The calendar-drift generator
The accumulated difference between a calendar and the seasons, for five leap-year rules, over 4000 years. Each is a straight line whose slope is the rule's fraction minus the tropical year's 0.2421897, and nothing else about a calendar matters to this plot — not which months are long, not where the year starts, not what anything is called. The Julian quarter is out by 11.25 minutes a year, which is one day every 128 years and is why ten days had to be removed in 1582. The Gregorian rule takes 3223 years to lose a day and the Persian 4264, in the other direction — *the older rule is the better one*, at a denominator of 33 against 400. The 128-year rule is level on this scale: 454545 years to a day, which is longer than any calendar has been kept — and it is not a separate invention but the Julian rule with its own error subtracted, since 1/4 − 1/128 = 31/128 exactly and the Julian drift is exactly one day per 128 years. What the figure cannot show is that the tropical year is itself shortening, by about half a second a century, so the slopes drawn here are the ones at the present epoch and every line is very slightly curved.
2 essays call
calendar-drift. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever member
of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the one its essay argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is the same construction drawn at different numbers, so a correction to one is a correction to all of them.
A year that is not a whole number of days
The tropical year is 365.24219 days, so every calendar is a fraction chosen to approximate 0.24219. The continued fraction says which fractions are best, and the one in use is not among them.
A month that has to be tabulated
A lunisolar calendar reconciles two periods that share no common multiple, so every historical cycle is a convergent of one continued fraction. Meton's nineteen years is wrong by two hours, which is a day in two hundred and nineteen years — and that is why the moon that fixes Easter is a table rather than the sky.