The king’s son pursued his way till he came to the Sun’s bright antechamber, where he tied his steed to a diamond pillar; then he bathed in the fire-bath, and rubbed with fire-towels; looking at himself from head to foot in the shining wall of the antechamber as in a mirror, he combed his hair with a golden comb. Here, ’pon my soul, what came of the affair, or what did not, a subject-spirit in the service of the Sun became enraged in good earnest (for his eyebrows struggled with each other),—no doubt it was at the king’s son,—and with a single breath, which the son of the hurricane could not withstand, blew straight ahead, so that the king’s son did not feel the ground under his feet for seventy-seven miles. Then he fell into a terribly dark opening, and groped along in this cavern, feeling his way like a blind man. If he made a step, he trod on a serpent; if he felt with his hand, he grasped a warty toad; if he looked around, he saw only red-eyed worms,—creeping, crawling things. He went on and on till he heard the plash of seething water. The beating of iron hammers struck his ear-drum, and so struck as almost to break it. This is the place where thunderbolts are made. He went on till he came to a great iron gate, standing open just then; but a tremendous, cursed, hundred-headed dragon, who let no one pass, kept guard there. What could the king’s son take hold of? What could he do with his life? Here, upon my soul! what he did, or what he did not do, he took out a sweet-speaking, magic flute, and blew on it so sadly that his tears rolled down. Such touching notes did he draw from the flute that the great powerful beast—the hundred-headed dragon—became as a lamb, lowered his bloody crest; his bristling scales dropped smoothly, one on the other; he stretched on the ground, and cowered, whining like a dog when he beholds his master after an absence. Seeing this, the king’s son grew bold, and going straight to the dragon, stepped upon him, walked on his back, and the terrible wild beast did not mind it; he only licked his foot, wagged his tail, and let the king’s son pass over.
After he had gone through the gate the darkness began to part; and no wonder, for a charm-given, lovely maiden, in a purple velvet robe, stepped before him. She was no other than Dawn, the dearest and best-beloved daughter of the Sun. Now, the splendid young prince pleased this flower of the skies. She placed him by her side on her winged steed, and flew across the vault of heaven, and they swept on till they reached the razor bridge. When they touched the bridge, their horse became as if he were not; and they crossed so that the horse’s feet were not injured, and the razor’s edge was not dented. Having passed the razor bridge they came to the copper forest, where were working at that moment the woodcutters of the Sun, who on iron wagons were taking wood to the kitchen, with a terrible rattling and pounding. Thence they rode to the silver forest, where silver-white birds cheered every wanderer. Two of the birds came and sang the sweetest notes. The silver-trees inclined thrice to the daughter of the Sun. Next they reached the golden forest, where sweet-voiced, golden-yellow birds enlivened the visitors, and threw down golden nuts here and there from the trees. The golden forest bent thrice to the daughter of the Sun.
In the middle of the golden forest was Dawn’s garden; in the garden her copper-roofed mansion. When the Beauty of the Skies came home the pearly flowers shook their bells, and began to sound. On hearing this, the stars swept forth like a swarm, and glittered round about. The maiden nodded but once, and behold! purple clouds swam before her like so many sky-sacks, which serve on the extended firmament as boats. Dawn took her seat, but first she spread her mantle and seated the king’s son at her side. Lest his part of the boat might be heavier, she drew him nearer to her with an embrace; but he dared not embrace in return.
They sailed and sailed through the airy heavens till they were weary; then they tied their boat to the tree with diamond blossoms, silver leaves, and golden apples. They sat on a golden bench under the tree, and were there but a moment, when at a nod from the Sun’s daughter a golden butterfly appeared more quickly than a spoken word, and brought fresh-gathered honey of the skies on a rose-leaf. When they had eaten, thirst seized the king’s son; then a modest star came bringing a goblet on a silver tray, in the goblet a charm-drink, and when the king’s son had drunk from the golden goblet his thirst fell away as if it had been cut in two.
When their hunger and thirst were gone, at the Sun’s daughter’s nod the modest stars brought a cithara. Dawn then played on its golden chords with silver feathers, and sounded such notes that a man hearing them would spring up and whirl in the dance, even if his own father were lying dead on the table. After that came the hour of rest; the king’s son was led across seventy-seven chambers to the bath-room. In the middle of the room stood a great golden cask filled with dew, and on a boxwood table lay lathery soap. The king’s son bathed in the dew-water, washed himself with the lathery soap, and wiped with a towel of gold.
When he rose next morning, Dawn gave him a burning ray which she wound up like a ribbon, put in a box, and hung with a golden hair on the neck of the king’s son. After that they parted amidst tear-shedding. The Sun’s daughter sped across the vault of heaven on her winged steed, and the king’s son continued his journey.
As I say, he had a ray to light up the island. The king’s son journeyed and travelled till the steed spoke, saying: “Listen, dear master.”
“What is thy command, dear horse?”
“Gird thyself well, for thou must cut the three reeds at a blow; a second blow would lose thee thy head. If at one blow thou succeed, the island will be lighted up. The world-beautiful maiden and her two attendants will be thine, but only on condition that thou cut not open the reeds before coming to water; for if thou dost, they will die a fearful death in a moment.”
The king’s son promised by heaven and earth that he would act as told. On the seventh day they came to the island of the Black Sea, where there was such darkness that a spoon would have stood up in it; but the king’s son drew out the box hanging by the golden hair and removed the cover. All at once the way was lighted, but so strangely that it gave light only to him; he could see everything, but not a created soul could see him. When he came to where the three reeds were growing, they bent before him and bowed to the earth. They continued to bow; at the best moment the king’s son drew his sword and with a blow all three reeds fell upon his breast. But from the three reed-stumps black blood sprang forth, and a bitter wail was heard as if a naked sword had been thrust into some one’s heart. It had been thrust into the heart of the witch; for the black blood was hers, and the bitter wail was her death-sigh. She could only live while the three reeds stood. As soon as the old witch had breathed out her soul, the burning ray flew out of the silver box as if it had been shot from a gun, and the whole island was in light.