"Here are many maidens fair,Who twirl like any spinning-wheel,And tread the floor as light as air;Still round and round, sweet maiden, reel,And dance away the mazes through,Until the sole has left your shoe."
"Here are many maidens fair,Who twirl like any spinning-wheel,And tread the floor as light as air;Still round and round, sweet maiden, reel,And dance away the mazes through,Until the sole has left your shoe."
But the princess was still a witch, and could not endure Johannes. This struck his fellow-traveler, and therefore he gave Johannes three feathers out of the swan's wings, and a small phial containing only a few drops, and told him to place a large vat full of water in front of the princess's bed, and when the princess was about to get into bed, he must give her a slight push, so that she should fall into the water, into which he must dip her three times, having taken care first to shake in the feathers and the contents of the phial. The magic spell would then be broken, and she would love him tenderly.
Johannes did all that his fellow-traveler suggested. The princess shrieked aloud when he dipped her into the water, and struggled out of his hands under the form of a coal-black swan with fiery eyes. The second time she rose to the surface the swan had become white, all but a black ruff round its neck. Johannes prayed to God, and made the bird dive down a third time, when it was suddenly transformed to the most beautiful princess. She was far lovelier than before, and thanked him, with tears in her eyes, for having broken the spell that bound her.
On the following morning, the old king came with all his court, and the congratulations lasted till late in the day. Last of all came Johannes' fellow-traveler, with his stick in his hand, and his knapsack at his back. Johannes embraced him affectionately, and said that he must not go away, but stay with him, for he was the cause of all his happiness. But his fellow-traveler shook his head, and said in a mild and friendly voice: "No; my time is now up. I have but paid a debt. Do you remember the dead manwhom his wicked creditors would fain have ill-used? You gave all you possessed that he might rest in peace in his grave. I am that dead man!"
And at the same moment he vanished.
The wedding rejoicings now lasted a full month. Johannes and the princess loved each other dearly, and the old king lived to see many a happy day, and dandled his little grand-children on his knee, and let them play with his scepter. And Johannes became king over the whole land.
THEREis a street in Copenhagen oddly named Hysken Strâde, and one naturally asks what Hysken signifies, and why Hysken at all. Common report says it is a German word, but in justice to the German tongue this is not the case, since it would then have been Hauschen, of which Hysken is the Danish corruption, and it means "the street of tiny houses."
For many a year it consisted of nothing but wooden booths, such as may be seen to this day in the market-place; possibly they were a little larger. The window-panes were not of glass, but horn, for at that time glass was too expensive for general use. Remember, we are speaking of many years ago. Your great-grandfather would have called them "the olden times." Yes, several hundred years ago.
Trade in Copenhagen was entirely, or nearlyso, in the hands of wealthy Bremen and Lübeck merchants, whose clerks (for they themselves stayed at home) lived in the Hysken Sträde, in the booths of this street of tiny houses, and sold beer and groceries. Delicious German beer it was too, and all kinds for sale—Bremen, Prussian, and Brunswick, and spices of every variety—saffron, aniseed, ginger and above all pepper. Indeed, this was the staple commodity—hence the German clerks in Denmark acquired the nickname Pepper-folk—and since they were bound not to marry whilst in that country, many grew old and gray in service, and, as they performed their own domestic services themselves they became crabbed old fellows with whimsical ideas. This being so, it became usual to dub all crotchety old bachelors "pepper-fogeys," an expression now naturalized into the German language. This must be borne in mind if you would understand what follows.
These pepper-fogeys used to be unmercifully ridiculed, and told to pull down a nightcap over their ears and toddle off to bed, and many are the doggerel verses in which the nightcapfigures. Yes, fun was poked at the pepper-fogeys with their nightcaps, just because they were so little known. And why should not one wish for a nightcap? you may ask. Listen, and I will tell you.
Hauschen Street was in those days unpaved, and wayfarers stumbled along as if it were a little side-alley. So narrow indeed was it, and so huddled together the booths, that in summertime a sail would be stretched from side to side, and strong was the fragrance of saffron and ginger pervading the stalls, behind which there served for the most part old men. They were not, however, clothed, as in the portraits of our ancestors, with peruke, knee-breeches, elegant waistcoat and tunic of ample cut, as you might suppose.
No, these old pepper-fogeys were no dandies to be portrayed on canvas, though one could well wish to have a picture of one as he stood at the counter, or betook himself with leisurely gait to church on holy days. A broad-brimmed hat, high in the crown, in which maybe the younger among them would sport a feather, a woolen shirtbeneath a wide flapping collar, a close-fitting jacket, a loose cloak worn over it, and the trousers tucked into the broadly-peaked shoes, for stockings had they none. At his belt a knife and fork, and a larger knife for self-defense—a necessary precaution in those days.
Such was the costume of old Anthony, one of the oldest of the pepper-fogeys, only in place of the broad-brimmed high-crowned hat he always wore a sort of bonnet, under which was a knitted skullcap, a veritable nightcap, which never left his head. One or other, for he had two, was always on his head day and night. He formed a perfect study for an artist, so lean and wizened was he, so wrinkled his brow, his fingers so skinny, his eyebrows so bushy. He was said to be a native of Bremen; but in truth, though his master was, old Anthony was born at Eisenach, hard by the Wartburg. He never told the others, but pondered over it the more.
The old fellows did not often come together. He stayed in his own room, a dim light penetrating the opaque window-panes. Seated on the bed, he chanted his evening psalm. Theirswas not a happy lot—strangers in a strange land, heeded by none, save to be brushed aside when in the way.
On black nights, when the rain was pelting down outside, it was far from cosy within. Not a lamp visible, save that which threw a light on a picture of the Virgin painted on the wall. Hark to the rain beating in torrents on the masonry of the castle-wharf! Such evenings were long and dreary without some task. To arrange and rearrange things in the house, to make paper bags, to polish scales, is not work for every day. One must find other things to do, as did old Anthony. He would darn his clothes, and patch up his boots. And when at last he went to bed, true to his habit, down he would draw his nightcap, but soon raised it to see the candle was quite extinguished. He would snuff out the wick between finger and thumb, pull down his nightcap, and turn over to sleep. But it occurred to him to see if the ashes on the little hearth in the corner were quite burnt out; if they were damped enough, lest a stray spark should kindle a fire, and do damage.
Up he would get again, creep down the ladder (for steps they could not be called), and finding not a spark in the ash-pan, would go back in peace. But before he was half in bed he would have a doubt whether the bolts and shutters of the shop were secured, and down once more went the tottering feet, his teeth a-chattering with the cold, for never such biting frost as in late winter. Then, pulling up the coverlet and drawing down his nightcap, he would dismiss all thoughts of business and the day's toil from his mind. But no happier than before—old memories would weave their fantastic shapes before his fancy, and a many thorn lay hidden in the garlands.
When one pricks one's finger tears brim to the eyelids, and oftentimes old Anthony shed hot and bitter tears, that glistened like pearls. The largest pearls would fall on the coverlet with so sad a sound that it seemed his heart's strings were breaking.
Brightly would they glisten and illumine pictures of his childhood, never fading memories.
As he dried his tears on the nightcap, thescenes would vanish, but not the source of his tears: that lay deep in his heart.
The scenes did not follow the natural sequence of life; the saddest and most joyful together, but the last had the deepest shadows.
The beech forests of Denmark are admitted by all to be fine, but fairer still to the eyes of old Anthony were those around the Wartburg. More majestic and lofty the aged trees around the baronial castle, where the foliage of creepers trailed over the stone buttresses. Sweeter there the perfume of apple-blossoms. Vividly did he call them to mind, and a shining tear rolled down his cheek, wherein he saw two children, a boy and a girl, at play. The boy, rosy-cheeked and curly-haired, with clear blue eyes, was himself, the little Anthony. The girl had brown eyes, dark hair, and a merry, bright expression. She was the Burgomaster's daughter, Molly. The children were playing with an apple, which they shook to hear the pips rattle inside. They shared the apple and ate it up, all but one pip, which the little girl proposed they should plant in the earth.
"Then you will see something you'd never think of," said she; "an apple tree will grow, but not all at once." So they busied themselves planting it in a flower-pot. He made a hole, and she laid the pip in, and both heaped on the earth.
"Mind," said she, "you don't dig up the pip to see if it has struck root. Indeed, you mustn't. I did so—only twice—because I knew no better, and the flowers withered." Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every day the winter through watched it, but nothing was to be seen but the black earth. Then came the spring and warm sunshine, and two little twigs peeped forth from the pot. "Oh, how lovely!" cried Anthony, "they are for Molly and me."
Soon came another shoot; whom could that represent? Then another and yet another, and every week it grew, till it became a big plant. All this was mirrored in a single tear. Brush it away as he might, the source dwelled deep in his bosom.
Not far from Eisenach is a ridge of rocky heights, treeless and bare, known as the Venusberg.
Here was the abode of Venus, goddess of heathen mythology, known also to every child round about as Lady Holle. She it was who lured the knightly Tannhäuser, the minstrel of the Wartburg, to her mountain.
Little Molly and Anthony would ofttimes stand at the foot of the mountain, and one day she asked him, "Do you dare knock and say, 'Lady Holle! Lady Holle! open the door. Tannhäuser is here'?" But Anthony was afraid, only his playmate ventured.
"Lady Holle! Lady Holle!" she cried, loud and clear, but the rest so low and indistinct that he believed that she did not utter it. She looked so winning and was of such high spirit. When they were at play with other children in the garden, Molly alone of them all would dare to kiss him, just because he was unwilling and resisted. "I dare kiss him," she would cry, and throw her arms round his neck, and the boy would submit to her embrace, for how charming, how saucy she was, to be sure!
Lady Holle, so people said, was beautiful, but her beauty was that of a wicked temptress.The noblest type of beauty was that of the devout Elizabeth, tutelary saint of the land, the pious lady whose gracious actions were known near and far. Her picture hangs in the chapel lit up by silver lamps, but she and Molly bore no resemblance to one another.
The apple tree they had planted grew year by year till it was so large it had to be planted anew in the open air, where the dew fell and the sun shed his warm rays; and it flourished and grew hardy, and could bear the wintry blast, blossoming in the springtide as if for very joy. In the autumn it bore two apples—one for Molly, one for Anthony. Rapidly grew the tree, and with it grew Molly, fresh as one of its blossoms; but not for long was Anthony fated to watch this fair flower.
All things here on earth are subject to change.
Molly's father left the old home and went afar. Nowadays, by the railroad, it takes but some few hours, but in those times over a day and night, to travel so far east as to Weimar.
Both Molly and Anthony cried, and she toldhim he was more to her than all the fine folk in Weimar could be.
A year passed by—two, three years—and only two letters came: the first sent by a letter-carrier, the other by a traveler—a long and devious way by town and hamlet.
How often had he and Molly together read the story of Tristan and Isolde, and bethought them the name Tristan meant "conceived in tribulation." But with Anthony no such thought could be harbored as "She has forsaken me."
True, Isolde didnotforsake Tristan; buried side by side in the little churchyard, the lime trees met and entwined over their graves. Anthony loved this story, sad though it was.
But no sad fate could await him and Molly, and blithely he sang as he rode in the clear moonlight towards Weimar to visit Molly.
He would fain come unexpected, and unexpected he came.
And welcome they made him. Wine-cups filled to the brim, distinguished company, a comfortable room, all these he found, but it was not as he had pictured it, dreamed of it.
Poor Anthony could not make it out, could not understand them, but we can. We know how one may be in the midst of others and yet be solitary; how one talks as fellow-voyagers in a post-chaise, boring one another, and each wishing the other far away.
One day Molly spoke to him. "I am straight-forward, I will tell you all. Since we were playmates together much has altered. It is not only an outward change in me, you see. Habit and will do not control our affections. I wish you well, Anthony, and would not have you bitter towards me when I am far away, but love, deep love, I cannot feel for you. Fare thee well!"
So Anthony bade her farewell. No tear bedimmed his eye, but he felt he had lost a friend. Within four and twenty hours he was back in Eisenach; the horse that bore him, bore him no more.
"What matter?" said he, "I am lost. I will destroy whatever reminds me of the Lady Holle. The apple tree—I will uproot it, shatter it. Never more shall it bloom and bear fruit."
But the tree was not injured. Anthony lay on his bed, stricken with fever. What can avail him. Suddenly a medicine, the bitterest medicine known to man, cured his fever, convulsing body and soul. Anthony's father was no longer the rich merchant he had been!
Troublous days, days of trial, awaited them. Misfortune fell upon the home; the father, dogged by fate, became poor. So Anthony had other things to think about than the resentment he cherished in his heart towards Molly. He must take his father's place, he must go out into the great world and earn his bread.
He reached Bremen: hardship and dreary days were his lot—days that harden the heart or sometimes make it very tender. How he had misjudged his fellow-men in his young days! He became resigned and cheerful. God's way is best, was his thought. How had it been if heaven had not turned her affection to another before this calamity? "Thanks be to heaven," he would say. "She was not to blame, and I have felt so bitter towards her."
Time passed on. Anthony's father died, andstrangers occupied the old home. But he was destined to see it once more. His wealthy master sent him on business that brought him once more to Eisenach, his native town.
The old Wartburg was unchanged—the monk and nun hewn on its stones. The grand old trees set off the landscape as of old. Over the valley the Venusberg rose, a gray mass in the twilight. He longed to say, "Lady Holle! Lady Holle! open the door to me. Fain would I stay forever." It was a sinful thought, and he crossed himself. Old memories crowded to his mind as he gazed with tear-bedewed eyes at the town of childhood's days. The old homestead stood unchanged, but the garden was not the same. A roadway crossed one corner of it. The apple tree, which he hadnotdestroyed, was no longer in the garden, but across the way.
Still, as of old, bathed in sunshine and dew, the old tree bore richly, and its boughs were laden with fruit. One of its branches was broken. Wilful hands had done this, for the tree now stood by the highway.
Passers-by plucked its blossoms, gathered its fruit, and broke its branches. Well might one say, as one says of men, "This was not its destiny as it lay in its cradle." So fair its prospects, that this should be the end! Neglected, forsaken, no longer tended, there between field and highway it stood—bare to the storm, shattered and rent. As the years roll by it puts forth fewer blossoms, less fruit—and its story comes to a close!
So mused Anthony many a lonely evening in his room in the wooden booth in a strange land, in the narrow street in Copenhagen, whither his rich master sent him bound by his vow not to marry.
Marriage, forsooth, for him! Ha, ha! he laughed a strange laugh.
The winter was early that year with sharp frost. Outside raged a blinding snowstorm, so that every one that could stayed indoors. And so it befell that his neighbors never saw that for two days his shop was unopened, nor Anthony been seen, for who would venture out if not compelled to?
Those were sad, dismal days in his room, where the panes were not of glass, and—at best but faintly lighted—it was often pitch dark. For two days did Anthony keep his bed; he lacked strength to rise. The bitter weather affected his old joints. Forgotten was the pepper-fogey; helpless he lay. Scarce could he reach the water-jug by the bedside, and the last drop was drunk. Not fever, not sickness, laid him low: it was old age.
It was perpetual night to him as he lay there.
A little spider spun a web over the bed, as if for a pall when he should close his eyes forever.
Long and very dreary was the time. Yet he shed no tears, nor did he suffer pain. His only thought was that the world and its turmoil were not for him; that he was away from them even as he had passed from the thoughts of others.
At one time he seemed to feel the pangs of hunger, to faint with thirst. Was no one coming? None could come. He thought of those who perished of thirst, thought how the saintlyElizabeth, the noble lady of Thüringen, visited the lowliest hovels, bearing hope to and succoring the sick. Her pious deeds inspired his thoughts; he remembered how she would console those in pain, bind up their wounds, and though her stern lord and master stormed with rage, bear sustenance to the starving. He called to mind the legend how her husband followed her as she bore a well-stocked basket to the poor, and confronting her demanded what lay within. How in her great dread she replied, "Flowers I have culled in the garden." How when he snatched aside the cloth to see whether her words were true, wine, bread, and all the basket held miraculously changed to roses.
Such was the picture of the saint; so his weary eyes imagined her standing by his bed in the little room in a strange land. He raised his head and gazed into her gentle eyes. All round seemed bright and rosy-hued. The flowers expanded, and now he smelt the perfume of apple-blossoms; he saw an apple tree in bloom, its branches waving above him. It was the tree the children had planted in the flower-pot together.
And the drooping leaves fanned his burning brow and cooled his parched lips; they were as wine and bread on his breast. He felt calm and serene, and composed himself to sleep.
"Now I will sleep, and it will bring relief. To-morrow I shall be well; to-morrow I will rise. I planted it in love; I see it now in heavenly radiance." And he sunk to rest.
On the morrow—the third day—the storm abated, and his neighbors came to see old Anthony. Prone he lay, clasping in death his old nightcap in his hands.
Where were the tears he had shed, where the pearls? They were still in the nightcap. True pearls change not. The old thoughts, the tears of long ago—yes, they remained in the nightcap of the old pepper-fogey.
Covet not the old nightcap. It would make your brow burn, your pulse beat fast. It brings strange dreams. The first to put it on was to know this. It was fifty years later that the Burgomaster, who lived in luxury with wifeand children, put it on. His dreams were of unhappy love, ruin, and starvation.
"Phew! how the nightcap burns," said he, and tore it off, and pearl after pearl fell from it to the ground. "Good gracious!" cried the Burgomaster, "I must be feverish; how they sparkle before my eyes." They were tears, wept half a century before by old Anthony of Eisenach.
To all who thereafter put on the nightcap came agitating visions and dreams. His own history was changed to that of Anthony, till it became quite a story. There may be many such stories; we, however, leave others to tell them.
We have told the first, and our last words shall be, "Don't wish for the old bachelor's nightcap."
THE FOUR WINDS.
THEREonce lived a king's son, who possessed a larger and more beautiful collection of books than anybody ever had before. He could read in their pages all the events that had ever taken place in the world, and see them illustrated by the most exquisite engravings. He could obtain information about any people or any country, only not a word could he ever find as to the geographical position of the Garden of the World; and this was just what he was most desirous of ascertaining.
His grandmother had told him, when he was quite a little boy, and beginning to go to school, that each flower in the Garden of the World was the most delicious cake, and had its stamina filled with luscious wine; on one stood written historical facts, on another geography or arithmeticaltables—and so one need only eat cakes to learn one's lesson, and the more one ate, the more history, geography, and arithmetic one acquired.
He used to believe this. But when he grew a little older, and had learned more and become wiser, he began to understand that there must be better delights than these in the Garden of the World.
He was now seventeen, and nothing ran in his head but this garden.
One day he went to take a walk in the forest, all alone, as he best liked to be.
As evening came on, the sky grew overcast, and there came on such a shower, that it seemed as if the heavens had become one vast sluice that kept pouring down water; besides this, it was darker than it usually is, even at night, except at the bottom of the deepest well. At every step, he either slipped on the wet grass, or stumbled over some bare rock. Everything was dripping wet, and the poor prince had not a dry thread about him. He was obliged to climb over huge blocks of stone, where waterwas running down from the thick moss. He was near fainting away, when he heard a singular rushing noise, and perceived a large cavern, lighted up by a huge fire, piled up in the middle, and fit to roast a whole deer. And this, indeed, was being done. A very fine deer, with its branching horns, was placed on a spit, and slowly turned round between the felled trunks of two pine-trees. An elderly woman, as bony and masculine as though she were a man in female attire, sat by the fire, and kept throwing in one log of wood after another.
"Come nearer," said she, "and sit by the fire, and dry your clothes."
"There is a great draught here," observed the prince, sitting down on the ground.
"It will be much worse when my sons come home," returned the woman. "You are in the Cavern of the Winds. My sons are the Four Winds of Heaven—can you understand that?"
"Where are your sons?" asked the prince.
"It is difficult to answer a silly question," said the woman. "My sons are now at it, with their own hands. They are playing at shuttle-cockwith the clouds, up there in the King's hall." And she pointed above.
"Oh, that's it!" quoth the prince. "But you seem to speak rather harshly, and are not as gentle as the women I am accustomed to see."
"Because they have nothing else to do. But I must be harsh, to keep my boys in any order; which I manage to do, headstrong as they are. You see those four bags hanging on the wall? Well, they are every bit as much afraid of them as you used to be of the rod behind the looking-glass. I bend the boys in two, I can tell you, and then pop them into the bag, without their making the least resistance. There they stay, and don't dare come out till I think it proper they should. But here comes one of them."
It was the North Wind who came in, diffusing an icy coldness around. Large hailstones jumped about on the floor, and snowflakes were scattered in all directions. He wore a bearskin jacket and clothes; his cap of sea-dog's skin came down over his ears; long icicles clung to his beard, and one hailstone after another fell from the collar of his jacket.
"Don't go too near the fire at once," said the prince, "or your face and hands might easily get frozen."
"Frozen, quotha!" said the North Wind, with a loud laugh. "Why, cold is my greatest delight! But what kind of little snip are you? How did you come into the Cavern of the Winds?"
"He is my guest," said the old woman; "and if that does not satisfy you, why, you need only get into the bag. Do you understand me now?"
Well, this did the business at once; and the North Wind then began to relate whence he came, and where he had been staying for nearly a month past.
"I come from the Arctic Sea," said he, "and I have been on Bear's Island, with the Russian sea-cow hunters. I sat and slept at the helm, as they sailed away from the North Cape; but whenever I happened to wake, the petrels were flying about my legs. What comical birds they are! They will flap their wings suddenly, and then remain poised upon them, and quite motionless, as if they had had enough of flying."
"Don't be so diffuse," said the mother of the Winds. "And so you reached Bear's Island?"
"It's a beautiful place! There's a ballroom floor for you, as smooth as a plate! Heaps of half-thawed snow, slightly covered with moss, sharp stones, and skeletons of sea-cows and bears were lying about, together with the arms and legs of giants in a state of green decay. It looks as if the sun had never shone there. I blew slightly on the mist, that the hovels might be visible, and there appeared a hut, built from the remains of a ship that had been wrecked, and covered over with sea-cows' skins. The fleshy side was turned outwards, and it was both red and green. A living bear sat growling on the roof. I went to the shore, and looked after birds' nests, and saw the unfledged youngsters opening their beaks and screaming lustily; so I blew into their thousands of throats, and they learned to shut their mouths. A little farther on, the sea-cows were rolling about like giant worms with pigs' heads, and teeth a yard long."
"You tell your adventures right pleasantly,my son," said his mother; "it makes my mouth water to hear you."
"Then the hunting began. The harpoon was flung right into the sea-cow's chest, so that a smoking jet of blood spurted forth like water from a fountain, and besprinkled the ice. Then I thought of my part of the game. I began to blow, and set my vessels, the towering icebergs, to stick the boats fast. Oh! what a whistling and a bawling there was! Only I whistled louder than all of them. They were obliged to unpack the dead sea-cows, the chests, and the tackle upon the ice; I then shook snowflakes over them, and left them and their spoils to sail in their pent-up vessels towards the south, to drink salt-water. They will never return to Bear's Island."
"Then you have done mischief?" said the mother of the Winds.
"Let others tell of the good I may have done!" said he. "But here comes my brother from the West. I like him the best, because he smacks of the sea, and brings a nice bracing cold with him."
"Is that the little Zephyr?" asked the prince.
"Yes, that is the Zephyr!" said the old woman; "but he's not so very little either. Some years ago he was a pretty boy; but that is now over."
He looked like a wild man; but he wore a roller round his head, that he might not get hurt. In his hand he held a mahogany club, hewn from an American mahogany forest. It was no small weight to carry.
"Whence do you come?" asked the mother.
"From the wild forests," said he, "where tangled bindweed forms a hedge between each tree, where water-snakes lie in the damp grass, and where man seems to be a superfluous nonentity."
"What have you been doing there?"
"I looked into the deep river, and saw it had rushed down from the rocks, and then became dust, and flew towards the clouds to support the rainbow. I saw a wild buffalo swimming in the river, but he was carried away by the tide. He had joined a flock of wild ducks, whoflew up into the air the moment the waters dashed downwards. The buffalo was obliged to be hurled into the precipice. This pleased me, and I raised a storm, so that the oldest trees sailed down the river, and were reduced to splinters."
"And was that all you did?" asked the old woman.
"I cut capers in the savannahs, I stroked wild horses and shook cocoanut trees. Oh! I have plenty of tales to tell! Only one must not tell all one knows, as you well know, good mammy." And he kissed his mother so roughly, that she had nearly fallen backwards. He was a shocking wild lad.
Now, in came the South Wind in a turban and Bedouin's flying mantle.
"It is very cold hereabouts!" said he, throwing wood upon the fire. "It is easy to perceive that the North Wind has preceded me."
"It is hot enough here to roast a northern bear!" said the North Wind.
"You are a bear yourself!" answered the South Wind.
"Have you a mind to be both put into the bag?" asked the old woman. "There! sit down on that stone, and tell us where you have been."
"In Africa, mother," returned he. "I was amongst the Hottentots, who were lion-hunting in Caffraria. The grass in their plains looks as green as an olive. An ostrich ran a race with me, but I beat him hollow. I reached the yellow sands of the desert, which look like the bottom of the sea. I met a caravan. They killed their last camel to obtain some water; but they only got a very little. The sun was scorching above, and the sand equally scorching beneath one's feet. The desert stretched out into boundless expanse. I then rolled in the fine loose sand, and made it whirl about in large columns. A fine dance I led it! You should have seen how dejected the dromedaries looked as they stood stock still, and how the merchants pulled their caftans over their heads. They threw themselves on the ground before me as they would before Allah, their God. They are now all buried beneath a pyramid of sand; andwhen I come to puff it away, the sun will bleach their bones, and travelers will see that others have been there before them: a fact which is seldom believed in the desert, short of some tangible proof."
"Then you have done nothing but mischief!" said his mother. "Into the bag with you!" And before he had time to perceive it, she had taken the South Wind round the waist, and popped him into the bag. He wiggled about on the ground; but she sat upon him, and then he was forced to lie still.
"Your sons are a set of lively boys!" said the prince.
"Yes," answered she; "and I know how to correct them. Here comes the fourth."
This was the East Wind, who was dressed like a Chinese.
"Oh! you come from that neighborhood, do you?" said his mother. "I thought you had been to the Garden of the World?"
"I am going there to-morrow," said the East Wind. "To-morrow will be a hundred years since I was there. I have just returned from China,where I danced round the porcelain tower till all the bells were set a-jingling. The government officers were being beaten in the street; the bamboo stick was broken across their shoulders; and these were people belonging to the several degrees from the first to the ninth. They cried out: 'Many thanks, my fatherly benefactor!' But the words did not come from their hearts, so I made the bells jingle, and sang! 'Tsing! tsang! tsu!'"
"You are a wanton boy!" said the old woman. "It is well you are going to-morrow to the Garden of the World, for that always improves your mind. Pray drink abundantly from the fountain of wisdom, and take a small phial and bring it home full for me."
"I will," said the East Wind. "But why have you put my brother from the South into the bag? Take him out again; I want him to tell me about the phœnix, for the princess in the Garden of the World always asks after him when I pay her my visit every hundredth year. Open the bag, there's a dear mammy, and I'll give you two pocketfuls of tea-leaves, all greenand fresh, just as I plucked them from the bush on the spot where it grew."
"Well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are mammy's own boy, I will open the bag."
This she accordingly did, and out crept the South Wind, looking rather foolish, because the strange prince had witnessed his disgrace.
"There is a palm-tree leaf for the princess," said the South Wind. "The old phœnix, the only bird of his sort in the wide world, gave me this leaf. He has traced upon it with his beak the whole history of his life during the hundred years that form its span. She may, therefore, be now enabled to read how the phœnix set fire to his nest, and sat upon it as it was burning, like the widow of a Hindoo. How the dried twigs did crackle! and what a smoke there was! At length out burst the flames: the old phœnix was burnt to ashes, but an egg lay glowing hot in the fire. It burst with a loud report, and the young bird flew out; and now he is king over all the other birds, and the only phœnix in the world. He has bitten a hole in the leaf whichI gave you, and that is his way of sending his duty to the princess."
"Now let us eat something," said the mother of the Winds. And they all sat down to partake of the roast deer. The prince sat beside the East Wind; therefore, they soon became good friends.
"And pray what kind of a princess may she be whom you are talking so much about and where lies the Garden of the World?"
"Ho, ho!" said the East Wind. "What! have you a mind to go there? Well, you can fly over with me to-morrow, though I must tell you no mortal ever visited it before. It is inhabited by a fairy queen, and, in it lies the Island of Happiness, a lovely spot where death never intrudes. Get upon my back to-morrow, and I'll take you with me; for I think it can be managed. But now don't speak any more, for I want to sleep."
And then to sleep they all went.
The prince awoke at an early hour next morning, and was not a little surprised on finding himself high above the clouds. Hesat on the back of the East Wind, who was holding him faithfully; and they were so high in the air that forests, fields, rivers, and lakes lay beneath them like a painted map.
"Good morning!" said the East Wind. "You might just as well have slept a bit longer, for there is not much to be seen in the flat country beneath us, except you have a mind to count the churches. They look like chalk dots on the green board."
It was the fields and the meadows that he called the "green board."
"It was uncivil of me not to take leave of your mother and brothers," observed the prince.
"When one is asleep, one is to be excused," replied the East Wind.
And they began to fly quicker than ever. When they swept across the tree-tops, you might have heard a rustling in all their leaves and branches. On the sea and on the lakes, wherever they flew, the waves rose higher and the large ships dipped down into the water like swimming swans.
Towards evening, when it grew dark, the large towns looked beautiful. They were dotted here and there with lights, much after the fashion of a piece of paper that has burned till it is black, when one sees all the little sparks going out one after another. The prince clapped his hands with delight, but the East Wind begged him to let such demonstrations alone, and rather attend to holding fast, or else he might easily fall down and remain dangling on a church steeple.
Fast as the eagle flew through the black forests, the East Wind flew still faster. The Cossack was scouring the plains on his little horse, but the prince soon outstripped him.
"You can now see Himalaya," said the East Wind, "the highest mountain in Asia—and now we shall soon reach the Garden of the World." They then turned more southwards, and the air was soon perfumed with spices and flowers. Figs and pomegranates grew wild, and clusters of blue and red grapes hung from wild vines. They now descended to the earth, and reclined on the soft grass, where the flowers seemed tonod to the wind as though they had said—"Welcome!"
"Are we now in the Garden of the World?" asked the prince.
"No, indeed!" replied the East Wind; "but we soon shall be. Do you see yon wall of rocks, and that broad cavern, where the vines hang down like a huge green curtain? That's the road through which we must pass. Wrap yourself in your mantle, for burning hot as the sun is just hereabout, it is as cold as ice a few steps farther. The bird who flies past the cavern feels one wing to be in the warm summer abroad while the other is in the depth of winter."
"So then this seems to be the way to the Garden of the World?" asked the prince.
They now entered the cavern. Oh, how icy cold it was! Only it did not last long. The East Wind spread out his wings, and they beamed like the brightest fire. But what a cavern it was, to be sure! The huge blocks of stone from which the water kept dripping down, hung over them in the oddest shapes, sometimes narrowing up till they were obliged to creepon all-fours, at other times widening into an expanse as lofty as though situated in the open air. It looked like a chapel for the dead, with petrified organs and dumb organ-pipes.
"We seem to be crossing through an abode of Death to reach the Garden of the World!" said the prince. But the East Wind did not answer a syllable, and merely pointed forwards where the loveliest blue light met their eyes. The blocks of stone above their heads rolled away into a mist that finished by assuming the shape of a white cloud on a moonlight night. They were now in a most delightfully mild atmosphere, as cool as the mountain breeze, and as perfumed as a valley of roses. A river, clear as the air itself, was running along, filled with gold and silver fishes; scarlet eels, that emitted blue sparks at every motion, were disporting in the depths of the waters; while the broad leaves of the water-lilies that lay on its surface showed all the tints of the rainbow; the flower itself was a reddish-yellow burning flame that received its nourishment from the water as oil feeds the flame of a lamp. A marble bridge, as delicatelysculptured as though it had been made of lace and glass beads, led across the water to the Island of Happiness, where bloomed the Garden of the World.
The East Wind took the prince on his arm and carried him over. And the flowers and leaves sang the sweetest songs of his childhood, but in so lovely a strain of melody as no human voice ever yet sang.
Were they palm-trees or gigantic water-plants that grew on this favored spot? The prince could not tell, for never had he seen such large and luxuriant trees before. The most singular creepers, too, such as one only sees represented in gold and colors in the margins of illuminated old missals, or twined around the first letter in a chapter, were hanging in long festoons on all sides. It was a most curious mixture of birds, and flowers, and scrolls. Just by a flock of peacocks were standing on the grass displaying their gorgeous fan-like tails. The prince took them for live creatures, but found, on touching them, that they were only plants—large burdock leaves, which, in this favored spot, beamedwith all the glorious colors of the peacock's tail. A lion and tiger were disporting with all the pliancy of cats amongst the green hedges, that were perfumed like the flower of the olive-tree; and both the lion and the tiger were tame. The wild wood-pigeon's plumage sparkled like the fairest pearl, and the bird flapped the lion's mane with its wings; while the antelope, usually so shy, stood near and nodded its head, as if willing to join them at play.
Now came the fairy of the garden. Her clothes were radiant as the sun, and her countenance was as serene as that of a happy mother rejoicing over her child. She was young and beautiful, and was followed by a train of lovely girls, each wearing a beaming star in her hair. The East Wind gave her the leaf sent by the phoenix, when her eyes sparkled with joy. She took the prince by the hand and led him into her palace, whose walls were of the hues of the most splendid tulip when it is turned towards the sun. The ceiling was a large radiant flower, and the more one looked at it, the deeper its calyx appeared to grow. The prince stepped to thewindow, and looked through one of the panes, on which was depicted Jacob's dream. The ladder seemed to reach to the real sky, and the angels seemed to be flapping their wings. The fairy smiled at his astonished look, and explained that time had engraved its events on each pane, but they were not merely lifeless images, for the leaves rustled, and the persons went and came as in a looking-glass. He then looked through other panes, where he saw depicted the events of ancient history. For all that had happened in the world lived and moved upon these panes; time only could have engraved so cunning a masterpiece.
The fairy then led him into a lofty, noble hall, with transparent walls. Here were a number of portraits, each of which seemed more beautiful than the other. There were millions of happy faces whose laughing and singing seemed to melt into one harmonious whole; those above were so small that they appeared less than the smallest rosebud when represented on paper by a mere dot. In the midst of the hall stood a large tree with luxuriant drooping branches.Golden, apples, both great and small, hung like china oranges amid the green leaves. From each leaf fell a sparkling red dewdrop, as if the tree were shedding tears of blood.
"We will now get into the boat," said the fairy, "and enjoy the coolness of the water. The boat rocks, but does not stir from the spot, while all the countries of the earth glide past us." And it was wonderful to behold how the whole coast moved. First came the lofty snow-capped Alps, overhung with clouds and overgrown with fir-trees. The horn was sounding its melancholy notes, while the shepherd was caroling in the vale. Then banana-trees flung their drooping branches over the boat; coal-black swans swam on the water, and flowers and animals of the strangest description might be seen on the shore. This was New Holland, the fifth part of the world, that glided past, with a view of the blue mountains. One could hear the hymns of the priests and see the savages dancing to the sound of drums and trumpets made of bones. Egypt's pyramids reaching to the clouds, overturned columns and sphinxes, half buried in thesand, followed in their turn. The aurora borealis next shone upon the extinguished volcanoes of the north. These were fireworks that nobody could have imitated! The prince was delighted; and he saw a hundred times more than what we have mentioned.
"Can I remain here forever?" asked he.
"That depends on yourself," replied the fairy. "If you do not long for what is forbidden, you may stay here forever."
"I will not touch the apple on the Tree of Knowledge," said the prince; "here are thousands of fruits equally fine."
"Examine your own heart, and if you do not feel sufficient strength, return with the East Wind who brought you hither. He is now about to fly back, and will not appear again in this place for the next hundred years. The time would seem to you here to be only a hundred hours, but even that is a long span for temptation and sin. Every evening, on leaving you, I shall be obliged to say: 'Come with me!' I shall make a sign with my hand, yet you must stay away. If once you followed, your longing would increaseat every step. You would then enter the hall where grows the Tree of Knowledge I sleep beneath its perfumed, drooping branches. You would bend over me, and I should be forced to smile. But if you pressed a kiss on my lips, then would the garden sink into the earth and be lost for you. The sharp winds of the desert would howl around you, the cold rain would trickle over your head, and sorrow and distress would fall to your lot."
"I will remain here," said the prince. And the East Wind kissed his forehead, saying, "Be firm, and then we shall meet again in a hundred years. Farewell! farewell!" And the East Wind spread his large wings, and they shone like the lightning in harvest time, or like the northern lights in a cold winter.
"Farewell! farewell!" sounded from the flowers and the trees. Storks and pelicans flew in long rows, like streaming ribbons to accompany him to the boundaries of the garden.
"We will now begin our dances," said the fairy. "At the close, when I'm dancing withyou, and just as the sun is sinking, you will see me make a sign, and you will hear me say, 'Come with me.' But do not do it. For a hundred years shall I be obliged to repeat the same thing every evening; and each time when it is over will you gain fresh strength. In the end you'll cease to think about it. This evening will be the first time—and now you are warned."
The fairy then led him into a large room made of white transparent lilies. The yellow stamina in each flower pictured a little golden harp that yielded a sweet music partaking of the combined sounds of stringed instruments and the tones of the flute. Lovely girls with slender aerial figures, and dressed in lightest gauze, floated through the mazes of the dance, and sang of the delights of living and being immortal, and blooming forever in the Garden of the World.
The sun now set. The whole sky was one mass of gold that imparted the tints of the richest roses to the lilies; and the prince drank of the sparkling wine handed to him by the youngmaidens, and felt a bliss he had never before experienced. He saw the background of the ballroom now opening, and the Tree of Knowledge stood before him in such streams of light that his eyes were dazzled. The singing that rang in his ears was soft and lovely as his mother's voice, and it seemed as if she sang, "My child! my beloved child!"
The fairy then made him a sign with her eyes, and cried most sweetly: "Come with me! Come with me!" And he rushed towards her, forgetting his promise, though it was but the first evening, and she continued to beckon to him and to smile. The spicy perfumes around grew yet more intoxicating; the harps sounded sweeter; and it was as if the millions of smiling faces in the room, where grew the tree, nodded and sang: "We must know everything! Man is the lord of the earth!" And there were no more tears of blood dropping down from the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge; but he thought he saw red sparkling stars instead.
"Come with me! come with me!" said the thrilling tones; and at each step the prince'scheeks glowed more intensely, and his blood rushed more wildly.
"I must!" said he; "it is no sin, and cannot be one! Why not follow when beauty calls? I will see her asleep; and provided I do not kiss her, there will be no harm done—and kiss I will not, for I have strength to resist, and a firm will."
And the fairy cast aside her dazzling attire, bent back the boughs, and in another moment was completely concealed.
"I have not yet sinned," said the prince, "and do not intend to sin!" And then he pushed the boughs aside; there she lay already asleep, and lovely as only the fairy of the Garden of the World is privileged to be. She smiled in her dreams; yet as he bent over her, he saw tears trembling between her eyelashes.
"And do you weep for me?" whispered he. "Oh, weep not, most admirable of women! I now begin to understand the happiness to be found in this place. It penetrates into my blood, and I feel the joys of the blessed in this my earthly form! Though it were ever aftereternally dark for me, one moment like this is happiness enough!" And he kissed the tears in her eyes, and his mouth pressed her lips.
Then came a thunder-clap, so loud and so tremendous as never was heard before. Down everything fell to ruins—the beautiful fairy, the blooming garden, all sank deeper and deeper still. The prince saw the garden sinking into the dark abyss below, and it soon only shone like a little star in the distance. He turned as cold as death, and closed his eyes, and lay senseless.
The cold rain fell on his face, and the sharp wind blew over his head. He then returned to consciousness. "What have I done?" sighed he. "Alas! I have sinned, and the Island of Happiness has sunk down into the earth!" And he opened his eyes and saw a distant star like that of the sinking garden; but it was the morning star in the sky.
He got up and found himself in the large forest close to the Cavern of the Winds. The mother of the Winds sat by him, and looked angry, and raised her arm aloft.
"The very first evening," said she. "I thought it would be so! If you were my son, you should be put into the bag presently."
"Into it he shall go, sure enough!" said Death. He was a stalwart man with a scythe in his hand, and large black wings. "In his coffin shall he be laid, but not yet. I'll only mark him now, and allow him to wander about the world yet awhile, to expiate his sins and to grow better. But I shall come at last. When he least expects it, I shall put him into the black bag, place it on my head, and fly up to the stars. There, too, blooms a lovely garden, and if he be good and pious, he will be allowed to enter it; but should his thoughts be wicked, and his heart still full of sin, then will he sink in his coffin yet lower than he saw the Garden of the World sink down; and it will be only once in every thousand years that I shall go and fetch him, when he will either be condemned to sink still deeper, or be borne aloft to the beaming stars above."