WHITE RUSSIAN STORIES.

WE now come to the first set of stories belonging to those Slavonians who make use of the Cyrillic instead of the Latin characters. The White Russians occupy the whole of the Governments of Minsk and Mogilef, and great part of those of Vitebsk and Grodno. In these stories we first met with the distinction between the Western and Eastern Slavonic terms for monarch. The Western Slavonians employ the terms kral, krul, or korol, for a monarch, which are believed to originate from the name of the mighty Frankish monarch, Karl the Great, whom we generally know by his French title, Charlemagne. The Eastern Slavonians usually make use of the term Tzar, ‘Emperor,’ which is a corruption of the Latin ‘CÆsar,’ the title of the emperors of Constantinople, and later of the Russian emperors. Thus in the following stories we shall find emperors and empresses generally, though not invariably, replacing kings and queens, till we return again to the West.

The White Russian language possesses but little literature, but was employed for diplomatic purposes by the once powerful state of Lithuania (Morfill’s ‘Slavonic Literature,’ S.P.C.K., p. 113).

The heroes ‘Overturn-hill’ (Vertogor) and ‘Overturn-oak’ (Vertodub), who appear in No. 22, occur also in a story from the Ukraine, given by Mr. Ralston (pp. 170-175). Several circumstances in No. 22 are also similar to incidents in the Russian tale of ‘Ivan Popyalof’ (Ralston, p. 66), but in spite of these similarities the stories are truly distinct.

Once upon a time a man went out alone, and met on the road the Sun, the Frost, and the Wind. Well, on meeting them, he gave them a salutation: ‘Praised’ [be the Lord Jesus Christ]! To which did he present the salutation? The Sun said: ‘To me, that I might not burn him.’ The Frost said: ‘To me, and not to you, for he is not so much afraid of you as of me.’ ‘Story-tellers! it’s false!’ said, lastly, the Wind; ‘that man presented the salutation not to you two, but to me.’ They began to jangle and quarrel together, and all but pulled the mantles off each other’s backs. ‘Well, if it’s so, let’s ask him to whom he presented the salutation, to me or to you?’ They overtook the man and asked him; then he said: ‘To the Wind.’ ‘Didn’t I say that it was to me?’ ‘Stop you! I’ll give you a baking, you rascal!’ said the Sun; ‘you shall remember me.’ Then said the Wind: ‘Never fear, he won’t bake you; I shall blow and cool him.’ ‘So will I freeze you up, you scoundrel!’ said the Frost. ‘Don’t be frightened, poor fellow! then I shan’t blow, and he’ll do nothing to you; he doesn’t freeze you up without a wind.’

In a certain empire and a certain province, on the ocean sea, on the island of Bujan, stood a green oak, and under the oak a roasted ox, and by its side a whetted knife; suddenly the knife was seized. Be so good as to eat! This isn’t a story (kazka), but only a preface to a story (prikazka): whoever shall listen to my story, may he have a sableskin cloak, and a horseskin cloak, and a very beautiful damsel, a hundred roubles for the wedding, and fifty for a jollification!

There was a husband and wife. The wife went for water, took a bucket, and after drawing water, went home, and all at once she saw a pea rolling along. She thought to herself: ‘This is the gift of God.’ She took it up and ate it, and in course of time became the mother of a baby boy, who grew not by years, but by hours, like millet dough when leavened. They nursed and petted him in a way that couldn’t be improved upon, and put him to school. What others learnt in three or four years he understood in a single year, and the book was not sufficient for him. He came from the school to his father and mother: ‘Now, then, daddy and mammy, thank my teachers, for already many come to school to me. Thank God, I know more than they.’ Well, he went into the street to amuse himself, and found a pin, which he brought to his father and mother. He said to his father: ‘Here’s this piece of iron; take it to a smith, and let him make me a mace of seven poods weight.’ His father didn’t say a single word to him, but only thought in his own mind: ‘The Lord has given me a child different from other people; I think he has a middling understanding, but he is now making a fool of me. Can it possibly be that a seven-pood[9] mace can be made out of a pin?’ His father, having a considerable sum of money in gold, silver, and paper, drove to the town, bought seven poods of iron, and gave them to a smith to make a mace of. They made him a seven-pood mace, and he brought it home. Little Rolling-pea came out from the attic, took his seven-pood mace, and, hearing a storm in the sky, threw it into the clouds. He went up into his attic: ‘Mother, look in my head before I start; a nasty thing is biting me, for I am a young lad.’ ... Well, rising from his mother’s knees, he went out into the yard and saw the clouds. He fell down with his right ear to the broad ground, and on rising up called his father: ‘Father, come here: see what is whizzing and humming; my mace is coming to the ground.’ He placed his knee in the way of his mace; the mace struck him on the knee and broke in halves. He became angry with his father: ‘Well, father, why did you not have a mace made for me out of the iron that I gave you? If you had done so, it would not have broken, but only bent. Here is the same iron for you, go and get it made; don’t add any of your own.’ The smiths put the iron in the fire and began to beat it with hammers and pull it, and made a seven-pood mace.

Little Rolling-pea took his seven-pood mace and got ready to go on a journey, a long journey; he went and went, and Overturn-hill met him. ‘I salute you, brother Little Rolling-pea! whither are you going? whither are you journeying?’ Little Rolling-pea also asked him a question: ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am the mighty hero Overturn-hill.’ ‘Will you be my comrade?’ said Little Rolling-pea. He replied: ‘Possibly I will be at your service.’ They went on together. They went and went, and the mighty hero Overturn-oak met them. ‘God bless you, brothers! Good health to you! What manner of men are you?’ inquired Overturn-oak. ‘Little Rolling-pea and Overturn-hill.’ ‘Whither are you going?’ ‘To such a city. A dragon devours people there, so we are going to smite him.’ ‘Is it not possible for me to join your company?’ ‘It is possible,’ said Little Rolling-pea. They went to the city, and made themselves known to the emperor. ‘What manner of men are you?’ ‘We are mighty heroes!’ ‘Is it in your power to deliver this city? A dragon is ravenous and destroys much people. He must be slain.’ ‘Why do we call ourselves mighty heroes, if we do not slay him?’ Midnight came, and they went up to a bridge of guelder-rosewood over a river of fire. Lo! up came a six-headed dragon, and posted himself upon the bridge, and immediately his horse neighed, his falcon chattered, and his hound howled. He gave his horse a blow on the head: ‘Don’t neigh, devil’s carrion![10] Don’t chatter, falcon! And you, hound, don’t howl! For here is Little Rolling-pea. Well now,’ said he, ‘come forth, Little Rolling-pea! shall we fight or shall we try our strength?’ Little Rolling-pea answered: ‘Not to try their strength do good youths travel, but only to fight.’ They began the combat. Little Rolling-pea and his comrades struck the dragon three blows at a time on three heads. The dragon, seeing that he could not escape destruction, said: ‘Well, brothers, it is only little Rolling-pea that troubles me. I’d settle matters with you two.’ They began to fight again, smashed the dragon’s remaining heads, took the dragon’s horse to the stable, his falcon to the mews, and his hound to the kennel; and Little Rolling-pea cut out the tongues from all six heads, took and placed them in his knapsack, and the headless trunk they cast into the river of fire. They came to the emperor, and brought him the tongues as certain proof. The emperor thanked them. ‘I see that you are mighty heroes and deliverers of the city, and all the people. If you wish to drink and eat, take all manner of beverages and eatables without money and without tax.’ And from joy he issued a proclamation throughout the whole town, that all the eating-houses, inns, and small public-houses were to be open for the mighty heroes. Well, they went everywhere, drank, amused themselves, refreshed themselves, and enjoyed various honours.

Night came, and exactly at midnight they went under the guelder-rose bridge to the river of fire, and speedily up came a seven-headed dragon. Immediately his horse neighed, his falcon chattered, and his hound howled. The dragon immediately struck his horse on the head. ‘Neigh not, devil’s carrion! chatter not, falcon! howl not, hound! for here is Little Rolling-pea. Now then,’ said he, ‘come forth, Little Rolling-pea! Shall we fight or try our strength?’ ‘Good youths travel not to try their strength, but only to fight.’ And they began the combat, and the heroes beat off six of the dragon’s heads; the seventh remained. The dragon said: ‘Give me breathing time!’ But Little Rolling-pea said: ‘Don’t expect me to give you breathing time.’ They began the combat again. He beat off the last head also, cut out the tongues, and placed them in his knapsack, but threw the trunk into the river of fire. They came to the emperor, and brought the tongues for certain proof.

The third time they went at midnight to the bridge of guelder-rose and the river of fire; speedily up came to them a nine-headed dragon. Immediately his horse neighed, his falcon chattered, and his hound howled. The dragon struck his horse on the head. ‘Neigh not, devil’s carrion! falcon, chatter not! hound, howl not! for here is Little Rolling-pea. And now come forth, Little Rolling-pea! Shall we fight or try our strength?’ Little Rolling-pea said: ‘Not to try their strength do good youths travel, but only to fight.’ They began the combat, and the heroes beat off eight heads; the ninth remained. Little Rolling-pea said: ‘Give us breathing time, unclean power!’ It answered: ‘Take breathing time or not, you will not overcome me; you slew my brothers by craft, not by strength.’ Little Rolling-pea not only fought, but thought how to delude the dragon. All at once he thought of a plan, and said: ‘Yes, there’s still much of your brother behind—I’ll take you all.’ Hastily the dragon looked round, and he cut off the ninth head also, cut out the tongues, put them into his knapsack, and threw the trunk into the river of fire. They went to the emperor. The emperor said: ‘I thank you, mighty heroes! live with God, and with joy and courage, and take as much gold, silver, and paper money as you want.’

After this the wives of the three dragons met together and took counsel together. ‘Whence did those men come who slew our husbands? Well, we shall be women if we don’t get rid of them out of the world.’ The youngest said: ‘Now then, sisters! let us go by the highroad, where they will go. I will make myself into a very beautiful wayside seat, and if, when wearied, they sit down upon it, it will be death to them all.’ The second said to her: ‘If you do nothing to them, I will make myself into an apple-tree beside the highroad, and when they begin to come up to me, the agreeable odour will attract them; and if they taste the apples, it will be death to them all.’ Well, the heroes came up to the beautiful wayside seat. Little Rolling-pea thrust his sword into it up to the hilt—blood poured forth! They went on to the apple-tree. ‘Brother Little Rolling-pea,’ said the heroes, ‘let us each eat an apple.’ But he said: ‘If it is possible, let us eat; if it is not possible, let us go on further.’ He drew his sword and thrust it into the apple-tree up to the hilt, and blood poured forth immediately. The third she-dragon hastened after them, and extended her jaws from the earth to the sky. Little Rolling-pea saw that there was not room for them to pass by. How were they to save themselves? He looked about and saw that she specially aimed at him, and threw the three horses into her mouth. The she-dragon flew off to the blue sea to drink water, and they proceeded further. She pursued them again. He saw that she was near, and threw the three falcons into her mouth. Again the she-dragon flew to the blue sea to drink water, and they proceeded further. Little Rolling-pea looked round; the she-dragon was again pursuing him, and seeing his danger, he took and threw the three hounds into her mouth. Again she flew off to the blue sea to drink water; while she drank her fill, they proceeded still further. He looked round and saw that she was catching them up again. Little Rolling-pea took his two comrades and threw them into her mouth. The she-dragon flew to the blue sea to drink water, and he went on. Again she overtook him; he looked round, saw that she was not far off, and said: ‘Lord, protect me and save my soul!’ He saw before him an iron workshop, and fled into the smithy. The smith said to him: ‘Why, stranger, are you so cowardly?’ ‘Honourable gentlemen! protect me from an unclean power, and save my soul!’ They took and shut the smithy completely up. ‘Give up to me what is mine!’ said the she-dragon. Then the smiths said to her: ‘Lick the iron door through, and we will place him on your tongue.’ She licked the door through, and placed her tongue in the centre. The smiths seized her tongue three at a time with red-hot pincers, and said: ‘Come, stranger, do with her what you will!’ He went out into the yard, and began to pound the she-dragon, and pounded her skin to the bones, and her bones to the marrow; then took her with her whole carcase and buried her seven fathoms deep. Then, and not till then, did he live and eat morsels; but we ate bread, for he had none. I was there, too, and drank honey-wine; it flowed over my beard, but didn’t get into my mouth.

A father had three daughters; they went to the river to wash the linen. The king’s son rode up. One said: ‘Well, if the king’s son were to marry me, I would hem the whole palace round with a single needle.’ The second said: ‘If the king’s son were to marry me, I would feed the whole palace with a single roll.’ But the third said: ‘If the king’s son were to marry me, I would bring him two sons, each with a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck.’ The king rode up to the one that said: ‘I would bring him two sons;’ they lived one year, two years, and she was expecting to become a mother. The king came and gave orders to her mother: ‘Whatever God gives my wife, let it be reared.’ He rode away twenty miles off, and God gave his wife children; she brought him two sons, each with a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck. His wife wrote a letter, that God had given them two sons, each with a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck. A servant carried the letter to him, and went in to stop the night at the house of the queen’s sister, without knowing that it was her sister. He lay down to sleep; then she took and opened the letter, erased that which was written in it—‘Each with a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck’—and wrote instead, that it was not a snake nor a lizard—it was nobody knew what, that she had become the mother of. The man went to the king and delivered the letter. He read it through: ‘What God has given her, let it not be destroyed without my orders.’ He went back and again stopped at the same place to pass the night; she took the letter again, opened it, erased what the king had written, and wrote instead, that before he returned, she was to bury her sons. When he arrived, the king’s wife read it through, and began to weep; she was grieved to bury those beautiful sons. She dug two graves in the yard and buried them; out of them grew two maples, a golden stem and a silver one. The king came to the house and put her away because she had buried them without his orders. He rode off and married his wife’s second sister. They lived together, and after a time she said: ‘My most illustrious husband! let us cut down those maples and make ourselves a bed.’—‘Ah! my most illustrious husband! let us cut up that bed and burn it, and sprinkle the ashes on the road.’ A shepherd was driving sheep that way; a ewe strayed and swallowed some of the ashes; she bore two he-lambs; on the head of each was a moon, on the back of the neck a star. Then she disliked those lambs, ordered them to be slaughtered, and the entrails to be thrown out into the street. The first wife came out, collected the entrails, cooked and ate them, and became the mother of two sons; each had a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck. The two sons grew and grew, and never took off their caps. Then the king had a desire that somebody should come to tell him stories. People said that there were two brothers there who could tell stories. They came to tell stories.

They began to tell a story. ‘There was a king who had a queen; the queen became the mother of two sons; on the head of each was a moon, on the nape of the neck a star. Afterwards the king went hunting; the queen wrote a letter and sent it. The man went to her sister’s for the night; she took the letter, opened it, and wrote that it was not a snake nor a lizard—it was nobody knew what, that the queen had been the mother of. The king read it through, and replied that it was to be reared, whether it were a snake or a lizard. The man went homewards, and again rested at the house where he had passed the night. She opened the letter, and wrote that she was to bury it ‘by my arrival.’ Then she dug two holes—graves—and buried them; and two maples grew out, a golden stem and a silver one. The new queen contrived that they should be cut down and a bed made of them, and began to sleep on it, and began to be uncomfortable: she ordered the bed to be cut up and burnt, and the ashes to be thrown out into the yard. A shepherd was driving sheep; a ewe swallowed some of the ashes and bore two he-lambs; each had a moon on the head and a star on the back of the neck. The queen ordered the lambs to be slaughtered, and their entrails to be thrown out into the street. Her divorced sister went out into the street, collected the entrails, took them to her house, cooked and ate them, and became the mother of two sons; each had a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck.’ The boys bowed and took off their caps, thus illuminating the whole room. The second wife was placed on an iron harrow, and torn to pieces, but the king took his first wife, and they began to live happily.

LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES.

(FROM GALICIA.)

MR. RALSTON does not seem to have been directly acquainted with these tales; at any rate, none of them are given in either his book of Russian folk-tales or in that of Russian songs. It is, therefore, the more necessary for me to supplement his admirable work by giving all the Galician stories in Erben’s collection.

The Little Russians, or Ruthenians, form the bulk of the population in the Austrian province of Galicia, formerly the principality of Halicz, and also designated ‘Red Russia.’ The capital is Lemberg (contracted from LÖwenberg), or LvÓv. They are also found in the adjoining parts of the north of Hungary, and in the Bukovina.

I think that the present selection is the first introduction of the literature of the Austrian Russians to the notice of the British reader.

The prophet Elijah (Ilya) is a very important and powerful personage in Russian folklore, and we find him accordingly in No. 27 holding a prominent position in the heavenly hierarchy, even before the creation of man! He seems to have taken the place of Perun, the god of thunder, among the heathen Slavonians.

I must also draw attention to the extreme stupidity of the ‘devils’ of Slavonic folklore. They are still less intelligent than their Teutonic brethren, and do not appear to have any connection with the Arch Enemy, but to be, as Mr. Ralston says (p. 370), rather ‘the lubber fiends of heathen mythology, beings endowed with supernatural might, but scantily provided with mental power.’ No. 26 gives a specimen of their average intelligence.

There was a wealthy, a very wealthy proprietor; he had buildings enough; there was where and wherewith for every purpose. Once upon a time he had guests at his house, and said to them: ‘If my buildings were to be burnt down, I should know where and how to rebuild them.’ He said, and it came to pass. While he was conversing thus with his guests, somebody went out into the courtyard, but returned still quicker and said: ‘You’re on fire!’ But the proprietor said: ‘Never mind; I wish it to be so.’ He neither attempted to extinguish the fire himself nor allowed others to do so, and thus all was reduced to ashes; only the site was left. But he didn’t trouble himself a bit, but went and lived by the waterside, and kept his money in a willow-tree, being thus a source of danger to himself. Unexpectedly a heavy rain fell, and before he could look about him the water had already undermined the willow and carried it away. He then became poor, so that it became his lot to serve others. He was obliged to carry letters for gentlemen.

Well, it came to pass once that he was going with a letter, and night overtook him on the way; what was he now to do? He begged a night’s lodging at a certain man’s house; this man was rich and kindly, so he said: ‘Good! you shall not pass my house.’ Meanwhile the mistress prepared supper, and after supping they prayed to God, but before they lay down to sleep they conversed together about this and that. The traveller began to relate how he had himself been wealthy, how he had been burnt out, and had come to poverty. ‘I had,’ said he, ‘still a little money, and kept it in a willow-tree, but great floods came, undermined the willow, and carried my money away with the water! Thus I remained with nothing, and now it has been my lot more than once to beg for bread.’

Scarcely had his host heard this when he looked at his wife, for the willow had floated to shore under their barn, and when they began to cut it up, the money tumbled out a little at a time. They both went out into a room, and began to consult how to return the money to him without his knowing whence it came. They consulted. Then said the host: ‘Well, what shall we do? Let us cut off the under part of a loaf, take out the crumb, put the money inside, then cover it again with the crust; and when he is on the point of departing let us give it him, as if it were provision for his journey.’ And so they did. The next day when he was starting to proceed on his way, they gave him the loaf of bread, and said: ‘Here’s for you; it will be of use on the road.’ He took it, made his bow, and went on his way. On the road there met him some merchants—pardon me, some drovers—purchasing swine, who had formerly visited him more than once, and they asked him: ‘Of course you know what we’re after?’ and he replied: ‘Formerly it was at my house; misfortune has come upon me; I’ve been burnt out, and now I serve others.’ When he had spoken these words he all at once gave his knapsack a tap, and said: ‘Come! buy some bread.’ (He took it out.) ‘Somehow I’m not hungry, and it’s heavy to carry; some money would be more advantageous on my journey.’ Bargain and sale. They came to an agreement. The merchants took the bread and he the money, and they parted. The merchants came to that very same village, and went to the house of that very same proprietor, from whom the bread came, and began to make inquiries of him respecting their business. ‘Not I, but God!’ said he; ‘sit down, meanwhile, and rest;’ and he sent for a snack for them. But they said to him that he needn’t trouble himself. ‘On the road we bought a loaf of excellent bread from a man who was going with a letter.’ They (the host and his wife) felt a quaking at the heart; they had a suspicion; but the merchants soon took it out and placed it on the table, the very same loaf, which they had given to the traveller. The proprietor looked at his wife, and said to their guests: ‘Before anything is done, let us go and have a look round; maybe you will make a purchase.’ ‘Let us go!’ and they went out of the house, but he winked to his wife, and she knew at once what he wanted. When they went out on their business, the mistress brought out another loaf and placed it on the table, but removed the first one. They returned, breakfasted, either did or didn’t come to terms, and went away.

After some time the man came again with a letter, and turned in again at the proprietor’s, just as at an old acquaintance’s, for the night. They received him and were glad, for they thought they might now be successful in returning the money somehow or other. They waited; they passed the night, and when he had gone out of the house, they wrapped the money in a cloth, put it in his knapsack, gave him breakfast, and dismissed him. He went off, and as he went by a footpath through the orchard, he bethought himself: ‘Ah! what beautiful apples! Come! let me pluck a few for my journey.’ He took off his knapsack and hung it on a tree, that it mightn’t embarrass him, and began himself to reach after the apples. Just then up came his host, the proprietor. He saw him, and took flight so much the quicker, leaving his knapsack on the tree. The proprietor espied the knapsack hanging on a branch, began to think, and afterwards also said: ‘The poor fellow was frightened, and has forgotten his knapsack.’ He took down the knapsack, and said: ‘His road goes to the foot-bridge; he ran away through the bushes that he mightn’t see me. I’ll put it on the bridge, and then he’ll be sure to take it up.’ Even so he did. He ran round sideways, placed the money on the bridge, and went himself behind a bush not very far off, to keep a look-out and see what would happen.

Suddenly the traveller came up to the bridge, and looking downwards thought, and afterwards said: ‘It’s good that I still have some sight, at any rate, and can go on my way and earn something to get my bread. What should I do if I were to go blind? How should I get across this bridge? Come, I’ll see whether I could do it successfully.’ Then, closing his eyes, tap, tap, with his stick over the bridge, he went straight forwards, stepped over the money, and went his way. The proprietor, recovering from his astonishment, said aloud: ‘He has angered God!’

The Lord was angered at mankind, and for three years there was a great famine over all the world; nowhere in the world was even a grain of corn produced, and what people sowed failed to come up from a drought so great, that for three years there was not a drop of rain or dew. For one year more people managed to live somehow or other, thrashing up what old corn there was; the rich made money, for corn rose very high. Autumn came. Where anybody had or purchased old seed, they sowed it; and entreated the Lord, hoped in the love of God, if God would give fertility, ‘if God would forgive our sins.’ But it was not so. They did not obtain the love of God. When they cast the seed into the holy earth, that was the last they saw of it; if it germinated somewhat, if it sent up shoots, it withered away close to the ground. Woe! and abundance of it! God’s world went on, sorrowed and wept, for now it was manifest that death by hunger was approaching. They somehow got miserably through the winter. Spring came. Where anybody had still any grain, they sowed it. What would come to pass? No blessing was poured forth, for the drought began with wind. Moreover, there was but little snow in the winter, and everything dried up so that the black earth remained as it was. It now came to this—all the world began to perish! The people died; the cattle perished; as misery carried them, so did the people proceed.

There was at that time a powerful emperor in a certain empire; as the young ordinarily cleave to the young, so would he associate only with young men. Whether in council or in office or in the army, there were none but young men; no old man had access to anything anywhere. Well, as young men, unripe in understanding, were the counsellors, so was their counsel also unripe. One year passed, a second passed; then, in the third year, they saw that misery was already on every side, that it was already coming to this, that all the world would perish. The young emperor assembled his young council, and they began to advise after their fashion; they advised, they advised, and ah! the resolutions they came to were such that it is a sin even to give an account of their resolutions! Well, the emperor made proclamation after their advice, that all old people were to be drowned, in order that, said he, bread might not be wasted in vain, but there might be a supply of bread for the young; and that no one should venture, on pain of death, to maintain or harbour any old man. Well, heralds went about throughout the whole country, and promulgated the emperor’s command everywhere—yea, brigands seized old people where they chose, and drowned them without mercy.

There were then in a certain place three own brothers, who had an aged father. When they heard of this edict, they told their father; and their father said: ‘My sons, such is the will of God and the will of the emperor; take me, let me perish at once, only that you, my children, may live on. I am already with one foot in the grave.’ ‘No, our own daddy! we will die, but we will not give you up,’ cried the good sons with one voice, and fell upon his neck; ‘we will keep you; we will take from our own mouths, and will nourish you.’

The three brothers took their aged father, conducted him into their cottage, dug under the raised portion of the floor, made up a bed with sheets and frieze-coats, for straw was scarce, and placed the old man there, brought him a loaf of bread as black as the holy earth, and covered him over with the floor. There the old man abode for two or three months, and his sons brought him clandestinely all that they had. The summer passed without harvest, without mowing. September passed too. Autumn passed without joy. Winter passed too. Now came spring; the sun became warm. It was now time to sow, but there was no seed. The world was large, but there was no seed-corn. When one kind was used up, the people sowed others, hoping that there would be a crop; but when they cast it into the holy earth, it rotted there. It seemed as if the end of the world were come.

Then the three sons went to their father, and asked him: ‘Daddy, what shall we do? It’s time to sow. God is now sending showers of rain; the earth is warmed and is crumbling like grits; but of seed there is not a blessed grain.’ ‘Take, my sons, and strip the old roof off the house, and thresh the bundles and sow the chaff.’ The lads stripped the house and barn (anyhow, there was nothing in it), and threshed away till the sweat ran from their brows, so that they crushed the bundles as small as poppy-seeds. When they sowed, God gave a blessing; so in a week’s time it became green like rue; in a month’s time, in two months’ time, there was corn, ever so much—ever so much, and all manner of seed was found there: there was rye, there was wheat and barley; yea, maybe, there was also a plant or two of buckwheat and millet. Wherever you went throughout the world there was no corn to be seen; all the plain was overgrown with grasses, steppe-grasses, and thistles, but with them was corn like a forest. How people wondered and were astounded! The fame thereof went over the whole world, and the news reached the emperor himself, that in such and such a place there were three own brothers, and with them corn had sprung up for all the world, and so beautiful, never was the like beheld! The emperor ordered the three brothers to appear in the imperial presence.

The brothers heard of it, and smacked the tops of their heads with their hands. ‘Now it will be amen with us!’ They went again to their father. ‘Daddy! they tell us to appear before the emperor. Advise us, daddy, what to do!’ ‘Go, my sons—what will be, will be; and tell the pure truth before the emperor.’ The brothers started off and went to the emperor. The emperor inquired menacingly: ‘Why, villains, did ye hoard up corn, when there was such a famine that so many people died of hunger? Tell the truth; if not, I shall order you to be tortured and racked even unto death.’ The brothers related all as it had been, from the beginning to the end. ‘Now, most gracious emperor, give us over to any torture whatever, or let thy kindness have compassion on us!’ The emperor’s brow became smooth, his eyes became serene. He then ordered the old father to be brought before him at once, and made him sit beside him close to his throne, and hearkened to his counsel till death, and his sons he rewarded handsomely. He ordered the corn to be collected ear by ear, and to be rubbed out in men’s hands; and sent it about for seed-corn in all empires, and from it was produced holy corn for all the world.

An old gipsy went to engage himself as servant to a devil; the devil said: ‘I will give you what you wish to bring me fire-wood and water regularly, and to put fire under the kettle.’ ‘Good!’ The devil gave him a pail and said: ‘Go yonder to the well and draw some water.’

Our gipsy went off, got some water into the pail, and drew it up with a hook; but, being old, he couldn’t draw it out, and was obliged to pour the water out, in order not to lose the pail in the well. But what was he now to return home with? Well, our gipsy took some stakes out of a fence, and grubbed round about the well, as if he were digging. The devil waited and waited, and as the gipsy didn’t appear himself, of course he didn’t appear with the water. After awhile he went himself to meet the gipsy, and without thinking inquired: ‘But why do you loiter so? Why haven’t you brought water by this time?’ ‘Well, what? I want to dig out the whole well, and bring it to you!’ ‘But you would have wasted time, if you had purposed anything of the sort; then you wouldn’t have brought the pail in time, that the quantity of fire-wood might not be diminished.’ And he drew out the water and carried it himself. ‘Eh! if I had but known, I should have brought it long ago.’ The devil sent him once to the wood for fire-wood. The gipsy started off, but rain assailed him in the wood and wetted him through; the old fellow caught cold and couldn’t stoop after the sticks. What was he to do? Well, he took and pulled bast; he pulled several heaps, went round the wood, and tied one tree to another with strips of the bast. The devil waited, waited on, and was out of his wits on account of the gipsy. He went himself, and when he saw what was going on: ‘What are you doing, loiterer?’ said he. ‘What am I doing? I want to bring you wood. I’m tying the whole forest into one bundle, in order not to do useless work.’ The devil saw that he was having a bad time of it with the gipsy, took up the fire-wood, and went home.

After settling his affairs at home, he went to an older devil to ask his advice: ‘I’ve hired a gipsy, but he’s quite a nuisance; we’re tolerably ’cute,’ says he, ‘but he’s still stronger and ’cuter than we. Unless I kill him——’ ‘Good, when he lies down to sleep, kill him, that he mayn’t lead us by the nose any more.’ The time came to go home; they lay down to sleep; but the gipsy evidently noticed something, for he placed his fur-coat on the bench where he usually slept, and crept himself into a corner under the bench. When the time came, the devil thought that the gipsy was now in a dead sleep, took up an iron club, and beat the fur-coat till the sound went on all sides. He then lay down to sleep, thinking: ‘Oho! it’s now amen for the gipsy!’ But the gipsy grunted: ‘Oh!’ and made a rustling in the corner. ‘What ails you?’ ‘Oh, a flea bit me.’

The devil went again to the older one for advice: ‘But where to kill him?’ said he. ‘When I smashed him with a club, he only made a rustling and said: “A flea bit me.”’ ‘Then pay him up now,’ said the elder devil, ‘as much as he wants, and pack him off about his business.’ The gipsy chose a bag with ducats and went off. Then the devil was sorry about the money, and consulted the older one again. ‘Overtake the gipsy, and say that the one of you that kicks a stone best, so that the sound goes three miles, shall have the money.’ The devil overtook him: ‘Stay, gipsy! I’ve something to say to you.’ ‘What are you after, son of the enemy?’ ‘Oh, stay, let us kick; the one that kicks loudest against a stone, let his be the money.’ ‘Now then, kick away,’ said the gipsy. The devil kicked once, twice, till it resounded in their ears; but the gipsy meanwhile poured some water on it: ‘Eh! what’s that, you fool?’ ‘When I kick a dry stone, water spurts out.’ ‘Ah! when he kicks, tremble! water has spurted out of the stone.’

The devil went again for advice. The elder one said: ‘Let the one who throws the club highest have the money.’ The gipsy had now got some miles on his way; he looked round; the devil was behind him: ‘Stop! wait, gipsy!’ ‘What do you want, son of the enemy?’ ‘The one of us that throws the club highest, let his be the money.’ ‘Well, let us throw now. I’ve two brothers up yonder in heaven, both smiths, and it will just suit them either for a hammer or for tongs.’ The devil threw, so that it whizzed, and was scarcely visible. The gipsy took it by the end, scarcely held it up, and shouted: ‘Hold out your hands there, brothers—hey!’ But the devil seized him by the hand: ‘Ah, stop! don’t throw; it would be a pity to lose it.’

The elder devil advised him again: ‘Overtake him once more, and say, “The one that runs fastest to a certain point, let him have the money.”’ The devil overtook him; the gipsy said: ‘Do you know what? I shan’t contend with you any more, for you don’t deserve it; but I’ve a young son, Hare, who’s only just three days old; if you overtake him, you shall measure yourself with me.’ The gipsy espied a hare in a firwood: ‘There he is! little Hare! now, then, Hare! Catch him up!’ When the hare started he went hither and thither in bounds, only a line of dust rose behind him. ‘Bah!’ said the devil, ‘he doesn’t run straight.’ ‘In my family no one ever did run straight. He runs as he pleases.’

The elder devil advised him to wrestle; the stronger was to have the money. ‘Eh!’ said the gipsy; ‘you hear the terms for me to wrestle with you: I have a father, he is so old that for the last seven years I have carried him food into a cave; if you floor him, then you shall wrestle with me.’ But the gipsy knew of a bear, and led the devil to his cave. ‘Go,’ said he, ‘in there; wake him up, and wrestle with him.’ The devil went in and said: ‘Get up, longbeard! let us have a wrestle.’ Alas! when the bear began to hug him, when he began to claw him, he beat him out, he turned him out, and threw him down on the floor of the cave.

The elder devil advised that the one who whistled best, so that it could be heard for three miles, should have the money. The devil whistled so that it resounded and whizzed again. But the gipsy said: ‘Do you know what? When I whistle you will go blind and deaf; bind up your eyes and ears.’ He did so. The gipsy took a mallet for splitting logs, and banged it once and twice against his ears. ‘Oh, stop! Oh! don’t whistle, or you’ll kill me! May ill luck smite you with your money! Go where you will never be heard of again!’ That’s all.

Once upon a time there was nothing; there was only the heaven above, and water beneath. Then God journeyed [in a boat] upon the water and saw a vast, vast crust of hard foam, on which sat the devil. God asked him: ‘What art thou?’ ‘I will not converse with thee,’ replied the wicked one, ‘unless thou takest me into thy boat.’ God promised, and heard in reply: ‘I’m the devil.’ They both journeyed on without conversing together at all, till the devil began: ‘How very nice and beautiful it would be, if there were firm land in the world!’ ‘There shall be,’ answered God; ‘go down into the depth of the sea and bring up a handful of sand; I will make the land from it. When thou descendest, and art about to take the sand, say these words: “I take thee in the name of God.”’ The devil didn’t wait long, but was immediately under the water. On the bottom he reached after the sand with both hands with these words: ‘I take thee in my own name.’ When he came up to the top he looked with curiosity at his closed fists, and was astonished at seeing that they were empty. But God, observing what had happened to him, consoled him, and told him to go down to the bottom once more. He did so, and as soon as he began to grub into the sand in the deep, he said: ‘I take thee in his name.’ However, he brought up only as much sand, as could get under his nails; God took a little of the sand and firm land formed itself, but only as much as was required for a bed. When night came, God and the devil lay down side by side on the firm land to pass the night. As soon as our Lord God fell asleep, the devil pushed him towards the east, in order that he might fall into the water and perish. In the direction in which he pushed him, there did it become land for a long way. The devil tried pushing him towards the west, and on that side the land extended far. A similar circumstance helped to form land also on the other sides of the world.

As soon as God had made the land, he ascended to heaven. The devil, not liking to stay without him, followed in his track. Now he heard how the angels praised God in hymns, and began to feel annoyed, that he had no one to rejoice at his arrival. He went up to God and whispered in his ear: ‘What must I do, that I may have such a multitude?’ God answered him: ‘Wash thy hands and face, and sprinkle the water behind thee.’ He did so, and there came into existence such a multitude of devils that the angels and saints no more had sufficient room in heaven. God observed what an injury there was from this to his own. He summoned St. Ilya, and ordered him to let off a storm of thunder and lightning. Ilya was glad at this; he roared, thundered, and lightened with a tempest, and poured rain for forty days and nights, and along with the great rain the devils also fell from heaven on to the earth. At last there were no more wicked ones, and angels also began to fall. Then God ordered Ilya to stop, and wherever any devil struck the ground at the time that he fell, there he remained. From that time to this bright little fires have darted about in heaven, and only now fall upon the earth.

LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES.

(FROM SOUTH RUSSIA.)

HERE again Mr. Ralston informs us in his preface that he ‘has been able to use but little the South Russian collections of Kulish and Rudchenko, there being no complete dictionary available of the dialect, or rather language, in which they are written.’ He has, however, given a long and interesting story from the Ukraine, which I find also in Erben, the ‘Norka.’ One of Erben’s South Russian stories is too closely identical with a pretty tale from the government of Voronezh, given by Ralston (p. 63), for me to give it a place here. All the other South Russian stories in Erben’s collection I have translated, and only wish they had been more numerous.

The tales of Snake Husbands always appear to have an evil end, though the two that I have translated do not conclude so touchingly as the beautiful Great Russian story, ‘The Watersnake’ (Ralston, p. 116). Certainly the science of comparative mythology cannot be considered as having its data complete, until Slavonic folklore has been thoroughly investigated and analyzed.

In No. 28 an old friend will be discovered in a very rustic dress.

XXVIII.—THE BEAUTIFUL DAMSEL AND THE WICKED OLD WOMAN.

In the woods stood a cottage. In it lived a man and his wife, but they had no children. Well, they went on a pilgrimage to beseech God to give them a child. God gave them a daughter. She grew and prospered. The prince about that time rode up to the place, as he was out hunting, and sent his attendant, saying: ‘Be so good as to go and ask for a draught of water at yon cottage.’ The attendant went to ask for the water just when the child was weeping, and pearls were rolling down from her eyes. Her mother pacified her; she began to smile; all manner of flowers bloomed. The servant went out and said: ‘Prince, I have seen a little girl; when she weeps, pearls roll down; and when she smiles, all manner of flowers bloom.’ The prince went into the cottage, and began to tease the child to make her cry. She cried, and pearls rolled down. He then begged her mother to pacify her. When she smiled, the prince saw that all manner of flowers bloomed.

The girl continued to grow, and the prince always rode round that way when he went hunting. Well, she grew up. The prince said: ‘Old man, give me your daughter to wife.’ She now embroidered handkerchiefs with eagles. But the emperor said: ‘Where are your wits gone to, my son, that you want to take a peasant girl to wife?’ Then the prince took one of the handkerchiefs that she had embroidered, and carried it to the emperor, whereat the emperor clapped his hands. ‘Marry,’ said he, ‘my son, marry!’ Then he conducted her homeward, but in his suite was an old woman who had her daughter with her. Well, as they were on their way, the prince stopped to shoot something, and the old woman took everything from the damsel, scooped out her eyes, and thrust her into a cavern in the ground, and dressed her daughter in her apparel; so the prince took her to wife without recognising her.

But round the cavern there grew a multitude of bushes. An old man came to gather brushwood. The girl, the damsel, was sitting in the cavern, and in front of her a heap of pearls, which she had wept as she sat; but she had no eyes. ‘Take me,’ said she, ‘kind old man, and pick up this jewellery here.’ Well, the old man took her, collected the jewellery, and led her home. At the old man’s there were no children, but there was an old woman. She, the damsel, said: ‘Collect the jewellery in a bag, and carry it to the town for sale; and if a certain old woman meets you, then don’t sell to her, but say: “Give what you have about you.”’ Well, he carried it to the town and met the old woman. The old woman said: ‘Sell me the jewellery!’ ‘Purchase.’ ‘How much for it?’ ‘Give what you have about you?’ She gave him an eye. Then the damsel began with one eye to embroider a handkerchief. Again the old man carried jewellery to the town. The old woman again said: ‘Old man, sell me the jewellery!’ ‘Purchase.’ ‘How much for it?’ ‘Give what you have about you?’ She gave him the other eye. The damsel then began to embroider still more beautifully. The old man said: ‘There’s a dinner at the emperor’s.’ The damsel said to him: ‘Go, kind old man, to the dinner and take a jug, that you may beg some soup for me.’ She also tied a handkerchief of her own sewing on the old man’s neck. When the prince espied the handkerchief on the old man’s neck, he cried: ‘Whence come you, old man?’ ‘From the farm yonder, prince; and there is also a damsel living at my house, so be so kind as to give her something in this jug.’ ‘But, old man, where did you get that handkerchief?’ ‘I found a damsel in a cavern in the ground, and she embroidered it.’ The prince at once recognised it by the embroidery. ‘’Tis she! ’tis she!’ But the old woman’s daughter he packed off to tend swine. That’s all.

XXIX.—THE SNAKE AND THE PRINCESS.

There was an emperor and empress who had three daughters. The emperor fell ill, and sent his eldest daughter for water. She went to fetch it, when a snake said: ‘Come! will you marry me?’ The princess replied: ‘No, I won’t.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘I won’t give you any water.’ Then the second daughter said: ‘I’ll go; he’ll give me some.’ She went; the snake said to her: ‘Come! will you marry me?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘I won’t.’ He gave her no water. She returned and said: ‘He gave me no water. He said: “If you will marry me I will give it.”’ The youngest said: ‘I will go; he will give me some.’ She went, and the snake said to her: ‘Come! will you marry me?’ ‘I will,’ she said. Then he drew her water from the very bottom, cold and fresh. She brought it home, gave it her father to drink, and her father recovered. Then on Sunday a carriage came, and those with it said:

She was terrified, wept, and went and opened the door. Then they said again:

Then they came into the house and placed the snake in a plate on the table. There he lay, just as if he were of gold! They went out of the house, and said:

They drove off with her to the snake’s abode. There they lived, and had a daughter born to them. They also took a godmother to live with them, but she was a wicked woman. The child soon died, and the mother died soon after it. The godmother went in the night to the place where she was buried, and cut off her hands. Then she came home, and heated water-gruel, scalded the hands, and took off the gold rings. Then the princess—such was the ordinance of God—came to her for the hands, and said:

The godmother concealed herself under the stove. She said again:

The next day they came and found the godmother dead under the stove. They didn’t give her proper burial, but threw her into a hole.

A damsel fell in love with a snake, and was also beloved by him. He took her to wife. His dwelling was of pure glass, all crystal. This dwelling was situated underground, in a kind of mound, or something of the sort. Well, it is said that her old mother at first grieved over her. How could she help doing so? Well, when the time came, the snake’s wife became the mother of twins, a boy and a girl; they looked, as they lay by their mother, as if they were made of wax. And she was herself as beautiful as a flower. Well, God having given her children, she said: ‘Now, then, since they have been born as human beings, let us christen them among human beings.’ She took her seat in a golden carriage, laid the children on her knees, and drove off to the village to the pope.[11] The carriage had not got into the open country, when sadness was brought to the mother. The old woman had made an outcry in the whole village, seized a sickle, and rushed into the country. She saw she had manifest death before her, when she called to her children, and went on to say: ‘Fly, my children, as birds about the world: you, my little son, as a nightingale, and you, my daughter, as a cuckoo.’ Out flew a nightingale from the carriage by the right-hand, and a cuckoo by the left-hand window. What became of the carriage and horses and all nobody knows. Nor did their mistress remain, only a dead nettle sprang up by the roadside.

A certain woman had a kind of adventure. When she went out into the field to cut grass, or to fetch hemp, and placed food in the stove, then somebody took the victuals out of the stove, and ate them all clean up. She thought, what might such a thing as this signify? Nohow could she guess it. She came, the door was shut, and there was only remaining in the house a baby—maybe half a year old—in the cradle. Well, she betook herself to a wise woman. She entreated her and paid her to come, and she came. She looked about, she snuffed about—I mean the wise woman. All at once she heard something indefinite. ‘Go you,’ she said, ‘into the field, and I’ll hide myself and we’ll see what this is.’ The woman went into the field, and the wise woman hid herself in a corner, and kept a look-out. Then, pop! the baby jumped out of the cradle! She looked, and it was no more a baby, but an old man. He was quite dwarfish, and his beard was long. In a moment he was after the eatables, pulled the victuals out of the stove, then gave a screech, and began to gobble up the food. When he had devoured all, then he became a baby again; but now he didn’t crawl into the cradle, but lay down, and screeched till the whole house rang. Then the wise woman was after him: she placed him on a block of wood, and began to chop the block under his feet. He screeched and she chopped: he screeched and she chopped. Then she saw how, taking an opportunity, he became an old man again, and said: ‘Old woman, I have transformed myself not once nor twice only: I was first a fish, then I became a bird, an ant, and a quadruped, and now I have once more made trial of being a human being. It isn’t better thus than being among the ants; but among human beings—it isn’t worse!’

There was here once in our village a certain Avstriyat, who was such a wizard that he could cause rain or hail to pass away when he chose. It happened that we were cutting corn in the country; a cloud came up. We began to hurry off the sheaves, but he took no notice, cut and cut away by himself, smoked his pipe, and said: ‘Don’t be frightened—there’ll be no rain.’ Lo and behold, there was no rain. Once—all this I saw with my own eyes—we were cutting rye, when the sky became black, the wind rose: it began to whistle at first afar off, then over our very heads. There was thunder, lightning, whirlwind—such a tempest, that—O God! Thy will be done! We went after our sheaves, but he—‘Don’t be frightened, there’ll be no rain.’ ‘Where won’t it be?’ We didn’t hearken to him. But he smoked his pipe out, and cut away quietly by himself. Up came a man on a black horse, and all black himself: he darted straight up to Avstriyat: ‘Hey! give permission!’ said he. Avstriyat replied: ‘No, I won’t!’ ‘Give permission; be merciful!’ ‘I won’t. It would be impossible to get such a quantity in.’ The black horseman bowed to the man, and hastened off over the country.

Then the black cloud became gray and whitened. Our elders feared that there would be hail. But Avstriyat took no notice. He cut the corn by himself and smoked his pipe. But again a horseman came up; he hastened over the country still quicker than the first. But this one was all in white, and on a white horse. ‘Give permission!’ he shouted to Avstriyat. ‘I won’t!’ ‘Give permission, for God’s sake!’ ‘I won’t. It wouldn’t be possible to get such a quantity in.’ ‘Hey! give permission; I can’t hold out!’ Then, and not till then, did Avstriyat relent. ‘Well, then, go now, but only into the glen, which is beyond the plain.’ Scarcely had he spoken, when the horseman disappeared, and hail poured down as out of a basket. In the course of a short hour it filled the glen brimful, level with the banks.

GREAT RUSSIAN STORIES.

HERE I have but little to remark that has not already been noticed by Mr. Ralston. In No. 33 I have given a pretty variant of Grimm’s ‘Fisherman’s Wife.’ In this story, which is from the Government of Moscow, there is a curious confusion between ‘king’ (korol), and ‘emperor’ (tzar). The peasant asks to be made korol ‘king,’ but is answered that an ‘emperor’ (tzar) is chosen by God. The King of Poland was formerly the mighty potentate west of Moscow, which emerged from Tartar bondage under a grand-duke, or grand-prince. This confusion may possibly imply that the story was crystallized in its present form not long after the assumption of the imperial dignity by the ruler of Muscovy.

As to No. 34, Mr. Ralston, in his ‘Songs of the Russian People,’ gives an account of the manner in which Ilya of Murom obtained a vast accession of strength from the still mightier hero Svyatozor (pp. 58-63). By his exploits, however, in the story which I have given, Ilya appears to have already possessed strength enough for most purposes.

One evening Vanyusha (Johnny) was sitting with his grandfather, and asked his grandfather: ‘Whence comes it that bears’ paws are like our hands and feet?’ His grandfather replied: ‘Listen, Johnny. I will tell you what I have myself heard from ancient people. Ancient people said bears were like human beings, like us orthodox Christians. In a certain village there lived a poor cottager. His cottage was wretched; he had no pony; a cow he never even thought of; he had no fire-wood. Winter came, and it was cold in his unwarmed room. The cottager took his axe, and went with it into the wood. An enchanted tree—a lime-tree—presented itself to his sight. He struck it with his axe, and now to cut it down; but the lime-tree addressed him in human speech: “I will give you all that you want. If you have no riches, if you have no wife, I will give you all.” The peasant said: “Very good, mother, if you make me richer than any of the peasants. But I have no pony, no cow, and my cottage is wretched.” The lime-tree said: “Go home; all shall be yours.” The peasant went. A new house was his: fences of stout boards, horses that were ready to fly, and store-rooms full of corn. The cottager was not satisfied, because his wife was not handsomer. What was to be done? “I’ll go off quick to Mother Lime-tree.” He took his axe, and went off into the wood.

‘He went into the wood to the lime-tree, and struck it with his axe. “What do you want?” “Mother Lime-tree, among mankind there are wives and wives, but mine is such a disagreeable one. Do me a service: give me a handsome wife.” The lime-tree said: “Go home.” The peasant went. His wife came to meet him—such a beauty—blood and milk, and store-rooms full of everything good. Well, the cottager began to live comfortably with his young wife, and thought: “It is a fine thing for us to live possessed of riches, but we’re under a superior authority. Is it impossible for me to be the superior authority myself?” He thought it over with his wife. He went again to the enchanted lime-tree.

‘He went into the wood, he struck it with his axe. “What do you want, peasant?” “What, indeed, Mother Lime-tree! It’s a fine thing for us to live in possession of riches; but we’re under a superior authority. Is it impossible for me to be head-borough myself?” “Very well: go home; all shall be yours.” No sooner had the cottager got home, when a letter came for him—“The cottager was to be head-borough.” The cottager got used to living as head-borough, and thought to himself: “It’s a fine thing to be head-borough; but all is under the control of the lord of the manor. Is it impossible for me to be the lord myself?” He considered the matter with his wife, they consulted together, and he went off again to the lime-tree.

‘He went up to it, and struck it with his axe. The tree asked him: “What do you want?” “Thanks to you, mother, for all; but how not to doff my cap before the lord, to become the lord myself?” “What is to be done with you? Go home; it shall all be yours.” Scarcely had he got home, when up drove the lord-lieutenant, and brought him a letter from the king, that “he was to be a gentleman.” It was advantageous to be a gentleman. He began to give entertainments and banquets. “It’s a fine thing to be a gentleman, but without an official position! Was it impossible for him to become an official?” They thought and talked it over. He went off to the lime-tree and struck it with his axe. “What do you want, peasant?” “I thank you, mother, for all; but is it impossible for me to be an official?” “Well, then, go home!” No sooner had he got home, when a royal letter arrived—he was invested with orders. “It’s a fine thing to be decorated, but all is under the control of the lord-lieutenant. Is it impossible for me to be lord-lieutenant myself?” He thought it over with his wife, went off into the wood to the enchanted tree, the lime-tree.

‘He came to the lime-tree and struck it with his axe. It said: “What do you want, peasant? With what are you discontented?” “I thank you, mother, for everything; but is it impossible for me to be lord-lieutenant myself, and to have a rich patrimony?” “It is difficult to effect this. But what is to be done with you? Go home!” The cottager had scarcely got home, when a letter arrived—the cottager was to be lord-lieutenant, and was presented with an estate of inheritance. The cottager became used to living as lord-lieutenant—indeed, by descent, he was not a peasant. “It’s a fine thing for me to live as lord-lieutenant, but all is under the control of the king.” He considered; he went off into the wood to the enchanted tree, the lime-tree.

‘He came to it, and struck it with his axe. The tree inquired: “What do you want?” “All is excellent; I thank you for all; but is it impossible for me to be king myself?” The lime-tree began to try to persuade him. “Foolish man, for what are you asking? Consider what you were, and what you have become. From a cottager you have become a man of high rank and everything; but an emperor[12] is chosen by God.” The lime-tree endeavoured to persuade him with all manner of arguments that he had better not make the request, but all in vain. The cottager would not budge, but insisted that it should make him emperor. The lime-tree said to him: “It is impossible to effect this, and it will not be done; you will lose, too, what you have already obtained!” But the cottager still insisted. The lime-tree said: “Become a bear, and your wife a she-bear!” And he became a bear, and she a she-bear. They went off bears.’

The grandson inquired: ‘Grandfather, can this be a true story?’ ‘In reality ’tis a fable. Do not desire what is impossible; be content with a little. If you desire much, you will lose what you have obtained.’

In the famous city of Murom, in the village of Karatcharof, lived a peasant, Ivan Timofeewitch. He had an only child, Ilya Murometz. He sat as children do for thirty years, and when thirty years had passed, he began to walk firmly on his feet, became conscious of vast strength, made himself a warrior’s equipment and a steel spear, and saddled a good horse, worthy of a hero. He went to his father and mother, and begged their blessing. ‘My honoured father and mother, let me go to the famous city of Kief to perform my devotions to God, and to kneel to the Prince of Kief.’ His father and mother gave him their blessing, laid upon him serious injunctions, and spoke to this effect: ‘Ride straight to the city of Kief, straight to the city of Chernigof, and on your road do no injury, shed no Christian blood causelessly.’ Ivan Murometz received the blessing of his father and mother, prayed to God, took leave of his father and mother, and started on his journey.

He travelled far on into the gloomy forest, until he came to a robbers’ camp. The robbers espied Ilya Murometz, and their robber hearts burned for his heroic horse, and they began to talk together about taking his horse from him, for they were not wont to see such horses anywhere, and now an unknown man was riding on so good a horse. And they arose to assail Ilya Murometz by tens and twenties. Ilya Murometz halted his heroic horse, and took out of his quiver an arrow of guelder-rosewood, and placed it on his tough bow. He shot the arrow of guelder-rosewood along the ground, and it penetrated to the distance of a fathom slanting. Seeing this, the robbers were terrified, collected into an orb, fell on their knees, and said: ‘You are our lord and father, valiant and good youth! We are guilty before you; take for such a fault as ours as much as you please of coloured raiment and herds of horses.’ Ilya smiled and said: ‘I’ve nowhere to put it; but if you wish to live, don’t venture any further!’ and rode on his way to the famous city of Kief.

He rode on to the city of Chernigof, and under that city of Chernigof were standing armies of heathen innumerable, and they were besieging the city of Chernigof, and wanted to destroy it and ravage the churches of God therein, and to take into captivity the Prince and Duke of Chernigof himself. Ilya Murometz was terrified at this great force; nevertheless, he committed himself to the Lord God, his Creator, and determined to risk his head for the Christian faith. Ilya Murometz began to slaughter the heathen forces with his steel spear, and defeated all the pagan power, and took captive the heathen prince, and led him into the city of Chernigof. The citizens came out of the city of Chernigof to meet him with honour; the Prince and Duke of Chernigof came himself. They received the good youth with honour, and gave thanks to the Lord God, because the Lord unexpectedly sent deliverance to the city, and caused them not all to perish in vain at the hands of such a heathen host. They received him into their houses, made him a great entertainment, and let him proceed on his journey.

Ilya Murometz rode off towards the city of Kief by the direct road from Chernigof, which had been beset for full thirty years by Nightingale the robber, who allowed neither horseman nor foot-traveller to pass, and slew them not by any weapon, but by his robber whistling. Out rode Ilya Murometz into the open country, and espied the tracks of horses, and rode on upon them, and arrived at the Branskian forest, at the muddy swamps, at the bridges of guelder-rosewood, and at the river Smorodinka. Nightingale the robber forboded his end and a great misfortune, and before Ilya Murometz approached within twenty versts, began to whistle vigorously with his robber whistling; but the hero’s heart was not terrified. Then, before he approached within ten versts, he began to whistle still more violently, and from this whistling Ilya Murometz’s horse tottered under him. Ilya Murometz rode up to the nest itself, which was constructed upon twelve oaks. Nightingale the robber espied the hero of Holy Russia, whistled with all his might, and wanted to smite Ilya Murometz to death.

Ilya Murometz took down his tough bow, placed on it an arrow of guelder-rosewood, shot it at Nightingale’s nest, struck his right eye and knocked it out. Nightingale the robber tumbled down like a sack of oats. Ilya Murometz took Nightingale the robber, bound him fast to his steel stirrup, and rode on towards the famous city of Kief. On the way stood a mansion belonging to Nightingale the robber, and when Ilya Murometz came opposite the robber’s mansion, the windows thereof were open, and at these windows the robber’s three daughters were looking out. The youngest daughter saw him, and cried to her sisters: ‘There’s our father outside coming with booty, and leading to us a man bound to his steel stirrup.’ But the eldest daughter looked, and began to weep bitterly. ‘That isn’t our father coming: it’s an unknown man coming, and leading our father.’ They began to scream to their husbands: ‘Our dear husbands! ride and meet the man, and take our father from him; do not let our family be put to such contempt.’ Their husbands, strong heroes, rode against the hero of Holy Russia; their horses were good, their spears were sharp, and they were about to receive Ilya on their spears. Nightingale the robber espied this, and said to them: ‘My dear sons-in-law, do not cause yourselves to be put to shame, and do not provoke so mighty a hero; rather with humility entreat him to drink a cup of green wine in my house.’ At the request of the sons-in-law, Ilya turned into the house, not knowing their villainy. The eldest daughter raised on chains an iron slab, which was placed over the door, in order to crush him. But Ilya observed her at the door, struck her with his spear, and smote her to death.

When Ilya Murometz arrived at Kief city, he rode straight to the prince’s palace, and entered the house, which was of white stone, prayed to God, and knelt to the prince. The Prince of Kief asked him: ‘Tell me, good youth, how men name you, and of what city you are a native?’ Ilya Murometz made reply: ‘My lord, men call me Little Ilya, but by my father’s family I am an Ivanof; a native of the city of Murom, of the village of Karatcharof.’ The prince inquired: ‘By what road did you ride from Murom?’ ‘By that of Chernigof, and under the walls of Chernigof I defeated an innumerable heathen host, and delivered the city of Chernigof. Thence I proceeded by the direct road, and took captive the mighty hero, Nightingale the robber, and led him hither with me bound to my steel stirrup.’ The prince, becoming angry, said: ‘What a lie you are telling!’ When the heroes, Alesha Popovitch and Dobrynya Nikititch, heard this, they flew to look, and assured the prince that it really was so. The prince ordered a cup of green wine to be brought to the good youth. The prince had a wish to listen to the robber’s whistling. Ilya enveloped the prince and princess in a sable mantle, placed them beneath his arms, summoned Nightingale, and commanded him to give the Nightingale whistle with half strength. But Nightingale the robber whistled with his full robber whistle, and deafened the heroes, so that they fell on the floor. For this Ilya Murometz slew him.

Ilya Murometz made a brotherhood with Dobrynya Nikititch. They saddled their good steeds, and rode into the open country to seek adventures; and they rode full three months without finding any adversary. But they rode on in the open country; there came a wandering beggar: the ragged dress upon his back weighed fifty poods, his hat nine poods, his staff was ten fathoms long. Ilya Murometz began to urge his horse toward him, and was about to match his heroic strength with him. The wandering beggar recognised Ilya Murometz, and said: ‘Oh! you are Ilya Murometz. If you remember, we learnt to read and write together at one school, and now you are urging your horse against a poor cripple like me, as against an enemy. But this you don’t know, that in the famous city of Kief a great misfortune has happened. An infidel, a mighty hero, the unclean Idolishtcha, has arrived. His head is as big as a beer caldron, his shoulders are a fathom broad, the distance between his eyebrows is a span, that between his ears is an arrow of guelder-rosewood; he eats an ox at a time, and drinks a caldron at a draught; and the Prince of Kief is very grieved about you, because you have left him in such perplexity.’ Clothing himself in the beggar’s dress, Ilya Murometz went straight to the prince’s court, and cried with heroic voice: ‘Oh, is it you, Prince of Kief? Send me an alms, wandering beggar that I am.’ The prince saw him, and spake as follows: ‘Come into the palace to me, beggar; I will give you your fill of food and drink, and gold for your journey.’ And the beggar entered the palace and stood by the stove; he looked on at what was occurring. Idolishtcha asked for something to eat. They brought him a whole ox roasted, and he ate it up, bones and all. Idolishtcha asked for something to drink. They brought him a caldron of beer, carried by twenty men; he took it up by the handles, and drank it all up. Ilya Murometz said: ‘My father had a greedy mare; she over-ate herself and died.’ Idolishtcha didn’t stand that, and said: ‘Oh, it’s you, wandering beggar! Why do you insult me? It’s nothing to me to take you up in my hands. Nay, what are you? If such an one as Ilya Murometz was among you, I’d make a fight of it even with him.’ ‘Then here’s such an one as he,’ said Ilya Murometz, and, taking off his hat, struck him gently on the head with it.—But he broke through the wall of the house, took the corpse of Idolishtcha, and threw it out by the rent. For this the prince honoured Ilya Murometz with great commendations, and placed him on the list of mighty heroes.