MYTHOLOGICAL.
_Principal Incarnations of Evil._
The present chapter is devoted to specimens of those skazkas which
most Russian critics assert to be distinctly mythical. The stories of
this class are so numerous, that the task of selection has been by no
means easy. But I have done my best to choose such examples as are
most characteristic of that species of the "mythical" folk-tale which
prevails in Russia, and to avoid, as far as possible, the repetition
of narratives which have already been made familiar to the English
reader by translations of German and Scandinavian stories.
There is a more marked individuality in the Russian tales of this
kind, as compared with those of Western Europe, than is to be traced
in the stories (especially those of a humorous cast) which relate to
the events that chequer an ordinary existence. The actors in the
_comediettas_ of European peasant-life vary but little, either in
title or in character, wherever the scene may be laid; just as in the
European beast-epos the Fox, the Wolf, and the Bear play parts which
change but slightly with the regions they inhabit. But the
supernatural beings which people the fairy-land peculiar to each race,
though closely resembling each other in many respects, differ
conspicuously in others. They may, it is true, be nothing more than
various developments of the same original type; they may be traceable
to germs common to the prehistoric ancestors of the now widely
separated Aryan peoples; their peculiarities may simply be due to the
accidents to which travellers from distant lands are liable. But at
all events each family now has features of its own, typical
characteristics by which it may be readily distinguished from its
neighbors. My chief aim at present is to give an idea of those
characteristics which lend individuality to the "mythical beings" in
the Skazkas; in order to effect this, I shall attempt a delineation of
those supernatural figures, to some extent peculiar to Slavonic
fairy-land, which make their appearance in the Russian folk-tales. I
have given a brief sketch of them elsewhere.[72] I now propose to deal
with them more fully, quoting at length, instead of merely mentioning,
some of the evidence on which the proof of their existence depends.
For the sake of convenience, we may select from the great mass of the
mythical skazkas those which are supposed most manifestly to typify
the conflict of opposing elements--whether of Good and Evil, or of
Light and Darkness, or of Heat and Cold, or of any other pair of
antagonistic forces or phenomena. The typical hero of this class of
stories, who represents the cause of right, and who is resolved by
mythologists into so many different essences, presents almost
identically the same appearance in most of the countries wherein he
has become naturalized. He is endowed with supernatural powers, but he
remains a man, for all that. Whether as prince or peasant, he alters
but very little in his wanderings among the Aryan races of Europe.
And a somewhat similar statement may be made about his feminine
counterpart--for all the types of Fairy-land life are of an
epicene nature, admitting of a feminine as well as a masculine
development--the heroine who in the Skazkas, as well as in other
folk-tales, braves the wrath of female demons in quest of means
whereby to lighten the darkness of her home, or rescues her bewitched
brothers from the thraldom of an enchantress, or liberates her captive
husband from a dungeon's gloom.
But their antagonists--the dark or evil beings whom the hero attacks
and eventually destroys, or whom the heroine overcomes by her virtues,
her subtlety, or her skill--vary to a considerable extent with the
region they occupy, or rather with the people in whose memories they
dwell. The Giants by killing whom our own Jack gained his renown, the
Norse Trolls, the Ogres of southern romance, the Drakos and Lamia of
modern Greece, the Lithuanian Laume--these and all the other groups of
monstrous forms under which the imagination of each race has embodied
its ideas about (according to one hypothesis) the Powers of Darkness
it feared, or (according to another) the Aborigines it detested,
differ from each other to a considerable and easily recognizable
extent. An excellent illustration of this statement is offered by the
contrast between the Slavonic group of supernatural beings of this
class and their equivalents in lands tenanted by non-Slavonic members
of the Indo-European family. A family likeness will, of course, be
traced between all these conceptions of popular fancy, but the gloomy
figures with which the folk-tales of the Slavonians render us familiar
may be distinguished at a glance among their kindred monsters of
Latin, Hellenic, Teutonic, or Celtic extraction. Of those among the
number to which the Russian skazkas relate I will now proceed to give
a sketch, allowing the stories, so far as is possible, to speak for
themselves.
If the powers of darkness in the "mythical" skazkas are divided into
two groups--the one male, the other female--there stand out as the
most prominent figures in the former set, the Snake (or some other
illustration of "Zoological Mythology"), Koshchei the Deathless, and
the Morskoi Tsar or King of the Waters. In the latter group the
principal characters are the Baba Yaga, or Hag, her close connection
the Witch, and the Female Snake. On the forms and natures of the less
conspicuous characters to be found in either class we will not at
present dwell. An opportunity for commenting on some of them will be
afforded in another chapter.
To begin with the Snake. His outline, like that of the cloud with
which he is so frequently associated, and which he is often supposed
to typify, is seldom well-defined. Now in one form and now in another,
he glides a shifting shape, of which it is difficult to obtain a
satisfactory view. Sometimes he retains throughout the story an
exclusively reptilian character; sometimes he is of a mixed nature,
partly serpent and partly man. In one story we see him riding on
horseback, with hawk on wrist (or raven on shoulder) and hound at
heel; in another he figures as a composite being with a human body and
a serpent's head; in a third he flies as a fiery snake into his
mistress's bower, stamps with his foot on the ground, and becomes a
youthful gallant. But in most cases he is a serpent which in outward
appearance seems to differ from other ophidians only in being winged
and polycephalous--the number of his heads generally varying from
three to twelve.[73]
He is often known by the name of Zmei [snake] Goruinuich [son of the
_gora_ or mountain], and sometimes he is supposed to dwell in the
mountain caverns. To his abode, whether in the bowels of the earth, or
in the open light of day--whether it be a sumptuous palace or "an
_izba_ on fowl's legs," a hut upheld by slender supports on which it
turns as on a pivot--he carries off his prey. In one story he appears
to have stolen, or in some way concealed, the day-light; in another
the bright moon and the many stars come forth from within him after
his death. But as a general rule it is some queen or princess whom he
tears away from her home, as Pluto carried off Proserpina, and who
remains with him reluctantly, and hails as her rescuer the hero who
comes to give him battle. Sometimes, however, the snake is represented
as having a wife of his own species, and daughters who share their
parent's tastes and powers. Such is the case in the (South-Russian)
story of
IVAN POPYALOF.[74]
Once upon a time there was an old couple, and they had three
sons. Two of these had their wits about them, but the third
was a simpleton, Ivan by name, surnamed Popyalof.
For twelve whole years Ivan lay among the ashes from the
stove; but then he arose, and shook himself, so that six poods
of ashes[75] fell off from him.
Now in the land in which Ivan lived there was never any
day, but always night. That was a Snake's doing. Well, Ivan
undertook to kill that Snake, so he said to his father, "Father,
make me a mace five poods in weight." And when he had got
the mace, he went out into the fields, and flung it straight up in
the air, and then he went home. The next day he went out into
the fields to the spot from which he had flung the mace on high,
and stood there with his head thrown back. So when the mace
fell down again it hit him on the forehead. And the mace
broke in two.
Ivan went home and said to his father, "Father, make me
another mace, a ten pood one." And when he had got it he
went out into the fields, and flung it aloft. And the mace went
flying through the air for three days and three nights. On the
fourth day Ivan went out to the same spot, and when the mace
came tumbling down, he put his knee in the way, and the mace
broke over it into three pieces.
Ivan went home and told his father to make him a third
mace, one of fifteen poods weight. And when he had got it, he
went out into the fields and flung it aloft. And the mace was
up in the air six days. On the seventh Ivan went to the same
spot as before. Down fell the mace, and when it struck Ivan's
forehead, the forehead bowed under it. Thereupon he said,
"This mace will do for the Snake!"
So when he had got everything ready, he went forth with
his brothers to fight the Snake. He rode and rode, and presently
there stood before him a hut on fowl's legs,[76] and in that
hut lived the Snake. There all the party came to a standstill.
Then Ivan hung up his gloves, and said to his brothers, "Should
blood drop from my gloves, make haste to help me." When he
had said this he went into the hut and sat down under the
boarding.[77]
Presently there rode up a Snake with three heads. His
steed stumbled, his hound howled, his falcon clamored.[78] Then
cried the Snake:
"Wherefore hast thou stumbled, O Steed! hast thou howled,
O Hound! hast thou clamored, O Falcon?"
"How can I but stumble," replied the Steed, "when under
the boarding sits Ivan Popyalof?"
Then said the Snake, "Come forth, Ivanushka! Let us
try our strength together." Ivan came forth, and they began to
fight. And Ivan killed the Snake, and then sat down again
beneath the boarding.
Presently there came another Snake, a six-headed one, and
him, too, Ivan killed. And then there came a third, which had
twelve heads. Well, Ivan began to fight with him, and lopped
off nine of his heads. The Snake had no strength left in him.
Just then a raven came flying by, and it croaked:
"Krof? Krof!"[79]
Then the Snake cried to the Raven, "Fly, and tell my wife
to come and devour Ivan Popyalof."
But Ivan cried: "Fly, and tell my brothers to come, and
then we will kill this Snake, and give his flesh to thee."
And the Raven gave ear to what Ivan said, and flew to his
brothers and began to croak above their heads. The brothers
awoke, and when they heard the cry of the Raven, they hastened
to their brother's aid. And they killed the Snake, and then,
having taken his heads, they went into his hut and destroyed
them. And immediately there was bright light throughout the
whole land.
After killing the Snake, Ivan Popyalof and his brothers set
off on their way home. But he had forgotten to take away his
gloves, so he went back to fetch them, telling his brothers to
wait for him meanwhile. Now when he had reached the hut
and was going to take away his gloves, he heard the voices of
the Snake's wife and daughters, who were talking with each
other. So he turned himself into a cat, and began to mew
outside the door. They let him in, and he listened to everything
they said. Then he got his gloves and hastened away.
As soon as he came to where his brothers were, he mounted
his horse, and they all started afresh. They rode and rode;
presently they saw before them a green meadow, and on that
meadow lay silken cushions. Then the elder brothers said,
"Let's turn out our horses to graze here, while we rest ourselves
a little."
But Ivan said, "Wait a minute, brothers!" and he seized
his mace, and struck the cushions with it. And out of those
cushions there streamed blood.
So they all went on further. They rode and rode; presently
there stood before them an apple-tree, and upon it were gold
and silver apples. Then the elder brothers said, "Let's eat an
apple apiece." But Ivan said, "Wait a minute, brothers; I'll
try them first," and he took his mace, and struck the apple-tree
with it. And out of the tree streamed blood.
So they went on further. They rode and rode, and by and
by they saw a spring in front of them. And the elder brothers
cried, "Let's have a drink of water." But Ivan Popyalof
cried: "Stop, brothers!" and he raised his mace and struck
the spring, and its waters became blood.
For the meadow, the silken cushions, the apple-tree, and the
spring, were all of them daughters of the Snake.
After killing the Snake's daughters, Ivan and his brothers
went on homewards. Presently came the Snake's Wife flying
after them, and she opened her jaws from the sky to the earth,
and tried to swallow up Ivan. But Ivan and his brothers threw
three poods of salt into her mouth. She swallowed the salt,
thinking it was Ivan Popyalof, but afterwards--when she had
tasted the salt, and found out it was not Ivan--she flew after
him again.
Then he perceived that danger was at hand, and so he let
his horse go free, and hid himself behind twelve doors in the
forge of Kuzma and Demian. The Snake's Wife came flying
up, and said to Kuzma and Demian, "Give me up Ivan Popyalof."
But they replied:
"Send your tongue through the twelve doors and take him."
So the Snake's Wife began licking the doors. But meanwhile
they all heated iron pincers, and as soon as she had sent her
tongue through into the smithy, they caught tight hold of her
by the tongue, and began thumping her with hammers. And
when the Snake's Wife was dead they consumed her with fire,
and scattered her ashes to the winds. And then they went
home, and there they lived and enjoyed themselves, feasting
and revelling, and drinking mead and wine.
I was there, too, and had liquor to drink; it didn't go into
my mouth, but only ran down my beard.[80]
The skazka of Ivan Buikovich (Bull's son)[81] contains a variant of
part of this story, but the dragon which the Slavonic St. George kills
is called, not a snake, but a Chudo-Yudo.[82] Ivan watches one night
while his brothers sleep. Presently up rides "a six-headed Chudo-Yudo"
which he easily kills. The next night he slays, but with more
difficulty, a nine-headed specimen of the same family. On the third
night appears "a twelve-headed Chudo-Yudo," mounted on a horse "with
twelve wings, its coat of silver, its mane and tail of gold." Ivan
lops off three of the monster's heads, but they, like those of the
Lernaean Hydra, become re-attached to their necks at the touch of their
owner's "fiery finger." Ivan, whom his foe has driven into the ground
up to his knees, hurls one of his gloves at the hut in which his
brothers are sleeping. It smashes the windows, but the sleepers
slumber on and take no heed. Presently Ivan smites off six of his
antagonist's heads, but they grow again as before.[83] Half buried in
the ground by the monster's strength, Ivan hurls his other glove at
the hut, piercing its roof this time. But still his brothers slumber
on. At last, after fruitlessly shearing off nine of the Chudo-Yudo's
heads, and finding himself embedded in the ground up to his armpits,
Ivan flings his cap at the hut. The hut reels under the blow and its
beams fall asunder; his brothers awake, and hasten to his aid, and the
Chudo-Yudo is destroyed. The "Chudo-Yudo wives" as the widows of the
three monsters are called, then proceed to play the parts attributed
in "Ivan Popyalof" to the Snake's daughters.
"I will become an apple-tree with golden and silver apples," says the
first; "whoever plucks an apple will immediately burst." Says the
second, "I will become a spring--on the water will float two cups, the
one golden, the other of silver; whoever touches one of the cups, him
will I drown." And the third says, "I will become a golden bed;
whoever lies down upon that bed will be consumed with fire." Ivan, in
a sparrow's form, overhears all this, and acts as in the preceding
story. The three widows die, but their mother, "an old witch,"
determines on revenge. Under the form of a beggar-woman she asks alms
from the retreating brothers. Ivan tenders her a ducat. She seizes,
not the ducat, but his outstretched hand, and in a moment whisks him
off underground to her husband, an Aged One, whose appearance is that
of the mythical being whom the Servians call the Vy. He "lies on an
iron couch, and sees nothing; his long eyelashes and thick eyebrows
completely hide his eyes," but he sends for "twelve mighty heroes,"
and orders them to take iron forks and lift up the hair about his
eyes, and then he gazes at the destroyer of his family. The glance of
the Servian Vy is supposed to be as deadly as that of a basilisk, but
the patriarch of the Russian story does not injure his captive. He
merely sends him on an errand which leads to a fresh set of
adventures, of which we need not now take notice.
In a third variant of the story,[84] they are snakes which are killed
by the hero, Ivan Koshkin (Cat's son), and it is a Baba Yaga, or Hag,
who undertakes to revenge their deaths and those of their wives, her
daughters. Accordingly she pursues the three brothers, and succeeds in
swallowing two of them. The third, Ivan Koshkin, takes refuge in a
smithy, and, as before, the monster's tongue is seized, and she is
beaten with hammers until she disgorges her prey, none the worse for
their temporary imprisonment.
We have seen, in the story about the Chudo-Yudo, that the place
usually occupied by the Snake is at times filled by some other magical
being. This frequently occurs in that class of stories which relates
how three brothers set out to apprehend a trespasser, or to seek a
mother or sister who has been mysteriously spirited away. They usually
come either to an opening which leads into the underground world, or
to the base of an apparently inaccessible hill. The youngest brother
descends or ascends as the case may be, and after a series of
adventures which generally lead him through the kingdoms of copper, of
silver, and of gold, returns in triumph to where his brothers are
awaiting him. And he is almost invariably deserted by them, as soon as
they have secured the beautiful princesses who accompany him--as may
be read in the following (South-Russian) history of--
THE NORKA.[85]
Once upon a time there lived a king and queen. They had three
sons, two of them with their wits about them, but the third a
simpleton. Now the King had a deer-park in which were quantities
of wild animals of different kinds. Into that park there
used to come a huge beast--Norka was its name--and do fearful
mischief, devouring some of the animals every night. The King
did all he could, but he was unable to destroy it. So at last he
called his sons together and said: "Whoever will destroy the
Norka, to him will I give the half of my kingdom."
Well, the eldest son undertook the task. As soon as it was
night, he took his weapons and set out. But before he reached
the park, he went into a _traktir_ (or tavern), and there he spent
the whole night in revelry. When he came to his senses it was
too late; the day had already dawned. He felt himself disgraced
in the eyes of his father, but there was no help for it. The next
day the second son went, and did just the same. Their father
scolded them both soundly, and there was an end of it.
Well, on the third day the youngest son undertook the task.
They all laughed him to scorn, because he was so stupid, feeling
sure he wouldn't do anything. But he took his arms, and went
straight into the park, and sat down on the grass in such a position
that, the moment he went asleep, his weapons would prick
him, and he would awake.
Presently the midnight hour sounded. The earth began to
shake, and the Norka came rushing up, and burst right through
the fence into the park, so huge was it. The Prince pulled himself
together, leapt to his feet, crossed himself, and went straight
at the beast. It fled back, and the Prince ran after it. But he
soon saw that he couldn't catch it on foot, so he hastened to the
stable, laid his hands on the best horse there, and set off in
pursuit. Presently he came up with the beast, and they began a
fight. They fought and fought; the Prince gave the beast three
wounds. At last they were both utterly exhausted, so they lay
down to take a short rest. But the moment the Prince closed his
eyes, up jumped the Beast and took to flight. The Prince's horse
awoke him; up he jumped in a moment, and set off again in
pursuit, caught up the Beast, and again began fighting with it.
Again the Prince gave the Beast three wounds, and then he and
the Beast lay down again to rest. Thereupon away fled the
Beast as before. The Prince caught it up, and again gave it
three wounds. But all of a sudden, just as the Prince began
chasing it for the fourth time, the Beast fled to a great white
stone, tilted it up, and escaped into the other world,[86] crying out
to the Prince: "Then only will you overcome me, when you
enter here."
The Prince went home, told his father all that had happened,
and asked him to have a leather rope plaited, long enough to
reach to the other world. His father ordered this to be done.
When the rope was made, the Prince called for his brothers, and
he and they, having taken servants with them, and everything that
was needed for a whole year, set out for the place where the
Beast had disappeared under the stone. When they got there,
they built a palace on the spot, and lived in it for some time.
But when everything was ready, the youngest brother said to
the others: "Now, brothers, who is going to lift this stone?"
Neither of them could so much as stir it, but as soon as he
touched it, away it flew to a distance, though it was ever so big--big
as a hill. And when he had flung the stone aside, he spoke
a second time to his brothers, saying:
"Who is going into the other world, to overcome the Norka?"
Neither of them offered to do so. Then he laughed at them
for being such cowards, and said:
"Well, brothers, farewell! Lower me into the other world,
and don't go away from here, but as soon as the cord is jerked,
pull it up."
His brothers lowered him accordingly, and when he had
reached the other world, underneath the earth, he went on his
way. He walked and walked. Presently he espied a horse with
rich trappings, and it said to him:
"Hail, Prince Ivan! Long have I awaited thee!"
He mounted the horse and rode on--rode and rode, until he
saw standing before him, a palace made of copper. He entered
the courtyard, tied up his horse, and went indoors. In one of
the rooms a dinner was laid out. He sat down and dined, and
then went into a bedroom. There he found a bed, on which he
lay down to rest. Presently there came in a lady, more beautiful
than can be imagined anywhere but in a skazka, who said:
"Thou who art in my house, name thyself! If thou art an
old man, thou shall be my father; if a middle-aged man, my
brother; but if a young man, thou shalt be my husband dear.
And if thou art a woman, and an old one, thou shalt be my grandmother;
if middle-aged, my mother; and if a girl, thou shalt be
my own sister."[87]
Thereupon he came forth. And when she saw him, she was
delighted with him, and said:
"Wherefore, O Prince Ivan--my husband dear shalt thou be!--wherefore
hast thou come hither?"
Then he told her all that had happened, and she said:
"That beast which thou wishest to overcome is my brother.
He is staying just now with my second sister, who lives not far
from here in a silver palace. I bound up three of the wounds
which thou didst give him."
Well, after this they drank, and enjoyed themselves, and held
sweet converse together, and then the prince took leave of her,
and went on to the second sister, the one who lived in the silver
palace, and with her also he stayed awhile. She told him that
her brother Norka was then at her youngest sister's. So he
went on to the youngest sister, who lived in a golden palace.
She told him that her brother was at that time asleep on the
blue sea, and she gave him a sword of steel and a draught of the
Water of Strength, and she told him to cut off her brother's
head at a single stroke. And when he had heard these things,
he went his way.
And when the Prince came to the blue sea, he looked--there
slept Norka on a stone in the middle of the sea; and when it
snored, the water was agitated for seven versts around. The
Prince crossed himself, went up to it and smote it on the head
with his sword. The head jumped off, saying the while, "Well,
I'm done for now!" and rolled far away into the sea.
After killing the Beast, the Prince went back again, picking
up all the three sisters by the way, with the intention of taking
them out into the upper world: for they all loved him and would
not be separated from him. Each of them turned her palace
into an egg--for they were all enchantresses--and they taught
him how to turn the eggs into palaces, and back again, and they
handed over the eggs to him. And then they all went to the
place from which they had to be hoisted into the upper world.
And when they came to where the rope was, the Prince took
hold of it and made the maidens fast to it.[88] Then he jerked
away at the rope, and his brothers began to haul it up. And
when they had hauled it up, and had set eyes on the wondrous
maidens, they went aside and said: "Let's lower the rope, pull
our brother part of the way up, and then cut the rope. Perhaps
he'll be killed; but then if he isn't, he'll never give us these
beauties as wives."
So when they had agreed on this, they lowered the rope.
But their brother was no fool; he guessed what they were at,
so he fastened the rope to a stone, and then gave it a pull.
His brothers hoisted the stone to a great height, and then cut
the rope. Down fell the stone and broke in pieces; the Prince
poured forth tears and went away. Well, he walked and walked.
Presently a storm arose; the lightning flashed, the thunder
roared, the rain fell in torrents. He went up to a tree in order
to take shelter under it, and on that tree he saw some young
birds which were being thoroughly drenched. So he took off
his coat and covered them over with it, and he himself sat down
under the tree. Presently there came flying a bird--such a big
one, that the light was blotted out by it. It had been dark
there before, but now it became darker still. Now this was the
mother of those small birds which the Prince had covered up.
And when the bird had come flying up, she perceived that her
little ones were covered over, and she said, "Who has wrapped
up my nestlings?" and presently, seeing the Prince, she added:
"Didst thou do that? Thanks! In return, ask of me any
thing thou desirest. I will do anything for thee."
"Then carry me into the other world," he replied.
"Make me a large _zasyek_[89] with a partition in the middle,"
she said; "catch all sorts of game, and put them into one half
of it, and into the other half pour water; so that there may be
meat and drink for me."
All this the Prince did. Then the bird--having taken the
_zasyek_ on her back, with the Prince sitting in the middle of it--began
to fly. And after flying some distance she brought him
to his journey's end, took leave of him, and flew away back.
But he went to the house of a certain tailor, and engaged himself
as his servant. So much the worse for wear was he, so
thoroughly had he altered in appearance, that nobody would
have suspected him of being a Prince.
Having entered into the service of this master, the Prince
began to ask what was going on in that country. And his
master replied: "Our two princes--for the third one has disappeared--have
brought away brides from the other world, and
want to marry them, but those brides refuse. For they insist
on having all their wedding-clothes made for them first, exactly
like those which they used to have in the other world, and that
without being measured for them. The King has called all the
workmen together, but not one of them will undertake to do it."
The Prince, having heard all this, said, "Go to the King,
master, and tell him that you will provide everything that's in
your line."
"However can I undertake to make clothes of that sort;
I work for quite common folks," says his master.
"Go along, master! I will answer for everything," says
the Prince.
So the tailor went. The King was delighted that at least
one good workman had been found, and gave him as much
money as ever he wanted. When the tailor had settled everything,
he went home. And the Prince said to him:
"Now then, pray to God, and lie down to sleep; to-morrow
all will be ready." And the tailor followed his lad's advice,
and went to bed.
Midnight sounded. The Prince arose, went out of the city
into the fields, took out of his pocket the eggs which the
maidens had given him, and, as they had taught him, turned
them into three palaces. Into each of these he entered, took
the maidens' robes, went out again, turned the palaces back
into eggs, and went home. And when he got there he hung up
the robes on the wall, and lay down to sleep.
Early in the morning his master awoke, and behold! there
hung such robes as he had never seen before, all shining with
gold and silver and precious stones. He was delighted, and he
seized them and carried them off to the King. When the princesses
saw that the clothes were those which had been theirs in
the other world, they guessed that Prince Ivan was in this
world, so they exchanged glances with each other, but they
held their peace. And the master, having handed over the
clothes, went home, but he no longer found his dear journeyman
there. For the Prince had gone to a shoemaker's, and him too
he sent to work for the King; and in the same way he went the
round of all the artificers, and they all proffered him thanks,
inasmuch as through him they were enriched by the King.
By the time the princely workman had gone the round of all
the artificers, the princesses had received what they had asked
for; all their clothes were just like what they had been in the
other world. Then they wept bitterly because the Prince had
not come, and it was impossible for them to hold out any
longer, it was necessary that they should be married. But when
they were ready for the wedding, the youngest bride said to the
King:
"Allow me, my father, to go and give alms to the beggars."
He gave her leave, and she went and began bestowing alms
upon them, and examining them closely. And when she had
come to one of them, and was going to give him some money,
she caught sight of the ring which she had given to the Prince
in the other world, and her sisters' rings too--for it really was
he. So she seized him by the hand, and brought him into the
hall, and said to the King:
"Here is he who brought us out of the other world. His
brothers forbade us to say that he was alive, threatening to slay
us if we did."
Then the King was wroth with those sons, and punished
them as he thought best. And afterwards three weddings were
celebrated.
[The conclusion of this story is somewhat obscure.
Most of the variants represent the Prince as forgiving
his brothers, and allowing them to marry two of the
three princesses, but the present version appears to
keep closer to its original, in which the prince
doubtless married all three. With this story may be
compared: Grimm, No. 166, "Der starke Hans," and No.
91, "Dat Erdmaenneken." See also vol. iii. p. 165,
where a reference is given to the Hungarian story in
Gaal, No. 5--Dasent, No. 55, "The Big Bird Dan," and
No. 56, "Soria Moria Castle" (Asbjoernsen and Moe, Nos.
3 and 2. A somewhat similar story, only the palaces
are in the air, occurs in Asbjoernsen's "Ny Samling,"
No. 72)--Campbell's "Tales of the West Highlands," No.
58--Schleicher's "Litauische Maerchen," No. 38--The
Polish story, Wojcicki, Book iii. No. 6, in which
Norka is replaced by a witch who breaks the windows of
a church, and is wounded, in falcon-shape, by the
youngest brother--Hahn, No. 70, in which a Drakos, as
a cloud, steals golden apples, a story closely
resembling the Russian skazka. See also No. 26, very
similar to which is the Servian Story in "Vuk
Karajich," No. 2--and a very interesting Tuscan story
printed for the first time by A. de Gubernatis,
"Zoological Mythology," vol. ii. p. 187. See also
ibid. p. 391.
But still more important than these are the parallels
offered by Indian fiction. Take, for instance, the
story of Sringabhuja, in chap. xxxix. of book vii. of
the "Kathasaritsagara." In it the elder sons of a
certain king wish to get rid of their younger
half-brother. One day a Rakshasa appears in the form
of a gigantic crane. The other princes shoot at it in
vain, but the youngest wounds it, and then sets off in
pursuit of it, and of the valuable arrow which is
fixed in it. After long wandering he comes to a castle
in a forest. There he finds a maiden who tells him she
is the daughter of the Rakshasa whom, in the form of a
crane, he has wounded. She at once takes his part
against her demon father, and eventually flies with
him to his own country. The perils which the fugitives
have to encounter will be mentioned in the remarks on
Skazka XIX. See Professor Brockhaus's summary of the
story in the "Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K.
Saechs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften," 1861, pp.
223-6. Also Professor Wilson's version in his "Essays
on Sanskrit Literature," vol. ii. pp. 134-5.
In two other stories in the same collection the hero
gives chase to a boar of gigantic size. It takes
refuge in a cavern into which he follows it. Presently
he finds himself in a different world, wherein he
meets a beauteous maiden who explains everything to
him. In the first of these two stories the lady is the
daughter of a Rakshasa, who is invulnerable except in
the palm of the left hand, for which reason, our hero,
Chandasena has been unable to wound him when in his
boar disguise. She instructs Chandasena how to kill
her father, who accordingly falls a victim to a
well-aimed shaft. (Brockhaus's "Maehrchensammlung des
Somadeva Bhatta," 1843, vol. i. pp. 110-13). In the
other story, the lady turns out to be a princess whom
"a demon with fiery eyes" had carried off and
imprisoned. She tells the hero, Saktideva, that the
demon has just died from a wound inflicted upon him,
while transformed into a boar, by a bold archer.
Saktideva informs her that he is that archer.
Whereupon she immediately requests him to marry her
(ibid. vol. ii. p. 175). In both stories the boar is
described as committing great ravages in the upper
world until the hero attacks it.]
The Adventures of a prince, the youngest of three brothers, who has
been lowered into the underground world or who has ascended into an
enchanted upper realm, form the theme of numerous skazkas, several of
which are variants of the story of Norka. The prince's elder brothers
almost always attempt to kill him, when he is about to ascend from the
gulf or descend from the steeps which separate him from them. In one
instance, the following excuse is offered for their conduct. The hero
has killed a Snake in the underground world, and is carrying its head
on a lance, when his brothers begin to hoist him up. "His brothers
were frightened at the sight of that head and thinking the Snake
itself was coming, they let Ivan fall back into the pit."[90] But this
apology for their behavior seems to be due to the story-teller's
imagination. In some instances their unfraternal conduct may be
explained in the following manner. In oriental tales the hero is often
the son of a king's youngest wife, and he is not unnaturally hated by
his half-brothers, the sons of an older queen, whom the hero's mother
has supplanted in their royal father's affections. Accordingly they do
their best to get rid of him. Thus, in one of the Indian stories which
correspond to that of Norka, the hero's success at court "excited the
envy and jealousy of his brothers [doubtless half-brothers], and they
were not satisfied until they had devised a plan to effect his
removal, and, as they hoped, accomplish his destruction."[91] We know
also that "Israel loved Joseph more than all his children," because he
was the son "of his old age," and the result was that "when his
brethren [who were only his half-brothers] saw that their father loved
him more than all his brethren, they hated him."[92] When such tales
as these came west in Christian times, their references to polygamy
were constantly suppressed, and their distinctions between brothers
and half-brothers disappeared. In the same way the elder and jealous
wife, who had behaved with cruelty in the original stories to the
offspring of her rival, often became turned, under Christian
influences, into a stepmother who hated her husband's children by a
previous marriage.
There may, however, be a mythological explanation of the behavior of
the two elder brothers. Professor de Gubernatis is of opinion that "in
the Vedic hymns, Tritas, the third brother, and the ablest as well as
best, is persecuted by his brothers," who, "in a fit of jealousy, on
account of his wife, the aurora, and the riches she brings with her
from the realm of darkness, the cistern or well [into which he has
been lowered], detain their brother in the well,"[93] and he compares
this form of the myth with that which it assumes in the following
Hindoo tradition. "Three brothers, _Ekata_ (_i.e._ the first), _Dwita_
(_i.e._ the second) and _Trita_ (_i.e._ the third) were travelling in
a desert, and being distressed with thirst, came to a well, from which
the youngest, Trita, drew water and gave it to his brothers; in
requital, they drew him into the well, in order to appropriate his
property and having covered the top with a cart-wheel, left him in the
well. In this extremity he prayed to the gods to extricate him, and by
their favor he made his escape."[94] This myth may, perhaps, be the
germ from which have sprung the numerous folk-tales about the
desertion of a younger brother in some pit or chasm, into which his
brothers have lowered him.[95]
It may seem more difficult to account for the willingness of Norka's
three sisters to aid in his destruction--unless, indeed, the whole
story be considered to be mythological, as its Indian equivalents
undoubtedly are. But in many versions of the same tale the difficulty
does not arise. The princesses of the copper, silver, and golden
realms, are usually represented as united by no ties of consanguinity
with the snake or other monster whom the hero comes to kill. In the
story of "Usuinya,"[96] for instance, there appears to be no
relationship between these fair maidens and the "Usuinya-Bird," which
steals the golden apples from a monarch's garden and is killed by his
youngest son Ivan. That monster is not so much a bird as a flying
dragon. "This Usuinya-bird is a twelve-headed snake," says one of the
fair maidens. And presently it arrives--its wings stretching afar,
while along the ground trail its moustaches [_usui_, whence its name].
In a variant of the same story in another collection,[97] the part of
Norka is played by a white wolf. In that of Ivan Suchenko[98] it is
divided among three snakes who have stolen as many princesses. For the
snake is much given to abduction, especially when he appears under the
terrible form of "Koshchei, the Deathless."
Koshchei is merely one of the many incarnations of the dark spirit
which takes so many monstrous shapes in the folk-tales of the class
with which we are now dealing. Sometimes he is described as altogether
serpent-like in form; sometimes he seems to be of a mixed nature,
partly human and partly ophidian, but in some of the stories he is
apparently framed after the fashion of a man. His name is by some
mythologists derived from _kost'_, a bone whence comes a verb
signifying to become ossified, petrified, or frozen; either because he
is bony of limb, or because he produces an effect akin to freezing or
petrifaction.[99]
He is called "Immortal" or "The Deathless,"[100] because of his
superiority to the ordinary laws of existence. Sometimes, like Baldur,
he cannot be killed except by one substance; sometimes his
"death"--that is, the object with which his life is indissolubly
connected--does not exist within his body. Like the vital centre of
"the giant who had no heart in his body" in the well-known Norse tale,
it is something extraneous to the being whom it affects, and until it
is destroyed he may set all ordinary means of annihilation at
defiance. But this is not always the case, as may be learnt from one
of the best of the skazkas in which he plays a leading part, the
history of--
MARYA MOREVNA.[101]
In a certain kingdom there lived a Prince Ivan. He had three
sisters. The first was the Princess Marya, the second the Princess
Olga, the third the Princess Anna. When their father and
mother lay at the point of death, they had thus enjoined their
son:--"Give your sisters in marriage to the very first suitors
who come to woo them. Don't go keeping them by you!"
They died and the Prince buried them, and then, to solace his
grief, he went with his sisters into the garden green to stroll.
Suddenly the sky was covered by a black cloud; a terrible storm
arose.
"Let us go home, sisters!" he cried.
Hardly had they got into the palace, when the thunder
pealed, the ceiling split open, and into the room where they were,
came flying a falcon bright. The Falcon smote upon the ground,
became a brave youth, and said:
"Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I
have come as a wooer! I wish to propose for your sister, the
Princess Marya."
"If you find favor in the eyes of my sister, I will not interfere
with her wishes. Let her marry you in God's name!"
The Princess Marya gave her consent; the Falcon married
her and bore her away into his own realm.
Days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole year goes by.
One day Prince Ivan and his two sisters went out to stroll in
the garden green. Again there arose a stormcloud with whirlwind
and lightning.
"Let us go home, sisters!" cried the Prince. Scarcely had
they entered the palace, when the thunder crashed, the roof
burst into a blaze, the ceiling split in twain, and in flew an eagle.
The Eagle smote upon the ground and became a brave youth.
"Hail, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I
have come as a wooer!"
And he asked for the hand of the Princess Olga. Prince
Ivan replied:
"If you find favor in the eyes of the Princess Olga, then let
her marry you. I will not interfere with her liberty of choice."
The Princess Olga gave her consent and married the Eagle.
The Eagle took her and carried her off to his own kingdom.
Another year went by. Prince Ivan said to his youngest
sister:
"Let us go out and stroll in the garden green!"
They strolled about for a time. Again there arose a stormcloud,
with whirlwind and lightning.
"Let us return home, sister!" said he.
They returned home, but they hadn't had time to sit down
when the thunder[102] crashed, the ceiling split open, and in flew
a raven. The Raven smote upon the floor and became a brave
youth. The former youths had been handsome, but this one
was handsomer still.
"Well, Prince Ivan! Before I came as a guest, but now I
have come as a wooer. Give me the Princess Anna to wife."
"I won't interfere with my sister's freedom. If you gain her
affections, let her marry you."
So the Princess Anna married the Raven, and he bore her
away to his own realm. Prince Ivan was left alone. A whole
year he lived without his sisters; then he grew weary, and
said:--
"I will set out in search of my sisters."
He got ready for the journey, he rode and rode, and one day
he saw a whole army lying dead on the plain. He cried aloud,
"If there be a living man there, let him make answer! who has
slain this mighty host?"
There replied unto him a living man:
"All this mighty host has been slain by the fair Princess
Marya Morevna."
Prince Ivan rode further on, and came to a white tent, and
forth came to meet him the fair Princess Marya Morevna.
"Hail Prince!" says she, "whither does God send you?
and is it of your free will or against your will?"
Prince Ivan replied, "Not against their will do brave youths
ride!"
"Well, if your business be not pressing, tarry awhile in my
tent."
Thereat was Prince Ivan glad. He spent two nights in the
tent, and he found favor in the eyes of Marya Morevna, and
she married him. The fair Princess, Marya Morevna, carried
him off into her own realm.
They spent some time together, and then the Princess took
it into her head to go a warring. So she handed over all the
housekeeping affairs to Prince Ivan, and gave him these instructions:
"Go about everywhere, keep watch over everything, only do
not venture to look into that closet there."
He couldn't help doing so. The moment Marya Morevna
had gone he rushed to the closet, pulled open the door, and
looked in--there hung Koshchei the Deathless, fettered by
twelve chains. Then Koshchei entreated Prince Ivan, saying,--
"Have pity upon me and give me to drink! Ten years long
have I been here in torment, neither eating or drinking; my
throat is utterly dried up."
The Prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up
and asked for more, saying:
"A single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give
me more!"
The Prince gave him a second bucketful. Koshchei drank
it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the
third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains
a shake, and broke all twelve at once.
"Thanks, Prince Ivan!" cried Koshchei the deathless,
"now you will sooner see your own ears than Marya Morevna!"
and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind.
And he came up with the fair Princess Marya Morevna
as she was going her way, laid hold of her, and carried her off
home with him. But Prince Ivan wept full sore, and he arrayed
himself and set out a wandering, saying to himself: "Whatever
happens, I will go and look for Marya Morevna!"
One day passed, another day passed: at the dawn of the
third day he saw a wondrous palace, and by the side of the palace
stood an oak, and on the oak sat a falcon bright. Down flew
the Falcon from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a
brave youth and cried aloud:
"Ha, dear brother-in-law! how deals the Lord with you?"
Out came running the Princess Marya, joyfully greeted her
brother Ivan, and began enquiring after his health, and telling
him all about herself. The Prince spent three days with them,
then he said:
"I cannot abide with you; I must go in search of my wife
the fair Princess Marya Morevna."
"Hard will it be for you to find her," answered the Falcon.
"At all events leave with us your silver spoon. We will look at
it and remember you." So Prince Ivan left his silver spoon at
the Falcon's, and went on his way again.
On he went one day, on he went another day, and by the
dawn of the third day he saw a palace still grander than the former
one, and hard by the palace stood an oak, and on the oak
sat an eagle. Down flew the eagle from the oak, smote upon
the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud:
"Rise up, Princess Olga! Hither comes our brother dear!"
The Princess Olga immediately ran to meet him, and began
kissing him and embracing him, asking after his health and telling
him all about herself. With them Prince Ivan stopped three
days; then he said:
"I cannot stay here any longer. I am going to look for my
wife, the fair Princess Marya Morevna."
"Hard will it be for you to find her," replied the Eagle,
"Leave with us a silver fork. We will look at it and remember
you."
He left a silver fork behind, and went his way. He travelled
one day, he travelled two days; at daybreak on the third day he
saw a palace grander than the first two, and near the palace
stood an oak, and on the oak sat a raven. Down flew the Raven
from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth,
and cried aloud:
"Princess Anna, come forth quickly! our brother is coming!"
Out ran the Princess Anna, greeted him joyfully, and began
kissing and embracing him, asking after his health and telling
him all about herself. Prince Ivan stayed with them three days;
then he said:
"Farewell! I am going to look for my wife, the fair Princess
Marya Morevna."
"Hard will it be for you to find her," replied the Raven,
"Anyhow, leave your silver snuff-box with us. We will look at
it and remember you."
The Prince handed over his silver snuff-box, took his leave
and went his way. One day he went, another day he went, and
on the third day he came to where Marya Morevna was. She
caught sight of her love, flung her arms around his neck, burst
into tears, and exclaimed:
"Oh, Prince Ivan! why did you disobey me, and go looking
into the closet and letting out Koshchei the Deathless?"
"Forgive me, Marya Morevna! Remember not the past;
much better fly with me while Koshchei the Deathless is out of
sight. Perhaps he won't catch us."
So they got ready and fled. Now Koshchei was out hunting.
Towards evening he was returning home, when his good steed
stumbled beneath him.
"Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? scentest thou some ill?"
The steed replied:
"Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna."
"Is it possible to catch them?"
"It is possible to sow wheat, to wait till it grows up, to reap
it and thresh it, to grind it to flour, to make five pies of it, to
eat those pies, and then to start in pursuit--and even then to be
in time."
Koshchei galloped off and caught up Prince Ivan.
"Now," says he, "this time I will forgive you, in return for
your kindness in giving me water to drink. And a second time
I will forgive you; but the third time beware! I will cut you to
bits."
Then he took Marya Morevna from him, and carried her off.
But Prince Ivan sat down on a stone and burst into tears. He
wept and wept--and then returned back again to Marya Morevna.
Now Koshchei the Deathless happened not to be at home.
"Let us fly, Marya Morevna!"
"Ah, Prince Ivan! he will catch us."
"Suppose he does catch us. At all events we shall have
spent an hour or two together."
So they got ready and fled. As Koshchei the Deathless was
returning home, his good steed stumbled beneath him.
"Why stumblest thou, sorry jade? scentest thou some
ill?"
"Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna."
"Is it possible to catch them?"
"It is possible to sow barley, to wait till it grows up, to reap
it and thresh it, to brew beer, to drink ourselves drunk on it,
to sleep our fill, and then to set off in pursuit--and yet to be in
time."
Koshchei galloped off, caught up Prince Ivan:
"Didn't I tell you that you should not see Marya Morevna
any more than your own ears?"
And he took her away and carried her off home with him.
Prince Ivan was left there alone. He wept and wept; then
he went back again after Marya Morevna. Koshchei happened
to be away from home at that moment.
"Let us fly, Marya Morevna."
"Ah, Prince Ivan! He is sure to catch us and hew you in
pieces."
"Let him hew away! I cannot live without you."
So they got ready and fled.
Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his good
steed stumbled beneath him.
"Why stumblest thou? scentest thou any ill?"
"Prince Ivan has come and has carried off Marya Morevna."
Koshchei galloped off, caught Prince Ivan, chopped him into
little pieces, put them in a barrel, smeared it with pitch and
bound it with iron hoops, and flung it into the blue sea. But
Marya Morevna he carried off home.
At that very time, the silver turned black which Prince Ivan
had left with his brothers-in-law.
"Ah!" said they, "the evil is accomplished sure enough!"
Then the Eagle hurried to the blue sea, caught hold of the
barrel, and dragged it ashore; the Falcon flew away for the
Water of Life, and the Raven for the Water of Death.
Afterwards they all three met, broke open the barrel, took out
the remains of Prince Ivan, washed them, and put them together
in fitting order. The Raven sprinkled them with the Water of
Death--the pieces joined together, the body became whole. The
Falcon sprinkled it with the Water of Life--Prince Ivan shuddered,
stood up, and said:
"Ah! what a time I've been sleeping!"
"You'd have gone on sleeping a good deal longer, if it hadn't
been for us," replied his brothers-in-law. "Now come and pay
us a visit."
"Not so, brothers; I shall go and look for Marya Morevna."
And when he had found her, he said to her:
"Find out from Koshchei the Deathless whence he got so
good a steed."
So Marya Morevna chose a favorable moment, and began
asking Koshchei about it. Koshchei replied:
"Beyond thrice nine lands, in the thirtieth kingdom, on the
other side of the fiery river, there lives a Baba Yaga. She has
so good a mare that she flies right round the world on it every
day. And she has many other splendid mares. I watched her
herds for three days without losing a single mare, and in return
for that the Baba Yaga gave me a foal."
"But how did you get across the fiery river?"
"Why, I've a handkerchief of this kind--when I wave it
thrice on the right hand, there springs up a very lofty bridge and
the fire cannot reach it."
Marya Morevna listened to all this, and repeated it to Prince
Ivan, and she carried off the handkerchief and gave it to him.
So he managed to get across the fiery river, and then went on to
the Baba Yaga's. Long went he on without getting anything
either to eat or to drink. At last he came across an outlandish[103]
bird and its young ones. Says Prince Ivan:
"I'll eat one of these chickens."
"Don't eat it, Prince Ivan!" begs the outlandish bird;
"some time or other I'll do you a good turn."
He went on farther and saw a hive of bees in the forest.
"I'll get a bit of honeycomb," says he.
"Don't disturb my honey, Prince Ivan!" exclaims the queen
bee; "some time or other I'll do you a good turn."
So he didn't disturb it, but went on. Presently there met
him a lioness with her cub.
"Anyhow I'll eat this lion cub," says he; "I'm so hungry, I
feel quite unwell!"
"Please let us alone, Prince Ivan," begs the lioness; "some
time or other I'll do you a good turn."
"Very well; have it your own way," says he.
Hungry and faint he wandered on, walked farther and farther
and at last came to where stood the house of the Baba Yaga.
Round the house were set twelve poles in a circle, and on each
of eleven of these poles was stuck a human head, the twelfth
alone remained unoccupied.
"Hail, granny!"
"Hail, Prince Ivan! wherefore have you come? Is it of your
own accord, or on compulsion?"
"I have come to earn from you a heroic steed."
"So be it, Prince, you won't have to serve a year with me, but
just three days. If you take good care of my mares, I'll give you
a heroic steed. But if you don't--why then you mustn't be
annoyed at finding your head stuck on top of the last pole up
there."
Prince Ivan agreed to these terms. The Baba Yaga gave
him food and drink, and bid him set about his business. But the
moment he had driven the mares afield, they cocked up their
tails, and away they tore across the meadows in all directions.
Before the Prince had time to look round, they were all out of
sight. Thereupon he began to weep and to disquiet himself, and
then he sat down upon a stone and went to sleep. But when the
sun was near its setting, the outlandish bird came flying up to him,
and awakened him saying:--
"Arise, Prince Ivan! the mares are at home now."
The Prince arose and returned home. There the Baba Yaga
was storming and raging at her mares, and shrieking:--
"Whatever did ye come home for?"
"How could we help coming home?" said they. "There
came flying birds from every part of the world, and all but pecked
our eyes out."
"Well, well! to-morrow don't go galloping over the meadows,
but disperse amid the thick forests."
Prince Ivan slept all night. In the morning the Baba Yaga
says to him:--
"Mind, Prince! if you don't take good care of the mares, if
you lose merely one of them--your bold head will be stuck on
that pole!"
He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up their
tails and dispersed among the thick forests. Again did the
Prince sit down on the stone, weep and weep, and then go to
sleep. The sun went down behind the forest. Up came running
the lioness.
"Arise, Prince Ivan! The mares are all collected."
Prince Ivan arose and went home. More than ever did the
Baba Yaga storm at her mares and shriek:--
"Whatever did ye come back home for?"
"How could we help coming back? Beasts of prey came
running at us from all parts of the world, all but tore us utterly
to pieces."
"Well, to-morrow run off into the blue sea."
Again did Prince Ivan sleep through the night. Next morning
the Baba Yaga sent him forth to watch the mares:
"If you don't take good care of them," says she, "your bold
head will be stuck on that pole!"
He drove the mares afield. Immediately they cocked up
their tails, disappeared from sight, and fled into the blue sea.
There they stood, up to their necks in water. Prince Ivan sat
down on the stone, wept, and fell asleep. But when the sun had
set behind the forest, up came flying a bee and said:--
"Arise, Prince! The mares are all collected. But when
you get home, don't let the Baba Yaga set eyes on you, but go
into the stable and hide behind the mangers. There you will
find a sorry colt rolling in the muck. Do you steal it, and at
the dead of night ride away from the house."
Prince Ivan arose, slipped into the stable, and lay down behind
the mangers, while the Baba Yaga was storming away at
her mares and shrieking:--
"Why did ye come back?"
"How could we help coming back? There came flying bees
in countless numbers from all parts of the world, and began
stinging us on all sides till the blood came!"
The Baba Yaga went to sleep. In the dead of the night
Prince Ivan stole the sorry colt, saddled it, jumped on its back,
and galloped away to the fiery river. When he came to that river
he waved the handkerchief three times on the right hand, and
suddenly, springing goodness knows whence, there hung across
the river, high in the air, a splendid bridge. The Prince rode
across the bridge and waved the handkerchief twice only on the
left hand; there remained across the river a thin--ever so thin
a bridge!
When the Baba Yaga got up in the morning, the sorry colt
was not to be seen! Off she set in pursuit. At full speed did
she fly in her iron mortar, urging it on with the pestle, sweeping
away her traces with the broom. She dashed up to the fiery
river, gave a glance, and said, "A capital bridge!" She drove
on to the bridge, but had only got half-way when the bridge
broke in two, and the Baba Yaga went flop into the river. There
truly did she meet with a cruel death!
Prince Ivan fattened up the colt in the green meadows, and
it turned into a wondrous steed. Then he rode to where Marya
Morevna was. She came running out, and flung herself on his
neck, crying:--
"By what means has God brought you back to life?"
"Thus and thus," says he. "Now come along with me."
"I am afraid, Prince Ivan! If Koshchei catches us, you will
be cut in pieces again."
"No, he won't catch us! I have a splendid heroic steed now;
it flies just like a bird." So they got on its back and rode
away.
Koshchei the Deathless was returning home when his horse
stumbled beneath him.
"What art thou stumbling for, sorry jade? dost thou scent
any ill?"
"Prince Ivan has come and carried off Marya Morevna."
"Can we catch them?"
"God knows! Prince Ivan has a horse now which is better
than I."
"Well, I can't stand it," says Koshchei the Deathless. "I
will pursue."
After a time he came up with Prince Ivan, lighted on the
ground, and was going to chop him up with his sharp sword.
But at that moment Prince Ivan's horse smote Koshchei the
Deathless full swing with its hoof, and cracked his skull, and the
Prince made an end of him with a club. Afterwards the Prince
heaped up a pile of wood, set fire to it, burnt Koshchei the
Deathless on the pyre, and scattered his ashes to the wind.
Then Marya Morevna mounted Koshchei's horse and Prince Ivan
got on his own, and they rode away to visit first the Raven, and
then the Eagle, and then the Falcon. Wherever they went they
met with a joyful greeting.
"Ah, Prince Ivan! why, we never expected to see you again.
Well, it wasn't for nothing that you gave yourself so much trouble.
Such a beauty as Marya Morevna one might search for all the
world over--and never find one like her!"
And so they visited, and they feasted; and afterwards they
went off to their own realm.[104]
With the Baba Yaga, the feminine counterpart of Koshchei and the
Snake, we shall deal presently, and the Waters of Life and Death will
find special notice elsewhere.[105] A magic water, which brings back
the dead to life, plays a prominent part in the folk-lore of all
lands, but the two waters, each performing one part only of the cure,
render very noteworthy the Slavonic stories in which they occur. The
Princess, Marya Morevna, who slaughters whole armies before she is
married, and then becomes mild and gentle, belongs to a class of
heroines who frequently occur both in the stories and in the "metrical
romances," and to whom may be applied the remarks made by Kemble with
reference to a similar Amazon.[106] In one of the variants of the
story the representative of Marya Morevna fights the hero before she
marries him.[107] The Bluebeard incident of the forbidden closet is
one which often occurs in the Skazkas, as we shall see further on; and
the same may be said about the gratitude of the Bird, Bee, and
Lioness.
The story of Immortal Koshchei is one of very frequent occurrence,
the different versions maintaining a unity of idea, but varying
considerably in detail. In one of them,[108] in which Koshchei's part
is played by a Snake, the hero's sisters are carried off by their
feathered admirers without his leave being asked--an omission for
which a full apology is afterwards made; in another, the history of
"Fedor Tugarin and Anastasia the Fair,"[109] the hero's three sisters
are wooed and won, not by the Falcon, the Eagle, and the Raven, but by
the Wind, the Hail, and the Thunder. He himself marries the terrible
heroine Anastasia the Fair, in the forbidden chamber of whose palace
he finds a snake "hung up by one of its ribs." He gives it a lift and
it gets free from its hook and flies away, carrying off Anastasia the
Fair. Fedor eventually finds her, escapes with her on a magic foal
which he obtains, thanks to the aid of grateful wolves, bees, and
crayfish, and destroys the snake by striking it "on the forehead" with
the stone which was destined to be its death. In a third version of
the story,[110] the hero finds in the forbidden chamber "Koshchei the
Deathless, in a cauldron amid flames, boiling in pitch." There he has
been, he declares, for fifteen years, having been lured there by the
beauty of Anastasia the Fair. In a fourth,[111] in which the hero's
three sisters marry three beggars, who turn out to be snakes with
twenty, thirty, and forty heads apiece, Koshchei is found in the
forbidden chamber, seated on a horse which is chained to a cauldron.
He begs the hero to unloose the horse, promising, in return, to save
him from three deaths.
[Into the mystery of the forbidden chamber I will not
enter fully at present. Suffice to say that there can
be little doubt as to its being the same as that in
which Bluebeard kept the corpses of his dead wives. In
the Russian, as well as in the Oriental stories, it is
generally the curiosity of a man, not of a woman,
which leads to the opening of the prohibited room. In
the West of Europe the fatal inquisitiveness is more
frequently ascribed to a woman. For parallels see the
German stories of "Marienkind," and "Fitchers Vogel."
(Grimm, _KM._, Nos. 3 and 46, also the notes in Bd.
iii. pp. 8, 76, 324.) Less familiar than these is,
probably, the story of "Die eisernen Stiefel" (Wolf's
"Deutsche Hausmaerchen," 1851, No. 19), in which the
hero opens a forbidden door--that of a
summer-house--and sees "deep down below him the earth,
and on the earth his father's palace," and is seized
by a sudden longing after his former home. The
Wallachian story of "The Immured Mother" (Schott, No.
2) resembles Grimm's "Marienkind" in many points. But
its forbidden chamber differs from that of the German
tale. In the latter the rash intruder sees "die
Dreieinigkeit im Feuer und Glanz sitzen;" in the
former, "the Holy Mother of God healing the wounds of
her Son, the Lord Christ." In the Neapolitan story of
"Le tre Corune" (Pentamerone, No. 36), the forbidden
chamber contains "three maidens, clothed all in gold,
sitting and seeming to slumber upon as many thrones"
(Liebrecht's translation, ii. 76). The Esthonian tale
of the "Wife-murderer" (Loewe's "Ehstnische Maerchen,"
No. 20) is remarkably--not to say suspiciously--like
that French story of Blue Beard which has so often
made our young blood run cold. Sister Anne is
represented, and so are the rescuing brothers, the
latter in the person of the heroine's old friend and
playmate, Toennis the goose-herd. Several very curious
Gaelic versions of the story are given by Mr. Campbell
("Tales of the West Highlands," No. 41, ii. 265-275).
Two of the three daughters of a poor widow look into a
forbidden chamber, find it "full of dead gentlewomen,"
get stained knee-deep in blood, and refuse to give a
drop of milk to a cat which offers its services. So
their heads are chopped off. The third daughter makes
friends with the cat, which licks off the tell-tale
blood, so she escapes detection. In a Greek story
(Hahn, ii. p. 197) the hero discovers in the
one-and-fortieth room of a castle belonging to a
Drakos, who had given him leave to enter forty only, a
magic horse, and before the door of the room he finds
a pool of gold in which he becomes gilded. In another
(Hahn, No. 15) a prince finds in the forbidden
fortieth a lake in which fairies of the swan-maiden
species are bathing. In a third (No. 45) the fortieth
room contains a golden horse and a golden dog which
assist their bold releaser. In a fourth (No. 68) it
imprisons "a fair maiden, shining like the sun," whom
the demon proprietor of the castle has hung up within
it by her hair.
As usual, all these stories are hard to understand.
But one of the most important of their Oriental
equivalents is perfectly intelligible. When Saktideva,
in the fifth book of the "Kathasaritsagara," comes
after long travel to the Golden City, and is welcomed
as her destined husband by its princess, she warns him
not to ascend the central terrace of her palace. Of
course he does so, and finds three chambers, in each
of which lies the lifeless form of a fair maiden.
After gazing at these seeming corpses, in one of which
he recognizes his first love, he approaches a horse
which is grazing beside a lake. The horse kicks him
into the water; he sinks deep--and comes up again in
his native land. The whole of the story is, towards
its termination, fully explained by one of its
principal characters--one of the four maidens whom
Saktideva simultaneously marries. With the version of
this romance in the "Arabian Nights" ("History of the
Third Royal Mendicant," Lane, i. 160-173), everyone is
doubtless acquainted. A less familiar story is that of
Kandarpaketu, in the second book of the "Hitopadesa,"
who lives happily for a time as the husband of the
beautiful semi-divine queen of the Golden City. At
last, contrary to her express commands, he ventures to
touch a picture of a Vidyadhari. In an instant the
pictured demigoddess gives him a kick which sends him
flying back into his own country.
For an explanation of the myth which lies at the root
of all these stories, see Cox's "Mythology of the
Aryan Nations," ii. 36, 330. See also Professor de
Gubernatis's "Zoological Mythology," i. 168.]
We will now take one of those versions of the story which describe how
Koshchei's death is brought about by the destruction of that
extraneous object on which his existence depends. The incident is one
which occupies a prominent place in the stories of this class current
in all parts of Europe and Asia, and its result is almost always the
same. But the means by which that result is brought about differ
considerably in different lands. In the Russian tales the "death" of
the Evil Being with whom the hero contends--the substance, namely, the
destruction of which involves his death--is usually the last of a
sequence of objects either identical with, or closely resembling,
those mentioned in the following story of--
KOSHCHEI THE DEATHLESS.[112]
In a certain country there once lived a king, and he had three
sons, all of them grown up. All of a sudden Koshchei the
Deathless carried off their mother. Then the eldest son craved
his father's blessing, that he might go and look for his mother.
His father gave him his blessing, and he went off and disappeared,
leaving no trace behind. The second son waited and waited,
then he too obtained his father's blessing--and he also disappeared.
Then the youngest son, Prince Ivan, said to his father,
"Father, give me your blessing, and let me go and look for my
mother."
But his father would not let him go, saying, "Your brothers
are no more; if you likewise go away, I shall die of grief."
"Not so, father. But if you bless me I shall go; and if you
do not bless me I shall go."
So his father gave him his blessing.
Prince Ivan went to choose a steed, but every one that he
laid his hand upon gave way under it. He could not find a steed
to suit him, so he wandered with drooping brow along the road
and about the town. Suddenly there appeared an old woman,
who asked:
"Why hangs your brow so low, Prince Ivan?"
"Be off, old crone," he replied. "If I put you on one of my
hands, and give it a slap with the other, there'll be a little wet
left, that's all."[113]
The old woman ran down a by-street, came to meet him a
second time, and said:
"Good day, Prince Ivan! why hangs your brow so low?"
Then he thought:
"Why does this old woman ask me? Mightn't she be of
use to me?"--and he replied:
"Well, mother! because I cannot get myself a good steed."
"Silly fellow!" she cried, "to suffer, and not to ask the old
woman's help! Come along with me."
She took him to a hill, showed him a certain spot, and said:
"Dig up that piece of ground."
Prince Ivan dug it up and saw an iron plate with twelve padlocks
on it. He immediately broke off the padlocks, tore open
a door, and followed a path leading underground. There,
fastened with twelve chains, stood a heroic steed which evidently
heard the approaching steps of a rider worthy to mount it, and
so began to neigh and to struggle, until it broke all twelve of its
chains. Then Prince Ivan put on armor fit for a hero, and
bridled the horse, and saddled it with a Circassian saddle. And
he gave the old woman money, and said to her:
"Forgive me, mother, and bless me!" then he mounted his
steed and rode away.
Long time did he ride; at last he came to a mountain--a
tremendously high mountain, and so steep that it was utterly
impossible to get up it. Presently his brothers came that way.
They all greeted each other, and rode on together, till they came
to an iron rock[114] a hundred and fifty poods in weight, and on it
was this inscription, "Whosoever will fling this rock against
the mountain, to him will a way be opened." The two elder
brothers were unable to lift the rock, but Prince Ivan at the
first try flung it against the mountain--and immediately there
appeared a ladder leading up the mountain side.
Prince Ivan dismounted, let some drops of blood run from
his little finger into a glass, gave it to his brothers, and said:
"If the blood in this glass turns black, tarry here no longer:
that will mean that I am about to die." Then he took leave of
them and went his way.
He mounted the hill. What did not he see there? All
sorts of trees were there, all sorts of fruits, all sorts of birds!
Long did Prince Ivan walk on; at last he came to a house, a
huge house! In it lived a king's daughter who had been carried
off by Koshchei the Deathless. Prince Ivan walked round the
enclosure, but could not see any doors. The king's daughter
saw there was some one there, came on to the balcony, and
called out to him, "See, there is a chink in the enclosure; touch
it with your little finger, and it will become a door."
What she said turned out to be true. Prince Ivan went into
the house, and the maiden received him kindly, gave him to eat
and to drink, and then began to question him. He told her how
he had come to rescue his mother from Koshchei the Deathless.
Then the maiden said:
"It will be difficult for you to get at your mother, Prince
Ivan. You see, Koshchei is not mortal: he will kill you. He
often comes here to see me. There is his sword, fifty poods in
weight. Can you lift it? If so, you may venture to go."
Not only did Prince Ivan lift the sword, but he tossed it
high in the air. So he went on his way again.
By-and-by he came to a second house. He knew now where
to look for the door, and he entered in. There was his mother.
With tears did they embrace each other.
Here also did he try his strength, heaving aloft a ball which
weighed some fifteen hundred poods. The time came for
Koshchei the Deathless to arrive. The mother hid away her
son. Suddenly Koshchei the Deathless entered the house and
cried out, "Phou, Phou! A Russian bone[115] one usen't to hear
with one's ears, or see with one's eyes, but now a Russian bone
has come to the house! Who has been with you? Wasn't it
your son?"
"What are you talking about, God bless you! You've been
flying through Russia, and got the air up your nostrils, that's
why you fancy it's here," answered Prince Ivan's mother, and
then she drew nigh to Koshchei, addressed him in terms of
affection, asked him about one thing and another, and at last
said:
"Whereabouts is your death, O Koshchei?"
"My death," he replied, "is in such a place. There stands
an oak, and under the oak is a casket, and in the casket is a
hare, and in the hare is a duck, and in the duck is an egg, and
in the egg is my death."
Having thus spoken, Koshchei the Deathless tarried there a
little longer, and then flew away.
The time came--Prince Ivan received his mother's blessing,
and went to look for Koshchei's death. He went on his way a
long time without eating or drinking; at last he felt mortally
hungry, and thought, "If only something would come my way!"
Suddenly there appeared a young wolf; he determined to kill
it. But out from a hole sprang the she wolf, and said, "Don't
hurt my little one; I'll do you a good turn." Very good! Prince
Ivan let the young wolf go. On he went and saw a crow.
"Stop a bit," he thought, "here I shall get a mouthful." He
loaded his gun and was going to shoot, but the crow exclaimed,
"Don't hurt me; I'll do you a good turn."
Prince Ivan thought the matter over and spared the crow.
Then he went farther, and came to a sea and stood still on the
shore. At that moment a young pike suddenly jumped out of
the water and fell on the strand. He caught hold of it, and
thought--for he was half dead with hunger--"Now I shall have
something to eat." All of a sudden appeared a pike and said,
"Don't hurt my little one, Prince Ivan; I'll do you a good turn."
And so he spared the little pike also.
But how was he to cross the sea? He sat down on the shore
and meditated. But the pike knew quite well what he was
thinking about, and laid herself right across the sea. Prince
Ivan walked along her back, as if he were going over a bridge,
and came to the oak where Koshchei's death was. There he
found the casket and opened it--out jumped the hare and ran
away. How was the hare to be stopped?
Prince Ivan was terribly frightened at having let the hare
escape, and gave himself up to gloomy thoughts; but a wolf,
the one he had refrained from killing, rushed after the hare,
caught it, and brought it to Prince Ivan. With great delight
he seized the hare, cut it open--and had such a fright! Out
popped the duck and flew away. He fired after it, but shot
all on one side, so again he gave himself up to his thoughts.
Suddenly there appeared the crow with her little crows, and set
off after the duck, and caught it, and brought it to Prince Ivan.
The Prince was greatly pleased and got hold of the egg. Then
he went on his way. But when he came to the sea, he began
washing the egg, and let it drop into the water. However was
he to get it out of the water? an immeasurable depth! Again
the Prince gave himself up to dejection.
Suddenly the sea became violently agitated, and the pike
brought him the egg. Moreover it stretched itself across the
sea. Prince Ivan walked along it to the other side, and then
he set out again for his mother's. When he got there, they
greeted each other lovingly, and then she hid him again as before.
Presently in flew Koshchei the Deathless and said:
"Phoo, Phoo! No Russian bone can the ear hear nor the
eye see, but there's a smell of Russia here!"
"What are you talking about, Koshchei? There's no one
with me," replied Prince Ivan's mother.
A second time spake Koshchei and said, "I feel rather unwell."
Then Prince Ivan began squeezing the egg, and thereupon
Koshchei the Deathless bent double. At last Prince Ivan came
out from his hiding-place, held up the egg and said, "There is
your death, O Koshchei the Deathless!"
Then Koshchei fell on his knees before him, saying, "Don't
kill me, Prince Ivan! Let's be friends! All the world will lie
at our feet."
But these words had no weight with Prince Ivan. He
smashed the egg, and Koshchei the Deathless died.
Ivan and his mother took all they wanted and started homewards.
On their way they came to where the King's daughter
was whom Ivan had seen on his way, and they took her with
them too. They went further, and came to the hill where Ivan's
brothers were still waiting for him. Then the maiden said,
"Prince Ivan! do go back to my house. I have forgotten a
marriage robe, a diamond ring, and a pair of seamless shoes."
He consented to do so, but in the mean time he let his mother
go down the ladder, as well as the Princess--whom it had been
settled he was to marry when they got home. They were received
by his brothers, who then set to work and cut away the ladder,
so that he himself would not be able to get down. And they
used such threats to his mother and the Princess, that they
made them promise not to tell about Prince Ivan when they
got home. And after a time they reached their native country.
Their father was delighted at seeing his wife and his two sons,
but still he was grieved about the other one, Prince Ivan.
But Prince Ivan returned to the home of his betrothed, and
got the wedding dress, and the ring, and the seamless shoes.
Then he came back to the mountain and tossed the ring from
one hand to the other. Immediately there appeared twelve
strong youths, who said:
"What are your commands?"
"Carry me down from this hill."
The youths immediately carried him down. Prince Ivan put
the ring on his finger--they disappeared.
Then he went on to his own country, and arrived at the city
in which his father and brothers lived.
There he took up his quarters in the house of an old woman,
and asked her:
"What news is there, mother, in your country?"
"What news, lad? You see our queen was kept in prison
by Koshchei the Deathless. Her three sons went to look for
her, and two of them found her and came back, but the third,
Prince Ivan, has disappeared, and no one knows where he is.
The King is very unhappy about him. And those two Princes
and their mother brought a certain Princess back with them;
and the eldest son wants to marry her, but she declares he must
fetch her her betrothal ring first, or get one made just as she
wants it. But although they have made a public proclamation
about it, no one has been found to do it yet."
"Well, mother, go and tell the King that you will make one.
I'll manage it for you," said Prince Ivan.
So the old woman immediately dressed herself, and hastened
to the King, and said:
"Please, your Majesty, I will make the wedding ring."
"Make it, then, make it, mother! Such people as you are
welcome," said the king. "But if you don't make it, off goes
your head!"
The old woman was dreadfully frightened; she ran home,
and told Prince Ivan to set to work at the ring. But Ivan lay
down to sleep, troubling himself very little about it. The ring
was there all the time. So he only laughed at the old woman,
but she was trembling all over, and crying, and scolding him.
"As for you," she said, "you're out of the scrape; but you've
done for me, fool that I was!"
The old woman cried and cried until she fell asleep. Early in
the morning Prince Ivan got up and awakened her, saying:
"Get up, mother, and go out! take them the ring, and mind,
don't accept more than one ducat for it. If anyone asks who
made the ring, say you made it yourself; don't say a word about
me."
The old woman was overjoyed and carried off the ring. The
bride was delighted with it.
"Just what I wanted," she said. So they gave the old woman
a dish full of gold, but she took only one ducat.
"Why do you take so little?" said the king.
"What good would a lot do me, your Majesty? if I want some
more afterwards, you'll give it me."
Having said this the old woman went away.
Time passed, and the news spread abroad that the bride had
told her lover to fetch her her wedding-dress or else to get one
made, just such a one as she wanted. Well, the old woman,
thanks to Prince Ivan's aid, succeeded in this matter too, and
took her the wedding-dress. And afterwards she took her the
seamless shoes also, and would only accept one ducat each time
and always said that she had made the things herself.
Well, the people heard that there would be a wedding at the
palace on such-and-such a day. And the day they all anxiously
awaited came at last. Then Prince Ivan said to the old woman:
"Look here, mother! when the bride is just going to be
married, let me know."
The old woman didn't let the time go by unheeded.
Then Ivan immediately put on his princely raiment, and went
out of the house.
"See, mother, this is what I'm really like!" says he.
The old woman fell at his feet.
"Pray forgive me for scolding you," said she.
"God be with you," said he.[116]
So he went into the church and, finding his brothers had not
yet arrived, he stood up alongside of the bride and got married
to her. Then he and she were escorted back to the palace, and
as they went along, the proper bridegroom, his eldest brother,
met them. But when he saw that his bride and Prince Ivan were
being escorted home together, he turned back again ignominiously.
As to the king, he was delighted to see Prince Ivan again,
and when he had learnt all about the treachery of his brothers,
after the wedding feast had been solemnized, he banished the
two elder princes, but he made Ivan heir to the throne.
In the story of "Prince Arikad,"[117] the Queen-Mother is carried off
by the Whirlwind,[118] instead of by Koshchei. Her youngest son climbs
the hill by the aid of iron hooks, kills Vikhor, and lowers his mother
and three other ladies whom he has rescued, by means of a rope made of
strips of hide. This his brothers cut to prevent him from
descending.[119] They then oblige the ladies to swear not to betray
them, the taking of the oath being accompanied by the eating of
earth.[120] The same formality is observed in another story in which
an oath of a like kind is exacted.[121]
The sacred nature of such an obligation may account for the singular
reticence so often maintained, under similar circumstances, in stories
of this class.
In one of the descriptions of Koshchei's death, he is said to be
killed by a blow on the forehead inflicted by the mysterious egg--that
last link in the magic chain by which his life is darkly bound.[122]
In another version of the same story, but told of a Snake, the fatal
blow is struck by a small stone found in the yolk of an egg, which is
inside a duck, which is inside a hare, which is inside a stone, which
is on an island [_i.e._, the fabulous island Buyan].[123] In another
variant[124] Koshchei attempts to deceive his fair captive, pretending
that his "death" resides in a besom, or in a fence, both of which she
adorns with gold in token of her love. Then he confesses that his
"death" really lies in an egg, inside a duck, inside a log which is
floating on the sea. Prince Ivan gets hold of the egg and shifts it
from one hand to the other. Koshchei rushes wildly from side to side
of the room. At last the prince breaks the egg. Koshchei falls on the
floor and dies.
This heart-breaking episode occurs in the folk-tales of many
lands.[125] It may not be amiss to trace it through some of its forms.
In a Norse story[126] a Giant's heart lies in an egg, inside a duck,
which swims in a well, in a church, on an island. With this may be
compared another Norse tale,[127] in which a _Haugebasse_, or Troll,
who has carried off a princess, informs her that he and all his
companions will burst asunder when above them passes "the grain of
sand that lies under the ninth tongue in the ninth head" of a certain
dead dragon. The grain of sand is found and brought, and the result is
that the whole of the monstrous brood of Trolls or _Haugebasser_ is
instantaneously destroyed. In a Transylvanian-Saxon story[128] a
Witch's "life" is a light which burns in an egg, inside a duck, which
swims on a pond, inside a mountain, and she dies when it is put out.
In the Bohemian story of "The Sun-horse"[129] a Warlock's "strength"
lies in an egg, which is within a duck, which is within a stag, which
is under a tree. A Seer finds the egg and sucks it. Then the Warlock
becomes as weak as a child, "for all his strength had passed into the
Seer." In the Gaelic story of "The Sea-Maiden,"[130] the "great beast
with three heads" which haunts the loch cannot be killed until an egg
is broken, which is in the mouth of a trout, which springs out of a
crow, which flies out of a hind, which lives on an island in the
middle of the loch. In a Modern Greek tale the life of a dragon or
other baleful being comes to an end simultaneously with the lives of
three pigeons which are shut up in an all but inaccessible
chamber,[131] or inclosed within a wild boar.[132] Closely connected
with the Greek tale is the Servian story of the dragon[133] whose
"strength" (_snaga_) lies in a sparrow, which is inside a dove, inside
a hare, inside a boar, inside a dragon (_ajdaya_) which is in a lake,
near a royal city. The hero of the story fights the dragon of the
lake, and after a long struggle, being invigorated at the critical
moment by a kiss which the heroine imprints on his forehead--he flings
it high in the air. When it falls to the ground it breaks in pieces,
and out comes the boar. Eventually the hero seizes the sparrow and
wrings its neck, but not before he has obtained from it the charm
necessary for the recovery of his missing brothers and a number of
other victims of the dragon's cruelty.
To these European tales a very interesting parallel is afforded by
the Indian story of "Punchkin,"[134] whose life depends on that of a
parrot, which is in a cage placed beneath the lowest of six jars of
water, piled one on the other, and standing in the midst of a desolate
country covered with thick jungle. When the parrot's legs and wings
are pulled off, Punchkin loses his legs and arms; and when its neck is
wrung, his head twists round and he dies.
One of the strangest of the stories which turn on this idea of an
external heart is the Samoyed tale,[135] in which seven brothers are
in the habit, every night, of taking out their hearts and sleeping
without them. A captive damsel whose mother they have killed, receives
the extracted hearts and hangs them on the tent-pole, where they
remain till the following morning. One night her brother contrives to
get the hearts into his possession. Next morning he takes them into
the tent, where he finds the brothers at the point of death. In vain
do they beg for their hearts, which he flings on the floor. "And as he
flings down the hearts the brothers die."
The legend to which I am now about to refer will serve as a proof of
the venerable antiquity of the myth from which the folk-tales, which
have just been quoted, appear to have sprung. A papyrus, which is
supposed to be "of the age of the nineteenth dynasty, about B.C.
1300," has preserved an Egyptian tale about two brothers. The younger
of these, Satou, leaves the elder, Anepou (Anubis) and retires to the
Valley of the Acacia. But, before setting off, Satou states that he
shall take his heart and place it "in the flowers of the acacia-tree,"
so that, if the tree is cut down, his heart will fall to the ground
and he will die. Having given Anepou instructions what to do in such a
case, he seeks the valley. There he hunts wild animals by day, and at
night he sleeps under the acacia-tree on which his heart rests. But at
length Noum, the Creator, forms a wife for him, and all the other gods
endow her with gifts. To this Egyptian Pandora Satou confides the
secret of his heart. One day a tress of her perfumed hair floats down
the river, and is taken to the King of Egypt. He determines to make
its owner his queen, and she, like Rhodope or Cinderella, is sought
for far and wide. When she has been found and brought to the king, she
recommends him to have the acacia cut down, so as to get rid of her
lawful husband. Accordingly the tree is cut down, the heart falls, and
Satou dies.
About this time Anepou sets out to pay his long-lost brother a visit.
Finding him dead, he searches for his heart, but searches in vain for
three years. In the fourth year, however, it suddenly becomes desirous
of returning to Egypt, and says, "I will leave this celestial sphere."
Next day Anepou finds it under the acacia, and places it in a vase
which contains some mystic fluid. When the heart has become saturated
with the moisture, the corpse shudders and opens its eyes. Anepou
pours the rest of the fluid down its throat, the heart returns to its
proper place, and Satou is restored to life.[136]
In one of the Skazkas, a _volshebnitsa_ or enchantress is introduced,
whose "death," like that of Koshchei, is spoken of as something
definite and localized. A prince has loved and lost a princess, who is
so beautiful that no man can look at her without fainting. Going in
search of her, he comes to the home of an enchantress, who invites him
to tea and gives him leave to inspect her house. As he wanders about
he comes to a cellar in which "he sees that beautiful one whom he
loves, in fire." She tells him her love for him has brought her there;
and he learns that there is no hope of freeing her unless he can find
out "where lies the death of the enchantress." So that evening he asks
his hostess about it, and she replies:
"In a certain lake stands a blue rose-tree. It is in a deep place, and
no man can reach unto it. My death is there."
He sets out in search of it, and, aided by a magic ring, reaches the
lake, "and sees there the blue rose-tree, and around it a blue
forest." After several failures, he succeeds in plucking up the
rose-tree by the roots, whereupon the enchantress straightway sickens.
He returns to her house, finds her at the point of death, and throws
the rose-bush into the cellar where his love is crying, "Behold her
death!" and immediately the whole building shakes to its
foundations--"and becomes an island, on which are people who had been
sitting in Hell, and who offer up thanks to Prince Ivan."[137]
In another Russian story,[138] a prince is grievously tormented by a
witch who has got hold of his heart, and keeps it perpetually seething
in a magic cauldron. In a third,[139] a "Queen-Maiden" falls in love
with the young Ivan, and, after being betrothed to him, would fain
take him away to her own land and marry him. But his stepmother throws
him into a magic slumber, and the Queen-Maiden has to return home
without him. When he awakes, and learns that she has gone, he sorrows
greatly, and sets out in search of her. At last he learns from a
friendly witch that his betrothed no longer cares for him, "her love
is hidden far away." It seems "that on the other side of the ocean
stands an oak, and on the oak a coffer, and in the coffer a hare, and
in the hare a duck, and in the duck an egg, and in the egg the love of
the Queen-Maiden." Ivan gets possession of the egg, and the friendly
witch contrives to have it placed before the Queen-Maiden at dinner.
She eats it, and immediately her love for Ivan returns in all its
pristine force. He appears, and she, overjoyed, carries him off to her
own land and there marries him.
* * * * *
After this digression we will now return to our Snakes. All the
monstrous forms which figure in the stories we have just been
considering appear to be merely different species of the great serpent
family. Such names as Koshchei, Chudo Yudo, Usuinya, and the like,
seem to admit of exchange at the will of the story-teller with that of
Zmei Goruinuich, the many-headed Snake, who in Russian storyland is
represented as the type of all that is evil. But in the actual Russia
of to-day, snakes bear by no means so bad a character. Their presence
in a cottage is considered a good omen by the peasants, who leave out
milk for them to drink, and who think that to kill such visitors would
be a terrible sin.[140] This is probably a result of some remembrance
of a religious cultus paid to the household gods under the form of
snakes, such as existed of old, according to Kromer, in Poland and
Lithuania. The following story is more in keeping with such ideas as
these, than with those which are expressed in the tales about Koshchei
and his kin.
THE WATER SNAKE.[141]
There was once an old woman who had a daughter; and her
daughter went down to the pond one day to bathe with the
other girls. They all stripped off their shifts, and went into the
water. Then there came a snake out of the water, and glided on
to the daughter's shift. After a time the girls all came out, and
began to put on their shifts, and the old woman's daughter wanted
to put on hers, but there was the snake lying on it. She tried
to drive him away, but there he stuck and would not move. Then
the snake said:
"If you'll marry me, I'll give you back your shift."
Now she wasn't at all inclined to marry him, but the other
girls said:
"As if it were possible for you to be married to him! Say
you will!" So she said, "Very well, I will." Then the snake
glided off from the shift, and went straight into the water. The
girl dressed and went home. And as soon as she got there,
she said to her mother,
"Mammie, mammie, thus and thus, a snake got upon my
shift, and says he, 'Marry me or I won't let you have your shift;'
and I said, 'I will.'"
"What nonsense are you talking, you little fool! as if one
could marry a snake!"
And so they remained just as they were, and forgot all about
the matter.
A week passed by, and one day they saw ever so many snakes,
a huge troop of them, wriggling up to their cottage. "Ah,
mammie, save me, save me!" cried the girl, and her mother
slammed the door and barred the entrance as quickly as possible.
The snakes would have rushed in at the door, but the door was
shut; they would have rushed into the passage, but the passage
was closed. Then in a moment they rolled themselves into a
ball, flung themselves at the window, smashed it to pieces, and
glided in a body into the room. The girl got upon the stove, but
they followed her, pulled her down, and bore her out of the room
and out of doors. Her mother accompanied her, crying like
anything.
They took the girl down to the pond, and dived right into the
water with her. And there they all turned into men and women.
The mother remained for some time on the dike, wailed a little,
and then went home.
Three years went by. The girl lived down there, and had
two children, a son and a daughter. Now she often entreated
her husband to let her go to see her mother. So at last one day
he took her up to the surface of the water, and brought her
ashore. But she asked him before leaving him,
"What am I to call out when I want you?"
"Call out to me, 'Osip, [Joseph] Osip, come here!' and I
will come," he replied.
Then he dived under water again, and she went to her
mother's, carrying her little girl on one arm, and leading her boy
by the hand. Out came her mother to meet her--was so
delighted to see her!
"Good day, mother!" said the daughter.
"Have you been doing well while you were living down
there?" asked her mother.
"Very well indeed, mother. My life there is better than
yours here."
They sat down for a bit and chatted. Her mother got
dinner ready for her, and she dined.
"What's your husband's name?" asked her mother.
"Osip," she replied.
"And how are you to get home?"
"I shall go to the dike, and call out, 'Osip, Osip, come
here!' and he'll come."
"Lie down, daughter, and rest a bit," said the mother.
So the daughter lay down and went to sleep. The mother
immediately took an axe and sharpened it, and went down to the
dike with it. And when she came to the dike, she began calling
out,
"Osip, Osip, come here!"
No sooner had Osip shown his head than the old woman
lifted her axe and chopped it off. And the water in the pond
became dark with blood.
The old woman went home. And when she got home her
daughter awoke.
"Ah! mother," says she, "I'm getting tired of being here; I'll
go home."
"Do sleep here to-night, daughter; perhaps you won't have
another chance of being with me."
So the daughter stayed and spent the night there. In the
morning she got up and her mother got breakfast ready for her;
she breakfasted, and then she said good-bye to her mother and
went away, carrying her little girl in her arms, while her boy
followed behind her. She came to the dike, and called out:
"Osip, Osip, come here!"
She called and called, but he did not come.
Then she looked into the water, and there she saw a head
floating about. Then she guessed what had happened.
"Alas! my mother has killed him!" she cried.
There on the bank she wept and wailed. And then to her
girl she cried:
"Fly about as a wren, henceforth and evermore!"
And to her boy she cried:
"Fly about as a nightingale, my boy, henceforth and evermore!"
"But I," she said, "will fly about as a cuckoo, crying
'Cuckoo!' henceforth and evermore!"
[Stories about serpent-spouses are by no means
uncommon, but I can find no parallel to the above so
far as the termination is concerned. Benfey quotes or
refers to a great number of the transformation tales
in which a husband or a wife appears at times in the
form of a snake (Panchatantra, i. pp. 254-7 266-7).
Sometimes, when a husband of this kind has doffed his
serpent's skin, his wife seizes it, and throws it into
the fire. Her act generally proves to be to her
advantage, as well as to his, but not always. On a
story of this kind was doubtless founded the legend
handed down to us by Appuleius of Cupid and Psyche.
Among its wildest versions are the Albanian
"Schlangenkind" (Hahn, No. 100), a very similar
Roumanian tale (Ausland 1857, No. 43, quoted by
Benfey), the Wallachian Trandafiru (Schott, No. 23, in
which the husband is a pumpkin (_Kuerbiss_) by day),
and the second of the Servian tales of the
Snake-Husband (Vuk Karajich, No. 10).]
The snakes which figure in this weird story, the termination of which
is so unusually tragic, bear a strong resemblance to the Indian Nagas,
the inhabitants of Patala or the underground world, serpents which
take at will the human shape and often mix with mortals. They may,
also, be related to the mermen and mermaids of the sea-coasts, and to
the similar beings with which, under various names, tradition peoples
the lakes, and streams, and fountains of Europe. The South-Russian
peasantry have from immemorial times maintained a firm belief in the
existence of water-nymphs, called Rusalkas, closely resembling the
Nereids of Modern Greece, the female Nixies of the North of Europe,
and throughout the whole of Russia, at least in outlying districts,
there still lingers a sort of cultus of certain male water-sprites who
bear the name of Vodyanies, and who are almost identical with the
beings who haunt the waters of various countries--such as the German
_Nix_, the Swedish _Nek_, the Finnish _Naekke_, etc.[142]
In the Skazkas we find frequent mention of beauteous maidens who
usually live beneath the wave, but who can transform themselves into
birds and fly wherever they please. We may perhaps be allowed to
designate them by the well-known name of Swan-Maidens, though they do
not always assume, together with their plumage-robes, the form of
swans, but sometimes appear as geese, ducks, spoonbills, or aquatic
birds of some other species. They are, for the most part, the
daughters of the Morskoi Tsar, or Water King--a being who plays an
important part in Slavonic popular fiction. He is of a somewhat
shadowy form, and his functions are not very clearly defined, for the
part he usually fills is sometimes allotted to Koshchei or to the
Snake, but the stories generally represent him as a patriarchal
monarch, living in subaqueous halls of light and splendor, whence he
emerges at times to seize a human victim. It is generally a boy whom
he gets into his power, and who eventually obtains the hand of one of
his daughters, and escapes with her to the upper world, though not
without considerable difficulty. Such are, for instance, the leading
incidents in the following skazka, many features of which closely
resemble those of various well-known West-European folk-tales.
THE WATER KING AND VASILISSA THE WISE.[143]
Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen, and the King
was very fond of hunting and shooting. Well one day he went
out hunting, and he saw an Eaglet sitting on an oak. But just
as he was going to shoot at it the Eaglet began to entreat him,
crying:--
"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you; some time or other I shall be of service to you."
The King reflected awhile and said, "How can you be of use
to me?" and again he was going to shoot.
Then the Eaglet said to him a second time:--
"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you; some time or other I shall be of use to you."
The King thought and thought, but couldn't imagine a bit the
more what use the Eaglet could be to him, and so he determined
to shoot it. Then a third time the Eaglet exclaimed:--
"Don't shoot me, my lord King! better take me home with
you and feed me for three years. Some time or other I shall be
of service to you!"
The King relented, took the Eaglet home with him, and fed
it for a year, for two years. But it ate so much that it devoured
all his cattle. The King had neither a cow nor a sheep left. At
length the Eagle said:--
"Now let me go free!"
The King set it at liberty; the Eagle began trying its wings.
But no, it could not fly yet! So it said:--
"Well, my lord King! you have fed me two years; now,
whether you like it or no, feed me for one year more. Even if
you have to borrow, at all events feed me; you won't lose by it!"
Well, this is what the King did. He borrowed cattle from
everywhere round about, and he fed the Eagle for the space of a
whole year, and afterwards he set it at liberty. The Eagle rose
ever so high, flew and flew, then dropt down again to the earth
and said:--
"Now then, my lord King! Take a seat on my back! we'll
have a fly together?"
The King got on the Eagle's back. Away they went flying.
Before very long they reached the blue sea. Then the Eagle
shook off the King, who fell into the sea, and sank up to his
knees. But the Eagle didn't let him drown! it jerked him on to
its wing, and asked:--
"How now, my lord King! were you frightened, perchance?"
"I was," said the King; "I thought I was going to be drowned
outright!"
Again they flew and flew till they reached another sea. The
Eagle shook off the King right in the middle of the sea; the King
sank up to his girdle. The Eagle jerked him on to its wing
again, and asked:--
"Well, my lord King, were you frightened, perchance?"
"I was," he replied, "but all the time I thought, 'Perhaps,
please God, the creature will pull me out.'"
Away they flew again, flew, and arrived at a third sea. The
Eagle dropped the King into a great gulf, so that he sank right
up to his neck. And the third time the Eagle jerked him on to
its wing, and asked:--
"Well, my lord King! Were you frightened, perchance?"
"I was," says the King, "but still I said to myself, 'Perhaps
it will pull me out.'"
"Well, my lord King! now you have felt what the fear of
death is like! What I have done was in payment of an old score.
Do you remember my sitting on an oak, and your wanting to
shoot me? Three times you were going to let fly, but I kept on
entreating you not to shoot, saying to myself all the time, 'Perhaps
he won't kill me; perhaps he'll relent and take me home
with him!'"
Afterwards they flew beyond thrice nine lands: long, long
did they fly. Says the Eagle, "Look, my lord King! what is
above us and what below us?"
The King looked.
"Above us," he says, "is the sky, below us the earth."
"Look again; what is on the right hand and on the left?"
"On the right hand is an open plain, on the left stands a
house."
"We will fly thither," said the Eagle; "my youngest sister
lives there."
They went straight into the courtyard. The sister came out
to meet them, received her brother cordially, and seated him at
the oaken table. But on the King she would not so much as
look, but left him outside, loosed greyhounds, and set them at
him. The Eagle was exceedingly wroth, jumped up from table,
seized the King, and flew away with him again.
Well, they flew and flew. Presently the Eagle said to the
King, "Look round; what is behind us?"
The King turned his head, looked, and said, "Behind us is a
red house."
"That is the house of my youngest sister--on fire, because
she did not receive you, but set greyhounds at you."
They flew and flew. Again the Eagle asked:
"Look again, my lord King; what is above us, and what
below us?"
"Above us is the sky, below us the earth."
"Look and see what is on the right hand and on the left."
"On the right is the open plain, on the left there stands a
house."
"There lives my second sister; we'll go and pay her a visit."
They stopped in a wide courtyard. The second sister received
her brother cordially, and seated him at the oaken table; but the
King was left outside, and she loosed greyhounds, and set them
at him. The Eagle flew into a rage, jumped up from table,
caught up the King, and flew away farther with him. They flew
and flew. Says the Eagle:
"My lord King! look round! what is behind us?"
The King looked back.
"There stands behind us a red house."
"That's my second sister's house burning!" said the Eagle.
"Now we'll fly to where my mother and my eldest sister live."
Well, they flew there. The Eagle's mother and eldest sister
were delighted to see them, and received the King with cordiality
and respect.
"Now, my lord King," said the Eagle, "tarry awhile with
us, and afterwards I will give you a ship, and will repay you for
all I ate in your house, and then--God speed you home again!"
So the Eagle gave the King a ship and two coffers--the one
red, the other green--and said:
"Mind now! don't open the coffers until you get home.
Then open the red coffer in the back court, and the green coffer
in the front court."
The King took the coffers, parted with the Eagle, and sailed
along the blue sea. Presently he came to a certain island, and
there his ship stopped. He landed on the shore, and began
thinking about the coffers, and wondering whatever there could
be in them, and why the Eagle had told him not to open them.
He thought and thought, and at last couldn't hold out any more--he
longed so awfully to know all about it. So he took the red
coffer, set it on the ground, and opened it--and out of it came
such a quantity of different kinds of cattle that there was no
counting them: the island had barely room enough for them.
When the King saw that, he became exceedingly sorrowful,
and began to weep and therewithal to say:
"What is there now left for me to do? how shall I get all
this cattle back into so little a coffer?"
Lo! there came out of the water a man--came up to him, and
asked:
"Wherefore are you weeping so bitterly, O lord King?"
"How can I help weeping!" answers the King. "How
shall I be able to get all this great herd into so small a coffer?"
"If you like, I will set your mind at rest. I will pack up all
your cattle for you. But on one condition only. You must give
me whatever you have at home that you don't know of."
The King reflected.
"Whatever is there at home that I don't know of?" says he.
"I fancy I know about everything that's there."
He reflected, and consented. "Pack them up," says he. "I
will give you whatever I have at home that I know nothing
about."
So that man packed away all his cattle for him in the coffer.
The King went on board ship and sailed away homewards.
When he reached home, then only did he learn that a son
had been born to him. And he began kissing the child, caressing
it, and at the same time bursting into such floods of tears!
"My lord King!" says the Queen, "tell me wherefore thou
droppest bitter tears?"
"For joy!" he replies.
He was afraid to tell her the truth, that the Prince would
have to be given up. Afterwards he went into the back court,
opened the red coffer, and thence issued oxen and cows, sheep
and rams; there were multitudes of all sorts of cattle, so that
all the sheds and pastures were crammed full. He went into
the front court, opened the green coffer, and there appeared a
great and glorious garden. What trees there were in it to be
sure! The King was so delighted that he forgot all about
giving up his son.
Many years went by. One day the King took it into his
head to go for a stroll, and he came to a river. At that moment
the same man he had seen before came out of the water, and
said:
"You've pretty soon become forgetful, lord King! Think a
little! surely you're in my debt!"
The King returned home full of grief, and told all the truth to
the Queen and the Prince. They all mourned and wept together,
but they decided that there was no help for it, the Prince must
be given up. So they took him to the mouth of the river and
there they left him alone.
The Prince looked around, saw a footpath, and followed
trusting God would lead him somewhere. He walked and walked,
and came to a dense forest: in the forest stood a hut, in the
hut lived a Baba Yaga.
"Suppose I go in," thought the Prince, and went in.
"Good day, Prince!" said the Baba Yaga. "Are you seeking
work or shunning work?"
"Eh, granny! First give me to eat and to drink, and then ask
me questions."
So she gave him food and drink, and the Prince told her
everything as to whither he was going and with what purpose.
Then the Baba Yaga said: "Go, my child, to the sea-shore;
there will fly thither twelve spoonbills, which will turn into fair
maidens, and begin bathing; do you steal quietly up and lay
your hands on the eldest maiden's shift. When you have come
to terms with her, go to the Water King, and there will meet
you on the way Obedalo and Opivalo, and also Moroz Treskum[144]--take
all of them with you; they will do you good service."
The Prince bid the Yaga farewell, went to the appointed spot
on the sea-shore, and hid behind the bushes. Presently twelve
spoonbills came flying thither, struck the moist earth, turned
into fair maidens, and began to bathe. The Prince stole the
eldest one's shift, and sat down behind a bush--didn't budge
an inch. The girls finished bathing and came out on the shore:
eleven of them put on their shifts, turned into birds, and
flew away home. There remained only the eldest, Vasilissa the
Wise. She began praying and begging the good youth: