He came empty-handed to his brothers. They asked him: “Why have you come here, fool?” “I have brought your dinner.” “Where is it? Give it to us at once.” “Well you see, brothers, a stranger followed me all the way here, and he ate it all up.” “What stranger?” “Here he is! Even now he is standing by my side.” The brothers began to swear at him and thrash him; having thrashed him, they told him to tend the sheep, and themselves went home to have their dinner in the village.
The little fool set about tending the sheep; seeing that they scattered all over the field, he decided to gather them together and tear out their eyes. He herded them in a little spot, plucked out the eyes of every one of them, made them huddle together in a heap, and sat there as happy as a lark; he thought that he had done something worth while. The brothers ate their dinner and returned to the field. “You fool, what kind of mess have you made here? Why is the flock blinded?” “What do they need their eyes for, brothers? When you went away, they scattered everywhere, so I thought it would be a good idea to catch them, gather them together, and pluck out their eyes. It was a lot of work and it made me quite tired.” “Just wait, we’ll show you what it means to be tired,” said the brothers, and began to belabor him with their fists; the fool was well rewarded for his trouble.
Some time passed, not much, not little. One day the old parents sent Ivanushko the Little Fool to town to buy provisions for the holidays. Ivanushko bought many things—a table and spoons and cups and salt. He loaded a whole cart with objects of every description. He started to drive home, but his horse, it seems, was not quite strong enough for this heavy load and walked rather slowly. Ivanushko thought to himself: “After all, the table has four legs, just like the horse; why shouldn’t it run home by itself?” So he put the table out on the road. He drove on, a long distance or a short distance, and the ravens circled over him cawing and cawing. “The little sisters must be hungry, else why would they cry like that?” thought the fool, and put out dishes with victuals to treat the ravens. “Eat, little sisters, you’re welcome,” he said. And he rattled on slowly.
Ivanushko drove through a wood of young trees; along the road was a row of burned-down trunks. “Ah,” he thought, “the poor boys have no caps, they’ll catch a cold that way.” So he put his earthen pots and crocks on them. Then Ivanushko came to a river. He set about watering his horse, but it refused to drink. “Probably he doesn’t want water without salt,” he thought, and began to salt the river. He poured out a whole bag of salt, and the horse still refused to drink. “Why don’t you drink, you old carcass—have I poured out a whole bag of salt for nothing?” he said, and he struck the horse with a log right on its head and killed it on the spot. Now all Ivanushko had left was a bag of spoons, which he slung over his shoulder. He walked, and the spoons behind him kept rattling—tra-ta-ta-tam, tra-ta-ta-tam, tra-ta-ta-tam! He thought that the spoons were saying: “Ivanushko’s a fool!” So he threw them down and trampled upon them, repeating: “That’ll teach you to call me a fool! Don’t you dare taunt me, you wicked things!”
He returned home and said: “I bought everything we need, little brothers.” “Thanks, little fool, but where are your purchases?” “The table is coming, but apparently it is late. Our little sisters, the ravens, are eating from the dishes. The pots and crocks I put on the boys’ heads in the woods. I used the salt to season the horse’s water, and the spoons taunted me, so I dropped them on my way.” “Hurry, fool, go gather everything you have scattered on the road.” Ivanushko went to the woods, removed the pots from the burned trunks, knocked out their bottoms, and strung a dozen of them, small and big, on a rope. When he brought them home, his brothers thrashed him, went to town themselves to make their purchases, and left him at home. He listened and heard the beer in the tub brewing and brewing. “Beer, stop brewing, don’t tease the fool!” said Ivanushko. But the beer did not heed him; so he let it all out of the tub, sat in the trough, and drove around the room singing little songs to himself.
When the brothers returned, they were terribly angry. They seized Ivanushko, sewed him up in a sack, and dragged him to the river. They set the sack down on the shore and went to find a hole in the ice. Just then a nobleman happened to drive by in a carriage drawn by three gray horses, and Ivanushko began to shout: “I’ve been appointed governor, to rule and to judge, but I know neither how to rule nor how to judge.” “Wait, you fool,” said the nobleman, “I know how to rule and to judge. Creep out of that sack!” Ivanushko crept out, sewed up the nobleman, sat in his carriage, and drove out of sight. The brothers came, dropped the sack under the ice, and the water made a sound like “gray-gray-gray.” “He must be trying to catch a fish,” said the brothers, and set out for home. As though from nowhere, Ivanushko appeared before them driving a troika and bragging: “See the horses I caught? There’s still one gray horse left, a real jewel!” The brothers became envious and said to the fool: “Sew us up in the sack and drop us quickly into the hole. We’ll get the gray.” Ivanushko the Little Fool dropped them in the hole and drove home to drink beer to honor the memory of his dead brothers. Ivanushko had a well; in this well was a bell; and that’s all I have to tell.
THE CRANE AND THE HERON
THERE ONCE WAS an owl, a merry bird was she. She flew and flew, perched on a tree, wiggled her tail, rolled her eyes, and took wing again. She flew and flew, perched on a tree, wiggled her tail and rolled her eyes.… But that’s the flourish, just for fun; the real tale has not begun!
Once upon a time a crane and a heron lived in a bog; they had little huts, one at each end of it. The crane grew weary of living alone and decided to marry: “I will go woo the heron!” The crane set out—flap, flap!—and he flapped over the bog for seven versts. Finally he arrived and asked: “Is the heron at home?” “She is.” “Heron, be my wife.” “No, crane, I will not be your wife; your legs are too long, your clothes are too short, your flying is poor, and you cannot support me. Go away, you spindleshanks!”
The crane returned home with a long face. Later the heron changed her mind and thought to herself: “Why should I live alone? It would be better to marry the crane!” She came to him and said: “Crane, take me to wife.” “No, heron, I don’t need you. I don’t want to get married and I don’t take you to wife. Get out!”
The heron wept for shame and went home. The crane changed his mind and thought to himself: “I was wrong not to marry the heron; it is wearisome to live alone. I will go now and take her to wife.” He came and said: “Heron, I have decided to marry you; be my wife.” “No, crane, I won’t be your wife!”
So the crane went home. Then the heron changed her mind and thought: “Why did I refuse him? What good is it to live alone? I’d rather marry the crane!” So she came to propose, and this time the crane refused. And to this very day they go to each other to propose, but never get married.
ALIOSHA POPOVICH
IN THE HEAVENS a bright new moon was born, and on earth, in the house of Leonti, the old priest of the cathedral, a son, a mighty hero. He was named Aliosha Popovich, a fine name. He was given meat and drink, and in one day he grew as much as other babes in a week; in one week he was as others at the end of a year. Soon he began to walk in the streets and to play with other little children. If he grasped someone by the arm, the arm came off; if he grasped someone by the leg, the leg came off; terrible were his games. If he took a man by the body, he pulled off his belly. Then Aliosha came of age and asked his father and mother to give him their blessing and their permission to try his luck in the field of battle. His father answered: “Aliosha Popovich, you are going into the field of battle; there are mightier men than you on this earth; therefore, take Maryshko Paranov’s son as your faithful servant.” So the brave knights mounted their good steeds; and as they rode off into the great world, a pillar of dust smoked behind them, and they were gone.
Soon the brave knights came to the realm of Prince Vladimir. Aliosha Popovich went straight to the prince’s white stone palace, crosse
d himself as is prescribed, and bowed, as he had been taught, to all four sides, and to Prince Vladimir in addition. Prince Vladimir welcomed them, bade them sit down at the oaken table, and gave them meat and drink before he questioned them. They ate marvelous gingerbreads, washing them down with heady wines. Then Prince Vladimir asked them: “Who are you, brave youths? Are you bold and mighty heroes, or chance travelers, untrustworthy persons? I know neither your names nor your fathers’ names.” Aliosha Popovich answered: “I am the son of Leonti, the old priest of the cathedral, and my name is Aliosha Popovich; here by my side is my servant, Maryshko Paranov’s son.” When he had eaten and drunk his fill, Aliosha Popovich went to the brick stove to rest, for it was after midday, but Maryshko Paranov’s son remained seated at the table.
At that time Tugarin Zmeevich, Son of the Dragon, a mighty champion, invaded and scourged Prince Vladimir’s kingdom. Tugarin Zmeevich came to Prince Vladimir’s white stone palace; with one stride of his left leg he crossed the threshold; with one stride of his right leg he reached the oaken table; he ate and drank and embraced the princess. He made mock of Prince Vladimir; he put one loaf of bread in one cheek, and another in the other cheek, and then he put a whole swan on his tongue, pushed it in with a pancake, and swallowed everything in one gulp.
Aliosha, who was lying on the brick stove, spoke these words to Tugarin Zmeevich: “My father, the old priest Leonti, once had a big cow, a gluttonous cow that went from brewery to brewery and drank whole barrels of beer and their dregs. Then this big cow, this gluttonous cow, went to a lake and drank all the water from it, and suddenly she burst—and so may you, Tugarin Zmeevich, burst at this table!” Tugarin became enraged at Aliosha Popovich and hurled a steel knife at him, but Aliosha Popovich was quick and dodged behind an oaken pillar. Then Aliosha spoke these words: “Thanks, Tugarin Zmeevich, mighty champion, for giving me thy steel knife, with it I will cut open thy white breast, dim thy bright eyes, and behold thy fiery heart.”
As Aliosha said these words, Maryshko Paranov’s son jumped from behind the oaken table onto his nimble feet, grabbed Tugarin by the neck, pulled him from the table, and hurled him against the white wall. The glass windows were shattered in splinters. Aliosha Popovich spoke up from the brick stove: “O you, Maryshko Paranov’s son, faithful and devoted servant!” Maryshko Paranov’s son answered: “Give me the steel knife, Aliosha Popovich; I will cut open Tugarin’s white breast, dim his bright eyes, and behold his fiery heart.” Aliosha answered from the brick stove: “O Maryshko Paranov’s son, do not befoul this white stone palace. Let him go into the open field; there we shall meet him tomorrow and give him battle.”
Next day Maryshko Paranov’s son rose at the very break of dawn and led the spirited horses out to drink water at the swift-flowing stream. Tugarin, the dragon’s son, flew through the air and challenged Aliosha Popovich to come to the open field. And Maryshko Paranov’s son came to Aliosha Popovich saying: “God be thy judge, Aliosha Popovich, that thou gavest me not the steel knife; I would have cut open this knave’s white breast, I would have dimmed his bright eyes and beheld his fiery heart. Now what will you take from this Tugarin? He is flying through the air.” Aliosha spoke these words: “If I do not triumph, heaven is betrayed.”
Aliosha brought forth his good steed, saddled him with a Circassian saddle, tightened it with twelve silken girths, not for beauty’s sake, but for strength, and went to the open field. He rode all around it and beheld Tugarin Zmeevich flying through the air. And Aliosha Popovich made this prayer: “Holy Mother of God, send me a black cloud, and send a pelting rain from the black cloud to wet Tugarin’s paper wings!” Aliosha’s prayer reached heaven; a threatening black cloud rolled over the sky, from it God made a heavy pelting rain to fall, and Tugarin’s paper wings wilted; he fell to the damp earth and rode into the open field.
Like two mountains rolling together, so did Tugarin and Aliosha meet. They clashed with their maces; the maces broke at the handles. They clashed with their spears; the spears twisted on their staves. They swung their sabers; the sabers broke. Aliosha fell from his saddle like a sheaf of oats, and Tugarin Zmeevich began to smite him, but Aliosha was quick and dodged under the horse’s belly. Then he crawled out from under the horse’s belly on the other side and struck Tugarin with his knife under the right breast, and threw him down from his good steed, and began to shout at him: “Thanks, Tugarin Zmeevich, for thy steel knife; I will cut open thy white breast, I will dim thy bright eyes, I will behold thy fiery heart.”
And Aliosha cut off Tugarin’s rash head, and carried it to Prince Vladimir. He rode and he played with the head, tossing it high in the air and catching it on the tip of his spear. Looking from afar, Vladimir took fright. “Behold Tugarin carrying Aliosha’s rash head!” he said. “Now in sooth he will enslave our Christian kingdom!” Maryshko Paranov’s son answered: “Grieve not, Vladimir, our little red sun, our prince of the capital city of Kiev! If the foul Tugarin rides on the ground and flies not through the air, he will lose his rash head by my steel spear. Be not distressed, Prince Vladimir. When the time comes, I shall fight him.”
Then Maryshko Paranov’s son looked into the spyglass and recognized Aliosha Popovich. “I know him by his mighty gait and his heroic posture,” he said. “It is Aliosha turning his steed sharply, tossing the head high and catching it on the tip of his spear. It is not the foul Tugarin riding yonder, but Aliosha Popovich, the son of Leonti, the old priest of the cathedral. And on his spear he carries the head of the foul Tugarin Zmeevich.”
THE FOX CONFESSOR
LISTEN TO THIS amazing story. A fox was coming from distant deserts and saw a cock perched on a tall tree. She spoke to him kindly: “O chanticleer, my beloved child! You are sitting on a tall tree and thinking thoughts that are evil and accursed. You cocks keep many wives: some of you have as many as ten of them, some twenty, some thirty, with time their number reaches even forty! Whenever you chance to meet, you fight over your wives and concubines. Come down to the ground, my beloved child, and do penance. I myself have been in distant deserts, I have not eaten nor drunk and have suffered many hardships; and all the time I longed to hear your confession, my beloved child.” “O holy mother fox, I have not fasted and I have not prayed; come some other time.” “O my beloved child, you have not fasted and you have not prayed, but come down to the ground none the less. Repent, else you will die in sin.” “O holy mother fox, your mouth is as honey, your words are kind, your tongue is sweet! ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged’; what we have sown, that we shall reap. You want to bring me to repentance by force—not to save me, but to devour my body.” “O chanticleer, my beloved child, why do you say such words? Have you read the parable of the publican and the Pharisee, in which the publican is saved, and the Pharisee perishes because of his pride? My beloved child, unless you repent you shall perish on your tall tree. Come down lower, then you will be closer to repentance; you will be pardoned and absolved and admitted to the kingdom of heaven.”
The cock recognized the mortal sin in his soul; he was moved to tears and began to descend from branch to branch, from twig to twig and from stem to stem; he came down to the ground and sat in front of the fox. The fox, cunning beast that she was, jumped, gripped the cock in her sharp claws, glared at him with ferocious eyes, and gritted her sharp teeth, ready to devour him alive, the impious bird.
Quoth chanticleer to the fox: “O holy mother fox, your mouth is as honey, your words are kind, your tongue is sweet! But will you save me if you devour my body?” “I do not want your body nor your colored garment. I want to pay you back an old favor. Do you remember? Once as I was going to a peasant’s house to eat a little chick, you, idle fool that you are, perched on a high roost, and wailed and shouted in an enormous voice. You began to stamp your feet and flap your wings; then the hens began to gabble, the geese began to cackle, the dogs began to bark, the stallions to neigh, and the cows to moo. Everyone on the place was aroused; the women came running with broomsticks and the
men with axes. They wanted to kill me, all on account of that little chick—and yet an owl has been staying with them from generation to generation and always eats their chicks. No, you idle fool, you shall not escape alive!”
Quoth the cock: “O holy mother fox, your mouth is as honey, your words are kind, your tongue is sweet! Yesterday I was asked by the Trunchinsk metropolitan to be a deacon; I was praised before the whole choir and congregation as a handsome youth, respectable, eager for learning, and with a beautiful voice! Could I not persuade you by my entreaty, mother fox, to become at least my wafer woman? We shall profit greatly; we shall be given sweet cakes, great roasts, butter, eggs and cheeses.”
The fox was moved by the cock’s plea, and her hold on him weakened. The cock tore himself loose, flew up to the tall tree, and wailed and shouted in an enormous voice: “My dear Mrs. Wafer Baker, welcome! Is not the profit great, are not the wafers sweet? Have you not rubbed off your hump carrying the roasts? Wouldn’t you gladly get to the nuts, little rascal? But have you enough teeth?”
The fox went into the woods, with a very long face, and lamented bitterly: “I have been all over the world, and nowhere have I seen anything so disgraceful. Since when are cocks deacons, and foxes wafer bakers?” So glory and power to the Lord for all time to come, and this is the end of our tale.
THE BEAR
ONCE THERE LIVED an old man and his old wife and they had no children. The old woman said to her husband: “Old man, go get some wood.” He went and met a bear, who said: “Old man, let us fight.” The old man took his ax and cut off one of the bear’s paws. He returned home and said to his wife: “Old woman, cook the bear’s paw.” She removed the skin, placed it under her, and began to pluck out the fur while the paw was cooking on the stove. The bear roared and roared, then thought the matter over, and made himself a paw of lime tree wood. He hobbled on his wooden paw to the old man’s house and sang:
Russian Fairy Tales (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 6