So he did as he was bidden and went with her into the pocket of Svyatogór. Svyatogór arose from a sound sleep, saddled his horse, and went to the Holy Mountains. Then his horse began to sink fast into the earth, until the knight dug his spurs into his horse’s fat haunches. Then the horse spoke with a human voice: “I have carried you Svyatogór the knight and your young wife, but I cannot carry two knights and your young wife as well.” So then Svyatogór put his hand into the depths of his pocket, took his young wife out, and discovered Ilyá Múromets. “How did you get into the depths of my pocket?” “Your young wife forced me in there; she threatened my life.” And Ilyá Múromets told Svyatogór the knight how he had fallen into the depths of the pocket. So Svyatogór took his young wife, cut off her unruly head, broke up her white body into four parts, and scattered them on the bare fields. Then Ilyá and Svyatogór made themselves sworn brothers, and they set out to the Holy Mountains. They came to a deep tomb, and the tomb was decked with red-gold. Svyatogór the knight lay down in that tomb as if it had been built for him. “Cover me over with boards, my sworn brother,” he said. And, as Ilyá covered him over with boards, the boards by Divine grace grew as they were required. “Uncover me, my sworn brother!” But Ilyá Múromets had not the strength to uncover him; so he began to break the boards with his sword, and wherever he brandished his sword, hoops arose in his way. “Take my sword, my sworn brother!” And Ilyá took the sword, but had not the strength to lift it up. “Come, my sworn brother, I will give you strength.” Ilyá then went into the pit and Svyatogór breathed on him with his knightly breath. Then Ilyá took that sword, and wherever he made a stroke, iron hoops arose around. “Come to me a second time, my sworn brother; I will give you more strength.” Ilyá Múromets said at once: “If I come down to you again, then our mother the grey earth will not be able to bear it: I have enough strength.” But Svyatogór answered: “If you had come down again I should have breathed on you with a fatal breath, and you would have lain down to sleep beside me.” So there Svyatogór the knight remains to this day. THE SMITH AND THE DEVIL Once upon a time there was a smith who had a son six years old—a sturdy and sensible lad. One day the old man was going into the church, and stood in front of a picture of the Last Judgment. And he saw there was a devil painted there so terrible, so black, with horns and tail! “What a fine devil!” he thought. “I will go and paint such a devil for myself in the smithy.” So he sent for a painter and told him to paint on the doors of the smithy a devil who should be exactly the same as the one he had seen in the church. This was done.