Twenty-sixth Evening

“It was yesterday morning at dawn” – these are the Moon’s own words – “and I was looking at the chimneys of a large city, from which as yet no smoke arose. Suddenly a little head popped up from one of them; then half the body followed, and both arms rested on the edge of the chimney. ‘Hurrah!’ It was a little chimney sweep, who for the first time in his life had climbed to the very top of a chimney and stuck his head out. ‘Hurrah!’

Yes, this was indeed very different from creeping about in the narrow flues and little chimneys. The air was so fresh, and he could look out over the whole city, to the green woods. The sun was rising; it shone round and large into his face, which beamed with joy, and was prettily blacked with soot. ‘The whole city can see me now!’ he said. ‘The moon can see me, and the sun, too!’ Hurrah!’ And then he waved his broom above his head.”



Original Danish title: “Sex og tyvende Aften” translated by Jean Hersholt.