Chapter VII: Part 7

So Iván went to the ship, and he told the old man all that had happened, and the old man said: “Ivánushka, fear nothing, take Olyóna Korólyevna[28] as your wife, only for the first three nights do not go to sleep until the cock has crowed three times, and then she will never more oppress you.”

There was no loitering at the king’s court; very soon all was got ready, and Iván was affianced to Princess Olyóna. And for two weeks he lived quite happily. Then he said to his father-in-law: “Good father, let me go home and have a Mass said for my father and mother, and once more see my home.” And the king said: “My beloved son, Iván, the merchant’s son, I will not withstand your wish, but do return hither. You see yourself I am no longer young, and I have no heir. When you return I will give you my kingdom, and you will live happily and merrily.”

So they set out on their journey, and arrived at their own kingdom, to their native land. And Iván took Olyóna with him. When they arrived at the island of the bricks, they loaded all the vessels, and there were many ships, and they excavated the entire island.

One day the old man began to cut firewood, took them to the opposite side of the island and said: “Ivánushka, my well-doer, I must now speak with you.” And he bade them come where the firewood was stacked. He lit the firewood; and when it was in flame he took Olyóna, threw her down, trod on one leg, and pulled her apart into two halves, taking hold of the other leg. Iván did not know what to say! And the old man put both halves on the fire, and out of the fire there then crept snakes, frogs, and all sorts of reptiles. Then he took the two parts out of the fire, rinsed them thoroughly in the sea, sprinkled them over with water, made the sign of the cross, and Olyóna arose such a beauty as no tale can tell and no pen can write. Then he said: “Now, my well-doer, Ivánushka, you are to be a mighty king; Iván, the merchant’s son, you are now rich and famous and happy, so see to it that you do not forget God and the poor. I shall see you no more.”

Iván and Olyóna knelt down and began to beseech him, but the old man said: “Beg no more of me, but rather thank God for sending me to you. I loved you and your father, Iván, and you even more, because you kindly gave me alms; and now you are rich and famous, do not forget to give alms to the poor.” Then he vanished.

Iván and Olyóna praised God, went back to the ships, and sailed farther on.

When the poor saw that Iván had arrived with untold wealth, they crowded to the shore and began to kiss Iván’s hands, his feet, and the hem of his garment; and all present were so joyous that the tears flowed from their eyes.

Iván put up crosses on his parents’ grave, clothed the poor, gave them his house, and returned to his father-in-law, and for many years governed his kingdom. And he lived so long that he saw in his old age his sons, his grandsons, and his great-grandsons. And he ever prayed and blessed God and Nicholas the Wonder-Worker for the mercy they had manifested to him.

In that kingdom where he was king, to this very day King Iván and his wife Olyóna the Fair are remembered.[29]

THE POTTER

Once a potter was journeying on his road with his goods and dozed off. The Tsar Iván Vasílyevich came driving by in his carriage and said, “Peace be to you!”

The potter looked up and said, “I thank you very much and wish you the same.”

“Have you been asleep?”

“Yes, my lord. Do not fear a man who sings songs; but fear a man who slumbers!”

“You are a bold fellow, potter: I have seen very few such, and I like them. Coachman, slower! Potter, tell me, have you been long at your trade?”

“Ever since my youth, and I am now middle-aged.”

“Can you keep your children with it?”

“Yes, I do not sow, nor plough, nor mow, nor reap, and no frosts can do me any harm.”

“Right, potter; but there are still misfortunes left in the world.”

“Yes, I know three of them.”

“What are the three?”

“The first is an evil neighbour, the second an evil wife, and the third a weak understanding.”

“Yet now, tell me which is the worst of these evils?”

“The evil neighbour can be escaped; so can the evil wife if one has children enough, but the weak intellect can never be got rid of.”

“Yes, that is true, potter; you are a sensible fellow. Listen! You suit me and I suit you. When there are geese flying over Russia, will you pluck a feather out of them or let them fly by in peace?”

“If it suit me, I should let them fly by as they should; otherwise I should pluck them bald.”

“Potter, hold in your horse a little while I look at your stock.”

The potter stopped and displayed his goods.

“Can you make any such for me?”

“How many?”

“Ten cartloads.”

“How long will you require?”

“One month.”

“In a fortnight I can bring them into the town. I suit you and you suit me.”

“Thank you, potter.”

“Will you be in the city when I bring the goods?”

“Yes, I shall be there as the merchant’s guest.”

So the Tsar drove into the city and ordered that at all his feasts the plates should be neither of silver nor of pewter, nor of copper nor of wood, but only of clay. The potter carried out the Tsar’s orders and brought his goods into the city. A _boyár_ rode up to the potter and said to him: “God be with you, potter.”

“Thank you, your honour.”

“Sell me all your goods.”

“I cannot; they are already sold.”

“What does that matter? Take my money for it; you will be doing no wrong, as long as you have received no orders for the work. What do you want?”

“I want every plate filled with money.”

“Listen, potter—that is too much.”

“Very well, then: one filled with money and two empty. Do you agree?”

So they agreed at that: “You suit me and I suit you.”

They filled up the plates and again emptied them, and they went on filling plates until there was not any money left: but there were ever so many plates over. The _boyár_ saw he was getting the worst of the bargain and sent for more money from the house. So they piled the plates higher still, but all the money vanished, and still all the goods had not been used up.

“What is to be done, potter? Why are you so greedy?”

“There is nothing to be done.”

“I have a very high esteem for you, potter, but do you know what?”

“Do you carry me in to the courtyard, and I will give you the goods and the money back as well.”

So the _boyár_ hesitated: he was very sorry to lose his money and for himself, but he could not help himself, and so they agreed. They unharnessed the horse, and the peasant sat in the carriage and the _boyár_ walked on. The potter sang a song, and the _boyár_ drew it along, drew it along. “How far must I take you in front of that courtyard?”

The potter went on singing joyously and said, “In front of the house, at the very top of the carriage.”

When he reached the palace he stood up erect and sang, joyously.

The Tsar heard him singing and ran to the flight of steps, and recognised the potter. “Ha! welcome, potter!”

“Thank you, your honour.”

“What are you travelling with?”

“With folly.”

“Now, you fine potter, you have known how to sell your goods; _boyár_, take off your gay costume and your boots; and you, potter, take off your _kaftán_ and your bast shoes. Put the peasant’s smock on, _boyár_, and you, potter, put on the _boyár’s_ robes. You have sold your goods very finely, potter; you have done very little, and you have won much. But as for you, _boyár_, you were not able to keep your rank. Now, potter, were there any geese flying over Russia? Did you pluck a feather out of them, or did you leave them in peace?”

“No, I plucked them bald.”

THE WITCH AND THE SISTER OF THE SUN

In a distant country, a country far away, once there lived a Tsar and Tsarítsa, who had a son, Iván Tsarévich, who was dumb from his birth. When he was twelve years old he went to the stable to the groom whom he loved, who always told him stories. But this time he was not to be told any.

“Iván Tsarévich,” said the groom, “your mother will soon have a daughter, and you will have a sister. She will be a dreadful witch and will eat up your father and your mother and all their subjects. Go back home and ask your father to give you his best horse; mount that and ride away and follow your eyes if you would escape misfortune.”

Iván Tsarévich ran up to his father and spoke for the first time in his life. The Tsar was so glad at this that he never asked what the Tsarévich wanted the horse for, but ordered the very best of his _Tabún_ to be saddled for him.

Iván Tsarévich mounted the horse and rode away, following his eyes. He rode far, to a very great distance, and he came to two old seamstresses, and asked them if they would not let him live with them.

“We should be very glad to accept you, Iván Tsarévich,” they replied, “but we shall not live much longer. We are breaking up this box and with our needles sewing it together again, and as soon as we have done that Death will come to us.”

Then Iván Tsarévich wept and rode on farther. And he rode on, very very far, and came to Vertodúb. And he begged him, “Will you take me as your son?”

“I should be very glad to take you,” Vertodúb replied, “but, as soon as I have turned round all these oaks with all their roots, the hour will have come for me to die.”

Then the Tsarévich wept yet more, and he rode farther on, and he came to Vertogór, and he made him the same request.

“I should be very glad to take you, Iván Tsarévich, but I too shall not live much longer,” was the answer he received. “You see, I am placed here in order to turn these mountains round; and when I have done with the last of them then I must die.”

Then Iván Tsarévich wept bitter tears, and he rode yet farther. And at last he came to the Sister of the Sun. She gave him meat and drink and adopted him as a son. The Tsarévich had a fine time there. But still he was always dissatisfied, because he did not know what was going on at home. And so he clomb a lofty mountain, looked out to his own house, and saw that everything there had been eaten up, and only the walls were standing. Then he sighed and wept.

And when he came down from the mountain, the Sister of the Sun met him and asked, “Iván Tsarévich, why hast thou wept?”

“It was the wind which was blowing something in my eye!” And once again he began to weep.

And he went a second time into the mountain, and saw that only the walls of his house remained standing—everything had been eaten up. And he wept and returned home.

Again the Sister of the Sun met him: “Iván Tsarévich, why hast thou wept?”

“It was the wind which was blowing something in my eye!” And the Sun was angry, and forbade the wind to blow.

And he mounted the hill a third time, and this time he was forced to say why he was sad, and beg the Sister of the Sun for leave to go home to see what had been happening, like a doughty youth. So she gave him a brush and comb and two apples to take with him. And, however old a man might be, if he only ate one apple, he would be young once more.

Iván ran away, and he found Vertogór, who had only one mountain left. So Iván Tsarévich took his brush, and threw it into the open field. And suddenly mountains grew up everywhere, and their summits and peaks pierced into the skies, and there were so many of them that no man could count them. Vertogór was then very happy and set about work gaily.

Iván Tsarévich met Vertodúb once more, and there were only three oaks left. So he threw the comb into the field, and then there rustled out of the earth a thick oak forest, every tree thicker than the other. And Vertodúb was then very joyous and set to work gaily.

And at last, after a journey long or short, Iván Tsarévich reached the old women, and he gave each of them an apple. They ate them, and they once more became young, and gave him a little handkerchief, which he need only shake, and a big lake would appear.

When Iván Tsarévich came home, his sister ran to him and caressed him. “Sit down, brother mine; play on the harp whilst I go and prepare dinner.”

Iván Tsarévich sat down and began to finger the strings when a mouselet crept out of the corner and spoke with a human voice: “Run away, Tsarévich, as fast as you can. Your sister is now whetting her teeth.”

Iván Tsarévich then left the room, sat on his horse, and went all the way back to the Sun. The mouselet ran up and down on the strings of the harp, and the sister never noticed that the brother had gone away. When she had sharpened her teeth, she ran into the room, but there was not a single soul to be seen there, even the mouselet had crept back into its hole. And the witch became furious, gnashed her teeth and made ready to pursue Iván Tsarévich. Iván Tsarévich heard a noise behind him, looked, and saw his sister had almost caught him up, so he waved his handkerchief, and a deep lake rose behind him. Whilst the witch was swimming through the lake Iván Tsarévich flew a vast way, and she was swifter than he, and again came near.

Vertodúb guessed Iván was fleeing from his sister, and piled oaks on the way, whirled a vast mass of them in her path and she could not get through; she had at first to clear the road. So she gnawed and gnawed away, and at last made herself a path. But Iván Tsarévich in the meantime had gained ground. So she followed him farther, and she had almost caught him up.

When Vertogór saw what was happening, he seized hold of the highest mountain, piled it up on the road and stuck another on top of it. And the witch was very furious, and began climbing up, and in the meantime Iván Tsarévich got far and far away. But the witch soon got up and cried out: “This time you shall not escape me.”

He had got into the palace of the Sister of the Sun, and cried out, “Sun, Sun! open your big windows.” The Sun opened his window and Iván Tsarévich leaped in on his horse.

The witch asked him to give her her brother, but the Sun would not. Then the witch said, “Iván Tsarévich must put himself on one balance and I will put myself on the other, and if I am the heavier I will eat him up; and, if he is the heavier he shall lay me low.”

So they went and set up the scales. First Iván Tsarévich sat down on it, then the witch on the other side; but as soon as ever she had put her foot into it the Tsarévich was hurled with such force into the house, that he flew right into the very bosom of the sky, into the chambers of the Sun, whilst the witch remained on the earth.

MÁRYA MORYÉVNA

In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there once lived Iván Tsarévich, who had three sisters: one was called Márya Tsarévna, the second Ólga Tsarévna, and the third Ánna Tsarévna. Their mother and father had died: when they were dying they bade the son, “Whoever come first as a suitor for your sisters’ hands, let them take them; do not keep them long with you.” The Tsarévich buried his parents; and, in his grief, went with his sisters to walk in a green garden. Then a dark cloud appeared in the sky, and a fearful clap of thunder was heard. “Let us go home, sisters,” said Iván Tsarévich.

Soon they reached the palace: the thunder rattled and the ceiling fell down, and the ceiling divided into two. And a clear-eyed Hawk came into the room, struck the ground, and turned himself into a fair, doughty youth: “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! before, I came to you as a guest, now I am coming to ask for your sister’s hand: I wish to marry Márya Tsarévna.”

“If you wish my sister, I will not say you nay: take her with God’s blessing.”

Márya Tsarévna agreed, and the Hawk married her and took her away to his own kingdom.

Then day followed day and hour followed hour. One whole year went by unheeded. Iván Tsarévich stayed with his sisters in the green garden. Then there came a cloud and there was thunder and lightning. “Let us go home, sisters,” said the Tsarévich.

When they came to the palace there was a thunderclap, and the roof fell in and the ceiling was cleft in two, and an Eagle flew in, struck the ground and turned himself into a doughty youth, and said, “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! formerly I came to you as a guest, now I come to you as a suitor.” And he asked for the hand of Ólga.

And Iván Tsarévich answered, “If Ólga Tsarévna pleases you, she may go to you—I will not withstand your will.”

Ólga Tsarévna was willing, and married the Eagle: the Eagle laid hold of her and took her to his own kingdom.

One year further went by, and Iván Tsarévich said to his youngest sister, “Let us go and have a walk in the green garden,” and they went for a little walk. And a cloud came over the sky with thunder and lightning. “Let us turn back, sister, home!”

So they turned back home, and they had hardly sat down when the thunder clapped and the ceiling was divided into two, and a Crow flew in. And the Crow struck the ground and turned himself into a doughty youth. The former suitors were fair enough in themselves, but he was fairer still. “Formerly I came to you as a guest, but now I come to you as a suitor: give me your sister Ánna.”

“I will not withstand my sister’s will; if you are in love with her she may have you.”

And Ánna Tsarévna went with the Crow, and he took her to his own kingdom.

So Iván Tsarévich was there alone, and for one whole year he lived there without any sisters, and began to feel melancholy. “I will go,” he said, “and seek my sisters.” So he started out on the road. He went on and on and on. And there lay on the field an army of a great host conquered. And Iván asked them: “If there be any man alive here, let him call! Who slew this mighty host?”

And one man who was still alive replied: “All this mighty host was conquered by Márya Moryévna, the fair princess.”

And Iván Tsarévich went on yet further, and he came upon white tents, and Márya Moryévna came to meet him, the fair queen.

“Hail,” she said, “Tsarévich! where is God taking you? Is it at your will or perforce?”

And Iván Tsarévich answered her: “Doughty youths do not go perforce.”

“Well, if you have no quest to accomplish, come and stay in my tents.”

And Iván Tsarévich was glad of this, and he stayed two nights in the tents, fell in love with Márya Moryévna, and married her.

Márya Moryévna took him with her to her own kingdom, and they lived together for some time; and they thought of making ready for war; and so she handed all of her possessions over to Iván, and said: “Go everywhere, look at everything, only into this lumber-room you must not look.”

But he was impatient: as soon as Márya Moryévna’s back was turned, he at once opened the lumber-room, opened the door and looked in, and there Koshchéy the Deathless was hanging.

Koshchéy asked Iván Tsarévich, “Have pity on me: give me something to eat. I have been tortured here for ten years. I have eaten nothing, I have drunken nothing, and my throat is all dried up.” Iván Tsarévich gave him a whole gallon of water: he drank it at a single gulp, and he still asked, “I am still thirsty: give me a gallon,” and Iván gave him a second gallon, and yet a third. And when he had drunk the third, he recovered all his former strength, broke all his chains, shattered them all, all the twelve chains. “Thank you, Iván Tsarévich,” Koshchéy the Deathless said. “Now you will never again see Márya Moryévna any more!” and with a fearful flash of lightning he flew into the country, gathered up Márya Moryévna on the road, the fair Queen, snatched her up and took her to himself.

Iván Tsarévich wept bitterly, got ready and started on his road: “Come what may, I will seek out Márya Moryévna.” And he went one day, and he went another day, and on the dawning of the third day he saw a wonderful palace, and in front of the palace there was an oak, and on the oak there sat a clear-eyed hawk.

And the Hawk flew down from the oak, struck the ground, turned into a doughty youth, and cried out, “O my beloved brother: how is the Lord dealing with you?”

And Márya Tsarévna came out, went to meet Iván Tsarévich, asked him how he was, and began to tell him all her own story.

So the Tsarévich abode as their guest for three days, and then said, “I cannot stay with you any longer: I am going to seek my wife Márya Moryévna the fair Queen.”

“This will be a hard search for you,” answered the Hawk. “At least leave a silver spoon here; we can gaze on it and think of you.”

Iván Tsarévich left his silver spoon with them, and set out on his road.

So he went on one day and a second day, and at the dawning of the third day he saw a palace fairer than the first, and in front of the palace there was an oak, and an eagle sat on the oak: the Eagle flew down from the tree, struck the earth, turned into a doughty youth and cried: “Rise, Ólga Tsarévna, our dear brother has arrived.”

Ólga Tsarévna at once came to meet him, began kissing and welcoming him, asking how he was, and they told of all they had lived and done.

Iván Tsarévich stayed with them three little days, and then said, “I can no longer be your guest: I am going seeking my wife, Márya Moryévna the fair Princess.”

And the Eagle answered: “It will be an evil quest. Leave us your silver fork; we will look at it and think of you.”

So he left his silver fork, and he went on the road.

And a day went by and a second, and at the dawn of the third day he saw a palace fairer than the first two. And in front of the palace there was an oak, and on the oak there perched a crow. And the Crow flew down from the oak, struck the earth, turned into a doughty youth, and cried out, “Ánna Tsarévna, come out as fast as you can: our brother has arrived.”

Then Ánna Tsarévna came out, met him joyously, began to kiss and to welcome him, asking him how he was. And they spoke of all they had lived and done.

After three days Iván Tsarévich said, “I can stay no longer with you; I am going to seek my wife, Márya Moryévna, the fair Queen.”

“This will be a hard search for you,” the Crow said. “At least leave us your silver snuff-box; we can gaze on it and think of you.”

So Iván Tsarévich left them his silver snuff-box, and set out on his road.

Then a day went and another day, and on the third day he at last reached Márya Moryévna. When she saw her beloved through the window, she rushed out to him, flung herself at his neck, wept, and said, “Oh! Iván Tsarévich, why did you not obey me? Why did you look into the lumber-room and let Koshchéy the Deathless out?”

“Forgive me, Márya Moryévna; let bygones be bygones: come away with me now, whilst Koshchéy the Deathless is away: possibly he may not catch us up.”

So they went away.

Now Koshchéy was out hunting. Towards evening he returned home, and his horse stumbled. “Why, you sorry jade, are you stumbling, or is it some evil that you fear?”

And the horse answered: “Iván Tsarévich has arrived, and has taken away Márya Moryévna.”

“Can one catch them up?”

“You can sow wheat, wait until it grows up, harvest it, thresh it, turn it into flour, make five stones of bread, eat the bread, and then set out on the hunt, and we shall succeed.”

Koshchéy leapt on the horse, caught up Iván Tsarévich. “Now,” he said, “for the first time I will let you go for your doughtyhood, as you fed me with water; for the second time I will let you go; for the third time, take care: I will tear you to morsels.” And he took Márya Moryévna from him, took her away, and Iván Tsarévich sat on the stone and cried.

And he cried and he cried, and again came back to Márya Moryévna. Koshchéy the Deathless was not at home: “Let us start, Márya Moryévna.”

“Oh, Iván Tsarévich, he will catch us up.”

“Well, let him; still we shall have one or two hours together.”

So they started, and off they went.

Koshchéy the Deathless came back home, and his good horse stumbled under him. “Why, you sorry jade, are you stumbling, or is it some evil thing which you fear?”

And the horse answered, “Iván Tsarévich has again arrived, and has taken Márya Moryévna away.”

“Can one catch them up?”

“It would be possible to sow barley and to wait until it grows up, reap it, thresh it, to brew beer, drink it until you were drunk, sleep out your sleep and then to go on the hunt, and we should still succeed.”

Koshchéy leaped on his horse, caught up Iván Tsarévich, and said, “I said you were not to see anything more of Márya Moryévna!” and he took her away with him.

So Iván Tsarévich was again left alone, and he wept bitterly; and once again he returned to Márya Moryévna, and this time too Koshchéy was not at home. “Let us go, Márya Moryévna!”

“Oh, Iván Tsarévich, he will catch us up and he will tear you to bits.”

“Let him tear me to bits; I cannot live without you.”

So they got ready, and off they went.

Koshchéy the Deathless returned home, and under him his good horse stumbled. “Why do you stumble, you sorry jade, or is it some evil that you fear?”

“Iván Tsarévich has arrived, and has taken Márya Moryévna with him.”

Koshchéy leaped on his horse, caught up Iván Tsarévich, broke him up into tiny bits, put them into a tar cask, took this cask, locked it with iron bolts and threw it into the blue sea. And he took Márya Moryévna away with him.

At the same time the brothers-in-law of Iván Tsarévich looked at their silver ornaments and found they had turned black. “Oh,” they said, “evidently some disaster has befallen him!” The Eagle rushed into the blue sea, dragged out the cask to the shore, and the Hawk flew for the Water of Life, and the Crow flew for the Water of Death. Then they all three met at a single spot and broke up the cask, took out the bits of Iván Tsarévich, washed them, laid them together as was fit: then the Crow sprinkled him with the Water of Death, and the body grew together and was one; and the Hawk sprinkled him with the Water of Life, and Iván Tsarévich shivered, sat up and said, “Oh, what a long sleep I have had!”

“But your sleep would have been very much longer if we had not been there,” answered the brothers-in-law. “Now you must come and be our guest!”

“No, brothers, I must go and seek Márya Moryévna.”

So he came to her and said, “Go and find out from Koshchéy the Deathless where he got such a fine horse!”

Then Márya Moryévna looked out for a good opportunity, and asked Koshchéy the Deathless.

Koshchéy answered, “Beyond thrice-nine lands, in the thrice-tenth kingdom, beyond the river of fire, lives the Bába Yagá. She has a mare on which every day she rides round the whole of the world. She has many splendid mares. I was there for three days as a herd, and she would not let me have the mare; but she gave me one of the foals.”

“How can one cross the river of fire?”

“I have a kerchief: if you shake it to the right three times a lofty bridge rises and the fires cannot overreach it.”

Márya Moryévna listened, told Iván Tsarévich all about it, and he took the cloth away. Iván Tsarévich crossed the river of fire and he reached the Bába Yagá: but journeying afar, neither eating nor drinking. A sea-bird came to meet him with her young. Iván Tsarévich asked if he might eat one of her chicks.

“Do not eat it,” the sea-bird said; “at some time I shall be of service to you, Iván Tsarévich.”

Then he went farther, and he was in a wood, and he saw a bee-hive. “Perhaps,” he said, “I may take a little honey.”

Then the queen-bee answered him, “Do not touch my honey, Iván Tsarévich; at some time or other I shall be of service to you.”

So he did not touch the honey, but went farther. Then he met a lioness with her whelps. “May I eat this lion-whelp? I am so hungry!”

“Do not touch it, Iván Tsarévich,” the lioness said; “at some time or other I shall be of service to you.”

“Very well; it shall be as you will.”

So he went on hungry, and he went on and on and on, and at last he reached the house of the Bába Yagá. Round the house there were twelve poles, and on eleven of the poles there were the skulls of men: only one as yet was untenanted.

“Hail, _bábushka_!” he said.

“Hail, Iván Tsarévich!” she replied: “what have you come for? By your own good will or for need?”

“I have come to earn of you a knightly horse.”

“Very well, Iván Tsarévich: you are to serve me not one year, but only three days. If you can guard my mares, I will give you a knightly horse; if you cannot, do not be angry, but your head must also lie on the last of the stakes.”

Iván Tsarévich agreed, and Bába Yagá gave him drink and food and bade him set to work. As soon as ever he had driven the mares into the field, they all turned their tails and ran in the meadows so far that the Tsarévich could not trace them with his eyes: and thus they were all lost. Then he sat down and wept, and became melancholy, and sat down on a stone and went to sleep.

The sun was already setting when the sea-bird flew to him, woke him up and said, “Arise, Iván Tsarévich—all the mares have gone home.”

The Tsarévich got up, turned back home; but Bába Yagá was angry with her mares. “Why have you all come home?”

“Why should we not come home? the birds flew down from every quarter of the sky and almost clawed out our eyes.”

“Well, to-morrow do not stray in the meadows, but scatter into the dreamy forest.”

So Iván Tsarévich passed that night; and next day Bába Yagá said to him, “Look, Iván Tsarévich, if you do not keep the mares well, if you lose one, then your false head shall nod up and down on the stake.”

So then he drove all the mares to the field, and this time they turned their tails, and they ran into the dreamy woods. And once again the Tsarévich sat on the stone and wept and wept and went to sleep, and the sun began to rest on the woods when the lioness ran up and said, “Get up, Iván Tsarévich—all the mares have been collected.” Then Iván Tsarévich got up and went home.

And Bába Yagá was angry that the mares had come home, and she called out to her mares, “Why have you all come home?”

And they answered, “How should we not come home?—wild beasts from all the four quarters of the world assembled round us and almost tore us to bits.”

“Well, you go to-morrow into the blue sea.”

Once again Iván passed the night there, and the next day Bába Yagá sent her mares to feed. “If you do not guard them, then your bold head shall hang on the pole.”

He drove the mares into the field, and they at once turned tail and vanished from his eyes and ran into the blue sea and stood up to their necks in the water. So Iván Tsarévich sat on the stone, wept and went to sleep. And the sun was already setting on the woods when the bee flew up to him and said: “Get up, Iván Tsarévich—all the mares have been gathered together. But, when you return home, do not appear before Bába Yagá; go into the stable and hide behind the crib. There there is a mangy foal who will be rolling in the dung: steal him; and, at the deep of midnight, leave the house.”

Iván Tsarévich got up, went into the stable, and lay behind the crib.

Bába Yagá made a tremendous stir and cried out to her mares: “Why did you come back?”

“How should we not come back?—all the bees from every part of the world, visible and invisible, flew round us, and they stung us till our blood flowed.”

Bába Yagá went to sleep; and that same night Iván Tsarévich stole the mangy steed from its stall, mounted it and flew to the fiery river. He reached that river, waved the cloth three times to the right; and, at once, from some strange source, a lofty, splendid bridge hung all the way over. The Tsarévich crossed the bridge, waved the cloth to the left twice, and all that was left of the bridge was a thin thread.

In the morning Bába Yagá woke up and she could not see the mangy foal, so she hunted to the chase: with all her strength she leapt into her iron mortar and she chased after with the pestle, and very soon she was on their track. When she came to the river of fire, she looked across and thought, “Ah ha ha! a fine bridge!” Then she went on to the bridge; but as soon as she got on to the bridge it snapped, and Bába Yagá slipped into the river, and it was a savage death she had.

Iván Tsarévich fed his foal on the green, and a splendid horse grew out of him; then the Tsarévich arrived at the palace of Márya Moryévna. She rushed out, fell upon his neck and said, “How has God blessed you?” And he told her how it had gone with him. “I am frightened, Iván Tsarévich; if Koshchéy catches us up you will again be torn to atoms.”

“No, he will not catch us up now; I have a fine knightly horse which flies like a bird.” So they sat on the horse and went.

Koshchéy the Deathless came back home, and his horse stumbled. “Oh, you sorry jade, why do you stumble, or is it that you fear some evil?”

“Iván Tsarévich has arrived, and has taken away Márya Moryévna.”

“Can one catch them up?”

“God knows; now Iván Tsarévich has a knightly horse better than me.”

“No, I will not stand it,” Koshchéy the Deathless said. “We will up and after him!”

And, sooner or later, so soon he caught up Iván Tsarévich, and he leapt to him and was going to cleave him with his curved sabre; but then the steed of Iván Tsarévich kicked Koshchéy the Deathless with all his might, and clove in his head, and the Tsarévich struck him down with his club. Then the Tsarévich gathered together a mass of timber, set fire to it, burnt Koshchéy the Deathless on the pile and scattered the dust to the winds.

Márya Moryévna then sat on Koshchéy’s steed, and Iván Tsarévich on his own, and the two went and stayed as guests, first of all with the Crow, then with the Eagle, and lastly with the Hawk. Wherever they went they were joyously received. “Oh! Iván Tsarévich, I am so glad to see you! We never expected to see you back. And your work has not been in vain; such a beauty as Márya Moryévna might be sought for all over the world and you would not have found any other.”

So they were as guests and junketed well, and arrived into their own kingdom, reached it and began to live a life of joy enduring and to drink good mead.

THE REALM OF STONE

In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, once there lived a soldier who had served long and faithfully and knew all about the Tsar’s service, the reviews, and always came up to parade looking clean and smart. The last year of his service came along, and, to his ill-luck, his superior officers, great and small, did not like him, and as a result he was soundly thrashed. This grieved the soldier, and he thought of deserting. So, with his wallet on his back and his gun on his shoulder, he began to bid farewell to his comrades, who asked him, “Where are you going? Do you want to enter a battalion?”

“Do not ask me, my brothers; just buckle my wallet firmly on, and do not think evil of me.”

Then the good youth set forth whither his eyes gazed. May be far, may be near, he went on and on, and arrived at another kingdom, saw the sentry-guard and asked “May I rest here?”

So the sentry-guard told the Corporal, the Corporal told the Officer, and the Officer told the General, and the General told the King himself. And the King ordered the soldier to be brought before him in order that he might see him with his own eyes. And the soldier appeared before him in his proper regimentals, with musket on his shoulder, as though he were rooted to the ground.

Then the King asked him, “Tell me on your faith and oath, whence are you and where are you going?”

“Your kingly Majesty, do not have me punished! Bid the word be not spoken.” And he told the whole story to the King, and asked to be admitted to the service.

“Very well,” said the King; “come and serve me as sentry in my garden. All is not well in my garden: somebody is breaking my best-loved trees, and you must endeavour to preserve them; and, as to the reward for your labour, you shall not fare ill.”

So the sentry agreed and stood as sentry in the garden. For a year, for two years, he served on, and all went well. But in the third year, as he went out, he went to look in the garden, and saw that half of the best trees had been shattered. “My goodness!” he thought to himself, “what a fearful misfortune! If the King observes this he will instantly have me pinioned and hanged.” So he took his gun in his hand, went to a tree, and began pondering very hard. Then he heard a crackling and a rumbling. So the good youth glimpsed down, and he saw a fearful, huge bird flying into the garden and overthrowing the trees. The soldier fired at the bird, but could not kill it; and could only wing it on the right wing, and three feathers fell out of the wing, but the bird took to flight. After him the soldier dashed. The bird’s wings were swift, and very speedily it flew into a pit and vanished from sight. But the soldier was not afraid and dived down after him into the pit, fell into the deep crevasse, fell down flat and lay for whole days unconscious.

When he came to himself he got up and he looked, and he found himself in the subterranean world, where there was the same light as was here. “I suppose there are people here as well,” he thought. So he went on and on, and saw a great city and a sentry-box in front of it, and in it a sentry. He began to ask him questions, but never an answer, never a movement! So he took him by the hand, and found that he was all stone. Then the soldier went into the sentry-box: and there were many people, and they stood or sat, only they had all been turned to stone. He then set to wandering in the streets, and everywhere it was the same—not a single live soul to be seen! Soon he came to a decorated, raised, clean-cut palace, marched in there, and looked. Rich rooms; and food and drink of all sorts were on the table; and all was silent and empty. So the soldier ate and drank; sat down to have a rest. Suddenly it seemed to him as though some one had come up the steps. So he shouldered his musket and went to the door.

A fair Tsarévna was coming in with her maids of honour and attendants. The soldier bowed down to her, and she curtsied to him kindly.

“Hail, soldier!” she said. “By what ill doom have you fallen down here?”

So the soldier began to tell her. “I was engaged as sentry in the imperial garden, and a big bird came and flew round the trees and shattered them. I watched him, fired at him, and three feathers fell out of his wing. I began to chase after him, and arrived here.”

Then she answered, “That bird is my own sister: she does much evil of every kind and has set an ill doom on my kingdom, having turned all my people to stone. Listen! here is a book for you. Stand here and read it from evening time until the hour when the cocks crow. Whatever suffering may come over you, do your duty; read the book, keep it close to you that they may not tear it from you, otherwise you will not remain alive. If you can stay here for three nights I will come and marry you.”

“Very well,” said the soldier.

Soon it became dark, and he took the book and began reading it. Then there was a knocking and a thundering, and an entire host appeared in the palace. All his former superiors appeared in front of the soldier, scolded him and threatened him with the punishment of death. And they got their guns and were levelling them at him: but the soldier never looked at them, never let the book drop out of his hand, and simply went on reading. Then the cocks crowed, and it all vanished!

On the next night it was still more terrible, and on the third night worst of all. All the executioners came up with their saws, axes, clubs, and wanted to break his bones, put him on the rack, burn him at the stake, and were devising any means of getting the book out of his hand. It was fearful torture, and the soldier could hardly endure it. Then the cocks crowed, and the demons vanished!

At the same time the entire kingdom awoke, and in the streets and in the houses people bestirred themselves, and in the palace the Tsarévna and her generals and her suite appeared, and all began to thank the soldier, and they made him their king.

On the next day he married the fair Princess, and lived with her in love and joy.

* * * * *

So the soldier, the peasant’s son, became a Tsar, and he still reigns.

He is a very good king over his subjects, and is very generous to other soldiers.

THE STORY OF TSAR ANGÉY AND HOW HE SUFFERED FOR PRIDE

Once there was in the city of Filuyán[30] a Tsar named Angéy, who was very famous. And, in course of time, it came upon him to stand in the church at the Divine Service at the reading of the sacred Gospel by the priest, when the priest was reading those verses in the Gospel in which it is said: _He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek_. And when the Tsar heard this he grew angry, and the Tsar spoke: “This writing is falsely written; the word of the Gospel is untrue.” And the Tsar said: “I am very rich and famous. How shall I be put down from my seat and the humble and meek be exalted?” And then he was filled with fear. And the Tsar bade the priest be confined in a dungeon, and he bade that page be torn out of the Gospel Book. And the Tsar went to his palace and began to eat and drink and be merry.

When the Tsar saw a deer in the fields, he went up and he took his young men with him, and he hunted him and almost captured the deer; and the deer was very beautiful. And the Tsar spoke to his champions: “Do ye stand here. I will go, and I alone will take the deer alive.” And he hunted after him, and they swam across the stream. The Tsar tied his horse to an oak, and tied his garments around him, and swam naked across the stream. Then the deer became invisible, and an angel of God stood by the Tsar’s horse in the image of Tsar Angéy and spoke to the youths. “The deer has swum across the stream.”

And he went with the youths into the Tsar’s city to his palace.

But Tsar Angéy went back for his horse, but he could neither find his steed nor his apparel, and he remained there naked and began to think. And Angéy went up to his city, and he saw shepherds feeding oxen, and he asked them: “Ye lesser brothers, shepherds, where have ye seen my horse and my garments?” And the shepherds asked him: “Who art thou?” He said to them: “I am Tsar Angéy.” And the shepherds spake: “Wicked boaster! how darest thou call thyself the Tsar, for we have seen Tsar Angéy, who has just ridden into his city with five youths!” And they began to rebuke him and to beat him with whips and scourges. And the Tsar began to weep and to sob. The shepherds drove him afar, and he went naked into his city.

The trade folk of the city met him on his way and asked him: “Man, why art thou naked?” And he said to them: “Robbers have stolen my garments.” And they gave him a poor and tattered dress. He took it and bowed down to them, and he went unto his city, and arrived in his town, and he asked a widow if he might stay there the night, and he questioned her, saying: “Say, my mistress, who is the Tsar here?” And she replied to him: “Art thou not a man of our country?” And she said: “Our Tsar is Tsar Angéy.” He asked: “For how many years has he been Tsar?” And she said: “For years five and thirty.”

He then wrote a letter with his own hand to the Tsarítsa, that he had secret things and thoughts to speak of with her; and he bade a woman take this letter to the queen. The Tsarítsa received the letter and had it read to her. He signed it as her husband, Tsar Angéy. And a great fear fell upon her, and in her fear she began to speak: “How can this poor man name me his wife? I must inform the Tsar and have him punished.” And she bade him be beaten with whips mercilessly, without informing the Tsar. He was pitilessly beaten, and was scarcely left alive, and could hardly leave the town. He wept and sobbed, and remembered the words of the Gospel: _He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek_. And he spoke to a pope of this, how he had profaned the Sacred Book, and had sent the priest into the dark dungeon, and had gone a long, long way.

And the Tsarítsa spoke to the angel who was taking the shape of the Tsar: “Thou, my dear lord, for one year hast not slept with me. How can I, then, be thine?” And the Tsar spake to her: “I have made a covenant with God that for three years I will not sleep with thee nor share thy bed.” And he left her and went into the Tsar’s palace.

Angéy the Tsar arrived in an unknown town and engaged himself with a peasant to reap the harvest; and he did not know how to do a peasant’s work; and the peasant discharged him, and he began to weep and sob, and went on his way from that city. And poor men met him on the road. He said to them: “Will ye take me up with ye? I am now a poor man, and do not know how to work, and I am ashamed to beg. What ye bid of me I will do. I will work for you.” And they accepted him and gave him a burden to carry. And they went to lie at night, and they bade him heat the bath, carry water, and lay the bed. And Tsar Angéy wept bitterly: “Woe to me! What have I done! I was wroth with the Sovereign, and He has deprived me of my kingdom and has brought me to ruin, and I have suffered all this through the word of the Gospel.”

In the morning the poor men got up, and they arrived at his own city of Filuyán. And they reached the abode of the Tsar and began to beg for alms. At this time the Tsar was holding a mighty feast, and he bade the poor be summoned into the palace, bade them be fed sufficiently, and he bade the food of the poor men be taken into the Tsar’s palace and put into a special room. And, when the Tsar’s feast was over and the _boyárs_[31] and the guests had all separated, the angel who had taken the form of the Tsar Angéy came to him in the palace where Angéy the Tsar was dining with the beggars: “Dost thou know of a proud and mighty Tsar, how he profaned the word of the Gospel?” And he began to teach him and to instruct him before all of the world, that he must not profane the word of the Gospel, and must show respect for the priests, and must not upraise himself, but must be kindly and inclined to the ways of peace.

THE FEAST OF THE DEAD

Some girls were out at night for the evening, and arranged for an evening party. They went out to get some _vódka_. There were bones lying on the road. “Ho!” they said, “bones, bones, come and be our guests: we are having an evening party.”

So, they went back home, brought the _vódka_, and stepped in over the threshold.

But the bones came and sat at the table just like men, and said to the maidens, “Now give us the brandy.”

So the girls gave them brandy.

“Give us bread!”

So they gave them bread.

They all sat down to eat, and one maiden dropped the meat.