(Finigota en la proksima numero).
THE BIRTH OF ESPERANTO.
Freely translated, from an Esperanto version of a Private Letter of Dr. Zamenhof written in Russian, by John Ellis.
"... You ask me how it was that the idea of creating an international language occurred to me, and what was the history of the Esperanto language from the time of its birth till to-day? The entire public history of the language, that is to say, beginning from the day when I gave it to the world, is more or less known to you; further, it is not opportune now, for many reasons, to touch upon that period; I will consequently relate to you, in general lines, merely the story of the birth of my language.
"It would be difficult for me to tell you all this in detail, for much of it I have myself forgotten. The idea, to the realisation of which I have dedicated my whole life, struck me (it is ridiculous to mention it) in my earliest childhood, and from that time never left me. This circumstance will partly explain why I have laboured upon the matter with so much determination, and why, in spite of all difficulties and hardships, I have not abandoned the idea, as many other working in the same field have done.
"I was born in Bielstock, in the department of Grodno (Russia), where I spent the days of my boyhood. This fortuitous circumstance determined the direction of my future ambitions, for the inhabitants of Bielstock are of four different nationalities—Russians, Poles, Germans, and Jews—each of which speaks a separate language, and is on bad terms with the others. There, more than anywhere else, an impressionable nature feels the heavy misfortune of diversity of tongues. One is convinced at every step that the diversity of language is the only, or at least the chief, cause which separates the human family and divides it into inimical sections.
"I was brought up as an idealist. I was taught that all men are brothers; meanwhile in the street and at home everything, at every step, compelled me to feel that humanity does not exist, that there are only Russians, Poles, Germans, Jews, etc. This thought ever deeply troubled my boyish mind—although many may smile at the thought of a lad sorrowing for humanity. But at that time it seemed to me that the ‘grown ups’ possessed an almighty power, and I said to myself that when I was grown up I would utterly dissipate this evil.
"Little by little I became convinced, of course, that these things were not so practicable as in my boyhood I had imagined; one by one I cast aside my various childish utopias, but the dream of one single tongue for all mankind I never could dispel. In a dim fashion, without any defined plan, in some way it allured me. I do not remember when, but, at all events, it was very early, I arrived at the consciousness that an international language was possible only if it were neutral and belonged to none of the now-existing nationalities.
"When I passed from the Bielstock Gymnasium[2] to the Second Classical School of Warsaw, I was for some time seduced by the dead languages, and dreamed that some day I would travel throughout the world, and in flaming words persuade mankind to revive one of these languages for the common use. Subsequently, I do not now remember how, the conviction came to me that that was an impossibility, and I began, indistinctly, to dream of a new and artificial language. I often made attempts, inventing a profusion of declensions and conjugations, but the language of man, with, as it seemed to me, its endless mass of grammatical forms, its hundreds of thousands of words and ponderous dictionaries, appeared to be such a colossal, and yet tricky, machine that many a time I exclaimed—‘Away with dreams! this labour is beyond human powers!’ But, in spite of all, I always returned to my dream.
"In childhood (before I could make comparisons or work out conclusions) I had learnt French and German, but when, being in the 5th class of the gymnasium, I began to study English, the simplicity of its grammar flashed upon my comprehension, thanks, chiefly, to the wearisome ploughing through the Greek and Latin grammars. I observed that the rich wealth of grammatical forms was not a necessity, but merely the blind result of accidental history. Under that influence I recommenced my research into language, and discarded the unnecessary forms, and I noticed that the grammar ever and ever melted under my hands, and soon I arrived at a tiny grammar, which, without causing any disadvantage to the language, occupied only a few pages. Then I began to devote myself to my dream more seriously. Still, the giant dictionaries left me no peace of mind.