aliihsanaksamaz.blogspot.com: BEDİNERİ P̆RENSİ/ MUTLU PRENS/ The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde/ Lazurişa goktinu MunirYilmaz Avcik

Noğaşi jilendo, mağali ar k̆umʒxişi jin Bedineri P̆rensişi goqazei kva geladgit̆u. Tişen k̆uçxeşa mç̆ipe, but̆k̆a stei okroşi ar tabak̆a gonʒaxei uğut̆u; Tolepe jur mçxat̆ua yak̆ut̆işi uğut̆u do k̆ilicişi xesti ar didi mçita yak̆ut̆i uçxat̆upt̆u.

Goqazei dido moʒ̆ondut̆es. Muşi zenaatişi ʒ̆ondape iris oxoʒ̆onapu naunt̆u ar Belediye Meclisişi ezak, “Muç̆o nʒaşburbaloni… Eşo mskva.” Yado simadape muşi iris koxoʒ̆onapu; Mara muk dido pratiği navaren stei kuxuiʒ̆onenşi şkurinaten emedeni noqonu: “Ancax ek̆oti oxmaroni do mek̆aroni mutu varen.”

Nosei ar oxorcak, “Tuta man komomçi.” yado nanobun beremuşis, “Bedinei P̆rensi k̆onai vargaqvapineni? Emus çkar mutuşeni omgarinu varti gvaşinen.” Ya uʒ̆u.

Çkar şvena navaruğun ar k̆oçik e mskva goqazeis mendoʒ̆k̆edu do, “Hele kiyanasti xeleberi ar miti kort̆een.” Yado iris elotku.

Xeyir K̆urumişi berepek mçxat̆ua mç̆ita dolokunupe, paği xçe onluğepeten ek̆lesiyaşen gamit̆esşi “Muç̆o melaeği stei.” Ya tkves.

Xesap̆işi muellimik,” Solen giçkinan?” yado k̆itxu, “Tkvan çkar melaeği vagižiramunan ki.”

Berepek, “A, izmocepes bžiropt mara…” ya uʒ̆ves. Xesap̆işi muellimikti ofidepe eʒ̆ozdu do tolepe dido kuk̆umʒ̆k̆upinu. Muşeni ki berepek eşo izmocepeten dulya naqvan varunt̆u.

Ar seris ar ç̆it̆a mşkirdoni noğaş k̆ele kamoşaxtu. Manebrape muşi ar tuta dogvei ʒ̆oxleşen Misirişa igzaleet̆es mara aya k̆ap̆ulas kodoskideet̆u. Muşeniki en mskva isirişa guri meçamei rt̆u.

Emus tee pukiroba geç̆k̆apuş oras; mçxu, skit̆a ar parpalişi k̆ap̆ulas ğalişen ʒ̆alendo k̆ele putxut̆uşi moxvadeet̆u do isirişi e mç̆ipe do met̆ruxale şkas eşo aqoropeet̆u ki ʒ̆oxle muşi kododgiteet̆u.

Nena gonzdimu navarunon mşkirdonik msvaeepe ʒ̆k̆aris dolonʒ̆ei dolonʒ̆ei varçxiliş xalk̆ape ğaru do emuşi gomorgvas iktu, iktu.

Aya emuşi oç̆u do oxalu rt̆u do mapxa margvali eşopeten mek̆olapeet̆u.

Majurani mşkirdonepek, “Ožiʒinoni ar menç̆inoba; Para-puli varuğun, soyi-sopiti şirimi stei.” Yado iç̆ik̆ç̆ik̆ines. Mtinişiti ğali isiriten monk̆alei rt̆u. Ok̆ule stveli moxtuşi iri xolo putxes do mik̆iles. Entepe igzalesşi k̆ule mşkirdoniti xvala kodoskidu do qoropei muşişenti guri dukiru. “Çkar vağarğalaps.” Ya zop̆ont̆u.

“Mʒikati ʒ̆una ren. Muşeni ki birtum ixis k̆udeli unk̆anups. “ İxi mundesti barasna isirik en mç̆ipe ilt̆ifatepe oğodapt̆u. “Oxoris aşo mek̆ireli rt̆asna k̆abuli domaxvenen…” yado oğarğalu muşis noqonu. “…Mara man goxtimu k̆ai miʒ̆onun. Emuşeni çili çkimisti k̆ai varaʒ̆onaşi variqven. Mundeşk̆ule, “Çkimi k̆ala mului?” yado k̆itxu. İsirik ti keʒ̆ozdu. Oxori muşişa dido mek̆ireli rt̆u.

Mşkirdonik, “Sin dido komemoktini. Man p̆iramitepeşa vulur, k̆aobaten doskidi!” yado kodistvinu do putxu. Ndğa margvalis putxu, putxu. Seriş gverdis noğaşa komextu. “P̆iya so gepta? Eşo mepşvenki akonepes çkimişeni xaziroba xvenei uğunan.” Ya tku.

Ok̆uleti didi storbaşi jin nageladgin goqazei kožiru. Ak kodovibarge. Dido xavadai do mskva ar yeri” yado Xeleberi P̆rensişi k̆uçxepeşi oşkenas konoxedu.

Gomorgvas guinʒ̆k̆edu do onciruşa ixaziret̆uşi muşeburot, “Oncereş oda çkimi okroşi ren.” yado nik̆unk̆ulu mara tam ti muşi msvas mişidumet̆uşi jindolen ar mçxu ʒ̆k̆ariş ʒ̆ap̆a kogyaʒ̆ap̆u. “Mu t̆uafi şeyi! Nʒas ar teği mp̆ula varen, muruʒxepek valupan do çxat̆upan xoloti mç̆ima mç̆ips. Avrop̆aşi jilendoni t̆aroni dido p̆at̆i rt̆een.” Yado ç̆ik̆ç̆ik̆inupt̆uşi ar ʒ̆ap̆a çkva kamelu.

“Mç̆imaşen ti çkimi var maşletinenşi am goqazeri man mus mirgun? Ar k̆ai bacaşi kudi kobžira” yado oputxinu şeni kamuiselu. Murenki msvaepe vargonʒ̆k̆uşakis masumani ʒ̆ap̆a kamelu. Ti eʒ̆ozduşi mu žiras?! Xeleberi P̆rensişi tolepe çalamureten yopşa rt̆u. Okroşi ğvaepe muşişenti çalamurepe giluʒ̆urdut̆u. Nunk̆u muşi tutaş tes ek̆o mskva rt̆uki mşkirdonis guris naparpalu.

“Miret?” Yado k̆itxu.

“Man xeleberi P̆rensi vore.”

Mşkirdonik, “Eşo renşi mot imgart?” yado k̆itxu. “Man ʒ̆k̆ariten domʒ̆irʒ̆olit.

Goqazeik, “Man saği vort̆işi, guri çkimi k̆oçepeşi guri rt̆uşi, çalamure muren varmiçkit̆u. Muşeni ki nek̆na muşişen derdi navar amalen “Sans Souci” sarayis pxert̆i. Ndğaleri oput̆es manebrape k̆ala vistert̆i, limcişiti didi salonis xoroniten mevaktet̆i. Oput̆eşi gomorgvas nagot̆k̆un ar didi k̆ida kuğut̆u. Muren ki emuşi k̆ap̆ulas murenşi çkar meraği varmiğut̆u. Gomorgva çkimis iri mutupe ek̆o mskva rt̆uki emri çkimişi tude narenanpek man “Xeleberi P̆rensi” miʒ̆umert̆es. Mtinişiti xeleberi vort̆i. Osteru do oxoronus xeleba uʒ̆umelanna…Edo aşo pskidi, aşo bğuri. Aʒ̆i ğureli navoreşeni man ak am mağali svas kogelomodgines. Aʒ̆i noğa çkimişi mteli betoba do sefiloba k̆ai xeşa mažiren. Guri k̆urşumişen namiğun şeni omgarinuşen met̆i xeşen mutu varmomixteps.”

Mşikdonik muşeburot, “Muu, okroşi vareni?!” ya tku. Muşi fik̆irepe navaroxoʒ̆onapaps k̆onaiti neziği rt̆u.

Goqazeik dambali do memskvanei ar xomaten: “Ekole,” ya tku. Ar ç̆it̆a sokağişi ekole doloxvei ar oxori eladgin. Pencerepeşen ari gonʒ̆k̆ei ren. Doloxeti stolis namok̆axen ar oxorca bžirop. Nunk̆u muşi goʒxuk̆ei. Muk terzi narenşeni oç̆uşi lemşi mentxu montxuten elamç̆itaneri, k̆ap̆et̆i xeepe uğun. Mapaçilis sarayis oğarğaluşi manebrape muşişi en mskva iya narenşeni, sarayişi balos dilikunasten canfesi ar fork̆aşi jin çarkifeleğişi pukirepe gyuşups. Odaşi ar kyoşes ar onceres ç̆it̆a bere muşi žabuni elacans. Daçxiri gyožin. Şuris Purt̆uk̆ali unon. Nanamuşis ğalişi ʒ̆k̆arişen met̆i mutu varuğun. Berekti imgars. Mşkirdoni, mşkirdoni, ç̆it̆a mşkirdoni! K̆ilici çkimişi xes naren yak̆ut̆i megaʒ̆k̆en do emuşa megağeni? K̆uçxepe çkimi tude perçiniten meç̆k̆adei miğun do varoxomank̆anen.”

Mşkirdonik, “Man Misiris mçumelan.” Ya uʒ̆u. “Manebrape çkimik aʒ̆i Nilişen jile- ʒ̆ale putxunan do mordeli niluferepe k̆ala ğarğalapan. Didi Firavunişi turbes incirasunonan. Eti ğaperi tabutişi doloxe ren. Ç̆amepe gosveri skit̆a ar kefeni gok̆ireli ren. Qalis varçxili ar yeşimişi zencili dolobun. Xerepeti ntkireli but̆k̆apes mengaps.

P̆rensik, “Ç̆it̆a mşkirdoni!” ya uʒ̆u. “Ar seris elamixeda do komemişvelana variqveni? Beres eşo ʒ̆k̆ari aşven do nanamuşiti eşo donoç̆k̆inde ren ki...”

Mşkirdonik: “Biç̆i berepesti çkar var p̆qorop. Goʒ̆os mapxaş tutapes man ğaldo ğali golaputxut̆işi kva namastomert̆es jur uğnose bere kort̆u. Entepe mamskibaleşi berepe rt̆es. Entepes kvaepe çkimda var mat̆alet̆es. Çkin mşkirdonepe dido k̆ai namaputxinenan şeni çkinda kvaşi mot̆alu eşo cidaxi ar dulya varen. Ok̆uleti man dido maputxoce ar ocağişi bere vore. Xoloti entepek namoğodespe dido uşinapale ar dulya ren.” Muren ki eşo gemzuli Bedinei P̆rensi Mşkirdonis guris naç̆u: “Am yeri dido qini ren mara am seri kelagixedu do dulya skanis komegişvel.” Yado sagama meçu.

P̆rensik, “Mardi, ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni.” Ya uʒ̆u. Mşkirdonikti P̆rensiş k̆ilicis nanoçans didi yak̆ut̆i k̆ik̆iliten kanuʒ̆k̆u do noğaş oxorepeşi jin mʒ̆k̆upabonas koxvaktu.

Xçe mermerişi melaeğepe jin nagyudgin eklesiaşi dudiras golvaktu. Sarayişi ʒ̆oxle mik̆it̆uşi oxoronuşi xomape kognu. Ar mskva k̆ulani qoropei muşi k̆ala balkonişa kagamaxtu. Berek k̆ulanis: “Am muruʒxepe do qoropaşi menceli visimadaşi gamak̆viren.” Ya uʒ̆u. K̆ulanik, “Mapaçiliş baloşakis dolokunu çkimi konuç̆işat̆una k̆ai iqvet̆u.” Ya uʒ̆u. Jin muşiti mskva pukirepe gevoʒ̆ipxap mara mamç̆apupe eşo bunduri renan ki.” Yado nena gyuktiru.

Ğaliş jindole putxut̆uşi didi k̆aravepes nagelobun fenerepe kožiru. Yahudepeşi mahales mik̆it̆uşi entepek pazarluği xvenei, bakirişi t̆epsepeten okrope naʒ̆inupt̆es yahudepes mʒika oras komendoʒ̆k̆edu.

Bere mçxopa gedvalei onceres meşacant̆u do xoloti tirtint̆u. Nana muşiti iluxet̆u do lirt̆u. İya dido donoç̆k̆inde rt̆u. Pencereşen amaʒxont̆u do em didi yak̆ut̆i stolis oxorcaşi yuksuğis kiludu. Ok̆uleti beres goputxu do msvaepeten k̆ai xeşa ixi kogobaru.

Berek, “Mupei viserini, vik̆are ya maçkinen.” Ya tku do mskvaşa ar ncirişa mendaxtu.

Ok̆ule mşkirdoni P̆rensişa komextu do nauxvenapunpe emus dusvaru. “Mu k̆onai gamak̆viren, ak̆o qini t̆aronis t̆ani çkimi muk̆onai t̆uʒa miğun.”

P̆rensik, “K̆ainoba na qvi şeni...” Ya uʒ̆u. Mşkirdoni mezmonei mezmonei kodinciru. İsimadept̆aşi birtum nciri muxtept̆u.

Getanap̆icis ğalişa gelaxtu do dvinçiru. K̆vinçepeşi ar çkinak̆oçi xincişen mik̆it̆uşi, “Aya mupei navarižiren dulya ren. Qinobaşi doloxe ar mşkirdoni!” yado ekoni k̆azetas ar ginže kart̆ali minduç̆aruşi iya naik̆itxespeşi irik emuşen oğarğalus kogyoç̆k̆es.

Mşkirdonik, “Man am seri Misirişa vulur.” Ya tku. Ek oxtimu osimaduten dido ixelapt̆u. Em noğas ožiramuşi naren iri yeri koguilu şk̆ule ar eklesiaş dudiras dido oras kogelaxedu. So idasna, ç̆urç̆apek oç̆ik̆ç̆inuten artikartis,”Muk̆onai kibari ar monoxtime.” Ya uʒ̆umert̆es. Mşkirdonik eşopeten dido mskva orape mek̆olapu. Tuta kextuşiti P̆rensişa kak̆uniktu.

“Misiris oxvenuşi mutu dulya giğuni? Aʒ̆i gzas gebdgitu.” Ya uʒ̆u.

P̆rensik: “Ç̆it̆a mşkirdoni!” ya uʒ̆u. Ar seri çkva vardogadgineni?

Mşkirdonik, “Man Misiris mçumelan.” Yado nena gyuktiru. Ç̆umen manebrape çkimi majurani gecğialoni şakis putxasunonan. Ekonaşi xasirişi tipepeşi doloxe ʒ̆k̆arʒxenepe inciran. Didi ar granit̆işi kvaşi jin Ğormoti Memnoni gelaxen. Ç̆umanişakis muruʒxepes oʒ̆k̆ers, getanaşiti ar kodiliqurs do ok̆uleti dostibun. Ondğeriş oras skit̆a perepeten lomepe ʒ̆k̆ari oşumu şeni ğalişa komulvan. Entepes xanç̆eni perişi zebercedepe steri tolepe uğunan. Entepeş omğoruş xoma gecğialonişenti k̆ai xeşa ignapen.

P̆rensik, “Ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni,” ya uʒ̆u…” Ekole, noğaşi majurani k̆unʒ̆ulis, nç̆eris nameşaxen ar bere bžirop. Jin kart̆alepe nagyobğun ar stolis nocans, ar k̆eleti ç̆ik̆as dolodvei ntkireli loressima iludgin. Tomape ç̆uburiş periten, çarbepe daçxiri stei mç̆ita, mçxu do mezmonei tolepe uğun. Tiyatro şeni ar steraşi oç̆aru şeni iboden. Daçxiris varnužin do mşkironatenti çkar menceli var uğun.

Dido k̆ai guroni mşkirdonik, “Ar seris çkva kodobdgitur. Ar çkva yak̆ut̆i emusti komevuğari!” ya uʒ̆u.

P̆rensik, “Yak̆ut̆i vardomiskidu. Mu miğunna tolepes miğun. Entepe şilya ʒ̆ana ʒ̆oxleşen Hindistanişen monomale nʒaşperişi yak̆ut̆epe renan. Entepeşen ari keşomoği do emus minduği. Ar k̆uyumcis kagamuçaps do oç̆k̆omale mutupe k̆ala dişkati keç̆opups do ç̆ara muşi konotamamaps.”

Mşkirdonik, “P̆rensi çkimi nazop̆onpe varmaxvenen.” Yado omgarinus kogyoç̆k̆u.

P̆rensik, “Ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni. Mu giʒ̆umerna iya qvi!” ya uʒ̆u.

Mşkirdonik P̆rensis ar toli keşoğu do mamguruşi nç̆erişk̆ele mendaputxu. Nç̆eris nažiru ar xut̆ulaşen komeşaxtu. Beres xerepe nunk̆us motvaleri uğut̆u do mşkirdoni varti žiru. Tolepe gonʒ̆k̆uşi nʒaş perişi yak̆ut̆i, ntkireli loressimape k̆ala kožiru.

Berek, “Aʒ̆i iris mop̆ʒ̆ondu moro” yado diquru. “Aya dido namop̆ʒ̆ondi ar mitişen moxtimei ren. Aʒ̆i stera çkimi domaçodinen..” Aʒ̆i emus dido axelet̆u.

Mşkirdoni majurani ndğas limanişa kagelaxtu. Didi ar k̆aravişi ʒ̆alamis kogelaxedu do memzuğalepek ambarişen naişimert̆es didi didi yaşik̆epes oʒ̆k̆edu. K̆arta yaşik̆i yonç̆anşi, “Yissaa, molaaa,” yado diqurapt̆es. Mşkirdonik; “Misirişa vulur!,” yado diç̆ik̆ ç̆ik̆inu mara mitik varti mendoʒ̆k̆edu. Eti tuta kextuşi Bedineri P̆rensişa kak̆uniktu.

P̆rensik, “Ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni, ar seris çkva vardogadgineni?” ya uʒ̆u.

Mşkirdonik, “Qinoba komoxtu. Otirtinoni mtvirepeti aʒ̆i gzas gedgin do mulun. Misiris xurmaşi ncaepeşi jin nagomjors mjora aʒ̆i dido t̆uʒa ren. Timsaepekti t̆alaxepeş doloxe bunduri bunduri canan do iʒ̆k̆ernan.

Aʒ̆i manebrape çkimik Baalbek̆işi oxvames obğe k̆idupan.Elamç̆ita do xçe perepetenmç̆ipeş t̆orocepek artikartis uç̆ik̆ç̆ik̆inupan. Şurimşine P̆rensi çkimi, skanden ok̆oʒ̆k̆imuşi vore mara sin p̆ot̆es vargomoç̆k̆ondaginon. ʒ̆oxleni pukirobas, namepçitşi jur k̆ati yak̆ut̆i komogimer. Mç̆ita naren, mç̆ita dadalepeşen daha mç̆ita; cğat̆a narenti en didi zuğapeşen daha cğat̆a iqvasunon.

Bedineri P̆rensik; “ʒ̆aleni zenis…” ya uʒ̆u. “…ebza nagamaçaps ar ç̆it̆a k̆ulani ren. Ebzape ʒ̆k̆aris kodululu do mteli xolo dişveles. Varixmarenan. Oxorişa geç̆areli varnağuna babamuşişen biga ç̆k̆omasunon. K̆ulanik imgars. Ne modvalu uğun ne ʒ̆inek̆i. Tisti mutu varmotun. Majurani toliti keşamiği do komeçi. Babamuşik mo baxupt̆as.

Mşkirdonik, “Ar seris çkva kelagixedu mara majurani toli skani var eşamağen. Varna mteli utole kodoskidu.”

P̆rensik, “Ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni, mu giʒ̆umerna, iya qvi!” ya uʒ̆u.

Mşkirdonik majurani toliti keşoğu do ʒ̆alendo k̆ele gamat̆u. Ebza nagamaçaps k̆ulanis goputxu do yak̆uti xes kogyudu.

K̆ulanik, “Oxx, aya muk̆onai mskva dada ren.” Ya tku do xelebaten nk̆ap̆ineri oxorişa igzalu. Mşkirdoniti P̆rensişa kak̆uniktu şk̆ule emus, ”Aʒ̆i utole kodoskidi do çkar mutu vagažiren emuşeni man skani k̆ala ak dodginoni doviqvi.” Ya uʒ̆u.

P̆rensik, “Var, ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni sin aʒ̆i Misirişa idaginon.

Mlkirdonik, “Var iqven. Birtum skanik̆ala ak vort̆aminon.” Ya tku do P̆rensişi k̆uçxepeş tude kilinciru.

Majurani ndğas P̆rensis mxucis kogiluxedu do çkva terepes naužiramunpe emus osvarus kogyoç̆k̆u. Nilişi ekole akole golosvarun do mç̆ita çxomepe naç̆opupan elamç̆ita ibişiş k̆vinçepeşen, çolis naelaxen do iri şei nauçkin kiyana k̆onai ʒ̆anei Sfenk̆işen, devepes naelvatxozenan kehribarişi tespiğepe na zdipan tacirepeşen, tutaş germapes ar didi billuriş kvas naaxvamen abanozi steri uça mapaşen, ar xurmas nagelacans do ti muşi eç rahibes topuriş xavlaten naoskedinapaps veberta xanç̆eni ʒ̆iʒ̆ilaşen, ar didi t̆ibas didi but̆k̆apeşi jin inçvirs do birtum parpalepe k̆ala naok̆obun Yecuci- Mecucepeşen dido şeepe oxoʒ̆onapu.

P̆rensik. “Şurimşine ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni, man dido gaak̆vironi mutupe miʒ̆umer. Mara en oçkinoni naren k̆oçepeşi ç̆vinape ren. Noğa çkimişi jin goputxi do muepe ixvenenna man domiʒ̆vi!” ya uʒ̆u.

Mşkirdoni noğaş jin putxu: Fuk̆arape nek̆naş ʒ̆oxle xet̆esşi xampa k̆oçepe mskva oxorepe mutepeşis doxunei žiru. Meşamʒ̆k̆upanei gzaepeşa meşaxtuşi, çkar mutuşen ambari navaruğun burde stei naiʒ̆k̆ernan mşkironi do nunk̆u p̆ici kart̆ali stei xçeaneri berepe do ar xinciş tude ot̆ibinu şeni artikartis gok̆ireli naelacanan jur bere kožiru. Berepek ar Mamçumales, “Dido mşkironei voret.” Ya uʒ̆vesşi emuk, “Ak vagancirenan!” yado duluquru. Entepeti mç̆imaş tude yiseles do mek̆iles. Ok̆uleti guiktu do nažirupe P̆rensis dusvaru.

P̆rensik, “T̆ani çkimis mteli okroşi but̆k̆ape gomot̆k̆un. Entepe tito tito gomoʒ̆k̆i do fuk̆arapes durti. Naskidunanpes xela do k̆aobape mteli okroşen mulun ya açkinenan.

Mşkirdonik, P̆rensi guit̆et̆elet̆u şakis mteli okrope kagoʒ̆k̆u do fuk̆arapes durtu. Berepes nunk̆u p̆icis peri komuxtes do sokağepes osteramus kogyoç̆k̆es. “Aʒ̆i mç̆k̆iditi komiğunan.” Yado qurapt̆es.

Antepe iqvet̆uşi, qinoba do k̆ap̆ulaşenti mtviri komoxtu. Sokağepe varçxiliten xveneri stei çxat̆up̆t̆u. Ginže ginže qinerepe saçağepes muç̆o xançerepe stei goʒ̆obun, oxorcalepe kyurkepen gulunan, mç̆ita p̆ap̆axepe tis motvalei ç̆it̆a berepe k̆izağepeten gzaepes gestut̆es do gulut̆es. K̆rima ç̆it̆a mşkirdonis dido qini gežit̆u mara P̆rensi noşkvinu varunt̆u. Emus dido qoropt̆u. Furniş gale naobğunmç̆k̆idişi punçxape nt̆k̆obaşa k̆orobupt̆u do imxort̆u, msvaepeti opatkaluten ot̆ibinu şeni içalişept̆u.

Em oras nağurasunon koxoʒ̆onu. Xvala ar fara çkva P̆rensişi mxucişa yeputxinuşi menceli duskideet̆u. P̆rensis, “K̆aobaten doskidi Şurimşine P̆rensi çkimi.” Yado ilupurçolu. “Xe skanis mecindinu şeni izni momçapi?”

P̆rensik, ”Eşo oxovoʒ̆onap ki Misirişa oxtimuşi ora komogixtu ç̆it̆a Mşkirdoni. Aya k̆ai maʒ̆onu. Ak dido oras dodgiti mara man ar fara çarbişen komemacundi. Muşeni ki sin dido k̆qorop.” Ya uʒ̆u.

Mşkirdonik, “Navidaminon sva Misiri varen” ya uʒ̆u. “Man ğuraşi ocağişa vulur. Ğurati ncirişi cuma vareni?” Edo P̆rensis konacundu şk̆ule doğuru do mxucişen tude kamelu.

Em oras Bedineri P̆rensiş doloxendo k̆ele ar ok̆ot̆ruxinuşi xoma kuignapu. Kurşumiş guri muşi oşkenaşen kak̆ot̆ruxeet̆u.

Majurani ndğas Belediyeşi başk̆ani do meclisişi ezape ʒ̆aleni zenis gulut̆es. Goqazeriş ʒ̆oxle mik̆it̆esşi Başk̆anik ti eʒ̆ozdu do kiʒ̆iʒ̆k̆edu şk̆ule, “Vuu, Bedineri P̆rensis mu ağodeen aşo?” ya tku.

Birtum Başk̆anik na tkvas iri nenas ti nagyunk̆anups ar ezakti, “Mtinişiti amus mu ağodeen aşo? Yado diquru. Ok̆uleti juri isa, goʒ̆k̆omilu şeni goqazeişa kelaxtes.

Başk̆anik, “K̆ilicis yak̆ut̆i kanustveen, tolepe igzaleen, okropeti varduskideen, mak̆vandeşen ar ç̆it̆a k̆ai xali uğun.” Ya tku. Majurani ezapekti, “Hoo, mak̆vandeşen ar ç̆it̆a k̆ai xali uğun.” Yado sagama meçes.

Başk̆anik, “Aha, k̆uçxeş tude ar xraʒkeli k̆vinçi elažin.” Yado noqonu. “K̆vinçepe ak navarağurinen şeni ar emri meçamuşi voret.” Ya tku do emedeni ar kart̆alis em emri doç̆arapu.

Emu şk̆ule Bedineri P̆rensişi goqazei kamoktes. Universit̆eşen ar P̆rofesoik, “Aʒ̆i aya mskva navaren şeni mutusti vairgun” ya tku. Ok̆uleti goqazeri ar furnis dondğulines. Başk̆anik, “Aʒ̆i nandğulu madenişen mu maxvenenan?” ya tku do ar k̆arari meçamu şeni ezape kok̆ok̆orobu. Ok̆uleti, “Helbet ar çkva mitişi goqazeri oxvenuşi voret ki eti ancax çkimişeni ixvenasunon.” Yado noqonu. Ezapeşi k̆artaik, “Var, var: Çkimi goqazei ixvenas .” yado kuk̆uiç̆k̆omes. Man entepe mevaşkvişi entepe xoloti ok̆obut̆es.

Goğazei naikips mamçalişupeşi gemdginalek, “Mu acayibi dulya ren.” Ya. “Kurşumişi am guri mututen varndğulun.” Ya tku do guri yezdu do ğureli k̆vinçi naelažin oçot̆ura şk̆ele kelat̆k̆oçu.

Trangik ar melaeğis, “Em noğaşi en k̆ai jur mutu man komomiği!” ya uʒ̆uşi melaeğikti. Ğureli k̆vinçi do kurşumiş guri emus konuğu.

Trangik, “K̆ai goşaʒxuneet. Am k̆vinçik cenneti çkimişi ar k̆elendo birtum stvinasunon, Bedineri P̆rensikti okroşi tere çkimis birtum man mxvamasunon.” Ya tku.

[Osk̆ar Uaildişi p̆aramiti Turkulişen Lazurişa goktinu MunirYilmaz Avcik (ʒ̆ilva 2013 ʒ̆.)]

https://masallaroku.org/mutlu-prens-oku/

The Happy Prince

by Oscar Wilde

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has no money, and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. “She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.” And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. “I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

“You have been trifling with me,” he cried. “I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!” and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air.” So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. “What a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.

The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musical voice, “far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow. “My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow. “Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. “It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. “How wonderful the stars are,” he said to her, “and how wonderful is the power of love!”

“I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,” she answered; “I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.”

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings. “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better”; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. “It is curious,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. “What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. “A swallow in winter!” And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the Swallow. “To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water’s edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.

“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?”

“Alas! I have no ruby now,” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that”; and he began to weep.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he cried; “this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play,” and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up. “I am going to Egypt”! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.”

“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince, “there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.”

“I will stay with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, “but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. “What a lovely bit of glass,” cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. “You are blind now,” he said, “so I will stay with you always.”

“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince, “you must go away to Egypt.”

“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince’s feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands.

He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.”

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm. “How hungry we are!” they said. “You must not lie here,” shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince, “you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.”

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. “We have bread now!” they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. “Good-bye, dear Prince!” he murmured, “will you let me kiss your hand?”

“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.”

“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said the Swallow. “I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?”

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: “Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.

“How shabby indeed!” cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,” said the Mayor in fact, “he is litttle beter than a beggar!”

“Little better than a beggar,” said the Town Councillors.

“And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!” continued the Mayor. “We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.” And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. “As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful,” said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. “We must have another statue, of course,” he said, “and it shall be a statue of myself.”

“Of myself,” said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

“What a strange thing!” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. “This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.” So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

“Bring me the two most precious things in the city,” said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

“You have rightly chosen,” said God, “for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/902/902-h/902-h.htm

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24 Aralık 2024 Salı

BEDİNERİ P̆RENSİ/ MUTLU PRENS/ The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde/ Lazurişa goktinu MunirYilmaz Avcik

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