按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
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