_THE TALE-BEARER._
"He that rails against his absent friends,
Or hears them scandalized and not defends,
Sports with their fame, and speaks whate'er he can,
And only to be thought a witty man,
Tells tales and brings his friends in disesteem,
That man's a knave; be sure beware of him."
HORACE.
There are two things which the tale-bearer does: he first collects his
tales, and then carries them abroad for distribution. Although always
distributing, his stock on hand remains unexhausted. One feature of his
business is _bartering_. He exchanges his own ware for that of other
people, of which he can dispose when occasion serves. He is an adept at
his trade, and is seldom cheated in his bargains. It is immaterial to
him what articles he takes in exchange, so that they can be disposed of
in private market. Fragments of glass, old rusty nails, rotten rags,
cast-away boots and shoes, and such-like things are received by him,
either for immediate disposal or for manufacture into new commodities to
meet special demands. He is agreeable in his manners, and careful lest
he give offence. He enters with delicate feet into his neighbour's
house. His tongue is smooth as oil, and his words as sweet as honey, by
which he wins the ear of his listener. On his countenance is the smile
of good humour, by which he ingratiates himself into the favour of his
customer. And now you may see him Satan-like, when squatted at the ear
of Eve, pouring in the tales which he has either received from abroad or
manufactured in his own establishment. Whichever they are, he has
labelled them with his own signature under the words, "_Not
transferable, but at the risk of a violation of the most sacred
confidence_." Having found a willing receiver of his goods in this
neighbour, he asks remuneration, not in pounds, shillings, and pence,
but in an equivalent--some fact or fiction, lie or rumour (he is not
particular), which he can turn to account in another market. Having
received payment, he bids adieu to his friend, and passes on to the next
house and does his business there in a similar way.
The tongue of the tale-bearer is like the tail of Samson's foxes, it
carries fire-brands wherever it goes, and is enough to set the whole
field of the world in a blaze. What Bishop Hall says of the busy-body
may be said of the tale-bearer. "He begins table-talk of his neighbour
at another man's board, to whom he tells the first news and advises him
to conceal the reporter; whose angry or envious answer he returns to his
first host, enlarged with a second edition; and as is often done with
unwilling mastiffs to excite them to fight, he claps each on the side
apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. He labours without
thanks, talks without credit, lives without love, dies without tears and
pity, save that some say it was a pity he died no sooner."
The stories of the tale-bearer never lose in their transmission from
person to person. Their tendency is to accumulate like the boys'
snow-ball rolled about in a field of thawing snow, so that by the time
it has gone its round none of the primary features shall be recognised.
This may be illustrated by the following:--
"A friend advised me, if ever I took a house in a terrace a little way
out of town, to be very careful that it was the centre one, at least if
I had any regard for my reputation. For I must be well aware that a
story never loses by telling; and consequently, if I lived in the middle
of a row of houses it was very clear that the tales which might be
circulated to my prejudice would only have half the distance to travel
on either side of me, and therefore could only be half as bad by the
time they got down to the bottom of the terrace as the tales that might
be circulated by the wretched individuals who had the misfortune to live
at the two ends of it, so that I should be certain to have twice as good
a character in the neighbourhood as they had. For instance, I was
informed of a lamentable case that actually occurred a short time since.
The servant of No. 1 told the servant of No. 2 that her master expected
his old friends, the Bayleys, to pay him a visit shortly; and No. 2 told
No. 3 that No. 1 expected to have the Bayleys in the house every day;
and No. 3 told No. 4 that it was all up with No. 1, for they couldn't
keep the bailiffs out; whereupon No. 4 told No. 5 that the officers were
after No. 1, and that it was as much as he could do to prevent himself
being taken in execution, and that it was nearly killing his poor dear
wife; and so it went on increasing and increasing until it got to No.
32, who confidently assured the last, No. 33, that the Bow-street
officers had taken up the gentleman who lived at No. 1 for killing his
poor dear wife with arsenic, and that it was confidently hoped and
expected that he would be executed."
* * * * *
Mr. Eadie, of the village of Handley, was a man very much addicted to
the practice of collecting tales and then disposing of them wherever he
could. It was his habit whenever he had a spare hour (and this was
rather often, for it must be understood he was not any too industrious),
to go at one time into the house of neighbour A., and at another time
into the house of neighbour B. Sometimes he would sit gossiping in these
houses for hours together. He managed to keep on good terms with both of
them, although between B. and A. there existed anything but a good
feeling. And, by-the-by, Eadie was the agent of producing it, through
carrying tales to each respecting the other. If A. ever happened to
show temper at a tale which he repeated as originating with B. about
him, he would be sure to have a gentle corrective in telling a tale
which he had heard on "most reliable authority" respecting B., which
tale would be sure to be worse than the one he had told A. as spoken by
B. Thus he did from time to time with either party, so as to keep on
good terms with both.
He was known in the whole village and neighbourhood as a person given to
the gathering of tales and the telling of them. Some of the people were
too wise and peaceable to give him any patronage and encouragement.
Others, however, were of different temperament. With curious mind and
itching ears they always gave Eadie a welcome into their house. He was
sure to bring news about neighbour Baxter and neighbour Mobbs, and
somebody else of whom they were anxious to know a little matter or two.
Miss Curious was always glad to see him, because he could answer her
inquiries about Miss Inkpen's engagement with young Bumstead--about the
young gentleman who was at church the last Sabbath evening, and sat
opposite to her in the gallery, ever and anon casting a glance at her as
though he had some "serious intentions." Mrs. Allchin was another who
always greeted Eadie with a smile into her house. They were, in fact, on
very intimate and friendly terms. Whenever they met, mutual tale-bearing
occupied their chief time and attention. Now and then Mrs. Allchin would
ask Eadie to have a friendly cup of tea, which when accepted was always
a high time for both. On such occasions they exchanged goods to the last
articles manufactured in Fancy's shop or received from Scandal's
warehouse.
The next day Mrs. Allchin might be seen busy in making her calls upon
her friends, doing business with the new goods received from Eadie over
her tea-table; and Eadie might be seen moving about among his friends,
disposing of the new goods he had received from Mrs. Allchin at the same
time. But it must be understood that the quality of them in each case
was generally adulterated.
Mr. Steeraway was another who gave a hearty reception to Eadie whenever
he called upon him. He would give close attention to the recital of
Eadie's tales, much closer than he was in the habit of giving to the
sermon at church or to the godly advice of the minister when he called
on pastoral duties. One day Eadie told a tale about B. and S., two
persons living as neighbours in the village, and who were living on the
best terms of friendship. The day after Steeraway went to B. and told
him what S. had been saying about him. He then went to S. and told him
what B. had been saying about him. They were hard to believe the things
which they heard; but Steeraway substantiated everything with such
evidence as could not be denied. They met for explanation in the
presence of Steeraway, who feigned to be the friend of both. Instead of
clearing up matters, they made things darker, and parted, each thinking
that there was some truth in what one had been saying of the other.
Reserve sprang up between them; mutual confidence was lost; a separation
of friendship took place; and it became a notorious fact in the village
that B. and S. were now as much at variance as they were aforetime
friendly and united. But Eadie was the main cause of it by telling his
scandal to Steeraway, who he knew would repeat it the first opportunity,
and could no more keep it secret than a child can keep from the
candy-shop a penny given it by its Uncle Moses.
Mr. Musgrove was a tradesman in the village. He was generally believed
to be an honest man, making full measure and just weight to little
children as well as to adults. He was a tradesman who had a high sense
of honour, and withal a mind sensitive to any attack upon his moral
principles. Nothing affected him more than to have his integrity as a
man of business called in question. One day Eadie, the tale-bearer,
called at his shop (Musgrove was not at this time acquainted with
Eadie's character and business), and after buying a small article, he
said to him in a most grave manner,--
"Mr. Musgrove, I am a comparative stranger to you, and you are to me;
but I am always concerned for the welfare of honest and good citizens.
Now, I would like you to succeed in trade as well as anybody else, and I
hope you will; but you know it is difficult for a man in your business
to get along if it is ever rumoured that he makes short weight and
measure, and takes advantage of children and ignorant persons."
"What do you mean, Mr. Eadie?" inquired Mr. Musgrove, as though he
understood the remark to apply to himself.
"I will tell you, Mr. Musgrove. Now, I hope you will not think that I am
the inventor of what I am about to tell you, or that I even _believe_
it, for I have no reason for doing so."
"What is it, Mr. Eadie? What is it?"
"I would not dream of telling you, if I did not desire that you might
stand well before the public and your customers in particular."
"That is what I am anxious to do; and what I am always studying to do;
and I never yet had any fears about the matter."
"Nor have I, Mr. Musgrove; but it is said that you make short weight and
measure."
"This is the first time that ever anything of the kind came to my ears
since I have been in business," said Mr. Musgrove, with considerable
feeling.
"The thing has been told me by several individuals; and I fear the
report is going the round of the village, much to your injury."
"I am exceedingly sorry for it. But, Mr. Eadie, I must know the name of
the party who has thus suffered from my dishonesty. I must trace this
matter out, for my honour and happiness are dependent upon it. I scorn
such a thing in the very thought."
"Yes, and it is said to have been in connection with a little child,
too, and that makes the thing so much the worse."
"Well, now, Mr. Eadie, I must know the name of the party," said Mr.
Musgrove, very warmly.
"I feel considerable reluctance to give names," replied Eadie.
"You need not fear of being involved in any unpleasantness," answered
Musgrove.
"So far as that goes, you know, I have no fear. But if you must know, I
will tell you. It is in connection with the family of Bakers."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Musgrove. "Do you know, Mr. Eadie, that
I and that family are on the most friendly terms. We visit each other
often; and they are most regular and frequent customers of mine. I can
hardly believe, Mr. Eadie, that there is any truth in the report."
"I hope it may not be true, but it is strange so many should talk about
it, if it were not. But I have no interest in telling you of this, I do
it for your good."
"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Eadie."
Eadie had now done his business, so off he started, and left Mr.
Musgrove reflecting. "Strange," thought he to himself, "that the Bakers
have never said anything to me; that they should continue so friendly;
that they should still send to my shop for everything they need. I
cannot account for it." He continued the subject of considerable emotion
and anxiety. He informed his wife of the matter; but she did not credit
the first word. She was of different temper to him. He was very anxious
during the night, and slept little. How could he, when his character for
probity was implicated, and his business was likely to suffer? The first
opportunity he had he went to see Mrs. Baker, to inquire into the facts
of the case. She was glad to see him. Upon the statement of the story,
as told by Eadie, she was amazed, and exceedingly grieved. After a brief
pause, she said to Mr. Musgrove, "I think I can tell you how the matter
originated. My little girl went to your shop the other day for two
pounds of butter, and when she brought it home, Miss Nancy, who is
rather given to suspicion, thought the butter didn't weigh two pounds,
so she at once weighed it, and found that the weight was perfectly
right. Mrs. Allchin called in the day after, and in conversation I
happened to mention the circumstance to her. I ought to have known
better; for I seldom tell her anything of the kind, because I know her
gossiping humour. Mrs. Allchin and Eadie, who you say told you about it,
are very intimate friends; I have no doubt she informed him in her way
of exaggeration and wonder; and then he would tell you in his own
peculiar way, which is far from being a way of truthfulness. If you knew
him as well as I do, you would not have heard his tale at all; and I am
sure you would not have been disturbed in your mind by it, because you
would not have believed him. And as to the tale being circulated through
the village, that may be partly true; for when anything gets into Mrs.
Allchin's or Eadie's hands, it spreads like wildfire; but you may rest
assured that no one will believe it, when it is known to come from
either the one or the other. Do not be alarmed, Mr Musgrove, neither
your character nor business will suffer. You stand as high as ever you
did with us, and with everybody else, for aught I know. I am exceedingly
sorry that the thing should have occurred." Musgrove left Baker's fully
satisfied as to the fabrication of the tale, and still conscious of his
own integrity; but he could not help feeling about it, nor could he help
observing a slight decline in business from those parties who gave
credence to the tale of Mrs. Allchin or Mr. Eadie.
These miserable habits of tale-bearing and meddling, of backbiting and
whispering, are the source of the greater part of the quarrellings,
alienations, jealousies, and divisions in families. The smallest,
plainest bit of wire may become by such malicious working a sword that
pierces, to the destruction of peace and happiness. The least possible
authority is enough to give them warrant to set a-going an evil report,
which, as it rolls, gathers from every point it touches.
As in the case of Jeremiah, "Report, say they, and we will report it.
All my familiars watched for my halting, saying, Peradventure he will be
enticed, and we shall prevail against him, and we shall take revenge on
him" (Jer. xx. 10). As in the case also of Nehemiah, "It is reported
among the heathen, _and Gashmu saith it_, that thou and the Jews think
to rebel; and now shall it be reported to the king according to these
words" (Neh. vi. 6, 7).
Gashmu saith it, anybody says it, is authority enough. What did Nehemiah
know about Gashmu? What did any one know? But there are always plenty of
Gashmus for the tale-bearer's purpose. But although Gashmus be as plenty
as blackberries, God's law is absolute and explicit; it hedges this
wickedness around with many provisions, and walls it in, so that a man
who commits it is as if he had broken through flaming gates for the
purpose. "Thou shalt not raise nor receive a false report. Put not thine
hand with the wicked to be an unrighteous witness. Thou shalt not follow
a multitude to do evil; neither shalt thou speak in a cause to decline
after many to wrest judgment (Exod. xxii. 1, 2). Lord, who shall abide
in Thy tabernacle? He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth
evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour"
(Ps. xv.).
Then observe the vagueness and indefiniteness of the accusation, founded
on what in the nature of things was absolutely impossible to be known,
except by overt action; founded on suspicion or conjecture of men's
thoughts. "That thou and the Jews think to rebel!" There was no pretence
that they _had_ rebelled. There is no need to begin the lie in so gross
and bungling a manner; it was bad enough to set _the conjecture of an
intention in motion_. Whoever took that report to the king would be sure
to present it thus:--
"It is said that there is rebellion in Jerusalem."
"Rebellion! Who is at the head of it?"
"Nehemiah, the Governor."
"And where is the proof of this thing?"
"O, Gashmu saith it."
"And who is Gashmu?"
"O, nobody knows anything about him; but doubtless he is some
responsible person!"
"A whisper broke the air,--
A soft light tone, and low,
Yet barbed with shame and woe;
Now, might it only perish there,
Nor further go!
Ah me! a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little meaning sound!
Another voice has breathed it clear,
And so it wandered round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reached a gentle heart,
And that--_it broke!_"
In reflecting upon these and similar results following the work of the
tale-bearer, one cannot but recommend to his attention these words of
Scripture: "Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer among thy
people." "A tale-bearer revealeth secrets; but he that is a faithful
spirit concealeth the matter." "The words of a tale-bearer are as
wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly." "He
that goeth about as a tale-bearer revealeth secrets, therefore meddle
not with him that flattereth with his lips." "Where there is no
tale-bearer, the strife ceaseth." "They learn to be idle, wandering
about from house to house; and not only idlers, but tattlers also, and
busy-bodies, speaking things which they ought not."
The following recipe is said to be an effectual cure of the
mouth-disease of the tale-bearer. It is given in the hope that all who
are so affected will give it a fair trial:--
"Take of good nature, one ounce; mix this with a little
'charity-for-others' and two or three sprigs of
'keep-your-tongue-between-your-teeth;' simmer them together in a vessel
called 'circumspection' for a short time, and it will be fit for
application. The symptom is a violent itching in the tongue and roof of
the mouth, which invariably takes place when you are in company with a
species of animals called 'Gossips.' When you feel a fit of the disorder
coming on, take a teaspoonful of the mixture, hold it in your mouth,
which you will keep closely shut till you get home, and you will find a
complete cure. Should you apprehend a relapse, keep a small bottleful
about you, and on the slightest symptom repeat the dose."