what the moon saw-第6章

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

her　eyes；　and　from　her　whole　countenance！　'To…morrow　you　shall　go

out　in　your　new　clothes；'　said　her　mother；　and　the　little　one　looked

up　at　her　hat；　and　down　at　her　frock；　and　smiled　brightly。　'Mother；'

she　cried；　'what　will　the　little　dogs　think；　when　they　see　me　in　these

splendid　new　things？'〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　SEVENTEENTH　EVENING



　　　　〃I　have　spoken　to　you　of　Pompeii；〃　said　the　Moon；　〃that　corpse

of　a　city；　exposed　in　the　view　of　living　towns：　I　know　another　sight

still　more　strange；　and　this　is　not　the　corpse；　but　the　spectre　of　a

city。　Whenever　the　jetty　fountains　splash　into　the　marble　basins；　they

seem　to　me　to　be　telling　the　story　of　the　floating　city。　Yes；　the

spouting　water　may　tell　of　her；　the　waves　of　the　sea　may　sing　of　her

fame！　On　the　surface　of　the　ocean　a　mist　often　rests；　and　that　is

her　widow's　veil。　The　bridegroom　of　the　sea　is　dead；　his　palace　and

his　city　are　his　mausoleum！　Dost　thou　know　this　city？　She　has　never

heard　the　rolling　of　wheels　or　the　hoof…tread　of　horses　in　her

streets；　through　which　the　fish　swim；　while　the　black　gondola　glides

spectrally　over　the　green　water。　I　will　show　you　the　place；〃　continued

the　Moon；　〃the　largest　square　in　it；　and　you　will　fancy　yourself

transported　into　the　city　of　a　fairy　tale。　The　grass　grows　rank

among　the　broad　flagstones；　and　in　the　morning　twilight　thousands　of

tame　pigeons　flutter　around　the　solitary　lofty　tower。　On　three　sides

you　find　yourself　surrounded　by　cloistered　walks。　In　these　the

silent　Turk　sits　smoking　his　long　pipe；　the　handsome　Greek　leans

against　the　pillar　and　gazes　at　the　upraised　trophies　and　lofty　masts；

memorials　of　power　that　is　gone。　The　flags　hang　down　like　mourning

scarves。　A　girl　rests　there：　she　has　put　down　her　heavy　pails　filled

with　water；　the　yoke　with　which　she　has　carried　them　rests　on　one　of

her　shoulders；　and　she　leans　against　the　mast　of　victory。　That　is

not　a　fairy　palace　you　see　before　you　yonder；　but　a　church：　the　gilded

domes　and　shining　orbs　flash　back　my　beams；　the　glorious　bronze　horses

up　yonder　have　made　journeys；　like　the　bronze　horse　in　the　fairy　tale：

they　have　come　hither；　and　gone　hence；　and　have　returned　again。　Do　you

notice　the　variegated　splendour　of　the　walls　and　windows？　It　looks

as　if　Genius　had　followed　the　caprices　of　a　child；　in　the　adornment　of

these　singular　temples。　Do　you　see　the　winged　lion　on　the　pillar？

The　gold　glitters　still；　but　his　wings　are　tied…　the　lion　is　dead；　for

the　king　of　the　sea　is　dead；　the　great　halls　stand　desolate；　and　where

gorgeous　paintings　hung　of　yore；　the　naked　wall　now　peers　through。　The

lazzarone　sleeps　under　the　arcade；　whose　pavement　in　old　times　was

to　be　trodden　only　by　the　feet　of　high　nobility。　From　the　deep

wells；　and　perhaps　from　the　prisons　by　the　Bridge　of　Sighs；　rise　the

accents　of　woe；　as　at　the　time　when　the　tambourine　was　heard　in　the

gay　gondolas；　and　the　golden　ring　was　cast　from　the　Bucentaur　to

Adria；　the　queen　of　the　seas。　Adria！　shroud　thyself　in　mists；　let

the　veil　of　thy　widowhood　shroud　thy　form；　and　clothe　in　the　weeds

of　woe　the　mausoleum　of　thy　bridegroom…　the　marble；　spectral　Venice。〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　EIGHTEENTH　EVENING



　　　　〃I　looked　down　upon　a　great　theatre；〃　said　the　Moon。　〃The　house

was　crowded；　for　a　new　actor　was　to　make　his　first　appearance　that

night。　My　rays　glided　over　a　little　window　in　the　wall；　and　I　saw　a

painted　face　with　the　forehead　pressed　against　the　panes。　It　was　the

hero　of　the　evening。　The　knighly　beard　curled　crisply　about　the

chin；　but　there　were　tears　in　the　man's　eyes；　for　he　had　been　hissed

off；　and　indeed　with　reason。　The　poor　Incapable！　But　Incapables　cannot

be　admitted　into　the　empire　of　Art。　He　had　deep　feeling；　and　loved　his

art　enthusiastically；　but　the　art　loved　not　him。　The　prompter's　bell

sounded；　'the　hero　enters　with　a　determined　air；'　so　ran　the　stage

direction　in　his　part；　and　he　had　to　appear　before　an　audience　who

turned　him　into　ridicule。　When　the　piece　was　over；　I　saw　a　form

wrapped　in　a　mantle；　creeping　down　the　steps：　it　was　the　vanquished

knight　of　the　evening。　The　scene…shifters　whispered　to　one　another；

and　I　followed　the　poor　fellow　home　to　his　room。　To　hang　one's　self　is

to　die　a　mean　death；　and　poison　is　not　always　at　hand；　I　know；　but

he　thought　of　both。　I　saw　how　he　looked　at　his　pale　face　in　the　glass；

with　eyes　half　closed；　to　see　if　he　should　look　well　as　a　corpse。　A

man　may　be　very　unhappy；　and　yet　exceedingly　affected。　He　thought　of

death；　of　suicide；　I　believe　he　pitied　himself；　for　he　wept

bitterly；　and　when　a　man　has　had　his　cry　out　he　doesn't　kill　himself。

　　　　〃Since　that　time　a　year　had　rolled　by。　Again　a　play　was　to　be

acted；　but　in　a　little　theatre；　and　by　a　poor　strolling　company。　Again

I　saw　the　well…remembered　face；　with　the　painted　cheeks　and　the

crisp　beard。　He　looked　up　at　me　and　smiled；　and　yet　he　had　been　hissed

off　only　a　minute　before…　hissed　off　from　a　wretched　theatre；　by　a

miserable　audience。　And　tonight　a　shabby　hearse　rolled　out　of　the

town…gate。　It　was　a　suicide…　our　painted；　despised　hero。　The　driver　of

the　hearse　was　the　only　person　present；　for　no　one　followed　except

my　beams。　In　a　corner　of　the　churchyard　the　corpse　of　the　suicide

was　shovelled　into　the　earth；　and　nettles　will　soon　be　growing

rankly　over　his　grave；　and　the　sexton　will　throw　thorns　and　weeds　from

the　other　graves　upon　it。〃

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　NINETEENTH　EVENING



　　　　〃I　come　from　Rome；〃　said　the　Moon。　〃In　the　midst　of　the　city；　upon

one　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！〃