Little Ellie and Other Tales/The Garden of Paradise
The Garden of Paradise.
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While the Prince was still quite a little boy, and just when he ought to have been sent to school, his grandmother told him that every flower in the Garden of Paradise was made of the sweetest cake, and its stamina of the choicest wine: on one plant grew history, on another geography, on a third the German language; so that one only need eat the cakes in order to know one’s lesson perfectly; and the more one ate the more one learned, and the more one understood of history, geography, or German.
At that time the young Prince believed all this; but by degrees, as he grew older and wiser, he saw very well that the glory of the Garden of Paradise must be a very different sort of thing.
“Oh, why did Eve pluck the fruit from the tree of knowledge? Why did Adam eat of what was forbidden? I ought to have been there, and then it would not have happened! Never should sin have entered into the world!”
So spoke he then; and so he spoke still, when he was seventeen years old. The Garden of Paradise occupied all his thoughts.
One day he strolled into the forest. He was alone; for to be so was his greatest pleasure.
The evening was closing in, the clouds were gathering, and it began to rain as if the whole heavens were one great floodgate from which the water was bursting. It was, too, as dark as it could be at night in the deepest well. Now he slipped on the wet grass, now he stumbled over bare stones which were scattered over the rocky ground.
He was, besides, dripping wet: the poor Prince had not a dry thread on his body. He was forced to climb over huge blocks of stone, where the water trickled down from the high moss. He was near falling from fatigue, when he heard a strange humming noise; and before him he saw a large illumined cavern. In the middle of it burned a fire, at which a buck might have been roasted whole. And it was the case too;—a very fine buck, with zig-zag antlers, was stuck on the spit, and turned slowly between two enormous pine-trees. An elderly woman, tall and strong, as though she were a man in disguise, sat by the fire, and threw in one piece of wood after another.
“Come, come nearer,” said she, seeing the Prince; “seat yourself by the fire, and dry your clothes.”
“There’s a terrible draught here,” said the Prince, and he sat down on the floor of the cave.
“That will be still worse when my sons come home,” said the woman. “You are in the Cavern of the Winds; my sons are the Four Winds of the world. Do you understand me?”
"Where are your sons?” asked the Prince.
“Stupid questions are not easily answered,” said the woman. “My sons live just as they please; they play at ball with the clouds up there,” and so saying she pointed to the sky above.
“Oh, indeed!” said the Prince, “as to yourself, you speak rather roughly, and are altogether not so gentle as the women that I generally see around me.”
“Yes; they, I suppose, have nothing else to do. I must be harsh, if I am to keep my boys in order: but I can do it, though they have stiff necks of their own! Do you see those four sacks yonder by the wall? they stand as much in awe of them as you once did of the rod on the shelf. I bang them together, let me tell you, and then off they march into the sack; we don't stand on much ceremony here,—there they sit, nor do they come out till I choose to let them. But see, here is one of them!”
With that in came the North Wind. He entered with an icy coldness; large hail-stones danced upon the ground and flakes of snow flew about him. He had on a jacket and trowsers of bear-skin; a seal-skin cap hung over his ears; long icicles were hanging at his beard, and one hailstone after the other slipped out from under his jacket-collar.
“But don’t go to the fire directly!” said the Prince. “Your face and hands might get frostbitten!”
“Frostbitten!” said the North Wind, laughing loudly; “Frostbitten! why that is just my greatest delight! But pray who are you, Mr. Spindleshanks? How came you into the Cavern of the Winds?”
“He is my guest,” said the old woman; “and if you are not satisfied with the explanation, you shall be off to the sack. So now you know my mind.”
This had the desired effect; and the North Wind sat down and related whence he came, and where he had been the whole month.
“I came from the Arctic Ocean: I have been on Bear Island,” said he, with the Russian whale-fishers. I sat and slept at the helm as they sailed past the North Cape. When I now and then awoke up a little, the stormy-petrel flew about my legs; it is a strange bird! he gives a quick stroke with his wings, and then keeps them stretched out immoveably, and needs no further exertion.”
“Do not make your story so long,” said the Mother of the Winds. “And so you came to Bear Island?”
“’Tis splendid there! The ground is like a floor just fit for dancing, as flat as a board! Half-thawed snow and moss, sharp stones, and the skeletons of whales and polar bears lay about, and they looked exactly like the legs and arms of giants covered over with a mouldy green. One would think the sun never shone upon them. I blew aside the mist a little, that I might see the hut. That was a fine house! It was built of the remains of a wreck, and covered with the skin of a whale; the fleshy side outwards, all green and red; and on the roof there sat a live polar bear, and growled. I went along the shore, looked into the birds’ nests, and saw the callow young ones screaming and chirping with open mouths; so I blew into their throats by thousands, and then they learned to shut their mouths. Beneath me the walruses tumbled about, looking like gigantic worms with heads of swine and tusks an ell long.’
“You tell your story well, my son,” exclaimed the mother; “it makes one freeze to listen to you.”
“Now, then, the fishing began; the harpoon was thrust into the breast of the walrus, and the reeking stream of blood spouted like a fountain over the ice. Then I thought of my part of the sport. I gave a blast, and made my ships, the stupendous icebergs, hem in the boats. Ha, ha! how the crew all whistled and shouted, but I whistled louder! The pieces of the dead whales, chests, and tackle—all were obliged to be unpacked upon the ice. I shook snow-flakes about them, and sent them and their boat, locked up in the ice, drifting to the southward, to get a taste of salt-water. They won’t make their appearance at Bear Island again!”
“You have been doing mischief, then!” said the Mother of the Winds.
“The good I have done others may relate,” said he; “but here comes my brother from the West; I love him best of all—he smells so of the sea, and he has such a healthy cold about him.”
“Is that delicate little Zephyr?” asked the Prince.
“Yes, to be sure it is,” said the old woman; “but he is no longer so very delicate either. Once upon a time he was a nice, mild little fellow, but that’s all over now.”
The West Wind looked like a wild man, but on his head he had a sort of padded covering, to save him from hurt. In his hand he held a club of mahogany, hewn in the American forests. Nothing less than this would have done.
“Where do you come from?” inquired his old mother.
“From the forest wilderness,” said he, “where the thorny lianas form a hedge between every tree, where the water-snakes lie in the wet grass, and where man seems to be useless.”
“What did you do there?”
“I looked into the deep river, saw how it rolled from the rocks, and dashed into spray, flew up towards the clouds, and gave form to the rainbow. I saw a buffalo swimming in the stream, but the current bore him down: he drifted onwards with a flock of wild-fowls; they flew away when the water swept over the precipice, but the buffalo was forced to plunge over with it. That pleased me, and I blew such a hurricane that the primeval trees were hurled cracking to the earth, and were crashed to atoms.”
“And have you done nothing else?” asked the old woman.
“I have tumbled head over heels in the Savannahs, I have chased the wild horses, and rattled down the cocoa-nuts. Yes, yes; I have enough to tell about. But one must not tell all one knows; that you know very well, old mammy.” And so saying, he kissed his mother to such a degree that she nearly tumbled down. He was a wild fellow, that West Wind!
Now came in the South Wind; he had a turban on his head and a flying Bedouin mantle.
“It’s cold enough here,” said he, throwing wood upon the fire; “one can very well feel that the North Wind was here before me.”
“It’s so hot here that one might roast a polar bear,” said the North Wind.
“You are a polar bear yourself,” said the South Wind.
“Do you want to be put in the sack?” asked the old woman. “Sit down there on the stone, and tell where you have been, and what you have done.”
“In Africa, mother,” answered he. “I have been lion-hunting with the Hottentots in the land of the Caffres. What fine grass grows there in the plains, as green as the olive! There frisked the gnu, and the ostrich ran races with me; but I am swifter than he. I came to the desert, to the yellow sand: it looks like the bottom of the sea. I met a caravan; they killed their last camel to get water to drink, but they did not get much. From above they were scorched by the sun, from below they were burned by the sand. The vast desert was endless. There I rolled myself in the fine loose sand, and in great pillars whirled it up into the air. Oh, it was a glorious dance! You should have seen how stupified the dromedary stood, and how the merchant drew his caften over his head! He threw himself down before me, as before Allah, his God. Now they are all buried, but a pyramid of sand stands above them. When some day or other I blow it away, the sun will bleach the white bones, and travellers may see that men have been there before them. But for this no one would believe it in the desert.”
“So, then, you have done nothing but evil,” said his mother. “March! to the sack!” And before he was aware of it, she had seized hold of the South Wind by the body, and—into the sack with him. The bag with him in it kicked and rolled about the floor; but she seized it, held it fast and sat down on it, and then he was forced to lie still.
“They are desperately wild fellows, these sons of yours!” said the Prince.
“Yes, indeed they are,” answered she; but they must obey for all that. Ha! here we have the fourth.”
This was the East Wind, who was dressed like a Chinese.
“What! are you come from that corner of the world?” said his mother. “I thought you had been to the Garden of Paradise?”
“I am going there to-morrow," said the East Wind; "to-morrow it will be a hundred years since I was there. I come from China now, where I danced round the porcelain tower till I set all the bells a-tinkling. Below in the street the officers of state got such a beating that the bamboo-canes split across their shoulders; and these were personages from the first to the ninth degree. They called out, ‘Thanks, thanks, paternal benefactor!’ but they didn't mean it; and I tinkled the bells all the while, and sang, ‘Tsing, tsang, tsu!’”
“You are a harum-scarum youth,” said the old woman. “It is a good thing you are going to the Garden of Paradise to- morrow; your education requires it, and your visit there always contributes to your improvement. Do but drink deep of the fountain of wisdom, and bring a little bottleful for me.”
“I will,” said the East Wind; “but why have you put my brother from the south into the sack? Let him out; he must tell me about the phœnix; about this bird the Princess in the Garden of Paradise wants always to hear something, when I go to pay my visit every hundred years. Open the sack; you are my own sweet dear little mother; and I'll give you two pocketsful of tea, quite fresh and green, just as I picked it myself on the spot.”
“Well, then, for the sake of the tea, and because, after all, you are my darling, I’ll open the sack.”
And she did so, and the South Wind crept out; but he looked very crest-fallen, because the Prince, who was a stranger, had seen the whole affair.
“Here is a palm-leaf for the Princess,” said the South Wind; “it was given me by the old phœnix-bird—the only one that was in the whole world. On it he has scribbled with his bill his whole history during the hundred years that he lived; so now she can read it herself. I saw how the phœnix set fire to his own nest, seated himself on it, and was burnt like the Hindoo widow. How the green boughs crackled, and what a smoke and fragrance from the burning nest! At length all was in flames; the old bird was turned to ashes, but his egg lay red and glowing in the fire. It burst with a loud noise, and the young phenix flew out. He is now lord over all the birds, and the only phœnix in the world. He has bitten a hole in that leaf I have given you; that is his greeting to the Princess.”
“Let us now take something to refresh ourselves,” said the mother of the winds; and they all sat down to eat of the roasted buck; and the Prince took a place next to the East Wind, and for that reason they very soon became very good friends.
“I say,” began the Prince, “just tell me what Princess that is of whom you have talked so much? and where does the Garden of Paradise lie?”
“Ho, Ho!” said the East Wind; “will you go there? If you will, set off to-morrow with me; but this much must I tell you, no human being was ever there since Adam and Eve’s time. You know them, of course, from the Bible history?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said the Prince.
“When they were driven away, the Garden of Paradise sank into the earth; but it retained its warm sunshine, its genial air, and all its glory. The Queen of the Fairies lives there; there lies the Island of Bliss, which Death can never reach, and where life is so very beautiful. Seat yourself to-morrow on my back, and I will take you with me; I think we shall be able to manage it. But now hold your tongue, for I want to go to rest.”
And now they all fell asleep.
Early in the morning the Prince awoke, and was not a little astonished to see that he was already far above the clouds. He was sitting on the back of the East Wind, who carefully held him fast; they were so high in the air that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, looked like a large colored map, stretched out below.
“Good morning,” said the East Wind; “you may, if you like, sleep a little longer; for as yet there is not much to be seen on the flat land beneath us, unless you would like to count the churches, which stand like little white dots down there on the green board.” They were the fields and meadows which he called a green board.
“It was unpolite of me to depart without taking leave of your mother and brothers,” said the Prince.
“If one sleeps, it is excusable,” answered the East Wind; and now they flew on still more quickly. One could hear it by the tops of the trees; when they passed over them, all the leaves and the branches rustled: one could hear it on the sea, and on the lakes; for wherever they flew, the waves rose higher, and the tall ships bent low down to the water like swans.
Towards evening, as it was getting dark, the great cities appeared very strange. Lights were burning below, now here, now there; and it looked exactly as if one had burned a piece of paper, and shaken the sparks in all directions; and then to see them vanish one after another, till at last, as children say, out goes the sexton and his family.
The Prince clapped his hands; but the East Wind begged him to be quiet, and to hold fast; otherwise it was not unlikely he might fall down, and be left hanging to some church-steeple.
The eagle in the dark forests flew quickly enough; but the East Wind flew more quickly. The Cossack on his little horse rode at full speed over the steppes; but the Prince rode along more rapidly in a very different manner.
“Now you can see the Himalaya,” said the East Wind, “they are the highest mountains in Asia: we shall soon be at the Garden of Paradise.”
They afterwards turned more to the south; and the fragrance of spices and flowers soon floated through the air. Figs and pomegranates grew wild, and red and white grapes hung in profusion on the wild vine. Here they both descended, and lay in the soft grass, where the flowers nodded to the wind, as though they would say, “Welcome, welcome!”
“Are we now in the Garden of Paradise?” asked the Prince.
“No, not yet,” said the East Wind; “but we shall soon be there. Do you see yon wall of rock, and the great cavern, where the tendrils of the vine-leaves hang like rich green curtains? There we must pass. Wrap yourself up in your cloak: here the sun is burning; but a step further and it is icy cold. The bird that flies before the cavern has one wing out here in the warm summer, and the other within in the cold winter.”
“And that is the way to the Garden of Paradise?” asked the Prince.
So now they entered the cavern: oh, how icy cold it was! but it did not last long. The East Wind spread out his wings, and they shone like a glowing fire. But what a cavern! The huge blocks of stone, from which the water trickled, hung over them in the most extraordinary shapes. Sometimes the passage was so narrow that they were obliged to creep along on hands and feet; and again it was as broad and high as under the open heaven. It looked like a subterranean chapel, with silent organ-pipes and petrified organ.
“Suely we are going by the path of Death into the Garden of Paradise, are we not?” said the Prince. But the East Wind answered not a word: he only pointed forwards, where the loveliest blue light gleamed towards them. The blocks of stone above their heads became more and more like a vapor, and at last were as clear as a white cloud in the moonlight. They were now in the mildest air, as refreshing as on the mountains, and as fragrant as among the roses of the valley.
Here flowed a river as transparent as the air itself; and the fish that were in it were of silver and gold; purple-colored eels, that at every turn sent forth a shower of blue sparks, sported in the water; and the broad leaves of the water-lily displayed every color of the rainbow—the flower itself was a pale-yellow burning flame, which was sustained by the water, as the lamp is fed by the oil. A firm bridge of marble, but so fine and so curiously wrought as though it were made of glass beads and lace, led over the water to the Island of Bliss, where bloomed the Garden of Paradise.
The East Wind took the Prince in his arms and carried him across. Then the leaves and the flowers sang the most beauti- ful songs about his childhood; but in such sweet and swelling tones, that no human voice could imitate them.
Whether they were palms or gigantic water-plants that grew here, the Prince knew not; but such great luxurious trees he had never before seen; and there in long garlands were hanging from tree to tree the most curious creepers, just as one sees them in rich colors and gold on the margin of old Prayer-books, or twining round the initial letters. There was the most beautiful mixture of birds, and wreaths, and flowers. Close by in the grass, stood a flock of peacocks, with their radiant tails outspread. Yes, indeed it was so—but no, when the Prince touched them, he found that they were not birds, but plants. They were large burs, which here shone like the magnificent tail of the peacock. Lions and tigers leaped like playful cats between the green hedges, that smelt as sweetly as the blossom of the olive; and the lions and the tigers were tame. The timid wood-dove, her plumage shining like the fairest pearl, fanned the lion’s mane with her wings; and the antelope, usually so shy, stood and nodded its head, as though it would like to play with the rest.
Now came the Fairy of Paradise. Her clothes shone like the sun; and her countenance was as mild as that of a happy mother when she rejoices over her child. She was young and beautiful; and following her were the loveliest maidens, each one with a gleaming star in her hair.
The East Wind gave her the leaf with the writing from the phœnix, and her eyes beamed with joy. She took the Prince by the hand, and led him into her palace, where the walls were colored like the leaf of the most beautiful tulip when held up to the sun. The ceiling was a single shining flower; and the more one looked into the calix, the deeper it seemed. The Prince advanced to the window, and looked through one of the panes: he saw there the Tree of Knowledge, with the Serpent; and Adam and Eve standing close beside it.
“Were they not driven away?” asked he. And the Fairy smiled, and explained to him that on every pane of glass Time had burnt its image; but it was not such a picture as one generally sees: no, there was life in it; the leaves of the trees moved, and human beings went and came as in a mirror. And he looked through another pane; there was Jacob’s dream. The ladder went straight up into heaven, and the angels with their broad wings ascended and descended upon it. Yea, all that had happened in this world lived and moved on the window-panes; but such beautiful glass-painting as this could only be produced by Time.
The Fairy smiled, and led the Prince into a high, and spacious hall, whose walls seemed transparent, and were covered with paintings: there were thousands of happy beings, whose faces were radiant with beauty, and who laughed and sang so that their voices formed a wondrous harmony. The highest were so very small; smaller than the least rose-bud, when it is drawn like a mere dot upon the paper.
In the midst of the hall stood a large tree, with luxuriant pendent branches; and golden apples, large and small, hung like oranges between the green leaves. This was the Tree of Knowledge, of whose fruit Adam and Eve had eaten. From every leaf a red gleaming dew-drop was falling: it was as if the tree shed tears of blood.
“Now let us get into the boat,” said the Fairy; “we will refresh ourselves on the heaving water. The boat rocks on the swelling waves, yet it moves not from the spot; but all the countries of the earth will glide by before our eyes.”
And it was wonderful to behold how the whole coast moved. There came the lofty snow-covered Alps, with clouds and dark pines: the deep melancholy sound of the horn was heard; and herdsmen shouted merrily from the valley below.
Now the long drooping branches of the Bananas hung down into the boat, jet black swans swam on the water, and the strangest looking animals and flowers were to be seen on the banks. This was New Holland, and the fifth quarter of the Globe, that glided by with a view of the Blue Mountains. And now came the songs of the priests, and they saw the wild inhabitants dance to the sound of the drum and of the bone tuba. Egypt’s pyramids climbing to the clouds, overthrown columns, and sphynxes, half buried in sand, sailed by. The aurora borealis burned over the mountains of the north: that was a firework that no mortal could imitate. The Prince was so happy, and he saw a hundred times more than is related here!
“And may I always stay here?” asked he.
“That depends on yourself,” answered the Fairy. “If you do not allow yourself to be seduced, like Adam, to do that which is forbidden, you may stay here for ever.”
“I will not touch the apple of the Tree of Knowledge,” said the Prince. “Here are a thousand fruits as beautiful as that one. I should never do as Adam did!”
“Examine yourself, and if you are not strong enough, then go with the East Wind that brought you: he is about to fly back, and will not come again for a hundred years. To you the time here will pass away as though it were a hundred hours; but it is a long time for temptation and sin. Every evening, when I leave you, I must call, ‘Come with me!’ I must beckon to you with my hand—but do not attend. Do not follow me; for with every step temptation will increase. Should you come into the hall where the Tree of Knowledge stands, under whose fragrant boughs I sleep, and bend over me, and press a kiss on my mouth, then will Paradise sink into the earth, and be lost to you. The chill winds of the desert will whistle around you, the cold rain trickle from your hair, and want and sorrow will be your portion.
“I will remain,” said the Prince; and the East Wind kissed him on the forehead, and said, “Be firm, and we shall meet again here in a hundred years! Farewell, farewell!”
And the East Wind spread out his large wings: they shone like lightning seen at harvest-time; or like the aurora borealis in cold winter.
“Farewell! farewell!” was re-echoed by tree and flower. The storks and the pelicans flew in long rows like fluttering streamers as they accompanied him to the boundary of the garden.
“Now we begin our dances!” said the Fairy. “At the conclusion, when I have danced with you, you will see how, as the sinking sun departs, I shall beckon to you. You will hear me call, ‘Come, oh come with me!’ but do not follow me. That is your temptation—that is sin to you. For a hundred years must I repeat the call to you every evening. With each evening that you resist the temptation will your moral strength increase, till at last you will not give it a thought. This evening will be the first trial—remember I have given you warning!”
And the Fairy led him to a large hall of white transparent lilies; and the yellow stamina of the lilies were little golden harps, which gave forth a music as of stringed instruments and flutes.
Lovely maidens, light and slender, danced gracefully around him, and sang of life and its delights; and the burden of their song was, that death should never approach those who were purified by trial, and that the Garden of Paradise should bloom to them for ever.
It was sunset: the whole sky was as pure gold; and in the purple light the lilies shone like the most beautiful roses. And the Prince felt a joy within his heart which he had never experienced before. He saw how the background of the hall opened, and beheld the Tree of Knowledge standing amidst dazzling brightness.
And again the sound of song was wafted towards him, mild and gentle as his mother’s voice; and he seemed to hear her sing, “My child, my dear, dear child!”
Then the Fairy beckoned with tenderness, and cried, “Come, oh come with me!”
He rushed towards her; forgot his vow, forgot it even on the very first evening; and again she beckoned and smiled.
The air, the spicy air around grew still more balmy; and the harps sounded more deliciously; and it seemed as if the millions of laughing faces in the hall, where the tree grew, nodded and said, “One should know all! Man is Lord of the Earth.” And it was no longer tears of blood that dropped from the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge, but red, shining stars; such, at least, did they seem to him.
“Come, oh come with me!” sounded with trembling tones; and at every step the cheeks of the Prince burned more ardently, and more quickly flowed his blood.
“I must,” said he; “it surely is no sin; cannot possibly be a sin! Why not pursue what is beautiful and joyous? I will see her while she sleeps. In doing that I shall have lost nothing: but if I were to kiss her,—but kiss her I will not—I am strong, and am resolute!”
And the Fairy threw off her shining mantle, bent aside the branches, and was hidden in a moment from his sight.
“As yet I have not sinned,” said the Prince; “nor will I;” and he pushed aside the green, depending branches of the Tree of Knowledge; she slept—as beautiful as only the Fairy of the Garden of Paradise can be. She smiled in her dream; he bent over her, and saw tears beneath her eyelashes.
“Dost thou weep for me?” he murmured: “oh, weep not, beautiful maiden!—Now, for the first time, do I comprehend the joy of Paradise! I feel it in every vein: every thought is possessed by it. I feel the cherub’s strength, and everlasting life in my mortal body; let darkness enwrap me for ever—one moment like this is enough!” And he kissed the tears from her eyes; his lips touched hers—a frightful clap of thunder was heard, so loud and terrible that none has ever heard the like. And all disappeared: the charming Fairy and the blooming Paradise sunk deep into the earth; down into dark night the Prince saw it sinking; and like a small twinkling star it shone in the far distance. An icy coldness spread over his limbs; he closed his eyes, and lay for a long while as if dead.
The cold rain fell on his face, the chill wind blew on his forehead, and at last his senses returned.
“What have I done?” said he; “I have sinned like Adam; I have sinned, and Paradise has sunk from my sight!”
He opened his eyes; the distant star, the star that twinkled like the sunken Paradise, he could see still: it was the Morning-star shining in the sky.
He rose and found himself in the great wood, near the Cave of the Winds. The Mother of the Winds sat by his side; she looked displeased, and lifted her arm on high.
“Already, the first evening!” said she; “I thought as much; yes, if you were my son, by my faith, I would punish you, you should march into the sack.”
“In he shall go; punishment will come!” said a strong old man with a scythe in his hand, and with large black wings!” He shall be laid in the coffin, but not now; I have marked him, but I will leave him yet a little while to wander on the earth, to repent his sins; he may improve, he may grow good. Some day I shall come again. When he least expects it, I shall push him into the black coffin. I shall put it on my head, and shall fly towards the stars. There, too, blooms the Garden of Paradise. If he be good and holy, he may enter its beautiful pearl gates and be a dweller in it for ever and ever: but should his head and heart be still full of sin, then he will sink with the coffin deeper than ever sank the Garden of Paradise; and every thousand years only shall I come to fetch him, that he may either sink still deeper, or dwell in the star—in that bright sparkling star there yonder!”
The Prince arose—the old woman was gone—the Cave of the Winds was nothing now but a hollow in the rock; he wondered how it had seemed so large the night before; the morning star had set, and the sun shone with a clear and cheerful light upon the little flowers and blades of grass, which were heavy with the last night’s rain; the birds sang, and the bees hummed in the blossoms of the lime tree. The Prince walked home to his castle. He told his grandmother how he had been to the Garden of Paradise, and what had happened to him there, and what the old man with the black wings had said.
“This will do you more good than many book-lessons,” said his grandmother; “never let it go out of thy memory!”
And the Prince never did forget it.
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