Russian Fairy Tales (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library)

by Afanas'Ev, Aleksandr

  She went away, walked and walked about, and again came to the door: “Are you asleep, little children, or not?” The starveling said again: “We sleep and don’t sleep. We think that someone wants to slaughter us all; a fire of hazel logs is being made, boiling kettles are hanging, steel knives are being sharpened.” “Why is it always the same voice?” thought the witch. She softly opened the door and saw that both the handsome brothers were sound asleep. She touched them with the hand of a corpse and they died.

  Next morning the white duck called her children, but they did not come. She felt anguish in her heart, she fluttered her wings and flew to the prince’s courtyard. There, as white as kerchiefs, as cold as little fish, the two brothers lay side by side. She rushed to them, spread her wings, and put them around her children, and cried with a mother’s voice:

  Quack, quack, quack, my children,

  Quack, quack, quack, my little doves!

  I nursed you with fears,

  I fed you with tears,

  I spent dark nights without sleep,

  And for worry over you did not eat.

  “My wife, do you hear this extraordinary thing?” said the prince. “The duck is lamenting.” “You only fancy it!” said the false wife. “Have the duck driven out of the courtyard.” The duck was driven out but she flew back to her children and said:

  Quack, quack, my children,

  Quack, quack, my little doves!

  An old witch took your life,

  An old snake, a false wife,

  Because of her wicked ruse

  Your true father you did lose;

  She put us in the swift stream,

  Turned us into white ducks,

  And calls herself the queen.

  “This is strange,” thought the prince, and he cried: “Catch this white duck!” Everyone rushed to catch her, but the white duck flew about and would not let herself be caught; the prince himself went out and she fell on his hands. He took her by a little wing and said: “White birch tree stand behind me, lovely maiden stand before me.” A white birch stood behind him, and a lovely maiden stood before him, and in the lovely maiden the prince recognized his young wife. At once a magpie was caught, two little bladders were tied to her, and she was ordered to fill one with the water of life and the other with the water of speech. The magpie flew away and brought back the waters. The children were sprinkled with the water of life and they shuddered; they were sprinkled with the water of speech and they began to speak. And now the prince had all his family, and they began to live and prosper and forget the evil days. As for the witch, she was tied to the tail of a horse and dragged over a field; where a leg was torn off her, a fire iron stood; where an arm was torn off, a rake stood; where her head was torn off, a bush grew. Birds came swooping down and pecked up her flesh, a wind arose and scattered her bones, and not a trace or a memory was left of her.

  IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T LISTEN

  THERE WERE ONCE three brothers; two were clever, and the third was a simpleton. One day they went to a wood and wanted to eat their dinner there. They filled a pot with gruel and cold water (the simpleton had told them to do this), but did not know where to get fire. Not far from them there was a beekeeper’s house. The eldest brother said: “I will go to the beekeeper’s house to get some fire.” He went and said to the old man there: “Grandfather, give me a light.” The old man said: “First sing me a song.” “But I don’t know any song, grandfather.” “Then dance for me.” “I am not quick at dancing, grandfather.” “Aha, you’re not quick! So you won’t get any fire.” And in addition the old man cut out a strip of flesh from his back. And so the eldest brother came back without a light.

  The second brother began to grumble at him. “Eh, how clumsy you are, brother,” he said. “You have not brought us a light. I will go myself.” He came to the beekeeper’s house and cried: “Grandfather, please give us a light!” “Well, my boy, sing me a song.” “I don’t know any.” “Well, then, tell me a tale.” “I don’t know any tales, grandfather.” The old man cut a strip of flesh from this brother’s back too and sent him back without a light. Now the two clever brothers just stared at each other.

  The simpleton watched them and said: “Eh you, my clever brothers, you have not yet got a light!” And he went himself to get one. He came to the house and said: “Grandfather, have you got a light?” The old man said: “First dance for me.” “I do not know how, grandfather.” “In that case, tell me a tale.” “That I can do,” said the simpleton, sitting down on a straw mat. “But mind you,” he went on, “sit opposite me, listen, and do not interrupt me; if you do interrupt me, I will cut three strips of flesh from your back.” The old man sat opposite him, with the bald spot on his head turned to the sun—and he had a huge bald spot. The simpleton cleared his throat and began his tale: “Now listen to me, grandfather.” “I am listening, my light.”

  “I had a piebald horse, little grandfather. I used it to drive to the forest for wood. One day I sat on it with my ax stuck in my belt. The horse trotted—trot, trot—and the ax thumped on its back, thump, thump. It thumped and thumped and cut off the horse’s rump. Now listen, grandfather,” said the simpleton, giving the old man a slap on his bald spot with a mitten. “I am listening, my light.”

  “I rode for another three years on the remaining front part of the horse, and then I happened to see my horse’s rump in a meadow: it was walking there, nibbling grass. I caught it and sewed it back to the front of my horse and rode on for another three years. Listen, grandfather!” he said, again slapping the bald spot with his mitten. “I am listening, my light!”

  “I rode and I rode,” the simpleton went on, “till I came to a forest. There I saw a tall oak tree; I began to climb up it and got to heaven. There I found that cattle were cheap, only mosquitoes and flies were expensive; so I climbed down to the ground, caught two bagfuls of mosquitoes and flies, slung the bags on my back, and again climbed up to heaven. I put down my bags and began to hand out their contents to sinful mortals: I gave to each a fly and a mosquito and took a cow and a calf in exchange; I gathered up so much cattle that it could not be counted. Then I drove the cattle to the place where I had climbed up, and discovered that someone had cut down the oak. I was distressed and wondered how I could get down from heaven. Finally I made up my mind to make a rope reaching to earth; for that purpose I slaughtered all my cattle, made a long strap, and began to clamber down. I clambered and clambered and found I was short a piece of strap about as long as your cabin, grandfather, and I was afraid to jump. Listen, grandfather!” And again the simpleton slapped the bald spot with his mitten. “I am listening, my light.”

  “Luckily a peasant was winnowing oats; the husks flew up and I caught them and braided a rope of them. Suddenly a strong wind arose and began to shake me to and fro, now toward Moscow, now toward Petersburg; my rope of husk broke and the wind threw me into a bog. I sank into the mire up to my neck. I wanted to crawl out, but could not. A duck built a nest on my head. Then a wolf took to coming to the bog to eat eggs. I somehow managed to reach a hand out of the mire and seized the wolf’s tail while he stood beside me; I seized it and cried loudly: ‘Tiu-lu-lu-lu!’ The wolf dragged me out of the mire. Are you listening, grandfather?” asked the simpleton, giving the old man another slap on his bald pate with the mitten. “I am listening, my light.”

  The simpleton saw that he was not getting anywhere; the tale was finished, and the old man had kept his word and had not interrupted him. So in order to provoke the old man, the simpleton began another tale: “My grandfather was riding on your grandfather.” “No, it was my grandfather who rode horseback on yours!” the old man interrupted. The simpleton was glad; that was all he wanted. He knocked down the old man and cut three strips of flesh from his back; then he took some fire and brought it to his brothers. They made a fire, put the pot of gruel on a tripod, and began to cook. When the gruel is ready, the tale will continue; for the time being it is ended.

  THE
MAGIC SWAN GEESE

  AN OLD MAN LIVED with his old wife; they had a daughter and a little son. “Daughter, daughter,” said the mother, “we are going to work; we shall bring you back a bun, sew you a dress, and buy you a kerchief. Be careful, watch over your little brother, do not leave the house.” The parents went away and the daughter forgot what they had told her; she put her brother on the grass beneath the window, ran out into the street, and became absorbed in games. Some magic swan geese came, seized the little boy, and carried him off on their wings.

  The girl came back and found her brother gone. She gasped, and rushed to look in every corner, but could not find him. She called him, wept, and lamented that her father and mother would scold her severely; still her little brother did not answer. She ran into the open field; the swan geese flashed in the distance and vanished behind a dark forest. The swan geese had long had a bad reputation; they had done a great deal of damage and stolen many little children. The girl guessed that they had carried off her brother, and rushed after them. She ran and ran and saw a stove. “Stove, stove, tell me, whither have the geese flown?” “If you eat my cake of rye I will tell you.” “Oh, in my father’s house we don’t even eat cakes of wheat!” The stove did not tell her. She ran farther and saw an apple tree. “Apple tree, apple tree, tell me, whither have the geese flown?” “If you eat one of my wild apples, I will tell you.” “Oh, in my father’s house we don’t even eat sweet apples.” She ran farther and saw a river of milk with shores of pudding. “River of milk, shores of pudding, whither have the geese flown?” “If you eat of my simple pudding with milk, I will tell you.” “Oh, in my father’s house we don’t even eat cream.”

  She would have run in the fields and wandered in the woods for a long time, if she had not luckily met a hedgehog. She wanted to nudge him, but was afraid that he would prick her, and she asked: “Hedgehog, hedgehog, have you not seen whither the geese have flown?” “Thither,” he said, and showed her. She ran and saw a little hut that stood on chicken legs and turned round and round. In the little hut lay Baba Yaga with veined snout and clay legs, and the little brother was sitting on a bench, playing with golden apples. His sister saw him, crept near him, seized him, and carried him away. But the geese flew after her: if the robbers overtook her, where would she hide?

  There flowed the river of milk with shores of pudding. “Little mother river, hide me!” she begged. “If you eat my pudding.” There was nothing to be done; she ate it, and the river hid her beneath the shore, and the geese flew by. She went out, said “Thank you,” and ran on, carrying her brother; and the geese turned back and flew toward her. What could she do in this trouble? There was the apple tree. “Apple tree, apple tree, little mother, hide me!” she begged. “If you eat my wild apple.” She ate it quickly. The apple tree covered her with branches and leaves; the geese flew by. She went out again and ran on with her brother. The geese saw her and flew after her. They came quite close, they began to strike her with their wings; at any moment they would tear her brother from her hands. Luckily there was the stove on her path. “Madam Stove, hide me!” she begged. “If you eat my cake of rye.” The girl quickly stuck the cake in her mouth, went into the stove, and sat there. The geese whirred and whirred, quacked and quacked, and finally flew away without recovering their prey. And the girl ran home, and it was a good thing that she came when she did, for soon afterward her mother and father arrived.

  PRINCE DANILA GOVORILA

  THERE WAS ONCE an old princess; she had a son and a daughter, both well built, both handsome. A wicked witch disliked them; she pondered and pondered as to how she could lead them into evil ways and destroy them. In the end she conceived a plan. Like a cunning fox she came to their mother and said: “My little dove, my dear friend, here is a ring for you; put it on your son’s finger. With its help he will be healthy and wealthy, but he must never take it off, and he must marry only that maiden whom the ring fits.” The old woman believed her and was overjoyed; before her death she enjoined upon her son that he take to wife a woman whom the ring would be found to fit.

  Time went by and the little son grew up. He grew up and began to seek a bride; he would like one girl, then another, but upon trying the ring he always found it to be too big or too small; it did not fit either the one or the other. He traveled and traveled through villages and cities, tried the ring on all the lovely maidens, but could not find one whom he could take as his betrothed; he returned home and was pensive and sad. “Little brother, why are you grieving?” his sister asked him. He told her his trouble. “Why is the ring so troublesome?” said the sister. “Let me try it.” She put it on her finger and the ring clasped it, and began to gleam; it fitted her as though made to her size.

  “Ah, my sister,” said the brother, “you have been chosen for me by fate, you shall be my wife.” “What are you saying, my brother? Think of God, think of the sin; one does not marry one’s own sister.” But her brother did not heed her; he danced for joy and ordered that preparations be made for the wedding. The sister burst into bitter tears, went out of her room, sat on the threshold, and wept and wept. Some old women passed by; she invited them in and offered them food and drink. They asked her what her grief was, why she was sad. It was of no use to hide it; she told them everything. “Weep not, grieve not,” said the old women, “but listen to us. Make four little dolls, seat them in the four corners; when your brother calls you to your wedding, go; when he asks you to come to the bridal chamber, do not hurry. Put your hope in God. Farewell!”

  The old women left. The brother wed his sister, went to the room, and said: “Sister Catherine, come to the featherbed.” She answered: “I will come in a minute, only let me remove my earrings.” And the dolls in the four corners cried like cuckoos:

  Cuckoo, Prince Danila,

  Cuckoo, Govorila,

  Cuckoo, he takes his sister,

  Cuckoo, for a wife,

  Cuckoo, earth open wide,

  Cuckoo, sister, fall inside!

  The earth began to open, the sister began to fall in. Her brother cried: “Sister Catherine, come to the featherbed!” “Just a minute, my brother, let me unclasp my girdle.” The dolls cuckooed:

  Cuckoo, Prince Danila,

  Cuckoo, Govorila,

  Cuckoo, he takes his sister,

  Cuckoo, for a wife,

  Cuckoo, earth open wide,

  Cuckoo, sister, fall inside!

  Only the sister’s head was still above ground. The brother called her again: “Sister Catherine, come to the featherbed!” “Just a minute, my brother, I must remove my slippers.” The dolls cuckooed, and she vanished into the earth.

  The brother called her, he called her again in a louder voice, but she did not come. He ran to her room, banged at the door, and the door broke. He looked everywhere, but his sister was gone. Only the dolls were sitting in the corners and crying: “Earth, open wide! Sister, fall inside!” He seized an ax, cut off their heads, and threw them into the stove.

  The sister walked and walked underground and saw a little hut on chicken legs, turning round and round. “Little hut, little hut,” she said, “stand the old way with your back to the woods and your front to me.” The little hut stood still and the door opened. Inside sat a lovely maiden embroidering a towel with silver and gold. She received her guest with kindness, then sighed and said: “My little dove, my heart is glad to see you, I will welcome you and fondle you while my mother is out. But when she comes back there will be trouble for both of us, for she is a witch.” The guest was frightened by these words, but she had nowhere to go, so she sat with her hostess at the embroidery frame; they embroidered the towel and talked together.

  After a long time or a short time, when the hostess knew that her mother was about to come—for she knew the time—she turned her guest into a needle, thrust the needle into a birch broom, and put the broom in a corner. She had no sooner done all this than the witch appeared at the door. “My good daughter, my comely daughter, I smell a Russia
n bone!” the witch said. “Madam mother, passers-by came in to drink some water.” “Why did you not keep them here?” “They were old people, my mother, they would not have been to your liking.” “Henceforth, mind you, invite all into the house, do not let anyone go; I will leave now to get some booty.” She left; the maidens sat at the frame, embroidered the towel, talked and laughed together. The witch came flying home; she sniffed about in the house. “My good daughter, my comely daughter, I smell a Russian bone!” she said. “Some little old men stopped in to warm their hands; I tried to keep them but they did not want to stay.” The witch was hungry; she chided her daughter, and flew away again. The guest had been sitting in the broom. They hastened to finish embroidering the towel; while working thus hurriedly they planned how to escape from their trouble and run away from the wicked witch.