1
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Would it not befit us, my brethren,

2
00:00:05,152 --> 00:00:11,024
To begin, in age-old words,
The woeful tale
Of the warfare waged by Igor,

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Igor, son of Svyatoslav?

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This lay shall begin
After the deeds of this time,

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Not after the fancies of Boyan*.
* (Legendary bard at Yaroslav's court)

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The Lay of the Warfare Waged by Igor*
(based on the eponymous 12th century epic)
* (Prince of Novgorod-Seversk, 1151-1201/2)

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O you, offspring of Yaroslav, 
And you, grandsons of Vseslav!

8
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Lower your banners, and sheathe 
Your blunted swords!

9
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Far, far have you fled
From your forefathers' fame!

10
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For your brawls have brought the pagans
Into the Russian land,

11
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Into Vseslav's realm!

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For your feuds have brought violence
From the Polovets land!

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Let us then, my brethren,
Begin this tale

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From Vladimir of old,
To Igor, of our own days,

15
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Who girded up his wisdom
With his might,

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And whetted his heart
With valour,

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And, moved by the spirit of warfare,

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Led his valiant host
Into the land of the Polovtsi (Turkic nomads)
For the cause of the Russian land.

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The princes warred no more
Against the pagans,

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For brother spoke to brother,
Saying, "this is mine,
And that, too, is mine!" 

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And the princes began 
To call small things great,

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To forge feuds 
Among themselves. 

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And from all sides the pagans 
Invaded in triumph 
The Russian land.

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Igor awaits his dear brother Vsevolod.

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And then said Vsevolod, the furious bull:

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"One brother have I, one bright light-
You, o Igor!

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We two are sons of Svyatoslav!

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Saddle, my brother, your fleet-footed steeds:
Mine stand ready, saddled beforehand at Kursk!

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My men of Kursk are all tried warriors,
Born to the blare of bugles,

30
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Rocked beneath helmets,
Nurtured at the point of the spear!

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The paths are known to them. The gullies
are known to them. Their bows are taut, 
The quivers open, their swords whetted,

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They scour the field 
Like hoary grey wolves, 

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For themselves seeking honour, 
And for their prince - glory!"

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Then sprang Prince Igor
to his golden stirrup
and rode forth over the open plain.

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Then Igor gazed up 
At the bright sun

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And he saw a shadow from it
Overcasting all his host.

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And then said Igor
To his men-at-arms:

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"O brethren and warriors!
Better be slain
Than taken captive!

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Let us mount, my brethren,
Our fleet-footed steeds,

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And let us behold
The blue Don!"

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"I will," said he,
"Break my spear to splinters
At the far end of the Polovets plains

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With you, o Russians!
I will either lay low my head,

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Or drink a helmetful
Of Don water!"

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The sun then crossed
His path with darkness.

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Night awakened the birds
With its stormy moaning,

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The whistling of marmots arose.

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The Div has started up,
He calls from the tree-top,

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Bidding strange lands hearken -
The Volga, and the coastlands,

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And the banks of the Sula,
And Surozh and Korsun,
And you, Idol of Tmutorokan!

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And the Polovtsi sped
By untrodden trails
Towards the great Don.

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Their wains screamed at midnight
Like suddenly startled swans -

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Igor leads his host to the Don!

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And now the birds in the oaks
Gloat over his misfortune to come.

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The wolves howl in the gullies
Raising a storm,

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The eagles call the beasts
To glut upon bones,

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The foxes bark
At the scarlet shields.

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Oleg's brave brood
Slumbers on the battlefield.

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Far, far has it flown!
It was not born to be worsted...

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...by the falcon, nor by the gerfalcon,
Nor by you, o black raven,
Pagan Polovets!

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Long lingers the night;
The glow of sunset has waned.

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The mists enshroud the plains

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The warbling of the nightingale
Has died away.

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The chattering of daws
Has arisen.

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The Russians have barred
The boundless plains 
With their scarlet shields, 

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For themselves seeking honour, 
And for their prince - glory.

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Full early on the morrow 

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A blood-red dawn foretells the day.

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Black clouds come up from the sea,
Striving to overcast the four suns.

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Blue lightning quivers within them, 
Mighty thunder shall be heard, 

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A rain of arrows shall rain 
From beyond the great Don.

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Spears shall be shattered there,

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Swords shall be blunted there, 
On Polovets helmets,

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On the Kayala river,
By the great Don!

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O Russian land!
Far are you now beyond the hills!

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From morning till evening,
From twilight till dawn

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Steel-tipped arrows fly,
Swords clang upon helmets,

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Steel spears are shattered
In that strange field
In the heart of the Polovets land.

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The black earth
Under the hoofs
Was sown with bones,

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Watered with blood 

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One day they fought,
And another,

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And on the third,
At midday,
The banners of Igor fell!

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That's where the two brothers parted,
On the banks of the swift Kayala.

83
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Of gory wine they had scarce enough.

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There the brave Russians ended their feast.

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They made their kinsmen drunken,
And were laid low themselves
For the Russian land.

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Then, my brethren,
An evil time set in:

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The wilderness had engulfed our host.

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Sorrow arose
Among the offspring of Dazhbog*.
* (East Slavic Sun & fertility God)

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Maiden-like, she paced
Through Troyan's land;

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Waving her swan-like wings
Over the blue sea, by the Don,

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She drove away
The days of plenty.

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Then Kiev, my brethren,
Moaned in sorrow,
And Chernigov moaned beneath these disasters.

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Woe overflowed 
The land of Russia,

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Deep sorrow flooded 
The Russian land.

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On the Danube
Yaroslavna's voice is heard.

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Like a lone cuckoo
She cries aloud
In the early morn:

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"I shall fly," says she,
"Down the Danube
Like a lone cuckoo.

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I shall moisten my beaver sleeve
In the Kayala river;

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I shall stanch
My prince's gory wounds
On his mighty body."

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Yaroslavna weeps in the early morn
On the walls of Putivl, wailing:

101
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"Wind, o wind! 
Why blow, my lord, 
Such a stormy blast? 

102
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Why do you bring 
On your wings so light 

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Pagans' arrows down 
On my lover's host?

104
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Were you not sated with blowing 
High up under the clouds,

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And with rocking ships 
Upon the blue sea?

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Why have you scattered 
My joy, o my lord, 
Over the feather-grass?"

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Yaroslavna weeps in the early morn
On the walls of Putivl, wailing:

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"O Dnieper, o Slovutich!

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You have bored your way
Through mountains of rock
In the Polovets land.

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You have rocked the galleys
Of Svyatoslav
Down to Kobiak's camp.

111
00:17:45,040 --> 00:17:48,256
Waft my dear lover
Back to me, my lord,

112
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That I send not my tears to him
Down to the sea, at dawning!"

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Yaroslavna weeps in the early morn
On the walls of Putivl, wailing:

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"O bright sun,
Thrice-bright sun!

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You are warm and fair
To one and all!

116
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Why have you cast, my lord,
Your burning rays
On my lover's warriors?

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In the waterless waste
Thirst withered up their bows,

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Weariness sealed
Their quivers tight!"

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There Prince Igor exchanged 
His golden saddle 
For that of a captive. 

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And the great Svyatoslav

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Let fall from his lips
A word of gold
Mingled with tears.

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Said he, 

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O great Prince Vsevolod!
Is it not in your thoughts
To come flying from far off

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To guard your father's golden throne?

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For you are able
To splash away the Volga
With your oars,

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To scoop up the Don
With your warriors' helmets.

127
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For you can send flying
Over dry land

128
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Your living lances,
The valiant sons of Gleb!

129
00:19:59,776 --> 00:20:02,240
O you furious Rurik,
And you, o David!

130
00:20:03,728 --> 00:20:09,056
O lords, step into
Your golden stirrups,
Avenge the wrong of these days,

131
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Stand up for the Russian land,
Avenge the wounds of Igor,
Svyatoslav's bold son!

132
00:20:35,520 --> 00:20:38,912
O Osmomysl-Yaroslav of Galich*!
* (Halych)

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You are seated high
On your throne of gold,

134
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Pressing back the Hungarian hills
With your iron hosts,

135
00:20:46,512 --> 00:20:52,496
Shoot, o lord, at Konchak,
The pagan slave,
Stand up for the Russian land,

136
00:20:52,544 --> 00:20:56,192
Avenge the wounds of Igor,
Svyatoslav's bold son!

137
00:20:59,168 --> 00:21:01,952
And you, furious Roman,
You too, o Mstislav!

138
00:21:03,536 --> 00:21:07,360
Bold thoughts
Turn your minds
To deeds of valour.

139
00:21:07,400 --> 00:21:11,936
The Don calls you, o prince,
It calls the princes to victory!

140
00:21:11,952 --> 00:21:16,940
And the offspring of Oleg,
Those fearless princes,
Flew to the fray!

141
00:21:21,296 --> 00:21:25,472
O Ingvar and Vsevolod,
And you, three sons of Mstislav,

142
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Bar the gates to the plains
With your keen arrows,
Stand up for the Russian land,

143
00:21:31,792 --> 00:21:35,904
Avenge the wounds of Igor, 
Svyatoslav's bold son!

144
00:21:38,480 --> 00:21:43,728
The glow of sunset has waned.
Igor sleeps,

145
00:21:44,976 --> 00:21:49,456
Igor wakes,
In his thoughts, Igor measures the plains

146
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From the great Don
To the lesser Donets.

147
00:21:54,288 --> 00:21:59,840
The swell rolls high
On the sea at midnight.
Pillars of mist arise.

148
00:22:00,810 --> 00:22:02,816
To Prince Igor

149
00:22:02,816 --> 00:22:09,480
God showeth the way
From the Polovets land,
To the Russian land,

150
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To his father's golden throne.

151
00:22:17,930 --> 00:22:22,656
Prince Igor raced down
To the reeds like an ermine,

152
00:22:22,656 --> 00:22:26,080
Like a white drake
He cast himself on the waters.

153
00:22:26,112 --> 00:22:31,920
He leapt onto his fleet-footed steed,
He sprang down like a grey wolf,

154
00:22:46,416 --> 00:22:49,696
The sun lights up the heavens -

155
00:22:50,480 --> 00:22:53,280
Prince Igor is in the Russian land! 

156
00:22:53,792 --> 00:22:59,776
The maidens sing on the Danube, 
Their voices fly far 
Across the sea to Kiev. 

157
00:23:02,464 --> 00:23:07,072
Igor rides up Borichev 
To the Holy Mother of Pirogoshch.

158
00:23:07,728 --> 00:23:11,744
The hamlets rejoice, 
The towns are merry

159
00:23:59,488 --> 00:24:03,200
Glory to the princes 
And to their men-at-arms!

160
00:24:17,792 --> 00:24:19,392
Amen!

161
00:24:20,656 --> 00:24:23,600
screenwriters
Yuriy Novikov, Boris Kryzhanovskiy

162
00:24:23,632 --> 00:24:26,752
director Nina Vasilenko
art director Eduard Kirich

163
00:24:26,784 --> 00:24:29,984
consultants D. Lihachyov, S. Kiliyevich

164
00:24:30,016 --> 00:24:33,152
composer Vladimir Guba
narrator Konstantin Stepankov

165
00:24:33,184 --> 00:24:39,248
animators Konstantin Chikin, Adolf Pedan,
Aleksandr Viken, M. Bondar, Nina Churilova,
E. Peretyatko, Ram Pruzhansky,

166
00:24:39,240 --> 00:24:40,608
Ye. Pruzhanskiy, S. Berezovskaya,
V. Yemelyanova, V. Bayev

167
00:24:40,600 --> 00:24:45,632
artists N. York, Galina Babenko,
G. Varkach, B. Sablikov, A. Nazarenko,
S. Teslenko, V. Dyman, O. Kasyanenko

168
00:24:45,630 --> 00:24:48,720
assistants T. Shchvets, A. Tishchenko, 
T. Cherni, O. Deryazhnaya

169
00:24:48,816 --> 00:24:51,888
camera S. Nikiforov
sound I. Moyzhes

170
00:24:52,080 --> 00:24:54,864
script editor Svetlana Kutsenko
production director Ivan Mazepa

171
00:24:54,928 --> 00:24:59,552
Artistic Association for Fictive
Animation of the Kiev Studio of
Popular Science Films, 1972

172
00:24:59,584 --> 00:25:02,544
The End
Translation by Irina Petrova (1981),
subs by Chapaev, Eus & Niffiwan (2018-2022)