The Russian Story Book 1

The Russian Story Book 1

The Russian Story Book

Containing tales from the song-cycles of Kiev and Novgorod

and other early sources

 

Author: Richard Wilson

Frank C. Papé

 

PREFACE

 

 

I have gone right into the heart of "Holy Russia," to Kiev and

Novgorod and the borders of the Caspian, in an endeavour to show by

means of some of the early legends the ideals and point of view of the

Russian nation while it was in the process of being made. The stories

of the song-cycles of Kiev and Novgorod tell of a barbaric, though

not a barbarian, world, full of high colour and spirited action,

of the knock-down blow followed quickly by the hand of friendship

freely extended to pick up the fallen foeman--if indeed he has had

the hardihood to survive.

 

The land of Vladimir and Ilya of Murom the Old Cossáck is a Christian

land, with the Christianity of the Greek Church, and it is before all

else an Easter land, where the Christian Festival of the Resurrection

means infinitely more than it can ever do in countries which are not

ice-bound for several winter months. The country is, moreover, an

outpost of Christianity towards the East--uninfluenced by Renaissance

or Reformation--and must therefore have developed interesting

characteristics entirely different from those of Western lands. I

think that such characteristics are clearly shown in these stories,

but I must leave those of my older readers who are interested in

this matter to find them out and to discover the Arthur, Guinevere

and Galahad of Russia; for my first concern is to tell a tale which

will please healthy-minded boys and girls in their early teens.

 

This book might have been written by a Russian who thoroughly

understands our language, or by an English author who has

spent the best part of a lifetime in studying Russia and the

Russians, illustrated by a native artist, and decorated by a Russian

designer. When such a volume does appear, it will have a great interest

for me. Meanwhile, I submit that there is some artistic unity, also,

in a volume of Russian stories, written by an Englishman, illustrated

by an English artist, and decorated by an English designer, the whole

production being for an English child.

 

One cannot delve far into these folk-lore records without becoming

indebted to Miss I. F. Hapgood's English renderings from the

collections of Kirshá Danilóv, P. B. Kirýeevsky, A. T. Gillferding,

Rybnikof, P. A. Bezsónof and others, published in New York in 1885;

to J. Curtin's literal translations from the Naródniya Rússyika

Shazki of A. N. Afanásieva; to W. R. S. Ralston's books on Russian

folk-song and fable; and to the writings of the Hon. Maurice Baring and

Mr. Stephen Graham. To all of these I desire to express my indebtedness

for help and guidance, though the responsibility for the telling

and interpretation of the tales is entirely my own. If this little

collection makes the British child more sympathetic towards Russia

and helps it to understand the Russian people to a small degree its

purpose will have been achieved.

 

 

R. W.

 

Hampstead, 1915.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

 

PAGE

 

Ilya and Cloudfall 11

Ilya meets Svyatogor and parts with Him 19

Ilya and Nightingale the Robber 33

Ilya and Falcon the Hunter 51

The Adventure of the Burning White Stone 73

How Quiet Dunai had brought the Princess Apraxia

to Kiev 83

The Story of Nikitich and Marina 103

How the Court of Vladimir received a Visitor from

India the Glorious 119

The Story of Kasyan and the Dream Maiden 149

How Stavr the Noble was saved by a Woman's Wiles 161

The Golden Horde 175

Whirlwind the Whistler, or the Kingdoms of Copper,

Silver, and Gold 195

Vasily the Turbulent 231

Nikita the Footless and the Terrible Tsar 267

Peerless Beauty the Cake-Baker 289

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ILYA AND CLOUDFALL

 

 

For thirty years Ilya sat upon the stove in his mother's cottage,

for he was a helpless cripple without arms or legs, and really of

no use to any one, either in the house or out of it. But when these

quiet years were past and over, Ilya came to his own, as you shall see.

 

One summer day his father and mother took down the wooden rakes and

went out into the sunny meadow round which the tall pines stood to

help to make the hay; and Ilya was left alone in the cottage with

his thoughts.

 

All at once he heard a deep voice at the door which said, "In the

Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost." "Amen,"

responded Ilya at once, and three wayfarers entered after bowing at

the threshold. They were old and venerable, and Ilya knew them at

once to be singers of holy psalms, who never lacked food and drink

among the peasants whose lives they cheered. So, when they asked him

for something to drink, he spoke gently to them, partly, however,

because he feared the result of their displeasure.

 

"Venerable masters," he said, "whatever is within the house is yours,

but, to my sorrow, I cannot rise to wait upon you." Then the holy men

looked steadily at him, and before their steadfast gaze Ilya's eyes

fell in humility as before the Holy Cross; and as he looked downwards

they said to him, "Arise and wash yourself, for you shall be able to

walk and to wait upon us."

 

Somehow, Ilya seemed to obey them in spite of himself. He got down

from the stove and walked with the legs of a full-grown man of mighty

stature. Then stretching out his brawny arms he took the cup, filled it

with the drink of the rye, and offered it to the holy guests on bended

knee. They took it from him, drank one after the other, and gave it

to him again, saying, "Drink in your turn, Ilya." The young man obeyed

without a word, and then awaited the further pleasure of the visitors.

 

"Ilya, son of weakness," they said, "how is it with your strength?"

 

"I thank you with reverence, venerable sirs," he replied, bowing low

before them, "my strength is now such as could surely move the earth."

 

The old men turned from him and regarded each other with a look of

wisdom so pure and clear and like a shaft of brightest sunlight that

Ilya's eyes sought the earthen floor of the cottage once again.

 

Then one of the guests, who seemed to be the leader, said in a quiet

voice of authority, "Give us to drink once more," and Ilya obeyed

without question. "Drink now yourself, Ilya," they said, and he did so.

 

"Ilya, son of weakness," they said, "how is it now with your strength?"

 

"I thank you with reverence, venerable sirs," he said, "my strength

is great, but only half the strength I had."

 

"That is well," said the old men; "if it were greater, then moist

Mother Earth would be too frail to bear you."

 

Then the old men told Ilya to go out into the summer sunlight, and

he walked out of the cottage for the first time, followed by his

deliverers; and there, standing in the light, the young man received

his blessing and his charge.

 

"Ilya, son of strength," they said, "it is God Himself who has redeemed

you from weakness. Therefore you are bound to defend the faith of

Christ against all unbelievers, however bold and daring they may be,

remembering always that it is not written that you should come to

your death in battle.

 

"In the whole white world there is none stronger than you except

Svyatogor, whom you will meet before long. Avoid conflict with him,

and him alone; do not spend your strength on the soil or the meadow

or the forest, but set out without delay for the royal city of Kiev."

 

Having spoken these words, the old men vanished, and Ilya did not

see either how or where they went. He only knew that he stood alone

in the light of the sun, and he stretched out his great arms as if

he had just awakened from a long refreshing sleep.

 

Then the young giant went to seek his father and mother, and found

them resting in the shade of the pine trees by the side of the

meadow. The whole company was asleep, and taking up one of their

axes, Ilya began to hew at the trunks of the pines. It is a matter

for wonder that the sound of the crashing trunks which was soon heard

did not immediately awake the sleepers, for the young man laid about

him lustily during the space of an hour, and at the end of that time

had felled a small wood about the extent of a field; which is really

not so very marvellous after all, seeing that he had been storing up

strength for thirty years. When he had finished this work he drove

all the axes lying near the sleepers into a tree-stump with a quiet

laugh. "Ah," he said to himself, "they must ask me for these axes if

they wish to use them again."

 

After a while the young man's parents and their labourers awoke from

sleep, for by his tree-felling Ilya had taken away the shade, and the

hot sunlight was now beating full upon their faces. With blinking

eyes they looked around, and when they saw the fallen timber and

the axes deeply embedded in the stump of a tree, they began somewhat

slowly to be filled with very great wonder, and said to one another,"Who has done this?"