They had hardly had time to exchange a few whispers, when the witch (talk of the devil and he will appear) stood in the doorway, catching them by surprise. “My good daughter, my comely daughter, I smell a Russian bone!” she cried. “There, my mother, a lovely maiden is awaiting you,” said her daughter. The maiden looked at the witch and her heart failed her. Before her stood Baba Yaga the Bony-legged, her nose hitting the ceiling. “My good daughter, my comely daughter, make a good hot fire in the stove,” said the witch. They brought wood, oak and maple, and made a fire; the flame blazed forth from the stove. The witch took a broad shovel and began to urge her guest: “Now, my beauty, sit on the shovel.” The beauty sat on it. The witch shoved her toward the mouth of the stove, but the maiden put one leg into the stove and the other on top of it. “You do not know how to sit, maiden. Now sit the right way,” said the witch. The maiden changed her posture, sat the right way; the witch tried to shove her in, but she put one leg into the stove and the other under it.
The witch grew angry and pulled her out again. “You are playing tricks, young woman!” she said. “Sit quietly, this way—just see how I do it.” She plumped herself on the shovel and stretched out her legs, and the two maidens quickly shoved her into the stove, locked her in, covered her up with logs, plastered and tarred the opening, and then ran away, taking the embroidered towel and a brush and comb with them. They ran and ran, and looking back beheld the wicked witch; she had wrenched herself free, caught sight of them, and was hissing: “Hey, hey, hey, are you there?”
What could they do? They threw down the brush and there appeared a marsh thickly overgrown with reeds. The witch could not crawl through it, but she opened her claws, plucked out a path, and again came close. Where could they go? They threw down the comb, and there appeared a dark, thick forest: not even a fly could fly through it. The witch sharpened her teeth and set to work: each time she clamped her teeth she bit off a tree by its roots. She hurled the trees to one side, cleared a path, and again came close—very close. The maidens ran and ran till they could run no longer; they had lost all their strength. They threw down the gold-embroidered towel, and there spread before them a sea, wide and deep, a sea of fire. The witch soared high; she wanted to fly across the sea, but fell into the fire and was burned.
The maidens remained alone, little doves without a home; they did not know where to go. They sat down to rest. A servant came to them and asked them who they were, then reported to his master that in his domain sat not two little birds of passage but two marvelous beauties, one exactly like the other—they had the same brows, the same eyes. “One of them,” said the servant, “must be your sister, but which of the two that is, it is impossible to guess.” The master went to see them and invited them to his home. He saw that his sister was there, but which of the two she was he could not guess—his servant had told the truth. She was angry and would not tell him herself. What could be done?
“This is what can be done, master,” said the servant. “I will fill a sheep’s bladder with blood, you will put it under your arm, and while you speak to your guests, I will come near you and strike you with a knife in your side; blood will flow and your sister will reveal herself.” “Very well!” They did what they had planned; the servant struck his master in the side and blood gushed forth. The brother fell, the sister rushed to embrace him, and she cried and lamented: “My beloved, my dearest!” The brother jumped up, safe and sound, embraced his sister, and married her to a good man; and he himself married her friend, on whose finger the ring fitted, and all of them lived happily forever after.
THE WICKED SISTERS
IN A CERTAIN KINGDOM in a certain land there lived a king who had a son, Prince Ivan, so handsome, so wise, so famous that songs were sung and tales were told about him; and lovely maidens dreamed of him in their dreams. The prince felt a desire to see the wide world; he received his father’s blessing, said farewell, and went forth in all four directions to see people and to show himself.
He traveled a long time, saw good and evil and things of every description, and in the end came to a lofty and beautiful palace made of stone. He beheld three beautiful sisters sitting on the porch and speaking among themselves. The eldest said: “If Prince Ivan married me, I would spin for him a shirt finer and smoother than anyone else in the whole world can spin.” Prince Ivan began to listen carefully. “And if he married me,” said the second, “I would weave for him a coat of silver and gold, and he would shine like the Firebird.” “And I,” said the youngest, “can neither spin nor weave. But if he loved me, I would bear him sons like bright falcons, each with a sun on his forehead, a moon on the back of his head, and stars on his sides.”
Prince Ivan heard everything and remembered everything, and upon returning to his father asked his leave to marry. The father did not refuse this request; the prince married the youngest sister and began to live with her in great love. The elder sisters were enraged; they envied their youngest sister and began to plot evil against her. They bribed her nurses and governesses, and when she bore a son to Prince Ivan, and he expected to have brought to him a child with a sun on his forehead, a moon on the back of his head, and stars on his sides, he was presented with a kitten and assured that his wife had deceived him. He was greatly distressed, was wrathful for a long time, and finally began to wait eagerly for the next son.
The same nurses and the same governesses were with the princess, and again they stole the real child with a sun on his forehead, and substituted a puppy for it. Prince Ivan fell ill of grief and sorrow; he greatly loved the princess but felt an even greater desire to see a handsome child. He began to wait for the third one. The third time he was shown an ordinary child without sun, moon, or stars. Prince Ivan lost patience, repudiated his wife, and ordered her to be tried.
Elders gathered together without number. They judged and debated, thought and pondered, and then decided that the princess’ head ought to be cut off. “No,” said the chief judge; “whether you heed me or not, this is what I say. Gouge out her eyes, put her with her child into a tarred barrel, and drop them both into the sea; if she is guilty she will sink, if she is innocent she will emerge.” His words found favor; the princess’ eyes were gouged out, she was put into a barrel with her child and thrown into the sea. As for Prince Ivan, he married her eldest sister, the same who had stolen her children and hidden them in his father’s garden in the green arbor.
There the boys grew and grew, without having seen or known their own mother, who wretchedly sailed the ocean with the substitute child. And this substitute child grew not by the day but by the hour. He soon acquired sense, became reasonable, and said: “Madam my mother, by my request, by the pike’s command, by God’s blessing, let us reach a shore.” The barrel stopped. “Madam my mother, by my request, by the pike’s command, by God’s blessing, let the barrel burst.” He had no sooner spoken than the barrel burst asunder and he went ashore with his mother. “Madam my mother, this is an excellent, a cheerful place; it is a pity only that you cannot see the sun, nor the sky, nor the lush grass. By my request, by the pike’s command, by God’s blessing, let a bathhouse appear here.”
That very minute a bathhouse grew as though from the earth; the door opened by itself, a fire was made in the stove, and the water began to boil. They entered; the boy took a little brush and began to wash his mother’s eyes with warm water, saying: “By my request, by the pike’s command, by God’s blessing, let my mother see.” “My little son, I see, my eyes have opened!” “By my request, by the pike’s command, by God’s blessing, let your husband’s palace come to us with the garden and the children.”
Suddenly the palace was there. In front of it a garden spread out, in the garden birds sang on branches, in the middle stood the arbor, and in it the three brothers were living. The substitute son ran to them; he entered the arbor and beheld a table all set, and three covers were on it. He quickly returned to his mother and said: “Madam my dear mother, bake me three cakes with your milk.
” His mother did as he told her. He took the three cakes, put them on three dishes, hid in a corner, and waited. Suddenly the room was illumined, the three brothers with the sun and the moon on their heads and the stars on their bodies came in, sat at table, tasted of the cakes, and recognized their own mother’s milk. “Who has brought us these cakes?” they said. “If he would disclose himself and tell us about our dear mother, we would kiss him and love him and consider him as our own brother.” The boy came out of his hiding place and led them to their mother. There they embraced and kissed and wept. They began to live well and they had enough to treat other good people too.
One day some poor monks went by; they were invited, given meat and drink, and sent away with gifts. It happened that the same old men went by Prince Ivan’s palace. He stood on the porch and began to question them: “Old monks, where have you been, what have you seen?” “We have been at such and such a place and we have seen this: where formerly there was only a swamp and moss, only tree stumps, there is now a palace such as no tongue can tell of nor pen describe, and such a garden that nothing in the kingdom can match it, and people such as in the whole white world have no equals. We were there and were received by three brothers; on their foreheads was the sun, on the back of their heads the moon, on their sides many stars, and their beautiful princess mother lives with them and feasts her eyes upon them.”
Prince Ivan listened to them and became thoughtful. He felt a prick in his breast, his heart began to pound; he took his faithful sword and his straight-shooting arrow, saddled his spirited steed, and without saying farewell to his wife darted off to the palace that no tale could tell of nor pen describe. He found himself there, beheld his children, beheld his wife, recognized them and was beside himself with joy; his soul was illumined.
I was there then too, I drank mead and wine and saw everything. Everyone was cheerful. Only the eldest sister came to grief, for she was tarred up in a barrel and thrown into the sea, and God did not protect her: she sank to the bottom and vanished without a trace.
THE PRINCESS WHO NEVER SMILED
WHEN YOU COME TO THINK of it, how great is God’s world! Rich people and poor people live in it, and all of them have room to live, and the Lord watches over all of them. The wealthy ones live in idleness, the wretched ones in toil. To each his lot is given.
In a royal palace, in a princely castle, in a lofty apartment, there lived the glorious Princess Who Never Smiled. What a life she had, what plenty, what luxury! She had a great deal of everything, she had everything her heart desired. Yet she never smiled and never laughed; it was as though her heart did not delight in anything.
The king was distressed when he looked at his sorrowful daughter. He opened his royal palace to all who wished to be his guests. “Let them try,” he said, “to divert the Princess Who Never Smiles; he who succeeds shall take her to wife.” He had no sooner said this than people began to throng the princely gate. They came from all sides—princes and dukes, boyars and noblemen, people of rank and commoners. Feasts began, mead flowed—but still the princess did not smile.
At the other end of the town, in a corner of his own, there lived an honest worker. In the morning he swept the courtyard, in the evening he grazed the cattle; he toiled incessantly. His master, a rich and righteous man, paid him proper wages. At the end of the year he put a bag of money on the table and said to the worker: “Take as much as you want.” And then he went out of the room.
The worker came to the table and thought: “How shall I avoid sinning against the Lord by taking too much for my work?” He took only one coin, squeezed it in his fist, and went to drink some water at the well. He stooped over it and his coin fell out of his hand and sank to the bottom of the well.
The poor fellow was left with nothing. Another in his place would have wept, grieved, and wrung his hands in despair, but not he. “God sends us everything,” he said. “The Lord knows what to give to whom: some he endows generously with money, from others he takes the last penny. I must have been careless and worked badly. Henceforth I shall be more zealous.” And again he set to work, and his fingers worked more nimbly than fire itself.
Another year went by, the term came, and his master again put a bag of money on the table, telling him: “Take as much as your heart desires.” And again he left the room. Again the worker did not want to displease God and take too much for his work. He took a coin, went to drink at the well, and dropped his coin; again it sank. He set to work even more zealously, hardly sleeping at night, hardly eating by day. And lo and behold, while other people’s grain withered and faded, his master’s throve; while other people’s cattle collapsed from exhaustion, his master’s capered in the street; other people’s horses had to be dragged uphill, his master’s could hardly be held back. The master knew to whom he owed all this, whom he had to thank. When the term was completed and the third year had passed, he put a pile of money on the table, saying: “Take, little worker, take as much as your heart desires; yours was the labor, yours is the money.” And he left the room.
Again the worker took only one coin and went to the well to drink water; and lo and behold, his last coin was safe, and the two he had previously lost floated to the surface. He picked them up, guessing that God had rewarded him for his labors. He was overjoyed and thought: “It is high time for me to see the white world, to know people.” He thought for a while, then went forth, he knew not whither. He walked along a field and a mouse ran by and said: “My dear comrade, give me a coin. I will be useful to you some day.” He gave the mouse a coin. He walked in a wood and a beetle crawled by and said: “My dear comrade, give me a coin. I will be useful to you some day.” He gave the beetle a coin. He swam across a river and met a catfish who said: “My dear comrade, give me a coin. I will be useful to you some day.” He did not refuse the catfish and gave up his last coin.
He came to the city. There were many people, many doors! The worker looked and turned everywhere, but did not know whither to go. He found himself before the royal palace; at the window sat the Princess Who Never Smiled, all dressed in silver and gold, and looking straight at him. Where would he hide? His eyes grew misty, drowsiness overwhelmed him, and he fell face down in the mud. As though from nowhere came the catfish with the big whiskers, and he was followed by the old beetle and the close-cropped mouse; all of them came. They set to work: the mouse removed his coat, the beetle cleaned his boots, the catfish chased the flies away. The Princess Who Never Smiled watched and watched their antics and burst out laughing.
“Who, who has cheered up my daughter?” asked the king. One said: “I!” Another said: “I!” “No,” said the Princess Who Never Smiled, “it was this man.” And she pointed to the worker. He was straightway taken to the palace, and there before the king stood the worker, turned into a handsome youth. The king kept his royal promise and gave him what he had said he would.
I wonder whether the worker did not dream all this. But no, I am assured that it was really so, and we must believe it.
BABA YAGA
ONCE UPON A TIME there lived an old man and his wife. When the old man became a widower, he married another wife, although he had a daughter from his first wife. The wicked stepmother disliked the girl, beat her, and pondered how she might destroy her. One day the father went away somewhere and the stepmother said to the girl: “Go to your aunt, my sister; ask her for a needle and some thread to sew a shirt for you.” That aunt was Baba Yaga the Bony-legged. The girl was not stupid and she first went to her own aunt. “Good day, auntie,” she said. “Good day, my beloved, what have you come for?” said her aunt. “Mother has sent me to her sister to ask for a needle and thread to sew me a shirt.” The aunt told her what to do. “My little niece,” she said, “when you get there, a birch will lash your eyes, but do you tie it with a ribbon. The gates will bang and creak at you, but do you pour some oil on their hinges. Dogs will want to tear you apart, but do you throw them some bread. A cat will scratch your eyes, but do you give him some ham.�
�� The girl went her way; she walked and walked and finally arrived at her other aunt’s.
She saw a little hut and in it sat Baba Yaga the Bony-legged. “Good day, auntie,” said the girl. “Good day, my beloved!” “Mother sent me to ask for a needle and thread to sew me a shirt.” “Very well; meanwhile sit down and weave.” The girl sat at the loom and Baba Yaga went out and said to her maid: “Go and heat a bath and wash my niece, but be careful; I want to eat her for breakfast.” The girl sat there half dead with fright and begged the maid: “My dear, do not burn so much wood! Pour water over it and bring the water in a sieve.” And she gave the maid a kerchief. Baba Yaga waited. She came to the window and asked: “Are you weaving, little niece, are you weaving, my darling?” “I am weaving, auntie, I am weaving, my dear.” Baba Yaga went away from the window and the girl gave ham to the cat and asked him: “Is there no way of getting away from here?” “Here is a comb and a towel,” said the cat. “Take them and run away. Baba Yaga will pursue you. But do you put your ear to the ground, and when you hear her coming close, throw the towel, and there will be a wide, wide river. And if Baba Yaga crosses that river and begins to catch up with you, put your ear to the ground again, and when you hear her coming close, throw your comb, and there will be a very thick forest—she will not be able to get through it.”
The girl took the towel and the comb and ran. The dogs wanted to tear her, but she threw them some bread and they let her pass. The gates wanted to bang shut, but she poured some oil on their hinges and they let her pass. The birch wanted to lash her eyes, but she tied it with a ribbon and it let her pass. Meanwhile the cat sat at the loom and wove; he did not so much weave as tangle everything up. Baba Yaga came to the window and asked: “Are you weaving, little niece, are you weaving, my darling?” “I am weaving, auntie, I am weaving, my dear,” answered the cat in a rough voice. Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl had gone, and took to beating the cat and scolding him for not having scratched out the girl’s eyes. “I have served you so many years,” said the cat, “and you have not given me even a bone; but she gave me a piece of ham!”
Russian Fairy Tales (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 34