Once upon a time there was a merchant who had three daughters: it so
happened he had one day to go to strange countries to buy wares, and so
he asked his daughters, “What shall I bring you from beyond the seas?”
The eldest asked for a new coat, and the next one also asked for a new
coat; but the youngest one only took a sheet of paper and sketched a
flower on it: “Bring me, _bátyushka_,[51] a flower like this!”
So the merchant went and made a long journey to foreign kingdoms, but he
could never see such a flower. So he came back home, and he saw on his
way a splendid lofty palace with watch-towers, turrets, and a garden. He
went a walk in the garden, and you cannot imagine how many trees he saw
and flowers, every flower fairer than the other flowers. And then he
looked and he saw a single one like the one which his daughter had
sketched. “Oh,” he said, “I will tear off and bring this to my beloved
daughter: evidently there is nobody here to watch me.” So he ran up and
broke it off, and as soon as he had done it, in that very instant a
boisterous wind arose and thunder thundered, and a fearful monster stood
in front of him, a formless, winged snake with three heads.
“How dared you play the master in my garden!” cried the snake to the
merchant. “Why have you broken off a blossom?”
The merchant was frightened, fell on his knees and besought pardon.
“Very well,” said the snake, “I will forgive you, but on condition that
whoever meets you first, when you reach home, you must give me for all
eternity; and, if you deceive me, do not forget, nobody can ever hide
himself from me: I shall find you wherever you are.”
The merchant agreed to the condition and came back home.
And the youngest daughter saw him from the window and ran out to meet
him. Then the merchant hung his head, looked at his beloved daughter,
and began to shed bitter tears.
“What is the matter with you? why are you weeping, _bátyushka_?”
He gave her the blossom and told what had befallen him.
“Do not grieve, _bátyushka_,” said the youngest daughter, “it is God’s
gift: perhaps I shall fare well. Take me to the snake.”
So the father took her away, set her in the palace, bade farewell, and
set out home.
Then the fair maiden, the daughter of the merchant, went in the
different rooms, and beheld everywhere gold and velvet; but no one was
there to be seen, not a single human soul.
Time went by and went by, and the fair damsel became hungry and thought,
“Oh, if I could only have something to eat!” But before ever she had
thought, in front of her stood a table, and on the table were dishes and
drinks and refreshments: the only thing that was not there was birds’
milk. Then she sat down to the table, drank and ate, got up, and it had
all vanished.
Darkness now came on, and the merchant’s daughter went into the bedroom,
wishing to lie down and sleep. Then a boisterous wind rustled round and
the three-headed snake appeared in front of her.
“Hail, fair maiden! put my bed outside this door!”
So the fair maiden put the bed outside the door and herself lay on the
bedstead.
She awoke in the morning, and again in the entire house there was not a
single soul to be seen. And it all went well with her: whatever she
wished for appeared on the spot.
In the evening the snake flew to her and ordered, “Now, fair maiden, put
my bed next to your bedstead.”
She then laid it next to her bedstead, and the night went by, and the
maiden awoke, and again there was never a soul in the palace.
And for the third time the snake came in the evening and said, “Now,
fair maiden, I am going to lie with you in the bedstead.”
The merchant’s daughter was fearfully afraid of lying on a single bed
with such a formless monster. But she could not help herself, so she
strengthened her heart and lay down with him.
In the morning the serpent said to her, “If you are now weary, fair
maiden, go to your father and your sisters: spend a day with them, and
in the evening come back to me. But see to it that you are not late. If
you are one single minute late I shall die of grief.”
“No, I shall not be late,” said the maiden, the merchant’s daughter, and
descended the steps; there was a barouche ready for her, and she sat
down. That very instant she arrived at her father’s courtyard.
Then the father saw, welcomed, kissed her, and asked her, “How has God
been dealing with you, my beloved daughter? Has it been well with you?”
“Very well, father!” And she started telling of all the wealth there was
in the palace, how the snake loved her, how whatever she only thought of
was in that instant fulfilled.
The sisters heard, and did not know what to do out of sheer envy.
Now the day was ebbing away, and the fair maiden made ready to go back,
and was bidding farewell to her father and her sisters, saying, “This is
the time I must go back: I was bidden keep to my term.”
But the envious sisters rubbed onions on their eyes and made as though
they were weeping: “Do not go away, sister; stay until to-morrow.”
She was very sorry for her sisters, and stayed one day more.
In the morning she bade farewell to them all and went to the palace.
When she arrived it was as empty as before. She went into the garden,
and she saw the serpent lying dead in the pond! He had thrown himself
for sheer grief into the water.
“Oh, my God, what have I done!” cried out the fair maiden, and she wept
bitter tears, ran up to the pond, hauled the snake out of the water,
embraced one head and kissed it with all her might. And the snake
trembled, and in a minute turned into a good youth.
“I thank you, fair maiden,” he said. “You have saved me from the
greatest misfortune. I am no snake, but an enchanted Prince.”
Then they went back to the merchant’s house, were betrothed, lived long,
and lived for good and happy things.