“Old woman, thou dost ask impolitely. First give me to eat and to drink, put me to rest, and then ask me for news.”
She gave him food and drink, put him to bed, and then asked for news.
“I was, grandmother,” said he, “in tender years; my father rocked me in the cradle, and promised me Peerless Beauty as bride,—the daughter of three mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers, and the sister of nine brothers.”
“Thou art a good youth, and fair spoken. I am living to the end of the seventh ten of years, and of that beauty I have not heard. Farther on the road lives my elder sister; maybe she knows. But sleep now; the morning is wiser than the evening.”
Ivan Tsarevich passed the night; next morning he rose early, washed himself white, led forth his steed, saddled him, put his foot in the stirrup. The old woman merely saw him. He rode far with distance, high with height; the day was shortening, coming toward night. There stood a house like a town, each room was a chamber. He rode to the porch, tied his horse to a silver ring, went to the entrance, and then to the chamber, prayed to God, asked a night’s lodging. An old woman said: “Tfu, tfu! so far a Russian bone was not seen with sight nor heard with hearing; but now a Russian bone has come itself to the house. Where hast thou come from, Ivan Tsarevich?”
“Oh, thou old hag, how angry thou art! Thou dost not ask with politeness; thou shouldst first give me food and drink, put me to rest, then ask for news.”
She seated him at the table, gave him food and drink, put him to rest, sat at the head of the bed, and inquired: “Where is God bearing thee?”
“I was in tender years, grandmother; my father rocked me in the cradle and promised me Peerless Beauty as bride,—the daughter of three mothers, the granddaughter of three grandmothers, and the sister of nine brothers.”
“Thou art a good youth, of kind speech. I am living toward the end of the eighth ten of years, and of that beauty I have never heard. Before thee on the road lives my elder sister,—mayhap she knows; she has answer-givers. Her first answer-givers are the beasts of the forests, the second are the birds of the air, the third are the fish and creatures of the sea. Whatever is in the white world obeys her. Go to her in the morning, but sleep now; the morning is wiser than the evening.”
Ivan Tsarevich passed the night, rose early, washed himself very white, sat on his steed, and vanished. He rode far with distance, high with height. The day was growing short, drawing near to the night; and there stood a house like a town, each room was a chamber. He came to the porch, tied his horse to a golden ring, then went to the entrance, and next to the chamber, prayed to God, and asked a night’s lodging. An old woman screamed at him. “Oh, thou, this and that kind of man, thou art not worthy of an iron ring, and thou hast tied thy horse to a gold one!”