As glorious to the sightAs is a winged messenger from heavenUnto the white upturned wondring eyeOf mortals, that fall back to gaze on himWhen he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,And sails upon the bosom of the air.Romeo and Juliet.
As glorious to the sightAs is a winged messenger from heavenUnto the white upturned wondring eyeOf mortals, that fall back to gaze on himWhen he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,And sails upon the bosom of the air.Romeo and Juliet.
As glorious to the sightAs is a winged messenger from heavenUnto the white upturned wondring eyeOf mortals, that fall back to gaze on himWhen he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,And sails upon the bosom of the air.Romeo and Juliet.
One example of this species of novelty deserves peculiar attention; and that is, when an object altogether new is seen by one person only, and but once. These circumstances heighten remarkably the emotion. The singularity of the condition of the spectator concurs with the singularityof the object, to inflame wonder to its highest pitch.
In explaining the effects of novelty, the place a being occupies in the scale of existence, is a circumstance that must not be omitted. Novelty in the individuals of a low class, is perceived with indifference, or with a very slight emotion. Thus a pebble, however singular in its appearance, scarce moves our wonder. The emotion rises with the rank of the object; and, other circumstances being equal, is strongest in the highest order of existence. A strange animal affects us more than a strange vegetable; and were we admitted to view superior beings, our wonder would rise proportionably; and accompanying Nature in her amazing works, be completed in the contemplation of the Deity.
However natural the love of novelty may be, it is a matter of experience, that those who relish novelty the most, are careful to conceal its influence. This relish, it is true, prevails in children, in idle people, and in men of a weak mind. And yet, after all, why should one be ashamed for indulginga natural propensity? A distinction will explain this difficulty. No man is ashamed to own, that he loves to contemplate new or strange objects. He neither condemns himself nor is censured by others, for this appetite. But every man studies to conceal, that he loves a thing or performs an action, merely for its novelty. The reason of the difference will set the matter in a clear light. Curiosity is a natural principle directed upon new and singular objects, in the contemplation of which its gratification consists, without leading to any end other than knowledge. The man therefore who prefers any thing merely because it is new, hath not this principle for his justification; nor indeed any good principle. Vanity is at the bottom, which easily prevails upon those who have no taste, to prefer things odd, rare, or singular, in order to distinguish themselves from others. And in fact, the appetite for novelty, as above mentioned, reigns chiefly among persons of a mean taste, who are ignorant of refined and elegant pleasures.
The gratification of curiosity, as mentioned above, is distinguished by a proper name,viz. wonder; an honour denied to the gratification of any other principle, emotion, or passion, so far as I can recollect. This singularity indicates some important final cause, which I endeavour to unfold. An acquaintance with the various things that may affect us, and with their properties, is essential to our well-being. Nor will a slight or superficial acquaintance be sufficient. It ought to be so deeply ingraved on the mind, as to be ready for use upon every occasion. Now, in order to a deep impression, it is wisely contrived, that things should be introduced to our acquaintance, with a certain pomp and solemnity productive of a vivid emotion. When the impression is once fairly made, the emotion of novelty, being no longer necessary, vanisheth almost instantaneously; never to return, unless where the impression happens to be obliterated by length of time or other means; in which case the second introduction is nearly as solemn as the first.
Designing wisdom is no where more legible than in this part of the human frame.If new objects did not affect us in a very peculiar manner, their impressions would be so slight as scarce to be of any use in life. On the other hand, did objects continue to affect us as deeply as at first, the mind would be totally ingrossed with them, and have no room left either for action or reflection.
The final cause of surprise is still more evident than of novelty. Self-love makes us vigilantly attentive to self-preservation. But self-love, which operates by means of reason and reflection, and impells not the mind to any particular object or from it, is a principle too cool for a sudden emergency. An object breaking in unexpectedly, affords no time for deliberation; and, in this case, the agitation of surprise is artfully contrived to rouse self-love into action. Surprise gives the alarm, and if there be any appearance of danger, our whole force is instantly summoned up to shun or to prevent it.
SUchis the nature of man, that his powers and faculties are soon blunted by exercise. The returns of sleep, suspending all activity, are not alone sufficient to preserve him in vigor. During his waking hours, amusement by intervals is requisite to unbend his mind from serious occupation. The imagination, of all our faculties the most active, and not always at rest even in sleep, contributes more than any other cause to recruit the mind and restore its vigor, by amusing us with gay and ludicrous images; and when relaxation is necessary, such amusement is much relished. But there are other sources of amusement beside the imagination. Many objects, natural as well as artificial, may be distinguished by the epithet ofrisible, because they raise in us a peculiar emotion expressed externally bylaughter. This is a pleasant emotion; and being also mirthful, it most successfully unbends the mind and recruits the spirits.
Ludicrousis a general term, signifying, as we may conjecture from its derivation, what is playsome, sportive, or jocular.Ludicroustherefore seems the genus, of whichrisibleis a species, limited as above to what makes us laugh.
However easy it may be, concerning any particular object, to say whether it be risible or not; it seems difficult, if at all practicable, to establish beforehand any general character by which objects of this kind may be distinguished from others. Nor is this a singular case. Upon a review, we find the same difficulty in most of the articles already handled. There is nothing more easy, viewing a particular object, than to pronounce that it is beautiful or ugly, grand or little: but were we to attempt general rules for ranging objects under different classes, according to these qualities, we should find ourselves utterly at a loss. There is a separate cause which increases the difficulty of distinguishing risible objects by a general character. All men are not equally affected by risible objects; and even the same person is more disposed to laugh at one time than another. In high spirits a thing will make us laugh outright, that will scarce provoke a smile when we are in a grave mood. We must therefore abandon the thought of attempting general rules for distinguishing risible objects from others. Risible objects however are circumscribed within certain limits, which I shall suggest, without pretending to any degree of accuracy. And, in the first place, I observe, that no object is risible but what appears slight, little, or trifling. For man is so constituted as to be seriously affected with every thing that is of importance to his own interest or to that of others. Secondly, with respect to the works both of nature and of art, nothing is risible but what deviates from the common nature of the subject: it must be some particular out of rule, some remarkable defect or excess, a very long visage, for example, or a very short one. Hence nothing just, proper, decent,beautiful, proportioned, or grand, is risible. A real distress raises pity, and therefore cannot be risible. But a slight or imaginary distress, which moves not pity, is risible. The adventure of the fulling-mills in Don Quixote is extremely risible; so is the scene where Sancho, in a dark night, tumbles into a pit, and attaches himself to the side by hand and foot, there hanging in terrible dismay till the morning, when he discovers himself to be within a foot of the bottom. A nose remarkably long or short is risible; but to want the nose altogether, far from provoking laughter, raises horror in the spectator.
From what is said, it will readily be conjectured, that the emotion raised by a risible object is of a nature so singular as scarce to find place while the mind is occupied with any other passion or emotion. And this conjecture is verified by experience. We scarce ever find this emotion blended with any other. One emotion I must except, and that is contempt raised by some sort of improprieties. Every improper act inspires us with some degree of contempt for theauthor. And if an improper act be at the same time risible and provoke laughter, of which blunders and absurdities are noted instances, the two emotions of contempt and of laughter unite intimately in the mind, and produce externally what is termeda laugh of derisionorof scorn. Hence objects that cause laughter, may be distinguished into two kinds. They are eitherrisibleorridiculous. A risible object is mirthful only; a ridiculous object is both mirthful and contemptible. The first raises an emotion of laughter that is altogether pleasant: the emotion of laughter raised by the other, is qualified with that of contempt; and the mixed emotion, partly pleasant partly painful, is termedthe emotion of ridicule. I avenge myself of the pain a ridiculous object gives me by a laugh of derision. A risible object, on the other hand, gives me no pain: it is altogether pleasant by a certain sort of titillation, which is expressed externally by mirthful laughter. Ridicule will be more fully explained afterward: the present chapter is appropriated to the other emotion.
Risible objects are so common and so wellunderstood, that it is unnecessary to consume paper or time upon them. Take the few following examples.
Falstaff.I do remember him at Clement’s inn,like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring.When he was naked, he was for all the world like aforked radish, with a head fantastically carved uponit with a knife.Second part, Henry IV. act 3. sc. 5.
Falstaff.I do remember him at Clement’s inn,like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring.When he was naked, he was for all the world like aforked radish, with a head fantastically carved uponit with a knife.Second part, Henry IV. act 3. sc. 5.
Falstaff.I do remember him at Clement’s inn,like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring.When he was naked, he was for all the world like aforked radish, with a head fantastically carved uponit with a knife.Second part, Henry IV. act 3. sc. 5.
The foregoing is of disproportion. The following examples are of slight or imaginary misfortunes.
Falstaff.Go fetch me a quart of sack, put atoast in’t. Have I liv’d to be carried in a basket,like a barrow of butcher’s offal, and to be throwninto the Thames? Well, if I be serv’d such anothertrick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and butter’d,and give them to a dog for a new-year’sgift. The rogues slighted me into the river withas little remorse as they would have drown’d abitch’s blind puppies, fifteen i’ th’ litter; and youmay know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrityin sinking: if the bottom were as deep as hell,I should down. I had been drown’d, but that theshore was shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor;for the water swells a man: and what a thingshould I have been, when I had been swell’d? Ishould have been a mountain of mummy.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 15.
Falstaff.Go fetch me a quart of sack, put atoast in’t. Have I liv’d to be carried in a basket,like a barrow of butcher’s offal, and to be throwninto the Thames? Well, if I be serv’d such anothertrick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and butter’d,and give them to a dog for a new-year’sgift. The rogues slighted me into the river withas little remorse as they would have drown’d abitch’s blind puppies, fifteen i’ th’ litter; and youmay know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrityin sinking: if the bottom were as deep as hell,I should down. I had been drown’d, but that theshore was shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor;for the water swells a man: and what a thingshould I have been, when I had been swell’d? Ishould have been a mountain of mummy.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 15.
Falstaff.Go fetch me a quart of sack, put atoast in’t. Have I liv’d to be carried in a basket,like a barrow of butcher’s offal, and to be throwninto the Thames? Well, if I be serv’d such anothertrick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and butter’d,and give them to a dog for a new-year’sgift. The rogues slighted me into the river withas little remorse as they would have drown’d abitch’s blind puppies, fifteen i’ th’ litter; and youmay know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrityin sinking: if the bottom were as deep as hell,I should down. I had been drown’d, but that theshore was shelvy and shallow; a death that I abhor;for the water swells a man: and what a thingshould I have been, when I had been swell’d? Ishould have been a mountain of mummy.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 15.
Falstaff.Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook,what I have suffer’d to bring this woman to evilfor your good. Being thus cramm’d in the basket,a couple of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, werecall’d forth by their mistress, to carry me in thename of foul cloaths to Datchet-lane. They tookme on their shoulders, met the jealous knave theirmaster in the door, who ask’d them once or twicewhat they had in their basket. I quak’d for fear,left the lunatic knave would have search’d it; butFate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held hishand. Well, on went he for a search, and awaywent I for foul cloaths. But mark the sequel, MasterBrook. I suffer’d the pangs of three egregiousdeaths: first, an intolerable fright, to be detectedby a jealous rotten bell weather; next, to be compass’dlike a good bilbo, in the circumference of apeck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then to bestopt in, like a strong distillation, with stinking cloathsthat fretted in their own grease. Think of that, aman of my kidney; think of that, that am as subjectto heat as butter; a man of continual dissolutionand thaw; it was a miracle to ’scape suffocation.And in the height of this bath, when I wasmore than half-stew’d in grease, like a Dutch dish,to be thrown into the Thames, and cool’d glowinghot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think ofthat; hissing hot; think of that, Master Brook.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 17.
Falstaff.Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook,what I have suffer’d to bring this woman to evilfor your good. Being thus cramm’d in the basket,a couple of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, werecall’d forth by their mistress, to carry me in thename of foul cloaths to Datchet-lane. They tookme on their shoulders, met the jealous knave theirmaster in the door, who ask’d them once or twicewhat they had in their basket. I quak’d for fear,left the lunatic knave would have search’d it; butFate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held hishand. Well, on went he for a search, and awaywent I for foul cloaths. But mark the sequel, MasterBrook. I suffer’d the pangs of three egregiousdeaths: first, an intolerable fright, to be detectedby a jealous rotten bell weather; next, to be compass’dlike a good bilbo, in the circumference of apeck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then to bestopt in, like a strong distillation, with stinking cloathsthat fretted in their own grease. Think of that, aman of my kidney; think of that, that am as subjectto heat as butter; a man of continual dissolutionand thaw; it was a miracle to ’scape suffocation.And in the height of this bath, when I wasmore than half-stew’d in grease, like a Dutch dish,to be thrown into the Thames, and cool’d glowinghot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think ofthat; hissing hot; think of that, Master Brook.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 17.
Falstaff.Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook,what I have suffer’d to bring this woman to evilfor your good. Being thus cramm’d in the basket,a couple of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, werecall’d forth by their mistress, to carry me in thename of foul cloaths to Datchet-lane. They tookme on their shoulders, met the jealous knave theirmaster in the door, who ask’d them once or twicewhat they had in their basket. I quak’d for fear,left the lunatic knave would have search’d it; butFate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held hishand. Well, on went he for a search, and awaywent I for foul cloaths. But mark the sequel, MasterBrook. I suffer’d the pangs of three egregiousdeaths: first, an intolerable fright, to be detectedby a jealous rotten bell weather; next, to be compass’dlike a good bilbo, in the circumference of apeck, hilt to point, heel to head; and then to bestopt in, like a strong distillation, with stinking cloathsthat fretted in their own grease. Think of that, aman of my kidney; think of that, that am as subjectto heat as butter; a man of continual dissolutionand thaw; it was a miracle to ’scape suffocation.And in the height of this bath, when I wasmore than half-stew’d in grease, like a Dutch dish,to be thrown into the Thames, and cool’d glowinghot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think ofthat; hissing hot; think of that, Master Brook.Merry wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 17.
HAvingdiscussed those qualities and circumstances of single objects that seem peculiarly connected with criticism, we proceed, according to the method proposed in the chapter of beauty, to the relations of objects, beginning with the relations of resemblance and contrast.
Man being unavoidably connected with the beings around him, some acquaintance with their nature, their powers, and their qualities, is requisite for regulating his conduct. As an incentive to acquire a branch of knowledge so essential to our well-being, motives alone of reason and interest are not sufficient. Nature hath providently superadded curiosity, a vigorous propensity which never is at rest. It is this propensity which attaches us to every new object[78]; and inparticular incites us to consider objects in the way of comparison, in order to discover their differences and resemblances.
Resemblance among objects of the same kind, and dissimilitude among objects of different kinds, are too obvious and familiar to gratify our curiosity in any degree. The gratification lies in discovering differences among things where resemblance prevails, and in discovering resemblances where difference prevails. Thus a difference in individuals of the same kind of plants or animals is deemed a discovery, while the many particulars in which they agree are neglected: and in different kinds, any resemblance is greedily remarked, without attending to the many particulars in which they differ.
A comparison however may be too far stretched. When differences or resemblances are carried beyond certain bounds, they appear slight and trivial; and for that reason will not be relished by one of taste. Yet such propensity is there to gratify passion, curiosity in particular, that even among good writers, we find many comparisons too slight to afford satisfaction. Hence the frequentinstances among logicians, of distinctions without any solid difference: and hence the frequent instances among poets and orators, of similes without any just resemblance. With regard to the latter, I shall confine myself to one instance, which will probably amuse the reader, being a citation not from a poet nor orator, but from a grave author writing an institute of law. “Our student shall observe, that the knowledge of the law is like a deep well, out of which each man draweth according to the strength of his understanding. He that reacheth deepest, seeth the amiable and admirable secrets of the law, wherein I assure you the sages of the law in former times have had the deepest reach. And as the bucket in the depth is easily drawn to the uppermost part of the water, (fornullum elementum in suo proprio loco est grave), but take it from the water it cannot be drawn up but with a great difficulty; so, albeit beginnings of this study seem difficult, yet when the professor of the law can dive into the depth, it is delightful, easy, and without any heavy burden, so long as he keep himself in his own proper element[79].” Shakespear with much wit ridicules this disposition to simile-making, by putting in the mouth of a weak man a resemblance much of a piece with that now mentioned.
Fluellen.I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn: I tell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, there is also moreover a river in Monmouth: it is call’dWyeat Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but it is all one, ’tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend Clytus.Gower.Our King is not like him in that, he never kill’d any of his friends.Fluellen.It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in figures, and comparisons of it: As Alexander kill’d his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn’d away the fat knight with the great belly-doublet; he was full of jests, and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name.Gower.Sir John Falstaff.Fluellen.That is he: I tell you, there is good men porn at Monmouth.K. HenryV.act 4. sc. 13.
Fluellen.I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn: I tell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, there is also moreover a river in Monmouth: it is call’dWyeat Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but it is all one, ’tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend Clytus.
Gower.Our King is not like him in that, he never kill’d any of his friends.
Fluellen.It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in figures, and comparisons of it: As Alexander kill’d his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn’d away the fat knight with the great belly-doublet; he was full of jests, and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name.
Gower.Sir John Falstaff.
Fluellen.That is he: I tell you, there is good men porn at Monmouth.
K. HenryV.act 4. sc. 13.
Instruction, no doubt, is the chief end of comparison, but not the only end. In works addressed to the imagination, comparison may be employed with great success to put a subject in a strong point of view. A lively idea is formed of a man’s courage, by likening it to that of a lion; and eloquence is exalted in our imagination, by comparing it to a river overflowing its banks, and involving all in its impetuous course. The same effect is produced by contrast. A man in prosperity, becomes more sensible of his happiness, by opposing his condition to that of a person in want of bread. Thus comparison is subservient to poetry as well as to philosophy; and with respect to both, the foregoing observation holds equally, that resemblance among objects of the same kind, and contrast among objects of different kinds, have no effect. Such a comparison neither tends to gratify our curiosity, nor to set the objects compared in a stronger light. Two apartments in a palace, similar in shape, size, and furniture, make separately as good a figure as when compared; and the same observation applies to two similar copartments in a garden. On the other hand, oppose a regular building to a fall of water, or a good picture to a towering hill, or even a little dog to a large horse, and the contrast will produce no effect. But resemblance, where the objects compared are of different kinds, and contrast where the objects compared are of the same kind, have each of them remarkably an enlivening effect. The poets, such of them as have a just taste, draw all their similes from things that in the maindiffer widely from the principal subject; and they never attempt a contrast but where the things have a common genus and a resemblance in the capital circumstances. Place together a large and a small sized animal of the same species, the one will appear greater the other less, than when viewed separately. When we oppose beauty to deformity, each makes a greater figure by the comparison.
Upon a subject not only in itself curious, but of great importance in all the fine arts, I must be more particular. That resemblance and contrast have an enlivening effect upon objects of sight, is made sufficiently evident; and that they have the same effect upon objects of the other senses, will appear from induction. Nor is this law confined to the external senses. Characters contrasted, make a greater figure by the opposition. Iago, in the tragedy ofOthello, says
He hath a daily beauty in his life,That makes me ugly.
He hath a daily beauty in his life,That makes me ugly.
He hath a daily beauty in his life,That makes me ugly.
The character of a fop, and of a rough warrior, are no where more successfully contrasted than by Shakespear.
Hotspur.My liege, I did deny no prisoners;But I remember, when the fight was done,When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword;Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly dress’d,Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new-reap’d,Shew’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.He was perfumed like a milliner;And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he heldA pouncet-box, which ever and anonHe gave his nose;—and still he smil’d, and talk’d;And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corseBetwixt the wind and his nobility.With many holiday and lady termsHe question’d me: amongst the rest, demandedMy pris’ners, in your Majesty’s behalf.I then all smarting with my wounds; being gal’dTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,Out of my grief, and my impatience,Answer’d, neglectingly, I know not what:He should, or should not; for he made me mad,To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark!)And telling me, the sovereign’st thing on earthWas parmacity, for an inward bruise;And that it was great pity, so it was,This villanous saltpetre should be digg’dOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,Which many a good, tall fellow had destroy’dSo cowardly: and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.—First part, Henry IV. act 1. sc. 4.
Hotspur.My liege, I did deny no prisoners;But I remember, when the fight was done,When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword;Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly dress’d,Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new-reap’d,Shew’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.He was perfumed like a milliner;And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he heldA pouncet-box, which ever and anonHe gave his nose;—and still he smil’d, and talk’d;And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corseBetwixt the wind and his nobility.With many holiday and lady termsHe question’d me: amongst the rest, demandedMy pris’ners, in your Majesty’s behalf.I then all smarting with my wounds; being gal’dTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,Out of my grief, and my impatience,Answer’d, neglectingly, I know not what:He should, or should not; for he made me mad,To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark!)And telling me, the sovereign’st thing on earthWas parmacity, for an inward bruise;And that it was great pity, so it was,This villanous saltpetre should be digg’dOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,Which many a good, tall fellow had destroy’dSo cowardly: and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.—First part, Henry IV. act 1. sc. 4.
Hotspur.My liege, I did deny no prisoners;But I remember, when the fight was done,When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword;Came there a certain Lord, neat, trimly dress’d,Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new-reap’d,Shew’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home.He was perfumed like a milliner;And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he heldA pouncet-box, which ever and anonHe gave his nose;—and still he smil’d, and talk’d;And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corseBetwixt the wind and his nobility.With many holiday and lady termsHe question’d me: amongst the rest, demandedMy pris’ners, in your Majesty’s behalf.I then all smarting with my wounds; being gal’dTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,Out of my grief, and my impatience,Answer’d, neglectingly, I know not what:He should, or should not; for he made me mad,To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark!)And telling me, the sovereign’st thing on earthWas parmacity, for an inward bruise;And that it was great pity, so it was,This villanous saltpetre should be digg’dOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,Which many a good, tall fellow had destroy’dSo cowardly: and but for these vile guns,He would himself have been a soldier.—First part, Henry IV. act 1. sc. 4.
Passions and emotions are also inflamed by comparison. A man of high rank humbles the bystanders so far as almost to annihilate them in their own opinion. Cæsar, beholding the statue of Alexander, felt a great depression of spirits, when he reflected, that now at the age of thirty-two, when Alexander died, he had not performed one memorable action.
Our opinions also are much influenced by comparison. A man whose opulence exceeds the ordinary standard, is reputed richer than he is in reality; and the character of wisdom or weakness, if at all remarkable is generally carried beyond the truth.
The opinion a man forms of his present condition as to happiness or misery, depends in a great measure on the comparison he makes betwixt it and his former condition:
Could I forgetWhat I have been, I might the better bearWhat I am destin’d to. I’m not the firstThat have been wretched: but to think how muchI have been happier.Southern’s Innocent adultery, act 2.
Could I forgetWhat I have been, I might the better bearWhat I am destin’d to. I’m not the firstThat have been wretched: but to think how muchI have been happier.Southern’s Innocent adultery, act 2.
Could I forgetWhat I have been, I might the better bearWhat I am destin’d to. I’m not the firstThat have been wretched: but to think how muchI have been happier.Southern’s Innocent adultery, act 2.
The distress of a long journey makes even an indifferent inn pass current. And in travelling, when the road is good and the horseman well covered, a bad day may be agreeable, by making him sensible how snug he is.
The same effect is equally remarkable, when a man sets his condition in opposition to that of others. A ship tossed about in a storm, makes the spectator reflect upon his own security and ease, and puts these in the strongest light:
Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis,E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem,Non quia vexari quemquam est jocunda voluptas,Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est.Lucret. l. 2. principio.
Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis,E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem,Non quia vexari quemquam est jocunda voluptas,Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est.Lucret. l. 2. principio.
Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis,E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem,Non quia vexari quemquam est jocunda voluptas,Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est.Lucret. l. 2. principio.
A man in grief cannot bear mirth. It gives him a more lively notion of his unhappiness, and of course makes him more unhappy. Satan contemplating the beauties of the terrestrial paradise, breaks out in the following exclamation.
With what delight could I have walk’d thee round,If I could joy in ought, sweet interchangeOf hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown’d,Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of theseFind place or refuge; and the more I seePleasures about me, so much more I feelTorment within me, as from the hateful siegeOf contraries: all good to me becomesBane, and in heav’n much worse would be my state.Paradise Lost, book 9. l. 114.
With what delight could I have walk’d thee round,If I could joy in ought, sweet interchangeOf hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown’d,Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of theseFind place or refuge; and the more I seePleasures about me, so much more I feelTorment within me, as from the hateful siegeOf contraries: all good to me becomesBane, and in heav’n much worse would be my state.Paradise Lost, book 9. l. 114.
With what delight could I have walk’d thee round,If I could joy in ought, sweet interchangeOf hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown’d,Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of theseFind place or refuge; and the more I seePleasures about me, so much more I feelTorment within me, as from the hateful siegeOf contraries: all good to me becomesBane, and in heav’n much worse would be my state.Paradise Lost, book 9. l. 114.
Gaunt.All places that the eye of heaven visits,Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.Think not the King did banish thee;But thou the King. Wo doth the heavier sit,Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour;And not, the King exil’d thee. Or suppose,Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,And thou art flying to a fresher clime,Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine itTo lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou com’st.Suppose the singing birds, musicians;The grass whereon thou tread’st, the presence-floor;The flow’rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no moreThan a delightful measure, or a dance.For gnarling Sorrow hath less power to biteThe man that mocks at it, and sets it light.Bolingbroke.Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of Appetite,By bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snow,By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?Oh, no! the apprehension of the goodGives but the greater feeling to the worse.King Richard II. act 1. sc. 6.
Gaunt.All places that the eye of heaven visits,Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.Think not the King did banish thee;But thou the King. Wo doth the heavier sit,Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour;And not, the King exil’d thee. Or suppose,Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,And thou art flying to a fresher clime,Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine itTo lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou com’st.Suppose the singing birds, musicians;The grass whereon thou tread’st, the presence-floor;The flow’rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no moreThan a delightful measure, or a dance.For gnarling Sorrow hath less power to biteThe man that mocks at it, and sets it light.Bolingbroke.Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of Appetite,By bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snow,By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?Oh, no! the apprehension of the goodGives but the greater feeling to the worse.King Richard II. act 1. sc. 6.
Gaunt.All places that the eye of heaven visits,Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.Teach thy necessity to reason thus:There is no virtue like necessity.Think not the King did banish thee;But thou the King. Wo doth the heavier sit,Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour;And not, the King exil’d thee. Or suppose,Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,And thou art flying to a fresher clime,Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine itTo lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou com’st.Suppose the singing birds, musicians;The grass whereon thou tread’st, the presence-floor;The flow’rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no moreThan a delightful measure, or a dance.For gnarling Sorrow hath less power to biteThe man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Bolingbroke.Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of Appetite,By bare imagination of a feast?Or wallow naked in December snow,By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?Oh, no! the apprehension of the goodGives but the greater feeling to the worse.King Richard II. act 1. sc. 6.
The appearance of danger gives sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain. A timorous person upon the battlements of a high tower, is seized with terror, which even the consciousness of security cannot dissipate. But upon one of a firm head, this situation has a contrary effect. The appearance of danger heightens by opposition the consciousness of security, and of consequence the satisfaction that arises from security. The feeling here resembles that above mentioned occasioned by a ship labouring in a storm.
This effect of magnifying or lessening objects by means of comparison, is so familiar, that no philosopher has thought of searching for a cause[80]. The obscurity of the subject may possibly have contributed to their silence. But luckily in treating other subjects, a principle is unfolded which will clearly account for this phenomenon. Itdepends upon the power of passion to model our opinion of objects for its gratification[81]. We have had occasion to see many illustrious examples of this singular power of passion; and the present subject affords an additional instance. That this is the cause, will evidently appear, by reflecting in what manner a spectator is affected, when a very large animal is for the first time placed beside a very small one of the same species. The opposition is the first thing that strikes the mind: the unusual appearance gives surprise; and the spectator, prone to gratify this emotion, conceives the opposition to be the greatest that can be. He sees, or seems to see, the one animal extremely little, and the other extremely large. The emotion of surprise arising from any unusual resemblance, serves equally to explain why at first view we are apt to think such resemblance more entire than it is in reality. And it must be observed, that the circumstances of more and less, which are the proper subjects of comparison, raise a perception so indistinct and vague as to facilitate the effect described. We have no mental standard of great and little, nor of the several degrees of any attribute; and the mind thus unrestrained, is naturally disposed to indulge its surprise to the utmost extent.
In exploring the operations of the mind, some of which are extremely nice and slippery, it is necessary to proceed with the utmost circumspection. And after all, seldom it happens that speculations of this kind afford any strong conviction. Luckily, in the present case, we have at hand facts and experiments that support the foregoing theory in a satisfactory manner. In the first place, the opposing a small object of one species to a great object of another, produces not, in any degree, that effect of contrast, which is so remarkable when both objects are of the same species. There is no difference betwixt these two cases that promiseth to have any influence, but only that the former is common, the latter rare. May we not then fairly conclude, that surprise from the rarity of appearance is the causeof contrast, when we find no such effect where the appearance is common? In the next place, if surprise be the sole cause of the effects that appear in making a comparison, it follows necessarily that these effects will vanish so soon as a comparison becomes familiar. This holds so unerringly, as to leave no reasonable doubt that surprise is the prime mover in this operation. Our surprise is great the first time a small lapdog is seen with a large mastiff: but when two such animals are constantly together, there is no surprise; and it makes no difference whether they be viewed separately or in company. We put no bounds to the riches of a man who has recently made his fortune. The opposition betwixt his present and past situation, or betwixt his present situation and that of others, is carried to an extreme. With regard to a family that for many generations hath enjoyed great wealth, the same false reckoning is not made. It is equally remarkable, that a simile loses its effect by repetition. A lover compared to a moth scorching itself at the flame of a candle, is a sprightly simile, which by frequent use has lost all force. Love cannot now be compared to fire, without some degree of disgust. It has been justly objected against Homer, that the lion is too often introduced in his similes. All the variety he is able to throw into them, is not sufficient to keep alive the reader’s surprise.
To explain the influence of comparison upon the mind, I have chosen the simplest case, that of two animals of the same kind, differing in size only, seen for the first time. To complete the theory, other circumstances must be taken in. And the next supposition I shall make, is where both animals, separately familiar to the spectator, are brought together for the first time. In this case, the effect of magnifying and diminishing, will be found remarkably greater than in that first mentioned. And the reason will appear upon analyzing the operation. The first thing we feel is surprise, occasioned by the uncommon difference of two creatures of the same species. We are next sensible, that the one appears less, the other larger, than they did formerly. This new circumstance is a second cause of surprise,and augments it so as to make us imagine a still greater opposition betwixt the animals, than if we had formed no notion of them beforehand.
I shall confine myself to one other supposition, That the spectator was acquainted beforehand with one of the animals only, the lapdog for example. This new circumstance will vary the effect. Instead of widening the natural difference by enlarging in appearance the one animal and diminishing the other in proportion, the whole apparent alteration will rest upon the lapdog. The surprise to find it less than judged to be formerly, will draw the whole attention of the mind upon it; and this surprise will be gratified, by conceiving it to be of the most diminutive size possible. The mastiff in the mean time is quite neglected. I am able to illustrate this effect by a very familiar example. Take a piece of paper or linen reckoned to be a good white, and compare it with something of the same kind that is a pure white. The judgement we formed of the first object is instantly varied; and the surprise occasioned by finding it not sowhite as was thought, produceth a hasty conviction that it is much less white than it is in reality. Withdrawing now the pure white, and putting in its place a deep black, the surprise occasioned by this new circumstance carries our thought to the other extreme, and we now conceive the original object to be a pure white. Thus experience forces us to acknowledge, that our emotions have an influence even upon our eye-sight. This experiment leads to a general observation, That whatever is found more strange or beautiful than was expected, is judged to be more strange or beautiful than it is in reality. Hence it is a common artifice, to depreciate beforehand what we wish to make a figure in the eyes of others.
The comparisons employed by poets and orators, coincide with the last-mentioned supposition. It is always a known object that is to be aggrandized or lessened. The former is effectuated by likening it to some grand object, or by contrasting it with one that has the opposite character. To effectuate the latter, the method must be reversed. The object must be contrasted withsomething superior to itself, or likened to something inferior. The whole effect is produced upon the principal subject, which by this means is elevated above its rank or depressed below it.
In accounting for the effect that any unusual resemblance or contrast has upon the mind, I have hitherto assigned no other cause but surprise; and to prevent confusion and obscurity, I thought it proper to discuss that principle first. But surprise is not the only cause of the effect described. Another cause concurs, which operates perhaps not less powerfully than surprise. This cause is a principle in human nature that lies still in obscurity, not having been evolved by any writer, though its effects are extensive. As it is not distinguished by a proper name, the reader must be satisfied with the following description. No man who studies himself or others but must be sensible of a tendency or propensity in the mind to complete every work that is begun, and to carry things to their full perfection. This principle has little opportunity to display itself upon natural operations, which are seldom left imperfect.But in the operations of art it hath great scope; and displays itself remarkably, by making us persevere in our own work, and by making us wish for the completion of what is done by another. We feel a sensible pleasure when the work is brought to perfection; and our pain is not less sensible when we are disappointed. Hence our uneasiness, when an interesting story is broke off in the middle, when a piece of music ends without a close, or when a building or garden is left imperfect. The same principle operates in making collections, such as the whole works good and bad of any author. A certain person endeavoured to collect prints of all the capital paintings, and succeeded except as to a few. La Bruyere remarks, that an anxious search was made for these, not on account of their value, but to complete the set[82].
The final cause of this principle is an additional proof of its existence. Human works are of no significancy till they be completed. Reason is not always a sufficient counterbalance to indolence: and some principle over and above is necessary, to excite our industry, and to prevent our stopping short in the middle of the course.
We need not lose time in describing the co-operation of the foregoing principle withsurprise in producing the effect that is felt upon the appearance of any unusual resemblance or contrast. Surprise first operates, and carries our opinion of the resemblance or contrast beyond the truth. The principle we have been describing carries us still farther; for being bent upon gratification, it forces upon the mind a conviction that the resemblance or contrast is complete. We need no better illustration than the resemblance that is fancied in some pebbles to a tree or an insect. The resemblance, however faint in reality, is conceived to be wonderfully perfect. This tendency to complete a resemblance acting jointly with surprise, carries the mind sometimes so far as even to presume upon future events. In the Greek tragedy, intitled,Phineides, those unhappy women, seeing the place where it was intended they should be slain, cried out with anguish, “They now saw their cruel destiny had condemned them to die in that place, being the same where they had been exposed in their infancy[83].”
This remarkable principle which inclines us to advance every thing to its perfection, not only co-operates with surprise to deceive the mind, but of itself is able to produce that effect. Of this we see many instances where there is no place for surprise. The first instance I shall give is of resemblance.Unumquodque eodem modo dissolvitur quo colligatum est, is a maxim in the Roman law that has no foundation in truth. For tying andloosing, building and demolishing, are acts opposite to each other, and are performed by opposite means. But when these acts are connected by their relation to the same subject, their connection leads us to imagine a sort of resemblance betwixt them, which the foregoing principle makes us conceive to be as complete as possible. The next instance shall be of contrast. Addison observes[84], “That the palest features look the most agreeable in white; that a face which is overflushed appears to advantage in the deepest scarlet; and that a dark complexion is not a little alleviated by a black hood.” The foregoing principle serves to account for these appearances. To make this evident, one of the cases shall suffice. A complexion, however dark, never approaches to black. When these colours appear together, their opposition strikes us; and the propensity we have to complete the opposition, makes the darkness of complexion vanish out of sight.
The operation of this principle, evenwhere there is no ground for surprise, is not confined to opinion or conviction. So powerful is it, as to make us sometimes proceed to action in order to complete a resemblance or contrast. If this appear obscure, it will be made clear by the following instances. Upon what principle is thelex talionisfounded other than to make the punishment resemble the mischief? Reason dictates, that there ought to be a conformity or resemblance betwixt a crime and its punishment; and the foregoing principle impells us to make the resemblance as complete as possible. Titus Livius, influenced by this principle, accounts for a certain punishment by a resemblance betwixt it and the crime, far too subtile for common apprehension. Speaking of Mettus Fuffetius, the Alban general, who, for treachery to the Romans, his allies, was sentenced to be torn to pieces by horses, he puts the following speech in the mouth of Tullus Hostilius, who decreed the punishment. “Mette Fuffeti, inquit, si ipse discere posses fidem ac fœdera servare, vivo tibi ea disciplina a me adhibita esset. Nunc, quoniam tuum insanabile ingenium est, at tu tuo supplicio doce humanum genus, ea sancta credere, quæ a te violata sunt. Ut igitur paulo ante animum inter Fidenatem Romanamque rem ancipitem gessisti, ita jam corpus passim distrahendum dabis[85].” By the same influence, the sentence is often executed upon the very spot where the crime was committed. In theElectraof Sophocles, Egistheus is dragged from the theatre into an inner room of the supposed palace, to suffer death where he murdered Agamemnon. Shakespear, whose knowledge of nature is not less profound than extensive, has not overlooked this propensity: