10th October Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Did you ever hear of Michael Angelo?
He was a famous artist who lived in Italy in the Middle Ages. Everybody in English Literature seemed to know about him, and the whole class laughed because I thought he was an archangel. He sounds like an archangel, doesn't he? The trouble with college is that you are expected to know such a lot of things you've never learned. It's very embarrassing at times. But now, when the girls talk about things that I never heard of, I just keep still and look them up in the encyclopedia.
I made an awful mistake the first day. Somebody mentioned Maurice Maeterlinck, and I asked if she was a Freshman. That joke has gone all over college. But anyway, I'm just as bright in class as any of the others and brighter than some of them!
Do you care to know how I've furnished my room? It's a symphony in brown and yellow. The wall was tinted buff, and I've bought yellow denim curtains and cushions and a mahogany desk ( second hand for three dollars ) and a rattan chair and a brown rug with an ink spot in the middle. I stand the chair over the spot.
archangel فرشته ی مقرّب ، فرشته ی بزرگ
encyclopedia دایره المعارف
symphony سمفونی ، هم نوایی،
tint ته رنگ، رنگ مختصر، سایه رنگ، سیری
denim پارچه ی کتانی راه راه و زبر
cushion متکا، کوسن ، پشتی
mahogany درخت ماهون آمریکایی، چوب ماهون، رنگ قهوه ای مایل به قرمز
spot موقعیت ، خال ، لکه
rattan خیزران ، چوب دستی
buff زرد نخودی
می دانید من چه کتابی را بیشتر دوست دارم؟ منظورم حالا است ، چون هر سه روز یکبار نظرم در مورد کتاب تغییر می کند. " وودرینگ هایتز" که نویسنده اش " امیلی برونته" است . امیلی برونته وقتی این کتاب را نوشت خیلی جوان بود و تا آن روز از " هاورث" خارج نشده بود
او با هیچ مردی هم آشنا نشده بود، حالا چطور توانسته شخصیتی مثل " هیث کلیف" را خلق کند خدا می داند.
گاهی به سرم می زند که من به هیچ عنوان استعداد و شعور نویسندگی ندارم. بدون تردید، بابا اگر من نویسنده ی بزرگی نشوم شما خیلی ناراحت می شوید مگر نه؟
این صدای جیغ سالی و جولیا بود که از لای در اتاق سر می کشیدند ، من داشتم به شما نامه می نوشتم و هنوز جمله ی آخر را تمام نکرده بودم که صدای جیغ آنها بلند شد. این شکل را می بینید در این موقع یک هزارپا بلکه هم بدقیافه تر از این شکل از سقف پهلوی من تالاپی افتاد و من در حالیکه از ترس خودم را کنار می کشیدم زدم دو تا فنجان چای خوری را از روی میز انداختم
سالی با پشت برس زد روی هزار پا - که دیگر دلم نمی خواهد دست به آن برس بزنم - و سر هزار پا له شد و تنه اش رفت زیر میز آرایش. این عمارت قدیمی هست و چون دیوارهایش پر از پیچک هست پس هزار پا زیاد دارد ، قیافه ی هزار پا خیلی ناراحت کننده است، من دوست دارم ببر زیر تختم باشد ، اما هزار پا نباشد
Such a lot of troubles! I didn't hear the rising bell this morning, then I broke my shoestring while I was hurrying to dress and dropped my collar button down my neck. I was late for breakfast and also for first-hour recitation. I forgot to take any blotting paper and my fountain pen leaked. In trigonometry the Professor and I had disagreement touching a little matter of logarithms. On looking it up, I find that she was right. We had mutton stew and pie-plant for lunch--hate 'em both; they taste like the asylum. The post brought me nothing but bills ( though I must say that I never of get anything else; my family are not the kind that write) . In English class this afternoon we had an unexpected written lesson. This was it:
I asked no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil? He twirled a button Without a glance my way: But, madam, is there nothing else That we can show today?
That is a poem. I don't know who wrote it or what it means. It was simply printed out on the blackboard when we arrived and we were ordered to comment upon it. When I read the first verse I thought I had an idea--The Mighty Merchant was a divinity who distributes blessings in return for virtuous deeds--but when I got to the second verse and found him twirling a button, it seemed a blasphemous supposition, and I hastily changed my mind. The rest of the class was in the same predicament; and there we sat for three-quarters of an hour with blank paper and equally blank minds. Getting education is an awfully wearing process!
But this didn't end the day. There's worse to come.
It rained so we couldn't play golf, but had to go to gymnasium instead. The girl next to me banged my elbow with an Indian club. I got home to find that the box with my new blue spring dress had come, and the skirt was so tight that I couldn't sit down. Friday is sweeping day, and the maid had mixed all the papers on my desk. We had tombstones for dessert ( milk and gelatin flavored with vanilla). We were kept in chapel twenty minutes later than usual to listen to a speech about womanly women. And then--just as I was settling down with a sigh of well-earned relief to The Portrait of a Lady, a girl named Ackerly, a dough-faced, deadly, unintermittently stupid girl. who sits next to me in Latin because her name begins with A ( I wish Mrs. Lippett had named me Zabriski) , came to ask if Monday's lesson commenced at paragraph 69 or 70, and stayed ONE HOUR. She has just gone.
Did you ever hear of such a discouraging series of events? It isn't the big troubles in life that require character. Anybody can rise to a crisis and face a crushing tragedy with courage, but to meet the petty hazards of the day with a laugh--I really think that requires SPIRIT.
It's the kind of character that I am going to develop. I am going to pretend that all life is just a game which I must play as skillfully and fairly as I can. If I lose, I am going to shrug my shoulders and laugh--also if I win.
Anyway, I am going to be a sport. You will never hear me complain again, Daddy dear, because Julia wears silk stockings and centipedes drop off the wall.