Chapter V: Part 5

But his brother, Ivan the soldier's son, who had taken the road to the left, went on day and night without rest. A month, and a second month, and a third passed by, and he found himself in an unknown empire, in the midst of the capital. In this empire there was great mourning, the houses were covered with black cloth, and the people crept about as if they were dreaming. He hired him a lodging at a poor old woman's, and began to ask her, "Tell me, old mother, why are all the people in this empire of thine so full of woe, and all the houses covered with black cloth?"--"Alas, good youth! a great grief weighs upon us; every day there comes out of the blue sea, from beyond the gray rock, a twelve-headed serpent and eats up a man every time, and now it has come to the turn of the Tsar's own house. He has three most lovely Tsarevnas; at this very time they are escorting the youngest of them to the sea-shore to be devoured by the monster." Ivan the soldier's son mounted his horse and rode off to the blue sea, to the gray rock; on the shore stood the thrice-lovely Tsarevna, tied to an iron chain. She saw the hero and said to him, "Depart hence, good youth. The twelve-headed serpent will soon be here; I shall perish, nor wilt thou escape death; the cruel serpent will devour thee also." "Fear not, lovely maiden. Perhaps it may be overcome." And Ivan the soldier's son went up to her, burst the chain with his heroic hand, and broke it into little bits as if it were rotten rope; then he lit a large fire all round the rock and nourished it with the trunks of uprooted oaks and pines, piled them up into a huge pyre, and then went back to the lovely maiden, laid his head on her knee, and said to her, "I must rest, but thou look seawards, and as soon as a cloud arises, and the wind begins to blow, and the sea to leap and roar, awaken me, young maiden." So he spake, and fell into a deep sleep, and the lovely maiden watched over him, and sat and looked out upon the sea. Suddenly a cloud rose above the horizon, and the wind began to blow, and the sea to leap and roar; the serpent was coming forth from the blue sea, and raised itself mountains high. The Tsarevna tried to awake Ivan the soldier's son; she shook him and shook him; it was of no use, he heard her not; then she burst into tears, and her burning tear-drops fell upon his cheeks. At this the hero awoke, ran to his horse, and the good horse had already ploughed up half a fathom of earth with his hoofs. The twelve-headed serpent rushed straight at him, belching forth fire; it looked upon the hero and cried, "Goodly art thou and comely, fair youth, but thy last hour has come. Say farewell to the wide world, and gallop down my throat as quickly as thou canst."--"Thou liest, cursed serpent; surrender!" Then they fell to mortal combat. Ivan the soldier's son struck so deftly and sturdily with his sword that it grew red-hot, there was no holding it in his hand. Then he cried to the Tsarevna: "Save me, lovely maiden! Take out thy fair kerchief, dip it in the blue sea, and wrap it round my sword." The Tsarevna immediately moistened her kerchief in the sea, and gave it to the good youth. He wrapped it round his sword and again fell fiercely on the serpent, but he found that he could not despatch the serpent with his sword. Then he snatched a burning pine-brand from the pyre and burnt out the serpent's eye, and then he hewed off all its twelve heads, placed them beneath the rock, cast the body into the sea, and then trotted home, ate and drank, and laid him down to sleep for thrice four-and-twenty hours.

And in the meantime the Tsar called his water-carrier and said to him: "Go to the sea-shore and collect the bones of the Tsarevna, if haply ye find them." The water-carrier went down to the sea-shore, and lo! the Tsarevna was in no way hurt. He placed her on the cart and drove her into the drear forest--far into the forest he drove her--drew his knife from his girdle, and began to sharpen it. "What art thou doing?" asked the Tsarevna. "I am sharpening my knife. I mean to slay thee. Tell thy father that I slew the serpent, and I'll have mercy on thee." He terrified the lovely maiden, and she took an oath to speak according to his words. Now this daughter was the Tsar's favourite, and when the Tsar saw that she was alive, and in no way hurt, he wished to reward the water-carrier, and gave him his youngest daughter to wife; and the rumour of it went through the whole realm. Ivan the soldier's son heard also that a marriage was being celebrated at the Tsar's, and straight to court he went. There a great banquet was proceeding; the guests were eating and drinking, and diverting themselves with divers pastimes. The youngest Tsarevna looked at Ivan the soldier's son, and saw his sword wrapped round with her costly kerchief, whereupon she leaped from her chair, seized his hand, and cried: "My dear father and sovereign lord, lo! here is he who saved us from the cruel serpent and from violent death. The water-carrier can only sharpen his knife and say--'I am sharpening my knife. I mean to kill thee.'" The Tsar was wroth, and he bade them hang the water-carrier, and gave the Tsarevna to Ivan the soldier's son as his consort, and there was great rejoicing. And the young couple lived together, and their life was happy and prosperous.

Not a very long time passed away, and then this thing befell the Tsarevich Ivan, the other son of Ivan the soldier.

One day he was going a-hunting, and he started a swift-footed stag. The Tsarevich Ivan put spurs to his horse and pursued the stag. On and on he sped, and he came to a vast meadow. Here the stag vanished from before his eyes. Ivan looked about him and considered--"Whither does my way lie now?" And, lo, in that meadow a little stream was flowing, and on the water two gray ducks were swimming. He took aim at them, fired, and slew the ducks, dragged them out of the water, put them into his knapsack, and went on further. He went on and on till he saw a palace of white stone, dismounted from his horse, fastened it to a post, and went into the rooms. They were all empty, not a living soul was to be seen, only in one room was there a lighted stove, a pan for a meal of six stood there, and the table was already laid; there were plates and glasses and knives. The Tsarevich Ivan pulled the ducks from his pocket and drew them, put them in the pan, cooked them, placed them on the table, and began carving and eating them. Suddenly, whence I know not, a lovely damsel appeared to him, so lovely that the like of her cannot be told of in tales or written with pens, and she said to him: "Bread and salt, Ivan the Tsarevich."--"I cry thy pardon, lovely damsel, sit down and eat with me."--"I would sit down with thee, but I am afraid. Thou hast an enchanted horse."--"Nay, lovely damsel, thou art ill-informed. I have left my magic horse at home, and am riding on a common one." No sooner did the lovely damsel hear this than she began to swell out and swell out till she became a frightful lioness, opened wide her jaws, and swallowed up the Tsarevich Ivan whole. She was not an ordinary damsel, but the very sister of the serpent who had been slain by Ivan the soldier's son.

And it fell about this time that the other Tsarevich Ivan bethought him of his brother, drew his kerchief out of his pocket, dried his face with it, and saw that the whole kerchief was covered with blood. Sorely grieved was he. "What's the matter?" he cried. He took leave of his wife and father-in-law, and went forth on his heroic horse to seek his brother. He went near and far, and long and short, and at last he came to the same realm where his brother had lived. He asked about everything, and learnt that the Tsarevich had indeed gone hunting and disappeared--not a trace of him could be found. Ivan went a-hunting the selfsame way, and there met him a swift-footed stag. The hero pursued after it; he came out into the vast meadow, and the stag vanished from before his eyes. In the meadow he saw a little stream flowing, and two gray ducks were swimming on the water. Ivan the soldier's son shot the ducks, came to the white stone palace, and went into the rooms. They were all empty, only in one room was a stove lighted and a pan for a meal for six was upon it. He roasted the ducks, went out into the courtyard, sat on the steps, and began carving them up and eating. Suddenly a lovely damsel appeared before him. "Bread and salt, good youth, why dost thou eat in the courtyard?" Ivan the soldier's son answered: "In the rooms it is not to my mind; in the courtyard 'twill be more pleasant. Sit down with me, fair damsel!"--"I would sit down gladly, but I fear thy enchanted horse."--"No need, damsel. I am riding on an ordinary nag." Like a fool she believed him, and began to swell out, and swelled into a frightful lioness, and would have swallowed up the good youth, when his magic horse ran up and seized her round the body with its heroic feet. Ivan the soldier's son drew his sharp sword and cried with a piercing voice: "Stand, accursed one. Hast thou not swallowed my brother, the Tsarevich Ivan? Give him back to me, or I'll cut thee into little bits." The red lioness turned back again into a most lovely damsel, and began to beg and pray: "Spare me, good youth. Take the two phials from that bench full of healing and living water, follow me into the underground chamber, and revive thy brother."

The Tsarevich Ivan followed the lovely damsel into the underground chamber, and saw his brother lying there torn to bits. He sprinkled his brother with the healing water; the flesh and fat grew together again. He sprinkled him with the living water, and his brother stood up and spoke: "Ah! how long have I slept?" Ivan the Tsarevich said, "Thou wouldst have slept for ever but for me." And the brothers returned to court, made a three days' feast, and then took leave of each other. Ivan the soldier's son remained with his wife, and lived with her in love and harmony and enduring bliss. But the Tsarevich returned to his realm, and I met him on his way; three days he drank and diverted himself with me, and 'twas he who told me all this tale.

THE WOMAN-ACCUSER.

There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman. The old woman was not a bad old woman, but there was this one bad thing about her--she did not know how to hold her tongue. Whatever she might hear from her husband, or whatever might happen at home, she was sure to spread it over the whole village; she even doubled everything in the telling, and so things were told which never happened at all. Not unfrequently the old man had to chastise the old woman, and her back paid for the faults of her tongue.

One day the old man went into the forest for wood. He had just got to the border of the forest, when his foot, in treading on a certain place, sank right into the ground. "Why, what's this?" thought the old man. "Come, now, I'll dig a bit here; maybe I shall be lucky enough to dig out something." He dug several times, and saw, buried in the ground, a little cauldron quite full of silver and gold. "Look, now, what good luck has befallen me! But what am I to do with it? I cannot hide it from that good wife of mine at home, and she will be sure to blab to all the world about my lucky find, and thou wilt repent the day thou didst ever see it."

For a long time the old man sat brooding over his treasure, and at last he made up his mind what to do. He buried the treasure, threw a lot of wood over it, and went to town. There he bought at the bazaar a live pike and a live hare, returned to the wood, and hung the pike upon a tree, at the very top of it, and carried the hare to the stream, where he had a fish-basket, and he put the hare into it in a shallow place.

Then he went off home, whipped up his little nag for pure lightness of heart, and so entered his hut. "Wife, wife," he cried, "such a piece of luck has befallen me that I cannot describe it!"--"What is it, what is it, hubby darling? Why dost thou not tell me?"--"What's the good, when thou wilt only blab it all about?"--"On my word, I'll say nothing to anybody. I swear it. I'll take the holy image from the wall and kiss it if thou dost not believe me."--"Well, well, all right. Listen, old woman!" and he bent down towards her ear and whispered, "I have found in the wood a cauldron full of silver and gold."--"Then why didst thou not bring it hither?"--"Because we had both better go together, and so bring it home." And the old man went with his old woman to the forest.

They went along the road, and the peasant said to his wife, "From what I hear, old woman, and from what people told me the other day, it would seem that fish are now to be found growing on trees, while the beasts of the forest live in the water."--"Why, what art thou thinking about, little hubby? People nowadays are much given to lying."--"Lying, dost thou call it? Then come and see for thyself." And he pointed to the tree where the pike was hanging. "Why, what marvel is this?" screamed the old woman. "However did that pike get there? Or have the people been speaking the truth to thee after all?" But the peasant stood there, and moved his arms about, and shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head, as if he could not believe his own eyes. "Why dost thou keep standing there?" said the old woman. "Go up the tree, rather, and take the pike; 'twill do for supper." So the peasant took the pike, and then they went on further. They passed by the stream, and the peasant stopped his horse. But his wife began screeching at him, and said, "What art gaping at now? let us make haste and go on."--"Nay, but look! I see something struggling about all round my fish-basket. I'll go and see what it is." So he ran, looked into the fish-basket, and called to his wife. "Just come and look here, old woman! Why, a hare has got into our fishing-basket!"--"Then people must have told thee the truth after all. Fetch it out quickly; it will do for dinner on the feast-day." The old man took up the hare, and then went straight towards the treasure. He pitched away the wood, digged wide and deep, dragged the cauldron out of the earth, and they took it home.

The old man and the old woman grew rich, they lived right merrily, and the old woman did not improve; she went to invite guests every day, and gave such banquets that she nearly drove her husband out of the house. The old man tried to correct her. "What's come to thee?" he cried. "Canst thou not listen to me?"--"Don't order me about," said she. "I found the treasure as well as thou, and have as much right to make merry with it." The old man put up with it for a very long time, but at last he said to the old woman straight out, "Do as best thou canst, but I'm not going to give thee any more money to cast to the winds." But the old woman immediately fell foul of him. "I see what thou art up to," screeched she; "thou wouldst keep all the money for thyself. No, thou rogue, I'll drive thee whither the crows will pick thy bones. Thou wilt have no good from thy money." The old man would have chastised her, but the old woman thrust him aside, and went straight to the magistrate to lay a complaint against her husband. "I have come to throw myself on thy honour's compassion, and to present my petition against my good-for-nothing husband. Ever since he found that treasure there is no living with him. Work he won't, and he spends all his time in drinking and gadding about. Take away all his gold from him, father. What a vile thing is gold when it ruins a man so!" The magistrate was sorry for the old woman, and he sent his eldest clerk to him, and bade him judge between the husband and wife. The clerk assembled all the village elders, and went to the peasant and said to him, "The magistrate has sent me to thee, and bids thee deliver up all thy treasure into my hands." The peasant only shrugged his shoulders. "What treasure?" said he. "I know nothing whatever about any treasure."--"Not know? Why, thy old woman has just been to complain to the magistrate, and I tell thee what, friend, if thou deniest it, 'twill be worse for thee. If thou dost not give up the whole treasure to the magistrate, thou must give an account of thyself for daring to search for treasures, and not revealing them to the authorities."--"But I cry your pardon, honoured sirs! what is this treasure you are talking of? My wife must have seen this treasure in her sleep; she has told you a pack of nonsense, and you listen to her."--"Nonsense!" burst forth the old woman; "it is not nonsense, but a whole cauldron full of gold and silver!"--"Thou art out of thy senses, dear wife. Honoured sirs, I cry your pardon. Cross-examine her thoroughly about the affair, and if she proves this thing against me, I will answer for it with all my goods."--"And dost thou think that I cannot prove it against thee? Thou rascal, I will prove it. This is how the matter went, Mr. Clerk," began the old woman; "I remember it, every bit. We went to the forest, and we saw a pike on a tree."--"A pike?" roared the clerk at the old woman; "or dost thou want to make a fool of me?"--"Nay, I am not making a fool of thee, Mr. Clerk; I am speaking the simple truth."--"There, honoured sirs," said the old man, "how can you believe her if she goes on talking such rubbish?"--"I am not talking rubbish, yokel! I am speaking the truth--or hast thou forgotten how we found a hare in thy fishing-basket in the stream?"--All the elders rolled about for laughter; even the clerk smiled, and began to stroke down his long beard. The peasant again said to his wife, "Recollect thyself, old woman; dost thou not see that every one is laughing at thee? But ye, honoured gentlemen, can now see for yourselves how far you can believe my wife."--"Yes," cried all the elders, with one voice, "long as we have lived in the world, we have never heard of hares living in rivers, and fish hanging on the trees of the forest." The clerk himself saw that this was a matter he could not get to the bottom of, so he dismissed the assembly with a wave of his hand, and went off to town to the magistrate.

And everybody laughed so much at the old woman that she was forced to bite her own tongue and listen to her husband; and the husband bought wares with his treasure, went to live in the town, and began to trade there, exchanged his wares for money, grew rich and prosperous, and was as happy as the day was long.

THOMAS BERENNIKOV.

Once upon a time there lived in a village a miserably poor peasant called Tommy Berennikov. Thomas's tongue could wag right well, and in mother-wit he was no worse than his neighbours, but he was anything but handsome to look at, and for working in the fields he was not worth a button. One day he went into the field to plough. The work was heavy and his nag was a wretched hack, quite starved and scarce able to drag along the plough, so at last Tom quite gave way to woe, sat down on a little stone, and immediately whole swarms of blow-flies and gad-flies fell upon his poor knacker from every quarter and stuck fast. Thomas seized a bundle of dry twigs and thwacked his horse about the back with all his might; the horse never stirred from the spot, and the blow-flies and gad-flies fell off him in swarms. Thomas began to count how many he had killed, eight gad-flies, and there was no numbering the slain of the other flies. And Thomas Berennikov smiled. "That's something like!" said he, "we've killed eight at a blow! And there's no counting the smaller fry! What a warrior I am, what a hero! I won't plough any more, I'll fight. I'll turn hero, and so seek my fortune!" And he took his crooked sickle from his shoulders, hung up his bast-basket by his girdle, placed in this basket his blunt scythe, and then he mounted his hack and wandered forth into the wide world.

He went on and on till he came to a post on which passing heroes had inscribed their names, and he wrote with chalk on this post, "The hero Thomas Berennikov has passed by this way, who slew eight at one blow, and of the smaller fry without number." This he wrote and went on further. He had only got a mile from this post when two stalwart young heroes came galloping up to it, read the inscription, and asked one another, "What unheard-of hero is this? Whither has he gone? I never heard of his gallant steed, and there is no trace of his knightly deed!" They followed hard upon Thomas, overtook him, and were amazed at the sight of him. "What sort of a horse is the fellow riding on?" cried they; "why, 'tis a mere hack! Then all this prowess cannot be in the horse, but in the hero himself." And they both rode up to Thomas and said to him quite humbly and mildly, "Peace be with thee, good man." Thomas looked at them over his shoulder, and without moving his head, said, "Who are you?"--"Ilia Muromets and Alesha Popovich; we would fain be thy comrades."--"Well, maybe you'll do. Follow behind me pray."

They came to the realm of the neighbouring Tsar and went straight into his preserves; here they let their horses out to graze, and laid themselves down to rest beneath their tent. The neighbouring Tsar sent out against them a hundred horsemen of his guard, and bade them drive away the strangers from his preserves. Ilia Muromets and Alesha Popovich said to Thomas, "Wilt thou go against them, or wilt thou send us?"--"What, forsooth! do you think I'd soil my hands by going against such muck! No; go thou, Ilia Muromets, and show thy prowess." So Ilia Muromets sat him on his heroic steed, charged the Tsar's horsemen, swooped down upon them like a bright falcon on a flock of doves, smote them, and cut them all down to the very last one. At this the Tsar was still more wroth, collected all of his host that was in the town, both horse and foot, and bade his captains drive the wandering strangers out of his preserves without ceremony. The Tsar's army advanced on the preserves, blew with their trumpets, and columns of dust arose in their path. Ilia Muromets and Alesha Popovich came to Thomas and said to him, "Wilt thou go thyself against the foe, or wilt thou send one of us?" But Thomas, who was lying on his side, did not so much as turn him round, but said to the heroes, "The idea of my coming to blows with this rabble!--the idea of my soiling my heroic hands with the like of them! No! Go thou, Alesha Popovich, and show them our style of fighting, and I'll look on and see if thy valour be of the right sort." Alesha rushed like a whirlwind upon the Tsar's host, his armour rattled like thunder, he waved his mace from afar, and shouted with a voice more piercing than the clang of clarions, "I will slay and smash all of you without mercy!" He flew upon the host and began crushing it. The captains saw that every one took to his heels before him, and there was no way of stopping them, so they blew a retreat with the trumpets, retired towards the town, and came themselves with an apology to Alesha, and said: "Tell us now, strong and potent hero, by what name we must call thee, and tell us thy father's name that we may honour it. What tribute must we give thee that thou mayst trouble us no more, and leave our realm in peace?"--"'Tis not to me you must give tribute!" answered Alesha; "I am but a subordinate. I do what I am bidden by my elder brother, the famous hero Thomas Berennikov. You must reckon with him. He will spare you if he pleases, but if he does not please, he will level your whole kingdom with the ground." The Tsar heard these words, and sent Tommy rich gifts and an honourable embassy of distinguished persons, and bade them say: "We beg the famous hero Thomas Berennikov to come and visit us, to dwell in our royal court, and help us to war against the Khan of China. If, O hero, thou dost succeed in smiting utterly the countless Chinese host, then I will give thee my own daughter, and after my death thou shalt have the whole realm." But Tommy put on a long face and said, "What's that? Well, well, I don't mind! I suppose I may as well consent to that." Then he mounted his hack, commanded his heroic younger brethren to ride behind him, and went as a guest to the neighbouring Tsar.

Tommy had not yet thoroughly succeeded in testing the quality of the Tsar's kitchen, he had not yet thoroughly rested from his labours, when there came a threatening embassy from the Khan of China, demanding that the whole kingdom should acknowledge him as its liege lord, and that the Tsar should send him his only daughter. "Tell your Khan," replied the Tsar, "that I fear him no longer; I now have a firm support, a sure defence, the famous hero Thomas Berennikov, who can slay eight at one blow of his sword, and of the lesser fry without number. If life is not pleasant to your Khan and your Chinese brethren, come to my empire, and you shall have cause to remember Thomas Berennikov." In two days a countless Chinese host surrounded the city of the Tsar, and the Chinese Khan sent to say, "I have here an unconquerable hero, the like of whom the world knows not; send out against him thy Thomas. If thy champion prevails I'll submit and pay thee a tribute from my whole Khanate; but if mine prevails, thou must give me thy daughter, and pay me a tribute from thy whole kingdom." So now it was the turn of Thomas Berennikov to show his prowess! And his heroic younger brothers, Ilia Muromets and Alesha Popovich, said to him: "Mighty and potent hero, our elder brother, how wilt thou fight against this Chinaman without armour? Take our martial armour, choose the best of our heroic horses!" Thomas Berennikov answered thus: "How then? Must I hide myself in armour from this shaven pate? Why, I could finish off this Chinaman with one hand quite easily! Why, you yourselves when you first saw me said, 'Tis plain that we must not look at the horse, but at the warrior!" But Thomas thought to himself: "I'm in a pretty pickle now! Well, let the Chinaman kill me if he likes--I'll not be put to shame over the business anyhow!" Then they brought him his hack: he mounted it in peasant style, struck it with his bunch of twigs, and went into the open plain at a gentle amble.

The Chinese Khan had armed his champion like a fortress; he clothed him in armour twelve puds (480 lbs.) in weight, taught him the use of every weapon, put in his hands a battle-axe eighty pounds in weight, and said to him just before he set out, "Mark me, and recollect my words! When a Russian hero cannot prevail by force, he will overcome by cunning, so lest thou should get the worst of it, take care and do everything the Russian hero does." So the champions went out against each other into the open field, and Thomas saw the Chinese hero advancing against him, as big as a mountain, with his head like a beer-cask, and covered with armour like a tortoise in its shell, so that he was scarcely able to move. So Tommy had recourse to artifice. He got off his horse and sat down on a stone and began to sharpen his scythe. The Chinese hero when he saw that, got off his horse immediately, fastened it to a tree, and began to whet his axe against a stone also. When Thomas had finished sharpening his scythe, he marched up to the Chinaman and said to him, "We two are mighty and potent heroes, we have come out against each other in mortal combat; but before we pitch into each other we ought to show each other proper respect, and salute one another after the custom of the country." And he saluted the Chinaman with a low, a very low bow. "Oh, oh!" thought the Chinaman, "here's some piece of trickery, I know. I'll bow yet lower." And he bowed himself to the very ground. But before he could raise himself up again in his heavy armour, Thomas rushed at him, tickled him once or twice in the neck, and so cut his throat through for him. Then he leaped upon the heroic horse of the Chinaman, scrambled on the top of it somehow, flourished his birch of twigs, tried to grasp the reins, and quite forgot that the horse was tied to a tree. But the good horse, as soon as he felt a rider on his back, tugged and pulled till he tore the tree up by the roots, and off he set at full gallop towards the Chinese host, dragging after him the big tree as if it had been a mere feather. Thomas Berennikov was terribly frightened, and began bawling, "Help, help!" But the Chinese host feared him more than a snowstorm, and it seemed to them as if he were crying to them, "Run, run!" so they took to their heels without once looking back. But the heroic horse plunged into the midst of them, trampled them beneath its feet, and the huge tree-trunk scattered them in all directions. Wherever it plunged it left a wide road behind it.

The Chinese swore that they would never fight with Thomas again, and this resolution was lucky for Thomas. He returned to the town on his own hack, and they were all amazed at his strength, valour, and success. "What dost thou require of me?" said the Tsar to Thomas, "one half of my golden treasures and my daughter into the bargain, or one half of my glorious kingdom?" "Well, I'll take half your kingdom if you like, but I wouldn't turn up my nose either at your daughter with half your golden treasure for a dowry. And look now, when I get married, don't forget to invite to the wedding my younger brothers, Ilia Muromets and Alesha Popovich!"

And Thomas married the thrice-lovely Tsarevna, and they celebrated the wedding so gloriously that the heads of all the guests ached for more than two weeks afterwards. I too was there, and I drank mead and ale and got rich gifts, and so my tale is told.

THE WHITE DUCK.

A powerful and mighty Prince married a thrice-lovely Princess, and he had not yet had time to look upon her, he had not yet had time to speak to her, he had not yet had time to listen to her, when he was obliged to depart from her on a far journey, and leave his young wife in the hands of strangers. The Princess wept much, and the consolations of the Prince were also many, and he advised her not to leave her lofty terem, [43] not to have anything to do with bad people, not to listen to evil tongues, and not to consort with strange women. All this the Princess promised to do. The Prince departed, and she shut herself up in her own room. There she sat, and never went out.

Whether it was after a long time or after a short time matters not, but one day she was sitting by her little window, bathed in tears, when a woman passed by the window. In appearance she was simple and kindly, and she leaned her elbows on her crutch, rested her chin on her hands, and said to the Princess in a wheedling, caressing voice: "How's this, darling little Princess, thou art for ever fretting? Prythee come now out of thy terem and have a peep at God's fair world, or come down into thy little garden among the sweet green things and drive away thy woe!" For a long time the Princess refused, she did not even care to listen to the woman's words, but, at last, she thought, "There can be no harm in going into the garden, crossing the brook is another matter." But she did not know that this woman was a witch, and had come to ruin her because she envied her her bliss. So the Princess went with her into the garden, and listened to her cunning, wheedling words. And in the garden from beneath the mountain trickled a stream of crystalline water. "What dost thou say now," said the woman, "the day is very hot, the sun is burning with all its might, but this darling little stream is so cold, so refreshing, and hark how it babbles--why should we not have a bath here?" "Ah, no, no! I won't," said the Princess; but she thought to herself, "But why not? There can be no harm in having a bath!" So she slipped off her little sarafan, [44] and bounded into the water, and no sooner had she bathed than the witch struck her on the shoulder and said, "Swim about now as a white duck!" But the witch immediately dressed herself in the Princess's robes, tired and painted herself, and sat in place of the Princess in the terem to await the Prince. And as soon as the little dog began to bark and the little bell fell a-tinkling, she rushed out to meet him, threw herself upon his neck, and kissed and fondled him. The Prince was so overjoyed that he was the first to stretch out his arms towards her, and never noticed that it was not his wife, but an evil witch who stood before him.

Meanwhile the poor duck, dwelling in the bright stream, laid eggs and hatched its young; two were fair, but the third was still-born, and her babies grew up into little children. She brought them up, and they began to walk along the stream, and catch gold-fish, and collect bits of rags, and sew them coats, and run up the banks, and look at the meadows. But the mother said: "Oh! don't go there, my children. There dwells the evil witch. She ruined me, and she will ruin you!" But the children didn't listen to their mother, and one day they played in the grass, and the next day they ran after ants, and went further and further, and so got into the Prince's courtyard. The witch knew them by instinct, and ground her teeth for rage; but she made herself so nice, called the little children into the out-house, gave them a good feed, and a good drink, and made them lie down to sleep, and bade her people light a fire in the courtyard, and put a kettle on it, and sharpen their knives. The two brothers went to sleep, but the still-born one whom the mother had bade the others carry in their bosom that he might not catch cold, the still-born one did not sleep at all, but listened and saw everything. In the night the witch came to their door and said: "Are you asleep, little children, or not?" Then the still-born one answered instead of his brothers: "We do not dream in dreams, but think in our thoughts that you want to cut up the whole lot of us!--the pyres of maple-branches are blazing, the kettles are seething, and the knives of steel are sharpening."--"They are not asleep," said the witch, and she went away from the door, walked about and walked about, and then went to the door again: "Are you asleep, children, or are you not?" And the still-born again screeched from beneath the pillow instead of his brethren: "We do not dream in dreams, but think in our thoughts that you want to cut up the whole lot of us; the pyres of maple-branches are blazing, the kettles are seething, and the knives of steel are sharpening." "How is it that it is always one and the same voice?" thought the witch; "I'll just have a peep." She opened the door very, very softly, looked in, and saw both the brothers sleeping soundly. Then she killed the pair of them.

In the morning the white duck began seeking and calling her children, but her darling children did not come to her calling. Her heart had a foreboding of evil. She shuddered and flew off to the Prince's courtyard. In the Prince's courtyard, as white as little white kerchiefs, as cold as little cold split fish, lay the brothers all in a row. She flew down, threw herself upon them, fluttered her little wings, flew round and round her little ones, and cried with a mother's voice:

"Kra, kra, my darling loveys!
Kra, kra, my little doveys!
I brought you up in woe and fears,
I nourished you with grief and tears,
Dark night it brought no sleep to me,
No food was sweet because of ye."

And the Prince heard the lament, called the witch to him, and said: "Wife, hast thou heard this thing, this thing unheard of?"--"Thou dost only fancy it! Hi! my serving-men, drive me this duck out of the courtyard!" They began driving her out, but she flew round and round, and again said to her children:

"Kra, kra, my darling loveys!
Kra, kra, my little doveys!
The old, old witch your bane hath been,
The old, old witch, that cruel snake,
That cruel snake that lurks unseen;
Your father from you she did take,
Your father dear, my husband true;
Us in the running stream she threw.
She changed us into ducks so white,
And prospers as if wrong were right!"

The Prince felt that there was something wrong here, and he cried: "Bring me that white duck hither!" They all hastened to fulfil his command, but the white duck flew round in a circle, and none could catch her. At last the Prince himself went out on the balcony, and she flew upon his hands, and fell at his feet. The Prince took her carefully by her little wing, and said: "White birch-tree stand behind me, and fair damsel stand before me!" Then the white duck turned into her former shape of thrice-lovely Princess, taught them how to get a little bladder of living and speaking water in a magpie's nest, sprinkled her children with the living water, and they shuddered; then she sprinkled them with the speaking water, and they began to speak. And the Prince suddenly saw himself surrounded by his family all alive and well, and they all lived together, and lived happily, and chose good and avoided evil.

But the witch, by the Prince's command, was fastened to the tail of a horse and dragged away over the open steppe. The fowls of the air picked her flesh, and the wild winds of heaven scattered her bones, and there remained not a trace or a memorial of her behind.

THE TALE OF LITTLE FOOL IVAN.

Far, far away, in a certain kingdom, in a certain Empire, stood a city, and in this city reigned Tsar Gorokh, [45] and the Tsaritsa Morkovya. [46] They had many wise Boyars, rich Princes, strong and mighty heroes, and of the common run of warriors 100,000 at least. All manner of people dwelt in this city, worshipful, well-bearded merchants, cunning open-handed sharpers, German mechanics, Swedish beauties, drunken Russians; and in the suburbs beyond the town dwelt peasants who tilled the earth, sowed corn, ground it into meal, took it to the bazaar, and drank away their hard earnings.

In one of these suburbs stood an old hut, and in this hut dwelt an old man with his three sons, Pakhom, Thomas, and Ivan. The old man was not only sage, he was cunning, and whenever he chanced to come across the Devil, he would have a chat with him, make him drunk, and worm many and great secrets out of him, and then would go away and do such wonders that his neighbours called him a wizard and a magician, while others honoured him as a shrewd fellow who knew a thing or two. The old man certainly did great wonders. If any one were being consumed by the flames of hopeless love, he had only to pay his respects to the wizard and the old man would give him some sort of little root which would draw the fickle fair one at once. If anything were lost he would manage to get it back from the thief, however it might be hidden, by means of charmed water and a fishing-net.

But wise as the old man was, he could not persuade his sons to walk in his footsteps. Two of them were great gad-abroads, not because they were wise, but because they were thorough feather-brains; they never knew when to run forward or when to hold back. And they married and had children. The third son was not married, but the old man did not trouble about him, because his third son was a fool, quite a natural in fact, who couldn't count up to three, but could only eat and drink and sleep and lie on the stove. What was the good of bothering about a fellow like that?--he can manage to jog along of his own accord much better than a man of sense. And besides, Ivan was so mild and gentle that butter would not melt in his mouth. If you asked him for his girdle, he would give you his kaftan [47] also; if you took away his gloves, he would beg you to accept his cap into the bargain; therefore they all liked Ivan and called him dear little Ivan, or dear little fool; in short he was a fool from his birth, but very lovable for all that.

So our old man lived and lived with his sons till the hour came when he was to die. Then the old man called to him his three sons and said to them: "My dear children, my mortal hour has come, and you must fulfil my wish; each of you must come with me into my tomb and there pass a night with me; thou first, Thomas; then thou, Pakhom; and thou third, dear little fool Ivan." The two elders, like sensible people, promised to obey his words, but the fool promised nothing, but only scratched his head.

The old man died. They buried him. They ate pancakes and honey-cakes, they drank well, and on the first night it was for his eldest son Thomas to go into his tomb. Whether it was laziness or fear I know not, but he said to little fool Ivan: "To-morrow I have to get up early to grind corn; go thou instead of me into our father's tomb."--"All right!" answered little fool Ivan, who took a crust of bread, went to the tomb, lay down, and began to snore. So it struck midnight, the tomb began to move, the wind blew, the midnight owl hooted, the tombstone rolled off, and the old man came out of his tomb and said: "Who's there?"--"I," answered little fool Ivan.--"Good!" answered the old man; "my dear son, I'll reward thee for obeying me!" Scarcely had he said these words when the cocks crew and the old man fell back into the tomb. Little fool Ivan went home and threw himself on the top of the stove, and his brother asked him: "Well, what happened?"--"Nothing at all!" said he; "I slept the whole night through, only I am very hungry, and want something to eat."

The next night it was the turn of Pakhom, the second son, to go to the tomb of his father. He fell a-thinking and a-thinking, and at last he said to little fool Ivan: "I must get up very early to-morrow morning to go to market; go thou instead of me to my father's tomb."--"All right!" replied little fool Ivan, who took a cake and some cabbage-soup, went to the tomb, and lay down to sleep. Midnight approached--the tomb began to shake, the tempest began to howl, a flock of ravens flew round and round it, the stone fell from the grave, the old man got out of the tomb and asked: "Who's there?"--"I," answered little fool Ivan.--"Good, my beloved son!" replied the old man, "I'll not forget thee because thou hast not disobeyed me!" Scarcely had he uttered these words when the cocks began to crow, and the old man fell back in his tomb. Little fool Ivan awoke, made himself snug on his stove, and his brother asked him: "Well, what happened?"--"Nothing at all!" answered little Ivan. On the third night the brothers said to little fool Ivan: "Now 'tis thy turn to go to our father's tomb. A father's wish must be fulfilled."--"By all means!" answered little fool Ivan, who took a fritter, put on his blouse, and went to the tomb. And at midnight the gravestone was torn from the tomb, and the old man came out and asked: "Who's there?"--"I," said little fool Ivan. "Good, my obedient son," answered the old man, "not in vain hast thou obeyed my will--thou shalt have a reward for thy faithful service!" And then he shouted with a monstrous voice and sang with a nightingale's piping voice: "Hi! thou! sivka-burka, vyeshchy kaurka [48]! Stand before me like the leaf before the grass!" And it seemed to little fool Ivan as if a horse were running, the earth trembled beneath it, its eyes burned like fire, clouds of smoke poured out of its ears; it ran up, stood still as though it had taken root in the ground, and said with a human voice: "What dost thou require?" The old man got into one of its ears, cooled himself, washed himself, dressed himself finely, and came out of the other ear so young and handsome that there's no guessing or imagining it, for no pen can write nor tale can tell the like of it. "There, my dear son," said he, "thou hast my valiant steed; and thou, O horse! my good steed, serve him as thou hast served me!" He had scarcely uttered these words when the crowing cocks of the village flapped their wings and sang their morning song, the magician sank back into his grave, and the grass grew over it. Little fool Ivan went home step by step; he got home, stretched himself in his old corner, and snored till the walls trembled. "What is it?" asked his brothers, but he never answered a word, but only waved his hand.

And so they went on living together, the elder brothers like wise men, the younger like a fool. Thus they lived on and on, day by day, and just as a woman rolls thread into a ball, so their days rolled on till it came to their turn to be rolled. And one day they heard that the captains of the host were going all about the realm with trumpets and clarions and drums and cymbals, and they blew their trumpets and beat their drums, and proclaimed in the bazaars and public places the Tsar's will, and the will of the Tsar was this. Tsar Gorokh and Tsaritsa Morkovya had an only daughter, the Tsarevna Baktriana, the heir to the throne, and so lovely that when she looked at the sun, the sun was ashamed, and when she regarded the moon, the moon was abashed. And the Tsar and the Tsaritsa thought to themselves: To whom shall we give our daughter in marriage that he may govern our realm, defend it in war, sit as judge in the royal council, help the Tsar in his old age, and succeed him at the end of his days? The Tsar and the Tsaritsa sought for a bridegroom who was to be a valiant young warrior, a handsome hero, who was to love the Tsarevna, and make the Tsarevna love him. But the love part of the business was not so easy, for there was this great difficulty: the Tsarevna loved nobody. If her father the Tsar began talking to her of any bridegroom, she always gave one and the same answer: "I don't love him!" If her mother the Tsaritsa began talking to her about any one, she always answered: "He is not nice!" At last Tsar Gorokh and Tsaritsa Morkovya said to her: "Dear daughter and darling child, more than thrice lovely Tsarevna Baktriana, it is now time for thee to choose a bridegroom. Look now, pray! the wooers, the royal and imperial ambassadors, are all here at our court; they have eaten all the cakes and drained our cellars dry, and still thou wilt not choose thee the beloved of thy heart!" Then the Tsarevna said to them: "My sovereign papa and my sovereign mamma, I am sorry for your sorrow, and would feign obey your will, but let fate decide who is to be my intended. Build me a terem [49] thirty-two storeys high with a little bow-window at the top of it. I, the Tsarevna, will sit in this terem just beneath the window, and you make a proclamation. Let all people come hither--Tsars, Kings, Tsareviches, Princes, mighty champions, and valiant youths; and whoever leaps up as high as my little window on his fiery steed and exchanges rings with me, he shall be my bridegroom, and your son and successor." The Tsar and the Tsaritsa followed out the words of their sage daughter. "Good!" said they. They commanded to be built a costly terem of two-and-thirty layers of oak beams; they built it up and adorned it with curious carvings, and hung it all about with Venetian brocade, with pearly tapestries and cloth of gold, and made proclamations and sent forth carrier-pigeons, and despatched ambassadors to all kingdoms, summoning all men to assemble together in the empire of Tsar Gorokh and Tsaritsa Morkovya, and whoever leaped on his proud steed as high as the two-and-thirty oaken beams and exchanged rings with the Tsarevna Baktriana, he was to be her bridegroom and inherit the kingdom with her, whether he were a Tsar or a King, or a Tsarevich or a Prince, or even nothing but a free, bold-handed Cossack with neither birth nor ancestry.

The day was fixed. The people crowded into the meadows where the Tsarevna's terem was built as if sewn with stars, and the Tsarevna herself sat beneath the window arrayed in pearls and brocade, and lace, and the most precious of precious stones. The mob of people surged and roared like the great sea Ocean. The Tsar and the Tsaritsa sat on their throne, and around them stood their grandees, their Boyars, their captains, and their heroes. And the wooers of the Tsarevna Baktriana came and pranced and galloped, but when they saw the terem their hearts died away within them. The youths tried their best; they ran, they bounded, they leaped, and fell back on the ground again like sheaves of barley, to the amusement of the crowd.