fromme,alltheworksofapoetareproduced;allthoseimaginarycharacterswhompeoplefancytheyhaveknownormet.allthedeepfeeling,thehumor,andthevividpicturesofnature.imyselfdon'tunderstandhowitis,foriamnotacquaintedwithnature,butitiscertainlyinrommehavegoneforthtotheworldthosewonderfuldescriptionsoftroopsofcharmingmaidens,andofbraveknightsonprancingsteeds;ofthehaltandtheblind,andiknownotwhatmore,foriassureyouineverthinkofthesethings."
"thereyouareright,"saidthepen,"foryoudon'tthinkatall;ifyoudid,youwouldseethatyoucanonlyprovidethemeans.yougivethefluidthatimayplaceuponthepaperwhatdwellsinme,andwhatiwishtobringtolight.itisthepenthatwrites:nomandoubtsthat;and,indeed,mostpeopleunderstandasmuchaboutpoetryasanoldinkstand."
"youhavehadverylittleexperience,"repliedtheinkstand."youhavehardlybeeninserviceaweek,andarealreadyhalfwornout.doyouimagineyouareapoet?youareonlyaservant,andbeforeyoucameihadmanylikeyou,someofthegoosefamily,andothersofenglishmanufacture.iknowaquillpenaswellasiknowasteelone.ihavehadbothsortsinmyservice,andishallhavemanymorewhenhecomes-themanwhoperformsthemechanicalpart-andwritesdownwhatheobtainsfromme.ishouldliketoknowwhatwillbethenextthinghegetsoutofme."
"inkpot!"exclaimedthepencontemptuously.
lateintheeveningthepoetcamehome.hehadbeentoaconcert,andhadbeenquiteenchantedwiththeadmirableperformanceofafamousviolinplayerwhomhehadheardthere.theperformerhadproducedfromhisinstrumentarichnessoftonethatsometimessoundedliketinklingwaterdropsorrollingpearls;sometimeslikethebirdstwitteringinchorus,andthenrisingandswellinginsoundlikethewindthroughthefir-trees.thepoetfeltasifhisownheartwereweeping,butintonesofmelodylikethesoundofawoman'sseemednotonlythestrings,buteverypartoftheinstrumentfromwhichthesesoundswereproduced.itwasawonderfulperformanceandadifficultpiece,andyetthebowseemedtoglideacrossthestringssoeasilythatitwasasifanyonecoulddoitwhotried.eventheviolinandthebowappearedtoperformindependentlyoftheirmasterwhoguidedthem;itwasasifsoulandspirithadbeenbreathedintotheinstrument,sotheaudienceforgottheperformerinthebeautifulsoundsheproduced.notsothepoet;herememberedhim,andnamedhim,andwrotedownhisthoughtsonthesubject."howfoolishitwouldbefortheviolinandthebowtoboastoftheirperformance,andyetwemenoftencommitthatfolly.thepoet,theartist,themanofscienceinhislaboratory,thegeneral,-wealldoit;andyetweareonlytheinstrumentswhichthealmightyuses;tohimalonethehonorisdue.wehavenothingofourselvesofwhichweshouldbeproud."yes,thisiswhatthepoetwrotedown.hewroteitintheformofaparable,andcalledit"themasterandtheinstruments."
"thatiswhatyouhavegot,madam,"saidthepentotheinkstand,whenthetwowerealoneagain."didyouhearhimreadaloudwhatihadwrittendown?"
"yes,whatigaveyoutowrite,"retortedtheinkstand."thatwasacutatyoubecauseofyourconceit.tothinkthatyoucouldnotunderstandthatyouwerebeingquizzed.igaveyouacutfromwithinme.surelyimustknowmyownsatire."
"ink-pitcher!"