Part 18

As the Wolf went in the Bull gored him to the wall with his horns, the Ram sat on his sides and the Pig tore him to atoms, while the Goose flew on to him and picked out his eyes. The Cock flew up to the girders and began shouting, “Come along here, come along here!”

But the Bear got tired of waiting so long: “What a long job he is making of that Ram!” he thought. “I must go in.” So he also went into the hut, and the Bull gave him the same royal welcome.

He burst out by sheer force and galloped away at full speed, and never once looked round.

THE STORY OF THE BRAVE AND DOUGHTY KNIGHT ILYÁ MÚROMETS AND THE NIGHTINGALE ROBBER

Once in the famous city of Múrom[47] in the village of Karachárovo, a peasant lived who was called Iván Timoféyevich; he had one beloved son, Ilyá Múromets. And he sat down in a house as a stay-at-home for thirty years, and after the thirty years had gone by he began to walk on his feet mightily, and he gained great strength. Then he made himself the trappings of war and a lance of steel, and got himself a good steed, a knightly horse; he then went up to his mother and father and asked their blessing. “Ye, my masters, my mother and father, let me go into the famous city of Kíev, to pray to God and to do homage to our prince at Kíev.”

The mother and father gave him their blessing, and made him swear a mighty oath, and they enjoined a mighty service upon him. And they spake in this wise: “Do you go straight to the city of Kíev, straight to the city of Chernígov, and on your journeying do no one any hurt, spill no Christian blood vainly.”

Ilyá Múromets took the blessing of his father and mother, prayed to God, bade farewell to his father and mother, and set forth on his way and road. And he journeyed far in the dark woods, and lighted on a camp of robbers. Those robbers saw Ilyá Múromets, and were envious in their robber-like hearts for his knightly horse, and began to speak amongst themselves how they might take that horse; for steeds so fine were not seen in those parts, and now some unknown man was passing by on one. So they set on Ilyá Múromets, ten at once and then by twenties. And Ilyá Múromets stopped his knightly horse, took a tempered dart and set it on his strong bow. He let the tempered dart fall on the earth, and it tore into the earth fifty feet.

And seeing this, the robbers were afraid, and collected in a circle, fell on their knees and prayed him, “Master, our father, youth mighty of prowess, we are guilty in thine eyes; and, for this our guilt, as it pleaseth thee, inflict on us a fine as much as is fit, whether it be coloured clothes or droves of horses.”

Ilyá smiled at them and said: “I need no garments, but, if ye wish to enjoy your life, henceforth take no more hazards.”

And he went on his road to the famous city of Kíev. And Ilyá Múromets set out on the road; when he came under the walls of the city of Sébezh he saw three Tsarévichi from foreign parts, who had a host of thirty thousand men; they wished to capture the city of Sébezh and to take the Tsar of Sébezh prisoner. So Ilyá Múromets set out after the three Tsarévichi, and he pursued them down to the seashore and slew all the rest of the army, but captured the Tsarévichi alive and returned to the city of Sébezh, and the citizens saw him and gave news of this to their Tsar.

When he arrived at the city of Chernígov, under the walls of the city of Chernígov there was a Saracen host too many to count besieging the city of Chernígov: they were going to sack it and to set God’s churches aflame, and to take captive the Prince, the Duke of Chernígov. And at that mighty host and fray, Ilyá Múromets was afraid, but he placed himself at the will of the Saviour, and thought how he would sacrifice his head for the Christian faith. Then Ilyá Múromets began to lay low the Saracen host with his lance of steel, and he routed all of the pagan host and took the Tsarévich of the Saracens captive and led him into the city of Chernígov. As he entered, all the citizens of the city of Chernígov met him and gave him honour, and the Prince and Duke of Chernígov himself came out to receive the doughty youth with honour and to give thanks to the Lord God for sending such unexpected succour to the city and not letting them all perish helplessly before the mighty Saracen host. They received him into their palace and they gave him a great feast, and set him on his way.

Ilyá Múromets went to the city of Kíev straight from Chernígov on the road by the village of Kutúzovo, which the Nightingale Robber had been oppressing for thirty years, not letting any man pass, whether on horseback or on foot, and assailing them not with any weapon, but only with his robber’s whistle. Ilyá Múromets rode into the open field and saw the scattered bones of knights and warriors. He rode over them and arrived at the Bryánski woods,[48] the miry swamp, to the hazel-tree bridges, and to the Smoródina river. The Nightingale Robber heard his end approaching, and felt a foreboding of a terrible ill; and before Ilyá Múromets had advanced twenty versts, he whistled with his powerful robber’s whistle. But the valorous heart of Ilyá was not afraid, and before ever he had advanced ten versts more the Nightingale Robber whistled more terribly than before, and the horse of Ilyá Múromets stumbled at the sound.

At last Ilyá arrived at the nest, which was spread above twelve oaks, and the Nightingale Robber was sitting in the nest, saw the white Russian knight approaching, and began to whistle with all of his might, essaying to smite Ilyá Múromets to death. Ilyá Múromets took out his strong bow, put a tempered dart to it, and shot it at the nest of the Nightingale Robber; it fell into his right eye and went beyond. And the Robber-Nightingale fell down from his nest like a sheaf of oats. Ilyá Múromets took the Robber-Nightingale, tied him strongly to his steel stirrup and rode to the famous city of Kíev.

On his way he passed the palace of the Nightingale Robber, and as soon as he came up to the Robber’s palace the windows were opened and out of these windows the Nightingale Robber’s three daughters were looking. The youngest daughter saw him, and cried out to her sisters: “Here is our father coming back with booty: he is bringing us a man tied to his steel stirrup.”

But the elder sister looked out and cried bitterly: “That is not our father; some unknown man is coming along and is dragging our father after him.”

Then they cried out to their husbands, “Masters, do ye go and meet that man and slay him for the slaying of our father, lest our name be disgraced.”

Then their husbands, mighty warriors, set out to face the white Russian knight. They had good horses, sharp lances, and they wished to hoist Ilyá aloft on their lances.

The Nightingale Robber saw them, and said, “My beloved sons, do not dishonour nor take such a bold knight, and so all receive your death from him; it would be better to ask his forgiveness in humbleness and to ask him into my house to have a goblet of green wine.”

So at the invitation of the sons-in-law Ilyá returned home and received no evil of them.

The eldest daughter raised an iron storm-board of chains for him to stumble against; but Ilyá saw her on the gates, struck at her with his lance, and he smote her to death.

When Ilyá arrived at the city of Kíev, he went straight to the Prince’s courtyard, entered the white stone palace, prayed to God and did homage to the Prince.

The Prince of Kíev asked him, “Say, doughty youth, how do they call thee? Of what city art thou?”

And Ilyá Múromets returned answer: “My lord, they call me Ílyushka, and by my father’s name Ivánov; I live in the city of Múrom in the village of Karachárovo.”

Then the Prince asked him, “By what road didst thou come?”

“From Múrom by the city of Chernígov, and under the walls of Chernígov I routed a Saracen host too many to count, and I relieved the city of Chernígov. And from there I went straight and I took the mighty Nightingale Robber alive and dragged him along at my steel stirrup.”

Then the Prince was angry and said, “Why art thou telling such tales?”

When the knights Alyósha Popóvich and Dobrýnya Nikítich heard this, they dashed out to look, and assured the Prince that this was really so.

Then the Prince bade a goblet of green wine be given to the doughty youth. The Prince, however, wished to hear the whistle of the Robber-Nightingale. Ilyá Múromets put the Prince and Princess into a sable _shúba_, seized them under the arm, called in the Nightingale Robber and bade him whistle like a nightingale with only half his whistle; but the Nightingale Robber whistled with all his robber’s whistle, and he deafened all of the knights, so that they fell to the ground, and as a punishment for this was slain by Ilyá Múromets.

Ilyá Múromets swore blood brotherhood with Dobrýnya Nikítich, then they saddled their good horses and rode forth on the open fields; and they journeyed on for about three months and found no opponent worthy of their steel: they had only gone in the open field. Then they met a passer-by, a beggar singing psalms. His shirt weighed fifteen _pud_, and his hat ten _pud_, and his stick was ten _sazhéns_ long. Ilyá Múromets set on him with his horse, and was going to try his mighty strength on him.

Then the passing beggar saw Ilyá Múromets and said: “Hail, Ilyá Múromets! Do you recollect? I learned my letters with you in the same school, and now you are setting your horse on me, who am only a beggar, as though I were an enemy, and you do not know that a very great misfortune has befallen the city of Kíev. The infidel knight, the mighty man, the dishonourable Ídolishche, has arrived. His head is as big as a beer cauldron, and his shoulders a _sazhén_ broad. There is a span length between his brows, and between his ears there is a tempered dart. And he eats an ox at a time and he drinks a cask at a time. The Prince of Kíev is very aggrieved with you that you have left him in such straits.”

So Ilyá Múromets changed into the beggar’s dress and rode straight back to the palace of the Prince, and cried out in a knightly voice: “Hail to thee, Prince of Kíev! give me, a wandering beggar, alms.”

And the Prince saw him and spoke in this wise: “Come into my palace, beggar. I will give you food and drink and will give you gold on your way.”

So the beggar went into the palace and stood at the stove and looked round.

Ídolishche asked to eat, so they brought him an entire roasted ox and he ate it to the bones; then Ídolishche asked for drink, so they brought him a cauldron of beer; and twenty men had to bring it in. And he held it up to his ears and drank it all through.

Ilyá Múromets said, “My father had a gluttonous mare; it guzzled until its breath failed.”

Ídolishche could not stand this affront, and said, “Hail, wandering beggar! Do you dare me? I could take you in my hands; if it had been Ilyá Múromets I would even have braved him.”

“Well,” said Ilyá Múromets, “that is the kind of man he was!” And he took off his cap and struck him lightly on the head, and he nearly knocked through the walls of the palace, took Ídolishche’s trunk and flung it out. And in return the Prince honoured Ilyá Múromets, praised him highly, and placed him amongst the mighty knights of his court.

NIKÍTA THE TANNER

One day, somewhere near Kíev, a dragon appeared, who demanded heavy tribute from the people. He demanded every time to eat a fair maiden: and at last the turn came to the Tsarévna, the princess. But the dragon would not eat her, she was too beautiful. He dragged her into his den and made her his wife. When he flew out on business, he used to pile logs of wood in front of the den to prevent the Tsarévna escaping. But the Tsarévna had a little dog that had followed her all the way from home. When she wrote a letter to her father and mother she used to tie it to the neck of her little dog, which would run all the way home and bring an answer back. One day her parents wrote to her: “Try to discover any one who is stronger than the dragon.” The Tsarévna got every day on more intimate terms with her dragon in order to discover who was stronger. At last he owned that Nikíta, the tanner at Kíev, was the stronger. So the Tsarévna at once wrote to her father: “Look for Nikíta, the tanner at Kíev, and send him on to me to deliver me from my imprisonment.”

So the Tsar looked for Nikíta, and went to him himself to beg him to release the land from the cruelty of the dragon and redeem the princess.

Just then Nikíta was tanning skins. He was just enfolding twelve hides in his hands. But when he saw the Tsar come to see him, his hands so trembled for fear that he rent the twelve hides. But, however much the Tsar and the Tsarítsa asked him, he would not set out against the dragon. Then the Tsar assembled five thousand children, who were to mollify the tanner with their bitter tears. The little ones came to Nikíta and begged him to go and fight the dragon. And when he saw them weep, Nikíta the tanner himself almost felt the tears flowing. He took thirty _puds_ of hemp, tarred it, and swathed himself in it in order that the dragon might find him a hard morsel, and then set out. But the dragon locked himself up in his den and would not come to view.

“Come with me into the open field, otherwise I will shatter your den to pieces!” said the tanner, and began clattering at the doors.

Then the dragon, seeing his doom approach, came out into the open. Nikíta the tanner fought the grisly worm some time, maybe long, maybe short, and at last got him under.

Then the dragon besought Nikíta the tanner: “Do not beat me to death. Stronger than us two there is nothing in the white world. Let us divide the earth. You may live on the one half and I on the other.”

“Very well!” said Nikíta, “only we must delimit frontiers.”

So the tanner took the plough, which weighed three hundred _puds_, and harnessed to it the dragon, and drew the harrow all the way from Kíev to the Caspian Sea.

“Now we have divided the entire earth,” said the dragon.

“Yes, we have divided the earth, but not the sea; we must also divide the sea, otherwise you would say I was taking your share of the water.” So they then set out into the middle of the sea, and there Nikíta slew the dragon and drowned him.

The trench may still be seen: it is two fathoms deep. They plough all round it; but never touch the bottom: those who do not know whence came this trench call it a battlement.

When Nikíta had done this feat, he demanded no reward for it, but went home and went on tanning.

THE SINGING-TREE AND THE SPEAKING-BIRD

Once upon a time there was a very inquisitive King who spent all his time eavesdropping at the window. There was also a merchant, who had three daughters, and one day they were talking to their father, and one said: “If only the King’s bread-bearer would marry me!” The second one said: “If only the King’s valet would cast his eyes upon me!” But the third said: “I want the King himself: I would bear him two sons and one daughter.”

Now the King was listening to all this conversation; and after a few days he did exactly as they had wished: the eldest married the King’s bread-bearer, the middle one the King’s valet, but the youngest married the King himself.

The King married very happily, and after some time his Queen was about to bear him a child. He was sending for the midwife of the town, but the elder sisters asked him why he should; they would act as midwives. As soon as the Queen had born him a son, the midwives took him away and told the King his wife had born a pup; and they put the new-born babe into a box and threw it into a big pond in the King’s garden.

At this the King was very angry, and wanted to have his wife blown to bits at the cannon’s mouth; but—it so happened—some other princes were on a visit, and persuaded him to forgive a first offence. So the King pardoned her for the nonce, and gave her a second chance.

One year went by, and the Queen bore him another son, and the sisters again took it away, and told him she had born a kitten. The King was angry at first, this time he was sore enraged, and was agog to punish his wife, but once more he was won over.

So he gave her a third chance. This time the Queen bore a very beautiful daughter, and the sisters took it and told the King she had born an unheard-of monster. Oh! there were no bounds to his fury now; he ordered the hangman in and bade him hang his wife on the spot; but once more some visiting princes overruled him and said: “Would it not be better to put an oratory up near the church and put her into it, and let every one who goes to Mass spit into her eyes?” So he did; but, so far from being spat upon by every passer-by, every one brought her fine loaves and pasties.

But, when her three children had been thrown into the pond in the King’s garden, they were not drowned, for the King’s gardener took them home and brought them up. They were fine children; you could _see_ them growing up, not by years, but months, not by days, but by hours. The King’s sons shot up, youths no men could imagine, guess, or draw, or paint; and the Tsarévna was such a beauty! Almost terribly beautiful! One day, when they were older, they asked the gardener to let them build themselves a little home behind the town. The gardener consented, and they erected a big, splendid house, and led a merry life in it. The brothers used to go hunting hares, and one day they went off and left their sister alone at home.

A visitor knocked at the door: the sister opened the door and saw an old hag, who said: “You have a pretty little place here; three things are lacking.”

“What are they? I always thought we had everything!”

The hag replied: “You still need the Talking-Bird, the Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life.”

And then the sister was left all alone once more; when her brothers came home, she said: “Brothers, we lack nothing save three things.”

“What are they?”

“We haven’t a Talking-Bird, a Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life!”

The elder brother said: “Sister, give me your blessing, and I’ll go and discover you these marvels. If I die, or am killed, you will know by this knife dripping blood. There it is, stuck into the wall.”

So he went, and wandered away, far, far away into the forest. At last he came to a gigantic oak-tree; and on the tree there was an old man sitting, whom he asked how he was to procure the “Talking-Bird, a Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life.”

The old man replied: “Possible it is, but not easy; many go, but few return.”

But the young man persisted and left the old man. The old man gave him a rolling-pin, and told him to let it roll on in front of him, and follow wherever it went. The pin rolled on, and after it walked the Prince: it rolled up to a steep hill, and was lost. Then the Prince went up the hill, went half-way up; and, as he went along, he heard a voice: “Hold him, seize him, grip him!” He looked round and was turned into stone.

That very same hour blood began to drip from the knife in the cottage, and the sister told the younger brother that the elder was dead.

So he answered: “Now I will go, sister mine, and capture the Talking-Bird, the Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life!”

So she blessed him, and he went on and on for very many weary miles, and met the old man on the tree, who gave him another rolling-pin: and the pin rolled up to the mountain; and both were lost, pin and Prince!

The sister waited for many years, but he never came back, and she thought he, too, must have died. So she set out to find the Talking-Bird, Singing-Tree, and Water of Life. She arrived at last at that same oak-tree, saw the old man sitting on it, greeted him, and shaved his head and brows, as she brought scissors and a mirror with her.

“Look,” she said, “what a change it makes in you!” He looked into the mirror: “Yes,” he said; “I am quite a fine man now. I’ve sat here thirty years: never a soul cut my hair, you guessed my need.”

Then she asked him: “Grandfather, how can I get the Talking-Bird, the Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life?”

He answered: “How can you get them? Cleverer folk than you have been after them, and they have all been lost.”

But she persisted: “Please tell me!”

So he gave her another rolling-pin, and told her to follow it: she would hear cries of “Catch her: scotch her,” but she must not look round, for fear of being turned into stone. “At the top you will see a well and the Talking-Bird. As you come back, you will see lofty stones standing upright; sprinkle them all with the Water of Life.”

So on she went: the pin rolled on, far or near, long or short, it reached a steep mountain; and the girl climbed up and heard cries: “Where are you going? We shall kill you! We shall eat you up!”

But still she went on and on, reached the summit, and there she found a well and the Talking-Bird. She took it and asked it: “Tell me how to get the Singing-Tree and the Water of Life.”

The Bird replied: “Go straight by this path.”

She did, and came upon the Singing-Tree, and in it all sorts of birds were singing. She broke off a sprig, pulled up a water-lily, and put some of the Water of Life into the cup of the flower, and turned back homewards.

As she clomb downhill, she saw boulders standing upright, and sprinkled them with the Water of Life; and her brothers jumped up alive and said: “Oh, what a long sleep we have had!”

“Yes, my brothers, but for me you would have slept on for ever. And look here; I have got you the Talking-Bird, the Singing-Tree, and the Water of Life!”

The brothers were overjoyed, went home and planted the Singing-Tree in the garden; it overspread the whole garden, and all kinds of birds began singing.

One day they were out hunting and the King met them by chance. He fell in love with the gay huntsmen, and invited them home. They said they would ask their sister, and come at once if she consented.

So they went back home. The sister met them and greeted them, and the brothers said: “Please, sister, may we go and dine with the King? He has asked us in.”

She said “Yes,” and they went. At the banquet, the King gave them the place of honour, and they begged he would honour them with a visit. Some days later the King went. They gave him a rich spread, and showed him the Singing-Tree and the Talking-Bird.

He was amazed and said: “I am the King, and have nothing as good!”

Then the King looked at them and said: “Who is your father?”

They said: “We do not know.” But the Talking-Bird broke in and said: “They are your children.”

Then the King looked at the maiden and wanted to marry her. Again the Talking-Bird said: “You may not; she is your daughter.”

The King then saw how matters stood; was overjoyed; took them to live with him for ever. As to the two evil sisters, he had them shot; but his wife he released from the chapel, and took her to himself again, and they lived merrily on for many years of happiness.

AT THE BEHEST OF THE PIKE

Once there lived a poor peasant; and, however much he might toil and moil, he got nothing out of it. “Oh,” he thought to himself, “mine is a sorry lot; I spend all my days on my fields; and then, when I look, I am starving, whilst my neighbour is lying all day long on his back, and then he has a big estate and all the profits swim into his pockets. Evidently I have not pleased God. I will get up in the morning and pray until evening, and perhaps the Lord may have mercy on me.”

So he began to pray to God, and went hungry for days on days; and he still went on praying.