At the Behest of the Pike

At the Behest of the Pike

Once there lived a poor peasant; and, however much he might toil and

moil, he got nothing out of it. “Oh,” he thought to himself, “mine is a

sorry lot; I spend all my days on my fields; and then, when I look, I am

starving, whilst my neighbour is lying all day long on his back, and

then he has a big estate and all the profits swim into his pockets.

Evidently I have not pleased God. I will get up in the morning and pray

until evening, and perhaps the Lord may have mercy on me.”

So he began to pray to God, and went hungry for days on days; and he

still went on praying.

At last Easter Day came, and the bells rang for Mass. So the poor

peasant thought, “All good folks are getting ready to break the fast,

and I have not a crust of bread. Well, if I bring water, I can sip it

like soup.” So he took a small can, went to the well, and as soon as he

dipped it into the water a big pike fell into it. Then the peasant was

very glad. “Here is something for supper; I will cook it and make fish

soup of it, and shall have a fine supper.”

Then the pike said to him in a human voice: “Let me go free, good man,

go free. I will make you happy; whatever your soul may desire you shall

possess. You need only say:

                  At the pike’s good pleasure,

                  By God’s good measure—

let this or that appear! and you will get it at once.”

So the peasant put the pike back into the water, went to his hut, sat

down at the table and said:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 By God’s good measure—

let the table be covered and my dinner ready.”

Then from somewhere or other all sorts of dishes and drinks appeared on

the table, enough to please a Tsar, and a Tsar would not have been

ashamed of it. So the poor man crossed himself, said “Glory be to Thee,

O Lord! now I can break the fast.” So he went to the church, attended

Matins and Mass, turned back and again broke his fast, ate and drank as

well, went outside the door and sat at the counter.

Just about then the Princess had an idea that she would go abroad in the

streets, and she went with her attendants and maids of honour, and for

the sake of the holy festival went to give alms to the poor; she gave to

them all but forgot the poor peasant. Then he said to himself:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 Of God’s good treasure—

let the Tsarévna bear a child.” And at the word that very instant the

Tsarévna became pregnant, and in ten months she bore a son.

Then the Tsar began to ask her, “Do acknowledge with whom you have been

guilty.”

Then the Tsarévna wept and swore in every way that she had been guilty

with nobody. “I do not know myself,” she said, “why the Lord has

chastised me.”

The Tsar asked, but found nothing out.

Soon a boy was born who grew not by days but by hours; and at the end of

a week he could already talk. So the Tsar summoned all the boyárs and

the senators from every part of the kingdom to show them the youth, but

none of them acknowledged that he was the father.

“No,” the boy answered, “none of them is my father.”

Then the Tsar bade the maids of honour and attendants take him up to

every courtyard, through all the streets, and to show him to all manner

of people. So the attendants and maids of honour took the youth through

all the courtyards, through all the streets they went. But the boy said

nothing.

At last they came to the poor peasant’s hut. As soon as the boy saw that

peasant, he at once stretched out his little hands and said “_Tyátya,

Tyátya!_” Then they told the Emperor of this, and they summoned the poor

man into the palace, and the Tsar began to inquire of him, “Acknowledge

on oath, is this your boy?”

“No, he is God’s son.”

Then the Tsar was angry and married the poor man to the Princess, and

after the wedding he set them both with the child in a big tub, smeared

it with tar, and sent it out into the open sea. So the tub sailed on the

open sea, and the boisterous winds carried and bore it to a distant

shore. When the poor man heard that the water no longer moved under

them, he said:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 At God’s good measure—

let the barrel rest on a dry spot.”

So the barrel turned round and got on to a dry spot, and they went on,

following their eyes. And they went on and on, on and on, and they had

nothing to eat or drink. The Princess was utterly exhausted and had

pined away to a shadow, and she could hardly stand on her legs.

“Now,” said the poor man, “do you know what hunger and thirst are?”

“Yes, I do,” said the Princess.

“Well, this is what the poor have to endure. Yet you would not give me

alms on Easter Day.” Then the poor man said:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 Of God’s good treasure—

let there be here a rich palace, the finest in all the world, with

gardens and ponds and all sorts of pavilions.”

As soon as he had spoken a rich palace appeared; faithful henchmen ran

out of it and carried them in their hands, led them into the white stone

rooms, and they sat down at the oaken tables with chequered linen on

them. It was marvellously decorated, was this palace. On the table

everything was ready, wine and sweets and made dishes. The poor man and

the Tsarévna ate and drank at their will, rested them, and went for a

walk into the garden.

“Everything is beautiful here,” said the Princess; “the only thing still

lacking is to see the birds upon our ponds.”

“Wait, you shall have birds as well,” answered the poor man, and he said

at once:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 At God’s good measure—

let twelve ducks and one drake swim on the pond, and let them have one

feather of gold and another of silver, and let the drake have a diamond

tuft on his forehead!” And lo and behold, on the water there were twelve

ducks and one drake swimming; one feather was of gold and one feather

was of silver, and the drake had a diamond tuft on his forehead.

So there the Princess and her husband lived without grief or moil, and

their son grew up a big lad and began to feel in himself a giant’s

strength. And he asked leave of his father and mother to go out into the

white world and to seek himself a bride. They gave him leave to go, and

said, “Go, my son.”

So he saddled his knightly horse and set out on his road and way. And as

he journeyed on he met an old woman who said, “Hail, Russian prince,

where do you wish to go?”

“I am going, bábushka,[49] to seek a bride, but I do not know where I

am to find her.”

“Stay, I will tell you, my child. Do you go beyond the ocean into the

thrice-tenth kingdom; there there is a king’s daughter so fair, that, if

you go through all the world, you will never find any one more

beautiful.”

So the good youth thanked the woman, went to the seashore, hired a boat,

and sailed to the thrice-tenth land. He sailed, maybe far, maybe near,

maybe long, maybe short—the tale is soon told but the deed is not soon

done—and he at last arrived at that kingdom, and appeared before the

king of it, and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Then the King said to him, “You are not the only suitor for my daughter;

there is another suitor, a mighty knight. If I refuse him he will

destroy all of my kingdom.”

“But, if you decline my offer, I will ravage your kingdom.”

“What will you?—you had better measure your strength with him: to

whichever of you conquers I will give my daughter.”

“Very well; summon all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, all the Kings and

Korolévichi, to see us wage an honourable holmgang to win your

daughter.”

So then hunters were sent out to all cities, and one year had not gone

by before from all the neighbouring parts all the Tsars and Tsarévichi,

all the Kings and Korolévichi came together, as also the Tsar who had

put his own daughter into the barrel and sent her out into the sea.

On the day appointed all the knights made ready for a bloody holmgang.

They fought and fought, and the earth groaned at their blows, the

forests bowed down and the rivers rose in waves. The Tsarévna’s son

first overcame his opponent and cut off his turbulent head.

Then all the royal boyárs ran up, took the doughty youth into their

hands and led him into the palace. Next day he was married to the

Korolévna. And after they had feasted at the wedding he set about

inviting all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings and the Korolévichi as

his guests to his father and mother. So they all came together, and they

got their ships ready and sailed on the sea. The Tsarévna with her

husband received her guests with honour, and they began to celebrate

banquets and to be joyous. The Tsars and the Tsarévichi, the Kings and

the Korolévichi, gazed at the palace and the gardens and wondered. They

had never seen such wealth. Then some of them wondered when they saw the

ducks and drakes, every one of them worth half a kingdom.

So the guests were fed and bethought themselves of going home, but

before ever they had got to the haven, swift hunters precursed them,

saying, “Our master bids you turn back again; he wishes to hold secret

counsel with you.”

So the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings and Korolévichi, were turning

back, when the master came to meet them and said: “Oh ye good folk, one

of my ducks has gone: has any one of you taken it?”

“Why are you making a vain quest?” the Tsars and Tsarévichi, the Kings

and Korolévichi answered; “this would be an unguestly act. Search us all

over. If you find the duck on any one of us do with him what you will;

if you do not, let your own head pay for it.”

“I will,” said the master. And he placed them all in a row and searched

them; and, as soon as he had come to the father of the Tsarévna, he said

quietly:

                 “At the pike’s good pleasure,

                 At God’s good measure—

under the lappet of the kaftan of this Tsar, let the duck be found.” So

he went and lifted his kaftan and found the duck tied to the lappet; one

feather was of gold, one was of silver.

Then all the Tsars and Tsarévichi, Kings and Korolévichi cried out

fiercely, “Ho! ho! ho! what a deed! are Tsars turning into thieves?”

Then the Tsarévna’s father swore by everything holy that as to thieving

there had never been such an idea in his head. And he had no idea how

the duck had come to him.

“That is a fine tale; it was found on you; you must be guilty.”

Then the Tsarévna came out, burst upon her father, and acknowledged that

she was his daughter whom he had given away to the poor peasant in

marriage and had put into a barrel. “Bátyushka,”[50] she said, “you

would not then believe my words, and now you have acknowledged yourself

that it is possible to be guilty without guilt.”

And she told him how it had all arisen. And after that they began to

live, and lived all together and lived all for good and forgot bygones.