Some accuse politics or business; others social problems or militarism. We meet only an embarrassment1 of choice when we start to unstring the chaplet of our carking cares. Suppose we set out in pursuit of pleasure. There is too much pepper in our soup to make it palatable2. Our arms are filled with a multitude of embarrassments3, any one of which would be enough to spoil our temper. From morning till night, wherever we go, the people [81]we meet are hurried, worried, preoccupied4. Some have spilt their good blood in the miserable5 conflicts of petty politics: others are disheartened by the meanness and jealousy6 they have encountered in the world of literature or art. Commercial competition troubles the sleep of not a few. The crowded curricula of study and the exigencies7 of their opening careers, spoil life for young men. The working classes suffer the consequences of a ceaseless industrial struggle. It is becoming disagreeable to govern, because authority is diminishing; to teach, because respect is vanishing. Wherever one turns there is matter for discontent.
And yet history shows us certain epochs of upheaval8 which were as lacking in idyllic9 tranquillity10 as is our own, but which the gravest events did not prevent from being gay. It even seems as if the seriousness of affairs, the uncertainty11 of the morrow, the violence of social convulsions, sometimes became a new source of vitality12. It is not a rare thing to hear soldiers singing between two battles, and I think myself nowise mistaken in saying that human joy has celebrated13 its finest triumphs under the greatest tests of endurance. But to sleep peacefully on the eve of battle or to exult15 at the stake, men had [82]then the stimulus16 of an internal harmony which we perhaps lack. Joy is not in things, it is in us, and I hold to the belief that the causes of our present unrest, of this contagious17 discontent spreading everywhere, are in us at least as much as in exterior18 conditions.
To give one's self up heartily19 to diversion one must feel himself on a solid basis, must believe in life and find it within him. And here lies our weakness. So many of us—even, alas20! the younger men—are at variance21 with life; and I do not speak of philosophers only. How do you think a man can be amused while he has his doubts whether after all life is worth living? Besides this, one observes a disquieting22 depression of vital force, which must be attributed to the abuse man makes of his sensations. Excess of all kinds has blurred23 our senses and poisoned our faculty24 for happiness. Human nature succumbs25 under the irregularities imposed upon it. Deeply attainted at its root, the desire to live, persistent26 in spite of everything, seeks satisfaction in cheats and baubles27. In medical science we have recourse to artificial respiration28, artificial alimentation, and galvanism. So, too, around expiring pleasure we see a crowd of its votaries29, [83]exerting themselves to reawaken it, to reanimate it Most ingenious means have been invented; it can never be said that expense has been spared. Everything has been tried, the possible and the impossible. But in all these complicated alembics no one has ever arrived at distilling30 a drop of veritable joy. We must not confound pleasure with the instruments of pleasure. To be a painter, does it suffice to arm one's self with a brush, or does the purchase at great cost of a Stradivarius make one a musician? No more, if you had the whole paraphernalia31 of amusement in the perfection of its ingenuity32, would it advance you upon your road. But with a bit of crayon a great artist makes an immortal33 sketch34. It needs talent or genius to paint; and to amuse one's self, the faculty of being happy: whoever possesses it is amused at slight cost. This faculty is destroyed by scepticism, artificial living, over-abuse; it is fostered by confidence, moderation and normal habits of thought and action.
An excellent proof of my proposition, and one very easily encountered, lies in the fact that wherever life is simple and sane35, true pleasure accompanies it as fragrance36 does uncultivated flowers. Be this life hard, hampered37, devoid38 of all things ordinarily [84]considered as the very conditions of pleasure, the rare and delicate plant, joy, flourishes there. It springs up between the flags of the pavement, on an arid39 wall, in the fissure40 of a rock. We ask ourselves how it comes, and whence: but it lives; while in the soft warmth of conservatories41 or in fields richly fertilized42 you cultivate it at a golden cost to see it fade and die in your hand.
Ask actors what audience is happiest at the play; they will tell you the popular one. The reason is not hard to grasp. To these people the play is an exception, they are not bored by it from over-indulgence. And, too, to them it is a rest from rude toil43. The pleasure they enjoy they have honestly earned, and they know its cost as they know that of each sou earned by the sweat of their labor44. More, they have not frequented the wings, they have no intrigues45 with the actresses, they do not see the wires pulled. To them it is all real. And so they feel pleasure unalloyed. I think I see the sated sceptic, whose monocle glistens46 in that box, cast a disdainful glance over the smiling crowd.
"Poor stupid creatures, ignorant and gross!"
And yet they are the true livers, while he is an artificial product, a mannikin, incapable47 of [85]experiencing this fine and salutary intoxication48 of an hour of frank pleasure.
Unhappily, ingenuousness50 is disappearing, even in the rural districts. We see the people of our cities, and those of the country in their turn, breaking with the good traditions. The mind, warped51 by alcohol, by the passion for gambling52, and by unhealthy literature, contracts little by little perverted53 tastes. Artificial life makes irruption into communities once simple in their pleasures, and it is like phylloxera to the vine. The robust54 tree of rustic55 joy finds its sap drained, its leaves turning yellow.
Compare a fête champêtre of the good old style with the village festivals, so-called, of to-day. In the one case, in the honored setting of antique costumes, genuine countrymen sing the folk songs, dance rustic dances, regale56 themselves with native drinks, and seem entirely57 in their element. They take their pleasure as the blacksmith forges, as the cascade58 tumbles over the rocks, as the colts frisk in the meadows. It is contagious: it stirs your heart. In spite of yourself you are ready to cry: "Bravo, my children. That is fine!" You want to join in. In the other case, you see villagers disguised as city folk, countrywomen made hideous59 [86]by the modiste, and, as the chief ornament60 of the festival, a lot of degenerates61 who bawl62 the songs of music halls; and sometimes in the place of honor, a group of tenth-rate barnstormers, imported for the occasion, to civilize63 these rustics64 and give them a taste of refined pleasures. For drinks, liquors mixed with brandy or absinthe: in the whole thing neither originality65 nor picturesqueness66. License67, indeed, and clownishness, but not that abandon which ingenuous49 joy brings in its train.
THIS question of pleasure is capital. Staid people generally neglect it as a frivolity68; utilitarians69, as a costly70 superfluity. Those whom we designate as pleasure-seekers forage71 in this delicate domain72 like wild boars in a garden. No one seems to doubt the immense human interest attached to joy. It is a sacred flame that must be fed, and that throws a splendid radiance over life. He who takes pains to foster it accomplishes a work as profitable for humanity as he who builds bridges, pierces tunnels, or cultivates the ground. So to order one's life as to keep, amid toils73 and suffering, the faculty of happiness, and be able to propagate it in a sort of salutary contagion74 among one's [87]fellow-men, is to do a work of fraternity in the noblest sense. To give a trifling75 pleasure, smooth an anxious brow, bring a little light into dark paths—what a truly divine office in the midst of this poor humanity! But it is only in great simplicity76 of heart that one succeeds in filling it.
We are not simple enough to be happy and to render others so. We lack the singleness of heart and the self-forgetfulness. We spread joy, as we do consolation77, by such methods as to obtain negative results. To console a person, what do we do? We set to work to dispute his suffering, persuade him that he is mistaken in thinking himself unhappy. In reality, our language translated into truthful78 speech would amount to this: "You suffer, my friend? That is strange; you must be mistaken, for I feel nothing." As the only human means of soothing79 grief is to share it in the heart, how must a sufferer feel, consoled in this fashion?
To divert our neighbor, make him pass an agreeable hour, we set out in the same way. We invite him to admire our versatility80, to laugh at our wit, to frequent our house, to sit at our table; through it all, our desire to shine breaks forth81. Sometimes, also, with a patron's prodigality82, we offer him the [88]beneficence of a public entertainment of our own choosing, unless we ask him to find amusement at our home, as we sometimes do to make up a party at cards, with the arrière-pensée of exploiting him to our own profit. Do you think it the height of pleasure for others to admire us, to admit our superiority, and to act as our tools? Is there anything in the world so disgusting as to feel one's self patronized, made capital of, enrolled83 in a claque? To give pleasure to others and take it ourselves, we have to begin by removing the ego84, which is hateful, and then keep it in chains as long as the diversions last. There is no worse kill-joy than the ego. We must be good children, sweet and kind, button our coats over our medals and titles, and with our whole heart put ourselves at the disposal of others.
Let us sometimes live—be it only for an hour, and though we must lay all else aside—to make others smile. The sacrifice is only in appearance; no one finds more pleasure for himself than he who knows how, without ostentation85, to give himself that he may procure86 for those around him a moment of forgetfulness and happiness.
When shall we be so simply and truly men as not to obtrude87 our personal business and distresses88 upon [89]the people we meet socially? May we not forget for an hour our pretensions89, our strife90, our distributions into sets and cliques—in short, our "parts," and become as children once more, to laugh again that good laugh which does so much to make the world better?
HERE I feel drawn91 to speak of something very particular, and in so doing to offer my well-disposed readers an opportunity to go about a splendid business. I want to call their attention to several classes of people seldom thought of with reference to their pleasures.
It is understood that a broom serves only to sweep, a watering-pot to water plants, a coffee-mill to grind coffee, and likewise it is supposed that a nurse is designed only to care for the sick, a professor to teach, a priest to preach, bury, and confess, a sentinel to mount guard; and the conclusion is drawn that the people given up to the more serious business of life are dedicated92 to labor, like the ox. Amusement is incompatible93 with their activities. Pushing this view still further, we think ourselves warranted in believing that the infirm, the afflicted94, the bankrupt, the vanquished95 in life's battle, and all [90]those who carry heavy burdens, are in the shade, like the northern slopes of mountains, and that it is so of necessity. Whence the conclusion that serious people have no need of pleasure, and that to offer it to them would be unseemly; while as to the afflicted, there would be a lack of delicacy96 in breaking the thread of their sad meditations97. It seems therefore to be understood that certain persons are condemned98 to be always serious, that we should approach them in a serious frame of mind, and talk to them only of serious things: so, too, when we visit the sick or unfortunate; we should leave our smiles at the door, compose our face and manner to dolefulness, and talk of anything heartrending. Thus we carry darkness to those in darkness, shade to those in shade. We increase the isolation99 of solitary100 lives and the monotony of the dull and sad. We wall up some existences as it were in dungeons101; and because the grass grows round their deserted102 prison-house, we speak low in approaching it, as though it were a tomb. Who suspects the work of infernal cruelty which is thus accomplished103 every day in the world! This ought not to be.
When you find men or women whose lives are lost in hard tasks, or in the painful office of seeking [91]out human wretchedness and binding104 up wounds, remember that they are beings made like you, that they have the same wants, that there are hours when they need pleasure and diversion. You will not turn them aside from their mission by making them laugh occasionally—these people who see so many tears and griefs; on the contrary, you will give them strength to go on the better with their work.
And when people whom you know are in trial, do not draw a sanitary105 cordon106 round them—as though they had the plague—that you cross only with precautions which recall to them their sad lot. On the contrary, after showing all your sympathy, all your respect for their grief, comfort them, help them to take up life again; carry them a breath from the out-of-doors—something in short to remind them that their misfortune does not shut them off from the world.
And so extend your sympathy to those whose work quite absorbs them, who are, so to put it, tied down. The world is full of men and women sacrificed to others, who never have either rest or pleasure, and to whom the least relaxation107, the slightest respite108, is a priceless good. And this minimum of [92]comfort could be so easily found for them if only we thought of it. But the broom, you know, is made for sweeping109, and it seems as though it could not be fatigued110. Let us rid ourselves of this criminal blindness which prevents us from seeing the exhaustion111 of those who are always in the breach112. Relieve the sentinels perishing at their posts, give Sisyphus an hour to breathe; take for a moment the place of the mother, a slave to the cares of her house and her children; sacrifice an hour of our sleep for someone worn by long vigils with the sick. Young girl, tired sometimes perhaps of your walk with your governess, take the cook's apron113, and give her the key to the fields. You will at once make others happy and be happy yourself. We go unconcernedly along beside our brothers who are bent114 under burdens we might take upon ourselves for a minute. And this short respite would suffice to soothe115 aches, revive the flame of joy in many a heart, and open up a wide place for brotherliness. How much better would one understand another if he knew how to put himself heartily in that other's place, and how much more pleasure there would be in life!
I HAVE [93]spoken too fully14 elsewhere of systematizing amusements for the young, to return to it here in detail.[B] But I wish to say in substance what cannot be too often repeated: If you wish youth to be moral, do not neglect its pleasures, or leave to chance the task of providing them. You will perhaps say that young people do not like to have their amusements submitted to regulations, and that besides, in our day, they are already over-spoiled and divert themselves only too much. I shall reply, first, that one may suggest ideas, indicate directions, offer opportunities for amusement, without making any regulations whatever. In the second place, I shall make you see that you deceive yourselves in thinking youth has too much diversion. Aside from amusements that are artificial, enervating116 and immoral117, that blight118 life instead of making it bloom in splendor119, there are very few left to-day. Abuse, that enemy of legitimate120 use, has so befouled the world, that it is becoming difficult to touch anything but what is unclean: whence watchfulness121, warnings and endless prohibitions123. One can hardly stir without encountering something that resembles unhealthy pleasure. Among young people of [94]to-day, particularly the self-respecting, the dearth124 of amusements causes real suffering. One is not weaned from this generous wine without discomfort125. Impossible to prolong this state of affairs without deepening the shadow round the heads of the younger generations. We must come to their aid. Our children are heirs of a joyless world. We bequeath them cares, hard questions, a life heavy with shackles126 and complexities127. Let us at least make an effort to brighten the morning of their days. Let us interest ourselves in their sports, find them pleasure-grounds, open to them our hearts and our homes. Let us bring the family into our amusements. Let gayety cease to be a commodity of export. Let us call in our sons, whom our gloomy interiors send out into the street, and our daughters, moping in dismal128 solitude129. Let us multiply anniversaries, family parties, and excursions. Let us raise good humor in our homes to the height of an institution. Let the schools, too, do their part. Let masters and students—school-boys and college-boys—meet together oftener for amusement. It will be so much the better for serious work. There is no such aid to understanding one's professor as to have laughed in his company; and conversely, to be well understood [95]a pupil must be met elsewhere than in class or examination.
And who will furnish the money? What a question! That is exactly the error. Pleasure and money: people take them for the two wings of the same bird! A gross illusion! Pleasure, like all other truly precious things in this world, cannot be bought or sold. If you wish to be amused, you must do your part toward it; that is the essential. There is no prohibition122 against opening your purse, if you can do it, and find it desirable. But I assure you it is not indispensable. Pleasure and simplicity are two old acquaintances. Entertain simply, meet your friends simply. If you come from work well done, are as amiable130 and genuine as possible toward your companions, and speak no evil of the absent, your success is sure.
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1
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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succumbs
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的第三人称单数 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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baubles
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| n.小玩意( bauble的名词复数 )；华而不实的小件装饰品；无价值的东西；丑角的手杖 | |
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respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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votaries
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| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
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distilling
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| n.蒸馏（作用）v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )( distilled的过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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Fertilized
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| v.施肥( fertilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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45
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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46
glistens
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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49
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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ingenuousness
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| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
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51
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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56
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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59
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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61
degenerates
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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62
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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63
civilize
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| vt.使文明，使开化 (=civilise) | |
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64
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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66
picturesqueness
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67
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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69
utilitarians
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| 功利主义者，实用主义者( utilitarian的名词复数 ) | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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71
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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72
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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73
toils
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| 网 | |
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74
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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75
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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76
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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78
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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80
versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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83
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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100
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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102
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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103
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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104
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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105
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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106
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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107
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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108
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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109
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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110
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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111
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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112
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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113
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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114
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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115
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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116
enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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117
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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118
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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119
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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120
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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121
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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122
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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123
prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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124
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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125
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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126
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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127
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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128
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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129
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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130
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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