by Unknown
In 1861, however, Khudyakov was one of several students excluded from Moscow University after lodging a complaint about one of the teachers. This pushed Khudyakov towards the revolutionary opposition, and in 1866 he was arrested (members of the commission that searched his apartment were apparently amused by his manuscript collection of obscene and anti-clerical folktales – a collection later lost in a fire).1 Convicted of complicity in a plot to assassinate Tsar Alexander II, Khudyakov was exiled to eastern Siberia – to Verkhoyansk, which is probably the coldest town on Earth. Initially undaunted, he studied the language and folklore of the native Yakut people, compiled a Yakut–Russian dictionary and wrote a number of articles, but in 1869 he began to suffer from what was probably clinical depression and by 1874, when he was transferred to a psychiatric hospital in Irkutsk, he had lost his reason. He died a year later.
Khudyakov’s contribution to the study of Russian folklore was, of course, far smaller than it might have been. In two respects, however, his collection marks an advance on Afanasyev’s; all his transcripts are verbatim, and he included information about individual storytellers. He may also have been the first of many exiled revolutionaries to study the languages and culture of the native peoples of Siberia. His Verkhoyansk Anthology was finally published by the Eastern Siberian Section of the Geographical Society in 1899, and his Brief Description of the Verkhoyansk Region, long considered lost, was published in Leningrad in 1969. Khudyakov evidently came to a deep understanding of the nature of oral poetry. After only a few years in Verkhoyansk, and in spite of the terrible conditions of his exile, he was reaching conclusions that Western scholars reached only a century later. ‘During my student days,’ he writes, ‘I thought it improbable that a single popular singer could have known and sung by heart such a long tale as the Iliad or the Odyssey, remembering a large number of proper names and not omitting even such details as a nail in a ship. Yakut storytellers sing and tell stories of no less a length and go into still finer details.’2
The Brother
Once there lived a lady. She had three daughters and a little son. She took very great care of her son and wouldn’t let him out of the house. One splendid summer day the daughters came to their mother and asked her to let them take their brother to walk in the garden. For a long time the mother wouldn’t agree, then finally she let him go. They walked for a long time in the garden. Suddenly a strong wind came up. The sand and dust rose up in a cloud, and the child was torn out of the nanny’s arms and carried off to who knows where. They looked and looked for him in the garden, but they couldn’t find him. They cried a bit, then went and told their mother that their little brother had disappeared.
The mother sent the oldest daughter to look for him. She went out into a meadow, where three paths were in front of her. She set off along the one that went straight ahead. She walked and walked, until she came to a birch tree. ‘Birch tree, birch tree! Tell me, where’s my little brother?’
‘Pick leaves from me, take half of them for yourself, and leave half for me. I’ll come in handy to you in time!’
The girl didn’t listen. She said, ‘I don’t have time!’ and she went on further. She came to an apple tree. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Did you happen to see my little brother?’
‘Pick all the apples off me; take half for yourself, and leave half for me. I’ll come in handy to you in time.’
She said, ‘No, I don’t have time! How can I pick fruit? I’m going to look for my very own blood brother!’ She walked and walked. She came to a stove. And the stove had been lit; it was very hot. ‘Stove, stove! Did you happen to see my own little brother?’
‘Fair maiden! Sweep out the stove, bake a wafer, take half for yourself, and leave half for me. I’ll come in handy to you in time.’
‘How can I sweep and bake? I’m on my way to take care of my brother!’
She went on further. A house was standing on chicken legs, on spindle heels; it stood there and spun around. She said, ‘Little house, little house! Stand with your back to the woods, your front to me!’ The house turned around, and she went up into it. She said a prayer to God and bowed in all four directions.
A baba yaga was lying on the bench, with her head in the wall, her legs sticking up into the ceiling, and with her teeth on the shelf. The baba yaga said, ‘Fie, fie, fie! Until now there was no smell or sight of a Russian soul. You, maiden, are you doing a deed or fleeing a deed?’
She said, ‘Granny! I’ve walked over mosses and over swamps. I got all soaked through, and I’ve come to you to warm up.’
‘Sit down, fair maiden! Look for things on my head!’
She sat down to look and saw her brother sitting on a chair, while the tomcat Yeremey told him stories and sang songs. The old woman, the baba yaga, fell asleep. The girl took her brother and ran off to take him home.
She came to the stove. ‘Stove, stove! Hide me!’
‘No, fair maiden, I won’t hide you.’
She came to the apple tree. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Hide me!’
‘No, fair maiden, I won’t hide you.’
She came to the birch tree. ‘Birch tree, birch tree! Hide me!’
‘No, fair maiden, I won’t hide you!’ She walked on further.
But then the cat started to purr, and the baba yaga woke up and saw the boy was missing. She shouted, ‘Grey eagle! Fly off at once. The sister’s been here, and she’s taken the boy!’ (This eagle was the one who had carried the boy away from his mother.)
The grey eagle flew off. ‘Stove, stove! Did you happen to see, did a girl pass by here with a little boy?’
‘Yes, she did.’
The eagle flew further. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Did you happen to see, did a girl pass by here with a little boy?’
‘She just went by!’
The eagle flew on to the birch tree. It caught up with the girl, took away her brother, and scratched her all up, scratched her all over with its claws.
She came home to her mother. ‘No, mother, I didn’t find my own dear brother!’
Then the middle sister asked, ‘Will you let me go search for our brother?’ They let her go. She set off and everything happened just the same way. She came home all tattered, scratched all over.
The youngest sister started asking to go. They told her, ‘Your two sisters went out and didn’t find him, and you won’t find him either!’
‘God knows, maybe I will find him!’ She set off. She came to the birch tree. ‘Birch tree, birch tree! Tell me where my little brother is!’
‘Pick leaves off me. Take half for yourself and leave half for me. I’ll come in handy to you some time!’
She picked the little leaves, and she took half for herself and left half for the tree. She went on further, and she came to the apple tree. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Did you happen to see my own little brother?’
‘Fair maiden, pick apples from me. Take half for yourself, leave half for me. I’ll come in handy to you some time!’ She picked the apples. She took half for herself and left half for the tree, and she went on further. She came to the stove. ‘Stove, stove! Did you happen to see my own little brother?’
‘Fair maiden! Sweep me out and bake a wafer. Take half for yourself, leave half for me!’ So she swept out the stove, baked a wafer, took half for herself, and left half for the stove.
She went along further. She came close and saw a little house standing on chicken legs, on spindle heels, spinning around. She said, ‘Little house, little house! Stand with your back to the forest, with your front to me!’ The house turned. She went inside and said a prayer to God. (And she had brought along from home: a piece of butter, some pretzels, some of everything.)
The baba yaga said, ‘Until now there was no smell or sight of a Russian soul, but now a Russian soul appears before my eyes! What are you doing here, fair maiden, doing a deed or fleeing a deed?’
‘No, granny! I was walking through the forest, through the swamps, and I got soaked through, chilled through.
I’ve called in on you so I can warm up!’
‘Sit down, fair maiden!’ said the baba yaga. ‘Look for things on my head!’
The girl began to look and kept saying, ‘Fall asleep one eye, fall asleep other eye. If you don’t fall asleep I’ll pour pitch over you, I’ll stop you up with balls of cotton!’ The baba yaga fell asleep. The girl took some cotton and dipped it in pitch, and smeared the baba yaga’s eyes with pitch. Right away she gave the cat Yeremey a piece of butter, and a doughnut, and some pretzels, and some apples, some of everything. And she took her brother. The cat ate his fill, lay down, and took a nap.
She left with her brother. She came to the stove and said, ‘Stove, stove! Hide me!’
‘Sit down, fair maiden!’ Right away the stove spread out, it got much wider. She sat down in it. And the baba yaga woke up, but she couldn’t pull her eyes open, so she crawled to the door and shouted, ‘Tomcat Yeremey! Claw my eyes open!’
But he answered her, ‘Purr, purr! I’ve lived with you so long, and I never saw so much as a burnt crust. But the fair maiden came for only an hour, and she gave me a lump of butter!’
Then the baba yaga crawled to the threshold. She shouted, ‘Grey eagle! Fly at once, the sister’s been here, she’s taken her brother away!’
The eagle flew off. It flew up to the stove. ‘Stove, stove! Did you happen to see, did a girl happen to pass here with a little boy?’
‘No, I haven’t seen anything.’
‘And why, stove, have you become so wide?’
The stove said, ‘It’s just for a time. I was stoked not long ago!’
Then the eagle went back again, scratched and scratched at the baba yaga’s eyes, scratched her all over. The sister and brother came to the apple tree. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Hide me!’
‘Sit down, fair maiden!’
The apple tree made itself fluffy, curly.
She sat right down in a crevice in the trunk. Then the grey eagle came flying again and flew to the apple tree. ‘Apple tree, apple tree! Did you happen to see, did a girl happen to pass here with a little boy?’
It answered, ‘No.’
‘Why, apple tree, have you become so curly, lowered your branches right down to the ground?’
‘The time has come,’ it said. ‘I’m standing here all curly.’
The eagle went back to the baba yaga. It clawed and clawed, but it couldn’t scratch her eyes open.
And the girl came to the birch tree. ‘Birch tree, birch tree! Hide me!’
‘Sit down, little mother!’ it said. It made itself fluffy, curly, like the apple tree.
The grey eagle came flying again. ‘Birch tree, birch tree! Did you happen to see, did a girl happen to pass by here with a little boy?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
The eagle went back again. The girl came home, and she brought the little boy with her. Everyone rejoiced.
I was there, and I drank mead and beer. It dripped down my moustache, but none got into my mouth.
The Stepdaughter and the Stepmother’s Daughter
There lived an old man and an old woman. They had only one daughter. The old woman died, and the old man married another woman. He had a daughter with the second wife as well. The old woman didn’t like her stepdaughter and was always trying to hurt her. Once the old woman sent her to the river to wash yarn and told her, ‘Watch out! If you let the yarn sink to the bottom, then don’t bother coming home!’
The girl went to the river and laid the yarn on the water. The yarn floated along the river, and she walked slowly along the bank after it. The yarn floated all the way to the forest and sank.
She went into the forest and saw a little house on chicken legs. She said, ‘Little house, little house! Stand with your back to the woods, your front to me!’ The little house obeyed.
The stepdaughter went into it and saw a yaga baba. Her head lay in one corner of the house, her feet in another. The yaga baba saw her and said, ‘Fie, fie, fie! I can smell a Russian soul. What are you up to, girl, doing a deed or fleeing a deed?’
The girl told her that her mother had sent her to wash thread and said that if she let it sink, she shouldn’t come home.
The yaga baba made her heat up the bathhouse. The girl asked the yaga baba, ‘Where’s your firewood?’
And the yaga baba answered, ‘My firewood is behind the bathhouse!’ But the fuel stacked there was really human bones.
The girl went to heat up the bathhouse, hauled in lots of bones and put them in the stove, but no matter how she tried she couldn’t make them catch fire. The bones only smouldered. Then she sat on the ground and cried, and she saw a sparrow come flying up to her. The sparrow said, ‘Don’t cry, girl! Go into the woods, gather firewood there and use it to stoke the stove!’
The girl did just that. Then she went and told the yaga baba that she’d heated the bathhouse. But the yaga baba said, ‘Now go and bring water in a sieve!’
She went and thought, ‘How am I going to bring water in a sieve?’
The sparrow flew up again and said to her, ‘Why are you crying? Smear the sieve with clay!’
The girl did just that. She brought plenty of water and went to call the yaga baba to the bathhouse, but the yaga baba answered, ‘You go to the bathhouse! I’ll send you my children now!’ The girl went into the bathhouse.
Suddenly she saw worms, frogs, rats and all sorts of insects come crawling up to her in the bathhouse. She washed all of them and gave them a good steaming. Then she went to get the yaga baba and washed her too. Then she washed herself. She came out of the bathhouse, and the yaga baba told her to heat up the samovar. She did this, and they drank tea.
The yaga baba sent her into the cellar too.
‘There are two trunks in my cellar,’ she said. ‘A red one and a blue one. Take the red one for yourself!’ So the girl took the red trunk and went home to her father. Her father was glad to see her. He opened the trunk, and the trunk was full of money.
The stepmother started to envy her and sent her own daughter to the yaga baba, who told the girl to stoke the bathhouse with bones. The sparrow flew down to her and said, ‘Go into the woods and gather firewood!’
But the girl swatted the bird with her hand. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’ Yet she herself couldn’t get the bathhouse heated. Then the yaga baba told her to bring water in a sieve.
The sparrow flew up to her again and said, ‘You could smear the sieve with clay.’
She hit it again. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’ But then she saw that rats and frogs and all sorts of vermin were coming into the bathhouse. She squashed half of them, but the others ran home and complained about her to their mother. The stepmother’s daughter went back to the yaga baba too. The yaga baba told her to heat up the samovar, and she did. After tea the yaga baba sent her to the cellar and told her to take the blue trunk. The girl was very happy. She ran into the cellar, grabbed the trunk, and ran off home. Her father and mother were waiting for her at the front gate. She and her mother went into the shed and opened the lid of the trunk. But there was fire in it, and they were both burned up.
PART THREE
Early Twentieth-Century Collections
The third important period for Russian folklore was the last decade of the nineteenth century and the first two decades of the twentieth. This was a time when many European artists, composers and writers were turning to folklore as a source of images and motifs, but nowhere did folklore seem as important as it did in Russia. Russian native traditions were as significant to the Russian modernists as African and Oceanic art to Picasso and Matisse. Vasily Kandinsky’s move to abstraction arose directly from his encounter with the art of the Komi, one of the indigenous peoples of northern Russia. Leon Bakst, Pavel Filonov, Natalya Goncharova, Mikhail Larionov, Kazimir Malevich, Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin, Nikolay Roerich, Valentin Serov, Viktor Vasnetsov, Mikhail Vrubel – almost every important artist of the period found inspiration
in Russian icon painting and Russian folk art. Many of these artists illustrated scenes from folktales; several drew on folk art for the sets or costumes they designed for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. The finest of all Russian folktale illustrations – Ivan Bilibin’s illustrations of tales from Afanasyev – were first published between 1899 and 1902. The image of the firebird, above all, was extraordinarily popular.
The composers of the period were no less interested in folklore. Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov and the other Romantic nationalist composers known collectively as ‘The Mighty Handful’ all incorporated themes from Russian folklore in their compositions; Rimsky-Korsakov, in particular, was greatly influenced by Afanasyev’s The Poetic Outlook of the Slavs on Nature. And Stravinsky’s most famous works for the Ballets Russes – The Firebird and The Rite of Spring – draw heavily on folk rhythms and motifs.
Russian writers of this period seem, however, to have been less successful in their attempts to use material from folklore. Sologub, Remizov and others wrote works they called skazki, but these bear only a distant relationship to the traditional magic tale and most of them, in any case, now seem false or precious. I have therefore limited this section to examples of the oral folktales collected during the thirty years before the Revolution. Several fine collections were published then, and Afanasyev’s pre-eminence has led to their being neglected, especially by translators.
In Russia, perhaps even more than in other European countries, the early twentieth century was a period not only of artistic and political upheaval but also of spiritual ferment. There was intense interest in paganism, in eastern religions and – above all – in the potent brew that Madame Blavatsky had concocted from a variety of religions and philosophies and labelled Theosophy. Folktale collectors must have felt that, rather than researching a remote past, they were engaging with the most pressing questions of the day. The nature writer Mikhail Prishvin, for example, wrote in 1907, ‘I doubt if there is any place where the heathen world is in such close contact with the Christian world as in the area around Lake Vygozero. To this day there are hermits living in this region who try to recreate the life of the first Christian ascetes. And sometimes, into the huts of these hermits wander hunters like Philipp – people who throughout their lives have had dealings only with forest spirits, sorcerers and bears.’1