There was once a king’s son; nobody had so many or such beautiful books as he had. He could read about everything which had ever happened in this world, and see it all represented in the most beautiful pictures. He could get information about every nation and every country; but as to where the Garden of Paradise was to be found, not a word could he discover, and this was the very thing he thought most about. His grandmother had told him, when he was quite a little fellow and was about to begin his school life, that every flower in the Garden of Paradise was a delicious cake, and that the pistils were full of wine. In one flower history was written, in another geography or tables; you had only to eat the cake and you knew the lesson. The more you ate, the more history, geography and tables you knew. All this he believed then; but as he grew older and wiser and learnt more, he easily perceived that the delights of the Garden of Paradise must be far beyond all this.
This is what he said then, and he still said it when he was seventeen; his thoughts were full of the Garden of Paradise.
He walked into the wood one day; he was alone, for that was his greatest pleasure. Evening came on, the clouds drew up and it rained as if the whole heaven had become a sluice from which the water poured in sheets; it was as dark as it is otherwise in the deepest well. Now he slipped on the wet grass, and then he fell on the bare stones which jutted out of the rocky ground. Everything was dripping, and at last the poor Prince hadn’t got a dry thread on him. He had to climb over huge rocks where the water oozed out of the thick moss. He was almost fainting; just then he heard a curious murmuring and saw in front of him a big lighted cave. A fire was burning in the middle, big enough to roast a stag, which was in fact being done; a splendid stag with its huge antlers was stuck on a spit, being slowly turned round between the hewn trunks of two fir trees. An oldish woman, tall and strong enough to be a man dressed up, sat by the fire throwing on logs from time to time.
‘There is a shocking draught here,’ said the Prince, as he sat down on the ground.
‘It will be worse than this when my sons come home!’ said the woman. ‘You are in the cavern of the winds; my sons are the four winds of the world! Do you understand?’
‘Who are your sons?’ asked the Prince.
‘Well that’s not so easy to answer when the question is stupidly put,’ said the woman. ‘My sons do as they like; they are playing rounders now with the clouds up there in the great hall,’ and she pointed up into the sky.
‘Oh indeed!’ said the Prince. ‘You seem to speak very harshly, and you are not so gentle as the women I generally see about me!’
‘Oh, I daresay they have nothing else to do! I have to be harsh if I am to keep my boys under control! But I can do it, although they are a stiff-necked lot! Do you see those four sacks hanging on the wall? They are just as frightened of them as you used to be of the cane behind the looking-glass. I can double the boys up, I can tell you, and then they have to go into the bag; we don’t stand upon ceremony, and there they have to stay; they can’t get out to play their tricks till it suits me to let them. But here we have one of them.’ It was the Northwind who came in with an icy blast; great hailstones peppered about the floor and snow-flakes drifted in. He was dressed in bearskin trousers and jacket, and he had a sealskin cap drawn over his ears. Long icicles were hanging from his beard, and one hailstone after another dropped down from the collar of his jacket.
‘Don’t go straight to the fire,’ said the Prince. ‘You might easily get chilblains!’
‘Chilblains!’ said the Northwind with a loud laugh. ‘Chilblains! they are my greatest delight! What sort of a feeble creature are you? How did you get into the cave of the winds?’
‘He is my guest,’ said the old woman, ‘and if you are not pleased with that explanation you may go into the bag! Now you know my opinion!’
This had its effect, and the Northwind told them where he came from, and where he had been for the last month.
‘I come from the Arctic seas,’ he said. ‘I have been on Behring Island with the Russian walrus-hunters. I sat at the helm and slept when they sailed from the north cape, and when I woke now and then the stormy petrels were flying about my legs. They are queer birds; they give a brisk flap with their wings and then keep them stretched out and motionless, and even then they have speed enough.’
‘Pray don’t be too long-winded,’ said the mother of the winds. ‘So at last you got to Behring Island!’
‘It’s perfectly splendid! There you have a floor to dance upon, as flat as a pancake, half-thawed snow, with moss. There were bones of whales and Polar bears lying about; they looked like the legs and arms of giants covered with green mould. One would think that the sun had never shone on them. I gave a little puff to the fog so that one could see the shed. It was a house built of wreckage and covered with the skins of whales; the flesh side was turned outwards; it was all red and green; a living Polar bear sat on the roof growling. I went to the shore and looked at the birds’ nests, looked at the unfledged young ones screaming and gaping; then I blew down thousands of their throats and they learnt to shut their mouths. Lower down the walruses were rolling about like monster maggots with pigs’ heads and teeth a yard long!’
‘You’re a good story-teller, my boy!’ said his mother. ‘It makes my mouth water to hear you!’
‘Then there was a hunt! The harpoons were plunged into the walruses’ breasts, and the steaming blood spurted out of them like fountains over the ice. Then I remembered my part of the game! I blew up and made my ships, the mountain-high icebergs, nip the boats; whew! how they whistled and how they screamed, but I whistled louder. They were obliged to throw the dead walruses, chests and ropes out upon the ice! I shook the snow-flakes over them and let them drift southwards to taste the salt water. They will never come back to Behring Island!’
‘What good I did, the others may tell you,’ said he. ‘But here we have my brother from the west; I like him best of all; he smells of the sea and brings a splendid cool breeze with him!’
‘Is that the little Zephyr?’ asked the Prince.
‘Yes, certainly it is Zephyr, but he is not so little as all that. He used to be a pretty boy once, but that’s gone by!’
He looked like a wild man of the woods, but he had a padded hat on so as not to come to any harm. He carried a mahogany club cut in the American mahogany forests. It could not be anything less than that.
‘Where do you come from?’ asked his mother.
‘From the forest wildernesses!’ he said, ‘where the thorny creepers make a fence between every tree, where the water-snake lies in the wet grass, and where human beings seem to be superfluous!’
‘What did you do there?’
‘I looked at the mighty river, saw where it dashed over the rocks in dust and flew with the clouds to carry the rainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but the stream carried him away; he floated with the wild duck, which soared into the sky at the rapids; but the buffalo was carried over with the water. I liked that and blew a storm, so that the primæval trees had to sail too, and they were whirled about like shavings.’
‘I have been turning somersaults in the Savannahs, patting the wild horse, and shaking down cocoanuts! Oh yes, I have plenty of stories to tell! But one need not tell everything. You know that very well, old woman!’ and then he kissed his mother so heartily that she nearly fell backwards; he was indeed a wild boy.
The Southwind appeared now in a turban and a flowing bedouin’s cloak.
‘It is fearfully cold in here,’ he said, throwing wood on the fire; ‘it is easy to see that the Northwind got here first!’
‘It is hot enough here to roast a polar bear,’ said the Northwind.
‘You are a polar bear yourself!’ said the Southwind.
‘Do you want to go into the bag?’ asked the old woman. ‘Sit down on that stone and tell us where you have been.’
‘In Africa, mother!’ he answered. ‘I have been chasing the lion with the Hottentots in Kaffirland! What grass there is on those plains! as green as an olive. The gnu was dancing about, and the ostriches ran races with me, but I am still the fastest. I went to the desert with its yellow sand. It looks like the bottom of the sea. I met a caravan! They were killing their last camel to get water to drink, but it wasn’t much they got. The sun was blazing above, and the sand burning below. There were no limits to the outstretched desert. Then I burrowed into the fine loose sand and whirled it up in great columns—that was a dance! You should have seen how despondently the dromedaries stood, and the merchant drew his caftan over his head. He threw himself down before me as if I had been Allah, his god. Now they are buried, and there is a pyramid of sand over them all; when I blow it away, sometime the sun will bleach their bones, and then travellers will see that people have been there before, otherwise you would hardly believe it in the desert!’
‘Then you have only been doing harm!’ said the mother. ‘Into the bag you go!’ And before he knew where he was she had the Southwind by the waist and in the bag; it rolled about on the ground, but she sat down upon it and then it had to be quiet.
‘Your sons are lively fellows!’ said the Prince.
‘Yes, indeed,’ she said; ‘but I can master them! Here comes the fourth.’
It was the Eastwind, and he was dressed like a Chinaman.
‘Oh, have you come from that quarter?’ said the mother. ‘I thought you had been in the Garden of Paradise.’
‘I am only going there to-morrow!’ said the Eastwind. ‘It will be a hundred years to-morrow since I have been there. I have just come from China, where I danced round the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled. The officials were flogged in the streets, the bamboo canes were broken over their shoulders, and they were all people ranging from the first to the ninth rank. They shrieked “Many thanks, Father and benefactor,” but they didn’t mean what they said, and I went on ringing the bells and singing “Tsing, tsang, tsu!”‘
‘You’re quite uproarious about it!’ said the old woman. ‘It’s a good thing you are going to the Garden of Paradise to-morrow; it always has a good effect on your behaviour. Mind you drink deep of the well of wisdom, and bring a little bottleful home to me.’
‘That I will,’ said the Eastwind, ‘But why have you put my brother from the south into the bag? Out with him. He must tell me about the phœnix; the Princess always wants to hear about that bird when I call every hundred years. Open the bag! then you’ll be my sweetest mother, and I’ll give you two pockets full of tea as green and fresh as when I picked it!’
‘Well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my darling, I will open my bag!’
She did open it and the Southwind crept out, but he was quite crestfallen because the strange Prince had seen his disgrace.
‘Here is a palm leaf for the Princess!’ said the Southwind. ‘The old phœnix, the only one in the world, gave it to me. He has scratched his whole history on it with his bill, for the hundred years of his life, and she can read it for herself. I saw how the phœnix set fire to his nest himself and sat on it while it burnt, like the widow of a Hindoo. Oh, how the dry branches crackled, how it smoked, and what a smell there was! At last it all burst into flame; the old bird was burnt to ashes, but his egg lay glowing in the fire; it broke with a loud bang and the young one flew out. Now it rules over all the birds, and it is the only phœnix in the world. He bit a hole in the leaf I gave you; that is his greeting to the Princess.’
‘Let us have something to eat now!’ said the mother of the winds; and they all sat down to eat the roast stag, and the Prince sat by the side of the Eastwind, so they soon became good friends.
‘I say,’ said the Prince, ‘just tell me who is this Princess, and where is the Garden of Paradise?’
‘Oh ho!’ said the Eastwind, ‘if that is where you want to go you must fly with me to-morrow. But I may as well tell you that no human being has been there since Adam and Eve’s time. You know all about them I suppose from your Bible stories?’
‘Of course,’ said the Prince.
‘When they were driven away the Garden of Eden sank into the ground, but it kept its warm sunshine, its mild air, and all its charms. The queen of the fairies lives there. The Island of Bliss, where death never enters, and where living is a delight, is there. Get on my back to-morrow and I will take you with me; I think I can manage it! But you mustn’t talk now, I want to go to sleep.’
When the Prince woke up in the early morning, he was not a little surprised to find that he was already high above the clouds. He was sitting on the back of the Eastwind, who was holding him carefully; they were so high up that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, looked like a large coloured map.
‘Good morning,’ said the Eastwind. ‘You may as well sleep a little longer, for there is not much to be seen in this flat country below us, unless you want to count the churches. They look like chalk dots on the green board.’
He called the fields and meadows ‘the green board.’
‘It was very rude of me to leave without saying good-bye to your mother and brothers,’ said the Prince.
‘One is excused when one is asleep!’ said the Eastwind, and they flew on faster than ever. You could mark their flight by the rustling of the trees as they passed over the woods; and whenever they crossed a lake, or the sea, the waves rose and the great ships dipped low down in the water, like floating swans. Towards evening the large towns were amusing as it grew dark, with all their lights twinkling now here, now there, just as when one burns a piece of paper and sees all the little sparks like children coming home from school. The Prince clapped his hands, but the Eastwind told him he had better leave off and hold tight, or he might fall and find himself hanging on to a church steeple.
The eagle in the great forest flew swiftly, but the Eastwind flew more swiftly still. The Kossack on his little horse sped fast over the plains, but the Prince sped faster still.
They took a more southerly direction, and the air became scented with spices and flowers. Figs and pomegranates grew wild, and the wild vines were covered with blue and green grapes. They both descended here and stretched themselves on the soft grass, where the flowers nodded to the wind, as much as to say, ‘Welcome back.’
‘Are we in the Garden of Paradise now?’ asked the Prince.
‘No, certainly not!’ answered the Eastwind. ‘But we shall soon be there. Do you see that wall of rock and the great cavern where the wild vine hangs like a big curtain? We have to go through there! Wrap yourself up in your cloak, the sun is burning here, but a step further on it is icy cold. The bird which flies past the cavern has one wing out here in the heat of summer, and the other is there in the cold of winter.’
‘So that is the way to the Garden of Paradise!’ said the Prince.
Now they entered the cavern. Oh, how icily cold it was; but it did not last long. The Eastwind spread his wings, and they shone like the brightest flame; but what a cave it was! Large blocks of stone, from which the water dripped, hung over them in the most extraordinary shapes; at one moment it was so low and narrow that they had to crawl on hands and knees, the next it was as wide and lofty as if they were in the open air. It looked like a chapel of the dead, with mute organ pipes and petrified banners.
‘We seem to be journeying along Death’s road to the Garden of Paradise!’ said the Prince, but the Eastwind never answered a word, he only pointed before them where a beautiful blue light was shining. The blocks of stone above them grew dimmer and dimmer, and at last they became as transparent as a white cloud in the moonshine. The air was also deliciously soft, as fresh as on the mountain-tops and as scented as down among the roses in the valley.
A river ran there as clear as the air itself, and the fish in it were like gold and silver. Purple eels, which gave out blue sparks with every curve, gambolled about in the water; and the broad leaves of the water-lilies were tinged with the hues of the rainbow, while the flower itself was like a fiery orange flame, nourished by the water, just as oil keeps a lamp constantly burning. A firm bridge of marble, as delicately and skilfully carved as if it were lace and glass beads, led over the water to the Island of Bliss, where the Garden of Paradise bloomed.
The Eastwind took the Prince in his arms and bore him over. The flowers and leaves there sang all the beautiful old songs of his childhood, but sang them more wonderfully than any human voice could sing them.
Were these palm trees or giant water plants growing here? The Prince had never seen such rich and mighty trees. The most wonderful climbing plants hung in wreaths, such as are only to be found pictured in gold and colours on the margins of old books of the Saints or entwined among their initial letters. It was the most extraordinary combination of birds, flowers and scrolls.
Close by on the grass stood a flock of peacocks with their brilliant tails outspread. Yes, indeed, it seemed so, but when the Prince touched them he saw that they were not birds but plants. They were big dock leaves, which shone like peacocks’ tails. Lions and tigers sprang like agile cats among the green hedges, which were scented with the blossom of the olive, and the lion and the tiger were tame. The wild dove, glistening like a pearl, beat the lion’s mane with his wings; and the antelope, otherwise so shy, stood by nodding, just as if he wanted to join the game.
The Fairy of the Garden now advanced to meet them; her garments shone like the sun, and her face beamed like that of a happy mother rejoicing over her child. She was young and very beautiful, and was surrounded by a band of lovely girls, each with a gleaming star in her hair.
When the Eastwind gave her the inscribed leaf from the Phœnix her eyes sparkled with delight. She took the Prince’s hand and led him into her palace, where the walls were the colour of the brightest tulips in the sunlight. The ceiling was one great shining flower, and the longer one gazed into it the deeper the calyx seemed to be. The Prince went to the window, and looking through one of the panes saw the Tree of Knowledge, with the Serpent, and Adam and Eve standing by.
‘Are they not driven out?’ he asked, and the Fairy smiled, and explained that Time had burned a picture into each pane, but not of the kind one usually sees; they were alive, the leaves on the trees moved, and people came and went like the reflections in a mirror.
Then he looked through another pane, and he saw Jacob’s dream, with the ladder going straight up into heaven, and angels with great wings were fluttering up and down. All that had ever happened in this world lived and moved on these window panes; only Time could imprint such wonderful pictures.
‘Now let us get into the boat,’ said the Fairy. ‘We shall find refreshment on the swelling waters. The boat rocks, but it does not move from the spot; all the countries of the world will pass before our eyes.’The Fairy smiled and led him into a large, lofty room, the walls of which were like transparent paintings of faces, one more beautiful than the other. These were millions of the Blessed who smiled and sang, and all their songs melted into one perfect melody. The highest ones were so tiny that they seemed smaller than the very smallest rosebud, no bigger than a pinpoint in a drawing. In the middle of the room stood a large tree, with handsome drooping branches; golden apples, large and small, hung like oranges among its green leaves. It was the Tree of Knowledge, of whose fruit Adam and Eve had eaten. From every leaf hung a shining red drop of dew; it was as if the tree wept tears of blood.
It was a curious sight to see the whole coast move. Here came lofty snow-clad Alps, with their clouds and dark fir trees. The horn echoed sadly among them, and the shepherd yodelled sweetly in the valleys. Then banian trees bent their long drooping branches over the boat, black swans floated on the water, and the strangest animals and flowers appeared on the shore. This was New Holland, the fifth portion of the world, which glided past them with a view of its blue mountains. They heard the song of priests, and saw the dances of the savages to the sound of drums and pipes of bone. The pyramids of Egypt reaching to the clouds, with fallen columns, and Sphynxes half buried in sand, next sailed past them. Then came the Aurora Borealis blazing over the peaks of the north; they were fireworks which could not be imitated. The Prince was so happy, and he saw a hundred times more than we have described.
‘Can I stay here always?’ he asked.
‘I will not touch the apples on the Tree of Knowledge,’ said the Prince. ‘There are thousands of other fruits here as beautiful.’
‘Test yourself, and if you are not strong enough, go back with the Eastwind who brought you. He is going away now, and will not come back for a hundred years; the time will fly in this place like a hundred hours, but that is a long time for temptation and sin. Every evening when I leave you I must say, “Come with me,” and I must beckon to you, but stay behind. Do not come with me, for with every step you take your longing will grow stronger. You will reach the hall where grows the Tree of Knowledge; I sleep beneath its fragrant drooping branches. You will bend over me and I must smile, but if you press a kiss upon my lips Paradise will sink deep down into the earth, and it will be lost to you. The sharp winds of the wilderness will whistle round you, the cold rain will drop from your hair. Sorrow and labour will be your lot.’
‘I will remain here!’ said the Prince.
And the Eastwind kissed him on the mouth and said: ‘Be strong, then we shall meet again in a hundred years. Farewell! Farewell!’ And the Eastwind spread his great wings; they shone like poppies at the harvest time, or the Northern Lights in a cold winter.
‘Good-bye! good-bye!’ whispered the flowers. Storks and pelicans flew in a line like waving ribbons, conducting him to the boundaries of the Garden.
‘Now we begin our dancing!’ said the Fairy; ‘at the end when I dance with you, as the sun goes down you will see me beckon to you and cry, “Come with me”, but do not come. I have to repeat it every night for a hundred years. Every time you resist, you will grow stronger, and at last you will not even think of following. To-night is the first time. Remember my warning!’
And the Fairy led him into a large hall of white transparent lilies, the yellow stamens in each formed a little golden harp which echoed the sound of strings and flutes. Lovely girls, slender and lissom, dressed in floating gauze, which revealed their exquisite limbs, glided in the dance, and sang of the joy of living—that they would never die—and that the Garden of Paradise would bloom for ever.
The sun went down and the sky was bathed in golden light which gave the lilies the effect of roses; and the Prince drank of the foaming wine handed to him by the maidens. He felt such joy as he had never known before; he saw the background of the hall opening where the Tree of Knowledge stood in a radiancy which blinded him. The song proceeding from it was soft and lovely, like his mother’s voice, and she seemed to say, ‘My child, my beloved child!’
Then the Fairy beckoned to him and said so tenderly, ‘Come with me,’ that he rushed towards her, forgetting his promise, forgetting everything on the very first evening that she smiled and beckoned to him.
The fragrance in the scented air around grew stronger, the harps sounded sweeter than ever, and it seemed as if the millions of smiling heads in the hall where the Tree grew nodded and sang, ‘One must know everything. Man is lord of the earth.’ They were no longer tears of blood which fell from the Tree; it seemed to him that they were red shining stars.
‘Come with me, come with me,’ spoke those trembling tones, and at every step the Prince’s cheeks burnt hotter and hotter and his blood coursed more rapidly.
‘I must go,’ he said, ‘it is no sin; I must see her asleep; nothing will be lost if I do not kiss her, and that I will not do. My will is strong.’
The Fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back the branches, and a moment after was hidden within their depths.
‘I have not sinned yet!’ said the Prince, ‘nor will I’; then he drew back the branches. There she lay asleep already, beautiful as only the Fairy in the Garden of Paradise can be. She smiled in her dreams; he bent over her and saw the tears welling up under her eyelashes.
‘Do you weep for me?’ he whispered. ‘Weep not, beautiful maiden. I only now understand the full bliss of Paradise; it surges through my blood and through my thoughts. I feel the strength of the angels and of everlasting life in my mortal limbs! If it were to be everlasting night to me, a moment like this were worth it!’ and he kissed away the tears from her eyes; his mouth touched hers.
The cold rain fell on his face, and the sharp wind blew around his head, and at last his memory came back. ‘What have I done?’ he sighed. ‘I have sinned like Adam, sinned so heavily that Paradise has sunk low beneath the earth!’ And he opened his eyes; he could still see the star, the far-away star, which twinkled like Paradise; it was the morning star in the sky. He got up and found himself in the wood near the cave of the winds, and the mother of the winds sat by his side. She looked angry and raised her hand.Then came a sound like thunder, louder and more awful than any he had ever heard before, and everything around collapsed. The beautiful Fairy, the flowery Paradise sank deeper and deeper. The Prince saw it sink into the darkness of night; it shone far off like a little tiny twinkling star. The chill of death crept over his limbs; he closed his eyes and lay long as if dead.
‘So soon as the first evening!’ she said. ‘I thought as much; if you were my boy, you should go into the bag!’
‘Ah, he shall soon go there!’ said Death. He was a strong old man, with a scythe in his hand and great black wings. ‘He shall be laid in a coffin, but not now; I only mark him and then leave him for a time to wander about on the earth to expiate his sin and to grow better. I will come some time. When he least expects me, I shall come back, lay him in a black coffin, put it on my head, and fly to the skies. The Garden of Paradise blooms there too, and if he is good and holy he shall enter into it; but if his thoughts are wicked and his heart still full of sin, he will sink deeper in his coffin than Paradise sank, and I shall only go once in every thousand years to see if he is to sink deeper or to rise to the stars, the twinkling stars up there.’