Blessed was that moonlit night, one of the mountain nights of summer, when it occurred to me to take a stroll not far from our house in the village — there where nature, from dusk onward, surrenders itself in its calm to pleasant dreams, calling its creatures to rest after the wakefulness of their long day.
I felt in myself a strong inclination to share in nature's dreams. Have I not dreams of my own as well? I do not deny that most of them have evaporated in a chain of disappointments of bitter reality; but souls kneaded of the same clay as mine have a strange way about them: they take no lesson from disappointments, but are struck down and rise, then struck down again only to rise again, and you find them ever yearning for dreams that tickle them in certain hours of their solitude — be it only for the sake of taking comfort in them and living in them, if realities have passed them by.
I turned off the main road toward a cluster of pine trees which I had often frequented, finding beneath their shade a kindly companionship and peace, and a passing security that I drank in happily and guarded jealously, as provision for days when I would be far from it...
While I was in this state, I sensed the rustle of a silk dress, and the air grew fragrant with a perfume the like of whose sweetness I do not recall ever having smelled in my life. I turned, and behold: an enchanting maiden advancing toward me, drawing near with tenderness, and on her beautiful lips a sweet, encouraging smile — the least part of which is the smile of a mother at her son as she watches him receive his diploma. I did not wonder at her presence there, for I had, in the rapture of my dreams, fully persuaded myself that I was
on a passing visit to Paradise; and is not Paradise a free stage for her kind — so why wonder?...
What I did wonder at was that this houri should spend her time on me, when in Paradise so many of its notables stand waiting. But I soon remembered that Paradise, in this respect, is not like the earth: there only one distinction is observed — the distinction of the good Teacher who said, "Whoever would be great among you, let him be your servant" — and only one covenant, the covenant of "whoever humbles himself shall be exalted." Then too, in Paradise they make no difference between one sex and the other, nor between the chieftain and the vagabond, nor between rich and poor. My astonishment vanished as I recalled these happy, ideal arrangements; I answered the maiden's smile with a smile like it, and stepped aside to make way for her. Whereupon she said:
"No! I have reached my destination, and you are my goal." And before I could pour out a flood of questions upon her, I heard her announce:
"I am a messenger of good tidings to you. I have been empowered to grant you whatever your soul desires. Ask what you will, and it shall be carried out for you this very hour."
The earth spun about me for joy, and I do not know how long a time passed over me while I thought in my perplexity: what should I ask? My imagination at once alighted upon that famous sage to whom the very same words were spoken and who asked for wisdom — nor did the wisdom he asked for prevent him from coming before the generations with a conclusion drawn from his wisdom that gives the sons of men no encouragement, neither much nor little:
"Vanity of vanities; all is vanity!"
Everything — yes! Even wisdom! What, then, should I ask, so long as beauty and kingship, wealth and wisdom are all, in the eyes of eternity, vanity, because behind them lies the inevitable end?...
My perplexity took possession of me, and I forgot the messenger of good who was watching what passed within my frail person. Then I thought: what if I were wiser than the sage, and asked that this death be removed far from me — this death which causes "vanity of vanities, and all is vanity"? But I had scarcely said it before: what use is it for me to remain in life while those I love pass away? And would this survival profit me anything in generations to come, far from me and from my own generation and from my memory — even the unhappy part of which is dear to me? No! Immortality, too, is no wise request... What, then, shall I ask?...
The minutes flew swiftly, for time does not alter a law it laid down for itself from eternity, and the legend of stopping it is not for our age!... Then the messenger of good reminded me that she was waiting for me, that the time permitted her was about to run out, and that I must choose a wish at once.
Suddenly a happy thought struck me: since anything I asked for myself would perish one day with my own inevitable passing, what if I seized the opportunity to ask on behalf of her who does not perish with the passing of persons, nor die out with the dying of individuals, but endures as long as mountains and plains and rivers endure; endures as long as her clear, eternal sky endures; endures as long as this sun sends its warm rays upon her land, so that life springs up in her and her creatures are renewed — in a word, endures through all the ages. Yes — to ask on behalf of her whom I have loved as I have loved myself since the day I first knew myself; and I had always longed for