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 and plucked at the of his 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, 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 . And, when they were seated again, each on his mountain, Autumn turned his serious eyes to Summer and asked:
“Did I keep the 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 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, . “And I owe you my thanks.”
But Winter shook his fist at green Spring and shouted:
“You always came too soon, you ! I never got my snows 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 .
“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 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 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, 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 storms against them. They have built houses in which they sit 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 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
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