Russian Magic Tales from Pushkin to Platonov (Penguin Classics) (46 page)

One day the old man went up to Ivan and said, ‘I’m going on a long journey, further than I’ve ever gone before. I won’t be back for a long time. Now I want you to look after this key for me. I used to take it with me, but I’m going such a long way now that I’m afraid of losing it. Take good care of it – and don’t open the barn door with it. And if you do go into the barn, don’t take your wife inside with you. And if you do end up taking your wife inside, don’t give her the brightly coloured dress. I’ll give it to her myself – it’s for her I’m keeping it – but not till the time’s right. Well, take care. Watch you don’t forget my words – or you’ll lose your life in death!’

With that the old man left.

After some time had passed, Ivan found himself thinking, ‘No, it won’t do any harm if I just go inside the barn for a look. I won’t take my wife with me.’

Ivan went to the barn that had always been kept locked. He opened the door. Inside he saw heaps of gold ingots and stones that flamed like fire. He saw precious goods he didn’t even know the names for. And in one corner of the barn was a little storeroom or secret place; there was a door leading into it.

Ivan opened the door. He didn’t really mean to, but, before he had even stepped inside, he found himself calling out, ‘Yelenushka! Quick! Come here, my darling!’

Inside the storeroom hung a dress embroidered with brilliant
stones. It glowed like a clear sky and light flowed over it like a living wind. The mere sight of the dress filled Ivan with joy. It was just right for his wife. It would suit her in every way.

Ivan remembered that the old man had told him not to give this dress to his wife – but all he was going to do now was just show it to her: how could any harm come to the dress just from that? And Ivan loved his wife; her smile was his happiness.

Along came Yelena. She flung up her hands in amazement.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘What a fine dress!’

And then, before Ivan knew where he was, she was saying to him, ‘Help me into the dress. Make sure it hangs straight.’

Ivan forbade her to put the dress on at all. She began to weep.

‘So that’s how much you love me!’ she said. ‘Too good a dress for your wife, is it? You might at least let me slip my arms through the sleeves to see how it feels. Maybe it won’t be right for me after all.’

Ivan gave his leave.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘See how it feels.’

His wife put her arms through the sleeves. Then she was asking again:

‘I can’t see a thing. Let me just slip my head through the collar.’

Ivan gave his leave. She put her head through the collar – and quickly pulled the dress down. It wrapped all around her. In one of the pockets she could feel a little mirror. She took it out and looked at herself.

‘My, what a beauty!’ she said. ‘But why’s she living with a hapless husband? I wish I were a bird. Then I’d fly far, far away.’

She gave a high-pitched cry, flung up her arms and was gone. She had turned into a dove and was flying where she wished to fly – far, far away into the deep blue sky. The dress she’d put on must have been a magic dress.

Ivan felt very sad. But what was the good of feeling sad? He had no time to waste. He put some bread in his knapsack and set off to search for his wife.

‘Wicked creature!’ he said. ‘Disobeying her father and leaving like that without leave! I’ll find her, I’ll teach her what’s what.’

After saying this, Ivan remembered he had been born hapless, and he began to cry.

He walked along roads, along tracks, along paths. He felt sad and he missed his wife. All of a sudden he saw a pike lying by the edge of a stream. It was dying; it couldn’t get back into the water.

‘Well,’ he said to himself. ‘Things may not be looking good for me, but they’re still worse for that pike.’

He picked the pike up and released it into the water. It dived deep down, shot up again, stuck its head out of the water and said, ‘I won’t forget your kindness, the good turn you’ve done me. If you’re in trouble, just say, “Pike, pike, remember Ivan!” ’

Ivan ate a piece of bread and went on further. He walked and walked. It was close to nightfall.

Then Ivan saw a sparrow. A kite had caught it and was holding it in its talons. The kite was about to devour it.

‘I may be in a bad way myself,’ thought Ivan, ‘but that sparrow’s about to die.’

Ivan scared the kite away. The kite released the sparrow from its talons.

The sparrow perched on a branch and said to Ivan, ‘If ever you’re in need, just call out, “Sparrow, sparrow, return my good turn!” ’

Ivan spent the night under the tree. Come morning, though, he went on his way further. Already he had walked far from his own home; already he had grown tired – and he had become so thin in body that he had to hold his clothes in place with one hand. But there remained a long way for Ivan to go – and he walked on for a whole year and then half a year. He had crossed all of the earth and come to the sea. There was nowhere further for him to go.

He asked someone who lived there, ‘Whose land is this? Who are the tsar and tsaritsa here?’

The man replied, ‘Our tsaritsa here is Yelena the Wise. She knows everything – she has a book where everything is written down – and she has a special mirror where she can see everything in the world. She can probably even see you right now.’

And he was right. Yelena had already seen Ivan in her little
mirror. Her maidservant Darya had wiped the dust off the mirror with a towel and then looked into the mirror herself. First Darya had thought how beautiful she was, and then she had glimpsed a foreign peasant.

‘Look!’ she said to Yelena the Wise. ‘There’s a foreign stranger just appeared. He must have come a long way. He’s all thin and worn out and his bast sandals are torn to ribbons.’

Yelena the Wise looked in the little mirror.

‘A foreign stranger!’ she said. ‘That’s no foreign stranger – it’s my own husband who’s just appeared.’

Ivan walked towards the palace. The courtyard was surrounded by a wooden fence. On top of each stake was a dead human head. Only one stake was empty, with nothing on it.

Ivan asked about all this: what did it all mean? The man who lived there replied, ‘Those are the suitors of our tsaritsa. You haven’t seen our tsaritsa. Her beauty is more than words can tell and in wit she’s a magician. Suitors keep coming to ask for her hand. They’re bold, noble men, but she refuses them all. No suitor will suit her unless he has the wit to outwit her. Whoever fails she executes by death. Now there’s only one stake left. That’ll be for the next would-be husband.’

‘She’s my wife,’ said Ivan. ‘I’ve come here to be her husband.’

‘Then it’ll be your head on that stake,’ said the man, and went off towards his hut.

Ivan went into the palace. Yelena the Wise was sitting in her royal chamber and she was wearing the dress her father had brought back and hidden in the barn, the one she had clothed herself in without leave.

‘What’s brought
you
along?’ asked Yelena the Wise. ‘Why have
you
appeared all of a sudden?’

‘I wanted to have a look at you,’ said Ivan. ‘I’ve been missing you.’

‘Others have been missing me too,’ said Yelena the Wise, and pointed to the fence outside, where the dead heads were.

‘Aren’t you my wife any longer then?’ asked Ivan.

‘I used to be your wife,’ said the tsaritsa, ‘but I’m no longer the woman I was then. What do I want with a hapless peasant? If you want me to be your wife, then you must win me again.
And if you fail, it’s off with your head! Look – there’s still one empty stake left outside.’

‘The empty stake doesn’t need me,’ said Ivan. ‘But you watch out – or you’ll find yourself needing me more than you ever dreamed. Tell me: what wish do you want fulfilled?’

‘You are to fulfil my command – to hide where I can’t find you, or so that I can’t recognize you if I do. You may go where you please, even to the edge of the world. Outwit me – and I’ll become your wife. But if you fail to remain secret, if I divine where you’re hidden, it’s off with your head.’

‘Let me eat your bread and sleep on your straw,’ said Ivan. ‘And in the morning I’ll fulfil your wish.’

That evening Darya the maidservant laid out some straw for Ivan in the entrance room and brought him a thick slice of bread and a jug of kvass. Then Ivan lay down and began to wonder: what would the morning bring?

After a while he saw Darya again. She came in, sat down near the door so that she was looking outside, spread out the tsaritsa’s bright dress and began darning a hole in it. She sewed and sewed; she darned and darned. Then she began to cry.

‘Why are you crying, Darya?’ asked Ivan.

‘How can I not cry,’ she answered, ‘if tomorrow will bring my death? The tsaritsa told me to darn a hole in her dress, but the needle doesn’t sew. It only tears the dress even more. The cloth’s so tender it just gapes apart. And if I fail to mend the dress, the tsaritsa will have me executed in the morning.’

‘Let me have a go,’ said Ivan. ‘Maybe I can mend it myself. Then you won’t need to die.’

‘I shouldn’t even let you touch this dress,’ said Darya. ‘The tsaritsa says you’re a hapless halfwit. Still, you may as well try. I’ll watch.’

Ivan took the dress, sat down again and began to sew. What Darya had said was true: the needle only tore the dress even more. The dress was light as air and there was nowhere for the needle to take hold. Ivan threw down the needle and began to work with his hands, taking each thread in turn and tying it to the end of another thread.

Darya saw what Ivan was doing and got very angry. ‘You
fool,’ she said, ‘what do you think you’re doing? There are thousands and thousands of threads there in that hole. How can you tie them all with your fingers?’

‘Where there’s patience and will, there’s always a way,’ said Ivan. ‘You go and lie down now. Don’t worry – I’ll be finished by morning.’

Ivan worked on all through the night. From up in the sky the moon was shining down at him, and anyway the dress shone of itself, as if it were alive. He could see every last thread.

Ivan finished a little before dawn. He looked at the work he had done. The hole had gone and the dress was all of a piece.

He picked the dress up. It seemed to have become heavy. He examined the dress. In one pocket he found a book – the book where the old man who was Yelena’s father had noted down all of his wisdom. In the other pocket he found the little round mirror the old man had brought back from the craftsman-magician in the Cold Mountains. Ivan looked in the mirror – he could see something there, but it was all very cloudy. Then he looked at the book, but he couldn’t understand a word. ‘What people say must be true,’ Ivan said to himself, ‘I’m a hapless halfwit.’

Soon afterwards Darya the maidservant came in. She took the finished dress, looked it over and said to Ivan, ‘Thank you. You’ve saved me from death and I shall remember your kindness, the good turn you’ve done me.’

Up over the earth rose the sun. It was time for Ivan to go away to a secret place where Tsaritsa Yelena would be unable to find him. He went out into the yard, saw a haystack there and climbed into it. He thought he was completely hidden, but the dogs in the yard all started barking at him and Darya shouted, ‘Goodness me – now you really are being a fool! You can’t even hide from me, let alone from the tsaritsa. Get out from there – and don’t dirty the hay with mud from your sandals!’

Ivan climbed out of the haystack and wondered where to go next. Not far away he could see the sea. He walked to the shore and remembered the pike.

‘Pike! Pike!’ he said. ‘Remember Ivan!’

The pike poked its head out of the water. ‘Quick!’ it said. ‘I’ll hide you deep down on the sea bed.’

Ivan threw himself into the sea. The pike pulled him down to the sea bed, buried him deep in the sand and stirred up the water with its tail.

Yelena the Wise took her round mirror and held it to the earth: Ivan wasn’t there. She held it to the sky: Ivan wasn’t there. She held it to the sea: there too she could see no sign of Ivan – only cloudy water. ‘I may be cunning and wise,’ the tsaritsa said to herself, ‘but it seems this hapless Ivan’s not such a simpleton either.’

She opened her father’s book of wisdom and read, ‘Cunning of mind is powerful, but kindness is more powerful still. Even a beast remembers kindness.’ So said the written words, but then the tsaritsa read what was not written. This time the book said, ‘Ivan lies buried in the sand on the sea bed. Call the pike and order him to fetch Ivan. Say that if he doesn’t, you’ll have him cooked for your dinner.’

Yelena sent her maidservant Darya to call the pike and tell him to bring Ivan up from the bottom of the sea.

Ivan appeared before Yelena the Wise.

‘Execute me,’ he said, ‘I’m not worthy of you.’

But Yelena the Wise thought better of it: there was always time enough to have a man executed and, in any case, it wasn’t as if she and Ivan were strangers. They had been family; they had shared one home.

‘Go and hide again,’ she said to Ivan. ‘If you outwit me, I’ll pardon you. But if not, I’ll execute you.’

Ivan went off to look for a secret place where the tsaritsa would be unable to find him. But where could he go? Tsaritsa Yelena had a magic mirror where she could see everything in the world. And if there was anything she couldn’t see in this mirror, her wise book would tell her about it.

Ivan called out, ‘Hey, sparrow! Do you remember my kindness?’

The sparrow was already there.

‘Fall to the ground,’ it said. ‘Become a grain of wheat!’

Ivan fell to the ground and became a grain of wheat. The sparrow devoured it.

Yelena the Wise turned her mirror to the earth, to the sky, to
the water – there was no sign of Ivan. Everything was there in the mirror – except what she needed. The Wise Yelena lost her temper and threw her mirror against the floor, and it smashed into pieces. Then Darya the maidservant came in. She gathered up all the slivers from the mirror and carried them away in the hem of her skirt to the servants’ corner of the courtyard.

Yelena the Wise opened her father’s book. In it she read, ‘Ivan is in the grain; the grain is in the sparrow; and the sparrow is on the fence.’