Celebrating Leap Day

A story for children of all ages, by Hans Christian Andersen

Hans Christian Andersen, 1805-1875

Once upon a time, the days of the week wanted to cut loose, get together, and have a party. Every day was so busy that throughout the year they never had any free time left over; they needed a whole day. And  then they realized they had one every four years: Leap Day, which is added to February every leap year to keep order in the calendar.

So they decided to get together on February 29 for the party, and since February is also the month of Mardi Gras and Carnival, they decided to show up in carnival costumes of their own choice and inclination. They would eat well, drink well, make speeches, and tell each other the good and the bad in open friendship. In the old days, the Vikings tossed gnawed bones at each others’ heads during a banquet; the days of the week, on the other hand, would pelt each other with puns and sharp satire, all in the innocent spirit of carnival fun.

Leap day came, and so did the days of the week.

Sunday, the chairman of the days, showed up in black silk. Pious people might think that he was dressed as a minister going to church, but the worldly saw that he was dressed in festive garb to go out on the town, and that the red carnation he had in his button hole was a symbol of the little red light that they turn on at the theater ticket box to indicate that a performance has no empty seats: “All sold out! Now be sure to have a good time, everyone!”

Monday, a young person and a relative of Sunday, and very fun-loving, followed behind. He left work, he said, at the changing of the guard. “I must go out to hear the music of Offenbach,” he said. “It doesn’t go to my head or to my heart; it tickles my leg muscles, and then I must dance, have some drinks, get a black eye, sleep it off, and then go back to work the next day. I am the youngster in the week.”

Tuesday is the day of the bull, the day of strength. “Yes, that’s me,” said Tuesday. “I do my work with a firm hand. I put Mercury’s wings on the shopkeepers’ boots, see that the factory wheels are well-oiled and turning, make sure that the tailor is sitting at his bench and the street repairmen are repairing the streets. Everyone does his job! I oversee everything, and that is why I am dressed in a police uniform and call myself Polituesday. If that is a bad pun, you try to find one that is better!”

“Now  it’s my turn,” said Wednesday. “I stand in the middle of the week. The Germans call me Herr Mittwoch (Mr. Midweek).  I stand as the floorwalker in the shop, like a flower in between the other honorable days of the week. When we all march together I have three days in front of me and three days behind me; it’s like an honor guard. I just have to believe that I am the most esteemed day in the week.”

Thursday came dressed as a copper smith with a hammer and copper kettle, the symbols of his noble descent. “I am of the highest birth. Pagan and divine.  In the northern European countries I am named for Thor, and in the southern countries for Jupiter. They both knew how to thunder and lighten, and this remains in the family!” Then he banged on his copper kettle to show his great nobility.

Friday was dressed as a young girl and called herself Freya, and also sometimes Venus (it depends on which language was used in whatever country she happened to be in). She was usually quiet and mild, she said, but today she was smart and lively. After all it was leap day, and that frees women. So she can dare, according to the old custom, to take the initiative to propose and not wait to be proposed to.

Saturday turned up as an old housekeeper with broom and cleaning supplies. Her favorite dish was beer and bread porridge, but she didn’t insist, at this festive occasion, that it be set on the table for everyone, just for her. And she got it.

Then the days of the week took their places at the table.

Now all seven have been presented for a family tableau. We give them here simply as a jest in February, the only month that has an extra day.

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Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) was a prolific Danish author in many genres, but is known today mostly for his tales told to children. This is one of the lesser-known of the 212 eventyrer. “Ugedagene” was published in 1872; the first mentions of the story in Andersen’s diary are in March of 1868, a leap year. Translated from the Danish by Susanne Bjørner with reference to an English translation by Jean Hersholt (1886-1956).

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