<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-eng2:8.6.40-8.6.53</requestUrn>
            </request>
            <reply>
                <urn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:8.6.40-8.6.53</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="40" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The remaining <hi rend="italic">tropes</hi> are employed solely to adorn
                            and enhance our style without any reference to the meaning. For the <hi rend="italic">epithet,</hi> of which the correct translation is <hi rend="italic">appositum,</hi> though some call it <hi rend="italic">sequens,</hi>
                        <pb n="v7-9 p.325"/> is clearly an ornament. Poets
                            employ it with special frequency and freedom, since for them it is
                            sufficient that the epithet should suit the word to which it is applied:
                            consequently we shall not blame them when they speak of <quote>white
                                teeth</quote> or <quote>liquid wine.</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Georg.</hi> III. 364. </note>
                            But in oratory an epithet is redundant unless it has some point. Now it
                            will only have point when it adds something to the meaning, as for
                            instance in the following: <quote>O abominable crime, O hideous
                                lust!</quote>
                     </p></div><div n="41" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But its decorative effect is greatest when it is metaphorical, as in the
                            phrases <quote>unbridled greed</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> Cic. in <hi rend="italic">Cat.</hi> I. x. 25.
                            </note> or <quote>those mad piles of masonry.</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic"> Pro Mil.</hi>
                                xx. 53. </note> The epithet is generally made into a <hi rend="italic">trope</hi> by the addition of something to it, as when
                            Virgil speaks of <quote>disgraceful poverty</quote> or <quote>sad old
                                age.</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> vi. 276 and 275. Here the addition is
                                    <hi rend="italic">metonymy, turpis</hi> and <hi rend="italic">tristis</hi> both substituting <hi rend="italic">effect</hi> in
                                place of <hi rend="italic">cause: cp.</hi> § 27. </note> But the
                            nature of this form of embellishment is such that, while style is bare
                            and inelegant without any epithets at all, it is overloaded when a large
                            number are employed. </p></div><div n="42" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For then it becomes long-winded and cumbrous, in fact you might compare
                            it to an army with as many camp-followers as soldiers, an army, that is
                            to say, which has doubled its numbers without doubling its strength.
                            None the less, not merely single epithets are employed, but we may find
                            a number of them together, as in the following passage from Virgil:
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> iii. 475. I have translated 476 ( <hi rend="italic">cura deum, bis Pergameis erepte ruinis</hi> ) as well to bring
                                out Quintilian's meaning. Quintilian assumes the rest of quotation
                                to be known. </note>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="F">Anchises, worthy deigned</l><l part="N">Of Venus' glorious
                                        bed, [beloved of heaven,</l><l part="N">Twice rescued from
                                        the wreck of Pergamum.]</l></quote></quote>
                     </p></div><div n="43" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Be this as it may, two epithets directly attached to one noun are
                            unbecoming even in verse. There are some writers who refuse to regard an
                                <hi rend="italic">epithet</hi> as a <hi rend="italic">trope,</hi> on
                            the ground that it involves no change. It <pb n="v7-9 p.327"/> is not
                            always a <hi rend="italic">trope,</hi> but if separated from the word to
                            which it belongs, it has a significance of its own and forms an <hi rend="italic">antonomasia.</hi> For if you say, <quote>The man who
                                destroyed Numantia and Carthage,</quote> it will be an <hi rend="italic">antonomasia,</hi> whereas, if you add the word
                                <quote>Scipio,</quote> the phrase will be an <hi rend="italic">epithet.</hi> An epithet therefore cannot stand by itself. </p></div><div n="44" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p><hi rend="italic">Allegory,</hi> which is translated in Latin by <hi rend="italic">inversio,</hi> either presents one thing in words and
                            another in meaning, or else something absolutely opposed to the meaning
                            of the words. The first type is generally produced by a series of
                            metaphors. Take as an example: <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">O ship, new waves will bear thee back to
                                            sea.</l><l part="N">What dost thou? Make the haven, come
                                            what may,</l></quote><bibl default="false">Hor. Od. i. xiv. 1.</bibl></cit></quote> and the rest of the ode, in which Horace represents
                            the state under the semblance of a ship, the civil wars as tempests, and
                            peace and good-will as the haven. </p></div><div n="45" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Such, again, is the claim of Lucretius: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Lucr.</hi> IV. 1.
                                </note>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">Pierian fields I
                                        range untrod by man,</l></quote></quote> and such again the
                            passage where Virgil says, <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">But now</l><l part="N">A mighty length of
                                            plain we have travelled o'er;</l><l part="N">'Tis time
                                            to loose our horses' steaming necks.</l></quote><bibl default="false">Georg. II. 541.</bibl></cit></quote>
                     </p></div><div n="46" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> On the other hand, in the Bucolics <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Buc.</hi> IX. 7. </note> he
                            introduces an allegory without any metaphor: <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">Truth, I had heard</l><l part="N">Your
                                        loved Menalcas by his songs had saved</l><l part="N">All
                                        those fair acres, where the hills begin</l><l part="N">To
                                        sink and droop their ridge with easy slope</l><l part="N">Down to the waterside and that old beech</l><l part="N">With splintered crest.</l></quote></quote>
                        <pb n="v7-9 p.329"/>
                     </p></div><div n="47" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For in this passage, with the exception of the proper name, the words
                            bear no more than their literal meaning. But the name does not simply
                            denote the shepherd Menalcas, but is a pseudonym for Virgil himself.
                            Oratory makes frequent use of such allegory, but generally with this
                            modification, that there is an admixture of plain speaking. We get
                            allegory pure and unadulterated in the following passage of Cicero:
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">From an unknown
                                speech.</note>
                        <quote> What I marvel at and complain of is this, that
                                there should exist any man so set on destroying his enemy as to
                                scuttle the ship on which he himself is sailing. </quote>
                     </p></div><div n="48" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The following is an example of the commonest type, namely, the mixed
                            allegory: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Pro Mil.</hi> ii, 5. </note>
                        <quote> I always thought that Milo
                                would have other storms and tempests to weather, at least in the
                                troubled waters of political meetings. </quote> Had he not added the
                            words <quote>at least in the troubled waters of political
                                meetings,</quote> we should have had pure allegory: their addition,
                            however, converted it into a mixed allegory. In this type of allegory
                            the ornamental element is provided by the metaphorical words and the
                            meaning is indicated by those which are used literally. </p></div><div n="49" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But far the most ornamental effect is produced by the artistic admixture
                            of simile, metaphor and allegory, as in the following example: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Pro Mur.</hi>
                                xvii. 35. </note>
                        <quote> What strait, what tide-race, think you, is
                                full of so many conflicting motions or vexed by such a variety of
                                eddies, waves and fluctuations, as confuse our popular elections
                                with their wild ebb and flow? The passing of one day, or the
                                interval of a single night, will often throw everything into
                                confusion, and one little breath of rumour will sometimes turn the
                                whole trend of opinion. <milestone n="50" unit="section"/>
                        </quote>
                            For it is all-important to follow the principle illustrated by this
                            passage and never to <pb n="v7-9 p.331"/> mix your metaphors. But there
                            are many who, after beginning with a tempest, will end with a fire or a
                            falling house, with the result that they produce a hideously incongruous
                            effect. </p></div><div n="51" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For the rest, allegory is often used by men of little ability and in the
                            conversation of everyday life. For those hackneyed phrases of forensic
                            pleading, <quote>to fight hand to hand,</quote>
                        <quote>to attack the
                                throat,</quote> or <quote>to let blood</quote> are all of them
                            allegorical, although they do not strike the attention: for it is
                            novelty and change that please in oratory, and what is unexpected always
                            gives special delight. Consequently we have thrown all restraint to the
                            wind in such matters, and have destroyed the charm of language by the
                            extravagant efforts which we have made to attain it. </p></div><div n="52" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Illustrative examples also involve allegory if not preceded by an
                            explanation; for there are numbers of sayings available for use like the
                                <quote>Dionysius is at Corinth,</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> The allusion must be to the fact that Dionysius
                                II, tyrant of Syracuse, on his expulsion from the throne, migrated
                                to Corinth and set up as a schoolmaster. Its application is
                                uncertain, but it would obviously be a way of saying <quote>How are
                                    the mighty fallen I</quote>
                        </note> which is such a favourite
                            with the Greeks. When, however, an allegory is too obscure, we call it a
                            riddle: such riddles are, in my opinion, to be regarded as blemishes, in
                            view of the fact that lucidity is a virtue; nevertheless they are used
                            by poets, as, for example, by Virgil <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Ecl.</hi> iii. 104; the
                                solution is lost. </note> in the following lines: <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">Say in what land, and if thou
                                        tell me true,</l><l part="N">I'll hold thee as Apollo's
                                        oracle,</l><l part="N">Three ells will measure all the arch
                                        of heaven.</l></quote></quote> Even orators sometimes use
                            them, </p></div><div n="53" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> as when Caelius <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> The
                                references are to the licentious character of Clodia. <hi rend="italic">Coa</hi> was probably intended to suggest <hi rend="italic">coitus,</hi> while <hi rend="italic">nola</hi> is
                                best derived from <hi rend="italic">nolle,</hi> and is to be
                                regarded as the opposite of <hi rend="italic">coa.</hi>
                        </note>
                            speaks of the <quote> Clytemnestra who sold her favours for a farthing,
                                who was a Coan in the dining-room and a Nolan in her bedroom.
                            </quote> For although we know the answers, and although they were better
                            known at the time when the words were uttered, <pb n="v7-9 p.333"/> they
                            are riddles for all that; and other riddles are, after all, intelligible
                            if you can get someone to explain them. </p></div></div></div></div></body></text></TEI>
                </passage>
            </reply>
            </GetPassage>