a24-第7章

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beautiful　wife　prayed　for　her　husband　and　her　father。　'Are　they　dead？'
she　asked　of　my　golden　crescent；　'Are　they　dead？'　she　cried　to　my　full　disc。　Now　the　desert　lies　behind　them。　This　evening　they　sit　beneath　the　lofty　palm　trees；　where　the　crane　flutters　round　them　with　its　long　wings；　and　the　pelican　watches　them　from　the　branches　of　the
mimosa。　The　luxuriant　herbage　is　trampled　down；　crushed　by　the　feet　of　elephants。　A　troop　of　negroes　are　returning　from　a　market　in　the
interior　of　the　land：　the　women；　with　copper　buttons　in　their　black
hair；　and　decked　out　in　clothes　dyed　with　indigo；　drive　the
heavily…laden　oxen；　on　whose　backs　slumber　the　naked　black　children。　A　negro　leads　a　young　lion　which　he　has　brought；　by　a　string。　They　approach　the　caravan；　the　young　merchant　sits　pensive　and　motionless；　thinking　of　his　beautiful　wife；　dreaming；　in　the　land　of
the　blacks；　of　his　white　lily　beyond　the　desert。　He　raises　his　head；
and…　〃　But　at　this　moment　a　cloud　passed　before　the　Moon；　and　then
another。　I　heard　nothing　more　from　him　this　evening。

TWENTY…FIRST　EVENING
〃I　saw　a　little　girl　weeping；〃　said　the　Moon；　〃she　was　weeping
over　the　depravity　of　the　world。　She　had　received　a　most　beautiful
doll　as　a　present。　Oh；　that　was　a　glorious　doll；　so　fair　and　delicate！
She　did　not　seem　created　for　the　sorrows　of　this　world。　But　the
brothers　of　the　little　girl；　those　great　naughty　boys；　had　set　the
doll　high　up　in　the　branches　of　a　tree　and　had　run　away。

〃The　little　girl　could　not　reach　up　to　the　doll；　and　could　not
help　her　down；　and　that　is　why　she　was　crying。　The　doll　must　certainly　have　been　crying　too；　for　she　stretched　out　her　arms　among　the　green　branches；　and　looked　quite　mournful。　Yes；　these　are　the　troubles　of　life　of　which　the　little　girl　had　often　heard　tell。　Alas；　poor　doll！　it　began　to　grow　dark　already；　and　suppose　night　were　to　come　on　completely！　Was　she　to　be　left　sitting　on　the　bough　all　night　long？
No；　the　little　maid　could　not　make　up　her　mind　to　that。　'I'll　stay
with　you；'　she　said；　although　she　felt　anything　but　happy　in　her　mind。
She　could　almost　fancy　she　distinctly　saw　little　gnomes；　with　their
high…crowned　hats；　sitting　in　the　bushes；　and　further　back　in　the　long
walk；　tall　spectres　appeared　to　be　dancing。　They　came　nearer　and
nearer；　and　stretched　out　their　hands　towards　the　tree　on　which　the
doll　sat；　they　laughed　scornfully；　and　pointed　at　her　with　their
fingers。　Oh；　how　frightened　the　little　maid　was！　'But　if　one　has　not
done　anything　wrong；'　she　thought；　'nothing　evil　can　harm　one。　I
wonder　if　I　have　done　anything　wrong？'　And　she　considered。　'Oh；　yes！　I　laughed　at　the　poor　duck　with　the　red　rag　on　her　leg；　she　limped　along　so　funnily；　I　could　not　help　laughing；　but　it's　a　sin　to　laugh　at
animals。'　And　she　looked　up　at　the　doll。　'Did　you　laugh　at　the　duck
too？'　she　asked；　and　it　seemed　as　if　the　doll　shook　her　head。〃

TWENTY…SECOND　EVENING
〃I　looked　down　upon　Tyrol；〃　said　the　Moon；　〃and　my　beams　caused
the　dark　pines　to　throw　long　shadows　upon　the　rocks。　I　looked　at　the
pictures　of　St。　Christopher　carrying　the　Infant　Jesus　that　are　painted
there　upon　the　walls　of　the　houses；　colossal　figures　reaching　from　the
ground　to　the　roof。　St。　Florian　was　represented　pouring　water　on　the
burning　house；　and　the　Lord　hung　bleeding　on　the　great　cross　by　the
wayside。　To　the　present　generation　these　are　old　pictures；　but　I　saw
when　they　were　put　up；　and　marked　how　one　followed　the　other。　On　the　brow　of　the　mountain　yonder　is　perched；　like　a　swallow's　nest；　a
lonely　convent　of　nuns。　Two　of　the　sisters　stood　up　in　the　tower
tolling　the　bell；　they　were　both　young；　and　therefore　their　glances
flew　over　the　mountain　out　into　the　world。　A　travelling　coach　passed
by　below；　the　postillion　wound　his　horn；　and　the　poor　nuns　looked
after　the　carriage　for　a　moment　with　a　mournful　glance；　and　a　tear
gleamed　in　the　eyes　of　the　younger　one。　And　the　horn　sounded　faint　and　more　faintly；　and　the　convent　bell　drowned　its　expiring　echoes。〃

TWENTY…THIRD　EVENING
Hear　what　the　Moon　told　me。　〃Some　years　ago；　here　in　Copenhagen；　I　looked　through　the　window　of　a　mean　little　room。　The　father　and　mother　slept；　but　the　little　son　was　not　asleep。　I　saw　the　flowered　cotton　curtains　of　the　bed　move；　and　the　child　peep　forth。　At　first　I　thought　he　was　looking　at　the　great　clock；　which　was　gaily　painted　in　red　and　green。　At　the　top　sat　a　cuckoo；　below　hung　the　heavy　leaden
weights；　and　the　pendulum　with　the　polished　disc　of　metal　went　to
and　fro；　and　said　'tick；　tick。'　But　no；　he　was　not　looking　at　the
clock；　but　at　his　mother's　spinning　wheel；　that　stood　just
underneath　it。　That　was　the　boy's　favourite　piece　of　furniture；　but　he
dared　not　touch　it；　for　if　he　meddled　with　it　he　got　a　rap　on　the
knuckles。　For　hours　together；　when　his　mother　was　spinning；　he　would　sit　quietly　by　her　side；　watching　the　murmuring　spindle　and　the
revolving　wheel；　and　as　he　sat　he　thought　of　many　things。　Oh；　if　he
might　only　turn　the　wheel　himself！　Father　and　mother　were　asleep；　he
looked　at　them；　and　looked　at　the　spinning　wheel；　and　presently　a
little　naked　foot　peered　out　of　the　bed；　and　then　a　second　foot；　and
then　two　little　white　legs。　There　he　stood。　He　looked　round　once　more；　to　see　if　father　and　mother　were　still　asleep…　yes；　they　slept；　and
now　he　crept　softly；　softly；　in　his　short　little　nightgown；　to　the
spinning　wheel；　and　began　to　spin。　The　thread　flew　from　the　wheel；　and　the　wheel　whirled　faster　and　faster。　I　kissed　his　fair　hair　and　his
blue　eyes；　it　was　such　a　pretty　picture。

〃At　that　moment　the　mother　awoke。　The　curtain　shook；　she　looked
forth；　and　fancied　she　saw　a　gnome　or　some　other　kind　of　little
spectre。　'In　Heaven's　name！'　she　cried；　and　aroused　her　husband　in　a
frightened　way。　He　opened　his　eyes；　rubbed　them　with　his　hands；　and
looked　at　the　brisk　little　lad。　'Why；　that　is　Bertel；'　said　he。　And　my
eye　quitted　the　poor　room；　for　I　have　so　much　to　see。　At　the　same
moment　I　looked　at　the　halls　of　the　Vatican；　where　the　marble　gods　are　enthroned。　I　shone　upon　the　group　of　the　Laocoon；　the　stone　seemed　to　sigh。　I　pressed　a　silent　kiss　on　the　lips　of　the　Muses；　and　they　seemed　to　stir　and　move。　But　my　rays　lingered　longest　about　the　Nile　group　with　the　colossal　god。　Leaning　against　the　Sphinx；　he　lies　there　thoughtful　and　meditative；　as　if　he　were　thinking　on　the　rolling
centuries；　and　little　love…gods　sport　with　him　and　with　the
crocodiles。　In　the　horn　of　plenty　sat　with　folded　arms　a　little　tiny
love…god；　contemplating　the　great　solemn　river…god；　a　true　picture
of　the　boy　at　the　spinning　wheel…　the　features　were　exactly　the
same。　Charming　and　life…like　stood　the　little　marble　form；　and　yet　the
wheel　of　the　year　has　turned　more　than　a　thousand　times　since　the　time　when　it　sprang　forth　from　the　stone。　Just　as　often　as　the　boy　in　the　little　room　turned　the　spinning　wheel　had　the　great　wheel　murmured；　before　the　age　could　again　call　forth　marble　gods　equal　to　those　he　afterwards　formed。

〃Years　have　passed　since　all　this　happened；〃　the　Moon　went　on　to
say。　〃Yesterday　I　looked　upon　a　bay　on　the　eastern　coast　of　Denmark。

Glorious　woods　are　there；　and　high　trees；　an　old　knightly　castle
with　red　walls；　swans　floating　in　the　ponds；　and　in　the　background
appears；　among　orchards；　a　little　town　with　a　church。　Many　boats；
the　crews　all　furnished　with　torches；　glided　over　the　silent
expanse…　but　these　fires　had　not　been　kindled　for　catching　fish；　for
everything　had　a　festive　look。　Music　sounded；　a　song　was　sung；　and
in　one　of　the　boats　the　man　stood　erect　to　whom　homage　was　paid　by　the　rest；　a　tall　sturdy　man；　wrapped　in　a　cloak。　He　had　blue　eyes　and　long　white　hair。　I　knew　him；　and　thought　of　the　Vatican；　and　of　the　group　of　the　Nile；　and　the　old　marble　gods。　I　thought　of　the　simple　little　room　where　little　Bertel　sat　in　his　night…shirt　by　the　spinning　wheel。

The　wheel　of　time　has　turned；　and　new　gods　have　come　forth　from　the　stone。　From　the　boats　there　arose　a　shout：　'Hurrah；　hurrah　for
Bertel　Thorwaldsen！'〃

TWENTY…FOURTH　EVENING
〃I　will　now　give　you　a　picture　from　Frankfort；〃　said　the　Moon。
〃I　especially　noticed　one　building　there。　It　was　not　the　house　in
which　Goethe　was