The Wobbly Peasant

Once upon a time, there lived a poor peasant who rented a quarter of land to sow winter crops. When the time came to sow rye, his hired hands demanded payment: one asked for five rubles, and the other wanted a quarter of vodka. The peasant thought it over.

"Well," he said, "I could give five rubles or buy a quarter of vodka... No, that’s too expensive." So he went to the market, bought a horse for three gold coins and ten groschen, made himself a plow, and decided to plow the field himself. His plot was near the forest. As he began plowing, mosquitoes and horseflies attacked the horse, biting its sides and making it impossible to work. The peasant covered the horse with a blanket, but the wind blew it off. He grabbed the blanket, swung it at the horse, and killed thirty horseflies, while the number of mosquitoes was beyond counting.

He stopped, looked around, and thought, "Why should I grieve? I’ve become such a hero that with one swing, I’ve killed thirty warriors, and the smaller ones are countless." He decided, "I’ll go wander the world. Sitting at home by the stove and listening to crickets has grown tiresome." He tucked an axe into his belt, threw the blanket over his horse, mounted it, and rode off.

As he rode, he came to a crossroads where a post stood. The peasant thought for a while, dismounted, and wrote on the post (for he was a literate peasant): "Here passed a peasant from Boltan, a mighty warrior of the infidels—with one swing, he felled thirty warriors, and the smaller ones are countless." Then he rode on.

Soon, Bova Korolevich came running, saw the post, and thought, "What is this? A peasant from Boltan, a mighty warrior of the infidels, who felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless. There’s no one stronger than the three of us, but here’s someone even mightier." He began chasing down the road. After a while, he saw a peasant riding a skinny nag, its skin hanging loose and bones barely holding together. Bova Korolevich greeted him:

"Hello, peasant!"
"Hello!"
"Are you the peasant from Boltan, the mighty warrior of the infidels, who felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless?"

The peasant replied:
"I am."
"Then don’t be angry that I called you a peasant."
"And who are you?" asked the peasant.
"I am Bova Korolevich."
"Well, then join me, and let’s ride together."

Next, Yaruslan Lazarevich came running, saw the post, and said, "What is this? There’s no one stronger than the two of us, but here’s someone even mightier—he felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless." He read the inscription and began chasing after them. When he caught up, he greeted Bova Korolevich:

"Hello, Bova Korolevich! Why are you riding with a peasant?"
"Quiet!" Bova replied.

Yaruslan guessed and asked the peasant:
"Are you the peasant from Boltan, the mighty warrior of the infidels, who felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless?"

The peasant answered:
"I am."
"Then don’t be angry that I called you a peasant."
"And who are you?" asked the peasant.
"I am Yaruslan Lazarevich."
"Then take your place on the right, and let’s ride!"

They rode on.

Next, Ilya Muromets came running, read the post, and said, "Good heavens, there’s no one stronger than me, but here’s someone even mightier—he felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless." He spurred his horse and caught up with the others.

"Why are you riding with a peasant?" he asked.
The others replied, "Hush, keep quiet!"

Ilya guessed and asked the peasant:
"Are you the peasant from Boltan, the mighty warrior of the infidels, who felled thirty warriors with one swing, and the smaller ones are countless?"

The peasant answered:
"I am."
"Then forgive me for calling you a peasant."
"And who are you?" asked the peasant.
"I am Ilya Muromets, the strongest of all warriors."
"Then take your place in the middle!"

And so they rode on. The three warriors decided to travel to the Wild Fields, where there lived a princess who would marry whoever reached her. They rode and rode until they reached the Wild Steppes, set up three tents, and raised three flags. The peasant took the blanket off his horse, let it graze, covered himself with the blanket, and lay down to sleep.

The princess looked through her spyglass and said to her princes:
"Three warriors have entered my steppes and raised three flags. Send, my dear princes, six warriors, six beasts, and countless lesser forces to defeat them and bring me their heads."

The princes quickly assembled an army and sent it into the steppe. Bova Korolevich looked through his spyglass and said to his companions:
"What shall we do? Six warriors, six beasts, and countless lesser forces are coming against us!"
The companions replied:
"Let’s ask the peasant."

Bova Korolevich went to the peasant and asked:
"Peasant from Boltan, mighty warrior of the infidels, give us advice: six warriors, six beasts, and countless lesser forces are coming against us. What should we do?"
The peasant said:
"You, brave warrior Bova Korolevich, mount your horse and ride out to meet them. You’ll defeat the six warriors and six beasts as if they were mere horseflies, and your horse will trample the lesser forces."

Bova Korolevich mounted his horse, rode out, and began to fight. He slew the six warriors and six beasts, and his horse trampled the lesser forces, leaving only one alive to deliver a message to the princess.

Then the princess sent nine warriors, nine beasts, and countless lesser forces against them.

Yaruslan Lazarevich looked through his spyglass and said:
"What shall we do? Nine warriors, nine beasts, and countless lesser forces are coming against us!"
The companions replied:
"Go and ask the peasant!"

Yaruslan Lazarevich went to the peasant and asked...

— Peasant of Boltan, infidel hero, give us advice: nine heroes, nine beasts, and countless lesser forces are marching against us. What should we do?
— You, — says the little peasant, — glorious hero, Yaruslan Lazarevich, mount your horse and ride to meet them. You will defeat the nine heroes like nine gadflies, and your horse will trample the lesser forces.

Yaruslan Lazarevich mounted his horse, rode out, and began to fight: he defeated the nine heroes and nine beasts, and his horse trampled the lesser forces, leaving only one alive to send news to the princess. Then she released twelve heroes, twelve beasts, and countless lesser forces against them.

Ilya Muromets looked through his spyglass and said:
— What shall we do now? Twelve heroes, twelve beasts, and countless lesser forces are marching against us.

His companions replied:
— Go and ask the little peasant.

Ilya Muromets went to the peasant and asked:
— Peasant of Boltan, infidel hero, give us advice: twelve heroes, twelve beasts, and countless lesser forces are marching against us. What should we do?
— You, glorious hero, — said the little peasant, — Ilya Muromets, mount your horse and ride to meet them. You will defeat the twelve heroes and twelve beasts like twelve gadflies, and your horse will trample the lesser forces.

Ilya Muromets saddled his horse, mounted it, and rode out. He began to fight: he defeated the twelve heroes and twelve beasts, and his horse trampled the lesser forces, leaving only one alive to send a message to the princess.

Seeing that things were serious, the princess summoned her princes and said:
— What shall we do? Three heroes have defeated all our warriors and beasts, and the lesser forces are beyond count. The princes replied:
— Let us release the twelve-headed serpent, chained with twelve chains. If even he cannot handle them, we will have to receive them as guests.

They decided to release the twelve-headed serpent. The serpent flew, shaking the earth, driving beasts into the forest, and sending small birds fleeing across the sea.

Ilya Muromets rose early, looked through his spyglass, and said to his companions:
— Bad news, comrades. The twelve-headed serpent is flying toward us, shaking the earth, driving beasts into the forest, and sending small birds fleeing across the sea.
— Well, — they said, — let’s go to the little peasant. They came to him and said:
— Peasant of Boltan, infidel hero, we have done our part, now it is your turn. The twelve-headed serpent is flying toward us. Go and deal with it.

The little peasant stood up and thought: “Well, this is the end of my knighthood! I’ve traveled the world, seen people, and now I must offer myself alive to the serpent. There’s no way out of this.” He stood up, covered his horse with a blanket, tucked an axe into his belt, mounted, and rode off. The heroes said to him:
— Take one of our horses. Yours is barely breathing; it might not even carry you to the serpent.
— No need, — he replied, — your horses won’t bear me.

He tugged on the halter and limped forward. As he approached the serpent, the serpent flew toward him, shaking the earth, driving beasts into the forest, and sending small birds fleeing across the sea. The little peasant paid no attention, tugging on the halter as his horse plodded along. The serpent looked at this knight, stopped, and stood still.

— What is this? Are you mocking me?
— Exactly! — the little peasant replied.

He dismounted, pulled the axe from his belt, and struck the beast on the head. One head rolled off, then another, and it fell.

Seeing that the peasant of Boltan, the infidel hero, was defeating the serpent and stealing their glory, the three heroes mounted their horses and charged at the serpent from two sides, while the third grabbed its tail. They defeated it, hacked it to pieces, burned it on a fire, and scattered the ashes to the wind.

— Now, — said the little peasant, — we can go to the princess to propose. The only bad thing is that you, heroes, are envious. I wanted to chop the serpent with my axe, but you wouldn’t let me. Why didn’t you take your turn in the Wild Field?

He scolded them. Ilya Muromets, as the eldest, said:
— Well, we beg your pardon, our glorious peasant of Boltan, infidel hero. You are now our leader. If you wish, go and marry the princess and take the kingdom for yourself. If not, let’s travel the world and show off our strength.

— Thank you for the honor! — said the peasant of Boltan. — But I am no suitor for the princess, as you called me a peasant. And showing off my strength, astonishing people, and disturbing their peace is not my way. You, as noble heroes, have rich attire and expensive horses. Go and propose to the princess, and I will follow behind.

The heroes dressed in their finest clothes and set off, while the little peasant watered his horse, covered it with a blanket, mounted it, tugged on the halter, and followed them.

The princess saw that all her heroes had been defeated, the twelve-headed serpent turned to ashes, and thought: “There’s no other choice; I must welcome these honored guests.” She called her princes and ordered:
— Open the gates, spread cloths to my palace, and welcome the heroes with bread and salt!

They opened the gates, welcomed the heroes with bread and salt, bowed, and the princess stepped onto the porch, opening the doors to her palace. She greeted the heroes, seated them at the table, and treated them to fine wine and mead. Meanwhile, the peasant of Boltan, the infidel hero, rode up to the palace, tied his horse at the porch, removed the blanket, spread it on the ground, lay down, and smoked his pipe.

The heroes drank and feasted, each glancing at the princess, wondering: “Which of us will she choose?” The princess saw that all the heroes were handsome and kind, and she didn’t know whom to marry. They drank and feasted but made no move. The princess then said:
— Whoever among you, glorious heroes, defeated my twelve-headed serpent, let him drink a cup of wine with me.

The heroes looked at each other, but the one who had defeated the twelve-headed serpent was not among them. They had no choice but to say:
— There is still the peasant of Boltan, the infidel hero, who slew thirty heroes with a single blow and countless lesser forces. He is lying at the porch, smoking his pipe. Let him come here. But he is a strange peasant, dressed simply, riding a nag, and covering himself with a blanket when he sleeps.

— If that’s the case, — said the princess, — let my princes dress him properly and bring him to the table.

The princes dressed the peasant of Boltan and seated him at the table. The princess poured everyone a cup and said:
— Whoever among you, glorious heroes, defeated my twelve-headed serpent, let him drink a cup of wine with me.

The little peasant was not afraid. He raised his cup and said:
— It was I!

The princess then married him and made him ruler of her kingdom.

I was there, drank vodka with him, and now I’ve come to you to tell this tale. Perhaps you’ll pour me a cup as well.

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The Wobbly Peasant

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