Chapter II

MYTHOLOGICAL.

Principal Incarnations of Evil.

The present chapter is devoted to specimens of those skazkas which most Russian critics assert to be distinctly mythical. The stories of this class are so numerous, that the task of selection has been by no means easy. But I have done my best to choose such examples as are most characteristic of that species of the “mythical” folk-tale which prevails in Russia, and to avoid, as far as possible, the repetition of narratives which have already been made familiar to the English reader by translations of German and Scandinavian stories.

There is a more marked individuality in the Russian tales of this kind, as compared with those of Western Europe, than is to be traced in the stories (especially those of a humorous cast) which relate to the events that chequer an ordinary existence. The actors in the comediettas of European peasant-life vary but little, either in title or in character, wherever the scene may be laid; just as in the European beast-epos the Fox, the Wolf, and the Bear play parts which change but slightly with the regions they inhabit. But the supernatural beings which people the fairy-land peculiar to each race, though closely resembling each other in many respects, differ conspicuously in others. They may, it is true, be nothing more than various developments of the same original type; they may be traceable to germs common to the prehistoric ancestors of the now widely separated Aryan peoples; their peculiarities may simply be due to the accidents to which travellers from distant lands are liable. But at all events each family now has features of its own, typical characteristics by which it may be readily distinguished from its neighbors. My chief aim at present is to give an idea of those characteristics which lend individuality to the “mythical beings” in the Skazkas; in order to effect this, I shall attempt a delineation of those supernatural figures, to some extent peculiar to Slavonic fairy-land, which make their appearance in the Russian folk-tales. I have given a brief sketch of them elsewhere.[72] I now propose to deal with them more fully, quoting at length, instead of merely mentioning, some of the evidence on which the proof of their existence depends.

For the sake of convenience, we may select from the great mass of the mythical skazkas those which are supposed most manifestly to typify the conflict of opposing elements—whether of Good and Evil, or of Light and Darkness, or of Heat and Cold, or of any other pair of antagonistic forces or phenomena. The typical hero of this class of stories, who represents the cause of right, and who is resolved by mythologists into so many different essences, presents almost identically the same appearance in most of the countries wherein he has become naturalized. He is endowed with supernatural powers, but he remains a man, for all that. Whether as prince or peasant, he alters but very little in his wanderings among the Aryan races of Europe.

And a somewhat similar statement may be made about his feminine counterpart—for all the types of Fairy-land life are of an epicene nature, admitting of a feminine as well as a masculine development—the heroine who in the Skazkas, as well as in other folk-tales, braves the wrath of female demons in quest of means whereby to lighten the darkness of her home, or rescues her bewitched brothers from the thraldom of an enchantress, or liberates her captive husband from a dungeon’s gloom.

But their antagonists—the dark or evil beings whom the hero attacks and eventually destroys, or whom the heroine overcomes by her virtues, her subtlety, or her skill—vary to a considerable extent with the region they occupy, or rather with the people in whose memories they dwell. The Giants by killing whom our own Jack gained his renown, the Norse Trolls, the Ogres of southern romance, the Drakos and Lamia of modern Greece, the Lithuanian Laume—these and all the other groups of monstrous forms under which the imagination of each race has embodied its ideas about (according to one hypothesis) the Powers of Darkness it feared, or (according to another) the Aborigines it detested, differ from each other to a considerable and easily recognizable extent. An excellent illustration of this statement is offered by the contrast between the Slavonic group of supernatural beings of this class and their equivalents in lands tenanted by non-Slavonic members of the Indo-European family. A family likeness will, of course, be traced between all these conceptions of popular fancy, but the gloomy figures with which the folk-tales of the Slavonians render us familiar may be distinguished at a glance among their kindred monsters of Latin, Hellenic, Teutonic, or Celtic extraction. Of those among the number to which the Russian skazkas relate I will now proceed to give a sketch, allowing the stories, so far as is possible, to speak for themselves.

If the powers of darkness in the “mythical” skazkas are divided into two groups—the one male, the other female—there stand out as the most prominent figures in the former set, the Snake (or some other illustration of “Zoological Mythology”), Koshchei the Deathless, and the Morskoi Tsar or King of the Waters. In the latter group the principal characters are the Baba Yaga, or Hag, her close connection the Witch, and the Female Snake. On the forms and natures of the less conspicuous characters to be found in either class we will not at present dwell. An opportunity for commenting on some of them will be afforded in another chapter.

To begin with the Snake. His outline, like that of the cloud with which he is so frequently associated, and which he is often supposed to typify, is seldom well-defined. Now in one form and now in another, he glides a shifting shape, of which it is difficult to obtain a satisfactory view. Sometimes he retains throughout the story an exclusively reptilian character; sometimes he is of a mixed nature, partly serpent and partly man. In one story we see him riding on horseback, with hawk on wrist (or raven on shoulder) and hound at heel; in another he figures as a composite being with a human body and a serpent’s head; in a third he flies as a fiery snake into his mistress’s bower, stamps with his foot on the ground, and becomes a youthful gallant. But in most cases he is a serpent which in outward appearance seems to differ from other ophidians only in being winged and polycephalous—the number of his heads generally varying from three to twelve.[73]

He is often known by the name of Zméï [snake] Goruinuich [son of the gora or mountain], and sometimes he is supposed to dwell in the mountain caverns. To his abode, whether in the bowels of the earth, or in the open light of day—whether it be a sumptuous palace or “an izba on fowl’s legs,” a hut upheld by slender supports on which it turns as on a pivot—he carries off his prey. In one story he appears to have stolen, or in some way concealed, the day-light; in another the bright moon and the many stars come forth from within him after his death. But as a general rule it is some queen or princess whom he tears away from her home, as Pluto carried off Proserpina, and who remains with him reluctantly, and hails as her rescuer the hero who comes to give him battle. Sometimes, however, the snake is represented as having a wife of his own species, and daughters who share their parent’s tastes and powers. Such is the case in the (South-Russian) story of

Ivan Popyalof.[74]

Once upon a time there was an old couple, and they had three sons. Two of these had their wits about them, but the third was a simpleton, Ivan by name, surnamed Popyalof.

For twelve whole years Ivan lay among the ashes from the stove; but then he arose, and shook himself, so that six poods of ashes[75] fell off from him.

Now in the land in which Ivan lived there was never any day, but always night. That was a Snake’s doing. Well, Ivan undertook to kill that Snake, so he said to his father, “Father, make me a mace five poods in weight.” And when he had got the mace, he went out into the fields, and flung it straight up in the air, and then he went home. The next day he went out into the fields to the spot from which he had flung the mace on high, and stood there with his head thrown back. So when the mace fell down again it hit him on the forehead. And the mace broke in two.

Ivan went home and said to his father, “Father, make me another mace, a ten pood one.” And when he had got it he went out into the fields, and flung it aloft. And the mace went flying through the air for three days and three nights. On the fourth day Ivan went out to the same spot, and when the mace came tumbling down, he put his knee in the way, and the mace broke over it into three pieces.

Ivan went home and told his father to make him a third mace, one of fifteen poods weight. And when he had got it, he went out into the fields and flung it aloft. And the mace was up in the air six days. On the seventh Ivan went to the same spot as before. Down fell the mace, and when it struck Ivan’s forehead, the forehead bowed under it. Thereupon he said, “This mace will do for the Snake!”

So when he had got everything ready, he went forth with his brothers to fight the Snake. He rode and rode, and presently there stood before him a hut on fowl’s legs,[76] and in that hut lived the Snake. There all the party came to a standstill. Then Ivan hung up his gloves, and said to his brothers, “Should blood drop from my gloves, make haste to help me.” When he had said this he went into the hut and sat down under the boarding.[77]

Presently there rode up a Snake with three heads. His steed stumbled, his hound howled, his falcon clamored.[78] Then cried the Snake:

“Wherefore hast thou stumbled, O Steed! hast thou howled, O Hound! hast thou clamored, O Falcon?”

“How can I but stumble,” replied the Steed, “when under the boarding sits Ivan Popyalof?”

Then said the Snake, “Come forth, Ivanushka! Let us try our strength together.” Ivan came forth, and they began to fight. And Ivan killed the Snake, and then sat down again beneath the boarding.

Presently there came another Snake, a six-headed one, and him, too, Ivan killed. And then there came a third, which had twelve heads. Well, Ivan began to fight with him, and lopped off nine of his heads. The Snake had no strength left in him. Just then a raven came flying by, and it croaked:

“Krof? Krof!”[79]

Then the Snake cried to the Raven, “Fly, and tell my wife to come and devour Ivan Popyalof.”

But Ivan cried: “Fly, and tell my brothers to come, and then we will kill this Snake, and give his flesh to thee.”

And the Raven gave ear to what Ivan said, and flew to his brothers and began to croak above their heads. The brothers awoke, and when they heard the cry of the Raven, they hastened to their brother’s aid. And they killed the Snake, and then, having taken his heads, they went into his hut and destroyed them. And immediately there was bright light throughout the whole land.

After killing the Snake, Ivan Popyalof and his brothers set off on their way home. But he had forgotten to take away his gloves, so he went back to fetch them, telling his brothers to wait for him meanwhile. Now when he had reached the hut and was going to take away his gloves, he heard the voices of the Snake’s wife and daughters, who were talking with each other. So he turned himself into a cat, and began to mew outside the door. They let him in, and he listened to everything they said. Then he got his gloves and hastened away.

As soon as he came to where his brothers were, he mounted his horse, and they all started afresh. They rode and rode; presently they saw before them a green meadow, and on that meadow lay silken cushions. Then the elder brothers said, “Let’s turn out our horses to graze here, while we rest ourselves a little.”

But Ivan said, “Wait a minute, brothers!” and he seized his mace, and struck the cushions with it. And out of those cushions there streamed blood.

So they all went on further. They rode and rode; presently there stood before them an apple-tree, and upon it were gold and silver apples. Then the elder brothers said, “Let’s eat an apple apiece.” But Ivan said, “Wait a minute, brothers; I’ll try them first,” and he took his mace, and struck the apple-tree with it. And out of the tree streamed blood.

So they went on further. They rode and rode, and by and by they saw a spring in front of them. And the elder brothers cried, “Let’s have a drink of water.” But Ivan Popyalof cried: “Stop, brothers!” and he raised his mace and struck the spring, and its waters became blood.

For the meadow, the silken cushions, the apple-tree, and the spring, were all of them daughters of the Snake.

After killing the Snake’s daughters, Ivan and his brothers went on homewards. Presently came the Snake’s Wife flying after them, and she opened her jaws from the sky to the earth, and tried to swallow up Ivan. But Ivan and his brothers threw three poods of salt into her mouth. She swallowed the salt, thinking it was Ivan Popyalof, but afterwards—when she had tasted the salt, and found out it was not Ivan—she flew after him again.

Then he perceived that danger was at hand, and so he let his horse go free, and hid himself behind twelve doors in the forge of Kuzma and Demian. The Snake’s Wife came flying up, and said to Kuzma and Demian, “Give me up Ivan Popyalof.” But they replied:

“Send your tongue through the twelve doors and take him.” So the Snake’s Wife began licking the doors. But meanwhile they all heated iron pincers, and as soon as she had sent her tongue through into the smithy, they caught tight hold of her by the tongue, and began thumping her with hammers. And when the Snake’s Wife was dead they consumed her with fire, and scattered her ashes to the winds. And then they went home, and there they lived and enjoyed themselves, feasting and revelling, and drinking mead and wine.

I was there, too, and had liquor to drink; it didn’t go into my mouth, but only ran down my beard.[80]

The skazka of Ivan Buikovich (Bull’s son)[81] contains a variant of part of this story, but the dragon which the Slavonic St. George kills is called, not a snake, but a Chudo-Yudo.[82] Ivan watches one night while his brothers sleep. Presently up rides “a six-headed Chudo-Yudo” which he easily kills. The next night he slays, but with more difficulty, a nine-headed specimen of the same family. On the third night appears “a twelve-headed Chudo-Yudo,” mounted on a horse “with twelve wings, its coat of silver, its mane and tail of gold.” Ivan lops off three of the monster’s heads, but they, like those of the Lernæan Hydra, become re-attached to their necks at the touch of their owner’s “fiery finger.” Ivan, whom his foe has driven into the ground up to his knees, hurls one of his gloves at the hut in which his brothers are sleeping. It smashes the windows, but the sleepers slumber on and take no heed. Presently Ivan smites off six of his antagonist’s heads, but they grow again as before.[83] Half buried in the ground by the monster’s strength, Ivan hurls his other glove at the hut, piercing its roof this time. But still his brothers slumber on. At last, after fruitlessly shearing off nine of the Chudo-Yudo’s heads, and finding himself embedded in the ground up to his armpits, Ivan flings his cap at the hut. The hut reels under the blow and its beams fall asunder; his brothers awake, and hasten to his aid, and the Chudo-Yudo is destroyed. The “Chudo-Yudo wives” as the widows of the three monsters are called, then proceed to play the parts attributed in “Ivan Popyalof” to the Snake’s daughters.

“I will become an apple-tree with golden and silver apples,” says the first; “whoever plucks an apple will immediately burst.” Says the second, “I will become a spring—on the water will float two cups, the one golden, the other of silver; whoever touches one of the cups, him will I drown.” And the third says, “I will become a golden bed; whoever lies down upon that bed will be consumed with fire.” Ivan, in a sparrow’s form, overhears all this, and acts as in the preceding story. The three widows die, but their mother, “an old witch,” determines on revenge. Under the form of a beggar-woman she asks alms from the retreating brothers. Ivan tenders her a ducat. She seizes, not the ducat, but his outstretched hand, and in a moment whisks him off underground to her husband, an Aged One, whose appearance is that of the mythical being whom the Servians call the Vy. He “lies on an iron couch, and sees nothing; his long eyelashes and thick eyebrows completely hide his eyes,” but he sends for “twelve mighty heroes,” and orders them to take iron forks and lift up the hair about his eyes, and then he gazes at the destroyer of his family. The glance of the Servian Vy is supposed to be as deadly as that of a basilisk, but the patriarch of the Russian story does not injure his captive. He merely sends him on an errand which leads to a fresh set of adventures, of which we need not now take notice.

In a third variant of the story,[84] they are snakes which are killed by the hero, Ivan Koshkin (Cat’s son), and it is a Baba Yaga, or Hag, who undertakes to revenge their deaths and those of their wives, her daughters. Accordingly she pursues the three brothers, and succeeds in swallowing two of them. The third, Ivan Koshkin, takes refuge in a smithy, and, as before, the monster’s tongue is seized, and she is beaten with hammers until she disgorges her prey, none the worse for their temporary imprisonment.

We have seen, in the story about the Chudo-Yudo, that the place usually occupied by the Snake is at times filled by some other magical being. This frequently occurs in that class of stories which relates how three brothers set out to apprehend a trespasser, or to seek a mother or sister who has been mysteriously spirited away. They usually come either to an opening which leads into the underground world, or to the base of an apparently inaccessible hill. The youngest brother descends or ascends as the case may be, and after a series of adventures which generally lead him through the kingdoms of copper, of silver, and of gold, returns in triumph to where his brothers are awaiting him. And he is almost invariably deserted by them, as soon as they have secured the beautiful princesses who accompany him—as may be read in the following (South-Russian) history of—

The Norka.[85]

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen. They had three sons, two of them with their wits about them, but the third a simpleton. Now the King had a deer-park in which were quantities of wild animals of different kinds. Into that park there used to come a huge beast—Norka was its name—and do fearful mischief, devouring some of the animals every night. The King did all he could, but he was unable to destroy it. So at last he called his sons together and said: “Whoever will destroy the Norka, to him will I give the half of my kingdom.”

Well, the eldest son undertook the task. As soon as it was night, he took his weapons and set out. But before he reached the park, he went into a traktir (or tavern), and there he spent the whole night in revelry. When he came to his senses it was too late; the day had already dawned. He felt himself disgraced in the eyes of his father, but there was no help for it. The next day the second son went, and did just the same. Their father scolded them both soundly, and there was an end of it.

Well, on the third day the youngest son undertook the task. They all laughed him to scorn, because he was so stupid, feeling sure he wouldn’t do anything. But he took his arms, and went straight into the park, and sat down on the grass in such a position that, the moment he went asleep, his weapons would prick him, and he would awake.

Presently the midnight hour sounded. The earth began to shake, and the Norka came rushing up, and burst right through the fence into the park, so huge was it. The Prince pulled himself together, leapt to his feet, crossed himself, and went straight at the beast. It fled back, and the Prince ran after it. But he soon saw that he couldn’t catch it on foot, so he hastened to the stable, laid his hands on the best horse there, and set off in pursuit. Presently he came up with the beast, and they began a fight. They fought and fought; the Prince gave the beast three wounds. At last they were both utterly exhausted, so they lay down to take a short rest. But the moment the Prince closed his eyes, up jumped the Beast and took to flight. The Prince’s horse awoke him; up he jumped in a moment, and set off again in pursuit, caught up the Beast, and again began fighting with it. Again the Prince gave the Beast three wounds, and then he and the Beast lay down again to rest. Thereupon away fled the Beast as before. The Prince caught it up, and again gave it three wounds. But all of a sudden, just as the Prince began chasing it for the fourth time, the Beast fled to a great white stone, tilted it up, and escaped into the other world,[86] crying out to the Prince: “Then only will you overcome me, when you enter here.”

The Prince went home, told his father all that had happened, and asked him to have a leather rope plaited, long enough to reach to the other world. His father ordered this to be done. When the rope was made, the Prince called for his brothers, and he and they, having taken servants with them, and everything that was needed for a whole year, set out for the place where the Beast had disappeared under the stone. When they got there, they built a palace on the spot, and lived in it for some time. But when everything was ready, the youngest brother said to the others: “Now, brothers, who is going to lift this stone?”

Neither of them could so much as stir it, but as soon as he touched it, away it flew to a distance, though it was ever so big—big as a hill. And when he had flung the stone aside, he spoke a second time to his brothers, saying:

“Who is going into the other world, to overcome the Norka?”

Neither of them offered to do so. Then he laughed at them for being such cowards, and said:

“Well, brothers, farewell! Lower me into the other world, and don’t go away from here, but as soon as the cord is jerked, pull it up.”

His brothers lowered him accordingly, and when he had reached the other world, underneath the earth, he went on his way. He walked and walked. Presently he espied a horse with rich trappings, and it said to him:

“Hail, Prince Ivan! Long have I awaited thee!”

He mounted the horse and rode on—rode and rode, until he saw standing before him, a palace made of copper. He entered the courtyard, tied up his horse, and went indoors. In one of the rooms a dinner was laid out. He sat down and dined, and then went into a bedroom. There he found a bed, on which he lay down to rest. Presently there came in a lady, more beautiful than can be imagined anywhere but in a skazka, who said:

“Thou who art in my house, name thyself! If thou art an old man, thou shall be my father; if a middle-aged man, my brother; but if a young man, thou shalt be my husband dear. And if thou art a woman, and an old one, thou shalt be my grandmother; if middle-aged, my mother; and if a girl, thou shalt be my own sister.”[87]

Thereupon he came forth. And when she saw him, she was delighted with him, and said:

“Wherefore, O Prince Ivan—my husband dear shalt thou be!—wherefore hast thou come hither?”

Then he told her all that had happened, and she said:

“That beast which thou wishest to overcome is my brother. He is staying just now with my second sister, who lives not far from here in a silver palace. I bound up three of the wounds which thou didst give him.”

Well, after this they drank, and enjoyed themselves, and held sweet converse together, and then the prince took leave of her, and went on to the second sister, the one who lived in the silver palace, and with her also he stayed awhile. She told him that her brother Norka was then at her youngest sister’s. So he went on to the youngest sister, who lived in a golden palace. She told him that her brother was at that time asleep on the blue sea, and she gave him a sword of steel and a draught of the Water of Strength, and she told him to cut off her brother’s head at a single stroke. And when he had heard these things, he went his way.

And when the Prince came to the blue sea, he looked—there slept Norka on a stone in the middle of the sea; and when it snored, the water was agitated for seven versts around. The Prince crossed himself, went up to it and smote it on the head with his sword. The head jumped off, saying the while, “Well, I’m done for now!” and rolled far away into the sea.

After killing the Beast, the Prince went back again, picking up all the three sisters by the way, with the intention of taking them out into the upper world: for they all loved him and would not be separated from him. Each of them turned her palace into an egg—for they were all enchantresses—and they taught him how to turn the eggs into palaces, and back again, and they handed over the eggs to him. And then they all went to the place from which they had to be hoisted into the upper world. And when they came to where the rope was, the Prince took hold of it and made the maidens fast to it.[88] Then he jerked away at the rope, and his brothers began to haul it up. And when they had hauled it up, and had set eyes on the wondrous maidens, they went aside and said: “Let’s lower the rope, pull our brother part of the way up, and then cut the rope. Perhaps he’ll be killed; but then if he isn’t, he’ll never give us these beauties as wives.”

So when they had agreed on this, they lowered the rope. But their brother was no fool; he guessed what they were at, so he fastened the rope to a stone, and then gave it a pull. His brothers hoisted the stone to a great height, and then cut the rope. Down fell the stone and broke in pieces; the Prince poured forth tears and went away. Well, he walked and walked. Presently a storm arose; the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, the rain fell in torrents. He went up to a tree in order to take shelter under it, and on that tree he saw some young birds which were being thoroughly drenched. So he took off his coat and covered them over with it, and he himself sat down under the tree. Presently there came flying a bird—such a big one, that the light was blotted out by it. It had been dark there before, but now it became darker still. Now this was the mother of those small birds which the Prince had covered up. And when the bird had come flying up, she perceived that her little ones were covered over, and she said, “Who has wrapped up my nestlings?” and presently, seeing the Prince, she added: “Didst thou do that? Thanks! In return, ask of me any thing thou desirest. I will do anything for thee.”

“Then carry me into the other world,” he replied.

“Make me a large zasyek[89] with a partition in the middle,” she said; “catch all sorts of game, and put them into one half of it, and into the other half pour water; so that there may be meat and drink for me.”

All this the Prince did. Then the bird—having taken the zasyek on her back, with the Prince sitting in the middle of it—began to fly. And after flying some distance she brought him to his journey’s end, took leave of him, and flew away back. But he went to the house of a certain tailor, and engaged himself as his servant. So much the worse for wear was he, so thoroughly had he altered in appearance, that nobody would have suspected him of being a Prince.

Having entered into the service of this master, the Prince began to ask what was going on in that country. And his master replied: “Our two princes—for the third one has disappeared—have brought away brides from the other world, and want to marry them, but those brides refuse. For they insist on having all their wedding-clothes made for them first, exactly like those which they used to have in the other world, and that without being measured for them. The King has called all the workmen together, but not one of them will undertake to do it.”

The Prince, having heard all this, said, “Go to the King, master, and tell him that you will provide everything that’s in your line.”

“However can I undertake to make clothes of that sort; I work for quite common folks,” says his master.

“Go along, master! I will answer for everything,” says the Prince.

So the tailor went. The King was delighted that at least one good workman had been found, and gave him as much money as ever he wanted. When the tailor had settled everything, he went home. And the Prince said to him:

“Now then, pray to God, and lie down to sleep; to-morrow all will be ready.” And the tailor followed his lad’s advice, and went to bed.

Midnight sounded. The Prince arose, went out of the city into the fields, took out of his pocket the eggs which the maidens had given him, and, as they had taught him, turned them into three palaces. Into each of these he entered, took the maidens’ robes, went out again, turned the palaces back into eggs, and went home. And when he got there he hung up the robes on the wall, and lay down to sleep.

Early in the morning his master awoke, and behold! there hung such robes as he had never seen before, all shining with gold and silver and precious stones. He was delighted, and he seized them and carried them off to the King. When the princesses saw that the clothes were those which had been theirs in the other world, they guessed that Prince Ivan was in this world, so they exchanged glances with each other, but they held their peace. And the master, having handed over the clothes, went home, but he no longer found his dear journeyman there. For the Prince had gone to a shoemaker’s, and him too he sent to work for the King; and in the same way he went the round of all the artificers, and they all proffered him thanks, inasmuch as through him they were enriched by the King.

By the time the princely workman had gone the round of all the artificers, the princesses had received what they had asked for; all their clothes were just like what they had been in the other world. Then they wept bitterly because the Prince had not come, and it was impossible for them to hold out any longer, it was necessary that they should be married. But when they were ready for the wedding, the youngest bride said to the King:

“Allow me, my father, to go and give alms to the beggars.”

He gave her leave, and she went and began bestowing alms upon them, and examining them closely. And when she had come to one of them, and was going to give him some money, she caught sight of the ring which she had given to the Prince in the other world, and her sisters’ rings too—for it really was he. So she seized him by the hand, and brought him into the hall, and said to the King:

“Here is he who brought us out of the other world. His brothers forbade us to say that he was alive, threatening to slay us if we did.”

Then the King was wroth with those sons, and punished them as he thought best. And afterwards three weddings were celebrated.

[The conclusion of this story is somewhat obscure. Most of the variants represent the Prince as forgiving his brothers, and allowing them to marry two of the three princesses, but the present version appears to keep closer to its original, in which the prince doubtless married all three. With this story may be compared: Grimm, No. 166, “Der starke Hans,” and No. 91, “Dat Erdmänneken.” See also vol. iii. p. 165, where a reference is given to the Hungarian story in Gaal, No. 5—Dasent, No. 55, “The Big Bird Dan,” and No. 56, “Soria Moria Castle” (Asbjörnsen and Moe, Nos. 3 and 2. A somewhat similar story, only the palaces are in the air, occurs in Asbjörnsen’s “Ny Samling,” No. 72)—Campbell’s “Tales of the West Highlands,” No. 58—Schleicher’s “Litauische Märchen,” No. 38—The Polish story, Wojcicki, Book iii. No. 6, in which Norka is replaced by a witch who breaks the windows of a church, and is wounded, in falcon-shape, by the youngest brother—Hahn, No. 70, in which a Drakos, as a cloud, steals golden apples, a story closely resembling the Russian skazka. See also No. 26, very similar to which is the Servian Story in “Vuk Karajich,” No. 2—and a very interesting Tuscan story printed for the first time by A. de Gubernatis, “Zoological Mythology,” vol. ii. p. 187. See also ibid. p. 391.

But still more important than these are the parallels offered by Indian fiction. Take, for instance, the story of Sringabhuja, in chap. xxxix. of book vii. of the “Kathásaritságara.” In it the elder sons of a certain king wish to get rid of their younger half-brother. One day a Rákshasa appears in the form of a gigantic crane. The other princes shoot at it in vain, but the youngest wounds it, and then sets off in pursuit of it, and of the valuable arrow which is fixed in it. After long wandering he comes to a castle in a forest. There he finds a maiden who tells him she is the daughter of the Rákshasa whom, in the form of a crane, he has wounded. She at once takes his part against her demon father, and eventually flies with him to his own country. The perils which the fugitives have to encounter will be mentioned in the remarks on Skazka XIX. See Professor Brockhaus’s summary of the story in the “Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K. Sächs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften,” 1861, pp. 223-6. Also Professor Wilson’s version in his “Essays on Sanskrit Literature,” vol. ii. pp. 134-5.

In two other stories in the same collection the hero gives chase to a boar of gigantic size. It takes refuge in a cavern into which he follows it. Presently he finds himself in a different world, wherein he meets a beauteous maiden who explains everything to him. In the first of these two stories the lady is the daughter of a Rákshasa, who is invulnerable except in the palm of the left hand, for which reason, our hero, Chandasena has been unable to wound him when in his boar disguise. She instructs Chandasena how to kill her father, who accordingly falls a victim to a well-aimed shaft. (Brockhaus’s “Mährchensammlung des Somadeva Bhatta,” 1843, vol. i. pp. 110-13). In the other story, the lady turns out to be a princess whom “a demon with fiery eyes” had carried off and imprisoned. She tells the hero, Saktideva, that the demon has just died from a wound inflicted upon him, while transformed into a boar, by a bold archer. Saktideva informs her that he is that archer. Whereupon she immediately requests him to marry her (ibid. vol. ii. p. 175). In both stories the boar is described as committing great ravages in the upper world until the hero attacks it.]

The Adventures of a prince, the youngest of three brothers, who has been lowered into the underground world or who has ascended into an enchanted upper realm, form the theme of numerous skazkas, several of which are variants of the story of Norka. The prince’s elder brothers almost always attempt to kill him, when he is about to ascend from the gulf or descend from the steeps which separate him from them. In one instance, the following excuse is offered for their conduct. The hero has killed a Snake in the underground world, and is carrying its head on a lance, when his brothers begin to hoist him up. “His brothers were frightened at the sight of that head and thinking the Snake itself was coming, they let Ivan fall back into the pit.”[90] But this apology for their behavior seems to be due to the story-teller’s imagination. In some instances their unfraternal conduct may be explained in the following manner. In oriental tales the hero is often the son of a king’s youngest wife, and he is not unnaturally hated by his half-brothers, the sons of an older queen, whom the hero’s mother has supplanted in their royal father’s affections. Accordingly they do their best to get rid of him. Thus, in one of the Indian stories which correspond to that of Norka, the hero’s success at court “excited the envy and jealousy of his brothers [doubtless half-brothers], and they were not satisfied until they had devised a plan to effect his removal, and, as they hoped, accomplish his destruction.”[91] We know also that “Israel loved Joseph more than all his children,” because he was the son “of his old age,” and the result was that “when his brethren [who were only his half-brothers] saw that their father loved him more than all his brethren, they hated him.”[92] When such tales as these came west in Christian times, their references to polygamy were constantly suppressed, and their distinctions between brothers and half-brothers disappeared. In the same way the elder and jealous wife, who had behaved with cruelty in the original stories to the offspring of her rival, often became turned, under Christian influences, into a stepmother who hated her husband’s children by a previous marriage.

There may, however, be a mythological explanation of the behavior of the two elder brothers. Professor de Gubernatis is of opinion that “in the Vedic hymns, Tritas, the third brother, and the ablest as well as best, is persecuted by his brothers,” who, “in a fit of jealousy, on account of his wife, the aurora, and the riches she brings with her from the realm of darkness, the cistern or well [into which he has been lowered], detain their brother in the well,”[93] and he compares this form of the myth with that which it assumes in the following Hindoo tradition. “Three brothers, Ekata (i.e. the first), Dwita (i.e. the second) and Trita (i.e. the third) were travelling in a desert, and being distressed with thirst, came to a well, from which the youngest, Trita, drew water and gave it to his brothers; in requital, they drew him into the well, in order to appropriate his property and having covered the top with a cart-wheel, left him in the well. In this extremity he prayed to the gods to extricate him, and by their favor he made his escape.”[94] This myth may, perhaps, be the germ from which have sprung the numerous folk-tales about the desertion of a younger brother in some pit or chasm, into which his brothers have lowered him.[95]

It may seem more difficult to account for the willingness of Norka’s three sisters to aid in his destruction—unless, indeed, the whole story be considered to be mythological, as its Indian equivalents undoubtedly are. But in many versions of the same tale the difficulty does not arise. The princesses of the copper, silver, and golden realms, are usually represented as united by no ties of consanguinity with the snake or other monster whom the hero comes to kill. In the story of “Usuinya,”[96] for instance, there appears to be no relationship between these fair maidens and the “Usuinya-Bird,” which steals the golden apples from a monarch’s garden and is killed by his youngest son Ivan. That monster is not so much a bird as a flying dragon. “This Usuinya-bird is a twelve-headed snake,” says one of the fair maidens. And presently it arrives—its wings stretching afar, while along the ground trail its moustaches [usui, whence its name]. In a variant of the same story in another collection,[97] the part of Norka is played by a white wolf. In that of Ivan Suchenko[98] it is divided among three snakes who have stolen as many princesses. For the snake is much given to abduction, especially when he appears under the terrible form of “Koshchei, the Deathless.”

Koshchei is merely one of the many incarnations of the dark spirit which takes so many monstrous shapes in the folk-tales of the class with which we are now dealing. Sometimes he is described as altogether serpent-like in form; sometimes he seems to be of a mixed nature, partly human and partly ophidian, but in some of the stories he is apparently framed after the fashion of a man. His name is by some mythologists derived from kost’, a bone whence comes a verb signifying to become ossified, petrified, or frozen; either because he is bony of limb, or because he produces an effect akin to freezing or petrifaction.[99]

He is called “Immortal” or “The Deathless,”[100] because of his superiority to the ordinary laws of existence. Sometimes, like Baldur, he cannot be killed except by one substance; sometimes his “death”—that is, the object with which his life is indissolubly connected—does not exist within his body. Like the vital centre of “the giant who had no heart in his body” in the well-known Norse tale, it is something extraneous to the being whom it affects, and until it is destroyed he may set all ordinary means of annihilation at defiance. But this is not always the case, as may be learnt from one of the best of the skazkas in which he plays a leading part, the history of—

Marya Morevna.[101]

In a certain kingdom there lived a Prince Ivan. He had three sisters. The first was the Princess Marya, the second the Princess Olga, the third the Princess Anna. When their father and mother lay at the point of death, they had thus enjoined their son:—“Give your sisters in marriage to the very first suitors who come to woo them. Don’t go keeping them by you!”

They died and the Prince buried them, and then, to solace his grief, he went with his sisters into the garden green to stroll. Suddenly the sky was covered by a black cloud; a terrible storm arose.

“Let us go home, sisters!” he cried.

Hardly had they got into the palace, when the thunder pealed, the ceiling split open, and into the room where they were, came flying a falcon bright. The Falcon smote upon the ground, became a brave youth, and said:

“Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer! I wish to propose for your sister, the Princess Marya.”

“If you find favor in the eyes of my sister, I will not interfere with her wishes. Let her marry you in God’s name!”

The Princess Marya gave her consent; the Falcon married her and bore her away into his own realm.

Days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole year goes by. One day Prince Ivan and his two sisters went out to stroll in the garden green. Again there arose a stormcloud with whirlwind and lightning.

“Let us go home, sisters!” cried the Prince. Scarcely had they entered the palace, when the thunder crashed, the roof burst into a blaze, the ceiling split in twain, and in flew an eagle. The Eagle smote upon the ground and became a brave youth.

“Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer!”

And he asked for the hand of the Princess Olga. Prince Ivan replied:

“If you find favor in the eyes of the Princess Olga, then let her marry you. I will not interfere with her liberty of choice.”

The Princess Olga gave her consent and married the Eagle. The Eagle took her and carried her off to his own kingdom.

Another year went by. Prince Ivan said to his youngest sister:

“Let us go out and stroll in the garden green!”

They strolled about for a time. Again there arose a stormcloud, with whirlwind and lightning.

“Let us return home, sister!” said he.

They returned home, but they hadn’t had time to sit down when the thunder[102] crashed, the ceiling split open, and in flew a raven. The Raven smote upon the floor and became a brave youth. The former youths had been handsome, but this one was handsomer still.

“Well, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I have come as a wooer. Give me the Princess Anna to wife.”

“I won’t interfere with my sister’s freedom. If you gain her affections, let her marry you.”

So the Princess Anna married the Raven, and he bore her away to his own realm. Prince Ivan was left alone. A whole year he lived without his sisters; then he grew weary, and said:—

“I will set out in search of my sisters.”

He got ready for the journey, he rode and rode, and one day he saw a whole army lying dead on the plain. He cried aloud, “If there be a living man there, let him make answer! who has slain this mighty host?”

There replied unto him a living man:

“All this mighty host has been slain by the fair Princess Marya Morevna.”

Prince Ivan rode further on, and came to a white tent, and forth came to meet him the fair Princess Marya Morevna.

“Hail Prince!” says she, “whither does God send you? and is it of your free will or against your will?”

Prince Ivan replied, “Not against their will do brave youths ride!”

“Well, if your business be not pressing, tarry awhile in my tent.”

Thereat was Prince Ivan glad. He spent two nights in the tent, and he found favor in the eyes of Marya Morevna, and she married him. The fair Princess, Marya Morevna, carried him off into her own realm.

They spent some time together, and then the Princess took it into her head to go a warring. So she handed over all the housekeeping affairs to Prince Ivan, and gave him these instructions:

“Go about everywhere, keep watch over everything, only do not venture to look into that closet there.”

He couldn’t help doing so. The moment Marya Morevna had gone he rushed to the closet, pulled open the door, and looked in—there hung Koshchei the Deathless, fettered by twelve chains. Then Koshchei entreated Prince Ivan, saying,—

“Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long have I been here in torment, neither eating or drinking; my throat is utterly dried up.”

The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for more, saying:

“A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!”

The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koshchei drank it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at once.

“Thanks, Prince Ivan!” cried Koshchei the deathless, “now you will sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!” and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind. And he came up with the fair Princess Marya Morevna as she was going her way, laid hold of her, and carried her off home with him. But Prince Ivan wept full sore, and he arrayed himself and set out a wandering, saying to himself: “Whatever happens, I will go and look for Marya Morevna!”

One day passed, another day passed: at the dawn of the third day he saw a wondrous palace, and by the side of the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat a falcon bright. Down flew the Falcon from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth and cried aloud:

“Ha, dear brother-in-law! how deals the Lord with you?”

Out came running the Princess Marya, joyfully greeted her brother Ivan, and began enquiring after his health, and telling him all about herself. The Prince spent three days with them, then he said:

“I cannot abide with you; I must go in search of my wife the fair Princess Marya Morevna.”

“Hard will it be for you to find her,” answered the Falcon. “At all events leave with us your silver spoon. We will look at it and remember you.” So Prince Ivan left his silver spoon at the Falcon’s, and went on his way again.

On he went one day, on he went another day, and by the dawn of the third day he saw a palace still grander than the former one, and hard by the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat an eagle. Down flew the eagle from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud:

“Rise up, Princess Olga! Hither comes our brother dear!”

The Princess Olga immediately ran to meet him, and began kissing him and embracing him, asking after his health and telling him all about herself. With them Prince Ivan stopped three days; then he said:

“I cannot stay here any longer. I am going to look for my wife, the fair Princess Marya Morevna.”

“Hard will it be for you to find her,” replied the Eagle, “Leave with us a silver fork. We will look at it and remember you.”

He left a silver fork behind, and went his way. He travelled one day, he travelled two days; at daybreak on the third day he saw a palace grander than the first two, and near the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat a raven. Down flew the Raven from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud:

“Princess Anna, come forth quickly! our brother is coming!”

Out ran the Princess Anna, greeted him joyfully, and began kissing and embracing him, asking after his health and telling him all about herself. Prince Ivan stayed with them three days; then he said:

“Farewell! I am going to look for my wife, the fair Princess Marya Morevna.”

“Hard will it be for you to find her,” replied the Raven, “Anyhow, leave your silver snuff-box with us. We will look at it and remember you.”

The Prince handed over his silver snuff-box, took his leave and went his way. One day he went, another day he went, and on the third day he came to where Marya Morevna was. She caught sight of her love, flung her arms around his neck, burst into tears, and exclaimed:

“Oh, Prince Ivan! why did you disobey me, and go looking into the closet and letting out Koshchei the Deathless?”

“Forgive me, Marya Morevna! Remember not the past; much better fly with me while Koshchei the Deathless is out of sight. Perhaps he won’t catch us.”

So they got ready and fled. Now Koshchei was out hunting. Towards evening he was returning home, when his good steed stumbled beneath him.

“Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? scentest thou some ill?”

The steed replied:

“Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.”

“Is it possible to catch them?”

“It is possible to sow wheat, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and thresh it, to grind it to flour, to make five pies of it, to eat those pies, and then to start in pursuit—and even then to be in time.”

Koshchei galloped off and caught up Prince Ivan.

“Now,” says he, “this time I will forgive you, in return for your kindness in giving me water to drink. And a second time I will forgive you; but the third time beware! I will cut you to bits.”

Then he took Marya Morevna from him, and carried her off. But Prince Ivan sat down on a stone and burst into tears. He wept and wept—and then returned back again to Marya Morevna. Now Koshchei the Deathless happened not to be at home.

“Let us fly, Marya Morevna!”

“Ah, Prince Ivan! he will catch us.”

“Suppose he does catch us. At all events we shall have spent an hour or two together.”

So they got ready and fled. As Koshchei the Deathless was returning home, his good steed stumbled beneath him.

“Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? scentest thou some ill?”

“Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.”

“Is it possible to catch them?”

“It is possible to sow barley, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and thresh it, to brew beer, to drink ourselves drunk on it, to sleep our fill, and then to set off in pursuit—and yet to be in time.”

Koshchei galloped off, caught up Prince Ivan:

“Didn’t I tell you that you should not see Marya Morevna any more than your own ears?”

And he took her away and carried her off home with him.

Prince Ivan was left there alone. He wept and wept; then he went back again after Marya Morevna. Koshchei happened to be away from home at that moment.

“Let us fly, Marya Morevna.”

“Ah, Prince Ivan! He is sure to catch us and hew you in pieces.”

“Let him hew away! I cannot live without you.”

So they got ready and fled.

Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his good steed stumbled beneath him.

“Why stumblest thou? scentest thou any ill?”

“Prince Ivan has come and has carried off Marya Morevna.”

Koshchei galloped off, caught Prince Ivan, chopped him into little pieces, put them in a barrel, smeared it with pitch and bound it with iron hoops, and flung it into the blue sea. But Marya Morevna he carried off home.

At that very time, the silver turned black which Prince Ivan had left with his brothers-in-law.

“Ah!” said they, “the evil is accomplished sure enough!”

Then the Eagle hurried to the blue sea, caught hold of the barrel, and dragged it ashore; the Falcon flew away for the Water of Life, and the Raven for the Water of Death.

Afterwards they all three met, broke open the barrel, took out the remains of Prince Ivan, washed them, and put them together in fitting order. The Raven sprinkled them with the Water of Death—the pieces joined together, the body became whole. The Falcon sprinkled it with the Water of Life—Prince Ivan shuddered, stood up, and said:

“Ah! what a time I’ve been sleeping!”

“You’d have gone on sleeping a good deal longer, if it hadn’t been for us,” replied his brothers-in-law. “Now come and pay us a visit.”

“Not so, brothers; I shall go and look for Marya Morevna.”

And when he had found her, he said to her:

“Find out from Koshchei the Deathless whence he got so good a steed.”

So Marya Morevna chose a favorable moment, and began asking Koshchei about it. Koshchei replied:

“Beyond thrice nine lands, in the thirtieth kingdom, on the other side of the fiery river, there lives a Baba Yaga. She has so good a mare that she flies right round the world on it every day. And she has many other splendid mares. I watched her herds for three days without losing a single mare, and in return for that the Baba Yaga gave me a foal.”

“But how did you get across the fiery river?”

“Why, I’ve a handkerchief of this kind—when I wave it thrice on the right hand, there springs up a very lofty bridge and the fire cannot reach it.”

Marya Morevna listened to all this, and repeated it to Prince Ivan, and she carried off the handkerchief and gave it to him. So he managed to get across the fiery river, and then went on to the Baba Yaga’s. Long went he on without getting anything either to eat or to drink. At last he came across an outlandish[103] bird and its young ones. Says Prince Ivan:

“I’ll eat one of these chickens.”

“Don’t eat it, Prince Ivan!” begs the outlandish bird; “some time or other I’ll do you a good turn.”

He went on farther and saw a hive of bees in the forest.

“I’ll get a bit of honeycomb,” says he.

“Don’t disturb my honey, Prince Ivan!” exclaims the queen bee; “some time or other I’ll do you a good turn.”

So he didn’t disturb it, but went on. Presently there met him a lioness with her cub.

“Anyhow I’ll eat this lion cub,” says he; “I’m so hungry, I feel quite unwell!”

“Please let us alone, Prince Ivan” begs the lioness; “some time or other I’ll do you a good turn.”

“Very well; have it your own way,” says he.

Hungry and faint he wandered on, walked farther and farther and at last came to where stood the house of the Baba Yaga. Round the house were set twelve poles in a circle, and on each of eleven of these poles was stuck a human head, the twelfth alone remained unoccupied.

“Hail, granny!”

“Hail, Prince Ivan! wherefore have you come? Is it of your own accord, or on compulsion?”

“I have come to earn from you a heroic steed.”

“So be it, Prince, you won’t have to serve a year with me, but just three days. If you take good care of my mares, I’ll give you a heroic steed. But if you don’t—why then you mustn’t be annoyed at finding your head stuck on top of the last pole up there.”

Prince Ivan agreed to these terms. The Baba Yaga gave him food and drink, and bid him set about his business. But the moment he had driven the mares afield, they cocked up their tails, and away they tore across the meadows in all directions. Before the Prince had time to look round, they were all out of sight. Thereupon he began to weep and to disquiet himself, and then he sat down upon a stone and went to sleep. But when the sun was near its setting, the outlandish bird came flying up to him, and awakened him saying:—

“Arise, Prince Ivan! the mares are at home now.”

The Prince arose and returned home. There the Baba Yaga was storming and raging at her mares, and shrieking:—

“Whatever did ye come home for?”

“How could we help coming home?” said they. “There came flying birds from every part of the world, and all but pecked our eyes out.”

“Well, well! to-morrow don’t go galloping over the meadows, but disperse amid the thick forests.”

Prince Ivan slept all night. In the morning the Baba Yaga says to him:—

“Mind, Prince! if you don’t take good care of the mares, if you lose merely one of them—your bold head will be stuck on that pole!”

He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up their tails and dispersed among the thick forests. Again did the Prince sit down on the stone, weep and weep, and then go to sleep. The sun went down behind the forest. Up came running the lioness.

“Arise, Prince Ivan! The mares are all collected.”

Prince Ivan arose and went home. More than ever did the Baba Yaga storm at her mares and shriek:—

“Whatever did ye come back home for?”

“How could we help coming back? Beasts of prey came running at us from all parts of the world, all but tore us utterly to pieces.”

“Well, to-morrow run off into the blue sea.”

Again did Prince Ivan sleep through the night. Next morning the Baba Yaga sent him forth to watch the mares:

“If you don’t take good care of them,” says she, “your bold head will be stuck on that pole!”

He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up their tails, disappeared from sight, and fled into the blue sea. There they stood, up to their necks in water. Prince Ivan sat down on the stone, wept, and fell asleep. But when the sun had set behind the forest, up came flying a bee and said:—

“Arise, Prince! The mares are all collected. But when you get home, don’t let the Baba Yaga set eyes on you, but go into the stable and hide behind the mangers. There you will find a sorry colt rolling in the muck. Do you steal it, and at the dead of night ride away from the house.”

Prince Ivan arose, slipped into the stable, and lay down behind the mangers, while the Baba Yaga was storming away at her mares and shrieking:—

“Why did ye come back?”

“How could we help coming back? There came flying bees in countless numbers from all parts of the world, and began stinging us on all sides till the blood came!”

The Baba Yaga went to sleep. In the dead of the night Prince Ivan stole the sorry colt, saddled it, jumped on its back, and galloped away to the fiery river. When he came to that river he waved the handkerchief three times on the right hand, and suddenly, springing goodness knows whence, there hung across the river, high in the air, a splendid bridge. The Prince rode across the bridge and waved the handkerchief twice only on the left hand; there remained across the river a thin—ever so thin a bridge!

When the Baba Yaga got up in the morning, the sorry colt was not to be seen! Off she set in pursuit. At full speed did she fly in her iron mortar, urging it on with the pestle, sweeping away her traces with the broom. She dashed up to the fiery river, gave a glance, and said, “A capital bridge!” She drove on to the bridge, but had only got half-way when the bridge broke in two, and the Baba Yaga went flop into the river. There truly did she meet with a cruel death!

Prince Ivan fattened up the colt in the green meadows, and it turned into a wondrous steed. Then he rode to where Marya Morevna was. She came running out, and flung herself on his neck, crying:—

“By what means has God brought you back to life?”

“Thus and thus,” says he. “Now come along with me.”

“I am afraid, Prince Ivan! If Koshchei catches us, you will be cut in pieces again.”

“No, he won’t catch us! I have a splendid heroic steed now; it flies just like a bird.” So they got on its back and rode away.

Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his horse stumbled beneath him.

“What art thou stumbling for, sorry jade? dost thou scent any ill?”

“Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna.”

“Can we catch them?”

“God knows! Prince Ivan has a horse now which is better than I.”

“Well, I can’t stand it,” says Koshchei the Deathless. “I will pursue.”

After a time he came up with Prince Ivan, lighted on the ground, and was going to chop him up with his sharp sword. But at that moment Prince Ivan’s horse smote Koshchei the Deathless full swing with its hoof, and cracked his skull, and the Prince made an end of him with a club. Afterwards the Prince heaped up a pile of wood, set fire to it, burnt Koshchei the Deathless on the pyre, and scattered his ashes to the wind. Then Marya Morevna mounted Koshchei’s horse and Prince Ivan got on his own, and they rode away to visit first the Raven, and then the Eagle, and then the Falcon. Wherever they went they met with a joyful greeting.

“Ah, Prince Ivan! why, we never expected to see you again. Well, it wasn’t for nothing that you gave yourself so much trouble. Such a beauty as Marya Morevna one might search for all the world over—and never find one like her!”

And so they visited, and they feasted; and afterwards they went off to their own realm.[104]

With the Baba Yaga, the feminine counterpart of Koshchei and the Snake, we shall deal presently, and the Waters of Life and Death will find special notice elsewhere.[105] A magic water, which brings back the dead to life, plays a prominent part in the folk-lore of all lands, but the two waters, each performing one part only of the cure, render very noteworthy the Slavonic stories in which they occur. The Princess, Marya Morevna, who slaughters whole armies before she is married, and then becomes mild and gentle, belongs to a class of heroines who frequently occur both in the stories and in the “metrical romances,” and to whom may be applied the remarks made by Kemble with reference to a similar Amazon.[106] In one of the variants of the story the representative of Marya Morevna fights the hero before she marries him.[107] The Bluebeard incident of the forbidden closet is one which often occurs in the Skazkas, as we shall see further on; and the same may be said about the gratitude of the Bird, Bee, and Lioness.

The story of Immortal Koshchei is one of very frequent occurrence, the different versions maintaining a unity of idea, but varying considerably in detail. In one of them,[108] in which Koshchei’s part is played by a Snake, the hero’s sisters are carried off by their feathered admirers without his leave being asked—an omission for which a full apology is afterwards made; in another, the history of “Fedor Tugarin and Anastasia the Fair,”[109] the hero’s three sisters are wooed and won, not by the Falcon, the Eagle, and the Raven, but by the Wind, the Hail, and the Thunder. He himself marries the terrible heroine Anastasia the Fair, in the forbidden chamber of whose palace he finds a snake “hung up by one of its ribs.” He gives it a lift and it gets free from its hook and flies away, carrying off Anastasia the Fair. Fedor eventually finds her, escapes with her on a magic foal which he obtains, thanks to the aid of grateful wolves, bees, and crayfish, and destroys the snake by striking it “on the forehead” with the stone which was destined to be its death. In a third version of the story,[110] the hero finds in the forbidden chamber “Koshchei the Deathless, in a cauldron amid flames, boiling in pitch.” There he has been, he declares, for fifteen years, having been lured there by the beauty of Anastasia the Fair. In a fourth,[111] in which the hero’s three sisters marry three beggars, who turn out to be snakes with twenty, thirty, and forty heads apiece, Koshchei is found in the forbidden chamber, seated on a horse which is chained to a cauldron. He begs the hero to unloose the horse, promising, in return, to save him from three deaths.

[Into the mystery of the forbidden chamber I will not enter fully at present. Suffice to say that there can be little doubt as to its being the same as that in which Bluebeard kept the corpses of his dead wives. In the Russian, as well as in the Oriental stories, it is generally the curiosity of a man, not of a woman, which leads to the opening of the prohibited room. In the West of Europe the fatal inquisitiveness is more frequently ascribed to a woman. For parallels see the German stories of “Marienkind,” and “Fitchers Vogel.” (Grimm, KM., Nos. 3 and 46, also the notes in Bd. iii. pp. 8, 76, 324.) Less familiar than these is, probably, the story of “Die eisernen Stiefel” (Wolf’s “Deutsche Hausmärchen,” 1851, No. 19), in which the hero opens a forbidden door—that of a summer-house—and sees “deep down below him the earth, and on the earth his father’s palace,” and is seized by a sudden longing after his former home. The Wallachian story of “The Immured Mother” (Schott, No. 2) resembles Grimm’s “Marienkind” in many points. But its forbidden chamber differs from that of the German tale. In the latter the rash intruder sees “die Dreieinigkeit im Feuer und Glanz sitzen;” in the former, “the Holy Mother of God healing the wounds of her Son, the Lord Christ.” In the Neapolitan story of “Le tre Corune” (Pentamerone, No. 36), the forbidden chamber contains “three maidens, clothed all in gold, sitting and seeming to slumber upon as many thrones” (Liebrecht’s translation, ii. 76). The Esthonian tale of the “Wife-murderer” (Löwe’s “Ehstnische Märchen,” No. 20) is remarkably—not to say suspiciously—like that French story of Blue Beard which has so often made our young blood run cold. Sister Anne is represented, and so are the rescuing brothers, the latter in the person of the heroine’s old friend and playmate, Tönnis the goose-herd. Several very curious Gaelic versions of the story are given by Mr. Campbell (“Tales of the West Highlands,” No. 41, ii. 265-275). Two of the three daughters of a poor widow look into a forbidden chamber, find it “full of dead gentlewomen,” get stained knee-deep in blood, and refuse to give a drop of milk to a cat which offers its services. So their heads are chopped off. The third daughter makes friends with the cat, which licks off the tell-tale blood, so she escapes detection. In a Greek story (Hahn, ii. p. 197) the hero discovers in the one-and-fortieth room of a castle belonging to a Drakos, who had given him leave to enter forty only, a magic horse, and before the door of the room he finds a pool of gold in which he becomes gilded. In another (Hahn, No. 15) a prince finds in the forbidden fortieth a lake in which fairies of the swan-maiden species are bathing. In a third (No. 45) the fortieth room contains a golden horse and a golden dog which assist their bold releaser. In a fourth (No. 68) it imprisons “a fair maiden, shining like the sun,” whom the demon proprietor of the castle has hung up within it by her hair.

As usual, all these stories are hard to understand. But one of the most important of their Oriental equivalents is perfectly intelligible. When Saktideva, in the fifth book of the “Kathásaritságara,” comes after long travel to the Golden City, and is welcomed as her destined husband by its princess, she warns him not to ascend the central terrace of her palace. Of course he does so, and finds three chambers, in each of which lies the lifeless form of a fair maiden. After gazing at these seeming corpses, in one of which he recognizes his first love, he approaches a horse which is grazing beside a lake. The horse kicks him into the water; he sinks deep—and comes up again in his native land. The whole of the story is, towards its termination, fully explained by one of its principal characters—one of the four maidens whom Saktideva simultaneously marries. With the version of this romance in the “Arabian Nights” (“History of the Third Royal Mendicant,” Lane, i. 160-173), everyone is doubtless acquainted. A less familiar story is that of Kandarpaketu, in the second book of the “Hitopadesa,” who lives happily for a time as the husband of the beautiful semi-divine queen of the Golden City. At last, contrary to her express commands, he ventures to touch a picture of a Vidyádharí. In an instant the pictured demigoddess gives him a kick which sends him flying back into his own country.

For an explanation of the myth which lies at the root of all these stories, see Cox’s “Mythology of the Aryan Nations,” ii. 36, 330. See also Professor de Gubernatis’s “Zoological Mythology,” i. 168.]

We will now take one of those versions of the story which describe how Koshchei’s death is brought about by the destruction of that extraneous object on which his existence depends. The incident is one which occupies a prominent place in the stories of this class current in all parts of Europe and Asia, and its result is almost always the same. But the means by which that result is brought about differ considerably in different lands. In the Russian tales the “death” of the Evil Being with whom the hero contends—the substance, namely, the destruction of which involves his death—is usually the last of a sequence of objects either identical with, or closely resembling, those mentioned in the following story of—

Koshchei the Deathless.[112]

In a certain country there once lived a king, and he had three sons, all of them grown up. All of a sudden Koshchei the Deathless carried off their mother. Then the eldest son craved his father’s blessing, that he might go and look for his mother. His father gave him his blessing, and he went off and disappeared, leaving no trace behind. The second son waited and waited, then he too obtained his father’s blessing—and he also disappeared. Then the youngest son, Prince Ivan, said to his father, “Father, give me your blessing, and let me go and look for my mother.”

But his father would not let him go, saying, “Your brothers are no more; if you likewise go away, I shall die of grief.”

“Not so, father. But if you bless me I shall go; and if you do not bless me I shall go.”

So his father gave him his blessing.

Prince Ivan went to choose a steed, but every one that he laid his hand upon gave way under it. He could not find a steed to suit him, so he wandered with drooping brow along the road and about the town. Suddenly there appeared an old woman, who asked:

“Why hangs your brow so low, Prince Ivan?”

“Be off, old crone,” he replied. “If I put you on one of my hands, and give it a slap with the other, there’ll be a little wet left, that’s all.”[113]

The old woman ran down a by-street, came to meet him a second time, and said:

“Good day, Prince Ivan! why hangs your brow so low?”

Then he thought:

“Why does this old woman ask me? Mightn’t she be of use to me?”—and he replied:

“Well, mother! because I cannot get myself a good steed.”

“Silly fellow!” she cried, “to suffer, and not to ask the old woman’s help! Come along with me.”

She took him to a hill, showed him a certain spot, and said:

“Dig up that piece of ground.”

Prince Ivan dug it up and saw an iron plate with twelve padlocks on it. He immediately broke off the padlocks, tore open a door, and followed a path leading underground. There, fastened with twelve chains, stood a heroic steed which evidently heard the approaching steps of a rider worthy to mount it, and so began to neigh and to struggle, until it broke all twelve of its chains. Then Prince Ivan put on armor fit for a hero, and bridled the horse, and saddled it with a Circassian saddle. And he gave the old woman money, and said to her:

“Forgive me, mother, and bless me!” then he mounted his steed and rode away.

Long time did he ride; at last he came to a mountain—a tremendously high mountain, and so steep that it was utterly impossible to get up it. Presently his brothers came that way. They all greeted each other, and rode on together, till they came to an iron rock[114] a hundred and fifty poods in weight, and on it was this inscription, “Whosoever will fling this rock against the mountain, to him will a way be opened.” The two elder brothers were unable to lift the rock, but Prince Ivan at the first try flung it against the mountain—and immediately there appeared a ladder leading up the mountain side.

Prince Ivan dismounted, let some drops of blood run from his little finger into a glass, gave it to his brothers, and said:

“If the blood in this glass turns black, tarry here no longer: that will mean that I am about to die.” Then he took leave of them and went his way.

He mounted the hill. What did not he see there? All sorts of trees were there, all sorts of fruits, all sorts of birds! Long did Prince Ivan walk on; at last he came to a house, a huge house! In it lived a king’s daughter who had been carried off by Koshchei the Deathless. Prince Ivan walked round the enclosure, but could not see any doors. The king’s daughter saw there was some one there, came on to the balcony, and called out to him, “See, there is a chink in the enclosure; touch it with your little finger, and it will become a door.”

What she said turned out to be true. Prince Ivan went into the house, and the maiden received him kindly, gave him to eat and to drink, and then began to question him. He told her how he had come to rescue his mother from Koshchei the Deathless. Then the maiden said:

“It will be difficult for you to get at your mother, Prince Ivan. You see, Koshchei is not mortal: he will kill you. He often comes here to see me. There is his sword, fifty poods in weight. Can you lift it? If so, you may venture to go.”

Not only did Prince Ivan lift the sword, but he tossed it high in the air. So he went on his way again.

By-and-by he came to a second house. He knew now where to look for the door, and he entered in. There was his mother. With tears did they embrace each other.

Here also did he try his strength, heaving aloft a ball which weighed some fifteen hundred poods. The time came for Koshchei the Deathless to arrive. The mother hid away her son. Suddenly Koshchei the Deathless entered the house and cried out, “Phou, Phou! A Russian bone[115] one usen’t to hear with one’s ears, or see with one’s eyes, but now a Russian bone has come to the house! Who has been with you? Wasn’t it your son?”

“What are you talking about, God bless you! You’ve been flying through Russia, and got the air up your nostrils, that’s why you fancy it’s here,” answered Prince Ivan’s mother, and then she drew nigh to Koshchei, addressed him in terms of affection, asked him about one thing and another, and at last said:

“Whereabouts is your death, O Koshchei?”

“My death,” he replied, “is in such a place. There stands an oak, and under the oak is a casket, and in the casket is a hare, and in the hare is a duck, and in the duck is an egg, and in the egg is my death.”

Having thus spoken, Koshchei the Deathless tarried there a little longer, and then flew away.

The time came—Prince Ivan received his mother’s blessing, and went to look for Koshchei’s death. He went on his way a long time without eating or drinking; at last he felt mortally hungry, and thought, “If only something would come my way!” Suddenly there appeared a young wolf; he determined to kill it. But out from a hole sprang the she wolf, and said, “Don’t hurt my little one; I’ll do you a good turn.” Very good! Prince Ivan let the young wolf go. On he went and saw a crow. “Stop a bit,” he thought, “here I shall get a mouthful.” He loaded his gun and was going to shoot, but the crow exclaimed, “Don’t hurt me; I’ll do you a good turn.”

Prince Ivan thought the matter over and spared the crow. Then he went farther, and came to a sea and stood still on the shore. At that moment a young pike suddenly jumped out of the water and fell on the strand. He caught hold of it, and thought—for he was half dead with hunger—“Now I shall have something to eat.” All of a sudden appeared a pike and said, “Don’t hurt my little one, Prince Ivan; I’ll do you a good turn.” And so he spared the little pike also.

But how was he to cross the sea? He sat down on the shore and meditated. But the pike knew quite well what he was thinking about, and laid herself right across the sea. Prince Ivan walked along her back, as if he were going over a bridge, and came to the oak where Koshchei’s death was. There he found the casket and opened it—out jumped the hare and ran away. How was the hare to be stopped?

Prince Ivan was terribly frightened at having let the hare escape, and gave himself up to gloomy thoughts; but a wolf, the one he had refrained from killing, rushed after the hare, caught it, and brought it to Prince Ivan. With great delight he seized the hare, cut it open—and had such a fright! Out popped the duck and flew away. He fired after it, but shot all on one side, so again he gave himself up to his thoughts. Suddenly there appeared the crow with her little crows, and set off after the duck, and caught it, and brought it to Prince Ivan. The Prince was greatly pleased and got hold of the egg. Then he went on his way. But when he came to the sea, he began washing the egg, and let it drop into the water. However was he to get it out of the water? an immeasurable depth! Again the Prince gave himself up to dejection.

Suddenly the sea became violently agitated, and the pike brought him the egg. Moreover it stretched itself across the sea. Prince Ivan walked along it to the other side, and then he set out again for his mother’s. When he got there, they greeted each other lovingly, and then she hid him again as before. Presently in flew Koshchei the Deathless and said:

“Phoo, Phoo! No Russian bone can the ear hear nor the eye see, but there’s a smell of Russia here!”

“What are you talking about, Koshchei? There’s no one with me,” replied Prince Ivan’s mother.

A second time spake Koshchei and said, “I feel rather unwell.”

Then Prince Ivan began squeezing the egg, and thereupon Koshchei the Deathless bent double. At last Prince Ivan came out from his hiding-place, held up the egg and said, “There is your death, O Koshchei the Deathless!”

Then Koshchei fell on his knees before him, saying, “Don’t kill me, Prince Ivan! Let’s be friends! All the world will lie at our feet.”

But these words had no weight with Prince Ivan. He smashed the egg, and Koshchei the Deathless died.

Ivan and his mother took all they wanted and started homewards. On their way they came to where the King’s daughter was whom Ivan had seen on his way, and they took her with them too. They went further, and came to the hill where Ivan’s brothers were still waiting for him. Then the maiden said, “Prince Ivan! do go back to my house. I have forgotten a marriage robe, a diamond ring, and a pair of seamless shoes.”

He consented to do so, but in the mean time he let his mother go down the ladder, as well as the Princess—whom it had been settled he was to marry when they got home. They were received by his brothers, who then set to work and cut away the ladder, so that he himself would not be able to get down. And they used such threats to his mother and the Princess, that they made them promise not to tell about Prince Ivan when they got home. And after a time they reached their native country. Their father was delighted at seeing his wife and his two sons, but still he was grieved about the other one, Prince Ivan.

But Prince Ivan returned to the home of his betrothed, and got the wedding dress, and the ring, and the seamless shoes. Then he came back to the mountain and tossed the ring from one hand to the other. Immediately there appeared twelve strong youths, who said:

“What are your commands?”

“Carry me down from this hill.”

The youths immediately carried him down. Prince Ivan put the ring on his finger—they disappeared.

Then he went on to his own country, and arrived at the city in which his father and brothers lived.

There he took up his quarters in the house of an old woman, and asked her:

“What news is there, mother, in your country?”

“What news, lad? You see our queen was kept in prison by Koshchei the Deathless. Her three sons went to look for her, and two of them found her and came back, but the third, Prince Ivan, has disappeared, and no one knows where he is. The King is very unhappy about him. And those two Princes and their mother brought a certain Princess back with them; and the eldest son wants to marry her, but she declares he must fetch her her betrothal ring first, or get one made just as she wants it. But although they have made a public proclamation about it, no one has been found to do it yet.”

“Well, mother, go and tell the King that you will make one. I’ll manage it for you,” said Prince Ivan.

So the old woman immediately dressed herself, and hastened to the King, and said:

“Please, your Majesty, I will make the wedding ring.”

“Make it, then, make it, mother! Such people as you are welcome,” said the king. “But if you don’t make it, off goes your head!”

The old woman was dreadfully frightened; she ran home, and told Prince Ivan to set to work at the ring. But Ivan lay down to sleep, troubling himself very little about it. The ring was there all the time. So he only laughed at the old woman, but she was trembling all over, and crying, and scolding him.

“As for you,” she said, “you’re out of the scrape; but you’ve done for me, fool that I was!”

The old woman cried and cried until she fell asleep. Early in the morning Prince Ivan got up and awakened her, saying:

“Get up, mother, and go out! take them the ring, and mind, don’t accept more than one ducat for it. If anyone asks who made the ring, say you made it yourself; don’t say a word about me.”

The old woman was overjoyed and carried off the ring. The bride was delighted with it.

“Just what I wanted,” she said. So they gave the old woman a dish full of gold, but she took only one ducat.

“Why do you take so little?” said the king.

“What good would a lot do me, your Majesty? if I want some more afterwards, you’ll give it me.”

Having said this the old woman went away.

Time passed, and the news spread abroad that the bride had told her lover to fetch her her wedding-dress or else to get one made, just such a one as she wanted. Well, the old woman, thanks to Prince Ivan’s aid, succeeded in this matter too, and took her the wedding-dress. And afterwards she took her the seamless shoes also, and would only accept one ducat each time and always said that she had made the things herself.

Well, the people heard that there would be a wedding at the palace on such-and-such a day. And the day they all anxiously awaited came at last. Then Prince Ivan said to the old woman:

“Look here, mother! when the bride is just going to be married, let me know.”

The old woman didn’t let the time go by unheeded.

Then Ivan immediately put on his princely raiment, and went out of the house.

“See, mother, this is what I’m really like!” says he.

The old woman fell at his feet.

“Pray forgive me for scolding you,” said she.

“God be with you,” said he.[116]

So he went into the church and, finding his brothers had not yet arrived, he stood up alongside of the bride and got married to her. Then he and she were escorted back to the palace, and as they went along, the proper bridegroom, his eldest brother, met them. But when he saw that his bride and Prince Ivan were being escorted home together, he turned back again ignominiously.

As to the king, he was delighted to see Prince Ivan again, and when he had learnt all about the treachery of his brothers, after the wedding feast had been solemnized, he banished the two elder princes, but he made Ivan heir to the throne.

In the story of “Prince Arikad,”[117] the Queen-Mother is carried off by the Whirlwind,[118] instead of by Koshchei. Her youngest son climbs the hill by the aid of iron hooks, kills Vikhor, and lowers his mother and three other ladies whom he has rescued, by means of a rope made of strips of hide. This his brothers cut to prevent him from descending.[119] They then oblige the ladies to swear not to betray them, the taking of the oath being accompanied by the eating of earth.[120] The same formality is observed in another story in which an oath of a like kind is exacted.[121]

The sacred nature of such an obligation may account for the singular reticence so often maintained, under similar circumstances, in stories of this class.

In one of the descriptions of Koshchei’s death, he is said to be killed by a blow on the forehead inflicted by the mysterious egg—that last link in the magic chain by which his life is darkly bound.[122] In another version of the same story, but told of a Snake, the fatal blow is struck by a small stone found in the yolk of an egg, which is inside a duck, which is inside a hare, which is inside a stone, which is on an island [i.e., the fabulous island Buyan].[123] In another variant[124] Koshchei attempts to deceive his fair captive, pretending that his “death” resides in a besom, or in a fence, both of which she adorns with gold in token of her love. Then he confesses that his “death” really lies in an egg, inside a duck, inside a log which is floating on the sea. Prince Ivan gets hold of the egg and shifts it from one hand to the other. Koshchei rushes wildly from side to side of the room. At last the prince breaks the egg. Koshchei falls on the floor and dies.

This heart-breaking episode occurs in the folk-tales of many lands.[125] It may not be amiss to trace it through some of its forms. In a Norse story[126] a Giant’s heart lies in an egg, inside a duck, which swims in a well, in a church, on an island. With this may be compared another Norse tale,[127] in which a Haugebasse, or Troll, who has carried off a princess, informs her that he and all his companions will burst asunder when above them passes “the grain of sand that lies under the ninth tongue in the ninth head” of a certain dead dragon. The grain of sand is found and brought, and the result is that the whole of the monstrous brood of Trolls or Haugebasser is instantaneously destroyed. In a Transylvanian-Saxon story[128] a Witch’s “life” is a light which burns in an egg, inside a duck, which swims on a pond, inside a mountain, and she dies when it is put out. In the Bohemian story of “The Sun-horse”[129] a Warlock’s “strength” lies in an egg, which is within a duck, which is within a stag, which is under a tree. A Seer finds the egg and sucks it. Then the Warlock becomes as weak as a child, “for all his strength had passed into the Seer.” In the Gaelic story of “The Sea-Maiden,”[130] the “great beast with three heads” which haunts the loch cannot be killed until an egg is broken, which is in the mouth of a trout, which springs out of a crow, which flies out of a hind, which lives on an island in the middle of the loch. In a Modern Greek tale the life of a dragon or other baleful being comes to an end simultaneously with the lives of three pigeons which are shut up in an all but inaccessible chamber,[131] or inclosed within a wild boar.[132] Closely connected with the Greek tale is the Servian story of the dragon[133] whose “strength” (snaga) lies in a sparrow, which is inside a dove, inside a hare, inside a boar, inside a dragon (ajdaya) which is in a lake, near a royal city. The hero of the story fights the dragon of the lake, and after a long struggle, being invigorated at the critical moment by a kiss which the heroine imprints on his forehead—he flings it high in the air. When it falls to the ground it breaks in pieces, and out comes the boar. Eventually the hero seizes the sparrow and wrings its neck, but not before he has obtained from it the charm necessary for the recovery of his missing brothers and a number of other victims of the dragon’s cruelty.

To these European tales a very interesting parallel is afforded by the Indian story of “Punchkin,”[134] whose life depends on that of a parrot, which is in a cage placed beneath the lowest of six jars of water, piled one on the other, and standing in the midst of a desolate country covered with thick jungle. When the parrot’s legs and wings are pulled off, Punchkin loses his legs and arms; and when its neck is wrung, his head twists round and he dies.