Chapter III: Part 3

So the time came for a jolly feast and for the wedding. But the princess was still full of wiles. She asked herself and she sought to know whence God had sent him such enormous wealth. So she invited him to be her guest, received him, honoured him. And the doughty youth fell sick, and he vomited up the liver of the hen, and the Tsarévna swallowed it. From that day gold fell from her lips, and she would not have her bridegroom with her. “What shall I do with this ignoramus?” she asked her _boyárs_, and she asked her generals. “He has had the idiotic idea of wanting to marry me.”

So the _boyárs_ said he must be hung, and the generals said he must be shot. But the Tsarévna had a better idea—that he ought to be sent to hell.

So the doughty youth escaped and once more set forth on his road. And he had only one thought in his mind, how he should make himself wise and revenge himself on the Tsarévna for her unkind jest. So he went on and went on, and he came into the dreamy wood, and he looked and he saw three men fighting with their fists.

“What are you fighting about?”

“We have three finds in the road, and we cannot divide them; every one wants them for himself.”

“What are the finds? what are you contending for?”

“Look, this is a barrel: you only have to knock it, and a soldier leaps out of its mouth. This is a flying carpet: wherever you think it will take you. And this is a whip: strike a maiden and say ‘You have been a maiden, now become a mare,’ and she will become a mare at once.”

“These are valuable gifts, and they are hard to divide. But this is the way out: I will send an arrow in this direction, and you all run after it; he who reaches it first shall have the barrel, and the second shall have the flying carpet, and the third shall have the whip.”

“Very well; shoot the dart.”

So the youth sent out the arrow very far. The three darted after it and ran, and they never looked up. But the doughty youth took the barrel and the whip, sat upon the flying carpet, waved it one end, and he rose higher than the forest that stood there, lower than the clouds above, and he flew whither he would.

So he went back to the forbidden lands of the fair princess, began beating the barrel, and an enormous army came out; infantry, cavalry and artillery, with cannon and with powder waggons. And the mighty host rolled on and rolled on. The doughty youth asked for a horse, mounted it, and went up to his army and commanded it. The drums beat out and the trumpets sounded, and the army went at a pace. Then the Tsarévna saw from her rooms and was very much frightened, and sent her _boyárs_ and generals to ask for peace. The good youth bade these ambassadors be seized, had them cruelly and savagely punished and sent them back to the Tsarévna, who was to come herself and ask for a reconciliation.

Well, there was no help for it: so the Tsarévna herself got out of her carriage, recognised him and swooned. But he took the whip, struck her on the back: “You are a maiden, now become a mare!” And the Tsarévna turned into a mare. He bridled and rode her, and went to the kingdom of his elder brother. He galloped at a full pace, put both spurs into her back and used a scourge of three iron rods, and the army followed him, an unbelievable host. It may be long, it may be short, at last they came to the boundary, and the doughty youth stopped, collected his army into the barrel, and went to the capital. He went straight to the royal palace, and the king himself saw him and looked at the mare and began to wonder: “What is this great hero approaching? I have never seen such a fine mare in all my life.” So he sent his generals to trade for that horse.

“No, what an envious king you have!” said the youth. “It would evidently be out of the question in your city to come here with a young wife; if you are so greedy for a mare, you would certainly take away my wife.”

Then he went to the palace and said, “Hail, brother!”

“Oh, I never knew you!”

So they set to kissing each other.

“What sort of barrel have you?”

“That is for drinking. How should I journey forth on the road otherwise?”

“And the carpet?”

“Sit down and you will find out.”

So they sat on the flying carpet, and the younger brother shook it at the corner and they flew higher than the forest, lower than the wandering cloud, straight back to their own country. So they flew back, took a room with their father, and as to who they were they never told their father and mother. So they then thought they would give a feast to all the christened world. They assembled all the people in countless hosts, and for three whole days they gave food and drink to all without requital, without any charge. And afterwards every one began saying had any one a tale of wonder to tell; let him start. But no one would say: “We, it is said, are strange folk, but——”

“Well, I will tell you a story,” said the younger brother; “only do not talk until the end. Whoever interrupts three times is to be ruthlessly punished.” So they all agreed.

And he began to tell how the two old folks had lived together, how they had had a hen which laid jewels, and how the mother had made friends with the apprentice. “What a lie!” interrupted the mistress. But the son went on with his tale. And he narrated how they had twisted the hen’s neck, and the mother again interrupted. At last the story went up to the point when the old woman wished to take away the children, and again she would not stand it: “It is untrue!” she said. “Could ever such a thing happen? Could ever a mother wish to be torn from her children?”

“Obviously, it is possible. Look at us, mother; we are your children.”

Then the whole story came out, and the father bade his wife be chopped up into bits. He tied the apprentice to the tail of horses, and the horses broke in every direction and scattered his bones over the fields. “Let the dog die a dog’s death!” said the old man. And he gave all his property to the poor and went to live in his elder son’s kingdom.

But the younger son smote his mare with the back of his hand and said, “You are a mare; now become a maiden!” So the mare turned into the fair Tsarévna. They made peace, became friends and wedded. It was a magnificent wedding.

I was there, I drank mead and it flowed up to my beard, but none came into my mouth.

MARK THE RICH

In a country, in a kingdom far away, once upon a time there lived a merchant, Mark the Rich; and, what with all his estates and revenues, you couldn’t count them. He lived, and was merry, and never suffered the poor man to come to his door, so ungracious was he.

One day he had a dream: “Make ready, Mark the Rich, and wait. God Himself will be thy Guest!” In the morning Mark got up, called his wife, and bade her make a banquet. He covered all of his courtyard with scarlet velvet and golden brocade, and at every side-path he posted journeymen and servants to keep out all the hunger-brothers and scare them outside. Then Mark the Rich came, and sat awaiting the Lord. The hours went by, and never a guest. And then the poor heard that there was a great feast at the house of Mark the Rich. They all gathered round for the hallowed gifts; but the journeymen and servants drove them all away. But one poor beggar, bent with age, and all in rags, went up to the door of Mark the Rich. And as Mark the Rich saw him from the window, he cried out in a fierce voice: “Hi, you sluggards and louts! Eyes and no eyes? Look at the beast that is traipsing up and down our courtyard: get rid of him.”

And all the servants scampered up, laid hold of the poor old fellow, and rushed him out the back way. One good old woman saw him, and said: “Come to me, you poor old beggar; I will feed and rest you.” She took him in, fed him, gave him to drink, and laid him to sleep; and thus Mark the Rich had never found the Lord for whom he was waiting.

At midnight the lady had a dream, and heard some one knock at the window and ask: “Old and righteous man, are you sleeping here to-night?” “Yes,” said the old man. “In a village near by a poor peasant has had a son; how will you reward him?” The poor man said: “He shall be lord of all the domains of Mark the Rich!” Next day the poor old man left his hostess and went forth to roam. The old peasant woman went to Mark the Rich and told him of her dream.

Mark went to the peasant and asked for the baby. “Give him to me—I will adopt him; he shall grow up; I will teach him well; and when I die he shall have all my wealth.” This was what he said, but his thoughts were quite different. He took the little boy, went home, and threw him into a snow-drift. “Lie there and freeze; that’s the way to become master of Mark’s wealth!” But that same night hunters, passing by, hunting for hares, found the boy, took him home, and brought him up.

Many years passed by, and much water flowed in the river, and one day Mark the Rich went out with those huntsmen, saw the young boy, heard his story, and spoke about him, and knew it was the same he had cast forth.

So Mark the Rich asked the youth to go home and take a letter to his wife; but in that letter he bade her poison the boy like a dog. The poor foundling set out on his road; when on his way, he met a poor man with nothing on but a shirt; but this beggar was Christ Himself. He stopped the wayfarer, took the letter, and held it for one minute, and the letter was changed in all it said. The wife of Mark the Rich was to receive the bearer with all honour, and marry him to her daughter. It was said, and it was done.

Mark the Rich returned home; and was very wroth at seeing his new son-in-law, and said: “In the evening go to my distillery and look after the work”; whilst he secretly told the men to hunt him into the burning cauldron as soon as ever he appeared. So the boy made ready to go to the distillery; but a sudden sickness befell him, and he had to go back home. Mark the Rich waited his time, and went to see what had become of his son-in-law, and tumbled into his own distillers’ clutches, into the burning cauldron!

BY COMMAND OF THE PRINCE DANIEL

Once upon a time there was an aged queen who had a son and a daughter, who were fine, sturdy children. But there was also an evil witch who could not bear them, and she began to lay plots how she might contrive their overthrow.

So she went to the old Queen and said: “Dear Gossip, I am giving you a ring. Put it on your son’s hand, and he will then be rich and generous: only he must marry the maiden whom this ring fits.”

The mother believed her and was extremely glad, and at her death bade her son marry only the woman whom the ring fitted.

Time went by and the boy grew up: he became a man and looked at all the maidens. Very many of them he liked, only as soon as he put the ring on their finger it was either too broad or too narrow. So he travelled from village to village and from town to town, and searched out all the fair damsels, but he could not find his chosen one, and returned home in a reflective mood.

“What’s the matter, brother?” his sister asked him. So he told her of his trouble, explained his sorrow. “What a wonderful ring you have!” said the sister. “Let me try it on.” She tried it on her finger, and the ring was firmly fixed as if it had been soldered on, as though it had been made for her.

“Oh, sister! you are my chosen bride, and you must be my wife.”

“What a horrible idea, brother! That would be a sin.”

But the brother would not listen to a word she said. He danced for joy and told her to make ready for the wedding. She wept bitter tears, went in front of the house, and sat on the threshold and let her tears flow.

Two old beggars came up, and she gave them to eat and to drink. They asked what her trouble was, and she needs must tell the two. “Now, weep no more, but do what we say. Make up four dolls and put them in the four corners of the room. After your brother calls you in for the betrothal, go; and if he calls you into the bridal chamber, ask for time, trust in God, and follow our advice.” And the beggars departed.

The brother and sister were betrothed, and he went into the room and cried out, “Sister mine, come in!”

“I will come in in a moment, brother; I am only taking off my earrings.”

And the dolls in the four corners began to sing:

Coo-Coo—Prince Danílo
Coo-Coo—Govorílo
Coo-Coo—’Tis a brother
Coo-Coo—Weds his sister:
Coo-Coo—Earth must split asunder
Cooo—And the sister lie hid under.

Then the earth rose up and slowly swallowed the sister.

And the brother cried out again, “Sister mine, come in to the feather-bed!”

“In a minute, brother. I am undoing my girdle.”

Then the dolls began to sing:

Coo-Coo—Prince Danílo
Coo-Coo—Govorílo
Coo-Coo—’Tis a brother
Coo-Coo—Weds his sister:
Coo-Coo—Earth must split asunder;
Cooo—And the sister lie hid under.

Only she had vanished now, all but her head. And the brother cried out again: “Come into the feather-bed.”

“In a minute, brother; I am taking off my shoes.”

And the dolls went on cooing, and she vanished under the earth.

And the brother kept crying, and crying, and crying. And when she never returned, he became angry and ran out to fetch her. He could see nothing but the dolls, which kept singing. So he knocked off their heads and threw them into the stove.

The sister went farther under the earth, and she saw a little hut standing on cocks’ feet and turning round. “Hut!” she cried out, “Stand as you should with your back to the wood.”

So the hut stopped and the doors opened, and a fair maiden looked out. She was knitting a cloth with gold and silver thread. She greeted the guest friendlily and kindly, but sighed and said, “Oh, my darling, my sister! Oh, I am so glad to see you. I shall be so glad to look after you and to care for you as long as my mother is not here. But as soon as she flies in, woe to you and me, for she is a witch.”

When she heard this the maiden was frightened, but could not fly anywhere. So she sat down and began helping the other maiden at her work. So they chattered along; and soon, at the right time before the mother came, the fair maiden turned her guest into a needle, stuck her into the besom and put it on one side. But scarcely had this been done, when Bába Yagá came in.

“Now, my fair daughter, my little child, tell me at once, why does the room smell so of Russian bones?”

“Mother, there have been strange men journeying past who wanted a drink of water.”

“Why did you not keep them?”

“They were too old, mother; much too tough a snack for your teeth.”

“Henceforth, entice them all into the house and never let them go. I must now get about again and look out for other booty.”

As soon as ever she had gone, the maidens set to work again knitting, talking and laughing.

Then the witch came into the room once more. She sniffed about the house, and said, “Daughter, my sweet daughter, my darling, tell me at once, why does it so smell of Russian bones?”

“Old men who were just passing by who wanted to warm their hands. I did my best to keep them, but they would not stay.”

So the witch was angry, scolded her daughter, and flew away. In the meantime her unknown guest was sitting in the besom.

The maidens once more set to work, sewed, laughed, and thought how they might escape the evil witch. This time they forgot how the hours were flying by, and suddenly the witch stood in front of them.

“Darling, tell me, where have the Russian bones crept away?”

“Here, my mother; a fair maiden is waiting for you.”

“Daughter mine, darling, heat the oven quickly; make it very hot.”

So the maiden looked up and was frightened to death. For Bába Yagá with the wooden legs stood in front of her, and to the ceiling rose her nose. So the mother and daughter carried firewood in, logs of oak and maple; made the oven ready till the flames shot up merrily.

Then the witch took her broad shovel and said in a friendly voice: “Go and sit on my shovel, fair child.”

So the maiden obeyed, and the Bába Yagá was going to shove her into the oven. But the girl stuck her feet against the wall of the hearth.

“Will you sit still, girl?”

But it was not any good. Bába Yagá could not put the maiden into the oven. So she became angry, thrust her back and said, “You are simply wasting time! Just look at me and see how it is done.” Down she sat on the shovel with her legs nicely trussed together. So the maidens instantly put her into the oven, shut the oven door, and slammed her in; took their knitting with them, and their comb and brush, and ran away.

They ran hard away, but when they turned round there was Bába Yagá running after them. She had set herself free. “Hoo, Hoo, Hoo! there run the two!” So the maidens, in their need, threw the brush away, and a thick, dense coppice arose which she could not break through. So she stretched out her claws, scratched herself a way through, and again ran after them. Whither should the two poor girls flee? They flung their comb behind them, and a dark, murky oak forest grew up, so thick, no fly could ever have flown its way through. Then the witch whetted her teeth and set to work. And she went on tearing up one tree after another by the roots, and she made herself a way, and again set out after them, and almost caught them up.

Now the girls had no strength left to run, so they threw the cloth behind them, and a broad sea stretched out, deep, wide and fiery. The old woman rose up, wanted to fly over it, but fell into the fire and was burned to death.

The poor maidens, poor homeless doves! did not know whither to go. They sat down in order to rest, and a man came and asked them who they were. He told his master that two little birds had fluttered on to his estate; two fairest damsels similar in form and shape, eye for eye and line for line. One was his sister, but which was it? He could not guess. So the master went to both of them. One was the sister—which? The servant had not lied; he did not know them, and she was angry with him and did not say.

“What shall I do?” asked the master.

“Master, I will pour blood into an ewe-skin, put that under my armpit and talk to the maiden. In the meantime I will go by and will stab you in the side with my knife; then blood will flow; then your sister will betray herself who she is.”

“Very well!”

As soon as it was said it was done. The servant stabbed his master in the side, and the blood poured forth, and he fell down.

Then his sister flung herself over him and cried out, “Oh, my brother! my darling!”

Then the brother jumped up again healthy and well. He embraced his sister, gave her a proper husband, and he married her friend, for the ring fitted her just as well. So they all lived splendidly and happily.

THE THOUGHTLESS WORD

Once upon a time an old man lived in a village with his wife, and they were very poor: they had only one son. And when he grew up, the mother said to her husband: “It is full time that we secured a wife for our son.”

“Well, go and see if you can bargain for a wife.”

The old woman went to her neighbour and asked him if her son could marry his daughter. But the neighbour said, “No!” And she went to the next peasant, who also declined the honour. And she searched the whole village, and not a single soul would hear a single word of it. When she came back she said: “Goodman, I fear our son is born under an unlucky star!”

“Why?”

“I went through the whole village, and there is nobody who will give me his daughter.”

“That looks bad!” said the husband. “It will soon be summer, and we shall not have anybody to help us at the harvest. Woman, go into the next village, as you may find somebody there.”

The old woman went to the next village, went from one end to the other, went through all the courtyards and houses of the peasants, but it was all in vain. Wherever she showed her nose, she was put off. And she came back home as she had left. “No one wants to be kin with such poor folk as us!”

“In that case it is no good running oneself off one’s legs. Go and sit behind the oven.”

But the son was indignant, and asked: “Father, bless me, and I will go and seek my own fate.”

“Where then will you go?”

“Wherever my eyes lead me!”

So they blessed him and they let him go wherever the four winds blow.

When the boy was on the road, he wept bitterly and spoke to himself: “Am I then the feeblest man in the world, and no maiden will really have me? If the Devil would only send me a bride I think I would rake her!”

Suddenly, just as though he had grown out of the earth, an old man came to meet him. “Good day, doughty youth!”

“Good day, old father!”

“What were you saying just now?”

Then the boy was frightened and did not know what to answer.

“You need not fear me. I will do you no harm, and perhaps I can help you in your need. Speak out boldly.”

So the boy told him all the truth. “Oh, I am a sorry fellow, and no maiden will marry me. That is making me angry; and I said in my indignation that if the Devil himself came and gave me a girl, I would make her my bride.”

So the old man laughed and said: “I can give you a bride, oh, as many brides as you like”; and they then came to a lake. “Stand with your back to the water, and step backwards,” the old man told the boy.

As soon as he had turned round, and had gone four steps, he found himself under the water, in a white stone palace.[16] All the rooms were splendidly furnished and finely decorated.

The old man gave him meat and drink, and afterwards showed him twelve maidens, each of whom was fairer than the others. “Choose which you will of them. You shall have any of them.”

“It is a difficult choice, grandfather! Let me have till to-morrow to think of it.”

“Well, you can have until to-morrow,” said the old man, and he took him into a large room.

The boy lay down to sleep and began to think which he would take. Suddenly the door opened and a beautiful maiden came in. “Are you asleep, doughty youth, or not?”

“No, fair maiden, I cannot sleep. I am thinking which is the bride I shall take.”

“That is the very reason I came to see you, in order to give you counsel; for, good man, you have become the Devil’s guest. So, listen to me; if you ever wish to return to the light of day, you must do as I say. If you do not, you will not leave this place alive.”

“Give me your counsel, fair maiden. I shall not forget it all my life long.”

“To-morrow the Evil Spirit will show you twelve maidens, one like the other. You must choose me, and look at me very carefully. There will be a patch over my right eye; that will be the sign.” And the maiden told him her story. “Do you know the pope in a neighbouring village? I am his daughter, and was stolen from his house nine years ago. One day my father was angry with me and made a hasty wish that the Devil might take me. I went in front of the house and cried, and the Unholy Spirit soon snatched me on the spot, carried me here; and I have never left the place since.”

Next day the old man set the twelve maidens in a row before the boy, and commanded him to choose one of them. He looked until he had seen the one with the patch over the right eye, and chose her. The old man was angry, but he had to give her up. And he therefore mixed the maidens together and told him to make a second choice. The boy hit on the same one, and after a third choice he took his fated bride.

“This has been your piece of luck. Now take her home!”

All at once the boy and the maiden found themselves on the bank of the lake, and they walked backwards until they reached the high road. The Devil wanted to hunt after them; but all at once the lake vanished, and there was no trace of the water.

When the boy had taken his bride into the village, he stopped at the pope’s house. The pope saw her, and sent a servant out and asked what they desired.

“We are wandering folk, and ask for shelter.”

“I have guests staying here, and my hut would be too small anyhow.”

“But, father!” said the merchants, “wandering folk must be always taken in: they will not disturb us.”

“Well, come in.”

The boy and the maiden came in, made due greetings, and sat behind, on a corner of the fire bank.

“Do you know me, father? I am your own daughter!” She told him what had happened; and they kissed, and embraced, and shed tears of joy.

“Who is he?” said the pope, pointing to the boy.

“That is my own chosen bridegroom, who brought me back to light of day, but for whom I should have remained beneath for ever!” Thereupon the fair maiden opened her bag, and there were golden and silver vessels in it which she had stolen from the devils.

A merchant looked at them and said: “Those are my plate. Once I was dining with guests, and became rather drunk, quarrelled with my wife, and I wished them all to the Devil. And since then all my plate has vanished!”

And this was the truth, for as soon as ever the man mentioned the Devil, the Evil Spirit appeared on the threshold, gathered up all the gold and silver plate, and threw skeleton bones down instead.

So the boy got a fine bride, married her, and drove to see his parents. They had long given him up for dead, and it was no wonder; for he had been away for three years, although it had seemed to him only twenty-four hours that he had stayed with the Devil.

THE TSARÍTSA HARPIST

In a certain kingdom in a certain land once there lived a Tsar and a Tsarítsa. He lived with her for some time, then he thought he would go to that far distant country where the Jews crucified Christ. So he issued orders to his ministers, bade farewell to his wife, and set out on his road.

It may-be far, it may-be short, he at last reached that distant land where the Jews crucified Christ. And in that country then the Accursèd King was the ruler. This King saw the Tsar, and he bade him be seized and lodged in the dungeon. There were many tortures in that dungeon for him. At night he must sit in chains, and in the morning the Accursèd King used to put a horse-collar on him and make him drive the plough until the evening. This was the torment in which the Tsar lived for three whole years, and he had no idea how he should tear himself away or send any news of himself to his Tsarítsa. And he sought for some occasion. And he wrote her this little line: “Sell,” he said, “all my possessions and come to redeem me from my misfortune.”

When the Tsarítsa received the letter she read it through and said to herself, “How can I redeem the Tsar? If I go myself, the Accursèd King will receive me and will take me to himself as a wife. If I send one of the ministers, I can place no reliance on _him_.” So what did she advise? She cut off her red hair, went and disguised herself as a wandering musician, took her _gusli_, and never told anybody, and so set out on her road and way.

She arrived at the Accursèd King’s courtyard and began to play the _gusli_ so finely as had never been heard or listened to for ages. When the King heard such wonderful music he summoned the harpist into the palace. “Hail, _guslyár_! From what land have you come? From what kingdom?” asked the King.

“I do not journey far in the wide white world: I rejoice men’s hearts and I feed myself.”

“Stay with me one day and another day, and a third, and I will reward you generously.”

So the _guslyár_ stayed on, and played for an entire day in front of the King, and he could never hear enough of her. “What wonderful music! why, it drove away all weariness and grief as though at a breath.”

So the _guslyár_ stayed with the King three days, and was going to say farewell.

“What reward can I offer you for your labour?” asked the King.

“Oh, your Majesty, give me one prisoner who has sat long in the prison; I must have a companion on the road! I wish to go to foreign kingdoms, and I have no one with whom I can exchange a word.”

“Certainly! Select whom you will,” said the King, and he led the _guslyár_ into the prison.

The _guslyár_ looked at the prisoners, selected the Tsar, and they went out to roam together.

As they were journeying on to their own kingdom the Tsar said, “Let me go, good man, for I am no simple prisoner, I am the Tsar himself. I will pay you ransom for as much as you will; I will grudge you neither money nor service.”

“Go with God,” said the _guslyár_: “I do not need you at all.”

“Well, come to me as my guest.”

“When the time shall come, I will be there.”

So they parted, and each set out on his own way. The Tsarítsa went by a circuitous route, reached home before her husband, took off her _guslyár’s_ dress and arrayed herself like an empress.

In about one hour cries rang out and the attendants came up to the palace, for the Tsar had arrived. The Tsarítsa ran out to meet him, and he greeted them all, but he did not look at her. He greeted the ministers and said, “Look, gentlemen, what a wife mine is! Now she flings herself on my neck, but when I sat in prison and sent her a letter to sell all my goods and to redeem me she did nothing. Of what was she thinking if she so forgot her liege husband?”

And the ministers answered the Tsar, “Your Majesty, on the very day the Tsarítsa received your letter she vanished no one knows where, and has been away all this time, and she has only just appeared in the palace.”

Then the Tsar was very angry and commanded, “My ministers, do ye judge my unfaithful wife according to justice and to truth. Where has she been roaming in the white world? Why did she not try to redeem me? You would never have seen your Tsar again for ages of eternity, if a young _guslyár_ had not arrived, for whom I am going to pray God, and I do not grudge giving him half my kingdom.”

In the meantime the Tsarítsa got off her throne and arrayed herself as the harpist, went into the courtyard and began to play the _gusli_. The Tsar heard, ran to meet her, seized the musician by the hand, led her into the palace and said to his Court, “This is the _guslyár_ who rescued me from my confinement.” The _guslyár_ then flung off his outer garment, and they then all recognised the Tsarítsa. Then the Tsar was overjoyed and for his joy he celebrated a feast which lasted seven whole days.

THE TALE OF IVÁN TSARÉVICH, THE BIRD OF LIGHT, AND THE GREY WOLF

There was once, in a certain kingdom, a certain state, where there lived Tsar Výslav Andrónovich, who had three sons: the first was called Dmítri Tsarévich, the second Vasíli Tsarévich, and the third Iván Tsarévich. This Tsar had a garden so rich that in no other kingdom was there any better, and in that garden many rare trees grew with fruits and without fruits. And the Tsar had an apple-tree which he especially loved, and on that apple-tree all the apples that grew were of gold. But it happened that the Bird of Light began to fly to visit Tsar Výslav. The feathers of the bird were all gold, but the eyes were like crystal of the East. It flew into the garden every night and sat on the apple-tree beloved of Tsar Výslav, and used to pluck down the golden apples and fly away. Tsar Výslav Andrónovich was deeply afflicted, and he called to him his three sons and said to them: “My beloved children, which of you will go into my garden and catch the Bird of Light? He who captures it alive, I will in my lifetime give him the half of my kingdom, and at my death he shall have it all.”

Then his children, the Tsarévichi, said in a single voice: “Gracious lord, our father, Your Imperial Majesty, we will, with the greatest pleasure, try to catch the Bird of Light alive.”

On the first night Dmítri Tsarévich went into the garden and sat under the apple-tree from which the Bird of Light used to steal the apples; but he went to sleep, and he never heard when the Bird of Light flew up and again plucked off many apples.

In the morning Tsar Výslav Andrónovich called his son Dmítri to him, and he asked him: “Well, my beloved son, did you see the Bird of Light, or did you not?” And he answered: “Father, gracious lord, this night it did not come.”

So the next night Vasíli Tsarévich went to keep watch in the garden. He sat under the same apple-tree, and sat there one hour and went to sleep so soundly that he never heard the coming of the Bird of Light, which flew on to the tree, perched on it, and plucked many apples.

In the morning the Tsar called his second son and questioned him, and he answered: “Gracious lord, my father, this night the Bird of Light did not come.”

And on the third night Iván Tsarévich went into the garden to watch, and sat under the same apple-tree; and he waited one hour, a second hour, and a third hour; and then the whole garden lit up as though it shone with many fires, and the Bird of Light flew in and sat on the apple-tree and began to pluck the apples. Iván Tsarévich stole under it so warily, and seized it by its tail, only he could not keep hold of it; and had only one feather out of its tail.

In the morning, when Tsar Výslav awoke from his sleep, Iván Tsarévich went to him, and gave him the feather of the Bird of Light. Tsar Výslav was very glad that his youngest son had succeeded, although he had only a single feather; and this feather was so marvellous and bright that you had only to take it into some dark attic and it shone as bright as the red sun. Tsar Výslav put the feather into his cabinet as an article which he must keep for ever; and from that time forward the Bird of Light never flew into the garden.

Tsar Výslav once again called his children unto him and said, “My beloved sons, do ye journey forth: I will give you my blessing. You must seek for the Bird of Light and bring it to me alive; and what I promised you before, he who captures the Bird of Light shall have.”

Dmítri and Vasíli were envious of their younger brother Iván that he had succeeded in pulling the feather out of the Bird of Light’s tail. But Iván Tsarévich asked leave of his father and his blessing. Tsar Výslav tried to keep Iván back, but he could not, and he let him go at his unrelaxing prayer. Iván Tsarévich received his father’s blessing, took his horse, and went on his journey, journeying forth, not knowing whither he was going.

And as he went on the road and way—it may be near, it may be far, it may be high, it may be low, the tale is soon told, but the deed is not soon done—at last he reached an open field and green meadows. And in the open field there stood a stone column, and on the column these words were written:

“Whosoever goes on straight from this column, he shall have
hunger and cold. Whosoever goes to the right, he shall have
health and life, but his horse shall be slain. And whosoever
goes to the left, he shall himself be slain, but his horse shall
have life and be healthy.”

Iván Tsarévich read this inscription, and he went to the right, bethinking himself, if his horse were to be slain, anyhow he would remain alive. So he went on one day, and a second and a third day, and suddenly a fierce grey Wolf met him and said: “All hail to thee, warrior! Doughty of might, Iván Tsarévich, hast thou read how it is written on the column that thy horse shall be slain? So why hast thou ridden this way?” And the Wolf, speaking these words, cleft the horse of the young Iván Tsarévich in two and went far aside.

Iván Tsarévich wept bitterly for his horse, and he went on on foot. And he went one whole day and grew very, very tired; and when he wanted to sit down and to rest, suddenly the grey Wolf came up to him and said: “I have pity for you, Iván Tsarévich, that you are tiring yourself going on foot. Come, sit on me—on the grey Wolf—and say whither I shall take you and wherefore.” Iván Tsarévich told the grey Wolf where he wanted to go, and the grey Wolf flew off with him swifter than any horse; and, in a short time, as it might be in a single night, he conducted Iván Tsarévich to a stone wall, stopped, and said: “Now, Iván Tsarévich, jump off me—off the grey Wolf—and go through this stone wall. There is a garden behind the wall, and in that garden the Bird of Light is sitting in a golden cage. You must take the Bird of Light, but you must not touch the golden cage, or they will capture you at once.”

Iván Tsarévich slipped through the stone wall into the garden, saw the Bird of Light in the golden cage, and was very pleased. He took the Bird out of the cage, and was going back, and then he thought and said to himself: “Why should I take the Bird of Light without the cage? Where shall I put it?” So he turned back, and as soon as ever he had taken the golden cage there was a clamour and a clangour in the garden as though there were ropes attached to the cage. All the watchmen woke up, ran up into the garden, seized Iván Tsarévich with the Bird of Light, and took him to their Tsar, who was called Dolmát.

Tsar Dolmát was very angry with Iván Tsarévich, and shrieked in a wrathful tone: “Are you not ashamed of yourself, young man, to come stealing? Who are you—of what land? Who was your father? How do they call you on earth?”

Iván Tsarévich answered him: “I am the son of Tsar Výslav Andrónovich, and they call me Iván Tsarévich. Your Bird of Light flew into the garden every night and stole the golden apples from the apple-tree my father loved, and for that reason my father sent me to seek the Bird of Light and to take it to him.”

“Oh, thou brave youth, Iván Tsarévich!” Tsar Dolmát cried. “I would certainly have given you the bird, but what did you do? If you had come to me, I should have given you the Bird of Light as an honour; but, now, would it be well, were I to send you into all kingdoms to proclaim how you came into my realm and dealt dishonourably? Now listen, Iván Tsarévich. If you will do me this service, if you will go across thrice nine kingdoms into the thrice-tenth realm, and will there obtain me from Tsar Afrón the golden-maned horse, I will forgive your sin, and I will give you the Bird of Light, and will do you great honour.”

And Iván Tsarévich became very sorrowful, and left Tsar Dolmát, found the grey Wolf, and told him of everything.

“Hail to thee, warrior, doughty of might!” the grey Wolf said to him. “Why did you not listen to my words? Why did you take the golden cage?”

“I am guilty,” Iván Tsarévich said to the Wolf.

“Well, so be it,” said the grey Wolf. “Sit on me—on the grey Wolf. I will take you wherever you wish.”

Iván Tsarévich sat on the grey Wolf’s back, and the Wolf chased as fast as a dart and ran may-be far, may-be near, and at last he reached the kingdom of Tsar Afrón at night-time; and when he had come to the white-stoned stables of the Tsar, the grey Wolf said to Iván Tsarévich: “Get down, Iván, go into the white-stoned stables, and take the golden-maned horse; only there hangs a golden bridle on the wall which you are not to touch, or it will go ill with you.”

Iván Tsarévich went into the white-stoned stables, took the horse, and went back. But he saw the golden bridle on the wall, and when his glance fell on it he took it from the hook. And as soon as he touched it there was a clangour and a clamour throughout all the stables as though there were ropes attached to the bridle. All the watchmen woke up, ran into the stable, seized Iván Tsarévich with the golden-maned steed and took him to their Tsar Afrón.

Tsar Afrón was very angry with Iván Tsarévich, and asked him who he was, who was his father, and what was his name. When Iván had told him also of his errand, he said: “I would have certainly given you the golden-maned horse if you had asked me for it, but since you have dealt thus dishonourably with me, you must do me this service, and then I will give you the golden-maned horse with the bridle: you must ride across thrice-nine lands into the thrice-tenth kingdom and gain me Princess Eléna the Fair, whom I have for long loved with all my heart and soul, but cannot gain. In return for this I will forgive you, and give you what you sought as an honour: but if you do not do me this service I will proclaim throughout all the realms of the world that you are a dishonourable thief.”

Iván Tsarévich went out of the palace and began to weep bitterly: then he came to the grey Wolf and related how it had gone with him.

“Hail to thee, brave warrior, doughty of might!” the grey Wolf said. “Why did you not listen to my words, and take the golden bridle?”

“I have been guilty before you,” said Iván Tsarévich.

“Well, so be it,” the grey Wolf went on. “Sit on my back, on the grey Wolf: I will take you wherever you require.”

So Iván Tsarévich sat on the grey Wolf’s back, and the grey Wolf scoured as fast as a dart, and at last he arrived at the kingdom of Princess Eléna the Fair, to the golden palisade which surrounded the wonderful garden; and the Wolf said to the Tsarévich: “Iván Tsarévich, slip off my back, off the grey Wolf, and go behind on that road and wait for me in the open field under the green oak.” Iván Tsarévich went as he was bidden, and the grey Wolf sat near the golden palisade, waiting until Princess Eléna the Fair should come into the garden to walk.

In the evening, when the little sun was setting fast to the West, Princess Eléna the Fair went into the garden to take a walk with all of her maids of honour and servants and attendants and all the _boyáryni_[17] around. When she came to the place where the grey Wolf sat behind the railing, suddenly the grey Wolf leapt across the grating to the garden, seized Princess Eléna the Fair, leapt back and ran away with all his might and strength. He then went into the open field under the green oak where Iván Tsarévich was waiting, and said, “Iván Tsarévich, come sit on my back, on the grey Wolf swiftly.” Iván Tsarévich sat on him, and the grey Wolf scoured off with them both fast to the kingdom of Tsar Afrôn.

All the maids of honour and servants and attendants and _boyáryni_ ran swiftly into the palace and began to set a hunt on foot, but however many the hunters that hunted, they could not hunt down the grey Wolf, and so they all turned back home again frustrated.

Iván Tsarévich, seated on the grey Wolf’s back with Princess Eléna the Fair, fell in love with her and she with him: and when the grey Wolf arrived at the garden of Tsar Afrón, the Tsarévich grew very sad and began to weep tears.

The grey Wolf asked him, “Why are you weeping, Tsarévich?”

And Iván Tsarévich answered him, “O my friend, the grey Wolf, how shall it be to me, the doughty youth, not to weep, not to be afflicted? I love Princess Eléna the Fair with all my heart, and now I must give her up to Tsar Afrón in exchange for the golden-maned horse: and, if I do not give her up, then Tsar Afrón will dishonour me throughout all the kingdoms.”

“I have served you well, Iván Tsarévich,” the grey Wolf replied, “and I will serve you yet this service. Listen, Iván Tsarévich, I will turn myself into the fair Princess Eléna, and you will take me to Tsar Afrón and be given the golden-maned horse: he will then take me as his queen, and when you sit on the golden-maned horse and you ride far away, then I will ask Tsar Afrón leave to walk in the open field, and when he lets me go with the maids of honour and servants and serving-maids and attendants and the _boyáryni_, then think of me, and I shall be with you once again.”

His speech finished, the grey Wolf struck the grey earth and he turned himself into Princess Eléna.

Iván Tsarévich took the grey Wolf and went into the palace of Tsar Afrón together with the supposed Eléna the Fair. Then the Tsar was very joyous in his heart that he had received such a treasure, which he had been desiring for long, and he gave the golden-maned horse to Iván Tsarévich. Iván Tsarévich sat on the horse, and he went behind the town and he placed Eléna the Fair on it, and they went away, taking their road to the kingdom of Tsar Dolmát.

The grey Wolf stayed one day with Tsar Afrón, and a second day and a third in the stead of fair Princess Eléna. And then he asked leave of Tsar Afrón to go and walk in the open field, that he might drive out the ravening sorrow from his heart. Then Tsar Afrón said to him: “O my fair Queen Eléna, I will do anything for you,” and he promptly bade the maids of honour, the servants, the attendants and the _boyáryni_ to go with him and the fair Princess into the open field to walk.

Iván Tsarévich went on his way and rode with Eléna the Fair, and they had almost forgotten the grey Wolf, when he suddenly recollected: “Oh, where is my grey Wolf?”

Then, from some source unknown, he stood in front of Iván Tsarévich and said, “Sit on me, Iván Tsarévich, on the grey Wolf, and the fair Princess can go on the golden-maned steed.”

Iván Tsarévich sat on the grey Wolf, and so they went on to the realm of Tsar Dolmát, may-be far or near; and when they reached that kingdom then they stopped three versts out of the town, and Iván began to beseech the grey Wolf: “Listen to me, my beloved friend, the grey Wolf; you have served me so many services, serve me a last: can you not turn yourself into the golden-maned horse?”

Then the grey Wolf struck the grey earth and became the golden-maned horse; and Iván Tsarévich left the Fair Eléna in the green meadow, sat on the grey Wolf and went into the palace to Tsar Dolmát; and as soon as ever Tsar Dolmát saw Iván Tsarévich, that he was riding the golden-maned horse, he came out of his palace, met the Tsarévich in the open courtyard, kissed him on his smooth cheeks, took him by his right hand and led him into the white-stoned palace. Tsar Dolmát for such a joy bade a feast be prepared, and they sat at the oaken tables by the chequered table-cloths, and they ate, drank and made merry for two days. On the third day Tsar Dolmát delivered to Iván the Bird of Light with the golden cage. The Tsarévich took the golden Bird, went outside the town, sat on the golden-maned horse together with the Princess Eléna, and went back to his own country.

Tsar Dolmát thought the next day he would take his golden-maned horse into the open fields, and as soon as ever he had angered the horse, it reared and was turned into a great grey Wolf who raced off.

When it came up with Iván Tsarévich it said, “Sit on me, on the grey Wolf, and Princess Eléna the Fair she can ride on the golden-maned horse.”

Iván Tsarévich sat on the grey Wolf and they went a third journey. Soon the grey Wolf took Iván Tsarévich to the place where he had cleft his horse in two, and said: “Now, Iván Tsarévich, I have served you well, faithfully and truly: on this spot I cleft your horse in two, and up to this spot I have brought you again: slip off me, off the grey Wolf; now you have your golden-maned horse, I can serve you no more.”