Chapter II: Mythological (2)

"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 Hausmaerchen," 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" (Loewe's "Ehstnische Maerchen,"
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, Toennis 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 "Kathasaritsagara," 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 Vidyadhari. 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.

One of the strangest of the stories which turn on this idea of an external heart is the Samoyed tale,[135] in which seven brothers are in the habit, every night, of taking out their hearts and sleeping without them. A captive damsel whose mother they have killed, receives the extracted hearts and hangs them on the tent-pole, where they remain till the following morning. One night her brother contrives to get the hearts into his possession. Next morning he takes them into the tent, where he finds the brothers at the point of death. In vain do they beg for their hearts, which he flings on the floor. "And as he flings down the hearts the brothers die."

The legend to which I am now about to refer will serve as a proof of the venerable antiquity of the myth from which the folk-tales, which have just been quoted, appear to have sprung. A papyrus, which is supposed to be "of the age of the nineteenth dynasty, about B.C. 1300," has preserved an Egyptian tale about two brothers. The younger of these, Satou, leaves the elder, Anepou (Anubis) and retires to the Valley of the Acacia. But, before setting off, Satou states that he shall take his heart and place it "in the flowers of the acacia-tree," so that, if the tree is cut down, his heart will fall to the ground and he will die. Having given Anepou instructions what to do in such a case, he seeks the valley. There he hunts wild animals by day, and at night he sleeps under the acacia-tree on which his heart rests. But at length Noum, the Creator, forms a wife for him, and all the other gods endow her with gifts. To this Egyptian Pandora Satou confides the secret of his heart. One day a tress of her perfumed hair floats down the river, and is taken to the King of Egypt. He determines to make its owner his queen, and she, like Rhodope or Cinderella, is sought for far and wide. When she has been found and brought to the king, she recommends him to have the acacia cut down, so as to get rid of her lawful husband. Accordingly the tree is cut down, the heart falls, and Satou dies.

About this time Anepou sets out to pay his long-lost brother a visit. Finding him dead, he searches for his heart, but searches in vain for three years. In the fourth year, however, it suddenly becomes desirous of returning to Egypt, and says, "I will leave this celestial sphere." Next day Anepou finds it under the acacia, and places it in a vase which contains some mystic fluid. When the heart has become saturated with the moisture, the corpse shudders and opens its eyes. Anepou pours the rest of the fluid down its throat, the heart returns to its proper place, and Satou is restored to life.[136]

In one of the Skazkas, a _volshebnitsa_ or enchantress is introduced, whose "death," like that of Koshchei, is spoken of as something definite and localized. A prince has loved and lost a princess, who is so beautiful that no man can look at her without fainting. Going in search of her, he comes to the home of an enchantress, who invites him to tea and gives him leave to inspect her house. As he wanders about he comes to a cellar in which "he sees that beautiful one whom he loves, in fire." She tells him her love for him has brought her there; and he learns that there is no hope of freeing her unless he can find out "where lies the death of the enchantress." So that evening he asks his hostess about it, and she replies:

"In a certain lake stands a blue rose-tree. It is in a deep place, and no man can reach unto it. My death is there."

He sets out in search of it, and, aided by a magic ring, reaches the lake, "and sees there the blue rose-tree, and around it a blue forest." After several failures, he succeeds in plucking up the rose-tree by the roots, whereupon the enchantress straightway sickens. He returns to her house, finds her at the point of death, and throws the rose-bush into the cellar where his love is crying, "Behold her death!" and immediately the whole building shakes to its foundations--"and becomes an island, on which are people who had been sitting in Hell, and who offer up thanks to Prince Ivan."[137]

In another Russian story,[138] a prince is grievously tormented by a witch who has got hold of his heart, and keeps it perpetually seething in a magic cauldron. In a third,[139] a "Queen-Maiden" falls in love with the young Ivan, and, after being betrothed to him, would fain take him away to her own land and marry him. But his stepmother throws him into a magic slumber, and the Queen-Maiden has to return home without him. When he awakes, and learns that she has gone, he sorrows greatly, and sets out in search of her. At last he learns from a friendly witch that his betrothed no longer cares for him, "her love is hidden far away." It seems "that on the other side of the ocean stands an oak, and on the oak a coffer, and in the coffer a hare, and in the hare a duck, and in the duck an egg, and in the egg the love of the Queen-Maiden." Ivan gets possession of the egg, and the friendly witch contrives to have it placed before the Queen-Maiden at dinner. She eats it, and immediately her love for Ivan returns in all its pristine force. He appears, and she, overjoyed, carries him off to her own land and there marries him.

* * * * *

After this digression we will now return to our Snakes. All the monstrous forms which figure in the stories we have just been considering appear to be merely different species of the great serpent family. Such names as Koshchei, Chudo Yudo, Usuinya, and the like, seem to admit of exchange at the will of the story-teller with that of Zmei Goruinuich, the many-headed Snake, who in Russian storyland is represented as the type of all that is evil. But in the actual Russia of to-day, snakes bear by no means so bad a character. Their presence in a cottage is considered a good omen by the peasants, who leave out milk for them to drink, and who think that to kill such visitors would be a terrible sin.[140] This is probably a result of some remembrance of a religious cultus paid to the household gods under the form of snakes, such as existed of old, according to Kromer, in Poland and Lithuania. The following story is more in keeping with such ideas as these, than with those which are expressed in the tales about Koshchei and his kin.

THE WATER SNAKE.[141]

There was once an old woman who had a daughter; and her
daughter went down to the pond one day to bathe with the
other girls. They all stripped off their shifts, and went into the
water. Then there came a snake out of the water, and glided on
to the daughter's shift. After a time the girls all came out, and
began to put on their shifts, and the old woman's daughter wanted
to put on hers, but there was the snake lying on it. She tried
to drive him away, but there he stuck and would not move. Then
the snake said:

"If you'll marry me, I'll give you back your shift."

Now she wasn't at all inclined to marry him, but the other
girls said:

"As if it were possible for you to be married to him! Say
you will!" So she said, "Very well, I will." Then the snake
glided off from the shift, and went straight into the water. The
girl dressed and went home. And as soon as she got there,
she said to her mother,

"Mammie, mammie, thus and thus, a snake got upon my
shift, and says he, 'Marry me or I won't let you have your shift;'
and I said, 'I will.'"

"What nonsense are you talking, you little fool! as if one
could marry a snake!"

And so they remained just as they were, and forgot all about
the matter.

A week passed by, and one day they saw ever so many snakes,
a huge troop of them, wriggling up to their cottage. "Ah,
mammie, save me, save me!" cried the girl, and her mother
slammed the door and barred the entrance as quickly as possible.
The snakes would have rushed in at the door, but the door was
shut; they would have rushed into the passage, but the passage
was closed. Then in a moment they rolled themselves into a
ball, flung themselves at the window, smashed it to pieces, and
glided in a body into the room. The girl got upon the stove, but
they followed her, pulled her down, and bore her out of the room
and out of doors. Her mother accompanied her, crying like
anything.

They took the girl down to the pond, and dived right into the
water with her. And there they all turned into men and women.
The mother remained for some time on the dike, wailed a little,
and then went home.

Three years went by. The girl lived down there, and had
two children, a son and a daughter. Now she often entreated
her husband to let her go to see her mother. So at last one day
he took her up to the surface of the water, and brought her
ashore. But she asked him before leaving him,

"What am I to call out when I want you?"

"Call out to me, 'Osip, [Joseph] Osip, come here!' and I
will come," he replied.

Then he dived under water again, and she went to her
mother's, carrying her little girl on one arm, and leading her boy
by the hand. Out came her mother to meet her--was so
delighted to see her!

"Good day, mother!" said the daughter.

"Have you been doing well while you were living down
there?" asked her mother.

"Very well indeed, mother. My life there is better than
yours here."

They sat down for a bit and chatted. Her mother got
dinner ready for her, and she dined.

"What's your husband's name?" asked her mother.

"Osip," she replied.

"And how are you to get home?"

"I shall go to the dike, and call out, 'Osip, Osip, come
here!' and he'll come."

"Lie down, daughter, and rest a bit," said the mother.

So the daughter lay down and went to sleep. The mother
immediately took an axe and sharpened it, and went down to the
dike with it. And when she came to the dike, she began calling
out,

"Osip, Osip, come here!"

No sooner had Osip shown his head than the old woman
lifted her axe and chopped it off. And the water in the pond
became dark with blood.

The old woman went home. And when she got home her
daughter awoke.

"Ah! mother," says she, "I'm getting tired of being here; I'll
go home."

"Do sleep here to-night, daughter; perhaps you won't have
another chance of being with me."