Steven M. Tilley

Subject description

Theepotten by Hans Christian Andersen a teapot There was a proud Teapot, proud of his Porcelain, proud of his long Spout, proud of his broad Hank; it had something in front and behind, the spout in front, the handle behind, and that's what it talked about; but it did not talk about its layer, it was broken, it was riveted, it had a deficiency, and one does not like to talk about its deficiency, the others probably do. Cups, cream and sugar bowls, the whole tea arrangement would probably remember more about the fragility of the layer and talk about it, than about the good hank and the excellent spout; The Teapot knew that. "I know them!" said it to itself, "I also know enough about my lack and I acknowledge it, therein lies my humility, my modesty; We all have shortcomings, but you also have talent. The cups got a handle, the sugar bowl a layer, I now got both parts and one thing in advance, the one they never get, I got a spout, it makes me queen on the tea table. The sugar bowl and the cream pot marvel at being the handmaidens of good taste, but I am the Giver, the Counselor, I spread the blessing among thirsty humanity; in my interior the Chinese leaves are processed in the boiling, tasteless water.” All this said the Teapot in its free youth. It stood on the covered table, it was lifted by the finest hand; but the finest hand was awkward, the teapot fell, the spout snapped off, the handle snapped off, the layer is not worth talking about, enough has been said about it. The teapot lay passed out on the floor, the boiling water running out of it. It was a hard blow, and the hardest thing was that they laughed, they laughed at it and not at the clumsy hand. "Now I'll never get that memory out of my head!" said the Teapot, when it then told itself its course of life. "I was called an invalid, put in a corner and the next day given away to a woman who begged for cooking oil; I descended into poverty, stood aimless, both out and in, but there, as I stood, my better life began; one is One and becomes quite Another. Earth was put into me; it is for a teapot to be buried, but in the ground a flowerbulb was laid; who laid it, who gave it, I know not, it was given, a compensation for the Chinese leaves and the boiling water, a compensation for the severed hank and spout. And the onion lay in the ground, the onion lay in me, it became my heart, my living heart, I had never had such before. There was life in me, there was strength and power; The pulse beat, the onion sprouted, it was about to explode with thoughts and feelings; they burst into flower; I saw it, I wore it, I forgot myself in its deliciousness; blessed is it to forget oneself in Others! It didn't say thank you; it did not think of me; — it was admired and praised. I was so happy about it, why shouldn't it be. One day I heard it was said that it deserved a better pot. They hit me in the middle; it hurt terribly; but the flower came in a better pot, — and I was thrown out into the yard, lying there like an old herd — but I have the memory, I cannot lose it.”

Theepotten by Hans Christian Andersen a teapot There was a proud Teapot, proud of his Porcelai... [more]

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Subject Description: Theepotten by Hans Christian Andersen a teapot There was a proud Teapot, proud of his Porcelain, proud of his long Spout, proud of his broad Hank; it had something in front and behind, the spout in front, the handle behind, and that's what it talked about; but it did not talk about its layer, it was broken, it was riveted, it had a deficiency, and one does not like to talk about its deficiency, the others probably do. Cups, cream and sugar bowls, the whole tea arrangement would probably remember more about the fragility of the layer and talk about it, than about the good hank and the excellent spout; The Teapot knew that. "I know them!" said it to itself, "I also know enough about my lack and I acknowledge it, therein lies my humility, my modesty; We all have shortcomings, but you also have talent. The cups got a handle, the sugar bowl a layer, I now got both parts and one thing in advance, the one they never get, I got a spout, it makes me queen on the tea table. The sugar bowl and the cream pot marvel at being the handmaidens of good taste, but I am the Giver, the Counselor, I spread the blessing among thirsty humanity; in my interior the Chinese leaves are processed in the boiling, tasteless water.” All this said the Teapot in its free youth. It stood on the covered table, it was lifted by the finest hand; but the finest hand was awkward, the teapot fell, the spout snapped off, the handle snapped off, the layer is not worth talking about, enough has been said about it. The teapot lay passed out on the floor, the boiling water running out of it. It was a hard blow, and the hardest thing was that they laughed, they laughed at it and not at the clumsy hand. "Now I'll never get that memory out of my head!" said the Teapot, when it then told itself its course of life. "I was called an invalid, put in a corner and the next day given away to a woman who begged for cooking oil; I descended into poverty, stood aimless, both out and in, but there, as I stood, my better life began; one is One and becomes quite Another. Earth was put into me; it is for a teapot to be buried, but in the ground a flowerbulb was laid; who laid it, who gave it, I know not, it was given, a compensation for the Chinese leaves and the boiling water, a compensation for the severed hank and spout. And the onion lay in the ground, the onion lay in me, it became my heart, my living heart, I had never had such before. There was life in me, there was strength and power; The pulse beat, the onion sprouted, it was about to explode with thoughts and feelings; they burst into flower; I saw it, I wore it, I forgot myself in its deliciousness; blessed is it to forget oneself in Others! It didn't say thank you; it did not think of me; — it was admired and praised. I was so happy about it, why shouldn't it be. One day I heard it was said that it deserved a better pot. They hit me in the middle; it hurt terribly; but the flower came in a better pot, — and I was thrown out into the yard, lying there like an old herd — but I have the memory, I cannot lose it.”

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