november came and was no different from what it usually is.
the trees stood with bare branches. the leaves rustled over the earth or floated on the pond. the reeds were all cut down; the water-lily's leaves withered away, with stalks and all, while she, deep down at the bottom, slept her winter sleep and dreamt of her next white spring costume.
and down at the bottom lay all the frogs, buried deep in the mud, so that only their noses stuck out. it looked as though the pond were paved with frogs' noses. the plants in the water were as leafless as the plants on land. hidden among the stalks and withered leaves, under the stones and in the mud lay animals sleeping, or eggs waiting for the spring to come and hatch them.
all the birds had flown, except the chaffinch and a few others, who hopped about and managed as best they could. the flies were all gone and the dragon-flies and spiders and midges and butterflies and all the rest. there were only a few grumpy fish left in the pond.
and the storm raged among the trees, till they cracked and creaked, and whipped the pond up into tall waves with foam on their crests.
"it is really horrid here in winter," said the woman of the pond, as she stuffed her windows with moss. "such a howling in the chimney and a creaking and cracking in the wood and a roaring and rushing in the pond! i wish we had the glorious summer again. that is a happy time and peaceful time. then it's pleasant living by the pond."
a poet, accompanied by seven ladies, walked on the path around the pond.
he wore a fur-lined coat and turned the collar over his ears; and the ladies were wrapped up so that nothing showed but the tips of their noses. for it was very cold.
"ladies," said the poet, "when you look at that wild unsightly pond now, you have simply no idea how charming it can be in summer. now, all these elements have been let loose. waves rage against waves, the storm rushes round and the trees stand naked and disconsolate. it is a real picture of strife and sorrow and cruelty. but, ladies, come out here on a summer's day and you shall see a different sight. then the reeds grow along the banks in all their elegance; water-lily and spear-wort float side by side upon the surface of the water and nod smilingly to each other with their white flowers. the midges hover in the air and the frogs croak and glad birds sing. deep in the water swim beautiful fish disporting themselves gaily. the mussels in the mud dream of beautiful pearls, the cray-fish crawl slowly round and round and enjoy life and happiness. ladies, you simply cannot imagine what a picture of peace and happiness the pond offers. it is, as it were, an abstract of all the wonderful harmonies of nature, the sight of which consoles us poor mortals, who strive and wrangle from morn till dewy eve and envy and slander and persecute one another. remember, ladies, to come out to the pond when summer is here. it braces a mortal for his bitter fight to see the peace and gladness in which god's lower creatures live ... those of his creatures which have not received our great intellectual gifts, but a purer and deeper happiness instead."
thus spake the poet. and seven ladies listened respectfully to his words ... and nobody laid violent hands upon him.
