A man and a prince. Mikula Selyaninovich and Volga.
The epic about Volga and Mikula stands apart among all the epics of the Russian epic.
We know that the creator and bearer of the epic was primarily the peasantry, but so far, throughout the development of the epic, we have not seen a peasant, apart from occasional, random mentions of him. The epic about the healing of Ilya, in which Ilya Muromets is so realistically portrayed as a peasant son, in which the hut, stove, and agricultural work of his parents are depicted, should have been created right now. Read more
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Epic in prose Mikula Selyaninovich. Epics
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Early in the morning, in the early sun, Volga gathered to take tribute from the trading cities of Gurchevets and Orekhovets.
The squad mounted good horses, brown stallions, and set off. The fellows drove out into an open field, into a wide expanse, and heard a plowman in the field. A plowman plows in the field, whistles, the plowshares scratch the pebbles. As if a plowman was leading a plow somewhere nearby. The good fellows go to the plowman, ride all day until evening, but cannot get to him. You can hear the plowman whistling, you can hear the bipod creaking, you can hear the plowshares scratching, but you can’t even see the plowman himself.
A plowman somewhere nearby is leading a plow. Well done the next day until the evening, the plowman is still whistling, the pine tree is creaking, the plowshares are scratching, but the plowman is gone.
The third day is approaching evening, and only then did the fellows get to the plowman. The plowman plows, urges, and hoots at his filly. He lays furrows like deep ditches, pulls oak trees out of the ground, throws stones and boulders to the side. Only the plowman’s curls sway and fall like silk over his shoulders.
But the plowman’s filly is not wise, and his plow is made of maple, and his tugs are silk. Volga marveled at him and bowed to the plowman:
- Hello, good man, there are laborers in the field!
- Be healthy, Volga Vseslavevich. Where are you going?
“I’m going to the cities of Gurchevets and Orekhovets to collect tribute from trading people.
- Eh, Volga Vseslavyevich, all the robbers live in those cities, they skin the poor plowman, and collect tolls for traveling on the roads. I went there to buy salt, bought three bags of salt, each bag a hundred pounds, put it on a gray filly and headed home to my place. Trade people surrounded me and began to take travel money from me. The more I give, the more they want. I got angry, angry, and paid them with a silk whip. Well, the one who stood is sitting, the one who was sitting is lying down.
Volga was surprised and bowed to the plowman:
- Oh, you, glorious plowman, mighty hero, come with me for a comrade.
- Well, I’ll go, Volga Vseslavyevich, I need to give them an order - not to offend other men.
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The plowman took the silk tugs off the plow, unharnessed the gray filly, sat astride her and set off.
The fellows galloped halfway. The plowman says to Volga Vseslavyevich:
- Oh, we did something wrong, we left a plow in the furrow. You sent some fine warriors to pull the bipod out of the furrow, shake out the earth from it, and put the plow under the broom bush.
Volga sent three warriors. They turn the bipod this way and that, but cannot lift the bipod off the ground.
Volga sent ten knights. They twirl the bipod with twenty hands, but can’t get it off the ground.
Volga and his entire squad went there. Thirty people, without a single one, clung to the bipod on all sides, strained, sank knee-deep into the ground, but did not move the bipod even an inch.
The plowman himself got off the filly, grabbed the bipod with one hand, pulled it out of the ground, shook the earth out of the plowshares, picked it up, and swung it behind the willow bush. The plow flew up to the cloud, the plow fell behind a broom bush, and sank into the damp earth up to the handle.
The job was done and the heroes went further along the road.
They arrived near Gurchevets and Orekhovets. And there the trading people are cunning: when they saw a plowman, they cut off oak logs on the bridge over the Orekhovets River. As soon as the squad reached the bridge, the oak logs broke, the fellows began to drown in the river, the brave squad began to die, the horses began to sink, people began to go to the bottom.
Volga and Mikula got angry, got angry, whipped their good horses, and jumped across the river in one gallop. They jumped onto that bank and began to honor the villains.
The plowman beats with a whip and says:
- Oh, you greedy trading people! The men of the city feed them bread and drink honey, but you spare them salt!
Volga bestows her club on behalf of her warriors and her heroic horses.
The Gurchevet people began to repent:
- You will forgive us for our villainy, for our cunning. Take tribute from us, and let the plowmen go for salt, no one will demand a penny from them.
Volga took tribute from them for twelve years, and the heroes went home.
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Volga Vseslavevich asks the plowman:
- Tell me, Russian hero, what is your name, what is your patronymic?
- Come to me, Volga Vseslavyevich, to my peasant yard, so you will find out how people honor me.
The heroes approached the field. The plowman pulled out a pine tree, plowed up a wide pole, and sowed it with golden grain...
The dawn is still burning, and the plowman’s field is rustling.
The dark night is coming - the plowman is reaping bread. In the morning you threshed, by noon you winnowed, by lunchtime you ground flour, and started making pies. In the evening he called the people to an honorable feast. People began to eat pies, drink mash and praise the plowman:
- Oh, thank you, Mikula Selyaninovich!
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Volga and Mikula Selyaninovich
When the red sun shone on either the sky or the clear sky, then young Volga was born, young Volga Svyatoslavovich.
As Volga began to grow and mature here, Volga longed for a lot of wisdom: To walk like a pike-fish in the deep seas, To fly under his covers like a bird-falcon, To scour the clear fields like a gray wolf. All the fish left in the blue sea, all the birds flew away behind the shells, all the animals galloped off into the dark forests.
As Volga began to grow and mature here, he gathered a good squad for himself: Thirty young men and not a single one, And Volga himself was in the thirties. He collected dark brown stallions for himself, dark brown stallions that were not light. So we mounted good horses, let's go, Let's go to the cities and get some pay. We drove into an open field in an open field, We heard shouting in an open field. As Oratai yells in the field, whistles, Oratai’s bipod creaks, Omeshiki scratches the pebbles. They drove all day from morning to evening. They couldn’t get to Oratai. They drove on another day. Another day, from morning to evening, we couldn’t get to Oratai. Like Oratai yelling and whistling in the field, And the little boys are scratching the pebbles. They rode here for the third day, and the third day was before the swan. And we came across an open field in Oratay.
Like an oratai yelling in a field, whistling, And he sweeps the furrows, And he turns out stumps and roots, And he throws large stones into the furrow. The Orata mare has a nightingale, Her goats are silk, The Orata's bipod is maple, The horns on the bipod are damask, The bipod's horn is silver, And the bipod's horn is red and gold.
And Oratai’s curls sway, Why don’t the pearls scatter after jumping, Oratai has the eyes and the clearness of a falcon, And his eyebrows are as black as sable. Oratay's boots are green morocco. Here are the awls on the heels, the noses are sharp, Here a sparrow will fly under the heel, even roll an egg near the nose. The orata has a feather hat, And his caftan is black velvet.
Volga says these words: “God help you, oratay-oratayushko!” Yell, and plow, and become peasants, And sweep your furrows, And turn out stumps and roots, And throw big stones into the furrow! The words he says are: “Come on, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I need God’s help for the peasantry. Where are you, Volga, going, where are you going?
Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: “How my dear uncle, my dear uncle and my godfather, the affectionate Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev, blessed me with three cities with peasants: the first city of Kurtsovets, the other city of Orekhovets, the third city of Krestyanovets.” Now I’m going to the cities and getting my pay.
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” There live little peasants and all the robbers, They will cut off the viburnum slugs and drown you in the river and in Smorodino! I was recently there in the city, the third day, I bought three furs of salt, Each fur was a hundred poods... And then the peasants began to ask me for pennies, I began to share the pennies with them, But the pennies became It’s not enough to stage, but Muzhichkov is staged more. Then I started pushing them away, I started pushing them away and threatening them with my fist. I put them here, up to a thousand: The one who stands, sits sitting, The one who sits, lies down. - Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: - Oh, you, oratay-oratayushko, you will go with me as comrades.
And then the oratay-oratayushko Guzhiki quilted the silk, and turned the mare out of the bipod. They mounted good horses and rode off. How her tail spreads out, And how her mane curls. The screaming mare began to step, and Volgin’s horse was galloping. The screaming mare began to breastfeed, but Volgin's horse remained. Oratay says these words: “I left the bipod in the furrow, Not for the sake of a passer-by: A low-powered one will run over - there’s nothing to take, But a rich one will run over - he won’t bother, - But for the sake of a peasant and a hillbilly, Like a bipod from a countryside pull it out, shake the land out of the pine trees and throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
Here, after all, Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends a good squad, Five good fellows, and indeed mighty ones, As if they would yank a bipod out of the ground, They would shake out a piece of land from the omeshas, They would throw the bipod behind a willow bush. A good squad arrives, Five good fellows, and indeed mighty ones, To the same maple fry. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t lift the bipod out of the ground, Shake the dirt out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
Here young Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends a good squad of ten. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t pull the bipod out of the ground, Shake the land out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
And then Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends all his brave squad to yank the bipod out of the ground, shake out the dirt from the small trees, throw the bipod behind the willow bush. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t pull the bipod out of the ground, Shake the dirt out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
Here oratay-oratayushko On his nightingale mare I came to the maple bipod. After all, he took the bipod with one hand, he pulled the bipod out of the ground, shook out the dirt from the piles, threw the bipod behind a willow bush.
And then they mounted the good horses and rode off, how her tail spreads out, and how her mane curls. The screaming mare began to step, and Volgin’s horse was galloping. The screaming mare began to breastfeed, but Volgin’s horse remained.
Then Volga began to shout, and he began to wave his cap: “Wait a minute, you little holler!” If this mare were a horse, they would give five hundred for this mare.
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, you’re stupid, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I bought this mare as a foal, As a foal and from under my mother, I paid five hundred rubles for the mare. If only this mare were a horse, There would be no price for this mare!
Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: “Oh, you, oratay-oratayushko, Somehow they call you by name, They call you by your fatherland?”
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I’ll plow up some rye and put it in stacks, I’ll put it in stacks and drag it home, I’ll drag it home and thresh it at home, And I’ll brew beer and give the peasants something to drink, And then the peasants will begin to praise me: “Young Mikula Selyaninovich!”...
Bylina: Volga and Mikula Selyaninovich
Home page / Epics, myths and legends / Russian epics / Epics: Volga and Mikula Selyaninovich
When the red sun shone on either the sky or the clear sky, then young Volga was born, young Volga Svyatoslavovich.
As Volga began to grow and mature here, Volga longed for a lot of wisdom: To walk like a pike-fish in the deep seas, To fly under his covers like a bird-falcon, To scour the clear fields like a gray wolf.
All the fish left in the blue sea, all the birds flew away behind the shells, all the animals galloped off into the dark forests. As Volga began to grow and mature here, he gathered a good squad for himself: Thirty young men and not a single one, And Volga himself was in the thirties.
He collected dark brown stallions for himself, dark brown stallions that were not light. So we mounted good horses, let's go, Let's go to the cities and get some pay. We drove into an open field in an open field, We heard shouting in an open field.
As Oratai yells in the field, whistles, Oratai’s bipod creaks, Omeshiki scratches the pebbles. They drove all day from morning to evening. They couldn’t get to Oratai. They drove on another day.
Another day, from morning to evening, we couldn’t get to Oratai. Like Oratai yelling and whistling in the field, And the little boys are scratching the pebbles. They rode here for the third day, and the third day was before the swan.
And we came across an open field in Oratay. Like an oratai yelling in a field, whistling, And he sweeps the furrows, And he turns out stumps and roots, And he throws large stones into the furrow.
The Orata mare has a nightingale, Her goats are silk, The Orata's bipod is maple, The horns on the bipod are damask, The bipod's horn is silver, And the bipod's horn is red and gold.
And Oratai’s curls sway, Why don’t the pearls scatter after jumping, Oratai has the eyes and the clearness of a falcon, And his eyebrows are as black as sable. Oratay's boots are green morocco. Here are the awls on the heels, the noses are sharp, Here a sparrow will fly under the heel, even roll an egg near the nose.
The orata has a feather hat, And his caftan is black velvet. Volga says these words: “God help you, oratay-oratayushko!” Yell, and plow, and become peasants, And sweep your furrows, And turn up stumps and roots, And throw big stones into the furrow!
The words he says are: “Come on, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I need God’s help for the peasantry. Where are you, Volga, going, where are you going?
Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: “How my dear uncle and my dear uncle, my dear uncle and my godfather, the affectionate Vladimir of Stolno-Kiev, blessed me with three cities with peasants:
The first city is Kurtsovets, the other city is Orekhovets, the third city is Krestyanovets. Now I’m going to the cities and getting my pay.
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” There live little peasants and all the robbers, They will cut off the viburnum slugs and drown you in the river and in Smorodino!
I was recently there in the city, the third day, I bought three furs of salt, Each fur was a hundred poods... And then the peasants began to ask me for pennies, I began to share the pennies with them, But the pennies became It’s not enough to stage, but Muzhichkov is staged more. Then I started pushing them away, I started pushing them away and threatening them with my fist.
I put them here, up to a thousand: The one who stands, sits sitting, The one who sits, lies down. - Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: - Oh, you, oratay-oratayushko, you will go with me as comrades.
And then the oratay-oratayushko Guzhiki quilted the silk, and turned the mare out of the bipod. They mounted good horses and rode off. How her tail spreads out, And how her mane curls.
The screaming mare began to step, and Volgin’s horse was galloping. The screaming mare began to breastfeed, but Volgin’s horse remained. Oratay says these words: “I left the bipod in the furrow.”
Not for the sake of a passer-by: If someone with little power runs over, there’s nothing to take, But if a rich person runs over, he won’t covet it, But for the sake of a peasant and a hillbilly, How would you yank a fry out of the land, Shake out the land from the big boys, And throw the fry behind the willows bush.
Here, after all, Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends a good squad, Five good fellows, and indeed mighty ones, As if they would yank a bipod out of the ground, They would shake out a piece of land from the omeshas, They would throw the bipod behind a willow bush.
A good squad arrives, Five good fellows, and indeed mighty ones, To the same maple fry. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t lift the bipod out of the ground, Shake the dirt out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
Here young Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends a good squad of ten. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t pull the bipod out of the ground, Shake the land out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
And then Volga Svyatoslavovich Sends all his brave squad to yank the bipod out of the ground, shake out the dirt from the small trees, throw the bipod behind the willow bush. They twirl the bipod around by the bushes, But they can’t pull the bipod out of the ground, Shake the dirt out of the dirt, Throw the bipod behind the willow bush.
Here oratay-oratayushko On his nightingale mare I came to the maple bipod. After all, he took the bipod with one hand, he pulled the bipod out of the ground, shook out the dirt from the piles, threw the bipod behind a willow bush.
And then they mounted the good horses and rode off, how her tail spreads out, and how her mane curls. The screaming mare began to step, and Volgin’s horse was galloping. The screaming mare began to breastfeed, but Volgin’s horse remained.
Then Volga began to shout, and he began to wave his cap: “Wait a minute, you little holler!” If this mare were a horse, they would give five hundred for this mare.
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, you’re stupid, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I bought this mare as a foal, As a foal and from under my mother, I paid five hundred rubles for the mare. If only this mare were a horse, There would be no price for this mare!
Then Volga Svyatoslavovich said: “Oh, you, oratay-oratayushko, Somehow they call you by name, They call you by your fatherland?”
Then the oratayushko spoke: “Oh, Volga Svyatoslavovich!” I’ll plow up some rye and put it in stacks, I’ll put it in stacks and drag it home, I’ll drag it home and thresh it at home, And I’ll brew beer and give the peasants something to drink, And then the peasants will begin to praise me: “Young Mikula Selyaninovich!”...
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