Extracts From Adam’s Diary

Translated from the original MS.

by Mark Twain

[NOTE.—I translated a portion of this diary some years ago,emergency vehicle toys for 6 year olds under 50 dollars and a friendof mine printed a few copies in an incomplete form, but the public never gotthem. Since then I have deciphered some more of Adam’s hieroglyphics, andthink he has now become sufficiently important as a public character to justifythis publication.—M. T.]

Monday

This new creature with the long hair is a good deal in the way. It is alwayshanging around and following me about. I don’t like this; I am not usedto company. I wish it would stay with the other animals. Cloudy to-day, wind inthe east; think we shall have rain…. Where did I get that word?… I remembernow—the new creature uses it.

Tuesday

Been examining the great waterfall. It is the finest thing on the estate, Ithink. The new creature calls it Niagara Falls—why, I am sure I do notknow. Says it looks like Niagara Falls. That is not a reason; it is merewaywardness and imbecility. I get no chance to name anything myself. The newcreature names everything that comes along, before I can get in a protest. Andalways that same pretext is offered—it looks like the thing. There is thedodo, for instance. Says the moment one looks at it one sees at a glance thatit “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 nomore 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 theholes it looks with, and wiped it away with the back of its paws, and made anoise such as some of the other animals make when they are in distress. I wishit would not talk; it is always talking. That sounds like a cheap fling at thepoor creature, a slur; but I do not mean it so. I have never heard the humanvoice before, and any new and strange sound intruding itself here upon thesolemn 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 myear, first on one side and then on the other, and I am used only to sounds thatare more or less distant from me.

Friday

The naming goes recklessly on, in spite of anything I can do. I had a very goodname 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 newcreature says it is all woods and rocks and scenery, and therefore has noresemblance to a garden. Says it looks like a park, and does not look likeanything 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 itso much. Good deal of fog this morning. I do not go out in the fog myself. Thenew creature does. It goes out in all weathers, and stumps right in with itsmuddy 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 selectedand set apart last November as a day of rest. I already had six of them perweek, before. This morning found the new creature trying to clod apples out ofthat 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. Thisis probably doubtful; yet it is all one to me; what she is were nothing to meif 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 forit. Summer resort—another invention of hers—just words, without anymeaning. What is a summer resort? But it is best not to ask her, she has such arage for explaining.

Friday

She has taken to beseeching me to stop going over the Falls. What harm does itdo? Says it makes her shudder. I wonder why. I have always done it—alwaysliked the plunge, and the excitement, and the coolness. I supposed it was whatthe Falls were for. They have no other use that I can see, and they must havebeen made for something. She says they were only made for scenery—likethe rhinoceros and the mastodon.

I went over the Falls in a barrel—not satisfactory to her. Went over in atub—still not satisfactory. Swam the Whirlpool and the Rapids in afig-leaf suit. It got much damaged. Hence, tedious complaints about myextravagance. I am too much hampered here. What I need is change of scene.

Saturday

I escaped last Tuesday night, and travelled two days, and built me anothershelter, in a secluded place, and obliterated my tracks as well as I could, butshe hunted me out by means of a beast which she has tamed and calls a wolf, andcame making that pitiful noise again, and shedding that water out of the placesshe looks with. I was obliged to return with her, but will presently emigrateagain, when occasion offers. She engages herself in many foolish things: amongothers, trying to study out why the animals called lions and tigers live ongrass and flowers, when, as she says, the sort of teeth they wear wouldindicate that they were intended to eat each other. This is foolish, because todo that would be to kill each other, and that would introduce what, as Iunderstand 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 theweariness of Sunday. It seems a good idea…. She has been climbing that treeagain. Clodded her out of it. She said nobody was looking. Seems to considerthat a sufficient justification for chancing any dangerous thing. Told herthat. The word justification moved her admiration—and envy too, Ithought. It is a good word.

Thursday

She told me she was made out of a rib taken from my body. This is at leastdoubtful, if not more than that. I have not missed any rib…. She is in muchtrouble about the buzzard; says grass does not agree with it; is afraid shecan’t raise it; thinks it was intended to live on decayed flesh. Thebuzzard must get along the best it can with what is provided. We cannotoverturn the whole scheme to accommodate the buzzard.

Saturday

She fell in the pond yesterday, when she was looking at herself in it, whichshe 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 callsfish, for she continues to fasten names on to things that don’t need themand don’t come when they are called by them, which is a matter of noconsequence to her, as she is such a numskull anyway; so she got a lot of themout and brought them in last night and put them in my bed to keep warm, but Ihave noticed them now and then all day, and I don’t see that they are anyhappier there than they were before, only quieter. When night comes I shallthrow them out-doors. I will not sleep with them again, for I find them clammyand 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 wasalways experimenting with them and bothering them; and I am glad, because thesnake 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 theresult will be a great and fine and noble education. I told her there would beanother result, too—it would introduce death into the world. That was amistake—it had been better to keep the remark to myself; it only gave heran idea—she could save the sick buzzard, and furnish fresh meat to thedespondent lions and tigers. I advised her to keep away from the tree. She saidshe wouldn’t. I foresee trouble. Will emigrate.

Wednesday

I have had a variegated time. I escaped that night, and rode a horse all nightas fast as he could go, hoping to get clear out of the Park and hide in someother country before the trouble should begin; but it was not to be. About anhour after sunup, as I was riding through a flowery plain where thousands ofanimals were grazing, slumbering, or playing with each other, according totheir wont, all of a sudden they broke into a tempest of frightful noises, andin one moment the plain was in a frantic commotion and every beast wasdestroying its neighbor. I knew what it meant—Eve had eaten that fruit,and death was come into the world…. The tigers ate my horse, paying noattention when I ordered them to desist, and they would even have eaten me if Ihad stayed—which I didn’t, but went away in much haste…. I foundthis place, outside the Park, and was fairly comfortable for a few days, butshe has found me out. Found me out, and has named the placeTonawanda—says it looks like that. In fact, I was not sorry she came, forthere are but meagre pickings here, and she brought some of those apples. I wasobliged to eat them, I was so hungry. It was against my principles, but I findthat principles have no real force except when one is well fed…. She camecurtained in boughs and bunches of leaves, and when I asked her what she meantby such nonsense, and snatched them away and threw them down, she tittered andblushed. I had never seen a person titter and blush before, and to me it seemedunbecoming and idiotic. She said I would soon know how it was myself. This wascorrect. Hungry as I was, I laid down the apple half eaten—certainly thebest one I ever saw, considering the lateness of the season—and arrayedmyself in the discarded boughs and branches, and then spoke to her with someseverity and ordered her to go and get some more and not make such a spectacleof herself. She did it, and after this we crept down to where the wild-beastbattle had been, and collected some skins, and I made her patch together acouple of suits proper for public occasions. They are uncomfortable, it istrue, but stylish, and that is the main point about clothes. … I find she is agood deal of a companion. I see I should be lonesome and depressed without her,now that I have lost my property. Another thing, she says it is ordered that wework for our living hereafter. She will be useful. I will superintend.

Ten Days Later

She accuses me of being the cause of our disaster! She says, with apparentsincerity and truth, that the Serpent assured her that the forbidden fruit wasnot apples, it was chestnuts. I said I was innocent, then, for I had not eatenany chestnuts. She said the Serpent informed her that “chestnut”was a figurative term meaning an aged and mouldy joke. I turned pale at that,for I have made many jokes to pass the weary time, and some of them could havebeen of that sort, though I had honestly supposed that they were new when Imade them. She asked me if I had made one just at the time of the catastrophe.I was obliged to admit that I had made one to myself, though not aloud. It wasthis. I was thinking about the Falls, and I said to myself, “Howwonderful it is to see that vast body of water tumble down there!” Thenin an instant a bright thought flashed into my head, and I let it fly, saying,“It would be a deal more wonderful to see it tumble upthere!”—and I was just about to kill myself with laughing at itwhen all nature broke loose in war and death, and I had to flee for my life.“There,” she said, with triumph, “that is just it; theSerpent mentioned that very jest, and called it the First Chestnut, and said itwas coeval with the creation.” Alas, I am indeed to blame. Would that Iwere not witty; oh, would that I had never had that radiant thought!

Next Year

We have named it Cain. She caught it while I was up country trapping on theNorth Shore of the Erie; caught it in the timber a couple of miles from ourdug-out—or it might have been four, she isn’t certain which. Itresembles us in some ways, and may be a relation. That is what she thinks, butthis is an error, in my judgment. The difference in size warrants theconclusion that it is a different and new kind of animal—a fish, perhaps,though when I put it in the water to see, it sank, and she plunged in andsnatched it out before there was opportunity for the experiment to determinethe matter. I still think it is a fish, but she is indifferent about what itis, and will not let me have it to try. I do not understand this. The coming ofthe creature seems to have changed her whole nature and made her unreasonableabout experiments. She thinks more of it than she does of any of the otheranimals, but is not able to explain why. Her mind isdisordered—everything shows it. Sometimes she carries the fish in herarms half the night when it complains and wants to get to the water. At suchtimes the water comes out of the places in her face that she looks out of, andshe pats the fish on the back and makes soft sounds with her mouth to sootheit, and betrays sorrow and solicitude in a hundred ways. I have never seen herdo like this with any other fish, and it troubles me greatly. She used to carrythe young tigers around so, and play with them, before we lost our property;but it was only play; she never took on about them like this when their dinnerdisagreed with them.

Sunday

She doesn’t work Sundays, but lies around all tired out, and likes tohave the fish wallow over her; and she makes fool noises to amuse it, andpretends to chew its paws, and that makes it laugh. I have not seen a fishbefore that could laugh. This makes me doubt…. I have come to like Sundaymyself. Superintending all the week tires a body so. There ought to be moreSundays. In the old days they were tough, but now they come handy.

Wednesday

It isn’t a fish. I cannot quite make out what it is. It makes curious,devilish noises when not satisfied, and says “goo-goo” when it is.It is not one of us, for it doesn’t walk; it is not a bird, for itdoesn’t fly; it is not a frog, for it doesn’t hop; it is not asnake, for it doesn’t crawl; I feel sure it is not a fish, though Icannot get a chance to find out whether it can swim or not. It merely liesaround, and mostly on its back, with its feet up. I have not seen any otheranimal do that before. I said I believed it was an enigma, but she only admiredthe word without understanding it. In my judgment it is either an enigma orsome kind of a bug. If it dies, I will take it apart and see what itsarrangements are. I never had a thing perplex me so.

Three Months Later

The perplexity augments instead of diminishing. I sleep but little. It hasceased from lying around, and goes about on its four legs now. Yet it differsfrom the other four-legged animals in that its front legs are unusually short,consequently this causes the main part of its person to stick up uncomfortablyhigh in the air, and this is not attractive. It is built much as we are, butits method of travelling shows that it is not of our breed. The short frontlegs and long hind ones indicate that it is of the kangaroo family, but it is amarked variation of the species, since the true kangaroo hops, whereas this onenever does. Still, it is a curious and interesting variety, and has not beencatalogued before. As I discovered it, I have felt justified in securing thecredit of the discovery by attaching my name to it, and hence have called itKangaroorum Adamiensis…. It must have been a young one when it came, for it hasgrown exceedingly since. It must be five times as big, now, as it was then, andwhen discontented is able to make from twenty-two to thirty-eight times thenoise it made at first. Coercion does not modify this, but has the contraryeffect. For this reason I discontinued the system. She reconciles it bypersuasion, and by giving it things which she had previously told it shewouldn’t give it. As already observed, I was not at home when it firstcame, and she told me she found it in the woods. It seems odd that it should bethe only one, yet it must be so, for I have worn myself out these many weekstrying to find another one to add to my collection, and for this one to playwith; for surely then it would be quieter, and we could tame it more easily.But I find none, nor any vestige of any; and strangest of all, no tracks. Ithas to live on the ground, it cannot help itself; therefore, how does it getabout without leaving a track? I have set a dozen traps, but they do no good. Icatch all small animals except that one; animals that merely go into the trapout of curiosity, I think, to see what the milk is there for. They never drinkit.

Three Months Later

The kangaroo still continues to grow, which is very strange and perplexing. Inever knew one to be so long getting its growth. It has fur on its head now;not like kangaroo fur, but exactly like our hair, except that it is much finerand softer, and instead of being black is red. I am like to lose my mind overthe capricious and harassing developments of this unclassifiable zoologicalfreak. If I could catch another one—but that is hopeless; it is a newvariety, and the only sample; this is plain. But I caught a true kangaroo andbrought it in, thinking that this one, being lonesome, would rather have thatfor company than have no kin at all, or any animal it could feel a nearness toor get sympathy from in its forlorn condition here among strangers who do notknow its ways or habits, or what to do to make it feel that it is amongfriends; but it was a mistake—it went into such fits at the sight of thekangaroo that I was convinced it had never seen one before. I pity the poornoisy little animal, but there is nothing I can do to make it happy. If I couldtame it—but that is out of the question; the more I try, the worse I seemto make it. It grieves me to the heart to see it in its little storms of sorrowand passion. I wanted to let it go, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Thatseemed cruel and not like her; and yet she may be right. It might be lonelierthan ever; for since I cannot find another one, how could it?

Five Months Later

It is not a kangaroo. No, for it supports itself by holding to her finger, andthus goes a few steps on its hind legs, and then falls down. It is probablysome kind of a bear; and yet it has no tail—as yet—and no fur,except on its head. It still keeps on growing—that is a curiouscircumstance, for bears get their growth earlier than this. Bears aredangerous—since our catastrophe—and I shall not be satisfied tohave this one prowling about the place much longer without a muzzle on. I haveoffered to get her a kangaroo if she would let this one go, but it did nogood—she is determined to run us into all sorts of foolish risks, Ithink. She was not like this before she lost her mind.

A Fortnight Later

I examined its mouth. There is no danger yet; it has only one tooth. It has notail yet. It makes more noise now than it ever did before—and mainly atnight. I have moved out. But I shall go over, mornings, to breakfast, and tosee if it has more teeth. If it gets a mouthful of teeth, it will be time forit to go, tail or no tail, for a bear does not need a tail in order to bedangerous.

Four Months Later

I have been off hunting and fishing a month, up in the region that she callsBuffalo; I don’t know why, unless it is because there are not anybuffaloes there. Meantime the bear has learned to paddle around all by itselfon its hind legs, and says “poppa” and “momma.” It iscertainly a new species. This resemblance to words may be purely accidental, ofcourse, and may have no purpose or meaning; but even in that case it is stillextraordinary, and is a thing which no other bear can do. This imitation ofspeech, taken together with general absence of fur and entire absence of tail,sufficiently indicates that this is a new kind of bear. The further study of itwill be exceedingly interesting. Meantime I will go off on a far expeditionamong the forests of the North and make an exhaustive search. There mustcertainly be another one somewhere, and this one will be less dangerous when ithas company of its own species. I will go straightway; but I will muzzle thisone first.

Three Months Later

It has been a weary, weary hunt, yet I have had no success. In the mean time,without stirring from the home estate, she has caught another one! I never sawsuch luck. I might have hunted these woods a hundred years, I never should haverun across that thing.

Next Day

I have been comparing the new one with the old one, and it is perfectly plainthat they are the same breed. I was going to stuff one of them for mycollection, but she is prejudiced against it for some reason or other; so Ihave relinquished the idea, though I think it is a mistake. It would be anirreparable loss to science if they should get away. The old one is tamer thanit was, and can laugh and talk like the parrot, having learned this, no doubt,from being with the parrot so much, and having the imitative faculty in ahighly developed degree. I shall be astonished if it turns out to be a new kindof parrot, and yet I ought not to be astonished, for it has already beeneverything else it could think of, since those first days when it was a fish.The new one is as ugly now as the old one was at first; has the samesulphur-and-raw-meat complexion and the same singular head without any fur onit. She calls it Abel.

Ten Years Later

They are boys; we found it out long ago. It was their coming in that small,immature shape that puzzled us; we were not used to it. There are some girlsnow. Abel is a good boy, but if Cain had stayed a bear it would have improvedhim. After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in thebeginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside itwithout her. At first I thought she talked too much; but now I should be sorryto have that voice fall silent and pass out of my life. Blessed be the chestnutthat brought us near together and taught me to know the goodness of her heartand the sweetness of her spirit!

• ·The Yates Pride, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
• ·The Human Drift
• ·Parmenides
• ·Hiram the Young Farmer, by Burbank L. Todd
• ·Style, by Walter Raleigh
• ·Alcibiades I, by Plato (see Appendix I)
• ·Hiram the Young Farmer, by Burbank L. Todd
• ·The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gorgias, by Plato
• ·The Messengers, by R. H. Davis
• ·The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gorgias, by Plato
• ·Menexenus, by Plato
• ·Parmenides
• ·The Life and Perambulations of a Mouse, by Dorothy Kilner
• ·At the Sign of The Cat and Racket, by Honore de Balzac
• ·Menexenus, by Plato
• ·Lesser Hippias, by Plato