Prevod
"Now I shall tell a story!" said the Wind. "No, if you please," said the Rain, "it is my turn now! You have stood at the street corner quite long enough, howling for all you were worth!"
"Is that my thanks," said the Wind, "for turning so many umbrellas inside out in your honour—yes, and breaking them, too, when people wanted nothing to do with you?" "I shall tell a story!" said the Sunshine. "Be still!" This was said with such splendour and majesty that the Wind lay down at full length; but the Rain shook the Wind and said, "Must we put up with that! She always breaks through, this Madame Sunshine. We shall not listen! It is not worth the trouble!"
And the Sunshine told her story: "A swan flew over the rolling sea; every feather shone like gold. One feather fell upon the great merchant ship that was gliding past under full sail; it fell into the curly hair of the young man in charge of the cargo—the supercargo, they called him. The feather of the bird of fortune touched his brow, became a pen in his hand, and soon he was a wealthy merchant, well able to buy himself golden spurs and turn a golden platter into a coat of arms. I have shone upon it!" said the Sunshine.
"The swan flew over the green meadow, where the little shepherd boy, a child of seven, had lain down in the shade of the old tree, the only one out there. As it flew, the swan kissed one of the tree's leaves. It fell into the boy's hand, and that one leaf became three, became ten, became a whole book; and in it he read of the wonders of nature, of his mother tongue, of faith and knowledge. At bedtime he laid the book beneath his head, so as not to forget what he had read, and the book carried him to the school bench, to the table of learning. I have read his name among those of the learned!" said the Sunshine.
The swan flew into the solitude of the forest and rested there upon the still, dark lakes, where water lilies grow, where wild crab apples grow, where the cuckoo and the wood pigeon make their home.
A poor woman was gathering firewood, fallen branches, which she carried on her back; her little child she carried at her breast as she made her way home. She saw the golden swan, the swan of fortune, rise from the reedy bank. What was that shining there? A golden egg. She laid it against her breast, and its warmth remained; surely there was life in the egg. Yes, something was tapping inside the shell; she felt it and thought it was the beating of her own heart.
At home in her poor little room, she took out the golden egg. "Tick! Tick!" it said, as though it were a precious gold watch; but it was an egg with a living creature inside. The egg cracked, and a little cygnet, feathered as if in pure gold, poked out its head. Around its neck were four rings, and as the poor woman had exactly four boys—three at home and the fourth whom she had carried with her into the forest solitude—she understood at once that there was a ring for each of her children; and the moment she understood this, the little golden bird flew away.
She kissed each ring, let each child kiss one of the rings, laid it against the child's heart, and slipped it onto his finger. "I saw it!" said the Sunshine. "I saw what followed!
One of the boys sat down in the clay pit, took a lump of clay in his hand, and shaped it with his fingers until it became a figure of Jason, who had brought home the Golden Fleece.
The second boy ran straight out into the meadow, where flowers bloomed in every imaginable colour. He picked a handful and squeezed them so hard that their juices spurted into his eyes and wet the ring. His thoughts and fingers tingled and stirred, and in the course of time the great city was talking of the great painter.
The third boy held the ring so tightly in his mouth that it rang out, echoing from the depths of his heart. Feelings and thoughts rose in music, soared like singing swans, and dived like swans into the deep lake, the deep lake of thought. He became a master of music, and now every country may think, 'He belongs to me!'
The fourth little boy—well, he was the outcast. He had the pip, they said; he ought to have pepper and butter, like the sick chickens! They spoke the words with just the emphasis they pleased: 'Pepper and butter!' And he got them; but from me he received a kiss of sunshine," said the Sunshine. "He had ten kisses for every one. He was a poet by nature; he was buffeted and kissed, but he had the ring of fortune from fortune's golden swan. His thoughts flew forth like golden butterflies, the symbol of immortality!"
"That was a long story!" said the Wind. "And a dull one!" said the Rain. "Blow on me, so that I may recover!" And the Wind blew, and the Sunshine went on with her story:
"The swan of fortune flew over the deep bay, where the fishermen had spread their nets. The poorest of them was thinking of marrying, and marry he did.
To him the swan brought a piece of amber. Amber draws things to itself, and it drew hearts to his home. Amber is the loveliest incense. There came a fragrance as though from a church, a fragrance from God's own world of nature. They truly felt the happiness of home, contentment in humble circumstances, and their life became one long story of sunshine."
"Shall we stop now?" said the Wind. "The Sunshine has been telling stories quite long enough. I have been bored!" "So have I!" said the Rain. "And what do the rest of us say, who have listened to the stories?"
"We say, 'Now they are over!'"
