by Unknown
The tale’s hidden meaning is revealed by what appears at first to be no more than a careless slip. It seems odd that Pushkin’s old woman should consider ruling over the sea as a higher destiny than that of being ‘a mighty tsaritsa’. Catherine the Great, however, was eager to rule over the Black Sea; between 1768 and 1792 she fought two wars against Turkey in order to achieve this ambition. And Catherine, like Pushkin’s old woman, had usurped her husband’s place, having deposed her husband Peter III in 1762, before these wars. In reality Catherine was generous to her favourite Prince Potyomkin and her subsequent lovers, but Pushkin evidently saw her as having treated her male favourites abusively – as the old woman does in this skazka. In The Captain’s Daughter (most of which was written two to three years later) Pushkin presents a positive picture of Catherine, but in his historical works he is extremely critical.4
It seems likely that folktales and folk poetry were important to Pushkin above all for their language. In his ‘Refutations of Criticism’, for example, Pushkin wrote, ‘The study of old songs, tales, etc., is essential for a complete knowledge of the particular qualities of the Russian language. Our critics are wrong to despise these works.’5 Pushkin’s very greatest creation was that of a literary language capable of giving expression to all realms of human thought and experience. Establishing a free and easy relationship with the language of the peasantry was an important step towards this achievement.
A Tale about a Priest and his Servant Balda
A priest, thick
as a brick,
was wandering about the fair
when he met Balda.
‘Father, what’s brought you here
so bright and early?’
‘I need a servant, a burly
carpenter, a sterling
cook, an able
stable-boy.
I can’t offer much
in the way
of pay.
Where should I look?’
‘No further, Father!
I’ll do all you ask,
whatever you wish,
in return for a daily dish
of wheaten porridge
and three flicks,
when the year’s up,
on your priestly forehead.’
The priest was worried;
he scratched his forehead.
There was danger,
he knew,
in the flick of a finger;
but payment day
was a year away
and he placed his faith,
as Russians do,
in the ways of fate.
‘All right!’ said the priest.
‘Move in right now!
This will suit both of us
down to the ground!
Show me your zeal –
and it’s a done deal!’
Balda slept on straw;
he ate as much as four men
and worked like seven.
By dawn’s first glow
he was on the go.
He cleaned the stable,
harnessed the mare
and ploughed the field;
he went to the fair;
he lit the stove
and laid the table;
he boiled a hen’s egg
and even peeled it.
Everything went
without a stumble or stutter –
like a knife through butter.
Our priest’s good wife
sang Balda’s praises
all day and all night.
Our priest’s dear daughter
sighed for him
all night and all day.
And to the little boy-priestlet
he cared for and dandled
Balda
was ‘Da-Da’.
Only the priest
was not entranced,
nor the least inclined
to be lovey-dovey.
A threat
hung over his forehead.
He was in debt
and pay day
was not far away.
He couldn’t eat, sleep or drink.
A furrow – a crack or a chink? –
lay on his brow.
He spoke, at last, to his wife,
who came straight out
with a wily ruse:
‘I’ll tell you what you can do!
Set him a task he can never fulfil,
something well and truly
impossible!
That’s the charm
that will shield your forehead
from harm.
That’s the way
to escape having to pay!’
Emboldened,
the priest said to Balda,
‘Listen to me, my trusty servant:
a band of devils are meant
to be paying me quit-rent
for the rest of my life.
Once it was a splendid income,
but now the devils
are years in arrears.
Go and have a word with them,
talk some sense into them
when you’ve eaten your porridge.
Call the wretches to account –
and mind you collect
not a kopek less
than the full amount.’
Obedient,
without argument,
off Balda went
to the sea shore.
There he began whirling
and twirling a rope, dipping
one end in the deep, rippling
the water, whipping up waves
where the sea,
only a moment before,
had been
flat, calm and on the level.
Up crawled an old devil:
‘What’s brought you here, Balda?’
‘I’m just starting a few ripples,
roughing up the sea a little,
twisting the sand,
making a few waves break.
We’ve had all we can take,
you see,
of you and your wretched clan!’1
‘What have we done?’
the devil asked gravely.
‘Why, all of a sudden,
have we fallen
from favour?’
‘You’re in debt,’ said Balda,
‘years behind with your rent.
So I’m going to let rip
with this rope
and teach you curs a lesson
you won’t forget.’
‘My dear Balda, my good friend,
don’t do anything rash!
You shall have all your cash –
my own grandson will deliver it.’
In less than a moment
a young devillet
slipped out of the water.
‘Should be a pushover!’
laughed Balda.
‘I can twist this mewling kitten
of a devil-imp
round my little finger!’
‘Good day, dear Balda!
What’s this I’ve just heard
about quit-rent?
That’s a delight we devils
have always been spared.
Still, have it your own way!
I don’t want you to have hard feelings
or think us unfair.
Let it never be held
we devils
are mean in our dealings.
We’ll fill you a bag full of gold.
Only let’s just agree
to race round the sea –
and whoever outruns the other,
whoever’s the winner,
takes all!’
Balda laughed slyly:
‘You against me?
A devillet chase Balda?
Not likely!’
Balda disappeared into the trees,
plucked two young hares
from a forest glade,
tucked them into his knapsack
an
d strolled slowly back.
He took one little leveret
by the tip of his ear,
lifted him
up in the air,
then addressed the devillet:
‘Look here,
little devil-imp,
you must do as I say,
you must dance as I play.
You haven’t the strength yet
to compete
against the likes of me.
That simply wouldn’t be fair.
First you must race my baby brother.
Get set, ready – quick as you can!’
Away they ran –
the devillet along the sea shore
while the hare,
winged by fear,
fled back to his glade.
All the way around the sea
sped the devillet
and there he was again –
pink tongue hanging out,
panting, gasping,
all in a lather,
wiping the sweat off his snout
with a little paw,
but pleased, at least,
not to have to run any more
and to have put an end to this bother
with Balda.
But then what did the devillet see?
He saw Balda hugging his baby brother,
patting him on the head
and saying,
‘Well done, well done indeed!
That poor wretch
was outclassed –
he didn’t stand a chance!
But you’re tired out, you poor thing!
Now you must put your little feet up
and have a good rest!’
The devillet was astounded.
Frowning, dumbfounded,
droop-tailed,
with a sidelong glance
at Balda’s slip of a sibling,
he said
he would go fetch the rent.
Back to grandad he went.
‘I’ve been trounced,’
he announced,
‘outstripped by a stripling,
by Balda’s young brother.’
The old devil, vexed,
racked his brains,
wondering what to do next –
while Balda whipped up
such a racket
that the whole sea went crazy,
flinging waves right up to the sky.
Back to Balda went
the devillet:
‘All right, you peasant,
We’re sorting the rent.
Only – see this stick?
Choose any mark you like.
Whoever hurls this stick beyond it –
let’s say
the money’s his for the taking!
What’s up, Balda?
Why so despondent?
Afraid you might strain your shoulder?’
‘See that storm cloud over the bay?’
answered Balda.
‘When it’s blown this way,
I’ll throw your stick
right into the thick of it
and bring a storm down onto our heads.’
Scared out of his wits,
the devillet returned to his grandad
to tell him of Balda’s strange gifts
while Balda went back
to making his racket.
Back once more came the devillet.
‘What’s all this fuss?
Why all these threats?
Be patient a moment –
we’re sorting the rent.
Only first of all,
why don’t you and I just—’
‘No!’ said Balda. ‘This time it’s my turn
to name
the rules of the game –
a trifling trial
that will show us
what fibre you’re made of.
See that grey mare over there?
Just carry her up to those trees.
It’s no distance at all –
just a third of a mile.
Carry her all the way –
the rent’s yours!
But if you drop her –
it’s mine!’
The silly devillet
crept under the mare’s belly,
struggled and strained
with might and main,
strove for all he was worth –
and raised her just off the earth.
He took a step,
and a second,
and a third –
and came a cropper.
‘Silly devillet!’ said Balda.
‘When will you understand?
When will you grasp
that you’re outclassed?
You can’t even grip her between your hands
while I can lift her between my two legs!’
Balda mounted the mare
and galloped a mile.
Dust clouds
climbed high in the air.
The devillet took fright
and crept back
to admit his defeat.
His clan gathered around him –
but what could they do?
They collected their quit-rent
and threw the sack at Balda.
It was a heavy sack
and Balda grunted grunt
after heavy grunt
as he plodded back.
The priest feared for his life
and cowered behind his wife,
but there was no escaping Balda,
who proffered the gold to him
and reminded him
of what in his greed
he’d agreed.
The poor priest
presented his forehead
for three quick flicks of a finger.
The first
flung him up to the ceiling.
The second
cost him his tongue.
The third
plastered the wall with his brain.2
And Balda said,
with disdain,
‘A cheapskate, Father, often gets more
than he bargained for.’
A Tale about a Fisherman and a Fish
By the very edge of the blue sea
lived an old man and his old woman.
For three and thirty years they had lived
in a tumbledown hut made of mud.
The old man caught fish in his fishing net;
the old woman span with her spinning wheel.
One day the old man cast his net
and all he caught in his net was slime.
The old man cast his net a second time
and all he found in his net was weed.
A third time the old man cast his net
and what he found in his net was a fish –
no ordinary fish, but a golden fish.
The fish begged, the fish begged and implored;
the fish prayed in a human voice:
‘Release me, set me free in the sea –
and in return you’ll receive a grand ransom,
I’ll grant you whatever you wish.’
The old man was amazed and frightened.
Three and thirty years he had fished –
and not once had he heard a fish talk.
He returned the fish to the water,
saying gently as he let her go free,
‘God be with you, golden fish!
I don’t need your grand ransom.
Off you go – into the deep blue sea!
Swim free, swim where you wish!’
The old man went back to his old woman
and told her of this great wonder:
‘Today I caught a fish in my net –
no ordinary fish, but a golden fish.
The fish spoke, she spoke in our tongue;
she begged to go home, into the blue sea.
She promised me a splendid ransom;
she said she would grant whatever I wished.
But I didn’t dare take this ransom.
I set her free in the deep blue sea.’
The old woman scolded her old man:
‘Simple fool, fool of a simpleton!
What stopped you taking this ransom?
A mere fish – and you were too frightened!
You could at least have got a new washtub.
Ours is cracked right down the middle.’
Off he went towards the blue sea.
(The blue sea looked a little troubled.)
He called out to the golden fish
and the fish swam up and asked him,
‘What is it, old man, what do you want?’
The old man bowed to the fish and said,
‘Have mercy on me, Sovereign Fish.
My old woman is cursing and scolding me.
Though I am old, she gives me no peace.
She needs a new washtub, she says.
Ours is cracked right down the middle.’
The golden fish replied straight away,
‘Take heart – and God be with you!
Outside your hut you’ll find a new washtub!’
The old man went back to his old woman.
His old woman now had a new washtub,
but she was cursing more fiercely than ever:
‘Simple fool, fool of a simpleton,
all you got from the fish was a washtub.
What wealth can be found in a washtub?
Get on back, you fool, to the fish.
Bow down to the fish and say
you want a handsome house built of wood.’
Off he went towards the blue sea.
(The blue sea was a little rough.)
He called out to the golden fish
and the fish swam up and asked him,
‘What is it, old man, what do you want?’
The old man bowed to the fish and said,
‘Have mercy on me, Sovereign Fish.
My old woman is cursing and raging.
Though I am old, she gives me no peace.
She wants a handsome house built of wood.’
The golden fish replied straight away,
‘Take heart – and God be with you!
You shall have your house built of wood.’
The old man set off for his hut,
but not a trace of his hut could he find.