University of Virginia Library

Ilya of Murom the Peasant Hero,
and Hero Svyatogor

IN the hamlet of Karacharof, by Murom town,
dwelt Ilya[1] the Old Kazák. Thirty years
he sat upon the oven, having use of neither
arms nor legs, because of his grandfather's sin.

And when thirty years were past, in summer,
at the time of haying, his father and mother went
forth to clear the forest-girdled meadows, and left
Ilya alone in the cottage. Then there came to him
three wayfarers—Christ and two of his apostles,
in the guise of poor brethren, strolling psalm-singers,
and besought him that he would give
them to drink.

"Alas! ye wayfarers, aged men, dear friends!"
said Ilya; "full gladly would I give you to drink:
but I cannot rise, and there is none in the cottage
with me."

And the men made answer: "Arise, and wash
thyself; so shalt thou walk and fetch us drink."

Then he arose and walked; and having filled
a cup with kvas,[2] brought it to the aged men.
They received it, drank, and gave it again to Ilya,
saying:

"Drink now after us, Ilya, son of Ivan." When

he had drunk, the old men said: "How is thy
strength now, Ilya?"

Ilya answered: "I thank you humbly, ye aged
men. I feel a very great strength within me, so
that I could even move the earth."

Then the men looked each upon the other, and
said: "Give us to drink yet again." And Ilya
did so. And when they had drunk, they gave
the cup to him the second time, and inquired:
"How is it with thee now, Ilya?"

"The strength I feel is very great," said Ilya,
"yet but as half the former strength."

"Thus let it be," spoke the men: "for if we
give thee more, mother earth will not bear thee
up." And they said: "Go forth now, Ilya."

So Ilya set his cup upon the table, and went
forth into the street with all ease; and the aged
men said:

"God hath blessed thee, Ilya, with this strength
of His. Therefore, defend thou the Christian faith,
fight against all infidel hosts, bold warriors and
daring heroes, for it is written that death shall
not come to thee in battle. Stronger than thee
there is none in the white world, save only Volgá,
(and he will take thee not by might but by craft),
and Svyatogor, and, stronger yet, beloved of damp
mother earth, Mikula Selyaninovich, the Villager's
Son. Against these three contend thou not. Live
not at home,—labour not; but go thou to royal
Kief town." And therewith the men vanished.

Then Ilya went forth to his father, in the clearing,
and found him with his wife and labourers
reposing from their toil. He grasped their axes
and began to hew; and what his father with the
labourers could not have done in three days, that
Ilya achieved in the space of one hour. Having
thus felled a whole field of timber, he drove the

axes deep into a stump, whence no man could
draw them.

When his father with wife and labourers woke,
and beheld the axes, they marvelled, saying:
"Who hath done this?" Then came Ilya from
the forest, and drew the axes from the stump;
and his father gave thanks to God that his son
should be so famous a workman.

But Ilya strode far over the open plain; and
as he went, he beheld a peasant leading a shaggy
brown foal, the first he had seen. What the
peasant demanded for the foal, that Ilya paid.
For the space of three months, he tied the foal
in the stall, feeding it with the finest white Turkish
wheat, and watering it from the pure spring.
After these months were past, he bound the foal
for three nights in the garden, anointing it with
three dews. When that was done, he led the foal
to the lofty paling, and the good brown began to
leap from side to side, and was able to sustain
Ilya's vast weight; for he had become a heroic
steed. All this Ilya did according to the commands
of the aged psalm-singers who had healed
him.

Then Ilya saddled his good steed Cloudfall, prostrated
himself, and received the farewell blessing
of father and mother, and rode forth far over the
open plain.

As he rode, he came to a pavilion of white linen,
pitched under a damp oak; and therein was a
heroic bed, not small, for the length of the bed
was ten fathoms, and the breadth six fathoms. So
he bound his good steed to the damp oak, stretched
himself upon that heroic bed and fell asleep. And
his heroic slumber was very deep; three days and
nights he slept. On the third day, good Cloudfall
heard a mighty clamour toward the North. Damp

mother earth rocked, the dark forests staggered,
the rivers overflowed their steep banks. Then the
good steed beat upon the earth with his hoof, but
could not wake Ilya, and he shouted with human
voice:

"Ho there, Ilya of Murom! Thou sleepest
there and takest thine ease, and knowest not the
ill fortune that hangeth over thee. Hero Svyatogor
cometh to this his pavilion. Loose me now,
in the open plain, and climb thou upon the damp
oak."

Then sprang Ilya to his nimble feet, loosed his
horse and climbed into the damp oak.

And lo! a hero approached; taller than the
standing woods was he, and his head rested upon
the flying clouds. Upon his shoulder he bare a
casket of crystal, which, when he was come to the
oak, he set upon the ground and opened with a
golden key. Out of it stepped his heroic wife;
in all the white world, no such beauty was ever
seen or heard of; lofty was her stature and dainty
her walk; her eyes were as those of the clear
falcon, her brows of blackest sable, and her white
body was beyond compare.

When she was come forth from the crystal
casket, she placed a table, laid a fair cloth thereon
and set sugar viands; and from the casket, she
also drew forth mead for drink. So they feasted
and made merry. And when Svyatogor had well
eaten, he went into the pavilion and fell asleep.

But his fair heroic wife roamed about the open
plain, and so walking, espied Ilya upon the damp
oak.

"Come down now, thou good and stately
youth," she cried: "descend from that damp
oak, else will I waken Hero Svyatogor and make
great complaint of thy discourtesy to me."

Ilya could not contend against the woman, and
so slipped down from the oak as she had commanded.

And after a space, that fair heroic woman took
Ilya and put him in her husband's deep pocket,
and roused the hero from his heavy sleep. Then
Svyatogor put his wife in the crystal casket again,
locked it with his golden key, mounted his good
steed, and rode his way to the Holy Mountains.

After a little, his good steed began to stumble,
and the hero to beat him upon his stout flanks
with a silken whip. Then said the horse in human
speech:

"Hitherto I have borne the hero and his heroic
wife; but now I bear the heroic woman and two
heroes. Is it a marvel that I stumble?"

Thereupon Hero Svyatogor drew Ilya from his
deep pocket, and began to question him:—who
he was and how he came in the pocket. And Ilya
told him all the truth. When he heard it, Svyatogor
slew his faithless heroic wife; but with Ilya
he exchanged crosses, and called him his younger
brother.

And as they talked together, Ilya said: "Full
gladly would I see Svyatogor that great hero; but
he rideth not now upon damp mother earth, nor
appeareth among our company of heroes."

"I am he," quoth Svyatogor. "Gladly would I
ride among you, but damp mother earth would not
bear me up. And furthermore, I may not ride in
Holy Russia, but only on the lofty hills, and steep
precipices. Let us now ride among the crags, and
come thou to the Holy Mountains with me."

Thus they rode long together, diverting themselves;
and Svyatogor taught Ilya all heroic customs
and traditions.

On the way, Svyatogor said to Ilya: "When we

shall come to my dwelling, and I shall lead thee to
my father, heat a bit of iron, but give him not thy
hand."

So when they were come to the Holy Mountains,
to the palace of white stone, Svyatogor's aged
father cried:

"Aï, my dear child! Hast thou been far
afield?"

"I have been in Holy Russia, father."

"What hast thou seen and heard there?"

"Nothing have I seen or heard in Holy Russia,
but I have brought with me thence a hero." The
old man was blind, and so said:

"Bring hither the Russian hero, that I may
greet him."

In the meanwhile, Ilya had heated the bit of
iron, and when he came to give the old man his
hand in greeting, he gave him, in place of it, the
iron. And when the old man grasped it in his
mighty hands, he said: "Stout are thy hands,
Ilya! A most mighty warrior art thou!"

Thereafter, as Svyatogor and his younger
brother Ilya journeyed among the Holy Mountains,
they found a great coffin in the way; and
upon the coffin was this writing: "This coffin
shall fit him who is destined to lie in it."

Then Ilya essayed to lie in it, but for him it was
both too long and too wide. But when Svyatogor
lay in it, it fitted him. Then the hero spoke these
words:

"The coffin was destined for me; take the lid
now, Ilya, and cover me." Ilya made answer:
"I will not take the lid, elder brother, neither will
I cover thee. Lo! this is no small jest that thou
makest, preparing to entomb thyself."

Then the hero himself took the lid, and covered
his coffin with it. But when he would have raised

it again, he could not, though he strove and
strained mightily; and he spoke to Ilya: "Aï,
younger brother! 'Tis plain my fate hath sought
me out. I cannot raise the lid; do thou try now
to lift it."

Then Ilya strove, but could not. Said Hero
Svyatogor: "Take my great battle sword, and
smite athwart the lid." But Ilya's strength was
not enough to lift the sword, and Svyatogor called
him:

"Bend down to the rift in the coffin, that I may
breathe upon thee with my heroic breath." When
Ilya had done this, he felt strength within him,
thrice as much as before, lifted the great battle
sword, and smote athwart the lid. Sparks flashed
from that blow, but where the great brand struck,
an iron ridge sprang forth. Again spoke Svyatogor:

"I stifle, younger brother! essay yet one more
blow upon the lid, with my huge sword."

Then Ilya smote along the lid, and a ridge of
iron sprang forth. Yet again spoke Svyatogor:

"I die, oh, younger brother! Bend down now
to the crevice. Yet once again will I breathe
upon thee, and give thee all my vast strength."

But Ilya made answer: "My strength sufficeth
me, elder brother; had I more, the earth could
not bear me."

"Thou hast done well, younger brother," said
Svyatogor, "in that thou hast not obeyed my last
behest. I should have breathed upon thee the
breath of death, and thou wouldst have lain dead
beside me. But now, farewell. Possess thou my
great battle sword, but bind my good heroic steed
to my coffin; none save Svyatogor may possess
that horse."

Then a dying breath fluttered through the

crevice. Ilya took leave of Hero Svyatogor,
bound the good heroic steed to the coffin, girt the
great battle sword about his waist, and rode forth
into the open plain.

And Svyatogor's burning tears flow through the
coffin evermore.