what the moon saw-第5章

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hedge　there　grows　a　willow　tree；　and　under　this　willow　tree　sat　a

little　girl；　and　she　sat　with　her　eyes　fixed　upon　the　old　oak　tree

between　the　two　huts。

　　　　〃It　was　an　old　withered　stem。　It　had　been　sawn　off　at　the　top；　and

a　stork　had　built　his　nest　upon　it；　and　he　stood　in　this　nest　clapping

with　his　beak。　A　little　boy　came　and　stood　by　the　girl's　side：　they

were　brother　and　sister。

　　　　〃'What　are　you　looking　at？'　he　asked。

　　　　〃'I'm　watching　the　stork；'　she　replied：　'our　neighbors　told　me

that　he　would　bring　us　a　little　brother　or　sister　to…day；　let　us　watch

to　see　it　come！'

　　　　〃'The　stork　brings　no　such　things；'　the　boy　declared；　'you　may

be　sure　of　that。　Our　neighbor　told　me　the　same　thing；　but　she

laughed　when　she　said　it；　and　so　I　asked　her　if　she　could　say　'On　my

honor；'　and　she　could　not；　and　I　know　by　that　the　story　about　the

storks　is　not　true；　and　that　they　only　tell　it　to　us　children　for

fun。'

　　　　　〃'But　where　do　babies　come　from；　then？'　asked　the　girl。

　　　　〃'Why；　an　angel　from　heaven　brings　them　under　his　cloak；　but　no

man　can　see　him；　and　that's　why　we　never　know　when　he　brings　them。'

　　　　〃At　that　moment　there　was　a　rustling　in　the　branches　of　the　willow

tree；　and　the　children　folded　their　hands　and　looked　at　one　another：

it　was　certainly　the　angel　coming　with　the　baby。　They　took　each

other's　hand；　and　at　that　moment　the　door　of　one　of　the　houses　opened；

and　the　neighbour　appeared。

　　　　〃'Come　in；　you　two；'　she　said。　'See　what　the　stork　has　brought。　It

is　a　little　brother。'

　　　　〃And　the　children　nodded　gravely　at　one　another；　for　they　had　felt

quite　sure　already　that　the　baby　was　come。〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　FOURTEENTH　EVENING



　　　　〃I　was　gliding　over　the　Luneburg　Heath；〃　the　Moon　said。　〃A

lonely　hut　stood　by　the　wayside；　a　few　scanty　bushes　grew　near　it；　and

a　nightingale　who　had　lost　his　way　sang　sweetly。　He　died　in　the

coldness　of　the　night：　it　was　his　farewell　song　that　I　heard。

　　　　〃The　morning　dawn　came　glimmering　red。　I　saw　a　caravan　of　emigrant

peasant　families　who　were　bound　to　Hamburgh；　there　to　take　ship　for

America；　where　fancied　prosperity　would　bloom　for　them。　The　mothers

carried　their　little　children　at　their　backs；　the　elder　ones

tottered　by　their　sides；　and　a　poor　starved　horse　tugged　at　a　cart

that　bore　their　scanty　effects。　The　cold　wind　whistled；　and

therefore　the　little　girl　nestled　closer　to　the　mother；　who；　looking

up　at　my　decreasing　disc；　thought　of　the　bitter　want　at　home；　and

spoke　of　the　heavy　taxes　they　had　not　been　able　to　raise。　The　whole

caravan　thought　of　the　same　thing；　therefore；　the　rising　dawn　seemed

to　them　a　message　from　the　sun；　of　fortune　that　was　to　gleam

brightly　upon　them。　They　heard　the　dying　nightingale　sing；　it　was　no

false　prophet；　but　a　harbinger　of　fortune。　The　wind　whistled；

therefore　they　did　not　understand　that　the　nightingale　sung；　'Fare

away　over　the　sea！　Thou　hast　paid　the　long　passage　with　all　that　was

thine；　and　poor　and　helpless　shalt　thou　enter　Canaan。　Thou　must　sell

thyself；　thy　wife；　and　thy　children。　But　your　griefs　shall　not　last

long。　Behind　the　broad　fragrant　leaves　lurks　the　goddess　of　Death；　and

her　welcome　kiss　shall　breathe　fever　into　thy　blood。　Fare　away；　fare

away；　over　the　heaving　billows。'　And　the　caravan　listened　well　pleased

to　the　song　of　the　nightingale；　which　seemed　to　promise　good

fortune。　Day　broke　through　the　light　clouds；　country　people　went

across　the　heath　to　church；　the　black…gowned　women　with　their　white

head…dresses　looked　like　ghosts　that　had　stepped　forth　from　the　church

pictures。　All　around　lay　a　wide　dead　plain；　covered　with　faded　brown

heath；　and　black　charred　spaces　between　the　white　sand　hills。　The

women　carried　hymn　books；　and　walked　into　the　church。　Oh；　pray；　pray

for　those　who　are　wandering　to　find　graves　beyond　the　foaming

billows。〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　FIFTEENTH　EVENING



　　　　〃I　know　a　Pulcinella；〃　the　Moon　told　me。　〃The　public　applaud

vociferously　directly　they　see　him。　Every　one　of　his　movements　is

comic；　and　is　sure　to　throw　the　house　into　convulsions　of　laughter；

and　yet　there　is　no　art　in　it　all…　it　is　complete　nature。　When　he

was　yet　a　little　boy；　playing　about　with　other　boys；　he　was　already

Punch。　Nature　had　intended　him　for　it；　and　had　provided　him　with　a

hump　on　his　back；　and　another　on　his　breast；　but　his　inward　man；　his

mind；　on　the　contrary；　was　richly　furnished。　No　one　could　surpass

him　in　depth　of　feeling　or　in　readiness　of　intellect。　The　theatre

was　his　ideal　world。　If　he　had　possessed　a　slender　well…shaped　figure；

he　might　have　been　the　first　tragedian　on　any　stage；　the　heroic；　the

great；　filled　his　soul；　and　yet　he　had　to　become　a　Pulcinella。　His

very　sorrow　and　melancholy　did　but　increase　the　comic　dryness　of　his

sharply…cut　features；　and　increased　the　laughter　of　the　audience；

who　showered　plaudits　on　their　favourite。　The　lovely　Columbine　was

indeed　kind　and　cordial　to　him；　but　she　preferred　to　marry　the

Harlequin。　It　would　have　been　too　ridiculous　if　beauty　and　ugliness

had　in　reality　paired　together。

　　　　〃When　Pulcinella　was　in　very　bad　spirits；　she　was　the　only　one　who

could　force　a　hearty　burst　of　laughter；　or　even　a　smile　from　him：

first　she　would　be　melancholy　with　him；　then　quieter；　and　at　last

quite　cheerful　and　happy。　'I　know　very　well　what　is　the　matter　with

you；'　she　said；　'yes；　you're　in　love！'　And　he　could　not　help　laughing。

'I　and　Love；〃　he　cried；　〃that　would　have　an　absurd　look。　How　the

public　would　shout！'　'Certainly；　you　are　in　love；'　she　continued；

and　added　with　a　comic　pathos；　'and　I　am　the　person　you　are　in　love

with。'　You　see；　such　a　thing　may　be　said　when　it　is　quite　out　of　the

question…　and；　indeed；　Pulcinella　burst　out　laughing；　and　gave　a

leap　into　the　air；　and　his　melancholy　was　forgotten。

　　　　〃And　yet　she　had　only　spoken　the　truth。　He　did　love　her；　love

her　adoringly；　as　he　loved　what　was　great　and　lofty　in　art。　At　her

wedding　he　was　the　merriest　among　the　guests；　but　in　the　stillness

of　night　he　wept：　if　the　public　had　seen　his　distorted　face　then；　they

would　have　applauded　rapturously。

　　　　〃And　a　few　days　ago；　Columbine　died。　On　the　day　of　the　funeral；

Harlequin　was　not　required　to　show　himself　on　the　boards；　for　he　was　a

disconsolate　widower。　The　director　had　to　give　a　very　merry　piece；

that　the　public　might　not　too　painfully　miss　the　pretty　Columbine

and　the　agile　Harlequin。　Therefore　Pulcinella　had　to　be　more

boisterous　and　extravagant　than　ever；　and　he　danced　and　capered；

with　despair　in　his　heart；　and　the　audience　yelled；　and　shouted

'bravo；　bravissimo！'　Pulcinella　was　actually　called　before　the

curtain。　He　was　pronounced　inimitable。

　　　　〃But　last　night　the　hideous　little　fellow　went　out　of　the　town；

quite　alone；　to　the　deserted　churchyard。　The　wreath　of　flowers　on

Columbine's　grave　was　already　faded；　and　he　sat　down　there。　It　was　a

study　for　a　painter。　As　he　sat　with　his　chin　on　his　hands；　his　eyes

turned　up　towards　me；　he　looked　like　a　grotesque　monument…　a　Punch

on　a　grave…　peculiar　and　whimsical！　If　the　people　could　have　seen

their　favourite；　they　would　have　cried　as　usual；　'Bravo；　Pulcinella；

bravo；　bravissimo！'〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　SIXTEENTH　EVENING



　　　　Hear　what　the　Moon　told　me。　〃I　have　seen　the　cadet　who　had　just

been　made　an　officer　put　on　his　handsome　uniform　for　the　first　time；　I

have　seen　the　young　bride　in　her　wedding　dress；　and　the　princess

girl…wife　happy　in　her　gorgeous　robes；　but　never　have　I　seen　a

felicity　equal　to　that　of　a　little　girl　of　four　years　old；　whom　I

watched　this　evening。　She　had　received　a　new　blue　dress；　and　a　new

pink　hat；　the　splendid　attire　had　just　been　put　on；　and　all　were

calling　for　a　candle；　for　my　rays；　shining　in　through　the　windows　of

the　room；　were　not　bright　enough　for　the　occasion；　and　further

illumination　was　required。　There　stood　the　little　maid；　stiff　and

upright　as　a　doll；　her　arms　stretched　painfully　straight　out　away　from

the　dress；　and　her　fingers　apart；　and　oh；　what　happiness　beamed　from

her　eyes；　and　from　her　whole　countenance！　'To…morrow　yo