spring came round, and tender buds appeared upon the whispering branches,
the tsar caused a net of fine white seed-pearls to be spread around it,
so that the sweet-voiced choristers who filled his groves with music
should not come near them. They might feast at will on every other tree
in his garden, he said, but the golden apples they must leave for him;
and as if in gratitude for his many kindnesses, even when the net of
pearls was taken away, and the apples gleamed like fairy gold amid the
emerald-green of their shapely leaves, not one of the birds approached
them. When cares of state pressed heavily upon him, the tsar sought rest
beneath the loaded branches, and forgot his troubles in watching the
sunlight play on the golden balls.
Now all was changed, and the tsar’s deep sigh betokened feelings of deep
annoyance. Morning after morning he found the apple tree stripped of its
golden treasures, and its emerald leaves strewn on the ground.
This was the work of the Magic Bird, who once upon a time had lived in
the great cloud castles that gather in the West, but was now the slave
of a distant king. The feathers of the Magic Bird were as radiant as the
sun-god’s plumes, and her eyes as clear as crystal. When she had wrought
her will on the apple trees, she would fly blithely home to the garden
of her own master, and, try as they would, not one of the tsar’s head
gardeners could even catch sight of her.
The good tsar meditated much upon the matter, and one windy morning in
autumn he called his three sons to him.
“My children,” he said, “the source of my grief is known to you, and now
I entreat your help. Will you each in turn forego your sleep, that you
may watch in my garden for the Magic Bird? To him who shall capture her,
I will give the half of my kingdom, and when I am called thence he shall
reign in my stead.”
“Willingly, O my father,” answered each of his three sons; and Prince
Dimitri, as the eldest, claimed the right to the first watch.
The garden was flooded with moonlight as the prince threw himself down
on a moss-grown bank that faced the tree, and the fragrance of the roses
soon worked its drowsy spell. From a grove of myrtles came the song of
a sweet-voiced nightingale: “_Glück—glück—glück_,” she trilled, and in
listening to her the prince fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was light
again. The tree had been once more despoiled, and the Magic Bird had
flown.
The same thing occurred when Prince Vasili took his turn in watching. It
is only fair to him to say that he did not fall asleep until the night
was far spent, but as the east began to quiver with light, he too became
overpowered with slumber. The Magic Bird was watching her opportunity,
and yet again she robbed the tree. When questioned by the tsar, both
princes solemnly assured him that no strange bird had visited the garden
during the night, but though he fain would have believed them, he could
not doubt the evidence of his eyes.
It was now Prince Ivan’s turn to watch. He was not nearly so good-looking
as his brothers, but he had a stout heart and a cool head, and he made up
his mind to keep awake at any cost. Instead of reclining on the ground,
he perched himself in the boughs of the tree, and when the song of the
nightingale threatened to lull him to sleep, as it had done the elder
princes, he put his fingers into his ears that he might not hear it.
An hour passed slowly; a second, and then a third. Suddenly the whole
garden was lit up as if with a burst of sunshine, and with rays of light
flashing from every shaft of her golden feathers the Magic Bird flew down
and began to peck at the shining apples. Prince Ivan, scarcely daring
to breathe, stretched out his hand and caught as much of her tail as he
could grasp. With a startled cry the Magic Bird spread her beautiful
wings and wrenched herself free, leaving behind one glittering feather,
which the prince held firmly. At break of day he took this to his father,
humbly apologizing for his ill success in not having caught the Magic
Bird herself.
“Nevertheless, you have done well, my son,” said the tsar gratefully,
and he placed the feather, which shone so brightly that at dusk it
illuminated the whole room, in a cabinet of cedar and mother-of-pearl.
The Magic Bird came no more to the palace garden, and the precious tree
was never again despoiled of its golden apples. But the tsar was not
content. He sighed to possess the bird that had robbed him, and once more
he summoned his three sons.
“My children,” he said, “I am sick with longing for the Magic Bird. Seek
her, I pray you, and bring her to me. What I have promised already shall
then be yours.”
The princes assented gladly, each anxious to find the Magic Bird. Prince
Ivan alone wished to please his father; his brothers were only thinking
of the riches and honors they would gain for themselves. So dear was this
youngest son to the monarch’s heart that he was loath to part with him
when the time came, but the youth insisted.
“It will not be for long, dear father,” he cried “I shall soon return
with the Magic Bird you sigh for.” So the tsar blessed him, and let him
go.
Prince Ivan took the fleetest horse in the imperial stables, and rode on
and on for many days. At last he came to a bare field set in the midst of
fair green meadows, and in the center of this stood a block of rough gray
stone. Inscribed upon the stone in crimson letters was a strange verse:
“Hungry and cold shall that man be
Who rides in pride straight up to me.
To ride from the left means death and sorrow,
Though his horse shall live for many a morrow.
He who rides from the right shall have good things all,
But ere three days pass his horse shall fall!”
Prince Ivan was greatly troubled at the thought of losing his horse,
but to ride from the right seemed the wisest course for him to pursue.
Accordingly he did so, and so swift was his horse’s flight that he had
soon left the gray stone far behind. On the third day, as he was passing
the borders of a gloomy forest, a big Gray Wolf sprang out from a
thicket, and, flying at his horse’s throat, threw him on the ground and
killed him in spite of Ivan’s gallant attempt to beat him off. Ivan would
now have run the Gray Wolf through with the jeweled dagger his father had
given him as a parting present, but before he could rise from the spot
where he had been thrown, the creature spoke.
“Spare me, wise prince,” he entreated humbly. “I have but done as I was
commanded. My death will not give you back your horse, while if you spare
my life I will be your friend forever, and will carry you over the world.”
Prince Ivan saw that he would gain nothing by being revengeful, and,
mindful of his quest, accepted the Wolf’s offer to be his steed.
“Tell me where you wish to go, dear master!” said the Gray Wolf, “and
it shall be as you will.” And, true enough, when he heard the object of
Prince Ivan’s journey, he galloped even more swiftly than the horse had
done, till toward nightfall he came to a standstill behind a thick stone
wall.
“On the other side of this wall,” he said, “is a terraced garden, and
there, in a golden cage, is the Magic Bird. The garden is empty now, so
no one will stay you if you capture her; but if you touch her cage there
will be trouble.”
Dismounting from the Gray Wolf’s back, Prince Ivan climbed the wall
without much difficulty, and quickly seized the Magic Bird. She fluttered
so wildly, however, as he tried to hold her, though without uttering a
sound, that he quite forgot the Gray Wolf’s warning, and hastened back
for the cage. As he touched it, the stillness of the garden was broken
by the pealing of bells and the clanking of armor, for the cage was
connected with the palace courtyard by invisible wires. Before he could
escape, Prince Ivan was surrounded by excited soldiers, who quickly
carried him before the king.
“Are you not ashamed?” the monarch thundered, noting the young man’s rich
attire, “to be caught in my garden like a common thief? Where do you come
from, and what is your name?”
“I am the son of a great tsar,” the young prince answered, “and they
call me Ivan. My father has a very beautiful garden, in which grows a
tree of golden apples that is the pride of his heart. Night after night
your Magic Bird rifled this precious fruit, until I all but succeeded in
capturing her. She was too quick for me, however, and flew away, leaving
one feather in my hand. This feather I took to my father, who admired it
greatly, and ever since has longed to possess the Magic Bird.”
Tsar Dolmat looked less angry, though he still frowned.
“If you had come to me,” he said, “and told me what you wanted, I would
have made your father a present of the Magic Bird. As it is, I feel
inclined to let all nations know how dishonorably you have acted.”
Prince Ivan bowed his head in shame, and after a searching glance at him
the tsar continued his speech.
“You shall go forth free, young prince,” he said, “if you will do me a
service. In the realm of Tsar Afron, beyond the thrice-ninth kingdom,
there is a gold-maned horse which belongs to him, and this I greatly
covet. If you will procure it, and bring it here to me, I will forgive
your theft of the Magic Bird, and present her to you as a mark of honor.”
Prince Ivan promised to do his best, but he did not feel very hopeful as
he rejoined the Gray Wolf, who was patiently waiting for him outside the
wall. When Ivan had confessed the reason that led to his capture, the
Gray Wolf patted his shoulder with one rough paw.
“It takes a wise man,” he remarked, “to own himself in the wrong, so we
will say no more about it. Jump on my back again, and I will take you to
the far-famed realm of Tsar Afron, beyond the thrice-ninth kingdom.”
The Gray Wolf ran so swiftly that Ivan could scarcely see the country
through which they passed, and after travelling for many nights and days,
they reached, at last, their journey’s end. The marble stables of the
tsar shone fair and stately in the morning light, and through a door
which a careless groom had left half open, Prince Ivan made his way. The
horse with the golden mane was feeding on the yellow pollen collected
by the bees from the tall white lilies that edged the rose garden, and
stared at Prince Ivan haughtily as he approached. Firmly grasping his
golden mane, Prince Ivan led him out of the stall. The Gray Wolf had
cautioned him more than once not to attempt to bring the golden bridle
that hung above the door, but as he was leaving the stable the prince
suddenly thought how useful this would be, and turning back, stretched
out his hand and touched it. Immediately he did so, bells pealed all over
the palace, for, like the cage of the Magic Bird, the Bridle was fastened
to invisible wires.
The stable guards came hurrying in, full of alarm, and when they saw
Prince Ivan they seized him angrily, and took him before their master.
Tsar Afron was even more indignant than Tsar Dolmat had been at the
prince’s attempt to rob him. When he had questioned him as to his birth
and station his face became sterner still.
“Is this the deed of a gallant knight?” he asked with withering scorn.
“I have a great regard for your father’s name, and if you had come to me
openly and in good faith, I would gladly have given you my gold-maned
horse. But now all nations shall know of your dishonor, for such acts of
yours must not go unpunished.”
This was more than Prince Ivan could bear, and with eager haste he
protested his willingness to atone for his fault.
“Very well, then,” said Tsar Afron, “I will take you at your word. Go
forth and bring me Queen Helen the Beautiful, whom I have long loved
with all my heart and soul. I have seen a picture of her in my seer’s
white crystal, and she is more fair to look upon than any other maid. I
cannot reach her, try as I may, since her kingdom is guarded by elves
and goblins. If you can capture her for me and bring her here, in return
I will give you anything you ask.”
Prince Ivan hurried away to the Gray Wolf, fearing that since he had
disregarded his advice for a second time, he might refuse to help him in
this new enterprise. Once more he humbly confessed that he had been at
fault, and once more the Gray Wolf consoled him.
“One must buy wit,” he growled. “Well, jump on my back, and I will see
what I can do for you.”
Then he ran so swiftly that it seemed as though his feet were winged, and
the elves and goblins that guarded the kingdom of Helen the Beautiful
scattered before him in all directions, thinking him to be a specter.
When he came to the golden streamlet that bordered the queen’s magic
garden, he told Prince Ivan that he must now dismount.
“Go back by the road we came,” he commanded, “and wait for me in the
shade of that spreading oak tree we passed just now.”
Prince Ivan did as he was told, and the Gray Wolf crouched under a bush
of juniper, and waited until evening fell. As the light faded out of the
sunset sky and the pale little moon rose slowly over the mountain-tops,
Queen Helen walked in her garden. She was so fair and sweet to look upon
that even the heart of the Gray Wolf was moved to admiration, and he
wished her a worthier mate than the stern Tsar Afron, who knew not how to
be gentle even in his love. After a while she approached the streamlet,
winding round her dainty throat a cloud of milk-white gossamer, that she
might not feel the touch of the evening breeze.
“Do not fear, sweet lady! I will not harm you!” the Gray Wolf cried,
as he sprang from his hiding place and crossed the stream. Holding her
tenderly by her flowing draperies, he leaped back to the other side, and
galloped with her to the prince, who waited under the spreading oak.
When the queen and prince beheld each other, it was as if a veil had
fallen from their eyes. Never had the world appeared so beautiful, and as
they gazed at each other in the soft twilight, the queen’s fears fled.
As for Prince Ivan, he knew from that moment that she was intended for
his wife, and when they rode away together on the Gray Wolf’s back, he
already felt that she belonged to him.
The journey was all too short, and soon Tsar Afron’s palace loomed before
them.
“Why are you weeping?” the Gray Wolf inquired, as their tears splashed
on his head. Queen Helen could make no answer, but Prince Ivan’s words
poured forth like a raging flood.
“How can we help it, Gray Wolf,” he cried, “since we love each other,
and I must resign my beautiful queen to the stern Tsar Afron, or else be
branded before all nations as a robber and a thief?”
“I have kept my promise, Prince Ivan,” said the Gray Wolf, “and served
you well, but I will do more for you still. By means of magic known to
myself alone, I, the Gray Wolf, will take the form of beautiful Queen
Helen. You shall leave the real queen here, in the shade of this grove of
pine trees, and when you have taken Tsar Afron his strange wolf bride,
who will appear to him as a lovely woman with golden hair, he will give
you the gold-maned horse. Bid him farewell as quickly as you can, and,
taking your queen behind you, ride swiftly toward the west. When I have
given you time to journey far, I will ask Tsar Afron to let me walk with
my maidens in the woods. Then, if you call me to your mind, I shall
disappear, from their midst even as they watch me, and join you and your
queen.”
Prince Ivan once more did as the Gray Wolf said, and great was the
delight of the Tsar Afron as he beheld the tall and gracious woman
whom the prince presented to him. She was even more beautiful than he
had imagined from her picture, and he would have given not only his
gold-maned horse, but his crown as well, to her captor had he desired
it. Prince Ivan, however, asked nothing but the gold-maned horse, and
was soon speeding across the plains with the real Queen Helen nestling
against his side. He rode toward the west, where lay the kingdom of Tsar
Dolmat.
Tsar Afron was more than content with his wolfish bride, who was not
alarmed by his fierce caresses, and only smiled when he threatened to
kill her if her love for him should waver for a single instant. On the
fourth day after their marriage feast she complained of feeling stifled
in the royal palace.
“If I might walk in the meadows,” she said, “the breath of the cool fresh
air would refresh my spirit, and I could once more laugh with my lord.”
So the tsar allowed her to walk with her maidens. Just at this time the
thought of the Gray Wolf flashed into Prince Ivan’s head.
“I had forgotten him,” he exclaimed remorsefully to his dear wife. “What
is he doing, I wonder? I wish we had him here.”
He had no sooner spoken than there came a clap of thunder from the
distant hills, and the Gray Wolf suddenly appeared.
“You must let the queen ride the gold-maned horse alone,” he told the
prince, “and I will be your steed.”
Somewhat reluctantly, the prince accepted his suggestion, and in this
manner they rode to the verge of Tsar Dolmat’s capital. The kindly looks
of the Gray Wolf emboldened the prince to ask him another favor.
“Since you can change yourself into a beautiful woman, and then back
again into a Gray Wolf, could you not become for a time a gold-maned
horse, so that I might give you to Tsar Dolmat, and keep the real one for
my dear queen?”
The Gray Wolf readily assented, and striking his right paw three times
in succession on a patch of bare earth, became the exact image of the
gold-maned horse who bore the fair Queen Helen. Leaving the real horse
with his bride in a flower-strewn meadow outside the city, Prince Ivan
rode on to the tsar. He was greeted by that monarch with every sign of
joy, for the mane of the Gray Wolf-horse shone in the sunshine like
purest gold. The tsar kissed Prince Ivan on either cheek, and leading him
to his palace, gave him a royal feast. For three whole days they reveled
in the choicest wines and the richest viands the kingdom could supply,
and on the third, Tsar Dolmat rewarded the prince with many thanks, and
the gift of the Magic Bird in her golden cage.
Prince Ivan felt now that his quest was over, and quickly regaining Queen
Helen’s side, he fastened the cage of the Magic Bird round the neck of
the gold-maned horse, and rode with her toward his father’s kingdom.
Early the next afternoon they were joined by the Gray Wolf; Tsar Dolmat
had ridden his newly acquired treasure in an open field, and had been
heavily thrown for his pains by the false horse, which had then galloped
away.
As the Gray Wolf had been so good a friend to him, Prince Ivan could not
refuse his request when he asked to be allowed to carry him, so once more
the queen alone sat on the gold-maned horse.
Thus they rode on until they came to the place where the Gray Wolf had
slain the horse which Prince Ivan had brought from his father’s stable.
Here the strange creature came to a sudden stop.
“I have done all that I said, and more,” he told the prince. “Now I am
your servant no longer. Farewell!” And he galloped back to the gloomy
wood from which he had first come.
Prince Ivan’s sorrow at parting with him was very real, but in the
pleasure afforded by the queen’s company he soon forgot his loss. When
he came within sight of his father’s realm, he stopped by the shade of
a belt of fir trees, and placing the cage of the Magic Bird and the
golden bridle beneath their shade, he lifted down his beautiful queen,
and rested with her on a bank of fern. They were weary after their long
journey, and soon, talking together softly as ring-doves coo in their
nests, both fell asleep.
Now Prince Dimitri and Prince Vasili had fared badly on their travels,
and were returning to the palace, empty-handed, and sadly out of temper,
when they caught sight of the reclining forms of the two sleepers, with
the gold-maned horse browsing close beside them. As they stared in
amazement, an evil spirit of envy took possession of them, and there
presently entered into their minds the thought of killing their brother.
Each looked at the other, and then Prince Dimitri drew his sword, and ran
it through Prince Ivan as he slept; he died without a murmur, and when
the queen awoke, she found him lifeless.
“What is this you have done?” she sobbed to the guilty princes. “If you
had met him in fair fight, and slain him thus, he might at least have
struck a blow in self-defense. But you are cowards and dastards, fit only
for ravens’ food!”
In vain she wept and protested, as the princes drew lots for their dead
brother’s possessions. The queen fell to the keeping of Prince Vasili,
and the gold-maned horse was adjudged to Prince Dimitri. In a passion of
tears, the queen hid her face in her golden hair, as her would-be lord
spoke roughly to her.
“You are in our power, fair Helen,” he said. “We shall tell our father
that it was we who found you, the Magic Bird, and the gold-maned horse.
If you deny our words, we will instantly put you to death, so look to it
that you hold your tongue, and keep our counsel.”
The poor queen was so terrified by his cruel threat that speech forsook
her, and when they arrived at the palace she was mute as some marble
statue, and could not contradict the wicked statements which she heard
them boldly utter.
Prince Ivan lay dead with his face to the sky, but the wood elves guarded
his body, so that neither beast nor bird came near to devour it until the
end of thirty days. Then, as the sun was sinking, a raven seeking food
for her young, hopped on his breast, and would have pecked at his eyes
had not the Gray Wolf galloped up in the nick of time. He knew at once
that the dead man must be Ivan, and pouncing upon one of the young birds,
would have torn it asunder in his rage.
“Do not touch my little birdling, O fierce Gray Wolf!” entreated the
mother piteously. “It has done you no harm, and deserves no ill from you.”
“Then listen,” the Gray Wolf replied. “I will spare the life of your
birdling, if you will fly away beyond the thrice-ninth lands, and bring
me back the Water of Death and the Water of Life from the crystal stream
whence they flow to the great Forever.”
“I will do what you wish,” cried the raven, “only do not touch my little
son.” And as she spoke she sped away.
Three days and three nights had passed before she returned to the Gray
Wolf, carrying two small vials. One held the Water of Life, the other
the Water of Death, and as the Gray Wolf took them from her, he gave
a cry of triumph. With a snap of his teeth, he bit the young raven in
two, tearing it to pieces before its mother’s frantic eyes. This done,
he broke one of the vials, and when he had sprinkled three drops of the
Water of Death on the slain birdling, immediately its torn body grew
together again. Then he touched it with a few drops from the second vial,
and the little thing spread its wings, and flew off rejoicing.
Thus the Gray Wolf knew that the raven had served him well, and he poured
what was left of the Waters of Life and Death over the body of the dead
prince. In a few moments, life came back to him, and stumbling to his
feet, he smiled at the Gray Wolf.
“Have I slept long?” he asked dreamily.
“You would have slept forever had it not been for me,” was the reply. And
the prince listened with grieved surprise as the Gray Wolf told him all
that had happened.
“Your brother is going to marry your bride to-day,” he ended by saying.
“We must hasten to the palace with all possible speed. Mount on my back,
and I will carry you once more.”
So they galloped to the palace of the old tsar, and the Gray Wolf bade
Prince Ivan farewell for the last time as he dismounted at the great
gates. The prince hurried into the banquet-hall, and there, looking like
some fair statue that had been moulded from frozen snow, sat beautiful
Queen Helen by Prince Vasili’s side. They had just returned from the
wedding ceremony, and all the nobles were gathered round.
When Queen Helen saw who had entered the hall, her speech came back to
her, and she flew to her lover with a cry of rapture and kissed him on
the lips.
“This is my own dear husband,” she cried. “I belong to him, and not to
the wicked prince I have married to-day.” From the shelter of Ivan’s
breast she told the old tsar all that had happened, and how it was to his
youngest son that he owed the gold-maned horse and the Magic Bird.
The joy of the tsar at his favorite son’s return was tempered by his
grief and amazement at the conduct of the elder princes. They were cast
into prison, where they languish still; but Prince Ivan and the beautiful
Queen Helen are as happy as the days are long, and the Magic Bird was
allowed to return to her home in the golden West.
KING ROBERT OF SICILY
Retold from the poem by Henry W. Longfellow