1854 WALDEN |
or
Life In The Woods
by Henry David Thoreau
ECONOMY
WHEN I WROTE the following pages,
or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from
any neighbor, in a house
which I had built myself, on the shore of Walden Pond, in
Concord, Massachusetts, and earned my living by the labor of my hands
only. I lived there two years and two months. At present I am a
sojourner in civilized life again.
I should not obtrude my
affairs so much on the notice of my readers if very particular
inquiries had not been made by my townsmen concerning my mode of
life, which some would call impertinent, though they do not appear to
me at all impertinent, but, considering the circumstances, very
natural and pertinent. Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did
not feel lonesome; if I was not afraid; and the like. Others have
been curious to learn what portion of my income I devoted to
charitable purposes; and some, who have large families, how many poor
children I maintained. I will therefore ask those of my readers who
feel no particular interest in me to pardon me if I undertake to
answer some of these questions in this book. In most books, the I, or
first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in
respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do not
remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is
speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were
anybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to
this theme by the narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my
side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere
account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other
men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a
distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a
distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more particularly
addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers, they will
accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will stretch
the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to him
whom it fits.
I would fain say something, not so much
concerning the Chinese and Sandwich Islanders as you who read these
pages, who are said to live in New England; something about your
condition, especially your outward condition or circumstances in this
world, in this town, what it is, whether it is necessary that it be
as bad as it is, whether it cannot be improved as well as not. I have
travelled a good deal in Concord; and everywhere, in shops, and
offices, and fields, the inhabitants have appeared to me to be doing
penance in a thousand remarkable ways. What I have heard of Bramins
sitting exposed to four fires and looking in the face of the sun; or
hanging suspended, with their heads downward, over flames; or looking
at the heavens over their shoulders "until it becomes impossible
for them to resume their natural position, while from the twist of
the neck nothing but liquids can pass into the stomach"; or
dwelling, chained for life, at the foot of a tree; or measuring with
their bodies, like caterpillars, the breadth of vast empires; or
standing on one leg on the tops of pillars- even these forms of
conscious penance are hardly more incredible and astonishing than the
scenes which I daily witness. The twelve labors of Hercules were
trifling in comparison with those which my neighbors have undertaken;
for they were only twelve, and had an end; but I could never see that
these men slew or captured any monster or finished any labor. They
have no friend Iolaus to burn with a hot iron the root of the hydra's
head, but as soon as one head is crushed, two spring up.
I see
young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited
farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more
easily acquired than got rid of. Better if they had been born in the
open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with
clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in. Who made them
serfs of the soil? Why should they eat their sixty acres, when man is
condemned to eat only his peck of dirt? Why should they begin digging
their graves as soon as they are born? They have got to live a man's
life, pushing all these things before them, and get on as well as
they can. How many a poor immortal soul have I met well-nigh crushed
and smothered under its load, creeping down the road of life, pushing
before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its Augean stables never
cleansed, and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture,
and woodlot! The portionless, who struggle with no such unnecessary
inherited encumbrances, find it labor enough to subdue and cultivate
a few cubic feet of flesh.
But men labor under a mistake. The
better part of the man is soon plowed into the soil for compost. By a
seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it
says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will
corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as
they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before. It is
said that Deucalion and Pyrrha created men by throwing stones over
their heads behind them:
Inde genus durum sumus, experiensque
laborum,
Et documenta damus qua simus origine nati. Or, as
Raleigh rhymes it in his sonorous way,
"From thence our
kind hard-hearted is, enduring pain and care,
Approving that
our bodies of a stony nature are." So much for a blind obedience
to a blundering oracle, throwing the stones over their heads behind
them, and not seeing where they fell.
Most men, even in this
comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are
so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors
of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them. Their
fingers, from excessive toil, are too clumsy and tremble too much for
that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity
day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to
men; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to
be anything but a machine. How can he remember well his ignorance-
which his growth requires- who has so often to use his knowledge? We
should feed and clothe him gratuitously sometimes, and recruit him
with our cordials, before we judge of him. The finest qualities of
our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the
most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another
thus tenderly.
Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it
hard to live, are sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath. I have
no doubt that some of you who read this book are unable to pay for
all the dinners which you have actually eaten, or for the coats and
shoes which are fast wearing or are already worn out, and have come
to this page to spend borrowed or stolen time, robbing your creditors
of an hour. It is very evident what mean and sneaking lives many of
you live, for my sight has been whetted by experience; always on the
limits, trying to get into business and trying to get out of debt, a
very ancient slough, called by the Latins aes alienum, another's
brass, for some of their coins were made of brass; still living, and
dying, and buried by this other's brass; always promising to pay,
promising to pay, tomorrow, and dying today, insolvent; seeking to
curry favor, to get custom, by how many modes, only not state-prison
offences; lying, flattering, voting, contracting yourselves into a
nutshell of civility or dilating into an atmosphere of thin and
vaporous generosity, that you may persuade your neighbor to let you
make his shoes, or his hat, or his coat, or his carriage, or import
his groceries for him; making yourselves sick, that you may lay up
something against a sick day, something to be tucked away in an old
chest, or in a stocking behind the plastering, or, more safely, in
the brick bank; no matter where, no matter how much or how little.
I
sometimes wonder that we can be so frivolous, I may almost say, as to
attend to the gross but somewhat foreign form of servitude called
Negro Slavery, there are so many keen and subtle masters that enslave
both North and South. It is hard to have a Southern overseer; it is
worse to have a Northern one; but worst of all when you are the
slave-driver of yourself. Talk of a divinity in man! Look at the
teamster on the highway, wending to market by day or night; does any
divinity stir within him? His highest duty to fodder and water his
horses! What is his destiny to him compared with the shipping
interests? Does not he drive for Squire Make-a-stir? How godlike, how
immortal, is he? See how he cowers and sneaks, how vaguely all the
day he fears, not being immortal nor divine, but the slave and
prisoner of his own opinion of himself, a fame won by his own deeds.
Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private
opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines,
or rather indicates, his fate. Self-emancipation even in the West
Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination- what Wilberforce is
there to bring that about? Think, also, of the ladies of the land
weaving toilet cushions against the last day, not to betray too green
an interest in their fates! As if you could kill time without
injuring eternity.
The mass of men lead lives of quiet
desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.
From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have
to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A
stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are
called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them,
for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not
to do desperate things.
When we consider what, to use the
words of the catechism, is the chief end of man, and what are the
true necessaries and means of life, it appears as if men had
deliberately chosen the common mode of living because they preferred
it to any other. Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. But
alert and healthy natures remember that the sun rose clear. It is
never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of thinking or
doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof. What everybody
echoes or in silence passes by as true today may turn out to be
falsehood tomorrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for
a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What
old people say you cannot do, you try and find that you can. Old
deeds for old people, and new deeds for new. Old people did not know
enough once, perchance, to fetch fresh fuel to keep the fire a-going;
new people put a little dry wood under a pot, and are whirled round
the globe with the speed of birds, in a way to kill old people, as
the phrase is. Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an
instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost.
One may almost doubt if the wisest man has learned anything of
absolute value by living. Practically, the old have no very important
advice to give the young, their own experience has been so partial,
and their lives have been such miserable failures, for private
reasons, as they must believe; and it may be that they have some
faith left which belies that experience, and they are only less young
than they were. I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I
have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest
advice from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and probably
cannot tell me anything to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment
to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me that they
have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am
sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about.
One
farmer says to me, "You cannot live on vegetable food solely,
for it furnishes nothing to make bones with"; and so he
religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with
the raw material of bones; walking all the while he talks behind his
oxen, which, with vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering
plow along in spite of every obstacle. Some things are really
necessaries of life in some circles, the most helpless and diseased,
which in others are luxuries merely, and in others still are entirely
unknown.
The whole ground of human life seems to some to have
been gone over by their predecessors, both the heights and the
valleys, and all things to have been cared for. According to Evelyn,
"the wise Solomon prescribed ordinances for the very distances
of trees; and the Roman praetors have decided how often you may go
into your neighbor's land to gather the acorns which fall on it
without trespass, and what share belongs to that neighbor."
Hippocrates has even left directions how we should cut our nails;
that is, even with the ends of the fingers, neither shorter nor
longer. Undoubtedly the very tedium and ennui which presume to have
exhausted the variety and the joys of life are as old as Adam. But
man's capacities have never been measured; nor are we to judge of
what he can do by any precedents, so little has been tried. Whatever
have been thy failures hitherto, "be not afflicted, my child,
for who shall assign to thee what thou hast left undone?"
We
might try our lives by a thousand simple tests; as, for instance,
that the same sun which ripens my beans illumines at once a system of
earths like ours. If I had remembered this it would have prevented
some mistakes. This was not the light in which I hoed them. The stars
are the apexes of what wonderful triangles! What distant and
different beings in the various mansions of the universe are
contemplating the same one at the same moment! Nature and human life
are as various as our several constitutions. Who shall say what
prospect life offers to another? Could a greater miracle take place
than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant? We
should live in all the ages of the world in an hour; ay, in all the
worlds of the ages. History, Poetry, Mythology!- I know of no reading
of another's experience so startling and informing as this would
be.
The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe
in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely
to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so
well? You may say the wisest thing you can, old man- you who have
lived seventy years, not without honor of a kind- I hear an
irresistible voice which invites me away from all that. One
generation abandons the enterprises of another like stranded
vessels.
I think that we may safely trust a good deal more
than we do. We may waive just so much care of ourselves as we
honestly bestow elsewhere. Nature is as well adapted to our weakness
as to our strength. The incessant anxiety and strain of some is a
well-nigh incurable form of disease. We are made to exaggerate the
importance of what work we do; and yet how much is not done by us!
or, what if we had been taken sick? How vigilant we are! determined
not to live by faith if we can avoid it; all the day long on the
alert, at night we unwillingly say our prayers and commit ourselves
to uncertainties. So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to
live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of change.
This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can
be drawn radii from one centre. All change is a miracle to
contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant.
Confucius said, "To know that we know what we know, and that we
do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge." When
one man has reduced a fact of the imagination to be a fact to his
understanding, I foresee that all men at length establish their lives
on that basis.
Let us consider for a moment what most of the
trouble and anxiety which I have referred to is about, and how much
it is necessary that we be troubled, or at least careful. It would be
some advantage to live a primitive and frontier life, though in the
midst of an outward civilization, if only to learn what are the gross
necessaries of life and what methods have been taken to obtain them;
or even to look over the old day-books of the merchants, to see what
it was that men most commonly bought at the stores, what they stored,
that is, what are the grossest groceries. For the improvements of
ages have had but little influence on the essential laws of man's
existence: as our skeletons, probably, are not to be distinguished
from those of our ancestors.
By the words, necessary of life,
I mean whatever, of all that man obtains by his own exertions, has
been from the first, or from long use has become, so important to
human life that few, if any, whether from savageness, or poverty, or
philosophy, ever attempt to do without it. To many creatures there is
in this sense but one necessary of life, Food. To the bison of the
prairie it is a few inches of palatable grass, with water to drink;
unless he seeks the Shelter of the forest or the mountain's shadow.
None of the brute creation requires more than Food and Shelter. The
necessaries of life for man in this climate may, accurately enough,
be distributed under the several heads of Food, Shelter, Clothing,
and Fuel; for not till we have secured these are we prepared to
entertain the true problems of life with freedom and a prospect of
success. Man has invented, not only houses, but clothes and cooked
food; and possibly from the accidental discovery of the warmth of
fire, and the consequent use of it, at first a luxury, arose the
present necessity to sit by it. We observe cats and dogs acquiring
the same second nature. By proper Shelter and Clothing we
legitimately retain our own internal heat; but with an excess of
these, or of Fuel, that is, with an external heat greater than our
own internal, may not cookery properly be said to begin? Darwin, the
naturalist, says of the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego, that while
his own party, who were well clothed and sitting close to a fire,
were far from too warm, these naked savages, who were farther off,
were observed, to his great surprise, "to be streaming with
perspiration at undergoing such a roasting." So, we are told,
the New Hollander goes naked with impunity, while the European
shivers in his clothes. Is it impossible to combine the hardiness of
these savages with the intellectualness of the civilized man?
According to Liebig, man's body is a stove, and food the fuel which
keeps up the internal combustion in the lungs. In cold weather we eat
more, in warm less. The animal heat is the result of a slow
combustion, and disease and death take place when this is too rapid;
or for want of fuel, or from some defect in the draught, the fire
goes out. Of course the vital heat is not to be confounded with fire;
but so much for analogy. It appears, therefore, from the above list,
that the expression, animal life, is nearly synonymous with the
expression, animal heat; for while Food may be regarded as the Fuel
which keeps up the fire within us- and Fuel serves only to prepare
that Food or to increase the warmth of our bodies by addition from
without- Shelter and Clothing also serve only to retain the heat thus
generated and absorbed.
The grand necessity, then, for our
bodies, is to keep warm, to keep the vital heat in us. What pains we
accordingly take, not only with our Food, and Clothing, and Shelter,
but with our beds, which are our night-clothes, robbing the nests and
breasts of birds to prepare this shelter within a shelter, as the
mole has its bed of grass and leaves at the end of its burrow! The
poor man is wont to complain that this is a cold world; and to cold,
no less physical than social, we refer directly a great part of our
ails. The summer, in some climates, makes possible to man a sort of
Elysian life. Fuel, except to cook his Food, is then unnecessary; the
sun is his fire, and many of the fruits are sufficiently cooked by
its rays; while Food generally is more various, and more easily
obtained, and Clothing and Shelter are wholly or half unnecessary. At
the present day, and in this country, as I find by my own experience,
a few implements, a knife, an axe, a spade, a wheelbarrow, etc., and
for the studious, lamplight, stationery, and access to a few books,
rank next to necessaries, and can all be obtained at a trifling cost.
Yet some, not wise, go to the other side of the globe, to barbarous
and unhealthy regions, and devote themselves to trade for ten or
twenty years, in order that they may live- that is, keep comfortably
warm- and die in New England at last. The luxuriously rich are not
simply kept comfortably warm, but unnaturally hot; as I implied
before, they are cooked, of course a la mode.
Most of the
luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only
not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of
mankind. With respect to luxuries and comforts, the wisest have ever
lived a more simple and meagre life than the poor. The ancient
philosophers, Chinese, Hindoo, Persian, and Greek, were a class than
which none has been poorer in outward riches, none so rich in inward.
We know not much about them. It is remarkable that we know so much of
them as we do. The same is true of the more modern reformers and
benefactors of their race. None can be an impartial or wise observer
of human life but from the vantage ground of what we should call
voluntary poverty. Of a life of luxury the fruit is luxury, whether
in agriculture, or commerce, or literature, or art. There are
nowadays professors of philosophy, but not philosophers. Yet it is
admirable to profess because it was once admirable to live. To be a
philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found
a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates,
a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust. It is to
solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically, but
practically. The success of great scholars and thinkers is commonly a
courtier-like success, not kingly, not manly. They make shift to live
merely by conformity, practically as their fathers did, and are in no
sense the progenitors of a noble race of men. But why do men
degenerate ever? What makes families run out? What is the nature of
the luxury which enervates and destroys nations? Are we sure that
there is none of it in our own lives? The philosopher is in advance
of his age even in the outward form of his life. He is not fed,
sheltered, clothed, warmed, like his contemporaries. How can a man be
a philosopher and not maintain his vital heat by better methods than
other men?
When a man is warmed by the several modes which I
have described, what does he want next? Surely not more warmth of the
same kind, as more and richer food, larger and more splendid houses,
finer and more abundant clothing, more numerous, incessant, and
hotter fires, and the like. When he has obtained those things which
are necessary to life, there is another alternative than to obtain
the superfluities; and that is, to adventure on life now, his
vacation from humbler toil having commenced. The soil, it appears, is
suited to the seed, for it has sent its radicle downward, and it may
now send its shoot upward also with confidence. Why has man rooted
himself thus firmly in the earth, but that he may rise in the same
proportion into the heavens above?- for the nobler plants are valued
for the fruit they bear at last in the air and light, far from the
ground, and are not treated like the humbler esculents, which, though
they may be biennials, are cultivated only till they have perfected
their root, and often cut down at top for this purpose, so that most
would not know them in their flowering season.
I do not mean
to prescribe rules to strong and valiant natures, who will mind their
own affairs whether in heaven or hell, and perchance build more
magnificently and spend more lavishly than the richest, without ever
impoverishing themselves, not knowing how they live- if, indeed,
there are any such, as has been dreamed; nor to those who find their
encouragement and inspiration in precisely the present condition of
things, and cherish it with the fondness and enthusiasm of lovers-
and, to some extent, I reckon myself in this number; I do not speak
to those who are well employed, in whatever circumstances, and they
know whether they are well employed or not;- but mainly to the mass
of men who are discontented, and idly complaining of the hardness of
their lot or of the times, when they might improve them. There are
some who complain most energetically and inconsolably of any, because
they are, as they say, doing their duty. I also have in my mind that
seemingly wealthy, but most terribly impoverished class of all, who
have accumulated dross, but know not how to use it, or get rid of it,
and thus have forged their own golden or silver fetters.
If I
should attempt to tell how I have desired to spend my life in years
past, it would probably surprise those of my readers who are somewhat
acquainted with its actual history; it would certainly astonish those
who know nothing about it. I will only hint at some of the
enterprises which I have cherished.
In any weather, at any
hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of
time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two
eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present
moment; to toe that line. You will pardon some obscurities, for there
are more secrets in my trade than in most men's, and yet not
voluntarily kept, but inseparable from its very nature. I would
gladly tell all that I know about it, and never paint "No
Admittance" on my gate.
I long ago lost a hound, a bay
horse, and a turtle-dove, and am still on their trail. Many are the
travellers I have spoken concerning them, describing their tracks and
what calls they answered to. I have met one or two who had heard the
hound, and the tramp of the horse, and even seen the dove disappear
behind a cloud, and they seemed as anxious to recover them as if they
had lost them themselves.
To anticipate, not the sunrise and
the dawn merely, but, if possible, Nature herself! How many mornings,
summer and winter, before yet any neighbor was stirring about his
business, have I been about mine! No doubt, many of my townsmen have
met me returning from this enterprise, farmers starting for Boston in
the twilight, or woodchoppers going to their work. It is true, I
never assisted the sun materially in his rising, but, doubt not, it
was of the last importance only to be present at it.
So many
autumn, ay, and winter days, spent outside the town, trying to hear
what was in the wind, to hear and carry it express! I well-nigh sunk
all my capital in it, and lost my own breath into the bargain,
running in the face of it. If it had concerned either of the
political parties, depend upon it, it would have appeared in the
Gazette with the earliest intelligence. At other times watching from
the observatory of some cliff or tree, to telegraph any new arrival;
or waiting at evening on the hill-tops for the sky to fall, that I
might catch something, though I never caught much, and that,
manna-wise, would dissolve again in the sun.
For a long time I
was reporter to a journal, of no very wide circulation, whose editor
has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of my contributions, and, as
is too common with writers, I got only my labor for my pains.
However, in this case my pains were their own reward.
For many
years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms,
and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of
forest paths and all across- lot routes, keeping them open, and
ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel
had testified to their utility.
I have looked after the wild
stock of the town, which give a faithful herdsman a good deal of
trouble by leaping fences; and I have had an eye to the unfrequented
nooks and corners of the farm; though I did not always know whether
Jonas or Solomon worked in a particular field today; that was none of
my business. I have watered the red huckleberry, the sand cherry and
the nettle-tree, the red pine and the black ash, the white grape and
the yellow violet, which might have withered else in dry seasons.
In
short, I went on thus for a long time (I may say it without
boasting), faithfully minding my business, till it became more and
more evident that my townsmen would not after all admit me into the
list of town officers, nor make my place a sinecure with a moderate
allowance. My accounts, which I can swear to have kept faithfully, I
have, indeed, never got audited, still less accepted, still less paid
and settled. However, I have not set my heart on that.
Not
long since, a strolling Indian went to sell baskets at the house of a
well-known lawyer in my neighborhood. "Do you wish to buy any
baskets?" he asked. "No, we do not want any," was the
reply. "What!" exclaimed the Indian as he went out the
gate, "do you mean to starve us?" Having seen his
industrious white neighbors so well off- that the lawyer had only to
weave arguments, and, by some magic, wealth and standing followed- he
had said to himself: I will go into business; I will weave baskets;
it is a thing which I can do. Thinking that when he had made the
baskets he would have done his part, and then it would be the white
man's to buy them. He had not discovered that it was necessary for
him to make it worth the other's while to buy them, or at least make
him think that it was so, or to make something else which it would be
worth his while to buy. I too had woven a kind of basket of a
delicate texture, but I had not made it worth any one's while to buy
them. Yet not the less, in my case, did I think it worth my while to
weave them, and instead of studying how to make it worth men's while
to buy my baskets, I studied rather how to avoid the necessity of
selling them. The life which men praise and regard as successful is
but one kind. Why should we exaggerate any one kind at the expense of
the others?
Finding that my fellow-citizens were not likely to
offer me any room in the court house, or any curacy or living
anywhere else, but I must shift for myself, I turned my face more
exclusively than ever to the woods, where I was better known. I
determined to go into business at once, and not wait to acquire the
usual capital, using such slender means as I had already got. My
purpose in going to Walden Pond was not to live cheaply nor to live
dearly there, but to transact some private business with the fewest
obstacles; to be hindered from accomplishing which for want of a
little common sense, a little enterprise and business talent,
appeared not so sad as foolish.
I have always endeavored to
acquire strict business habits; they are indispensable to every man.
If your trade is with the Celestial Empire, then some small counting
house on the coast, in some Salem harbor, will be fixture enough. You
will export such articles as the country affords, purely native
products, much ice and pine timber and a little granite, always in
native bottoms. These will be good ventures. To oversee all the
details yourself in person; to be at once pilot and captain, and
owner and underwriter; to buy and sell and keep the accounts; to read
every letter received, and write or read every letter sent; to
superintend the discharge of imports night and day; to be upon many
parts of the coast almost at the same time- often the richest freight
will be discharged upon a Jersey shore;- to be your own telegraph,
unweariedly sweeping the horizon, speaking all passing vessels bound
coastwise; to keep up a steady despatch of commodities, for the
supply of such a distant and exorbitant market; to keep yourself
informed of the state of the markets, prospects of war and peace
everywhere, and anticipate the tendencies of trade and civilization-
taking advantage of the results of all exploring expeditions, using
new passages and all improvements in navigation;- charts to be
studied, the position of reefs and new lights and buoys to be
ascertained, and ever, and ever, the logarithmic tables to be
corrected, for by the error of some calculator the vessel often
splits upon a rock that should have reached a friendly pier- there is
the untold fate of La Perouse;- universal science to be kept pace
with, studying the lives of all great discoverers and navigators,
great adventurers and merchants, from Hanno and the Phoenicians down
to our day; in fine, account of stock to be taken from time to time,
to know how you stand. It is a labor to task the faculties of a man-
such problems of profit and loss, of interest, of tare and tret, and
gauging of all kinds in it, as demand a universal knowledge.
I
have thought that Walden Pond would be a good place for business, not
solely on account of the railroad and the ice trade; it offers
advantages which it may not be good policy to divulge; it is a good
port and a good foundation. No Neva marshes to be filled; though you
must everywhere build on piles of your own driving. It is said that a
flood-tide, with a westerly wind, and ice in the Neva, would sweep
St. Petersburg from the face of the earth.
As this business
was to be entered into without the usual capital, it may not be easy
to conjecture where those means, that will still be indispensable to
every such undertaking, were to be obtained. As for Clothing, to come
at once to the practical part of the question, perhaps we are led
oftener by the love of novelty and a regard for the opinions of men,
in procuring it, than by a true utility. Let him who has work to do
recollect that the object of clothing is, first, to retain the vital
heat, and secondly, in this state of society, to cover nakedness, and
he may judge how much of any necessary or important work may be
accomplished without adding to his wardrobe. Kings and queens who
wear a suit but once, though made by some tailor or dressmaker to
their majesties, cannot know the comfort of wearing a suit that fits.
They are no better than wooden horses to hang the clean clothes on.
Every day our garments become more assimilated to ourselves,
receiving the impress of the wearer's character, until we hesitate to
lay them aside without such delay and medical appliances and some
such solemnity even as our bodies. No man ever stood the lower in my
estimation for having a patch in his clothes; yet I am sure that
there is greater anxiety, commonly, to have fashionable, or at least
clean and unpatched clothes, than to have a sound conscience. But
even if the rent is not mended, perhaps the worst vice betrayed is
improvidence. I sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as this-
Who could wear a patch, or two extra seams only, over the knee? Most
behave as if they believed that their prospects for life would be
ruined if they should do it. It would be easier for them to hobble to
town with a broken leg than with a broken pantaloon. Often if an
accident happens to a gentleman's legs, they can be mended; but if a
similar accident happens to the legs of his pantaloons, there is no
help for it; for he considers, not what is truly respectable, but
what is respected. We know but few men, a great many coats and
breeches. Dress a scarecrow in your last shift, you standing
shiftless by, who would not soonest salute the scarecrow? Passing a
cornfield the other day, close by a hat and coat on a stake, I
recognized the owner of the farm. He was only a little more weather-
beaten than when I saw him last. I have heard of a dog that barked at
every stranger who approached his master's premises with clothes on,
but was easily quieted by a naked thief. It is an interesting
question how far men would retain their relative rank if they were
divested of their clothes. Could you, in such a case, tell surely of
any company of civilized men which belonged to the most respected
class? When Madam Pfeiffer, in her adventurous travels round the
world, from east to west, had got so near home as Asiatic Russia, she
says that she felt the necessity of wearing other than a travelling
dress, when she went to meet the authorities, for she "was now
in a civilized country, where... people are judged of by their
clothes." Even in our democratic New England towns the
accidental possession of wealth, and its manifestation in dress and
equipage alone, obtain for the possessor almost universal respect.
But they yield such respect, numerous as they are, are so far
heathen, and need to have a missionary sent to them. Beside, clothes
introduced sewing, a kind of work which you may call endless; a
woman's dress, at least, is never done.
A man who has at
length found something to do will not need to get a new suit to do it
in; for him the old will do, that has lain dusty in the garret for an
indeterminate period. Old shoes will serve a hero longer than they
have served his valet- if a hero ever has a valet- bare feet are
older than shoes, and he can make them do. Only they who go to
soirees and legislative balls must have new coats, coats to change as
often as the man changes in them. But if my jacket and trousers, my
hat and shoes, are fit to worship God in, they will do; will they
not? Who ever saw his old clothes- his old coat, actually worn out,
resolved into its primitive elements, so that it was not a deed of
charity to bestow it on some poor boy, by him perchance to be
bestowed on some poorer still, or shall we say richer, who could do
with less? I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,
and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man,
how can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise
before you, try it in your old clothes. All men want, not something
to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be. Perhaps
we should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old,
until we have so conducted, so enterprised or sailed in some way,
that we feel like new men in the old, and that to retain it would be
like keeping new wine in old bottles. Our moulting season, like that
of the fowls, must be a crisis in our lives. The loon retires to
solitary ponds to spend it. Thus also the snake casts its slough, and
the caterpillar its wormy coat, by an internal industry and
expansion; for clothes are but our outmost cuticle and mortal coil.
Otherwise we shall be found sailing under false colors, and be
inevitably cashiered at last by our own opinion, as well as that of
mankind.
We don garment after garment, as if we grew like
exogenous plants by addition without. Our outside and often thin and
fanciful clothes are our epidermis, or false skin, which partakes not
of our life, and may be stripped off here and there without fatal
injury; our thicker garments, constantly worn, are our cellular
integument, or cortex; but our shirts are our liber, or true bark,
which cannot be removed without girdling and so destroying the man. I
believe that all races at some seasons wear something equivalent to
the shirt. It is desirable that a man be clad so simply that he can
lay his hands on himself in the dark, and that he live in all
respects so compactly and preparedly that, if an enemy take the town,
he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed
without anxiety. While one thick garment is, for most purposes, as
good as three thin ones, and cheap clothing can be obtained at prices
really to suit customers; while a thick coat can be bought for five
dollars, which will last as many years, thick pantaloons for two
dollars, cowhide boots for a dollar and a half a pair, a summer hat
for a quarter of a dollar, and a winter cap for sixty-two and a half
cents, or a better be made at home at a nominal cost, where is he so
poor that, clad in such a suit, of his own earning, there will not be
found wise men to do him reverence?
When I ask for a garment
of a particular form, my tailoress tells me gravely, "They do
not make them so now," not emphasizing the "They" at
all, as if she quoted an authority as impersonal as the Fates, and I
find it difficult to get made what I want, simply because she cannot
believe that I mean what I say, that I am so rash. When I hear this
oracular sentence, I am for a moment absorbed in thought, emphasizing
to myself each word separately that I may come at the meaning of it,
that I may find out by what degree of consanguinity 'They' are
related to me, and what authority they may have in an affair which
affects me so nearly; and, finally, I am inclined to answer her with
equal mystery, and without any more emphasis of the "they"-
"It is true, they did not make them so recently, but they do
now." Of what use this measuring of me if she does not measure
my character, but only the breadth of my shoulders, as it were a peg
to bang the coat on? We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcee, but
Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head
monkey at Paris puts on a traveller's cap, and all the monkeys in
America do the same. I sometimes despair of getting anything quite
simple and honest done in this world by the help of men. They would
have to be passed through a powerful press first, to squeeze their
old notions out of them, so that they would not soon get upon their
legs again; and then there would be some one in the company with a
maggot in his head, hatched from an egg deposited there nobody knows
when, for not even fire kills these things, and you would have lost
your labor. Nevertheless, we will not forget that some Egyptian wheat
was handed down to us by a mummy.
On the whole, I think that
it cannot be maintained that dressing has in this or any country
risen to the dignity of an art. At present men make shift to wear
what they can get. Like shipwrecked sailors, they put on what they
can find on the beach, and at a little distance, whether of space or
time, laugh at each other's masquerade. Every generation laughs at
the old fashions, but follows religiously the new. We are amused at
beholding the costume of Henry VIII, or Queen Elizabeth, as much as
if it was that of the King and Queen of the Cannibal Islands. All
costume off a man is pitiful or grotesque. It is only the serious eye
peering from and the sincere life passed within it which restrain
laughter and consecrate the costume of any people. Let Harlequin be
taken with a fit of the colic and his trappings will have to serve
that mood too. When the soldier is hit by a cannon-ball, rags are as
becoming as purple.
The childish and savage taste of men and
women for new patterns keeps how many shaking and squinting through
kaleidoscopes that they may discover the particular figure which this
generation requires today. The manufacturers have learned that this
taste is merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a few
threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold
readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens
that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most
fashionable. Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which
it is called. It is not barbarous merely because the printing is
skin-deep and unalterable.
I cannot believe that our factory
system is the best mode by which men may get clothing. The condition
of the operatives is becoming every day more like that of the
English; and it cannot be wondered at, since, as far as I have heard
or observed, the principal object is, not that mankind may be well
and honestly clad, but, unquestionably, that corporations may be
enriched. In the long run men hit only what they aim at. Therefore,
though they should fail immediately, they had better aim at something
high.
As for a Shelter, I will not deny that this is now a
necessary of life, though there are instances of men having done
without it for long periods in colder countries than this. Samuel
Laing says that "the Laplander in his skin dress, and in a skin
bag which he puts over his head and shoulders, will sleep night after
night on the snow... in a degree of cold which would extinguish the
life of one exposed to it in any woollen clothing." He had seen
them asleep thus. Yet he adds, "They are not hardier than other
people." But, probably, man did not live long on the earth
without discovering the convenience which there is in a house, the
domestic comforts, which phrase may have originally signified the
satisfactions of the house more than of the family; though these must
be extremely partial and occasional in those climates where the house
is associated in our thoughts with winter or the rainy season
chiefly, and two thirds of the year, except for a parasol, is
unnecessary. In our climate, in the summer, it was formerly almost
solely a covering at night. In the Indian gazettes a wigwam was the
symbol of a day's march, and a row of them cut or painted on the bark
of a tree signified that so many times they had camped. Man was not
made so large limbed and robust but that he must seek to narrow his
world and wall in a space such as fitted him. He was at first bare
and out of doors; but though this was pleasant enough in serene and
warm weather, by daylight, the rainy season and the winter, to say
nothing of the torrid sun, would perhaps have nipped his race in the
bud if he had not made haste to clothe himself with the shelter of a
house. Adam and Eve, according to the fable, wore the bower before
other clothes. Man wanted a home, a place of warmth, or comfort,
first of warmth, then the warmth of the affections.
We may
imagine a time when, in the infancy of the human race, some
enterprising mortal crept into a hollow in a rock for shelter. Every
child begins the world again, to some extent, and loves to stay
outdoors, even in wet and cold. It plays house, as well as horse,
having an instinct for it. Who does not remember the interest with
which, when young, he looked at shelving rocks, or any approach to a
cave? It was the natural yearning of that portion, any portion of our
most primitive ancestor which still survived in us. From the cave we
have advanced to roofs of palm leaves, of bark and boughs, of linen
woven and stretched, of grass and straw, of boards and shingles, of
stones and tiles. At last, we know not what it is to live in the open
air, and our lives are domestic in more senses than we think. From
the hearth the field is a great distance. It would be well, perhaps,
if we were to spend more of our days and nights without any
obstruction between us and the celestial bodies, if the poet did not
speak so much from under a roof, or the saint dwell there so long.
Birds do not sing in caves, nor do doves cherish their innocence in
dovecots.
However, if one designs to construct a
dwelling-house, it behooves him to exercise a little Yankee
shrewdness, lest after all he find himself in a workhouse, a
labyrinth without a clue, a museum, an almshouse, a prison, or a
splendid mausoleum instead. Consider first how slight a shelter is
absolutely necessary. I have seen Penobscot Indians, in this town,
living in tents of thin cotton cloth, while the snow was nearly a
foot deep around them, and I thought that they would be glad to have
it deeper to keep out the wind. Formerly, when how to get my living
honestly, with freedom left for my proper pursuits, was a question
which vexed me even more than it does now, for unfortunately I am
become somewhat callous, I used to see a large box by the railroad,
six feet long by three wide, in which the laborers locked up their
tools at night; and it suggested to me that every man who was hard
pushed might get such a one for a dollar, and, having bored a few
auger holes in it, to admit the air at least, get into it when it
rained and at night, and hook down the lid, and so have freedom in
his love, and in his soul be free. This did not appear the worst, nor
by any means a despicable alternative. You could sit up as late as
you pleased, and, whenever you got up, go abroad without any landlord
or house-lord dogging you for rent. Many a man is harassed to death
to pay the rent of a larger and more luxurious box who would not have
frozen to death in such a box as this. I am far from jesting. Economy
is a subject which admits of being treated with levity, but it cannot
so be disposed of. A comfortable house for a rude and hardy race,
that lived mostly out of doors, was once made here almost entirely of
such materials as Nature furnished ready to their hands. Gookin, who
was superintendent of the Indians subject to the Massachusetts
Colony, writing in 1674, says, "The best of their houses are
covered very neatly, tight and warm, with barks of trees, slipped
from their bodies at those seasons when the sap is up, and made into
great flakes, with pressure of weighty timber, when they are
green.... The meaner sort are covered with mats which they make of a
kind of bulrush, and are also indifferently tight and warm, but not
so good as the former.... Some I have seen, sixty or a hundred feet
long and thirty feet broad.... I have often lodged in their wigwams,
and found them as warm as the best English houses." He adds that
they were commonly carpeted and lined within with well-wrought
embroidered mats, and were furnished with various utensils. The
Indians had advanced so far as to regulate the effect of the wind by
a mat suspended over the hole in the roof and moved by a string. Such
a lodge was in the first instance constructed in a day or two at
most, and taken down and put up in a few hours; and every family
owned one, or its apartment in one.
In the savage state every
family owns a shelter as good as the best, and sufficient for its
coarser and simpler wants; but I think that I speak within bounds
when I say that, though the birds of the air have their nests, and
the foxes their holes, and the savages their wigwams, in modern
civilized society not more than one half the families own a shelter.
In the large towns and cities, where civilization especially
prevails, the number of those who own a shelter is a very small
fraction of the whole. The rest pay an annual tax for this outside
garment of all, become indispensable summer and winter, which would
buy a village of Indian wigwams, but now helps to keep them poor as
long as they live. I do not mean to insist here on the disadvantage
of hiring compared with owning, but it is evident that the savage
owns his shelter because it costs so little, while the civilized man
hires his commonly because he cannot afford to own it; nor can he, in
the long run, any better afford to hire. But, answers one, by merely
paying this tax, the poor civilized man secures an abode which is a
palace compared with the savage's. An annual rent of from twenty-five
to a hundred dollars (these are the country rates) entitles him to
the benefit of the improvements of centuries, spacious apartments,
clean paint and paper, Rumford fireplace, back plastering, Venetian
blinds, copper pump, spring lock, a commodious cellar, and many other
things. But how happens it that he who is said to enjoy these things
is so commonly a poor civilized man, while the savage, who has them
not, is rich as a savage? If it is asserted that civilization is a
real advance in the condition of man- and I think that it is, though
only the wise improve their advantages- it must be shown that it has
produced better dwellings without making them more costly; and the
cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is
required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run. An
average house in this neighborhood costs perhaps eight hundred
dollars, and to lay up this sum will take from ten to fifteen years
of the laborer's life, even if he is not encumbered with a family-
estimating the pecuniary value of every man's labor at one dollar a
day, for if some receive more, others receive less;- so that he must
have spent more than half his life commonly before his wigwam will be
earned. If we suppose him to pay a rent instead, this is but a
doubtful choice of evils. Would the savage have been wise to exchange
his wigwam for a palace on these terms?
It may be guessed that
I reduce almost the whole advantage of holding this superfluous
property as a fund in store against the future, so far as the
individual is concerned, mainly to the defraying of funeral expenses.
But perhaps a man is not required to bury himself. Nevertheless this
points to an important distinction between the civilized man and the
savage; and, no doubt, they have designs on us for our benefit, in
making the life of a civilized people an institution, in which the
life of the individual is to a great extent absorbed, in order to
preserve and perfect that of the race. But I wish to show at what a
sacrifice this advantage is at present obtained, and to suggest that
we may possibly so live as to secure all the advantage without
suffering any of the disadvantage. What mean ye by saying that the
poor ye have always with you, or that the fathers have eaten sour
grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?
"As I
live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion any more to use
this proverb in Israel.
"Behold all souls are mine; as
the soul of the father, so also the soul of the son is mine: the soul
that sinneth, it shall die."
When I consider my
neighbors, the farmers of Concord, who are at least as well off as
the other classes, I find that for the most part they have been
toiling twenty, thirty, or forty years, that they may become the real
owners of their farms, which commonly they have inherited with
encumbrances, or else bought with hired money- and we may regard one
third of that toil as the cost of their houses- but commonly they
have not paid for them yet. It is true, the encumbrances sometimes
outweigh the value of the farm, so that the farm itself becomes one
great encumbrance, and still a man is found to inherit it, being well
acquainted with it, as he says. On applying to the assessors, I am
surprised to learn that they cannot at once name a dozen in the town
who own their farms free and clear. If you would know the history of
these homesteads, inquire at the bank where they are mortgaged. The
man who has actually paid for his farm with labor on it is so rare
that every neighbor can point to him. I doubt if there are three such
men in Concord. What has been said of the merchants, that a very
large majority, even ninety-seven in a hundred, are sure to fail, is
equally true of the farmers. With regard to the merchants, however,
one of them says pertinently that a great part of their failures are
not genuine pecuniary failures, but merely failures to fulfil their
engagements, because it is inconvenient; that is, it is the moral
character that breaks down. But this puts an infinitely worse face on
the matter, and suggests, beside, that probably not even the other
three succeed in saving their souls, but are perchance bankrupt in a
worse sense than they who fail honestly. Bankruptcy and repudiation
are the springboards from which much of our civilization vaults and
turns its somersets, but the savage stands on the unelastic plank of
famine. Yet the Middlesex Cattle Show goes off here with eclat
annually, as if all the joints of the agricultural machine were
suent.
The farmer is endeavoring to solve the problem of a
livelihood by a formula more complicated than the problem itself. To
get his shoestrings he speculates in herds of cattle. With consummate
skill he has set his trap with a hair springe to catch comfort and
independence, and then, as he turned away, got his own leg into it.
This is the reason he is poor; and for a similar reason we are all
poor in respect to a thousand savage comforts, though surrounded by
luxuries. As Chapman sings,
"The
false society of men-
-for earthly greatness
All heavenly
comforts rarefies to air."
And
when the farmer has got his house, he may not be the richer but the
poorer for it, and it be the house that has got him. As I understand
it, that was a valid objection urged by Momus against the house which
Minerva made, that she "had not made it movable, by which means
a bad neighborhood might be avoided"; and it may still be urged,
for our houses are such unwieldy property that we are often
imprisoned rather than housed in them; and the bad neighborhood to be
avoided is our own scurvy selves. I know one or two families, at
least, in this town, who, for nearly a generation, have been wishing
to sell their houses in the outskirts and move into the village, but
have not been able to accomplish it, and only death will set them
free.
Granted that the majority are able at last either to own
or hire the modern house with all its improvements. While
civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally
improved the men who are to inhabit them. It has created palaces, but
it was not so easy to create noblemen and kings. And if the civilized
man's pursuits are no worthier than the savage's, if he is employed
the greater part of his life in obtaining gross necessaries and
comforts merely, why should he have a better dwelling than the
former?
But how do the poor minority fare? Perhaps it will be
found that just in proportion as some have been placed in outward
circumstances above the savage, others have been degraded below him.
The luxury of one class is counterbalanced by the indigence of
another. On the one side is the palace, on the other are the
almshouse and "silent poor." The myriads who built the
pyramids to be the tombs of the Pharaohs were fed on garlic, and it
may be were not decently buried themselves. The mason who finishes
the cornice of the palace returns at night perchance to a hut not so
good as a wigwam. It is a mistake to suppose that, in a country where
the usual evidences of civilization exist, the condition of a very
large body of the inhabitants may not be as degraded as that of
savages. I refer to the degraded poor, not now to the degraded rich.
To know this I should not need to look farther than to the shanties
which everywhere border our railroads, that last improvement in
civilization; where I see in my daily walks human beings living in
sties, and all winter with an open door, for the sake of light,
without any visible, often imaginable, wood-pile, and the forms of
both old and young are permanently contracted by the long habit of
shrinking from cold and misery, and the development of all their
limbs and faculties is checked. It certainly is fair to look at that
class by whose labor the works which distinguish this generation are
accomplished. Such too, to a greater or less extent, is the condition
of the operatives of every denomination in England, which is the
great workhouse of the world. Or I could refer you to Ireland, which
is marked as one of the white or enlightened spots on the map.
Contrast the physical condition of the Irish with that of the North
American Indian, or the South Sea Islander, or any other savage race
before it was degraded by contact with the civilized man. Yet I have
no doubt that that people's rulers are as wise as the average of
civilized rulers. Their condition only proves what squalidness may
consist with civilization. I hardly need refer now to the laborers in
our Southern States who produce the staple exports of this country,
and are themselves a staple production of the South. But to confine
myself to those who are said to be in moderate circumstances.
Most
men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually
though needlessly poor all their lives because they think that they
must have such a one as their neighbors have. As if one were to wear
any sort of coat which the tailor might cut out for him, or,
gradually leaving off palm-leaf hat or cap of woodchuck skin,
complain of hard times because he could not afford to buy him a
crown! It is possible to invent a house still more convenient and
luxurious than we have, which yet all would admit that man could not
afford to pay for. Shall we always study to obtain more of these
things, and not sometimes to be content with less? Shall the
respectable citizen thus gravely teach, by precept and example, the
necessity of the young man's providing a certain number of
superfluous glow- shoes, and umbrellas, and empty guest chambers for
empty guests, before he dies? Why should not our furniture be as
simple as the Arab's or the Indian's? When I think of the benefactors
of the race, whom we have apotheosized as messengers from heaven,
bearers of divine gifts to man, I do not see in my mind any retinue
at their heels, any carload of fashionable furniture. Or what if I
were to allow- would it not be a singular allowance?- that our
furniture should be more complex than the Arab's, in proportion as we
are morally and intellectually his superiors! At present our houses
are cluttered and defiled with it, and a good housewife would sweep
out the greater part into the dust hole, and not leave her morning's
work undone. Morning work! By the blushes of Aurora and the music of
Memnon, what should be man's morning work in this world? I had three
pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they
required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all
undusted still, and threw them out the window in disgust. How, then,
could I have a furnished house? I would rather sit in the open air,
for no dust gathers on the grass, unless where man has broken
ground.
It is the luxurious and dissipated who set the
fashions which the herd so diligently follow. The traveller who stops
at the best houses, so called, soon discovers this, for the publicans
presume him to be a Sardanapalus, and if he resigned himself to their
tender mercies he would soon be completely emasculated. I think that
in the railroad car we are inclined to spend more on luxury than on
safety and convenience, and it threatens without attaining these to
become no better than a modern drawing-room, with its divans, and
ottomans, and sun-shades, and a hundred other oriental things, which
we are taking west with us, invented for the ladies of the harem and
the effeminate natives of the Celestial Empire, which Jonathan should
be ashamed to know the names of. I would rather sit on a pumpkin and
have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion. I would
rather ride on earth in an ox cart, with a free circulation, than go
to heaven in the fancy car of an excursion train and breathe a
malaria all the way.
The very simplicity and nakedness of
man's life in the primitive ages imply this advantage, at least, that
they left him still but a sojourner in nature. When he was refreshed
with food and sleep, he contemplated his journey again. He dwelt, as
it were, in a tent in this world, and was either threading the
valleys, or crossing the plains, or climbing the mountain-tops. But
lo! men have become the tools of their tools. The man who
independently plucked the fruits when he was hungry is become a
farmer; and he who stood under a tree for shelter, a housekeeper. We
now no longer camp as for a night, but have settled down on earth and
forgotten heaven. We have adopted Christianity merely as an improved
method of agriculture. We have built for this world a family mansion,
and for the next a family tomb. The best works of art are the
expression of man's struggle to free himself from this condition, but
the effect of our art is merely to make this low state comfortable
and that higher state to be forgotten. There is actually no place in
this village for a work of fine art, if any had come down to us, to
stand, for our lives, our houses and streets, furnish no proper
pedestal for it. There is not a nail to hang a picture on, nor a
shelf to receive the bust of a hero or a saint. When I consider how
our houses are built and paid for, or not paid for, and their
internal economy managed and sustained, I wonder that the floor does
not give way under the visitor while he is admiring the gewgaws upon
the mantelpiece, and let him through into the cellar, to some solid
and honest though earthy foundation. I cannot but perceive that this
so-called rich and refined life is a thing jumped at, and I do not
get on in the enjoyment of the fine arts which adorn it, my attention
being wholly occupied with the jump; for I remember that the greatest
genuine leap, due to human muscles alone, on record, is that of
certain wandering Arabs, who are said to have cleared twenty-five
feet on level ground. Without factitious support, man is sure to come
to earth again beyond that distance. The first question which I am
tempted to put to the proprietor of such great impropriety is, Who
bolsters you? Are you one of the ninety-seven who fail, or the three
who succeed? Answer me these questions, and then perhaps I may look
at your bawbles and find them ornamental. The cart before the horse
is neither beautiful nor useful. Before we can adorn our houses with
beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be
stripped, and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for
a foundation: now, a taste for the beautiful is most cultivated out
of doors, where there is no house and no housekeeper.
Old
Johnson, in his "Wonder-Working Providence," speaking of
the first settlers of this town, with whom he was contemporary, tells
us that "they burrow themselves in the earth for their first
shelter under some hillside, and, casting the soil aloft upon timber,
they make a smoky fire against the earth, at the highest side."
They did not "provide them houses," says he, "till the
earth, by the Lord's blessing, brought forth bread to feed them,"
and the first year's crop was so light that "they were forced to
cut their bread very thin for a long season." The secretary of
the Province of New Netherland, writing in Dutch, in 1650, for the
information of those who wished to take up land there, states more
particularly that "those in New Netherland, and especially in
New England, who have no means to build farmhouses at first according
to their wishes, dig a square pit in the ground, cellar fashion, six
or seven feet deep, as long and as broad as they think proper, case
the earth inside with wood all round the wall, and line the wood with
the bark of trees or something else to prevent the caving in of the
earth; floor this cellar with plank, and wainscot it overhead for a
ceiling, raise a roof of spars clear up, and cover the spars with
bark or green sods, so that they can live dry and warm in these
houses with their entire families for two, three, and four years, it
being understood that partitions are run through those cellars which
are adapted to the size of the family. The wealthy and principal men
in New England, in the beginning of the colonies, commenced their
first dwelling-houses in this fashion for two reasons: firstly, in
order not to waste time in building, and not to want food the next
season; secondly, in order not to discourage poor laboring people
whom they brought over in numbers from Fatherland. In the course of
three or four years, when the country became adapted to agriculture,
they built themselves handsome houses, spending on them several
thousands."
In this course which our ancestors took there
was a show of prudence at least, as if their principle were to
satisfy the more pressing wants first. But are the more pressing
wants satisfied now? When I think of acquiring for myself one of our
luxurious dwellings, I am deterred, for, so to speak, the country is
not yet adapted to human culture, and we are still forced to cut our
spiritual bread far thinner than our forefathers did their wheaten.
Not that all architectural ornament is to be neglected even in the
rudest periods; but let our houses first be lined with beauty, where
they come in contact with our lives, like the tenement of the
shellfish, and not overlaid with it. But, alas! I have been inside
one or two of them, and know what they are lined with.
Though
we are not so degenerate but that we might possibly live in a cave or
a wigwam or wear skins today, it certainly is better to accept the
advantages, though so dearly bought, which the invention and industry
of mankind offer. In such a neighborhood as this, boards and
shingles, lime and bricks, are cheaper and more easily obtained than
suitable caves, or whole logs, or bark in sufficient quantities, or
even well-tempered clay or flat stones. I speak understandingly on
this subject, for I have made myself acquainted with it both
theoretically and practically. With a little more wit we might use
these materials so as to become richer than the richest now are, and
make our civilization a blessing. The civilized man is a more
experienced and wiser savage. But to make haste to my own
experiment.
Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and
went down to the woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to
build my house, and began to cut down some tall, arrowy white pines,
still in their youth, for timber. It is difficult to begin without
borrowing, but perhaps it is the most generous course thus to permit
your fellow-men to have an interest in your enterprise. The owner of
the axe, as he released his hold on it, said that it was the apple of
his eye; but I returned it sharper than I received it. It was a
pleasant hillside where I worked, covered with pine woods, through
which I looked out on the pond, and a small open field in the woods
where pines and hickories were springing up. The ice in the pond was
not yet dissolved, though there were some open spaces, and it was all
dark-colored and saturated with water. There were some slight
flurries of snow during the days that I worked there; but for the
most part when I came out on to the railroad, on my way home, its
yellow sand-heap stretched away gleaming in the hazy atmosphere, and
the rails shone in the spring sun, and I heard the lark and pewee and
other birds already come to commence another year with us. They were
pleasant spring days, in which the winter of man's discontent was
thawing as well as the earth, and the life that had lain torpid began
to stretch itself. One day, when my axe had come off and I had cut a
green hickory for a wedge, driving it with a stone, and had placed
the whole to soak in a pond-hole in order to swell the wood, I saw a
striped snake run into the water, and he lay on the bottom,
apparently without inconvenience, as long as I stayed there, or more
than a quarter of an hour; perhaps because he had not yet fairly come
out of the torpid state. It appeared to me that for a like reason men
remain in their present low and primitive condition; but if they
should feel the influence of the spring of springs arousing them,
they would of necessity rise to a higher and more ethereal life. I
had previously seen the snakes in frosty mornings in my path with
portions of their bodies still numb and inflexible, waiting for the
sun to thaw them. On the 1st of April it rained and melted the ice,
and in the early part of the day, which was very foggy, I heard a
stray goose groping about over the pond and cackling as if lost, or
like the spirit of the fog.
So I went on for some days cutting and hewing timber, and also studs and rafters, all with my narrow axe, not having many communicable or scholar-like thoughts, singing to myself,
Men say
they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings-
The arts
and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is
all that anybody knows.
I hewed the main timbers
six inches square, most of the studs on two sides only, and the
rafters and floor timbers on one side, leaving the rest of the bark
on, so that they were just as straight and much stronger than sawed
ones. Each stick was carefully mortised or tenoned by its stump, for
I had borrowed other tools by this time. My days in the woods were
not very long ones; yet I usually carried my dinner of bread and
butter, and read the newspaper in which it was wrapped, at noon,
sitting amid the green pine boughs which I had cut off, and to my
bread was imparted some of their fragrance, for my hands were covered
with a thick coat of pitch. Before I had done I was more the friend
than the foe of the pine tree, though I had cut down some of them,
having become better acquainted with it. Sometimes a rambler in the
wood was attracted by the sound of my axe, and we chatted pleasantly
over the chips which I had made.
By the middle of April, for I
made no haste in my work, but rather made the most of it, my house
was framed and ready for the raising. I had already bought the shanty
of James Collins, an Irishman who worked on the Fitchburg Railroad,
for boards. James Collins' shanty was considered an uncommonly fine
one. When I called to see it he was not at home. I walked about the
outside, at first unobserved from within, the window was so deep and
high. It was of small dimensions, with a peaked cottage roof, and not
much else to be seen, the dirt being raised five feet all around as
if it were a compost heap. The roof was the soundest part, though a
good deal warped and made brittle by the sun. Doorsill there was
none, but a perennial passage for the hens under the door-board. Mrs.
C. came to the door and asked me to view it from the inside. The hens
were driven in by my approach. It was dark, and had a dirt floor for
the most part, dank, clammy, and aguish, only here a board and there
a board which would not bear removal. She lighted a lamp to show me
the inside of the roof and the walls, and also that the board floor
extended under the bed, warning me not to step into the cellar, a
sort of dust hole two feet deep. In her own words, they were good
boards overhead, good boards all around, and a good window"- of
two whole squares originally, only the cat had passed out that way
lately. There was a stove, a bed, and a place to sit, an infant in
the house where it was born, a silk parasol, gilt-framed
looking-glass, and a patent new coffee-mill nailed to an oak sapling,
all told. The bargain was soon concluded, for James had in the
meanwhile returned. I to pay four dollars and twenty-five cents
tonight, he to vacate at five tomorrow morning, selling to nobody
else meanwhile: I to take possession at six. It were well, he said,
to be there early, and anticipate certain indistinct but wholly
unjust claims on the score of ground rent and fuel. This he assured
me was the only encumbrance. At six I passed him and his family on
the road. One large bundle held their all- bed, coffee-mill,
looking-glass, hens- all but the cat; she took to the woods and
became a wild cat, and, as I learned afterward, trod in a trap set
for woodchucks, and so became a dead cat at last.
I took down
this dwelling the same morning, drawing the nails, and removed it to
the pond-side by small cartloads, spreading the boards on the grass
there to bleach and warp back again in the sun. One early thrush gave
me a note or two as I drove along the woodland path. I was informed
treacherously by a young Patrick that neighbor Seeley, an Irishman,
in the intervals of the carting, transferred the still tolerable,
straight, and drivable nails, staples, and spikes to his pocket, and
then stood when I came back to pass the time of day, and look freshly
up, unconcerned, with spring thoughts, at the devastation; there
being a dearth of work, as he said. He was there to represent
spectatordom, and help make this seemingly insignificant event one
with the removal of the gods of Troy.
I dug my cellar in the
side of a hill sloping to the south, where a woodchuck had formerly
dug his burrow, down through sumach and blackberry roots, and the
lowest stain of vegetation, six feet square by seven deep, to a fine
sand where potatoes would not freeze in any winter. The sides were
left shelving, and not stoned; but the sun having never shone on
them, the sand still keeps its place. It was but two hours' work. I
took particular pleasure in this breaking of ground, for in almost
all latitudes men dig into the earth for an equable temperature.
Under the most splendid house in the city is still to be found the
cellar where they store their roots as of old, and long after the
superstructure has disappeared posterity remark its dent in the
earth. The house is still but a sort of porch at the entrance of a
burrow.
At length, in the beginning of May, with the help of
some of my acquaintances, rather to improve so good an occasion for
neighborliness than from any necessity, I set up the frame of my
house. No man was ever more honored in the character of his raisers
than I. They are destined, I trust, to assist at the raising of
loftier structures one day. I began to occupy my house on the 4th of
July, as soon as it was boarded and roofed, for the boards were
carefully feather-edged and lapped, so that it was perfectly
impervious to rain, but before boarding I laid the foundation of a
chimney at one end, bringing two cartloads of stones up the hill from
the pond in my arms. I built the chimney after my hoeing in the fall,
before a fire became necessary for warmth, doing my cooking in the
meanwhile out of doors on the ground, early in the morning: which
mode I still think is in some respects more convenient and agreeable
than the usual one. When it stormed before my bread was baked, I
fixed a few boards over the fire, and sat under them to watch my
loaf, and passed some pleasant hours in that way. In those days, when
my hands were much employed, I read but little, but the least scraps
of paper which lay on the ground, my holder, or tablecloth, afforded
me as much entertainment, in fact answered the same purpose as the
Iliad.
It would be worth the while to build still more
deliberately than I did, considering, for instance, what foundation a
door, a window, a cellar, a garret, have in the nature of man, and
perchance never raising any superstructure until we found a better
reason for it than our temporal necessities even. There is some of
the same fitness in a man's building his own house that there is in a
bird's building its own nest. Who knows but if men constructed their
dwellings with their own hands, and provided food for themselves and
families simply and honestly enough, the poetic faculty would be
universally developed, as birds universally sing when they are so
engaged? But alas! we do like cowbirds and cuckoos, which lay their
eggs in nests which other birds have built, and cheer no traveller
with their chattering and unmusical notes. Shall we forever resign
the pleasure of construction to the carpenter? What does architecture
amount to in the experience of the mass of men? I never in all my
walks came across a man engaged in so simple and natural an
occupation as building his house. We belong to the community. It is
not the tailor alone who is the ninth part of a man; it is as much
the preacher, and the merchant, and the farmer. Where is this
division of labor to end? and what object does it finally serve? No
doubt another may also think for me; but it is not therefore
desirable that he should do so to the exclusion of my thinking for
myself.
True, there are architects so called in this country,
and I have heard of one at least possessed with the idea of making
architectural ornaments have a core of truth, a necessity, and hence
a beauty, as if it were a revelation to him. All very well perhaps
from his point of view, but only a little better than the common
dilettantism. A sentimental reformer in architecture, he began at the
cornice, not at the foundation. It was only how to put a core of
truth within the ornaments, that every sugarplum, in fact, might have
an almond or caraway seed in it- though I hold that almonds are most
wholesome without the sugar- and not how the inhabitant, the
indweller, might build truly within and without, and let the
ornaments take care of themselves. What reasonable man ever supposed
that ornaments were something outward and in the skin merely- that
the tortoise got his spotted shell, or the shell-fish its
mother-o'-pearl tints, by such a contract as the inhabitants of
Broadway their Trinity Church? But a man has no more to do with the
style of architecture of his house than a tortoise with that of its
shell: nor need the soldier be so idle as to try to paint the precise
color of his virtue on his standard. The enemy will find it out. He
may turn pale when the trial comes. This man seemed to me to lean
over the cornice, and timidly whisper his half truth to the rude
occupants who really knew it better than he. What of architectural
beauty I now see, I know has gradually grown from within outward, out
of the necessities and character of the indweller, who is the only
builder- out of some unconscious truthfulness, and nobleness, without
ever a thought for the appearance and whatever additional beauty of
this kind is destined to be produced will be preceded by a like
unconscious beauty of life. The most interesting dwellings in this
country, as the painter knows, are the most unpretending, humble log
huts and cottages of the poor commonly; it is the life of the
inhabitants whose shells they are, and not any peculiarity in their
surfaces merely, which makes them picturesque; and equally
interesting will be the citizen's suburban box, when his life shall
be as simple and as agreeable to the imagination, and there is as
little straining after effect in the style of his dwelling. A great
proportion of architectural ornaments are literally hollow, and a
September gale would strip them off, like borrowed plumes, without
injury to the substantials. They can do without architecture who have
no olives nor wines in the cellar. What if an equal ado were made
about the ornaments of style in literature, and the architects of our
bibles spent as much time about their cornices as the architects of
our churches do? So are made the belles-lettres and the beaux-arts
and their professors. Much it concerns a man, forsooth, how a few
sticks are slanted over him or under him, and what colors are daubed
upon his box. It would signify somewhat, if, in any earnest sense, he
slanted them and daubed it; but the spirit having departed out of the
tenant, it is of a piece with constructing his own coffin- the
architecture of the grave- and "carpenter" is but another
name for "coffin-maker." One man says, in his despair or
indifference to life, take up a handful of the earth at your feet,
and paint your house that color. Is he thinking of his last and
narrow house? Toss up a copper for it as well. What an abundance of
leisure be must have! Why do you take up a handful of dirt? Better
paint your house your own complexion; let it turn pale or blush for
you. An enterprise to improve the style of cottage architecture! When
you have got my ornaments ready, I will wear them.
Before
winter I built a chimney, and shingled the sides of my house, which
were already impervious to rain, with imperfect and sappy shingles
made of the first slice of the log, whose edges I was obliged to
straighten with a plane.
I have thus a tight shingled and
plastered house, ten feet wide by fifteen long, and eight-feet posts,
with a garret and a closet, a large window on each side, two
trap-doors, one door at the end, and a brick fireplace opposite. The
exact cost of my house, paying the usual price for such materials as
I used, but not counting the work, all of which was done by myself,
was as follows; and I give the details because very few are able to
tell exactly what their houses cost, and fewer still, if any, the
separate cost of the various materials which compose them:
Boards................................$ 8.03 1/2, (mostly
shanty
boards.)
Refuse shingles for roof and sides....
4.00
Laths................................. 1.25
Two
second-hand windows with glass.... 2.43
One thousand old
brick................ 4.00
Two casks of lime.....................
2.40 (That was high.)
Hair.................................. 0.31
(More than I needed.)
Mantle-tree iron......................
0.15
Nails................................. 3.90
Hinges and
screws.....................
0.14
Latch.................................
0.10
Chalk.................................
0.01
Transportation........................ 1.40 (I carried a good
part on my back.)
In all................................$
28.12 1/2
These are all the materials, excepting the timber,
stones, and sand, which I claimed by squatter's right. I have also a
small woodshed adjoining, made chiefly of the stuff which was left
after building the house.
I intend to build me a house which
will surpass any on the main street in Concord in grandeur and
luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me no more
than my present one.
I thus found that the student who wishes
for a shelter can obtain one for a lifetime at an expense not greater
than the rent which he now pays annually. If I seem to boast more
than is becoming, my excuse is that I brag for humanity rather than
for myself; and my shortcomings and inconsistencies do not affect the
truth of my statement. Notwithstanding much cant and hypocrisy- chaff
which I find it difficult to separate from my wheat, but for which I
am as sorry as any man- I will breathe freely and stretch myself in
this respect, it is such a relief to both the moral and physical
system; and I am resolved that I will not through humility become the
devil's attorney. I will endeavor to speak a good word for the truth.
At Cambridge College the mere rent of a student's room, which is only
a little larger than my own, is thirty dollars each year, though the
corporation had the advantage of building thirty-two side by side and
under one roof, and the occupant suffers the inconvenience of many
and noisy neighbors, and perhaps a residence in the fourth story. I
cannot but think that if we had more true wisdom in these respects,
not only less education would be needed, because, forsooth, more
would already have been acquired, but the pecuniary expense of
getting an education would in a great measure vanish. Those
conveniences which the student requires at Cambridge or elsewhere
cost him or somebody else ten times as great a sacrifice of life as
they would with proper management on both sides. Those things for
which the most money is demanded are never the things which the
student most wants. Tuition, for instance, is an important item in
the term bill, while for the far more valuable education which he
gets by associating with the most cultivated of his contemporaries no
charge is made. The mode of founding a college is, commonly, to get
up a subscription of dollars and cents, and then, following blindly
the principles of a division of labor to its extreme- a principle
which should never be followed but with circumspection- to call in a
contractor who makes this a subject of speculation, and he employs
Irishmen or other operatives actually to lay the foundations, while
the students that are to be are said to be fitting themselves for it;
and for these oversights successive generations have to pay. I think
that it would be better than this, for the students, or those who
desire to be benefited by it, even to lay the foundation themselves.
The student who secures his coveted leisure and retirement by
systematically shirking any labor necessary to man obtains but an
ignoble and unprofitable leisure, defrauding himself of the
experience which alone can make leisure fruitful. "But,"
says one, "you do not mean that the students should go to work
with their hands instead of their heads?" I do not mean that
exactly, but I mean something which he might think a good deal like
that; I mean that they should not play life, or study it merely,
while the community supports them at this expensive game, but
earnestly live it from beginning to end. How could youths better
learn to live than by at once trying the experiment of living?
Methinks this would exercise their minds as much as mathematics. If I
wished a boy to know something about the arts and sciences, for
instance, I would not pursue the common course, which is merely to
send him into the neighborhood of some professor, where anything is
professed and practised but the art of life;- to survey the world
through a telescope or a microscope, and never with his natural eye;
to study chemistry, and not learn how his bread is made, or
mechanics, and not learn how it is earned; to discover new satellites
to Neptune, and not detect the motes in his eyes, or to what vagabond
he is a satellite himself; or to be devoured by the monsters that
swarm all around him, while contemplating the monsters in a drop of
vinegar. Which would have advanced the most at the end of a month-
the boy who had made his own jackknife from the ore which he had dug
and smelted, reading as much as would be necessary for this- or the
boy who had attended the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in
the meanwhile, and had received a Rodgers penknife from his father?
Which would be most likely to cut his fingers?... To my astonishment
I was informed on leaving college that I had studied navigation!-
why, if I had taken one turn down the harbor I should have known more
about it. Even the poor student studies and is taught only political
economy, while that economy of living which is synonymous with
philosophy is not even sincerely professed in our colleges. The
consequence is, that while he is reading Adam Smith, Ricardo, and
Say, he runs his father in debt irretrievably.
As with our
colleges, so with a hundred "modern improvements"; there is
an illusion about them; there is not always a positive advance. The
devil goes on exacting compound interest to the last for his early
share and numerous succeeding investments in them. Our inventions are
wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious
things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end
which it was already but too easy to arrive at; as railroads lead to
Boston or New York. We are in great haste to construct a magnetic
telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have
nothing important to communicate. Either is in such a predicament as
the man who was earnest to be introduced to a distinguished deaf
woman, but when he was presented, and one end of her ear trumpet was
put into his hand, had nothing to say. As if the main object were to
talk fast and not to talk sensibly. We are eager to tunnel under the
Atlantic and bring the Old World some weeks nearer to the New; but
perchance the first news that will leak through into the broad,
flapping American ear will be that the Princess Adelaide has the
whooping cough. After all, the man whose horse trots a mile in a
minute does not carry the most important messages; he is not an
evangelist, nor does he come round eating locusts and wild honey. I
doubt if Flying Childers ever carried a peck of corn to mill.
One
says to me, "I wonder that you do not lay up money; you love to
travel; you might take the cars and go to Fitchburg today and see the
country." But I am wiser than that. I have learned that the
swiftest traveller is he that goes afoot. I say to my friend, Suppose
we try who will get there first. The distance is thirty miles; the
fare ninety cents. That is almost a day's wages. I remember when
wages were sixty cents a day for laborers on this very road. Well, I
start now on foot, and get there before night; I have travelled at
that rate by the week together. You will in the meanwhile have earned
your fare, and arrive there some time tomorrow, or possibly this
evening, if you are lucky enough to get a job in season. Instead of
going to Fitchburg, you will be working here the greater part of the
day. And so, if the railroad reached round the world, I think that I
should keep ahead of you; and as for seeing the country and getting
experience of that kind, I should have to cut your acquaintance
altogether.
Such is the universal law, which no man can ever
outwit, and with regard to the railroad even we may say it is as
broad as it is long. To make a railroad round the world available to
all mankind is equivalent to grading the whole surface of the planet.
Men have an indistinct notion that if they keep up this activity of
joint stocks and spades long enough all will at length ride
somewhere, in next to no time, and for nothing; but though a crowd
rushes to the depot, and the conductor shouts "All aboard!"
when the smoke is blown away and the vapor condensed, it will be
perceived that a few are riding, but the rest are run over- and it
will be called, and will be, "A melancholy accident." No
doubt they can ride at last who shall have earned their fare, that
is, if they survive so long, but they will probably have lost their
elasticity and desire to travel by that time. This spending of the
best part of one's life earning money in order to enjoy a
questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it reminds me
of the Englishman who went to India to make a fortune first, in order
that he might return to England and live the life of a poet. He
should have gone up garret at once. "What!" exclaim a
million Irishmen starting up from all the shanties in the land, "is
not this railroad which we have built a good thing?" Yes, I
answer, comparatively good, that is, you might have done worse; but I
wish, as you are brothers of mine, that you could have spent your
time better than digging in this dirt.
Before I finished my
house, wishing to earn ten or twelve dollars by some honest and
agreeable method, in order to meet my unusual expenses, I planted
about two acres and a half of light and sandy soil near it chiefly
with beans, but also a small part with potatoes, corn, peas, and
turnips. The whole lot contains eleven acres, mostly growing up to
pines and hickories, and was sold the preceding season for eight
dollars and eight cents an acre. One farmer said that it was "good
for nothing but to raise cheeping squirrels on." I put no manure
whatever on this land, not being the owner, but merely a squatter,
and not expecting to cultivate so much again, and I did not quite hoe
it all once. I got out several cords of stumps in plowing, which
supplied me with fuel for a long time, and left small circles of
virgin mould, easily distinguishable through the summer by the
greater luxuriance of the beans there. The dead and for the most part
unmerchantable wood behind my house, and the driftwood from the pond,
have supplied the remainder of my fuel. I was obliged to hire a team
and a man for the plowing, though I held the plow myself. My farm
outgoes for the first season were, for implements, seed, work, etc.,
$14.72 1/2. The seed corn was given me. This never costs anything to
speak of, unless you plant more than enough. I got twelve bushels of
beans, and eighteen bushels of potatoes, beside some peas and sweet
corn. The yellow corn and turnips were too late to come to anything.
My whole income from the farm was
$ 23.44
Deducting
the outgoes............. 14.72 1/2
-----
There are
left....................$ 8.71 1/2
beside produce consumed and on
hand at the time this estimate was made of the value of $4.50- the
amount on hand much more than balancing a little grass which I did
not raise. All things considered, that is, considering the importance
of a man's soul and of today, notwithstanding the short time occupied
by my experiment, nay, partly even because of its transient
character, I believe that that was doing better than any farmer in
Concord did that year.
The next year I did better still, for I
spaded up all the land which I required, about a third of an acre,
and I learned from the experience of both years, not being in the
least awed by many celebrated works on husbandry, Arthur Young among
the rest, that if one would live simply and eat only the crop which
he raised, and raise no more than he ate, and not exchange it for an
insufficient quantity of more luxurious and expensive things, he
would need to cultivate only a few rods of ground, and that it would
be cheaper to spade up that than to use oxen to plow it, and to
select a fresh spot from time to time than to manure the old, and he
could do all his necessary farm work as it were with his left hand at
odd hours in the summer; and thus he would not be tied to an ox, or
horse, or cow, or pig, as at present. I desire to speak impartially
on this point, and as one not interested in the success or failure of
the present economical and social arrangements. I was more
independent than any farmer in Concord, for I was not anchored to a
house or farm, but could follow the bent of my genius, which is a
very crooked one, every moment. Beside being better off than they
already, if my house had been burned or my crops had failed, I should
have been nearly as well off as before.
I am wont to think
that men are not so much the keepers of herds as herds are the
keepers of men, the former are so much the freer. Men and oxen
exchange work; but if we consider necessary work only, the oxen will
be seen to have greatly the advantage, their farm is so much the
larger. Man does some of his part of the exchange work in his six
weeks of haying, and it is no boy's play. Certainly no nation that
lived simply in all respects, that is, no nation of philosophers,
would commit so great a blunder as to use the labor of animals. True,
there never was and is not likely soon to be a nation of
philosophers, nor am I certain it is desirable that there should be.
However, I should never have broken a horse or bull and taken him to
board for any work he might do for me, for fear I should become a
horseman or a herdsman merely; and if society seems to be the gainer
by so doing, are we certain that what is one man's gain is not
another's loss, and that the stable-boy has equal cause with his
master to be satisfied? Granted that some public works would not have
been constructed without this aid, and let man share the glory of
such with the ox and horse; does it follow that he could not have
accomplished works yet more worthy of himself in that case? When men
begin to do, not merely unnecessary or artistic, but luxurious and
idle work, with their assistance, it is inevitable that a few do all
the exchange work with the oxen, or, in other words, become the
slaves of the strongest. Man thus not only works for the animal
within him, but, for a symbol of this, he works for the animal
without him. Though we have many substantial houses of brick or
stone, the prosperity of the farmer is still measured by the degree
to which the barn overshadows the house. This town is said to have
the largest houses for oxen, cows, and horses hereabouts, and it is
not behindhand in its public buildings; but there are very few halls
for free worship or free speech in this county. It should not be by
their architecture, but why not even by their power of abstract
thought, that nations should seek to commemorate themselves? How much
more admirable the Bhagvat-Geeta than all the ruins of the East!
Towers and temples are the luxury of princes. A simple and
independent mind does not toil at the bidding of any prince. Genius
is not a retainer to any emperor, nor is its material silver, or
gold, or marble, except to a trifling extent. To what end, pray, is
so much stone hammered? In Arcadia, when I was there, I did not see
any hammering stone. Nations are possessed with an insane ambition to
perpetuate the memory of themselves by the amount of hammered stone
they leave. What if equal pains were taken to smooth and polish their
manners? One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a
monument as high as the moon. I love better to see stones in place.
The grandeur of Thebes was a vulgar grandeur. More sensible is a rod
of stone wall that bounds an honest man's field than a hundred-gated
Thebes that has wandered farther from the true end of life. The
religion and civilization which are barbaric and heathenish build
splendid temples; but what you might call Christianity does not. Most
of the stone a nation hammers goes toward its tomb only. It buries
itself alive. As for the Pyramids, there is nothing to wonder at in
them so much as the fact that so many men could be found degraded
enough to spend their lives constructing a tomb for some ambitious
booby, whom it would have been wiser and manlier to have drowned in
the Nile, and then given his body to the dogs. I might possibly
invent some excuse for them and him, but I have no time for it. As
for the religion and love of art of the builders, it is much the same
all the world over, whether the building be an Egyptian temple or the
United States Bank. It costs more than it comes to. The mainspring is
vanity, assisted by the love of garlic and bread and butter. Mr.
Balcom, a promising young architect, designs it on the back of his
Vitruvius, with hard pencil and ruler, and the job is let out to
Dobson & Sons, stonecutters. When the thirty centuries begin to
look down on it, mankind begin to look up at it. As for your high
towers and monuments, there was a crazy fellow once in this town who
undertook to dig through to China, and he got so far that, as he
said, he heard the Chinese pots and kettles rattle; but I think that
I shall not go out of my way to admire the hole which he made. Many
are concerned about the monuments of the West and the East- to know
who built them. For my part, I should like to know who in those days
did not build them- who were above such trifling. But to proceed with
my statistics.
By surveying, carpentry, and day-labor of
various other kinds in the village in the meanwhile, for I have as
many trades as fingers, I had earned $13.34. The expense of food for
eight months, namely, from July 4th to March 1st, the time when these
estimates were made, though I lived there more than two years- not
counting potatoes, a little green corn, and some peas, which I had
raised, nor considering the value of what was on hand at the last
date- was
Rice......................$ 1.73
1/2
Molasses.................. 1.73 (Cheapest form of the
saccharine.)
Rye meal.................. 1.04 3/4
Indian
meal............... 0.99 3/4 (Cheaper than
rye.)
Pork...................... 0.22
(All Experiments Which
Failed)
Flour..................... 0.88 (Costs more than Indian
meal, both money and trouble.)
Sugar.....................
0.80
Lard...................... 0.65
Apples....................
0.25
Dried apple............... 0.22
Sweet potatoes............
0.10
One pumpkin............... 0.06
One watermelon............
0.02
Salt...................... 0.03
Yes, I did eat $8.74,
all told; but I should not thus unblushingly publish my guilt, if I
did not know that most of my readers were equally guilty with myself,
and that their deeds would look no better in print. The next year I
sometimes caught a mess of fish for my dinner, and once I went so far
as to slaughter a woodchuck which ravaged my bean-field- effect his
transmigration, as a Tartar would say- and devour him, partly for
experiment's sake; but though it afforded me a momentary enjoyment,
notwithstanding a musky flavor, I saw that the longest use would not
make that a good practice, however it might seem to have your
woodchucks ready dressed by the village butcher.
Clothing and
some incidental expenses within the same dates, though little can be
inferred from this item, amounted to
$ 8.40 3/4
Oil and
some household utensils......... 2.00 So that all the pecuniary
outgoes, excepting for washing and mending, which for the most part
were done out of the house, and their bills have not yet been
received- and these are all and more than all the ways by which money
necessarily goes out in this part of the world- were
House...................................$ 28.12 1/2
Farm
one year........................... 14.72 1/2
Food eight
months....................... 8.74
Clothing, etc., eight
months............ 8.40 3/4
Oil, etc., eight
months................. 2.00
-----
In
all..................................$ 61.99 3/4
I address
myself now to those of my readers who have a living to get. And to
meet this I have for farm produce sold
$ 23.44
Earned by
day-labor..................... 13.34
-----
In
all..................................$ 36.78
which subtracted
from the sum of the outgoes leaves a balance of $25.21 3/4 on the one
side- this being very nearly the means with which I started, and the
measure of expenses to be incurred- and on the other, beside the
leisure and independence and health thus secured, a comfortable house
for me as long as I choose to occupy it.
These statistics,
however accidental and therefore uninstructive they may appear, as
they have a certain completeness, have a certain value also. Nothing
was given me of which I have not rendered some account. It appears
from the above estimate, that my food alone cost me in money about
twenty-seven cents a week. It was, for nearly two years after this,
rye and Indian meal without yeast, potatoes, rice, a very little salt
pork, molasses, and salt; and my drink, water. It was fit that I
should live on rice, mainly, who love so well the philosophy of
India. To meet the objections of some inveterate cavillers, I may as
well state, that if I dined out occasionally, as I always had done,
and I trust shall have opportunities to do again, it was frequently
to the detriment of my domestic arrangements. But the dining out,
being, as I have stated, a constant element, does not in the least
affect a comparative statement like this.
I learned from my
two years' experience that it would cost incredibly little trouble to
obtain one's necessary food, even in this latitude; that a man may
use as simple a diet as the animals, and yet retain health and
strength. I have made a satisfactory dinner, satisfactory on several
accounts, simply off a dish of purslane (Portulaca oleracea) which I
gathered in my cornfield, boiled and salted. I give the Latin on
account of the savoriness of the trivial name. And pray what more can
a reasonable man desire, in peaceful times, in ordinary noons, than a
sufficient number of ears of green sweet corn boiled, with the
addition of salt? Even the little variety which I used was a yielding
to the demands of appetite, and not of health. Yet men have come to
such a pass that they frequently starve, not for want of necessaries,
but for want of luxuries; and I know a good woman who thinks that her
son lost his life because he took to drinking water only.
The
reader will perceive that I am treating the subject rather from an
economic than a dietetic point of view, and he will not venture to
put my abstemiousness to the test unless he has a well-stocked
larder.
Bread I at first made of pure Indian meal and salt,
genuine hoe-cakes, which I baked before my fire out of doors on a
shingle or the end of a stick of timber sawed off in building my
house; but it was wont to get smoked and to have a piny flavor, I
tried flour also; but have at last found a mixture of rye and Indian
meal most convenient and agreeable. In cold weather it was no little
amusement to bake several small loaves of this in succession, tending
and turning them as carefully as an Egyptian his hatching eggs. They
were a real cereal fruit which I ripened, and they had to my senses a
fragrance like that of other noble fruits, which I kept in as long as
possible by wrapping them in cloths. I made a study of the ancient
and indispensable art of bread-making, consulting such authorities as
offered, going back to the primitive days and first invention of the
unleavened kind, when from the wildness of nuts and meats men first
reached the mildness and refinement of this diet, and travelling
gradually down in my studies through that accidental souring of the
dough which, it is supposed, taught the leavening process, and
through the various fermentations thereafter, till I came to "good,
sweet, wholesome bread," the staff of life. Leaven, which some
deem the soul of bread, the spiritus which fills its cellular tissue,
which is religiously preserved like the vestal fire- some precious
bottleful, I suppose, first brought over in the Mayflower, did the
business for America, and its influence is still rising, swelling,
spreading, in cerealian billows over the land- this seed I regularly
and faithfully procured from the village, till at length one morning
I forgot the rules, and scalded my yeast; by which accident I
discovered that even this was not indispensable- for my discoveries
were not by the synthetic but analytic process- and I have gladly
omitted it since, though most housewives earnestly assured me that
safe and wholesome bread without yeast might not be, and elderly
people prophesied a speedy decay of the vital forces. Yet I find it
not to be an essential ingredient, and after going without it for a
year am still in the land of the living; and I am glad to escape the
trivialness of carrying a bottleful in my pocket, which would
sometimes pop and discharge its contents to my discomfiture. It is
simpler and more respectable to omit it. Man is an animal who more
than any other can adapt himself to all climates and circumstances.
Neither did I put any sal-soda, or other acid or alkali, into my
bread. It would seem that I made it according to the recipe which
Marcus Porcius Cato gave about two centuries before Christ. "Panem
depsticium sic facito. Manus mortariumque bene lavato. Farinam in
mortarium indito, aquae paulatim addito, subigitoque pulchre. Ubi
bene subegeris, defingito, coquitoque sub testu." Which I take
to mean,- "Make kneaded bread thus. Wash your hands and trough
well. Put the meal into the trough, add water gradually, and knead it
thoroughly. When you have kneaded it well, mould it, and bake it
under a cover," that is, in a baking-kettle. Not a word about
leaven. But I did not always use this staff of life. At one time,
owing to the emptiness of my purse, I saw none of it for more than a
month.
Every New Englander might easily raise all his own
breadstuffs in this land of rye and Indian corn, and not depend on
distant and fluctuating markets for them. Yet so far are we from
simplicity and independence that, in Concord, fresh and sweet meal is
rarely sold in the shops, and hominy and corn in a still coarser form
are hardly used by any. For the most part the farmer gives to his
cattle and hogs the grain of his own producing, and buys flour, which
is at least no more wholesome, at a greater cost, at the store. I saw
that I could easily raise my bushel or two of rye and Indian corn,
for the former will grow on the poorest land, and the latter does not
require the best, and grind them in a hand-mill, and so do without
rice and pork; and if I must have some concentrated sweet, I found by
experiment that I could make a very good molasses either of pumpkins
or beets, and I knew that I needed only to set out a few maples to
obtain it more easily still, and while these were growing I could use
various substitutes beside those which I have named. "For,"
as the Forefathers sang,
"we
can make liquor to sweeten our lips
Of pumpkins and parsnips and
walnut-tree chips."
Finally, as for salt, that grossest of
groceries, to obtain this might be a fit occasion for a visit to the
seashore, or, if I did without it altogether, I should probably drink
the less water. I do not learn that the Indians ever troubled
themselves to go after it.
Thus I could avoid all trade and
barter, so far as my food was concerned, and having a shelter
already, it would only remain to get clothing and fuel. The
pantaloons which I now wear were woven in a farmer's family- thank
Heaven there is so much virtue still in man; for I think the fall
from the farmer to the operative as great and memorable as that from
the man to the farmer;- and in a new country, fuel is an encumbrance.
As for a habitat, if I were not permitted still to squat, I might
purchase one acre at the same price for which the land I cultivated
was sold- namely, eight dollars and eight cents. But as it was, I
considered that I enhanced the value of the land by squatting on
it.
There is a certain class of unbelievers who sometimes ask
me such questions as, if I think that I can live on vegetable food
alone; and to strike at the root of the matter at once- for the root
is faith- I am accustomed to answer such, that I can live on board
nails. If they cannot understand that, they cannot understand much
that I have to say. For my part, I am glad to bear of experiments of
this kind being tried; as that a young man tried for a fortnight to
live on hard, raw corn on the ear, using his teeth for all mortar.
The squirrel tribe tried the same and succeeded. The human race is
interested in these experiments, though a few old women who are
incapacitated for them, or who own their thirds in mills, may be
alarmed.
My furniture, part of which I made myself- and the
rest cost me nothing of which I have not rendered an account-
consisted of a bed, a table, a desk, three chairs, a looking-glass
three inches in diameter, a pair of tongs and andirons, a kettle, a
skillet, and a frying-pan, a dipper, a wash-bowl, two knives and
forks, three plates, one cup, one spoon, a jug for oil, a jug for
molasses, and a japanned lamp. None is so poor that he need sit on a
pumpkin. That is shiftlessness. There is a plenty of such chairs as I
like best in the village garrets to be had for taking them away.
Furniture! Thank God, I can sit and I can stand without the aid of a
furniture warehouse. What man but a philosopher would not be ashamed
to see his furniture packed in a cart and going up country exposed to
the light of heaven and the eyes of men, a beggarly account of empty
boxes? That is Spaulding's furniture. I could never tell from
inspecting such a load whether it belonged to a so-called rich man or
a poor one; the owner always seemed poverty-stricken. Indeed, the
more you have of such things the poorer you are. Each load looks as
if it contained the contents of a dozen shanties; and if one shanty
is poor, this is a dozen times as poor. Pray, for what do we move
ever but to get rid of our furniture, our exuviae; at last to go from
this world to another newly furnished, and leave this to be burned?
It is the same as if all these traps were buckled to a man's belt,
and he could not move over the rough country where our lines are cast
without dragging them- dragging his trap. He was a lucky fox that
left his tail in the trap. The muskrat will gnaw his third leg off to
be free. No wonder man has lost his elasticity. How often he is at a
dead set! "Sir, if I may be so bold, what do you mean by a dead
set?" If you are a seer, whenever you meet a man you will see
all that he owns, ay, and much that he pretends to disown, behind
him, even to his kitchen furniture and all the trumpery which he
saves and will not burn, and he will appear to be harnessed to it and
making what headway he can. I think that the man is at a dead set who
has got through a knot-hole or gateway where his sledge load of
furniture cannot follow him. I cannot but feel compassion when I hear
some trig, compact-looking man, seemingly free, all girded and ready,
speak of his "furniture," as whether it is insured or not.
"But what shall I do with my furniture?"- My gay butterfly
is entangled in a spider's web then. Even those who seem for a long
while not to have any, if you inquire more narrowly you will find
have some stored in somebody's barn. I look upon England today as an
old gentleman who is travelling with a great deal of baggage,
trumpery which has accumulated from long housekeeping, which he has
not the courage to burn; great trunk, little trunk, bandbox, and
bundle. Throw away the first three at least. It would surpass the
powers of a well man nowadays to take up his bed and walk, and I
should certainly advise a sick one to lay down his bed and run. When
I have met an immigrant tottering under a bundle which contained his
all- looking like an enormous well which had grown out of the nape of
his neck- I have pitied him, not because that was his all, but
because he had all that to carry. If I have got to drag my trap, I
will take care that it be a light one and do not nip me in a vital
part. But perchance it would be wisest never to put one's paw into
it.
I would observe, by the way, that it costs me nothing for
curtains, for I have no gazers to shut out but the sun and moon, and
I am willing that they should look in. The moon will not sour milk
nor taint meat of mine, nor will the sun injure my furniture or fade
my carpet; and if he is sometimes too warm a friend, I find it still
better economy to retreat behind some curtain which nature has
provided, than to add a single item to the details of housekeeping. A
lady once offered me a mat, but as I had no room to spare within the
house, nor time to spare within or without to shake it, I declined
it, preferring to wipe my feet on the sod before my door. It is best
to avoid the beginnings of evil.
Not long since I was present
at the auction of a deacon's effects, for his life had not been
ineffectual:
"The evil that men do lives after them."
As usual, a
great proportion was trumpery which had begun to accumulate in his
father's day. Among the rest was a dried tapeworm. And now, after
lying half a century in his garret and other dust holes, these things
were not burned; instead of a bonfire, or purifying destruction of
them, there was an auction, or increasing of them. The neighbors
eagerly collected to view them, bought them all, and carefully
transported them to their garrets and dust holes, to lie there till
their estates are settled, when they will start again. When a man
dies he kicks the dust.
The customs of some savage nations
might, perchance, be profitably imitated by us, for they at least go
through the semblance of casting their slough annually; they have the
idea of the thing, whether they have the reality or not. Would it not
be well if we were to celebrate such a "busk," or "feast
of first fruits," as Bartram describes to have been the custom
of the Mucclasse Indians? "When a town celebrates the busk,"
says he, "having previously provided themselves with new
clothes, new pots, pans, and other household utensils and furniture,
they collect all their worn out clothes and other despicable things,
sweep and cleanse their houses, squares, and the whole town of their
filth, which with all the remaining grain and other old provisions
they cast together into one common heap, and consume it with fire.
After having taken medicine, and fasted for three days, all the fire
in the town is extinguished. During this fast they abstain from the
gratification of every appetite and passion whatever. A general
amnesty is proclaimed; all malefactors may return to their
town."
"On the fourth morning, the high priest, by
rubbing dry wood together, produces new fire in the public square,
from whence every habitation in the town is supplied with the new and
pure flame."
They then feast on the new corn and fruits,
and dance and sing for three days, "and the four following days
they receive visits and rejoice with their friends from neighboring
towns who have in like manner purified and prepared themselves."
The
Mexicans also practised a similar purification at the end of every
fifty-two years, in the belief that it was time for the world to come
to an end.
I have scarcely heard of a truer sacrament, that
is, as the dictionary defines it,- outward and visible sign of an
inward and spiritual grace," than this, and I have no doubt that
they were originally inspired directly from Heaven to do thus, though
they have no Biblical record of the revelation.
For more than
five years I maintained myself thus solely by the labor of my hands,
and I found that, by working about six weeks in a year, I could meet
all the expenses of living. The whole of my winters, as well as most
of my summers, I had free and clear for study. I have thoroughly
tried school- keeping, and found that my expenses were in proportion,
or rather out of proportion, to my income, for I was obliged to dress
and train, not to say think and believe, accordingly, and I lost my
time into the bargain. As I did not teach for the good of my
fellow-men, but simply for a livelihood, this was a failure. I have
tried trade; but I found that it would take ten years to get under
way in that, and that then I should probably be on my way to the
devil. I was actually afraid that I might by that time be doing what
is called a good business. When formerly I was looking about to see
what I could do for a living, some sad experience in conforming to
the wishes of friends being fresh in my mind to tax my ingenuity, I
thought often and seriously of picking huckleberries; that surely I
could do, and its small profits might suffice- for my greatest skill
has been to want but little- so little capital it required, so little
distraction from my wonted moods, I foolishly thought. While my
acquaintances went unhesitatingly into trade or the professions, I
contemplated this occupation as most like theirs; ranging the hills
all summer to pick the berries which came in my way, and thereafter
carelessly dispose of them; so, to keep the flocks of Admetus. I also
dreamed that I might gather the wild herbs, or carry evergreens to
such villagers as loved to be reminded of the woods, even to the
city, by hay-cart loads. But I have since learned that trade curses
everything it handles; and though you trade in messages from heaven,
the whole curse of trade attaches to the business.
As I
preferred some things to others, and especially valued my freedom, as
I could fare hard and yet succeed well, I did not wish to spend my
time in earning rich carpets or other fine furniture, or delicate
cookery, or a house in the Grecian or the Gothic style just yet. If
there are any to whom it is no interruption to acquire these things,
and who know how to use them when acquired, I relinquish to them the
pursuit. Some are "industrious," and appear to love labor
for its own sake, or perhaps because it keeps them out of worse
mischief; to such I have at present nothing to say. Those who would
not know what to do with more leisure than they now enjoy, I might
advise to work twice as hard as they do- work till they pay for
themselves, and get their free papers. For myself I found that the
occupation of a day-laborer was the most independent of any,
especially as it required only thirty or forty days in a year to
support one. The laborer's day ends with the going down of the sun,
and he is then free to devote himself to his chosen pursuit,
independent of his labor; but his employer, who speculates from month
to month, has no respite from one end of the year to the other.
In
short, I am convinced, both by faith and experience, that to maintain
one's self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if we will
live simply and wisely; as the pursuits of the simpler nations are
still the sports of the more artificial. It is not necessary that a
man should earn his living by the sweat of his brow, unless he sweats
easier than I do.
One young man of my acquaintance, who has
inherited some acres, told me that he thought he should live as I
did, if he had the means. I would not have any one adopt my mode of
living on any account; for, beside that before he has fairly learned
it I may have found out another for myself, I desire that there may
be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would
have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and
not his father's or his mother's or his neighbor's instead. The youth
may build or plant or sail, only let him not be hindered from doing
that which he tells me he would like to do. It is by a mathematical
point only that we are wise, as the sailor or the fugitive slave
keeps the polestar in his eye; but that is sufficient guidance for
all our life. We may not arrive at our port within a calculable
period, but we would preserve the true course.
Undoubtedly, in
this case, what is true for one is truer still for a thousand, as a
large house is not proportionally more expensive than a small one,
since one roof may cover, one cellar underlie, and one wall separate
several apartments. But for my part, I preferred the solitary
dwelling. Moreover, it will commonly be cheaper to build the whole
yourself than to convince another of the advantage of the common
wall; and when you have done this, the common partition, to be much
cheaper, must be a thin one, and that other may prove a bad neighbor,
and also not keep his side in repair. The only cooperation which is
commonly possible is exceedingly partial and superficial; and what
little true cooperation there is, is as if it were not, being a
harmony inaudible to men. If a man has faith, he will cooperate with
equal faith everywhere; if he has not faith, he will continue to live
like the rest of the world, whatever company he is joined to. To
cooperate in the highest as well as the lowest sense, means to get
our living together. I heard it proposed lately that two young men
should travel together over the world, the one without money, earning
his means as he went, before the mast and behind the plow, the other
carrying a bill of exchange in his pocket. It was easy to see that
they could not long be companions or cooperate, since one would not
operate at all. They would part at the first interesting crisis in
their adventures. Above all, as I have implied, the man who goes
alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till
that other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off.
But all this is very selfish, I have heard some of my
townsmen say. I confess that I have hither- to indulged very little
in philanthropic enterprises. I have made some sacrifices to a sense
of duty, and among others have sacrificed this pleasure also. There
are those who have used all their arts to persuade me to undertake
the support of some poor family in the town; and if I had nothing to
do- for the devil finds employment for the idle- I might try my hand
at some such pastime as that. However, when I have thought to indulge
myself in this respect, and lay their Heaven under an obligation by
maintaining certain poor persons in all respects as comfortably as I
maintain myself, and have even ventured so far as to make them the
offer, they have one and all unhesitatingly preferred to remain poor.
While my townsmen and women are devoted in so many ways to the good
of their fellows, I trust that one at least may be spared to other
and less humane pursuits. You must have a genius for charity as well
as for anything else. As for Doing-good, that is one of the
professions which are full. Moreover, I have tried it fairly, and,
strange as it may seem, am satisfied that it does not agree with my
constitution. Probably I should not consciously and deliberately
forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands of
me, to save the universe from annihilation; and I believe that a like
but infinitely greater steadfastness elsewhere is all that now
preserves it. But I would not stand between any man and his genius;
and to him who does this work, which I decline, with his whole heart
and soul and life, I would say, Persevere, even if the world call it
doing evil, as it is most likely they will.
I am far from
supposing that my case is a peculiar one; no doubt many of my readers
would make a similar defence. At doing something- I will not engage
that my neighbors shall pronounce it good- I do not hesitate to say
that I should be a capital fellow to hire; but what that is, it is
for my employer to find out. What good I do, in the common sense of
that word, must be aside from my main path, and for the most part
wholly unintended. Men say, practically, Begin where you are and such
as you are, without aiming mainly to become of more worth, and with
kindness aforethought go about doing good. If I were to preach at all
in this strain, I should say rather, Set about being good. As if the
sun should stop when he had kindled his fires up to the splendor of a
moon or a star of the sixth magnitude, and go about like a Robin
Goodfellow, peeping in at every cottage window, inspiring lunatics,
and tainting meats, and making darkness visible, instead of steadily
increasing his genial heat and beneficence till he is of such
brightness that no mortal can look him in the face, and then, and in
the meanwhile too, going about the world in his own orbit, doing it
good, or rather, as a truer philosophy has discovered, the world
going about him getting good. When Phaeton, wishing to prove his
heavenly birth by his beneficence, had the sun's chariot but one day,
and drove out of the beaten track, he burned several blocks of houses
in the lower streets of heaven, and scorched the surface of the
earth, and dried up every spring, and made the great desert of
Sahara, till at length Jupiter hurled him headlong to the earth with
a thunderbolt, and the sun, through grief at his death, did not shine
for a year.
There is no odor so bad as that which arises from
goodness tainted. It is human, it is divine, carrion. If I knew for a
certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design
of doing me good, I should run for my life, as from that dry and
parching wind of the African deserts called the simoom, which fills
the mouth and nose and ears and eyes with dust till you are
suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good done to me-
some of its virus mingled with my blood. No- in this case I would
rather suffer evil the natural way. A man is not a good man to me
because he will feed me if I should be starving, or warm me if I
should be freezing, or pull me out of a ditch if I should ever fall
into one. I can find you a Newfoundland dog that will do as much.
Philanthropy is not love for one's fellow-man in the broadest sense.
Howard was no doubt an exceedingly kind and worthy man in his way,
and has his reward; but, comparatively speaking, what are a hundred
Howards to us, if their philanthropy do not help us in our best
estate, when we are most worthy to be helped? I never heard of a
philanthropic meeting in which it was sincerely proposed to do any
good to me, or the like of me.
The Jesuits were quite balked
by those indians who, being burned at the stake, suggested new modes
of torture to their tormentors. Being superior to physical suffering,
it sometimes chanced that they were superior to any consolation which
the missionaries could offer; and the law to do as you would be done
by fell with less persuasiveness on the ears of those who, for their
part, did not care how they were done by, who loved their enemies
after a new fashion, and came very near freely forgiving them all
they did.
Be sure that you give the poor the aid they most
need, though it be your example which leaves them far behind. If you
give money, spend yourself with it, and do not merely abandon it to
them. We make curious mistakes sometimes. Often the poor man is not
so cold and hungry as he is dirty and ragged and gross. It is partly
his taste, and not merely his misfortune. If you give him money, he
will perhaps buy more rags with it. I was wont to pity the clumsy
Irish laborers who cut ice on the pond, in such mean and ragged
clothes, while I shivered in my more tidy and somewhat more
fashionable garments, till, one bitter cold day, one who had slipped
into the water came to my house to warm him, and I saw him strip off
three pairs of pants and two pairs of stockings ere he got down to
the skin, though they were dirty and ragged enough, it is true, and
that he could afford to refuse the extra garments which I offered
him, he had so many intra ones. This ducking was the very thing he
needed. Then I began to pity myself, and I saw that it would be a
greater charity to bestow on me a flannel shirt than a whole
slop-shop on him. There are a thousand hacking at the branches of
evil to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who
bestows the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing
the most by his mode of life to produce that misery which he strives
in vain to relieve. It is the pious slave-breeder devoting the
proceeds of every tenth slave to buy a Sunday's liberty for the rest.
Some show their kindness to the poor by employing them in their
kitchens. Would they not be kinder if they employed themselves there?
You boast of spending a tenth part of your income in charity; maybe
you should spend the nine tenths so, and done with it. Society
recovers only a tenth part of the property then. Is this owing to the
generosity of him in whose possession it is found, or to the
remissness of the officers of justice?
Philanthropy is almost
the only virtue which is sufficiently appreciated by mankind. Nay, it
is greatly overrated; and it is our selfishness which overrates it. A
robust poor man, one sunny day here in Concord, praised a
fellow-townsman to me, because, as he said, he was kind to the poor;
meaning himself. The kind uncles and aunts of the race are more
esteemed than its true spiritual fathers and mothers. I once heard a
reverend lecturer on England, a man of learning and intelligence,
after enumerating her scientific, literary, and political worthies,
Shakespeare, Bacon, Cromwell, Milton, Newton, and others, speak next
of her Christian heroes, whom, as if his profession required it of
him, he elevated to a place far above all the rest, as the greatest
of the great. They were Penn, Howard, and Mrs. Fry. Every one must
feel the falsehood and cant of this. The last were not England's best
men and women; only, perhaps, her best philanthropists.
I
would not subtract anything from the praise that is due to
philanthropy, but merely demand justice for all who by their lives
and works are a blessing to mankind. I do not value chiefly a man's
uprightness and benevolence, which are, as it were, his stem and
leaves. Those plants of whose greenness withered we make herb tea for
the sick serve but a humble use, and are most employed by quacks. I
want the flower and fruit of a man; that some fragrance be wafted
over from him to me, and some ripeness flavor our intercourse. His
goodness must not be a partial and transitory act, but a constant
superfluity, which costs him nothing and of which he is unconscious.
This is a charity that hides a multitude of sins. The philanthropist
too often surrounds mankind with the remembrance of his own castoff
griefs as an atmosphere, and calls it sympathy. We should impart our
courage, and not our despair, our health and ease, and not our
disease, and take care that this does not spread by contagion. From
what southern plains comes up the voice of wailing? Under what
latitudes reside the heathen to whom we would send light? Who is that
intemperate and brutal man whom we would redeem? If anything ail a
man, so that he does not perform his functions, if he have a pain in
his bowels even- for that is the seat of sympathy- he forthwith sets
about reforming- the world. Being a microcosm himself, he discovers-
and it is a true discovery, and he is the man to make it- that the
world has been eating green apples; to his eyes, in fact, the globe
itself is a great green apple, which there is danger awful to think
of that the children of men will nibble before it is ripe; and
straightway his drastic philanthropy seeks out the Esquimau and the
Patagonian, and embraces the populous Indian and Chinese villages;
and thus, by a few years of philanthropic activity, the powers in the
meanwhile using him for their own ends, no doubt, he cures himself of
his dyspepsia, the globe acquires a faint blush on one or both of its
cheeks, as if it were beginning to be ripe, and life loses its
crudity and is once more sweet and wholesome to live. I never dreamed
of any enormity greater than I have committed. I never knew, and
never shall know, a worse man than myself.
I believe that what
so saddens the reformer is not his sympathy with his fellows in
distress, but, though he be the holiest son of God, is his private
ail. Let this be righted, let the spring come to him, the morning
rise over his couch, and he will forsake his generous companions
without apology. My excuse for not lecturing against the use of
tobacco is, that I never chewed it, that is a penalty which reformed
tobacco-chewers have to pay; though there are things enough I have
chewed which I could lecture against. If you should ever be betrayed
into any of these philanthropies, do not let your left hand know what
your right hand does, for it is not worth knowing. Rescue the
drowning and tie your shoestrings. Take your time, and set about some
free labor.
Our manners have been corrupted by communication
with the saints. Our hymn-books resound with a melodious cursing of
God and enduring Him forever. One would say that even the prophets
and redeemers had rather consoled the fears than confirmed the hopes
of man. There is nowhere recorded a simple and irrepressible
satisfaction with the gift of life, any memorable praise of God. All
health and success does me good, however far off and withdrawn it may
appear; all disease and failure helps to make me sad and does me
evil, however much sympathy it may have with me or I with it. If,
then, we would indeed restore mankind by truly Indian, botanic,
magnetic, or natural means, let us first be as simple and well as
Nature ourselves, dispel the clouds which hang over our own brows,
and take up a little life into our pores. Do not stay to be an
overseer of the poor, but endeavor to become one of the worthies of
the world.
I read in the Gulistan, or Flower Garden, of Sheik
Sadi of Shiraz, that "they asked a wise man, saying: Of the many
celebrated trees which the Most High God has created lofty and
umbrageous, they call none azad, or free, excepting the cypress,
which bears no fruit; what mystery is there in this? He replied: Each
has its appropriate produce, and appointed season, during the
continuance of which it is fresh and blooming, and during their
absence dry and withered; to neither of which states is the cypress
exposed, being always flourishing; and of this nature are the azads,
or religious independents.- Fix not thy heart on that which is
transitory; for the Dijlah, or Tigris, will continue to flow through
Bagdad after the race of caliphs is extinct: if thy hand has plenty,
be liberal as the date tree; but if it affords nothing to give away,
be an azad, or free man, like the cypress."
COMPLEMENTAL
VERSES.
The Pretensions of Poverty.
Thou dost presume
too much, poor needy wretch,
To claim a station in the
firmament
Because thy humble cottage, or thy tub,
Nurses some
lazy or pedantic virtue
In the cheap sunshine or by shady
springs,
With roots and pot-herbs; where thy right hand,
Tearing
those humane passions from the mind,
Upon whose stocks fair
blooming virtues flourish,
Degradeth nature, and benumbeth
sense,
And, Gorgon-like, turns active men to stone.
We not
require the dull society
Of your necessitated temperance,
Or
that unnatural stupidity
That knows nor joy nor sorrow; nor your
forc'd
Falsely exalted passive fortitude
Above the active. This
low abject brood,
That fix their seats in mediocrity,
Become
your servile minds; but we advance
Such virtues only as admit
excess,
Brave, bounteous acts, regal magnificence,
All-seeing
prudence, magnanimity
That knows no bound, and that heroic
virtue
For which antiquity hath left no name,
But patterns
only, such as Hercules,
Achilles, Theseus. Back to thy loath'd
cell;
And when thou seest the new enlightened sphere,
Study to
know but what those worthies were.
T. CAREW
Where
I Lived and What I Lived For
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