An accidental Montblanc addition
A dignified older gentleman enters an artsy queer bar. It is evening, and the lights are dimmed, but the jeweltone beasts and peacocks of stained glass are sparking. The atmosphere is festive, and yet soothing. The place smells of polished cedar and vetiver; a bit of honey. His senses adjust to the room, and he is beginning to wonder why there is a lull in the music.
Nib beauty shot on a vintage Montblanc 149 from the 1980s.
I ordered a beater Montblanc 149 with a split ebonite feed from a Japanese website to harvest the nib for my Conid. Between the cheaper prices for vintage Montblancs in Japan, a few coupons, and some credit card points, I paid very little for it. I bought a FNF housing and prepared to ship the whole thing to my pen friend Rodolfo, who volunteered to perform the operation.
People are turning his way; some in confusion, others in welcome. He had been silent for so many years, but something about this place makes him want to sing.
Some Gathering pens, and the Montblanc 149.
The pen arrived. I wasn’t getting much of a “beater” feel from it. It had been gently used. The 14k (not C) nib with a fine point looked exceedingly handsome. I blinked, and a bottle of MB Origin Green appeared on my desk. I lit a candle. I unscrewed the cap of the ink with its star emblem. Inside the bottle, my favorite ink of the year glistened with promise of melody.
I inked the pen. After all, why not? It was already here, this gentleman who wandered into the Gathering without much of an invitation. Sometimes it is like that.
That tailored suit he wears is old and somber, but it’s tidy. Wasn’t it supposed to be frayed? What is he doing here? Doesn’t he look out of place? Will he stay? Who cares?
Shh. Listen. Listen to the song.
The 149, uncapped, and writing with it in my daily journal. The ink is Montblanc Origin Green.
I wanted to write about this pen, but it took me a few times to draft. I did not mean to buy another pen, but I did want an alternative nib for my Conid. So I started to write about the Conid, and how, frustratingly, the nib was misaligned on arrival, and how weird I still feel about the Conid purchase; I wrote some frustrated and even angry words, and then I got rid of them all. It’s not about the Conid, or about Montblanc as a brand, or how other people feel and write about these brands. It’s not about anything external to the magic — to the sudden, welcome experience of space and time, the story which is conjured by the plush, slightly bouncy, unharvested, wonderful nib from the 1980s.
Sometimes, things align.
Three pens on a Plotter A5 - Montblanc 149, Aurora 88 Volterra, and Aurora Internazionale Arancio.
The format of this post was inspired by A Fleeting Ripple; you should give it a read. The title began as something I said in an Instagram post, and then some of you told me to write about it. Well, here you go. :) You weren’t wrong about these old Montblanc nibs.