One morning the evil wizard circled and coasted above the valleys longer than usual, for he had a fancy to seek a maiden with long golden hair. At last he saw Elsa walking along a path outside the village with a berry basket on her arm. Her long yellow hair glistened in the sunlight as she bent now and then to pick raspberries.
The gleaming gold drew him downward. He was enchanted. What a fine new statue he would have for his garden! He floated to the ground and took cover behind a clump of hawthorn.
When Elsa drew near, he stepped out and spread his cloak on the path.
“Beautiful maiden,” he said, bowing low, “allow me to be of service. Your feet are too dainty and tender to walk on rough, muddy ground. Step onto my cloak.”
Elsa laughed. “I’m not a beautiful maiden, and my feet are quite sturdy, thank you! You should take better care of your cloak. How foolish to drop it onto the path! It will be covered with mud.”
She picked up the cloak, shook off the dirt, and handed it to the wizard. “You’ll ruin your fine cloak, throwing it on the ground for girls to walk on!” With a cheerful smile and a nod, she walked briskly on.
The wizard frowned. He followed behind her at a short distance, wondering how he could trap her.
Some distance ahead he saw a herd of goats grazing, and among them was a powerful billy goat with sharp horns.
“If I make the goat attack her,” he thought, “she will run to me for protection. Surely then she will step on the edge of my cloak.”
He blew on his magic whistle to attract a swarm of bees. They stung the billy goat about the face. Enraged, the goat tried in vain to butt the bees. Then he caught sight of Elsa. Lowering his horns, he rushed to attack her.
The wizard ran forward with his outspread cloak trailing on the ground. “I will protect you!” he cried.
But Elsa ignored him. She darted behind a bush, the goat after her. Around and around the bush they ran.
The wizard stood by, vexed, waving the cloak with little effect, until Elsa tripped. He quickly threw the cloak down, expecting that she would fall on it. But Elsa rolled to one side, and it was the goat who became tangled in the cloak.
With a blow of his fist, the wizard knocked the goat senseless. Then he angrily pulled his cloak from the horns. The cloak came free, but it had a large rip in it.
When Elsa saw the torn cloak, she felt sorry for him. “Your fine cloak is torn, and all because you tried to protect me,” she said kindly. “I’ll see what I can do to mend it.”
She picked a thin, sharp thorn from a hawthorn bush and, with another sharp thorn, pierced a small hole in the top to make a needle. Then she took a strand of her long yellow hair to use as a thread.
“Hand me your cloak, sir. I will sew the tear as neatly as I can.” She sat down, holding the cloak on her knee, and sewed up the tear with the strand of golden hair.
The wizard was not the least bit grateful. When Elsa handed him the cloak, he shook it out to examine it and complained that the tear needed more stitches. “Look here, how loosely you’ve sewn it!”
As Elsa moved closer to look, the wizard trailed the corner of the cloak on the ground. Elsa’s foot stepped onto the hem!
In an instant, both Elsa and the wizard were wrapped in the cloak. The wizard’s face changed to become a face of evil—his eyes were glowing red balls, his cruel mouth showed long yellow teeth, and his arm gripped Elsa’s waist. The large dark wings of the cloak spread outward, and Elsa found they were moving upward into the air.
But the strand of yellow hair she had used to sew the cloak caught on a branch of a tree. There it held them fast and did not break.
Try as he would, the wizard could not free them. The more he pulled and tugged, the more the cloak became tangled in the branches. At last, with an angry curse, he used his two hands to pull at the cloak. Freed from his grip, Elsa slid to a lower branch and from there leaped to the ground.
She raced back over the path toward the village and home. Never in her life had she run so fast! She didn’t stop until she reached her room and fell upon her bed in complete exhaustion. When she could speak, she told her widowed mother all that had happened.
The wizard flew back to his castle in a terrible rage. He slammed doors, hurled his silver jug across the room to break a mirror, and stormed about the castle so viciously that all his servants hid from him.
That night he lay down on his bed, but he found he could not sleep. The room was strangely bright, and the light hurt his eyes.
“The moon is shining through the window,” he thought. But when he got up to close the shutters on the window, he saw there was no moon in the sky. The bright light was within the room.
Then he saw that the light came from his cloak, which was lying over a chair. The stitches of the mended tear, sewn with Elsa’s golden hair, glowed brilliantly against the dark cloak, filling the room with a very bright light.
“Ho!” said he. “So that’s the way of it! The stitches will be easy to hide.” He rolled the cloak up tightly, with the mended seam inside, and went back to bed.
But again the bright radiance filled the room, shining through the folds of cloth.
“That blasted girl and her golden hair!” he shouted in rage.
He ran down to the castle cellars and hid his cloak under a barrel. It did not help a bit. As soon as he wearily climbed the stairs and fell into bed again, the bright light glowed through all the castle rooms, right up to his bedroom. He was unable to sleep all night.
The next evening his room again glowed with light. He brought the cloak up from the cellars and, with a knife, tried to cut the golden stitches. But he could not cut them.
“Stupid, silly girl!” he kept muttering to himself. “Sewing up my cloak with her nasty hair!” In a frenzy, he slashed the mended seam right out of his cloak, leaving a large hole. Then he threw the piece out of the window and went to bed.
But again the brilliant light filled the room. He got out of bed and ran to look at his cloak. The mended tear was back in place, the golden thread still shining brightly.
He knew at last that he had no power to get rid of Elsa’s seam.
He did not sleep that night or the next night or the next. After a week he could stand it no longer. He seized his cloak and flew down to the village where Elsa lived. He peered into one window after another until he found her room. He rapped sharply on her window.
Elsa sat up in bed in surprise. “Who’s that?”
“It’s me. Open your window and talk to me. I won’t hurt you.”
Elsa recognized the evil voice. She shivered but did not answer.
“Come here, you wicked girl,” he cried. “Take your thread out of my cloak. It shines with a horrid bright light and won’t let me sleep.”
“I will not come to the window,” Elsa said. “Go away!”
“I can’t sleep, I tell you. For seven nights I’ve had no sleep! Come, take out your silly hair from my cloak or I’ll make you suffer!”
But Elsa’s mother had told her the village lore about the evil wizard on the mountain. She knew his only power over her lay in his magic cloak.
When the wizard saw he could not frighten Elsa, he tried another way. “If you take out your thread of hair, I’ll give you a sack of gold,” he coaxed.
“I don’t want your sack of gold,” said Elsa.
“I’ll give you a large farm filled with sheep as well,” he urged.
“I don’t want your farm,” said Elsa. She didn’t trust the wizard an inch. In desperation the wizard offered one fine thing after another. Nothing would make Elsa come to the window.
At last he gave up and returned to his castle in a very bad temper. There he sulked in his garden all the next day, scowling at his stone statues. The statues stared back sadly.
“That silly, stubborn girl has no fear of me,” he thought. “What can I do to demonstrate my power?” He conceived the idea of restoring one of his stone statues to life.
As he watched the relea
sed maiden run down the mountain path to her home, he thought smugly, “That will show the foolish Elsa that I am not to be trifled with!”
That night the brilliant light dimmed, and he was able to sleep. But the next night the light from the golden stitches returned as bright as ever.
He flew down to Elsa’s window in a rage and rapped sharply to waken her.
“Who’s that?” called Elsa sleepily.
“You know very well who it is,” he cried. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense! Don’t you know I have powers of enchantment far stronger than your stupid hair? You’ve had your revenge. Now be a sensible girl and remove the seam.”
“I think the seam does very well where it is,” said Elsa. And no matter how he blustered or threatened, she would say nothing more.
The wizard flew back to his castle on the mountain. There the bright, piercing light from Elsa’s seam would not let him sleep until he restored another of the enchanted stone statues to life.
And so, one at a time, he was forced to free the maidens. Each day that he angrily released a maiden from his garden, the strange light faded, and he slept soundly.
When the last statue was gone, Elsa’s golden stitches retained a faint, steady glow—enough to warn the wizard that they would flare up brilliantly if he ever used his evil powers again.
This telling of “Elsa and the Evil Wizard” was inspired by a tale in Old Swedish Fairy Tales (1925) by ANNA WAHLENBERG, translated by ANTOINETTE DECOURSEY PATTERSON. The golden thread, or hair, appears in a number of fairy tales across many countries as a symbol that guides the faithful out of danger.
Long, long ago, when the land of Russia was made up of many small kingdoms, there lived a warrior princess named Maria Morevna.
She had inherited her kingdom from her father, and her father, very wisely, had trained her not only to govern well but also to defend the kingdom against enemy armies. Many princes sought to marry her, thinking to gain control of the land. Maria Morevna refused them all.
One day the young Prince Alexey rode in from the south and said he wished to serve in the army of Maria Morevna. The long and the short of it was, they fell in love, and the marriage took place three months later at the palace, amid great rejoicing. The young couple lived happily together for one year.
Then one day an exhausted messenger rode into the palace courtyard to bring tidings of an enemy attack on the western borders. While the army assembled for war, Maria sat down with Alexey.
“You will rule here in my absence,” she told him. “But, dear Alexey, you must never open the door at the top of the east tower.”
After a fond farewell, Maria, splendid in her white-and-gold uniform, rode off at the head of her army.
Now, Alexey was consumed with curiosity about the door that must not be opened. He resisted for one day. He resisted for two days. But on the third day he weakened and said to himself, “I’ll just take a quick look. Surely that can do no harm.”
So he climbed the stairs to the tower. Trying each of the keys entrusted to him until he found the one that unlocked the door, he pushed it open and stepped into the room.
He stood rooted to the floor in astonishment—for inside was a tall old man with white hair and a long white beard, who stood chained to the wall.
“I am so weak,” cried the old man. “Kind youth, will you bring me a jar of water?”
Alexey felt pity for him. He ran down the steps and filled a large jar with water. When he brought it in, the prisoner drank it down in one gulp.
“I feel stronger,” said the old man. “Bring me more water, I beg of you.”
And so Alexey brought him another full jar of water. This too he gulped down in an instant.
“One more, kind youth,” the old man beseeched. Alexey hesitated.
“Bring me one more jar of water, and I promise you I will give you your life when otherwise you must die.”
Alexey brought him the third jar of water.
After the prisoner had drained that in a gulp, he swelled in size. As his body grew huge and powerful, his face became cruel and savage. With a quick wrench he broke the heavy iron chains as if they were paper.
“Who are you?” cried Alexey.
“I am Koschei the Wizard,” answered the old man exultantly. “Many years ago, the father of Maria Morevna captured me, thinking to rid the country of evil. He destroyed my power and chained me here. Now you have set me free!”
With a swirl of his long cape, he flew out of the window and away. High in the air he flew, like a great bird of prey, till he saw Maria Morevna far below, riding proudly with her army. He swooped down, seized the princess, and flew off with her. He flew over nine times seven kingdoms until he reached his own palace near the sea.
Alexey was crushed with grief. The fate of Maria lay heavily on his heart, for he knew his impulsive carelessness was to blame. While the people of the kingdom mourned their princess, Alexey rode off in search of her.
He traveled many roads for many weeks across many kingdoms before he at last arrived at Koschei’s palace. Leaving his horse tethered in the forest, he crept as close as he could. He lay hidden until he saw Koschei ride away on a powerful black horse. Then he climbed a tree and, from an outspread branch, dropped down into the palace garden. There he found Maria Morevna.
They embraced joyfully. But after a moment Maria drew back. “Oh Alexey, why did you disobey my command?” she cried. “Why did you open the room and free the wizard?”
“I was foolish and thoughtless,” said Alexey sadly. “I know it has caused you much grief. But if you can forgive the past, we will set off at once. My horse waits in the forest nearby.”
“If it were that easy to escape the wizard, I wouldn’t be here now,” replied Maria. “He possesses a miraculous horse, and he will catch up with us in a trice!”
“I saw him leave for a day’s hunting,” urged Alexey. “We can be far away before he discovers you are gone.”
But Maria cried, “He will kill you if he catches us—and that I could not bear!”
At last Alexey persuaded Maria to try to escape, for he said he would rather be slain than live without her. So, making their way out of the garden, they mounted Alexey’s horse and rode off as fast as the steed could carry them.
In the midst of the hunt, some distance away, Koschei’s great horse suddenly stopped in its tracks.
“What ails you, you lazy beast?” cried Koschei, bringing down his whip on the horse’s flank.
“Prince Alexey has come and carried off Maria Morevna,” said the horse.
Koschei swelled with anger. “After them, you stupid nag!” His spurs dug into the horse cruelly, for he, like many with violent tempers, took out his rage on those who served him.
The horse fairly flew over the ground, scarcely needing the whip and spurs of Koschei. Within a very short time they had overtaken Alexey and Maria.
Seizing Alexey under one arm and Maria under the other, the wizard carried them back to the castle.
“You’re a fool. You have no more chance of freeing Maria Morevna than you have of seeing your own ears!” he cried, flinging Alexey to the ground. As the wizard swung his sword high, Alexey cried out, “When I gave you the third jar of water, you promised me my life!”
The sword stopped in midair. “Very well,” snarled the wizard. “I will not kill you.” And he gave orders for Alexey to be put into a large cask. After the top was tightly sealed, the cask was thrown over the cliff into the sea.
Now, it happened the next day that a hawk, an eagle, and a crow, seeing the cask floating in the sea, became curious and pulled it to shore with their beaks and sharp claws. There they picked at it until they tore it apart.
Great was their astonishment when Alexey crawled out, bruised but unharmed.
Alexey thanked them gratefully, but he added in despair, “I am no more able to free Maria Morevna now that I am outside the cask than when I was inside it!” Then Alexey told his rescuers all that had happened sin
ce he unwittingly freed the wizard.
“It is clear,” said the crow, “that Koschei’s horse is a hundred times swifter than any other.”
“Try as often as you will,” said the hawk, “he is sure to overtake you.”
“You must try to obtain another horse the equal of the wizard’s,” said the eagle. “Maria Morevna must find out from Koschei where and how he obtained his.”
Alexey thanked them for their counsel and set off on foot for the wizard’s castle. Once more he waited for Koschei to leave, then climbed into the garden.
Maria was overjoyed to see Alexey still alive. When he told her the advice of the three birds, she nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “Koschei likes to boast of his steed’s power. Come back here tomorrow, Alexey; let us pray I will have an answer for you.”
That evening, Maria spoke of Koschei’s horse with great admiration. Then she went on, “Tell me, wise wizard, where was this marvelous steed foaled?”
“On the shore of the blue sea grazes a most wonderful mare. Every three years the mare bears a colt. He who can snatch the colt from the wolves waiting to seize it, and bring the colt safely away, will possess a steed like mine.”
“And did you bravely snatch the colt from the wolves?” asked Maria.
“No, it was not I,” the wizard admitted. “Near this place lives an old Baba Yaga who follows the mare and snatches each colt from the wolves. Thus she has a herd of many miraculous horses. I spent three days tending them, and for a reward she gave me a little colt. That colt grew up to become the horse I ride.”
“How clever you were to find the Baba Yaga!” cried Maria. “It cannot have been easy.”
“Only I have that power,” boasted Koschei. “One must cross a river of fire to reach her land. I have in my silver chest here a magic handkerchief.” The wizard took out the piece of scarlet silk. “I waved this handkerchief three times to my right side and a strong bridge appeared, a bridge so high that the fire could not touch it. What do you think of that, eh?” And he sat back well pleased with himself.
The Hunter Maiden Page 3
