Freely translated from an Esperanto version of a Russian letter
written by Dr Zamenhof, by John Ellis.
"This is an appropriate place for me to say a few words about the
material for the dictionary. Much earlier, when I had examined and
rejected every non-essential from the grammar, I had desired to
exercise the principles of economy in respect of the word-material
also. Thinking that it was a matter of indifference what form any
particular word took, so long as it was agreed that it should express
a given idea, I simply invented words, taking care only that they
should be as short as possible, and did not contain an unnecessary
number of letters. Instead of using "interparoli" (to converse), a
word of eleven letters, why should we not express the idea just as
well by some word of two letters, say, "pa"? So I simply wrote the
shortest and most easily pronounced mathematical series of conjoined
letters, to each factor of which series I gave a certain meaning
(_e.g._, a, ab, ac, ad, ba, ca, da ...; e, eb, ec ...; be, ce ...;
aba, aca ... etc.).
"But I immediately rejected this notion, for my own personal
experiments proved that these invented words were very difficult to
learn, and even more so to remember. I came to the conclusion that
the material for the dictionary must be Romance-Teutonic, altered
only so far as regularity and other important requirements of
language demanded. Standing upon this ground, I soon observed that
the present languages possessed an immense supply of words already
international, with which all the nations had a prior acquaintance,
and which formed a veritable treasure house for the future
international language--and, of course, I utilised this treasure.
"In 1878 the language was more or less ready, although there was a
good deal of difference between my _lingwe uniwersala_ of that date
and the present Esperanto. I told my fellow-students about it--I was
then in the 8th Class of the gymnasium--and the greater part of them
were attracted by the idea, and struck by the unusual easiness of the
language, began to study it. On the 5th of December, 1878, we united
to celebrate the birth of my language by a solemn festival. During
the feast there were speeches in the new language, and we
enthusiastically sang a hymn the commencing words of which were as
follows:--
"Malamikete de las nacjes
Kadó, kadó, jam temp' está!
La tot' homoze in familje
Konunigare so debá."
which being interpreted into English, 'May the enmity of nations fall
away, fall away, for the hour is come! All mankind must become as one
family.'
"On the table, in addition to the grammar and dictionary, lay some
translations in the new language.
"And thus the first stage of my language came to an end.
"I was then still too young for my work to appear before the public,
and I decided to wait five or six years longer, and during that time
to carefully test my language and to work it out fully and
practically. Half a year after the feast of December 5th, 1878, we
finished our course at the gymnasium and separated. The future
apostles of the new language made some attempts to discuss 'the new
language,' but, meeting with the ridicule of their elders, forthwith
renounced it, and I remained in a glorious minority of one.
Foreseeing nothing but scoffing and persecution, I decided to hide my
work from the eyes of all.
"For five and a-half years whilst I was at the University I never
spoke to anyone about it. That was a very trying time for me. The
secrecy tormented me. Compelled to carefully conceal my thoughts and
plans, I went scarcely anywhere, took no part in anything, and the
most enjoyable time of life--the student-years--was, for me, the
saddest. Sometimes I endeavoured to find distraction in society, but
I felt myself a stranger, sighed and went away, and from time to time
eased my heart by writing poems in the language I was elaborating.
One of these poems, 'Mia penso,' I afterwards inserted in the first
brochure which I published; but to those readers who were
unacquainted with the circumstances under which they were written the
verses would appear strange and incomprehensible.
"For six years I worked at perfecting and testing my language, and it
gave me plenty of work, although in 1878 I had thought that it was
quite ready. I made many translations and wrote original works in it,
and severe trials showed me that what I had considered to be quite
finished in theory was nevertheless not ready for practical use.
"There was much to lop, alter, correct, and radically to transform.
Words and forms, principles and postulates, jostled with and opposed
each other, whereas in theory, taken separately and not subjected to
extended tests, they had appeared to me perfectly good. Such things,
for instance, as the indeterminate preposition 'je,' the elastic verb
'meti,' the neutral termination 'aŭ,' etc, possibly would never have
entered into my head if I had proceeded only upon theory. Some forms
which had appeared to possess a wealth of advantage proved in
practice to be nothing but useless ballast, and on this account I
discarded several unnecessary suffixes.
"In 1878 it seemed to me that it was sufficient if my language
possessed a grammar and a dictionary; its heaviness and want of grace
I attributed only to the fact that I did not know the language
sufficiently well; but practice ever more and more convinced me that
a language requires in addition an indescribable something, a uniting
element, giving to it life and a defined and unmistakable spirit.
"I therefore began to avoid making literal translations, and made an
effort to _think_ in the neutral language.
"Later I noticed that the language with which I was occupied was
ceasing to be a shadowy reflection of the language from which I
happened to be translating, and was becoming imbued with its own life
and invested with a spirit of its own, and acquiring a physiognomy
properly defined, clearly expressed, and independent of any other
influence. My speech flowed of itself, flexibly, gracefully, and
totally untrammelled, just as my living native tongue.
"Yet another circumstance compelled me to postpone for a long time
the appearance of my language; for many years another problem of
immense importance to a neutral language had remained unsolved. I
knew that everyone would say 'Your language will be of no use to me
until the world at large accepts it, so I shall make no use of it
until everyone else does.' But since the world at large is composed
only of its units, my neutral language could have no future until it
was of use to each separate unit independently of whether the world
at large accepted it or not.
This problem I considered for a long while. At last the so-called
secret alphabets, which do not necessitate any prior knowledge of
them, and enable any person not in the secret to understand all that
is written if you but transmit the key, gave me an idea. I arranged
my language after the fashion of such a key, inserting not only the
entire dictionary but also the whole grammar in the form of its
separate elements. This key, entirely self-contained and
alphabetically arranged, enabled anyone of any nationality to
understand without further ado a letter written in Esperanto.
"I had left the University and begun my medical practice; I began to
consider the publication of my labours. I had prepared the manuscript
of my first brochure, 'an International Language, by Dr. Esperanto,'
and sought out a publisher. And here for the first time I met that
bitter practicality of life, the financial question, against which I
had and still have to fight yet the more. For two years I looked in
vain for a publisher. And when indeed I had found one he spent half a
year in preparing my brochure for publication, and finally--refused.
At length, after strenuous efforts, I succeeded in publishing the
brochure myself in July, 1887. Before I did so I was much
perplexed--I felt that I stood before the Rubicon. Having once
published my brochure, retreat would be impossible, and I knew what
kind of fate attends a doctor who is dependent upon the public, if
that public comes to regard him as a visionary, or a man who busies
himself with side issues. I felt that it was staking my whole future
peace of mind, my livelihood, and that of my family, but I could not
abandon the idea which had entered into my body and my blood, and ...
_I crossed the Rubicon_."
Lazaro Ludoviko Zamenhof.
[_Copyright reserved._]
[_Tradukis Esp. 6266._]
LA VENTEGO (Daŭrigo).
(_Vidu la kvin antaŭajn Nrojn._)