{"id":1922,"date":"2012-03-21T15:09:36","date_gmt":"2012-03-21T14:09:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/?page_id=1922"},"modified":"2013-09-28T10:59:23","modified_gmt":"2013-09-28T08:59:23","slug":"the-pen-and-the-inkstand","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/?page_id=1922","title":{"rendered":"The Pen and the Inkstand"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Pen and the Inkstand<\/strong><\/p>\n

By Hans Christian Andersen (1860)<\/strong><\/p>\n

In a poet\u2019s room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the remark was once made, \u201cIt is wonderful what can be brought out of an inkstand. What will come next? It is indeed wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, certainly,\u201d said the inkstand to the pen, and to the other articles that stood on the table; \u201cthat\u2019s what I always say. It is wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me. It\u2019s quite incredible, and I really don\u2019t know what is coming next when that man dips his pen into me. One drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper, and what cannot half a page contain? From me, all the works of a poet are produced; all those imaginary characters whom people fancy they have known or met. All the deep feeling, the humor, and the vivid pictures of nature. I myself don\u2019t understand how it is, for I am not acquainted with nature, but it is certainly in me. From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions of troops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds; of the halt and the blind, and I know not what more, for I assure you I never think of these things.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you are right,\u201d said the pen, \u201cfor you don\u2019t think at all; if you did, you would see that you can only provide the means. You give the fluid that I may place upon the paper what dwells in me, and what I wish to bring to light. It is the pen that writes: no man doubts that; and, indeed, most people understand as much about poetry as an old inkstand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have had very little experience,\u201d replied the inkstand. \u201cYou have hardly been in service a week, and are already half worn out. Do you imagine you are a poet? You are only a servant, and before you came I had many like you, some of the goose family, and others of English manufacture. I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel one. I have had both sorts in my service, and I shall have many more when he comes\u2014the man who performs the mechanical part\u2014and writes down what he obtains from me. I should like to know what will be the next thing he gets out of me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cInkpot!\u201d exclaimed the pen contemptuously.<\/p>\n

Late in the evening the poet came home. He had been to a concert, and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performance of a famous violin player whom he had heard there. The performer had produced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes sounded like tinkling waterdrops or rolling pearls; sometimes like the birds twittering in chorus, and then rising and swelling in sound like the wind through the fir-trees. The poet felt as if his own heart were weeping, but in tones of melody like the sound of a woman\u2019s voice. It seemed not only the strings, but every part of the instrument from which these sounds were produced. It was a wonderful performance and a difficult piece, and yet the bow seemed to glide across the strings so easily that it was as if any one could do it who tried. Even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independently of their master who guided them; it was as if soul and spirit had been breathed into the instrument, so the audience forgot the performer in the beautiful sounds he produced. Not so the poet; he remembered him, and named him, and wrote down his thoughts on the subject. \u201cHow foolish it would be for the violin and the bow to boast of their performance, and yet we men often commit that folly. The poet, the artist, the man of science in his laboratory, the general,\u2014we all do it; and yet we are only the instruments which the Almighty uses; to Him alone the honor is due. We have nothing of ourselves of which we should be proud.\u201d Yes, this is what the poet wrote down. He wrote it in the form of a parable, and called it \u201cThe Master and the Instruments.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is what you have got, madam,\u201d said the pen to the inkstand, when the two were alone again. \u201cDid you hear him read aloud what I had written down?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, what I gave you to write,\u201d retorted the inkstand. \u201cThat was a cut at you because of your conceit. To think that you could not understand that you were being quizzed. I gave you a cut from within me. Surely I must know my own satire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cInk-pitcher!\u201d cried the pen.<\/p>\n

\u201cWriting-stick!\u201d retorted the inkstand. And each of them felt satisfied that he had given a good answer. It is pleasing to be convinced that you have settled a matter by your reply; it is something to make you sleep well, and they both slept well upon it. But the poet did not sleep. Thoughts rose up within him like the tones of the violin, falling like pearls, or rushing like the strong wind through the forest. He understood his own heart in these thoughts; they were as a ray from the mind of the Great Master of all minds.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo Him be all the honor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0Indeks over H.C. Andersens eventyr \u2014\u00a0Index of Hans Christian Andersen Fairy tales<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Pen and the Inkstand By Hans Christian Andersen (1860) In a poet\u2019s room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the remark was once made, \u201cIt is wonderful what can be brought out of an inkstand. What will come next? It is indeed wonderful.\u201d \u201cYes, certainly,\u201d said the inkstand to the pen, and to … L\u00e6s mere The Pen and the Inkstand<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"class_list":["post-1922","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1922","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1922"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1922\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":53757,"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1922\/revisions\/53757"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hcandersen-homepage.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1922"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}