WHAT THE MOON SAW [17]
it in the papers, but
there it was not half so clearly expressed. In the taproom of the
little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied
up outside, behind the wood pile- poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm,
though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little children
were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six
years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'Tramp, tramp'-
somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? The door was thrust
open- it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin! He had got tired of
waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs.
I saw it all," said the Moon. "The children were very much
frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept
into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did
them no harm. 'This must be a great dog,' they said, and began to
stroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on
his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at
hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. Presently the eldest boy took his
drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his
hind legs, and began to dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Each
boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he
held it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they had found;
and they began marching- one, two; one, two.
"Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the
mother of the children appeared. You should have seen her in her
dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and
her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the youngest boy nodded to
her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'We're
playing at soldiers.' And then the bear leader came running up."
THIRTY-FIRST EVENING
The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past;
only for a moment now and then did the Moon become visible. He said,
"I looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw
the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. I looked upon a
prison. A closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be
carried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards the
wall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting
token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes
upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see
his face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door was
closed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into the
thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I
glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes,
his last farewell engraved on the prison wall- where words fail,
sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated notes, so
the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to
me. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes of
joy? Did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his
beloved? The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by
mortals."
THIRTY-SECOND EVENING
"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite little
ones- they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between the
curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. It
gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, the
little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then
the arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little
white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to
be kissed, and I kiss it too.
"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I looked
through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody
lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little
there it was not half so clearly expressed. In the taproom of the
little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied
up outside, behind the wood pile- poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm,
though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little children
were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six
years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'Tramp, tramp'-
somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? The door was thrust
open- it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin! He had got tired of
waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs.
I saw it all," said the Moon. "The children were very much
frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept
into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did
them no harm. 'This must be a great dog,' they said, and began to
stroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on
his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at
hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. Presently the eldest boy took his
drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his
hind legs, and began to dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Each
boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he
held it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they had found;
and they began marching- one, two; one, two.
"Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the
mother of the children appeared. You should have seen her in her
dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and
her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the youngest boy nodded to
her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'We're
playing at soldiers.' And then the bear leader came running up."
THIRTY-FIRST EVENING
The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past;
only for a moment now and then did the Moon become visible. He said,
"I looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw
the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. I looked upon a
prison. A closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be
carried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards the
wall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting
token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes
upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see
his face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door was
closed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into the
thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I
glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes,
his last farewell engraved on the prison wall- where words fail,
sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated notes, so
the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to
me. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes of
joy? Did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his
beloved? The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by
mortals."
THIRTY-SECOND EVENING
"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite little
ones- they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between the
curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. It
gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, the
little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then
the arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little
white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to
be kissed, and I kiss it too.
"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I looked
through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody
lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little