Tales and Legends from the Land of the Tzar/The Last of the Russian Warriors
THE LAST OF THE RUSSIAN WARRIORS.
(Adapted from a Russian Ballad.)
The sun was just beginning to set, when, towards the great river of Saffat, came galloping seven adventurous Russian champions: the seven famous warriors, Godenko Bludovitch, Vasselie Kazemirovitch, Vasselie Buslaevitch, Ivan, the innkeeper's son, Aleyosha Papovitch, junior, Dobrenin the Youthful, and last, but not least, the stout labourer, Nikita Gregorevitch.
Right in front of them lay a level plain, in the midst of which stood an ancient oak; from this tree went three roads, the one leading to Novgorod the Great, the second to the sacred city of Kiev, and the third, which was very long and straight, led to the dark blue sea; but this road was dangerous, as it had for the last thirty-three years been in the possession of a savage giant Mussulman, who killed every one that dared to come near him, whether on horseback or on foot.
The warriors halted when they reached the oak, and pitched their white canvas tents. After allowing their steeds to walk about and eat the long green grass at their leisure, they went into their tents to seek repose.
Dobrenin the Youthful rose early with the sun, while his companions were still sleeping peacefully. He bathed himself in the cool refreshing waters of the Saffat river, and after praying to an ancient picture, he looked around him and beheld, beyond the river of Saffat, a white canvas tent, in which lived the wicked Mussulman. Dobrenin saddled his coal-black steed with a costly Circassian saddle; he took his lance and sword, and mounted his charger's back. On rode Dobrenin, his horse neighing and prancing beneath him, until he at last reached the Mussulman's tent; he stopped and called out in a loud voice,—
"Come out of the tent, thou Tartar, thou wicked Mussulman thief! Come forward, and fight with me!"
The Mussulman, as soon as he beard these words, arose; and coming out of his white tent, mounted his noble horse and rode out to meet Dobrenin.
No winds blew, no clouds were seen, nothing but the flash of the bold champions' swords was visible. They fought and fought until their sharp lances broke, and their steel swords snapped asunder.
Then the warriors dismounted from their chargers, and continued the combat with their bare fists. Suddenly Dobrenin's foot slipped, his right hand trembled, and he fell down upon the damp ground. No sooner had he fallen than the Mussulman sprang upon him and killed him.
Up rose Aleyosha Papovitch, and leaving his companions fast asleep, went out to the Saffat river, and bathed himself in the cool, refreshing waters; and after praying to an ancient picture, he looked around him, and beheld Dobrenin's horse standing saddled and ready for riding, but looking mournfully at the ground beneath him, he was grieving for his beloved master, Dobrenin the Youthful. Aleyosha Papovitch mounted the good steed, which at once commenced neighing and galloping as of old.
On, on rode Aleyosha Papovitch, until he arrived at the Mussulman's tent, in which lay the brave warrior Dobrenin the Youthful, with his eyes closed, his strong arms hanging lifeless by his sides, and covered with blood.
"Come out of thy tent, thou Tartar!" cried Aleyosha Papovitch, in a loud and angry voice. "Come out, and let us fight!"
Then the Mussulman answered and said,—
"Hail to thee, Aleyosha Papovitch, junior! Take my advice, my friend, and do not attempt to fight with me, for I am more powerful than thou supposest!"
But Aleyosha Papovitch laughed haughtily as he replied,—
"Do not boast! Wait till the fight is over before praising thyself!"
The Mussulman stepped out of his canvas tent, and mounted his splendid steed.
No winds blew, no clouds were seen, nothing but the flash of the warriors' swords was visible. They fought and fought until their sharp lances broke and their steel swords snapped asunder. They then dismounted from their chargers and continued the combat with their fists.
Aleyosha at last succeeded in overthrowing the Tartar, who fell down on the ground. Aleyosha immediately sprang upon him and would have killed him, when down flew a large black crow and said in a man's voice,—
"Hail to thee, Aleyosha Papovitch, junior! Harken unto me, though I am but a big black crow. Do not deprive this Tartar of his life! Behold, I will fly to the dark blue sea, and fetch thee the water of life and the water of death, to sprinkle over the body of thy brother-warrior, Dobrenin. When thou sprinklest him with the water of death, his flesh will become white and whole again; but when thou sprinklest him over with the water of life, he will awake from his sleep of death."
Aleyosha Papovitch consented to this, and the crow flew away, but soon returned, bringing with it the water of life and the water of death. Aleyosha sprinkled Dobrenin's body first with the water of death, and the flesh became white and whole; he then sprinkled it with the water of life, and Dobrenin awoke and got up. They then set the Tartar free, and returned to their brother warriors.
Early next morning, while all the others were fast asleep, Nikita Gregorevitch arose with the sun, and, as his two brothers had done before, bathed himself in the cold waters of the Saffat river; and after praying to his saint, he looked up, and beheld the Tartar giant crossing in a boat—the terrible Mussulman whom no one had yet been able to kill, whom no wolf dared approach, and over whom no bird had the power to fly; there he was quite close at hand! Nikita Gregorevitch cared nought for danger. The moment he saw the Mussulman, he called out in a loud voice to his companions, who were sleeping so peacefully in their tents,—
"Wake up, mighty champions!" he cried. "Ye brave chosen warriors, arise, and let us defeat the Tartar giant!"
The warriors arose at their brother's call, and mounting their chargers galloped off with Nikita to the Mussulman's tent. They threw themselves with all their might upon the giant, attacking him with their swords and lances, while their good steeds tried to trample him under foot. Thus they fought for three whole hours and three whole minutes, at the end of which time they succeeded in overthrowing and killing the wicked Tartar giant. After having won the victory, the champions began to say boastfully,—
"We did our work nobly, we did not once shrink in the combat, nor did our good steeds attempt to run away, neither did our steel swords and lances break or bend!"
"Yes!" cried Aleyosha Papovitch, "we are brave and noble heroes; there is no one and nothing that we cannot kill or conquer! Bring even supernatural powers against us, and we will subdue them!"
Hardly had he uttered these foolish words, when two supernatural beings appeared, and cried out in voices which sounded like thunder,—
"Come on, brave champions! We invite the combat, though ye be seven, and we but two; let that not deter you!"
But the champions did not recognize the supernatural beings as such; and Aleyosha Papovitch, heated by their address, mounted his horse and darting at them hewed them in twain; hardly had he done so, when the parts became suddenly transformed into four mighty champions. Then Dobrenin rushed to the encounter, and felling these four to the ground, cut each in two. Then, to his surprise, up rose eight mighty champions fresh and strong. Nikita Gregorevitch now advanced, and like his brethren, hewed the eight in twain, thereby raising a double front of foes. The champions in a body now charged down, and hewing right and left cut down their enemies with might and main, but only to increase the number. For three whole days and nights, for three whole hours, for three whole minutes, did our seven brave champions continue hewing down the supernatural beings; but without success, their enemies only continued increasing. At last their strength began to fail them, their noble steeds galloped off in all directions, and their steel swords and sharp lances began to break and bend; but the enemy still increased. For some time our heroes would not yield; but when they saw that the more they cut down the supernatural beings the more they increased, they became greatly alarmed and retreated up high rocks and into dark caverns for safety. But hardly had they reached the top of the rocks, then first one brave champion, then the other, was turned into stone.
And these were the last of the Russian warriors.