The ancient painter of the jarنقاش کوزه

شاید روح نقاش کوزه در موقع کشیدن در من حلول کرده بود و دست من به‌اختیار او درآمده بود.

Perhaps the spirit of the jar painter had entered me while I was drawing, and my hand had come under his control.

در عین حال خوشی بی‌دلیلی، خوشی غریبی به‌من دست داد؛ چون فهمیدم که یک نفر همدرد قدیمی داشته‌ام.

at the same time a causeless happiness, a strange happiness, came over me; for I understood that I had had an old fellow-sufferer.

آیا این نقاش قدیم، نقاشی که روی این کوزه را صدها شاید هزاران سال پیش نقاشی کرده بود همدرد من نبود؟

Was this ancient painter, the painter who had painted this jar hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years ago, not a fellow-sufferer of mine?

میان این مردمان یک نفر نقاش فلک‌زده، یک نفر نقاش نفرین‌شده، شاید یک نفر قلمدان‌ساز بدبخت مثل من وجود داشته، درست مثل من.

among those people there had been a wretched painter, an accursed painter, perhaps an unfortunate pen-case maker like me, exactly like me.