“Tell me,” begged the prince, “who is this princess that you are all talking about, and where lies the garden of Eden?”
“Ah! Ha!” laughed the east wind. “Would you like to come along tomorrow? You must remember that no man has been there since Adam and Eve were thrown out. I assume you know about them from the Bible.”
“Certainly,” said the prince gravely.
“Well, when they were banished, the garden of Eden sank down underground, but it kept its beauty, its warmth and mild air. The queen of the fairies lives there, and there lies the Island of Bliss, where death can never come. If you will climb up on my back tomorrow, then I shall take you there. That is enough talking for tonight, I am tired.”
Soon they all fell asleep. It was still early in the morning when the prince awoke, but to his surprise, he found himself flying high up among the clouds. The east wind was carrying him and had a good grasp on him so that he wouldn’t fall. They were up so high that the earth below him with its forests and fields looked like a colored map.
“Good morning,” said the east wind. “You could have slept a little longer yet. There is not much to look at, all the land below us is flat. But if you want to count the churches you can; they look like chalk marks on the green board down there.” It was the fields and meadows the east wind referred to as the “green board.”
“It wasn’t very polite of me not to say good-by to your mother and your brothers.”
“Never mind, a man who is asleep is excused!” grumbled the east wind, and flew even faster. As they passed over the treetops, all the leaves and branches rustled. When they crossed the sea, the waves grew white and the big ships curtsied deeply like swans.
When evening came, they flew in darkness over a great city. The thousands of lights burning below reminded the prince of the sparks that fly from a piece of paper when it has been set on fire. It was so lovely that the prince clapped his hands. But the east wind scolded him and said that he could make better use of his hands by holding on, or he might end up hanging from a church spire.
With grace the great eagles fly over the black forests, but the east wind flies more gracefully. Swift is the horse of the Cossacks, but the east wind is swifter.
“There are the Himalayas,” said the east wind. “It is the highest mountain range in Asia; soon we shall be in the garden of Eden.”
The wind turned in a southeasterly direction, and soon the prince could smell the fragrance of spices and flowers. Figs and pomegranates grew wild as did a vine that bore both red and blue grapes. Here they rested for a while and stretched themselves out in the soft grass. The flowers nodded to the wind as if they were saying, “Welcome back.”
“Are we not in the garden of Eden?” asked the prince.
“Not yet,” answered the wind, “but it won’t be long now before we are there. Can you see the cave up on the side of that cliff? The grapevines almost hide it. We have to fly through it. Wrap your cape tightly around you. Here the sun is burning hot, but in there it is as cold as ice. The birds that fly past the opening of the cave have one wing in the warm summer and the other in the coldest of winters.”
“So this is the gate of paradise,” thought the prince as he wrapped himself in his cape. In they went, and cold it was; but the distance was short. The east wind spread out his wings, and they burned like fire, lighting the caves through which they flew. There were great blocks of stones, wet from the water endlessly dropping. They had the strangest shapes; some looked like organ pipes and others like banners. Sometimes the room was so large that the ceiling was lost in darkness; other times, the passages were so narrow that they had to crawl on all fours to get through them. The prince thought they looked like burial chambers.
“Are we taking Death’s road to paradise?” he asked.
The east wind did not answer. He pointed toward a radiantly blue light ahead of them. The rocks gave way to a mist, which finally looked like a white cloud in the moonlight. It was no longer cold. The air was mild and fresh like mountain air, and yet filled with the fragrance of the roses that grew in the valley.
Below them was a river; its water was as transparent as air. Gold and silver fish swam in it; and so did scarlet eels. Each time they twisted their bodies, blue sparks flew and illuminated the water. The leaves of the water lilies were all the colors of the rainbow, and the flower itself was a flame that drew its substance from the water, as oil lamps draw theirs from oil. A marble bridge carved as intricately as if it had been ivory led to the Island of Bliss, where the garden of Eden lay.
The east wind carried the prince in his arms, across the river to the island, and set him down among the flowers. The leaves and the petals of the flowers sang to him all the songs he had heard as a child, but their voices were far more beautiful than human voices.
The prince could not recognize any of the trees. Were they palm trees or giant water plants? Certainly, he had never before seen any trees so succulent and tall. Long garlands of wonderful vines, like the ones that decorate old holy books and twist themselves around the gilded first letter on their pages, hung between the trees. Around him he saw the strangest mixtures of animals and plants. In the grass stood some peacocks with their great colorful tail feathers spread out. He drew nearer and touched them. They were not animals but giant burdock leaves as splendid as peacocks’ tails. Lions and tigers jumped about among the bushes, tame as kittens. Doves as white as pearls beat their wings so near the lions that they touched their manes. Shy antelopes, with dark eyes as deep as pools, nodded their heads as if they, too, wanted to join the game.
There was the fairy, the princess of the garden of Eden. Her clothes were brighter than the sun, and her face as happy as a mother’s when she looks at her sleeping child. She was young and beautiful; a train of lovely girls, each with a star in her hair, followed her.
The east wind gave her the palm leaf, the gift from the bird phoenix, and her eyes sparkled with joy. She took the prince by the hand and led him into her castle. The walls had the same transparency that you see when you hold a tulip petal up toward the sun and look through it. The ceiling was a shining flower and the longer you looked at it, the more magnificent it became.
The prince stepped over to one of the windows, looked out through it; and there he saw the tree of knowledge, the snake, and Adam and Eve. Surprised, he turned to the fairy and asked, “Have they not been banished?”
She smiled and explained to him that what he saw were pictures burned into the glass by Time itself. They were not like any painting he had seen, for they were alive: the leaves of the trees moved and the people portrayed in them came and went as in a mirror. He stood before another window and there he saw Jacob’s ladder stretching far up into heaven, and he saw the angels, with their great wings, flying around it. Everything that had ever happened still lived inside these glass paintings. Such curious and wonderful works of art only Time could create.
The fairy smiled at his amazement and led the prince into another great hall in the castle, where the walls were transparent paintings of millions and millions of happy faces: all of them laughing and singing; and their laughter merged with the songs into one melodious hymn to happiness. The faces nearest the ceiling were as tiny as rosebuds, or the point you can make with a sharpened pencil on paper. In the middle of the hall grew a large tree and golden apples the color of oranges hid among its greenery. It was the tree of knowledge, the tree of good and evil, whose fruits Eve had picked and Adam eaten. From its leaves fell red dewdrops, as though the tree shed tears of blood.
“Come down into my little boat,” bade the fairy. “It rocks as though it were floating on the swelling waters, and that is a most delightful feeling; but it never moves, though all the countries of the world will pass by for us to look at.”
And they did; first the prince saw the snow-clad mountains of the Alps, with their black forests of fir trees and lace collars of clouds. He heard the melancholy sound of the hunters’ horns and the herdsmen yodeli
ng. The scene around them changed; banana palms bent their long leaves down toward them and coal-black swans swam near them; beyond the beach the most fantastic flowers bloomed. They were in the Dutch East Indies, the fifth continent. They heard the priests of the savages chant and saw them dance their wild dances. The islands and their blue mountains disappeared, and in their place rose the great pyramids of Egypt, the endless desert, the sphinx and ancient ruins of temples half buried beneath yellow sand. At last, northern lights burned above them, nature’s fireworks, far more splendid than any man could construct. The prince was ever so happy; but then, he had seen a great deal more than I have described.
“Can I stay here forever?” he whispered.
“That depends upon yourself,” answered the fairy. “If you do not let that which is forbidden tempt you, as Adam did, then you can live here forever.”
“I won’t touch the apples of the tree of knowledge,” said the prince hastily. “There are so many other fruits as lovely as they.”
“Examine your own heart, and if there is courage enough in it, then stay. But if you find doubt and weakness there, then ask the east wind to take you with him. He is leaving now and he will not be back for a hundred years. The years here pass like hours, but even a hundred hours are long enough for both temptation and sin. Every evening I shall leave you; and as I go I shall cry out to you to follow me. I shall wave my hand to beckon you to come. But do not obey me. Every step you take toward me will make it more difficult for you to turn back. If you follow me, you will enter the hall where the tree of knowledge grows; underneath its sweet-smelling branches I sleep. As you bend over me I shall smile, but if you kiss my mouth, then Eden’s garden will sink down farther into the earth and will forever be lost for you. The cruel wind of the desert will enfold you and cold rain drip from your hair; and sorrow and care will be your lot.”
“I will stay,” said the prince.
The east wind kissed him on his forehead and said, “Be strong! And I shall see you again when a hundred years have passed. Farewell, farewell!” The east wind spread out his great wings that shone like the lightning of summer or the northern lights of winter.
“Farewell, farewell!” shouted all the flowers and the bushes; and the birds of the air followed him as far as the gate of the garden.
“Now begins our dance,” whispered the fairy. “When it is over and the sun begins to set, I shall cry out, begging you to follow me. But do not do it. Every night for a hundred years this will happen; but each time you refuse me makes it easier for you to do it the next time, until at last it will give you no pain. This is the first night and I have warned you.”
The fairy led him into a chamber made of white, transparent lilies; their yellow stamens were little golden harps and from them came the most delightful music. The loveliest young maidens, light and slender, danced around him; their gauzelike clothes, like mist, half concealed their beautiful bodies. They sang while they danced a hymn to life: to their own eternal life in paradise.
The sun was setting; the heavens became like gold and the lilies turned the color of roses. The maidens handed the prince a cup of wine; he drank it and felt even more intensely happy than he had before. The back wall of the chamber disappeared and he looked into the great hall where the tree of knowledge grew. Its beauty blinded him. The song coming from the countless faces on the wall sounded like his mother’s voice singing to him: “My child, my dearest child.”
The fairy waved to him, beckoned to him, and cried lovingly, “Follow me, follow me.” He forgot all his promises and ran toward her, on this his very first evening in the garden of Eden. The fragrance of all the strange spices of the world that came from the garden grew stronger, and the music of the harps even more beautiful. In the hall of the tree, it seemed to him that all the millions of happy faces nodded yes, and sang, “One must know and experience everything; man is the master of the world.” The dewdrops falling from the leaves of the tree of good and evil no longer looked like tears but like red shining stars.
“Follow me, follow me,” whispered a voice, and for each step the prince took, his cheeks grew redder and his blood pulsed even faster through his veins.
“I must,” he breathed, “it is no sin to follow beauty and happiness. I just want to see where she sleeps, I shall not kiss her. Nothing is lost unless I do that, and I shall not. I am strong, I am not weak!”
The fairy threw off her beautiful robes and disappeared in among the branches.
“I have not sinned yet,” muttered the prince, “and I shall not do it.” But he pulled the branches apart to look. There she lay sleeping, as beautiful as only the fairy in the garden of Eden can be. She smiled in her sleep; he bent over her and saw a tear hanging from her long eyelashes.
“Are you crying because of me?” he whispered. “Do not cry, fairest, most beautiful woman! Now I understand the happiness of paradise. It flows with my blood through my veins into my brain, my thoughts. I feel the strength of the angels’ eternal life within my mortal body. Let everlasting night come, the riches of one moment like this are enough for me.” He kissed away her tear, he kissed her eyes, and his mouth touched hers.
A fearful clap of thunder was heard, deeper, more frightening than any ever heard before. The fairy vanished and the garden of Eden sank into the earth: deep, deep down. The prince saw it disappear into the dark night like a far distant star. He felt a deathly coldness touch his limbs; his eyes closed, and he fell down as though he were dead.
The sharp lashes of the wind whipped his face and the cold rain drenched him, then he awoke. “What have I done?” he sighed. “I have sinned as Adam did. Sinned and caused paradise to sink deeper into the earth.” He opened his eyes and saw a star blinking far away, sparkling as the garden of Eden had when it disappeared. It was the morning star.
He rose. He was in the forest near the cave of the winds; their mother was sitting on a tree stump. She looked at him with anger and disgust.
“Already the first evening,” she scolded. “I thought so. If you were my boy, then I would put you in a bag.”
“That is exactly what will happen to him,” said Death, who was standing in the shadow of one of the big trees. He was a strong old man with a scythe in his hands and large black wings on his back. “In a coffin I shall put him, but not now. Let him first wander about on earth, atoning for his sins, becoming good if he can. Then I shall come, when he least expects it, and put him in a black coffin. I shall carry him on my head to the stars, for there, too, blooms the garden of Eden; and if he has learned to be kind and good, then he shall live there forever. But if his heart and thoughts are filled with sin, then he shall sink in his coffin deeper into the earth than the garden of Eden sank. Only once every thousand years shall I come to fetch him, to find out whether he must be sent even deeper into the earth or be taken to the bright and sparkling star.”
15
The Flying Trunk
Once there was a merchant who was so rich that he could easily have paved a whole street with silver coins and still have had enough left over to pave a little alley as well. But he didn’t do anything so foolish, he made better use of his money than that. He didn’t give out a copper coin without getting a silver one in return; that’s how good a merchant he was, but he couldn’t live forever.
His son inherited all his money, and he was better at spending than at saving it. Every night he attended a party or a masquerade. He made kites out of bank notes; and when he went to the beach, he didn’t skim stones; no, he skimmed gold coins. In that way, the money was soon gone, and finally he had nothing but four pennies, a pair of worn-out slippers, and an old dressing gown. He lost all his friends; they didn’t like to be seen with a person so curiously dressed. But one of them was kind enough to give him an old trunk and say to him, “Pack and get out.” That was all very well, but he had nothing to pack, so he sat down inside the trunk himself.
It was a strange trunk; if you pressed on the lock, then it could fly. That is
what the merchant’s son did, and away it carried him. Up through the chimney, up above the clouds and far, far away. The trunk creaked and groaned; its passenger was afraid that the bottom would fall out, for then he would have a nasty fall. But it didn’t, the trunk flew him directly to the land of the Turks and landed.
The merchant’s son hid the trunk beneath some leaves in a forest and started to walk into town. No one took any notice of him, for in Turkey everyone wears a dressing gown and slippers.
He met a nurse carrying a babe in her arms. “Hey, you Turkish nurse,” he said, “what kind of a castle is that one, right outside the city, with windows placed so high up the walls that no one but a giant could look through them?”
“That is where the princess lives,” replied the nurse. “It has been prophesied that a lover will cause her great suffering and sorrow, that is why no one can visit her unless the king and the queen are present.”
“Thank you,” said the merchant’s son. He ran back into the forest where he had hidden the trunk, climbed into it, and flew up to the roof of the palace; then he climbed through a window, in to the princess.
She was sleeping on a sofa and looked so beautiful that the merchant’s son had to kiss her. She woke up and was terrified at the sight of the strange man, but he told her that he was the God of the Turks and that he had come flying through the air to visit her. That story didn’t displease her.
They sat next to each other on the settee and he told her stories. He made up one about her eyes being the loveliest dark forest pools in which thoughts swam like mermaids. He told her that her forehead was a snow mountain filled with grand halls, whose walls were covered with beautiful paintings. And he told her about the storks that bring such sweet little children. Oh, they were delightful stories; then he proposed and she said yes.
“Come back on Saturday,” she said, “then the king and queen come for afternoon tea. They will be proud that I am going to marry the God of the Turks. But make sure, sir, that you have some good fairy tales to tell them. My mother likes noble and moral stories, and my father lively ones that can make him laugh.”