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Leteras de la tera
par Mark Twain
Letera du
Letters From The Earth
by Mark Twain
Letter II
"No cosa cual me ia reconta a vos sur la umana es nonvera." Pardona me si me repete acel comenta a veses en esta leteras; me vole ce vos aseta seria la cosas cual me reconta a vos, e me senti ce, si me ta es vos e vos ta es me, me ta nesesa esta recorda de tempo a tempo, per evita fatiga me capasia de crede. "I have told you nothing about man that is not true." You must pardon me if I repeat that remark now and then in these letters; I want you to take seriously the things I am telling you, and I feel that if I were in your place and you in mine, I should need that reminder from time to time, to keep my credulity from flagging.
Car la umana ave no cualias cual no es strana a un nonmortal. El regarda no cosas como nos regarda los, sua senti de proportio es multe diferente de nos, e sua senti de valuas es tan diverjente de nos ce, an con tota nos potias grande de inteleto, es probable ce an la plu intelijente entre nos ta pote nunca comprende el. For there is nothing about man that is not strange to an immortal. He looks at nothing as we look at it, his sense of proportion is quite different from ours, and his sense of values is so widely divergent from ours, that with all our large intellectual powers it is not likely that even the most gifted among us would ever be quite able to understand it.
Per esemplo, considera esta: el ia imajina un sielo, e ia sutrae completa de el la plu suprema de sua deletas, la estasia unica cual sta xef e prima en la cor de cada individua de sua raza – e de nos raza – la relata sesal! For instance, take this sample: he has imagined a heaven, and has left entirely out of it the supremest of all his delights, the one ecstasy that stands first and foremost in the heart of every individual of his race – and of ours – sexual intercourse!
Es como si un person, perdeda e morinte en un deserto rostante, ta es informada par un salvor ce el pote eleje e reseta tota cosas desirada, e el ta eleje omete la acua! It is as if a lost and perishing person in a roasting desert should be told by a rescuer he might choose and have all longed-for things but one, and he should elect to leave out water!
Se sielo es como se mesma: strana, interesante, stonante, asustante. Me promete a vos: sua sielo no conteni an un cualia unica cual el valua vera. El es composada – tota e completa – de divertis cual el cura a cuasi no grado asi a tera, ma es serta vera ce el va gusta los en sua sielo. No es curios? No es interesante? Vos debe no pensa ce me esajera, car no es tal. Me va dona detalias a vos. His heaven is like himself: strange, interesting, astonishing, grotesque. I give you my word, it has not a single feature in it that he actually values. It consists – utterly and entirely – of diversions which he cares next to nothing about, here in the earth, yet is quite sure he will like them in heaven. Isn't it curious? Isn't it interesting? You must not think I am exaggerating, for it is not so. I will give you details.
La plu de umanas no canta, la plu de umanas no pote canta, la plu de umanas no va resta cuando otras canta si on continua per plu ce du oras. Nota esta. Most men do not sing, most men cannot sing, most men will not stay when others are singing if it be continued more than two hours. Note that.
Sola sirca du umanas en sento pote toca un strumento musical, e an no cuatro en sento desira aprende toca. Nota esta. Only about two men in a hundred can play upon a musical instrument, and not four in a hundred have any wish to learn how. Set that down.
Multe umanas prea, ma no multe de los gusta fa. Un poca prea longa, ma la otras usa un via rapida. Many men pray, not many of them like to do it. A few pray long, the others make a short cut.
Plu umanas vade a eglesa ce cuanto vole vade. More men go to church than want to.
Per cuatrodes-nove umanas en sincodes, la Dia Santa es un noia sempre sombre. To forty-nine men in fifty the Sabbath Day is a dreary, dreary bore.
De tota umanas en un eglesa a un soldi, du tris es fatigada cuando la rituo ateni sua media, e la resta ante cuando el es completida. Of all the men in a church on a Sunday, two-thirds are tired when the service is half over, and the rest before it is finished.
La momento plu joios per tota de los es cuando la sermonor leva sua manos per la bondise. On pote oia la xuxa dulse de lejeri cual sofla tra la casa, e on reconose ce el es espresos de grasia. The gladdest moment for all of them is when the preacher uplifts his hands for the benediction. You can hear the soft rustle of relief that sweeps the house, and you recognize that it is eloquent with gratitude.
Tota nasiones despeta tota otra nasiones. All nations look down upon all other nations.
Tota nasiones ave un nongusta de tota otra nasiones. All nations dislike all other nations.
Tota nasiones de blancas despeta tota nasiones de coloridas, de cualce tinje, e opresa los cuando los pote. All white nations despise all colored nations, of whatever hue, and oppress them when they can.
Umanas blanca refusa asosia con negras, o sposi con los. White men will not associate with "niggers," nor marry them.
La blancas refusa permete los entra sua scolas e eglesas. They will not allow them in their schools and churches.
Tota la mundo odia la iudi, e no tolera el estra cuando el es rica. All the world hates the Jew, and will not endure him except when he is rich.
Me demanda ce vos nota tota esta detalias. I ask you to note all those particulars.
Plu: Tota persones de mente sana odia la ruido. Further. All sane people detest noise.
Tota persones, sana o nonsana, gusta ave diversia en sua vive. Monotonia fatiga rapida los. All people, sane or insane, like to have variety in their life. Monotony quickly wearies them.
Cada umana, seguente la aparato mental cual el ia reseta de la distribui, eserse constante e sin sesa sua inteleto, e esta eserse es un parte vasta, valuada, e esensal de sua vive. La inteleto la plu basa, como la plu alta, posese un capasia de alga spesie e gania un plaser agu par proba el, demostra el, perfeti el. La xico vagante ci es plu capas ce sua camerada en juas es tan asidua e tan zelos en sua pratica como la scultor, la depintor, la pianiste, la matematiciste, e la otras. Nun de los ta pote es felis si sua talento ta es proibida. Every man, according to the mental equipment that has fallen to his share, exercises his intellect constantly, ceaselessly, and this exercise makes up a vast and valued and essential part of his life. The lowest intellect, like the highest, possesses a skill of some kind and takes a keen pleasure in testing it, proving it, perfecting it. The urchin who is his comrade's superior in games is as diligent and as enthusiastic in his practice as are the sculptor, the painter, the pianist, the mathematician and the rest. Not one of them could be happy if his talent were put under an interdict.
Aora bon, vos ave la fatos. Vos sabe cual la raza de umanas gusta e cual el no gusta. El ia inventa un sielo par sua testa propre, intera par se mesma: Divina la natur de acel! En des-sinco sentos de eternias, vos no ta pote divina. La mente la plu capas cual vos o me conose no ta pote divina en sincodes milion edas. Ma bon, me va reconta el a vos. Now then, you have the facts. You know what the human race enjoys and what it doesn't enjoy. It has invented a heaven out of its own head, all by itself: guess what it is like! In fifteen hundred eternities you couldn't do it. The ablest mind known to you or me in fifty million aeons couldn't do it. Very well, I will tell you about it.
1. Prima, me recorda a vos atende la fato estracomun con cual me ia comensa. Esta es per dise ce la umana, como la nonmortales, pone natural la relata sesal a grado vasta supra tota otra joias – ma el ia omete el de sua sielo! Sola la pensa de la seso stimula el; frontinte la posablia, el deveni demente; en esta state, el va risca sua vive, sua reputa, tota – an sua sielo bizara se mesma – per reali acel posablia e gida el a la culmine inondante. De la jovenia a la eda media, tota omes e tota femes valua la copula supra tota otra plaseres combinada, ma ancora, vera es cual me ia dise: La seso no esiste en la sielo de la umana; la prea prende sua loca. 1. First of all, I recall to your attention the extraordinary fact with which I began. To wit, that the human being, like the immortals, naturally places sexual intercourse far and away above all other joys – yet he has left it out of his heaven! The very thought of it excites him; opportunity sets him wild; in this state he will risk life, reputation, everything – even his queer heaven itself – to make good that opportunity and ride it to the overwhelming climax. From youth to middle age all men and all women prize copulation above all other pleasures combined, yet it is actually as I have said: it is not in their heaven; prayer takes its place.
En esta modo, los valua forte el; ma ancora, como tota sua "beneficas" suposada, el es un cosa povre. En sua grado la plu bon e longa, la ata es nonimajinable corta – nonimajinable per un nonmortal, me intende. Regardante la repete, la om es limitada – o, vera nonconsetable per un nonmortal. Nos ci continua la ata e sua estasias suprema, nonsesante e sin retira, per sentenios, va pote nunca comprende e compati sufisinte la povria asustante de esta persones en acel donada rica cual, cuando on posese el como nos posese el, fa tota otra posesedas pare trivial e sin merita de disturba se per un fatura. They prize it thus highly; yet, like all their so-called "boons," it is a poor thing. At its very best and longest the act is brief beyond imagination – the imagination of an immortal, I mean. In the matter of repetition the man is limited – oh, quite beyond immortal conception. We who continue the act and its supremest ecstasies unbroken and without withdrawal for centuries, will never be able to understand or adequately pity the awful poverty of these people in that rich gift which, possessed as we possess it, makes all other possessions trivial and not worth the trouble of invoicing.
2. En la sielo de la umana, cadun canta! La umana ci no ia canta sur tera canta ala; la om ci no ia pote canta sur tera pote canta ala. La canta universal no es casual, no nonfrecuente, no lejerida par periodos de cuietia; el continua, tra la dia completa, tra tota dias, tra un estende de des-du oras. E cadun resta, an cuando la loca ta es vacuida en du oras a tera. La canta es sola de imnos. No, el es de sola un imno! La parolas es sempre la mesmas, en cuantia los es sola sirca des-du, ave no rima, ave no poesia: "Osana, osana, osana, senior Dio de la asembla de sielo, ra! ra! ra! sis! – bum! – a-a-a!" 2. In man's heaven everybody sings! The man who did not sing on earth sings there; the man who could not sing on earth is able to do it there. The universal singing is not casual, not occasional, not relieved by intervals of quiet; it goes on, all day long, and every day, during a stretch of twelve hours. And everybody stays; whereas in the earth the place would be empty in two hours. The singing is of hymns alone. Nay, it is of one hymn alone. The words are always the same, in number they are only about a dozen, there is no rhyme, there is no poetry: "Hosannah, hosannah, hosannah, Lord God of Sabaoth, 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! siss! – boom! ... a-a-ah!"
3. A la mesma tempo, cada person toca la arpa – acel miliones e miliones! – an cuando no plu ce dudes en un mil de los ia pote toca un strumento a tera, o ia desira an toca. 3. Meantime, every person is playing on a harp – those millions and millions! – whereas not more than twenty in the thousand of them could play an instrument in the earth, or ever wanted to.
Considera la siclon sordinte de sona – miliones e miliones de voses criante a un ves, e miliones e miliones de arpas molente sua dentes a la mesma tempo! Me demanda a vos: esce esta es fea, odios, repulsante? Consider the deafening hurricane of sound – millions and millions of voices screaming at once and millions and millions of harps gritting their teeth at the same time! I ask you: is it hideous, is it odious, is it horrible?
Considera plu: Esta es un rituo de loda; un rituo de cortesia, de adula! Esce vos demanda ci es el ci vole tolera esta cortesia strana, esta cortesia demente; e ci no tolera sola el, ma gusta el, es plaseda par el, esije el, comanda el? Vos es en suspende! Consider further: it is a praise service; a service of compliment, of flattery, of adulation! Do you ask who it is that is willing to endure this strange compliment, this insane compliment; and who not only endures it, but likes it, enjoys it, requires it, commands it? Hold your breath!
El es la Dio! La dio de esta raza, me intende. El senta sur sua trono, atendeda par sua dudes-cuatro veas e alga otra ofisiores alta ci parteni a sua corte, e regarda supra sua milias e milias de adulores tempestos, e surie, e ronrona, e acorda sasiada con sua testa a la norde, la este, la sude; un esibi tan anticin e naive como on ia pote ja imajina en esta universo, me suposa. It is God! This race's god, I mean. He sits on his throne, attended by his four and twenty elders and some other dignitaries pertaining to his court, and looks out over his miles and miles of tempestuous worshipers, and smiles, and purrs, and nods his satisfaction northward, eastward, southward; as quaint and naïve a spectacle as has yet been imagined in this universe, I take it.
On pote fasil vide ce la inventor de la sielos no ia comensa la idea, ma ia copia el de la rituos esibinte de alga stato autocrata, peti e compatable, a via en la colonias ru de Asia distante. It is easy to see that the inventor of the heavens did not originate the idea, but copied it from the show-ceremonies of some sorry little sovereign State up in the back settlements of the Orient somewhere.
Tota persones blanca de mente sana odia la ruido; an tal, los ia aseta calma esta spesie de sielo – sin pensa, sin refleta, sin esamina – e los vole an vade a el! Omes vea e profonda relijios con capeles gris spende un parte grande de sua tempo per sonia de la dia felis cuando los va descarga la curas de esta vive e va entra en la joias de acel loca. Ma on pote vide ce el es tan nonreal per los, e ce el saisi tan poca los como un fato, car los fa no prepara pratical per la cambia grande: On vide nunca un de los con un arpa, on oia nunca un de los canta. All sane white people hate noise; yet they have tranquilly accepted this kind of heaven – without thinking, without reflection, without examination – and they actually want to go to it! Profoundly devout old gray-headed men put in a large part of their time dreaming of the happy day when they will lay down the cares of this life and enter into the joys of that place. Yet you can see how unreal it is to them, and how little it takes a grip upon them as being fact, for they make no practical preparation for the great change: you never see one of them with a harp, you never hear one of them sing.
Como vos ia vide, acel presenta strana es un rituo de loda: loda par imno, loda par proni. La rituo aveni en loca de "eglesa". Ma nota, a tera esta persones no pote tolera multe la eglesa – un ora e un cuatri es la masima, e los pone un limita a un ves per semana. Esta es per dise: soldi. Un dia en sete; e an alora los no espeta el con zelo. E donce – considera cual sua sielo furni per los: "eglesa" cual dura per eternia, e un Dia Santa cual ave no fini! Asi, los deveni rapida fatigada par esta Dia Santa corta e semanal, ma los anela acel dia santa eternal; los sonia de el, los parla de el, los pensa ce los pensa ce los va gusta el – con tota sua cores simple, los pensa ce los pensa ce los va es felis en el! As you have seen, that singular show is a service of praise: praise by hymn, praise by prostration. It takes the place of "church." Now then, in the earth these people cannot stand much church – an hour and a quarter is the limit, and they draw the line at once a week. That is to say, Sunday. One day in seven; and even then they do not look forward to it with longing. And so – consider what their heaven provides for them: "church" that lasts forever, and a Sabbath that has no end! They quickly weary of this brief hebdomadal Sabbath here, yet they long for that eternal one; they dream of it, they talk about it, they think they think they are going to enjoy it – with all their simple hearts they think they think they are going to be happy in it!
Es car los no pensa vera; los pensa sola ce los pensa. Ma los no pote pensa; an no du umanas en des mil ave un elemento capas de pensa. E regardante la imajina – a, bon, considera sua sielo! Los aseta el, los aproba el, los amira el. Esta mostra a vos la mesura de sua inteleto. It is because they do not think at all; they only think they think. Whereas they can't think; not two human beings in ten thousand have anything to think with. And as to imagination – oh, well, look at their heaven! They accept it, they approve it, they admire it. That gives you their intellectual measure.
4. La inventor de sua sielo versa en el tota nasiones de la tera, en un misca comun. Tota ave un egalia asoluta, nun de los es plu alta ordinada ce un otra; los debe es "frates"; los debe misca la un con la otra, prea la un con la otra, toca la arpa la un con la otra, canta "osana" la un con la otra – blancas, negras, iudis, tota – ave no distingui. Asi a tera, tota nasiones odia la un la otra, e cada de los odia la iudi. Ma cada person relijios adora acel sielo e desira entra el. Vera, el desira. E cuando el es en un estasia santa, el pensa ce el pensa ce, si sola el ta es ala, el ta colie tota la popla a sua cor, e abrasa, abrasa, abrasa! 4. The inventor of their heaven empties into it all the nations of the earth, in one common jumble. All are on an equality absolute, no one of them ranking another; they have to be "brothers"; they have to mix together, pray together, harp together, Hosannah together – whites, niggers, Jews, everybody – there's no distinction. Here in the earth all nations hate each other, and every one of them hates the Jew. Yet every pious person adores that heaven and wants to get into it. He really does. And when he is in a holy rapture he thinks he thinks that if he were only there he would take all the populace to his heart, and hug, and hug, and hug!
El es un mervelia, la umana! Me ta vole sabe ci ia inventa el. He is a marvel – man is! I would I knew who invented him.
5. Cada umana a tera ave alga parte de inteleto, grande o peti; e, si la parte es grande o si el es peti, la umana es orgulos de el. Ance, sua cor infla a la refere a la nomes de la xefes inteletal glorios de sua raza, e el ama la nara de la atenis briliante de estas. Car el es de la mesma sangue, e cuando los onora se mesmas, los onora el. Vide, cual cosas la mente de la umana pote fa! El cria, e dona la lista de la eselentes de tota edas; e indica la leteratures nonmortal cual los ia dona a la mundo, e la mervelias macinal cual los ia inventa, e la glorias con cual los ia vesti la siensa e la artes; e el despone sua xapo ante los como ante res, e dona a los la onora la plu profonda e la plu sinsera cual sua cor pote furni – altinte tal la inteleto supra tota otra cosas en la mundo, e troninte el ala su la sielos arcinte en un supremia nonprosimable. E alora el ia construi un sielo cual no ave an un frato de inteletia en cualce parte! 5. Every man in the earth possesses some share of intellect, large or small; and be it large or be it small he takes pride in it. Also his heart swells at mention of the names of the majestic intellectual chiefs of his race, and he loves the tale of their splendid achievements. For he is of their blood, and in honoring themselves they have honored him. Lo, what the mind of man can do! he cries, and calls the roll of the illustrious of all ages; and points to the imperishable literatures they have given to the world, and the mechanical wonders they have invented, and the glories wherewith they have clothed science and the arts; and to them he uncovers as to kings, and gives to them the profoundest homage, and the sincerest, his exultant heart can furnish – thus exalting intellect above all things else in the world, and enthroning it there under the arching skies in a supremacy unapproachable. And then he contrived a heaven that hasn't a rag of intellectuality in it anywhere!
Esce es strana, es nonusual, es confondente? La vera es esata como me ia dise, an si el sona noncredable. Esta adoror sinsera de inteleto, e recompensor jeneros de sua servis grande asi a tera, ia inventa un relijio e un sielo cual fa no corteses a la inteleto, cual ofre no onora a el, cual lansa no donadas a el: en fato, cual refere nunca a el. Is it odd, is it curious, is it puzzling? It is exactly as I have said, incredible as it may sound. This sincere adorer of intellect and prodigal rewarder of its mighty services here in the earth has invented a religion and a heaven which pay no compliments to intellect, offer it no distinctions, fling it no largess: in fact, never even mention it.
A esta tempo ja, tu ia nota ce la sielo de la umana es desiniada e construida como un projeta definida e asoluta; e ce esta projeta es ce el debe conteni, en detalia laboros, cada e cualce cosa imajinable cual es repulsante a un umana, e an no un cosa solitar cual el gusta! By this time you will have noticed that the human being's heaven has been thought out and constructed upon an absolute definite plan; and that this plan is, that it shall contain, in labored detail, each and every imaginable thing that is repulsive to a man, and not a single thing he likes!
Multe bon. Plu nos prosede, plu esta fato strana va deveni clar. Very well, the further we proceed the more will this curious fact be apparent.
Fa un nota de esta: En la sielo de la umana, ave no eserses per la inteleto, no cosa par cual la inteleto pote nuri se. La inteleto ta putri ala en un anio – putri e apesta. Putri e apesta – e a acel paso el ta deveni santa. Un cosa bondiseda: car sola la santas pote tolera la joias de acel dementeria. Make a note of it: in man's heaven there are no exercises for the intellect, nothing for it to live upon. It would rot there in a year – rot and stink. Rot and stink – and at that stage become holy. A blessed thing: for only the holy can stand the joys of that bedlam.
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