Thus bravely did Thoreau enter upon the gray month. It was in 1858, when he was forty-one years old. He wants nothing new, he assures himself. He will “take the shortest way round and stay at home.” “Think of the consummate3 folly4 of attempting to go away from here,” he says, underscoring the final word. As if whatever place a man might move to would not be “here” to him! As if he could run away from his own shadow! So I interpret the italics.
His protestations, characteristically unqualified and emphatic5, imply that thoughts of travel have beset6 him. Probably they beset every outdoor philosopher at this short-day season. They are part of the autumnal crop. Our northern world begins to look—in cloudy moods—like a place to escape from. The birds have gone, the leaves have fallen, the year is done. “Let us arise and go also,” an inward voice seems to whisper. Not unlikely there is in us all the dormant7 remainder of an outworn migratory8 instinct. Civilization has caged us and tamed us; “hungry generations” have trodden us down; but below consciousness and memory there still persists the blind stirring of ancestral impulse. The fathers were nomads10, and the children’s feet are still not quite content with day’s work in a treadmill11.
Let our preferences be what they may, however, the greater number of us must stay where we are put, and play the hand that is dealt to us, happy if we can face the dark side of the year with a measure of philosophy. If there is a new self, as Thoreau says, there will be a new world and a new season. If we carry the tropics within us, we need not dream of Florida. And even if there is no constraint12 upon our going and coming, we need not be in haste to run away. We may safely wait a week or two, at least. November is often not half so bad as it is painted—not half so bad, indeed, as Thoreau himself sometimes painted it. For the eleventh month was not one of his favorites. “November Eat-Heart,” he is more than once moved to call it. The experience of it puts his equanimity13 to the proof. Even his bravest words about it sound rather like a defiance14 than a welcome,—a little as if he were whistling to keep up his courage. With the month at its worst, he confesses, he has almost to drive himself afield. He can hardly decide upon any route; “all seem so unpromising, mere15 surface-walking and fronting the cold wind.” “Surface-walking.” How excellent that is! Every contemplative outdoor man knows what is meant, but only Thoreau could have hit it off to such perfection in a word.
I must admit that I am not sorry to find the Walden stoic16 once in a long while overtaken by such a comparatively unheroic mood. He boasted so often and so well (with all the rest he boasted of his boasting) that it pleases me to hear him complain. So the weather could be too much even for him, I say to myself, with something like a chuckle17. He was mortal, after all; and the day was sometimes dark, even in Concord18.
Not that he ever whimpered. And had he done so, in any moment of weakness, it should never have been for me to lay a public finger upon the fact. Nobody shall be more loyal to Thoreau than I am, though others may understand him better and praise him more adequately. If he complained, he did it “man-fashion,” and was within a man’s right. To say that the worst of Massachusetts weather is never to be spoken against is to say too much; it is stretching the doctrine19 of non-resistance to the point of absurdity20. As well forbid us to carry umbrellas, or to put up lightning-rods. There is plenty of weather that deserves to be spoken against.
Only let it be done, as I say, “man-fashion;” and having said our say, let us go about our business again, making the best of things as they are—as Thoreau did. For, having owned his disrelish for what the gods provided, he quickly recovered himself, and proceeded to finish his entry in a cheerier strain. Matters are not so desperate with him, after all. He has to force himself out-of-doors, it is true, but once in the woods he often finds himself “unexpectedly compensated21.” “The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of.” He meets with something that interests him, and immediately the day is as warm as July—as if the wind had shifted from northwest to south. There is the secret, in November as in May—to be interested. Then there is no longer a question of “surface-walking.” The soul is concerned, and life has begun anew.
Thus far, the present November (I write on the 4th) has been unusually mild; some days have been really summer-like, too warm for comfort; but the sun has shone only by minutes—now and then an hour, at the most. Deciduous22 trees are nearly bare, the oaks excepted; flowers are few and mostly out of condition, though it would be easy to make a pretty high-sounding list of names; and birds are getting to be almost as scarce as in winter. There is no longer any quiet strolling in the woods. If you wish to listen for small sounds you must stand still. The ground is so thick with crackling leaves that it is impossible to go silently. Everything prophesies23 of the death of the year. It is almost time for the snow to fall and bury what remains24 of it.
Yet in warm days one may still see dragon-flies on the wing. Yesterday meadow larks25 were singing with the greatest abandon and in something like a chorus. I must have seen a dozen, and most if not all of them were in tune26. On the 1st of the month a grouse27 drummed again and again; an unseasonable piece of lyrical enthusiasm, one might think; but I doubt if it was anything so very exceptional. Once, indeed, a few years ago, I heard a grouse drum repeatedly in January, on a cloudy day, when the ground in the woods was deep under snow. That, I believe, was an event much out of the common, though by no means without precedent28. I wish Thoreau could have been there; he would have improved the occasion so admirably. So long as the partridge can keep his spirits up to the drumming point, why should the rest of us outdoor people pull a long face over hard times and short rations9? Shall we be less manly29 than a bird?
The partridge will neither migrate nor hibernate30, but looks winter in the eye and bids the wind whistle. It is too bad if we who command the services of coal dealers31 and plumbers32, tailors and butchers, doctors and clergymen, cannot stand our ground with a creature that knows neither house nor fuel, and has nothing for it, summer and winter, but to live by his wits. To the partridge man must look like a weak brother, a coddler of himself, ruined by civilization and “modern improvements;” a lubber who would freeze to death where a chickadee bubbles over with the very joy of living.
With weather-braving souls like these Thoreau would associate; and so will I. It is true, what all the moralists have told us, that it is good for a man to keep company with his superiors. Not that in my own case I look for their example and tuition to make me inherently better; it is getting late for that; “nothing that happens after we are twelve counts for very much;” I shall be content if they make me happier. And so much I surely depend upon. Good spirits are contagious33. It is the great advantage of keeping a dog, that he has happiness to spare, and gives to his master. So a flock of chickadees, or snowbirds, or kinglets, or tree sparrows, or goldfinches brighten a man’s day. He comes away smiling. I will go out now and prove it.
点击收听单词发音
1 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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2 bleached | |
漂白的,晒白的,颜色变浅的 | |
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3 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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4 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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5 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
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6 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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7 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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8 migratory | |
n.候鸟,迁移 | |
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9 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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10 nomads | |
n.游牧部落的一员( nomad的名词复数 );流浪者;游牧生活;流浪生活 | |
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11 treadmill | |
n.踏车;单调的工作 | |
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12 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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13 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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14 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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17 chuckle | |
vi./n.轻声笑,咯咯笑 | |
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18 concord | |
n.和谐;协调 | |
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19 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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20 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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21 compensated | |
补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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22 deciduous | |
adj.非永久的;短暂的;脱落的;落叶的 | |
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23 prophesies | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的第三人称单数 ) | |
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24 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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25 larks | |
n.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的名词复数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了v.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的第三人称单数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了 | |
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26 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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27 grouse | |
n.松鸡;v.牢骚,诉苦 | |
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28 precedent | |
n.先例,前例;惯例;adj.在前的,在先的 | |
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29 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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30 hibernate | |
v.冬眠,蛰伏 | |
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31 dealers | |
n.商人( dealer的名词复数 );贩毒者;毒品贩子;发牌者 | |
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32 plumbers | |
n.管子工,水暖工( plumber的名词复数 );[美][口](防止泄密的)堵漏人员 | |
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33 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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