now bosky darkness grows.
the gradual summer-light bestows
faint star-light on each hollow.
none had noticed spring’s farewell or summer’s coming.
the birds sang and the flies buzzed. the gnats danced up and down in the air, till the swallow broke up the ball; the flowers smelt sweet, the frogs croaked, the stag belled in the glade. there was no end to the universal gladness.
and, while the mountains were still turning green wherever spring had set his foot, right up to winter’s eternal snows on the peaks, the prince of summer stood for a time and surveyed the kingdom which spring had quitted.
his form sent forth so sunny a radiance that it grew hotter in the valley than it ever had been. his eyes shone, his purple cloak beamed, the golden girdle around his loins blazed like fire, the red rose in his girdle glowed.
when he had stood a while, he raised his hand, as though he would bid them be still. but none heeded him. the siskin hopped in the thicket with his sweetheart, gave her loving looks and pecked at her with his beak. the fish sported merrily in the water, the meadow displayed all its glories and the wood stood lost in green dreams.
the prince of summer smiled and raised his hand once more. when this had no effect, he knitted his brows and his face darkened.
and, at that moment, a veil passed over the sun. from east and west, thick clouds came slowly over the hills, thicker and blacker than the valley had yet seen and with strange, thick edges. from the clouds rolled the thunder, distant and muffled, but such that none could doubt its power.
the clouds came nearer and it grew ever darker, but no less hot for that. inside the wood, it was as though it were evening. the wind took fright and ran away behind the hills and subsided. the air was singularly close and heavy. the leaves of the trees hung slack, as though they were sick, and the flowers hastened to shut their petals. no one knew what became of the flies, but they were gone. the little brown mice forgot their amorous nonsense and sat in their parlours and squeaked. the stag took shelter behind the thickest bushes; the croak of the frogs stuck in their throats and they went down to the bottom as if winter were at the door. the birds looked round under the leafage and stared with frightened eyes.
and the prince of summer was no longer all light and sunshine. gradually, as the clouds closed up, the radiance that flowed from him was extinguished. at last, he stood at the end of the valley like a mighty black cloud in a warrior’s form.
then there suddenly came a humming over the hills till every breath of wind had left them altogether. the trees bent low in great dismay; the river rose and leapt away like a horse that rears and shies.
then it sounded as if a thousand light feet were running over the ground: it was the first rain-drops coming. the next moment, the rain poured down till every sound was drowned in its splashing.
there came a terrible lightning, which made everything visible, but which dazzled all eyes, so that they could not see. then came the blackest darkness and then the thunder, till the mountains shook again.
but through the thunder sounded summer’s accents; and never had any heard so loud a voice:
“it is i, summer, who am come to reign over the land. mine is the thunder that roars over the valley. hark!... the echo rolls from the mountains; the earth rumbles under my foot: it is summer coming.”
the thunder ceased, but the rain kept on pouring. and through the rain spoke summer’s accents; and never had any heard so soft a voice:
“it is i, summer, who am come to reign over the land. all that is green shall be greener still; all that is fair shall be a thousand-fold fairer. the scent of the flower shall be sweeter yet; and the sound of the bird’s trill shall be deeper and fuller. the days shall break earlier in the east and be lighter and warmer; the nights shall be cool and still; and there shall be no end to the joy of the morning nor to the evening’s peace.”
when the prince of summer had spoken, while all things in the valley bowed and listened and understood, the thunder ceased and the rain fell no longer.
tall and straight and radiant, summer advanced through his kingdom.
and, wherever he came, the clouds parted and vanished east and west behind the hills. the sky grew clear again and the drops of water that hung on every twig and every blade of grass glistened in the sunlight. the flowers opened, the birds came out from under the leafage, the stag left his cover and plunged his muzzle into the wet grass.
but, when the last cloud was gone and the sun had dried up the last drop of water and every single trace of the storm was removed, nevertheless things were nowhere the same as they were before the thunder passed over the valley.
more flowers came and new flowers; and their scent was sweeter and their colour brighter, even as the prince of summer had said. but it was as though they had all become more serious. they no longer swung so carelessly on their stalks, no longer scattered their scent so lavishly to every wind. but, when a bee or a butterfly came flitting up, all the flowers stretched their necks and shed a redoubled radiance and fragrance and cried their honey aloud, so that the insects might come along and take their pollen-ware.
nor did the bees themselves have so good a time as in the green days of spring. at home, in the hive, their queen was laying eggs by the hundred; and they had to sweat wax and build cells and fetch honey and pollen, till they were nigh dying with exhaustion. and there were so many flowers that the bees did not know where to turn. in the wood, they got drunk on the sweet scent of the linden-blossom and the honeysuckle; beside the brook, they fluttered plump into the red cap of the poppy. not one of them was man enough to say no to those flower-cups: the thistle and the burdock, the dandelion and the wild chamomile, all kept them hard at work. did they come to the hedge, the elderberry called them; would they rest in the grass, the bindweed offered them its chalice with fresh dew-drops on the edge and honey at the bottom; did they fly across the lake, the water-lily lay with her white and yellow blossoms and nodded on the silent waters.
and even as with the flowers and the bees, so it was everywhere. not anywhere were things as they had been.
however many trills the siskin struck for his sweetheart, however fondly he put his head upon one side, however eagerly he pecked at her with his beak, she minded not a jot, but stared silently and seriously before her:
“there’s that nest,” she said, at last.
“of course, of course,” replied the siskin and looked as though he had never thought of anything else.
“yes, but it’s urgent!” said she. “we shall have the eggs before the week is out.”
then they found a place where they felt like building and together they set to work.
but, wherever they hopped after a twig for which they had a use, already other birds were hopping on the same errand and, wherever they flew after a feather in the air, they had to hurry, lest another should snatch it first. if he got hold of a lovely long horsehair, there would never fail to be some one pulling at the other end; and, if she flew out for some nice moss which she had noticed the day before, she could be sure that her fair neighbour had been to fetch it that morning. for every young couple in the wood was out after furniture and fittings.
at last, the two siskins got their house built; and the other birds did the same. there was not in the wood a bush so poor but it carried a nest in its bosom. in every nest lay eggs; and on the eggs sat a smart little bird-wife looking round watchfully with her black eyes and boring herself most wretchedly. every moment, her husband would come home with a fly or a worm or some other good nourishing food, as he had promised and as his duty bade him. when evening came, all the bird-husbands sat faithfully on the edge of the nest and sang, each with his little beak, so touchingly and prettily that their wives thought it delightful to be alive.
but up in the tall trees the crow-wives sat on their eggs; and on the cliffs the eagles’ consorts lay brooding.
everywhere they were busy preparing for the babies; but not everywhere was there so pretty a family-life as in the bushes in the wood.
true, mrs. fox had her hole deep down in the hillside, where her youngsters lay as snug as in their grandmother’s chest of drawers. but the timid hare dropped her young ones in the ditch and had no notion where their unnatural father was gobbling his evening cabbage.
and the cuckoo flew round restlessly and slipped his eggs stealthily into the others’ nests and cried most bitterly because he could never, never build a home for himself. nor was the snail much better off; for she could do no more than make a hole in the ground, put her eggs into it and commend them to providence.
the little brown mice had their parlours full of tiny, blind children, who could never wish for kinder or more thoughtful parents. but goody mole, down in the earth, had to eat her own dirty husband as soon as she had had her babies, lest he should eat the little innocents for his lunch. and the gnat-husbands danced heedlessly in the evening air, as though they had nothing better to do, while their respective spouses, in great affliction, laid their eggs in the water.
but the brown frog sat by the ditch-side and wrung her hands in speechless horror at the strange tadpole-children which she had brought into the world.
and the sun shone and the rain fell on those who were comfortable indoors and on those who had to take things as they came. goody mole worked for two, like the decent widow that she was; and the hare suckled her young so that they might gain strength quickly and leap away from the eagle and the fox. the cuckoo uttered his sorrowful note among the tall trunks of the forest; and mother gnat let her eggs sail the pond for themselves, since that was all that she could do for them, after which she settled in the stag’s ear and helped herself to a drop of blood to repay her for her exertions.
but the prince of summer was with them all. he knew of the smallest gnat and forgot not a flower in the meadow:
“it is well!” he said.
and, every day that passed, his purple cloak beamed, the golden girdle around his loins blazed, the red rose in his girdle glowed.
then it happened that a shocking cry rang out through the forest. it was so loud that everything around grew silent and all listened to hear what it could be.
the one who had uttered the cry was an old, gnarled oak who stood among a crowd of fine young beeches:
“prince of summer, come to my aid!” he shouted. “don’t you see that the beeches are stifling me? before you have made your entry twice more into the valley, i shall be dead and buried under their shade.”
“i see it,” said summer, calmly.
“you see it?” cried the oak and wrung his old branches in despair. “you see it and you don’t help me? woe is me, to have a prince like you! then spring indeed was a different sort of gracious lord and king. there was not in the forest a stick so dry but he readily gave it a green leaf or two.”
but the prince of summer looked with indifference at the old, dying oak:
“i was never responsible for spring’s green promises,” he replied. “i reign here according to my own law, and the law ordains that you shall die. what do i want with a fagot like you in my healthy forests?”
then he turned to the beeches and said:
“i gave you strength to grow. i give you twofold strength and tenfold. hasten and put that old gentleman to rest!”
and the beeches shot up aloft and threw their shade over the oak till he died.
but there were others besides the oak that made their complaints to the prince of summer. every day and every hour of the day there was one that threw up the sponge and shrieked for help.
there was the grass, which cried because the stag ate it.
“i made your number as the sand of the sea,” said the prince of summer. “i gave you hardiness and a quick growth; i gave you the wind to carry your seed across the meadows. for you i have done enough.”
and there was the stag, who bellowed because the best grass was gone. to him the prince of summer said:
“i gave you swift legs, so that you could bound where the grass is greenest in the forest. if your legs are tired, then lay you down to die; and the hind’s fawns shall walk in your footsteps.”
there were the fish in the river, who ate one another’s eggs and young and then blamed summer.
“what would you have me do?” asked summer. “i gave you power to lay a thousand eggs and a thousand more and a thousand besides. however many may die, there will always be fish in the river.”
and there were the flowers that sighed because there were not bees enough to carry off their pollen. but the prince of summer said:
“i presented you with honey to give to the bees for a messenger’s fee and taught you to hide it so that they must take your pollen into the bargain. i gave you delicious perfumes and beautiful colours wherewith to entice the bees. you call them and they come; and the one that promises most and keeps its promise best is the one they obey most quickly.”
but, every time that summer spoke, there was a new one that wailed:
“there are too few worms!” cried the siskin, who now had four youngsters in the nest and was wearing himself to a skeleton in the effort to provide food for them. “we are starving. we can never hold out!”
“there are too many birds!” whined the worm in the mould. “if one but stirs out for a moment, one is eaten up.”
“deliver us from the stork!” prayed the frogs.
“provide more frogs,” cried the stork, “or i shall have to go elsewhere!”
and the beech complained because the cockchafer ate its leaves; and the crows could never get cockchafers enough. the bees whined about the flowers, as the flowers had done about the bees: they considered that it was much too hard to get hold of the honey. the hare ran away from the fox and fell into the talons of the eagle. the young ash in the hedge raised his voice to heaven against the honeysuckle that twined itself right up to his top.
but the prince of summer stood tall and straight and radiant and surveyed his kingdom. his smile was wide and bright and there was no pity in his hard eyes. he raised his hand, as though to bid them be silent, but none heeded him; and the noise increased hourly and the land was full of cries and lamentations.
then he knitted his brows and called the thick black clouds from behind the hills. they came at his beck; fear lay over the valley again; and the cries were silenced. the thunder rolled till the mountains shook, the lightning flamed, the rain poured.
and summer’s great voice sounded through the air:
“know you not that i am a lord as stern as winter, whom you hate? he reigns over death, as i do over life. i will be obeyed, like him; like him, i crush whatever resists me. you thought i was a minstrel like spring, who sang you to life and longing and went off over the mountains. but i am greater than spring. for i satisfied your desires with food and made you subject to the law of life. but the law is this, that that which is hale shall stand, but that which is sick shall fall. therefore i made my days long, that you should become green and grow. therefore i gave you strength and power in a thousand ways, the smallest gnat as well as the tallest tree in the forest, so that you should fight and grow up. therefore i gave you children, so that you should never perish. and whoso obeys my law and well employs the day, upon him the sunlight of my eyes shall fall. his strength shall reign, his children shall bear his name throughout the ages. but whoso flinches, he shall die.”
the prince of summer was silent and the thunder rolled away slowly over the mountains. the clouds parted and vanished; it became night. the stars[93] shone bright and friendly, the trees dripped and all was still.
but, next morning, the valley awoke to fiercer fighting and louder cries than ever.
for there was not a bird in the forest nor a flower in the meadow but had heard what the prince of summer said and understood it. they all knew what it meant and armed themselves, before sunrise, for the fight for life.
the siskin and his wife hunted twice as eagerly in the thicket; the little brown mice dug twice as diligently; the flowers redoubled their radiance and their fragrance. goody mole rummaged the ground in every direction; the stag found a meadow where the grass stood high and green. the beech put forth new twigs in the place of those which the cockchafers had eaten; and the ash stretched its bows right through the honeysuckle to show summer that it was alive.
thousands died, but none heard their death-moan, because of the din that arose from the fight of the living. and it was as though more lives came for each life that was extinguished.
the siskin’s youngsters hopped out of the nest and fell from the branch and fluttered up again. the crow’s children screamed in the tree-tops; the young eagles flew from the rock to try their wings. the starling drove her first brood from the nest and laid new eggs; the frog lived to see her degenerate young grow quite respectable before she herself was swallowed by the stork.
never had the fish swarmed so thickly in the river, never had the beech’s leaves been so broad, never had the copsewood been so dense, never had the flowers pressed so close together in the hedge.
and the prince of summer stood amidst his kingdom taller and straighter and more radiant than ever:
“it is well!” he said.
then evening came. the crows flew home from their debating-club in the old, dead oak; the little birds in the thicket sang their evensong in chorus, but made it short, for they were very tired. the flowers shut their petals; the bees closed the door of their hive. the moth flew out on her soft, grey wings. the stars peeped out, ever more and ever larger.
carefully, the mist raised its head and spied and listened. and, when all was still, it welled forth, white and grey and billowy and noiseless. now it lay quiet and dreamed, now it danced its queer dances over the meads. it peeped into the wood, where the lime-tree was shedding its perfume; it glided down to the river, which ran and ran and was swallowed up in the darkness.
but, suddenly, from the edge of the wood, a long and jubilant trill rang out over the valley:
weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet!
the mist stopped and listened. the stag raised his head in the meadow, the birds opened their sleepy eyes and answered with a little chirp.
weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet!
it was the nightingale, who sang:
now bosky darkness grows.
the gradual summer-night bestows
faint star-light on each hollow.
the merry little swallow
has hied him to repose.
weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet!
while now the moon through heaven sails
and all is still, blithe nightingales
with hedgerow music follow.
weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet-a ... weet!
in sleepy clusters gleaming,
white elders sigh, red roses start,
forget-me-nots lie dreaming.
they dream of summer all night long
whose splendour thrills that joyous song
in mellow sweetness streaming
from the green thicket’s heart....
