Here is what I once heard – from people of all kinds, from old maids, from old bitches.
In a certain land, in a certain tsardom, in a place as flat as a tablecloth, there lived a tsar and his wife; they had no children. A daughter was born to them. The daughter was christened. The godfather and godmother held her in their arms and said that when the girl grew up, she would be led through the market place and whipped with a knout. The tsar said, ‘How on earth! No, I’ll never let her out of my sight.’
Tales are told quickly; lives are lived slowly. The girl grew up and began begging her father to let her go out and about.
‘Papenka,’ she said, ‘let me go out for a walk. Let me go out with the mothers and nannies and the old ladies. Let me go out into the fields, let me go to the steep shore of the deep blue sea.’
Her father let her go. Off went the tsarevna with the mothers and nannies and the old ladies. Off she went into the fields, to the steep shore of the deep blue sea. There by the shore stood a little ship with sails. The tsarevna climbed into the ship and a fair wind began to blow. The ship took her across the blue sea – far, far away. The tsar searched and searched, but she was gone, quite gone. And the tsarevna stepped out of the ship onto another steep shore. There on the shore was a well. By the well grew a tall, tall tree. The maiden climbed up into the tree and sat on a branch. Now in that tsardom there was a yega baba (that’s a bad word, isn’t it?),
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and this yega baba had a daughter. And the yega baba sent this daughter off to the well, saying, ‘Off with you, you ugly creature. Go and fetch me some water.’
Her daughter went to the well and began drawing out water.
There in the well she saw the beautiful tsarevna. She went back to her mother and said, ‘Why do you call me ugly, mother? There’s no one in the world more beautiful than I am.’
Her mother jumped up: ‘What on earth’s got into you?’
‘Come to the well with me and you’ll see what a beauty I am!’
Off they went. They looked in the well and the yega baba saw the beautiful maiden.
‘Don’t be such a fool!’ she said to her daughter. And she looked up into the tree and saw the tsarevna.
‘Climb down from that bush, girl!’
The tsarevna climbed down.
‘You can come and live with me, girl. What skills do you know? Do you know how to embroider a towel?’
‘Yes,’ said the tsarevna. She was very skilled indeed, more than words can say. She began embroidering, and the yega baba took the towels and sold them.
Around that time the tsar made a proclamation: ‘Whoever can set pearls in my crown, him or her I will take to my heart. Be it an old woman, she will become a grandmother to me. Be it an old man – a grandfather. Be it a woman of middle years – an auntie. Be it a man of middle years – an uncle. Be it a man of my age – he shall be my brother. Be it a woman of my age – she shall be my betrothed wife.’
The yega baba heard about all this. ‘My daughter will be able to set the pearls,’ she said. She went back home and said to the tsarevna, ‘Set the tsar’s pearls, daughter.’
The tsarevna laid out all the pearls on the windowsill and set to work. She sewed and sewed and soon there was only one pearl left to be set. It was the central pearl, the one that would lie above the tsar’s nose. There it was, lying on the windowsill. And down flew a raven. The raven pecked the pearl up in its beak – the pearl, after all, was very shiny – and away it flew. Soon the time came to return the crown to the tsar. The yega baba brought it along and said, ‘It’s not the fault of my own daughter. It’s a girl I adopted who was doing the work.’
‘Bring her here at once. She must be put on trial.’
It was decreed that the girl be led through the market place and whipped with a knout.
A poor old woman and her husband appeared. They lived in somebody’s back yard, along with the cattle. The old woman said, ‘Don’t harm the girl’s body, don’t put her to shame. Give her to me as a daughter. We’ve got no one at all.’
And so the old woman took the girl in. She turned out to be a good and obedient daughter. After a while it was the old man’s name day, the day of his angel.
‘We’re going, daughter, to the holy liturgy, to pray to God. You stay behind and prepare the food. There’s cooking to be done, and baking. When everything’s ready, you must lay the table, put out the food and then go out onto the porch. There you must bow to all four sides and say, “Luck of my Grandfather, please eat and drink with me – eat bread and salt with me, and all kinds of dishes.” ’
And so the girl did. She went out onto the porch, bowed and said:
Luck of my Grandfather,
Please eat and drink with me –
Eat bread and salt with me,
And all kinds of dishes.
Along came Grandfather’s Luck. She was splendidly dressed; she looked truly magnificent. She sat down at the table. She ate and drank, but there was still as much food and drink on the table as ever. She poured a heap of silver coins onto the table, thanked the girl and went on her way. The old people came back from the church and asked, ‘Well, daughter, who came?’
‘Grandfather’s Luck came. She ate and drank, but there was still as much food and drink on the table as ever. She poured out a heap of silver.’
The following day was the name day of the old woman.
‘You must cook and bake,’ she said to the girl, ‘and then invite my Luck to the table.’
The girl cooked and baked. She laid the table, put out the food and went out onto the porch. She bowed to all four sides and said:
Luck of my Grandmother,
Please eat and drink with me –
Eat bread and salt with me,
And all kinds of dishes.
Grandmother’s Luck was no less finely dressed. She ate and drank, but there was still as much food and drink on the table as ever. She poured out a heap of gold coins and thanked the girl. The old people came back from the church and the girl told them everything.
‘Well, daughter,’ they said to her. ‘Tomorrow’s your own name day. You must cook and bake. Then you must invite your own Luck to the table. But don’t let her go without paying something for her dinner – even if you have to demand it of her!’
The girl cooked and baked. She laid the table, put out the food and went out onto the porch. She bowed to all four sides and said:
Bitter Luck, bitter lot of my own,
Please eat and drink with me –
Eat bread and salt with me,
And all kinds of dishes.
Along came her Luck. She was ugly as ugly can be, and all in rags. She looked well and truly horrible. She sat down at the table and gobbled everything up. Not a scrap of food was left. And off she went without so much as a word of thanks. The girl chased after her. ‘Bitter Luck, bitter lot of my own,’ she said, ‘you must pay me something for your dinner. You’ve eaten and drunk everything I put out. Now you must give me something in return.’
Her Luck tried to creep away into a pit, but the girl grabbed hold of her rags and did not let go. ‘No!’ she repeated, ‘you have to give me at least something.’
Her Luck tore off a little bundle and threw it to the girl. She did the same with a second bundle, and a third bundle. The girl picked up the three bundles and set off back home.
She felt sad. ‘What will Grandfather and Grandmother say?’ she was thinking.
The old people came back from the church: ‘Well, daughter, did your Luck come and eat her meal?’
‘Yes, she did. She was ugly as ugly can be, and all in rags. She looked truly horrible. She gobbled up everything I gave her.’
‘Did she give you anything?’
‘She gave me three bundles of rags.’
‘Let’s have a look at them.’
The girl showed them the three bundles. The first bundle was simply a bundle of rags. The second bundle was simply a bundle of rags. But in the third bundle were a golden hook and a golden eye.
‘Well, daughter, these are worth keeping. One day they’ll come in useful.’
Soon afterwards the tsar made another proclamation. He was sewing a kaftan; he was sewing himself a royal garment. But he did not have enough gold for the last hook and eye. He had asked everywhere, but there was none in his kingdom. ‘Who,’ he asked, ‘can bring me a golden hook and a golden eye to match the ones I already have?’
‘Go along, daughter,’ said the old people. ‘Maybe your hook and eye will be just what he needs!’
Off she went. She showed her hook and eye to the tsar. Her own hook and eye were just like the tsar’s hook and eye. They could have been cast from the same mould. The tsar said then and there, ‘You shall be my betrothed wife!’
They celebrated their wedding with a merry feast. They lived and prospered. Good things came their way, and they kept evil at bay. One day they went for a walk in their garden. All of a sudden a raven flew over their heads.
‘Why’s it croaking like that?’ asked the tsar.
The tsaritsa raised her arm and held her hand out above her. The raven flew down and spat a pearl out onto her hand. And the tsaritsa said, ‘Once I was sewing pearls onto your crown and a raven flew off with the very last pearl. I was sentenced to be led through the market place and whipped with a knout.’
The yega baba was taken to the town gate and shot.
(1878–1954)
Dmitry Zelenin was born in the Vyatka province, to the west of the Urals. The son of a sacristan, he was educated in a seminary and then at the university of Yuryev (now Tartu) in Estonia. After graduating in 1903, he taught at St Petersburg University and then, in 1916, took up a professorship at Kharkov University. From 1925 until his death, he was a professor at Leningrad University and a research fellow at the Institute of Ethnography of the Academy of Sciences.
Between 1901 and 1916 he published two collections of folktales and five other books in the field of folk literature and ethnography, and he continued to work in the fields of dialectology, social linguistics and ethnography until his last years. It was said, only half-jokingly, that he was as productive as all the other members of the Institute of Ethnography put together. But, like Onchukov, he was able to publish only a small part of what he wrote. His
Russian Ethnography
was published in German translation in Leipzig in 1927, but the original manuscript was somehow lost. When this important work was finally published in Russia in 1991, it was in a back-translation from German. Zelenin’s
Selected Works
was published in 2004, but his
Ethnographical Dictionary
still remains unpublished.
A review of Zelenin’s
Selected Works
includes this haunting account of a talk given by Zelenin at the Soviet Academy of Sciences in 1950, three years before Stalin’s death: ‘His old shabby suit made him stand out startlingly among the other well-dressed professors. […] On the conference programme
the theme of his talk – something to do with primitive rituals – had seemed ordinary enough. But as he began reading his paper about primitive people creeping along on their stomachs and licking the heels of their leaders, it was impossible not to make certain very definite associations. People’s faces took on a stony look. There is no knowing whether Zelenin chose this theme entirely consciously or whether in his simplicity of heart he simply failed to realize the glaring parallels.’
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1. There was Omelya Lelekoskoy. All he did was sleep on the stove. And he shat big turds – great piles of them, like sheaves of hay. He had to sleep in the middle of the stove – there was no room anywhere else.
His sisters-in-law told him to go to the Danube to fetch water. ‘But how can I? I’ve got no bast sandals, no foot cloths and no coat. I’ve got nothing at all – not even an axe.’ One sister-in-law began poking his forehead with a stick; another began poking and prodding him on the arse. He found some foot cloths and he found some worn-out sandals. He put on the sandals, he put on a coat, he tied the foot cloths, he put on a cap and he stuck a blunt axe under his belt. He took two pails from on top of the chicken coop. And he took a yoke.
He reached the Danube. He scooped one of his pails through the water, but he didn’t scoop up anything at all. He put that pail down and drew his other pail through the water. He caught a pike. ‘Ah, my little pike! Now I shall eat you!’ ‘No, dear Omelyanushko, don’t eat me!’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because if you don’t, you’ll be happy!’ ‘How come?’ ‘Because the buckets will go back on top of the hen coop all by themselves!’
The pails made their way back, and Omelya ran along behind them, batting turds along the ground with the yoke. On he ran, laughing away. The pails got back on top of the hencoop and he got back on top of the stove.
2. The day after this Omelya was sent to the forest to get firewood. But he had never done this before; never had he seen how people chop firewood. ‘How can I? There’s no mare. There’s no
collar for the mare, no saddle girth, nothing at all!’ ‘We’ve told you already. The mare’s in the stables, her collar’s hanging on the wheel spoke, under the bridge into the barn. And the sleigh’s under the bridge into the barn too. Everything’s ready and waiting for you!’ He went into the stables – the mare wasn’t there, her collar wasn’t there, nothing was there. He opened the gates and stood under the bridge. ‘By my father’s blessing, by my mother’s blessing, by the pike’s command, let everything be ready – bridle, shaft, saddle girth and all!’
Omelya got up onto the footboard and off he went: ‘By my father’s blessing, by my mother’s blessing, by the pike’s command, let the sleigh drive off on its own!’ Off he went, singing songs. But it was market day in the village. Everyone wanted to watch him drive by. He crushed whole crowds of people.
He drove into a sweet-scented forest. He found a dry tree that was still standing. It was very broad. He got to work with his axe, but the tree was too strong – he couldn’t chop even a splinter from it. ‘By my father’s blessing, by my mother’s blessing, by the pike’s command, let the wood chop itself! Let it pack itself onto the sleigh and tie itself tight!’