a23-第1章

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1872
FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN
WHAT　ONE　CAN　INVENT
by　Hans　Christian　Andersen
　
There　was　once　a　young　man　who　was　studying　to　be　a　poet。　He
wanted　to　become　one　by　Easter；　and　to　marry；　and　to　live　by　poetry。
To　write　poems；　he　knew；　only　consists　in　being　able　to　invent
something；　but　he　could　not　invent　anything。　He　had　been　born　too
late…　everything　had　been　taken　up　before　he　came　into　the　world；
and　everything　had　been　written　and　told　about。

〃Happy　people　who　were　born　a　thousand　years　ago！〃　said　he。　〃It
was　an　easy　matter　for　them　to　become　immortal。　Happy　even　was　he
who　was　born　a　hundred　years　ago；　for　then　there　was　still　something
about　which　a　poem　could　be　written。　Now　the　world　is　written　out；　and　what　can　I　write　poetry　about？〃

Then　he　studied　till　he　became　ill　and　wretched；　the　wretched　man！
No　doctor　could　help　him；　but　perhaps　the　wise　woman　could。　She
lived　in　the　little　house　by　the　wayside；　where　the　gate　is　that　she
opened　for　those　who　rode　and　drove。　But　she　could　do　more　than　unlock　the　gate。　She　was　wiser　than　the　doctor　who　drives　in　his　own　carriage　and　pays　tax　for　his　rank。

〃I　must　go　to　her；〃　said　the　young　man。
The　house　in　which　she　dwelt　was　small　and　neat；　but　dreary　to
behold；　for　there　were　no　flowers　near　it…　no　trees。　By　the　door　stood
a　bee…hive；　which　was　very　useful。　There　was　also　a　little
potato…field；　very　useful；　and　an　earth　bank；　with　sloe　bushes　upon
it；　which　had　done　blossoming；　and　now　bore　fruit；　sloes；　that　draw
one's　mouth　together　if　one　tastes　them　before　the　frost　has　touched
them。

〃That's　a　true　picture　of　our　poetryless　time；　that　I　see　before
me　now；〃　thought　the　young　man；　and　that　was　at　least　a　thought；　a
grain　of　gold　that　he　found　by　the　door　of　the　wise　woman。

〃Write　that　down！〃　said　she。　〃Even　crumbs　are　bread。　I　know　why
you　come　hither。　You　cannot　invent　anything；　and　yet　you　want　to　be
a　poet　by　Easter。〃

〃Everything　has　been　written　down；〃　said　he。　〃Our　time　is　not
the　old　time。〃

〃No；〃　said　the　woman。　〃In　the　old　time　wise　women　were　burnt；
and　poets　went　about　with　empty　stomachs；　and　very　much　out　at　elbows。

The　present　time　is　good；　it　is　the　best　of　times；　but　you　have　not
the　right　way　of　looking　at　it。　Your　ear　is　not　sharpened　to　hear；　and
I　fancy　you　do　not　say　the　Lord's　Prayer　in　the　evening。　There　is
plenty　here　to　write　poems　about；　and　to　tell　of；　for　any　one　who
knows　the　way。　You　can　read　it　in　the　fruits　of　the　earth；　you　can
draw　it　from　the　flowing　and　the　standing　water；　but　you　must
understand　how…　you　must　understand　how　to　catch　a　sunbeam。　Now　just　you　try　my　spectacles　on；　and　put　my　ear…trumpet　to　your　ear；　and　then　pray　to　God；　and　leave　off　thinking　of　yourself〃

The　last　was　a　very　difficult　thing　to　do…　more　than　a　wise
woman　ought　to　ask。

He　received　the　spectacles　and　the　ear…trumpet；　and　was　posted
in　the　middle　of　the　potato…field。　She　put　a　great　potato　into　his
hand。　Sounds　came　from　within　it；　there　came　a　song　with　words；　the
history　of　the　potato；　an　every…day　story　in　ten　parts；　an　interesting
story。　And　ten　lines　were　enough　to　tell　it　in。

And　what　did　the　potato　sing？

She　sang　of　herself　and　of　her　family；　of　the　arrival　of　the
potato　in　Europe；　of　the　misrepresentation　to　which　she　had　been
exposed　before　she　was　acknowledged；　as　she　is　now；　to　be　a　greater
treasure　than　a　lump　of　gold。

〃We　were　distributed；　by　the　King's　command；　from　the
council…houses　through　the　various　towns；　and　proclamation　was　made　of　our　great　value；　but　no　one　believed　in　it；　or　even　understood　how　to　plant　us。　One　man　dug　a　hole　in　the　earth　and　threw　in　his　whole　bushel　of　potatoes；　another　put　one　potato　here　and　another　there　in　the　ground；　and　expected　that　each　was　to　come　up　a　perfect　tree；　from　which　he　might　shake　down　potatoes。　And　they　certainly　grew；　and　produced　flowers　and　green　watery　fruit；　but　it　all　withered　away。

Nobody　thought　of　what　was　in　the　ground…　the　blessing…　the　potato。

Yes；　we　have　endured　and　suffered；　that　is　to　say；　our　forefathers
have；　they　and　we；　it　is　all　one。〃

What　a　story　it　was！

〃Well；　and　that　will　do；〃　said　the　woman。　〃Now　look　at　the　sloe
bush。〃

〃We　have　also　some　near　relations　in　the　home　of　the　potatoes；　but
higher　towards　the　north　than　they　grew；〃　said　the　Sloes。　〃There
were　Northmen；　from　Norway；　who　steered　westward　through　mist　and　storm　to　an　unknown　land；　where；　behind　ice　and　snow；　they　found　plants　and　green　meadows；　and　bushes　with　blue…black　grapes…　sloe　bushes。　The　grapes　were　ripened　by　the　frost　just　as　we　are。　And
they　called　the　land　'wine…land；'　that　is；　'Groenland；'　or
'Sloeland。'〃

〃That　is　quite　a　romantic　story；〃　said　the　young　man。
〃Yes；　certainly。　But　now　come　with　me；〃　said　the　wise　woman；　and
she　led　him　to　the　bee…hive。

He　looked　into　it。　What　life　and　labor！　There　were　bees　standing
in　all　the　passages；　waving　their　wings；　so　that　a　wholesome　draught
of　air　might　blow　through　the　great　manufactory；　that　was　their
business。　Then　there　came　in　bees　from　without；　who　had　been　born　with　little　baskets　on　their　feet；　they　brought　flower…dust；　which　was
poured　out；　sorted；　and　manufactured　into　honey　and　wax。　They　flew
in　and　out。　The　queen…bee　wanted　to　fly　out；　but　then　all　the　other
bees　must　have　gone　with　her。　It　was　not　yet　the　time　for　that；　but
still　she　wanted　to　fly　out；　so　the　others　bit　off　her　majesty's
wings；　and　she　had　to　stay　where　she　was。

〃Now　get　upon　the　earth　bank；〃　said　the　wise　woman。　〃Come　and　look　out　over　the　highway；　where　you　can　see　the　people。〃

〃What　a　crowd　it　is！〃　said　the　young　man。　〃One　story　after
another。　It　whirls　and　whirls！　It's　quite　a　confusion　before　my
eyes。　I　shall　go　out　at　the　back。〃

〃No；　go　straight　forward；〃　said　the　woman。　〃Go　straight　into　the
crowd　of　people；　look　at　them　in　the　right　way。　Have　an　ear　to　hear
and　the　right　heart　to　feel；　and　you　will　soon　invent　something。
But；　before　you　go　away；　you　must　give　me　my　spectacles　and　my
ear…trumpet　again。〃

And　so　saying；　she　took　both　from　him。

〃Now　I　do　not　see　the　smallest　thing；〃　said　the　young　man；　〃and
now　I　don't　hear　anything　more。〃

〃Why；　then；　you　can't　be　a　poet　by　Easter；〃　said　the　wise　woman。

〃But；　by　what　time　can　I　be　one？〃　asked　he。

〃Neither　by　Easter　nor　by　Whitsuntide！　You　will　not　learn　how　to
invent　anything。〃

〃What　must　I　do　to　earn　my　bread　by　poetry？〃

〃You　can　do　that　before　Shrove　Tuesday。　Hunt　the　poets！　Kill　their
writings　and　thus　you　will　kill　them。　Don't　be　put　out　of　countenance。
Strike　at　them　boldly；　and　you'll　have　carnival　cake；　on　which　you　can
support　yourself　and　your　wife　too。〃

〃What　one　can　invent！〃　cried　the　young　man。　And　so　he　hit　out
boldly　at　every　second　poet；　because　he　could　not　be　a　poet　himself。
We　have　it　from　the　wise　woman。　She　knows　WHAT　ONE　CAN　INVENT。

THE　END

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Written　By　Anderson