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diff --git a/8525-h/8525-h.htm b/8525-h/8525-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f39f78 --- /dev/null +++ b/8525-h/8525-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1706 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + Eve's Diary, By Mark Twain + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 100%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <h2> + EVE'S DIARY, By Mark Twain + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Eve's Diary, Complete, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Eve's Diary, Complete + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Release Date: June 14, 2004 [EBook #8525] +Last Updated: February 23, 2018 +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVE'S DIARY, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger and Cindy Rosenthal + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> + </p> + + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + EVE'S DIARY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mark Twain + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Illustrated by Lester Ralph + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="cover.jpg (111K)" src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="front.jpg (83K)" src="images/front.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="title.jpg (43K)" src="images/title.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + Eve's Diary + </h1> + <h3> + Translated from the Original + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="003.jpg (70K)" src="images/003.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="005.jpg (62K)" src="images/005.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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 is the price of supremacy. [That is a good + phrase, I think, for one so young.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="007.jpg (73K)" src="images/007.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="009.jpg (61K)" src="images/009.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="011.jpg (93K)" src="images/011.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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 clods 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 clod 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="013.jpg (83K)" src="images/013.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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 to 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="015.jpg (86K)" src="images/015.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 [it] 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="017.jpg (76K)" src="images/017.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="019.jpg (79K)" src="images/019.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Today the same thing over. I've got it up the tree again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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 in + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="021.jpg (81K)" src="images/021.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="023.jpg (77K)" src="images/023.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="025.jpg (70K)" src="images/025.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="027.jpg (96K)" src="images/027.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="029.jpg (75K)" src="images/029.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="031.jpg (62K)" src="images/031.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="033.jpg (76K)" src="images/033.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="035.jpg (90K)" src="images/035.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="037.jpg (82K)" src="images/037.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="039.jpg (83K)" src="images/039.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="041.jpg (81K)" src="images/041.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 it in 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="043.jpg (90K)" src="images/043.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Where did he get that word? I do not think I have ever used it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="045.jpg (89K)" src="images/045.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="047.jpg (77K)" src="images/047.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="049.jpg (92K)" src="images/049.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="051.jpg (86K)" src="images/051.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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 limbs 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="053.jpg (75K)" src="images/053.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="055.jpg (77K)" src="images/055.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="057.jpg (72K)" src="images/057.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="059.jpg (82K)" src="images/059.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="061.jpg (79K)" src="images/061.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “How did it come?” + </p> + <p> + Another direct question, and it also had to have a direct answer. + </p> + <p> + “I made it.” + </p> + <p> + The fire was traveling farther and farther off. He went to the edge of the + burned place and stood looking down, and said: + </p> + <p> + “What are these?” + </p> + <p> + “Fire-coals.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up one to examine it, but changed his mind and put it down + again. Then he went away. NOTHING interests him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="063.jpg (72K)" src="images/063.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="065.jpg (82K)" src="images/065.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="067.jpg (94K)" src="images/067.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i> Extract from Adam's Diary</i> + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="069.jpg (65K)" src="images/069.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <i> 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.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="071.jpg (74K)" src="images/071.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <i>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.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="073.jpg (69K)" src="images/073.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <i>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.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>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.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="075.jpg (72K)" src="images/075.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <i>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.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="077.jpg (70K)" src="images/077.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + FRIDAY—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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="079.jpg (85K)" src="images/079.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="081.jpg (80K)" src="images/081.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="083.jpg (89K)" src="images/083.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="085.jpg (95K)" src="images/085.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="087.jpg (96K)" src="images/087.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="089.jpg (55K)" src="images/089.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="091.jpg (81K)" src="images/091.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="093.jpg (80K)" src="images/093.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + After the Fall + </h2> + <p> + When I look back, the Garden is a dream to me. It was beautiful, + surpassingly beautiful, enchantingly beautiful; and now it is lost, and I + shall not see it any more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="095.jpg (92K)" src="images/095.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="097.jpg (74K)" src="images/097.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It is not on account of his gracious and considerate ways and his delicacy + that I love him. No, he has lacks in this regard, but he is well enough + just so, and is improving. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="099.jpg (85K)" src="images/099.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It is not on account of his industry 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It is not on account of his chivalry 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. + </p> + <p> + Then why is it that I love him? MERELY BECAUSE HE IS MASCULINE, I think. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="101.jpg (93K)" src="images/101.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="103.jpg (82K)" src="images/103.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="105.jpg (60K)" src="images/105.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + Forty Years Later + </h2> + <p> + It is my prayer, it is my longing, that we may pass from this life + together—a longing which shall never perish from the earth, but + shall have place in the heart of every wife that loves, until the end of + time; and it shall be called by my name. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="107.jpg (65K)" src="images/107.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + But if one of us must go first, it is my prayer that it shall be I; for he + is strong, I am weak, I am not so necessary to him as he is to me—life + without him would not be life; how could I endure it? This prayer is also + immortal, and will not cease from being offered up while my race + continues. I am the first wife; and in the last wife I shall be repeated. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + At Eve's Grave + </h2> + <h4> + ADAM: Wheresoever she was, THERE was Eden. + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:40%;"> + <img alt="109.jpg (63K)" src="images/109.jpg" style="width:100%;" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eve's Diary, Complete +by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVE'S DIARY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 8525-h.htm or 8525-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/8/5/2/8525/ + +Produced by David Widger and Cindy Rosenthal + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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