When he was still quite little, just beginning his education, his grandmother had told him that every flower in the Garden of Eden was the sweetest cake, and each stamen the finest wine. History was on one flower, geography or math tables on another. All you had to do was eat the cakes to know your lessons. The more you ate, the more history, geography, and math you would take in.

He believed that as a boy, but as he grew older, learned more, and became wiser, he understood, of course, that there must be a far different kind of beauty in the Garden of Eden.

“Oh, why did Eve pick from the tree of knowledge? Why did Adam eat the forbidden fruit? It should have been me, and then it wouldn’t have happened! Sin would never have come into the world!”

He said it then, and he said it now that he was seventeen years old. All he thought about was the Garden of Eden.

One day he was walking in the forest. He walked by himself because that was his favorite pastime.

Evening came. Clouds gathered, a rainstorm came up, and rain fell as if the whole sky was a floodgate with water gushing from it. It was as dark as it usually is at night in the deepest well. Sometimes he slipped in the wet grass, and sometimes he tripped over the bare rocks that stuck up from the rocky ground. Water poured off everything, and there wasn’t a dry thread on the poor prince. He had to climb up and over big boulders where the water was seeping out of the thick moss. He was ready to drop, but then he heard a strange whistling sound and saw in front of him a big cave, all illuminated. Right in the middle was a fire so big you could cook a stag on it, and that is exactly what was happening. A magnificent stag with huge antlers was on a spit and was slowly rotating between two felled spruce trees. There was an elderly woman, tall and strong, like a man in disguise, sitting by the fire, and throwing on one log after the other.

“Just come a little closer,” she said. “Sit down by the fire so you can dry your clothes.”

“There’s a bad draft in here,” the prince said and sat down on the floor.

“It’ll get even worse when my sons get home,” the woman answered. “You’re in the Cave of the Winds now, and my sons are the four winds. Do you understand that?”

“Where are your sons?” asked the prince.

“Well, it’s not so easy to answer a stupid question,” the woman said. “My sons are out on their own. They’re playing ball with the clouds up there in the sky,” and she pointed up into the air.

“I see,” said the prince. “You talk a little tougher and are not as mild as the women I’m used to.”

“Well, they must not have anything else to do then. I have to be tough to keep my boys in check. But I can do it too, even though they are pretty stiff-necked. Do you see those four sacks hanging on the wall over there? They are just as afraid of them as you were of the belt in the woodshed. I can fold the boys up, let me tell you, and put them in the sacks without further ado. They sit there and can’t get out to gad about until I say so. But here’s one of them!”

It was the North Wind who breezed in with freezing cold surrounding him. Big hail stones hopped around on the floor, and snowflakes swirled all around. He was dressed in pants and a jacket of bearskin, and a hood of sealskin covered his ears. He had long icicles hanging from his beard, and one hailstone after another rolled down the collar of his jacket.

“Don’t go right over to the fire,” the prince shouted. “You can easily get frostbite on your face and hands!”

“Frostbite!” The North Wind laughed out loud. “I love frost! What kind of a whippersnapper are you, by the way? How did you get to the Cave of the Winds?”

“He’s my guest,” said the old woman, “and if you’re not satisfied with that explanation, you’ll go into the sack. You know what to expect!”

That helped, and the North Wind told where he’d come from and where he’d been for almost a whole month.

“I’ve come from the Arctic Ocean,” he said. “I’ve been to Bear Island with the Russian whalers. I sat and slept by the tiller when they sailed out from the North Cape. Once in a while I woke up to find the storm petrels flying around my legs. It’s an odd bird. It flaps its wings once quickly and then holds them out unmoving and coasts.”

“Don’t be so long-winded,” said the wind’s mother. “And then you came to Bear Island?”

“It’s lovely there. What a floor to dance on, flat as a plate! Half melted snow with a little moss, sharp rocks, and skeletons of walruses and polar bears were lying there. They looked like the arms and legs of giants, green with mold. You’d think that the sun had never shone on them. I blew a little of the fog away so a shack became visible. It was a house made of a wrecked ship and covered with walrus skins. The flesh side was turned outward—it was red and green, and there was a live polar bear growling on the roof. I went to the beach and looked at the bird nests, looked at the little featherless chicks who were shrieking and gaping, and then I blew down into the thousand throats, and that taught them to close their mouths. Furthest down the walruses were wallowing like living entrails, or giant worms with pig heads and teeth two feet long!”

“You tell a good story, my boy,” said his mother. “It makes my mouth water to listen to you.”

“Then the hunt started. The harpoon went into the walrus’ breast so steaming blood was like a fountain on the ice. Then I thought about my own game and blew up the wind, and let my sailing ships, the peaked mountainous icebergs, squeeze the boats inside. Oh, how people whimpered and how they wailed, but I whistled louder! They had to lay the dead walruses, chests, and ropes out on the ice. I sprinkled snow flakes on them and let them drift south with their catch on the encapsulated boats, there to taste salt water. They’ll never return to Bear Island!”

“So you’ve done bad things then,” the wind’s mother said.

“Others can talk about the good I’ve done,” he said, “but here comes my brother from the west. I like him better than any of them because he smells of the sea and brings a blessed coldness with him.”

“Is it little Zephyr?”¹ the prince asked. “Yes, certainly it’s Zephyr,” the old woman answered, “but he’s not so little any more. In the old days he was a lovely boy, but that’s past now.”

He looked like a wild man, but he had a crash helmet on so he wouldn’t get hurt. He was holding a mahogany club, felled in an American mahogany forest. Nothing less would do!

“Where did you come from?” his mother asked.

“From the primeval forests,” he answered, “where thorny vines make fences between each tree, where water snakes lie in the wet grass, and where people seem unnecessary!”

“What did you do there?”

“I looked at a deep river and saw how it came rushing from the mountains, became spray, and flew towards the clouds where it carried the rainbow. I saw a wild buffalo swimming in the river, carried away by the current. He rushed past a flock of wild ducks that flew into the air where the water was tumbling down. The buffalo had to go over the rapids. I liked that and blew up a storm so the ancient trees went flying and became crushed to splinters.”

“And you didn’t do anything else?” asked his old mother.

“I turned somersaults on the savannas, petted wild horses, and shook coconuts! Oh yes, I have stories to tell! But, as you know, you can’t tell everything you know, old mother!” And then he kissed his mother so she almost fell over backwards. He really was a wild boy.

Then the South Wind came wearing a turban and a flying Bedouin cape.

“It’s really cold in here,” he said, and threw wood on the fire. “You can tell that North Wind was here first!”

“It’s hot enough in here to roast a polar bear,” the North Wind said.

“You’re a polar bear yourself,” the South Wind answered.

“Do you two want to be put into the bag?” the old woman asked. “Sit down on that rock and tell where you’ve been.”

“In Africa, mother,” he answered. “I’ve been on a lion safari with the Hottentots in the land of the Kaffirs.² Such grass grows on those plains, green as an olive! The gnus dance there, and the ostrich ran a race with me, but I’m faster. I came to the desert, to the yellow sands. It looks like the bottom of the ocean. I met a caravan! They butchered their last camel to get water to drink, but they didn’t get much. The sun burned above them, the sand burned below them, and there was no end to the boundless desert. Then I romped about in the fine, loose sand and whirled it up into big pillars. What a dance! You should have seen how dispirited the camels were, and the merchant pulled his caftan over his head. He threw himself down in front of me as if I were Allah, his God. They’re buried now. A pyramid of sand is standing over all of them. When I blow it away one day, the sun will bleach the white bones so travelers can see that people have been there before. Otherwise, you would never believe people had been in the desert.”

“So you have only done evil!” his mother said. “Into the bag with you!” and before he knew what had happened, she had him around the waist and put him into the sack. He rolled around on the floor, but she sat down on the bag, and he had to lie still.

“Those are some lively boys you have!” said the prince.

“Yes, no kidding,” she answered, “but I can manage them. Here comes the fourth!”

It was the East Wind, and he was dressed like a Chinaman.

“So you’re coming from that quarter,” his mother said. “I thought you had been to the Garden of Eden?”

“I’m flying there tomorrow,” the East Wind said. “Tomorrow it’ll be a hundred years since I’ve been there. I’m coming from China now where I was dancing around porcelain towers so all the bells were ringing. Down on the street, the officials, from the first to the ninth rank, got a beating. Bamboo rods were broken on their shoulders, and they cried out: ‘many thanks, my fatherly benefactor,’ but they didn’t mean it, and I rang the bells and sang tsing, tsang, tsu!”

“You’re a blow-hard about it,” said the old woman. “It’s a good thing that you’re going to the Garden of Eden tomorrow since that always helps your manners. Drink deeply from the spring of wisdom and bring a little bottle full home to me!”

“I’ll do that,” the East Wind said. “But why have you put my brother from the south into the bag? Let him out! He’s going to tell me about the bird phoenix—the bird that the princess in the Garden of Eden always wants to hear about every hundred years when I visit. Open the bag, dearest mother, and I’ll give you two pockets full of fresh green tea that I picked on the spot.”

“Well, for the sake of the tea and because you’re my pet child, I’ll open the sack.” She did, and the South Wind crept out, but the wind was out of his sails since the foreign prince had witnessed it.

“Here is a palm leaf for the princess,” the South Wind said. “That leaf was given to me by the old bird phoenix, the only one who existed in the world. With his beak he inscribed his whole life story there, the hundred years he lived. Now she can read it for herself. I saw how the phoenix set his nest on fire himself and burned up like a Hindu widow. Oh, how the dry branches crackled, what smoke and smells! At last it all went up in flames. The old phoenix lay in ashes, but his egg lay glowing red in the fire. It cracked with a big bang, and the young bird flew out. Now he is the ruler of all the birds, and the only phoenix in the world. He bit a hole in the palm leaf I gave you as a greeting to the princess.”

“Now we have to have something to eat,” the Winds’ mother said, and they all sat down to eat roasted venison. The prince sat beside the East Wind, and they soon became fast friends.

“Tell me something,” said the prince, “who is this princess you all talked so much about, and where is the Garden of Eden?”

“Ho, ho,” the East Wind said. “If you want to go there, fly with me tomorrow. But I must tell you, no human has been there since Adam and Eve’s time. You surely know about them from your Bible history?”

“Of course!” the prince said.

“At the time they were banished, the Garden of Eden sank down into the earth, but it kept its warm sunshine, its mild air, and all its splendor. The Queen of the Fairies lives there, and there too lies the Island of Bliss, where death never comes. It’s a lovely place to be! Climb on my back in the morning, and I’ll take you along. I think it can be done. But now you have to be quiet because I want to sleep.”

And then they all slept.

Early in the morning the prince woke up and was not just a little puzzled at already being high up over the clouds. He was sitting on the back of the East Wind, who was faithfully holding on to him. They were so high in the air that fields and forests, rivers and lakes looked like they would on a big illuminated map.

“Good morning,” the East Wind said. “You might as well sleep a bit more because there’s not much to see here on the flat lands below us. Unless you want to count churches! They’re standing like chalk marks on the green board.” The green board was what he called the fields and meadows.

“It’s too bad I didn’t get to say good bye to your mother and brothers,” the prince said.

“When you’re asleep, you’re excused,” said the East Wind, and then they flew even faster—you could hear it by the branches and leaves rustling through the tops of the forests when they flew over them. You could hear it by the sea and lakes—wherever they flew the waves broke higher, and the big ships bowed deeply down in the water like swimming swans.

Towards evening when it got dark, it was fun to see the big cities. Lights were burning down there in different places. It was just like when you burn a piece of paper and see all the little sparks of fire blinking and disappearing like children coming out from school and running in all directions. And the prince clapped his hands, but the East Wind told him to stop that and hold on; otherwise, he could easily fall down and find himself hanging on a church steeple.

The eagles in the dark forest flew quickly, but the East Wind flew more quickly. The Cossack on his little horse rushed across the plains, but the prince rushed faster.

“Now you can see the Himalayas,” said the East Wind. “The highest mountain in Asia is there. We’ll be at the Garden of Eden soon.” They veered to the south, and soon there was a smell of spices and flowers. Figs and pomegranates were growing wild, and the wild grapevines were full of blue and red grapes. They landed there and stretched on the soft grass where the flowers nodded to the wind as if they wanted to say, “welcome back.”

“Are we in the Garden of Eden now?” the prince asked.

“Certainly not,” said the East Wind, “but we’ll soon be there. See that wall of rock over there and that big cave where the grapevines are hanging like big green curtains? We’re going through there. Wrap your coat around you. The sun is shining warmly here, but just a step away it’s freezing cold. That bird that’s flying past the cave has one wing out here in the warm summer and the other in there in the cold winter.”

“So that’s the way to the Garden of Eden?” the prince asked.

They went into the cave. Oh, it was freezing cold, but it didn’t last long. The East Wind spread out his wings, and they shone like the clearest fire. But what caves! Big boulders hung over them in the most fantastic configurations, and water was dripping from them. Sometimes it was so narrow that they had to creep on their hands and knees, sometimes so wide and open as if they were out in the open air. It was like a funeral chapel in there with silent organ pipes and petrified banners.

“I guess we’re taking death’s path to the Garden of Eden,” said the prince, but the East Wind didn’t say a word, just pointed ahead where a beautiful blue light was beaming towards them. The boulders above became more and more a mist and finally were as clear as a white cloud in moonlight. Then they entered the loveliest mild atmosphere, as fresh as in the mountains, as fragrant as in a valley of roses.

There was a river running there as clear as the air itself, and the fish were like silver and gold. Crimson eels that shot off blue sparks with every movement were sparkling in the water, and the wide water lily leaves were the colors of the rainbow. The flower itself was a burning red-yellow flame fed by the water, just like oil always gets the lamp to burn. A solid bridge of marble, so artistically and finely carved as if it were made of lace and glass beads, led over the water to the Island of Bliss where the Garden of Eden was blooming.

The East Wind took the prince in his arms and carried him over. Flowers and leaves were singing the most beautiful songs of his childhood there, but far more lovely than any human voice can sing.

Were they palm trees or gigantic water plants growing there? The prince had never before seen such succulent large trees. Creeping plants were slung in big garlands through the trees like you only see them pictured with colors and gold in the margins or entwined in the initial letters of medieval manuscripts. They were a strange combination of birds, flowers, and twisting vines. Close by in the grass was a flock of peacocks with their radiant widespread tails. Or so they seemed, but when the prince touched them, he discovered that they weren’t animals but plants. They were big burdock leaves that were shining like beautiful peacock tails. Tame lions and tigers ran like lithe cats through the green hedges that smelled like apple blossoms, and the wild wood pigeon, shining like the most perfect pearl, flapped its wings on the lion’s mane. The antelope, usually so shy, stood nodding its head as if it wanted to play too.

Then the fairy of paradise came. Her clothes were shining like the sun, and her face was gentle as a happy mother’s when she is pleased with her child. She was very young and beautiful, and the loveliest girls, each with a shining star in her hair, were following her.

The East Wind gave her the leaf from the phoenix, and her eyes sparkled with joy. She took the prince by the hand and led him into her castle where the walls were the colors of the most radiant tulips held up to the sun. The ceiling itself was a big brilliant flower, and the more you stared up at it, the deeper the calyx appeared. The prince went to the window and looked through one of the panes, and he saw the tree of knowledge with the snake and Adam and Eve standing close by. “Weren’t they banished?” he asked, and the fairy smiled and explained to him that time had burned an image in each pane of the window, but not as you usually see pictures. These had life in them. The leaves of the trees moved, people came and went, as in a reflection. And he looked through a different pane, and there was Jacob’s dream where the ladder went clear up into heaven, and angels with huge wings were floating up and down. Everything that had happened in this world lived and moved in the glass panes. Only time could create such inspired paintings.

The fairy smiled and led him into a chamber with a big high ceiling. The walls appeared as transparent paintings, each face on them more lovely than the next. There were millions of these happy ones who smiled and sang together with one melody. Those high on top were so small that they appeared smaller than the tiniest rosebud when drawn as a dot on a piece of paper. In the middle of the chamber stood a big tree with superb hanging branches. Big and small gilded apples hung like oranges between the green leaves. It was the Tree of Knowledge, from which Adam and Eve had eaten. There was a red drop of dew dripping from each leaf; it was as if the tree were crying tears of blood.

“Let’s get into the boat,” said the fairy. “We’ll enjoy refreshments out on the water. The boat pitches back and forth although it doesn’t leave the spot, and all the countries of the world will pass before our eyes.” And it was marvelous to see how the entire coast moved. First came the high snow-covered Alps, with clouds and black evergreens. The horn sounded deep and mournfully, and the shepherd yodeled sweetly in the valley. Then the banana trees bent their long, hanging branches down over the boat. Coal black swans swam on the water, and the strangest animals were seen on the beaches—this was Australia, the fifth continent of the world, gliding by with a view of the blue mountains. You could hear the singing of medicine men and see the wild men dancing to the sound of drums and bone flutes. The pyramids of Egypt sailed by with their tops in the clouds, along with overturned pillars and sphinxes half buried in sand. The northern lights burned over the glaciers of the north. It was a fire works display that no one could match. The prince was ecstatic. Of course he saw a hundred times more than we can describe here.

“Can I stay here forever?” he asked.

“That depends on you,” the fairy answered. “As long as you don’t act like Adam, and let yourself be tempted to do what’s forbidden, you can stay here forever.”

“I won’t touch the apples on the Tree of Knowledge,” the prince said. “There are thousands of fruits here just as lovely as they are.”

“Test yourself, and if you aren’t strong enough, then return with the East Wind, who brought you here. He’s flying back now and won’t return for a hundred years. For you that time will pass as if it were only a hundred hours, but it’s a long time for temptation and sin. Every evening when I leave you, I must call you to ‘follow me.’ I’ll wave you to follow, but you must stay behind. Don’t come with me because then every step will increase your longing. You’ll come into the chamber where the Tree of Knowledge grows. I sleep under its fragrant hanging branches. You’ll bend over me, and I’ll smile, but if you kiss my lips, paradise will sink deep into the earth, and it will be lost to you. The sharp winds of the desert will whirl around you, and cold rain will drip from your hair. Sorrow and troubles will be your fate.”

“I’ll stay here!” the prince said, and the East Wind kissed him on the forehead and said, “Be strong, and we’ll meet here again in a hundred years. Farewell! farewell!” The East Wind spread out his enormous wings. They shone like the flash of heat lightning at harvest time, or the northern lights on cold winter nights. “Farewell! farewell!” sounded from the flowers and trees. Storks and pelicans flew along in rows, like a waving ribbon, and followed to the border of the garden.

“Now our dances will begin,” said the fairy. “At the end of our dance, you’ll see me waving at you as the sun sinks, and you’ll hear me call to you: ‘follow along!’ But don’t do it! Every evening for a hundred years I’ll repeat this, and every time it’s over you’ll gain more strength. Finally, you’ll never think about it. Tonight is the first time, and now I have warned you!”

And the fairy led him into a big chamber with white transparent lilies. The yellow stamen in each one was a little gold harp that played like a stringed instrument and with tones of flutes. The most beautiful slender girls floated about, dressed in waving gauze so you could see their lovely limbs. They swayed in the dance and sang about how splendid it was to live—that they would never die, and that the Garden of Eden would blossom forever.

The sun went down. The whole sky turned to gold and gave the lilies the cast of the most beautiful rose, and the prince drank of the frothing wine that the girls gave him. He felt happiness like never before, and then he saw how the back of the chamber opened up, and the Tree of Knowledge was standing in a glow that burned his eyes. The song from there was soft and lovely, like his mother’s voice, and it was as if she sang, “My child! My beloved child!”

Then the fairy waved and called so fondly, “Follow me, follow me!” and he rushed towards her, forgot his promise, forgot it already on the first evening, and she waved and smiled. The fragrant spicy perfume of the air grew stronger; the tones of the harps more beautiful; and it was as if the millions of smiling faces in the chamber where the tree grew nodded and sang, “You should know everything! Man is the master of the earth.” And he thought there was no longer blood dripping from the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge, but red sparkling stars. “Follow me, follow me,” sang the trembling tones, and with every step the prince’s cheeks burned hotter, and his blood pounded harder. “I must,” he said, “it’s not a sin, it can’t be! Why not follow beauty and joy? I want to see her sleeping. Nothing is lost as long as I don’t kiss her, and I won’t do that. I’m strong, and have a firm will.”

And the fairy threw aside her shining fancy dress, bent the branches back, and a second later she was hidden within.

“I haven’t sinned yet,” said the prince, “and I won’t do it either.” He pulled the branches aside. She was already sleeping, lovely as only the fairy in the Garden of Eden can be, and she smiled in her sleep. He leaned down over her and saw tears tremble among her eyelashes.

“Are you crying over me?” he whispered. “Don’t cry, you beautiful woman. Now I finally understand the happiness of paradise. It’s rushing through my blood, through my thoughts. I feel in my earthly body the cherub’s power and eternal life. Let me suffer eternal night—a minute like this is richness enough.” And he kissed the tears on her eyes, and his mouth moved to hers—

Then there was a clap of thunder so deep and terrible as had never been heard before, and everything collapsed. The beautiful fairy and the blooming paradise sank, sank so deeply, so deeply. The prince saw it sink in the black night; it shone like a little shining star far in the distance. A deathly cold shot through his limbs. He closed his eyes and lay a long time as if dead.

Cold rain fell on his face, the sharp wind blew around his head, and he came to himself again. “What have I done?” he sighed. “I’ve sinned like Adam! Sinned so that the Garden of Eden has sunk way down there.” And he opened his eyes. He could still see the star, far away, the star that sparkled like the sunken paradise—It was the morning star in the sky.

He stood up and saw that he was in the big forest close to the Cave of the Winds, and the Winds’ mother sat by his side. She looked angry and lifted her arm in the air.

“Already on the first evening!” she said, “I might have known. If you were my son, I’d put you into the bag right now!”

“He’ll go there,” said Death, who was a strong, old man with a scythe in his hand and with big black wings. “He’ll come to his coffin, but not yet. I’ll just make a note of him, and let him wander around in the world for a while yet. He can atone for his sin, become good and better!-I’ll come one day. When he least expects it, I’ll put him into a black coffin, set it on my head, and fly up towards the star. The Garden of Eden blossoms there too, and if he is good and pious, then he’ll enter there. But if his thoughts are evil and his heart is still full of sin, he’ll sink deeper in his coffin than the Garden of Eden sank, and I’ll only fetch him again every thousand years, either to sink deeper yet or to be taken to the star—that sparkling star up there!”