the friar patch

“And if at whiles the bubble, blown too thin, Seem nigh on bursting,—if you nearly see The real world through the false,—what do you see? Is the old so ruined? You find you’re in a flock O’ the youthful, earnest, passionate—genius, beauty, Rank and wealth also, if you care for these: And all depose their natural rights, hail you, (That’s me, sir) as their mate and yoke-fellow, Participate in Sludgehood—nay, grow mine, I veritably possess them—… And all this might be, may be, and with good help Of a little lying shall be: so Sludge lies! Why, he’s at worst your poet who sings how Greeks That never were, in Troy which never was, Did this or the other impossible great thing!… But why do I mount to poets? Take plain prose—Dealers in common sense, set these at work, What can they do without their helpful lies? Each states the law and fact and face o’ the thing Just as he’d have them, finds what he thinks fit, Is blind to what missuits him, just records What makes his case out, quite ignores the rest. It’s a History of the World, the Lizard Age, The Early Indians, the Old Country War, Jerome Napoleon, whatsoever you please. All as the author wants it. Such a scribe You pay and praise for putting life in stones, Fire into fog, making the past your world. There’s plenty of ‘How did you contrive to grasp The thread which led you through this labyrinth? How build such solid fabric out of air? How on so slight foundation found this tale, Biography, narrative?’ or, in other words, ‘How many lies did it require to make The portly truth you here present us with?’—Robert Browning from “Mr Sludge, ‘the Medium’ ””

— Possession (Vintage International) by A. S. Byatt
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