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Updated: May 26, 2025
For many days the ship sailed on, and Sadko sat on deck and played his dulcimer and sang of Novgorod and of the little river Volkhov that flows under the walls of the town. Blue was the Caspian Sea, and the waves were like furrows in a field, long lines of white under the steady wind, while the sails swelled and the ship shot over the water. And suddenly the ship stopped.
The titles of his operas are: "The Maid of Pskof," 1872; "A Night in May," 1880; "Sniegouroschka," 1882; "Mlada," 1892; "Christmas Eve Revels," 1895; "Sadko," 1897; "Mozart and Salieri," 1898; "Boyarina Vera Sheloga," 1898; "The Tsar's Bride," 1899; "The Tale of Tsar Saltan," 1900; "Servilia," 1902; "Kashchei the Immortal," 1902; "Pan Voyevoda," 1902; "Kitj," 1907; "Le Coq d'or," 1907.
She laughed, and her voice was like the flowing of the river. "And what is the name of your little river?" says the Tzar. "It is the little river Volkhov that flows by Novgorod," says Sadko; "but your daughter is as fair as the little river, and I would gladly marry her if she will have me." "It is a strange thing," says the Tzar, "but Volkhov is the name of my youngest daughter."
And now there was not a girl in the town who could look too sweetly at Sadko. "He has golden hair," says one. "Blue eyes like the sea," says another. "He could lift the world on his shoulders," says a third. A little money, you see, opens everybody's eyes. But Sadko was not changed by his good fortune. Still he walked and played by the little river Volkhov.
In the morning the fishermen came, laughing and merry after their night in Novgorod, and they gave him a little fish for watching their nets; and he made a fire on the shore, and cooked it and ate it as he used to do. "And that is my last meal as a poor man," says Sadko. "Ah me! who knows if I shall be happier?" Then he set the coffer on his shoulder and tramped away for Novgorod.
He is at his top notch in Sadko, with its depiction of both a calm and stormy sea; in Antar, with its evocation of vast, immemorial deserts; in Scheherazade, and its background of Bagdad and the fascinating atmosphere of the Arabian Nights. The initial Sunday in December, 1878, at Paris, was a memorable afternoon for me.
And in the middle of the night Sadko happened to turn in bed, and he touched the Princess with his left foot, and she was cold, cold, cold as ice in January. And with that touch of cold he woke, and he was lying under the walls of Novgorod, with his dulcimer in his hand, and one of his feet was in the little river Volkhov, and the moon was shining. "O grandfather!
She smiled, and "Come!" says she, and took him away to a palace of her own, and showed him a coffer; and in that coffer were bracelets and rings and earrings all the gifts that he had thrown into the river. And Sadko laughed for joy, and kissed the youngest daughter of the Tzar of the Sea, and she kissed him back.
The sailors cut pieces of string, all of a length, as many as there were souls in the ship, and one of those strings they cut in half. Then they made them into a bundle, and each man plucked one string. And Sadko stopped his playing for a moment to pluck a string, and his was the string that had been cut in half. "Magician, sorcerer, unclean one!" shouted the sailors. "Not so," said Sadko.
And now, little pigeons, who is going to be first into bed?" In Novgorod in the old days there was a young man just a boy he was the son of a rich merchant who had lost all his money and died. So Sadko was very poor. He had not a kopeck in the world, except what the people gave him when he played his dulcimer for their dancing.
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