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What is epic.
Do you know what epic is? And how is it different from a fairy tale? Bylina is the heroic epic of the Russian people. Heroic - because it is about the great heroes-heroes of antiquity. And the word "epic" comes from Greek and means "narrative", "story". Thus, epics are stories about the exploits of famous heroes. Surely some of them are already familiar to you: Ilya Muromets, who defeated the Nightingale the Robber; Dobrynya Nikitich, who fought with the Serpent; merchant and harpist Sadko, who sailed the sea on his beautiful ship and visited the underwater kingdom. In addition to them, there are stories about Vasily Buslaevich, Svyatogor, Mikhailo Potyk and others.
Bogatyrs.
The most amazing thing is that these are not just fictional characters. Scientists believe that many of them actually lived many centuries ago. Imagine: in the 9th - 12th centuries the state of Russia did not yet exist, but there was the so-called Kievan Rus. Various Slavic peoples lived on its territory, and the capital was the city of Kyiv, in which the Grand Duke ruled. In epics, heroes often go to Kiev to serve Prince Vladimir: for example, Dobrynya saved the prince's niece Zabava Putyaticna from the terrible Serpent, Ilya Muromets defended the capital city and Vladimir himself from Pogany Idol, Dobrynya and the Danube went to woo a bride for the prince. The times were restless, many enemies from neighboring lands raided Rus', so the heroes did not have to be bored.
It is believed that Ilya Muromets, known from epics, was a warrior who lived in the 12th century. He bore the nickname Chobotok (that is, Boot), because he once managed to fight off enemies with the help of this shoe. For many years he fought enemies and glorified himself feats of arms, but with age, tired of wounds and battles, he became a monk in the Theodosius Monastery, which in our time is called the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra. And now, today, having arrived in the city of Kyiv, you can see for yourself the grave of St. Ilya Muromets in the famous caves of the Lavra. Alyosha Popovich and Dobrynya Nikitich were also well-known heroes in Rus', the mention of which was preserved in the oldest documents - chronicles. In Russian epics, there are also female heroes, they are called the old word Polenitsa. The Danube fought with one of them. The wife of Stavr Godinovich was distinguished by boldness and resourcefulness, who managed to circle around the finger of Prince Vladimir himself and rescue her husband from prison.
How epics have survived to this day.
Epics for many centuries and generations were not written down, but passed from mouth to mouth by storytellers. Moreover, unlike fairy tales, they were not just told, but sung. In the villages ancient Rus', which has evolved over time into Russian state, peasants, doing routine work (for example, sewing or weaving nets), so as not to get bored, sang stories about heroic deeds. The son and daughter learned these tunes from their parents, then passed them on to their children. Thus, the glory and exploits of people who lived centuries ago were preserved in the memory of the people. Just imagine: at the beginning of the 20th century - in an era when major cities there were already trains and a cinematograph, in a distant northern village, at the end of the world, the old peasant, just like his fathers and grandfathers, sang epics that glorified the hero Dobrynya - uncle Prince Vladimir and the glorious warrior of ancient Rus' !!! Dobrynya and this peasant were separated by many centuries and a great distance, and yet the glory of the hero overcame these barriers.
Bylina "Ilya Muromets and the Nightingale the Robber"
Whether from that city from Murom,
From that village and Karacharova
A remote, burly, kind fellow was leaving.
He stood at matins in Murom,
And he wanted to be in time for dinner in the capital
Kyiv city.
Yes, he drove up to the glorious city
to Chernigov.
Is it near the city of Chernihiv
Caught up with something black-black,
And black-black, like a black crow.
So no one walks around here as infantry,
No one rides on a good horse here,
The black raven bird does not fly,
The gray beast does not roar.
And drove up like a great powerhouse,
He somehow became this great powerhouse,
He began to trample on a horse and began to prick with a spear,
And he beat this great power.
He drove up under the glorious near Chernigov-grad,
The peasants came out and here Chernihiv
And they opened the gates to Chernigov-grad,
And they call him the governor of Chernigov.
Ilya says to them and these are the words:
- Oh, the peasants, you are from Chernigov!
I'm not going to you in Chernihiv as a governor.
Show me the straight path
I drive straight to the capital city of Kyiv.
The peasants spoke to him in Chernigov:
- You, a remote burly good fellow,
Hey you, glorious hero and Holy Russian!
The straight road is jammed,
The path was choked up, muddied.
And on the right path along the straight path
Yes, no one walked by the infantry,
No one rode a good horse.
Like that one at the Dirt, at the Black one,
Yes, near the birch, near the curse, 1
Yes, by that river near Smorodina, 2
At that cross at Levanidov3
The nightingale the robber sits on a damp oak,
Sitting Nightingale the Robber, Odikhmantiev's son.
And then the Nightingale whistles like a nightingale,
He screams, the villain-robber, in an animal way.
And whether it is from the whistle of a nightingale,
And whether it is from the cry of an animal
All those grass-ants gobble up,
All the azure flowers crumble,
Dark forests all bow to the ground, -
And that there are people - then all are dead.
By a straight path - there are five hundred versts
And by the roundabout path - a whole thousand.
He let down a good horse and a heroic one,
He went along the straight path.
His good horse and heroic
From mountain to mountain began to jump,
From hills to hills began to jump,
Small rivers, let a small lake between my legs.
He drives up to the river to Currant,
Yes, to that he is to Dirt, he is to Black,
Yes, to that birch to curse,
To that glorious cross to Levanidov.
The Nightingale whistled like a nightingale,
The villain-robber shouted like an animal -
So all the grass-ants entwined,
Yes, and the azure flowers crumbled,
The dark woods all bowed to the ground.
His good horse and heroic
And he stumbles on the roots -
And th as an old Cossack and Ilya Muromets
Takes a silk whip in a white hand,
And he beat the horse on the steep ribs,
He said, Ilya, these are the words:
- Oh, you, the wolf's satiety and the grass bag!
Ali you don't want to go, or you can't carry?
What are you on the roots, dog, stumbling?
Have you heard the whistle of a nightingale,
Have you heard the cry of an animal,
Have you not seen the blows of the heroic ones?
And here is the old Cossack and Ilya Muromets
Yes, he takes his tight, bursting bow,
In his he takes in white hands.
He pulled a silken string,
And he put a red-hot arrow,
He shot at that nightingale the robber,
He knocked out his right eye with a pigtail,
He lowered the Nightingale and on the damp earth,
Fastened it to the right to the stirrup
damask,
He took him across the glorious open field,
I took a nightingale past the nest.
Bylina "How Ilya from Murom became a hero"
In ancient times, lived near the city of Murom, in the village of Karacharovo, a peasant Ivan Timofeevich 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, like logs lie, 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 unsteady legs, oh, you, my uncontrollable hands! If I were healthy,
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, and 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 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 rivers, all 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, the passing Kaliki, there is so much strength in me that if there were a ring in the sky, I would grab it and turn the whole earth over.
“There is too much strength in you, you need to reduce it, otherwise the earth will not bear you. Bring some more water.
Ilya went on the water, but the earth really does not carry him: his foot in the ground, that in a swamp, gets stuck, he grabbed the oak tree - the oak with the 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 more ladles.
- 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 through force. You do not quarrel with Mikula Selyaninovich, his mother loves him - the damp earth. Do not go to Volga Vseslavevich, 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.
And Ilya took an ax and went to reap 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 the work is hard.
Ilya began to clear the forest - only chips flew. Old oaks with one stroke bring down, young with a root from the earth tears. 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 the wide field - only know to sow with grain!
Father and mother woke up, surprised, delighted, kind word 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 colt. The whole price of a foal is worthless, but the peasant demands exorbitant money for him: fifty and a half rubles.
Ilya bought a foal, brought it home, put it in the stable, fattened it with white wheat, soldered it with spring water, cleaned it, groomed it, put fresh straw on it.
Three months later, Ilya Burushka began to lead out into the meadows at dawn. The foal rolled in the dawn dew, 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 over 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, 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 the 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 I don’t have my 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 in 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 his native land, mounted a horse, waved his whip ...
People saw how Ilya jumped on a horse, but they did not see where he rode. Only the dust rose in a column across the field.
Bylina "Svyatogor the Bogatyr"
The Holy Mountains are high in Rus', their gorges are deep, the abysses are terrible. Neither birch, nor oak, nor aspen, nor green grass grow there. Even a wolf won't run through there, an eagle won't fly by - even an ant has nothing to profit from on the bare rocks.
Only the hero Svyatogor rides between the cliffs on his mighty horse.
The horse jumps over the abyss, jumps over the gorges, crosses from mountain to mountain.
The old one travels through the Holy Mountains.
Here the mother fluctuates - damp earth,
Stones fall into the abyss
Rapid rivers pour out.
The bogatyr Svyatogor is taller than a dark forest, props up the clouds with his head, gallops over the mountains - the mountains stagger under him, he will drive into the river - all the water from the river will splash out. He rides for a day, another, a third, he stops, he pitches his tent, he lies down, sleeps, and again his horse wanders through the mountains.
It is boring for Svyatogor the hero, it is dreary for the old one: in the mountains there is no one to say a word to, no one to measure strength with.
He would go to Rus', take a walk with other heroes, fight with enemies, shake his strength, but the trouble is: the earth does not hold him, only the stone cliffs of Svyatogorsk under his weight do not collapse, do not fall, only their ridges do not crack under his hooves heroic horse.
It is hard for Svyatogor from his strength, he wears it like a heavy burden, he would be glad to give half of his strength, but there is no one. I would be glad to do the hardest work, but there is no work on the shoulder. Whatever he takes with his hand, everything will crumble into crumbs, flatten into a pancake.
He would begin to uproot the forests, but for him the forests are like meadow grass. He would move mountains, but no one needs it ...
And so he travels alone through the Holy Mountains, his head is oppressed from melancholy ...
“Oh, if only I could find an earthly pull, I would drive a ring into the sky, tie an iron chain to the ring, pull the sky to the earth, turn the earth upside down, mix the sky with the earth — I would spend a little power!
But where is it - craving - to find!
Once Svyatogor rides along the valley between the cliffs, and suddenly - a living person is walking ahead!
An unprepossessing little man is walking, stomping on his bast shoes, carrying a saddle bag on his shoulder.
Svyatogor was delighted: he would have someone to say a word to, - he began to catch up with the peasant.
He goes to himself, in no hurry, but Svyatogorov's horse gallops with all his might, but he cannot catch up with the peasant. A peasant is walking, not in a hurry, throwing his bag from shoulder to shoulder. Svyatogor is galloping at full speed - all the passer-by is ahead! He walks at a pace - you can’t catch up with everything!
Svyatogor shouted to him:
— Hey, passer-by fellow, wait for me!
The man stopped and put his bag on the ground. Svyatogor jumped up, greeted him and asked:
“What is that burden you have in that purse?”
- And you take my purse, throw it over your shoulder and run with it across the field.
Svyatogor laughed so hard that the mountains shook: he wanted to pry his purse with a whip, but the purse did not move, he began to push with a spear - it would not move, he tried to lift it with his finger - it did not rise ...
Svyatogor got down from his horse, took his handbag with his right hand - he didn’t move it by a hair.
The hero grabbed the purse with both hands, jerked with all his strength - only raised it to his knees. Look - and he himself went knee-deep into the ground, not sweat, but blood flows down his face, his heart sank ...
Svyatogor threw his handbag, fell to the ground - a rumble went through the mountains and valleys.
The hero barely caught his breath:
“Tell me, what do you have in your purse?” Tell me, teach me, I have never heard of such a miracle. My strength is exorbitant, but I can’t lift such a grain of sand!
- Why not say - I will say; in my little purse all the thrust of the earth lies.
Svyatogor lowered his head:
- That's what the earth's thrust means. And who are you and what is your name, a passer-by?
- I'm a plowman, Mikula Selyaninovich.
- I see a kind person, mother loves you - the earth is damp! Can you tell me about my fate? It's hard for me to ride through the mountains alone, I can't live like this anymore in the world.
- Go, hero, to the Northern mountains. There is an iron forge near those mountains. In that forge, the blacksmith forges the fate of everyone, and you will learn about your own fate from him.
Mikula Selyaninovich threw his purse over his shoulder and walked away.
And Svyatogor jumped on his horse and galloped to the Northern Mountains.
Svyatogor rode and rode for three days, three nights, did not go to bed for three days - he reached the Northern Mountains. Here the cliffs are still naked, the abysses are even blacker, the deep rivers are more turbulent...
Under the cloud, on a bare rock, Svyatogor saw an iron forge. A bright fire burns in the forge, black smoke pours out of the forge, ringing and knocking all over the district goes.
Svyatogor went into the forge and saw: a gray-haired old man was standing at the anvil, blowing the bellows with one hand, and with the other he was beating the anvil with a hammer, but nothing was visible on the anvil.
- Blacksmith, blacksmith, what are you forging, father?
- Come closer, lean lower!
Svyatogor bent down, looked and was surprised: the blacksmith forges two thin hairs.
— What do you have, blacksmith?
- Here are two hairy hair, hair with hair owl - two people and get married.
- And who does fate tell me to marry?
- Your bride lives on the edge of the mountains in a dilapidated hut.
Svyatogor went to the edge of the mountains, found a dilapidated hut. The hero entered it, put a gift on the table - a bag of gold. Svyatogor looked around and saw: a girl was lying motionless on a bench, all covered with bark and scabs, her eyes did not open.
It became a pity for her Svyatogor. What is it that lies and suffers? And death does not come, and there is no life.
Svyatogor pulled out his sharp sword, wanted to hit the girl, but his hand did not rise. The sword fell on the oak floor.
Svyatogor jumped out of the hut, mounted a horse and galloped to the Holy Mountains.
Meanwhile, the girl opened her eyes and sees: a heroic sword lies on the floor, a bag of gold is on the table, and all the bark has fallen off her, and her body is clean, and her strength has arrived.
She got up, walked along the mountain, went beyond the threshold, bent over the lake and gasped: a beautiful girl was looking at her from the lake - and stately, and white, and ruddy, and clear eyes, and fair-haired braids!
She took the gold that lay on the table, built ships, loaded them with goods and set off on the blue sea to trade, to seek happiness.
Wherever you come, all the people run to buy goods, to admire the beauty. Her fame spreads throughout Rus'.
So she reached the Holy Mountains, the rumor about her reached Svyatogor. He also wanted to look at the beauty.
He looked at her, and the girl fell in love with him.
- This is the bride for me, for this I will woo!
Svyatogor also fell in love with the girl.
They got married, and Svyatogor's wife began to tell about her former life, how she lay covered with bark for thirty years, how she was cured, how she found money on the table.
Svyatogor was surprised, but did not say anything to his wife.
The girl quit trading, sailing the seas, and began to live with Svyatogor on the Holy Mountains.
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. Grand Duke Stolno-Kiev gives them water and feeds them and favors them, but we have nothing from Vladimir and Apraksia Korolevichnaya. 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 cell to cell. 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, put him at the table in high angle 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 from 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.
Prince Vladimir found out about the victory and, with joy, started a feast, but did not invite Alyosha Popovich to the feast. Alyosha was offended by Prince Vladimir, turned his faithful horse and went to Rostov-gorod, to his parent - the cathedral priest of Rostov Levontiy.
Epics, Russian folk epic songs-tales, arose as an expression of the historical consciousness of the Russian people of the ΙΧ-ΧΙΙΙ centuries, in the process of existence they absorbed the events of a later time. They tell mainly about the heroes - the defenders of the motherland; reflected the moral and social ideals of the people. Northern Slavic legends or ancient Russian northern epics are performed in one voice, usually to short tunes of a declamatory and narrative warehouse, southern epics are choral, in music they are related to the broadly chanted Don songs.
All known epics according to their place of origin are divided into: Kyiv, Novgorod and later all-Russian. Epics are epic songs about Russian heroes; Slavic epic tales reflect the history of their lives, their exploits and aspirations, feelings and thoughts. Each of the epic songs speaks mainly about one episode in the life of one hero, and thus a series of songs of a fragmentary nature are obtained, grouped around the main representatives of Russian heroes.
Epic verse and versification of Russian oral folk poetry are quite multifaceted. There are three types: spoken verse (proverbs, sayings, riddles, jokes, etc.) - purely tonic, with paired rhymes, without any internal rhythm (paradise verse); recitative verse (epics, historical songs, spiritual verses) - non-rhyming, with feminine or (more often) dactylic endings, at the heart of the rhythm is a tactician, sometimes simplified to a chorea, sometimes loosened to an accent verse; song verse (“drawn-out” and “frequent” songs) - the rhythm is closely connected with the chant and fluctuates between a relatively clear chorea and very complex, not fully explored options.
In ancient times, including the Paleolithic, there are inscriptions made in Old Slavic syllabic writing, the so-called “Makosh runes”, “Rod runes” and “Mary runes”, that is, various types of Slavic writing associated with the corresponding Slavic deities. The word "runes" was also used on many medieval inscriptions.
The name "Makosh runes" connects writing with the most ancient and most powerful Slavic goddess - Makosh, from whom all the other gods of the Slavic pantheon originated. The runes of Makosh were distinguished by a sacred character and were most likely intended not for the population, but for the priests. It is impossible to read Makosh runes, especially those connected into ligatures, these texts require a clue, like puzzles. The runes of Makosh were used everywhere in Rus' during the grand ducal period, but they are gradually falling out of use, and in different cities in different time. Thus, in Kyiv they give way to the Cyrillic alphabet as early as the 10th century, while in Novgorod they exist invariably until the 19th century.
The runes of the Sort are called proto-Cyrillic, that is, a letter that preceded the Cyrillic alphabet. The runes of the Family originated, apparently, from the runes of Makosh and were used to sign products, primarily the temple of the Family, for which it got its name. This letter existed in the form of secret inscriptions (pictocryptography), fit into drawings throughout Europe until the middle of the ΧΙΧ century. Saints Equal-to-the-Apostles Cyril and Methodius, on the basis of the runes of Rod, by adding Greek and compound letters, created in the ΙΧ century AD a Slavic Christian letter, named after the first brother in Cyrillic.
The runes of Mary are the most mysterious type of ancient Slavic writing. Presumably, this is not a special font, but a clue to the meanings of the written words. Mara was the goddess of death and disease, and her cult was very strong during the Paleolithic. The runes of Mary should mean something not just secret, but also somehow connected with the afterlife. It should be noted that it was the mythical power of Mary over the afterlife that gave the temple of Mary quite real power over its contemporaries, so that it was this temple that performed the most important social functions in Slavic communities.
From glorious Rostov red city
As two bright falcons flew out -
Two mighty heroes went out:
What is the name of Aleshenka Popovich, young
And with the young Yakim Ivanovich.
They ride, heroes, shoulder to shoulder,
Stirrup in stirrups heroic.
By the sea, the blue sea,
Blue, but Khvalunsky
Walked-walked the Falcon-ship
A little - a lot of twelve years.
The Falcon-ship did not stop at anchors,
I did not roll to the steep banks,
There were no yellow sands.
The Falcon ship was well decorated:
Nose, stern - like an animal,
And the sides are serpentine,
It was also inserted instead of eyes
Two stones, two yachts,
Yes, it was on the Falcon on the ship:
Even instead of eyebrows it was hung
Two sables, two greyhounds;
Yes, it was on the Falcon on the ship:
Still instead of eyes it was hung
Two Mamur martens;
Yes, it was on the Falcon on the ship:
Three more cathedral churches,
Yes, it was on the Falcon on the ship:
Dobrynushka also traveled throughout the land,
Dobrynushka also traveled all over the country;
And Dobrynushka was looking for a rider,
And Dobrynya was looking for an opponent:
He couldn't find a rider,
He couldn't find an opponent.
He went far into the open field,
He envied where the tent stood in the field.
And the tent stood of dug velvet;
On the shatri-to-de the signature was signed,
And it was signed with a threat:
“And whoever comes to the tent, - so the living will not be,
And there won’t be a living one, don’t leave away. ”
And in the tent stood a barrel of green wine;
And on the barrel is a silver charm,
And the silver bowl is gilded,
And not small, not large, one and a half buckets.
If the heroes lived on the outposts,
Not far from the city - for twelve miles,
If only they had lived here for fifteen years;
If only there were thirty of them with the hero;
We did not see either horse or foot,
They are neither a passer-by nor a passer-by,
Yes, not a gray wolf roamed here,
Not a clear falcon flew,
Yes, the non-Russian hero did not pass.
If only there were thirty bogatyrs with a bogatyr:
The ataman is the old Cossack Ilya Muromets,
Ilya Muromets and son Ivanovich;
Podatamanem Samson da Kolybanovich,
Yes, Dobrynya Mikitich lived as a clerk,
Yes, Alyosha Popovich lived as a cook,
Yes, and Mishka Toropanishko lived in the stables;
Yes, and Vasily son Buslaevich lived here,
And Vasenka Ignatievich lived here,
Yes, and the Duke and son Stepanovich lived here,
Yes, and Perm and son Vasilyevich lived here,
Yes, and Radivon lived and the Exalted,
Yes, and Potanyushka Lame lived here;
At the prince's with Sergei
There was a feast, a feast,
For princes, for nobles,
On Russian defenders - heroes
And to the whole Russian glade.
Red sun at the bottom
Yes, and the feast goes on merrily;
Everyone at the feast is drunk and cheerful,
At the table at the oak
The hero Bulat Eremeevich is sitting,
Prince Sergei of Kyiv
Walking around the dining room
Shaking golden bells
And he says these words:
“Ah, you, Bulat Eremeevich!
How about the poor to say yes about the white,
About the daring to say a stout young man.
He walks de, daring good fellow,
A big tavern goes to the tsar,
On a circle he walks like a sovereign;
He drinks a lot, kid, green wine,
He does not drink by magic, he does not drink glasses,
He rolls back barrels-magpies;
In a hop, the kid himself drinks,
From the speeches, Butman the son is knocked out:
“Already I am stronger than the king,
I’m smarter than the king’s estimator.”
The king's courtiers came in handy,
Like court people - governors,
Governors, fat-bellied people;
At the honest widow and at Nenila
And she had a child, Babyla.
And Vavilushka went to the field,
After all, he shouts his cornfield,
Sow more white wheat
He wants to feed his own mother.
And to that widow and to Nenila
People came to her cheerful,
Funny people, not simple,
Not simple people- buffoons:
“Hello, honest widow Nenila!”
Where is your child and now Vavila?
In glorious great Novegrad
And Buslay lived up to ninety years,
He lived with the New City, did not argue,
With the men of New York
I did not say a word across.
Zhivuchi Buslay grew old,
Got old and changed.
After his century long
His life remained
And all the noble estate,
The mother's widow remained,
Matera Amelfa Timofevna,
And the dear child remained,
Young son Vasily Buslaevich. You with this good luck
Nakvasiti river will be Volkhov.
Category Russian epics We offer you classical legends, that is, epics recorded by enthusiasts of the 18th-20th centuries in distant Russian villages and villages. All folk epics already after their first publications, they began to attract great attention of the domestic aristocracy. They were quite interested in such people as Pushkin, Dobrolyubov, Belinsky and Chernyshevsky.
For the first time the word "epics" was voiced by I. Sakharov in the book "Songs of the Russian people". Text epics could be like brief as well as deployed. The theme of epics usually talks about heroes heroes and their lives and deeds, representing a heroic epic. Most of them are historical and can describe how Kievan Rus and up to state time.
