Hans Christian Andersen Fairytales and Short Stories Volume 5 1860 to 1865 - Hans Christian Andersen
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What does the inkstand and pen discuss about the nature of writing?
Chapter one of Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales and Short Stories Volume five, eighteen sixty to eighteen sixty five. This is a Liberty Vox recording. All Liberty Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit libervox dot org Recording by Norhana Say Doha Hans Christian Anderson Fairy Tales and Short Stories Volume five eighteen sixty to eighteen sixty five by Hans Christian Anderson translated by HP Paul. eighteen twelve to eighteen eighty eight. The pen and the ink standard. In a poet's room. Where his ink stand 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 ink stand to the pen. and to the other articles tested 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 humour, 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 ink stand. You have had very little experience, replied the Inkstant. You have hardly been in service a week, and you 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 ghost family, and others of English manufacture. I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel one, I had had both sorts on my service, and I shall have many more when he comes, the man who performs the mechanical part, and writes down what he obtains from me.
I should like to know what will be the next thing he gets out of me. Ankpot exclaimed the pen contemptuously. 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 twinkling water drops 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's 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 anyone 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, but He remembered him and named him, and wrote down his thoughts on the subject. How 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, we 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.
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Chapters
8 chapters
1
What does the inkstand and pen discuss about the nature of writing?
0:00–10:31
2
How does the poet’s experience at the concert change the mood of the story?
10:31–2:09:36
3
What adventures does the Beetle experience on his travels?
2:09:36–3:26:50
4
How does the Snowman describe the changing winter landscape?
3:26:50–4:00:53
5
What events lead Rudy to the shooting match in Interlakin?
4:00:53–4:51:00
6
How does the story shift from the shooting match to the mill visit and the Ice Maiden?
4:51:00–5:58:34
7
What is the story of the snail and the rose tree?
5:58:34–6:25:36
8
How does the Old Church Bell legend lead into the later tales?
6:25:36–7:53:43
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