The Garden of Paradise

								
There was once a king's son who had a larger and more beautiful
collection of books than any one else in the world, and full of
splendid copper-plate engravings. He could read and obtain information
respecting every people of every land; but not a word could he find to
explain the situation of the garden of paradise, and this was just
what he most wished to know. His grandmother had told him when he
was quite a little boy, just old enough to go to school, that each
flower in the garden of paradise was a sweet cake, that the pistils
were full of rich wine, that on one flower history was written, on
another geography or tables; so those who wished to learn their
lessons had only to eat some of the cakes, and the more they ate,
the more history, geography, or tables they knew. He believed it all
then; but as he grew older, and learnt more and more, he became wise
enough to understand that the splendor of the garden of paradise
must be very different to all this. "Oh, why did Eve pluck the fruit
from the tree of knowledge? why did Adam eat the forbidden fruit?"
thought the king's son: "if I had been there it would never have
happened, and there would have been no sin in the world." The garden
of paradise occupied all his thoughts till he reached his
seventeenth year.

One day he was walking alone in the wood, which was his greatest
pleasure, when evening came on. The clouds gathered, and the rain
poured down as if the sky had been a waterspout; and it was as dark as
the bottom of a well at midnight; sometimes he slipped over the smooth
grass, or fell over stones that projected out of the rocky ground.
Every thing was dripping with moisture, and the poor prince had not
a dry thread about him. He was obliged at last to climb over great
blocks of stone, with water spurting from the thick moss. He began
to feel quite faint, when he heard a most singular rushing noise,
and saw before him a large cave, from which came a blaze of light.
In the middle of the cave an immense fire was burning, and a noble
stag, with its branching horns, was placed on a spit between the
trunks of two pine-trees. It was turning slowly before the fire, and
an elderly woman, as large and strong as if she had been a man in
disguise, sat by, throwing one piece of wood after another into the
flames.

"Come in," she said to the prince; "sit down by the fire and dry
yourself."

"There is a great draught here," said the prince, as he seated
himself on the ground.

"It will be worse when my sons come home," replied the woman; "you
are now in the cavern of the Winds, and my sons are the four Winds
of heaven: can you understand that?"

"Where are your sons?" asked the prince.

"It is difficult to answer stupid questions," said the woman.
"My sons have plenty of business on hand; they are playing at
shuttlecock with the clouds up yonder in the king's hall," and she
pointed upwards.

"Oh, indeed," said the prince; "but you speak more roughly and
harshly and are not so gentle as the women I am used to."

"Yes, that is because they have nothing else to do; but I am
obliged to be harsh, to keep my boys in order, and I can do it,
although they are so head-strong. Do you see those four sacks
hanging on the wall? Well, they are just as much afraid of those
sacks, as you used to be of the rat behind the looking-glass. I can
bend the boys together, and put them in the sacks without any
resistance on their parts, I can tell you. There they stay, and dare
not attempt to come out until I allow them to do so. And here comes
one of them."

It was the North Wind who came in, bringing with him a cold,
piercing blast; large hailstones rattled on the floor, and
snowflakes were scattered around in all directions. He wore a bearskin
dress and cloak. His sealskin cap was drawn over his ears, long
icicles hung from his beard, and one hailstone after another rolled
from the collar of his jacket.

"Don't go too near the fire," said the prince, "or your hands
and face will be frost-bitten."

"Frost-bitten!" said the North Wind, with a loud laugh; "why frost
is my greatest delight. What sort of a little snip are you, and how
did you find your way to the cavern of the Winds?"

"He is my guest," said the old woman, "and if you are not
satisfied with that explanation you can go into the sack. Do you
understand me?"

That settled the matter. So the North Wind began to relate his
adventures, whence he came, and where he had been for a whole month.
"I come from the polar seas," he said; "I have been on the Bear's
Island with the Russian walrus-hunters. I sat and slept at the helm of
their ship, as they sailed away from North Cape. Sometimes when I
woke, the storm-birds would fly about my legs. They are curious birds;
they give one flap with their wings, and then on their outstretched
pinions soar far away.

"Don't make such a long story of it," said the mother of the
winds; "what sort of a place is Bear's Island?"

"A very beautiful place, with a floor for dancing as smooth and
flat as a plate. Half-melted snow, partly covered with moss, sharp
stones, and skeletons of walruses and polar-bears, lie all about,
their gigantic limbs in a state of green decay. It would seem as if
the sun never shone there. I blew gently, to clear away the mist,
and then I saw a little hut, which had been built from the wood of a
wreck, and was covered with the skins of the walrus, the fleshy side
outwards; it looked green and red, and on the roof sat a growling
bear. Then I went to the sea shore, to look after birds' nests, and
saw the unfledged nestlings opening their mouths and screaming for
food. I blew into the thousand little throats, and quickly stopped
their screaming. Farther on were the walruses with pig's heads, and
teeth a yard long, rolling about like great worms.

"You relate your adventures very well, my son," said the mother,
"it makes my mouth water to hear you.

"After that," continued the North Wind, "the hunting commenced.
The harpoon was flung into the breast of the walrus, so that a smoking

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