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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com-Walden by Henry David Thoreau


hear this oracular sentence, I am for a moment absorbed in thought,
emphasizing to myself each word separately that I may come at the
meaning of it, that I may find out by what degree of consanguinity
‘They’ are related to me, and what authority they may have in an
affair which affects me so nearly; and, finally, I am inclined to
answer her with equal mystery, and without any more emphasis of
the "they"- "It is true, they did not make them so recently, but they
do now." Of what use this measuring of me if she does not measure
my character, but only the breadth of my shoulders, as it were a peg
to bang the coat on? We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcee, but
Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head
monkey at Paris puts on a travel-ler’s cap, and all the monkeys in
America do the same. I sometimes despair of getting anything quite
simple and honest done in this world by the help of men. They
would have to be passed through a powerful press first, to squeeze
their old notions out of them, so that they would not soon get upon
their legs again; and then there would be some one in the company
with a maggot in his head, hatched from an egg deposited there
nobody knows when, for not even fire kills these things, and you
would have lost your labor. Nevertheless, we will not forget that
some Egyptian wheat was handed down to us by a mummy.

On the whole, I think that it cannot be maintained that dressing has
in this or any country risen to the dignity of an art. At present men
make shift to wear what they can get. Like shipwrecked sailors, they
put on what they can find on the beach, and at a little distance,
whether of space or time, laugh at each other’s masquerade. Every
generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the
new. We are amused at beholding the costume of Henry VIII, or
Queen Elizabeth, as much as if it was that of the King and Queen of
the Cannibal Islands. All costume off a man is pitiful or grotesque. It
is only the serious eye peering from and the sincere life passed
within it which restrain laughter and consecrate the costume of any
people. Let Harlequin be taken with a fit of the colic and his
trappings will have to serve that mood too. When the soldier is hit by
a cannon-ball, rags are as becoming as purple.

The childish and savage taste of men and women for new patterns
keeps how many shaking and squinting through kaleidoscopes that
they may discover the particular figure which this generation
requires today. The manufacturers have learned that this taste is
merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a few
threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold
readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens that
after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable.
Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which it is called.
It is not barbarous merely because the printing is skin-deep and
unalterable.

I cannot believe that our factory system is the best mode by which
men may get clothing. The condition of the operatives is becoming
every day more like that of the English; and it cannot be wondered
at, since, as far as I have heard or observed, the principal object is,
not that mankind may be well and honestly clad, but,
unquestionably, that corporations may be enriched. In the long run
men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, though they should fail
immediately, they had better aim at something high.

As for a Shelter, I will not deny that this is now a necessary of life,
though there are instances of men having done without it for long
periods in colder countries than this. Samuel Laing says that "the
Laplander in his skin dress, and in a skin bag which he puts over his
head and shoulders, will sleep night after night on the snow... in a
degree of cold which would extinguish the life of one exposed to it
in any woollen clothing." He had seen them asleep thus. Yet he adds,
"They are not hardier than other people." But, probably, man did not
live long on the earth without discovering the convenience which
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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com-Walden by Henry David Thoreau



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