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安徒生童話故事第50篇：一年的故事The Story of the Year
引導語：一年會發生很多的事情，下面是小編收集的一篇安徒生童話故事關于一年的，歡迎大家閱讀!
這是一月的末尾;可怕的暴風雪在外面呼嘯。雪花掃過街道和小巷;窗玻璃外面似乎糊滿了一層雪;積雪整塊整塊地從屋頂上朝下面墜落。人們東跑西竄起來;你撞到我的懷里，我倒到你的懷里;他們只有緊緊地相互抱住，才能把腳跟站穩。馬車和馬好像都撲上了一層粉似的。馬夫把背靠著車子，逆著風把車往回趕。車子只能在深雪中慢慢地移動，而行人則在車子擋住了風的一邊走。當暴風雪最后平息下來以后，當房屋之間露出一條小路的時候，人們一碰頭，仍然是停下來站著不動。誰也不愿意先挪開步子，自動站到旁邊的深雪里去，讓別人通過。他們這樣靜靜地站著，直到最后大家好像有了默契似地，每人犧牲一條腿，把它伸向深深的雪堆里面去。
天黑的時候，天氣變得晴朗起來了。天空好像是打掃過似的，比以前更高闊、更透明了。星星似乎都是嶄新的，有幾顆還是分外地純凈和明亮哩。天冷得發凍，凍得嗦嗦地響。這使得積雪的外層一下子就變硬了，明天早晨麻雀就可以在它上面散步。這些小鳥兒在雪掃過了的地上跑跑跳跳;但是它們找不到任何東西吃，它們的確在挨凍。
“吱吱喳喳!”這一只對另一只說，“人們卻把這叫做新年!比起舊年來，它真糟糕透了!我們還不如把那個舊年留下來好。我感到很不高興，而且我有不高興的理由。”
“是的，人們在跑來跑去，在慶賀新年，”一只凍得發抖的小麻雀說。“他們拿著盆盆罐罐往門上打①，快樂得發狂，因為舊年過去了。我也很高興，因為我希望暖和的天氣就會到來，但是這個希望落了空——天氣比以前凍得更厲害!人們把時間計算錯了!”
“他們確是弄錯了!”第三只麻雀說。它的年紀老，頂上還有一撮白頭發。“他們有個叫做日歷的東西。這是他們自己的發明，因此每件事情都是照它安排的!但是這樣卻行不通。只有春天到來的時候，一年才算開始——這是大自然的規律。我就是照這辦事的。”
“不過春天在什么時候到來呢?”別的幾只一齊問。
“鸛鳥回來的時候，春天也就到來了。不過鸛鳥的行蹤不能肯定，而且住在這兒城里的人誰也不知道這類的事情;只有他們鄉下人才能知道得更多一點。我們飛到鄉下去，在那兒等待好不好?在那兒，我們是更接近春天的。”
“是的，那也很好!”一只跳了很久的麻雀說;它吱吱喳喳叫了一陣，沒有說出什么了不起的話語。“我在城里有許多方便;飛到鄉下以后，我恐怕難免要懷戀它。在這附近的一個房子里有一個人類的家庭。他們很聰明，在墻邊放了三四個花盆，并且把它們的口朝里，底朝外。花盆上打了一個小洞，大得足夠使我飛出飛進。我和我的丈夫就在這里面筑了一個窩。我們的孩子們都是從這兒飛出去的。人類的家庭當然是為了要欣賞我們才作這樣的布置的，否則他們就不會這樣辦了。他們還撒了些面包屑，這也是為了他們自己的欣賞。所以我們吃的東西也有了;這倒好像他們是在供養我們哩。所以我想，我還不如住下來，我的丈夫也住下來，雖然我們感到并不太高興——但是我們還是要住下來了!”
“那么我們就飛到鄉下去，看看春天是不是快要來了!”于是它們就飛走了。
鄉下還是嚴酷的冬天;寒冷的程度要比城里厲害得多。刺骨的寒風在鋪滿了雪的田野上吹。農民戴著無指手套，坐在雪橇上，揮動著雙臂來發出一點熱力。鞭子在膝頭上擱著，瘦馬在奔跑——跑得全身冒出蒸汽來。雪發出碎裂聲，麻雀在車轍里跳來跳去，凍得發抖：“吱吱!春天什么時候到來呢?它來得真慢!”
“真慢!”田野對面那座蓋滿了雪的小山發出這樣一個聲音。這可能是我們聽到的一個回音，但是也許是那個奇怪的老頭兒在說話。他在寒風和冰凍中，高高地坐在一堆雪上。他是相當白了，像一個穿著白粗絨外套的種田人一樣。他有很長的白頭發、白胡子、蒼白的面孔和一雙又大又藍的眼睛。
“那個老頭子是誰呢?”麻雀們問。
“我知道!”一只老烏鴉說。它坐在一個籬笆的欄柵上，相當謙虛地承認我們在上帝面前都是一群平等的小鳥，因此它愿意跟麻雀講幾句話，對它們做些解釋。“我知道這老頭子是誰。他就是‘冬天’——去年的老人。他不像歷書上說的，并沒有死去;沒有，他卻是快要到來的那個小王子‘春天’的保護人。是的，冬天在這兒統治著。噢!你們還在發抖，你們這些小家伙!”
“是的，我不是已經說過么?”最小的那只麻雀說。“歷書不過是人類的一種發明罷了;它跟大自然并不符合!他們應該讓我們來做這些事，我們要比他們聰明得多。”
一個星期過去了;兩個星期又差不多過去了。森林是黑的;湖上的冰結得又硬又厚，像一塊堅硬的鉛。云塊——的確也不能算是云塊;而是潮濕的、冰凍的濃霧——低低地籠罩著土地。大黑烏鴉成群地飛著，一聲也不叫，好像一切東西都睡著了似的。這時有一道太陽光在湖上滑過，像一片熔化了的鉛似地發著亮光。田野和山丘上的積雪沒有像過去那樣發出閃光，但是那個白色的人形——“冬天”本人——仍然坐在那兒，他的眼睛緊緊地瞪著南方。他沒有注意到，雪鋪的地毯在向地下沉，這兒那兒有小片的綠草地在出現，而草上擠滿了無數的麻雀。它們叫著：“吱呀!吱呀!春天現在到來了嗎?”
“春天!”這個呼聲在田野上、在草原上升起來了。它穿過深棕色的樹林——這兒樹干上的青苔發出深綠色的閃光。于是從南方飛來了兩只最早的鸛鳥;它們每一只的背上坐著兩個美麗的孩子②——一個是男孩子，一個是女孩子。他們飛了一個吻，向這大地敬禮。凡是他們的腳所接觸的地方，白色的花兒就從雪底下回出來。然后他們手挽著手走向那個年老的冰人——“冬天”。他們依偎在他的胸脯上，擁抱他。在此同時他們三個人就不見了，周圍的一切景象也消失了。一層又厚又潮的、又黑又濃的煙霧把一切都籠罩住了。不一會兒風吹起來了。它奔馳著，它呼嘯著，把霧氣趕走，使得太陽溫暖地照出來。冬天老人消逝了，春天的美麗孩子坐上了這一年的皇位。
“這就是我所謂的新年!”一只麻雀說，“我們重新獲得了我們的權利，作為這個嚴峻的冬天的報償。”
凡是這兩個孩子所到的地方，綠芽就在灌木叢上或樹上冒出來，草也長得更高，麥田慢慢染上一層綠色，變得越來越可愛了。于是那個小姑娘就在四處散著花。她提起身前的圍裙，圍裙里兜滿了花兒——花兒簡直像是從那里面生出來的一樣，因為，不管她怎樣熱心地向四處散著花朵，她的圍裙里總是滿的。她懷著一片熱忱，在蘋果樹上和桃樹上撒下一層雪片一樣的花朵，使得它們在綠葉還沒有長好以前，就已經美得可愛了。
于是她就拍著手，那男孩子也拍著手。接著就有許多鳥兒飛來了——誰也不知道它們從哪兒飛來的。它們喃喃地叫著，唱著：“春天到來了!”
這是一幅美麗的景色。許多老祖母蹣跚地走出門來，走到太陽光里來。她們簡直像年輕的時候一樣，歡快地四處游玩，觀賞那些田野里遍地長著的黃花。世界又變得年輕了。“今天外面真是快樂!”老祖母說。
森林仍然是棕綠色的，布滿了花苞。又香又新鮮的車葉草已經長出來了。紫羅蘭遍地都有，還有秋牡丹和櫻草花;它們的每片葉子里都充滿了汁液和力量。這的確是一張可以坐的、美麗的地毯，而一對年輕人也真的手挽著手地坐在它上面，唱著歌，微笑著，生長著。
一陣毛毛細雨從天上向他們降落下來，但是他們卻沒有注意到它。因為雨點和歡樂的眼淚混在一起，變成同樣的水滴。這對新婚夫婦互相吻著，而當他們正在吻著的時候，樹林就開始欣欣向榮地生長。太陽升起來了，所有的森林都染上了一層綠色。
這對新婚的年輕人手挽著手，在垂著的新鮮葉簇下面散著步。太陽光和陰影在這些綠葉上組合出變幻無窮的可愛色調。這些細嫩的葉子里充滿了處女般的純潔和新鮮的香氣。溪澗晶瑩地、快樂地在天鵝絨般的綠色燈芯草中間，在五光十色的小石子上，潺潺地流著。整個大自然似乎在說：“世界是豐饒的，世界將永遠是豐饒的!”杜鵑在唱著歌，百靈鳥也在唱著歌：這是美麗的春天。但是，柳樹已經在它們的花朵上戴上了羊毛般的手套——它們把自己保護得太仔細了，這真使人感到討厭。
許多日子過去了，許多星期過去了，炎熱的天氣就接踵而來。熱浪從那漸漸變黃的麥林中襲來。北國的雪白的睡蓮，在山區鏡子般的湖上，展開巨大的綠葉子。魚兒跑到它們下面歇涼。在樹林擋著風的一邊，太陽照到農家屋子的墻上，暖著正在開放的玫瑰花;櫻桃樹上懸著充滿了汗液的、紅得發黑的、被太陽光曬熱了的漿果。這兒坐著那位美麗的“夏天”少婦——她就是我們先前所看到的那個小孩和后來的新嫁娘。她的視線在盯著一堆正在密集的烏云;它們像重疊的山峰，又青又沉重，一層比一層高。它們是從三方面集攏來的。它們像變成了化石的、倒懸的大海一樣，向這樹林壓下來;而這樹林，像著了魔一樣，變得寂然無聲。空中沒有一點動靜;每一只飛鳥都變得啞然。大自然中有一種莊嚴的氣氛——有一種緊張的沉寂。但是在大路和小徑上，行人、騎馬的人和坐車子的人都在忙于找隱蔽的處所。
這時好像是從太陽里爆裂出來的閃光，在燃燒著，在耀眼，在把一切都吞沒掉。一聲轟雷把黑暗又帶回來。大雨在傾盆地下瀉。一會兒黑夜，一會兒白天;一會兒靜寂，一會兒發出巨響。沼地上細嫩的、棕色羽毛般的蘆葦，像長條的波浪似地前后搖曳著。樹林里的枝椏籠罩在水霧里。接著又是黑暗，又是閃光;又是靜寂，又是巨響。草和麥子被打到地上，浸在水里，好像永遠不能再起來似的。但是不一會兒雨就變成了輕柔的細點;太陽從云層里出來了;水滴像珍珠似地在葉子和草上發出閃光;鳥兒在歌唱;魚兒從湖水上躍出來;蚊蟲在陽光里跳著舞。在那咸味的、起伏波動著的海水中的大礁石上，坐著“夏天”本人——他是一個強健的人，有粗壯的肢體和滴著水的長發。他坐在溫暖的太陽光里，洗完冷水浴后，更顯得精神抖擻。四周的大自然又復活起來了;一切都顯得豐茂、強壯和美麗。這是夏天，溫暖的、可愛的夏天。
從那一片豐茂的苜蓿地上升起一陣愉快和甜美的香氣;蜜蜂在一個廟會舊址上嗡嗡地唱歌。荊棘在那個作為祭壇的石桌上蔓延著。這個祭壇，經過了雨洗，在太陽光中射出光來。蜂后帶著她的一群蜜蜂向那兒飛去，忙著制造蠟和蜜。只有“夏天”和他強健的妻子看到了這情景。這個堆滿了大自然的供品的祭壇，就是為他們而設的。
黃昏的天空射出金光，任何教堂的圓頂都沒有這樣華麗。月光在晚霞和朝霞之間亮著③：這是夏天。
許多日子過去了，許多星期過去了，收獲人的明晃晃的鐮刀在麥田里發著光;蘋果樹枝結著紅而帶黃的果實，彎下來了。蛇麻一叢一叢地低垂著，發出甜美的香氣。榛子林下懸著一串一串的硬殼果。一個男子和女子——“夏天”和他安靜的妻子——在這兒休息著。
“多么豐富啊!”她說，“周圍是一種豐饒的景象，使人覺得溫暖和舒適。但是我不知道為什么，我渴望安靜和休息——我不知道怎樣把這感覺表達出來。現在大家又在田里工作了。人們總想獲得更多、更多的東西。看吧，鸛鳥成群地來了，遙遙地在犁頭后面跟著。那是把我們從空中送來的埃及的鳥兒啊!你記得當我們是一對小孩的時候，我們怎樣來到這北方的國度嗎?我們帶來花兒、愉快的陽光和樹林的綠色外衣。風兒對樹林非常粗暴。那些樹像南方的樹一樣，變成了黑色和棕色;可是它們沒有像那些樹一樣，結出金黃的果實!”
“你想看到黃金的果實嗎?”“夏天”說，“那么請你欣賞吧。”
他舉起他的手臂。于是樹林里的葉子就染上了一片深紅和金黃;于是整個的樹林就染上了美麗的色彩。玫瑰花里面亮著鮮紅的野薔薇子，接骨木樹枝上沉重地掛著串串的黑果實;成熟了的野栗子從殼里脫落下來。在樹林的深處，紫羅蘭又開花了。
但是這“一年的皇后”一天一天地變得沉寂，一天一天地變得慘白。
“風吹得冷起來了!”她說，“夜帶來了潮濕的霧。我渴望回到我兒時的故鄉去。”
于是她看到鸛鳥飛走了。每一只都飛走了!她在它們后面伸著手。她抬頭望望它們的窩——那里面是空的。有一個窩里還長出了一棵梗子很長的矢車菊;另一個窩里長出了一棵黃芥子，好像這窩就是為了保護它而存在似的。于是麻雀就飛上來了。
“吱吱!主人跑到什么地方去了?風一吹起來，他就有些吃不消了，所以他就離開這國家了。祝他有一個愉快的旅行!”
樹林里的葉子漸漸變得枯黃了，一片一片地落下來;狂暴的秋風在怒號。這已經是深秋了;“一年的皇后”躺在枯黃的落葉上，用她溫和的眼睛望著那些閃亮的星星，這時她的丈夫就站在她的身邊。有一陣風從葉子上掃過;葉子又落了，皇后也不見了，只有一只蝴蝶——這一年最后的生物——在寒冷的空中飛過去。潮濕的霧下降了;接著就是冰凍的風和漫長的黑夜。這年的國王的頭發都變得雪白了，但是他自己不知道;他以為那是從云塊上飛下的雪花。不久，薄薄的一層雪就蓋滿了綠色的田野。
這時教堂上敲出圣誕節的鐘聲。
“這是嬰孩④出生的鐘聲!”這年的國王說，“不久新的國王和皇后就要出生了。我將像我的妻子一樣，要去休息了——到那明亮的星兒上去休息。”在一個新鮮的、蓋滿了雪的綠櫟樹林里，立著圣誕節的安琪兒。他封這些年輕的樹兒為他圣誕晚會的裝飾品⑤。
“愿客廳里和綠枝下充滿了快樂!”這年的老國王說。在幾個星期以內，他就變成了一個滿頭白發的老人。“我休息的時間快到了。這年的一對年輕人將得到我的王冠和節杖。”
“然而權還是屬于你的，”圣誕節的安琪兒說，“你有權，你不能休息!讓雪花溫暖地蓋在年幼的種子上吧!請你學習忍受著這樣的事實：別人得到尊敬，雖然實際上是你在統治著。請你學習忍受著這樣的事實：別人忘記你，雖然實際上你是在活著!當春天到來的時候，你休息的時期也就不遠了。”
“春天什么時候到來呢?”“冬天”問。
“當鸛鳥回來的時候，他就到來了!”
滿頭白發和滿臉白胡子的“冬天”，現出一副寒冷、佝僂和蒼老的樣子，不過他卻健壯得像冬天的風暴，堅強得像冰塊。他坐在山頂的積雪上，朝著南方望，正如他在上一個“冬天”坐著和望著一樣。冰塊發出刮刮的聲音;雪在嘰嘰地響;溜冰人在光滑的湖面上飄來飄去;渡烏和烏鴉立在白地上，非常醒目。風兒沒有一絲動靜。在這無聲無息的空氣中，“冬天”緊捏著他的拳頭，大地到處都結成幾尺厚的冰塊。
這時麻雀又從城里飛出來了，同時問：“那兒的老人是誰呢?”
渡烏又坐在那兒——也許這就是上一只渡烏的兒子吧，橫豎都是一樣的——對它們說：“那是‘冬天’——去年的老人。他并沒有像歷書上說的死去了;他正是快要到來的春天的保護者。”
“春天會在什么時候到來呢?”麻雀問，“只有他到來，我們才有快樂的時光和更好的統治!那個老家伙一點也不行。”
“冬天”望著那沒有葉子的黑樹林沉思地點著頭。樹林里的每一棵樹都露出枝條的美麗形態和曲線。在這冬眠的時期，冰冷的霧從云塊上降落下來;于是這位統治者就夢見了他的少年時代，夢見了他的青壯年時代。將近天明的時候，整個的樹林已經穿上了一層美麗的白霜衣。這是“冬天”的夏夜夢。接著太陽就把白霜從樹枝上驅走。
“‘春天’會在什么時候到來呢?”麻雀問。
“春天!”這像一個回音似的從蓋滿了雪的山丘上飄來。太陽照得更溫暖，雪也融化了，鳥兒在喃喃地唱“春天到來了”!
于是第一只鸛鳥高高地從空中飛來了，接著第二只也飛來了。每只鸛鳥的背上坐著一個美麗的孩子。他們落到田野上來，吻了這土地，也吻了那個沉默的老人。于是這位老人就像立在山上的摩西⑥一樣，在一團迷蒙的霧氣中不見了。
這一年的故事也就結束了。
“這真是非常好!”麻雀們說，“而且這也是非常美，但是它跟歷書上說的不相符，因此是不對的。”
①這是丹麥的一個古老的風俗：每年12月31日，年輕人把土罐子往農屋的門上打，鬧出很大的聲音來。主人這時就來追趕.最后就請他們到家里來喝酒。
②鸛鳥是一種候鳥。據丹麥民間的傳說，它冬天飛到埃及去避寒;它同時還是“送子”的特使：小孩都是由它從遼遠的地方送來的。
③在北歐，特別是在瑞典，夏天有一個時期幾乎沒有黑夜。
④指耶穌，圣誕節就是他的生日。
⑤基督教國家的習慣：在圣誕節的時候，客廳中總有一棵裝飾得很華麗的樅樹，上面掛著許多送給孩子們的圣誕禮物。
⑥據古代希伯萊人的傳說，摩西是他們最早的立法者(見《圣經·舊約·出埃及記》第三十四章)，而他所定的法律是他站在西乃山上時與上帝商量好的。
一年的故事英文版：
The Story of the Year
IT was near the end of January, and a terrible fall of snow was pelting down, and whirling through the streets and lanes; the windows were plastered with snow on the outside, snow fell in masses from the roofs. Every one seemed in a great hurry; they ran, they flew, fell into each other’s arms, holding fast for a moment as long as they could stand safely. Coaches and horses looked as if they had been frosted with sugar. The footmen stood with their backs against the carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. The foot passengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which could only move slowly on in the deep snow. At last the storm abated, and a narrow path was swept clean in front of the houses; when two persons met in this path they stood still, for neither liked to take the first step on one side into the deep snow to let the other pass him. There they stood silent and motionless, till at last, as if by tacit consent, they each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow. Towards evening, the weather became calm. The sky, cleared from the snow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone with new brightness and purity. The frozen snow crackled under foot, and was quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who hopped upon it in the morning dawn. They searched for food in the path which had been swept, but there was very little for them, and they were terribly cold. “Tweet, tweet,” said one to another; “they call this a new year, but I think it is worse than the last. We might just as well have kept the old year; I’m quite unhappy, and I have a right to be so.”
“Yes, you have; and yet the people ran about and fired off guns, to usher in the new year,” said a little shivering sparrow. “They threw things against the doors, and were quite beside themselves with joy, because the old year had disappeared. I was glad too, for I expected we should have some warm days, but my hopes have come to nothing. It freezes harder than ever; I think mankind have made a mistake in reckoning time.”
“That they have,” said a third, an old sparrow with a white poll; “they have something they call a calendar; it’s an invention of their own, and everything must be arranged according to it, but it won’t do. When spring comes, then the year begins. It is the voice of nature, and I reckon by that.”
“But when will spring come?” asked the others.
“It will come when the stork returns, but he is very uncertain, and here in the town no one knows anything about it. In the country they have more knowledge; shall we fly away there and wait? we shall be nearer to spring then, certainly.”
“That may be all very well,” said another sparrow, who had been hopping about for a long time, chirping, but not saying anything of consequence, “but I have found a few comforts here in town which, I’m afraid, I should miss out in the country. Here in this neighborhood, there lives a family of people who have been so sensible as to place three or four flower-pots against the wall in the court-yard, so that the openings are all turned inward, and the bottom of each points outward. In the latter a hole has been cut large enough for me to fly in and out. I and my husband have built a nest in one of these pots, and all our young ones, who have now flown away, were brought up there. The people who live there of course made the whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us, or they would not have done it. It pleased them also to strew bread-crumbs for us, and so we have food, and may consider ourselves provided for. So I think my husband and I will stay where we are; although we are not very happy, but we shall stay.”
“And we will fly into the country,” said the others, “to see if spring is coming.” And away they flew.
In the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder than in the town. The sharp winds blew over the snow-covered fields. The farmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his sleigh, and beat his arms across his chest to keep off the cold. The whip lay on his lap. The horses ran till they smoked. The snow crackled, the sparrows hopped about in the wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, “Tweet, tweet; when will spring come? It is very long in coming.”
“Very long indeed,” sounded over the field, from the nearest snow-covered hill. It might have been the echo which people heard, or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man, who sat high on a heap of snow, regardless of wind or weather. He was all in white; he had on a peasant’s coarse white coat of frieze. He had long white hair, a pale face, and large clear blue eyes. “Who is that old man?” asked the sparrows.
“I know who he is,” said an old raven, who sat on the fence, and was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all equal in the sight of Heaven, even as little birds, and therefore he talked with the sparrows, and gave them the information they wanted. “I know who the old man is,” he said. “It is Winter, the old man of last year; he is not dead yet, as the calendar says, but acts as guardian to little Prince Spring who is coming. Winter rules here still. Ugh! the cold makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?”
“There! Did I not tell you so?” said the smallest of the sparrows. “The calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arranged according to nature. They should leave these things to us; we are created so much more clever than they are.”
One week passed, and then another. The forest looked dark, the hard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. The mountains had disappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. Large black crows flew about in silence; it was as if nature slept. At length a sunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like burnished silver. But the snow on the fields and the hills did not glitter as before. The white form of Winter sat there still, with his un-wandering gaze fixed on the south. He did not perceive that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were into the earth; that here and there a little green patch of grass appeared, and that these patches were covered with sparrows.
“Tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?”
Spring! How the cry resounded over field and meadow, and through the dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still gleamed on the trunks of the trees, and from the south came the two first storks flying through the air, and on the back of each sat a lovely little child, a boy and a girl. They greeted the earth with a kiss, and wherever they placed their feet white flowers sprung up from beneath the snow. Hand in hand they approached the old ice-man, Winter, embraced him and clung to his breast; and as they did so, in a moment all three were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy, that closed over them like a veil. The wind arose with mighty rustling tone, and cleared away the mist. Then the sun shone out warmly. Winter had vanished away, and the beautiful children of Spring sat on the throne of the year.
“This is really a new year,” cried all the sparrows, “now we shall get our rights, and have some return for what we suffered in winter.”
Wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth on bush and tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields became lovely in delicate green.
The little maiden strewed flowers in her path. She held her apron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if they sprung into life there, for the more she scattered around her, the more flowers did her apron contain. Eagerly she showered snowy blossoms over apple and peach-trees, so that they stood in full beauty before even their green leaves had burst from the bud. Then the boy and the girl clapped their hands, and troops of birds came flying by, no one knew from whence, and they all twittered and chirped, singing “Spring has come!” How beautiful everything was! Many an old dame came forth from her door into the sunshine, and shuffled about with great delight, glancing at the golden flowers which glittered everywhere in the fields, as they used to do in her young days. The world grew young again to her, as she said, “It is a blessed time out here to-day.” The forest already wore its dress of dark-green buds. The thyme blossomed in fresh fragrance. Primroses and anemones sprung forth, and violets bloomed in the shade, while every blade of grass was full of strength and sap. Who could resist sitting down on such a beautiful carpet? and then the young children of Spring seated themselves, holding each other’s hands, and sang, and laughed, and grew. A gentle rain fell upon them from the sky, but they did not notice it, for the rain-drops were their own tears of joy. They kissed each other, and were betrothed; and in the same moment the buds of the trees unfolded, and when the sun rose, the forest was green. Hand in hand the two wandered beneath the fresh pendant canopy of foliage, while the sun’s rays gleamed through the opening of the shade, in changing and varied colors. The delicate young leaves filled the air with refreshing odor. Merrily rippled the clear brooks and rivulets between the green, velvety rushes, and over the many-colored pebbles beneath. All nature spoke of abundance and plenty. The cuckoo sang, and the lark carolled, for it was now beautiful spring. The careful willows had, however, covered their blossoms with woolly gloves; and this carefulness is rather tedious. Days and weeks went by, and the heat increased. Warm air waved the corn as it grew golden in the sun. The white northern lily spread its large green leaves over the glossy mirror of the woodland lake, and the fishes sought the shadows beneath them. In a sheltered part of the wood, the sun shone upon the walls of a farm-house, brightening the blooming roses, and ripening the black juicy berries, which hung on the loaded cherry-trees, with his hot beams. Here sat the lovely wife of Summer, the same whom we have seen as a child and a bride; her eyes were fixed on dark gathering clouds, which in wavy outlines of black and indigo were piling themselves up like mountains, higher and higher. They came from every side, always increasing like a rising, rolling sea. Then they swooped towards the forest, where every sound had been silenced as if by magic, every breath hushed, every bird mute. All nature stood still in grave suspense. But in the lanes and the highways, passengers on foot or in carriages were hurrying to find a place of shelter. Then came a flash of light, as if the sun had rushed forth from the sky, flaming, burning, all-devouring, and darkness returned amid a rolling crash of thunder. The rain poured down in streams,—now there was darkness, then blinding light,—now thrilling silence, then deafening din. The 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. But 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. The 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. Strengthened 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. Sweet 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. But Summer and his bosom-wife saw it with different eyes, to them the altar-table was covered with the offerings of nature. The 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. It was indeed summer. And 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. The 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.
“See,” she exclaimed, “what wealth, what blessings surround us. Everything is home-like and good, and yet, I know not why, I long for rest and peace; I can scarcely express what I feel. They are already ploughing the fields again; more and more the people wish for gain. See, the storks are flocking together, and following the plough at a short distance. They are the birds from Egypt, who carried us through the air. Do 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.”
“Do you wish to see golden fruit?” said the man, “then rejoice,” and he lifted his arm. The leaves of the forest put on colors of red and gold, and bright tints covered the woodlands. The rose-bushes gleamed with scarlet hips, and the branches of the elder-trees hung down with the weight of the full, dark berries. The wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark, green shells, and in the forests the violets bloomed for the second time. But the queen of the year became more and more silent and pale.
“It blows cold,” she said, “and night brings the damp mist; I long for the land of my childhood.” Then she saw the storks fly away every one, and she stretched out her hands towards them. She 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.
“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. I wish him a pleasant journey.”
The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after leaf fell, and the stormy winds of Autumn howled. The 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. A gust of wind swept through the foliage, and the leaves fell in a shower. The summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last of the year, flew through the cold air. Damp fogs came, icy winds blew, and the long, dark nights of winter approached. The 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. And then the church bells rang out for Christmas time.
“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.”
In 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.
“May there be joy in the rooms, and under the green boughs,” said the old ruler of the year. In a few weeks he had become a very old man, with hair as white as snow. “My resting-time draws near; the young pair of the year will soon claim my crown and sceptre.”
“But the night is still thine,” said the angel of Christmas, “for power, but not for rest. Let the snow lie warmly upon the tender seed. Learn to endure the thought that another is worshipped whilst thou art still lord. Learn to endure being forgotten while yet thou livest. The hour of thy freedom 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 the ice, old Winter sat on the snowdrift-covered hill, looking towards the south, where Winter had sat before, and gazed. The 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. Then came the sparrows again out of the town, and asked, “Who is that old man?” The raven sat there still, or it might be his son, which is the same thing, and he said to them,—
“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.”
“When will Spring come?” asked the sparrows, “for we shall have better times then, and a better rule. The old times are worth nothing.”
And 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.
“When will Spring come?” asked the sparrows. “Spring!” Again the echo sounded from the hills on which the snow lay. The sunshine became warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, “Spring is coming!” And 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. And the story of the year was finished.
“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.”
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