Koshchei the Deathless

Koshchei The Deathless

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

Zméï 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.