Then he betook himself to Easter mass. There he crossed himself and did reverence, as prescribed, on all four sides, and to the Fair Sun, Prince Vladímir, in particular. And after the mass was over, Prince Vladímir sent to bid the strange hero to the feast, and there inquired of him from what horde and land he came, and what was his parentage. So Ilyá told him that he was the only son of honourable parents. “I stood at my home in Múrom, at matins,” quoth he, “and mass was but just ended when I came hither by the straight way.” When the heroes that sat at the Prince’s table heard that, they looked askance at him. “Nay, good youth, liest thou not? boastest thou not?” said Fair Sun Vladímir. “That way hath been lost these thirty years, for there stand great barriers therein; accursed Tartars in the fields, black morasses; and beside the famed Smoródina, amid the bending birches, is the nest of the Nightingale on seven oaks; and that Magic Bird hath nine sons and eight daughters, and one is a witch. He hath permitted neither horse nor man to pass him these many years.” “Nay, thou Fair Sun Prince Vladímir,” Ilyá answered: “I did come the straight way, and the Nightingale Robber now sitteth bound within thy court.” Then all left the tables of white oak, and each outran the other to view the Nightingale, as he sat bound to the steel stirrup, with one eye fixed on Kíev town and the other on Chernígov from force of habit. And Princess Apráksiya came forth upon the railed balcony to look. Prince Vladímir spoke: “Whistle, thou Nightingale, roar like an aurochs, hiss like a dragon.” But the Nightingale replied: “Not thy captive am I, Vladímir. ’Tis not thy bread I eat. But give me wine.” “Give him a cup of green wine,” spake Ilyá, “a cup of a bucket and a half, in weight a pud and a half, and a cake of fine wheat flour, for his mouth is now filled with blood from my dart.” Vladímir fetched a cup of green wine, and one of the liquor of drunkenness, and yet a third of sweet mead; and the Nightingale drained each at a draught. Then the Old Cossack commanded the Magic Bird to whistle, roar and hiss, but under his breath, lest harm might come to any. But the Nightingale, out of malice, did all with his full strength. And at that cry, all the ancient palaces in Kíev fell in ruins, the new castles rocked, the roofs through all the city fell to the ground, damp mother earth quivered, the heroic steed fled from the court, the young damsels hid themselves, the good youths dispersed through the streets, and as many as remained to listen died. Ilyá caught up Prince Vladímir under one arm, and his Princess under the other, to shield them; yet was Vladímir as though dead for the space of three hours. “For this deed of thine thou shalt die,” spake Ilyá in his wrath, and Vladímir prayed that at least a remnant of his people might be spared.