 | The epic songs of Russia |  |
Ivan the Merchant's Son and his
Horse
IN royal Kief town, glorious Prince Vladimir
held a mighty feast, for his princely nobles,
stout Russian heroes, and rich merchants.
The day was half spent, the feast half over, and
all were making brags. Prince Vladimir waxed
merry, and paced the banquet hall.
"Ho, all ye princely nobles, and Russian heroes
all," he cried at length: "I too can boast. I have
three hundred stallions, and three of exceeding
merit: one is an iron-gray, the second's mane
hangeth all to one side, the third is coal-black.
Him Ilya of Murom captured from the Dragon's
Son, Tugarin. He can gallop from Kief to Chernigof,
between mass and matins, and the distance
is three hundred versts and thereto thirty versts
and three. Is there in all Kief town a man
whose horse can do the like?" All hid, and made
no answer. Then Ivan Merchant's Son stepped
forth, and cried in piercing tones:
"Lord, courteous Prince Vladimir, such a horse
have I. And I will lay a great wager;—not a
hundred roubles, nor yet a thousand,—but my
turbulent head shall be the stake,—that he will
run against thy horse from Kief to Chernigof,
between mass and matins, as thou hast said."
"What devil wilt thou ride, then, Ivan?" quoth
Vladimir.
With that all the princely nobles and ship-merchants
staked a hundred thousand roubles for
the Prince; but none laid any stake for Ivan, save
only the ruler of Chernigof.
Then with speed did they write out the strong
contracts, and set their white hands thereto, that
they might be binding and effectual.
And, when Ivan Merchant's Son had quaffed a
cup of green wine, of a bucket and a half, he
saluted all and went forth.
When he came to the stall of white oak where
stood his shaggy brown steed of three years, he
fell down before the horse's left hoof, and wept in
floods. "Help me, good my steed," quoth he;
and told him of the great wager.
Thereto his shaggy brown made answer in
human Russian tongue: "Hey, courteous master
mine! Thou hast no cause to grieve. I fear not
that iron-gray. If I run for thy wager, I shall
outstrip him. But do thou water me for three
dawns with mead, and feed me with Sorochinsky
wheat. And when the three days are past, a stern
messenger shall come to thee from the Prince,
bidding thee ride against him. Then saddle me
not, Ivan, but take me by my silken bridle, and
lead me to the royal court. Don thy mantle of
sables,—thy mantle of three thousand roubles, with
its embossed clasps of five hundred roubles. When
thou leadest me to the court, I shall rear up and
paw thy mantle, and nip the black sables, and
prance in all directions. Then shall the Prince
and his nobles marvel. But care thou not, for it
shall go well with thee. I will redeem thy turbulent
head, and put courteous Prince Vladimir and
my elder brother to shame."
All came to pass as the shaggy brown had foretold.
When he began to pluck at Ivan's mantle,
and to trample on the black sables, all the princely
nobles and rich merchants assembled in the spacious
royal courtyard stood and marvelled.
"Foolish art thou, Ivan Merchant's Son!" they
cried. "Thy good steed will spoil thy mantle.
Prince Vladimir gave it thee, and he will pardon a
great wrong rather than this."
But sweet Ivan made answer: "The foolish are
ye. For if I live I shall win another mantle, and
if I die I shall have enjoyed this."
Then, as the shaggy brown danced about the
court, he began to roar like an aurochs, and to hiss
like a dragon. The three hundred stallions were
affrighted, and fled the royal court; the iron-gray
broke two legs, the long-maned steed his neck;
the captive black fled, neighing, with tail uplifted,
to the Golden Horde, leaping the Dnyepr stream
in his flight.
All who saw it were terrified, and Ivan cried:
"Is it not time, Prince Vladimir, for us to set out
for Chernigof town?"
Prince Vladimir called to his stable-men to
collect the three hundred stallions, and pick out
the choicest, the three. But the men made complaint
that all the three hundred lay dead, by reason
of that terrible cry of Ivan's steed, and there was
none left whereon the prince might ride.
Then said sweet Ivan Merchant's Son:
"Delay not, Prince Vladimir, but count out to
me that great wager of a hundred thousand roubles."
This Vladimir did with sorrow, and said: "Yield
me thy steed, Sweet Ivan Merchant's Son; for I
have none whereon to ride."
Quoth sweet Ivan: "My steed was bought in
the Great Horde, from under his mother, for five
a thousand. Shall I give such a steed to Prince
Vladimir?"
Nevertheless, he yielded him; and Vladimir
commanded that the horse should be led to the
stable, and fed with fine wheat, and watered with
sweet mead.
But the stable-men came running in dire haste,
making great complaint, that the steed would
neither eat nor drink, but hissed and shrieked like
a dragon, and struck dead all the horses.
Then was Prince Vladimir very wroth: he
wrapped himself in his mantle of sable, and spoke
this word: "Ho there, thou Ivan Merchant's Son!
Lead that horse from my court forthwith. The
devil take thee and thy steed!"
Thus was the great race ridden.
| The epic songs of Russia | |