Chapter II: Mythological (3)

So the daughter stayed and spent the night there. In the
morning she got up and her mother got breakfast ready for her;
she breakfasted, and then she said good-bye to her mother and
went away, carrying her little girl in her arms, while her boy
followed behind her. She came to the dike, and called out:

"Osip, Osip, come here!"

She called and called, but he did not come.

Then she looked into the water, and there she saw a head
floating about. Then she guessed what had happened.

"Alas! my mother has killed him!" she cried.

There on the bank she wept and wailed. And then to her
girl she cried:

"Fly about as a wren, henceforth and evermore!"

And to her boy she cried:

"Fly about as a nightingale, my boy, henceforth and evermore!"

"But I," she said, "will fly about as a cuckoo, crying
'Cuckoo!' henceforth and evermore!"

[Stories about serpent-spouses are by no means
uncommon, but I can find no parallel to the above so
far as the termination is concerned. Benfey quotes or
refers to a great number of the transformation tales
in which a husband or a wife appears at times in the
form of a snake (Panchatantra, i. pp. 254-7 266-7).
Sometimes, when a husband of this kind has doffed his
serpent's skin, his wife seizes it, and throws it into
the fire. Her act generally proves to be to her
advantage, as well as to his, but not always. On a
story of this kind was doubtless founded the legend
handed down to us by Appuleius of Cupid and Psyche.
Among its wildest versions are the Albanian
"Schlangenkind" (Hahn, No. 100), a very similar
Roumanian tale (Ausland 1857, No. 43, quoted by
Benfey), the Wallachian Trandafiru (Schott, No. 23, in
which the husband is a pumpkin (_Kuerbiss_) by day),
and the second of the Servian tales of the
Snake-Husband (Vuk Karajich, No. 10).]

The snakes which figure in this weird story, the termination of which is so unusually tragic, bear a strong resemblance to the Indian Nagas, the inhabitants of Patala or the underground world, serpents which take at will the human shape and often mix with mortals. They may, also, be related to the mermen and mermaids of the sea-coasts, and to the similar beings with which, under various names, tradition peoples the lakes, and streams, and fountains of Europe. The South-Russian peasantry have from immemorial times maintained a firm belief in the existence of water-nymphs, called Rusalkas, closely resembling the Nereids of Modern Greece, the female Nixies of the North of Europe, and throughout the whole of Russia, at least in outlying districts, there still lingers a sort of cultus of certain male water-sprites who bear the name of Vodyanies, and who are almost identical with the beings who haunt the waters of various countries--such as the German _Nix_, the Swedish _Nek_, the Finnish _Naekke_, etc.[142]

In the Skazkas we find frequent mention of beauteous maidens who usually live beneath the wave, but who can transform themselves into birds and fly wherever they please. We may perhaps be allowed to designate them by the well-known name of Swan-Maidens, though they do not always assume, together with their plumage-robes, the form of swans, but sometimes appear as geese, ducks, spoonbills, or aquatic birds of some other species. They are, for the most part, the daughters of the Morskoi Tsar, or Water King--a being who plays an important part in Slavonic popular fiction. He is of a somewhat shadowy form, and his functions are not very clearly defined, for the part he usually fills is sometimes allotted to Koshchei or to the Snake, but the stories generally represent him as a patriarchal monarch, living in subaqueous halls of light and splendor, whence he emerges at times to seize a human victim. It is generally a boy whom he gets into his power, and who eventually obtains the hand of one of his daughters, and escapes with her to the upper world, though not without considerable difficulty. Such are, for instance, the leading incidents in the following skazka, many features of which closely resemble those of various well-known West-European folk-tales.

THE WATER KING AND VASILISSA THE WISE.[143]

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen, and the King
was very fond of hunting and shooting. Well one day he went
out hunting, and he saw an Eaglet sitting on an oak. But just
as he was going to shoot at it the Eaglet began to entreat him,
crying:--

"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you; some time or other I shall be of service to you."

The King reflected awhile and said, "How can you be of use
to me?" and again he was going to shoot.

Then the Eaglet said to him a second time:--

"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you; some time or other I shall be of use to you."

The King thought and thought, but couldn't imagine a bit the
more what use the Eaglet could be to him, and so he determined
to shoot it. Then a third time the Eaglet exclaimed:--

"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you and feed me for three years. Some time or other I shall be
of service to you!"

The King relented, took the Eaglet home with him, and fed
it for a year, for two years. But it ate so much that it devoured
all his cattle. The King had neither a cow nor a sheep left. At
length the Eagle said:--

"Now let me go free!"

The King set it at liberty; the Eagle began trying its wings.
But no, it could not fly yet! So it said:--

"Well, my lord King! you have fed me two years; now,
whether you like it or no, feed me for one year more. Even if
you have to borrow, at all events feed me; you won't lose by it!"

Well, this is what the King did. He borrowed cattle from
everywhere round about, and he fed the Eagle for the space of a
whole year, and afterwards he set it at liberty. The Eagle rose
ever so high, flew and flew, then dropt down again to the earth
and said:--

"Now then, my lord King! Take a seat on my back! we'll
have a fly together?"

The King got on the Eagle's back. Away they went flying.
Before very long they reached the blue sea. Then the Eagle
shook off the King, who fell into the sea, and sank up to his
knees. But the Eagle didn't let him drown! it jerked him on to
its wing, and asked:--

"How now, my lord King! were you frightened, perchance?"

"I was," said the King; "I thought I was going to be drowned
outright!"

Again they flew and flew till they reached another sea. The
Eagle shook off the King right in the middle of the sea; the King
sank up to his girdle. The Eagle jerked him on to its wing
again, and asked:--

"Well, my lord King, were you frightened, perchance?"

"I was," he replied, "but all the time I thought, 'Perhaps,
please God, the creature will pull me out.'"

Away they flew again, flew, and arrived at a third sea. The
Eagle dropped the King into a great gulf, so that he sank right
up to his neck. And the third time the Eagle jerked him on to
its wing, and asked:--

"Well, my lord King! Were you frightened, perchance?"

"I was," says the King, "but still I said to myself, 'Perhaps
it will pull me out.'"

"Well, my lord King! now you have felt what the fear of
death is like! What I have done was in payment of an old score.
Do you remember my sitting on an oak, and your wanting to
shoot me? Three times you were going to let fly, but I kept on
entreating you not to shoot, saying to myself all the time, 'Perhaps
he won't kill me; perhaps he'll relent and take me home
with him!'"

Afterwards they flew beyond thrice nine lands: long, long
did they fly. Says the Eagle, "Look, my lord King! what is
above us and what below us?"

The King looked.

"Above us," he says, "is the sky, below us the earth."

"Look again; what is on the right hand and on the left?"

"On the right hand is an open plain, on the left stands a
house."

"We will fly thither," said the Eagle; "my youngest sister
lives there."

They went straight into the courtyard. The sister came out
to meet them, received her brother cordially, and seated him at
the oaken table. But on the King she would not so much as
look, but left him outside, loosed greyhounds, and set them at
him. The Eagle was exceedingly wroth, jumped up from table,
seized the King, and flew away with him again.

Well, they flew and flew. Presently the Eagle said to the
King, "Look round; what is behind us?"

The King turned his head, looked, and said, "Behind us is a
red house."

"That is the house of my youngest sister--on fire, because
she did not receive you, but set greyhounds at you."

They flew and flew. Again the Eagle asked:

"Look again, my lord King; what is above us, and what
below us?"

"Above us is the sky, below us the earth."

"Look and see what is on the right hand and on the left."

"On the right is the open plain, on the left there stands a
house."

"There lives my second sister; we'll go and pay her a visit."

They stopped in a wide courtyard. The second sister received
her brother cordially, and seated him at the oaken table; but the
King was left outside, and she loosed greyhounds, and set them
at him. The Eagle flew into a rage, jumped up from table,
caught up the King, and flew away farther with him. They flew
and flew. Says the Eagle:

"My lord King! look round! what is behind us?"

The King looked back.

"There stands behind us a red house."

"That's my second sister's house burning!" said the Eagle.
"Now we'll fly to where my mother and my eldest sister live."

Well, they flew there. The Eagle's mother and eldest sister
were delighted to see them, and received the King with cordiality
and respect.

"Now, my lord King," said the Eagle, "tarry awhile with
us, and afterwards I will give you a ship, and will repay you for
all I ate in your house, and then--God speed you home again!"

So the Eagle gave the King a ship and two coffers--the one
red, the other green--and said:

"Mind now! don't open the coffers until you get home.
Then open the red coffer in the back court, and the green coffer
in the front court."

The King took the coffers, parted with the Eagle, and sailed
along the blue sea. Presently he came to a certain island, and
there his ship stopped. He landed on the shore, and began
thinking about the coffers, and wondering whatever there could
be in them, and why the Eagle had told him not to open them.
He thought and thought, and at last couldn't hold out any more--he
longed so awfully to know all about it. So he took the red
coffer, set it on the ground, and opened it--and out of it came
such a quantity of different kinds of cattle that there was no
counting them: the island had barely room enough for them.

When the King saw that, he became exceedingly sorrowful,
and began to weep and therewithal to say:

"What is there now left for me to do? how shall I get all
this cattle back into so little a coffer?"

Lo! there came out of the water a man--came up to him, and
asked:

"Wherefore are you weeping so bitterly, O lord King?"

"How can I help weeping!" answers the King. "How
shall I be able to get all this great herd into so small a coffer?"

"If you like, I will set your mind at rest. I will pack up all
your cattle for you. But on one condition only. You must give
me whatever you have at home that you don't know of."

The King reflected.

"Whatever is there at home that I don't know of?" says he.
"I fancy I know about everything that's there."

He reflected, and consented. "Pack them up," says he. "I
will give you whatever I have at home that I know nothing
about."

So that man packed away all his cattle for him in the coffer.
The King went on board ship and sailed away homewards.

When he reached home, then only did he learn that a son
had been born to him. And he began kissing the child, caressing
it, and at the same time bursting into such floods of tears!

"My lord King!" says the Queen, "tell me wherefore thou
droppest bitter tears?"

"For joy!" he replies.

He was afraid to tell her the truth, that the Prince would
have to be given up. Afterwards he went into the back court,
opened the red coffer, and thence issued oxen and cows, sheep
and rams; there were multitudes of all sorts of cattle, so that
all the sheds and pastures were crammed full. He went into
the front court, opened the green coffer, and there appeared a
great and glorious garden. What trees there were in it to be
sure! The King was so delighted that he forgot all about
giving up his son.

Many years went by. One day the King took it into his
head to go for a stroll, and he came to a river. At that moment
the same man he had seen before came out of the water, and
said:

"You've pretty soon become forgetful, lord King! Think a
little! surely you're in my debt!"

The King returned home full of grief, and told all the truth to
the Queen and the Prince. They all mourned and wept together,
but they decided that there was no help for it, the Prince must
be given up. So they took him to the mouth of the river and
there they left him alone.

The Prince looked around, saw a footpath, and followed
trusting God would lead him somewhere. He walked and walked,
and came to a dense forest: in the forest stood a hut, in the
hut lived a Baba Yaga.

"Suppose I go in," thought the Prince, and went in.

"Good day, Prince!" said the Baba Yaga. "Are you seeking
work or shunning work?"

"Eh, granny! First give me to eat and to drink, and then ask
me questions."

So she gave him food and drink, and the Prince told her
everything as to whither he was going and with what purpose.

Then the Baba Yaga said: "Go, my child, to the sea-shore;
there will fly thither twelve spoonbills, which will turn into fair
maidens, and begin bathing; do you steal quietly up and lay
your hands on the eldest maiden's shift. When you have come
to terms with her, go to the Water King, and there will meet
you on the way Obedalo and Opivalo, and also Moroz Treskum[144]--take
all of them with you; they will do you good service."

The Prince bid the Yaga farewell, went to the appointed spot
on the sea-shore, and hid behind the bushes. Presently twelve
spoonbills came flying thither, struck the moist earth, turned
into fair maidens, and began to bathe. The Prince stole the
eldest one's shift, and sat down behind a bush--didn't budge
an inch. The girls finished bathing and came out on the shore:
eleven of them put on their shifts, turned into birds, and
flew away home. There remained only the eldest, Vasilissa the
Wise. She began praying and begging the good youth:

"Do give me my shift!" she says. "You are on your way
to the house of my father, the Water King. When you come
I will do you good service."

So the Prince gave her back her shift, and she immediately
turned into a spoonbill and flew away after her companions.
The Prince went further on; there met him by the way three
heroes--Obedalo, Opivalo, and Moroz Treskum; he took them
with him and went on to the Water King's.

The Water King saw him, and said:

"Hail, friend! why have you been so long in coming to me?
I have grown weary of waiting for you. Now set to work.
Here is your first task. Build me in one night a great crystal
bridge, so that it shall be ready for use to-morrow. If you don't
build it--off goes your head!"

The Prince went away from the Water King, and burst into a
flood of tears. Vasilissa the Wise opened the window of her
upper chamber, and asked:

"What are you crying about, Prince?"

"Ah! Vasilissa the Wise! how can I help crying? Your
father has ordered me to build a crystal bridge in a single night,
and I don't even know how to handle an axe."

"No matter! lie down and sleep; the morning is wiser than
the evening."

She ordered him to sleep, but she herself went out on the
steps, and called aloud with a mighty whistling cry. Then from
all sides there ran together carpenters and workmen; one
levelled the ground, another carried bricks. Soon had they
built a crystal bridge, and traced cunning devices on it; and then
they dispersed to their homes.

Early next morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the Prince:

"Get up, Prince! the bridge is ready: my father will be
coming to inspect it directly."

Up jumped the Prince, seized a broom, took his place on the
bridge, and began sweeping here, clearing up there.

The Water King bestowed praise upon him:

"Thanks!" says he. "You've done me one service: now
do another. Here is your task. Plant me by to-morrow a
garden green--a big and shady one; and there must be birds
singing in the garden, and flowers blossoming on the trees, and
ripe apples and pears hanging from the boughs."

Away went the Prince from the Water King, all dissolved in
tears. Vasilissa the Wise opened her window and asked:

"What are you crying for, Prince?"

"How can I help crying? Your father has ordered me to
plant a garden in one night!"

"That's nothing! lie down and sleep: the morning is wiser
than the evening."

She made him go to sleep, but she herself went out on the
steps, called and whistled with a mighty whistle. From every
side there ran together gardeners of all sorts, and they planted
a garden green, and in the garden birds sang, on the trees
flowers blossomed, from the boughs hung ripe apples and pears.

Early in the morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the Prince:

"Get up, Prince! the garden is ready: Papa is coming to
see it."

The Prince immediately snatched up a broom, and was off to
the garden. Here he swept a path, there he trained a twig.
The Water King praised him and said:

"Thanks, Prince! You've done me right trusty service. So
choose yourself a bride from among my twelve daughters. They
are all exactly alike in face, in hair, and in dress. If you can
pick out the same one three times running, she shall be your
wife; if you fail to do so, I shall have you put to death."

Vasilissa the Wise knew all about that, so she found time to
say to the Prince:

"The first time I will wave my handkerchief, the second I
will be arranging my dress, the third time you will see a fly
above my head."

And so the Prince guessed which was Vasilissa the Wise
three times running. And he and she were married, and a wedding
feast was got ready.

Now the Water King had prepared much food of all sorts
more than a hundred men could get through. And he ordered
his son-in-law to see that everything was eaten. "If anything
remains over, the worse for you!" says he.

"My Father," begs the Prince, "there's an old fellow of
mine here; please let him take a snack with us."

"Let him come!"

Immediately appeared Obedalo--ate up everything, and
wasn't content then! The Water King next set out two score
tubs of all kinds of strong drinks, and ordered his son-in-law to
see that they were all drained dry.

"My Father!" begs the Prince again, "there's another old
man of mine here, let him, too, drink your health."

"Let him come!"

Opivalo appeared, emptied all the forty tubs in a twinkling,
and then asked for a drop more by way of stirrup-cup.[145]

The Water King saw that there was nothing to be gained that
way, so he gave orders to prepare a bath-room for the young
couple--an iron bath-room--and to heat it as hot as possible.
So the iron bath-room was made hot. Twelve loads of firewood
were set alight, and the stove and the walls were made
red-hot--impossible to come within five versts of it.

"My Father!" says the Prince; "let an old fellow of ours
have a scrub first, just to try the bath-room."

"Let him do so!"

Moroz Treskum went into the bath room, blew into one corner,
blew in another--in a moment icicles were hanging there.
After him the young couple also went into the bath-room, were
lathered and scrubbed,[146] and then went home.

After a time Vasilissa said to the Prince, "Let us get out of
my father's power. He's tremendously angry with you; perhaps
he'll be doing you some hurt."

"Let us go," says the Prince.

Straightway they saddled their horses and galloped off into
the open plain. They rode and rode; many an hour went by.

"Jump down from your horse, Prince, and lay your ear close
to the earth," said Vasilissa. "Cannot you hear a sound as of
pursuers?"

The prince bent his ear to the ground, but he could hear nothing.
Then Vasilissa herself lighted down from her good
steed, laid herself flat on the earth, and said: "Ah Prince! I hear
a great noise as of chasing after us." Then she turned the
horses into a well, and herself into a bowl, and the Prince into
an old, very old man. Up came the pursuers.

"Heigh, old man!" say they, "haven't you seen a youth and
a maiden pass by?"

"I saw them, my friends! only it was a long while ago. I was
a youngster at the time when they rode by."

The pursuers returned to the Water King.

"There is no trace of them," they said, "no news: all we
saw was an old man beside a well, and a bowl floating on the
water."

"Why did not ye seize them?" cried the Water King, who
thereupon put the pursuers to a cruel death, and sent another
troop after the Prince and Vasilissa the Wise.

The fugitives in the mean time had ridden far, far away.
Vasilissa the Wise heard the noise made by the fresh set of
pursuers, so she turned the Prince into an old priest, and she
herself became an ancient church. Scarcely did its walls hold
together, covered all over with moss. Presently up came the
pursuers.

"Heigh, old man! haven't you seen a youth and a maiden
pass by?"

"I saw them, my own! only it was long, ever so long ago. I
was a young man when they rode by. It was just while I was
building this church."

So the second set of pursuers returned to the Water King,
saying:

"There is neither trace nor news of them, your Royal Majesty.
All that we saw was an old priest and an ancient church."

"Why did not ye seize them?" cried the Water King louder
than before, and having put the pursuers to a cruel death, he
galloped off himself in pursuit of the Prince and Vasilissa the
Wise. This time Vasilissa turned the horses into a river of
honey with _kissel_[147] banks, and changed the Prince into a Drake
and herself into a grey duck. The Water King flung himself
on the _kissel_ and honey-water, and ate and ate, and drank and
drank until he burst! And so he gave up the ghost.

The Prince and Vasilissa rode on, and at length they drew
nigh to the home of the Prince's parents. Then said Vasilissa,

"Go on in front, Prince, and report your arrival to your
father and mother. But I will wait for you here by the wayside.
Only remember these words of mine: kiss everyone
else, only don't kiss your sister; if you do, you will forget me."

The Prince reached home, began saluting every one, kissed
his sister too--and no sooner had he kissed her than from that
very moment he forgot all about his wife, just as if she had
never entered into his mind.

Three days did Vasilissa the Wise await him. On the fourth
day she clad herself like a beggar, went into the capital, and
took up her quarters in an old woman's house. But the Prince
was preparing to marry a rich Princess, and orders were given
to proclaim throughout the kingdom, that all Christian people
were to come to congratulate the bride and bridegroom, each
one bringing a wheaten pie as a present. Well, the old woman
with whom Vasilissa lodged, prepared, like everyone else, to
sift flour and make a pie.

"Why are you making a pie, granny?" asked Vasilissa.

"Is it why? you evidently don't know then. Our King is
giving his son in marriage to a rich princess: one must go to
the palace to serve up the dinner to the young couple."

"Come now! I, too, will bake a pie and take it to the
palace; may be the King will make me some present."

"Bake away in God's name!" said the old woman.

Vasilissa took flour, kneaded dough, and made a pie. And
inside it she put some curds and a pair of live doves.

Well, the old woman and Vasilissa the Wise reached the
palace just at dinner-time. There a feast was in progress, one
fit for all the world to see. Vasilissa's pie was set on the table,
but no sooner was it cut in two than out of it flew the two
doves. The hen bird seized a piece of curd, and her mate said
to her:

"Give me some curds, too, Dovey!"

"No I won't," replied the other dove: "else you'd forget
me, as the Prince has forgotten his Vasilissa the Wise."

Then the Prince remembered about his wife. He jumped
up from table, caught her by her white hands, and seated her
close by his side. From that time forward they lived together
in all happiness and prosperity.

[With this story may be compared a multitude of tales
in very many languages. In German for instance, "Der
Koenig vom goldenen Berg," (Grimm, _KM._ No. 92. See
also Nos. 51, 56, 113, 181, and the opening of No.
31), "Der Koenigssohn und die Teufelstochter,"
(Haltrich, No. 26), and "Gruenus Kravalle" (Wolf's
"Deutsche Hausmaerchen," No. 29)--the Norse
"Mastermaid," (Asbjoernsen and Moe, No. 46, Dasent, No.
11) and "The Three Princesses of Whiteland," (A. and
M. No. 9, Dasent, No. 26)--the Lithuanian story
(Schleicher, No. 26, p. 75) in which a "field-devil"
exacts from a farmer the promise of a child--the
Wallachian stories (Schott, Nos. 2 and 15) in which a
devil obtains a like promise from a woodcutter and a
fisherman--the Modern Greek (Hahn, Nos. 4, 5, 54, and
68) in which a child is promised to a Dervish, a
_Drakos_, the Devil, and a Demon--and the Gaelic tales
of "The Battle of the Birds" and "The Sea-maiden,"
(Campbell, Nos. 2 and 4) in the former of which the
child is promised to a Giant, in the latter to a
Mermaid. The likeness between the Russian story and
the "Battle of the Birds" is very striking. References
to a great many other similar tales will be found in
Grimm (_KM._ iii. pp. 96-7, and 168-9). The group to
which all these stories belong is linked with a set of
tales about a father who apprentices his son to a
wizard, sometimes to the Devil, from whom the youth
escapes with great difficulty. The principal Russian
representative of the second set is called "Eerie
Art," "Khitraya Nauka," (Afanasief, v. No. 22, vi. No.
45, viii. p. 339).

To the hero's adventures while with the Water King,
and while escaping from him, an important parallel is
offered by the end of the already mentioned (at p. 92)
Indian story of Sringabhuja. That prince asks
Agnisikha, the Rakshasa whom, in his crane-form, he
has wounded, to bestow upon him the hand of his
daughter--the maiden who had met him on his arrival at
the Rakshasa's palace. The demon pretends to consent,
but only on condition that the prince is able to pick
out his love from among her numerous sisters. This
Sringabhuja is able to do in spite of all the demon's
daughters being exactly alike, as she has told him
beforehand she will wear her pearls on her brow
instead of round her neck. Her father will not remark
the change, she says, for being of the demon race, he
is not very sharp witted. The Rakshasa next sets the
prince two of the usual tasks. He is to plough a great
field, and sow a hundred bushels of corn. When this,
by the daughter's help, is done, he is told to gather
up the seed again. This also the demon's daughter does
for him, sending to his aid a countless swarm of ants.
Lastly he is commanded to visit the demon's brother
and invite him to the wedding. He does so, and is
pursued by the invited guest, from whom he escapes
only by throwing behind him earth, water, thorns, and
lastly fire, with all of which he has been provided by
his love. They produce corresponding obstacles which
enable him to get away from the uncle of his bride.
The demon now believes that his proposed son-in-law
must be a god in disguise, so he gives his consent to
the marriage. All goes well for a time, but at last
the prince wants to go home, so he and his wife fly
from her father's palace. Agnisikha pursues them. She
makes her husband invisible, while she assumes the
form of a woodman. Up comes her angry sire, and asks
for news of the fugitives. She replies she has seen
none, her eyes being full of tears caused by the death
of the Rakshasa prince Agnisikha. The slow-witted
demon immediately flies home to find out whether he is
really dead. Discovering that he is not, he renews the
pursuit. Again his daughter renders her husband
invisible, and assumes the form of a messenger
carrying a letter. When her father arrives and repeats
his question, she says she has seen no one: she is
going with a letter to his brother from Agnisikha, who
has just been mortally wounded. Back again home flies
the demon in great distress, anxious to find out
whether he has really been wounded to death or not.
After settling this question, he leaves his daughter
and her husband in peace. See Professor Brockhaus in
the "Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K. Saechs.
Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften," 1861, pp. 226-9, and
Professor Wilson, "Essays, &c.," ii. p. 136-8. Cf. R.
Koehler in "Orient und Occident," ii. pp. 107-14.]

In another story a king is out hunting and becomes thirsty. Seeing a spring near at hand, he bends down and is just going to lap up its water, when the Tsar-Medved, a King-Bear, seizes him by the beard. The king is unable to free himself from his grasp, and is obliged to promise as his ransom "that which he knows not of at home," which turns out to be a couple of children--a boy and a girl--who have been born during his absence. In vain does he attempt to save the twins from their impending fate, by concealing them in a secret abode constructed for that purpose underground. In the course of time the King-Bear arrives to claim them, finds out their hiding-place, digs them up, and carries them off on his back to a distant region where no man lives. During his absence they attempt to escape being carried through the air on the back of a friendly falcon, but the King-Bear sees them, "strikes his head against the earth, and burns the falcon's wings." The twins fall to the ground, and are carried by the King-Bear to his home amid inaccessible mountains. There they make a second attempt at escape, trusting this time to an eagle's aid; but it meets with exactly the same fate as their first trial. At last they are rescued by a bull-calf, which succeeds in baffling all the King-Bear's efforts to recover them. At the end of their perilous journey the bull-calf tells the young prince to cut its throat, and burn its carcase. He unwillingly consents, and from its ashes spring a horse, a dog, and an apple-tree, all of which play important parts in the next act of the drama.[148]

In one of the variants of the Water King story,[149] the seizer of the drinking kings' beard is not called the _Morskoi Tsar_ but _Chudo Morskoe_, a Water Chudo, whose name recalls to mind the Chudo Yudo we have already met with.[150] The Prince who is obliged, in consequence of his father's promise, to surrender himself to the Water Giant, falls in love with a maiden whom he finds in that potentate's palace, and who is an enchantress whom the Chudo has stolen. She turns herself into a ring, which he carries about with him, and eventually, after his escape from the Chudo, she becomes his bride.

In another story,[151] the being who obtains a child from one of the incautious fathers of the Jephthah type who abound in popular fiction, is of a very singular nature. A merchant is flying across a river on the back of an eagle, when he drops a magic "snuff-box," which had been entrusted to his charge by that bird, and it disappears beneath the waters. At the eagle's command, the crayfish search for it, and bring back word that it is lying "on the knees of an Idol." The eagle summons the Idol, and demands the snuff box. Thereupon the Idol says to the merchant--"Give me what you do not know of at home?" The merchant agrees and the Idol gives him back his snuff-box.

In some of the variants of the story, the influence of ideas connected with Christianity makes itself apparent in the names given to the actors. Thus in the "Moujik and Anastasia Adovna,"[152] it is no longer a king of the waters, but a devil's imp,[153] who bargains with the thirsting father for his child, and the swan-maiden whose shift the devoted youth steals bears the name of Adovna, the daughter of Ad or Hades. In "The Youth,"[154] a moujik, who has lost his way in a forest makes the rash promise to a man who enables him to cross a great river; "and that man (says the story) was a devil."[155] We shall meet with other instances further on of parents whose "hasty words" condemn their children to captivity among evil spirits. In one of the stories of this class,[156] the father is a hunter who is perishing with cold one night, and who makes the usual promise as the condition of his being allowed to warm himself at a fire guarded by a devil. Being in consequence of this deprived of a son, he becomes very sad, and drinks himself to death. "The priest will not bury his sinful body, so it is thrust into a hole at a crossway," and he falls into the power of "that very same devil," who turns him into a horse, and uses him as a beast of burden. At last he is released by his son, who has forced the devil to free him after several adventures--one of them being a fight with the evil spirit in the shape of a three-headed snake.

In the Hindoo story of "Brave Seventee Bai,"[157] that heroine kills "a very large Cobra" which comes out of a lake. Touching the waters with a magic diamond taken from the snake, she sees them roll back "in a wall on either hand," between which she passes into a splendid garden. In it she finds a lovely girl who proves to be the Cobra's daughter and who is delighted to hear of her serpent-father's death.

Demon haunted waters, which prove fatal to mortals who bathe in or drink of them, often occur in oriental fiction. In one of the Indian stories, for instance,[158] a king is induced to order his escort to bathe in a lake which is the abode of a Rakshasa or demon. They leap into the water simultaneously, and are all devoured by the terrible man-eater. From the assaults of such a Rakshasa as this it was that Buddha, who was at the time a monkey, preserved himself and 80,000 of his brother monkeys, by suggesting that they should drink from the tank in which the demon lay in wait for them, "through reeds previously made completely hollow by their breath."[159]

* * * * *

From these male personifications of evil--from the Snake, Koshchei, and the Water King--we will now turn to their corresponding female forms. By far the most important beings of the latter class are those malevolent enchantresses who form two closely related branches of the same family. Like their sisters all over the world, they are, as a general rule, old, hideous, and hateful. They possess all kinds of supernatural powers, but their wits are often dull. They wage constant war with mankind, but the heroes of storyland find them as easily overcome as the males of their family. In their general character they bear a strong resemblance to the Giantesses, Lamias, female Trolls, Ogresses, Dragonesses, &c., of Europe, but in some of their traits they differ from those well-known beings, and therefore they are worthy of a detailed notice.

In several of the stories which have already been quoted, a prominent part is played by the Baba Yaga, a female fiend whose name has given rise to much philological discussion of a somewhat unsatisfactory nature.[160] Her appearance is that of a tall, gaunt hag, with dishevelled hair. Sometimes she is seen lying stretched out from one corner to the other of a miserable hut, through the ceiling of which passes her long iron nose; the hut is supported "by fowl's legs," and stands at the edge of a forest towards which its entrance looks. When the proper words are addressed to it, the hut revolves upon its slender supports, so as to turn its back instead of its front to the forest. Sometimes, as in the next story, the Baba Yaga appears as the mistress of a mansion, which stands in a courtyard enclosed by a fence made of dead men's bones. When she goes abroad she rides in a mortar, which she urges on with a pestle, while she sweeps away the traces of her flight with a broom. She is closely connected with the Snake in different forms; in many stories, indeed, the leading part has been ascribed by one narrator to a Snake and by another to a Baba Yaga. She possesses the usual magic apparatus by which enchantresses work their wonders; the Day and the Night (according to the following story) are among her servants, the entire animal world lies at her disposal. On the whole she is the most prominent among the strange figures with which the Skazkas make us acquainted. Of the stories which especially relate to her the following may be taken as a fair specimen.

THE BABA YAGA.[161]

Once upon a time there was an old couple. The husband lost
his wife and married again. But he had a daughter by the first
marriage, a young girl, and she found no favor in the eyes of
her evil stepmother, who used to beat her, and consider how she
could get her killed outright. One day the father went away
somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl, "Go to
your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make
you a shift."

Now that aunt was a Baba Yaga. Well, the girl was no fool,
so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she:

"Good morning, auntie!"

"Good morning, my dear! what have you come for?"

"Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and
thread to make me a shift."

Then her aunt instructed her what to do. "There is a birch-tree
there, niece, which would hit you in the eye--you must tie
a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang--you
must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would
tear you in pieces--you must throw them these rolls; there is a
cat which would scratch your eyes out--you must give it a piece
of bacon."

So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came
to the place. There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba
Yaga, the Bony-shanks.

"Good morning, auntie," says the girl.

"Good morning, my dear," replies the Baba Yaga.

"Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to
make me a shift."

"Very well; sit down and weave a little in the meantime."

So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga
went outside, and said to her servant-maid:

"Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed; and mind
you look sharp after her. I want to breakfast off her."

Well, the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much
dead as alive. Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant-maid,
saying:

"Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of
making it burn; and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve."
And she made her a present of a handkerchief.

The Baba Yaga waited awhile; then she came to the window
and asked:

"Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?"

"Oh yes, dear aunt, I'm weaving." So the Baba Yaga went
away again, and the girl gave the Cat a piece of bacon, and
asked:

"Is there no way of escaping from here?"

"Here's a comb for you and a towel," said the Cat; "take
them, and be off. The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must
lay your ear on the ground, and when you hear that she is close
at hand, first of all throw down the towel. It will become a wide,
wide river. And if the Baba Yaga gets across the river, and
tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear on the ground
again, and when you hear that she is close at hand, throw down
the comb. It will become a dense, dense forest; through that
she won't be able to force her way anyhow."

The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs
would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let
her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured
oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch-tree
would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon around
it, and it let her pass on. And the Cat sat down to the loom,
and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn't do
much weaving. Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and
asked:

"Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?"

"I'm weaving, dear aunt, I'm weaving," gruffly replied the
Cat.

The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was
gone, and took to beating the Cat, and abusing it for not having
scratched the girl's eyes out. "Long as I've served you," said
the Cat, "you've never given me so much as a bone; but she
gave me bacon." Then the Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs,
on the doors, on the birch-tree, and on the servant-maid, and set
to work to abuse them all, and to knock them about. Then the
dogs said to her, "Long as we've served you, you've never so
much as pitched us a burnt crust; but she gave us rolls to eat."
And the doors said, "Long as we've served you, you've never
poured even a drop of water on our hinges; but she poured oil
on us." The birch-tree said, "Long as I've served you, you've
never tied a single thread round me; but she fastened a ribbon
around me." And the servant-maid said, "Long as I've served
you, you've never given me so much as a rag; but she gave me
a handkerchief."

The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into her
mortar, sent it flying along with the pestle, sweeping away the
while all traces of its flight with a broom, and set off in pursuit
of the girl. Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when
she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now
close at hand, she flung down the towel. And it became a wide,
such a wide river! Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and
gnashed her teeth with spite; then she went home for her oxen,
and drove them to the river. The oxen drank up every drop of
the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew.
But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard
that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and
instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one! The
Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she
worked, she couldn't gnaw her way through it, so she had to go
back again.

But by this time the girl's father had returned home, and he
asked:

"Where's my daughter?"

"She's gone to her aunt's," replied her stepmother.

Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.

"Where have you been?" asked her father.

"Ah, father!" she said, "mother sent me to aunt's to ask
for a needle and thread to make me a shift. But aunt's a Baba
Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!"

"And how did you get away, daughter?"

"Why like this," said the girl, and explained the whole
matter. As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became
wroth with his wife, and shot her. But he and his daughter
lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.

In one of the numerous variants of this story[162] the heroine is sent by her husband's mother to the Baba Yaga's, and the advice which saves her comes from her husband. The Baba Yaga goes into another room "in order to sharpen her teeth," and while she is engaged in that operation the girl escapes, having previously--by the advice of the Cat, to which she had given a lump of butter--spat under the threshold. The spittle answers for her in her absence, behaving as do, in other folk-tales, drops of blood, or rags dipped in blood, or apples, or eggs, or beans, or stone images, or wooden puppets.[163]

The magic comb and towel, by the aid of which the girl effects her escape, constantly figure in Skazkas of this class, and always produce the required effect. A brush, also, is frequently introduced, from each bristle of which springs up a wood. In one story, however, the brush gives rise to mountains, and a _golik_, or bath-room whisk, turns into a forest. The towel is used, also, for the purpose of constructing or annihilating a bridge. Similar instruments are found in the folk-tales of every land, whether they appear as the brush, comb, and mirror of the German water-sprite;[164] or the rod, stone, and pitcher of water of the Norse Troll;[165] or the knife, comb, and handful of salt which, in the Modern Greek story, save Asterinos and Pulja from their fiendish mother;[166] or the twig, the stone, and the bladder of water, found in the ear of the filly, which saves her master from the Gaelic giant;[167] or the brush, comb, and egg, the last of which produces a frozen lake with "mirror-smooth" surface, whereon the pursuing Old Prussian witch slips and breaks her neck;[168] or the wand which causes a river to flow and a mountain to rise between the youth who waves it and the "wicked old Rakshasa" who chases him in the Deccan story;[169] or the handful of earth, cup of water, and dry sticks and match, which impede and finally destroy the Rakshasa in the almost identical episode of Somadeva's tale of "The Prince of Varddhamana."[170]

In each instance they appear to typify the influence which the supernatural beings to whom they belonged were supposed to exercise over the elements. It has been thought strange that such stress should be laid on the employment of certain toilet-articles, to the use of which the heroes of folk-tales do not appear to have been greatly addicted. But it is evident that like produces like in the transformation in question. In the oldest form of the story, the Sanskrit, a handful of earth turns into a mountain, a cup of water into a river. Now, metaphorically speaking, a brush may be taken as a miniature wood; the common use of the term brushwood is a proof of the general acceptance of the metaphor. A comb does not at first sight appear to resemble a mountain, but its indented outline may have struck the fancy of many primitive peoples as being a likeness to a serrated mountain range. Thence comes it that in German _Kamm_ means not only a comb but also (like the Spanish _Sierra_) a mountain ridge or crest.[171]

In one of the numerous stories[172] about the Baba Yaga, four heroes are wandering about the world together; when they come to a dense forest in which a small izba, or hut, is twirling round on "a fowl's leg." Ivan, the youngest of the party, utters the magical formula "Izbushka, Izbushka! stand with back to the forest and front towards us," and "the hut faces towards them, its doors and windows open of their own accord." The heroes enter and find it empty. One of the party then remains indoors, while the rest go out to the chase. The hero who is left alone prepares a meal, and then, "after washing his head, sits down by the window to comb his hair." Suddenly a stone is lifted, and from under it appears a Baba Yaga, driving in her mortar, with a dog yelping at her heels. She enters the hut and, after some short parley, seizes her pestle, and begins beating the hero with it until he falls prostrate. Then she cuts a strip out of his back, eats up the whole of the viands he has prepared for his companions, and disappears. After a time the beaten hero recovers his senses, "ties up his head with a handkerchief," and sits groaning until his comrades return. Then he makes some excuse for not having got any supper ready for them, but says nothing about what has really happened to him.

On the next day the second hero is treated in the same manner by the Baba Yaga, and on the day after that the third undergoes a similar humiliation. But on the fourth day it falls to the lot of the young Ivan to stay in the hut alone. The Baba Yaga appears as usual, and begins thumping him with her pestle; but he snatches it from her, beats her almost to death with it, cuts three strips out of her back, and then locks her up in a closet. When his comrades return, they are surprised to find him unhurt, and a meal prepared for them, but they ask no questions. After supper they all take a bath, and then Ivan remarks that each of his companions has had a strip cut out of his back. This leads to a full confession, on hearing which Ivan "runs to the closet, takes those strips out of the Baba Yaga, and applies them to their backs," which immediately become cured. He then hangs up the Baba Yaga by a cord tied to one foot, at which cord all the party shoot. At length it is severed, and she drops. As soon as she touches the ground, she runs to the stone from under which she had appeared, lifts it, and disappears.[173]