The Story of the Year · page 21 2101The young brown reeds on the moor waved to and fro in feathery billows; the forest boughs were hidden in a watery mist, and still light and darkness followed each other, still came the silence after the roar, while the corn and the blades of grass lay beaten down and swamped, so that it seemed impossible they could ever raise themselves again.102But after a while the rain began to fall gently, the sun's rays pierced the clouds, and the water-drops glittered like pearls on leaf and stem.103The birds sang, the fishes leaped up to the surface of the water, the gnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder, on a rock by the heaving salt sea, sat Summer himself, a strong man with sturdy limbs and long, dripping hair.104Strengthened by the cool bath, he sat in the warm sunshine, while all around him renewed nature bloomed strong, luxuriant, and beautiful: it was summer, warm, lovely summer.105Sweet and pleasant was the fragrance wafted from the clover-field, where the bees swarmed round the ruined tower, the bramble twined itself over the old altar, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine; and thither flew the queen bee with her swarm, and prepared wax and honey.106But Summer and his bosom-wife saw it with different eyes, to them the altar-table was covered with the offerings of nature.107The evening sky shone like gold, no church dome could ever gleam so brightly, and between the golden evening and the blushing morning there was moonlight.108It was indeed summer.109And days and weeks passed, the bright scythes of the reapers glittered in the corn-fields, the branches of the apple-trees bent low, heavy with the red and golden fruit.110The hop, hanging in clusters, filled the air with sweet fragrance, and beneath the hazel-bushes, where the nuts hung in great bunches, rested a man and a woman--Summer and his grave consort.111"See," she exclaimed, "what wealth, what blessings surround us.112Everything is home-like and good, and yet, I know not why, I long for rest and peace; I can scarcely express what I feel.113They are already ploughing the fields again; more and more the people wish for gain.114See, the storks are flocking together, and following the plough at a short distance.115They are the birds from Egypt, who carried us through the air.116Do you remember how we came as children to this land of the north; we brought with us flowers and bright sunshine, and green to the forests, but the wind has been rough with them, and they are now become dark and brown, like the trees of the south, but they do not, like them, bear golden fruit."117"Do you wish to see golden fruit?" said the man, "then rejoice," and he lifted his arm.118The leaves of the forest put on colors of red and gold, and bright tints covered the woodlands.119The rose-bushes gleamed with scarlet hips, and the branches of the elder-trees hung down with the weight of the full, dark berries.120The wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark, green shells, and in the forests the violets bloomed for the second time.121But the queen of the year became more and more silent and pale.122"It blows cold," she said, "and night brings the damp mist; I long for the land of my childhood."123Then she saw the storks fly away every one, and she stretched out her hands towards them.124She looked at the empty nests; in one of them grew a long-stalked corn flower, in another the yellow mustard seed, as if the nest had been placed there only for its comfort and protection, and the sparrows were flying round them all.125"Tweet, where has the master of the nest gone?" cried one, "I suppose he could not bear it when the wind blew, and therefore he has left this country.126I wish him a pleasant journey."127The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after leaf fell, and the stormy winds of Autumn howled.128The year was now far advanced, and upon the fallen, yellow leaves, lay the queen of the year, looking up with mild eyes at a gleaming star, and her husband stood by her.129A gust of wind swept through the foliage, and the leaves fell in a shower.130The summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last of the year, flew through the cold air.131Damp fogs came, icy winds blew, and the long, dark nights of winter approached.132The ruler of the year appeared with hair white as snow, but he knew it not; he thought snow-flakes falling from the sky covered his head, as they decked the green fields with a thin, white covering of snow.133And then the church bells rang out for Christmas time.134"The bells are ringing for the new-born year," said the ruler, "soon will a new ruler and his bride be born, and I shall go to rest with my wife in yonder light-giving star."135In the fresh, green fir-wood, where the snow lay all around, stood the angel of Christmas, and consecrated the young trees that were to adorn his feast.136"May there be joy in the rooms, and under the green boughs," said the old ruler of the year.137In a few weeks he had become a very old man, with hair as white as snow. "138My resting-time draws near; the young pair of the year will soon claim my crown and sceptre."139"But the night is still thine," said the angel of Christmas, "for power, but not for rest.140Let the snow lie warmly upon the tender seed.141Learn to endure the thought that another is worshipped whilst thou art still lord.142Learn to endure being forgotten while yet thou livest.143The hour of thy freedom will come when Spring appears."144"And when will Spring come?" asked Winter.145"It will come when the stork returns."146And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, but strong as the wintry storm, and firm as the ice, old Winter sat on the snowdrift-covered hill, looking towards the south, where Winter had sat before, and gazed.147The ice glittered, the snow crackled, the skaters skimmed over the polished surface of the lakes; ravens and crows formed a pleasing contrast to the white ground, and not a breath of wind stirred, and in the still air old Winter clenched his fists, and the ice lay fathoms deep between the lands.148Then came the sparrows again out of the town, and asked, "Who is that old man?"149The raven sat there still, or it might be his son, which is the same thing, and he said to them,--150"It is Winter, the old man of the former year; he is not dead, as the calendar says, but he is guardian to the spring, which is coming."151"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows, "for we shall have better times then, and a better rule.152The old times are worth nothing."153And in quiet thought old Winter looked at the leafless forest, where the graceful form and bends of each tree and branch could be seen; and while Winter slept, icy mists came from the clouds, and the ruler dreamt of his youthful days and of his manhood, and in the morning dawn the whole forest glittered with hoar frost, which the sun shook from the branches,--and this was the summer dream of Winter.154"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows. "155Spring!"156Again the echo sounded from the hills on which the snow lay.157The sunshine became warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "Spring is coming!"158And high in the air flew the first stork, and the second followed; a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they sank down on the open field, kissed the earth, and kissed the quiet old man; and, as the mist from the mountain top, he vanished away and disappeared.159And the story of the year was finished.160"This is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and it is very beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar, therefore, it must be all wrong."1 2← previousThe Windmill↑ back to Fairy Tales of Hans Christian AndersenThis page in Markdown → https://md.mova.elamur.ai/free/en/corpora/tales/pg27200/214/page/2/