Once Prince Vladimir of Kiev gathered the bogatyrs of the capital for a feast. At the end of the feast, he gave each a task: he sent Ilya Muromets into the field to do battle with enemies; Dobrynya Nikitich—to subdue foreign lands beyond the sea; and Mikhailo Potyk he sent to Tsar Vakhramey Vakhrameyevich to collect the tribute that Tsar owed to Rus’. The bogatyrs took their leave and rode off in different directions.
Potyk arrived in Vakhramey’s kingdom. He was weary from the road. Not far from the palace he stopped and thought:
“I will rest a while, sleep, and then go to the Tsar.”
He pitched his tent, tied his horse, lay down, and fell asleep. Now Tsar Vakhramey had a daughter—the tsarevna Marya, the White Swan. She looked out into the field and saw a tent, and by the tent a tethered horse. Who could this be? And she began to beg her father to let her walk in the field.
“Go, but take your nurses and nannies with you. Lest some misfortune befall you on the way,” Vakhramey answered.
The nurses and nannies went out into the field with the tsarevna, but she ran straight to the tent—no one could keep up with her.
The horse saw the tsarevna and neighed. From that neighing, Potyk the bogatyr woke in his tent. He looked upon Marya the White Swan, they spoke, and they pleased one another. They decided to marry. And they made a pact: to love one another until death, and if one should die—the other must go alive into the earth with the deceased.
Potyk brought his bride to Kiev, straight to the church. They were wed. Potyk went to Prince Vladimir. And Ilya and Dobrynya were already there. They told the Prince how they had carried out his commands: the enemies were beaten in the field, and the foreigners beyond the sea were subdued. But what was Potyk to tell? To say he had brought a wife from Vakhramey’s kingdom? That was not what he had been sent for!
“And I,” said Potyk, “played checkers and chess with Tsar Vakhramey, and won much gold. But on the way, the cart broke down, and I had to bury the gold for a time in a roadside pit.”
The Prince sent him back with an empty cart to fetch the gold.
There was nothing for Potyk to do—he rode again to Vakhramey’s kingdom. He entered the Tsar’s palace and greeted him.
“Where are you from, good youth?” Vakhramey asked him.
“From the city of Kiev, Tsar Vakhramey. I have heard that you are a master at checkers and chess. I have come to amuse myself with you.”
And Vakhramey was glad. He sat down to play with Potyk.
Three times they began the game—Vakhramey lost much gold to Potyk. And while they played, a bird flew onto the window—a black raven. The raven spoke in human speech:
“But there is great misfortune at your home, Potyk: your wife is dead—Marya, the White Swan!”
Potyk leaped up, sprang out the window, and threw himself on his horse. He raced to Kiev. He arrived and saw—indeed, his beloved wife was dead. Such grief!
Potyk buried her, and himself, as had been agreed, went down into the crypt beneath the earth beside her coffin.
And he heard—someone was making their way into the crypt. It was the fierce Serpent, crawling and hissing:
“And what fine youth sits here beneath the earth? I shall eat him now!”
Potyk leaped up, seized the Serpent by its trunk, and began to beat it with an iron rod. The Serpent howled.
“Do not beat me, do not destroy me! Whatever you command—I will do it all for you!”
Potyk commanded it:
“Fetch me the water of life to revive Marya, the White Swan. And quickly!”
The Serpent begged three hours’ time from him and crawled away. It returned—carrying a pitcher of the water of life.
Potyk sprinkled Marya the White Swan—she stirred in her coffin; he sprinkled her a second time—she rose and sat up; a third time he sprinkled her—she came fully back to life.
Meanwhile Ilya and Dobrynya were grieving:
“How is Potyk faring down there beneath the earth? No doubt it goes badly for him!”
They took oak spades and dug up the deep earth—and Potyk and his wife both emerged alive and merry from beneath the ground, into the light, into the sunshine.
What joy there was in Kiev!