the resemblance. With respect to what the AbbÉ du Bos[27] terms mixt allegorical compositions, these may do in poetry, because in writing the allegory can easily be distinguished from the historical part: no person mistakes Virgil’s Fame for a real being. But such a mixture in a picture is intolerable; because in a picture the objects must appear all of the same kind, wholly real or wholly emblematical. The history of Mary de Medicis, in the palace of Luxenbourg, painted by Rubens, is in a vicious taste, by a perpetual jumble of real and allegorical personages, which produce a discordance of parts and an obscurity upon the whole: witness in particular, the tablature representing the arrival of Mary de Medicis at Marseilles: mixt with the real personages, the Nereids and Tritons appear sounding their shells. Such a mixture of fiction and reality in the same group, is strangely absurd. The picture of Alexander and Roxana, described by Lucian, is gay and fanciful: but it suffers by the allegorical figures. It is not in the wit of man to invent an allegorical representation deviating farther from any appearance of resemblance, than one exhibited by Lewis XIV. anno 1664; in which an overgrown chariot, intended to represent that of the sun, is dragg’d along, surrounded with men and women, representing the four ages of the world, the celestial signs, the seasons, the hours, &c.: a monstrous composition; and yet scarce more absurd than Guido’s tablature of Aurora.

In an allegory, as well as in a metaphor, terms ought to be chosen that properly and literally are applicable to the representative subject. Nor ought any circumstance to be added, that is not proper to the representative subject, however justly it may be applicable figuratively to the principal. Upon this account the following allegory is faulty.

For though blood may suggest the cruelty of love, it is an improper or immaterial circumstance in the representative subject: water, not blood, is proper for a whetstone.

We proceed to the next head, which is, to examine in what circumstances these figures are proper, in what improper. This inquiry is not altogether superseded by what is said upon the same subject in the chapter of comparisons; because, upon trial, it will be found, that a short metaphor or allegory may be proper, where a simile, drawn out to a greater length, and in its nature more solemn, would scarce be relished. The difference however is not considerable; and in most instances the same rules are applicable to both. And, in the first place, a metaphor, as well as a simile, are excluded from common conversation, and from the description of ordinary incidents.

In the next place, in any severe passion which totally occupies the mind, metaphor is unnatural. For that reason, we must condemn the following speech of Macbeth.

The next example, of deep despair, beside the highly figurative style, hath more the air of raving than of sense:

The metaphor I next introduce, is sweet and lively, but it suits not the fiery temper of Chamont, inflamed with passion. Parables are not the language of wrath venting itself without restraint:

The following speech, full of imagery, is not natural in grief and dejection of mind.

The finest picture that ever was drawn of deep distress, is in Macbeth[28], where Macduff is represented lamenting his wife and children, inhumanly murdered by the tyrant. Struck with the news, he questions the messenger over and over; not that he doubted the fact, but that his heart revolted against so cruel a misfortune. After struggling some time with his grief, he turns from his wife and children to their savage butcher; and then gives vent to his resentment; but still with manliness and dignity:

This passage is a delicious picture of human nature. One expression only seems doubtful. In examining the messenger, Macduff expresses himself thus:

Metaphorical expression, I am sensible, may sometimes be used with grace, where a regular simile would be intolerable: but there are situations so overwhelming, as not to admit even the slightest metaphor. It requires great delicacy of taste to determine with firmness, whether the present case be of that nature. I incline to think it is; and yet I would not willingly alter a single word of this admirable scene.

But metaphorical language is proper when a man struggles to bear with dignity or decency a misfortune however great. The struggle agitates and animates the mind:

SECT. VII.

Figure of Speech.

IN the section immediately foregoing, a figure of speech is defined, “The employing a word in a sense different from what is proper to it;” and the new or uncommon sense of the word is termed the figurative sense. The figurative sense must have a relation to that which is proper; and the more intimate the relation is, the figure is the more happy. How ornamental this figure is to language, will not be readily imagined by any one who hath not given peculiar attention. I shall endeavour to display its capital beauties and advantages. In the first place, a word used figuratively, together with its new sense, suggests what it commonly bears: and thus it has the effect to present two objects; one signified by the figurative sense, which may be termed the principal object; and one signified by the proper sense, which may be termed accessory. The principal makes a part of the thought; the accessory is merely ornamental. In this respect, a figure of speech is precisely similar to concordant sounds in music, which, without contributing to the melody, make it harmonious. I explain myself by examples. Youth, by a figure of speech, is termed the morning of life. This expression signifies youth, the principal object, which enters into the thought: but it suggests, at the same time, the proper sense of morning; and this accessory object being in itself beautiful and connected by resemblance to the principal object, is not a little ornamental. I give another example, of a different kind, where an attribute is expressed figuratively, Imperious ocean. Together with the figurative meaning of the epithet imperious, there is suggested its proper meaning, viz. the stern authority of a despotic prince. Upon this figurative power of words, Vida descants with great elegance:

In the next place, this figure possesses a signal power of aggrandising an object, by the following means. Words, which have no original beauty but what arises from their sound, acquire an adventitious beauty from their meaning. A word signifying any thing that is agreeable, becomes by that means agreeable; for the agreeableness of the object is communicated to its name[29]. This acquired beauty, by the force of custom, adheres to the word even when used figuratively; and the beauty received from the thing it properly signifies, is communicated to the thing which it is made to signify figuratively. Consider the foregoing expression Imperious ocean, how much more elevated it is than Stormy ocean.

Thirdly, this figure hath a happy effect in preventing the familiarity of proper names. The familiarity of a proper name, is communicated to the thing it signifies by means of their intimate connection; and the thing is thereby brought down in our feeling[30]. This bad effect is prevented by using a figurative word instead of one that is proper; as, for example, when we express the sky by terming it the blue vault of heaven. For though no work made with hands can compare with the sky in magnificence, the expression however is good, by preventing the object from being brought down by the familiarity of its proper name. With respect to the degrading familiarity of proper names, Vida has the following passage.

Lastly, by this figure language is enriched and rendered more copious. In that respect, were there no other, a figure of speech is a happy invention. This property is finely touched by Vida:

The beauties I have mentioned belong to every figure of speech. Several other beauties peculiar to one or other sort, I shall have occasion to remark afterward.

Not only subjects, but qualities, actions, effects, may be expressed figuratively. Thus as to subjects, the gates of breath for the lips, the watery kingdom for the ocean. As to qualities, fierce for stormy, in the expression Fierce winter: altus for profundus, altus puteus, altum mare: Breathing for perspiring, Breathing plants. Again, as to actions, the sea rages: Time will melt her frozen thoughts: Time kills grief. An effect is put for the cause, as lux for the sun; and a cause for the effect, as boum labores for corn. The relation of resemblance is one plentiful source of figures of speech; and nothing is more common than to apply to one object the name of another that resembles it in any respect. Height, size, and worldly greatness, though in themselves they have no resemblance, produce emotions in the mind that have a resemblance; and, led by this resemblance, we naturally express worldly greatness by height or size. One feels a certain uneasiness in looking down to a great depth: and hence depth is made to express any thing disagreeable by excess; as depth of grief, depth of despair. Again, height of place and time long past, produce similar feelings; and hence the expression, Ut altius repetam. Distance in past time, producing a strong feeling, is put for any strong feeling: Nihil mihi antiquius nostra amicitia. Shortness with relation to space, for shortness with relation to time: Brevis esse laboro; obscurus fio. Suffering a punishment resembles paying a debt: hence pendere poenas. Upon the same account, light may be put for glory, sun-shine for prosperity, and weight for importance.

Many words, originally figurative, having, by long and constant use, lost their figurative power, are degraded to the inferior rank of proper terms. Thus the words that express the operations of the mind, have in all languages been originally figurative. The reason holds in all, that when these operations came first under consideration, there was no other way of describing them but by what they resembled. It was not practicable to give them proper names, as may be done to objects that can be ascertained by sight and touch. A soft nature, jarring tempers, weight of wo, pompous phrase, beget compassion, assuage grief, break a vow, bend the eye downward, shower down curses, drown’d in tears, wrapt in joy, warm’d with eloquence, loaden with spoils, and a thousand other expressions of the like nature, have lost their figurative sense. Some terms there are, that cannot be said to be either purely figurative or altogether proper: originally figurative, they are tending to simplicity, without having lost altogether their figurative power. Virgil’s Regina saucia cura, is perhaps one of these expressions. With ordinary readers, saucia will be considered as expressing simply the effect of grief; but one of a lively imagination will exalt the phrase into a figure.

To epitomise this subject, and at the same time to give a clear view of it, I cannot think of a better method, than to present to the reader a list of the several relations upon which figures of speech are commonly founded. This list I divide into two tables; one of subjects expressed figuratively, and one of attributes.

FIRST TABLE.

Subjects expressed figuratively.

1. A word proper to one subject employed figuratively to express a resembling subject.

There is no figure of speech so frequent, as what is derived from the relation of resemblance. Youth, for example, is signified figuratively by the morning of life. The life of a man resembles a natural day in several particulars. The morning is the beginning of day, youth the beginning of life: the morning is chearful, so is youth; &c. By another resemblance, a bold warrior is termed the thunderbolt of war; a multitude of troubles, a sea of troubles.

No other figure of speech possesses so many different beauties, as that which is founded on resemblance. Beside the beauties above mentioned, common to all sorts, it possesses in particular the beauty of a metaphor or of a simile. A figure of speech built upon resemblance, suggests always a comparison betwixt the principal subject and the accessory; and by this means every good effect of a metaphor or simile, may, in a short and lively manner, be produced by this figure of speech.

2. A word proper to the effect employ’d figuratively to express the cause.

Lux for the sun. Shadow for cloud. A helmet is signified by the expression glittering terror. A tree by shadow or umbrage. Hence the expression,

A wound is made to signify an arrow:

There is a peculiar force and beauty in this figure. The word which signifies figuratively the principal subject, denotes it to be a cause by suggesting the effect.

3. A word proper to the cause, employ’d figuratively to express the effect.

Boumque labores for corn. Sorrow or grief for tears.

Blindness for darkness:

There is a peculiar energy in this figure similar to that in the former. The figurative name denotes the subject to be an effect by suggesting its cause.

4. Two things being intimately connected, the proper name of the one employ’d figuratively to signify the other.

Day for light. Night for darkness. Hence, A sudden night. Winter for a storm at sea.

This last figure would be too bold for a British writer, as a storm at sea is not inseparably connected with winter in this climate.

5. A word proper to an attribute employ’d figuratively to denote the subject.

Youth and beauty for those who are young and beautiful:

Majesty for the King:

Speaking of cranes:

The peculiar beauty of this figure arises from suggesting an attribute that embellishes the subject, or puts it in a stronger light.

6. A complex term employ’d figuratively to denote one of the component parts.

Funus for a dead body. Burial for a grave.

7. The name of one of the component parts instead of the complex term.

Toeda for a marriage. The East for a country situated east from us. Jovis vestigia servat, for imitating Jupiter in general.

8. A word signifying time or place employ’d figuratively to denote a connected subject.

Clime for a nation, or for a constitution of government: Hence the expression, Merciful clime. Fleecy winter for snow. Seculum felix.

9. A part for the whole.

The pole for the earth. The head for the person.

Tergum for the man:

Vultus for the man:

The peculiar beauty of this figure consists in marking out that part which makes the greatest figure.

10. The name of the container employ’d figuratively to signify what is contained.

Grove for the birds in it: Vocal grove. Ships for the seamen: Agonizing ships. Mountains for the sheep pasturing upon them: Bleating mountains. Zacynthus, Ithaca, &c. for the inhabitants. Ex moestis domibus. Livy.

11. The name of the sustainer employ’d figuratively to signify what is sustained.

Altar for the sacrifice. Field for the battle fought upon it: Well-fought field.

12. The name of the materials employ’d figuratively to signify the things made of them.

Ferrum for gladius.

13. The names of the Heathen deities employ’d figuratively to signify what they patronise.

Jove for the air. Mars for war. Venus for beauty. Cupid for love. Ceres for corn. Neptune for the sea. Vulcan for fire.

This figure bestows great elevation upon the subject; and therefore ought to be confined to the higher strains of poetry.

SECOND TABLE.

Attributes expressed figuratively.

1. When two attributes are connected, the name of the one may be employ’d figuratively to express the other.

Purity and virginity are attributes of the same person. Hence the expression, Virgin snow for pure snow.

2. A word signifying properly an attribute of one subject, employ’d figuratively to express a resembling attribute of another subject.

Tottering state. Imperious ocean. Angry flood. Raging tempest. Shallow fears.

Black omen, for an omen that portends bad fortune:

The peculiar beauty of this figure arises from suggesting a comparison.

3. A word proper to the subject, employ’d to express one of its attributes.

4. When two subjects have a resemblance by a common quality, the name of the one subject may be employ’d figuratively to denote that quality in the other.

5. The name of the instrument, made to signify the power of employing it.

The ample field of figurative expression display’d in these tables, affords great scope for reasoning and reflection. Several of the observations relating to metaphor, are applicable to figures of speech. These I shall slightly retouch, with some additions peculiarly adapted to the present subject.

In the first place, as the figure under consideration is built upon relation, we find from experience, and it must be obvious from reason, that the beauty of the figure depends on the intimacy of the relation betwixt the figurative and proper sense of the word. A slight resemblance, in particular, will never make this figure agreeable. The expression, for example, drink down a secret, for listening to a secret with attention, is harsh and uncouth, because there is scarce any resemblance betwixt listening and drinking. The expression weighty crack, used by Ben Johnson for loud crack, is worse if possible: a loud sound has not the slightest resemblance to a piece of matter that is weighty. The following expression of Lucretius is not less faulty. “Et lepido quÆ sunt fucata sonore.” i. 645.

The following figures of speech seem altogether wild and extravagant, the figurative and proper meaning having no connection whatever. Moving softness, freshness breathes, breathing prospect, flowing spring, dewy light, lucid coolness, and many others of this false coin may be found in Thomson’s Seasons.

Secondly, the proper sense of the word ought to bear some proportion to the figurative sense, and not soar much above it, nor sink much below it. This rule, as well as the foregoing, is finely illustrated by Vida:

Thirdly, in a figure of speech, every circumstance ought to be avoided that agrees with the proper sense only, not the figurative sense; for it is the latter that expresses the thought, and the former serves for no other purpose but to make harmony:

Zacynthus here standing figuratively for the inhabitants, the description of the island is quite out of place. It puzzles the reader, by making him doubt whether the word ought to be taken in its proper or figurative sense.

The disgust one has to drink ink in reality, is nothing to the purpose where the subject is drinking ink figuratively.

In the fourth place, to draw consequences from a figure of speech, as if the word were to be understood literally, is a gross absurdity, for it is confounding truth with fiction:

Sin may be imagined heavy in a figurative sense: but weight in a proper sense belongs to the accessory only; and therefore to describe the effects of weight, is to desert the principal subject, and to convert the accessory into a principal.

Ulysses speaking of Hector: