The Water King and Vasilissa The Wise

The Water King And Vasilissa The Wise

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 Obédalo 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:

"Do give me my shift!" she says. "You are on your way

to the house of my father, the Water King. When you come

I will do you good service."

So the Prince gave her back her shift, and she immediately

turned into a spoonbill and flew away after her companions.

The Prince went further on; there met him by the way three

heroes--Obédalo, Opivalo, and Moroz Treskum; he took them

with him and went on to the Water King's.

The Water King saw him, and said:

"Hail, friend! why have you been so long in coming to me?

I have grown weary of waiting for you. Now set to work.

Here is your first task. Build me in one night a great crystal

bridge, so that it shall be ready for use to-morrow. If you don't

build it--off goes your head!"

The Prince went away from the Water King, and burst into a

flood of tears. Vasilissa the Wise opened the window of her

upper chamber, and asked:

"What are you crying about, Prince?"

"Ah! Vasilissa the Wise! how can I help crying? Your

father has ordered me to build a crystal bridge in a single night,

and I don't even know how to handle an axe."

"No matter! lie down and sleep; the morning is wiser than

the evening."

She ordered him to sleep, but she herself went out on the

steps, and called aloud with a mighty whistling cry. Then from

all sides there ran together carpenters and workmen; one

levelled the ground, another carried bricks. Soon had they

built a crystal bridge, and traced cunning devices on it; and then

they dispersed to their homes.

Early next morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the Prince:

"Get up, Prince! the bridge is ready: my father will be

coming to inspect it directly."

Up jumped the Prince, seized a broom, took his place on the

bridge, and began sweeping here, clearing up there.

The Water King bestowed praise upon him:

"Thanks!" says he. "You've done me one service: now

do another. Here is your task. Plant me by to-morrow a

garden green--a big and shady one; and there must be birds

singing in the garden, and flowers blossoming on the trees, and

ripe apples and pears hanging from the boughs."

Away went the Prince from the Water King, all dissolved in

tears. Vasilissa the Wise opened her window and asked:

"What are you crying for, Prince?"

"How can I help crying? Your father has ordered me to

plant a garden in one night!"

"That's nothing! lie down and sleep: the morning is wiser

than the evening."

She made him go to sleep, but she herself went out on the

steps, called and whistled with a mighty whistle. From every

side there ran together gardeners of all sorts, and they planted

a garden green, and in the garden birds sang, on the trees

flowers blossomed, from the boughs hung ripe apples and pears.

Early in the morning Vasilissa the Wise awoke the Prince:

"Get up, Prince! the garden is ready: Papa is coming to

see it."

The Prince immediately snatched up a broom, and was off to

the garden. Here he swept a path, there he trained a twig.

The Water King praised him and said:

"Thanks, Prince! You've done me right trusty service. So

choose yourself a bride from among my twelve daughters. They

are all exactly alike in face, in hair, and in dress. If you can

pick out the same one three times running, she shall be your

wife; if you fail to do so, I shall have you put to death."

Vasilissa the Wise knew all about that, so she found time to

say to the Prince:

"The first time I will wave my handkerchief, the second I

will be arranging my dress, the third time you will see a fly

above my head."

And so the Prince guessed which was Vasilissa the Wise

three times running. And he and she were married, and a wedding

feast was got ready.

Now the Water King had prepared much food of all sorts

more than a hundred men could get through. And he ordered

his son-in-law to see that everything was eaten. "If anything

remains over, the worse for you!" says he.

"My Father," begs the Prince, "there's an old fellow of

mine here; please let him take a snack with us."

"Let him come!"

Immediately appeared Obédalo--ate up everything, and

wasn't content then! The Water King next set out two score

tubs of all kinds of strong drinks, and ordered his son-in-law to

see that they were all drained dry.

"My Father!" begs the Prince again, "there's another old

man of mine here, let him, too, drink your health."

"Let him come!"

Opivalo appeared, emptied all the forty tubs in a twinkling,

and then asked for a drop more by way of stirrup-cup.[145]

The Water King saw that there was nothing to be gained that

way, so he gave orders to prepare a bath-room for the young

couple--an iron bath-room--and to heat it as hot as possible.

So the iron bath-room was made hot. Twelve loads of firewood

were set alight, and the stove and the walls were made

red-hot--impossible to come within five versts of it.

"My Father!" says the Prince; "let an old fellow of ours

have a scrub first, just to try the bath-room."

"Let him do so!"

Moroz Treskum went into the bath room, blew into one corner,

blew in another--in a moment icicles were hanging there.

After him the young couple also went into the bath-room, were

lathered and scrubbed,[146] and then went home.

After a time Vasilissa said to the Prince, "Let us get out of

my father's power. He's tremendously angry with you; perhaps

he'll be doing you some hurt."

"Let us go," says the Prince.

Straightway they saddled their horses and galloped off into

the open plain. They rode and rode; many an hour went by.

"Jump down from your horse, Prince, and lay your ear close

to the earth," said Vasilissa. "Cannot you hear a sound as of

pursuers?"

The prince bent his ear to the ground, but he could hear nothing.

Then Vasilissa herself lighted down from her good

steed, laid herself flat on the earth, and said: "Ah Prince! I hear

a great noise as of chasing after us." Then she turned the

horses into a well, and herself into a bowl, and the Prince into

an old, very old man. Up came the pursuers.

"Heigh, old man!" say they, "haven't you seen a youth and

a maiden pass by?"

"I saw them, my friends! only it was a long while ago. I was

a youngster at the time when they rode by."

The pursuers returned to the Water King.

"There is no trace of them," they said, "no news: all we

saw was an old man beside a well, and a bowl floating on the

water."

"Why did not ye seize them?" cried the Water King, who

thereupon put the pursuers to a cruel death, and sent another

troop after the Prince and Vasilissa the Wise.

The fugitives in the mean time had ridden far, far away.

Vasilissa the Wise heard the noise made by the fresh set of

pursuers, so she turned the Prince into an old priest, and she

herself became an ancient church. Scarcely did its walls hold

together, covered all over with moss. Presently up came the

pursuers.

"Heigh, old man! haven't you seen a youth and a maiden

pass by?"

"I saw them, my own! only it was long, ever so long ago. I

was a young man when they rode by. It was just while I was

building this church."

So the second set of pursuers returned to the Water King,

saying:

"There is neither trace nor news of them, your Royal Majesty.

All that we saw was an old priest and an ancient church."

"Why did not ye seize them?" cried the Water King louder

than before, and having put the pursuers to a cruel death, he

galloped off himself in pursuit of the Prince and Vasilissa the

Wise. This time Vasilissa turned the horses into a river of

honey with kissel[147] banks, and changed the Prince into a Drake

and herself into a grey duck. The Water King flung himself

on the kissel and honey-water, and ate and ate, and drank and

drank until he burst! And so he gave up the ghost.

The Prince and Vasilissa rode on, and at length they drew

nigh to the home of the Prince's parents. Then said Vasilissa,

"Go on in front, Prince, and report your arrival to your

father and mother. But I will wait for you here by the wayside.

Only remember these words of mine: kiss everyone

else, only don't kiss your sister; if you do, you will forget me."

The Prince reached home, began saluting every one, kissed

his sister too--and no sooner had he kissed her than from that

very moment he forgot all about his wife, just as if she had

never entered into his mind.

Three days did Vasilissa the Wise await him. On the fourth

day she clad herself like a beggar, went into the capital, and

took up her quarters in an old woman's house. But the Prince

was preparing to marry a rich Princess, and orders were given

to proclaim throughout the kingdom, that all Christian people

were to come to congratulate the bride and bridegroom, each

one bringing a wheaten pie as a present. Well, the old woman

with whom Vasilissa lodged, prepared, like everyone else, to

sift flour and make a pie.

"Why are you making a pie, granny?" asked Vasilissa.

"Is it why? you evidently don't know then. Our King is

giving his son in marriage to a rich princess: one must go to

the palace to serve up the dinner to the young couple."

"Come now! I, too, will bake a pie and take it to the

palace; may be the King will make me some present."

"Bake away in God's name!" said the old woman.

Vasilissa took flour, kneaded dough, and made a pie. And

inside it she put some curds and a pair of live doves.

Well, the old woman and Vasilissa the Wise reached the

palace just at dinner-time. There a feast was in progress, one

fit for all the world to see. Vasilissa's pie was set on the table,

but no sooner was it cut in two than out of it flew the two

doves. The hen bird seized a piece of curd, and her mate said

to her:

"Give me some curds, too, Dovey!"

"No I won't," replied the other dove: "else you'd forget

me, as the Prince has forgotten his Vasilissa the Wise."

Then the Prince remembered about his wife. He jumped

up from table, caught her by her white hands, and seated her

close by his side. From that time forward they lived together

in all happiness and prosperity.

  [With this story may be compared a multitude of tales

  in very many languages. In German for instance, "Der

  König vom goldenen Berg," (Grimm, _KM._ No. 92. See

  also Nos. 51, 56, 113, 181, and the opening of No.

  31), "Der Königssohn und die Teufelstochter,"

  (Haltrich, No. 26), and "Grünus Kravalle" (Wolf's

  "Deutsche Hausmärchen," No. 29)--the Norse

  "Mastermaid," (Asbjörnsen and Moe, No. 46, Dasent, No.

  11) and "The Three Princesses of Whiteland," (A. and

  M. No. 9, Dasent, No. 26)--the Lithuanian story

  (Schleicher, No. 26, p. 75) in which a "field-devil"

  exacts from a farmer the promise of a child--the

  Wallachian stories (Schott, Nos. 2 and 15) in which a

  devil obtains a like promise from a woodcutter and a

  fisherman--the Modern Greek (Hahn, Nos. 4, 5, 54, and

  68) in which a child is promised to a Dervish, a

  _Drakos_, the Devil, and a Demon--and the Gaelic tales

  of "The Battle of the Birds" and "The Sea-maiden,"

  (Campbell, Nos. 2 and 4) in the former of which the

  child is promised to a Giant, in the latter to a

  Mermaid. The likeness between the Russian story and

  the "Battle of the Birds" is very striking. References

  to a great many other similar tales will be found in

  Grimm (_KM._ iii. pp. 96-7, and 168-9). The group to

  which all these stories belong is linked with a set of

  tales about a father who apprentices his son to a

  wizard, sometimes to the Devil, from whom the youth

  escapes with great difficulty. The principal Russian

  representative of the second set is called "Eerie

  Art," "Khitraya Nauka," (Afanasief, v. No. 22, vi. No.

  45, viii. p. 339).



  To the hero's adventures while with the Water King,

  and while escaping from him, an important parallel is

  offered by the end of the already mentioned (at p. 92)

  Indian story of Sringabhuja. That prince asks

  Agnisikha, the Rákshasa whom, in his crane-form, he

  has wounded, to bestow upon him the hand of his

  daughter--the maiden who had met him on his arrival at

  the Rákshasa's palace. The demon pretends to consent,

  but only on condition that the prince is able to pick

  out his love from among her numerous sisters. This

  Sringabhuja is able to do in spite of all the demon's

  daughters being exactly alike, as she has told him

  beforehand she will wear her pearls on her brow

  instead of round her neck. Her father will not remark

  the change, she says, for being of the demon race, he

  is not very sharp witted. The Rákshasa next sets the

  prince two of the usual tasks. He is to plough a great

  field, and sow a hundred bushels of corn. When this,

  by the daughter's help, is done, he is told to gather

  up the seed again. This also the demon's daughter does

  for him, sending to his aid a countless swarm of ants.

  Lastly he is commanded to visit the demon's brother

  and invite him to the wedding. He does so, and is

  pursued by the invited guest, from whom he escapes

  only by throwing behind him earth, water, thorns, and

  lastly fire, with all of which he has been provided by

  his love. They produce corresponding obstacles which

  enable him to get away from the uncle of his bride.

  The demon now believes that his proposed son-in-law

  must be a god in disguise, so he gives his consent to

  the marriage. All goes well for a time, but at last

  the prince wants to go home, so he and his wife fly

  from her father's palace. Agnisikha pursues them. She

  makes her husband invisible, while she assumes the

  form of a woodman. Up comes her angry sire, and asks

  for news of the fugitives. She replies she has seen

  none, her eyes being full of tears caused by the death

  of the Rákshasa prince Agnisikha. The slow-witted

  demon immediately flies home to find out whether he is

  really dead. Discovering that he is not, he renews the

  pursuit. Again his daughter renders her husband

  invisible, and assumes the form of a messenger

  carrying a letter. When her father arrives and repeats

  his question, she says she has seen no one: she is

  going with a letter to his brother from Agnisikha, who

  has just been mortally wounded. Back again home flies

  the demon in great distress, anxious to find out

  whether he has really been wounded to death or not.

  After settling this question, he leaves his daughter

  and her husband in peace. See Professor Brockhaus in

  the "Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K. Sächs.

  Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften," 1861, pp. 226-9, and

  Professor Wilson, "Essays, &c.," ii. p. 136-8. Cf. R.

  Köhler in "Orient und Occident," ii. pp. 107-14.]

In another story a king is out hunting and becomes thirsty. Seeing a

spring near at hand, he bends down and is just going to lap up its

water, when the Tsar-Medvéd, a King-Bear, seizes him by the beard. The

king is unable to free himself from his grasp, and is obliged to

promise as his ransom "that which he knows not of at home," which

turns out to be a couple of children--a boy and a girl--who have been

born during his absence. In vain does he attempt to save the twins

from their impending fate, by concealing them in a secret abode

constructed for that purpose underground. In the course of time the

King-Bear arrives to claim them, finds out their hiding-place, digs

them up, and carries them off on his back to a distant region where no

man lives. During his absence they attempt to escape being carried

through the air on the back of a friendly falcon, but the King-Bear

sees them, "strikes his head against the earth, and burns the falcon's

wings." The twins fall to the ground, and are carried by the King-Bear

to his home amid inaccessible mountains. There they make a second

attempt at escape, trusting this time to an eagle's aid; but it meets

with exactly the same fate as their first trial. At last they are

rescued by a bull-calf, which succeeds in baffling all the King-Bear's

efforts to recover them. At the end of their perilous journey the

bull-calf tells the young prince to cut its throat, and burn its

carcase. He unwillingly consents, and from its ashes spring a horse, a

dog, and an apple-tree, all of which play important parts in the next

act of the drama.[148]

In one of the variants of the Water King story,[149] the seizer of

the drinking kings' beard is not called the Morskoi Tsar but _Chudo

Morskoe_, a Water Chudo, whose name recalls to mind the Chudo Yudo we

have already met with.[150] The Prince who is obliged, in consequence

of his father's promise, to surrender himself to the Water Giant,

falls in love with a maiden whom he finds in that potentate's palace,

and who is an enchantress whom the Chudo has stolen. She turns herself

into a ring, which he carries about with him, and eventually, after

his escape from the Chudo, she becomes his bride.

In another story,[151] the being who obtains a child from one of the

incautious fathers of the Jephthah type who abound in popular fiction,

is of a very singular nature. A merchant is flying across a river on

the back of an eagle, when he drops a magic "snuff-box," which had

been entrusted to his charge by that bird, and it disappears beneath

the waters. At the eagle's command, the crayfish search for it, and

bring back word that it is lying "on the knees of an Idol." The eagle

summons the Idol, and demands the snuff box. Thereupon the Idol says

to the merchant--"Give me what you do not know of at home?" The

merchant agrees and the Idol gives him back his snuff-box.

In some of the variants of the story, the influence of ideas

connected with Christianity makes itself apparent in the names given

to the actors. Thus in the "Moujik and Anastasia Adovna,"[152] it is

no longer a king of the waters, but a devil's imp,[153] who bargains

with the thirsting father for his child, and the swan-maiden whose

shift the devoted youth steals bears the name of Adovna, the daughter

of Ad or Hades. In "The Youth,"[154] a moujik, who has lost his way in

a forest makes the rash promise to a man who enables him to cross a

great river; "and that man (says the story) was a devil."[155] We

shall meet with other instances further on of parents whose "hasty

words" condemn their children to captivity among evil spirits. In one

of the stories of this class,[156] the father is a hunter who is

perishing with cold one night, and who makes the usual promise as the

condition of his being allowed to warm himself at a fire guarded by a

devil. Being in consequence of this deprived of a son, he becomes very

sad, and drinks himself to death. "The priest will not bury his sinful

body, so it is thrust into a hole at a crossway," and he falls into

the power of "that very same devil," who turns him into a horse, and

uses him as a beast of burden. At last he is released by his son, who

has forced the devil to free him after several adventures--one of them

being a fight with the evil spirit in the shape of a three-headed

snake.

In the Hindoo story of "Brave Seventee Bai,"[157] that heroine kills

"a very large Cobra" which comes out of a lake. Touching the waters

with a magic diamond taken from the snake, she sees them roll back "in

a wall on either hand," between which she passes into a splendid

garden. In it she finds a lovely girl who proves to be the Cobra's

daughter and who is delighted to hear of her serpent-father's death.

Demon haunted waters, which prove fatal to mortals who bathe in or

drink of them, often occur in oriental fiction. In one of the Indian

stories, for instance,[158] a king is induced to order his escort to

bathe in a lake which is the abode of a Rákshasa or demon. They leap

into the water simultaneously, and are all devoured by the terrible

man-eater. From the assaults of such a Rákshasa as this it was that

Buddha, who was at the time a monkey, preserved himself and 80,000 of

his brother monkeys, by suggesting that they should drink from the

tank in which the demon lay in wait for them, "through reeds

previously made completely hollow by their breath."[159]

   *       *       *       *       *

From these male personifications of evil--from the Snake, Koshchei,

and the Water King--we will now turn to their corresponding female

forms. By far the most important beings of the latter class are those

malevolent enchantresses who form two closely related branches of the

same family. Like their sisters all over the world, they are, as a

general rule, old, hideous, and hateful. They possess all kinds of

supernatural powers, but their wits are often dull. They wage constant

war with mankind, but the heroes of storyland find them as easily

overcome as the males of their family. In their general character they

bear a strong resemblance to the Giantesses, Lamias, female Trolls,

Ogresses, Dragonesses, &c., of Europe, but in some of their traits

they differ from those well-known beings, and therefore they are

worthy of a detailed notice.

In several of the stories which have already been quoted, a prominent

part is played by the Baba Yaga, a female fiend whose name has given

rise to much philological discussion of a somewhat unsatisfactory

nature.[160] Her appearance is that of a tall, gaunt hag, with

dishevelled hair. Sometimes she is seen lying stretched out from one

corner to the other of a miserable hut, through the ceiling of which

passes her long iron nose; the hut is supported "by fowl's legs," and

stands at the edge of a forest towards which its entrance looks. When

the proper words are addressed to it, the hut revolves upon its

slender supports, so as to turn its back instead of its front to the

forest. Sometimes, as in the next story, the Baba Yaga appears as the

mistress of a mansion, which stands in a courtyard enclosed by a fence

made of dead men's bones. When she goes abroad she rides in a mortar,

which she urges on with a pestle, while she sweeps away the traces of

her flight with a broom. She is closely connected with the Snake in

different forms; in many stories, indeed, the leading part has been

ascribed by one narrator to a Snake and by another to a Baba Yaga. She

possesses the usual magic apparatus by which enchantresses work their

wonders; the Day and the Night (according to the following story) are

among her servants, the entire animal world lies at her disposal. On

the whole she is the most prominent among the strange figures with

which the Skazkas make us acquainted. Of the stories which especially

relate to her the following may be taken as a fair specimen.