The Russian story book

by Richard Wilson

THE GOLDEN HORDE

Prince Vladimir lost no occasion of making a royal feast, and his banquets were the admiration of Holy Russia and of all the white world. To one banquet he invited a large number of princes, nobles, mighty heroes and their body-guards, as well as a company of merchant princes who had bought land with their wealth in order that they might be accounted gentlemen. The host made good cheer, the food was of the richest, the wine of the greenest, and the white oak tables gleamed like the newly fallen snow on the wide steppe. The stove glowed fiercely, and Ilya sat in the great corner honoured of all.

As the wine-cup passed, the heart of Prince Vladimir grew more and more generous, and he gave cities to one prince, towns to a second, villages to a third, and hamlets to another; but to Ilya he gave a cloak of marten skins with a collar of sables. Then the hero arose, left the banquet-hall with the cloak held out at arm’s length from him, and came at last to the kitchen. There he dragged the cloak about the brick floor by one sleeve as if he wished to defoul it and said savagely:

“Just as I drag about this cloak of marten skins with its collar of sables, I will drag about that poisonous serpent Tsar Kalin by his yellow curls. As I pour green wine upon this cloak,” suiting the action to the word, “I will pour out his heart’s blood.”

Then a kitchenmaid came with unwashed face into the presence of Prince Vladimir, and said without preface: “Ilya hath been in my kitchen and hath dragged about the brick floor the mantle of marten skins with the collar of sables, saying that even so would he drag Vladimir by his yellow curls. And he has poured green wine upon the mantle, saying that even so would he pour out the heart’s blood of Prince Vladimir.” Then wiping her hands upon her apron she added, “And I know not what to do in the matter.”

Prince Vladimir rose to his feet and his face was black with anger. “Ye mighty heroes!” he cried, raising his right hand aloft, “lead Ilya to our dungeon and place him behind the iron grating. Pile up trunks of oak trees against the door and heap yellow sand over all.”

At once a great company of heroes left the banquet-hall, and coming to the kitchen stood in a ring round Ilya, who smiled at them as a father might smile at his boys; and no man laid hands upon him, for he was the pride of them all. “Help us now, Ilya of Murom,” they said, “or Prince Vladimir will visit upon us his sore displeasure.” So Ilya, smiling still, called Cloudfall, saddled him and rode himself to the entrance of the dungeon. There he dismounted and let the shaggy bay steed go free, after having taken from him his saddle and plaited bridle.

Then Ilya went down into the dungeon, and the heroes set up the iron grating, piled up trunks of oak trees at the door, and heaped yellow sand over all, as the prince had commanded. After that they went back to their host, who praised them for their obedience and their expedition; but Princess Apraxia dug a deep passage underground, and with her own fair hands carried food of the richest and drink of the sweetest to Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. And this went on for three years, until Tsar Kalin heard of it, and he was head of the Golden Horde, who in all his wanderings had seen no fairer lady than the Princess Apraxia, whom he meant to take as his own in spite of Prince Vladimir and all his band of well-fed heroes.

Tsar Kalin assembled the Golden Horde, which was in number like the yellow sands upon the seashore, to ride against the royal town of Kiev. Under him were forty Tsars and Tsareviches, and forty Kings and their heirs, each with a company of forty thousand men, and when the host was all assembled it stood along the banks of swift-flowing Mother Dnieper and round about Kiev town on all sides for a distance of a hundred miles all told—a goodly escort for a fair princess. When all was ready Tsar Kalin sat down upon an armless chair in his gold-embroidered tent of white linen, and wrote a letter in great haste, using a swan-quill pen with molten gold in place of ink, and crimson velvet in place of parchment. Then he called his best and favourite runner and gave the royal letter into his hands.

“Go,” he said, “to the town of Kiev, falsely styled ‘royal.’ Enter not by the gates of shining white oak, but leap over the city wall. Dismount not, but riding your charger enter without announcement the palace of white stone. Set the door wide open, but do not close it behind you. Bow not to North, South, East, or West, and do no special reverence to Prince Vladimir. But stand right over against him, and fling this letter upon the table, saying to him:

“Take this letter and ask Nikitich, the young man of supernatural wisdom who can both read and write, to tell thee what it contains, for it disposes in set terms of all your pretensions to royalty. Clean all the streets of Kiev town, take down the wonder-working crosses of the Holy Temples—but leave upon the domes the tall fiery darts of Ilya lest Falcon the Hunter should still be alive—and build stalls for horses in the churches. Cleanse also your palaces of white stone and prepare beds without number, for our host is great. Brew sweet liquors, for our thirst is also great, and let cask stand upon cask in noble array. For in less than two days Tsar Kalin and his great host shall walk the streets of Kiev, and our master shall wed the Princess Apraxia.”

The boldness and the careful detail of the command caused the heart of Prince Vladimir to sink very low, and the best he could imagine was to gain time. So he caused Nikitich to write a letter in reply, saying: “Cleaning and fermenting are both slow processes. I shall need a space of three months to prepare this city for its coming guests.” Then the favourite runner of Tsar Kalin brought this submissive reply to his master, and the truce was granted.

Prince Vladimir paced to and fro in his chamber, chewing his moustache, and occasionally heaving a heavy sigh when no one was near. Meanwhile, the cleaning and the brewing were proceeding apace, for as Princess Apraxia said quietly, “There is nothing lost by cleanliness, and a good store in the larders and the cellar, for who knows which of our friends will sleep in the clean beds and partake of our cheer.”

“Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck is no more,” said Prince Vladimir bitterly. “There is no hero to fight for our faith and fatherland. There is none to defend Prince Vladimir.” When the busy Princess heard these words she paused for a moment in her work and said, “Little father, command thy trusty servants to go to the deep dungeon and see whether Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck be even yet alive.” Then she went on with her dusting, for the china bowls and cups from Farthest East were always her own particular care.

“Foolish princess,” said her husband, pausing in his pacing to and fro. “If I cut off your light head, will it grow again? How can the youthful aged one be alive after three years’ starvation?” The Princess said nothing, but went on with her work, and in a few moments Vladimir himself went off to the dungeon on the desperate chance. And there, to his wonder, he found Ilya lying on cushions of down, with food of the richest and wine of the greenest on a table beside him, on which was also spread a wonderful written parchment of the Holy Gospels.

Vladimir was so much astonished to find Ilya not only alive and well, but to all appearance very comfortable and happy, that he bowed to North, South, East, and West, and then particularly to the hero. “Come forth, Ilya,” he said, as if he had taken no share in the Old Cossáck’s imprisonment. “Come forth, and defend us against the Golden Horde, for the sake of the widows and orphans which are to be.” Ilya smiled gently and rose slowly from his seat of comfort, for three years’ restraint had somewhat stiffened him. Then Vladimir hastened to take him by the hands, as if he had quite forgiven him for a crime which he had never committed, and leading him to his own table, placed him in the great corner and heaped food of the best before him.

But Ilya was not hungry, and he left the table without a word, for he wanted heroic exercise most of all. In the open field he saw Cloudfall grazing quietly as though his master had ridden him only yesterday; and you may be quite certain and absolutely sure that no other rider had during the past three years sat on the back of the faithful shaggy bay steed. The horse gave a joyful chuckle when Ilya once more drew near to him, and as his master proceeded to saddle him he turned his head about and gazed upon him with heroic approbation.

Certain of the people of Vladimir’s palace saw Ilya mount upon Cloudfall, but they did not see him as he rode away, so swift was his flight—there was but a smoke wreath on the open steppe and streams of water burst forth where good Cloudfall’s hoofs beat upon the ground. He gave a great leap upwards and alighted on the crest of a lofty mountain, from whence he looked out across the open plain to see if any of the heroes were within sight who had come out to defend Holy Russia against the Golden Horde of the Tatars.

Far away in the east he saw the white linen pavilions of the heroes who had helped him to form the barrier against Falcon the Hunter, and the sun shone brightly on their golden embroideries. At the opening of one snowy tent his keen eyes could descry even at that distance how the fine wheat had been shaken out upon the earth for the delight of a hero’s charger, and how that same hero had planted upright a spear of heroic height and hung upon it a golden tassel, not for vanity of youthfulness, but as a signal to all the enemies of Holy Russia that a champion abode within that pavilion. As he stood there with his hand shading his eyes Ilya saw another hero come to that vicinity and, even at that far distance, he knew him for the young man of supernatural wisdom—Nikitich, who could both read and write. He saw how the new-comer pitched his pavilion, shook out fine wheat for his charger’s delight, planted a lofty spear and displayed two tassels, not for vanity of youthfulness, but to show that a hero and a scholar abode in that pavilion.

Then Ilya came down from the mountain-top, and before you could say Svyatogor he had arrived in the space between the two upright staffs, where he gave Cloudfall the rein that he might take his share of the fine wheat, planted his own lofty spear and hung three tassels upon it, as a sign that a hero, a scholar, and a landed gentleman had come to the assistance of Holy Russia against the Golden Horde. He now entered one of the snowy pavilions, where he found twelve Russian heroes sitting at meat, who all rose to their feet, kissed him and bade him welcome, whereupon they sat down again to go forward with the business of eating. But as he was not yet hungry Ilya did not join them. He hastened to explain his mission, and asked for their help in defending Kiev town, Vladimir, and Princess Apraxia. But one of them said:

“Nay, nay, Ilya of Murom, we will not mount our steeds to defend Kiev town, Vladimir, and his Princess. For he has many princely nobles, whom he feasts right heroically and upon whom he bestows the richest gifts.”

“It will be the worse for all of you,” said Ilya, in great anger, and their voices rose in wrath so that the good steeds raised their heads from the fine wheat and looked with intelligent wonder through the opening of the pavilion.

Meanwhile Vladimir wrapped himself in his black velvet mantle, which was trimmed with marten, and paced to and fro in his palace in Kiev town, for the time of the truce was almost over, and so far the heroes had not made their appearance. Now as he paced up and down to soothe his anxiety his nephew Yermak came to him and begged that he might have a warrior’s charger, a coat of heavy chain mail and a ponderous mace, as well as leave to ride against the Golden Horde.

“You are a mere boaster,” said Vladimir carelessly. “Why, you have never yet handled a mace.”

“If you do not give me the charger, uncle,” said Yermak, “I will set out on foot.” The youth’s quiet determination had more effect upon Vladimir than weeks of persuasion, and he bade Yermak choose what charger he desired from the royal stables as well as the armour which suited him best from the armoury. Off went the youth in great glee and equal haste, but the chain mail which he found was so rusty that he flung it down with impatience upon the brick floor, whereupon all the rust flew from it; so he picked it up, selected weapons to his taste, ran to the stables, saddled a horse, mounted it and rode at topmost speed to the pavilion of the heroes.

And what did he find in that hour of anxiety and the direst peril? Why, the twelve heroes contentedly sitting playing at draughts upon a board of gold and Ilya sound asleep upon a couch under a heavy coverlet of sables. Then the anger of Yermak was very great indeed, and he shouted with all his might. “Ho, there, you Old Cossáck, Ilya of Murom. Yonder in Kiev city there is bread to eat and to spare, but no one to defend the place against the Golden Horde.”

Now Ilya, from force of habit and long practice, slept always with one ear open, and he knew also that it was a fatal mistake to lose his calmness, especially when others about him had lost their own. So he turned slowly on his couch and said quietly, “Climb up into the damp oak, young Yermak, and make an effort to number the host which comes against us by counting the standards which are displayed.” So Yermak climbed up into the damp oak, and Ilya turning upon his other side went to sleep once more. From his perch in the damp oak Yermak saw a vast host of the Golden Horde, and how at that moment the leaders were marshalling their men in battle array; and he knew that the shaking of the bough on which he sat came from the trembling of moist Mother Earth at the tramp of their myriad feet. So great was the army that the swift grey wolf could not trot round it in the space of a long spring day; the black raven could not fly about it in the longest day of summer; the grey bird could not wing its flight across it in the longest light of autumn.

Now Yermak had in him some of the qualities of a hero, for the size of the host roused his courage to such a height that he felt impelled to advance against it by himself, single and alone. So he leapt quickly from the damp oak, sprang upon his charger, and rode fiercely across the open steppe against the vanguard of that great host. Meanwhile the game of draughts went quietly on in the fair pavilion of white linen, and Ilya slept. For three days and three nights this went on while Yermak hurled himself again and again against the forefront of the Golden Horde. Then Ilya awoke and said to Nikitich:

“Mount into the damp oak, young man of supernatural wisdom. Perhaps young Yermak has fallen down from the branch for no longer do I see him there.”

Then Nikitich climbed up into the tree-top and looked out upon the Golden Horde. He saw the vast host and he saw more than that—not the black raven flying, nor the bright falcon soaring, but that heroic youth galloping boldly against the heathen horde; and he made his report to Ilya, who rose deliberately from his couch:

“Rise, ye draught players, and mount your good steeds. Then in the first place let one of you take grappling hooks and catch young Yermak by the shoulders. Say to him when he is stayed in his headlong flight, ‘Thou hast breakfasted to-day. Now let the heroes dine.’”

So one of the company went out with strong grappling irons. Thrice he caught Yermak by the shoulders and thrice did the young man break away, rending his chain mail in the action. Then the messenger returned to report his failure and Nikitich made the attempt with as little success. So Ilya went himself. He sat on Cloudfall as the grandfather of all the oaks stood upon the lap of moist Mother Earth, and caught Yermak by the shoulder with his heroic hand saying to him, “Rest your heroic heart and let us labour now.”

Then Ilya rode against that mighty host as the swift eagle swoops down upon the swans and geese or the falcon darts upon the wild duck; and at the place against which Yermak had beaten in vain he made a breach in the line and began to hew a path through the host as the mower makes a way through the thick standing wheat. Then Cloudfall addressed him with the voice of a man:

“Ho, thou mighty hero of Holy Russia! with a heart of steel thou hast advanced against this mighty host, but even your great might may not overcome it, for that pestilent robber, Tsar Kalin, is served by many men of great renown and warrior-maids of heroic strength and feminine fierceness. Moreover, he is a wily leader, for he has dug three trenches across the open steppe and into these you will fall. I can lift you out of the first and likewise out of the second, but out of the third I may not lift you though I should succeed in rising from it myself. For I watched them digging the trenches while you were sleeping, and, indeed, I missed a great deal of the fine wheat while I served you in this manner.”

Such a counsel of despair was not pleasing to the heroic Ilya, who grasped his silken whip in his right hand and beat Cloudfall soundly upon the flanks. “Traitor and renegade,” he cried in heroic anger, “I feed thee on white wheat and give you water from crystal springs and yet you will forsake me in the deep ditches of the open steppe.” And he paid no heed to the warning of the intelligent animal, but rolling up the sleeve of his right arm advanced with unabated fury against the foe. In a few moments he came to the first trench, into which he fell forthwith and from which Cloudfall bore him forth in safety. On he rode, fighting all the way, until he came to a second ditch, and from that also he escaped in like manner. Then he advanced again, fighting all the way, until he came to the third ditch from which Cloudfall leapt nimbly. But he left Ilya behind. Thereupon the accursed Tatars leapt down into the trench and fell upon Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck. They bound his swift feet and his strong white hands and led him to where Tsar Kalin sat in his pavilion of fair white linen embroidered with gold.

“Ah, ho! Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck,” cried the pestilent leader of the Golden Horde. “How could you hope, you old dog, to prevail against my mighty host?” Then to his guards he said, “Unfetter his swift feet and unbind his strong white hands.” This was done at once, and then Tsar Kalin said in a voice of honey:

“Now sit down at my table, Ilya of Murom. Eat of my food and drink of my mead, put on an embroidered robe, and marry my daughter. Serve Prince Vladimir no longer but be vassal to me.”

Then Ilya’s eyes flashed fire like the fire of Falcon the Hunter, whose father he was. “If I had by me my good sword,” he said, “thou dog, Kalin the Tsar, it should woo thy neck. I will do none of these things, for my duty is to fight for the Christian temples which my darts have protected even against my own son Falcon the Hunter, for Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraxia and the city of Kiev.”

Then Ilya raised his eyes and listened and a voice sounded in his ears, “Lift up thy hands, Ilya.” He raised them heavenward and into his heroic arms came the strength of twenty heroes; and in that strength he fell upon Tsar Kalin and laid his lifeless body upon the floor of the fair pavilion. Snatching up the monarch’s sword he ran from the pavilion to turn it against his host, and company after company fell before him until his sword edge turned and the weapon was useless. Then he flung it aside in impatience, and picking up a Tatar by the ankles he used him as a club with which he cleared a path through the host of astonished warriors. “It is a stout club, this of mine,” he cried grimly as he dealt blows to right and left; “and it has a hard end to it with which to crack infidel pates.”

At last he won his way to the edge of the host, where he flung his human club from him with a last great effort, and seizing the horn which hung at his side he sounded a mighty blast; for the heroic efforts he had made had dimmed the clearness of his eyes, so that he could not distinguish either the white day or the black night. From far away Cloudfall heard the sound of that familiar horn and in two heroic leaps was once more at his master’s side. In a trice Ilya had mounted him and then he rode away to a lofty mountain upon the summit of which he stood and, raising his hand to his brow, gazed far away to the eastward. There he saw again the white pavilion of the heroes and the horses feeding on the fine wheat which was strewn for them. “I will send them a swift messenger,” said Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck.

As he fitted a fiery dart to his stout bow, Ilya conjured it saying, “Fly, little dart, to yonder pavilion. Tear through the roof and pierce the white breast of my brother-in-arms, Samson, that glorious hero of Holy Russia, and make a small scratch—not a wound which you would bestow upon one of the Golden Horde,—for the hero Samson sleepeth and taketh his ease while I stand here alone and have need of his help.”

The shaft made a stream of blue light through the air, and reaching the pavilion tore a flaming path through the roof, but too quickly for the linen to catch fire, and made a small scratch upon the white breast of Samson, rousing him from his heavy sleep. He opened his eyes, gazed upwards, and saw the rent in the roof of the pavilion. Then he was aware of a slight discomfort on his breast, looked down, saw the scratch, and leapt lightly to his nimble feet.

“Ho, there,” he cried aloud, “ye mighty heroes of Holy Russia, saddle your good steeds without delay and mount with speed. A message of distress has come from my brother-in-arms, and had it not been for the cross upon my breast it would have honoured me with a wound fit only for one of the Golden Horde.”

Roused at last the heroes took their chargers from the scattered wheat, saddled them and rode them towards Kiev town; and Ilya noting this from his point of vantage came down from the mountain to join his twelve brethren, and in a long line of strength and swiftness the thirteen heroes rode against the Golden Horde.

For the space of five hours they mowed down young and old, and they left at the end of that heroic period not so many as one single soul to continue the accursed race. Flushed with victory and self-confidence, they came together in one place, and all except Ilya began to boast and to say, “If there were steps raised up to Heaven we would climb them and wage war against the sacred hosts.”

As these impious words were spoken there happened a wonder of wonders. For the Tatars rose up from the field of the slain, and where there had been one man there were now three, and they all stood up strong and well upon their feet; and if Ilya had not accounted for Tsar Kalin their advance upon Kiev town would have been sudden and overwhelming; but they turned hither and thither like the sands of the desert, having no leader.

‘A mountain cave which no man has ever seen’

Now as the heroes saw them rise, man after man, three in place of one, they rubbed their eyes in wonder, and the impious words which they had spoken dazzled their sense and confused their wits, so that they turned their arms against each other and fought with the fury of sundered friends. But Ilya took no part in that unnatural fight. Sadly and dazedly he watched until the twelve lay dead upon the plain. Then he slowly turned his shaggy bay steed Cloudfall and rode towards a mountain cave which no man has ever seen or shall see till the end of Holy Russia; and sitting in that cavern with his sword across his knees he slowly turned to stone. Cloudfall also became a lifeless statue, and there the two heroic friends sit on, waiting, waiting, waiting for the touch of life which will come when Holy Russia is in direst need and calls aloud in distress for the courage and skill, the patience and the fiery valour of Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck.

WHIRLWIND THE WHISTLER,
OR
THE KINGDOMS OF COPPER, SILVER, AND GOLD

In a certain kingdom in a certain land known to all of us lived the Great White Tsar and his wife Golden Tress, who was so beautiful that twice each day she caused the sun to blush a rosy red, once in the morning as he rose across the steppe, and once in the evening as he bade farewell to the white world; but for the rest of the day he asserted his kingship even over Golden Tress, and looked at her boldly and whenever he wished.

Now the Great White Tsar and his Tsaritza, Golden Tress, had three sons, Peter, Vasily, and Ivan, and one great enemy, Whirlwind the Whistler, whom he feared greatly, because this impetuous foe had vowed with a shriek and a howl to come at sunset and whirl away Golden Tress from the palace of the Little Father.

One evening Golden Tress went out with a company of maidens and nurses to walk in the gardens of the palace, and Whirlwind saw his chance. He rushed down upon the palace garden, blinding the eyes of all so that they could not see what tricks he was playing; and when the maidens and nurses opened their eyes they saw nothing at all and heard nothing at all except a far-off call of distress and a shriek of spiteful fury; for Whirlwind the Whistler had carried away Golden Tress to his den among the fastnesses of the mountains, while the trees bowed in fear before him as he took his way across the open steppe.

The Great White Tsar was now in deep distress, and knew not what to do. Years went by and still he knew not what to do, but one day it occurred to him to ask the help of his sons, who were now grown into fine young men. “My dear boys,” he said, “which of you will go and seek Golden Tress?” “We will go, and at once, father,” said the two elder brothers, and without delay they set out upon their quest.

When they had been gone for some time the youngest son, Ivan, said to his father, “Let me go also, my father, to seek Golden Tress.” “No,” said the Tsar, “for you are all I have in the white world.” “Do let me go also,” said Ivan, “for I long to wander over the white world and seek my mother.” The father did his best to persuade his boy to stay with him, for he was now very lonely, but when he saw that Ivan could no longer rest at home he yielded to his entreaties, saying to him, “Well, there is no help for it; go, and may the God of Holy Russia be good to you.”

Whirlwind the Whistler carries away Golden Tress

Ivan without delay saddled his good steed, entered the audience chamber of his father, bowed to North, South, East, and West, and particularly to the Great White Tsar, mounted his horse and rode on and ever onward across the steppe, whether it was long or short. By and by he came to a forest in the heart of which stood a lordly castle protected from the keen winds by a ring of encircling pines. Ivan rode into the broad courtyard, where he met an old man and greeted him kindly with the words, “Many years and years of health to you.” “Who are you, goodly youth?” asked the old man, and Ivan said quietly and proudly, “I am Ivan Tsarevich, son of the Great White Tsar and his Tsaritza, Golden Tress.” “Oh, my very, very own nephew,” said the old man; “and whither is God leading you?”

“I am in search of my mother, Golden Tress,” said Ivan. “Can you tell me, uncle, where she may be found?”

“No, nephew, I cannot,” returned the old man, “and that to my sorrow and discomfiture. But what I am able to do I will do willingly. Here is a ball. Throw it before you as you ride. It will roll onward and lead you to a range of steep rugged mountains. In the side of this range of mountains you will find a cave which you must enter, and having entered you will find within a pair of iron claws.”

“Take these iron claws,” the old man went on, “and place them upon your hands and your feet. This will enable you to climb up the steep face of the mountain, and having done so, perhaps you will find there your mother, Golden Tress.”

This was good advice so far as Ivan was able to judge, so he took the ball in his hand, thanked his uncle courteously, and, starting his horse on the path which led through the pine forest, threw the ball before him. Onward and ever onward it rolled, but it seemed something more than a mere ball, for occasionally it came to a parting of the ways and then appeared to pause for a moment and consider. Then onward and ever onward it rolled, while Ivan rode behind it until he came out at last upon an open plain where a great horde was encamped; and in the midst of the horde stood a fair pavilion of white linen embroidered with gold. The ball made a path through the ranks of the men-at-arms, who stood nimbly aside to let it pass, until it rested, but impatiently rested, by the opening of the pavilion, near which two stout chargers were feeding on wheat of the finest which was scattered thickly for their sustenance and comfort.

Then two leaders came forth shoulder to shoulder and hand to hand from that fair pavilion, and Ivan saw that they were his two elder brothers.

“Where are you going, Ivan, son of the Great White Tsar?” they asked, and the young man answered, “I grew weary at home and thought of going to seek my mother, Golden Tress. Send these men of yours to their homes and let us go together.”

The two brothers assented, and in a short space of time the great army was disbanded, and the two brothers sat across their chargers ready to go forward after the ball which was bouncing in great impatience. As soon as the three put spurs to their horses it rolled on again and went onward and ever onward until it came to a cave in a steep mountain. At the opening of this cave Ivan slipped down from his horse and said to his brothers, “Take care of my horse while I go on up the face of this mountain, where perhaps I shall find my mother. Remain here and wait for me for the space of just three months. If I do not come back within that time then you may conclude that it is of no use waiting for me any longer.”

The brothers looked up the face of the steep mountain and thought in their hearts, “How can a man climb that mountain-side? He will merely fall and crack his skull.” But they did not give utterance to their thoughts. They merely said, “Well, brother, go, and God be with you. We will wait for you here.”

Ivan now stepped forward to the cave, after giving his charger an affectionate pat upon its glossy neck, and saw that it was closed with a door of iron. He raised his hand and struck a hearty blow upon the door, which opened, and he went in. As he stood in the middle of the dark earthen floor, iron claws came upon his hands and feet of themselves, and, coming forth from the place into the light of day, he began to climb up the steep face of the mountain—climb, climb, climb.

For a whole month he toiled upward, resting at night beneath some friendly bush, and at the end of the month reached the summit with a sigh of relief. “Well,” he said, “well, well, glory be to God!”

For a little while he rested, and then walked onward on the summit of the mountain—walked and walked, walked and walked, until he came to a castle of copper. At the gateway sat terrible wriggling serpents fastened with copper chains, crowds of them writhing in a mass upon the earth; and not far away was a well, at the mouth of which was a copper bucket fastened with a copper chain. Now Ivan watched the writhing serpents for a moment, and then, obeying an impulse of kindliness, he drew water in the copper bucket and gave to them to drink. When they had quenched their thirst they lay down in quiet, and Ivan was able to enter the castle unmolested.

At the doorway and just over the threshold the young man was met by a Tsaritza who was clothed in a cloth of a coppery red, warm and brilliant, and whose hair was of a deep auburn tinged with light and shining with the early gloss of youthfulness. She looked coolly at Ivan as if she thought little of him, but her greeting was courteous enough. “Who are you, gallant youth?” she asked, and the young man replied simply:

“I am Ivan, youngest son of the Great White Tsar.”

“How did you come here?” asked the Copper Tsaritza, “with your own will or against your will?”

“With my own will,” said Ivan. “I am in search of my mother. For, while she walked in the green palace garden, Whirlwind the Whistler came with a shriek and bore her away to an unknown land. Can you tell me where I may find her?”

“No, I cannot,” was the reply, “but far away from here lives my second sister the Silver Tsaritza—perhaps she will be able to tell you where you may find Golden Tress. But I pray you, good youth, when you have killed Whirlwind the Whistler, do not forget me, poor unfortunate, but rescue me from this place and take me out into the free white world. Whirlwind the Whistler holds me here as a captive and comes to visit me once in three months to torment me with his doleful whining.” Then she gave the good youth a copper ball and a copper ring as a token. “This ball,” she said, “will lead you to my second sister, and within this ring lies the whole of the Kingdom of Copper.”

Then Ivan set the copper ball rolling and followed it until he came to a castle all of silver and finer than the first. At the gateway were terrible writhing serpents fastened with silver chains, and near them was a well with a silver bucket. Remembering the previous reward for his impulse of kindliness, Ivan drew water and gave it to the serpents to drink. When they had quenched their thirst they lay down in quiet, and Ivan was able to enter the castle unmolested.

At the doorway, and just over the threshold, he was met by a Tsaritza, who was clothed in cloth of silver and whose hair was of fine white silver, which yet did not take away from the beauty of her youthfulness. At first she did not see Ivan, and she spoke to herself. “It will soon be three years,” she said, “since Whirlwind the Whistler first imprisoned me in this silver castle, and during that time I have not seen or spoken with a dweller in Holy Russia. But by my lost Kingdom I see a Russian now and a goodly one.” Then she bent her beautiful eyes upon Ivan and said in a voice like a silver bell, “Who are you, good youth?”

“I am Ivan, youngest son of the Great White Tsar,” was the simple answer.

“How did you come here?” asked the Silver Tsaritza, “with your own will or against your will?”

“With my own will,” said Ivan. “I am in search of my mother. For, while she walked in the green palace garden, Whirlwind the Whistler came with a shriek and bore her away to an unknown land. Can you tell me where I may find her?”

“No, I cannot,” was the reply, “but not far away from here lives my eldest sister the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Lovely—perhaps she will be able to tell you where you may find Golden Tress. But I pray you, good youth, when you have killed Whirlwind the Whistler, do not forget me, poor unfortunate, but rescue me from this place and take me out into the free white world. Whirlwind the Whistler holds me here as a captive, and comes once in two months to torment me with his hideous voice.” Then she gave the good youth a silver ball and a silver ring as a token and said to him, “Within this little circle lies the whole of the Kingdom of Silver.”

Once more Ivan set the ball rolling, and wherever it went, there he followed it, and he came at last across many leagues of open country to a castle of gold. At the gateway sat terrible wriggling serpents fastened with golden chains, crowds of them writhing in a mass upon the earth; and not far away was a well at the mouth of which was a golden bucket fastened with a golden chain. Again Ivan watched the writhing serpents for a moment and then drew water in the golden bucket and gave to them to drink. When they had quenched their thirst they lay down in quiet, and Ivan was able to enter the castle unmolested.

At the doorway, and just over the threshold, he was met by a Tsaritza, who was clothed in cloth of gold and whose hair was of fine red gold glowing with the fire of youthfulness. At once she saw Ivan and said to him:

“Who are you, good youth?”

“I am Ivan, youngest son of the Great White Tsar,” was the simple answer.

“How did you come here?” asked the Golden Tsaritza, “with your own will, or against your will?”

“With my own will,” said Ivan. “I am in search of my mother. For, while she walked in the green palace garden, Whirlwind the Whistler came with a shriek and bore her away to an unknown land. Can you tell me where I may find her?”

“I can indeed tell you,” said the Golden Tsaritza. “She lives not far from here. Whirlwind the Whistler flies to her once a week and to me once a month, and he wearies both of us with his shrieks and his moans. Here is a golden ball for you. Throw it before you and follow it. It will lead you to your mother.” Then she gave the good youth a golden ring as a token and said to him: “Within this little circle lies the whole of the Kingdom of Gold. I pray you, good youth, when you have conquered Whirlwind the Whistler, do not forget me, poor unfortunate, but rescue me from this place and take me out into the free white world.”

“I will take you,” promised Ivan. Then he rolled the golden ball before him and wherever it went, there he followed it, until he came at last to such a palace as he could scarcely bear to look upon, it blazed so brightly with diamonds and precious stones. At the gateway six-headed serpents were hissing, but when Ivan had given them water from a well with a diamond bucket, fastened with a chain of fine seed pearls, they sank down in quiet and allowed him to pass into the castle. He walked quickly through one lofty chamber after another and in the last chamber he found his mother.

She was sitting on a great throne of a single emerald clad in the festal robes of a Tsaritza, and crowned with a dazzling crown, beneath which her golden tresses flowed downward over the emerald steps. Raising her sad clear eyes, she looked at the stranger, and as she looked the mist of memory cleared, a smile played about her beautiful ruddy lips, and she said eagerly, holding her hands forward, “Ah, is it you, my dear, dear son? How have you found out the place of my concealment?”

“That is so and so and by the way and matterless,” said Ivan. “Suffice it to say that I have come to fetch you home.”

“But, my dear, dear son,” said Golden Tress, “that will be indeed a hard matter for you. In these mountains the king of all is mighty Whirlwind, whom all the spirits of the air obey. It was he who bore me away, and it is against him that you must fight. Come quickly to the cellar.”

Golden Tress stepped with the step of youthfulness down from the emerald throne, and taking her son by the hand led him down a dark stairway into the cellar beneath the palace.

Now in the cellar there were two tubs of water, one on the right hand and the other on the left. Golden Tress led Ivan forward and said to him, “Drink from the tub on your right hand.” Ivan drank and drank deeply while his beautiful mother watched him closely, and when he was finished she asked, “Well, what strength is in thee?” “I am so strong,” said the youth, “that I could turn over the whole castle with one hand.”

“Drink again,” said Golden Tress, very quietly. Ivan drank again and drank deeply.

“What strength is in thee now?” asked his mother.

“I am so strong,” said he, “that, if I wished, I could turn the whole world over.”

“That is very great strength,” said Golden Tress. “Now move these tubs of water so as to make them change positions. Place the right-hand tub on the left and the left-hand tub on the right.” Ivan did so with perfect ease.

“Now,” said Golden Tress, “let me tell you why I asked you to do this. In one of these tubs is water of strength, but in the other, water of weakness. Whirlwind always drinks the water of strength, and puts it on the right side, so we must mislead him or you will never be able to overcome him.” Thereupon they made their way up the winding stairway to the apartment of Golden Tress, in which stood the shining throne made from a single emerald.

Golden Tress sat down upon this throne and composed herself, as if she were expecting a visitor. “In a short time,” she said, “Whirlwind will fly home. Come and hide beneath my purple robe so that he may not be able to see you, and when he enters and runs to try to embrace me reach out your hand, which is now a hand of heroic strength, and seize his club. He will rise high and ever higher, but do not therefore release your hold upon his club. He will fly out of the window in the roof, and will carry you over seas and over precipices, but do not in dizziness release your hold upon his club. After a while Whirlwind will grow weak and will return to this palace and go down to the cellar, but do not release your hold upon his club. He will drink of the water in the tub on the right hand, but see that you drink meanwhile of the water in the other tub.

“When he has drunk well, he will grow weak, and then you must take his sharp sword from his girdle and hew off his head with it. As soon as his head falls to the ground you will hear voices behind you crying, ‘Strike again, strike again.’ But these will be the voices of tempters, and your answer to them must be, ‘A hero’s hand strikes once to kill, but never once to maim.’”

Ivan had scarcely disposed himself under the flowing purple robe which swept down upon the green and translucent base of the throne of Golden Tress, when suddenly the room grew dark and everything within it trembled and creaked. Whirlwind flew to his castle, and no one saw his form until he struck the courtyard stones. Then he became a goodly young man with a changeful restless face, and strode quickly into the castle carrying his club with a flourish, until he came before the emerald throne.

“Tfu, Tfu, Tfu,” he said, sniffing disgustedly. “There is an odour of Russia here. Have you had visitors?”

“I cannot tell why you should think so,” said Golden Tress. Then Whirlwind came forward and held out his arms to embrace the mother of Ivan, but with a quick movement the heroic youth stretched out his hand and seized his club. “I’ll eat you,” cried Whirlwind in a passion of anger, and Ivan replied, “Well, either you will or you won’t.”

With a piercing shriek Whirlwind turned and mounted quickly upward. He passed with a howl through the open window in the roof, and then his form was changed, but what it was now no one knew or was able to describe, for as often as any one opened eyes to look at him he filled them with dust and water; if any one sniffed him he made them sneeze; if any one tried to lay hands upon him he buffeted them in the chest and turned them about like weather vanes, all the while crying out, “What is my shape?” Only pigs could see him and knew of what shape he was and they had no powers of description.

It was well for Ivan that in this furious flight he kept a firm hold on Whirlwind’s club, for as he rushed on over the world he kept shrieking, “I will smash you! I will lay you low! I will drown you!” But as his club was firmly held he was powerless to give a knock-down blow, and presently, wearied out with his own fury, he grew weak and began to sink. Then he turned homeward, and alighted gently and wearily upon the stones of the courtyard, where he became a young man with a restless peevish face, listlessly bearing his club, which would have trailed upon the ground if the heroic hand of Ivan had not upheld it. He made what speed he could to the cellar, and at once took a deep draught of the water of weakness, while Ivan, dropping the club, ran to the water of strength, of which he drank long and contentedly, and so became the first mighty hero in the whole white world.

Seeing that Whirlwind had now become weak to extremity he took his sharp sword from his girdle and cut off his head with it. Then from behind him he heard voices crying, “Strike again, strike again, or he will come to life.” “No,” cried Ivan in a heroic voice which in spite of himself seemed to echo throughout the world. “A hero’s hand strikes once to kill, but never once to maim.” Then without loss of time he made a fire, burned the body of Whirlwind as well as the head, and scattered his ashes from the ramparts of the castle to North, South, East, and West.

Then Golden Tress was glad and embraced her son. “Now let us eat,” she said, “and then go home together. It is very wearisome here—for of what use is a throne of a single emerald if there are no people? What are fine couches and sideboards and flagons and furniture if there is no love?”

“Are there not even servants to wait upon you?” asked Ivan. “How are you served?”

“You will see in a moment,” was the reply. “Think of dinner.” So Ivan thought of the nicest dinner he could imagine—thick soup, white fish with pink sharp sauce, meat, potatoes and spinach with rich brown gravy, iced pudding and apples and nuts for dessert—and before he could have written out the list all these things were upon the sideboard where they kept hot until they were needed, all of course except the pudding which stayed outside upon the window-sill to keep cool.

But with all this there was no sound, not even the cheerful clatter of plates or the chink of a jug upon a tumbler, for the plates came floating singly through the air and settled down quietly before the diners, while the wine rose from the bottom of the glasses as you have seen it do at the conjuror’s. Ivan and his mother ate in silence, and the young man was surprised to find the meal somewhat disappointing. His lovely mother watched him closely with a wise smile upon her face. “When we get home,” she promised herself, “he shall have hot cakes fresh from the oven with plenty of butter and—I shall make them myself.” Then she laughed inwardly and sniffed gently through her delicate nostrils as if she smelt the kitchen smell of newly made bread and cakes, and that is better even than a throne of a single emerald or a couch with a cover of sable skins lined with softest silk from Samarcand.

When mother and son had rested for a while and talked of many things, Golden Tress enquiring particularly how the stoves were drawing in the palace of the Great White Tsar, the young man said, “Mother, let us go home now, for it is time, and besides, under the mountains my brothers are waiting for me. And on the way I must rescue three Tsaritzas who are living in the castles of Whirlwind the Whistler.”

In a short time mother and son were ready for the journey, and though the castle was full of untold treasure they carried away with them not even a diamond of the size of a pin point. But they carried as many linen sheets as they could bear, not for vanity of housewifery but for a useful purpose. After a long journey they came to the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, and led her forth, asking her to carry with her as many linen sheets as she could comfortably bear. In a similar manner they led forth the Silver Tsaritza and the Copper Tsaritza, and these also brought linen sheets for the device which Ivan had designed.

When they came to the top of the precipice they tore the sheets into broad strips, knotted them together, and made a long linen rope of them; and by means of this stout rope, one end of which they fastened to the trunk of a lofty pine which had seen the dawn of history, they let themselves down to the plain below, first the Copper Tsaritza, then the Silver Tsaritza, then the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, and last of all Golden Tress, the Tsaritza of the Great White Tsar.

Now the two elder brothers of Ivan were standing below, waiting and watching, and when they saw the lovely ladies step daintily one after the other upon the earth they said to each other:

“Let us leave Ivan up there and let us take the three lovely maidens and our mother to our father, and tell him that we rescued them from Whirlwind the Whistler.”

“Right and just,” said Peter quickly, “I will take the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, for myself, and you, Vasily, take the Silver Tsaritza for yourself, and we will give the Copper Tsaritza to some general.”

Meanwhile Golden Tress was looking steadily up the face of the precipice, waiting impatiently for Ivan to come down by the ladder of linen. But the two brothers ran forward, seized the linen, pulled it and tore it away. And when Ivan heard it snap near the trunk of the great pine, he sat down and in spite of his strength and manliness wept so sorely, and for such a long time, that his tears made a cascade down the face of the precipice, where the ladder of linen had wavered in the breeze.

Then he arose somewhat refreshed and relieved, and turning back walked aimlessly through the Copper Kingdom, the Silver Kingdom, and the Golden Kingdom, but he met no living person. Then he came to the Diamond Kingdom, but even here he met no living person. He was now weary almost to death, and in the midst of wealth untold yearned for the sound of a human voice. In the Diamond Palace, from which he had rescued his mother, he wandered disconsolate not knowing what to do when, all at once, he saw a whistle lying on the window ledge. He took it up, and, being a good musician, began to play a tune, but as soon as he had sounded only one note Lame and Crooked stood before him, who seemed to be bowing all the time.

“What is your pleasure?” he asked.

“Get a bed ready,” said Ivan, and as soon as the words were spoken the bed stood near him with the pillows smoothed and the quilt turned down a little, so as to show the sheets of the finest linen. Ivan crept into the bed, in which he found a warming pan, settled down cosily and was soon in a deep sleep. After a time, the exact length of which does not matter, he awoke refreshed and whistled again. Before he could say Elena, Lame and Crooked stood before him.

“What is your pleasure?” he asked.

“Can everything be done, then?” asked Ivan.

“Everything is possible,” was the reply. “Whoever blows that whistle has everything done for him. As we served Whirlwind the Whistler before, so now we are glad to serve the man who conquered him by bracing himself with draughts of the water which comes from the stinging East. It is only necessary to keep the whistle by you at all times.”

“Well, then,” said Ivan, “let me be in my own city this very moment.”

He had no sooner spoken than he found himself in his own city, and standing in the middle of the market square. As he stood looking around him a jolly old shoemaker came up and Ivan said to him, “Where are you going, my good man?”

“I am going to sell my shoes,” was the reply, “for I am a shoemaker.”

“Take me into your employment,” said the son of the Great White Tsar.

“But do you know how to make shoes?” was the cautious enquiry.

“Oh yes,” said Ivan, with such confidence that the man could do nothing but believe him.

“I have the means of doing everything—not only making shoes but clothes as well.”

“Come along, then,” said the jolly shoemaker, and they went to his house. As soon as they had entered, the man took Ivan to the workshop and pointing to a seat near a bench he said: “Sit down there and get to work. I will go out to sell my wares, and when I return to-morrow I shall be able to judge exactly of your skill.”

As soon as the man was gone Ivan took out his whistle and summoned Lame and Crooked.

“What is your pleasure?” asked he.

“To have shoes ready by to-morrow.”

Lame and Crooked smiled a smile which seemed to wander round the room. “That is not work,” he said, “but recreation.”

“Here is the leather,” said Ivan, and Lame and Crooked looked at it with a curving upper lip. “That is poor stuff,” he said, “and the proper place for it is out of the window.” Then he jumped out very nimbly after it and Ivan saw him no more; but when the young man awoke next morning he saw on the table beside his bed several pairs of shoes of the very best. He had scarcely dressed himself when the jolly old shoemaker came into his room and said, “Well, young man, are the shoes ready?”

“They are ready for sale,” said Ivan quietly, pointing to the shoes on the table beside his bed. The shoemaker inspected them very closely, and his eyes opened wide in wonder. “Why, young man,” he said, with a jolly smile, “you are not a shoemaker but a magician. I must go at once to the market and turn these fine shoes into good red gold.”

Off he went to the market, and while he waited for customers to arrive he heard all the gossip of the city, which was greatly moved to curiosity over three forthcoming weddings at the palace of the Great White Tsar. He heard that Prince Peter was to marry the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, that Prince Vasily was to marry the Silver Tsaritza, and that the Copper Tsaritza was to marry a general. Dresses were being made for the wedding, said the good dames of the market-place, such as had never yet been designed or embroidered within the memory of the oldest in Holy Russia. Then came a royal messenger seeking shoes for Elena the Beautiful, and after searching the whole market he came to the stall of the jolly old shoemaker and easily concluded that his wares were finer and more delicate than any others; so he told the man to pack up his entire stock and come with him to the apartments of the Golden Tsaritza, Elena the Beautiful, in the palace of the Great White Tsar.

The Golden Tsaritza was seated among her maidens, who were so busy and excited and trembling that they sewed many of the lovely garments quite wrong; and as the shoemaker entered the room the Lady-of-Honour, who bore the high title of Golden Scissors, was scolding a pretty young dressmaker for putting the right sleeve in the place of the left. As for Elena the Beautiful herself, she sat looking straight before her with the expression on her face of a person who is obliged to do one thing but would rather do something else.

When she saw the shoes spread out on a table before her she looked at them in a listless manner; then, all at once, her beautiful eyes moistened and brightened, and she said to the shoemaker who stood near with his cap of rough fur in his hand, “What is the meaning of this? They make shoes of this pattern only in the mountains.” At once an idea for gaining time came into her mind, and turning to the somewhat bewildered shoemaker, whose jolly face was clouded and anxious owing to his good fortune, she said to him in a voice which sounded hard and cold like the ring of steel upon an anvil, “Make me, without measure, another pair of shoes cunningly sewn, set with precious stones and glittering with diamonds. They must be ready for to-morrow, otherwise my servants will hale you to the gallows.”

The shoemaker was then taken to the Tsar’s treasury, where he chose the precious stones required, and was given money to buy leather of the richest and softest kind that could be obtained. He had received the most exalted order he had ever been honoured with, and might have put upon his signboard, “Shoemaker by Royal Appointment to the Golden Tsaritza,” but still he was far from happy—in fact he was utterly miserable. “By Svyatogor, Ilya, and Vladimir and all the heroes,” he said, “but greatness means great worry. Whatever shall I do? How can I make shoes by to-morrow when I am not allowed to measure the exalted foot of the beautiful Tsaritza? I shall make nothing by to-morrow but an end to my life, for it is very clear that I shall make acquaintance with the gallows—say about ten o’clock. However, seeing that it cannot be helped, let me have a last jollification with my companions.”

Off he went to the inn where he had more friends than was good for him, and when they saw his face so gloomy which was usually so jolly and generous they eagerly asked him the cause of his trouble.

“Oh, my dear friends,” he said, “I have been honoured with a Court order and as a consequence they are going to hang me to-morrow, and only the lucky man who succeeds to my business will reap the benefit of being able to call himself ‘Shoemaker by Royal Appointment to the Golden Tsaritza.’”

“Why so?” asked his companions, who were so thirsty that they thought the shoemaker might have made a much shorter speech. Then the man told his trouble as shortly as possible, concluding with the words, “What think you, friends, of an order like that? I may as well enjoy myself with you for the last time, for they will surely come for me to-morrow morning—say about ten o’clock.”

So they drank and drank and sang and joked and danced and then drank again, by which time the shoemaker was by no means steady upon his legs. “Well,” he said, as the town clock struck twelve, “I will take home a keg of spirits and lie down to sleep, and to-morrow when they come to take me to the gallows I will drink a gallon and a half at one draught, and if they hang me drunk I may be able to look and feel jolly until the last.”

Then he staggered home with the keg under his arm. He had scarcely passed the threshold when he saw Ivan and began at once to upbraid him. “You abandoned rascal,” he cried, “see what your fine shoes have done for me.” Then he told him as much of the story as he could remember, and staggered off to bed saying, “When they come for me in the morning, wake me up.”

As soon as all was quiet Ivan took out his whistle and blew, whereupon Lame and Crooked appeared as before.

“What is your pleasure?” he asked, and the young Prince told him what was required.

“We obey!” said Lame and Crooked, who did not even ask for the precious stones from the Tsar’s treasury which the shoemaker had used to wipe out his score at the inn.

Ivan lay down to sleep, and when he awoke next morning he thought that the sun had risen two hours too soon for his room was filled with fiery golden light. But it was only the brilliance of the precious stones set in the dainty shoes on the table by his bedside. He jumped up, dressed himself in the light of the shining gems which shone not by reflected radiance, but from the depth of their glowing hearts. Then he picked up the dainty shoes, kissed them lightly, and took them to his master whom he roused with a shake.

“It is time to rise,” he said in the man’s ear.

“What!” cried the shoemaker, sitting bolt upright with a tremendous start. “Have they come for me? Bring me the keg quickly and draw the blind to keep out the light, which shines too cheerfully for a poor fellow who is to be hanged about ten o’clock. Here is a cup. Pour the spirits in. They shall hang me drunk.”

“But the shoes are made,” said Ivan quietly, looking at the man with amusement almost conquered by disgust.

“Made? How made? Who made them? Where are they? Can’t you draw the blind and keep out that silly light?”

Ivan drew the blind but the light was not thereby diminished, and now the bewildered shoemaker saw that the radiance came from the precious stones in the shoes which Ivan held in his hand.

The man rubbed his eyes in a dazed manner and then said, “They are made sure enough and look small enough even for Elena the Beautiful. When did we make them?”

“They were made in the night,” said Ivan quietly, “but it is possible that you do not remember. Do you really find yourself unable to recall having cut and sewed them. Do try to remember—think it over very hard.”

“Oh, brother,” said the bewildered shoemaker, “it must have been working over these brilliant gems that has dazed my wits. I barely remember, but only very barely. But I must make haste to carry them to Elena the Beautiful. Thank goodness we have been able to execute her exalted order.”

“And that you have been saved from occupying a still more exalted position,” said Ivan, who being a prince had a great sense of humour.

“Yes, indeed,” said the shoemaker as he left the house at great speed. Before Ivan could say Elena, which, by the way, he was continually saying to himself, the jolly shoemaker was standing in the apartment of the Golden Tsaritza where the preparations for the wedding seemed to be as busy as ever.

Elena the Beautiful looked at the shoes, and something to which she dared not give a name told her heart what had taken place. “Surely,” she said to herself, very very softly, “the good Spirits made these for Ivan.” Then aloud she said to the grinning shoemaker, “How did you make these?”

“Oh,” said the man, “I am able to do everything.”

The reply of the Tsaritza came quickly upon this boast. “If you can do everything, make me a wedding robe embroidered with gold and ornamented with diamonds and precious stones, which will fit my body as exactly as these shoes fit my feet. Let it be ready by to-morrow morning, for, if it is not, off goes your head.”

The face of the shoemaker fell, and he went out into the street and walked a long, long way thinking very hard. “Well, well,” he said at last, “it is of no use mourning. To-day will be my last day, that is quite certain, and I may as well spend it in jollification. For though a shoemaker may by great industry make a wonderful pair of shoes, he cannot make a wonderful wedding robe for a beautiful Tsaritza without measurements, to say nothing of trying on.” Then he went off to the inn, where he found his companions, who seemed to live there.

‘“Oh,” said the man, “I am able to do everything.”’

“Well, what is wrong now?” they asked him as soon as they saw his gloomy face.

“Nothing but contradiction,” he said. “My high-born patron has now made me Court Dressmaker and has ordered me to make her a wedding-robe embroidered with gold and ornamented with diamonds and precious stones, which will fit her body as exactly as my shoes fit her feet, and the whole contraption is to be ready by to-morrow morning, for, if it is not, off goes my head.”

“Ah, brother,” said the loafers, “it is clearly impossible that you should execute the order, and as we suppose you have the stones on your person we may as well go and frolic for to-day.”

The face of the shoemaker fell still lower, for in his consternation he had forgotten to ask for the jewels from the royal treasury. But he had in his pocket the large price paid for the shoes, and, as his previous score was paid, the inn-keeper allowed the topers to have a good supply of spirits. Once more they caroused and once more the shoemaker-dressmaker took a keg of spirits home with him and told Ivan all his tale, concluding with the words, “Wake me in the morning. I’m off to bed.” In a few minutes he was sound asleep.

Ivan at once blew the whistle, and Lame and Crooked appeared before him.

“What is your pleasure?”

“Make me a robe which will fit Elena the Beautiful to perfection. Let it be embroidered with gold and ornamented with diamonds and precious stones, and deliver it here before dawn.”

“We obey,” said Lame and Crooked. “The wedding robe shall be ready.”

Ivan slept and woke before dawn. He knew at once that the light in his chamber came from the shining gems on the bodice of the beautiful robe which lay across a chair by his bedside. He jumped up, dressed himself quickly, and taking up the dress kissed the corsage where the heart of Elena would beat, and carried the wonderful garment to the chamber of his snoring master.

The light from the gems roused the man, who groaned, sat up slowly, and rubbed his eyes. “What!” he cried in a trembling voice, “is it broad day already, and have they come to cut off my head? Give me that keg of spirits and a can. I will drink three gallons at a draught and then I shall be so full of courage that I shall not feel the axe.”

“But the robe is ready,” said Ivan very quietly.

“What?” roared the Court Shoemaker-Dressmaker. “When did we make it?”

“It was made in the night, of course, and it is not the first time that a Court Dressmaker has had to work until the small hours. Do you not remember cutting the cloth?”

“Ah, brother,” said the man who was now weeping like a crocodile for sheer relief, “it must have been the sheen of the gold embroidery that dazzled my wits. I barely remember, but only very barely. But I must make haste to carry this robe to Elena the Beautiful. Thank goodness I have been able to rise to the occasion once more.”

“Yes, thank goodness,” said Ivan, “but it is to be hoped that you will not be honoured with any more Court appointments.” His employer, however, did not hear this last remark, for by the time that Ivan had finished speaking he was standing in the apartment of Elena the Beautiful, where the preparations seemed to be as busy as ever.

The Golden Tsaritza looked at the robe and something to which she dared not give a name told her heart what had taken place. “Surely,” she said to herself, “the good Spirits made this robe for Ivan.” Then aloud she said to the prinking shoemaker, “How did you make this?”

“Oh,” said the unlucky man, “I can make anything.”

The reply of the Tsaritza came like a flash of lightning. “See that at to-morrow’s dawn,” she said, “the Kingdom of Gold be on the sea, seven miles from shore, and across the blue waters stretching from that Kingdom to our palace let there be a bridge of gold with costly crimson velvet laid upon it and set at each side with wonderful trees to form an avenue full of love-birds singing sweetest songs of dawn with varied voices. If this is not done by to-morrow morning I will have you cut up into four quarters.”

As the Tsaritza spoke, the face of the shoemaker took on an expression of wonder worthy of a large audience at the most wonderful conjuring entertainment you can imagine. Then he turned slowly and left the apartment of Elena the Beautiful, muttering to himself, “Court Shoemaker, Court Dressmaker, and now Court Magician. I may as well have another day’s frolic, for though a man may rise twice in drowning he does not rise thrice and live.”

He walked slowly off to the inn, heavily weighed down with greatness and cursing the day when he had forsaken his simple life. But he had the price of the robe in his pouch and the third carousal was as jolly as the others, and he swore to drink six gallons of spirits on the following morning. His friends gave him a drunken cheer, sang “He’s a jolly good fellow,” and saw him home with the keg under his arm.

As before Ivan was waiting for him, and as good luck would have it, the poor man for all his intoxication was able to remember what was required of him; and as for Lame and Crooked he smiled a crooked but very intelligent smile when the task was detailed to him. “At last,” he said, “you give me real work to do.”

Ivan went to sleep and woke early thinking that he had overslept himself and that it was now broad noon, for a bright light as of the sun was shining in at his chamber window which, as he knew very well, faced due south. He sprang from his bed, and, drawing aside the blind, saw across the sea the Kingdom of Gold in all its splendour lying like a shining island seven miles from the shore, and across the waters stretching from that Kingdom to the palace of the Great White Tsar there was a bridge of gold with costly crimson velvet laid upon it, at each side of which were set wonderful trees to form an avenue full of love-birds singing sweetest songs of dawn with varied voices. Ivan dropped the blind, dressed himself with particular care in the golden light which filled his chamber, went into his master’s room and roused him from his heavy sleep.

“Have they come for me?” cried the man in great terror, “give me the keg and——-” But Ivan said quietly:

“But the Kingdom of Gold is upon the sea.”

“Ah,” said the shoemaker. “How did we do that?”

“Don’t you remember how we fixed it?” said Ivan.

“Yes, yes,” was the hasty reply. “I dimly remember, very, very dimly. Let us go out to see if we have finished the work with the care expected of our exalted appointments.”

In a few moments they were upon the shore and found everything prepared in a manner which seemed to be fit even for Elena the Beautiful, but one thing did not please the fastidious taste of Ivan.

“Here, master,” he said, “here is a peacock feather duster. Go and dust the railing of the pathway to the kingdom. And if you meet any persons in the avenue give them this letter.”

The man at once went off to do the bidding of his journeyman, and was soon busily engaged in delicately dusting the golden railing of the bridge.

Meanwhile Elena the Beautiful arose, and drawing the curtains of her chamber which looked towards the sea saw the Kingdom of Gold lying like a shining island on the bosom of the deep blue waters. Her maids dressed her in a simple robe of white lawn, with a girdle of gold, and then she went to the Great White Tsar, who sat at breakfast with Golden Tress, and told him what she had seen across the sea. At once the mighty monarch sent out royal messengers and these men walked along the bridge until they met the shoemaker, who was busily engaged in the task which Ivan had set him. When they accosted him he did not cease his work, but taking a letter from his pouch handed it with his left hand to the men whose duty it would have been to hang, behead, and quarter him if it had not been for his wonderful assistant who could get everything done.

The men went away and brought the letter to the Great White Tsar just as he was beginning on toast and marmalade. He propped it up against the diamond teapot and read it as he finished his morning meal, and as he did so he made such strange exclamations that Golden Tress thought with concern that a crumb of toast must surely have gone down the wrong way.

Then he arose and ordered out the golden State coach for himself and Golden Tress, as well as a simple waggon of dark wood drawn by a small shaggy pony for the Golden Tsaritza, and in this way they came to the end of the bridge which led to the Kingdom of Gold, where stood Ivan with Peter on one side of him and Vasily on the other.

The Tsar frowned when he caught sight of his two elder sons, for Ivan’s letter had told him all the truth, but as he looked Ivan embraced both of them as a sign that on this golden morning he could forgive any one.

The State carriage came to a stop, and Ivan ran forward to greet his parents, but hearing a low cry of gladness from the simple waggon behind he ran forward, lifted Elena the Beautiful to the ground, and leading her to his mother knelt to receive her blessing.

You have not paid much attention to the details of this story if you cannot imagine what followed; but even the most careful reader cannot measure the bliss of the lovers who had known that they loved each other since their first meeting without a word being spoken; and that is really a greater wonder than the magic feats performed by Lame and Crooked, when you come to think about it soberly.

As for Peter, he was married to the Silver Tsaritza, while Vasily wedded the Copper Tsaritza, and the shoemaker was made a general on the retired list, which meant that he had fine uniforms and a grand house, but was not expected to do any fighting. He was given a coat of arms by Golden Tress which bore three spirit kegs, as a reminder that he was to be a temperate man for the rest of his life, and for all I know, he really was.