safety in his girdle, the Fire Bird, rejoicing with agile dance in its regained freedom, vanishes into the recesses of the forest. As it flits away a momentary compunction pricks the young man. That such a wondrous quarry should elude him irks his hunter’s pride, and he snatches up his cross bow with intent to shoot. But even as he draws the string he calls to mind the compact made, and remembers that he is bound in honour to abstain from new aggression. With petulant gesture he lowers the weapon from his shoulder, and turns to go.
The darkness which has shrouded the forest depths is fading now. Through the no longer impenetrable gloom a sloping bank is seen, to which the steps behind the closed gates give access. Athwart this bank is now discernible a castle tower, and through the archway of this, even as the Prince, with astonished gaze, is wondering whither he should turn his steps, a young girl suddenly appears. She pauses silently for a moment, then slowly advances along the bank. Other maidens emerge behind her from the tower. Flesh and blood, and very fair to look upon, they seem, but in their long white gowns, so suddenly and strangely appearing, they have an almost spectral aspect, and the young man, caution prompting, hastily seeks a hiding-place from which he can watch unobserved.
One by one the maidens, in number twelve, gather upon the bank. The gates fly open at their approach, and with girlish glee they trip forth into the forest clearing. A moment later, hurrying to join her companions, yet another damsel appears, whose mien and richer attire seem to indicate a lofty rank. She hastens to the magic tree and gently shakes its bough. Down falls a shower of gleaming fruit, to the delight of the expectant maidens, who nimbly pursue, helter-skelter, the golden apples as they roll.
Sportively they dance and toss the apples to and fro, innocently enjoying their hour of liberty, and unaware that any stranger’s eye observes them. But Ivan, in his place of concealment, finds his curiosity irresistible. Bursting impetuously forth, he appears before the frolicsome, now startled, group. In dismay, the maidens drop their playthings and flee in apprehension before the bold intrusion. Ivan doffs his cap, and with a courtly salutation seeks to allay their fears. Observing an apple that has rolled to his feet, he picks it up, and with outstretched hand proffers it gently to the leader of the timid band. She takes it shyly, obviously not insensible to the grace and handsome bearing of the stranger; but upon Ivan seeking to improve this advantage by a nearer approach, all fly from him in fresh alarm. Again he does them reverence, endeavouring by his attitudes to reassure them, and presently has the gratification of seeing their confidence return.
The prince-errant discovers now his whereabouts, and the strange peril of his situation. He is before the castle, it seems, of Kostchei Live-for-Ever, an ogre of monstrous villainy, who loves to practise sorcery on such benighted travellers as may chance to ask his hospitality. Some he bewitches and keeps immured within his dreadful asylum: others he petrifies—as the stone figures looming in the background bear grimly silent testimony. His fair companions, Ivan learns further, are a luckless princess and her attendants, who have fallen under the ogre’s spell, and though escaping malformation at his evil hands, remain prisoners pent within his domain. A brief hour of release nightly is all their respite—and already the moment is at hand when they must retire into the enchanted castle.
Already between the gallant prince and the lovely Tsarevna tender looks have been exchanged, and there follows a charming love passage between the two. The chivalrous constraint of the ardent youth, the shy modesty of the not less ardent maiden, and the climax of mutual surrender are romantically portrayed in expressive pantomime.
