University of Virginia Library

Hero Svyatogor[1]

HERO SVYATOGOR saddled his good steed,
and made ready to ride afield. As he
traversed the open plain, he found none
with whom to measure the strength which flowed
so fiercely through his veins. Weighed down with
might, as with a heavy burden, he spoke:

"Would there were a ring fixed in the heavens
—I would drag them down! If there were but a
pillar firm set in damp mother earth, and a ring
made fast thereto, I would raise the whole earth
and twist it round!"

And as he went his way over the wide steppe,
he was aware of a traveller there, and rode after
him, but could by no means overtake him. He
rode at a trot, and the wayfarer was ever before
him;—at full gallop, and the man still went on
before. Then cried the hero:

"Ho there, thou wayfarer! pause a little, for I
cannot overtake thee on my good steed."

So the wayfarer halted, took a small pair of
pouches from his shoulder and cast them on the
damp earth.

"What hast thou in thy pouches?" said
Svyatogor.

"Lift them from the earth, and thou shalt see,"
quoth the man.

Then Svyatogor sprang from his good steed, and
seized the pouches with one hand,—and could not
raise them. Then he essayed both hands;—a
breath alone could pass beneath, but the hero was
sunk to his knees in the earth, and blood, not
tears, streamed down his white face.

"What lieth in thy wallet?" said Svyatogor
then. "Lo! my strength hath not begun to fail
me, yet I cannot lift this weight."

"The whole weight of the earth lieth therein,"
the man made answer.

"And who art thou? What art thou called,
and what is thy patronymic?"

"I am Mikulushka[2] Selyaninovich, the Villager's
Son."

"Tell me then, Mikulushka, inform me, how I
may know the fate decreed by God?"

"Ride on the straight way, until thou come to
the fork of the road. At the parting of the way,
turn to thy left hand, send thy horse at full speed,
and thou shalt come to the Northern Mountains.
In those mountains, beneath a great tree, standeth
a smithy; and of the smith therein do thou inquire
thy fate."

Then Svyatogor rode three days as he had been
commanded, and so came to the great tree and
the smithy, where stood the smith forging two fine
hairs.

Quoth the hero: "What forgest thou, smith?"
The smith made answer: "I forge the fates of
those that shall wed."

"And whom shall I wed?"

"They bride is in the kingdom by the sea, in
the royal city; thirty years hath she lain on the
dungheap."

Then the hero stood and thought: "Nay: but

I will go to that kingdom by the sea, and will slay
my bride."

So he went to the royal city of that kingdom by
the sea, and came to a miserable hut and entered.
No one was there save a maiden lying on the dungheap;
and her body was like the bark of fir-trees.
Svyatogor drew forth five hundred roubles, and laid
them on the table, and with his sharp sword, he
smote her on her white breast. Then he departed
from that kingdom, and the maiden woke and
gazed about her. The fir-bark fell from her limbs,
and she became a beauty such as was never seen
in all the world nor heard of in the white world.

On the table lay the five hundred roubles, and
with this money she began to trade. When she
had accumulated untold treasure of gold, she built
dark red ships, freighted them with precious wares
and sailed forth upon the glorious blue sea. And
when she was come to the great city, to the Holy
Mountains, and began to barter her precious wares,
the fame of her beauty spread through all the
town and kingdom, and all men came to look upon
her and marvel at her fairness. Hero Svyatogor
came also to gaze upon her beauty—and loved
her, and began to woo her for himself.

After they were married, he perceived a scar
upon his wife's white bosom, and inquired of her:
"What scar is that?"

And his wife made answer: "An unknown
man came to our kingdom by the sea, and left five
hundred roubles of gold in our hut. When I awoke,
there was a scar upon my bosom, and the fir-bark had
fallen away from my white body. For before that
day, I had lain for thirty years upon the dungheap."

Then Svyatogor the hero knew that none may
escape his fate, nor may any flee upon his good
steed from the judgment of God.