"That's the cheese," then, if we accept this explanation, is "That's the choice," the satisfactory result that one would have chosen to happen.
Another misconception is the familiar saying, "Raining cats and dogs." Such a meteorologico-zoological phenomenon never really takes place; no instance of it has ever been known, and yet people go on using the expression as though the experience was of very ordinary occurrence. The word we want is "catadupe"—καΤα δοῦπος. Δοῦπος is a word used by Homer to express the crash of falling trees, and it is applied, too, to certain falls of the Nile. Thus Pliny writes: "Here and there, and ever and anon, hitting upon islands, and stirred as it were with so many provocations, and at last inclosed and shut within mountaines, and in no place carrieth he (the Nile) a rougher and swifter streame, while the water that he beareth hasteneth to a place of the Æthiopians, called Catadupa, where in the last fall amongst the rockes that stand in his way he rusheth downe with a mightie noise."[126:A] Catadoupe is also a French word for waterfall, though it is now obsolete; and Ralph Thoresby, is his "Diary," describes Coldwarth Force in the Lake District as "a remarkable catadupa." When, then, we say that it is "raining cats and dogs" we mean that there is a tremendous downpour, a perfect catadoupe.
Another old country proverb, "Hurry no man's cattle, you may have a horse of your own some day," appears on the face of it a protest against over-driving, but the first word is a corruption of harry or steal.
To carry a thing through "to the bitter end" seems to imply that, come what may of opposition, the matter shall be forced through, no matter whose heart breaks in the process, but nothing so terrible as this is involved. The expression is a nautical one. Bite is a turn of a cable, and the bitter end is that part of the cable which is wound round the bitt. The bitter end is therefore the extreme end. We read, for instance, in "Robinson Crusoe," that during the storm his vessel encountered, the cables were "veered out to the bitter end"; and, if we turn to Admiral Smyth's "Sailors' Word Book," we find the bitter end defined as "that part of the cable which is abaft the bitts, and therefore within board when the ship rides at anchor. When a chain or rope is paid out to the bitter end no more remains to let go." The popular expression, therefore, that we are considering implies a determination to carry a thing through to a finish, but no bitterness of feeling is a necessary element in the process.
The expression "By hook or by crook" has grown into the idea of a dogged determination to effect a certain purpose—honestly, it may be—but at all events to effect it; but its origin carries no such idea, the most that is involved being a choice of alternatives. Those who by ancient manorial privilege had the right to collect wood for burning were allowed a hook and a crook, the former cutting the green wood, and the latter breaking off the dry; hence, one way or the other, by hook or by crook, they effected their purpose.
In Ray's collection of proverbs we find, "Reckon right, and February hath thirty-one days." What the significance of this can be utterly baffles us. "A little chink lets in much light," but this necessary chink is not as yet forthcoming. "They are well off that have not a home to go to" is another enigma. It sounds distinctly silly. Denham, we see, in his collection of proverbs, has the boldness to declare it "an apposite remark, often quoted by those who, sitting comfortably by their 'ain ingleside,' hear the pelting of the pitiless storm without." We would fain hope, for the credit of human nature, that this adage is not quite so apposite as this Denham would have us believe.
Bad-hearted proverbs are, fortunately, not very numerous in proportion to the sound ones, but there are yet too many of them when we remember how the clinching of a matter by a proverb is to some people almost equivalent to supporting it by a text. In some cases an evil meaning that is not justified is read into a proverb; thus, to declare that "Charity begins at home" is to enunciate a great truth, for he that careth not for his own flesh, we are told, is an infidel. Too often, however, this adage is made the excuse for withholding any wider sympathy, a meaning that it really gives no warrant for. "Honesty is the best policy" is an oft-quoted saying, and it is, as far as it goes, a true one, but it fails because it puts the matter on too low a footing. Honesty for the sake of right, one's duty to God, to one's neighbour, and to one's own conscience and self-respect, is a right worthy aim, but honesty because on the whole it pays best is an ignoble thing. The man whom such a maxim helps is a poor creature, and one whom we should be unwilling to trust very far. The saying, "Every man for himself, and God for us all," while it clothes itself in sham invocation to Providence, is at heart bad—a mere appeal to selfishness—the weakest going to the wall and trodden under foot, or what is more deftly called "the survival of the fittest." The French put it more unblushingly as "Better a grape for me than a fig for thee." How scoundrel a maxim is the declaration that "It is not the offence, but the being found out, that matters"; and how mean a view of integrity and uprightness is shown in the statement that "Every man has his price"—only bid high enough, some perhaps requiring a little more than others, and truth and honour and righteousness become mere merchandise. "As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb" is an utterance equally unsound.
Such proverbs are found in all lands, human nature being what it is. The Bengalis say, "He that gives blows is a master, he that gives none is a dog," whole centuries of tyranny, of cringing to the strong, being revealed in these few words. The Spaniard says, "Draw the snake from its hole by another man's hand"—throw upon another the danger. The Dutchman says, "Self is the man for me." The German says, "Once is never"—some little sin may be allowed to all and never be counted. The Italian says, "At the open chest the righteous may sin"—the opportunity given to theft being a sufficient justification for availing oneself of it. Thus might we travel round the world, finding in every land some maxims of evil import.
To "look at home" is, however, a sufficient task, for no amount of depravity in a Swede or a Zulu will mend matters in Sussex or Yorkshire. "Necessity has no law" is one of the utterances quoted as though gospel truth, but it is a doctrine that will not bear investigation, and "Better a bad excuse than none at all" is not much better. The slovenly housekeeper gravely declares, as a palliative of her untidiness, that "Everyone must eat a peck of dirt before they die," and, indeed, appears to feel somewhat virtuous that her operations are assisting this great natural law! "To accept an obligation is to sell your liberty" is a double-edged adage.[129:A] If we consider it as encouraging self-reliance it is good, but if we take it as a churlish disinclination to accept a kindness, it cuts at the root of all kindly mutual help and sympathy.
The proverb that "The wholesomest meat is at another man's cost" is despicable, but the adage "Up the hill favour me, down the hill beware thee" is atrocious, diabolical. That a man should be willing to accept every possible help in his upward struggle, and then, when he has attained success, trample on those who befriended him, and that a proverb approving the proceeding should pass from mouth to mouth, seems almost impossible of credence. Another atrocious saying is, "If I see his cart overturning I will give it a push"; and yet another runs, "Better kiss a knave than be troubled with him." A fair parallel in abominable teaching to these may be found in the saying, "A slice off a cut loaf will not be missed";[130:A] and for a flat denial of all honourable and manly action it would be hard to beat the teaching, "One must howl with the wolves"—make no protest against evil, take no stand for righteousness, but band oneself with the powers of evil in craven fear of them.
