Maria exclaimed at his power and cleverness. Then, in the night, after the wizard was asleep, she went to the silver chest and removed the handkerchief.
The very next day, when Alexey once again stole into the palace garden, she gave the magic handkerchief to him and told him what Koschei had revealed.
Alexey set off at once on his long journey, traveling over wet, mired roads and dry, dusty roads. He found the river of fire and, using the magic scarlet silk, safely crossed on the high bridge.
Now he had to find the Baba Yaga. The land was empty and desolate. He had walked three days without food or drink when, weak with hunger, he came upon a bird with her fledglings. One of these he caught.
The mother bird flew round and round him, squawking desperately. “Do not eat my little one,” she cried. “If you will set it free, one day I will do a service for you.”
Alexey was moved to pity and set the little bird free.
Soon afterward he found a wild beehive. He was about to pull out the honeycomb when the queen bee buzzed about his face, saying, “Prince, do not take the honey. It is food for my subjects. Leave it, and in return, one day I will do you a service.”
Alexey left the honey and struggled hungrily on. That evening he came at last to the shore of the blue sea. Here, leaning over the rocks near the shore, he caught a crayfish.
But the crayfish cried out, “Spare my life, Prince. Do not eat me, and one day I will do you a service.”
Alexey dropped the crayfish back into the water. He went on so tired and hungry he could scarcely walk.
Not long after this he came to the hut of the Baba Yaga. This hut, as you may know, was set up on high stilts that looked like great chicken legs. He climbed the ladder to the hut and entered.
“Health to thee, Grandmother,” he said cautiously.
“Health to thee, Prince,” she answered, staring at him with sharp, dark eyes. “Why do you come to visit me?”
“I come to serve you as herder,” said he. “I want to graze your horses so I may earn a colt as payment.”
“So that’s the way it is, eh?” The Baba Yaga sat silent a moment, her brown wrinkled face neither friendly nor unfriendly. “Why not?” she said at last. “If you tend the horses well, I’ll give you a steed fit for a hero. But if you lose even one of them, I’ll lop off your head!”
“Hard terms, Grandmother, but I agree.”
The Baba Yaga gave him food and drink and a place to sleep in the corner.
The next day the herd was let out of the stables to pasture. At once they raced off in every direction over the wide steppes and disappeared. It happened in the blink of an eye, even before Alexey could mount his horse. All day he searched, but he could not find them.
Just as he gave way to despair, a great flock of birds filled the sky. The birds found the horses, swooped down, and pecking at them sharply, drove them home to the stables by evening. Alexey’s kindness in setting the fledgling bird free had been rewarded!
When the Baba Yaga saw this, she was very angry. Secretly she ordered the herd to disappear into the thick forest the next day.
And so it happened on the second day. The horses disappeared into the dense forest. Alexey followed them, but though he searched the forest all day, he could not find them. Wearily he sat down on a log. “I shall never get the colt as payment,” he thought in despair. “How will I free Maria Morevna?”
Then suddenly a huge swarm of bees filled the air. They easily sought out the horses, buzzing about their faces and stinging their flanks until all of them fled back to the stable.
That night, while Alexey slept, the Baba Yaga berated the horses soundly, and ordered them to go to the sea the next day and swim until they were completely out of sight.
So it happened on the third day. Alexey, who had followed the horses to the shore, saw them swimming rapidly out to sea. In a trice they had disappeared from sight. Disheartened and weary, he sat down on a rock on the shore. His quest for a steed to rescue Maria now seemed hopeless. He wept, and after that he fell asleep.
It was evening when he was awakened by a crayfish nipping at his finger that was trailing in the water. “The creatures of the sea and shore have driven the horses back. They are safe now in the stable,” said the crayfish. “I have served you as I promised. Return now, but hide in the stable—for the Baba Yaga will try to trick you. When the Baba Yaga is asleep, take the shabby little colt standing in the corner and go away at once.”
Alexey thanked the crayfish joyfully. He returned to hide in the stable. At midnight, while the Baba Yaga was sleeping soundly, he saddled the shabby colt and rode off. Crossing back over the bridge spanning the river of fire, he found a lush green meadow nearby. Here he grazed the colt at sunrise for twelve mornings. By the twelfth morning, the colt had become a huge and powerful steed. With such a horse as this, he covered the roads back to the wizard’s castle in hardly more time than is needed to tell of it.
Maria cried out with joy at the sight of Alexey, but little time was spent in talk. They both mounted Alexey’s horse and at once rode off with the speed of the wind.
But the wizard’s horse once more faithfully reported Maria’s escape. Using whip and spurs, Koschei flew after them.
“You lazy bag of bones,” shouted Koschei. “Why don’t you overtake them?”
“The horse the prince rides is my younger brother,” the wizard’s horse replied, “but I will try.”
Koschei applied the whip more viciously. As they drew closer to Maria and Alexey, the wizard lifted his great sword to strike.
At that moment the steed Alexey rode cried out to the other, “My brother, why do you serve such a cruel and wicked master? Toss him from your back and kick him sharply with your hooves!”
Koschei’s horse heeded the advice of his brother. He threw his rider to the ground and lashed out with his hooves so fiercely that the wizard was forced to crawl back painfully to the castle on all fours, and he never emerged again.
Maria mounted Koschei’s horse, and they returned in triumph to their own kingdom. There they were welcomed with shouts of surprise and thanksgiving.
Very soon after her return, Maria Morevna again mounted Koschei’s horse, leading her army forth to root out the invaders in the west. And Koschei’s horse served her faithfully ever after.
This telling of “Maria Morevna” is based on a story in Russian Wonder Tales (1912) by POST WHEELER. Another version of the tale also appeared in The Red Fairy Book (1966) edited by ANDREW LANG. Prince Alexey appears in a number of other Russian tales as Prince Ivan, frequently engaged in a struggle against his enemy, Koschei.
It happened one time, in the old days, that the squire of the village needed a new housekeeper. His old housekeeper, Jane, had died, and since her eyes had grown dim in her old age, the squire’s hall was now in a sad state.
When the squire hired a crew at cider-pressing time, his eye settled on the strong, sturdy figure of Duffy among the women picking apples.
“Are you needing a job?” said the squire as he paid out at the end of the day.
“I am indeed,” said Duffy.
“Can you spin and knit and clean and cook?” asked the squire.
“I make the best meat pies in the village,” said Duffy, evading a bit of his question, “but I won’t muck out the barns and pigsty.”
“I have a man for that,” said the squire. “Come along tomorrow then, for I need someone to take old Jane’s place.”
Duffy was very pleased with her luck until she saw the inside of the squire’s hall. Cobwebs and dirt were everywhere. And though the squire had many bags of his own wool piled in the storeroom, the spinning wheel was covered with dust. There had been neither yarn spun nor clothing knitted for a long time.
“Well,” said he carelessly, “there’s a bit of work to do here. But first you must spin some yarn and knit me some socks, for my feet are clear out of these.”
“And your vest and britches are in no better state,” th
ought Duffy grimly.
“You can get on with it,” said the squire. “I’ll be out hunting all the day.” And off he went to the stable.
Duffy stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the sad state of the rooms.
“Well,” she thought, “I’ll clean up a bit, and then I’ll make some meat pies.”
When the squire returned hungry that night, he happily sniffed the fragrance of meat pies done to a turn. After downing a fair number of them, he stretched out his legs at the hearth.
“My socks now,” he said anxiously. “Have you started the spinning of yarn for my socks?”
“Tomorrow,” said Duffy.
But the next day when Duffy confronted the huge sacks of wool waiting to be carded and spun, she groaned in dismay. Duffy was a cheerful soul and a good cook, but spinning was not a thing she liked to do—nor had she much skill at it.
“Yarn for the squire’s clothes, blankets for the house—there’s no end to the spinning and knitting to be done!” she exclaimed as she dusted off the spinning wheel in the kitchen. “The devil himself couldn’t do it all!”
“Oh, yes I could!” cried a shrill voice. And out from behind the woodpile at the hearth leaped a small, sharp-featured little man with a long tail.
“Ah, Duffy, my dear, there’s no need to work your fingers to the bone, carding and spinning and knitting, when all can be had just for the wishing of it.”
“Oh, it can?” said Duffy suspiciously.
“Spun yarn as fine and strong as metal, knit socks, vests that will never wear out,” said he in a coaxing voice. “Blankets, britches, all for the wishing.”
Twirling his tail, the little man grinned and waited while Duffy considered the offer.
“There’ll be a price for it, no doubt?”
“Nay, Duffy my dear, not a price, but a bargain between us. All the spinning and knitting you wish for three years, and at the end of that time, you come away with me—”
“Humph! Not much of a bargain!” said Duffy.
“Fair’s fair. I was going to add,” he went on crossly, “that you must come away with me—unless you can guess my name. I always keep my bargains. You have the honest word of a gentleman.”
Duffy knew very well that the “gentleman,” as he called himself, was a devil. But as she watched the vain little man confidently swinging his tail, she thought, “In three years’ time I can get the best of the bargain. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out his name!”
“Agreed,” said Duffy.
The little man nodded and grinned—and in the next moment he had disappeared from sight.
Duffy had more sense than to wish for everything at once. When the squire returned from hunting that evening with two fine hares, he sat down before the fire. There were not only steaming meat pies waiting for him but also as fine a pair of long socks as ever was made.
As the months passed, the squire became more and more pleased with his housekeeper. The yarn she produced was of the finest quality; the squire’s new vests and britches were as strong as could be. And his long socks! The squire never tired of telling his neighbors of the fine socks Duffy produced for him.
“I’ve worn these socks for almost a year now,” he crowed, “and they’re as good as new. Duffy’s yarn is as strong as leather.”
Duffy kept the devil busily at work and was as pleased as could be with her bargain. She had plenty of time to trot off to the gristmill in the afternoons. There she gossiped cheerfully with the other women of the village as they waited for their grain to be ground. They had a merry time of it, telling old tales and dancing a round or two on the green grass beside the mill.
One evening when the squire came home from his hunting, who should he find in the chimney corner but Huey the widower, who had come a-courting.
The squire frowned and scowled until finally Huey took off.
The next night, Jock, the miller’s son, was in the chimney corner.
“What’s he after?” growled the squire when Jock had left.
“I suppose he’s come a-courting and to sample my meat pies,” said Duffy.
Almost every evening there was someone sitting in the chimney corner, and it didn’t take the squire very long to figure out that the widowers and bachelors of the village all had their eye on Duffy.
“I’ll lose my treasure!” he thought in panic. There was only one thing to be done.
“Duffy,” said the squire, “would you like to be a squire’s wife?”
“I would indeed,” said Duffy.
“Then we’d best get married,” said he.
Duffy was now the squire’s lady, but little else was changed. Aside from wearing finer clothes, she was the same cheerful Duffy, dancing and gossiping with the village women at the mill. She produced the same strong yarn and well-knit clothes. Each evening, when the squire returned from hunting, he found a tasty dinner and an orderly house.
But the three years were running out.
The sharp-faced little man started turning up among the wool sacks, or on top of the kitchen woodpile, jeering, “Only a month more, Duffy my dear, and away you go with me!”
Duffy scowled at him. She had tried every means she knew to find out the gloating devil’s name. Not a clue could she find.
“Only two weeks more, Duffy,” he said, grinning as he flicked his long tail. “You’ll never, never guess my name!” She threw a pot at him, but he vanished immediately and the pot crashed against the wall.
She went off at once to consult her friend Old Bet at the mill.
“I know a thing or two about devils and imps,” said Old Bet. “I’ll see what we can do.”
“Only one more week, Duffy my girl,” crowed the sharp-faced little man, popping up beside her in the kitchen. She took a swing at him, but he was gone in an instant and her fist hit the table with a thump.
Rubbing her sore knuckles, she hurried down to Old Bet. “He’ll drive me daft with his jeering and his threats,” cried Duffy. “I’m that worried! We’ll never learn his name!”
But Bet had a plan. “Take a jug of the strongest and best applejack from the squire’s cellar and bring it to me at sundown,” said Bet.
At sundown the squire was still out hunting. Duffy picked out a large jug of the best jack and carried it down to the green beside the mill.
“Tonight’s a full moon,” said Bet. “The devils and the witches are gathering to dance at the Devil’s Basin out on the moor, and I shall thump the tambourine for them. Come along now before they arrive.”
Wrapping herself in a red cloak and picking up the jug and tambourine, Old Bet hurried off with Duffy trotting behind her. When they arrived at the Devil’s Basin, a hollow in the moor, it was almost dark.
“Hide yourself well in these furze bushes,” ordered Bet, “and whatever happens, do not make a sound.”
So Duffy crouched down in the scratchy furze bushes to wait, with barely a peephole through the branches to peer through.
Soon she heard a great rustling and chattering, and she wondered how many witches had flown in to the meeting place. Through her peephole in the bushes she saw a lit fire. It burned with a high blue flame.
Old Bet was seated near the fire, the jug of applejack in front of her. She thumped her tambourine and the dancing began.
Round and round the fire went the dancers, and the little devil with the long tail danced with them. Every time he came round, he’d pause to take a deep swig from the jug, until finally he became as loud and merry as a grig.
Roaring with drunken laughter, he jumped up and down, twirling his tail and singing:
“Duffy my lady, you’ll never guess that
My name is Terrytop, Terrytop, Terrytop!”
At that moment the baying of hounds hunting hare filled the air. Across the moor in the moonlight rode the squire with his hounds, heading straight for the Devil’s Basin.
With a screech and a whoop, the dancers vanished. The tambourine ceased, and the fire died out.
“What a bad time of it I had this day!” he cried. “Not a hare did the hounds raise till after sundown. And a funny thing happened, Duffy. We chased that hare all over the moor by moonlight until we headed straight for a pack of witches dancing round a fire! What do you think of that, Duffy?”
Duffy shook her head in wonder. “It’s bad luck, you know, to break in on witches dancing. What did they do?”
“They up and disappeared in a flash. Nothing left that I could see but an empty jug lying on the moor. Nay, I didn’t go close to the place, for I feared the witches’ curse.” He sighed heavily. “I never did get the hare.”
The three years of Duffy’s bargain were up. On the appointed day, the sharp-faced little devil appeared in Duffy’s kitchen.
“Your time’s up, Duffy my dear,” said he, smirking and flicking his tail. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, now off you go with me.”
“Not so fast, sir,” said Duffy. “There was more to the bargain than that.”
“Ha! You think you can guess my name?” He grinned. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
“Maybe it is Lucifer?” asked Duffy.
The devil sputtered with laughter and thumped his tail on the floor. “An acquaintance of mine,” he said at last.
“Perhaps it is Beelzebub?”
“A cousin of mine, but a low, common sort,” he said in disdain. “Come along now. You’ll never guess my name—it’s not generally known on Earth.” And he made as if to lay hands on her.
“Oh, no you don’t!” cried Duffy as she dodged out of reach. “Are you honest enough to admit your name is Terrytop?”
The devil stood glaring at her in rage.
“Do you deny your name is Terrytop?” she taunted.
“A gentleman never denies his name,” he spat, “but I never expected to be beaten by a minx like you!” And with a puff of smoke he disappeared, never to return.
The Hunter Maiden Page 4
