馬克吐溫著
【星期六】
我昨天來到這個世間，現在幾乎是滿週日了。依我看來，像是如此。
應該就是這樣子吧！因為如果還有昨天的前一天，或者那時我並不在那裡，我應該是會記得的。當然，也許真是有昨天的前一天，而我並沒有注意到。
好吧！從現在起，我要很警覺，假如再有任一個昨天的前一天發生了，我一定要把它記下來，最好從現在就開始，免得搞混了，因為有個直覺告訴我，有一天，這些細節對歷史學家將會是很重要的。
因為我覺得這一切像是個實驗，我想這正是個實驗；沒有人會比我更覺得這是個實驗，所以我更要相信這就是“我是”
——一個實驗；只是一個實驗而已。
就當我是個實驗，我是否就是整個實驗？我想不是，我想我是主要的部分，剩下的是陪襯的，但我想那些剩下的都有它們的一腳。我的地位穩固嗎？我必須看著它，照顧它嗎？有個直覺告訴我：“要保持高位的代價就是永恆的警覺。”(哇，年紀輕輕的就能想到這麼好的詞句。)
今天的每樣事物看來都比昨天更好。昨天在匆忙中所完成的：眾山還是粗造的模樣，有些平地凌亂的堆積著垃圾和廢墟，那樣子讓人看了不舒服。高雅美麗的藝術作品不應該趕工；而這個雄偉壯麗的新世界確實是一個最高雅美麗的作品。雖然時間不足，卻也奇妙地接近完美。
有太多的星星聚集在某些地方，而其餘的地方稍嫌不足，毫無疑問的，現在就可以補救。昨晚月亮沒拴緊，滑下去了，掉出了整個格局——一個很大的損失；一想到它，我就傷心。在那些擺設和裝飾品裡面，論美麗和光潔，沒有一個可以和它相比擬；應該把它綁好一點，假如我們能夠把它撿回來——只是沒有人能說它掉到哪裡去了。何況，有誰撿到它，一定會把它藏起來；我知道，因為我一定會這樣做。
我想在其他的事情上我可是誠實的，但是我已經開始明白，我的本性的核心點是愛美的，一種愛美的熱情；要是把別人的月亮交給我，而那個人又不知道月亮在我手中，事情就很不保險了；如果我在白天撿到一個月亮，我可能會交出來，因為我害怕有人在看著；要是我在黑暗裡撿到了，我會找個理由，不去提這件事。因為我愛那些月亮，因為它們是如此的美麗又有情調。
我希望我們能有五或六個月亮；我會睡不著；我可以躺在滿是青苔的岸邊，一直看著它們，樂此不疲。
星星也很美，我希望能弄上幾顆，擺在我的頭髮上。但是我想我做不到。你會很驚訝的發現它們是那麼的遙遠，因為它們不像所看的那樣。昨晚，一看到它們，我試著用竿子打幾顆下來，但是使我驚奇的，居然夠不到；後來我用石頭，一直丟到沒力氣，還是沒弄到半個；因為我是個左撇子，而且丟不準；連亂丟都矇不到，雖然我有幾個差點命中，因為我看到石頭的黑影正好穿過了金色的星河，有四、五十次，正好都差一點點，假如我可以再撐久一點，或許可以打到一個。
所以我沮喪的哭了，以我這種年紀…我想那也是應該的，等我休息一會兒，我拿了一個籃子，開始往地平線的邊緣走去，我想這是個好點子，因為到那時，我可以輕柔地採集這些星星，而不會把它們打壞了。只是那裡比我想像的還要遠，最後還是得放棄了；我累到腳都抬不起來，又酸又痛。
我回不了家了；離開太遠又變冷了；不過我發現了幾隻老虎，我走過去和牠們依偎在一起，有說不出的舒服，牠們的氣息很好聞，因為牠們吃草莓維生。我以前沒有見過老虎，但是我對牠們身上的斑紋一見如故。如果我能有那樣的一張皮，我會拿來縫製一件可愛的長袍。
今天我開始對距離有更好的概念；我是太渴望得到每一樣令我昏頭昏腦伸手就抓的漂亮的東西，有時，它只有半呎遠，卻像還差了一步——天哪，被荊棘給隔開了！(可望不可及)我學到了一個教訓，而且創造了一句格言，不是抄來的——我的第一句名言：“被刮傷的實驗要避開棘刺。”我想，對一個這麼年輕的人來說，這是一個佳句。
昨天下午，我開始跟在另一個實驗的後頭，保持著一段距離，想發現牠到底要幹什麼；但是徒勞無功。我想牠是個男人，我沒見過男人，不過牠是像個男人，我的確覺得那就是牠這個樣子。我發現我對牠的好奇心多過於其他的爬行動物。假如牠是個我想像中的爬行動物，牠有凌亂的毛髮和藍色的眼睛，像任何一隻爬行動物。當牠站起來的時候，沒有臀部，由上到下逐漸變細，像一根胡蘿蔔，牠把手腳張開時，像一具起重機；所以我想牠是個爬行動物，可是牠也可能是個設計好的建構物。
一開始，我有點怕牠，每一次牠回轉身，我就開始跑，我想牠會追上來；但是一次又一次，我發現牠只是想開溜，一想通了，我就不再示弱，只在牠的屁股後面，約二十碼遠，跟著牠好幾個小時，搞得牠神經兮兮又不舒服。最後牠太累了，爬到一棵樹上，我等了一大會兒，然後就放棄了，回家。
今天重演同樣的事，我又搞得牠爬上樹了。
【星期日】
牠還沒來呢！很顯然的，在安息。那只是個托詞：星期日不是安息的日子，星期六才是指定的安息日。依我看來，牠像個好吃懶做的傢伙。如果要休息那麼久，我是會累壞的！坐在這兒，呆呆的看著那棵樹，累死我了。我不解，牠到底有什麼用？我從沒看到牠做任何事。
昨晚，他們把月亮還回來了，我太高興了！他們太誠實了。它又滑下去然後掉不見了，但是我不緊張了；當一個人有那樣的鄰居，就不需要煩惱；他們會把它撿回來。
我希望我能夠用行動來表示我的感謝，我願意送給他們幾顆星星，因為我們有多餘的。我說是我，不是我們，因為我看那個爬行動物對這種事是毫不在意。
牠實在沒有品味，也不厚道。昨天傍晚我去了那兒，在暮色中，牠爬下樹，正在那兒想抓池塘裡小小的斑點魚，我必須拿泥土丟它，讓牠不去騷擾那些魚，再爬回樹上去。
我懷疑這就是牠的作用嗎？牠沒有良心嗎？牠對那些小傢伙都沒有愛心嗎？難道牠就是被設計製造來做這種殘忍的工作嗎？看似如此。
有一塊泥土打中了牠的耳朵後面，牠用言語滴咕咒罵。這使我有一陣快感，因為這是我第一次聽到除了我的自言自語以外的話語。我不了解這些話語，但是我想它們表達得夠嗆了。
當我發現牠會說話，我對牠有了一個新的興趣，因為我喜歡說話；我可以整天說話，睡覺也在講，我很有趣，只要還有另一個人可以對談，我可能會加倍有趣，只要想說，可以說個不停。
假若這個爬行動物是個男人，就不應該稱為牠了，不是嗎？那是不合乎文法的，不是嗎？我應該用“他”，我想應該如此。我認為牠是個男人，叫牠為“他”，直到發現牠竟然是個別的東西再說。這樣會比有許多不確定的考慮來得順遂。
【下個星期日】
整個星期，我一直趴在他身邊轉，想要跟他熟絡起來。我必須引起話題，因為他很內向，這我倒無所謂。他好像很高興我陪著他，我用了好幾次社交辭令“我們”，因為看來稱呼“我們”把他當成是圈內人，讓他感到飄飄然的。
【星期三】
現在，我們實在相處得很好，而且越來越熟悉對方。他不再想規避我，這是好現象，表示他喜歡我跟他在一塊兒。這使我感到愉快，而且我盡量學著在各方面都對他有用處，使得他可以更重視我。
最近這一兩天，我把他手上所有的命名工作全給做了，這給他喘了一大口氣，因為他沒那種恩賜，很明顯的，他應該大大的感謝一番。他無法想出一個合理的名字來解決他的窘況，我又不想讓他看出我知道他的缺陷。任何時候，只要來了一個新的傢伙，在他還沒時間暴露他自己緘默的窘況以前，我就給牠命了名。這樣子，我省了他很多的難堪。
我沒有這樣的缺陷；對的名字脫口而出，就像出於靈感，毫無疑問的，因為我確信在半分鐘前，我還沒有這個名字。我好像知道，只憑那傢伙的外形、舉止，我就能叫出那動物的名字來。
當嘟嘟來的時候，他以為那是一隻野貓——我從他的眼裡看出來。但是我救了他，而且很小心的避免去傷了他的自尊心。我只是用一種很自然的驚喜的口吻，而非像在夢裡傳達信息，說：「嘿，我說，那不就是嘟嘟嘛！」我解釋了——不像在解釋的樣子——我怎麼知道牠叫嘟嘟，雖然他或許因為我知道這傢伙，同時他卻不知道，而有小小的生氣；很明顯的，他還是稱讚了我。那是大家都同意的，在睡覺前我不只想了一遍，越想越痛快。這麼一點小事情，當我們覺得是我們去掙來的，就能使大家都很快樂！
【星期四】
我的第一個傷心事。昨天，他在逃避我，看來是希望我不要跟他說話。我實在不能相信，我想是有什麼不對，因為我愛和他在一起，我愛聽他說話；這怎麼可能呢？我沒做錯什麼事，他怎能用冷戰來對待我？
最後，事態看來是真的了，我只好走開，孤單的坐在那個第一次看到他的地方，就是當我們被造的那個早上，我還不知道他是個什麼東西，而且對他沒啥興趣；現在這是個令我傷心的地方，每樣小東西都讓我想到他，讓我的心很酸痛。我很不清楚到底為什麼，因為這是一種新的感覺，我以前都沒有過的經驗，是那麼的神秘，我實在想不透。
但是當夜晚來臨，我受不了孤寂，只好走去他已經蓋好的新的庇護所，去問他我到底做錯了什麼事，要怎麼去補救才能使他再善待我；但是他把我趕出去，讓我淋雨，這是我的第一個傷心事。
【星期日】
現在日子又好過了，我很快樂；但那幾天實在很沉重；只要我能夠不去想它，就不去想它。
我想要給他幾個那種蘋果，但是我不知道怎樣才丟得準，我丟不到，失敗了，但是我的好意他應該感到高興。它們是禁果，他說我會受到傷害；就算受到傷害，也是為了討好他，為什麼我要顧慮到受害？
【星期一】
今早，我告訴他我的名字，希望能引起他的興趣。但是他一點都不在意。真奇怪，要是他告訴我他的名字，我會去記住它，聽在我的耳裡，會比聽到任何其他的聲音來得悅耳。
他不太說話，或許因為他不夠聰明，而且對這個很敏感，不想讓人知道。他會這樣想，實在很遺憾，因為聰明不算什麼；內心所想的才是價值的所在。我希望我能使他明白，一個好的愛心就是財富，是足夠的財富，聰明而沒愛心就是窮困。
雖然他說得不多，但是他有很可觀的詞彙用語。今早，他用了一個令人驚奇的美妙字眼。他自己很明顯的意識到那是個好字，因為以後他又不經心地用了兩次。雖然只是個隨意的好的表現，但是顯現出他具有某些高品質的知覺。毫無疑問的，加以培植以後，這個種子會萌芽成長。
他從那兒得到這個字眼？我想我從未用過。
是的，他對我的名字沒興趣。我試著要遮掩我的失望，但是沒有成功。我走開了，坐在青苔岸邊，把兩腳泡在水裡。當我渴望有人陪伴，有人可看，有人傾聽，我就到這裡來。那可愛的白色的身軀映照在池塘裡是不夠的，不過還是有東西，有東西總比徹底的孤獨強。當我說它就說；當我憂傷它也憂傷；它用同情心來安慰我；它說：“不要消沉，可憐的沒有朋友的女孩；把我當成妳的朋友。”它是我唯一的好朋友；它是我的妹妹。
她那第一次離棄了我！啊！我永遠忘不了——永遠永遠忘不了。我的心在我的體內成了一個鉛垂！我說：“她是我的一切，現在她走了！”在絕望中我說：“撕裂我的心吧！我無法再活下去了！”我用雙手掩著臉，得不到一點慰藉。過一會兒，我拿開雙手，她又在那裡了，光鮮亮麗，我跳進了她的懷抱！
那是完美的幸福；我知道什麼是幸福，但不像這一次，這是會使你高興到忘我的境界。以後我再也不會去懷疑她了。有時她不在了——或許一個小時，或許是一整天，但是我會等著，不再懷疑；我說：「她是忙著，或許出遠門去了，但是她會來。」事實是如此，她總是這樣子。
她很膽小，到了夜晚，因為黑暗她就不來了；不過如果有月亮她就會來。我不怕黑暗，可是她比我年幼；她比我晚出生。我找過她很多很多次，當我的生活艱困時——主要是為了這個原因，她是我的安慰和庇護所。
【星期二】
一整個早上我都在整理這個園地；我故意迴避他，盼望他會感到孤單而來找我。但是他沒這樣子做。
中午時，我放下了今天的工作，追逐那些飛來飛去的蜜蜂和蝴蝶為樂，陶醉在花叢裡，那些漂亮的花朵，分享而且保存了神在天空中的微笑！我把它們採集下來，當我在吃中餐時(當然是吃蘋果)，把它們做成花環、花圈，穿戴在身上；然後坐在樹蔭下，在盼望中等待著…但是他沒出現。
怎麼做都沒用；不會有結果的，因為他不關愛花兒，他無法分辨不同種類的花兒，稱呼它們是垃圾，而且因為有這看法而洋洋得意。
他不關心我，他不關心花兒，他不關心黃昏時彩繪的天空——他還會有什麼好關心的？除了蓋棚子，在傾盆大雨時把自個兒關進去；怦拍瓜兒，品嚐葡萄，數點樹上的果實，看看這些產品成熟了沒？
Eve's Diary
by Mark Twain
Translated from the Original
SATURDAY.--I
am almost a whole day old, now. I arrived yesterday. That is as it seems to me.
And it must be so, for if there was a day-before-yesterday I was not there when
it happened, or I should remember it. It could be, of course, that it did
happen, and that I was not noticing. Very well; I will be very watchful now,
and if any day-before-yesterdays happen I will make a note of it. It will be
best to start right and not let the record get confused, for some instinct
tells me that these details are going to be important to the historian some
day. For I feel like an experiment, I feel exactly like an experiment; it would
be impossible for a person to feel more like an experiment than I do, and so I
am coming to feel convinced that that is what I AM--an experiment; just an
experiment, and nothing more.
Then if I
am an experiment, am I the whole of it? No, I think not; I think the rest of it
is part of it. I am the main part of it, but I think the rest of it has its
share in the matter. Is my position assured, or do I have to watch it and take
care of it? The latter, perhaps. Some instinct tells me that eternal vigilance警覺性is the price of supremacy. [That is a good phrase, I think,
for one so young.]
Everything
looks better today than it did yesterday. In the rush of finishing up
yesterday, the mountains were left in a ragged condition, and some of the
plains were so cluttered with rubbish and remnants that the aspects were quite distressing. Noble and
beautiful works of art should not be subjected to haste; and this majestic new
world is indeed a most noble and beautiful work. And certainly marvelously near
to being perfect, notwithstanding the shortness of the time. There are too many
stars in some places and not enough in others, but that can be remedied
presently, no doubt. The moon got loose last night, and slid down and fell out
of the scheme --a very great loss; it breaks my heart to think of it. There
isn't another thing among the ornaments and decorations that is comparable to
it for beauty and finish. It should have been fastened better. If we can only
get it back again-- But of course there is no telling where it went to. And
besides, whoever gets it will hide it; I know it because I would do it myself.
I believe I can be honest in all other matters, but I already begin to realize
that the core and center of my nature is love of the beautiful, a passion for
the beautiful, and that it would not be safe to trust me with a moon that
belonged to another person and that person didn't know I had it. I could give
up a moon that I found in the daytime, because I should be afraid some one was
looking; but if I found it in the dark, I am sure I should find some kind of an
excuse for not saying anything about it. For I do love moons, they are so
pretty and so romantic. I wish we had five or six; I would never go to bed; I
should never get tired lying on the moss-bank and looking up at them.
Stars are
good, too. I wish I could get some to put in my hair. But I suppose I never
can. You would be surprised to find how far off they are, for they do not look
it. When they first showed, last night, I tried to knock some down with a pole,
but it didn't reach, which astonished me; then I tried clouds till I was all
tired out, but I never got one. It was because I am left-handed and cannot
throw good. Even when I aimed at the one I wasn't after I couldn't hit the
other one, though I did make some close shots, for I saw the black blot of the
cloud sail right into the midst of the golden clusters forty or fifty times,
just barely missing them, and if I could have held out a little longer maybe I
could have got one.
So I cried
a little, which was natural, I suppose, for one of my age, and after I was
rested I got a basket and started for a place on the extreme rim of the circle,
where the stars were close to the ground and I could get them with my hands,
which would be better, anyway, because I could gather them tenderly then, and
not break them. But it was farther than I thought, and at last I had go give it
up; I was so tired I couldn't drag my feet another step; and besides, they were
sore and hurt me very much.
I couldn't
get back home; it was too far and turning cold; but I found some tigers and
nestled in among them and was most adorably comfortable, and their breath was
sweet and pleasant, because they live on strawberries. I had never seen a tiger
before, but I knew them in a minute by the stripes. If I could have one of
those skins, it would make a lovely gown.
Today I am
getting better ideas about distances. I was so eager to get hold of every
pretty thing that I giddily grabbed for it, sometimes when it was too far off,
and sometimes when it was but six inches away but seemed a foot--alas, with
thorns between! I learned a lesson; also I made an axiom, all out of my own
head --my very first one; THE SCRATCHED EXPERIMENT SHUNS THE THORN. I think it
is a very good one for one so young.
I followed
the other Experiment around, yesterday afternoon, at a distance, to see what it
might be for, if I could. But I was not able to make out. I think it is a man.
I had never seen a man, but it looked like one, and I feel sure that that is
what it is. I realize that I feel more curiosity about it than about any of the
other reptiles. If it is a reptile, and I suppose it is; for it has frowzy hair
and blue eyes, and looks like a reptile. It has no hips; it tapers like a
carrot; when it stands, it spreads itself apart like a derrick; so I think it
is a reptile, though it may be architecture.
I was
afraid of it at first, and started to run every time it turned around, for I
thought it was going to chase me; but by and by I found it was only trying to get
away, so after that I was not timid any more, but tracked it along, several
hours, about twenty yards behind, which made it nervous and unhappy. At last it
was a good deal worried, and climbed a tree. I waited a good while, then gave
it up and went home.
Today the
same thing over. I've got it up the tree again.
SUNDAY.--It
is up there yet. Resting, apparently. But that is a subterfuge: Sunday isn't
the day of rest; Saturday is appointed for that. It looks to me like a creature
that is more interested in resting than it anything else. It would tire me to
rest so much. It tires me just to sit around and watch the tree. I do wonder
what it is for; I never see it do anything.
They
returned the moon last night, and I was SO happy! I think it is very honest of
them. It slid down and fell off again, but I was not distressed; there is no
need to worry when one has that kind of neighbors; they will fetch it back. I
wish I could do something to show my appreciation. I would like to send them
some stars, for we have more than we can use. I mean I, not we, for I can see
that the reptile cares nothing for such things.
It has low
tastes, and is not kind. When I went there yesterday evening in the gloaming it had crept down and was trying to
catch the little speckled fishes that play in the pool, and I had to clod it to
make it go up the tree again and let them alone. I wonder if THAT is what it is
for? Hasn't it any heart? Hasn't it any compassion for those little creature?
Can it be that it was designed and manufactured for such ungentle work? It has
the look of it. One of the clods took it back of the ear, and it used language.
It gave me a thrill, for it was the first time I had ever heard speech, except
my own. I did not understand the words, but they seemed expressive.
When I
found it could talk I felt a new interest in it, for I love to talk; I talk,
all day, and in my sleep, too, and I am very interesting, but if I had another
to talk to I could be twice as interesting, and would never stop, if desired.
If this
reptile is a man, it isn't an IT, is it? That wouldn't be grammatical, would
it? I think it would be HE. I think so. In that case one would parse it thus:
nominative, HE; dative, HIM; possessive, HIS'N. Well, I will consider it a man
and call it he until it turns out to be something else. This will be handier
than having so many uncertainties.
NEXT WEEK SUNDAY.--All the week I tagged around after him and tried to get
acquainted. I had to do the talking, because he was shy, but I didn't mind it.
He seemed pleased to have me around, and I used the sociable "we" a
good deal, because it seemed to flatter him to be included.
WEDNESDAY.--We
are getting along very well indeed, now, and getting better and better
acquainted. He does not try to avoid me any more, which is a good sign, and
shows that he likes to have me with him. That pleases me, and I study to be
useful to him in every way I can, so as to increase his regard. During the last
day or two I have taken all the work of naming things off his hands, and this
has been a great relief to him, for he has no gift in that line, and is
evidently very grateful. He can't think of a rational name to save him, but I
do not let him see that I am aware of his defect. Whenever a new creature comes
along I name it before he has time to expose himself by an awkward silence. In
this way I have saved him many embarrassments. I have no defect like this. The
minute I set eyes on an animal I know what it is. I don't have to reflect a
moment; the right name comes out instantly, just as if it were an inspiration,
as no doubt it is, for I am sure it wasn't in me half a minute before. I seem
to know just by the shape of the creature and the way it acts what animal it
is.
When the
dodo came along he thought it was a wildcat--I saw it in his eye. But I saved
him. And I was careful not to do it in a way that could hurt his pride. I just
spoke up in a quite natural way of pleasing surprise, and not as if I was
dreaming of conveying information, and said, "Well, I do declare, if there
isn't the dodo!" I explained--without seeming to be explaining --how I
know it for a dodo, and although I thought maybe he was a little piqued that I
knew the creature when he didn't, it was quite evident that he admired me. That
was very agreeable, and I thought of it more than once with gratification
before I slept. How little a thing can make us happy when we feel that we have
earned it!
THURSDAY.--my
first sorrow. Yesterday he avoided me and seemed to wish I would not talk to
him. I could not believe it, and thought there was some mistake, for I loved to
be with him, and loved to hear him talk, and so how could it be that he could
feel unkind toward me when I had not done anything? But at last it seemed true,
so I went away and sat lonely in the place where I first saw him the morning
that we were made and I did not know what he was and was indifferent about him;
but now it was a mournful place, and every little thing spoke of him, and my
heart was very sore. I did not know why very clearly, for it was a new feeling;
I had not experienced it before, and it was all a mystery, and I could not make
it out.
But when
night came I could not bear the lonesomeness, and went to the new shelter which
he has built, to ask him what I had done that was wrong and how I could mend it
and get back his kindness again; but he put me out in the rain, and it was my
first sorrow.
SUNDAY.--It
is pleasant again, now, and I am happy; but those were heavy days; I do not
think of them when I can help it.
I tried to
get him some of those apples, but I cannot learn to throw straight. I failed,
but I think the good intention pleased him. They are forbidden, and he says I
shall come to harm; but so I come to harm through pleasing him, why shall I
care for that harm?
MONDAY.--This
morning I told him my name, hoping it would interest him. But he did not care
for it. It is strange. If he should tell me his name, I would care. I think it
would be pleasanter in my ears than any other sound.
He talks
very little. Perhaps it is because he is not bright, and is sensitive about it
and wishes to conceal it. It is such a pity that he should feel so, for
brightness is nothing; it is in the heart that the values lie. I wish I could
make him understand that a loving good heart is riches, and riches enough, and
that without it intellect is poverty.
Although he
talks so little, he has quite a considerable vocabulary. This morning he used a
surprisingly good word. He evidently recognized, himself, that it was a good
one, for he worked in it twice afterward, casually. It was good casual art,
still it showed that he possesses a certain quality of perception. Without a
doubt that seed can be made to grow, if cultivated.
Where did
he get that word? I do not think I have ever used it.
No, he took
no interest in my name. I tried to hide my disappointment, but I suppose I did
not succeed. I went away and sat on the moss-bank with my feet in the water. It
is where I go when I hunger for companionship, some one to look at, some one to
talk to. It is not enough--that lovely white body painted there in the pool
--but it is something, and something is better than utter loneliness. It talks
when I talk; it is sad when I am sad; it comforts me with its sympathy; it
says, "Do not be downhearted, you poor friendless girl; I will be your
friend." It IS a good friend to me, and my only one; it is my sister.
That first
time that she forsook me! Ah, I shall never forget that --never, never. My heart was
lead in my body! I said, "She was all I had, and now she is gone!" In
my despair I said, "Break, my heart; I cannot bear my life any more!"
and hid my face in my hands, and there was no solace for me. And when I took them away,
after a little, there she was again, white and shining and beautiful, and I
sprang into her arms!
That was
perfect happiness; I had known happiness before, but it was not like this,
which was ecstasy. I never doubted her afterward. Sometimes she stayed
away--maybe an hour, maybe almost the whole day, but I waited and did not
doubt; I said, "She is busy, or she is gone on a journey, but she will
come." And it was so: she always did. At night she would not come if it
was dark, for she was a timid little thing; but if there was a moon she would
come. I am not afraid of the dark, but she is younger than I am; she was born
after I was. Many and many are the visits I have paid her; she is my comfort
and my refuge when my life is hard--and it is mainly that.
TUESDAY.--All
the morning I was at work improving the estate; and I purposely kept away from
him in the hope that he would get lonely and come. But he did not.
At noon I stopped for the day and took my
recreation by flitting all about with the bees and the butterflies and reveling
in the flowers, those beautiful creatures that catch the smile of God out of
the sky and preserve it! I gathered them, and made them into wreaths and
garlands and clothed myself in them while I ate my luncheon --apples, of
course; then I sat in the shade and wished and waited. But he did not come.
But no
matter. Nothing would have come of it, for he does not care for flowers. He
called them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and thinks it is
superior to feel like that. He does not care for me, he does not care for
flowers, he does not care for the painted sky at eventide--is there anything he
does care for, except building shacks to coop himself up in from the good clean
rain, and thumping the melons, and sampling the grapes, and fingering the fruit
on the trees, to see how those properties are coming along?
I laid a
dry stick on the ground and tried to bore a hole in it with another one, in
order to carry out a scheme that I had, and soon I got an awful fright. A thin,
transparent bluish film rose out of the hole, and I dropped everything and ran!
I thought it was a spirit, and I WAS so frightened! But I looked back, and it
was not coming; so I leaned against a rock and rested and panted, and let my
limps go on trembling until they got steady again; then I crept warily back,
alert, watching, and ready to fly if there was occasion; and when I was come
near, I parted the branches of a rose-bush and peeped through--wishing the man
was about, I was looking so cunning and pretty--but the sprite was gone. I went
there, and there was a pinch of delicate pink dust in the hole. I put my finger
in, to feel it, and said OUCH! and took it out again. It was a cruel pain. I
put my finger in my mouth; and by standing first on one foot and then the
other, and grunting, I presently eased my misery; then I was full of interest,
and began to examine.
I was
curious to know what the pink dust was. Suddenly the name of it occurred to me,
though I had never heard of it before. It was FIRE! I was as certain of it as a person
could be of anything in the world. So without hesitation I named it that--fire.
I had
created something that didn't exist before; I had added a new thing to the
world's uncountable properties; I realized this, and was proud of my
achievement, and was going to run and find him and tell him about it, thinking
to raise myself in his esteem --but I reflected, and did not do it. No--he
would not care for it. He would ask what it was good for, and what could I
answer? for if it was not GOOD for something, but only beautiful, merely
beautiful-- So I sighed, and did not go. For it wasn't good for anything; it
could not build a shack, it could not improve melons, it could not hurry a
fruit crop; it was useless, it was a foolishness and a vanity; he would despise
it and say cutting words. But to me it was not despicable; I said, "Oh,
you fire, I love you, you dainty pink creature, for you are BEAUTIFUL--and that
is enough!" and was going to gather it to my breast. But refrained. Then I
made another maxim out of my head, though it was so nearly like the first one
that I was afraid it was only a plagiarism: "THE BURNT EXPERIMENT SHUNS
THE FIRE."
I wrought
again; and when I had made a good deal of fire-dust I emptied it into a handful
of dry brown grass, intending to carry it home and keep it always and play with
it; but the wind struck it and it sprayed up and spat out at me fiercely, and I
dropped it and ran. When I looked back the blue spirit was towering up and
stretching and rolling away like a cloud, and instantly I thought of the name
of it--SMOKE!--though, upon my word, I had never heard of smoke before.
Soon
brilliant yellow and red flares shot up through the smoke, and I named them in
an instant--FLAMES--and I was right, too, though these were the very first
flames that had ever been in the world. They climbed the trees, then flashed splendidly
in and out of the vast and increasing volume of tumbling smoke, and I had to
clap my hands and laugh and dance in my rapture, it was so new and strange and
so wonderful and so beautiful!
He came
running, and stopped and gazed, and said not a word for many minutes. Then he
asked what it was. Ah, it was too bad that he should ask such a direct
question. I had to answer it, of course, and I did. I said it was fire. If it
annoyed him that I should know and he must ask; that was not my fault; I had no
desire to annoy him. After a pause he asked:
"How
did it come?"
Another
direct question, and it also had to have a direct answer.
"I
made it."
The fire
was traveling farther and farther off. He went to the edge of the burned place
and stood looking down, and said:
"What
are these?"
"Fire-coals."
He picked
up one to examine it, but changed his mind and put it down again. Then he went
away. NOTHING interests him.
But I was
interested. There were ashes, gray and soft and delicate and pretty--I knew what
they were at once. And the embers; I knew the embers, too. I found my apples,
and raked them out, and was glad; for I am very young and my appetite is
active. But I was disappointed; they were all burst open and spoiled. Spoiled
apparently; but it was not so; they were better than raw ones. Fire is
beautiful; some day it will be useful, I think.
FRIDAY.--I
saw him again, for a moment, last Monday at nightfall, but only for a moment. I
was hoping he would praise me for trying to improve the estate, for I had meant
well and had worked hard. But he was not pleased, and turned away and left me.
He was also displeased on another account: I tried once more to persuade him to
stop going over the Falls. That was because the fire had revealed to me a new
passion--quite new, and distinctly different from love, grief, and those others
which I had already discovered--FEAR. And it is horrible!--I wish I had never
discovered it; it gives me dark moments, it spoils my happiness, it makes me
shiver and tremble and shudder. But I could not persuade him, for he has not
discovered fear yet, and so he could not understand me.
Extract
from Adam's Diary
Perhaps I
ought to remember that she is very young, a mere girl and make allowances. She
is all interest, eagerness, vivacity, the world is to her a charm, a wonder, a
mystery, a joy; she can't speak for delight when she finds a new flower, she
must pet it and caress it and smell it and talk to it, and pour out endearing
names upon it. And she is color-mad: brown rocks, yellow sand, gray moss, green
foliage, blue sky; the pearl of the dawn, the purple shadows on the mountains,
the golden islands floating in crimson seas at sunset, the pallid moon sailing
through the shredded cloud-rack, the star-jewels glittering in the wastes of
space--none of them is of any practical value, so far as I can see, but because
they have color and majesty, that is enough for her, and she loses her mind
over them. If she could quiet down and keep still a couple minutes at a time,
it would be a reposeful spectacle. In that case I think I could enjoy looking
at her; indeed I am sure I could, for I am coming to realize that she is a
quite remarkably comely creature --lithe, slender, trim, rounded, shapely,
nimble, graceful; and once when she was standing marble-white and sun-drenched
on a boulder, with her young head tilted back and her hand shading her eyes,
watching the flight of a bird in the sky, I recognized that she was beautiful.
MONDAY
NOON.--If there is anything on the planet that she is not interested in it is
not in my list. There are animals that I am indifferent to, but it is not so
with her. She has no discrimination, she takes to all of them, she thinks they
are all treasures, every new one is welcome.
When the
mighty brontosaurus came striding into camp, she regarded it as an acquisition,
I considered it a calamity; that is a good sample of the lack of harmony that
prevails in our views of things. She wanted to domesticate it, I wanted to make
it a present of the homestead and move out. She believed it could be tamed by
kind treatment and would be a good pet; I said a pet twenty-one feet high and
eighty-four feet long would be no proper thing to have about the place,
because, even with the best intentions and without meaning any harm, it could
sit down on the house and mash it, for any one could see by the look of its eye
that it was absent-minded.
Still, her
heart was set upon having that monster, and she couldn't give it up. She
thought we could start a dairy with it, and wanted me to help milk it; but I
wouldn't; it was too risky. The sex wasn't right, and we hadn't any ladder
anyway. Then she wanted to ride it, and look at the scenery. Thirty or forty
feet of its tail was lying on the ground, like a fallen tree, and she thought
she could climb it, but she was mistaken; when she got to the steep place it
was too slick and down she came, and would have hurt herself but for me.
Was she
satisfied now? No. Nothing ever satisfies her but demonstration; untested
theories are not in her line, and she won't have them. It is the right spirit,
I concede it; it attracts me; I feel the influence of it; if I were with her
more I think I should take it up myself. Well, she had one theory remaining
about this colossus: she thought that if we could tame it and make him friendly
we could stand in the river and use him for a bridge. It turned out that he was
already plenty tame enough--at least as far as she was concerned --so she tried
her theory, but it failed: every time she got him properly placed in the river
and went ashore to cross over him, he came out and followed her around like a
pet mountain. Like the other animals. They all do that.
FRIDAY.--Tuesday--Wednesday--Thursday--and
today: all without seeing him. It is a long time to be alone; still, it is
better to be alone than unwelcome.
I HAD to
have company--I was made for it, I think--so I made friends with the animals.
They are just charming, and they have the kindest disposition and the politest
ways; they never look sour, they never let you feel that you are intruding,
they smile at you and wag their tail, if they've got one, and they are always
ready for a romp or an excursion or anything you want to propose. I think they
are perfect gentlemen. All these days we have had such good times, and it
hasn't been lonesome for me, ever. Lonesome! No, I should say not. Why, there's
always a swarm of them around --sometimes as much as four or five acres--you
can't count them; and when you stand on a rock in the midst and look out over
the furry expanse it is so mottled and splashed and gay with color and frisking
sheen and sun-flash, and so rippled with stripes, that you might think it was a
lake, only you know it isn't; and there's storms of sociable birds, and
hurricanes of whirring wings; and when the sun strikes all that feathery
commotion, you have a blazing up of all the colors you can think of, enough to
put your eyes out.
We have
made long excursions, and I have seen a great deal of the world; almost all of
it, I think; and so I am the first traveler, and the only one. When we are on
the march, it is an imposing sight --there's nothing like it anywhere. For
comfort I ride a tiger or a leopard, because it is soft and has a round back
that fits me, and because they are such pretty animals; but for long distance
or for scenery I ride the elephant. He hoists me up with his trunk, but I can
get off myself; when we are ready to camp, he sits and I slide down the back
way.
The birds
and animals are all friendly to each other, and there are no disputes about
anything. They all talk, and they all talk to me, but it must be a foreign
language, for I cannot make out a word they say; yet they often understand me
when I talk back, particularly the dog and the elephant. It makes me ashamed.
It shows that they are brighter than I am, for I want to be the principal
Experiment myself--and I intend to be, too.
I have
learned a number of things, and am educated, now, but I wasn't at first. I was
ignorant at first. At first it used to vex me because, with all my watching, I
was never smart enough to be around when the water was running uphill; but now
I do not mind it. I have experimented and experimented until now I know it
never does run uphill, except in the dark. I know it does in the dark, because
the pool never goes dry, which it would, of course, if the water didn't come
back in the night. It is best to prove things by actual experiment; then you
KNOW; whereas if you depend on guessing and supposing and conjecturing, you
never get educated.
Some things
you CAN'T find out; but you will never know you can't by guessing and
supposing: no, you have to be patient and go on experimenting until you find
out that you can't find out. And it is delightful to have it that way, it makes
the world so interesting. If there wasn't anything to find out, it would be
dull. Even trying to find out and not finding out is just as interesting as
trying to find out and finding out, and I don't know but more so. The secret of
the water was a treasure until I GOT it; then the excitement all went
away, and I recognized a sense of loss.
By
experiment I know that wood swims, and dry leaves, and feathers, and plenty of
other things; therefore by all that cumulative evidence you know that a rock
will swim; but you have to put up with simply knowing it, for there isn't any
way to prove it--up to now. But I shall find a way--then THAT excitement will
go. Such things make me sad; because by and by when I have found out everything
there won't be any more excitements, and I do love excitements so! The other
night I couldn't sleep for thinking about it.
At first I
couldn't make out what I was made for, but now I think it was to search out the
secrets of this wonderful world and be happy and thank the Giver of it all for
devising it. I think there are many things to learn yet--I hope so; and by
economizing and not hurrying too fast I think they will last weeks and weeks. I
hope so. When you cast up a feather it sails away on the air and goes out of
sight; then you throw up a clod and it doesn't. It comes down, every time. I
have tried it and tried it, and it is always so. I wonder why it is? Of course
it DOESN'T come down, but why should it SEEM to? I suppose it is an optical
illusion. I mean, one of them is. I don't know which one. It may be the
feather, it may be the clod; I can't prove which it is, I can only demonstrate
that one or the other is a fake, and let a person take his choice.
By watching,
I know that the stars are not going to last. I have seen some of the best ones
melt and run down the sky. Since one can melt, they can all melt; since they
can all melt, they can all melt the same night. That sorrow will come--I know
it. I mean to sit up every night and look at them as long as I can keep awake;
and I will impress those sparkling fields on my memory, so that by and by when
they are taken away I can by my fancy restore those lovely myriads to the black
sky and make them sparkle again, and double them by the blur of my tears.
After the
Fall
When I look
back, the Garden is a dream to me. It was beautiful, surpassingly beautiful,
enchantingly十分迷人beautiful; and now it is lost, and I
shall not see it any more.
The Garden
is lost, but I have found HIM, and am content. He loves me as well as he can; I
love him with all the strength of my passionate nature, and this, I think, is
proper to my youth and sex. If I ask myself why I love him, I find I do not
know, and do not really much care to know; so I suppose that this kind of love
is not a product of reasoning and statistics, like one's love for other
reptiles and animals. I think that this must be so. I love certain birds
because of their song; but I do not love Adam on account of his singing--no, it
is not that; the more he sings the more I do not get reconciled to it. Yet I
ask him to sing, because I wish to learn to like everything he is interested
in. I am sure I can learn, because at first I could not stand it, but now I
can. It sours the milk, but it doesn't matter; I can get used to that kind of
milk.
It is not
on account of his brightness that I love him--no, it is not that. He is not to
blame for his brightness, such as it is, for he did not make it himself; he is
as God make him, and that is sufficient. There was a wise purpose in it, THAT I
know. In time it will develop, though I think it will not be sudden; and
besides, there is no hurry; he is well enough just as he is.
It is not
on account of his gracious and considerate ways and his delicacy靈巧that I love him. No, he has lacks in this regard, but he is
well enough just so, and is improving.
It is not
on account of his industry行業that I love
him--no, it is not that. I think he has it in him, and I do not know why he
conceals it from me. It is my only pain. Otherwise he is frank and open with
me, now. I am sure he keeps nothing from me but this. It grieves me that he
should have a secret from me, and sometimes it spoils my sleep, thinking of it,
but I will put it out of my mind; it shall not trouble my happiness, which is
otherwise full to overflowing.
It is not
on account of his education that I love him--no, it is not that. He is self-educated,
and does really know a multitude of things, but they are not so.
It is not
on account of his chivalry俠義that I love
him--no, it is not that. He told on me, but I do not blame him; it is a
peculiarity of sex, I think, and he did not make his sex. Of course I would not
have told on him, I would have perished first; but that is a peculiarity of
sex, too, and I do not take credit for it, for I did not make my sex.
Then why is
it that I love him? MERELY BECAUSE HE IS MASCULINE, I think.
At bottom
he is good, and I love him for that, but I could love him without it. If he
should beat me and abuse me, I should go on loving him. I know it. It is a
matter of sex, I think.
He is
strong and handsome, and I love him for that, and I admire him and am proud of
him, but I could love him without those qualities. If he were plain, I should
love him; if he were a wreck, I should love him; and I would work for him, and
slave over him, and pray for him, and watch by his bedside until I died.
Yes, I
think I love him merely because he is MINE and is MASCULINE. There is no other
reason, I suppose. And so I think it is as I first said: that this kind of love
is not a product of reasonings and statistics. It just COMES--none knows
whence--and cannot explain itself. And doesn't need to.
It is what
I think. But I am only a girl, the first that has examined this matter, and it
may turn out that in my ignorance and inexperience I have not got it right.
