by the grace of god, conferred on
princes four, they share earth’s burden:
theirs the glory, hers the guerdon.
it happened one day that two princes came walking over the earth of each in the other’s direction.
one of them came from the north, the other from the south. they were both tall, taller than men, taller than any champion of romance. they carried their heads royally and high and set their feet firmly upon the ground, as if it belonged to them.
the one who came from the north was the elder. he was an old man with a might of white hair and beard; his naked breast was shaggy, shaggy his legs and hands. he looked strong and wild, with cold, stern eyes.
the one who came from the south was young, but no less powerful than the other. his face and hands were burned by the sun, his eyes strong and gentle as the sun. over his shoulder he wore a purple cloak, round his loins a golden girdle. in the girdle was a wonderful red rose.
when the princes saw each other from afar, they stopped for a moment and then walked quickly on again, as though they longed to meet. but, when they had come a little closer to each other, they both stood still once more. the young one shivered when he met the old one’s glance; and the sweat sprang to the old one’s brow when the young one looked at him.
they stood thus for a time. then they sat down, each upon a mountain, and gazed at each other and waited for a while in silence.
the young one was the first to speak:
“you are winter, i presume?” he asked.
the old one nodded:
“i am winter, the lord of the earth,” he answered.
the young one laughed till the mountains rang:
“are you really?” said he. “and i am summer, the lord of the earth.”
they sat again for a while and measured each other with angry glances.
then winter said:
“i came out to meet you and talk to you. but i do not like you.”
“i came intending to talk you into your senses,” said summer. “but i can hardly bear to look at you, you are so grim and ugly.”
“shall we divide the earth between us?” asked winter. “you come everywhere with your namby-pamby sunshine and melt my ice and plant your paltry flowers. i retaliate, as you know. i smother your creatures in snow and spoil your pleasure. we are both equally strong: shall we conclude a peace?”
“what would that lead to?” asked summer, suspiciously.
“each of us must keep to his own,” replied winter. “i have my ice-castle in the north, where you can never come, and you have your sun-palace down in the south, where my sway does not reach. as we cannot bear the sight of each other, we had better lay a broad waste belt between our kingdoms.”
“nothing shall be waste,” said summer. “everything shall be green, as far as i am concerned. i like to wander out of my summer-palace all over the earth and i will carry my light and my heat as far into your ice-fields as i can. i know no greater pleasure than to conjure forth a green spot in your snow ... even though it be but for a day.”
“you are conceited, because you are in luck’s way for the moment,” replied winter. “but you should remember that the times may change. i was the more powerful once and i may become so again. do not forget that i am born of the eternal, unutterable cold of space.”
“and i am the child of the sun and was powerful before you,” said summer, proudly.
winter passed his fingers through his beard; and an avalanche came rushing down the mountain-side.
“ugh!” said summer and wrapped himself closer in his purple cloak.
“would you like to see my might?” asked winter.
he raised his arms in the air; and, then and there, the mountain on which he sat was quite transformed. a wild, blustering storm roared over it; and the snow swept down from the sky. a brook which had been leaping gaily over the slope turned suddenly to ice; and the waterfall which sang and hummed over the precipice fell silent at once and its water froze into yard-long icicles. when it ceased snowing, the mountain was white from top to foot.
“now it’s my turn,” said summer.
he took the rose from his girdle and flung it on the mountain whereon he sat; and forthwith the loveliest roses shot up from the ground. they nodded in the breeze from the point of every rock and filled the valleys with their fragrance and their colours. in every bush sat merry nightingales and sang; and from the flower-stalks heavy dew-drops hung and gleamed in the sun.
“well?” said summer.
winter bent forward and stared hard at the loveliest rose of them all. then the dew-drop that hung under the flower froze into an icicle. the bird that sat in its branches and sang fell stiff and frozen to the ground; and the rose itself withered and died.
“well?” said winter.
but summer stood up and looked with his gentle eyes at winter’s mountain, at the place where the snow lay deepest. and, on the spot at which he looked, the snow melted and from out the ground sprang the largest and loveliest christmas rose that any one could hope to set eyes upon.
in this wise, the two princes could make no way against each other.
the day wore on; evening came and night. the moon shone upon the splendid snow-clad mountain, which gleamed and glittered like diamonds. across from summer’s mountain sounded the nightingale’s song; and the scent of the roses filled all the fair space around.
the next morning, just as the sun was rising, two other princes came walking towards the place where winter and summer sat glaring at each other.
one of them came from the east, the other from the west. they were shorter in stature than winter and summer and not so strong nor yet so awful to look at. but they were big enough even then; and there was no mistaking that they were high lords and mighty men. for they walked the earth freely and proudly and looked around them as though they feared no one and nothing.
the one who came from the east was the younger, a mere stripling without a hair on his chin. his face was soft and round, his mouth was ever smiling and his eyes dreamy and moist. his long hair was bound with a ribbon, like a woman’s. he was clad in green from top to toe. the ribbon round his hair was green, as were the bows to his shoes; and a lute was slung across his shoulder by a broad green ribbon of silk. the newcomer walked as gaily and lightly as though his feet did not touch the ground and, all the time, as he walked, he hummed a tune and plucked at the strings of his lute.
the one who came from the west was much older. his hair and beard were dashed with grey; and there were wrinkles on his forehead. but he was good to look at and he was arrayed in the most splendid attire of them all. his cloak gleamed red and brown and green and yellow; and, as he marched towards the sun, he spread it so that it shone in all its colours. he himself gazed contentedly right into the sun’s radiance, as if he could never have enough of it. in his hand he carried a mighty horn.
now, when these two had neared the others, they bowed low before them. the one who came from the east bowed lowest before summer; but the one who came from the west showed winter the greatest deference.
thereupon they sat down, just opposite each other, each on his mountain, and so they all four sat for a while, in a circle, and said nothing. then winter asked:
“who may you two be?”
“i am autumn,” said he who had come from the west.
“i am spring,” said the other.
winter looked hard at them and shook his head:
“i don’t know you,” he said.
“i have never heard your names,” said summer.
“we have come to rule over the earth,” said spring.
but now winter grew angry in earnest. he wrapped his head in the most terrible snow-storm that had ever been seen in the land; and his voice sounded like thunder from out of the storm:
“go away, back to whence you came! we do not know you and we have nothing to say to you. summer and i are the princes of the earth; and we already are one prince too many. if more come, it will simply mean endless trouble.”
“we have not come to cause trouble, but to make peace,” said autumn, gently.
“between winter and me no peace is possible,” said summer.
“that is why we want to part you,” said spring. “we two who have come to-day well know that we are not so powerful as you. we bow respectfully before you, because your might is greater, your sway more firmly established. we do not presume to encroach on your dominions. but we want to come between you and hinder you from laying waste the earth.”
“yes, if you could do that!” said summer.
“yes, then there would be some sense in it,” growled winter.
“we can,” said autumn.“we understand you both, because we have something of both of you in us. when you approach each other, one of us two will step in between; and the land where we are shall then be ours.”
“i will never let go my ice-castle in the north!” cried winter.
“i will suffer no foreign prince in my sun-palace in the south!” cried summer.
“no more you shall,” said autumn. “none shall disturb you in the places where you reign in your might. but now listen to me. when you two move over the earth, spring and i will always come between you and soften the tracks of the one who is going and clear the way for the one who is coming. in this wise, we will reign for a while, each in his own time and each for a fourth part of the year. we will follow after one another in a circle which shall never be broken nor changed. and thus the poor earth will gain peace and order in her affairs.”
when the prince of autumn had spoken, they were all silent for a while and looked out before them. winter and summer distrusted each other and neither of them would utter the first word. but spring and autumn half rose from their seats and bowed before the two mighty ones:
“i will spread the cloth for summer,” said spring.
“i will make winter’s bed,” said autumn.
“i will release earth and water from their icy fetters and prepare them for your glory, o beauteous summer,” said spring.
“i shall bite your heel!” roared winter.
“and i will make room for your storms and snows, o stern winter,” said autumn. “but first i will bring summer’s produce home.”
“i shall send my last sunbeams after you and give you lovely days,” said summer.
again the four princes sat silent and gazed out over the earth.
and again evening came and night. the moon shone upon the snow-clad mountain, summer’s roses shed their scent, spring hummed a tune and plucked at the strings of his lute, autumn’s motley cloak flapped in the wind.
the next morning, winter rose and stood upon his mountain, all tall and mighty. the other princes did as he did.
“let it be so then!” said winter. “for a hundred thousand years it shall be so and no otherwise. when that time is past, we shall meet here again and talk of how things have gone.”
then the four princes bowed to one another and strode away across the earth.
