Russian Magic Tales from Pushkin to Platonov (Penguin Classics)

by Unknown

  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 Tsarevich4 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.

  Vasilisa the Fair

  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.

  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,1 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 th
e 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?’