There was an owl, a merry fowl. She flew and flew, then sat a while. She span her tail, she looked around, she flew and flew, then sat a while. She span her tail, she looked around, then flew and flew … I’ve rhymed my rhyme – so now it’s time, high time indeed, to tell my tale.
The crane and the heron both lived in a bog. They built themselves huts at opposite ends of this bog. The crane began to find it lonely on his own. He decided to marry. ‘I’ll ask for the hand of the heron,’ he said. ‘She’s like me. She’s got a long nose and long legs.’
The crane set off. He waded five miles through the bog. He waded and waded all the way to the heron’s hut. ‘Heron,’ he called, ‘are you at home?’ ‘Yes,’ said the heron, ‘I am.’ ‘Marry me.’ ‘No, crane, I won’t marry you. You have long legs and your coat is too short. You fly badly and you won’t be able to provide for me. Go away, spindleshanks!’
Hanging his head, the crane went off back home. Then the heron thought better of it, ‘It’s lonely being on my own,’ she thought. ‘I’d do better to marry the crane!’ She went to the crane and said, ‘Crane, take me to wife!’ ‘No, heron, you’re no good to me. I don’t want to marry you. I won’t take you to wife. Be off with you!’ The heron wept with shame and went back home. Then the crane thought better of it and said to himself, ‘I did wrong not to marry the heron. I feel lonely all on my own. I’ll go and marry her now.’ He went back to the heron and said, ‘Heron! I’ve made up my mind to marry you. Be my wife.’ ‘No, crane, I won’t be your wife!’ And the crane went back home.
And now the heron thought better of it. ‘Why did I refuse him?’ she said to herself. ‘It’s no fun living alone. I’d do better to marry the crane!’ She went off to ask him, but the crane refused. And to this day each goes on proposing marriage – but they’re not married yet.
In a certain land, in a certain tsardom, there lived a tsar and tsaritsa, and they had one daughter, Marya Tsarevna.
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When the tsaritsa died, the tsar took another wife, Yagishna.
2
This Yagishna gave birth to two daughters; one had two eyes, the other three. And she took against her stepdaughter, Marya Tsarevna.
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One day she sent her out to take Buryonushka, the little brown cow, to pasture. For her dinner she gave the girl a crust of dry bread.
The tsarevna went out into open steppe, bowed to Buryonushka’s right leg – and found food and drink and fine attire, all a lady could require. All day long, dressed as a lady, she followed Buryonushka. When the day was over, she bowed a second time to the little cow’s right leg, took off her fine clothes, went back home and put her crust of bread on the table. ‘How does the bitch stay alive?’ wondered Yagishna. The next day she gave Marya Tsarevna the very same crust of bread and sent her out together with her elder daughter. She said to her daughter, ‘Keep an eye on Marya Tsarevna. See what she’s finding to eat.’
They reached open steppe, and Marya Tsarevna said to her sister, ‘Let me look through your hair for you’ (See Appendix,
p. 424
). She began to look and as she looked, she said, ‘Sleep, sleep, little sister. Sleep, sleep, my dear one. Sleep, sleep, little eye. Sleep, sleep, other eye.’ Her sister fell fast asleep. Marya Tsarevna got to her feet, went up to Buryonushka, bowed to her right leg, ate and drank her fill, put on her fine attire and walked about all day like a lady. When it was evening, Marya Tsarevna took off her fine clothes and said, ‘Wake up, little sister.
Get up, my dear one. It’s time to go home.’ ‘Dear, oh dear,’ thought the sister. ‘I’ve slept through the whole day. I haven’t seen anything at all. Mother will be angry with me.’
They got back home. ‘So what did Marya Tsarevna find to eat and drink?’ asked the mother. ‘I don’t know,’ said her daughter. ‘I didn’t see anything.’ Yagishna swore at her. The following morning she sent her three-eyed daughter out with Marya Tsarevna. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ she said. ‘See what the bitch eats and drinks.’ The girls reached Buryonushka’s pasture and Marya Tsarevna said to her sister, ‘Sister, let me look through your hair for you.’ ‘Please do, sister! Please do, my dear!’ Marya Tsarevna began to look through her sister’s hair for her. And as she looked, she said, ‘Sleep, sleep, little sister. Sleep, sleep, my dear one. Sleep, sleep, little eye. Sleep, sleep, other eye.’ But she forgot about the third little eye – and that third little eye watched and watched. It saw everything; it saw Marya Tsarevna run up to Buryonushka, bow to her right leg, eat and drink her fill, put on her fine attire and walk about all day like a lady. And as the sun began to set, Marya Tsarevna bowed to Buryonushka a second time, took off her fine clothes and said to her three-eyed sister, ‘Wake up, little sister. Get up, my dear one. It’s time to go home.’
Marya Tsarevna got back home and put her crust of bread on the table. The mother began asking her daughter, ‘What does she eat and drink?’ The girl with three eyes told her everything. Yagishna said to her husband, ‘Old man, slaughter the little brown cow!’ And her husband slaughtered the little brown cow. Marya Tsarevna begged him, ‘Dearest Father, please at least give me some of the gut!’ And so he threw her the lower gut. She took it and planted it by a gatepost. And where she planted it, there very soon appeared a bush. And on the bush grew beautiful berries, and all kinds of little birds perched there and sang all kinds of songs – the songs peasants sing and the songs tsars sing.
Ivan Tsarevich
4
heard about Marya Tsarevna. He went to her stepmother, put a dish on the table and said, ‘Whichever maiden picks me a dish full of berries, her I will take as my wife.’ Yagishna sent her elder daughter to pick berries, but the
little birds wouldn’t even let her come close. They very nearly pecked out her eyes. Then Yagishna sent her other daughter, but the birds didn’t let her come close either. At last she let Marya Tsarevna go. Off the girl went to pick berries – and the little birds put twice as many berries on her dish as she was able to pick herself. Marya Tsarevna came back, put the dish full of berries on the table and bowed to the tsarevich. There was a merry feast and a wedding. Ivan Tsarevich took Marya Tsarevna away to be his wife, and the two of them began to live and prosper.
After some time – maybe a long time, maybe a short time – Marya Tsarevna gave birth to a little son. Then she wanted to see her father, and she went to visit him with her husband. Her stepmother straight away turned her into a goose and disguised her elder daughter as Ivan Tsarevich’s wife. Ivan Tsarevich returned home. The old man who had been Ivan’s tutor got up early in the morning, had a good wash, took the baby boy in his arms and went out into the open steppe till he came to a little bush. Some geese, some grey geese came flying by. ‘My dear geese, my grey geese, where have you seen the mother of this baby?’ ‘In the next flock,’ they answered. Another flock appeared. ‘My dear geese, my grey geese, where have you seen the mother of this baby?’ The baby’s mother jumped down to the ground, cast off her skin, cast off a second skin, took the baby in her arms and began feeding it at her breast, crying, ‘Today I shall feed you and tomorrow I shall feed you, but the day after tomorrow I shall fly away beyond dark forests, beyond high mountains!’
The old man went back home. The baby boy slept all through the night without waking, though the false wife was complaining bitterly: why had the old man taken her son off into the open steppe and nearly starved him there? In the morning the old man got up early, had a good wash and went out into the open steppe with the baby boy. Ivan Tsarevich got up too, crept after the old man and hid away in the bush. Some geese, some grey geese came flying by. The old man called out, ‘My dear geese, my grey geese, where have you seen this baby’s mother?’ ‘In the next flock,’ they answered. Another flock
appeared. ‘My dear geese, my grey geese, where have you seen the mother of this baby?’ The baby’s mother jumped down onto the ground, cast off her skin, cast off a second skin and began feeding the baby at her breast. As she fed the baby, she was saying her farewells: ‘Tomorrow I shall fly away beyond dark forests, beyond high mountains!’
She gave the baby back to the old man. ‘What is that awful smell?’ she asked. She wanted to put her skins back on. She reached out, but they weren’t there. Ivan Tsarevich had burned them. He seized hold of Marya Tsarevna. She turned into a frog, into a lizard, into all kinds of other reptiles and then into a spindle. Ivan Tsarevich broke the spindle in two, threw the bottom behind him and the top in front of him – and before him, as a beautiful young maiden, stood Marya Tsarevna. Together they set off back home. Yagishna’s daughter kept shouting and yelling, ‘The killer is coming! The destroyer is on her way!’ Ivan Tsarevich called together his princes and boyars and asked them, ‘With which wife will you give me freedom to live?’ ‘With the first!’ ‘Well, gentlemen, whichever wife is first to leap to the top of the gate, with her will I live.’ Yagishna’s daughter climbed straight to the top of the gate, but Marya Tsarevna merely clutched the gate and didn’t climb up. Then Ivan Tsarevich took his rifle and shot the false wife, and he and Marya Tsarevna began once again to live well, as I’ve heard tell, and to know all that was good, as I’ve understood.
In a certain tsardom there once lived a merchant. Although he had been married for twelve years, he had only one child, a girl called Vasilisa the Fair. When Vasilisa was eight years old, her mother fell ill. She called Vasilisa to her side, took out a doll from under her pillow and said, ‘Listen, Vasilisa. Remember these last words of mine and do as I say. I’m dying now and together with my parental blessing I give you this doll. Keep the doll with you wherever you go, but never show her to anyone. When you meet trouble, just give her some food and ask her advice. First she’ll have something to eat. Then she’ll tell you how to help your unhappiness.’ And the mother kissed her daughter and died.
When the merchant had finished mourning his wife, he decided to marry again. He was a good, kind man, and there were plenty of young women who’d have been only too glad to marry him. Instead, however, he chose a widow. She was no longer young, and she had two daughters who were almost the same age as Vasilisa. He thought she’d make a good housekeeper and mother, but he was mistaken. Vasilisa was the most beautiful girl in the village, and her stepmother and stepsisters were jealous of her. They thought she’d grow ugly if she were outside all day in the sun and wind, so they gave her all the work they could find. The girl had a hard life.
But Vasilisa did as she was told and never complained. And with every day she grew plumper and more beautiful. Her stepmother and stepsisters could see this, and their envy made them grow thinner and uglier – even though they just sat around the whole time like ladies, with their arms folded.
So how did all this come about? But for the doll, things would have been very different indeed. Some days Vasilisa ate nothing at all. She’d wait until everyone was in bed in the evening and then go up to her attic with some special titbit for the doll. ‘Here, doll! I’ve brought you some food. Listen to me now. This stepmother of mine’s going to be the death of me. Tell me how I can live and what I must do!’ First the doll would eat. Then she would talk to Vasilisa and comfort her in her grief. And in the morning she would do all her work for her. Vasilisa would lie down in the shade, or perhaps pick flowers, while the doll weeded the beds, watered the cabbages, went to the well and lit the stove. The doll even gave Vasilisa herbs against sunburn. Life went well for her with the doll.
The years passed. Vasilisa grew up. All the young men in the village wanted to marry her, while no one would so much as look at her stepsisters. The stepmother grew to hate Vasilisa even more. ‘No,’ she would repeat, ‘I’m not giving the youngest away before her elder sisters.’ Then she would send the young men on their way and take it out on Vasilisa by beating her.
Then one day, Vasilisa’s father had to go on a long journey. Her stepmother moved to a hut on the edge of the forest. In this forest was a glade, and in the glade was a hut where a baba yaga lived. This baba yaga lived on her own and she ate men and women as if they were chickens. Every now and then the stepmother would think of a reason to send Vasilisa into the forest, but Vasilisa always came back safe and sound. Her doll showed her the way and did not let her go anywhere near this baba yaga’s hut.
Autumn set in. One evening the stepmother set each of the girls a task. She told Vasilisa to spin yarn, one of her daughters to make lace and the other to knit stockings. Then she snuffed out all the candles except where the girls were working. She went up to bed. For a while the girls kept on with their work. Then the candle began to gutter. One of the girls took the tweezers. And then, as if by mistake, instead of trimming the wick, she extinguished the candle – just as her mother had told her to. ‘What can we do now?’ said the girls. ‘There isn’t a light in the house and we haven’t nearly finished our work. Someone
will have to go round to the baba yaga’s.’ ‘I’m not going,’ said the one who was making lace. ‘I can see by the light of my pins.’ ‘I’m not going,’ said the one who was knitting stockings. ‘I can see by the light of my knitting needles.’ ‘Then it will have to be you!’ the two girls shouted at Vasilisa. ‘Go on. Go and see Baba Yaga!’ And they pushed her out of the room.
Vasilisa went up to her attic, laid out the supper she’d prepared for her doll and said, ‘Here, doll! I’ve brought you some food. Listen to me now. They want me to go to the baba yaga to ask for a light. She’ll eat me alive!’ The doll ate her food. Her two eyes shone bright as candles. ‘Have no fear, O Vasilisa the Fair! Do as they say, but be sure to take me with you. Baba Yaga can do you no harm as long as I’m there.’
So Vasilisa put on her coat, put her doll in her pocket, crossed herself and set off into the deep forest.
Vasilisa walked on, trembling and trembling. Then a horseman swept by. His face was white, he was dressed in white and he was riding a white horse with white trappings. Day began to dawn.