of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the imperial palace. The wild fig
tree grows in the clefts of the wall, and covers the nakedness thereof
with its broad grey-green leaves; trampling among heaps of rubbish,
the ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank
thistles. From this spot, whence the eagles of Rome once flew abroad,
whence they 'came, saw, and conquered,' our door leads into a little
mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wild vine hangs
like a mourning garland over the crooked window. An old woman and her
little granddaughter live there: they rule now in the palace of the
Caesars, and show to strangers the remains of its past glories. Of the
splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, and a black cypress
throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throne once stood. The
dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement; and the little
maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace, often sits there on
her stool when the evening bells ring. The keyhole of the door close
by she calls her turret window; through this she can see half Rome, as
far as the mighty cupola of St. Peter's.
"On this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and in the full
beam of my light came the little granddaughter. On her head she
carried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water. Her
feet were bare, her short frock and her white sleeves were torn. I
kissed her pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, and black shining
hair. She mounted the stairs; they were steep, having been made up of
rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar. The
coloured lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, but she
was not frightened at them. Already she lifted her hand to pull the
door-bell--a hare's foot fastened to a string formed the bell-handle
of the imperial palace. She paused for a moment--of what might she be
thinking? Perhaps of the beautiful Christ-child, dressed in gold and
silver, which was down below in the chapel, where the silver
candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where her little friends sung the
hymns in which she also could join? I know not. Presently she moved
again--she stumbled; the earthen vessel fell from her head, and broke
on the marble steps. She burst into tears. The beautiful daughter of
the imperial palace wept over the worthless broken pitcher; with her
bare feet she stood there weeping, and dared not pull the string, the
bell-rope of the imperial palace!"
TWENTIETH EVENING.
It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had shone. Now he stood
once more, round and bright, above the clouds, moving slowly onward.
Hear what the Moon told me.
"From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan. On the margin of the
sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a frozen lake, and was
only covered in spots with light drifting sand, a halt was made. The
eldest of the company--the water gourd hung at his girdle, and on his
head was a little bag of unleavened bread--drew a square in the sand
with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran, and then
the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot. A young merchant,
a child of the East, as I could tell by his eye and his figure, rode
pensively forward on his white snorting steed. Was he thinking,
perchance, of his fair young wife? It was only two days ago that the
camel, adorned with furs and with costly shawls, had carried her, the
beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, while drums and cymbals
had sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, of which the
bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round the camel; and
now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert.
"For many nights I followed the train. I saw them rest by the
well-side among the stunted palms; they thrust the knife into the
breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted its flesh by the
fire. My beams cooled the glowing sands, and showed them the black
rocks, dead islands in the immense ocean of sand. No hostile tribes
met them in their pathless route, no storms arose, no columns of sand
whirled destruction over the journeying caravan. At home the 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 bought, 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 fragrant 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.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE GIRL'S TROUBLE.]
"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 there alone 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!'"
[Illustration: LITTLE BERTEL'S AMBITION.]
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 born, nor the old Council House, through whose grated
windows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted and given to
the people when the emperors were crowned. No, it was a private house,
plain in appearance, and painted green. It stood near the old Jews'
Street. It was Rothschild's house.
"I looked through the open door. The staircase was brilliantly
lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive silver candlesticks
stood there, and bowed low before an old woman, who was being brought
downstairs in a litter. The proprietor of the house stood bare-headed,
and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand of the old woman. She
was his mother. She nodded in a friendly manner to him and to the
servants, and they carried her into the dark narrow street, into a
little house, that was her dwelling. Here her children had been born,
from hence the fortune of the family had arisen. If she deserted the
despised street and the little house, fortune would also desert her
children. That was her firm belief."
The Moon told me no more; his visit this evening was far too short.
But I thought of the old woman in the narrow despised street. It would
have cost her but a word, and a brilliant house would have arisen for
her on the banks of the Thames--a word, and a villa would have been
prepared in the Bay of Naples.
"If I deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my sons first
began to bloom, fortune would desert them!" It was a superstition, but
a superstition of such a class, that he who knows the story and has
seen this picture, need have only two words placed under the picture
to make him understand it; and these two words are: "A mother."
TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING.
"It was yesterday, in the morning twilight"--these are the words the
Moon told me--"in the great city no chimney was yet smoking--and it
was just at the chimneys that I was looking. Suddenly a little head
emerged from one of them, and then half a body, the arms resting on
the rim of the chimney-pot. 'Ya-hip! ya-hip!' cried a voice. It was
the little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his life
crept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the top. 'Ya-hip!
ya-hip!' Yes, certainly that was a very different thing to creeping
about in the dark narrow chimneys! the air blew so fresh, and he could
look over the whole city towards the green wood. The sun was just
rising. It shone round and great, just in his face, that beamed with
triumph, though it was very prettily blacked with soot.
"'The whole town can see me now,' he exclaimed, 'and the moon can see
me now, and the sun too. Ya-hip! ya-hip!' And he flourished his broom
in triumph."
[Illustration: PRETTY PU.]
TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING.
"Last night I looked down upon a town in China," said the Moon. "My
beams irradiated the naked walls that form the streets there. Now and
then, certainly, a door is seen; but it is locked, for what does the
Chinaman care about the outer world? Close wooden shutters covered the
windows behind the walls of the houses; but through the windows of
the temple a faint light glimmered. I looked in, and saw the quaint
decorations within. From the floor to the ceiling pictures are
painted, in the most glaring colours, and richly gilt--pictures
representing the deeds of the gods here on earth. In each niche
statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by the
coloured drapery and the banners that hang down. Before each idol (and
they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, with
flowers and burning wax lights on it. Above all the rest stood Fo, the
chief deity, clad in a garment of yellow silk, for yellow is here the
sacred colour. At the foot of the altar sat a living being, a young
priest. He appeared to be praying, but in the midst of his prayer he
seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have been wrong, for
his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. Poor Soui-hong! Was he,
perhaps, dreaming of working in the little flower garden behind the
high street wall? And did that occupation seem more agreeable to him
than watching the wax lights in the temple? Or did he wish to sit at
the rich feast, wiping his mouth with silver paper between each
course? Or was his sin so great that, if he dared utter it, the
Celestial Empire would punish it with death? Had his thoughts ventured
to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to their homes in far distant
England? No, his thoughts did not fly so far, and yet they were
sinful, sinful as thoughts born of young hearts, sinful here in the
temple, in the presence of Fo and the other holy gods.
"I know whither his thoughts had strayed. At the farther end of the
city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which stood the
handsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the beauteous Pu, of
the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet. The
tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained her still more. She lifted
her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. Before her stood
a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. She stirred the bowl carefully
with a slender lacquered stick, very slowly, for she, too, was lost in
thought. Was she thinking, perchance, how the fishes were richly
clothed in gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully in their crystal
world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how much happier they
might be if they were free? Yes, that she could well understand, the
beautiful Pu. Her thoughts wandered away from her home, wandered to
the temple, but not for the sake of holy things. Poor Pu! Poor
Soui-hong!
"Their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between the two,
like the sword of the cherub."
TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING.
"The air was calm," said the Moon; "the water was transparent as the
purest ether through which I was gliding, and deep below the surface I
could see the strange plants that stretched up their long arms towards
me like the gigantic trees of the forest. The fishes swam to and fro
above their tops. High in the air a flight of wild swans were winging
their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with wearied pinions,
his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted farther and farther
into the distance. With outspread wings he sank slowly, as a soap
bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched the water. At length
his head lay back between his wings, and silently he lay there, like a
white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. And a gentle wind arose, and
crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like the clouds that poured
along in great broad waves; and the swan raised his head, and the
glowing water splashed like blue fire over his breast and back. The
morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swan rose strengthened,
and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish coast whither the
caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with a longing in his breast.
Lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows."
TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING.
"I will give you another picture of Sweden," said the Moon. "Among
dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the Stoxen, lies the old
convent church of Wreta. My rays glided through the grating into the
roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins. On
the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of earthly
grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted and
gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. The worms have
gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from the crown
down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and transient as the
grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep! I can remember them quite
plainly. I still see the bold smile on their lips, that so strongly
and plainly expressed joy or grief. When the steamboat winds along
like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger often comes to the
church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the names of the kings,
and they have a dead and forgotten sound. He glances with a smile at
the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be a pious, thoughtful
man, something of melancholy mingles with the smile. Slumber on, ye
dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon at night sends down his
rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs the crown of pine
wood."
TWENTY-NINTH EVENING.
"Close by the high-road," said the Moon, "is an inn, and opposite to
it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being
re-thatched. I looked down between the bare rafters and through the
open loft into the comfortless space below. The turkey-cock slept on
the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. In the middle of
the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast
asleep, while the horses were being watered. The coachman stretched
himself, though I am very sure that he had been most comfortably
asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants' room stood open,
and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over; the candle
stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the socket. The wind
blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn than to
midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering family
of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be dreaming of the
burning liquor that remained in the bottle. The little pale daughter
was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. The harp stood at
their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet."
THIRTIETH EVENING.
[Illustration: THE BEAR PLAYING AT SOLDIERS WITH THE CHILDREN.]
"It was in a little provincial town," the Moon said; "it certainly happened
last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. I saw it quite
plainly. To-day I read about 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.