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Ilya Muromets is released in the retelling of Karnaukhova. Rus' epic

Irina Valerianovna Karnaukhova

Children of the thirties and forties remember well "grandmother Arina", who spoke at literary evenings, New Year's holidays, on Children's Book Day and on the radio with funny tales, entertaining stories. It was a well-known children's writer - Irina Valerianovna Karnaukhova.

I.V. Karnaukhova was born in 1901, in Kyiv, in the family of a railway employee.

After graduating from high school in 1918, the future writer worked in the library for several years and did a lot to distribute books among the people. This period of her life was reflected in the autobiographical story "Boots".

Loving the book, in the twenties she became a student of the literary faculty of the Leningrad Higher Courses of Art History at the Institute of Art History.

Upon graduation, Irina Valerianovna was fascinated by a deep study of the culture and art of the people.

In the second half of the twenties, she took part in scientific expeditions of the Institute of Literature of the Academy of Sciences, collecting folk legends, fairy tales, songs and music in the northern regions of the country and the Donets Basin.

"The results of this work are reflected in many articles and books and subsequently formed the basis of my processing of folk art for children," she wrote in her autobiography. "My literary activity began from here."

The first book of I.V. Karnaukhova was the collection "Tales and Traditions of the Northern Territory" (Academy, 1932), which introduced the little-studied material of the poetic art of peoples and was highly appreciated by scientists.

The writer continued to collect folklore and study it in subsequent years, being an active member of the Geographical Society, a writer and teacher.

In the thirties and forties, Irina Valerianovna worked hard, fulfilling the behest of A.M. Gorky: "to create for children several collections, compiled from the best examples of folklore." She collected and creatively processed for children a book of satirical everyday tales of the peoples of the USSR, calling it "Funny Tales" (Detgiz, 1947), a collection of magical Russian fairy tales "Beloved Beauty" (Detgiz, 1949), several books consisting of folklore works of various genres : songs, fairy tales, sayings, proverbs, riddles, "Rassypushki" (Detgiz, 1945), "Rainbow-arc" (Detgiz, 1946), "Basket" (Detgiz, 1959) and many others.

Most of all young readers liked her book "Russian Bogatyrs" (Detgiz, 1949). It was a free prose retelling of Russian epics about the heroes of the Russian heroic epic, set out in excellent Russian.

During the Great Patriotic War, in the evacuation in the Urals, Irina Valerianovna worked as a boarding school teacher and an elementary school teacher. During this time, she prepared for publication heroic tales about Russian heroes fighting for the honor of their native land: "The Battle on the Kalinov Bridge", "Bogatyrs", "Stalingrad Rose" and others, raising patriotic feelings of love for the Motherland and readiness to defend it from enemies .

The writer was a tireless propagandist of the folk poetic Russian word. For many years she performed reading and telling funny Russian fairy tales, comic songs, wise proverbs and sayings.

Irina Valerianovna also worked a lot in prose for children. At the very beginning of the thirties, her first books were published. These are the story "Lace on the Mast" (Leningrad, 1931), about a skunk girl, and the story "Oh-ho" (1932) about a Nenets boy.

Both stories were written by the author on the basis of impressions received on expeditions to the North: to Pinega, Mezen, Pechora, and Zaonezhye. The writer showed what great changes in the minds of people the socialist revolution made in the far outskirts of our country. In her heroes, she noticed the best features of their national character: courage, diligence, self-esteem.

After the Great Patriotic War, the writer created two books: "The Tale of Friends" (Detgiz, 1949) and "Our Own" (Detgiz, 1958).

"The Tale of Friends" is, first of all, a book about the great friendship of the Soviet people, which helped them defeat the enemy during the Great Patriotic War.

The story shows how this friendship was manifested in the strong connection between the front and the rear, the constant moral support of the Soviet Army, in supplying it with everything necessary for the successful conduct of a just war: ammunition, warm clothes, food.

The front-line soldiers were deeply grateful for this constant care. The scene depicting the sending of gifts to the native Siberian military unit is vividly written.

The "Tale of Friends" shows the friendship between the city and the countryside, which was especially strong during the war years.

A young teacher Lenochka comes to the village to teach children; the townspeople help the collective farmers to harvest the crops necessary for the timely supply of the front.

"The Tale of Friends" is a book about the power of pioneer friendship. For the first time, the wise Arkady Petrovich Gaidar spoke about this with talent in the book Timur and His Team.

The writer continued the story of the pioneer friendship, introducing the readers to the “friendly link” and its Timurov affairs.

The story depicts people close to the children. This is the image of the teacher Lenochka. It was created on the basis of the observations of the writer herself, who during the Great Patriotic War taught in the Urals in a village "which is not on the map." Lenochka is young, she has little experience, but she is excellent with students, even with such "difficult" ones as Misha Teplykh, and knows how to lead them. Her worries create a "friendly link" in the pioneer organization.

"The Tale of Friends" was awarded in 1949 at the competition for the best fiction book for children. It became a well-known work of Soviet children's literature.

The second post-war story of the writer is called Our Own (Detgiz, 1958). Her heroes are children, our ordinary boys and girls. Caught behind enemy lines in the early days of the Great Patriotic War, they went through serious life tests. It was a test of ideological strength, and they withstood it. The writer showed that these children grew up in the conditions of the Soviet system, and proudly calls them: "our own." Young readers fell in love with the guys, so different in character and so united in their feeling of ardent love for the Motherland and hatred for its enemies. They also appreciate the images of adults - Anna Matveevna and Vasily Ignatievich, who sincerely loved the guys and were ready to give their lives for them.

From the story emanates warm warmth, which is absolutely necessary for a children's book. The lyrical appeals of the author to the reader are good in the story. This makes the reader a living witness to the events and brings the book closer to him.

In the diverse activities of I.V. Karnaukhova also included work for the theater. Her plays, often written in collaboration with L. Brausevich, firmly entered the repertoire of children's theaters, starting with the Leningrad Theater for Young Spectators, which she loved very much.

Irina Valerianovna did a lot of public work, being the chairman of the children's section of the Leningrad branch of the Union of Soviet Writers. The workers of the Dzerzhinsky district of Leningrad elected her as their deputy to the district Soviet.

A serious illness broke her in the spring of 1959 in the prime of her creative powers. The second part of the story "Our Own" remained unfinished, the story about N.K. Krupskaya.

Readers know and love Irina Valerianovna's books. "Russian Bogatyrs" came out in a million copies. The Tale of Friends was published many times in our country and in the countries of people's democracy: Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, Romania. Plays by I.V. Karnaukhova.

In the Leningrad Youth Theater there is her staging of folk tales "Golden Hands", dedicated to the depiction of skill in work, in the puppet theater the play "Argonauts" is being prepared, about the brave sailors of distant antiquity.

At children's matinees, the play-tale "The Scarlet Flower" is often staged, created on the basis of a folk tale, once heard by S.T. Aksakov. This is a poetic story about the true beauty of a person, a work that helps to educate noble, truthful and honest people.

RUSSIAN BOGATYR ILYA MUROMETS

Epics in the retelling for children by I. Karnaukhova

How Ilya from Murom became a hero

In ancient times, the peasant Ivan Timofeevich lived near the city of Murom, in the village of Karacharovo, with his wife Efrosinya Yakovlevna.

They had one son, Ilya.

His father and mother loved him, but they only cried, looking at him: for thirty years Ilya has been lying on the stove, not moving his hand or foot. And the hero Ilya is tall, and his mind is bright, and his eyes are sharp-sighted, but his legs do not wear - they lie like logs, do not move.

Ilya hears, lying on the stove, how the mother cries, the father sighs, the Russian people complain: enemies attack Rus', trample the fields, people are killed, orphans are children. Robbers prowl along the paths, they do not give people either passage or passage. The Serpent Gorynych flies into Rus', drags the girls into his lair.

Bitterly, Ilya, hearing about all this, complains about his fate:

Oh you, my feet are unsteady, oh you, my uncontrollable hands! If I were healthy, I would not give my native Rus' an insult to enemies and robbers!

So the days went by, the months rolled by...

Once upon a time, father and mother went to the forest to uproot stumps, tear out roots - to prepare the field for plowing. And Ilya lies alone on the stove, looking out the window.

Suddenly he sees - three beggar wanderers are coming up to his hut. They stood at the gate, knocked with an iron ring and said:

Get up, Ilya, open the gate.

You, strangers, joke evil jokes: for thirty years I've been sitting on the stove, I can't get up.

And you get up, Ilyushenka!

Ilya rushed - and jumped off the stove, stands on the floor and does not believe his own luck.

Come on, take a walk, Ilya!

Ilya stepped once, stepped another - his legs hold him tightly, his legs carry him easily.

Ilya was delighted, he could not say a word for joy. And the passers-by say to him:

Bring me some cold water, Ilyusha.

Ilya brought a bucket of cold water.

The wanderer poured water into the ladle:

Drink up, Ilya. In this bucket is the water of all the rivers, all the lakes of Mother Rus'.

Ilya drank and felt the heroic strength in himself. And the Kaliki ask him:

Do you feel a lot of strength in yourself?

Lots of strangers. If I had a shovel, I would plow the whole earth.

Drink, Ilya, the rest. In that remnant of the whole earth there is dew: from green meadows, from high forests, from grain-growing fields. Drink.

Ilya drank and the rest.

And now you have a lot of power in you?

Oh, passing Kaliki, there is so much strength in me that if there was a ring in the sky, I would grab it and turn the whole Russian land upside down.

Too much power in you. It must be reduced, otherwise the earth will not carry you. Bring some more water.

Ilya went on the water, but the earth really doesn’t carry him: his foot in the ground, in a swamp, gets stuck, he grabbed an oak tree - an oak with a root out, the chain from the well, like a thread, was torn to pieces.

Already Ilya steps quietly, and under him the floorboards break. Already Ilya speaks in a whisper, and the doors are torn off their hinges.

Ilya brought water, the wanderers poured another ladle:

Drink, Ilya!

Ilya drank the well water.

How many strengths do you have now?

I have half strength in me.

Well, it will be with you, well done. You will be, Ilya, a great hero, fight, fight with the enemies of your native land, with robbers and monsters. Protect widows, orphans, little children. Never, Ilya, argue with Svyatogor - his land carries him through strength. You do not quarrel with Mikula Selyaninovich - mother earth loves him. Don’t go to Volga Vseslavevich yet - he won’t take it by force, so by cunning-wisdom. And now goodbye, Ilya.

Ilya bowed to the passers-by, and they left for the outskirts.

And Ilya took an ax and went to the fields-meadows to his father and mother. He sees that a small place has been cleared of stump-roots, and his father and mother, exhausted from hard work, are sleeping soundly: people are old, and work is hard.

Ilya began to clear the forest - only chips flew. Old oaks are felled with one stroke, young ones are uprooted from the ground.

In three hours he cleared as much fields as the whole village could not master in three days. He ruined a great field, lowered the trees into a deep river, stuck an ax into an oak stump, grabbed a shovel and a rake and dug up and leveled a wide field - just know to sow with grain!

Father and mother woke up, surprised, delighted, with a kind word they remembered the old wanderers.

And Ilya went to look for a horse.

He went out of the village and sees: a peasant is leading a red, shaggy, mangy foal. The whole price of a foal is worthless, but the peasant demands exorbitant money for him: fifty rubles and a half.

Ilya bought a foal, brought it home, put it in the stable; fattened with white wheat, soldered with spring water, cleaned, groomed, laid fresh straw.

Three months later, Ilya Burushka began to lead out into the meadows at dawn. A foal rolled in the dawn dew - it became a heroic horse.

Ilya led him to a high tyn. The horse began to play, dance, turn his head, shake his mane. He began to jump back and forth through the tyn. He jumped over ten times and did not touch his hoof. Ilya put a heroic hand on Burushka - the horse did not stagger, the horse did not move.

Good horse! - says Ilya. He will be my true friend.

Ilya began to look for a sword in his hand. As he squeezes the hilt of the sword in his fist, the hilt will crush, crumble. Ilya has no sword in his hand. Ilya threw swords to women - to chip a torch. He himself went to the forge, forged three arrows for himself, each arrow weighing a whole pood. He made himself a tight bow, took a long spear and even a damask club.

Ilya got dressed and went to his father and mother:

Let me go, father and mother, to the capital city of Kyiv, to Prince Vladimir. I will serve Rus' with my native faith-truth, protect the Russian land from enemies-enemies.

Says old Ivan Timofeevich:

I bless you for good deeds, but there is no blessing for bad deeds. Defend our Russian land not for gold, not out of self-interest, but for honor, for heroic glory. In vain do not shed human blood, do not cry mothers and do not forget that you are a black, peasant family.

Ilya bowed to his father and mother to the damp earth and went to saddle Burushka-Kosmatushka. He put felts on the horse, and sweatshirts on the felts, and then a Cherkasy saddle with twelve silk girths, and with the thirteenth iron, not for beauty, but for strength.

Ilya wanted to try his strength.

He drove up to the Oka River, rested his shoulder against a high mountain that was on the shore, and dumped it into the Oka River. The mountain blocked the channel, the river flowed in a new way.

Ilya took a rye crust loaf, lowered it into the Oka River, the Oke River himself said:

And thank you, mother Oka-river, for giving water, for feeding Ilya of Muromets.

In parting, he took with him a small handful of native land, mounted a horse, waved his whip ...

People saw how Ilya jumped up not a horse, but they did not see where he rode. Only the dust rose in a column across the field.

The first fight of Ilya Muromets

how Ilya grabbed the horse with a whip, Burushka-Kosmatushka soared, slipped a mile and a half. Where the horse's hooves struck, there the spring of living water clogged. At the key, Ilyusha cut down a damp oak tree, put a log house over the key, wrote the following words on the log house: “A Russian hero, the peasant son Ilya Ivanovich, rode here.”

Until now, a living spring is flowing there, an oak log house is still standing, and at night a beast-bear goes to the cold spring to drink water and gain heroic strength.

And Ilya went to Kyiv.

He was driving along a straight road past the city of Chernigov. As he drove up to Chernigov, he heard noise and uproar under the walls: thousands of Tatars surrounded the city. From dust, from a pair of horses above the ground, the haze is standing, the red sun is not visible in the sky. Do not slip between the Tatars to a gray hare, do not fly over the army to a bright falcon.

And in Chernigov weeping and groaning, funeral bells are ringing.

The people of Chernigov locked themselves in a stone cathedral, crying, praying, waiting for death: three Tatar princes approached Chernigov, each with a strength of forty thousand.

Ilya's heart flared up. He laid siege to Burushka, tore out of the ground a green oak with stones and roots, grabbed it by the top and rushed at the Tatars. He began to wave the oak, began to trample the enemies with his horse. Where he waves, there will be a street; if he waves, there is an alley.

Ilya rode up to the three princes, grabbed them by the hair and said to them these words:

Oh, you Tatar princes! Should I take you prisoner or take off your violent heads? To take you prisoner - so I have nowhere to put you, I'm on the road - I'm not sitting at home, I have counted bread in a bag, for myself, not for freeloaders. Take off your heads - there is little honor for the hero Ilya Muromets. Disperse to your places, to your hordes, and spread the news to all enemies that your native Rus' is not empty - there are strong, mighty heroes in Rus', let the enemies think about it.

Then Ilya went to Chernigov-grad. He went into a stone cathedral, and there people are crying, hugging, saying goodbye to the white light.

Hello, Chernihiv peasants. Why are you guys crying, hugging, saying goodbye to the white light?

How can we not cry: Chernigov was surrounded by three princes, each with a force of forty thousand, - so death is coming to us.

You go to the fortress wall, look into the open field, at the enemy army.

The Chernigovites went to the fortress wall, looked into the open field, and there the enemies were beaten and knocked down - as if a cornfield had been cut and crossed by a hail.

Chernihiv residents beat Ilya with their foreheads, bring him bread and salt, silver, gold, colored fabrics, expensive furs.

Good fellow, Russian hero, what kind of tribe are you? What father, what mother? What is your first name? You come to us in Chernihiv as a governor, we will all obey you, give you honor, feed and drink you, you will live in wealth and honor.

Ilya Muromets shook his head:

Good peasants from Chernigov, I am from under the city from under Murom, from the village of Karacharova, a Russian hero, a peasant son. I did not save you out of self-interest, and I do not need either silver or gold, I saved Russian people, red girls, little children, old mothers. I will not go to you as governor in wealth to live. My wealth is a heroic strength, my business is to serve Rus', to defend it from enemies.

Chernigov residents began to ask Ilya to stay with them for at least a day, to feast at a merry feast, but Ilya refuses this too:

Once upon a time, good people. In Rus', there is a groan from the enemies, I need to get to the prince as soon as possible, get down to business. ...

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RUSSIAN BOGATYR ILYA MUROMETS
Epics in the retelling for children by I. Karnaukhova

How Ilya from Murom became a hero

In ancient times, the peasant Ivan Timofeevich lived near the city of Murom, in the village of Karacharovo, with his wife Efrosinya Yakovlevna.

They had one son, Ilya.

Bitterly, Ilya, hearing about all this, complains about his fate:

- Oh, you, my unsteady legs, oh, you, my uncontrollable hands! If I were healthy, I would not let my native Rus' offend enemies and robbers!

So the days went by, the months rolled by...

Once upon a time, father and mother went to the forest to uproot stumps, to tear out roots - to prepare the field for plowing. And Ilya lies alone on the stove, looking out the window.

Suddenly he sees - three beggar wanderers are coming up to his hut. They stood at the gate, knocked with an iron ring and said:

- Get up, Ilya, open the gate.

- Evil jokes you, strangers, joke: for thirty years I've been sitting on the stove, I can't get up.

- And you get up, Ilyushenka!

Ilya rushed - and jumped off the stove, stands on the floor and does not believe his own luck.

- Come on, take a walk, Ilya!

Ilya stepped once, stepped another - his legs hold him tightly, his legs carry him easily.

Ilya was delighted, he could not say a word for joy. And the kaliks are passable 1
Kaliki are passable - wanderers.

They tell him:

- Bring me, Ilyusha, some cold water.

Ilya brought a bucket of cold water.

The wanderer poured water into the ladle:

Drink up, Ilya. In this bucket is the water of all the rivers, all the lakes of Mother Rus'.

Ilya drank and felt the heroic strength in himself. And the Kaliki ask him:

- Do you feel a lot of strength in yourself?

“A lot, strangers. If I had a shovel, I would plow the whole earth.

- Drink, Ilya, the rest. In that remnant of the whole earth there is dew: from green meadows, from high forests, from grain-growing fields. Drink.

Ilya drank and the rest.

- And now you have a lot of power in you?

- Oh, kaliks are passing, there is so much strength in me that if there was a ring in the sky, I would grab it and turn the whole Russian land.

“You have too much power in you. It must be reduced, otherwise the earth will not carry you. Bring some more water.

Ilya went on the water, but the earth really does not carry him: his foot in the ground, in a swamp, gets stuck, he grabbed an oak tree - an oak with a root out, the chain from the well, like a thread, was torn to pieces.

Already Ilya steps quietly, and under him the floorboards break. Already Ilya speaks in a whisper, and the doors are torn off their hinges.

Ilya brought water, the wanderers poured another ladle:

- Drink, Ilya!

Ilya drank the well water.

- How many strengths do you have now?

- I have half strength in me.

- Well, it will be with you, well done. You will be, Ilya, a great hero, fight, fight with the enemies of your native land, with robbers and monsters. Protect widows, orphans, little children. Only never, Ilya, do not argue with Svyatogor - his land carries him through strength. Don't quarrel with Mikula Selyaninovich - mother earth loves him. Do not go to Volga Vseslavevich yet - he will not take it by force, so by cunning-wisdom. And now goodbye, Ilya.

Ilya bowed to the passers-by, and they left for the outskirts.

Ilya began to clear the forest - only chips flew. Old oaks are felled with one stroke, young ones are uprooted from the ground.

In three hours he cleared as much fields as the whole village could not master in three days. He destroyed a great field, lowered the trees into a deep river, stuck an ax into an oak stump, grabbed a shovel and a rake and dug up and leveled the wide field - just know to sow with grain!

Father and mother woke up, surprised, delighted, with a kind word they remembered the old wanderers.

And Ilya went to look for a horse.

He went out of the village and sees: a peasant is leading a red, shaggy, mangy foal. The whole price of a foal is worthless, but the peasant demands exorbitant money for him: fifty rubles and a half.

Ilya bought a foal, brought it home, put it in the stable; fattened with white wheat, soldered with spring water, cleaned, groomed, laid fresh straw.

Three months later, Ilya Burushka began to lead out into the meadows at dawn. A foal rolled in the dawn dew - it became a heroic horse.

- Good horse! Ilya says. He will be my true friend.

Ilya got dressed and went to his father and mother:

- Let me go, father and mother, to the capital 3
Stolny - metropolitan, main.

Kyiv-grad, to Prince Vladimir. I will serve Rus' with my native faith-truth, protect the Russian land from enemies-enemies.

Says old Ivan Timofeevich:

- I bless you for good deeds, but there is no blessing for bad deeds. Defend our Russian land not for gold, not out of self-interest, but for honor, for heroic glory. In vain do not shed human blood, do not cry mothers and do not forget that you are a black, peasant family.

Ilya wanted to try his strength.

He drove up to the Oka River, rested his shoulder against a high mountain that was on the shore, and dumped it into the Oka River. The mountain blocked the channel, the river flowed in a new way.

Ilya took a rye crust loaf, lowered it into the Oka River, the Oke River himself said:

- And thank you, mother Oka-river, for giving water, for feeding Ilya Muromets.

In parting, he took with him a small handful of native land, mounted a horse, waved his whip ...

People saw how Ilya jumped up not a horse, but they did not see where he rode. Only the dust rose in a column across the field.

The first fight of Ilya Muromets

how Ilya grabbed the horse with a whip, Burushka-Kosmatushka soared, slipped a mile and a half 4
A verst is an old Russian measure of length, slightly more than a kilometer.

Where the horse's hooves struck, there the spring of living water clogged. At the key, Ilyusha cut down a damp oak tree, put a log house over the key, wrote the following words on the log house: “A Russian hero, the peasant son Ilya Ivanovich, rode here.”

Until now, a living spring is flowing there, an oak log house is still standing, and at night a beast-bear goes to the cold spring to drink water and gain heroic strength.

And Ilya went to Kyiv.

And in Chernigov weeping and groaning, funeral bells are ringing.

Chernihiv residents locked themselves in a stone cathedral 5
Cathedral - the main or large church in the city, in the old days usually the largest building in the city.

Crying, praying, waiting for death: three Tatar princes approached Chernigov, each with a force of forty thousand.

Ilya rode up to the three princes, grabbed them by the hair and said to them these words:

- Oh, you, Tatar princes! Should I take you prisoner or take off your violent heads? Take you prisoner - so I have nowhere to put you, I'm on the road - I'm not sitting at home, I have counted bread in a bag, for myself, not for freeloaders. Take off your heads - there is little honor for the hero Ilya Muromets. Disperse to your places, to your hordes, and spread the news to all enemies that your native Rus' is not empty - there are strong, mighty heroes in Rus', let the enemies think about it.

Then Ilya went to Chernigov-grad. He went into a stone cathedral, and there people are crying, hugging, saying goodbye to the white light.

- Hello, Chernigov peasants. Why are you guys crying, hugging, saying goodbye to the white light?

- How can we not cry: three princes surrounded Chernigov, each with a strength of forty thousand, - so death is coming to us.

- You go to the fortress wall, look into the open field, at the enemy army.

The Chernigovites went to the fortress wall, looked into the open field, and there the enemies were beaten and knocked down - as if a cornfield had been cut and crossed by a hail.

Chernihiv residents beat Ilya with their foreheads, bring him bread and salt, silver, gold, colored fabrics, expensive furs.

- Good fellow, Russian hero, what kind of tribe are you? What father, what mother? What is your first name? You come to us in Chernihiv governor 6
Voivode - the head of the city in old Rus', the leader of the warriors, fighting in Old Russian.

We will all obey you, give you honor, feed and drink you, you will live in wealth and honor.

Ilya Muromets shook his head:

- Good peasants of Chernigov, I am from under the city from under Murom, from the village of Karacharova, a Russian hero, a peasant son. I did not save you out of self-interest, and I do not need either silver or gold, I saved Russian people, red girls, little children, old mothers. I will not go to you as governor in wealth to live. My wealth is a heroic strength, my business is to serve Rus', to defend it from enemies.

Chernigov residents began to ask Ilya to stay with them for at least a day, to feast at a merry feast, but Ilya refuses this too:

“I don’t have time, good people. In Rus', there is a groan from the enemies, I need to get to the prince as soon as possible, get down to business. Give me bread and spring water for the road, and show me the straight road to Kyiv.

The people of Chernigov thought, they became sad:

- Oh, Ilya Muromets, the direct road to Kyiv is overgrown with grass, for thirty years no one has traveled along it.

- What's happened?

- The nightingale the robber, the son of Rakhmanovich, sat down there by the Smorodinnaya river. He sits on three oaks, on nine branches. How he whistles like a nightingale, roars like an animal - all the forests bend to the ground, the flowers crumble, the grasses dry, and people and horses fall dead. Go on, Ilya, dear roundabout. True, straight to Kyiv three hundred miles, and by a roundabout way - a whole thousand.

Ilya Muromets paused, and then shook his head:

- Not an honor, not praise for me, well done, to go by the roundabout way, to allow the Nightingale the Robber to prevent people from keeping their way to Kyiv. I'll go by the straight road, untravelled!

Ilya jumped on his horse, whipped Burushka with a whip, and he was like that, only the Chernigov people saw him!

Ilya Muromets and the Nightingale the Robber

Ilya Muromets rolls at full speed. Burushka-Kosmatushka jumps from mountain to mountain, jumps rivers-lakes, flies over hills.

Ilya jumped off his horse. He supports Burushka with his left hand, and with his right hand tears the oaks by the roots, lays oak floorings through the swamp. Thirty miles Ilya gati 7
Gat - flooring made of logs or brushwood for driving through a swamp.

I laid it - good people still ride on it.

So Ilya reached the Smorodinnaya River. The river flows wide, raging, rolls from stone to stone.

Burushka neighed, soared higher than the dark forest and jumped over the river in one leap.

The nightingale the robber sits across the river on three oaks, on nine branches. Neither a falcon will fly past those oaks, nor an animal will run, nor a reptile will crawl. Everyone is afraid of the Nightingale the Robber, no one wants to die ...

The Nightingale heard the galloping of horses, stood up on the oaks, and shouted in a terrible voice:

- What kind of ignoramus is driving here, past my reserved oaks? Sleep does not give the Nightingale the Robber!

Yes, as he whistles like a nightingale, growls like an animal, hisses like a snake, so the whole earth trembled, hundred-year-old oaks swayed, flowers crumbled, the grass died. Burushka-Kosmatushka fell to his knees.

And Ilya sits in the saddle - he does not move, the blond curls on his head do not flinch. He took a silk whip, hit the horse on the steep sides:

- You are a bag of grass, not a heroic horse! Have you not heard the squeak of a bird, the thorn of a viper? Get up on your feet, take me closer to the Nightingale's Nest, or I'll throw you to the wolves to be eaten!

Here Burushka jumped to his feet, galloped to the Nightingale's nest.

The Nightingale the Robber was surprised, leaned out of the nest.

And Ilya, without a moment's hesitation, pulled on a tight bow, lowered a red-hot arrow - a small arrow, weighing a whole pood.

The bowstring howled, an arrow flew - hit the Nightingale in the right eye, flew out through the left ear. The Nightingale rolled from the nest like a sheaf of oats. Ilya picked him up in his arms, tied him tightly with rawhide straps, tied him to the left stirrup.

Nightingale looks at Ilya, afraid to utter a word.

“Why are you looking at me, robber? Or have you never seen Russian heroes?

- Oh, I fell into strong hands, it’s clear that I won’t be on the loose anymore!

Ilya rode further along a straight road and galloped to the courtyard of the Nightingale the Robber. He has a yard of seven versts, on seven pillars, he has an iron pole around him, on each stamen there is a dome, on each dome is the head of a slain hero. And there are chambers in the yard 8
The chamber is a palace, a large beautiful building.

White-stone, gilded porches burn like heat.

The daughter of Nightingale saw the heroic horse, shouted to the whole yard:

- Rides, rides our father Nightingale Rakhmanovich, carries a rustic peasant by the stirrup!

The wife of the Nightingale the Robber looked out the window, clasped her hands:

"What are you talking about, you idiot!" This is a rustic peasant riding and carrying your father, Nightingale Rakhmanovich, at the stirrup!

Nightingale's daughter ran out into the yard, grabbed an iron board weighing ninety pounds and threw it at Ilya Muromets. But Ilya was dexterous and evasive, waved the board away with a heroic hand. The board flew back, hit Nightingale's daughter, killed her to death.

Nightingale's wife Ilya threw herself at the feet:

- You take from us, hero, silver, gold, priceless pearls, as much as your heroic horse can take away - only let go of our father, the Nightingale the Robber!

Ilya says to her in response:

“I don’t need unrighteous gifts. They are obtained by the tears of children, they are watered with Russian blood, acquired by the need of the peasants. Like a robber in the hands - he is always your friend, and if you let him go, you will cry with him again. I'll take Nightingale to Kyiv-grad, there I'll drink kvass, open the door for kalachi!

Ilya turned his horse and galloped to Kyiv. Nightingale fell silent, does not move.

Ilya rides around Kyiv, drives up to the princely chambers. He tied the horse to a chiseled post, left the Nightingale the Robber at the stirrup, and he himself went to the bright room.

There, Prince Vladimir is having a feast, Russian heroes are sitting at the tables. Ilya entered, bowed, stood at the threshold:

- Hello, Prince Vladimir with Princess Apraksia! Do you accept a visiting young man?

Vladimir the Red Sun asks him:

- Where are you from, good fellow? What is your name? What kind of tribe?

My name is Ilya. I'm from near Murom. Peasant son from the village of Karacharova. I was driving from Chernigov by a straight road.

Then Alyoshka Popovich jumped up from the table:

- Prince Vladimir, our affectionate sun, in the eyes of a man mocks you, lies! You can’t go by the direct road from Chernigov - the Nightingale the Robber has been sitting there for thirty years, he doesn’t let either horsemen or footmen pass. Drive, prince, the impudent peasant out of the palace!

Ilya did not look at Alyoshka Popovich, bowed to Prince Vladimir:

- I brought you, prince, the Nightingale the Robber: he is in your yard, tied to my horse. Don't you want to look at him?

Here the prince and the princess and all the heroes jumped up from their places, hurried after Ilya to the princely court. We ran up to Burushka-Kosmatushka.

And the robber hangs by the stirrup, hanging with a grass bag, tied hand and foot with straps. With his left eye he looks at Kyiv and at Prince Vladimir.

Prince Vladimir tells him:

- Come on, whistle like a nightingale, roar like an animal.

The Nightingale the Robber does not look at him, does not listen:

- You didn’t take me from the battle - it’s not for you to order me.

Then Vladimir-Prince Ilya Muromets asks:

“Order him, Ilya Ivanovich.

- Well, only you, prince, do not be angry with me, but I will close you and the princess with the skirts of my peasant caftan, otherwise there would be no trouble! And you, Nightingale Rakhmanovich, do what you are ordered to do.

- I can’t whistle, my mouth is baked.

- Give the Nightingale a cup of sweet wine in one and a half buckets, and another bitter beer, and a third of intoxicating honey, give it a bite to eat with grainy kalach - then it will whistle, amuse us.

They gave the Nightingale a drink, fed him, the Nightingale prepared to whistle.

“Look, Nightingale,” says Ilya, “don’t you dare whistle at the top of your voice, but whistle with a half-whistle, growl with a half-roar, otherwise it will be bad for you.”

The Nightingale did not listen to the order of Ilya Muromets, he wanted to ruin Kyiv-grad, he wanted to kill the prince and princess, all Russian heroes. He whistled with all the nightingale's whistle, roared with all his might, hissed with all the snake's spike.

What happened here!

The domes on the towers buckled, the porches fell off the walls, the 9
Okolenka - window frame.

They scattered in the upper rooms, the horses fled from the stables, all the heroes fell to the ground, crawled around the yard on all fours. Prince Vladimir himself is barely alive, staggering, hiding under Ilya's caftan.

Ilya got angry at the robber:

- I ordered you to amuse the prince and princess, and you have done so many troubles! Well, now I'll pay you for everything. It’s enough for you to tear down fathers and mothers, it’s enough for you to widow young women, orphan children, it’s enough to rob!

Ilya took a sharp saber, cut off the Nightingale's head. Here Nightingale and the end has come.

“Thank you, Ilya Muromets,” says Prince Vladimir. - Stay in my squad, you will be the senior hero, the boss over other heroes. And you live with us in Kyiv - live a century, from now until death.

And they went to feast.

Prince Vladimir seated Ilya next to him, next to himself, opposite the princess. Alyosha Popovich was offended; Alyosha grabbed a damask knife from the table and threw it at Ilya Muromets. On the fly, Ilya caught a sharp knife and stuck it into the oak table. He didn't even look at Alyosha.

Polite Dobrynushka approached Ilya:

- Glorious hero Ilya Ivanovich, you will be the eldest in our team. You take me and Alyosha Popovich as comrades. You will be with us for the eldest, and Alyosha and I for the youngest.

Here Alyosha flared up, jumped to his feet:

Are you sane, Dobrynushka? You yourself are of the boyar family, I am from the old priestly family, but no one knows him, does not know. Brought him out of nowhere, but he's acting weird with us in Kyiv, he's boasting!

There was a glorious hero Samson Samoylovich here. He approached Elijah and said to him:

- You, Ilya Ivanovich, do not be angry with Alyosha. He is of a priestly, boastful kind, scolds best of all, boasts best.

Here Alyosha shouted:

- Yes, what is it doing! Who did the Russian heroes choose as the elder? A forest hillbilly, unwashed!

Here Samson Samoylovich uttered a word:

- You make a lot of noise, Alyoshenka, and you speak stupid words. Rus' feeds on the village people. Yes, and glory does not go by tribe, but by heroic deeds and feats. For deeds and glory to Ilyushenka!

And Alyosha, like a puppy on tour 10
Tur is a wild bull.

Barks:

- How much glory will he get, drinking honey at merry feasts!

Ilya could not stand it, jumped to his feet:

- The priest's son said the right word - it’s not good for a hero to sit at a feast, to grow a stomach. Let me go, prince, to the wide steppes - to see if the enemy is prowling in his native Rus', if there are robbers somewhere.

And Ilya came out of the grid 11
Gridnya - a room at the palace for the princely squad,

Won.

Ilya Muromets and Kalin Tsar

For many years, Ilya Muromets stood at the outposts, fought with the enemies of Mother Rus'. He didn’t get off his horse, he didn’t let go of the heroic sword, he didn’t build himself a mansion, he didn’t start a family for himself. And once he came to the capital city of Kiev, he angered Prince Vladimir at the feast. Then the prince did not remember about military exploits, did not look at the heroic honor - he planted Ilya in cold cellars, behind cast-iron locks, behind iron bars.

Other heroes did not like this, they mounted good horses and drove away from Kyiv.

Quiet, bored in the prince's room.

There is no one to advise the prince with, no one to feast with, no one to go hunting with. Not a single hero visits Kyiv.

And Ilya is sitting in a deep cellar. Iron bars are locked on the locks, the bars are littered with oak, rhizomes, covered with yellow sand for the fortress. Not even a gray mouse can get to Ilya.

Then death would have come to the old one, but the prince had a clever daughter. She knows that Ilya Muromets could protect Kyiv-grad from enemies, could stand up for the Russian people, protect both mother and Prince Vladimir from grief.

So she was not afraid of the prince's wrath, took the keys from her mother, ordered her faithful servants to dig secret tunnels to the cellar and began to bring food and sweet honey to Ilya Muromets.

Ilya is sitting in the cellar alive and well, and Vladimir thinks that he has been dead for a long time.

Once the prince sits in the upper room, he thinks a bitter thought. Suddenly he hears - someone is jumping along the road; hooves beat like thunder. The boarded gates fell down, the whole chamber trembled, the floorboards in the passage jumped. The doors were torn off the forged hinges, and a Tatar entered the room - an ambassador from the Tatar Tsar Kalin himself.

The messenger himself is as tall as an old oak tree, his head is like a beer cauldron.

The messenger gives the prince a letter, and in that letter it is written:

“I, Tsar Kalin, ruled the Tatars. Tatars are not enough for me - I wanted Rus'. You surrender to me, Prince of Kiev, otherwise I will burn all of Rus' with fire, trample on horses, harness men to carts, chop up children and old people, I will make you, prince, guard the horses, the princess - bake cakes in the kitchen.

Here Prince Vladimir burst into tears, burst into tears, went to Princess Apraksia:

- What are we going to do, princess? I angered all the heroes, and now there is no one to protect us. I killed the faithful Ilya of Muromets with a stupid, starving death. And now we have to flee from Kyiv.

His young daughter says to the prince:

- Let's go, father, to look at Ilya - maybe he is still alive in the cellar.

“Oh, you foolish fool! If you take your head off your shoulders, will it grow back? Can Ilya go without food for three years? For a long time already, his bones crumbled to dust.

And she says one thing:

- Send the servants to look at Ilya,

The prince sent to dig deep cellars, to open iron grates.

The servants of the cellar opened, and there Ilya was sitting alive, a candle was burning in front of him. His servants saw him and rushed to the prince.

The prince and princess went down to the cellars. Prince Ilya bows to the damp earth:

Help us, Ilyushenka! The Tatar army overlaid Kyiv with its suburbs. Come out, Ilya, from the cellar, stand by me.

- I spent three years on your orders in the cellars, I don’t want to stand for you!

The princess bowed to him:

- Wait for me, Ilya Ivanovich!

“I won’t leave the cellar for you.

What to do here? The prince prays, the princess cries, but Ilya does not want to look at them.

A young princely daughter came out here, bowed to Ilya Muromets:

- Not for the prince, not for the princess, not for me, young, but for poor widows, for small children - come out, Ilya Ivanovich, from the cellar, you stand up for the Russian people, for your native Rus'!

Ilya got up here, straightened his heroic shoulders, left the cellar, sat on Burushka-Kosmatushka, galloped to the Tatar camp. I rode and rode - I reached the Tatar army.

Ilya Muromets looked, shook his head: in the open field, the Tatar troops were visible and invisible. A gray bird cannot fly around in a day, a fast horse cannot go around in a week.

Among the Tatar army stands a golden tent. In that tent sits Kalin the king. The king himself is like a hundred-year-old oak, his legs are maple logs, his hands are spruce rakes, his head is like a copper cauldron, one mustache is gold, the other is silver.

Tsar Ilya Muromets saw, began to laugh, shake his beard:

- Puppy ran into big dogs! Where can you deal with me - I will put you in the palm of my hand, I will slam the other, only a wet place will remain! Where did you jump out so that you yelp at Kalina the Tsar?

Ilya Muromets tells him:

“Before your time, Kalin Tsar, you boast.

I am not a great hero, the old Cossack Ilya Muromets, and, perhaps, I am not afraid of you either!

Kalin the Tsar heard this and jumped to his feet:

The earth is full of rumors about you. If you are that glorious hero Ilya Muromets, then sit down with me at the oak table, eat my sweet dishes, drink my overseas wines, do not serve only the Russian prince - serve me, the Tsar of the Tatars.

Ilya Muromets got angry here:

- There were no traitors in Rus'! I did not come to feast with you, but to drive you away from Rus'.

Again the king began to persuade him:

- The glorious Russian hero Ilya Muromets, I have two daughters, they have braids like a crow's wing, their eyes are like slits, the dress is sewn with a yacht and pearls. I will give any marriage to you, you will be my favorite son-in-law.

Ilya Muromets became even more angry:

- Oh, you scarecrow overseas, scared of the Russian spirit! Come out soon for a mortal battle - I will take out my heroic sword, I will woo on your neck.

Then Kalin the Tsar was furious. He jumped to his maple feet, brandishing his crooked sword, shouting in a loud voice:

“I’ll cut you down with a sword, I’ll prick you with a spear, I’ll cook stew from your bones!”

They had a great fight here. They cut with swords - only sparks from under the swords spray. They broke their swords and threw them away. They prick with spears - only the wind makes noise and thunder rumbles. They broke their spears and threw them away. They began to fight with their bare hands.

Tsar Kalin beats and oppresses Ilyushenka, breaks his white arms, bends his frisky legs. Tsar Ilya threw on the damp sand, sat on his chest, took out a sharp knife.

- I will rip your mighty chest, I will look into your Russian heart.

Ilya Muromets tells him:

- In the Russian heart there is direct honor and love for Mother Rus'.

Kalin-Tsar threatens with a knife, scoffs:

- And indeed you are not a great hero, Ilya Muromets; That's right, you eat little bread.

- And I'll eat kalach and I'm full from that.

The Tatar king laughed:

- And I eat three ovens of rolls, in cabbage soup I eat a whole bull!

“Nothing,” says Ilyushenka. - My father had a gluttonous cow, she ate and drank a lot and burst.

Ilya says, and he himself presses closer to the Russian land. From the Russian land, strength comes to him, rolls over Ilya's veins, fastens his heroic hands.

Kalin-tsar swung his knife at him, and as Ilyushenka moved, Kalin-tsar flew off him like a feather.

- I, - Ilya shouts, - have tripled the strength from the Russian land!

Yes, as he grabs Kalin the Tsar by the maple legs, he began to wave the Tatar around, beat and crush the Tatar army with him. Where he waves, there will be a street; if he waves, there is an alley.

Beats, crushes Ilya, says:

- This is for you little kids! This is for peasant blood! For evil insults, for empty fields! 3a dashing robbery, for robbery, for the whole Russian land!

Here the Tatars went to run away. They run across the field, shouting in a loud voice:

- Oh, we didn’t have to see Russian people, we wouldn’t meet more Russian heroes!

Ilya threw Kalin the Tsar, like a worthless rag.

Since then, it’s been enough to go to Rus'!

Glory, glory to native Rus'! Do not gallop enemies on our land, do not trample their horses on the Russian land, do not overshadow our red sun!

Ilya Muromets and the Nightingale the Robber

Ilya Muromets gallops at full speed. Burushka-Kosmatushka jumps from mountain to mountain, jumps rivers-lakes, flies over hills.

Ilya jumped off his horse. He supports Burushka with his left hand, and with his right hand tears the oaks by the roots, lays oak floorings through the swamp. Thirty miles Ilya gati laid, - until now, good people ride on it.

So Ilya reached the Smorodina River.

The river flows wide, raging, rolls from stone to stone.

Burushka neighed, soared higher than the dark forest and jumped over the river in one leap.

- What kind of ignoramus is driving here, past my reserved oaks? Sleep does not give the Nightingale the Robber!

And Ilya sits in the saddle, does not move, the blond curls on his head do not flinch. He took a silk whip, hit the horse on the steep sides:

- You are a bag of grass, not a heroic horse! Haven't you heard the squeak of a bird, a thorn of a viper?! Get up on your feet, take me closer to the Nightingale's Nest, or I'll throw you to the wolves to be eaten!

Here Burushka jumped to his feet, galloped to the Nightingale's nest. The Nightingale the Robber was surprised, leaned out of the nest. And Ilya, without a moment's hesitation, pulled on a tight bow, lowered a red-hot arrow, a small arrow, weighing a whole pood. The bowstring howled, an arrow flew, hit the Nightingale in the right eye, flew out through the left ear. The Nightingale rolled from the nest like a sheaf of oats. Ilya picked him up in his arms, tied him tightly with rawhide straps, tied him to the left stirrup.

Nightingale looks at Ilya, afraid to utter a word.

- Why are you looking at me, robber, or have you not seen Russian heroes?

- Oh, I fell into strong hands, it seems that I will no longer be on the loose.

He has a yard of seven miles, on seven pillars, he has an iron pole around him, on each stamen there is a head of a slain hero. And in the yard there are white-stone chambers, gilded porches burn like heat.

The daughter of Nightingale saw the heroic horse, shouted to the whole yard:

- Rides, rides our father Nightingale Rakhmanovich, carries a rustic peasant by the stirrup!

The wife of the Nightingale the Robber looked out the window, clasped her hands:

"What are you talking about, you idiot!" This is a rustic peasant riding and carrying your father, Nightingale Rakhmanovich, at the stirrup!

The eldest daughter of the Nightingale - Pelka - ran out into the yard, grabbed an iron board weighing ninety pounds and threw it at Ilya Muromets. But Ilya was dexterous and evasive, waved the board away with a heroic hand, the board flew back, hit Pelka, killed her to death.

Nightingale's wife Ilya threw herself at the feet:

- You take from us, hero, silver, gold, priceless pearls, as much as your heroic horse can take away, only let go of our father, Nightingale Rakhmanovich!

Ilya says to her in response:

“I don’t need unrighteous gifts. They are obtained by the tears of children, they are watered with Russian blood, acquired by the need of the peasants! Like a robber in the hands - he is always your friend, and if you let him go, you will cry with him again. I'll take Nightingale to Kyiv-grad, there I'll drink kvass, open the door for kalachi!

Ilya turned his horse and galloped to Kyiv. Nightingale fell silent, does not move.

Ilya rides around Kyiv, drives up to the princely chambers. He tied the horse to a chiseled post, left the Nightingale the Robber with the horse, and he himself went to the bright room.

There, Prince Vladimir is having a feast, Russian heroes are sitting at the tables. Ilya entered, bowed, stood at the threshold:

- Hello, Prince Vladimir with Princess Apraksia, are you accepting a visiting young fellow?

Vladimir the Red Sun asks him:

- Where are you from, good fellow, what is your name? What kind of tribe?

My name is Ilya. I'm from near Murom. Peasant son from the village of Karacharova. I was driving from Chernigov by a straight road. Then Alyosha Popovich jumped up from the table:

- Prince Vladimir, our affectionate sun, in the eyes of a man mocks you, lies. You can not go by road direct from Chernigov. The Nightingale the Robber has been sitting there for thirty years, not allowing either horsemen or footmen to pass. Drive, prince, the impudent peasant out of the palace!

Ilya did not look at Alyoshka Popovich, bowed to Prince Vladimir:

- I brought you, prince. Nightingale the robber, he is in your yard, tied to my horse. Don't you want to look at him?

Here the prince and the princess and all the heroes jumped up from their places, hurried after Ilya to the princely court. We ran up to Burushka-Kosmatushka.

And the robber hangs by the stirrup, hanging with a grass bag, tied hand and foot with straps. With his left eye he looks at Kyiv and at Prince Vladimir.

Prince Vladimir tells him:

- Come on, whistle like a nightingale, roar like an animal. The Nightingale the Robber does not look at him, does not listen:

- You didn’t take me from the battle, it’s not for you to order me. Then Vladimir-Prince Ilya Muromets asks:

“Order him, Ilya Ivanovich.

- Well, only you are with me, the prince do not be angry, but I will close you and the princess with the skirts of my peasant caftan, otherwise there would be no trouble! And you. Nightingale Rakhmanovich, do what you are ordered!

- I can’t whistle, my mouth is baked.

- Give the Nightingale a cup of sweet wine in one and a half buckets, and another bitter beer, and a third of intoxicating honey, give him a bite to eat with a kalach, then he will whistle, amuse us ...

They gave the Nightingale a drink, fed him; The Nightingale prepared to whistle.

You look. Nightingale, - says Ilya, - do not you dare whistle at the top of your voice, but whistle with a half-whistle, growl with a half-roar, otherwise it will be bad for you.

What happened here!

The poppy domes on the towers crooked, the porches fell off the walls, the glass in the upper rooms burst, the horses fled from the stables, all the heroes fell to the ground, crawled around the yard on all fours. Prince Vladimir himself is barely alive, staggering, hiding under Ilya's caftan.

Ilya got angry at the robber:

I ordered you to amuse the prince and princess, and you have done so many troubles! Well, now I'll pay for everything with you! It’s enough for you to tear down fathers and mothers, it’s enough for you to widow young women, orphan children, it’s enough to rob!

Ilya took a sharp saber, cut off the Nightingale's head. Here the end of the Nightingale has come.

“Thank you, Ilya Muromets,” says Prince Vladimir. And you live with us in Kyiv, live a century, from now until death.

And they went to feast.

Prince Vladimir seated Ilya next to him, next to him opposite the princess. Alyosha Popovich was offended; Alyosha grabbed a damask knife from the table and threw it at Ilya Muromets. On the fly, Ilya caught a sharp knife and stuck it into the oak table. He didn't even look at Alyosha.

Polite Dobrynushka approached Ilya:

- Glorious hero, Ilya Ivanovich, you will be the eldest in our squad. You take me and Alyosha Popovich as comrades. You will be with us for the eldest, and I and Alyosha for the youngest.

Here Alyosha flared up, jumped to his feet:

Are you sane, Dobrynushka? You yourself are of the boyar family, I am from the old priestly family, but no one knows him, no one knows, he was brought from nowhere, but he is acting weird with us in Kiev, boasting.

There was a glorious hero Samson Samoylovich here. He approached Elijah and said to him:

- You, Ilya Ivanovich, do not be angry with Alyosha, he is of the priestly boastful family, scolds best of all, boasts better. Here Alyosha shouted:

- What is it doing? Who did the Russian heroes choose as the elder? Unwashed woodland village!

Here Samson Samoylovich uttered a word:

- You make a lot of noise, Alyoshenka, and you speak stupid words - Rus' feeds on the village people. Yes, and glory does not go by tribe, but by heroic deeds and feats. For deeds and glory to Ilyushenka!

And Alyosha, like a puppy, barks at the tour:

- How much glory will he get, drinking honey at merry feasts!

Ilya could not stand it, jumped to his feet:

- The priest's son said the right word - it’s not good for a hero to sit at a feast, to grow a stomach. Let me go, prince, to the wide steppes to see if the enemy is prowling in his native Rus', if there are robbers somewhere.

And Ilya came out of Gridni.

Bylina. Ilya Muromets

Ilya Muromets and the Nightingale the Robber

Early, early, Ilya left Murom, and he wanted to get to the capital city of Kyiv by lunchtime. His frisky horse gallops a little lower than a walking cloud, higher than a standing forest. And quickly, soon the hero drove up to the city of Chernigov. And near Chernigov there is an uncountable enemy force. There is no pedestrian or horseback access. The enemy hordes are approaching the fortress walls, they are thinking of capturing and devastating Chernigov.

Ilya drove up to the myriad rati and began to beat the rapists-invaders, like mowing grass. And with a sword, and a spear, and a heavy club4, and a heroic horse tramples enemies. And soon he nailed, trampled down that great enemy force.

The gates in the fortress wall opened, Chernigov citizens came out, bowed low to the hero and called him governor in Chernigov-grad.

- Thank you for the honor, peasants of Chernigov, but it’s not for me to sit as governor in Chernigov, - answered Ilya Muromets. - I'm in a hurry to the capital Kyiv-grad. Show me the right way!

“You are our redeemer, glorious Russian hero, the straight road to Kyiv-grad has become overgrown, muraved. The detour is now walked on foot and ridden on horseback. Near the Black Dirt, near the Smorodinka River, the Nightingale the Robber, Odikhmantyev's son, settled. The robber sits on twelve oaks. The villain whistles like a nightingale, screams like an animal, and from the whistle of a nightingale and from the cry of an animal grass-ant all withered, azure flowers crumble, dark forests bend to the ground, and people lie dead! Do not go that way, glorious hero!

Ilya did not listen to the Chernigovites, he went straight on the road. He drives up to the Smorodinka River and to the Black Mud.

The Nightingale the Robber noticed him and began to whistle like a nightingale, shouted like an animal, the villain hissed like a snake. The grass withered, the flowers crumbled, the trees bowed to the ground, the horse under Ilya began to stumble.

The hero got angry, swung a silk whip at the horse.

- What are you, a wolf's satiety, a bag of grass, began to stumble? Have you not heard, apparently, the whistle of a nightingale, the thorn of a snake, and the cry of an animal?

He himself grabbed a tight, explosive bow and shot at the Nightingale the Robber, wounded the right eye and right hand of the monster, and the villain fell to the ground. The bogatyr fastened the robber to the saddle pommel and drove the Nightingale across the open field past the nightingale's lair. The sons and daughters saw how they were carrying their father, tied to a saddle pommel, grabbed swords and horns, ran to rescue the Nightingale the Robber. And Ilya scattered them, scattered them and, without delay, began to continue his path.

Ilya came to the capital city of Kyiv, to the wide court of the prince. And the glorious Prince Vladimir Krasno Solnyshko with the princes of his knees, with honorable boyars and mighty heroes, just sat down at the dinner table.

Ilya put his horse in the middle of the yard, he himself entered the dining room. He laid the cross in a written way, bowed on four sides in a learned way, and to the Great Prince himself in person.

Prince Vladimir began to ask:

- Where are you from, good fellow, what is your name, called by your patronymic?

- I am from the city of Murom, from the suburban village of Karacharova, Ilya Muromets.

- How long ago, good fellow, did you leave Murom?

“I left Murom early in the morning,” answered Ilya, “I wanted to be in time for mass in Kyiv-grad, but I hesitated on the way, along the way. And I was driving along a straight road past the city of Chernigov, past the Smorodinka River and Black Mud.

The prince frowned, frowned, looked unkindly:

Popliteal - subordinate, subordinate.

- You, peasant peasant, are mocking us in the face! An enemy army is standing near Chernigov - an innumerable force, and there is neither a foot nor a horse there, nor a passage. And from Chernigov to Kyiv, the straight road has long been overgrown, covered with murals. Near the river Smorodinka and Black Mud, the robber Nightingale, the son of Odikhmant, sits on twelve oaks, and does not let foot or horse through. Even a falcon can't fly there!

Ilya Muromets answers those words:

- Near Chernigov, the enemy army is all beaten and fought, and the Nightingale the Robber is wounded in your yard, strapped to the saddle.

Prince Vladimir jumped out from behind the table, threw a marten fur coat over one shoulder, a sable hat over one ear, and ran out onto the red porch.

I saw the Nightingale the Robber, strapped to the saddle pommel:

- Whistle, Nightingale, like a nightingale, scream, dog, like an animal, hiss, robber, like a snake!

“It’s not you, prince, who captured me, defeated me. I won, Ilya Muromets captivated me. And I will not listen to anyone but him.

“Order, Ilya Muromets,” says Prince Vladimir, “to whistle, shout, hiss at the Nightingale!”

Ilya Muromets ordered:

- Whistle, Nightingale, half a nightingale's whistle, cry half a beast's cry, hiss a snake's half-thorn!

“From the bloody wound,” the Nightingale says, “my mouth is dry. You ordered me to pour a cup of green wine for me, not a small cup - one and a half buckets, and then I will amuse Prince Vladimir.

They brought the nightingale the robber a glass of green wine. The villain took the chara with one hand, drank the chara for a single spirit.

After that he whistled in a full whistle like a nightingale, shouted in a full cry like an animal, hissed in a full spike like a snake.

Here the domes on the towers grimaced, and the knees in the towers crumbled, all the people who were in the yard lay dead. Vladimir, Prince of Stolno-Kiev, hides himself with a marten coat and crawls around.

Ilya Muromets got angry. He mounted a good horse, took the Nightingale the Robber into the open field:

- It's enough for you, villain, to destroy people! - And cut off the Nightingale's wild head.

So much the Nightingale the Robber lived in the world. That's where the story about him ended.

Ilya Muromets and Poor Idolishche

Once Ilya Muromets left far from Kyiv in an open field, in a wide expanse. I shot geese, swans and gray ducks there. On the way he met the elder Ivanishche - a cross-country Kalika. Ilya asks:

— How long have you been from Kyiv?

- Recently I was in Kyiv. There, Prince Vladimir and Apraksia are in trouble. There were no heroes in the city, and the filthy Idolishche arrived. As tall as a haystack, eyes like bowls, a slanting sazhen in the shoulders. He sits in the prince's chambers, treats himself, shouts at the prince and princess: “Give it and bring it!” And there is no one to defend them.

“Oh, old Ivanishche,” says Ilya Muromets, “you are more stout and stronger than me, but you don’t have the courage and grip!” You take off your calico dress, we will change clothes for a while.

Ilya dressed up in a caliche dress, came to Kyiv to the princely court and cried out in a loud voice:

- Give, prince, a almsman to a passer-by!

"What are you yelling at, you bastard?! Enter the dining room. I want to chat with you! shouted the filthy Idolish through the window.

In the shoulders oblique sazhen - broad shoulders.

Nishchekhlibina is a contemptuous appeal to a beggar.

The hero entered the room, stood at the lintel. The prince and princess did not recognize him.

And Idolishche, lounging, sits at the table, grinning:

- Have you seen, Kalika, the hero Ilyushka of Muromets? What is his height, stature? Do you eat and drink a lot?

- Ilya Muromets is just like me in height and stature. He eats a loaf of bread a day. Green wine, standing beer drinks a cup a day, and that's what happens.

- What kind of hero is he? Idolishche laughed, grinned. - Here I am a hero - at a time I eat a fried three-year-old bull, I drink a barrel of green wine. When I meet Ileyka, the Russian hero, I will put him in the palm of my hand, slap the other, and there will be dirt and water left from him!

To that boast, the cross-eyed Kalika answers:

- Our priest also had a gluttonous pig. She ate and drank a lot until she vomited.

Those speeches did not fall in love with Idolisch. He threw a yard-long * damask knife, and Ilya Muromets was evasive, evaded the knife.

The knife stuck into the doorway, the doorway flew out with a crash in the canopy. Here Ilya Muromets, in lapotochki and in a calico dress, grabbed the filthy Idolish, raised him above his head and threw the braggart-rapist on the brick floor.

So much Idolishche has been alive. And the glory of the mighty Russian hero is sung century after century.

Ilya Muromets and Kalin Tsar

Prince Vladimir started a feast of honors and did not call Ilya of Muromets. The hero took offense at the prince; he went out into the street, pulled on his tight bow, began to shoot at the church's silver domes, at the gilded crosses, and shouted to the peasants of Kyiv:

- Collect gilded and silver church domes, bring them to the circle - to the drinking house. Let's start our own feast-dining for all the peasants of Kyiv!

Prince Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev was angry, ordered to put Ilya Muromets in a deep cellar for three years.

And Vladimir's daughter ordered to make the keys to the cellar and, secretly from the prince, ordered to feed and water the glorious hero, sent him soft feather beds, downy pillows.

How much, how little time has passed, a messenger rode to Kyiv from Tsar Kalin.

He waved the doors wide open, without asking he ran into the prince's tower, threw a messenger letter to Vladimir. And in the letter it is written: “I order you, Prince Vladimir, to quickly and quickly clear the streets of the Streltsy and the large courtyards of the princes and instruct all the streets and lanes of foamy beer, standing mead and green wine, so that my army would have something to treat themselves to in Kiev. If you don't follow orders, blame yourself. I will shake Rus' with fire, I will destroy Kyiv-city and put you and the princess to death. I give you three days."

Prince Vladimir read the letter, grieved, saddened.

He walks around the upper room, sheds burning tears, wipes himself with a silk handkerchief:

- Oh, why did I put Ilya Muromets in a deep cellar and ordered that cellar to be covered with yellow sand! Go, is our defender not alive now? And there are no other heroes in Kyiv now. And there is no one to stand up for the faith, for the Russian land, no one to stand up for the capital city, to defend me with the princess and my daughter!

“Father-prince of Stolno-Kiev, they didn’t order me to be executed, let me say a word,” Vladimir’s daughter said. - Our Ilya Muromets is alive and well. I secretly gave water to you, fed him, cared for him. Forgive me, self-willed daughter!

“You are clever, you are intelligent,” Prince Vladimir praised his daughter.

He grabbed the key to the cellar and ran after Ilya Muromets himself. He brought him to the white-stone chambers, hugged, kissed the hero, treated him with sugar dishes, gave him sweet overseas wines, spoke these words:

- Don't be angry, Ilya Muromets! Let what was between us, bylyom grow. We've been hit by misfortune. The dog Kalin-Tsar approached the capital city of Kyiv, led countless hordes. It threatens to ruin Rus', to roll with fire, to ruin Kiev-city, to captivate all the people of Kiev, and now there are no heroes. Everyone is standing at the outposts and has gone on patrols. I have all my hope for you alone, glorious hero Ilya Muromets!

Once Ilya Muromets cool off, treat himself at the princely table. He quickly went to his yard. First of all, he visited his prophetic horse. The horse, well-fed, smooth, well-groomed, neighed happily when he saw the owner.

Ilya Muromets said to his parobka:

- Thank you for grooming the horse, taking care of it!

And he began to saddle the horse. First imposed

a sweatshirt, and on the sweatshirt he put felt, on the felt a Cherkassy unsupported saddle. He tightened twelve silk girths with damask studs, with red gold buckles, not for beauty, for pleasing, for the sake of a heroic fortress: silk girths stretch, do not tear, damask steel bends, does not break, and red gold buckles do not rust. Ilya himself was equipped with heroic battle armor. He had a damask mace with him, a long spear, girded a battle sword, grabbed a road shalyga and drove out into an open field. He sees that the Basurman forces near Kiev are many. From the cry of a man and from the neighing of a horse, the human heart desponds. Wherever you look, nowhere can you see the end-edge of the force-hordes of the enemy.

Ilya Muromets drove off, climbed a high hill, he looked towards the east and saw, far, far away in an open field, white-linen tents. He directed there, urged the horse, saying: “It is clear that our Russian heroes are standing there, they do not know about misfortune, trouble.”

And soon he drove up to the white-linen tents, went into the tent of the greatest hero Samson Samoylovich, his godfather. And the heroes at that time dined.

Ilya Muromets spoke:

“Bread and salt, Holy Russian heroes!”

Samson Samoylovich answered:

- And come on, perhaps, our glorious hero Ilya Muromets! Sit down with us to dine, taste the bread and salt!

Here the heroes got up on frisky legs, greeted Ilya Muromets, hugged him, kissed him three times, invited him to the table.

Thank you, brothers of the cross. I didn’t come to dine, but I brought joyless, sad news, ”Ilya Muromets said. - There is an uncountable army near Kiev. The dog Kalin-Tsar is threatening to take our capital city and burn it down, cut down all the Kiev peasants, steal their wives and daughters in full, ruin the churches, bring Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraksia to an evil death. And I came to call you to fight with the enemies!

The heroes answered those speeches:

- We will not, Ilya Muromets, saddle horses, we will not go to fight, fight for Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraksia. They have many close princes and boyars. The Grand Prince of Stolno-Kiev gives them water and feeds them and favors them, but we have nothing from Vladimir and Apraksia the Queen. Do not persuade us, Ilya Muromets!

Ilya Muromets did not like those speeches. He mounted his good horse and rode up to the hordes of the enemy. He began to trample on the strength of enemies with a horse, stab with a spear, chop with a sword and beat with a roadside shalyga. Beats, strikes tirelessly. And the heroic horse under him spoke in human language:

- Do not beat you, Ilya Muromets, enemy forces. Tsar Kalin has mighty heroes and daring meadows, and deep digs have been dug in the open field. As soon as we sit down in the digs, I will jump out of the first dig and I will jump out of the other dig and I will carry you out, Ilya, and I will even jump out of the third dig, but I won’t be able to carry you out.

Ilya did not like those speeches. He raised a silk whip, began to beat the horse on steep hips, saying:

- Oh, you treacherous dog, wolf meat, grass bag! I feed, sing you, take care of you, and you want to destroy me!

And then the horse with Ilya sank into the first dig. From there, the faithful horse jumped out, carried the hero on himself. And again the hero began to beat the enemy force, like mowing grass. And another time the horse with Ilya sank into a deep dig. And from this tunnel a frisky horse carried the hero.

Beats Ilya Muromets basurman, sentences:

- Do not go yourself and order your children-grandchildren to go to fight in Great Rus' forever and ever.

At that time, they sank with the horse into the third deep dig. His faithful horse jumped out of the tunnel, but Ilya Muromets could not bear it. Enemies ran to catch the horse, but the faithful horse did not give up, he galloped far into the open field. Then dozens of heroes, hundreds of warriors attacked Ilya Muromets in a dig, tied him up, handcuffed him, and brought him to the tent to Tsar Kalin. Kalin-Tsar met him kindly and friendly, ordered to untie-unchain the hero:

- Sit down, Ilya Muromets, with me, Tsar Kalin, at a single table, eat whatever your heart desires, drink my honey drinks. I will give you precious clothes, I will give you, as necessary, a golden treasury. Do not serve Prince Vladimir, but serve me, Tsar Kalin, and you will be my neighbor boyar prince!

Ilya Muromets looked at Tsar Kalin, grinned unkindly and said:

“I won’t sit at the same table with you, I won’t eat your dishes, I won’t drink your honey drinks, I don’t need precious clothes, I don’t need countless golden treasuries. I will not serve you - the dog Tsar Kalin! And henceforth I will faithfully defend, defend Great Rus', stand for the capital city of Kiev, for my people and for Prince Vladimir. And I’ll tell you more: you’re stupid, the dog Kalin-tsar, if you think in Rus' to find traitors-defectors!

He swung open the carpet-curtain door and jumped out of the tent. And there the guards, the royal guards, fell on Ilya Muromets in a cloud: some with fetters, some with ropes, they get along to tie the unarmed.

Yes, it was not there! The mighty hero tensed up, tensed up: he scattered, scattered the infidels and slipped through the enemy force-army into an open field, into a wide expanse.

He whistled with a heroic whistle, and, out of nowhere, his faithful horse came running with armor and equipment.

Ilya Muromets rode out to a high hill, pulled a tight bow and sent a red-hot arrow, saying himself: “You fly, red-hot arrow, into the white tent, fall, arrow, on the white chest of my godfather, slip and make a small scratch. He will understand: it can be bad for me alone in battle. An arrow hit Samson's tent. Samson the hero woke up, jumped up on frisky legs and shouted in a loud voice:

“Get up, mighty Russian heroes!” A red-hot arrow flew from the godson - bad news: he needed help in the battle with the Saracens. In vain, he would not have sent an arrow. You saddle, without delay, good horses, and we will go to fight not for the sake of Prince Vladimir, but for the sake of the Russian people, to the rescue of the glorious Ilya Muromets!

Soon twelve heroes jumped to the rescue, and Ilya Muromets with them in the thirteenth. They pounced on the hordes of the enemy, nailed down, trampled down with horses all my innumerable strength, they took Tsar Kalin in full, brought him to the chambers of Prince Vladimir. And Kalin the king spoke:

- Do not execute me, Prince Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev, I will pay tribute to you and order my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren to never go to Rus' with a sword, but to live in peace with you. In that we will sign the letter.

Here the old-fashioned epic ended.

Nikitich

Dobrynya and the Serpent

Dobrynya grew up to full age. Heroic grips awakened in him. Dobrynya Nikitich began to ride on a good horse in an open field and trample kites with a frisky horse.

His dear mother, the honest widow Afimya Alexandrovna, said to him:

“My child, Dobrynushka, you don’t need to swim in the Pochai River. Pochai is an angry river, it is angry, ferocious. The first jet in the river cuts like fire, sparks fall from the other jet, and smoke pours from the third jet. And you don’t need to go to the distant mountain Sorochinskaya and go there to snake holes-caves.

Young Dobrynya Nikitich did not listen to his mother. He went out of the white-stone chambers into a wide, spacious courtyard, went into a standing stable, led out the heroic horse and began to saddle: first he put on a sweatshirt, and on the sweatshirt he put felt, and on the felt a Cherkassy saddle, decorated with silks, gold, tightened twelve silk girths. The buckles at the girths are pure gold, and the pegs at the buckles are damask, not for the sake of beauty, but for the sake of strength: after all, silk does not tear, damask steel does not bend, red gold does not rust, the hero sits on a horse, does not age.

Then he attached a quiver with arrows to the saddle, took a tight heroic bow, took a heavy club and a long spear. The young man called in a loud voice, ordered him to be escorted.

It was visible how he mounted a horse, but not how he rode away from the yard, only a dusty smoke curled like a pillar behind the hero.

Dobrynya traveled with a steamer across an open field. They did not meet any geese, or swans, or gray ducks.

Then the hero drove up to the Pochai River. The horse near Dobrynya was exhausted, and he himself became wise under the baking sun. I wanted a good fellow to swim. He dismounted from his horse, took off his travel clothes, ordered the horse to be dragged and fed with silk grass-ant, and he swam away from the shore in one thin linen shirt.

He swims and completely forgot that his mother was punishing ... And at that time, just from the eastern side, a dashing misfortune rolled up: the Serpent-Mountainous Mountain with three heads, twelve trunks flew in, eclipsed the sun with filthy wings. He saw an unarmed man in the river, rushed down, grinned:

- You are now, Dobrynya, in my hands. If I want, I’ll burn you with fire, if I want, I’ll take you full of life, I’ll take you to the Sorochinsky mountains, into deep holes into snakes!

It throws sparks, scorches with fire, catches the good fellow with its trunks.

And Dobrynya is agile, evasive, dodged the snake's trunks and dived deep into the depths, and emerged right at the very shore. He jumped onto the yellow sand, and the Serpent flies behind him. The good fellow is looking for heroic armor, than he should fight with the Serpent-monster, and did not find either a couple, or a horse, or military equipment. The couple of the Serpent-Gorynishcha was frightened, he ran away and drove away the horse with armor.

Dobrynya sees: things are not right, and he has no time to think and guess ... He noticed on the sand a hat-cap of Greek soil, and quickly filled his hat with yellow sand and threw that three-pound cap at the opponent. The Serpent fell on the damp ground. The hero jumped up to the Serpent on his white chest, he wants to kill him. Then the filthy monster pleaded:

- Young Dobrynushka Nikitich! Don't beat me, don't execute me, let me go alive, unharmed. We will write notes between ourselves with you: do not fight forever, do not fight. I will not fly to Rus', ruin villages with villages, I will not take people full. And you, my elder brother, do not go to the Sorochinsky mountains, do not trample the little serpents with a frisky horse.

Young Dobrynya, he is gullible: he listened to flattering speeches, let the Serpent go free, on all four sides, he quickly found a couple with his horse, with equipment. After that he returned home and bowed low to his mother:

- Empress mother! Bless me for the heroic military service.

Mother blessed him, and Dobrynya went to the capital city of Kyiv. He arrived at the prince's court, tied his horse to a chiseled post, to that gilded ring, he himself entered the white-stone chambers, laid the cross in the written way, and bowed in the learned way: he bowed low on all four sides, and to the prince and princess in person . Kindly Prince Vladimir met the guest and asked:

“You are a burly, burly good fellow, whose clans, from what cities?” And how to call you by name, call you by your native land?

- I am from the glorious city of Ryazan, the son of Nikita Romanovich and Afimya Alexandrovna - Dobrynya, the son of Nikitich. I came to you, prince, to the military service.

And at that time, Prince Vladimir's tables were pulled apart, the princes, boyars and mighty Russian heroes were feasting. Prince Vladimir Dobrynya Nikitich sat at the table in a place of honor between Ilya Muromets and Danube Ivanovich, brought him a glass of green wine, not a small glass - one and a half buckets. Dobrynya took chara with one hand, drank chara for a single spirit.

And Prince Vladimir, meanwhile, walked around the dining room, proverbially the sovereign pronounces:

- Oh, you goy, mighty Russian heroes, I do not live in joy today, in sorrow. Lost my beloved niece, young Zabava Putyatichna. She walked with her mothers, with the nannies in the green garden, and at that time the Zmeinishche-Gorynishche flew over Kiev, he grabbed Zabava Putyatichna, soared above the standing forest and carried it to the Sorochinsky mountains, into deep snake caves. Would there be one of you, kids: you, the princes of your knees, you, the boyars of your neighbor, and you, the mighty Russian heroes, who would go to the Sorochinsky mountains, rescued from the full of snakes, rescued the beautiful Zabavushka Putyatichna and thus consoled me and Princess Apraksia? !

All the princes and boyars are silent in silence.

The larger one is buried for the middle one, the middle one for the smaller one, and there is no answer from the smaller one.

It was here that Dobrynya Nikitich came to mind: “But the Serpent violated the commandment: do not fly to Rus', do not take people in full - if he took it away, captivated Zabava Putyatichna.” He left the table, bowed to Prince Vladimir and said these words:

- Sunny Vladimir, Prince of Stolno-Kiev, you throw this service on me. After all, the Serpent Gorynych recognized me as a brother and swore not to fly to the Russian land for a century and not to take it in full, but he violated that oath-commandment. I have to go to the Sorochinsky mountains, to rescue Zabava Putyatichna.

The prince brightened his face and said:

- You consoled us, good fellow!

And Dobrynya bowed low on all four sides, and to the prince and princess in person, then he went out into the wide courtyard, mounted his horse and rode to Ryazan-city.

There, he asked his mother for blessings to go to the Sorochinsky mountains, to rescue Russian captives from the full of snakes.

Mother Afimya Alexandrovna said:

- Go, dear child, and my blessing will be with you!

Then she gave a whip of seven silks, gave an embroidered white-linen shawl and spoke to her son these words:

- When you fight with the Serpent, your right hand will get tired, numb, the white light in your eyes will be lost, you wipe yourself with a handkerchief and wipe the horse, it will remove all fatigue as if by hand, and the strength of you and the horse will triple, and wave the seven-silk whip over the Serpent - he will bow to the damp earth. Here you tear-cut all the snake's trunks - all the snake's strength will be depleted.

Dobrynya bowed low to his mother, the honest widow Afimya Alexandrovna, then mounted a good horse and rode to the Sorochinsky mountains.

And the filthy Serpent-Gorynishche smelled Dobrynya for half a field, swooped in, began to shoot with fire and fight, fight. They fight for an hour or so. The greyhound horse was exhausted, began to stumble, and Dobrynya's right hand waved, the light faded in his eyes. Here the hero remembered his mother's order. He himself wiped himself with an embroidered white-linen handkerchief and wiped his horse. His faithful horse began to jump three times faster than before. And Dobrynya lost all his fatigue, his strength tripled. He seized the time, waved a seven-silk whip over the Serpent, and the Serpent's strength was exhausted: he crouched down to the damp earth.

Dobrynya tore-chopped snake trunks, and in the end cut off all three heads of a filthy monster, chopped them with a sword, trampled all the snakes with a horse and went into deep snake holes, cut and broke strong constipation, let out a lot of people from the crowd, let everyone go free .

He brought Zabava Putyatichna into the world, put him on a horse and brought him to the capital city of Kyiv.

He brought him to the princely chambers, there he bowed in a written way: on all four sides, and to the prince and princess in person, he started a speech in a learned way:

- By your command, prince, I went to the Sorochinskiye mountains, ruined and fought the snake's lair. He killed the Snake-Gorynishch himself and all the little serpents, released the darkness-darkness into the will of the people, and rescued your beloved niece, the young Zabava Putyatichna.

Prince Vladimir was glad, happy, he hugged Dobrynya Nikitich tightly, kissed him on the lips of sugar, put him in a place of honor.

To celebrate, the prince of honors started a feast-table for all the boyar princes, for all the mighty glorified heroes.

And everyone at that feast got drunk, ate, glorified the heroism and prowess of the hero Dobrynya Nikitich.

Dobrynya, Ambassador of Prince Vladimir

The prince's table-feasting goes on half-feast, the guests sit half-drunk. One Prince Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev is sad, unhappy. He walks around the dining room, proverbially the sovereign pronounces: “I have lost the care-sadness of my beloved niece Zabava Putyatichna, and now another misfortune-adversity has happened: Khan Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich demands a great tribute for twelve years, in which letters-records were written between us. The khan threatens to go to war, if I don’t give tribute. So it is necessary to send ambassadors to Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich, to take tribute-outputs: twelve swans, twelve gyrfalcons and a letter of guilt, but a tribute in itself. So I’m thinking, whom should I send as ambassadors?

Here all the guests at the tables fell silent. The big one is buried for the middle one, the middle one is buried for the smaller one, and there is no answer from the smaller one. Then the nearest boyar rose:

- You let me, prince, say a word.

“Speak, boyar, we will listen,” Prince Vladimir answered him.

And the boyar began to say:

“To go to the Khan’s land is no small service, and it’s better to send someone like Dobrynya Nikitich and Vasily Kazimirovich, and send Ivan Dubrovich as assistants. They know how to walk in ambassadors, and they know how to conduct a conversation with the khan.

And then Vladimir, Prince of Stolno-Kiev, poured three charms of green wine, not small charms - into one and a half buckets, diluted the wine with standing honey.

He offered the first enchantment to Dobrynya Nikitich, the second charade to Vasily Kazimirovich, and the third charade to Ivan Dubrovich.

All three heroes got up on frisky feet, took the spell with one hand, drank for a single spirit, bowed low to the prince, and all three said:

- We will celebrate your service, prince, we will go to the land of the Khan, we will give your letter of guilt, twelve swans as a gift, twelve gyrfalcons and tributes for twelve years to Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich.

Prince Vladimir gave the ambassadors a letter of guilt and ordered Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich to give twelve swans, twelve gyrfalcons as a gift, and then poured a box of pure silver, another box of red gold, and a third box of pitched pearls: tribute to the khan for twelve years.

With that, the ambassadors mounted good horses and rode to the Khan's land. During the day they ride on the red sun, at night they ride on the bright moon. Day after day, like rain, week after week, like a river runs, and good fellows move forward.

And so they arrived in the Khan's land, in a wide courtyard to Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich.

Dismounted from good horses. Young Dobrynya Nikitich waved at the heel of the door, and they entered the white stone chambers of the khan. There, the cross was laid in the written way, and bows were made in a learned way, they bowed low on all four sides, especially to the khan himself.

Khan began to ask the good fellows:

“Where are you from, burly good fellows?” What cities are you from, what kind of family are you and what is your name?

The good fellows kept the answer:

- We came from the city from Kyiv, from the glorious from the prince from Vladimir. They brought you tributes for twelve years.

Here they gave the khan a confession letter, gave twelve swans as a gift, twelve gyrfalcons. Then they brought a box of pure silver, another box of red gold, and a third box of pearls. After that, Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich sat the ambassadors at an oak table, fed, regaled, watered and began to ask:

On the heel - wide open, wide, in full swing.

- Do you have in Holy Rus' at the glorious PRINCE Vladimir who plays chess, in expensive gilded tavlei? Does anyone play checkers and chess?

Dobrynya Nikitich spoke in response:

- I can play chess with you, khan, in expensive gilded tavlei.

They brought chessboards, and Dobrynya and the Khan began to step over from cage to cage. Dobrynya stepped once and another stepped, and on the third khana he closed the passage.

Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich says:

- Oh, you are much better, good fellow, to play checkers-tavlei. Before you, with whom I played, I beat everyone. Under another game, I put a pledge: two boxes of pure silver, two boxes of red gold, and two boxes of slatted pearls.

Dobrynya Nikitich answered him:

“My business is traveling, there is no countless gold treasury with me, there is neither pure silver nor red gold, there is no scat pearl. Unless I bet my wild head.

So the khan stepped once - he didn’t step, another time he stepped - he stepped over, and the third time Dobrynya closed the move for him, he won Bakhtiyarov’s pledge: two boxes of pure silver, two boxes of red gold and two boxes of slatted pearls.

The Khan got excited, got excited, he set a great pledge: to pay tribute-outputs to Prince Vladimir for twelve years and a half. And for the third time, Dobrynya won the bail. The loss is great, the khan lost and was offended. He says these words:

- Glorious heroes, ambassadors of Vladimir! How many of you are willing to shoot from a bow in order to pass a red-hot arrow along the point along a knife edge, so that the arrow splits in half and the arrow hits the silver ring and both halves of the arrow were equal in weight.

And twelve hefty heroes brought the best khan's bow.

Young Dobrynya Nikitich takes that tight, torn bow, began to put on a red-hot arrow, Dobrynya began to pull the bowstring, the bowstring broke like a rotten thread, and the bow broke and crumbled. Young Dobrynushka spoke:

- Oh, you, Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich, that wretched ray, worthless!

And he said to Ivan Dubrovich:

- You go, my cross brother, to the wide courtyard, bring my travel bow, which is attached to the right stirrup.

Ivan Dubrovich unfastened the bow from the right one from the stirrup and carried that bow into the white-stone chamber. And voiced hussels were attached to the bow - not for beauty, but for the sake of valiant fun. And now Ivanushka is carrying a bow, playing on the guselts. All the infidels listened, they didn’t have such a diva for centuries ...

Dobrynya takes his tight bow, stands opposite the silver ring, and three times he shot at the edge of the knife, doubled the arrow of the kalyon in two and hit the silver ring three times.

Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich started shooting here. The first time he fired - he didn't shoot, the second time he shot - he shot and the third time he shot, but he didn't hit the ring.

This Khan did not come to love, did not like it. And he conceived something bad: to lime, to solve the ambassadors of Kyiv, all three heroes. And he spoke softly:

- Won't any of you, glorious heroes, ambassadors of Vladimirov, wish to fight and have fun with our fighters, to taste their strength?

Before Vasily Kazimirovich and Ivan Dubrovich had time to utter a word, like a young Dobrynushka epancha; took off, straightened his mighty shoulders and went out into the wide courtyard. There he was met by a hero-fighter. The growth of the hero is terrible, in the shoulders a slanting fathom, the head is like a beer cauldron, and behind that hero there are many fighters. They began to walk around the yard, they began to push the young Dobrynushka. And Dobrynya pushed them away, kicked them and threw them away from him. Then the terrible hero grabbed Dobrynya by the white hands, but they fought for a short time, measured their strength - Dobrynya was strong, grasping ... He threw and threw the hero on the damp ground, only the rumble went, the earth trembled. At first the fighters were horrified, they hurried, and then all in a crowd they attacked Dobrynya, and the fight-fun here was replaced by a fight-fight. With a cry and with weapons, they fell on Dobrynya.

And Dobrynya was unarmed, scattered the first hundred, crucified, and behind those a whole thousand.

He snatched out the cart axle and began to regale his enemies with that axle. Ivan Dubrovich jumped out of the chambers to help him, and the two of them began to beat and beat the enemies together. Where the heroes pass, there is a street, and if they turn to the side, there is an alley.

Enemies lie lying down, they don't yell.

The Khan's arms and legs shook as he saw this massacre. Somehow he crawled out, went out into the wide courtyard and begged, began to beg:

- Glorious Russian heroes! You leave my fighters, do not destroy them! And I will give Prince Vladimir a letter of guilt, I will order my grandchildren and great-grandchildren not to fight with the Russians, not to fight, and I will pay tribute-outputs forever and ever!

He invited ambassadors-bogatyrs to the white-stone chambers, treated them with sugar dishes and honey honey. After that, Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich wrote a letter of guilt to Prince Vladimir: for all eternity, do not go to war in Rus', do not fight with the Russians, do not fight and pay tribute-exits forever and ever. Then he poured a cartload of pure silver, another cartloader poured red gold, and a third cartloaded heaped pearls and sent twelve swans, twelve gyrfalcons as a gift to Vladimir and accompanied the ambassadors with great honor. He himself went out into the wide courtyard and bowed low after the heroes.

And the mighty Russian heroes - Dobrynya Nikitich, Vasily Kazimirovich and Ivan Dubrovich mounted good horses and drove off from the court of Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich, and after them they drove three wagons with countless treasury and with gifts to Prince Vladimir. Day after day, like rain, week after week, like a river runs, and the heroes-ambassadors move forward. They ride from morning until evening, red sun until sunset. When the frisky horses grow emaciated and the good fellows themselves grow tired, get tired, put up white-linen tents, feed the horses, rest themselves, eat and drink, and again while away the road. They travel across wide fields, cross fast rivers - and now they have arrived in the capital city of Kyiv.

They drove into the prince’s spacious courtyard and dismounted here from good horses, then Dobrynya Nikitich, Vasily Kazimirovich and Ivanushka Dubrovich entered the prince’s chambers, they laid the cross in a scholarly way, they bowed in a written manner: they bowed low on all four sides, and to Prince Vladimir from the princess in person, and they said these words:

- Oh, you are a goy, Prince Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev! We visited the Khan's Horde, your service was celebrated there. Khan Bakhtiyar ordered you to bow. - And then they gave the Khan's letter of guilt to Prince Vladimir.

Prince Vladimir sat down on an oak bench and read that letter. Then he jumped up on frisky legs, began to pace around the ward, began stroking his fair-haired curls, began waving his right hand and exclaimed brightly joyfully:

- Oh, glorious Russian heroes! After all, in the letter of the Khan, Bakhtiyar Bakhtiyarovich asks for peace for all eternity, and it is also written there: will he pay tribute-exits to us century after century. That's how glorious you celebrated my embassy there!

Here Dobrynya Nikitich, Vasily Kazimirovich and Ivan Dubrovich gave Prince Bakhtiyarov a gift: twelve swans, twelve gyrfalcons and a great tribute - a load of pure silver, a load of red gold and a load of scat pearls.

And Prince Vladimir, in the joy of honors, started a feast in honor of Dobrynya Nikitich, Vasily Kazimirovich and Ivan Dubrovich.

And on that Dobrynya Nikitich they sing glory.

Alesha Popovich

Alyosha

In the glorious city of Rostov, near the cathedral priest, Fr. Levonty, a single child grew up to comfort and delight his parents - the beloved son Alyoshenka.

The guy grew up, matured not by the day, but by the hour, as if the dough on the dough was rising, poured with strength-fortress.

He began to run outside, play games with the guys. In all childish fun-pranks, he was the ringleader-ataman: brave, cheerful, desperate - a violent, daring little head!

Sometimes the neighbors complained: “I won’t keep you in pranks, I don’t know! Take it easy, take care of your son!”

And the parents doted on their son’s soul and in response they said this: “You can’t do anything with daring-strictness, but he will grow up, he will mature, and all pranks and pranks will be removed like a hand!”

This is how Alyosha Popovich Jr. grew up. And he got older. He rode a fast horse, and learned to wield a sword. And then he came to the parent, bowed at the feet of his father and began to ask for forgiveness-blessing:

- Bless me, parent-father, to go to the capital city of Kyiv, to serve Prince Vladimir, to stand at the outposts of the heroic, to defend our land from enemies.

“My mother and I did not expect that you would leave us, that there would be no one to rest our old age, but it is apparently written in the family: you work in military affairs. That is a good deed, but for good deeds accept our parental blessing, for bad deeds we do not bless you!

Then Alyosha went to the wide yard, went into the standing stable, led out the heroic horse and began to saddle the horse. First he put on sweatshirts, put felts on the sweatshirts, and a Cherkassy saddle on the felts, tightened the silk girths tightly, fastened the gold buckles, and the buckles had damask studs. Everything is not for the sake of beauty-bass, but for the sake of the heroic fortress: after all, silk does not tear, damask steel does not bend, red gold does not rust, the hero sits on a horse, does not age.

He put on chainmail armor, fastened pearl buttons. In addition, he put on a damask breastplate on himself, took all the armor of the heroic. In the cuff, a tight bow, bursting, and twelve red-hot arrows, he took both a heroic club and a long-sized spear, girded himself with a sword-treasury, did not forget to take a sharp dagger-zhalishche. Yevdokimushka, a young man, shouted in a loud voice:

"Don't fall behind, follow me!" And they only saw the daring of the good fellow, how he sat on a horse, but did not see how he rolled away from the yard. Only a dusty smoke rose.

How long, how short, the journey continued, how much, how little time the road lasted, and Alyosha Popovich arrived with his steamer Yevdokimushka in the capital city of Kiev. They stopped by not by the road, not by the gates, but galloped through the city walls, past the coal tower to the wide princely courtyard. Here Alyosha jumped off the goods of the horse, he entered the princely chambers, laid the cross in the written way, and bowed in the learned way: he bowed low to all four sides, and to Prince Vladimir and Princess Apraksin in person.

At that time, Prince Vladimir had a feast in honor, and he ordered his youths, faithful servants, to seat Alyosha at the stove post.

Alyosha Popovich and Tugarin

The glorious Russian heroes at that time in Kyiv were not like the rays of an elk. The princes gathered for the feast, the princes met with the boyars, and everyone is sitting gloomy, joyless, their wild heads hung, their eyes sunk into the oak floor ...

At that time, at that time, with a noise-rumble of the door on the heel, Tugarin the dog was swinging and entered the dining room. The growth of Tugarin is terrible, his head is like a beer cauldron, his eyes are like bowls, in his shoulders there is an oblique fathom. Tugarin did not pray to images, he did not greet the princes, the boyars. And Prince Vladimir and Apraksia bowed low to him, took him by the arms, seated him at the table in a large corner on an oak bench, gilded, covered with an expensive fluffy carpet. Russell - Tugarin fell apart in a place of honor, sits, grins with his whole wide mouth, mocks at the princes, boyars, mocks at Prince Vladimir. Endovami drinks green wine, washed down with standing mead.

They brought swan geese and gray ducks baked, boiled, fried to the tables. Tugarin laid a loaf of bread on his cheek, swallowed a white swan at once ...

Alyosha looked from behind the baking post at Tugarin the impudent man and said:

- My parent, a Rostov priest, had a gluttonous cow: he drank swill from a whole tub until the gluttonous cow was torn to pieces!

Those speeches did not come to Tugarin in love, they seemed offensive. He threw a sharp knife-dagger at Alyosha. But Alyosha - he was evasive - on the fly grabbed a sharp knife-dagger with his hand, and he himself sits unharmed. And he spoke these words:

- We will go, Tugarin, with you in the open field and try the strength of the heroic.

And so they sat on good horses and rode into an open field, into a wide expanse. They fought there, fought until the evening, the sun was red until sunset, no one was hurt. Tugarin had a horse on wings of fire. Soared, Tugarin rose on a winged horse under the shells and is getting on with the time to seize the time to hit and fall with a gyrfalcon from above. Alyosha began to ask, to say:

- Rise, roll, dark cloud! You spill, cloud, with frequent rain, flood, extinguish Tugarin's horse's wings of fire!

And out of nowhere, a dark cloud came. A cloud poured down with frequent rain, flooded and extinguished the fiery wings, and Tugarin descended on a horse from the skies to the damp earth.

Here Alyoshenka Popovich, Jr., shouted in a loud voice, as if he played a trumpet:

“Look back, bastard!” After all, Russian mighty heroes are standing there. They came to help me!

Tugarin looked around, and at that time, at that time, Alyoshenka jumped up to him - he was quick-witted and dexterous - waved his heroic sword and cut off Tugarin's violent head. On that duel with Tugarin ended.

Fight with the Basurman army near Kyiv

Alyosha turned the prophetic horse and went to Kyiv-grad. He overtakes, he catches up with a small squad - Russian tops.

Friends ask:

“Where are you heading, burly good fellow, and what is your name, called by your fatherland?”

The hero answers the combatants:

— I am Alyosha Popovich. He fought and fought in an open field with the puffed-up Tugarin, cut off his wild head, and that's the food to the capital city of Kiev.

Alyosha rides with combatants, and they see: near the city of Kyiv, the Basurman army stands.

Surrounded, overlaid with city walls on all four sides. And so much power of that unfaithful force has been caught up that from the cry of the infidel, from the neighing of a horse, and from the creak of a cart, the noise stands, as if thunder rumbles, and the human heart desponds. Near the army, a Basurman rider-hero rides around the open field, yells in a loud voice, boasts:

- We will wipe Kiev-city from the face of the earth, we will burn all the houses and God's churches with fire, we will roll the brand, we will cut down all the townspeople, we will take the boyars and Prince Vladimir in full and force us to walk in the Horde in shepherds, milk the mares!

When they saw the innumerable power of the Basurmans, and heard the boastful speeches of the praising rider Alyosha, fellow vigilantes held back their zealous horses, frowned, hesitated.

And Alyosha Popovich was hot-assertive. Where it is impossible to take by force, he swooped down there. He shouted in a loud voice:

- You are a goy, good squad! Two deaths cannot happen, but one cannot be avoided. It’s better for us to lay down our heads in battle than for the glorious city of Kyiv to experience shame! We will attack an uncountable army, we will free the great Kiev city from misfortune, and our merit will not be forgotten, it will pass, a loud glory will sweep about us: the old Cossack Ilya Muromets, son of Ivanovich, will hear about us. For our courage, he will bow to us - either not honor, not glory!

Alyosha Popovich, Jr., with his brave retinue, attacked the enemy hordes. They beat the infidels like they mow grass: sometimes with a sword, sometimes with a spear, sometimes with a heavy battle club. Alyosha Popovich took out the most important hero-praiser with a sharp sword and cut and broke him in two. Then horror-fear attacked the enemies. The opponents could not resist, fled wherever their eyes looked. And the road to the capital city of Kyiv was cleared.

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