Part 19
At last Easter Day came, and the bells rang for Mass. So the poor peasant thought, “All good folks are getting ready to break the fast, and I have not a crust of bread. Well, if I bring water, I can sip it like soup.” So he took a small can, went to the well, and as soon as he dipped it into the water a big pike fell into it. Then the peasant was very glad. “Here is something for supper; I will cook it and make fish soup of it, and shall have a fine supper.”
Then the pike said to him in a human voice: “Let me go free, good man, go free. I will make you happy; whatever your soul may desire you shall possess. You need only say:
At the pike’s good pleasure, By God’s good measure—
let this or that appear! and you will get it at once.”
So the peasant put the pike back into the water, went to his hut, sat down at the table and said:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, By God’s good measure—
let the table be covered and my dinner ready.”
Then from somewhere or other all sorts of dishes and drinks appeared on the table, enough to please a Tsar, and a Tsar would not have been ashamed of it. So the poor man crossed himself, said “Glory be to Thee, O Lord! now I can break the fast.” So he went to the church, attended Matins and Mass, turned back and again broke his fast, ate and drank as well, went outside the door and sat at the counter.
Just about then the Princess had an idea that she would go abroad in the streets, and she went with her attendants and maids of honour, and for the sake of the holy festival went to give alms to the poor; she gave to them all but forgot the poor peasant. Then he said to himself:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, Of God’s good treasure—
let the Tsarévna bear a child.” And at the word that very instant the Tsarévna became pregnant, and in ten months she bore a son.
Then the Tsar began to ask her, “Do acknowledge with whom you have been guilty.”
Then the Tsarévna wept and swore in every way that she had been guilty with nobody. “I do not know myself,” she said, “why the Lord has chastised me.”
The Tsar asked, but found nothing out.
Soon a boy was born who grew not by days but by hours; and at the end of a week he could already talk. So the Tsar summoned all the _boyárs_ and the senators from every part of the kingdom to show them the youth, but none of them acknowledged that he was the father.
“No,” the boy answered, “none of them is my father.”
Then the Tsar bade the maids of honour and attendants take him up to every courtyard, through all the streets, and to show him to all manner of people. So the attendants and maids of honour took the youth through all the courtyards, through all the streets they went. But the boy said nothing.
At last they came to the poor peasant’s hut. As soon as the boy saw that peasant, he at once stretched out his little hands and said “_Tyátya, Tyátya!_” Then they told the Emperor of this, and they summoned the poor man into the palace, and the Tsar began to inquire of him, “Acknowledge on oath, is this your boy?”
“No, he is God’s son.”
Then the Tsar was angry and married the poor man to the Princess, and after the wedding he set them both with the child in a big tub, smeared it with tar, and sent it out into the open sea. So the tub sailed on the open sea, and the boisterous winds carried and bore it to a distant shore. When the poor man heard that the water no longer moved under them, he said:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, At God’s good measure—
let the barrel rest on a dry spot.”
So the barrel turned round and got on to a dry spot, and they went on, following their eyes. And they went on and on, on and on, and they had nothing to eat or drink. The Princess was utterly exhausted and had pined away to a shadow, and she could hardly stand on her legs.
“Now,” said the poor man, “do you know what hunger and thirst are?”
“Yes, I do,” said the Princess.
“Well, this is what the poor have to endure. Yet you would not give me alms on Easter Day.” Then the poor man said:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, Of God’s good treasure—
let there be here a rich palace, the finest in all the world, with gardens and ponds and all sorts of pavilions.”
As soon as he had spoken a rich palace appeared; faithful henchmen ran out of it and carried them in their hands, led them into the white stone rooms, and they sat down at the oaken tables with chequered linen on them. It was marvellously decorated, was this palace. On the table everything was ready, wine and sweets and made dishes. The poor man and the Tsarévna ate and drank at their will, rested them, and went for a walk into the garden.
“Everything is beautiful here,” said the Princess; “the only thing still lacking is to see the birds upon our ponds.”
“Wait, you shall have birds as well,” answered the poor man, and he said at once:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, At God’s good measure—
let twelve ducks and one drake swim on the pond, and let them have one feather of gold and another of silver, and let the drake have a diamond tuft on his forehead!” And lo and behold, on the water there were twelve ducks and one drake swimming; one feather was of gold and one feather was of silver, and the drake had a diamond tuft on his forehead.
So there the Princess and her husband lived without grief or moil, and their son grew up a big lad and began to feel in himself a giant’s strength. And he asked leave of his father and mother to go out into the white world and to seek himself a bride. They gave him leave to go, and said, “Go, my son.”
So he saddled his knightly horse and set out on his road and way. And as he journeyed on he met an old woman who said, “Hail, Russian prince, where do you wish to go?”
“I am going, _bábushka_,[49] to seek a bride, but I do not know where I am to find her.”
“Stay, I will tell you, my child. Do you go beyond the ocean into the thrice-tenth kingdom; there there is a king’s daughter so fair, that, if you go through all the world, you will never find any one more beautiful.”
So the good youth thanked the woman, went to the seashore, hired a boat, and sailed to the thrice-tenth land. He sailed, maybe far, maybe near, maybe long, maybe short—the tale is soon told but the deed is not soon done—and he at last arrived at that kingdom, and appeared before the king of it, and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
Then the King said to him, “You are not the only suitor for my daughter; there is another suitor, a mighty knight. If I refuse him he will destroy all of my kingdom.”
“But, if you decline my offer, I will ravage your kingdom.”
“What will you?—you had better measure your strength with him: to whichever of you conquers I will give my daughter.”
“Very well; summon all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, all the Kings and Korolévichi, to see us wage an honourable holmgang to win your daughter.”
So then hunters were sent out to all cities, and one year had not gone by before from all the neighbouring parts all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, all the Kings and Korolévichi came together, as also the Tsar who had put his own daughter into the barrel and sent her out into the sea.
On the day appointed all the knights made ready for a bloody holmgang. They fought and fought, and the earth groaned at their blows, the forests bowed down and the rivers rose in waves. The Tsarévna’s son first overcame his opponent and cut off his turbulent head.
Then all the royal _boyárs_ ran up, took the doughty youth into their hands and led him into the palace. Next day he was married to the Korolévna. And after they had feasted at the wedding he set about inviting all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings and the Korolévichi as his guests to his father and mother. So they all came together, and they got their ships ready and sailed on the sea. The Tsarévna with her husband received her guests with honour, and they began to celebrate banquets and to be joyous. The Tsars and the Tsarévichi, the Kings and the Korolévichi, gazed at the palace and the gardens and wondered. They had never seen such wealth. Then some of them wondered when they saw the ducks and drakes, every one of them worth half a kingdom.
So the guests were fed and bethought themselves of going home, but before ever they had got to the haven, swift hunters precursed them, saying, “Our master bids you turn back again; he wishes to hold secret counsel with you.”
So the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings and Korolévichi, were turning back, when the master came to meet them and said: “Oh ye good folk, one of my ducks has gone: has any one of you taken it?”
“Why are you making a vain quest?” the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings and Korolévichi answered; “this would be an unguestly act. Search us all over. If you find the duck on any one of us do with him what you will; if you do not, let your own head pay for it.”
“I will,” said the master. And he placed them all in a row and searched them; and, as soon as he had come to the father of the Tsarévna, he said quietly:
“At the pike’s good pleasure, At God’s good measure—
under the lappet of the kaftan of this Tsar, let the duck be found.” So he went and lifted his kaftan and found the duck tied to the lappet; one feather was of gold, one was of silver.
Then all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, Kings and Korolévichi cried out fiercely, “Ho! ho! ho! what a deed! are Tsars turning into thieves?”
Then the Tsarévna’s father swore by everything holy that as to thieving there had never been such an idea in his head. And he had no idea how the duck had come to him.
“That is a fine tale; it was found on you; you must be guilty.”
Then the Tsarévna came out, burst upon her father, and acknowledged that she was his daughter whom he had given away to the poor peasant in marriage and had put into a barrel. “_Bátyushka_,”[50] she said, “you would not then believe my words, and now you have acknowledged yourself that it is possible to be guilty without guilt.”
And she told him how it had all arisen. And after that they began to live, and lived all together and lived all for good and forgot bygones.
THE JOURNEY TO JERUSALEM
An archimandrite one day got up for matins; and, whilst laving his hands, saw an unclean spirit in the Holy Water, seized him and crossed him.
The devil besought him: “Let me go, Father, I will do you any service I can; I will, I will!”
So the Archimandrite said: “Will you take me to Jerusalem between High Mass and matins?”
The Archimandrite released him, and after matins was transported to Jerusalem, and was back in time for High Mass. Then inquiries were set going how this might be, and every one was astonished how he could get to Jerusalem and back so fast. They asked him about it, and he told them the story.
VAZÚZA AND VÓLGA
The Vólga and the Vazúza had a long argument whether who was the wiser and the stronger and the more honourable of the two. They contended and quarrelled, and could not decide it. So they resolved at last: “Let us both go to sleep at the same time, and the one which wakes up earlier and first reaches the Khvalýnsk Sea is wiser and stronger and the more honourable.”
So the Vólga went to sleep, and so did the Vazúza.
But at night the Vazúza got up quietly and ran away from the Vólga; she took the next nearest way and flowed off.
When the Vólga woke up she went neither hurriedly nor lagging, but in an ordinary fashion. At Zubtsov she overtook the Vazúza, and looked so threatening that the Vazúza was frightened, and owned she was the younger daughter, and begged the Vólga to take her in her arms into the Sea of Khvalýnsk.
And, to this day, the Vazúza wakes up in the spring before the Vólga, and wakes the Vólga up out of her winter sleep.
THE ENCHANTED TSARÉVICH
Once upon a time there was a merchant who had three daughters: it so happened he had one day to go to strange countries to buy wares, and so he asked his daughters, “What shall I bring you from beyond the seas?”
The eldest asked for a new coat, and the next one also asked for a new coat; but the youngest one only took a sheet of paper and sketched a flower on it: “Bring me, _bátyushka_,[51] a flower like this!”
So the merchant went and made a long journey to foreign kingdoms, but he could never see such a flower. So he came back home, and he saw on his way a splendid lofty palace with watch-towers, turrets, and a garden. He went a walk in the garden, and you cannot imagine how many trees he saw and flowers, every flower fairer than the other flowers. And then he looked and he saw a single one like the one which his daughter had sketched. “Oh,” he said, “I will tear off and bring this to my beloved daughter: evidently there is nobody here to watch me.” So he ran up and broke it off, and as soon as he had done it, in that very instant a boisterous wind arose and thunder thundered, and a fearful monster stood in front of him, a formless, winged snake with three heads.
“How dared you play the master in my garden!” cried the snake to the merchant. “Why have you broken off a blossom?”
The merchant was frightened, fell on his knees and besought pardon.
“Very well,” said the snake, “I will forgive you, but on condition that whoever meets you first, when you reach home, you must give me for all eternity; and, if you deceive me, do not forget, nobody can ever hide himself from me: I shall find you wherever you are.”
The merchant agreed to the condition and came back home.
And the youngest daughter saw him from the window and ran out to meet him. Then the merchant hung his head, looked at his beloved daughter, and began to shed bitter tears.
“What is the matter with you? why are you weeping, _bátyushka_?”
He gave her the blossom and told what had befallen him.
“Do not grieve, _bátyushka_,” said the youngest daughter, “it is God’s gift: perhaps I shall fare well. Take me to the snake.”
So the father took her away, set her in the palace, bade farewell, and set out home.
Then the fair maiden, the daughter of the merchant, went in the different rooms, and beheld everywhere gold and velvet; but no one was there to be seen, not a single human soul.
Time went by and went by, and the fair damsel became hungry and thought, “Oh, if I could only have something to eat!” But before ever she had thought, in front of her stood a table, and on the table were dishes and drinks and refreshments: the only thing that was not there was birds’ milk. Then she sat down to the table, drank and ate, got up, and it had all vanished.
Darkness now came on, and the merchant’s daughter went into the bedroom, wishing to lie down and sleep. Then a boisterous wind rustled round and the three-headed snake appeared in front of her.
“Hail, fair maiden! put my bed outside this door!”
So the fair maiden put the bed outside the door and herself lay on the bedstead.
She awoke in the morning, and again in the entire house there was not a single soul to be seen. And it all went well with her: whatever she wished for appeared on the spot.
In the evening the snake flew to her and ordered, “Now, fair maiden, put my bed next to your bedstead.”
She then laid it next to her bedstead, and the night went by, and the maiden awoke, and again there was never a soul in the palace.
And for the third time the snake came in the evening and said, “Now, fair maiden, I am going to lie with you in the bedstead.”
The merchant’s daughter was fearfully afraid of lying on a single bed with such a formless monster. But she could not help herself, so she strengthened her heart and lay down with him.
In the morning the serpent said to her, “If you are now weary, fair maiden, go to your father and your sisters: spend a day with them, and in the evening come back to me. But see to it that you are not late. If you are one single minute late I shall die of grief.”
“No, I shall not be late,” said the maiden, the merchant’s daughter, and descended the steps; there was a barouche ready for her, and she sat down. That very instant she arrived at her father’s courtyard.
Then the father saw, welcomed, kissed her, and asked her, “How has God been dealing with you, my beloved daughter? Has it been well with you?”
“Very well, father!” And she started telling of all the wealth there was in the palace, how the snake loved her, how whatever she only thought of was in that instant fulfilled.
The sisters heard, and did not know what to do out of sheer envy.
Now the day was ebbing away, and the fair maiden made ready to go back, and was bidding farewell to her father and her sisters, saying, “This is the time I must go back: I was bidden keep to my term.”
But the envious sisters rubbed onions on their eyes and made as though they were weeping: “Do not go away, sister; stay until to-morrow.”
She was very sorry for her sisters, and stayed one day more.
In the morning she bade farewell to them all and went to the palace. When she arrived it was as empty as before. She went into the garden, and she saw the serpent lying dead in the pond! He had thrown himself for sheer grief into the water.
“Oh, my God, what have I done!” cried out the fair maiden, and she wept bitter tears, ran up to the pond, hauled the snake out of the water, embraced one head and kissed it with all her might. And the snake trembled, and in a minute turned into a good youth.
“I thank you, fair maiden,” he said. “You have saved me from the greatest misfortune. I am no snake, but an enchanted Prince.”
Then they went back to the merchant’s house, were betrothed, lived long, and lived for good and happy things.
THE SNAKE PRINCESS
A Cossack was going on his road and way, and he arrived in the sleepy forest, and in that forest, in a glade, stood a hayrick. So the Cossack stood in front just to have a little rest, lay down in front of the hayrick and smoked his pipe, went on smoking, smoking, and never saw that a spark had fallen into the hay. After his rest he again mounted his horse and went on his road.
But he had gone only some dozen paces, when a flame blazed out and lit up the wood. Then the Cossack looked back steadily, and saw the hayrick burning, and in the middle of the flame a fair maiden standing, saying in a threatening voice, “Cossack, good man, save me from death!”
“How shall I save you? I see flames all around and cannot get up to you.”
“Thrust your pike into the flame: I will jump out on to it.”
So the Cossack thrust his pike into the flame and leapt to avoid the great heat. Then the fair maiden turned into a snake, crept on to the pike, crawled round the Cossack’s neck, coiled herself round his neck three times and put her tail between her mouth. The Cossack was frightened and had no notion what he should do or what should come to him.
Then the snake spoke to him in a human voice: “Do not be frightened, good youth; bear me on your neck for seven years, and go to seek the Kingdom of Tin: when you arrive in that kingdom stay there and live there seven years more, and do not ever leave it: if you serve this service you shall be happy.”
So the Cossack went to look for the Kingdom of Tin; much time went by, much water flowed in the river, and at the end of the seventh year he at last reached a steep mountain, and on that mountain stood a castle of tin, and around the castle was a lofty white stone wall. So he climbed up the mountain, and the wall opened in front of him, and he arrived at a broad courtyard. At that same instant the snake disentangled herself from his neck, struck the grey earth, and turned into the maiden of his soul, vanished from his eyes as though she had never been there.
The Cossack stabled his horse, went into the palace, and began looking at the rooms: there were looking-glasses all about, silver and velvet, but never a soul of a man to be seen. “Ah!” thought the Cossack, “Wherever have I got to? Who will give me food and drink? I must here die of thirst and hunger.” And whilst he was thinking this, lo and behold! in front of him stood a covered table, and on the table was food and drink, enough for all. So he tasted what he would, drank what he would, strengthened his body, and thought of mounting on his horse to survey. He went into the stable, and the horse was standing in the stall and was eagerly devouring oats.
Well, this affair had turned out very well after all; possibly he might go on living without any suffering. So the Cossack stayed for a very, very long time in the tin castle, until he became wearied unto death: it might be a joke, but he was always alone and could never exchange as much as a whisper with anybody. So, from sheer grief, he drank himself drunk and thought he would go out into the free world. But wherever he ventured forth there were lofty walls, with neither an entrance nor an exit. So he grew very angry, and the doughty youth took his cudgel, went into the palace and began knocking about the looking-glasses and mirrors, tearing up the velvet, breaking the chairs, shattering the silver. Possibly, he thought, the owner might come and let him free. But no, never a soul appeared!
Then the Cossack lay down to sleep. Next day he woke up, went for a walk and a saunter, and he thought he would like to have some food, and he looked around: there was nothing to be had. “Ah!” he thought, “The slave rains on herself the blows if unfaithfully she mows. I smoked to death yesterday, and to-day I must starve.” He had despaired. And that very instant food and drink stood ready for him.
Three days went by: the Cossack slept in the morning, and then looked out of the window, and his good horse stood saddled at the steps. What did that mean? So he washed and dressed, prayed to God, took his long pike and went into the open courtyard.
Suddenly, from somewhere or other, the fair maiden appeared and said, “Health to you, good youth: the seven years are over. You saved me from my perdition and my end. Now, listen to me: I am a king’s daughter; Koshchéy the Deathless fell in love with me, took me away from my father and from my mother, wished to marry me, but I always laughed at him. Then he grew angry, and he turned me into a wild snake: I thank you for your long service. We will fare forth to my father’s court; he will wish to reward you with gold from his treasury and with precious stones: but do you take nothing of them. Simply ask for the keg which is lying in his cellar.”
“But what is the use of that?”
“If you turn that keg to the right a palace appears forthwith, if you turn it to the left, it vanishes.”
“Very well,” said the Cossack.
So he mounted his steed, set himself and the fair princess on it, and the lofty walls moved away from before him, and they set out on their road and way. May be long, may be short, at last they arrived at the kingdom named: the king saw his daughter and was overjoyed, began expressing his thanks and gave the Cossack sacks full of gold and pearls: but the doughty youth answered him, “I desire neither gold nor pearls, give me as a remembrance of you simply the keg which is lying in your cellar.”
“You ask for a great gift, brother; but I must do what you say, for my daughter is dearer to me than all else that I have here. I do not regret the barrel; take it and go with God.”
So the Cossack took the royal gift and set out to roam through the white world. He went on and on, and he met an ancient old man on the way: the old man answered him, “Give me food and drink, good youth!”
So the Cossack leapt from his horse, undid the keg, turned it to the right, and a miraculous palace appeared on the spot: both of them went into the painted rooms and sat on covered chairs. “Ho, ye my faithful servants!” cried out the Cossack, “give food and drink to this guest.” Before ever the words were uttered, the servants brought an entire ox and three casks of beer.