MY　ANTONIA
  by　Willa　Sibert　Cather
  TO　CARRIE　AND　IRENE　MINER
  In　memory　of　affections　old　and　true
  Optima　dies　。。。　prima　fugit
  VIRGIL
  INTRODUCTION
  LAST　summer　I　happened　to　be　crossing　the　plains　of　Iowa　in　a　season
  of　intense　heat；　and　it　was　my　good　fortune　to　have　for　a　traveling
  companion　James　Quayle　BurdenJim　Burden；　as　we　still　call　him
  in　the　West。　　He　and　I　are　old　friendswe　grew　up　together
  in　the　same　Nebraska　townand　we　had　much　to　say　to　each　other。
  While　the　train　flashed　through　never…ending　miles　of　ripe　wheat；
  by　country　towns　and　bright…flowered　pastures　and　oak　groves　wilting
  in　the　sun；　we　sat　in　the　observation　car；　where　the　woodwork
  was　hot　to　the　touch　and　red　dust　lay　deep　over　everything。
  The　dust　and　heat；　the　burning　wind；　reminded　us　of　many　things。
  We　were　talking　about　what　it　is　like　to　spend　one's　childhood　in　little
  towns　like　these；　buried　in　wheat　and　corn；　under　stimulating　extremes
  of　climate：　　burning　summers　when　the　world　lies　green　and　billowy
  beneath　a　brilliant　sky；　when　one　is　fairly　stifled　in　vegetation；
  in　the　color　and　smell　of　strong　weeds　and　heavy　harvests；
  blustery　winters　with　little　snow；　when　the　whole　country　is　stripped
  bare　and　gray　as　sheet…iron。　We　agreed　that　no　one　who　had　not
  grown　up　in　a　little　prairie　town　could　know　anything　about　it。
  It　was　a　kind　of　freemasonry；　we　said。
  Although　Jim　Burden　and　I　both　live　in　New　York；
  and　are　old　friends；　I　do　not　see　much　of　him　there。
  He　is　legal　counsel　for　one　of　the　great　Western　railways；
  and　is　sometimes　away　from　his　New　York　office　for　weeks　together。
  That　is　one　reason　why　we　do　not　often　meet。　　Another　is　that　I
  do　not　like　his　wife。
  When　Jim　was　still　an　obscure　young　lawyer；　struggling　to　make　his　way
  in　New　York；　his　career　was　suddenly　advanced　by　a　brilliant　marriage。
  Genevieve　Whitney　was　the　only　daughter　of　a　distinguished　man。
  Her　marriage　with　young　Burden　was　the　subject　of　sharp　comment　at　the　time。
  It　was　said　she　had　been　brutally　jilted　by　her　cousin；　Rutland　Whitney；
  and　that　she　married　this　unknown　man　from　the　West　out　of　bravado。　　She　was
  a　restless；　headstrong　girl；　even　then；　who　liked　to　astonish　her　friends。
  Later；　when　I　knew　her；　she　was　always　doing　something　unexpected。
  She　gave　one　of　her　town　houses　for　a　Suffrage　headquarters；　produced　one
  of　her　own　plays　at　the　Princess　Theater；　was　arrested　for　picketing　during
  a　garment…makers'　strike；　etc。　　I　am　never　able　to　believe　that　she　has　much
  feeling　for　the　causes　to　which　she　lends　her　name　and　her　fleeting　interest。
  She　is　handsome；　energetic；　executive；　but　to　me　she　seems　unimpressionable
  and　temperamentally　incapable　of　enthusiasm。　　Her　husband's　quiet　tastes
  irritate　her；　I　think；　and　she　finds　it　worth　while　to　play　the　patroness　to
  a　group　of　young　poets　and　painters　of　advanced　ideas　and　mediocre　ability。
  She　has　her　own　fortune　and　lives　her　own　life。　　For　some　reason；　she　wishes
  to　remain　Mrs。　James　Burden。
  As　for　Jim；　no　disappointments　have　been　severe　enough　to　chill
  his　naturally　romantic　and　ardent　disposition。　　This　disposition；
  though　it　often　made　him　seem　very　funny　when　he　was　a　boy；
  has　been　one　of　the　strongest　elements　in　his　success。
  He　loves　with　a　personal　passion　the　great　country　through
  which　his　railway　runs　and　branches。　　His　faith　in　it　and　his
  knowledge　of　it　have　played　an　important　part　in　its　development。
  He　is　always　able　to　raise　capital　for　new　enterprises
  in　Wyoming　or　Montana；　and　has　helped　young　men　out　there
  to　do　remarkable　things　in　mines　and　timber　and　oil。
  If　a　young　man　with　an　idea　can　once　get　Jim　Burden's　attention；
  can　manage　to　accompany　him　when　he　goes　off　into
  the　wilds　hunting　for　lost　parks　or　exploring　new　canyons；
  then　the　money　which　means　action　is　usually　forthcoming。
  Jim　is　still　able　to　lose　himself　in　those　big　Western　dreams。
  Though　he　is　over　forty　now；　he　meets　new　people　and　new　enterprises
  with　the　impulsiveness　by　which　his　boyhood　friends　remember　him。
  He　never　seems　to　me　to　grow　older。　　His　fresh　color　and　sandy
  hair　and　quick…changing　blue　eyes　are　those　of　a　young　man；
  and　his　sympathetic；　solicitous　interest　in　women　is　as　youthful
  as　it　is　Western　and　American。
  During　that　burning　day　when　we　were　crossing　Iowa；
  our　talk　kept　returning　to　a　central　figure；　a　Bohemian　girl
  whom　we　had　known　long　ago　and　whom　both　of　us　admired。
  More　than　any　other　person　we　remembered；　this　girl　seemed
  to　mean　to　us　the　country；　the　conditions；　the　whole　adventure
  of　our　childhood。　　To　speak　her　name　was　to　call　up　pictures
  of　people　and　places；　to　set　a　quiet　drama　going　in　one's　brain。
  I　had　lost　sight　of　her　altogether；　but　Jim　had　found　her　again
  after　long　years；　had　renewed　a　friendship　that　meant　a　great
  deal　to　him；　and　out　of　his　busy　life　had　set　apart　time　enough
  to　enjoy　that　friendship。　　His　mind　was　full　of　her　that　day。
  He　made　me　see　her　again；　feel　her　presence；　revived　all　my　old
  affection　for　her。
  〃I　can't　see；〃　he　said　impetuously；　〃why　you　have　never　written
  anything　about　Antonia。〃
  I　told　him　I　had　always　felt　that　other　peoplehe　himself；
  for　one　knew　her　much　better　than　I。　I　was　ready；　however；
  to　make　an　agreement　with　him；　I　would　set　down　on　paper
  all　that　I　remembered　of　Antonia　if　he　would　do　the　same。
  We　might；　in　this　way；　get　a　picture　of　her。
  He　rumpled　his　hair　with　a　quick；　excited　gesture；　which　with　him
  often　announces　a　new　determination；　and　I　could　see　that　my
  suggestion　took　hold　of　him。　　〃Maybe　I　will；　maybe　I　will！〃
  he　declared。　　He　stared　out　of　the　window　for　a　few　moments；
  and　when　he　turned　to　me　again　his　eyes　had　the　sudden
  clearness　that　comes　from　something　the　mind　itself　sees。
  〃Of　course；〃　he　said；　〃I　should　have　to　do　it　in　a　direct　way；
  and　say　a　great　deal　about　myself。　　It's　through　myself　that　I
  knew　and　felt　her；　and　I've　had　no　practice　in　any　other
  form　of　presentation。〃
  I　told　him　that　how　he　knew　her　and　felt　her　was　exactly　what　I
  most　wanted　to　know　about　Antonia。　　He　had　had　opportunities　that　I；
  as　a　little　girl　who　watched　her　come　and　go；　had　not。
  Months　afterward　Jim　Burden　arrived　at　my　apartment　one　stormy　winter
  afternoon；　with　a　bulging　legal　portfolio　sheltered　under　his　fur　overcoat。
  He　brought　it　into　the　sitting…room　with　him　and　tapped　it　with　some　pride
  as　he　stood　warming　his　hands。
  〃I　finished　it　last　nightthe　thing　about　Antonia；〃　he　said。
  〃Now；　what　about　yours？〃
  I　had　to　confess　that　mine　had　not　gone　beyond　a　few　straggling　notes。
  〃Notes？　　I　didn't　make　any。〃　　He　drank　his　tea　all　at　once
  and　put　down　the　cup。　　〃I　didn't　arrange　or　rearrange。
  I　simply　wrote　down　what　of　herself　and　myself　and　other　people
  Antonia's　name　recalls　to　me。　　I　suppose　it　hasn't　any　form。
  It　hasn't　any　title；　either。〃　　He　went　into　the　next　room；
  sat　down　at　my　desk　and　wrote　on　the　pinkish　face　of　the
  portfolio　the　word；　〃Antonia。〃　　He　frowned　at　this　a　moment；
  then　prefixed　another　word；　making　it　〃My　Antonia。〃
  That　seemed　to　satisfy　him。
  〃Read　it　as　soon　as　you　can；〃　he　said；　rising；　〃but　don't　let　it
  influence　your　own　story。〃
  My　own　story　was　never　written；　but　the　following　narrative
  is　Jim's　manuscript；　substantially　as　he　brought　it　to　me。
  NOTES：　　＇1＇　The　Bohemian　name　Antonia　is　strongly　accented
  on　the　first　syllable；　like　the　English　name　Anthony；
  and　the　‘i'　is；　of　course；　given　the　sound　of　long　‘e'。　The
  name　is　pronounced　An'…ton…ee…ah。