English Original
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, but I think the rest has its share. 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 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. 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 centre 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 I found in the daytime, because I should be afraid someone 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.
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 well. 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.
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.
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.
中文翻译
星期六。 — 我现在差不多一整天大了。我是昨天来的。至少在我看来是这样。而且一定是这样，因为如果存在“前天”的话，当它发生时我并不在场，否则我应该记得。当然，也有可能它确实发生了，只是我没注意到。好吧；我现在会非常警惕，如果任何“前天”发生，我都会记录下来。最好一开始就做对，别让记录混乱，因为某种本能告诉我，这些细节有一天对历史学家会很重要。因为我感觉自己像个实验品，我确确实实感觉自己像个实验品；一个人不可能比我感觉更像一个实验品了，所以我开始确信我就是——一个实验品；仅仅是一个实验品，仅此而已。
那么，如果我是一个实验品，我是它的全部吗？不，我想不是；我认为其余部分也是它的一部分。我是主要部分，但我想其余部分也有其份量。我的地位是稳固的，还是我必须看护和照料它？也许是后者。某种本能告诉我，永恒的警觉是获得至高地位的代价。[对于一个如此年轻的人来说，我想这是个好句子。]
今天的一切看起来都比昨天好。在昨天匆忙收尾时，山脉被弄得粗糙不堪，一些平原上杂乱地堆满了垃圾和残余物，景象相当令人沮丧。高贵美丽的艺术品不应仓促完成；而这个宏伟的新世界确实是一件极其高贵美丽的作品。尽管时间仓促，它无疑已奇迹般地接近完美。有些地方星星太多，有些地方又不够，但这无疑很快就能补救。月亮昨晚松脱了，滑落下来，脱离了布局——一个巨大的损失；一想到这个我就心碎。在所有装饰品中，没有哪件能在美丽和精致程度上与它相提并论。它本应被固定得更牢些。要是我们能把它找回来就好了——
但当然，没人知道它去了哪里。而且，无论谁捡到它都会把它藏起来；我知道这一点，因为我自己就会这么做。我相信在其他所有事情上我都能诚实，但我已经开始意识到，我天性的核心与中心是对美的热爱，对美的激情，因此，如果把一个属于别人而那人又不知道在我这里的月亮交给我保管，那是不安全的。白天捡到的月亮我可能会放弃，因为我怕有人在看；但如果我在黑暗中捡到，我肯定我会找某种借口不声张。因为我确实爱月亮，它们是那么漂亮，那么浪漫。我真希望我们有五六个；那样我就永远不用睡觉了；躺在苔藓岸上仰望它们，我永远不会厌倦。
星星也不错。我真希望能摘一些戴在头发上。但我想我永远也做不到。你会发现它们离得有多远，这会让你惊讶，因为它们看起来并不远。昨晚它们刚出现时，我试着用杆子打下来一些，但够不着，这让我很吃惊；然后我又试着扔土块，直到筋疲力尽，但一个也没打到。那是因为我是左撇子，扔不准。即使我瞄准的不是我想打的那颗，我也打不中另一颗，尽管我有好几次差点打中，因为我看到黑色的土块斑点径直飞进金色的星群中四五十次，每次都差一点，如果我能再坚持久一点，也许就能打中一颗了。
于是我哭了一小会儿，我想，对于我这个年纪的人来说，这很自然。休息过后，我拿了个篮子，出发前往圆圈最边缘的一个地方，据说那里的星星离地面很近，我可以用手摘到，这样无论如何会更好，因为我可以温柔地采摘，不会弄碎它们。但那里比我想象的要远，最后我不得不放弃；我太累了，一步也拖不动了；而且，我的脚很疼，伤得很厉害。
我回不了家了；路太远，天又变冷了；但我发现了一些老虎，便依偎在它们中间，舒服极了，它们的呼吸甜美宜人，因为它们以草莓为食。我以前从未见过老虎，但我一眼就通过条纹认出了它们。要是我能有一张那样的皮，一定能做一件漂亮的长袍。