Transcript

Eve's Diary · Eve's Diary

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Eve's Diary by Mark Twain, translated from the original part one Saturday, I
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am almost a whole day old now. I arrived yesterday. That is as
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it seems to me, and it must be so, for if there was
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a day before yesterday, I was not there when it happened, or I
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should remember it. It could be, of course, that it did happen
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and that I was not noticing very well. I will be very watchful now,
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and if any day before yesterday's happen, I will make a note of
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it. It will be best to start right and not let the record get
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confused. For some instinct tells me that these details are going to be important
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to the historian some day. For I feel like an experiment. I feel
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exactly like an experiment. It would be impossible for a person to feel more
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like an experiment than I do, And so I am coming to feel convinced
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that that is what I am. An experiment, just an experiment, and
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nothing more than if I am an experiment. Am I the whole of it?
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No? I think not. I think the rest of it is part
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of it. I am the main part of it, but I think the
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rest of it has its share in the matter. Is my position assured,
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or do I have to watch it and take care of it the latter.
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Perhaps some instinct tells me that the eternal vigilance is the price of supremacy.
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That is a good phrase, I think, for one so young. Everything
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looks better to day than it did yesterday. In the rush of finishing up
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yesterday, the mountains were left in a ragged condition, and some of the
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plains were so cluttered with rubbish and remnants that the aspects were quite distressing.
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Noble and beautiful works of art should not be subjected to haste, and this
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majestic new World is indeed a most noble and beautiful work, and certainly marvelously
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near to being perfect, notwithstanding the shortness of the time. There are too
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many stars in some places and not enough in others, but that can be
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remedied presently, no doubt, the moon got loose last night and slid down
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and fell out of the scheme, a very great loss. It breaks my
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heart to think of it. There isn't another thing among the ornaments and decoration
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that is comparable to it. For beauty and finish. It should have been
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fastened better. If we can only get it back again, but of course
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there is no telling where it went to. And besides, whoever gets it
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will hide it. I know it because I would do it myself. I
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believe I can be honest in all other matters. But I already begin to
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realize that the core and center of my nature is love of the beautiful,
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a passion for the beautiful, and that it would not be safe to trust
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me with a moon that belonged to another person and that person didn't know I
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had it. I could give up a moon that I found in the daytime
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because I should be afraid some one was looking. But if I found it
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in the dark, I am sure I should find some kind of an excuse
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for not saying anything about it. For I do love moons. They are
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so pretty and so romantic. I wish I had five or six. I
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would never go to bed. I should never get tired of lying on the
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moss bank and looking up at them. Stars are good too. I wish
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I could get some to put in my hair, but I suppose I never
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can. You'd be surprised to find out how far off they are, for
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they do not look it. When they first showed last night, I tried
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to knock them down with a pole, but it didn't reach, which astonished
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me. Then I tried clods till I was all tired out, but I
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never got one. It was because I am left handed and cannot throw good.
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Even when I aimed at the one, I wasn't after I couldn't hit
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the other one, though I did make some close shots, for I saw
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the black dot of the clod sail right into the midst of the golden clusters
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forty or fifty times, just barely missing them. And if I could have
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held out a little longer, maybe I could have got one. So I
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cried a little, which was natural, I suppose, for one of my
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age. And after I was rested, I got a basket and started for
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a place on the extreme rim of the circle where the stars were close to
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the ground and I could get them with my hands, which would be better
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anyway, because I could gather them tenderly then and not break them. But
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it was further than I thought, and at last I had to give it
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up. I was so tired I couldn't drag my feet another step, and
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besides they were so sore and hurt me very much. I couldn't get back
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home. It was too far and turning cold. But I found some tigers
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and nestled in among them, and was most adorably comfortable. And their breath
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was sweet and pleasant because they lived on strawberries. I had never seen a
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tiger before, but I knew them in a minute by the stripes. If
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I could have one of those skins, it would make a lovely gown.
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To day, I'm getting better ideas about distances. I was so eager to
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get hold of every pretty thing that I giddily grabbed for it, sometimes when
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it was too far off, and sometimes when it was but six inches away
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but seemed a foot alas with thorns in between. I learned a lesson.
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Also, I made an axiom all out of my own head, my very
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first one, the scratched experiment shuns the thorn. I think it's a very
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good one for one so young. I followed the other experiment around yesterday afternoon
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at a distance to see what it might be for if I could, but
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I was not able to make out. I think it is a man.
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I had never seen a man, but it looked like one, and I
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feel sure that that is what it is. I realize that I feel more
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curiosity about it than about any of the other reptiles. If it is a
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reptile, and I suppose it is, for it has frowsy hair and blue
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eyes and looks like a reptile. It is no hips. It tapers like
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a carrot. When it stands, it spreads itself apart like a derrick.
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So I think it is a reptile, though it may be architecture. I
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was afraid of it at first, and started to run every time it turned
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round, for I thought it was going to chase me. But by and
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by I found it was only trying to get away. So after that I
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was not timid any more, but tracked it along several hours, about twenty
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yards behind, which made it very nervous and unhappy. At last, it
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was a good deal. Worried and climbed a tree. I waited a good
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while, then gave it up and went home to day. The same thing
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over. I've got it up the tree again. Sunday it is up there
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yet, resting apparently, But that is a subterfuge. Sunday isn't the day
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of rest. Saturday is appointed for that. It looks to me like a
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creature that is more interested in resting than in anything else. It would tire
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me to rest so much. It tires me just to sit around and watch
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the tree. I do wonder what it is for. I never see it
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do anything. They returned the moon last night, and I was so happy.
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I think it was very honest of them. It slid down and fell
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off again, but I was not distressed. There is no need to worry
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when one has that kind of neighbor's They will fetch it back. I wish
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I could do something to show my appreciation. I would like to send them
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some stars, for we have more than we can use. I mean I
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not we, for I can see that the reptile cares nothing for such things.
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It has low tastes and is not kind. When I went there yesterday
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evening in the gloaming, it had crept down and was trying to catch the
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little speckled fishes that play in the pool, and I had to clawed it
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to make it go up the tree again and let them alone. I wonder
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if that is what it is for. Hasn't it any heart? Hasn't it
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any compassion for those little creatures? Can it be that it was designed and
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manufactured for such ungentle work. It has the look of it. One of
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the clods took it back of the ear and it used language. It gave
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me a thrill, for it was the first time I had ever heard speech
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except my own. I did not understand the words, but they seemed expressive.
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When I found that it could talk, I felt a new interest in
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it, for I love to talk. I talk all day and in my
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sleep too, and I am very interesting. But if I had another to
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talk to, I could be twice as interesting and would never stop if desired.
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If this reptile is a man, it isn't an it is it?
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That wouldn't be grammatical, would it? I think it would be he?
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I think so. In that case, one would parse it thus nominative he,
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dative him, possessive his'n Well, I will consider it a man and
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call it he until it turns out to be something else. This will be
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handier than having so many uncertainties. Next week Sunday. All the week I
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tagged around after him and tried to get acquainted. I had to do the
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talking because he was shy, but I didn't mind it. He seemed pleased
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to have me around, and I use a sociable we a good deal because
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it seemed to flatter him to be included. Wednesday, we are getting along
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very well indeed now and getting better and better acquainted. He does not try
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to avoid me any more, which is a good sign and shows that he
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likes to have me with him. That pleases me, and I study to
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be useful to him in every way I can so as to increase his regard.
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During the last day or two, I have taken all the work of
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naming things off his hands, and this has been a great relief to him,
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for he has no gift in that line, and is evidently very grateful.
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He can't think of a rational name to save him. But I do
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not let him see that I am aware of his defect. Whenever a new
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creature comes along, I name it before he has time to expose himself by
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an awkward silence. In this way I have saved him many embarrassments. I
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have no defect like this. The minute I set eyes on an animal,
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I know what it is. I don't have to reflect a moment. The
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right name comes out instantly, just as if it were an inspira, as
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no doubt it is, for I am sure it wasn't in me half a
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minute before. I seem to know, just by the shape of the creature
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and the way it acts, what animal it is. When the dodo came
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along, he thought it was a wild cat. I saw it in his
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eye, but I saved him, and I was careful not to do it
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in a way that could hurt his pride. I just spoke up in a
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quiet, natural way of pleasing surprise and not as if I was dreaming of
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conveying information, and said, well, if I do, declare if there
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isn't the dodo, I explained, without seeming to be explaining, how I
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knew it for a dodo. And although I thought maybe he was a little
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piqued that I knew the creature when he didn't, it was quite evident that
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he admired me. That was very agreeable, and I thought of it more
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than once with gratification before I slept. How little a thing can make us
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happy when we feel that we have earned it. Thursday my first sorrow.
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Yesterday he avoided me and seemed to wish I would not talk to him.
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I could not believe it, and thought there was some mistake, for I
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loved to be with him and love to him talk. So how could it
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be that he could feel unkind toward me when I had not done anything?
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But at last it seemed true. So I went away and sat lonely in
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the place where I first saw him the morning that we were made. And
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I did not know what he was and was indifferent about him. But now
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it was a mournful place, and every little thing spoke of him, and
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my heart was very sore. I did not know why, very clearly,
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for it was a new feeling. I had not experienced it before, and
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it was all a mystery, and I could not make it out. But
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when night came, I could not bear the lonesomeness and went to the new
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shelter which he has built, to ask him what I had done that was
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wrong, and how could I mend it and get back his kindness again?
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But he put me out in the rain, and it was my first sorrow.
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End of part one, Part two. It is pleasant again now and
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I am happy. But those were heavy days. I do not think of
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them when I can help it. I tried to get him some of those
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apples, but I cannot learn to throw straight. I failed, but I
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think the good intention pleased him. They are forbidden, and he says,
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I shall come to harm. But so I come to harm through pleasing him.
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Why shall I care for that harm? Monday? This morning I told
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him my name, hoping it would interest him, But he did not care
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for it. It is strange. If he should tell me his name,
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I would care. I think it would be pleasanter in my ears than any
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other sound. He talks very little. Perhaps it is because he is not
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bright and is very sensitive about it and wishes to conceal it. It is
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such a pity that he should feel so, for brightness is nothing. It
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is in the heart that the value lies. I wish I could make him
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understand that a loving, good heart is riches and riches, and that without
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it, intellect is poverty. Although he talks a little, he has quite
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a considerable vocabulary. This morning he used a surprisingly good word. He evidently
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recognized himself that it was a good one, for he worked it in twice
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afterward, casually. It was good, casual art. Still, it showed
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that he possesses a certain quality of perception, without a doubt, that seed
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can be made to grow if cultivated. Where did he get that word?
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I do not think I have ever used it. No, he took no
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interest in my name. I tried to hide my disappointment, but I suppose
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I did not succeed. I went away and sat on the moss bank with
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my feet in the water. It is where I go when I hunger for
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companionship, someone to look at, someone to talk to. It is not
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enough that lovely white body painted there in the pool. But it is something,
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and something is better than utter loneliness. It talks when I talk.
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It is sad. When I am sad. It comforts me with its sympathy.
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It says, do not be downhearted, you poor friendless girl. I
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will be your friend. It is a good friend to me, and my
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only one. It is my sister. That first time that she forsook me.
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Ah, I shall never forget that, never never. My heart was
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lead in my body. I said she was all I had, and now
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she is gone. In my despair, I said, break my heart.
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I cannot bear my life any more, and hid my face in my hands,
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and there was no solace for me. And when I took them away
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after a little while, there she was again white and shining and beautiful,
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and I sprang into her arms. That was perfect happiness. I had known
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happiness before, but it was not like this, which was ecstasy. I
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never doubted her afterward. Sometimes she stayed away, maybe an hour, maybe
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almost the whole day. But I waited and did not doubt. I said,
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she is busy, or she has gone on a journey. But she
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will come. And it was so she always did. At night. She
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would not come if it were dark, for she was a timid little thing.
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But if there was a moon, she would come. I am not
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afraid of the dark. But she is younger than I am. She was
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born after I was many, and many are the visits I have paid her.
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She is my comfort and my refuge when my life is hard, and
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it is mainly that Tuesday. All the morning I was at work in proving
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the estate, and I purposely kept away from him, in the hope that
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he would get lonely and come. But he did not. At noon,
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I stopped for the day and took my recreation by flitting all about with the
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bees and the butterflies, and reveling in the flowers, those beautiful creatures that
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catch the smile of God out of the sky and preserve it. I gathered
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them and made them into wreaths and garland, and closed myself in them while
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I ate my luncheon auples. Of course, then I sat in the shade
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and wished and waited, but he did not come. But no matter,
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nothing would have come of it, for he does not care for flowers.
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He called them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and thinks it's
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superior to feel like that. He does not care for me. He does
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not care for flowers. He does not care for the painted sky at eventide.
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Is there anything he does care for except building shacks to coop himself up
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in from the good, clean rain, and thumping the melons and sampling the
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grapes and fingering the fruit on the trees to see how those properties are coming
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along. I laid a dry stick on the ground and tried to bore a
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hole in it with another one in order to carry out a scheme that I
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had, And soon I got an awful fright. A thin, transparent,
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bluish film rose out of the hole, and I dropped everything and ran.
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I thought it was a spirit, and I was so frightened. But I
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looked back and it was not coming. So I leaned against a rock and
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rested and panted and let my limbs go on trembling until they got steady again.
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Then I crept warily back, alert, watching and ready to fly if
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there was occasion. And when I was come near, I parted the branches
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of a rose bush and peeped through, wishing the man was about. I
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was looking so cunning and pretty, but the spirit was gone. I went
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there and there was a pinch of delicate pink dust in the hole. I
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put my finger in it to feel it, and said ouch, and took
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it out again. It was a cruel pain. I put my finger in
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my mouth, and by standing first on one foot and then on the other,
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and grunting, I presently eased my misery. Then I was full of
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interest and began to examine. I was curious to know what the pink dust
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was. Suddenly the name of it occurred to me, though I had never
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heard of it before. It was fire. I was certain of it as
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a person could be of anything in the world. So without hesitation, I
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named it that fire. I had created something that didn't exist before. I
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had added a new thing to the world's uncountable properties. I realized this and
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was proud of my achievement. I was going to run and find him and
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tell him about it, thinking to raise myself in his esteem. But I
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reflected and did not do it. No, he would not care for it.
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He would ask what it was good for, and what could I answer
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for? It was not good for something, but only beautiful, merely beautiful.
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So I sighed and did not go for it wasn't good for anything.
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It could not build a shack, It could not improve melons, It could
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not hurry a fruit crop. It was useless. It was a foolishness and
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a vanity. He would despise it and say cutting words, but to me
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it was not despicable. I said, oh, you fire, I love
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you, you dainty pink creature, for you are beautiful and that is enough,
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and was going to gather it to my breast, but refrained. Then
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I made another maxim out of my head, though it was so nearly like
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the first one that I was afraid it was only a plagiarism. The burnt
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experiment shunned the fire I wrought again, and when I had made a good
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deal of fire dust, I emptied it into a handful of dry brown grass,
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intending to carry it home and keep it always in play with it,
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but the wind struck it, and it sprayed up and spat out at me
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fiercely, and I dropped it and ran. When I looked back, the
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blue spirit was towering up and stretching and rolling away like a cloud. And
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instantly I thought of the name of it, smoke, though upon my word,
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I had never heard of smoke before. Soon brilliant yellow and red flare
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shot up through the smoke, and I named them in an instant flames.
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And I was right too, though these were the very first flames that had
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ever been in the world. They climbed the trees, then flashed blendidly in
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and out of the fast and increasing volume of tumbling smoke, and I had
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to clap my hands and laugh and dance in my rapture. It was so
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new and strange and so wonderful and so beautiful. He came running and stopped
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and gazed and said not a word for many minutes. Then he asked what
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it was. Ah, it was too bad that he should ask such a
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direct question. I had to answer it, of course, and I did.
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I said it was fire. If it annoyed him that I should know,
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and he must ask that was not my fault. I had no desire
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to annoy him. After a long pause, he asked, how did it
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come? Another direct question, and it also had to have a direct answer.
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I made it. The fire was traveling further and further off. He
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went to the edge of the burned place and stood looking down and said,
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what are these fire coals? He picked up one to examine it, but
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changed his mind and put it down again. Then he went away. Nothing
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interests him, but I was interested. They were ashes, gray and soft
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and delicate and pretty. I knew what they were at once, and the
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embers. I knew the embers too. I found my apples and rake them
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out and was glad, for I am very young and my appetite is active.
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But I was disappointed. They were all burst open and spoiled. Spoiled
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apparently, but it was not so. They were better than wraw ones.
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Fire is beautiful. Some day it will be useful, I think Friday.
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I saw him again for a moment last Monday, at nightfall, but only
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a moment. I was hoping he would praise me for trying to improve the
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estate, for I had meant well and had worked hard. But he was
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not pleased, and turned away and left me. He was also displeased.
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On another account. I tried once more to persuade him to stop going over
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the falls. That was because the fire had revealed to me a new passion,
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quite new and distinctly different from love, grief, and those others which
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I had already discovered. Fear. And it is horrible. I wish I
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had never discovered it. It gave me dark moments, It spoils my happiness.
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It makes me shiver and tremble and shudder. But I could not persuade
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him, for he has not discovered fear yet, and so he could not
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understand me. And of Part two, Part three extract from Adam's diary.
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Perhaps I ought to remember that she was very young. A mere girl will
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make allowances. She is all interest, eagerness, vivacity, the will to
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her, a charm, a wonder, a mystery, a joy. She
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can't speak for delight. When she finds a new flower, she must pet
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it and caress it, and smell it, and talk to it, and
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pour out endearing names upon it. And she is color mad brown rocks,
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yellow sand, gray, moss, green foliage, blue sky, the pearl
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of the dawn, the purple shad on the mountains, the Golden islands floating
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in crimson seas at sunset, the pallid moons sailing through the shredded cloud wreck,
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the star jewels glittering in the wastes of space. None of them is
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if any practical value so far as I can see. But because they have
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color and majesty, that is enough for her, and she loses her mind
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over them. If she could quiet down and keep still a couple of minutes
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at a time, it will be a reposeful spectacle. In that case,
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I think I could enjoy looking at her. Indeed, I am sure I
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could, for I am coming to realize that she is quite a remarkably comely
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creature. Lithe, slender, trim, rounded, shapely, nimble, graceful.
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And once, when she was standing marble white and sun drenched on a
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boulder, with her young head tilted back and her hands shading her eyes,
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watching the flight of a bird in the sky, I recognized that she was
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beautiful Monday noon. If there is anything on the planet that she is not
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interested in, it is not in my list. There are animals that I
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am indifferent to, but it is not so with her. She has no
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discrimination. She takes to all of them. She thinks they are all treasures.
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Every new one is welcome. When the mighty Brontosaurus came striding into camp,
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she regarded it as an acquisition. I considered it a calamity. That
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is a good sample of the lack of harmony that provows in our views of
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things. She wanted to domesticate it. I wanted to make it a present
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of the homestead and move out. She believed it could be tamed by kind
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treatment and would be a good pet. I said, a pet twenty one
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feet high and eighty four feet long would be no proper thing to have about
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the place, because even with the best intentions and without meaning any harm,
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it could sit down on the house and mash it. For any one could
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see by the look of its eire that it was absent minded. Still,
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her heart was set upon having that monster, and she couldn't give it up.
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She thought we could start a dairy with it, and wanted me to
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help milk it, but I wouldn't. It was too risky, the sex
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wasn't right. We hadn't any ladder anyway. Then she wanted to ride it
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and look at the scenery. Thirty or forty feet of its towel was lying
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on the ground like a fallen tree, and she thought she could climb it.
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But she was mistaken. When she got to the steep place, it
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was too slick, and down she came and would have hurt herself. But
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for me, was she satisfied now? No, nothing ever satisfies her but
25:37
demonstration. Untested theories are not in her line, and she won't have them.
25:41
It's the right spirit, I concede it. It attracts me. I
25:45
feel the influence of it. If I were with her more, I think
25:48
I should take it up myself. Well, she had one theory remaining about
25:53
this colossus. She thought that if we could tame it and make him friendly,
25:57
we could stand in the river and use him. For it turned out
26:00
that he was already plenty tame enough, at least as far as she was
26:04
concerned. So she tried her theory, but it foiled. Every time she
26:08
got him properly placed in the river and went ashore to cross over him,
26:12
he came out and followed her around like a pet mountain like the other animals.
26:18
They all do that Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and today, all
26:26
without seeing him. It is a long time to be alone. Still,
26:30
it is better to be alone than unwelcome Friday. I had to have company.
26:36
I was made for it, I think, so I made friends with
26:38
the animals. They are just charming, and they have the kindest disposition and
26:44
the politest ways. They never look sour, They never let you feel that
26:48
you are intruding. They smile at you and wag their tail if they've got
26:52
one, and they are always ready for a ramp or an excursion or anything
26:56
you want to propose. I think they are perfect gentlemen. All these days
27:03
we have had such good times, and it hasn't been lonesome for me.
27:06
Ever. Lonesome, no, I should say, not. Why there's always
27:11
a swarm of them around, sometimes as much as four or five acres.
27:17
You can't count them. And when you stand on a rock in the midst
27:19
and look out over the furry expanse, it is so mottled and splashed and
27:23
gay with color and frisking sheen and sun flash, and so rippled with stripes
27:30
that you might think it was a lake, only you know it isn't.
27:33
And there's storms of sociable birds and hurricanes of whirring wings, and when the
27:37
sun strikes all that feathery commotion, you have a blazing up of all the
27:42
colors you can think of, enough to put your eyes out. We have
27:48
made long excursions, and I have seen a great deal of the world,
27:51
almost all of it, I think, and so I am the first traveler
27:56
and the only one. When we are on the march, it is an
27:59
imposing sun. There's nothing like it anywhere. For comfort, I ride a
28:03
tiger or a leopard, because it is soft and has a round back that
28:07
fits me, and because they are such pretty animals. But for long distance
28:11
or for scenery, I ride the elephant. He hoists me up with his
28:15
trunk, but I can get off myself. When we are ready to camp,
28:19
he sits and I slide down the back way. The birds and animals
28:23
are all friendly to each other, and there are no disputes about anything.
28:27
They all talk, and they all talk to me. But it must be
28:30
a foreign language, for I cannot make out a word they say. Yet
28:34
they often understand me when I talk back, particularly the dog and the elephant.
28:40
It makes me ashamed. It shows that they are brighter than I am,
28:44
for I want to be the principal experiment myself, and I intend to
28:48
be too. I have learned a number of things and am educated now,
28:52
but I wasn't at first. I was ignorant at first. At first it
28:57
used to vex me because with all my want I was never smart enough to
29:02
be around when the water was running up hill. But now I do not
29:06
mind. I have experimented and experimented until now I know it never does run
29:11
up hill except in the dark. I know it does in the dark because
29:15
the pool never goes dry, which it would, of course if the water
29:18
didn't come back in the night. It is best to prove things by actual
29:22
experiment, then you know, whereas if you depend on guessing and supposing and
29:26
conjecturing, you never get educated. Some things you can't find out, but
29:33
you will never know if you can't by guessing and supposing. No, you
29:37
have to be patient and go on experimenting until you find out that you can't
29:41
find out. And it is delightful to have it that way. It makes
29:45
the world so interesting. If there wasn't anything to find out, it would
29:49
be dull. Even trying to find out and not finding out is just as
29:55
interesting as trying to find out and finding out and I don't know, but
30:00
more so, the secret of the water was a treasure until I got it.
30:04
Then the excitement all went away, and I recognized a sense of loss.
30:11
By experiment, I know that wood swims, and dry leaves and feathers
30:15
and plenty of other things. Therefore, by all that cumulative evidence, you
30:19
know that a rock will swim. But you have to put up with simply
30:22
knowing it, for there isn't any way to prove it up to now.
30:26
But I shall find a way then that excitement will go. Such things make
30:32
me sad, because by and by, when I have found out everything,
30:36
there won't be any more excitements. And I do love excitement. So the
30:40
other night I couldn't sleep for thinking about it. At first, I couldn't
30:44
make out what I was made for, But now I think it was to
30:48
search out the secrets of this wonderful world and be happy and thank the giver
30:52
of it all for devising it. I think there are many things to learn,
30:56
yet I hope so. And by economizing and not hurrying too, I
31:00
think they will last weeks and weeks, I hope so. And when you
31:03
cast up a feather, it sails away on the air and it goes out
31:07
of sight. Then you throw up a clod and it doesn't. It comes
31:11
down every time I have tried it and tried it, and it is always
31:15
so. I wonder why it is. Of course it doesn't come down,
31:18
but why should it seem to. I suppose it is an optical illusion.
31:23
I mean, one of them is. I don't know which one. It
31:26
may be the feather, it may be the clod. I can't prove which
31:30
it is. I can only demonstrate that one or the other is a fake,
31:34
and let a person take his choice. By watching. I know that
31:40
the stars are not going to last. I have seen some of the best
31:42
ones melt and run down the sky. Since one can melt, they can
31:48
all melt. Since they can all melt, they can all melt. The
31:51
same night that sorrow will come. I know it. I mean to set
31:56
up every night and look at them as long as I can keep awake,
32:00
and I will impress those sparkling fields on my memory, so that by and
32:04
by, when they are taken away, I can buy my fancy, restore
32:07
those lovely myriads to the black sky and make them sparkle again, and double
32:12
them by the blur of my tears after the fall. When I look back,
32:17
the garden is a dream to me. It was beautiful, surpassingly beautiful
32:22
and chantingly beautiful. And now it is lost, and I shall not see
32:27
it any more. The garden is lost, but I have found him and
32:31
am content. He loves me as well as he can. I love him
32:36
with all the strength of my passionate nature, and this I think is proper
32:39
to my youth and sex. If I ask myself why I love him,
32:45
I find I do not know, and do not really much care to know.
32:47
So I suppose that this kind of love is not the product of reasoning
32:52
and statistics, like one's love for other reptiles and animals. I think that
32:57
this must be so. I love sir and birds because of their song,
33:01
but I do not love Adam on account of his singing. No, it
33:05
is not that the more he sings, the more I do not get reconciled
33:08
to it. Yet I ask him to sing because I wish to learn to
33:14
like everything he is interested in. I am sure I can learn, because
33:17
at first I could not stand it, but now I can. It sours
33:22
the milk, but it doesn't matter. I can get used to that kind
33:24
of milk. It is not on account of his brightness that I love him.
33:30
No, it is not that he is not to blame for his brightness,
33:34
such as it is, for he did not make it himself. He
33:37
is as God made him, and that is sufficient. There was a wise
33:40
purpose in it that I know in time it will develop, though I think
33:45
it will not be sudden. And besides, there is no hurry. He
33:50
is well enough just as he is. It is not on account of his
33:53
gracious and considerate ways and his delicacy that I love him. Now he has
34:00
lax in this regard, but he is well enough just so, and is
34:04
improving. It is not on account of his industry that I love him.
34:08
No, it is not that I think he has it in him, And
34:13
I do not know why he conceals it from me. It is my only
34:16
pain. Otherwise he is frank and open with me. Now. I am
34:21
sure he keeps nothing from me. But this it grees me that he should
34:23
have a secret from me, And sometimes it spoils my sleep thinking of it.
34:29
But I will put it out of my mind. It shall not trouble
34:31
my happiness, which is otherwise full to overflowing. It is not on account
34:37
of his education that I love him. No, it is not that he
34:40
is self educated and does really know a multitude of things, but they are
34:45
not. So it is not on account of his chivalry that I love him.
34:50
No, it is not that he told on me, but I do
34:53
not blame him. It is a peculiarity of sex, I think, and
34:58
he did not make his sex. Of course I would have not told on
35:01
him. I would have perished first. But that is a peculiarity of sex
35:07
too, and I do not take credit for it, for I did not
35:09
make my sex. Then why is it that I love him nearly because he
35:15
is masculine? I think, at bottom he is good, and I love
35:21
him for that, But I could love him without it. If he should
35:24
beat me and abuse me, I should go on loving him. I know
35:28
it. It is a matter of sex. I think he is strong and
35:32
handsome, and I love him for that, and I admire him and am
35:36
proud of him. But I could love him without those qualities. If he
35:39
were plain, I should love him. If he were a wreck, I
35:43
should love him, and I would work for him and slave over him,
35:46
and pray for him, and watch by his bedside until I died. Yes,
35:52
I think I love him merely because he is mine and is masculine.
35:55
There is no other reason, I suppose, And so I think it is
36:00
as I first said, that this kind of love is not a product of
36:05
reasonings and statistics. It just comes. No one knows whence, and cannot
36:09
explain itself and doesn't need to. It is what I think. But I
36:15
am only a girl, the first that has examined this matter, and it
36:20
may turn out that in my ignorance and inexperience, I have not got it
36:22
right. Forty years later. It is my prayer. It is my longing
36:30
that we may pass from this life together, a longing which shall never perish
36:34
from the earth, but shall have place in the heart of every wife that
36:37
loves until the end of time, and it shall be called by my name.
36:43
But if one of us must go first, it is my prayer that
36:45
it shall be I. For he is strong, I am weak. I
36:49
am not so necessary to him as he is to me. Life without him
36:52
would not be life. How could I endure it. This prayer is also
36:58
immortal, and will not cease from being offered up while my race continues.
37:01
I am the first wife, and in the last wife, I shall be
37:06
repeated at Eve's grave wheresoever she was. There was Eden and of Eve's Diary