THE SECOND MEETING
_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 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.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.