<GetPassage xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns="http://chs.harvard.edu/xmlns/cts">
            <request>
                <requestName>GetPassage</requestName>
                <requestUrn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:8.6.1-8.6.15</requestUrn>
            </request>
            <reply>
                <urn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:8.6.1-8.6.15</urn>
                <passage>
                    <TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><text xml:lang="eng"><body><div n="urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2" type="translation" xml:lang="eng"><div n="8" type="textpart" subtype="book"><div n="6" type="textpart" subtype="chapter"><div n="1" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> By a <hi rend="italic">trope</hi> is meant the artistic alteration of a
                            word or phrase from its proper meaning to another. This is a subject
                            which has given rise to interminable disputes among the teachers of
                            literature, who have quarrelled no less violently with the philosophers
                            than among themselves over the problem of the <hi rend="italic">genera</hi> and <hi rend="italic">species</hi> into which <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> may be divided, their number and their
                            correct classification. </p></div><div n="2" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> I propose to disregard such quibbles as in no wise concern the training
                            of an orator, and to proceed to discuss those <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> which are most necessary and meet with most general
                            acceptance, contenting myself merely with noting the fact that some <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> are employed to help out our meaning and
                            others to adorn our style, that some arise from words used <hi rend="italic">properly</hi> and others from words used <hi rend="italic">metaphorically,</hi> and that the changes involved
                            concern not merely individual words, but also our thoughts and the
                            structure of our sentences. </p></div><div n="3" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> In view of these facts I regard those writers as mistaken who have held
                            that <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> necessarily involved the substitution
                            of word for word. And I do not ignore the fact that <pb n="v7-9 p.303"/>
                            as a rule the <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> employed to express our
                            meaning involve ornament as well, though the converse is not the case,
                            since there are some which are intended solely for the purpose of
                            embellishment. </p></div><div n="4" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Let us begin, then, with the commonest and by far the most beautiful of
                                <hi rend="italic">tropes,</hi> namely, <hi rend="italic">metaphor,</hi> the Greek term for our <hi rend="italic">translatio.</hi> It is not merely so natural a turn of speech that
                            it is often employed unconsciously or by uneducated persons, but it is
                            in itself so attractive and elegant that however distinguished the
                            language in which it is embedded it shines forth with a light that is
                            all its own. </p></div><div n="5" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For if it be correctly and appropriately applied, it is quite impossible
                            for its effect to be commonplace, mean or unpleasing. It adds to the
                            copiousness of language by the interchange of words and by borrowing,
                            and finally succeeds in accomplishing the supremely difficult task of
                            providing a name for everything. A noun or a verb is transferred from
                            the place to which it properly belongs to another where there is either
                            no <hi rend="italic">literal</hi> term or the <hi rend="italic">transferred</hi> is better than the <hi rend="italic">literal.</hi>
                     </p></div><div n="6" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> We do this either because it is necessary or to make our meaning clearer
                            or, as I have already said, to produce a decorative effect. When it
                            secures none of these results, our metaphor will be out of place. As an
                            example of a necessary metaphor I may quote the following usages in
                            vogue with peasants when they call a vinebud <hi rend="italic">gemma,</hi> a gem (what other term is there which they could use?),
                            or speak of the <hi rend="italic">crops being thirsty</hi> or the <hi rend="italic">fruit suffering.</hi> For the same reason we speak of
                            a <hi rend="italic">hard</hi> or <hi rend="italic">rough</hi> man, there
                            being no <hi rend="italic">literal</hi> term for these temperaments.
                        </p></div><div n="7" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> On the other hand, when we say that a man is <hi rend="italic">kindled
                                to anger</hi> or <hi rend="italic">on fire with greed</hi> or that
                            he has <hi rend="italic">fallen into</hi>
                        <pb n="v7-9 p.305"/>
                        <hi rend="italic">error,</hi> we do so to enhance our meaning. For none
                            of these things can be more literally described in its own words than in
                            those which we import from elsewhere. But it is a purely ornamental
                            metaphor when we speak of <hi rend="italic"> brilliance of style,
                                splendour of birth, tempestuous public assemblies, thunderbolts of
                                eloquence, </hi> to which I may add the phrase employed by Cicero
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Pro
                                    Mil.</hi> xiii. 34, 35. </note> in his defence of Milo where he
                            speaks of Clodius as the <hi rend="italic">fountain,</hi> and in another
                            place as <hi rend="italic">the fertile field and material</hi> of his
                            client's <hi rend="italic">glory.</hi>
                     </p></div><div n="8" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> It is even possible to express facts of a somewhat unseemly character by
                            a judicious use of metaphor, as in the following passage: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> Virg. <hi rend="italic">Georg.</hi> iii. 1 </note>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">This do they lest too much indulgence make</l><l part="N">The field of generation slothful grow</l><l part="F">And choke its idle furrows.</l></quote></quote> On
                            the whole <hi rend="italic">metaphor</hi> is a shorter form of <hi rend="italic">simile,</hi> while there is this further difference,
                            that in the latter we compare some object to the thing which we wish to
                            describe, whereas in the former this object is actually substituted for
                            the thing. </p></div><div n="9" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> It is a comparison when I say that a man did something <hi rend="italic">like a lion,</hi> it is a metaphor when I say of him, <hi rend="italic">He is a lion.</hi> Metaphors fall into four classes.
                            In the first we substitute one living thing for another, as in the
                            passage where the poet, speaking of a charioteer, <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">Probably from Ennius.</note> says, <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="I">The steersman then</l><l part="N">With mighty effort wrenched his charger
                                    round.</l></quote></quote> or when Livy <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">Liv. XXXVIII. liv.</note> says that Scipio was
                            continually <hi rend="italic">barked at</hi> by Cato. </p></div><div n="10" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Secondly, inanimate things may be substituted for inanimate, as in the
                            Virgilian. <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">And gave his fleet the rein,</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> vi. 1. </bibl></cit></quote>
                        <pb n="v7-9 p.307"/> or inanimate may be substituted
                            for animate, as in <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Did the Argive bulwark fall by sword or
                                            fate?</l></quote><bibl default="false">From an unknown tragedian.</bibl></cit></quote> or animate for inanimate, as in the following lines:
                                <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">The shepherd sits unknowing on the
                                            height</l><l part="N"> Listening the roar from some far
                                            mountain <lb/> brow. </l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> ii. 307.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote>
                     </p></div><div n="11" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But, above all, effects of extraordinary sublimity are produced when the
                            theme is exalted by a bold and almost hazardous metaphor and inanimate
                            objects are given life and action, as in the phrase <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Araxes' flood that scorns a
                                        bridge,</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> viii. 728.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> or in the passage of Cicero, <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Pro Lit.</hi> iii. 9. See
                                VIII. iv. 27. </note> already quoted, </p></div><div n="12" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> where he cries, <quote> What was that sword of yours doing, Tubero, the
                                sword you drew on the field of Pharsalus? Against whose body did you
                                aim its point? What meant those arms you bore? </quote> Sometimes
                            the effect is doubled, as in Virgil's. <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">And with venom arm the steel.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> ix. 773.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> For both <quote>to arm the steel</quote> and
                                <quote>to arm with venom</quote> are metaphors. </p></div><div n="13" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> These four kinds of metaphor are further subdivided into a number of <hi rend="italic">species,</hi> such as transference from rational
                            beings to rational and from irrational to irrational and the reverse, in
                            which the method is the same, and finally from the whole to its parts
                            and from the parts to the whole. But I am not now teaching boys: my
                            readers are old enough to discover the <hi rend="italic">species</hi>
                            for themselves when once they have been given the <hi rend="italic">genus.</hi>
                     </p></div><div n="14" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> While a temperate and timely use of metaphor is <pb n="v7-9 p.309"/> a
                            real adornment to style, on the other hand, its frequent use serves
                            merely to obscure our language and weary our audience, while if we
                            introduce them in one continuous series, our language will become
                            allegorical and enigmatic. There are also certain metaphors which fail
                            from meanness, such as that of which I spoke above <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">See VIII. iii. 48.</note> : <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">There is a rocky wart upon the
                                        mountain's</l><l part="N">brow.</l></quote></quote> or they
                            may even be coarse. For it does not follow that because Cicero was
                            perfectly justified in talking of <quote>the sink of the
                                state,</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> In <hi rend="italic">Cat.</hi> I. v. 12. </note> when he desired to
                            indicate the foulness of certain men, we can approve the following
                            passage from an ancient orator: <quote>You have lanced the boils of the
                                state.</quote>
                     </p></div><div n="15" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Indeed Cicero <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">De Or.</hi> iii. xli. 164. </note> himself has
                            demonstrated in the most admirable manner how important it is to avoid
                            grossness in metaphor, such as is revealed by the following examples,
                            which he quotes:— <quote>The state was gelded by the death of
                                Africanus,</quote> or <quote>Glaucia, the excrement of the
                                senate-house.</quote>
                     </p></div></div></div></div></body></text></TEI>
                </passage>
            </reply>
            </GetPassage>