Myths and Folk-Tales of the Russians, Western Slavs, and Magyars
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Myths and Folk-Tales OF THE RUSSIANS, WESTERN SLAVS, AND MAGYARS
By JEREMIAH CURTIN
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1890
Copyright, 1890 By Jeremiah Curtin
University Press John Wilson and Son, Cambridge
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To FRANCIS JAMES CHILD, PH.D., LL.D.
Professor of English in Harvard University,
Cambridge, Mass.
My dear Professor Child,—
It is more than a quarter of a century since you
began for Harvard that collection of myths, folk-tales, and
ballads, in all European languages, which has grown under
your hand to such proportions that it is now, perhaps, the
most complete of its kind in either hemisphere.
This work was begun by you through a clear perception
of what was needed for laborers in a most important field
of inquiry, and achieved by tireless and patient care in
seeking and finding.
Your labors as a scholar are honored abroad as at
home, and your work on English and Scottish ballads
will endure as a monument of skill and devotion.
During your career as Professor you have been true
to the ideals of Harvard scholarship and life, adding to
them meanwhile something of your own.
Whoso adds to or freshens the spirit of our revered
Alma Mater deserves well of the country; for Harvard,
now in the second half of the third century of her
existence, is the oldest witness and, so far, the most
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eloquent that we have to the collective and continuous
striving of Americans towards a higher life.
To you,—the distinguished Professor, the earnest scholar,
the faithful friend,—I, one of thousands who have listened
to your instruction, dedicate this volume, gathered from a
field in which you take so much delight.
Jeremiah Curtin.
Smithsonian Institution,
Bureau of Ethnology. Washington D. C. October 23, 1890.
A FEW tens of years ago it was all-important to understand
and explain the brotherhood and blood-bond
of Aryan nations, and their relation to the Semitic race; to
discover and set forth the meaning of that which in mental
work, historic strivings, and spiritual ideals ties the historic
nations to one another. At the present time this work is
done, if not completely, at least measurably well, and a new
work awaits us, to demonstrate that there is a higher and a
mightier bond,—the relationship of created things with one
another, and their inseverable connection with That which
some men reverence as God, but which other men call the
Unknowable, the Unseen.
This new work, which is the necessary continuation of
the first, and which alone can give it completeness and
significance, will be achieved when we have established the
science of mythology.
Of course all that may be attempted in a volume like the
present is to throw out a few hints, and to mention some of
the uses of mythology as a science.
There is a large body of myths and folk-tales already
published in Europe, and still a great number as yet uncollected.
Many of these tales are of remarkable beauty.
They are of deep interest both to young and old, and
nowhere do they enjoy more delicate appreciation than
among educated people in America and England. The
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delight in a beautiful and wonderful story is the very highest
mental pleasure for a child, and great even for a grown
man; but the explanation of it (if explanation there be)
and the nature of its heroes (if that can be discovered)
are dear to the mind of a mature person of culture. Much
has been written touching the heroes of folk-tales, as well as
the characters in Aryan mythology, but it appears to have
produced small effect; for to most readers it seems unproven,
and founded mainly on the views of each writer.
This is the reason why the chief, almost the only, value found
in folk-tales, as yet, is the story itself, with its simple beauty,
incomparable grotesqueness, and marvellous adventures.
The great majority even of the least modified tales of
Europe have mainly substituted heroes,—sons of kings,
tsars, merchants, poor men, soldiers,—so that in most
cases the birth, occupation, or name of the present hero
gives no clew to the original hero of the tale; but incidents
do. The incidents are often an indication of what kind of
person the original hero must have been.
A few of the tales in this volume have preserved elemental
heroes; and this is a fact of great value, for it points to
a similarity with the American system of mythology.
We have in the present volume Raven,—not the common
bird, but that elemental power which, after having
been overcome, turned into the common raven of to-day,
and flew off to the mountains; Whirlwind and South Wind
are both heroes,—one as a leading, the other as an important
secondary, character in two of the Russian stories.
We have two brothers Wind, in “The Cuirassier and the
Horned Princess,” in whom the personal character of Wind
is well maintained. The steed, fire-eating and wise, of the
Magyars, which appears also in Russian and other Slav
tales, always mangy and miserable except in action, is a
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very significant character, whose real nature one may hope
to demonstrate. But we have no tale in which it is clear
who all the characters are; the modifying influences were
too great and long-continued to permit that. Though
myth-tales are, perhaps, more interesting for the majority
of modern readers in their present form, they will not have
their full interest for science till it is shown who most of the
actors are under their disguises.
This is the nearest task of mythology.
There are masterpieces in literature filled with myths,
inspired with myth conceptions of many kinds, simply
colored by the life of the time and the nations among
which these masterpieces were written and moulded to
shape by artists, made strong from the spirit of great,
simple people, as unknown to us as the nameless heroes
who perished before Agamemnon. How much mythology
is there in the Iliad and the Odyssey, in the Æneid, in the
Divine Comedy of Dante, in the works of the other three
great Italian poets? How much in Paradise Lost? How
could “King Lear” and “Midsummer Night’s Dream,”
or the “Idylls of the King” have been written without
Keltic mythology? Many of these literary masterpieces
have not merely myths in their composition as a sentence
has words, but the earlier ones are enlarged or modified
myth-tales of those periods, while the later ones are largely
modelled on and inspired by the earlier.
The early chronicles of nations are as strikingly associated
with mythology as are the masterpieces of literature.
Omitting others, one case may be noted here,—that
of the voluminous Gaelic chronicles and the so-called historical
tales of Ireland, which, in the guise of history, give
mythology, and preserve for coming investigators a whole
buried Pantheon.
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The service of the science of mythology will be great in
connection with the myth-tales of nations, with literature,
and with early history; but its weightiest service will be
rendered in the domain of religion, for without mythology
there can be no thorough understanding of any religion on
earth, either in its inception or its growth.
But how is this science from which men may receive such
service to be founded?
In one way alone: by obtaining from races outside of
the Aryan and Semitic their myths, their beliefs, their view
of the world; this done, the rest will follow as a result of
intelligent labor. But the great battle is in the first part
of the work, for the inherent difficulty of the task has been
increased by Europeans, who have exterminated great numbers
among the best primitive races, partially civilized or
rather degraded others, and rendered the remainder distrustful
and not easily approached on the subject of their myths
and ethnic beliefs.
As to the collection of these myths and beliefs, the following
may be stated:—
There is everywhere a sort of selvage of short tales and
anecdotes, small information about ghosts and snakes,
among all these races, which are easily obtained; and most
Europeans seem to think that when they have collected
some of these trivial things they have all that the given
people possess. But they are greatly mistaken. All these
people have something better. There was not a single
stock of Indians in America which did not possess, in
beautiful forms, the elements of an extensive literature,
with a religion and philosophy which would have thrown
light on many beginnings of Aryan and Semitic thought,
a knowledge of which in so many cases is now lost to us,
but which we hope to recover in time. The same may be
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said of other primitive races, still unbroken, unmodified;
and though much has been lost, still enough remains to
serve our purpose fully, if civilized men instead of slaying
“savages,” directly and indirectly, will treat them as human
beings, and not add to the labor of those workers who in
the near future will surely endeavor, singly or in small
groups, to study the chief primitive races of the earth, and
win from them, not short insignificant odds and ends of information,
but great masses of material; for the educated
world may rest assured that these races possess in large
volume some of the most beautiful productions of the
human mind, and facts that are not merely of great, but of
unique, value.
In the introduction to my volume, “Myths and Folk-lore of
Ireland,” I endeavored to explain in brief what the myths of
America are, especially the Creation-myths, referring only
to those which I myself have collected. I stated that, “All
myths have the same origin, and that all run parallel up to a
certain point, which may be taken as the point to which the
least developed peoples have risen” (page 27). I do not
know any better way of illustrating this than to bring into
evidence myths of the Morning-star. The Indians have
a great many myths in which the Morning-star figures as
the Light-bringer,—the same office as that indicated by the
Latin word Lucifer; and here I may be permitted to
present a short chapter of my personal experience with
reference to that word and the Morning-star.
I remember well the feelings roused in my mind at
mention or sight of the name Lucifer during the earlier
years of my life. It stood for me as the name of a being
stupendous, dreadful in moral deformity, lurid, hideous, and
mighty. I remember also the surprise with which when I
had grown somewhat older and begun to study Latin, I
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came upon the name in Virgil, where it means the Light-bringer,
or Morning-star,—the herald of the sun. Many
years after I had found the name in Virgil, I spent a night
at the house of a friend in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, right at
the shore of Lake Michigan. The night was clear but
without a moon,—a night of stars, which is the most impressive
of all nights, vast, brooding, majestic. At three
o’clock in the morning I woke, and being near an uncurtained
window, rose and looked out. Rather low in
the east was the Morning-star, shining like silver, with a
bluish tinge of steel. I looked towards the west; the
great infinity was filled with the hosts of heaven, ranged
behind this Morning-star. I saw at once the origin of the
myth which grew to have such tremendous moral meaning,
because the Morning-star was not in this case the usher of
the day but the chieftain of night, the Prince of Darkness,
the mortal enemy of the Lord of Light. I returned to bed
knowing that the battle in heaven would soon begin. I
rose when the sun was high next morning. All the world
was bright, shining and active, gladsome and fresh, from the
rays of the sun; the kingdom of light was established; but
the Prince of Darkness and all his confederates had vanished,
cast down from the sky, and to the endless eternity
of God their places will know them no more in that night
again. They are lost beyond hope or redemption, beyond
penance or prayer.
I have in mind at this moment two Indian stories of
the Morning-star,—one Modoc, the other Delaware. The
Modoc story is very long, and contains much valuable matter;
but the group of incidents that I wish to refer to here
are the daily adventures and exploits of a personage who
seems to be no other than the sky with the sun in it. This
personage is destroyed every evening. He always gets into
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trouble, and is burned up; but in his back is a golden disk,
which neither fire nor anything in the world can destroy.
From this disk his body is reconstituted every morning;
and all that is needed for the resurrection is the summons
of the Morning-star, who calls out, “It is time to rise, old
man; you have slept long enough.” Then the old man
springs new again from his ashes through virtue of the
immortal disk and the compelling word of the star.
Now, the Morning-star is the attendant spirit or
“medicine” of the personage with the disk, and cannot
escape the performance of his office; he has to work at
it forever. So the old man cannot fail to rise every morning.
As the golden disk is no other than the sun, the
Morning-star of the Modocs is the same character as the
Lucifer of the Latins.
The Delaware story, also a long one, has many grotesque
and striking elements. I will tell it in a closely compressed
form. The person who is the hero of this tale has a wife,
who, while he is absent hunting, turns into a man-eater,—becomes
a devouring agency with a mania to swallow all flesh,
but has a special and craving mania to eat up her own
husband first of all; so she runs to the woods to find him.
Informed by a wise, talking dog, a species of brother of his, who
had sprung out to anticipate the woman, the man rushes off
southward, runs with all speed till he reaches a deep mighty
river, where is an old man who makes a bridge by stretching
his neck across the water. The hunted husband speaks
kindly, and implores for means to cross or his wife will
devour him. The old man lies down with his shoulder on
one bank, stretches his neck, makes it flat like a horse’s neck,
to give safe passage; soon his head is on the other bank,
and the man walks over. The old bridge-maker promises to
delay the woman, and then throw her into the river, where
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she will be eaten by monsters,—all save her stomach, in
which her life resides; that will float down with the current,
come to life, and the woman will be as well and furious as
ever, unless the stomach is dragged out, cut to pieces, and
burned.
The hunted man hastens, runs westward by the bank of
the river, runs till he comes to two aunts who are witches.
They promise to help him and kill the pursuer. Soon after,
when the old man has shortened his neck and is sitting on
his own side of the river, the wife comes up in hot pursuit,
talks roughly, tries to hurry the old pontifex; but he will
not hurry, waits, and then stretches his neck, putting the
narrow side upward; it is no wider than the woman’s feet.
She storms, but he says that being old he might break his
neck were he to give the broad side as a path; she must
walk on the narrow side, and carefully too. She begins to
cross, but in the middle of the river grows restive and angry.
The old man jerks his neck to one side; she falls to the
water and is eaten right away, all save her stomach, which
floats with the current. But the aunts, the two witches, are
watching; they see and pull out the stomach, cut it up, and
burn the life of that man-eater.
The man travels westward till he sees a young woman
gathering branches for fuel. He speaks to her, is pleased;
she is mild-eyed, kind-looking. He asks her to marry him;
she says she is willing if he can live with her grandmother,
who is very thick, very ugly, and malicious. He goes home
with the young woman; they are married.
Soon after the marriage the old woman took her son-in-law
to hunt on an island in a lake. They landed. She
said, “Go down there,” pointing to a place; “I will drive
the game.” He started, and when half way, looked back;
the old woman was in the canoe paddling to the other
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shore. He called; she would not listen, and left him
alone on the island. There was no escape. When the
sun had gone down and darkness came, the water of the
lake began to rise, and flooded the place. He selected
the highest tree, and began to climb,—the water all the
time rising; he climbed, and continued to climb. About
three o’clock in the morning all the trees on the island,
except that tree, were covered. Around on every side
were great hungry savage-eyed creatures, rising with the
water, waiting to eat the man. He looked, saw the Morning-star,
and cried out: “When I was young the Morning-star
appeared to me in a dream, and said that if ever I
should be in distress he would save me.”
The star heard the call, turned to a small boy standing
sentry at his door, and said, “Who is that shouting on the
island?”
“That,” said the boy, “is the old woman’s son-in-law.
She put him there. He says you appeared to him in a
dream and promised to save him.”
“I did, and I will.” The Morning-star came forth from
his house and called: “Let daylight come!”
Dawn came that moment; the water began to fall,
and at sunrise the island was dry. The man was saved,
came down, went to the landing-place, and hid in the
bushes. Soon the old woman’s canoe struck the shore;
the man heard her say: “Well, I suppose the larger bones
of my son-in-law are under the tree. I must go and eat the
marrow.” When she had gone far enough, he sprang into
the canoe and paddled away. The old woman turned, saw
the escape of her son-in-law, and cried: “Come back!
I’ll play no more tricks.”
The man paddled to the other shore, and went to his
wife. The old woman was alone, not able to escape.
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When darkness came, the lake began to rise. She climbed
the highest tree, climbed till the water was nearing the top,
and the hungry, terrible creatures were waiting to eat her.
Then she called out towards the east: “When I was young
the Morning-star appeared to me in a dream, and said he
would help me out of distress.”
The Morning-star heard, and asked his boy: “Is that
man on the island yet?”
“Oh,” said the boy, “the man is at home; the old
woman herself is on the island now. She says that you
appeared to her in a dream, and promised to save her from
distress.”
“I never appeared to that old woman,” said the star.
“I will not hurry daylight to-day.”
The water rose till the old woman was on the highest point
of the tree that would bear her. The water raised all the
crowd of hungry, terrible creatures. They tore her to pieces,
devoured her.
So the Delawares on the Atlantic, who enjoy seniority
among the Algonkin,—the most widely-extended Indian
stock of America,—agree with the Modocs, near the Pacific,
in the theory of the Morning-star, which for them, as for the
Latins, was the Light-bearer. The opposite view, to which I
refer in the night-scene at Milwaukee, gave birth to the myth
of the struggle of the stars with the sun for possession of the
sky. Now, a combination of these two myths—the one in
which the Morning-star is the Light-bearer being the earlier—gives
us a third, in which the Morning-star is not
merely an opponent, but a rebel. This third myth, after it
had increased in age, came to be used in describing, not an
event in the sky, looked at variously by primitive men, but
an event in the moral world; and the stories of the Morning-star
and the sun were transferred from the fields of heaven
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to the kingdom of the soul. This done, Milton had at hand
the splendid mythologic material and accessories which he
used with such power in Paradise Lost.
I know no American myth in which the Morning-star is
represented as hostile to the sun; the discovery of one
would be very interesting and valuable, as showing that the
primitive people of this continent might possibly have
worked out a physical myth like that made in the Eastern
hemisphere, and afterwards spiritualized till it was given the
meaning which we find in the pages of Milton.
But whatever the future may bring, the present American
Morning-star myth is interesting; for it shows a complete
parallelism with Aryan mythology as far as it goes,—that
is, to the highest point reached by the non-Aryan tribes
of America.
It should be remembered that whatever be the names of
the myth-tale heroes at present, the original heroes were
not human. They were not men and women, though in
most cases the present heroes or heroines bear the names
of men and women, or children; they perform deeds which
no man could perform, which only one of the forces of
Nature could perform, if it had the volition and desires of
a person. This is the great cause of wonderful deeds in
myth-tales.
The following Indian myth, in which we know exactly who
the actors were, illustrates this fact very well. I give the
myth from memory, and in a compressed form, making first
the statement that in a part of eastern Oregon and Washington,
where I found it, there are two winds, as the Indians informed
me, which are all, or practically all, that blow in that
region. One of these is a northeast, the other a southwest
wind. The Indians subdivide each one of them into five.
Each of these five is a little different from the other,—that
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is, there are five kinds of southwest winds, and five kinds
of northeast winds. Each has a proper name describing
its character; and in telling the myth these names are used,
just as the name Ivan the Fool, and Mirko the king’s son are
used in Russia and Hungary. The Northeast brothers have
a sister more harassing and cruel than they,—cold, damp,
fitful. She also has a name describing her character. The
five Southwest winds have grandparents very old, who live
in a hut by themselves. They have no sister; but the eldest
has a wife, brought by him to Oregon from her birthplace
in the Southern seas.
One time the Northeast winds challenged the others to a
wrestling-match, in which whoever should be thrown would
have his head cut off. The Southwest brothers were not
free to refuse; they had to accept. All the details of this
match are described precisely as if the opponents were men
and not winds. The Southwest brothers were thrown, every
one, and each had his head cut off; all were killed, and
now the Northeast brothers were lords of that region. The
old feeble grandparents were all of the family left in Oregon.
The young wife went home to her parents and people in
the Southern seas. The victorious brothers did as they
pleased,—when they wished to knock any one down they
did so; but the crowning wickedness of the victorious
family was the malice of the sister against the aged grandparents.
She came every morning to their hut and insulted
them in a manner that will not bear recital. Weeping and
helpless, they endured the foulest abuse. The evil sister rejoiced,
the wicked brothers rejoiced, and all men besides
were suffering. Some time after the widow had returned to
her home in the Southern seas a son was born to the late
eldest brother,—a wonderful boy. This posthumous child
grew not by years but by days; and when he was three
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weeks old he had attained full growth. He was a hero of
awful strength; nothing could resist him. He asked about
his father; his mother told how his fathers had perished
(the brothers of a father are fathers too in the Indian system)
at the hands of the Northeast brothers. “I will go to avenge
my fathers,” said he, and started.
He reached the coast near the Columbia River, which
he ascended; when at the Cascades he began to try his
strength. He pulled out the greatest trees with their roots,
overturned cliffs, and went on his way with delight. At last
he arrived at the land where his fathers had ruled, and went
first in the early morning to the hut of his great grandparents.
They were very weak and wretched, but still they were able
to tell of what they had suffered from the sister. “She will
soon be here,” said they; so he lay in waiting.
She came, and was preparing to begin her insults when
he seized her and put her to a painful death. Then he
challenged the five wicked brothers to a wrestling-match,
threw them all, and cut their heads off. The whole country
rejoiced. No one felt pain. The young hero ruled that
land to the delight of all. This hero was not a month old,
and since we know the characters in the story, we know
that the story is true.
When, in Gaelic, we find heroes like the son of Fin MacCumhail,
Fialan, who at the age of three years slew whole
armies, with their champion leaders,[1] and the Shee an
Gannon, who was born in the morning, named at noon, and
went in the evening to ask his daughter of the King of
Erin; or in Russian, Ivan Tsarevich,[2] nine days old, who
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after three sleeps of three days’ and nights’ duration each,
went in search of Peerless Beauty, his bride,—we may
feel sure that we are dealing mediately or immediately with
that category of powers to which old-time divinities belong,
the same race of personages as the Wind brothers of
Oregon.
[1]
See in Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, “Fin MacCumhail and
the Fenians of Erin in the Castle of Fear Dubh,” p. 221, and “The
Shee an Gannon and the Gruagach Gaire,” p. 114.
Now we may leave American myths and say a few words
of the nations to whom the three groups of myth-tales
belong,—the Russians, the Chekhs, and the Magyars. It is
not easy to describe any one of them in a brief space, for
each is remarkable in character and history.
The Russians are difficult to describe, not only because
they are many, but because of their position. The key-note
of this position has sounded through their whole history,
from the time of Olga and Vladimir, in the Kieff
period, to the present day. Listening to this note, Russian
leaders have gained political skill, while the people have
confirmed their national instinct and endured burdens
which they would endure only for the thing which
that key-note describes. To tell what it is we must make
a digression.
The first political work of the world soundly done, as
men of this age, with minds of modern situation, are able
to see, was the work of Rome. Rome was the first power
to assimilate peoples, to destroy provincialism, to make a
State, in the great modern sense of the word. After the
fall of Rome as a political power, with its work done and
delivered, there followed a still greater,—a new Rome,
with a wider ambition, and with plans further reaching than
those of its predecessor. This new Rome saw standing
before its face, in the East of Europe, the youngest brothers
of the Aryan race—the Slavs—still unconverted. The
new Rome was as different from the old as two things may
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be, save in this, that both had strong will to rule. The
difference was that old Rome ruled in the name of man
and better social order, while new Rome ruled in the
name of God and morality; but new Rome was as firmly
fixed in purpose to rule by all the weapons that strong men
may use in the world, as was old Rome.
It happened in history that the Teutonic branch of the
Aryans fell heir to the Roman civilization of the West, and
acquired the administrative experience and pride of power
personal to lords of the earth. These Teutons, or Germans,
became the agents through whom for a long period the
Catholic Church acted most frequently in dealing with
Eastern Europeans; and the Germans were determined to
be the exclusive dispensers and extenders of Christianity in
that quarter, acquiring at the same time temporal lordship
and lands for themselves. This produced a conflict along
the whole eastern line,—on one side a defensive struggle
of Slav against German; on the other, that incursive and
attacking movement of the Germans, continued age after
age under various forms and guises, but which is as real
to-day and as active as in times of its greatest intensity,
though veiled in official circles with diplomatic tact. On
the northern, or left wing of their advance, the Germans
destroyed ethnologically; that is, they conquered and Germanized
the Slavs from places not far from Hamburg to a
considerable distance east of Berlin. Next they destroyed
Poland; for they gained possession of the original lands of
the Commonwealth on the Baltic, and pushed the Poles
eastward to make good their losses at the expense of the
Russians. The loss to the Slavs of the Polish lands on the
Baltic was immense; and to make the catastrophe more
sorrowful for a man of that stock, the Slavs failed on the
south, in the kingdom of Great Moravia, which with the
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present Moravia included the dominions of Hungary, and
later on failed from the Danube everywhere southward as
far as Slavs had a dwelling.
When all the Western Slavs had fallen,—not because
they were less worthy individually, less brave, or less wise as
separate persons than their invaders, but because they were
younger and greener in political growth,—there remained in
the East still two Slav nations (Poland and Russia); and the
opposition of these forms the great tragic story of modern
ages. And the most remarkable concomitant of this tragedy
is, that the cause of it is misunderstood by most of us. It
is thought, not only widely but well-nigh universally, in
Western Europe and America that the first cause of the
downfall of Poland was Russia; while the real causes
were first and mightiest the peculiar make-up of Polish
society, coupled with the unceasing activity of Germans
in conquering and subjecting everything east of them by
all the weapons that can be used either in peace or in
war.
If Russia and Poland had both received Christianity from
the same source, there would have been strong reasons for
them to grow into one political body; and they might have
been able to do so. If both had received Christianity from
the East, as Russia did, they might have stood shoulder to
shoulder in brotherly defence against the Germanic West.
If both had received Christianity directly from the West,
they might have prevented the Germans from crusading
to Christianize the East at the expense of its land and
independence.
When one thinks of the enthusiastic and kindly labor of
the Irish missionaries in the West, and of Cyril and Methodius
among the Slavs, it seems hard to believe that the
Irish and Greeks had the same Master in mind as the iron-clad
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monks on the Baltic. And they had not; for the Germans
took the lands and persons of the converts, while the
Irish and the Slav missionaries had no thought for themselves.
Poland fell, and Russia remains the one Slav State really
independent; and Russia remains because, as I have just
stated, the Russian people have in all centuries listened to
and understood the key-note of their position,—which is:
No foreign influence shall exist in Russia under any form
whatever. To maintain this position the Russians have sacrificed
more than any people in Europe; and in many
senses they have accomplished more.
The corollary to the above sentence, and which with it
completes the abstract statement of Russia’s whole policy,
is: The West of Europe shall not dominate the East.
To the Russian people belong the myth-tales in the first
division of this volume. I had hoped to include specimens
from Little and White Russia,—that is, from those parts
of Russia that were once under the dominion of Poland;
but lack of space has confined me to tales from Great
Russia,—that portion of the Empire which first formed
around Moscow.
The Chekhs of Bohemia are Slavs more nearly related in
speech to the Poles than to the Russians. Twice have the
Chekhs been very prominent in history,—once in the wars
which followed the death of John Huss; and again during
the Thirty Years’ War, in which they suffered beyond any
other people. Reduced from three million to eight hundred
thousand in number, they were supposed to be extinguished
as Slavs; but in spite of all emigration they have
regained more than their old numbers, and are to-day if
possible more determined than ever to preserve their historical
identity. Take them all in all, there is not a people
of more marked character, nor one whose history has
xxiv]
greater claims on the student. In fact, the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries cannot be studied at all, in any true
sense, without faithful attention to the Chekhs. To them
belong our second group of tales.
The tales of the third group belong to the Magyars (the
ruling race of Hungary), who exert more influence than
any people of four times their numbers in Europe. Though
forming not more, or in any case little more, than one third
of the population of Hungary,—say five and a half to six
millions,—they rule the other peoples of the kingdom, and
possess preponderant power in the Empire of Austria-Hungary.
They have directed its foreign policy for the last
twenty years,—a fact of great significance. For though
foreign affairs have at all times been more important for
Austria than perhaps any State in Europe, they have never
been more important than at present; and still they are
intrusted to the Magyars,—a race forming little more than
one sixth of the people of the Empire. The reason is not
far to seek.
The Magyars, a non-Aryan people from the Ural-Altai
regions, arrived in the places they now occupy about one
thousand years ago, at the period of a desperate struggle
between the Germans and the Slav kingdom of Great Moravia,—a
struggle as envenomed as that between Carthage
and Rome, but in which the Slavs seemed to be holding
their own very well. At this juncture the Magyars struck
Great Moravia in the rear with all their force, secured victory
for the Germans, and inserted themselves as a dividing
wedge between the Southern and the Northern Slavs.
The fall of Great Moravia closed the way to the political
independence of the Western Slavs; after them, there remained
in the whole Slav world but the Poles and the
Russians with the possibility of political power.
xxv]
There are no people so well qualified by their history and
hopes to carry out the policy of Austria, and stand against
Russia, as the Magyars. Politicians by genius and training,
lords of the land by position, their whole existence depends
on managing and balancing various forces. Having no personal
sympathy for the Germans, looking down on the Slavs,
they are a bitter necessity to the first, and they divide,
rule, and dominate the second within the kingdom; outside
the kingdom it is their policy not to permit the Slavs to
develop, unless as satellites of Austria-Hungary.
I regret my inability to include Polish myth-tales in this
collection, owing to want of space. Should the present
volume meet with favor, it will be followed during the
coming year by another, in which a good deal of attention
will be given the Poles,—a most interesting and, in very
truth, a little known people.
JEREMIAH CURTIN.
Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of Ethnology.
Washington, D. C., October 29, 1890.
RUSSIAN MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.
1]
THE THREE KINGDOMS,—THE COPPER, THE SILVER, AND THE GOLDEN.
IN a certain kingdom in a certain land lived a
Tsar,—Bail Bailyanyin. He had a wife, Nastasya,
Golden Tress, and three sons,—Pyotr Tsarevich,
Vassili Tsarevich, and Ivan Tsarevich. The
Tsaritsa went with her maidens and nurses to walk
in the garden. All at once such a mighty Whirlwind
rose that, God save us! it caught the Tsaritsa and
bore her it was unknown whither.
The Tsar was grieved and distressed, and knew
not what to do. His sons grew up, and he said
to them: “My dear children, which of you will go
to seek your mother?”
The two elder brothers made ready and went.
After they had gone, the youngest begged permission
of his father. “No,” said the Tsar, “go not, my
dear son; do not leave me an old man in loneliness.”
“Let me go, father; I want awfully to wander
over the white world and find my mother.”
2]
The Tsar dissuaded and dissuaded, but could
not convince him. “Well, there is no help for it,
go; God be with thee!”
Ivan saddled his good steed and set out. He
rode and rode, whether it was long or short: a tale
is soon told, but a deed is not soon done; he came
to a forest. In that forest was the richest of castles.
Ivan Tsarevich entered a broad court, saw an old
man, and said, “Many years’ health to thee!”
“We beg the favor of thy presence. Who art
thou, gallant youth?”
“I am Ivan Tsarevich, the son of Tsar Bail Bailyanyin
and of Tsaritsa Nastasya, Golden Tress.”
“Oh, my own nephew! Whither is God bearing
thee?”
“For this cause and that,” said he, “I am in
search of my mother. Canst thou not tell me, uncle,
where to find her?”
“No, nephew, I cannot; with what I am able,
with that I do service. But here is a ball; throw it
ahead, it will roll on before thee and lead thee to
steep, rugged mountains. In those mountains is a
cave, enter it; take there iron claws, put them on
thy hands and thy feet, and climb up the mountains.
Perhaps thou wilt find there thy mother,
Nastasya, Golden Tress.”
That was good aid. Ivan Tsarevich took leave of
his uncle, and threw the ball before him; the ball
rolled and rolled on, he rode behind it. Whether it
3]
was long or short, he saw his brothers, Pyotr Tsarevich
and Vassili Tsarevich. They were encamped in
the open field with thousands of troops. His brothers
were surprised, and asked, “Where art thou
going, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“Oh!” said he, “I grew weary at home, and I
thought of going to look for my mother. Send your
army home, and let us go on together.”
They sent home the army, and the three went
on together after the ball. While yet at a distance
they saw the mountains,—such steep and lofty
mountains that, God save us! they touched the
heavens with their heads. The ball rolled straight
to a cave. Ivan Tsarevich slipped down from his
horse and said to his brothers, “Here, brothers, is
my good steed; I will go up on the mountains to
look for my mother, and ye remain here. Wait for
me just three months. If I am not here in three
months, there will be no use in waiting longer.”
The brothers thought, but how could a man
climb these mountains? He would break his head
there.
“Well,” said they, “go, with God; we will wait
for thee here.”
Ivan approached the cave; he saw that the door
was of iron. He struck it with all his strength. It
opened, he entered; iron claws went on to his feet
and hands of themselves. He began to climb the
mountains,—climb, climb; he toiled a whole month,
4]
reaching the top with difficulty. “Well,” said he,
“glory be to God!” He rested a little, and walked
along on the mountain; walked and walked, walked
and walked, saw a copper castle, at the gate terrible
serpents fastened with copper chains, crowds of
them; and right there was a well, and at the well a
copper bucket hung by a copper chain. Ivan Tsarevich
drew water and gave the serpents to drink.
They became quiet, lay down, and he passed into
the court.
The Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom ran out to
meet him. “Who art thou, gallant youth?”
“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”
“Well, hast thou come of thy own will, or against
thy will?”
“Of my own will; I am in search of my mother,
Nastasya, Golden Tress. A certain Whirlwind bore
her away out of the garden. Dost thou know where
she is?”
“No; but not far from here lives my second
sister, the Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom,—maybe
she will tell thee.”
She gave him a copper ball and a copper ring.
“The ball,” said she, “will lead thee to my second
sister, and in this ring is the whole Copper Kingdom.
When thou overcomest Whirlwind, who keeps me
here and flies to me once in three months, forget me
not, poor woman, rescue me from this place, and
take me with thee to the free world.”
5]
“I will,” said Ivan Tsarevich. He threw the copper
ball before him; the ball rolled ahead, and he
followed after. He came to the Silver Kingdom and
saw a castle finer than the first, all silver; at the gate
were terrible serpents fastened to silver chains, and
at the side of them was a well with a silver bucket.
Ivan Tsarevich drew water and gave the serpents to
drink. They lay down then, and let him enter the
castle. The Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom came
out.
“It will soon be three years,” said she, “since
mighty Whirlwind confined me here, and no Russian
have I heard with hearing, or seen with sight; but
now a Russian I see. Who art thou, good youth?”
“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”
“How didst thou happen hither,—with thy own
will, or against thy will?”
“With my own will; I am in search of my mother.
She went in the green garden to walk, Whirlwind
came and bore her away, it is unknown whither.
Canst thou not tell me where to find her?”
“No, I cannot; but not far from here lives my eldest
sister, the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom, Yelena
the Beautiful,—maybe she will tell thee. Here is
a silver ball, roll it ahead and follow; it will lead
thee to the Golden Kingdom. But see, when thou
hast killed Whirlwind, forget me not, poor woman;
rescue me from this place, and take me to the free
world. Whirlwind holds me captive, and flies hither
6]
once in two months.” Then she gave him a silver
ring, saying, “In this ring is the whole Silver
Kingdom.”
Ivan rolled the ball; wherever it went he followed.
Whether it was long or short, he saw a golden castle
gleaming like fire; at the gate was a crowd of terrible
serpents fastened to golden chains, and right
there a well, at the well a golden bucket on a golden
chain. Ivan Tsarevich drew water, and gave the serpents
to drink; they lay down and were soothed. He
entered the palace; Yelena the Beautiful met him.
“Who art thou, gallant youth?”
“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”
“How hast thou come hither,—of thy own will, or
against thy will?”
“I came of my own will; I am in search of my
mother, Nastasya, Golden Tress. Knowest thou not
where to find her?”
“Why shouldn’t I know? She lives not far from
here, Whirlwind flies to her once a week, and to
me once a month. Here is a golden ball for thee:
throw it ahead and follow,—it will lead thee to thy
mother. And take besides this golden ring; in this
ring is the whole Golden Kingdom. And be careful
when thou hast conquered Whirlwind. Forget me not,
poor woman; take me with thee to the free world.”
“I will take thee,” said he.
Ivan Tsarevich rolled the ball and followed after;
he went and went till he came to such a palace that,
7]
Lord save us! it was just blazing with diamonds and
precious stones. At the gate six-headed serpents
were hissing. Ivan Tsarevich gave them to drink;
the serpents were soothed, and let him pass to the
castle. He went through the great chambers, and
in the most distant found his own mother. She was
sitting on a lofty throne arrayed in Tsaritsa’s robes
and crowned with a costly crown. She looked at
the stranger and cried: “Ah! is that thou, my dear
son? How hast thou come hither?”
“So and so,” said Ivan; “I have come for thee.”
“Well, dear son, ’twill be hard for thee. Here
in these mountains reigns Whirlwind, the evil and
mighty, all spirits obey him; he is the one that
bore me away. Thou wilt have to fight him; come
quickly to the cellar.”
They went to the cellar; there were two tubs of
water, one on the right, the other on the left hand.
“Drink,” said the Tsaritsa, “from the right-hand
tub.”
Ivan drank.
“Well, what strength is in thee?”
“I am so strong that I could turn the whole castle
over with one hand.”
“Then drink more.”
Ivan drank again.
“What strength is in thee now?”
“If I wished, I could turn the whole world over.”
“That is very great strength. Move these tubs
8]
from one place to the other: put that on the right
to the left, that on the left take to the right.”
Ivan interchanged the tubs.
“Thou seest, my dear son, in one tub is water of
strength, in the other water of weakness. Whoso
drinks from the first will be a strong, mighty hero;
whoso drinks from the second will grow weak altogether.
Whirlwind always drinks the water of
strength and puts it on the right side; so we
must deceive him, or thou canst never overcome
him.”
They returned to the castle.
“Soon Whirlwind will fly home,” said the Tsaritsa
to Ivan Tsarevich. “Sit under my purple robe, so
that he may not see thee; and when he comes and
runs to embrace and kiss me, do thou seize his club.
He will rise high, high; he will bear thee over seas,
over precipices: but see to it, let not the club go out
of thy hand. Whirlwind will grow tired, will want
to drink the water of strength, will come down to the
cellar and rush to the tub placed on the right hand;
but do thou drink from the tub on the left. Then he
will grow weak; wrest his sword from him, and with
one blow hew off his head. When his head is off,
that moment there will be voices behind thee crying,
‘Strike again, strike again.’ Strike not, my son, but
say in answer, ‘A hero’s hand strikes not twice, but
always once.’”
Ivan Tsarevich had barely hidden under the robe
9]
when the court grew dark and everything trembled.
Whirlwind flew home, struck the earth, became a
brave hero, and entered the castle, in his hands a
club.
“Tfu, tfu, tfu! somehow it smells of Russia here.
Was any one visiting?”
“I don’t know why it seems so to thee,” said the
Tsaritsa.
Whirlwind rushed to embrace her; but Ivan that
moment seized the club.
“I’ll eat thee!” shouted Whirlwind.
“Well, grandmother spoke double; either thou
wilt eat, or thou wilt not.”
Whirlwind tore out through the window and up to
the sky; he bore Ivan Tsarevich away. Over mountains
he said, “I will smash thee;” over seas he said,
“I will drown thee.” But Ivan did not let the club out
of his hands. Whirlwind flew over the whole world,
wearied himself out, and began to sink. He came
down straight into the cellar, rushed to the tub on
the right hand, and fell to drinking the water of
weakness; but Ivan ran to the left, drank his fill of
the water of strength, and became the first mighty
hero in the whole world. He saw that Whirlwind
had become utterly weak, wrested the sharp sword
from him, and cut off his head with a blow. Voices
cried behind, “Strike again, strike again, or he will
come to life!” “No,” said Ivan; “a hero’s hand
strikes not twice, but always finishes at a blow.”
10]
Straightway he made a fire, burned the body and
the head, scattered the ashes to the wind.
The mother of Ivan Tsarevich was glad. “Now,
my dear son,” said she, “let us rejoice. We will eat;
and then for home with all speed, for it is wearisome
here,—there are no people.”
“But who serves thee?”
“Thou wilt see directly.”
They had barely thought of eating, when a table
set itself, and various meats and wines appeared on
the table of themselves. The Tsaritsa and the Tsarevich
dined. Meanwhile unseen musicians played
wonderful songs for them. They ate and drank, and
when they had rested, Ivan said,—
“Let us go, mother, it is time; for under the
mountains my brothers are waiting. And on the
road I must save three Tsaritsas who are living in
Whirlwind’s castles.”
They took everything needful and set out on the
journey. They went first to the Tsaritsa of the
Golden Kingdom, then to her sisters of the Silver
and Copper Kingdoms. They took them, and
brought linen and all kinds of stuffs. In a short
time they reached the place where they had to go
down the mountain.
Ivan Tsarevich let his mother down first on the
linen, then Yelena the Beautiful and her two sisters.
The brothers were standing below waiting, and they
thought to themselves, “Let us leave Ivan Tsarevich
11]
up there; we will take our mother and the three
Tsaritsas to our father, and say that we found them.”
“I’ll take Yelena the Beautiful for myself,” said
Pyotr Tsarevich; “thou, Vassili, wilt have the
Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom; and we will
give the Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom to some
general.”
When it was time for Ivan Tsarevich to come
down from the mountain, his elder brothers seized
the linen, pulled and tore it away. Ivan remained
on the mountain. What could he do? He wept
bitterly; then turned back, walked and walked over
the Copper Kingdom, over the Silver Kingdom and
the Golden Kingdom,—not a soul did he see. He
came to the Diamond Kingdom,—no one there
either. What was he to do alone,—deathly weariness!
He looked around; on the window of the
castle a whistle was lying. He took it in his hand.
“Let me play from weariness,” said he. He had
barely blown when out sprang Lame and Crooked.
“What is thy pleasure?”
Said Ivan Tsarevich, “I want to eat.” That moment,
from wherever it came, a table was set, and
on the table the very best food. Ivan Tsarevich ate
and thought, “Now it would not be bad to rest.”
He blew on the whistle. Lame and Crooked
appeared.
“What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“That a bed be ready.” The word wasn’t out of
12]
his mouth when the bed was ready. He lay down,
slept splendidly, then whistled again.
“What is thy pleasure?” asked Lame and Crooked.
“Everything can be done, then?”
“Everything is possible, Ivan Tsarevich. Whoever
blows that whistle, we will do everything for
him. As we served Whirlwind before, so we are
glad to serve thee now; it is only necessary to keep
the whistle by thee at all times.”
“Well,” said Ivan, “let me be in my own kingdom
this minute.”
He had barely spoken when he appeared in his
own kingdom, in the middle of the market square.
He was walking along the square, when a shoemaker
came toward him,—such a jolly fellow! The Tsarevich
asked: “Whither art thou going, good man?”
“I am taking shoes to sell; I am a shoemaker.”
“Take me into thy service,” said Ivan.
“Dost thou know how to make shoes?”
“Yes, I can do everything. I can make not only
shoes, but clothes.”
“Well, come on.”
They went to his house. The shoemaker said:
“Go to work; here is leather for thee,—the best
kind; I’ll see what skill thou hast.”
Ivan Tsarevich went to his own room, and took out
the whistle. Lame and Crooked came. “What is
thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“To have shoes ready by to-morrow.”
13]
“Oh, that is not work, that is play!”
“Here is the leather.”
“What sort of leather is that? That’s trash, nothing
more; that should go out of the window.”
Next morning Ivan Tsarevich woke up; on the
table were beautiful shoes, the very best.
The shoemaker rose. “Well, young man, hast thou
made the shoes?”
“They are finished.”
“Well, show them.” He looked at the shoes and
was astonished. “See what a man I have got for myself,—not
a shoemaker, but a wonder!” He took
the shoes and carried them to the market to sell.
At that same time three weddings were in preparation
at the palace. Pyotr Tsarevich was to marry
Yelena the Beautiful, Vassili Tsarevich the Tsaritsa
of the Silver Kingdom, and they were giving the
Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom to a general. They
were making dresses for those weddings. Yelena
the Beautiful wanted shoes. Our shoemaker’s shoes
were better than all the others brought to the
palace.
When Yelena looked at them she said, “What
does this mean? They make shoes like these only
in the mountains.” She paid the shoemaker a large
price and said, “Make me without measure another
pair wonderfully sewed, ornamented with precious
stones, and studded with diamonds. They must be
ready by to-morrow; if not, to the gallows with thee.”
14]
The shoemaker took the precious stones and money
and went home,—such a gloomy man! “Misery,”
said he, “what am I to do now? How can I make
shoes by to-morrow, and besides without measure?
It is clear that they will hang me to-morrow; let me
have at least a last frolic with my friends.”
He went to the inn. These friends of his were
numerous; they asked, “Why art thou so gloomy,
brother?”
“Oh, my dear friends,” answered he, “they are
going to hang me to-morrow!”
“Why so?”
The shoemaker told his trouble. “How think of
work in such a position? Better I’ll frolic to-night
for the last time.”
So they drank and drank, frolicked and frolicked;
the shoemaker was staggering already.
“Well,” said he, “I’ll take home a keg of spirits,
lie down to sleep; and to-morrow when they come
to hang me, I’ll drink a gallon and a half right away.
Let them hang me without my senses.”
He came home. “Well, thou reprobate!” said
he to Ivan Tsarevich, “see what thy shoes have done
... so and so.... When they come in the morning
for me, wake me up.”
In the night Ivan Tsarevich took out the whistle
and blew. Lame and Crooked appeared. “What is
thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“That shoes of such a kind be ready.”
15]
“We obey!”
Ivan lay down to sleep. Next morning he woke
up; the shoes were on the table shining like fire.
He went to rouse his master.
“It is time to rise, master.”
“What! have they come for me? Bring the keg
quickly! Here is a cup, pour the spirits in; let them
hang me drunk.”
“But the shoes are made.”
“How made? Where are they?”
The master ran and saw them. “But when did we
make them?”
“In the night. Is it possible that thou dost not
remember when we cut and sewed?”
“Oh, I’ve slept so long, brother! I barely, barely
remember.”
He took the shoes, wrapped them up, and ran to
the palace.
Yelena the Beautiful saw the shoes and knew what
had happened. “Surely,” she thought, “the spirits
made these for Ivan Tsarevich.—How didst thou
make these?” asked she of the shoemaker.
“Oh! I know how to do everything.”
“If that is the case, make me a wedding robe embroidered
with gold, ornamented with diamonds and
precious stones; let it be ready to-morrow morning:
if not, off with thy head!”
The shoemaker went home again gloomy, and his
friends were long waiting for him. “Well, what is it?”
16]
“Nothing but cursedness. The destroyer of Christian
people has come; she commanded me to make
her a robe with gold and precious stones by to-morrow
morning: and what sort of a tailor am I? They
will take my head surely to-morrow.”
“Ah! brother, the morning is wiser than the evening;
let us go and frolic.”
They went to the inn, they drank and frolicked;
the shoemaker got tipsy again, brought home a whole
keg of spirits, and said to Ivan Tsarevich: “Now,
young fellow, when thou wilt rouse me in the morning
I’ll toss off three gallons; let them cut the head
off me drunk. I couldn’t make such a robe in a lifetime.”
The shoemaker lay down to sleep and snored.
Ivan Tsarevich blew on the whistle, and Lame
and Crooked appeared. “What is thy pleasure,
Tsarevich?”
“That a robe be ready by to-morrow morning
exactly such as Yelena the Beautiful wore in Whirlwind’s
house.”
“We obey; it will be ready.”
Ivan Tsarevich woke at daylight; the robe was on
the table, shining like fire, so that the whole chamber
was lighted up. Then he roused his master, who
rubbed his eyes and asked, “What! have they come
to cut my head off? Give the spirits here this
minute.”
“But the robe is ready.”
“Is that true? When did we make it?”
17]
“In the night, of course; dost thou not remember
cutting it thyself?”
“Ah, brother, I just remember,—see it as in a
dream!”
The shoemaker took the robe and ran to the palace.
Yelena the Beautiful gave him much money and
the command, “See that to-morrow by daylight the
Golden Kingdom be on the sea, seven versts from
shore, and from it to our palace let there be a golden
bridge with costly velvet spread upon it, and at the
railings on both sides let wonderful trees be growing,
and let there be wonderful song-birds singing, with
various voices. If thou wilt not have it done by
morning, I’ll give orders to quarter thee.”
The shoemaker went from Yelena the Beautiful
with drooping head. His friends met him. “Well,
brother?”
“What well! I am lost; to-morrow I shall be
quartered. She gave me such a task that no devil
could do it.”
“Oh, never mind! the morning is wiser than the
evening; let us go to the inn.”
“Well, let us go; at the last parting we must have
a carousal at least.”
They drank and drank; and towards evening the
shoemaker drank so much they had to lead him
home. “Farewell, young fellow,” said he to Ivan;
“to-morrow they will put me to death.”
“But has a new task been given?”
18]
“Yes, so and so, so and so.” He lay down and
snored; but Ivan Tsarevich went straight to his
room, and blew on the whistle. Lame and Crooked
appeared.
“What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“Can ye do me such a work as this?”
“Ivan Tsarevich, this is a work indeed. But there
is no avoiding it; toward morning all will be ready.”
When daylight began to come, Ivan woke up,
looked out of the window. Fathers! everything
was ready as asked for. A golden castle was gleaming
like fire. He roused his master, who sprang up.
“Well, have they come for me? Give the keg here
this minute!”
“But the palace is ready.”
“What dost thou say?”
The shoemaker looked through the window and
said, “Ah!” in astonishment, “how was that done?”
“Dost thou not remember how thou and I
fixed it?”
“Yes, it is clear that I have slept too soundly;
I barely, barely remember.”
They ran to the golden castle; in it was wealth
untold, unseen.
Said Ivan Tsarevich: “Here, master, is a wing, go
and dust the railing of the bridge; and if they come
and ask who lives in the palace, say thou nothing,
but give this letter.”
“Very well.”
19]
The shoemaker went to dust the railing of the
bridge.
In the morning Yelena the Beautiful woke up; she
saw the golden castle, and ran straight to the Tsar.
“See what is done in our place! There is a golden
palace on the sea, and from that palace a golden
bridge seven versts long; and on both sides of the
bridge wonderful trees are growing, and song-birds
are singing in various voices.”
The Tsar sent immediately to ask what that meant?
Had not some hero come to his kingdom? The messengers
came to the shoemaker, asked him. “I know
not, but there is a letter to thy Tsar.” In that letter
Ivan Tsarevich related everything to his father as it
was,—how he had liberated his mother, won Yelena
the Beautiful, and how his elder brothers had deceived
him. With the letter Ivan Tsarevich sent
golden carriages, and begged the Tsar and Tsaritsa to
come to him. Let Yelena the Beautiful and her sisters
and his brothers be brought behind in simple wagons.
All assembled at once and started. Ivan Tsarevich
met them with joy. The Tsar wished to put his elder
sons to death for their untruths; but Ivan Tsarevich
implored his father, and they were forgiven. Then
began a mountain of a feast. Ivan Tsarevich married
Yelena the Beautiful. They gave the Tsaritsa
of the Silver Kingdom to Pyotr Tsarevich, the Tsaritsa
of the Copper Kingdom to Vassili Tsarevich,
and made the shoemaker a general.
IN a certain kingdom, in a certain land, lived Tsar
Vwislav Andronovich; he had three sons,—Dmitri
Tsarevich, Vassili Tsarevich, and Ivan Tsarevich.
Tsar Vwislav had a garden so rich that in no
land was there better. In the garden grew many
precious trees, with fruit and without fruit.
Tsar Vwislav had one favorite apple-tree, and on
that tree grew apples all golden. The Fire-bird used
to fly to the garden of Tsar Vwislav. She had wings
of gold, and eyes like crystals of the East; and she
used to fly to that garden every night, sit on the
favorite apple-tree, pluck from it golden apples, and
then fly away.
The Tsar grieved greatly over that apple-tree because
the Fire-bird plucked from it many apples.
Therefore he called his three sons and said: “My
dear children, whichever one of you can catch the
Fire-bird in my garden and take her alive, to him
will I give during my life one half of the kingdom,
and at my death I will give it all.”
Then the sons cried out in one voice: “Gracious
sovereign, our father, we will try with great pleasure
to take the Fire-bird alive.”
21]
The first night Dmitri Tsarevich went to watch in
the garden, and sat under the apple-tree from which
the Fire-bird had been plucking the apples. He
fell asleep, and did not hear the Fire-bird when she
came, nor when she plucked many apples.
Next morning Tsar Vwislav called his son Dmitri
Tsarevich, and asked, “Well, my dear son, hast
thou seen the Fire-bird?”
“No, gracious sovereign, my father, she came not
last night.”
The next night Vassili Tsarevich went to the garden
to watch the Fire-bird. He sat under the same
apple-tree, and in a couple of hours fell asleep so
soundly that he did not hear the Fire-bird when she
came nor when she plucked apples.
Next morning Tsar Vwislav called him and asked,
“Well, my dear son, hast thou seen the Fire-bird?”
“Gracious sovereign, my father, she came not last
night.”
The third night Ivan Tsarevich went to watch in
the garden, and sat under the same apple-tree. He
sat an hour, a second, and a third. All at once the
whole garden was lighted up as if by many fires.
The Fire-bird flew hither, perched on the apple-tree,
and began to pluck apples. Ivan stole up to her so
warily that he caught her tail, but could not hold the
bird, she tore off, flew away; and there remained
in the hand of Ivan Tsarevich but one feather of the
tail, which he held very firmly.
22]
Next morning, the moment Tsar Vwislav woke
from his sleep, Ivan Tsarevich went to him and gave
him the feather of the Fire-bird. The Tsar was
greatly delighted that his youngest son had been
able to get even one feather of the Fire-bird. This
feather was so wonderful and bright that when carried
into a dark chamber it shone as if a great multitude
of tapers were lighted in that place. Tsar
Vwislav put the feather in his cabinet as a thing to be
guarded forever. From that time forth the Fire-bird
flew to the garden no more.
Tsar Vwislav again called his sons, and said: “My
dear children, I give you my blessing. Set out, find
the Fire-bird, and bring her to me alive; and what
I promised at first he will surely receive who brings
me the bird.”
Dmitri and Vassili Tsarevich began to cherish
hatred against their youngest brother because he
had pulled the feather from the tail of the Fire-bird.
They took their father’s blessing, and both went to
find the Fire-bird. Ivan Tsarevich too began to beg
his father’s blessing. The Tsar said to him: “My
dear son, my darling child, thou art still young,
unused to such a long and difficult journey: why
shouldst thou part from me? Thy brothers have
gone; now, if thou goest too, and all three of you
fail to return for a long time (I am old, and walk
under God), and if during your absence the Lord
takes my life, who would rule in my place? There
23]
might be rebellion too, or disagreement among our
people,—there would be no one to stop it; or if
an enemy should invade our land, there would be
no one to command our men.”
But no matter how the Tsar tried to detain Ivan
Tsarevich, he could not avoid letting him go at his
urgent prayer. Ivan Tsarevich took a blessing of
his father, chose a horse, and rode away; he rode on,
not knowing himself whither.
Riding by the path by the road, whether it was
near or far, high or low, a tale is soon told, but a
deed’s not soon done. At last he came to the green
meadows. In the open field a pillar stands, and on
the pillar these words are written: “Whoever goes
from the pillar straight forward will be hungry and
cold; whoever goes to the right hand will be healthy
and well, but his horse will be dead; whoever goes
to the left hand will be killed himself, but his horse
will be living and well.” Ivan read the inscription,
and went to the right hand, holding in mind that
though his horse might be killed, he would remain
alive, and might in time get another horse.
He rode one day, a second, and a third. All at once
an enormous gray wolf came out against him and
said: “Oh! is that thou, tender youth, Ivan Tsarevich?
Thou hast read on the pillar that thy horse will
be dead: why hast thou come hither, then?” The
wolf said these words, tore Ivan Tsarevich’s horse in
two, and went to one side.
24]
Ivan grieved greatly for his horse. He cried bitterly,
and went forward on foot. He walked all day,
and was unspeakably tired. He was going to sit
down and rest, when all at once the Gray Wolf
caught up with him and said: “I am sorry for thee,
Ivan Tsarevich, thou art tired from walking; I am
sorry that I ate thy good steed. Well, sit on me,
the old wolf, and tell me whither to bear thee,
and why.”
Ivan Tsarevich told the Gray Wolf whither he
had to go, and the Gray Wolf shot ahead with him
swifter than a horse. After a time, just at nightfall,
he brought Ivan Tsarevich to a stone wall not very
high, halted, and said: “Now, Ivan Tsarevich, come
down from the Gray Wolf, climb over that stone
wall; on the other side is a garden, and in the
garden the Fire-bird, in a golden cage. Take the
Fire-bird, but touch not the cage. If thou takest
the cage, thou’lt not escape; they will seize thee
straightway.”
Ivan Tsarevich climbed over the wall into the
garden, saw the Fire-bird in the golden cage, and
was greatly tempted by the cage. He took the bird
out, and was going back; but changed his mind, and
thought, “Why have I taken the bird without the
cage? Where can I put her?” He returned; but had
barely taken down the cage when there was a hammering
and thundering throughout the whole garden,
for there were wires attached to the cage. The
25]
watchmen woke up at that moment, ran to the garden,
caught Ivan Tsarevich with the Fire-bird, and
took him to the Tsar, who was called Dolmat. Tsar
Dolmat was terribly enraged at Ivan, and shouted
at him in loud, angry tones: “Is it not a shame for
thee, young man, to steal? But who art thou, of
what land, of what father a son, and how do they
call thee by name?”
Ivan Tsarevich replied: “I am from Vwislav’s
kingdom, the son of Tsar Vwislav Andronovich, and
they call me Ivan Tsarevich. Thy Fire-bird used to
fly to our garden each night and pluck golden apples
from my father’s favorite apple-tree, and destroyed
almost the whole tree. Therefore my father has sent
me to find the Fire-bird and bring it to him.”
“Oh, youthful young man, Ivan Tsarevich,” said
Tsar Dolmat, “is it fitting to do as thou hast done?
Thou shouldst have come to me, and I would have
given thee the Fire-bird with honor; but now will it
be well for thee when I send to all lands to declare
how dishonorably thou hast acted in my kingdom?
Listen, however, Ivan Tsarevich. If thou wilt do me
a service,—if thou wilt go beyond the thrice ninth
land to the thirtieth kingdom and get for me from
Tsar Afron the golden-maned steed, I will forgive
thy offence and give thee the Fire-bird with great
honor; if not, I will publish in all kingdoms that
thou art a dishonorable thief.”
Ivan Tsarevich went away from Tsar Dolmat in
26]
great grief, promising to obtain for him the golden-maned
steed.
He came to the Gray Wolf, and told him all that
Tsar Dolmat had said.
“Oh! is that thou, youthful young man, Ivan
Tsarevich? Why didst thou disobey my words and
take the golden cage?”
“I have offended in thy sight,” said Ivan to the
Gray Wolf.
“Well, let that go; sit on me, and I will take thee
wherever thou wilt.”
Ivan Tsarevich sat on the back of the Gray Wolf.
The wolf was as swift as an arrow, and ran, whether it
was long or short, till he came at last to the kingdom
of Tsar Afron in the night-time. Coming to the white-walled
stables, the Gray Wolf said: “Go, Ivan Tsarevich,
into these white-walled stables (the grooms
on guard are sleeping soundly), and take the golden-maned
steed. On the wall hangs a golden bridle; but
take not the bridle, or it will go ill with thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich entered the white-walled stables,
took the steed, and was coming back; but he saw on
the walls the golden bridle, and was so tempted that
he took it from the nail. That moment there went a
thunder and a noise throughout the stables, because
strings were tied to the bridle. The grooms on
guard woke up that moment, rushed in, seized Ivan
Tsarevich, and took him to Tsar Afron. Tsar Afron
began to question him. “Oh, youthful young man,
27]
tell me from what land thou art, of what father a
son, and how do they call thee by name?”
To this Ivan Tsarevich replied: “I am from
Vwislav’s kingdom, the son of Tsar Vwislav, and
they call me Ivan Tsarevich.”
“Oh, youthful young man, Ivan Tsarevich!” said
Tsar Afron, “was that which thou hast done the deed
of an honorable knight? I would have given thee the
golden-maned steed with honor. But now will it be
well for thee when I send to all lands a declaration
of how dishonorably thou hast acted in my kingdom?
Hear me, however, Ivan Tsarevich: if thou wilt do
me a service and go beyond the thrice ninth land
to the thirtieth kingdom and bring to me Princess
Yelena the Beautiful, with whom I am in love heart
and soul for a long time, but whom I cannot obtain,
I will pardon thy offence and give thee the golden-maned
steed with honor. And if thou wilt not do
me this service, I will declare in all lands that thou
art a dishonorable thief.”
Ivan Tsarevich promised Tsar Afron to bring
Yelena the Beautiful, left the palace, and fell to
crying bitterly.
He came to the Gray Wolf and told him all that
had happened.
“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, thou youthful young man,”
said the Gray Wolf, “why didst thou disobey me and
take the golden bridle?”
“I have offended in thy sight,” said Ivan Tsarevich.
28]
“Well, let that go,” replied the Wolf. “Sit on me;
I will take thee wherever need be.”
Ivan Tsarevich sat on the back of the Gray Wolf,
who ran as swiftly as an arrow flies, and he ran in
such fashion as to be told in a tale no long time;
and at last he came to the kingdom of Yelena the
Beautiful. Coming to the golden fence which surrounded
her wonderful garden, the Wolf said: “Now,
Ivan Tsarevich, come down from me and go back by
the same road along which we came and wait in the
field, under the green oak.”
Ivan Tsarevich went where he was commanded.
But the Gray Wolf sat near the golden fence, and
waited till Yelena the Beautiful should walk in the
garden.
Toward evening, when the sun was sinking low in
the west, therefore, it was not very warm in the air,
Princess Yelena went to walk in the garden with her
maidens and court ladies. When she entered the
garden and approached the place where the Gray
Wolf was sitting behind the fence, he jumped out
suddenly, caught the princess, sprang back again, and
bore her away with all his power and might. He
came to the green oak in the open field where Ivan
Tsarevich was waiting, and said, “Ivan Tsarevich, sit on
me quickly.” Ivan sat on him, and the Gray Wolf bore
them both along swiftly to the kingdom of Tsar Afron.
The nurses and maidens and all the court ladies
who had been walking in the garden with the princess
29]
Yelena the Beautiful ran straightway to the
palace and sent pursuers to overtake the Gray Wolf;
but no matter how they ran, they could not overtake
him, and turned back.
Ivan Tsarevich while sitting on the Gray Wolf
with princess Yelena the Beautiful came to love her
with his heart, and she Ivan Tsarevich; and when
the Gray Wolf arrived at the kingdom of Tsar Afron,
and Ivan Tsarevich had to take Yelena the Beautiful
to the palace and give her to Tsar Afron, he grew
very sad, and began to weep tearfully.
“What art thou weeping for, Ivan Tsarevich?”
asked the Gray Wolf.
“My friend, why should I, good youth, not weep?
I have formed a heartfelt love for Yelena the Beautiful,
and now I must give her to Tsar Afron for the
golden-maned steed; and if I yield her not, then Tsar
Afron will dishonor me in all lands.”
“I have served thee much, Ivan Tsarevich,” said
the Gray Wolf, “and I will do yet this service. Listen
to me. I will turn myself into a princess,
Yelena the Beautiful. Do thou give me to Tsar
Afron and take from him the golden-maned steed; he
will think me the real princess. And when thou art
sitting on the steed and riding far away, I will beg of
Tsar Afron permission to walk in the open field.
When he lets me go with the maidens and nurses and
all the court ladies, and I am with them in the open
field, remember me, and I will come to thee.”
30]
The Gray Wolf spoke these words, struck the
damp earth, and became a princess, Yelena the Beautiful,
so that it was not possible in any way to know
that the wolf was not the princess. Ivan Tsarevich
told Yelena the Beautiful to wait outside the town,
and took the Gray Wolf to the palace of Tsar
Afron.
When Ivan Tsarevich came with the pretended
Yelena the Beautiful, Tsar Afron was greatly delighted
in his heart that he had received a treasure
which he had long desired. He took the false
maiden, and gave Ivan Tsarevich the golden-maned
steed.
Ivan Tsarevich mounted the steed and rode out of
the town, seated Yelena the Beautiful with him, and
rode on, holding his way toward the kingdom of
Tsar Dolmat.
The Gray Wolf lived with Tsar Afron a day, a second,
and a third, instead of Yelena the Beautiful. On
the fourth day he went to Tsar Afron, begging to go
out in the open field to walk, to drive away cruel
grief and sorrow. Then Tsar Afron said: “Oh, my
beautiful princess Yelena, I will do everything for
thee; I will let thee go to the open field to walk!”
And straightway he commanded the nurses, the
maidens, and all the court ladies to go to the open
field and walk with the beautiful princess.
Ivan Tsarevich was riding along his road and path
with Yelena the Beautiful, talking with her; and he
31]
had forgotten about the Gray Wolf, but afterward remembered.
“Oh, where is my Gray Wolf?”
All at once, from wherever he came, the wolf
stood before Ivan, and said: “Ivan Tsarevich, sit on
me, the Gray Wolf, and let the beautiful princess ride
on the golden-maned steed.”
Ivan Tsarevich sat on the Gray Wolf, and they
went toward the kingdom of Tsar Dolmat. Whether
they journeyed long or short, when they had come
to the kingdom they stopped about three versts from
the capital town; and Ivan Tsarevich began to implore:
“Listen to me, Gray Wolf, my dear friend.
Thou hast shown me many a service, show me the
last one now; and the last one is this: Couldst thou
not turn to a golden-maned steed instead of this one?
for I do not like to part with this horse.”
Suddenly the Gray Wolf struck the damp earth
and became a golden-maned steed. Ivan Tsarevich,
leaving princess Yelena in the green meadow, sat on
the Gray Wolf and went to the palace of Tsar Dolmat.
The moment he came, Tsar Dolmat saw that
Ivan Tsarevich was riding on the golden-maned
steed, and he rejoiced greatly. Straightway he went
out of the palace, met the Tsarevich in the broad
court, kissed him, took him by the right hand, and
led him into the white stone chambers. Tsar Dolmat
on the occasion of such joy gave orders for a feast,
and they sat at the oaken table at the spread cloth.
They ate, they drank, they amused themselves, and
32]
rejoiced exactly two days; and on the third day Tsar
Dolmat gave Ivan Tsarevich the Fire-bird together
with the golden cage. Ivan took the Fire-bird, went
outside the town, sat on the golden-maned steed
together with Yelena the Beautiful, and went toward
his own native place, toward the kingdom of Tsar
Vwislav.
Tsar Dolmat the next day thought to take a ride
through the open field on his golden-maned steed.
He ordered them to saddle him; he sat on the horse,
and rode to the open field. The moment he urged
the horse, the horse threw Tsar Dolmat off his back,
became the Gray Wolf as before, ran off, and came
up with Ivan Tsarevich. “Ivan Tsarevich,” said he,
“sit on me, the Gray Wolf, and let Yelena the Beautiful
ride on the golden-maned steed.”
Ivan sat on the Gray Wolf, and they went their
way. When the Gray Wolf had brought Ivan to the
place where he had torn his horse, he stopped and
said: “I have served thee sufficiently, with faith and
truth. On this spot I tore thy horse in two; to this
spot I have brought thee. Come down from me, the
Gray Wolf: thou hast a golden-maned steed; sit on
him, and go wherever thou hast need. I am no
longer thy servant.”
The Gray Wolf said these words and ran to one
side. Ivan wept bitterly for the Gray Wolf, and
went on with the beautiful princess.
Whether he rode long or short with the beautiful
33]
princess, when he was within twenty versts of his own
kingdom he stopped, dismounted, and he and the
beautiful princess rested from the heat of the sun
under a tree; he tied the golden-maned steed to the
same tree, and put the cage of the Fire-bird by his
side. Lying on the soft grass, they talked pleasantly,
and fell soundly asleep.
At that time the brothers of Ivan Tsarevich, Dmitri
and Vassili Tsarevich, after travelling through many
lands without finding the Fire-bird, were on their way
home with empty hands, and came unexpectedly
upon their brother with the beautiful princess. Seeing
the golden-maned steed and the Fire-bird in the
cage, they were greatly tempted, and thought of killing
their brother Ivan. Dmitri took his own sword
out of the scabbard, stabbed Ivan Tsarevich, and cut
him to pieces; then he roused the beautiful princess
and asked: “Beautiful maiden, of what land art thou,
of what father a daughter, and how do they call thee
by name?”
The beautiful princess, seeing Ivan Tsarevich dead,
was terribly frightened; she began to shed bitter
tears, and in her tears she said: “I am Princess
Yelena the Beautiful; Ivan Tsarevich, whom ye have
given to a cruel death, got me. If ye were good
knights, ye would have gone with him into the open
field and conquered him there; but ye killed him
when asleep; and what fame will ye receive for yourselves?
A sleeping man is the same as a dead one.”
34]
Then Dmitri Tsarevich put his sword to the heart
of Yelena the Beautiful and said: “Hear me, Yelena
the Beautiful, thou art now in our hands; we will
take thee to our father, Tsar Vwislav, thou wilt tell
him that we got thee and the Fire-bird and the
golden-maned steed. If not, we will give thee to
death this minute.” The princess, afraid of death,
promised them, and swore by everything sacred that
she would speak as commanded. Then they began
to cast lots who should have Yelena the Beautiful, and
who the golden-maned steed; and the lot fell that the
princess should go to Vassili, and the golden-maned
steed to Dmitri.
Then Vassili Tsarevich took the princess, and
placed her on his horse; Dmitri sat on the golden-maned
steed, and took the Fire-bird to give to their
father, Tsar Vwislav; and they went their way.
Ivan Tsarevich lay dead on that spot exactly thirty
days; then the Gray Wolf ran up, knew Ivan by his
odor, wanted to aid him, to bring him to life, but
knew not how. Just then the Gray Wolf saw a raven
with two young ones who were flying above the body
and wanted to eat the flesh of Ivan Tsarevich. The
wolf hid behind a bush; and when the young ravens
had come down and were ready to eat the body, he
sprang out, caught one, and was going to tear it in
two. Then the raven came down, sat a little way from
the Gray Wolf, and said: “Oh, Gray Wolf, touch
not my young child; it has done nothing to thee!”
35]
“Listen to me, raven,” said the Gray Wolf. “I will
not touch thy child; I will let it go unharmed and
well if thou wilt do me a service. Fly beyond the
thrice ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom, and bring
me the water of death and the water of life.”
“I will do that, but touch not my son.” Having
said these words, the raven flew away and soon disappeared
from sight. On the third day the raven returned,
bringing two vials, in one the water of life, in
the other the water of death, and gave them both to
the Gray Wolf. The wolf took the vials, tore the
young raven in two, sprinkled it with the water of
death; the little raven grew together, he sprinkled it
with the water of life, and the raven sprang up and
flew away.
The Gray Wolf sprinkled Ivan Tsarevich with the
water of death: the body grew together; he sprinkled
it with the water of life: Ivan Tsarevich stood up and
exclaimed, “Oh, how long I have slept!”
“Thou wouldst have slept forever, had it not been
for me. Thy brothers cut thee to pieces and carried
off Princess Yelena with the golden-maned steed and
the Fire-bird. Now hurry with all speed to thy own
country; Vassili Tsarevich will marry thy bride to-day.
To reach home quickly, sit on me; I will bear
thee.”
Ivan sat on the Gray Wolf; the wolf ran with him
to the kingdom of Tsar Vwislav, and whether it was
long or short, he ran to the edge of the town.
36]
Ivan sprang from the Gray Wolf, walked into the
town, and found that his brother Vassili had married
Yelena the Beautiful, had returned with her from the
ceremony, and was sitting with her at the feast.
Ivan Tsarevich entered the palace; and when Yelena
the Beautiful saw him, she sprang up from the table,
kissed him, and cried out: “This is my dear bridegroom,
Ivan Tsarevich, and not that scoundrel at the
table.”
Then Tsar Vwislav rose from his place and asked
the meaning of these words. Yelena the Beautiful
told the whole truth,—told how Ivan Tsarevich had
won her, the golden-maned steed, and the Fire-bird;
how his elder brother had killed him while asleep;
and how they had terrified her into saying that they
had won everything.
Tsar Vwislav was terribly enraged at Dmitri and
Vassili, and cast them into prison; but Ivan Tsarevich
married Yelena the Beautiful, and lived with her in
harmony and love, so that one of them could not
exist a single minute without the other.
IVAN THE PEASANT’S SON AND THE LITTLE MAN HIMSELF ONE-FINGER TALL, HIS MUSTACHE SEVEN VERSTS IN LENGTH.
37]
IN a certain kingdom in a certain land there lived
a Tsar, and in the court-yard of the Tsar was a
pillar, and in the pillar three rings, one gold, one
silver, and the third copper. One night the Tsar
dreamed that there was a horse tied to the gold ring,
that every hair on him was silver, and the clear moon
was on his forehead. In the morning the Tsar rose
up and ordered it to be proclaimed that whoever
could interpret the dream and get the horse for him,
to that man would he give his daughter, and one half
the kingdom in addition.
At the summons of the Tsar a multitude of princes,
boyars, and all kinds of lords assembled. No man
could explain the dream; no man would undertake
to get the horse. At last they explained to the Tsar
that such and such a poor man had a son Ivan, who
could interpret the dream and get the horse.
The Tsar commanded them to summon Ivan.
They summoned him. The Tsar asked, “Canst thou
explain my dream and get the horse?”
“Tell me first,” answered Ivan, “what the dream
was, and what horse thou dost need.”
38]
The Tsar said: “Last night I dreamed that a horse
was tied to the gold ring in my court-yard; every
hair on him was silver, and on his forehead the clear
moon.”
“That is not a dream, but a reality; for last night
the twelve-headed serpent came to thee on that horse
and wanted to steal thy daughter.”
“Is it possible to get that horse?”
“It is,” answered Ivan; “but only when my fifteenth
year is passed.”
Ivan was then but twelve years old. The Tsar
took him to his court, gave him food and drink till
his fifteenth year.
When his fifteenth year had passed, Ivan said to
the Tsar: “Now give me a horse on which I can
ride to the place where the serpent is.”
The Tsar led him to his stables and showed him
all his horses; but he could not find a single one, by
reason of his strength and weight. When he placed
his hero’s hand on any horse, that horse fell to the
ground; and he said to the Tsar: “Let me go to the
open country to seek a horse of sufficient strength.”
The Tsar let him go. Ivan the peasant’s son
looked for three years; nowhere could he find a
horse. He was returning to the Tsar in tears, when
an old man happened to meet him, and asked, “Why
dost thou weep, young man?”
To this question Ivan answered rudely; just chased
the old man away.
39]
The old man said: “Look out, young fellow; do
not speak ill.”
Ivan went away a little from the old man, and
thought, “Why have I offended the old man? Old
people know much.”
He returned, caught up with the old man, fell
down before him, and said: “Grandfather, forgive
me! I offended thee through grief. This is what I
am crying about: three years have I travelled through
the open country among many herds; nowhere can
I find a horse to suit me.”
The old man said: “Go to such a village; there
in the stable of a poor peasant is a mare; that mare
has a mangy colt; take the colt and feed him,—he
will be strong enough for thee.”
Ivan bowed down to the old man, and went to the
village; went straight to the peasant’s stable; saw
the mare with the mangy colt, on which he put his
hands. The colt did not quiver in the least. Ivan
took him from the peasant, fed him some time, came
to the Tsar, and said that he had a horse. Then he
began to make ready to visit the serpent.
The Tsar asked: “How many men dost thou
need, Ivan?”
“I need no men,” replied Ivan; “I can get the
horse alone. Thou mightest give me perhaps half a
dozen to send on messages.”
The Tsar gave him six men; they made ready and
set out. Whether they travelled long or short it is
40]
unknown to any man; only this is known,—that
they came to a fiery river. Over the river was a
bridge; near the river an enormous forest. In that
forest they pitched a tent, got many things to drink,
and began to eat and make merry.
Ivan the peasant’s son said to his comrades: “Let
us stand guard every night in turn, and see if any
man passes the river.”
It happened that when any of Ivan’s comrades
went on guard, each one of them got drunk in the
evening and could see nothing. At last Ivan himself
went on guard; and just at midnight he saw that a
three-headed serpent was crossing the river, and the
serpent called, “I have no enemy, no calumniator,
unless one enemy and one calumniator, Ivan the
peasant’s son; but the raven hasn’t brought his
bones in a bladder yet.”
Ivan the peasant’s son sprang from under the
bridge. “Thou liest; I am here!”
“If thou art here, then let us make trial;” and
the serpent on horseback advanced against Ivan. But
Ivan went forth on foot, gave a blow with his sabre,
and cut off the three heads of the serpent, took the
horse for himself, and tied him to the tent.
The next night Ivan the peasant’s son killed the
six-headed serpent, the third night the nine-headed
one, and threw them into the fiery river. When he
went on guard the fourth night the twelve-headed
serpent came, and began to speak wrathfully. “Who
41]
art thou, Ivan the peasant’s son? Come out this minute
to me! Why didst thou kill my sons?”
Ivan the peasant’s son slipped out and said: “Let
me go first to my tent, and then I will fight with
thee.”
“Well, go on.”
Ivan ran to his comrades. “Here, boys, is a bowl,
look into it; when it shall be filled with blood, come
to me.”
He returned and stood against the serpent; they
rushed and struck each other. Ivan at the first blow
cut four heads off the serpent, but went himself to
his knees in the earth; when they met the second
time, Ivan cut three heads off and sank to his waist
in the earth; the third time they met he cut off three
more heads, and sank to his breast in the earth; at
last he cut off one head, and sank to his neck in
the earth. Then only did his comrades think of
him; they looked, and saw that the blood was running
over the edge of the bowl. They hastened out,
cut off the last head of the serpent, and pulled Ivan
out of the earth. Ivan took the serpent’s horse and
led him to the tent.
Night passed, morning came; the good youth
began to eat, drink, and be merry. Ivan the peasant’s
son rose up from the merry-making and said to
his comrades, “Do ye wait here.” He turned into
a cat, and went along the bridge over the fiery river,
came to the house where the serpents used to live,
42]
and began to make friends with the cats there. In
the house there remained alive only the old mother
of the serpents and her three daughters-in-law; they
were sitting in the chamber talking to one another.
“How could we destroy that scoundrel, that Ivan
the peasant’s son?”
The youngest daughter-in-law said: “I’ll bring
hunger on the road, and turn myself into an apple-tree,
so that when he eats an apple it will tear him
to pieces in a moment.”
The second daughter-in-law said: “I will bring
thirst on the road, and turn myself into a well; let
him try to drink.”
The eldest said: “I’ll bring sleep and make a
bed of myself; let Ivan try to lie down, he’ll die in a
minute.”
At last the old woman said: “I’ll open my mouth
from earth to sky and swallow them all.”
Ivan heard what they said, went out of the chamber,
turned into a man, and went back to his comrades.
“Now, boys, make ready for the road.”
They made ready, went their way, and to begin with
a terrible hunger appeared on the road, so that they
had nothing to eat. They saw an apple-tree. Ivan’s
comrades wanted to pluck the apples, but Ivan would
not let them. “That is not an apple-tree,” said he;
and began to slash at it: blood came out. Another
time thirst came upon them. Ivan saw a well; he
would not let them drink from it; he began to slash
43]
at it: blood came forth. Then sleep came on them;
there was a bed on the road. Ivan cut it to pieces.
They came to the jaws stretched from the earth to
the sky. What was to be done? They thought of
jumping through on a run. No man was able to
jump through save Ivan; and he was borne out of the
trouble by his wonderful steed, every hair of which
was silver, and the bright moon on his forehead.
He came to a river; at the river was a hut; there he
was met by a little man, himself one finger tall, his
mustache seven versts in length, who said: “Give
me the horse; and if thou wilt not give him quietly,
I’ll take him by force.”
Ivan answered: “Leave me, cursed reptile, or I’ll
crush thee under the horse.”
The little man himself, one finger tall, his mustache
seven versts in length, knocked him on to the
ground, sat on the horse, and rode away. Ivan went
into the hut and grieved greatly for his horse. In
the hut was lying on the stove a footless, handless
man, and he said to Ivan: “Listen, good hero,—I
know not how to call thee by name. Why didst thou
try to fight with him? I was something more of a hero
than thou, and still he gnawed my hands and feet off.”
“Why?”
“Because I ate bread on his table.”
Ivan began to ask how he could win his horse
back. The footless, handless said,—
“Go to such a river and take the ferry, ferry for
44]
three years, take money from no man: then thou
mayest win the horse back.”
Ivan bowed down to him, went to the river, took
the ferry, and ferried three whole years for nothing.
Once it happened to him to ferry over three old
men; they offered him money, he would not take it.
“Tell me, good hero, why thou takest no money?”
He said, “According to a promise.”
“What promise?”
“A malicious man took my horse, and good people
told me to take the ferry for three years, and
receive money from no man.”
The old men said: “If thou choosest, Ivan, we
are ready to help thee to get back thy horse.”
“Help me, my friends.”
The old men were not common people; they were
the Freezer, the Devourer, and the Wizard. The
Wizard went out on the shore, made the picture of a
boat in the sand and said: “Well, brothers, you see
this boat?”
“We see it.”
“Sit in it.”
All four sat in the boat.
The Wizard said: “Now, light little boat, do me a
service as thou didst do before.”
Straightway the boat rose in the air, and in a flash,
just like an arrow sent from a bow, it brought them
to a great stony mountain. At that mountain stood
a house, and in the house lived the little
45]
man,—himself one finger tall, his mustache seven versts in
length. The old men sent Ivan to ask for the horse.
Ivan began to ask.
The little man said: “Steal the Tsar’s daughter
and bring her to me; then I’ll give thee the horse.”
Ivan told this to his comrades. They left him at
once and went to the Tsar. The Tsar knew what
they had come for, and commanded his servants to
heat the bath red hot. “Let them suffocate there,”
said he. Then he asked his guests to the bath.
They thanked him and went. The Wizard commanded
the Freezer to go first. The Freezer went
into the bath and made it cool. Then they washed
and steamed themselves, and came to the Tsar. He
ordered a great dinner to be given, and a multitude
of all kinds of food was on the table. The Devourer
began and ate everything. In the night they came
together, stole the Tsar’s daughter, and brought her
to the little man himself, one finger tall, his mustache
seven versts in length. They gave him the Tsar’s
daughter and got the horse.
Ivan bowed down to the old men, sat on the horse,
and went to the Tsar. He travelled and travelled,
stopped in an open field to rest, put up his tent, and
lay down. He woke up, threw out his hand, the
Tsar’s daughter was by him; he was delighted, and
asked, “How didst thou come here?”
“I turned into a pin, and stuck myself into thy
collar.”
46]
That moment she turned into a pin again. Ivan
stuck her into his collar and travelled on; came to
the Tsar. The Tsar saw the wondrous horse, received
the good hero with honor, and told how his
daughter had been stolen.
Ivan said: “Do not grieve, I have brought her
back.”
He went into the next chamber; the Tsarevna
turned into a fair maiden. Ivan took her by the
hand and brought her to the Tsar.
The Tsar was still more rejoiced. He took the
horse for himself, and gave his daughter to Ivan.
Ivan is living yet with his young wife.
THERE lived an old man with his old wife.
They had three daughters. The youngest
was such a beauty that she could neither be told of
in a tale nor described with a pen. Once the old
man was going to town to the fair, and he said:
“My dear daughters, say what ye want; I will buy
all ye wish at the fair.”
The eldest said, “Father, buy me a new dress.”
The second said, “Father, buy me a shawl kerchief.”
But the youngest said, “Buy me a red flower.”
The old man laughed at his youngest daughter.
“Oh, little dunce! what dost thou want of a red
flower? Great good in it for thee; better I’ll buy
thee clothes.”
No matter what he said, he could not persuade her.
“Buy me a little red flower, nothing but that.” The
old man went to the fair, bought the eldest daughter
a dress, the second a shawl kerchief; but in the
whole town he could not find a red flower. Only as
he was coming home did an unknown old man happen
in his way. The old man had a red flower in
his hand. “Sell me thy flower, old man.”
48]
“It is not for sale, it is reserved. If thy youngest
daughter will marry my son, Bright Finist the Falcon,
I will give the flower as a gift.”
The father grew thoughtful. Not to take the
flower was to grieve his daughter, and to take it
was to give her in marriage, God knows to whom!
He thought and thought; still he took the flower.
“What harm?” said he to himself; “they will come
with proposals by and by. If he is not the right
man, why, we can refuse.” He came home, gave the
eldest daughter her dress, the second her shawl, and
to the youngest he gave the flower, saying, “I like
not thy flower, my dear daughter; greatly I like it
not.” And then he whispered in her ear: “The
flower was reserved, and not for sale. I took it from
a strange man for the promise to give thee in marriage
to his son, Bright Finist the Falcon.”
“Be not troubled, father, he is so good and kind;
he flies as a bright falcon in the sky, and when he
strikes the damp earth he is a hero of heroes.”
“But dost thou know him?”
“I know him, father. Last Sunday he was at Mass,
and looked at me all the time. I talked to him—he
loves me, father.”
The old man shook his head, looked at his daughter
very sharply, made the sign of the cross on her, and
said: “Go to thy room, my dear daughter, it is time
to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening; we
will talk this matter over hereafter.”
49]
The daughter shut herself up in her room, put the
red flower in water, opened the window, and looked
into the blue distance. Wherever he came from,
Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers wheeled
before her, sprang in through the window, struck the
floor, and became a young man. The maiden was
frightened; but when he spoke it became one knows
not how joyous and pleasant at her heart. They
talked till dawn,—I know not indeed of what; I know
only that when day began to break, Bright Finist
the Falcon of Flowery Feathers kissed her and said:
“Every night as soon as the bright little flower is
placed on the window I will fly to thee, my dear.
But here is a feather from my wing. Shouldst thou
wish for robes, go out on the balcony and wave it on
the right side; in a moment all that thy soul desires
will appear before thee.” He kissed her once more,
turned into a bright falcon, and flew away beyond the
dark forest.
The maiden looked after her fated one, closed the
window, and lay down to sleep. From that time
every night, as soon as she placed the little red
flower at the window, the good youth, Bright Finist
the Falcon, flew to her.
Well, Sunday came. The elder sisters began to
dress for Mass. “But what art thou going to wear?
Thou hast nothing new,” said they to the youngest
one.
She answered, “Never mind; I can pray even at
home.”
50]
The elder sisters went to church, and the youngest
sat at the window in an old dress and looked at the
orthodox people going to church. She bided her
time, went out on the porch, waved her colored
feather on the right; and from wherever they came
there appeared before her a crystal carriage, blooded
horses, servants in gold, robes, and every ornament
of precious stones. In one moment the beautiful
maiden was dressed, sat in the carriage, and dashed
off to church. The people look, admire her beauty.
“It is clear that some Tsar’s daughter has come,”
said they among themselves.
As soon as “Dostoino” was sung, she went out of
the church, sat in the carriage, and was whirled back
home. The orthodox people went out to look at
her, to see where she would go; but nothing of the
sort,—her trace had grown cold long ago.
Our beauty had barely come to the court when
she waved her bright feather on the left side; in a
moment the maidens undressed her and the carriage
vanished. She was sitting as if nothing had happened,
looking out through the window to see how
the orthodox people go home from church.
The sisters too came home. “Well, sister,” said
they, “what a beauty was at church to-day! Just a
sight, neither to be told in a tale nor described
with a pen. It must be that she is some Tsar’s
daughter from another land, so splendidly dressed,
wonderfully!”
51]
The second and third Sundays came; the beautiful
maiden mystified the orthodox people, and her sisters,
her father, and her mother. But the last time
when she undressed she forgot to take out of her
hair the diamond pin. The elder sisters came from
the church and told her of the Tsar’s daughter; but
when they looked at the youngest sister the diamonds
were blazing in her hair.
“Oh, sister, what is this?” cried they; “why just
such a pin was in the hair of the Tsar’s daughter to-day.
Where didst thou get it?”
The beautiful maiden was confused, and ran to her
chamber. There was no end of guesses and whispers,
but the youngest sister said nothing and
laughed in secret. The elder sisters began to watch
her and to listen in the night at her chamber; and
they overheard one time her conversation with Bright
Finist the Falcon, and saw with their own eyes at
daybreak how he sprang from the window and flew
off beyond the dark forest.
The elder sisters were clearly malicious. They
planned to put hidden knives for the evening on
the window of their sister’s room, so that Bright
Finist the Falcon might cut his colored wings. They
did this straightway; the youngest sister knew nothing
of the matter. She put her red flower on the
window, lay down on the couch, and fell asleep
soundly. Bright Finist the Falcon flew to the
window, and as he was springing in cut his left foot;
52]
but the beautiful maiden knew nothing of this; she
was sleeping so sweetly, so calmly. Angrily did
Bright Finist the Falcon rise to the sky and fly
beyond the dark forest.
In the morning the maiden woke up. She looked
on every side; it was daylight already, and the good
youth was not there. She looked at the window,
and on the window were two sharp knives across
each other, and red blood was dripping from them
to the flower. Long did the maiden shed bitter tears,
many sleepless nights did she pass by the window
of her chamber. She waved the bright feather in
vain; Bright Finist the Falcon flies no longer himself,
and sends not his servants.
At last she went to her father with tears in her
eyes and begged his blessing, gave orders to forge
three pairs of iron shoes, three iron staves, three
iron caps, and three iron Easter cakes; she put a
pair of shoes on her feet, the cap on her head, took
a staff in her hand, and went toward that point from
which Bright Finist the Falcon had flown to her.
She goes through slumbering forests, she goes over
stumps, over logs. One pair of iron shoes are trodden
out, one iron cap is worn off, one staff is breaking
up, one cake is gnawed away, and the beautiful
maiden walks on, walks all the time, and the forest
grows darker, grows denser.
All at once she sees standing before her an iron
hut on hen’s legs, and it turns without ceasing.
53]
“Hut, hut!” said she, “stand with thy back to the
forest, thy front to me.”
The hut turned its front to her. She entered the
hut, and in it was lying a Baba-Yaga from corner to
corner, her lips on the crosspiece, her nose in the loft.
“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former days nothing of Russia was
seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the
odor of Russia goes through the wide world in visible
seeming, runs to one’s nose. Where dost thou
hold thy way, beautiful maiden? Art flying from
labor, or seekest labor?”
“Oh, grandmother dear, I had Bright Finist the
Falcon of Flowery Feathers; my sisters did harm him!
Now I am seeking for Bright Finist the Falcon.”
“Oh, my child, thou hast far to go; thrice nine
lands must yet be passed! Bright Finist the Falcon
of Flowery Feathers lives in the fiftieth kingdom in
the eightieth land, and is now betrothed to the daughter
of a Tsar.”
The Baba-Yaga nourished and fed the maiden with
what God had sent, and put her to bed. Next morning,
when the light was just coming, she roused her,
gave her a present for the road,—a small golden
hammer and ten little diamond nails,—and said:
“When thou comest to the blue sea, the bride of
Bright Finist the Falcon will come out on the shore
to walk; take the golden hammer and drive the diamond
nails. She will try to buy them of thee; but,
beautiful maiden, take no pay, only ask to see Bright
54]
Finist the Falcon. Now go, with God, to my second
sister.”
Again the fair maiden goes through the dark forest,
goes farther and farther; the forest is darker
and deeper, the tree-tops wind up to the sky. Now
almost the second pair of shoes are trodden out, the
second cap worn away, the second iron staff breaking,
the iron cake gnawed away; before the maiden
is an iron hut on hen’s legs, and it turns without
ceasing.
“Hut, oh, hut!” said she, “stop with thy back to
the trees and thy front to me, so that I may creep in
and eat.”
The hut turned its back to the trees and its front
to the maiden. She entered. In the hut lay a Baba-Yaga
from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece,
her nose in the loft.
“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former days nothing of Russia was
seen with sight or heard with hearing; but now the
odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Whither
dost hold thy way, fair maiden?”
“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist
the Falcon.”
“Oh! he is going to marry; they have the maiden’s
party to-night,” said the Baba-Yaga.
She gave her to eat and drink, and put the maiden
to sleep. At daybreak next morning she roused her,
gave her a golden plate with a diamond ball, and
enjoined on her most firmly, “When thou comest
55]
to the shore of the blue sea, roll the diamond ball
on the golden plate. The bride of Bright Finist the
Falcon of Flowery Feathers will try to buy the plate
and ball; but take nothing for it, only ask to see
Bright Finist the Falcon. Now go, with God, to my
eldest sister.”
Again the fair maiden goes through the dark forest,
goes farther and farther; the forest grows darker
and deeper. Now are the third pair of shoes almost
trodden out, the third cap is wearing off, the third
staff is breaking, and the last cake is gnawed away.
On hen’s legs stands an iron hut and turns about.
“Hut, oh, hut!” cried she, “stand with thy back to
the trees and thy face to me; I must creep in and
eat bread.”
The hut turned. In the hut lay another Baba-Yaga
from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece,
her nose in the loft.
“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former times nothing of Russia was
seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the
odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Where,
beautiful maiden, dost thou hold thy way?”
“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist
the Falcon.”
“Oh, fair maiden, he has married a Tsar’s daughter!
Here is my swift steed; sit on him, and go, with
God.”
The maiden sat on the steed and shot away farther.
The forest grew thinner and thinner.
56]
Behold, the blue sea is before her; broad and
roomy is it spread, and there in the distance, like
fire, burn the golden summits above the lofty, white-walled
chambers. That is the kingdom of Bright
Finist the Falcon. She sat then on the movable
sand of the shore, and hammered with hammer the
diamond nails. All at once the Tsar’s daughter goes
with her nurses and maidens and trusty serving-women
along the shore; she stops, and wants to buy
the diamond nails and the golden hammer.
“Tsar’s daughter, let me but look at Bright Finist
the Falcon, I will give them for nothing,” answered
the maiden.
“Bright Finist the Falcon is sleeping at present,
and has ordered that none be admitted; but give me
thy beautiful nails and hammer, I will show him to
thee.”
She took the hammer and nails, ran to the palace,
stuck into the clothes of Bright Finist the Falcon a
magic pin, so that he should sleep more soundly and
not wake; then she commanded her nurses to conduct
the beautiful maiden through the palace to her
husband, and went herself to walk.
Long did the maiden struggle, long did she weep
over her dear one; she could not wake him in any
way. When she had walked to her pleasure, the
Tsar’s daughter came home, drove her away, and
pulled out the pin.
Bright Finist the Falcon woke. “Oh, how long I
57]
have slept! Some one was here,” said he, “and wept
over me all the time, talking the while; but I could
not open my eyes, I felt so heavy.”
“Thou wast only dreaming,” said the Tsar’s daughter;
“no one was here.”
Next day the beautiful maiden sat again on the
shore of the blue sea, and was rolling a diamond ball
on a golden plate.
The Tsar’s daughter went out to walk; she saw
them, and said, “Sell them to me.”
“Let me look at Bright Finist the Falcon, and I
will give them for nothing.”
The Tsar’s daughter agreed, and again she pierced
the clothes of Bright Finist the Falcon with a magic
pin. Again the fair maiden wept bitterly over her
dear one, but could not rouse him.
The third day she sat on the shore of the blue sea,
so sad and sorrowful, she was feeding her steed with
glowing coals. The Tsar’s daughter, seeing that the
steed was eating fire, wanted to buy him.
“Let me look on Bright Finist the Falcon, and I’ll
give the steed for nothing.”
The Tsar’s daughter agreed, ran to the palace, and
said to her husband, “Let me look in thy head.”
She sat down to look in his head, and stuck the pin
in his hair; straightway he was in a deep sleep.
Then she sent her nurses for the beautiful maiden.
The fair maiden came, tried to wake her dear,
embraced him and kissed him, crying bitterly,
58]
bitterly herself; he wakes not. Then she began to look
in his head, and out fell the magic pin.
Bright Finist the Falcon woke all at once; he saw
the fair maiden and was glad. She told him everything
as it was,—how her malicious sisters had envied
her, how she had wandered, and how she had exchanged
with the Tsar’s daughter. He loved her
more than before, kissed her on the sweet lips, and
gave command to call without delay boyars, princes,
and people of every degree. Then he asked: “What
is your judgment: with which wife should I spend my
life,—with her who sold me, or her who bought me?”
All the boyars, princes, and people of each degree
decided in one voice to take the woman who had
bought him; but the one who had sold him, to hang
on the gate and shoot her. Bright Finist the Falcon
of Flowery Feathers did this.
THE PIG WITH GOLD BRISTLES, THE DEER WITH GOLDEN HORNS, AND THE GOLDEN-MANED STEED WITH GOLDEN TAIL.
59]
THERE lived a Tsar, and he had a daughter,
Tsarevna, Priceless Beauty, not to be told of
in a tale nor described with a pen. The Tsar issued
a call throughout all towns that whoever would kiss
the Tsarevna through twelve windows, no matter of
what stock he might be, he would get the Tsarevna
for wife, and receive half the kingdom.
In this kingdom lived a merchant, and he had
three sons; the two elder were crafty, and the third,
the youngest, was a simpleton. Well, the elder
brothers said, “Father, we will go to get the
Tsarevna.”
“Go, with God,” said the merchant.
They took the very best horses and began to make
ready for the road. The fool also was preparing.
“Where art thou going, fool? How couldst thou
kiss the Tsarevna?” and they laughed at him in
every manner.
They went away, and the simpleton dragged along
after them on a poor mangy little horse. He went
into the field, and he cried with a shrill voice: “Oh,
60]
blue-brown, cunning bay, stand before me as leaf
before stem!”
Wherever he came from, a splendid steed rushed
up; the ground trembled. The simpleton crept into
one ear of the steed and out of the other, and became
such a beauty as had never been seen nor heard of.
He sat on the horse, and rode to the Tsar’s palace;
and when he rushed up he broke six panes of glass.
All were astonished, and cried, “Who is that?
Seize him, hold him!”
But his trace was cold. He rode away into the
field, crept into one ear of his steed, out of the other,
and became just such a simpleton as before; he sat
on his wretched horse, rode home, and lay on the
stove.
His brothers came back and said: “Well, father,
there was a hero,—such a hero! He broke through
six glasses at once.”
The simpleton from the stove cried out: “Ah,
brothers, was not that I?”
“Thou dunce! how couldst thou do it; how couldst
thou get the Tsarevna? Thou art not worth her finger
nail.”
Next day the brothers prepared again to go to the
Tsar’s palace; the simpleton also prepared. “What
art thou going for, thou dunce?” laughed the brothers;
“thou art needed there, I suppose!”
The simpleton went again on his mangy, wretched
little horse to the field, and cried in a shrill voice:
61]
“Oh, blue-brown, cunning bay, stand before me as
leaf before stem!”
The steed rushed, the ground trembled, the simpleton
crept into one ear of the steed and out of the
other, and became such a beauty as had never been
seen or heard of before. He rushed through the
Tsar’s court, broke all the twelve windows, and kissed
the Tsarevna, Priceless Beauty. She put a mark
straight on his forehead.
All were astonished, and cried: “Stop him, hold
him! Who is he?”
But his trace was cold. He rode out to the field,
crept into one ear and out of the other, became just
such a simpleton as before, came home, tied a rag
around his forehead, pretended that his head was
aching, and lay down on the stove.
His brothers returned and said: “Oh, father, there
was a hero, such a hero! At once he broke all twelve
windows and kissed the Tsarevna.”
The simpleton cried out from the stove: “Ah,
brothers, was it not I?”
“Oh, thou dunce, how could it be?”
Meanwhile the Tsarevna was thinking who her
bridegroom could be. She went to the Tsar and
said: “Father, let me bring together all the Tsars’
sons, kings’ sons, nobles, merchants, and peasants to
a feast, to a talk, and find out who kissed me.” The
Tsar permitted her.
Well, the whole Christian world met. The Tsarevna
62]
herself went among them all, entertained all with
wine, examined to see if she could find the mark on
any man’s forehead. She went to each; at last she
brought wine to the simpleton.
“What hast thou bound up there?” asked the
Tsarevna.
“So, nothing; my head aches,” said the simpleton.
“Well, then, untie it.” The Tsarevna unbound his
head, recognized the mark, and grew faint.
The Tsar said to her, “It is impossible to change
the word now; it has to be so,—be his wife.”
They married the simpleton and the Tsarevna.
She was weeping bitterly; her two sisters, who had
married Tsars’ sons, were laughing at her, and said:
“There it is; she has married a fool!”
Once the Tsar called all his sons-in-law and said:
“I have heard that in such a state, in such a kingdom,
there is a wonder,—a pig with gold bristles.
Is it not possible in some way to get this pig? Try.”
Well, the two crafty sons-in-law saddled the very
best horses, sat on them, and rode away.
The fool took from the stable the very last miserable
horse, and followed his brothers. He came out
into an open field, and cried with a shrill voice:
“Come, blue-brown, cunning bay, stand before me
as leaf before stem!” Wherever he came from,
the wondrous horse was snorting and tearing the
ground with his hoof. The simpleton crawled into
one ear and out of the other.
63]
Wherever they came from, there stood before him
two youths, and they asked, “What dost thou wish,
what is thy pleasure?”
“To have a tent here, and in the tent a bed; beside
the tent to have the pig with gold bristles walking.”
All was done in a moment. The tent was there, in
the tent a bed; on the bed lay the simpleton, but
such a hero that no one could know him. The pig
with gold bristles was walking by the side of the tent
in the meadow.
The other brothers-in-law travelled and travelled;
nowhere could they see a pig with gold bristles. On
their way home they approached the tent and saw
the wonder. “Oh! here is where the pig with gold
bristles is walking; let us go,” said they, “and whatever
must be given we will give, we will buy the pig
and please our father-in-law.”
They went to the tent and saluted the owner. The
simpleton asked: “Where are ye travelling? what
are ye looking for?”
“Wilt thou sell us the pig with gold bristles? we
are looking for this pig a long time.”
“No, I want it myself.”
“Ask what will please thee, but sell.”
They offered him a thousand for the pig, and two
and three and more; but the simpleton would not consent.
“I will not take a hundred thousand,” said he.
“Oh, let us have him, please; take what seems
good to thee!”
64]
“Well, ye need him so greatly, I will give him, and
will not take much,—the middle toe of each man’s
foot.”
They thought and thought, took off their boots,
and each man cut off the middle toe of his foot.
The simpleton took the toes, hid them, and gave
the pig with gold bristles. The brothers-in-law went
home, taking the pig with them.
The Tsar was so glad that he knew not what to
call them, where to seat them, or what to give them
to eat.
“Have ye seen the fool?” asked the Tsar.
“With seeing we have not seen him, with hearing
we have not heard.”
The simpleton crept into one ear of his horse, out
of the other, and became just such a fool as before.
He killed his horse, took off his skin, and put it on;
then he caught magpies, crows, jackdaws, and sparrows,
tied them around himself, and went home. He
came into the palace and let all his birds loose; they
flew around on every side, and broke nearly all the
windows of the palace.
The Tsarevna, Priceless Beauty, covered herself
with tears, and her sisters were screaming with laughter.
“Our husbands,” said they, “brought home the
pig with gold bristles, and thy fool—look, if it please
thee, how he has dressed himself as a monster!”
The Tsar shouted: “What a clown! I’ll fix him.”
Again the Tsar called his sons-in-law. “My dear
65]
sons-in-law, I have heard that in such a kingdom, in
such a land, there is a wonder,—a deer with golden
horns and a golden tail. Can ye not get him in
any way?”
“We can, your Majesty.”
Now the two crafty sons-in-law saddled the very
best horses and set out.
“Well,” said the Tsar to the simpleton, “go thou
with the others.”
The simpleton took from the stable the very last
miserable horse and followed his brothers. He went
out in the open field and cried with a shrill voice:
“Oh, blue-brown, cunning bay, stand before me as
leaf before stem.” Wherever he came from, the
wonderful horse was there, snorting and tearing the
ground with his hoofs. The simpleton crept in one
of his ears and out of the other. Wherever they
came from, two young men stood before him and
asked: “What dost thou want?”
“I want a tent here, in the tent a bed, and at the
side of the tent a deer with golden horns and a
golden tail.”
That moment the tent was there, in the tent a bed,
on the bed the simpleton stretched himself,—such
a beauty that no man could know him; at the side
of the tent walked a deer with golden horns and a
golden tail.
The crafty brothers travelled and travelled. Nowhere
did they see such a deer, and they turned
66]
to come home. They came near the tent and saw
the wonder. “Oh, this is where the deer with golden
horns and a golden tail is! Let us go,” said they;
“whatever must be given we’ll give, buy that deer,
and please our father-in-law.”
They came up and saluted. The simpleton asked:
“Why are ye travelling; what are ye seeking?”
“Wilt thou sell us the deer with golden horns and
a golden tail?”
“No, it is not for sale; I want it myself.”
“Ask what will please thee, but sell.” They offered
one, two, three thousand, and more. The simpleton
wouldn’t listen to the offers, would not take money.
“But if my deer has pleased you, I’ll sell him, if
ye like, at a cheap price,—the middle finger of each
man’s hand.”
They thought and thought, and agreed. They took
off their gloves and cut off the middle finger. The
simpleton put the fingers away and gave the deer.
The sons-in-law came home, and brought the deer
with golden horns and a golden tail. The Tsar from
joy knew not what to call them, where to seat them,
or with what to entertain them.
“Have ye seen the fool anywhere?” asked the
Tsar.
“With seeing we have not seen him, with hearing
we have not heard.”
The simpleton crept into one ear of the horse and
out of the other, and became just such a simpleton as
67]
he had been before. He killed his wretched horse,
skinned him, and put on the skin; then caught a lot
of jackdaws, crows, magpies, and sparrows, tied them
around himself, and went home. He came again to
the palace, and let out the birds in different directions;
his wife was sobbing, and her sisters were
laughing. “Our husbands,” said they, “brought
home the deer with golden horns and a golden tail,
and thy fool—look at him!”
The Tsar shouted at the fool: “What an ignorant
lout!” and he gave half the kingdom to his crafty
sons-in-law.
The third time the Tsar called his crafty sons-in-law,
and said: “My dear sons-in-law, I will give you
the whole kingdom if ye will get for me the golden-maned
steed with golden tail; I have heard that he is
in such a kingdom and such a land.”
The crafty sons-in-law saddled the very best horses
and went on their journey.
The Tsar sent also the fool. “Well, go thou too.”
The simpleton took the very last wretched horse
from the stable and followed his crafty brothers. He
came to the open field and cried with a shrill voice:
“Oh, blue-brown, cunning bay, stand before me as
leaf before stem!” Wherever he came from, the
marvellous steed was snorting, and tearing the earth
with his hoof. Behold, the simpleton crept into one
ear and out of the other, and became such a beauty
that it was not in the power of man to recognize him.
68]
Then, wherever they came from, there stood before
him two youths, and they asked, “What dost thou
wish; what dost thou want?”
“I want a tent here, in the tent a bed, and at the side
of the tent the golden-maned steed with golden tail.”
That minute the tent was made, in the tent a bed.
The simpleton stretched himself on the bed; at the
side of the tent the golden-maned steed with golden
tail was walking.
The crafty sons-in-law travelled and travelled; nowhere
did they see that kind of steed, and were on
their way home. They drew near the tent, and saw
the wonder.
“Oh, here is the place where the golden-maned
steed with golden tail is walking. Let us go in,” said
they; “we will give whatever they ask, and buy him
to please our father-in-law.”
The simpleton asked: “Whither are ye travelling;
what are ye seeking?”
“Sell us the golden-maned steed with golden tail.”
“He is not for sale; I want him myself.”
“Ask what may please thee, only sell him;” and
they offered one, two, three thousand and more.
“I would not take a hundred thousand,” said the
simpleton.
“Sell him to us; take what will please thee.”
“Well, if ye need him greatly, I will give him to
you; I will not take a high price. Let me cut a
strap from the back of each one of you.”
69]
They thought and thought, struggled and struggled,
wanted the horse very badly, were sorry for
themselves, but decided at last, undressed, and took
off their shirts. The simpleton cut from the back
of each one of them a strap, took the straps, put
them away, and delivered the steed.
The sons-in-law came home bringing the golden-maned
steed with golden tail. The Tsar from delight
knew not what to call them, where to seat
them, or how to entertain them, and gave them the
remaining half of the kingdom. The simpleton crept
into one ear of the steed and out of the other, and
became what he had been before. He killed his
wretched horse, took off the skin, put it on himself,
caught magpies, crows, jackdaws, and sparrows, tied
them around himself, came to the palace, and let out
the birds; they flew in different directions, and broke
nearly all the windows. The Tsarevna, his wife, was
crying, and her sisters were laughing at her. “Our
husbands have brought the golden-maned steed with
golden tail; but look at thy fool going around such
a fright!”
The Tsar shouted at the fool: “What an ignorant
lout! I’ll have thee shot.”
And the simpleton asked: “With what wilt thou
reward me?”
“What reward shouldst thou have?” asked the
Tsar.
“If the truth must be told, I got for thee the pig
70]
with gold bristles, the deer with golden horns and a
golden tail, and the golden-maned steed with golden
tail.”
“How canst thou prove that?” asked the Tsar.
“Command thy sons-in-law, Gosudár, to take off
their boots.”
The sons-in-law began to make excuses; they didn’t
want to take off their boots.
“Take off your boots,” urged the Tsar; “there is
no harm in that.”
They took off their boots. The Tsar looks: one
toe is missing.
“Here are their toes,” said the simpleton. “Order
them now to take off their gloves.”
They removed their gloves, and the Tsar saw there
was a finger missing.
“Here are their fingers,” said the simpleton.
“Order them now to take off their shirts.”
The Tsar saw that the affair was coming true,
and ordered them to undress. They took off their
shirts, and the Tsar saw that each one of them had
a strap cut from his back the width of two fingers.
“Here are the straps,” said the simpleton; and told
the whole story as it was.
The Tsar didn’t know how to entertain him, nor
how to reward him. He gave him the whole kingdom,
and the other sons-in-law, because they had
deceived him, he had shot.
The simpleton went to the open field and cried
71]
with a shrill voice: “Oh, blue-brown, cunning bay,
stand before me as leaf before stem!” The horse
ran, the ground trembled, the simpleton crept into
one ear of the steed and out of the other, and
became a hero and a beauty.
He came home, began to live with his Tsarevna
and win wealth.
WATER OF YOUTH, WATER OF LIFE, AND WATER OF DEATH.
72]
IN a certain kingdom in a certain land there lived
a Tsar; that Tsar had three sons,—two crafty,
and the third simple. Somehow the Tsar had a
dream that beyond the thrice ninth land, in the thirtieth
kingdom, there was a beautiful maiden, from
whose hands and feet water was flowing, that whoever
would drink that water would become thirty
years younger. The Tsar was very old. He summoned
his sons and counsellors, and asked: “Can
any one explain my dream?”
The counsellors answered the Tsar: “We have
not seen with sight nor heard with hearing of such
a beautiful maiden, and how to go to her is unknown
to us.”
Now the eldest son, Dmitri Tsarevich, spoke up:
“Father, give me thy blessing to go in all four directions,
look at people, show myself, and make search
for the beautiful maiden.”
The Tsar gave his parental blessing. “Take,” said
he, “treasure as much as thou wishest, and all kinds
of troops as many as are necessary.”
Dmitri Tsarevich took one hundred thousand
men and set out on the road, on the journey. He
73]
rode a day, he rode a week, he rode a month, and
two and three months. No matter whom he asked,
no one knew of the beautiful maiden, and he came to
such desert places that there were only heaven and
earth. He urged his horse on, and behold before
him is a lofty mountain; he could not see the top
with his eyes. Somehow he climbed the mountain
and found there an ancient, a gray old man.
“Hail, grandfather!”
“Hail, brave youth! Art fleeing from labor, or
seekest thou labor?”
“I am seeking labor.”
“What dost thou need?”
“I have heard that beyond the thrice ninth land,
in the thirtieth kingdom, is a beautiful maiden, from
whose hands and feet healing water flows, and that
whoever gets and drinks this water will grow thirty
years younger.”
“Well, brother, thou canst not go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are three broad rivers on the road,
and on these rivers three ferries: at the first ferry
they will cut off thy right hand, at the second thy
left foot, at the third they will take thy head.”
Dmitri Tsarevich was grieved; he hung his stormy
head below his shoulders, and thought: “Must I spare
my father’s head? Must I spare my own? I’ll turn
back.”
He came down from the mountain, went back to
74]
his father, and said: “No, father, I have not been
able to find her; there is nothing to be heard of
that maiden.”
The second son, Vassili Tsarevich, began to beg:
“Father, give me thy blessing; perhaps I can find
her.”
“Go, my son.”
Vassili Tsarevich took one hundred thousand men,
and set out on his road, on his journey. He rode a
day, he rode a week, he rode a month, and two, and
three, and entered such places that there was nothing
but forests and swamps. He found there Baba-Yaga,
boneleg. “Hail, Baba-Yaga, boneleg!”
“Hail, brave youth! Art thou fleeing from labor,
or seekest labor?”
“I am seeking labor. I have heard that beyond
the thrice ninth land, in the thirtieth kingdom, is a
beautiful maiden, from whose feet and hands healing
water flows.”
“There is, father; only thou canst not go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because on the road there are three ferries: at the
first ferry they will cut off thy right hand, at the
second thy left foot, at the third off with thy head.”
“It is not a question of saving my father’s head,
but sparing my own.”
He returned, and said to his father: “No, father,
I could not find her; there is nothing to be heard
of that maiden.”
75]
The youngest son, Ivan Tsarevich, began to beg:
“Give me thy blessing, father; maybe I shall find
her.”
The father gave him his blessing. “Go, my dear
son; take troops and treasure all that are needed.”
“I need nothing, only give me a good steed and
the sword Kládyenets.”
Ivan Tsarevich mounted his steed, took the sword
Kládyenets, and set out on his way, on his journey.
He rode a day, he rode a week, he rode a month,
and two and three; and rode into such places that
his horse was to the knees in water, to the breast in
grass, and he, good youth, had nothing to eat. He
saw a cabin on hen’s feet, and entered: inside sat
Baba-Yaga, boneleg.
“Hail, grandmother!”
“Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Art flying from labor, or
seekest labor?”
“What labor? I am going to the thirtieth kingdom;
there, it is said, lives a beautiful maiden, from
whose hands and feet healing water flows.”
“There is, father; though with sight I have not
seen her, with hearing I have heard of her: but to
her it is not for thee to go.”
“Why so?”
“Because there are three ferries on the way: at the
first ferry they will cut off thy right hand, at the
second thy left foot, at the third off with thy head.”
“Well, grandmother, one head is not much; I will
go, whatever God gives.”
76]
“Ah! Ivan Tsarevich, better turn back; thou art
still a green youth, hast never been in places of danger,
hast not seen great terror.”
“No,” said Ivan; “if thou seizest the rope, don’t
say thou art not strong.” He took farewell of Baba-Yaga
and went farther.
He rode a day, a second, and a third, and came to
the first ferry: the ferrymen were sleeping on the
opposite bank. “What is to be done?” thought Ivan.
“If I shout, they’ll be deaf for the rest of their lives;
if I whistle, I shall sink the ferry-boat.” He whistled
a half whistle. The ferrymen sprang up that minute
and ferried him across the river.
“What is the price of your work, brothers?”
“Give us thy right hand.”
“Oh, I want that for myself!” Then Ivan Tsarevich
struck with his sword on the right, and on the left.
He cut down all the ferrymen, mounted his horse, and
galloped ahead. At the two other ferries he got
away in the same fashion. He was drawing near
the thirtieth kingdom. On the boundary stood a wild
man, in stature tall as a forest, in thickness the equal
of a great stack of hay; he held in his hands an
enormous oak-tree.
“Oh, worm!” said the giant to Ivan Tsarevich,
“whither art thou riding?”
“I am going to the thirtieth kingdom; I want to
see the beautiful maiden from whose hands and feet
healing water flows.”
“How couldst thou, little pigmy, go there? I am
77]
a hundred years guarding her kingdom, great, mighty
heroes came here,—not the like of thee,—and they
fell from my strong hand. What art thou? Just a
little worm!”
Ivan Tsarevich saw that he could not manage the
giant, and he turned aside. He travelled and travelled
till he came to a sleeping forest; in the forest was a
cabin, and in the cabin an old, ancient woman was sitting.
She saw the good youth, and said: “Hail, Ivan
Tsarevich! Why has God brought thee hither?”
He told her all without concealment. The old
woman gave him magic herbs and a ball.
“Go out,” said she, “into the open field, make a
fire, and throw these herbs on it; but take care to
stand on the windward. From these magic herbs the
giant will sleep a deep sleep; cut his head off, then
let the ball roll, and follow. The ball will take thee
to those regions where the beautiful maiden reigns.
She lives in a great golden castle, and often rides out
with her army to the green meadows to amuse herself.
Nine days does she stay there; then sleeps a
hero’s sleep nine days and nine nights.”
Ivan Tsarevich thanked the old woman and went
to the open field, where he made a fire and threw into
it the magic herbs. The stormy wind bore the smoke
to where the wild man was standing on guard. It
grew dim in his eyes; he lay on the damp earth and
fell soundly asleep. Ivan Tsarevich cut off his head,
let the ball roll, and rode on. He travelled and
78]
travelled till the golden palace was visible; then he
turned from the road, let his horse out to feed, and
crept into a thicket himself. He had just hidden,
when dust was rising in a column from the front of
the palace: the beautiful maiden rode out with her
army to amuse herself in the green meadows. The
Tsarevich saw that the whole army was formed of
maidens alone. One was beautiful, the next surpassed
that one; fairer than all, and beyond admiration
was the Tsarevna herself.
Nine days was she sporting in the green meadows,
and the Tsarevich did not take his eyes from her,
still he could not gaze his fill. On the tenth day he
went to the golden palace. The beautiful maiden
was lying on a couch of down, sleeping a hero’s
sleep; from her hands and feet healing water was
flowing. At the same time her trusty army was
sleeping as well.
Ivan Tsarevich took a flask of the healing water.
His heroic heart could not withstand her maiden
beauty. He tarried awhile, then left the palace,
mounted his good steed, and rushed toward home.
Nine days slept the beautiful maiden, and when she
woke her rage was dreadful. She stamped, she
screamed with a piercing voice: “What wretch has
been here?” she sprang on to her fleet-flying mare,
and struck into a chase after Ivan Tsarevich. The
mare races, the ground trembles; she caught up
with the good hero, struck him with her sword, and
79]
straight in the breast did she strike. The Tsarevich
fell on the damp earth: his bright eyes close, his red
blood stiffens. The fair maiden looked at him, and
great pity seized her; through the whole world
might she search, and not find such a beauty. She
placed her white hand on his wound, moistened it
with healing water. All at once the wound closed,
and Ivan Tsarevich rose up unharmed.
“Wilt thou take me as wife?” asked she.
“I will, beautiful maiden.”
“Well, go home, and wait three years.”
Ivan Tsarevich took farewell of his betrothed bride
and continued his journey. He was drawing near
his own kingdom; but his elder brothers had put
guards everywhere, so as not to let him come near
his father. The guards gave notice at once that Ivan
Tsarevich was coming. The elder brothers met him
on the road, drugged him, took the flask of healing
water, and threw him into a deep pit. Ivan Tsarevich
came out in the underground kingdom.
He travelled and travelled in the underground kingdom.
When he came to a certain place, a great
storm rose up, lightning flashed, thunder roared, rain
fell. He went to a tree to find shelter; looked up,
and saw young birds in that tree all wet. He took
off his coat, covered them, and sat himself under the
tree.
When the old bird flew to the tree, she was so
large that she hid the light, and it grew dark as if
80]
night were near. When she saw her young covered,
she asked: “Who has protected my little birds?”
Then, seeing the Tsarevich, she said: “It is thou
who didst this; God save thee! Whatever thou
wishest, ask of me; I will do everything for thee.”
He said, “Bear me out into the upper world.”
“Make ready,” said the bird, “a double box. Fill
one half of it with every kind of game, and in the
other half put water, so as to have something with
which to nourish me.”
The Tsarevich did all that was asked. The bird
took the box on her back, and the Tsarevich sat in
the middle. She flew up; and whether it was long
or short, she bore him to this upper world, took farewell
of him, and flew home.
Ivan Tsarevich went to his father; but the old Tsar
did not like him by reason of the lies which his
brothers had told, and sent him into exile. For
three whole years Ivan wandered from place to
place. When three years had passed, the beautiful
maiden sailed in a ship to the capital town of Ivan
Tsarevich’s father. She sent a letter to the Tsar,
demanding the man who had stolen the water, and
if he refused she would burn and destroy his kingdom
utterly.
The Tsar sent his eldest son; he went to the ship.
Two little boys, grandsons of the Tsar, saw him, and
asked their mother: “Is that our father?”
“No, that is your uncle.”
81]
“How shall we meet him?”
“Take each one a whip and flog him back home.”
The eldest Tsarevich returned, looking as if he had
eaten something unsalted.
The maiden continued her threats, demanded the
guilty man. The Tsar sent his second son, and
the same thing happened to him as to the eldest.
Now the Tsar gave command to find the youngest
Tsarevich.
When the Tsarevich was found, his father wished
him to go on the ship to the maiden. But he said:
“I will go when a crystal bridge is built to the ship,
and on the bridge there shall be many kinds of food
and wine set out.”
There was no help for it; they built the bridge,
prepared the food, brought wines and meat.
The Tsarevich collected his comrades. “Come
with me, attend me,” said he; “eat ye and drink,
spare nothing.”
While he was walking on the bridge the little boys
cried out: “Mother, who is that?”
“That is your father.”
“How shall we meet him?”
“Take him by the hands and lead him to me.”
They did so; there was kissing and embracing.
After that they went to the Tsar, told him all just as
it had been. The Tsar drove his eldest sons from
the castle, and lived with Ivan,—lived on and gained
wealth.
IN a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there lived
a Tsar with his Tsaritsa. They had a son, Ivan
Tsarevich, and Katoma of the Oaken Cap was appointed
tutor to care for and guard Ivan.
The Tsar and Tsaritsa attained to ancient years,
fell ill, and had no thought to recover. They summoned
Ivan Tsarevich and said: “When we die, do
thou obey in all things Katoma of the Oaken Cap and
honor him. If thou obeyest him, thou’lt be happy;
but if disobedient, thou wilt perish like a fly.”
Next day the Tsar and Tsaritsa died. Ivan buried
his parents and lived according to their command:
whatever he did, he always held counsel with his
tutor. Whether it was long or short, the Tsarevich
grew to years of manhood and thought of marrying.
He came to Katoma of the Oaken Cap and said: “I
feel dreary alone; I wish to marry.”
“Well, Tsarevich, where is the halt? Thy years
are such that it is time to think of a bride. Go to the
great chamber,—there the portraits of all Tsars’
daughters and all kings’ daughters are collected.
Look at them and choose; if any please thee, propose
for that one.”
83]
Ivan Tsarevich went to the great chamber, examined
the portraits; and Princess Anna the Beautiful
suited his mind,—such a beauty that in the whole
world there was not her equal. Under her portrait
was written that if any man gave her a riddle and
she could not solve it, she would marry the man; and
whose riddle she solved, off went his head. Ivan
Tsarevich read this inscription, grew very sorrowful,
and went to his uncle. “I have been,” said he, “in the
great chamber, and have found for myself a bride,—Anna
the Beautiful; but I know not how to get her.”
“Yes, Tsarevich, it is difficult to win her. If thou
go alone, thou wilt never succeed; but if thou take
me and will do what I say, perhaps the affair may be
settled.”
Ivan Tsarevich begged Katoma of the Oaken Cap
to go with him, and gave his faithful word to obey him
in sorrow and in joy.
They prepared for the road and the journey, and
went to ask Princess Anna the Beautiful in marriage.
They travelled one year, travelled a second, then a
third, and passed over many lands. Ivan Tsarevich
said: “Uncle, we are travelling now so long a time,
are nearing the land of Anna the Beautiful, and we
know not what riddle to give her.”
“Oh, we will think of one yet.”
They went farther. Uncle Katoma looked on the
road, and there was lying a purse with gold. He
took it up, poured all the money out of it into his
84]
own purse, and said: “Here is the riddle, Ivan
Tsarevich. When thou comest to the princess, give
her the riddle in these words: ‘We were travelling
along, and we saw good lying on the road. We took
good with good and put it in our good.’ She’ll
not solve that riddle all her life; and every other
one she would know in a moment,—she would just
look into her magic book, and as soon as she knew
the riddle she would have thy head cut off.”
Well, Ivan Tsarevich with his uncle came at last
to the lofty palace where the beautiful princess was
living. At that very time she was on the balcony,
saw the travellers, and sent out to know whence they
were, and what they had come for.
Ivan Tsarevich replied: “I have come from such
and such a kingdom, and I wish to ask Anna the
Beautiful in marriage.”
They reported this to the princess. She gave
answer that the Tsarevich should come to the palace
and give, in the presence of all her counselling princes
and boyars, a riddle. “With me,” said she, “this
order is established, that if I solve not the riddle of
a man, I will marry him; but if I solve any man’s
riddle, I give him to a cruel death.”
“Hear my riddle, beautiful princess,” said Ivan.
“We were going along, we saw good lying on the road,
we took good with good and put it in our good.”
Anna the Beautiful took her magic book, began to
examine it and look for riddles; she went through
85]
the whole volume and found nothing. Then the
counselling princes and boyars decided that the
princess must marry Ivan Tsarevich. Though sorry,
she had to give way, and began to prepare for the
wedding; but plotting to win time and get rid of the
bridegroom, she thought, “I will trouble him with
difficult tasks.” She called Ivan Tsarevich and said:
“Oh, my dear Ivan Tsarevich, my betrothed husband,
we must prepare for the wedding; do me a
small service. In my kingdom in such a place stands
a great iron pillar; bring it to the palace kitchen
and cut it into small pieces as fuel for the cook.”
“My princess, is it possible that I have come here
to cut fuel? Is that my business? I have a servant
for that,—Uncle Katoma of the Oaken Cap.”
The Tsarevich called Uncle Katoma straightway,
and commanded him to bring the iron pillar to the
kitchen and cut it into small pieces as fuel for the
cook.
Uncle Katoma went to the place mentioned, took
the pillar in his arms, brought it to the palace kitchen,
and cut it into small pieces. Four pieces of iron did
he put in his pocket, saying, “They will be good in
the future.”
Next day the princess said to Ivan: “My dear
Tsarevich, my betrothed husband, to-morrow we
must go to the crown: I will go in a carriage, and
thou on an heroic steed. Meanwhile thou shouldst
try the steed.”
86]
“Shall I try a horse when I have a servant for
that?” Ivan Tsarevich called Uncle Katoma of the
Oaken Cap.
“Go,” said he, “and order the stable-boys to
lead forth the heroic steed; sit on him and ride him
around. To-morrow I will go to the marriage on
him.”
Uncle Katoma saw through the cunning of the
princess, without talking long. He went to the
stable and ordered them to lead forth the heroic
steed. Twelve men went: they opened twelve locks,
opened twelve doors, and led out the magic horse
by twelve iron chains.
Uncle Katoma went to the horse: the moment he
sat on him the magic steed left the earth and rose
higher than the standing forest, lower than the moving
clouds. Katoma sat firmly; with one hand he
held the mane, with the other he took from his
pocket one of the iron bars and began to pound
the horse between the ears with it. He broke one
bar, took another, broke that, took a third, broke
that. The fourth entered service; and Katoma so
hammered the steed that he could not endure, but
spoke with the voice of a man: “Father Katoma, let
me even live in the white world; whatever thou wishest,
command,—everything shall be as thou sayest.”
“Listen, dog’s meat!” answered Uncle Katoma.
“To-morrow Ivan Tsarevich will ride thee to the marriage:
see to it when they lead thee to the broad
87]
court, when the Tsarevich approaches and puts his
hand on thee, that thou standest quietly, movest not
an ear; and when he sits on thy back, sink to thy
fetlocks, and walk under him with a heavy tread, as
if an immeasurable burden were on thee.”
The heroic steed heard the command and came
down barely alive to the earth. Katoma took him
by the tail and threw him to the side of the stable,
saying, “Oh, coachmen and grooms, take this dog’s
meat to the stable!”
The next day rose, the hour of marriage came.
They gave a carriage to the princess, and led out
the heroic steed for Ivan Tsarevich. The people ran
from every side in thousands. The bridegroom and
the bride came forth from the white-walled palace.
The princess sat in the carriage and waited for what
would happen to Ivan Tsarevich. The magic steed,
she thought, would scatter his hair to the wind and
drag his bones over the field.
Ivan Tsarevich approached the steed, put his hand
on his back, his foot in the stirrup; the horse stood
as if fixed to the earth, moved not an ear. Ivan sat
on his back; the horse sank in the ground to the fetlocks.
They removed the twelve chains from him;
the horse began to walk with a slow and heavy
tread, the sweat rolled from him like rain.
“Oh, what a champion, what immeasurable
strength!” said the people, looking at the Tsarevich.
They crowned the bridegroom with the bride.
88]
They were coming out of the church, took each
other by the hand, and the princess thought of
testing once more the strength of Ivan Tsarevich.
She pressed his hand with such force that he could
not endure; the blood rushed to his face, his eyes
went up under his forehead.
“So this is the kind of hero thou art!” thought
the princess. “Thy uncle has deceived me grandly;
but this will not go with thee for nothing.”
Anna the Beautiful lived with Ivan Tsarevich as
was befitting a wife with a God-given husband, and
she in every way flattered him with words, but
thought only of one thing,—how to destroy Uncle
Katoma of the Oaken Cap. It was not difficult for
her to manage the Tsarevich without the uncle.
No matter how much calumny she invented, Ivan
did not yield to her speeches; he had pity on his
uncle. In a year’s time he said to his wife: “My
dear consort, beautiful princess, I should like to go
with thee to my own kingdom.”
“Very well, let us go; I have long wished to see
thy kingdom.”
They got ready and went, making Uncle Katoma
coachman. They travelled and travelled. Ivan
Tsarevich fell asleep on the way. All at once Anna
the Beautiful began to rouse him and complain:
“Now, Tsarevich, thou art sleeping all the time,
hearest nothing. But thy uncle will not obey me;
he drives the horses on purpose over hillocks and
89]
into holes, just as if trying to kill me. I spoke to
him kindly, and he laughed at me. I will not live
unless thou punish him.”
Ivan in his drowsiness grew very angry at his
uncle, and gave him over entirely to the princess.
“Do with him as thou desirest.” The princess gave
orders to cut off his feet. Katoma allowed himself
to be maltreated by her. “Let me endure,” thought
he; “and the Tsarevich will know what it is to suffer
sorrow.” They cut off Katoma’s feet. The princess
looked around and saw a high stump on one side;
she called the servants and ordered them to seat him
on that stump. Ivan Tsarevich she tied by a rope
to the carriage, turned back, and went to her own
kingdom. Uncle Katoma of the Oaken Cap was
sitting on the stump, shedding bitter tears. “Farewell,
Ivan Tsarevich,” said he, “thou wilt remember
me;” and Ivan Tsarevich ran jumping behind the
carriage. He knew himself that he had made a
mistake, but he could not turn back.
Anna the Beautiful came to her own kingdom, and
she made Ivan Tsarevich herd cows. Every morning
he went with the herd into the open field, and in
the evening he drove them back into the princess’
yard; and at that time she sat on the balcony and
counted the cows, were they all there? She counted
them, and ordered the Tsarevich to kiss the last cow
on the tail; and the cow was so well trained that
when she came to the gate she stopped and raised
her tail.
90]
Uncle Katoma was sitting on the stump one day,
a second, a third, without food or drink. He could
in no way slip down, and it was coming to him to
die of hunger. Not far away was a thick wood, and
in that wood lived a blind, mighty hero; and he
nourished himself only with this, that when he knew
by the smell that a beast was running past,—a hare,
fox, or bear,—that moment he ran, caught it, and
his dinner was ready. The hero was very swift of
foot, and no running beast could escape him. Behold,
it happened thus: a fox was slipping by; the
hero heard it and pursued; the fox ran to the tall
stump and turned aside. The blind champion hurried,
and in the run struck his forehead against the
stump so that he drove it out of the ground with
its roots.
Katoma was thrown to the earth, and asked, “Who
art thou?”
“The blind hero; I live in this forest thirty years,
and I nourish myself only in this way. If I seize a
beast, I roast it on the fire; otherwise I should have
died of hunger long since.”
“Is it possible that thou art blind from birth?”
“No, not from birth; Anna the Beautiful put out
my eyes.”
“Well, brother,” said Uncle Katoma of the Oaken
Cap, “and I through her am footless; she cut off my
two feet, the cursed woman.”
The two heroes talked to each other, and agreed to
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live together and find food in common. The blind
said to the footless: “Sit on me and show the way; I
will serve thee with my feet, and thou shalt serve
me with thy eyes.”
He took the footless and carried him. Katoma
sat, looked on both sides, and cried out: “To the
right; to the left; straight ahead.” They lived in
this way some time in the forest and caught food,—hares,
foxes, and bears.
Once the footless asked: “Is it possible that we
shall live all our lives without company? I have
heard that in a certain town there is a rich merchant
with his daughter, and the daughter is very charitable
to poor people and cripples, and gives alms
herself to all. Let us carry her off, brother; let her
live with us as a housekeeper.”
The blind man took a wagon, put the footless in it,
and drew him to the town. They went straight to
the house of the rich merchant. The merchant’s
daughter saw them through the window. Straightway
she sprang up and went to give them something.
She went to the footless: “Take this, poor man, for
Christ’s sake.” While taking the gift he seized her
by the hand and into the wagon with her. He called
to the blind man, who ran so swiftly that no horseman
could come up with him.
The merchant sent a party in pursuit, but no one
could overtake the two men. The heroes brought
the merchant’s daughter to their hut in the forest, and
92]
said to her: “Be to us in the place of our own
sister; live with us, keep the house, for we have no
one to cook a meal for us or to wash our shirts. God
will not forget thee for doing this.”
The maiden remained with them. The heroes respected
and loved her, and considered her as their own
sister. The way was, they used to go hunting, and
she was always at home, took care of the housekeeping,
cooked for them, washed for them. Now a
Baba-Yaga, boneleg, began to come to the hut and
suck the blood of the merchant’s daughter. The
moment the heroes went to hunt, Baba-Yaga was
there. Whether it was long or short, the fair maiden’s
face fell away; she grew thin and poor.
The blind man saw nothing, but Uncle Katoma of
the Oaken Cap noticed that something was wrong.
He spoke of it to the blind man, and they questioned
their adopted sister. They began to urge her to
answer. The Baba-Yaga had strictly forbidden her
to confess. For a long time she was afraid to tell
of her trouble; long she resisted. At last they persuaded
her, and she confessed everything. “Whenever
ye go away to hunt, an ancient old woman
comes, evil-faced, long-haired, gray; she makes me
search in her head, and then sucks my blood.”
“Ah!” said the blind man, “that is Baba-Yaga.
Wait, we must settle with her in our own fashion;
to-morrow we will not go to hunt, we will try to come
upon her and catch her.”
93]
Next morning they did not go to hunt.
“Well, footless uncle,” said the blind man, “crawl
thou under the bench; sit quietly. I will go outside
and stay under the window. And thou, sister, when
Baba-Yaga comes, sit right here in this window, search
in her head, separate her hair gradually, and let it out
of the window. I will catch her by the gray locks.”
It was said and done. The blind man caught the
Baba-Yaga by the gray locks and cried, “Ei! Uncle
Katoma, crawl from under the bench and hold the
viperous old hag till I go into the house.”
Baba-Yaga heard trouble, wanted to jump up, and
raised her head. What could she do? She had no
chance; she tore and tore,—no use.
Then Katoma crawled from under the bench, threw
himself on her like a stone mountain, and began to
smother Baba-Yaga. She was frightened out of her
wits.
The blind man sprang into the house, and said to
the footless: “We must make a big fire now, burn
the old outcast, and scatter her ashes to the wind.”
“Well, old witch,” said the heroes, “show us the
well of living and healing water.”
“Only don’t beat me, and I’ll show you this
moment.”
Uncle Katoma sat on the blind man, the blind
man took Baba-Yaga by the hair, and she led them
94]
to the forest depth, brought them to a well, and said:
“Here is the healing and living water.”
“See to it, Uncle Katoma,” said the blind man,
“make no mistake; if she deceives us now, we cannot
mend matters while we live.”
Uncle Katoma of the Oaken Cap broke from a tree
a green branch and threw it into the well; the branch
had not reached the water when it burst into a blaze.
“Ah, thou hast turned to deceit!”
They began to choke the old woman, and wanted
to throw her into the fiery well. She implored more
than before, and gave an awful oath that now she
would play no tricks. “’Pon my true word, I will
lead you now to good water.”
They agreed to try once more, and the old woman
brought them to another well.
Uncle Katoma broke a dry branch from a tree, and
threw it into the well; the branch had not reached
the water when it gave out buds, grew green, and
blossomed.
“Oh, this is good water!” said Uncle Katoma.
The blind man moistened his eyes with it, and in
a moment he saw. He let the footless down into the
water, and his feet grew out.
Both were rejoiced, and said: “Now we will restore
everything; but first we must settle with Baba-Yaga.
If we forgive her now, we shall not see good
ourselves; she will plot evil against us all our lives.”
They returned to the fiery well and threw Baba-Yaga
95]
into it, so that she perished. Then Uncle
Katoma married the merchant’s daughter, and all
three went to the kingdom of Anna the Beautiful
to liberate Ivan Tsarevich.
They were approaching the capital town. They
looked, Ivan Tsarevich was driving a herd of cows.
“Stop, herdsman!” said Uncle Katoma. “Whither
art thou driving these cows?”
“I am driving them to the royal castle. The princess
always counts them herself, to see if all the
cows are there.”
“Well, herdsman, here are my clothes; put them
on. I’ll put on thine, and drive the cows.”
“No, brother, that is impossible; if the princess
should know it, woe to me.”
“Never fear, nothing will come of it; Uncle
Katoma is security for thee in that.”
Ivan Tsarevich sighed, and said: “Oh, kind man,
if Uncle Katoma were living I should not be herding
cows in this field.”
Then Uncle Katoma confessed to him who he was.
Ivan Tsarevich embraced him firmly and shed tears.
“I did not think to see thee.”
They changed clothes. Uncle Katoma drove the
cows to the princess’s yard. Anna the Beautiful came
out on the balcony, counted to see if all the cows
were there, and gave command to drive them into
the shed. All went in but the last one; she stopped
at the gate. Katoma jumped up. “What art thou
96]
waiting for, dog’s meat?” caught her by the tail, and
pulled her skin off.
The princess saw this and cried: “What is that
scoundrel of a herdsman doing? Seize him; bring
him to me!”
Here the servants caught Katoma and dragged him
to the palace. He made no excuse, for he was confident
in himself. They brought him to the palace. She
looked at him and asked: “Who art thou? Whence
art thou here?”
“I am the man whose feet thou didst cut off, and
thou didst seat me on a stump; they call me Uncle
Katoma of the Oaken Cap.”
“Well,” thought the princess, “if he has brought
back his feet, there is no use in playing tricks with
him;” and she begged forgiveness of him, was sorry
for her sins, and took an oath to love Ivan Tsarevich
forever and obey him in all things.
Ivan Tsarevich forgave her, and began to live with
her in peace and harmony. The blind hero lived
with them, and Uncle Katoma went with his wife to
the rich merchant and lived in his house.
IN that ancient time when God’s world was full
of wood-demons, witches, and river-maidens,
when rivers of milk were flowing between banks of
jelly, when over the fields roast partridges were
flying, there lived a Tsar, Goroh by name, with his
Tsaritsa, Anastasia the Beautiful; and they had three
sons. A misfortune not small happened,—an unclean
spirit carried away the Tsaritsa.
Said the eldest son to the Tsar: “Father, give me
thy blessing; I will go in search of my mother.”
He went away and vanished; for three years
there were neither tidings nor report of him.
The second son began to ask: “Father, give me
thy blessing for the road, for the journey. Perhaps
I may have the luck to find my brother and my
mother.”
The Tsar gave his blessing. The Tsarevich rode
off and also disappeared as if he had sunk in
water.
Ivan, the youngest son, came to the Tsar. “My
dear father, give me thy blessing for the road, for
the journey; perhaps I shall find my brothers and
mother.”
“Go thy way, my dear son.”
98]
Ivan Tsarevich set out for a strange, distant region.
He travelled and travelled, and reached the blue sea.
He stopped on the shore and thought: “Whither
can I hold my way now?” All at once there flew to
sea three and thirty spoonbills, struck the earth, and
became fair maidens,—all beautiful, but one was
better than all the rest. They undressed and rushed
into the water. Whether they were bathing a long
or short time, Ivan Tsarevich stole up and took the
girdle of that maiden who was better than all the
rest and hid it in his bosom. When they had finished
bathing they came out on shore and began to
dress. One girdle was gone.
“Ah! Ivan Tsarevich,” said the beauty, “give me
my girdle.”
“Tell me first where my mother is.”
“Thy mother is at the house of my father, Raven
son of Raven (Voron Voronovich). Go up along
the sea, thou wilt meet a silver bird with a golden
crest; wherever it flies do thou follow.”
Ivan Tsarevich gave her the girdle and went along
the sea; there he met his brothers, exchanged greetings,
and took them with him. They went together
along the shore, saw the golden-tufted silver bird,
and ran after it. The bird flew and flew till it
rushed under an iron plate into an opening.
“Well, brothers,” said Ivan Tsarevich, “give me
your blessing in the place of father and mother. I
will let myself down into this opening and discover
99]
what a land of strange faith is like,—perhaps our
mother is there.”
His brothers gave him their blessing. He sat on
a rope swing, crawled into that deep opening, and
went down no short distance. Just three years was
he letting himself down, and then went on his road
and way. He went and went, went and went. He
saw the Copper Kingdom. In the castle were sitting
three and thirty spoonbill maidens. They were embroidering
towels with cunning designs, with towns
and suburbs.
“Hail, Ivan Tsarevich!” said the Tsaritsa of the
Copper Kingdom. “Whither dost thou hold thy
way?”
“I am going in search of my mother.”
“Thy mother is with my father, Raven son of
Raven. He is cunning and wise; over mountains
and valleys, over caves and clouds, has he flown. He
will slay thee, good youth. Here is a ball for thee.
Go to my second sister; hear what she will tell thee.
If thou comest back, forget me not.”
Ivan rolled the ball and followed; he came to the
Silver Kingdom. The Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom
said: “Till now the Russian odor was not to be seen
with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the Russian
odor appears visibly. Well, Ivan Tsarevich, art
fleeing from work, or seekest work?”
“Ah, fair maiden! I am in search of my mother.”
“Thy mother is with my father, Raven son of
100]
Raven. Cunning is he and wise; over mountains, over
valleys has he flown, over caves, over clouds has he
swept. Oh, Tsarevich, he will slay thee! Here is a
ball. Go to my youngest sister; hear what she will
say to thee, whether to go on or come back.”
Ivan Tsarevich came to the Golden Kingdom;
there three and thirty spoonbill maidens were sitting
embroidering towels. Taller than all, fairer
than all, was the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom,—a
beauty that could not be told of in a tale or
described with a pen.
“Hail, Ivan Tsarevich!” said she. “Whither dost
thou hold thy way?”
“I am going to seek my mother.”
“Thy mother is with my father, Raven son of
Raven. Cunning is he and wise. Oh, Tsarevich, he
will slay thee surely! Here is a ball for thee. Go
now to the Pearl Kingdom; there thy mother lives.
When she sees thee she will be rejoiced, and that
moment will say, ‘Nurses, and maidens, bring my son
green wine;’ but take it not. Ask her to give thee
wine three years old that is in the cupboard, and a
burnt crust for lunch, and do not forget that my
father has in the yard two jars of water,—one water
of strength, the other of weakness; put each in
the place of the other, and drink of the water of
strength.”
The Tsarevich talked a long time with the Tsaritsa,
and they fell in love with each other to such a degree
101]
that they hated to part; but there was no help for
them. Ivan Tsarevich took farewell of her and went
on his journey. He travelled and travelled till he
came to the Pearl Kingdom. His mother saw him,
was delighted, and cried out, “Nurses and maidens,
bring my son green wine.”
“I drink no common wine; give me wine three
years old, and for a bite a burnt crust.” He drank
wine three years old, ate the burnt crust, went out in
the broad court, put each jar in the place of the other,
and fell to drinking the water of strength.
All at once Raven son of Raven flew home, bright
as the clear day; but when he saw Ivan Tsarevich he
grew gloomier than the dark night. He stooped
down to the jar, and began to drink the water of
weakness. Then Ivan Tsarevich fell upon his wings,
and Raven son of Raven soared high, high; he bore
Ivan over mountains, over valleys, over caves, over
clouds. “What dost thou need, Ivan Tsarevich?
If thou wishest, I will give thee treasure.”
“I want nothing but the feather staff.”
“No, Ivan Tsarevich, thou wishest to sit in a very
wide sleigh.” And again Raven son of Raven bore
him over mountains, over valleys, over caves, over
clouds.
Ivan held firmly, bore down with all his weight,
and nearly broke the wings of Raven son of Raven,
who screamed, “Break not my wings; take the
feather staff!” He gave Ivan the feather staff,
102]
became a common raven himself, and flew away to
the steep mountains.
Ivan Tsarevich went back, came to the Pearl Kingdom,
took his mother, and set out for home. He
looked; the Pearl Kingdom had turned into a ball,
and was rolling after him. He came to the Golden
Kingdom, then to the Silver, and then to the Copper
Kingdom. He took and brought with him the three
beautiful Tsaritsas, and those kingdoms were wound
into balls and rolled after him. He came to the
rope swing and sounded a golden trumpet: “My
own brothers, if ye are alive, do not betray me.”
The brothers heard the call, and drew out into the
white world the beautiful soul maiden, the Tsaritsa of
the Copper Kingdom. They saw her, and began to
fight among themselves; one would not yield to the
other.
“Why fight, good youths?” said the maiden.
“Down there are better than I.”
They let down the rope swing and drew up the
Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom. Again they began
to dispute and fight; one said, “Let her be mine, and
come to me;” the other said, “I won’t let her be
thine.”
“Do not fight, good youths; down there is a
maiden more beautiful than I.”
They stopped fighting, put down the rope swing,
and drew up the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom.
Again they began to fight; but the Tsaritsa, the
103]
beauty, immediately stopped them, saying: “Your
mother is waiting for you.” They drew out their
mother, and let down the rope swing for Ivan Tsarevich;
they raised him half way, and cut the rope.
Ivan Tsarevich fell into the depth and was terribly
shocked; he lay half a year without senses, came to
himself, and looked around, remembered everything
that had happened to him, took out the feather staff,
and struck the earth with it. That moment twelve
youths appeared. “What is thy command, Ivan
Tsarevich?”
“Take me out into the free world.”
The youths seized him under the arms and bore
him into the free world. Ivan Tsarevich inquired
about his brothers, and heard that they had married
long before. The Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom
married the second brother; the Tsaritsa of the
Silver Kingdom, his eldest brother; but his own
bride would not marry any man: his old father
wanted to marry her. He summoned a council, accused
his wife of intimacy with evil spirits, and gave
command to cut her head off. After the execution
he said to the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom:
“Wilt thou marry me?”
“I will when thou makest shoes for me without
measure.”
The Tsar gave command to issue a call and ask
all and each, would any man make shoes for the
Tsaritsa without taking her measure. At this time
104]
Ivan Tsarevich had come to his own kingdom, and
hired as a workman with a certain old man; and he
sent him to the Tsar: “Go, grandfather, take this
affair on thyself, and I will make the shoes for thee;
but do not tell about me.”
The old man went to the Tsar. “I,” said he, “am
ready to undertake the work.”
The Tsar gave him leather for a pair of shoes, and
asked: “But canst thou do it, old man?”
“Never fear, Gosudár. I have a son who is a
shoemaker.”
When he came home the old man gave the leather
to Ivan Tsarevich, who cut it into bits and threw it
out of the window; then he opened the Golden
Kingdom and took out shoes already made. “Here,
grandfather, take these and carry them to the Tsar.”
The Tsar was delighted, and urged the bride:
“Shall we go to the crown soon?”
She answered: “I will marry thee if thou wilt
make for me robes to fit without measure.”
The Tsar again was in trouble; he assembled all
the dressmakers, and offered them much money if
they would only make robes to fit without measuring
the Tsaritsa.
Ivan Tsarevich said to the old man: “Grandfather,
go to the Tsar, get cloth; I will sew robes for thee,
but do not tell of me.”
The old man dragged himself off to the palace,
took satin and velvet, came home, and gave it to the
105]
Tsarevich. Ivan Tsarevich took scissors straightway,
and cut all the satin and velvet to pieces and threw
them out of the window. Then he opened the
Golden Kingdom and took out the most beautiful
robes and gave them to the old man, saying, “Take
these to the palace.”
The Tsar was delighted. “Well, my beloved bride,
is it not time for us to go to the crown?”
The Tsaritsa answered: “I will marry thee when
thou wilt take the son of that old man and command
that he be boiled in milk.”
The Tsar thought awhile, then gave the command;
and that day they collected three gallons of milk
from each house, filled a great caldron, and boiled it
on a hot fire. They brought Ivan Tsarevich. He
took farewell of all, bowed to the earth, then threw
himself into the caldron, dived once, dived twice,
sprang out such a beauty that it could neither be told
of in a tale nor described with a pen.
Said the Tsaritsa: “Look, Tsar! Whom shall I
marry,—thee, old man, or that gallant youth?”
The Tsar thought awhile. “If I bathe in the
milk, I shall become just such a beauty as he.” He
sprang into the caldron, and was cooked in a minute.
But Ivan Tsarevich went to be crowned with the
Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom; they were crowned,
and began to live and live on, gaining wealth.
IT happened that once there lived in a certain land a
Tsar and a Tsaritsa. They had a son, Ivan Tsarevich.
When an infant the maidens rocked him; but
do what they might, they could not rock him to sleep.
“Tsar, great Gosudár, come, rock thy own son.” The
Tsar went to rock the child: “Sleep, little son, sleep
my own dear; thou wilt grow up a man. I will get thee
Peerless Beauty as bride,—the daughter of three
mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers,
and the sister of nine brothers.” The Tsarevich went
to sleep and slept for three days and three nights;
woke up, and cried more than before.
The maidens rock him, but they cannot rock him
to sleep; they call his father: “Tsar, great Gosudár,
come, rock thy own son.”
The Tsar rocked him, saying, “Sleep, little son,
sleep, my own dear; thou wilt grow up a man. I
will get thee Peerless Beauty as bride, the daughter
of three mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers,
and the sister of nine brothers.” The
Tsarevich fell asleep, and again slept three days and
three nights. He woke up and cried more than ever.
The maidens rock him, they cannot rock him to
107]
sleep. “Come, Tsar, great Gosudár,” said they,
“rock thy own son.”
The Tsar rocked him, saying the while, “Sleep,
little son, sleep, my own dear; thou wilt grow up a
man. I will get thee Peerless Beauty as bride, the
daughter of three mothers, the granddaughter of
three grandmothers.”
The Tsarevich fell asleep and slept again three
days and three nights. He woke up and said, “Give
thy blessing, father; I am going to marry.”
“What dost thou mean, my dear little child?
Whither canst thou go? Thou art but nine days of
age in all.”
“If thou wilt give me thy blessing, I’ll go; if not,
I’ll go also.”
“Well, the Lord guide thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich arrayed himself, and went to find
a horse. He went a short way from the house, and
met an old man. “Where art thou going, young
man,” asked he,—“of thy own will, or against thy
will?”
“I will not talk with thee,” answered the Tsarevich.
He went on a little, changed his mind. “Why did I
not say something to the old man. Old people bring
us to sense.” Straightway he overtook the old man.
“Stop, grandfather. Of what didst thou ask me?”
“I asked where art thou going, young man,—of
thy own will, or against thy will?”
“I go so much of my own will, and twice that much
108]
against my will. I was in early years; my father
rocked me in the cradle; he promised to get me
Peerless Beauty as bride.”
“Thou art a good youth, thou art well spoken;
but thou canst not go on foot. Peerless Beauty dwells
far away.”
“How far?”
“In the Golden Kingdom, at the end of the white
world, where the sun comes up.”
“What am I to do? I, young man, have no saddle-horse
unridden, and silken whip unused that are fitting
for me.”
“Why hast thou not? Thy father has thirty
horses all alike. Go home, tell the grooms to water
them at the blue sea; and whichever horse shall
push ahead, enter the water to its neck, and when it
drinks, waves rise on the blue sea and roll from
shore to shore, that one take.”
“God save thee for the good word, grandfather!”
As the old man taught him, so did the Tsarevich
do,—he chose for himself an heroic steed, passed
the night, rose next morning early, opened the gate,
and was preparing to go.
The horse spoke to him in the language of men:
“Ivan Tsarevich, drop to the earth; I will push thee
three times.” He pushed him once, he pushed him
twice; but the third time he pushed not. “If thou
wert pushed a third time, the earth would not bear
thee and me.”
109]
Ivan Tsarevich took his horse from the chains, saddled
him, sat on him. The Tsar barely sees his son.
He rides far, far. The day is growing short, night is
coming on. A house stood like a town, each room is
a chamber. He came to the house, straight to the
porch, tied his horse to the copper ring, went into the
first chamber, then into the second, prayed to God,
asked to spend the night.
“Stay the night, good youth,” said an old woman.
“Whither is God bearing thee?”
“Old woman, thou dost ask impolitely. First give
me to eat and to drink, put me to rest, and then ask
me for news.”
She gave him food and drink, put him to bed, and
then asked for news.
“I was, grandmother,” said he, “in tender years;
my father rocked me in the cradle, and promised
me Peerless Beauty as bride,—the daughter of three
mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers,
and the sister of nine brothers.”
“Thou art a good youth, and fair spoken. I am
living to the end of the seventh ten of years, and of
that beauty I have not heard. Farther on the road
lives my elder sister; maybe she knows. But sleep
now; the morning is wiser than the evening.”
Ivan Tsarevich passed the night; next morning he
rose early, washed himself white, led forth his steed,
saddled him, put his foot in the stirrup. The old
woman merely saw him. He rode far with distance,
110]
high with height; the day was shortening, coming
toward night. There stood a house like a town, each
room was a chamber. He rode to the porch, tied
his horse to a silver ring, went to the entrance, and
then to the chamber, prayed to God, asked a night’s
lodging. An old woman said: “Tfu, tfu! so far a
Russian bone was not seen with sight nor heard
with hearing; but now a Russian bone has come itself
to the house. Where hast thou come from, Ivan
Tsarevich?”
“Oh, thou old hag, how angry thou art! Thou dost
not ask with politeness; thou shouldst first give me
food and drink, put me to rest, then ask for news.”
She seated him at the table, gave him food and
drink, put him to rest, sat at the head of the bed, and
inquired: “Where is God bearing thee?”
“I was in tender years, grandmother; my father
rocked me in the cradle and promised me Peerless
Beauty as bride,—the daughter of three mothers, the
granddaughter of three grandmothers, and the sister
of nine brothers.”
“Thou art a good youth, of kind speech. I am living
toward the end of the eighth ten of years, and of
that beauty I have never heard. Before thee on the
road lives my elder sister,—mayhap she knows; she
has answer-givers. Her first answer-givers are the
beasts of the forests, the second are the birds of the
air, the third are the fish and creatures of the sea.
Whatever is in the white world obeys her. Go to her
111]
in the morning, but sleep now; the morning is wiser
than the evening.”
Ivan Tsarevich passed the night, rose early, washed
himself very white, sat on his steed, and vanished.
He rode far with distance, high with height. The day
was growing short, drawing near to the night; and
there stood a house like a town, each room was a
chamber. He came to the porch, tied his horse to
a golden ring, then went to the entrance, and next
to the chamber, prayed to God, and asked a night’s
lodging. An old woman screamed at him. “Oh,
thou, this and that kind of man, thou art not
worthy of an iron ring, and thou hast tied thy horse
to a gold one!”
“Well, grandmother, scold not; the horse may be
loosed and tied to another ring.”
“Oh, good hero, have I given thee a fright? Be
not afraid; sit on the bench, and I will ask from what
stock, from what town, thou dost come.”
“Oh, grandmother, thou shouldst first give me
food and drink, then ask for the news! Thou seest
I’m a wayfaring man; I’ve not eaten all day.”
Straightway the old woman set the table, brought
bread and salt, poured out a glass of vodka, and
began to entertain Ivan Tsarevich. He ate and
drank plenty, threw himself on the bed. The old
woman made no inquiry; he told her himself: “I was
in tender years, my father rocked me in the cradle,
promised me Peerless Beauty as bride,—the daughter
112]
of three mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers,
and the sister of nine brothers. Do me a
kindness, grandmother; tell me where Peerless Beauty
is living, and how I may reach her.”
“But, Ivan Tsarevich, I know not myself; I am
ending the ninth ten of years, and I have not heard of
that beauty. But sleep now with God; in the morning
I will summon my answer-givers,—maybe one
of them knows.”
Next day the old woman rose early, washed herself
very white, came out with Ivan Tsarevich on the
porch, cried with a champion’s voice, whistled with a
hero’s whistle. She cried to the sea-fish and creatures
of the water, “Come hither.”
That instant the blue sea boiled up, the fish, great
and small, came together, all creatures assembled and
went toward the shore; they covered the water.
The old woman asked: “Where lives Peerless
Beauty, the daughter of three mothers, the granddaughter
of three grandmothers, the sister of nine
brothers?”
All the fish and all the creatures answered in one
voice: “We have not seen her with sight, nor heard
of her with hearing.”
The old woman shouted over the land: “Assemble,
ye beasts of the forest.”
The beasts run; they hide the earth. In one voice
they answer: “We have not seen her with sight, nor
heard her with hearing.”
113]
The old woman cried toward the sky: “Come hither,
ye birds of the air!”
The birds fly, they hide the light of day. In one
voice they answer: “We have not seen her with
sight, we have not heard her with hearing.”
“There is no one else to ask,” said the old woman.
She took Ivan Tsarevich by the hand and led him
into the room. They had just come in when the
Mogol bird arrived on the wing, fell to the ground.
There was no light in the window.
“Oh, thou Mogol bird, where hast thou been flying;
why art thou late?”
“I was arraying Peerless Beauty for mass.”
“Thou hast the news I need. Now do me a
service with faith and truth,—carry Ivan Tsarevich
to her.”
“Gladly would I serve, but much food is needed.”
“How much?”
“Three forties of beef, and a vessel of water.”
Ivan Tsarevich filled the vessel with water, brought
oxen with beef. He put the kegs on the bird, ran to
the forge, and had a long iron lance made for himself;
he came back and took farewell of the old
woman. “Good-by,” said he. “Feed my good steed
enough; I will pay thee for everything.”
He sat on the Mogol bird, and that moment it rose
up and flew; it flew and looked around continually.
When it looked, Ivan Tsarevich immediately gave
a piece of meat on the end of his lance. Now
114]
it was flying and flying no short time. The Tsarevich
had already given two kegs of beef, and
had begun on the third; and he said, “O Mogol
bird, fall to the damp earth; small nourishment is
left.”
“What art thou saying, Ivan Tsarevich? Below
us are sleeping forests and sticky morasses; we could
not escape to the end of our lives.”
Ivan Tsarevich gave out all the beef and threw
down the kegs; but the Mogol bird flies, looks
around. What can be done? Ivan Tsarevich
thought a while, cut off the calves of his own legs,
and gave them to the bird. It swallowed them, and
flew out over the green meadow, silken grass, blue
flowers, then dropped to the earth. Ivan Tsarevich
stood on his feet, walked along the meadow, was
lame of both legs.
“What is the matter, Ivan Tsarevich? Art thou
lame?”
“I am lame, Mogol bird; a little while ago I cut
off my calves to nourish thee.”
The Mogol bird coughed up the calves, put them
on the legs of Ivan Tsarevich, blew and spat; the
calves grew to their places, and the Tsarevich went
on in strength and activity. He came to a great
town, and stopped to rest with a grandmother living
in a backyard.
“Sleep, Ivan Tsarevich; in the morning, when the
bell rings, I’ll rouse thee.”
115]
Ivan Tsarevich lay down and slept that minute;
he slept the day, slept the night. The bells rang for
early prayers, the backyard grandmother ran to him,
fell to beating him with whatever she found at hand,
but could not rouse him. The morning prayers were
over, they rang for mass; Peerless Beauty went to
church. The old grandmother came again, and went
to work again at Ivan Tsarevich, beat him with whatever
came under her hands; with great effort she
woke him. Ivan Tsarevich sprang up very quickly,
washed himself very white, dressed, and went to
mass. He came to the church, prayed before the
images, bowed down on every side, and especially
to Peerless Beauty. They stood side by side and
prayed. At the end of mass she went first to the
cross, then he went out on a platform, looked at
the blue sea; ships are approaching, six champions
came to offer marriage.
The champions saw Ivan Tsarevich and began to
ridicule him: “Oh, thou country clown, is such a
beauty as this for thee? Thou art not worth her
middle finger!”
They said this once, they said it twice, they said
it thrice. Ivan Tsarevich was offended. He swung
his arm, there was a street; he swung it a second
time, the place was clear and smooth all around.
Then he went to the old grandmother.
“Well, Ivan Tsarevich, hast thou seen Peerless
Beauty?”
116]
“I have, and I shall not forget her for an age.”
“Now lie down to sleep. To-morrow thou wilt go
to mass again; I will wake thee the minute the bell
rings.”
The Tsarevich lay down; he slept the day, he
slept the night. The bell rang for early prayers;
the grandmother ran to him, began to rouse him;
whatever happened under her hand, with that she
beat him; but she couldn’t wake him. They rang
the bell for mass; again she beat him and roused
him. Ivan Tsarevich sprang up very quickly, washed
very white, dressed, and to church. He entered,
prayed to the images, bowed on all four sides, especially
to Peerless Beauty. She looked at him and
blushed. They stood side by side, prayed to God.
At the end of mass she went to the cross first, he
second. The Tsarevich went out on a platform,
looked on the blue sea; ships were sailing, twelve
champions came. They began to ask Peerless
Beauty in marriage, and to make sport of Ivan
Tsarevich: “Oh, thou country clown, is such a
beauty for thee? Thou art not worth her middle
finger!”
He was offended at these speeches. He swung
his arm, there was a street; he swung the other, the
place was clear and smooth around.
He went to the old grandmother. “Hast thou
seen Peerless Beauty?” asked she.
“I have, and for an age I shall not forget her.”
117]
“Well, sleep now; in the morning I will wake thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich slept the day, he slept the night;
they rang the bell for morning prayers; the old
woman ran in to wake him, beat him with whatever
happened under her hand, did not spare, but could
not rouse him. They rang the bell for mass, and
she was working away all the time at the Tsarevich.
At last she roused him. He rose up quickly, washed
himself very white, prepared, dressed, and to church.
When he came he prayed to the images, bowed on
all four sides, and separately to Peerless Beauty.
She saluted him, put him at her right hand, and she
stood at the left. They stand there, pray to God.
At the end of mass he went first to the cross, she
after him. The Tsarevich went out on the platform,
looked on the blue sea; ships are sailing, and
twenty-four champions come to offer marriage to
Peerless Beauty.
The champions saw Ivan Tsarevich and straightway
began to make sport of him: “Oh, country
clown, is such a beauty for thee? Thou art not
worth her middle finger!”
They attacked him on every side to take away his
bride. Ivan Tsarevich did not endure this. He
swung his arm, there was a street; he swung the
other, the place was smooth and clear around. He
killed all to the last man. Peerless Beauty took him
by the hand, led him to her chambers, seated him at
the oaken tables, at the spread cloths, entertained
118]
him, called him her bridegroom. Soon after they
prepared for the road and set out for the land of
Ivan Tsarevich. They travelled and travelled, halted
in the open field to rest. Peerless Beauty lay down
to sleep, and Ivan Tsarevich guarded her slumber.
When she had slept enough, and woke up, the Tsarevich
said: “Peerless Beauty, guard my white
body; I will lie down to sleep.”
“But wilt thou sleep long?”
“Nine days and nights; and I shall not turn from
one side to the other. If thou tryest to wake me,
thou wilt not rouse me. When the time comes I
shall wake myself.”
“It is long, Ivan Tsarevich; I shall be wearied.”
“Wearied or not, there is no help for it.”
He lay down to sleep, and slept exactly nine days
and nights. Meanwhile Koshchéi Without-Death
bore away Peerless Beauty to his own kingdom.
Ivan Tsarevich woke up; there was no Peerless
Beauty. He began to weep, and went along neither
by the road nor the way. Whether it was long or
short, he came to the kingdom of Koshchéi Without-Death,
and begged lodgings of an old woman.
“Well, Ivan Tsarevich, why art thou so sad
looking?”
“Thus and thus, grandmother; I had everything,
now I have nothing.”
“Thy affair is a bad one, Ivan Tsarevich; thou
canst not kill Koshchéi.”
119]
“Well, I will look on my bride at least.”
“Lie down, sleep till morning; to-morrow Koshchéi
will go to war.”
Ivan Tsarevich lay down, but sleep did not come
to his mind. In the morning Koshchéi went out of
the house, and Ivan Tsarevich went in. He stood at
the gate and knocked. Peerless Beauty opened it,
looked at him, and fell to weeping. They went to
the upper chamber, sat at the table, and talked.
Ivan Tsarevich instructed her. “Ask Koshchéi where
his death is.”
“I will.”
He had just left the house when Koshchéi came in.
“Oh!” said he, “it smells of the Russian bone; it
must be that Ivan Tsarevich was with thee.”
“What art thou thinking of, Koshchéi Without-Death?
Where could I see Ivan Tsarevich? He
has remained in slumbering forests and in sticky
quagmires; wild beasts have destroyed him ere
now.”
They sat down to sup. At supper Peerless Beauty
said: “Tell me, Koshchéi Without-Death, where is
thy death?”
“Why dost thou wish to know, silly woman?
My death is tied up in the broom.”
Early next morning Koshchéi went to war. Ivan
Tsarevich came to Peerless Beauty. She took the
broom, gilded it brightly with pure gold. The
Tsarevich had just departed when Koshchéi came
120]
in. “Ah!” said he, “it smells of the Russian bone;
Ivan Tsarevich has been with thee.”
“What dost thou mean, Koshchéi Without-Death?
Thou hast been flying through Russia thyself and
hast caught up the odor of Russia; it is from thee.
Where should I see Ivan Tsarevich?”
At supper Peerless Beauty sat on a small bench
and seated Koshchéi on a large one. He looked
under the threshold; the broom was lying there
gilded. “What does this mean?”
“Oh, Koshchéi Without-Death, thou seest thyself
how I honor thee!”
“Oh, simple woman, I was joking! My death is
out there, fastened in the oak fence.”
Next day Koshchéi went away. Ivan Tsarevich
came and gilded the whole fence. Towards evening
Koshchéi came home. “Ah!” said he, “it smells
of the Russian bone. Ivan Tsarevich has been with
thee.”
“What dost thou mean, Koshchéi Without-Death?
It seems I have told thee times more than one,
where am I to see Ivan Tsarevich? He has remained
in dark forests, in sticky quagmires; the wild beasts
have torn him to pieces ere now.”
Supper-time came. Peerless Beauty sat on a bench
herself, and seated him on a chair. Koshchéi looked
through the window, saw the fence gilded, shining
like fire. “What is that?”
“Thou seest thyself, Koshchéi, how I respect thee.
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If thou art dear to me, of importance is thy
death.”
This speech pleased Koshchéi Without-Death.
“Oh, simple woman, I was joking with thee! My
death is in an egg, the egg is in a duck, and the
duck is in a stump floating on the sea.”
When Koshchéi went off to war, Peerless Beauty
baked cakes for Ivan Tsarevich and told him where
to look for the death of Koshchéi. Ivan Tsarevich
went neither by road nor by way, came to the ocean
sea broad, and knew not where to go farther. The
cakes had long since given out, and he had nothing
to eat. All at once a hawk flew up. Ivan Tsarevich
aimed. “Well, hawk, I’ll shoot thee and eat thee raw.”
“Do not eat me, Ivan Tsarevich; I will serve thee
in time of need.”
A bear ran along. “Oh, bear, crooked paw, I’ll
kill thee and eat thee raw!”
“Do not eat me, Ivan Tsarevich; I’ll serve in time
of need.”
Behold, a pike is struggling on the beach. “Oh,
big-toothed pike, thou hast come to it! I’ll eat thee
raw.”
“Eat me not, Ivan Tsarevich; better throw me into
the sea. I will serve thee in time of need.”
Ivan stood there thinking, “The time of need will
come, it is unknown when. But now I must go
hungry.” All at once the blue sea boiled up, waves
rose, began to cover the shore. Ivan Tsarevich ran
122]
up the hill, ran with all his might, and the water
followed at his heels; chasing, he ran to the very
highest place and climbed a tree. A little later the
water began to fall, the sea grew calm, fell, and a
great stump was left on land. The bear ran up,
raised the stump, and when he had hurled it to the
ground the stump opened; out flew a duck and
soared high, high. That minute, from wherever he
came, the hawk flew, caught the duck, and in a
twinkle tore her in two. An egg fell out; then the
pike caught it, swam to the beach, and gave the
egg to Ivan Tsarevich, who put it in his bosom
and went to Koshchéi Without-Death. He came
to the house. Peerless Beauty met him, she kissed
him on the lips and fell on his shoulder. Koshchéi
Without-Death was sitting at the window cursing.
“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, thou wishest to take Peerless
Beauty from me; and so thou wilt not live.”
“Thou didst take her from me thyself,” answered
Ivan Tsarevich, took the egg from his bosom, and
showed it to Koshchéi. “What is this?”
The light grew dim in the eyes of Koshchéi; then
he became mild and obedient. Ivan Tsarevich
threw the egg from one hand to the other. Koshchéi
Without-Death staggered from corner to corner.
This seemed pleasant to the Tsarevich. He threw
the egg more quickly from hand to hand, and broke
it; then Koshchéi fell and died.
Ivan Tsarevich attached the horses to his golden
123]
carriage, took whole bags filled with gold and silver,
and went to his father. Whether it was long or
short, he came to that old woman who had inquired
of every creature, fish, bird, and beast. He found
his steed. “Glory be to God,” said he, “the raven
(black steed) is alive;” and he poured forth gold
freely for her care of the steed. Though she were
to live ninety-nine years longer, she would have
enough. Then the Tsarevich sent a swift courier to
the Tsar with a letter, in which he wrote: “Father,
meet thy son; I am coming with my bride, Peerless
Beauty.”
His father got the letter, read it, and had not belief.
“How could that be? Ivan Tsarevich left home
when nine days old!” After the courier came the
Tsarevich himself. The Tsar saw that his son had
written the real truth; he ran out to the porch, met
him, and gave command to beat drums and sound
music.
“Father, bless me for the wedding.”
Tsars have not to brew beer nor make wine; they
have much of all things. That same day there was
a joyous feast and a wedding. They crowned Ivan
Tsarevich and Peerless Beauty, and put out on all
streets great jars of various drinks; every one could
come and drink what his soul desired. I was there,
drank mead and wine; it flowed on my mustaches,
but was not in my mouth.
THERE lived a Tsar Svaitozar. This Tsar had
two sons and a beauty of a daughter. Twenty
years did she live in her bright chamber. The Tsar
and Tsaritsa admired her, and so did the nurses and
maidens; but no one of the princes and champions
had seen her face. And this beauty was called Vassilissa
Golden Tress. She went nowhere out of her
chamber; the Tsarevna did not breathe the free air.
She had many bright dresses and jewels, but was
wearied; it was oppressive for her in the chamber.
Her robes were a burden, her thick golden silk hair,
covered with nothing, bound in a tress, fell to her
feet, and people called her Vassilissa Golden Tress,
Bareheaded Beauty. The kingdom was filled with
her fame. Many Tsars heard of her and sent envoys
to Tsar Svaitozar to beat with the forehead and ask
the Tsarevna in marriage.
The Tsar was in no hurry, but when the time came,
he sent messengers to all lands with tidings that the
Tsarevna would choose a bridegroom; and inviting
Tsars and Tsareviches to assemble and collect at his
palace to feast, he went himself to the lofty chamber
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to tell Vassilissa the Beautiful. It was gladsome in
the heart of the Tsarevna. Looking out of the sloping
window from behind the golden lattice on the
green garden, the flowery meadow, she was eager to
walk; she asked him to let her go forth to the garden
to play with the maidens. “My sovereign father,”
said she, “I have not seen the world of God yet, I
have not walked on the grass, on the flowers, I have
not looked on thy palace; let me go with my nurses
and maidens to walk in thy garden.”
The Tsar permitted, and Vassilissa the Beautiful
went down from the lofty chamber to the broad court.
The plank gate was open, and she appeared in the
green meadow. In front was a steep mountain; on
that mountain grew curly trees; on the meadow
were beautiful flowers of many kinds. The Tsarevna
plucked blue flowers, stepped aside a little from her
nurses; there was no caution in her young mind;
her face was exposed, her beauty uncovered. Suddenly
a mighty whirlwind rose, such as had not been
seen, heard of, or remembered by old people; the
whirlwind turned and twisted—behold, it seized the
Tsarevna and carried her through the air.
The nurses screamed and shrieked: they ran and
stumbled, threw themselves on every side; they saw
nothing but how the whirlwind shot away with her.
And Vassilissa Golden Tress was borne over many
lands, across deep rivers, through three kingdoms into
the fourth, into the dominions of the Savage Serpent.
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The nurses hurry to the palace, covering themselves
with tears, throw themselves at the feet of the
Tsar. “Sovereign, we are not answerable for the
misfortune, we are answerable to thee. Give not command
to slay us, command us to speak. The whirlwind
bore away our sun, Vassilissa Golden Tress, the
Beauty, and it is unknown whither.”
The Tsar was sad, he was angry; but in his anger
he pardoned the poor women.
Next morning the princes and kings’ sons came to
the Tsar’s palace, and seeing the sadness and seriousness
of the Tsar they asked him what had happened.
“There is a sin to my account,” said the Tsar.
“My dear daughter, Vassilissa Golden Tress, has been
borne away by the whirlwind, I know not whither;”
and he told everything as it had happened.
Talk rose among the guests, and the princes and
kings’ sons thought and talked among themselves.
“Is not the Tsar refusing us; is he not unwilling
to let us see his daughter?” They rushed to the
chamber of the Tsarevna; nowhere did they find
her.
The Tsar made them presents, gave to each one
from his treasure. They mounted their steeds, he
conducted them with honor; the bright guests took
farewell, and went to their own lands.
The two young Tsareviches, brave brothers of Vassilissa
Golden Tress, seeing the tears of their father
and mother, begged of their parents: “Let us go,
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our father,—bless us, our mother,—to find your
daughter, our sister.”
“My dear sons, my own children,” said the Tsar,
without joy, “where will ye go?”
“We will go, father, everywhere,—where a road
lies, where a bird flies, where the eyes have vision;
mayhap we shall find her.”
The Tsar gave his blessing, the Tsaritsa prepared
them for the journey; they wept, and they parted.
The two Tsareviches journeyed on. Whether the
road was near or far, long in going or short, they did
not know. They travelled a year, they travelled two.
They passed three kingdoms, lofty mountains were
visible and seemed blue; between these mountains
were sandy plains,—the land of the Savage Serpent.
And the Tsareviches inquired of those whom they
met had they not heard, had they not seen, where
Tsarevna Vassilissa Golden Tress was. And from
all the answer was one: “We know not where she
is, and we have not heard.”
The Tsar’s sons approach a great town; a decrepit
old man stands on the road; crooked-eyed
and lame, with a crutch and a bag, he begs alms.
The Tsareviches stopped, threw him a silver coin,
and asked had he not seen, had he not heard of
the Tsarevna Vassilissa Golden Tress, Bareheaded
Beauty?
“Ah! my friend,” said the old man, “it is clear
that thou art from a strange land. Our ruler, the
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Savage Serpent, has forbidden strongly and sternly
to speak with men from abroad. We are forbidden
under penalty to tell or relate how a whirlwind bore
past the town the beautiful princess.”
Now the sons of the Tsar understood that their
sister was near. They urged on their restive steeds
and approached the castle of gold which stood on a
single pillar of silver; over the castle was a curtain
of diamonds; the stairways, mother-of-pearl, opened
and closed like wings.
At this moment Vassilissa the Beautiful was looking
in sadness through the golden lattice, and she
screamed out for joy. She knew her brothers from
a distance, just as if her heart had told her. And
the Tsarevna sent down in silence to meet them, to
bring them to the castle; the Savage Serpent was
absent.
Vassilissa the Beautiful was wary; she feared the
serpent might see them. They had barely entered
when the silver pillar groaned, the stairways opened,
all the roofs glittered; the whole castle began to turn
and move. The Tsarevna was frightened, and said to
her brothers: “The serpent is coming, the serpent
is coming; that’s why the castle goes round! Hide,
brothers!”
She had barely said this when the Savage Serpent
flew in, cried with a thundering voice, and whistled
with a hero’s whistle: “What living man is here?”
“We, Savage Serpent,” answered the Tsar’s sons,
129]
without fear; “from our birthplace we’ve come for
our sister.”
“Oh, the young men are here!” shouted the serpent,
clapping his wings. “Ye should not die here
from me, nor seek your sister to free; her own brothers,
champions, are ye, but champions puny I see.”
And the serpent caught one of them with his wing,
struck him against the other, whistled and shouted.
The castle guard ran to him, took the dead Tsareviches,
threw them both down a deep ditch.
The Tsarevna Vassilissa Golden Tress covered
herself with tears, took neither food nor drink, would
not look on the world. Two days and three passed.
It was not right she should die, she did not decide to
die; she took pity on her beauty, took counsel of
hunger. On the third day she ate, and was thinking
how to free herself from the serpent, and began to
gain knowledge by wheedling.
“Savage Serpent,” said she, “great is thy power,
mighty thy flight: is it possible that thou hast no foe?”
“Not yet,” replied the serpent; “it was fated at
my birth that my foe should be Ivan Goroh [John
Pea]; and he will be born from a pea.”
The serpent said this in jest; he expected no foe.
The strong one relied on his strength; but the jest
came true.
The mother of Vassilissa Golden Tress was grieving
because she had no news of her children after
the Tsarevna, the Tsareviches, were lost.
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She went one day to walk in the garden with her
ladies; the day was hot, she was thirsty. In that
garden, from a foot-hill, spring water ran forth in a
stream, and above it was a white marble well. They
drew, with a golden cup, water pure as a tear. The
Tsaritsa was eager to drink, and with the water she
swallowed a pea. The pea burst, and the Tsaritsa
became heavy; the pea increased and grew. In
time the Tsaritsa gave birth to a son; they called
him Ivan Goroh, and he grew, not by the year, but
by the hour, smooth and plump; he is lively, laughs,
jumps, springs on the sand, and his strength is growing
in him all the time, so that at ten years he was
a mighty champion. Then he asked the Tsar and
Tsaritsa if he had had many brothers and sisters, and
he heard how it happened that the whirlwind had
borne away his sister, it was unknown whither, how
his two brothers had begged to go in search of their
sister, and were lost without tidings.
“Father, mother,” begged Ivan Goroh, “let me
go too; give me your blessing to find my brothers
and sister.”
“What art thou saying, my child?” asked the
Tsar and Tsaritsa at once. “Thou art still green
and young; thy brothers went, they were lost, thou
wilt go too and be lost.”
“Mayhap I shall not be lost,” said Ivan Goroh.
“I want to find my brothers and sister.”
The Tsar and Tsaritsa persuaded and begged their
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dear son, but he craved, cried, and entreated. They
prepared him for the road, let him go with tears.
Ivan Goroh was free. He went out into the open
field, travelled one day, travelled another. Toward
night he came to a dark forest; in that forest was a
cabin on hen’s legs; from the wind it was shaking and
turning. Ivan spoke from the old saying, from his
nurse’s tale. “Cabin, cabin,” said he, “turn thy back
to the forest, thy front to me;” and the cabin turned
around to Ivan. Out of the window an old woman was
looking, and she asked, “Whom is God bringing?”
Ivan bowed, and hastened to ask: “Hast thou not
seen, grandmother, in what direction the passing
whirlwind carries beautiful maidens?”
“Oh, young man,” said she, coughing, and looking
at Ivan, “that whirlwind has frightened me too, so
that I sit in this cabin a hundred and twenty years,
and I go out nowhere! Maybe he would fly up and
sweep me away. That’s not a whirlwind, but the
Savage Serpent.”
“How could one go to him?” asked Ivan.
“What art thou thinking of, my world? The serpent
will swallow thee.”
“Maybe he will not swallow me.”
“See to it, champion, or thou wilt not save thy
head. But shouldst thou come back, give me thy
word to bring from the serpent’s castle water with
which, if a man sprinkles himself, he will grow
young,” said she, moving her teeth beyond measure.
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“I will get it, grandmother, I give thee my word.”
“I believe thee, on conscience! Go straight to
where the sun sets. In one year thou wilt reach the
bald mountain there; ask for the road to the serpent’s
kingdom.”
“God save thee, grandmother!”
“There is no reason for thanks, father.”
Well, Ivan Goroh went to the land where the sun
sets. A story is soon told, but a deed’s not soon
done. He passed three kingdoms, and went to the
serpent’s land; before the gates of the town he saw a
beggar,—a lame, blind old man with a crutch,—and
giving him charity, he asked if the young Tsarevna
Vassilissa Golden Tress was in that town.
“She is, but it is forbidden to say so,” answered
the beggar.
Ivan knew that his sister was there; the good, bold
hero became courageous, and went to the palace.
At that time Vassilissa Golden Tress was looking out
of the window to see if the Savage Serpent was coming;
and she saw from afar the young champion,
wished to know of him, sent quietly to learn from
what land he had come, of what stock was he, was
he sent by her father or by her own mother.
Hearing that Ivan, her youngest brother, had come
(and she did not know him by sight), Vassilissa ran
to him, wet him with tears. “Run, brother, quickly!”
cried she. “The serpent will soon be here; he will
see thee, destroy thee.”
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“My dear sister,” answered Ivan, “if another had
spoken, I should not have listened. I have no fear
of the serpent, no fear of his strength.”
“But art thou Goroh,” asked Vassilissa Golden
Tress, “to manage him?”
“Wait, friend sister; first give me to drink. I have
travelled under heat, I am tired from the road; I
want a drink.”
“What dost thou drink, brother?”
“Three gallons of sweet mead, dear sister.”
Vassilissa gave command to bring a three-gallon
measure of sweet mead, and Goroh drank it all at
one breath. He asked for another; the Tsarevna
gave orders to hurry, looked, and wondered.
“Well, brother, I did not know thee; but now I
believe that thou art Ivan Goroh!”
“Let me sit down a moment to rest from the
road.”
Vassilissa gave command to bring a strong chair;
but the chair broke under Ivan, flew into bits. They
brought another all bound with iron, and that one
cracked and bent. “Oh, brother,” cried Vassilissa,
“that is the chair of the Savage Serpent!”
“Now it is clear that I am heavier than he,” said
Goroh, laughing.
He rose and went on the street, went from the
castle to the forge; there he ordered the old sage,
the serpent’s blacksmith, to forge him an iron club of
nine tons weight. The blacksmith hastened the work.
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They hammered the iron; night and day the hammers
thundered, the sparks just flying. In forty hours the
work was done. Fifty men were barely able to carry
the club; but Ivan Goroh, seizing it in one hand,
hurled the club to the sky: it flew, roared like a
storm, whirled above the clouds, vanished from the
eye. All the people ran trembling from terror,
thinking if that club falls on the town, it will break
the walls and crush the people; if it falls in the sea,
it will raise the sea and flood the town. But Ivan
Goroh went quietly to the castle, and gave command
to tell when the club was coming. The people
ran from the square, looked from under the gate,
looked out of windows. “Isn’t the club coming?”
They waited an hour, they waited two; the third hour
they ran to say that the club was coming. Goroh
sprang to the square, put forth his hand, caught
the club as it came, bent not himself, but the iron
bent on the palm of his hand. Ivan took the club,
pressed it against his knee, straightened it, went to
the castle.
All at once a terrible whistling was heard, the
Savage Serpent was racing; Whirlwind, his steed,
flying like an arrow, breathes fire. The serpent in
shape is a champion, but his head is the head of a
serpent. When he flies, the whole castle quivers;
when he is ten versts distant, it begins to whirl and
dance. But now the castle moves not: it is clear that
some one is sitting inside. The serpent grew thoughtful,
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whistled, shouted; the whirlwind steed shook his
dark mane, opened his broad wings, reared and
roared.
The serpent flew up to the castle, but the castle
moves not. “Ho!” roared the Savage Serpent,
“it is plain there is a foe. Is not Goroh at my
house?” Soon came the champion. “I’ll put thee
on the palm of one hand, and slap with the other:
they won’t find thy bones.”
“We shall see,” said Ivan Goroh.
He went out with his club, and the serpent cried
from his whirlwind: “Take thy place in a hurry.”
“Take thy own place, Savage Serpent,” said Ivan,
and raised his club.
The Savage Serpent flew up to strike Ivan, to
pierce him with his spear, and missed. Goroh
sprang to one side, did not stagger.
“Now I’ll finish thee!” roared Goroh. Raising his
club, he struck the serpent a blow that tore him to
pieces, scattered him; the club went across the earth,
went through two kingdoms into a third.
The people hurled up their caps and saluted Ivan
Tsar. But Ivan seeing the wise blacksmith, as a
reward for having made the club quickly, he called
up the old man and said to the people: “Here is
your head; obey him while doing good, as before ye
obeyed the Savage Serpent for evil.”
Ivan got also the water of life and the water of
death, sprinkled his brothers; they rose up, rubbed
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their eyes and thought, “We slept long; God knows
what has happened.”
“Without me you would have slept forever, my
dear brothers,” said Ivan Goroh, pressing them to his
restive heart.
He did not forget to take the serpent’s water; he
made a ship, and on the Swan’s river sailed with Vassilissa
Golden Tress to his own land through three
kingdoms into the fourth. He did not forget the old
woman in the cabin; he let her wash in the serpent’s
water. She turned into a young woman, began to
sing and dance, ran out after Goroh, and conducted
him to the road.
His father and mother met him with joy and honor.
They sent messengers to all lands with tidings that
their daughter Vassilissa had returned. In the town
there was ringing, and in the ears triple ringing; trumpets
sounded, drums were beaten, guns thundered.
A bridegroom came to Vassilissa, and a bride was
found for the Tsarevich; they had four crowns made,
and celebrated two weddings. At the rejoicing, at
the gladness, there was a feast as a mountain, and
mead a river.
The grandfathers of grandfathers were there; they
drank mead, and it came to us, flowed on our mustaches,
but reached not our mouths. Only it became
known that Ivan, after the death of his father,
received the crown, and ruled the land with renown;
and age after age the name of Goroh was famous.
THERE lived in a village a son with his mother,
and the mother was a very old woman. The
son was called Ivan the Fool. They lived in a poor
little cottage with one window, and in great poverty.
Such was their poverty that besides dry bread they
ate almost nothing, and sometimes they had not even
the dry bread. The mother would sit and spin, and
Ivan the Fool would lie on the stove, roll in the ashes,
and never wipe his nose. His mother would say to
him time and again: “Ivanushka, thou art sitting
there with thy nose unwiped. Why not go somewhere,
even to the public-house? Some kind man
may come along and take thee to work. Thou
wouldst have even a bit of bread, while at home here
we have nothing to keep the life in us.”
“Very well, I’ll go,” said Ivan. He rose up and
went to the public-house. On the way a man met
him.
“Where art thou going, Ivan?”
“I am going to hire out to work.”
“Come, work for me; I’ll give thee such and such
wages, and other things too.”
Ivan agreed. He went to work.
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The man had a dog with whelps; one of the
whelps pleased Ivan greatly, and he trained it. A
year passed, and the time came to pay wages for the
work. The man was giving Ivan money, but he
answered: “I need not thy money; give me that
whelp of thine that I trained.”
The man was glad that he had not to pay money,
and gave the whelp.
Ivan went home; and when his mother found what
he had done, she began to cry, saying: “All people
are people, but thou art a fool; we had nothing to
eat, and now there is another life to support.”
Ivan the Fool said nothing, sat on the stove with
unwiped nose, rolling in the ashes, and the whelp
with him. Some time passed; whether it was short or
long, his mother said again: “Why art thou sitting
there without sense; why not go to the public-house?
Some good man may come along and hire thee.”
“Very good, I’ll go,” said the Fool.
He took his dog and started. A man met him on
the road.
“Where art thou going, Ivan?”
“To find service,” said he; “to hire out.”
“Come, work for me.”
“Very well,” said Ivan.
They agreed, and Ivan went again to work; and
that man had a cat with kittens. One of the kittens
pleased the Fool, and he trained it. The time came
for payment.
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Ivan the Fool said to this man: “I need not thy
money, but give me that kitten.”
“If thou wilt have it,” said the man.
Now the Fool went home, and his mother cried
more than before. “All people are people, but thou
wert born a fool. We had nothing to eat, and now
we must support two useless lives!”
It was bitter for Ivan to hear this. He took his
dog and cat and went out into the field. He saw in
the middle of the field a fire burning in a great pile
of wood,—such an awful pile of wood! When he
drew nearer he saw that a snake was squirming in it,
burning on hot coals.
The snake screamed to him in a human voice:
“Oh, Ivan the Fool, save me! I will give thee a
great ransom for my life.”
Ivan took a stick and raised the snake out of the
fire.
When he had thrown it out, there stood before
him, not a snake, but a beautiful maiden; and she
said: “Thanks to thee, Ivanushka. Thou hast done
me great service; I will do thee still greater. We will
go,” said she, “to my mother. She will offer thee
copper money: do not take it, because it is coals, and
not money; she will offer thee silver coin: do not
take that either, for that will be chips, and not silver;
she will bring out to thee gold: take not even
that, because instead of gold it is potsherds and
broken bricks. But ask of her in reward the ring
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with twelve screws. It will be hard for her to give it;
but be firm, she will give it for my sake.”
Behold, all took place as she said. Though the
old woman grew very angry, she gave the ring. Ivan
was going along through the field, thinking, “What
shall I do with this ring?”
He was looking at it, when that same young girl
caught up with him and said: “Ivan, whatever thou
wishest, thou wilt have. Only stand in the evening
on the threshold, loosen all the twelve screws, and
before thee twelve thousand men will appear: whatever
thou wishest, command; all will be done.”
Ivan went home, said nothing to his mother, sat
on the stove, lay in the ashes with unwiped nose.
Evening came; they lay down to sleep.
Ivan waited for the hour, went on the threshold,
unscrewed the twelve screws, and twelve thousand
men stood before him. “Thou art our master, we
are thy men: declare thy soul’s desire.”
Said Ivan to the men: “Have it made that on this
very spot a castle shall stand such as there is not in
the world, and that I sleep on a bedstead of gold, on
down of swans, and that my mother sleep in like
manner; that coachmen, outriders, servants, and all
kinds of powerful people be walking in my court and
serving me.”
“Lie down for thyself in God’s name,” said the
men; “all will be done at thy word.”
Ivan the Fool woke up next morning, and was
141]
frightened even himself. He looked around; he
was sleeping on a golden bedstead on down of
swans, and there were lofty chambers and so rich
that even the Tsar had not such. In the court-yard
were walking coachmen, outriders, servants, and all
kinds of mighty and important people who were
serving him. The Fool was amazed, and thought,
“This is good.” He looked in the mirror, and did
not know his own self; he had become a beauty that
could not be described with a pen or be told of in
a tale. As was fitting, the lord was as fine as his
chambers.
When the Tsar woke up at the same hour,—and
the Tsar lived in that town,—he looked, and behold
opposite his palace stood a castle just gleaming in
gold.
The Tsar sent to learn whose it was. “Let the
owner come to me,” said he, “and show what sort of
man he is.”
They informed Ivan, and he said: “Tell him that
this is the castle of Ivan Tsarevich; and if he wants
to see me, he is not so great a lord, let him come
himself.”
There was no help for it. The Tsar had to go to
Ivan the Fool’s castle. They became acquainted,
and after that Ivan the Fool went to the Tsar. The
Tsar had a most beautiful young Tsarevna of a
daughter, and she brought refreshments to Ivan; and
right there she pleased him greatly, and straightway
142]
he begged the Tsar to give her in marriage to him.
Now the Tsar in his turn began to put on airs.
“Give her,—why not give her? But thou, Ivan
Tsarevich, perform a service for me. My daughter is
not of common stock, and therefore she must marry
only the very best among the whole people. Arrange
this for me, that from thy castle to mine there
be a golden road, and that I have a bridge over the
river,—not a common one, but such a bridge that
one side shall be of gold, and the other of silver; and
let all kinds of rare birds be swimming on the river,—geese
and swans; and on the other side of the river
let there be a church,—not a simple one, but one
all wax,—and let there grow around it wax apple-trees
and bear ripe apples. If thou do this, my
daughter shall be thine; and if not, blame thyself.”
(“Well,” thought the Tsar, “I have joked enough with
Ivan Tsarevich;” but he kept his own counsel.)
“Agreed,” said Ivan. “Now do thou make ready
the wedding to-morrow.” With that he departed.
In the evening, when all had lain down to sleep, he
stood on the threshold, unscrewed all the screws in
the ring: twelve thousand men stood before him.
“Thou art our master, we are thy men: command
what thy soul desires.”
“Thus and thus,” said he; “I want this and that.”
“All right,” said they; “lie down with God.”
In the morning the Tsar woke up, went to the window;
but his eyes were dazzled. He sprang back
143]
six paces. That meant that the bridge was there,
one side silver, the other gold, just blazing and shining.
On the river were geese and swans and every
rare bird. On the opposite bank stood a church of
white wax, and around the church apple-trees, but
without leaves; the naked branches were sticking up.
“Well,” thought the Tsar, “the trick has failed;
we must prepare our daughter for the wedding.”
They arrayed her and drove to the church.
When they were driving from the palace, buds began
to come out on the apple-trees; when they were
crossing the bridge, the apple-trees were coming into
leaf; when they were driving up to the church, white
blossoms were bursting forth on the trees; and when
the time came to go home from the marriage ceremony,
the servants and all kinds of people met them,
gave them ripe apples on a golden salver. Then
they began to celebrate the wedding. Feasts and
balls were given; they had a feast which lasted three
days and three nights.
After that, whether it was a short time or a long
one, the Tsarevna began to tease Ivan. “Tell me,
my dear husband, how dost thou do all this? How
dost thou build a bridge in one night, and a wax
church?”
Ivan the Fool would not tell her for a long time;
but as he loved her very much, and she begged very
hard, he said: “I have a ring with twelve screws, and
it must be handled in such and such fashion.”
144]
Well, they lived on. The misery of the matter
was this: one of their servants pleased the Tsarevna,—he
was a fine-looking, shapely, strong fellow, and
she conspired with him to rob her husband, take
away the ring, and the two would then go to live
beyond the sea.
As soon as evening came she took out the ring
quietly, stood on the threshold, and unscrewed the
twelve screws: twelve thousand men stood before
her.
“Thou art our mistress, we are thy men: command
what thy soul desires.”
She said: “Take this castle for me and bear it
beyond the sea, with all that is in it; and on this
spot let the old cabin stand, with my ragged husband,
Ivan the Fool, inside.”
“Lie down with God,” said the men; “all will be
done on thy word.”
Next morning Ivan woke up, looked around. He
was lying on a bark mat, covered with a ragged coat,
and not a sign of his castle. He began to cry bitterly,
and went to the Tsar, his father-in-law. He
came to the palace, asked to announce to the Tsar
that his son-in-law had come. When the Tsar saw
him he said: “Oh, thou this and that kind of
breechesless fellow, what son-in-law art thou to me?
My sons-in-law live in golden chambers and ride in
silver carriages. Take him and wall him up in a
stone pillar.”
145]
It was commanded and done. They took Ivan and
walled him up in a stone pillar. But the cat and
the dog did not leave him, they were there too,
and dug out a hole for themselves; through the hole
they gave food to Ivan. But one time they thought:
“Why do we sit here, dog and cat, with folded hands?
Let’s run beyond the sea and get the ring.”
As they decided to do that, they did it. They
swam through the sea, found their castle. The
Tsarevna was walking in the garden with the servant,
laughing at her husband.
“Well, do thou remain here a while, and I’ll go to
the chamber and get the ring,” said the cat; and she
went her way, mi-au, mi-au, under the door. The
Tsarevna heard her, and said: “Ah, here is that
scoundrel’s cat; let her in and feed her.” They
let her in and fed her. The cat walked through
the chambers all the time and looked for the ring.
She saw on the stove a glass box, and in the box
the ring.
The cat was delighted. “Glory be to God!”
thought she. “Now only wait for night; I’ll get the
ring, and then for home!”
When all had lain down, the cat sprang on to the
stove and threw down the glass box; it fell, and was
broken. She caught the ring in her mouth and hid
under the door. All in the house were roused; the
Tsarevna herself got up, and saw that the box was
broken.
146]
“Oh!” said she, “it must be the cat of that
scoundrel broke it. Drive her out; drive her out!”
They chased out the cat, and she was glad; she ran
to the dog.
“Well, brother dog,” said she, “I have the ring.
Now if we could only get home quickly!”
They swam through the sea, were a long time
swimming. When the dog was tired, he sat on the
cat; when the cat was tired, she sat on the dog; and
so they worked on and it was not far from land. But
the dog was growing weak. The cat saw this, and
said, “Sit thou on me; thou art tired.” The minute
she said this the ring fell out of her mouth into the
water. What was to be done? They swam to shore
and wept tears. Meanwhile they grew hungry. The
dog ran through the field and caught sparrows for
himself, and the cat ran along the shore catching
little fish thrown up by the waves; that was how
she fed herself.
But all at once the cat cried out: “Oh, thou dog,
come here quickly to me; I have found the ring! I
caught a fish, began to eat it, and in the fish was the
ring.”
Now they were both powerfully glad; they ran to
Ivan and brought him the ring.
Ivan waited till evening, unscrewed all the twelve
screws, and twelve thousand men stood before him.
“Thou art our master, we are thy men: tell us to
do what thy soul desires.”
147]
“Break in a minute this stone pillar so that dust
from it shall not remain; and from beyond the sea
bring hither my castle with all who are in it, and
every one as sleeping now, and put it in the old
place.”
Straightway all this was done. In the morning
Ivan went to his father-in-law. The Tsar met him,
seated him in the first place, and said: “Where hast
thou been pleased to pass thy time, my dear son-in-law?”
“I was beyond the sea,” said Ivan.
“That’s it,” said the Tsar, “beyond the sea. ’Tis
clear that thou hadst pressing business, for thou didst
not come to take farewell of thy father-in-law. But
while thou wert gone, some sort of bare-legged fellow
came to me and called himself my son-in-law. I
gave command to wall him up in a stone pillar; he
has perished there, doubtless. Well, beloved son-in-law,
where hast thou been pleased to spend thy time;
what sights hast thou seen?”
“I have seen,” said Ivan, “various sights; and
beyond the sea there was an affair of such kind that
no man knew how to settle it.”
“What was the affair?”
“Well, this is the kind of affair it was; and if thou
art a wise man, decide it according to thy wisdom of
Tsar: A husband had a wife, and while he was living
she found a sweetheart for herself; she robbed
her husband, and went away with the sweetheart
148]
beyond the sea; and now she is with that man.
What, to thy thinking, should be done with that
wife?”
“According to my wisdom of Tsar I will utter the
following sentence: Tie them both to the tails of
horses, and let the horses loose in the open field,—let
that be their punishment.”
“If that is thy judgment, very well,” said Ivan.
“Come with me as a guest; I will show thee other
sights and another wonder.”
They went to Ivan’s castle, and found there the
Tsar’s daughter and the servant. As Ivan had commanded,
they were still asleep.
There was no help for it; according to the word of
the Tsar they tied them both to the tails of horses
and urged the horses into the open field,—that was
their punishment. But Ivan afterwards married
that beautiful, most beautiful maiden whom he had
saved from the fire, and they began to live and win
wealth.
IN a certain kingdom, in a certain state, lived a
terrible Tsar. He was famed through all lands,—a
terror to kings and princes. The Tsar took a
thought to marry, and published an order in every
town and village that whoever would find him a
bride ruddier than the sun, fairer than the moon, and
whiter than snow, would be rewarded with countless
wealth. The report of this went through the whole
kingdom; and from small to great, all were talking
and thinking, but no one offered to find such a
beauty.
Not far from the king’s castle was a large brewery.
The working-men came together for some reason,
and began to say that a man might get much money
from the Tsar, but where could such a bride be
found?
“Well, brothers,” said a man, Nikita Koltoma by
name, “no one can find a bride for the Tsar without
my help; but if I undertake it, then he will find her
without fail.”
“What art thou boasting of, thou fool? How
couldst thou do that deed? There are famous and
rich people, not the like of us, and they are afraid.
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Thou couldst not do it in a dream, much less in thy
senses.”
“Well, say what ye please; but I have faith in
myself,” said he, “and I’ll get her.”
“Ah, Nikita, don’t boast; thou knowest our Tsar
is terrible, and for an empty boast he will put thee
to death.”
“He won’t put me to death; he will reward me
with money.”
They reported these speeches to the Tsar himself.
He was delighted, and gave command to bring Nikita
before his bright eyes. The soldiers ran, seized
Nikita Koltoma, and hurried him to the palace. His
comrades called after him: “Well, brother, thou
hast said it; thou thinkest to joke with the Tsar: go
now and give answer.”
They brought Nikita to the great palace, and the
terrible Tsar said to him: “Thou, Nikita, dost boast
that thou art able to find me a bride ruddier than
the sun, fairer than the moon, and whiter than
snow.”
“I can, your Majesty.”
“Very well, brother. If thou wilt do me that service,
I will reward thee with countless treasure and
make thee first minister; but if thou hast lied, I have
a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders.”
“I am glad to serve thee, Great Tsar; but command
that I have a holiday for a whole month.”
The Tsar consented, and gave over his own signature
151]
an open order to Nikita, commanding that in
all eating-houses and inns they should give him
gratis all kinds of food and drink.
Nikita went through the capital to enjoy himself.
Whatever inn he entered, he showed the paper;
immediately they brought him everything that his
soul desired. He caroused one day, a second, a
third; a week, a second, a third week. And now the
term is passed; ’tis time to go to the Tsar.
Nikita took farewell of his friends, went to the
palace, and asked the Tsar to collect for him twelve
brave youths, the same in stature, in hair, and in
voice, and to prepare besides thirteen white woven
tents with golden embroidery. Everything was soon
ready; the young men were collected at once, and
the tents made.
“Now, Great Tsar,” said Nikita, “get ready, and
we will go for the bride.”
They saddled their good steeds, packed the tents
on the horses. After that they had a prayer in the
church, took leave of the people of the town, sat on
their steeds, and galloped away; nothing but a pillar
of dust behind them. They travelled one day, a
second, and a third. In the open field was a forge.
Said Nikita: “Go straight ahead with God, and I
will run into the forge and smoke a pipe.” He entered
the forge; fifteen blacksmiths were forging
iron inside, striking with their hammers.
“To make it we are not unwilling; but who will
turn the iron? Fifteen poods are no joke.”
“That is nothing, brothers; you beat with the
hammers, and I’ll turn the iron.”
The blacksmiths went to work and forged an iron
staff of fifteen poods. Nikita took the rod, went out
into the field, and threw it up ninety feet, held out
his hand; the iron staff fell on his hand, but was not
equal to the strength of the hero, it broke in two.
Nikita Koltoma paid the blacksmiths for their work,
threw the broken rod to them, and rode away. He
caught up with his comrades. They travelled three
days more; again there was a forge in the open field.
“Go on, I will enter this forge,” said Nikita. He
went into the forge. Twenty-five blacksmiths were
working inside, forging iron, pounding with their
hammers.
“God aid thee, boys!”
“God save thee, good man!”
“Make me a staff twenty-five poods in weight.”
“To forge is no trouble; but where is the man with
strength to turn so much iron?”
“I will turn it myself.”
He took the twenty-five poods weight of iron,
heated it red hot, and turned it on the anvil while
the blacksmiths pounded with their hammers. They
153]
made a staff twenty-five poods in weight. Nikita
took that staff, went out into the open field, threw it
up one hundred and fifty feet, and held out his hand:
the staff struck the hero’s hand and broke in two.
“No, this will not do,” said Nikita. He paid for
the work, sat on his horse, and rode away. He overtook
his comrades. They travelled a day, a second,
and a third. Again there was a forge in the open field.
“Go on,” said Nikita; “I will smoke a pipe in
this forge.”
He entered the forge, where fifty blacksmiths were
tormenting an old man. A gray-haired old man was
lying on the anvil; ten men were holding him with
pincers by the beard, and forty men were pounding
him on the sides with hammers.
“Have pity on me, brothers!” cried the old man,
with all his strength. “Leave the life in me to do
penance!”
“God aid you!” said Nikita.
“God aid thee, good man!” said the blacksmiths.
“Why are ye tormenting the old man?”
“Because he owes each one of us a rouble, and he
will not pay it. Why shouldn’t we beat him?”
“What an unfortunate man,” thought Nikita; “for
fifty roubles he suffers such torment!” And he said
to the blacksmiths: “Listen, brothers: I’ll pay you
for him; let the old man go.”
“Agreed, good man; it is all the same to us from
whom we get the money, so that we have it.”
154]
Nikita took out fifty roubles. The blacksmiths
took the money, and the moment they freed the old
man out of the iron pincers, he vanished from the
eye. Nikita looked. “But where is the old man?”
“Oh, look for him now; he is a wizard!”
Nikita ordered them to forge an iron staff of fifty
poods. He hurled it up three hundred feet, and
held out his hand: the staff stood the test, did not
break. “This will do,” said Nikita, and rode off to
overtake his comrades. All at once he heard a voice
behind him. Nikita Koltoma stopped; he looked
around, and saw the same old man running after him.
“Thanks to thee,” said the old man, “for saving
me from cruel torture; I suffered that misery for
thirty years exactly. Here is a present to remember
me by,—take it; it will be of use to thee;” and he
gave him a cap of invisibility. “Just put it on thy
head; no man will see thee.”
Nikita took the cap, thanked the old man, and
galloped on. He overtook his comrades, and all
rode together. Whether it was long or short, near
or far, they came to a castle; around the castle was a
great iron paling; there was no way to enter, on foot
or on horseback. The terrible Tsar said: “Well,
brother Nikita, there is no passage farther.”
Nikita Koltoma answered: “Why not, Great Tsar?
I’ll go through the whole world but I’ll find thee a
bride. This paling is no stop to us. Now, boys,
break the paling; open the gate to the wide court!”
155]
The good youths came down from their horses
and went at the paling; but no matter what they did,
they could not break it, it stood fast.
“Oh, brothers,” said Nikita, “ye sail in shallow
water! No use in my depending on you; I must
work myself.”
Nikita sprang from his horse, went to the paling,
took it with his heroic hand, pulled once,—the whole
paling was on the ground. The terrible Tsar and the
young men rode in on the broad court, and there on
the green meadow they put up their white woven,
gold-embroidered tents, ate what God sent them, lay
down, and from weariness slept a sound sleep. Each
one had a tent, but there was none for Nikita Koltoma;
he found three worn bark mats, made himself
a little hut, lay down on the bare ground. As to
sleeping, he slept not; he waited for what would be.
At the morning dawn Yelena the Beautiful woke
up in her chamber, looked out through her lattice-window,
and saw that thirteen white woven tents
were standing on her green meadow, and in front of
all a small hut of bark rugs.
“What is this?” thought the Tsarevna; “whence
have these guests come? See, the iron paling is
broken!”
Yelena the Beautiful was terribly enraged; she
called her powerful, mighty hero, and said: “To
horse this minute! Ride to the tents and give all
those disobedient scoundrels to a cruel death; throw
156]
their bodies over the fence, and bring the tents to
me.”
The powerful, mighty hero saddled his good steed,
put on his battle-armor, and went toward the unbidden
guests. Nikita Koltoma saw him. “Who
goes?” asked he.
“And who art thou, rude fellow, that askest?”
These words did not please Nikita. He sprang
out of his hut, caught the hero by the foot, dragged
him from the horse to the damp earth, raised his iron
staff of fifty poods, gave him one blow, and said:
“Go now to thy Tsarevna, tell her to stop her pride,
not to waste her men, but to marry our terrible
Tsar.”
The hero galloped back, glad that Nikita had left
him alive, came to the castle, and said to the Tsarevna:
“Men of immeasurable strength have come
to our place. They ask thee for their terrible Tsar
in marriage, and commanded me to tell thee to put
an end to thy pride, not to waste thy army in vain,
and to marry their Tsar.”
When Yelena the Beautiful heard such bold
speeches she was roused. She summoned her great,
mighty heroes, and began to command them all:
“My trusty servants, assemble a countless army, take
down these white tents, kill these unbidden guests,
that the dust of them be not here.”
The great, mighty heroes did not stop long. They
collected a countless army, sat on their heroic steeds,
157]
and bore down on the white woven, gold-embroidered
tents.
As soon as they came to the bark hut, Nikita
Koltoma sprang out before them, took his iron staff
of fifty poods, and began to wave it at them in
different directions. In a little while he had killed
the whole army, and of the great, mighty heroes he
left but one alive. “Go,” said he, “to thy Tsarevna,
Yelena the Beautiful, and tell her not to waste her
army further. She cannot frighten us with armies.
Now I have fought with you alone; what will happen
to your kingdom when my comrades wake? We will
not leave a stone upon a stone; we will scatter everything
over the open field.”
The hero returned to the Tsarevna and said: “Thy
whole army is slain; against such champions no
power can avail.” Yelena the Beautiful sent to invite
the terrible Tsar to the castle, and then ordered that
the sharp arrow be ready; went herself to meet the
guests with grace, with honor. The Tsarevna moves
on to meet them, and behind her fifty men are
bearing the bow and the arrow. Nikita Koltoma
saw that that was a hero’s bow, and knew at once
that it was intended to treat them to the arrow.
He put on the cap of invisibility, drew the bow,
and aimed the arrow at the Tsarevna’s chamber. In
one moment he knocked off the whole top of her
castle.
There was no help for her now. Yelena the
158]
Beautiful took the terrible Tsar by the hand, led him to
the white-walled chambers, seated him and his men
at the oaken tables with the spread cloths. They
began to drink, to eat and rejoice. In the chambers
were wonderful ornaments; the whole world might
be searched, and the like wouldst thou find nowhere.
After dinner Nikita said to the terrible Tsar:
“Does the young woman please thee, or shall we
go for another?”
“No, Nikita, there is no use in travelling for nothing;
there is not a better than this in the whole
world.”
“Well, then, marry now she is in our hands. But
look out, Great Tsar, don’t be caught napping.
The first three nights she will try thy strength; she
will put her hand on thee and press mightily, mightily:
thou canst not endure it in any way. At these
times hurry out of the chamber; I’ll take thy place
and soon tame her.”
They set about the wedding, and Tsars have not
to make mead or wine; all was on hand. They had
the wedding, and the terrible Tsar went to the chamber
of Yelena the Beautiful. He reclined on a
couch.
Yelena put her hand on his breast and asked: “Is
my hand heavy?”
“It is as heavy as a feather on water,” answered
the terrible Tsar; but he could barely draw breath,
so had she pressed his breast. “Wait, I have
159]
forgotten to give an order; I must give it now.” He
left the chamber.
Nikita was standing at the door outside. “Well,
brother, thou didst speak truly; she came very near
putting the breath out of me.”
“Never mind, I’ll settle the matter; stay here.”
Nikita entered the dark chamber, lay on the
couch. Yelena thought the Tsar had returned. She
put her hand on his breast, pressed and pressed;
could do nothing. She put on both hands, and
pressed more than before. Nikita Koltoma, like a
man in sleep, caught her and hurled her to the floor,
so that the whole castle shook. The Tsarevna got
up, went quietly to her bed, and fell asleep.
Now Nikita slipped out to the Tsar and said:
“Go in boldly; she will do nothing till to-morrow.”
With Nikita’s aid the Tsar escaped the second and
the third time, and then lived as was proper with
Yelena the Beautiful. Neither a long nor a short
time passed, but Yelena the Beautiful discovered that
the terrible Tsar had deceived her, that his strength
was not great, that people were laughing at her,
that Nikita was the man who had conquered her.
She was in a terrible rage, and hid in her heart a
cruel revenge.
The Tsar had in mind to go to his own kingdom,
and said: “We have stayed here long enough; it is
time to go home. Make ready for the road.”
They prepared to go by the sea, and had a ship
160]
laden with various precious things. They went on
board, and sailed out on the sea; sailed one day,
sailed a second, then a third. The Tsar was delighted;
he could not rejoice sufficiently that he was
taking home a Tsaritsa ruddier than the sun, fairer
than the moon, whiter than snow. But Yelena the
Beautiful was thinking her own thought,—thinking
how to pay for the insult.
At that time an heroic slumber overcame Nikita,
and he slept for twelve whole days and nights. When
the Tsaritsa saw Nikita in this sleep, she summoned
her trusty servants, commanded them to cut off his
legs to the knee, put him in a boat, and push him
out into the sea. Before her eyes they cut off the legs
of the sleeping Nikita, put him in a boat, and pushed
him out to sea.
On the thirteenth day poor Nikita woke. He
looked around,—water everywhere; he was lying
without feet, and no trace of the ship.
Meanwhile the ship sailed on, sailed on. At last the
harbor was before them. The cannon thundered, the
people ran together. The merchants and boyars met
the Tsar with bread and salt, and congratulated him
on his marriage. The Tsar called guests, gave feasts,
and forgot to think of Nikita. Little time had he left
to rejoice. Yelena the Beautiful soon seized his kingdom,
took the management of all to herself, and forced
him to herd pigs. The wrath of the Tsaritsa was not
allayed with this; she gave command to make search
161]
on every side for relatives of Nikita Koltoma, and if
any were found to bring them to the palace.
Messengers galloped and searched everywhere.
They found a brother of Nikita,—Timoféi Koltoma;
they brought him to the palace. Yelena the Beautiful
gave command to take out his eyes and drive him
from the town.
When they had blinded Timoféi they led him outside
the town and left him in the open field. The
blind man dragged along, found his way by feeling;
he went and went, till he came to the sea-shore,
advanced a step or two, and felt water under his feet.
He halted, stood on one spot, moved neither backward
nor forward; he was afraid to go. All at once
the boat with Nikita was borne toward the shore.
Nikita saw a man, was rejoiced, and called to him:
“Ei! good man; help me to land.”
The blind man answered: “Gladly would I help
thee, but I cannot. I am without eyes; I see
nothing.”
“But whence art thou, and what is thy name?”
“I am Timoféi Koltoma. The new Tsaritsa, Yelena
the Beautiful, had my eyes put out, and drove me
from her kingdom.”
“Ah! but thou art my own brother; I am Nikita
Koltoma. Go thou, Timoféi, to the right side,—there
a tall oak is growing; pull out the oak, bring
it here, and throw it from the shore into the water.
I will creep out upon it to thee.”
162]
Timoféi turned to the right, stepped forward, and
found the tall old oak, seized it with both hands,
pulled it out by the roots, drew the oak, and threw
it into the water. The tree lay with one end on land,
the other came down near the boat. Nikita crept
out on shore somehow, kissed his brother, and said:
“How is our terrible Tsar living now?”
“Oh, brother,” answered Timoféi, “our terrible
Tsar is now in great straits,—he is herding pigs in
the field! Every morning he gets a pound of bread,
a jug of water, and three rods on his back.”
Then they talked about how they were to live and
how to support themselves. Said Nikita: “Hear,
brother, my advice: thou wilt carry me, because I
am footless, and I will sit on thee and tell thee where
to go.”
“Agreed; be it as thou sayest. Though we are
both maimed, we shall serve for one sound man.”
So Nikita sat on his brother’s shoulders and showed
him the way. Timoféi walked and walked, and came
into a slumbering forest. In that forest stood the
cabin of Baba-Yaga. The brothers entered the
cabin; there was not a soul inside.
“Well, brother,” said Nikita, “feel in the oven.
Isn’t there some food?”
Timoféi crawled to the oven, took out every kind
of food, put it on the table, and they both began to
put the food away; from hunger they ate everything
clean. Then Nikita began to examine the cabin. He
163]
saw on the window a small whistle, placed it to his
lips and began to whistle. He looks—what sort of
wonder! His blind brother is dancing, the cabin is
dancing, the table, the dishes are dancing, everything
dancing; the pots were broken into bits.
“Enough, Nikita, stop playing,” begged the blind
man; “my strength can hold out no longer.”
Nikita stopped whistling, and that moment everything
was silent. All at once the door opened, in
walked Baba-Yaga, and she screamed with a loud
voice: “Oh, homeless vagrants, to this minute not
a bird has flown past, nor a beast run by here; and
ye have come, devoured my food, broken my pots!
Very good; I’ll settle with you!”
“Silence, old carrion! We shall be able to settle
with thee ourselves. Here, brother Timoféi, hold the
old witch firmly!”
Timoféi caught the Baba-Yaga in his arms, squeezed
her hard, hard; but Nikita seized her that moment
by the hair and dragged her through the cabin.
“Oh, fathers,” begged Baba-Yaga, “I’ll be of
use to you myself; whatever ye want I’ll get you!”
“Well, then, old woman, speak. Canst thou get us
healing and living water? If thou gettest it, I’ll let
thee go alive into the white world; if not, then I’ll
give thee to a cruel death.”
Baba-Yaga agreed, and led them to two springs.
“Here are for you the healing and living water.”
Nikita Koltoma took the healing water, poured it
164]
on himself, and his legs grew out. They were quite
healthy, but wouldn’t move. He took living water,
moistened his legs, and began to use them. The
same happened to Timoféi Koltoma: he washed the
hollows of his eyes with healing water, eyes came in
his head just as if they had never been injured, but
saw nothing; he washed them with the living water,
and they began to see better than ever.
The brothers thanked the old woman, let her go
home, and went to liberate the terrible Tsar from suffering
and misfortune. They came to the capital
town and saw that the Tsar was herding pigs in
front of the castle. Nikita Koltoma began to blow
on the whistle, and the herdsman with the pigs fell
to dancing. Yelena the Beautiful saw this from the
window; she was furious, and gave command to
take a bunch of rods and flog the pigherd and the
musicians.
The guard ran out, seized them, brought them to
the castle to treat them to rods. When Nikita Koltoma
came to Yelena the Beautiful he made no delay,
but seized her white hands and said: “Dost know
me, Yelena the Beautiful? I am Nikita Koltoma.
Well, terrible Tsar, she is in thy power; what thou
wishest, that do.”
The Tsar gave command to shoot her, and he
made Nikita his first minister; he honored him
always, and obeyed him in all things.
THERE was a Tsar who had one son, and when
the Tsarevich was an infant his nurses and
maids used to sing to him, “Baiyú, baiyú, Ivan Tsarevich;
when thou’lt grow up a man thou’lt find thee
a bride in the thirtieth kingdom, beyond the thrice
ninth land, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, and her marrow
flows from bone to bone.”
Fifteen years had passed for the Tsarevich, and he
went to ask leave to search for his bride. “Where
wilt thou go?” asked his father. “Thou art still too
small.”
“No, father; when I was small the nurses and
maids sang to me, and told where my bride lives; and
now I am going to find her.”
The Tsar gave his blessing and sent word to all
kingdoms that his son, Ivan Tsarevich, was going for
his bride.
Well, the Tsarevich came to a town, gave his horse
to be cared for, and went himself to walk along the
streets. He walked, and saw that on the square they
were punishing a man with a whip. “Why,” asked
he, “do ye flog him?”
“Because,” answered they, “he went in debt ten
thousand to an eminent merchant, and did not pay
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in season. And whoso redeems him, that man’s wife
Koshchéi Without-Death will bear away.”
Now the Tsarevich thought and thought, and then
went off. As he was walking through the town he
came out again on the square, and they were still
beating that man. Ivan Tsarevich pitied him and
resolved to redeem him.
“I have no wife,” thought Ivan; “there is no one
to take from me.” He paid the ten thousand and
went to his lodgings.
All at once the man whom he had redeemed ran
after him and called: “God save thee, Ivan Tsarevich!
If thou hadst not redeemed me, thou
couldest not have gained thy bride in a lifetime;
but now I will help thee. Buy me a horse and
saddle straightway.”
The Tsarevich bought him a horse and saddle, and
asked: “What is thy name?”
“They call me Bulat the hero.”
They sat on the horses, went their way and road.
When they came to the thirtieth kingdom, Bulat
said: “Well, Ivan Tsarevich, give orders to buy and
roast chickens, ducks, and geese, so that there may be
plenty of everything, and I will go to get thy bride.
And see to it: every time I run to thee, cut the right
wing of a bird, and hand it to me on a plate.”
Bulat the hero went to the lofty tower where Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna was sitting, threw a stone lightly,
and broke the summit of the gilded tower. He ran
167]
to the Tsarevich and said to him: “What, art thou
sleeping? Give me a hen.”
Ivan Tsarevich cut off the right wing and gave it
on a plate. Bulat took the plate, ran to the tower,
and cried out: “Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna! Ivan
Tsarevich gave command to bow to thee, and asked
me to give thee this hen.”
Vassilissa was frightened, and sat in silence. Bulat
gave answer to himself instead of her: “Hail, Bulat
the hero! Is Ivan Tsarevich in good health?
“Glory be to God, in good health.
“But why stand there, Bulat the hero? Take the
key, open the cupboard, drink a glass of vodka, and
go with God.”
Bulat the hero ran to Ivan Tsarevich and said:
“Art sitting here? Give me a duck.”
He cut off the wing, and gave it on a plate.
Bulat bore it to the tower and said: “Hail, Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna! Ivan Tsarevich gave command to
bow to thee, and sent thee this duck.”
She sat there, said nothing; but he answered
instead of her: “Hail, Bulat the hero! Is Ivan
Tsarevich well?
“Glory be to God, he is well.
“But why stand there, Bulat the hero? Take the
key, open the cupboard, drink a glass, and go with
God.”
Bulat ran again to Ivan Tsarevich. “Art thou
sitting here? Give me a goose.”
168]
Ivan cut off the right wing and gave it on a plate.
Bulat the hero bore it to the tower. “Hail, Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna! Ivan Tsarevich gave command to
bow to thee, and sent thee this goose.”
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna took the key quickly,
opened the cupboard, and reached a glass of vodka.
Bulat the hero took not the glass, but seized the
maiden by the right hand, drew her out of the
tower, and seated her on the Tsarevich’s steed. They
galloped away, the good hero and the beautiful soul-maiden,
with all horse-speed.
Next morning Tsar Kirbít woke and rose. He saw
that the top of the tower was broken and his daughter
stolen; he grew powerfully angry, and gave command
to pursue over all roads and ways.
Whether our heroes travelled much or little, Bulat
took the ring from his hand, hid it, and said: “Go
on, Ivan Tsarevich; but I will turn back and look for
my ring.”
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna began to implore: “Do not
leave us, Bulat the hero; if it please thee, thou shalt
have my ring.”
“Impossible, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; my ring was
priceless. My own mother gave it me, and when
giving, she said: ‘Wear and lose it not; forget not
thy mother.’”
Bulat the hero galloped back and met the pursuers
on the road. He slew them all straightway, left but
one man to take news to the Tsar, hurried back, and
caught up with the Tsarevich.
169]
Whether they went much or little, Bulat hid his
handkerchief and said: “Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, I have
lost my handkerchief! Ride on thy road and way;
I will soon come up with thee.”
He turned back, went some versts, and met pursuers
twice as many; he slew them all, and returned
to Ivan, who asked: “Hast found the handkerchief?”
“I have found it.”
Dark night overtook them. They pitched a tent;
Bulat lay down to sleep, left Ivan Tsarevich on guard,
and said to him: “If need be, rouse me.”
Ivan Tsarevich stood and stood, grew tired; sleep
began to bend him; he sat down at the tent and fell
asleep.
From wherever he came, Koshchéi Without-Death
bore away Vassilissa Kirbítyevna. Ivan Tsarevich
woke up at dawn, saw that his bride was gone, and
began to weep bitterly. Bulat the hero woke up and
asked: “Why art thou weeping?”
“Why should I not weep? Some one has borne
away Vassilissa Kirbítyevna.”
“I told thee to keep watch. That is the work of
Koshchéi Without-Death. Let us set out in search
of her.”
Long and long did they ride, till they saw two
shepherds herding a flock. “Whose herd is that?”
The herdsmen answered: “This is the herd of
Koshchéi Without-Death.”
Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich asked the herdsmen if
170]
Koshchéi Without-Death lived far from there, how
to go to his house, what time they went home with
the flock, and how they shut it in. Then they came
down from their horses, wrung the necks of the shepherds,
dressed themselves in their clothes, drove the
herd home, and stood at the gate.
Ivan Tsarevich had a gold ring on one of his
fingers, Vassilissa had given it to him. Vassilissa
had a goat, and she washed herself morning and
evening with the milk of that goat. The maid ran
with a vessel, milked the goat, and was carrying the
milk. Bulat took the Tsarevich’s ring and threw it
into the vessel.
“Oh, my dove,” said the maid, “thou art getting
impudent!” She came to Vassilissa Kirbítyevna and
complained. “Now,” said she, “the herdsmen have
begun to make sport of us,—they threw a ring into
the milk.”
“Leave the milk; I will strain it myself,” said
Vassilissa. She strained the milk, saw the ring, and
gave command to send the herdsmen to her. The
herdsmen came.
“Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna!” said Bulat the
hero.
“Hail, Bulat the hero! Be well, Tsarevich! How
did God bring you?”
“We came for thee, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; thou
wilt hide from us nowhere. We should find thee even
on the bottom of the sea.”
171]
She seated them at the table, gave them every
sort of food and all kinds of wine.
Said Bulat the hero: “When Koshchéi comes
home from hunting, ask him, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna,
where his death is. And now it would not be amiss
for us to hide.”
As soon as the guests had hidden, Koshchéi
Without-Death was flying home from the hunt.
“Tfu-tfu!” said he; “of old there wasn’t a sign of
Russia to be heard with hearing or seen with sight;
but now Russia runs into one’s eyes and mouth.”
Said Vassilissa: “Thou hast been flying through
Russia thyself, and art full of its odor; so to thy
thinking dost find it here.”
Koshchéi ate his dinner and lay down to rest.
Vassilissa came to him, threw herself on his neck,
fondled him, and kissed him, saying: “My dear love,
hardly was I able to wait for thee. I did not expect
to see thee alive; I feared that savage beasts had
devoured thee.”
Koshchéi laughed aloud. “Simple woman! her
hair is long, but her wit is short. Could savage beasts
eat me?”
“But where is thy death, then?”
“My death is in the broom which lies around at
the threshold.”
As soon as Koshchéi had flown away, Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna ran to Ivan Tsarevich.
Bulat asked: “Well, where is Koshchéi’s death?”
172]
“In a broom thrown around at the threshold.”
“No, he lies with design; thou must ask him more
cunningly.”
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna formed a plan. She took
the broom, gilded it, adorned it with various ribbons,
and placed it on the table. When Koshchéi Without-Death
flew home, he saw the broom on the table, and
asked why that was done.
“How was it possible,” answered Vassilissa Kirbítyevna,
“that thy death should roll around at the
threshold? Better let it lie on the table.”
“Ha, ha, ha! The woman is simple; her hair is
long, but her wit is short! Could my death be here?”
“Where is it, then?”
“My death is hidden in the goat.”
As soon as Koshchéi went off to the hunt, Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna took the goat and adorned it with
ribbons and bells, and gilded its horns. Koshchéi
saw the goat; again he laughed. “Oh, the woman
is simple; her hair is long, but her wit is short!”
“My death is far from here. On the sea, on the
ocean, is an island; on that island stands an oak;
under the oak is buried a chest; in the chest is a
hare, in the hare a duck, in the duck an egg, and in
the egg my death,” said he, and flew away.
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna told all this to Ivan Tsarevich.
They took supplies and went to find Koshchéi’s
death. Whether they travelled long or short,
they ate all their provisions and began to be hungry.
173]
A dog with her whelps happened in their way. “I
will kill her,” said Bulat the hero; “there is nothing
else to eat.”
“Do not kill me,” said the dog, “do not make my
children orphans, and I will serve thee myself.”
“Well, God be with thee.”
They went farther. On an oak was an eagle with
eaglets. Said Bulat the hero: “I will kill the eagle.”
“Kill me not,” said the eagle, “make not my
children orphans; I will serve thee myself.”
“Let it be so; live to thy health.”
They came to the ocean sea wide; on the shore
a lobster was crawling. Said Bulat the hero: “I will
kill it with a blow.”
“Strike me not, good hero; there is not much
good in me. Wilt eat me, thou’lt not be satisfied.
The time will come when I will serve thee myself.”
“Well, crawl off with God,” said Bulat the hero.
He looked on the sea, saw a fisherman in a boat, and
shouted, “Come to shore.” The fisherman brought
the boat. Ivan Tsarevich and Bulat the hero sat in
it and went to the island; they landed, and came to
the oak. Bulat the hero caught the oak with his
mighty hands and tore it out with the roots. They
took the chest from under the oak, opened it; out of
the chest sprang a hare, and ran with all its breath.
“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the dog were here
now, she would catch the hare.”
Behold, the dog is bringing the hare. Bulat the
174]
hero tore it open; out of the hare flew the duck and
rose high in the air.
“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the eagle were
here, she would catch the duck.” And already the
eagle was bringing the duck.
Bulat the hero tore open the duck; an egg rolled
out and fell into the sea.
“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the lobster would
pull it out.” The lobster was crawling and bringing
the egg. They took the egg, went to Koshchéi
Without-Death, struck him with the egg on the forehead;
that moment he stretched out and died.
Ivan Tsarevich took Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, and
they went their way. They travelled and travelled;
dark night overtook them; they pitched their tent.
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna lay down to rest. Said Bulat
the hero, “Lie down too, Tsarevich, and I will stand
guard.”
At dark midnight twelve doves appeared, struck
wing against wing, and became maidens.
“Well, Bulat the hero and Ivan Tsarevich, ye
killed our brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, ye carried
away our sister-in-law, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna;
but no good will come to you either. When Ivan
Tsarevich comes home, he will give command to
bring out his favorite dog, the dog will break away
from the keeper and tear the Tsarevich into small
pieces; but whoso hears this and tells Ivan what we
have said will become stone to the knees.”
175]
In the morning Bulat the hero roused the Tsarevich
and Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; they made ready and
went their road and way. A second night overtook
them; they pitched their tent in the open field.
Again Bulat said: “Lie down to sleep, Ivan Tsarevich;
I will stand guard.” In the dark midnight
twelve doves came flying, they struck wing against
wing, and became maidens.
“Well, Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich, ye killed our
brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, ye carried away
our sister-in-law; but no good will come to you, for
when Ivan Tsarevich comes home he will give command
to bring out his favorite horse, on which he
has ridden since childhood. The horse will tear
away from the groom and beat the Tsarevich to
death; and whoso hears this and tells him will become
stone to the girdle.”
Morning came, again they travelled on. A third
night overtook them. They pitched their tent and
stopped in the open field. Bulat said: “Lie down
to sleep, Ivan Tsarevich; I will stand watch.” Again
at midnight twelve doves came flying, struck wing
against wing, and became maidens.
“Well, Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich, ye killed our
brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, and carried away
our sister-in-law; but no good will come to you.
When Ivan Tsarevich comes home he will give command
to lead out his favorite cow, on whose milk he
has been nourished since childhood. She will tear
176]
away from the herder and raise the Tsarevich on her
horns. But whoso sees and hears us, and tells him
this, will become altogether stone.” They finished
the sentence, turned into doves, and flew home.
In the morning Ivan Tsarevich and Vassilissa set
out on the road. The Tsarevich came home, married
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; and in a day or two he
said to her, “I will show thee my favorite dog, with
which I played all the time when I was little.”
Bulat the hero took his sword, ground it sharp,
sharp, and stood at the porch. They were bringing the
dog. It tore away from the keeper and ran straight
to the porch; but Bulat drew his sword and cut the
dog in two. Ivan Tsarevich was angry, but for
Bulat’s former service he was silent.
The next day he ordered them to bring out his
favorite horse. The horse broke his halter, tore
away from the groom, and galloped straight at
Ivan Tsarevich. Bulat the hero cut off the horse’s
head.
Ivan Tsarevich was still more in anger, and gave
command to seize Bulat and hang him; but Vassilissa
Kirbítyevna interceded. “Had it not been for him,”
said she, “thou wouldst never have won me.”
On the third day the Tsarevich gave command to
lead out his favorite cow. She tore away from the
herder and ran straight at the Tsarevich. Bulat cut
off her head too.
Now Ivan Tsarevich was so enraged that he would
177]
listen to no one, gave orders to call the headsman
to put Bulat to death on the spot.
“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, if ’tis thy wish to put me to
death by the executioner, better let me die of myself;
only let me speak three speeches.”
Bulat told about the first night, how twelve doves
flew to them in the open field, and what they said.
That moment he was stone to the knees; he told of
the second night, and was stone to the girdle. Now
Ivan Tsarevich begged him not to speak to the end.
Bulat answered: “’Tis all the same now, I am stone
to the girdle; it is not worth while to live.” He told
of the third night, and was all stone.
Ivan Tsarevich put him in a chamber apart, went
there each day with Vassilissa, and wept bitterly.
Years passed on. Once Ivan Tsarevich was weeping
over the stone hero Bulat, and heard a voice
coming out of the stone: “Why dost thou weep?
It is hard for me even as I am.”
“Why should I not weep? How can I help it?
Thou knowest I destroyed thee.”
“If thou wishest, thou canst save me. Thou hast
two children,—a son and a daughter. Kill them,
pour their blood into a vessel, and rub this stone with
the blood.”
Ivan Tsarevich told this to Vassilissa Kirbítyevna.
They grieved and mourned; decided to kill their
children. They killed them, gathered the blood, and
rubbed the stone.
178]
When Bulat the hero came to life he asked the
Tsarevich and his wife, “Were ye grieved for the
children?”
“We were grieved, Bulat.”
“Well, let us go to their room.”
They went, and behold, the children were alive!
The father and mother were delighted, and in their
delight gave a feast to all.
GO TO THE VERGE OF DESTRUCTION AND BRING BACK SHMAT-RAZUM.
179]
IN a certain kingdom there lived a wifeless, unmarried
king, who had a whole company of
sharpshooters. They went to the forests, shot
birds of passage, and furnished the king’s table with
game. Among these sharpshooters was one named
Fedot, who hit the mark and almost never missed;
for this reason the king loved him beyond all his
comrades.
Once while shooting in the early morning, just at
dawn, Fedot went into a dark, dense forest, and saw a
blue dove sitting on a tree. He aimed, fired, struck
her wing, and she fell to the damp earth. The sharpshooter
picked her up, was going to twist her neck
and put her in his bag, when the blue dove spoke:
“Oh, brave youth, do not tear off my stormy little
head, do not send me out of the white world! Better
take me alive, carry me home, put me on the window,
and watch. As soon as sleep comes upon me strike
me that moment with the back of thy right hand, and
thou wilt gain great fortune.”
Fedot marvelled. “What can it mean?” thought
he; “in seeming a bird, but she speaks with a
180]
human voice. Never has such a thing happened to
me before.”
He brought the bird home, placed her on the window,
and stood waiting. After a short time the bird
put her head under her wing and fell asleep. The
sharpshooter struck her lightly with the back of his
right hand. The blue dove fell to the floor, and
became a soul-maiden so beautiful as not to be
imagined nor described, but only told about in a
tale. Such another beauty could not be found in
the whole world.
Said she to the young man, the king’s sharpshooter:
“Thou hast known how to get me; now
know how to live with me. Thou wilt be my wedded
husband, and I thy God-given wife. I am not a blue
dove, but a king’s daughter.”
They agreed. Fedot married her, and they lived
together. He is happy with his young wife, but does
not forget his service. Every morning at dawn he
takes his gun, goes out into the forest, and shoots
game, which he carries to the king’s kitchen.
His wife sees that he is wearied from this hunting,
and says: “Listen, my dear. I am sorry for thee.
Every God-given day thou dost wander through
forests and swamps, comest home wet and worn,
and profit to us not a whit. What sort of a life is
this? But I know something so that thou wilt not
be without gain. Get of roubles two hundred, and
we will correct the whole business.”
181]
Fedot rushed around to his friends, got a rouble
from one, and two from another, till he had just two
hundred. “Now,” said his wife, “buy different kinds
of silk for this money.”
He bought the silk; she took it, and said: “Be not
troubled; pray to God and lie down to sleep: the
morning is wiser than the evening.”
He lay down and fell asleep; his wife went out on
the porch, opened her magic book, and two unknown
youths appeared at once. “What dost thou wish?
Command us.”
“Take this silk, and in one single hour make a
piece of such wonderful tapestry as has not been seen
in the world; let the whole kingdom be embroidered
on it, with towns, villages, rivers, and lakes.”
They went to work, and not only in an hour, but in
ten minutes they had the tapestry finished,—a wonder
for all. They gave it to the sharpshooter’s wife,
and vanished in an instant just as if they never had
been. In the morning she gave the tapestry to her
husband. “Here,” said she, “take this to the merchants’
rows, sell it, but see that thou ask no price of
thy own; take what they give.”
Fedot went to the merchants’ rows; a trader saw
him, came up, and asked: “Well, my good man, is
this article for sale?”
“It is.”
“What’s the price?”
“Thou art a dealer, name the price.”
182]
The merchant thought and thought, but could not
fix a price. Now a second, a third, and a fourth came;
no one could set a price on the tapestry. At this
time the mayor of the palace was passing by and saw
the crowd; wishing to know what the merchants were
talking about, he jumped out of his carriage, came
up to them, and said: “Good morning, merchants,
dealers, guests from beyond the sea; what is the
question?”
“Here is a piece of tapestry that we cannot value.”
The mayor looked at the tapestry and marvelled
himself. “Look here, sharpshooter,” said he, “tell
me in truth and sincerity where didst thou get such
glorious tapestry?”
“My wife made it.”
“How much must one give for it?”
“I know not myself; my wife told me to set no
price on it, but what people would give, that would
be ours.”
“Well here are ten thousand for thee.”
Fedot took the money and gave up the tapestry.
The mayor was always near the person of the king,
ate and drank at his table. When he went to the
king’s to dine he took the tapestry. “Would it not
please your Majesty to see what a glorious piece of
work I have bought to-day?”
The king looked; he saw his whole kingdom as if
on the palm of his hand. He opened his mouth in
amazement.
183]
“This is indeed work; in all my life I have never
seen such cunning art. Well, mayor, say what thou
pleasest, but I shall not give this back to thee.”
Straightway the king took twenty-five thousand out
of his pocket, placed the money in the mayor’s hand,
and hung the tapestry in the palace.
“That’s nothing,” thought the mayor; “I will order
another still better.” Straightway he galloped to find
the sharpshooter, found his cottage, went in; and the
moment he saw Fedot’s wife he forgot himself, his
errand, knew not why he had come. Before him was
such a beauty that he would not take his eyes off her
all his life; he would have looked and looked. He
gazes on another man’s wife, and in his head thought
follows thought: “Where has it been seen, where
heard of, that a simple soldier possessed such a treasure?
Though I serve the king’s person and rank as
a general I have never beheld such beauty!”
The mayor came to his mind with difficulty, and
went home, ’gainst his will. From that hour, from
that time, he was not his own. Sleeping or waking,
he thought only of the beautiful woman; he
could neither eat nor drink, she was ever before his
eyes. The king noticed the change, and asked:
“What has come upon thee,—some grief?”
“Oh, your Majesty, I have seen the sharpshooter’s
wife; there is not such a beauty in the whole world!
I am thinking of her all the time; I can neither eat
nor drink, with no herb can I charm away my sorrow.”
184]
The desire came to the king to admire the woman
himself. He ordered his carriage and drove to the
soldier’s quarters. He entered the room and saw
unspeakable beauty. No matter who looked on the
woman,—an old man, a youth; each was in love,
lost his wits, a heart-flame pinched him. “Why,”
thought the king, “am I wifeless and single? Let me
marry this beauty,—that is the thing. Why is she a
sharpshooter’s wife? It is her fate to be queen.”
The king returned to his palace and said to the
mayor: “Listen to me! Thou hast known how to show
me this unimaginable beauty, now find the way to
get rid of her husband; I want to marry her myself.
And if thou dost not put him out of the way, blame
thyself; for though thou art my faithful servant,
thou’lt die on the gallows.”
The mayor went his way sadder than before.
How was he to “finish the sharpshooter?” he
could not think. As he was going through back
lanes and waste places, a Baba-Yaga met him.
“Stop,” said she, “servant of the king! I know
all thy thoughts. If thou wilt, I will aid thee in this
unavoidable sorrow.”
“Aid me, grandmother, and I’ll pay what thou
wishest.”
“The king has ordered thee to put an end to
Fedot the sharpshooter. That would be easy
enough, for he is simple, were it not for his wife,
who is awfully cunning. Well, we’ll give them
185]
such a riddle that it will not soon be explained.
Go back to the king and say: ‘Beyond the thrice-ninth
land, in the thirtieth kingdom, is an island, on
that island a deer with golden horns.’ Let the king
bring together half a hundred sailors,—the most
good-for-nothing fellows, all bitter drunkards,—and
order that a rotten old ship which has been out of
service for thirty years be fitted for the voyage. Let
him send Fedot the sharpshooter on that ship to
get the deer with golden horns. In order to go to
the island it is necessary to sail neither more nor
less than three years, and back from the island three
more; six in all. Well, the ship will sail out on the
sea, serve about a month, and sink right there; the
sharpshooter and the sailors will go to the bottom,
every man!”
The mayor listened to these words, thanked the
Baba-Yaga for her counsel, rewarded her with gold,
and went off on a run to the king. “Your Majesty,”
said he, “Fedot can be finished in such and such
fashion.”
The king consented, and issued an order at once
to the navy to prepare for a voyage an old rotten
ship, to provision it for six years, and man it with
fifty sailors, the most dissolute and bitter drunkards.
Messengers ran to all the dram-shops and
drinking-houses, collected such sailors that it was
dear and precious to look at them. One had a black
eye, another had his nose driven to one side.
186]
As soon as it was reported to the king that the
ship was ready, he sent for the sharpshooter and
said: “Now, Fedot, thou art a hero of mine,—the
first shot in the company. Do me a service. Go
beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom.
In that place is an island, on that island lives
the deer with golden horns. Take it alive, and bring
it to me.”
Fedot became thoughtful, knew not what to answer.
“Think, think not,” said the king; “but if thou
do not the work, I have a sword, and thy head leaves
thy shoulders!”
Fedot wheeled round to the left and went forth
from the palace, came home in the evening powerfully
sad, not wishing to utter one word.
“Why dost thou grieve, my dearest?” asked his
wife. “Is there some mishap?”
He told her all.
“This is why thou art grieved. There is reason,
indeed; for it is an exploit, not a service. Pray to
God and lie down to sleep; the morning is wiser
than the evening: everything will be done.”
The sharpshooter lay down and slept. But his
wife opened her magic-book, at once two unknown
youths appeared before her and asked: “What dost
thou wish? What dost thou need?”
“Go beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth
kingdom, to an island; seize there the deer with
golden horns, and bring it here.”
187]
“We obey; it will be done before dawn.”
They rushed like a whirlwind to the island, caught
the deer with golden horns, and brought it straight
to Fedot’s house. An hour before daybreak all was
done, and they vanished as if they had never been.
The beautiful wife roused her husband at dawn and
said: “Look out; the deer with golden horns is walking
in the yard. Take it with thee on board the
ship, sail forward five days, on the sixth turn back.”
The sharpshooter put the deer in a close, fastened
cage, and had it carried on board the ship.
“What’s there?” asked the sailors.
“Oh, supplies and medicine! It’s a long voyage;
we shall need many a thing.”
The day for sailing came. A great crowd of
people went to see the ship leave the wharf. The
king went himself, made Fedot chief over all the
sailors, and bade him farewell.
The vessel sailed five days on the sea; the shores
had long vanished. Fedot ordered a hundred-and-twenty-gallon
cask to be rolled on to the deck, and
said to the sailors: “Drink, brothers; spare it not,
your souls are your measure!”
They were delighted, rushed to the cask, began
to drink, and got so drunk that they rolled down on
the deck, and fell fast asleep at the side of the cask.
Fedot took the helm, turned the ship around toward
the harbor, and sailed home. So that the sailors
should not know anything about it, he kept pouring
188]
liquor into them from morning till night; when they
began to open their eyes after one drunken fit, a
new cask was ready. On the eleventh day the ship
drew up at the wharf; the flag was hoisted, and guns
fired. The king heard the firing, and ran down to
the landing. “What does all this mean?” He saw
the sharpshooter, fell into a towering passion, and
rushed at him furiously. “How hast thou dared to
come back before time?”
“But where was I to go, your Majesty? Some fool
might have spent ten years in sailing over the seas
and got nothing; but I, instead of spending six years,
did the work in ten days. Would you be pleased to
look at the golden-horned deer?”
Straightway they brought the cage from the ship
and let out the golden-horned deer. The king saw
that the sharpshooter was right; he could not touch
him, he let him go home. The sailors had a holiday
for six years; no one could ask them to work during
that time, for the voyage was counted as six years,
and they had served their time.
Next day the king called the mayor into his presence
and threatened him: “What meanest thou; art
making sport of me? ’Tis clear thy head is not dear
to thee. Do what thou pleasest, but find means of
putting Fedot to a cruel death.”
“Let me think, your Majesty; we may mend
matters.” The mayor went his way, betook himself
to back lanes and waste places, met the Baba-Yaga.
189]
“Stop, servant of the king! I know thy thoughts:
dost wish I will help thee in trouble?”
“Oh, help me, grandmother! Fedot has brought
the deer with golden horns.”
“Oh, I have heard that already. It would be as
easy to put Fedot out of the way as to take a pinch
of snuff, for he is simple; but his wife is terribly cunning.
Well, we’ll give them another riddle that they
will not solve so quickly. Tell the king to send the
sharpshooter to the verge of destruction and bring
back Shmat-Razum,—that’s a task he will not accomplish
to all eternity; he will either be lost without
tidings, or come back empty-handed.”
The mayor rewarded the old witch with gold and
hurried to the king, who heard him and summoned
Fedot.
“Fedot,” said the king, “thou art a hero, the
best shot I have. Thou hast brought me the deer
with golden horns, now thou must do me another
service; and if thou wilt not do it, I have a sword,
and thy head leaves thy shoulders. Thou must go
to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum.”
Fedot turned to the left, walked out of the palace,
went home sad and thoughtful.
“My dear,” asked his wife, “why art thou sad, has
some misfortune happened?”
“Ah,” said he, “one woe has rolled from my neck
and another rolled on! The king sends me to the
190]
verge of destruction to bring back Shmat-Razum.
For thy beauty I bear all this trouble and care.”
“That,” said she, “is no small task,—nine years
to go there, and nine to come back, eighteen in all.
Will good come of it? God knows. But pray to the
Lord and lie down to sleep; the morning is wiser
than the evening. To-morrow thou’lt know all.”
After Fedot had lain down, his wife opened her
magic book and asked the two unknown youths if
they knew how to go to the verge of destruction and
bring back Shmat-Razum. They answered: “We
know not.” In the morning she roused her husband
and said, “Go to the king and ask for the road
golden treasure,—thou hast eighteen years to wander;
when thou hast the money come home for the
parting.”
Fedot got the money from the king and returned
to take farewell of his wife. She gave him a towel
and a ball, and said: “When thou goest out of the
town throw the ball down before thee, and wherever
it rolls do thou follow. Here is a towel of my own
work; no matter where thou art, wipe thy face with
it after washing.”
Fedot took farewell of his wife and comrades,
bowed down on all four sides, and went beyond the
barrier. He threw down the ball before him; it
rolled, rolled on, and he followed after.
About a month had passed, when the king summoned
the mayor and said: “The sharpshooter has
191]
gone to wander over the white world for eighteen
years; it is evident that he will not come back alive.
Eighteen years, as thou knowest, are not two weeks;
many a thing may happen on the road. He has
much money, and robbers will fall upon him perhaps,
strip him, and give him to a savage death. I think we
can begin at his wife now. Take my carriage, drive to
the soldier’s quarters, and bring her to the palace.”
The mayor drove to Fedot’s house, entered, saluted
the sharpshooter’s wife, and said: “Hail, witty woman,
the king has ordered us to present thee at the palace.”
She went. The king received her with gladness,
led her to a golden chamber, and spoke these words:
“Dost thou wish to be queen? I will take thee in
marriage.”
“Where has it ever been seen or heard of,” asked
she, “that a wife was taken from her living husband?
Though he is a simple soldier he is my lawful
husband.”
“If thou wilt not yield of thy free will, I will take
thee by force.”
The beautiful woman laughed, struck the floor, became
a blue dove, and flew out through the window.
Fedot journeyed over many lands and kingdoms,
the ball rolling ahead of him all the time.
When he came to a river the ball became a bridge;
whenever he wanted rest it became a soft couch.
Whether it is long or short, a story is soon told, but
a deed is not soon done; the sharpshooter arrived at
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a splendid palace, the ball rolled to the gate and disappeared.
Fedot went straight up the stairs into a
rich chamber, where he was met by three maidens of
unspeakable loveliness.
“Whence comest, good man, and for what?”
“Oh, beautiful maidens, ye have not let me rest
after the long journey, but have begun to inquire.
First ye should give me to eat and drink, put me to
rest, and then make inquiry.”
Straightway they set the table. When he had eaten
and drunk and rested, they brought him water, a
basin, and an embroidered towel. He took not the
towel, but said, “I have one of my own.” When
they saw it they asked: “Good man, where didst
thou get that towel?”
“My wife gave it me.”
“Then thy wife is our own sister.”
They called their aged mother. The moment she
saw the towel she recognized it. “Why, this is my
daughter’s work.” She asked the guest all sorts of
questions. He told her how he had married her
daughter, and how the king had sent him to the verge
of destruction to bring back Shmat-Razum.
“Oh, my dear son-in-law, of that wonder even
I have not heard! Wait a moment; maybe my
servants have.”
She went out on the balcony and called in a loud
voice. Presently all kinds of beasts ran up, and all
kinds of birds flew to her. “Hail to you, beasts of
193]
the wilderness, birds of the air! Ye beasts run
through all places, ye birds fly everywhere; have ye
never heard how to go to the verge of destruction,
where Shmat-Razum lives?”
All the beasts and birds answered in one voice:
“No; we have never heard!”
Then the old woman sent them all to their homes in
hidden places, forests, and thickets; went to her magic
book, opened it, and that instant two giants appeared.
“What is thy pleasure; what dost thou wish?”
“This, my faithful servants,—bear my son-in-law
and me to the ocean sea wide, and stop just in the
middle above the very abyss.”
Immediately they seized the sharpshooter and the
old woman and bore them on like a stormy whirlwind
till they stopped just in the middle above the
abyss. They stood up themselves like pillars, holding
the old woman and the sharpshooter in their
arms. The old woman cried out with a loud voice,
and all the fishes and living things in the sea swam
to her in such multitudes that the blue sea could not
be seen for them: “Hail, fish and worms of the sea!
Ye swim in all places, ye pass by all islands; have
ye not heard how to go to the verge of destruction,
where lives Shmat-Razum?”
All worms and fishes answered in one voice, “No;
we’ve not heard!”
All at once an old limping frog, who had been
thirty years out of service, pushed her way to the
194]
front and said, “Kwa-kwa! I know where to find
such a wonder!”
“Well, then, my dear, thou art the person I need,”
said the old woman. She took the frog, and commanded
the giants to bear them home. They were
at the palace in a flash. The old woman asked the
frog how her son was to go.
“Oh!” said the frog, “that place is at the rim of
the world,—far, far away. I would conduct him
myself, but I am very old; I can barely move my
legs,—I couldn’t jump there in fifty years.”
The old woman took a bowl with some fresh milk,
put the frog in it, gave the bowl to Fedot, and said:
“Carry this in thy hand; she will show thee the way.”
The sharpshooter took farewell of the old woman
and her daughters, and went on his journey, the frog
showing him the way. Whether it was near or distant,
long or short, he came at last to a flaming river,
beyond which was a lofty mountain with a door in
the side.
“Kwa-kwa!” said the frog. “Put me down out
of the bowl; we must cross the river.”
He put her on the ground.
“Now, good youth, sit thou on my back; do not
spare me.”
He sat on her back and pressed her to the ground;
she began to swell, and swelled until she was as big
as a stack of hay. The sharpshooter’s one care was
to keep from falling. “If I fall,” thought he, “I
195]
shall be crushed.” The frog cleared the flaming
river at a jump, became small as before, and said:
“Now, good youth, I will wait here; but do thou
enter that door in the mountain. Thou wilt find a
cave,—hide thyself well. After a time two old men
will come in: listen to what they say, and watch what
they do; when they are gone, act as they did.”
The sharpshooter entered the door of the mountain;
it was so dark in the cave that if a man strained
his eyes out he could not see a thing. Fedot felt
around and found a cupboard, crept in. After a
while two old men entered and said, “Shmat-Razum,
feed us!”
That moment, however it happened, the lamps were
lighted, the dishes and plates rattled, and various
kinds of food and wine appeared on the table. The
old men ate and drank, and then ordered Shmat-Razum
to remove everything. Everything disappeared
in a flash; neither table, nor food, nor wine,
nor lights remained. The two old men went out.
The sharpshooter crawled from the cupboard and
cried, “Hei, Shmat-Razum!”
“What dost thou wish?”
“Feed me!”
Again the lights, the table, the food and drink
appeared as before. Fedot sat at the table and said:
“Hei, Shmat-Razum, sit down brother, with me, we’ll
eat and drink together; it is irksome for me alone.”
The voice of the unseen answered: “Oh, kind man!
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whence has God brought thee? It is nearly thirty
years that I serve these old men in faith and in truth,
and all this time they have never once seated me
with themselves.”
The sharpshooter looked and wondered. He saw
no one, but the food was swept from the plates as
if with a broom; the bottles raised themselves and
poured the wine into glasses,—behold, in a moment
bottles and glasses are empty!
“Shmat-Razum, dost thou wish to serve me?”
asked the sharpshooter. “I’ll give thee a pleasant
life.”
“Why not? I am sick of being here; and thou, I
see, art a kind man.”
“All right; pick up everything and come along.”
The sharpshooter went out of the cave, looked around,
saw no one, and asked: “Art thou here, Shmat-Razum?”
“Here; I’ll not leave thee, never fear.”
“Very well,” said Fedot, and sat on the frog,—she
swelled, jumped over the river, and became
small. He put her in the bowl, and went on the
homeward road, came to his mother-in-law, and made
his new servant entertain the old woman and her
daughters. Shmat-Razum gave them such a feast
that the old woman came very near dancing from
joy. She ordered that three bowls of milk be given
to the frog every day in reward for her faithfulness.
The sharpshooter bade good-by to his friends and set
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out for home. He travelled and journeyed till he was
almost wearied to death. “Oh, Shmat-Razum,” said
he, “if thou couldst only know how tired I am, I am
just losing my legs.”
“Why not tell me long ago?” asked the other;
“I should have brought thee home quickly.” With
that he seized Fedot and bore him like a rushing
whirlwind, so swiftly that his cap fell off.
“Hei, Shmat-Razum, wait a minute; my cap is
gone.”
“Late, my master; thy cap is now three thousand
miles behind.”
Towns and villages, rivers and forests, just flashed
before the eye; as Fedot was flying over a deep sea
Shmat-Razum said: “If thou wishest, I will make a
summer-house in the midst of the sea; thou canst
rest, and acquire great fortune.”
“Well, make it.”
They dropped down toward the sea, and behold,
where a moment before the waves were rolling, an
island rose up, and in the centre a golden pleasure-house.
“Now, my master, sit down in this house, rest, and
look at the sea. Presently three merchant-ships will
sail by and cast anchor. Invite the merchants, entertain
them well, and exchange me for three wonderful
things which they have. I’ll come to thee again
in my own time.”
Fedot looked; three merchant-ships were sailing
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from the west. The merchants saw the island and
wondered.
“What does this mean?” asked they. “How
many times have we sailed by here and seen nothing
but water, and now an island and a pleasure-house!
Let us stand up to the shore, brothers, let us look and
admire.”
They stopped the ships, cast anchor; the three
merchants stepped into a light boat, went to the
island, landed, and saluted Fedot,—
“Hail, worthy man!”
“Good health to you, foreign merchants! We
crave kindness. Come in, rejoice, have a good time,
and rest yourselves. This pleasure-house was made
on purpose for passing guests.” They went in and
sat down.
“Hei, Shmat-Razum, meat and drink!” A table
appeared; on the table wines and meats, whatever
the soul could desire was at hand in a moment. The
merchants opened their mouths in amazement.
“Let us exchange,” said they. “Give us thy
servant, and take any one of our wonders.”
“What wonders have ye?”
“Look, and thou wilt see.”
One merchant took a small box from his pocket
and opened it: that minute a glorious garden was
spread over the whole island with flowers and paths;
he closed the box, and the garden was gone. The
second merchant took an axe from under his skirts
199]
and began to hit, hit strike, a ship came out: hit
strike—another ship. He struck a hundred times—a
hundred ships. They moved around the island under
full canvas, with sailors and cannon. The sailors run
and fire guns. The commanders come to the merchant
for orders. He amused himself, hid his axe:
the ships vanished from the eye, were as if they
had never been. The third merchant took a horn,
blew into it at one end: that minute an army appeared,
cavalry and infantry, with muskets and cannons
and flags; from every regiment come reports to
the merchant, and he gives them orders. The army
marches, with music sounding and banners waving.
The merchant took his horn, blew in at the other end:
there is nothing. Where has all the power gone to?
“Your wonders are strange,” said the sharpshooter;
“but these are all playthings for kings, and I am a simple
soldier. If ye will exchange, however, I agree to
give you my unseen servant for all three of your
wonders.”
“Is not that rather too much?”
“Well, ye know your own business, I suppose; but
I will not exchange on other conditions.”
The merchants thought to themselves, “What good
are these ships and soldiers and garden to us? Let us
exchange,—at least we shall have enough to eat and
drink all our lives without trouble.”
They gave the sharpshooter their wonders, and
asked: “Shmat-Razum, wilt thou come with us?”
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“Why not? It’s all the same to me where I
live.”
The merchants returned to their ships and said:
“Now, Shmat-Razum, fly about; give us to eat and
drink.” They invited all the men, and had such a feast
that every one got drunk and slept a sound sleep.
The sharpshooter was sitting in the golden summer-house;
he fell to thinking, and said: “I am sorry;
where art thou now, trusty servant?”
“Here, my master.”
Fedot rejoiced. “Isn’t it time for us to go home?”
The moment he spoke he was borne through the air
as if by a whirlwind.
The merchants woke up, and wishing to drink off
the effects of their carousal, cried out: “Give us to
drink, Shmat-Razum.” No one answered, nothing was
brought; no matter how much they screamed and
commanded, no result. “Well, gentlemen, this scoundrel
has swindled us. Now Satan himself could not
find him; the island has vanished, the pleasure-house
is gone.” The merchants grieved and regretted;
then hoisted their sails and went to where they had
business.
The sharpshooter soon arrived at his own kingdom,
came down by the sea-shore. “Shmat-Razum, canst
thou build me a palace here?”
“Why not?—it will be ready directly.”
The palace appeared so splendid that it could not
be described,—twice as good as the king’s. Now the
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box was opened, and all around the palace was a
glorious garden, with rare trees and flowers.
The sharpshooter sat by the window admiring the
garden when all at once a blue dove flew in through
the open window, struck the floor, and became his
young wife. They embraced and kissed each other;
then made inquiries and gave answer. Said his
wife to Fedot: “Since the time thou didst leave me I
have lived a lone dove in the forests and thickets.”
Next morning the king went out on the balcony,
and saw by the shore of the blue sea a new palace,
and a green garden around it. “What insolent fellow
has built on my land without leave?” Couriers hastened,
discovered, reported, that the palace was built
by Fedot, who was living there then, and with him
his wife.
The king’s anger increased. He gave orders to
collect troops and go to the sea-shore, destroy the
garden, break the palace into small pieces, and give
the sharpshooter and his wife to a cruel death.
Fedot saw the strong army approaching. He took
his axe quickly, and struck; a ship came forth; he
struck a hundred times,—a hundred ships were
ready; he blew his horn once, infantry was marching;
he blew it a second time, cavalry was galloping.
The commanders rushed to him from the ships, from
the army, for orders. He ordered them to give battle.
The music sounded at once, the drums rattled,
the regiments advanced. The hundred ships open a
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cannonade on the king’s capital. The army moves
on at the sound of music and beat of drum. The
infantry rout the king’s soldiers, the cavalry take
them prisoners. The king sees that his army is
fleeing, hurries forward himself to stop it. But
what could he do? Half an hour had not passed
before he was killed.
When the battle was over, the people came together
and begged the sharpshooter to take the
government of the kingdom into his hands. He
agreed, became king, and his wife queen.
MARYA MOREVNA. — VARIANT OF THE RESCUE OF IVAN TSAREVICH AND THE WINNING OF THE COLT.
203]
IN a certain kingdom in a certain land lived Ivan
Tsarevich. He had three sisters. The first
was Marya Tsarevna; the second, Olga Tsarevna;
the third, Anna Tsarevna. Their father and mother
were dead. When dying they said to their son:
“Whoever woos first a sister of thine, give her to
him; keep not thy sisters with thee long.”
The Tsarevich buried his parents, and from sorrow
went with his sisters to walk in the green garden.
Suddenly a black cloud rose in the sky; a fearful
storm was coming. “Let us go home, sisters,” said
Ivan Tsarevich. They had barely entered the castle
when thunder roared, the ceiling opened, and a
bright falcon flew into the chamber. The falcon
struck the floor, became a gallant youth, and said:
“Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere now I came as a guest,
but now I’m a suitor. I wish to sue for thy sister,
Marya Tsarevna.”
“If thou art pleasing to my sister, I shall not
restrain her. Let her go, with God.”
Marya Tsarevna agreed, the Falcon married her,
and bore her away to his own kingdom.
Days followed days, hours chased hours, a whole
year was as if it had not been. Ivan Tsarevich went
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with his two sisters to walk in the green garden.
Again a cloud rose with whirlwind, with lightning.
“Let us go home, my sisters,” said the Tsarevich.
They had barely entered the castle when a thunderclap
came, the roof fell apart, the ceiling opened, and
in flew an eagle. The eagle struck the floor and became
a gallant youth. “Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere
now I came as a guest, but now I’m a suitor.” And
he asked for Olga Tsarevna in marriage.
Ivan Tsarevich answered: “If thou art pleasing to
Olga Tsarevna, then let her marry thee; I take not
her will from her.” Olga Tsarevna consented, and
accepted the Eagle in marriage. The Eagle caught
her up and bore her to his own kingdom.
Another year passed. Ivan Tsarevich said to his
youngest sister: “Let us go to walk in the green
garden.” They walked a little; again a cloud rose
with whirlwind, with lightning. “Come home,
my sister, come!” They returned to the castle,
but had not sat down when a thunderclap came,
the ceiling opened, and in flew a raven. The
raven struck the floor and became a gallant youth.
The others were beautiful in person, but he was
still better.
“Well, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere now I came as a
guest, but now I’m a wooer. Give me Anna
Tsarevna.”
“I take not her will from my sister. If thou hast
pleased her, take her in marriage.”
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Anna Tsarevna married the Raven, and he bore her
away to his own kingdom.
Ivan Tsarevich remained alone. He lived a whole
year without sisters, grew wearied. “I will go,”
said he, “to seek out my sisters.”
He made ready for the road, travelled and travelled,
saw an army, a power lying slain on the field.
Said Ivan Tsarevich: “If there is a living man here,
let him speak. Who killed this great army?”
A living man answered: “Marya Morevna, the
fair Korolyevna, killed all this great army.”
Ivan Tsarevich went farther; he came to white
tents. Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna, came
forth to meet him. “Hail, Tsarevich! Where does
God bear thee? Of thy own will, or against thy will?”
Ivan Tsarevich gave answer: “Good heroes travel
not against their will.”
“Well, if thy work be not hasty be a guest in my
tents.”
Ivan Tsarevich was glad; he spent two nights in
the tents, pleased Marya Morevna, and married her.
Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna, took him with
her to her own kingdom. They lived together a
time, and then the Korolyevna had a thought to
make war; she left to her husband her household,
and said: “Go everywhere, see after all things, but
look not in this closet.”
Ivan Tsarevich could not endure this, but when
Marya Morevna had gone he rushed to the closet,
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opened the door, looked, and there Koshchéi Without-Death
was hanging inside, fastened with twelve
chains. Koshchéi implored the Tsarevich: “Take
pity on me, give me to drink. Twelve years do I
sit here in torment; I have not eaten nor drunk; my
throat is parched.”
The Tsarevich gave him a whole three-gallon tub
of water. He drank it, and begged, “With one tub
my thirst cannot be quenched.” The Tsarevich gave
him another tub. Koshchéi drank that, and begged
for a third; and when he had drunk the third tub he
regained his former strength, shook his chains, and
in one moment broke all twelve.
“God save thee, Ivan Tsarevich!” said Koshchéi
Without-Death; “now thou wilt never see Marya
Morevna any more than thy own ears;” and he went
out a terrific whirlwind, flew through the window,
overtook on the road Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna,
seized her, and bore her away.
But Ivan Tsarevich cried bitterly, bitterly, made
ready, and went on his road, on his way. “Whatever
may happen, I will find Marya Morevna.” He travelled
one day, he travelled a second; at the dawn of
the third day he saw a wonderful palace, near the
palace an oak, on the oak a bright falcon. The falcon
flew down from the tree, struck the earth, turned
into a gallant youth, and shouted: “Ah! my dear
brother-in-law, how does God favor thee?”
Marya Tsarevna ran out, met Ivan Tsarevich
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joyously, asked about his health, his life, and told about
her own life and household.
The Tsarevich stayed three days with them, and
said: “I cannot stay longer, I am in search of my
wife, Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna.”
“It is hard to find her,” said the Falcon. “In
any case leave thy silver spoon here; we will look
at it and think of thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich left his silver spoon and went his
way. He travelled a day, he travelled a second; at
the dawn of the third he saw a castle better than the
first, at the side of the castle an oak, on the oak sits
an eagle. The eagle flew from the tree, struck the
ground, turned into a gallant youth, and shouted:
“Rise up, Olga Tsarevna; our dear brother is coming.”
Olga Tsarevna ran out that moment to meet
him; she began to kiss, to embrace her brother, to
ask about his health, and to tell of her own life and
household.
Ivan Tsarevich remained three days with them,
and then said: “I have no time to visit longer; I
am going to seek my wife, Marya Morevna, the
fair Korolyevna.”
Said the Eagle: “It is hard for thee to find her.
Leave with us thy silver fork; we will look at it and
remember thee.”
He left the fork and went his way. He travelled a
day, he travelled a second; and on the dawn of the
third day he saw a castle better than the other two.
208]
At the side of the castle was an oak, and on the oak
a raven was perched. The raven flew down, struck
the earth, turned into a gallant youth, and cried:
“Anna Tsarevna, hurry out; our brother is coming.”
Anna Tsarevna ran out, met him joyously, began
to kiss and embrace her brother, to ask about his
health, and to tell about her own life and household.
Ivan Tsarevich stayed with them three short days,
and said: “Farewell, I am going to look for my
wife, Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna.”
The Raven said: “It is hard for thee to find her;
but leave thy gold ring with us, we will look at it
and remember thee. If the ring is bright, it means
that thou art alive and well; if dim, then we shall
know that evil has come on thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich left his gold ring and went his way.
He travelled a day, he travelled a second; and on the
third he came to Marya Morevna. She saw her dear
one, rushed on his neck, covered herself with tears,
and said: “Ivan Tsarevich, why didst thou not obey
me; why didst thou look in the closet and let out
Koshchéi Without-Death?”
“Forgive me, Marya Morevna; remember not the
past. Better go with me while Koshchéi is not here;
mayhap he will not overtake us.”
They made ready and went. Koshchéi was out
hunting; toward evening he was coming home, his
good steed stumbled under him. “Why stumble,
hungry crowbait; or dost feel some misfortune?”
209]
The horse answered: “Ivan Tsarevich came and
took Marya Morevna away.”
“Can we overtake them?”
“Thou mightest sow wheat, wait till it should
ripen, reap it, thresh it, make flour, bake five ovens
of bread, eat that bread, go in pursuit, and overtake
them.”
Koshchéi galloped on, overtook Ivan Tsarevich.
“Well,” said he, “I forgive thee the first time for
thy kindness, because thou didst give me water to
drink; and a second time I’ll forgive thee: but for
the third have a care; I will hew thee to pieces.”
He took Marya Morevna and led her away. Ivan
Tsarevich sat on a stone and wept; he cried and
cried, went back for Marya Morevna. Koshchéi
Without-Death did not happen to be at home.
“Let us go, Marya Morevna.”
“Ah, Ivan Tsarevich, he will overtake us!”
“Let him overtake us; anyhow, we shall pass a
couple of hours together.” They made ready and
started away.
Koshchéi Without-Death was coming home; his
good steed stumbled under him. “Why dost thou
stumble, hungry crowbait; or feelest thou evil?”
“Ivan Tsarevich came and carried Marya Morevna
away.”
“Can they be overtaken?”
“Barley might be sown, waited for till ripe, harvested,
threshed, and beer made of it; we might
210]
drink the beer, sleep after drinking, then pursue and
catch them.”
Koshchéi galloped on, rode up, overtook Ivan
Tsarevich. “But I have said that thou canst no more
see Marya Morevna than look at thy own ears.” He
took her away and led her home.
Ivan Tsarevich remained alone; he cried and cried,
and went back for Marya Morevna. That time
Koshchéi was not at home.
“Let us go, Marya Morevna.”
“Ah! Ivan Tsarevich, he will come up with us,
will hew thee to pieces.”
“Let him hew me; I cannot live without thee.”
They made ready and started.
Koshchéi Without-Death was coming home; his
good steed stumbled under him. “Why dost thou
stumble, hungry crowbait; or feelest thou evil?”
“Ivan Tsarevich came, and took Marya Morevna
away.”
Koshchéi galloped on, caught up with Ivan Tsarevich,
hewed him into small pieces, put him in a pitched
barrel, took that barrel, strengthened it with iron
hoops, and cast it into the blue sea. Marya Morevna
he took home.
Now the silver grew black at the houses of Ivan
Tsarevich’s brothers-in-law. “Oh,” said they, “it is
clear that some evil has happened!”
The Eagle rushed off to the blue sea, caught the
barrel, and drew it to shore; the Falcon flew for the
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living water, and the Raven for the dead water. All
flew together to the same place, broke the barrel,
took out the pieces of Ivan Tsarevich, washed them,
put them together in proper order. The Raven
sprinkled them with dead water, the body grew together
and united; the Falcon sprinkled the body
with living water. Ivan Tsarevich trembled, rose up,
and said, “Oh, how long I have been sleeping!”
“Thou wouldst have slept still longer without us,”
answered the brothers-in-law. “Come now to our
houses.”
“No, brothers, I shall go to seek Marya Morevna.”
He came to her and said, “Discover from Koshchéi
Without-Death where he found such a steed.”
Behold, Marya Morevna seized a favorable moment,
inquired of Koshchéi. Koshchéi said: “Beyond
the thrice-ninth land, in the thirtieth kingdom,
beyond the fiery river, lives Baba-Yaga; and she has
a mare on which she flies round the world each
day; she has many other glorious mares. I was
her herdsman for three days. I let not one mare
stray from her, and for that service Baba-Yaga gave
me a colt.”
“But how didst thou cross the river of fire?”
“I have a kerchief of such sort that when I wave
it on the right side three times, a bridge is made, lofty
and high; the fire cannot reach it.”
Marya Morevna listened, told all to Ivan Tsarevich,
carried away the kerchief, and gave it to him.
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Ivan Tsarevich crossed the fiery river, and went to
Baba-Yaga. Long did he go without eating and
drinking; a bird from beyond the sea, with her little
children, happened in his way. “I’ll eat one little
chick,” said Ivan Tsarevich.
“Eat it not, Ivan Tsarevich,” begged the bird from
beyond the sea; “in time I will serve thee.”
He went farther, saw in the forest a swarm of bees.
“I’ll take some honey,” said he.
The queen-bee called out, “Touch not my honey,
Ivan Tsarevich; in time I will serve thee.”
He left the honey and went on. Then a lioness
and her whelp met him. “At least I’ll eat this little
lion; I feel such hunger that I am sick.”
“Touch him not, Ivan Tsarevich; in time I will
serve thee.”
“Well, let it be as thou sayest.”
He went on hungry; he travelled and travelled.
There is the house of Baba-Yaga. Around the house
stand twelve stakes; on eleven are heads of men,—only
one stake is unoccupied.
“Hail to thee, grandmother!”
“Hail to thee, Ivan Tsarevich! Hast come of thy
own good will, or from need?”
“I have come to earn of thee an heroic steed.”
“Very well, Tsarevich; no need to serve a year
with me, but three days in all. If thou wilt herd my
mares, I’ll give thee an heroic steed; but if not, be
not angry, thy head will be on the last stake.”
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Ivan Tsarevich consented. Baba-Yaga gave him
food with drink, and ordered him to begin the work.
As soon as he had driven the mares a-field, they
raised their tails and all ran apart through the meadows.
The Tsarevich could not cast his eyes round
before they had vanished. Then he began to weep
and grow sad; he sat on a stone and fell asleep. The
sun was going down when the bird from beyond the
sea flew up and roused him.
“Rise, Ivan Tsarevich; the mares are now home.”
The Tsarevich stood up, came home, but Baba-Yaga
was screaming and crying at her mares. “Why
did ye come home?”
“How could we help it, when birds from the whole
world flew together and almost picked our eyes
out?”
“Well, to-morrow don’t run in the meadows, but
scatter through the sleeping forest.”
Ivan Tsarevich slept the night; in the morning
Baba-Yaga said: “See to it, Tsarevich. If thou dost
not herd the mares, if thou losest even one of them,
thy stormy head will be on the stake.”
He drove the mares a-field. That moment they
raised their tails and ran through the sleeping forest.
Again the Tsarevich sat down on a stone, cried and
cried, then fell asleep. The sun had gone behind
the forest when the lioness ran up. “Rise, Ivan
Tsarevich; the mares are driven in.”
Ivan Tsarevich stood up and went home. Baba-Yaga
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was screaming and crying more than before
at her mares. “Why did ye come home?”
“How could we help coming? Savage beasts ran
at us from the whole world, came near tearing us
to pieces.”
“Well, run to-morrow into the blue sea.”
Ivan Tsarevich slept that night; next morning
Baba-Yaga sent him to herd the mares. “If thou
dost not guard them, thy stormy head will be on the
stake.”
He drove the mares to the field; that moment they
raised their tails and vanished from the eye, ran into
the blue sea, and stood to their necks in the water.
Ivan Tsarevich sat on a stone, cried, and fell asleep.
The sun had gone beyond the forest when a bee flew
up and said: “Ivan Tsarevich, the mares are driven
in. But when thou art home, do not show thyself
before the eyes of Baba-Yaga; go to the stable and
hide behind the manger. There is a mangy little
colt lying on the dung-heap; steal him, and at dark
midnight leave the place.”
Ivan Tsarevich rose up, made his way to the stable,
and lay down behind the manger. Baba-Yaga
screamed and cried at her mares: “Why did ye
come home?”
“How could we help coming home when bees,
seen and unseen, flew from the whole world and
began to sting us on every side till the blood came!”
Baba-Yaga went to sleep, and just at midnight Ivan
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Tsarevich stole from her the mangy colt, saddled
him, sat on his back, and galloped to the fiery river;
when he came to the river he shook the kerchief three
times on the right side, and suddenly, from wherever
it came, a high, splendid bridge was hanging over the
river. The Tsarevich crossed on the bridge, waved
the kerchief on the left side only twice, and there
remained above the river a bridge very, very slender.
In the morning Baba-Yaga woke up; the mangy
colt is not to be seen with sight. Baba-Yaga, on an
iron mortar, rushed off in pursuit with all her breath,
urging forward with a pestle, and removing her trail
with a broom. She galloped to the fiery river, looked
and thought: “The bridge is good.” She rode out
on it, and the moment she reached the middle the
bridge broke. Baba-Yaga went headlong into the
river; there a savage death came to her.
Ivan Tsarevich fed his colt in the green meadows,
and it became a marvellous steed. The Tsarevich
came to Marya Morevna; she ran out to him, threw
herself on his neck.
“How has God brought thee to life?”
“In this way and that way,” said he; “come with
me.”
“I am afraid, Ivan Tsarevich. If Koshchéi overtakes
us again, thou wilt be cut to pieces.”
“No, he will not overtake us. I have a glorious,
heroic steed now; he goes like a bird.”
They sat on the horse and rode off. Koshchéi
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Without-Death was coming home; under him
stumbled his steed.
“Why stumble, hungry crowbait; or feelest thou
evil?”
“Ivan Tsarevich came, took away Marya Morevna.”
“Can we overtake him?”
“God knows! Now Ivan Tsarevich has an heroic
steed better than I.”
“I cannot stand this,” said Koshchéi the Deathless,
“I’ll give chase.”
Whether it was long or short, he caught up with
Ivan Tsarevich, sprang to the ground, and wanted to
cut him with his sharp sword. That moment Ivan’s
horse struck, with all the sweep of his hoof, Koshchéi
Without-Death, and smashed his skull. The Tsarevich
finished him with his club. Then he raised a pile of
wood, made a fire, burned Koshchéi Without-Death
on the fire, and scattered the ashes to the wind.
Marya Morevna mounted Koshchéi’s horse, and
Ivan Tsarevich his own. They went to visit the Raven,
then the Eagle, and last the Falcon; wherever they
came they were met with joy.
“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, we did not think to see thee!
It was not for nothing thou didst struggle; another
such beauty as Marya Morevna could not be found
if sought for in the whole world.”
They visited and feasted, and set out for their own
kingdom; arrived there, gained wealth, and drank
mead.
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Eagle son of Eagle flew to the sea and brought
mighty winds, the sea rose, and threw the barrel
on shore. Falcon son of Falcon grasped the barrel
in his talons, bore it high, high in the air, and
dropped it thence to the ground. The barrel fell
and was broken in pieces; but Raven son of Raven
carried healing water and living water and sprinkled
Ivan Tsarevich with them. Then all three of them
caught him up and bore him to the thrice-ninth land,
to the thirtieth kingdom. They brought him to the
thirtieth kingdom and said: “Go now to the blue
sea, where lives a marvellous mare; in front of her
twelve men are mowing hay, and twelve rakers are
raking what they mow: she follows them and eats
the hay. When the mare drinks water, the blue sea
rises in waves and leaves fall from the trees; when
she scratches herself on hundred-year oaks, they fall
to the ground like bundles of oats. Every month
she has one colt; twelve wolves follow her and devour
these colts. Bide thy time; and the moment a colt is
born with a star on its forehead, seize it quickly,—that
colt will be an heroic steed for thee. On that colt
Koshchéi Without-Death will not overtake thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich did as his brothers-in-law taught him.
IN a certain kingdom, in a certain land, the Tsar
had a golden company; in this company served
a soldier, Ivan by name, a hero in appearance. The
Tsar took him into favor and began to reward him
with rank; in a short time he made him colonel. The
superior officers envied him. “Why have we served
for our rank as we have thirty years, and he has got
every rank all at once? We must get rid of him, or
he will go ahead of us.”
The generals and counselling boyars arranged a trip
on the sea, prepared the ship, invited Ivan the
colonel to go with them. They sailed out into the
open sea, and went around till late in the evening.
Ivan grew tired, lay on a bed, and fell into a deep
sleep. That was all the boyars and generals were
waiting for. They seized him, put him in a
boat, pushed him out to sea, and returned home
themselves.
Soon dark clouds came up and a storm began to
roar; the waves rose and carried the boat it is unknown
whither; they carried it far, far away, and cast
it out on an island. Here Ivan woke up, looked,
saw a desert land, no trace of the ship, and the sea
ran terribly high.
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“It is clear,” thought he, “that the ship has been
wrecked by the storm, and all my comrades are
drowned. Glory be to God that I am safe myself!”
He went to look at the island, walked and walked.
Nowhere did he see a springing beast, a flying bird,
or a dwelling of man. Whether it was long or short,
Ivan wandered to an underground passage; through
this he went down a deep precipice, and came to the
underground kingdom, where the six-headed serpent
lived and reigned. He saw a white-walled castle,
entered. The first chamber was empty, in the
second there was no one, in the third the six-headed
serpent was sleeping a hero’s sleep. At his side
stood a table, on the table an enormous book was
lying.
Ivan opened the book and read to the page where
it was written that a Tsar had never a son, but always
a Tsaritsa had sons. He took and scratched out
these words with a knife, and in place of them wrote
that a Tsaritsa had never a son, but always a Tsar
had sons.
In an hour’s time the serpent turned to his other
side, woke up, opened his eyes, saw Ivan, and asked:
“From what place hast thou come? I live so many
years in the world and I have not seen one man in
my kingdom.”
“How from what place? But thou knowest I am
thy son.”
“How can that be?” asked the serpent. “I will
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look in the book and see if a Tsar can have a
son.”
He opened the book, read in it what Ivan had
written, and was convinced. “Thou art right, my
son.”
He took Ivan by the hand, led him through all
his treasure-chambers, showed him his countless
wealth, and they began to live and live on together.
Some time passed, and the six-headed serpent
said: “My dear son, here are the keys of all the
chambers; go wherever thy desire may lead thee,
but do not dare to look into that chamber which is
fastened with two locks, one of gold, the other of silver.
I will fly around the world, will look at people, and
amuse myself.”
He gave the keys, and flew away out of the underground
kingdom to wander through the white world.
Ivan Tsarevich remained all alone. He lived a month,
a second and a third month, and the year was coming
to an end, when it became dreary for him, and he
thought to examine the chambers; he walked and
walked till he came straight in front of the forbidden
chamber. The good youth could not restrain himself;
he took out the keys, opened both locks, the
gold and the silver, opened the oaken door.
In that chamber were sitting two maidens riveted
in chains: one was Tsarevna Yelena the Wise, and
the other her maid. The Tsarevna had golden wings,
and her maid silver wings. Said Yelena the Wise:
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“Hail, good hero! Do us a service not great: give
us each of a glass of spring water to drink.”
Ivan, looking at her unspeakable beauty, forgot all
about the serpent, pitied the poor prisoners, poured
out two glasses of spring water, and gave them to the
beautiful women. They drank, shook themselves;
the iron rings were broken, and the heavy chains fell.
The beautiful women clapped their wings and flew
through the open window; then only did Ivan come
to his mind. He shut the empty chamber, came
out on the porch, sat on the step, hung his stormy
head below his mighty shoulders, and grew powerfully,
powerfully sad. How was he to give answer?
Suddenly the wind began to whistle, a mighty storm
rose up, the six-headed serpent flew home.
“Hail, my dear son!”
Ivan answered not a word.
“Why art thou silent; or has something happened?”
“Evil, father,—I did not obey thy command. I
looked into that chamber where two maidens were
sitting riveted in chains, I gave them spring water to
drink, they drank, shook themselves, clapped their
wings, and flew out through the open window.”
The serpent was terribly enraged; he began to
abuse and curse in every fashion. Then he took an
iron rod, heated it red hot, and gave Ivan three blows
on the back. “It is thy luck,” said he, “that thou
art my son; if thou wert not, I should eat thee alive.”
As soon as Ivan’s back had healed he began to
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beg of the serpent: “Father, let me go out into the
world to look for Yelena the Wise.”
“What couldst thou do? I was thirty-three years
getting her, and barely, barely had I the skill to catch
her.”
“Let me go, father; let me try my fortune.”
“Well, after me if thou pleasest. Here is the carpet
that flies of itself: wherever thou wishest, there
will it bear thee; only I am sorry for thee, since
Yelena the Wise is terribly cunning. If thou catch
her she will still overreach and deceive thee.”
Ivan sat on the carpet that flies of itself, flew out
of the underground kingdom, and hadn’t time to
wink before he found himself in a beautiful garden.
He went to a pond, sat under a laburnum-bush, and
began to look and admire the gold and silver fish
swimming in the clear water. Before five minutes
had passed, Yelena the Wise had flown to the pond
with her maid. They took off their wings at once,
put them near the bush, undressed, and ran into the
water to bathe.
Ivan took the wings quietly, came from under the
bush, and cried with a loud voice: “But now ye are
in my hands!”
The beautiful women sprang out of the pond, put
on their clothes, came to the good youth, and begged
him to give back their wings. “No,” said Ivan, “I
will not give them for anything. Yelena the Wise,
thou hast pleased me more than the bright sun; now
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I will take thee to my father and my mother, I will
marry thee, and thou shalt be my wife, and I will be
thy husband.”
The Tsarevna’s maid said: “Hear me, good youth:
’tis thy wish to marry Yelena the Wise, but why
detain me. Better give me my wings; I will serve
thee in time.”
Ivan thought and thought, and gave her the silver
wings. She tied them on quickly, sprang up, and flew
far, far away. After that, Ivan made a box, put the
golden wings into it, and closed it firmly with a lock.
He sat on the self-flying carpet, placed Yelena the
Wise at his side, and flew away to his own kingdom.
He came to his father, to his mother, brought them
his bride, and begged them to love and to favor her.
Then there was rejoicing such as no one had seen.
Next day Ivan gave his mother the key of the
box. “Take care of it for a time,” said he, “give it
to no one; and I will go to the Tsar and invite him
to the wedding.”
As soon as he had gone, Yelena the Wise ran in:
“Mother, give me the key of the box; I must get
clothes to dress for the wedding.” The mother,
knowing nothing, gave her the key without fear.
Yelena the Wise ran to the box, raised the lid, took
her wings, put them on, clapped them once and
again; that was all they saw of her.
The bridegroom came home. “Mother, where is
my bride? It is time to prepare for the crown.”
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“Oh, my dear son, she has flown away!”
Deeply did the good youth sigh; he took farewell
of his father and his mother, sat on his self-flying
carpet, and flew to the underground kingdom, to the
six-headed serpent, who saw him and said: “Well,
daring head, did I speak in vain when I said that
thou couldst not get Yelena the Wise; and if thou
didst get her she would deceive thee?”
“Thou art right, father; but no matter what
comes, I will try again, I will go to get her.”
“Ah! thou irrestrainable fellow, knowest thou she
has a rule that whoever wants to marry her must
hide three times, and if she finds him she will have
his head cut off? Many a hero has gone to her, but
all to the last man have laid down their stormy
heads; and the same is preparing for thee. But here
is a flint and steel for thee: when Yelena the Wise
makes thee hide, strike the flint with the steel,—strike
out a spark, and set fire to the grass of the steppe.
At that moment a blue-winged eagle will appear and
raise thee above the third range of clouds; if that
does not succeed, strike fire again, and let it into the
blue sea. A giant pike will swim to land, will take
thee and bear thee away to the depth of the sea;
and if Yelena the Wise finds thee, then there is no
place in which thou canst hide from her.”
Ivan Tsarevich took the flint and steel, thanked
the six-headed serpent, and flew off on the carpet.
Whether it was long or short, near or far, he flew
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beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom,
where lived Yelena the Wise. Her palace was flashing
like fire; it was made of pure silver and gold.
At her gate, on iron points, were the heads of eleven
heroes. Ivan the good youth became thoughtful.
“Eleven heads on the points, mine will surely be the
twelfth.” He came down in the broad court, went on
the lofty porch, and straight to the chamber.
Yelena the Wise met him. “Thou!” said she,
“why art thou here?”
“I want to take thee in marriage.”
“Well, all right, try. If thou art able to hide from
me, I will marry thee; if not, thou wilt pay with thy
head.”
Ivan went out in the open field, took his flint
and steel, struck fire, and put it to the steppe grass.
From wherever he came, a blue-winged eagle flew to
him and said, with the voice of a man, “Good youth,
sit on me quickly; hold firmly, or thou wilt fall.”
Ivan sat on the eagle, grasped firmly with his
hands. The eagle clapped his wings, and rose high
beyond the third range of clouds. He is well hidden;
it seems no one can find him. But Yelena the Wise
had a mirror: all she had to do was to look in it, and
the whole world was open to her. She knew in a
moment where and what was going on in the white
world. She stepped up to that mirror, looked in it,
and knew every secret.
“Stop, cunning fellow,” cried Yelena the Wise,
226]
with a loud voice; “I see thou hast flown above the
third range of clouds. The blue-winged eagle bore
thee; it is time to come down to the earth.”
Ivan came to the earth, slipped off the eagle, went
to the sea-shore, struck fire, and put it to the blue
sea. Suddenly, from wherever he came, a giant pike
swam to shore. “Well, good youth, creep into my
mouth; I’ll hide thee in the bottom of the sea.”
He opened his jaws, took in the young man, sank
with him in the abyss of the sea, and covered him
with sand.
“Now,” thought Ivan, “perhaps it will be all right.”
But the point was not there.
Yelena the Wise barely looked in the mirror, and
saw everything at once. “Stop, cunning fellow, I
see thou hast gone into the giant pike, and thou art
sitting now in the abyss of the sea beneath rolling
sands; it is time to come to shore.” The pike swam
to shore, threw out the good youth, and vanished in
the sea.
Ivan returned to the broad court of Yelena the
Wise, sat on the porch, and grew powerfully thoughtful
and sad. At that moment the maid of Yelena the
Wise ran up the stairway. “Why are thou sad,
good youth?”
“How can I be glad? If I hide not the third time,
I must part with the white world; so here I am sitting
and waiting for death.”
“Grieve not; foretell no evil on thy own stormy
227]
head. Once I promised to serve thee; I spoke no
empty word. Come, I will hide thee.”
She took Ivan by the hand, led him in, and put
him behind the mirror. A little later Yelena the
Wise ran to the chamber, looked and looked in
the mirror. She could not see her bridegroom; the
appointed time had passed. She grew angry, and
with vexation struck the glass; it fell into fragments,
and before her stood Ivan the brave youth.
There was no help for it,—she had to yield this
time. At the house of Yelena the Wise there was no
need of waiting to make mead or wine; that day
they had a noble feast and a wedding. They were
crowned, and began to live,—to live on and win
wealth.
THERE lived an old man and his old wife; they
lived many years, to a great age. Then they
began to pray to God to give them a child who in
their old age might help them to work. They
prayed a year, they prayed a second, they prayed a
third and fourth, they prayed a fifth and a sixth, and
did not receive a child; but in the seventh year the
Lord gave them seven sons, and they called them all
Simeon. When the old man with the old woman
died, the Simeons were left orphans all in their
tenth year.
They ploughed their own land, and were not worse
than their neighbors. It happened one time to Tsar
Ador, the ruler of all that country, to pass their village,
and he saw the Seven Simeons working in the
field. He wondered greatly that such small boys
were ploughing and harrowing. Therefore he sent
his chief boyar to inquire whose children they were.
When the boyar came to the Simeons he asked
why they, such small children, were doing such
heavy work?
The eldest Simeon answered that they were orphans,
that there was no one to work for them, and
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said at the same time that they were all called
Simeon. The boyar left them and told this to the
Tsar, who wondered greatly that so many small boys,
brothers, should be called by one name. Therefore
he sent the same boyar to take them to the palace.
The boyar carried out the command of the Tsar and
took all the Simeons with him. When the Tsar
came to the palace he assembled the boyars and men
of counsel and asked advice in the following words:
“My boyars and men of counsel, ye see these
seven orphans who have no relatives: I wish to make
of them men who may be grateful to me hereafter;
therefore I ask counsel of you. In what science or
art should I have them instructed?”
To this all answered as follows: “Most Gracious
Sovereign, as they are now grown somewhat and
have reason, dost thou not think it well to ask each
one of them separately with what science or art he
would like to occupy himself?”
The Tsar accepted this advice gladly, and began
by asking the eldest Simeon: “Listen to me, my
friend: with whatever science or art thou wishest to
occupy thyself, in that I will have thee instructed.”
Simeon answered: “Your Majesty, I have no wish
to occupy myself with any science or art; but if you
would give command to build a forge in the middle
of your court-yard, I would forge a pillar reaching to
the sky.”
The Tsar saw that there was no reason to teach
230]
this Simeon, for he knew well enough the art of a
blacksmith; still, he did not believe that the boy
could forge a pillar to the very sky, therefore he gave
command to build in quick time a forge in the middle
of his court-yard. After the first he called the second
Simeon. “And thou, my friend, whatever science or
art thou wishest to study, in that will I give thee to
be taught.”
Then that Simeon answered: “Your Majesty, I do
not wish to study any science or art; but if my eldest
brother will forge a pillar to the sky, then I will climb
that pillar to the top, and will look at all lands, and
tell you what is going on in each one of them.”
The Tsar considered that there was no need to
teach this Simeon either, because he was wise already.
Then he asked the third Simeon: “Thou,
my friend, what science or art dost thou wish to
learn?”
Simeon answered: “Your Majesty, I do not wish
to learn any science or art; but if my eldest brother
will make me an axe, with the axe I will strike once,
twice; that moment there will be a ship.”
Then the king answered: “I need shipwrights,
and thou shouldst not be taught anything else.”
Next he asked the fourth: “Thou, Simeon, what
science or art dost thou wish to know?”
“Your Majesty,” answered he, “I do not wish to
know any science; but if my third brother should
make a ship, and if it should happen to that ship to
231]
be at sea, and an enemy should attack it, I would
seize it by the prow and take the ship to the underground
kingdom; and when the enemy had gone away
I would bring it back to the surface of the sea.”
The Tsar was astonished at these great wonders of
the fourth Simeon, and he said: “There is no need to
teach thee either.” Then he asked the fifth Simeon:
“And thou, Simeon, what science or art dost thou
wish to learn?”
“I do not wish to learn any,” said he; “but if my
eldest brother will make me a gun, with that gun, if
I see a bird, I will hit it, even one hundred versts
distant.”
“Well, thou wilt be a splendid sharpshooter for
me,” said the Tsar. Then he asked the sixth Simeon:
“Thou, Simeon, what science dost thou wish to
begin?”
“Your Majesty,” said Simeon, “I have no wish to
begin any science or art; but if my fifth brother will
shoot a bird on the wing, I will not let it reach the
earth, but will catch it and bring it to you.”
“Thou’rt very cunning,” said the Tsar; “thou wilt
take the place of a retriever for me in the field.” Then
the Tsar asked the last Simeon: “What art or science
dost thou wish to learn?”
“Your Majesty,” answered he, “I do not wish to
learn any science or art, because I have a most precious
craft.”
“But what is thy craft? Tell me, if it please thee.”
232]
“I know how to steal dexterously,” said Simeon,
“so that no man can steal in comparison with me.”
The Tsar became greatly enraged, hearing of such
an evil art, and said to his boyars and men of counsel:
“Gentlemen, how do ye advise me to punish this
thief Simeon? Tell me what death should he
die?”
“Your Majesty,” said they all to him, “why put
him to death? He is a thief in name, but a thief who
may be needed on an occasion.”
“For what reason?” asked the Tsar.
“For this reason: your Majesty is trying now
these ten years to get Tsarevna Yelena the Beautiful,
and you have not been able to get her; and
besides, have lost great forces and armies, and spent
much treasure and other things. Mayhap this Simeon
the thief may in some way be able to steal Yelena the
Beautiful for your Majesty.”
The Tsar said in answer: “My friends, ye tell me
the truth.” Then he turned to Simeon the thief and
asked: “Well, Simeon, canst thou go to the thrice-ninth
land, to the thirtieth kingdom, and steal for me
Yelena the Beautiful? I am strongly in love with
her, and if thou canst steal her for me I’ll give thee
a great reward.”
“Stealing is my art, your Majesty,” answered the
seventh Simeon, “and I will steal her for you; only
give the command.”
“Not only do I give the command, but I beg thee
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to do it; and delay no longer at my court, but take
for thyself troops and money, whatever is needed.”
“Neither troops nor treasure do I need,” answered
he. “Let all of us brothers go together, and I will
get Tsarevna Yelena the Beautiful.”
The Tsar did not like to part with all the Simeons;
still, though he regretted it, he was obliged to let
them all go together. Meanwhile the forge was built
in the court, and the eldest Simeon forged an iron
pillar to the very sky; the second Simeon climbed
on that pillar to the top, and looked in the direction
in which was the kingdom of the father of Yelena the
Beautiful. After he had looked he cried from the
top of the pillar: “Your Majesty, I see Yelena the
Beautiful sitting beyond the thrice-ninth land in the
thirtieth kingdom under a window; her marrow flows
from bone to bone.”
Now the Tsar was still more enticed by her beauty,
and said to the Simeons in a loud voice: “My friends,
start on your journey at once, for I cannot live without
Yelena, the beautiful Tsarevna.”
The eldest Simeon made an axe for the third, and
for the fifth he made a gun; and after that they took
bread for the journey, and Simeon the Thief took a
cat, and they went their way. Simeon the Thief had
made the cat so used to him that she ran after him
everywhere like a dog; and if he stopped on the road,
or in any other place, the cat stood on her hind legs,
rubbed against him, and purred. So the brothers went
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their way for some time, and at last came to the sea,
which they had to cross, and there was nothing to
cross upon. They walked along the shore and looked
for a tree of some kind to make a vessel, and they
found a very large oak. The third Simeon took his
axe and cut the oak at the very root, and then with
one stroke and another he made straightway a ship,
which was rigged, and in the ship were various costly
goods. All the Simeons sat on that ship and sailed
on their journey.
In a few months they arrived safely at the place
where it was necessary for them to go. When they
entered the harbor they cast anchor at once. On the
following day Simeon the Thief took his cat and
went into the town, and coming to the Tsar’s palace he
stood opposite the window of Yelena the Beautiful.
At that moment the cat stood on her hind legs and
began to rub against him and to purr. It is necessary
to say that in that kingdom they knew nothing of cats,
and had not heard what kind of beast the cat is.
Tsarevna Yelena the Beautiful was sitting at the
window; and seeing the cat, sent straightway her
nurses and maidens to ask Simeon what kind of
beast that was, would he not sell it, and what price
would he take. The maidens and nurses ran out in
the street and asked Simeon what kind of beast that
was, and would he not sell it?
Simeon answered: “My ladies, be pleased to relate
to her Highness, Yelena the Beautiful, that this little
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beast is called a cat, that I will not sell it, but if she
wishes to have it I will give it to her without price.”
The maidens and nurses ran straight to the palace
and told what they had heard from Simeon.
Tsarevna Yelena the Beautiful was rejoiced beyond
measure, ran out herself, and asked Simeon would
he not sell the cat.
Simeon said: “Your Highness, I will not sell the
cat; but if you like her, then I make you a present
of her.”
The Tsarevna took the cat in her arms and went
to the palace, and Simeon she commanded to follow.
When she came to the palace the Tsarevna went to
her father, and showed him the cat, explaining that
a certain foreigner had given it to her as a present.
The Tsar, seeing such a wonderful little beast, was
greatly delighted, and gave orders to call Simeon the
Thief; and when he came, the Tsar wished to reward
him with money for the cat; but as Simeon would
not take it, he said: “My friend, live for the
time in my house, and meanwhile, in your presence,
the cat will become better used to my
daughter.”
To this Simeon did not agree, and said to the Tsar:
“Your Majesty, I could live with great delight in
your house if I had not the ship on which I came
to your kingdom, and which I cannot commit to any
one; but if you command me, I will come every day
and teach the cat to know your daughter.”
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The Tsar commanded Simeon to come every day.
Simeon began to visit Tsarevna Yelena the Beautiful.
One day he said to her: “Gracious lady, often have I
come here; I see that you are not pleased to walk
anywhere; you might come to my ship, and I would
show you such costly brocades as you have never
seen till this day.”
The Tsarevna went straightway to her father and
began to beg permission to go to the ship-wharf.
The Tsar permitted her, and told her to take nurses
and maidens, and go with Simeon.
As soon as they came to the wharf Simeon invited
her to his ship, and when she entered the ship Simeon
and his brothers began to show the Tsarevna various
rich brocades. Then Simeon the Thief said to Yelena
the Beautiful: “Now be pleased to tell your nurses
and maidens to leave the ship, because I wish to show
you things so costly that they should not see them.”
The Tsarevna commanded her maidens and nurses
to leave the ship. As soon as they had gone, Simeon
the Thief ordered his brothers in silence to cut off
the anchor and go to sea with all sail; meanwhile
he showed the Tsarevna rich goods and made her
presents of some. About two hours had passed while
he was showing the stuffs. At last she said it was time
for her to go home, the Tsar her father would expect
her to dinner. Then she went out of the cabin and
saw that the ship was under sail and land no longer
in sight.
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She struck herself on the breast, turned into a
swan, and flew off. The fifth Simeon took his gun
that minute and wounded the swan; the sixth Simeon
did not let her fall to the water, but brought her back
to the ship, where she became a maiden as before.
The nurses and maidens who were at the wharf,
seeing the ship move away from the shore with the
Tsarevna, ran straight to the Tsar and told him of
Simeon’s deceit. Then the Tsar sent a whole fleet in
pursuit. When this fleet coming up was very near the
ship of the Simeons, the fourth Simeon seized the
prow and conducted the ship to the underground
kingdom. When the ship had become entirely invisible,
the commanders of the fleet thought it was lost,
with the Tsarevna; therefore they returned, and reported
to the Tsar that Simeon’s ship had gone to the
bottom with Yelena the Beautiful.
The Simeons arrived at their own kingdom successfully,
delivered Yelena the Beautiful to Tsar Ador,
who for such a mighty service of the Simeons gave
liberty to them all, and plenty of gold, silver, and
precious stones, married Yelena the Beautiful himself,
and lived with her many years.
IN a certain kingdom a soldier served in the
mounted guard of the king. He served twenty-five
years in faithfulness and truth; and for his
good conduct the king gave orders to discharge him
with honor, and give him as reward the same horse
on which he had ridden in the regiment, with all the
caparison.
The soldier took farewell of his comrades and set
out for his native place. He travelled a day, a second,
and a third. Behold, a whole week had gone;
a second and third week! The soldier had no
money; he had nothing to eat himself, nothing to
give his horse, and his home was far, far away. He
saw that the affair was a very bad one; he wanted
terribly to eat, began to look in one direction and
another, and saw on one side a great castle. “Well,”
thought he, “better go there; maybe they will take
me even for a time to serve,—I’ll earn something.”
He turned to the castle, rode into the court, put
his horse in the stable, gave him hay, and entered the
castle. In the castle a table was set with food and
wine,—with everything that the soul could wish for.
The soldier ate and drank. “Now,” thought he,
“I may sleep.”
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All at once a bear came in. “Fear me not, brave
hero; thou hast come in good time. I am not a
savage bear, but a fair maiden, an enchanted princess.
If thou canst endure and pass three nights in this
place, the enchantment will be broken, I shall be a
princess as before, and will marry thee.”
The soldier consented. Now, there fell upon him
such a sadness that he could not look on the world,
and every moment the sadness increased; if there
had been no wine he could not have held out a single
night, as it seemed. The second night it went so far
that the soldier resolved to leave everything and run
away; but no matter how he struggled, no matter
how he tried, he found no way out of the castle.
There was no help for it, he had to stay in spite of
himself.
He passed the third night. In the morning there
stood before him a princess of unspeakable beauty.
She thanked him for his service, and told him to
make ready for the crown (marriage). Straightway
they had the wedding, and began to live together
without care or trouble. After a time the soldier
remembered his native place; he wanted to spend
some time there. The princess tried to dissuade
him.
“Remain, stay here, my friend, go not away.
What is lacking to thee?”
No, she could not dissuade him. She took farewell
of her husband, gave him a sack filled with seeds,
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and said: “On whatever road thou mayest travel,
throw these seeds on both sides. Wherever they fall,
that moment trees will spring up; on the trees precious
fruit will be hanging in beauty, various birds
will sing songs, and tom-cats from over the sea will
tell tales.”
The good hero sat on his horse of service and
went his way. Wherever he journeyed he cast seeds
on both sides, and after him forests were rising, just
creeping out of the damp earth. He rode one day, he
rode a second, a third, and saw in the open field a
caravan. On the grass merchants were sitting playing
cards, near them a great kettle was hanging, and,
though there was no fire under the kettle, it was boiling
like a fountain within the pot. “What a wonder!”
thought the soldier; “there is no fire to be
seen, and in the kettle it is boiling like a fountain,—let
me look at it more closely.” He turned his horse
to the place and rode up to the merchants.
“Hail, honorable gentlemen!” He had no suspicion
that these were not merchants, but all unclean.
“That is a good trick of yours,—a kettle boiling
without fire; but I have a better one.”
He took out a seed and threw it on the ground,—that
moment a full-grown tree came up; on the tree
were precious fruits in their beauty, various birds
were singing songs, and tom-cats from over the
sea were telling tales. From this boast the unclean
knew him.
241]
“Ah,” said they among themselves, “this is the
man who liberated the princess! Come, brothers,
let us drug him with a weed, and let him sleep half
a year.”
They went to entertaining him, and drugged him
with the magic weed. The soldier dropped on the
grass and fell into deep sleep from which he could
not be roused. The merchants, the caravan, and the
kettle vanished in a twinkle.
Soon after the princess went out in her garden
and saw that the tops of all the trees had begun to
wither. “This is not for good,” thought she; “it
is evident that evil has come to my husband.”
Three months passed. It was time for his return,
and there was nothing of him, nothing. The princess
made ready and went to search for him. She went
by that road along which he had travelled,—on both
sides forests were growing, birds were singing, and
tom-cats from over the sea were purring their tales.
She reached the spot where there were no more trees,
the road wound out into the open field; she thought,
“Where has he gone to? Of course he has not
sunk through the earth.”
She looked, aside by itself was one of the wonderful
trees, and under it her dear husband. She
ran to him, pushed, and tried to rouse him. No, he
did not wake. She pinched him, stuck pins in his
side, pricked and pricked him. He did not feel
even the pain,—lay like a corpse without motion.
242]
The princess grew angry, and in her anger pronounced
the spell: “Mayest thou be caught by
the stormy whirlwind, thou good-for-nothing sleepy
head, and be borne to places unknown!”
She had barely uttered these words when the wind
began to whistle, to sound, and in one flash the soldier
was caught up by a boisterous whirlwind and
borne away from the eyes of the princess. She saw
too late that she had spoken an evil speech. She
shed bitter tears, went home, lived alone and lonely.
The poor soldier was borne by the whirlwind far,
far away beyond the thrice-ninth land, to the thirtieth
kingdom, and thrown on a point between two seas;
he fell on the very narrowest little wedge. If the
sleeping man were to turn to the right, or roll to the
left, that moment he would tumble into the sea, and
then remember his name.
The good hero slept out his half year,—moved not
a finger; and when he woke he sprang straight to his
feet, looked on both sides. The waves are rolling;
no end can be seen to the broad sea. He stands in
doubt, asking himself, “By what miracle have I come
to this place? Who dragged me hither?” He turned
back from the point and came out on an island; on
that island was a mountain steep and lofty, touching
the clouds with its peak, and on the mountain a
great stone. He came near this mountain and saw
three devils fighting; blood was just flowing from
them, and bits of flesh flying.
243]
“Stop, ye outcasts! What are ye fighting for?”
“But seest thou our father died three days ago and
left three wonderful things,—a flying carpet, swift-moving
boots, and a cap of invisibility; and we cannot
divide them.”
“Oh, ye cursed fellows, to fight for such trifles!
If ye wish I’ll divide them between you, and ye shall
be satisfied; I’ll offend no one.”
“Well then, countryman, divide between us if it
please thee.”
“Very good. Run quickly through the pine woods
and gather one hundred poods of pitch, and bring
it here.”
The devils rushed through the pine woods, collected
three hundred poods of pitch, and brought it
to the soldier.
“Now bring me from your own kingdom the very
largest kettle that is in it.” The devils brought the
very largest kettle,—one holding forty barrels,—and
put the pitch into it. The soldier made a fire,
and when the pitch was boiling he ordered the devils
to take it on the mountain and pour it out from the
top to the bottom. The devils did this in a flash.
“Now,” said the soldier, “push that stone there; let
it roll from the mountain, and follow it. Whoever
comes up with it first may take any of the three
things; whoever comes up second will choose from
the two remaining ones whichever he likes; and the
last wonder will go to the third.” The devils pushed
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the stone, and it rolled from the mountain quickly,
quickly. One devil caught up, seized the stone, the
stone turned, and in a flash put him under it, crushed
him into the pitch. The second devil caught up, and
then the third; and with them it happened as with
the first,—they were driven firmly into the pitch.
The soldier took under his arm the swift boots and
the cap of invisibility, sat on the flying carpet, and
flew off to look for his own country. Whether it was
long or short, he came to a hut, went in. In the hut
was sitting a Baba-Yaga, boneleg, old and toothless.
“Greetings to thee, grandmother! Tell how I am
to find my fair princess.”
“I have not seen her with sight, I have not heard
of her with hearing; but pass over so many seas and
so many lands, and there lives my second sister.
She knows more than I do; mayhap she can tell
thee.”
The soldier sat on his carpet and flew away. He
had to wander long over the white world. Whenever
he wanted to eat or drink, he put on the cap of invisibility,
let himself down, entered a shop, and took
what his heart desired; then to the carpet and off on
his journey. He came to the second hut, entered;
inside was sitting Baba-Yaga, boneleg, old and toothless.
“Greetings to thee, grandmother! Dost thou
know how I can find my fair princess?”
“No, my dove, I do not know.”
“Ah, thou old hag! how many years art thou living
245]
in the world? All thy teeth are out, and thou knowest
no good.”
He sat on the flying carpet and flew toward the
eldest sister. Long did he wander, many seas and
many lands did he see. At last he flew to the end
of the world, where there was a hut and no road
beyond,—nothing but outer darkness, nothing to be
seen.
“Well,” thought he, “if I can get no account here,
there is nowhere else to fly to.” He went into the
hut; there a Baba-Yaga was sitting, gray, toothless.
“Greetings to thee, grandmother! Tell me where
must I seek my princess.”
“Wait a little; I will call all my winds together and
ask them. They blow over all the world, so they
must know where she is living at present.”
The old woman went out on the porch, cried with
a loud voice, whistled with a hero’s whistle. Straightway
the stormy winds rose and blew from every side;
the hut just quivered.
“Quieter, quieter!” cried Baba-Yaga; and as soon
as the winds had assembled, she said: “My stormy
winds, ye blow through all the world. Have ye seen
the beautiful princess anywhere?”
“We have not seen her anywhere,” answered the
winds in one voice.
“But are ye all here?”
“All but South Wind.”
After waiting a little, South Wind flew up. The old
246]
woman asked: “Where hast thou been lost to this
moment? I could hardly wait for thee.”
“Pardon, grandmother; I went into a new kingdom,
where the beautiful princess is living. Her husband
has vanished without tidings, so now various Tsars
and Tsars’ sons, kings and kings’ sons are paying
court to her.”
“And how far is it to the new kingdom?”
“For a man on foot thirty-five years, ten years
on wings; but if I blow I can put a man there in
three hours.”
The soldier implored South Wind tearfully to take
him and bear him to the new kingdom.
“I will, if it please thee,” said South Wind, “provided
thou wilt let me run around in thy kingdom
three days and three nights as I like.”
“Frolic three weeks if thou choosest.”
“Well, I will rest for two or three days, collect my
forces and my strength, and then for the road!”
South Wind rested, collected his strength, and
said to the soldier: “Well, brother, make ready,
we’ll go straightway; but look out, have no fear,
thou wilt arrive in safety.”
All at once a mighty whirlwind whistled and roared,
caught the soldier into the air, and bore him over
mountains and seas up to the very clouds; and in
three hours exactly he was in the new kingdom,
where his beautiful princess was living. South Wind
said,—
247]
“Farewell, good hero; out of compassion for thee
I will not frolic in thy kingdom.”
“Why is that?”
“Because if I frolic, not one house will be standing
in the town, not one tree in the gardens; I should
put everything bottom upward.”
“Farewell then; God save thee!” said the soldier,
who put on his cap of invisibility and went to the white-walled
castle. Behold, while he was absent from the
kingdom all the trees in the garden had stood with
withered tops, and the moment he appeared they came
to life and began to bloom. He entered the great
hall; there were sitting at the table various Tsars and
Tsars’ sons, kings and kings’ sons who had come to
pay court to the beautiful princess. They were sitting
and entertaining themselves with sweet wines. Whoever
filled a glass and raised it to his lips, the soldier
that moment struck it with his fist and knocked it
from his hand. All the guests wondered at this; but
the beautiful princess understood in a moment the
reason.
“Surely,” thought she, “my friend is here.” She
looked through the window; all the tree-tops in the
garden had come to life, and she gave a riddle to the
guests. “I had a home-made casket with a golden
key; I lost this key, and did not think to find it: but
now this key has found itself. Who guesses the riddle,
him will I marry.”
The Tsars and Tsars’ sons, the kings and kings’
248]
sons were long breaking their wise heads over this
riddle, and could not solve it in any way.
The princess said: “Show thyself, dear friend.”
The soldier removed his cap of invisibility, took
her by the white hand, and began to kiss her on the
sweet mouth.
“Here is the riddle for you,” said the fair princess:
“I am the home-made casket, and the golden key is
my faithful husband.”
The wooers had to turn their wagon-shafts around.
They all drove home, and the princess began to live
with her husband, to live and win wealth.
A PEASANT sowed rye, and the Lord gave him
a wonderful harvest. He could barely bring
it in from the field. He drew the bundles home,
threshed the grain, and poured it into bins; his granary
was full to the brim. When he was pouring it
in, he thought, “Now I shall live without trouble.”
A mouse and a sparrow used to visit that peasant’s
barn; every one of God’s days they came about five
times, ate all they could, and then went out. The
mouse would spring into her hole, and the sparrow
fly away to his nest. They lived together in this
way in friendship for three whole years, ate up all
the grain; there remained only a mere trifle, about
eight bushels, not more.
The mouse saw that the supply was drawing to an
end, and began to contrive how to deceive the sparrow
and get possession of all that was left. And the
mouse succeeded. She came in the dark night-time,
gnawed a great hole in a plank, and let all the rye
down through the floor to the last grain. Next
morning the sparrow came to the granary to have
breakfast; looked, there was nothing! The poor
250]
fellow flew out hungry, and thought to himself, “Oh,
the cursed creature, she has deceived me! I will fly
now to her sovereign, the lion, and present a petition
against the mouse; let the lion pass judgment on us
in justice.”
So he started and flew to the lion. “Lion, Tsar of
beasts,” said the sparrow, beating to him with the
forehead, “I lived with one of thy beasts, the strong-toothed
mouse. We lived for three years in one
barn and had no dispute. But when the supply began
to come to an end, she went to playing tricks,
gnawed a hole through the floor, and let all the
grain down to herself,—left me, poor fellow, to be
hungry. Judge us in truth; if not, I will fly to seek
justice and reparation from my own Tsar, the eagle.”
“Well, fly off, with God!” said the lion.
The sparrow rushed with his petition to the eagle,
related the whole offence, how the mouse had stolen
and the lion had upheld her. The eagle grew
fiercely angry, and sent a swift courier to the lion
straightway: “Come to-morrow with thy army of
beasts to such and such a field; I will assemble all
the birds and give battle.”
Nothing to be done, the lion made a great call and
summoned the beasts to battle. There were assembled
of them seen and unseen. As soon as they
came to the open field, the eagle flew upon them with
his winged warriors like a cloud from heaven. A
great battle began. They fought for three hours and
251]
three minutes, and the eagle Tsar conquered; he
covered the whole field with bodies of beasts. Then
he sent his birds to their homes, and flew himself to
a slumbering forest, sat on a lofty oak, bruised and
wounded, and began to think seriously how to regain
his former strength.
This was a long time ago. There lived then a merchant
with his wife, and they had not a single child.
The merchant rose up one morning and said to his
wife: “I have had a bad dream. I thought that a
great bird fastened on me,—one that eats a whole ox
at a meal and drinks a pailful; and it was impossible
to get rid of the bird, impossible not to feed it. I’ll
go to the forest; mayhap the walk will cheer me.”
He took his gun and went to the forest. Whether
he wandered long or short in that forest, he wandered
till he came to an oak-tree, saw an eagle, and was
going to shoot it.
“Kill me not, good hero,” said the eagle, in a human
voice. “If thou kill me, small will be thy profit.
Better take me home, feed me for three years, three
months, and three days. I shall recover at thy house,
shall let my wings grow, regain my strength, and repay
thee with good.”
“What pay can one expect from an eagle?”
thought the merchant, and aimed a second time.
The eagle spoke as at first. The merchant aimed a
third time, and again the eagle begged,—
252]
“Kill me not, good hero! Feed me three years,
three months, and three days; when I have recovered,
when my wings have grown, and I have regained
my strength, I’ll repay thee with good.”
The merchant took pity on the eagle, carried him
home, killed an ox, and poured out a pailful of mead.
“This will serve the eagle for a long time,” thought
he; but the eagle ate and drank all at one meal. A
bad time to the merchant; from the unbidden guest
utter ruin.
The eagle saw the merchant’s loss and said:
“Hear me, my host! Go to the open field. Thou
wilt find there many beasts killed and wounded.
Take their rich furs, bear them to the town to sell.
Get food for thyself and me, and there will be some
left for a supply.”
The merchant went into the open field and saw
many animals lying there, some slain and some
wounded. He took the dearest furs, carried them
to town to sell, and sold them for much money.
A year passed. The eagle said: “Bear me to that
place where the lofty oaks are standing.”
The merchant got his wagon ready and took him
to that place. The eagle rose above the clouds, and
when he swooped down, he struck a tree with his
breast, the oak was split in two. “Well, merchant,
good hero,” said the eagle, “I have not regained
my former strength; feed me another round year.”
Another year passed. Again the eagle rose
253]
beyond the dark clouds, shot down from above, struck
the tree with his breast, split the oak into small
pieces. “Merchant, good hero, thou must feed me
another whole year; I have not regained my former
strength!”
When three years, three months, and three days
had passed, the eagle said to the merchant: “Take
me again to the same place,—to the lofty oaks.”
The merchant carried him to the lofty oaks. The
eagle soared higher than before; like a mighty whirlwind
he struck from above the largest oak, broke it
into small bits from the top to the root,—indeed, the
forest was reeling all around. “God save thee, merchant,
good hero!” said the eagle; “now all my
former strength is with me. Leave thy horse, sit on
my wings; I will bear thee to my own land, and pay
thee for all the good thou hast done.” The merchant
sat on his wings, the eagle bore him out on the blue
sea, and he rose high, high. “Look now,” said he,
“on the blue sea. Is it wide?”
“As a cart-wheel,” answered the merchant.
The eagle shook his wings and threw the merchant,
let him fall, gave him to feel mortal terror,
and caught him before he had reached the water,—caught
him, and rose still higher. “Look on the
blue sea. Is it great?”
“As a hen’s egg.”
The eagle shook his wings, threw the merchant,
let him fall, but did not let him reach the water,
254]
caught him, and rose up higher than ever. “Look
on the blue sea. Is it great?”
“As a poppy seed.”
A third time the eagle shook his wings and threw
the merchant from under the heavens; still he didn’t
let him reach the water, caught him, and asked:
“Well, merchant, good hero, hast thou felt what
mortal terror is?”
“I have,” said the merchant; “and I thought I
was lost forever.”
“And so did I when thou wert pointing thy gun
at me.”
The eagle flew with the merchant beyond the sea,
straight to the copper kingdom. “Behold, my eldest
sister lives here!” said the eagle. “When we
shall be guests with her, and she brings presents,
take nothing, but ask for the copper casket.” The
eagle said this, struck the damp earth, turned into
a gallant hero.
They went through the broad court. The sister saw
him, and was delighted. “Oh, my own brother, how
has God brought thee? I have not seen thee for
three years and more; I thought thou wert lost forever.
How can I entertain thee? How can I feast
thee?”
“Entertain not me, my dear sister, I am at home
in thy house; but entreat and entertain this good
hero. He gave me meat and drink for three years,—did
not let me die of hunger.”
255]
She seated them at the oaken table, at the spread
cloth; she feasted and entertained them, then led
them to her treasure-chambers, showed treasures incalculable,
and said to the merchant: “Good hero,
here are gold, silver, and precious stones; take what
thy soul desires.”
The merchant gave answer: “I need neither gold,
silver, nor precious stones. Give me the copper
casket.”
“Thou’lt not get it; that is not the boot for thy
foot.”
The brother was angry at his sister’s words; he
turned into an eagle,—a swift bird,—caught the
merchant, and flew away.
“Oh, my own brother, come back!” cried the
sister. “I’ll not stand for the casket.”
“Thou art late, sister!”
The eagle flew through the air. “Look, merchant,
good hero, what is behind us and what before?”
“Behind, a fire is in sight; before us flowers are
blooming.”
“That is the copper kingdom in flames, and the
flowers are blooming in the silver kingdom of my
second sister. When we are her guests, and she
offers gifts, take nothing, but ask for the silver
casket.” The eagle came, struck the damp earth,
and become a good hero.
“Oh, my own brother,” said his sister, “whence
hast come; where wert thou lost; why hast thou
256]
been so long without visiting me; with what can I
serve thee?”
“Entreat me not, entertain me not, my dear sister,
I am at home with thee; but entreat and entertain
this good hero, who gave me meat and drink for
three years, and did not let me die of hunger.”
She seated them at the oaken tables at spread
cloths, entertained and feasted them, then led them
to treasure-chambers. “Here are gold and silver
and precious stones; take, merchant, what thy soul
desires.”
“I want neither gold, silver, nor precious stones.
Give me only the silver casket.”
“No, good hero, thy desire is not for the right
morsel; thou mightest choke thyself.”
The eagle brother was angry, caught up the merchant,
and flew away.
“Oh, my own brother, come back! I will not
stand for the casket.”
“Thou art late, sister!”
Again the eagle flew under the heavens. “See,
merchant, good hero, what is behind us, what is
before?”
“Behind us a fire is blazing; before us are flowers
in bloom.”
“That is the silver kingdom in flames; but the
flowers are blooming in the golden kingdom of my
youngest sister. When we are her guests, and she
offers gifts, take nothing; ask only the golden casket.”
257]
The eagle came to the golden kingdom and turned
into a good hero.
“Oh, my own brother,” said the sister, “whence
hast thou come? Where hast thou vanished so long
that thou hast not visited me? With what shall I
feast thee?”
“Entreat me not, feast me not, I am at home; but
entreat and feast this merchant, good hero. He gave
me meat and drink for three years,—saved me from
hunger.”
She seated them at the oaken table, at the spread
cloth, entertained them, feasted them, led the merchant
to her treasure-chambers, offered him gold,
silver, and precious stones.
“I need nothing; give me only the golden casket.”
“Take it for thy happiness. Thou didst give
meat and drink to my brother for three years, and
didst save him from hunger; I regret nothing that is
spent on my brother.”
So the merchant lived and feasted a while in the
golden kingdom, till the time came for parting, for
taking the road.
“Farewell,” said the eagle; “think not on me with
harsh feeling, but see that the casket is not opened
till thou art at home.”
The merchant journeyed homeward. Whether it
was long or short, he grew tired and wished to rest.
He stopped in a strange meadow on the land of the
Tsar of the Sea; he looked and looked at the golden
258]
casket, couldn’t endure, opened it. That moment,
wherever it came from, there stood before him a
great castle all painted, a multitude of servants
appeared, inquiring: “What dost thou wish for;
what dost thou want?” The merchant, good hero,
ate his fill, drank enough, and lay down to sleep.
The Tsar of the Sea saw that there was a great castle
on his land, and he sent messengers: “Go see what
sort of an insolent fellow has come and built a castle
on my land without leave; let him go off at once in
health and safety.”
When such a threatening word came to the merchant
he began to think and conjecture how to put
the castle into the casket as before; he thought and
thought,—no, he could do nothing. “I should be glad
to go away,” said he, “but how, I can’t think myself.”
The messengers returned, and reported all to the
Tsar of the Sea. “Let him give me what he has at
home but knows it not; I will put his palace in the
golden casket.”
There was no other way, and so the merchant
promised with an oath to give what he had at home
but knew it not. The Tsar of the Sea put the palace
in the golden casket at once. The merchant took
the casket and went his way. Whether it was long
or short, he came home, his wife met him. “Oh, be
thou hearty, my world. Where wert thou lost?”
“Well, where I was I am not now.”
“But while thou wert gone the Lord gave us a son.”
259]
“Ah! that is what was at home and I knew it not,”
thought the merchant; and he grew very sad and
sorrowful.
“What is the matter? Art thou not glad to be
here?” insisted his wife.
“Not that,” said the merchant; and he told her all
that had happened to him, and they grieved and wept
together. But people of course cannot cry all their
lives. The merchant opened his golden casket, and
before them stood a great castle cunningly adorned,
and he began to live with his wife and son and gain
wealth.
Ten years passed and more; the merchant’s son
grew up, became wise, fine-looking, a splendid fellow.
One morning he rose up in sadness and said to his
father: “My father, I had a bad dream last night.
I dreamed of the Tsar of the Sea; he commanded
me to come to him. ‘I am waiting long,’ said he;
‘it is time to know thy honor.’”
The father and mother shed tears, gave him their
parental blessing, and let him go to a strange land.
He went along the road, along the broad road; he
walked over clear fields and wide steppes, and came
to a dreamy forest. It was empty all around, not a
soul to be seen; but there stood a small cabin by
itself, with front to the forest and back to Ivan.
“Cabin, cabin,” said he, “turn thy back to the forest,
thy front to me.” The cabin obeyed, and turned its
back to the forest, its front to Ivan. He entered the
260]
cabin, inside was Baba-Yaga, boneleg, lying from
corner to corner. Baba-Yaga saw him and said:
“Before now, nothing of Russia was heard with hearing
or seen with sight, but now Russia runs to our
eyes. Whence dost thou come, good hero, and where
dost thou bear thy way?”
“Oh, thou old hag, thou hast given neither meat
nor drink to a wayfaring man, and art asking for
news!”
Baba-Yaga put drink on the table and various
meats; she fed him, she gave him to drink, and put
him to rest. Early next morning she roused him,
and then she put questions. Ivan the merchant’s son
told the whole secret, and said: “Teach me, grandmother,
how to go to the Tsar of the Sea.”
“It is well that thou hast come to me; hadst thou
not, thou wouldst have lost thy life, for the Tsar of the
Sea is terribly angry because thou didst not go to him
long ago. Listen to me: go by this path; thou wilt
come to a lake, hide behind a tree and wait a while.
Three beautiful doves, maidens, will fly there,—they
are the daughters of the Tsar of the Sea; they will
loose their wings, undress, and bathe in the lake. One
will have many-colored wings: watch the moment,
seize the wings, and do not give them up till she
consents to marry thee; then all will be right.”
Ivan the merchant’s son took farewell of Baba-Yaga
and travelled the path she had shown, walked
and walked, saw the lake, hid himself behind a
261]
thick tree. After a time three doves came flying,
one with many-colored wings; they struck the earth,
turned into beautiful maidens, removed their wings,
and took off their dresses. Ivan the merchant’s son
kept his eyes open; he crept up in silence and took
the many-colored wings. He watched to see what
would happen. The fair maidens bathed, came out
of the water, two of them dressed straightway, put on
their wings, turned into doves, and flew away. The
third remained to find her wings. She searched,
singing the while: “Tell who thou art, thou who
hast taken my wings! If an old man, thou wilt be a
father to me; if of middle years, my uncle dear; if
a good youth, I will marry thee.”
Ivan the merchant’s son came from behind the
tree. “Here are thy wings!”
“Now tell me, good youth, betrothed husband, of
what stock or race art thou, and whither dost thou
bear thy way?”
“I am Ivan the merchant’s son, and I am going to
thy own father, to the Tsar of the Sea.”
“And my name is Vassilissa the Cunning.”
Now, Vassilissa was the favorite daughter of the
Tsar, and was first in mind and beauty. She showed
her bridegroom how to go to the Tsar of the Sea,
sprang away as a dove, and flew after her sisters.
Ivan the merchant’s son came to the Tsar of the
Sea, who made him serve in the kitchen, cut wood,
and draw water. Chumichka, the cook, did not like
262]
him, and told lies to the Tsar. “Your Majesty,” said
he, “Ivan the merchant’s son boasts that in one night
he can cut down a great dense forest, pile the logs in
heaps, dig out the roots, plough the land, sow it with
wheat, reap that wheat, thresh it, grind it into flour,
make cakes of the flour, and give these cakes to your
Majesty at breakfast next morning.”
“Well,” said the Tsar, “call him to me.”
Ivan the merchant’s son came.
“Why art thou boasting that in one night thou
canst cut down a thick forest, plough the land just
like a clean field, sow it with wheat, reap the wheat,
thresh it, and make it into flour, the flour into cakes
for my breakfast next morning? See that by to-morrow
morning this is all done; if not, I have a
sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders.”
No matter how Ivan protested, it was no use;
the order was given, it had to be carried out. He
went away from the Tsar, and hung his stormy head
from grief. Vassilissa the Cunning, the daughter
of the Tsar, saw him, and asked: “Why art thou
grieved?”
“What is the use in telling thee? Thou couldst
not cure my sorrow!”
“How knowest? Maybe I can.”
Ivan the merchant’s son told her what task the
Tsar had put on him.
“What task is that! That is a pleasure,—the
task is ahead. Go thy way; pray to God and lie
263]
down to rest; the morning is wiser than the evening;
toward daylight all will be ready.”
Just at midnight Vassilissa the Cunning went out
on the great porch and cried in a piercing voice. In
one moment laborers ran together from every side,—myriads
of them; one was felling a tree, another
digging out roots, another ploughing the land. In
one place they were sowing, in another reaping and
threshing; a pillar of dust went up to the sky,
and at daybreak the grain was ground, the cakes
baked. Ivan took the cakes to the breakfast of the
Tsar.
“Splendid fellow!” said the Tsar; and he gave
command to reward him from his own treasure.
Chumichka the cook was angrier than ever at
Ivan, began to talk against him again. “Your Majesty,
Ivan the merchant’s son boasts that in one
night he can make a ship that will fly through the
air.”
“Well, call him hither.”
They called Ivan the merchant’s son.
“Why boast to my servants that in one night thou
canst make a wonderful ship that will fly through the
air, and say nothing to me? See this ship is ready
by morning; if not, I have a sword, and thy head
leaves thy shoulders.”
Ivan the merchant’s son from sorrow hung his
stormy head lower than his shoulders, and went from
the Tsar beside himself. Vassilissa the Cunning said
264]
to him: “Of what art thou grieving; why art thou
sad?”
“Why should I not be sad? The Tsar of the Sea
has commanded me to build in one night a ship that
will fly through the air.”
“What sort of task is that? That is not a task,
but a pleasure; the task is ahead. Go thy way; lie
down and rest: the morning is wiser than the evening;
at daybreak all will be done.”
At midnight Vassilissa the Cunning went out on
the great porch, cried in a piercing voice. In a moment
carpenters ran together from every side; they
began to pound with their axes, and the work was
seething quickly. Toward morning all was ready.
“A hero!” said the Tsar. “Come, now we will
take a trip.”
They sat on the ship together, and took as a third
companion Chumichka the cook; and they flew
through the air. When they were flying over the
place of wild beasts the cook bent over the side
to look out. Ivan the merchant’s son pushed him
from the ship that moment. The savage beasts tore
him into little bits. “Oh,” cried Ivan the merchant’s
son, “Chumichka has fallen off!”
“The devil be with him,” said the Tsar of the Sea;
“to a dog, a dog’s death!” They came back to the
palace. “Thou art skilful, Ivan,” said the Tsar;
“here is a third task for thee. Break my unridden
stallion so that he will go under a rider. If thou
265]
wilt break him I will give thee my daughter in marriage;
if not, I have a sword, and thy head leaves
thy shoulders.”
“Now that is an easy task,” thought Ivan the
merchant’s son. He went away from the Tsar laughing.
Vassilissa the Cunning saw him and asked about
everything; he told her.
“Thou art not wise, Ivan,” said she; “now a difficult
task is given thee,—no easy labor. That stallion
will be the Tsar himself: he will carry thee
through the air above the standing forest, below the
passing cloud, and scatter thy bones over the open
field. Go quickly to the blacksmiths, order them to
make for thee an iron hammer three poods in weight,
and when thou art sitting on the stallion hold firmly
and beat him on the head with the iron hammer.”
Next day the grooms brought out the unridden
stallion. They were barely able to hold him; he
snorted, rushed, and reared. The moment Ivan sat
on him he rose above the standing forest, below the
passing cloud, flew through the air more swiftly than
strong wind. The rider held firmly, beating him all
the time on the head with the hammer. The stallion
struggled beyond his power, and dropped to the
damp earth. Ivan the merchant’s son gave the stallion
to the grooms, drew breath himself, and went
to the palace. The Tsar of the Sea met him with
bound head.
“I have ridden the horse, your Majesty.”
266]
“Well, come to-morrow to choose thy bride; but
now my head aches.”
Next morning Vassilissa the Cunning said to Ivan
the merchant’s son, “There are three sisters of us
with our father; he will turn us into mares, and
make thee select. Be careful, take notice; on my
bridle one of the spangles will be dim. Then he will
let us out as doves; my sisters will pick buckwheat
very quietly, but I will not,—I will clap my wings.
The third time he will bring us out as three maidens,
one like the other in face, in stature, and hair. I
will shake my handkerchief; by that thou mayest
know me.”
The Tsar brought out the three mares, one just
like the other, put them in a row. “Take the one
that pleases thee,” said the Tsar.
Ivan the merchant’s son examined them carefully.
He saw that on one bridle a spangle had grown dim;
he caught that bridle and said, “This is my bride.”
“Thou hast taken a bad one; thou mayest choose
a better.”
“No use, this will do for me.”
“Choose a second time.”
The Tsar let out three doves just alike, and scattered
buckwheat before them. Ivan saw that one of
them was shaking her wings all the time. He caught
her by the wing and said, “This is my bride.”
“Thou hast not taken the right piece; thou wilt
choke thyself. Choose a third time.”
267]
He brought out three maidens, one like the other
in face, in stature, and hair. Ivan the merchant’s son
saw that one waved her handkerchief; he seized her
by the hand, “This is my bride.”
There was nothing to be done. The Tsar could
not help himself, gave Vassilissa the Cunning to
Ivan, and they had a joyous wedding.
Not much nor little time had passed when Ivan
thought of escaping to his own country with Vassilissa
the Cunning. They saddled their horses and rode
away in the dark night. In the morning the Tsar discovered
their flight and sent a pursuing party.
“Drop down to the damp earth,” said Vassilissa
the Cunning to her husband; “perhaps thou wilt
hear something.”
He dropped to the earth, listened, and answered:
“I hear the neighing of horses.”
Vassilissa turned him into a garden, and herself
into a head of cabbage. The pursuers returned to
the Tsar empty-handed. “Your Majesty, there is
nothing to be seen in the open country; we saw only
a garden, and in the garden a head of cabbage.”
“Go on, bring me that head of cabbage; that is
their tricks.”
Again the pursuers galloped on; again Ivan
dropped down to the damp earth. “I hear,” said he,
“the neighing of horses.” Vassilissa the Cunning
made herself a well, and turned Ivan into a bright
falcon; the falcon was sitting on the brink, drinking
268]
water. The pursuers came to the well; there was no
road beyond, and they turned back.
“Your Majesty, there is nothing to be seen in the
open country; we saw only a well, and a bright
falcon was drinking water out of that well.”
The Tsar himself galloped a long time to overtake
them.
“Drop down to the damp earth; perhaps thou
wilt hear something,” said Vassilissa the Cunning to
her husband.
“There is a hammering and thundering greater
than before.”
“That is my father chasing us. I know not, I
cannot think what to do.”
Vassilissa the Cunning had three things,—a brush,
a comb, and a towel. She remembered them, and
said: “God is yet merciful; I have still defence before
the Tsar.” She threw the brush behind her: it
became a great drowsy forest; a man could not put
his hand through, could not ride around it in three
years. Behold, the Tsar of the Sea gnawed and
gnawed the drowsy forest, made a path for himself,
burst through it, and was again in pursuit. He is
drawing near them, has only to seize them with his
hand. Vassilissa threw her comb behind, and it
became such a great lofty mountain that a man could
neither pass over it nor go around it.
The Tsar of the Sea dug and dug in the mountain,
made a path, and again chased after them. Then
269]
Vassilissa the Cunning threw the towel behind her,
and it became a great, great sea. The Tsar galloped
up to the sea, saw the road was stopped, and turned
homeward.
Ivan the merchant’s son was near home, and said
to Vassilissa the Cunning: “I will go ahead, tell my
father and mother about thee, and do thou wait here.”
“See to it,” said Vassilissa the Cunning, “when
thou art home, kiss all but thy godmother; if thou
kiss her thou’lt forget me.”
Ivan came home, kissed all in delight, kissed his
godmother, and forgot Vassilissa. She stood there,
poor thing, on the road, waited and waited; Ivan
did not come for her. She went to the town and
hired to do work for an old woman.
Ivan thought of marrying; he found a bride, and
arranged a feast for the whole world (mír[4]).
[4]Mír means in Russian the “world,” the “universe;” and
also the “commune,” or village society.
Vassilissa heard this, dressed herself as a beggar,
and came to the merchant’s house to beg alms.
“Wait,” said the merchant’s wife; “I’ll bake thee
a small cake instead of cutting the big one.”
“God save thee for that, mother!” said Vassilissa.
But the great cake got burnt, and the small one
came out nicely. The merchant’s wife gave Vassilissa
the burnt cake and put the small one on the table.
They cut that cake, and immediately two pigeons
flew out.
270]
“Kiss me,” said the cock-pigeon to the other.
“No, thou wilt forget me, as Ivan the merchant’s
son forgot Vassilissa the Cunning.”
And the second and the third time he asked, “Kiss
me.”
“No, thou’lt forget me, as Ivan the merchant’s son
forgot Vassilissa the Cunning.”
Ivan remembered then; he knew who the beggar
was, and said to his father and mother: “This is my
wife.”
“Well, if thou hast a wife, then live with her.”
They gave rich presents to the new bride, and let
her go home; but Ivan the merchant’s son lived with
Vassilissa the Cunning, gained wealth, and shunned
trouble.
ONCE there was a king who groaned many a day;
doctors came from far and near, but they could
not cure him. At last his condition was such that one
day all thought he must die. The following night he
had a marvellous dream. It seemed to him that he
was on Black Island, had freed three princesses, and
straightway recovered. When he woke he felt a certain
relief, but had almost forgotten the dream. The next
night he had the same dream, and again on waking
felt easier, but did not ascribe the relief to his dream.
The third night he had no dream, but a vision, in which
the three princesses appeared to him and said: “Free
us, and thou wilt recover; if not, thou wilt die.”
Then they vanished, and the terrified king felt such
pain that he could barely wait till morning. He summoned
his twelve sons in haste, and when he had
told them of his vision he said in a sad voice: “But
how can I, poor man, go on a long journey to Black
Island, of which I have never even heard?”
“I will go instead of thee,” said Boyislav, the
youngest son, with decision.
“We will all go,” said the others, looking angrily
at Boyislav, whom they hated with all their hearts,
because he was his father’s favorite.
274]
“Ye cannot all leave me; and thou, Boyislav, surely
not,” said the king, shaking his head. “Who would
there be to reign in my place?”
“Let Boyislav stay at home,” said the eldest;
“besides, he would be merely a hindrance to us on
the road.”
“I a hindrance!” said Boyislav, flushing up with
anger and pity. “Let me go, father; I will free the
princesses alone.”
His brothers began to laugh at him and then to dispute
as to who should go to Black Island. Since they
could not decide, the king said: “I know that ye
would all gladly serve me, but since some of you
must stay at home, I will make six blank lots and
six written ones; whoever draws a written one will go,
whoever a blank will remain.”
The princes were satisfied and drew lots. They
were angry when Boyislav drew a prize, and the king
was sad; but he had given his word and could not
withdraw it. That very day the princes set out and
Boyislav with them. While on dry land they were
prosperous; it was worse when they entered a boat
and knew not whither to turn. Boyislav said that they
ought to go north, but his brothers laughed at him.
When they had sailed many weeks in one direction
and another without finding Black Island, they were
glad to follow his advice; and the third day they arrived
at the place, but so terrible was it that no one
dared to land save Boyislav. He took provisions
275]
and sprang on shore, telling his brothers to await his
return. While light lasted he ran up and down on
the island, but saw nothing except black rocks. He
was forced to pass the night on a bare stone, but
rose early, completely refreshed by sleep, and examined
farther.
One day passed, and a second; the third day appeared,
and still he found nothing. At last, in the
evening, he came to a large stone, which seemed to
him hewn out by men’s hands. He lifted with all
his might, turned it over, and found a great dark
opening, from which a pleasant odor arose. He went
down without delay, and soon found himself in a
glorious garden, in which were three golden castles
at a great distance. He gazed with astonishment;
though there were things there without number such
as he had never seen before, still his attention was
attracted first by three horses, which rushed around
him three times in a wild gallop, and then vanished
in the twinkle of an eye. Boyislav looked after
them, and heard a voice saying: “I welcome thee,
Boyislav, youngest of twelve!”
He looked on every side, but could see no one.
The voice cried out the second time: “I welcome
thee, Boyislav, youngest of twelve!”
Now he knew where the voice came from; but
though he went in that direction and examined everything
very carefully, he could see no one. Only after
the voice had called much louder than the first and
276]
second time, “I welcome thee, Boyislav, youngest of
twelve!” did he see behind a rock a famished little
horse, so poor that he could count all its ribs.
“What dost thou want of me?” asked Boyislav,
not a little astonished that the horse knew him.
“’Tis thy wish to free the three princesses,” answered
the horse; “then listen to what I advise: In
the first castle thou wilt find the first princess, who
will greet thee with kindness beyond measure, and
offer thee food and drink. Eat with relish, but let
not the princess eat with thee or kiss thee. Take
what is left of the food when thou hast eaten, and go
to the second castle; there the second princess will
greet thee with still greater kindness, and offer food
and drink. Eat with relish, but for no reason let her
eat with thee or kiss thee. Take what is left after
eating, and go to the third castle, where the third
princess will give thee the most kindly reception of
all, and place food and drink before thee; eat freely,
but let not the princess eat with thee or kiss thee.
Take what is left, and come here to me.”
“Is nothing more needed to gain their freedom?”
asked Boyislav.
“Nothing,” answered the horse; “but thou must
not speak a word all this time.”
“That is very easy,” thought Boyislav.
But the horse said with great emphasis: “Have a
care; for to thee ’tis a question of life or death.”
Boyislav went with quick step to the first castle,
277]
where a princess of wonderful beauty ran forth toward
him. “I welcome thee, Boyislav, youngest of
twelve!” cried she, with glad voice. “How art thou
here? Come to my chamber; let me give thee good
cheer. What is thy father doing? How are thy
brothers?”
Then she took his hand and seated him at the
table, to which she brought the most savory food and
drink, continually speaking of his home. But he
gave no regard; and when she wished to eat with
him, he thrust her aside without mercy. Then he
seized what was left of the food and hurried away.
The princess gave him the sweetest of names, and
stretched her hands toward him, but he acted as if
he neither saw her nor heard her.
At the second castle a still more beautiful princess
ran toward him, greeted him with still greater gladness,
led him into a chamber, seated him at a table,
and brought the most savory food and drink, talking
continually. She moved toward him, wishing to kiss
him; but he thrust her aside very rudely, so that she
fell to the floor. Before she could rise he had taken
what was left of the food, and was gone.
He had barely reached the third castle when a
princess ran out to meet him. She was far more
beautiful than the other two, and wished to fall on
his neck straightway. He was amazed at her beauty;
but keeping in mind the words of the horse, he thrust
her away. But still she led him into the castle, seated
278]
him at a table in the loftiest chamber, and entertained
him with the best food and drink. Boyislav ate and
drank heartily, but when the princess wished to eat,
he pushed her aside so rudely that, after staggering a
few steps, she fell to the floor. Then, quickly gathering
the remnants of food, he ran off, though the
princess called him with heart-rending voice.
When he came to the horse he spread on the
rock the remnants of food, which the horse devoured
eagerly. “What now?” asked Boyislav.
“Go for the three princesses, and bring them to
thy brothers in the boat; they are free, for they are
the horses which thou hast seen running around thee.
A wicked sorceress enchanted them, so that twelve
hours they were horses and twelve hours princesses.
Then come for me, or thou wilt suffer.”
Boyislav did as the horse desired, and brought to
his brothers the three princesses, who, with tearful
eyes, thanked him for their liberation. Then he returned
to the horse, which said, with sad voice:
“Too bad! too bad!”
“What has happened?” asked Boyislav.
“Thou art unfortunate,” answered the horse; “thy
departure from home was unfortunate, for know that
thy brothers have gone.”
“Then I must perish here!” cried Boyislav.
“Now thou wilt not perish; but hadst thou gone
on the boat thy death would be sure, for thy brothers
had conspired to kill thee.”
279]
“Oh, the thankless wretches!” cried Boyislav.
“What shall I do now?”
“If thou wilt obey me,” said the horse, “thou wilt
gain thy object in time. Go now to the garden of
the first castle, and pluck four golden apples, but
only four.”
Boyislav went, and for the first time noticed the
beauty of the whole garden; he went back and forth,
and would have soon forgotten the apples had he not
heard the neighing of the horse. Now he saw the
tree with golden apples, and plucked four. Since
they were so beautiful, he wanted more, but the
horse neighed so fiercely that the whole castle trembled;
his arm, which was stretched to the apples,
dropped of itself, and he returned to the horse,
which said, “Now sit on me.”
Boyislav did so, and the horse bore him soon to
the shore of the sea, and said, “Throw an apple in
the sea.”
“But it is a pity to lose it!” said Boyislav.
“Throw it in!” repeated the horse, with stern
voice; and Boyislav obeyed. That moment a road
five hundred miles long rose out of the sea. The
horse stepped on the road, and hurried along night
and day. When the domes of a great city were seen
in the distance, he said to Boyislav: “Now we are
going to Red Island, to a king who has a very ugly
daughter; but have no fear in the world of her.
When she casts eyes on thee, say that thou art
280]
seeking a bride, but before choosing thou must consult
thy father. Then the king will offer thee a
present; take nothing but a piece of rope for my
bridle.”
Boyislav promised obedience. When they came
to Red Island, the road sank in the sea, and the horse
hurried on. Boyislav left him on the meadow outside
the city, and went straight to the king’s castle,
where he was courteously received. “Where art thou
going, noble prince?” asked the king.
“In search of a bride,” answered Boyislav; and the
king led him to his daughter. She was so ugly that
Boyislav was frightened.
“Does she not please thee?” asked the king.
“Oh, she pleases me,” said Boyislav,—“pleases
me greatly; but first I must talk with my father.”
The king smiled, and led his guest to the supper-chamber,
where he was entertained in king’s fashion.
Boyislav wished to go very soon, but the king took
him first to his treasury, and offered him much gold
and silver.
“Thanks to thy Grace!” answered Boyislav. “My
father has great treasures also; but if thou wilt make
me some present, give me a piece of rope to repair
my horse’s bridle.”
“Oh, I will give thee a splendid bridle and saddle!”
said the king.
But Boyislav answered: “I wish no rich outfit on
the road; it is an enticement to robbers.”
281]
The king tried to persuade him, but could not;
then he had a rope brought which was very slender,
but very long, so that Boyislav was hardly able to
bear it away. After a kindly farewell to the king and
the princess, he hastened outside the town, where the
horse called from a distance: “Thou hast done well;
now wind that rope round my body.”
Boyislav opened the bundle, and a whole hour
passed before he could wind the rope around the
horse. When he had finished, they hurried to the
sea, where the horse said, “Throw a second apple
in the sea.”
“But it would be an eternal pity!” said Boyislav.
“I tell thee to throw the second apple in the
sea!” repeated the horse, with stern voice. Boyislav
obeyed. That moment five hundred miles of road
rose from the waves of the sea, along which the
horse rushed like the wind, night and day. When
the domes of a great city were visible in the distance,
he said to Boyislav: “Now we are coming to Green
Island, ruled by a king who has a daughter, not
beautiful and not ugly; thou wilt say that thou art
looking for a bride, but before choosing thou must
consult thy father. When thou art taking leave, the
king will offer all kinds of jewels as a gift; accept
nothing, but ask for the cloth of the table from which
thou hast eaten.”
Boyislav promised this. When they had come to
Green Island, the road sank in the sea, and the horse
282]
hurried toward the city. The horse remained in a
meadow outside the gates. Boyislav went to the
palace, where he was welcomed by the king, and presented
to the princess.
“What brought thee to me?” asked the king.
“I am in search of a bride,” answered Boyislav,
looking at the princess, who seemed pleased at his
words.
“And hast thou found one?” asked the king.
“Not yet,” replied Boyislav.
“Does my daughter not please thee?” The
princess blushed.
“Oh, she pleases me greatly,” said Boyislav, “but
first I must talk with my father.”
The king frowned at these words, and the princess
was flushed with anger; but Boyislav changed not,
and was so courteous that the king grew ashamed,
and conducted him to the supper-chamber, where
there was a small table covered with a poor-looking
cloth, but upon which stood the choicest food and
drink. Boyislav ate with relish. When he had finished,
the king took him to his treasure-chamber, where he
offered him the richest presents; but Boyislav said:
“My father has many treasures, and I prefer to travel
unburdened.” When the king insisted on his taking
something as a keepsake, even if of the smallest value,
Boyislav said: “Give me the cloth of the table on
which I was entertained by thee.”
“Oh, I should be ashamed to give such a thing,”
283]
said the king. “I will give thee another very skilfully
woven.”
“I want no other,” answered Boyislav, making
ready to go.
“Then take it,” said the king, giving the cloth with
evident reluctance.
Boyislav parted with him and the princess, and
hastened to the horse, which called out from afar:
“Thou hast done well; now sit on my back, we’ll
fare farther.” Boyislav sprang on the horse, and he
raced over Green Island till he came to the sea.
“Throw the third apple in the sea,” said the horse.
“But ’tis a pity forever to lose it,” said Boyislav.
“Throw the third apple in the sea, I say,” commanded
the horse, sternly; and Boyislav obeyed.
That moment a road five hundred miles long rose
from the waves of the sea. The horse ran like a flash,
day and night, till they saw in the distance the domes
of a great city.
“Now we are nearing White Island,” said the horse,
“where a king reigns who has the most beautiful
daughter under the sun. All the people on the island
are asleep; for in the king’s palace a taper is burning
which never burns out, and till some one quenches it
they must all sleep. Go to the palace, look at the
princess as much as may please thee, then take the
taper, but be careful that it does not go out on a sudden;
if it is quenched, run to me with all speed or
thou wilt have trouble.”
284]
Boyislav promised to obey faithfully. When they
came to White Island the road sank in the sea. Boyislav,
leaving his horse before the gates of the city,
hastened to the palace. The most luxuriant trees
were growing all over the island, and beautiful flowers
were in bloom; the city was splendid, the palace
of silver and gold, but nowhere was a living creature
to be seen. Boyislav moved on carefully through
the empty streets as if afraid of waking some person.
When he entered the palace he was amazed at its
matchless beauty, but all was as nothing in comparison
with the beauty of the princess who was sleeping
on a dark purple couch in the last chamber. She
was clothed in a light garment, white as new-fallen
snow, her dark hair fell on her white, slightly moving
bosom, her lips were half open, her teeth shone like
pearls, and her whole figure was so full of charm that
Boyislav held his breath. With head inclined, with
crossed hands, he looked at her long,—forgot the
horse, the taper, and the whole world, not thinking
whether he was living; he only felt that the princess
was beautiful. When he had waited a long time he
remembered the taper, looked around the room, saw
it on the table, and saw on two couches the king and
queen. He stepped quickly to the table to quench
the taper and rouse the princess, when all at once he
heard the horse neigh so fiercely that the palace
trembled to its foundation; his hand dropped of itself,
and he muttered: “Thanks to thee, oh horse!
285]
Had I quenched the taper all would have risen, and
who knows what might have come to me?”
He took the taper quickly and turned away, but
when passing through the door he could not refrain
from looking at the princess again; she seemed still
more beautiful. He put the taper on the table, knelt
and kissed her hand; with that her face became ruddy
as a rose, and around her mouth appeared a smile. He
sprang up; and as dark night had come, he thought
of his return, seized the taper quickly, looked at the
princess, wrote on the table, “Boyislav, youngest of
twelve,” and went from the palace, taking care that
the taper should not be quenched. He reached the
gate of the city, but there the taper was blown out by
the wind. That moment was heard in the city a
shout, which grew louder the longer it lasted; but the
trusty steed appeared and bore him in a flash to the
shore of the sea.
“Throw in the last apple,” said the horse.
Boyislav obeyed without a murmur. That moment
there rose from the waves a road which reached to
firm land, and as dawn was appearing they came to
the shore. Then the road sank in the sea.
“Now come down,” said the horse; “let me rest,
and do thou rest, too.”
The horse went to the green meadow, and Boyislav
lay on the grass and mused on the princess of White
Island. Since he was wearied greatly, he fell asleep,
but thought of the princess so that he sighed from
286]
sorrow when the horse roused him and said, “Let
us go.”
Boyislav mounted in silence. They travelled till
they saw the domes of a great city. “What city is
this?” inquired Boyislav.
“Seest not,” asked the horse, “that is thy birthplace?”
“Sure enough! Go quickly, dear horse, that I
may embrace my father.”
“Hurry not,” said the horse; “for it would be
better for thee not to go.”
“Why?” asked Boyislav with wonder.
“Because thy father has uttered sentence of death
against thee.”
“I do not believe that,” replied Boyislav, shaking
his head; and the horse was silent.
Boyislav’s heart beat with joy when he entered the
gates of his native place, but his joy was short-lived.
He had scarcely passed one street when people began
to gather around him, till at last an officer of
the king’s army seized the bridle of his horse, and
ordered the people who were standing around to
seize his arms. All rushed like hungry birds of
prey on the terrified Boyislav.
“What art thou doing!” cried he, when at length
he recovered himself. “Do ye not know that I am
your prince?”
“Prince or not,” cried all, “we know thee well
enough to know that to-morrow thou wilt dance in
287]
the air.” They took the unfortunate Boyislav to the
castle, where, by command of the king, he was cast
into a dark dungeon, and his horse, which they all
laughed at, was shut up in a pen. The officer who
brought Boyislav to the palace got a great reward,
and went in high glee to the nearest inn to drink with
his comrades.
Why was the king enraged with his favorite son?
Because shameless lies had been told by his other
sons. When Boyislav brought the three princesses
of Black Island to the boat and returned for his
horse, his brothers weighed anchor at once and sailed
off. On the way they forced the unfortunate princesses
to promise on oath to tell the king that they
were the liberators, and to say that Boyislav on Black
Island had attached himself to a worthless woman,
and made sport of his old father.
Meanwhile they agreed to cast lots for the princesses.
When the brothers declared their wish, the
princesses said that they would not break their oaths,
but could never be the wives of such men. The
brothers paid small heed to this, for their hearts
were hard. They were satisfied with having got rid
of Boyislav. They ordered the oarsmen to press on.
As a favorable wind blew without stopping, they soon
arrived safely on firm land, where they hired horses
and hurried to their native place.
The king, who had recovered as soon as the princesses
on Black Island were freed, welcomed his sons
288]
and the princesses with tears in his eyes. But how
he flushed up with anger when they told the story to
which they had been forced by oath! He ordered
the death of Boyislav at once, and offered a great
reward for his capture. The wicked brothers rubbed
their hands with glee, but the princesses withdrew to
the chambers given them by the king, and passed
their time in silent grief.
The king was astonished at this, and wished to
know what prince they loved; he would give his
blessing at once, and the proper income. But the
princesses only shook their heads, and the king asked
his sons the reason of the princesses’ sorrow. The
young men evaded the question, saying that perhaps
the princesses were homesick. At last they led the
conversation to Boyislav. The king flushed up with
anger, which was all his sons wanted, so as to avoid
speaking of the princesses of Black Island, for they
knew nothing about them.
And now, when Boyislav was in prison, they continued
to excite the king to give an order forbidding
any one to ask mercy for him under pain of death.
“Why should I endanger my life?” thought every
one; “the king of course knows why he puts his son
to death.” Many pitied the prince, but only one man
shed tears. He was an old warrior who had once
commanded the king’s armies, and was retained as a
friend of the king; he did not believe that Boyislav
deserved death, and resolved to ask pardon for him.
289]
“Well,” thought he, “I shall not live till spring, and
it is all the same whether I die a day earlier or later.
I have been in danger of death times without number
and have never been even wounded; perhaps I shall
escape now.”
He went bravely to the king, who greeted him very
kindly, as was his wont. “What dost thou wish?”
asked he of the old man, who was silent.
“I ask mercy for Boyislav,” said he.
“How darest thou slight my order?” asked the
king, angrily. “Knowest not thou art doomed to
death?”
“I know,” answered the old man with dignity;
“but I fear not death. I mean to say that thou art
disgracing thyself by giving thy own blood to the
hangman.”
The king was struck with these words, and walked
up and down the room with bowed head.
“Who knows whether Boyislav is really guilty or
not?” said the old man, “for the conduct of the
princesses from Black Island is strange.”
“Thou art right, and I will not give him to the
hangman; but still he must die. I shall have him
confined with the lions. Let them tear him.”
The old man made further effort, but the king
would not be persuaded. When night came Boyislav
was taken secretly from prison and shut in with the
lions. But the brothers were not satisfied yet; they
told the king that Boyislav could easily escape, and
290]
advised him to wall up the doors. The king consented,
and the next day the doors were walled up,
there remaining only a small opening on the other
side. This was fortunate, for otherwise Boyislav must
have perished for want of air. He looked at the
lions without fear; they did not harm him. Then he
took out the taper and the tablecloth, which he kept
in his bosom, lighted the taper, laid the cloth on the
ground, and asked for the choicest food; it appeared.
He fed the lions first, then ate and drank himself.
The lions lay at his feet in thankfulness; he lay on
them and fell asleep. When awake he played with the
lions,—who in a few days were tame,—or thought
of the princess on White Island. In this way his
days passed quickly, and before he knew it a whole
year had gone.
Meanwhile the princess of White Island travelled
over the world with an army in search of her liberator;
she had already visited many kings, but in
no royal family had she found twelve sons. At last
she came to the dominions of the old king and
learned that he had twelve sons. Her heart jumped
for joy, and she marched night and day till she
appeared before the capital. Straightway she sent
messengers to the king, asking him to send her that
prince who had freed her and her whole kingdom.
The king called the five princes who went with
Boyislav, and asked if they had been on White
Island.
291]
“Of course!” answered the truthless princes; and
the eldest one shamelessly added that he had freed
its princess.
“Then hurry to her,” said the king. He went.
“Where is the taper?” asked the princess when
he came; but he knew nothing of it. Thereupon the
princess became so angry that she drew her sword
and cut off his head with a blow.
Again she sent the messenger with the announcement
that if her liberator were not sent, she would
turn the city into dust and ashes.
“I freed her,” said the second prince to the frightened
king.
“Then go to her.”
When she asked the second prince about the taper,
he could give no answer, and lost his life. The messenger
returned to the king, and told him what had
happened to the two princes; the three remaining
ones were so terrified that they confessed the truth.
The old man, Boyislav’s savior, now said to the king,
“I told thee Boyislav was innocent; thou wouldst not
believe me. Now see how thou hast saved thy city
from destruction, for the princess will surely carry
out her threat unless Boyislav is delivered up.”
“But how can I deliver him up when he is dead?”
asked the king.
“He is not dead,” replied the old man, joyfully,
“for there is still a little opening in the lions’ den,
and there is light there night and day.”
292]
The king sprang up joyfully, hastened to the den,
and had the walled-up doors opened. Boyislav
looked on this carelessly; and when the king implored
him with tenderness to come out, that he
forgave him all, he shook his head saying: “I will
not go, it is good enough for me here.”
“But the princess will destroy my city,” said the
king.
“What princess?” asked Boyislav with curiosity.
“The princess from White Island.”
In silence, but with gladness in his eyes, Boyislav
quenched the taper, folded the tablecloth, and taking
both with him walked out. When he went with
the messenger to the princess, his heart beat with
anxiety so that he could not raise his eyes when he
stood before her.
“Thou art the man!” exclaimed the princess, joyfully.
But when Boyislav knew not what to answer,
she said reproachfully: “Has the ardor with which
thou didst kiss me grown cold?”
“It has not,” murmured Boyislav, wishing to kiss
the golden hem of her robe.
The princess raised him up, and kissing him, said:
“This is the earnest of our betrothal.”
Boyislav was glad to respond; and now all returned
to the castle, where feasting began, which was
to be closed by the wedding of the princess and
Boyislav. All were rejoiced except the princesses
of Black Island, who were as sad as ever. The three
293]
princes who had gone to Black Island were in deathly
terror. Boyislav in the middle of the feast grew sad,
and when asked the reason, he inquired: “Where is
my trusty horse?”
No one could answer him, till at last one of the
servants remembered that the horse had been shut
up in a pen. To the great astonishment of all,
Boyislav ran out to him, fell upon his neck, and
shed tears of joy.
“Thou hast done well to come,” said the horse,
sadly, “or I should have perished with hunger; for
the cord brought from Red Island is eaten. Every
span of it became a bundle of hay. But now thou
hast attained thy object, and I am needed no longer;
cut off my head.”
“I cut off thy head!” exclaimed Boyislav.
“Then thou dost not wish to free me,” said the
horse, with chiding voice.
Boyislav drew his sword and cut off the horse’s
head at one blow. The horse disappeared in an instant,
but in his stead appeared a beautiful prince,
who fell on Boyislav’s neck and shed tears of joy.
“What is this?” asked Boyislav, full of astonishment.
“Come to supper,” said the prince; “I will explain
it all.” Both hurried to supper; scarcely were
they at the door, when the youngest princess from
Black Island fell into his arms, and the other two
pressed his hands. When they had recovered from
294]
the first surprise, the prince said: “I am the only
son of a powerful king, whose dominions are not
far from Black Island. I would not marry the
daughter of a queen who was a witch, and she enchanted
me; and the princesses of Black Island—the
youngest of whom is my bride—were turned into
horses twelve hours of each day. Boyislav freed the
princesses first, and now has freed me. The moment
I regained my form, the spell was removed from
Black Island.”
All were delighted with Boyislav; but the king was
thoughtful, and seemed to ponder over important
things. At last he summoned the three princes who
went with Boyislav to Black Island, and gave command
to throw them to the lions; the lions tore them
to pieces in an instant.
Now came new festivities; and when all was finished,
Boyislav went with his wife to White Island;
and the liberated prince, with his wife and sisters,
went to Black Island, where they celebrated at once
their wedding and their liberation.
BEFORE times long past, there lived in a little
cottage an old father, with his three sons. The
eldest son was called Martin; the second, Mihal; and
the third, Yanek.
“Martin,” the father used to say often, as they
were sitting in the evening at a bowl of skimmed
milk, “I shall not be long alive; I feel it in my body.
When I die, the cottage will come to thee; but do
not cheat thy old mother and thy brothers.”
Martin always promised; but while the others were
listening to their father, he looked sharply at the
food, and picked out every piece of bread from the
milk. Mihal saw this with astonishment; but Yanek
was always grieved from his father’s talk, and did not
even think of eating.
The father spoke the truth. In no long time he
groaned his last; but when he saw his death-hour, he
had all summoned for the parting. He reminded
Martin again that he was never to let the cottage go
out of his possession; and then turning to Yanek,
whom he loved most, he said: “Yanichek, thou art
simple, ’tis true; but what the Lord has kept from
thee in wit, he has added in heart. Only be ever
296]
as kind as thou hast been, and obey thy brothers;”
with that he coughed, and was no more.
Martin and Mihal gave themselves up to lamentation,
but Yanek was silent; he stood by his father’s
bedside as if without sense. Only after a long time
did he go out, sit in the garden under a tree, and cry
like a little child.
After the funeral, Martin and Mihal decided to go
out in the world, and leave Yanek with his mother.
“The world is wide,” said they; “there fortune may
meet us quickly, while in this little cottage we should
never come to anything as long as we lived.”
It was all one to Yanek; but his mother who was
still in good strength, did not like to have Yanek lose
his fortune, and talked with his brothers so long that
they took him with them. This was not agreeable to
Martin and Mihal, but they reverenced their mother,
and obeyed her.
All three made ready; Martin and Mihal put
food in bags for themselves, and went out into the
world. On the road Yanek said to his brothers,
“I shall be glad to see if that fortune meets us
soon.”
“Thou mayest run to meet it,” snapped the
brothers, “since thou hast nothing to carry.” They
were angry that Yanek had taken nothing, while they
must carry heavy bags on their backs.
They walked on a whole half-day; the sun was
burning, and the brothers were tired and hungry.
297]
They sat down at the roadside under a tree, in the
shade, took out provisions, and began to eat,—that
is, Martin and Mihal; but Yanek sat by himself and
began to cry, either because he remembered his
father’s death or was hungry. His brothers ridiculed
him and said: “See now, thou wilt not be so lazy
another time, and then thou wilt not be hungry.”
Yanek brushed away his tears with his sleeve, and
said: “Ye might have a little shame. Ye are going
out into the world so as to be able to support your
mother when ye go home; but now ye have taken
from her everything!”
Such an answer the brothers did not expect from
simple Yanek. They were silent; and after a while,
as if moved from kindness, they asked Yanek to eat
with them; but they did not do it from compassion
or brotherly love, but to lessen their fault. When
they had eaten, they rose and went on their way. In
the evening they came to a cottage and asked for
lodgings. The cottager took them under his roof,
and asked them to sup. Martin thanked him with a
certain boastfulness, saying that he had provisions
enough of his own.
The man sat down to supper with his wife. Yanek
sat with downcast face alone in a corner. The woman
went to the kitchen, and when returning, saw that
Yanek had nothing to eat. “Oh, little boy, come
and eat with us!” said she kindly. Turning to Martin
she asked if that was their servant.
298]
“What servant!” said Martin. “He is our brother,
but such a lazy fellow, he would not bring anything
for himself.”
Yanek did not wish to go to the table, but consented
at last. Martin squinted at the dish; and when he saw
soup, he hated Yanek. Soup was his favorite dish, and
now he must look on and see how Yanek enjoyed it,
and must be satisfied with dry bread and a bit of
cheese. Full of hatred he went to bed in the place
which the cottager showed him, with his brothers.
For a long time he lay awake, and when he fell asleep
he saw in a dream, Yanek eating soup. In the
morning the brothers rose before breakfast, because
they wanted Yanek to have nothing to eat. Martin
went through the nearest forest, hoping that they
would find no house all day, and so Yanek would
have no food.
The whole forenoon they walked through the thick
forest, and Martin wished to eat his dinner; but the
forest began to grow thin and soon they came to an
open country. They looked for a road, went on a
small hill, and then saw in the valley a great castle as
high as ten houses placed one on the other. Yanek
laughed, but Martin was not pleased: “We have lost
the road,” said he; “we must go back.”
“But, foolish fellow,” said Mihal, who was tired,
“we are going out in the world, what difference does
it make; it is all the same whether we go one way or
another.”
299]
Without saying a word or looking at his brothers,
Yanek went straight toward the castle. That started
off Martin, and soon he caught up with Yanek. “Walk
behind,” said he, “I’m the eldest; I must go ahead.”
They soon came to the castle, but did not see a
living thing; they were greatly afraid. Martin wished
to run away; but when he saw Yanek open the door,
he followed him. They entered a splendid hall. How
astonished were they! On the floor was a pile of
copper money five ells high. Martin and Mihal,
blinded by the glitter of the money, threw out their
remaining provisions, filled their bags, and wanted to
run away; but Yanek opened the next door, through
which the brothers saw in another hall a still greater
pile of money, but silver. They emptied their bags
of the copper money with all speed, and filled them
with silver. They had barely done this when Yanek
opened a third door, and cried out with wonder,—a
thing which he seldom did,—“Ai!” The brothers
threw their bags on the floor, rushed to the door, but
had to cover their eyes with their hands, for it was as
bright as the sun in the next chamber. They saw
this was gold. Still more quickly than before, they
threw the silver out of their bags, and panting for
breath, filled them with gold pieces.
“Now let us go,” cried Martin; “some one may
come, and then we shall suffer.” They started from
the castle as fast as they could. Yanek went too,
and took as he was going only one piece of money
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from each heap, and in the third room the remnants
of food which his brothers had thrown out. The
brothers escaped with the money successfully, meeting
no one. Yanek followed at his leisure, eating
the provisions which his brothers had thrown away.
When they came to the forest, the two brothers
crawled into the thicket, threw their bags on the
ground, and began to rest. Yanek also lay down
after he had put the last bit of bread in his mouth.
Here Martin remembered the provisions, but he had
only ducats in his bag.
“Yanek,” said he, “run back to the castle and
bring us from the first chamber the provisions which
we forgot there.”
But Yanek answered bluntly, “I will not go.”
“Why not?” asked Martin in anger.
“Because they might catch me, and I should have
to suffer instead of you; besides, there is no food
there, for when you threw it away I picked it up and
ate it.”
“Monster!” screamed Martin in rage, “I’ll teach
thee to obey thy eldest brother. Mihal, give him
here to me.”
Mihal did not wait to be spoken to twice. They
took poor Yanek between them and put so many
blows on him that he was soon lying as if dead on
the ground; then they took their bags on their backs
and hurried home through the woods.
“That lazy-bones!” growled Martin, “let him go
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wherever he likes; he will not dare to teach us again.”
They got out of the forest quickly, and in the evening
came to an inn where they refreshed themselves.
Next morning they set out for home. In the neighboring
town, where the king dwelt, they bought a
house, brought their mother to it, and began to live
like great lords.
Yanek, poor fellow, lay for a long time unconscious
in the forest. At last he woke from his trance, rested
his head against a tree, and fell to thinking of his condition.
“Oh, cruel brothers, ye have left the forest!
Who knows whether I shall find the way home? I
am weak; I cannot walk far; I will go back to the
castle, no matter what meets me; I will take money,
too, and live like a lord.”
Many a one will wonder that Yanek changed all at
once; but a beating has brought many a man to new
ways. So Yanek made ready and went to the castle.
In the castle there was not a living soul. Yanek
took off his coat, tied the sleeves at the wrist, and
began to rake gold into them. He had almost finished
when he heard noises at a distance like bursts
of thunder. These noises grew louder and louder
till at last they were so loud that the castle trembled.
All at once a voice as if a fifteen-year-old bull were
bellowing, called, “Hu! hu! I smell the flesh of a
man!” and before Yanek could gather his wits after
the fright, he saw two giants standing at the door.
“Oh, worm of the earth, thou art the one who is
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stealing our treasures!” howled one of the giants.
“Ha, thou wilt be a nice roast for supper,” added
he, smacking his lips so that Yanek lost his senses.
But the second giant whispered something in the ear
of the first, who nodded, and said to Yanek: “Listen,
worm of the earth, I grant thee life, but henceforth thou
wilt watch our treasures when we are from home.”
Yanek wanted to kiss the giant’s hand, but he
could barely reach to his knee. “Only watch well,
worm of the earth,” said the giant, graciously; “but
so that thou shouldst not be hungry, strike on this
little table three times with thy fist and call, ‘Food
for a king!’ and thou wilt have food to thy liking.”
Yanek promised everything, and from that time
forth he led a very pleasant life,—he did nothing,
no living soul ever came to the castle, the table was
always obedient. But at last he grew tired of all this.
“Watch your own treasures, lord giants,” said he
one day when the giants had gone out; “and thou,
my good little table, come!—we will go home.”
Yanek put the table on his back, stole away from
the castle, and soon found himself in the forest. He
strolled leisurely through the forest, and after no
long time was in the open field. Here an old grandfather
met him, and asked if he had not something
to eat. “’Tis long since I have had a bit in my
mouth,” lamented the grandfather.
“Then I will help thee,” said Yanek; “come with
me to that tree over there.” They sat under the
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tree; Yanek put his table on the ground, and striking
on it three times with his fist, said: “Food for a
king!” The table was covered with the daintiest
dishes.
The grandfather ate his fill, and said: “Indeed this
is a very beautiful thing! But, my lad, if thou
wouldst give me this little table, I would give thee
something better in place of it. This pack has the
virtue that at command an army will spring out of
it as numerous as ever thou carest to wish.”
Yanek was greedy, but only from the time that he
got a beating from his brothers; he took the pack,
gave the grandfather the table, and they parted. But
Yanek soon felt hungry; he was in the open field, and
nowhere a house to be seen. Now he was angry at
himself for having given away the table so frivolously;
and besides he wished to know if what the grandfather
said of the pack was true. He opened the
pack and commanded “two hundred hussars to the
field.” He had barely spoken when horses were
neighing, arms rattling, and sooner than he could
think, two hundred hussars stood in line before him.
The officers saluted Yanek, and asked with respect
what he wanted.
“About five thousand yards from here, under that
tree, an old man took a table from me; ride after
him, take the table, and bring it to me.”
He had barely finished speaking when the hussars
rode off at a wild gallop, in no long time they
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returned, and their leader gave Yanek the table. Yanek
opened his pack and said: “Two hundred hussars in
here.” In a twinkle the hussars were in the pack,
from the first man and horse to the last. “That is
not a bad thing,” said Yanek to himself as he sat at
the table, struck three times with his fist, and commanded,
“Food for a king.”
When he had eaten to his content he took his table
and his pack and went on. It was inclining toward
evening, and Yanek had to look for a night’s lodging.
But this made him small trouble; it was warm enough,
he laid himself under a tree, put the pack under his
head, held the table in his hand, and so fell asleep.
Next morning he ate like a king and went on. This
time he met a grandfather as he had the day before,
and he too asked for food. Yanek commanded the
table, and the grandfather ate his fill. “My lad,”
said he, “here is a bag; give me thy table for it.”
“Oh, grandfather,” said Yanek, with a laugh,
“nothing can come of that.”
“This is no laughing matter, my lad; the bag is
worth getting, for it has this virtue,—that wherever
and whenever thou hast the wish, thou canst call
out of it as many castles as may please thee.”
Yanek fell to thinking, and then said with a smile,
“Let it be so.”
The grandfather took the table, Yanek the bag;
then they parted. But barely had the grandfather
vanished from sight when Yanek opened the pack
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and commanded: “Three hundred Uhlans to the
field!” Scarce had he spoken when three hundred
Uhlans were standing in line before him. “Go now
to the right on the road; at the ditch a man took my
table: take that table and bring it to me.”
The Uhlans flashed away, and a man could scarcely
have counted ten before Yanek had the table. Then
he opened the pack and commanded: “Three hundred
Uhlans this way!” and the Uhlans vanished in
the pack. Yanek was beside himself with gladness
when he took the table, the pack, and the bag, and
continued his way.
In the evening he came to the capital town, and
there he learned that his brothers had become great
lords. He went before the town, tore his clothes
purposely, then lay in the dust and rolled several
times. He did this so that he might seem out
and out ragged and poor. Then he went to his
brothers and implored them to take pity on him.
They would not even recognize him; but his mother
fell on his neck and begged for him. The brothers
gave way, and granted him lodging, but in the stable.
Yanek was satisfied; he lay on the bed which was
given him,—that is, a bundle of straw,—and waited
till all were asleep. Then he sprang over the fence
to the garden, opened the bag, and commanded:
“One castle out of the bag!” and that moment there
stood in the garden the most beautiful castle. Then
he opened the pack and commanded: “Fifty infantry
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come out!” and fifty foot-soldiers stood before
him.
“Ye,” said he to them, “will be all night on guard
here in my castle; but when in the morning the cock
crows the second time, rouse me.”
The warriors saluted and took their places on
guard. Yanek took the table which he had secreted,
as well as the pack and bag, and went into the castle.
There he selected the most beautiful chamber, commanded
the table, and supped. After supper he lay
down and slept till the guards roused him. He rose,
ate, and before any one was awake in the house of
his brothers he commanded the warriors into the
pack, the castle into the bag, then crawled over the
fence, and lay on his straw in the stable. This he
did night after night. But it was a wonder to his
brothers how he was alive; for though they had two
bags of ducats, they never gave him a morsel to eat.
Therefore they pressed Yanek to tell them if he had
gathered much coin in the castle; they thought he
had money, but did not wish to show it before
them.
“Simpleton! I was glad to get out of there alive;
for that castle belongs to giants,” answered Yanek.
“But I have something else, and it is better than
your gold pieces.”
Then he brought the table, struck it three times
with his fist, and said: “Food for a king!”
Martin and Mihal stood like apparitions, they
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could not believe their eyes; but when they began
to eat they believed their tongues.
The story of the wonderful table was spread through
the town, and soon came to the king. He was eager
for the food of the table, and sent his chamberlain
to Yanek to borrow the table for three days.
“Agreed,” said Yanek; “here it is. But if it is not
returned to me at the end of three days I will declare
war against the king.”
The chamberlain bowed, took the table, and told
the king, with a smile, that Yanek would declare war
against him unless the table was returned. The table
pleased the king beyond measure, but still more the
food; therefore he meditated how to deceive Yanek.
He summoned all the joiners, carvers, and turners
in the town, and ordered them to make exactly
such a table as Yanek’s. They went to work, and
before the third day had passed there were two
tables, and the king himself could not tell which was
the right one. Soon he made sure of it, and then
he sent the counterfeit table by the chamberlain to
Yanek.
Yanek struck the table three times with his fist and
ordered: “Food for a king!” The table trembled,
but nothing more. “Food for a king!” shouted
Yanek, full of anger; but he soon discovered that
the king had deceived him, and he pounded the table
till he pounded it to pieces.
“Take this and carry it to the king,” said he to
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the chamberlain, “and tell him that I’ll smash down
his castle to-morrow as I have broken this table!”
The chamberlain collected the fragments, took them
to the king, and told him what Yanek had said. The
king only smiled haughtily, and thought that he had
finished with Yanek. In the night, however, he had
wonderful dreams, and early next morning he ordered
his army to be placed before the castle and be ready
for battle.
Now Yanek came with his pack, counted the royal
troops, and still once more asked the king to return
his table; but the king only laughed. Then Yanek
opened the pack and commanded: “A thousand times
a thousand infantry out; a thousand times a thousand
cavalry out.” From the pack there was the rush of
an avalanche. Soon the whole country in front of
the castle was filled with the finest of armies. The
king and his troops were as if before a vision; but
when Yanek raised his hand as a signal for attack,
the king raised a white flag and went to Yanek.
“Thou seest,” said the king, almost imploringly,
“I was mistaken; but I wish to correct my mistake.
I will return the table, and besides I will give thee
my daughter in marriage.”
“Then peace,” said Yanek. “But first bring thy
princess; let me see her.”
The princess soon came with her ladies, raised her
veil, and stood before Yanek.
“The wedding will be to-day!” ordered Yanek,
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and kissed the princess on the forehead. She was
not angry; nay, it may be said she was glad. Then
Yanek commanded: “A thousand times a thousand
infantry in; a thousand times a thousand cavalry
in,” and closed the pack.
The royal army withdrew to the fortress, and now
quick preparations were made for the marriage. At
midday Yanek and the princess belonged to each
other. Then they feasted, and the table gave meat
and drink till the evening.
When all were in bed Yanek went out to the king’s
garden with his bag, opened it, and commanded:
“Let the most beautiful castle that can be in the
world come out of this bag!” And that was such
a castle that Yanek himself was astonished.
Then he went to the old castle to the king, who had
already prepared chambers to which he wished to
conduct him and the princess; but Yanek answered
that he had his own household, and the king had
such faith in him that he believed. Yanek conducted
his bride to the new castle, and she could
not admire its splendor sufficiently.
In the morning people hurried to the king and told
him that there was a new castle in the garden. The
sun was just rising, and casting its rays on the castle,
the castle was blazing with gold, silver, and precious
stones. The king now respected Yanek still more,
and gave him all that he could, even his kingdom.
So Yanek became king, and a great king who could
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give battle to the whole world. On the boundaries he
put castles everywhere out of the bag, and from the
pack he garrisoned them with troops. The table gave
him the best of food; what more could he want?
He reigned long, and was a real father to his subjects.
As a punishment to his brothers he did not
let them come near him; but his mother he cared for
so well that she reached a great age. In the most
beautiful chamber of the castle, on a golden throne,
were the pack and the bag, and near them the table.
When King Yanek died he was mourned by all;
he left his children the mightiest kingdom on earth.
His eldest son succeeded him; but accustomed to
splendor and luxury, he did not govern the kingdom
so well as his father. After his death it was still
worse. The succeeding kings were ashamed of their
peasant stock; and so that no man might discover the
real foundation of their power and turn them into
ridicule, they took the table, the pack, and the bag,
and cast them into a dark, damp cellar.
And will ye ask what became of such a mighty
kingdom? The table rotted, the bag rotted, the mice
gnawed the pack; and then it was all over with that
kingdom.
In after times, when he was in straits, the king ran
to the cellar, struck on the table, looked for the pack
and the bag. But the table fell to pieces at the first
blow, of the pack there remained but a few little
straps, and of the bag a few threads.
MANY and many a year ago there was a cottage
by the sea, and in this cottage lived a fisherman
who caught fish in the sea. By the king’s command
he was allowed to take fish, not when he liked,
but only once a week, and that on Mondays. He
was anxious, therefore, to catch many on that day.
Fish, of course, are not so crafty as men, but still
they know enough to see that there is no fun in being
caught. What is to be done with them afterwards they
don’t know; still, they must suspect that it can hardly
be for their amusement. It is no wonder then that
they did not crowd into the fisherman’s net.
The fisherman worked every Monday till the sweat
streamed down his face; and this all the more, since,
come what might, he was obliged to bring fish to the
king’s kitchen each Monday. Once he worked the
whole forenoon without catching even a white fish.
“I will try once more,” thought the tired fisherman;
“I will throw everything into the water, and jump
around to frighten the fish, they are so stubborn.”
He threw the net deeply, and when he pulled it
was very heavy. “Now there will be fish,” thought
he, joyfully; but what was his astonishment when, instead
of fish, he drew out a great copper kettle.
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The kettle was so well fastened that the fisherman
had to work long before he could take off the cover.
But how he was frightened! Scarcely had he removed
the cover when out of the kettle rushed black
smoke, which grew thicker and thicker, till at last it
changed to a fiery man.
“Thou hast helped me, and I will help thee,” said
he to the terrified fisherman; “but in my own way I
will destroy thee.”
The fisherman lost his head, but soon recovering
said: “Oh, I don’t care, I am already tired of this
world; still thou must do something for me, since I
freed thee. I can’t understand how thou wert able to
live in such a small place, and under the water too,
and then change so quickly.”
“I’ll show thee in a moment,” said the fiery
man; and he began to turn into black smoke,
and in no long time he was packed into the kettle
again.
“Dost see me?” inquired he of the fisherman.
“I see thee,” answered the fisherman, laughing;
“I see thee, but thou’lt not see me any more.”
The cover was already on the kettle and fastened
firmly. The fiery man by no means expected to find
such cunning among people, and considering his condition
in the kettle, began to beg of the fisherman:
“Let me out and I will reward thee.”
“Swear that thou wilt never destroy me,” said the
fisherman.
313]
The spirit answered with a solemn voice, “I
swear.”
The fisherman removed the cover, and black smoke
rolled out, growing thicker and thicker, till at last it
turned into a fiery man.
“Follow me,” said he to the fisherman; and the latter
followed without thinking.
In a short time they came to a high cliff in which
steps were cut in the stone. The fiery man bent to
the earth, plucked an herb, and giving it to the fisherman
said: “Keep this with thee always. Put thy foot
on this step; immediately after thou wilt be on a
high mountain, from which thou wilt see a great lake.
In the lake is a wealth of fish, and thou hast the right
to catch as many of them as may please thee, but
only once a week, on Mondays. When thou hast the
wish to come down, climb to the top, and soon thou
wilt be at the bottom.”
Thereupon the fiery man vanished, but the fisherman
went on the steps cut in the rock; in one
moment a mighty wind caught him, and in a twinkle
he was on a high mountain, from which he saw an
altogether unknown country covered with dark forests,
in the midst of which was a broad lake; only here
and there was a grass-plot to be seen, there were
neither hills nor the dwellings of men.
The fisherman went down from the mountain, and
when he had reached the lake he found a boat with
all the fishing-tackle, as if made ready for him. He
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went to work willingly, threw in the net, and drew
out nothing; he threw it in a second time, drew out
as much as before. “That fiery man has fooled me,”
thought he, “but the third throw is always the best.”
He cast his net again and drew out three fish; when
he saw them in the net, he said bitterly: “Well, this
is a wealth of fish! If it goes on in this way I’ll soon
leave the place; besides, I don’t like travelling by
wind.” But when he looked at the fish more carefully,
and took them in his hand, he found that in all
his life he had never seen anything like them.
“These are not for me,” muttered he, “I must give
them to the king; he will soon try them.” With that
he left the boat, went to the mountain, and had barely
touched the summit when a mighty wind seized him,
and placed him on level land. He set out for home,
and it was time; for his wife had already cooked the
dinner and was waiting. As soon as he saw her before
the door, he hurried his steps; and when she was in
the cottage he began to run. And why did he run,
because he feared her? Not at all. He cared nothing
for her, as he said himself; but he loved domestic
peace, and did everything his wife wanted, but always
did it in such fashion that she might not know what
he was doing; this was to preserve his own importance
in her eyes. He went into the house slowly,
and said at the door: “Well, my dear, I have caught
a few fish to-day; but I had much trouble, or I should
have been home long ago.”
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“Time for thee,” snapped his wife; “if thou art
late again I’ll eat alone, leave nothing, and thou wilt
find out that I am not thy slave to wait and suffer
hunger.”
“Oh well, things are not so bad to-day,” said the
fisherman; “better come and see these wonderful
fish.”
“They are just like any other fish,” cried the
woman, “only they look a little different, that’s all.”
“And for that very reason thou wilt take them to
the king. He will pay us well for them; we should
not be able to use them.”
“Oh, thou couldst soon do away with them,”
replied his wife, “but that’s why I’ll take them to
the king; besides, we are up to our ears in fish.”
After dinner the fisherman’s wife hurried to the
king with the fish. When she came to the palace,
she asked the first man she met where the king was,
but got as answer: “I don’t keep the king!” She
went farther, making confusion everywhere until all
the servants came together, but no one said anything
to her. At last she reached the guard who stood
before the king’s chamber; she wanted to go without
ceremony to his Kingly Grace. The guard pushed
her back sharply, but the fishwoman did not retreat
so easily; she tried once more to break through the
guards, but this time she was repulsed. One of the
guards, as firm as a rock, and with as much hair on
his face as a bear, caught her by the hand and pulled
316]
her so roughly that she almost fell to the floor. She
screamed that they were killing her, and roused the
whole palace; even the king came. She turned
straight to him and cried out over the heads of
the men: “Royal Grace, I am bringing fish, and
these bears won’t let me in.”
The king, who was in good humor that day, beckoned
her to come. “What kind of fish, and how
many?” asked he when she approached.
“Royal Grace, only three, but so wonderful that
I have not seen such as long as I live.” With that
she took a fish from the basket and handed it to the
king.
“Wonderful, indeed,” said the king, “but give
them not to me, give them to my cook; and here is to
thee for the road,” giving her a handful of goldpieces.
The fishwoman, when she saw so much money, fell
at the king’s feet, and came near throwing him down;
but he didn’t mind. Then she took the fish to the
kitchen, and ran headlong home.
After she had gone the king went to the kitchen,
looked at one of the fish, and said to the cook:
“Thou must dress these fish in a special manner, and
answer with thy head for the cooking.”
“Royal Grace, in what manner?” asked the cook,
trembling with terror when he heard of his head;
for though he was a great hero at cutting off heads,
he trembled like an aspen when his own head was in
question.
317]
“That’s thy affair,” replied the king; “I will send
my chamberlain to thee to look after the fish.”
The king went away, and presently the chamberlain
appeared. The cook did not know how to prepare
the fish, and lost his wits,—but that was his luck,
for he did everything without knowing it, and altogether
different from his wont. At last when they
had the fish on the pan, and began to butter them,
the whole palace trembled. Then followed a terrible
shock; and before the cook or the chamberlain could
think what it meant, they received each such a slap
on the face from an invisible hand that they fell
senseless to the floor. And while they were lying in
such concord on the floor, they knew not that one of
the fish stood on his tail in the pan, and said to the
other two: “Will ye serve me or be food for the
king?”
“Serve thee,” said both in one voice. With that
all three of them vanished, and to this day no man
knows whither they went.
The cook woke up from his involuntary slumber
sooner than the chamberlain; he did not rise, however,
but waited for the other. Then he rose, groaned
heavily, complained, and both hurried to the fish;
but they were gone. “The devil take the fish!” said
the cook; “but what will the king say?”
It was no great joy for the chamberlain that the fish
were gone; still he went to the king and told him of
all that had happened in the kitchen.
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“I cannot believe it,” said the king; “but if thou
canst get more fish like these, thou wilt be forgiven
this time. Now go to the fisherman and tell him to
get other fish like these.”
The chamberlain hurried away with light heart, rejoiced
at his easy escape. The fisherman said that
he could catch fish only on Mondays. The chamberlain
told this to the king; the king was very angry.
But what could he gain by that?
There was joy in the fisherman’s cottage by reason
of so much money, and the fisherman’s wife could
hardly wait till Monday. She roused her husband
early Monday morning, got him a holiday breakfast,
and almost pushed him out of the house, so as to
bring those strange fish with all speed. The fisherman
obeyed, not his wife, however, but the king, and
hastened to the cliff with the wonderful herb in his
bosom. He had barely stood on the step, when he
was carried to the mountain; and from there he
rushed to the lake, where he found a boat waiting
for him as before. The first and second time he
caught nothing; but the third time he drew out three
fish. “Now my wife will be glad,” thought he, and
hurried up the mountain; from there he was taken to
the valley in an instant, and ran home. His wife
pulled the fish out of his hands, threw them into a
basket, and ran to the king’s palace. The guard was
ordered to let her pass; and she went straight to
the king, who came out to meet her, and looking at
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the fish, to see if they were the same, gave her another
handful of gold for her trouble. The fishwoman
thanked him, took the fish to the kitchen,
and went home leisurely, for she counted the money
to see if there was the same as before; there was still
more. Now there was joy in the cottage; and the
fisherman was thankful in his heart to the fiery man,
by whose action he had gained such peace in his
household.
New orders were issued by the king to the cook,
who was trembling with terror, thinking what would
come of the fish. But the king, who did not believe
even the chamberlain, sent his eldest son to watch
both the chamberlain and the cook, lest they should
eat the fish themselves. They all stood in great
expectation around the pan in which the butter was
melting under the fish; but as soon as they began to
butter the fish, the castle was shaken more violently
than before, a still louder shock followed, and the
cook, chamberlain, and even the prince himself, received
such slaps from an unseen hand that all three
fell senseless to the floor. And while they were lying
there, they did not know that one of the fish stood
on its tail in the pan, and said to the other two:
“Will ye be food for the king, or serve me?”
“Serve thee,” answered the two in one voice; then
all three vanished in an instant, and to this day no
man knows whither.
The cook came to his senses first; but seeing the
320]
chamberlain and the prince still on the floor, he
stayed where he was. The chamberlain followed his
example; at last the prince jumped up and roused
both. For a while they acted as if they had lost their
wits, then rose to their feet slowly, and complained.
When they looked in the pan they found it empty.
The prince told all carefully to his father. The king
was raging, and threatened them all with death. At
last he was pacified, and sent the prince to the fisherman.
The prince gave the king’s order, but the
fisherman said that he could catch those fish only on
Mondays. When the king heard this he fell into a
towering passion, though he knew himself that the
fish could be caught only on Mondays. At last he
grew calm, but resolved to be present next time they
cooked these most wonderful fish.
On Monday the fisherman’s wife pushed her husband
out of the house at the dawn of day. The
fisherman came to the top of the mountain as before,
then hastened to the lake, where on the third cast of
the net he drew out three fish. He hurried to the
top of the mountain; next moment he was in the
valley, and ran home as fast as his breath would let
him. His wife shortened the journey for him: she
ran to meet him, and pulling the fish out of his
hands, rushed off to the palace like a crazy woman.
The king was waiting; and ran out the moment he
saw her. When he looked at the fish he gave her two
handfuls of gold. She took the fish to the kitchen,
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and hurried away. When she came to the field she
sat down and counted the money ten times.
In the king’s kitchen the king, the prince, and the
chamberlain watched the cook while he was preparing
the fish. Because the king was present, great
attention was paid to everything. This was done
partly to make the king tired of being there; but he
gave them to understand that he would wait till the
fish were ready. After long preparation they got
them on the pan; but as soon as the cook began to
butter them the palace shook as in a tempest. Then
came a shock as from a lightning-stroke, and in an
instant all present received such slaps on the face
that they fell senseless to the floor. While lying
there without distinction of persons none of them
knew, not even the king, that one of the fish stood
on its tail in the pan and said to the other two:
“Will ye serve me or be food for the king?”
“Serve thee!” answered both in one voice; and
all three vanished.
After a long time the cook woke from his trance,
and seeing the king prostrate, remained as he was.
In like manner acted the chamberlain and the prince
when they recovered. At last the king rose, walked
around the pan quickly, saw no fish, wondered greatly,
and went to his chambers in silence. When the king
had gone, the prince, the chamberlain, and the cook
sprang from the floor and shook themselves.
The king pondered long over these fish, weighed
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everything duly, and then sent for the fisherman.
The fisherman came straightway; but how he wondered
when he heard what had happened at the buttering
of the fish! The king said: “Take me to
that lake; I will examine everything carefully myself.”
The fisherman of course consented. The
king took his body-guard, and all moved toward the
cliff, with the fisherman at the head. When they
arrived there the fisherman gave the king some of
the herb which he had received from the fiery man,
took him by the hand, and stood on the stone step.
In an instant a mighty wind seized them; the king
and the fisherman flew through the air, but the
body-guard stood, as if fallen from heaven. They
waited long; but when nothing came of it, they returned
to the palace, and told the terrified people
what they had seen.
In due time the king with the fisherman appeared
on the summit of the mountain, from whence he saw
the whole country. Although there was no palace,
nor even a cottage, still it pleased him greatly
at first sight.
“There,” said the fisherman to the king, “is the
lake where I catch the wonderful fish; I haven’t
gone farther yet in any direction.”
“Very well,” said the king, “let us go down.”
On reaching the lake the king told the fisherman
to catch the fish; but he went on himself to examine
the place. The farther he went the thicker the grass,
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till at last he had hard work to get through; still he
advanced till he came to a beautiful green meadow,
having on one side the forest, and on the other the
lake. Near the shore in a boat sat an old grandfather,
whose head was as white as an apple-tree in
blossom.
“Wilt thou row me over, grandfather?” asked the
king.
“Why should I not, since that is what I am here
for?”
The king took a seat in the boat. The old man
rowed without hurrying; but the boat moved lightly
over the smooth water, like a fly through the blue
sky. When they reached the middle of the lake the
old man turned to one side. Then the king saw a
grand castle half hidden in the dark forest.
“Oh, what a beautiful castle! Who reigns there?”
asked the king.
“Thou wilt learn if thou enter,” replied the old
man. When they touched the shore he gave the
king a green twig, and said: “Take this twig; it will
be of use to thee. Good-by, for thou wilt not see
me again.”
“But who will take me back?”
“No one. Thou wilt go back on dry land;” and
turning aside, he disappeared.
The king went straight to the palace; and if he wondered
at the words of the old man, he was still more
astonished when he entered the principal gate and saw
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no living soul. Thoughtfully he ascended the broad
steps, went through one chamber, then another, a
third, and a fourth; but nowhere did he find a living
creature. “This is some enchanted castle,” thought
the king to himself. “Who knows how I shall escape?
But I will see all, and then find the way
home.” He examined the chambers further till he
came to the last, and there in the middle of the room
sat an old man, bent to the floor. “I said this was
an enchanted castle,” thought the king; “here sits
one man!”
The old man raised his head, and seeing the king,
said: “Welcome; at last I see a human face!”
The king approached him and asked: “Who art
thou, and what does this empty palace mean?”
“I am a king, but without subjects or power; another
rules in my place,” answered the old man,
bitterly.
“What is the cause of this?”
“The treason of my own wife.”
“And is there no rescue?”
“Well, the same as none; therefore be off at once,
otherwise my wife will kill thee when she returns
from the King of the Toads.”
“I am not afraid of a woman,” said the king. “I
want to stand before her; we shall see if there is no
escape.”
“If there were escape I should not be sitting here
confined by the King of the Toads!”
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“Who is this King of the Toads?”
“Listen; I will tell thee my whole sad story. The
sun is yet high, and until it sets my wife will not
return: Once I ruled over a powerful nation; around
my palace was a great city, and near it a beautiful
garden. All is changed into a dark forest and a
lake. The fish in the lake are my former subjects.
I was once happy, and the more so because I obtained
as wife a beautiful and kind princess; but the
King of the Toads got into the place where the lake
now is, and he turned my wife’s heart from me. I
remonstrated, begged, threatened my wife with death,
but in vain. Every day she went to meet the King
of the Toads, and listened to his wheedling speech.
Once I came upon them in the summer-house, and
heard with my own ears their whispering and kissing.
At last the King of the Toads said: ‘I will find the
nest of the magic bird, will take its eggs, and give
them thee to eat; thou wilt become immortal and
ever young; then we shall be altogether happy.’
‘Deceitful serpent!’ I cried, springing from my hiding-place;
and with a sharp sword I cut the King of
the Toads in two. My wife fell upon him, weeping,
and he grew together again. Looking at me with
venomous eye he muttered words I could not understand,
and that moment I felt my blood grow cold,
and my veins stiffened so that I could not think
of further struggle. I came home in misery and sat
down on this chair to rest; but the King of the Toads
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froze me to my seat, and laid a spell upon the land.
From that time I sit here, I know not how many years.
My wife spends every day with her lover, and catches
frogs for him out of the lake; in return, he promises
her immortality and eternal youth. Now, thou canst
see there is no aid for me; but escape thou before
my wife kills thee.”
“I will not flee,” said the king, and drew his sword.
“I’ll cut off her head,—the traitorous soul!”
“Foolish man,” said the old king; “the King of
the Toads saves her, and will not let her be hurt.”
“Let him guard her; I must avenge thee,” answered
the king, and sat on a chair waiting for the
deceitful queen, paying no attention to the old man,
who begged him by everything in the world to escape.
As the sun was going down the queen came, and
was not a little astonished when she saw the stately
knight with her husband. The king drew his sword
and ran towards her, but the moment the sword
touched her clothing it broke in two. It would have
been bad for the king now, if he had not remembered
the twig which the boatman gave him. He pulled it
out quickly, and struck the queen three times. The
third time he struck she dropped on a seat, and was
unable to move an eye.
“Sit there, like thy husband,” said the king, mockingly,
and counselled with the old man what to do
further.
“It would be better,” said the old man, who gained
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courage when he saw his wife frozen to the chair,
“to persuade the King of the Toads to free the kingdom
and me from enchantment.”
“I will try,” answered the king; and going to the
adjoining chamber, where the queen’s wardrobe was,
he dressed in her garments and came back to the old
man. “Now I will go to the King of the Toads and
pretend to be his love, thy virtuous wife. Then I
will beg him; and if he does not do what I want, I’ll
freeze him with this twig, and stroke him with my
sword till his heart softens.”
“But beg of him first,” said the old man.
The king made his way in silence to the King of
the Toads; but as it was night he could not find him,
and was obliged to call out. He changed his voice,
which deceived the King of the Toads, who came
quickly and wished to embrace him, thinking that he
was the queen.
“No, my dear,” said the king; “first thou must
do something to please me. What good is it for us
to live together if my former husband is troubling
me? Either kill him altogether or give him back his
former condition, so that he may die; if thou wilt take
the spell from him, he will fall to dust and ashes.”
“Let it be as thou wishest,” said he, drawing
nearer.
But she moved away, and said: “I have one more
favor to ask, but this concerns us alone. As soon as
my former husband dies thou wilt take his place and
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we shall reign together, but what sort of a reign
would it be if the whole country were enchanted;
therefore give back its former shape to the kingdom,
and I will marry thee before the world.”
“So let it be,” replied the King of the Toads, and
embraced his supposed love, who refused no longer.
Scarcely had he touched her when he was struck
three times with the twig, in the dark night, and the
King of the Toads was frozen to the earth.
“Serpent of hell!” cried the king with his powerful
voice, “now I’ll enchant thee for the eternal
ages;” and with that he drew out his sword and cut
him into countless pieces, which he threw into the
water. Frogs rushed from every side with a terrible
croaking, and greedily swallowed the bits of the body
of their destroyer.
They had barely devoured him when the water began
to run out of the lake; and the king saw by the
light of the moon which had risen over the mountain
summit, how the tree-tops were rising quickly from
the water, higher and higher till the water disappeared
altogether, and in the place of the lake was a
splendid park, in which were multitudes of people
who, praising the king, hurried to the castle. The
king joined them, but before reaching the castle he
had to pass through a large city; and only after travelling
many streets did he arrive there. All the
chambers were lighted up, and full of people, so that
with difficulty did he find the old man, who was
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standing in the last chamber, and preventing the people
from hewing the queen to pieces; but the king
drew his sword and cut off her head. “She deserved
it,” said he to the old man, who dropped a few tears
for his former wife.
Now universal rejoicings began, but the liberated
king took no part in them. He called his deliverer
and said: “My hours are numbered, I give the
whole kingdom to thee; rule in my place.”
The new king thanked the old one kindly, and
when he rose in the morning, he heard that the old
king was dead.
Our king mounted a fiery steed, rode to the city,
and announced to the people the death and last will
of their former ruler. They grieved for a moment,
then with shouts of gladness greeted the new king.
After the burial of the old monarch, his successor
examined the kingdom; and as everything pleased
him greatly, he decided to stay there. Therefore he
went to his former palace, but the road was far longer
than when he had travelled it with the fisherman.
He was obliged to ride several weeks before arriving
there. No one knew him, for several years had
passed while he was in the enchanted kingdom. At
last an old grandfather came, who said: “I am one of
the body-guard who went with thee to the cliff where
thou didst leave us. Take me, I beg, into thy service
again, for all my comrades are dead; I am alone.”
The people believed quickly the grandfather’s
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words, gathered around the king and kissed the hem
of his garment. The king sold his castle, put everything
he could into wagons, and made ready for the
road. Now he remembered the fisherman, asked how
he was getting on, and when he had returned home.
“Only yesterday,” was the reply.
“Send for him,” commanded the king; and
straightway the fisherman was there.
When the king asked about his adventures, the
fisherman answered: “Royal Grace, I have no fish,
and God alone knows what happened in that place.
All at once the water disappeared under my boat and
I was on dry land. I left everything and ran away;
but trees began to grow under me, and so quickly
that every second branches struck my face. Since it
was in the night I might have lost my senses. In the
morning I wondered when I saw instead of a forest
an enormous city, with a great palace. I hurried
from that magic country, thinking to see my cottage
soon; but I travelled one day, I travelled two, a
week, a month, and then a year—no sign of my
cottage. I gave up for a time, and only yesterday I
came home safely. My wife was dead; I am all alone
now in this wide world.”
“Do not cry,” said the king; “thou hast me yet.
Thou wilt stay with me.”
The fisherman answered with tears, and all started
off on their journey. They arrived safely at the new
kingdom; and all lived happily till they died.
BEFORE times long past there reigned a king
somewhere, and he had three sons. When
they had grown up, and were trained as befits princes,
they came one day to their father and said: “Our
kingly father, permit us to visit strange lands, since
we know our own country well.”
“Yes, it is proper,” answered the king, wisely, “for
royal princes to know more than any of my subjects;
and I permit what ye ask, but on one condition. Ye
are all of an age in which almost every man seeks the
partner of his life; and as far as I know, ye also will
do the same. I have no wish to tell you what princesses
to fall in love with, but I ask this: Return
before a year and a day, and bring me some gift—not
costly, but valued—from your chosen ones.”
The princes were astonished that their father had
guessed their thoughts so well, and agreed without
thinking. Then they took their crossbows and went
to the open field. The eldest son let the bow-string
go, and the arrow flew to the east. The second let
the string go, and the arrow flew to the west.
“And where am I to aim?” cried the youngest,
whose name was Yarmil. That moment a mouse ran
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near him to its hole; he let the string go, and the
arrow flew after the mouse.
“Oh, thoughtless fellow!” said the eldest prince
in rebuke; “now thou must go to the mouse-hole.”
“It is settled,” answered Yarmil, and shrugged his
shoulders.
They went home, prepared for the road, and next
day started; the eldest to the east, the second to the
west, and Yarmil to the mouse-hole. Up to that moment
he had held it merely a jest; but how was he
astonished when on nearing the place the earth
opened so that he rode in conveniently, and sooner
than he could think was in an open country, in the
middle of which stood a white marble castle. Nowhere
did he see a living soul; and he felt sure then
that he would find no one in the castle; but scarcely
had he entered the gate when a lady came forth to
meet him who had not only garments, but face, hair,
eyes, in short everything, white as newly fallen snow.
She held by the bridle a mettlesome white steed, and
without saying a word, indicated to Yarmil to descend
from his own horse and sit on the white one;
but he had barely mounted the white steed when it
rose with him through the air, and without heeding
the bit, went on till it brought him to the earth before
a splendid castle. Yarmil marvelled, for the castle
was so brilliant that he could not look at it, such was
the glitter of gold and precious stones. Around
about, wherever the eye could see, was a beautiful
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garden, in which the most luxuriant trees were growing,
the most beautiful flowers were in bloom, and
birds of every color were singing.
When he had recovered from the first surprise,
Yarmil dismounted and wished to lead the steed to
the castle; but it tore away, rose through the air, and
vanished like a white dove in the clouds.
Full of expectation Yarmil entered the castle. He
struck on the gate; no answer, but it opened of itself.
He went in on broad marble steps to the door
of the first chamber. Again he knocked; no answer,
but the door opened. He entered, but how did
he wonder again! There was such splendor that he
exclaimed, “My father is by far the richest king,
but this chamber alone is worth more than his
kingdom.”
But if the first chamber was rich, the second was
richer; and that splendor increased till he came to the
eleventh, where there was a great crystal tub with
golden hoops, into which, through a golden pipe,
water still clearer than crystal was flowing. In the
twelfth chamber were only four naked walls, an ordinary
ceiling, and a common floor, but in the middle
of the floor a diamond pan. When Yarmil examined
more carefully, he saw written on it: “Whoever
wishes to liberate me must carry me next to his body,
and bathe me each day.”
Urged by curiosity Yarmil removed a diamond,
then a golden, and finally, with great effort, a silver,
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cover. But how was he frightened when under it
appeared a great ugly toad! He wished to escape,
but at that moment such terror seized him that in
spite of himself he took the toad out of the pan and
put it in his bosom. The toad chilled him, but in a
moment he was as happy as if he had liberated some
one from death. Straightway he went to the eleventh
chamber, took the toad from his bosom, and washed it
carefully; but to his great affliction he saw that it was
a toad, and the more he washed the uglier it grew.
When he had grown tired he put it in his bosom
again and went to the garden to cheer himself.
A sight of the trees and the flowers hitherto unnoticed,
the odor of them, and the singing of the birds
entertained him so that midday came before he knew
it. He went back to the castle, and there, to his
great surprise, saw in the first chamber a table covered
with the most delicate dishes. He sat down
with appetite, and when he had eaten to his content,
and drunk of the wine which an unseen hand had
placed before him in a golden goblet, he confessed
that he had never tasted at his father’s table, or at the
greatest festivals, such delicate dishes and such good
wine.
Now he looked the room through with more care;
the splendor did not charm him so much as at first,
but the many musical instruments, writing implements,
and beautiful books pleased him beyond measure,
for he was skilled in every good art.
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After the supper, which was as good as the dinner,
he lay on a soft bed and slept soundly till morning;
then he ate a good meal, which was on the table, and
spent the time as he had the day before. He was
annoyed at his lonely life, but he soon drove away
trouble. He was grieved because the more the toad
was washed the uglier it grew; still he washed it with
care, and carried it in his bosom.
Now the year was nearing its end, when he had
to return to his father with a gift from his bride. He
walked like one deprived of reason through the
castle and the garden; nothing could comfort him,
but still he did not forget to bathe the toad each day,
and with greater care. When the last day of the
year had come, he knew not what to begin; but
while walking through the room he saw on his writing-table
a sheet of paper not there before. He seized
it quickly; and on it was written in black letters:
Dear Yarmil,—I love thee unspeakably; but be thou
patient, as I am patient. A gift for thy father thou hast
in the pan; give it to him, but tarry not long at home. Put
me back in the pan.
Yarmil hastened with joy to the twelfth chamber,
took from the pan a rich casket set with diamonds,
and put the toad in the pan; then he ran out quickly,
mounted the white steed which was waiting, and
which rose in the air and flew regardless of bit, till
it stopped before the white castle; there the white
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lady gave Yarmil his horse, took the white steed, and
led it away.
In a short time Yarmil came to the great gate, and
when he had ridden through and looked, there was
nothing behind but a mouse-hole. Putting spurs to
his horse he rushed on at a gallop and came to the
gate of his father’s castle almost at the same moment
as his brothers, so that all three were able to appear
together before their father, and say: “Here we are,
according to thy command.”
“But have ye brought gifts from your princesses?”
asked the king.
“Of course,” cried the elder brothers, proudly.
Yarmil answered, as it were, timidly, with a nod; for he
knew not what was in that casket taken from the pan.
The king had invited a great number of guests to
look at the gifts. All were in the banqueting-hall.
The king led his sons thither, and when the feast was
ended, he said to the eldest: “Now give me the gift
from thy princess.”
“My love is the daughter of a great king,” said
the prince, proudly; and he gave his father a casket
containing a small mirror.
The king looked, and wondered not a little that he
saw his whole person. Then he said: “Well, men’s
hands can do everything.”
The second son gave him a still smaller mirror, but
the king saw in it his whole person; still he only said:
“Men’s hands can do everything. But what has thy
337]
princess sent me?” asked he of Yarmil. In silence,
and timidly, Yarmil gave him the casket. The king
barely looked in it when he cried in amazement,
“That princess of thine has wealth in abundance;
these diamonds alone have more value than my kingdom.”
But he wondered when he took from the
casket another such mirror, but smaller; and he was
really frightened when in a twinkle a puppet sprang
out and held the glass for him as soon as he looked
at it, and the moment he stopped looking the puppet
was gone.
“Oh,” cried the king, “no hand of man could
frame that;” and embracing Yarmil, he added with
tenderness: “Thou hast brought me true joy, my
son.”
Yarmil called to mind the ugly toad, and had no
regret now that he had spent a whole year with it;
but his brothers and his mother, who was a witch
and hated Yarmil, were enraged though they dissembled.
When the feast was over and the princes were parting
with their father, he said: “Go now with rejoicing,
but return in a year and a day, and bring me portraits
of your princesses.”
The elder brothers promised with joy, but Yarmil
barely nodded, for he feared what his father would
say should he bring the toad’s portrait; still he went
with his brothers beyond the town, where he parted
with them, and galloped on to the mouse-hole. He
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was just drawing near when the ground opened to
give a good entrance. At the white castle the white
lady took his horse and gave him the white steed,
which rose through the air, and regardless of bit, flew
on till it reached the golden castle. Yarmil hurried
to the twelfth chamber; the steed disappeared like a
dove in the clouds.
In the castle nothing was changed, and the diamond
pan was standing in the twelfth chamber. Yarmil
removed the three covers, took out the toad and
placed it in his bosom. Now he bathed it twice each
day, but to his grief it grew uglier. How could he
take the portrait of his princess to his father! He might
paint the most beautiful lady, because he was very
well skilled in painting, but he would not deceive his
father. Only the hope that the toad would help him
as before gave him strength to endure the dreary life.
At last the day was near in which he must return
to his father. He looked continually on his writing-table
till he saw to his great joy a sheet of paper on
which was written in silver letters,—
Dear Yarmil,—I love thee unspeakably; be patient,
as I am patient. Thou hast my portrait in the pan; give
it to thy father, but tarry not long. Put me back in the
pan.
Yarmil hastened to the twelfth chamber, found in
the pan a casket still richer than the first. He took
it quickly, and put the toad in its place. Then he
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hurried forth, sat on the white steed, which brought him
to the white castle, where the white lady gave him his
own horse. When he had ridden through the gate
and looked back, he saw nothing behind but a
mouse-hole. He put spurs to his horse, and rode to
the gate of his father’s castle at the same time with
his brothers. They stood before their father and
said: “Here we are, as thou hast commanded.”
“Do ye bring me portraits of your princesses?”
asked the king.
“Of course!” exclaimed the two elder brothers,
full of pride. But Yarmil only answered with a nod,
for he knew not what portrait the casket contained.
The king led them to the banqueting-hall, where
the guests were assembled. When the banquet was
over, he said to the eldest: “Now show me the portrait
of thy princess.”
The eldest brother gave a rich casket to his father.
He opened it, took out a portrait, and looking at it
from every side, said at last: “That is a beautiful
lady; she pleases me. Still there are fairer than she
in the world, but any man might love her.” Then
he gave the portrait to the guests, and said to his
second son: “And the portrait of thy princess?”
The second son gave him promptly a richer casket,
and smiled with happiness. He thought doubtless
that his father must be astonished at the beauty of
his princess; but he looked on her with indifference
and said: “A beautiful lady too, but there are more
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beautiful in the world; still any man might fall in love
with her.”
Then he nodded to Yarmil, who gave with trembling
hand his diamond casket. Scarcely had the
king looked at it when he exclaimed: “Thy princess
must be rich beyond measure; thy casket is at any
time worth twice my whole kingdom.” But how was
he astonished when he took out the portrait! He
looked fixedly at it for a while, unable to utter a
word. Then he said with the greatest enthusiasm,
“No; such a lady cannot be found in the world.”
All the guests crowded around the portrait, and in
one voice agreed with the king. At last Yarmil drew
near to look at his princess, unknown till that moment.
Now he regretted no whit that he had spent
two years in lone life and nursing a toad; but his
brothers and his mother were raging, and envied him
his princess.
Next day the princes were taking farewell, and the
king said to them: “After this time I will not let you
go again. In a year and a day I wish to see your
princesses; then we will celebrate the weddings.”
The two elder brothers were shouting with joy, but
Yarmil answered no word. They took leave of their
father and went together to the edge of the town,
where they separated; the eldest went to the east,
the second to the west, but Yarmil to the mouse-hole,
which opened quickly to give him a convenient passage.
At the white castle the white lady gave him
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the white steed, which flew to the golden castle regardless
of bit. There Yarmil descended, and the
steed vanished like a dove in the clouds.
Full of hope Yarmil hastened to the twelfth chamber,
for he trusted to find there his wondrous fair
princess whose portrait he had taken to his father;
but he found in the pan the ugly toad, which he put
in his bosom, and now washed three times each day.
In vain was all his labor, for the more he bathed the
uglier grew the toad. Had it not been for the portrait
he would have fled from the castle, and who
knows what he might have done? Every day his
strength decreased, and when the last day of the year
drew near it is a wonder that he did not despair; for
the toad had become now not only ugly beyond
measure, but all mangy, so that he shivered when he
looked at it. And now he must bring this to his
father as his chosen one.
“My father will kill me!” cried he with grief, and
threw himself on the couch. He thought what to
do, but could come to no resolve. At last he
reached to his bosom to look once more at the toad,
hoping that at sight of it a happy thought might
come; but a new surprise,—the toad was gone.
Now he began to lament. He ran through the whole
castle, searched every room, in the garden every tree
and bush, but no trace of the toad.
At last he remembered the dish in the twelfth
chamber, ran thither, but stopped on the threshold
342]
as if thunderstruck; for that poor chamber had become
a real paradise, and in the middle of it stood a
lady as beautiful, if not still more beautiful, than the
portrait which he had carried to his father. In
speechless amazement he looked at her, and who
knows how long he might have stood there had she
not turned to him and said: “My dear, thou hast
suffered much; but I am not yet entirely free, and
my people are not. Hurry now to the cellar; here
is the key, and do to a hair what I command, or it
will go ill with us. When the door is opened, thou
wilt hear a terrible wailing; but listen to nothing,
and speak not a word. Go down on the steps; below
thou wilt find on a table twelve burning tapers,
and before each taper one shirt. Roll up the shirts,
quench the tapers, bring them all with thee.”
Yarmil took the key. When he opened the door
of the cellar he heard such wailing that it is a wonder
his heart did not break; but mindful of what
had been said by his bride, he went boldly, descended
the steps, rolled up the twelve shirts,
quenching at each one, one taper; then he took the
shirts and the tapers and hurried back. But how did
he wonder when he saw a man nailed to the door by
his tongue! The man begged Yarmil by all things
to set him free, so that there was a strange feeling in
Yarmil’s heart; but after short hesitation he mastered
this feeling, and shut the door.
When he came to his bride and gave her the shirts,
343]
with the tapers, she said: “These twelve shirts are
my twelve skins, in which I was a toad; and these
twelve tapers burned me continually. Now I am
liberated, it is true; but it will be three years before
I shall be completely free. Know that I am the
daughter of a mighty king, whom that foul monster,
who is nailed to the cellar door by the tongue,
changed into a toad because I refused him my hand.
He is a wizard; but there is a witch more powerful
than he. To punish him, she nailed him to that
door; I, too, am still in her power. Now promise
that for three years thou wilt tell no living person
into what creature I was enchanted; but especially
tell not how many skins I had.”
“Not even to my own mother!” exclaimed Yarmil,
with excitement.
“It is just from thy own mother that thou must
hide it most, for she is a witch, and hates thee; she
knows long since that thou art three years with me,
and most carefully will she try to learn from thee just
what I have forbidden thee to tell.”
Yarmil was greatly grieved, but the princess soon
cheered him, especially when she said: “It is now
high time to go, so as to come to thy father’s at the
right moment.” Then she took him by the hand,
and led him down the stairs. In front of the castle a
carriage with four white horses was waiting; when
they entered, the horses rushed off with such speed
that soon they passed the white castle. Yarmil was
344]
going to ask who the white lady was, when the
princess said: “That is my mother, who has aided
in my liberation.”
Soon they were at the great gate; and when they
had passed it, and looked back, there was nothing
but a mouse-hole. They arrived at the king’s castle
just in the same moment with the two elder brothers
and their princesses. But no one looked at them,
for the eyes of all were turned to Yarmil’s bride.
The king was rejoiced most of all. He conducted
the bride to the banqueting-hall, where there was a
multitude of guests, and with tears of delight he exalted
the happiness of his favorite son; but the elder
princes and the queen were enraged, though they
would not let it be known.
On the following day came the weddings of the
three princes; though Yarmil and his bride were the
last, still glory came only to them. At the banquet
the guests drank continually to the health of his
bride, so that the other princesses were purple from
shame.
When Yarmil was almost reeling with delight, the
queen drew near him, and praised with great flattery
the beauty of his bride; but all at once she spoke of
her origin, and in every way tried to discover whence
she had come.
Yarmil at first evaded her questions; but when she
urged him vehemently to tell from what land came his
bride, he said: “Dear mother, I will do everything
345]
according to thy wish, but of this one thing ask
me not.”
“I know well whence she comes,” smiled the
queen; “I know, too, that thou didst not see her
first in her present form.”
“Of course not; but I am proud that I liberated
her.”
“Oh, my dear son!” exclaimed the queen, compassionately.
“I pity thee greatly for letting thyself be
so duped; but dost thou know that that beauty of
hers is pure deceit?”
“Why?” asked Yarmil in fright.
“Because she is a witch,” whispered the queen in
his ear, with an anxious look. “There is still time,”
continued she, when she saw that Yarmil as it were
believed, “to extricate thyself from her snares; and I
wish to aid thee in every way. But thou must tell
me what form she had before.”
Yarmil said that he would not tell, but the queen
did not abandon her plan. When she could not discover
from him directly, she began to name every
kind of beast, looking with exceeding quickness at
his face. Yarmil shook his head unceasingly, but
was confused when she said “toad.”
“Then she was a toad before,” cried in horror the
queen. “Ah! dear son, it is ill, very ill with thee;
but it may be well yet if only I know in how many
skins she was living.”
Again Yarmil answered decidedly that he would
346]
not tell, but the queen tried so long that at last she
discovered. Now she knew what she wanted, and
went from Yarmil. It is a wonder that he was not
suspicious, but he said nothing to the princess.
Next morning a number of guests went with the
king and his sons to the chase, and stayed in the forest
till evening; thus the queen could act freely.
While the three princesses and the remaining
guests were walking in the garden, she stole into the
chamber of Yarmil’s bride, found the twelve shirts
and the tapers, hid them in her own apartments, and
in the evening, when the king had returned from the
chase and all were sitting in the banqueting-hall at
table, she went to the garden, where she burned the
shirts and the tapers. At that moment Yarmil’s
bride felt great faintness, so that she went for fresh
air in the garden.
Yarmil hurried after her, but he had scarcely gone
through the door, when she cried: “Woe is me,
Yarmil! Thou hast told what I forbade thee to tell.
Forget me; I must now to the glass mountain, from
which there is no liberation.” Straightway she vanished
in the darkness of night.
Yarmil remained a moment as if paralyzed; then
he ran through the garden as if he had lost his
wits, and called his bride by the most endearing
names, but in vain. The guests ran out at the sound
of his lamentation, and were greatly terrified when
Yarmil told his misfortune. The queen also came
347]
quickly, and listened as if with terrified wonder to
what had happened.
“That was a witch,” said she; “and ’tis well that
other mishaps have not come.”
But the king was grieved more than all, and put
an end to the rejoicing. Next day the two elder
brothers went away with their brides, and poor Yarmil
stayed home alone. In vain did his father try to
comfort him; in vain did he promise that he would
go himself to seek another bride for him. Yarmil
was not to be consoled; and when the first onrush of
sorrow had passed, he resolved to go to the glass
mountain for his bride.
“In what direction wilt thou go?” objected his
father. “While I live no one has heard of a glass
mountain.”
“Still I will go,” said Yarmil, firmly. “It will come
to the same whether I perish on the road or at home;
in any event I shall die of disappointment.”
The king tried in all ways to dissuade him from
going, but Yarmil would not let him talk. He
mounted his horse, dropped the reins, and let him
go whithersoever he would. He travelled long in
this objectless way, hither and thither; but at last
he saw that he must act differently if he meant to
reach the glass mountain. But now came his real
trouble; for wherever he asked about the glass mountain,
people stared at him, and said that there was no
such mountain in the world. Yarmil did not let
348]
himself be frightened; and now he galloped the more
eagerly on his horse, and asked the more carefully
everywhere. He had passed through towns without
number, but still no one knew of a glass mountain.
At last he heard the name.
In a certain town there was a juggler,—a showman
with every kind of wonder. Yarmil was just
going past him at the moment when he cried out:
“The witch with her twelve daughters on the glass
mountain!”
Yarmil called the juggler aside and said: “Here are
ten goldpieces, tell me where the glass mountain is.”
“I am a poor man,” said the juggler, honestly,
“and need these goldpieces greatly; but I know
nothing of the glass mountain.”
“Nor in what country it is?” asked Yarmil, impatiently.
“I know that,” answered the man. “It is in the
east, but they say it is very far off; and besides, they
say that no one can go within twenty miles of it.”
Yarmil threw the ten goldpieces into the juggler’s
cap, and putting spurs to his horse galloped off to the
east. Many a time did the sun rise and set before
he reached the glass mountain. But what good did
it do him to go there? Around the mountain flowed
an immensely great river, and on the bridge which
was across it stood on guard three very fierce giants.
Yarmil’s courage fell. That moment the white
lady from the white castle appeared suddenly before
349]
him and said: “Bind thy horse’s hoofs with thy coat,
and go very carefully over the bridge. The giant
who stands on watch will see thee only when thou
art in front of him, and will start after thee; but throw
behind this dust and nothing will harm thee. Do the
same for the second and third giant.” She gave him
three packages of dust, and said: “Beyond the river
is a mill in which they give a witch to grind. Ask
the miller for a night’s lodging; he will give it thee,
and invite thee to supper. Towards the end of the
supper the cook will bring him a roast cock, and to
that he will not invite thee; he eats it all himself. The
bones of it he leaves on the plate and the cook must
throw them under the wheel; but tell her to hide them
for thee. And when it will be midnight, go to the glass
mountain and put the bones before thee; but be careful
to save one till thou art on the summit, then throw
that last one back over thy head.”
The moment the lady had finished, she disappeared.
Yarmil sprang from his horse, tore his coat into four
pieces, and with them muffled the feet of his horse;
then he mounted and rode cautiously to the bridge.
The first giant was sitting with his back to him and
dozing. Yarmil passed him safely; but that moment
the giant woke, and howled with a terrible voice to
him to come back. Here Yarmil threw the dust behind,
and that moment there was such darkness that
it hid the giant completely. The same happened
with the second and third giant, and Yarmil crossed
350]
the river safely. Not far off was the mill, and the
miller stood just on the threshold.
“What dost thou wish here?” growled he at
Yarmil.
“Oh, grant me a night’s lodging,” said Yarmil; “I
am a traveller from distant lands.”
“I’ll give thee nothing,” answered the miller,
roughly, “for if I did I should lose my place.”
Yarmil begged again, and begged so long that the
miller asked: “Whence art thou?” Yarmil told him;
and the miller, meditating awhile, said: “Well, if thou
art the son of so powerful a king, I will give thee a
night’s lodging; for we are from the same country,
and I knew thy father very well.”
Then he led him to a sitting-room; and since it was
just dark, he asked him to supper. Yarmil watched
continually to see if the cock would soon come to the
table, and he had not long to wait. The miller grew
sullen, and without speaking a word ate the cock.
Yarmil went out, and pressing a few goldpieces into
the hands of the cook, begged her to hide the bones
of the cock for him. The moment the cook saw
the goldpieces she was glad to agree.
When the miller had picked the cock he called the
cook and ordered her strictly to throw the bones
under the wheel. The cook took the plate and motioning
as if she had thrown them into the water, put
them very adroitly into her apron; when all were
asleep she gave them to Yarmil. He waited quietly
351]
till the approach of midnight, then he went out cautiously
and made for the glass mountain with his
horse. Full of expectation he took out the first bone
and put it on the mountain; and behold! in a moment
a step was made so that he could walk comfortably on
it, and so it happened with every bone. Yarmil was
already at the summit and only one bone remained
to him; this he threw with all his power over his head,
and in a twinkle there was a pleasant highway along
which his horse ran after him with ease.
All wearied, Yarmil fell down at the castle, in which
lived the sorceress with the twelve princesses her
daughters, and he soon fell asleep. When he woke
the sun was high in the heavens; and before he could
think what further to do, his own princess came to him.
“I told thee,” said she, reproachfully, “to forget
me; but thou didst not obey.”
“Hide me somewhere quickly from the sorceress;
in the night we will flee.”
“Simple man!” said the princess smiling. “She
knows long ago that thou art here; rather go to her,
but be polite beyond measure. At dinner, rise after
each dish and walk through the room, otherwise thou
wilt stay here for the ages.”
Yarmil had to obey. When he came to the sorceress
he bowed low before her, and said: “Great
mighty lady, I have come for my bride.”
“I will give her to thee,” smiled the sorceress, “but
first thou must serve me three years.”
352]
“I am glad to do everything thou mayest desire,”
said Yarmil bowing; and the sorceress answered graciously,
inviting him at once to the table, to which
just then one of the princesses brought the first dish.
Yarmil ate with a relish; but when he had finished,
he said to the sorceress: “Permit me, great mighty
lady, to walk a little. I have travelled so much that I
fear my legs will lose their power.”
“Oh, walk if it please thee,” answered the sorceress,
but her eyes glittered with anger. And
Yarmil did the same after each dish, and the sorceress
was ready to split from rage. Next day she gave
him a wooden axe and saw, and said: “Thou must
clear all that forest over there, or be the son of
Death.”
Yarmil took the axe and the saw, and went on. In
the forest he threw himself on the ground and
thought of death; for such a stretch of forest no
man could clear alone, still less with such tools. At
midday his princess brought him dinner.
“Ah!” scolded she, “thou art not working diligently.”
“Why trouble myself for nothing?” sighed Yarmil.
“Only be of good courage,” said the princess, comforting
him. “It is not so bad to-day; it will be
worse to-morrow.”
Then she gave him dinner; and when Yarmil had
eaten, he put his head on her lap and fell asleep
soundly. Then the princess took out of her bosom
353]
some kind of powder, and muttering mysterious
words she threw it in the air. And wonder of wonders!
in the twinkle of an eye invisible hands began
to fell the aged trees, cut, split, and pile, so that in a
short time the whole forest was felled.
Now Yarmil woke up, and hurried with the princess
to the castle. The sorceress praised him; she
suppressed her rage with difficulty, and said: “Thou
hast worked out thy first year in order.”
Next day the sorceress gave him a spade and a
wheelbarrow, and said: “Thou must carry away that
mountain out there, or be the son of Death.”
Yarmil went with his tools to the hill, but when
there he threw himself on the ground, for a thousand
men would not have been able to carry off the hill in
ten years. At midday his princess brought him dinner,
and said: “Oh, thou art working as diligently
as yesterday!”
“I am,” sighed Yarmil.
“Only be of good cheer,” said the princess, comforting
him. “To-day it is not so bad; it will be
worse to-morrow.”
When Yarmil had eaten, he put his head on her
lap and fell asleep. The princess again threw into
the air a powder of some kind, muttering mysterious
words; and straightway unseen hands began to work
so vigorously that in a short time the hill was carried
away.
Then Yarmil woke up, and hurried to the sorceress
354]
to tell her he had done what she had commanded.
She flamed up in anger, but nevertheless said: “Thou
hast worked the second year of thy service in order.”
Next day she gave him a tailor’s thimble, and said:
“Thou must bail out that fish-pond, or be the son of
Death.”
Yarmil took the thimble and went. At the fish-pond,
however, he threw himself on the ground and
waited for the princess. She came sooner than usual;
and when Yarmil, strengthened with food, had fallen
asleep with his head on her lap, she threw powder in
the air, muttering mysterious words. Soon the water
began to disappear from the fish-pond. Now she
roused Yarmil, and said to him: “Draw thy sword,
and give good care. When all the water is gone
from the pond the sorceress will take the shape of a
rain-storm, and try to destroy us; but look well at
the darkness, and where it is blackest strike there
with thy sword.”
Yarmil promised to do so, and had barely drawn
his sword when a black darkness rushed from the
castle,—but almost on the ground, so that Yarmil
could strike the blackest spot with ease. At that
moment the darkness turned into the sorceress, and
Yarmil’s sword stuck in her heart. With fearful cursing,
she fell to the earth and died. Yarmil hurried to
the castle with the princess, mounted his horse, and
rushed off at a swift gallop.
He had to travel far before he came to his father’s
355]
castle; but to make up, there was joy unspeakable at
the happy meeting. The queen was terrified when
she saw them, and she had reason; for when Yarmil
told all to his father the king gave her to be burned
without mercy.
When the feasting was over Yarmil set out with
his wife on the journey to their kingdom. When
they came to the mouse-hole it was no longer a
mouse-hole, but a magnificent gate leading to a great
city, in the middle of which stood a golden castle on
a hill; and in that city there were multitudes of
people everywhere, and in the castle throngs of courtiers
and servants, who greeted with mighty applause
their master and mistress, thanking Yarmil at the
same time for their liberation.
Now followed feasting, which lasted for eight whole
days; and when the feasting was over they all lived
happily beyond measure, because the royal pair were
goodness itself.
IN a certain town were encamped a regiment of
cuirassiers, and they had a very unpleasant life.
Twelve men of them agreed to desert,—three sergeants
and nine from the ranks. They carried out
their plan; and when they had gone a good distance,
one said to the rest: “Let us look, brothers, and see
if we are not pursued.” Another dismounted, and
climbed a high tree,—“Oh! they are searching;
but they will not overtake us, for we are far in advance
of them.” Then he came down, mounted his
horse, and all rode rapidly on,—rode till dusk.
Then the chief man said: “Where shall we go for
the night, brothers? Around here we see nothing
but mountains and forests.”
One of them climbed a tree again to look for a
light. He saw one, and called to his comrades,
“Look out! We will ride in the direction in which
I throw this sword, for I see a light there.”
All rode toward the light, and came to a very large
building in the wild mountains. At the first glance
they saw it was an enormous castle, which was open.
They entered the court, led their horses to the stable,—where
oats were ready for twelve horses,—and then
357]
went themselves into a hall where a table was laid for
twelve persons, so that all might sit down and eat;
but there was not a living soul to be seen.
“Brothers,” said one of them, “may we touch this
food and drink?”
“Why not?” said the chief. “What if we have to
pay a few ducats for the entertainment?”
They sat down, and ate with good relish. After
they had eaten and drunk, an old sorceress slipped
in and saluted them, saying: “Good evening, gentlemen.
I greet you in this our famous castle. Did the
supper taste well?”
“We ate with pleasure,” answered one in the name
of all, “only we were a little afraid how it would
end.”
“Fear not, fear not, I am glad ye are strengthened
after the long ride,” said the sorceress; and then she
said further: “Now of course ye will need good beds,
so as to refresh yourselves with grateful sleep. In
the next chamber are twelve beds and twelve caskets.
Lie on the beds prepared for you, but let no man
dare, on pain of great punishment, to look at the caskets,
which are unlocked.”
All went to the next chamber; the sorceress gave
them good-night and went out through the opposite
door. In the morning when they rose everything was
well prepared for them,—basins with water and towels,
and food for each man. After breakfast they spoke
of the good cheer which they had not expected to find
358]
in the castle. They spoke of various subjects till they
came to the caskets, and the splendid things that must
be therein. Some expressed great curiosity; some
were heard to say that they could not refrain till
evening from looking in the caskets; others warned
their comrades not to do that which they might
regret.
They had a pleasant time all day at the castle, an
excellent dinner, a good lunch, a splendid supper.
After supper they went to bed. The sun was shining
brightly through the windows next morning, but no
man was stirring.
The chief rose and called the others, saying, “It is
time to be up.” Only two gave answer; the rest did
not move. These three went to the beds and found
their comrades lifeless. All were terrified, and went
to the stable to look at their horses. In the stable
they found the nine dead horses, of the nine dead
men.
“What shall we do?” asked one of them. “We
must leave this place where our comrades have perished;
nothing can comfort us again.”
They returned to the hall where breakfast was
ready for only three. They sat down and ate. After
eating, the sorceress came again, and said: “Ye
see, my friends, that sinful curiosity has cost those
nine men their lives. They could withstand it no
longer, rose at midnight, opened the caskets, and
looked at the contents; scarcely had they lain down
359]
again when sudden death overtook them. Had they
followed my advice, as ye have, all might have had a
pleasant time, and lived joyously here a whole year.
Now I see by your faces that nothing can comfort
you here, and that ye would gladly go away.”
“Yes,” answered one, “we fear to remain longer
in this place, where our comrades died a sudden
death.”
“There is nothing to fear,” said the sorceress;
“but since it is unpleasant for you, I will not keep
you. Go where ye like, but before going each may
look without fear or danger in his casket, and take
the things inside to remember me by; they may be
useful.”
The men were afraid at first to open the caskets,
having before their eyes the sad example of their
comrades; but when the sorceress assured them again
and again that they might open them without fear and
take out the contents, they grew bold and opened
them. The first took from his casket a cap, which
the sorceress said had such power that whoever put it
on his head no man could see him. The second drew
from his casket a mantle, and whoever put it on, the
sorceress said, could fly through the air as high as
he wished. The third took a purse which had the
power that whenever it was shaken ten ducats were
in it.
The sorceress bade them good-by. They thanked
her for the hospitality and useful presents, and
360]
saddling their horses, rode away from that castle with
the Lord God.
They travelled long, and on the road kept telling
what a good time they would have with their gifts.
At last they came to a large town, took up their lodging
at an inn, and asked what there was strange in the
place. The innkeeper answered: “Nothing, unless
it be that we have a princess immeasurably fond
of playing cards, and who says that no one is able
to play with her. She vanquishes every comer, and
then has him flogged out of the castle.”
The man who had the purse thought, “Wait a
while, I’ll settle thy play.” He made ready straightway,
and went to the castle. He had himself announced,
and declared that he wished to play with the
princess. Meanwhile the other two ate and drank
well in the inn.
The princess was glad to find some one again with
whom to play cards and whom she might overcome.
She had him brought in without delay. The game
began. The man lost; but he didn’t mind that, for
whenever he lost he shook the purse and had ten
ducats again. So he kept losing and shaking the
purse till the princess was astonished, and thought to
herself: “Where dost thou get all these ducats, good
man? Thou hast not a treasury at thy side, and still
thou hast plenty of money. How dost thou get it?”
She watched him and saw that he shook the purse
on his knee, from which he took the ducats. She
361]
had already won a great bag of ducats, but still was
not able to win all he had. She kept thinking how
to get that magic purse. “Now let us rest a little,”
said she, and went to the next room, from which she
brought two goblets of wine. One she gave him and
drank the other herself, for they were tired and
needed refreshment. Her wine was pure, but in his
she put a sleeping-powder. She drank to his health,
and he emptied his goblet at a draught. After a
while he was so very drowsy that he slipped from
the seat, dropped under the table, and fell soundly
asleep. That was his misfortune. The princess took
the magic purse and gave him one like it containing
ten ducats.
When he woke up the princess said to him: “Now
let us play again.” They played while he had
ducats. When the ducats were gone he shook and
shook the purse, but in vain. The princess said:
“Well, my dear man, since thou hast no money, go.
But that disgrace which I have put on others I will
not put on thee. I will not have thee flogged out of
the castle because I have won much money from
thee; go in peace.”
He went to his friends in great trouble. They
greeted him from afar, and called out: “Well, how
didst thou prosper?”
“Oh, badly, very badly, brothers; I no longer have
the purse; I lost that.”
“Oh, comrade, that is bad; how shall we live
362]
now? We are in debt for food and drink, and have
nothing to pay with.”
The one who had the magic mantle said: “Do ye
know what, brothers? I’ll take a good vengeance on
that wicked woman!”
“But how?” was the question.
He answered, “This is how I’ll do it. Let me have
thy cap so that no one may see me, and I’ll take my
mantle. When the princess is going to church I’ll
seize her, fly with her through the air to desert regions,
so far away that she will never be able to come home
again.”
“Yes, that will be a just punishment for her,” said
the two others. The third one immediately took the
cap, wrapped the mantle around him, and waited for
the princess. As she was going along the street he
seized her, flew far away with her to wild mountains,
and let her down there on the ground near a
pear-tree. On that tree were beautiful pears.
The princess begged the man to climb the tree and
shake it, so that she might have some of the fruit to
eat. “I’ll gratify thee just once,” said he. But he
was so cunning that he did not leave the cap or
magic mantle on the ground, but took them up on
the tree, hung them both on a limb, and shook the
tree with all his might. The cap and the mantle
fell to the ground before the pears. The princess
put the cap on her head at once, wrapped the
mantle around her, and was off in an instant,—sooner
363]
than the man on the tree had recovered from
his fright.
He was now alone in the wild mountains. What
was he to do? He stood motionless as the tree at his
side, as if senseless from a thunderbolt; he had no
longer magic cap or magic mantle. “Oh, where
shall I go?” groaned he, and walked around on the
mountains. In his trouble and fright he picked up
some pears and ate them. Then other terrible miseries
came upon him, for he had barely eaten the pears
when unheard of gigantic horns grew out of his head,
so that he could not walk through the woods nor
turn around; the horns stopped him everywhere; he
could barely crawl forward.
With great care and much struggling, he dragged
himself over a bit of road and came to a deep ravine,
in which a hermit lived whose name was Wind.
“Oh, friend,” said the man, “help me from the
mountain, and take me home.”
Said Wind, “I am not strong enough to bear
thee to thy home, but go to my brother; he is the
strongest of us. He will take thee home quickly.”
“I should like to go to him, but I cannot move.”
“He is not far from here,—there, on that side;
but go as well as thou art able. He will rid thee of
those horns.”
The man pushed through as best he could, and
came, covered with sweat, to another cave, in which
the eldest Wind brother was living. He fell on his
364]
knees before Wind, and cried imploringly: “Be so
kind as to bear me home!”
“I should like to help thee, my friend; but it is
not so easy as may seem to thee. I must go to the
Lord to ask with what force Wind may blow. If
Wind may blow so trees will be torn out with their
roots, thou canst reach home; if Wind blows but
weakly, thou wilt not go there, for ’tis far. Wait
a while; I’ll come back soon.”
Wind went to ask the Lord how hard he might
blow, and the Lord commanded him to blow mightily.
When he returned, the man asked: “How is it?”
“Well,” said Wind, “I must blow mightily; thou
wilt reach home. But knowest thou there is an
apple-tree over there? Climb it, pluck an apple,
cut it into four parts, and eat; thy great horns will
fall off.”
The man was glad, climbed the apple-tree quickly,
but the horns hindered him much. He plucked an
apple and ate it; how soon was he free of the horns!
He came down from the tree like a squirrel, and
thought: “Oh, brother, thou’lt get back thy things!”
As he was coming down he took more apples and put
them in his pocket; then went to the pear-tree and
took pears. Soon Wind caught him up, bore him off
swiftly, and in a short time put him down in front
of the inn where his friends were waiting impatiently.
They were all very glad.
“Where wert thou?” asked they.
365]
“Oh, I was where ye will not be to your dying day,
brothers!”
“How didst thou prosper?”
“Badly, badly.”
“Where hast thou the cap and the mantle?”
“Oh, that woman took them from me!”
“Woe to us,—woe, passing woe! Now we have
neither the purse, the cap, nor the mantle. We are
beggared beyond reckoning.”
The innkeeper would not let them go because of
their debt.
“What will become of us?” asked they in one
voice.
The man whom Wind bore home said: “I have
here noble and wonderful fruit which I brought from
the wild mountains. One of you will take these pears
to the street and sell them; but do not dare to sell
them to any one save the princess when she is going
home from church. For the people thou must put
such a price that they will not buy; for the princess
reduce the price so that she may buy.”
One of the men put the pears in a clean basket,
covered them with a neat cloth, and went to the
square through which the princess was wont to go to
church and return. Soon she was coming out of the
church, her servant following some steps behind.
She saw the uncommonly beautiful pears from a distance,
came up herself, and asked: “How many dost
thou give for a copper?”
366]
“Oh, these pears are not sold for copper coin!
They are so splendid, and have such a flavor, that I
can give only three for a ducat.”
The princess bought all, and gave them to her
servant to carry; she had barely reached home, and
sat near the table, when she took a golden knife, pared
and ate with great relish a number of pears. She
ate with such pleasure that she saw not how horns
began to grow on her head after the first pear; and
in a little while they had grown so much that she
could not remain in the room. She went to the great
supper-hall, but even there was forced to lie down
on the floor, so broad and so lofty were her horns.
She gave herself up to fearful lamentation and tears,
so that all the servants and the king, her father,
with the queen, her mother, ran in. All were
horrified and wrung their hands, seeing the princess
disfigured.
The king sent quickly for the doctors, who came in
all haste from each corner and town. The servants
ran to every place; each one in his excitement
brought whomsoever he knew. The doctors met and
shook their heads one after another; each said that
in his life he had never seen nor had experience of
such a case. They held a consultation, and at last
decided to saw off the horns. They went to work,
but in vain; they had barely sawed a piece, when
it grew on again quickly, so that fright seized every
one. The princess was so horrified and ashamed that
367]
she would have preferred to be out of the world; no
man could help her. Then the king made proclamation
that whoso would free the princess from the
horns, would get her in marriage, and with her the
whole kingdom.
Who was so glad now as the man with the apples?
“Wait,” thought he; “my little bird, thou’lt
sing as I whistle,—no man can help thee but me.”
He had fine clothes brought, and dressed as a doctor
had himself announced at the palace. He was
soon admitted, and began to speak to the princess,
saying: “You must have angered God greatly, must
have committed grievous sins, for which you are punished
in this way. I expect to give you real help;
but first of all you must tell me sincerely what you
have done,—my aid has to be rendered in view of
that.”
She confessed with weeping that she had been
fond of playing cards; had outplayed all men, then
had them flogged from the castle. The last time she
had played with a stranger, from whom she had
stolen a magic purse; and afterward she had stolen
from another man a magic cap and mantle. No
doubt the Lord had now punished her for that.
“Before we can think of a cure,” said the unknown
physician, “you must return the stolen property.”
The princess had all the above-mentioned articles
brought at once, and gave them gladly to the doctor,
who promised to deliver them to the owners. “I
368]
will carry them away,” said he, “and bring my medicine,
through which you will be freed from the horns.”
Half an hour later he returned, took her by the
hand, looked at her tongue, and said: “Charming
woman, you have eaten something, I suppose, from
which these horns grew.”
The princess answered: “I don’t know that I have
eaten anything harmful; I ate a few beautiful pears;
with that exception I have never eaten any common
food.”
“You must have eaten something,” said the doctor.
“I have good medicine that will not fail; but I
can only help you on condition that I receive the
whole kingdom, with you in marriage, as our lord
the king has proclaimed.”
The king and princess promised then that the proclamation
would be carried out if he would free her
from the horns. After these words he set about the
cure. He took from his pocket an apple, and cut it
into four parts; he told her to lie down, and gave her
the first fourth of the apple. She was not able however
to lie with comfort by reason of the horns. When
she had eaten all the four quarters of the apple, the
horns fell off at a blow. Then there was mighty
gladness throughout the whole castle; every one rejoiced
that the princess, the only daughter of the
king, was free of her horns.
The king had the marriage contract drawn up, and
soon after they celebrated the wedding, at which the
369]
two friends of the young king were present; and he
promised that while they lived they should remain at
his court as the very first lords.
There was eating and drinking at the wedding;
and among other things they ate bread made from
rye. But, Mark tell thou no lie.
THERE was a king, and he had seven sons,—young
men strong and healthy as deer, except
the seventh, the youngest, whose name was Jalmir.
He was in his twentieth year, and still a nurse had to
care for him as for a little child. It was pitiful to
look at Jalmir; he was as shapely as a maiden, and
beautiful as a spring day, still could not walk from
weakness. How much the king had paid to doctors,
quacks, and every kind of old woman, to cure him,
but in vain! At last the afflicted father lost all hope
that his dearest son would ever grow strong.
For this reason there reigned in the king’s palace
deep distress, which was in no way to the taste of
Jalmir’s brothers, especially since they could not
hunt in the neighborhood. “What shall we do in
future?” asked the eldest one day when they were
resting in the forest after a hunt. “Let us go into
the world.”
“Yes, yes!” answered all the others. They went
home and laid their wishes before their father.
“What am I to do?” objected the king. “Jalmir
is sickly; I shall be without aid in my old age.”
The sons agreed with him in this, but wheedled
him so slyly that at last they received his consent
371]
to go out in the world. They rushed with rejoicing
to the stable, chose the best horses, took what
money they could, and that same day rode away
from their father’s house at a gallop, without even
saying good-by to their brother Jalmir. How strange
was the feeling at the heart of the poor fellow
when his nurse told him of this! He turned from
her in silence; but under the pillow with which
he covered his face he shed many tears. When it
was growing dark the nurse hurried out of his chamber
to chat with the servants. She began with the
cook, and they talked till midnight was near before
she knew it.
Meanwhile Jalmir was lying on his bed sadder
than ever. This time he was not thinking of his
bodily pain, but of his brothers who had left him
without saying farewell; this troubled him most. He
thought, “Shall I ever be well?” and some internal
voice said that he would. Filled with hope he fell
into a doze, and saw himself hunting on horseback,
and hurling a spear at wild beasts as his brothers had
done. All at once, and near midnight, a venerable
man, with snow-white beard reaching to his waist,
stood before the bed, and said: “Jalmir art thou
sleeping?”
Jalmir started, opened his eyes, but saw no one.
“That was a dream,” thought he. He meditated
a while, and again closed his eyes. After a short
time the old man stood before him again, and asked:
372]
“Jalmir art thou sleeping?” Jalmir opened his eyes
quickly, but saw no one. “That was only a dream
then,” said he to himself, and again closed his eyes.
But soon the old man stood before him and inquired
a third time: “Jalmir art thou sleeping?”
“I am not,” said Jalmir, and rubbing his eyes, saw
the old man at his bed.
“Rise in the morning,” said the old man, “provide
thyself with everything for the road, and go through
the southern gate. Outside the town thou wilt find
under an old pear-tree a white horse; mount that
horse and ride after thy brothers.” Then the old
man vanished in a twinkle.
Jalmir rubbed his eyes again, and looked around his
chamber, but there was no old man anywhere. “It
was only a dream,” thought he. Again he lay down
and slept soundly; but when he woke in the morning
he felt so well that he sprang from his bed, and
jumped around the chamber from gladness. His
nurse returned at that moment; but when she saw
that her weakly charge was well, she ran to the king,
and before she had reached the door, cried: “Jalmir
is well!”
The king went out, and asked in a sad voice:
“Hast thou lost thy senses?”
“He is really well,” said the nurse with greater
rejoicing; but the king shook his head.
Meanwhile Jalmir recollected his supposed dream,
and ascribed his recovery to that majestic old man.
373]
“Since he has cured me, I must obey him,” said he to
himself. He dressed quickly and went to the king.
When the king saw him he believed the nurse, and,
thoroughly happy, fell on the young man’s neck; but
he was astonished still more when Jalmir said: “Now,
father, let me go; I must follow my brothers.”
“And thou wilt leave me?” complained the
father.
“I must,” answered Jalmir seriously, and he told
his dream. The king shook his head incredulously,
and at first would not even hear of the departure of
his favorite son; but at last he consented with tears.
Jalmir made ready for the journey without delay.
The king gave him a carriage and four servants, he
took money, and departed straightway. Outside the
town he dismissed the servants, giving them the carriage
and the horses, and walked on alone to the
pear-tree, where a splendid white steed was waiting,
stamping the ground impatiently. “Sit on me,
quickly,” said he with the voice of a man, “or we
shall be late.”
Jalmir sprang to his back and they went on, not on
the ground though, but through the air. In a short
time the white steed asked: “Dost thou see thy
brothers?”
“I do not see,” answered Jalmir.
“But the hill on which they are?”
“Neither do I see that.”
“Thou wilt soon see it,” said the steed, and
374]
hastened his course. “Dost thou see the hill now?”
asked he after a time.
“I see,” answered Jalmir, “and on it are six ants.”
“Those are thy brothers,” said the white steed.
“But now listen; we shall soon come up with them,
but do not make thyself known. We shall pass the
night in an inn. Thy brothers will feast, but will not
be able to pay, for they lost all their money foolishly
yesterday. Pay for them; in the morning we shall go
farther.”
Jalmir promised to do this, and then the white
steed came down to the earth. Soon they overtook the
brothers, who did not know Jalmir; and indeed, how
could they in that stately, fiery hero recognize their
weakly brother. Jalmir bowed to them courteously,
and asked permission to travel in their company.
“But where art thou going?” inquired one of the
brothers.
“To see the world,” answered Jalmir.
“We too,” cried the others; “so thou must go
with us.”
Jalmir bowed to them, and in silence agreed with
a nod. But his brothers all gave him their hands, and
soon began to tell him how delightfully they had
passed the previous day. Jalmir did not, however,
find much that was pleasant in it, and frowned.
“Art sorry that thou wert not there?” asked one
of the brothers. “Never mind, we can have such
days yet without number.”
375]
With that they came to an inn. The innkeeper,
seeing through the window so many lords, ran out
and took the horses. When he took the white steed,
Jalmir asked: “Hast thou a stable apart?”
“Yes; and such a one!” boasted the innkeeper.
“Then put my horse in it alone,” said Jalmir, “for
he is very vicious.”
Then he followed his brothers to a room where
they were already seated at a table, and calling with
terrible uproar on the innkeeper for wine. In a
short time the innkeeper brought all that he had,
and the brothers drank, sang, shouted, and rioted till
the inn trembled; but Jalmir barely drank for one,
because he was sick from the action of his brothers.
But how grieved was he when one of the brothers
said: “This is a different life from being at home
with that grumbling father and that sickly brother.”
Gradually one after the other dropped under the
table, overcome by wine. When all were asleep
Jalmir said to the innkeeper: “Be careful that no
harm comes to them; I will sleep a little too.”
Then he was going to lie on a bench near the fire.
“Do not,” said the innkeeper; “I have a bed ready
for thee. Come with me.”
Jalmir, after useless refusals, followed him at last;
but before he lay down he visited the white steed to
see if he had plenty of oats and water.
When the brothers woke in the morning they
looked for Jalmir with a great outcry: “It would
376]
have been a nice thing if he had run away from us!”
cried one to another. “Who would pay?—for I
have no money.”
Soon Jalmir came to the room and told them to
travel farther; all was settled.
“Thou art ours,” said they. All embraced him,—’tis
a wonder they did not suffocate him. Escaping
from the brothers, Jalmir went to his horse. The
brothers followed his example, and soon the inn was
far behind.
“Listen,” said the white steed to Jalmir, when the
brothers had gone ahead. “In the evening we shall
come to a castle, in which lives a sorceress with her
seven daughters; they will take your horses, and lead
you to a chamber. The sorceress will bring you wine
after supper, but drink not. What will take place
later, thou wilt see.”
“Why loiter so?” called one of the brothers
suddenly to Jalmir.
“I am coming,” answered he; and the white steed
soon galloped so that in a few moments he was ahead
of the brothers.
“Slower or thou wilt leave us!” cried the brothers;
and the white steed waited for them of his own accord.
Soon they entered a forest, rode and rode, but
there was no end to the forest; only in the evening
did they come out on a plain. In the middle of the
plain was a beautiful castle. “Oh, now we are in
luck,” said the brothers, and they began to rejoice.
377]
They galloped into the court of the castle, and were
still more rejoiced when seven princesses came forth
to meet them. They sprang from their horses in a
moment to give a courteous salute; but how did they
wonder when the princesses took their horses by the
bridles and led them to the stable. Jalmir begged the
youngest princess, who had taken his steed, to put the
horse in a stable apart, for he was very vicious.
She did as he wished; he saw this, and only then
did he go to the supper chamber, where his brothers
and the six princesses were already sitting at a great
table, covered with the daintiest dishes. He came to
them with the youngest princess, but ate very little,
though she urged him continually; but when the vile
old woman who served them brought wine and
poured it to each one in a golden goblet, Jalmir
seized his goblet eagerly, but did not drink the wine.
He poured it out on one side.
By degrees the brothers began to doze; at last
one after another they fell asleep. Jalmir suspected
that the old woman had drugged them,—which
was true,—and that she had no good thoughts regarding
them; therefore he feigned sleep so that in
the hour of need he might aid his brothers. Soon
after the old woman came and put away each brother
with his partner on a couch, of which there were
seven in the adjoining chamber; then she went out,
but returned straightway with a great broom, and
began to strike the brothers. First she struck the
378]
eldest, but he moved not; when she had finished
with the six she came to Jalmir, and said to herself:
“If six are asleep, so is the seventh.” She went out,
but soon returned with sulphur in her hand, and
burned it under the nose of each brother. She began
with the eldest, and as not one of them moved, she
said when she reached Jalmir: “If six are asleep, so
is the seventh.”
She went out, but came back bringing pitch, which
she burned on the breast of each brother. She began
with the eldest, and as none of them sighed, she said
when she reached Jalmir: “If six are asleep, so is the
seventh; now I may cut off their heads without fear.”
Jalmir quivered; and when the old woman went
out, he sprang quickly from the couch, put each of
his brothers in the place of a princess and did the
same with himself. The old woman returned with a
sword, but without a light, and cut off the heads of
the seven princesses; then she went out. Jalmir
sprang up in a moment and tried to rouse his
brothers, but in vain. What anguish the poor fellow
suffered; only towards morning did the brothers wake
and look in terror at the dead bodies of the princesses.
But Jalmir exclaimed in a voice of despair:
“Let us flee!” and rushed forth; the brothers followed
him. In the stable they untied their horses,
and springing on them hurried in a wild chase from
the castle and across the broad plain.
The sorceress soon saw their flight, and pursued;
379]
but as they had crossed the boundary of her castle
lands she had power over them no longer, and with
work undone was forced to go home, where she cursed
herself above the dead bodies of her daughters. The
brothers rode without stopping, farther and farther,
till at last the castle disappeared from their sight;
then they made the first halt to rest and inquire of
Jalmir what had been done to them. When they
heard that he had saved them from certain death,
they fell upon his neck and cried: “Tell us who thou
art, since thou hast done so much for us.”
“Who else but your brother Jalmir,” answered he,
almost swimming in tears; and he pressed brother
after brother to his breast. But how astonished was
he when he saw that they were much colder to him
than they had been when they knew him not! Still,
they asked how he had recovered, why he had ridden
after them, and what their father was doing. But
gradually they grew silent and hung their heads.
Beyond doubt it was not to their liking that just the
youngest of them was so wise.
Jalmir also was silent, and his white steed dropped
behind of his own accord. When the brothers could
not hear him, he said to his master: “I told thee not
to discover thyself, but thou didst not obey me. The
results thou canst lay to thyself. In a few days we
shall come to a mighty king; thou and thy brothers
will enter his service. When in need come to me for
advice.”
380]
Jalmir stroked the white steed, and begged his forgiveness.
From that time the brothers were no
longer joyous as before, and kept noticeably aside
from Jalmir. But since they had no money they
wheedled him greatly whenever they saw an inn,
since he always paid for them. After some days
they came to a great city. Their first road, however,
was to the inn, where they ate moderately but drank
beyond measure; and now they began to do such
senseless things that Jalmir went to his steed as
quickly as possible to get consolation.
When the brothers were alone the eldest said: “I
have had favors enough from that sickly brother; to-morrow
we will go to the king of this country and
serve him. What do ye think?”
“We will all go with thee,” cried the others; but
suddenly they were confused, for Jalmir had returned.
“Where are ye going?” inquired he. “I will go
with you.”
The brothers answered him sullenly, but Jalmir
said he would go. Towards evening, when the brothers
had had a good sleep, they went to the king, who
made them men of his court without delay. Now
they had a good living, large pay, and almost nothing
to do; but as an offset they were still not at rest,
for Jalmir was always a thorn in their eyes, especially
since the friendship of the king for him increased
every day.
Once when the brothers, from idleness, were
381]
examining the chambers of the king’s castle, they came to
one in which were all kinds of books, small and great,
piled up to the ceiling. They fell to reading these
books with great eagerness.
“Brothers,” cried one of them suddenly, “I read
here that the king has not a bird in his kingdom.”
“Is this true?” exclaimed the others in wonder;
“we have not noticed it.”
“But know ye,” asked the eldest, “to what use we
may put this?” All shook their heads. “Listen,”
said he in a whisper; “we will tell the king that
Jalmir knows about birds, and to send him for
them.”
“And the king will do so at once,” said the brother
who had read of the birds, “for here is written the
great cost of the birds eaten on the king’s table in
a year.”
They stopped reading at once and went straight to
the king, to whom they told what they thought. “But,
gracious king,” said the eldest, “thou must sharply insist,
or Jalmir will excuse himself, saying that he knows
nothing of birds.”
The king nodded graciously and sent for Jalmir.
He came quickly, and the king said: “As thou knowest
well I have no birds in my kingdom, therefore I
command thee to bring them.”
“I, gracious king,” said Jalmir, in fright, “know
nothing of birds.”
“Whether thou knowest or knowest not,” said the
382]
king, in sudden anger, “thou’lt get birds.” With
that he waved his hand, and poor Jalmir went out
with drooping head. Whither can he go? Who can
help him in peril? He went straight to the white
steed and complained.
“Grieve not,” said the steed; “at dusk we will go
for the birds.”
Jalmir thanked the horse, and could hardly wait till
evening. The moment the sun had disappeared behind
the woods he was ready for the road; and when
the first star had appeared in the sky he led out the
white steed, sprang on his back, and flew off like the
wind. “But where are we going?” inquired Jalmir
of his steed on the way.
“To that sorceress in whose castle thou didst
save thy brothers from death,” answered the
horse.
“To that place!” cried Jalmir in fright.
“Have no fear,” said the steed, comforting him;
“only do to a hair what I tell thee.”
The good steed now increased his speed so that he
went like an arrow, and about an hour later he came
to the ground at the castle of the sorceress. Jalmir
sprang from him, and the steed said: “When thou
art in the first chamber thou wilt see silver cages, and
in them silver birds; in the second chamber will be
golden cages with golden birds; in the third chamber
diamond cages with diamond birds. Of all these
touch nothing, or such a blow will fall that the whole
383]
castle will tremble, and the sorceress will seize thee
to kill thee. But go to the fourth chamber; there
take a wooden cage in which is a mean-looking bird,
and hasten to me.”
Jalmir entered the first chamber with courage, but
cautiously, and looking at nothing, went to the second
chamber; there the glitter of gold dazzled him
somewhat. When he opened the door to the third
chamber he stood almost blind on the threshold; but
quickly recovering, he shaded his eyes, ran to the
fourth chamber, and seizing the cage with the bird
in an instant, rushed out swift as an arrow. He
sprang on the horse, which rose with him through
the air in a moment. The sorceress burst out of
the castle, and cursing fearfully because she could
not stop him, screamed: “But thou wilt come here
again!”
When the white steed was beyond the boundary
of the castle land, he said to Jalmir: “Open the cage
and let the bird fly.”
“But shall I not bring it to the king?”
“Only do what I ask,” said the steed, with such a
stern voice that Jalmir obeyed without thinking.
It was yet night when they reached home. Jalmir
tied the horse in the stable and went to his room
to strengthen himself with sleep, but he did not
sleep long. The morning dawn had barely shown
itself when in the king’s garden was heard such
a loud and cheerful singing of birds that all the
384]
people were soon on their feet, and earlier than any
the king. At the first moment he was so astonished
that he asked whence these wonderful creatures had
come.
“Royal Grace,” said one of the brothers, “thou
didst send Jalmir for them.”
“True,” said the king, as he bethought himself;
“but where is Jalmir?”
A courtier soon brought him, and the king fell on
his neck from very joy. He was now really dear
to the king; but for that reason was held in more
hatred by his brothers.
“How can we get rid of him?” asked the brothers
when they were alone.
“Maybe we can read something else,” said one of
them.
“Very good,” answered all, at once; and they hurried
to the chamber in which so many books were
collected, and it was not long before one of the
brothers cried out: “The king has no beasts, and
they cost him more than the birds, since he uses
many more of them in a year.”
“Then let Jalmir go for them,” said the sixth
brother, smiling maliciously; and they went straight
to the king, to whom they told their minds. The king
nodded graciously; dismissed them, called Jalmir and
said: “I have no beasts in my kingdom; and since
they cost me much in a year, I command thee to get
me beasts.”
385]
“I, gracious king,” said Jalmir in wonder, “know
of none.”
“Thou knowest well,” said the king in anger, “for
thy brothers told me.”
“Did they?” said Jalmir in astonishment. “Well,
I will try;” and he went to his white steed, to whom
he told everything.
“Be not down-hearted,” said the steed, comforting
him. “Come to me in the evening; we will go for
the beasts.”
When it was dark the good steed was flying through
the air. “But where shall we go?” asked Jalmir.
“To the sorceress from whom we got the birds,”
answered the steed.
“But I am afraid that she will catch me,” said
Jalmir.
“Fear not,” said the steed; “only do to a hair
what I tell thee.” When he came to the ground in
front of the castle, he said: “In the first chamber
thou wilt see a beast with silver hair, tied with silver
chains; in the second chamber a beast with golden
hair and golden chains; in the third, one with pearl
hair and pearl chains. Touch not any of these, or
a blow will fall so that the whole castle will tremble,
and the sorceress will seize thee to kill thee.
But go to the fourth chamber; there seize an ugly
dog that is tied with a ragged rope, and hurry
to me.”
Somewhat timidly, but all the more carefully, did
386]
Jalmir pass the first, second, and third chamber,
shading his eyes with his hands so the glitter of
the silver, gold, and pearl might not blind him.
When he entered the fourth chamber he broke the
rope, seized the dog in his arms, rushed out, and
swift as an arrow sprang on the horse, which rose in
the air. And it was high time; for scarcely had he
sat on the horse when the sorceress ran out after
him. When she was unable to stop him, she cursed
fearfully, and screamed: “But thou wilt come here
again!”
When the steed had sprung over the boundary of
the castle land, he said: “Now let the dog go.”
Jalmir obeyed at once, for he was sure the steed
gave good counsel. When they came home, dawn
was already appearing; still Jalmir lay on the bed, for
he was greatly wearied. He did not sleep long, however;
for barely had the dawn come when there was
a noise in the castle, in the town, and outside the
town, as if the earth were breaking. The king sprang
in wonder to the window. But how astonished was he!
Right in the garden he saw deer, stags, rabbits; on
the trees squirrels; on the ground under the trees
mice; in short, such myriads of beasts that his eyes
danced. In the king’s garden it was pleasant for the
beasts; but in the town and outside the town the
people killed them, chased wildly after them, and
threw stones at them. This displeased the king; and
he issued an order that all beasts belonged to him,
387]
and that no man should dare to injure them. Then he
went to Jalmir, thanked him cordially, and expressed
his friendship with an ardent embrace.
The whole kingdom was pleased with the beasts,
but Jalmir’s brothers were not pleased.
“What shall we do with him?” asked the eldest of
the others. “Instead of getting rid of him we have
brought him into still greater favor with the king.”
“But let us go and read again.”
“Yes, yes,” said a third; and all hurried off to the
well-known room. They had read a long time when
at last one cried out: “The king has no wine, and of
course wine costs him money.”
“Then let Jalmir go for it,” answered the eldest,
quietly; “and he must get luck from hell if he
comes back.”
They went straight to the king, and very insinuatingly
they told him that Jalmir might easily supply
him with wine.
“Then he will do it;” and dismissing them graciously
he had Jalmir summoned, and told him his
wish.
“Gracious king,” answered Jalmir, “I know nothing
of wine, but I will go and see.”
The king was somewhat angry, thinking surely that
Jalmir was unwilling, and thereupon said: “Thou
wilt answer to me with thy head.” Jalmir, bowing in
silence, went out to the steed.
“Fear not,” said the steed; “in the evening we
388]
will go for the wine.” The moment it was dark the
kind steed shot away with Jalmir through the air.
“Where are we going this time?” asked Jalmir,
a little frightened.
“To the sorceress from whom we got the birds
and the beasts. But now pull a hair from my tail, and
one from my mane; from the first make a rope three
hundred yards long, from the other a net large enough
to contain thee.”
Jalmir did in silence according to the steed’s words;
and to his astonishment, before they came to the
castle the rope and the net were finished.
“Now attend to my words,” said the steed when
he had come to the ground. “Tie one end of the
rope to my foot and the other to the net, take the
net with thee and put it on the door of the cellar, to
which thou must go down on three hundred steps.
In the cellar thou wilt see vessels with silver and
gold and diamond hoops; pay no heed to them, or a
blow will fall, and it will be ill with thee. Go to the
farthest part of the cellar. There thou wilt see in a
niche a little vessel with wooden hoops, take that
quickly and hurry to me; but if thou art not able
to come, just spring into the net and I will help
thee.”
Jalmir did everything according to the words of the
steed. It was as clear as white day in the cellar from
the silver, gold, and diamond hoops, so that he soon
saw the little vessel in the niche; but when he
389]
caught it, it is a wonder that he did not fall under its
weight. With a mighty effort he carried it to the
steps; but there he struck his foot against a vessel,
and such a blow fell that the castle trembled from
its foundation to the highest points of its tower.
Jalmir, however, did not grow weak; he sprang up
like an arrow over the three hundred steps and jumped
into the net.
Meanwhile, the sorceress flew out of the castle and
sprang at the steed; but the steed got her down, and
so thrashed her with his feet that he did not leave a
sound bone in her body. At the same time he wound
up the rope so nicely that in a little while he had
drawn up the net containing Jalmir. “Sit quickly on
me,” said he. Jalmir mounted in a moment, keeping
the vessel carefully in his arms. The steed rose in
the air and flew like lightning, because the sorceress
who had picked herself from the ground was chasing
him. But soon they had the boundary of the castle
land behind them, so that they had no further need
to strain their powers.
When they reached home the steed was drooping
wearily to the earth, so that Jalmir had to support him
in going to the stable. Jalmir was barely able to go
to his own room; but first, according to the command
of the steed, he left the cask of wine at the door of
the king’s chamber, then he lay on his bed and was
soon asleep.
When the king opened the door of his chamber in
390]
the morning he saw the cask. “This must be wine,”
said the king, rejoicing; and taking off the head, he
tried it. “It’s wine; it’s wine!” rejoiced he; and
calling the people of the castle, he drank a health
with them all.
“But what is this?” wondered they; “we have
taken ten kegs of wine out already, and still it comes.”
“This must be an enchanted cask,” said the king,
and began to laugh. Then he said in serious tones:
“Little cask, I should like to have red wine.” He
drew some. And what a wonder! the wine was
red. “I want yellow wine,” said the king; and yellow
wine flowed out.
“In real fact, it is an enchanted cask,” said the
king. “Oh, Jalmir,” cried he in delight, “how can
I reward thee!”
“I have only obeyed thy command, gracious king,”
answered Jalmir, who had just entered the room.
“Yes, thou hast done all that I commanded, and
much more,” said the king; “therefore I make thee
my son, and proclaim thee viceroy.”
All present broke out in tumultuous shouting, but
Jalmir’s brothers were silent; they bit their lips and
clinched their fists. The king, altogether joyous
and full of tenderness, from success and from wine,
arranged to have a seven day’s celebration in honor
of the new viceroy. The people did not wait to have
the order repeated, but began that very day, especially
since they had plenty of food, and the wine
391]
which the enchanted cask gave them without stint.
The new viceroy was greeted everywhere with shouts,
and won at once the love of the people.
But his brothers were enraged all the more. Instead
of going to the festivities they went to the room
where the books were, and read as diligently as if
they wished to become sages at once. This time,
however, they were not able to find anything for a
great while; but at last they read what they wanted.
“Now I have something for our darling viceroy!”
cried one. “In the sea is a golden castle, and in the
castle a princess, the most beautiful under the heavens.
If our king would take her in marriage, he
would grow young and lengthen his life.”
“Oh, that is splendid!” said all, rejoicing. “The
king will surely send him for the princess, and darling
Jalmir will either be drowned in the sea or run
home to his father.”
When the feasting was over the brothers went to the
king, who was, as it were, ill,—just the thing for them.
“Gracious king,” said the eldest, insinuatingly, “we
are always trying to prepare some pleasure for thee.”
“Indeed, I have need of it,” said the king; “old
age and disease are pressing me more and more
every day.”
“We have just found a remedy for those two
evils,” said the brothers.
“But what is it,—tell me!” broke out the king,
delighted. They told him what they had read.
392]
“Well, Jalmir must take the road this very day,”
cried the king; and calling Jalmir he explained his
wish. Jalmir agreed in silence, but scarcely controlling
his tears, hastened to his steed and fell on his
neck, weeping.
“What is the matter now?” asked the steed. Jalmir
told him all.
“Do not lose courage,” said the horse. “Go to
the king, and ask him to give thee three hundred
loaves of bread, three hundred kegs of wine, and
three hundred beeves. Have all put into wagons, and
then we will go for the princess.”
Jalmir went straightway to the king and asked for
these. The king had all provided quickly, and promised
him mountains and valleys if he would bring the
princess. Jalmir took the road that very day, sitting
on his good white steed, which this time did not fly
through the air, but walked with slow step behind the
wagons on which the loaves, the wine, and the beeves
were carried. And many times did day and night
change places before they came to the sea. Now
they went along the shore; the white steed, going
ahead with Jalmir, showed the road to the wagons.
Jalmir saw a great fish on the beach which was
trying in vain to get back to the water. “Help it,”
said the steed; and Jalmir, springing to the ground,
helped the fish.
The fish sank under the water, but soon came to
the surface and said to Jalmir: “Wait, I must reward
393]
thee. Take this whistle, and shouldst thou need
aught from me, blow.”
Jalmir took the whistle from the fish’s lips, gave
thanks, and sat again on his steed. After a time they
heard as it were distant thunder. “What is that?”
asked he of the horse.
“We shall soon be at the end of our journey,” said
the steed; “those are giants talking.”
In a short time Jalmir saw three giants lying on the
beach. When he came up they rose, and now he saw
their stature. When he looked in their faces he had
to bend back his head as if looking at the highest
tower.
“What is the good word?” roared one of them, so
that Jalmir had to cover his ears.
“I bring three hundred loaves of bread, three
hundred kegs of wine, and three hundred slaughtered
oxen,” answered he.
“That is good of thee,” said the giants, nodding
their heads with satisfaction; and they rushed to the
wagons in which the things were placed. They built
a fire, and stuck the oxen on great spits to roast;
then they went to the bread and wine, and soon had
half inside themselves. A great eagle settled down
near by, and looked wistfully at the beeves. Jalmir
cut off a quarter and gave it to the eagle.
“Thank thee!” said the eagle. “I will help thee
in time;” and she rose in the air with the quarter.
The giants did not leave the oxen very long over
394]
the fire; and when they had finished, they said to
Jalmir: “Now tell us thy wish; well do we know
that ye little worms of the earth do nothing for
nothing.”
“I have no wish for myself,” said Jalmir; “but
my master has sent me to bring the princess from
the golden castle which stands out in the sea.”
“That one over there?” asked the other giant,
pointing with his finger to the sea.
Jalmir looked around and saw for the first time a
magnificent castle, which gleamed in the waves like
the rising sun. “Yes,” replied Jalmir.
“We will take thee to it,” said the first giant; “but
will the princess go with thee?”
“I will ask her,” said Jalmir; “but how will ye
take me there?”
“Thou wilt soon see,” said the giants; and they
took pieces of a cliff and hurled them into the sea.
They went on breaking the cliff, and sooner than
Jalmir expected there was a long stretch of dam in
the sea. But the giants did not stop; they worked till
the setting of the sun, so that in the evening they had
one third of the dam finished, and on the third day it
was possible to go with dry foot to the golden castle.
Jalmir thanked the giants heartily, and the morning
of the fourth day he went to the princess. The
castle was a wonder to look at; but he scarcely noticed
it. He entered, and how surprised was he when
in the first chamber he saw the princess. With downcast
395]
eyes he said: “My king and master has sent me
to beg thee in his name to share his throne and
crown.”
“I will go,” answered the princess, with a silvery
voice; “but wilt thou remain at his court?”
“I must,” said Jalmir. “I am the viceroy.”
“Let us go, then,” said the princess.
She mounted a splendid crow-black horse, Jalmir
his white steed, and they galloped along the dam. On
the way Jalmir took courage to look at the princess
more closely, and thought that the king would grow
younger, and lengthen his life, if the princess would
marry him. At the same time he felt a certain agreeable
straitening of the heart. He bent his head, and
rode in silence at the side of the princess; and the
nearer he came to the castle of the king, the more
did trouble take hold of his heart. The more joyous,
however, was the princess; and her eyes rested on
him with a certain special delight. They arrived
soon without great adventure.
The king went outside the town to meet them, and
conducted them in solemn procession to the castle.
“Art thou willing, honored princess, to become my
spouse?” asked he of the princess when he had led
her to the chambers prepared for her.
“First I must have my golden castle,” replied the
princess.
The king was amazed; but he bethought himself
soon, and turned to Jalmir, gazing imploringly.
396]
“I will go for it,” said Jalmir, with decision, especially
when the princess nodded graciously and smiled
at him.
“Go, my dear Jalmir,” said the king, with a soft
voice. “I will reward thee in kings’ fashion.”
Jalmir went to the white steed for advice, and the
steed said: “Tell the king to give thee three hundred
loaves of bread, three hundred kegs of wine,
and three hundred slaughtered oxen; then we will
go for the golden castle.”
Jalmir told the king his wishes, and the king gave
him all. Everything was ready so soon that Jalmir
was able to set out that very day. But it was a
tedious journey; the wagons went slowly, and after
them Jalmir still more slowly, and with drooping
head,—why, he knew best himself. When they
came to the giants, Jalmir gave them the loaves, the
wine, and the meat, begging them urgently to bring
the golden castle to the princess.
“Ah, little worm of the earth!” said the giants,
laughing, “dost thou think that the castle is made of
wood? but we will try,” added they after they had
looked at the three hundred loaves, at the kegs and
the oxen.
They began eating, and when they had eaten heartily,
they went to a neighboring forest, where they
pulled up three of the strongest trees; and when
they had played with them as men play with canes,
they went along the dam to the golden castle. After
397]
a short time they moved the castle from its foundations,
put it on the oak-trees, and then on to their
shoulders; and as if it were nothing they walked after
Jalmir without weariness till night, when they slept,
and next morning went farther. They worked in this
way till they drew near the king’s castle; they did
not go to it, however, but waited till night. Then
they put the golden castle in the garden, bade farewell
to Jalmir, and went home.
When the morning sun rose people shouted
“Fire!” in the castle. All ran to the garden to
put it out; but the princess standing in her window
cried, “Be quiet! That is my golden castle.”
Soon after the king hurried in, and opening his
arms in delight, wished to embrace the princess,
calling out, “Now thou art mine!”
“Not yet,” answered the princess. “What is my
golden castle to me if I have lost the key of it?”
The king was frightened; but soon he said, with
clear face: “My dear Jalmir will bring it to thee.”
He wanted to go for him; but Jalmir came just then
to the princess to tell her that he had brought the
castle. The king told his wish; and Jalmir, gaining
pleasure and strength from a gracious smile of the
princess, departed. He took counsel of his steed,
who said: “The key is somewhere in the sea near
the dam.” Jalmir mounted; they flew through the
air, and were soon on the island where the castle had
been.
398]
“But how shall I find the key in the sea?” sighed
Jalmir.
“Thou hast the whistle from the fish helped by
thee into the water.”
“Yes,” rejoiced Jalmir; and he blew on the whistle.
That moment the fish swam to the surface, and
asked, “What dost thou wish?”
“The princess has lost the key of her golden castle,”
answered Jalmir, who was about to ask the fish to
find it; but the fish had already vanished to tell all
fish to look for the key. Now there was life under
water,—such gleaming of fish flying hither and
thither, up and down! till at last after long swimming,
one little fish brought the key to the chief fish. The
chief fish gave it to Jalmir; Jalmir gave heartfelt
thanks, and was soon flying through the air on his
steed, so that he was home before night. When he
had given the key to the king he went to his room and
shut himself in. Why he did this he knew not himself;
but he felt that it would have been better for him
had he never seen that princess of the golden castle.
The king, perfectly happy, went with the key to the
princess; he felt sure this time that she would make
no objection. All the greater was his grief when she
said: “I have the castle and the key to it; but what
would life be in the castle without the water of death,
the water of life, and the water of youth?”
“And where are they to be found?” asked the
king.
399]
“They are on my island,” answered the princess
so decidedly that the king went away in silence to
think whom he should send. He had pity on Jalmir,
and therefore he went to the brothers; but they
spoke to him so convincingly that the king asked Jalmir
again to go and do that last service for him. How
could Jalmir refuse? Besides, what he had done he
had done for her for whom he would have jumped
into fire if need be. He went to his steed to ask
aid once more, and for the last time. The steed reproached
him for lack of courage, and said: “Sit on
my back; we’ll go straight for the water.” Jalmir
did so with joy, and was soon going through the air
to the island swifter than ever he had travelled before.
In a short time the horse came down on the
sea-shore and said: “Go to the island for the water
of death, the water of life, and the water of youth;
but hurry, or the waves will wash down the dam and
thou wilt perish. I will eat grass here a while.”
Jalmir went forward, but very slowly; for the image
of the princess rose continually before his eyes. Except
her, the whole world was as naught to him. He
was perhaps half way on the dam when all at once the
sea rose and bore it away. Jalmir screamed in terror
and disappeared in the sea. The steed heard his
screams, but did not run to help him, and hanging
his head, went with slow step; he knew well that he
could give no aid to Jalmir. Then came a terrible
storm on the sea. The steed thought that Jalmir
400]
had perished; he rose in the air and shot away like
a flash.
Not far from the dam—of which there was not a
trace after the storm—was an eagle’s nest high on
the cliff, and in it five little eagles that stretched out
their necks, without ceasing looking down eagerly,
and crying meanwhile. “What do ye want?” called
the old eagle, which sat near by on a cliff and looked
down. But how quickly did she fly to the beach
when she saw a body there! She recognized it at
once; for though she was only a wild creature she
remembered well that Jalmir had done her a kindness
by giving her the quarter of beef for her young.
She seized him now in her strong talons and bore
him to the island where the golden castle had been;
she plunged him into a spring, then placing him on
the ground, sat near his side. Soon Jalmir began
to breathe,—at first with difficulty and slowly, then
more quickly and evenly, till at last he opened his
eyes with a deep sigh. “Why not let me sleep
longer?—I slept so lightly! I dreamed so sweetly!”
said Jalmir, as if waking from slumber. When he
looked around more attentively he called out in
amazement, “What has been done to me?”
“Dost thou not know me?” asked the eagle, standing
before him.
“I do not know thee,” replied Jalmir, shaking his
head.
“But I know thee well,” cried the eagle. “Thou
401]
didst give me a quarter of beef for my children.
But what art thou looking for now?”
“The princess sent me to this island for the water
of death, the water of life, and the water of youth,”
answered Jalmir.
“Then take them,” said the eagle, and brought
him to the three springs. Jalmir took three flasks
from his bosom, and filled them with the three
waters.
“But how shall I leave here?”
“I would gladly bear thee wherever thou wishest,
but I cannot, for I have children; but I will go to
my brother. He has no children.” She flew off in a
flash, soon returning, and with her her brother.
“But where has my white steed gone?” asked
Jalmir suddenly.
“I will soon tell thee,” answered the eagle, and
she rose in the sky till she seemed to the eye of
Jalmir as small as the point of a pine leaf. She remained
motionless a moment, then came down like
a bolt and said: “I saw thy steed under the old pear-tree
which stands before the southern gate of the
great town.”
“Bear me to that place then,” said Jalmir, with a
voice of entreaty.
The eagle’s brother caught him in his strong talons,
and was soon flying with him high in the air; so
high that Jalmir saw his native place, but it was as
small as an ant-hill. He went farther, it became
402]
greater, till at last the eagle came to the earth and
put Jalmir down near the old pear-tree; then he
parted with him, and soon vanished in the air.
The white steed was standing behind the pear-tree,
with drooping head, and so gloomy that he did not
notice his master.
“My very good steed!” cried Jalmir, and fell on
his neck.
“Thou art alive and well?” asked the steed in
amazement.
“Yes,” answered Jalmir, and told him all that had
happened.
“I am happy,” said the steed; “but now sit
quickly on me, we must go to the princess or we
shall be late.”
“What is the matter?” asked Jalmir in fright.
“The king wants the wedding to-day,” answered
the steed.
“Then let us hurry,” said Jalmir, and he sprang
on the steed, opened his arms toward the town, and
cried: “Oh, my dear father!”
“Calm thyself,” said the steed; “I know that thou
wouldst embrace him; but vain is thy wish, for he
died long ago.” The steed rose in the air and flew
so swiftly that his native place soon vanished from
the tearful eyes of Jalmir. On the road the steed
said: “When thou art king, judge justly, even if thy
heart has to bleed.”
Jalmir did not understand him; but when he came
403]
to the town and heard how his brothers were laughing
at their puny little Jalmir who had perished
somewhere, an evil feeling seized him. Mastering
himself however, he went to the princess to give her
the three waters; and she hastened to the king to
whom she said: “My dear bridegroom, so that our
marriage be equal, thou must become young and
beautiful as I am, and therefore I will rub thee with
the water of death so that thy old age shall perish,
then with the water of youth, and last with the water
of life.”
The king consented with gladness, and the princess
rubbed him with the water of death; then
he straightened himself on the couch so that the
princess herself was terrified. Seizing quickly the
water of youth; she rubbed him with it and the fresh
color of youth shone on the face of the old king.
“But still he is not so beautiful as Jalmir,” sighed
the princess, greatly grieved. With tearful eyes she
reached for the water of life, but instead of it took
the water of death and rubbed the king. Straightway
the pallor of death spread over his face. The
princess fell in a faint at his side and remained in
it till Jalmir came by chance to the chamber, seized
the water of life, and rubbed with it quickly the
princess and the king. The princess stood up at
once, but the king remained dead.
“Is there no help for him?” asked Jalmir with
trembling voice.
404]
“There is not,” said the princess, shaking her head;
“whoever is rubbed twice with the water of death can
never live again.”
“But what shall I do now?” muttered Jalmir,
closing his eyes.
“Thou art king,” answered the princess, “but I—”
“Queen!” cried Jalmir eagerly, and sank at her
feet saying, “Forgive me, but I love thee more than
myself.”
The princess in place of an answer kissed him;
and now they went to announce to the people that
the old king was dead.
The people, who had already assembled in the
square for the wedding of the king, were greatly distressed;
but when the princess presented Jalmir as
the new king, and herself as his wife, they broke out
into mighty rejoicing, which had no end. But Jalmir’s
brothers were silent; and when the new king with
his bride retired, they reported that these two had
poisoned the old king. The people raised a tumult;
but Jalmir went out among them and asked the
cause. Some were silent, and others told him what
his brothers had said. “Do ye believe this?” asked
Jalmir.
“We do not believe,” was shouted from every
side.
“Very well,” answered Jalmir, “but that ye may
believe me I will tell how my brothers tried to kill
me;” and he told them all.
405]
“The wretches!” cried the people in a rage; and
they caught all the six brothers. Before Jalmir could
stop them the people had fired a stack of straw, and
when it was blazing high they threw the six brothers
into the flames.
“Now ye are all in one pile,” laughed the people,
“because hitherto ye were always setting fire.”
Jalmir turned to the princess with tears in his eyes,
but she soon consoled him. After the funeral of the
old king they celebrated their betrothal; but when
Jalmir, full of happiness, sat at the feast by the side of
his bride, all at once he remembered his steed, ran to
him, and fell on his neck thanking him as author of
all his happiness.
“I have helped thee, do thou help me now,” said
the steed. “Lead me to the garden.” Jalmir did as
he desired; then the steed said: “Cut off my head.”
“I cut off thy head!” cried Jalmir in fright.
“Wilt thou let me suffer one hundred years
longer?” asked the steed in a sad voice.
In place of an answer Jalmir drew his sword, and
with one blow cut off his friend’s head. The head fell
on the ground, but out of it flew a white dove which
rose toward the sky. Jalmir turned in sorrow to the
princess, but she soon drove the sadness away from
his face. They lived happily together, and because
they had the water of life, they lived so long that no
one has memory of it.
THERE was once a very poor man, and he had
two lean cows. The two cows were to the poor
man as their mother’s breast to children; for not only
did they give milk and butter, for which he got a few
coppers to buy salt, but he tilled his patch of land
with them.
Now, he was ploughing one day at the edge of the
woods with the two cows, when, from wherever it
came, a six-horse coach stood before him, and in it
sat no other than the King of the Crows, who found
this to say to the poor man,—
“Listen, poor man; I will tell thee one thing, and
two will come of it. Sell me those lean cows; I’ll
give thee good money for them. I’ll pay double
price. My army hasn’t tasted a morsel for three
days, and the soldiers will die of hunger and thirst
unless thou wilt save them.”
“If that’s the case,” said the poor man to the
King of the Crows, “if it be that thy Highness’s army
hasn’t eaten anything for three days, I don’t mind
the difficulty. I’ll let thee have the cows, not for
money; let thy Highness return a cow for a cow.”
410]
“Very good, poor man, let it be as thou sayest. I
will give thee a cow for a cow; more than that, for
two thou wilt get four cows. For that purpose find
me in my kingdom, for I am the King of the Crows.
Thou hast but to look in the north for the black
castle; thou’lt be sure to find it.”
With that the King of the Crows vanished as if he
had never been there,—as if the earth had swallowed
him. The poor man kept on ploughing with the two
lean cows, till, all at once, the army of the King of
the Crows appeared like a black cloud approaching
through the air, with mighty cawing, and seizing the
two cows tore them bit from bit. When they had
finished, the dark legions with tumultuous cawing
moved on their way like a cloud. The poor man
watched the direction in which they flew so that he
might know the way.
Now he strolled home in great sadness, took leave
of his two handsome sons and his dear wife, in the
midst of bitter tears, and set out into the world to find
the black castle. He travelled and journeyed over
forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and
the glass mountains, and beyond that, where the little
short-tailed pig roots, and beyond that, and still farther
on, till he came to an ocean-great sand-plain.
Nowhere for gold was a town, a village, or a
cabin to be seen where he might recline his head
for a night’s rest, or beg a morsel of bread or a cup
of water. Food had long since left his bag, and he
411]
might have struck fire in the gourd[5] which hung
at his side. What was he to do? Where could he
save his life? Here he must perish of hunger and
thirst in the midst of this ocean-great desert, and
then at home let them wait for him till the day of
Judgment. Here the poor man’s power of walking
decreased, and he floundered about like a dazed fish,
like a man struck on the head. While stumbling
along he sees on a sudden a shepherd’s fire.
[5]
A pilgrim bottle made of a dried, long-necked gourd.
He moves towards the light, creeping on all fours.
At last he arrives there with great difficulty, and sees
that three or four men are lying around the fire, boiling
kasha in a pot. He salutes them with, “God
give you a good evening.”
“God receive thee, poor man; how is it that thou
art journeying in this strange land where even a bird
does not go?”
“I am looking for the black castle in the north.
Have ye heard nothing of it in your world-beautiful
lives?”
“How not? Of course we have. Are we not the
shepherds of that king, who rigorously and mercilessly
enjoined that, if such and such a man, who sold him
the two lean cows for his army, should find us, to
treat him well with meat and drink, and then to show
him the right road? Maybe thou art the man!”
“I am indeed.”
412]
“Is it possible?”
“I am no one else.”
“In that case sit here on the sheepskin; eat, drink,
and enjoy thyself, for the kasha will be ready this
minute.”
As they said, he did. The poor man sat by the
fire, ate, drank, and satisfied himself, then lay down
and fell asleep. When he rose in the morning they
gave him a round cheese, and drove the air out of
his bottle; then they let him go his way, showing him
the right road.
The poor man travelled and journeyed along the
right road; and now, when he was hungry and dry,
he had his bag, and his bottle too. Towards evening
he sees again a shepherd’s fire. He draws near the
great fire, and sees the shepherds of the King of
the Crows sitting around it cooking a meat stew.
He wishes them, “God give you a good-day, my
lords, the horseherds.”
“God guard thee, poor man,” said the chief herdsman;
“where art thou going here in this strange
land?”
“I am looking for the black castle of the King of
the Crows. Hast thou never heard of it, brother, in
thy world-beautiful life?”
“How not heard of it? Of course I have. Are
we not the servants of him who commanded rigorously
and unflinchingly that if such and such a poor
man, who sold him two lean cows for his army, should
413]
wander along, to receive him kindly? Therefore, this
is my word and speech to thee. Art thou, perchance,
that man?”
“Of course I am.”
“Is it possible?”
“I’m no one else.”
“In that case sit down here by the fire, drink, and
be filled.”
The poor man sat down by the fire, ate, drank,
and satisfied himself; then lying on the sheepskin, he
fell asleep. When he rose in the morning the horseherds
entertained the poor man again, wished him
happiness, and showing the right road let him go
his way; but they left neither his bag nor his bottle
empty. Then he went along the right road. But
why multiply words?—for there is an end even to a
hundred words; it is enough to know that towards
evening he came to the ground of the swineherds of
the King of the Crows. He saluted them with, “God
give you a good evening.”
“God guard thee,” said the reckoning swineherd.[6]
“How is it thou art journeying in this strange land,
where even a bird does not go?”
[6]
“The reckoning swineherd,”—he who counts the pigs.
“I am looking for the black castle of the King of
the Crows. Has my lord elder brother never heard
of it in his world-beautiful life?”
“Haho, poor man! How not heard of it? Are
we not the servants of the lord of that castle? But
414]
art not thou the poor man who sold his Highness the
two lean cows?”
“Well, what’s the use in delay or denial? I am,
indeed, he.”
“Art thou in truth?”
“I am no one else.”
“But how wilt thou enter the black castle, since it
is covered all around with a stone wall, and whirls unceasingly
on a golden cock’s foot? But make no
account of that. Here is a shining axe. Just strike
the wall with it so that sparks will fly, and thou wilt
come upon the door, which will spring open. Then
jump in. Have a care, though; for if thou slip and
fall, neither God nor man can save thee. When thou art
once inside, the King of the Crows will come forward
and receive thee kindly. He won’t put his soul on
the palm of his hand at once; but when his Highness
inquires what thy wish is, ask for nothing else but
the salt-mill which stands in the corner.”
Well, the talk ended there. In the morning the
poor man moves on towards the black castle. When
he arrives there, he saw that it whirled of itself on
a golden cock’s foot, like some infernal spindle; and
nowhere can he see either window or door upon
it,—nothing but the naked wall. He took the
swineherd’s axe and struck the wall, and sparks flew
from the axe in such style that it couldn’t be better.
After a time he came upon the door; it flew open,
and he jumped in. If he had delayed but one flash of
415]
an eye the stone wall door would have crushed him;
as it was, the edge of his trousers was carried off.
As soon as the poor man got in, he saw that the
castle turned only on the outside. At this moment
the King of the Crows was standing by the window,
and saw the poor man coming for the price of the
cows. He went to meet him, shook his hand, treated
him as tenderly as an egg; then he led him into the
most beautiful chamber, and seated him at his side
on a golden couch. The poor man saw not a soul
anywhere, although it was midday, the time of eating.
All at once the table began to spread, and
was soon bending under its load, so much food was
on it. The poor man shook his head,—for, as I
say, though no one was to be seen anywhere, neither
cook nor kitchen-boy nor servant, still, wasn’t the
table spread? It was surely witchcraft, surely some
infernal art, but not the work of a good spirit,—maybe
the salt-mill had something to do with it. That,
however, did not come into the poor man’s mind,
though the mill stood there in the corner.
He was there three days, the guest of the King of
the Crows, who received him with every kindness he
could offer, so that no man’s son could raise a complaint
against his Highness. Morning, noon, and
night the poor man’s food appeared in proper form,
but the roast and the wine had no taste for him; for
it came to his mind that while he was feasting there,
most likely his wife and children had not bread
416]
enough. I say it came to his mind; he began to
be restless and uneasy. The King of the Crows
noticed this, and said to him: “Well, poor man, I see
that thou dost not wish to stay longer with me, because
thy heart is at home, therefore I ask what dost
thou wish for the two lean cows?—believe me,
brother, thou didst save me from great trouble that
time; if thou hadst not taken pity on me I should
have lost my whole army from famine.”
“I want nothing else,” said the poor man, “but
that salt-mill standing there in the corner.”
“Oh, poor man, hast thou lost thy wits? Tell me,
what good couldst thou get of the mill?”
“Oh, I could grind corn or a little wheat from time
to time; if I did not some one else might, so there
would be something to take to the kitchen.”
“Ask for something else; ask for all the cattle
which in coming hither thou didst see.”
“What should I do with such a tremendous lot of
cattle? If I should drive them home, people would
think evil of me; besides, I have neither stable nor
pasture.”
“But I’ll give thee money. How much dost thou
wish? Wouldst be content with three bags of it?”
“What could I do with such an ocean-great lot
of money? My evil fate would use it to kill me;
people would think that I stole the coin, or murdered
some man for it; besides, I might be stopped with it
on the road.”
417]
“But I’ll give thee a soldier as a guard.”
“What good is one of thy Highness’s soldiers?”
asked the poor man, smiling; “a hen, I think, would
drive him away.”
“What! one of my soldiers?”
Here the King of the Crows blew a small whistle;
straightway a crow appeared which shook itself, and
became such a gallant young fellow that he was not
only so, but just so. “That’s the kind of soldiers I
have;” said the king and commanded the young man
out of the room. The soldier shook himself, became
a crow, and flew away.
“It’s all the same to me what kind of soldiers thy
Highness has. Thy Highness promised to give me
what I want, and I ask for nothing else but the salt-mill.”
“I will not give it. Ask for all my herds, but not
for that.”
“I need not herds; all I want is the mill.”
“Well, poor man, I have refused thee three times,
and three times thou hast asked for the mill; now,
whether I will or not, I must give it. But know that
thou art not to grind corn or wheat with the mill;
for it has this virtue,—that it accomplishes all wishes.
Here it is, take it, though my heart bleeds after it.
Thou didst me a good deed, therefore let it be thine.”
The poor man put the mill on his back, took farewell
of the King of the Crows, thanking him for his
hospitality, and trudged home at his leisure. On the
418]
way back he entertained the swineherds, the horseherds,
and the cowherds. All he did was to say,
“Grind, my dear mill,” and what food was dear to
the eye, the mouth, and the taste appeared of itself;
and if he said, “Draw up, my dear mill,” all the food
was as if the ground had swallowed it,—it vanished.
Then he took leave of the good shepherds and continued
his way.
As he travelled and journeyed, he came to a great
wild wood; and having grown hungry, he said:
“Grind, my dear mill.” Straightway the table was
spread, not for one, but for two persons. The mill
knew at once that the poor man would have a guest;
for that moment, wherever he came from, a great
fat man appeared, who without saying a word, took
his seat at the table. When they had enjoyed God’s
blessing, the great fat man spoke, and said:
“Listen, poor man. Give me that mill for this knotty
club; for if thy mill has the power of accomplishing
all thy desires [the fat man knew this already], my
knotty club has this power, that thou hast need but
to say, ‘Strike, my club,’ and the man thou hast in
mind is the son of Death.”
What was the poor man to do? Thinking if he did
not give it of his free will the fat man would take it
by force, he exchanged the mill for the knotty club;
but when he had it once in his hand, he said in a low
voice, for he was commanding the knotty club,
“Strike, my dear club.” And it so struck the fat man
419]
behind the ears that he gave forth not a sound; he
didn’t move his little finger. Then the poor man
continued his journey homeward at his ease; and
when seven years had passed he was able to say:
“Here we are!”
His wife who was weeping by the hearth, mourning
over her dear lost lord and the two lean cows,
scarcely knew the poor man, but still she knew him.
His two sons had become large, and had grown out
of their long clothes. When the poor man put his
foot in his own house he set the mill down in the
chimney-corner, loosed his mantle from his neck,
hung it up on a nail, and only then did they know him.
“Well, father,” said his wife, “thou hast come;
God knows ’tis time. I never expected to see thee
again; but what didst thou get for Bimbo and
Csako?”
“This mill,” answered he with many “see here’s”
and “see there’s.”
“If that’s the case, the palsy strike thy work,”
cried the woman; “better for thee to have stayed at
home these seven years, and swung thy feet around
here, than to have dragged that good-for-nothing mill
from such a distant land, just as if thou hadst eaten
the crazy-weed!”
“Oh, my sweet wife, something is better than
nothing; if we have no grain to grind for ourselves,
we can grind for other people, if not in streams at
least in drops.”
420]
“May a cancer eat thy mill! I haven’t a thing to
put between my teeth, and still—”
“Well, my sweet wife, if thou hast nothing to put
between thy teeth thou’lt soon have. Grind, my
dear mill.”
At these words, so much meat and drink appeared
on the poor man’s table that half of it would have
been enough. It was only then that the woman
regretted her tongue rattling. But a woman is a
woman; beat her with a stone, only let her talk.
The poor man, his wife, and two sons sat down at
the table, looking at the food like an army of locusts.
They ate and drank to their hearts’ content. Whether
from wine or some other cause, a desire to dance came
to the two sons; and they jumped up and danced,
so it was pure delight to look at them. “Oh,” said
the elder one, “if we only had a gypsy!” That
moment a band of gypsies by the chimney struck
up their music, and played away with such variations
that the poor man too wished to dance, and so
whirled his wife around that better could not be
asked for. The neighbors knew not what to think
of the affair. How was it that music was sounding in
the poor man’s house?
“What is this?” said they one to another, coming
nearer and nearer, till they came up to the door and
the windows. Only then did they see that a band of
gypsies were fiddling away with might and main, and
the old man, his wife, and their two sons were dancing,
421]
while the table was bending under loads of rich
meat and drink.
“Come in cousin! come in friend! come in
brother-in-law, bring thy wife! come in brother!”
and there was no end to the invitations of the poor
man. Guests collected unceasingly, and still the
table was spread. “’Pon my soul,” said the poor
man, “it’s a pity my house isn’t larger; for all these
guests could scarcely find room in a palace.” At
these words, instead of the poor man’s cabin such a
magnificent palace appeared, with chambers, twelve
in a row, that the king himself hadn’t the like of it.
A multitude of grand people with the king in the
midst of them were out walking just at that time.
“What’s this? what’s this?” asked they of one
another. “There has always been a poor man’s
cabin here, now there’s a king’s palace, and besides,
music is sounding, and gypsies are fiddling. Let’s
go and have a look.”
The king went in front, and after him all the grand
people,—counts, dukes, barons, and so on. The poor
man came out and received the king with the great
personages very kindly, and conducted them all to the
head of the table as their fitting place. They ate,
drank, and caroused, so that it was like a small
wedding.
While they were enjoying themselves at the best,
a great sealed letter came to the king. When he had
read it, he turned yellow and blue, because it was
422]
written therein that the Turk-Tartar was nearing his
kingdom with a great army, destroying everything
with fire and sword, and sparing not the property of
innocent, weeping people, whom he puts to the point
of the sword; that the earth is drinking their blood;
their flesh is devoured by dogs.
From great joy there was great sorrow.
Then the poor man stood forth and asked the king:
“If ’tis no offence, may I ask a question?”
“What may it be, poor man?”
“Would thy Highness tell me the contents of that
great letter received just now?”
“Why ask, poor man? Thou couldst not mend the
affair.”
“But if I can?”
“Well, know then, and let the whole kingdom
know, that the Turk-Tartar is moving on our country
with a great army, with cruel intent; that he
spares not the property of innocent, weeping people,
puts them to the sword, so that the earth drinks
their blood, and their flesh is devoured by dogs.”
“And what will be the reward of him who drives
the enemy out of the country?” asked the poor
man.
“In truth,” said the king, “great reward and honor
await him; for if he should have two sons, I would
give them my two daughters in marriage, with half
the kingdom. After my death they would inherit
the whole kingdom.”
423]
“Well, I’ll drive out the enemy all alone.”
But the king did not place much confidence in the
poor man’s promise; he hurried together all his
soldiers, and marched with them against the enemy.
The two armies were looking at each other with
wolves’ eyes, when the poor man went between the
camps and commanded the club: “Strike, my dear
club.” And the club pommelled the Turk-Tartar
army so that only one man was left to carry home
the tidings.
The poor man gained half the kingdom and the
two beautiful princesses, whom he married to his two
stalwart sons. They celebrated a wedding which
spoke to the seven worlds; and they are living now if
they are not dead.
THERE was once in the world a king, and he had
a Useless Wagoner who never and never did
anything but frolic in the tavern. The whole standing
day and all the ocean-great night there was nothing
for him but singing and dancing, eating and
drinking. The king had money of course.
But the king began to grow tired of this thing.
He called up the Useless Wagoner, and gave him a
terrible scolding. But ’tis vain to seat a dog at table,
and when the Devil gets into a man he stays there;
so it was labor lost to drive the Useless Wagoner to
work, for he went his way, and frolicked as before.
At last the king resolved to take his life, and calling
him up, said,—
“Dost hear me, work-shunning Useless Wagoner!
I revile thy mother, if within the turn of four and
twenty hours thou dost not make for me a three-hundred-gallon
cask; and though one joint or seam is
not much, if it has that, I’ll empale thee on a stake.”
The Useless Wagoner said not a word to all this, but
put a hamper on his back, took a cutting-axe in his
hand, and strolled off to the forest to find a tree fit to
make a three-hundred-gallon cask.
425]
When he came to the forest, being hungry and
tired, he sat down under a large shady tree, opened
his hamper, and began to eat lunch. He ate and ate,
till all at once, from some corner or another, a little
fox stood before him and begged food to eat.
“Of course I’ll give thee something. The food
came here, ’twill stay here;” and with that he threw
a slice of bread and a bit of sausage to the fox.
When the fox had finished eating she said: “Dost
hear, Useless Wagoner? As thou hast taken pity on
me, I will take pity on thee; in place of a good deed
look for a good deed. Though thou hast not told me,
still I know why thou hast come to this forest. I
know, too, that the king is breaking his head to kill
thee; but he’ll not be in time, for I will help thee out
of thy trouble and make thee the three-hundred-gallon
cask. And though one seam or joint is not much,
even that will not be in it. Now lie down and rest.”
And so it was. The Useless Wagoner lay down and
rested. Meanwhile the little fox got such a three-hundred-gallon
cask ready, that although a joint or
seam is not much, even that was not to be seen in it.
When the cask was finished the Useless Wagoner
took it home and gave it to the king, who, after looking
at it, dropped his eyes and his lip like a sheep;
for neither his father, his grandfather, nor his great-grandfather
had ever seen such a cunningly made
cask, for not a seam nor a joint could be seen in it
for gold.
426]
Well and good for the moment; but soon the king
summoned the Useless Wagoner to his presence again,
and cried out,—
“Dost thou hear me, work-shunning Useless Wagoner!
I revile thy soul if within the turn of four and
twenty hours thou dost not make for me a chariot
which will go itself, without horses. I’ll break thee
on a wheel!”
The Useless Wagoner said nothing, but put his hamper
on his back, took his cutting-axe in his hand, and
wandered off to the forest to find a tree fit to make
the chariot.
When he came to the forest he was hungry, and
tired too; therefore he sat down under a large, shady
tree, opened his hamper, and began to eat lunch.
He ate and ate till all at once, from some corner or
another, the little fox stood before him again, and
begged food to eat.
“Of course, my dear little fox, I’ll give thee something.
It came here, and ’twill stay here.”
With that he threw a piece of bread and a slice of
ham to the little fox, who after she had eaten, said:
“Well, Useless Wagoner, in place of a good deed
look for a good deed. Though thou hast not told me,
still I know why thou art here. I know, too, that the
king is breaking his head to kill thee; but he won’t, for
I shall help thee out of trouble. I’ll make for thee the
chariot which will go of itself, without horses; but do
thou lie down and rest.”
427]
And so it was. The Useless Wagoner reclined his
head in rest; and meanwhile the little fox fashioned
a chariot beautifully. When all was ready she roused
the Useless Wagoner, and said,—
“Here is the chariot which runs of itself; thou
hast but to step in and command it to stop in the
king’s court-yard. But I would tell thee this: Here
is a whistle that will serve thee; shouldst thou fall
into trouble, just blow,—it will help thee.”
The Useless Wagoner thanked the fox for her kindness,
and entered the chariot, which stopped not till
it reached the king’s court-yard.
When the king saw the chariot he said nothing,
but shook his head, turned on the Useless Wagoner
in a rage, and cried,—
“Useless Wagoner, I revile thy mother! In my
stable there are a hundred hares; and if thou dost not
herd them three days, if thou dost not drive them
a-field in the morning and bring them back at night
so that not one shall be missing from the hundred,
I’ll strike off thy head.”
What was the poor Useless Wagoner to do? Against
his will, and of need, he let the hundred hares out of
the stable and drove them a-field. They had barely
touched the edge of the field when they ran in as
many directions as there were hares. Who could
bring them together again? The poor Useless Wagoner
ran first after one and then after another hare;
he chased the whole day, but could not bring back a
428]
single hare. It was already growing late, time to go
home, but the hundred hares were in a hundred
places; therefore the Useless Wagoner became terribly
sad, and wished to make an end of his own
life,—it was all the same whether he or the king took
it; there was no salvation for him anyhow. So he put
his hand in his bosom to take out his clasp-knife and
strike himself in the heart, but instead of the knife he
found the whistle which the little fox had given him.
That was all he wanted; he drew out the whistle,
sounded it, and, behold! all the hares ran up to him,—as
tame as pet lambs fed from the palm of the
hand.
When all the hares had come together he drove
them home.
The king stood at the gate and let them in
singly, counting, “One, two, three ... ninety-nine,
a hundred.” Not one was missing.
Next day the Useless Wagoner drove the hares out
again, and when they had barely touched the edge of
the field they ran off in as many directions as there
were hares.
But this time the Useless Wagoner took no thought
of running and chasing after them; he thought to
himself that he would take his whistle and blow, and
they would come. So he lay down in a nice shady
place, and slept to his liking.
But the king did not sleep; he was racking his
brain to destroy the Useless Wagoner. So he called
429]
his only and dearly beloved daughter, and said to her,
“My darling daughter, I have a great favor to ask of
thee.”
“What may it be, my father the king?”
“Of a truth nothing but this,—that thou dress in
peasant’s clothes, and go out to the field where the
Useless Wagoner is herding the hundred hares, and
beg one of him. If he gives it not for a good word,
mayhap he will give it for a sweet kiss; but come not
home to me without the hare, even if he asks a piece
of thy body for it.”
The princess granted her father’s request. She
gathered her wits about her, dressed up in peasant’s
clothes, and went in the field to the Useless Wagoner,
who was sleeping at his leisure under a shady tree.
The princess pushed him with her foot; he woke, and
saw in a moment with whom he had to deal.
“God give thee a good-day, hareherd!”
“God save thee, king’s daughter! What good
dost thou bring the poor hareherd?”
“I have brought nothing but this, that I have
come because I would like to get one little hare.
Wouldst thou not give even one for good money?”
“High princess, I will not give one for money;
but if thou wilt give me three kisses, I can give
them back. Then I don’t mind; I’ll give thee a
hare.”
So the princess got a hare for three pairs of kisses,
and ran home very joyfully; but just as she was touching
430]
the latch to open the gate, the hareherd sounded
his whistle, the hare jumped like lightning from her
bosom, and stopped not till it reached the flock.
The hareherd drove home his flock; the king was
waiting for him at the gate, and let them in one by
one, counting till he came to a hundred.
Next day the hareherd drove out his hares the third
time, and left them to go their way.
The king now called his wife to the white chamber,
and spoke thus to her: “My heart’s beautiful love, I
have a great favor to ask of thee.”
“And what may it be, my dear husband?”
“Of a truth, nothing but this,—that thou dress in
peasant’s clothes, go to the hareherd in the field, and
ask a hare of him. If he will not give it for fair
words, he may for a sweet kiss; but come not home
to me without a hare, even if he asks a piece of thy
flesh.”
Well, the queen yielded to her husband’s request,
put on a peasant’s dress, and went to the field, where
she found the Useless Wagoner sleeping in the shade.
She roused him with her foot; he knew at once who
was in the peasant’s dress.
“God give thee a good-day, hareherd!”
“God save thee, kind queen! What good hast
thou brought the poor hareherd? Why hast thou
come, may I ask?”
“I have only come to ask if thou wilt give me a
hare for good money.”
431]
“I will not give a hare for money, my queen; but
if thou wilt give me three kisses, I will return them
again. Then I don’t mind; I’ll risk my head, and
let thee have a hare.”
So the queen got a hare for three pairs of kisses,
and took her way home joyously; but just as she
was putting her hand on the latch to open the gate,
the hareherd sounded the whistle, the hare jumped
like a flash from the queen’s bosom, and stopped not
till it joined its companions.
When the hares were all together, the hareherd
drove them home. The king was waiting for
him at the gate, let each in singly, counting till he
reached a hundred,—not one missing from the round
number.
Next morning the hares were driven out as before;
but the king now put on a peasant’s dress, and went
to the field himself. When he came to the hareherd
he said: “God give thee good-day!”
“God save thee, poor man!” answered the hareherd.
“What art thou looking for?”
“Well, what’s the use in delay or denial? I have
come to buy a little hare of thee for good money.
Of course thou wilt part with one.”
“I will not give one for money; but if I can wear
out twelve rods on thy back, I don’t mind; I’ll risk
my head on it.”
What was the king to do? He stretched himself
out with face and hands on the grass, and the hareherd
432]
flogged him as a corporal does a soldier; but
he endured it all, gritting his teeth, and thinking to
himself, “Wait a bit, thief of a Useless Wagoner,
thou wilt have a dose when I get at thee!”
But all to no use, for when the king had reached
home, and was just putting his hand on the latch
to open the gate, the whistle sounded, and the hare
sprang away from him like a flash, and ran till it
joined the flock.
Then the Useless Wagoner drove home the hundred
hares a fourth time. The king was standing at the little
gate; he counted them one by one, but could find
no fault, for they were all there.
The Useless Wagoner drove out the hares the fifth
time to pasture; but the king mounted the chariot
which went wherever the owner commanded, and
drove to the Useless Wagoner, taking three empty
bags with him. “Dost hear me, thou!—this-and-that-kind-of-work-shunning?
Hareherd, I revile thy
soul! If thou wilt not fill these three bags with
truth, I will strike off thy head.”
To all this the Useless Wagoner answered in words:
“The king’s daughter came out; I gave her, and she
gave me. The queen came; I gave her, and she gave
me. The king came; I gave him, and he—”
“Stop! stop!” cried the king, “the three bags
are full; and I’d rather be in hell than hear thy
words.”
At this speech the chariot started off with the king,
433]
and never stopped till it took him to the bottom of
hell.
Then the Useless Wagoner went home, married the
king’s daughter, became king, and reigns yet with his
queen, unless he is dead.
ONCE there was a king, and he had three sons.
The king rejoiced in his three sons, and resolved
to have them instructed in a befitting manner,
so that he might leave good heirs to the kingdom.
Therefore he sent his sons to school, where they got
on well enough for a time, till at length they turned
their backs on the school, went home, all three, and
knew their studies no more.
The king grew fiercely angry at this, forbade his
sons to stand before his face, and betook himself to
live in the chamber of his palace next the rising sun,
where he sat continually at the window and looked
towards the east as if waiting for something; and with
one eye he wept unceasingly, while with the other he
laughed.
After the three princes had grown up to a good
age, they agreed among themselves to inquire of the
king why he was always sitting in the chamber next
the rising sun, and why one of his eyes was always
crying, while the other was always laughing. First
the eldest son went in and put the question, saying,
“My father the king, I have come to ask why one of
thy eyes is always crying and the other always laughing,
435]
while thou art looking continually towards the
east.”
The king measured his son with his eyes from head
to foot, said not a word, but took a sword which hung
at the window and hurled it at him with such force
that it sank into the door up to the hilt. The prince
sprang through the door, thus escaping the blow
aimed at him. When he came out his brothers asked
what success he had had. He answered: “Try yourselves;
then ye will know.” The second brother
tried, with the same result as the first. At last the
youngest, who was called Mirko, went in and declared
the cause of his coming. The king answered him not,
but seized the sword in still greater anger, and hurled
it at him so that it entered the stone wall up to the hilt.
Mirko did not spring aside, but went to the sword,
drew it out of the stone wall, took it to the king, his
father, and placed it before him on the table.
Seeing this, the king opened his mouth and said to
Mirko: “I see now, my son, that thou knowest somewhat
better than thy two brothers what honor is; to
thee then will I give answer. My one eye weeps
unceasingly for sadness at your insignificance, not
being fit to rule; but my other eye laughs because
in the time of my youth I had a trusty comrade, the
Hero of the Plain, who battled by my side, and he
promised that if he should overpower his enemies he
would come to dwell with me, that we might pass the
days of our old age together. For this reason I sit
436]
ever by the window next the rising sun, because
I await his coming; but every day there rise up
against the Hero of the Plain, who dwells in the
silken meadow, as many enemies as there are grass-blades
on the field. Every day he unaided cuts them
down; and until all his enemies have disappeared, he
will not be able to come to me.”
With that Mirko left his father’s chamber, came out
to his brothers, and told them the king’s speech.
They counselled together again, and agreed to ask
leave of the king to try their fortune. First the
eldest son went to his father and made known his
wish. The king consented, and the eldest brother
went to the royal stables where he chose a good
steed, which he saddled next day, and set out on
his journey. After he had been absent a whole
year, behold he rides home, bearing on his shoulders
the top of the copper bridge, which he threw
down before the palace. He went in then, stood
before the face of the king, and told him where he
had been and what he had brought back.
The king heard his son’s discourse to the end, and
said: “Oh, my son, when I was of thy age the road
to the copper bridge was a two hours’ ride for me.
Thou art a soft hero. Thou wilt never make vitriol.
Go thy way.”
With that, the eldest son left his father’s chamber.
After him the second brother went in, and asked
leave of the king to try his fortune. Having received
437]
it, he went also to the stables and chose a good steed,
which he saddled, mounted, and went his way. At
the end of a year he came home, bringing the top of
the silver bridge, which he threw down in front of the
palace; then he stood before the king, his father, and
told him where he had been and what he had brought
back.
“Oh,” said the king, “when I was of thy age that
was only a three hours’ ride for me. Thou too art a
soft hero; nothing at all will come of thee.” With
that he dismissed the second son.
At last Mirko appeared; he also asked to try his
fortune. The king consented, and Mirko went to the
stables to choose a steed. Finding nothing to his
mind, he went out to the royal stud and examined it
carefully, but could not decide which steed to take.
Just then an old witch chanced to be passing that
way, and asked what he wanted. Mirko told her.
“Oh, my master,” said she, “thou wilt not find a
horse to thy wish here, but I will tell thee how to find
one. Go to the king, thy father, and ask him for the
horn with which in his youth he called together his
golden-haired steeds. Sound this horn and the steeds
will appear at once. Choose not among the golden-haired
ones; but last of all will come a shaggy-coated,
crooked-legged old mare,—thou wilt know her by
this, that when she strikes the pillars with her tail the
whole palace will tremble from the blow. Choose
her; try thy fortune with her.”
438]
Mirko took the old witch’s advice, went straightway
to the king and said: “My father, I have come
that thou mayest give me the horn with which in thy
youth thou wert wont to call together thy golden-haired
steeds.”
The king asked: “Who told thee of this horn?”
“No man,” answered Mirko.
“Well, my dear son, if no man told thee, thou art
wise; but if some man told thee, he does not wish thee
harm. I will tell thee where to find the horn; the
rust has eaten it up, perhaps, by this time. In the
seventh cellar it is enclosed in the wall; look for it,
take it out, and make use of it if thou art able.”
Mirko called a mason, went with him to the seventh
cellar, found the hollow place in the wall, took out
the horn, and carried it away. Then standing on the
square before the palace, he sounded towards the
east, the west, the south, and the north, and having
waited a little, behold! he hears the golden horse
bells ringing so that the whole city is full of the sound.
The steeds came in, one more beautiful than the other
in appearance and in breed. At a distance he saw
the shaggy-haired, crooked-legged mare; and when
she came to the gate, as true as I live, she struck the
pillars with her tail so that the whole palace trembled.
When the steeds had stopped in the court-yard,
Mirko went up to the mare, led her away to the
stable, and then said that he had taken her to try his
fortune. The magic mare answered: “That is well,
439]
my lord king’s son; but first thou must feed me,
for without that it will be hard to endure the long
road.”
“What kind of food dost thou wish?—for whatever
my father has, I will give thee with a good heart.”
“Very well, kind master; but a steed must be fed
before starting, not while on the road.”
“I know not what I can do,” said Mirko, “except
to give what I have with a good heart.”
“Bring me straightway a measure of peas, and turn
them into the manger.”
Mirko obeyed, and when the peas were eaten, he
brought a measure of beans; when these were eaten
the mare turned to Mirko and said: “Now bring me
half a measure of glowing coals.”
The coals were brought; and when she had eaten
the glowing coals, she became such a golden-haired
steed as the Star of Dawn, and spoke further to Mirko.
“Go now, my master, to the king, and ask of him
that saddle which he used when he coursed the
meadow with me in his youth.”
Mirko went to the old king and asked for the saddle.
The king answered that it was useless, for it
had been thrown about a long time in the carriage-house,
but if he could find it, he might take it. Mirko
went to the carriage-house and found the saddle all
befouled by the hens and turkeys. He took it, however,
to his steed, which said that it was not proper
for a king’s son to sit on such a saddle. Mirko was
440]
about to carry it away and have a fresh cover put on,
when she said: “Place it before me.” He obeyed.
Straightway she blew on it, and in an instant it became
such a golden saddle that its like could not be
found in seven kingdoms.
With this he saddled the magic mare, and she said:
“Go now, my dear master, to thy father, and ask him
for the weapons and the sword with which he fought
when he journeyed with me.”
Mirko asked his father; the old king said they
were on the shelf if he wanted them. Mirko took
them to the mare, who blew on them, and instantly
they became the most beautiful gold-mounted sword
and weapons. Mirko girded on the sword and took
the weapons. Then the bridle was brought, and
when blown upon became of the most beautiful
gold.
Mirko bridled the mare, led her out of the stable,
and wished to sit in the saddle, but she said: “Wait,
my dear master; lead me out of the city first, and then
sit on me.” He hearkened to these words, and led
her out of the city; then she stood still, and he sat in
the saddle.
The magic steed now asked: “How shall I bear
thee, dear master; with the speed of the fleet whirlwind,
or of quick thought?”
“Carry me as may please thee,” answered the
prince; “only manage so that I shall endure the swift
flight.”
441]
“Well, close thy eyes,” said the steed, “and hold
fast.”
Mirko closed his eyes; the steed shot on like a
rushing whirlwind, and after a short time struck the
earth with her foot, and said to Mirko: “Open thy
eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said he, “a great river and a copper
bridge.”
“That, my dear master, is the bridge the top of
which thy first brother brought home; but look for
the open place.”
“I see it,” said Mirko; “but where are we going
from here?”
“Only close thy eyes; I will take thee straight
there.”
With that she moved as quick as thought, and in a
few moments struck the earth, stood still, and said to
Mirko: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see a great river, and across it a silver bridge.”
“That is the bridge the top of which thy second
brother took home; look for the open place.”
“I see it,” said Mirko; “but where do we go from
here?”
“Only close thy eyes,” said the steed; “I will
take thee at once.”
With that she moved on like lightning, and in a
flash stamped on the ground, and said to the prince:
“Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “an enormously wide and
442]
deep river, across it a golden bridge, and at both
ends of the bridge, at this side and that, are four unmercifully
large lions. Must we cross this bridge?”
“Never mind,” said the steed, “I’ll manage; only
shut thy eyes.”
The mare sped on like a swift falcon, and thus flew
across the bridge. After a short time she struck the
ground, and said: “Open thy eyes! What dost
thou see?”
“I see,” replied Mirko, “a summitless, high glass
mountain, as steep as the side of a house.”
“We must cross that very mountain, my master.”
“That, I think, is impossible,” said Mirko.
“Fear not,” said the steed; “for I have on my
feet the shoes which thy father fastened to me with
diamond nails, seven hundred years ago. Only shut
thy eyes and hold to me firmly.”
Now the steed sprang up, and in an instant was on
the glass mountain. She stamped, and said, “Open
thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “when I look behind, something
dark, as large as a great plate.”
“Oh, my master, that is the round of the earth.
But what dost thou see before thee?”
“I see a narrow glass road, rising like a half circle.
On both sides of it is emptiness of bottomless
depth.”
“My dear master, we must pass over that road;
but the passage is so delicate that if one of my feet
443]
slip the least bit to one side or the other, there is an
end to our lives. But trust thyself to me, and close
thy eyes. Hold fast, I will manage.”
With that she swept on, and in an instant stamped
again. “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see behind me,” said Mirko, “a faint light, in
front of me is darkness so dense that when I hold
my finger before my eyes I cannot see it.”
“Well, we must go through that also; shut thy
eyes and hold firmly.”
She sped on anew, and again stamped. “Open
thy eyes! What dost thou see now?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “the most glorious, light,
beautiful, snow-covered mountains, and in the midst
of them a silken meadow; in the centre of the silken
meadow something dark.”
“This silken meadow,” said the steed, “belongs to
the Hero of the Plain; and the dark object in the
middle is his tent, woven from black silk. Now close
thy eyes or not as may please thee. We shall go
there directly.” Mirko spurred the steed, and they
were at the tent in a twinkle.
Mirko sprang from his steed and left her at the tent
by the side of that of the Hero of the Plain, and entered
himself. Within lay a warrior stretched on the
silken grass, sleeping; but a sword above him was
cutting around in every direction, so that a fly could
not light on his body. “Well,” thought Mirko to
himself, “though he be a good warrior I could slay
444]
him in slumber; but it would not be honorable to slay
a sleeping man. I will wait till he rises.” Then he
went out and tied his steed fast to the tent, near the
other, stretched himself on the silken grass, and
called: “Sword out of thy sheath!” and the sword
cut around above him, as his sword above the Hero
of the Plain, so that a fly could not touch his body.
When the Hero of the Plain woke up and saw that
a horse was tied near his own, he marvelled, and said:
“What does this mean? I am here seven hundred
years, and I have not seen a strange horse near mine
before. Whose can this be?” He rose, went out,
and saw Mirko sleeping near the tent with the sword
cutting above him. “That,” said he, “is an honest
warrior; he has not slain me while sleeping. It
would not become me to touch him now.”
Then he pushed the foot of the sleeping hero with
his own. Mirko jumped up straightway, and the
Hero of the Plain asked: “Who art thou, and on
what journey?” Mirko told whose son he was, and
what his journey. “God has brought thee, dear
younger brother,” said the Hero; “thy father is my
old friend, and thou, I see, art as good as thy father.
But I have need of thee. This great silken meadow
which thou seest, is every day filled with enemies,
and every day I cut them down; but to-day as thou
art with me, we shall not hurry. Come, let us eat
and drink; let them crowd.” Then the two went in,
ate and drank till the enemy had so increased that
445]
they reached almost to the tent. The Hero of the
Plain sprang then to his feet and said: “Up, my comrade,
we’ll soon finish.” Both leaped into their saddles
and rushed to the centre of the enemy, crying
out, “Sword from the sheath!” The swords hewed
off the heads of the countless multitude, so there was
scarcely room to move for bodies. Twelve of the opposing
warriors now flee from the rear, the Hero of
the Plain and Mirko pursuing. They come to a glass
mountain; the twelve warriors rushing ahead. Mirko
pursues in hot haste. On the top of the mountain
there is a nice, level space; he sees them running
upon it. He gallops after them; but all at once they
are as if the ground had swallowed them. Mirko
springs to the place where they disappear, finds a
breach and a deep opening with winding steps. His
steed rushes into the opening and down the stairs;
they are soon in the lower world.
Mirko looks around the lower world and sees a
shining diamond castle, which serves instead of the
sun down there. The twelve fleeing warriors rush
towards the castle, he after them, and ordering his
sword out of the sheath, cuts off their heads in a moment.
The next instant Mirko stands before the diamond
castle. Within, there is such a clatter and
pounding that the whole interior trembles and shivers.
He dismounts and enters. Inside is an old witch
weaving, and the racket is deafening. The building is
full of armed men. The infernal old witch weaves
446]
them. When she throws her shuttle to the right, two
hussars spring out on horseback; when she throws it
to the left, two men on foot jump out armed.
Meanwhile Sword out of the Sheath cuts down the
newly made soldiers, but the old witch weaves more.
“Well,” thinks Mirko to himself, “I shall never
get out of here, at this rate;” but he commands
the sword, and it cuts the old witch into small pieces.
Then he carries the loom into the yard, where there
is a pile. He throws everything on the pile and sets
fire to it; but when all is burned one of the old witch’s
ribs springs out, begins to turn round in the dust, and
she rises up again entire. Again Mirko is going to
command the sword to cut her to pieces, but she
speaks up, “Spare my life, Mirko, and await one
good deed for another, if thou wilt let me go. Thou
dost not know how to escape from here; I will give
thee four diamond horse-shoe nails. Do as I say;
thou wilt profit by it.”
Mirko takes the nails and puts them away, but says
to himself: “If I leave the old witch alive, she will
put up her loom again, and the Hero of the Plain
will never be able to free himself from his enemies.”
Again he orders his sword to cut the old witch in
pieces; he throws the pieces into the fire, where they
are consumed, so that she can never rise again. He
mounts his steed and searches the underground world,
but nowhere does he find a living soul.
Then he puts spurs to his steed, springs up the
447]
circular stairs, and issues forth into the upper world.
Straightway he comes down from the glass mountain,
and passing over the silken meadow, returns to the
Hero of the Plain, who thought Mirko had left him.
But when he saw his friend returning, he went out
to meet him with great joy, and took him into the
tent, where they feasted together gloriously. And
when the prince rose to go, he offered him his
silken meadow and all the royal domains; but
Mirko answered: “My dear elder brother, I have
finished thy enemies; they will never attack thy
kingdom again. I have this now to ask, that thou
come with me to my father the king, who has long
been waiting for thee.”
Thereupon they mounted their steeds, and set out
for the realms of the old king. They went on easily
till they reached the glass mountain, where the Hero
of the Plain stopped, and said: “My dear younger
brother, I cannot go on, for the diamond nails are
long since worn from my horse’s shoes, and his feet
have no grip.”
Mirko called to mind that the cursed old witch
had given him the diamond nails, and said: “Grieve
not, elder brother, I have nails; I’ll shoe thy horse
this minute.”
So he took out the nails, and shod the Hero’s
horse. Then they continued their journey over the
glass mountain with ease and comfort, like two jolly
comrades, and sped homeward as swiftly as thought.
448]
At that time the old king was sitting at the window
of his palace next the rising sun, and lo! he
beholds two horsemen riding towards him. Straightway
he takes his field-glass, and sees that it is his
trusty old comrade, the Hero of the Plain, together
with his son Mirko. He runs out, and from the
tower commands that a twelve-year old ox be
killed; and when Mirko and the Hero arrive, the
great feast is ready. He receives them with joy,
kisses and embraces them; this time both his eyes
are laughing. Then they sat down to the feast, ate
and drank with gladness. Meanwhile the Hero of
the Plain spoke of Mirko’s doings, and among other
things said to the old king: “Well, comrade, thy
son Mirko will be a better hero than we were; he is
already a gallant youth. Thou hast cause to rejoice
in him.”
“Indeed, I begin to be satisfied with him,” said
the king, “especially since he has brought thee. But
I do not think he would venture yet to measure
strength with Doghead.”
Mirko heard the conversation, but said nothing.
After dinner, however, he spoke to the Hero of the
Plain apart, and inquired who Doghead was, and in
what direction he lived. The Hero of the Plain told
him that Doghead lived in the north, and was such
a hero that his like was not under the sun.
Mirko made preparations for his journey, took
provisions, and next day set out for Doghead’s.
449]
According to his wont, he sat on his steed, held
fast, and closed his eyes. The steed sped on, flying
like the swift whirlwind. At length she stopped,
struck the ground, and said to Mirko: “Open thy
eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said the prince, “a seven-story diamond
castle, so bright that I can look on the sun, but not
on it.”
“Well, Doghead lives there; that is the royal
castle.”
Mirko sprang towards it, stopped right under
the window, and called out in a loud voice: “Art
thou here, Doghead? I have an account to settle
with thee.”
Doghead was not at home, but his daughter was,
and such a beautiful princess that her like could not
be found on the whole round of the earth. As she
sat by the window embroidering, and heard the loud,
piercing voice, she looked out so angrily with her wondrous
black, beautiful eyes that Mirko and his horse
were turned into stone in an instant from the flash.
Then she thought: “Maybe this young man is a
king’s son.” She went to look at him, was sorry she
had turned him to stone so quickly, and approached,
taking a golden rod, walked around the stone statue
and struck it on all sides with the rod. The stone
began to move, and in a moment Mirko and his
horse stood alive before her. Then the maiden
asked, “Who art thou, and on what journey?”
450]
Mirko answered that he was a king’s son, and had
come to see Doghead’s daughter.
The maiden was so displeased that she called out
to her father very angrily; but presently she thought
better of it, fell in love with Mirko, and led him up
into the seven-story diamond palace, where she saw
him with a good heart. During conversation at the
table, Mirko confessed that he had come to try his
strength with Doghead.
The maiden advised him not to do that, since there
was no man on the round of the earth whom her
father could not conquer. Seeing, however, that
Mirko would not desist from his purpose, she took
compassion on him, and told how her father might,
perhaps, be overcome. “Go down,” said she “into
the seventh cellar of the castle. There thou wilt
find an unsealed cask, in which my father keeps
his strength. Here is a silver flask; fill it from the
cask. Do not stop the flask, but keep it always
hanging from thy neck uncorked; and when thy
strength begins to fail, dip thy little finger in. Every
time thou shalt do so, thy strength will be increased
with the strength of five thousand men. Drink of
the wine, for every drop contains the strength of five
thousand men.”
Mirko listened to her advice attentively, hung the
flask upon his neck, went into the cellar, and found
the wine. He took a good draught of it; then thinking
that he had enough, and lest Doghead might
451]
make further use of the wine, he poured it all on the
ground, to the last drop. There were six measures
of wheat-flour in the cellar, which he sprinkled
around to absorb the moisture. Having done this,
he went up to Doghead’s daughter, and declared
that he was ready, and thanking her for the counsel,
vowed to take her as wife for her kindness, and
swore eternal fidelity.
The beautiful princess consented, making one condition,—that
if Mirko should overcome her father,
he would spare his life.
Mirko asked the maiden when her father might be
expected to return, and from what quarter.
She answered that he was then in the realms of
the setting sun, that he took delight in those regions,
but would soon be home, for it was the hour of his
coming. But it was easy to know it beforehand,
for when he was forty miles distant, he was in the
habit of hurling home a forty-hundred-pound club
before him; and wherever it fell a fountain gushed
out of the earth.
Mirko and the princess went on the balcony to
wait for Doghead; all at once (the Lord save us!)
the sky grew dark, and a forty-hundred pound club
fell in the court-yard. A stream rushed out of the
earth as if from a force-pump.
Mirko ran down straightway to see how much his
strength had increased. He picked up the club,
whirled it around his head, and let it go so that it came
452]
down just in front of Doghead. Doghead’s horse
stumbled over the club, whereupon his master flew
into a rage, and cried out: “May the wolves and
dogs devour thee! Seven hundred years have I
ridden thee, and to this day thou hast never stumbled.
Why begin now?”
“Oh, dear master,” answered the magic steed,
“there is mighty trouble at home; for the club which
thou hast sent ahead has been hurled back, and I
stumbled over it.”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Doghead. “Seven
hundred years ago I saw in a dream that I should
have a struggle with Mirko, the king’s son, some
day. He is now at the castle; but what is he to me?
There is more strength in my little finger than in his
whole body.” With that Doghead sped homeward
and was soon there.
Mirko, the king’s son, was waiting in the court-yard,
and when Doghead saw the prince he made
straight towards him and said: “Mirko, I know that
thou art waiting for me. Well, here I am; what dost
thou wish, that we should fight with swords or
wrestle?”
“I care not,” answered Mirko; “any way that
may please thee.”
“Well, let us try it first with swords,” said Doghead.
He got off his horse; they stood face to face, and
both commanded: “Sword out of the sheath.”
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The swords sprang out in fighting, and so cut above
the heads of the two that the whole place was rattling
with their blows. Sparks flew so thickly from their
fierce slashing that fire covered the ground, and it
was impossible to stand long in one place.
Then Doghead said: “Let us not spoil our swords,
but put them up and try wrestling.”
They laid aside the swords and began to wrestle.
Doghead seized Mirko by the body, raised him up
in the air, and so planted him on the ground that he
sank in it up to the girdle. Mirko, frightened at
this, thrust his little finger into the flask, and became
so strong that he sprang out of the earth in a moment,
rushed at Doghead, and so stretched him on the ground
that he lay there like a flattened frog. Then, seizing
him by the hair, he dragged him toward the castle,
where a golden bridge was built across a bottomless
lake. Having brought him to the middle of the
bridge, he held his head above the water and commanded
the sword to cut. The head fell into the
bottomless lake, and Mirko threw the body after.
Doghead’s daughter saw all this, and was powerfully
angry at Mirko, the king’s son. When he came
before her she turned her face away and would not
come to speech with him. But Mirko explained that
he could not have done otherwise, for if he had
spared Doghead’s life, he would have lost his own;
but as he had pledged his faith to the princess, he
held to his word, and would marry her. The
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princess approved this, and they agreed to make
ready and set out for Mirko’s kingdom. The horses
were brought,—Doghead’s magic steed for the
princess. They mounted the horses, but when ready
to start, Mirko became very sorrowful.
“Why art thou sad Mirko?” inquired the princess.
“Because,” said he, “I wish greatly to go home,
but it is hard to leave this glorious, seven-story diamond
castle here, which was thy father’s, for there is
none like it in our kingdom.”
“Oh, my dear,” said the princess, “I will turn it
at once into a golden apple. I will sit in the middle
of the apple; thou mayst put it in thy pocket, and
thus carry home the castle and me. There thou
canst change it back again whenever the wish
comes.”
The beautiful princess came down from her horse,
gave the reins to Mirko, and taking out a diamond
rod walked around the building and struck it on the
sides with the rod. The castle began to shrink together,
and became smaller and smaller until it was
the size of a watchman’s booth. Then she jumped
in and it became a golden apple, but the diamond
rod remained on the ground outside. Mirko, the
king’s son, picked up the golden apple and the
diamond rod, put them in his pocket, sat on his steed,
and leading Doghead’s horse by the bridle, travelled
home comfortably.
When Mirko had come home and seen his horses
455]
in the stable he went to the palace, where he found
the old king with the Hero of the Plain, satisfied and
amused. He told them that he had conquered Doghead
and put him to death; but the old king and
the Hero of the Plain shook their heads.
Mirko, taking them both by the hands, said:
“Come with me, and I will show you, so that ye
may see with your own eyes that I have beaten
Doghead; for not only have I brought his seven-story
diamond castle with me, but his loveliest
daughter with the castle, as proof of my work.”
The old king and the Hero of the Plain marvelled
at Mirko’s speech, and were in doubt; but they went
with him, and he led them to the flowery garden of
the palace, in the middle of which Mirko took a
beautiful spacious place for the diamond castle, where
he put down the golden apple. He began to turn
and strike it on the sides with the diamond rod. The
apple swelled out and began to extend with four corners,
and grew greater and greater, till it became a
seven-story diamond castle as high as the trees.
Then taking them by the hands he led them up the
diamond staircase and entered the halls of the castle,
where the world-renowned beautiful princess met and
received them with a good heart. Then she sent for
the old king’s other sons and the chief men of his
court. In the dining-hall was a great horse-shoe
table. She commanded it; the table opened of itself,
and every kind of precious meat and drink appeared
456]
upon it. Then the assembled guests feasted joyously.
The old king was satisfied at last with his
son. He gave Mirko his kingdom and all his possessions,
but he withdrew himself to quiet private life,
with the Hero of the Plain, and many a pleasant day
the old comrades had together; and the old king’s
two eyes were always laughing. The royal pair lived
happily, and had beautiful children. They are still
alive if they are not dead.
THERE was once a king, and he had two sons.
The king sent his eldest son to marry. He
went, and chose the elder sister of the Reed Maiden.
When he brought home his wife the king was satisfied
with the choice. After that the king sent his
younger son to marry, and he answered that he would
not take any poor skeleton of a thing, but that his
wife must be the most beautiful flower on the whole
round of the earth,—the most lovely, world-beautiful
maiden.
Once the king’s two sons went to hunt; on the way
home the younger said to the elder: “My dear elder
brother, I would beg of thee a favor.”
“And what may it be, younger brother?”
“In truth, no other than this: When we come
home, ask thy wife if there is any one more beautiful
than she.”
“If that’s thy trouble, it is no great matter, for my
wife is just coming to meet us.—Well, my heart’s
gold-enclosed ruby, wilt thou answer one question?
Thou art for me the most beautiful, but is there one
still more beautiful in the world?”
Now the princess all at once acted like one hard
of hearing; she answered nothing, but stopped them
458]
with a nod, and commanded with her eye, “Silence!
not a word more.”
It stopped there. The younger brother, whatever
he did not do, he stole into his brother’s bed-chamber
quietly. In the evening, when the elder brother
and his wife came in, the husband said: “Tell me,
my heart’s heart, why didst thou not answer my
question a little while ago?”
“I did not answer, dear husband, because thou
didst ask me before thy brother. It would not have
been well for him to know that I have a younger
sister who is the most beautiful maiden on the whole
round of the earth, but she is hidden in the middle one
of three reeds; for this reason she is known as the
world-beautiful Reed Maiden. The other two reeds
are her waiting-maids.”
“But thou hast not told me, my dear, in what corner
of the world she is hidden.”
“Oh, my dear husband, it is far from here,—as far
as from here there and from there back; but as thou
hast asked I will tell thee. Hast thou heard of the
fame of the Black Sea?”
“I have not, indeed.”
“Well, if thou hast not, then hear now. In the
seventy-seventh island of the Black Sea, right in the
middle, are hidden three reeds, but no mortal could go
to them unless by some magic power or infernal art;
but if by a miracle he should get there, he would not
be able to bring away anything.—First, because
459]
there is such darkness on the islands of the Black Sea
that a spoon might stand up in it; second, because
the world-beautiful Reed Maiden is guarded by a
witch whose life will end when the reeds are cut
down; therefore she guards them as the light of her
two eyes, or still more carefully. But if any man
could bring the maiden away, he would be the happiest
person in the wide world; for the islands would be
lighted up, and he would gain a wife whom the starry
heavens would gaze upon with smiles.”
When the king’s younger son had heard all this
from root to branch, he went out of the room by the
same way he had entered. Then saddling his best
and favorite steed, he put provisions in his bag
and moved out into the wide world in search of the
beautiful Reed Maiden. He journeyed and travelled
over forty-nine kingdoms and beyond the Operentsia
Sea till he came to a hut; in the hut an old woman
was living: “God give thee good-day, dear old
mother.”
“If thou hadst not called me old mother, I should
have eaten thee on the spot. But whither art thou
journeying in this strange land, where even a bird
does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-beautiful Reed Maiden,
who is blooming in the seventy-seventh island of the
Black Sea. Hast thou not heard of her, dear old
mother?”
“What’s the use in denying, my son? I have not
460]
heard. Why should I evade, since it can neither
harm nor profit me? But here in the neighboring
valley, over the mountain, straight ahead, near a
round forest on the top of a hill, lives my elder sister;
if she knows nothing about it, then no one in the
world knows. Here, Mitsi, come out! Conduct the
king’s son to my elder sister.”
The king’s son followed Mitsi, who was no other
than a large-whiskered little mouse. When they
came to a cross-road Mitsi squeaked once, showed
the middle of the road, and ran home. The king’s
son went along the right road, and arrived at the hut
in which the second sister lived. She received him
in like manner as the first, and sent her servant,
Pitsi, to show him the road to her eldest sister.
Pitsi was no other than a dove-white squirrel, with a
long bushy tail. When the king’s son came to the
third hut, where the eldest sister lived, he said: “God
give thee a good-day, dear old mother.”
“If thou hadst not called me old mother, I should
have eaten thee on the spot. Whither art thou wandering
in this strange land, where even a bird does
not go?”
“I am in search of the world-beautiful Reed
Maiden, who is blooming in the seventy-seventh
island of the Black Sea. Hast thou not heard of
her, dear old mother?”
“Oh, king’s son, thou wouldst wear off thy horse’s
legs to the knees, and wear out twelve pairs of iron
461]
boots on thy own feet, before thou couldst reach
that place, for it is only possible to go there on a
steed that has sucked dragon’s milk, eaten glowing
coals, and drunk the fiery flame; but thou hast in
thy head three golden hairs, grown from one root, of
which thou hast known nothing to this moment.
Come hither; let me cut them out.”
The king’s son bent down his head. The old
woman cut out the three golden hairs. “See, my
son, these three hairs have wondrous power. A fairy
gave them to thy father, with whom, as he was a
beautiful man, she fell in love, and thou hast inherited
them. Here they are; I give them to thee with this
latch-string. Go up on this terribly high mountain,
which in front of my hut supports the heavens.
When thou shalt come to the top, strike the three
golden hairs with the latch-string three times; at
once will stand before thee a magic steed that has
grown up on the silken meadow, sucked dragon’s
milk, eaten glowing coals, and drunk fiery flames.”
The king’s son gave heartfelt thanks for the kindness
shown him, then went up on the great unclimbable
mountain that supported the heavens. When
he had reached the top he took out the three golden
hairs and struck them three times with the old latch-string.
Behold, a fiery cloud rushed towards him like
a shot arrow, with a fearful rumbling and cracking,
as if a whole stud of horses were before it, and then
stood still above his head. All at once he heard
462]
from the fiery cloud a triple neighing, at the sound
of which, as of a bell, the earth trembled three times.
The magic steed rushed out, and like a flood, like
a cloud-burst, plunged down by his side, blowing
from its nostrils varied flames,—red, blue, and
green. The latch-string became such a saddle that
for the fur and diamond buttons, and silver and gold
embroidery, the earth could not be seen.
“Hip, hop! here am I, dear master! That there
be no delay in thy affair, wilt thou not sit on my
back that I may be off with thee? Shall I go like
the swiftest whirlwind, or like thought, or as a bird
can fly?”
“Go, my dear steed, in such fashion that there may
be no fault in thee or me.”
“But before we set out on the long road,” said the
magic steed, “I wish to say this: Since such dense
darkness reigns in the islands that a spoon might
stand straight in it, we must first go to the bright
antechamber of the Sun, and take thence one
burning ray.”
When the steed had thus ended the speech, he
rose in the airy heavens. They journeyed and travelled
across forty-nine kingdoms till they came to
the portals of the earth, where two bearded wolves
stood on guard. These wolves stood on the road
and demanded toll. The toll was no other than
two pounds of flesh from the good steed. Now, if
two pounds of flesh were taken from the steed, it
463]
would be but half magic, and so would never reach
the end of the road. Whatever the king’s son did
not do, he took his gleaming clasp-knife and cut out
two pounds of his own flesh; then he threw it to the
bearded wolves, and only on this condition did they
let him pass.
The king’s son pursued his way till he came to
the Sun’s bright antechamber, where he tied his
steed to a diamond pillar; then he bathed in the
fire-bath, and rubbed with fire-towels; looking at
himself from head to foot in the shining wall of
the antechamber as in a mirror, he combed his hair
with a golden comb. Here, ’pon my soul, what
came of the affair, or what did not, a subject-spirit in
the service of the Sun became enraged in good earnest
(for his eyebrows struggled with each other),—no
doubt it was at the king’s son,—and with a single
breath, which the son of the hurricane could not
withstand, blew straight ahead, so that the king’s son
did not feel the ground under his feet for seventy-seven
miles. Then he fell into a terribly dark opening,
and groped along in this cavern, feeling his way
like a blind man. If he made a step, he trod on a
serpent; if he felt with his hand, he grasped a warty
toad; if he looked around, he saw only red-eyed
worms,—creeping, crawling things. He went on and
on till he heard the plash of seething water. The
beating of iron hammers struck his ear-drum, and so
struck as almost to break it. This is the place where
464]
thunderbolts are made. He went on till he came to
a great iron gate, standing open just then; but a tremendous,
cursed, hundred-headed dragon, who let no
one pass, kept guard there. What could the king’s
son take hold of? What could he do with his life?
Here, upon my soul! what he did, or what he did
not do, he took out a sweet-speaking, magic flute,
and blew on it so sadly that his tears rolled down.
Such touching notes did he draw from the flute
that the great powerful beast—the hundred-headed
dragon—became as a lamb, lowered his bloody
crest; his bristling scales dropped smoothly, one on
the other; he stretched on the ground, and cowered,
whining like a dog when he beholds his master after
an absence. Seeing this, the king’s son grew bold,
and going straight to the dragon, stepped upon him,
walked on his back, and the terrible wild beast did
not mind it; he only licked his foot, wagged his tail,
and let the king’s son pass over.
After he had gone through the gate the darkness
began to part; and no wonder, for a charm-given,
lovely maiden, in a purple velvet robe, stepped before
him. She was no other than Dawn, the dearest
and best-beloved daughter of the Sun. Now, the
splendid young prince pleased this flower of the skies.
She placed him by her side on her winged steed, and
flew across the vault of heaven, and they swept on till
they reached the razor bridge. When they touched
the bridge, their horse became as if he were not; and
465]
they crossed so that the horse’s feet were not injured,
and the razor’s edge was not dented. Having passed
the razor bridge they came to the copper forest,
where were working at that moment the woodcutters
of the Sun, who on iron wagons were taking wood to
the kitchen, with a terrible rattling and pounding.
Thence they rode to the silver forest, where silver-white
birds cheered every wanderer. Two of the birds
came and sang the sweetest notes. The silver-trees
inclined thrice to the daughter of the Sun. Next they
reached the golden forest, where sweet-voiced, golden-yellow
birds enlivened the visitors, and threw down
golden nuts here and there from the trees. The
golden forest bent thrice to the daughter of the Sun.
In the middle of the golden forest was Dawn’s
garden; in the garden her copper-roofed mansion.
When the Beauty of the Skies came home the pearly
flowers shook their bells, and began to sound. On
hearing this, the stars swept forth like a swarm, and
glittered round about. The maiden nodded but once,
and behold! purple clouds swam before her like so
many sky-sacks, which serve on the extended firmament
as boats. Dawn took her seat, but first she
spread her mantle and seated the king’s son at her
side. Lest his part of the boat might be heavier,
she drew him nearer to her with an embrace; but
he dared not embrace in return.
They sailed and sailed through the airy heavens till
they were weary; then they tied their boat to the
466]
tree with diamond blossoms, silver leaves, and golden
apples. They sat on a golden bench under the tree,
and were there but a moment, when at a nod from
the Sun’s daughter a golden butterfly appeared more
quickly than a spoken word, and brought fresh-gathered
honey of the skies on a rose-leaf. When they
had eaten, thirst seized the king’s son; then a modest
star came bringing a goblet on a silver tray, in the
goblet a charm-drink, and when the king’s son had
drunk from the golden goblet his thirst fell away
as if it had been cut in two.
When their hunger and thirst were gone, at the Sun’s
daughter’s nod the modest stars brought a cithara.
Dawn then played on its golden chords with silver
feathers, and sounded such notes that a man hearing
them would spring up and whirl in the dance, even if
his own father were lying dead on the table. After
that came the hour of rest; the king’s son was led
across seventy-seven chambers to the bath-room. In
the middle of the room stood a great golden cask
filled with dew, and on a boxwood table lay lathery
soap. The king’s son bathed in the dew-water,
washed himself with the lathery soap, and wiped with
a towel of gold.
When he rose next morning, Dawn gave him a
burning ray which she wound up like a ribbon, put
in a box, and hung with a golden hair on the neck of
the king’s son. After that they parted amidst tear-shedding.
The Sun’s daughter sped across the vault
467]
of heaven on her winged steed, and the king’s son
continued his journey.
As I say, he had a ray to light up the island. The
king’s son journeyed and travelled till the steed spoke,
saying: “Listen, dear master.”
“What is thy command, dear horse?”
“Gird thyself well, for thou must cut the three
reeds at a blow; a second blow would lose thee thy
head. If at one blow thou succeed, the island will be
lighted up. The world-beautiful maiden and her two
attendants will be thine, but only on condition that
thou cut not open the reeds before coming to water;
for if thou dost, they will die a fearful death in a
moment.”
The king’s son promised by heaven and earth that
he would act as told. On the seventh day they came
to the island of the Black Sea, where there was such
darkness that a spoon would have stood up in it; but
the king’s son drew out the box hanging by the
golden hair and removed the cover. All at once the
way was lighted, but so strangely that it gave light
only to him; he could see everything, but not a
created soul could see him. When he came to where
the three reeds were growing, they bent before him
and bowed to the earth. They continued to bow; at
the best moment the king’s son drew his sword and
with a blow all three reeds fell upon his breast. But
from the three reed-stumps black blood sprang forth,
and a bitter wail was heard as if a naked sword had
468]
been thrust into some one’s heart. It had been
thrust into the heart of the witch; for the black blood
was hers, and the bitter wail was her death-sigh.
She could only live while the three reeds stood. As
soon as the old witch had breathed out her soul, the
burning ray flew out of the silver box as if it had been
shot from a gun, and the whole island was in light.
Then the king’s son sat on his good steed and
journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms as swiftly as the
most fleet-winged bird could go. Once curiosity
rose in him to know if there was indeed something in
the reeds, and what it could be like. I say, curiosity
rose up in him, and bored his side as if with an iron
auger, so that what he did or did not do, he took out
his gleaming knife and split the smallest reed, in
which was the youngest attendant of the world-beautiful
Reed Maiden. No sooner had he split the reed
than a beauteous, pearl-given, lovely girl fell upon his
breast; and her first word was: “Water! Only as
much water as a little swallow takes in her beak when
she gives drink to her young, or I die!”
But the king’s son had it not. One drop of water
is not much, but he could not give that much. The
beautiful maiden, like a broken flower, began to
wither, grew paler and paler, till at last the pallor of
death seized her head, and bending to the breast of
the king’s son, she died.
The king’s son was so sorry for his fault that if it
had been possible, he would have atoned for it with
469]
his blood; but that was not possible. Therefore he
came down from his good steed, dug a grave with
his sword, and buried the maiden; as a grave-mark
he planted the split reed, and from it a black rose
sprang, which as mourning, bloomed in black.
A bitter weeping wail, a bitter woe-cry was heard
from the two reeds that were not split yet, as if some
one were bewailing a brother. Great sadness seized
the king’s son too, who thought, “I caused the death
of this maiden. I broke this flower and planted it in
the bosom of death.” But if he had wept out his soul,
it would have been useless; therefore he mounted his
steed and rode farther. He travelled and journeyed
till curiosity rose in his breast, and bored his side as
with an iron auger. “Is there in the second reed another
such maiden; and will she go like the first?”
At last he could resist the devil’s boring no longer;
so he took his gleaming clasp-knife, and split the
second reed also. Behold, the elder attendant of
the Reed Maiden, came out, saying: “Water, water,
or I shall die a fearful death!” But the king’s son
had not one drop of water; the maiden grew paler
and paler, till she dropped her head on the breast
of the king’s son, and died. The king’s son came
to the earth, dug a grave with his sword, and buried
the maiden. At the head of the grave he placed the
split reed; from it a beautiful rose-bush sprang up,
which bloomed in black, as mourning.
A bitter weeping wail, a bitter woe-cry of pain was
470]
heard from the unsplit reed, in which the world-beautiful
maiden herself was hidden; and no less
grief seized the king’s son. He had killed two;
with his own strength he had broken two beautiful
flowers, and put them in the bosom of death. Grief
covered him with black wing. His good steed went
as a bird of swiftest flight till curiosity rose up in the
breast of the king’s son, bored his side as with an
iron auger. “What sort of person is his future
bride? who is the world-beautiful Reed Maiden?”
Since he could not resist this devil’s boring, this
mighty curiosity, he took out the third and last reed
to split it; but the magic steed reached back, and
taking the reed from the king’s son, did not return
it till they came to the shore of a lake.
At the water the king’s son split the last reed, and
there came forth such a maiden that her like was not
born since the world began, nor before, nor after.
Her first word was: “Water! Only as much water as
a little swallow takes in her beak when she gives
drink to her young, or I shall die in a moment!”
The king’s son gave her to drink; she felt better.
Then they embraced, and kissed, saying, “I am
thine, thou art mine.”
“Listen, my beautiful love,” said the king’s son,
“while I ride home for a carriage of glass and gold
do thou hide in this willow; but till I see thee,
though one word is not much, speak not that much
to any one.”
471]
The king’s son rode for the glass and golden carriage;
the maiden climbed the willow where she hid.
Now, what came of the affair, and what did not, while
the king’s son was gone a crawfish-gathering gypsy
girl happened under the willow-tree, and looking in
the water she saw the quivering image of the charming
maiden. Putting her hand on her hip she said:
“What a beautiful shadow I have, quite worthy of a
princess.”
“It’s thine of course! I’ll tell whose it is,” said a
golden bird from the tree, in a golden voice.
The gypsy looked into the tree, where she saw
the world-beautiful princess, for the sight of whom
the sun would have stood still in heaven. The girl
said nothing, but in a twinkle she dragged the maiden
from the tree by her white foot, pulled off her
purple velvet robe, and threw her into the water.
The maiden did not sink, but shaking herself, turned
into a golden-feathered duck and swam on the lake.
The gypsy then, ill or well, put on the purple velvet
robe, which sat on her as if it had been put on with a
fork and rake; then she sat with great importance on
the tree. But she did not sit long; for seeing the
golden duck, she jumped down and began to throw
stones at her. She threw and threw so many that her
arm grew tired, but she could not hit, for the golden
duck dived into the water the moment a stone flew
over her. At last the gypsy was tired, climbed into
the willow-tree and waited for fortune.
472]
She had not long to wait, for soon the king’s son
came with a gold and glass carriage to take home
the golden bird; but the gypsy had her mind, for she
would not come down from the tree—at least she
said so—till he should shoot the golden duck on
the lake, so she might drink its red blood, and eat
its tender flesh.
The king’s son took his arrow, aimed to kill the
golden duck; but the gypsy will not drink its red
blood, will not eat its tender flesh, for the arrow never
went with its point to the duck, but always turned
towards her the feathered end. If it had found her, it
would not have been her death. The king’s son had
shot away all his arrows, and besides it was evening;
he had to leave the amusement and turn his wagon-tongue
homeward.
At home he had told how beautiful a wife he was
bringing; all the greater was the surprise when he
led in the bride with raised veil. The king’s son had
praised the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, and now
before the wedding assembly stands a leather-cheeked
gypsy girl. The guests know not whether to laugh
or to be angry.
Now, the queen—the former gypsy—thought that
it could not remain thus, without the world-beautiful
Reed Maiden visiting her husband in the night;
therefore she put a sleeping-powder into his drink
every God-given evening, from which the king’s son
slept like a shepherd’s coat.
473]
The world-beautiful Reed Maiden shook herself,
turned into a little bird, and at midnight she came to
the king’s son’s window. She knocked with her little
beak, the window opened of itself, and she flew in;
then the little bird shook herself, turned into a princess
such as had not been born before, nor since, nor
after that. She went to the king’s son, spoke to him
fondling words, but he did not hear; roused him, but
he did not wake; bent over him, and at last cried
long, but he did not feel the hot tears which burned
his cheek,—he lay there motionless as a block.
Then she said: “Oh, king’s son, youth of my soul,
thy dear lips are dumb; open them for one, two
words, to cheer thy beautiful love, thy tender violet.
I will come yet twice, then never again.”
But the king’s son did not wake. When the clock
struck one after midnight the maiden shook herself,
turned into a bird, and flew out through the window;
the window closed after her of itself.
The servant of the king’s son heard all these words
clearly, for he was awake; but in the morning when
he woke he thought it was all a dream, therefore he
did not tell the king’s son what he had seen, but
resolved that he would wait for the coming night,
and if the maiden would appear again in the form of
a bird, then surely it was not a dream, and he would
tell the king’s son.
The next evening also his wife gave the king’s
son a sleeping-powder, and he slept like a shepherd’s
474]
coat. When the clock struck twelve the little bird
rapped with her beak, the window opened before her,
and closed behind.
The little bird shook herself and became the beautiful
Reed Maiden. She went to the bed of the
sleeping king’s son, spoke to him, strove to rouse
him, and cried as the evening before; but he was
motionless as a block. When the clock struck one
the maiden shook herself, was a bird, and flew out
through the window, which closed behind her. The
servant of the king’s son heard all this clearly, for he
had not slept, and was now sure that it was no dream.
He said to his master next morning: “I would say
something to thy Highness if I were not afraid.”
“Oh, good Yanchi, thou wilt have no trouble, only
speak.”
“Well, the night before last, at midnight, a little
bird flew to the window, struck and beat it with her
beak; the window opened before her. She flew in,
shook herself, and became such a beautiful maiden
that I looked on her as an altar image; and I was
afraid that she would bewitch me. The beautiful
maiden then bent over thy Highness, spoke to thee,
but thou didst not wake; she cried a long time, but
thou didst not feel her hot tears. At last she said,
with a bird’s tongue: ‘Oh, king’s son, youth of my
soul, thy dear lips are dumb; open them for one, two
words, to cheer thy beautiful love, thy tender violet
I will come yet twice, then never again.’ This was
475]
repeated last night, but thy Highness spoke not a
word, and lay there like a block. And thy Highness
may believe that she was so beautiful that if I had
been lying dead on the table, I should have risen.”
“Is that true, Yanchi?”
“As true as that the bright sun is shining in the
sky.”
“Well, Yanchi, couldst thou take a slap on the
cheek for a hundred florins?”
“Not for the money, but gladly for thy Highness,—even
a hundred of them.”
“If thou wilt, then take it when my wife gives me
the sleeping-powder again; for her dog soul gives it
so that I should not wake. Knock down the light as
though from awkwardness, then I will pour the sleeping-draught
quietly into the bath; the woman will
think that I have drunk it.”
When bath-time came Yanchi took the candle as
if he wished to snuff it, and put it out. The king’s
son, meanwhile, poured the sleeping-powder and wine
into the bath quietly. The gypsy queen thought that
he had drunk it, but she gave such a cuff to poor
Yanchi that his eyes saw stars; but Yanchi, for the
sake of his master, took the cuff as if a pretty girl
had kissed him.
As the clock struck twelve, the king’s son feigned
sleep; but he was just as much awake as good
myself. I say, the clock struck twelve. The little
bird came to the window, knocked with her beak,
476]
the window opened before and closed behind her;
she shook herself and became such a maiden as
neither before that, nor since, was born, so that the
starry heavens would have looked at her with smiles.
She bent over the king’s son; when at last she cried,
the king’s son put his arm around her and drew her
to him, that she might not become a little bird again;
that she might not fly away any more.
He assembled, next day, all the dukes and counts
in the kingdom, and all the doers of good, and taking
before them the hand of the world-beautiful Reed
Maiden, he asked,—
“What does that person deserve who tries to
separate from each other a couple?”
Because the gypsy thought that the question was
in favor of her own leathery face, she called out in an
instant: “That person, my royal husband, deserves
to be put in a cask, with spikes driven inward from
the outside all through it, and rolled from the highest
mountain in the kingdom.”
“Oh, dog-given wretch, thou hast pronounced thy
own sentence!”
And they took by the neck the queen, once a gypsy,
and put her in a cask like that, with spikes driven in,
and let the cask roll from the highest mountain in
the kingdom.
KISS MIKLOS, AND THE GREEN DAUGHTER OF THE GREEN KING.
477]
THERE was once a poor man, and he had three
sons. When the poor man was on his death-bed,
he called his three sons, and this was his word
and speech to them: “My dear sons, if I do not tell,
still mayhap ye know why our kingdom is in mourning,
in unbroken darkness, such that a spoon might
stand up in it; but if ye know not, then I will tell.
My sons, this unbroken darkness is here because they
have stolen the sun and the moon from our bright
heavens. But I will tell one thing, and two will come
of it; a wizard foretold that among my three sons
was one (which one I with firm trust cannot say)
who would bring back the sun and the moon. Therefore,
my sons, I leave you this: that after my death ye
will go out to seek the sun and the moon, and not
come home till ye bring back the sources of light.”
With that the poor man turned to the wall, wandered
forth from this world of shadows, and was
buried with honor.
But here, my lord’s son, what comes of the affair
or what does not, I saw it as I see now; I was in
the place where they were talking. The report ran
478]
through the whole kingdom of what the poor man had
left in his will to his three sons, so that even the king
heard it, and he summoned straightway to his presence
the three brothers. And when the three brothers
appeared before the king, he said: “My dear young
men, I hear that your father—may God give him
rest—on his death-bed left this to you: that after his
death ye would go out into the wide, great world to
look for the sun and the moon. Therefore, my sons,
this is my word and speech to you: that whoso brings
back the sun and the moon will be king after my
death, and whoso will assist him in everything, this
one I will make viceroy. Now go to my stable and
to my armory and choose for yourselves horses and
swords; I will give in a sealed letter to you the
order that wherever ye go men shall give you in all
places, hay, oats, food, and drink free of cost.”
Here the three young men entered the king’s
stable, and the two elder chose the most beautiful
golden-haired steeds; but the youngest, somewhere off
by the wall in a hidden corner, among cobwebs and
dirt, picked out for himself a wretched, shaggy haired,
plucked colt. The two elder brothers laughed at the
youngest because he intended to go on that ragged,
nasty colt that was hardly able to stand on its feet;
but the youngest brother thought nothing of this,
and did not give ear to the talk of his brothers.
Now they went to the king’s armory, where the
elder brothers chose for themselves two beautiful
479]
gold-mounted swords; but the youngest brother, who
had more wit, picked out a rusty steel sword. This
rusty sword now jumped out of the sheath, now
sprang in again,—played unceasingly. The two
elder brothers laughed at the youngest again, but
he put this as well as their former ridicule quietly in
his pocket, thinking to himself that he laughs truly
who laughs last; for the nasty colt, as surely as I live
and as ye live—I was present where they were talking,
I saw as I do now, and I was looking as I am
now—was a magic six-legged steed, conceived of the
Wind, and eating live coals; and the rusty sword had
this kind of virtue that a man had only to say, “Cut,
my dear sword,” and it cut down whatever he wished.
But the two elder brothers knew nothing of all this,
for they did not understand wood-work.
Now the three brothers moved on their way
through the kingdom, to look for the sun and the
moon. They travelled and journeyed over forty-nine
kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea, beyond
the glass mountains, and beyond that, to where the
little short-tailed pig roots, and farther than that, and
still farther, till they came to the silver bridge. When
they came to the silver bridge the youngest brother,
speaking a word, said to his two brothers: “My dear
brothers, let us go under the bridge, for soon the
steed of the moon will be here, and the twelve-headed
dragon, from whose saddle-bow the bright moon is
dangling.”
480]
Now, the two brothers had barely hidden when the
steed of the moon was on the bridge, and on the steed
the twelve-headed dragon, from whose saddle-bow the
bright moon was dangling. The milk-white steed of
the moon stumbled on the bridge. Then the twelve-headed
dragon was enraged, and said this to the steed
of the moon,—
“Ah, may the crow eat thy eye, may the dog eat
thy flesh, may the earth drink thy blood! From
forest to forest I have ridden thee, from mountain to
mountain I have sprung with thee, and thou hast
never stumbled, but now on the even road thou hast
stumbled. Well, in my world-beautiful life I have
always heard the fame of Kiss Miklos; if he were
here now, I would like to have a struggle with him.”
At this word our Kiss Miklos—for let it be said,
meanwhile, this was the name of the youngest
brother—sprang out from beneath to the silver bridge
on his golden-haired magic steed, and closed with the
twelve-headed dragon. Long did they struggle, the
one with the other, but Kiss Miklos said to the rusty
sword: “Cut, my dear sword!” and with that it cut
three heads off the dragon, and in the same order till
all the twelve heads were hewn off, so that the twelve-headed
dragon drew his shortest breath. Then Kiss
Miklos took by the halter the milk-white haired, black-maned
steed of the moon, on whose saddle-bow was
dangling the bright moon, and gave him to the care
of his second brother. Then they passed over the
481]
silver bridge, which sounded like most beautiful music
from the golden shoes of the magic steed.
They travelled and journeyed then through forty-nine
kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and the
glass mountains, beyond that, where the little short-tailed
pig roots, beyond that, and farther, till they
came to the golden bridge.
Then Kiss Miklos spoke, and said this to his two
brothers, speaking speech: “My dear brothers, let
us hide under the bridge, for soon will the steed of
the sun be here, and on him the twenty-four-headed
dragon, from whose saddle-bow the shining sun is
dangling. He will call me out at once to the keen
sword, and I will measure with him strength with
strength. He will not be able to conquer me, nor I
him; then he and I will turn into flames. He will be a
red and I a blue flame, but even then we shall not be
able to conquer one the other, for we shall be of equal
strength. But here is a sulphur stone; when the red
flame springs highest toward the sky to press down
the blue flame, that is me, strike the sulphur stone on
the red flame.”
Our Kiss Miklos had barely finished his speech
when the steed of the sun was on the bridge, bearing
the twenty-four-headed dragon and the shining sun.
The steed of the sun stumbled on the golden bridge.
The twenty-four-headed dragon was enraged at him,
and said,—
“Ah, may the crow eat thy eye, may the dog eat
482]
thy flesh, may the earth drink thy blood! I have
ridden from forest to forest on thee, I have leaped
thee from mountain to mountain, and never hast
thou stumbled; but now on the even road thou hast
stumbled. In my world-beautiful life I have heard
always the fame of Kiss Miklos—may the dog
devour him!—and if he were here now I would like
to have a struggle with him.”
At this word our Kiss Miklos sprang out on to
the golden bridge, and closed with the twenty-four-headed
dragon. But Kiss Miklos commanded, saying:
“Cut, my dear sword!” and that instant it cut
the twenty-four heads off the dragon; but, wonder
of the world! when all the twenty-four heads were off,
in the twinkle of an eye new ones grew out which
the leaping sword could not cut. In vain Kiss
Miklos said: “Cut, my dear sword!” for it could
not cut these heads. Well, Kiss Miklos took the
sword in his hand and whirled it like lightning; but
he did nothing with it, for the dragon had power of
the same kind as he.
When the dragon saw that he could not succeed
against Kiss Miklos, he spoke in this way: “Listen
to me, Kiss Miklos! I wish thou hadst perished with
thy mother, for I see that I can do nothing with thee,
nor thou with me. Let us make one trial. Turn
thou into a blue flame, and I will turn into a red one,
and whichever can put the other out, his will be the
steed of the sun and the shining sun upon him.”
483]
That is what was done. Kiss Miklos turned to a
blue flame, and the twenty-four-headed dragon to a
red one. The two flames fought the one with the
other, but neither was able to put out the other.
Happily the two brothers threw the sulphur stone on
the red flame, and then the blue flame put out the
red one; and when it was quenched altogether, the
twenty-four-headed dragon ceased to live.
Kiss Miklos gave the steed of the sun to his
elder brother, and told his two brothers to go home
quietly, for he had work of his own; and with that
he took farewell of them. Miklos then shook himself,
turned into a little gray cat, ran along the highroad,
and all at once sprang into a cabin. In the cabin
was the mother of the dragons and their two
wives.
The younger dragon’s wife saw the little gray cat;
she took it on her lap, stroked it, and found this to
say to the mother of the dragons: “Well, if I knew
that that cursed Kiss Miklos had killed my lord,
I would turn into such a spring of water that if
he and his two brothers were to drink not more than
one drop of it, they would die a fearful death on
the spot.”
With this the little gray cat sprang from the lap
of the younger dragon’s wife, and rubbed up to the
skirt of the wife of the elder dragon, who took it on
to her lap, stroked it, and found this to say: “Ah!
if I knew that that cursed Kiss Miklos had killed my
484]
lord, I would change into such a pear-tree that if
he and his two brothers were to eat no more than one
morsel of a pear of mine, they would die a fearful
death.”
With this the little gray cat sprang from the lap
of the elder dragon’s wife, and rubbed on the skirt of
the old woman, who took it on her lap, fondled it,
and found this to say to her two daughters-in-law:
“My dear girls, just prop up my two eyes with that
iron bar, which weighs twelve hundred pounds, so
that I may look around.”
Her two daughters-in-law then took the twelve-hundred-pound
iron bar and opened the old woman’s
eyes; then she spoke thuswise: “If that cursed
Kiss Miklos has killed my two sons, I will turn into
a mouth, one jaw of which will be on the earth and
the other I will throw to the sky, so as to catch that
cursed villain and his two brothers, and grind them
as mill-stones grind wheat.”
When the little gray cat had heard all this exactly,
it shot away in a flash out of the cabin, sprang along,
and never stopped till it came to the good magic
steed. The old woman threw the twelve-hundred-pound
bar after the cat, but she failed in her cast, for
that moment her eyelids fell; she was not able to
keep them open unless they were propped, for she
was old. So Kiss Miklos escaped the twelve-hundred-pound
bar,—certain death. I say that he escaped,
for he came to his good magic steed, shook himself,
485]
and from a little gray cat became a young man as
before. Then he sat on the good steed, which
sprang once, jumped twice, and straightway Miklos
was with his two brothers; then they fared homeward
in quiet comfort.
The second brother grew thirsty, and found this to
say: “Oh, but I am dry! My throat is burning!”
“If that is thy only trouble,” said Miklos, “I
will soon bring thee water. Out there a spring is
bubbling up.”
With that Kiss Miklos put spurs to his good magic
steed, which sprang once, jumped twice, and was at
the spring; but here, instead of filling the gourd that
hung at his side, he drew his sharp sword, and thrust
it three times into the bubbling water. In a moment
from the spring blood gushed forth, and a word of
bitter pain was heard. That was the blood of the
younger dragon’s wife, and the word of pain was
her death-groan. The blood made all the water
red, and when the two brothers came up they had
no wish to drink a drop from the spring.
Well, they travelled and journeyed till the elder
brother said: “Oh, but I am hungry!”
“If that is thy trouble,” said Kiss Miklos, “we can
easily cure it, for there near the dam is a pear-tree,
and on it so much ripe fruit that the limbs are breaking.
Wait, I will bring thee a pear directly; but
lead thou the steed of the sun there.”
Here Kiss Miklos put spurs to his steed, which
486]
sprang once, jumped twice, and stood before the
pear-tree. Miklos drew his sharp sword and stabbed
the pear-tree in the trunk three times; from the
trunk blood gushed forth, and a bitter word of pain
was heard. The red blood was the blood of the elder
dragon’s wife, and the bitter word of pain was her
death-groan. With that the pears fell, so that when
the two elder brothers reached the tree, not only
would they not eat the pears, but the desire of eating
had gone from them.
Now they journeyed and travelled through forty-nine
kingdoms, till at last Miklos saw from a distance
that an unmercifully great mouth, one jaw of
which was on earth and the other thrown up to the
heavens, was nearing them like the swiftest storm, so
that they had barely time left to run into the door of
the Lead Friend’s house. And a thousand-fold was
their luck that they got in; for the unmercifully great
mouth stood before the threshold of the Lead Friend,
so that whoever should go out would fall into it, and
be swallowed that minute.
“Hei! good Lead-Melting Friend,” said Miklos,
“hast thou much molten lead? I will pay thee for
it in honest coin.”
“Haho! my friend Kiss Miklos, I know thee; in
my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.
Long have I been waiting for thee. It is well that
thou art here,—that thou hast entered my door,—for
thou wilt never go a step farther from me.”
487]
“Oh! for God’s sake,” said Kiss Miklos, “do not
pass thy own threshold, for straightway the mother
of the dragons will swallow thee with her great
mouth.”
The Lead-Melting Friend went out of his chamber,
saw the great mouth of the mother of the dragons,
and went back in terror to his chamber, where he
said this to Kiss Miklos: “Oh, my good friend Kiss
Miklos, give counsel. What are we to do?”
“Hast thou much molten lead?”
“Not much, only eighteen tons; it is out there in
the caldron boiling.”
“Knowest thou what? I will say one thing and two
will come of it. Let us take the handles of that great
caldron and pour its contents into the great mouth of
the mother of the dragons.”
Here, ’pon my soul! the Lead-Melting Friend put
one handle on his shoulder, Kiss Miklos the other on
his, brought the unmercifully great caldron to the
threshold, and poured the eighteen tons of boiling
lead into the old witch’s mouth. The boiling lead
burned up the stomach of the mother of the dragons,
and straightway she breathed out her cursed soul.
So Kiss Miklos was freed from the mother of the
dragons; but, poor fellow, he was like one that goes
from the pail into the barrel, for the Lead-Melting
Friend caught his Grace by the neck and took him,
as he would a straw, to the chamber, where he found
this to say,—
488]
“Look here, my good friend Kiss Miklos, in my
world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame; therefore
let us struggle now and see who is stronger, thou
or I.” With that the Lead Friend put only his little
finger on Kiss Miklos; from that he began to sink,
and went down through the lead floor of the chamber
the distance of an ell.
“Kiss Miklos, my friend, dost thou wish to fight
with me?” asked the Lead Friend. “Thou sayest
nothing, so I see that thou dost not; therefore this
is my word and speech: I will keep thee in endless
slavery unless thou bring me the Green Daughter
of the Green King. But ye,” and he turned to the
two brothers, “ye may go home in gentle quietness,
and take with you the steeds of the moon and the
sun, on which are the bright moon and the shining
sun, for of them I have no need.”
Here our Miklos, in the midst of bitter tear-shedding,
took farewell of his dear brothers. They held
on their way homeward, and arrived there in health.
Great was the rejoicing in the kingdom that the poor
man’s sons, as their father had bequeathed them on
his death-bed, brought home the bright moon and the
shining sun. Therefore the king assembled all that
were in his dominions of dukes, counts, barons, lords,
lord’s sons, chosen gypsies, and broad-brimmed,
country-dressed Slovaks; of these he sought council
and asked, “What do brothers deserve who have
brought home the bright moon and the shining sun?”
489]
To this question then they answered, “Our high
lord, the one who has brought back the steed of the
sun, and on it the bright shining sun, deserves to be
king of the country, and he who has brought home
the steed of the bright moon, and on it the fair moon,
to be viceroy; and each one of them should receive
as wife a daughter of thy Highness.”
So it was done. The poor man’s eldest son became
king, and the second son viceroy; and each one
of them got a maiden princess as wife. Then they
let out the steed of the bright moon and the steed of
the shining sun on the highway of the heavens, but
both the moon and the sun shone sadly. For this
reason they shone sadly: that he was without merited
reward who had really freed them from the dragons,
for Kiss Miklos was now in never-ending slavery to
the Lead Friend.
Once the Lead Friend called Miklos and found this
to tell him: “Well, Miklos, if thou wilt bring me the
Green Daughter of the Green King, I will let thee go
free, and I will strike from thee the three-hundred-pound
ring and the twelve-hundred-pound chain.
Therefore, good friend Miklos, I advise thee to start
in the morning with the bright shining sun, and bring
to me my heart’s desire.”
Now our Miklos moved on the road again, and a
long one too; whether there will be an end to it, only
the good God knows. And as he travelled and journeyed
across forty-nine kingdoms, and beyond that,
490]
and still farther, at the foot of a great mountain
was a little hill, and as a shot arrow, as the swiftest
whirlwind, ran towards him a man who was always
crying, “Out of my way! out of my way!” This
was Swift Runner, who stood still in a moment,
like a pillar, before Miklos, and asked, “Whither,
whither, Kiss Miklos? for in my world-beautiful life I
have ever heard thy fame.”
“Haho! Swift Runner, better thou hadst not asked.
I am going for the Green Daughter of the Green
King. Hast thou ever heard of her?”
“I have not heard. I speak not of that, but of
this: take me with thee, for thou wilt get good of me
somewhere.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
They travelled and journeyed after that, two of
them, till they came to the sea-shore, and saw a man
who was drinking the sea to the last drop, just as I
would drink a cup of water; and then he cried out
unceasingly: “Oh, I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!”
This was Great Drinker who, when he saw Miklos,
went to him and said: “God’s good-day, famous
Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have
ever heard thy fame.”
“God keep thee, Great Drinker!”
“On what journey art thou, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“On what journey? Haho! better thou hadst not
asked. I am going for the Green Daughter of the
Green King. Hast thou heard of her?”
491]
“I have not, in truth,” answered Great Drinker;
“I speak not of that, but of this: take me with thee,
for mayhap thou’lt get good of me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
So there were three of them, and they travelled
and journeyed after that till they saw a man running
on the plain towards cattle, and he thrust the beautiful
bullocks one by one into his mouth as I would a
piece of bread, and swallowed them, hide and horns,
one after the other; and even when he had swallowed
all the standing herd of three hundred and sixty-six
bullocks, he called out unceasingly: “Oh, I am hungry!
Oh, I am hungry!” This was Great Eater
who, when he saw Miklos, went to him and said:
“God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss Miklos;
for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy
fame.”
“God keep thee, Great Eater!”
“What journey art thou on, renowned Kiss
Miklos?”
“Better thou hadst not asked. I am going for the
Green Daughter of the Green King. Hast thou heard
of her?”
“I have not heard, in truth,” answered Great Eater;
“but take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of
me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
Now there were four of them, and they travelled
and journeyed till one day they struck upon a man
492]
whose bolster was the glowing coals, whose pillow
was the burning fire, and whose blanket was the flaming
blaze; he had nine pairs of boots on his feet, nine
pairs of drawers and nine shirts on his body, nine
neckcloths on his neck, nine sheepskin caps on his
head, nine pairs of trousers, nine vests on his body,
and nine sheepskin overcoats hung from his shoulders,
but even then he did nothing but cry out unceasingly:
“Oh, I’m freezing! Oh, I’m freezing!”
When he saw Kiss Miklos, he stood before him and
said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss
Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever
heard thy fame.”
“God guard thee, Great Freezer!”
“What journey art thou on, renowned Kiss
Miklos?”
“Ah, comrade, thou shouldst not have asked.
Hast thou heard of the fame of the Green Daughter
of the Green King?”
“I have not heard of it.”
“Well, if thou hast not, hear now; for I am going
to her as a wooer.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou wilt get good
of me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
There were five of them now. They journeyed and
travelled after that till they came upon a man who
was looking around unceasingly. In one twinkle, in
the turn of an eye, he saw the round earth, and in
493]
another turn of the eye he looked through the deep sea;
and he saw Miklos and his comrades thirty-five miles
off.
This was Far Seer, who stood before Miklos and
said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss
Miklos.”
“God keep thee, Far Seer!”
“On what journey art thou, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“Haho! good friend Far Seer, perhaps thou hast
heard of the Green Daughter of the Green King.”
“I have not.”
“Well then, hear now, for I am going to woo
her.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of
me.”
Now there were six of them, and they journeyed
and travelled after that, across forty-nine kingdoms and
farther, till they came upon a man who threw a seven-hundred-pound
iron club thirty-five miles as easily as
I could throw a small stone a few yards. This was
Far Caster, who, when he saw Kiss Miklos and his
comrades, came and said: “God give thee a good-day,
renowned Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful
life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“God guard thee, Far Caster!”
“What journey art thou on?”
“Better thou hadst not asked. Hast thou heard
of the Green King?”
“I have not.”
494]
“Well, I am going to woo his daughter.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of
me.”
“Come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
Like the seven deadly sins, they were seven now.
They journeyed and travelled till they came to the
castle of the Green King. Kiss Miklos stood before
the king and said: “God give a good-day to thy
Highness.”
“God keep thee, renowned Kiss Miklos; for in
my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.
What journey art thou on?”
“In my journeys and travels I have heard that thy
Highness has a charming, love-pervaded, beautiful
flower-stalk. What is the use in delay and denial? I
have come for her.”
“Haho! my good friend, the Green Daughter of
the Green King is not so easily taken, for there are
three tests before thee; if thou stand these tests, I
will give thee my most beloved, my truly one and
only daughter. The first test will be this: Thou
hast a swift runner and so have I. They are making
for my daughter at present a wedding dress at Pluto’s,
or perhaps it’s ready this moment. If thy swift runner
will bring that dress here, all right,—I care not:
let the Green Daughter of the Green King be thine.
My swift runner and thine will start to-morrow about
four o’clock in the morning. But if I have not told
thee, know now the thick end of the business, I will
495]
bring you all to the stake, if thy swift runner comes
second.”
But the Green King deceived; for that evening after
sunset he sent off his swift runner, who was no other
than his own old mother, who, let it be said meanwhile,
was a witch, and a big one at that. Next
morning at four o’clock, as had been agreed, Miklos
started his own swift runner on the road so as to bring
the wedding dress.
Swift Runner moved on, and he saw that the old
mother of the Green King was a good way ahead,
for she was just on the point of going in at Pluto’s
gate. Nothing more was needed. He rushed at her
and she saw trouble soon, for he came up just as
she had taken hold of the key; Swift Runner was
not slow. He caught her by the jacket, hurled her
back, ran in at the gate himself, and did not stop till
he stood before his Highness, Pluto, told why he had
come, and asked for the wedding dress. The dainty
dress was nicely packed already in a box, and they
gave it to him. Swift Runner hurried homeward, but
the old mother of the Green King waited for him,
and said: “Hear me, Swift Runner! Now thou art
the victor, run not so fast; let us go home in pleasant
quiet together.”
Swift Runner stopped at the old woman’s words,
and they went on together,—went on till they came to
a nice shady place, where the old woman found this
to say: “Let us sit down in this shady place; let us
496]
rest. It is all the same. Thou art the winner. I will
look in thy head.”
Here Swift Runner sat down in the shady place;
the old woman bent his head to her lap and began
to search in it, and she searched and searched till
Swift Runner fell asleep and was sunk in slumber.
When Swift Runner was snoring away at his best, the
old woman put a horse-skull under his head,—from
that he would not have waked till the day of judgment;
then she took the box from him and raced off
as if she had been shot from a gun.
It was near four o’clock in the afternoon and Swift
Runner had not come yet, though he said he ought
to be there at three o’clock. Miklos therefore began
to be uneasy,—his nose was itching, it was ringing
in his right ear and jumping in his right eye, therefore
he found this to say to his Far Seer: “Just
look, canst thou see Swift Runner coming?”
Far Seer did not let this be repeated; in an instant
he ran up on a hill, looked around, saw that Swift
Runner was in a shady place, sleeping like a pumpkin,
under a tree, with a horse-skull under his head.
“Oh, my good friend Kiss Miklos, the dog is in
the garden! Swift Runner is sleeping in a nice shady
place with a horse-skull under his head; the old
woman is right here near the garden, and she has the
wedding dress in a box.”
“Here, good friend Far Caster,” said Kiss Miklos,
“stand forth and throw thy twelve-hundred-pound
497]
club at that cursed horse-skull under the head of
Swift Runner; for as God is true, all seven of us will
see shame, and die a fearful death.”
Far Caster was not slow; in an instant he hurled the
twelve-hundred-pound club and struck out luckily the
horse-skull from under Swift Runner’s head.
Then, ’pon my soul! Swift Runner sprang up, rubbed
his eyes, looked around, saw that the old woman was
running near the garden, and bearing the wedding
robe. He was not slow. He rushed at her, but in truth
it hung from a hair that he did not see disgrace, for
the old woman had just taken the key of the Green
King’s door when Swift Runner reached her. He
caught her by the jacket, took the box, and hurled
the old woman back to Pluto’s in such fashion that
not her foot, nor even her little toe, touched ground
on the way. Then he gave the wedding dress to
Miklos, who took it that moment to the Green King,
and putting it on the boxwood table said: “High
lord, thy desire is accomplished; here is the dainty
wedding dress.”
“Haho! renowned Kiss Miklos, this is but one
trial in which thou art the winner, there are two behind.
The Green Daughter of the Green King will
not be thine till all of you, as many as there are,
spend one night in my iron furnace, which I have
heated with three hundred and sixty-six cords of
wood; if ye can endure that terrible heat, all right; if
not, ye will be roasted alive.”
498]
Here, ’pon my soul! what came of the affair or what
did not, the Green King, as he had said, heated the
iron furnace with three hundred and sixty-six cords
of wood. The whole furnace was nothing but glowing
fire, so that it was impossible to go near it. Now
the question was, who should enter first,—who but
Great Freezer? He was delighted with the pleasant
amusement; he was shivering terribly because God’s
cold had then caught him, though he had nine pairs
of boots on his feet, nine shirts and drawers on his
body, nine neckcloths on his neck, nine sheepskin
caps on his head, nine sheepskin overcoats on his
back. I say, Great Freezer went first into the fiery
furnace. He walked around in it, and straightway
it became as cold as an ice-house; therefore he
called out at the entrance: “Oh, I’m freezing! Oh,
I’m freezing!” Then the others and Kiss Miklos
went in, and they felt that the furnace was as cold
as an ice-house, so that their teeth chattered. Kiss
Miklos cried out at the entrance, saying, “Wood
this way, or we shall freeze!”
The servants of the Green King threw an extra
cord of wood into the furnace. With this Miklos and
his companions made a fire, and gave earth no
trouble. Next morning the Green King himself
went to see the seven roasts, thinking they were
burnt into dust. He opened the mouth of the furnace.
He will fall on his back with horror, perhaps.
Nothing of the sort; the seven good birds were
499]
sitting there alive in the furnace at the side of a fire, and
not a dog’s trouble had happened to a man of them.
Straightway the Green King called up Kiss Miklos
and said to him: “Well, renowned Kiss Miklos, thou
hast stood two trials, but the third still remains. If
ye pass that unharmed, then I don’t care; my daughter
will be thine, for I shall see that thou art not inferior
to thy fame. The third trial is not other than this:
In the yard is a herd of cattle not less than three
hundred and sixty-six in number, and also there are
three hundred and sixty-six kegs of wine, and if ye
do not eat the three hundred and sixty-six head of
cattle and drink the three hundred and sixty-six kegs
of wine by to-morrow, then I will have you all at the
stake; but if ye eat and drink all, then as I say, I care
not. Let my one and only most beloved daughter be
thine.”
In the evening after bedtime Miklos went with his
comrades to the other yard where were the three
hundred and sixty-six head of cattle and the three
hundred and sixty-six kegs of wine; but now the
question was who should eat that ocean-great lot of
cattle and drink that thundering lot of wine. No
one would take more delight in the cattle than Great
Eater, and with the thundering lot of wine no one
felt better than Great Drinker; they would take care
of them if they were twice as great. Miklos and his
comrades, except Great Eater, knocked one of the
bullocks on the head, pulled off his jacket, cut up his
500]
flesh and roasted it. That was enough for them, but
it was not enough for Great Eater; for he would not
spoil the taste of his mouth with it. He ate that
herd of beasts, one after another, as if the earth had
swallowed them,—ate hair, hide, bones, and horns,
so that he didn’t leave a single thing as a novelty;
and even then he cried out nothing but, “Oh, I’m
hungry! Oh, I’m hungry!” Then he went to his
comrades, ate what they had left of the roast, and
pressed it down with the ox-hide for a dessert. Even
then he cried without ceasing, “Oh, I’m hungry!
Oh, I’m hungry!”
Then they began at the wine. Miklos and his
comrades, except Great Drinker, rolled forth one
keg of wine, knocked the bottom out, and went to
drinking. That keg was enough for them, but not
enough for Great Drinker; for him it was as much
as one drop would be for me. He would not spoil
the taste of his mouth with it, but fell to drinking
from the rest in such Magyar-Mishka style that
when he looked around he saw that the three hundred
and sixty-five kegs were empty. Then he cried
unceasingly, “Oh, I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!”
After that he came to his comrades, and what they
had left he drank to the last drop; and cried: “Oh,
I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!”
Next morning the Green King went himself to the
yard to see if Kiss Miklos and his comrades had endured
the third trial,—had they eaten the cattle and
501]
drunk the wine. It is a wonder that he didn’t turn
into a pillar of salt he was so frightened when he saw
that there was not a horned beast left, nor a drop of
wine. Then he complained: “They have eaten
three hundred and sixty-six bullocks. Plague take it!
let them eat the cattle, but they might have left the
hides; those could at least have been sold to a Jew
for good money.—Well, renowned Kiss Miklos, thou
hast stood the three tests, now my only and most
dearly beloved daughter is thine; take her.” With
that the Green King seated his Green Daughter in
a coach drawn by six black horses, and they drove
towards the dominions of the Lead Friend.
On the road the Green Daughter of the Green King
beckoned Miklos to her and asked him: “Hei! my
heart’s beautiful love, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me,
on thy true soul, art thou taking me for thyself or for
another? If thou art not taking me for thyself, I will
play tricks with thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for
another,” answered Kiss Miklos.
Well, no more was said. Once, when turning and
winding, they look in the coach; it is empty. The
beautiful girl is gone. In a moment they stop, search
the coach, but find her nowhere.
“Here, good friend Far Seer,” said Kiss Miklos,
“look around! Whither has our beautiful bird
flown?”
Far Seer didn’t let that be said twice. In the
502]
turn of an eye he surveyed the round earth, but he
saw not the beautiful maiden.
“She is not on the dry earth,” said Far Seer.
“Look into the sea,” said Kiss Miklos.
Far Seer surveyed the deep sea, and saw her hidden
in the belly of a three-pound whale, near the
opposite shore of the sea.
“Ah, I see where she is!”
“Where?” asked Miklos.
“Hidden in the belly of a three-pound whale.”
“Here, good friend Great Drinker,” said Miklos,
“come hither, and drink up the water of this deep
sea!”
Great Drinker was not slow. He lay face under
by the sea, and with three draughts drank up all the
water. The three-pound whale was lying then in a
bay near the opposite shore.
“Now, good brother Swift Runner,” said Kiss
Miklos, “step out and bring me that three-pound
whale which is lying near the opposite shore.”
Swift Runner rushed in a moment across the bottom
of the sea, and brought back the three-pound
whale. Miklos opened the whale, took out its
stomach, cut it carefully, and out fell the Green
Daughter of the Green King. Then he seated her
in the coach, and they drove on.
They travelled and journeyed, and once the princess
beckoned to Miklos, and asked: “My heart’s
beautiful love, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me, on thy
503]
true soul, art thou taking me for thyself, or for
another? If for thyself, very well; if not, I’ll play
tricks with thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for
another,” answered Miklos.
No more was said. Once while turning and
winding, the beautiful maiden is gone, the coach is
empty. “Oh, the dog is in the garden!” They
stop, search the six-horse coach, but find no beautiful
princess.
“Here, good friend Far Seer,” said Miklos, “stand
forth, look around! Where is our beautiful bird?”
Far Seer surveyed the deep sea, but got no sight
of the princess. “She is not in the sea.”
“If she is not in the sea, look on dry land.”
Far Seer looked around again, and he saw that the
princess was at home, in the very middle of her
father’s garden, on the highest top of a blooming
apple-tree, hidden in a ripe red apple. “I have
found her!” said Far Seer.
“Where is she?”
“At home, in the very centre of the garden, hidden
on the highest top of an apple-tree, in the middle
of a ripe red apple.”
“Here, Swift Runner, come forth!”
Swift Runner came forth, and stood like a pillar
before Miklos, waiting for command.
“Run in a twinkle to the garden of the Green
King, in the very middle of which is blooming an
504]
apple-tree; climb the tree, and bring me the ripe red
apple which is on its highest top.”
Swift Runner rushed as a whirlwind, at horse-death
speed, found the tree, climbed it, plucked the red
apple, and then, as if shot from a cannon, came
back to Miklos, and gave him the apple. Miklos
cut the apple in two; the Green Daughter of the
Green King fell out. He seated her again in the
coach, and they fared farther.
They travelled and journeyed, and again the princess
beckoned to Miklos, and said: “My heart’s
heart, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me, on thy true soul,
art thou taking me for thyself, or for another? If
for thyself, very well; if not, I’ll play tricks with
thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for
another.”
Well, they said no more. Once, while turning and
winding, they look in the coach the maiden is gone;
the coach is empty. “Oh, the dog is in the garden!”
They stop, search the six-horse coach, but
find not the maiden.
“Friend Far Seer,” said Miklos, “look around!
Where is our beautiful bird?”
Far Seer was not slow; in the turn of an eye he
surveyed the round earth, but saw nowhere the Green
Daughter of the Green King. “She is not on the
round earth,” said he.
“Well, look in the deep sea.”
505]
Far Seer looked again; in the turn of an eye he
surveyed the deep sea, but saw not the princess.
“She is not in the deep sea,” said Far Seer.
“Well, if she is not in the deep sea, look in the
cloudy heavens.”
Far Seer looked around; in the turn of an eye he
surveyed the broad sky and the cloudy heavens. He
saw a cocoon hanging from a thread slender as a
spider-web, and hidden in that cocoon the Green
Daughter of the Green King. “I have found her!”
said Far Seer.
“Where is she?” asked Kiss Miklos.
“Far, far away, near the round forest, from the
cloudy heavens is hanging a silk thread, slender as a
spider-web, and on the end dangles a cocoon; in that
she is hidden.”
“Now, Far Caster, come forth!” said Miklos.
Far Caster stood like a pillar before Kiss Miklos,
only waiting for command; but he had not long to
wait, for Miklos said: “Listen, good friend Far Caster.
Seest thou that thin silk thread hanging from the
cloudy sky near the round forest?”
“I see.”
“Then cast it down; but only when Swift Runner
reaches the place beneath, so that it may not fall on
the earth, but into his hand. Therefore, Swift Runner,
move thy wheels that way; catch the cocoon
and bring it to us.”
Swift Runner rushed at horse-death speed to the
506]
place; Far Caster brought down the cocoon. Swift
Runner caught it safely, and brought it to Miklos,
who with his bright knife cut it open, and out came
the princess. Then he seated her a third time in the
coach; but they had arrived in the domains of the
Lead Friend, so the Green Daughter of the Green
King, having lost her power, could play no more
tricks.
Kiss Miklos took farewell of his good friends, thanking
them kindly for their aid. When they were alone
the Green Daughter of the Green King fell to crying,
and said: “My heart’s beautiful love, I know thou art
taking me to that dog of a Lead Friend, and I would
rather be the bride of death than of him.”
“Oh, my heart’s golden bird,” said Miklos, “I am
taking thee for myself; but thou canst not be mine
till I know where the strength of the Lead Friend
lies. If we can discover that, it will be easy to destroy
him.”
“If that is thy grief, my heart’s heart,” said she, “I
will soon help thee; leave that to me. Thou must
know I am a woman.”
With that Miklos and the princess kissed each
other, and there was holy peace; they said: “I am
thine, thou art mine.”
They travelled and journeyed across forty-nine
kingdoms, till Kiss Miklos could say, “We are at
home,”—for they were at the Lead Friend’s mansion,—and
could say to the princess, “Come out of thy
507]
coach; it won’t cost thee a copper.” Here the Lead
Friend ran panting out of his mansion to the beautiful
princess, but she turned from him. This pleased not
the Lead Friend, and though one word is not much,
he uttered not that much, but brought her into the
lead mansion in silence.
Next day at sunrise the Lead Friend had to go to
his furnace, taking Kiss Miklos with him. The young
woman remained all alone. She took a lamp and
started to search through the lead house. From
chamber to chamber she went till she came to the
cellar, but that was closed against her with seven iron
doors. Now the question was to get into the cellar.
Another would not have been able to pass the first
door, but every iron door opened of itself before the
magic of the Green Daughter of the Green King.
She passed through the seven doors and entered the
cellar. She saw there seven leaden vats placed in a
row, and every one of them filled to the brim with
gold and silver. She took off her apron and filled it
with gold, went up, summoned the goldsmith, and
gilded the lead threshold a hand in thickness. The
Lead Friend was such a miser that he had not bread
enough to eat, and every little coin he turned seven
times between his teeth before he let it go once from
his hand.
Well, in the evening the Lead Friend came home
from his furnace, saw the housekeeping and what the
young woman had done. Then, ’pon my soul! he
508]
plucked out his own lead beard and hair, trampled
them like tow, and roared till the lead house was
trembling.
“Who, in the name of a hundred thousand thunders,
did this?” asked the Lead Friend.
“I did it,” answered quite bravely the princess.
“How didst thou dare to do it without my knowledge,—without
informing me?” With that the Lead
Friend went to the Green Daughter of the Green
King, and seized in his hand the golden hair which
reached her heels. Twelve times did he drag her on
the lead floor, and he wanted to take the lead flail to
her. Kiss Miklos did not permit that, but took the
maiden from his grasp and placed her on the silken
bed. She was neither dead nor alive, but lay as a
lifeless block of wood. But the Green Daughter of
the Green King had no more pain than good myself;
being a magic woman, seest thou, she had much in
her power.
Now, what did she do? When the Lead Friend
wound around his hand the golden hair reaching to
her heels, she suddenly sprang out of her skin, and a
devil jumped into it. And if the Lead Friend had
struck him with the back of an axe, he would not have
felt a dog’s trouble; for the more he was beaten the
more he would have laughed.
But the Lead Friend was troubled; ragged, with
torn hair, crying and weeping he entered the white
chamber, where the princess was lying without life.
509]
He went to her; pushed her, but she waked not;
talked to her, but she heard not; cried, but she listened
not. At last he found this to say: “Wake, my
heart’s beautiful love; I will do all that may please
thee, but stop the gilding.”
Then the princess spoke up to the Lead Friend,
“I’ll stop the gilding, but tell where thy strength lies.”
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love, I would rather part
with life than tell that.”
Well, things remained thus. Next day at sunrise
the Lead Friend went to his furnace, taking Kiss
Miklos with him, for he lived in the suspicion that
Miklos and the Green Daughter of the Green King
would plot together and strive for his destruction.
The bride remained alone; she took the lamp and
turned straight to the cellar. The great iron doors
opened before her and closed behind. When she
had passed the seven iron doors and entered the cellar,
she spread her silk apron, and filled it with gold.
Three times she returned, and three times she bore
away the same amount, so that the apron was almost
torn under it. Straightway she called the goldsmith
and had the lead thresholds of three chambers gilded
to the thickness of a hand. And as I say, the Lead
Friend was so stingy that he did not eat bread enough,
and every little coin he put seven[7] times between his
teeth before he let it out of his hand once.
[7]
It is three in the text, but this is probably a mistake; so
seven is put here to agree with p. 507.
510]
The Lead Friend came home from his furnace
towards evening, and saw the housekeeping, and saw
also that now not one but three thresholds were gilded
a hand’s thickness. Here, ’pon my soul! the Lead
Friend fell into such rage that he tore his own lead
beard and hair out, and trampled them as he would
tow. Then he roared so terribly that the lead house
quivered, and turning to the princess he asked: “In the
name of a hundred thousand devils, who did this?”
“I did it,” answered the princess quite bravely.
“How didst thou dare to do this without my knowledge
and consent?”
With that the Lead Friend seized the golden hair
of the princess, which reached to her heels, and
dragged her twelve times up and down the lead floor,
twelve times did he hurl her against the floor, then he
ran for the lead flail to kill her. Kiss Miklos would
not let him do that, but seized the maiden from his
hands, and placed her on the silken bed. The Green
Daughter of the Green King was neither dead nor
alive; she lay there still as a soulless block of wood.
Still the princess felt no more pain than good myself.
She knew witchcraft, and whatever she did or did not
do, when the Lead Friend twisted her golden hair in
his hand, she jumped out of her skin in a twinkle, and
a devil got into it; if they had beaten him like a two-headed
drum, or even more, he would have taken it as
if they were fondling him.
Now the Lead Friend was terribly sorry; ragged,
511]
with torn hair, he entered the white chamber weeping;
he wept a long time; pushed the princess, who
waked not; spoke to her, she heard not; at last he
found this to say: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful
love; all thy desires will be accomplished, only stop
the gilding.”
“I’ll stop the gilding, but tell where thy strength
lies.”
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love, I would rather
part with my life than tell that.”
Next day at sunrise the Lead Friend took Kiss
Miklos to the furnace, lest while he was gone himself
Miklos might go in secret and gather another man’s
hay. The bride was alone again, and wanted nothing
better. Again she took the lamp and went straight
to the cellar, where she opened her beautiful silk
apron and filled it with gold,—took so much that the
apron almost tore under it. She came seven times,
and each time carried so much gold that her nose
almost cut the earth, like the coulter of a plough.
Then she called a goldsmith, and gilded to a hand’s
thickness the thresholds of seven rooms.
When the Lead Friend came home in the evening,
he saw that not three but seven thresholds had a
hand’s thickness of gold on them. Then he fell into
such a rage that he tore his leaden beard and hair,
and trampled them as he would tow; but what good
did that do him?—for he was trampling his own.
Then he roared till the lead house rattled, and in his
512]
fury he asked: “A thousand million demons, who
did this?”
“I did it,” answered the princess all bravely.
“How didst thou dare to do this without my knowledge
or command?”
With that he went in fury to the Green Daughter of
the Green King, wound round his hand the golden
hair which reached to her heels. Twelve times did
he drag her over the leaden floor, twelve times did he
dash her against it, twelve times did he raise her aloft,—and
that was not enough; but he took out the lead
flail, and began to thrash and beat the princess as if
she were a bundle of wheat, so that she was swimming
in blood. Kiss Miklos took her from his hands
and placed her on the silken bed, where she lay,
neither dead nor alive, still as a lifeless block.
Now the Lead Friend grew terribly sorry, and
making himself squalid looking, he entered the
white chamber, rushed to the princess, wept without
ceasing, touched her but she woke not, spoke
to her but she heard him not. At last he found
this to say: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful love.
I will tell where my strength lies. In the silken
meadow under the seventh bush is a hare, under
the tail of the hare an egg, in the egg a hornet,
and in the hornet is hidden my strength, so that I
live as long as the hornet lives; if the hornet dies,
I die too.”
The Green Daughter of the Green King heard all
513]
these words clearly, but acted as if she were neither
dead nor alive,—lay there like a soulless block.
Well, ’pon my soul! what came of the affair or
what did not, the princess rose from her silken bed
in the night-time, quietly, in one garment; but she
threw a great shawl around her neck, slipped out of
the gate, found Kiss Miklos, to whom her word and
speech was this: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful love,
renowned Kiss Miklos, I know now where the strength
of the Lead Friend lies; but listen to my word. In
the silken meadow under the seventh bush lies a hare,
under the hare’s tail is an egg, in the egg a hornet, in
the hornet is the Lead Friend’s strength. If thou kill
the hornet, the Lead Friend will lose his strength.”
Our Miklos wanted nought else. He turned himself
at once into a hound, drove the hare from the seventh
bush of the silken meadow. The hare began to run,
but the hound was not slow; with a long stick he
struck the egg from the hare’s tail. The egg broke
and the hornet flew out, but the hound was not slow;
with a great jump he caught the hornet, and crushed it
to bits in his teeth. Then the hound shook himself
and turned into Kiss Miklos again.
At daylight the Lead Friend was sick. He had lost
his strength, he could not move his hands or his feet,
and lay groaning on his lead couch like a man who
had been pressing a straw-bed for seven years; and
when the sun rose he breathed out his cursed soul.
Who was more delighted at his death than our
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Kiss Miklos and the Green Daughter of the Green
King? Straightway they called a priest and a hangman
and an iron cap. The priest joined them, the
hangman thrashed around, God’s arrow flashed, but
no one was struck. There was soup plenty and to
spare, lucky was the man who came with a spoon;
the unhappy were happy; the gypsy fiddled, and the
music spoke. When the feasting and the poppy
week had passed, Kiss Miklos and his consort took a
chariot of glass and gold, drawn by six black-haired
steeds, and set out for Miklos’s birthplace. Now, the
shining sun had shone so sadly, and the bright moon
had beamed so sadly that it could not be more so;
but the moment they beheld Miklos and his wife in
the chariot of glass and gold, the bright sun shone
joyously, and so did the clear moon.
“What’s this? what’s this?” said to himself the
old king, who still rejoiced in good health. He summoned
the wise men and the skilled scribes of the
kingdom to his palace and gave them the following
question: “Explain to me this. It is seven years
since the two sons of the poor man brought back the
bright moon and the shining sun; these two sons are
now ruling kings,—may God keep them in health!—but
the clear moon and the shining sun gave us
such sorrowful light, and now all at once both are
radiant.”
One old man skilled in letters, and so old that his
white beard almost came to the earth, and he could
515]
not stand on his feet alone, but three men supported
him, spoke the following words: “Haho! high lord,
there is great reason for this. The clear moon and the
shining sun were sad because the man who really
freed them from the claws of the dragons was
pinioned in bondage; and he is no other than the
renowned Kiss Miklos, the poor man’s youngest son,
who even at this moment is driving to the king’s
palace with the Green Daughter of the Green King,
in a chariot drawn by six horses.”
That moment Kiss Miklos and his wife entered the
white chamber together. Here the lords and those
great wise men all rose before them, as did even
the old king himself, who advancing embraced and
kissed them, led them to his own purple velvet
throne, seated them thereon, and turning to the wise
men and the skilled scribes, asked them, “Who really
deserves the kingdom, the elder brothers or Kiss
Miklos?”
The council said: “Kiss Miklos.”
Then Miklos rose and said to the old king and the
council: “High king and worthy council, it is true
that I deserve the kingdom, and I would take it were
I not the heir of the far-famed Lead Friend, and were
it not that the dominions of the Green King, after his
death,—which from my heart I wish not,—will come
to me. This being the case the worthy council can
see, and thy Highness can see also, that I may not
accept the kingdom. Let it remain as it is,—let my
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eldest brother be king, and my second brother be
viceroy; they are, I think, honorable men, and
worthy.”
The lords, sages, and skilled scribes present, as
well as the old king, rose up and confirmed the wise
speech of the youthful Kiss Miklos.
Then the two brothers of Kiss Miklos—the king
and the viceroy—entered; they embraced and kissed
one another, and sacred was the peace. After that,
Kiss Miklos and his wife returned to the domains of
the Lead Friend, and after the death of the Green
King, Kiss Miklos inherited his dominions. And so
he ruled two kingdoms very happily; and he and the
Green Daughter of the Green King are living yet, if
they are not dead.
THE HEDGEHOG, THE MERCHANT, THE KING, AND THE POOR MAN.
517]
WHERE there was, where there was not, it is
enough that there was once a merchant,
there were also a king, and a poor man.
One day the merchant went out to hunt, and he
travelled and journeyed till, oh! my lord’s son, he
found himself in such a thick forest that he saw
neither the sky nor the earth; he just groped around
like a blindman. Here, ’pon my soul! whether the
merchant tried to free himself by turning to the left
or the right, he only went into a thicker place. When
he was there five days, in hunger and thirst, stumbling
about in the great wild wood without liberation,
the merchant called out:—
“Oh, my God, if any one would take me out of this
great wild thicket to the right road, I would give him
the best of my three daughters, and as a wedding gift
three sacks of coin.”
“I’ll lead thee out right away,” said some one
before him.
The merchant looked to the right, to the left, but
not a soul did he see.
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“Don’t look around,” said the certain one again,
“look under thy feet.”
The merchant then looked in front and saw that
near his feet was a little hedgehog, and to him he
directed then his word and speech. “Well, if thou
wilt lead me out, I will give thee my best daughter
and three sacks of coin; the first will be gold, the
second silver, and the third copper.”
The hedgehog went on ahead, the merchant walked
after. Soon they came out of the great wild wood.
Then the hedgehog went back, and the merchant
turned his wagon-tongue homeward.
Now the king went to hunt,—went in the same way
as the merchant; and he too was lost in the great wild
wood. The king went to the right and the left, tried
in every way to free himself; all he gained was
that he came to a thicker and a darker place. He
too stumbled around five days in the thick wood,
without food or drink. On the sixth morning the
king cried out: “Oh, my God! if any one would free
me from this dense wood, even if a worm, I would
give him the most beautiful of my daughters, and as
a wedding gift three coaches full of coin.”
“I’ll lead thee out right away,” said some one
near him.
The king looked to the right, to the left, but saw
not a soul.
“Why stare around? Look at thy feet; here I
am.”
519]
The king then looked at his feet and saw a little
hedgehog stretched out, and said to him: “Well,
hedgehog, if thou wilt lead me forth, I’ll give thee
the fairest of my daughters and three coaches full of
coin,—the first gold, the second silver, the third
copper.”
The hedgehog went ahead, the king followed, and
in this way they soon came out of the great wild
wood. The hedgehog went back to his own place;
the king reached home in safety.
Very well, a poor man went out for dry branches.
He went like the merchant and king, and he got
astray, so that he wandered dry and hungry for five
days in the great wild wood; and whether he turned
to the right or the left he gained only this, that he
went deeper into the denseness.
“My God,” cried the poor man at last, “send me a
liberator! If he would lead me out of this place, as
I have neither gold nor silver, I would take him as a
son, and care for him as my own child.”
“Well, my lord father, I’ll lead thee out; only
follow.”
“Where art thou, dear son?”
“Here, under thy feet; only look this way, my lord
father.”
The poor man looked near his feet, and saw a little
hedgehog stretched out.
“Well, my dear son, lead me out and I’ll keep my
promise.”
520]
The hedgehog went ahead, the poor man followed,
and soon they came out of the great wild wood.
The hedgehog then went back to his own place, and
the poor man strolled home.
Well, things remained thus till once after bedtime
there was a knocking at the poor man’s door. “My
lord father, rise up, open the door.” The poor man,
who was lying on the stove, heard only that some
one was knocking at the door.
“My lord father, rise up, open the door.”
The poor man heard, and heard that some one was
knocking and as he thought calling out: “My lord
father, rise up, open the door;” but in his world life
he had never had a son. The third time he heard
clearly, “My lord father, rise up, open the door.”
The poor man did not take this as a joke. He rose
up and opened the door. My lord’s son, who came
in to him? No one else than the little hedgehog.
“God give a good evening to my lord father and
to my mother as well,” said the hedgehog.
“God receive thee, my dear son. Hast thou come
then?”
“I have indeed, as thou seest, my lord father; but I
am very tired, therefore wake up my mother and let
her make a bed for me in my chamber.”
What was the poor man to do? He woke up his
wife; she made a towering bed, and the hedgehog
lay in it. In the morning the poor man and his wife
sat down to breakfast. They did not wish to forget
521]
their adopted son, but gave him food on a wooden
plate under a bench by the fire. The hedgehog did
not touch it. “Well, my son,” asked the poor man,
“why not eat?”
“I do not eat, my lord father, because it is not
proper to treat an adopted son like some orphan or
another; therefore it beseems me not to eat all alone
from a wooden plate under a bench at the fire. Seat
me nicely at the table by thy side, put a tin plate
before me, and place my food on it.”
What was the poor man to do? He seated the
Hedgehog at his side, put a tin plate before him, and
measured out food on it; then the Hedgehog ate
with his father and mother. When they had finished
breakfast the Hedgehog spoke thuswise: “Well, my
lord father, hast thou a couple of thalers?”
“I have.”
“I suppose thou art keeping them to buy salt and
wood with?”
“Yes, my son.”
“I speak not of that, I am speaking of this: lend
me the money; I will return it a thousand-fold. Set
not thy mind much on salt and wood now; but go,
my lord father, to the market. In such and such a
place an old woman has a black cock for sale; buy
him of her. If she asks a small price, give her double;
for that will be my steed. When thou hast bought the
cock for two prices, in such and such a place is a
saddler; go to him. In a corner of his shop is a cast-away,
522]
thrown-away, ragged, torn saddle; buy that
for me, but give him two prices also. If he asks little,
give him double.”
The poor man put on his coat, put the two thalers
in his pocket, went to the market, bought the black
cock and the cast-away, thrown-away saddle for two
prices; each one for two small bits of money.
The Hedgehog then saddled the black cock with
the cast-away, thrown-away saddle, sat upon him, and
went to the court of the rich merchant whom he had
led out of the great wild wood; he knocked at the
door and called: “Hei, father-in-law, open the gate,
let me in!”
The rich merchant opened the gate in great wonder.
Who was coming? No one other than our
Hedgehog, riding on a black cock.
“Hear me, rich merchant,” began the Hedgehog;
“knowest thou thy promise? When I led thee out of
the great wild wood, dost remember thy promise to
give me the best of thy three daughters and three
sacks of coin? Now I have come for the maid and
the money.”
What could the rich merchant do? He called his
three daughters into the white chamber, and turned
to the Hedgehog, saying: “Well, choose among the
three the one who pleases thy eye, thy mouth, and
thy heart.”
The Hedgehog chose the second daughter, for she
was the most beautiful of the three. The merchant then
523]
measured out three sacks of coin,—in the first, as he
had said, there was gold, in the second silver, in the
third copper; then he put his daughter and the three
sacks of coin in a coach, to which four horses were
attached, and he sent on her way his most beautiful
daughter, with the Hedgehog. They travelled and
journeyed till the Hedgehog, who was riding at the
side of the coach on his black cock, came up, looked
in through the window, and saw that the bride was
in tears.
“Why dost thou cry, why dost thou weep, my
heart’s beautiful love?” asked the Hedgehog of the
maiden.
“Why should I not cry, why should I not weep,
when God has punished me with such a nasty thing
as thee?—for I know not whether thou art a man
or a beast.”
“If this is thy only trouble, my heart’s beautiful
love, we can easily cure it; I’ll keep the three sacks
of coin for myself, and thee I’ll send back to thy
father, for I see that of me thou art not worthy.”
Thus was it settled; the Hedgehog kept the three
sacks of coin, but the merchant’s daughter he sent
back to her father. The Hedgehog then took the
coin to the poor man, who became so rich that I think
another could not be found like him in seven villages.
Now the Hedgehog plucked up courage, saddled his
black cock, sat on him, and rode away to the king,
stood before him, and spoke in this fashion: “Dost
524]
thou remember, king, that when I brought thee out of
the great wild wood, thou didst promise that if I would
show the right road thou wouldst give me the most
beautiful of thy three daughters and fill for me three
coaches, the first with gold, the second with silver,
and the third with copper coin? I am here so that
thou mayest keep thy word.”
The king called his three daughters to the white
chamber and said: “I made a promise, and this is it:
to give one of my three daughters to this Hedgehog
as wife; I promised because the Hedgehog led me
out of a great wild wood, in which I wandered for
five days without food or drink, and he saved me from
certain death. Therefore say, my dear daughters,
which of you will agree to marry the Hedgehog.”
The eldest daughter turned away, the second turned
away also; but the youngest and fairest spoke thus:
“If thou, my father the king, hast made such a promise,
I will marry him. Let the will of God be done if
he has appointed such a husband for me.”
“Thou art my dearest and best daughter,” said the
king; and he kissed her again and again. Then the
king measured out three coaches of coin, seated
the princess in a chariot of gold and glass and started
her on her journey, amid bitter tear-shedding, with the
Hedgehog, who rode at the side of the chariot on his
black cock. They travelled and journeyed across
forty-nine kingdoms till the Hedgehog rode up to the
chariot, opened the window, looked in, and saw that
525]
the princess was not weeping, but was in the best
cheerful humor.
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love,” said the princess,
“why art thou riding on that black cock? Better
come here and sit at my side on the velvet cushion.”
“Thou art not afraid of me?”
“I am not afraid.”
“Thou art not disgusted with me?”
“No; if God has given thee to me, then thou
shouldst be mine.”
“Thou art my only and most beloved wife!” said
the Hedgehog; and with that he shook himself, and
straightway turned into such a pearl-given, charming,
twenty-four-years-old king’s son that tongue
could not tell,—golden-haired, golden-mouthed,
golden-toothed. And the black cock shook himself
three times, and became such a golden-haired magic
steed that his equal would have to be sought for;
the cast-away, thrown-away saddle became golden,
everything on it was gold to the last buckle.
The king’s son then picked out the most beautiful
place in the kingdom; standing in the middle of this
he thought once, and suddenly that instant there
stood before him a copper-roofed marble palace,
turning on a cock’s foot, and in it every kind of the
most varied and beautiful golden furniture,—everything
and everything was of gold, beginning with the
mirror-frame and ending with the cooking-spoon.
The king’s son conducted the beautiful golden bird—the
526]
fair princess—into the pearl-given palace,
where, like birds in a nest, they lived in quiet harmony.
When the merchant’s three daughters and
the two elder princesses heard of the happiness of
the youngest princess,—how well she had married,—in
their sorrow one of them jumped into a well, another
drowned herself in a hemp-pond, and a third
was drawn dead out of the river Tisza [Theiss]. In
this way four of the maidens came to an evil end;
but the second daughter of the merchant gritted her
teeth venomously at the princess, and made a firm
and merciless resolve that she would imbitter her
life’s happiness. She went therefore to the palace,
and found service in the guise of an old woman. She,
the devil-given, came at a critical time; for the Burkus
king[8] had declared war against the king’s son,
and the princess, while her husband was in the field,
was left to the care of the merchant’s daughter, disguised
as an old woman. Milk might as well be confided
to a cat as the princess to that cockroach of the
underground kingdom. While the king’s son was
gone, the Lord gave the princess two beautiful children.
The old woman packed them into a basket,
put them under a tree in the woods, then ran back to
the princess, who, recovering from a faint into which
she had fallen, asked the old woman to give her the
children so that she might embrace and kiss them.
527]
“High queen,” answered the old woman, “what
is the use in delay or denial? They were two untimely,
hairy monsters, and to save thee from terror
at sight of them, I threw both into the river.”
The two children slept quietly under the tree till a
white deer burst with great noise through the thicket,
went straight as if sent, and taking the basket hung
it on his antlers; then the white deer disappeared
in the forest, went on till he came to the bank of
a stream, where he called three times. The Forest
Maiden appeared as if by magic, took the basket with
great delight, and ran panting into her own palace.
The two children were seven years with the Forest
Maiden, who reared them as carefully as if they had
been her own.
Here, ’pon my soul, what came of the affair, or
what did not, the Forest Maiden once sent the little
girl with a green jug for water, and enjoined on her
rigorously to be careful not to break the jug.
The little girl did not let this be said twice; she
was obedient and attentive. She took the jug, and
was at the well in a moment. When she came, she
saw a little golden bird flying around the well. Being
a child, she wanted to catch the golden bird, therefore
ran around with the jug in her hand till at last
she saw that only the handle was left. The little girl,
terrified, burst into tears, sat at the edge of the well,
and cried there. The Forest Maiden waited and
waited; but she could not wait longer, therefore she
528]
sent the little brother with a second jug, and told
him sternly to be careful not to break the jug. The
little brother went in the same way, for he also, like
children of that age, barely saw the golden bird when
he wanted to strike it with the jug, which he whirled
around till only the handle remained in his hand;
then he burst into tears, sat by his sister, and there
the two were crying at the edge of the well.
Here, ’pon my soul, the golden bird pitied the
children, and asked: “Why do ye cry? Why do ye
weep, pretty children?”
“Oh, pretty bird,” answered the boy, who had
more sense than his sister, “why should we not
cry? Why should we not weep? We shall be flogged
for breaking the green jugs; our dear mother will
whip us.”
“Oh, my children, she is not your own mother!
She is only your foster-mother. Your father and
mother live far from here,—beyond those green
mountains; so if ye will follow, I’ll lead you home.”
The two children wanted nothing else. They went
back no more to their foster-mother, for they would
be flogged; but they followed the golden bird, which
went always before them. And they travelled and
journeyed till once in a forest they came upon a
great heap of gold; near the gold was a number of
dice, as if some one had been playing there. The
little boy and girl each took a handful of gold, and
went farther. They travelled and journeyed till they
529]
came to an inn; since they were wearied, and it was
evening, they went in to ask lodging. In the inn
three lords were playing dice; the two children at
first merely noticed that they were playing. At last
the boy took from his pocket the handful of gold,
and began to play in such fashion that he won all
the money of the three lords; and then one of them
spoke thuswise:—
“Well, my dear son, I see that thou hast good luck.
I have in a certain place a charming flower-garden; in
the middle of the garden is a marble palace, and the
palace has this peculiarity,—if it is struck on the side
three times with this golden rod, it will turn into a
golden apple; and thou mayest put down the marble
palace and the flower-garden in any part of the world
if thou wilt strike the golden apple with the small end of
the golden rod. I will bet now this flower-garden and
this marble palace; if thou canst win, they’ll be thine.”
The little boy agreed; and he won fortunately the
flower-garden and the marble palace. The other
then gave him the golden rod, and showed him where
the garden and the palace were. Next morning the
children sought out the garden and the palace, which
the boy struck three times on the side, and it turned
to a golden apple; he put the apple in his pocket, and
strolled on homeward. The little golden bird flew always
ahead of them. They travelled and journeyed
till one time the golden bird stopped and said:—
“Well, dear children, now we are at home; put
530]
down the golden apple on this spot and strike it
three times with the rod, and ye will see what a
beautiful marble palace and flowery garden there
will be, speaking to the seven kingdoms. The report
of the palace and garden will circulate immediately,
and the king himself will come to look at
them. Him ye must honor as your father, for thou
my little boy art the king’s son, and thou my little
girl the king’s daughter. Dear children, here in a
golden frame is a picture which gives your arms
and name. Hang in the palace this picture, in the
best place; but lest it be seen, cover it with velvet,
and show it to no man save your own father. When
he asks what that picture is, draw the velvet from it,
and the rest will follow.”
So it happened; the two children hung up the picture
in the best room of the marble palace, and
covered it with velvet. Now, the report ran to distant
parts of the kingdom that there was a charming
and wonderful marble palace in such and such a place,
and people hastened from the seventh province distant
to look at it; so that the report came to the ears of the
king himself. The king decided straightway to look
at the flowery garden and marble palace; but he had
hardly conceived the idea when the old woman gave
him a drug. The king fell ill, and could not see the
flowery garden and marble palace; and then the old
woman, without invitation, stood before the king and
said: “High king, if thou art so curious to see this
531]
flowery garden and marble palace, then I will go and
see if they are as beautiful as report says, and tell the
story to thy Highness.”
The king in one way or another agreed, and the
old woman went, not to see the garden, but to bring
the two children to evil destruction; the wicked
creature tried but succeeded not, for her weapons
broke. Not to confound one word with another, I
will tell the whole tale in order and accuracy.
The old witch had barely reached the famous
flower-garden when the two children hurried before
her and showed everything from root to top, and the
old piece of leather began to talk thus: “It is true
that the garden is beautiful, but it would be seven
times more beautiful if ye would bring the world-sounding
tree.”
“What must be done to get that?” asked the little
boy.
“Not other than this,” answered the old skeleton:
“In such and such a place, in an enchanted palace,
is the world-sounding tree; but ye must go for it and
bring it.”
With that the old witch took farewell of the two
children, and strolled home; but the boy had no
peace from that hour. He wanted to go and bring the
world-sounding tree; therefore taking farewell of his
sister with bitter tear-shedding he set out for the tree.
He was going and travelling across forty-nine kingdoms
till he came to a dark castle; this was the first
532]
enchanted castle. A big, lame, hairy devil stood
there on guard with a fearful whip, so that no man
might enter. The hairy devil shouted very angrily
at our boy: “Stop! Who is there?”
“I,” answered the little boy.
“Who is ‘I’?”
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?” asked the devil.
“I am.”
“What journey art thou on?”
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding
tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder
brother?”
“I have not heard of it; but in such and such a
place my brother stands guard, and if he has not
heard of it, then no one in the world has.”
Yanoshka went forward on the right road in search
of the world-sounding tree. He travelled and journeyed
till he came to another enchanted dark castle;
there a big, lame, hairy devil was standing on guard
who shouted to our Yanoshka in great anger. Our
Yanoshka was much braver now, for he knew he had
nothing to fear.
“Who is it?” called out the devil.
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?”
“I am, at the service of my lord elder brother.”
“Why art thou journeying here in this strange
land, where even a bird does not go?”
533]
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding
tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder
brother?”
“What is the use in delay or denial? I have not
heard; but in such and such a place my eldest
brother is on guard, and if he knows nothing of it,
then no one in the world knows.”
With this Yanoshka moved on towards the third
enchanted castle; when he came, there was a big,
lame, hairy devil on guard, who called out in great
anger to Yanoshka: “Who is that?”
“I.”
“Thou art Yanoshka?”
“I am.”
“Why art thou journeying here in this strange
land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding
tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder
brother?”
“Ho, ho, Yanoshka! of course I have; it is here in
the garden of this enchanted palace. Thou mayest
take it, but only if thou obey my words. If thou
dost not value them or dost not observe them, thou
wilt never see God’s bright sky or the shining day
again. I only want to say this: Here is a golden
rod; strike the wall of the enchanted castle with it
three times. Straightway a door will open before
thee. In the very middle of the garden thou wilt
find the world-beautifully sounding tree. Go around
534]
it three times and then hurry like a shot arrow, with
the speed of a dog, or the stone wall will close, and
thou wilt remain inside; and if thou art once shut
in, God have mercy and pity on thee, for that instant
thou wilt be turned to stone. This is my word and
speech; if thou cling to it, thou wilt be lucky; if
not, thou wilt be wretched forever.”
The boy took the golden rod and struck the side of
the enchanted castle with it. That instant the door
opened before him. The king’s son did not inquire
much whether he might enter or not; in a moment
he ran in through the door and straight to the garden.
Every kind of singing and dancing maidens
came to meet him,—some with citharas and harps;
some played on cymbals and begged him to play and
dance with them; some offered rich food and drink
of every kind agreeable to the taste. But the king’s
son had no mind to eat or drink; he pushed aside
the maidens and ran to the very centre of the garden,
where the world-beautifully sounding tree was; then
he went around it three times, turning toward the
point whence he had come. That done he rushed
from the garden, and a thousand times lucky was he.
It was not the same for him to be a few minutes later,
for the door closed and bit off the heel of his boot;
but he did not care much about the heel of his boot.
He ran home on the same road over which he had
come; and when he arrived, the world-beautifully
sounding tree was in the middle of the flowery garden.
535]
Hitherto the flowery garden had been in good
fame, but now the fame was seven times greater, so
that people came from seven worlds to look at the
tree; and the report of it reached the king himself,
who determined in his mind if he had not seen it
yet he would now at least go to see it.
As soon as the old witch divined his thought she
put a powder in his coffee so that he became sick,
and was not able to leave the room; then she stood
before him without invitation, and said: “High king,
as thy Highness is sick, I will go to see if the world-sounding
tree is as beautiful as reported, and will soon
bring back word.”
The king in one way or another agreed to the old
witch’s proposal, and let her go to see the world-beautifully
sounding tree. She had barely put foot in the
flowery garden when the two children ran out to her
to hear what the old woman would say this time.
“Beautiful children,” said she, “beautiful is the
garden of itself, beautiful is the sounding tree, but
still seven times more beautiful would it be if the
world-sweetly speaking bird were to sing upon it.”
“What must I do?” asked the little boy.
“Nothing else,” answered the old witch, “than
this: In such and such a place is an enchanted
castle, and thence it would be necessary to bring
the world-sweetly speaking bird.”
Then she went back; and from that hour the
king’s son could not remain at home, but planned to
536]
go for the world-sweetly speaking bird. Therefore,
parting with his sister amidst bitter tear-shedding, he
started through the kingdom and the world to bring
home the sweetly speaking bird; but he enjoined on
his sister that if the third day he were not at home,
she should set out to seek him over a certain road,—and
with that the king’s son went his way.
He journeyed and travelled across forty-nine kingdoms
to the first enchanted castle, where there stood
on guard a big hairy devil, who had a terribly large
whip in his hand, to kill, without pity or mercy, every
man going up or down. Now, the hairy devil attacked
Yanoshka sharply and roughly, thus:—
“Who art thou?”
“I, my lord elder brother.”
“Who art thou?” asked the devil again.
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?”
“I am.”
“Why art thou here in this strange land, where
even a bird does not go?”
“I am going for the world-sweetly speaking bird.
Hast thou heard of it, my lord elder brother?”
“What is the use in delay or denial? I have not indeed
heard. But over there lives my elder brother; if
he knows nothing of it, then no one in the world knows.”
Now the king’s son came to the second enchanted
castle; the second devil sent him to his eldest brother,
the big lame devil.
537]
When Yanoshka came to the third castle, the devil
asked, “Why art thou here in this strange land, where
even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-sweetly speaking bird.
Hast thou not heard of it, lord elder brother, in thy
world-beautiful life?”
“Of course I have; it is here in this enchanted castle.
Thou mayest take it away if thou wilt listen to
my word; if not, better thou hadst never been born.
For if thou wilt not observe my words, thou wilt never
see God’s bright sun again. I only wish to say: Here
is a golden rod; take it, and with it strike the wall of
the enchanted castle three times. Straightway the
door will open before thee; pass in, run to the end of
the glass corridor and across eight chambers. In the
ninth chamber is the world-sweetly speaking bird in a
rusty cage. Thou wilt find there every kind of beautiful
and more beautiful golden birds, but look not at
them, listen not to them, take no one of them, but
take the sweetly speaking bird sitting sadly in the
rusty cage. Snatch the cage in an instant, and rush
from the enchanted castle as if thou hadst been shot
from a cannon.”
The king’s son took the golden rod and struck the
wall of the enchanted castle with it three times, and
in a twinkle the door opened before him. The king’s
son then asked few questions. Whether it was permitted
or not he ran into the room in an instant.
While he was running to the end of the glass corridor
538]
he was called by name, from the right to the left,
to stop. It is true that he was frightened, but he
paid no heed. He ran straight to the first chamber.
Every kind of flowers, more and more beautiful, were
in golden pots; but the king’s son did not touch them.
He ran to the second chamber. In that were all
kinds of swords and guns, but he did not choose
from them. He entered the third, fourth, fifth, and
in this way till he came to the ninth chamber. The
ninth chamber, as the devil had told him, was full of
all kinds of golden and silver cages, and in them
golden-feathered birds, more and more beautiful, were
singing; but the world-sweetly speaking bird was
drooping there sadly in a rusty cage, and was not
singing.
As the world-sweetly speaking bird was not golden-feathered
like the others, it did not please the king’s
son, and he did not take it, but chose from among the
many golden-feathered birds the prettiest, and wished
to take that; but as he reached towards it, suddenly,
in the twinkle of an eye, he was turned to stone, and
the door of the stone wall closed before him.
Now, the little princess every God-given day
spread the table for her good brother, but he did not
come. Every God-given evening she went out before
the house and waited till nearly midnight; then she
spread the bed for him, but he did not lie in it. So
the first day passed, and the second, and the third,—day
after day, but still the dear brother came not;
539]
therefore the princess, crying and weeping, went out
to look for her brother. She journeyed and travelled
upon his trail till she came to the first enchanted castle,
and the second, and at last the third. The devil
there stood on guard, with a great whip like a chain, so
as to strike on the head, without pity or mercy, every
one going up or down; and he shouted angrily at the
little girl, “Who art thou?”
“I.”
“Thou art Marishka?” For meanwhile, let it be
said, this was the name of the king’s son’s sister.
“I am.”
“Why art thou travelling in this strange land,
where not even a bird goes?”
“I am looking for my brother. Hast thou not
heard of him, lord elder brother?”
“Of course I have heard,—of course! He is in
this enchanted castle, turned into stone; he had to be,
for he would not obey me. Thou wilt go that way,
too, if thou wilt not hold to my word.”
Now the little girl took the golden rod from the
devil, who told her what to do with it, and struck
the wall of the enchanted castle with it three times.
The door opened before her in a twinkle, the princess
ran in; but she looked neither to the right nor the
left. She ran straight to the ninth chamber; there
she took the rusty cage, struck her brother three
times on the side with the rod, then ran as if shot
from a cannon. And a thousand-fold was her luck
540]
that she did not delay an eye-twinkle longer, for the
stone-wall door, as it was, cut the edge of her skirt
off when it closed.
The princess had barely come out of the enchanted
castle when she heard behind her frightful thundering,
hammering and blowing, swearing and cursing,
with threats; they shouted after her: “Wait, thou!—this-and-that-kind-of-wretch,
it will soon be bitter for
thee!” But she did not turn to them; she ran like a
hunted deer till she reached home. Who was waiting
for her there? No one else but her dear brother.
The brother and sister then put up the sweetly
speaking bird on the world-beautifully sounding tree,
and the sweetly speaking bird spoke, sang more
sweetly than any cithara, so that whoever heard
it became ten years younger. If the flowery garden
had been famous before, it now stood in seven times
greater fame, so that from seven kingdoms the people
came to look at it; and the king, hearing of
the fair fame of the flowery garden, resolved in
his mind that, though he had not gone yet, he would
go to see it now.
The old witch barely divined this intention of the
king when she gave him powders in black coffee,
from which the king became so sick that this time,
too, his visit to the beautiful garden came to nothing.
And then the old woman, without invitation, stood
before him, and said: “High king, thou hast such a
great desire to see the flowery garden, I will go at
541]
once, and bring back word if its beauty is as great
as its fame.”
The king agreed, and the old woman went to see the
flowery garden. She had barely put foot in it when
the two children ran out to meet her, received her very
cordially, and did not know where to seat her.
“Beautiful children,” began the old sinner, “the
marble palace is beautiful, the flowery garden is
beautiful, the world-sweetly speaking bird is beautiful;
but the flowery garden would be still more
beautiful if the silver lake were flowing in it, and in
the lake golden fish were playing.”
“What must I do to get the lake?” asked the
king’s son.
“Only this,” answered the old skeleton. “In a
certain place, in an enchanted castle, is the world-silver
lake, and in it the world-golden fish; it is only
necessary to go for the silver lake, for the golden fish
will come in it. All that is needed is to bring the
lake.”
Then the old woman took leave of the pair pleasantly,
and went home. But the king’s son from that
day had no rest, so he took leave of his dear sister,
and went out into the world for the silver lake. He
travelled and journeyed across forty-nine kingdoms,
and the Operentsia Sea, till he came to the first enchanted
castle. A devil was guarding there, who sent
him to his elder brother, and he to his eldest. The
king’s son arrived at the third enchanted palace. A
542]
devil stood guard there, with an enormous knotty
club, to hit every man going up or down, without
mercy or pity.
“God give thee good evening, my lord elder
brother.”
“God receive thee, Yanoshka; whither art thou faring
in this strange land, where not even a bird goes?”
“I am looking for the world-silver lake. Hast thou
not heard of it, lord elder brother?”
“Of course I have heard,—of course; it is here in
this enchanted castle. But, my younger brother, thou
wilt have to tie up thy drawers well if ’tis thy wish to
take that away; for if thou dost not obey my word,
I tell thee, on my true soul, that thou wilt reach Pilate
by supper-time. I wish to say this: Here is a golden
rod; strike the side of the enchanted palace with it,
and suddenly the door will open before thee, run in
straight to the garden. Thou wilt hear thy name
called, but listen not. Every kind of beautiful maiden
will come before thee, offering meat and drink; but
eat not, neither drink. Thou wilt find on the way
every kind of rich thing,—gold, silver, diamonds,—but
touch nothing. Then every kind of disgusting
snake and toad will come out, but be not afraid; run
straight to the silver lake, which flows in the garden,
run around it three times towards home, and then run
out as thou didst go in.”
Well, the king’s son took the golden rod, struck
the side of the enchanted castle three times, and the
543]
door opened before him; scarcely had he put foot
inside when maidens called him by name. “This
way, this way, Yanoshka! Eat, drink, with relish,
Yanoshka! This way, Yanoshka, my embracing two
arms are open to thee, run no farther!”
The king’s son, as if deaf, did not listen, but ran
farther. Then maidens more and more beautiful
came before him,—some sprang at him, dangled
their golden hair in his face; the king’s son did not
stop, but struck at them rudely, rushing on. He had
barely left the maidens when he fell on to piles of
treasure thrown in his way: beaten gold was piled
high, and milk-white silver coin,—here every kind of
diamond ring, there swords set in diamonds; but the
king’s son touched nothing, and ran on. Then every
kind of crawling, creeping thing swarmed around him,—here
hissing snakes, there warty toads. Yanoshka
looked not under his feet, but ran till he came to the
silver lake, around which he rushed three times, and
went out as he had come. A thousand-fold was his
fortune, for had he been an instant later the stone
wall would have closed before him; as it was it took
the heel off his boot, but he cared nothing for that.
He left his boots there and ran home barefoot; when
he reached home the silver lake was already flowing
through the flowery garden, and in it all kinds of
precious golden fish were jumping.
Hitherto the marble palace and the flowery garden
with the sounding tree and the sweetly speaking bird
544]
had been in fair fame, but now, when the silver lake
was flowing through the garden, and golden fish
playing in it, now I say their fame spoke to the seven
worlds, and people came to look at them. When this
reached the ears of the king he resolved that he
would neither eat nor drink till he saw the marble
palace with all its wonders. Though the old witch
offered him black coffee repeatedly, the king did not
take it; but sitting in the golden carriage with his wife,
he drove to see the flowery garden.
Scarcely had the king and queen entered the
flowery garden when the brother and sister ran out
before them, panting, and kissed their hands.
“Oh, father, this little girl is like thee!” cried the
queen; “she is thy carved second!”
“And the little boy looks like thee,” answered the
king.
Well, the king and the queen went around the
garden in order, and they could not do justice to its
beauty; when they saw the sounding tree and the
sweetly speaking bird, they clapped their hands. The
boy went up in a moment on the sounding tree, plucked
from it a couple of golden apples, gave one to the king
and the other to the queen, who could not praise sufficiently
his kindness. Then the king and queen looked
at the silver lake and the golden fish in it; they visited
the marble palace, and went from chamber to chamber
till they had gone through seven in order.
The king and queen were unable to praise
545]
sufficiently the beauty of the rooms; but when they came
to the most beautiful of all, the king found this to say,
speaking speech: “Well, my little servant, wilt thou
not answer a question of mine?”
“And what is it?” asked the prince.
“I should like to know why that picture is covered
with velvet, and what it depicts.”
One word is not much, but the king’s little son did
not say that much; speechless he drew the velvet
covering aside. The king and queen were amazed,
and knew their own children, whom they had never
seen before. One embraced one of them, and the
other the other; they could not speak, but they wept
and laughed, and then the world-sounding tree and
the sweetly speaking bird were heard.
Great was the rejoicing of every kind, but sad grew
the old sinner when the king seized her, made her fast
to a tree, and piled up beneath her a fire of sulphur.
Letters in the Russian names and titles in this volume
have the following values:—
a
as
a
in hat
ai
as
ai
in bait
i accented
as
ee
in beet
j accented
as
the French J
kh and h
as
ch
in the Gaelic loch
o accented
as
o
in bone
o unaccented
as
u
in full
u
as
oo
in moon
In this volume Russian names and titles without printed
accents are accented on the penult. Names and titles accented
on syllables other than the penult have the accents indicated
in the following list:—
548]
In Chekh and Magyar the accent is always on the first
syllable.
In the Magyar consonantal combinations cs = ch, gy = dy,
s = sh. Examples are Csako, pronounced Chako,—one of the
cows sold by the poor man to the King of the Crows. This is
a name given in Hungary to a cow with horns grown outward.
Kiss Miklos, pronounced Kish Miklosh, means in English
Nicholas Little. Magyar is pronounced Modyor, the unaccented
a in Magyar being the equivalent, or nearly so, of our o.
The Russian myth-tales in this volume are all taken from
Afanasyeff’s[9] collection. At the end of each title are given,
in parentheses, the part and page of the tale in the original
work.
[9]
The Russian title of Afanasyeff’s work is, “Naródniya Rússkiya
Skazki. A. N. Afanásieva, Moskvá.” There are eight parts, usually
bound in three volumes, and dated 1860-61-63.
The Three Kingdoms,—The Copper, the Silver,
and the Golden. Page 1. (Part vii. p. 97.)
The first name, that of the Tsar Bail Bailyanyin, is best translated
as “White of White Land.” There is in Russian mythology
a lady of unspeakable beauty, Nastasya or Anastasya of the sea,
who causes the sun to blush twice each day; she is perhaps
the Nastasya, Golden Tress, of this story. Bail Bailyanyin,
“White of White Land,” may well be Bail Bog, the White God
of pre-Christian Russians. And here a few words touching the
persistence of myth-conceptions may not be out of place. In
the tales of the Indians, and in fact of all men who have retained
firm traces of primitive thought, the people of the myth-tellers
are on the side of light and goodness, and their enemies on that
of darkness and harm. This is parallel with the antithesis of
day and night. The Russian phrases baili dyen, baili svait,
“white day,” “white world,” are good examples of the old-time
idea with which is connected, in all likelihood, the title Baili
Tsar, “the White Tsar,” still existent in Russia.
Ivan Tsarevich, The Fire-Bird, and the Gray
Wolf. Page 20. (Part vii. p. 121.)
The variants of this tale among the Russians and other
Slavs, as well as in Germany, are many, and would fill a volume
of good size if collected and published. In some Russian
variants Ivan Tsarevich retains Yelena the Beautiful, not
through the art and friendship of the Wolf, but by his own
craft and daring. When he has received the golden-maned
steed in exchange for Yelena, and is going, he asks to take leave
of the maiden; the request is granted. He raises the beauty to
the saddle-bow, puts spurs to the steed, rises in the air, shoots
on above the standing forest, below the moving cloud, vanishes,
holds on his way till he comes to the Tsar to whom he had
promised to give the steed for the Fire-Bird. When the time
comes for parting he asks to take a last ride on the steed, if only
through the court-yard; the Tsar agrees. Ivan mounts with the
cage in his hand; the steed rises as before, and he vanishes,
comes to the place where he had left Yelena, and fares homeward
with her till he meets his evil brothers.
Ivan the Peasant’s Son and the Little Man Himself
One-finger Tall, his Mustache Seven Versts in
Length. Page 37. (Part viii. p. 109.)
[Written down in the government of Saratoff, by Guskóff.]
In this tale we have Freezer and Great Eater, with powers
exhibited on a smaller scale than those of the comrades of Kiss
Miklos in the Magyar myth. The picture of the boat serving
for the reality has its parallel quite frequently in Indian belief.
Water of Youth, Water of Life, and Water of Death.
Page 72. (Part vii. p. 66.)
The sleeping maiden in this tale, with her slumbering host,
reminds us at once of the Queen of Tubber Tintye in “The
King of Erin and the Queen of Lonesome Island.” See
“Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland.”
This story is remarkable for the change or metamorphosis
of Raven, the great power, into a common raven after his defeat
by Ivan Tsarevich and the surrender of the feather staff.
Raven is a great personage in American mythology, especially
in that of the Modocs. Whenever he appeared and uttered his
spell with an ominous laugh, everything was turned to stone.
There are many rock groups of Eastern Oregon described in
the myths as ancient mighty personages turned into stone by
Raven. As soon as the body became stone, however, the spirit
escaped, and took physical form in some other place. Over the
spirit, Raven had no power.
Koshchéi Without-Death. Page 106. (Part vii. p. 72.)
[Written down in the government of Archangel.]
This name has been translated, but incorrectly, Koshchéi,
the “Deathless” or “Immortal.” Koshchéi was not deathless.
551]
His death was in the world, but in a place apart from him, which
is simply another way of saying that the source of his life was
at a distance. We may find in this fact one very important
clew to the discovery of the nature of personages like Koshchéi.
No matter how they are cut up or slaughtered, where they act,
they are alive and as strong as ever next instant; it is as vain
to try to kill them by attacking their bodies as it is to destroy
winter by making bonfires in the open country, or destroy the
summer by artificial cooling. There are two ways by which
we may draw conclusions as to who these personages are,—one
by discovering what or where their life or death is, the other by
examining their acts. We do not know much at present about
Koshchéi, from the fact that his death is in a duck’s egg; but if
we could learn who the women are whom he carries away, that
would throw light on his character. Let us take an American
example. There is a personage, Winter, in a certain Indian
myth whose heart is hidden away at a distance, and whose song
brings frost and snow. The heart is found by the enemy of
the Snow-maker; this enemy burns it, and the Snow-maker dies.
In another Indian myth the hero’s enemy is pounded to pieces,
but comes to life, is killed repeatedly without result. At last
the hero learns that his enemy’s heart is in the sky, at the
western side of the sun at midday; straightway he reaches up,
gets the heart, crushes it, and his enemy dies. In this case the
enemy is surely not a snow-maker.
Vassilissa Golden Tress, Bareheaded Beauty.
Page 124. (Part viii. p. 367.)
[Written down by Bronnitski.]
The name of the Tsar Svaitozar means “light-shining,”
“resplendent.”
The wise blacksmith of the Savage Serpent receives a reward
from Ivan Tsarevich similar to that given by Cucúlin to the
Strong Smith in “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland;” he is made
king.
The Enchanted Princess. Page 238. (Part viii. p. 138.)
This tale contains a good deal of myth material. Specially
interesting is the withering of the trees when the soldier is put to
sleep, and their budding forth when South Wind brings him back.
Vassilissa the Cunning, and the Tsar of the
Sea. Page 249. (Part vi. p. 218.)
Vassilissa is written Vasilisa in Russian. I have doubled
the s to assist the reader, but regret now that I did not preserve
the Russian orthography and call attention to the pronunciation.
Tsar Unchristened Forehead is in the original text, and Tsar
of the Sea is given as a variant. I have taken the variant, which
is undoubtedly earlier than the name in the text. The battle
between beasts and birds in the beginning of the tale is very
curious. In Indian mythology struggles between beasts and
birds are common; not, however, beasts and birds of the
present kind, but the beings who lived before men appeared,
and who fell from their former high places, becoming such
beasts and birds as those that we see now. The eagle in this
story corresponds in character to the mythologic birds before
their fall.
It is noteworthy that the struggles for superiority in Indian
myths are not carried on through fighting (the usual method in
Aryan myths), but through trials of skill, strength, dexterity,—through
playing ball, dice, foot-races, wrestling, and shooting.
The opponents always bet their heads, and the head of the
losing party is cut off without delay.
The “Chekh Myths and Folk-Tales,” except “The Cuirassier
and the Horned Princess,” are taken from a work in two parts
called, “Folk-Tales,” by J. K. z. Radostova.[10] Prague, 1872.
[10]
Národní Pohádky, od J. K. z. Radostova. V. Praze, 1872.
“The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess” (in the original,
“Concerning a Cuirassier”) is taken from “Moravian Folk-Tales,
Stories, Customs, and Beliefs,” collected and written
down by Benesh Method Kulda.[11] Prague, 1874. This work
is in two parts.
[11]
Moravské Národní Pohádky, Pověstí, Obyčeje a Pověry sebral a
napsal. Beneš Method Kulda. V. Praze, 1874.
555]
From “Wild Roses. A Collection of the Mental Creations
of the Sekler People,” by Yanosh Kriza.[15] Klausenburg, 1863.
(Volume I., all, I believe, that was published, contains ballads
songs, and tales.)
