Eve's Diary
Eve's DiaryEve's DiaryExtract from Adam's DiaryAfter the FallForty Years LaterAt Eve's GraveCopyright
Eve's Diary
Mark Twain
Eve's
Diary
SATURDAY.—I am almost a whole day old, now. I arrived
yesterday. That is as it seems to me. And it must be so, for if
there was a day-before-yesterday I was not there when it happened,
or I should remember it. It could be, of course, that it did
happen, and that I was not noticing. Very well; I will be very
watchful now, and if any day-before-yesterdays happen I will make a
note of it. It will be best to start right and not let the record
get confused, for some instinct tells me that these details are
going to be important to the historian some day. For I feel like an
experiment, I feel exactly like an experiment; it would be
impossible for a person to feel more like an experiment than I do,
and so I am coming to feel convinced that that is what I AM—an
experiment; just an experiment, and nothing more.Then if I am an experiment, am I the whole of it? No, I think
not; I think the rest of it is part of it. I am the main part of
it, but I think the rest of it has its share in the matter. Is my
position assured, or do I have to watch it and take care of it? The
latter, perhaps. Some instinct tells me that eternal vigilance is
the price of supremacy. [That is a good phrase, I think, for one so
young.]Everything looks better today than it did yesterday. In the
rush of finishing up yesterday, the mountains were left in a ragged
condition, and some of the plains were so cluttered with rubbish
and remnants that the aspects were quite distressing. Noble and
beautiful works of art should not be subjected to haste; and this
majestic new world is indeed a most noble and beautiful work. And
certainly marvelously near to being perfect, notwithstanding the
shortness of the time. There are too many stars in some places and
not enough in others, but that can be remedied presently, no doubt.
The moon got loose last night, and slid down and fell out of the
scheme—a very great loss; it breaks my heart to think of it. There
isn't another thing among the ornaments and decorations that is
comparable to it for beauty and finish. It should have been
fastened better. If we can only get it back again—But of course there is no telling where it went to. And
besides, whoever gets it will hide it; I know it because I would do
it myself. I believe I can be honest in all other matters, but I
already begin to realize that the core and center of my nature is
love of the beautiful, a passion for the beautiful, and that it
would not be safe to trust me with a moon that belonged to another
person and that person didn't know I had it. I could give up a moon
that I found in the daytime, because I should be afraid some one
was looking; but if I found it in the dark, I am sure I should find
some kind of an excuse for not saying anything about it. For I do
love moons, they are so pretty and so romantic. I wish we had five
or six; I would never go to bed; I should never get tired lying on
the moss-bank and looking up at them.
