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the Garden of Paradise

??by Hans Christian Andersen（1838）

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 stream of blood spurted forth like a fountain， and besprinkled the ice. Then I thought of my own game； I began to blow， and set my own ships， the GREat icebergs sailing， so that they might crush the boats. Oh， how the sailors howled and cried out！ but I howled louder than they. They were obliged to unload their cargo， and throw their chests and the dead walruses on the ice. Then I sprinkled snow over them， and left them in their crushed boats to drift southward， and to taste salt water. They will never return to Bear's Island.”

“So you have done mischief，” said the mother of the Winds. ？？？“I shall leave others to tell the good I have done，” he replied. “But here comes my brother from the West； I like him best of all， for he has the smell of the sea about him， and brings in a cold， fresh air as he enters.”

“Is that the little Zephyr？” asked the prince.

“Yes， it is the little Zephyr，” said the old woman； “but he is not little now. In years gone by he was a beautiful boy； now that is all past.”

He came in， looking like a wild man， and he wore a slouched hat to protect his head from injury. In his hand he carried a club， cut from a mahogany tree in the American forests， not a trifle to carry.

“Whence do you come？” asked the mother.

“I come from the wilds of the forests， where the thorny brambles form thick hedges between the trees； where the water-snake lies in the wet grass， and mankind seem to be unknown.”

“What were you doing there？”

“I looked into the deep river， and saw it rushing down from the rocks. The water drops mounted to the clouds and glittered in the rainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river， but the strong tide carried him away amidst a flock of wild ducks， which flew into the air as the waters dashed onwards， leaving the buffalo to be hurled over the waterfall. This pleased me； so I raised a storm， which rooted up old trees， and sent them floating down the river.”

“And what else have you done？” asked the old woman.

“I have rushed wildly across the savannahs； I have stroked the wild horses， and shaken the cocoa-nuts from the trees. Yes， I have many stories to relate； but I need not tell everything I know. You know it all very well， don't you， old lady？” And he kissed his mother so roughly， that she nearly fell backwards. Oh， he was， indeed， a wild fellow.

Now in came the South Wind， with a turban and a flowing Bedouin cloak.

“How cold it is here！” said he， throwing more wood on the fire. “It is easy to feel that the North Wind has arrived here before me.”

“Why it is hot enough here to roast a bear，” said the North Wind.

“You are a bear yourself，” said the other.

“Do you want to be put in the sack， both of you？” said the old woman. “Sit down， now， on that stone， yonder， and tell me where you have been.”