〃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
  wellside　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　brought；　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　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
  〃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　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　ling