The following speech, full of imagery, is not natural in grief and dejection of mind.
Gonsalez. O my son! from the blind dotage
Of a father’s fondness these ills arose.
For thee I’ve been ambitious, base and bloody:
For thee I’ve plung’d into this sea of sin;
Stemming the tide with only one weak hand,
While t’other bore the crown, (to wreathe thy brow),
Whose weight has sunk me ere I reach’d the shore.
Mourning Bride, act 5. sc. 6.
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:
O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Heav’n!
Cut short all intermission: front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword’s length set him—— If he ’scape,
Then Heav’n forgive him too.
This passage is a delicious picture of human nature. One expression only seems doubtful. In examining the messenger, Macduff expresses himself thus:
He hath no children—— all my pretty ones!
Did you say all? what all? Oh, hell-kite! all?
What! all my pretty little chickens and their dam,
At one fell swoop!
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:
Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls as I do.
Henry VIII. act 3. sc. 6.