Favorite Folktales From Around the World

by Jane Yolen

  Very early next morning Vasilisa awoke, after Baba Yaga had arisen, and looked out of the window. The eyes of the skulls were going out; then the white horseman flashed by, and it was daybreak. Baba Yaga went out into the yard, whistled, and the mortar, pestle, and broom appeared before her. The red horseman flashed by, and the sun rose. Baba Yaga sat in the mortar, prodded it on with the pestle, and swept her traces with the broom.

  Vasilisa remained alone, looked about Baba Yaga’s hut, was amazed at the abundance of everything, and stopped wondering which work she should do first. For lo and behold, all the work was done; the doll was picking the last shreds of chaff from the wheat. “Ah, my savior,” said Vasilisa to her doll, “you have delivered me from death.”

  “All you have to do,” answered the doll, creeping into Vasilisa’s pocket, “is to cook the dinner. Cook it with the help of God and then rest, for your health’s sake.

  When evening came Vasilisa set the table and waited for Baba Yaga. Dusk began to fall, the black horseman flashed by the gate, and night came; only the skull’s eyes were shining. The trees crackled, the leaves rustled; Baba Yaga was coming.

  Vasilisa met her. “Is everything done?” asked Yaga.

  “Please see for yourself, grandmother,” said Vasilisa. Baba Yaga looked at everything, was annoyed that there was nothing she could complain about, and said, “Very well, then.” Then she cried, “My faithful servants, my dear friends, grind my wheat!” Three pairs of hands appeared, took the wheat, and carried it out of sight. Baba Yaga ate her fill, made ready to go to sleep, and again gave her orders to Vasilisa. “Tomorrow,” she commanded, “do the same work you have done today, and in addition take the poppy seed from the bin and get rid of the dust, grain by grain. Someone threw dust into the bins out of spite.”

  Having said this, the old witch turned to the wall and began to snore, and Vasilisa set about feeding her doll. The doll ate, and spoke as she had spoken the day before: “Pray to God and go to sleep; the morning is wiser than the evening. Everything will be done, Vasilisushka.”

  Next morning Baba Yaga again left the yard in her mortar, and Vasilisa and the doll soon had all the work done. The old witch came back, looked at everything, and cried, “My faithful servants, my dear friends, press the oil out of the poppy seed!” Three pairs of hands appeared, took the poppy seed, and carried it out of sight. Baba Yaga sat down to dine; she ate, and Vasilisa stood silent. “Why do you not speak to me?” said Baba Yaga. “You stand there as though you were dumb.”

  “I did not dare to speak,” said Vasilisa, “but if you’ll give me leave, I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead. But not every question has a good answer. If you know too much, you will soon grow old.”

  “I want to ask you, grandmother, only about what I have seen. As I was on my way to you, a horseman on a white horse, all white himself and dressed in white, overtook me. Who is he?”

  “He is my bright day,” said Baba Yaga.

  “Then another horseman overtook me; he had a red horse, was red himself, and was dressed in red. Who is he?”

  “He is my red sun.”

  “And who is the black horseman whom I met at your very gate, grandmother?”

  “He is my dark night—and all of them are my faithful servants.”

  Vasilisa remembered the three pairs of hands, but kept silent. “Why don’t you ask me more?” said Baba Yaga.

  “That will be enough,” Vasilisa replied. “You said yourself, grandmother, that one who knows too much will grow old soon.”

  “It is well,” said Baba Yaga, “that you ask only about what you have seen outside my house, not inside my house. I do not like to have my dirty linen washed in public, and I eat the overcurious. Now I shall ask you something. How do you manage to do the work I set for you?”

  “I am helped by the blessing of my mother.” said Vasilisa.

  “So that is what it is,” shrieked Baba Yaga. “Get you gone, blessed daughter! I want no blessed ones in my house!” She dragged Vasilisa out of the room and pushed her outside the gate, took a skull with burning eyes from the fence, stuck it on a stick, and gave it to the girl, saying, “Here is your light for your stepsisters. Take it; that is what they sent you for.”

  Vasilisa ran homeward by the light of the skull, which went out only at daybreak, and by nightfall of the following day she reached the house. As she approached the gate, she was about to throw the skull away, thinking that surely they no longer needed a light in the house. But suddenly a dull voice came from the skull, saying, “Do not throw me away, take me to your stepmother.” She looked at the stepmother’s house and, seeing that there was no light in the windows, decided to enter with her skull. For the first time she was received kindly. Her stepmother and stepsisters told her that since she had left they had had no fire in the house; they were unable to strike a flame themselves, and whatever light was brought by the neighbors went out the moment it was brought into the house. “Perhaps your fire will last,” said the stepmother.

  The skull was brought into the room, and its eyes kept staring at the stepmother and her daughters, and burned them. They tried to hide, but wherever they went the eyes followed them. By morning they were all burned to ashes; only Vasilisa remained untouched by the fire.

  In the morning Vasilisa buried the skull in the ground, locked up the house, and went to the town. A certain childless old woman gave her shelter, and there she lived, waiting for her father’s return. One day she said to the woman, “I am weary of sitting without work, grandmother. Buy me some flax, the best you can get; at least I shall be spinning.”

  The old woman bought good flax and Vasilisa set to work. She spun as fast as lightning, and her threads were even and thin as a hair. She spun a great deal of yarn; it was time to start weaving it, but no comb fine enough for Vasilisa’s yarn could be found, and no one would undertake to make one. Vasilisa asked her doll for aid.

  The doll said, “Bring me an old comb, and old shuttle, and a horse’s mane; I will make a loom for you.” Vasilisa got everything that was required and went to sleep, and during the night the doll made a wonderful loom for her.

  By the end of the winter the linen was woven, and it was so fine that it could be passed through a needle like a thread. In the spring the linen was bleached, and Vasilisa said to the old woman, “Grandmother, sell this linen and keep the money for yourself.”

  The old woman looked at the linen and gasped: “No, my child! No one can wear such linen except the tsar. I shall take it to the palace.”

  The old woman went to the tsar’s palace and walked back and forth beneath the windows. The tsar saw her and asked, “What do you want, old woman?”

  “Your Majesty,” she answered, “I have brought rare merchandise. I do not want to show it to anyone but you.”

  The tsar ordered her to be brought before him, and when he saw the linen he was amazed. “What do you want for it?” asked he.

  “It has no price, little father tsar! I have brought it as a gift to you.” The tsar thanked her and rewarded her with gifts.

  The tsar ordered shirts to be made of the linen. It was cut, but nowhere could they find a seamstress who was willing to sew them. For a long time they tried to find one, but in the end the tsar summoned the old woman and said, “You have known how to spin and weave such linen, you must know how to sew shirts of it.”

  “It was not I that spun and wove this linen, Your Majesty,” said the woman. “This is the work of a maiden to whom I give shelter.”

  “Then let her sew the shirts,” ordered the tsar.

  The old woman returned home and told everything to Vasilisa. “I knew all the time,” said Vasilisa to her, “that I would have to do this work.” She locked herself in her room and set to work; she sewed without rest and soon a dozen shirts were ready. The old woman took them to the tsar, and Vasilisa washed herself, combed her hair, dressed in her finest clothes, and sat at the window. She sat there waiting to see what would
happen.

  She saw a servant of the tsar entering the courtyard. The messenger came into the room and said, “The tsar wishes to see the needlewoman who made his shirts, and wishes to reward her with his own hands.”

  Vasilisa appeared before the tsar. When the tsar saw Vasilisa the Beautiful he fell madly in love with her. “No, my beauty,” he said, “I will not separate from you. You shall be my wife.” He took Vasilisa by her white hands, seated her by his side, and the wedding was celebrated at once. Soon Vasilisa’s father returned, was overjoyed at her good fortune, and came to live in his daughter’s house. Vasilisa took the old woman into her home too, and carried her doll in her pocket till the end of her life.

  BRIDGET AND THE LURIKEEN

  Ireland

  A young girl that lived in sight of Castle Carberry, near Edenderry, was going for a pitcher of water to the neighboring well one summer morning, when who should she see sitting in a sheltery nook under an old thorn, but the Lurikeen, working like vengeance at a little old brogue only fit for the foot of a fairy like himself.

  There he was, boring his holes, and jerking his waxed ends, with his little three-cornered hat with gold lace, his knee breeches, his jug of beer by his side, and his pipe in his mouth. He was so busy at his work, and so taken up with an old ballad he was singing in Irish, that he did not mind Breedheen till she had him by the scruff of the neck, as if he was in a vise.

  “Ah, what are you doing?” says he, turning his head round as well as he could. “Dear, dear! to think of such a pretty colleen catching a body, as if he was after robbing a hen roost. What did I do to be treated in such a undecent manner? The very vulgarest young ruffin in the townland could do no worse. Come, come, Miss Bridget, take your hands off, sit down, and let us have a chat, like two respectable people.”

  “Ah, Mr. Lurikeen, I don’t care a wisp of borrach for your politeness. It’s your money I want, and I won’t take hand or eye from you till you put me in possession of a fine lob of it.”

  “Money, indeed! Ah! where would a poor cobbler like me get it? Anyhow there’s no money hereabouts, and if you’ll only let go my arms, I’ll turn my pockets inside out, and open the drawer of my seat, and give you leave to keep every halfpenny you’ll find.”

  “That won’t do. My eyes’ll keep going through you like darning needles till I have the gold. Begonies if you don’t make haste, I’ll carry you, head and pluck, into the village, and there you’ll have thirty pair of eyes on you instead of one.”

  “Well, well, was ever a poor cobbler so circumvented. And if it was an ignorant, ugly bosthoon that done it, I would not wonder. But a decent, comely girl, that can read her ‘Poor Man’s Manual’ at the chapel, and—”

  “You may throw your compliments on the stream there. They won’t do for me, I tell you. The gold, the gold, the gold! Don’t take up my time with your blarney.”

  “Well, if there’s any to be got, it’s under the old castle it is. We must have a walk for it. Just put me down, and we’ll get on.”

  “Put you down indeed! I know a trick worth two of that. I’ll carry you.”

  “Well, how suspicious we are! Do you see the castle from this?” Bridget was about turning eyes from the little man to where she knew the castle stood, but she bethought herself in time.

  They went up a little hillside, and the Lurikeen was quite reconciled, and laughed and joked. But just as they got to the brow, he looked up over the ditch, gave a great screech, and shouted just as if a bugle horn was blew at her ears: “Oh, murder! Castle Carberry is afire.” Poor Biddy gave a great start, and looked up towards the castle. The same moment she missed the weight of the Lurikeen, and when her eyes fell where he was a moment before, there was no more sign of him than if everything that passed was a dream.

  THE TWO HUNCHBACKS

  Italy

  There were two hunchbacks who were brothers. The younger hunchback said, “I’m going out and make a fortune.” He set out on foot. After walking for miles and miles he lost his way in the woods.

  “What will I do now? What if assassins appeared … I’d better climb this tree.” Once he was up the tree he heard a noise. “There they are! Help!”

  Instead of assassins, out of a hole in the ground climbed a little old woman, then another and another, followed by a whole line of little old women, one right behind the other, who all danced around the tree singing:

  Saturday and Sunday!

  Saturday and Sunday!

  Round and round they went, singing over and over:

  Saturday and Sunday!

  From his perch in the treetop, the hunchback sang:

  And Monday!

  The little women became dead silent, looked up, and one of them said, “Oh, the good soul that has given us the lovely line! We never would have thought of it by ourselves!”

  Overjoyed, they resumed their dance around the tree, singing all the while:

  Saturday, Sunday,

  And Monday!

  Saturday, Sunday,

  And Monday!

  After a few rounds they spied the hunchback up in the tree. He trembled for his life. “For goodness’ sakes, little old souls, don’t kill me. That line just slipped out. I meant no harm, I swear.”

  “Well, come down and let us reward you. Ask any favor at all, and we will grant it.”

  The hunchback came down the tree.

  “Go on, ask!”

  “I’m poor man. What do you expect me to ask? What I’d really like would be for this hump to come off my back, since the boys all tease me about it.”

  “All right, the hump will be removed.”

  The old women took a butter saw, sawed off the hump, and rubbed his back with salve, so that it was now sound and scarless. The hump they hung on the tree.

  The hunchback who was no longer a hunchback went home, and nobody recognized him. “It can’t be you!” said his brother.

  “It most certainly is me. See how handsome I’ve become?”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Just listen.” He told him about the tree, the little old women, and their song.

  “I’m going to them, too,” announced the brother.

  So he set out, entered the same woods, and climbed the same tree. At the same time as last, here came the little old women out of their hole singing:

  Saturday, Sunday,

  And Monday!

  Saturday, Sunday,

  And Monday!

  From the tree the hunchback sang:

  And Tuesday!

  The old women began singing:

  Saturday, Sunday,

  And Monday!

  And Tuesday!

  But the song no longer suited them, its rhythm had been marred.

  They looked up, furious. “Who is this criminal, this assassin? We were singing so well and he had to come along and ruin everything! Now we’ve lost our song!” They finally saw him up in the tree. “Come down, come down!”

  “I will not!” said the hunchback, scared to death. “You will kill me!”

  “No, we won’t. Come on down!”

  The hunchback came down, and the little old women grabbed his brother’s hump hanging on a tree limb and stuck it on his chest. “That’s the punishment you deserve!”

  So the poor hunchback went home with two humps instead of one.

  THEN THE MERMAN LAUGHED

  Iceland

  A merman is a dwarf that lives in the sea. There is an old saying in Iceland which many people use as a proverb: “Then the merman laughed.” As for how it arose, it is said that a certain farmer drew up in his fishing net a sea-dwarf who called himself a merman, with a big head and broad hands, but shaped like a seal below the navel. He would not teach any of his magic lore to the farmer, so the latter took him ashore, much against his will.

  The farmer’s wife, a young and lusty woman, came down to the shore and greeted her husband, kissing and fondling him. The farmer was pleased and praised her, but drove his dog away with a blow when it ca
me up with the wife to greet him. Then, when he saw that, the merman laughed. The farmer asks why he laughed, and the merman says, “At stupidity.”

  As the farmer was making his way home from the sea, he stumbled and tripped over a tussock. He cursed the tussock heartily, asking why it had ever been sent by fate to stand on his land. Then the merman laughed (for he was being carried along, against his will), and said, “This farmer has no sense.”

  The farmer kept the merman in his house for three days. Some traveling merchants came there, with wares to sell. Now the farmer had never been able to get boots with soles as thick and strong as he wanted, but these merchants thought they had boots of the best quality. The farmer could take his pick among a hundred pairs, and still he said they were all too thin and would be in holes in no time. Then the merman laughed and said, “It’s clever men that make the biggest fools.”

  The farmer could not get any further words of wisdom out of the merman by fair means or foul, except on condition that he took him out to sea again, right back to the very fishing bank where he had been caught, and then he would squat on the blade of the farmer’s oar and answer all his questions, but not otherwise. So, after three days, the farmer did this. And when the dwarf was on the oar-blade, the farmer asked what gear fisherman ought to use if they wanted good catches.

  The merman answered, “Chewed and trodden iron must be used for the hoods, and the forging must be done where one can hear both river and wave, and the hooks must be tempered in the foam and sweat of tired horses. Use a fishing line made from a grey bull’s sinews, and cord from raw horsehide. For bait, use birds’ gizzards and flounders, but human flesh on the middle bight, and then if you get no catch you’re surely fey. The barb of a fishhook must point outwards.”

  Then the farmer asked him what was the stupidity he had laughed at when he praised his wife and struck his dog.

  The merman answered, “Your own stupidity, farmer. Your dog loves you as dearly as his own life, but your wife wishes you were dead, and she is a whore. The tussock you cursed covers a treasure destined for you, and there’s money in plenty under it; that was why you had no sense, farmer, and why I laughed. And the black boots will last you all your life, for you haven’t many days to live—three days, they’ll last you three days!”