Yagá besought them: “Father, doveling, forgive me. Whatever you will I will do!”
“Very well, ancient witch,” said the knights, “show us the well with the waters of Life and Death.”
“If you will only not lay me low, I will show it you.”
Then Katomá mounted the blind man’s back and he took Bába Yagá by her hair. So they fared into the deepest part of the slumberous forest, and she there showed them a well and said: “This is the healing water that renders life.”
“Take care, Katomá, do not make a mistake. If she deceives us this time we may not be able to repair it all our life long.”
So Katomá broke off a twig. It had hardly fallen into the water before it flamed up.
“Ah! that was a further deceit of yours!”
So the two knights made ready to throw Bába Yagá into the fiery brook. But she still prayed for mercy as before, and swore a great oath she would not deceive any more.
“Really and truly I will show you the right water!”
So the two knights were ready once more to adventure it, and Bába Yagá took them to another well. Katomá broke off a dry twig from the tree and threw it into the well. The twig had hardly fallen into the water before it sprouted up and became green and blue. “This water is right,” said Katomá, so the blind man washed his eyes and could at once see. And he put the cripple into the water, and his legs grew on to him.
Then they were both very glad, and said, “Now we are healthy, we will again talk of our own rights; but we must first settle our account with Bába Yagá. If we now forgive her, we shall get no good thereby, for she will strive ever against us all her life.” So they took her back to the fiery brook and threw her into it, and she was burned to death.
Katomá then married the merchant’s daughter, and all three went back into the kingdom of Ánna Tsarévna the Fair to free Iván Tsarévich. They went into the capital, and there he met them with his herd of cows.
“Stay, herd,” said Katomá, “whither are you driving the cattle?”
“Into the Queen’s courtyard; the Tsarévna counts them every day to see whether all the cows have come home.”
“Herd, put on my clothes; I will put on yours and will drive the cows home.”
“No, brother, that will never do. Should the Tsarévna notice it, I should suffer.”
“Fear nothing; nothing will happen, you will come by no harm; Katomá is your surety.”
Iván sighed: “O good man! if only he were here I should not be herding cows.”
Then Katomá showed himself who he was, and the Tsarévich embraced him tenderly and wept bitterly. “I never expected I should see you any more!”
So they changed clothes, and Katomá drove the cows into the royal courtyard. Ánna Tsarévna came out on to her balcony and counted the cattle. Then she commanded to take them all into the stable. All the cows went into the stable: only the last stayed behind and raised her tail. Katomá sprang up at her and cried out, “Wretched animal! why are you stopping here?” So he gripped and snatched the tail so mightily that the entire skin remained in his hand.
When Ánna Tsarévna saw this she cried out aloud, “What is that wretched herdsman doing? Lay hold of him and bring him to me.”
So the attendants laid hold on Katomá and dragged him into the castle. Katomá suffered it without resistence and relied on his strength.
He was taken up to the Tsarévna, who looked at him and said, “Who are you?”
“I am Katomá, whose legs you once cut off and then set on a tree trunk.”
Then the Tsarévna thought, “If he can get his legs back, I can do no more against him.” And she asked for forgiveness from him and the Tsarévich. She repented of her sins and swore an oath that she would ever love Iván Tsarévich and obey him in all things.
Iván Tsarévich forgave her, and forthwith they lived in peace and unison. The knight who was once blind stayed by them. But Katomá went away with his wife to the rich merchant and abode in his house.
A Cure for Story-Telling
There was once a porter in the world: he had a wife who was passionately fond of stories, and she would only let people come and visit her who could tell stories. Well, as you may understand, this was rather costly to the husband. So he began to think, “How can I cure her of this undesirable habit?”
Well, one day in the winter, late at night, an old man came in frozen to atoms, and he asked to be allowed to stop the night. So the husband ran out to him and said, “Can you tell tales?”
Then the peasant saw that there was no help for it, as he was simply freezing with cold, and said, “I have an idea: will you tell stories for a long time?”
“Yes, all night long.”
“Capital: come in!”
So he led the guest in.
Then the husband said, “Now, my wife, here is a peasant who has promised to tell stories all night long, on the condition that you are not to make any remarks or interruptions.”
“Yes,” said the guest; “no remarks, or else I shall not open my mouth.”
So they had supper and lay down to sleep, and the peasant began—
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.
“There was an owl flying across a garden, and it sat over a well and sipped the water.”
And he went on telling the same thing over and over again—
“There was an
