Part 16
The old man advised him once more to go on. “You will come to a little hut. Enter it and you will see a long man lying in it from one corner to the other. Ask him how you shall reach Russian land once more.”
So Iváshko went up to the hut, stepped in and said: “Strong giant,[37] spare me, and tell me how I shall get home again.”
“Fi, fo, fum, you Russian bones!” said Ídolishche, “I did not summon you, and still you have come. Go to the thrice-tenth sea, there there stands a hut on cocks’ legs in which the Bába Yagá lives. She has an eagle who will carry you.”
So the young boy went on and on, a far way, to the hut, and he stepped in.
The Bába Yagá cried out at once, “Fi, fo, fum, Russian bones, why have you come here?”
“Oh, mother, the giant Ídolishche sent me to ask you to lend me your mighty eagle to carry me to Russia.”
“Go,” said Bába Yagá, “into the garden. At the gate there stands a watchman; take his keys and pass through seven doors, and when you open the last the eagle will flap his wings. Sit on his back if you are not afraid, and fly away. But take meat with you and give him to eat whenever he turns round.”
Iváshko did as he was bidden, sat on the eagle and flew away. The eagle flew on, flew on; then he soon turned his head round, and Iváshko gave him a bite of flesh. Then the eagle flew on afar, and turned round again, and Iváshko fed him. And he fed him until he had nothing more left, and Russia was still far off. Then the eagle turned round, and as he had no flesh, he tore a fragment out of Iváshko’s withers and ate it up. But they had already reached the aperture. When Iváshko parted from the eagle, he spat a bit of flesh out and bade Iváshko lay it on him. And Iváshko did so, and his body healed; and Iváshko went home, took the maiden from the golden realm from his brothers; and they then lived happily, and may still be living if they are not dead.
I was there and I drank beer; I drank the beer, and it flowed up to my whiskers, but none of it reached my mouth.
CHUFÍL-FÍLYUSHKA
Once upon a time there were three brothers in a family; the eldest was called the Ram, the second the Goat, and the third and youngest Chufíl-Fílyushka.[38] One day all three went into the forest, where the warder lived who was their real grandfather. With him Ram and Goat left their own brother Chufíl-Fílyushka, and went out into the forest to hunt. Fílyushka had all his own will and way: his grandfather was old, and a great stupid; and Fílyushka was generous. He wanted to eat an apple. So he eluded his grandfather, got into the garden, and climbed up the apple-tree.
All of a sudden, Heaven knows where from, who should come but the Yagá-Búra,[39] with an iron mortar, and a pestle in her hand; she leaped up to the apple-tree, and said, “How are you, Fílyushka? What have you come here for?”
“Oh, to pluck an apple!” said Fílyushka.
“Well, then, dearie, have a bite of mine!”
“No, it’s a rotten one,” said Fílyushka.
“Well, here’s another one!”
“No, it’s all wormy!”
“Don’t be saucy; just come up and take one out of my hand.”
He stretched out his hand. Then Yagá-Búra gripped it tight, put him into the mortar, and made off, leaping over hills, and forests, and clefts; and swiftly with the pestle driving the mortar.
Then Fílyushka remembered himself, and began to cry out, “Goat, Ram, come along quick. Yagá has carried me away beyond the high, steep hills, the dark, lone woods, the steppes, where the geese roam.”
The Ram and the Goat were just then resting. One was lying on the ground, and heard a noise of somebody shouting. So he told the other one: “Come and lie down, and listen!”
“Oh, it’s our Fílyushka crying.”
Off they went and ran and ran, and ran the Yagá-Búra down, saved Fílyushka and brought him home to his grandfather, who had nearly gone out of his mind with fright! They told him to look after Fílyushka better, and went out again.
But Fílyushka was a real boy, and the first chance he got, off he was again to the apple-tree, clambered up. There was the Yagá-Búra again, and offering him an apple.
“No, you won’t catch me this time, you old beast!” said Fílyushka.
“Don’t be unkind—do just take an apple from me; I’ll throw it to you!”
“Right: throw it down.”
Then Yagá threw him down an apple: he stretched out his hand, and she clutched it and leapt over hills, and valleys, and dark forests, so fast that it seemed like a twinkling of an eye, got him into her home, washed him, went out and put him into the bunk.
In the morning she made ready to go out, and ordered her daughter, “Listen! heat the oven well, very hot, and roast me Chufíl-Fílyushka for supper.” And she went out to seek further booty.
The daughter went and got the oven thoroughly hot, took out and bound Fílyushka, and put him on the shovel, and was just going to shove him into the oven, when he went and knocked his forehead with his feet.
“That’s not the way, Fílyushka,” said the daughter of the Yagá-Búra.
“How then?” he answered. “I don’t understand.”
“Look here, just let go; I’ll show you.” She went and lay down on the shovel in the right fashion.
But, although Chufíl-Fílyushka was small, he was no fool! He stuffed her at once into the oven, and shut the oven door with a bang.
About two or three hours later Fílyushka smelt a smell of good roast meat, opened the door, and took out the daughter of the Yagá-Búra well cooked; buttered it over, put it into the frying-pan and covered it with a towel, and put it into the bunk; then he climbed up to the roof-tree and took away the business-day pestle and mortar of the Yagá-Búra.
About evening time, the Yagá-Búra came in, went straight to the bunk and took the roast meat out; ate it all up, collected all the bones, laid them out on the ground in rows, and began to roll on them. But somehow she could not find her daughter, and thought she had gone away to another cottage to weave. But suddenly, whilst she was rolling, she said, “My dear daughter, do come to me and help me roll Fílyushka’s little bones!”
Then Fílyushka cried out from the rafters: “Roll away, mother, and stand on your daughter’s little bones!”
“Are you there, you brigand! You just wait, and I’ll give it you!”
But little Chufíl was not frightened, and when the Yagá-Búra, gnashing her teeth, stamping on the ground, had got up to the ceiling, he just got hold of the pestle and with all his might struck her on the forehead, and down she flopped. Then Fílyushka climbed up on to the roof, and saw some geese flying, and called out to them, “Lend me your wings; I want wings to carry me home.”
They lent him their wings, and he flew home.
But they had long, long ago been praying for the repose of his soul at home, and how glad they were to see him turn up alive and sound! So they changed the requiem for a merry festival, and lived out their lives, and lived on to receive more good yet!
DONOTKNOW
Here begins the tale of a grey horse, a chestnut horse and of the wise fallow-bay. On the shore of the ocean, in the isle of Buyán, there stood a roasted ox, and behind pounded garlic: on the one side cut your meat, on the other dip deep and eat.
Once upon a time there lived a merchant who had a son, and when the son grew up he was taken into the shop. Now, the first wife of the merchant died, and he married a second.
After some months the merchant made ready to sail to foreign lands, and he loaded his ship with goods and he bade his son look after the house well and attend to business duly.
Then the merchant’s son asked, “_Bátyushka_,[40] when you go, get me my luck!”
“My beloved son,” answered the old man, “where shall I find it?”
“It is not far to seek, my luck. When you get up to-morrow morning, stand at the gates and buy the first thing that meets you and give it to me.”
“Very well, my son.”
So next day the father got up very early, stood outside the gates, and the first thing that met him was a peasant who was selling a sorry, scabby foal—mere dog’s meat. So the merchant bargained for it and got it for a silver rouble, took the foal into the courtyard and put it into the stable.
Then the merchant’s son asked him, “Well, _bátyushka_, what have you found as my luck?”
“I went out to find it, and it turned into a very poor thing.”
“Well, so it really had to be: whatever luck the Lord has given us we must use.”
Then the father set sail with his goods into foreign lands, and the son sat on the counter and engaged in trade. He grew into the habit, whether he were going into the shop or returning home, always to go and stand in front of his foal.
Now, his stepmother did not love her stepson, and looked out for fortune-tellers to learn how to get rid of him. At last she found an old wise woman, who gave her a poison and bade her put it under the threshold just when her stepson was coming in. As he came back from the shop, the merchant’s son went into the stable and saw that his foal was standing in tears, and so he stroked him and asked, “Why, my good horse, do you weep? Why your counsel do you keep?”
Then the foal answered, “Oh, Iván the merchant’s son, my beloved master, why should I not weep? Your stepmother is trying to ruin you. You have a dog: when you go home let it go in front of you, and you will see what will come to it.”
So the merchant’s son listened, and as soon as ever the dog crossed the threshold it was torn into small atoms.
Iván the merchant’s son never let his stepmother know that he saw through her spite, and set out next day to the shop, whilst the stepmother went to see the soothsayer. So the old woman got a second poison, and bade her put it into the trough. In the evening, as he went home, the merchant’s son went into the stable; and once more the foal was standing on tip-toes and in tears; and he struck him on the haunches and said, “Why, my good horse, do you weep? Why your counsel do you keep?”
Then the foal answered, “Why should I not weep, my master, Iván the merchant’s son? I hear a very great misfortune—that your stepmother wishes to ruin you. Look when you go into the room and sit down at the table: your mother will bring you a draught in the glass. Do you not drink it, but pour it out of the window: you will yourself see what will happen outside.”
Iván the merchant’s son did as he was bidden and as soon as ever he had thrown the draught out of the window it began to rend the earth; and again he never said a single word to his stepmother; so she still thought that he was in the dark.
On the third day he went to the shop, and the stepmother again went to the soothsayer. The old woman gave her an enchanted shirt. In the evening, as he was going out of the shop, the merchant’s son went up to the foal, and he saw that there stood his good horse on tip-toes and in tears. So he struck him by the bridle and said, “Why do you weep, my good horse? Why your counsel do you keep?”
Then the foal answered him, “Why should I not weep? Do I not know that your stepmother is wishing to destroy you? Listen to what I say. When you go home your stepmother will send you to the bath, and she will send the boy to you with a shirt. Do not put on the shirt yourself, but put it on the boy, and you will see yourself what will come of it.”
So the merchant’s son went up to his attic, and his stepmother came and said to him, “Would you not like to have a steam bath? The bath is now ready.”
“Very well,” said Iván, and he went into the bath, and very soon after the boy brought him a shirt. As soon as ever the merchant’s son put it on the boy he that very instant closed his eyes and fell on the floor, as though he were dead. And when he took the shirt off him and cast it into the stove, the boy revived, but the stove was split into small pieces.
The stepmother saw that she was doing no good, so she again went to the old soothsayer and asked and besought her how she should destroy her stepson. The old woman answered, “As long as the horse is alive nothing can be brought about. But you pretend to be ill, and when your husband comes back tell him, ‘I saw in my sleep that the throat of our foal must be cut and the liver extracted, and I must be rubbed with the liver; then my disease will pass away.’”
Some time after the merchant came back, and the son went out to meet him.
“Hail, my son!” said the father. “Is all well with you at home?”
“All is well, only mother is ill,” he answered.
So the merchant unloaded his wares and went home, and he found his wife lying in the bedclothes groaning, saying, “I can only recover if you will fulfil my dream.”
So the merchant agreed at once, summoned his son and said, “Now, my son, I want to cut the throat of your horse: your mother is ill, and I must cure her.”
So Iván the merchant’s son wept bitterly and said, “Oh, father, you wish to take away from me my last luck!” Then he went into the stable.
The foal saw him and said, “My beloved master, I have saved you from three deaths—do you now save me from one. Ask your father that you may go out on my back for the last time to fare in the open fields with your companions.”
So the son asked his father for leave to go into the open field for the last time on the horse, and the father agreed. Iván the merchant’s son mounted his horse, leapt into the open field, and went and diverted himself with his friends and companions. Then he sent his father a letter in this wise: “Do you cure my stepmother with a twelve-tongued whip—this is the best means of curing her illness.” He sent this letter with one of his good companions, and himself went into foreign lands.
The merchant read the letter, and began curing his wife with a twelve-tongued whip: and she very soon recovered.
The merchant’s son went out into the open field, into the wide plains, and he saw horned cattle grazing in front of him.
So the good horse said, “Iván the merchant’s son, let me go free at will, and do you pull three little hairs out of my tail: whenever I can be of service to you burn a single hair, and I shall appear at once in front of you, like a leaf in front of the grass. But you, good youth, go to the herd, buy a bull and cut its throat; dress yourself in the bull’s hide, put a bladder on your head, and wherever you go, whatever you are asked about, answer only this one word, ‘Idonotknow.’”
Iván the merchant’s son let his horse go free, dressed himself in the bull’s hide, put a bladder on his head, and went beyond the seas. On the blue sea there was a ship a-sailing. The ship’s crew saw this marvel—an animal which was not an animal, a man that was not a man, with a bladder on his head and with fur all round him. So they sailed up to the shore in a light boat and began to ask him and to inquire of him. Iván the merchant’s son only returned one answer, “Idonotknow.”
“If it be so, then your name must be ‘Donotknow.’” Then the ship’s crew took him, carried him on board the boat, and they sailed to their King.
May-be long, may-be short, they at last reached a capital city, went to the King with gifts, and informed him of Donotknow. So the King bade the portent be presented before his eyes. So they brought Donotknow into the palace, and the people came up from all parts, seen and unseen, to gaze on him.
Then the King began to ask him, “What sort of a man are you?”
“Idonotknow.”
“From what lands have you come?”
“Idonotknow.”
“From what race and from what place?”
“Idonotknow.”
Then the King put Donotknow into the garden as a scarecrow, to frighten the birds from the apple trees, and he bade him be fed from his royal kitchen.
Now this king had three daughters: the elder ones were beautiful, but the younger fairer still. Very soon the son of the King of the Arabs began asking for the hand of the youngest daughter, and he wrote to the King with threats such as this, “If you do not give her to me of your good will, I will take her by force.”
This did not suit the King at all, so he answered the Arab prince in this wise, “Do you begin the war, and it shall go as God shall will.”
So the Prince assembled a countless multitude and laid siege.
Donotknow shook off his oxhide, took off his bladder, went into the open fields, burnt one of the hairs, and cried out in a grim voice with a knightly whistle. From some source or other a wondrous horse appeared in front of him, and the steed galloped up, and the earth trembled. “Hail, doughty youth, why do you want me so speedily?”
“Go and prepare for war!”
So Donotknow sat on his good horse, and the horse asked him, “Where shall I carry you—aloft, under the trees, or over the standing woods?”
“Carry me over the standing woods.”
So the horse raised himself from the earth and flew over the hostile host. Then Donotknow leapt upon the enemies, seized a warlike sword from one of them, tore a golden helmet from another of them, and put them on himself; covered his face with the visor, and set to slaying the Arab host. Wherever he turned, heads flew: it was like mowing hay. The King and the Princess looked on in amazement from the city wall: “What a mighty hero it must be! Whence has he come? Is it Egóri the Brave who has come to help us?”
But they never imagined that it was Donotknow whom the King had set in the garden as a scarecrow. Donotknow slew many of that host, and even more than he slew his horse trampled down, and he left only the Arab Prince alive and ten men as a suite to see him home. After this great combat he rode back to the town wall and said, “Your kingly Majesty, has my service pleased you?” Then the King thanked him and asked him in as a guest. But Donotknow would not come. He leapt into the open field, sent away his good horse, turned back home, put on the bladder and the bull’s hide, and began to walk about in the garden, as before, just like a scarecrow.
Some time went by, not too much, not too little, and the Arab Prince again wrote to the King, “If you do not give me your youngest daughter’s hand I will burn up all your kingdom and will take her prisoner.”
This also did not please the King, and so he wrote in answer that he would await him with his host. Once again the Arab Prince collected a countless host, larger than before, and he besieged the King from all sides, having three mighty knights standing in front.
Donotknow learned of this, shook off the bull’s hide, took off the bladder, summoned his good horse, and leapt to the field. One knight came to meet him. They met in combat, greeted each other and set at each other with their lances. The knight struck Donotknow so doughtily that he could hardly hold on by one stirrup. Then he got up, flew like a youth, struck off the knight’s head, seized him, and threw him over, saying, “This is how all of your heads shall fly.” Then another knight came out, and it happened likewise with him; and a third came, and Donotknow fought with him for one whole hour. The knight cut his hand and drew blood, but Donotknow cut off his head and threw it with the rest. Then all of the Arab host trembled and turned back. Just then the King, with the Princesses, was standing on the town wall; and the youngest Princess saw that blood was flowing from the valiant champion’s hand, took a kerchief off her neck and bound up the wound herself; and the King summoned him as a guest. “I will come one day,” said Donotknow, “but not this time.” So he leapt into the open field, dismissed his horse, dressed himself in his oxhide, put the bladder on his head, and began walking up and down the garden like a scarecrow.
Some time went by, not much, not little, and the King gave his two elder daughters away to famous Tsarévichi. He was making ready for a great celebration, and the guests came to walk in the garden; and they saw Donotknow and asked, “What sort of a monster is this?”
So the King said, “This is Donotknow: I am using him as a scarecrow: he keeps the birds off my apple trees.”
But the youngest daughter looked at Donotknow’s hand and observed her kerchief on it, blushed and never said a word. From that time she began to walk into the garden and to gaze on Donotknow, and became thoughtful, never giving heed to the festivals and to the merriment.
“Where are you always going, my daughter?” asked her father.
“Oh, father, I have lived so many years with you, I have so often walked in the garden, and I have never seen such a delightful bird as I saw there just now!”
Then she began to ask her father to give her his blessing and to wed her to Donotknow. And for all the father might do to convince her, she insisted. “If you will not give me to him, I will remain unmarried all my life and will seek no other man.” So the father agreed and he betrothed them.
Soon afterwards the Arab Prince wrote to him for the third time and asked for the hand of his youngest daughter. “If you will not consent, I will consume all of your kingdom with fire, and I will take her by main force.”
Then the King answered, “My daughter is already promised: if you wish, come yourself and you will see.” So the Prince came, and when he saw what a monster was betrothed to the fair Princess he thought he would slay Donotknow, and he summoned him to mortal combat.
Donotknow shook off his oxhide, took the bladder from his head, summoned his good horse and rode out, so fair a youth as no tale can tell and no pen can write.
They met in the open field, in the wide plains, and the list lasted long. Iván the merchant’s son killed the Arab Prince. Then at last the King recognised that Donotknow was not a monster but a splendid and handsome knight, and he made him his heir. Iván the merchant’s son lived on in his kingdom for good and lived all for happiness, took his own father to stay with him, but consigned his stepmother to punishment.
THE SEA TSAR AND VASILÍSA THE WISE
Once a Tsar lived with his Tsarítsa beyond thrice-nine lands in the thrice-tenth kingdom. He liked to go hunting and shooting the wild beasts. One day the Tsar went out hunting, and saw a young eagle sitting on an oak; and he was just going to shoot him down, when the eagle begged him, “Do not shoot me, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself; and at some time or other I shall be of service to you.” And the Tsar thought and thought, and he said, “How can you be of any service to me?” And again he wanted to shoot him. And the eagle said to him a second time, “Do not shoot, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself; and some day I shall be of service to you.” And the Tsar thought and thought, and again he could not imagine whatever service the eagle would be to him, and he still wanted to shoot him. So for the third time the eagle spoke to him, “Do not shoot me, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself, and feed me for three years; and at some time I shall be of service to you.”
So the Tsar was mollified, and took the eagle to himself, and he fed him one year and another year, and the eagle ate up so much, ate up all the cattle; and the Tsar had neither a sheep nor a cow left.
Then the eagle said to him, “Let me go free.” And the eagle tried his wings, but no, he could not fly; and he asked him, “Now, Tsar my master, you have fed me for two years, even as you said; now feed me one year more. Only go on and feed me, and you will not lose.”
So the Tsar did this.
“Go and hire cattle and feed me; you will not lose.”
So the Tsar did this. From all countries round he went and hired cattle, and every one helped him to feed the eagle. And afterwards he let him go free at his own will.
Then the eagle rose higher and higher, and he flew and flew, and then he came down to earth and said, “Now, Tsar my master, come and sit on me: we will fly together.”