Chapter XXVII

What could I say? I rose to leave him then.

“And have they really separated us?”
He ask’d.
And I, “What mean you?”
“Are you then
My friend or not?” he went on, mournfully.

“What is a friend?” I ask’d.
“What else,” he said,
“But, in a world, where all misjudge one so,
A soul to whom one dares to speak the truth?”

“Ah, Haydn,” ask’d I, “must we speak all truth?”

“Why not?” he said, “is ill less ill when hid?—
Is not the penitent a sinner frank,
The hypocrite a sinner not so frank?”—

“But yet,” protested I, “the truth may harm.”

“How so?” he ask’d. “If one show naked sin,—
Who knows?—it then may shame men from the sin.
And could the naked good accomplish more?
Must not we Christians here confess our faults?
Why should we not? Has wrong such lovely smiles
And loving tones, that men should long for it?
The harm is in the lie that masks the sin.”

“And yet,” I said, “the young—the prejudiced”—

“For their sake,” said he, “wisdom may be wise
In what it screens from folly.—Yet you know
The crime of Socrates,—‘corrupting youth’?
The tale is old; this lying world wants liars,
But what of that? The Christs lie not: they die.
Our God is great. I deem Him great enough
His truth to save without subverting ours.
True sovereignty has truth: ’tis not a sham
That holds high rank because we courteous men,
Considerate men, allow it seeming rank.
Who lies to save the truth, distrusts the truth,
Disowns the soul, and does despite to God.
Who strives to save his life thus, loses it,
In evil trusting and the Evil One,—
Salvation through the Devil, not through Christ!”