Well, this affair had turned out very well after all; possibly he might go on living without any suffering. So the Cossack stayed for a very, very long time in the tin castle, until he became wearied unto death: it might be a joke, but he was always alone and could never exchange as much as a whisper with anybody. So, from sheer grief, he drank himself drunk and thought he would go out into the free world. But wherever he ventured forth there were lofty walls, with neither an entrance nor an exit. So he grew very angry, and the doughty youth took his cudgel, went into the palace and began knocking about the looking-glasses and mirrors, tearing up the velvet, breaking the chairs, shattering the silver. Possibly, he thought, the owner might come and let him free. But no, never a soul appeared!

Then the Cossack lay down to sleep. Next day he woke up, went for a walk and a saunter, and he thought he would like to have some food, and he looked around: there was nothing to be had. “Ah!” he thought, “The slave rains on herself the blows if unfaithfully she mows. I smoked to death yesterday, and today I must starve.” He had despaired. And that very instant food and drink stood ready for him.