But the host looked after him, shook his head, and said, “The scythe has struck upon a stone!”[1]
[1] I. e. I’ve met my match at last.
The Enchanted Ring.
In a certain kingdom in a certain empire, there lived, once upon a time, an old man and an old woman, and they had a son called little Martin. Time went on, the old man fell ill and died, and though he had worked hard all his days, the only inheritance he left behind him was two hundred rubles.[1] The old woman did not want to waste this money, but what was to be done? There was nothing to eat, so she had to have recourse to the pot containing the patrimony. The old woman counted out a hundred rubles, and sent her son to town to buy provision of bread for a whole year. So Martin the widow’s son went to town. He went past the meat market, and saw crowds of people gathered together, and his ears were deafened by the din and noise and racket. Little Martin went into the midst of the throng and saw that the butchers had caught a terrier, and had fastened it to a post, and were beating it unmercifully. Little Martin was sorry for the poor dog, and said to the butchers, “My brothers! why do you beat the poor dog so unmercifully?”—“Why should we not beat him, when he has spoiled a whole quarter of beef?”—“Yet, beat him not, my brothers! ’Twere better to sell him to me!”—“Buy him if you like then!” said the butchers, mockingly, “but for such a treasure as that we could not take less than a hundred rubles.”—“Well, one hundred rubles is only one hundred rubles after all!” replied little Martin, and he drew out the money and gave it for the dog. But the dog’s name was Jurka.[2] Martin then went home, and his mother asked him, “What hast thou bought?”—“Why look, I have bought Jurka!” replied her son. His mother fell a-scolding him, and reproached him bitterly: “Art thou not ashamed? Soon we shall not have a morsel to eat, and thou hast gone and thrown away so much money on a pagan dog.” The next day the old woman sent her son into the town again, and said to him, “Now there is our last one hundred rubles, buy with it provision of bread. To-day I will collect together the scrapings of the meal-tub and bake us fritters, but to-morrow there will not even be that!” Little Martin got to town and walked along the streets and looked about him, and he saw a boy who had fastened a cord round a cat’s neck and was dragging it off to drown it. “Stop!” shrieked Martin, “whither art thou dragging Vaska?”[3]—“I am dragging him off to be drowned!”—“Why, what has he done?”—“He is a great rascal. He has stolen a whole goose.”—“Don’t drown him, far better sell him to me!”—“I’ll take nothing less than one hundred rubles!”—“Well, one hundred rubles is only one hundred rubles after all; here! take the money!” And he took Vaska from the boy. “What hast thou bought, my son?” asked his mother when he got home.—“Why the cat Vaska!”—“And what besides?”—“Well, perhaps there’s some money still left, and then we can buy something else.”—“Oh, oh, oh! what a fool thou art!” screeched the old woman. “Go out of the house this instant and beg thy bread from the stranger!”
Martin dared not gainsay his mother, so he took Jurka and Vaska with him and went into the neighbouring village to seek work. And there met him a rich farmer. “Whither art thou going?” said he. “I want to hire myself out as a day-labourer.”—“Come to me then. I take labourers without any contract, but if thou serve me well for a year thou shalt not lose by it.” Martin agreed, and for a whole year he worked for this farmer without ceasing. The time of payment came round. The farmer led Martin into the barn, showed him two full sacks, and said, “Take which thou wilt.” Martin looked; in one of the sacks was riches, in the other sand, and he thought to himself, “That’s not done without a reason; there’s some trickery here. I’ll take the sand; something will come of it no doubt.” So Martin put the sack of sand on his back, and went to seek another place. He went on and on, and strayed into a dark and dreary wood. In the midst of the wood was a field, and on the field a fire was burning, and in the fire a maiden was sitting; and it was such a lovely maiden that it was a delight to look at her. And the Beauty said to him, “Martin the widow’s son, if thou wishest to find happiness, save me. Extinguish this flame with the sand which thou hast gotten for thy faithful service.”—“Well, really,” thought Martin, “why should I go on dragging this load about on my shoulders? Far better to help a body with it.” So he undid his sack and emptied all the sand on the fire. The fire immediately went out, but the lovely damsel turned into a serpent, bounded on to the bosom of the good youth, wound itself round his neck, and said, “Fear me not, Martin the widow’s son. Go boldly into the land of Thrice-ten, into the underground realm where my dear father rules. Only mark this; he will offer thee lots of gold and silver and precious stones; thou, however, must take none of them, but beg him for the little ring off his little finger. That ring is no common ring; if thou move it from one hand to the other twelve young heroes will immediately appear, and whatever thou dost bid them do they will do it in a single night.”
Then the young man set out on his long, long journey, whether ’twere a long time or a short I know not, but at last he drew nigh to the kingdom of Thrice-ten, and came to a place where a huge stone lay across the way. Here the snake leaped from his neck, lit on the damp ground, and turned into the former lovely damsel. “Follow me,” said she to Martin, and showed him a little hole beneath the stone. For a long time they went through this underground way, and came into a wide plain beneath the open sky; and in this plain a castle was built entirely of porphyry, with a roof of golden fish-scales, with sharp-pointed golden pinnacles. “That’s where my father lives, the Tsar of this underground region,” said the lovely damsel to Martin.
The wanderers entered the castle, and the Tsar met them kindly and made them welcome. “My dear daughter,” said he to the lovely damsel, “I did not expect to see thee here. Where hast thou been knocking about all these years?”—“Dear father, and light of my eyes, I should have been lost altogether but for this good youth, who saved me from an unavoidable death!” The Tsar turned, looked with a friendly eye at Martin, and said to him, “I thank thee, good youth. I am ready to reward thee for thy good deeds with whatever thou desirest. Take of my gold and silver and precious stones as much as thy soul longs for.”—“I thank thee, Sovereign Tsar, for thy good words. But I want no precious stones, nor silver, nor gold; but if thou of thy royal grace and favour wouldst indeed reward me, then give me, I pray, the ring from the little finger of thy royal hand. Whenever I look upon that ring I’ll think of thee; but if ever I meet with a bride after mine own heart I will give it to her.” The Tsar immediately took off the ring, gave it to Martin, and said, “By all means, good youth, take the ring, and may it be to thy health! But mark this one thing: tell no one that this ring of thine is no common ring, or it will be to thy hurt and harm!”
Martin the widow’s son thanked the Tsar and took the ring, and returned by the same way through which he had reached the underground realm. He returned to his native place, sought out his old widowed mother, and lived and dwelt with her without either want or care. Yet for all the good life he led, Martin seemed sorrowful; and why should he not? for Martin wanted to marry, and the bride of his choice was not his like in birth, for she was a king’s daughter. So he consulted his mother, and sent her away as his matchmaker, and said to her, “Go to the King himself, and woo for me the thrice-lovely Princess.”—“Alas! my dear son,” said his old mother, “’twould be far better for thee if thou wert to chop thine own wood.[4] But what art thou thinking of? How can I go to the King and ask him for his daughter for thee? ’Twould be as much as thy head and my head were worth.”—“Fear not, dear mother! If I send thee, thou mayest go boldly. And mind thou dost not come back from the King without an answer.”