Part 13

And the king assembled all the spiritual hierarchy and went into the church. And he thought it must be that Iván had turned into a wizard, but when he saw how things really were, he embraced Iván and called him his son. And the witch said to Iván: “Now, Iván, the merchant’s son, if you have been able to pray to God and to bring me to life again, now learn how to master me, and I will never depart one step from you.”

So Iván went to the ship, and he told the old man all that had happened, and the old man said: “Ivánushka, fear nothing, take Olyóna Korólyevna[28] as your wife, only for the first three nights do not go to sleep until the cock has crowed three times, and then she will never more oppress you.”

There was no loitering at the king’s court; very soon all was got ready, and Iván was affianced to Princess Olyóna. And for two weeks he lived quite happily. Then he said to his father-in-law: “Good father, let me go home and have a Mass said for my father and mother, and once more see my home.” And the king said: “My beloved son, Iván, the merchant’s son, I will not withstand your wish, but do return hither. You see yourself I am no longer young, and I have no heir. When you return I will give you my kingdom, and you will live happily and merrily.”

So they set out on their journey, and arrived at their own kingdom, to their native land. And Iván took Olyóna with him. When they arrived at the island of the bricks, they loaded all the vessels, and there were many ships, and they excavated the entire island.

One day the old man began to cut firewood, took them to the opposite side of the island and said: “Ivánushka, my well-doer, I must now speak with you.” And he bade them come where the firewood was stacked. He lit the firewood; and when it was in flame he took Olyóna, threw her down, trod on one leg, and pulled her apart into two halves, taking hold of the other leg. Iván did not know what to say! And the old man put both halves on the fire, and out of the fire there then crept snakes, frogs, and all sorts of reptiles. Then he took the two parts out of the fire, rinsed them thoroughly in the sea, sprinkled them over with water, made the sign of the cross, and Olyóna arose such a beauty as no tale can tell and no pen can write. Then he said: “Now, my well-doer, Ivánushka, you are to be a mighty king; Iván, the merchant’s son, you are now rich and famous and happy, so see to it that you do not forget God and the poor. I shall see you no more.”

Iván and Olyóna knelt down and began to beseech him, but the old man said: “Beg no more of me, but rather thank God for sending me to you. I loved you and your father, Iván, and you even more, because you kindly gave me alms; and now you are rich and famous, do not forget to give alms to the poor.” Then he vanished.

Iván and Olyóna praised God, went back to the ships, and sailed farther on.

When the poor saw that Iván had arrived with untold wealth, they crowded to the shore and began to kiss Iván’s hands, his feet, and the hem of his garment; and all present were so joyous that the tears flowed from their eyes.

Iván put up crosses on his parents’ grave, clothed the poor, gave them his house, and returned to his father-in-law, and for many years governed his kingdom. And he lived so long that he saw in his old age his sons, his grandsons, and his great-grandsons. And he ever prayed and blessed God and Nicholas the Wonder-Worker for the mercy they had manifested to him.

In that kingdom where he was king, to this very day King Iván and his wife Olyóna the Fair are remembered.[29]

THE POTTER

Once a potter was journeying on his road with his goods and dozed off. The Tsar Iván Vasílyevich came driving by in his carriage and said, “Peace be to you!”

The potter looked up and said, “I thank you very much and wish you the same.”

“Have you been asleep?”

“Yes, my lord. Do not fear a man who sings songs; but fear a man who slumbers!”

“You are a bold fellow, potter: I have seen very few such, and I like them. Coachman, slower! Potter, tell me, have you been long at your trade?”

“Ever since my youth, and I am now middle-aged.”

“Can you keep your children with it?”

“Yes, I do not sow, nor plough, nor mow, nor reap, and no frosts can do me any harm.”

“Right, potter; but there are still misfortunes left in the world.”

“Yes, I know three of them.”

“What are the three?”

“The first is an evil neighbour, the second an evil wife, and the third a weak understanding.”

“Yet now, tell me which is the worst of these evils?”

“The evil neighbour can be escaped; so can the evil wife if one has children enough, but the weak intellect can never be got rid of.”

“Yes, that is true, potter; you are a sensible fellow. Listen! You suit me and I suit you. When there are geese flying over Russia, will you pluck a feather out of them or let them fly by in peace?”

“If it suit me, I should let them fly by as they should; otherwise I should pluck them bald.”

“Potter, hold in your horse a little while I look at your stock.”

The potter stopped and displayed his goods.

“Can you make any such for me?”

“How many?”

“Ten cartloads.”

“How long will you require?”

“One month.”

“In a fortnight I can bring them into the town. I suit you and you suit me.”

“Thank you, potter.”

“Will you be in the city when I bring the goods?”

“Yes, I shall be there as the merchant’s guest.”

So the Tsar drove into the city and ordered that at all his feasts the plates should be neither of silver nor of pewter, nor of copper nor of wood, but only of clay. The potter carried out the Tsar’s orders and brought his goods into the city. A _boyár_ rode up to the potter and said to him: “God be with you, potter.”

“Thank you, your honour.”

“Sell me all your goods.”

“I cannot; they are already sold.”

“What does that matter? Take my money for it; you will be doing no wrong, as long as you have received no orders for the work. What do you want?”

“I want every plate filled with money.”

“Listen, potter—that is too much.”

“Very well, then: one filled with money and two empty. Do you agree?”

So they agreed at that: “You suit me and I suit you.”

They filled up the plates and again emptied them, and they went on filling plates until there was not any money left: but there were ever so many plates over. The _boyár_ saw he was getting the worst of the bargain and sent for more money from the house. So they piled the plates higher still, but all the money vanished, and still all the goods had not been used up.

“What is to be done, potter? Why are you so greedy?”

“There is nothing to be done.”

“I have a very high esteem for you, potter, but do you know what?”

“Do you carry me in to the courtyard, and I will give you the goods and the money back as well.”

So the _boyár_ hesitated: he was very sorry to lose his money and for himself, but he could not help himself, and so they agreed. They unharnessed the horse, and the peasant sat in the carriage and the _boyár_ walked on. The potter sang a song, and the _boyár_ drew it along, drew it along. “How far must I take you in front of that courtyard?”

The potter went on singing joyously and said, “In front of the house, at the very top of the carriage.”

When he reached the palace he stood up erect and sang, joyously.

The Tsar heard him singing and ran to the flight of steps, and recognised the potter. “Ha! welcome, potter!”

“Thank you, your honour.”

“What are you travelling with?”

“With folly.”

“Now, you fine potter, you have known how to sell your goods; _boyár_, take off your gay costume and your boots; and you, potter, take off your _kaftán_ and your bast shoes. Put the peasant’s smock on, _boyár_, and you, potter, put on the _boyár’s_ robes. You have sold your goods very finely, potter; you have done very little, and you have won much. But as for you, _boyár_, you were not able to keep your rank. Now, potter, were there any geese flying over Russia? Did you pluck a feather out of them, or did you leave them in peace?”

“No, I plucked them bald.”

THE WITCH AND THE SISTER OF THE SUN

In a distant country, a country far away, once there lived a Tsar and Tsarítsa, who had a son, Iván Tsarévich, who was dumb from his birth. When he was twelve years old he went to the stable to the groom whom he loved, who always told him stories. But this time he was not to be told any.

“Iván Tsarévich,” said the groom, “your mother will soon have a daughter, and you will have a sister. She will be a dreadful witch and will eat up your father and your mother and all their subjects. Go back home and ask your father to give you his best horse; mount that and ride away and follow your eyes if you would escape misfortune.”

Iván Tsarévich ran up to his father and spoke for the first time in his life. The Tsar was so glad at this that he never asked what the Tsarévich wanted the horse for, but ordered the very best of his _Tabún_ to be saddled for him.

Iván Tsarévich mounted the horse and rode away, following his eyes. He rode far, to a very great distance, and he came to two old seamstresses, and asked them if they would not let him live with them.

“We should be very glad to accept you, Iván Tsarévich,” they replied, “but we shall not live much longer. We are breaking up this box and with our needles sewing it together again, and as soon as we have done that Death will come to us.”

Then Iván Tsarévich wept and rode on farther. And he rode on, very very far, and came to Vertodúb. And he begged him, “Will you take me as your son?”

“I should be very glad to take you,” Vertodúb replied, “but, as soon as I have turned round all these oaks with all their roots, the hour will have come for me to die.”

Then the Tsarévich wept yet more, and he rode farther on, and he came to Vertogór, and he made him the same request.

“I should be very glad to take you, Iván Tsarévich, but I too shall not live much longer,” was the answer he received. “You see, I am placed here in order to turn these mountains round; and when I have done with the last of them then I must die.”

Then Iván Tsarévich wept bitter tears, and he rode yet farther. And at last he came to the Sister of the Sun. She gave him meat and drink and adopted him as a son. The Tsarévich had a fine time there. But still he was always dissatisfied, because he did not know what was going on at home. And so he clomb a lofty mountain, looked out to his own house, and saw that everything there had been eaten up, and only the walls were standing. Then he sighed and wept.

And when he came down from the mountain, the Sister of the Sun met him and asked, “Iván Tsarévich, why hast thou wept?”

“It was the wind which was blowing something in my eye!” And once again he began to weep.

And he went a second time into the mountain, and saw that only the walls of his house remained standing—everything had been eaten up. And he wept and returned home.

Again the Sister of the Sun met him: “Iván Tsarévich, why hast thou wept?”

“It was the wind which was blowing something in my eye!” And the Sun was angry, and forbade the wind to blow.

And he mounted the hill a third time, and this time he was forced to say why he was sad, and beg the Sister of the Sun for leave to go home to see what had been happening, like a doughty youth. So she gave him a brush and comb and two apples to take with him. And, however old a man might be, if he only ate one apple, he would be young once more.

Iván ran away, and he found Vertogór, who had only one mountain left. So Iván Tsarévich took his brush, and threw it into the open field. And suddenly mountains grew up everywhere, and their summits and peaks pierced into the skies, and there were so many of them that no man could count them. Vertogór was then very happy and set about work gaily.

Iván Tsarévich met Vertodúb once more, and there were only three oaks left. So he threw the comb into the field, and then there rustled out of the earth a thick oak forest, every tree thicker than the other. And Vertodúb was then very joyous and set to work gaily.

And at last, after a journey long or short, Iván Tsarévich reached the old women, and he gave each of them an apple. They ate them, and they once more became young, and gave him a little handkerchief, which he need only shake, and a big lake would appear.

When Iván Tsarévich came home, his sister ran to him and caressed him. “Sit down, brother mine; play on the harp whilst I go and prepare dinner.”

Iván Tsarévich sat down and began to finger the strings when a mouselet crept out of the corner and spoke with a human voice: “Run away, Tsarévich, as fast as you can. Your sister is now whetting her teeth.”

Iván Tsarévich then left the room, sat on his horse, and went all the way back to the Sun. The mouselet ran up and down on the strings of the harp, and the sister never noticed that the brother had gone away. When she had sharpened her teeth, she ran into the room, but there was not a single soul to be seen there, even the mouselet had crept back into its hole. And the witch became furious, gnashed her teeth and made ready to pursue Iván Tsarévich. Iván Tsarévich heard a noise behind him, looked, and saw his sister had almost caught him up, so he waved his handkerchief, and a deep lake rose behind him. Whilst the witch was swimming through the lake Iván Tsarévich flew a vast way, and she was swifter than he, and again came near.

Vertodúb guessed Iván was fleeing from his sister, and piled oaks on the way, whirled a vast mass of them in her path and she could not get through; she had at first to clear the road. So she gnawed and gnawed away, and at last made herself a path. But Iván Tsarévich in the meantime had gained ground. So she followed him farther, and she had almost caught him up.

When Vertogór saw what was happening, he seized hold of the highest mountain, piled it up on the road and stuck another on top of it. And the witch was very furious, and began climbing up, and in the meantime Iván Tsarévich got far and far away. But the witch soon got up and cried out: “This time you shall not escape me.”

He had got into the palace of the Sister of the Sun, and cried out, “Sun, Sun! open your big windows.” The Sun opened his window and Iván Tsarévich leaped in on his horse.

The witch asked him to give her her brother, but the Sun would not. Then the witch said, “Iván Tsarévich must put himself on one balance and I will put myself on the other, and if I am the heavier I will eat him up; and, if he is the heavier he shall lay me low.”

So they went and set up the scales. First Iván Tsarévich sat down on it, then the witch on the other side; but as soon as ever she had put her foot into it the Tsarévich was hurled with such force into the house, that he flew right into the very bosom of the sky, into the chambers of the Sun, whilst the witch remained on the earth.

MÁRYA MORYÉVNA

In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there once lived Iván Tsarévich, who had three sisters: one was called Márya Tsarévna, the second Ólga Tsarévna, and the third Ánna Tsarévna. Their mother and father had died: when they were dying they bade the son, “Whoever come first as a suitor for your sisters’ hands, let them take them; do not keep them long with you.” The Tsarévich buried his parents; and, in his grief, went with his sisters to walk in a green garden. Then a dark cloud appeared in the sky, and a fearful clap of thunder was heard. “Let us go home, sisters,” said Iván Tsarévich.

Soon they reached the palace: the thunder rattled and the ceiling fell down, and the ceiling divided into two. And a clear-eyed Hawk came into the room, struck the ground, and turned himself into a fair, doughty youth: “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! before, I came to you as a guest, now I am coming to ask for your sister’s hand: I wish to marry Márya Tsarévna.”

“If you wish my sister, I will not say you nay: take her with God’s blessing.”

Márya Tsarévna agreed, and the Hawk married her and took her away to his own kingdom.

Then day followed day and hour followed hour. One whole year went by unheeded. Iván Tsarévich stayed with his sisters in the green garden. Then there came a cloud and there was thunder and lightning. “Let us go home, sisters,” said the Tsarévich.

When they came to the palace there was a thunderclap, and the roof fell in and the ceiling was cleft in two, and an Eagle flew in, struck the ground and turned himself into a doughty youth, and said, “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! formerly I came to you as a guest, now I come to you as a suitor.” And he asked for the hand of Ólga.

And Iván Tsarévich answered, “If Ólga Tsarévna pleases you, she may go to you—I will not withstand your will.”

Ólga Tsarévna was willing, and married the Eagle: the Eagle laid hold of her and took her to his own kingdom.

One year further went by, and Iván Tsarévich said to his youngest sister, “Let us go and have a walk in the green garden,” and they went for a little walk. And a cloud came over the sky with thunder and lightning. “Let us turn back, sister, home!”

So they turned back home, and they had hardly sat down when the thunder clapped and the ceiling was divided into two, and a Crow flew in. And the Crow struck the ground and turned himself into a doughty youth. The former suitors were fair enough in themselves, but he was fairer still. “Formerly I came to you as a guest, but now I come to you as a suitor: give me your sister Ánna.”

“I will not withstand my sister’s will; if you are in love with her she may have you.”

And Ánna Tsarévna went with the Crow, and he took her to his own kingdom.

So Iván Tsarévich was there alone, and for one whole year he lived there without any sisters, and began to feel melancholy. “I will go,” he said, “and seek my sisters.” So he started out on the road. He went on and on and on. And there lay on the field an army of a great host conquered. And Iván asked them: “If there be any man alive here, let him call! Who slew this mighty host?”

And one man who was still alive replied: “All this mighty host was conquered by Márya Moryévna, the fair princess.”

And Iván Tsarévich went on yet further, and he came upon white tents, and Márya Moryévna came to meet him, the fair queen.

“Hail,” she said, “Tsarévich! where is God taking you? Is it at your will or perforce?”

And Iván Tsarévich answered her: “Doughty youths do not go perforce.”

“Well, if you have no quest to accomplish, come and stay in my tents.”

And Iván Tsarévich was glad of this, and he stayed two nights in the tents, fell in love with Márya Moryévna, and married her.

Márya Moryévna took him with her to her own kingdom, and they lived together for some time; and they thought of making ready for war; and so she handed all of her possessions over to Iván, and said: “Go everywhere, look at everything, only into this lumber-room you must not look.”

But he was impatient: as soon as Márya Moryévna’s back was turned, he at once opened the lumber-room, opened the door and looked in, and there Koshchéy the Deathless was hanging.

Koshchéy asked Iván Tsarévich, “Have pity on me: give me something to eat. I have been tortured here for ten years. I have eaten nothing, I have drunken nothing, and my throat is all dried up.” Iván Tsarévich gave him a whole gallon of water: he drank it at a single gulp, and he still asked, “I am still thirsty: give me a gallon,” and Iván gave him a second gallon, and yet a third. And when he had drunk the third, he recovered all his former strength, broke all his chains, shattered them all, all the twelve chains. “Thank you, Iván Tsarévich,” Koshchéy the Deathless said. “Now you will never again see Márya Moryévna any more!” and with a fearful flash of lightning he flew into the country, gathered up Márya Moryévna on the road, the fair Queen, snatched her up and took her to himself.

Iván Tsarévich wept bitterly, got ready and started on his road: “Come what may, I will seek out Márya Moryévna.” And he went one day, and he went another day, and on the dawning of the third day he saw a wonderful palace, and in front of the palace there was an oak, and on the oak there sat a clear-eyed hawk.

And the Hawk flew down from the oak, struck the ground, turned into a doughty youth, and cried out, “O my beloved brother: how is the Lord dealing with you?”

And Márya Tsarévna came out, went to meet Iván Tsarévich, asked him how he was, and began to tell him all her own story.

So the Tsarévich abode as their guest for three days, and then said, “I cannot stay with you any longer: I am going to seek my wife Márya Moryévna the fair Queen.”

“This will be a hard search for you,” answered the Hawk. “At least leave a silver spoon here; we can gaze on it and think of you.”

Iván Tsarévich left his silver spoon with them, and set out on his road.

So he went on one day and a second day, and at the dawning of the third day he saw a palace fairer than the first, and in front of the palace there was an oak, and an eagle sat on the oak: the Eagle flew down from the tree, struck the earth, turned into a doughty youth and cried: “Rise, Ólga Tsarévna, our dear brother has arrived.”

Ólga Tsarévna at once came to meet him, began kissing and welcoming him, asking how he was, and they told of all they had lived and done.

Iván Tsarévich stayed with them three little days, and then said, “I can no longer be your guest: I am going seeking my wife, Márya Moryévna the fair Princess.”

And the Eagle answered: “It will be an evil quest. Leave us your silver fork; we will look at it and think of you.”

So he left his silver fork, and he went on the road.

And a day went by and a second, and at the dawn of the third day he saw a palace fairer than the first two. And in front of the palace there was an oak, and on the oak there perched a crow. And the Crow flew down from the oak, struck the earth, turned into a doughty youth, and cried out, “Ánna Tsarévna, come out as fast as you can: our brother has arrived.”

Then Ánna Tsarévna came out, met him joyously, began to kiss and to welcome him, asking him how he was. And they spoke of all they had lived and done.

After three days Iván Tsarévich said, “I can stay no longer with you; I am going to seek my wife, Márya Moryévna, the fair Queen.”

“This will be a hard search for you,” the Crow said. “At least leave us your silver snuff-box; we can gaze on it and think of you.”

So Iván Tsarévich left them his silver snuff-box, and set out on his road.

Then a day went and another day, and on the third day he at last reached Márya Moryévna. When she saw her beloved through the window, she rushed out to him, flung herself at his neck, wept, and said, “Oh! Iván Tsarévich, why did you not obey me? Why did you look into the lumber-room and let Koshchéy the Deathless out?”

“Forgive me, Márya Moryévna; let bygones be bygones: come away with me now, whilst Koshchéy the Deathless is away: possibly he may not catch us up.”

So they went away.

Now Koshchéy was out hunting. Towards evening he returned home, and his horse stumbled. “Why, you sorry jade, are you stumbling, or is it some evil that you fear?”

And the horse answered: “Iván Tsarévich has arrived, and has taken away Márya Moryévna.”

“Can one catch them up?”

“You can sow wheat, wait until it grows up, harvest it, thresh it, turn it into flour, make five stones of bread, eat the bread, and then set out on the hunt, and we shall succeed.”

Koshchéy leapt on the horse, caught up Iván Tsarévich. “Now,” he said, “for the first time I will let you go for your doughtyhood, as you fed me with water; for the second time I will let you go; for the third time, take care: I will tear you to morsels.” And he took Márya Moryévna from him, took her away, and Iván Tsarévich sat on the stone and cried.

And he cried and he cried, and again came back to Márya Moryévna. Koshchéy the Deathless was not at home: “Let us start, Márya Moryévna.”

“Oh, Iván Tsarévich, he will catch us up.”