WHAT THE MOON SAW [13]
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
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