Hows, ne land, ne othir thyng,
Thow shalt not covet wrangfully;
But kepe ay wele Goddes biddyng
And Cristen fayth trow stedfastly."
Another writer gives the very wise advice to take some little care of what goes into the mouth, but much more of what comes out of it. Bacon, in his "Advancement of Learning," speaks of "The sun which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before," and Milton adopts the thought but modifies it into this: "Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam." It has been said that "Ridicule is the test of truth," but one scarcely sees why, and we see that Carlyle, referring to it in one of his books, says, "We have, oftener than once, endeavoured to attach some meaning to that aphorism." Another adage, which we find in France as well as in England, is that "All truth must not be told at all times." Expediency is a somewhat doubtful guide, but expediency at its best is good common-sense, and common-sense admits the truth of this adage. A much more doubtful saying is that, "That is true which all men say," practically an echo of "Vox populi, vox Dei," though in the highest and deepest sense a great truth is involved in it. To assert that the clamour of the mob is necessarily inspired by the wisdom of Heaven is mere blasphemy; self-interest, prejudice, passion, are too evidently factors, and what all men are saying at a certain period may be but a passing emotion built on the shifting sand. Such a proverb so employed may serve well enough as a plea for drifting with the stream and shouting with the crowd, but if we go deeper the proverb is profoundly true. Man, born in the image of God, marred as that image now is, preserves yet something of the divine, and far below popular clamour and waves of passion is the seed of truth and righteousness; and where this throughout humanity blossoms into detestation of slavery, unjust war, or other outrage against the conscience of mankind, and the cry goes to Heaven against the iniquity, the Spirit of God is dwelling in the souls of men, and they become co-workers with Deity.
Falsehood, like truth, has its attendant proverbs. How true, for instance, is this, "Subterfuge is the coward's defence," or this, "Falsehood stings those who meddle with it."
"O what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive."
Hence the French say, "Il faut qu'un menteur ait bonne mémoire"—"Liars need to have good memories"; while the Scotch say very happily, "Frost and fausehood hae baith a dirty wa'-gang." Other adages are: "To conceal a fault is to add to it another,"[206:A] "The credit that is got by a lie only lasts till the truth comes out," "Ill doers are ill deemers," "No poverty like poverty of spirit," "Better lose good coat than good conscience," "Half a truth is often a whole falsehood," "He who breaks his word bids others be false to him." "Almost, and very nigh, saves many a lie," is a saw that is somewhat difficult to classify; it appears to be on the side of truth, and yet it seems to suggest a way of coming nearly to the boundary-line without actually crossing into the domain of falsehood. In an old book of morals we find the precept, "In relating anything extraordinary it is better, in case of doubt, to be within rather than beyond the line of fact"—a somewhat half-hearted precept this!
"Travellers' tales" have long been under suspicion, and certainly some of the earlier explorers did expose the credence of their auditors and readers to a severe strain in some of their narrations. On the other hand, we must have the grace to admit that later explorers have verified many statements that were long held impossible. The Persians say that "Whoso seeth the world telleth many a lie"; while human nature is so essentially the same all the world over that in the sayings of a savage tribe in West Africa we meet with this, "He who travels alone tells lies." The common experience of mankind is unfortunately against the traveller, and he must sometimes be content to wait, years or centuries maybe, before his wonderful experiences are fully accepted.
It is a true and far-reaching proverb that "Error, though blind herself, sometimes brings forth seeing children." Thus from alchemy, with its elixir vitæ and aurum potabile, has sprung the science of chemistry; and astrology, a farrago of superstitious rubbish, had yet within it the seed that should afterwards develop into the grandest of all sciences, astronomy.
"Flattery," Swift tells us, "is the food of fools," and Gray speaks of "Painted flattery with its serpent train," while Goldsmith dwells on the
"Flattering painter who made it his care
To draw men as thy ought to be, not as they are."
The lines in "Julius Cæsar" will also be recalled, where Shakespeare writes, "But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered."[207:A] These various passages sufficiently indicate that when we tag on flattery to the end of our section on falsehood, the arrangement is not far wrong. Those only are the recipients of flattery from whom some benefit may be obtained; hence "Flatterers haunt not cottages" we are told, with quaint humour. That such incense is appreciated by its objects rather than plain truths may be gathered from another quaint old adage, "Flattery sits in the parlour when plain-dealing is kicked out of doors." Perhaps this is a little the fault of plain-dealing, its directness being not always tempered with courtesy. The man who boasts that he always speaks his mind is not invariably the pleasantest of companions. There must be a happy medium somewhere between acidulated brutality of frankness and the sugared seductiveness of flattery.
