English Original
From my father I received the best inheritance, namely a "good temper." He was lively, good-looking, round, and fat; a complete contradiction to his profession. His employment placed him at the head of the grandest people of the town. He had to precede the bishop, and even the princes of the blood; he always went first—he was a hearse driver!
When people saw my father perched up in front of the omnibus of death, dressed in his long, black cloak and three-cornered hat, and then glanced at his round, jocund face, they could not think much of sorrow. That face said, "It is nothing, it will all end better than people think." So I inherited from him not only my good temper, but a habit of going often to the churchyard, and of reading the Intelligencer, just as he used to do.
The newspaper and the churchyard were always exciting to me. My walks there were like bathing-places for my good humor. Every grave is like a closed book, with only the title visible. I keep a diary where I write a history of all who lie here.
Now we are in the churchyard. Here rests a very unhappy man. He had a good position and refined tastes, but the least thing annoyed him. At the theatre, he would fret over misplaced stage props or inappropriate audience reactions. He fretted and worried himself into the grave.
Here rests a happy man—a man of high birth and position. He walked about in an embroidered coat, looking like a showy bell-pull. But behind such bell-pulls always hangs a good thick cord for use. This man also had a stout, useful substitute behind him, who did all his dirty work. It is all so wisely arranged.
Here rests a man who, for sixty-seven years, was never remembered to have said a good thing. He lived only in the hope of having a good idea. At last he felt convinced he had one, and died of joy at the thought. No one even heard what the idea was. I imagine this idea may prevent him from resting quietly; for if he must present it at breakfast but can only appear at midnight like a ghost, the idea would not suit the hour, and he would have to carry it back to a troubled grave.
Here rests a remarkably stingy woman, who would mew at night so her neighbors thought she kept a cat.
Here rests a young lady who would always make her voice heard. When she sang "Mi manca la voce" ("I lack a voice"), it was the only true thing she ever said.
Here rests a widow who, with music on her tongue, carried gall in her heart. She preyed upon the faults of others with envy and malice.
This is a family grave. The members held so firmly to their own opinions that they would believe no other. If their rooster crowed at midnight, they declared it morning, despite all evidence to the contrary.
I come here often. If any of my friends, or those who are not my friends, are too much for me, I choose a plot to bury them, as it were. There they lie, dead and powerless, until they return as new and better characters. I write their stories in my diary. Then, if our friends act absurdly, no one need be vexed. Let them bury the offenders out of sight and keep their good temper.
When the time comes for the history of my life to be bound by the grave, they will write upon it as my epitaph: "The man with a cheerful temper."
And this is my story.
中文翻译
我从父亲那里继承了最好的遗产，即“好脾气”。他活泼、好看、圆润、肥胖；与他的职业形成了完全的矛盾。他的职业使他位居镇上最显赫人物的前列。他必须走在主教，甚至王室亲王的前面；他总是走在最前面——他是一名灵车车夫！
当人们看到我父亲高坐在“死亡巴士”的前面，穿着长长的黑色斗篷，戴着三角帽，然后瞥见他圆润、快活的脸庞时，他们很难联想到悲伤。那张脸仿佛在说：“这没什么，一切都会比人们想的要好。”因此，我从他那里继承的不仅是我开朗的性情，还有常去教堂墓地的习惯，以及阅读《情报报》的习惯，就像他过去常做的那样。
报纸和教堂墓地总是让我兴奋。我去那里的散步就像是为我的好心情准备的浴场。每一座坟墓都像一本合上的书，只能看到书名。我记日记，写下所有长眠于此者的故事。
现在我们就在教堂墓地里。这里长眠着一个非常不快乐的人。他地位优越，品味高雅，但最微小的事情也会惹恼他。在剧院里，他会为放错位置的道具或不恰当的观众反应而烦恼。他就是这样烦恼、忧虑，最终把自己送进了坟墓。
这里长眠着一个快乐的人——一个出身高贵、地位显赫的人。他穿着一件绣花外套走来走去，看起来就像一个华丽的拉铃绳饰。但在这样的拉铃绳后面，总挂着一根结实好用的粗绳。这个人身后也有一个结实、有用的替身，为他处理所有肮脏的工作。这一切安排得如此巧妙。
这里长眠着一个人，六十七年来，人们从不记得他说过一句妙语。他活着只希望能有一个好主意。最后他确信自己真的有了一个，并因终于想到一个主意而喜极而亡。没人知道那是什么主意。我想象着，这个主意可能会让他无法安息；因为，如果这个主意需要在早餐时提出，而他只能像鬼魂一样在午夜出现，那么这个主意就不合时宜，他不得不把它带回一个不安宁的坟墓。
这里长眠着一个异常吝啬的女人，她会在夜里学猫叫，让邻居以为她养了猫。
这里长眠着一位年轻女士，她总是要让别人听到她的声音。当她唱起“Mi manca la voce”（“我缺少嗓音”）时，这是她一生中唯一说过的真话。
这里长眠着一位寡妇，她舌灿莲花，心中却充满怨恨。她怀着嫉妒与恶意，以搜寻他人的过失为食。
这是一个家族墓穴。家族成员固执己见，不相信任何其他说法。如果他们家的公鸡在午夜打鸣，他们会宣称天亮了，尽管所有证据都显示那是午夜。
我常来这里。如果我的朋友，或不是朋友的人，让我难以忍受，我就会选一块地，仿佛把他们埋葬。他们躺在那里，死去且无能为力，直到他们以崭新、更好的品格回来。我把他们的故事写在日记里。这样，如果我们的朋友行为荒唐，也没人需要烦恼。让他们把冒犯者“埋葬”在视线之外，保持自己的好脾气。
当时机到来，我生命的历史将被坟墓合上时，他们将在上面写下我的墓志铭：“一个性情开朗的人。”
这就是我的故事。