RUSSIAN MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES. (continued 3)

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THE RING WITH TWELVE SCREWS.

THERE lived in a village a son with his mother, and the mother was a very old woman. The son was called Ivan the Fool. They lived in a poor little cottage with one window, and in great poverty. Such was their poverty that besides dry bread they ate almost nothing, and sometimes they had not even the dry bread. The mother would sit and spin, and Ivan the Fool would lie on the stove, roll in the ashes, and never wipe his nose. His mother would say to him time and again: “Ivanushka, thou art sitting there with thy nose unwiped. Why not go somewhere, even to the public-house? Some kind man may come along and take thee to work. Thou wouldst have even a bit of bread, while at home here we have nothing to keep the life in us.”

“Very well, I’ll go,” said Ivan. He rose up and went to the public-house. On the way a man met him.

“Where art thou going, Ivan?”

“I am going to hire out to work.”

“Come, work for me; I’ll give thee such and such wages, and other things too.”

Ivan agreed. He went to work.

The man had a dog with whelps; one of the whelps pleased Ivan greatly, and he trained it. A year passed, and the time came to pay wages for the work. The man was giving Ivan money, but he answered: “I need not thy money; give me that whelp of thine that I trained.”

The man was glad that he had not to pay money, and gave the whelp.

Ivan went home; and when his mother found what he had done, she began to cry, saying: “All people are people, but thou art a fool; we had nothing to eat, and now there is another life to support.”

Ivan the Fool said nothing, sat on the stove with unwiped nose, rolling in the ashes, and the whelp with him. Some time passed; whether it was short or long, his mother said again: “Why art thou sitting there without sense; why not go to the public-house? Some good man may come along and hire thee.”

“Very good, I’ll go,” said the Fool.

He took his dog and started. A man met him on the road.

“Where art thou going, Ivan?”

“To find service,” said he; “to hire out.”

“Come, work for me.”

“Very well,” said Ivan.

They agreed, and Ivan went again to work; and that man had a cat with kittens. One of the kittens pleased the Fool, and he trained it. The time came for payment.

Ivan the Fool said to this man: “I need not thy money, but give me that kitten.”

“If thou wilt have it,” said the man.

Now the Fool went home, and his mother cried more than before. “All people are people, but thou wert born a fool. We had nothing to eat, and now we must support two useless lives!”

It was bitter for Ivan to hear this. He took his dog and cat and went out into the field. He saw in the middle of the field a fire burning in a great pile of wood,—such an awful pile of wood! When he drew nearer he saw that a snake was squirming in it, burning on hot coals.

The snake screamed to him in a human voice: “Oh, Ivan the Fool, save me! I will give thee a great ransom for my life.”

Ivan took a stick and raised the snake out of the fire.

When he had thrown it out, there stood before him, not a snake, but a beautiful maiden; and she said: “Thanks to thee, Ivanushka. Thou hast done me great service; I will do thee still greater. We will go,” said she, “to my mother. She will offer thee copper money: do not take it, because it is coals, and not money; she will offer thee silver coin: do not take that either, for that will be chips, and not silver; she will bring out to thee gold: take not even that, because instead of gold it is potsherds and broken bricks. But ask of her in reward the ring with twelve screws. It will be hard for her to give it; but be firm, she will give it for my sake.”

Behold, all took place as she said. Though the old woman grew very angry, she gave the ring. Ivan was going along through the field, thinking, “What shall I do with this ring?”

He was looking at it, when that same young girl caught up with him and said: “Ivan, whatever thou wishest, thou wilt have. Only stand in the evening on the threshold, loosen all the twelve screws, and before thee twelve thousand men will appear: whatever thou wishest, command; all will be done.”

Ivan went home, said nothing to his mother, sat on the stove, lay in the ashes with unwiped nose. Evening came; they lay down to sleep.

Ivan waited for the hour, went on the threshold, unscrewed the twelve screws, and twelve thousand men stood before him. “Thou art our master, we are thy men: declare thy soul’s desire.”

Said Ivan to the men: “Have it made that on this very spot a castle shall stand such as there is not in the world, and that I sleep on a bedstead of gold, on down of swans, and that my mother sleep in like manner; that coachmen, outriders, servants, and all kinds of powerful people be walking in my court and serving me.”

“Lie down for thyself in God’s name,” said the men; “all will be done at thy word.”

Ivan the Fool woke up next morning, and was frightened even himself. He looked around; he was sleeping on a golden bedstead on down of swans, and there were lofty chambers and so rich that even the Tsar had not such. In the court-yard were walking coachmen, outriders, servants, and all kinds of mighty and important people who were serving him. The Fool was amazed, and thought, “This is good.” He looked in the mirror, and did not know his own self; he had become a beauty that could not be described with a pen or be told of in a tale. As was fitting, the lord was as fine as his chambers.

When the Tsar woke up at the same hour,—and the Tsar lived in that town,—he looked, and behold opposite his palace stood a castle just gleaming in gold.

The Tsar sent to learn whose it was. “Let the owner come to me,” said he, “and show what sort of man he is.”

They informed Ivan, and he said: “Tell him that this is the castle of Ivan Tsarevich; and if he wants to see me, he is not so great a lord, let him come himself.”

There was no help for it. The Tsar had to go to Ivan the Fool’s castle. They became acquainted, and after that Ivan the Fool went to the Tsar. The Tsar had a most beautiful young Tsarevna of a daughter, and she brought refreshments to Ivan; and right there she pleased him greatly, and straightway he begged the Tsar to give her in marriage to him. Now the Tsar in his turn began to put on airs.

“Give her,—why not give her? But thou, Ivan Tsarevich, perform a service for me. My daughter is not of common stock, and therefore she must marry only the very best among the whole people. Arrange this for me, that from thy castle to mine there be a golden road, and that I have a bridge over the river,—not a common one, but such a bridge that one side shall be of gold, and the other of silver; and let all kinds of rare birds be swimming on the river,—geese and swans; and on the other side of the river let there be a church,—not a simple one, but one all wax,—and let there grow around it wax apple-trees and bear ripe apples. If thou do this, my daughter shall be thine; and if not, blame thyself.” (“Well,” thought the Tsar, “I have joked enough with Ivan Tsarevich;” but he kept his own counsel.)

“Agreed,” said Ivan. “Now do thou make ready the wedding to-morrow.” With that he departed.

In the evening, when all had lain down to sleep, he stood on the threshold, unscrewed all the screws in the ring: twelve thousand men stood before him.

“Thou art our master, we are thy men: command what thy soul desires.”

“Thus and thus,” said he; “I want this and that.”

“All right,” said they; “lie down with God.”

In the morning the Tsar woke up, went to the window; but his eyes were dazzled. He sprang back six paces. That meant that the bridge was there, one side silver, the other gold, just blazing and shining. On the river were geese and swans and every rare bird. On the opposite bank stood a church of white wax, and around the church apple-trees, but without leaves; the naked branches were sticking up.

“Well,” thought the Tsar, “the trick has failed; we must prepare our daughter for the wedding.”

They arrayed her and drove to the church. When they were driving from the palace, buds began to come out on the apple-trees; when they were crossing the bridge, the apple-trees were coming into leaf; when they were driving up to the church, white blossoms were bursting forth on the trees; and when the time came to go home from the marriage ceremony, the servants and all kinds of people met them, gave them ripe apples on a golden salver. Then they began to celebrate the wedding. Feasts and balls were given; they had a feast which lasted three days and three nights.

After that, whether it was a short time or a long one, the Tsarevna began to tease Ivan. “Tell me, my dear husband, how dost thou do all this? How dost thou build a bridge in one night, and a wax church?”

Ivan the Fool would not tell her for a long time; but as he loved her very much, and she begged very hard, he said: “I have a ring with twelve screws, and it must be handled in such and such fashion.”

Well, they lived on. The misery of the matter was this: one of their servants pleased the Tsarevna,—he was a fine-looking, shapely, strong fellow, and she conspired with him to rob her husband, take away the ring, and the two would then go to live beyond the sea.

As soon as evening came she took out the ring quietly, stood on the threshold, and unscrewed the twelve screws: twelve thousand men stood before her.

“Thou art our mistress, we are thy men: command what thy soul desires.”

She said: “Take this castle for me and bear it beyond the sea, with all that is in it; and on this spot let the old cabin stand, with my ragged husband, Ivan the Fool, inside.”

“Lie down with God,” said the men; “all will be done on thy word.”

Next morning Ivan woke up, looked around. He was lying on a bark mat, covered with a ragged coat, and not a sign of his castle. He began to cry bitterly, and went to the Tsar, his father-in-law. He came to the palace, asked to announce to the Tsar that his son-in-law had come. When the Tsar saw him he said: “Oh, thou this and that kind of breechesless fellow, what son-in-law art thou to me? My sons-in-law live in golden chambers and ride in silver carriages. Take him and wall him up in a stone pillar.”

It was commanded and done. They took Ivan and walled him up in a stone pillar. But the cat and the dog did not leave him, they were there too, and dug out a hole for themselves; through the hole they gave food to Ivan. But one time they thought: “Why do we sit here, dog and cat, with folded hands? Let’s run beyond the sea and get the ring.”

As they decided to do that, they did it. They swam through the sea, found their castle. The Tsarevna was walking in the garden with the servant, laughing at her husband.

“Well, do thou remain here a while, and I’ll go to the chamber and get the ring,” said the cat; and she went her way, mi-au, mi-au, under the door. The Tsarevna heard her, and said: “Ah, here is that scoundrel’s cat; let her in and feed her.” They let her in and fed her. The cat walked through the chambers all the time and looked for the ring. She saw on the stove a glass box, and in the box the ring.

The cat was delighted. “Glory be to God!” thought she. “Now only wait for night; I’ll get the ring, and then for home!”

When all had lain down, the cat sprang on to the stove and threw down the glass box; it fell, and was broken. She caught the ring in her mouth and hid under the door. All in the house were roused; the Tsarevna herself got up, and saw that the box was broken.

“Oh!” said she, “it must be the cat of that scoundrel broke it. Drive her out; drive her out!”

They chased out the cat, and she was glad; she ran to the dog.

“Well, brother dog,” said she, “I have the ring. Now if we could only get home quickly!”

They swam through the sea, were a long time swimming. When the dog was tired, he sat on the cat; when the cat was tired, she sat on the dog; and so they worked on and it was not far from land. But the dog was growing weak. The cat saw this, and said, “Sit thou on me; thou art tired.” The minute she said this the ring fell out of her mouth into the water. What was to be done? They swam to shore and wept tears. Meanwhile they grew hungry. The dog ran through the field and caught sparrows for himself, and the cat ran along the shore catching little fish thrown up by the waves; that was how she fed herself.

But all at once the cat cried out: “Oh, thou dog, come here quickly to me; I have found the ring! I caught a fish, began to eat it, and in the fish was the ring.”

Now they were both powerfully glad; they ran to Ivan and brought him the ring.

Ivan waited till evening, unscrewed all the twelve screws, and twelve thousand men stood before him.

“Thou art our master, we are thy men: tell us to do what thy soul desires.”

“Break in a minute this stone pillar so that dust from it shall not remain; and from beyond the sea bring hither my castle with all who are in it, and every one as sleeping now, and put it in the old place.”

Straightway all this was done. In the morning Ivan went to his father-in-law. The Tsar met him, seated him in the first place, and said: “Where hast thou been pleased to pass thy time, my dear son-in-law?”

“I was beyond the sea,” said Ivan.

“That’s it,” said the Tsar, “beyond the sea. ’Tis clear that thou hadst pressing business, for thou didst not come to take farewell of thy father-in-law. But while thou wert gone, some sort of bare-legged fellow came to me and called himself my son-in-law. I gave command to wall him up in a stone pillar; he has perished there, doubtless. Well, beloved son-in-law, where hast thou been pleased to spend thy time; what sights hast thou seen?”

“I have seen,” said Ivan, “various sights; and beyond the sea there was an affair of such kind that no man knew how to settle it.”

“What was the affair?”

“Well, this is the kind of affair it was; and if thou art a wise man, decide it according to thy wisdom of Tsar: A husband had a wife, and while he was living she found a sweetheart for herself; she robbed her husband, and went away with the sweetheart beyond the sea; and now she is with that man. What, to thy thinking, should be done with that wife?”

“According to my wisdom of Tsar I will utter the following sentence: Tie them both to the tails of horses, and let the horses loose in the open field,—let that be their punishment.”

“If that is thy judgment, very well,” said Ivan. “Come with me as a guest; I will show thee other sights and another wonder.”

They went to Ivan’s castle, and found there the Tsar’s daughter and the servant. As Ivan had commanded, they were still asleep.

There was no help for it; according to the word of the Tsar they tied them both to the tails of horses and urged the horses into the open field,—that was their punishment. But Ivan afterwards married that beautiful, most beautiful maiden whom he had saved from the fire, and they began to live and win wealth.

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THE FOOTLESS AND THE BLIND.

IN a certain kingdom, in a certain state, lived a terrible Tsar. He was famed through all lands,—a terror to kings and princes. The Tsar took a thought to marry, and published an order in every town and village that whoever would find him a bride ruddier than the sun, fairer than the moon, and whiter than snow, would be rewarded with countless wealth. The report of this went through the whole kingdom; and from small to great, all were talking and thinking, but no one offered to find such a beauty.

Not far from the king’s castle was a large brewery. The working-men came together for some reason, and began to say that a man might get much money from the Tsar, but where could such a bride be found?

“Well, brothers,” said a man, Nikita Koltoma by name, “no one can find a bride for the Tsar without my help; but if I undertake it, then he will find her without fail.”

“What art thou boasting of, thou fool? How couldst thou do that deed? There are famous and rich people, not the like of us, and they are afraid. Thou couldst not do it in a dream, much less in thy senses.”

“Well, say what ye please; but I have faith in myself,” said he, “and I’ll get her.”

“Ah, Nikita, don’t boast; thou knowest our Tsar is terrible, and for an empty boast he will put thee to death.”

“He won’t put me to death; he will reward me with money.”

They reported these speeches to the Tsar himself. He was delighted, and gave command to bring Nikita before his bright eyes. The soldiers ran, seized Nikita Koltoma, and hurried him to the palace. His comrades called after him: “Well, brother, thou hast said it; thou thinkest to joke with the Tsar: go now and give answer.”

They brought Nikita to the great palace, and the terrible Tsar said to him: “Thou, Nikita, dost boast that thou art able to find me a bride ruddier than the sun, fairer than the moon, and whiter than snow.”

“I can, your Majesty.”

“Very well, brother. If thou wilt do me that service, I will reward thee with countless treasure and make thee first minister; but if thou hast lied, I have a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders.”

“I am glad to serve thee, Great Tsar; but command that I have a holiday for a whole month.”

The Tsar consented, and gave over his own signature an open order to Nikita, commanding that in all eating-houses and inns they should give him gratis all kinds of food and drink.

Nikita went through the capital to enjoy himself. Whatever inn he entered, he showed the paper; immediately they brought him everything that his soul desired. He caroused one day, a second, a third; a week, a second, a third week. And now the term is passed; ’tis time to go to the Tsar.

Nikita took farewell of his friends, went to the palace, and asked the Tsar to collect for him twelve brave youths, the same in stature, in hair, and in voice, and to prepare besides thirteen white woven tents with golden embroidery. Everything was soon ready; the young men were collected at once, and the tents made.

“Now, Great Tsar,” said Nikita, “get ready, and we will go for the bride.”

They saddled their good steeds, packed the tents on the horses. After that they had a prayer in the church, took leave of the people of the town, sat on their steeds, and galloped away; nothing but a pillar of dust behind them. They travelled one day, a second, and a third. In the open field was a forge. Said Nikita: “Go straight ahead with God, and I will run into the forge and smoke a pipe.” He entered the forge; fifteen blacksmiths were forging iron inside, striking with their hammers.

“God aid you, brothers!”

“God save thee, good man!”

“Make me a staff fifteen poods[3] weight.”

“To make it we are not unwilling; but who will turn the iron? Fifteen poods are no joke.”

“That is nothing, brothers; you beat with the hammers, and I’ll turn the iron.”

The blacksmiths went to work and forged an iron staff of fifteen poods. Nikita took the rod, went out into the field, and threw it up ninety feet, held out his hand; the iron staff fell on his hand, but was not equal to the strength of the hero, it broke in two. Nikita Koltoma paid the blacksmiths for their work, threw the broken rod to them, and rode away. He caught up with his comrades. They travelled three days more; again there was a forge in the open field.

“Go on, I will enter this forge,” said Nikita. He went into the forge. Twenty-five blacksmiths were working inside, forging iron, pounding with their hammers.

“God aid thee, boys!”

“God save thee, good man!”

“Make me a staff twenty-five poods in weight.”

“To forge is no trouble; but where is the man with strength to turn so much iron?”

“I will turn it myself.”

He took the twenty-five poods weight of iron, heated it red hot, and turned it on the anvil while the blacksmiths pounded with their hammers. They made a staff twenty-five poods in weight. Nikita took that staff, went out into the open field, threw it up one hundred and fifty feet, and held out his hand: the staff struck the hero’s hand and broke in two.

“No, this will not do,” said Nikita. He paid for the work, sat on his horse, and rode away. He overtook his comrades. They travelled a day, a second, and a third. Again there was a forge in the open field.

“Go on,” said Nikita; “I will smoke a pipe in this forge.”

He entered the forge, where fifty blacksmiths were tormenting an old man. A gray-haired old man was lying on the anvil; ten men were holding him with pincers by the beard, and forty men were pounding him on the sides with hammers.

“Have pity on me, brothers!” cried the old man, with all his strength. “Leave the life in me to do penance!”

“God aid you!” said Nikita.

“God aid thee, good man!” said the blacksmiths.

“Why are ye tormenting the old man?”

“Because he owes each one of us a rouble, and he will not pay it. Why shouldn’t we beat him?”

“What an unfortunate man,” thought Nikita; “for fifty roubles he suffers such torment!” And he said to the blacksmiths: “Listen, brothers: I’ll pay you for him; let the old man go.”

“Agreed, good man; it is all the same to us from whom we get the money, so that we have it.”

Nikita took out fifty roubles. The blacksmiths took the money, and the moment they freed the old man out of the iron pincers, he vanished from the eye. Nikita looked. “But where is the old man?”

“Oh, look for him now; he is a wizard!”

Nikita ordered them to forge an iron staff of fifty poods. He hurled it up three hundred feet, and held out his hand: the staff stood the test, did not break. “This will do,” said Nikita, and rode off to overtake his comrades. All at once he heard a voice behind him. Nikita Koltoma stopped; he looked around, and saw the same old man running after him.

“Thanks to thee,” said the old man, “for saving me from cruel torture; I suffered that misery for thirty years exactly. Here is a present to remember me by,—take it; it will be of use to thee;” and he gave him a cap of invisibility. “Just put it on thy head; no man will see thee.”

Nikita took the cap, thanked the old man, and galloped on. He overtook his comrades, and all rode together. Whether it was long or short, near or far, they came to a castle; around the castle was a great iron paling; there was no way to enter, on foot or on horseback. The terrible Tsar said: “Well, brother Nikita, there is no passage farther.”

Nikita Koltoma answered: “Why not, Great Tsar? I’ll go through the whole world but I’ll find thee a bride. This paling is no stop to us. Now, boys, break the paling; open the gate to the wide court!”

The good youths came down from their horses and went at the paling; but no matter what they did, they could not break it, it stood fast.

“Oh, brothers,” said Nikita, “ye sail in shallow water! No use in my depending on you; I must work myself.”

Nikita sprang from his horse, went to the paling, took it with his heroic hand, pulled once,—the whole paling was on the ground. The terrible Tsar and the young men rode in on the broad court, and there on the green meadow they put up their white woven, gold-embroidered tents, ate what God sent them, lay down, and from weariness slept a sound sleep. Each one had a tent, but there was none for Nikita Koltoma; he found three worn bark mats, made himself a little hut, lay down on the bare ground. As to sleeping, he slept not; he waited for what would be.

At the morning dawn Yelena the Beautiful woke up in her chamber, looked out through her lattice-window, and saw that thirteen white woven tents were standing on her green meadow, and in front of all a small hut of bark rugs.

“What is this?” thought the Tsarevna; “whence have these guests come? See, the iron paling is broken!”

Yelena the Beautiful was terribly enraged; she called her powerful, mighty hero, and said: “To horse this minute! Ride to the tents and give all those disobedient scoundrels to a cruel death; throw their bodies over the fence, and bring the tents to me.”

The powerful, mighty hero saddled his good steed, put on his battle-armor, and went toward the unbidden guests. Nikita Koltoma saw him. “Who goes?” asked he.

“And who art thou, rude fellow, that askest?”

These words did not please Nikita. He sprang out of his hut, caught the hero by the foot, dragged him from the horse to the damp earth, raised his iron staff of fifty poods, gave him one blow, and said: “Go now to thy Tsarevna, tell her to stop her pride, not to waste her men, but to marry our terrible Tsar.”

The hero galloped back, glad that Nikita had left him alive, came to the castle, and said to the Tsarevna: “Men of immeasurable strength have come to our place. They ask thee for their terrible Tsar in marriage, and commanded me to tell thee to put an end to thy pride, not to waste thy army in vain, and to marry their Tsar.”

When Yelena the Beautiful heard such bold speeches she was roused. She summoned her great, mighty heroes, and began to command them all: “My trusty servants, assemble a countless army, take down these white tents, kill these unbidden guests, that the dust of them be not here.”

The great, mighty heroes did not stop long. They collected a countless army, sat on their heroic steeds, and bore down on the white woven, gold-embroidered tents.

As soon as they came to the bark hut, Nikita Koltoma sprang out before them, took his iron staff of fifty poods, and began to wave it at them in different directions. In a little while he had killed the whole army, and of the great, mighty heroes he left but one alive. “Go,” said he, “to thy Tsarevna, Yelena the Beautiful, and tell her not to waste her army further. She cannot frighten us with armies. Now I have fought with you alone; what will happen to your kingdom when my comrades wake? We will not leave a stone upon a stone; we will scatter everything over the open field.”

The hero returned to the Tsarevna and said: “Thy whole army is slain; against such champions no power can avail.” Yelena the Beautiful sent to invite the terrible Tsar to the castle, and then ordered that the sharp arrow be ready; went herself to meet the guests with grace, with honor. The Tsarevna moves on to meet them, and behind her fifty men are bearing the bow and the arrow. Nikita Koltoma saw that that was a hero’s bow, and knew at once that it was intended to treat them to the arrow. He put on the cap of invisibility, drew the bow, and aimed the arrow at the Tsarevna’s chamber. In one moment he knocked off the whole top of her castle.

There was no help for her now. Yelena the Beautiful took the terrible Tsar by the hand, led him to the white-walled chambers, seated him and his men at the oaken tables with the spread cloths. They began to drink, to eat and rejoice. In the chambers were wonderful ornaments; the whole world might be searched, and the like wouldst thou find nowhere.

After dinner Nikita said to the terrible Tsar: “Does the young woman please thee, or shall we go for another?”

“No, Nikita, there is no use in travelling for nothing; there is not a better than this in the whole world.”

“Well, then, marry now she is in our hands. But look out, Great Tsar, don’t be caught napping. The first three nights she will try thy strength; she will put her hand on thee and press mightily, mightily: thou canst not endure it in any way. At these times hurry out of the chamber; I’ll take thy place and soon tame her.”

They set about the wedding, and Tsars have not to make mead or wine; all was on hand. They had the wedding, and the terrible Tsar went to the chamber of Yelena the Beautiful. He reclined on a couch.

Yelena put her hand on his breast and asked: “Is my hand heavy?”

“It is as heavy as a feather on water,” answered the terrible Tsar; but he could barely draw breath, so had she pressed his breast. “Wait, I have forgotten to give an order; I must give it now.” He left the chamber.

Nikita was standing at the door outside. “Well, brother, thou didst speak truly; she came very near putting the breath out of me.”

“Never mind, I’ll settle the matter; stay here.”

Nikita entered the dark chamber, lay on the couch. Yelena thought the Tsar had returned. She put her hand on his breast, pressed and pressed; could do nothing. She put on both hands, and pressed more than before. Nikita Koltoma, like a man in sleep, caught her and hurled her to the floor, so that the whole castle shook. The Tsarevna got up, went quietly to her bed, and fell asleep.

Now Nikita slipped out to the Tsar and said: “Go in boldly; she will do nothing till to-morrow.”

With Nikita’s aid the Tsar escaped the second and the third time, and then lived as was proper with Yelena the Beautiful. Neither a long nor a short time passed, but Yelena the Beautiful discovered that the terrible Tsar had deceived her, that his strength was not great, that people were laughing at her, that Nikita was the man who had conquered her. She was in a terrible rage, and hid in her heart a cruel revenge.

The Tsar had in mind to go to his own kingdom, and said: “We have stayed here long enough; it is time to go home. Make ready for the road.”

They prepared to go by the sea, and had a ship laden with various precious things. They went on board, and sailed out on the sea; sailed one day, sailed a second, then a third. The Tsar was delighted; he could not rejoice sufficiently that he was taking home a Tsaritsa ruddier than the sun, fairer than the moon, whiter than snow. But Yelena the Beautiful was thinking her own thought,—thinking how to pay for the insult.

At that time an heroic slumber overcame Nikita, and he slept for twelve whole days and nights. When the Tsaritsa saw Nikita in this sleep, she summoned her trusty servants, commanded them to cut off his legs to the knee, put him in a boat, and push him out into the sea. Before her eyes they cut off the legs of the sleeping Nikita, put him in a boat, and pushed him out to sea.

On the thirteenth day poor Nikita woke. He looked around,—water everywhere; he was lying without feet, and no trace of the ship.

Meanwhile the ship sailed on, sailed on. At last the harbor was before them. The cannon thundered, the people ran together. The merchants and boyars met the Tsar with bread and salt, and congratulated him on his marriage. The Tsar called guests, gave feasts, and forgot to think of Nikita. Little time had he left to rejoice. Yelena the Beautiful soon seized his kingdom, took the management of all to herself, and forced him to herd pigs. The wrath of the Tsaritsa was not allayed with this; she gave command to make search on every side for relatives of Nikita Koltoma, and if any were found to bring them to the palace.

Messengers galloped and searched everywhere. They found a brother of Nikita,—Timoféi Koltoma; they brought him to the palace. Yelena the Beautiful gave command to take out his eyes and drive him from the town.

When they had blinded Timoféi they led him outside the town and left him in the open field. The blind man dragged along, found his way by feeling; he went and went, till he came to the sea-shore, advanced a step or two, and felt water under his feet. He halted, stood on one spot, moved neither backward nor forward; he was afraid to go. All at once the boat with Nikita was borne toward the shore. Nikita saw a man, was rejoiced, and called to him: “Ei! good man; help me to land.”

The blind man answered: “Gladly would I help thee, but I cannot. I am without eyes; I see nothing.”

“But whence art thou, and what is thy name?”

“I am Timoféi Koltoma. The new Tsaritsa, Yelena the Beautiful, had my eyes put out, and drove me from her kingdom.”

“Ah! but thou art my own brother; I am Nikita Koltoma. Go thou, Timoféi, to the right side,—there a tall oak is growing; pull out the oak, bring it here, and throw it from the shore into the water. I will creep out upon it to thee.”

Timoféi turned to the right, stepped forward, and found the tall old oak, seized it with both hands, pulled it out by the roots, drew the oak, and threw it into the water. The tree lay with one end on land, the other came down near the boat. Nikita crept out on shore somehow, kissed his brother, and said: “How is our terrible Tsar living now?”

“Oh, brother,” answered Timoféi, “our terrible Tsar is now in great straits,—he is herding pigs in the field! Every morning he gets a pound of bread, a jug of water, and three rods on his back.”

Then they talked about how they were to live and how to support themselves. Said Nikita: “Hear, brother, my advice: thou wilt carry me, because I am footless, and I will sit on thee and tell thee where to go.”

“Agreed; be it as thou sayest. Though we are both maimed, we shall serve for one sound man.”

So Nikita sat on his brother’s shoulders and showed him the way. Timoféi walked and walked, and came into a slumbering forest. In that forest stood the cabin of Baba-Yaga. The brothers entered the cabin; there was not a soul inside.

“Well, brother,” said Nikita, “feel in the oven. Isn’t there some food?”

Timoféi crawled to the oven, took out every kind of food, put it on the table, and they both began to put the food away; from hunger they ate everything clean. Then Nikita began to examine the cabin. He saw on the window a small whistle, placed it to his lips and began to whistle. He looks—what sort of wonder! His blind brother is dancing, the cabin is dancing, the table, the dishes are dancing, everything dancing; the pots were broken into bits.

“Enough, Nikita, stop playing,” begged the blind man; “my strength can hold out no longer.”

Nikita stopped whistling, and that moment everything was silent. All at once the door opened, in walked Baba-Yaga, and she screamed with a loud voice: “Oh, homeless vagrants, to this minute not a bird has flown past, nor a beast run by here; and ye have come, devoured my food, broken my pots! Very good; I’ll settle with you!”

“Silence, old carrion! We shall be able to settle with thee ourselves. Here, brother Timoféi, hold the old witch firmly!”

Timoféi caught the Baba-Yaga in his arms, squeezed her hard, hard; but Nikita seized her that moment by the hair and dragged her through the cabin.

“Oh, fathers,” begged Baba-Yaga, “I’ll be of use to you myself; whatever ye want I’ll get you!”

“Well, then, old woman, speak. Canst thou get us healing and living water? If thou gettest it, I’ll let thee go alive into the white world; if not, then I’ll give thee to a cruel death.”

Baba-Yaga agreed, and led them to two springs. “Here are for you the healing and living water.”

Nikita Koltoma took the healing water, poured it on himself, and his legs grew out. They were quite healthy, but wouldn’t move. He took living water, moistened his legs, and began to use them. The same happened to Timoféi Koltoma: he washed the hollows of his eyes with healing water, eyes came in his head just as if they had never been injured, but saw nothing; he washed them with the living water, and they began to see better than ever.

The brothers thanked the old woman, let her go home, and went to liberate the terrible Tsar from suffering and misfortune. They came to the capital town and saw that the Tsar was herding pigs in front of the castle. Nikita Koltoma began to blow on the whistle, and the herdsman with the pigs fell to dancing. Yelena the Beautiful saw this from the window; she was furious, and gave command to take a bunch of rods and flog the pigherd and the musicians.

The guard ran out, seized them, brought them to the castle to treat them to rods. When Nikita Koltoma came to Yelena the Beautiful he made no delay, but seized her white hands and said: “Dost know me, Yelena the Beautiful? I am Nikita Koltoma. Well, terrible Tsar, she is in thy power; what thou wishest, that do.”

The Tsar gave command to shoot her, and he made Nikita his first minister; he honored him always, and obeyed him in all things.

Go to notes

KOSHCHÉI WITHOUT-DEATH.

THERE was a Tsar who had one son, and when the Tsarevich was an infant his nurses and maids used to sing to him, “Baiyú, baiyú, Ivan Tsarevich; when thou’lt grow up a man thou’lt find thee a bride in the thirtieth kingdom, beyond the thrice ninth land, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, and her marrow flows from bone to bone.”

Fifteen years had passed for the Tsarevich, and he went to ask leave to search for his bride. “Where wilt thou go?” asked his father. “Thou art still too small.”

“No, father; when I was small the nurses and maids sang to me, and told where my bride lives; and now I am going to find her.”

The Tsar gave his blessing and sent word to all kingdoms that his son, Ivan Tsarevich, was going for his bride.

Well, the Tsarevich came to a town, gave his horse to be cared for, and went himself to walk along the streets. He walked, and saw that on the square they were punishing a man with a whip. “Why,” asked he, “do ye flog him?”

“Because,” answered they, “he went in debt ten thousand to an eminent merchant, and did not pay in season. And whoso redeems him, that man’s wife Koshchéi Without-Death will bear away.”

Now the Tsarevich thought and thought, and then went off. As he was walking through the town he came out again on the square, and they were still beating that man. Ivan Tsarevich pitied him and resolved to redeem him.

“I have no wife,” thought Ivan; “there is no one to take from me.” He paid the ten thousand and went to his lodgings.

All at once the man whom he had redeemed ran after him and called: “God save thee, Ivan Tsarevich! If thou hadst not redeemed me, thou couldest not have gained thy bride in a lifetime; but now I will help thee. Buy me a horse and saddle straightway.”

The Tsarevich bought him a horse and saddle, and asked: “What is thy name?”

“They call me Bulat the hero.”

They sat on the horses, went their way and road. When they came to the thirtieth kingdom, Bulat said: “Well, Ivan Tsarevich, give orders to buy and roast chickens, ducks, and geese, so that there may be plenty of everything, and I will go to get thy bride. And see to it: every time I run to thee, cut the right wing of a bird, and hand it to me on a plate.”

Bulat the hero went to the lofty tower where Vassilissa Kirbítyevna was sitting, threw a stone lightly, and broke the summit of the gilded tower. He ran to the Tsarevich and said to him: “What, art thou sleeping? Give me a hen.”

Ivan Tsarevich cut off the right wing and gave it on a plate. Bulat took the plate, ran to the tower, and cried out: “Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna! Ivan Tsarevich gave command to bow to thee, and asked me to give thee this hen.”

Vassilissa was frightened, and sat in silence. Bulat gave answer to himself instead of her: “Hail, Bulat the hero! Is Ivan Tsarevich in good health?

“Glory be to God, in good health.

“But why stand there, Bulat the hero? Take the key, open the cupboard, drink a glass of vodka, and go with God.”

Bulat the hero ran to Ivan Tsarevich and said: “Art sitting here? Give me a duck.”

He cut off the wing, and gave it on a plate.

Bulat bore it to the tower and said: “Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna! Ivan Tsarevich gave command to bow to thee, and sent thee this duck.”

She sat there, said nothing; but he answered instead of her: “Hail, Bulat the hero! Is Ivan Tsarevich well?

“Glory be to God, he is well.

“But why stand there, Bulat the hero? Take the key, open the cupboard, drink a glass, and go with God.”

Bulat ran again to Ivan Tsarevich. “Art thou sitting here? Give me a goose.”

Ivan cut off the right wing and gave it on a plate. Bulat the hero bore it to the tower. “Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna! Ivan Tsarevich gave command to bow to thee, and sent thee this goose.”

Vassilissa Kirbítyevna took the key quickly, opened the cupboard, and reached a glass of vodka. Bulat the hero took not the glass, but seized the maiden by the right hand, drew her out of the tower, and seated her on the Tsarevich’s steed. They galloped away, the good hero and the beautiful soul-maiden, with all horse-speed.

Next morning Tsar Kirbít woke and rose. He saw that the top of the tower was broken and his daughter stolen; he grew powerfully angry, and gave command to pursue over all roads and ways.

Whether our heroes travelled much or little, Bulat took the ring from his hand, hid it, and said: “Go on, Ivan Tsarevich; but I will turn back and look for my ring.”

Vassilissa Kirbítyevna began to implore: “Do not leave us, Bulat the hero; if it please thee, thou shalt have my ring.”

“Impossible, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; my ring was priceless. My own mother gave it me, and when giving, she said: ‘Wear and lose it not; forget not thy mother.’”

Bulat the hero galloped back and met the pursuers on the road. He slew them all straightway, left but one man to take news to the Tsar, hurried back, and caught up with the Tsarevich.

Whether they went much or little, Bulat hid his handkerchief and said: “Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, I have lost my handkerchief! Ride on thy road and way; I will soon come up with thee.”

He turned back, went some versts, and met pursuers twice as many; he slew them all, and returned to Ivan, who asked: “Hast found the handkerchief?”

“I have found it.”

Dark night overtook them. They pitched a tent; Bulat lay down to sleep, left Ivan Tsarevich on guard, and said to him: “If need be, rouse me.”

Ivan Tsarevich stood and stood, grew tired; sleep began to bend him; he sat down at the tent and fell asleep.

From wherever he came, Koshchéi Without-Death bore away Vassilissa Kirbítyevna. Ivan Tsarevich woke up at dawn, saw that his bride was gone, and began to weep bitterly. Bulat the hero woke up and asked: “Why art thou weeping?”

“Why should I not weep? Some one has borne away Vassilissa Kirbítyevna.”

“I told thee to keep watch. That is the work of Koshchéi Without-Death. Let us set out in search of her.”

Long and long did they ride, till they saw two shepherds herding a flock. “Whose herd is that?”

The herdsmen answered: “This is the herd of Koshchéi Without-Death.”

Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich asked the herdsmen if Koshchéi Without-Death lived far from there, how to go to his house, what time they went home with the flock, and how they shut it in. Then they came down from their horses, wrung the necks of the shepherds, dressed themselves in their clothes, drove the herd home, and stood at the gate.

Ivan Tsarevich had a gold ring on one of his fingers, Vassilissa had given it to him. Vassilissa had a goat, and she washed herself morning and evening with the milk of that goat. The maid ran with a vessel, milked the goat, and was carrying the milk. Bulat took the Tsarevich’s ring and threw it into the vessel.

“Oh, my dove,” said the maid, “thou art getting impudent!” She came to Vassilissa Kirbítyevna and complained. “Now,” said she, “the herdsmen have begun to make sport of us,—they threw a ring into the milk.”

“Leave the milk; I will strain it myself,” said Vassilissa. She strained the milk, saw the ring, and gave command to send the herdsmen to her. The herdsmen came.

“Hail, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna!” said Bulat the hero.

“Hail, Bulat the hero! Be well, Tsarevich! How did God bring you?”

“We came for thee, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; thou wilt hide from us nowhere. We should find thee even on the bottom of the sea.”

She seated them at the table, gave them every sort of food and all kinds of wine.

Said Bulat the hero: “When Koshchéi comes home from hunting, ask him, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, where his death is. And now it would not be amiss for us to hide.”

As soon as the guests had hidden, Koshchéi Without-Death was flying home from the hunt. “Tfu-tfu!” said he; “of old there wasn’t a sign of Russia to be heard with hearing or seen with sight; but now Russia runs into one’s eyes and mouth.”

Said Vassilissa: “Thou hast been flying through Russia thyself, and art full of its odor; so to thy thinking dost find it here.”

Koshchéi ate his dinner and lay down to rest. Vassilissa came to him, threw herself on his neck, fondled him, and kissed him, saying: “My dear love, hardly was I able to wait for thee. I did not expect to see thee alive; I feared that savage beasts had devoured thee.”

Koshchéi laughed aloud. “Simple woman! her hair is long, but her wit is short. Could savage beasts eat me?”

“But where is thy death, then?”

“My death is in the broom which lies around at the threshold.”

As soon as Koshchéi had flown away, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna ran to Ivan Tsarevich.

Bulat asked: “Well, where is Koshchéi’s death?”

“In a broom thrown around at the threshold.”

“No, he lies with design; thou must ask him more cunningly.”

Vassilissa Kirbítyevna formed a plan. She took the broom, gilded it, adorned it with various ribbons, and placed it on the table. When Koshchéi Without-Death flew home, he saw the broom on the table, and asked why that was done.

“How was it possible,” answered Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, “that thy death should roll around at the threshold? Better let it lie on the table.”

“Ha, ha, ha! The woman is simple; her hair is long, but her wit is short! Could my death be here?”

“Where is it, then?”

“My death is hidden in the goat.”

As soon as Koshchéi went off to the hunt, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna took the goat and adorned it with ribbons and bells, and gilded its horns. Koshchéi saw the goat; again he laughed. “Oh, the woman is simple; her hair is long, but her wit is short!”

“My death is far from here. On the sea, on the ocean, is an island; on that island stands an oak; under the oak is buried a chest; in the chest is a hare, in the hare a duck, in the duck an egg, and in the egg my death,” said he, and flew away.

Vassilissa Kirbítyevna told all this to Ivan Tsarevich. They took supplies and went to find Koshchéi’s death. Whether they travelled long or short, they ate all their provisions and began to be hungry.

A dog with her whelps happened in their way. “I will kill her,” said Bulat the hero; “there is nothing else to eat.”

“Do not kill me,” said the dog, “do not make my children orphans, and I will serve thee myself.”

“Well, God be with thee.”

They went farther. On an oak was an eagle with eaglets. Said Bulat the hero: “I will kill the eagle.”

“Kill me not,” said the eagle, “make not my children orphans; I will serve thee myself.”

“Let it be so; live to thy health.”

They came to the ocean sea wide; on the shore a lobster was crawling. Said Bulat the hero: “I will kill it with a blow.”

“Strike me not, good hero; there is not much good in me. Wilt eat me, thou’lt not be satisfied. The time will come when I will serve thee myself.”

“Well, crawl off with God,” said Bulat the hero. He looked on the sea, saw a fisherman in a boat, and shouted, “Come to shore.” The fisherman brought the boat. Ivan Tsarevich and Bulat the hero sat in it and went to the island; they landed, and came to the oak. Bulat the hero caught the oak with his mighty hands and tore it out with the roots. They took the chest from under the oak, opened it; out of the chest sprang a hare, and ran with all its breath.

“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the dog were here now, she would catch the hare.”

Behold, the dog is bringing the hare. Bulat the hero tore it open; out of the hare flew the duck and rose high in the air.

“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the eagle were here, she would catch the duck.” And already the eagle was bringing the duck.

Bulat the hero tore open the duck; an egg rolled out and fell into the sea.

“Ah!” said Ivan Tsarevich, “if the lobster would pull it out.” The lobster was crawling and bringing the egg. They took the egg, went to Koshchéi Without-Death, struck him with the egg on the forehead; that moment he stretched out and died.

Ivan Tsarevich took Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, and they went their way. They travelled and travelled; dark night overtook them; they pitched their tent. Vassilissa Kirbítyevna lay down to rest. Said Bulat the hero, “Lie down too, Tsarevich, and I will stand guard.”

At dark midnight twelve doves appeared, struck wing against wing, and became maidens.

“Well, Bulat the hero and Ivan Tsarevich, ye killed our brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, ye carried away our sister-in-law, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; but no good will come to you either. When Ivan Tsarevich comes home, he will give command to bring out his favorite dog, the dog will break away from the keeper and tear the Tsarevich into small pieces; but whoso hears this and tells Ivan what we have said will become stone to the knees.”

In the morning Bulat the hero roused the Tsarevich and Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; they made ready and went their road and way. A second night overtook them; they pitched their tent in the open field. Again Bulat said: “Lie down to sleep, Ivan Tsarevich; I will stand guard.” In the dark midnight twelve doves came flying, they struck wing against wing, and became maidens.

“Well, Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich, ye killed our brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, ye carried away our sister-in-law; but no good will come to you, for when Ivan Tsarevich comes home he will give command to bring out his favorite horse, on which he has ridden since childhood. The horse will tear away from the groom and beat the Tsarevich to death; and whoso hears this and tells him will become stone to the girdle.”

Morning came, again they travelled on. A third night overtook them. They pitched their tent and stopped in the open field. Bulat said: “Lie down to sleep, Ivan Tsarevich; I will stand watch.” Again at midnight twelve doves came flying, struck wing against wing, and became maidens.

“Well, Bulat and Ivan Tsarevich, ye killed our brother, Koshchéi Without-Death, and carried away our sister-in-law; but no good will come to you. When Ivan Tsarevich comes home he will give command to lead out his favorite cow, on whose milk he has been nourished since childhood. She will tear away from the herder and raise the Tsarevich on her horns. But whoso sees and hears us, and tells him this, will become altogether stone.” They finished the sentence, turned into doves, and flew home.

In the morning Ivan Tsarevich and Vassilissa set out on the road. The Tsarevich came home, married Vassilissa Kirbítyevna; and in a day or two he said to her, “I will show thee my favorite dog, with which I played all the time when I was little.”

Bulat the hero took his sword, ground it sharp, sharp, and stood at the porch. They were bringing the dog. It tore away from the keeper and ran straight to the porch; but Bulat drew his sword and cut the dog in two. Ivan Tsarevich was angry, but for Bulat’s former service he was silent.

The next day he ordered them to bring out his favorite horse. The horse broke his halter, tore away from the groom, and galloped straight at Ivan Tsarevich. Bulat the hero cut off the horse’s head.

Ivan Tsarevich was still more in anger, and gave command to seize Bulat and hang him; but Vassilissa Kirbítyevna interceded. “Had it not been for him,” said she, “thou wouldst never have won me.”

On the third day the Tsarevich gave command to lead out his favorite cow. She tore away from the herder and ran straight at the Tsarevich. Bulat cut off her head too.

Now Ivan Tsarevich was so enraged that he would listen to no one, gave orders to call the headsman to put Bulat to death on the spot.

“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, if ’tis thy wish to put me to death by the executioner, better let me die of myself; only let me speak three speeches.”

Bulat told about the first night, how twelve doves flew to them in the open field, and what they said. That moment he was stone to the knees; he told of the second night, and was stone to the girdle. Now Ivan Tsarevich begged him not to speak to the end. Bulat answered: “’Tis all the same now, I am stone to the girdle; it is not worth while to live.” He told of the third night, and was all stone.

Ivan Tsarevich put him in a chamber apart, went there each day with Vassilissa, and wept bitterly.

Years passed on. Once Ivan Tsarevich was weeping over the stone hero Bulat, and heard a voice coming out of the stone: “Why dost thou weep? It is hard for me even as I am.”

“Why should I not weep? How can I help it? Thou knowest I destroyed thee.”

“If thou wishest, thou canst save me. Thou hast two children,—a son and a daughter. Kill them, pour their blood into a vessel, and rub this stone with the blood.”

Ivan Tsarevich told this to Vassilissa Kirbítyevna. They grieved and mourned; decided to kill their children. They killed them, gathered the blood, and rubbed the stone.

When Bulat the hero came to life he asked the Tsarevich and his wife, “Were ye grieved for the children?”

“We were grieved, Bulat.”

“Well, let us go to their room.”

They went, and behold, the children were alive! The father and mother were delighted, and in their delight gave a feast to all.

Go to notes

GO TO THE VERGE OF DESTRUCTION AND BRING BACK SHMAT-RAZUM.

IN a certain kingdom there lived a wifeless, unmarried king, who had a whole company of sharpshooters. They went to the forests, shot birds of passage, and furnished the king’s table with game. Among these sharpshooters was one named Fedot, who hit the mark and almost never missed; for this reason the king loved him beyond all his comrades.

Once while shooting in the early morning, just at dawn, Fedot went into a dark, dense forest, and saw a blue dove sitting on a tree. He aimed, fired, struck her wing, and she fell to the damp earth. The sharpshooter picked her up, was going to twist her neck and put her in his bag, when the blue dove spoke: “Oh, brave youth, do not tear off my stormy little head, do not send me out of the white world! Better take me alive, carry me home, put me on the window, and watch. As soon as sleep comes upon me strike me that moment with the back of thy right hand, and thou wilt gain great fortune.”

Fedot marvelled. “What can it mean?” thought he; “in seeming a bird, but she speaks with a human voice. Never has such a thing happened to me before.”

He brought the bird home, placed her on the window, and stood waiting. After a short time the bird put her head under her wing and fell asleep. The sharpshooter struck her lightly with the back of his right hand. The blue dove fell to the floor, and became a soul-maiden so beautiful as not to be imagined nor described, but only told about in a tale. Such another beauty could not be found in the whole world.

Said she to the young man, the king’s sharpshooter: “Thou hast known how to get me; now know how to live with me. Thou wilt be my wedded husband, and I thy God-given wife. I am not a blue dove, but a king’s daughter.”

They agreed. Fedot married her, and they lived together. He is happy with his young wife, but does not forget his service. Every morning at dawn he takes his gun, goes out into the forest, and shoots game, which he carries to the king’s kitchen.

His wife sees that he is wearied from this hunting, and says: “Listen, my dear. I am sorry for thee. Every God-given day thou dost wander through forests and swamps, comest home wet and worn, and profit to us not a whit. What sort of a life is this? But I know something so that thou wilt not be without gain. Get of roubles two hundred, and we will correct the whole business.”

Fedot rushed around to his friends, got a rouble from one, and two from another, till he had just two hundred. “Now,” said his wife, “buy different kinds of silk for this money.”

He bought the silk; she took it, and said: “Be not troubled; pray to God and lie down to sleep: the morning is wiser than the evening.”

He lay down and fell asleep; his wife went out on the porch, opened her magic book, and two unknown youths appeared at once. “What dost thou wish? Command us.”

“Take this silk, and in one single hour make a piece of such wonderful tapestry as has not been seen in the world; let the whole kingdom be embroidered on it, with towns, villages, rivers, and lakes.”

They went to work, and not only in an hour, but in ten minutes they had the tapestry finished,—a wonder for all. They gave it to the sharpshooter’s wife, and vanished in an instant just as if they never had been. In the morning she gave the tapestry to her husband. “Here,” said she, “take this to the merchants’ rows, sell it, but see that thou ask no price of thy own; take what they give.”

Fedot went to the merchants’ rows; a trader saw him, came up, and asked: “Well, my good man, is this article for sale?”

“It is.”

“What’s the price?”

“Thou art a dealer, name the price.”

The merchant thought and thought, but could not fix a price. Now a second, a third, and a fourth came; no one could set a price on the tapestry. At this time the mayor of the palace was passing by and saw the crowd; wishing to know what the merchants were talking about, he jumped out of his carriage, came up to them, and said: “Good morning, merchants, dealers, guests from beyond the sea; what is the question?”

“Here is a piece of tapestry that we cannot value.”

The mayor looked at the tapestry and marvelled himself. “Look here, sharpshooter,” said he, “tell me in truth and sincerity where didst thou get such glorious tapestry?”

“My wife made it.”

“How much must one give for it?”

“I know not myself; my wife told me to set no price on it, but what people would give, that would be ours.”

“Well here are ten thousand for thee.”

Fedot took the money and gave up the tapestry. The mayor was always near the person of the king, ate and drank at his table. When he went to the king’s to dine he took the tapestry. “Would it not please your Majesty to see what a glorious piece of work I have bought to-day?”

The king looked; he saw his whole kingdom as if on the palm of his hand. He opened his mouth in amazement.

“This is indeed work; in all my life I have never seen such cunning art. Well, mayor, say what thou pleasest, but I shall not give this back to thee.” Straightway the king took twenty-five thousand out of his pocket, placed the money in the mayor’s hand, and hung the tapestry in the palace.

“That’s nothing,” thought the mayor; “I will order another still better.” Straightway he galloped to find the sharpshooter, found his cottage, went in; and the moment he saw Fedot’s wife he forgot himself, his errand, knew not why he had come. Before him was such a beauty that he would not take his eyes off her all his life; he would have looked and looked. He gazes on another man’s wife, and in his head thought follows thought: “Where has it been seen, where heard of, that a simple soldier possessed such a treasure? Though I serve the king’s person and rank as a general I have never beheld such beauty!”

The mayor came to his mind with difficulty, and went home, ’gainst his will. From that hour, from that time, he was not his own. Sleeping or waking, he thought only of the beautiful woman; he could neither eat nor drink, she was ever before his eyes. The king noticed the change, and asked: “What has come upon thee,—some grief?”

“Oh, your Majesty, I have seen the sharpshooter’s wife; there is not such a beauty in the whole world! I am thinking of her all the time; I can neither eat nor drink, with no herb can I charm away my sorrow.”

The desire came to the king to admire the woman himself. He ordered his carriage and drove to the soldier’s quarters. He entered the room and saw unspeakable beauty. No matter who looked on the woman,—an old man, a youth; each was in love, lost his wits, a heart-flame pinched him. “Why,” thought the king, “am I wifeless and single? Let me marry this beauty,—that is the thing. Why is she a sharpshooter’s wife? It is her fate to be queen.”

The king returned to his palace and said to the mayor: “Listen to me! Thou hast known how to show me this unimaginable beauty, now find the way to get rid of her husband; I want to marry her myself. And if thou dost not put him out of the way, blame thyself; for though thou art my faithful servant, thou’lt die on the gallows.”

The mayor went his way sadder than before. How was he to “finish the sharpshooter?” he could not think. As he was going through back lanes and waste places, a Baba-Yaga met him.

“Stop,” said she, “servant of the king! I know all thy thoughts. If thou wilt, I will aid thee in this unavoidable sorrow.”

“Aid me, grandmother, and I’ll pay what thou wishest.”

“The king has ordered thee to put an end to Fedot the sharpshooter. That would be easy enough, for he is simple, were it not for his wife, who is awfully cunning. Well, we’ll give them such a riddle that it will not soon be explained. Go back to the king and say: ‘Beyond the thrice-ninth land, in the thirtieth kingdom, is an island, on that island a deer with golden horns.’ Let the king bring together half a hundred sailors,—the most good-for-nothing fellows, all bitter drunkards,—and order that a rotten old ship which has been out of service for thirty years be fitted for the voyage. Let him send Fedot the sharpshooter on that ship to get the deer with golden horns. In order to go to the island it is necessary to sail neither more nor less than three years, and back from the island three more; six in all. Well, the ship will sail out on the sea, serve about a month, and sink right there; the sharpshooter and the sailors will go to the bottom, every man!”

The mayor listened to these words, thanked the Baba-Yaga for her counsel, rewarded her with gold, and went off on a run to the king. “Your Majesty,” said he, “Fedot can be finished in such and such fashion.”

The king consented, and issued an order at once to the navy to prepare for a voyage an old rotten ship, to provision it for six years, and man it with fifty sailors, the most dissolute and bitter drunkards. Messengers ran to all the dram-shops and drinking-houses, collected such sailors that it was dear and precious to look at them. One had a black eye, another had his nose driven to one side.

As soon as it was reported to the king that the ship was ready, he sent for the sharpshooter and said: “Now, Fedot, thou art a hero of mine,—the first shot in the company. Do me a service. Go beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom. In that place is an island, on that island lives the deer with golden horns. Take it alive, and bring it to me.”

Fedot became thoughtful, knew not what to answer.

“Think, think not,” said the king; “but if thou do not the work, I have a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders!”

Fedot wheeled round to the left and went forth from the palace, came home in the evening powerfully sad, not wishing to utter one word.

“Why dost thou grieve, my dearest?” asked his wife. “Is there some mishap?”

He told her all.

“This is why thou art grieved. There is reason, indeed; for it is an exploit, not a service. Pray to God and lie down to sleep; the morning is wiser than the evening: everything will be done.”

The sharpshooter lay down and slept. But his wife opened her magic-book, at once two unknown youths appeared before her and asked: “What dost thou wish? What dost thou need?”

“Go beyond the thrice-ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom, to an island; seize there the deer with golden horns, and bring it here.”

“We obey; it will be done before dawn.”

They rushed like a whirlwind to the island, caught the deer with golden horns, and brought it straight to Fedot’s house. An hour before daybreak all was done, and they vanished as if they had never been. The beautiful wife roused her husband at dawn and said: “Look out; the deer with golden horns is walking in the yard. Take it with thee on board the ship, sail forward five days, on the sixth turn back.”

The sharpshooter put the deer in a close, fastened cage, and had it carried on board the ship.

“What’s there?” asked the sailors.

“Oh, supplies and medicine! It’s a long voyage; we shall need many a thing.”

The day for sailing came. A great crowd of people went to see the ship leave the wharf. The king went himself, made Fedot chief over all the sailors, and bade him farewell.

The vessel sailed five days on the sea; the shores had long vanished. Fedot ordered a hundred-and-twenty-gallon cask to be rolled on to the deck, and said to the sailors: “Drink, brothers; spare it not, your souls are your measure!”

They were delighted, rushed to the cask, began to drink, and got so drunk that they rolled down on the deck, and fell fast asleep at the side of the cask. Fedot took the helm, turned the ship around toward the harbor, and sailed home. So that the sailors should not know anything about it, he kept pouring liquor into them from morning till night; when they began to open their eyes after one drunken fit, a new cask was ready. On the eleventh day the ship drew up at the wharf; the flag was hoisted, and guns fired. The king heard the firing, and ran down to the landing. “What does all this mean?” He saw the sharpshooter, fell into a towering passion, and rushed at him furiously. “How hast thou dared to come back before time?”

“But where was I to go, your Majesty? Some fool might have spent ten years in sailing over the seas and got nothing; but I, instead of spending six years, did the work in ten days. Would you be pleased to look at the golden-horned deer?”

Straightway they brought the cage from the ship and let out the golden-horned deer. The king saw that the sharpshooter was right; he could not touch him, he let him go home. The sailors had a holiday for six years; no one could ask them to work during that time, for the voyage was counted as six years, and they had served their time.

Next day the king called the mayor into his presence and threatened him: “What meanest thou; art making sport of me? ’Tis clear thy head is not dear to thee. Do what thou pleasest, but find means of putting Fedot to a cruel death.”

“Let me think, your Majesty; we may mend matters.” The mayor went his way, betook himself to back lanes and waste places, met the Baba-Yaga.

“Stop, servant of the king! I know thy thoughts: dost wish I will help thee in trouble?”

“Oh, help me, grandmother! Fedot has brought the deer with golden horns.”

“Oh, I have heard that already. It would be as easy to put Fedot out of the way as to take a pinch of snuff, for he is simple; but his wife is terribly cunning. Well, we’ll give them another riddle that they will not solve so quickly. Tell the king to send the sharpshooter to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum,—that’s a task he will not accomplish to all eternity; he will either be lost without tidings, or come back empty-handed.”

The mayor rewarded the old witch with gold and hurried to the king, who heard him and summoned Fedot.

“Fedot,” said the king, “thou art a hero, the best shot I have. Thou hast brought me the deer with golden horns, now thou must do me another service; and if thou wilt not do it, I have a sword, and thy head leaves thy shoulders. Thou must go to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum.”

Fedot turned to the left, walked out of the palace, went home sad and thoughtful.

“My dear,” asked his wife, “why art thou sad, has some misfortune happened?”

“Ah,” said he, “one woe has rolled from my neck and another rolled on! The king sends me to the verge of destruction to bring back Shmat-Razum. For thy beauty I bear all this trouble and care.”

“That,” said she, “is no small task,—nine years to go there, and nine to come back, eighteen in all. Will good come of it? God knows. But pray to the Lord and lie down to sleep; the morning is wiser than the evening. To-morrow thou’lt know all.”

After Fedot had lain down, his wife opened her magic book and asked the two unknown youths if they knew how to go to the verge of destruction and bring back Shmat-Razum. They answered: “We know not.” In the morning she roused her husband and said, “Go to the king and ask for the road golden treasure,—thou hast eighteen years to wander; when thou hast the money come home for the parting.”

Fedot got the money from the king and returned to take farewell of his wife. She gave him a towel and a ball, and said: “When thou goest out of the town throw the ball down before thee, and wherever it rolls do thou follow. Here is a towel of my own work; no matter where thou art, wipe thy face with it after washing.”

Fedot took farewell of his wife and comrades, bowed down on all four sides, and went beyond the barrier. He threw down the ball before him; it rolled, rolled on, and he followed after.

About a month had passed, when the king summoned the mayor and said: “The sharpshooter has gone to wander over the white world for eighteen years; it is evident that he will not come back alive. Eighteen years, as thou knowest, are not two weeks; many a thing may happen on the road. He has much money, and robbers will fall upon him perhaps, strip him, and give him to a savage death. I think we can begin at his wife now. Take my carriage, drive to the soldier’s quarters, and bring her to the palace.”

The mayor drove to Fedot’s house, entered, saluted the sharpshooter’s wife, and said: “Hail, witty woman, the king has ordered us to present thee at the palace.”

She went. The king received her with gladness, led her to a golden chamber, and spoke these words: “Dost thou wish to be queen? I will take thee in marriage.”

“Where has it ever been seen or heard of,” asked she, “that a wife was taken from her living husband? Though he is a simple soldier he is my lawful husband.”

“If thou wilt not yield of thy free will, I will take thee by force.”

The beautiful woman laughed, struck the floor, became a blue dove, and flew out through the window.

Fedot journeyed over many lands and kingdoms, the ball rolling ahead of him all the time. When he came to a river the ball became a bridge; whenever he wanted rest it became a soft couch. Whether it is long or short, a story is soon told, but a deed is not soon done; the sharpshooter arrived at a splendid palace, the ball rolled to the gate and disappeared. Fedot went straight up the stairs into a rich chamber, where he was met by three maidens of unspeakable loveliness.

“Whence comest, good man, and for what?”

“Oh, beautiful maidens, ye have not let me rest after the long journey, but have begun to inquire. First ye should give me to eat and drink, put me to rest, and then make inquiry.”

Straightway they set the table. When he had eaten and drunk and rested, they brought him water, a basin, and an embroidered towel. He took not the towel, but said, “I have one of my own.” When they saw it they asked: “Good man, where didst thou get that towel?”

“My wife gave it me.”

“Then thy wife is our own sister.”

They called their aged mother. The moment she saw the towel she recognized it. “Why, this is my daughter’s work.” She asked the guest all sorts of questions. He told her how he had married her daughter, and how the king had sent him to the verge of destruction to bring back Shmat-Razum.

“Oh, my dear son-in-law, of that wonder even I have not heard! Wait a moment; maybe my servants have.”

She went out on the balcony and called in a loud voice. Presently all kinds of beasts ran up, and all kinds of birds flew to her. “Hail to you, beasts of the wilderness, birds of the air! Ye beasts run through all places, ye birds fly everywhere; have ye never heard how to go to the verge of destruction, where Shmat-Razum lives?”

All the beasts and birds answered in one voice: “No; we have never heard!”

Then the old woman sent them all to their homes in hidden places, forests, and thickets; went to her magic book, opened it, and that instant two giants appeared. “What is thy pleasure; what dost thou wish?”

“This, my faithful servants,—bear my son-in-law and me to the ocean sea wide, and stop just in the middle above the very abyss.”

Immediately they seized the sharpshooter and the old woman and bore them on like a stormy whirlwind till they stopped just in the middle above the abyss. They stood up themselves like pillars, holding the old woman and the sharpshooter in their arms. The old woman cried out with a loud voice, and all the fishes and living things in the sea swam to her in such multitudes that the blue sea could not be seen for them: “Hail, fish and worms of the sea! Ye swim in all places, ye pass by all islands; have ye not heard how to go to the verge of destruction, where lives Shmat-Razum?”

All worms and fishes answered in one voice, “No; we’ve not heard!”

All at once an old limping frog, who had been thirty years out of service, pushed her way to the front and said, “Kwa-kwa! I know where to find such a wonder!”

“Well, then, my dear, thou art the person I need,” said the old woman. She took the frog, and commanded the giants to bear them home. They were at the palace in a flash. The old woman asked the frog how her son was to go.

“Oh!” said the frog, “that place is at the rim of the world,—far, far away. I would conduct him myself, but I am very old; I can barely move my legs,—I couldn’t jump there in fifty years.”

The old woman took a bowl with some fresh milk, put the frog in it, gave the bowl to Fedot, and said: “Carry this in thy hand; she will show thee the way.”

The sharpshooter took farewell of the old woman and her daughters, and went on his journey, the frog showing him the way. Whether it was near or distant, long or short, he came at last to a flaming river, beyond which was a lofty mountain with a door in the side.

“Kwa-kwa!” said the frog. “Put me down out of the bowl; we must cross the river.”

He put her on the ground.

“Now, good youth, sit thou on my back; do not spare me.”

He sat on her back and pressed her to the ground; she began to swell, and swelled until she was as big as a stack of hay. The sharpshooter’s one care was to keep from falling. “If I fall,” thought he, “I shall be crushed.” The frog cleared the flaming river at a jump, became small as before, and said: “Now, good youth, I will wait here; but do thou enter that door in the mountain. Thou wilt find a cave,—hide thyself well. After a time two old men will come in: listen to what they say, and watch what they do; when they are gone, act as they did.”

The sharpshooter entered the door of the mountain; it was so dark in the cave that if a man strained his eyes out he could not see a thing. Fedot felt around and found a cupboard, crept in. After a while two old men entered and said, “Shmat-Razum, feed us!”

That moment, however it happened, the lamps were lighted, the dishes and plates rattled, and various kinds of food and wine appeared on the table. The old men ate and drank, and then ordered Shmat-Razum to remove everything. Everything disappeared in a flash; neither table, nor food, nor wine, nor lights remained. The two old men went out.

The sharpshooter crawled from the cupboard and cried, “Hei, Shmat-Razum!”

“What dost thou wish?”

“Feed me!”

Again the lights, the table, the food and drink appeared as before. Fedot sat at the table and said: “Hei, Shmat-Razum, sit down brother, with me, we’ll eat and drink together; it is irksome for me alone.”

The voice of the unseen answered: “Oh, kind man! whence has God brought thee? It is nearly thirty years that I serve these old men in faith and in truth, and all this time they have never once seated me with themselves.”

The sharpshooter looked and wondered. He saw no one, but the food was swept from the plates as if with a broom; the bottles raised themselves and poured the wine into glasses,—behold, in a moment bottles and glasses are empty!

“Shmat-Razum, dost thou wish to serve me?” asked the sharpshooter. “I’ll give thee a pleasant life.”

“Why not? I am sick of being here; and thou, I see, art a kind man.”

“All right; pick up everything and come along.” The sharpshooter went out of the cave, looked around, saw no one, and asked: “Art thou here, Shmat-Razum?”

“Here; I’ll not leave thee, never fear.”

“Very well,” said Fedot, and sat on the frog,—she swelled, jumped over the river, and became small. He put her in the bowl, and went on the homeward road, came to his mother-in-law, and made his new servant entertain the old woman and her daughters. Shmat-Razum gave them such a feast that the old woman came very near dancing from joy. She ordered that three bowls of milk be given to the frog every day in reward for her faithfulness. The sharpshooter bade good-by to his friends and set out for home. He travelled and journeyed till he was almost wearied to death. “Oh, Shmat-Razum,” said he, “if thou couldst only know how tired I am, I am just losing my legs.”

“Why not tell me long ago?” asked the other; “I should have brought thee home quickly.” With that he seized Fedot and bore him like a rushing whirlwind, so swiftly that his cap fell off.

“Hei, Shmat-Razum, wait a minute; my cap is gone.”

“Late, my master; thy cap is now three thousand miles behind.”

Towns and villages, rivers and forests, just flashed before the eye; as Fedot was flying over a deep sea Shmat-Razum said: “If thou wishest, I will make a summer-house in the midst of the sea; thou canst rest, and acquire great fortune.”

“Well, make it.”

They dropped down toward the sea, and behold, where a moment before the waves were rolling, an island rose up, and in the centre a golden pleasure-house.

“Now, my master, sit down in this house, rest, and look at the sea. Presently three merchant-ships will sail by and cast anchor. Invite the merchants, entertain them well, and exchange me for three wonderful things which they have. I’ll come to thee again in my own time.”

Fedot looked; three merchant-ships were sailing from the west. The merchants saw the island and wondered.

“What does this mean?” asked they. “How many times have we sailed by here and seen nothing but water, and now an island and a pleasure-house! Let us stand up to the shore, brothers, let us look and admire.”

They stopped the ships, cast anchor; the three merchants stepped into a light boat, went to the island, landed, and saluted Fedot,—

“Hail, worthy man!”

“Good health to you, foreign merchants! We crave kindness. Come in, rejoice, have a good time, and rest yourselves. This pleasure-house was made on purpose for passing guests.” They went in and sat down.

“Hei, Shmat-Razum, meat and drink!” A table appeared; on the table wines and meats, whatever the soul could desire was at hand in a moment. The merchants opened their mouths in amazement.

“Let us exchange,” said they. “Give us thy servant, and take any one of our wonders.”

“What wonders have ye?”

“Look, and thou wilt see.”

One merchant took a small box from his pocket and opened it: that minute a glorious garden was spread over the whole island with flowers and paths; he closed the box, and the garden was gone. The second merchant took an axe from under his skirts and began to hit, hit strike, a ship came out: hit strike—another ship. He struck a hundred times—a hundred ships. They moved around the island under full canvas, with sailors and cannon. The sailors run and fire guns. The commanders come to the merchant for orders. He amused himself, hid his axe: the ships vanished from the eye, were as if they had never been. The third merchant took a horn, blew into it at one end: that minute an army appeared, cavalry and infantry, with muskets and cannons and flags; from every regiment come reports to the merchant, and he gives them orders. The army marches, with music sounding and banners waving. The merchant took his horn, blew in at the other end: there is nothing. Where has all the power gone to?

“Your wonders are strange,” said the sharpshooter; “but these are all playthings for kings, and I am a simple soldier. If ye will exchange, however, I agree to give you my unseen servant for all three of your wonders.”

“Is not that rather too much?”

“Well, ye know your own business, I suppose; but I will not exchange on other conditions.”

The merchants thought to themselves, “What good are these ships and soldiers and garden to us? Let us exchange,—at least we shall have enough to eat and drink all our lives without trouble.”

They gave the sharpshooter their wonders, and asked: “Shmat-Razum, wilt thou come with us?”

“Why not? It’s all the same to me where I live.”

The merchants returned to their ships and said: “Now, Shmat-Razum, fly about; give us to eat and drink.” They invited all the men, and had such a feast that every one got drunk and slept a sound sleep.

The sharpshooter was sitting in the golden summer-house; he fell to thinking, and said: “I am sorry; where art thou now, trusty servant?”

“Here, my master.”

Fedot rejoiced. “Isn’t it time for us to go home?” The moment he spoke he was borne through the air as if by a whirlwind.

The merchants woke up, and wishing to drink off the effects of their carousal, cried out: “Give us to drink, Shmat-Razum.” No one answered, nothing was brought; no matter how much they screamed and commanded, no result. “Well, gentlemen, this scoundrel has swindled us. Now Satan himself could not find him; the island has vanished, the pleasure-house is gone.” The merchants grieved and regretted; then hoisted their sails and went to where they had business.

The sharpshooter soon arrived at his own kingdom, came down by the sea-shore. “Shmat-Razum, canst thou build me a palace here?”

“Why not?—it will be ready directly.”

The palace appeared so splendid that it could not be described,—twice as good as the king’s. Now the box was opened, and all around the palace was a glorious garden, with rare trees and flowers.

The sharpshooter sat by the window admiring the garden when all at once a blue dove flew in through the open window, struck the floor, and became his young wife. They embraced and kissed each other; then made inquiries and gave answer. Said his wife to Fedot: “Since the time thou didst leave me I have lived a lone dove in the forests and thickets.”

Next morning the king went out on the balcony, and saw by the shore of the blue sea a new palace, and a green garden around it. “What insolent fellow has built on my land without leave?” Couriers hastened, discovered, reported, that the palace was built by Fedot, who was living there then, and with him his wife.

The king’s anger increased. He gave orders to collect troops and go to the sea-shore, destroy the garden, break the palace into small pieces, and give the sharpshooter and his wife to a cruel death.

Fedot saw the strong army approaching. He took his axe quickly, and struck; a ship came forth; he struck a hundred times,—a hundred ships were ready; he blew his horn once, infantry was marching; he blew it a second time, cavalry was galloping. The commanders rushed to him from the ships, from the army, for orders. He ordered them to give battle. The music sounded at once, the drums rattled, the regiments advanced. The hundred ships open a cannonade on the king’s capital. The army moves on at the sound of music and beat of drum. The infantry rout the king’s soldiers, the cavalry take them prisoners. The king sees that his army is fleeing, hurries forward himself to stop it. But what could he do? Half an hour had not passed before he was killed.

When the battle was over, the people came together and begged the sharpshooter to take the government of the kingdom into his hands. He agreed, became king, and his wife queen.

Go to notes

MARYA MOREVNA.

IN a certain kingdom in a certain land lived Ivan Tsarevich. He had three sisters. The first was Marya Tsarevna; the second, Olga Tsarevna; the third, Anna Tsarevna. Their father and mother were dead. When dying they said to their son: “Whoever woos first a sister of thine, give her to him; keep not thy sisters with thee long.”

The Tsarevich buried his parents, and from sorrow went with his sisters to walk in the green garden. Suddenly a black cloud rose in the sky; a fearful storm was coming. “Let us go home, sisters,” said Ivan Tsarevich. They had barely entered the castle when thunder roared, the ceiling opened, and a bright falcon flew into the chamber. The falcon struck the floor, became a gallant youth, and said: “Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere now I came as a guest, but now I’m a suitor. I wish to sue for thy sister, Marya Tsarevna.”

“If thou art pleasing to my sister, I shall not restrain her. Let her go, with God.”

Marya Tsarevna agreed, the Falcon married her, and bore her away to his own kingdom.

Days followed days, hours chased hours, a whole year was as if it had not been. Ivan Tsarevich went with his two sisters to walk in the green garden. Again a cloud rose with whirlwind, with lightning. “Let us go home, my sisters,” said the Tsarevich. They had barely entered the castle when a thunderclap came, the roof fell apart, the ceiling opened, and in flew an eagle. The eagle struck the floor and became a gallant youth. “Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere now I came as a guest, but now I’m a suitor.” And he asked for Olga Tsarevna in marriage.

Ivan Tsarevich answered: “If thou art pleasing to Olga Tsarevna, then let her marry thee; I take not her will from her.” Olga Tsarevna consented, and accepted the Eagle in marriage. The Eagle caught her up and bore her to his own kingdom.

Another year passed. Ivan Tsarevich said to his youngest sister: “Let us go to walk in the green garden.” They walked a little; again a cloud rose with whirlwind, with lightning. “Come home, my sister, come!” They returned to the castle, but had not sat down when a thunderclap came, the ceiling opened, and in flew a raven. The raven struck the floor and became a gallant youth. The others were beautiful in person, but he was still better.

“Well, Ivan Tsarevich! Ere now I came as a guest, but now I’m a wooer. Give me Anna Tsarevna.”

“I take not her will from my sister. If thou hast pleased her, take her in marriage.”

Anna Tsarevna married the Raven, and he bore her away to his own kingdom.

Ivan Tsarevich remained alone. He lived a whole year without sisters, grew wearied. “I will go,” said he, “to seek out my sisters.”

He made ready for the road, travelled and travelled, saw an army, a power lying slain on the field. Said Ivan Tsarevich: “If there is a living man here, let him speak. Who killed this great army?”

A living man answered: “Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna, killed all this great army.”

Ivan Tsarevich went farther; he came to white tents. Marya Morevna, the fair Korolyevna, came forth to meet him. “Hail, Tsarevich! Where does God bear thee? Of thy own will, or against thy will?”