At the beginning of “Bliss,” as Bertha reflects on the social constraints individuals—and particularly women—face, she repeats the same simile twice, likening both a “body” and a “baby” to a “rare, rare fiddle” (that is, a violin) that is always stashed away in its case. "Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?" Bertha muses, wondering why it would be taboo for her to break into dance as she walks down the street. Later, when the Nurse takes her baby daughter away, she thinks to herself, "Why have a baby if it has to be kept—not in a case like a rare, rare fiddle—but in another woman's arms?” Crucially, Bertha is not reflecting on the limitations she personally faces in life, but on the constraints society generally places on people and mothers. Bertha refers to “a body,” not her body, as well as “a baby,” not her baby, demonstrating that she is unable to clearly see her life for what it is.
The repetition of this simile, with just one word replaced by another, also creates an equivalence between the “body” of a mother and her “baby,” gesturing toward the circumscribed role of women during the early 20th century. Bertha’s “body” is only significant—like a “rare, rare fiddle”—insofar as she can bear children for her husband. Furthermore, the simile draws attention to the fact that, as women, Bertha and Little B are simultaneously venerated and subjugated: like “rare, rare” fiddles, kept locked up in cases, they are valuable commodities, but they're also subject to strict rules about their behavior and public character.
A major moment in the story arrives alongside—and is underscored by—a simile that forms the crux of this description of the pear tree, which Bertha and Pearl gaze at during a lull in the party:
And the two women stood side by side looking at the slender, flowering tree. Although it was so still it seemed, like the flame of a candle, to stretch up, to point, to quiver in the bright air, to grow taller and taller as they gazed—almost to touch the rim of the round, silver moon.
Bertha has been waiting throughout the dinner party to show the pear tree to Pearl, thinking its incandescent beauty might help demonstrate the extent of her feelings for her and allow them to connect at last. By likening the tree to a candle, Mansfield draws the reader's attention to passion and danger, both of which are contained in Bertha and Pearl's fledgling relationship. As two high-society women, any romantic interactions between them would have to be concealed, yet Bertha believes that a spark of passion has passed between them in stolen glances and brief encounters, leaving their love for each other as of yet unspoken.
Additionally, the comparison made to a candle—which is ultimately a mundane household item—reminds readers of the central place of domesticity in the story (and in Bertha's life). But in the context of the simile, this object becomes elevated and transcendent in the same way that the mere idea of Pearl has become so significant to Bertha. Bertha hopes that this relationship will continue to blossom and grow, "stretching up" like the flame of a candle and carrying her away from her daily life and perhaps toward a state of perpetual "bliss." However, it is only Bertha who seems to imbue the tree with such intense significance. Without access to Pearl's thoughts, readers don't know if she shares Bertha's views and feelings, and by the end of the story, it becomes clear that Bertha has misinterpreted their relationship.
