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      THE STORY OF THE YEAR

       

      IT was far in January,and a terrible fall of snow was pelting downThe snow eddied through the streets and lanes;the windowpanes seemed plastered with snow on the outside;snow plumped down in masses from the roofsand a sudden hurry had seized on the people,for they ran,and jostled,and fell into each other's arms,and as they clutched each other fast for a moment,they felt that they were safe at least for that length of timeCoaches and horses seemed frosted with sugarThe footmen stood with their backs against the carriages,so as to turn their faces from the windThe foot passengers kept in the shelter of the carriages,which could only move slowly on in the deep snow;and when the storm at last abated,and a narrow path was swept clean alongside the houses,the people stood still in this path when they met,for none liked to take the first step aside into the deep snow to let the other pass himThus they stood silent and motionless,till,as if by tacit consent,each sacrificed one leg,and,stepping aside,buried it in the deep snowheap

      Towards evening it grew calmThe sky looked as if it had been swept,and had become more lofty and transparentThe stars looked as if they were quite new,and some of them were amazingly bright and pureIt froze so hard that the snow creaked,and the upper rind of snow might well have grown hard enough to bear the Sparrows in the morningThese little birds hopped up and down where the sweeping had been done;but they found very little food,and were not a little cold

      Piep!”said one of them to another;“they call this a new year,and it is worse than the last!We might just as well have kept the old oneI'm dissatisfied,and I've reason to be so.”

      Yes;and the people ran about and fired off shots to celebrate the New Year,” said a shivering little Sparrow;“and they threw pans and pots against the doors,and were quite boisterous with joy because the Old Year was goneI was glad of it too,because I hoped we should have had warm days;but that has come to nothing——it freezes much harder than beforePeople have made a mistake in reckoning the time!”

      That they have!”a third put in,who was old,and had a white poll:“they've something they call the calendar——it's an invention of their own——and everything is to be arranged according to that;but it won't doWhen spring comes,then the year begins——that is the course of nature.”

      But when will spring come?”the others inquired

      It will come when the stork comes backBut his movements are very uncertain,and here in town no one knows anything about itin the country they are better informedShall we fly out there and wait?There,at any rate,we shall be nearer to spring.”

      Yes,that may be all very well,” observed one of the Sparrows,who had been hopping about for a long time,chirping,without saying anything decided.“I've found a few comforts here in town,which I am afraid I should miss out in the countryNear this neighbourhood,in a courtyard,there lives a family of people,who have taken the very sensible notion of placing three or four flowerpots against the wall,with their mouths all turned inwards,and the bottom of each pointing outwardsIn each flowerpot a hole has been cut,big enough for me to fly in and out at itI and my husband have built a nest in one of those pots,and have brought up our young family thereThe family of people of course made the whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us,or else they would not have done itTo please themselves they also strew crumbs of bread;and so we have food,and are in a manner provided forSo I think my husband and I will stay where we are,although we are very dissatisfied——but we shall stay.”

      And we will fly into the country to see if spring is not coming!”And away they flew

      Out in the country it was hard winter,and the glass was a few degrees lower than in the townThe sharp winds swept across the snowcovered fieldsThe farmer,muffled in warm mittens,sat in his sledge,and beat his arms across his breast to warm himself,and the whip lay across his kneesThe horses ran till they smoked againThe snow creaked,and the Sparrows hopped about in the ruts,and shivered,“Piep!when will spring come?it is very long in coming!”

      Very long,”sounded from the next snowcovered hill,far over the fieldIt might be the echo which was heard;or perhaps the words were spoken by yonder wonderful old man,who sat in wind and weather high on the heap of snowHe was quite white,attired like a peasant in a coarse white coat of frieze;he had long white hair and white beard,and was quite pale,with big blue eyes

      Who is that old man yonder?”asked the Sparrows

      I know who he is,”quoth an old Raven,who sat on the fencerail,and was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all like little birds in the sight of Heaven,and therefore was not above speaking to the Sparrows,and giving them information.“I know who the old man isIt is Winter,the old man of last yearHe is not dead,as the calendar says,but is guardian to little Prince Spring,who is to comeYes,Winter bears sway hereUgh!the cold makes you shiver,does it not,you little ones?”

      YesDid I not tell the truth?” said the smallest Sparrow;“the calendar is only an invention of man,and is not arranged according to nature!They ought to leave these things to us,who are born cleverer than they.”

      And one week passed away,and two passed awayThe forest was black,the frozen lake lay hard and stiff,looking like a sheet of lead,and damp icy mists lay brooding over the land;the great black crows flew about in long lines,but silently;and it seemed as if nature sleptThen a sunbeam glided along over the lake,and made it shine like burnished tinThe snowy covering on the field and on the hill did not glitter as it had done;but the white form,Winter himself,still sat there,his gaze fixed unswervingly upon the southHe did not notice that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were into the earth,and that here and there a little grassgreen patch appeared,and that all these patches were crowded with Sparrows,which cried,“Kee-wit!kee-wit!Is spring coming now?”

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      Spring!”The cry resounded over field and meadow,and through the blackbrown woods,where the moss still glimmered in bright green upon the tree trunks;and from the south the first two storks came flying through the airOn the back of each sat a pretty little child——one was a girl and the other a boyThey greeted the earth with a kiss,and wherever they set their feet,white flowers grew up from beneath the snowThen they went hand in hand to the old ice man,Winter,clung to his breast embracing him,and in a moment they,and he,and all the region around were hidden in a thick damp mist,dark and heavy,that closed over all like a veilGradually the wind rose,and now it rushed roaring along,and drove away the mist,so that the sun shone warmly forth,and Winter himself vanished,and the beautiful children of Spring sat on the throne of the year

      That's what I call New Year,”cried each of the Sparrows.“Now we shall get our rights,and have amends for the stern winter.”

      Wherever the two children turned,green buds burst forth on bushes and trees,the grass shot upwards,and the commafields turned green and became more and more lovelyAnd the little maiden strewed flowers all aroundHer apron,which she held up before her,was always full of them;they seemed to spring up there,for her lap continued full,however zealously she strewed the blossoms around;and in her eagerness she scattered a snow of blossoms over apple trees and peach trees,so that they stood in full beauty before their green leaves had fairly come forth

      And she clapped her hands,and the boy clapped his,and then flocks of birds came flying up,nobody knew whence,and they all twittered and sang,“Spring has come.”

      That was beautiful to beholdMany an old granny crept forth over the threshold into the sunshine,and tripped gleefully about,casting a glance at the yellow flowers which shone everywhere in the fields,just as they used to do when she was youngThe world grew young again to her,and she said,“It is a blessed day out here today!”

      The forest still wore its brown-green dress,made of buds;but the woodruff was already there,fresh and fragrant;there were violets in plenty,anemones and primroses came forth,and there was sap and strength in every blade of grassThat was certainly a beautiful carpet to sit upon,and there accordingly the young spring pair sat hand in hand,and sang and smiled,and grew on

      A mild rain fell down upon them from the sky,but they did not notice it, for the raindrops were mingled with their own tears of joyThey kissed each other as bride and bridegroom,and in the same moment the verdure of the woods was unfolded,and when the sun rose,the forest stood there arrayed in green

      And hand in hand the betrothed pair wandered under the pendent roof of fresh leaves,where the rays of the sun gleamed through the green in lovely,everchanging huesWhat virgin purity,what refreshing balm in the delicate leaves !The brooks and streams rippled clearly and merrily among the green velvety rushes and over the coloured pebblesAll nature seemed to say,“There is plenty,and there shall be plenty always!”And the cuckoo sang and the lark carolledit was a charming spring;but the willows had woolly gloves over their blossoms;they were desperately careful,and that is tiresome

      And days went by and weeks went by,and the heat came as it were rolling downHot waves of air came through the corn,that became yellower and yellowerThe white waterlily of the North spread its great green leaves over the glassy mirror of the woodland lakes,and the fishes sought out the shady spots beneath;and at the sheltered side of the wood,where the sun shone down upon the walls of the farm-house,warming the blooming roses,and the cherry trees,which hung full of juicy black berries,almost hot with the fierce beams,there sat the lovely wife of Summer,the same being whom we have seen as a child and as a bride;and her glance was fixed upon the black gathering clouds,which in wavy outlines——blueblack and heavy——were piling themselves up,like mountains,higher and higherThey came from three sides,and growing like a petrified sea,they came swooping towards the forest,where every sound had been silenced as if by magicEvery breath of air was hushed,every bird was muteThere was a seriousness——a suspense throughout all nature;but in the highways and lanes,footpassengers,and riders,and men in carriages,were hurrying on to get under shelter

      Then suddenly there was a flashing of light,as if the sun were burst forth——flaming,burning,alldevouring!And the darkness returned amid a rolling crashThe rain poured down in streams,and there was alternate darkness and blinding light;alternate silence and deafening clam-ourThe young brown,feathery reeds on the moor moved to and fro in long waves,the twigs of the woods were hidden in a mist of waters,and still came darkness and light,and still silence and roaring followed one another;the grass and corn lay beaten down and swamped,looking as though they could never raise themselves againBut soon the rain fell only in gentle drops,the sun peered through the clouds,the water-drops glittered like pearls on the leaves,the birds sang,the fishes leaped up from the surface of the lake,the gnats danced in the sunshine,and yonder on the rock,in the salt heaving sea water,sat Summer himself——a strong man with sturdy limbs and long dripping hair——there he sat,strengthened by the cool bath,in the warm sunshineAll nature round about was renewed,everything stood luxuriant,strong,and beautiful;it was summer,warm,lovely summer

      And pleasant and sweet was the fragrance that streamed upwards from the rich clover-field,where the bees swarmed round the old ruined place of meetingthe bramble wound itself around the altar stone,which,washed by the rain,glittered in the sunshine;and thither flew the Queenbee with her swarm,and prepared wax and honeyOnly Summer saw it,he and his strong wife;for them the altar table stood covered with the offerings of nature

      And the evening sky shone like gold,shone as no church dome can shine;and in the interval between the evening and the morning red there was moonlightit was summer

      And days went by,and weeks went byThe bright scythes of the reapers gleamed in the cornfields;the branches of the apple trees bent down,heavy with red and-yellow fruitThe hops smelt sweetly,hanging in large clusters;and under the hazel bushes,where hung great bunches of nuts,rested a man and woman——Summer and his quiet consort

      What wealth!”exclaimed the woman:“all around a blessing is diffused,everywhere the scene looks homelike and good;and yet——I know not why——I long for peace and rest——I know not how to express itNow they are already ploughing again in the fieldThe people want to gain more and moreSee,the storks flock together,and follow at a little distance behind the plough——the bird of Egypt that carried us through the airDo you remember how we came as children to this land of the North?We brought with us flowers,and pleasant sunshine,and green to the woods;the wind has treated them roughly,and they have become dark and brown like the trees of the South,but they do not,like them,bear golden fruit.”

      Do you wish to see the golden fruit?” said Summer:“then rejoice.”

      And he lifted his arm,and the leaves of the forest put on hues of red and gold,and beauteous tints spread over all the woodlandThe rose bush gleamed with scarlet hips;the elder-branches hung down with great heavy bunches of dark berries;the wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark husks;and in the depths of the forests the violets bloomed for the second time

      But the Queen of the Year became more and more silent,and paler and paler

      It blows cold,” she said,“and night brings damp mistsI long for the land of my childhood.”

      And she saw the storks fly away,one and all;and she stretched forth her hands towards themShe looked up at the nests,which stood emptyIn one of them the longstalked cornflower was growing;in another,the yellow mustardseed,as if the nest were only there for its protection;and the Sparrows were flying up into the storks' nests

      Piep!where has the master gone?I suppose he can't bear it when the wind blows,and that therefore he has left the countryI wish him a pleasant journey!”

      The forest leaves became more and more yellow,leaf fell down upon leaf,and the stormy winds of autumn howledThe year was now far advanced,and the Queen of the Year reclined upon the fallen yellow leaves,and looked with mild eyes at the gleaming star,and her husband stood by herA gust swept through the leaves,it fell again,and the Queen was gone,but a butterfly,the last of the season,flew through the cold air

      The wet fogs came,an icy wind blew,and the long dark nights drew on apaceThe Ruler of the Year stood there with locks white as snow,but he knew not it was his hair that gleamed so white——he thought snowflakes were falling from the clouds;and soon a thin covering of snow was spread over the fields

      And then the church bells rang for the Christmas-time

      The bells ring for the newborn,”said the Ruler of the Year.“Soon the new King and Queen will be born;and I shall,go to rest,as my wife has done——to rest in the gleaming star.”

      And in the fresh green fir-wood,where the snow lay,stood the Angel of Christmas,and consecrated the young trees that were to adorn his feast

      May there be joy in the room and under the green boughs,”said the Ruler of the YearIn a few weeks he had become a very old man,white as snow.“My time for rest draws near,and the young pair of the year shall now receive my crown and sceptre.”

      But the might is still thine,”said the Angel of Christmas;“the might and not the restLet the snow lie warmly upon the young seedLearn to bear it,that another receives homage while thou yet reignestLearn to bear being forgotten while thou art yet aliveThe hour of they release will come when spring appears.”

      And when will spring come?”asked Winter

      It will come when the stork returns.”

      And with white locks and snowy beard,cold,bent,and hoary,but strong as the wintry storm and firm as ice,old Winter sat on the snowy drift on the hill,looking to-wards the south,as the Winter before had sat and gazedThe ice cracked,the snow creaked,the skaters skimmed to and fro on the smooth lakes,ravens and crows stood out well against the white ground,and not a breath of wind stirredAnd in the quiet air old Winter clenched his fists,and the ice was fathoms thick between land and land

      Then the Sparrows came again out of the town,and asked,“Who is that old man yonder?”

      And the Raven sat there again,or a son of his,which comes to quite the same thing,and answered them and said,“It is Winter,the old man of last yearHe is not dead,as the almanac says,but he is the guardian of Spring,who is coming.”

      When will spring come?”asked the Sparrows.“Then we shall have good times and a better ruleThe old one was worth nothing.”

      And Winter nodded in quiet thought at the leafless forest,where every tree showed the graceful form and bend of its twigs;and during the winter sleep the icy mists of the clouds came down,and the ruler dreamed of his youthful days,and of the time of his manhood;and towards the morning dawn the whole wood was clothed in glittering hoar frostThat was the summer dream of Winter,and the sun scattered the hoar frost from the boughs

      When will spring come?”asked the Sparrows

      The spring!”sounded like an echo from the hills on which the snow layThe sun shone warmer,the snow melt-ed,and the birds twittered ,“Spring is coming!”

      And aloft through the air came the first stork,and the second followed himA lovely child sat on the back of each,and they alighted on the field,kissed the earth,and kissed the old silent man,and he disappeared,shrouded in the cloudy mistAnd the story of the year was done

      That is all very well,”said the Sparrows;“it is very beautiful too,but it is not according to the almanac,and therefore it is irregular.”

       


       

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