MARK TWAIN
EXTRACTS FROM ADAM'S DIARY
MONDAY. -- This new creature with the long hair is a good deal in
the way. It is always hanging around and following me about. I
don't like this; I am not used to company. I wish it would stay
with the other animals.... Cloudy today, wind in the east; think
we shall have rain. WE? Where did I get that word? -- I remember
now -- the new creature uses it.
TUESDAY. -- Been examining the great waterfall. It is the finest
thing on the estate, I think. The new creature calls it Niagara
Falls -- why, I am sure I do not know. Says it LOOKS like Niagara
Falls. That is not a reason, it is mere waywardness and
imbecility. I get no chance to name anything myself. The new
creature names everything that comes along, before I can get in a
protest. And always that same pretext is offered -- it looks like
the thing. There is the dodo, for instance. Says the moment one
looks at it one sees at a glance that it "looks like a dodo." It
will have to keep that name, no doubt. It wearies me to fret
about it, and it does no good, anyway. Dodo! It looks no more
like a dodo than I do.
WEDNESDAY. -- Built me a shelter against the rain, but could not
have it to myself in peace. The new creature intruded. When I
tried to put it out it shed water out of the holes it looks with,
and wiped it away with the back of its paws, and made a noise
such as some of the other animals make when they are in distress.
I wish it would not talk; it is always talking. That sounds like
a cheap fling at the poor creature, a slur; but I do not mean it
so. I have never heard the human voice before, and any new and
strange sound intruding itself here upon the solemn hush of these
dreaming solitudes offends my ear and seems a false note. And
this new sound is so close to me; it is right at my shoulder,
right at my ear, first on one side and then on the other, and I
am used only to sounds that are more or less distant from me.
FRIDAY. -- The naming goes recklessly on, in spite of anything I
can do. I had a very good name for the estate, and it was musical
and pretty -- GARDEN OF EDEN. Privately, I continue to call it
that, but not any longer publicly. The new creature says it is
all woods and rocks and scenery, and therefore has no resemblance
to a garden. Says it LOOKS like a park, and does not look like
anything BUT a park. Consequently, without consulting me, it has
been new-named -- NIAGARA FALLS PARK. This is sufficiently
high-handed, it seems to me. And already there is a sign up:
KEEP OFF
THE GRASS
My life is not as happy as it was.
SATURDAY. -- The new creature eats too much fruit. We are going
to run short, most likely. "We" again -- that is ITS word; mine,
too, now, from hearing it so much. Good deal of fog this morning.
I do not go out in the fog myself. The new creature does. It goes
out in all weathers, and stumps right in with its muddy feet. And
talks. It used to be so pleasant and quiet here.
SUNDAY. -- Pulled through. This day is getting to be more and
more trying. It was selected and set apart last November as a day
of rest. I had already six of them per week before. This morning
found the new creature trying to clod apples out of that
forbidden tree.
MONDAY. -- The new creature says its name is Eve. That is all
right, I have no objections. Says it is to call it by, when I
want it to come. I said it was superfluous, then. The word
evidently raised me in its respect; and indeed it is a large,
good word and will bear repetition. It says it is not an It, it
is a She. This is probably doubtful; yet it is all one to me;
what she is were nothing to me if she would but go by herself and
not talk.
TUESDAY. -- She has littered the whole estate with execrable
names and offensive signs:
THIS WAY TO THE WHIRLPOOL.
THIS WAY TO GOAT ISLAND.
CAVE OF THE WINDS THIS WAY.
She says this park would make a tidy summer resort if there was
any custom for it. Summer resort -- another invention of hers -just words, without any meaning. What is a summer resort? But it
is best not to ask her, she has such a rage for explaining.
FRIDAY. -- She has taken to beseeching me to stop going over the
Falls. What harm does it do? Says it makes her shudder. I wonder
why; I have always done it -- always liked the plunge, and the
excitement and the coolness. I supposed it was what the Falls
were for. They have no other use that I can see, and they must
have been made for something She says they were only made for
scenery -- like the rhinoceros and the mastodon.
I went over the Falls in a barrel -- not satisfactory to her.
Went over in a tub -- still not satisfactory. Swam the Whirlpool
and the Rapids in a fig-leaf suit. It got much damaged. Hence,
tedious complaints about my extravagance. I am too much hampered
here. What I need is change of scene.
SATURDAY. -- I escaped last Tuesday night, and traveled two days,
and built me another shelter in a secluded place, and obliterated
my tracks as well as I could, but she hunted me cut by means of a
beast which she has tamed and calls a wolf, and came making that
pitiful noise again, and shedding that water out of the places
she looks with. I was obliged to return with her, but will
presently emigrate again when occasion offers. She engages
herself in many foolish things; among others, to study out why
the animals called lions and tigers live on grass and flowers,
when, as she says, the sort of teeth they wear would indicate
that they were intended to eat each other. This is foolish,
because to do that would be to kill each other, and that would
introduce what, as I understand it, is called "death"; and death,
as I have been told, has not yet entered the Park. Which is a
pity, on some accounts.
SUNDAY. -- Pulled through.
MONDAY. -- I believe I see what the week is for: it is to give
time to rest up from the weariness of Sunday. It seems a good
idea.... She has been climbing that tree again. Clodded her out
of it. She said nobody was looking. Seems to consider that a
sufficient justification for chancing any dangerous thing. Told
her that. The word justification moved her admiration -- and
envy, too, I thought. It is a good word.
TUESDAY. -- She told me she was made out of a rib taken from my
body. This is at least doubtful, if not more than that. I have
not missed any rib. ....She is in much trouble about the buzzard;
says grass does not agree with it; is afraid she can't raise it;
thinks it was intended to live on decayed flesh. The buzzard must
get along the best it can with what it is provided. We cannot
overturn the whole scheme to accommodate the buzzard.
SATURDAY. -- She fell in the pond yesterday when she was looking
at herself in it, which she is always doing. She nearly
strangled, and said it was most uncomfortable. This made her
sorry for the creatures which live in there, which she calls
fish, for she continues to fasten names on to things that don't
need them and don't come when they are called by them, which is a
matter of no consequence to her, she is such a numskull, anyway;
so she got a lot of them out and brought them in last night and
put them in my bed to keep warm, but I have noticed them now and
then all day and I don't see that they are any happier there than
they were before, only quieter. When night comes I shall throw
them outdoors. I will not sleep with them again, for I find them
clammy and unpleasant to lie among when a person hasn't anything
on.
SUNDAY. -- Pulled through.
TUESDAY. -- She has taken up with a snake now. The other animals
are glad, for she was always experimenting with them and
bothering them; and I am glad because the snake talks, and this
enables me to get a rest.
FRIDAY. -- She says the snake advises her to try the fruit of
that tree, and says the result will be a great ...
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