Translations from the French
La Cle Des Champs
A conversation between a pen, pencil
and penknife (the pencil probably
representing the artist's own feelings).
The pencil announces his intention to
take the place of the writer's pen,
and compose a travel book.
From "Un Autre Monde" - the novel
written for earlier drawings -
Paris 1843.
*
Lazily stretched out in the double bottom of a big writing-desk, a pen, a pencil and a penknife, these three enemies who cannot live apart, rested from their past weariness. The shrivelled nib of the pen, her white plume attested to lengthy experience; the lean body of the pencil, his head fine and sharp, foretold, if one can believe in their phrenology, a determined propensity for journeys of exploration and far-off voyages. As to the penknife, we cannot say exactly what his character was, as he hid his head between his legs; it is thus that Providence, in the interruptions of her eternal wisdom, had intended that penknives give way to sleep.
One must believe that pencils generally have no pronounced taste for the pleasures of Morpheus, for the first rays of the day hardly shine on the incrustations of the writing-desk when the pencil which we are speaking of sits up. Pens, as everyone knows, only sleep with one ear; ours wakes with a start, in a state of mind all the more unpleasant as she dreamt that a famous writer's fingers bestrode her back to finish his novel as soon as possible.
-Oh! she said (or he said, for the sex of pens has yet to be discovered) to her neighbor in a small voice dry and shrill, are you in such a hurry to play on the paper that you could not await the rising of the sun? The pen-knife still sleeps and shows not the slightest intention of performing our morning toilette. As far as I am concerned, I have no such ideas so early in the morning, and furthermore I am thinking of giving you those I gave you yesterday; I have enough work cut out for you.
The pen stretched her plume, opened her nib halfway to yawn, and curled up as if to continue her sleep, but, without giving her time, the pencil moved forward towards his companion, and lectured her in the following manner:
- Sleep as much as you like, my dear friend, it is not I who will wake you. Keep your thoughts, and seek out work for someone else. Your inspirations are no longer enough for me, your tyranny tires me; I have been too timid up until now, it is about time the universe learns to know me. From today I will RUN AWAY; I want to go where I can conduct my fantasies; I intend to serve as my own guide: Long live freedom!
At the same time the pencil made a gesture as if to throw his hat over the windmills. The pen-knife slept on.
- Heavens! exclaimed the pen, pencils create the style and the eloquence, such times we live in! Then she added in a milder tone: - You talk of freedom; do you really know what it is, you young extravagant thing? You are barely separated from adolescence by no more than a few years, and now you disown your own mother! Who has supported the wavering steps in your career? Who has pushed aside all obstacles in your way? Who has shown you that which needs to be left in the shade and that which needs to be illumined? Who has guided you through the world? Who has introduced you into the sanctuary of noble spirits? Who has shielded you from the sting of criticism? Me, always me! and you repay me in this way! Go.then you young ungrateful, and I wish that your eraser will be light.
The pen finished her discourse welling tears like an actress of tragedy. Pens have a hard point; they know well what they want; besides this one knows from too long an experience of her companion's style to let herself be taken by emotive language.
- Shut your nib, she said.
And she was going to continue in that tone, when the pen-knife awakened by the tears of the pen, exclaimed, showing the edge of his angry face: What are you jokers doing without my permission? Be quiet! Or I'll cut your heads off.
The pen answered in a humble and submissive manner:
- It's the pencil who thinks he can do what he likes now, from figures of speech to nonsense. He wants to leave without me on a pilgrimage of I don't know how many volumes, as if he could deprive himself of my help, as if the past wasn't there to warn of the hopelessness of his attempt.
The pen-knife slightly knit his brows; but the pencil replied without letting himself be intimidated:
- The past?.... It seems to me that certain sketchbooks exist to turn the argument in my favor. It's I who first called you to my assistance, I am too honest not to admit it; and to show you that I haven't forgotten your past services I offer you a new partnership, but on certain conditions?
- Which?
- You will let my limbs move freely in space; you will not be in the way of my flight toward the new spheres which I will explore. Beyond the infinite there is another world which awaits its Christopher Columbus; taking possession of that fantastic continent through a price of a thousand dangers, I don't want someone else to steal the glory of attaching my name to it.
- I understand you... As for me, while you will travel through the vast regions of the unknown, I will keep my nib in ink.
- You will await my return in order to write under my dictation the great things which we shall not have seen together. You will edit the impressions of a voyage which you will not have accomplished; it is a process, one says, very much in fashion in the haute litterature. You will co-ordinate the materials which I will have gathered during my excursions; you will unravel the chaos in which my spirit is going to pass; you will formulate day by day, volume by volume, the Genesis of the universe which I shall have invented; and your glory will be just as beautiful if you manage to get through it without giving way to your ordinary access to erudition, without citing on every occasion and especially unseasonably, neither Homer nor the Gospel, neither Shakespeare nor Swedenborg, neither Saint Augustin nor the mythology of India, neither the Talamud nor the Koran; if you will pretend not to know Greek, Latin, Coptic, Syrian, Sanskrit, and if you will be content to speak good Grench.
- End of a beautiful speech. What you want then is that I serve you purely and simply as secretary.
- Precisely.
- Well, I agree, if only to see how the pencil will set about directing the pen.
- I am happy to see you finally agree, said the pen-knife, this discussion has tired me, kiss and be friends, and set off.
- It's done, replied the pen, I have already taken down our conversation.
- I will illustrate it; and I will finally take the key to freedom which is going to open up to me the road to independence. Let's hope that Heaven and the critic will protect an innocent pencil who travels alone for the first time; and guard him against every evil encounter.
Examined and found correct.
Good luck, Sharp-point.
Anastasie Supplenib.
*
In order to avoid any accusation of plagiarism, the present conversation doubly edited has been deposited in the minutes of the Editor, who undertakes to publish it so that not any ignores it.
Translated by Ellen Nations
Page(s) 73-5
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