05-solitude-第1章

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　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Solitude



　　　　This　is　a　delicious　evening；　when　the　whole　body　is　one　sense；

and　imbibes　delight　through　every　pore。　　I　go　and　come　with　a

strange　liberty　in　Nature；　a　part　of　herself。　　As　I　walk　along　the

stony　shore　of　the　pond　in　my　shirt…sleeves；　though　it　is　cool　as

well　as　cloudy　and　windy；　and　I　see　nothing　special　to　attract　me；

all　the　elements　are　unusually　congenial　to　me。　　The　bullfrogs　trump

to　usher　in　the　night；　and　the　note　of　the　whip…poor…will　is　borne

on　the　rippling　wind　from　over　the　water。　　Sympathy　with　the

fluttering　alder　and　poplar　leaves　almost　takes　away　my　breath；　yet；

like　the　lake；　my　serenity　is　rippled　but　not　ruffled。　　These　small

waves　raised　by　the　evening　wind　are　as　remote　from　storm　as　the

smooth　reflecting　surface。　　Though　it　is　now　dark；　the　wind　still

blows　and　roars　in　the　wood；　the　waves　still　dash；　and　some

creatures　lull　the　rest　with　their　notes。　　The　repose　is　never

complete。　　The　wildest　animals　do　not　repose；　but　seek　their　prey

now；　the　fox；　and　skunk；　and　rabbit；　now　roam　the　fields　and　woods

without　fear。　　They　are　Nature's　watchmen　　links　which　connect　the

days　of　animated　life。

　　　　When　I　return　to　my　house　I　find　that　visitors　have　been　there

and　left　their　cards；　either　a　bunch　of　flowers；　or　a　wreath　of

evergreen；　or　a　name　in　pencil　on　a　yellow　walnut　leaf　or　a　chip。

They　who　come　rarely　to　the　woods　take　some　little　piece　of　the

forest　into　their　hands　to　play　with　by　the　way；　which　they　leave；

either　intentionally　or　accidentally。　　One　has　peeled　a　willow　wand；

woven　it　into　a　ring；　and　dropped　it　on　my　table。　　I　could　always

tell　if　visitors　had　called　in　my　absence；　either　by　the　bended

twigs　or　grass；　or　the　print　of　their　shoes；　and　generally　of　what

sex　or　age　or　quality　they　were　by　some　slight　trace　left；　as　a

flower　dropped；　or　a　bunch　of　grass　plucked　and　thrown　away；　even　as

far　off　as　the　railroad；　half　a　mile　distant；　or　by　the　lingering

odor　of　a　cigar　or　pipe。　　Nay；　I　was　frequently　notified　of　the

passage　of　a　traveller　along　the　highway　sixty　rods　off　by　the　scent

of　his　pipe。

　　　　There　is　commonly　sufficient　space　about　us。　　Our　horizon　is

never　quite　at　our　elbows。　　The　thick　wood　is　not　just　at　our　door；

nor　the　pond；　but　somewhat　is　always　clearing；　familiar　and　worn　by

us；　appropriated　and　fenced　in　some　way；　and　reclaimed　from　Nature。

For　what　reason　have　I　this　vast　range　and　circuit；　some　square

miles　of　unfrequented　forest；　for　my　privacy；　abandoned　to　me　by

men？　　My　nearest　neighbor　is　a　mile　distant；　and　no　house　is　visible

from　any　place　but　the　hill…tops　within　half　a　mile　of　my　own。　　I

have　my　horizon　bounded　by　woods　all　to　myself；　a　distant　view　of

the　railroad　where　it　touches　the　pond　on　the　one　hand；　and　of　the

fence　which　skirts　the　woodland　road　on　the　other。　　But　for　the　most

part　it　is　as　solitary　where　I　live　as　on　the　prairies。　　It　is　as

much　Asia　or　Africa　as　New　England。　　I　have；　as　it　were；　my　own　sun

and　moon　and　stars；　and　a　little　world　all　to　myself。　　At　night

there　was　never　a　traveller　passed　my　house；　or　knocked　at　my　door；

more　than　if　I　were　the　first　or　last　man；　unless　it　were　in　the

spring；　when　at　long　intervals　some　came　from　the　village　to　fish

for　pouts　　they　plainly　fished　much　more　in　the　Walden　Pond　of

their　own　natures；　and　baited　their　hooks　with　darkness　　but　they

soon　retreated；　usually　with　light　baskets；　and　left　〃the　world　to

darkness　and　to　me；〃　and　the　black　kernel　of　the　night　was　never

profaned　by　any　human　neighborhood。　　I　believe　that　men　are

generally　still　a　little　afraid　of　the　dark；　though　the　witches　are

all　hung；　and　Christianity　and　candles　have　been　introduced。

　　　　Yet　I　experienced　sometimes　that　the　most　sweet　and　tender；　the

most　innocent　and　encouraging　society　may　be　found　in　any　natural

object；　even　for　the　poor　misanthrope　and　most　melancholy　man。

There　can　be　no　very　black　melancholy　to　him　who　lives　in　the　midst


of　Nature　and　has　his　senses　still。　　There　was　never　yet　such　a

storm　but　it　was　AEolian　music　to　a　healthy　and　innocent　ear。

Nothing　can　rightly　compel　a　simple　and　brave　man　to　a　vulgar

sadness。　　While　I　enjoy　the　friendship　of　the　seasons　I　trust　that

nothing　can　make　life　a　burden　to　me。　　The　gentle　rain　which　waters

my　beans　and　keeps　me　in　the　house　today　is　not　drear　and

melancholy；　but　good　for　me　too。　　Though　it　prevents　my　hoeing　them；

it　is　of　far　more　worth　than　my　hoeing。　　If　it　should　continue　so

long　as　to　cause　the　seeds　to　rot　in　the　ground　and　destroy　the

potatoes　in　the　low　lands；　it　would　still　be　good　for　the　grass　on

the　uplands；　and；　being　good　for　the　grass；　it　would　be　good　for　me。

Sometimes；　when　I　compare　myself　with　other　men；　it　seems　as　if　I

were　more　favored　by　the　gods　than　they；　beyond　any　deserts　that　I

am　conscious　of；　as　if　I　had　a　warrant　and　surety　at　their　hands

which　my　fellows　have　not；　and　were　especially　guided　and　guarded。

I　do　not　flatter　myself；　but　if　it　be　possible　they　flatter　me。　　I

have　never　felt　lonesome；　or　in　the　least　oppressed　by　a　sense　of

solitude；　but　once；　and　that　was　a　few　weeks　after　I　came　to　the

woods；　when；　for　an　hour；　I　doubted　if　the　near　neighborhood　of　man

was　not　essential　to　a　serene　and　healthy　life。　　To　be　alone　was

something　unpleasant。　　But　I　was　at　the　same　time　conscious　of　a

slight　insanity　in　my　mood；　and　seemed　to　foresee　my　recovery。　　In

the　midst　of　a　gentle　rain　while　these　thoughts　prevailed；　I　was

suddenly　sensible　of　such　sweet　and　beneficent　society　in　Nature；　in

the　very　pattering　of　the　drops；　and　in　every　sound　and　sight　around

my　house；　an　infinite　and　unaccountable　friendliness　all　at　once

like　an　atmosphere　sustaining　me；　as　made　the　fancied　advantages　of

human　neighborhood　insignificant；　and　I　have　never　thought　of　them

since。　　Every　little　pine　needle　expanded　and　swelled　with　sympathy

and　befriended　me。　　I　was　so　distinctly　made　aware　of　the　presence

of　something　kindred　to　me；　even　in　scenes　which　we　are　accustomed

to　call　wild　and　dreary；　and　also　that　the　nearest　of　blood　to　me

and　humanest　was　not　a　person　nor　a　villager；　that　I　thought　no

place　could　ever　be　strange　to　me　again。



　　　　　　　　　　〃Mourning　untimely　consumes　the　sad；

　　　　　　　　　　　Few　are　their　days　in　the　land　of　the　living；

　　　　　　　　　　　Beautiful　daughter　of　Toscar。〃



　　　　Some　of　my　pleasantest　hours　were　during　the　long　rain…storms　in

the　spring　or　fall；　which　confined　me　to　the　house　for　the　afternoon

as　well　as　the　forenoon；　soothed　by　their　ceaseless　roar　and

pelting；　when　an　early　twilight　ushered　in　a　long　evening　in　which

many　thoughts　had　time　to　take　root　and　unfold　themselves。　　In　those

driving　northeast　rains　which　tried　the　village　houses　so；　when　the

maids　stood　ready　with　mop　and　pail　in　front　entries　to　keep　the

deluge　out；　I　sat　behind　my　door　in　my　little　house；　which　was　all

entry；　and　thoroughly　enjoyed　its　protection。　　In　one　heavy

thunder…shower　the　lightning　struck　a　large　pitch　pine　across　the

pond；　making　a　very　conspicuous　and　perfectly　regular　spiral　groove

from　top　to　bottom；　an　inch　or　more　deep；　and　four　or　five　inches

wide；　as　you　would　groove　a　walking…stick。　　I　passed　it　again　the

other　day；　and　was　struck　with　awe　on　looking　up　and　beholding　that

mark；　now　more　distinct　than　ever；　where　a　terrific　and　resistless

bolt　came　down　out　of　the　harmless　sky　eight　years　ago。　　Men

frequently　say　to　me；　〃I　should　think　you　would　feel　lonesome　down

there；　and　want　to　be　nearer　to　folks；　rainy　and　snowy　days　and

nights　especially。〃　　I　am　tempted　to　reply　to　such　　This　whole

earth　which　we　inhabit　is　but　a　point　in　space。　　How　far　apart；

think　you；　dwell　the　two　most　distant　inhabitants　of　yonder　star；

the　breadth　of　whose　disk　cannot　be　appreciated　by　our　instruments？

Why　should　I　feel　lonely？　is　not　our　planet　in　the　Milky　Way？　　This

which　you　put　seems　to　me　not　to　be　the　most　important　qu