Part 22
But Katomá could see the guile in the Tsarévna’s heart, and instantly went into the stable and ordered them to bring the horse out. Twelve grooms opened the twelve locks, undid twelve doors, and led the magical horse out by twelve chains. Katomá went up to him, and as soon as ever he had swung himself on to the horse’s back the steed rose high into the air, higher than the tree-tops in the forest, lower than the clouds in heaven. But Katomá had a firm seat, and with one hand he held the mane, and with the other he fetched an iron sheet out of his pocket and struck the palfrey between the ears.
One sheet broke, then he took a second and a third; and after the third broke he was taking the fourth. The horse was so tired that it could not resist him any more, but spoke in a human voice: “Father Katomá, leave me some life, and I will come down to earth and whatever you will I will do.”
“Listen then, wretched animal!” Katomá answered. “To-morrow Iván Tsarévich will ride you to his wedding. Listen! When the servants take you into the broad courtyard, and he comes up to you and lays his hand on you, stand still: do not prick your ear. When he mounts, kneel down with your hoofs on the ground, and step under him with a heavy tread as if you were bearing a burdensome load.” So the horse sank half-dead on to the earth. Katomá, seated by the tail, hailed the grooms and said, “Ho, you there! grooms and coachmen, take this carrion into the stable.”
Next day came, and the hour for going to church. The Tsarévna had a carriage ready, and the Tsarévich was given the magical horse. And from all parts of the country the people had assembled in multitudes, countless multitudes, to see the bride and bridegroom leave the white stone palace. And the Tsarévna went into the carriage and was waiting to see what would happen to Iván Tsarévich. She thought to herself that the horse would prance him up against the winds, and that she could already see his bones scattered in the open fields.
Iván Tsarévich went up to the horse, laid his hand on its back, put his foot into the stirrup, and the magical horse stood there as though he were made of stone, and never pricked an ear. The Tsarévich mounted it, and the horse bowed deep to the earth. Then his twelve chains were taken off. And he stood with a heavy even tread, whilst the sweat ran down his back in streams.
“What a hero he is! What enormous strength!” all the people said as Iván Tsarévich paced by.
So the bride and the bridegroom were betrothed, and went hand-in-hand out of the church.
The Tsarévna still wanted to test her husband’s strength, and squeezed his hand, but she squeezed so hard that he could not stand it, and his blood mounted to his head, and his eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “That’s the manner of hero _you_ are!” she thought. “Your man, Katomá Oaken-cap, has deceived me finely. But I shall soon be even with him.”
Anna Tsarévna the Fair lived with her God-sent husband as a good wife should, and always listened to his words. But she was ever thinking how she might destroy Katomá. If she knew that, she could very easily dispose of the Tsarévich. But, however many slanders she might think of to tell him, Iván Tsarévich never believed her, but held Katomá fast.
One year later he said to his wife: “Dear wife, beautiful Tsarévna, I should like to go home with you.”
“Yes, we will go together. I have long wished to see your kingdom.”
So they set out, and Katomá sat behind the coachman. As they drove out Iván Tsarévich dozed off.
Then Anna the Fair suddenly roused him from his sleep and complained. “Listen, Iván Tsarévich: you are always asleep and notice nothing. Katomá will not obey me, but is purposely taking the horses over all the cobbles and into all the ditches, as if he wanted to destroy us. I spoke to him very gently, but he only laughs at me. I will not go on living if you do not punish him!”
Iván Tsarévich was drowsy, and very angry with Katomá, and said to the king’s daughter: “Do with him as you will.”
So the king’s daughter at once made her servants cut off Katomá’s legs. He submitted to his torturers and thought: “If I must suffer, still the Tsarévich will soon learn something of what trouble is.”
His two legs were cut off: the Tsarévna looked round and noticed a lofty stump at the edge of the road. She bade her servants set Katomá on it. And as to the Tsarévich, she tied him to a rope behind the carriage, and so returned to her own kingdom. Katomá sat on his tree stem and wept bitter tears.
“Farewell, Iván Tsarévich: forget me not!”
Iván Tsarévich had to leap behind the carriage, and knew very well that he had made a mistake, but it could not be cured.
When Anna the Fair had again reached her kingdom the Tsarévich had to mind the cows. Every morning he drove them into the open field, and every evening drove them back into the royal courtyard; and the Tsarévna sat on the balcony and saw that none of the cows was missing. Iván Tsarévich had to count the cows and to stable them all, and to give the last one a kiss under its tail. The cow knew what was expected of her, and remained standing at the door and lifted her tail up.
Katomá all day long sat on his tree-stump without meat or drink, but could not descend, and he thought: “I must die of hunger.” But near by there was a thick forest, and there a knight lived who was blind but very strong. This knight used to scent the animals which ran by, run after them and catch them, not minding whether it were a rabbit, or fox, or a bear. He could roast them for lunch. And he could run so fast, faster than any animal that leaps. One day a fox came by, and the knight heard him and ran after him. The fox ran up to the tree on which Katomá sat, and turned round there. In his haste the blind man struck the tree so hard with his forehead that it fell out with its roots. Katomá tumbled down and asked: “Who are you?”
“I am the blind knight, and for three years I have lived in the wood, feeding myself on the animals I can catch and bake on my fire; otherwise I should have died of hunger.”
“Were you blind from birth?”
“No; Anna the Fair put my eyes out.”
“Brother!” said Katomá, “she also cut off my legs, both of them.”
So the two knights decided they would live together and aid each other.
The blind man said to Katomá, “Sit on my back and show me the way: I will serve you with my feet and you me with your eyes.” The blind man lifted Katomá up, and the legless man cried out, “Left; right; straight on!” So for a long while they lived in the wood and used to catch rabbits, foxes and bears for their food.
One day Katomá said: “Why should we live alone here? I am told that there is in the town a rich merchant and his daughter. She, they say, is indescribably kind towards the poor men and cripples, and gives them alms with her own hands. Brother, we must carry her off. She shall live with us as the mistress of the house.”
So the blind man took a barrow, put the legless knight into it, and ran him into the town, up to the merchant’s house. When the daughter looked out of the window she instantly rushed out in order to give them alms. She came to Katomá and said, “Take this as God’s blessing!”
He accepted her gift and laid hold of her hand, dragged her into the barrow, and cried out to the blind man, who ran away so fast, faster than any horses could overtake him. It was all in vain for the merchant to try to overtake the two knights. The knights brought the merchant’s daughter to their _izbá_[60] in the wood and said: “Stay with us as our sister, and become the mistress of the house. We poor folk have no one to cook our food or to do the washing. God will not desert you therefor.”
So the merchant’s daughter remained with them, and the two knights honoured and loved her as though she were their own sister. Sometimes they went a-hunting, and then the sister remained alone in the house looking after the domestic service, cooking the food and doing the washing. But one day Bába Yagá with the bony legs came into the hut and sucked the blood out of the fair maiden’s breast. And whenever the two knights went away on the chase, Bába Yagá came back, so that very soon the merchant’s fair daughter became thin and feeble. But the blind man did not notice: only Katomá noticed that something had gone wrong, so he told his companion, and both asked their sister what was the cause.
Bába Yagá had forbidden her to tell them anything about it; she was therefore much too frightened for a long time to tell them what was her trouble. But at last they persuaded her, and she told them: “Every time when you go out on the chase an ancient hag comes into the hut. She has an evil face and long grey hairs. She hangs her head down over me and sucks my white breast.”
“Oh,” said the blind man, “that is the Bába Yagá! Wait a little bit. We must deal with her in her own fashion. To-morrow we must not go hunting: we will try to catch her in the house and to capture her.”
Next morning both of them went out. “Creep under the bench,” said the blind man to Katomá, and sit still. “I will go into the courtyard, and wait under the window. And you, Sister, sit down. If Bába Yagá comes, whilst you are combing her hair weave a part of her hair and hang the knot on to the window. I will then seize her by her grey tresses,” It was said and done. The blind man seized Bába Yagá by her grey tresses, and cried out, “Ho, Katomá! come out and hold the evil hag till I get into the hut.”
Bába Yagá heard it, and she wanted to lift her head and leap away, but she was unable. She tore and grumbled, but it was no good. Katomá crept out from the bank and turned round on her, threw himself on her life a mountain of iron. He strangled her until the heavens appeared to her as small as a sheepskin.
The blind man sprang out of the hut and said: “We must build a big faggot-heap and burn the old hag and scatter her ashes to the four winds.”
Bába Yagá besought them: “Father, doveling, forgive me. Whatever you will I will do!”
“Very well, ancient witch,” said the knights, “show us the well with the waters of Life and Death.”
“If you will only not lay me low, I will show it you.”
Then Katomá mounted the blind man’s back and he took Bába Yagá by her hair. So they fared into the deepest part of the slumberous forest, and she there showed them a well and said: “This is the healing water that renders life.”
“Take care, Katomá, do not make a mistake. If she deceives us this time we may not be able to repair it all our life long.”
So Katomá broke off a twig. It had hardly fallen into the water before it flamed up.
“Ah! that was a further deceit of yours!”
So the two knights made ready to throw Bába Yagá into the fiery brook. But she still prayed for mercy as before, and swore a great oath she would not deceive any more.
“Really and truly I will show you the right water!”
So the two knights were ready once more to adventure it, and Bába Yagá took them to another well. Katomá broke off a dry twig from the tree and threw it into the well. The twig had hardly fallen into the water before it sprouted up and became green and blue. “This water is right,” said Katomá, so the blind man washed his eyes and could at once see. And he put the cripple into the water, and his legs grew on to him.
Then they were both very glad, and said, “Now we are healthy, we will again talk of our own rights; but we must first settle our account with Bába Yagá. If we now forgive her, we shall get no good thereby, for she will strive ever against us all her life.” So they took her back to the fiery brook and threw her into it, and she was burned to death.
Katomá then married the merchant’s daughter, and all three went back into the kingdom of Anna Tsarévna the Fair to free Iván Tsarévich. They went into the capital, and there he met them with his herd of cows.
“Stay, herd,” said Katomá, “whither are you driving the cattle?”
“Into the Queen’s courtyard; the Tsarévna counts them every day to see whether all the cows have come home.”
“Herd, put on my clothes; I will put on yours and will drive the cows home.”
“No, brother, that will never do. Should the Tsarévna notice it, I should suffer.”
“Fear nothing; nothing will happen, you will come by no harm; Katomá is your surety.”
Iván sighed: “O good man! if only he were here I should not be herding cows.”
Then Katomá showed himself who he was, and the Tsarévich embraced him tenderly and wept bitterly. “I never expected I should see you any more!”
So they changed clothes, and Katomá drove the cows into the royal courtyard. Anna Tsarévna came out on to her balcony and counted the cattle. Then she commanded to take them all into the stable. All the cows went into the stable: only the last stayed behind and raised her tail. Katomá sprang up at her and cried out, “Wretched animal! why are you stopping here?” So he gripped and snatched the tail so mightily that the entire skin remained in his hand.
When Anna Tsarévna saw this she cried out aloud, “What is that wretched herdsman doing? Lay hold of him and bring him to me.”
So the attendants laid hold on Katomá and dragged him into the castle. Katomá suffered it without resistence and relied on his strength.
He was taken up to the Tsarévna, who looked at him and said, “Who are you?”
“I am Katomá, whose legs you once cut off and then set on a tree trunk.”
Then the Tsarévna thought, “If he can get his legs back, I can do no more against him.” And she asked for forgiveness from him and the Tsarévich. She repented of her sins and swore an oath that she would ever love Iván Tsarévich and obey him in all things.
Iván Tsarévich forgave her, and forthwith they lived in peace and unison. The knight who was once blind stayed by them. But Katomá went away with his wife to the rich merchant and abode in his house.
A CURE FOR STORY-TELLING
There was once a porter in the world: he had a wife who was passionately fond of stories, and she would only let people come and visit her who could tell stories. Well, as you may understand, this was rather costly to the husband. So he began to think, “How can I cure her of this undesirable habit?”
Well, one day in the winter, late at night, an old man came in frozen to atoms, and he asked to be allowed to stop the night. So the husband ran out to him and said, “Can you tell tales?”
Then the peasant saw that there was no help for it, as he was simply freezing with cold, and said, “I have an idea: will you tell stories for a long time?”
“Yes, all night long.”
“Capital: come in!”
So he led the guest in.
Then the husband said, “Now, my wife, here is a peasant who has promised to tell stories all night long, on the condition that you are not to make any remarks or interruptions.”
“Yes,” said the guest; “no remarks, or else I shall not open my mouth.”
So they had supper and lay down to sleep, and the peasant began—
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water. “There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water. “There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.”
And he went on telling the same thing over and over again—
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.”
So the mistress went on listening, and at last interrupted: “What sort of a tale is this? Why, it is a mere repetition.”
“Why do you interrupt me? I told you you must not make any exclamations: this is the preface of the tale, and there comes another after it.”
Then the man, after hearing this, could not help leaping up from the bench and whipping his wife.
“You were told not to make any interruptions, and you will not let him end his story.”
So he set on beating, beating, whipping, slippering, basting her, until the wife at the end hated stories, and was in despair ever afterwards at the sound of them.
NOTES
_Alyósha Popóvich._ One of the great knights at the court of Prince Vladímir. He was an effeminate kind of person and perhaps one who rather incited others to effort by his jibes than by his prowess. He is always given the uncomplimentary _soubriquet_ of the ‘Mocker of Women.’ His principal heroic episode is told in the prose ballad in this book entitled ‘Alyósha Popóvich.’
_Angey_, Tsar. Filuyán is a fabulous city found in the cantations and mystical rites of the Russian peasants. It is, however, probably derived from the Greek Θύλη.
_Bába Yagá._ In Professor Sypherd’s studies on Chaucer’s _House of Fame_, Chaucer Society, 1904, a most valuable note will be found on revolving houses. It will be seen that the legend is cognate with magic wheels that revolve at great speed, or turn on wheels emitting flame and poison. The nearest analogy quoted is the whirling rampart in the _Mael Duinn_, but the Russian legend is evidently related and not derived.
_Bogatýr._ The _bogatýr_ is the Russian Knight, but is absolutely unlike any Western romantic notion. He is a person of magical power and gigantic stature and prowess. Some of the _bogatyrí_ are decidedly demi-gods; others more decisively human; but they all have some superhuman, it may be said inhuman, touch. The derivation of the word has been very much in dispute. The characteristic thing to note is that the word is only found in Russian, and in no other Slavonic language, and is almost certainly of Tatar origin, the original form being something like _Bagadur_. The Sanskrit derivation which is attempted of _Baghadhara_ seems scarcely probable. Goryáyev’s dictionary states that the original meaning was a company-commander of the Tatars. If so, _bogatýr_ is probably a corruption (through _bog_ God and _bogat_ rich) of the form _buĭtur_, found in the Slóvo, which is certainly cognate with the Turanian root _buĭ_, to command. _v._ notes in my edition of Igor.
_Bryánsk._ Bryánsk in the Province of Orél contains wonderful woods which were in ancient times impenetrable, and became the legendary home of magic, and of weird happenings. The Aspen tree is always associated in Russian folk-lore with magic and wizardry; it is also said that Judas hanged himself on this tree.
_Chernígov._ An ancient city of Russia on the Dniepr, a little higher up than Kíev.
_Christ._ As, in German folk-lore, the legends of Christ walking the earth with His disciples are very frequent and characteristic. There is a touch of friendly familiarity in this presentation which does not involve the least irreverence, but adds a touch of sarcastic humour which the Germans lack.
_The Brother of Christ._ For the punishment of the old man who grumbled at the good things of earth there is a surprisingly close analogy in Dante’s _Inferno_, canto vii.
“Fitti nel limo dicon; Tristi fummo Nell’ aer dolce che dal sol s’allegra, Portando dentro accidioso fummo: Or c’ attristiam nella belletta negra.”
“Sunk in the slime they utter: ‘Loth were we, In sweet air sullen, which the sun makes glad, Our souls besmirched with dull reluctancy: Now in this black morass, our hearts are sad.’”
_Chufil-Filyushka._ Both these names are adaptations of the Greek Θεόφιλος.
THE CRYSTAL APPLE AND THE SILVER SAUCER
There is a strong Celtic flavour about this episode. Cf. The Twa Sisters o’ Binnorie.
Ho’s ta’en three locks o’ her yellow hair (Binnorie, oh Binnorie), And wi’ them strung his harp sae rare By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
And sune the harp sang loud and clear (Binnorie, oh Binnorie), Fareweel my father, and mother dear! By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
And then, as plain as plain could be, (Binnorie, oh Binnorie), There sits my sister wha drowned me! By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie.
In this story the Russian of the words sung by the piper is also in Russian ballad metre.
_Danílo the Unfortunate._ This is a prose version of a ballad and contains a very full account of this legend. The old hag whom Danílo meets on the way is elsewhere called the Wise Woman of Kíev, an old witch with the ugly qualities generally assigned.
_Death._ Death is feminine in Russian and occurs all through the folk-lore as the visible figure of a skeleton whom they met by the way on the roadsides, and who may be cheated of her prey or dealt with like any other demon.
_Dobrýnya Nikítich._ One of the great figures at the legendary court of Prince Vladímir. He was a dragon-slayer, but his principal employment was as ambassador.
THE DREAM. NOTES
The _izbá_, or hut, always has a _dvor_ or courtyard, access to which is gained through double gates as well as through a postern. Often the hut is raised by a flight of steps from the level of the courtyard.
The _izbá_ may have a cooling room in which to rest, so as to avoid the sudden change of air from the heated inner room; it is also a living room in the summer. Outside the _dvor_ against the fence there is a bench (_lávka_), on which the family sits in the summer. The hut is made of logs, the fence of boards.
Between the rafters and the sloped roof is the loft (_cherdák_), into which a ladder leads.
Inside the hut is that essential and central feature of Russian peasant life, the stove, which occupies one side of a wall. In front against it three long implements stand, the poker, broom and shovel. The oven rests on a brick or tile foundation, about eighteen inches high, with a semicircular hollow space below. The top of the stove is used for a sleeping bench (_poláty_) for the old folk or the honoured guest. In larger houses there may be a _lezhán’ka_ or heating stove, used as a sleeping sofa.
The bath-house is separate from the hut, and contains a flight of steps for different degrees of heat, obtained from white-hot stones on which water is flung. This is only found in better-class houses. In villages there is a general bath-house to which the peasants go once a week.
Every corner in the _izbá_ has its particular name. There is the _great corner_, where the Ikon stands, the _upper corner_ near the door, and the _stove corner_ opposite to the doors of the stove.
The fence is made of boards or sticks or stumps.
Long thin laths are stuck on to an iron spike, and lit; a pail of water is placed below into which the cinders fall; these lamps must be renewed as they burn down, and the charred ends swept up.
Up to very recent times, patriarchal usages obtained through Russia, and married sons resided in the father’s house.
This particular story portrays some of the personifications and allegorizings of the common acts of life; all of which have their appropriate blessing or grace. There are a number of tales of the curse attendant on the neglect of these duties, e.g. _The Devil in the Dough-pan_.
An example of the invocations is given in a note to _The Midnight Dance_.
_Duke._ i.e. a translation of _voyevodá_, which is again a translation of the High-German _Herzog_, which again is derived from the Latin _Dux_, meaning the leader of an army, not a mere title.
_Egóri Khrábry._ Egori the Brave. Is the Russian counterpart for St. George the Dragon-slayer.