Myths and Folk-Tales
OF THE
RUSSIANS, WESTERN SLAVS, AND MAGYARS

By JEREMIAH CURTIN

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1890

Copyright, 1890
By Jeremiah Curtin

University Press
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge

To FRANCIS JAMES CHILD, PH.D., LL.D.

Professor of English in Harvard University,
Cambridge, Mass.

My dear Professor Child,—

It is more than a quarter of a century since you began for Harvard that collection of myths, folk-tales, and ballads, in all European languages, which has grown under your hand to such proportions that it is now, perhaps, the most complete of its kind in either hemisphere.

This work was begun by you through a clear perception of what was needed for laborers in a most important field of inquiry, and achieved by tireless and patient care in seeking and finding.

Your labors as a scholar are honored abroad as at home, and your work on English and Scottish ballads will endure as a monument of skill and devotion.

During your career as Professor you have been true to the ideals of Harvard scholarship and life, adding to them meanwhile something of your own.

Whoso adds to or freshens the spirit of our revered Alma Mater deserves well of the country; for Harvard, now in the second half of the third century of her existence, is the oldest witness and, so far, the most eloquent that we have to the collective and continuous striving of Americans towards a higher life.

To you,—the distinguished Professor, the earnest scholar, the faithful friend,—I, one of thousands who have listened to your instruction, dedicate this volume, gathered from a field in which you take so much delight.

Jeremiah Curtin.

Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of Ethnology.  Washington D. C. October 23, 1890.

CONTENTS.

  Page

Introduction

vii

RUSSIAN MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.

The Three Kingdoms,—The Copper, the Silver, and the Golden

1

Ivan Tsarevich, The Fire-Bird, and the Gray Wolf

20

Ivan the Peasant’s Son and the Little Man Himself One-finger Tall, his Mustache Seven Versts in Length

37

The Feather of Bright Finist the Falcon

47

The Pig with Gold Bristles, the Deer with Golden Horns, and the Golden-Maned Steed with Golden Tail

59

Water of Youth, Water of Life, and Water of Death

72

The Footless and Blind Champions

82

The Three Kingdoms

97

Koshchéi Without-Death

106

Vassilissa Golden Tress, Bareheaded Beauty

124

The Ring with Twelve Screws

137

The Footless and the Blind

149

Koshchéi Without-Death

165

Go to the Verge of Destruction and Bring Back Shmat-Razum

179

Marya Morevna

203  Variant of the Rescue of Ivan Tsarevich and the Winning of the Colt 217

Yelena the Wise

218

The Seven Simeons, Full Brothers

228

The Enchanted Princess

238

Vassilissa the Cunning, and the Tsar of the Sea

249

CHEKH MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.

Boyislav, Youngest of Twelve

273

The Table, the Pack, and the Bag

295

The King of the Toads

311

The Mouse-hole, and the Underground Kingdom

331

The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess

356

The Treacherous Brothers

370

MAGYAR MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.

The Poor Man, and the King of the Crows

409

The Useless Wagoner

424

Mirko, the King’s Son

434

The Reed Maiden

457

Kiss Miklos, and the Green Daughter of the Green King

477

The Hedgehog, the Merchant, the King, and the Poor Man

517

INTRODUCTION.

A FEW tens of years ago it was all-important to understand and explain the brotherhood and blood-bond of Aryan nations, and their relation to the Semitic race; to discover and set forth the meaning of that which in mental work, historic strivings, and spiritual ideals ties the historic nations to one another. At the present time this work is done, if not completely, at least measurably well, and a new work awaits us, to demonstrate that there is a higher and a mightier bond,—the relationship of created things with one another, and their inseverable connection with That which some men reverence as God, but which other men call the Unknowable, the Unseen.

This new work, which is the necessary continuation of the first, and which alone can give it completeness and significance, will be achieved when we have established the science of mythology.

Of course all that may be attempted in a volume like the present is to throw out a few hints, and to mention some of the uses of mythology as a science.

There is a large body of myths and folk-tales already published in Europe, and still a great number as yet uncollected. Many of these tales are of remarkable beauty. They are of deep interest both to young and old, and nowhere do they enjoy more delicate appreciation than among educated people in America and England. The delight in a beautiful and wonderful story is the very highest mental pleasure for a child, and great even for a grown man; but the explanation of it (if explanation there be) and the nature of its heroes (if that can be discovered) are dear to the mind of a mature person of culture. Much has been written touching the heroes of folk-tales, as well as the characters in Aryan mythology, but it appears to have produced small effect; for to most readers it seems unproven, and founded mainly on the views of each writer. This is the reason why the chief, almost the only, value found in folk-tales, as yet, is the story itself, with its simple beauty, incomparable grotesqueness, and marvellous adventures.

The great majority even of the least modified tales of Europe have mainly substituted heroes,—sons of kings, tsars, merchants, poor men, soldiers,—so that in most cases the birth, occupation, or name of the present hero gives no clew to the original hero of the tale; but incidents do. The incidents are often an indication of what kind of person the original hero must have been.

A few of the tales in this volume have preserved elemental heroes; and this is a fact of great value, for it points to a similarity with the American system of mythology.

We have in the present volume Raven,—not the common bird, but that elemental power which, after having been overcome, turned into the common raven of to-day, and flew off to the mountains; Whirlwind and South Wind are both heroes,—one as a leading, the other as an important secondary, character in two of the Russian stories. We have two brothers Wind, in “The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess,” in whom the personal character of Wind is well maintained. The steed, fire-eating and wise, of the Magyars, which appears also in Russian and other Slav tales, always mangy and miserable except in action, is a very significant character, whose real nature one may hope to demonstrate. But we have no tale in which it is clear who all the characters are; the modifying influences were too great and long-continued to permit that. Though myth-tales are, perhaps, more interesting for the majority of modern readers in their present form, they will not have their full interest for science till it is shown who most of the actors are under their disguises.

This is the nearest task of mythology.

There are masterpieces in literature filled with myths, inspired with myth conceptions of many kinds, simply colored by the life of the time and the nations among which these masterpieces were written and moulded to shape by artists, made strong from the spirit of great, simple people, as unknown to us as the nameless heroes who perished before Agamemnon. How much mythology is there in the Iliad and the Odyssey, in the Æneid, in the Divine Comedy of Dante, in the works of the other three great Italian poets? How much in Paradise Lost? How could “King Lear” and “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” or the “Idylls of the King” have been written without Keltic mythology? Many of these literary masterpieces have not merely myths in their composition as a sentence has words, but the earlier ones are enlarged or modified myth-tales of those periods, while the later ones are largely modelled on and inspired by the earlier.

The early chronicles of nations are as strikingly associated with mythology as are the masterpieces of literature. Omitting others, one case may be noted here,—that of the voluminous Gaelic chronicles and the so-called historical tales of Ireland, which, in the guise of history, give mythology, and preserve for coming investigators a whole buried Pantheon.

The service of the science of mythology will be great in connection with the myth-tales of nations, with literature, and with early history; but its weightiest service will be rendered in the domain of religion, for without mythology there can be no thorough understanding of any religion on earth, either in its inception or its growth.

But how is this science from which men may receive such service to be founded?

In one way alone: by obtaining from races outside of the Aryan and Semitic their myths, their beliefs, their view of the world; this done, the rest will follow as a result of intelligent labor. But the great battle is in the first part of the work, for the inherent difficulty of the task has been increased by Europeans, who have exterminated great numbers among the best primitive races, partially civilized or rather degraded others, and rendered the remainder distrustful and not easily approached on the subject of their myths and ethnic beliefs.

As to the collection of these myths and beliefs, the following may be stated:—

There is everywhere a sort of selvage of short tales and anecdotes, small information about ghosts and snakes, among all these races, which are easily obtained; and most Europeans seem to think that when they have collected some of these trivial things they have all that the given people possess. But they are greatly mistaken. All these people have something better. There was not a single stock of Indians in America which did not possess, in beautiful forms, the elements of an extensive literature, with a religion and philosophy which would have thrown light on many beginnings of Aryan and Semitic thought, a knowledge of which in so many cases is now lost to us, but which we hope to recover in time. The same may be said of other primitive races, still unbroken, unmodified; and though much has been lost, still enough remains to serve our purpose fully, if civilized men instead of slaying “savages,” directly and indirectly, will treat them as human beings, and not add to the labor of those workers who in the near future will surely endeavor, singly or in small groups, to study the chief primitive races of the earth, and win from them, not short insignificant odds and ends of information, but great masses of material; for the educated world may rest assured that these races possess in large volume some of the most beautiful productions of the human mind, and facts that are not merely of great, but of unique, value.

In the introduction to my volume, “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland,” I endeavored to explain in brief what the myths of America are, especially the Creation-myths, referring only to those which I myself have collected. I stated that, “All myths have the same origin, and that all run parallel up to a certain point, which may be taken as the point to which the least developed peoples have risen” (page 27). I do not know any better way of illustrating this than to bring into evidence myths of the Morning-star. The Indians have a great many myths in which the Morning-star figures as the Light-bringer,—the same office as that indicated by the Latin word Lucifer; and here I may be permitted to present a short chapter of my personal experience with reference to that word and the Morning-star.

I remember well the feelings roused in my mind at mention or sight of the name Lucifer during the earlier years of my life. It stood for me as the name of a being stupendous, dreadful in moral deformity, lurid, hideous, and mighty. I remember also the surprise with which when I had grown somewhat older and begun to study Latin, I came upon the name in Virgil, where it means the Light-bringer, or Morning-star,—the herald of the sun. Many years after I had found the name in Virgil, I spent a night at the house of a friend in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, right at the shore of Lake Michigan. The night was clear but without a moon,—a night of stars, which is the most impressive of all nights, vast, brooding, majestic. At three o’clock in the morning I woke, and being near an uncurtained window, rose and looked out. Rather low in the east was the Morning-star, shining like silver, with a bluish tinge of steel. I looked towards the west; the great infinity was filled with the hosts of heaven, ranged behind this Morning-star. I saw at once the origin of the myth which grew to have such tremendous moral meaning, because the Morning-star was not in this case the usher of the day but the chieftain of night, the Prince of Darkness, the mortal enemy of the Lord of Light. I returned to bed knowing that the battle in heaven would soon begin. I rose when the sun was high next morning. All the world was bright, shining and active, gladsome and fresh, from the rays of the sun; the kingdom of light was established; but the Prince of Darkness and all his confederates had vanished, cast down from the sky, and to the endless eternity of God their places will know them no more in that night again. They are lost beyond hope or redemption, beyond penance or prayer.

I have in mind at this moment two Indian stories of the Morning-star,—one Modoc, the other Delaware. The Modoc story is very long, and contains much valuable matter; but the group of incidents that I wish to refer to here are the daily adventures and exploits of a personage who seems to be no other than the sky with the sun in it. This personage is destroyed every evening. He always gets into trouble, and is burned up; but in his back is a golden disk, which neither fire nor anything in the world can destroy. From this disk his body is reconstituted every morning; and all that is needed for the resurrection is the summons of the Morning-star, who calls out, “It is time to rise, old man; you have slept long enough.” Then the old man springs new again from his ashes through virtue of the immortal disk and the compelling word of the star.

Now, the Morning-star is the attendant spirit or “medicine” of the personage with the disk, and cannot escape the performance of his office; he has to work at it forever. So the old man cannot fail to rise every morning. As the golden disk is no other than the sun, the Morning-star of the Modocs is the same character as the Lucifer of the Latins.

The Delaware story, also a long one, has many grotesque and striking elements. I will tell it in a closely compressed form. The person who is the hero of this tale has a wife, who, while he is absent hunting, turns into a man-eater,—becomes a devouring agency with a mania to swallow all flesh, but has a special and craving mania to eat up her own husband first of all; so she runs to the woods to find him. Informed by a wise, talking dog, a species of brother of his, who had sprung out to anticipate the woman, the man rushes off southward, runs with all speed till he reaches a deep mighty river, where is an old man who makes a bridge by stretching his neck across the water. The hunted husband speaks kindly, and implores for means to cross or his wife will devour him. The old man lies down with his shoulder on one bank, stretches his neck, makes it flat like a horse’s neck, to give safe passage; soon his head is on the other bank, and the man walks over. The old bridge-maker promises to delay the woman, and then throw her into the river, where she will be eaten by monsters,—all save her stomach, in which her life resides; that will float down with the current, come to life, and the woman will be as well and furious as ever, unless the stomach is dragged out, cut to pieces, and burned.

The hunted man hastens, runs westward by the bank of the river, runs till he comes to two aunts who are witches. They promise to help him and kill the pursuer. Soon after, when the old man has shortened his neck and is sitting on his own side of the river, the wife comes up in hot pursuit, talks roughly, tries to hurry the old pontifex; but he will not hurry, waits, and then stretches his neck, putting the narrow side upward; it is no wider than the woman’s feet. She storms, but he says that being old he might break his neck were he to give the broad side as a path; she must walk on the narrow side, and carefully too. She begins to cross, but in the middle of the river grows restive and angry. The old man jerks his neck to one side; she falls to the water and is eaten right away, all save her stomach, which floats with the current. But the aunts, the two witches, are watching; they see and pull out the stomach, cut it up, and burn the life of that man-eater.

The man travels westward till he sees a young woman gathering branches for fuel. He speaks to her, is pleased; she is mild-eyed, kind-looking. He asks her to marry him; she says she is willing if he can live with her grandmother, who is very thick, very ugly, and malicious. He goes home with the young woman; they are married.

Soon after the marriage the old woman took her son-in-law to hunt on an island in a lake. They landed. She said, “Go down there,” pointing to a place; “I will drive the game.” He started, and when half way, looked back; the old woman was in the canoe paddling to the other shore. He called; she would not listen, and left him alone on the island. There was no escape. When the sun had gone down and darkness came, the water of the lake began to rise, and flooded the place. He selected the highest tree, and began to climb,—the water all the time rising; he climbed, and continued to climb. About three o’clock in the morning all the trees on the island, except that tree, were covered. Around on every side were great hungry savage-eyed creatures, rising with the water, waiting to eat the man. He looked, saw the Morning-star, and cried out: “When I was young the Morning-star appeared to me in a dream, and said that if ever I should be in distress he would save me.”

The star heard the call, turned to a small boy standing sentry at his door, and said, “Who is that shouting on the island?”

“That,” said the boy, “is the old woman’s son-in-law. She put him there. He says you appeared to him in a dream and promised to save him.”

“I did, and I will.” The Morning-star came forth from his house and called: “Let daylight come!”

Dawn came that moment; the water began to fall, and at sunrise the island was dry. The man was saved, came down, went to the landing-place, and hid in the bushes. Soon the old woman’s canoe struck the shore; the man heard her say: “Well, I suppose the larger bones of my son-in-law are under the tree. I must go and eat the marrow.” When she had gone far enough, he sprang into the canoe and paddled away. The old woman turned, saw the escape of her son-in-law, and cried: “Come back! I’ll play no more tricks.”

The man paddled to the other shore, and went to his wife. The old woman was alone, not able to escape. When darkness came, the lake began to rise. She climbed the highest tree, climbed till the water was nearing the top, and the hungry, terrible creatures were waiting to eat her. Then she called out towards the east: “When I was young the Morning-star appeared to me in a dream, and said he would help me out of distress.”

The Morning-star heard, and asked his boy: “Is that man on the island yet?”

“Oh,” said the boy, “the man is at home; the old woman herself is on the island now. She says that you appeared to her in a dream, and promised to save her from distress.”

“I never appeared to that old woman,” said the star. “I will not hurry daylight to-day.”

The water rose till the old woman was on the highest point of the tree that would bear her. The water raised all the crowd of hungry, terrible creatures. They tore her to pieces, devoured her.

So the Delawares on the Atlantic, who enjoy seniority among the Algonkin,—the most widely-extended Indian stock of America,—agree with the Modocs, near the Pacific, in the theory of the Morning-star, which for them, as for the Latins, was the Light-bearer. The opposite view, to which I refer in the night-scene at Milwaukee, gave birth to the myth of the struggle of the stars with the sun for possession of the sky. Now, a combination of these two myths—the one in which the Morning-star is the Light-bearer being the earlier—gives us a third, in which the Morning-star is not merely an opponent, but a rebel. This third myth, after it had increased in age, came to be used in describing, not an event in the sky, looked at variously by primitive men, but an event in the moral world; and the stories of the Morning-star and the sun were transferred from the fields of heaven to the kingdom of the soul. This done, Milton had at hand the splendid mythologic material and accessories which he used with such power in Paradise Lost.

I know no American myth in which the Morning-star is represented as hostile to the sun; the discovery of one would be very interesting and valuable, as showing that the primitive people of this continent might possibly have worked out a physical myth like that made in the Eastern hemisphere, and afterwards spiritualized till it was given the meaning which we find in the pages of Milton.

But whatever the future may bring, the present American Morning-star myth is interesting; for it shows a complete parallelism with Aryan mythology as far as it goes,—that is, to the highest point reached by the non-Aryan tribes of America.

It should be remembered that whatever be the names of the myth-tale heroes at present, the original heroes were not human. They were not men and women, though in most cases the present heroes or heroines bear the names of men and women, or children; they perform deeds which no man could perform, which only one of the forces of Nature could perform, if it had the volition and desires of a person. This is the great cause of wonderful deeds in myth-tales.

The following Indian myth, in which we know exactly who the actors were, illustrates this fact very well. I give the myth from memory, and in a compressed form, making first the statement that in a part of eastern Oregon and Washington, where I found it, there are two winds, as the Indians informed me, which are all, or practically all, that blow in that region. One of these is a northeast, the other a southwest wind. The Indians subdivide each one of them into five. Each of these five is a little different from the other,—that is, there are five kinds of southwest winds, and five kinds of northeast winds. Each has a proper name describing its character; and in telling the myth these names are used, just as the name Ivan the Fool, and Mirko the king’s son are used in Russia and Hungary. The Northeast brothers have a sister more harassing and cruel than they,—cold, damp, fitful. She also has a name describing her character. The five Southwest winds have grandparents very old, who live in a hut by themselves. They have no sister; but the eldest has a wife, brought by him to Oregon from her birthplace in the Southern seas.

One time the Northeast winds challenged the others to a wrestling-match, in which whoever should be thrown would have his head cut off. The Southwest brothers were not free to refuse; they had to accept. All the details of this match are described precisely as if the opponents were men and not winds. The Southwest brothers were thrown, every one, and each had his head cut off; all were killed, and now the Northeast brothers were lords of that region. The old feeble grandparents were all of the family left in Oregon. The young wife went home to her parents and people in the Southern seas. The victorious brothers did as they pleased,—when they wished to knock any one down they did so; but the crowning wickedness of the victorious family was the malice of the sister against the aged grandparents. She came every morning to their hut and insulted them in a manner that will not bear recital. Weeping and helpless, they endured the foulest abuse. The evil sister rejoiced, the wicked brothers rejoiced, and all men besides were suffering. Some time after the widow had returned to her home in the Southern seas a son was born to the late eldest brother,—a wonderful boy. This posthumous child grew not by years but by days; and when he was three weeks old he had attained full growth. He was a hero of awful strength; nothing could resist him. He asked about his father; his mother told how his fathers had perished (the brothers of a father are fathers too in the Indian system) at the hands of the Northeast brothers. “I will go to avenge my fathers,” said he, and started.

He reached the coast near the Columbia River, which he ascended; when at the Cascades he began to try his strength. He pulled out the greatest trees with their roots, overturned cliffs, and went on his way with delight. At last he arrived at the land where his fathers had ruled, and went first in the early morning to the hut of his great grandparents. They were very weak and wretched, but still they were able to tell of what they had suffered from the sister. “She will soon be here,” said they; so he lay in waiting.

She came, and was preparing to begin her insults when he seized her and put her to a painful death. Then he challenged the five wicked brothers to a wrestling-match, threw them all, and cut their heads off. The whole country rejoiced. No one felt pain. The young hero ruled that land to the delight of all. This hero was not a month old, and since we know the characters in the story, we know that the story is true.

When, in Gaelic, we find heroes like the son of Fin MacCumhail, Fialan, who at the age of three years slew whole armies, with their champion leaders,[1] and the Shee an Gannon, who was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of the King of Erin; or in Russian, Ivan Tsarevich,[2] nine days old, who after three sleeps of three days’ and nights’ duration each, went in search of Peerless Beauty, his bride,—we may feel sure that we are dealing mediately or immediately with that category of powers to which old-time divinities belong, the same race of personages as the Wind brothers of Oregon.

[1] See in Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, “Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin in the Castle of Fear Dubh,” p. 221, and “The Shee an Gannon and the Gruagach Gaire,” p. 114.

[2] See Koshchéi Without-Death, p. 106.

Now we may leave American myths and say a few words of the nations to whom the three groups of myth-tales belong,—the Russians, the Chekhs, and the Magyars. It is not easy to describe any one of them in a brief space, for each is remarkable in character and history.

The Russians are difficult to describe, not only because they are many, but because of their position. The key-note of this position has sounded through their whole history, from the time of Olga and Vladimir, in the Kieff period, to the present day. Listening to this note, Russian leaders have gained political skill, while the people have confirmed their national instinct and endured burdens which they would endure only for the thing which that key-note describes. To tell what it is we must make a digression.

The first political work of the world soundly done, as men of this age, with minds of modern situation, are able to see, was the work of Rome. Rome was the first power to assimilate peoples, to destroy provincialism, to make a State, in the great modern sense of the word. After the fall of Rome as a political power, with its work done and delivered, there followed a still greater,—a new Rome, with a wider ambition, and with plans further reaching than those of its predecessor. This new Rome saw standing before its face, in the East of Europe, the youngest brothers of the Aryan race—the Slavs—still unconverted. The new Rome was as different from the old as two things may be, save in this, that both had strong will to rule. The difference was that old Rome ruled in the name of man and better social order, while new Rome ruled in the name of God and morality; but new Rome was as firmly fixed in purpose to rule by all the weapons that strong men may use in the world, as was old Rome.

It happened in history that the Teutonic branch of the Aryans fell heir to the Roman civilization of the West, and acquired the administrative experience and pride of power personal to lords of the earth. These Teutons, or Germans, became the agents through whom for a long period the Catholic Church acted most frequently in dealing with Eastern Europeans; and the Germans were determined to be the exclusive dispensers and extenders of Christianity in that quarter, acquiring at the same time temporal lordship and lands for themselves. This produced a conflict along the whole eastern line,—on one side a defensive struggle of Slav against German; on the other, that incursive and attacking movement of the Germans, continued age after age under various forms and guises, but which is as real to-day and as active as in times of its greatest intensity, though veiled in official circles with diplomatic tact. On the northern, or left wing of their advance, the Germans destroyed ethnologically; that is, they conquered and Germanized the Slavs from places not far from Hamburg to a considerable distance east of Berlin. Next they destroyed Poland; for they gained possession of the original lands of the Commonwealth on the Baltic, and pushed the Poles eastward to make good their losses at the expense of the Russians. The loss to the Slavs of the Polish lands on the Baltic was immense; and to make the catastrophe more sorrowful for a man of that stock, the Slavs failed on the south, in the kingdom of Great Moravia, which with the present Moravia included the dominions of Hungary, and later on failed from the Danube everywhere southward as far as Slavs had a dwelling.

When all the Western Slavs had fallen,—not because they were less worthy individually, less brave, or less wise as separate persons than their invaders, but because they were younger and greener in political growth,—there remained in the East still two Slav nations (Poland and Russia); and the opposition of these forms the great tragic story of modern ages. And the most remarkable concomitant of this tragedy is, that the cause of it is misunderstood by most of us. It is thought, not only widely but well-nigh universally, in Western Europe and America that the first cause of the downfall of Poland was Russia; while the real causes were first and mightiest the peculiar make-up of Polish society, coupled with the unceasing activity of Germans in conquering and subjecting everything east of them by all the weapons that can be used either in peace or in war.

If Russia and Poland had both received Christianity from the same source, there would have been strong reasons for them to grow into one political body; and they might have been able to do so. If both had received Christianity from the East, as Russia did, they might have stood shoulder to shoulder in brotherly defence against the Germanic West. If both had received Christianity directly from the West, they might have prevented the Germans from crusading to Christianize the East at the expense of its land and independence.

When one thinks of the enthusiastic and kindly labor of the Irish missionaries in the West, and of Cyril and Methodius among the Slavs, it seems hard to believe that the Irish and Greeks had the same Master in mind as the iron-clad monks on the Baltic. And they had not; for the Germans took the lands and persons of the converts, while the Irish and the Slav missionaries had no thought for themselves.

Poland fell, and Russia remains the one Slav State really independent; and Russia remains because, as I have just stated, the Russian people have in all centuries listened to and understood the key-note of their position,—which is: No foreign influence shall exist in Russia under any form whatever. To maintain this position the Russians have sacrificed more than any people in Europe; and in many senses they have accomplished more.

The corollary to the above sentence, and which with it completes the abstract statement of Russia’s whole policy, is: The West of Europe shall not dominate the East.

To the Russian people belong the myth-tales in the first division of this volume. I had hoped to include specimens from Little and White Russia,—that is, from those parts of Russia that were once under the dominion of Poland; but lack of space has confined me to tales from Great Russia,—that portion of the Empire which first formed around Moscow.

The Chekhs of Bohemia are Slavs more nearly related in speech to the Poles than to the Russians. Twice have the Chekhs been very prominent in history,—once in the wars which followed the death of John Huss; and again during the Thirty Years’ War, in which they suffered beyond any other people. Reduced from three million to eight hundred thousand in number, they were supposed to be extinguished as Slavs; but in spite of all emigration they have regained more than their old numbers, and are to-day if possible more determined than ever to preserve their historical identity. Take them all in all, there is not a people of more marked character, nor one whose history has greater claims on the student. In fact, the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries cannot be studied at all, in any true sense, without faithful attention to the Chekhs. To them belong our second group of tales.

The tales of the third group belong to the Magyars (the ruling race of Hungary), who exert more influence than any people of four times their numbers in Europe. Though forming not more, or in any case little more, than one third of the population of Hungary,—say five and a half to six millions,—they rule the other peoples of the kingdom, and possess preponderant power in the Empire of Austria-Hungary. They have directed its foreign policy for the last twenty years,—a fact of great significance. For though foreign affairs have at all times been more important for Austria than perhaps any State in Europe, they have never been more important than at present; and still they are intrusted to the Magyars,—a race forming little more than one sixth of the people of the Empire. The reason is not far to seek.

The Magyars, a non-Aryan people from the Ural-Altai regions, arrived in the places they now occupy about one thousand years ago, at the period of a desperate struggle between the Germans and the Slav kingdom of Great Moravia,—a struggle as envenomed as that between Carthage and Rome, but in which the Slavs seemed to be holding their own very well. At this juncture the Magyars struck Great Moravia in the rear with all their force, secured victory for the Germans, and inserted themselves as a dividing wedge between the Southern and the Northern Slavs.

The fall of Great Moravia closed the way to the political independence of the Western Slavs; after them, there remained in the whole Slav world but the Poles and the Russians with the possibility of political power.

There are no people so well qualified by their history and hopes to carry out the policy of Austria, and stand against Russia, as the Magyars. Politicians by genius and training, lords of the land by position, their whole existence depends on managing and balancing various forces. Having no personal sympathy for the Germans, looking down on the Slavs, they are a bitter necessity to the first, and they divide, rule, and dominate the second within the kingdom; outside the kingdom it is their policy not to permit the Slavs to develop, unless as satellites of Austria-Hungary.

I regret my inability to include Polish myth-tales in this collection, owing to want of space. Should the present volume meet with favor, it will be followed during the coming year by another, in which a good deal of attention will be given the Poles,—a most interesting and, in very truth, a little known people.

JEREMIAH CURTIN.

Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of Ethnology. Washington, D. C., October 29, 1890.

RUSSIAN MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.

THE THREE KINGDOMS,—THE COPPER, THE SILVER, AND THE GOLDEN.

IN a certain kingdom in a certain land lived a Tsar,—Bail Bailyanyin. He had a wife, Nastasya, Golden Tress, and three sons,—Pyotr Tsarevich, Vassili Tsarevich, and Ivan Tsarevich. The Tsaritsa went with her maidens and nurses to walk in the garden. All at once such a mighty Whirlwind rose that, God save us! it caught the Tsaritsa and bore her it was unknown whither.

The Tsar was grieved and distressed, and knew not what to do. His sons grew up, and he said to them: “My dear children, which of you will go to seek your mother?”

The two elder brothers made ready and went. After they had gone, the youngest begged permission of his father. “No,” said the Tsar, “go not, my dear son; do not leave me an old man in loneliness.”

“Let me go, father; I want awfully to wander over the white world and find my mother.”

The Tsar dissuaded and dissuaded, but could not convince him. “Well, there is no help for it, go; God be with thee!”

Ivan saddled his good steed and set out. He rode and rode, whether it was long or short: a tale is soon told, but a deed is not soon done; he came to a forest. In that forest was the richest of castles. Ivan Tsarevich entered a broad court, saw an old man, and said, “Many years’ health to thee!”

“We beg the favor of thy presence. Who art thou, gallant youth?”

“I am Ivan Tsarevich, the son of Tsar Bail Bailyanyin and of Tsaritsa Nastasya, Golden Tress.”

“Oh, my own nephew! Whither is God bearing thee?”

“For this cause and that,” said he, “I am in search of my mother. Canst thou not tell me, uncle, where to find her?”

“No, nephew, I cannot; with what I am able, with that I do service. But here is a ball; throw it ahead, it will roll on before thee and lead thee to steep, rugged mountains. In those mountains is a cave, enter it; take there iron claws, put them on thy hands and thy feet, and climb up the mountains. Perhaps thou wilt find there thy mother, Nastasya, Golden Tress.”

That was good aid. Ivan Tsarevich took leave of his uncle, and threw the ball before him; the ball rolled and rolled on, he rode behind it. Whether it was long or short, he saw his brothers, Pyotr Tsarevich and Vassili Tsarevich. They were encamped in the open field with thousands of troops. His brothers were surprised, and asked, “Where art thou going, Ivan Tsarevich?”

“Oh!” said he, “I grew weary at home, and I thought of going to look for my mother. Send your army home, and let us go on together.”

They sent home the army, and the three went on together after the ball. While yet at a distance they saw the mountains,—such steep and lofty mountains that, God save us! they touched the heavens with their heads. The ball rolled straight to a cave. Ivan Tsarevich slipped down from his horse and said to his brothers, “Here, brothers, is my good steed; I will go up on the mountains to look for my mother, and ye remain here. Wait for me just three months. If I am not here in three months, there will be no use in waiting longer.”

The brothers thought, but how could a man climb these mountains? He would break his head there.

“Well,” said they, “go, with God; we will wait for thee here.”

Ivan approached the cave; he saw that the door was of iron. He struck it with all his strength. It opened, he entered; iron claws went on to his feet and hands of themselves. He began to climb the mountains,—climb, climb; he toiled a whole month, reaching the top with difficulty. “Well,” said he, “glory be to God!” He rested a little, and walked along on the mountain; walked and walked, walked and walked, saw a copper castle, at the gate terrible serpents fastened with copper chains, crowds of them; and right there was a well, and at the well a copper bucket hung by a copper chain. Ivan Tsarevich drew water and gave the serpents to drink. They became quiet, lay down, and he passed into the court.

The Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom ran out to meet him. “Who art thou, gallant youth?”

“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”

“Well, hast thou come of thy own will, or against thy will?”

“Of my own will; I am in search of my mother, Nastasya, Golden Tress. A certain Whirlwind bore her away out of the garden. Dost thou know where she is?”

“No; but not far from here lives my second sister, the Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom,—maybe she will tell thee.”

She gave him a copper ball and a copper ring. “The ball,” said she, “will lead thee to my second sister, and in this ring is the whole Copper Kingdom. When thou overcomest Whirlwind, who keeps me here and flies to me once in three months, forget me not, poor woman, rescue me from this place, and take me with thee to the free world.”

“I will,” said Ivan Tsarevich. He threw the copper ball before him; the ball rolled ahead, and he followed after. He came to the Silver Kingdom and saw a castle finer than the first, all silver; at the gate were terrible serpents fastened to silver chains, and at the side of them was a well with a silver bucket. Ivan Tsarevich drew water and gave the serpents to drink. They lay down then, and let him enter the castle. The Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom came out.

“It will soon be three years,” said she, “since mighty Whirlwind confined me here, and no Russian have I heard with hearing, or seen with sight; but now a Russian I see. Who art thou, good youth?”

“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”

“How didst thou happen hither,—with thy own will, or against thy will?”

“With my own will; I am in search of my mother. She went in the green garden to walk, Whirlwind came and bore her away, it is unknown whither. Canst thou not tell me where to find her?”

“No, I cannot; but not far from here lives my eldest sister, the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom, Yelena the Beautiful,—maybe she will tell thee. Here is a silver ball, roll it ahead and follow; it will lead thee to the Golden Kingdom. But see, when thou hast killed Whirlwind, forget me not, poor woman; rescue me from this place, and take me to the free world. Whirlwind holds me captive, and flies hither once in two months.” Then she gave him a silver ring, saying, “In this ring is the whole Silver Kingdom.”

Ivan rolled the ball; wherever it went he followed. Whether it was long or short, he saw a golden castle gleaming like fire; at the gate was a crowd of terrible serpents fastened to golden chains, and right there a well, at the well a golden bucket on a golden chain. Ivan Tsarevich drew water, and gave the serpents to drink; they lay down and were soothed. He entered the palace; Yelena the Beautiful met him.

“Who art thou, gallant youth?”

“I am Ivan Tsarevich.”

“How hast thou come hither,—of thy own will, or against thy will?”

“I came of my own will; I am in search of my mother, Nastasya, Golden Tress. Knowest thou not where to find her?”

“Why shouldn’t I know? She lives not far from here, Whirlwind flies to her once a week, and to me once a month. Here is a golden ball for thee: throw it ahead and follow,—it will lead thee to thy mother. And take besides this golden ring; in this ring is the whole Golden Kingdom. And be careful when thou hast conquered Whirlwind. Forget me not, poor woman; take me with thee to the free world.”

“I will take thee,” said he.

Ivan Tsarevich rolled the ball and followed after; he went and went till he came to such a palace that, Lord save us! it was just blazing with diamonds and precious stones. At the gate six-headed serpents were hissing. Ivan Tsarevich gave them to drink; the serpents were soothed, and let him pass to the castle. He went through the great chambers, and in the most distant found his own mother. She was sitting on a lofty throne arrayed in Tsaritsa’s robes and crowned with a costly crown. She looked at the stranger and cried: “Ah! is that thou, my dear son? How hast thou come hither?”

“So and so,” said Ivan; “I have come for thee.”

“Well, dear son, ’twill be hard for thee. Here in these mountains reigns Whirlwind, the evil and mighty, all spirits obey him; he is the one that bore me away. Thou wilt have to fight him; come quickly to the cellar.”

They went to the cellar; there were two tubs of water, one on the right, the other on the left hand. “Drink,” said the Tsaritsa, “from the right-hand tub.”

Ivan drank.

“Well, what strength is in thee?”

“I am so strong that I could turn the whole castle over with one hand.”

“Then drink more.”

Ivan drank again.

“What strength is in thee now?”

“If I wished, I could turn the whole world over.”

“That is very great strength. Move these tubs from one place to the other: put that on the right to the left, that on the left take to the right.”

Ivan interchanged the tubs.

“Thou seest, my dear son, in one tub is water of strength, in the other water of weakness. Whoso drinks from the first will be a strong, mighty hero; whoso drinks from the second will grow weak altogether. Whirlwind always drinks the water of strength and puts it on the right side; so we must deceive him, or thou canst never overcome him.”

They returned to the castle.

“Soon Whirlwind will fly home,” said the Tsaritsa to Ivan Tsarevich. “Sit under my purple robe, so that he may not see thee; and when he comes and runs to embrace and kiss me, do thou seize his club. He will rise high, high; he will bear thee over seas, over precipices: but see to it, let not the club go out of thy hand. Whirlwind will grow tired, will want to drink the water of strength, will come down to the cellar and rush to the tub placed on the right hand; but do thou drink from the tub on the left. Then he will grow weak; wrest his sword from him, and with one blow hew off his head. When his head is off, that moment there will be voices behind thee crying, ‘Strike again, strike again.’ Strike not, my son, but say in answer, ‘A hero’s hand strikes not twice, but always once.’”

Ivan Tsarevich had barely hidden under the robe when the court grew dark and everything trembled. Whirlwind flew home, struck the earth, became a brave hero, and entered the castle, in his hands a club.

“Tfu, tfu, tfu! somehow it smells of Russia here. Was any one visiting?”

“I don’t know why it seems so to thee,” said the Tsaritsa.

Whirlwind rushed to embrace her; but Ivan that moment seized the club.

“I’ll eat thee!” shouted Whirlwind.

“Well, grandmother spoke double; either thou wilt eat, or thou wilt not.”

Whirlwind tore out through the window and up to the sky; he bore Ivan Tsarevich away. Over mountains he said, “I will smash thee;” over seas he said, “I will drown thee.” But Ivan did not let the club out of his hands. Whirlwind flew over the whole world, wearied himself out, and began to sink. He came down straight into the cellar, rushed to the tub on the right hand, and fell to drinking the water of weakness; but Ivan ran to the left, drank his fill of the water of strength, and became the first mighty hero in the whole world. He saw that Whirlwind had become utterly weak, wrested the sharp sword from him, and cut off his head with a blow. Voices cried behind, “Strike again, strike again, or he will come to life!” “No,” said Ivan; “a hero’s hand strikes not twice, but always finishes at a blow.” Straightway he made a fire, burned the body and the head, scattered the ashes to the wind.

The mother of Ivan Tsarevich was glad. “Now, my dear son,” said she, “let us rejoice. We will eat; and then for home with all speed, for it is wearisome here,—there are no people.”

“But who serves thee?”

“Thou wilt see directly.”

They had barely thought of eating, when a table set itself, and various meats and wines appeared on the table of themselves. The Tsaritsa and the Tsarevich dined. Meanwhile unseen musicians played wonderful songs for them. They ate and drank, and when they had rested, Ivan said,—

“Let us go, mother, it is time; for under the mountains my brothers are waiting. And on the road I must save three Tsaritsas who are living in Whirlwind’s castles.”

They took everything needful and set out on the journey. They went first to the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom, then to her sisters of the Silver and Copper Kingdoms. They took them, and brought linen and all kinds of stuffs. In a short time they reached the place where they had to go down the mountain.

Ivan Tsarevich let his mother down first on the linen, then Yelena the Beautiful and her two sisters. The brothers were standing below waiting, and they thought to themselves, “Let us leave Ivan Tsarevich up there; we will take our mother and the three Tsaritsas to our father, and say that we found them.” “I’ll take Yelena the Beautiful for myself,” said Pyotr Tsarevich; “thou, Vassili, wilt have the Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom; and we will give the Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom to some general.”

When it was time for Ivan Tsarevich to come down from the mountain, his elder brothers seized the linen, pulled and tore it away. Ivan remained on the mountain. What could he do? He wept bitterly; then turned back, walked and walked over the Copper Kingdom, over the Silver Kingdom and the Golden Kingdom,—not a soul did he see. He came to the Diamond Kingdom,—no one there either. What was he to do alone,—deathly weariness! He looked around; on the window of the castle a whistle was lying. He took it in his hand. “Let me play from weariness,” said he. He had barely blown when out sprang Lame and Crooked.

“What is thy pleasure?”

Said Ivan Tsarevich, “I want to eat.” That moment, from wherever it came, a table was set, and on the table the very best food. Ivan Tsarevich ate and thought, “Now it would not be bad to rest.” He blew on the whistle. Lame and Crooked appeared.

“What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”

“That a bed be ready.” The word wasn’t out of his mouth when the bed was ready. He lay down, slept splendidly, then whistled again.

“What is thy pleasure?” asked Lame and Crooked.

“Everything can be done, then?”

“Everything is possible, Ivan Tsarevich. Whoever blows that whistle, we will do everything for him. As we served Whirlwind before, so we are glad to serve thee now; it is only necessary to keep the whistle by thee at all times.”

“Well,” said Ivan, “let me be in my own kingdom this minute.”

He had barely spoken when he appeared in his own kingdom, in the middle of the market square. He was walking along the square, when a shoemaker came toward him,—such a jolly fellow! The Tsarevich asked: “Whither art thou going, good man?”

“I am taking shoes to sell; I am a shoemaker.”

“Take me into thy service,” said Ivan.

“Dost thou know how to make shoes?”

“Yes, I can do everything. I can make not only shoes, but clothes.”

“Well, come on.”

They went to his house. The shoemaker said: “Go to work; here is leather for thee,—the best kind; I’ll see what skill thou hast.”

Ivan Tsarevich went to his own room, and took out the whistle. Lame and Crooked came. “What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”

“To have shoes ready by to-morrow.”

“Oh, that is not work, that is play!”

“Here is the leather.”

“What sort of leather is that? That’s trash, nothing more; that should go out of the window.”

Next morning Ivan Tsarevich woke up; on the table were beautiful shoes, the very best.

The shoemaker rose. “Well, young man, hast thou made the shoes?”

“They are finished.”

“Well, show them.” He looked at the shoes and was astonished. “See what a man I have got for myself,—not a shoemaker, but a wonder!” He took the shoes and carried them to the market to sell.

At that same time three weddings were in preparation at the palace. Pyotr Tsarevich was to marry Yelena the Beautiful, Vassili Tsarevich the Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom, and they were giving the Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom to a general. They were making dresses for those weddings. Yelena the Beautiful wanted shoes. Our shoemaker’s shoes were better than all the others brought to the palace.

When Yelena looked at them she said, “What does this mean? They make shoes like these only in the mountains.” She paid the shoemaker a large price and said, “Make me without measure another pair wonderfully sewed, ornamented with precious stones, and studded with diamonds. They must be ready by to-morrow; if not, to the gallows with thee.”

The shoemaker took the precious stones and money and went home,—such a gloomy man! “Misery,” said he, “what am I to do now? How can I make shoes by to-morrow, and besides without measure? It is clear that they will hang me to-morrow; let me have at least a last frolic with my friends.”

He went to the inn. These friends of his were numerous; they asked, “Why art thou so gloomy, brother?”

“Oh, my dear friends,” answered he, “they are going to hang me to-morrow!”

“Why so?”

The shoemaker told his trouble. “How think of work in such a position? Better I’ll frolic to-night for the last time.”

So they drank and drank, frolicked and frolicked; the shoemaker was staggering already.

“Well,” said he, “I’ll take home a keg of spirits, lie down to sleep; and to-morrow when they come to hang me, I’ll drink a gallon and a half right away. Let them hang me without my senses.”

He came home. “Well, thou reprobate!” said he to Ivan Tsarevich, “see what thy shoes have done ... so and so.... When they come in the morning for me, wake me up.”

In the night Ivan Tsarevich took out the whistle and blew. Lame and Crooked appeared. “What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”

“That shoes of such a kind be ready.”

“We obey!”

Ivan lay down to sleep. Next morning he woke up; the shoes were on the table shining like fire. He went to rouse his master.

“It is time to rise, master.”

“What! have they come for me? Bring the keg quickly! Here is a cup, pour the spirits in; let them hang me drunk.”

“But the shoes are made.”

“How made? Where are they?”

The master ran and saw them. “But when did we make them?”

“In the night. Is it possible that thou dost not remember when we cut and sewed?”

“Oh, I’ve slept so long, brother! I barely, barely remember.”

He took the shoes, wrapped them up, and ran to the palace.

Yelena the Beautiful saw the shoes and knew what had happened. “Surely,” she thought, “the spirits made these for Ivan Tsarevich.—How didst thou make these?” asked she of the shoemaker.

“Oh! I know how to do everything.”

“If that is the case, make me a wedding robe embroidered with gold, ornamented with diamonds and precious stones; let it be ready to-morrow morning: if not, off with thy head!”

The shoemaker went home again gloomy, and his friends were long waiting for him. “Well, what is it?”

“Nothing but cursedness. The destroyer of Christian people has come; she commanded me to make her a robe with gold and precious stones by to-morrow morning: and what sort of a tailor am I? They will take my head surely to-morrow.”

“Ah! brother, the morning is wiser than the evening; let us go and frolic.”

They went to the inn, they drank and frolicked; the shoemaker got tipsy again, brought home a whole keg of spirits, and said to Ivan Tsarevich: “Now, young fellow, when thou wilt rouse me in the morning I’ll toss off three gallons; let them cut the head off me drunk. I couldn’t make such a robe in a lifetime.” The shoemaker lay down to sleep and snored.

Ivan Tsarevich blew on the whistle, and Lame and Crooked appeared. “What is thy pleasure, Tsarevich?”

“That a robe be ready by to-morrow morning exactly such as Yelena the Beautiful wore in Whirlwind’s house.”

“We obey; it will be ready.”

Ivan Tsarevich woke at daylight; the robe was on the table, shining like fire, so that the whole chamber was lighted up. Then he roused his master, who rubbed his eyes and asked, “What! have they come to cut my head off? Give the spirits here this minute.”

“But the robe is ready.”

“Is that true? When did we make it?”

“In the night, of course; dost thou not remember cutting it thyself?”

“Ah, brother, I just remember,—see it as in a dream!”

The shoemaker took the robe and ran to the palace.

Yelena the Beautiful gave him much money and the command, “See that to-morrow by daylight the Golden Kingdom be on the sea, seven versts from shore, and from it to our palace let there be a golden bridge with costly velvet spread upon it, and at the railings on both sides let wonderful trees be growing, and let there be wonderful song-birds singing, with various voices. If thou wilt not have it done by morning, I’ll give orders to quarter thee.”

The shoemaker went from Yelena the Beautiful with drooping head. His friends met him. “Well, brother?”

“What well! I am lost; to-morrow I shall be quartered. She gave me such a task that no devil could do it.”

“Oh, never mind! the morning is wiser than the evening; let us go to the inn.”

“Well, let us go; at the last parting we must have a carousal at least.”

They drank and drank; and towards evening the shoemaker drank so much they had to lead him home. “Farewell, young fellow,” said he to Ivan; “to-morrow they will put me to death.”

“But has a new task been given?”

“Yes, so and so, so and so.” He lay down and snored; but Ivan Tsarevich went straight to his room, and blew on the whistle. Lame and Crooked appeared.

“What is thy pleasure, Ivan Tsarevich?”

“Can ye do me such a work as this?”

“Ivan Tsarevich, this is a work indeed. But there is no avoiding it; toward morning all will be ready.”

When daylight began to come, Ivan woke up, looked out of the window. Fathers! everything was ready as asked for. A golden castle was gleaming like fire. He roused his master, who sprang up. “Well, have they come for me? Give the keg here this minute!”

“But the palace is ready.”

“What dost thou say?”

The shoemaker looked through the window and said, “Ah!” in astonishment, “how was that done?”

“Dost thou not remember how thou and I fixed it?”

“Yes, it is clear that I have slept too soundly; I barely, barely remember.”

They ran to the golden castle; in it was wealth untold, unseen.

Said Ivan Tsarevich: “Here, master, is a wing, go and dust the railing of the bridge; and if they come and ask who lives in the palace, say thou nothing, but give this letter.”

“Very well.”

The shoemaker went to dust the railing of the bridge.

In the morning Yelena the Beautiful woke up; she saw the golden castle, and ran straight to the Tsar. “See what is done in our place! There is a golden palace on the sea, and from that palace a golden bridge seven versts long; and on both sides of the bridge wonderful trees are growing, and song-birds are singing in various voices.”

The Tsar sent immediately to ask what that meant? Had not some hero come to his kingdom? The messengers came to the shoemaker, asked him. “I know not, but there is a letter to thy Tsar.” In that letter Ivan Tsarevich related everything to his father as it was,—how he had liberated his mother, won Yelena the Beautiful, and how his elder brothers had deceived him. With the letter Ivan Tsarevich sent golden carriages, and begged the Tsar and Tsaritsa to come to him. Let Yelena the Beautiful and her sisters and his brothers be brought behind in simple wagons.

All assembled at once and started. Ivan Tsarevich met them with joy. The Tsar wished to put his elder sons to death for their untruths; but Ivan Tsarevich implored his father, and they were forgiven. Then began a mountain of a feast. Ivan Tsarevich married Yelena the Beautiful. They gave the Tsaritsa of the Silver Kingdom to Pyotr Tsarevich, the Tsaritsa of the Copper Kingdom to Vassili Tsarevich, and made the shoemaker a general.

Go to notes

IVAN TSAREVICH, THE FIRE-BIRD, AND THE GRAY WOLF.

IN a certain kingdom, in a certain land, lived Tsar Vwislav Andronovich; he had three sons,—Dmitri Tsarevich, Vassili Tsarevich, and Ivan Tsarevich. Tsar Vwislav had a garden so rich that in no land was there better. In the garden grew many precious trees, with fruit and without fruit.

Tsar Vwislav had one favorite apple-tree, and on that tree grew apples all golden. The Fire-bird used to fly to the garden of Tsar Vwislav. She had wings of gold, and eyes like crystals of the East; and she used to fly to that garden every night, sit on the favorite apple-tree, pluck from it golden apples, and then fly away.

The Tsar grieved greatly over that apple-tree because the Fire-bird plucked from it many apples. Therefore he called his three sons and said: “My dear children, whichever one of you can catch the Fire-bird in my garden and take her alive, to him will I give during my life one half of the kingdom, and at my death I will give it all.”

Then the sons cried out in one voice: “Gracious sovereign, our father, we will try with great pleasure to take the Fire-bird alive.”

The first night Dmitri Tsarevich went to watch in the garden, and sat under the apple-tree from which the Fire-bird had been plucking the apples. He fell asleep, and did not hear the Fire-bird when she came, nor when she plucked many apples.

Next morning Tsar Vwislav called his son Dmitri Tsarevich, and asked, “Well, my dear son, hast thou seen the Fire-bird?”

“No, gracious sovereign, my father, she came not last night.”

The next night Vassili Tsarevich went to the garden to watch the Fire-bird. He sat under the same apple-tree, and in a couple of hours fell asleep so soundly that he did not hear the Fire-bird when she came nor when she plucked apples.

Next morning Tsar Vwislav called him and asked, “Well, my dear son, hast thou seen the Fire-bird?”

“Gracious sovereign, my father, she came not last night.”

The third night Ivan Tsarevich went to watch in the garden, and sat under the same apple-tree. He sat an hour, a second, and a third. All at once the whole garden was lighted up as if by many fires. The Fire-bird flew hither, perched on the apple-tree, and began to pluck apples. Ivan stole up to her so warily that he caught her tail, but could not hold the bird, she tore off, flew away; and there remained in the hand of Ivan Tsarevich but one feather of the tail, which he held very firmly.

Next morning, the moment Tsar Vwislav woke from his sleep, Ivan Tsarevich went to him and gave him the feather of the Fire-bird. The Tsar was greatly delighted that his youngest son had been able to get even one feather of the Fire-bird. This feather was so wonderful and bright that when carried into a dark chamber it shone as if a great multitude of tapers were lighted in that place. Tsar Vwislav put the feather in his cabinet as a thing to be guarded forever. From that time forth the Fire-bird flew to the garden no more.

Tsar Vwislav again called his sons, and said: “My dear children, I give you my blessing. Set out, find the Fire-bird, and bring her to me alive; and what I promised at first he will surely receive who brings me the bird.”

Dmitri and Vassili Tsarevich began to cherish hatred against their youngest brother because he had pulled the feather from the tail of the Fire-bird. They took their father’s blessing, and both went to find the Fire-bird. Ivan Tsarevich too began to beg his father’s blessing. The Tsar said to him: “My dear son, my darling child, thou art still young, unused to such a long and difficult journey: why shouldst thou part from me? Thy brothers have gone; now, if thou goest too, and all three of you fail to return for a long time (I am old, and walk under God), and if during your absence the Lord takes my life, who would rule in my place? There might be rebellion too, or disagreement among our people,—there would be no one to stop it; or if an enemy should invade our land, there would be no one to command our men.”

But no matter how the Tsar tried to detain Ivan Tsarevich, he could not avoid letting him go at his urgent prayer. Ivan Tsarevich took a blessing of his father, chose a horse, and rode away; he rode on, not knowing himself whither.

Riding by the path by the road, whether it was near or far, high or low, a tale is soon told, but a deed’s not soon done. At last he came to the green meadows. In the open field a pillar stands, and on the pillar these words are written: “Whoever goes from the pillar straight forward will be hungry and cold; whoever goes to the right hand will be healthy and well, but his horse will be dead; whoever goes to the left hand will be killed himself, but his horse will be living and well.” Ivan read the inscription, and went to the right hand, holding in mind that though his horse might be killed, he would remain alive, and might in time get another horse.

He rode one day, a second, and a third. All at once an enormous gray wolf came out against him and said: “Oh! is that thou, tender youth, Ivan Tsarevich? Thou hast read on the pillar that thy horse will be dead: why hast thou come hither, then?” The wolf said these words, tore Ivan Tsarevich’s horse in two, and went to one side.

Ivan grieved greatly for his horse. He cried bitterly, and went forward on foot. He walked all day, and was unspeakably tired. He was going to sit down and rest, when all at once the Gray Wolf caught up with him and said: “I am sorry for thee, Ivan Tsarevich, thou art tired from walking; I am sorry that I ate thy good steed. Well, sit on me, the old wolf, and tell me whither to bear thee, and why.”

Ivan Tsarevich told the Gray Wolf whither he had to go, and the Gray Wolf shot ahead with him swifter than a horse. After a time, just at nightfall, he brought Ivan Tsarevich to a stone wall not very high, halted, and said: “Now, Ivan Tsarevich, come down from the Gray Wolf, climb over that stone wall; on the other side is a garden, and in the garden the Fire-bird, in a golden cage. Take the Fire-bird, but touch not the cage. If thou takest the cage, thou’lt not escape; they will seize thee straightway.”

Ivan Tsarevich climbed over the wall into the garden, saw the Fire-bird in the golden cage, and was greatly tempted by the cage. He took the bird out, and was going back; but changed his mind, and thought, “Why have I taken the bird without the cage? Where can I put her?” He returned; but had barely taken down the cage when there was a hammering and thundering throughout the whole garden, for there were wires attached to the cage. The watchmen woke up at that moment, ran to the garden, caught Ivan Tsarevich with the Fire-bird, and took him to the Tsar, who was called Dolmat. Tsar Dolmat was terribly enraged at Ivan, and shouted at him in loud, angry tones: “Is it not a shame for thee, young man, to steal? But who art thou, of what land, of what father a son, and how do they call thee by name?”

Ivan Tsarevich replied: “I am from Vwislav’s kingdom, the son of Tsar Vwislav Andronovich, and they call me Ivan Tsarevich. Thy Fire-bird used to fly to our garden each night and pluck golden apples from my father’s favorite apple-tree, and destroyed almost the whole tree. Therefore my father has sent me to find the Fire-bird and bring it to him.”

“Oh, youthful young man, Ivan Tsarevich,” said Tsar Dolmat, “is it fitting to do as thou hast done? Thou shouldst have come to me, and I would have given thee the Fire-bird with honor; but now will it be well for thee when I send to all lands to declare how dishonorably thou hast acted in my kingdom? Listen, however, Ivan Tsarevich. If thou wilt do me a service,—if thou wilt go beyond the thrice ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom and get for me from Tsar Afron the golden-maned steed, I will forgive thy offence and give thee the Fire-bird with great honor; if not, I will publish in all kingdoms that thou art a dishonorable thief.”

Ivan Tsarevich went away from Tsar Dolmat in great grief, promising to obtain for him the golden-maned steed.

He came to the Gray Wolf, and told him all that Tsar Dolmat had said.

“Oh! is that thou, youthful young man, Ivan Tsarevich? Why didst thou disobey my words and take the golden cage?”

“I have offended in thy sight,” said Ivan to the Gray Wolf.

“Well, let that go; sit on me, and I will take thee wherever thou wilt.”

Ivan Tsarevich sat on the back of the Gray Wolf. The wolf was as swift as an arrow, and ran, whether it was long or short, till he came at last to the kingdom of Tsar Afron in the night-time. Coming to the white-walled stables, the Gray Wolf said: “Go, Ivan Tsarevich, into these white-walled stables (the grooms on guard are sleeping soundly), and take the golden-maned steed. On the wall hangs a golden bridle; but take not the bridle, or it will go ill with thee.”

Ivan Tsarevich entered the white-walled stables, took the steed, and was coming back; but he saw on the walls the golden bridle, and was so tempted that he took it from the nail. That moment there went a thunder and a noise throughout the stables, because strings were tied to the bridle. The grooms on guard woke up that moment, rushed in, seized Ivan Tsarevich, and took him to Tsar Afron. Tsar Afron began to question him. “Oh, youthful young man, tell me from what land thou art, of what father a son, and how do they call thee by name?”

To this Ivan Tsarevich replied: “I am from Vwislav’s kingdom, the son of Tsar Vwislav, and they call me Ivan Tsarevich.”

“Oh, youthful young man, Ivan Tsarevich!” said Tsar Afron, “was that which thou hast done the deed of an honorable knight? I would have given thee the golden-maned steed with honor. But now will it be well for thee when I send to all lands a declaration of how dishonorably thou hast acted in my kingdom? Hear me, however, Ivan Tsarevich: if thou wilt do me a service and go beyond the thrice ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom and bring to me Princess Yelena the Beautiful, with whom I am in love heart and soul for a long time, but whom I cannot obtain, I will pardon thy offence and give thee the golden-maned steed with honor. And if thou wilt not do me this service, I will declare in all lands that thou art a dishonorable thief.”

Ivan Tsarevich promised Tsar Afron to bring Yelena the Beautiful, left the palace, and fell to crying bitterly.

He came to the Gray Wolf and told him all that had happened.

“Oh, Ivan Tsarevich, thou youthful young man,” said the Gray Wolf, “why didst thou disobey me and take the golden bridle?”

“I have offended in thy sight,” said Ivan Tsarevich.

“Well, let that go,” replied the Wolf. “Sit on me; I will take thee wherever need be.”

Ivan Tsarevich sat on the back of the Gray Wolf, who ran as swiftly as an arrow flies, and he ran in such fashion as to be told in a tale no long time; and at last he came to the kingdom of Yelena the Beautiful. Coming to the golden fence which surrounded her wonderful garden, the Wolf said: “Now, Ivan Tsarevich, come down from me and go back by the same road along which we came and wait in the field, under the green oak.”

Ivan Tsarevich went where he was commanded. But the Gray Wolf sat near the golden fence, and waited till Yelena the Beautiful should walk in the garden.

Toward evening, when the sun was sinking low in the west, therefore, it was not very warm in the air, Princess Yelena went to walk in the garden with her maidens and court ladies. When she entered the garden and approached the place where the Gray Wolf was sitting behind the fence, he jumped out suddenly, caught the princess, sprang back again, and bore her away with all his power and might. He came to the green oak in the open field where Ivan Tsarevich was waiting, and said, “Ivan Tsarevich, sit on me quickly.” Ivan sat on him, and the Gray Wolf bore them both along swiftly to the kingdom of Tsar Afron.

The nurses and maidens and all the court ladies who had been walking in the garden with the princess Yelena the Beautiful ran straightway to the palace and sent pursuers to overtake the Gray Wolf; but no matter how they ran, they could not overtake him, and turned back.

Ivan Tsarevich while sitting on the Gray Wolf with princess Yelena the Beautiful came to love her with his heart, and she Ivan Tsarevich; and when the Gray Wolf arrived at the kingdom of Tsar Afron, and Ivan Tsarevich had to take Yelena the Beautiful to the palace and give her to Tsar Afron, he grew very sad, and began to weep tearfully.

“What art thou weeping for, Ivan Tsarevich?” asked the Gray Wolf.

“My friend, why should I, good youth, not weep? I have formed a heartfelt love for Yelena the Beautiful, and now I must give her to Tsar Afron for the golden-maned steed; and if I yield her not, then Tsar Afron will dishonor me in all lands.”

“I have served thee much, Ivan Tsarevich,” said the Gray Wolf, “and I will do yet this service. Listen to me. I will turn myself into a princess, Yelena the Beautiful. Do thou give me to Tsar Afron and take from him the golden-maned steed; he will think me the real princess. And when thou art sitting on the steed and riding far away, I will beg of Tsar Afron permission to walk in the open field. When he lets me go with the maidens and nurses and all the court ladies, and I am with them in the open field, remember me, and I will come to thee.”

The Gray Wolf spoke these words, struck the damp earth, and became a princess, Yelena the Beautiful, so that it was not possible in any way to know that the wolf was not the princess. Ivan Tsarevich told Yelena the Beautiful to wait outside the town, and took the Gray Wolf to the palace of Tsar Afron.

When Ivan Tsarevich came with the pretended Yelena the Beautiful, Tsar Afron was greatly delighted in his heart that he had received a treasure which he had long desired. He took the false maiden, and gave Ivan Tsarevich the golden-maned steed.

Ivan Tsarevich mounted the steed and rode out of the town, seated Yelena the Beautiful with him, and rode on, holding his way toward the kingdom of Tsar Dolmat.

The Gray Wolf lived with Tsar Afron a day, a second, and a third, instead of Yelena the Beautiful. On the fourth day he went to Tsar Afron, begging to go out in the open field to walk, to drive away cruel grief and sorrow. Then Tsar Afron said: “Oh, my beautiful princess Yelena, I will do everything for thee; I will let thee go to the open field to walk!” And straightway he commanded the nurses, the maidens, and all the court ladies to go to the open field and walk with the beautiful princess.

Ivan Tsarevich was riding along his road and path with Yelena the Beautiful, talking with her; and he had forgotten about the Gray Wolf, but afterward remembered. “Oh, where is my Gray Wolf?”

All at once, from wherever he came, the wolf stood before Ivan, and said: “Ivan Tsarevich, sit on me, the Gray Wolf, and let the beautiful princess ride on the golden-maned steed.”

Ivan Tsarevich sat on the Gray Wolf, and they went toward the kingdom of Tsar Dolmat. Whether they journeyed long or short, when they had come to the kingdom they stopped about three versts from the capital town; and Ivan Tsarevich began to implore: “Listen to me, Gray Wolf, my dear friend. Thou hast shown me many a service, show me the last one now; and the last one is this: Couldst thou not turn to a golden-maned steed instead of this one? for I do not like to part with this horse.”

Suddenly the Gray Wolf struck the damp earth and became a golden-maned steed. Ivan Tsarevich, leaving princess Yelena in the green meadow, sat on the Gray Wolf and went to the palace of Tsar Dolmat. The moment he came, Tsar Dolmat saw that Ivan Tsarevich was riding on the golden-maned steed, and he rejoiced greatly. Straightway he went out of the palace, met the Tsarevich in the broad court, kissed him, took him by the right hand, and led him into the white stone chambers. Tsar Dolmat on the occasion of such joy gave orders for a feast, and they sat at the oaken table at the spread cloth. They ate, they drank, they amused themselves, and rejoiced exactly two days; and on the third day Tsar Dolmat gave Ivan Tsarevich the Fire-bird together with the golden cage. Ivan took the Fire-bird, went outside the town, sat on the golden-maned steed together with Yelena the Beautiful, and went toward his own native place, toward the kingdom of Tsar Vwislav.

Tsar Dolmat the next day thought to take a ride through the open field on his golden-maned steed. He ordered them to saddle him; he sat on the horse, and rode to the open field. The moment he urged the horse, the horse threw Tsar Dolmat off his back, became the Gray Wolf as before, ran off, and came up with Ivan Tsarevich. “Ivan Tsarevich,” said he, “sit on me, the Gray Wolf, and let Yelena the Beautiful ride on the golden-maned steed.”

Ivan sat on the Gray Wolf, and they went their way. When the Gray Wolf had brought Ivan to the place where he had torn his horse, he stopped and said: “I have served thee sufficiently, with faith and truth. On this spot I tore thy horse in two; to this spot I have brought thee. Come down from me, the Gray Wolf: thou hast a golden-maned steed; sit on him, and go wherever thou hast need. I am no longer thy servant.”

The Gray Wolf said these words and ran to one side. Ivan wept bitterly for the Gray Wolf, and went on with the beautiful princess.

Whether he rode long or short with the beautiful princess, when he was within twenty versts of his own kingdom he stopped, dismounted, and he and the beautiful princess rested from the heat of the sun under a tree; he tied the golden-maned steed to the same tree, and put the cage of the Fire-bird by his side. Lying on the soft grass, they talked pleasantly, and fell soundly asleep.

At that time the brothers of Ivan Tsarevich, Dmitri and Vassili Tsarevich, after travelling through many lands without finding the Fire-bird, were on their way home with empty hands, and came unexpectedly upon their brother with the beautiful princess. Seeing the golden-maned steed and the Fire-bird in the cage, they were greatly tempted, and thought of killing their brother Ivan. Dmitri took his own sword out of the scabbard, stabbed Ivan Tsarevich, and cut him to pieces; then he roused the beautiful princess and asked: “Beautiful maiden, of what land art thou, of what father a daughter, and how do they call thee by name?”

The beautiful princess, seeing Ivan Tsarevich dead, was terribly frightened; she began to shed bitter tears, and in her tears she said: “I am Princess Yelena the Beautiful; Ivan Tsarevich, whom ye have given to a cruel death, got me. If ye were good knights, ye would have gone with him into the open field and conquered him there; but ye killed him when asleep; and what fame will ye receive for yourselves? A sleeping man is the same as a dead one.”

Then Dmitri Tsarevich put his sword to the heart of Yelena the Beautiful and said: “Hear me, Yelena the Beautiful, thou art now in our hands; we will take thee to our father, Tsar Vwislav, thou wilt tell him that we got thee and the Fire-bird and the golden-maned steed. If not, we will give thee to death this minute.” The princess, afraid of death, promised them, and swore by everything sacred that she would speak as commanded. Then they began to cast lots who should have Yelena the Beautiful, and who the golden-maned steed; and the lot fell that the princess should go to Vassili, and the golden-maned steed to Dmitri.

Then Vassili Tsarevich took the princess, and placed her on his horse; Dmitri sat on the golden-maned steed, and took the Fire-bird to give to their father, Tsar Vwislav; and they went their way.

Ivan Tsarevich lay dead on that spot exactly thirty days; then the Gray Wolf ran up, knew Ivan by his odor, wanted to aid him, to bring him to life, but knew not how. Just then the Gray Wolf saw a raven with two young ones who were flying above the body and wanted to eat the flesh of Ivan Tsarevich. The wolf hid behind a bush; and when the young ravens had come down and were ready to eat the body, he sprang out, caught one, and was going to tear it in two. Then the raven came down, sat a little way from the Gray Wolf, and said: “Oh, Gray Wolf, touch not my young child; it has done nothing to thee!”

“Listen to me, raven,” said the Gray Wolf. “I will not touch thy child; I will let it go unharmed and well if thou wilt do me a service. Fly beyond the thrice ninth land to the thirtieth kingdom, and bring me the water of death and the water of life.”

“I will do that, but touch not my son.” Having said these words, the raven flew away and soon disappeared from sight. On the third day the raven returned, bringing two vials, in one the water of life, in the other the water of death, and gave them both to the Gray Wolf. The wolf took the vials, tore the young raven in two, sprinkled it with the water of death; the little raven grew together, he sprinkled it with the water of life, and the raven sprang up and flew away.

The Gray Wolf sprinkled Ivan Tsarevich with the water of death: the body grew together; he sprinkled it with the water of life: Ivan Tsarevich stood up and exclaimed, “Oh, how long I have slept!”

“Thou wouldst have slept forever, had it not been for me. Thy brothers cut thee to pieces and carried off Princess Yelena with the golden-maned steed and the Fire-bird. Now hurry with all speed to thy own country; Vassili Tsarevich will marry thy bride to-day. To reach home quickly, sit on me; I will bear thee.”

Ivan sat on the Gray Wolf; the wolf ran with him to the kingdom of Tsar Vwislav, and whether it was long or short, he ran to the edge of the town.

Ivan sprang from the Gray Wolf, walked into the town, and found that his brother Vassili had married Yelena the Beautiful, had returned with her from the ceremony, and was sitting with her at the feast.

Ivan Tsarevich entered the palace; and when Yelena the Beautiful saw him, she sprang up from the table, kissed him, and cried out: “This is my dear bridegroom, Ivan Tsarevich, and not that scoundrel at the table.”

Then Tsar Vwislav rose from his place and asked the meaning of these words. Yelena the Beautiful told the whole truth,—told how Ivan Tsarevich had won her, the golden-maned steed, and the Fire-bird; how his elder brother had killed him while asleep; and how they had terrified her into saying that they had won everything.

Tsar Vwislav was terribly enraged at Dmitri and Vassili, and cast them into prison; but Ivan Tsarevich married Yelena the Beautiful, and lived with her in harmony and love, so that one of them could not exist a single minute without the other.

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IVAN THE PEASANT’S SON AND THE LITTLE MAN HIMSELF ONE-FINGER TALL, HIS MUSTACHE SEVEN VERSTS IN LENGTH.

IN a certain kingdom in a certain land there lived a Tsar, and in the court-yard of the Tsar was a pillar, and in the pillar three rings, one gold, one silver, and the third copper. One night the Tsar dreamed that there was a horse tied to the gold ring, that every hair on him was silver, and the clear moon was on his forehead. In the morning the Tsar rose up and ordered it to be proclaimed that whoever could interpret the dream and get the horse for him, to that man would he give his daughter, and one half the kingdom in addition.

At the summons of the Tsar a multitude of princes, boyars, and all kinds of lords assembled. No man could explain the dream; no man would undertake to get the horse. At last they explained to the Tsar that such and such a poor man had a son Ivan, who could interpret the dream and get the horse.

The Tsar commanded them to summon Ivan. They summoned him. The Tsar asked, “Canst thou explain my dream and get the horse?”

“Tell me first,” answered Ivan, “what the dream was, and what horse thou dost need.”

The Tsar said: “Last night I dreamed that a horse was tied to the gold ring in my court-yard; every hair on him was silver, and on his forehead the clear moon.”

“That is not a dream, but a reality; for last night the twelve-headed serpent came to thee on that horse and wanted to steal thy daughter.”

“Is it possible to get that horse?”

“It is,” answered Ivan; “but only when my fifteenth year is passed.”

Ivan was then but twelve years old. The Tsar took him to his court, gave him food and drink till his fifteenth year.

When his fifteenth year had passed, Ivan said to the Tsar: “Now give me a horse on which I can ride to the place where the serpent is.”

The Tsar led him to his stables and showed him all his horses; but he could not find a single one, by reason of his strength and weight. When he placed his hero’s hand on any horse, that horse fell to the ground; and he said to the Tsar: “Let me go to the open country to seek a horse of sufficient strength.”

The Tsar let him go. Ivan the peasant’s son looked for three years; nowhere could he find a horse. He was returning to the Tsar in tears, when an old man happened to meet him, and asked, “Why dost thou weep, young man?”

To this question Ivan answered rudely; just chased the old man away.

The old man said: “Look out, young fellow; do not speak ill.”

Ivan went away a little from the old man, and thought, “Why have I offended the old man? Old people know much.”

He returned, caught up with the old man, fell down before him, and said: “Grandfather, forgive me! I offended thee through grief. This is what I am crying about: three years have I travelled through the open country among many herds; nowhere can I find a horse to suit me.”

The old man said: “Go to such a village; there in the stable of a poor peasant is a mare; that mare has a mangy colt; take the colt and feed him,—he will be strong enough for thee.”

Ivan bowed down to the old man, and went to the village; went straight to the peasant’s stable; saw the mare with the mangy colt, on which he put his hands. The colt did not quiver in the least. Ivan took him from the peasant, fed him some time, came to the Tsar, and said that he had a horse. Then he began to make ready to visit the serpent.

The Tsar asked: “How many men dost thou need, Ivan?”

“I need no men,” replied Ivan; “I can get the horse alone. Thou mightest give me perhaps half a dozen to send on messages.”

The Tsar gave him six men; they made ready and set out. Whether they travelled long or short it is unknown to any man; only this is known,—that they came to a fiery river. Over the river was a bridge; near the river an enormous forest. In that forest they pitched a tent, got many things to drink, and began to eat and make merry.

Ivan the peasant’s son said to his comrades: “Let us stand guard every night in turn, and see if any man passes the river.”

It happened that when any of Ivan’s comrades went on guard, each one of them got drunk in the evening and could see nothing. At last Ivan himself went on guard; and just at midnight he saw that a three-headed serpent was crossing the river, and the serpent called, “I have no enemy, no calumniator, unless one enemy and one calumniator, Ivan the peasant’s son; but the raven hasn’t brought his bones in a bladder yet.”

Ivan the peasant’s son sprang from under the bridge. “Thou liest; I am here!”

“If thou art here, then let us make trial;” and the serpent on horseback advanced against Ivan. But Ivan went forth on foot, gave a blow with his sabre, and cut off the three heads of the serpent, took the horse for himself, and tied him to the tent.

The next night Ivan the peasant’s son killed the six-headed serpent, the third night the nine-headed one, and threw them into the fiery river. When he went on guard the fourth night the twelve-headed serpent came, and began to speak wrathfully. “Who art thou, Ivan the peasant’s son? Come out this minute to me! Why didst thou kill my sons?”

Ivan the peasant’s son slipped out and said: “Let me go first to my tent, and then I will fight with thee.”

“Well, go on.”

Ivan ran to his comrades. “Here, boys, is a bowl, look into it; when it shall be filled with blood, come to me.”

He returned and stood against the serpent; they rushed and struck each other. Ivan at the first blow cut four heads off the serpent, but went himself to his knees in the earth; when they met the second time, Ivan cut three heads off and sank to his waist in the earth; the third time they met he cut off three more heads, and sank to his breast in the earth; at last he cut off one head, and sank to his neck in the earth. Then only did his comrades think of him; they looked, and saw that the blood was running over the edge of the bowl. They hastened out, cut off the last head of the serpent, and pulled Ivan out of the earth. Ivan took the serpent’s horse and led him to the tent.

Night passed, morning came; the good youth began to eat, drink, and be merry. Ivan the peasant’s son rose up from the merry-making and said to his comrades, “Do ye wait here.” He turned into a cat, and went along the bridge over the fiery river, came to the house where the serpents used to live, and began to make friends with the cats there. In the house there remained alive only the old mother of the serpents and her three daughters-in-law; they were sitting in the chamber talking to one another. “How could we destroy that scoundrel, that Ivan the peasant’s son?”

The youngest daughter-in-law said: “I’ll bring hunger on the road, and turn myself into an apple-tree, so that when he eats an apple it will tear him to pieces in a moment.”

The second daughter-in-law said: “I will bring thirst on the road, and turn myself into a well; let him try to drink.”

The eldest said: “I’ll bring sleep and make a bed of myself; let Ivan try to lie down, he’ll die in a minute.”

At last the old woman said: “I’ll open my mouth from earth to sky and swallow them all.”

Ivan heard what they said, went out of the chamber, turned into a man, and went back to his comrades. “Now, boys, make ready for the road.”

They made ready, went their way, and to begin with a terrible hunger appeared on the road, so that they had nothing to eat. They saw an apple-tree. Ivan’s comrades wanted to pluck the apples, but Ivan would not let them. “That is not an apple-tree,” said he; and began to slash at it: blood came out. Another time thirst came upon them. Ivan saw a well; he would not let them drink from it; he began to slash at it: blood came forth. Then sleep came on them; there was a bed on the road. Ivan cut it to pieces. They came to the jaws stretched from the earth to the sky. What was to be done? They thought of jumping through on a run. No man was able to jump through save Ivan; and he was borne out of the trouble by his wonderful steed, every hair of which was silver, and the bright moon on his forehead.

He came to a river; at the river was a hut; there he was met by a little man, himself one finger tall, his mustache seven versts in length, who said: “Give me the horse; and if thou wilt not give him quietly, I’ll take him by force.”

Ivan answered: “Leave me, cursed reptile, or I’ll crush thee under the horse.”

The little man himself, one finger tall, his mustache seven versts in length, knocked him on to the ground, sat on the horse, and rode away. Ivan went into the hut and grieved greatly for his horse. In the hut was lying on the stove a footless, handless man, and he said to Ivan: “Listen, good hero,—I know not how to call thee by name. Why didst thou try to fight with him? I was something more of a hero than thou, and still he gnawed my hands and feet off.”

“Why?”

“Because I ate bread on his table.”

Ivan began to ask how he could win his horse back. The footless, handless said,—

“Go to such a river and take the ferry, ferry for three years, take money from no man: then thou mayest win the horse back.”

Ivan bowed down to him, went to the river, took the ferry, and ferried three whole years for nothing. Once it happened to him to ferry over three old men; they offered him money, he would not take it.

“Tell me, good hero, why thou takest no money?”

He said, “According to a promise.”

“What promise?”

“A malicious man took my horse, and good people told me to take the ferry for three years, and receive money from no man.”

The old men said: “If thou choosest, Ivan, we are ready to help thee to get back thy horse.”

“Help me, my friends.”

The old men were not common people; they were the Freezer, the Devourer, and the Wizard. The Wizard went out on the shore, made the picture of a boat in the sand and said: “Well, brothers, you see this boat?”

“We see it.”

“Sit in it.”

All four sat in the boat.

The Wizard said: “Now, light little boat, do me a service as thou didst do before.”

Straightway the boat rose in the air, and in a flash, just like an arrow sent from a bow, it brought them to a great stony mountain. At that mountain stood a house, and in the house lived the little man,—himself one finger tall, his mustache seven versts in length. The old men sent Ivan to ask for the horse. Ivan began to ask.

The little man said: “Steal the Tsar’s daughter and bring her to me; then I’ll give thee the horse.”

Ivan told this to his comrades. They left him at once and went to the Tsar. The Tsar knew what they had come for, and commanded his servants to heat the bath red hot. “Let them suffocate there,” said he. Then he asked his guests to the bath. They thanked him and went. The Wizard commanded the Freezer to go first. The Freezer went into the bath and made it cool. Then they washed and steamed themselves, and came to the Tsar. He ordered a great dinner to be given, and a multitude of all kinds of food was on the table. The Devourer began and ate everything. In the night they came together, stole the Tsar’s daughter, and brought her to the little man himself, one finger tall, his mustache seven versts in length. They gave him the Tsar’s daughter and got the horse.

Ivan bowed down to the old men, sat on the horse, and went to the Tsar. He travelled and travelled, stopped in an open field to rest, put up his tent, and lay down. He woke up, threw out his hand, the Tsar’s daughter was by him; he was delighted, and asked, “How didst thou come here?”

“I turned into a pin, and stuck myself into thy collar.”

That moment she turned into a pin again. Ivan stuck her into his collar and travelled on; came to the Tsar. The Tsar saw the wondrous horse, received the good hero with honor, and told how his daughter had been stolen.

Ivan said: “Do not grieve, I have brought her back.”

He went into the next chamber; the Tsarevna turned into a fair maiden. Ivan took her by the hand and brought her to the Tsar.

The Tsar was still more rejoiced. He took the horse for himself, and gave his daughter to Ivan. Ivan is living yet with his young wife.

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THE FEATHER OF BRIGHT FINIST THE FALCON.

THERE lived an old man with his old wife. They had three daughters. The youngest was such a beauty that she could neither be told of in a tale nor described with a pen. Once the old man was going to town to the fair, and he said: “My dear daughters, say what ye want; I will buy all ye wish at the fair.”

The eldest said, “Father, buy me a new dress.” The second said, “Father, buy me a shawl kerchief.” But the youngest said, “Buy me a red flower.”

The old man laughed at his youngest daughter. “Oh, little dunce! what dost thou want of a red flower? Great good in it for thee; better I’ll buy thee clothes.”

No matter what he said, he could not persuade her. “Buy me a little red flower, nothing but that.” The old man went to the fair, bought the eldest daughter a dress, the second a shawl kerchief; but in the whole town he could not find a red flower. Only as he was coming home did an unknown old man happen in his way. The old man had a red flower in his hand. “Sell me thy flower, old man.”

“It is not for sale, it is reserved. If thy youngest daughter will marry my son, Bright Finist the Falcon, I will give the flower as a gift.”

The father grew thoughtful. Not to take the flower was to grieve his daughter, and to take it was to give her in marriage, God knows to whom! He thought and thought; still he took the flower. “What harm?” said he to himself; “they will come with proposals by and by. If he is not the right man, why, we can refuse.” He came home, gave the eldest daughter her dress, the second her shawl, and to the youngest he gave the flower, saying, “I like not thy flower, my dear daughter; greatly I like it not.” And then he whispered in her ear: “The flower was reserved, and not for sale. I took it from a strange man for the promise to give thee in marriage to his son, Bright Finist the Falcon.”

“Be not troubled, father, he is so good and kind; he flies as a bright falcon in the sky, and when he strikes the damp earth he is a hero of heroes.”

“But dost thou know him?”

“I know him, father. Last Sunday he was at Mass, and looked at me all the time. I talked to him—he loves me, father.”

The old man shook his head, looked at his daughter very sharply, made the sign of the cross on her, and said: “Go to thy room, my dear daughter, it is time to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening; we will talk this matter over hereafter.”

The daughter shut herself up in her room, put the red flower in water, opened the window, and looked into the blue distance. Wherever he came from, Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers wheeled before her, sprang in through the window, struck the floor, and became a young man. The maiden was frightened; but when he spoke it became one knows not how joyous and pleasant at her heart. They talked till dawn,—I know not indeed of what; I know only that when day began to break, Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers kissed her and said: “Every night as soon as the bright little flower is placed on the window I will fly to thee, my dear. But here is a feather from my wing. Shouldst thou wish for robes, go out on the balcony and wave it on the right side; in a moment all that thy soul desires will appear before thee.” He kissed her once more, turned into a bright falcon, and flew away beyond the dark forest.

The maiden looked after her fated one, closed the window, and lay down to sleep. From that time every night, as soon as she placed the little red flower at the window, the good youth, Bright Finist the Falcon, flew to her.

Well, Sunday came. The elder sisters began to dress for Mass. “But what art thou going to wear? Thou hast nothing new,” said they to the youngest one.

She answered, “Never mind; I can pray even at home.”

The elder sisters went to church, and the youngest sat at the window in an old dress and looked at the orthodox people going to church. She bided her time, went out on the porch, waved her colored feather on the right; and from wherever they came there appeared before her a crystal carriage, blooded horses, servants in gold, robes, and every ornament of precious stones. In one moment the beautiful maiden was dressed, sat in the carriage, and dashed off to church. The people look, admire her beauty. “It is clear that some Tsar’s daughter has come,” said they among themselves.

As soon as “Dostoino” was sung, she went out of the church, sat in the carriage, and was whirled back home. The orthodox people went out to look at her, to see where she would go; but nothing of the sort,—her trace had grown cold long ago.

Our beauty had barely come to the court when she waved her bright feather on the left side; in a moment the maidens undressed her and the carriage vanished. She was sitting as if nothing had happened, looking out through the window to see how the orthodox people go home from church.

The sisters too came home. “Well, sister,” said they, “what a beauty was at church to-day! Just a sight, neither to be told in a tale nor described with a pen. It must be that she is some Tsar’s daughter from another land, so splendidly dressed, wonderfully!”

The second and third Sundays came; the beautiful maiden mystified the orthodox people, and her sisters, her father, and her mother. But the last time when she undressed she forgot to take out of her hair the diamond pin. The elder sisters came from the church and told her of the Tsar’s daughter; but when they looked at the youngest sister the diamonds were blazing in her hair.

“Oh, sister, what is this?” cried they; “why just such a pin was in the hair of the Tsar’s daughter to-day. Where didst thou get it?”

The beautiful maiden was confused, and ran to her chamber. There was no end of guesses and whispers, but the youngest sister said nothing and laughed in secret. The elder sisters began to watch her and to listen in the night at her chamber; and they overheard one time her conversation with Bright Finist the Falcon, and saw with their own eyes at daybreak how he sprang from the window and flew off beyond the dark forest.

The elder sisters were clearly malicious. They planned to put hidden knives for the evening on the window of their sister’s room, so that Bright Finist the Falcon might cut his colored wings. They did this straightway; the youngest sister knew nothing of the matter. She put her red flower on the window, lay down on the couch, and fell asleep soundly. Bright Finist the Falcon flew to the window, and as he was springing in cut his left foot; but the beautiful maiden knew nothing of this; she was sleeping so sweetly, so calmly. Angrily did Bright Finist the Falcon rise to the sky and fly beyond the dark forest.

In the morning the maiden woke up. She looked on every side; it was daylight already, and the good youth was not there. She looked at the window, and on the window were two sharp knives across each other, and red blood was dripping from them to the flower. Long did the maiden shed bitter tears, many sleepless nights did she pass by the window of her chamber. She waved the bright feather in vain; Bright Finist the Falcon flies no longer himself, and sends not his servants.

At last she went to her father with tears in her eyes and begged his blessing, gave orders to forge three pairs of iron shoes, three iron staves, three iron caps, and three iron Easter cakes; she put a pair of shoes on her feet, the cap on her head, took a staff in her hand, and went toward that point from which Bright Finist the Falcon had flown to her. She goes through slumbering forests, she goes over stumps, over logs. One pair of iron shoes are trodden out, one iron cap is worn off, one staff is breaking up, one cake is gnawed away, and the beautiful maiden walks on, walks all the time, and the forest grows darker, grows denser.

All at once she sees standing before her an iron hut on hen’s legs, and it turns without ceasing.

“Hut, hut!” said she, “stand with thy back to the forest, thy front to me.”

The hut turned its front to her. She entered the hut, and in it was lying a Baba-Yaga from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece, her nose in the loft.

“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former days nothing of Russia was seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the odor of Russia goes through the wide world in visible seeming, runs to one’s nose. Where dost thou hold thy way, beautiful maiden? Art flying from labor, or seekest labor?”

“Oh, grandmother dear, I had Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers; my sisters did harm him! Now I am seeking for Bright Finist the Falcon.”

“Oh, my child, thou hast far to go; thrice nine lands must yet be passed! Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers lives in the fiftieth kingdom in the eightieth land, and is now betrothed to the daughter of a Tsar.”

The Baba-Yaga nourished and fed the maiden with what God had sent, and put her to bed. Next morning, when the light was just coming, she roused her, gave her a present for the road,—a small golden hammer and ten little diamond nails,—and said: “When thou comest to the blue sea, the bride of Bright Finist the Falcon will come out on the shore to walk; take the golden hammer and drive the diamond nails. She will try to buy them of thee; but, beautiful maiden, take no pay, only ask to see Bright Finist the Falcon. Now go, with God, to my second sister.”

Again the fair maiden goes through the dark forest, goes farther and farther; the forest is darker and deeper, the tree-tops wind up to the sky. Now almost the second pair of shoes are trodden out, the second cap worn away, the second iron staff breaking, the iron cake gnawed away; before the maiden is an iron hut on hen’s legs, and it turns without ceasing.

“Hut, oh, hut!” said she, “stop with thy back to the trees and thy front to me, so that I may creep in and eat.”

The hut turned its back to the trees and its front to the maiden. She entered. In the hut lay a Baba-Yaga from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece, her nose in the loft.

“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former days nothing of Russia was seen with sight or heard with hearing; but now the odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Whither dost hold thy way, fair maiden?”

“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist the Falcon.”

“Oh! he is going to marry; they have the maiden’s party to-night,” said the Baba-Yaga.

She gave her to eat and drink, and put the maiden to sleep. At daybreak next morning she roused her, gave her a golden plate with a diamond ball, and enjoined on her most firmly, “When thou comest to the shore of the blue sea, roll the diamond ball on the golden plate. The bride of Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers will try to buy the plate and ball; but take nothing for it, only ask to see Bright Finist the Falcon. Now go, with God, to my eldest sister.”

Again the fair maiden goes through the dark forest, goes farther and farther; the forest grows darker and deeper. Now are the third pair of shoes almost trodden out, the third cap is wearing off, the third staff is breaking, and the last cake is gnawed away. On hen’s legs stands an iron hut and turns about.

“Hut, oh, hut!” cried she, “stand with thy back to the trees and thy face to me; I must creep in and eat bread.”

The hut turned. In the hut lay another Baba-Yaga from corner to corner, her lips on the crosspiece, her nose in the loft.

“Tfu-tfu-tfu! in former times nothing of Russia was seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now the odor of Russia goes through the wide world. Where, beautiful maiden, dost thou hold thy way?”

“Grandmother, dear, I am seeking Bright Finist the Falcon.”

“Oh, fair maiden, he has married a Tsar’s daughter! Here is my swift steed; sit on him, and go, with God.”

The maiden sat on the steed and shot away farther. The forest grew thinner and thinner.

Behold, the blue sea is before her; broad and roomy is it spread, and there in the distance, like fire, burn the golden summits above the lofty, white-walled chambers. That is the kingdom of Bright Finist the Falcon. She sat then on the movable sand of the shore, and hammered with hammer the diamond nails. All at once the Tsar’s daughter goes with her nurses and maidens and trusty serving-women along the shore; she stops, and wants to buy the diamond nails and the golden hammer.

“Tsar’s daughter, let me but look at Bright Finist the Falcon, I will give them for nothing,” answered the maiden.

“Bright Finist the Falcon is sleeping at present, and has ordered that none be admitted; but give me thy beautiful nails and hammer, I will show him to thee.”

She took the hammer and nails, ran to the palace, stuck into the clothes of Bright Finist the Falcon a magic pin, so that he should sleep more soundly and not wake; then she commanded her nurses to conduct the beautiful maiden through the palace to her husband, and went herself to walk.

Long did the maiden struggle, long did she weep over her dear one; she could not wake him in any way. When she had walked to her pleasure, the Tsar’s daughter came home, drove her away, and pulled out the pin.

Bright Finist the Falcon woke. “Oh, how long I have slept! Some one was here,” said he, “and wept over me all the time, talking the while; but I could not open my eyes, I felt so heavy.”

“Thou wast only dreaming,” said the Tsar’s daughter; “no one was here.”

Next day the beautiful maiden sat again on the shore of the blue sea, and was rolling a diamond ball on a golden plate.

The Tsar’s daughter went out to walk; she saw them, and said, “Sell them to me.”

“Let me look at Bright Finist the Falcon, and I will give them for nothing.”

The Tsar’s daughter agreed, and again she pierced the clothes of Bright Finist the Falcon with a magic pin. Again the fair maiden wept bitterly over her dear one, but could not rouse him.

The third day she sat on the shore of the blue sea, so sad and sorrowful, she was feeding her steed with glowing coals. The Tsar’s daughter, seeing that the steed was eating fire, wanted to buy him.

“Let me look on Bright Finist the Falcon, and I’ll give the steed for nothing.”

The Tsar’s daughter agreed, ran to the palace, and said to her husband, “Let me look in thy head.” She sat down to look in his head, and stuck the pin in his hair; straightway he was in a deep sleep. Then she sent her nurses for the beautiful maiden.

The fair maiden came, tried to wake her dear, embraced him and kissed him, crying bitterly, bitterly herself; he wakes not. Then she began to look in his head, and out fell the magic pin.

Bright Finist the Falcon woke all at once; he saw the fair maiden and was glad. She told him everything as it was,—how her malicious sisters had envied her, how she had wandered, and how she had exchanged with the Tsar’s daughter. He loved her more than before, kissed her on the sweet lips, and gave command to call without delay boyars, princes, and people of every degree. Then he asked: “What is your judgment: with which wife should I spend my life,—with her who sold me, or her who bought me?”

All the boyars, princes, and people of each degree decided in one voice to take the woman who had bought him; but the one who had sold him, to hang on the gate and shoot her. Bright Finist the Falcon of Flowery Feathers did this.

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