But the ecstasy to which the lovers, all intervening barriers broken down, at last commit themselves is quickly interrupted. Warning sounds are heard, and though for these the enraptured pair have at first no ears, the attendants of the Princess are driven by fear to call attention to them. Hurriedly the maidens pass through the magic gates, the beautiful Tsarevna lingering for a last embrace. With difficulty she tears herself from her lover’s imploring arms, and slips through the already moving gates, only in the nick of time. Impetuously Ivan darts forward, but the gates clang to in his face. Within, at the threshold of the dark tower, which is to swallow her up, he has a glimpse of the Princess’ last fluttering signal of farewell.
It is light now. All around is plainly visible the fantastic foliage of the enchanted forest. The stone images of hapless predecessors, who perchance once found themselves in similar plight, are close at hand. Prudence dictates an instant flight from the horrid spot. But the young man is frantic. Warnings are forgotten, caution is ignored. With bold determination he seizes the iron gates, and shakes them violently. They yield to his wrench and fly suddenly open.
On the instant there is a loud clanging of bells, discordant music peals through the air, and forth from the gloomy tower there rushes a terrifying crowd of extraordinary persons—terrifying alike for the suddenness of their appearance, the swift fierceness of their irruption, and the strangeness of their aspect. A horde of savage Indians, leaping wildly down the sloping bank, has pounced upon the wretched Ivan and borne him to the ground, even while he recoils before the staggering result of his temerity. Close upon their heels follow Turks and Chinamen, clowns and dancers—an odd medley of grotesque figures garbed in a glittering array of fantastic dresses. Some bear arms—lances, swords, shields and poniards; others are studded with flashing gems; all comport themselves in some freakish manner, which inspires horror even while it moves to mirth. Here is a comic pair who advance with a kind of jog-trot dance; there waddle a number of wretched creatures with bent, distorted legs. No monarch of bedlam was ever surrounded by so wild, incredible a court.
The effect of this sudden development is startling; in the space of a few brief moments the gloomy forest clearing, now brilliantly illumined, is filled with this astonishing rout. On the steps behind the gates, too, and upon the sloping bank to which they lead, the fantastic assembly is massed. At one side, guarded by his strange captors, and overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events, the rash Prince regards the scene in stupefied amazement.
The riot of senseless movement which the crowd of figures has maintained continuously from the moment of entry ceases suddenly, and those lining the bank above the clearing suddenly prostrate themselves. In a moment all are grovelling flat, with faces turned abjectly to the ground. Their lord and master, Kostchei Live-for-Ever, approaches—an unclean, hairy monster, with claw-like avaricious fingers, embodiment of malice and all evil. Queer hunchbacks, in motley garb and bearing wands of office, attend him.
The ogre’s restless eye lights upon Ivan, and the latter is dragged forward to confront him. Seeing no trace of pity in that evil countenance, the dismayed Prince makes an effort to fly. But the Indians and the bent-legged deformities fling themselves upon him and he is overcome before he can escape. A ray of hope sustains him as at this moment he sees the beautiful Tsarevna and her maidens hurrying to the scene. Imploringly the girls intercede on behalf of Ivan, but the ogre thrusts them aside, determined to add one more to his tale of victims. He advances to where the Prince stands beside the group of melancholy stone images.
Vindictively the ogre makes passes in the air. The Prince, bracing himself to meet the attack, endeavours to resist the magic influence, and for the moment is successful. But he reels under the strain of effort, and when a second pass is made it is clear that he is within an ace of succumbing. At his final gasp, however, Ivan bethinks him of the feather bestowed upon him by the Fire Bird. He pulls it from his girdle and brandishes it in his enemy’s face.
The ogre staggers back before the flashing token, his discomfiture increasing at the apparition, in the same moment, of the Fire Bird, against whom he knows his black arts to be of no avail. Baffled, he totters to his hunchback retinue, while the Fire Bird usurps his power of domination. With rhythmic gesture it stirs the supine crowd to movement; and the movement it presently excites to a dance, the dance to a frenzy. Now here, now there, flitting to and fro the dazzling creature goads to fiercer efforts. Faster with every moment the pace increases, till the whole mad throng is swept into a wild whirl, which oscillates obedient to the Fire Bird’s waving arms. All at length collapse exhausted upon the ground, and yielding further to the Fire Bird’s mystic influence are presently sunk in slumber. Last to succumb is the thwarted ogre, but even he is forced to give way to the drowsiness which assails him.