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Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere
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Mon, 02 Nov 2009
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 A Smiley Moon to start a new month, not long until Christmas comes. Are you all getting excited?
CYDNEY'S
CASTLE
CYDNEY'S
CASTLE
CYDNEY'S
CASTLE
WHAT THE MOON
SAW!
IT is a strange thing, when
I feel most
fervently and most deeply, my hands and my
tongue seem alike tied, so that I
cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the
thoughts that are rising
within me; and yet I am a painter; my eye tells me
as much as that, and all my
friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say
the same.
I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest
of lanes; but I do not want
for light, as my room is high up in the house, with
an extensive prospect over
the neighbouring roofs. During the first few days I
went to live in the town, I
felt low-spirited and solitary enough. Instead of
the forest and the green hills
of former days, I had here only a forest of
chimney-pots to look out upon. And
then I had not a single friend; not one familiar
face greeted me.
So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding
mood; and presently I
opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how my
heart leaped up with joy! Here
was a well-known face at last—a round, friendly
countenance, the face of a good
friend I had known at home.
In, fact, it was
the MOON
that looked in
upon me.
He was quite unchanged, the dear old Moon, and had
the same face exactly that
he used to show when he peered down upon me through
the willow trees on the
moor. I kissed my hand to him over and over again,
as he shone far into my
little room; and he, for his part, promised me that
every evening, when he came
abroad, he would look in upon me for a few moments.
This promise he has
faithfully kept. It is a pity that he can only stay
such a short time when he
comes. Whenever he appears, he tells me of one
thing or another that he has
seen on the previous night, or on that same  evening. “Just paint the scenes I
describe to you”—this is what he said to me—“and
you will have a very pretty
picture-book.” I have followed his injunction for
many evenings. I could make
up a new “Thousand and One Nights,” in my own way,
out of these pictures, but
the number might be too great, after all. The
pictures I have here given have
not been chosen at random, but follow in their
proper order, just as they were
described to me. Some great gifted painter, or some
poet or musician, may make
something more of them if he likes; what I have
given here are only hasty
sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some
of my own thoughts,
interspersed; for the Moon did not come to me every
evening— a cloud sometimes
hid his face from me.
First
Evening
LAST
night”—I am quoting the Moon’s own words—“last
night I was gliding through
the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored in
the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to
pierce through the thick
intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath
me like the tortoise’s
shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo
maid, light as a gazelle,
beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision,
and yet sharply defined amid
the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of
Hindostan: I could read on her
delicate brow the thought that had brought her
hither. The thorny creeping
plants tore her sandals, but for all that she came
 rapidly forward. The deer
that had come down to the river to quench her
thirst, sprang by with a startled
bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted
lamp. I could see the blood in
her delicate finger tips, as she spread them for a
screen before the dancing
flame. She came down to the stream, and set the
lamp upon the water, and let it
float away. The flame flickered to and fro, and
seemed ready to expire; but
still the lamp burned on, and the girl’s
black sparkling eyes, half veiled
behind their long silken lashes, followed it with a
gaze of earnest intensity.
She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long
as she could keep it in
sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if the
lamp was suddenly
extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burned
bravely on, and she fell on her
knees, and prayed. Near her in the grass lay a
speckled snake, but she heeded
it not—she thought only of Bramah and of her
betrothed. ‘He lives!’ she shouted
joyfully, ‘he lives!’ And from the mountains the
echo came back upon her, ‘he
lives!’”
Second
Evening
YESTERDAY,” said the Moon to me, “I looked down
upon a small courtyard
surrounded on all sides by houses. In the courtyard
sat a clucking hen with
eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was
running and jumping around them.
The hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread
out her wings over the little
brood. Then the girl’s father came out and scolded
her; and I glided away and
thought no more of the matter. 
“But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked
down into the same
courtyard. Everything was quiet. But presently the
little girl came forth
again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back
the bolt, and slipped into
the apartment of the hen and chickens. They cried
out loudly, and came
fluttering down from their perches, and ran about
in dismay, and the little
girl ran after them. I saw it quite plainly, for I
looked through a hole in the
hen-house wall. I was angry with the willful child,
and felt glad when her
father came out and scolded her more violently than
yesterday, holding her
roughly by the arm; she held down her head, and her
blue eyes were full of
large tears. ‘What are you about here?’ he asked.
She wept and said, ‘I wanted
to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening
her yesterday; but I was
afraid to tell you.’
“And the father kissed the
innocent child’s forehead, and I kissed her on the
mouth and eyes.”
And there you go
, the first two little tales from the one and only
Hans Christian Anderson, we still have thirty more
to go, I hope you will stay awake to read them all.
But not all tonight, two is quite enough for one
night., by the way there are 14 little
chickens.
Hugs, Diddilydeedot in Dreamland.
xxxx
Posted 21:52
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