_THE FLATTERER._
"Who flatters is of all mankind the lowest,
Save him who courts the flattery."
HANNAH MORE.
The Flatterer is a false friend clothed in the garb of a true one. He
speaks words from a foul heart through fair lips. His eyes affect to see
only beauty and perfection, and his tongue pours out streams of
sparkling praises. He is enamoured of your appearance, and your general
character commands his admiration. You have no fault which he may
correct, or delinquency which he may rebuke. The last time he met you in
company, your manners pleased him beyond measure; and though you saw it
not, yet _he_ observed how all eyes were brightened by seeing you. If
you occupy a position of authority whence you can bestow a favour which
he requires, you are "most gracious, powerful, and good." His titles are
all in the superlative, and his addresses full of wondering
interjections. His object is more to please than to speak the truth. His
art is nothing but delightful trickery by means of smoothing words and
complacent looks. He would make men fools by teaching them to overrate
their abilities. Those who walk in the vale of humility amid the modest
flowers of virtue and favoured with the presence of the Holy One, he
would lift into the Utopian heights of vanity and pride, that they might
fall into the condemnation of the Devil. He gathers all good opinions
and approving sentiments that he might carry them to his prey, losing
nothing in weight and number during their transit. He is one of Fame's
best friends, helping to furnish her with some of her strongest and
richest rumours. But conscience has not a greater adversary; for when it
comes forth to do its office in accusation or reproof, he anticipates
its work, and bribes her with flattering speech. Like the chamelion, he
changes his appearance to suit his purpose. He sometimes affects to be
nothing but what pleases the object of his admiration, whose virtues he
applauds and whose imperfections he pretends it to be an advantage to
imitate. When he walks with his friend, he would feign have him believe
that every eye looks at him with interest, and every tongue talks of him
with praise--that he to whom he deigns to give his respects is graced
with peculiar honour. He tells him he knows not his own worth, lest he
should be too happy or vain; and when he informs him of the good
opinions of others, with a mock-modesty he interrupts himself in the
relation, saying he must not say any more lest he be considered to
flatter, making his concealment more insinuating than his speech. He
approaches with fictitious humility to the creature of his praise, and
hangs with rivetted attention upon his lips, as though he spake with the
voice of an oracle. He repeats what phrase or sentence may particularly
gratify him, and both hands are little enough to bless him in return.
Sometimes he extols the excellencies of his friend in his absence, but
it is in the presence of those who he is pretty certain will convey it
to his ears. In company, he sometimes _whispers_ his commendations to
the one next him, in such a way that his friend may hear him in the
other part of the room.
The Flatterer is a talker who insinuates himself into every circle; and
there are few but are fond of his fair speech and gaudy praise. He
conceals himself with such dexterousness that few recognise him in his
true character. Those with whom he has to do too frequently view him as
a friend, and confide in his communications. What door is not open to
the man who brings the ceremonious compliments of praise in buttery lips
and sugared words--who carries in his hand a bouquet of flowers, and in
his face the complacent smile, addressing you in words which feed the
craving of vanity, and yet withal _seem_ words of sincere friendship and
sound judgment?
Where is the man who has the moral courage, the self-abnegation to throw
back honied encomiums which come with _apparent_ reality, although from
a flatterer? "To tell a man that he cannot be flattered is to flatter
him most effectually."
"Honey'd assent,
How pleasant art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also! flattery direct
Rarely disgusts. They little know mankind
Who doubt its operation: 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket of the human heart."
"The firmest purpose of a human heart
To well-tim'd artful flattery may yield."
"'Tis an old maxim in the schools
That flattery's the food of fools;
Yet now and then your men of wit
Will condescend to take a bit."
The Flatterer is a lurking foe, a dangerous friend, a subtle destroyer.
"A flattering mouth worketh ruin." "He that speaketh flattery to his
friends, even the eyes of his children shall fail." "A man that
flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net for his feet." The melancholy
results of flattery are patent before the world, both on the page of
history and in the experience of mankind. How many thousand young men
who once stood in the uprightness of virtue are now debased and ruined
through the flattery of the "strange woman," so graphically described by
Solomon in Prov. vii., "With her much fair speech she caused him to
yield, with the flattering of her lips she forced him. He goeth after
her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the
correction of the stocks; till a dart strike through his liver; as a
bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life"
(vers. 21-23). "She hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men
have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the
chambers of death" (vers. 26, 27).
And as the virtuous young man is thus led into ruin by the flattering
tongue of the strange woman; so the virtuous young female is sometimes
led into ruin by the flattering tongue of the lurking enemy of beauty
and innocence. I cannot give a more striking and pathetic illustration
of this than the one portrayed by the incomparable hand of Pollok:--
"Take one example, one of female woe.
Loved by her father, and a mother's love,
In rural peace she lived, so fair, so light
Of heart, so good and young, that reason scarce
The eye could credit, but would doubt, as she
Did stoop to pull the lily or the rose
From morning's dew, if it reality
Of flesh and blood, or holy vision, saw,
In imagery of perfect womanhood.
But short her bloom--her happiness was short.
One saw her loveliness, and with desire
Unhallowed, burning, to her ear addressed
Dishonest words: 'Her favour was his life,
His heaven; her frown his woe, his night, his death.'
With turgid phrase thus wove in flattery's loom,
He on her womanish nature won, and age
Suspicionless, and ruined and forsook:
For he a chosen villain was at heart,
And capable of deeds that durst not seek
Repentance. Soon her father saw her shame;
His heart grew stone; he drove her forth to want
And wintry winds, and with a horrid curse
Pursued her ear, forbidding her return.
Upon a hoary cliff that watched the sea,
Her babe was found--dead; on its little cheek,
The tear that nature bade it weep had turned
An ice-drop, sparkling in the morning beam;
And to the turf its helpless hands were frozen:
For she, the woeful mother, had gone mad,
And laid it down, regardless of its fate
And of her own. Yet had she many days
Of sorrow in the world, but never wept.
She lived on alms; and carried in her hand
Some withering stalks, she gathered in the spring;
When they asked the cause, she smiled, and said,
They were her sisters, and would come and watch
Her grave when she was dead. She never spoke
Of her deceiver, father, mother, home,
Or child, or heaven, or hell, or God; but still
In lonely places walked, and ever gazed
Upon the withered stalks, and talked to them;
Till wasted to the shadow of her youth,
With woe too wide to see beyond--she died;
Not unatoned for by imputed blood,
Nor by the Spirit that mysterious works,
Unsanctified. Aloud her father cursed
That day his guilty pride which would not own
A daughter whom the God of heaven and earth
Was not ashamed to call His own; and he
Who ruined her read from her holy look,
That pierced him with perdition manifold,
His sentence, burning with vindictive fire."
The flattering talker possesses a power which turned angels into devils,
and men into demons--which beguiled pristine innocence and introduced
the curse--which has made half the world crazy with self-esteem and
self-admiration. A power which has dethroned princes, involved kingdoms,
degraded the noble, humbled the great, impoverished the rich, enslaved
the free, polluted the pure, robbed the wise man of his wisdom, the
strong man of his strength, the good man of his goodness. It is
emphatically the power of the Destroyer, working havoc, devastation,
woe, and death wherever it has sway, spreading disappointment, weeping,
lamentation, and broken hearts through the habitations of the children
of men. "He is," as an old writer quaintly observes, "the moth of
liberal men's coats, the ear-wig of the mighty, the bane of courts, a
friend and slave to the trencher, and good for nothing but to be a
factor for the devil."
* * * * *
Mr. Sharp was a young student of amiable spirit, and promising
abilities. Soon after he left college he took charge of an important
church in the large village of C----, in the county of M----. He had not
been long among his people before he won the good-will of all; and his
popularity soon extended beyond the pale of his own church. Meantime, he
did not appear to think of himself more than he ought. He was unassuming
in his spirit, and devoted to his work, apparently non-affected by the
general favour with which he was received.
There was a member of his church whom we shall call Mr. Thoughtless; a
man of good education, respectable intelligence, and in circumstances of
moderate wealth. He was in the church an officer of considerable
importance and weight. He was, however, given to the use of soft words,
and complimentary speeches. In fact, he was a flatterer. He used little
or no wisdom in his flattery, but generally poured it forth in fulsome
measure upon all whom he regarded his friends. Mr. Sharp was a
particular favourite with him, and he frequently invited him to his
house. He did not observe the failing of his host, but considered him a
very kind man, sweet-tempered, one of his best friends, the only member
of his Church from whom he received any encouragement in his ministerial
labours. Mr. Sharp became increasingly attached to him, and passed the
greater part of his leisure hours in his company. The fact was, Mr.
Thoughtless did not restrain his expressions of "great satisfaction" and
"strong pleasure" in the "character and abilities" of Mr. Sharp. He was
the "best minister ever among them"--"every one admired him"--"what a
splendid sermon he preached last Sabbath morning"--"the congregations
were doubled since he came"--he was "delighted with his general
demeanour"--he "really thought his abilities were adequate to a larger
Church in a city, than theirs in the country"--but he must not be
"considered in speaking these things to flatter, for he should be
ashamed to say anything to flatter a young minister whom he esteemed so
highly," and besides, he "thought him beyond the power of flattery."
Such were the flattering words which he poured into the undiscerning
mind of Mr. Sharp at different times.
Not long after this close friendship and these frequent visits, Mr.
Sharp began to manifest a change in his spirit and conduct, which
gradually developed into such proportions that some of the Church could
not help noticing it.
"I do not think," said Mr. Smith--a truly godly man--to Mrs. Lane--who
also was in repute for her piety--one day in conversation, "that our
young pastor is so unassuming and devoted as when he first came among
us."
"Is it not all fancy on your part, Mr. Smith?" asked Mrs. Lane.
"I only hope it may be, but I fear it is true."
"In what respects do you think he is changed?" asked Mrs. Lane.
"I do not, somehow or other, observe the same tone of spirituality in
his preaching and company as were so obvious during the first part of
his sojourn with us."
"Well, do you know," said Mrs. Lane, "although I asked whether it was
not all fancy on your part, yet I have had my apprehensions and fears,
similar to yours. I have never mentioned them to any one before. I have
been very grieved to see the change, and have prayed much for him. How
do you account for it, Mr. Smith?"
"I can only account for it by the supposition that he has been too much
under the influence of Mr. Thoughtless, who, you know, is a man given to
flattery, and who has by this flattery injured other young ministers who
have been with us."
"It is ten thousand pities," said Mrs. Lane, "that Mr. Sharp was not
warned of the dangers of his flattery."
"It is just here, you know, Mrs. Lane. Mr. Thoughtless is a man of such
influence in our Church, so bland in his way, so fair in his words, so
wealthy in his means, that it is little use saying anything to warn
against him. Besides, I fear that others have been too flattering in
their addresses and compliments."
Mrs. Lane replied with evident emotion, "I am jealous of our dear
minister. He is in jeopardy. O do let us pray for him, Mr. Smith, lest
the flattering lips prove his ruin?"
Mrs. Lane was right in her fears. In the course of a few months after
this brief conversation, Mr. Sharp had reached a great height of
self-importance. He failed in most of the amiable virtues which adorned
his early career. He deteriorated in the zeal and spirituality of his
preaching. He became florid, self-assured, and self-displaying. He
thought his abilities too great for the Church at C----. The
congregation had declined, and he assigned to himself as a reason, they
could not appreciate the high quality of his preaching. He sought a
change; and accepted an invitation to a Church in the city of B----. In
this Church he had little acceptance after a few weeks. Surrounded as he
was by so many popular ministers of other Churches, he was unable to
maintain his ground. He fell into temptation, and committed sin. He was
arraigned before his brethren, tried in the presence of the most
satisfactory witnesses, and _expelled from the Christian Ministry_.
This deep degradation was afterwards traced in its origin to the
flattering, fawning tongue and conduct of Mr. Thoughtless.
Flattery is too frequently indulged in by parents towards their
children. How many sons and daughters have been ruined by it would be
difficult to say. I will give one case as an illustration.
Mr. Horton was a tradesman in a flourishing business. He looked well
after it as a man of the world, and never allowed a "good chance" to
escape. He had a son as his first-born. This son was a great favourite
with him, for he saw in him the powers which would make a clever man of
business. When he first wore jackets, Harry proved himself an adept in
small trades, bartering his worn out and damaged toys for the better
ones of his playmates.
"I tell you," said Horton one day to a friend of his in the presence of
Harry, "that is the boy who is good at a bargain."
This was the phrase he often used when he wished to pass an eulogium
upon his boy as a little tradesman. Also in other ways he failed not to
set up his son as a paragon in business.
Made vain by these flatteries, he went on in increasing zeal and
craftiness to be "good at a bargain."
The flattering words of his father impelled him in all possible ways to
make money; so that when grown to manhood he was an adept at sharpness
in trade practices. At last, however, he went too far. His cunning,
which had grown out of "being good at a bargain," was employed in a
fraud, which was discovered and led to his apprehension. When his trial
came on, his father was present, anxiously waiting the issue. When the
sentence of his guilt was given, and his punishment stated, he covered
his face with his hand in deep emotion of paternal grief. He could not
look upon his condemned son, whom he had helped to ruin, whom he had
started and encouraged in the way which brought him to this end.
It was a most distressing scene when the father and son met in the
dreary prison cell. Each looked at the other with reproach. Each blamed
the other for the shame and pain brought upon them.
"This is a 'bad bargain,' my boy," said the old man, tremulously. "You
have ruined us all."
"Ruined you!" responded the son, in a tone that stung the father to the
heart. "Who ruined me? I was ruined when you flattered me so in my
boyhood, telling me so often how clever I was and good at a bargain,
instead of checking me: when you praised my trickery instead of
punishing it. Had you then kept back those words of parental flattery
and trained me in principles of strict honesty, I should not _now_ have
been here, paying in prison walls by convict labour and a felon's name
the price of 'being good at a bargain.'"
In how many other ways the flattering tongues of parents have issued in
the ruin of children I have not space to illustrate.
"Take care," says Walter Raleigh, "thou be not made fool by flatterers,
for even the wisest men are abused by these. Know, therefore, that
flatterers are the worst kind of traitors; for they will strengthen thy
imperfections, encourage thee in all evils, correct thee in nothing, but
so shadow and paint all thy vices and follies as thou shall never, by
their will, discern evil from good, or vice from virtue. A flatterer is
said to be a beast that biteth smiling. They are hard to distinguish
from friends, they are so obsequious and full of protestations; for as a
wolf resembles a dog, so doth a flatterer a friend. A flatterer is
compared to an ape, who because she cannot defend the house like a dog,
labour as an ox, or bear burdens as a horse, doth therefore yet play
tricks and provoke laughter."
"Beware of flattery--'tis a flowery weed
Which oft offends the very idol vice
Whose shrine it would perfume."
* * * * *
"Of all wild beasts, preserve me from a tyrant;
And of all tame--a flatterer."