THE STORY OF THE YEAR

IT was far in January，and a terrible fall of snow was pelting down．The snow eddied through the streets and lanes；the window－panes seemed plastered with snow on the outside；snow plumped down in masses from the roofs：and a sudden hurry had seized on the people，for they ran，and jostled，and fell into each other's arms，and as they clutched each other fast for a moment，they felt that they were safe at least for that length of time．Coaches and horses seemed frosted with sugar．The foot－men stood with their backs against the carriages，so as to turn their faces from the wind．The foot passengers kept in the shelter of the carriages，which could only move slowly on in the deep snow；and when the storm at last abated，and a narrow path was swept clean alongside the houses，the people stood still in this path when they met，for none liked to take the first step aside into the deep snow to let the other pass him．Thus they stood silent and motionless，till，as if by tacit consent，each sacrificed one leg，and，stepping aside，buried it in the deep snow－heap．

Towards evening it grew calm．The sky looked as if it had been swept，and had become more lofty and transparent．The stars looked as if they were quite new，and some of them were amazingly bright and pure．It froze so hard that the snow creaked，and the upper rind of snow might well have grown hard enough to bear the Sparrows in the morning．These little birds hopped up and down where the sweeping had been done；but they found very little food，and were not a little cold．

“Piep！”said one of them to another；“they call this a new year，and it is worse than the last！We might just as well have kept the old one．I'm dissatisfied，and I've reason to be so．”

“Yes；and the people ran about and fired off shots to celebrate the New Year，” said a shivering little Spar－row；“and they threw pans and pots against the doors，and were quite boisterous with joy because the Old Year was gone．I was glad of it too，because I hoped we should have had warm days；but that has come to nothing——it freezes much harder than before．People have made a mistake in reckoning the time！”

“That they have！”a third put in，who was old，and had a white poll：“they've something they call the calendar——it's an invention of their own——and everything is to be arranged according to that；but it won't do．When spring comes，then the year begins——that is the course of nature．”

“But when will spring come？”the others inquired．

“It will come when the stork comes back．But his movements are very uncertain，and here in town no one knows anything about it：in the country they are better in－formed．Shall we fly out there and wait？There，at any rate，we shall be nearer to spring．”

“Yes，that may be all very well，” observed one of the Sparrows，who had been hopping about for a long time，chirping，without saying anything decided．“I've found a few comforts here in town，which I am afraid I should miss out in the country．Near this neighbourhood，in a court－yard，there lives a family of people，who have taken the very sensible notion of placing three or four flowerpots against the wall，with their mouths all turned inwards，and the bottom of each pointing outwards．In each flowerpot a hole has been cut，big enough for me to fly in and out at it．I and my husband have built a nest in one of those pots，and have brought up our young family there．The family of people of course made the whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us，or else they would not have done it．To please themselves they also strew crumbs of bread；and so we have food，and are in a manner provided for．So I think my husband and I will stay where we are，although we are very dissatisfied——but we shall stay．”

“And we will fly into the country to see if spring is not coming！”And away they flew．

Out in the country it was hard winter，and the glass was a few degrees lower than in the town．The sharp winds swept across the snow－covered fields．The farmer，muffled in warm mittens，sat in his sledge，and beat his arms across his breast to warm himself，and the whip lay across his knees．The horses ran till they smoked again．The snow creaked，and the Sparrows hopped about in the ruts，and shivered，“Piep！when will spring come？it is very long in coming！”

“Very long，”sounded from the next snow－covered hill，far over the field．It might be the echo which was heard；or perhaps the words were spoken by yonder wonderful old man，who sat in wind and weather high on the heap of snow．He was quite white，attired like a peasant in a coarse white coat of frieze；he had long white hair and white beard，and was quite pale，with big blue eyes．

“Who is that old man yonder？”asked the Sparrows．

“I know who he is，”quoth an old Raven，who sat on the fence－rail，and was condescending enough to ac－knowledge that we are all like little birds in the sight of Heaven，and therefore was not above speaking to the Sparrows，and giving them information．“I know who the old man is．It is Winter，the old man of last year．He is not dead，as the calendar says，but is guardian to little Prince Spring，who is to come．Yes，Winter bears sway here．Ugh！the cold makes you shiver，does it not，you little ones？”

“Yes．Did I not tell the truth？” said the smallest Sparrow；“the calendar is only an invention of man，and is not arranged according to nature！They ought to leave these things to us，who are born cleverer than they．”

And one week passed away，and two passed away．The forest was black，the frozen lake lay hard and stiff，looking like a sheet of lead，and damp icy mists lay brooding over the land；the great black crows flew about in long lines，but silently；and it seemed as if nature slept．Then a sun－beam glided along over the lake，and made it shine like burnished tin．The snowy covering on the field and on the hill did not glitter as it had done；but the white form，Winter himself，still sat there，his gaze fixed unswervingly upon the south．He did not notice that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were into the earth，and that here and there a little grass－green patch appeared，and that all these patches were crowded with Sparrows，which cried，“Kee-wit！kee-wit！Is spring coming now？”

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“Spring！”The cry resounded over field and meadow，and through the black－brown woods，where the moss still glimmered in bright green upon the tree trunks；and from the south the first two storks came flying through the air．On the back of each sat a pretty little child——one was a girl and the other a boy．They greeted the earth with a kiss，and wherever they set their feet，white flowers grew up from beneath the snow．Then they went hand in hand to the old ice man，Winter，clung to his breast embracing him，and in a moment they，and he，and all the region around were hidden in a thick damp mist，dark and heavy，that closed over all like a veil．Gradually the wind rose，and now it rushed roaring along，and drove away the mist，so that the sun shone warmly forth，and Winter himself vanished，and the beautiful children of Spring sat on the throne of the year．

“That's what I call New Year，”cried each of the Sparrows．“Now we shall get our rights，and have amends for the stern winter．”

Wherever the two children turned，green buds burst forth on bushes and trees，the grass shot upwards，and the comma－fields turned green and became more and more lovely．And the little maiden strewed flowers all around．Her apron，which she held up before her，was always full of them；they seemed to spring up there，for her lap continued full，however zealously she strewed the blossoms around；and in her eagerness she scattered a snow of blossoms over apple trees and peach trees，so that they stood in full beauty before their green leaves had fairly come forth．

And she clapped her hands，and the boy clapped his，and then flocks of birds came flying up，nobody knew whence，and they all twittered and sang，“Spring has come．”

That was beautiful to behold．Many an old granny crept forth over the threshold into the sunshine，and tripped gleefully about，casting a glance at the yellow flowers which shone everywhere in the fields，just as they used to do when she was young．The world grew young again to her，and she said，“It is a blessed day out here today！”

The forest still wore its brown-green dress，made of buds；but the woodruff was already there，fresh and fragrant；there were violets in plenty，anemones and primroses came forth，and there was sap and strength in every blade of grass．That was certainly a beautiful carpet to sit upon，and there accordingly the young spring pair sat hand in hand，and sang and smiled，and grew on．

A mild rain fell down upon them from the sky，but they did not notice it， for the rain－drops were mingled with their own tears of joy．They kissed each other as bride and bridegroom，and in the same moment the verdure of the woods was unfolded，and when the sun rose，the forest stood there arrayed in green．

And hand in hand the betrothed pair wandered under the pendent roof of fresh leaves，where the rays of the sun gleamed through the green in lovely，ever－changing hues．What virgin purity，what refreshing balm in the delicate leaves ！The brooks and streams rippled clearly and merrily among the green velvety rushes and over the coloured pebbles．All nature seemed to say，“There is plenty，and there shall be plenty always！”And the cuckoo sang and the lark carolled：it was a charming spring；but the willows had woolly gloves over their blossoms；they were desperately careful，and that is tiresome．

And days went by and weeks went by，and the heat came as it were rolling down．Hot waves of air came through the corn，that became yellower and yellower．The white water－lily of the North spread its great green leaves over the glassy mirror of the woodland lakes，and the fishes sought out the shady spots beneath；and at the sheltered side of the wood，where the sun shone down upon the walls of the farm-house，warming the blooming roses，and the cherry trees，which hung full of juicy black berries，almost hot with the fierce beams，there sat the lovely wife of Summer，the same being whom we have seen as a child and as a bride；and her glance was fixed upon the black gathering clouds，which in wavy outlines——blue－black and heavy——were piling themselves up，like mountains，higher and higher．They came from three sides，and growing like a petrified sea，they came swooping towards the forest，where every sound had been silenced as if by magic．Every breath of air was hushed，every bird was mute．There was a seriousness——a suspense throughout all nature；but in the highways and lanes，foot－passengers，and riders，and men in carriages，were hurrying on to get under shelter．

Then suddenly there was a flashing of light，as if the sun were burst forth——flaming，burning，all－devouring！And the darkness returned amid a rolling crash．The rain poured down in streams，and there was alternate darkness and blinding light；alternate silence and deafening clam-our．The young brown，feathery reeds on the moor moved to and fro in long waves，the twigs of the woods were hidden in a mist of waters，and still came darkness and light，and still silence and roaring followed one another；the grass and corn lay beaten down and swamped，looking as though they could never raise themselves again．But soon the rain fell only in gentle drops，the sun peered through the clouds，the water-drops glittered like pearls on the leaves，the birds sang，the fishes leaped up from the surface of the lake，the gnats danced in the sunshine，and yonder on the rock，in the salt heaving sea water，sat Summer himself——a strong man with sturdy limbs and long dripping hair——there he sat，strengthened by the cool bath，in the warm sunshine．All nature round about was renewed，everything stood luxuriant，strong，and beautiful；it was summer，warm，lovely summer．

And pleasant and sweet was the fragrance that streamed upwards from the rich clover-field，where the bees swarmed round the old ruined place of meeting：the bramble wound itself around the altar stone，which，washed by the rain，glittered in the sunshine；and thither flew the Queen－bee with her swarm，and prepared wax and honey．Only Summer saw it，he and his strong wife；for them the altar table stood covered with the offerings of nature．

And the evening sky shone like gold，shone as no church dome can shine；and in the interval between the evening and the morning red there was moonlight：it was summer．

And days went by，and weeks went by．The bright scythes of the reapers gleamed in the corn－fields；the branches of the apple trees bent down，heavy with red and-yellow fruit．The hops smelt sweetly，hanging in large clusters；and under the hazel bushes，where hung great bunches of nuts，rested a man and woman——Summer and his quiet consort．

“What wealth！”exclaimed the woman：“all around a blessing is diffused，everywhere the scene looks homelike and good；and yet——I know not why——I long for peace and rest——I know not how to express it．Now they are al－ready ploughing again in the field．The people want to gain more and more．See，the storks flock together，and follow at a little distance behind the plough——the bird of Egypt that 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 pleasant sunshine，and green to the woods；the wind has treated them roughly，and they have become dark and brown like the trees of the South，but they do not，like them，bear golden fruit．”

“Do you wish to see the golden fruit？” said Summer：“then rejoice．”

And he lifted his arm，and the leaves of the forest put on hues of red and gold，and beauteous tints spread over all the woodland．The rose bush gleamed with scarlet hips；the elder-branches hung down with great heavy bunches of dark berries；the wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark husks；and in the depths of the forests the violets bloomed for the second time．

But the Queen of the Year became more and more silent，and paler and paler．

“It blows cold，” she said，“and night brings damp mists．I long for the land of my childhood．”

And she saw the storks fly away，one and all；and she stretched forth her hands towards them．She looked up at the nests，which stood empty．In one of them the long－stalked cornflower was growing；in another，the yellow mustard－seed，as if the nest were only there for its protection；and the Sparrows were flying up into the storks' nests．

“Piep！where has the master gone？I suppose he can't bear it when the wind blows，and that therefore he has left the country．I wish him a pleasant journey！”

The forest leaves became more and more yellow，leaf fell down upon leaf，and the stormy winds of autumn howled．The year was now far advanced，and the Queen of the Year reclined upon the fallen yellow leaves，and looked with mild eyes at the gleaming star，and her husband stood by her．A gust swept through the leaves，it fell again，and the Queen was gone，but a butterfly，the last of the sea－son，flew through the cold air．

The wet fogs came，an icy wind blew，and the long dark nights drew on apace．The Ruler of the Year stood there with locks white as snow，but he knew not it was his hair that gleamed so white——he thought snowflakes were falling from the clouds；and soon a thin covering of snow was spread over the fields．

And then the church bells rang for the Christmas-time．

“The bells ring for the new－born，”said the Ruler of the Year．“Soon the new King and Queen will be born；and I shall，go to rest，as my wife has done——to rest in the gleaming star．”

And in the fresh green fir-wood，where the snow lay，stood the Angel of Christmas，and consecrated the young trees that were to adorn his feast．

“May there be joy in the room and under the green boughs，”said the Ruler of the Year．In a few weeks he had become a very old man，white as snow．“My time for rest draws near，and the young pair of the year shall now receive my crown and sceptre．”

“But the might is still thine，”said the Angel of Christmas；“the might and not the rest．Let the snow lie warmly upon the young seed．Learn to bear it，that another receives homage while thou yet reignest．Learn to bear being forgotten while thou art yet alive．The hour of they release 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 ice，old Winter sat on the snowy drift on the hill，looking to-wards the south，as the Winter before had sat and gazed．The ice cracked，the snow creaked，the skaters skimmed to and fro on the smooth lakes，ravens and crows stood out well against the white ground，and not a breath of wind stirred．And in the quiet air old Winter clenched his fists，and the ice was fathoms thick between land and land．

Then the Sparrows came again out of the town，and asked，“Who is that old man yonder？”

And the Raven sat there again，or a son of his，which comes to quite the same thing，and answered them and said，“It is Winter，the old man of last year．He is not dead，as the almanac says，but he is the guardian of Spring，who is coming．”

“When will spring come？”asked the Sparrows．“Then we shall have good times and a better rule．The old one was worth nothing．”

And Winter nodded in quiet thought at the leafless forest，where every tree showed the graceful form and bend of its twigs；and during the winter sleep the icy mists of the clouds came down，and the ruler dreamed of his youthful days，and of the time of his manhood；and towards the morning dawn the whole wood was clothed in glittering hoar frost．That was the summer dream of Winter，and the sun scattered the hoar frost from the boughs．

“When will spring come？”asked the Sparrows．

“The spring！”sounded like an echo from the hills on which the snow lay．The sun shone warmer，the snow melt-ed，and the birds twittered ，“Spring is coming！”

And aloft through the air came the first stork，and the second followed him．A lovely child sat on the back of each，and they alighted on the field，kissed the earth，and kissed the old silent man，and he disappeared，shrouded in the cloudy mist．And the story of the year was done．

“That is all very well，”said the Sparrows；“it is very beautiful too，but it is not according to the almanac，and therefore it is irregular．”

一年的故事

 

这是一月的末尾；可怕的暴风雪在外面呼啸。雪花扫过街道和小巷；窗玻璃外面似乎糊满了一层雪；积雪整块整块地从屋顶上朝下面坠落。人们东跑西窜起来；你撞到我的怀里，我倒到你的怀里；他们只有紧紧地相互抱住，才能把脚跟站稳。马车和马好像都扑上了一层白粉似的。马夫把背靠着车子，逆着风把车往回赶。车子只能在深雪中慢慢地移动，而行人则在车子挡住了风的一边走。当暴风雪最后平息下来以后，当房屋之间露出一条小路的时候，人们一碰头，仍然是停下来站着不动。谁也不愿意先挪开步子，自动站到旁边的深雪里去，让别人通过。他们这样静静地站着，直到最后大家好像有了默契似地，每人牺牲一条腿，把它伸向深深的雪堆里面去。

天黑的时候，天气变得晴朗起来了。天空好像是打扫过似的，比以前更高阔、更透明了。星星似乎都是崭新的，有几颗还是分外地纯净和明亮哩。天冷得发冻，冻得嗦嗦地响。这使得积雪的外层一下子就变硬了，明天早晨麻雀就可以在它上面散步。这些小鸟儿在雪扫过了的地上跑跑跳跳；但是它们找不到任何东西吃，它们的确在挨冻。

“吱吱喳喳！”这一只对另一只说，“人们却把这叫做新年！比起旧年来，它真糟糕透了！我们还不如把那个旧年留下来好。我感到很不高兴，而且我有不高兴的理由。”

“是的，人们在跑来跑去，在庆贺新年，”一只冻得发抖的小麻雀说。“他们拿着盆盆罐罐往门上打，快乐得发狂，因为旧年过去了。我也很高兴，因为我希望暖和的天气就会到来，但是这个希望落了空——天气比以前冻得更厉害！人们把时间计算错了！”

“他们确是弄错了！”第三只麻雀说。它的年纪老，顶上还有一撮白头发。“他们有个叫做日历的东西。这是他们自己的发明，因此每件事情都是照它安排的！但是这样却行不通。只有春天到来的时候，一年才算开始——这是大自然的规律。［我就是照这办事的。］”

“不过春天在什么时候到来呢？”别的几只一齐问。

“鹳鸟回来的时候，春天也就到来了。不过鹳鸟的行踪不能肯定，而且住在这儿城里的人谁也不知道这类的事情；只有他们乡下人才能知道得更多一点。我们飞到乡下去，在那儿等待好不好？在那儿，我们是更接近春天的。”

“是的，那也很好！”一只跳了很久的麻雀说；它吱吱喳喳叫了一阵，没有说出什么了不起的话语。“我在城里有许多方便；飞到乡下以后，我恐怕难免要怀恋它。在这附近的一个房子里有一个人类的家庭。他们很聪明，在墙边放了三四个花盆，并且把它们的口朝里，底朝外。花盆上打了一个小洞，大得足够使我飞出飞进。我和我的丈夫就在这里面筑了一个窝。我们的孩子们都是从这儿飞出去的。人类的家庭当然是为了要欣赏我们才作这样的布置的，否则他们就不会这样办了。他们还撒了些面包屑，这也是为了他们自己的欣赏。所以我们吃的东西也有了；这倒好像他们是在供养我们哩。所以我想，我还不如住下来，我的丈夫也住下来，虽然我们感到并不太高兴——但是我们还是要住下来了！”

“那么我们就飞到乡下去，看看春天是不是快要来了！”于是它们就飞走了。

乡下还是严酷的冬天；寒冷的程度要比城里厉害得多。刺骨的寒风在铺满了雪的田野上吹。农民戴着无指手套，坐在雪橇上，挥动着双臂来发出一点热力。鞭子在膝头上搁着，瘦马在奔跑——跑得全身冒出蒸汽来。雪发出碎裂声，麻雀在车辙里跳来跳去，冻得发抖：“吱吱！春天什么时候到来呢？它来得真慢！”

“真慢！”田野对面那座盖满了雪的小山发出这样一个声音。这可能是我们听到的一个回音，但是也许是那个奇怪的老头儿在说话。他在寒风和冰冻中，高高地坐在一堆雪上。他是相当白了，像一个穿着白粗绒外套的种田人一样。他有很长的白头发、白胡子、苍白的面孔和一双又大又蓝的眼睛。

“那个老头子是谁呢？”麻雀们问。

“我知道！”一只老乌鸦说。它坐在一个篱笆的栏栅上，相当谦虚地承认我们在上帝面前都是一群平等的小鸟，因此它愿意跟麻雀讲几句话，对它们做些解释。“我知道这老头子是谁。他就是‘冬天’——去年的老人。他不像历书上说的，并没有死去；没有，他却是快要到来的那个小王子‘春天’的保护人。是的，冬天在这儿统治着。噢！你们还在发抖，你们这些小家伙！”

“是的，我不是已经说过么？”最小的那只麻雀说。“历书不过是人类的一种发明罢了；它跟大自然并不符合！他们应该让我们来做这些事，我们要比他们聪明得多。”

一个星期过去了；两个星期又差不多过去了。森林是黑的；湖上的冰结得又硬又厚，像一块坚硬的铅。［云块——的确也不能算是云块；而是］潮湿的、冰冻的浓雾——低低地笼罩着土地。大黑乌鸦成群地飞着，一声也不叫，好像一切东西都睡着了似的。这时有一道太阳光在湖上滑过，像一片熔化了的铅似地发着亮光。田野和山丘上的积雪没有像过去那样发出闪光，但是那个白色的人形——“冬天”本人——仍然坐在那儿，他的眼睛紧紧地瞪着南方。他没有注意到，雪铺的地毯在向地下沉，这儿那儿有小片的绿草地在出现，而草上挤满了无数的麻雀。它们叫着：“吱呀！吱呀！春天现在到来了吗？”

“春天！”这个呼声在田野上、在草原上升起来了。它穿过深棕色的树林——这儿树干上的青苔发出深绿色的闪光。于是从南方飞来了两只最早的鹳鸟；它们每一只的背上坐着两个美丽的孩子——一个是男孩子，一个是女孩子。他们飞了一个吻，向这大地敬礼。凡是他们的脚所接触的地方，白色的花儿就从雪底下冒出来。然后他们手挽着手走向那个年老的冰人——“冬天”。他们依偎在他的胸脯上，拥抱他。在此同时他们三个人就不见了，周围的一切景象也消失了。一层又厚又潮的、又黑又浓的烟雾把一切都笼罩住了。不一会儿风吹起来了。它奔驰着，它呼啸着，把雾气赶走，使得太阳温暖地照出来。冬天老人消逝了，春天的美丽孩子坐上了这一年的皇位。

“这就是我所谓的新年！”一只麻雀说，“我们重新获得了我们的权利，作为这个严峻的冬天的报偿。”

凡是这两个孩子所到的地方，绿芽就在灌木丛上或树上冒出来，草也长得更高，麦田慢慢染上一层绿色，变得越来越可爱了。于是那个小姑娘就在四处散着花。她提起身前的围裙，围裙里兜满了花儿——花儿简直像是从那里面生出来的一样，因为，不管她怎样热心地向四处散着花朵，她的围裙里总是满的。她怀着一片热忱，在苹果树上和桃树上撒下一层雪片一样的花朵，使得它们在绿叶还没有长好以前，就已经美得可爱了。

于是她就拍着手，那男孩子也拍着手。接着就有许多鸟儿飞来了——谁也不知道它们从哪儿飞来的。它们喃喃地叫着，唱着：“春天到来了！”

这是一幅美丽的景色。许多老祖母蹒跚地走出门来，走到太阳光里来。她们简直像年轻的时候一样，欢快地四处游玩，观赏那些田野里遍地长着的黄花。世界又变得年轻了。“今天外面真是快乐！”老祖母说。

森林仍然是棕绿色的，布满了花苞。又香又新鲜的车叶草已经长出来了。紫罗兰遍地都有，还有秋牡丹和樱草花；它们的每片叶子里都充满了汁液和力量。这的确是一张可以坐的、美丽的地毯，而一对春天的年轻人也真的手挽着手地坐在它上面，唱着歌，微笑着，成长着。

一阵毛毛细雨从天上向他们降落下来，但是他们却没有注意到它。因为雨点和欢乐的眼泪混在一起，变成同样的水滴。这对新婚夫妇互相吻着，而当他们正在吻着的时候，树林就开始欣欣向荣地生长。太阳升起来了，所有的森林都染上了一层绿色。

这对新婚的年轻人手挽着手，在垂着的新鲜叶簇下面散着步。太阳光和阴影在这些绿叶上组合出变幻无穷的可爱色调。这些细嫩的叶子里充满了处女般的纯洁和新鲜的香气。溪涧晶莹地、快乐地在天鹅绒般的绿色灯芯草中间，在五光十色的小石子上，潺潺地流着。整个大自然似乎在说：“世界是丰饶的，世界将永远是丰饶的！”杜鹃在唱着歌，百灵鸟也在唱着歌：这是美丽的春天。但是，柳树已经在它们的花朵上戴上了羊毛般的手套——它们把自己保护得太仔细了，这真使人感到讨厌。

许多日子过去了，许多星期过去了，炎热的天气就接踵而来。热浪从那渐渐变黄的麦林中袭来。北国的雪白的睡莲，在山区镜子般的湖上，展开巨大的绿叶子。鱼儿跑到它们下面歇凉。在树林挡着风的一边，太阳照到农家屋子的墙上，暖着正在开放的玫瑰花；樱桃树上悬着充满了汗液的、红得发黑的、被太阳光晒热了的浆果。这儿坐着那位美丽的“夏天”少妇——她就是我们先前所看到的那个小孩和后来的新嫁娘。她的视线在盯着一堆正在密集的乌云；它们像重叠的山峰，又青又沉重，一层比一层高。它们是从三方面集拢来的。它们像变成了化石的、倒悬的大海一样，向这树林压下来；而这树林，像着了魔一样，变得寂然无声。空中没有一点动静；每一只飞鸟都变得哑然。大自然中有一种庄严的气氛——有一种紧张的沉寂。但是在大路和小径上，行人、骑马的人和坐车子的人都在忙于找隐蔽的处所。

这时好像是从太阳里爆裂出来的闪光，在燃烧着，在耀眼，在把一切都吞没掉。一声轰雷把黑暗又带回来。大雨在倾盆地下泻。一会儿黑夜，一会儿白天；一会儿静寂，一会儿发出巨响。沼地上细嫩的、棕色羽毛般的芦苇，像长条的波浪似地前后摇曳着。树林里的枝桠笼罩在水雾里。接着又是黑暗，又是闪光；又是静寂，又是巨响。草和麦子被打到地上，浸在水里，好像永远不能再起来似的。但是不一会儿雨就变成了轻柔的细点；太阳从云层里出来了；水滴像珍珠似地在叶子和草上发出闪光；鸟儿在歌唱；鱼儿从湖水上跃出来；蚊虫在阳光里跳着舞。在那咸味的、起伏波动着的海水中的大礁石上，坐着“夏天”本人——他是一个强健的人，有粗壮的肢体和滴着水的长发。他坐在温暖的太阳光里，洗完冷水浴后，更显得精神抖擞。四周的大自然又复活起来了；一切都显得丰茂、强壮和美丽。这是夏天，温暖的、可爱的夏天。

从那一片丰茂的苜蓿地上升起一阵愉快和甜美的香气；蜜蜂在一个庙会旧址上嗡嗡地唱歌。荆棘在那个作为祭坛的石桌上蔓延着。这个祭坛，经过了雨洗，在太阳光中射出光来。蜂后带着她的一群蜜蜂向那儿飞去，忙着制造蜡和蜜。只有“夏天”和他强健的妻子看到了这情景。这个堆满了大自然的供品的祭坛，就是为他们而设的。

黄昏的天空射出金光，任何教堂的圆顶都没有这样华丽。月光在晚霞和朝霞之间亮着：这是夏天。

许多日子过去了，许多星期过去了，收获人的明晃晃的镰刀在麦田里发着光；苹果树枝结着红而带黄的果实，弯下来了。蛇麻一丛一丛地低垂着，发出甜美的香气。榛子林下悬着一串一串的硬壳果。一个男子和女子——“夏天”和他安静的妻子——在这儿休息着。

“多么丰富啊！”她说，“周围是一种丰饶的景象，使人觉得温暖和舒适。但是我不知道为什么，我渴望安静和休息——我不知道怎样把这感觉表达出来。现在大家又在田里工作了。人们总想获得更多、更多的东西。看吧，鹳鸟成群地来了，遥遥地在犁头后面跟着。那是把我们从空中送来的埃及的鸟儿啊！你记得当我们是一对小孩的时候，我们怎样来到这北方的国度吗？我们带来花儿、愉快的阳光和树林的绿色外衣。风儿对树林非常粗暴。那些树像南方的树一样，变成了黑色和棕色；可是它们没有像那些树一样，结出金黄的果实！”

“你想看到黄金的果实吗？”“夏天”说，“那么请你欣赏吧。”

他举起他的手臂。于是树林里的叶子就染上了一片深红和金黄；于是整个的树林就染上了美丽的色彩。玫瑰花里面亮着鲜红的野蔷薇子，接骨木树枝上沉重地挂着串串的黑果实；成熟了的野栗子从壳里脱落下来。在树林的深处，紫罗兰又开花了。

但是这“一年的皇后”一天一天地变得沉寂，一天一天地变得惨白。

“风吹得冷起来了！”她说，“夜带来了潮湿的雾。我渴望回到我儿时的故乡去。”

于是她看到鹳鸟飞走了。每一只都飞走了！她在它们后面伸着手。她抬头望望它们的窝——那里面是空的。有一个窝里还长出了一棵梗子很长的矢车菊；另一个窝里长出了一棵黄芥子，好像这窝就是为了保护它而存在似的。于是麻雀就飞上来了。

“吱吱！主人跑到什么地方去了？风一吹起来，他就有些吃不消了，所以他就离开这国家了。祝他有一个愉快的旅行！”

树林里的叶子渐渐变得枯黄了，一片一片地落下来；狂暴的秋风在怒号。这已经是深秋了；“一年的皇后”躺在枯黄的落叶上，用她温和的眼睛望着那些闪亮的星星，这时她的丈夫就站在她的身边。有一阵风从叶子上扫过；叶子又落了，皇后也不见了，只有一只蝴蝶——这一年最后的生物——在寒冷的空中飞过去。

潮湿的雾下降了；接着就是冰冻的风和漫长的黑夜。这年的国王的头发都变得雪白了，但是他自己不知道；他以为那是从云块上飞下的雪花。不久，薄薄的一层雪就盖满了绿色的田野。

这时教堂上敲出圣诞节的钟声。

“这是婴孩出生的钟声！”这年的国王说，“不久新的国王和皇后就要出生了。我将像我的妻子一样，要去休息了——到那明亮的星儿上去休息。”在一个新鲜的、盖满了雪的绿枞树林里，立着圣诞节的安琪儿。他封这些年轻的树儿为他圣诞晚会的装饰品。

“愿客厅里和绿枝下充满了快乐！”这年的老国王说。在几个星期以内，他就变成了一个满头白发的老人。“我休息的时间快到了。这年的一对年轻人将得到我的王冠和节杖。”

“然而权还是属于你的，”圣诞节的安琪儿说，“你有权，你不能休息！让雪花温暖地盖在年幼的种子上吧！请你学习忍受着这样的事实：别人得到尊敬，虽然实际上是你在统治着。请你学习忍受着这样的事实：别人忘记你，虽然实际上你是在活着！当春天到来的时候，你休息的时期也就不远了。”

“春天什么时候到来呢？”“冬天”问。

“当鹳鸟回来的时候，他就到来了！”

满头白发和满脸白胡子的“冬天”，现出一副寒冷、佝偻和苍老的样子，不过他却健壮得像冬天的风暴，坚强得像冰块。他坐在山顶的积雪上，朝着南方望，正如他在上一个“冬天”坐着和望着一样。冰块发出刮刮的声音；雪在叽叽地响；溜冰人在光滑的湖面上飘来飘去；渡乌和乌鸦立在白地上，非常醒目。风儿没有一丝动静。在这无声无息的空气中，“冬天”紧捏着他的拳头，大地到处都结成几尺厚的冰块。

这时麻雀又从城里飞出来了，同时问：“那儿的老人是谁呢？”

渡乌又坐在那儿——也许这就是上一只渡乌的儿子吧，横竖都是一样的——对它们说：“那是‘冬天’——去年的老人。他并没有像历书上说的死去了；他正是快要到来的春天的保护者。”

“春天会在什么时候到来呢？”麻雀问，“只有他到来，我们才有快乐的时光和更好的统治！那个老家伙一点也不行。”

“冬天”望着那没有叶子的黑树林沉思地点着头。树林里的每一棵树都露出枝条的美丽形态和曲线。在这冬眠的时期，冰冷的雾从云块上降落下来；于是这位统治者就梦见了他的少年时代，梦见了他的青壮年时代。将近天明的时候，整个的树林已经穿上了一层美丽的白霜衣。这是“冬天”的夏夜梦。接着太阳就把白霜从树枝上驱走。

“‘春天’会在什么时候到来呢？”麻雀问。

“春天！”这像一个回音似的从盖满了雪的山丘上飘来。太阳照得更温暖，雪也融化了，鸟儿在喃喃地唱“春天到来了”！

于是第一只鹳鸟高高地从空中飞来了，接着第二只也飞来了。每只鹳鸟的背上坐着一个美丽的孩子。他们落到田野上来，吻了这土地，也吻了那个沉默的老人。于是这位老人［就像立在山上的摩西一样，］在一团迷蒙的雾气中不见了。

这一年的故事也就结束了。

“这真是非常好！”麻雀们说，“而且这也是非常美，但是它跟历书上说的不相符，因此是不对的。”

 

这篇故事发表在1852年哥本哈根出版的《故事集》里。安徒生说：“我写的那些不入经卷的故事，我觉得无论从性质和所涉及的范围方面说，可以用《故事集》概括在一起。”因为“在婴儿室里讲的故事、寓言和传说，孩子们、农民和一般人都称之为‘故事’。”这里的一篇故事就是根据民间对一年四季的理解和传说用童话的形式写成的。当然这里所说的“民间”具有北欧的特点，而不是其他。