She walked on further. Another horseman came by. His face was red, he was dressed in red and he was riding a red horse. Then the sun rose.
Vasilisa had walked all through the night, and now she walked all through the day. Late in the evening she came to the baba yaga’s hut. Round the hut was a fence made of bones. Skulls with empty eyeholes looked down from the stakes. The gate was made from the bones of people’s legs, the bolts were thumbs and fingers, and the lock was a mouth with sharp teeth. Vasilisa was too scared to move. Then another horseman galloped up. His face was black, he was dressed in black and he was riding a black horse. He rode through the gate and vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him up. Night fell. But the darkness did not last long. All the eyes in the skulls on the fence began to glow and the glade grew bright as day. Vasilisa trembled in terror but, not knowing which way to run, she stood there without moving.
Then the forest was filled with a terrible noise. The trees creaked and cracked, the dead leaves crackled and crunched – and
there was the baba yaga. She was riding on her mortar, spurring it on with her pestle, sweeping away her tracks with a broom. She rode up to the gate, sniffed all around her and called out, ‘Foo, foo! I smell the blood of a Russian! Who is it?’ Trembling with fear, Vasilisa went up to the old woman, gave a deep bow and said, ‘Grandmother, it’s me. My stepsisters sent me to ask for a light.’ ‘Very well,’ said the baba yaga. ‘I know those sisters of yours. But first you must stay and work for me. If you do as I say, then I’ll give you a light. But if you don’t, then I’ll eat you for dinner.’ Then she turned to the gate and shouted, ‘Slide back, strong bolts! Open up, broad gate!’ The gate opened. The baba yaga whistled as she rode in. Vasilisa walked in after her. The gate swung to and bolted itself behind her.
The baba yaga stretched herself out on a bench and said to Vasilisa. ‘I’m hungry. Bring me whatever you find in the stove.’ Vasilisa lit a taper from the skulls on the fence and began taking out the baba yaga’s dinner. There was enough to feed ten strong men. Then she went down to the cellar to fetch kvas,
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mead, beer and wine. The old woman ate and drank everything Vasilisa put in front of her. All she left the girl was a half-bowl of cabbage soup, a crust of bread and a scrap of pork. The baba yaga lay down in her bed and said, ‘Tomorrow morning, after I go, you must clean the yard, sweep the hut, cook the supper and wash the linen. Then you must go to the corn bin and sort through a bushel of wheat. And if you’re not finished by the time I get back, I’ll eat you.’ After giving these orders, the baba yaga began to snore. Vasilisa took her doll out of her pocket, placed the baba yaga’s leftovers before her, burst out crying and said, ‘There, doll, I’ve brought you some food. Listen to me now. The baba yaga’s set me a hard task. And she says that, if I don’t finish it in time, she’ll eat me. What can I do?’ ‘Have no fear, O Vasilisa the Fair. Eat your supper, pray and have a good sleep. Mornings are wiser than evenings.’
Vasilisa woke early, but the baba yaga had already risen. Vasilisa looked outside: the light in the skulls’ eyes was already fading. The white horseman swept by and day began to dawn. The baba yaga went out into the yard. She whistled – and there were her pestle, mortar and broom. The red horseman flashed
by – and the sun rose. The baba yaga sat in her mortar and rode off, spurring it on with her pestle and sweeping away her tracks with her broom. Vasilisa was left on her own. She went slowly round the baba yaga’s hut. Never in her life had she seen such abundance. Then she stopped, wondering where to begin with her work. She looked around – and realized there was nothing left to do. The doll was standing by the corn bin, picking out the last grain of chaff from the wheat. ‘My saviour!’ said Vasilisa. ‘You’ve delivered me from death.’ ‘All you have to do now is prepare the supper,’ said the doll as she climbed back into Vasilisa’s pocket. ‘Cook it with God’s help – and then you can have a good rest.’
Towards evening Vasilisa put everything ready on the table and sat down to wait for the baba yaga. It began to get darker. The black horseman flashed past the gate – and it was night. The only light was from the skulls on the fence. The trees creaked and cracked, the dead leaves crackled and crunched, and there was the baba yaga. Vasilisa went out to meet her. ‘Is everything ready?’ asked the baba yaga. ‘See for yourself, grandmother,’ said Vasilisa. The baba yaga looked round the hut. She could see there was nothing for her to get cross about – and this made her crosser than ever. ‘Very good,’ she said, and then called out, ‘My friends, my faithful servants, grind my wheat.’ Three pairs of hands appeared. They took the wheat and carried it out of sight. The baba yaga ate her fill, lay down in her bed and said to Vasilisa, ‘Tomorrow you must do the same as today. But then you must go to the storeroom and sort through the poppy seeds. I want them perfectly clean. Someone threw dirt in the bin to spite me.’ The old woman turned towards the wall and began to snore. Vasilisa fed her doll. The doll ate her supper and said, ‘Pray to God and then go to sleep. Mornings are wiser than evenings. Everything will be done, my dear Vasilisa!’
In the morning the baba yaga rode off again in her mortar. Vasilisa and the doll finished the housework in no time at all. The old woman came back in the evening, had a good look round and called out, ‘My friends, my faithful servants, press the oil from these poppy seeds.’ Three pairs of hands appeared.
They took the poppy seeds and carried them out of sight. The baba yaga sat down to eat. Vasilisa stood there without saying a word. ‘Why don’t you say anything?’ asked the baba yaga. ‘Anyone would think you were mute.’ ‘I didn’t dare,’ answered Vasilisa. ‘But if you’ll allow me, there are a few things I’d like to ask about.’ ‘Ask away!’ said the baba yaga. ‘But take care. Not every question has a good answer. The more you know, the sooner you grow old.’ ‘Grandmother, I only want to ask about what I saw on the way here. First a man rode past on a white horse. He had a white face and he was dressed all in white. Who was he?’ ‘That was my Bright Day,’ answered the baba yaga. ‘Then I was overtaken by a man on a red horse. He had a red face and he was dressed all in red. Who was he?’ ‘That was my Red Sun,’ answered the baba yaga. ‘And then who was the black horseman who came past while I was standing outside your gate?’ ‘That was my Black Night. The three of them are my faithful servants.’
Vasilisa remembered the three pairs of hands and kept her mouth shut. ‘Don’t you want to ask about anything else?’ asked the baba yaga. ‘No, grandmother, that’s enough. You said yourself that the more one knows, the sooner one grows old.’ ‘Very good,’ said the baba yaga. ‘I’m glad you only asked about what you saw on the way. I don’t like my dirty linen being washed in public and if people are too inquisitive, I eat them. And now I’ve got a question for you. How did you manage to get all the work done so quickly?’ ‘It’s my mother’s blessing that helps me. I could never have done it all on my own.’ ‘Oh, so it’s like that, is it?’ said the baba yaga. ‘You’d better be off then, O blessed daughter. We don’t want anyone blessed round here.’ She dragged Vasilisa out of the room and pushed her outside the gate. Then she took one of the skulls with blazing eyes, stuck it on the end of a stick and gave it to the girl, saying, ‘Here’s a light for your stepsisters. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?’
Vasilisa ran off as fast as her legs could carry her. The skull’s eyes lit up the path, and they didn’t go out until dawn. She walked all through the next day, and by evening she was nearly home. She was about to throw the skull into some bushes – after
all, her sisters couldn’t be needing a light any longer, could they? – when she heard a muffled voice from inside the skull. ‘No, don’t throw me away. Take me to your stepmother.’
She looked up at the house. Not in a single window was there any light to be seen: maybe they did need the skull after all. For the very first time, her stepmother and stepsisters greeted Vasilisa kindly. They said they hadn’t had a light or a fire in the house since Vasilisa had left. None of them had been able to strike a light herself and, whenever they had tried to bring one back from a neighbour, it had gone out as they crossed the threshold. Vasilisa carried the skull in. The skull began to stare at the stepmother and the two stepsisters. Its eyes burned and burned. The three of them tried to hide, but the eyes followed them wherever they went. By morning they were burned to cinders. Vasilisa was left on her own.
Vasilisa buried the skull in the garden, locked up the house, went to the town and began to live with an old woman who had no family. She was hoping her father would come back soon. One day she said to the old woman, ‘Grandmother, it’s boring with nothing to do. Go and get me the best flax you can find. I want to do some spinning.’ The old woman bought some good flax. Vasilisa was quick-fingered, and the yarn she spun was fine and even. It was soon time to start weaving the yarn, but there were no spools fine enough for Vasilisa’s yarn. She couldn’t find anyone who could make one, so she asked her doll. The doll replied, ‘Just bring me any old reed, an old shuttle and a horse’s mane. I’ll make everything in no time at all.’
Vasilisa did as her doll said, went to sleep and found a splendid loom waiting for her the next morning.
By the end of the winter she had finished weaving her cloth, a cloth so fine you could draw it through the eye of a needle. When spring came, they bleached the cloth and Vasilisa said to the old woman, ‘Grandmother, take this cloth and sell it. Keep the money yourself.’ The old woman looked at the cloth and gasped. ‘No, my child. No one can wear cloth like this except the tsar. I’m going straight to his palace.’ The old woman went to the palace and began walking up and down outside the tsar’s window. The tsar saw her and called out, ‘What is it,
grandmother? What do you want?’ ‘your Majesty, I’ve brought you some wonderful merchandise. But I don’t want to show it to anyone except you.’ The tsar had the old woman let in. She showed him her cloth. He gazed at it in amazement. ‘How much do you want for it?’ he asked. ‘I can’t put a price on it, your Highness. I’ve brought it to you as a gift.’ The tsar thanked her, had her given some presents and sent her back home.
He wanted to have some shirts made from this cloth. He had them cut out, but nowhere could anyone find a seamstress who was able to sew them. In the end he called the old woman and said, ‘It was you who span the yarn and made the cloth. You must be able to sew it into shirts for me.’ ‘No, your Majesty, I didn’t do the work myself. It’s the work of an orphan girl who lives with me.’ ‘Well then, ask her to sew the shirts.’ The old woman went back home and told Vasilisa what the tsar had said. Vasilisa smiled. ‘I knew all along,’ she said, ‘that I’d end up having to do this myself.’ She shut herself up in her room and began sewing. She didn’t stop till she’d made a dozen shirts.
The old woman took the shirts to the tsar. Vasilisa washed, did her hair, put on her best clothes and sat down by the window. Soon one of the tsar’s servants came by. He knocked on the door, entered and said, ‘The tsar wishes to see the seamstress who sewed his wonderful shirts. She must go to the palace to receive her reward from his royal hands.’ Vasilisa went to the palace. As soon as the tsar saw Vasilisa the Fair, he fell head over heels in love with her. ‘No, my beauty, I shall never part with you. You must be my wife.’ The tsar took Vasilisa by her fair hands and sat her down beside him. They were married then and there. Soon Vasilisa’s father came back and was overjoyed to hear of her good fortune. He and the old woman both came to live at the palace. As for the doll, Vasilisa carried her around in her pocket until the day she died.
In a certain land, in a certain tsardom, lived Ivan Tsarevich. He had three sisters: Marya Tsarevna, Olga Tsarevna and Anna Tsarevna. Their father and mother both died. On their deathbed they said to their son, ‘You must give your sisters to the first suitors who ask for their hands. Don’t keep them at home long.’ The tsarevich buried his parents. In his grief he went out to walk with his sisters in their green garden. Suddenly up in the sky appeared a black cloud. A terrible storm came up. ‘Quick, sisters! We must get back inside!’ said Ivan Tsarevich. The moment they were back in the palace, there was a clap of thunder, the ceiling split open and a bright falcon flew into the room. He struck against the floor, turned into a handsome young warrior and said, ‘Greetings, Ivan Tsarevich! I came before as a guest. Now I come as a suitor. I want the hand of your sister, Marya Tsarevna.’ ‘If my sister loves you,’ said Ivan Tsarevich, ‘I won’t stand in her way. May God be with her!’ Marya Tsarevna agreed. The falcon married her and carried her off to his tsardom.
Hours followed hours. Days followed days. A whole year went by as quick as if it had never been. Ivan Tsarevich and his two sisters went out for a walk in their green garden. A black cloud appeared. A whirlwind. Then lightning. ‘Quick, sisters! We must get back inside!’ said Ivan Tsarevich. The moment they were back in the palace, there was a clap of thunder, the roof fell apart, the ceiling split open and an eagle flew in. He struck against the floor, turned into a handsome young warrior and said, ‘Greetings, Ivan Tsarevich! I came before as a guest. Now I come as a suitor.’ And he asked for the hand of Olga
Tsarevna. ‘If my sister loves you,’ said Ivan Tsarevich, ‘I won’t stand in her way. May God be with her!’ Olga Tsarevna agreed. The eagle married her and carried her off to his tsardom.
A second year went by. Ivan Tsarevich said to his youngest sister, ‘Come on. Let’s go for a walk in our green garden!’ They walked about for a while. A black cloud appeared. A whirlwind. Then lightning. ‘Quick, Anna! We must get back inside!’ They rushed back. Before they had time to sit down, there was a clap of thunder, the ceiling split open and in flew a raven. He struck against the floor and turned into a handsome young warrior. The first two had been handsome enough, but he was more handsome still. ‘Greetings, Ivan Tsarevich! I came before as a guest. Now I come as a suitor. Give me the hand of Anna Tsarevna.’ ‘My sister’s will is as she wills. If she loves you, my sister can marry you.’ Anna Tsarevna married the raven, and he carried her off to his tsardom.