The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1905-03-02
CHAPTER VII.

i observe tne lives or my contempt
rarles and listen to their talk | fine
myself unhappily confirmed in tn,
opinion that they do not get mucl
pleasure out Of things, And certainly
It is not from lack Of trying. But Il
must be acknowledged that their sue
cess is meager. Where can the fault
be?
Some accuse politics or business,
others social problems or militarlsm.
We meet only an embarrassment Of
choice when we start to unstring the
chaplet of our carking cares Sup
pose we set out in pursuit Of pleasure,
There is too much pepper in our soup
to make 1t palatable. Our arms are
filed with a multitude Of embarrass-
ments, any one Of which would be
enough to spoil our temper. From
morning till night, wherever we go,
the people we meet are hurried, wor-
ried, preoccupied. Some have split
their good blood in the miserable con-
hlcts Of petty politics; others are dis
heartened by the meanness and jeal-
ousy they have encountered in the
world Of literature or art. Commercial
competition troubles the sleep Of not
n few. The crowded curricula Of
study and the exigencies Of their open
ing careers spoil life for young men.
The working classes suffer the conse-
quences of ceaseless struggle. 1t is
becoming dlsagreeable to govern be-
cause authority Is diminishing; to
teach, because respect is vanishing.
Wherever one turns there is matter for
discomfort.
And yet history shows us certain
epochs Of upheaval which were as
lacking in idylllc tranquility as is our
own, but which the gravest events
did not prevent from being gay. 1t
even seems as If the seriousness Of Of
fairs, the uncertainty Of the morrow,
the violence Of social convulsions,
sometimes became a new source of
vitality. 1t is not a rare thing to hear
soldiers singing between two battles,
and think myself nowise mistaken in
saying that human Joy has celebrated
its finest triumphs under the greatest
tests Of endurance. But to sleep peace
fully on the eve of battle, or to exult
at the stake, men had then the slim
illus of an internal harmony which
we perhaps lack Joy Is not In things;
II is in us, and hold to the belief that
the causes of our present unrest, of
this contagious discomfort spreading
everywhere, are In us at least as much
as in exterior conditions.
To give oneself up heartily to diver
sion one must feel himself on a solid
basis, must believe in life and find it
within him. And here lies our weak
ness. So many Of us--even, alas, the
younger men - are at variance with
life, and do not speak Of philosophers
only. How do you think man can be
amused while he has his doubts wheth-
er, after all, life is worth livlng2 Be
sides this, one observes disquietlng
depression of vital force, which must
be attributed to the abuse man makes
OF his sensations. Excess Of all kinds
has blurred our senses and poisoned
our faculty for happiness. Human ma
ture succumbs under the irregularities
imposed upon 1t. Deeply attainted at
Its root, the desire to live, persistent In
spite of everything seeks satisfaction
in cheats and baubles. In medical sci
ence we have recourse to artificial res
plratlon, artificial alimentatlon and gal
vanism. So, too, around expiring pleas
ure we see a crowd Of Its votaries ex-
erting themselves to reawaken it, to re
animate 1t. Most ingenious means
have been invented; 1t can never be
said that expense has been spared.
Everything has been tried, the possible
and the impossible. But in all these
complicated alemblcs no one has ever
arrived at dlstllling drop of veritable
JOY. We must not confound pleasure
with the instruments of pleasure To
be painter, does 1t suffice to arm
oneself with a brush, or does the pur-
chase at great cost Of a Stradivarius
make one n musiCian2 No more, II
you had the whole paraphernalia Of
amusement In the perfection of its in
genuity. would 1t advance you upon
your road. But with bit of crayon
great artist makes an immortal
sketch. 1t needs talent or genius to
paint; and to amuse oneself, the facul-
ty Of being happy-whoeyer possesses
it is amused at slight cost. This facul'
ty is destroyed by skeptlclsm, artificial
living, overabuse; 1t is fostered by con
fldence, moderation and normal habits
of thought and action.
An excellent proof Of my proposition,
and one very easily encountered, lies
in the fact that wherever life Is sim
pie and sane true pleasure acCompa-
MES 1t as fragrance does unCultivated
flowers. Be this life hard, hampercd,
devoid Of all things ordinarily consid-
cred as the very conditions of pleasure,
the rare an1 delicate plant, joy, flour
ishes there. 1t springs up between the
flags Of the pavement, on an arid wall,
in the flssure Of a rock. We ask our
selves how 1t comes and whence, but 1t
lives, while In the soft warmth Of con
servatories or In fields richly fertllized
you cultivate it Mt golden cost to see
1t fade and die in your hand
Ask actors what audience is happlest
at the play, They viii tell you the pop
ular one. The reason is not hard to
grasp. To these people the play is an
exception. They are not bored by 1t
from oyerlndulgence. And, too, to
them 1t is a rest from rude toll. The
pleasure they enjoy they have honestly
earned, and they know its cost as
they know that Of each sou earned by
the sweat of their labor. More, they
have not freQuented the wings, they
have no intrigues with the actresses,
they do not see the wires pulled. To
them 1t is all real And SO they feel
pleasure unalloyed. / think / see the
Eated skeptic, whose monocle glistens
In that box. cast a disdainful glance