The device of a golden tree hung with jewels, which is common throughout the East in all fine goldsmiths’ work, and a good example of which was formerly one of the treasures of the palace of the Great Mogul at Agra,[273] was no doubt derived from the conception of a star-bearing world-tree. For it must be remembered that the ancients believed gems to be self-lustrous like the stars. Homer’s palaces emitted a radiance like moonlight, and the columns of gold and emerald seen by Herodotus at Tyre gave out light.[274]

We have no direct instance of gem-bearing trees in Greek mythology, though the golden apples of the Hesperides growing on Mount Atlas, the sky-sustaining mountain in the country beyond the north wind, had evidently some kinship to the jewelled fruit of Eastern legend.

In addition to the Norse Yggdrasil, there are other traces of the tradition of a world-tree to be met with amongst European nations. The Russians have a legend, derived from Byzantium, of an iron-tree, the root of which is the power of God, while its head sustains the three worlds, the heavenly ocean of air, the earth, and hell with its burning fire and brimstone.[275] Amongst the Saxons the idea of a world-tree seems to have persisted even to the time of Charlemagne, who in the course of his campaign against them in 772 A.D. solemnly destroyed as a heathen idol their Irmensûl or “World-pillar,” a lofty tree-trunk, which they worshipped as typifying the universal column that supports all things. Mannhardt, however, regards the Irmensûl as simply a national tree, corresponding to the community trees already mentioned, and explains Charlemagne’s act as a political rather than a religious one.[276]

In the Cathedral at Hildesheim there is an ancient stone column known as the Irmensäule (though its claim to the name is disputed), which was dug up under Louis le Débonnaire, and transformed into a candelabrum surmounted by an image of the Virgin,[277] the conception of moral support thus taking the place of the grosser idea of a material stay.

As in Eastern legend the universe-tree was venerated as something more than a mere material supporter of the world, being sometimes the giver of wisdom and sometimes the conveyer of immortality, so in European myth it is found linked with a similar beneficence. In the legends of the Finns its branches are represented as conferring “eternal welfare,” and “the delight that never ceases.” The Kalevala, which dates back to an unknown antiquity, relates how the last of created trees, the oak, sprang from the magic acorn planted by the hero Wainamoinen in the ashes of burnt hay which had been mown by the water-maidens:—

At the prayer of Wainamoinen, appalled by the monstrous growth, his mother, the wind-spirit, sends a tiny water-creature, who, soon turning into a giant, with a mighty swing of his hatchet strikes the tree. With the second stroke he cuts it, and with the third fire springs from its huge bulk and the oak yields, “shaking earth and heaven in falling.” It is not till then that its beneficent powers are made manifest:—

The corresponding legend amongst the neighbouring Esthonians, as told in their epic, the Kalevipoeg, contains a quaint medley of the practical and the poetic. Here, too, the monstrous oak is felled by a giant who grows from a dwarf; in falling it covers the sea with its branches and is quickly turned to use by the people. From the trunk is fashioned a bridge with two arms, one stretching to Finland, the other to an adjoining island. Ships are built from the crown, and towns from the roots, and toy-boats from the chips. What is left over is used to build shelters for old men, widows, and orphans, and the last remainder to provide a hut for the minstrel. Therewith he gains “the master-magic,” for the strangers who cross the bridge now and again, and stop at his door to ask what city and what splendid palace stand before them, receive for answer that the palace is his poor hut, and all the splendour around is the light of his songs reflected from heaven.[279]

To return again to the East, it has already been mentioned that in a tradition common both to the Persians and the Hindus, and therefore presumably of considerable antiquity, the cosmic tree produced the food whereby the gods preserved their immortality. The universe-tree had become a tree of life. This conception of a mystical life-giving tree was associated with the ritual use of an earthly counterpart of the immortalising drink.

According to the Persian tradition the haoma-tree grew beside the tree of all seeds in a lake, where it was guarded by two fish against the attacks of the lizard sent by Ahriman to destroy the sacred sap wherewith the gods were nourished. It was the first of all trees planted by Ormuzd in the fountain of life, and was identified with the god Haoma, who gave strength and health to the body, and to the soul enlightenment and eternal life. This god was regarded as assimilated to the earthly haoma, and as present in it. It is related in the sacred writings that he appeared one day to Zoroaster as he was tending the holy fire, and thus addressed him: “I am the divine Haoma, who keeps death at bay. Call upon me, express my juice that ye may enjoy me; worship me with songs of praise.” Zoroaster replied, “Honour to Haoma. He is good, well, and truly born, the giver of welfare and health, victorious and of golden hue; his branches bow down that one may enjoy them. To the soul he is the way to heaven. In the beginning Ormuzd gave to Haoma the girdle glittering with stars, wherewith he girded himself upon the tops of the mountains.”[280]

The juice of the terrestrial haoma was obtained from the plant by the use of pestle and mortar, and was taken whenever prayer was offered. Every house in Persia had its haoma-plant and its sacred pestle and mortar, which had to be protected from pollution as carefully as the holy fire and the sacred myrtle-twigs. The preparation of the haoma-drink had its special liturgy, and in dedicating it the cup was held aloft, not placed on the ground, lest it should be polluted by the breath of the worshipper or other impurity.[281] The Semnion or Theombrotion which, according to Pliny, was taken by the Persian kings to keep off bodily decay and to produce constancy of mind, was probably identical with the haoma-drink.[282]

The Parsees of Bombay still continue the ritual use of the haoma-juice, deriving it from a plant with a knotted stem and leaves like those of the jasmine, supplies of which are specially obtained from Kirman in Persia. They refuse to admit the identity of the Vedic soma with their own sacred plant, which they assert is never found in India.[283]

This fact, if true, would account for the confusion which appears to exist as to the exact nature of the plant from which the Vedic soma or amrita was derived, and indeed it is very probable that in their migrations southward the Hindus made use successively of different plants. But there can be little doubt that the soma ritual and the conceptions associated with it were originally derived from the same source as that of the haoma, and date back to a period before the Aryan races had become separated. Like the haoma, the soma is not only a plant but also a powerful deity, and in both the Vedas and the Zendavesta “the conceptions of the god and the sacred juice blend wonderfully with each other.”[284]

According to Professor Roth, the plant which is the source of the intoxicating drink offered to the gods in Hindu sacrifices is the Sarcostemma acidum or Asclepias acida, a leafless herb containing a milky juice, but it is doubtful whether it is identical with the Vedic soma plant.[285] Dr. Haug states distinctly that the plant at present used by the sacrificial priests of the Deccan is not the soma of the Vedas. It grows on the hills near Poona; its sap, which is whitish, is bitter and astringent, but not sour; it is a very nasty drink, but has some intoxicating effect. De Gubernatis concludes that as the earthly drink was merely a symbol of the heavenly soma, its source and character were not material. It is not necessary that the drink which the worshipper pretends to drink or to offer to Indra at the sacrifice should be really intoxicating. The object of the rite is to induce Indra in heaven to drink the water of strength, the true soma, the real ambrosia, sometimes conceived as hidden in the clouds, sometimes as dwelling in the soft light poured forth by the great Soma, Indu, the moon,—the tree whose stem, long, dark, and leafless, resembles that of the earthly plant from which the drink is ordered to be prepared. The ritual resolves itself, according to De Gubernatis, into a sun-charm. Soma, the moon, the god of plants, the lord of the dark forest of night or winter, is the good genius who furnishes the miraculous drink wherewith Indra, the solar hero, recruits his forces. It is under its influence, say the Vedas, that Indra performs his great deeds. Soma does really intoxicate the gods in heaven, incessantly renewing the triumph of light over its enemies. The sacrifice of the soma on earth is only a pale, naïve, and grotesque reproduction of that divine miracle.[286]

According to the Vedas, however, the soma-drink, which Windischman describes as “the holiest offering of the ancient Indian worship,” had a genuinely intoxicating effect. It is described as “stimulating speech,” “calling forth the ardent thought,” “generating hymns with the powers of a poet”; and is invoked as “bestower of good, master of a thousand songs, the leader of sages.” A hymn in the Rig-Veda has been thus translated:—

In the Hindu worship the fermented juice of the soma-plant was presented in ladles to the deities invoked, part sprinkled on the sacrificial fire, part on the sacred grass strewed upon the floor, and the remainder invariably drunk by those who conducted the ceremony.[288] In early times, says Windischman, its use was looked upon as a holy action, and as a sacrament by which the union with Brahma was obtained.

The ambrosia of the Olympian gods, like the word itself, was no doubt in its essence identical with the Vedic amrita or soma. It contained the principle of immortality, and was hence withheld from mortals. But the word was also applied, like the soma, to a mixture of various fruits used in religious rites.[289] A still closer analogy, however, with the Hindu and Persian conception is to be found in the cult of Dionysus, who was regarded as present in the wine, which was his gift to man. “He, born a god,” says Euripides, “is poured out in libations to the gods.”[290] And again, “This god is a prophet. For when he forces his way into the body, he makes those who rave to foretell the future.”[291] The fact that Dionysus was essentially a tree-god, “the spiritual form of the vine,”[292] renders the analogy still more striking.

To discuss the genesis of the above conceptions would be to reopen the whole question of the origin of tree-worship. The drinking of vegetable juices, fermented or otherwise, was no doubt one of the means by which early races were accustomed to produce dreams and visions, and so, in their view, to get themselves possessed by or put into communication with a spirit. It was natural, therefore, for them to assume that the spirit in question had entered into them with the drug, and was therefore present in it and in the plant from which it was derived. Mr. Herbert Spencer, indeed, argues that this particular assumption was one of the chief factors in the origin of plant-worship in general, a main reason why plants yielding intoxicating agents, and hence other plants, came to be regarded as containing supernatural beings.[293] It would probably, however, be safer to conclude that the sacramental use of the juice of plants is merely one amongst many cognate religious usages, and like the ritual employment of wreaths in the service of the gods, the attachment of branches to the house, and the smiting with the “life-rood,” sprang out of the desire of men to bring nearer to themselves a spirit already believed to exist, and thus to ensure their enjoyment of the protection and the benefits presumed to be at his disposal.

CHAPTER VII
PARADISE

No account of tree-worship would be complete without a chapter on that tradition of a paradise or ideal garden of delight which is met with in the mythology of almost all the nations of antiquity. The form of the tradition varies. Paradise was sometimes represented (1) as the seat of the gods; sometimes (2) as the first home of the parents of mankind; and in other cases as (3) the abode of the spirits of the blessed. Occasionally the different conceptions are combined; but the earlier traditions all concur in connecting paradise with a miraculous tree or trees, or with a more or less legendary mountain, from which it may be plausibly inferred that they date back to the days of that primitive cosmogony when the heavens were supposed to be upheld by a material support. Thus in one, at least, of its aspects the tradition of paradise must be regarded as an offshoot of the sacred tree.

It is not difficult to understand how the various conceptions arose. In the first place, as the idea of a life or spirit more or less bound to the tree became expanded into that of a powerful and wide-ranging god, the idealising process demanded for him some home in heaven corresponding to the tree which was his favourite habitat or embodiment on earth. The sacred god-haunted tree, to which worship and gifts were accorded below, suggested a mystical counterpart above, and the proper home of deity was assumed to be that marvellous tree whose branches were the sky and its fruit the sun and stars, or that lofty mountain whose summit touched and supported the heavens.

In the second place, the belief, common in primitive mythology, that the first parents were born from trees, presumably led to the idea that these honoured ancestors, whose innocence was a part of their idealisation, lived amongst trees and in a garden equally idealised.

The third conception of paradise naturally grew out of the earlier conceptions, when there arose the belief in a future life of reward or punishment; though it has been pointed out that the conception of heaven under the form of a garden prevailed, par excellence, amongst settled nations, living under kings of whose state a luxurious garden or pleasaunce formed an essential part.[294]

Of paradise regarded as the abode of the gods, the Indian tradition of the garden of Indra furnishes the best example. It was situated on Mount Meru, on the confines of Cashmere, and contained the five wonderful trees which sprang from the waters, after the churning of the cosmic ocean by the gods and the demons. Under these trees the gods took their ease, enjoying the ambrosia that fell from them. The garden, watered by springs and rivulets, contained luminous flowers, fruits that conferred immortality, and birds whose song even the gods loved to hear. The chief of its five miraculous trees was the paridjata, the flower of which preserved its freshness throughout the year, contained in itself every scent and flavour, and gave happiness to whoever demanded it. It was, moreover, a test of virtue, losing its splendour in the hands of the sinful, and preserving it for him who followed duty. Each person found in it his favourite colour and perfume. It served as a torch by night, was a talisman against hunger, thirst, disease, and decrepitude, and discoursed the sweetest and most varied music.[295] De Gubernatis quotes several other instances from Indian literature of a legendary celestial garden.[296]

Of paradise, as the home of the first parents, the Pentateuch gives the most circumstantial account, though it would appear from Genesis iii. 8 that the Biblical paradise was also regarded as a favourite resort of Jehovah. The sacred books of the Parsis contain a very similar version. The original human pair, Maschia and Maschiâna, sprang from a tree in Heden, a delightful spot where grew hom or haoma, the marvellous tree of life, whose fruit imparted vigour and immortality. The woman, at the instance of Ahriman, the spirit of evil in the guise of a serpent, gave her husband fruit to eat and so led to their ruin.[297] The tradition is no doubt of very ancient origin, and is supposed to be represented on an early Babylonian seal now in the British Museum. The tree stands in the middle, from either side two human beings seated stretch forth their hands for its fruit; the serpent stands erect behind one of them.[298] On another cylinder in the Museum at the Hague there is represented a garden with trees and birds; in the middle a palm, from which two personages are plucking the fruit; a third with a fruit in his hand seems to address them.[299]

The two mystical trees of the Biblical paradise find their common counterpart in the sacred cedar of the Chaldaeans, which, besides being essentially a tree of life, employed in magic rites to restore strength and life to the body, was also “the revealer of the oracles of earth and heaven.” Upon its core the name of Ea, the god of wisdom, was supposed to be written,[300] just as the name of Ormuzd was first disclosed to man by appearing carved in the wood of his sacred cypress. The tree of life also finds a parallel in the divine soma, the giver of eternal youth and immortality, a drink reserved only for the celestial gods or the souls of the blessed.

The third conception of paradise, as the dwelling-place of the righteous dead, is met with in the earliest Greek literature,[301] but there is no definite trace of it amongst the Semitic nations until much later. It did not, apparently, find recognition amongst the Jews until after the exile, but references to it are frequent in their later apocalyptic literature.[302] In the second book of Esdras, the Lord tells His people that He will bring them out of the tombs, and that He has sanctified and prepared for them “twelve trees, laden with divers fruits, and as many fountains flowing with milk and honey, and seven mighty mountains, whereupon there grow roses and lilies.”[303] “They shall have the tree of life for an ointment of sweet savour; they shall neither labour nor be weary.”[304]

In the Rabbinical writings, and still more in the Koran, this conception of paradise is embroidered with many fanciful extravagances. The Talmud even invents two paradises. “There is an upper paradise and a lower paradise. And between them is fixed a pillar, by which they are joined together, and which is called ‘The strength of the Hill of Sion.’ And by this pillar on every Sabbath and festival the souls of the righteous ascend from the lower to the upper paradise, and there enjoy the light of the Divine Majesty till the end of the Sabbath or festival, when they descend and return into the lower paradise.”[305]

This pillar is no doubt a survival of the old tradition of the world-tree, a tradition still more obviously traceable in the Mahometan belief. According to the Koran paradise is situated in the seventh heaven. In the centre of it stands the marvellous tree called Tooba, which is so large that a man mounted on the fleetest horse could not ride round its branches in a hundred years. This tree not only affords the most grateful shade over the whole extent of the Mussulman paradise, but its boughs, laden with delicious fruits of a size and taste unknown to mortals, bend themselves to be plucked at the wish of the happy denizens of that blissful abode. The rivers of paradise take their rise from the tree, flowing some with water, some with milk, and some with honey; while others are filled with wine, the use of which is not forbidden to the blessed.[306]

The confusion of thought apparent in these ancient traditions of paradise was no doubt partly due to the fact that primitive man, with his limited grasp of the possibilities of space, pictured heaven as not far distant from him. It was a happier and a brighter earth, which offered material rather than spiritual joys, and where, according to the earliest conceptions, the spirits of the departed carried on the same pursuits, reaped and sowed and hunted, as they had done while in life. Thus the old Accadian dwellers by the Euphrates pictured the sky as the counterpart of their own fertile plains, and the sun as a ploughman yoking his oxen to the glittering plough, with which he tilled the heavenly pasture.[307] The same idea is exemplified in the names of the zodiacal constellations, which are of extremely ancient origin, the sign we still know as Taurus being called by the Accadians “the bull who guides the year.” So near was heaven that it was not impossible to climb up to it, if you could but find the cosmic tree by which it was upheld. The Khasias of India have a legend that the stars are men who have climbed into heaven by a tree.[308] The Mbocobis of Paraguay still believe that the souls of the dead go up “to the earth on high” by the tree which joins us to heaven, and find an entrance by means of the holes in the sky-roof through which the rain descends.[309] There is a Chinese story of a king, who having heard of the glories of paradise, set forth in search of it. After long wanderings he came to a mighty column, which, he had been told, must be climbed in order to reach the wished-for goal. But it was too slippery, and he was compelled to fall back upon the alternative route, a steep and rugged mountain path. When almost fainting with fatigue he was assisted by some friendly nymphs, and at length arrived at a beautiful garden, with a wondrous tree in its midst, and a fountain of immortality, from which four rivers, flowing to the four corners of the earth, took their rise.[310]

The same notion of the similarity and propinquity of the heavenly field is illustrated by the story of the Etruscan priest, who by his charms brought down to earth a bit of heaven whereon to build his temple. The Mahometans assert that the Caaba was lowered directly from the celestial paradise exactly at the centre of the earth. And the Bedouins of Arabia still believe that the jinni, living near the lowest heaven, can hear the conversation of the angels, and so gain valuable information which they are able to impart to men.[311]

Homer placed the seat of the gods and the court of Zeus upon the summit of Olympus,[312] which was supposed to touch heaven, and piercing through the region of rain and cloud to reach into the calm ether, where reigned eternal spring. By later writers, however, Olympus was represented as an unsubstantial region overhead, with the palace of Zeus in its midst. The earlier view of Olympus exactly corresponds with the Chaldaean “mount of the world,” the mountain of Arallu or Hades, where the gods had their seat, and beneath which was the world of ghosts;[313] also with the Mount of the Assembly spoken of by Isaiah, and with the Scandinavian Asgard. But there is a clearer reminiscence of the elevated paradise of Oriental legend in the beautiful gardens of the world-supporting Atlas, with their delicious fruits, their golden apples, and their protecting dragon. The third conception of paradise, as the abode of the blessed, is also met with in Greek mythology in the Elysian fields, or islands of the blessed, also placed by some authorities in the neighbourhood of Mount Atlas. Here the souls of the virtuous enjoyed perfect happiness, in bowers for ever green, and amongst meadows watered by pleasant streams and bestarred with asphodel. The air was pure and serene, the birds warbled in the groves, and the inhabitants carried on such avocations as they had delighted in when on earth. Later writers, however, substituted for these innocent pleasures the voluptuous indulgences of the Mahometan paradise.

It was, no doubt, the ancient tradition of an elevated paradise, of a paradise seated on the summit of a heaven-touching world-mountain, which influenced Milton in his celebrated description, for there is nothing in the Biblical account to suggest the excessive altitude that he so deliberately accentuates. Paradise, according to the poet—

As man’s conceptions of God have widened with a more extended knowledge of His universe and a fuller realisation of his own history on the earth, these older conceptions of paradise as the home of deity and the abode of the blessed have decayed, until at the present day, however much our theologians may differ in their descriptions of heaven, they agree at least in this, that whatever it is, it is not a garden. But the belief in the existence of an earthly paradise, which formed a part of the traditions of so many ancient nations, lingered on for centuries after “the Holy City” of the New Testament had displaced the Paradise of the Old.

The features of this earthly paradise are for the most part similar to those familiar to us in the Biblical description. It contained the fountain of immortality, from which sprang the four rivers that flowed to the four quarters of the earth. Purling brooks ran with the far-famed ambrosia. The dwellers therein reposed on flowery lawns, lulled by the melodious warblings of birds and feasting on delicious fruits. Whatever there was of beautiful or sublime in nature there found its more perfect counterpart. Absolute contentment and serenity and the delight that never dies were the boons it offered. There man could cease from toil, for nature, unassisted, produced all that was necessary for his sustenance. This garden of delight was often sought after but seldom found, except by semi-divine heroes divinely led. Hercules, directed by Nereus, the sea-god, succeeded in attaining the gardens of the Hesperides on the world-supporting Mount Atlas, the Pillar of Heaven, as Herodotus calls it. He conquered the protecting dragon and secured the golden sun-fruit from the central tree.[315] The Chaldaean Hercules, Gilgames, referred to in a previous chapter, found a similar tree with magic fruit upon it when he reached the gates of ocean.

This idea of an actual paradise upon earth has fascinated the mind of man in all ages, and has been one of his most cherished and persistent traditions. It was an idea that no doubt arose out of and corresponded to his lifelong craving for a perfect peace and happiness which he never found in the world he knew, and which he has at length realised to be incompatible with his own organisation. It has taken him centuries to discover that if there is no earthly paradise it is he himself and not the world that is at fault. But the tradition was slow to die, and there are probably people who still believe, as Sir John Maundeville believed in the fourteenth century, that the Garden of Eden exists somewhere upon the earth if it could only be found. This is what the famous traveller says:—

“And beyond the land, and isles, and deserts of Prester John’s lordship, in going straight towards the East, men find nothing but mountains and great rocks; and there is the dark region, where no man may see, neither by day nor night, as they of the country say. And that desert, and that place of darkness, lasts from this coast unto Terrestrial Paradise, where Adam, our first father, and Eve were put, who dwelt there but a little while, and that is towards the east, at the beginning of the earth.

“Of Paradise I cannot properly speak, for I was not there. It is far beyond; and I repent not going there, but I was not worthy. But as I have heard say of wise men beyond, I shall tell you with good-will. Terrestrial Paradise, as wise men say, is the highest place of the earth; and it is so high that it nearly touches the circle of the moon, there as the moon makes her turn. For it is so high that the flood of Noah might not come to it, that would have covered all the earth of the world all about, and above and beneath, except Paradise. And this Paradise is enclosed all about with a wall, and men know not whereof it is; for the wall is covered all over with moss, as it seems; and it seems not that the wall is natural stone. And that wall stretches from the south to the north; and it has but one entry, which is closed with burning fire, so that no man that is mortal dare enter. And in the highest place of Paradise, exactly in the middle, is a well that casts out four streams, which run by divers lands, of which the first is called Pison or Ganges, that runs through India or Emlak, in which river are many precious stones, and much lignum aloës, and much sand of gold. And the other river is called Nile or Gyson, which goes through Ethiopia, and after through Egypt. And the other is called Tigris, which runs by Assyria and by Armenia the Great. And the other is called Euphrates, which runs through Media, Armenia, and Persia. And men there beyond say that all the sweet waters of the world, above and beneath, take their beginning from the well of Paradise; and out of that well all waters come and go.”[316]

The paradise in the existence of which the great traveller so firmly believed is represented in a thirteenth-century map as a circular island lying to the east of India, and the cartographer has not forgotten to introduce even the gate from which our first parents were expelled.

A fourteenth-century Icelandic saga describes a voyage undertaken by a prince and his chosen friend in search of the Deathless Land. They first went to Constantinople to consult the Emperor, and were told that the earthly paradise was slightly to the south of India. Arrived in that country they continued the journey on horseback, and came at last to a dense forest, the gloom of which was so great through the interlacing of the boughs that even by day the stars could be seen. Emerging from it they saw, across a strait, a beautiful land, which was unmistakably paradise. The strait was crossed by a stone bridge guarded by a dragon. The prince, in no ways deterred, walked deliberately sword in hand against the dragon, and the next moment, to his infinite surprise and delight, he found himself in paradise. Here he encountered all the joys heart could desire, and exhausted with delight he fell asleep. In his dreams his guardian angel appeared to him and promised to lead him home, but to come for him again and take him away for ever at the expiration of the tenth year.[317]

Many other mediaeval stories could be quoted, in which the traveller claims to have found paradise. It was a favourite subject with the court minstrels, proving that even the envied dwellers around a throne are not less open than other men to the fascinating dream of a still more perfect happiness.

Plato’s story of the lost Atlantis, supposed to have been related to Solon when in Egypt, also belongs to the class of paradise legends. It was situated in the Atlantic, in the neighbourhood of the Pillars of Hercules. Larger than Libya and Asia together, it was the seat of a great and wonderful empire, the subjects of which, after many conquests, set out to subdue Hellas, but were defeated by the Athenians. Shortly afterwards there arose violent earthquakes and floods, and in a single day and night the island disappeared beneath the sea. All this happened 9000 years before the time of Plato.[318] According to other accounts, when the gods distributed the whole earth amongst themselves Atlantis fell to the lot of Poseidon, and the children he had by Cleito, a mortal, ruled over the surrounding country. The eldest, Atlas, gave his name to the island and to the Atlantic Ocean. This sacred land brought forth in abundance the most beautiful and delicious fruits, and magnificent buildings were constructed from the minerals and fragrant woods of the place, notably a holy temple dedicated to Poseidon and Cleito, which was protected by an enclosure of gold. A wealth of fountains and hot and cold springs supplied luxurious baths. The government was humane and just, and the people took their due share in it. So long as the divine nature lasted in them they were obedient to the laws and well affected to the gods, their kinsmen, evincing gentleness and wisdom in the various chances of life and in their intercourse with each other, and setting more value on virtue than on wealth and luxury. But in the end, as the divine part in them died away, they fell from virtue, and they and their island were submerged for ever beneath the waves.

This legend, which would appear to combine with the idea of an earthly paradise another tradition equally familiar to antiquity, that of a retributory deluge, survived into the Middle Ages, and became blended with the legends of the Celtic Church. For the Atlantic paradise is distinctly reproduced in that legendary Isle of Avalon,[319] which St. Brandan, an Irish saint of the sixth century, was said to have found in the course of a seven years’ voyage; the isle—

Columbus, in his third voyage, came upon a spot, the site of which corresponded with the description given of the earthly paradise by “holy and wise theologians.” But he hesitated to ascend thither and assure himself of the correctness of his conclusion, as no one could succeed in such an undertaking without the divine permission.[320]

The Japanese have a legend of an Island of Eternal Youth, which exists beyond the horizon in the shadowy unknown. Some fortunate observers have from time to time seen a wondrous tree rising high above the waves. It is the tree which has stood for all ages on the loftiest peak of Fusan, the Mountain of Immortality. The island has the traditional characteristics of the earthly paradise,—endless spring, airs ever sweet, unclouded skies, unfading flowers, birds that sing of love and joy, trees whose celestial dews carry with them the secret of eternity. Sorrow, pain, and death are unknown, and the elect of the gods, who people that delightful spot, fill their days with music and laughter and song, knowing nothing of the flight of time. The miracle of the spring in other lands is due to the whisper of the spirit of the island.[321]

This Japanese legend preserves the intimate connection between paradise and the cosmic tree, which is often found to have dropped out of other versions of the tradition. There can be no doubt, however, that originally the mystical tree was the essential feature of paradise, and the garden was merely its precinct or setting—one of the many conceptions which grew up around the central idea of the cosmic tree. Each nation, according to its stage of culture or its prevailing habit of thought, emphasised one feature of it. The monster tree which, according to primitive cosmogony, was believed to support the universe by material branches, became in the minds of more cultivated races the central tree of a dimly-realised paradise, and eventually the symbol of an abstract idea. The intellectual Buddhist saw in it the emblem of knowledge; the Persian thought of it as the tree of immortality; the Hebrew, filled with the idea of man’s frailty and with the longing to explain it, made it the tree of temptation.[322]

But in all these various conceptions we find a central idea, derived no doubt from an antecedent and universal tree-worship, an idea which places a tree at the root of all philosophy, refers all phenomena to the existence of a central tree, serviceable to man here or hereafter, and concentrating upon itself the reverent devotion which had outgrown its earthly counterpart.

There are many facts to prove the importance attached in ancient times to this conception of a glorified tree. Amongst the gorgeous decorations of the palaces of Eastern kings a symbolical representation of the tree of paradise was frequently found.

Sir John Maundeville describes one which he saw in the palace of the Chan of Cathay. “It is a vine made of fine gold, which spreads all about the hall, and it has many clusters of grapes, some white, some green, some yellow, some red, and some black, all of precious stones; the white are of crystal, beryl, and iris; the yellow of topazes; the red of rubies, grenaz, and alabraundines; the green of emeralds and perydoz and of chrysolites; and the black of onyx and garnets. And they are all so properly made that it appears a real vine, bearing natural grapes.”[323]

According to an Arab writer, quoted by Gibbon,[324] there existed in the magnificent palace of the Caliph of Bagdad, in 917 A.D., amongst other spectacles of rare and stupendous luxury, a tree of gold and silver, spreading into eighteen large branches, on which and on the lesser boughs sat a variety of birds made of the same precious metals. While the machinery effected spontaneous motions the several birds warbled their natural harmony. The intention was, no doubt, to represent the traditional luxuriance of paradise, and a similar motive is met with in Eastern design even in the present day.

The tradition of a king who built a false paradise, like Sheddad in Southey’s Thalaba, seems always to have been current in Western Asia. There is in the British Museum a sculpture from Koyunjik representing a palace, or may be a temple, constructed in imitation of a paradise. The artificial hill, representing the world-mountain on which it stands, is planted with trees and flowers, and watered by a stream that issues from a hanging garden.