Chapter III: Part 3

"I know a bride fit even to mate with you, Prince Vladimir, the Fair Sun of Kiev. The King of Lithuania has two fair daughters. The eldest, the Princess Nastasya, is no mate for you, for she loves best to ride abroad in the open plain seeking adventures, but her sister, the Princess Apraxia, sits at home in a fair chamber of her palace embroidering a kerchief of white linen with threads of ruddy gold. She sits behind thrice nine locks of cunning workmanship and thrice nine guards in a lofty castle, and the ruddy sun may not scorch her nor the fine and frequent rains drop upon her, nor the stormy winds disarrange her braided locks of yellow gold, while no venturesome breeze may mar the delicate flush in her face like unto the white hare. I have not yet seen her, but I know of her peerless beauty and speak of what I know."

"Hear ye this, my Russian heroes!" cried Prince Vladimir, while his eyes shone brightly and his face was wreathed in smiles. "Whom shall we send as our royal envoy to far-off Lithuania?"

Then one of the heroes spoke out:

"Prince Vladimir," he said, "we have none of us been in strange lands with strange customs, nor talked in strange speech with strange people. In a matter where more than strength and goodwill is needed, namely, the wooing of a fair Princess, I doubt that none of your heroes would serve you well. Send quiet Dunai. He has been ambassador to royal courts and has received ambassadors also. He can talk in strange speech as well as fight; let him woo the fair Princess Apraxia for you, and when she comes here, as she surely will, we will eat the white swan and drink green wine in her honour, and crack skulls, too, if she needs such heroic help."

The truth of these words could not be denied, and as the hero who had spoken, suddenly realising that he had made a wise speech, hid in confusion behind his neighbour at the table, Prince Vladimir rose to his feet and said:

"Go in my name, quiet Dunai, to the far-famed Lithuanian kingdom and woo the Princess Apraxia for me with all the skill at your command."

"I go at your bidding," said quiet Dunai, with a bow, "but it is not fitting that I should go alone."

"Take a great army with you, if you will," said the Prince, "and if the King will not send his daughter with his blessing take her with his curse."

"I need no army," said quiet Dunai, "nor yet rich store of treasure to tempt the King to sell his daughter. Send Nikitich with me. He is my beloved comrade, a man of good birth who knows how to read and write, and therefore understands how to deal with people. Give us only two shaggy colts, fresh from the steppe, which have never borne saddle or bridle, and prepare a parchment scroll setting forth to the King that you desire the Princess Apraxia, not for youthful vanity, but for helpfulness that you may make her your wife, to whom all your thoughts will be made known, and who will share in all your counsels."

These things were done in exact accordance with the wishes of quiet Dunai, who then left the palace in the company of Nikitich. In the courtyard they found awaiting them two shaggy colts, fresh from the steppe, which had never borne saddle or bridle. Upon these they fitted plaited bridles of many-coloured silks and saddle-cloths of silk, not for youthful vanity but for ease to their steeds. Over these they laid thick felts, and then their saddles of stout leather secured by twelve girths with silver buckles, while the buckles of the stirrups were of fine ruddy gold.

Then they dressed themselves in silken robes and Saracen caps, took up their maces of steel from Damascus, their mighty bows, and their silken whips, and, mounting their frisky chargers, rode quickly through the narrow streets of Kiev city. Before long they came to the outskirts and then out upon the open plain, when they urged on their shaggy steeds, spurring them gently and persuading them further with their whips of braided silk. Past deep lakes they rode and through dense forests, crashing through the undergrowth where the hoof of horse had never trodden, until they came at last, and after a long journey, to the brave land of Lithuania and the royal palace of its King.

Quiet Dunai asked no leave of guards, porters, or gate-keepers, but flung the barriers wide and led the horses into the spacious courtyard, where they dismounted. Leaving Nikitich on guard over the chargers, Dunai took the bridles in his left hand, and in his right his club of elm-wood.

"Stand there, Nikitich," said quiet Dunai, "and look steadfastly towards the hall of royal audience. When I call, come!"

Then quiet Dunai crossed the courtyard and went into the hall of royal audience, where he found the King sitting upon his throne, and said to him in a quiet tone:

"Hail, little father, King of brave Lithuania!"

"Hail, quiet Dunai!" said the King. "Whither do you wander? Have you come to fight against us or to serve us as before? But before you answer, eat your fill and drink all that you need." Then he set him in the great corner, and when he had refreshed himself somewhat hastily, Dunai said:

"My errand is peaceful, little father. I come on behalf of the Fair Sun, Vladimir of Kiev, to woo your daughter the Princess Apraxia." Then he laid the parchment scroll upon the table, and the King spelled out a little of it, a little and no more, but that was enough to make him tear in anger at the black curls upon his forehead and stamp his feet upon the floor of red brick.

"Stupid and dolt is Prince Vladimir of Kiev, who sends as his envoy such a slave as you. Ho there, my merciless jailors! Seize quiet Dunai by his white hands and by his flowing curls, and lead him down to the deepest dungeon. Shut him in, bar the door, heap up against it logs of wood and iron gratings, and then over all pile up the yellow sand. Feed him on frozen oats and let him drink cold spring water until he returns to his senses."

Quiet Dunai hung his head for a moment, and dropped his clear eyes to the floor of red brick. Then he raised his white hand and smote the table with his fist so that the wine was spilled, the dishes rolled upon the floor, the tables tumbled down and the pillars of the hall leaned this way and that, while the roof groaned and creaked. The servants of the King fled this way and the other, while their master gathered up the skirts of his royal robe and ran at great speed up the winding stairway to the top of his lofty tower, never pausing even to take a deep breath until he was safely hidden beneath a thick rug of marten skins.

Then quiet Dunai took one light leap over the King's golden chair, seized one of the stout attendants by the heels, and using him as a club, began to slay the rest. "This club is tough," he said quietly but a little grimly to himself, as he went on with his work. "He will not break. He is wiry and will not tear." Then raising his voice he called through the window, "Ho, there, Nikitich!" and the young man entered the hall, snatched up another attendant by the heels, and began to assist quiet Dunai in the first part of his strange wooing of the Princess Apraxia.

But by and by the two friends heard the voice of the King through the window of the topmost apartment of his lofty tower. "Ho, there, quiet little Dunai!" he cried. "Forget not my kindness towards you of old. Let us sit again together, you in the big corner, to discuss the wooing of Prince Vladimir. Take my elder daughter the Princess Nastasya, for I know little of her seeing that she loves adventure on the open steppe, and I shall not miss her so much."

"I will not," said quiet Dunai, and went on with his work, Nikitich also ceasing not to assist him.

"Take, then, the Princess Apraxia," cried the King in great haste, and the two friends paused to gather breath. Then quiet Dunai went to the great castle and began to knock off the thrice nine locks, and to force open the doors. He entered the tower with the golden roof and came to the apartment where the Princess Apraxia was pacing to and fro clad in a fine robe without a girdle, her golden hair all unbound and her feet all bare.

"Hail, Princess," said the royal envoy, bowing courteously, "and pardon my coming without announcement. Will you wed with Prince Vladimir, the Fair Sun of Kiev?"

"For three years," said the Princess, "have I longed and prayed that Vladimir might be my husband." Then quiet Dunai took her by the small white hands, kissed her golden ring, and led her at once into the courtyard where they met the King.

"Take with the Princess," he said, "her royal dowry," and he gave immediate orders for the loading of thirty wagons with red gold, white silver, and fine seed pearls. Then the Princess arrayed herself, and coming forth again rode away with the goodly youths over the smiling, far-reaching, green and open plain; and as they rode she sang softly to herself of love and freedom and a fair white throne.

When the dark night fell the two youths set up a white linen pavilion, in which the Princess Apraxia rested, while they lay down near the entrance with their shaggy steeds at their feet, their sharp spears at their heads, their stout swords at their right hands and their daggers of steel at their left. Both slept, for their steeds were their sentinels, and the dark night passed by with nothing seen except the stars, nothing heard except the rustle of the breeze round the curtains of the fair white linen bower of the Princess Apraxia.

While it was still early morning they arose, and were setting out again upon their way, when, looking back, they saw a Tatar horseman in pursuit of them, his steed all bespattered with the mire of the plain. When Dunai was aware of this, he sent Nikitich forward to Kiev town with the Princess Apraxia, but remained himself to meet the bold adventurer, who surely had not heard how quiet Dunai had wooed the Princess Apraxia for his royal master.

In the midst of the plain the combatants met, and, without taking time to observe each other closely, but each taking the other for an accursed Tatar, they fell to resounding blows. In a few moments quiet Dunai was unhorsed, but he sprang at once to his nimble feet and fought his foe with mace and spear and sword, until he laid him prone upon the broad bosom of moist Mother Earth. Then quiet Dunai drew his dagger:

"Tell me now," he said, as he brushed the dew of onset from his eyes with his left sleeve, "the name that you bear and the name of the accursed horde from whence you come."

"If I sat on your white breast," said the stranger, "I would not ask your name and horde, but would stab you to the heart." Then quiet Dunai raised his dagger and would have pierced the heart of his foe, but with his will, or without his will, his arm stiffened at the shoulder and that blow never fell, for now he saw in the prostrate figure before him the form of a woman--while the fallen headgear revealed the parted, flowing hair and the low brow of the Princess Nastasya who loved quiet Dunai and kept him ever in her golden heart.

Without a word of speech, but with a heart full of deep and tender reproach, quiet Dunai took Nastasya by her lily-white hands, and raising her to her nimble feet, looked at her until he knew of her forgiveness and then kissed her sugar mouth. "Let us go," he said quietly, "to Kiev town and take the golden crowns." Then he placed her upon his good steed, took from her the mace of steel and the sharp sword which she bore, and, mounting behind her, rode onward to the city of Prince Vladimir.

"I came to seek my sister," said the Princess, as if suddenly remembering the cause of her ride.

"You shall find her in Kiev town," said Dunai, "and there she and Prince Vladimir will also take the golden crowns."

Then Nastasya spoke no further, for she was too contented for speech, and they rode ever onward across the open steppe, the glorious far-reaching, sun-lit, boundless plain.

Thus they came to Kiev town, and went at once to the great church. In the outer porch they met Prince Vladimir and the Princess Apraxia who had also come thither to take the golden crowns. The sisters greeted each other with love, and the company went into the dim coolness of the great church and up to the high altar where a priest awaited them. And there Prince Vladimir was wedded to the Princess Apraxia while the singing boys held the golden crowns above their heads, and quiet Dunai was wedded to the Princess Nastasya while the singing boys held in turn the golden crowns above their heads; and when that was done the whole company went to the palace of Prince Vladimir, where such a feast was laid as had not been prepared since the coming of the Prince to his royal city; and quiet Dunai sat in the great corner.

For three years they lived in mirth and joy, the Princess Apraxia keeping to her palace, her fine embroidery and her household and knowing all her husband's thoughts; the Princess Nastasya sharing her husband's life of quiet wandering, both of them being quite content in the summer with the life on the boundless steppe and in winter returning to the palace of white stone in fair Kiev city.

Then Prince Vladimir made another great feast, and when it came to the boasting time quiet Dunai bragged with the loudest:

"In all this royal city," he said, "there is no such hero as quiet Dunai. From the land of Lithuania he carried away two white swans of glorious plumage, one of whom he took for himself while he gave away the other with ungrudging hand."

The Princess Nastasya looked at him, and a world of wisdom was in her glance. "Your boast is emptiness, Dunai," she said. "I have not dwelt long in this city, but I have learnt much. There are handsomer, braver, more courteous heroes in Kiev town whom I could name. Neither in deeds nor promise are these men lacking, and, apart from them, even I, the wife of a boaster, have some skill with the bow. Let us take a stout bow and set up a sharp dagger on the open steppe a mile away, and before the dagger a silver ring. Then let us shoot through the ring of silver at the sharp dagger in such a skilful way that the shaft may fall into two equal parts against the dagger, into two parts exactly equal both to the eye and to the discerning hand which can tell weight from weight."

Thereupon quiet Dunai was very angry, but he said steadily, "It is well, little Nastasya. Let us go to the open steppe, set up a sharp dagger a mile away with a silver ring before it, and shoot our fiery darts as you have said." So they went out to put the matter to the trial. Nastasya shot a flaming arrow, which passed through the ring as through the open air, fell upon the sharp blade and was cut into two parts exactly equal both to the eye and to the discerning hand. Then quiet Dunai shot a flaming arrow, and it sped too far; he shot a second, and it sped not far enough; he shot a third, which came not near the silver ring and was not seen again. Then he shot a fourth into the breast of Nastasya, and she fell upon the open plain where she had loved to wander.

And still in the moment of her death she loved quiet Dunai and kept him ever in her golden heart. "Forgive, my lord, my foolish woman's words," she said, "and tend with care the son of mine whom I leave in Kiev town, for such a boy is not to be found in all the world. His little legs are silver to the knee, his arms to the elbow are of purest gold; upon his open forehead glows the fair round sun, upon his golden head glitter countless stars, and at the back of his head the bright moon shineth." So she spoke in her death-pain, and the heart of quiet Dunai burned within his breast for deep grief and scorching remorse and torturing pity. "Where the white swan fell," he said, "there shall fall the falcon bright."

Then he placed the handle of his sword in the bosom of moist Mother Earth and fell with his white breast upon the sharp point. And from that spot far away across the boundless plain flowed two gently wandering streams. The greater was the Dnieper, deep and full and quiet, yet resistless in its noiseless might, which ran past Kiev town; the lesser was the Dwina, which flowed to the kingdom of Lithuania. And where the two streams met, two cypress trees sprang up, and their branches twined lovingly together, whispering when the breeze arose in tender tones of love and pity of the steadfastness of the Princess Nastasya, who loved quiet Dunai and kept him ever in her golden heart.

THE STORY OF NIKITICH AND MARINA

The day of the birth of Nikitich had been a day of trouble for wide distances across the open steppe. For upon that wonderful day a great storm seemed to arise, and yet not a great storm but a strange commotion, unseen, unheard, but keenly felt. From far across the open plain came a herd of beasts, wild beasts and fearsome dragons large and small, and sought the shallow valley of the Dnieper river. At their head ran the Skiper-beast, with woolly fleece, twisted horn, and hoofs which struck sparks from the pebbles of flint. Then the waters of the Dnieper were strangely troubled, the banks of the river quaked and fell, and trees which once had waved upright now spanned the stream. Such had been the day of the birth of Nikitich.

Now when he grew up to youthful manhood, Nikitich sought service in the royal household of Prince Vladimir, and though he was of supernatural wisdom, having learnt to read and write, he served with the rest, for three years in the palace, for three years in the royal gardens, and for three years as keeper of the gate; but for all his faithful service he won no praise of Vladimir and no reward except a horse of the finest mettle, and he was kept always within the confines of the royal palace. But at a certain princely banquet Nikitich rose to his feet in his place at one end of the oaken board, and said:

"Prince Vladimir, Fair Sun of royal Kiev, I have served thee long and faithfully, but always within the confines of the royal palace. Give me leave to wander farther, and first of all through the narrow lanes of Kiev town."

"Young nestling," said Prince Vladimir, "fly not from the nest. Young colt of the open steppe, gallop not away." But the heroes of Holy Russia who sat at the board of Prince Vladimir had pity upon the young man and they said, "Go, Nikitich, and ask your mother." Then Vladimir laughed and gave the young man leave.

And the counsel of the mother of Nikitich ran thus:

"Walk at will through all the streets of Kiev town and roam through all the little by-ways. But avoid a certain little lane where dwells the Princess Marina, for she is a witch of the vilest who has brought to their death many Tsars and Tsareviches, Kings, and Crown Princes, nobles and their heirs. If you go near the Princess Marina you will lose your life."

But, sad to tell, the counsel had this effect upon the young man, that he longed most of all to go to the certain little lane where dwelt the Princess Marina.

On the next day he rose very early and washed himself very white in clear water from the spring. Then he took his stout bow in his hand and slung his quiver of gleaming arrows upon his back. He wandered on through the streets and narrow lanes and came at length to a certain little lane where he found the palace of the Princess Marina. It was finely built and richly adorned, while in the window of one apartment sat a mated pair of dark-blue doves cooing lovingly with yellow bill to yellow bill and wing enfolding wing. Then Nikitich fitted a flaming arrow to his stout bow and shot at the cooing doves, but as the shaft was leaving the string his left foot slipped and his right hand shook so that the arrow missed the loving birds, went singing through the lattice-window and slew the favourite of the Princess Marina who was known as the Son of the Dragon and was known for nothing good.

"If I go into the palace," said Nikitich to himself, "I shall lose my head. If I do not go, I shall lose my arrow." So he called to his page, who always walked or stood three paces behind him, and sent him into the palace to seek for the arrow.

"Thou witch and sorceress," said the bold page to the Princess, "return to us our burning arrow."

"Nay," said Marina, "let him who sent it come to ask for it." And when this was told to Nikitich he ran quickly into the courtyard of the palace and from thence to the apartment of the Princess Marina and took the shaft from the body of the Son of the Dragon. Marina lay upon a couch which was covered with a broad mantle of marten skins and fondled a fiery dragon with her right hand, while she played with two poisonous serpents with her left. As soon as Nikitich entered the room she sprang to her nimble feet and stretched out her lily-white hands to him:

"Sweet Nikitich," she said looking at him with honey eyes and sugar lips, "stay with me always and I will teach you to calm the fiery dragon and charm the poisonous serpent. You shall rest all day and no foe, however powerful, will be able to harm you."

"Sweet Marina," answered the young man, who was really in a very great hurry, "I will not. I have no desire to calm the fiery dragon and charm the poisonous serpent but to fight and kill them. Nor would rest without labour have any charms for me. Besides I know your guile, for you have brought nine brave Russian heroes to their end and now are minded to put an end to me." Then he turned abruptly from the apartment in spite of all the sweet glances of Marina, who was really very lovely, and went home again to his mother with his fiery dart in his hand.

As soon as he was gone, Marina seized her dagger, and from the clay floor of the apartment she hacked out the footprints of Nikitich. Then she painted the pieces of earth with many devices in various colours and said her verses over them as she placed them in an oven to bake:

"Burn ye footsteps of Nikitich, burn in this oven, burn, burn; and as his footsteps burn may his heart burn to return to me."

Now as the witch spoke these words Nikitich felt a strange longing and uneasiness fall upon his spirit. He sat down at night by the fair white oaken table but he could eat no food; when he went to rest he could not sleep but lay tossing about and waiting with impatience for the coming of the white dawn. At the first bell for prayers he rose, dressed himself, went first to the cathedral service, and then took his way to a certain little lane in Kiev town where lived the Princess Marina.

He entered the apartment of the Princess slowly and with downcast eyes; but she turned her white shoulders upon him and did not reply to his greeting.

"Ah, sweet Marina," said the enchanted youth, "I have come to stay with you always, for since yesterday I have had no peace of mind apart from you."

"I asked you yesterday to stay with me, Nikitich," said the enchantress, "and you would not. So now you are in my power. If I wish, I can turn you into a raven, a magpie, a pig, or a heroic ox with golden horns, silver hoofs, and a coat as sleek as velvet, or even into a loathsome frog. And if I change you into a frog no power on earth or in the sky or in the sea, or in the underworld can change you again so that your spiteful mother will know you."

Then by a slight movement of her lily-white hand she turned the young man into a heroic ox with golden horns, silver hoofs, and a coat as sleek as velvet. And she drove him out into the open steppe to drink swamp water and to eat marsh grass and to be lord over the nine brown oxen which had once been Russian heroes, strong and mighty. Now as he roamed about the plain not far away from the dwellings of Kiev, he saw a flock of geese which belonged to his aunt; and wickedness entered into his heart, so that he trampled the whole gabbling flock to death down to the very last gosling. Then the goose-girls went to their mistress and with much shaking of dark locks and heaving of white shoulders they told their tale.

As soon as they had finished their story the swan-keepers came with a similar tale, and then the shepherds, and after these the herdsmen. Not a living creature of all the flocks and herds had the golden-horned monster spared.

"I know," said the aunt of Nikitich, "whence comes this fierce beast. It is my well-beloved Nikitich whom the vile witch Marina has changed by her sorcery." Even as she spoke the horse-keepers came to tell how the animal had driven the steeds before him so that all had been lost far over the open steppe, dispersed and driven away many miles from Kiev city. Then the aunt of Nikitich rose in white anger, and by means of a secret charm she knew she changed herself into a chattering magpie and flew away to the palace of Marina, where she perched herself upon the sill of the lattice-window and began to scold with all her might and to say:

"Wicked Marina, the ugly! Why have you turned my nephew Nikitich into a golden-horned heroic ox, and set him free to roam across the open steppe? Take off your charm from my nephew or I will turn you into a long-tailed dog to be chased through the lanes of Kiev by the children, or into a chattering magpie full of guile and spleen."

Now at the game of changes no one could excel Marina, and when she heard the threat of the aunt of Nikitich she changed herself into a grey swallow and flew over the head of the chattering magpie far away across the open steppe. After a long flight she came to the golden-horned heroic ox, and alighting upon his head said in his ear:

"Promise me now, Nikitich, promise me with a great oath that you will take the golden crowns with me, and I will turn you back into your own shape again. Swear now, for you have roamed the wild steppe and must needs be weary, and have wandered far by the bubbling marshes and must needs be tired."

"Ah, sweet Marina," said Nikitich, glancing upward with a piteous look, "only deliver me from the form of this heroic beast and I will take the golden crowns with you. I will marry you, Marina, and will teach you the little lessons which a wise husband imparts to an obedient wife for her advantage."

Then Marina believed him and turned him into a goodly youth as he had been when he first entered her apartment in search of his fiery dart; and she changed herself into a lovely bride, but she could not change the emerald hue of her eyes.

"Now I will wed you, Marina," said the wise Nikitich. "Round this bush we go, three times round this willow bush, and then you may call Nikitich your husband if you will." So round the bush they went, hand in hand, three times round the willow bush, while the eyes of the beautiful bride gleamed greener than ever before.

So the bride and bridegroom came, side by side, to the palace of Marina, where Nikitich called to one of the servants:

"Ho, there, bring me a cup of green wine, and a sword of damascened steel, sharp and bright."

At these words the witch bride put forth her spells again and turned her bridegroom into a little ermine and began to frighten him. Then she turned him into a falcon, but by her witchcraft she was able to prevent him from flying anywhere except round and round her head.

"I cannot fly like the falcon clear," said Nikitich, "I can only flap my wings up and down. Give me, I beg of you, a cup of green wine to drink."

Then as if to delight her own eyes and tease him still further, the witch bride turned him once more into a goodly young man who shouted out again:

"Ho, there, bring me a cup of green wine and a sword of damascened steel, sharp and bright."

Once more Marina raised her lily-white hands and began to perform her enchantments. But before she could change her bridegroom again the servant stood at his side with the cup of wine in one hand and the sword in the other. Nikitich set aside the wine and taking the sword in his hands cut off the head of Marina with one sharp stroke.

In the morning, as the young man went to his bath, a great company of princes and nobles met him in the passage:

"Hail, Nikitich," they cried courteously. "How is it with your bride?"

"Hail, princes and nobles, heroes and courtiers of Vladimir," said the young man with a jolly laugh. "Last night I was wedded and no longer alone. This morning I am alone and no longer wedded, for I have cut off the head of my troublesome bride, who had brought to their death many heroes and princes of Holy Russia."

Then he went to his bath, and returning to the court of Vladimir was given a seat in the great corner while he told his wonderful adventure. "There is no need," said the Prince, "to cross the boundless plain for strange happenings, for to the adventurous the adventure may come in a narrow lane."

But in spite of the words of his Prince, Nikitich now longed to roam the open plain to seek fresh adventures. So he set out on the very next day and wandered on and on until he came to a wide-spreading oak on which a pied raven, half of whose wings were white, sat croaking, croaking, croaking. So harsh was its voice that Nikitich strung his bow, fitted a flaming arrow to the cord and prepared to shoot the croaking bird. But as he did so the raven put its head on one side and spoke to him in the speech of Holy Russia.

"Hail now, little Nikitich, the adventurer. Do not kill me and I will make known to you all kinds of secrets. Do not the little ones of the lanes and streets say to one another, 'There is no wisdom in killing an old man, and he who shoots a raven makes no broth.' Now that I see your bow unstrung I will tell you something worth knowing in return for your forbearance. By the lofty mountain across the steppe there are three wonders, even three marvellous damsels. The first is a lily for whiteness, the second is a rose for redness, and the third is a violet for darkness. More beautiful are they than the spring flowers on the steppe. How is this for an adventure on a fine morning for Nikitich the slayer of dragon brides?"

Now Nikitich had succeeded so well in his first adventure that he was burning to try a second. So he lowered his bow and reflected a little before he spoke. Then he said:

"What you have quoted of the children's wisdom must be true and I will try the adventure. It is better to go to the lofty mountain and see with my own eyes the lily, the rose, and the violet, those three marvels of beauty, than that I should prove my valour by shooting a raven." Then the pied bird flew away, croaking, croaking, croaking.

Nikitich turned his horse and rode, quickly, very quickly, very, very quickly, and with heroic speed, towards the lofty mountain far away across the open steppe, and at the foot of this mountain he found a pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold. "This is a fitting dwelling for three marvellous damsels," said the young man to himself, "the first a lily for whiteness, the second a rose for redness, and the third a violet for darkness. But it seems to me that either they are not at home or they have locked up their beauty very securely;" for the entrance to the pavilion was secured by a stout bar on which was a lock of damascened steel. The young man alighted, spread fine wheat for his horse near the entrance of the pavilion, planted his spear in the bosom of moist Mother Earth, and went forward to look more closely at the lock, upon which he found this inscription:

"Whoso enters this pavilion shall not come thence alive."

This was, of course, a direct invitation to an adventurous youth, and with one blow of his fist Nikitich struck the lock from its place and it fell to the earth at his feet. Then he removed the beam and pushed his way into the pavilion, where he saw tables set with food of the richest and wine of the greenest. He looked round warily, his hand upon his sword, and even searched beneath the tables, but found neither hero nor damsels in all the place. So he sat down at one table and ate well and drank too well, for as soon as he was satisfied he began to throw food and wine about the floor. When he was weary of this foolish exercise, he lay down to sleep.

For a long time he slept, dreaming of lilies, roses, and violets, and knew not that even as he slumbered the owner of that fair pavilion was speeding across the open steppe. This was the hero Alyosha of the court of Prince Vladimir, who arrived breathless to find a steed feeding quietly before his pavilion, and a sleeper within who had eaten well and drunk too well and then had thrown food and wine about the floor.

Now at this sight Alyosha grew very angry, and his turbulent heart boiled within him. His pointed spear was in his hand, and in a moment his anger suggested to him that he could easily punish Nikitich for his fault. But he put aside the idea with disgust, for he was a hero and a gentleman. "I shall win no honour," he said to himself, "if I kill a sleeping man who is no better than a dead one." Then he reflected for a few moments, smiled gently, went out of the pavilion and mounted not his own horse but the good steed of Nikitich.

Holding his spear reversed, he rode into the pavilion and struck the sleeper on the breast with the butt end of it. Nikitich sat up suddenly, sprang to his nimble feet, from which he had cast his shoes before falling asleep, and grasping his mace in his right hand prepared to defend himself against all comers. Then a stern fight began within the pavilion to the sound of tumbling tables, breaking crockery and crashing glass. All day they fought without ceasing even to snatch up a bite of food; all night the fight went on with never a draught of wine to slake their thirst. For two more days and two more nights the combat continued, and then there came a clap of thunder loud enough to wake Svyatogor from his sleep among the Holy Mountains.

Now Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck heard that sound and he said to himself, "Somewhere in the white world Russian heroes are fighting one another. That is not well, for their strength must be kept for battle with accursed Tatars."

So he saddled his good steed Cloudfall, and those who watched his preparations for his ride saw him mount, but they did not see him as he rode, so quickly sped the shaggy bay steed across the open steppe. In a short space of time he came to the lofty mountain, and entering the pavilion saw the two young men fighting amidst the remnants of a feast. Then he seized Nikitich by his right hand and Alyosha by his left and shouted in a heroic voice, "Why fight against each other, ye heroes of Holy Russia?"

Alyosha was the first to speak. "Ah," he said, "thou Old Cossáck, Ilya of Murom, how could I refrain from punishing Nikitich? For I prepared a banquet within my own pavilion and this fellow unbarred the door, sat down by himself to eat well and drink too well, and then scattered the rich food and green wine about the floor!" As he spoke, the voice of Alyosha rose higher and higher with indignation until the last words were like the scream of a peacock in the garden of the Princess Apraxia.

"You did well, Alyosha," said Ilya with a fatherly smile about his lips, "for a man is no man who is not able to defend his own. And as for you, Nikitich, how does it stand with your case?"

"I could do nothing in honour but fight," was the reply. "For the inscription on the lock denied life to those who entered this pavilion. It was but an invitation to an adventurer from the court of Vladimir."

"You did well, Nikitich," said Ilya with a deep laugh in his eyes, "to defend yourself against such odds, for a hero is no hero who is not able to defend his own." Then he paused and looked at both of the combatants, who presented a sorry spectacle. After that he looked round about the wrecked pavilion which had been intended as a place of entertainment for heroes and bold warrior maids.

"It will be well, Nikitich," he said quietly, "if you stay to be invited to the next feast that is laid in this pavilion, and well for you, Alyosha, if you do not tempt brave men by forbidding them. Come now, calm your heroic turbulent hearts and swear brotherhood with exchange of crosses." Then the two heroes swore eternal friendship with the exchange of crosses, and they all set out for the court of Vladimir, who when he saw them and heard their story laughed in his beard.

"It is not wise, Nikitich," he said, "to expect to win a bride in each day's adventure."

Then they went in to supper, and Ilya of Murom sat in the great corner that night and it was he who told the tale.

HOW THE COURT OF VLADIMIR RECEIVED A VISITOR FROM INDIA THE GLORIOUS

From far beyond the deep blue sea, from India the Glorious, came Lord Diuk the son of Stephen. Like a white hawk his ship skimmed lightly across the heaving waters, and like a white ermine coursing he rode across the boundless open plain. As he rode jauntily onward his bow-case and his quiver beat against his hips, and like a flaming arrow from that same bow was the speed of his good steed, Rough-Coat. His helmet and his armour were of gleaming silver, his shirt of mail, close fitting, was of ruddy gold woven in chains as fine as silk from Samarcand. When he came to a river he asked for no bridge or ford, for Rough-Coat leapt from shore to shore at a single bound.

Now as Lord Diuk rode onward he hunted, and the foxes, martens, eagles, geese, white swans and downy ducks knew and told each other by their cries that a practised hunter was abroad. When an arrow sped from his bow a shaft of light seemed to rend the heavens, and where the flaming darts fell to earth a radiance streamed as from the pale cold moon shining across the white world of the snowy steppe. He shot three times a hundred arrows and three times one, and though he found the three hundred shafts he did not find the three; and this appeared to him to be a very great wonder.

"The three arrows which I have lost," he said to himself, "are of priceless value. They were made of the graceful reeds and were covered with gold beaten finer than the parchment of the holy monks, and set with precious stones so that in their flight they shone like the rays of the sun at early dawn. The feathers were those of the blue-grey eagle, which is swifter in its flight than all the birds of the air, and flies across the deep blue sea to visit its eyrie on the tall burning white stone which flashes for a thousand miles. Its feathers are hard to come by, being more precious than satin or cut velvet, or silk from Samarcand."

Thinking deeply and somewhat depressed at his heavy loss, Diuk once more mounted Rough-Coat and gave him the rein for home. As he sped onward he overtook a company of one and thirty wandering pilgrims, and reining in his horse demanded:

"Ho, there, you greybeards, are you thieves or robbers or travellers, midnight prowlers or plunderers of churches?"

Then the psalm-singers replied:

"Young Diuk, we are neither thieves, nor robbers, prowlers nor plunderers of churches, but pilgrims on the long journey from Kiev town to India the Glorious."

"Is the journey long?" asked Diuk in a more respectful tone.

"We have indeed come a long way from Kiev town," was the quiet answer. "It is a journey of a year on foot and then three months on the bosom of the deep blue sea."

With a low reverence to the holy pilgrims, Diuk rode to his home, which he reached in a short space of time; and on the next day after having been to vespers he sought out his lady mother.

"Mother mine," he said, "must I stay always at home engaged in childish pursuits while my manhood calls me, calls me ever and ever more loudly across the boundless plain? I ought to ride with head aloft and shoulders squared upon my dapple bay steed Rough-Coat, and prove my manhood by my fearless deeds. I have seen some fair cities, but never have I seen Kiev the Great nor beheld with my own eyes the beauty of the Princess Apraxia whom all men praise. Give me leave, lady mother, leave and your good blessing, and let me go to Kiev town at once and now."

Then the mother's heart grew tender, and in her eagerness to keep him by her side she magnified the dangers of the way and thus, all unknowing, added to his eagerness to go.

"Alas, my dear son," she said, "you have not yet ridden far across the boundless plain nor heard the roar of the wild beast and the fierce cry of the accursed Tatar. Never will you return in safety from the dangers of the open steppe. As for Kiev, the city of Vladimir, the people of that place are not worthy to keep company with such as you. They will look upon you as a purse to be picked, for they are traders, sons of merchants, traffickers in goods which your forefathers would win with sword and mace and lance. I will not give you leave and blessing to go to the Court of Vladimir, that ruler of shop-keepers."

Diuk's eyes had gleamed as his mother spoke of the way in which his ancestors had won their wealth; and seeing this she tried another course.

"Besides," she went on quickly, "there are three great barriers on the way to Kiev city. The first is the barrier of the moving mountains, which clash together and catch the unwary traveller in their strong grip. The second is the barrier of the ravenous birds, which will tear thee and thy good steed to a thousand pieces. The third barrier is the Mountain Dragon with twelve tails, each with a sting in it. He will devour you if indeed you have been fortunate enough to pass the clashing mountains and the ravenous birds."

Each fresh terror which she described added to the young man's eagerness to set out upon the journey to Kiev town; and having done reverence to his weeping mother he went to the stable and combed the coat of his faithful steed with a fine comb of fishes' teeth, as well as the mane and tail, which brushed the bosom of moist Mother Earth as he passed on his flight and swept away all traces of his hoofs. Then he saddled his good horse and plaited bright jewels in his mane, standing off to admire his handiwork, speaking meanwhile to the animal in human speech; and in human speech the horse replied to him saying:

"Tear not my sides with spurs, dear master; lash me not with your whip of silk; tighten not the bridle upon my faithful head; but when I speed cling to my mane and fear not when I leap from mountain-top to mountain-top, when I clear a great lake at a bound and a river at an easy jump. So shall I be your friend and helper as was Cloudfall to Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck."

Then Diuk prepared himself for the heroic journey and went to say farewell to his lady mother, who had wept till her eyes were bright again, and she was ready to give both leave and blessing to her bold and fearless son. She gave him also a warning. "My dear son," she said, "when you come to Kiev town and to the Court of Prince Vladimir and he makes a banquet in your honour, boast not of your wealth, or of me your mother." Then she kissed him upon his honey mouth and he rode away with happy heart. They saw him as he mounted Rough-Coat but they did not see him as he rode, so swift was his flight--it was only a wreath of smoke, a pillar of dust far off upon the boundless plain, and he was gone.

Now in due time he came to the first barrier of the moving mountains, which, of course, could not always be meeting, but must also part to meet once more; and watching for the time when they parted, Rough-Coat darted between them so quickly that they only caught a long hair from his flowing tail. Then they came to the second barrier of the ravenous birds, which swooped down upon them. But Rough-Coat dipped his head and flung up his hind feet so that they pecked only at his hoofs and found no sweetness in that meal; and with two heroic leaps the brave steed was far beyond the reach of the pecking birds. Last of all they came so suddenly upon the barrier of the dragon that before he could rouse himself and uncoil his stinging tails one by one Rough-Coat was far beyond the reach of their malice.

So the three terrible barriers were safely passed without the loss of a single arrow, and Diuk rode onward singing gaily of the great deeds of Svyatogor and Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. On he went across the boundless open plain until he came to a ring-barked oak on which sat a raven as black as night, croaking, croaking, croaking. Diuk looked up with impatience, for in his heart he feared an omen more than clashing mountains, pecking birds, or dragons with twelve stinging tails.

"Thou bird of evil," he cried, "I will scatter thy sable feathers upon the open plain. I will spill thy blood upon the ring-barked oak and give thee over to croaking Death."

But the raven answered him in the speech of Holy Russia, "Shed not my blood, young Lord Diuk. Ride on across the open steppe and you will find an adversary worthy of your stout bow and your shining arrows."

This speech filled the heart of the young hero with gladness and with the hope of meeting an adventure worthy of his ancestry. He rode on again until he came upon the hoof-prints of a horse deeply marked on the broad lap of moist Mother Earth, so deeply that it was clear to all eyes that a hero of mighty stature had recently passed that way. A few more leaps of Rough-Coat, and Diuk came to a pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold, beside which strayed a shaggy charger eating fine white Turkish wheat, which was heaped freely upon the ground for his solace and entertainment.

When Diuk saw this his heart failed him and he said to himself, "My courage leaves me and I dare not enter that pavilion, for the hero who sits therein will assuredly cut off my head. But I will place Rough-Coat by the side of this charger and he also shall stoop to the wheat. If the two horses eat together in peace, I will take it as a sign that the hero will do me no harm. But if the horses begin to quarrel I shall know that it is time for me to return to my lady mother." For a strange dread and fear was upon the young man who had set out so boldly but who now felt that he was within the circle of a spell. And well he might, as we shall see.

The two chargers ate in peace, and Diuk, taking heart again, entered the pavilion, bowing as he passed the threshold to North, South, East, and West, and especially to--the owner who slept in one corner with a terrible snore. Diuk came forward, and looking closer knew at once that the sleeper was none other than Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck, wrapt in one of the deep sleeps for which he was as famous as for heroic deeds.

"Rouse ye, Ilya of Murom," cried Diuk; "it is time to go to royal Kiev town so as to be present at matins on Easter morn." But Ilya slept on and snored and stirred not. Again Diuk shouted, and again without result; but at his third shout the great warrior unclosed his eyes in a manner which seemed to suggest that he had been sleeping a hound's sleep and said:

"Ho, stranger, tell me your name and horde." Then Diuk told him all the truth.

"Why, then," asked Ilya, "have you roused me from my heroic sleep. Do you wish to go with me out upon the open plain and see which of us shall carry home the head of the other?"

"Nay," said Diuk in great haste. "Why should I fight with Ilya upon the open plain? Death will not come to you in battle. As there is one sun in the daylight sky and one moon in the dark blue heavens, so there is one Ilya of Murom in Holy Russia."

This speech was courteous enough and fitting for the mouth of a young hero, and it pleased Ilya mightily. He sprang at once to his nimble feet, caught Diuk by his white hands, kissed him upon his sugar lips, and swore with him eternal friendship, making the solemn exchange of the cross. And Diuk thought no more of home or of his lady mother and her tears of loneliness.

Then the young hero and the old sat down in the fair pavilion and ate and drank well but not too well; and when that memorable feast was ended, Ilya said to Diuk:

"Go now alone upon your way to Kiev town, and if any one there shall mock at you send me word of it. But do not take your part when the boasting time shall come."