Young Baldak Borisievich made the sign of the cross, bowed low to all sides, and spoke in a loud voice: “O Turkish sultan, do not give the order that I be hanged, order me to speak.” “Speak! What is it?” “I have a gift from my father, a blessing from my mother: a playing horn. Order me to play it for the last time.” Young Baldak played a gay tune, and everyone’s mind was clouded; people became absorbed in looking at him and listening to him, and forgot why they had come; the sultan’s tongue could not move. The twenty-nine youths heard the horn, came from the back rows, and began to cut down all the people with their sharp sabers. Young Baldak played until his companions had cut down all the crowd and reached the gallows.
Then young Baldak, son of Boris, ceased playing and said these last words to the Turkish sultan: “Aren’t you the blockhead rather than I? Turn around, look behind you. My geese are pecking your wheat!” The Turkish sultan turned around and saw that all his people were slain and lying on the ground, and that at the gallows only three Were left—himself, his daughter, and his favorite pasha. Young Baldak ordered his youths to hang the sultan with the silken noose, his favorite pasha with the hempen noose, and his youngest daughter with the noose of bast. With this they had finished their enterprise, and departed for the famous city of Kiev, to return to Tsar Vladimir himself.
KNOW NOT
IN A CERTAIN VILLAGE, not far, not near, not high and not low, there lived an old man and his three sons, Grishka and Mishka and the third, Vaniushka. Vaniushka was neither clever nor wise, but sharp as a needle! Work he did not, but all of the time he lay on the stove; he wore his sides off lying there, and said to his brothers: “Eh, you old fools, open the door! I want to go forth, I know not where.” And he began to importune his father and mother: “Give me my share, I renounce my claim on what is left to my brothers.” The old man yielded to his entreaty and gave him three hundred rubles. Vaniushka took the money, bowed to his parents, hurried out of the village, arrived in the capital, and began to roam about the city, frequenting inns, regaling himself, and gathering all the drunkards about him. The drunkards asked him: “What is your name?” He said: “Truly brothers, I know not. When the priest baptized me and gave me my name, I was young and stupid.” For that reason he was nicknamed “Know Not.”
Know Not spent all his money in revels with the drunkards and began to wonder, poor wretch that he was, how he would live and avoid utter misery. He went to some cattle dealers and offered to hire himself to them. “What do you want for wages?” they asked. Know Not thought to himself that bread stays put, but money rolls away, and answered: “I don’t want wages in money. Only let me eat my fill and drink till I’m drunk. I won’t ask you for anything, nor will you ask me for anything.” The cattle dealers agreed to this readily, for a worker who wanted no money was much to their liking; straightway they signed the bond, making it formal and legal. Know Not was delighted with his free bread and wine. He began to live a gay life: every day he got drunk and lay in a stupor; as soon as he woke he fell upon the wine again, and passed hours with the bottle, never working. When ordered to work he would say: “Be gone! Why do you bother me? Did we not agree that you should let me eat my fill and drink till I was drunk, that I would not ask anything of you, nor you of me?” When his term was up, the cattle dealers were glad to get rid of him. “We have lost our bread and wine,” they said, “and will be lucky if he does not sue us in court!”
From the cattle dealers Know Not went to the tsar’s gardeners and hired himself out as a watchman. The gardeners quickly made an agreement with him on the same basis as the cattle dealers—not to pay anything for his work, but to give him his fill of food and drink. Know Not was supposed to watch the gardens, but he caroused by night and by day, and was never sober. One night all the gardeners happened to be out, and Know Not decided to replant the apple trees, the grapevines, and the shrubs.
The tsar had three daughters; the two elder ones were resting, but the youngest sat among the flowers and did not sleep all night. She saw Know Not ruin the gardens, displaying his strength, tearing out old trees by their roots and flinging them over the fence. Next morning the gardeners came to work and began to shout and swear: “What kind of fool are you? You cannot watch anything! Who did it?” “I know not!” They seized him like a thief and brought him before the tsar. Know Not found himself in the tsar’s palace, crossed himself as is prescribed, saluted as he had been taught, came close, bowed low, stood erect and spoke out boldly: “Your Majesty! Your gardens were not laid out in good order; it is no calamity that the trees were uprooted and flung over the fence! Give me permission to repair everything, I will do whatever is necessary!”
The tsar gave him permission, and the next night Know Not set about putting the gardens in order; a tree that twenty men could not lift, he would pick up with one hand. By morning all the gardens were ready, laid out in order. The tsar called Know Not before him, poured him a cup of wine, and Know Not took the cup in his right hand, and drank it down in one gulp. After that, he took out three apples and presented them to the princesses: to the eldest daughter he gave an overripe one, to the second a ripe one, and to the youngest a green one. The tsar saw this and realized that his princesses were of age, that the eldest should long since have been married, that the second one’s time had come, and that even the youngest had not long to wait. On that very day he gathered together his dukes and boyars and wise councilors; they began to ponder how to marry off the three princesses. At last they thought of a plan: they printed official edicts and sent them with messengers to all the sovereign nations, announcing that their tsar desired to give his daughters in marriage, and that suitors from every country should come to his court.
And so emperors’ sons and kings’ sons and mighty champions gathered together in the tsar’s court, and the tsar gave them a great feast; all the suitors ate their fill and drank their fill and sat there drunken and gay. The tsar ordered his daughters to dress in many-colored garments, come out of their private apartments, and choose their future husbands, each according to her heart’s desire. The princesses dressed in many-colored garments, came forth to look at the suitors, stood near them, and curtsied politely. These maidens were stately of form and agile of mind; their eyes were as bright as the falcon’s, their brows as black as the sable’s. They poured cups of green wine and passed along the rows to choose their bridegrooms. The eldest daughter gave her cup to an emperor’s son, the middle one gave hers to a king’s son, but the youngest one carried her cup up and down the rows, then put it on the table and said to her father: “My father, my sovereign, there is no groom for me here.” “Ah, my beloved daughter, most valiant knights are here. Is there nevertheless none to your liking?” After the feast, the guests departed.
Again the tsar assembled the sons of dukes, boyars, and wealthy merchants, and ordered his youngest daughter to dress in a many-colored garment and choose a bridegroom. She dressed, came forth, poured a cup of green wine, walked and walked along the rows, put the cup on the table, curtsied before her father, and said: “My father, my sovereign, there is no groom to my liking here!” Her father answered: “Ah, my fussy daughter, from among what men will you choose a groom? Since you are so minded, I will now gather together burghers and peasants, simpletons and drunkards, buffoons, stage dancers and singers; from among them you shall choose your husband, whether you like it or not!”
The tsar sent his edict to all the towns, villages, and hamlets; at his court there assembled a great multitude of burghers and peasants, fools and drunkards, buffoons, stage dancers and singers, among whom was also Know Not. The princess dressed in a many-colored garment, came forth to the palace entrance, and beheld the lowly crowd. She saw Know Not. In stature he was taller than everyone else; he was stouter of body too, and his curls fell over his shoulders like pure gold. She came close to him, curtsied low, gave him the loving cup, and said these words: “Drink, my betrothed, you will perform every task!” Know Not received the cup in his right hand, dr
ank it down in one gulp, took the princess by her white hands, kissed her on her sweet lips, and together they went to the tsar himself. The tsar then ordered all his sons-in-law to celebrate their weddings; they celebrated their weddings and feasted at their feasts, and soon the princesses began to live happily with their husbands.
Absorbed in these weddings, the tsar forgot to recall his messengers, who had continued on their way, summoning suitors from still other foreign lands. When the messengers reached the Saracen kingdom, they issued a call in the market places and at the fairs, and announced the tsar’s edict. And so three brothers gathered together—valiant warriors, mighty champions, who had traveled in many lands and conquered many kingdoms. First the youngest brother set out on his way, followed by a vast army. He approached the tsar’s capital and learned that the princesses were already married. He grew wrathful and sent a threatening letter to the tsar, saying: “I came from the Saracen kingdom with peaceful intentions, to woo your daughters; for that purpose I have traveled through many lands and provinces. Now I find that you have given your daughters in marriage, and failed to recall your messengers; therefore pay me for the damage and expenses I have suffered. If you do not, I shall burn the whole city, slay all the people, and put you yourself, despite your great age, to a cruel death!”
Then the tsar said: “My beloved sons-in-law, what shall we do?” The emperor’s son and the king’s son answered: “We do not fear this threat, we shall ourselves battle the champion! Assemble a host of troops, father, and the mounted guard as well.” Thereupon a considerable army assembled; the emperor’s son commanded the infantry regiments, the king’s son the mounted regiments. Both went out to the open field, beheld the valiant warrior, the mighty champion, took fright, and fled to their country estates, beyond thick forests and swampy marshes, so that nobody could find a trace of them. Their regiments were left leaderless, helpless, and fearful of judgment day. Know Not lay on the stove, and his heroic heart boiled with rage. He said to his wife: “My beloved wife, let us go to the country; any time now the city may be burned, the people slain, and your own father taken captive; we are not responsible for this affair, we are guiltless of this disaster.” “No,” answered the tsar’s daughter, “I would rather die than leave my father and mother.” She said farewell to Know Not and went to her father on the balcony. The tsar stood on the balcony watching the field of battle through a spyglass.
Know Not dressed as a peasant, donned a cap, a caftan, and mittens, went out of the city unseen and unknown, came to a high hill, and shouted a heroic shout and whistled a warlike whistle. At his call, there galloped from the open field a good steed bearing a full suit of armor; from his mouth a flame streamed, from his ears rolled curls of smoke, from his nostrils sparks flew; the steed’s tail was three cubits long and his mane reached to his hoofs. Know Not the Simpleton came closer and put on the horse saddlecloths, blankets, and a Circassian saddle; he tightened the twelve saddle girths and laid the thirteenth over the chest. The girths were of white silk, the buckles of red gold, and the clamps of steel, not for beauty’s sake, but for heroic strength; for silk does not tear, steel does not bend, and red gold does not rust in the ground. He himself donned all the warlike accouterments—iron mail, a steel shield, a long spear, a battle mace, and a sharp sword. He mounted his good steed and lashed him on his slender flanks, cutting his flesh to the white bone. The steed flew into a passion and raised himself from the damp earth—higher than the tall-standing trees, only lower than the moving clouds he began to leap, and each leap measured a verst. From beneath his mighty hoofs enormous clumps of earth were dug up, underground springs gushed into the air, the water in the lakes surged forth and mixed with the yellow sand, and the trees in the forests shook and bent to the ground.
Know Not shouted a mighty shout, whistled a warlike whistle, and the wild beasts on chains began to roar, the nightingales in the gardens began to sing, and the snakes and adders began to hiss. Such was Know Not’s ride. He rode past the tsar’s palace, past the front entrance, and cried: “Hail, great sovereign, with all your royal retinue!” He jumped over the white stone walls and the corner towers, into the open field where stood the host of troops and the mounted guards, and cried: “Hail, men, where are your leaders?” And in the open field he beheld the valiant warrior, the mighty champion, galloping on his good steed, taking wing like an eagle, casting terror into the host of troops. Know Not shouted in a shrill voice like a loud trumpet, and the two warriors rode toward each other, raising their iron maces that weighed each two thousand pounds.
When they came together, the shock of mail on mail was like a mountain avalanche; their maces clashed and broke, only the staffs remained in their hands. Once more they jumped far apart in the open field, wheeled their good steeds around, and rode again to meet in one place; they thrust their spears together and the spears bent to the handles and could not pierce the mail. But now the Saracen champion wavered in his saddle. Once more they rode apart in the open field, and when they met for the third time, they struck each other with their sharp swords, and Know Not knocked the Saracen knight out of the saddle onto the damp earth; in the foe’s eyes the light grew dim, from his mouth and nose blood began to flow. Know Not jumped from his steed, pressed the hero to the damp earth, drew from his pocket an enormous dagger, a steel knife that weighed sixty pounds, cut open the colored garment of the Saracen knight, bared his white breast, searched for his fiery heart, shed his hot blood, and destroyed his heroic strength. Then he cut off the rash head, lifted it on his spear, and cried in a mighty voice: “Oh my beloved friends! Come out, sons-in-law, come out of the thickets, and take command of your armies, they are all safe and sound!”
Then Know Not turned his good steed around; like the bright falcon the horse flew, and did not touch the ground. He soon approached the city. The tsar and his retinue and Know Not’s own wife all ran down from the balcony to meet him. But Know Not covered his face—“Let no one recognize me!” The tsar spoke to him thus: “Brave young knight! Of what birth are you, of what father and mother, and who has sent you to aid us from what cities? I know not what gifts to give you, I wot not what rewards. Welcome to our palace!” The good knight answered: “I shall not eat your bread, nor do I heed your words!” He rode beyond the city into the green thicket, unsaddled his horse, and let him go free; he removed his steel armor, his iron coat of mail, put his accouterments away in their hiding place for the time being, and went home. When he came to his dwelling, he donned his old clothes and lay down to sleep on the stove.
His young wife rushed to him and said: “Ah Know Not, my husband dear! You know nothing, for you have heard nothing. From the thicket a young warrior rode forth, he cried in a shrill voice, so that all the citizens were frightened. He jumped over these white stone walls and the corner towers, into the open field where stood a host of troops and the mounted guard, and they had hardly time to make room for him. He blew into a loud trumpet; the Saracen knight heard it and turned his steed about. They rode toward each other and clashed together like storm clouds; their maces met and broke, only the staffs remained in their hands. They clashed for the second time, they thrust their spears together and the spears bent to their handles; they clashed for the third time, fought with swords, and the Saracen knight fell on the damp earth, and the young warrior jumped from the saddle, onto his mighty chest, cut open his white body, searched for his fiery heart and cut his rash head off his shoulders, lifted it on his long spear, and rode into the open field.” “Ah you, foolish woman! You don’t know the ways of men nor the ways of beasts in the dark forest. There are no such heroes in the white world!”
Meanwhile the tsar’s sons-in-law came forth from the woods and the thickets, met in the open field, assembled their host of troops and their mounted guard, and led them into the city. There the bells tolled, the regiments beat their drums, played their trumpets, and sang their songs. Overjoyed, the tsar quickly opened the gates for them, let the host of troops and the mounted
guard into the city, treated the soldiers to wine in all the taverns and inns, and gave a great feast for all the good folk. For six whole weeks they feasted; everyone drank and ate his fill, everyone in the city was drunken and gay. Only Know Not, the tsar’s youngest son-in-law, did not enjoy this celebration; no one knew of his part in the affair nor of the great burden he had borne. So he said to his wife: “My beloved wife, unloved by her father, go and ask the tsar for a cup of green wine with a piece of ham for me to eat.”
The princess went to her father’s throne, came near to him, curtsied low, looked straight at him, and spoke out boldly: “My father, my sovereign, I beg your favor. Give my husband and your son-in-law, Know Not the Simpleton, a cup of new wine to drink and a piece of ham to eat.” The tsar answered: “Water does not flow under a resting stone! Your husband and our son-in-law, when we were in distress, fled to the country; he was a laughingstock to all; and now when we are victorious he has returned and lies on the stove. If only, my beloved daughter, you had married a knight who could have ridden into battle to defeat the enemy host! Then we would have been pleased and you would not have been offended! But since things are as they are, you must be satisfied with the remnants when the feast is over.” The tsar’s daughter replied: “It is not given to all, as it is to your elder sons-in-law, to hide in the dark woods at the hour of battle, and to rush back to the feast, to drink and be gay when the battle is over! Is it fitting that my husband and I should lick the plates after them?”
The feast was not yet over when a speedy messenger arrived in the Saracen kingdom. Straightway he came to the other two mighty champions, and announced the disaster. “A young warrior rode forth,” he said, “and slew your brother, whose body lies on the field; his hot blood was shed, and all his host of troops and his mounted guard were taken captive.” The brother champions became angry, speedily mounted their steeds, donned their steel armor and their coats of iron mail and took up their warlike arms—their steel swords, battle maces, sharp sabers, and long spears—and set out on their way. Ahead of them they sent a messenger to the tsar, bearing the following letter: “Surrender the knight who shed our brother’s blood. If you refuse, we shall cut down all your troops with the sword, set your capital city on fire, take your people captive, and give you over to a cruel death, despite your great age.” The messenger arrived in the tsar’s palace and handed this letter to the tsar, who took it, unsealed it, and read it—and then his nimble legs collapsed under him, his white hands trembled, and his bright eyes could not see, for burning tears flowed from them.
Russian Fairy Tales (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 9