1858.4早餐桌上的专制者

shiyi18

U.S.
The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table
Every man his own Boswell.

By Oliver Wendell Holmes
APRIL 1858 ISSUE
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SIN has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.

—I think, Sir,—said the divinity-student,—you must intend that for one of the sayings of the Seven Wise Men of Boston you were speaking of the other day.

I thank you, my young friend,—was my reply,—but I must say something better than that, before I could pretend to fill out the number.

—The schoolmistress wanted to know how many of these sayings there were on record, and what, and by whom said.


—Why, let us see,—there is that one of Benjamin Franklin, "the great Bostonian," after whom this lad was named. To be sure, he said a great many wise things,—and I don't feel sure he didn't borrow this,—he speaks as if it were old. But then he applied it so neatly!

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— "He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another than he whom you yourself have obliged."

Then there is that glorious Epicurean paradox, uttered by my friend, the Historian, in one of his flashing moments

"Give us the luxuries of life, and we will dispense with its necessaries."

To these must certainly be added that other saying of one of the wittiest of men

"Good Americans, when they die, go to Paris."

—The divinity-student looked grave at this, but said nothing.

The schoolmistress spoke out, and said she didn't think the wit meant any irreverence. It was only another way of saying, Paris is a heavenly place after New York or Boston.

A jaunty-looking person, who had come in with the young fellow they call John, —evidently a stranger,—said there was one more wise man's saying that he had heard it was about our place, but he didn't know who said it—A civil curiosity was manifested by the company to hear the fourth wise saying. I heard him distinctly whispering to the young fellow who brought him to dinner, Shall I tell it? To which the answer was, Go ahead !—Well,—he said,—this was what I heard:—

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"Boston State-House is the hub of the solar system. You couldn't pry that out of a Boston man, if you had the tire of all creation straightened out for a crowbar."

Sir,—said I,—I am gratified with your remark. It expresses with pleasing vivacity that which I have sometimes heard uttered with malignant dulness. The satire of the remark is essentially true of Boston,—and of all other considerable—and inconsiderable—places with which I have had the privilege of being acquainted. Cockneys think London is the only place in the world. Frenchmen —you remember the line about Paris, the Court, the World, etc.—I recollect well, by the way, a sign in that city which ran thus: "Hotel de l'Univers et des États Unis"; and as Paris is the universe to a Frenchman, of course the United States are outside of it.—" See Naples and then die."—It is quite as bad with smaller places. I have been about, lecturing, you know, and have found the following propositions to hold true of all of them.

1. The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of each and every town or city.

2. If more than fifty years have passed since its foundation, it is affectionately styled by the inhabitants the "good old town of" ——(whatever its name may happen to be).

3. Every collection of its inhabitants that comes together to listen to a stranger is invariably declared to be a "remarkably intelligent audience."

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4. The climate of the place is particularly favorable to longevity.

5. It contains several persons of vast talent little known to the world. (One or two of them, you may perhaps chance to remember, sent short pieces to the "Pactolian" some time since, which were "respectfully declined.")

Boston is just like other places of its size;—only, perhaps, considering its excellent fish-market, paid fire-department, superior monthly publications, and correct habit of spelling the English language, it has some right to look down on the mob of cities. I'll tell you, though, if you want to know it, what is the real offence of Boston. It drains a large water-shed of its intellect, and will not itself be drained. If it would only send away its first-rate men, instead of its second-rate ones, (no offence to the well-known exceptions, of which we are always proud,) we should be spared such epigrammatic remarks as that which the gentleman has quoted. There can never be a real metropolis in this country, until the biggest centre can drain the lesser ones of their talent and wealth—I have observed, by the way, that the people who really live in two great cities are by no means so jealous of each other, as are those of smaller cities situated within the intellectual basin, or suction-range, of one large one, of the pretensions of any other. Don't you see why? Because their promising young author and rising lawyer and large capitalist have been drained off to the neighboring big city,—their prettiest girl has been exported to the same market; all their ambition points there, and all their thin gilding of glory comes from there. I hate little toad-eating cities.


—Would I be so good as to specify any particular example?—Oh,—an example? Did you ever see a bear-trap? Never? Well, shouldn't you like to see me put my foot into one? With sentiments of the highest consideration I must beg leave to be excused.

Besides, some of the smaller cities are charming. If they have an old church or two, a few stately mansions of former grandees, here and there an old dwelling with the second story projecting, (for the convenience of shooting the Indians knocking at the front-door with their tomahawks,) — if they have, scattered about, those mighty square houses built something more than half a century ago, and standing like architectural boulders dropped by the former diluvium of wealth, whose refluent wave has left them as its monument,—if they have gardens with elbowed apple-trees that push their branches over the high board-fence and drop their fruit on the side-walk,—if they have a little grass in the side-streets, enough to betoken quiet without proclaiming decay,—I think I could go to pieces, after my life's work were done, in one of those tranquil places, as sweetly as in any cradle that an old man may be rocked to sleep in. I visit such spots always with infinite delight. My friend, the Poet, says, that rapidly growing towns are most unfavorable to the imaginative and reflective faculties. Let a man live in one of these old quiet places, he says, and the wine of his soul, which is kept thick and turbid by the rattle of busy streets, settles, and, as you hold it up, you may see the sun through it by day and the stars by night.


—Do I think that the little villages have the conceit of the great towns ?— I don't believe there is much difference. You know how they read Pope's line in the smallest town in our State of Massachusetts ?—Well, they read it

"All are but parts of one stupendous HULL!"
—Every person's feelings have a front-door and a side-door by which they may be entered. The front-door is on the street. Some keep it always open; some keep it latched; some, locked; some, bolted,—with a chain that will let you peep in, but not get in; and some nail it up, so that nothing can pass its threshold. This front-door leads into a passage which opens into an ante-room, and this into the interior apartments. The side-door opens at once into the sacred chambers.

There is almost always at least one key to this side-door. This is carried for years hidden in a mother's bosom. Fathers, brothers, sisters, and friends, often, but by no means so universally, have duplicates of it. The wedding-ring conveys a right to one; alas, if none is given with it.

If nature or accident has put one of these keys into the hands of a person who has the torturing instinct, I can only solemnly pronounce the words that Justice utters over its doomed victim,—The Lord have mercy on your soul! You will probably go mad within a reasonable time,—or, if you are a man, run off and die with your head on a curb-stone, in Melbourne or San Francisco,—or, if you are a woman, quarrel and break your heart, or turn into a pale, jointed petrifaction that moves about as if it were alive, or play some real life-tragedy or other.


Be very careful to whom you trust one of these keys of the side-door. The fact of possessing one renders those even who are dear to you very terrible at times. You can keep the world out from your front-door, or receive visitors only when you are ready for them; but those of your own flesh and blood, or of certain grades of intimacy, can come in at the side-door, if they will, at any hour and in any mood. Some of them have a scale of your whole nervous system, and can play all the gamut of your sensibilities in semitones, — touching the naked nerve-pulps as a pianist strikes the keys of his instrument. I am satisfied that there are as great masters of this nerve-playing as Vieuxtemps or Thalberg in their lines of performance. Married life is the school in which the most accomplished artists in this department are found. A delicate woman is the best instrument; she has such a magnificent compass of sensibilities! From the deep inward moan which follows pressure on the great nerves of right, to the sharp cry as the filaments of taste are struck with a crashing sweep, is a range which no other instrument possesses. A few exercises on it daily at home fit a man wonderfully for his habitual labors, and refresh him immensely as he returns from them. No stranger can get a great many notes of torture out of a human soul; it takes one that knows it well,—parent, child, brother, sister, intimate. Be very careful to whom you give a side-door key; too many have them already.

—You remember the old story of the tender-hearted man, who placed a frozen viper in his bosom, and was stung by it when it became thawed? If we take a cold-blooded creature into our bosom, better that it should sting us and we should die than that its chill should slowly steal into our hearts; warm it we never can! I have seen faces of women that were fair to look upon, yet one could see that the icicles were forming round these women's hearts. I knew what freezing image lay on the white breasts beneath the laces!


A very simple intellectual mechanism answers the necessities of friendship, and even of the most intimate relations of life. If a watch tells us the hour and the minute, we can be content to carry it about with us for a life-time, though it has no second-hand, and is not a repeater, nor a musical watch,—though it is not enamelled nor jewelled,—in short, though it has little beyond the wheels required for a trustworthy instrument, added to a good face and a pair of useful hands. The more wheels there are in a watch or a brain, the more trouble they are to take care of. The movements of exaltation which belong to genius are egotistic by their very nature. A calm, clear mind, not subject to the spasms and crises that are so often met with in creative or intensely perceptive natures, is the best basis for love or friendship—Observe, I am talking about minds. I won't say, the more intellect, the less capacity for loving; for that would do wrong to the understanding and reason ; — but, on the other hand, that the brain often runs away with the heart's best blood, which gives the world a few pages of wisdom or sentiment or poetry, instead of making one other heart happy, I have no question.

If one's intimate in love or friendship cannot or does not share all one's intellectual tastes or pursuits, that is a small matter. Intellectual companions can be found easily in men and books. After all, if we think of it, most of the world's loves and friendships have been between people that could not read nor spell.

But to radiate the heat of the affections into a clod, which absorbs all that is poured into it, but never warms beneath the sunshine of smiles or the pressure of hand or lip,—this is the great martyrdom of sensitive beings, —most of all in that perpetual auto da fé where young womanhood is the sacrifice.

—You noticed, perhaps, what I just said about the loves and friendships of illiterate persons,—that is, of the human race, with a few exceptions here and there. I like books,—I was born and bred among them, and have the easy feeling, when I get into their presence, that a stable-boy has among horses. I don't think I undervalue them either as companions or as instructors. But I can't help remembering that the world's great men have not commonly been great scholars, nor its great scholars great men. The Hebrew patriarchs had small libraries, I think, if any; yet they represent to our imaginations a very complete idea of manhood, and, I think, if we could ask in Abraham to dine with us men of letters next Saturday, we should feel honored by his company.

What I wanted to say about books is this: that there are times in which every active mind feels itself above any and all human books.

I think a man must have a good opinion of himself, Sir,—said the divinity student,—who should feel himself above Shakspeare at any time.


My young friend, — I replied, — the man who is never conscious of any state of feeling or of intellectual effort entirely beyond expression by any form of words whatsoever is a mere creature of language. I can hardly believe there are any such men. Why, think for a moment of the power of music. The nerves that make us alive to it spread out (so the Professor tells me) in the most sensitive region of the marrow, just where it is widening to run upwards into the hemispheres. It has its seat in the region of sense rather than of thought. Yet it produces a continuous and, as it were, logical sequence of emotional and intellectual changes; but how different from trains of thought proper! how entirely beyond the reach of symbols —Think of human passions as compared with all phrases! Did you ever hear of a man's growing lean by the reading of "Romeo and Juliet," or blowing his brains out because Desdemona was maligned? There are a good many symbols, even, that are more expressive than words. I remember a young wife who had to part with her husband for a time. She did not write a mournful poem; indeed, she was a silent person, and perhaps hardly said a word about it; but she quietly turned of a deep orange color with jaundice. A great many people in this world have but one form of rhetoric for their profoundest experiences,—namely, to waste away and die. When a man can read, his paroxysm of feeling is passing. When he can read, his thought has slackened its hold. —You talk about reading Shakspeare, using him as an expression for the highest intellect, and you wonder that any common person should be so presumptuous as to suppose his thought can rise above the text which lies before him. But think a moment. A child's reading of Shakspeare is one thing, and Coleridge's or Schlegel's reading of him is another. The saturation-point of each mind differs from that of every other. But I think it is as true for the small mind which can only take up a little as for the great one which takes up much, that the suggested trains of thought and feeling ought always to rise above—not the author, but the reader's mental version of the author, whoever he may be.


I think most readers of Shakspeare sometimes find themselves thrown into exalted mental conditions like those produced by music. Then they may drop the book, to pass at once into the region of thought without words. We may happen to be very dull folks, you and I, and probably are, unless there is some particular reason to suppose the contrary. But we get glimpses now and then of a sphere of spiritual possibilities, where we, dull as we are now, may sail in vast circles round the largest compass of earthly intelligences.

I confess there are times when I feel like the friend I mentioned to you some time ago,—I hate the very sight of a book. Sometimes it becomes almost a physical necessity to talk out what is in the mind, before putting anything else into it. It is very bad to have thoughts and feelings, which were meant to come out in talk, strike in, as they say of some complaints that ought to show outwardly.

I always believed in life rather than in books. I suppose every day of earth, with its hundred thousand deaths and something more of births—with its loves and hates, its triumphs and defeats, its pangs and blisses, has more of humanity in it than all the books that were ever written, put together. I believe the flowers growing at this moment send up more fragrance to heaven than was ever exhaled from all the essences ever distilled.


Don't I read up various matters to talk about at this table or elsewhere? —No, that is the last thing I would do. I will tell you my rule. Talk about those subjects you have had long in your mind, and listen to what others say about subjects you have studied but recently. Knowledge and timber shouldn't be much used till they are seasoned.

Physiologists and metaphysicians have had their attention turned a good deal of late to the automatic and involuntary actions of the mind. Put an idea into your intelligence and leave it there an hour, a day, a year, without ever having occasion to refer to it. When, at last, you return to it, you do not find it as it was when acquired. It has domiciliated itself so to speak,—become at home,—entered into relations with your other thoughts, and integrated itself with the whole fabric of the mind—Or take a simple and familiar example. You forget a name, in conversation,—go on talking, without making any effort to recall it,—and presently the mind evolves it by its own involuntary and unconscious action, while you were pursuing another train of thought, and the name rises of itself to your lips.

There are some curious observations I should like to make about the mental machinery, but I think we are getting rather didactic.

—I should be gratified, if Benjamin Franklin would let me know something of his progress in the French language. I rather liked that exercise he read us the other day, though I must confess I should hardly dare to translate it, for fear some people in a remote city where I once lived might think I was drawing their portraits.

—Yes, Paris is a famous place for societies. I don't know whether the piece I mentioned from the French author was intended simply as Natural History, or whether there was not a little malice in his description. At any rate, when I gave my translation to B. F. to turn back again into French, one reason was that I thought it would sound a little bald in English, and some people might think it was meant to have some local hearing or other,—which the author, of course, didn't mean, inasmuch as he could not be acquainted with anything on this side the water.

[The above remarks were addressed to the schoolmistress, to whom I handed the paper after looking it over. The divinity-student came and read over her shoulder, —very curious, apparently, but his eyes wandered, I thought. Seeing that her breathing was a little hurried and high, or thoracic, as my friend, the Professor, calls it, I watched her a little more closely—It is none of my business.—After all, it is the imponderables that move the world,—heat, electricity, love.—Habet.]

This is the piece that Benjamin Franklin made into boarding-school French, such as you see here; don't expect too much ;—the mistakes give a relish to it, I think. LES SOCIÉTÉS POLYPHYSIOPHILOSOPHIQUES.

Ces Sociétés là sont une Institution pour suppléer aux besoins d'esprit et de coeur de ces individus qui ont survécu à leurs émotions à l'égard du beau sexe, et qui n'ont pas la distraction de l'habitude de boire.

Pour devenir membre d'une de ces Sociétés, on doit avoir le moins de cheveux possible. S'il y en reste plusieurs qui resistent aux dépilatoires naturelles et autres on doit avoir quelques connaissances, n'importe dans quel genre. Des le moment qu'on ouvre la porte de la Société, on a un grand interet dans toutes les choses dont on ne sait rien. Ainsi, un microscopiste démontre un nouveau flexor du tarse d'un melolontha vulgeris. Douze savans improvisés, portans des besicles, et qui ne connaissent rien des insectes, si ce n'est les morsures du culex, se précipitent sur l'instrumont, et voient—une grande bulle d'air, dont lls s'émerveillent avec effusion. Ce qui est un spectacle plein d'instruction—pour ceux qui ne sont pas de ladite Société. Tous les membres regardent les chimistes en particulier avec un air d'intelligence parfaite pendant qu'ils prouvent dans un discours d'une demiheure que 06 N3 H6 etc. font quelque chose qui n'est bonne à rien, mais qui probablement a une odeur tres désagréable, selon l'habitude des produits chimiques. Apres cela vient un mathématicien qui vous bourre avoc des a+b et vous rapporte enfin un x+y, dont vous n'avaz pas besoin et qui ne change nullement vos relations avec la vie. Un naturaliste vous parle des formations spéciales des animaux excessivement inconnus, dont vous n'avez jamais soupconné l'existence. Ainsi il vous d'écrit les follicules de l'appendix vermiformis d'un dzigguetai. Vous ne savez pas ce que c'est qu'un follicule. Vous ne savez pas ce que c'est qu'un appendix vermeformis. Vous n'avez jamais entendu parler de dzigguetai. Ainsi vous gagnez toutes ces connaissance à la fois, qui s'attachent à votre esprit comme l'eau adhére aux plumes d'un canard. On connait toutes les langes ex officio en devenant membre d'une de ces Sociétés. Ainsi quand on entend lire un Essai sur les dialiectes Tchutchiens, on comprend tout celà de suite, et s'instruit énoremément.

Il y a deux especes d'indivudus qu'on trouve toujours dans ces Sociétés: 1. Le membre à questions; 2. Le membre à "Bylaws."

La question est une spécialité. Celui qui en fait métier ne fait jamais des réponses. La question est un maniere tres commode de dire les choses suivantes: "me voilà! Je ne suis pas fossil, moi,—je respire encore! J'ai des idées,—voyez mon intelligence! Vous ne croyiez pas, fous autres, que je savais quelque chose de celà! Ah, nous avons un peu de sagacité, voyez vous! Nous ne sommes nullement la bete qu'on pense!"—Le faiseur de questions donne peu d'attention aux réponses qu'on fait; ce n'est pas là dans sa spécialité.

Le membre à "Bylaws" est le bouchon de toutes les émotions mousseuses et généreuses qui se montrens dans la Société. C'est un empereur manqué—un tyran à las troisieme trituration. C'est un espir dur, borné, exact, grand dans les petitesses, petit dans les grandeurs, selon le mot du grand Jefferson. On ne l'aime pas dans la Société, mais on le respecte et on le craint. Il n'y a qu'un mot pour ce membre audessus de "Bylaws." Ce mot est pour lui ce que l'Om est aux Hindous. C'est sa religion; il n'y a rien audelà. Ce mot là c'est la CONSTITUTION!

Lesdites Sociétés publient des feuilletons de tems en tems. On les trouve abandonés à sa porte, nus comme des enfans nouveau-nés, faute de membrane cutanée, ou meme papyracée. Si on aime la botanique, on y trouve une mémoire sur les coquilees; si on fait des études zoologiques, on trouve un grand tas de q-1, ce qui doit etre infiniment plus commode qe les encyclopédies. Ainsi il est clair comme la métaphysique qu'on doit devenire membre d'une Société telle que nous décrivons.

Recette pour le Dépilatoire Physiophilosophique
Chaux vive lb.ss Eau bouillante Oj. Dépilez avec. Polissez ensuite.

I told the boy that his translation into French was creditable to him; and some of the company wishing to hear what there was in the piece that made me smile, I turned it into English for them, as well as I could, on the spot.

The landlady's daughter seemed to be much amused by the idea that a depilatory could take the place of literary and scientific accomplishments; she wanted me to print the piece, so that she might send a copy of it to her cousin in Mizzourah; she didn't think he'd have to do anything to the outside of his head to get into any of the societies; he had to wear a wig once, when he played a part in a tabullo.

No—said 1,—I shouldn't think of printing that in English. I'll tell you why. As soon as you get a few thousand people together in a town, there is somebody that every sharp thing you say is sure to hit. What if a thing was written in Paris or in Peking ?—that makes no difference. Everybody in those cities, or almost everybody, lens his counterpart here, and in all large places.—You never studied averages, as I have had occasion to.

I'll tell you how I came to know so much about averages. There was one season when I was lecturing, commonly, five evenings in the week, through most of the lecturing period. I soon found, as most speakers do, that it was pleasanter to work one lecture than to keep several in hand.

Don't you get sick to death of one lecture ?—said the landlady's daughter,— who had a new dress on that day, and was in spirits for conversation.

I was going to talk about averages,—I said,—but I have no objection to telling you about lectures, to begin with.

A new lecture always has a certain excitement connected with its delivery. One thinks well of it, as of most things fresh from his mind. After a few deliveries of it, one gets tired and then disgusted with its repetition. Go on delivering it, and the disgust passes off, until, after one has repeated it a hundred or a hundred and fifty times, he rather enjoys the hundred and first or hundred and fifty-first time, before a new audience. But this is on one condition,—that he never lays the lecture down and lets it cool. If he does, there comes on a loathing for it which is intense, so that the sight of the old battered manuscript is as bad as sea-sickness.

A new lecture is just like any other new tool. We use it for a while with pleasure. Then it blisters our hands, and we hate to touch it. By-and-by our hands get callous, and then we have no longer any sensitiveness about it. But if we give it up, the calluses disappear; and if we meddle with it again, we miss the novelty and get the blisters.—The story is often quoted of Whitefield, that he said a sermon was good for nothing until it had been preached forty times. A lecture doesn't begin to be old until it has passed its hundredth delivery; and some, I think, have doubled, if not quadrupled, that number. These old lectures are a man's best, commonly; they improve by age, also,—like the pipes, fiddles, and poems I told you of the other day. One learns to make the most of their strong points and to carry off their weak ones,—to take out the really good things which don't tell on the audience, and put in cheaper things that do. All this degrades him, of course, but it improves the lecture for general delivery. A thoroughly popular lecture ought to have nothing in it which five hundred people cannot all take in a flash, just as it is uttered.

—No, indeed,—I should be very sorry to say anything disrespectful of audiences. I have been kindly treated by a great many, and may occasionally face one hereafter. But I tell you the average intellect of five hundred persons, taken as they come, is not very high. It may be sound and safe, so far as it goes, but it is not very rapid or profound. A lecture ought to be something which all can understand, about something which interests everybody. I think, that, if any experienced lecturer gives you a different account from this, it will probably be one of those eloquent or forcible speakers who hold an audience by the charm of their manner, whatever they talk about,— even when they don't talk very well.

But an average, which was what I meant to speak about, is one of the most extraordinary subjects of observation and study. It is awful in its uniformity, in its automatic necessity of action. Two communities of ants or bees are exactly alike in all their actions, so far as we can see. Two lyceum assemblies, of five hundred each, are so nearly alike, that they are absolutely undistinguishable in many cases by any definite mark, and there is nothing but the place and time by which one can tell the "remarkably intelligent audience" of a town in New York or Ohio from one in any New England town of similar size. Of course, if any principle of selection has come in, as in those special associations of young men which are common in cities, it deranges the uniformity of the assemblage. But let there be no such interfering circumstances, and one knows pretty well even the look the audience will have, before he goes in. Front seats: a few old folks,—shiny-headed,—slant up best ear towards the speaker,—drop off asleep after a while, when the air begins to get a little narcotic with carbonic acid. Bright women's faces, young and middle-aged, a little behind these, but toward the front —(pick out the best, and lecture mainly to that). Here and there a countenance sharp and scholarlike, and a dozen pretty female ones sprinkled about. An indefinite number of pairs of young people,—happy, but not always very attentive. Boys in the back-ground, more or less quiet. Dull faces here, there,—in how many places! I don't say dull people, but faces without a ray of sympathy or a movement of expression. They are what kill the lecturer. These negative faces with their vacuous eyes and stony lineaments pump and suck the warm soul out of him ;—that is the chief reason why lecturers grow so pale before the season is over. They render latent any amount of vital caloric; they act on our minds as those cold-blooded creatures I was talking about act on our hearts.

Out of all these inevitable elements the audience is generated,—a great compound vertebrate, as much like fifty others you have seen as any two mammals of the same species are like each other. Each audience laughs, and each cries, in just the same places of your lecture; that is, if you make one laugh or cry, you make all. Even those little indescribable movements which a lecturer takes cognizance of just as a driver notices his horse's cocking his ears, are sure to come in exactly the same place of your lecture, always. I declare to you, that, as the monk said about the picture in the convent,—that he sometimes thought the living tenants were the shadows, and the painted figures the realities,—I have sometimes felt as if I were a wandering spirit, and this great unchanging multivertebrate which I faced night after night was one ever-listening animal, which writhed along after me wherever I fled, and coiled at my feet every evening, turning up to me the same sleepless eyes which I thought I had closed with my last drowsy incantation!

Oh, yes ! A thousand kindly and courteous acts,—a thousand faces that melted individually out of my recollection as the April snow melts, but only to steal away and find the beds of flowers whose roots are memory, but which blossom in poetry and dreams. I am not ungrateful, nor unconscious of all the good feeling and intelligence everywhere to be met with through the vast parish to which the lecturer ministers. But when I set forth, leading a string of my mind's daughters to market, as the country-folk fetch in their strings of horses Pardon me, that was a coarse fellow who sneered at the sympathy wasted on an unhappy lecturer, as if, because he was decently paid for his services, he had therefore sold his sensibilities—Family men get dreadfully homesick. In the remote and bleak village the heart returns to the red blaze of the logs in one's fireplace at home.

"There are his young barbarians all at play,"—
if he owns any youthful savages.—No, the world has a million roosts for a man, but only one nest.

It is a fine thing to be an oracle to which an appeal is always made in all discussions. The men of facts wait their turn in grim silence, with that slight tension about the nostrils which the consciousness of carrying a "settler" in the form of a fact or a revolver gives the individual thus armed. When a person is really full of information, and does not abuse it to crush conversation, his part is to that of the real talkers what the instrumental accompaniment is in a trio or quartette of vocalists.

What do I mean by the real talkers ?—Why, the people with fresh ideas, of course, and plenty of good warm words to dress them in. Facts always yield the place of honor, in conversation, to thoughts about facts; but if a false note is uttered, down comes the finger on the key and the man of facts asserts his true dignity. I have known three of these men of facts, at least, who were always formidable,— and one of them was tyrannical.

Yes—a man sometimes makes a grand appearance on a particular occasion; but these men knew something about almost everything, and never made mistakes.—He? Veneers in first-rate style. The mahogany scales off now and then in spots, and then you see the cheap light stuff.—I found ——— very fine in conversational information, the other day, when we were in company. The talk ran upon mountains. He was wonderfully well acquainted with the leading facts about the Andes, the Apennines, and the Appalachians; he had nothing in particular to say about Ararat, Ben Nevis, and various other mountains that were mentioned. By and by some Revolutionary anecdote came up, and he showed singular familiarity with the lives of the Adamses, and gave many details relating to Major André. A point of Natural History being suggested, he gave an excellent account of the air-bladder of fishes. He was very full upon the subject of agriculture, but retired from the conversation when horticulture was introduced in the discussion. So he seemed well acquainted with the geology of anthracite, but did not pretend to know anything of other kinds of coal. There was something so odd about the extent and limitations of his knowledge, that I suspected all at once what might be the meaning of it, and waited till I got an opportunity.— Have you seen the "New American Cyclopedia?" said I.—I have, he replied; I received an early copy—How far does it go ?—He turned red, and answered,— To Araguay.—Oh, said I to myself—not quite so far as Ararat ;—that's the reason he knew nothing about it; but he must have read all the rest straight through, and, if he can remember what is in this volume until he has read all those that are to come, he will know more than I ever thought he would.

Since I had this experience, I hear that somebody else has related a similar story. I didn't borrow it, for all that. —I made a comparison at table some time since, which has often been quoted and received many compliments. It was that of the mind of a bigot to the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour on it, the more it contracts. The simile is a very obvious, and, I suppose I may now say, a happy one; for it has just been shown me that it occurs in a Preface to certain Political Poems of Thomas Moore's, published long before my remark was repeated. When a person of fair character for literary honesty uses an image such as another has employed before him, the presumption is, that he has struck upon it independently, or unconsciously recalled it, supposing it his own.

It is impossible to tell, in a great many cases, whether a comparison which suddenly suggests itself is a new conception or a recollection. I told you the other day that I never wrote a line of verse that seemed to me comparatively good, but it appeared old at once, and often as if it had been borrowed. But I confess I never suspected the above comparison of being old, except from the fact of its obviousness. It is proper, however, that I proceed by a formal instrument to relinquish all claim to any property in an idea given to the world at about the time when I had just joined the class in which Master Thomas Moore was then a somewhat advanced scholar.


I, therefore, in full possession of my native honesty, but knowing the liability of all men to be elected to public office, and for that reason feeling uncertain how soon I maybe in danger of losing it, do hereby renounce all claim to being considered the first person who gave utterance to a certain simile or comparison referred to in the accompanying documents, and relating to the pupil of the eye on the one part and the mind of the bigot on the other. I hereby relinquish all glory and profit, and especially all claims to letters from autograph collectors, founded upon my supposed property in the above comparison,—knowing well, that, according to the laws of literature, they who speak first hold the fee of the thing said. I do also agree that all Editors of Cyclopedias and Biographical Dictionaries, all Publishers of Reviews and Papers, and all Critics writing therein, shall be at liberty to retract or qualify any opinion predicated on the supposition that I was the sole and undisputed author of the above comparison. But, inasmuch as I do affirm that the comparison aforesaid was uttered by me in the firm belief that it was new and wholly my own, and as I have good reason to think that I had never seen or heard it when first expressed by me, and as it is well known that different persons may independently utter the same idea, —as is evinced by that familiar line from Donatus,—

"Pereant illi qui ante nos nostra dixerunt,"—
now, therefore, I do request by this instrument that all well-disposed persons will abstain from asserting or implying that I am open to any accusation whatsoever touching the said comparison, and, if they have so asserted or implied, that they will have the manliness forthwith to retract the same assertion or insinuation.


I think few persons have a greater disgust for plagiarism than myself. If I had even suspected that the idea in question was borrowed, I should have disclaimed originality, or mentioned the coincidence, as I once did in a case where I had happened to hit on an idea of Swift's. —But what shall I do about these verses I was going to read you? I am afraid that half mankind would accuse me of stealing their thoughts, if I printed them. I am convinced that several of you, especially if you are getting a little on in life, will recognize some of these sentiments as having passed through your consciousness at some time. I can't help it,—it is too late now. The verses are written, and you must have them. Listen, then, and you shall hear.

WHAT WE ALL THINK

THAT age was older once than now,
In spite of locks untimely shed
Or silvered on the youthful brow;
That babes make love and children wed.

That sunshine had a heavenly glow,
Which faded with those "good old days,"
When winters came with deeper snow,
And autumns with a softer haze.

That—mother, sister, wife, or child—
The "best of women" each has known.
Were schoolboys ever half so wild?
How young the grandpapas have grown!

That but for this our souls were free,
And but for that our lives were blest;
That in some season yet to be
Our cares will leave us time to rest.

Whene'er we groan with ache or pain,
Some common ailment of the race,
Though doctors think the matter plain,
That ours is "a peculiar case."

That when like babes with fingers burned
We count one bitter maxim more,
Our lesson all the world has learned,
And men are wiser than before.

That when we sob o'er fancied woes,
The angels hovering overhead
Count every pitying drop that flows
And love us for the tears we shed.


That when we stand with tearless eye
And turn the beggar from our door,
They still approve us when we sigh,
"Ah, had I but one thousand more!"

That weakness smoothed the path of sin,
In half the slips our youth has known;
And whatsoe'er its blame has been,
That Mercy flowers on faults outgrown.

Though temples crowd the crumbled brink
Oerhanging truth's eternal flow,
Their tablets bold with what we think,
Their echoes dumb to what we know;

That one unquestioned text we read,
All doubt beyond, all fear above,
Nor crackling pile nor cursing creed
Can burn or blot it: God is Love!





早餐桌上的专制者
每个人都有自己的博斯韦尔。

作者：奥利弗-温德尔-霍姆斯
1858年4月号
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罪恶有很多工具，但谎言是适合所有工具的手柄。

我想，先生，--那个学神的学生说，--你一定是想把你那天说的波士顿七贤人中的一句话说出来。

我感谢你，我的年轻朋友，我的回答是，但我必须说一些比这更好的东西，然后我才能假装填写这个数字。

-女教师想知道有多少这样的说法记录在案，是什么，由谁说的。


为什么，让我们看看，--有本杰明-富兰克林的那句，"伟大的波士顿人"，这个小伙子就是以他的名字命名的。可以肯定的是，他说了很多明智的事情，--我不觉得他没有借用这个，--他说的好像是老话。但是，他又把它运用得如此整齐划一!

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- "曾经对你有过恩惠的人，会比你自己对他有过恩惠的人更愿意为你做另一件事。

还有那个光辉的伊壁鸠鲁式的悖论，是我的朋友，历史学家，在他的一个闪光时刻说的

"给我们生活中的奢侈品，我们就会省去生活中的必需品"。

除了这些，当然还必须加上一位最聪明的人的另一句话

"好的美国人，当他们死后，会去巴黎。"

-神学院的学生听了这句话，神情严肃，但没有说什么。

女教师大声说，她不认为这句话有任何不敬的意思。这只是另一种说法，巴黎是继纽约或波士顿之后的一个天堂般的地方。

一个看起来很健谈的人，和他们称为约翰的年轻人一起进来的，显然是个陌生人，他说还有一个智者的说法，他听说是关于我们这里的，但他不知道是谁说的--大家都表现出好奇心，想听听第四个智者的说法。我清楚地听到他对带他来吃饭的年轻人低声说，我可以说吗？

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"波士顿州政府大楼是太阳系的中心。你无法从一个波士顿人那里撬出这句话，如果你把所有造物的轮胎拉直做撬棍的话。"

先生，--我说，--我对你的评论感到满意。它以令人愉悦的生动性表达了我有时听到的恶毒的沉闷的话语。这句话的讽刺意味在波士顿以及我有幸认识的所有其他重要和不重要的地方基本上都是如此。可克尼人认为伦敦是世界上唯一的地方。法国人--你们还记得关于巴黎、宫廷、世界等的那句话--我记得很清楚，在那个城市有一个标志，上面写着这样的话。"顺便说一句，我清楚地记得，在那个城市有一个牌子是这样写的："世界酒店和美国酒店"；既然巴黎对法国人来说就是世界，美国当然也在世界之外。我一直在到处讲课，你知道的，我发现以下命题对所有这些地方都是正确的。

1. 地球的轴线明显地穿过每个城镇或城市的中心。

2. 2.如果一个城市从建立到现在已经超过了50年，它就会被居民亲切地称为 "好的老城"--（不管它的名字是什么）。

3. 3.每一个聚集在一起听陌生人讲话的居民都会被宣布为是 "非常聪明的听众"。

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4. 该地的气候特别有利于长寿。

5. 这里有几位才华横溢的人，鲜为世人所知。(其中有一两个人，你也许会记得，前段时间给 "Pactolian "寄了一些短文，被 "恭敬地拒绝了"）。

波士顿和其他同等规模的地方一样；只是，也许，考虑到它出色的鱼市、收费的消防部门、优秀的月刊和正确的英语拼写习惯，它有一些权利看不起那些城市的暴徒。不过，如果你想知道的话，我会告诉你，波士顿的真正罪行是什么。它把自己的智力耗尽了，而自己却不愿意被耗尽。如果它只是把一流的人送走，而不是把二流的人送走，（无意冒犯那些众所周知的例外情况，我们总是为此感到自豪），我们就可以免于像这位先生所引用的那种附庸风雅的言论。顺便说一句，我注意到，真正生活在两个大城市里的人决不会像那些位于一个大城市的智力盆地或吸力范围内的小城市的人那样，对其他任何城市的自命不凡感到妒忌。你不明白为什么吗？因为他们有前途的年轻作家、正在崛起的律师和大资本家已经被抽调到邻近的大城市，他们最漂亮的女孩已经被出口到同一个市场；他们所有的野心都指向那里，他们所有薄薄的荣耀镀金都来自那里。我讨厌吃癞蛤蟆的小城市。

-我能不能好心地指明任何一个具体的例子？ -哦，-一个例子？你见过捕熊器吗？从来没有？那么，你难道不愿意看到我把脚伸进一个吗？怀着最崇高的感情，我必须请求原谅。

此外，一些小城市也很迷人。如果它们有一两座古老的教堂，有几座昔日大人物的庄严豪宅，这里和那里有一栋第二层突出的老房子，（为了方便射杀用战斧敲门的印第安人）--如果它们有散落的那些强大的方形房子，建于半个多世纪前，像建筑巨石一样被以前的财富冲刷掉。如果他们有花园，有弯弯曲曲的苹果树，把树枝推过高高的木板围栏，把果实掉在人行道上，如果他们在小街上有一点草，足以表示安静而不宣布衰败，我想在我一生的工作完成后，我可以在这些宁静的地方，像在任何摇篮里一样甜蜜地入睡。我总是带着无限的喜悦去参观这些地方。我的朋友，诗人，说，快速发展的城镇对想象力和反思能力是最不利的。他说，让一个人住在这种古老而安静的地方，他的灵魂之酒就会沉淀下来，而这种酒被繁忙的街道的喧嚣弄得浑浊不堪，当你举起它时，你可以在白天透过它看到太阳，在晚上看到星星。

-我认为，小村庄是否有大城镇的自负？你知道在我们马萨诸塞州最小的镇子里，他们是怎么读波普的那句话的吗？

"所有的人都只是一个巨大的船体的一部分！"
-每个人的感情都有一个前门和一个侧门，可以通过它们进入。前门是在街上。有的人把门永远开着；有的人把门闩上；有的人把门锁上；有的人把门闩上，用链子让你偷看，但不能进去；有的人把门钉起来，让任何东西都不能通过它的门槛。这个前门通向一个通道，这个通道通向一个前厅，而这个前厅通向内部的公寓。侧门马上就能进入圣室。

这个侧门几乎总是至少有一把钥匙。这把钥匙常年藏在母亲的怀里。父亲、兄弟、姐妹和朋友，常常有它的复制品，但绝非普遍如此。结婚戒指传达了一个权利；唉，如果没有人和它一起被给予。

如果自然或意外将这些钥匙中的一把交到一个有折磨人的本能的人手中，我只能庄严地宣布正义对其注定的受害者所说的话："上帝怜悯你的灵魂！"。你可能会在一段合理的时间内发疯，或者，如果你是一个男人，就会跑到墨尔本或旧金山的路边石上死去，或者，如果你是一个女人，就会争吵并打破你的心，或者变成一个苍白的、有关节的石化物，像活着一样到处走动，或者上演一些真正的生活悲剧或其他。

要非常小心，你把这些侧门的钥匙交给谁。拥有一把钥匙的事实使那些甚至是你的亲人有时也变得非常可怕。你可以把世界从你的前门拒之门外，或者只在你准备好的时候接待访客；但那些你的亲朋好友，或者某些等级的亲密关系，可以从侧门进来，只要他们愿意，在任何时间和任何情绪下。他们中的一些人拥有你整个神经系统的规模，可以用半音演奏你所有的感觉，--像钢琴家敲击乐器的琴键一样触摸赤裸的神经丛。我确信，在这种神经演奏方面，有像维埃克斯坦和塔尔贝格那样伟大的大师在他们的表演领域。婚姻生活是这个领域中最有成就的艺术家的学校。娇弱的女人是最好的工具；她有如此宏大的感受力。从压迫右边的大神经后向内发出的深沉的呻吟，到品味的细丝被击打时发出的尖锐的叫声，这是其他乐器所不具备的范围。每天在家里用它做一些练习，就能使人很好地适应他的习惯性工作，当他从这些工作中回来时，也能使他感到非常的轻松。没有陌生人能从人的灵魂中得到许多折磨人的音符；这需要一个熟悉它的人，即父母、孩子、兄弟、姐妹、亲密的人。要非常小心你给谁的侧门钥匙；太多的人已经拥有了它们。

-你还记得那个温柔的人把一条冰冻的毒蛇放在怀里，当它解冻的时候被它刺伤的古老故事吗？如果我们把一个冷血动物抱在怀里，与其让它的寒气慢慢地偷袭我们的心，不如让它刺痛我们，让我们死去；我们永远无法温暖它 我曾见过一些妇女的脸庞，看上去很白皙，但人们可以看到，这些妇女的心脏周围正在形成冰柱。我知道在花边下的白色乳房上有什么冰冷的形象！这就是我所看到的。

一个非常简单的智力机制可以满足友谊的需要，甚至是生活中最亲密的关系的需要。如果一块手表能告诉我们小时和分钟，我们就能满足于把它带在身边一辈子，尽管它没有秒针，不是三问表，也不是音乐表，尽管它没有珐琅，也没有珠宝，总之，尽管它除了一个可靠的工具所需的轮子外，几乎没有其他东西，再加上一个好的表面和一对有用的指针。手表或大脑中的轮子越多，它们就越难照顾。属于天才的升华运动就其本质而言是自我主义的。一个平静、清晰的头脑，不受那些在创造性或强烈感知力的天性中经常遇到的痉挛和危机的影响，是爱情或友谊的最佳基础--注意，我说的是头脑。我不会说，智力越多，爱的能力就越少；因为这对理解和理智来说是错误的；--但是，另一方面，大脑经常带着心脏最好的血液跑掉，给世界带来几页智慧或感伤或诗歌，而不是让另一颗心快乐，我没有疑问。

如果一个人在爱情或友谊中的亲密伙伴不能或不分享他所有的智力品味或追求，那是小事一桩。在男人和书籍中可以很容易地找到智力伙伴。毕竟，如果我们想一想，世界上大多数的爱情和友谊都是在不识字也不会拼写的人之间。

但是，把感情的热量散发到一个土块上，这个土块吸收所有灌入的东西，但在微笑的阳光下或手或嘴唇的压力下永远不会变暖，这就是敏感的人的伟大殉难，--最重要的是在那个永远的汽车达菲中，年轻女性是牺牲品。

-也许你注意到了，我刚才所说的关于文盲的爱情和友谊，也就是人类的爱情和友谊，这里和那里都有一些例外。我喜欢书，我在书中出生和长大，当我进入书中时，有一种轻松的感觉，就像马夫在马中一样。我不认为我低估了它们作为伙伴或指导者的价值。但我不禁想起，世界上的伟人通常不是伟大的学者，伟大的学者也不是伟大的人。希伯来族长的图书馆很小，我想，如果有的话；但他们在我们的想象中代表了一个非常完整的男子汉的概念，而且，我想，如果我们能邀请亚伯拉罕在下周六与我们这些文人一起吃饭，我们应该对他的陪伴感到荣幸。

关于书籍，我想说的是：有些时候，每一个活跃的头脑都觉得自己凌驾于任何和所有人类书籍之上。

我想一个人一定对自己有很好的评价，先生，--这位神学学生说，--谁会觉得自己在任何时候都高于莎士比亚。

我的年轻朋友，--我回答说，--一个从未意识到任何感情状态或智力努力完全无法用任何形式的语言表达的人，只是一个语言的创造者。我很难相信有这样的人。为什么，请想一想音乐的力量。使我们对它有生命力的神经在骨髓最敏感的区域扩散开来（教授是这样告诉我的），就在它向上延伸到半球形的地方。它的位置在感觉区域而不是思想区域。然而，它产生了一个连续的，而且是合乎逻辑的情感和智力变化的序列；但它与适当的思维序列是多么的不同！是多么的完全超出了符号的范围--想想人类的激情与所有的短语相比！你有没有听说过一个人的激情是什么？你有没有听说过一个人因为读了《罗密欧与朱丽叶》而变得精疲力竭，或者因为苔丝狄蒙娜被恶搞而大发雷霆？甚至有很多符号比语言更有表现力。我记得一位年轻的妻子不得不与她的丈夫分开一段时间。她没有写一首哀伤的诗；的确，她是一个沉默的人，也许几乎没有说过一句话；但她悄悄地变成了黄疸病的深橙色。这个世界上有很多人对他们最深刻的经历只有一种修辞方式，那就是消磨和死亡。当一个人能够阅读的时候，他的感觉的阵痛就会过去。当他能阅读时，他的思想已经松懈了。-你说要读莎士比亚，用他来表达最高的智力，你想知道，任何一个普通人都会如此自以为是地认为他的思想可以超越摆在他面前的文本。但请想一想。一个孩子对莎士比亚的阅读是一回事，而柯勒律治或施莱格尔对他的阅读是另一回事。每个人头脑中的饱和点与其他每个人的不同。但我认为，对于只能接受少量内容的小脑袋和接受大量内容的大脑袋来说，所建议的思想和感觉的轨迹应该始终高于--不是作者，而是读者对作者的心理版本，无论他是谁。

我认为，大多数莎士比亚的读者有时会发现自己被抛入了高尚的精神境界，就像音乐所产生的那样。然后，他们可能会放下书本，立即进入无言的思想领域。我们可能碰巧是非常沉闷的人，你和我，而且很可能是，除非有一些特别的理由来假设相反。但是，我们不时地瞥见一个精神上的可能性，在那里，我们，像我们现在这样沉闷，可以在地球上最大的智能罗盘上绕着巨大的圆圈航行。

我承认，有时我觉得自己就像我前段时间向你提到的那位朋友一样，我讨厌看到书。有时，在把其他东西放进脑子里之前，把脑子里的东西说出来几乎成了一种生理需要。思想和感情本来是要在谈话中表达出来的，但却被打进去了，就像他们说的一些应该向外展示的抱怨一样，这是很糟糕的。

我总是相信生活而不是书本。我想，地球上的每一天，包括它的十万个死亡和更多的出生--包括它的爱和恨，它的胜利和失败，它的痛苦和幸福，比有史以来所有的书加在一起，都更具有人性。我相信此刻生长的花朵向天堂发出的香味比有史以来蒸馏出的所有精华的香味还要多。

我难道没有读过各种事情，在这个桌子上或其他地方谈论吗？-不，那是我最不愿意做的事。我将告诉你我的规则。我将告诉你我的规则。谈论那些你已经在脑海中酝酿了很久的话题，并听取别人对你最近研究过的话题的看法。知识和木材在成熟之前不应该被大量使用。

生理学家和形而上学者最近把他们的注意力转移到了心灵的自动和非自愿行为上。把一个想法放到你的智力中，把它放在那里一小时、一天、一年，而不去参考它。最后，当你回到它身边时，你会发现它并不像获得时那样。可以说，它已经住进了自己的家，成了自己的家，与你的其他思想发生了关系，并与整个心灵的结构融为一体--或者举一个简单而熟悉的例子。你在谈话中忘记了一个名字，继续说下去，而没有努力去回忆它，现在，当你在追求另一个思路时，头脑通过它自己的非自愿和无意识的行动唤起了它，而这个名字自己出现在你的嘴唇上。

关于心理机制，我还想提出一些奇怪的看法，但我认为我们正在变得相当说教。

如果本杰明-富兰克林能让我了解一下他在法语方面的进展，我会很高兴的。我相当喜欢他前几天给我们读的那篇习作，尽管我必须承认我几乎不敢翻译它，因为我担心在我曾经居住过的偏远城市的一些人可能认为我在为他们画像。

-是的，巴黎是一个著名的社团所在地。我不知道我提到的那篇来自法国作者的文章是否只是想作为自然史，或者他的描述中是否有一点恶意。无论如何，当我把我的翻译交给B.F.再翻成法语时，其中一个原因是我认为英语听起来有点秃，有些人可能会认为它是为了有一些当地的听觉或其他，当然，作者并不是这个意思，因为他不可能熟悉水这边的任何东西。

[以上的话是对女教师说的，我看完后把文件交给了她。那位神学生走过来，在她的肩膀上读了起来，--显然非常好奇，但他的目光游移不定，我想。看到她的呼吸有点急促和高亢，或者说是胸腔，就像我的朋友，教授所说的那样，我又仔细观察了一下她--这不关我的事。--毕竟，是不可估量的东西在推动世界，--热、电、爱。］

这是本杰明-富兰克林把这篇文章写成了寄宿学校的法语，就像你在这里看到的那样；不要期望太高；--我想，这些错误让它变得更有味道了。les sociétés polyphysiophilosophiques.

这些协会是一个机构，旨在支持那些在美丽的性别面前生存的个人的精神和心灵的需求，以及他们没有分心的嗜好的人。

要想成为这些协会的成员，就必须尽可能少地拥有脸蛋。如果还有更多的人对自然界和其他的东西有抵抗力，我们就必须要有一些知识，不管是哪种类型的知识。从打开协会大门的那一刻起，我们就对所有我们不知道的事情产生了极大的兴趣。因此，一个显微镜下的人发现了一个新的焦油弯曲器，它是一只秃头梅龙鱼。两位即兴表演者，带着他们的眼睛，他们不知道有什么昆虫，如果这不是culex的尸体的话，就在仪器上跳动，并发出一个巨大的空气球，他们的眼睛会流出水来。这是一个充满教育意义的场面，对那些不属于本协会的人来说是如此。所有的成员都认为化学家特别有智慧，因为他们在一个半小时的讨论中说，06 N3 H6等是一种没有任何好处的东西，但根据化学产品的习惯，它可能是一种非常不稳定的道德。在这之后，有一个数学专家给你讲了一个a+b，最后给你讲了一个x+y，但你并不需要它，它也不会改变你与生活的关系。一个自然主义者说的是那些不知名的动物的特殊形态，你从来没有怀疑过它的存在。因此，你写的是一只竹节虫的盲肠的毛囊。你根本不知道这只是一个卵泡。你不知道它是什么，但你知道它是阑尾。你从来没有听说过 "Dzigguetai "这个词。因此，你要把所有这些知识掌握在手中，它们就像水附着在秃鹰的羽毛上一样，附着在你的精神上。当你成为这些协会的成员时，你就会依职权认识所有的人。因此，当我们读到一篇关于Tchutchiens对话的文章时，我们就会理解所有这些内容，并会不由自主地产生兴趣。

在这些协会中，有两种不同的人：1.负责提问的成员；2.负责 "章程 "的成员。

问题是一个专业领域。担任专业职务的人不一定会回答问题。问题是一种非常普遍的表达方式。"我知道了! 我不是化石，我，我还在呼吸! 我有自己的想法，请相信我的智慧。你们不相信吗，你们这些人，我知道你们的一些选择！"。啊，我们只有一点点的智慧，你们看！我们没有任何东西可言。我们根本不是人们所想的那样！"--提问者对所做的回答并不重视；这在他的专业领域中是不存在的。

规章制度 "的成员是协会中的所有情绪化和情绪化的包袱。他是一个不称职的皇帝--一个处于第三阶段的暴君。他是一个持久的、天生的、精确的人，在小人物中是大人物，在大人物中是小人物，就像大杰弗逊的那句话。在社会中，我们并不喜欢，但我们尊重并阻止。对这个听从 "章程 "的成员来说，只有一个动议。这句话对他来说就是 "Om "对印度人的意义。这是他的宗教；他没有什么可听的。这句话就是《宪法》!

这些协会出版了一些小册子，这些小册子上的内容。人们发现他们被遗弃在门外，就像刚出生的孩子一样，没有薄膜，也没有纸质的。如果你喜欢植物学，你会发现一个关于小动物的记忆；如果你进行动物学研究，你会发现一个巨大的Q-1标签，它比百科全书更容易使用。因此，我们必须成为这样一个协会的成员，这一点在物理学上是显而易见的，就像我们所说的。

生理哲学论文集》（Recette pour le Dépilatoire Physiophilosophique
鲜榨果汁（lb.ss Eau bouillante Oj. 捣碎。随后抛光。

我告诉那个男孩，他的法语翻译是值得称道的；公司里有些人希望听到这首曲子里有什么让我微笑的地方，我就当场为他们把它翻译成了英语，而且是尽可能的好。

房东的女儿似乎对脱毛剂可以取代文学和科学成就的想法很感兴趣；她想让我把这篇文章印出来，这样她就可以给她在米苏拉的表弟寄一份；她认为他不必对他的头的外面做任何事情就可以进入任何社团；他曾经戴过一顶假发，当时他在Tabullo扮演一个角色。

不--说的是1，--我不应该想到用英语印刷。我告诉你为什么。只要你把几千人聚集在一个镇上，你说的每一句尖锐的话就一定会击中某人。如果一件事是在巴黎或北京写的，那也没什么区别。在那些城市里的每个人，或者几乎每个人，在这里都有他的对应物，在所有大地方都是如此。

我告诉你我是如何知道这么多关于平均数的。有一个季节，我在讲课，通常一周有五个晚上，贯穿大部分的讲课时间。我很快发现，正如大多数演讲者所做的那样，做一个讲座比手头有几个讲座要好得多。

房东的女儿说："你难道不会对一个讲座感到厌烦吗？"她那天穿了件新衣服，而且很有精神地在聊天。

我本来要谈的是平均水平，--我说，--但我并不反对一开始就给你讲讲讲座。

一个新的讲座总是与它的发表有一定的关联性。人们对它的看法很好，就像对他脑海中的大多数新鲜事物一样。讲了几次之后，人们就会感到厌倦，然后对其重复感到厌恶。继续讲下去，这种厌恶感就会消失，直到一个人重复了一百次或一百五十次之后，在新的听众面前，他宁愿享受这一百次和第一次或一百五十次的感觉。但这是在一个条件下，即他从未放下讲座，让它冷却。如果他这样做了，就会对它产生强烈的厌恶感，以至于看到那份破旧的手稿就像晕船一样难受。

一个新的讲座就像其他任何新的工具一样。我们高兴地使用它一阵子。然后它使我们的手起了水泡，我们不愿意去碰它。渐渐地，我们的手起了茧，然后我们对它不再有任何敏感度。但是，如果我们放弃它，老茧就会消失；如果我们再去碰它，我们就会错过新奇的东西，而起水泡。--人们经常引用怀特菲尔德的故事，他说一篇讲道在宣讲四十次之前是没有用的。一篇演讲直到过了一百次才开始变老；我想，有些人的演讲次数已经翻了一倍，甚至是四倍。这些老的演讲通常是一个人最好的；它们也会随着时间的推移而改进，就像我前几天告诉你的烟斗、小提琴和诗歌一样。人们学会了最大限度地利用它们的强项，去掉它们的弱项，--把那些真正好的东西拿出来，不影响听众，而把那些便宜的东西放进去。当然，所有这些都会使他堕落，但却能提高讲座的普及率。一个彻头彻尾的演讲应该没有任何东西是五百个人都不能一下子接受的，就像它被说出来一样。


-不，确实如此，我很抱歉说任何不尊重听众的话。我曾受到许多人的善待，以后可能偶尔也会面对一个人。但我告诉你，五百个人的平均智力，按他们的情况来看，并不高。它可能是健全和安全的，就其本身而言，但它不是非常迅速或深刻的。讲座应该是所有人都能理解的东西，是关于每个人都感兴趣的东西。我认为，如果有任何有经验的讲师给你一个与此不同的说法，那可能是那些雄辩的或有说服力的演讲者，无论他们讲的是什么，他们都能以自己的魅力抓住听众--即使他们讲得不是很好。

但是，我想说的是，平均数是观察和研究的最特别的主题之一。它的统一性和自动行动的必要性是非常可怕的。就我们所见，两个蚂蚁或蜜蜂群体的所有行动都完全相同。两个各有五百人的中学集会是如此的相似，以至于在许多情况下它们绝对无法用任何明确的标记来区分，而且除了地点和时间，人们无法区分纽约或俄亥俄州的一个城镇的 "非常聪明的听众 "和新英格兰任何一个规模相似的城镇的听众。当然，如果有任何选择的原则，比如在城市中常见的那些年轻人的特殊协会中，就会破坏集会的统一性。但是，如果没有这种干扰因素，那么在进去之前，人们甚至可以很清楚地知道观众的样子。前面的座位：一些老人，--头发蓬松，--最好是斜着耳朵听演讲，--过一会儿就睡着了，这时空气中开始有了一点碳酸的麻醉剂。明亮的女性面孔，年轻的和中年的，在这些人后面一点，但在前面--（挑出最好的，主要对其讲课）。这里和那里有一张尖锐的、学者式的面孔，还有一打漂亮的女性面孔散布在周围。不知道有多少对年轻人，他们很高兴，但并不总是很专心。男孩们在后面，或多或少都很安静。这里，那里，多少地方都有呆板的面孔! 我不是说呆板的人，而是没有一丝同情心或表情动作的脸。他们是杀死讲师的原因。这些消极的面孔用他们空洞的眼睛和呆板的线条抽吸着他温暖的灵魂；--这就是为什么演讲者在一季结束前就变得如此苍白的主要原因。他们使任何数量的重要热量潜移默化；他们对我们的思想的作用就像我说的那些冷血动物对我们的心的作用一样。


从所有这些不可避免的因素中产生了观众--一种伟大的复合脊椎动物，就像你所见过的其他50种哺乳动物一样，彼此都很相似。每位听众都会在你演讲的相同地方笑，都会哭；也就是说，如果你让一个人笑或哭，你就会让所有人笑。即使是那些不可描述的小动作，演讲者也会注意到，就像司机注意到他的马竖起耳朵一样，肯定会出现在你演讲的同一个地方，永远如此。我向你声明，就像那个和尚在谈到修道院里的画时说的那样--他有时认为活着的房客是影子，而画中的人物是现实，我有时觉得自己是个游魂，而我夜夜面对的这个巨大的不变的多生物是一只永远听话的动物，无论我逃到哪里，它都在我身后蠕动，每天晚上盘踞在我脚下，向我翻出那双我以为在我最后的昏睡咒语中已经关闭的无眠的眼睛！这就是我的感觉。

哦，是的！是的 一千种仁慈和礼貌的行为，--一千张面孔，像四月的雪融化一样，从我的记忆中逐一融化，但只是为了偷闲，找到花床，其根源是记忆，但在诗和梦中开花。我并不是忘恩负义，也不是不知道在讲师所服务的广大教区里，到处都能见到所有的好感和智慧。但是，当我带着一串我心目中的女儿去赶集时，就像乡下人牵着一串马儿去赶集一样，原谅我，那是一个粗鲁的家伙，他对浪费在一个不幸的讲师身上的同情心嗤之以鼻，仿佛因为他的服务得到了体面的报酬，所以他就出卖了自己的感情--家庭男人会非常想家。在遥远而荒凉的村庄里，人们的心又回到了家中壁炉的红色火焰中。

"他的年轻野蛮人都在玩耍，" --
如果他拥有任何年轻的野蛮人的话。不，世界上有无数个男人的栖息地，但只有一个巢穴。


在所有的讨论中，作为一个神谕是很好的事情，人们总是向它发出呼吁。掌握事实的人在严峻的沉默中等待着轮到自己，鼻孔里有一种轻微的紧张感，这种紧张感是以事实或左轮手枪的形式携带 "定居者 "的意识给这样的个人武装的。当一个人真的充满了信息，并且不滥用它来压制谈话时，他的角色对于真正的谈话者来说，就像三重奏或四重奏中的器乐伴奏一样。

我说的真正的谈话者是指什么呢？当然是指那些有新鲜想法的人，以及有大量好的热情话语来装扮他们。在谈话中，事实总是让位于对事实的思考；但如果说了一个错误的音符，手指就会落在钥匙上，事实的人就会坚持他真正的尊严。我至少认识三个这样的事实主义者，他们总是令人生畏，而且其中一个是暴君。

是的，一个人有时会在某个特定的场合大出风头；但这些人几乎什么都知道，而且从不犯错。一流风格的饰面。桃花心木时不时就会有斑点脱落，然后你就会看到廉价的轻型材料。谈话内容涉及到山。他对安第斯山脉、亚平宁山脉和阿巴拉契亚山脉的主要情况非常熟悉；他对阿拉拉特、本尼维斯和其他各种被提及的山脉没有什么特别的说法。他不时地提到一些革命轶事，对亚当斯夫妇的生活表现得非常熟悉，并提供了许多与安德烈少校有关的细节。有人提出自然史的观点，他对鱼类的气囊作了很好的说明。他对农业问题的论述非常充分，但当园艺被引入讨论时，他又退出了谈话。因此，他似乎很熟悉无烟煤的地质情况，但并不假装对其他种类的煤有任何了解。他的知识范围和局限性很奇怪，我一下子就怀疑这可能是什么意思，于是就等着有机会再问。 -他涨红了脸，回答说："到阿拉圭。"哦，我对自己说，还没有到阿拉圭；这就是他对它一无所知的原因；但他一定把其他所有的书都读过了，而且，如果他能记住这一卷中的内容，直到他读完所有即将到来的书，他将比我想象的要知道得多。


自从我有了这样的经历，我听说有人也讲了一个类似的故事。我没有借用它，因为所有这些。-一段时间以来，我在餐桌上做了一个对比，这个对比经常被引用，并得到了很多人的称赞。那就是把一个偏执者的思想比作眼睛的瞳孔；你对它的光线越多，它就越收缩。这个比喻非常明显，而且，我想我现在可以说，是一个幸福的比喻；因为刚刚有人告诉我，它出现在托马斯-摩尔的某些政治诗的序言中，该序言在我的评论被重复之前很长时间就已发表。当一个具有公正的文学诚实品格的人使用一个别人在他之前使用过的形象时，我们的推测是，他是独立地想到了这个形象，或者不自觉地想起了这个形象，认为这是自己的形象。

在很多情况下，我们不可能知道一个突然出现的对比是一个新的概念还是一种回忆。我前几天告诉过你，我从来没有写过一句在我看来比较好的诗句，但它一下子就显得很陈旧，而且常常像借来的一样。但我承认，我从来没有怀疑过上面的对比是旧的，除了从其明显的事实来看。然而，我应该通过一份正式的文书，放弃对一个想法的任何财产的要求，这个想法大约是在我刚刚加入托马斯-摩尔大师当时是一个有点高级的学者的班级的时候被赋予了世界。


因此，我完全拥有我自己的诚实，但我知道所有的人都有被选为公职人员的责任，并为此感到不确定我可能很快就会失去它，因此，我在此放弃所有要求，认为我是第一个说出所附文件中提到的某种比喻或比较的人，它一方面与眼睛的瞳孔有关，另一方面与偏执者的心灵有关。我在此放弃所有的荣誉和利益，特别是放弃所有对亲笔签名收藏者的信件的要求，这些要求是建立在我在上述比较中的所谓财产之上的--我清楚地知道，根据文学的规律，谁先说话谁就拥有所说的东西的费用。我还同意，所有《百科全书》和《传记词典》的编辑，所有评论和论文的出版商，以及所有写在上面的评论家，都可以自由地收回或限定任何基于我是上述比较的唯一和无可争议的作者这一假设的意见。但是，由于我肯定上述比较是我在坚信它是新的和完全属于我自己的情况下说出来的，而且我有充分的理由认为，在我第一次表达它时，我从未见过或听说过它，而且众所周知，不同的人可以独立地说出同样的想法，正如那句熟悉的多纳图斯的诗句所显示的那样

"Pereant illi qui ante nos nostra dixerunt，" --
因此，我现在通过这份文书请求所有心地善良的人不要断言或暗示我对上述比较有任何指控，如果他们已经这样断言或暗示，请他们立即收回同样的断言或暗示。


我想很少有人比我更厌恶抄袭。如果我甚至怀疑有关的想法是借来的，我就会否认原创性，或者提到这个巧合，就像我曾经在一个案件中所做的那样，我碰巧发现了斯威夫特的一个想法。-但是，我打算给你读的这些诗句该怎么办呢？我担心，如果我把它们印出来，一半的人都会指责我窃取他们的思想。我相信，你们中的一些人，特别是如果你们的生活有了一点起色，会认出其中的一些情绪，因为它们曾在某个时候穿过你们的意识。我没有办法，现在已经太晚了。这些诗句已经写好了，你必须得到它们。那就听吧，你会听到的。

我们都在想什么

那个时代曾经比现在更古老。
纵使锁头不合时宜地落下
或在年轻的眉毛上染上银色。
婴孩做爱，孩子结婚。

阳光下有天堂般的光辉。
随着那些 "美好的旧时光 "而消逝。
冬天来了，雪更深了。
秋天有了柔和的阴霾。


母亲、姐妹、妻子或孩子
每个人都知道 "最好的女人"。
学生们曾经有一半如此狂野吗？
爷爷们是多么的年轻!

我们的灵魂是自由的。
我们的生活是幸福的。
在未来的某个季节
我们的忧虑会留给我们休息的时间。

当我们因疼痛而呻吟的时候。
某种人类常见的疾病。
尽管医生们认为事情很简单。
我们的是 "特殊的情况"。

当我们像婴儿的手指被烧伤时
我们再算上一句痛苦的格言。
我们的教训全世界都知道了。
人们比以前更聪明了。

当我们为想象中的苦难啜泣时
天使在头顶盘旋
计算每一滴可怜的眼泪
爱护我们的眼泪，因为我们流下了眼泪。


当我们以无泪之眼站立
把乞丐赶出我们的门。
我们叹息的时候，他们仍然赞同我们。
"啊，我要是再多一千次就好了！"

软弱使罪恶的道路更加平坦。
在我们青年所知道的一半的滑坡中。
不管它的责任是什么。
慈悲之花开在过失上。

虽说庙宇拥挤在崩坏的边缘
悬挂着真理的永恒之流。
他们的石碑上写着我们的想法。
他们的回声对我们所知道的都哑口无言。

我们所读的是一个不容置疑的文本。
所有的疑惑，所有的恐惧都在上面。
噼里啪啦的堆积物和咒骂的信条
都不能烧毁或抹去它。上帝是爱!