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JEROME K. JEROME
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow
*
Z ROZMYŚLAŃ 
 PRÓŻNIAKA
Ilustracja na okładce: Free-Photos
ISBN 978-83-947469-9-5
Wydawnictwo Wymownia
Polska wersja językowa w tłumaczeniu anonimowym
Angielska wersja językowa zgodna z wydaniem z roku 1886
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS
OF
AN IDLE FELLOW.
by JEROME K. JEROME.
TO
THE VERY DEAR AND WELL-BELOVED
FRIEND
OF MY PROSPEROUS AND EVIL DAYS—­
TO THE FRIEND
WHO, THOUGH IN THE EARLY STAGES OF OUR ACQUAINTANCESHIP DID OFTTIMES
DISAGREE WITH ME, HAS SINCE BECOME TO BE MY VERY WARMEST COMRADE—­
TO THE FRIEND
WHO, HOWEVER OFTEN I MAY PUT HIM OUT, NEVER (NOW) UPSETS ME IN
REVENGE—­
TO THE FRIEND
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WHO, TREATED WITH MARKED COOLNESS BY ALL THE FEMALE MEMBERS OF MY
HOUSEHOLD, AND REGARDED WITH SUSPICION BY MY VERY DOG, NEVERTHELESS
SEEMS DAY BY DAY TO BE MORE DRAWN BY ME, AND IN RETURN TO MORE AND
MORE IMPREGNATE ME WITH THE ODOR OF HIS FRIENDSHIP—­
TO THE FRIEND
WHO NEVER TELLS ME OF MY FAULTS, NEVER WANTS TO BORROW MONEY, AND
NEVER TALKS ABOUT HIMSELF—­
TO THE COMPANION
OF MY IDLE HOURS, THE SOOTHER OF MY SORROWS, THE CONFIDANT OF MY JOYS
AND HOPES—­
MY OLDEST AND STRONGEST
PIPE,
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
IS
GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED.
PREFACE
One or two friends to whom I showed these papers in MS. having observed that they were not half
bad, and some of my relations having promised to buy the book if it ever came out, I feel I have no
right to longer delay its issue. But for this, as one may say, public demand, I perhaps should not
have ventured to offer these mere “idle thoughts” of mine as mental food for the English-speaking
peoples of the earth. What readers ask nowadays in a book is that it should improve, instruct, and
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elevate. This book wouldn’t elevate a cow. I cannot conscientiously recommend it for any useful
purposes whatever. All I can suggest is that when you get tired of reading “the best hundred books,”
you may take this up for half an hour. It will be a change.
On being idle
Now, this is a subject on which I flatter myself I really am au fait. The gentleman who, when I was
young, bathed me at wisdom’s font for nine guineas a term—­no extras—­used to say he never
knew a boy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poor grandmother once
incidentally observing, in the course of an instruction upon the use of the Prayer-book, that it was
highly improbable that I should ever do much that I ought not to do, but that she felt convinced
beyond a doubt that I should leave undone pretty well everything that I ought to do.
I am afraid I have somewhat belied half the dear old lady’s prophecy. Heaven help me! I have done
a good many things that I ought not to have done, in spite of my laziness. But I have fully confirmed
the accuracy of her judgment so far as neglecting much that I ought not to have neglected is
concerned. Idling always has been my strong point. I take no credit to myself in the matter—­it is a
gift. Few possess it. There are plenty of lazy people and plenty of slow-coaches, but a genuine idler
is a rarity. He is not a man who slouches about with his hands in his pockets. On the contrary, his
most startling characteristic is that he is always intensely busy.
It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in
doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most
exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen.
Many years ago, when I was a young man, I was taken very ill—­I never could see myself that
much was the matter with me, except that I had a beastly cold. But I suppose it was something very
serious, for the doctor said that I ought to have come to him a month before, and that if it (whatever
it was) had gone on for another week he would not have answered for the consequences. It is an
extraordinary thing, but I never knew a doctor called into any case yet but what it transpired that
another day’s delay would have rendered cure hopeless. Our medical guide, philosopher, and friend
is like the hero in a melodrama—­he always comes upon the scene just, and only just, in the nick
of time. It is Providence, that is what it is.
Well, as I was saying, I was very ill and was ordered to Buxton for a month, with strict injunctions
to do nothing whatever all the while that I was there. “Rest is what you require,” said the doctor,
“perfect rest.”
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