Tales and Legends from the Land of the Tzar/Elie Muromitch
ELIE MUROMITCH.
(Adapted from a Russian Ballad.)
Near the splendid town of Murom was a small village called Karatchaev, in which lived a peasant by name Ivan Timofeivitch, who had a favourite son, Elie Muromitch. Now this son was unable to walk; he had not moved from his chair for thirty long years.
Harvest-time had come, and all the peasants had gone off into the fields to work; Elie alone stayed at home. As he sat in his chair by the open window, two cripples came limping along the road; they stopped in front of the window, and began begging for something to eat and drink.
"Walk into the hut, my poor brothers!" answered Elie; "there is plenty to eat and drink here, but no one to give it you."
But the beggars replied,—
"No, get up and fetch the things for us yourself."
"I cannot walk, I have no strength in my legs; I have sat in this chair for thirty years, unable to move or do anything."
Still the beggars only said,—
"Never mind; get up, and fetch the things!"
Elie suddenly felt his strength returning, but he could not rise.
"It is of no use," replied Elie; "I certainly do feel strong all at once, but I cannot get up. I have no power in my legs."
"Try again," said the beggars for the third time.
Elie felt stronger and stronger; he raised himself from his chair, and—actually stood on his feet, and managed to walk.
"Go!" said the beggars to him, "fetch us some beer, for we are thirsty."
Elie felt so strong now that it was nothing to him to go down into the deep dark cellar and pour out two bowls full of frothy beer, and take them up to the beggars, who had so generously given him back his strength.
"Drink it yourself!" said they to him, when he brought them the beer.
Elie seized both bowls, and drank off the contents at a draught!
"Go down and fetch more beer and give it to us," said the beggars again.
Elie once more descended into the cellar, this time bringing forth beer in larger bowls; but the beggars only said as before,—
"Drink it yourself!"
Elie obeyed.
"Well, Elie," said the men, "do you feel your strength?
"I do."
"Do you feel very strong?"
"Yes, very!"
"How strong?"
"As strong as a post from here to heaven. I feel as though I could turn the whole earth round!"
At this the two men shook their heads, and began talking to each other.
"We have given Elie too much power," they said; "it will never do for him to turn the earth round! No, no; we must reduce his strength!" Then turning to him, they said aloud: "Go fetch us some beer; we are thirsty!"
Elie sprang into the cellar, and brought up more beer than before.
"Drink it yourself!" they said.
He drank it.
"Well, Elie, do you feel just as strong?" they asked.
"No, my strength seems to have been reduced!"
"That will do," said the men to each other; "let us go!" And they left Elie Muromitch to himself.
When the parents returned home from the fields, and saw their beloved son walking about the hut, trying his strength in various ways, they were amazed. What could have come over their favourite in their absence? What had happened to their dear son, Elie Muromitch? They had never for a moment expected to see him up and about, looking stronger than the mightest warrior!
After a little while, an idea struck Elie Muromitch. He dressed himself up like a warrior, made himself a tremendous lance of steel, harnessed his beautiful horse, and went to his parents, asking them to bless him.
"My good father and mother," he said, "listen, I pray you, to what I am about to say. It has just struck me that it would be a grand thing to go to the sacred city of Kiev, and offer up thanksgivings to the Saints for their great kindness to me, and also to salute our well-beloved warrior, Prince Vladimir!"
His father and mother looked very sad indeed when they heard this; the idea of parting with their beloved son, even for a short time, was painful to them.
"Why must you leave us in our old age?" they said, their eyes dim with tears. "Why do you wish to forsake us, our darling son?"
Still Elie Muromitch begged and prayed them to bless him, and let him go. The parents at last consented; they gave him as great a blessing as they could, thus advising him at the same time,—
"Go, beloved son, straight to the sacred city of Kiev; but take care, and do not unnecessarily or unjustly offend any one on your way, or unreasonably shed Christian blood."
Elie Muromitch accepted the blessing, and promised to keep and follow the advice.
Out of the splendid town of Murom, out of the village of Karatchaev, rode our valiant hero, Elie Muromitch, magnificently attired, on his way to the sacred city of Kiev.
Now this journey to Kiev, from the town of Murom, was a very dangerous one, for after having gone through the wonderful town of Chernigov, which was on the way, there lay a straight road that had for the last thirty years or so been impassable, on account of a celebrated robber, Nightingale Thief as he was called, because he killed everybody who happened to venture down that road by his whistling; he allowed no one to pass, whether on horseback or on foot; he killed them all! not by force, but by his extraordinary art!
On, on rode Elie Muromitch, until he came into an open field, where he discovered traces of some passing horsemen; he set spurs to his horse and followed up the track. The creature neighed angrily and began galloping along, covering four miles at a gallop! At this rate Elie soon reached the dark Brynske forests, on the black earth of Smolensk, near the River Smorodina. He slackened his horse's pace, and began bragging aloud of all the brave deeds he intended to do.
"If I am fortunate enough to arrive safely at the sacred city of Kiev, I shall kill every Tartar in the place, and take all the Tartar women prisoners!"
He rode on, faster than before, and reached another field, where he suddenly came upon a band of forty-four thieves bent on plunder.
"Hail to you! ye villains!" exclaimed Elie Muromitch. "What care I for you forty-four thieves. There is nothing that ye dare take from me. I have a great-coat, and that is a grey one, the price of which is sixty roubles. I have a quiver at my back, as you see, which contains five hundred arrows, and the price of these arrows is five roubles each. As for ready money—I have forty thousand roubles with me; while the beast I am riding on—is worth more than all put together!"
The robbers laughed outright.
"Though we have been pretty nearly all over the wide world," said they, "we have never, to our knowledge, come across such a fool before. Come, strip him, children; let us see whether the big fool speaks the truth."
Elie Muromitch suddenly seized his bow, and taking an arrow from the quiver, he aimed at an old oak-tree; the arrow pierced it through the middle, and the big old oak fell with a tremendous crash, breaking in four quarters. No sooner had the robbers seen what had happened than they became alarmed, and mounting their horses they galloped off in all directions.
Elie Muromitch laughed to himself, and rode on farther, through different portions of the Brynske forests, until he arrived at the wonderful town of Chernigov. When he entered this town he found it in the possession of a force of Mussulmen, who wanted to plunder it, to pull down its walls, to destroy its religious houses, to burn its churches, and to take all its generals and the Prince of Chernigov prisoners.
Elie Muromitch felt sorry for the town of Chernigov, and he determined to beat the Mussulman forces and drive them out.
So he galloped up, and with the sharp point of his lance he pierced their jerkins through and through, and flourishing his sword he slaughtered them, right and left, so that by nightfall Elie Muromitch had succeeded in destroying the whole of the Mussulman force and taking their king prisoner. He took the Mussulman king and walked him all round the wonderful town of Chernigov. The prince, with all the generals, and the people both great and small, came forward to meet him, bringing with them bread and salt, and taking the young hero by the hands welcomed him to the town of Chernigov, and treated him with the greatest possible respect.
On the following day Elie Muromitch left the wonderful town of Chernigov, and rode along the black earth of Smolensk, towards the sacred city of Kiev. On, on he rode until he came to a dark and dreary forest, far more gloomy than the others, in which lay the impassable road. Along this dangerous path Elie Muromitch the valiant hero rode; he approached a cluster of nine old oak-trees, in the midst of which the celebrated robber, the Nightingale Thief had built his hut, or nest, as it was called. When the Nightingale Thief heard the trampling of horse's hoofs, he at once commenced whistling; first he imitated the sound of the nightingale, then he hissed like a serpent, and lastly roared like a wild bull.
When Elie's horse heard all these sounds, he began to stumble and grow nervous; he tried to turn back, but his rider whipped him on, but on reaching the Nightingale Thief's nest the animal fell on his knees.
"Oh! you son of a wolf!" exclaimed Elie Muromitch. "You bag full of grass! Have you not been into white-walled caverns? Have you not ridden through dark and dreary forests? Have you never before heard the singing of a nightingale, the hissing of a serpent, or the roar of a wild bull?"
Still the horse would not move. The Nightingale Thief again gave a loud roar, like a wild bull, so loud that the whole forest shook; the thief was determined to kill Elie Muromitch by his whistling.
Disregarding his parents' advice, Elie Muromitch drew out an arrow from the quiver, and adjusting it to the bow, let fly right into the midst of the nine oaks, and struck the Nightingale Thief in the right eye; from the effects of this wound the thief fell all of a heap on the ground. Elie seized him, and tying him to his saddle-bow, he sprang on to his horse and dragged the thief through his former place of shelter, all along the road which had for the last thirty years been impassable, and so arrived at the sacred city of Kiev.
Elie galloped straight into the prince's court, jumped off his noble steed, and tied him up to an old oak-post; this done, he went up to the sacred palace of the prince to pray, and after having offered up thanks for his recovery, he made a low bow to the prince and princess.
Now the great Prince Vladimir was holding a feast; there were princes and grand nobles present, and many a valiant warrior. When Elie Muromitch had finished praying, a mighty bowl large as a modern pail was handed to him, full of green wine. Elie took the bowl, and raising it to his lips drank off the contents at one draught.
Then up rose the great Prince Vladimir and spoke, for he and his people were greatly amazed,—
"Tell me thy name, young stranger; tell me thy father's name, that we may know what seat to give thee."
"You flatter me, great Prince Vladimir," Elie Muromitch replied. "They call me Elie Muromitch, the son of Ivanovitch. I travelled by the impassable road from the village of Karatchaev, through the splendid town of Murom—"
But here the valiant warriors interrupted Elie, and addressing the great prince, said,—
"O, kinsman of the sun, Prince Vladimir! What folly does this stranger speak? How could he possibly have ridden through the impassable road? None of us, valiant warriors though we be, would ever have dared so dangerous a deed. No one who ventured on that fatal road was ever heard of after; the road has been impassable for the last thirty years, on account of the Nightingale Thief, who has taken shelter there."
"Lo! prince, behold!" Elie Muromitch said. "See what my valiant arm has done; there, in yonder court, you will find the famous Nightingale Thief."
Prince Vladimir followed Elie Muromitch into the broad magnificent court to see the prisoner. Elie approached the Nightingale Thief, and whispered to him,—
"Listen and obey! Whistle as before, singing like a nightingale, hissing like a serpent, and roaring like a wild bull; and delight the great Prince Vladimir."
The thief whistled, imitating the singing of the nightingale, stunning and deafening all the prince's chiefs and warriors in Kiev. Then he hissed like a serpent and roared like a wild bull, till the inhabitants of the sacred city fled in all directions, filling the air with lamentations, while the horses galloped about all over the city, neighing furiously. Even the great Prince Vladimir and the beautiful Princess Aprasievna were more dead than alive.
"Hail to thee, Elie Muromitch, son of Ivanovitch!" said the prince coaxingly. "I beseech thee to remove that Nightingale Thief, for we do not want him here any longer; we have had enough of this sport."
Elie Muromitch seized the Nightingale Thief by his curly black locks, dashed him about on mother earth, then he threw him up into the air, higher than the tallest towers of the sacred palace, and the fragments as they fell were crushed against the stones. After this treatment, death was not long in coming to the thief.
As for Elie Muromitch, he was very handsomely rewarded, and went home through the splendid town of Murom, to his native village of Karatchaev, rich in gifts, and as happy as the day was long, and there he lived in luxury until he died.