The Snail and the Rose-Tree
de Hans Christian Andersen
tradukita de HeYafu

Cirkum la gardeno etendisin hejo el hazelarbedos; ekster la hejo esin
kampos ay graseyos kum bovinos ay xafos; sed ce la mido de la gardeno
starin floranta rozarbo, sub kiu sidin heliko, kius xelo enhavin
multo -- nome, la heliko self.

English:
Round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the hedge
were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the
garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail, whose
shell contained a great deal—that is, himself.

"Nur atendez til mia horo alvenon," hi dirin; "mi faron mor ol
kreskizi rozos, naski nutos, or doni lakto, kiel la hazelarbedo, la
bovinos ay la xafos."
"Mi ekspektan multo de yi," dirin la rozarbo. "cu mi raytan aski,
kiam ji aperon?"
"Mi ne hastan," dirin la heliko. "Ciam yi insistan hasti. Tio ne
ekscitan ekspekto."

English:
“Only wait till my time comes,” he said; “I shall do more than
grow
roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and the
sheep.”
“I expect a great deal from you,” said the rose-tree. “May I
ask when
it will appear?”
“I take my time,” said the snail. “You’re always in such
a hurry.
That does not excite expectation.”

La sekwanta yero la heliko kuxin en preske la sama loko, en la
sunlumo sub la rozarbo, kiu denove burjenin ay naskin rozos same tiel
frexa ay bela kiel antawe. La heliko bione rampin el sia xelo,
etendin sia hornos, ay denove entirin ju.
"Cio esan tute same kiel pasintyere! Niom da progreso; la rozarbo
ankore donan rozos, ay ne iran plu."

English:
The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the
sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing
roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of his
shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.
“Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the rose-
tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther.”

La somero ay la awtuno pasin; la rozarbo naskin rozos ay burjenos til
la nivo ekfalin ay la wetero farisin frosta ay weta; tiam ji klinin
sia hedo, ay la heliko rampin alen la tero.

English:
The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and buds
till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it bent
down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.

Nova yero ekisin; la rozos aperin, ay anke la heliko.
"Yi yam esan disyuna rozarbo," dirin la heliko. "Yi devan hasti ay
morti. Yi yam donin al la mondo cio, kio yi havin en yi; cu tio multe
gravin, esan asko, kiu mi mankan la tempo pripensi. Sed tiom esan
klara ay evidenta, ke yi farin nio por yia interna developo, or yi
esuz produkinta io alia. Cu yi volan diri io por defendi yi? Yi balde
eson nio apuds kano. Cu yi komprenan mi?"

English:
A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail made
his too.
“You are an old rose-tree now,” said the snail. “You must make
haste
and die. You have given the world all that you had in you; whether it
was of much importance is a question that I have not had time to
think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have not done
the least for your inner development, or you would have produced
something else. Have you anything to say in defense? You will now
soon be nothing but a stick. Do you understand what I say?”

"Yi timizan mi," dirin la rozarbo. "Mi niam pensin pri tio."
"Ne, yi niam strebin pensi pri io ayn. Cu yi iam dirin al yi self,
kial yi florin, ay kiel yia florado okazan -- kial juste tiel ay ne
aliel?"

English:
“You frighten me,” said the rose-tree. “I have never thought
of
that.”
“No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you ever
given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your blooming
comes about—why just in that way and in no other?”

"Ne," dirin la rozarbo. "Mi floran joyante, car mi ne povan aliel
fari. La suno brilin ay warmizin mi, ay la aero frexizin mi; mi
drinkin la klara roso ay la vigliza pluvo. Mi spirin ay mi vivin! El
la tero levisin potenco en mi, dum anke desupre mi ricevin strongeco;
mi sentin ciam novisanta ay ciam kreskanta felico, ay tial mi devin
plu flori. Tia esin mia vivo; mi ne povin fari aliel."

English:
“No,” said the rose-tree. “I bloom in gladness, because I
cannot do
otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I
drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I
lived! Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from
above I also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-
increasing happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming.
That was my life; I could not do otherwise.”

"Yi enjoyin tre facila vivo," la heliko rimarkin.
"Certe. Cio esan donita al mi," dirin la rozarbo. "Sed ankore mor
esan donita al yi. Yias esan un el tiu profunde pensanta animos, un
el tiu vere donita mensos, kiu mirizan la mondo."

English:
“You have led a very easy life,” remarked the snail.
“Certainly. Everything was given me,” said the rose-tree. “But
still
more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinking natures,
one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world.”

"Mi tute ne intendan fari tio," dirin la heliko. "La mondo esan nio
por mi. Kiel mi rilatan al la mondo? Mi havan sufico por fari pri mi
ay en mi."
"Sed cu mu ci tie sur la tero ne devan doni mua most guda partos al
la alia, ay proponi tiom, kiom mu povan? Verdire, mi donin nur rozos.
Sed yi --yi, tiom rice donita -- kio yi donin al la mondo? Kio yi
donon al ji?"

English:
“I have not the slightest intention of doing so,” said the
snail. “The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world?
I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself”
“But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to others,
and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have only given
roses. But you—you who are so richly endowed—what have you given to
the world? What will you give it?”

"Kio mi donin? Kio mi donon? Mi sputan al ji; Ji valuan nio, ay ne
koncernan mi. Law mi, yi plu naskez rozos; yi povon fari nio alia. La
hazelarbedo naskez nutos, ay la bovinos ay xafos donez lakto; lu
havan sia publiko. Mi havan mias en mi self. Mi ritirin en mi ay tie
mi haltan. La mondo esan nio por mi."
Dirinte tio la heliko ritirin alen sia domo ay stopin la enireyo.

English:
“What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it’s good
for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go on
bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public.
I have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The
world is nothing to me.”
With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the
entrance.

"Tio esan disjoya," dirin la rozarbo. "Mi ne povan rampi alen mi
self, kiom ayn mi voluz fari tio; mi devan plu naski rozos. Tiam lu
dropan sia folios, kiu la vento forblovan. Sed mi iam vidin, kiel
oni putin rozo en la himn-libro de la mastrino, ay kiel un el mia
rozos trovin loko sur la brusto de bela yunino, ay kiel alia esin
kisata de la lipos de infano pro la gaya joyo de la vivo. Tio esin
guda por mi; ji esin vera beno. Tiu esan mia rememoros, mia vivo."

English:
“That’s very sad,” said the rose tree. “I cannot creep
into myself,
however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing roses.
Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the wind. But I
once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress’s hymn-book, and how one
of my roses found a place in the bosom of a young beautiful girl, and
how another was kissed by the lips of a child in the glad joy of
life. That did me good; it was a real blessing. Those are my
recollections, my life.”

Ay la rozarbo dure florin pro naiveco, dum la heliko lezure kuxin en
sia domo -- la mondo esin nio por hi.
Yeros pasin.
En la tero la heliko terisin, ay anke la rozarbo. Even la suvenira
rozo en la himn-libro fadin, sed en la gardeno trovisin alia rozarbos
ay alia helikos. Tiu lasta rampin alen sia domos ay sputan al la
mondo, car ji ne koncernin lu.
Cu mu relegez ci tiu fabelo? Ji eson tute sama.

English:
And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail lay
idling in his house—the world was nothing to him.
Years passed by.
The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too.
Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden
there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into
their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.
Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.