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!'"