The Russian Story Book 2

The Russian Story Book 2

Then Ilya came out of the forest where he had been hiding and enjoying

their awakening. The men were now trying in vain to draw out the

axes, and he took them easily from the stump, and handed them to

the wondering servants without a word being spoken on either side;

for the labourers were too much dazed to break the silence by speech.

 

For a few moments the father and mother gazed at the tall young man,

the eyes of the former dwelling upon his stature, his strong limbs,

and his mighty shoulders, while the mother gazed steadfastly at the

face of her son, which was radiant with a wonderful light. Then,

clasping his hands and closing his eyes, the old man gave thanks to

God that he should be the father of so splendid a workman; but Ilya

showed no sign of continuing in his peasant's task, for with a low

bow of reverence to his parents, he strode away without a word across

the open plain.

 

His mother watched him go in silence, and then she bowed her head as

before the Holy Cross; for the light which she had seen in the young

man's eyes never shone in the eyes of a woodman or of one content to

spend the summer day making hay in the pine-encircled meadow.

 

 

 

Now, as Ilya went on his way he saw a peasant walking heavily across

a field, leading a shaggy brown foal, and, in spite of his manhood,

this was the first foal that Ilya had ever seen. He suddenly felt a

great desire to have this shaggy steed for himself, and having money

in his pocket--though how it had got there he could not tell--he soon

made the purchase. He paid little attention to the price asked by the

greedy, crafty peasant, which was large enough as a plain matter of

horse-dealing, for Ilya was no bargain driver.

 

"Now," he said to himself, as he patted the shaggy mane of the

little horse, "I must take three months to make this brown foal into

a charger; so for that time, at least, I must dwell at home." He

therefore turned back to his father's cottage, and, to the quiet

delight of his mother, lived there for the time he had appointed. Ilya

did not think out his plans for himself at this time, but had a curious

feeling that his way was being made plain before him without his will.

 

The foal was at once tied up in the beast-stall in his father's stable,

and fed on the finest white Turkish wheat to the great surprise of

the old man, who, however, made no remark, for the strange things

now happening in his household were rather too much for him. When the

shaggy brown foal had been fed for three months in this careful and

very extravagant way, Ilya left it for three nights in the garden

so that the Powers of Heaven might anoint it with three successive

dews. After this, he made a trial of the horse, which was now very

strong and frisky, and found that it had become a truly heroic charger,

capable of trotting and galloping, and while full of fire and spirit,

obedient to its master's lightest word. To this charger Ilya gave

the name of Cloudfall, and he now made preparations for setting out

on his adventures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ILYA MEETS SVYATOGOR AND PARTS WITH HIM

 

 

Ilya rose early one morning, dressed himself in his best,

and respectfully informed his parents that he wished to leave his

home. The old people, who now felt that it would be very unwise, as

well as useless, to interfere in the proceedings of their wonderful

son, gave him their blessing. His father then went off to his duties

with a grunt, and his mother turned to her cooking on the stove with

a sigh; for the stove always reminded her of the cripple boy who had

been of no use to any one.

 

Meanwhile Ilya had saddled his good steed Cloudfall, and in a short

time had ridden far across the open plain. As night was falling he

came to a large tent of fair white linen which had been set up near

a spreading oak tree. Peeping into this pavilion, he saw a huge bed

with the skins turned down, the pillow smoothed, and everything ready

for rest. So he fastened Cloudfall to the oak, crept into the bed, and

fell into a deep slumber which lasted for three days and three nights.

 

On the third day of the sleep of Ilya, Cloudfall raised his head

from his grazing and pricked up his ears, for out of the north came

a noise like an earthquake. Moist Mother Earth rocked from side to

side, the tall pines shook and staggered as if they were about to

fall headlong, and the water of the river suddenly heaved and then

overflowed its banks. Roused by the sound, the intelligent animal

beat loudly with his hoof upon the earth in the hope of rousing Ilya;

but the young man slept the sleep of a tired child.

 

Then Cloudfall put his head through the opening of the tent and snouted

above the storm in the speech of Holy Russia, "Ho, ho! Ilya, do you

sleep there and take your ease, unmindful of the great misfortune

that threatens to o'erwhelm you? The hero Svyatogor is coming to his

pavilion where you lodge unasked. Loose me, and let me take to the

open plain, and as for yourself, climb up at once into the tall oak

tree on the top of yonder hillock."

 

It would have been too wonderful if Ilya had slept when this strange

voice sounded in his ear. Up he sprang, fresh from his slumber and wide

awake at once, as every young and healthy person must be who has slept

well, loosed the thong which bound Cloudfall to the oak, and climbed

without further delay into the branches of the tree on the hillock.

 

When he looked down, he saw Svyatogor for the first time, and there

could be no doubt that he was a hero. He was taller than the trees of

the wood, and his flowing locks seemed to be somewhat confused with the

flying clouds. Upon his broad shoulder he carried a casket of crystal,

and when he drew near to the pavilion by the first oak tree, he stooped

and set it gently upon the ground and opened it with a key of gold.

 

The crystal door swung back without a sound, and out stepped the wife

of the hero. In all the white world no beauty like this had ever been

seen or told. She was tall and stately, but she stepped as daintily as

a white hind. Her eyes were clear and steady as those of the falcon,

her eyebrows were as black as a starless night, and the whiteness of

her skin dazzled the eyes of Ilya in his oak.

 

As soon as she had stepped out from the crystal casket, she prepared

the table for her lord, spreading upon it a cloth of lawn with

drawn thread-work as white as Russia in winter, and placing upon

it sweetmeats of various kinds. Then she stepped back to her crystal

casket and brought out a flagon, wondrously fashioned, containing mead,

whose strength assailed the nostrils of Ilya in his oak on the hillock

with a power which passed right through him. In a few moments she sat

down with her husband, and the two ate and drank while the laughter

of the hero shook the trunk of Ilya's oak and the gentle murmur of

his fair companion's merriment rustled the leaves in a tender whisper.

 

When Svyatogor had eaten well and drunk better, he went into the

pavilion, lay down on the broad bed and fell fast asleep. But his

beautiful wife roamed about in the open plain, singing softly to

herself; and as she walked about she happened to look up, and saw

Ilya, who was gazing at her so steadfastly that he seemed to be

nothing but eyes.

 

"Come down," cried the hero's wife; "come down, good and stately

youth. Come down out of the damp oak, or I will tell my husband that

you have been unkind to me." Now it was not in Ilya's nature to be

unkind to any one, so without further words he slipped nimbly down the

trunk of the oak; and as soon as he touched the lap of moist Mother

Earth, the woman popped him into the pocket of the sleeping hero,

and by so doing roused the latter from his heavy sleep.

 

The hero stretched himself, yawned, and sat up blinking, for he was not

so young as Ilya, and therefore did not wake so readily. Then he arose,

placed his wife in the crystal casket, locked it with the golden key,

mounted upon his horse, and took his way towards the Holy Mountains.

 

As the hero rode onward his horse began to bend at the knees and

then to stumble, whereupon Svyatogor beat him soundly with a silken

whip. The animal stopped short, turned his head and said to his master

in a human voice, "I was proud enough to carry a hero and his heroic

wife, casket and all, but when I am obliged to add another hero to

my load, it is not surprising if I stumble."

 

Svyatogor looked round, and for the first time was aware of his

bulging pocket. A little further investigation showed him that he was

carrying a fine young man with broad shoulders, on which was set the

unmistakable head of a hero. In a moment he had drawn Ilya from his

deep pocket and was holding him aloft while he questioned him with

knitted brows.

 

"Whence come you, young man?" he cried, and at the sound of that

terrible voice the mountains shook, the forests waved, and the river

found that its usual channel was not steady enough to contain it,

while it occurred to Ilya that it would be best to tell the truth. So

he said boldly enough, though his position could scarcely be described

as dignified:

 

"It was the noble lady in the crystal casket who bade me come down

from the oak, and who placed me in the pocket of your hero-ship." Then

the youth's eyes were filled with terror, for a fierce frown suddenly

creased the brows of Svyatogor, who turned in his saddle, after having

seated Ilya before him, and hurled the crystal casket into the rushing,

rocking stream.

 

"Lie there, faithless one," he shouted; "it was surely of little avail

to take you out locked up in a glass case if you were to speak to the

first goodly young man you meet." Then with a huge gesture of disgust

he urged on his steed and took his way along the side of a rocky

mountain, talking pleasantly to Ilya as if nothing had happened out

of the ordinary. He asked the young man about his parents, his home,

and the dearest wish of his heart, which he found was to meet himself,

the famous hero Svyatogor.

 

"Yes, I am he," said the rider as lightly as his huge size permitted,

"and I would gladly come among you people of Holy Russia, but moist

Mother Earth is too soft to bear me up, and I am forced to ride on

the rocky crags and high precipices of the great mountains which are

strong enough to bear the weight of myself and my steed. I will take

you with me to the Holy Mountains, for you are a young man after my

own heart." And as they rode onward he told Ilya how a hero lived and

how he did the deeds which roused the wonder and the fear of all men.

 

Suddenly Svyatogor said to Ilya, "When we come to my home, I will

present you to my father. But before you meet him you must take

care to heat a piece of iron in the stove, and when he comes with

outstretched hand to greet you, take further care not to place your

hand within his own, but let him grasp the heated iron."

 

Ilya promised to follow the instructions of his friend, and before

long they came across the craggy peaks to the Holy Mountains, and

on the summit of one of them Ilya saw a wonderful palace of white

stone. The hero rode forward to the gateway, where he was met by his

aged father, whose beard swept his knees like a snow-drift. "Welcome,

my dear child," said the old man, to whose tenderness the giant on

the mighty steed was still a loving youngster. "Welcome, and thrice welcome! Have you been far afield?"