Chapter IV: Svyatogór and Ilyá of Múrom

Near the town of Múrom in Russia there lived long ago a farmer called Iván, with his wife and family. He and his wife and his sons and daughters worked hard in the fields, all but one son, Ilyá, who was always sitting at home. For thirty years Ilyá had been sitting at home because he could use neither hands nor feet.

One day he was sitting by the window as usual, when two wandering pilgrims came passing by. They were both too lame and old to work, but they had made the pilgrimage to the Holy Land and now walked about the country singing psalms and living upon the food and money that kind folk gave them. They saw Ilyá at his window and called out:

“Ilyá! Ilyá of Múrom, open wide the gate for the pilgrims; let us into thy house.”

Ilyá of Múrom answered:

“Well now, good pilgrims, I cannot open the gate, for I have been sitting here these thirty years. I can use neither hands nor feet.”

Again the pilgrims called to him:

“O Ilyá, rise up upon thy nimble feet. Open wide the gates and let the pilgrims in to visit thee in thy house.”

Ilyá stood up upon his feet, as though nothing ailed him. He opened wide the gates and let the pilgrims into the house. They came in, crossing themselves like good Russians, and bowed low when they were in the room.

“Pray give us a drink, Ilyá,” they said.

Ilyá brought them a large bowl of honey drink; it held about a pailful and a half, and he offered it to the pilgrims. They took it and drank, and then offered it to Ilyá. He drank the bowlful and felt a rush of warmth throughout his body, his hero’s heart burned within him.

“What dost thou feel, O Ilyá?” asked the pilgrims.

Ilyá bowed to the ground before the pilgrims and answered:

“I feel great strength within me.”

“Bring another drink, Ilyá,” said the pilgrims.

And Ilyá brought another cupful, and offered it to the pilgrims. They offered it to Ilyá, and Ilyá emptied the cup without drawing breath.

“How dost thou feel now, Ilyá?” asked the pilgrims.

“I feel great strength, but only half as much as before,” answered he.

Then the wandering pilgrims said:

“O Ilyá, thou wilt be a great hero, and it is not written that thou shouldst die in battle. Fight thou with all the heroes and the bold warrior women of the plain, and defend thyself against them; only go not out to fight with the hero Svyatogór, for with his strength he could carry the earth; and fight not with the hero Samson, for he has upon his head seven hairs of angels; also fight not with the race of Mikúla, for damp Mother Earth loves him. Neither go after Volgá, son of Svyátoslav; he will overcome thee, not by force, but by craft and wisdom. Now rise up, O Ilyá, mount thy horse, and ride out into the free and open plain. Buy the first foal thou seest with its dam, and in three months’ time thou mayst put on the saddle. Feed him on millet and maize; walk him about for three months, then keep him for three nights in the garden, and roll the foal three mornings in the dew. Lead him to a high fence, and when he will readily leap the fence both from this side and the other, then ride him where thou wilt, he will carry thee.”

Then the pilgrims vanished, and presently Ilyá’s father and mother came in from their work in the fields. His brother and sisters came in also from their work, and his father and mother were glad indeed to see that Ilyá could walk as if nothing had ever ailed him. Then from joy they became sad again, and said:

“Thirty years has Ilyá been sitting on the bench as if he had neither hands nor feet!”

And Ilyá said to his father:

“Where have you been working to-day, father?”

But his parents only said:

“Glory to Thee, O Lord! Thirty years has Ilyá been sitting by the stove, and was he not without hands or feet?”

And Ilyá asked again:

“But you, father and mother, where have you been working on the farm?”

“Well, Ilyá,” answered his father, “we are working in the field by the stream; we are clearing it for ploughing. It is the field three fields from home.”

After they had dined Ilyá said to his parents:

“Now, dear father and mother, take me to the water meadow. Show me my bit of work.”

And his parents took him down to the water meadow, and Ilyá said:

“Show me how far you will plough here,” and they showed him the boundary and sat down to rest.

But Ilyá seized the brushwood by handfuls and cut it down by the roots and threw it all on to a pile on the edge of the field. And he worked so hard and so fast that the field was cleared in a quarter of the time that it would have taken his father to finish the work. The father and mother were asleep, for they were tired by the long morning’s work, but they awoke when Ilyá came towards them, saying:

“Come, father and mother, is not your field well cleared for the ploughing? Now I must say good-bye to home!”

Then Ilyá saddled his good horse and put on the bridle, and his father and mother gave him their farewell blessing.

He rode away through the open plain till at last he came to a high mountain. When he reached the high mountain he climbed up it and then lay down to rest, and he slept for twelve days the sleep of a hero. When he awoke he saw at a distance a white tent standing beneath a tree. He mounted his horse again and rode a long way through the plain towards the white tent. This tent stood beneath the shade of a great green oak tree upon another hill. In the tent was a great bed seventy feet long and forty-two feet wide. Ilyá tied up his horse to the oak tree and lay down upon that hero’s bed, and went to sleep. Now the sleep of a hero is sound, and Ilyá slept for three days and three nights.

On the third day his good horse heard a terrible noise from the north. Mother Earth rocked, the dark forest shook, the rivers overflowed their steep banks. Ilyá’s good horse struck the ground with his hoofs, but could not waken Ilyá of Múrom. At last the horse spoke to him in a human voice:

“O Ilyá of Múrom! thou knowest not that danger is near thee. The hero Svyatogór is coming to his tent. Let me loose that I may flee across the open plain, and thou mayest climb up into the green oak tree.”

Ilyá untied his horse’s bridle and set the good horse free to gallop across the plain; and then he climbed up into the oak tree. From the oak tree he saw the hero Svyatogór coming on his great horse. The hero was taller than a standing forest, and his head nearly touched a moving cloud. On his shoulder he carried a great chest of glass. He came down from his horse and placed the chest on the ground and opened it with a golden key. Out of the chest came the hero’s wife. So lovely was she that no such beauty had ever been seen or heard of in the whole white world.

Very tall she was and elegant, and delicately did she walk. She had eyes like the eyes of a bright falcon, eyebrows of black sable, and waving black hair. As soon as she came out of the great chest she set to work to lay the table for her husband’s dinner. She spread a bright chequered table-cloth and took from the chest a bottle of honey drink and a cup and sweetmeats full many, and placed them upon the chequered cloth.

After he had eaten and drunk, Svyatogór lay down to sleep on his great bed in the tent, but his wife went to walk on the open plain. She caught sight of Ilyá in the oak tree and would have him to come down and talk to her. When her husband suddenly woke up she put Ilyá into her husband’s pocket to hide him. Svyatogór stood up and put his wife back into the glass chest and lifted it on to his shoulder again. He called up his horse and got upon his back and set off to ride, but soon the horse stumbled, and Svyatogór was vexed and asked why he was stumbling.

“This morning,” said the horse in a human voice, “I was carrying a hero and a hero’s wife, but now I am carrying two heroes as well as the hero’s wife.”

Svyatogór looked round and saw no one, but putting his hand into his pocket there he found Ilyá. The hero asked Ilyá whence he came. Ilyá told him the truth, and Svyatogór was exceeding angry and killed his wife for trying to deceive him.

That Ilyá had dealt straightly pleased the hero Svyatogór, and there arose a great friendship between them. Svyatogór exchanged crosses with Ilyá in token of friendship, and called Ilyá his younger brother. He taught Ilyá all the handling of weapons, how to use his mace and his bow and arrows and spear in fighting, and also all the ways of travel of the heroes. Ilyá had called up his good horse from the plain by a loud whistle, and the two heroes, the old Svyatogór and the younger Ilyá of Múrom, rode on together through the open plain till they came to a great tomb built of stone. Upon the tomb was written these words:—

“He who is fated to lie in this tomb will exactly fit it.”

Ilyá lay down in the tomb, but it was too long and too wide for him, and at once he sprang out of it.

The giant hero Svyatogór lay down there, and the tomb just fitted him.

“The tomb is just made for me,” said the hero. “Take the lid of the tomb, Ilyá, and cover me.”

Ilyá answered:

“I will not take up the lid of the tomb, O, my big brother. I will not cover thee. This is a foolish jest of thine—thou wilt bury thyself.”

And Svyatogór took the lid and covered himself up in the tomb, but when he tried to lift the lid off again he could not move it. He struggled and strove to lift it, but could do nothing. Then he called to Ilyá:

“O, my young brother! It seems that my fate has found me. I cannot raise the lid. Try thou to lift it.”

Ilyá of Múrom tried hard to raise the cover, but what could he do?

Then said Svyatogór the hero:

“Take my sword of steel and strike across the lid of the tomb.”

Ilyá tried to lift Svyatogór’s great sword, but could not—it was too heavy for him—and he had to say:

“I cannot lift thy sword, O, my brother!”

Svyatogór then called to him:

“My little brother, bend down to this small chink in the tomb, and I will breathe upon thee the spirit of a hero.”

Ilyá bent down to the chink and Svyatogór the hero breathed upon him his hero’s spirit. Ilyá felt that his former strength had become three times as great as before. He took the sword of steel and struck a blow across the lid of the tomb. By this blow sparks were struck, but on the place where he struck the lid there grew a band of iron.

The hero Svyatogór called to him again, saying:

“My young brother, I am suffocating; try again to strike the lid lengthwise.”

Ilyá struck the cover lengthwise with the great sword, but again where he struck there grew a band of iron.

Then the hero Svyatogór spoke to him, saying:

“My young brother, I am suffocating. Stoop down to the chink and I will breathe upon thee and will give thee all my great strength.”

But Ilyá answered:

“If I had all thy strength, O, my big brother, Earth would not bear me.”

Then said the hero Svyatogór:

“Thou hast done well, little brother, in that thou didst not do my last bidding. I should have breathed upon thee with the breath of the dead, and thou wouldst have lain dead by me. Now, farewell; take my sword of steel, but lead my good horse to my tomb; none but I must own that horse.”

Then came from the chink the last breath of the hero. Ilyá said farewell to his friend, girded on his sword of steel, but left the hero’s horse by his master’s tomb, and he rode away into the free and open plain.