a thousand centuries ran as fast
as runs one day of gladness past
and how that is none knoweth.
a hundred thousand years passed, one like the other, and the day came when the princes were to meet again, as arranged, and to hear from one another how things had gone.
they went to the meeting-place in the darkness of the night and sat down separately where they had sat before, in a circle, each on his mountain. when the sun rose, he shone upon the four great lords in all their might and splendour.
and summer’s purple cloak beamed and the golden belt round his loins and the rose in his belt. spring sat in his green garb and plucked at the strings of his lute and hummed to it. autumn’s motley cloak flapped in the wind. the snow on winter’s mountain sparkled like diamonds.
summer’s eyes and winter’s met for the first time after many years. the sweat sprang to winter’s brow; summer shivered and wrapped himself in his cloak. they were both equally strong and equally proud; the eyes of the one were as gentle as the other’s were cold and stern. they looked angrily at each other, bitter, irreconcilable enemies as before.
and spring and autumn sat just opposite each other, as on that day long since; and their eyes met like winter’s and summer’s, for they neither had seen each other during the years that passed. and spring’s glance was just as moist and dreamy and young and autumn’s just as sad and serious.
the princes sat like that for a while. then they all rose and bowed low, but spring and autumn bowed lower than the others, as befits those who are the lesser. and, when they were seated again, each on his mountain, autumn turned his serious eyes to summer and asked:
“did i keep the covenant we made?”
“that you did,” said summer. “you brought my produce home; i thank you for it.”
but autumn turned to winter and asked:
“and did i do what i promised you? did i make your bed? did i make room on the earth for your storms and your frost?”
“you did,” replied winter, bluntly. “but you always left the valley too late.”
spring raised his young face towards the prince of summer and asked:
“did i spread your cloth as i promised? did i release the water from the yoke of the ice, did i rid the earth of its frozen crust? did i drape the green woods for your coming?”
“yes, you did,” replied summer, kindly. “and i owe you my thanks.”
but winter shook his fist at green spring and shouted:
“you always came too soon, you rascal! i never got my snows thoroughly emptied, my storms had never blown themselves out, before you were there with your hurdy-gurdy.”
“i did as i had to,” replied spring and smiled and plucked at the strings of his lute.
but the prince of autumn rose and made three deep bows:
“then our meeting was fortunate for the poor earth,” he said. “now we can part, never to meet again, and go our way over the land until the end of the world.”
the prince of spring rose and bowed three times, as autumn had done, and bound the lute over his shoulder. but summer and winter remained sitting and looked out before them, as if they had more on their minds; and, when spring and autumn saw this, they sat down again, each on his mountain, and waited respectfully.
and, when this had lasted some time, winter raised his white head and looked from the one to the other. then he said:
“now i will say what we are all thinking.”
autumn turned a questioning glance towards him; and spring unfastened his lute again and played and hummed. but the prince of summer nodded in assent.
“we are princes by the grace of god,” said winter. “we have shared the earth among us by turns, according to agreement, so that each of us reigned for a quarter of the year. we have kept the covenant which we made with one another, but the land is no longer ours.”
“that is true,” said summer.
“we are no longer lords in the land,” said winter. “men have seized upon the power.”
the prince of summer nodded once more; autumn just bowed his head in assent; and spring hummed his songs and looked out over the land as if he were not even listening. but winter continued:
“i know not whence they came. i daresay they are some of that vermin which spring lures up from the mould with his playing and which summer keeps the life in. i do not know. but this i do know, that they are there, swarming over the land and increasing year by year.”
“that is true,” said summer.
the prince of autumn nodded his head, but spring went on playing and humming.
“that is how the matter stands,” said winter. “and i cannot touch them. they are too clever for me and they become more clever each time i see them anew. in vain i send my most piercing colds, my mightiest storms against them. they have built houses in which they sit snug and safe and allow the storms to rage. they light fires to keep themselves warm and have made themselves thick woollen clothes for their bodies and limbs, their hands and feet. and even that is not enough. the animals they have a use for they take into their houses; the bushes they want to protect they bind up in mats and straw. when i send my snow down over the earth, till it lies right up to the roofs of their houses, they shovel it away and make roads and paths right through it. when i bind the water with ice, they break the ice into pieces, if that suits them, or else they put iron under their feet and skate over the ice and derive a pleasure from it into the bargain.”
“that is true,” said summer. “men have seized upon the power.”
but the prince of winter was not yet done with his grievance:
“it is men that rule the earth,” he said. “and they know it and tease and hinder me everywhere. to show their thorough contempt for me, they have placed their greatest and most important festival in the very midst of my reign. so brazen are they that they simply beg me for ice and snow for their ‘christmas’!”
“i know them too,” said the prince of autumn. “i cannot deny that they have made themselves lords of the earth, even though they do me no particular[180] harm. but they are self-willed and they bring the crops home sometimes earlier and sometimes later than is right.”
“just so!” shouted winter. “that is why i cannot starve them to death, because they fill their barns in autumn’s time. if we kept together, we could crush them.”
but now summer raised his voice:
“men have the power,” he said, “and we can do nothing to prevent it. they have become too many for us and too clever, as winter has said. in the beginning, i had nothing against them. they ran in the forest like my other creatures and hunted and fought and bore their children under the foliage. they obeyed the law of life, as i had laid it down, and i granted that to them just as much as to the stag and the sparrow and the worm.”
“the first time they saw me they wrapped themselves in skins and hid themselves in holes,” said winter, angrily.
“that was their right,” replied summer, calmly. “every single being that i have created seeks protection against your wickedness, if he cannot fly the land during your reign. but men are no longer what they were. they no longer hunt freely and bravely in the wood. their colour has become pale, their arms weak, their hearts craven. for years at a time, their children are feeble and helpless. men are wretched creatures that deserve to die; and i would not say a word against it if winter killed them all. for they do not reign because they are the strongest, but because they have studied all the world’s subtle contrivances and devices. that is what gives them their power upon earth.”
“let us extirpate them!” roared winter.
“we cannot do that,” replied the prince of summer. “they have adapted the earth entirely to suit their own needs. they have exterminated some of my animals and plants, because these were of no use nor pleasure to them; others they have disseminated everywhere. and all that they take into their service become weak and sickly like unto themselves, tied to them and dependent upon them, so that they can yield them the advantages which they need, but are no longer allowed to lead the free life for which they were created. i hate men, as the prince of winter hates them. but there is no remedy against their might.”
he ceased speaking. the three princes stared despondently before them. but spring plucked gaily at the strings of his lute.
then winter turned to him and said, roughly:
“you are the only one that has not spoken. what harm do men do you?”
“tell us!” demanded autumn.
“do you hate them as we do?” asked summer.
the prince of spring raised his young face and looked at them as though his thoughts were far away. then he said: “men? they cause me no pain.”
“i think that is one of your green lies,” sneered winter.
but spring looked away before him with his moist and dreamy eyes, plucked harder at the strings and answered:
“see, when i come to the valley and touch the strings of my lute and sing to it and the flowers spring up from the mould: then the wailing relaxes in men’s hearts even as in the cold ground. then they sing and flourish and thrive and laugh; and love is kindled in their thoughts; and their souls rejoice.”
the three looked at spring in amazement, but he continued:
“there was an old, old man, when last i came to the valley. his hair was white and his eyes dim. his hands groped helplessly before him; and his legs could scarcely bear him. his daughter died in summer’s passionate hours; his sons dropped dead while gathering autumn’s crops. his wife closed her eyes under your wrath, o mighty winter! but, when i stood in the valley and plucked at the strings of my lute, suddenly he straightened his crooked back and his eyes recovered their fire: ‘the woods are turning green!’ he said. and he went out and ran on his shaking legs after my flowers and listened to my song and joined with the others in my green gladness.”
he ceased. not one of the three princes answered him. long they sat silent and looked out over the earth.
and evening fell and night. the moon shone upon the snow-clad mountain, summer’s roses shed their scent, autumn’s motley cloak flapped in the wind, spring plucked at the strings of his lute and hummed softly to its music.
the next morning, the four princes rose in their splendour and their might, bowed low to one another and strode slowly away over the earth.
