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THE TWELVE MONTHS
A Bohemian Fairy Tale
There was once a woman who had in her care two
children. Katinka, the elder, was the woman’s own
daughter, and she was as ugly in face as she was in
heart, but Dobrunka, the younger, who was only a
foster-child, was both beautiful and good. Now the
sight of Dobrunka with all her winsome ways, made
Katinka appear more than ever hateful and ugly. So
the mother and daughter were always in a rage with Dobrunka.
She was made to sweep, cook, wash, sew, spin, weave, cut
the grass and take care of the cow, while Katinka lived like
a princess. All this Dobrunka did with great good will, but
that only made Katinka and her mother the more angry. The
better she was, the more plainly did their own wickedness show
by contrast, and as they had no wish to do away with their wicked-
ness, they made up their minds to do away with Dobrunka.
One cold day in January, when frost castles glistened on
the window panes and the earth was white with snow, Katinka
took a fancy for some violets. She called Dobrunka harshly
to her and said, “Go to the forest, lazy-bones, and bring me a
bunch of violets, that I may put them in my bosom and enjoy
their fragrance.*’
“O sister,” answered Dobrunka gently, “I cannot find you
any violets under the snow.”
But Katinka snapped out angrily, “Hold your tongue and
do as I bid you. Go to the forest and bring me back a bunch
of violets or you’ll find this door forever slammed shut in your
face!”
Upon this Katinka and her mother took Dobrunka by the
arm, thrust her, without wraps or warm winter clothing, out into
the cold, and drew the bolt on her.
The poor girl went to the forest weeping sadly. Everything
was covered with snow. There was not a foot path anywhere,
and the giant pines and oaks bowed their branches low, borne
down with their icy burdens. Soon in all this white and glit-
tering wilderness, Dobrunka lost her way and wandered about,
famishing with hunger and perishing with cold. Still in her heart
she trusted that help would come to one who had done no harm.
All at once she saw a light in the distance, a light that glowed
in the sky and quivered now and again as if from the flickering
flame of some mighty fire. With her eyes fixed hopefully on
that light, Dobrunka climbed toward it. Higher and higher
she climbed until at last she reached the top of a giant rock,
and there, about a fire, their figures bright in the light and cast-
ing long, dark shadows behind, sat twelve motionless figures on
twelve great stones. Each figure was wrapped in a long, flowing
mantle, his head covered with a hood which fell over his eyes.
Three of these mantles were white like the snow, three were green
like the grass of the meadows, three were golden like sheaves
of ripe wheat, and three were purple as ripened grapes. These
twelve figures, who sat there gazing at the fire in perfect silence,
were the Twelve Months of the Year.
Dobrunka knew January by his long, white beard. He was
the only one who had a staff in his hand. The sweet girl was
confused at this sight, for she was not one to thrust herself for-
ward with strangers. Still she spoke to them with great respect.
“My good sirs, I pray you let me warm myself by your fire;
I am freezing with cold.”
January nodded his head and motioned her to draw near
the blaze.
“Why have you come here, my child?” he asked. “What
are you looking for?”
“I am looking for violets,” replied Dobrunka.
“This is not the season for violets. Dost thou expect to
find violets in the time of snow?” January’s voice was gruff.
“Nay” replied Dobrunka sadly, “I know this is not the
season for violets, but my foster sister and mother thrust me
out of doors and bade me get them. They will never let me
come under the shelter of their roof again unless I obey. O my
good sirs, can you not tell me where I shall find them?”
Old January rose, and turning to a mere youth in a green
mantle, put his staff in his hand and said:
“Brother March, this is your business.”
March rose in turn and stirred the fire with the staff, when
behold! the flames rose, the snow melted, the buds began to
swell on the trees, the grass turned green under the bushes, faint,
faint color peeped forth through the green, and the violets opened,
— it was Spring.
“Make haste, my child, and gather your violets,” said March.
Dobrunka gathered a large bouquet, thanked the Twelve
Months, and ran home joyously. Katinka and her mother
were struck dumb with astonishment when they saw her spring
lightly in with shining face at the doorway. The fragrance of
the violets filled the whole house.
“Where did you find these things?” asked Katinka when
she had recovered the use of her tongue.
“Up yonder, on the mountain,” answered Dobrunka. “It
looked like a great blue carpet under the bushes.”
But Katinka only snatched away the flowers, put them in
her own bosom, and never once said so much as a “Thank you!”
The next morning Katinka, as she sat idling by the stove,
took a fancy for some strawberries.
“Go to the forest, good-for-nothing, and bring me some
strawberries,” cried she to Dobrunka.
“O sister,” answered Dobrunka, “but there are no straw-
berries under the snow.”
“Hold your tongue and do as I bid you.”
And the mother and daughter took Dobrunka by the arm,
thrust her out of the door and drew the bolt on her once again.
So the sweet girl returned to the forest, singing this time
to keep up her courage, and looking with all her eyes for the light
she had seen the day before. At length she spied it, and reached
the great fire, trembling with cold, but still singing.
The Twelve Months were in their places, motionless and
silent.
“My good sirs,” said Dobrunka, “please to let me warm
myself by your fire; I am almost frozen.”
“Why have you come hither again?” asked January. “What
are you looking for now?”
“I am looking for strawberries,” answered she.
“This is not the season for strawberries,” growled January,
“there are no strawberries under the snow”
“I know it” replied Dobrunka sadly, “but alas! I may never
again cross my foster mother’s threshold, unless I find them.”
Old January rose, and turning to a full grown man in a
golden mantle, he put his staff in his hand, saying,
“Brother June, this is your business.”
June rose in turn, and stirred the fire with the staff, when
behold! the flames rose, the snow melted, the earth grew green,
the trees were covered with leaves, the birds sang, the flowers
burst into bloom — ^it was Summer. Thousands of little white
stars dotted the green turf, then turned slowly to red straw-
berries, ripe and luscious in their little green cups.
“Make haste, my child, and gather your strawberries,” said
June.
Dobrunka filled her apron, thanked the Twelve Months
and ran home joyfully. Once again Katinka and her mother
were struck dumb with astonishment when they saw her spring
lightly in with shining face at the doorway. The fragrance of
the strawberries filled the whole house.
“Where did you find these fine things?” asked Katinka
when she had recovered the use of her tongue.
“Up yonder on the mountain,” answered Dobrunka as she
handed the berries to Katinka, “there were so many of them,
that they looked like a crimson carpet on the ground.”
Katinka and her mother devoured the strawberries and
never once said so much as a “Thank you.”
The third day, Katinka took a fancy for some red apples,
and she thrust Dobrunka out to fetch them with the same threat
she had used before. Dobrunka ran through the snow. So
she came once more to the top of the great rock and the motion-
less figures around the fire.
“You here again, my child?” said January, as
he made room for her before the fire. Dobrunka
told him sadly it was rosy red apples she must
bring home this time.
Old January rose as before.
“Brother September,” said he to a man with
an iron-gray beard who wore a purple mantle,
“this is your business.”
September rose and stirred the fire with the
staff, when behold! the flames ascended, the
snow melted, yellow and crimson leaves appeared
on the trees, gently a brown leaf floated down — it was autumn.
But Dobrunka saw one thing only, an apple tree with its rosy
fruit.
“Make haste, my child, shake the tree,” said September.
Dobrunka shook it; an apple fell; she shook it again, and
down fell another.
“Now take what thou hast and hurry home!” cried Septem-
ber.
The good child thanked the Twelve Months and obediently
ran back home. Now the astonishment of Katinka and her
mother knew no bounds —
“Apples in January! Where did you get them?” asked
Katinka.
“Up yonder on the mountain; there is a tree there loaded
down with them.”
“Why did you bring only these two? You ate the rest on
the way!”
“Nay, sister, I did not touch them. I was only permitted
to shake the tree twice, so only two apples fell down.”
At that Katinka cried angrily, “I do not believe you. You
have eaten the rest. Begone!” and she drove Dobrunka out
of the room. Then she sat down and ate one of the apples while
her mother ate the other. Their flavor was delicious. They
had never tasted the like before.
“Mother” cried Katinka, “Give me my warm fur cloak.
I must have more of these apples. I shall go to the mountain,
find the tree and shake it as long as I like, whether I am per-
mitted or not. I shall bring back for myself all the delicious
fruit on the tree.”
The mother tried to stop her from going forth into the win-
try forest. But the spoiled child would not heed her. Wrap-
ping herself in her warm fur coat, and pulling the hood down
over her ears, she hurried away.
Everything was covered with snow, there was not even a
foot path. Katinka lost her way, but, urged on by greedy desire
for the apples, she still went forward till she spied a light in the
distance. Then she climbed and she climbed till at last she
reached the place where the Twelve Months sat about their
fire. But she knew not who they were, so she pushed rudely
through their midst and up to the fire without even a “By your
leave.”
“Why have you come here? What do you want?” asked
old January gruflfly.
“What matters it to you, old man?” answered Katinka.
“It is none of your business.” And without another word she
turned and disappeared in the forest.
January frowned till his brow was black as a storm cloud.
He raised his staff above his head, and in a twinkling, the fire
went out, black darkness covered the earth, the wind rose and
the snow fell.
Katinka could not see the way before her. The snow beat
on her face and into her eyes and loomed up, mountains high,
before her. She lost herself and vainly tried to find the way
home. She called her mother, she cursed her sister, she shrieked
out wildly. The snow fell and the wind blew, the snow fell and
the wind blew —
The mother looked for her darling ceaselessly. First from
the door and then from the window, and then from the door
and then from the window. The hours passed — ^the clock struck
midnight and still Katinka did not return.
“I shall go and look for my daughter,” said the mother.
So she wrapped herself warmly in her great fur cloak and hood
and waded off through the drifts into the forest.
Everything was covered with snow; there was not even a
foot path. At each step the woman called out through the storm
for her daughter. The snow fell and the wind blew, the snow
fell and the wind blew —
Dobrunka waited at home through the night but no one
returned. In the morning she sat herself down at her spinning
wheel and began to spin, but ever and again she sprang up and
looked out at the window.
“What can have happened?” she said. But the only answer
was the glare of the sun on the ice and the cracking of the branches
beneath their heavy burdens.
Winter passed and summer came, but Katinka and her
mother never returned to the little cottage beside the forest.
So the house, the cow, the garden and the meadow fell to
Dobrunka. In the cpurse of time her Prince came She married
and the place resounded with laughter and joy and singing.
The Spring Months called the world into bloom for her; Sum-
mer brought her flowers and sunny skies and green things grow-
ing; Autumn filled her storehouses with golden grain and ripened
fruit, and Winter gave her sweet home joys with her little ones
by the blazing hearth. No matter how much the North wind
blew, and the house shook, and the snow fell — there was always
spring and summer in Dobrunka’s heart. So the roses climbed
up over her cottage, the sweetest song birds sang at her door,
her blossoming fruit trees perfumed the air, and the laughter
of her children made music everywhere.
