The maidens rock him, they cannot rock him to sleep. “Come, Tsar, great Gosudár,” said they, “rock thy own son.”
The Tsar rocked him, saying the while, “Sleep, little son, sleep, my own dear; thou wilt grow up a man. I will get thee Peerless Beauty as bride, the daughter of three mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers.”
The Tsarevich fell asleep and slept again three days and three nights. He woke up and said, “Give thy blessing, father; I am going to marry.”
“What dost thou mean, my dear little child? Whither canst thou go? Thou art but nine days of age in all.”
“If thou wilt give me thy blessing, I’ll go; if not, I’ll go also.”
“Well, the Lord guide thee.”
Ivan Tsarevich arrayed himself, and went to find a horse. He went a short way from the house, and met an old man. “Where art thou going, young man,” asked he,—“of thy own will, or against thy will?”
“I will not talk with thee,” answered the Tsarevich. He went on a little, changed his mind. “Why did I not say something to the old man. Old people bring us to sense.” Straightway he overtook the old man. “Stop, grandfather. Of what didst thou ask me?”
“I asked where art thou going, young man,—of thy own will, or against thy will?”
“I go so much of my own will, and twice that much against my will. I was in early years; my father rocked me in the cradle; he promised to get me Peerless Beauty as bride.”