THE WITCHBALL
(USA: HILLBILLY)
nce there was a poor boy who wanted to marry a girl, but her folks didn’t want him. His grandma was a witch, an’ she said she’d fix it up. She made a horsehair witchball, an’ put it under the girl’s doorstep. The girl come outside, passin’ over the witchball, an’ went back in the house. She started to say somethin’ to her mother, an’ ripped out, an’ every time she spoke a word, she’d rip out. Her mother told her to stop that or she’d lick her. Then the mother went out for somethin’, an’ when she came back in, she broke wind, too, every time she spoke. The father come in an’ he did the same thing.
He thought somethin’ was the matter, so he called the doctor, an’ when the doctor come in over the doorstep, he started to poop with every word he said, and they were all atalkin’ an’ apoopin’ when the ole witch come in, an’ told ’em God had probably sent that on them as a curse because they wouldn’ allow their daughter to marry the poor boy. They told her to run an’ git the boy, ’cause he could marry their girl right away, if God would only take that curse offa them. The ole witch went an’ got the boy, an’ on her way out, she slipped the witchball out from under the doorstep. The boy an’ girl got married an’ lived happy ever after.
THE WEREFOX
(CHINESE)
any years ago, a Buddhist monk, named Chi Hsüan, led a very holy and mortified life. He never wore silk, tramped from town to town on foot, and slept in the open. One moonlight night, he was preparing to sleep in a copse adjoining a grave, ten miles from a city in Shan Si. By the light of the moon he saw a wild fox place on its head a skull and some withered bones, go through several mysterious movements, and then deck itself out with grass and leaves. Presently the fox assumed the form of a beautiful woman, very quietly and plainly dressed, and in this guise it wandered out of the copse on to the adjoining high road. As the trampling of a horseman’s mount became audible, coming from the north-west, the woman began to weep and wail, her attitude and gestures showing extreme grief. A man on horseback approached, pulled his horse up, and alighted.
‘Lady, he cried, ‘what brings you here, alone, in the night. Can I help you?’
The woman stopped crying and told her tale. ‘I am the widow of So-and-so. My husband died suddenly last year, leaving me penniless; my parents live a long way off. I do not know the way, and there is no one I can turn to, to help me to get back to my home.’
When he heard where her parents lived, the horseman said, ‘I come from that place, and I am now on my way home again. If you do not mind rough travelling, you may ride my horse, and I will walk beside it.’
The woman accepted gratefully, and vowed she would never forget the horseman’s kindness. She was just on the point of mounting, when the monk, Chi Hsüan, came out of the copse, crying to the horseman, ‘Beware! She is not human; she is a werefox. If you do not believe me, wait a few moments and I will make her resume her true shape.’
So he made a sign, or mudra, with his fingers, uttered a dhârani (or spell) and cried in a loud voice, ‘Why do you not return at once to your original form?’
The woman immediately fell down, turned into an old fox, and expired. Her flesh and blood flowed away like a stream, and nothing remained but the dead fox, a skull, a few dry bones and some leaves and blades of grass.
The cavalier, quite convinced, prostrated himself several times before the priest, and went away full of astonishment.
THE WITCHES’ PIPER
(HUNGARIAN)
y elder brother was piping for some people at a certain place, while another fellow, a man from Etes, was playing for the children at the same house. It must have been on a day before Ash Wednesday. At eleven o’clock or so, the children were taken home. The man who had been playing for them, Uncle Matyi, was paid for his piping. He took leave of my brother and left for home.
On his way home, three women stepped up to him and said, ‘Come along, Uncle Matyi! We want you to play for us. Let’s go to that house over there, at the end of the street. And have no fear, we’re going to pay for your piping.’
When he went in, they took him by the arms (by the way, the man is still living in the village) and made him stand on the bench near the wall. And there he was piping for them. Money came in showers at his feet. ‘Gee, I’m not doing badly at all!’ he said to himself.
At about midnight, there came a terrible crash, and in a wink he found himself standing right in the top of the white poplar, at the end of the village.
‘Damn it! How the dickens can I get down from this tree?’
Suddenly a cart came up the road. When it reached the tree, he called down, ‘Oh, brother, do help me!’ But the man drove on, taking no heed of Uncle Matyi. Before long another cart drove up towards the tree. On the cart was Péter Barta, a fellow from Karancsság. ‘I say, brother, stop your horses and help me get down.’ The man brought his horses to a halt and said, ‘Is that you, Uncle Matyi?’
‘Damn it, to be sure it’s me.’
‘What on earth are you doing up there?’
‘Well, brother, three women stopped me on my way home. They asked me to follow them to a house at the end of the street. When I went in, they made me stand on a bench and there I was to pipe for them. And they’ve given me a lot of money for it.’
When the man got him down from the tree, Uncle Matyi began looking for the money he had tucked into the hem of his cloak. But there was no money. There was only a lot of broken crockery and little chips of glass.
Such strange things sometimes still happen.
VASILISSA THE FAIR
(RUSSIAN)
merchant and his wife living in a certain country had an only daughter, the beautiful Vasilissa. When the child was eight years old the mother was seized with a fatal illness, but before she died she called Vasilissa to her side and, giving her a little doll, said, ‘Listen, dear daughter! remember my last words. I am dying, and bequeath to you now, together with a parent’s blessing, this doll. Keep it always beside you, but show it to nobody; if at any time you are in trouble, give the doll some food and ask its advice.’ Then the mother kissed her daughter, sighed deeply and died.
After his wife’s death the merchant grieved for a long time, and next began to think whether he should not wed again. He was handsome and would have no difficulty in finding a bride; moreover, he was especially pleased with a certain little widow, no longer young, who possessed two daughters of about the same age as Vasilissa.
The widow was famous as both a good housekeeper and a good mother to her daughters, but when the merchant married her he quickly found she was unkind to his daughter. Vasilissa, being the chief beauty in the village, was on that account envied by her stepmother and stepsisters. They found fault with her on every occasion, and tormented her with impossible tasks; thus, the poor girl suffered from the severity of her work and grew dark from exposure to wind and sun. Vasilissa endured all and became every day more beautiful; but the stepmother and her daughters who sat idle with folded hands, grew thin and almost lost their minds from spite. What supported Vasilissa? This. She received assistance from her doll; otherwise she could not have surmounted her daily difficulties.
Vasilissa, as a rule, kept a dainty morsel for her doll, and in the evening when everyone had gone to bed she would steal to her closet and regale her doll and say, ‘Now, dear, eat and listen to my grief! Though I am living in my father’s house, my life is joyless; a wicked stepmother makes me wretched; please direct my life and tell me what to do.’
The doll tasted the food, and gave advice to the sorrowing child, and in the morning performed her work, so that Vasilissa could rest in the shade or pluck flowers; already the beds had been weeded, and the cabbages watered, and the water carried, and the stove heated. It was nice for Vasilissa to live with her doll.
Several years passed. Vasilissa grew up, and the young men in the town sought her hand in marriage; but they never looked at the stepsisters. Growing more angry than ever,
the stepmother answered Vasilissa’s suitors thus: ‘I will not let you have my youngest daughter before her sisters.’ She dismissed the suitors and vented her spite on Vasilissa with harsh words and blows.
But it happened that the merchant was obliged to visit a neighbouring country, where he had business; and in the meanwhile the stepmother went to live in a house situated close to a thick forest. In the forest was a glade, in which stood a cottage, and in the cottage lived Baba-Yaga, who admitted nobody to her cottage, and devoured people as if they were chickens. Having moved to the new house, the merchant’s wife continually, on some pretext or other, sent the hated Vasilissa into the forest, but the girl always returned home safe and unharmed, because the doll directed her and took care she did not enter Baba-Yaga’s cottage.
Spring arrived, and the stepmother assigned to each of the three girls an evening task; thus, she set one to make lace, a second to knit stockings, and Vasilissa to spin. One evening, having extinguished all the lights in the house except one candle in the room where the girls sat at work, the stepmother went to bed. In a little while the candle needed attention, and one of the stepmother’s daughters took the snuffers and, beginning to cut the wick, as if by accident, put out the light.
‘What are we to do now?’ said the girls. ‘There is no light in the whole house, and our tasks are unfinished; someone must run for a light to Baba-Yaga.’
‘I can see my pins,’ said the daughter who was making lace. ‘I shall not go.’
‘Neither shall I,’ said the daughter who was knitting stockings; ‘my needles are bright.’
‘You must run for a light. Go to Baba-Yaga’s,’ they both cried, pushing Vasilissa from the room.
Vasilissa went to her closet, placed some supper ready for the doll, and said, ‘Now, little doll, have something to eat and hear my trouble. They have sent me to Baba-Yaga’s for a light, and she will eat me.’
‘Do not be afraid!’ answered the doll. ‘Go on your errand, but take me with you. No harm will befall you while I am present.’ Vasilissa placed the doll in her pocket, crossed herself and entered the thick forest, but she trembled.
Suddenly a horseman galloped past; he was white and dressed in white, his steed was white and had a white saddle and bridle. The morning light was appearing.
The girl went further and another horseman rode past; he was red and dressed in red and his steed was red. The sun rose.
Vasilissa walked all night and all day, but on the following evening she came out in a glade, where stood Baba-Yaga’s cottage. The fence around the cottage was made of human bones, and on the fence there were fixed human skulls with eyes. Instead of doorposts at the gates there were human legs; instead of bolts there were hands, instead of a lock there was a mouth with sharp teeth. Vasilissa grew pale from terror and stood as if transfixed. Suddenly another horseman rode up; he was black and dressed in black and upon a black horse; he sprang through Baba-Yaga’s gates and vanished, as if he had been hurled into the earth. Night came on. But the darkness did not last long; the eyes in all the skulls on the fence lighted up, and at once it became as light throughout the glade as if it were midday. Vasilissa trembled from fear, and not knowing whither to run, she remained motionless.
Suddenly she heard a terrible noise. The trees cracked, the dry leaves rustled, and out of the forest Baba-Yaga appeared, riding in a mortar which she drove with a pestle, while she swept away traces of her progress with a broom. She came up to the gates and stopped; then sniffing about her, cried, ‘Phoo, phoo, I smell a Russian! Who is here?’
Vasilissa approached the old woman timidly and gave her a low bow; then she said, ‘It is I, granny! My stepsisters have sent me to you for a light.’
‘Very well,’ said Baba-Yaga, ‘I know them. If you first of all live with me and do some work, then I will give you a light. If you refuse, I will eat you.’ Then she turned to the gates and exclaimed, ‘Strong bolts, unlock; wide gates, open!’ The gates opened, and Baba-Yaga went out whistling. Vasilissa followed, and all again closed.
Having entered the room, the witch stretched herself and said to Vasilissa, ‘Hand me everything in the oven; I am hungry.’ Vasilissa lit a torch from the skulls upon the fence and, drawing the food from the oven, handed it to the witch. The meal would have been sufficient for ten men. Moreover, Vasilissa brought up from the cellar kvass, and honey, and beer and wine. The old woman ate and drank almost everything. She left nothing for Vasilissa but some fragments, end-crusts of bread and tiny morsels of sucking-pig. Baba-Yaga lay down to sleep and said, ‘When I go away tomorrow, take care that you clean the yard, sweep out the cottage, cook the dinner and get ready the linen. Then go to the cornbin, take a quarter of the wheat and cleanse it from impurities. See that all is done! otherwise I shall eat you.’
After giving these injunctions Baba-Yaga began to snore. But Vasilissa placed the remains of the old woman’s meal before her doll and, bursting into tears, said, ‘Now, little doll, take some food and hear my grief. Baba-Yaga has set me a terrible task, and has threatened to eat me if I fail in any way; help me!’
The doll answered, ‘Have no fear, beautiful Vasilissa! Eat your supper, say your prayers and lie down to sleep; morning is wiser than evening.’
It was early when Vasilissa woke, but Baba-Yaga, who had already risen, was looking out of the window. Suddenly the light from the eyes in the skulls was extinguished; then a pale horseman flashed by, and it was altogether daylight. Baba-Yaga went out and whistled; a mortar appeared before her with a pestle and a hearth broom. A red horseman flashed by, and the sun rose. Then Baba-Yaga took her place in the mortar and went forth, driving herself with the pestle and sweeping away traces of her progress with the broom.
Vasilissa remained alone and, eyeing Baba-Yaga’s house, wondered at her wealth. The girl did not know which task to begin with. But when she looked she found that the work was already done: the doll had separated from the wheat the last grains of impurity.
‘Oh, my dear liberator,’ said Vasilissa to the doll, ‘you have rescued me from misfortune!’
‘You have only to cook the dinner,’ said the doll, climbing into Vasilissa’s pocket. ‘God help you to prepare it; then rest in peace!’
Towards evening Vasilissa laid the table and awaited Baba-Yaga’s return. It became dusk, and a black horseman flashed by the gates; it had grown altogether dark. But the eyes in the skulls shone and the trees cracked and the leaves rustled. Baba-Yaga came. Vasilissa met her. ‘Is all done?’ asked the witch. ‘Look for yourself, granny!’
Baba-Yaga examined everything and, vexed that she had no cause for anger, said, ‘My true servants, my bosom friends, grind my wheat!’ Three pairs of hands appeared, seized the wheat and bore it from sight.
Baba-Yaga ate to repletion, prepared for sleep, and again gave an order to Vasilissa. ‘Tomorrow repeat your task of today; in addition remove the poppies from the cornbin and cleanse them from earth, seed by seed; you see, someone has maliciously mixed earth with them!’ Having spoken, the old woman turned to the wall and snored.
Vasilissa began to feed her doll, who said, as on the previous day, ‘Pray to God and go to sleep; morning is wiser than evening; all will be done, dear Vasilissa!’
In the morning Baba-Yaga departed again in her mortar, and immediately Vasilissa and the doll set to work at their tasks. The old woman returned, observed everything and cried out, ‘My faithful servants, my close friends, squeeze the oil from the poppies!’ Three pairs of hands seized the poppies and bore them from sight. Baba-Yaga sat down to dine, and Vasilissa stood silent.
‘Why do you say nothing?’ remarked the witch. ‘You stand as if you were dumb.’
Timidly Vasilissa replied, ‘If you would permit me, I should like to ask you a question.’
‘Ask, but remember, not every question leads to good. You will learn much; you will soon grow old.’
‘I only wish to ask you,’ said the girl, ‘about what I have seen. When I came to you a pale horseman
dressed in white on a white horse overtook me. Who was he?’
‘He is my clear day,’ answered Baba-Yaga.
‘Then another horseman, who was red and dressed in red, and who rode a red horse, overtook me. Who was he?’
‘He was my little red sun!’ was the answer.
‘But who was the black horseman who passed me at the gate granny?’
‘He was my dark night; all three are my faithful servants.’
Vasilissa recalled the three pairs of hands, but was silent. ‘Have you nothing more to ask?’ said Baba-Yaga.
‘I have, but you said, granny, that I shall learn much as I grow older.’
‘It is well,’ answered the witch, ‘that you have enquired only about things outside and not about anything here! I do not like my rubbish to be carried away, and I eat over-inquisitive people! Now I will ask you something. How did you succeed in performing the tasks which I set you?’
‘My mother’s blessing assisted me,’ answered Vasilissa.
‘Depart, favoured daughter! I do not require people who have been blessed.’ Baba-Yaga dragged Vasilissa out of the room and pushed her beyond the gate, took down from the fence a skull with burning eyes and, putting it on a stick, gave it to the girl and said, ‘Take this light to your stepsisters; they sent you here for it.’
Vasilissa ran off, the skull giving her light, which only went out in the morning; and at last, on the evening of the second day, she reached home. As she approached the gates, she was on the point of throwing away the skull, for she thought that there would no longer be any need for a light at home. Then suddenly a hollow voice from the skull was heard to say, ‘Do not cast me aside, but carry me to your stepmother.’ Glancing at the house, and not seeing a light in any of the windows, she decided to enter with the skull.
Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales Page 30