Chapter VIII: Part 8

Then the bones began lifting and stretching their legs under the bench. The girls tried to run away; and the bones raced after them. The bones caught one girl up, and broke her across their knees. The other girls made their escape into the loft; one girl hid behind the water-butt.

The bones ran up to the loft and asked: “What is there up there?”

“God’s taper.”

“But down there?”

“The Devil’s poker,” she answered.

So the bones hauled the second girl out and strangled her.

THE QUARRELSOME WIFE

“Father, I should like to marry! Mother, I should like to marry, I should really,” said the youth.

“Well then, my child—marry.”

So he married, and chose a lanky, black, squinting wife. She would have pleased Satan more than the clear-eyed hawk, and it was no good frothing at anybody: he was the only person in the wrong. So he lived with her and wrung his tears out with his fist.

One day he went out where audiences were being given, stood there, and came home.

“Wherever have you been sauntering?” asked his squint-eyed wife. “What have you seen?”

“Oh, they say that a new Tsar has come on the throne and has issued a new _úkaz_ that wives are to command their husbands!”

He only meant to joke, but she sprang up, pulled his whiskers and said, “Go to the stream and wash the shirts, take the broom and sweep the house, then go and sit by the cradle and rock the child, cook the supper and grill and bake the cakes.”

The man wanted to answer, “What are you talking about, woman? That is not a man’s work.” Then he looked at her, and he froze cold and his tongue clave to his throat.

So he got the washing together, baked the cakes, swept the cottage, and was no good for anything.

One year went by, and a second, and the good youth got rather weary of the yoke. But what on earth was he to do? He had married and he had tied himself for all eternity, and, may-be, his entire life would go by in this misery. From sheer wretchedness he contrived himself this contrivance. In the forest there was a deep pit of which neither end nor bottom could be seen. So he took and closed it up on the top with stakes, and strewed it over with straw. Then he came up to his wife: “My dear wife, you don’t know that there is a treasure in the forest. It simply moans and groans with gold, and will not give itself up to me. It said, ‘Send for your wife.’”

“Ha, ha! let us go: I will take it, and you say nothing about it.”

So they went into the wood. “Sssh, woman, that is hollow ground out of which the treasure comes forth.”

“Oh, what a fool you are of a peasant, frightened of everything! This is how I run up to it.” So she ran up to the straw and was precipitated into the pit.

“Now, off you go,” said the peasant; “I am now going to have a rest.”

So he had a rest for a month, and a second month, but he soon became melancholy without his squint-eyed wife. So he went into the forest, and he went into the field, and he went to the river, and he could only think of her. “Possibly by now she has become quiet. Possibly I will take her out again.” So he took a withy, let it into the ground, and he listened: she was sitting there. He drew it up, looked at it very near, looked very carefully, and in the basket there was a little devil sitting. At this the peasant was frightened, and almost let the cord fall out of his hands.

Then the little devil begged him and cried in his ear: “Do let me go, peasant. Your wife has been torturing and oppressing us. Tell me what to do: I will be your faithful servant. I will this very instant run into the _boyárs’_ palace; I will in an instant cook the grill; by day and night I will knock and drive away the _boyárs_. You are to declare yourself a doctor to go and to call on me. I will leap up on the spot and vanish. Now, go and dig; shovel up your money.”

So the peasant let the devil leap out, shake himself and vanish away. And from that day everything went upside down in the _boyárs’_ house, and they began looking for some doctor: the good youth dubbed himself a doctor, exorcised the devil, and received good pay. Soon the rumour went forth that in the prince’s palace, in the lofty castle home, familiar spirits were appearing, and never gave the princes rest. They sent for hunters in every part of the earth, and summoned them to assemble doctors. They collected from all the kings: it was no good. The familiar spirits still knocked and groaned.

At last our doctor arrived, recognised his old acquaintance, called for his little devil, and the little devil never thought of running away, and he would not leave the prince’s palace. “Wait a little, if this is the case,” cried the doctor. “Ho, my squint-eyed wife, just come up here!” Then the little devil could not stand it and took to his heels out of the stove.

So the doctor received honour and praise, and earned a mine of money. But it is said, not untruly, that, even in Paradise, it is sad to live alone. For the good youth grew melancholy, and he again went to seek his squint-eyed wife. So he let down the basket right away into the pit. There the woman was sitting, and he hauled her to the top. As soon as ever she came near she was breathing out fire and fury, gnashing her teeth and brandishing her fists. The peasant’s hands shook with fear, and the withy broke, and the squint-eyed woman clashed down as before into Hell.

ELIJAH THE PROPHET AND ST. NICHOLAS

Once, a long time ago, there lived a peasant. He always observed St. Nicholas’ day, but never, never, that of St. Elias; he even worked on it. He used to say a _Te Deum_ to Nicholas, and burn a taper, but never gave as much as a thought to the Prophet Elijah.

One day Elijah and Nicholas were walking through this peasant’s fields, going along and surveying; and the ears were so large, so full, that it warmed one’s heart to look at them!

“What a fine crop this will be!” said Nicholas. “Yes, and he’s a fine fellow, a good, brave peasant, pious; he remembers God, and reveres the Holy Saints. Whatever he turns his hand to shall prosper.”

“Ha, let’s have a look, brother,” Elijah demurred. “Will there be so much over? My lightnings shall glint and my hail beat his field down; then your peasant shall learn right, and regard my name-day.”

So they wrangled and argued, and at last agreed to go each his own way.

St. Nicholas at once went off to the peasant, and said: “Go and sell the Father by St. Elias’ all your standing corn: not a blade will be left; it will be destroyed by hail.”

Up the peasant dashed to the pope: “Oh, _bátyushka_, won’t you buy all my standing corn? I’ll sell you my whole field; I am so short of money; take it and give it me. Do buy it, Father; I’ll sell it cheap.”

They haggled and bargained, and at last agreed. The peasant took his cash and went home.

Time went by—not much, nor little; a heavy thundrous cloud gathered, and, with frightsome lightning and hail, played on the peasant’s field, cut through his crops like a scythe, and left not one blade to tell the tale.

Next day, Elijah and Nicholas were faring through, and Elijah said: “Look how I’ve blasted the peasant’s field!”

“The peasant’s field? No, my brother, no; you’ve done your work thoroughly; but it belongs to the pope by St. Elias, not to the peasant.”

“What! That pope?”

“Oh, yes; about a week ago the peasant sold the field to the pope, and got hard cash for it! And the pope is crying over the spilt money.”

“That won’t do,” said Elijah; “I will grow the meadow anew—’twill be as good as it was.”

They had their talk out and went on their way.

Up went St. Nicholas to the peasant once again. “Go and see the pope,” he said, “and redeem your field; you won’t lose by it.”

The peasant went to see the pope. “The Lord has grievously afflicted you, has smitten your field with hail, as smooth as a board. Let’s share the cost of it; I will take back my field, and to relieve your loss will return you half the money.”

Oh, how glad the pope was to consent! They shook hands on it at once.

Meanwhile, somehow or other, the peasant’s field righted itself; new shoots sprang up out of the old roots, the rain poured down on them, and nourished the earth; wonderful fresh corn grew up, lofty and thick; not a weed to be seen; and the ears were so full that they bowed down to earth. The little sun warmed them, and the rye was warmed through, and waved like a field of gold. The peasant bound up sheaf after sheaf, built rick after rick; carted it away and stacked it.

Just then Elijah and St. Nicholas were once more passing by. Elijah looked blithely at the field and said: “Just look, Nicholas, what a blessing I have wrought! This is my reward to the pope, and he’ll never forget it all his life.”

“The pope! No, brother; it is a great boon, but then this is the peasant’s field; the pope hasn’t a rod of it!”

“Wha-at?”

“It is true. After the meadow had been battered by hail, the peasant went up to the pope and bought it back at half price.”

“Stop a bit,” said the Prophet Elijah, “I’ll take all the good out of it; out of all the peasant’s ricks he shall not thresh more than six gallons at a time.”

“Here, this looks bad,” thought St. Nicholas, and instantly went to see the peasant, and said: “See to it; when you start threshing, never take more than a sheaf at a time on the threshing-floor.”

So the peasant set to threshing, and he got six gallons out of every sheaf; all his granaries and lofts were full up with rye, and still there was much left over; he built new storehouses, and filled them full to the flush.

But one day Elijah the Prophet and St. Nicholas were passing by his courtyard, and Elijah glanced up and said: “Why has he built these new granaries? How can he stock them all?”

“They’re full up,” St. Nicholas replied.

“How did he get so much grain?”

“Oho! Every sheaf yielded him six gallons, and, as soon as he started threshing, he brought them in sheaf by sheaf.”

“Oh, my brother Nicholas!” Elijah guessed: “you must have told him what to do!”

“Well, I thought it all out, and was going to say....”

“What are you after? It’s all your work. Never mind; your peasant shall still have a reminder of me.”

“What will you do?”

“I shall not tell you this time!”

“Well, if evil is to be, it will come.”

Nicholas thought, and again went to the peasant, told him to buy two tapers, one big and one small, and gave him instructions.

Next day Elijah the Prophet and St. Nicholas were out together in the guise of wanderers, and the peasant happened to meet them, carrying two waxen candles—one big one that cost a rouble, and a little one that cost a kopek.

“Where are you going to, peasant?” St. Nicholas said.

“Oh, I am going to light the rouble taper to the Prophet Elijah; he has been so charitable to me. My field was ravaged by hail, so he intervened, _bátyushka_, and gave me a crop twice as good.”

“For whom is the farthing dip?”

“Oh, for St. Nicholas!” the peasant said, and pursued his way.

“There you are, Elijah,” said St. Nicholas: “you said I gave everything away to the peasant; now you see what the truth is.”

And with this the dispute was ended: Elijah the Prophet was reconciled, and ceased persecuting the peasant with hail-storms, so that he lived a merry life from that day and honoured both name-days equally.

THE PRINCESS TO BE KISSED AT A CHARGE

We still say that we are clever, but our elders go and quarrel with us and say, “No, we had more sense than you.” But the tale tells that, even when our grandfathers had not learned their lessons and our great-great-great-great-grandfathers had not been born, in a certain kingdom, in a certain land, once there lived an old man who had taught his three sons reading and writing.

“Now, children,” he said to them, “I shall die; do you come and read prayers over my grave.”

“Very well, _bátyushka_,” the three sons answered. And the two elder brothers were indeed fine lads, and they grew up fine stout fellows; but the youngest, Vanyúshka,[32] was under-sized, like a starved duckling, and flat-chested. The old man, their father, died.

Just about then a decree was issued by the Tsar that his daughter, Eléna Tsarévna the Fair, had ordered a temple to be built for her, with twelve columns and twelve wreaths. She was going to sit in this temple on a lofty throne, and was going to wait for the bridegroom—the valiant man who should on a flying horse, at a single spring, kiss her on the lips. All the young folks were bustling about, washing themselves clean, combing their hair, and considering to whom should the great honour fall.

“Brothers,” Vanyúshka said, “our father is dead: who of us will go and read prayers on his grave?”

“Whoever wishes may go,” answered the brothers.

So the youngest went. But the elders got ready and mounted their horses, curled their hair, dyed their hair; and all their kinsmen gathered round.

Then the second night came: “Brothers, I read the prayers last night,” Ványa said; “it’s your turn; which of you will go?”

“Any one who wishes may go; don’t interfere with us.”

They gave their hats a knowing tilt, whooped and shouted, flew about, and rushed and galloped abroad on the open fields; and once again Ványa read the prayers; and so, too, on the third night. But the brothers saddled their horses, combed out their whiskers, and got ready on the very morrow to try their prowess in front of the eyes of Eléna the Fair. “What about our youngest brother?” they thought.

“Never mind about him; he will only disgrace us and make people smile: let us go by ourselves.” So they started.

But Ványa also very much wanted to look at Princess Eléna the Fair, and so he wept sorely, and he went to his father’s grave, and his father heard him in his last home, and he came up to him, shook off the grey earth from his forehead, and said, “Do not grieve, Vanyúshka; I will aid you in your sorrow.” Then the old man got up, whistled and halloed with a young man’s voice, with a nightingale’s trill; and from some source or other a horse ran up, and the earth trembled, and from his nostrils and from his ears flames issued forth. He breathed smoke, and stood in front of the old man as though he were rooted to the ground, and asked him, “What do you wish?”

Ványa mounted the horse by one ear, dismounted it by the other, and turned into so fine a youth as no tale can tell and no pen can write. He sat on the horse, bent over sideways; and he flew like your hawk over there, straight to the palace of Eléna the Fair Tsarévna. He stretched out, leaped on, and he did not reach two of the crowns. He again made an effort, flew up, jumped; there was only one wreath left. He made one more effort, turned round once more, and, as fire leaps to the eyes, he instantly kissed and smacked Eléna the Fair on the lips. “Who is it! Who is it! Catch him!” For his very trace had vanished. Then he leapt back to his father’s grave, and he let his horse free into the open field; and he then bowed down to the earth and asked advice of his father, and the old man gave him advice. Ványa went back home as though he had never been there; and the brothers told him where they had been, what they had done and seen; and he listened as though he had never heard of it before.

There was another bout next day, and you could never see an end of the _boyárs_ and the lords seated at the royal palace. The elder brothers started out, and the younger brother set out on foot secretly and quietly, just as though he had never kissed the Tsarévna, and he stopped in his distant corner. Eléna Tsarévna was asking for her bridegroom; Eléna Tsarévna was wishing to show him to the whole world, desiring to give him the half of her kingdom; but never a bridegroom appeared. They were looking for him in the midst of the _boyárs_, in the midst of the generals; and they went to them all, but they could not find him. But Ványa looked on and smiled, and waited until his bride came to him. For he said, “I won her like a knight; now she is to love me in my _kaftán_.”

So she got up, looked out of the open windows, glanced through them all, and then she saw and recognised her bridegroom, took him to herself, and soon the betrothal took place. And oh, what a fine young man he was—so sensible, brave, and so handsome! He used to sit on his flying horse, undo his cap, put his arms a-kimbo; and he seemed like a king, like the reigning king; and you looked on, and you would never have imagined that at one time he could ever have been poor Vanyúshka.

THE WOOD SPRITE

One day the daughter of a pope, without asking leave of her mother or her father, went for a walk into the wood, and utterly lost her way. Three years went by. Now, in this wood, in which her mother and father lived, there was a bold hunter. On every holy day he used to go hunting with his gun and his dog in the dreamy forest.

One day he went into the wood, and the hairs of his dog bristled up. Then the hunter looked, and in front of him there was a stump on the wood path, and a Peasant stood on the stump and was cleaning his bast shoe. He went on with his shoe and was threatening the moon: “Light, give me light, clear moon.” It was all very strange to the hunter. “Why does this Peasant,” he thought, “live by himself? He looks so young, but his hair is quite grey.”

He only thought this, but the Peasant guessed his thought and said, “Why am I grey? Because I am the Devil’s grandfather.”

Then the hunter understood that it was no mere peasant he saw, but the Wood Sprite, and he aimed at him with his gun, _Bang!_ and he hit him in the belly. The Wood Sprite groaned, almost fell down from the stump, and that very instant jumped up again and crept into the thicket. After him ran the dog, and after the dog ran the hunter. So he went on and on and on, and he came up to the mountains, and on one of the mountains there was a fissure, and in the fissure stood a little hut.

He entered the hut and looked, and there was the Wood Sprite rolling on a bench, absolutely out of breath, and beside him a maiden who was weeping bitterly. “Who will now give me food and drink?”

“Hail, fair maiden!” said the hunter; “tell me what you are and whence.”

“O doughty youth, I do not know myself: I have never seen the free world, and I have never known my father and mother.”

“Well, come quickly, I will take you back to Holy Russia.” So he took her with him and led her out of the wood, and he went through the villages, inquiring of all of the places. Now, this maiden had been taken away by the Wood Sprite, and had lived with him for three whole years, and she had been enclosed and cut off, and was almost entirely naked, but she had no shame. Then they came to the village, and the huntsman began to ask whether anyone had lost a maiden.

Then the pope said, “This is my daughter.” And the pope’s wife came: “Oh, my dear daughter, where have you been so long? I never thought I should see you any more.”

Then the daughter looked at them, but was simply staggered and understood nothing, and only afterwards, little by little, came to herself. The pope and his wife gave her in marriage to the huntsman and rewarded him with all good things.

Then they went to look for the _izbá_[33] in which she had lived with the Wood Sprite. They wandered far into the woods, but could not find it.

THE REALMS OF COPPER, SILVER AND GOLD

Once upon a time there was an old man and his old wife, and they had three sons. One was called Egórushko Zalyót;[34] the second was called Mísha Kosolápy;[35] and the third was called Iváshko Zapéchnik.[36] The parents wanted to secure wives for them, and sent the eldest son out to seek a bride. He went for a long time, and saw many maidens, but he took none to wife, for he liked none well enough. On the way he met a three-headed dragon, and was very frightened.

The dragon asked him, “Whither are you going, brave youth?”

“I am going a-wooing, but I cannot find a bride.”

“Come with me; I will take you where you may find one.”

So they journeyed together till they came to a great heavy stone; and the dragon said to him: “Lift that stone off, then you will find what you are seeking.” And Egórushko endeavoured to lift the stone away, but he failed. Then the dragon said: “I have no bride for you here!”

So Egórushko went back home, and he told his father and mother all he had gone through. And the parents reflected for a long time. And they at last sent Mísha Kosolápy on the same journey. He met the dragon after many days, and asked him to show him how he should get a bride. The dragon bade him go with him. And they came to the stone. Mísha tried to lift it away, but in vain; so he returned to his parents and told them all he had gone through.

This time the parents were at an utter loss what they should do. Iváshko Zapéchnik could not have any better luck! But still Iváshko asked his parents’ leave to go to the dragon, and after some reluctance he obtained it.

Iváshko met the three-headed dragon, who asked him: “Where are you going, sturdy youth?”

“My brothers set out to marry, but they could find no brides. It is now my turn.”

“Come with me; perhaps you may win a bride.”

So the dragon and Iváshko went up to the stone, and the dragon commanded him to lift the stone up, and Iváshko thrust the stone, and it flew up from its bed like a feather, as though it were not there, and revealed an aperture in the earth, with a rope ladder.

“Iváshko,” said the dragon, “go down that ladder; and I will let you down into the three kingdoms, and in each of them you will see a fair maiden.”

So Iváshko went down, deeper and deeper, right down to the realm of copper, where he met a maiden who was very fair.

“God greet you, strange guest! Sit down where you may find room, and say whence you come.”

“Oh, fair maiden, you have given me nothing to eat and drink, and you ask me for my news!”

So the maiden gave him all manner of meat and drink and set them on the table.

Iváshko had a drink, and then said: “I am seeking a bride; will you marry me?”

“No, fair youth! go farther on into the silver kingdom. There there is a maiden who is much fairer than I.” Thereupon she gave him a silver ring.

So the young boy thanked her for her kindness, said farewell; and he went farther until he reached the silver kingdom. There he saw a maiden who was fairer yet than the former, and he prayed and bowed down low. “Good day, fair maiden!”

“Good day, strange youth! Sit down and tell me whence you come and what you seek.”

“But, fair maiden, you have given me nothing to eat or drink, and you ask my news!”

So the maiden put rich drink and food on the table, and Iváshko ate as much as he would. Then he told her that he was seeking a bride, and he asked her if she would be the bride. “Go yet farther into the golden realm; there there is a maiden who is yet much fairer than I!” the girl said, and she gave him a golden ring.

Iváshko said farewell, and went yet farther, went deeper still, into the golden realm. There he found a maiden who was much, very much fairer than the others, and there he said the right prayer, and he saluted the maiden.

“Whither art thou going, fair youth; and what do you seek?”

“Fair maiden, give me to eat and drink, and I will tell you my news.”

So she got him so fine a meal that no better meal on earth could be wished, and she was so fair that no pen could write and no tale could tell.

Iváshko set to valorously, and then he told his tale. “I am seeking a bride; if you will marry me, come with me!”

So the maiden consented, and she gave him a golden ball. Then they went on and on together, until they reached the silver realm, where they took the maiden who was there; and they went on and on and on from there to the copper realm, and took this maiden with them as well. And then they came to the hole through which they were to climb out. The rope ladder stood all ready, and there there stood the elder brothers, who were looking for him. Iváshko tied the maiden out of the copper realm to the ladder, and the brothers lifted her out, and they let the ladder down again. Then Iváshko laid hold of the maiden from the silver realm, and she was drawn up, and the ladder let down again. This time the maiden from the golden realm came, and was also drawn up. When the steps were let down again, Iváshko sat on them, and the brothers drew it up into the height. But when they saw that this time it was Iváshko Zapéchnik who sat on it, they began to reflect: “If we let him out perhaps he will not give us any of the maidens.” So they cut the steps down, and Iváshko fell down. He wept bitterly, but it was no good. He went down farther, and he then came across a tiny old man, who sat on a tree stem and had a long white beard. Iváshko told him how it had been.

The old man advised him once more to go on. “You will come to a little hut. Enter it and you will see a long man lying in it from one corner to the other. Ask him how you shall reach Russian land once more.”

So Iváshko went up to the hut, stepped in and said: “Strong giant,[37] spare me, and tell me how I shall get home again.”

“Fi, fo, fum, you Russian bones!” said Ídolishche, “I did not summon you, and still you have come. Go to the thrice-tenth sea, there there stands a hut on cocks’ legs in which the Bába Yagá lives. She has an eagle who will carry you.”

So the young boy went on and on, a far way, to the hut, and he stepped in.

The Bába Yagá cried out at once, “Fi, fo, fum, Russian bones, why have you come here?”

“Oh, mother, the giant Ídolishche sent me to ask you to lend me your mighty eagle to carry me to Russia.”

“Go,” said Bába Yagá, “into the garden. At the gate there stands a watchman; take his keys and pass through seven doors, and when you open the last the eagle will flap his wings. Sit on his back if you are not afraid, and fly away. But take meat with you and give him to eat whenever he turns round.”

Iváshko did as he was bidden, sat on the eagle and flew away. The eagle flew on, flew on; then he soon turned his head round, and Iváshko gave him a bite of flesh. Then the eagle flew on afar, and turned round again, and Iváshko fed him. And he fed him until he had nothing more left, and Russia was still far off. Then the eagle turned round, and as he had no flesh, he tore a fragment out of Iváshko’s withers and ate it up. But they had already reached the aperture. When Iváshko parted from the eagle, he spat a bit of flesh out and bade Iváshko lay it on him. And Iváshko did so, and his body healed; and Iváshko went home, took the maiden from the golden realm from his brothers; and they then lived happily, and may still be living if they are not dead.

I was there and I drank beer; I drank the beer, and it flowed up to my whiskers, but none of it reached my mouth.

CHUFÍL-FÍLYUSHKA

Once upon a time there were three brothers in a family; the eldest was called the Ram, the second the Goat, and the third and youngest Chufíl-Fílyushka.[38] One day all three went into the forest, where the warder lived who was their real grandfather. With him Ram and Goat left their own brother Chufíl-Fílyushka, and went out into the forest to hunt. Fílyushka had all his own will and way: his grandfather was old, and a great stupid; and Fílyushka was generous. He wanted to eat an apple. So he eluded his grandfather, got into the garden, and climbed up the apple-tree.

All of a sudden, Heaven knows where from, who should come but the Yagá-Búra,[39] with an iron mortar, and a pestle in her hand; she leaped up to the apple-tree, and said, “How are you, Fílyushka? What have you come here for?”

“Oh, to pluck an apple!” said Fílyushka.

“Well, then, dearie, have a bite of mine!”

“No, it’s a rotten one,” said Fílyushka.

“Well, here’s another one!”

“No, it’s all wormy!”

“Don’t be saucy; just come up and take one out of my hand.”

He stretched out his hand. Then Yagá-Búra gripped it tight, put him into the mortar, and made off, leaping over hills, and forests, and clefts; and swiftly with the pestle driving the mortar.

Then Fílyushka remembered himself, and began to cry out, “Goat, Ram, come along quick. Yagá has carried me away beyond the high, steep hills, the dark, lone woods, the steppes, where the geese roam.”

The Ram and the Goat were just then resting. One was lying on the ground, and heard a noise of somebody shouting. So he told the other one: “Come and lie down, and listen!”

“Oh, it’s our Fílyushka crying.”

Off they went and ran and ran, and ran the Yagá-Búra down, saved Fílyushka and brought him home to his grandfather, who had nearly gone out of his mind with fright! They told him to look after Fílyushka better, and went out again.

But Fílyushka was a real boy, and the first chance he got, off he was again to the apple-tree, clambered up. There was the Yagá-Búra again, and offering him an apple.

“No, you won’t catch me this time, you old beast!” said Fílyushka.

“Don’t be unkind—do just take an apple from me; I’ll throw it to you!”

“Right: throw it down.”

Then Yagá threw him down an apple: he stretched out his hand, and she clutched it and leapt over hills, and valleys, and dark forests, so fast that it seemed like a twinkling of an eye, got him into her home, washed him, went out and put him into the bunk.

In the morning she made ready to go out, and ordered her daughter, “Listen! heat the oven well, very hot, and roast me Chufíl-Fílyushka for supper.” And she went out to seek further booty.

The daughter went and got the oven thoroughly hot, took out and bound Fílyushka, and put him on the shovel, and was just going to shove him into the oven, when he went and knocked his forehead with his feet.

“That’s not the way, Fílyushka,” said the daughter of the Yagá-Búra.

“How then?” he answered. “I don’t understand.”

“Look here, just let go; I’ll show you.” She went and lay down on the shovel in the right fashion.

But, although Chufíl-Fílyushka was small, he was no fool! He stuffed her at once into the oven, and shut the oven door with a bang.

About two or three hours later Fílyushka smelt a smell of good roast meat, opened the door, and took out the daughter of the Yagá-Búra well cooked; buttered it over, put it into the frying-pan and covered it with a towel, and put it into the bunk; then he climbed up to the roof-tree and took away the business-day pestle and mortar of the Yagá-Búra.

About evening time, the Yagá-Búra came in, went straight to the bunk and took the roast meat out; ate it all up, collected all the bones, laid them out on the ground in rows, and began to roll on them. But somehow she could not find her daughter, and thought she had gone away to another cottage to weave. But suddenly, whilst she was rolling, she said, “My dear daughter, do come to me and help me roll Fílyushka’s little bones!”

Then Fílyushka cried out from the rafters: “Roll away, mother, and stand on your daughter’s little bones!”

“Are you there, you brigand! You just wait, and I’ll give it you!”

But little Chufíl was not frightened, and when the Yagá-Búra, gnashing her teeth, stamping on the ground, had got up to the ceiling, he just got hold of the pestle and with all his might struck her on the forehead, and down she flopped. Then Fílyushka climbed up on to the roof, and saw some geese flying, and called out to them, “Lend me your wings; I want wings to carry me home.”

They lent him their wings, and he flew home.

But they had long, long ago been praying for the repose of his soul at home, and how glad they were to see him turn up alive and sound! So they changed the requiem for a merry festival, and lived out their lives, and lived on to receive more good yet!

DONOTKNOW

Here begins the tale of a grey horse, a chestnut horse and of the wise fallow-bay. On the shore of the ocean, in the isle of Buyán, there stood a roasted ox, and behind pounded garlic: on the one side cut your meat, on the other dip deep and eat.

Once upon a time there lived a merchant who had a son, and when the son grew up he was taken into the shop. Now, the first wife of the merchant died, and he married a second.

After some months the merchant made ready to sail to foreign lands, and he loaded his ship with goods and he bade his son look after the house well and attend to business duly.

Then the merchant’s son asked, “_Bátyushka_,[40] when you go, get me my luck!”

“My beloved son,” answered the old man, “where shall I find it?”

“It is not far to seek, my luck. When you get up to-morrow morning, stand at the gates and buy the first thing that meets you and give it to me.”

“Very well, my son.”

So next day the father got up very early, stood outside the gates, and the first thing that met him was a peasant who was selling a sorry, scabby foal—mere dog’s meat. So the merchant bargained for it and got it for a silver rouble, took the foal into the courtyard and put it into the stable.

Then the merchant’s son asked him, “Well, _bátyushka_, what have you found as my luck?”

“I went out to find it, and it turned into a very poor thing.”

“Well, so it really had to be: whatever luck the Lord has given us we must use.”

Then the father set sail with his goods into foreign lands, and the son sat on the counter and engaged in trade. He grew into the habit, whether he were going into the shop or returning home, always to go and stand in front of his foal.

Now, his stepmother did not love her stepson, and looked out for fortune-tellers to learn how to get rid of him. At last she found an old wise woman, who gave her a poison and bade her put it under the threshold just when her stepson was coming in. As he came back from the shop, the merchant’s son went into the stable and saw that his foal was standing in tears, and so he stroked him and asked, “Why, my good horse, do you weep? Why your counsel do you keep?”

Then the foal answered, “Oh, Iván the merchant’s son, my beloved master, why should I not weep? Your stepmother is trying to ruin you. You have a dog: when you go home let it go in front of you, and you will see what will come to it.”

So the merchant’s son listened, and as soon as ever the dog crossed the threshold it was torn into small atoms.

Iván the merchant’s son never let his stepmother know that he saw through her spite, and set out next day to the shop, whilst the stepmother went to see the soothsayer. So the old woman got a second poison, and bade her put it into the trough. In the evening, as he went home, the merchant’s son went into the stable; and once more the foal was standing on tip-toes and in tears; and he struck him on the haunches and said, “Why, my good horse, do you weep? Why your counsel do you keep?”

Then the foal answered, “Why should I not weep, my master, Iván the merchant’s son? I hear a very great misfortune—that your stepmother wishes to ruin you. Look when you go into the room and sit down at the table: your mother will bring you a draught in the glass. Do you not drink it, but pour it out of the window: you will yourself see what will happen outside.”

Iván the merchant’s son did as he was bidden and as soon as ever he had thrown the draught out of the window it began to rend the earth; and again he never said a single word to his stepmother; so she still thought that he was in the dark.

On the third day he went to the shop, and the stepmother again went to the soothsayer. The old woman gave her an enchanted shirt. In the evening, as he was going out of the shop, the merchant’s son went up to the foal, and he saw that there stood his good horse on tip-toes and in tears. So he struck him by the bridle and said, “Why do you weep, my good horse? Why your counsel do you keep?”

Then the foal answered him, “Why should I not weep? Do I not know that your stepmother is wishing to destroy you? Listen to what I say. When you go home your stepmother will send you to the bath, and she will send the boy to you with a shirt. Do not put on the shirt yourself, but put it on the boy, and you will see yourself what will come of it.”

So the merchant’s son went up to his attic, and his stepmother came and said to him, “Would you not like to have a steam bath? The bath is now ready.”

“Very well,” said Iván, and he went into the bath, and very soon after the boy brought him a shirt. As soon as ever the merchant’s son put it on the boy he that very instant closed his eyes and fell on the floor, as though he were dead. And when he took the shirt off him and cast it into the stove, the boy revived, but the stove was split into small pieces.

The stepmother saw that she was doing no good, so she again went to the old soothsayer and asked and besought her how she should destroy her stepson. The old woman answered, “As long as the horse is alive nothing can be brought about. But you pretend to be ill, and when your husband comes back tell him, ‘I saw in my sleep that the throat of our foal must be cut and the liver extracted, and I must be rubbed with the liver; then my disease will pass away.’”

Some time after the merchant came back, and the son went out to meet him.

“Hail, my son!” said the father. “Is all well with you at home?”

“All is well, only mother is ill,” he answered.

So the merchant unloaded his wares and went home, and he found his wife lying in the bedclothes groaning, saying, “I can only recover if you will fulfil my dream.”

So the merchant agreed at once, summoned his son and said, “Now, my son, I want to cut the throat of your horse: your mother is ill, and I must cure her.”

So Iván the merchant’s son wept bitterly and said, “Oh, father, you wish to take away from me my last luck!” Then he went into the stable.

The foal saw him and said, “My beloved master, I have saved you from three deaths—do you now save me from one. Ask your father that you may go out on my back for the last time to fare in the open fields with your companions.”

So the son asked his father for leave to go into the open field for the last time on the horse, and the father agreed. Iván the merchant’s son mounted his horse, leapt into the open field, and went and diverted himself with his friends and companions. Then he sent his father a letter in this wise: “Do you cure my stepmother with a twelve-tongued whip—this is the best means of curing her illness.” He sent this letter with one of his good companions, and himself went into foreign lands.

The merchant read the letter, and began curing his wife with a twelve-tongued whip: and she very soon recovered.

The merchant’s son went out into the open field, into the wide plains, and he saw horned cattle grazing in front of him.

So the good horse said, “Iván the merchant’s son, let me go free at will, and do you pull three little hairs out of my tail: whenever I can be of service to you burn a single hair, and I shall appear at once in front of you, like a leaf in front of the grass. But you, good youth, go to the herd, buy a bull and cut its throat; dress yourself in the bull’s hide, put a bladder on your head, and wherever you go, whatever you are asked about, answer only this one word, ‘Idonotknow.’”

Iván the merchant’s son let his horse go free, dressed himself in the bull’s hide, put a bladder on his head, and went beyond the seas. On the blue sea there was a ship a-sailing. The ship’s crew saw this marvel—an animal which was not an animal, a man that was not a man, with a bladder on his head and with fur all round him. So they sailed up to the shore in a light boat and began to ask him and to inquire of him. Iván the merchant’s son only returned one answer, “Idonotknow.”

“If it be so, then your name must be ‘Donotknow.’” Then the ship’s crew took him, carried him on board the boat, and they sailed to their King.

May-be long, may-be short, they at last reached a capital city, went to the King with gifts, and informed him of Donotknow. So the King bade the portent be presented before his eyes. So they brought Donotknow into the palace, and the people came up from all parts, seen and unseen, to gaze on him.

Then the King began to ask him, “What sort of a man are you?”

“Idonotknow.”

“From what lands have you come?”

“Idonotknow.”

“From what race and from what place?”

“Idonotknow.”

Then the King put Donotknow into the garden as a scarecrow, to frighten the birds from the apple trees, and he bade him be fed from his royal kitchen.

Now this king had three daughters: the elder ones were beautiful, but the younger fairer still. Very soon the son of the King of the Arabs began asking for the hand of the youngest daughter, and he wrote to the King with threats such as this, “If you do not give her to me of your good will, I will take her by force.”

This did not suit the King at all, so he answered the Arab prince in this wise, “Do you begin the war, and it shall go as God shall will.”

So the Prince assembled a countless multitude and laid siege.

Donotknow shook off his oxhide, took off his bladder, went into the open fields, burnt one of the hairs, and cried out in a grim voice with a knightly whistle. From some source or other a wondrous horse appeared in front of him, and the steed galloped up, and the earth trembled. “Hail, doughty youth, why do you want me so speedily?”

“Go and prepare for war!”

So Donotknow sat on his good horse, and the horse asked him, “Where shall I carry you—aloft, under the trees, or over the standing woods?”

“Carry me over the standing woods.”

So the horse raised himself from the earth and flew over the hostile host. Then Donotknow leapt upon the enemies, seized a warlike sword from one of them, tore a golden helmet from another of them, and put them on himself; covered his face with the visor, and set to slaying the Arab host. Wherever he turned, heads flew: it was like mowing hay. The King and the Princess looked on in amazement from the city wall: “What a mighty hero it must be! Whence has he come? Is it Egóri the Brave who has come to help us?”

But they never imagined that it was Donotknow whom the King had set in the garden as a scarecrow. Donotknow slew many of that host, and even more than he slew his horse trampled down, and he left only the Arab Prince alive and ten men as a suite to see him home. After this great combat he rode back to the town wall and said, “Your kingly Majesty, has my service pleased you?” Then the King thanked him and asked him in as a guest. But Donotknow would not come. He leapt into the open field, sent away his good horse, turned back home, put on the bladder and the bull’s hide, and began to walk about in the garden, as before, just like a scarecrow.

Some time went by, not too much, not too little, and the Arab Prince again wrote to the King, “If you do not give me your youngest daughter’s hand I will burn up all your kingdom and will take her prisoner.”

This also did not please the King, and so he wrote in answer that he would await him with his host. Once again the Arab Prince collected a countless host, larger than before, and he besieged the King from all sides, having three mighty knights standing in front.

Donotknow learned of this, shook off the bull’s hide, took off the bladder, summoned his good horse, and leapt to the field. One knight came to meet him. They met in combat, greeted each other and set at each other with their lances. The knight struck Donotknow so doughtily that he could hardly hold on by one stirrup. Then he got up, flew like a youth, struck off the knight’s head, seized him, and threw him over, saying, “This is how all of your heads shall fly.” Then another knight came out, and it happened likewise with him; and a third came, and Donotknow fought with him for one whole hour. The knight cut his hand and drew blood, but Donotknow cut off his head and threw it with the rest. Then all of the Arab host trembled and turned back. Just then the King, with the Princesses, was standing on the town wall; and the youngest Princess saw that blood was flowing from the valiant champion’s hand, took a kerchief off her neck and bound up the wound herself; and the King summoned him as a guest. “I will come one day,” said Donotknow, “but not this time.” So he leapt into the open field, dismissed his horse, dressed himself in his oxhide, put the bladder on his head, and began walking up and down the garden like a scarecrow.

Some time went by, not much, not little, and the King gave his two elder daughters away to famous Tsarévichi. He was making ready for a great celebration, and the guests came to walk in the garden; and they saw Donotknow and asked, “What sort of a monster is this?”

So the King said, “This is Donotknow: I am using him as a scarecrow: he keeps the birds off my apple trees.”

But the youngest daughter looked at Donotknow’s hand and observed her kerchief on it, blushed and never said a word. From that time she began to walk into the garden and to gaze on Donotknow, and became thoughtful, never giving heed to the festivals and to the merriment.

“Where are you always going, my daughter?” asked her father.

“Oh, father, I have lived so many years with you, I have so often walked in the garden, and I have never seen such a delightful bird as I saw there just now!”

Then she began to ask her father to give her his blessing and to wed her to Donotknow. And for all the father might do to convince her, she insisted. “If you will not give me to him, I will remain unmarried all my life and will seek no other man.” So the father agreed and he betrothed them.

Soon afterwards the Arab Prince wrote to him for the third time and asked for the hand of his youngest daughter. “If you will not consent, I will consume all of your kingdom with fire, and I will take her by main force.”

Then the King answered, “My daughter is already promised: if you wish, come yourself and you will see.” So the Prince came, and when he saw what a monster was betrothed to the fair Princess he thought he would slay Donotknow, and he summoned him to mortal combat.

Donotknow shook off his oxhide, took the bladder from his head, summoned his good horse and rode out, so fair a youth as no tale can tell and no pen can write.

They met in the open field, in the wide plains, and the list lasted long. Iván the merchant’s son killed the Arab Prince. Then at last the King recognised that Donotknow was not a monster but a splendid and handsome knight, and he made him his heir. Iván the merchant’s son lived on in his kingdom for good and lived all for happiness, took his own father to stay with him, but consigned his stepmother to punishment.

THE SEA TSAR AND VASILÍSA THE WISE