Chapter IX: Part 9

Once a Tsar lived with his Tsarítsa beyond thrice-nine lands in the thrice-tenth kingdom. He liked to go hunting and shooting the wild beasts. One day the Tsar went out hunting, and saw a young eagle sitting on an oak; and he was just going to shoot him down, when the eagle begged him, “Do not shoot me, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself; and at some time or other I shall be of service to you.” And the Tsar thought and thought, and he said, “How can you be of any service to me?” And again he wanted to shoot him. And the eagle said to him a second time, “Do not shoot, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself; and some day I shall be of service to you.” And the Tsar thought and thought, and again he could not imagine whatever service the eagle would be to him, and he still wanted to shoot him. So for the third time the eagle spoke to him, “Do not shoot me, Tsar my master, rather take me to yourself, and feed me for three years; and at some time I shall be of service to you.”

So the Tsar was mollified, and took the eagle to himself, and he fed him one year and another year, and the eagle ate up so much, ate up all the cattle; and the Tsar had neither a sheep nor a cow left.

Then the eagle said to him, “Let me go free.” And the eagle tried his wings, but no, he could not fly; and he asked him, “Now, Tsar my master, you have fed me for two years, even as you said; now feed me one year more. Only go on and feed me, and you will not lose.”

So the Tsar did this.

“Go and hire cattle and feed me; you will not lose.”

So the Tsar did this. From all countries round he went and hired cattle, and every one helped him to feed the eagle. And afterwards he let him go free at his own will.

Then the eagle rose higher and higher, and he flew and flew, and then he came down to earth and said, “Now, Tsar my master, come and sit on me: we will fly together.”

So the Tsar sat on the eagle and they flew on and on. Maybe much time went by, maybe little, but they at last flew to the border of the blue sea. Then the eagle shook the Tsar off himself, and he fell into the sea, and he was wetted up to his knees, only the eagle did not let him drown, but supported him on his wing, and asked, “Why, Tsar my lord, why are you frightened?”

“I was frightened,” said the Tsar, “lest I should be drowned.”

And so once more they flew on, until they came to another sea. And the eagle shook the Tsar off into the middle of the sea, and the Tsar was wetted up to his waist, but the eagle supported him by his wing and asked him, “Why, Tsar my master, why are you frightened?”

“I was frightened,” said the Tsar, “and I was thinking, it may be you are never going to drag me out.”

And again they flew on, and they arrived at the third sea, and the eagle threw the Tsar into the great depths, and he was immersed in the water up to his very neck. Again, the third time the eagle held him by the wing and asked him, “Why, Tsar my master, why are you frightened?”

“I was,” said the Tsar, “I was thinking if only you would rescue me!”

“Now, Tsar my master, you have learned the fear of death. All this shall be for you in the past, and shall be an old tale. You may recollect how I was sitting on the oak and you wished to kill me. Three times you took up your gun to shoot me, but I asked you to spare me; and I was thinking in my mind, may you not destroy me but have pity and take me to yourself!”

So he then flew across thrice-nine lands, for a very long flight. And the eagle said, “Come and see, Tsar my master, what is over us and what is under us.”

And the Tsar looked: “Over us,” he said, “is the sky, and under us the earth.”

“Look once more: what is there on the left and right-hand sides?”

“On the right-hand side there is an open field and on the left-hand side there is a house.”

“We will fly there,” said the eagle; “there my youngest sister lives.”

So they flew straight to the courtyard, and the sister came to meet them and received her brother, seated him on an oaken table; but she would not look on the Tsar—she left him outside in the courtyard and she let the fleet dogs out to feed on him.

But the eagle was very angry, and he leaped up from the table, laid hold on the Tsar and flew, yet farther. So they flew and flew, and the eagle said to the Tsar, “Look, what is there behind us?”

So the Tsar turned round and looked, and said, “Behind us there is a beauteous house.”

Then the eagle said to him, “It is the house of my youngest sister that glitters: she would not receive you, but gave you for food to the fleet hounds.”

So they flew and flew on, and the eagle asked him again, “Look, Tsar my master, what is there over us, and what under us?”

“Over us the sky and under us the earth.”

“Look, what is there on the right-hand, and what is there on the left?”

“On the right-hand side there is the open field, and on the left-hand side there stands a house.”

“There my younger sister lives; we will fly there and be her guests.”

So they came down to the open courtyard, and the younger sister came and received her brother, and she seated him on an oaken stool, but she left the Tsar in the courtyard, and she released the fleet hounds on him.

And the eagle was angry, leaped up from the table, laid hold on the Tsar and flew with him yet farther; and they flew on and on, and the eagle said to the Tsar, “Look, what is there behind us?”

“Behind us there is a beauteous house.”

“It is the house of my younger sister that glitters,” said the eagle. “Now we will fly where my mother and eldest sister live.”

So they flew thither, and the mother and eldest sister were ever so glad to see them, and they received the Tsar with honour and affection.

“Now, Tsar my master,” said the eagle, “come and rest with us, and afterwards I will give you a ship, and I will repay you all I ate up whilst I was with you; and go home with God’s aid.” So he gave the Tsar a ship and two coffers, one was red and the other green. And he said, “Take heed, do not open the coffers until you reach home: open the red coffer in the back courtyard and the green coffer in the front courtyard.”

So the Tsar took the two coffers, bade farewell to the eagle, and went on the blue sea: and he went on and he arrived at an island, where the ship stopped. He got out on the shore, and he remembered the two coffers, and began to wonder what was in them, and why the eagle had bidden him not to open them; and he thought and thought, and his patience gave way. He so badly wanted to know, and so he took the red coffer, put it on the ground and opened it, and out of it all sorts of cattle came out, so many that the eye could not count, and they almost filled the entire island. When the Tsar saw this he was grieved, and began to weep and say, “Whatever shall I do now? how shall I collect all of this herd into such a tiny coffer?”

And then he saw that out of the water came a man, who went up to him and asked him, “Why are you weeping so bitterly, Tsar my master?”

“Why should I not weep?” answered the Tsar. “How can I put all this great herd into this tiny coffer?”

“If you will I can aid you in your trouble; I will collect all this herd, only on condition that you give me what you do not know of at home.”

So the Tsar began to ponder, “What do I not know of at home? It seems to me that I know of everything.” So he thought, and he considered it, and he said, “Go and collect them together, and I will give you what I do not know of at home.”

Then the man collected all of the cattle into the box, and the Tsar went on board and sailed on his own journey.

When he reached home he saw that a son had been born to him, the Tsarévich, and he began to kiss him and to fondle him. But then he began to weep bitter tears.

“Tsar my master,” said the Tsarítsa, “why do you weep such bitter tears?”

“Out of joy,” he said; for he feared to tell her the truth that he must give up the Tsarévich.

So then he went into the courtyard and opened the red coffer, and out of it oxen and kine, sheep and rams, came out. There was a multitude of all sorts of cattle. All the barns and the folds were full. He then came to the forecourt and he opened the green coffer, and in front of him a wonderful garden spread out with every kind of tree in it, and the Tsar was so joyous, and forgot to give his son up.

Many years went by: one day the Tsar wanted to take a walk, and he went to the river; and just then that same man peered up out of the water and said: “You are a very forgetful person, Tsar my master: you should recollect your debts.”

Then the Tsar went home with grief in his groaning heart, and he told the Tsarítsa and the Tsarévich all the real truth, and they were afflicted; and they all wept together and resolved that something must be done, and that they must give up the Tsarévich. So they took him to the seashore and left him by himself.

And the Tsarévich looked round, and he saw a path, went on it, trusting God might lead him aright. So he went on and on, and he lost his way in the slumberous forest, and he saw a little _izbá_[41] in the forest, and in the _izbá_[41] there lived the Bába Yagá. “I will go in,” thought the Tsarévich, and he went into the _izbá_.[41]

“Good-day, Tsarévich,” said Bába Yagá:

“Is it work on your way,
Or for sloth do you stray?”

“Hey, _bábushka_, give me food and drink, and ask me afterwards.”

So she then gave him food and drink, and the Tsarévich told her all his sorrow without any concealment—whither he was going and why.

Then Bába Yagá said to him, “Go, my child, to the sea; there you will find twelve spoonbills flying in the air, they will turn into fair maidens, who will bathe. You go and hide yourself, and seize the shirt of the eldest maiden. When you have made friends with her, go to the Sea Tsar.”

The Tsarévich bade farewell to Bába Yagá, went to the spot she named on the seashore, and he hid himself behind the bushes. Then twelve spoonbills flew along, struck the grey earth, and turned into fair maidens, who began bathing. The Tsarévich stole the maiden’s shirt, sat behind the bush, and never stirred. The maidens came out of the sea and went on shore: eleven of them struck the earth, turned into birds and flew home: one was left alone, the eldest—Vasilísa the Wise. And when she saw that her sisters flew away she said, “Do not seek me, my dear sisters, but fly home. I am myself to blame; it is all my own fault; I did not look, and I must pay the cost.” So the sisters, the fair maidens, struck the grey earth and turned into spoonbills, spread their wings, and flew far away. Vasilísa the Wise was left by herself, and she looked round and said: “Whoever he be who now has my shirt, let him come here: if he be an old man, he shall be as my own father; if he be a middle-aged man, he shall be as my beloved brother; if he be of my age, he shall be my lover.”

As soon as he heard this, Iván Tsarévich came out of his lurking-place. So she gave him a golden ring and said, “Iván Tsarévich, how long you have been in coming! The Sea Tsar is wroth with you. That is the road which leads to the kingdom under the sea; come on it boldly. There you will find me as well, for I am Vasilísa the Wise, the daughter of the Sea Tsar.” Then Vasilísa the Wise, the eldest, struck the earth, turned into a spoonbill, and flew away from the Tsarévich.

Then Iván went into the under-seas, and he saw light there as it is above, fields and meadows and green arbours; and the sun was hot. Then he came to the Sea Tsar, and the Sea Tsar shrieked out at him: “Why have you been so long? You have been guilty, and you must do me this service: I have a piece of waste ground thirty versts long and broad, and there is nothing on it except ditches, ravines and sharp stones. By to-morrow morning all this must be as smooth as the palm of my hand; rye must be sown and grow so high that a jackdaw might be hidden in it. But if you fail, your head shall roll off your shoulders.”

Iván Tsarévich left the Sea Tsar and wept a sea of tears. Out of the window of her room, from a lofty turret, Vasilísa the Wise saw him and asked, “Hail, Iván Tsarévich! why are you weeping?”

“How should I not weep?” answered Iván. “The Sea Tsar has bidden me in a single night level the ravines and clear the stones from a piece of land thirty versts long and broad, and grow rye on it so high that a jackdaw might hide in it.”

“That is easy enough: this is no trouble—trouble is still ahead. Come and lie down in peace; the morning is wiser than the evening. All shall be ready.”

So Iván Tsarévich went and lay down, and Vasilísa the Wise went to a little window and cried in a thunderous voice, “Hail, my faithful servants, go and level the deep ravines, take away the sharp stones, sow the ground with full-eared rye, so that in the morning it shall grow so high that a jackdaw might hide in it.”

In the morning Iván Tsarévich awoke, and when he looked out it was all done: there were no ravines and no crevasses, and the field was as flat as the palm of his hand, and the rye on it was red and so lofty that a jackdaw might hide in it. And he went to report his prowess to the Sea Tsar.

“Thank you,” said the Sea Tsar. “You have been able to fulfil me this service. Here is your second work. I have thirty hayricks, and each hayrick contains as much as thirty piles of white-eared barley. Thresh me all the barley clean, quite clean to the last grain, and do not destroy the hayricks nor beat down the sheaves. If you do not do this, your shoulders and your head will part company.”

“I will obey your Majesty,” said Iván Tsarévich, and again he went to the courtyard and was lost in tears.

“Why are you weeping, Iván Tsarévich, so bitterly?” Vasilísa the Wise asked him.

“Why should I not weep? The Sea Tsar has bidden me thresh clean thirty hayricks of barley without destroying a hayrick or a single sheaf, and all in a single night.”

“That is an easy task. Harder tasks are to come. Sleep in peace, for the morning is wiser than the evening.”

So Iván Tsarévich went and lay down.

Vasilísa went to her window and cried out in a threatening voice, “Hail, ye creeping ants, as many as there be of you in the white world, all creep here and pick out all the corn of my father’s hayricks quite cleanly.”

In the morning the Sea Tsar asked Iván Tsarévich if he had done this service.

“I have, your Majesty.”

“Let us go and see.”

So they went to the barn floor, and there all the hayricks stood untouched; and they went to the granary, and all the lofts were filled to the top with corn.

“Thank you, brother,” said the Sea Tsar. “Now you must make me a church out of white wax, to be ready to-night, and this shall be your last task.”

Once again Iván Tsarévich went to the courtyard and began to weep.

“Why are you weeping, Iván Tsarévich?”

“Why should I not weep? The Sea Tsar has bidden me in a single night build a church of white wax.”

“That is an easy task: harder tasks are near at hand. Lie down in peace, for the morning is wiser than the evening.”

So Iván Tsarévich went to sleep.

Then she went to her window and called to her all the bees in the white world, “Hail, ye bees my servants, do ye build me a church of your white wax, and let it be finished before the morning.”

In the morning Iván got up, looked, and saw the church stood there made of clean wax, and he went to the Sea Tsar and reported.

“Thank you, Iván Tsarévich: of all the servants I have had, none of them have been able to do as well as you. Now be my heir and the preserver of my kingdom. Now select yourself a bride out of my twelve daughters. They are all alike, face for face, hair with hair, clothing with clothing. If you guess three times the same one, she shall be your bride; if you do not, you shall suffer.”

Vasilísa the Wise learned of this, chose her opportunity, and said to the Tsarévich, “The first time I will wave my dress, the second time I will smooth my dress, and the third time there shall be a fly buzzing round my head.” Thus he was able to guess Vasilísa all three times. And they were betrothed, and there was a merry feast for three days.

Time went by, may-be little, may-be much. Iván Tsarévich grew anxious to see his father and mother, and he wished to go back to Holy Russia.

“Why are you so grieved, Iván Tsarévich?”

“O Vasilísa the Wise, I am afflicted for my father and my mother, and desire to behold Holy Russia.”

“If we go away there will be a mighty chase after us. The Sea Tsar will be wroth, and will give us over to death. We must be cunning.” So Vasilísa spat in three corners, and the doors of her room opened, and she, with Iván Tsarévich, ran into Sacred Russia. On the second day, very early, an embassy came from the Sea Tsar to catch the young couple and to summon them into the palace, and they knocked on the door: “Wake up, get up from your sleep; your father is calling you.”

“It is yet early: we have not yet had our sleep; come later on,” one pool answered.

Then the ambassadors retired, and they waited one hour and another hour, and they knocked again: “This is not the time and season to sleep; this is the time and season to get up.”

“Have a little patience, we will get up; we are dressing,” the second pool answered.

And the third time the envoys came, saying that the Sea Tsar was angry: “Why are you so long making ready?”

“We will be down soon,” answered the third pool.

So the messengers waited and waited, and then again knocked. Then there was no answer and no reply, so they broke in the door, and all was empty. Then they went and sent word to the Sea Tsar that the young folk had run away. He was very angry, and he set a mighty hunt after them.

But Vasilísa the Wise, with Iván Tsarévich, was already very far ahead: they were leaping on swift horses without staying, without taking breath. “Now, Iván Tsarévich, bend your head down to the grey earth and listen. Is there no noise of a hunt from the Sea Tsar?”

Iván Tsarévich leapt down from his horse, put his ear to the ground, and said, “I hear the talk of people, and the tramp of horses.”

“This is the hunt after us,” said Vasilísa the Wise. And she at once turned the horses into a green meadow, Iván Tsarévich into an old shepherd, and herself into a brooding lamb.

The hunt passed by.

“Ho, old man, have you seen a doughty youth with a fair maiden galloping by?”

“No, good folk, I have not seen them,” said Iván Tsarévich. “It is forty years I have been pasturing on these fields; not one bird has ever flown by, not one wild beast has ever rambled by.”

So they returned home.

“Your Imperial Majesty, we saw no one on the road; we only saw a shepherd feeding a little sheep.”

“Why did you not take it? That was themselves!” said the Sea Tsar. And he sent out a second hunt.

But Iván Tsarévich and Vasilísa the Wise were leaping far off on their swift steeds. “Now, Iván Tsarévich, put your head to the grey earth and listen whether there is no hunt from the Sea Tsar.”

Iván Tsarévich leapt off his horse, put his ear to the grey earth and said, “I hear the talk of people and the hoppety-hop of horses.”

“This is the chase, that is the steeds,” said Vasilísa the Wise; and she turned herself into a church, and Iván Tsarévich into an elderly pope and the horses into trees.

So the hunt went by.

“Ho, _bátyushka_, have you seen a shepherd with a little lamb passing by?”

“No, good people, I have not. I have been working for forty years in this church; not one bird has flown by, not one beast has rambled by.”

So the hunt went back and reached home.

“Your Imperial Majesty, we could not find the shepherd with the little lamb: the only thing we saw on the road was a church and an old man as pope.”

“Why did you not break down the church and capture the pope? That was themselves!” the Sea Tsar exclaimed, and he himself leapt out to hunt after Iván Tsarévich and Vasilísa the Wise.

So they went far, and again Vasilísa the Wise said, “Iván Tsarévich, put your ear to the ground; can you hear any hunt?”

Then the Tsarévich leapt down, put his ear to the grey earth, and said, “I hear the talk of people and the thunder of horses’ hooves faster than before.”

“This is the Sea Tsar himself who is galloping.”

So Vasilísa the Wise turned the horses into a mere, Iván Tsarévich into a drake, and herself into a duck. The Sea Tsar came up to the lake and he instantly guessed who were the duck and the drake, so he struck the grey earth and turned into an eagle. The eagle wanted to smite them to death, and it might well have been; but, as soon as ever he struck at the drake, it dived into the water, and whenever he struck at the duck the duck dived into the water, and whatever he might do was all in vain.

So the Sea Tsar galloped back to his own kingdom under the seas, and Vasilísa the Wise with Iván Tsarévich waited a while and then returned to Sacred Russia. It may-be long, it may-be short, at last they came into the thrice-ninth realm. When they arrived home his father and mother were overjoyed to see Iván Tsarévich, for they had given him up as lost. And they made a great feast and celebrated the marriage.

I was there, I drank mead and wine: it flowed up to my beard, but it never entered my mouth.

THE ANIMALS’ WINTER QUARTERS

Once an Ox was wandering in the wood, and a Ram met him. “Where are you going, Ram?” asked the Ox.

“I am seeking summer in winter,” answered the Ram.

“Come with me.”

So they went together. And they met a Pig.

“Where are you going, Pig?” asked the Ox.

“I am seeking summer in winter.”

“Come with us.”

So they all went together. And they then met a Goose.

“Where are you going, Goose?” said the Bull.

“I am seeking summer in winter,” said the Goose.

“Well, come with us.”

So the Goose came with them. So they went on, and they met a Cock.

“Where are you going, Cock?” asked the Bull.

“I am seeking summer in winter.”

“Then come with us,” said the Bull again.

So they went on their road and way, and began speaking amongst each other. “What shall we do, brothers and comrades? the cold time is approaching: how shall we have warmth?”

So the Ox said, “We will build an _izbá_,[42] and we shall not freeze during the winter.”

Then the Ram said: “My _shúba_ is very warm; I will pass the winter in this fashion.”

Then the Pig said, “I do not mind any frost whatsoever: I will burrow into the ground and do without any _izbá_.”[43]

Then the Goose said, “I will sit in the middle of this spruce, lie on one wing, and cover myself over with the other, and the cold cannot touch me. That is how I shall pass the winter.”

Then the Cock said, “I shall do the same.”

Then the Ox saw he could not do any good: every man must do as he likes. “Well,” he said, “as you wish. _I_ am going to build an _izbá_.”[43]

So he built himself an _izbá_,[43] and he lived in it.

Then the cold time came, and earth began to feel the frosts. And the Ram, who could not help himself, came to the Bull and said, “Brother, let me in.”

“No, Ram, you have a warm _shúba_; that is how you are going to pass the winter! I shall not let you in.”

“But if you do not let me in, I shall run up and will dislodge the joists of the _izbá_,[43] and you will feel much colder.”

So the Bull thought, and on second thoughts said, “Very well, I will let you in. Otherwise I might freeze.” And he let the Ram in.

Soon the Pig felt frozen, and came to the Bull and said, “Brother, let me in.”

“No, Pig, I will not let you in. You need only burrow down in the ground: that is how you are going to pass the winter!”

“But if you will not let me in, with my snout I will drill all of your uprights and will knock your _izbá_[43] down.”

Well, there was no help for it, and the Bull had to let Piggy in.

Then the Goose and the Cock came to the Bull and said, “Brother, we want to come in and warm ourselves.”

“No, I will not let you in: both of you have two wings. One of them you put under you, and the other you put over you: that is how you pass the winter.”

“But if you do not let us in,” said the Goose, “I will pluck away all the moss from the walls, and you will be much colder!”

“What! won’t you let me in?” said the Cock. “I will fly on to the garret and I will scatter all the earth from the roof, and you will be much colder.”

Well, the Bull was beaten, and he was forced to admit the Goose and the Cock. In the warm hut the Cock crowed and began singing merry songs.

Now the Fox heard the Cock singing merry songs, and thought he would like to make such a dainty acquaintance, only he did not know how to.

So the Fox bethought himself of his wiles, and ran up to the Bear and the Wolf and said, “Now, my dear kinsmen, I have found food for all of us: a Bull for you, Mr. Bear, a Ram for you, Mr. Wolf, and a Cock for myself.”

“What a capital fellow you are, Mr. Fox!” said the Bear and the Wolf. “We shall never be oblivious of your services: let us kill and eat them.”

So the Fox led them up to the little _izbá_.[44] When they reached the hut, the Bear said to the Wolf: “You go first.”

But the Wolf said, “That would be altogether wrong—you must go first.”

So then the Bear and the Wolf said to the Fox, “You must go first.”

As the Fox went in, the Bull gored him with his horns to the wall, and the Ram sat on his flanks, and the Pig tore him to atoms, whilst the Goose flew on to him and picked out his eyes. But the Cock went and flew up to the girder and crowed, “Do come in, oh do, do, do!”

“Why is the Fox such a long time at work with the Cock?” said the Wolf: “Unlock the door, Mikháylo Ivánovich,[45] and I will come in.”

“Very well, come in!” So the Bull opened the door and the Wolf leapt into the _izbá_.[46]

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!”