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Updated: May 10, 2025
In the third instance, the music may have been influenced strongly though subconsciously by a vague remembrance of certain thoughts and feelings, perhaps of a deep religious or spiritual nature, which suddenly came to him upon realizing the beauty of the scene and which overpowered the first sensuous pleasure perhaps some such feeling as of the conviction of immortality, that Thoreau experienced and tells about in Walden.
He had brought back Dixon. In the morning Melisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, then then she would come to him! He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. "No, Melisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." He took pencil and paper and wrote.
And now the death upon the scaffold of the old fanatic of Ossawatomie changed Thoreau into a complete citizen, arguing the case and glorifying to his neighbors the dead hero. "It seems as if no man had ever died in America before; for in order to die you must first have lived.... I hear a good many pretend that they are going to die.... Nonsense! I'll defy them to do it.
He loved also a sprinkling of Latin quotations and allusions to old and little known authors. The pride of scholarship was strong in him. Suggestions from what we call the heathen world seemed to accord with his Gospel of the Wild. Thoreau loved to write as well as John Muir loved to talk. It was his ruling passion. He said time never passed so quickly as when he was writing.
THE FIRE-TENDER. You know that in Concord the latest news, except a remark or two by Thoreau or Emerson, is the Vedas. I believe the Rig-Veda is read at the breakfast-table instead of the Boston journals. THE PARSON. I know it is read afterward instead of the Bible. MANDEVILLE. That is only because it is supposed to be older.
In that moment she would have fired, for she knew that it must be Jan who had returned. But Blake had moved. And now, with her finger on the trigger, she heard his cry of amazement: "Sergeant Fitzgerald!" "Yes. Put up your gun, Corporal. Have you got Jan Thoreau?" "He is gone." "That is lucky for us." It was the stranger's voice, filled with a great relief. "I have traveled fast to overtake you.
We had rejoiced in the rented property, rejoiced in owning nothing, yet having it all.... Thoreau in his daily westward migrations studied it all with the same critical delight, and found his abode where others did not care to follow. We look twice at the spot we choose to build our house. That second look is not so free and innocent.... Yet a man may build his house.
And herein lies the magnanimous courage of love, that it endures this knowledge without change. It required a cold, distant personality like that of Thoreau, perhaps, to recognise and certainly to utter this truth; for a more human love makes it a point of honour not to acknowledge those faults of which it is most conscious. But his point of view is both high and dry.
He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great company at Prince Albert. And after that after he had done this thing, what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau?
He finds poverty more attractive than riches, solitude more welcome than society, a sphagnum swamp more to be desired than a flowered field. Thoreau is suggestive of those antibodies which modern science makes so much of. He tends to fortify us against the dry rot of business, the seductions of social pleasures, the pride of wealth and position.
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