Part 22

Once upon a time there was a merchant who had three daughters: it so happened he had one day to go to strange countries to buy wares, and so he asked his daughters, “What shall I bring you from beyond the seas?”

The eldest asked for a new coat, and the next one also asked for a new coat; but the youngest one only took a sheet of paper and sketched a flower on it: “Bring me, _bátyushka_,[51] a flower like this!”

So the merchant went and made a long journey to foreign kingdoms, but he could never see such a flower. So he came back home, and he saw on his way a splendid lofty palace with watch-towers, turrets, and a garden. He went a walk in the garden, and you cannot imagine how many trees he saw and flowers, every flower fairer than the other flowers. And then he looked and he saw a single one like the one which his daughter had sketched. “Oh,” he said, “I will tear off and bring this to my beloved daughter: evidently there is nobody here to watch me.” So he ran up and broke it off, and as soon as he had done it, in that very instant a boisterous wind arose and thunder thundered, and a fearful monster stood in front of him, a formless, winged snake with three heads.

“How dared you play the master in my garden!” cried the snake to the merchant. “Why have you broken off a blossom?”

The merchant was frightened, fell on his knees and besought pardon.

“Very well,” said the snake, “I will forgive you, but on condition that whoever meets you first, when you reach home, you must give me for all eternity; and, if you deceive me, do not forget, nobody can ever hide himself from me: I shall find you wherever you are.”

The merchant agreed to the condition and came back home.

And the youngest daughter saw him from the window and ran out to meet him. Then the merchant hung his head, looked at his beloved daughter, and began to shed bitter tears.

“What is the matter with you? why are you weeping, _bátyushka_?”

He gave her the blossom and told what had befallen him.

“Do not grieve, _bátyushka_,” said the youngest daughter, “it is God’s gift: perhaps I shall fare well. Take me to the snake.”

So the father took her away, set her in the palace, bade farewell, and set out home.

Then the fair maiden, the daughter of the merchant, went in the different rooms, and beheld everywhere gold and velvet; but no one was there to be seen, not a single human soul.

Time went by and went by, and the fair damsel became hungry and thought, “Oh, if I could only have something to eat!” But before ever she had thought, in front of her stood a table, and on the table were dishes and drinks and refreshments: the only thing that was not there was birds’ milk. Then she sat down to the table, drank and ate, got up, and it had all vanished.

Darkness now came on, and the merchant’s daughter went into the bedroom, wishing to lie down and sleep. Then a boisterous wind rustled round and the three-headed snake appeared in front of her.

“Hail, fair maiden! put my bed outside this door!”

So the fair maiden put the bed outside the door and herself lay on the bedstead.

She awoke in the morning, and again in the entire house there was not a single soul to be seen. And it all went well with her: whatever she wished for appeared on the spot.

In the evening the snake flew to her and ordered, “Now, fair maiden, put my bed next to your bedstead.”

She then laid it next to her bedstead, and the night went by, and the maiden awoke, and again there was never a soul in the palace.

And for the third time the snake came in the evening and said, “Now, fair maiden, I am going to lie with you in the bedstead.”

The merchant’s daughter was fearfully afraid of lying on a single bed with such a formless monster. But she could not help herself, so she strengthened her heart and lay down with him.

In the morning the serpent said to her, “If you are now weary, fair maiden, go to your father and your sisters: spend a day with them, and in the evening come back to me. But see to it that you are not late. If you are one single minute late I shall die of grief.”

“No, I shall not be late,” said the maiden, the merchant’s daughter, and descended the steps; there was a barouche ready for her, and she sat down. That very instant she arrived at her father’s courtyard.

Then the father saw, welcomed, kissed her, and asked her, “How has God been dealing with you, my beloved daughter? Has it been well with you?”

“Very well, father!” And she started telling of all the wealth there was in the palace, how the snake loved her, how whatever she only thought of was in that instant fulfilled.

The sisters heard, and did not know what to do out of sheer envy.

Now the day was ebbing away, and the fair maiden made ready to go back, and was bidding farewell to her father and her sisters, saying, “This is the time I must go back: I was bidden keep to my term.”

But the envious sisters rubbed onions on their eyes and made as though they were weeping: “Do not go away, sister; stay until to-morrow.”

She was very sorry for her sisters, and stayed one day more.

In the morning she bade farewell to them all and went to the palace. When she arrived it was as empty as before. She went into the garden, and she saw the serpent lying dead in the pond! He had thrown himself for sheer grief into the water.

“Oh, my God, what have I done!” cried out the fair maiden, and she wept bitter tears, ran up to the pond, hauled the snake out of the water, embraced one head and kissed it with all her might. And the snake trembled, and in a minute turned into a good youth.

“I thank you, fair maiden,” he said. “You have saved me from the greatest misfortune. I am no snake, but an enchanted Prince.”

Then they went back to the merchant’s house, were betrothed, lived long, and lived for good and happy things.

THE SNAKE PRINCESS

A Cossack was going on his road and way, and he arrived in the sleepy forest, and in that forest, in a glade, stood a hayrick. So the Cossack stood in front just to have a little rest, lay down in front of the hayrick and smoked his pipe, went on smoking, smoking, and never saw that a spark had fallen into the hay. After his rest he again mounted his horse and went on his road.

But he had gone only some dozen paces, when a flame blazed out and lit up the wood. Then the Cossack looked back steadily, and saw the hayrick burning, and in the middle of the flame a fair maiden standing, saying in a threatening voice, “Cossack, good man, save me from death!”

“How shall I save you? I see flames all around and cannot get up to you.”

“Thrust your pike into the flame: I will jump out on to it.”

So the Cossack thrust his pike into the flame and leapt to avoid the great heat. Then the fair maiden turned into a snake, crept on to the pike, crawled round the Cossack’s neck, coiled herself round his neck three times and put her tail between her mouth. The Cossack was frightened and had no notion what he should do or what should come to him.

Then the snake spoke to him in a human voice: “Do not be frightened, good youth; bear me on your neck for seven years, and go to seek the Kingdom of Tin: when you arrive in that kingdom stay there and live there seven years more, and do not ever leave it: if you serve this service you shall be happy.”

So the Cossack went to look for the Kingdom of Tin; much time went by, much water flowed in the river, and at the end of the seventh year he at last reached a steep mountain, and on that mountain stood a castle of tin, and around the castle was a lofty white stone wall. So he climbed up the mountain, and the wall opened in front of him, and he arrived at a broad courtyard. At that same instant the snake disentangled herself from his neck, struck the grey earth, and turned into the maiden of his soul, vanished from his eyes as though she had never been there.

The Cossack stabled his horse, went into the palace, and began looking at the rooms: there were looking-glasses all about, silver and velvet, but never a soul of a man to be seen. “Ah!” thought the Cossack, “Wherever have I got to? Who will give me food and drink? I must here die of thirst and hunger.” And whilst he was thinking this, lo and behold! in front of him stood a covered table, and on the table was food and drink, enough for all. So he tasted what he would, drank what he would, strengthened his body, and thought of mounting on his horse to survey. He went into the stable, and the horse was standing in the stall and was eagerly devouring oats.

Well, this affair had turned out very well after all; possibly he might go on living without any suffering. So the Cossack stayed for a very, very long time in the tin castle, until he became wearied unto death: it might be a joke, but he was always alone and could never exchange as much as a whisper with anybody. So, from sheer grief, he drank himself drunk and thought he would go out into the free world. But wherever he ventured forth there were lofty walls, with neither an entrance nor an exit. So he grew very angry, and the doughty youth took his cudgel, went into the palace and began knocking about the looking-glasses and mirrors, tearing up the velvet, breaking the chairs, shattering the silver. Possibly, he thought, the owner might come and let him free. But no, never a soul appeared!

Then the Cossack lay down to sleep. Next day he woke up, went for a walk and a saunter, and he thought he would like to have some food, and he looked around: there was nothing to be had. “Ah!” he thought, “The slave rains on herself the blows if unfaithfully she mows. I smoked to death yesterday, and to-day I must starve.” He had despaired. And that very instant food and drink stood ready for him.

Three days went by: the Cossack slept in the morning, and then looked out of the window, and his good horse stood saddled at the steps. What did that mean? So he washed and dressed, prayed to God, took his long pike and went into the open courtyard.

Suddenly, from somewhere or other, the fair maiden appeared and said, “Health to you, good youth: the seven years are over. You saved me from my perdition and my end. Now, listen to me: I am a king’s daughter; Koshchéy the Deathless fell in love with me, took me away from my father and from my mother, wished to marry me, but I always laughed at him. Then he grew angry, and he turned me into a wild snake: I thank you for your long service. We will fare forth to my father’s court; he will wish to reward you with gold from his treasury and with precious stones: but do you take nothing of them. Simply ask for the keg which is lying in his cellar.”

“But what is the use of that?”

“If you turn that keg to the right a palace appears forthwith, if you turn it to the left, it vanishes.”

“Very well,” said the Cossack.

So he mounted his steed, set himself and the fair princess on it, and the lofty walls moved away from before him, and they set out on their road and way. May be long, may be short, at last they arrived at the kingdom named: the king saw his daughter and was overjoyed, began expressing his thanks and gave the Cossack sacks full of gold and pearls: but the doughty youth answered him, “I desire neither gold nor pearls, give me as a remembrance of you simply the keg which is lying in your cellar.”

“You ask for a great gift, brother; but I must do what you say, for my daughter is dearer to me than all else that I have here. I do not regret the barrel; take it and go with God.”

So the Cossack took the royal gift and set out to roam through the white world. He went on and on, and he met an ancient old man on the way: the old man answered him, “Give me food and drink, good youth!”

So the Cossack leapt from his horse, undid the keg, turned it to the right, and a miraculous palace appeared on the spot: both of them went into the painted rooms and sat on covered chairs. “Ho, ye my faithful servants!” cried out the Cossack, “give food and drink to this guest.” Before ever the words were uttered, the servants brought an entire ox and three casks of beer.

The old man set to and gourmandised, making the best of it. He ate the entire ox, and he drank the three casks of beer, croaked and said, “That was a small gift: still I cannot help it. I thank you for the bread and salt.” Then they went out of the palace, and the Cossack turned his keg to the left, and there was no sign of the palace.

“Let us exchange,” said the old man to the Cossack. “I will give you a sword, and you give me the keg: what is the use of the keg to you? This is a sword which slays of itself: you need only wave it, and however incalculable the force may be it will slay them all in front of it. You see that forest? Shall I show you what it can do?” Then the old man drew his sword and said to it, “Set to work, self-slaying sword, and despoil all the dreamy forest.” So the sword flew out of his hands, cut down the trees, and laid them all down in regular boards. Then, after it had cut them down, it came back to its master.

So the Cossack did not long bethink him, but gave the old man his keg and took the self-slaying sword, waved the sword, and killed the old man. Then he tied the keg to his saddle, mounted his horse, and thought he would go back to the King. But just then a terrible enemy was besieging the capital city of that King, and the Cossack saw an incalculable host and array, waved his sword and said, “Self-slaying sword, serve me a service and spill the hostile host.” And then there was a fine sight—heads flying about, blood flowing freely—and within one hour all the field was covered with corpses.

Then the King came out, kissed him, and decided to give him the fair princess to wife.

It was a gorgeous wedding. I was there at the wedding. I drank mead and wine: it flowed up to my whiskers, but it never entered my mouth.

BEER AND BREAD

In a certain kingdom, in a certain State, there once lived a rich peasant, and he had much money and bread; he used to lend money on interest to the poor husbandmen of his village. And, if he gave corn, then it had to be returned in full in the summer; and in addition to that, for every three pecks the debtor had to work two days on the lord’s field.

And one day it happened that there was a festival in the Church, and the peasants began brewing beer for the feast. But in this village there was a peasant who was so poor that there was no poorer to be found. And there he sat in the evening with his wife on the eve of the festival in his little hut. He was thinking: “What shall I do? All the good folk are now gadding about making merry, and we have not a crust of bread in our house. I might have gone to the rich man and asked him for a loan; but he would not trust me. Now what shall I do, I am so woebegone!” And he thought and thought, and he left the bench and stood in front of the icon, and sighed a heavy sigh. “Lord,” he said, “have forgiveness on my sins, for I cannot buy any oil with which to fill the lamp in front of Thy icon for Thy feast.”

And after a little while, an old man came into the hut.

“Hail, master,” he said. “Hail, old man! Can I stay the night here?”

“If you will. Stay the night if you like. But, Gossip, I have not a crust of bread in my house, and I cannot feed you.”

“Never mind, master, I have three crusts of bread, and meat: give me a ladle of water. I will take a taste of the loaf and a sup of the water, and we shall be satisfied.”

So the old man sat down on the bench, and spoke.

“Why are you so sad, master? What has made you melancholy?”

“Old man,” the master answered, “why should I not be heavy?—it is God’s gift. We were so looking forward to the feast. All the good folk are making merry and rejoicing, but we are clean swept out. All around me and within there is emptiness.”

“Well, be of good cheer,” said the old man; “go to the rich peasant and ask whatever you require of him as a debt.”

“No, I cannot go, for he will not give it.”

“Go,” the old man insisted. “Fear nothing. Ask him for three pecks of malt, and we will brew the beer together.”

“But it is so late. How shall we brew beer?—the feast is to be to-morrow.”

“Do what I say. Go to the rich peasant and ask for the three pecks of malt. He will give it you at once. No, he cannot refuse it. And to-morrow you shall have beer so good at the feast—better than any you shall find throughout the village.”

What could the poor man say? He got up, took his sack under his arm, and went up to the rich peasant.

He went into the rich man’s _izbá_,[52] bowed down, besought him by his name and his father’s name, and asked him for the loan of three pecks of malt, as he wanted to brew beer for the festival.

“Why did you not think of it sooner?” the rich man replied. “How can you do it now, for this is the eve of the festival?”

“Never mind, Gossip,” the poor man replied; “if you will be so good, I and my wife will still brew something together, and can drink together and celebrate the festival.”

The rich man gave him three pecks of malt and poured them into his sack. The poor man lifted the sack on to his shoulders and went home and recounted how things had gone.

“Now, master,” his old guest said, “you shall have a feast. Is there a well at your door?”

“There is,” said the peasant.

“Well, we will go to your well and brew the beer. Bring your sack and follow me.”

So they went out to the courtyard up to the well.

“Pour it all in there,” the old man said.

“Why should we hurl all this good stuff into the well?” the master replied, “for there are only three pecks, and it will all be thrown away for nothing.”

“It is the best thing you can do.”

“We shall not do any good—we shall only sully the water.”

“Listen to me, and do what I say: there is nothing to fear.”

So what could he do? He simply had to pour all his malt into the well.

“Now,” the old man said, “formerly there was water in the well, and to-morrow it will be beer. Now, master, we will go into the _izbá_[53] and lie down to sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening, and to-morrow you will have such good beer for dinner that one glass will make you drunk.”

So they waited until the morning, and then when dinner-time came round the old man said: “Well, master, get as many tubs as you can, and stand them round the well and fill them all full of beer, and then call every one in to drink, and you shall have a really riotous feast.”

And the peasant went and called all his neighbours and asked for tubs.

“What do you want all these tubs and pails for?” they asked him.

“Oh, I really want them at once, as I have not vessels enough to hold my beer.”

And the neighbours whispered: “What on earth does he mean? Is the good fellow gone mad? There is not a crust of bread in his house, and he is still chattering about beer.”

Well, somehow or other, he got twenty pails and tubs together, put them all round the well, and began to haul them up. And the beer turned out so fine, finer than ever anybody could think or guess, or any tale could tell. And he filled all the tubs to the very brim, and the well was as full as ever. And he began to cry out aloud and to call guests to his door.

“Come to me, good Christians, and drink strong beer here, such beer as you never saw in your life!”

And the people looked round. “What on earth was he up to? Surely you take water out of a well, and he calls it beer? Anyhow, let’s go and see, whatever knavery it may be.” So they all rushed up to the tubs, and they began to ladle it out and to look at it. Evidently, after all, it must be beer. And they said: “Such beer we have never drunk before!” His courtyard was full of the village folk. And the master was not at a loss to ladle beer out of the well for himself, and treated all of his guests right royally.

When the rich peasant heard of this, he came to the poor man’s courtyard, tasted the beer, and began to ask the poor man: “Please to tell me how ever you managed to make such magnificent beer?”

“Oh, there was not any cleverness about it,” the poor man answered. “It is the simplest thing in the world. When I took your three pecks from you I simply went and threw them into the well. Formerly it was water, and in a single night it all became beer.”

“Well,” the rich man thought, “I will go home and I will do the same.”

So he went home, and he ordered all of his servants to take all of the best malt out of his granaries, and throw it into the well. And his husbandmen threw ten sacks of malt into the well.