and the evening bell had rung nine o'clock, as four of my friends and I were returning to the city from a house near Paris. Along the way our laughter and conversation focused on the diverse thoughts induced by the great bowl of saffron above. Our eyes were drowned in this great star: one of us took it to be a window leading to heaven, through which one might glimpse the glory of the blessed; another protested that it was the surface on which the goddess Diana sets up a rack for drying the clothes of Apollo; yet a third exclaimed that it might well be the Sun, which having put aside his rays in the evening, was watching through a hole to see what was happening in the world when he was no longer around. "As for me," I said, "who wish to add my enthusiasm to your own, without dabbling in poignant fantasies like yours, stirring up the hour to make it go faster, I believe that the Moon is a world like ours-a world for which ours serves as the moon." For this, the company rewarded me with a burst of laughter.
Page
view 