The champions saw Ivan Tsarevich and straightway began to make sport of him: “Oh, country clown, is such a beauty for thee? Thou art not worth her middle finger!”
They attacked him on every side to take away his bride. Ivan Tsarevich did not endure this. He swung his arm, there was a street; he swung the other, the place was smooth and clear around. He killed all to the last man. Peerless Beauty took him by the hand, led him to her chambers, seated him at the oaken tables, at the spread cloths, entertained him, called him her bridegroom. Soon after they prepared for the road and set out for the land of Ivan Tsarevich. They travelled and travelled, halted in the open field to rest. Peerless Beauty lay down to sleep, and Ivan Tsarevich guarded her slumber. When she had slept enough, and woke up, the Tsarevich said: “Peerless Beauty, guard my white body; I will lie down to sleep.”
“But wilt thou sleep long?”
“Nine days and nights; and I shall not turn from one side to the other. If thou tryest to wake me, thou wilt not rouse me. When the time comes I shall wake myself.”
“It is long, Ivan Tsarevich; I shall be wearied.”
“Wearied or not, there is no help for it.”
He lay down to sleep, and slept exactly nine days and nights. Meanwhile Koshchéi Without-Death bore away Peerless Beauty to his own kingdom. Ivan Tsarevich woke up; there was no Peerless Beauty. He began to weep, and went along neither by the road nor the way. Whether it was long or short, he came to the kingdom of Koshchéi Without-Death, and begged lodgings of an old woman.
“Well, Ivan Tsarevich, why art thou so sad looking?”
“Thus and thus, grandmother; I had everything, now I have nothing.”
“Thy affair is a bad one, Ivan Tsarevich; thou canst not kill Koshchéi.”