passages from an old volume of life-第1节

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Passages　from　an　Old　Volume　of　Life

by　Oliver　W。　Holmes







PAGES　FROM　AN　OLD　VOLUME　OF　LIFE。


A　COLLECTION　OF　ESSAYS


BY　OLIVER　WENDELL　HOLMES




CONTENTS：
　　　　　BREAD　AND　THE　NEWSPAPER
　　　　　MY　HUNT　AFTER　〃THE　CAPTAIN〃
　　　　　THE　INEVITABLE　TRIAL
　　　　　CINDERS　FROM　ASHES
　　　　　THE　PULPIT　AND　THE　PEW






BREAD　AND　THE　NEWSPAPER。

（September；　1861。）

This　is　the　new　version　of　the　Panem　et　Circenses　of　the　Roman　populace。　　It　is　our　ultimatum；　as　that　was　theirs。　　They　must　have　something　to　eat；　and　the　circus…shows　to　look　at。　　We　must　have　something　to　eat；　and　the　papers　to　read。

Everything　else　we　can　give　up。　　If　we　are　rich；　we　can　lay　down　our　carriages；　stay　away　from　Newport　or　Saratoga；　and　adjourn　the　trip　to　Europe　sine　die。　　If　we　live　in　a　small　way；　there　are　at　least　new　dresses　and　bonnets　and　every…day　luxuries　which　we　can　dispense　with。　　If　the　young　Zouave　of　the　family　looks　smart　in　his　new　uniform；　its　respectable　head　is　content；　though　he　himself　grow　seedy　as　a　caraway…umbel　late　in　the　season。　　He　will　cheerfully　calm　the　perturbed　nap　of　his　old　beaver　by　patient　brushing　in　place　of　buying　a　new　one；　if　only　the　Lieutenant's　jaunty　cap　is　what　it　should　be。　　We　all　take　a　pride　in　sharing　the　epidemic　economy　of　the　time。　　Only　bread　and　the　newspaper　we　must　have；　whatever　else　we　do　without。

How　this　war　is　simplifying　our　mode　of　being！　　We　live　on　our　emotions；　as　the　sick　man　is　said　in　the　common　speech　to　be　nourished　by　his　fever。　　Our　ordinary　mental　food　has　become　distasteful；　and　what　would　have　been　intellectual　luxuries　at　other　times；　are　now　absolutely　repulsive。

All　this　change　in　our　manner　of　existence　implies　that　we　have　experienced　some　very　profound　impression；　which　will　sooner　or　later　betray　itself　in　permanent　effects　on　the　minds　and　bodies　of　many　among　us。　　We　cannot　forget　Corvisart's　observation　of　the　frequency　with　which　diseases　of　the　heart　were　noticed　as　the　consequence　of　the　terrible　emotions　produced　by　the　scenes　of　the　great　French　Revolution。　　Laennec　tells　the　story　of　a　convent；　of　which　he　was　the　medical　director；　where　all　the　nuns　were　subjected　to　the　severest　penances　and　schooled　in　the　most　painful　doctrines。　　They　all　became　consumptive　soon　after　their　entrance；　so　that；　in　the　course　of　his　ten　years'　attendance；　all　the　inmates　died　out　two　or　three　times；　and　were　replaced　by　new　ones。　　He　does　not　hesitate　to　attribute　the　disease　from　which　they　suffered　to　those　depressing　moral　influences　to　which　they　were　subjected。

So　far　we　have　noticed　little　more　than　disturbances　of　the　nervous　system　as　a　consequence　of　the　war　excitement　in　non…combatants。　Take　the　first　trifling　example　which　comes　to　our　recollection。　　A　sad　disaster　to　the　Federal　army　was　told　the　other　day　in　the　presence　of　two　gentlemen　and　a　lady。　　Both　the　gentlemen　complained　of　a　sudden　feeling　at　the　epigastrium；　or；　less　learnedly；　the　pit　of　the　stomach；　changed　color；　and　confessed　to　a　slight　tremor　about　the　knees。　　The　lady　had　a　〃grande　revolution；〃　as　French　patients　say；　went　home；　and　kept　her　bed　for　the　rest　of　the　day。　　Perhaps　the　reader　may　smile　at　the　mention　of　such　trivial　indispositions；　but　in　more　sensitive　natures　death　itself　follows　in　some　cases　from　no　more　serious　cause。　　An　old；　gentleman　fell　senseless　in　fatal　apoplexy；　on　hearing　of　Napoleon's　return　from　Elba。　　One　of　our　early　friends；　who　recently　died　of　the　same　complaint；　was　thought　to　have　had　his　attack　mainly　in　consequence　of　the　excitements　of　the　time。

We　all　know　what　the　war　fever　is　in　our　young　men；what　a　devouring　passion　it　becomes　in　those　whom　it　assails。　　Patriotism　is　the　fire　of　it；　no　doubt；　but　this　is　fed　with　fuel　of　all　sorts。　　The　love　of　adventure；　the　contagion　of　example；　the　fear　of　losing　the　chance　of　participating　in　the　great　events　of　the　time；　the　desire　of　personal　distinction；　all　help　to　produce　those　singular　transformations　which　we　often　witness；　turning　the　most　peaceful　of　our　youth　into　the　most　ardent　of　our　soldiers。　　But　something　of　the　same　fever　in　a　different　form　reaches　a　good　many　non…combatants；　who　have　no　thought　of　losing　a　drop　of　precious　blood　belonging　to　themselves　or　their　families。　　Some　of　the　symptoms　we　shall　mention　are　almost　universal；　they　are　as　plain　in　the　people　we　meet　everywhere　as　the　marks　of　an　influenza；　when　that　is　prevailing。

The　first　is　a　nervous　restlessness　of　a　very　peculiar　character。　Men　cannot　think；　or　write；　or　attend　to　their　ordinary　business。　They　stroll　up　and　down　the　streets；　or　saunter　out　upon　the　public　places。　　We　confessed　to　an　illustrious　author　that　we　laid　down　the　volume　of　his　work　which　we　were　reading　when　the　war　broke　out。　　It　was　as　interesting　as　a　romance；　but　the　romance　of　the　past　grew　pale　before　the　red　light　of　the　terrible　present。　　Meeting　the　same　author　not　long　afterwards；　he　confessed　that　he　had　laid　down　his　pen　at　the　same　time　that　we　had　closed　his　book。　　He　could　not　write　about　the　sixteenth　century　any　more　than　we　could　read　about　it；　while　the　nineteenth　was　in　the　very　agony　and　bloody　sweat　of　its　great　sacrifice。

Another　most　eminent　scholar　told　us　in　all　simplicity　that　he　had　fallen　into　such　a　state　that　he　would　read　the　same　telegraphic　dispatches　over　and　over　again　in　different　papers；　as　if　they　were　new；　until　he　felt　as　if　he　were　an　idiot。　　Who　did　not　do　just　the　same　thing；　and　does　not　often　do　it　still；　now　that　the　first　flush　of　the　fever　is　over？　　Another　person　always　goes　through　the　side　streets　on　his　way　for　the　noon　extra；he　is　so　afraid　somebody　will　meet　him　and　tell　the　news　he　wishes　to　read；　first　on　the　bulletin…　board；　and　then　in　the　great　capitals　and　leaded　type　of　the　newspaper。

When　any　startling　piece　of　war…news　comes；　it　keeps　repeating　itself　in　our　minds　in　spite　of　all　we　can　do。　　The　same　trains　of　thought　go　tramping　round　in　circle　through　the　brain；　like　the　supernumeraries　that　make　up　the　grand　army　of　a　stage…show。　　Now；　if　a　thought　goes　round　through　the　brain　a　thousand　times　in　a　day；　it　will　have　worn　as　deep　a　track　as　one　which　has　passed　through　it　once　a　week　for　twenty　years。　　This　accounts　for　the　ages　we　seem　to　have　lived　since　the　twelfth　of　April　last；　and；　to　state　it　more　generally；　for　that　ex　post　facto　operation　of　a　great　calamity；　or　any　very　powerful　impression；　which　we　once　illustrated　by　the　image　of　a　stain　spreading　backwards　from　the　leaf　of　life　open　before　as　through　all　those　which　we　have　already　turned。

Blessed　are　those　who　can　sleep　quietly　in　times　like　these！　　Yet；　not　wholly　blessed；　either；　for　what　is　more　painful　than　the　awaking　from　peaceful　unconsciousness　to　a　sense　that　there　is　something　wrong；　we　cannot　at　first　think　what；and　then　groping　our　way　about　through　the　twilight　of　our　thoughts　until　we　come　full　upon　the　misery；　which；　like　some　evil　bird；　seemed　to　have　flown　away；　but　which　sits　waiting　for　us　on　its　perch　by　our　pillow　in　the　gray　of　the　morning？

The　converse　of　this　is　perhaps　still　more　painful。　　Many　have　the　feeling　in　their　waking　hours　that　the　trouble　they　are　aching　with　is；　after　all；　only　a　dream；if　they　will　rub　their　eyes　briskly　enough　and　shake　themselves；　they　will　awake　out　of　it；　and　find　all　their　supposed　grief　is　unreal。　　This　attempt　to　cajole　ourselves　out　of　an　ugly　fact　always　reminds　us　of　those　unhappy　flies　who　have　been　indulging　in　the　dangerous　sweets　of　the　paper　prepared　for　their　especial　use。

Watch　one　of　them。　　He　does　not　feel　quite　well；at　least；　he　suspects　himself　of　indisposition。　　Nothing　serious；let　us　just　rub　our　fore…feet　together；　as　the　enormous　creature　who　provides　for　us　rubs　his　hands；　and　all　will　be　right。　　He　rubs　them　with　that　peculiar　twisting　movement　of　his；　and　pauses　for　the　effect。　　No！　all　is　not　quite　right　yet。　　Ah！　　it　is　our　head　that　is　not　set　on　just　as　it　ought　to　be。　　Let　us　settle　that　where　it　should　be；　and　then　we　shall　certainly　be　in　good　trim　again。　　So　he　pulls　his　head　about　as　an　old　lady　adjusts　her　cap；　and　passes　his　fore…paw　over　it　like　a　kitten　washing　herself。　　Poor　fellow！　　It　is　not　a　fancy；　but　a　fact；　that　he　has　to　deal　with。　　If　he　could　read　the　letters　at　the　head　of　the　sheet；　he　would　see　they　were　Fly…Paper。　So　with　us；　when；　in　our　waking　misery；　we　try　to　think　we　dream！　　Perhaps　very　young　persons　may　not　understand　this；　as　we　grow　older；　our　waking　and　dreaming　life　run　more　and　more　into　each　other。

Another　symptom　of　our　excited　condition　is　seen　in　the　breaking　up　of　old　habits。　　The　newspaper　is　as　imperious　as　a　Russian　Ukase；　it　will　be　had；　and　it　will　be　read。　　To　this　all　else　must　give　place。　If　we　must　go　out　at　unusual　hours　to　get　it；　we　shall　go；　in　spite　of　after…dinner　nap　or　evening　somnolence。　　If　it　finds　us　in　company；　it　will　not　stand　on　ceremony；　but　cuts　short　the　compliment　and　the　story　by　the　divine　right　of　its　telegraphic　dispatches。

War　is　a　very　old　story；　but　it　is　a　new　one　to　this　generation　of　Americans。　　Our　own　nearest　relation　in　the　ascending　line　remembers　the　Revolution　well。　　How　should　she　forget　it？　　Did　s