ived 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 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 h