XXXV
It was the month of April. The weather had been mild, but now there was come a sharp frost and a sky grey and overcast as it were the sky of All Souls’ Day. The third year of Ulenspiegel’s banishment had long since passed, and Nele was waiting day after day for the return of her lover.
“Alas!” she cried, “there will be snow on the pear-trees, and snow upon the flowering jasmines, and on all the poor plants that have bloomed in confidence of the mildness and the warmth of an early spring. Already from the sky little snowflakes are falling on the roads. And on my poor heart as well the snow is falling.
“Where, oh where are the bright rays of sunshine that should be playing now on our happy spring-time faces—and upon red roofs that were used to grow the redder for that warmth, and on window-panes that flashed as they caught that sunny brightness? Where indeed are those flaming beams that kindled earth to life again, and the sky, and the birds, and the insects? Alas! For day and night am I chilled by sorrow and long waiting. Oh where, where are you, my lover Ulenspiegel?”