¶ 46 Leave a comment on paragraph 46 0 I feel that, to some extent, the State has fatally interfered with my lawful business. It has not only interrupted me in my passage through Court Street on errands of trade, but it has interrupted me and every man on his onward and upward path, on which he had trusted soon to leave Court Street far behind. What right had it to remind me of Court Street? I have found that hollow which even I had relied on for solid.
¶ 47 Leave a comment on paragraph 47 1 I am surprised to see men going about their business as if nothing had happened. I say to myself, “Unfortunates! they have not heard the news.” I am surprised that the man whom I just met on horseback should be so earnest to overtake his newly bought cows running away, — since all property is insecure, and if they do not run away again, they may be taken away from him when he gets them. Fool! does he not know that his seed-corn is worth less this year, — that all beneficent harvests fail as you approach the empire of hell? No prudent man will build a stone house under these circumstances, or engage in any peaceful enterprise which it requires a long time to accomplish. Art is as long as ever, but life is more interrupted and less available for a man’s proper pursuits. It is not an era of repose. We have used up all our inherited freedom. If we would save our lives, we must fight for them.
¶ 48 Leave a comment on paragraph 48 1 I walk toward one of our ponds; but what signifies the beauty of nature when men are base? We walk to lakes to see our serenity reflected in them; when we are not serene, we go not to them. Who can be serene in a country where both the rulers and the ruled are without principle? The remembrance of my country spoils my walk. My thoughts are murder to the State, and involuntarily go plotting against her.
¶ 49 Leave a comment on paragraph 49 0 But it chanced the other day that I scented a white water-lily, and a season I had waited for had arrived. It is the emblem of purity. It bursts up so pure and fair to the eye, and so sweet to the scent, as if to show us what purity and sweetness reside in, and can be extracted from, the slime and muck of earth. I think I have plucked the first one that has opened for a mile. What confirmation of our hopes is in the fragrance of this flower! I shall not so soon despair of the world for it, notwithstanding slavery, and the cowardice and want of principle of Northern men. It suggests what kind of laws have prevailed longest and widest, and still prevail, and that the time may come when man’s deeds will smell as sweet. Such is the odor which the plant emits. If Nature can compound this fragrance still annually, I shall believe her still young and full of vigor, her integrity and genius unimpaired, and that there is virtue even in man, too, who is fitted to perceive and love it. It reminds me that Nature has been partner to no Missouri Compromise. I scent no compromise in the fragrance of the water-lily. It is not a Nymphoea Douglassii. In it, the sweet, and pure, and innocent are wholly sundered from the obscene and baleful. I do not scent in this time the time-serving irresolution of a Massachusetts Governor, nor of a Boston Mayor. So behave that the odor of your actions may enhance the general sweetness of the atmosphere, that when we behold or scent a flower, we may not be reminded how inconsistent your deeds are with it; for all odor is but one form of advertisement of a moral quality, and if fair actions had not been performed, the lily would not smell sweet. The foul slime stands for the sloth and vice of man, the decay of humanity; the fragrant flower that springs from it, for the purity and courage which are immortal.
¶ 50 Leave a comment on paragraph 50 1 Slavery and servility have produced no sweet-scented flower annually, to charm the senses of men, for they have no real life: they are merely a decaying and a death, offensive to all healthy nostrils. We do not complain that they live, but that they do not get buried. Let the living bury them; even they are good for manure.
[stone house ]
According to Wendell Glick’s edition for Reform Papers (The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau, Princeton University Press, 1973), there are a few differences that arise between the various print versions of “Slavery in Massachusetts”. “Slavery in Massachusetts” was first put into print in the June 21st, 1854 edition of The Liberator. According to Glick, William Lloyd Garrison likely “requested and received Thoreau’s holograph text at Framingham after Thoreau delivered his lecture” (333). From there, Thoreau’s address was reprinted by Horace Greeley in the New-York Daily Tribune on August 2nd, 1854, followed by a printing in The National Anti-Slavery Standard on August 12, 1854. Among these different versions, a few differences arise, a perfect example being the word “stone house”. In The Liberator as well as The National Anti-Slavery Standard the word “stone house” is transcribed as “store-house”, while the form “stone house” is “confirmed by the manuscript journal entry for June 16, 1854, from which Thoreau took the passage” (333).