安徒生童話：The Pen and Inkstand 筆和墨水壺
in a poet’s room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the remark was once made, “it is wonderful what can be brought out of an inkstand. what will come next? it is indeed wonderful.”
“yes, certainly,” said the inkstand to the pen, and to the other articles that stood on the table; “that’s what i always say. it is wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me. it’s quite incredible, and i really don’t 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’t 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.”
“there you are right,” said the pen, “for you don’t 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.”
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