by Unknown
And what happened next was truly extraordinary!
No sooner had the sun set than Poloz the Snake encircled the entire lake with a triple band of fiery rings. Golden sparks skittered across the water in all directions, yet Poloz was unable to drag his daughter back up to the surface. And the eagle owl was doing what he could to make things harder for him. He perched on the rock in the lake and began hooting over and over: ‘Wuwhoo! Wuwhoo! Wuwhoo!’
He would hoot like this three times, and the fiery rings would dim a little and seem to cool. And when the rings flared up again and golden sparks began skittering across the water, the eagle owl would start up his cry again.
Night after night Poloz went on trying, but to no avail. His power had no effect.
Ever since then, gold has washed up on the shore of the lake. Even in places where there are no traces of old rivers, people find gold. It only comes in little flakes and threads, never in nuggets – let alone in nuggets of any size. So how did the gold get there? Well, they say that Poloz pulled it from his daughter’s plait. And there is certainly a great amount of this gold. Later, within my memory – oh, the number of quarrels over these shores that broke out between the Bashkirs and the Russians from the Kasli foundry!
And so Aylyp and his wife remained under the lake. There they had meadows, herds of horses and flocks of sheep. In other words, a life of freedom.
They say that every so often Golden Hair comes out onto the rock. People have seen her. It seems she appears at daybreak and sits there with her plait coiled around the rock like a golden snake. They say it’s a wondrous sight!
Not that I’ve ever seen it myself. Not even once. I wouldn’t want to lie to you.
PART SIX
Folktale Collections From the Soviet Period
During the ten years immediately after the Revolution, different approaches to the study of folklore were allowed to exist side by side. Members of the ‘historical school’ analysed the heroic songs known as byliny primarily as reflections of historical reality. Members of the ‘Finnish school’ tried to reconstruct the history of individual tales by considering both historical and geographical factors and comparing all available versions in different languages; it was a member of this school, N. P. Andreyev, who first translated Antti Aarne’s index of tale-types into Russian. Still more important than the historical or Finnish schools were the Formalists, who, as their name implies, were concerned primarily with matters of form. Vladimir Propp’s Morphology of the Folktale is the one work of Soviet folktale scholarship to have been widely translated and have been incorporated into international literary discourse.
From the mid 1930s, however, official Soviet attitudes towards folklore grew ominously contradictory. On the one hand, in his keynote speech at the first Congress of Soviet Writers in 1934, no less a figure than Maksim Gorky stressed both the artistic value and the ‘life optimism’ of folk art and literature. This led to massive official support for the collection of folklore. In the words of Felix J. Oinas, ‘the executive committee of the Moscow Oblast organized wide collecting of folklore in all of its area in 1934–35. Local centers of folklore were founded in numerous districts [ … ] The local intelligentsia, university students, and students of trade schools were mobilized for active collecting. The influential party papers, such as Pravda and others, published both appeals for collecting and samples of collected materials.’1 On the other hand, a great deal of folk literature was, in reality, unacceptable to the Soviet authorities. Some was obscene, some religious, and some simply frivolous. Just as, during the nineteenth century, Afanasyev was held responsible for the anti-clerical humour that imbues many of his tales, so Soviet folklorists ran into difficulties because of the genuinely spiritual attitudes underlying much of the art and literature they collected.2
We have already seen that both Onchukov and Zelenin were able to publish only a little of what they collected after the 1917 Revolution. It is clear that some of the later, probably no less gifted, collectors did not even dare to note down ideologically suspect material. Nevertheless, if only because of Russia’s size and backwardness, peasant culture survived tenaciously. Great resources were allocated to the collection of folklore, and many folklorists were extremely dedicated. In spite of everything, they collected many interesting tales.
Erna Vasilyevna Pomerantseva
(1899–1980)
During a career that lasted more than five decades, Pomerantseva published over 300 books and articles. She taught in various higher education institutes in Moscow and continued to lead folklore-collecting expeditions until her final years.
The Cat with the Golden Tail
Well then, once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman, and they had three daughters. And there, in that forest beyond the mountain, lived a bear, and the bear had a cat with a golden tail. And one day the bear said, ‘O cat with a golden tail, find me a bride!’
So the cat with the golden tail set off to search for a bride. He began walking about the garden outside these people’s hut, wandering about among their cabbages. One of the girls caught sight of him through the window. ‘Papa!’ she shouted. ‘There’s a cat with a golden tail! He’s running about the kitchen garden!’
‘Run and catch him! Run and catch him!’
The girl rushed off after him. The cat ran down between two rows of vegetables; the girl ran after him. The cat ran along a path; the girl ran along the path, too. The cat jumped over a ditch; the girl jumped over the ditch after him. The cat ran into a hut; the girl ran into the hut after him.
The bear was lying on a bed. ‘What a fine wife you’ve brought me!’ he said. ‘Now we can live well! You, my dear mistress, can give me food and water, and I’ll bring you firewood. And here are some keys for you. You may go into this barn, and you may go into this barn, too – but don’t go into that barn or I’ll kill you.’
So the girl went into the first barn and into the second barn. The first barn was full of grain, and the second was full of meat, fatback and honey. She really wanted to go into the third barn, just for a look. She went in and found three big barrels. She opened the first barrel and dipped a finger inside to see what was there. She looked at her finger and saw it had turned to gold. The vat was full of gold – golden water. The girl felt frightened. She tied a piece of rag round her finger and sat down to do some sewing. Then Misha the bear came home. He saw her bandaged finger and asked, ‘Why, mistress, have you bandaged your finger?’
‘I cut it. I was slicing noodles and I cut my finger.’
‘Let me have a look at it!’
‘Ow, it hurts! It hurts!’
‘Let me have a look at it!’
He pulled off the bandage and saw her gold finger. ‘So you went into the third barn, did you?’ He cut her up straight away, then threw her into the third barn, just behind the vat.
Now the bear was on his own again. ‘O cat with a golden tail, find me a bride! O cat with a golden tail, find me a bride!’
‘Stop killing the brides. I won’t look for you unless you stop.’
‘O cat with a golden tail, find me a bride!’
‘Oh, all right then.’
So the cat began walking about the old man’s vegetable garden, wandering about among the cabbages. One of the girls caught sight of him through the window. ‘Papa! Mama!’ she shouted. ‘It’s the cat with the golden tail!’
‘Run and catch him! Run and catch him!’
The girl rushed off after the cat. The cat ran down between two rows of vegetables; the girl ran after him. The cat ran along a path; the girl ran along the path, too. The cat jumped over a ditch; the girl jumped over the ditch after him. The cat ran into a hut; the girl ran into the hut after him.
The bear was lying on a bed. ‘What a fine wife you’ve brought me!’ he said. ‘Now we can live well! You, my dear mistress, can give me food and water, and I’ll bring you firewood. And here are some keys for you. You may go into this barn, and you may go into this barn too
– but don’t go into that barn or I’ll kill you.’
So the girl went into the first barn and into the second barn. The first barn was full of grain, and the second was full of meat, fatback and honey. She really wanted to go into the third barn, just for a look. She went in and found three big barrels. She opened the first barrel and dipped a finger inside to see what was there. She looked at her finger and saw it had turned to gold. The vat was full of gold – golden water. The girl felt frightened. She tied a piece of rag round her finger and sat down to do some sewing. Then Misha the bear came home. He saw her bandaged finger and asked, ‘Why, mistress, have you bandaged your finger?’
‘I cut it. I was slicing noodles and I cut my finger.’
‘Let me have a look at it!’
‘Ow, it hurts! It hurts!’
‘Let me have a look at it!’
He pulled off the bandage and saw her gold finger. ‘So you went into the third barn, did you?’ He cut her up straight away, then threw her into the third barn, just behind the vat.
Now the bear was a widower again. He felt lonely. ‘O cat with a golden tail, find me a wife! O cat with a golden tail, find me a bride!’
‘No, I’m not going. Why do you keep killing them?’
‘I won’t do it any more. I’ll even love them and cherish them.’
The cat went off to the old man’s garden and began wandering about among the carrots. The third daughter saw him and shouted out, ‘Papa! Mama! It’s the cat with the golden tail!’
‘Run and catch him! Run and catch him!’
The girl rushed off after the cat. The cat ran down between two rows of vegetables; the girl ran after him. The cat ran along a path; the girl ran along the path, too. The cat ran down a furrow; the girl ran down the furrow, too. The cat jumped over a ditch; the girl jumped over the ditch after him. The cat ran into a hut; the girl ran into the hut after him.
The bear was lying on a bed. ‘What a fine wife you’ve brought me!’ he said. ‘Now we can live well! You, my dear mistress, can keep the stove going and cook for me, and I’ll bring you firewood. And here are some keys for you. You may go into this barn, and you may go into this barn too – but don’t go into that barn or I’ll kill you.’ And the bear went off to collect firewood.
The girl went into the first barn and into the second barn. The first barn was full of grain, and the second was full of meat, fatback and honey. After that, she wanted very much to go into the third barn, to see what was there. She turned the key in the lock and saw the vats. She dipped a stick into one vat and it turned to gold in her hand. She dipped a stick into the second vat and saw that it had turned to silver. She dipped a stick into the third vat and it began to move. Then she looked behind the vat. ‘Oh,’ she thought, ‘there are my sisters. They’ve been killed.’ She dipped the stick into the fourth vat and it stopped moving – the water in this vat was the water of death. And so the girl went to one of her sisters, put her head back on her neck and sprinkled her with the water of death. Her sister’s head grew back on, but she was still dead. Then she sprinkled her with the water of life – and her sister came to life again.
‘One way or another, I’m going to rescue you. I’ll bake some pancakes and put you in the basket with them. I’ll get the bear to take the basket to our home and put it down in the garden. I’ll tell him our Mama’s died and that the pancakes are for the wake.’
The bear got back home and found his wife baking pancakes. ‘Oh, what a splendid mistress I have now! What have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Oh, this and that. You can see: I’ve been everywhere and I’ve found everything I need.’
‘You didn’t go into the third barn, did you?’
‘No, I don’t know what you’ve got there.’
‘Give me something to eat.’
‘First take this basket of pancakes. Our mother’s died and we must remember her. Take this basket and throw it down in the garden.’
‘All right.’
The girl put her sister into the basket and covered her up with pancakes and little pies. ‘So, off you go. The basket’s full. But it’s a gift for the wake – mind don’t you go eating any of it yourself. I’m climbing up onto the roof to keep an eye on you better!’
The bear slung the basket onto his back, but it was heavy and he felt tired. ‘A little pastry would be tasty,’ he said aloud, meaning to sit down for a while on a tree stump. ‘Perhaps I’ll try one little pie!’1
But the sister inside the basket said, ‘Get up, get up, you lazy bear! Don’t you dare touch the food you bear!’
‘Sharp eyes, sharp eyes, I’ll leave the pies,’ said the bear. He had gone a long way and he was surprised that his wife could still see him.
In the end the bear got to the edge of the garden and threw down the basket of pies beside one of the outbuildings. The dogs leaped out at the bear. The bear ran into the forest, and the girl jumped out of the basket and ran back into her home.
The bear got back home. There was his wife – still hard at work. ‘My Papa’s died,’ she said. ‘Now we have to remember him, too.’
‘All right. Just say when you’re ready – and I’ll take the basket.’
The girl baked some more pancakes. ‘All right, Mikhail Mikhailovich. Here’s the basket. But don’t you dare touch the food you bear, don’t you dare try a single pie. I’m climbing up onto the roof – to keep an eye on you better!’
The bear slung the basket onto his back, but it was heavy and he felt tired. ‘A little pastry would be tasty,’ he said, meaning to sit down on a tree stump. ‘Perhaps I’ll try one little pie!’
But the sister inside the basket said, ‘Get up, get up, you lazy bear! Don’t you dare touch the food you bear!’
‘Sharp eyes, sharp eyes, I’ll leave the pies,’ said the bear. The bear had gone a long way and he was surprised that his wife could still see him.
In the end the bear got to the edge of the garden and threw down the basket beside one of the outbuildings. Bits of pancake and pie flew in every direction. The girl leaped out of the basket and the dogs leaped out at the bear.
On the third day the girl said to the bear, ‘Now my brother’s died. We have to remember him.’
‘All right. Bake the pancakes and pies and I’ll take the basket.’
Now in their yard they had a learned cock. The girl said to this cock, ‘Once I’m in the basket you must cover me up with the pancakes and pies. And in return I’ll give you some grain.’ First, though, she took a pestle, dressed it in her own clothes and put it on top of the roof. Then she got into the basket and the cock covered her up with a layer of pancakes and pies. (And she’d taken some of the gold.)
The bear took the basket and set off. He walked a long way and he began to feel tired. ‘A little pastry would be tasty,’ he said. ‘Let me just try one little pie!’
But the girl said, ‘Lazy bear, lazy bear! Don’t you dare touch the food you bear.’
‘Sharp eyes, sharp eyes!’ said the bear. ‘I’ll leave the pies.’
In the end the bear got to the edge of the garden and threw down the basket beside one of the outbuildings. The dogs leaped out after him. He ran all the way to his hut. And there, up on the roof, was his wife! ‘What are you doing, up there so high? I haven’t touched a single pie!’ She went on standing there; she didn’t say a word. ‘Get down off the roof, I’m telling you. Get down or I’ll beat you!’ Still not a word. The bear got very angry. He took a big pole and poked it at her. The pestle began to roll – bump, bump, bump – down off the roof. The bear tried to stop it. He tried to stand his wife up again. ‘Careful, my dear! You’ll be smashed to pieces!’ But the mortar fell down from the roof, too – and went smack into the bear’s snout. That was the end of the bear, and it’s the end of this story, too.
Irina Valeryanovna Karnaukhova
(1901–59)
Karnaukhova was born in Kiev; her father was a railwayman, her mother had worked as a journalist. In Petrograd
after the Revolution, Karnaukhova worked briefly as a literary translator. In 1921 she moved to Moscow, where she studied in the Institute of the Word, a school for writers set up under the auspices of the Commissariat of Enlightenment. Among the teachers at this institute were Olga Ozarovskaya and the twin brothers Yury and Boris Sokolov, who had published an important collection of folktales and songs in 1915. In the summer of 1923, Karnaukhova was one of the many guests of the legendarily hospitable poet Maksimilian Voloshin, at his home in the village of Koktebel in the Crimea; there Karnaukhova often narrated folktales. Between 1926 and 1932 she took part in several major expeditions to the north of European Russia; the tales she collected were published in 1934 with an introduction by Yury Sokolov. This collection stands out both for the interest of the tales themselves and for the vividness with which Karnaukhova describes her informants.
During the second half of her life, Karnaukhova worked as a children’s writer. Some of her work was original, while some drew on themes from folklore.
Mishka the Bear and Myshka the Mouse
Once there was a man who had married for a second time. He had a daughter, and his wife had a daughter, too. The wife took against her husband’s daughter. She nagged and nagged; she was pestering the life out of her. And she gave her husband a hard time, too.
‘Take that girl away into the forest,’ she said. ‘Let there be neither sight nor sound of her in this hut.’
The woman packed a basket for her stepdaughter. It was full of all kinds of horrible things – dirt and sand instead of food and drink. And then the old man had to take his daughter to a hut in the forest. He took her there in a sleigh and left her there on her own. The girl opened the basket and felt surprised by her stepmother’s kindness. There in the basket were all kinds of good things: butter and buckwheat and cheesecakes. (The dirt and sand had been turned into good food.) The girl lit the stove and began to make herself some buckwheat porridge. Then a little mouse popped out of a hole and said, ‘Give me a little porridge, girl!’
The girl gave the little mouse some porridge. The mouse ate, wiped her face with her tail and said, ‘Thank you, my beauty. And now I shall do you a good turn. Soon a bear will come to this hut and play blindman’s bluff with you. Don’t be afraid, but just hide under the floor. I’ll pretend to be you.’
