So then he went into the courtyard and opened the red coffer, and out of it oxen and kine, sheep and rams, came out. There was a multitude of all sorts of cattle. All the barns and the folds were full. He then came to the forecourt and he opened the green coffer, and in front of him a wonderful garden spread out with every kind of tree in it, and the Tsar was so joyous, and forgot to give his son up.
Many years went by: one day the Tsar wanted to take a walk, and he went to the river; and just then that same man peered up out of the water and said: “You are a very forgetful person, Tsar my master: you should recollect your debts.”
Then the Tsar went home with grief in his groaning heart, and he told the Tsarítsa and the Tsarévich all the real truth, and they were afflicted; and they all wept together and resolved that something must be done, and that they must give up the Tsarévich. So they took him to the seashore and left him by himself.
And the Tsarévich looked round, and he saw a path, went on it, trusting God might lead him aright. So he went on and on, and he lost his way in the slumberous forest, and he saw a little izbá45 in the forest, and in the izbá there lived the Bába Yagá. “I will go in,” thought the Tsarévich, and he went into the izbá.
“Good day, Tsarévich,” said Bába Yagá:
“Is it work on your way,
Or for sloth do you stray?”
“Hey, babushka, give me food and drink, and ask me afterwards.”
So she then gave him food and drink, and the Tsarévich told her all his sorrow without any concealment—whither he was going and why.
Then Bába Yagá said to him, “Go, my child, to the sea; there you will find twelve spoonbills flying in the air, they will turn into fair maidens, who will bathe. You go and hide yourself, and seize the shirt of the eldest maiden. When you have made friends with her, go to the Sea Tsar.”
The Tsarévich bade farewell to Bába Yagá, went to the spot she named on the seashore, and he hid himself behind the bushes. Then twelve spoonbills flew along, struck the grey earth, and turned into fair maidens, who began bathing. The Tsarévich stole the maiden’s shirt, sat behind the bush, and never stirred. The maidens came out of the sea and went on shore: eleven of them struck the earth, turned into birds and flew home: one was left alone, the eldest—Vasilísa the Wise. And when she saw that her sisters flew away she said, “Do not seek me, my dear sisters, but fly home. I am myself to blame; it is all my own fault; I did not look, and I must pay the cost.” So the sisters, the fair maidens, struck the grey earth and turned into spoonbills, spread their wings, and flew far away. Vasilísa the Wise was left by herself, and she looked round and said: “Whoever he be who now has my shirt, let him come here: if he be an old man, he shall be as my own father; if he be a middle-aged man, he shall be as my beloved brother; if he be of my age, he shall be my lover.”
As soon as he heard this, Iván Tsarévich came out of his lurking-place. So she gave him a golden ring and said, “Iván Tsarévich, how long you have been in coming! The Sea Tsar is wroth with you. That is the road which leads to the kingdom under the sea; come on it boldly. There you will find me as well, for I am Vasilísa the Wise, the daughter of the Sea Tsar.” Then Vasilísa the Wise, the eldest, struck the earth, turned into a spoonbill, and flew away from the Tsarévich.
Then Iván went into the under-seas, and he saw light there as it is above, fields and meadows and green arbours; and the sun was hot. Then he came to the Sea Tsar, and the Sea Tsar shrieked out at him: “Why have you been so long? You have been guilty, and you must do me this service: I have a piece of waste ground thirty versts long and broad, and there is nothing on it except ditches, ravines and sharp stones. By tomorrow morning all this must be as smooth as the palm of my hand; rye must be sown and grow so high that a jackdaw might be hidden in it. But if you fail, your head shall roll off your shoulders.”
Iván Tsarévich left the Sea Tsar and wept a sea of tears. Out of the window of her room, from a lofty turret, Vasilísa the Wise saw him and asked, “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! why are you weeping?”
“How should I not weep?” answered Iván. “The Sea Tsar has bidden me in a single night level the ravines and clear the stones from a piece of land thirty versts long and broad, and grow rye on it so high that a jackdaw might hide in it.”
“That is easy enough: this is no trouble—trouble is still ahead. Come and lie down in peace; the morning is wiser than the evening. All shall be ready.”
So Iván Tsarévich went and lay down, and Vasilísa the Wise went to a little window and cried in a thunderous voice, “Hail, my faithful servants, go and level the deep ravines, take away the sharp stones, sow the ground with full-eared rye, so that in the morning it shall grow so high that a jackdaw might hide in it.”
In the morning Iván Tsarévich awoke, and when he looked out it was all done: there were no ravines and no crevasses, and the field was as flat
