the complete writings-3-第25章

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her　have　you？　　None　whatever。

What　is　this　New　England？　　A　country？　　No：　a　camp。　　It　is　alternately　invaded　by　the　hyperborean　legions　and　by　the　wilting　sirens　of　the　tropics。　　Icicles　hang　always　on　its　northern　heights；　its　seacoasts　are　fringed　with　mosquitoes。　　There　is　for　a　third　of　the　year　a　contest　between　the　icy　air　of　the　pole　and　the　warm　wind　of　the　gulf。　　The　result　of　this　is　a　compromise：　the　compromise　is　called　Thaw。　　It　is　the　normal　condition　in　New　England。　　The　New…Englander　is　a　person　who　is　always　just　about　to　be　warm　and　comfortable。　This　is　the　stuff　of　which　heroes　and　martyrs　are　made。　　A　person　thoroughly　heated　or　frozen　is　good　for　nothing。　　Look　at　the　Bongos。　Examine　（on　the　map）　the　Dog…Rib　nation。　　The　New…Englander；　by　incessant　activity；　hopes　to　get　warm。　　Edwards　made　his　theology。　Thank　God；　New　England　is　not　in　Paris！

Hudson's　Bay；　Labrador；　Grinnell's　Land；　a　whole　zone　of　ice　and　walruses；　make　it　unpleasant　for　New　England。　　This　icy　cover；　like　the　lid　of　a　pot；　is　always　suspended　over　it：　when　it　shuts　down；　that　is　winter。　　This　would　be　intolerable；　were　it　not　for　the　Gulf　Stream。　　The　Gulf　Stream　is　a　benign；　liquid　force；　flowing　from　under　the　ribs　of　the　equator；a　white　knight　of　the　South　going　up　to　battle　the　giant　of　the　North。　　The　two　meet　in　New　England；　and　have　it　out　there。

This　is　the　theory；　but；　in　fact；　the　Gulf　Stream　is　mostly　a　delusion　as　to　New　England。　　For　Ireland　it　is　quite　another　thing。　Potatoes　ripen　in　Ireland　before　they　are　planted　in　New　England。　That　is　the　reason　the　Irish　emigratethey　desire　two　crops　the　same　year。　　The　Gulf　Stream　gets　shunted　off　from　New　England　by　the　formation　of　the　coast　below：　besides；　it　is　too　shallow　to　be　of　any　service。　　Icebergs　float　down　against　its　surface…current；　and　fill　all　the　New…England　air　with　the　chill　of　death　till　June：　after　that　the　fogs　drift　down　from　Newfoundland。　　There　never　was　such　a　mockery　as　this　Gulf　Stream。　　It　is　like　the　English　influence　on　France；　on　Europe。　　Pitt　was　an　iceberg。

Still　New　England　survives。　　To　what　purpose？　　I　say；　as　an　example：　the　politician　says；　to　produce　〃Poor　Boys。〃　　Bah！　　The　poor　boy　is　an　anachronism　in　civilization。　　He　is　no　longer　poor；　and　he　is　not　a　boy。　　In　Tartary　they　would　hang　him　for　sucking　all　the　asses'　milk　that　belongs　to　the　children：　in　New　England　he　has　all　the　cream　from　the　Public　Cow。　　What　can　you　expect　in　a　country　where　one　knows　not　today　what　the　weather　will　be　tomorrow？　　Climate　makes　the　man。　　Suppose　he；　too；　dwells　on　the　Channel　Islands；　where　he　has　all　climates；　and　is　superior　to　all。　　Perhaps　he　will　become　the　prophet；　the　seer；　of　his　age；　as　he　is　its　Poet。　　The　New…Englander　is　the　man　without　a　climate。　　Why　is　his　country　recognized？　　You　won't　find　it　on　any　map　of　Paris。

And　yet　Paris　is　the　universe。　　Strange　anomaly！　　The　greater　must　include　the　less；　but　how　if　the　less　leaks　out？　　This　sometimes　happens。

And　yet　there　are　phenomena　in　that　country　worth　observing。　　One　of　them　is　the　conduct　of　Nature　from　the　1st　of　March　to　the　1st　of　June；　or；　as　some　say；　from　the　vernal　equinox　to　the　summer　solstice。　　As　Tourmalain　remarked；　〃You'd　better　observe　the　unpleasant　than　to　be　blind。〃　　This　was　in　802。　　Tourmalain　is　dead；　so　is　Gross　Alain；　so　is　little　Pee…Wee：　we　shall　all　be　dead　before　things　get　any　better。

That　is　the　law。　　Without　revolution　there　is　nothing。　　What　is　revolution？　　It　is　turning　society　over；　and　putting　the　best　underground　for　a　fertilizer。　　Thus　only　will　things　grow。　　What　has　this　to　do　with　New　England？　　In　the　language　of　that　flash　of　social　lightning；　Beranger；　〃May　the　Devil　fly　away　with　me　if　I　can　see！〃

Let　us　speak　of　the　period　in　the　year　in　New　England　when　winter　appears　to　hesitate。　　Except　in　the　calendar；　the　action　is　ironical；　but　it　is　still　deceptive。　　The　sun　mounts　high：　it　is　above　the　horizon　twelve　hours　at　a　time。　　The　snow　gradually　sneaks　away　in　liquid　repentance。　　One　morning　it　is　gone；　except　in　shaded　spots　and　close　by　the　fences。　　From　about　the　trunks　of　the　trees　it　has　long　departed：　the　tree　is　a　living　thing；　and　its　growth　repels　it。　The　fence　is　dead；　driven　into　the　earth　in　a　rigid　line　by　man：　the　fence；　in　short；　is　dogma：　icy　prejudice　lingers　near　it。　The　snow　has　disappeared；　but　the　landscape　is　a　ghastly　sight；　bleached；　dead。　　The　trees　are　stakes；　the　grass　is　of　no　color；　and　the　bare　soil　is　not　brown　with　a　healthful　brown；　life　has　gone　out　of　it。　　Take　up　a　piece　of　turf：　it　is　a　clod；　without　warmth；　inanimate。　　Pull　it　in　pieces：　there　is　no　hope　in　it：　it　is　a　part　of　the　past；　it　is　the　refuse　of　last　year。　　This　is　the　condition　to　which　winter　has　reduced　the　landscape。　　When　the　snow；　which　was　a　pall；　is　removed；　you　see　how　ghastly　it　is。　　The　face　of　the　country　is　sodden。　　It　needs　now　only　the　south　wind　to　sweep　over　it；　full　of　the　damp　breath　of　death；　and　that　begins　to　blow。　　No　prospect　would　be　more　dreary。

And　yet　the　south　wind　fills　credulous　man　with　joy。　　He　opens　the　window。　　He　goes　out；　and　catches　cold。　　He　is　stirred　by　the　mysterious　coming　of　something。　　If　there　is　sign　of　change　nowhere　else；　we　detect　it　in　the　newspaper。　　In　sheltered　corners　of　that　truculent　instrument　for　the　diffusion　of　the　prejudices　of　the　few　among　the　many　begin　to　grow　the　violets　of　tender　sentiment；　the　early　greens　of　yearning。　　The　poet　feels　the　sap　of　the　new　year　before　the　marsh…willow。　　He　blossoms　in　advance　of　the　catkins。　　Man　is　greater　than　Nature。　　The　poet　is　greater　than　man：　he　is　nature　on　two　legs；ambulatory。

At　first　there　is　no　appearance　of　conflict。　　The　winter　garrison　seems　to　have　withdrawn。　　The　invading　hosts　of　the　South　are　entering　without　opposition。　　The　hard　ground　softens；　the　sun　lies　warm　upon　the　southern　bank；　and　water　oozes　from　its　base。　　If　you　examine　the　buds　of　the　lilac　and　the　flowering　shrubs；　you　cannot　say　that　they　are　swelling；　but　the　varnish　with　which　they　were　coated　in　the　fall　to　keep　out　the　frost　seems　to　be　cracking。　　If　the　sugar…maple　is　hacked；　it　will　bleed；the　pure　white　blood　of　Nature。

At　the　close　of　a　sunny　day　the　western　sky　has　a　softened　aspect：　its　color；　we　say；　has　warmth　in　it　On　such　a　day　you　may　meet　a　caterpillar　on　the　footpath；　and　turn　out　for　him。　　The　house…fly　thaws　out；　a　company　of　cheerful　wasps　take　possession　of　a　chamber…　window。　　It　is　oppressive　indoors　at　night；　and　the　window　is　raised。　A　flock　of　millers；　born　out　of　time；　flutter　in。　　It　is　most　unusual　weather　for　the　season：　it　is　so　every　year。　　The　delusion　is　complete；　when；　on　a　mild　evening；　the　tree…toads　open　their　brittle…　brattle　chorus　on　the　edge　of　the　pond。　　The　citizen　asks　his　neighbor；　〃Did　you　hear　the　frogs　last　night？〃　　That　seems　to　open　the　new　world。　　One　thinks　of　his　childhood　and　its　innocence；　and　of　his　first　loves。　　It　fills　one　with　sentiment　and　a　tender　longing；　this　voice　of　the　tree…toad。　　Man　is　a　strange　being。　　Deaf　to　the　prayers　of　friends；　to　the　sermons　and　warnings　of　the　church；　to　the　calls　of　duty；　to　the　pleadings　of　his　better　nature；　he　is　touched　by　the　tree…toad。　　The　signs　of　the　spring　multiply。　　The　passer　in　the　street　in　the　evening　sees　the　maid…servant　leaning　on　the　area…　gate　in　sweet　converse　with　some　one　leaning　on　the　other　side；　or　in　the　park；　which　is　still　too　damp　for　anything　but　true　affection；　he　sees　her　seated　by　the　side　of　one　who　is　able　to　protect　her　from　the　policeman；　and　hears　her　sigh；　〃How　sweet　it　is　to　be　with　those　we　love　to　be　with！〃

All　this　is　very　well；　but　next　morning　the　newspaper　nips　these　early　buds　of　sentiment。　　The　telegraph　announces；　〃Twenty　feet　of　snow　at　Ogden；　on　the　Pacific　Road；　winds　blowing　a　gale　at　Omaha；　and　snow　still　falling；　mercury　frozen　at　Duluth；　storm…signals　at　Port　Huron。〃

Where　now　are　your　tree…toads；　your　young　love；　your　early　season？　Before　noon　it　rains；　by　three　o'clock　it　hails；　before　night　the　bleak　storm…cloud　of　the　northwest　envelops　the　sky；　a　gale　is　raging；　whirling　about　a　tempest　of　snow。　　By　morning　the　snow　is　drifted　in　banks；　and　two　feet　deep　on　a　level。　　Early　in　the　se