THERE was once upon a time a king who had an only son named Slugobyl.
The young prince was very fond of travelling, and when he was twenty
years of age he begged his father and mother so much to let him go to
see the world, that they gave him their consent, giving him as an
attendant an old servant on whose fidelity they thought they could rely.
The prince, well equipped and armed, mounted his horse, and, after
having taken a tender leave, set off to distant countries in the hope of
acquiring knowledge and returning wiser, and more fitted to rule.
As he rode along he saw a cygnet pursued by an eagle, which threatened
to overtake it every moment. The prince seized his bow, and shot so well
that the eagle, mortally wounded, fell at his feet. The cygnet seeing
this stopped in its flight, and said to the prince—
“Prince Slugobyl, it is not a poor cygnet that thanks you, but the
daughter of the Invisible Prince, who, changed into this shape, sought
refuge from the pursuit of the giant Koshchei. My father will reward you
for this good action. Remember when you have need of him, you have only
to speak these words thrice—‘Invisible Prince, come to me.’”
When it had thus spoken, the cygnet flew away, and the prince, having
watched it till it was out of sight, continued his journey. He went on
for a long time until he found himself in the midst of a plain scorched
up by the heat of the sun. Not a tree, not a bush, not even a plant, was
to be seen. No bird flew by, no insect broke the stillness with its hum.
Everything seemed as if it had been stricken with death by the sun’s
rays. The prince, after having travelled some hours on this plain, began
to feel very thirsty, so he sent his servant off to see if he could find
some spring or well at which he could alight. By good luck the servant
found a well, very deep, and containing plenty of fresh water, but there
was nothing by means of which they could draw the water up. What should
they do? At length the prince said—
“Take the cord with which we secure our horses and fasten it around you,
and then I will let you down into the well, for I am nearly dead with
thirst.”
“My prince,” answered the servant, “I am heavier than you, and you are
not so strong as I am. If I go down you will never be able to draw me up
again. It would be better for you to go down the well, and then I can
pull you up when you have drunk as much as you wish.”
The prince thought the advice good, and the servant tied the cord under
his arms, and let him down into the well. When he had drunk as much as
he wished, he got some of the water for his servant, and then he pulled
the cord as a signal for him to draw him up. Instead of doing so,
however, the servant looked down and said to him—
“Listen to me, prince. Since the day of your birth up to the present
time you have had everything you wished for, while I have undergone
great misery, and have slaved all my life. Now we will change places.
Take your choice. Will you be my servant? If not, pray Heaven to have
mercy on you, for I shall leave you to drown.”
“Stop, my good servant,” said the prince, “don’t do that, I beg you.
What good would it do you? You would never find so good a position as
you have with me, and you know that murderers meet with a dreadful fate
in the next world. Their hands are plunged in boiling pitch, their
shoulders are scourged with red-hot iron, and their necks are sawn with
wooden saws.”
“I do not care for all that,” said the servant, “but I know that I shall
drown you unless you consent.”
And he commenced to loosen the cord.
“Well then,” said the prince, “I agree to what you ask. You shall be my
prince and I will be your servant. I pledge you my word.”
“I don’t believe in words,” cried the servant, “which the wind blows
away. Swear to me that you will confirm the promise in writing.”
“I swear it,” said the prince.
The servant let down a paper and pencil, and dictated the following
words—
“I declare that I renounce my name and all my rights in favour of him
who carries this paper, and that I take him for my prince, and will
serve him.