Sunday, January 8, 2012

(ENG) Chapter 3: Horacio Kalibang

Para los lectores de español:
Si desea leer el texto original "Horacio Kalibang o los autómatas" por Eduardo Ladislao Holmberg  en español, puede descargar el archivo PDF, haga clic en "ciencia ficción" en la página principal.


 III.
For the readers to appreciate the conduct of my cousin, Hipknock, it is necessary that they permit me to paint his moral portrait in two brushstrokes.

The burgomeister is one of those men who follows with all of his soul the progress of materialism in Germany. He does not believe in God, nor in the devil, he has been excommunicated until the fifth generation, and ensures nothing is lost or gained by his descendents from this gift. He is a heretic, damned, a scoundrel, stupid, ignorant, and all that irrational indignation that it is possible to suggest to his enemies, that such blasphemies send him from the shadows of incognito.

But all of us who are closer with the burgomeister know that he has an incomparable character...I insist, he has a character that is the same in the presence of the Emperor and the presence of his friends.

Incapable of any indignity, he does good in all forms, and ensures, I don't know for what reason, that his greatest achievement is to have so many enemies, indeed, that he doesn’t even know them by sight. But instead, his friends are numerous, and the most sincere, as they do not need anything from him, nor he from them. If he attacks, he does it an uncovered face,  because he is not a coward, and if ever he praises, he never does it with gainful intent.  What he has said once, he has said because such was his opinion, and if he modifies it, it is for the force of reason, not for a whim.

He does not aspire to high posts, because he doesn't know what he would do in them; he understands that in the struggle for life every voluntary sacrifice demands a double reward, and since he is happy and content with what he has, his limit is in this. He would never say to the people gathered what was not his opinion, and would have a true disgust in having to say of the people what he hadn't said to the people. In none of the ceremonies in which he has taken the floor, he has never turned away from the center that revolves around his desire for humanity. "Work without rest," he says "is the scourge of tyrants. Work, and then you will be free and happy".  And when a friend has asked his opinion about the government, he has not hesitated to answer: "People shape their government. There is no more divine right than the people; the people have, then, a government that they want or they deserve. Since Providence is a myth, it is not concerned about any people. All forms of government are good, when the rulers are not fools, but there are congregations that prefer such rulers for screens for their machinations."

He does not love demolition when he doesn't know what to build on the formed ruins, or when it will not improve the situation.

Therefore, he has not wanted to take part, ever, in propagating any religious matter. He is a materialist, by the fate of the reasons, but he does not believe there exist any atheist people, nor that it should or may exist. "The scientific societies" he says "have the right to be the reason."  The people should only be the sentiment. For the sentiment, there is God, for the sentiment, there is the immortal soul.

Hipknock appears in many of the lists of members of illustrious corporations in Europe and America, this proves that his enemies are wrong. The sages who from time to time pass through the town visit him with pleasure, because he is illustrious, and what is more,  he is relentless to resolve a doubt. He attacks it in a thousand ways, compresses it, he studies it, he squeezes it, and in this combat, that on many occasions has been a sad waste of time to others, the burgomeister always comes out victorious. He will never square the circle, not because it or isn’t squarable, but because he is persuaded that it would waste his time, which he could better dedicate to his official obligations, to his family, whom he loves, or his scientific tasks.

In his language, in the bosom of privacy, he usually bites, but never wounds, because he cares, and when he cares, he is frank. "Frankness," he said one day to his friend, the old marshall, "is the canyon of the soul."  It is possible to be a charlatan, without being frank, the same way it is possible that one can be silent and indiscreet, or a charlaton and discreet. To speak a lot is not necessarily to say anything.

This, in a few words, my cousin, the burgomeister. The reader can follow, logically, the whole development of those fundamental ideas, intimately linked to form his character.

Now the reader will also understand why my cousin left the dining room in such a brusque manner. He was going to resolve a question. He was going.

Note to readers: to continue with the story, go here.

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