Russian Magic Tales from Pushkin to Platonov (Penguin Classics)

by Unknown

  Then Darya came in with a bowl of porridge.

  Ivan ate the porridge. Then Darya said, ‘Don’t you be afraid of our tsaritsa, Ivan. She’s not truly wicked.’

  ‘A husband doesn’t fear his own wife,’ said Ivan. ‘I just wish I had time to teach her what’s what.’

  ‘Don’t be in a rush to get yourself executed tomorrow,’ said Darya. ‘Say you’ve got things to do, that it’s impossible for you to die straight away. Say you’re expecting your mother to visit.’

  And so, when morning came, Ivan said to Yelena the Wise, ‘Allow me to live a little longer. I want to speak to my dear mother – she may be coming to see me.’

  The tsaritsa gave him a quick look. ‘I can’t grant you life just like that,’ she said. ‘You must hide from me a third time. If I can’t find you, then you can live. So be it.’

  Ivan went out to look for a secret place. He saw Darya the maid coming towards him.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll hide you away. I haven’t forgotten your kindness.’

  She breathed into Ivan’s face and Ivan disappeared. He turned into the warm breath of a woman. Darya breathed in and drew him into her breast. Then she went into the tsaritsa’s chamber and took the father’s wise book from the table. She wiped the dust off it, opened it and breathed into it. Her breath immediately turned into a new first letter in the book’s title. Ivan had become a letter. Darya closed the book and went out.

  Soon afterwards Yelena the Wise came in. She opened the book and looked inside: where was Ivan? But the book had nothing to say. Or if it did have something to say, the tsaritsa couldn’t understand it; there was no longer any sense in the book. What the tsaritsa didn’t know was that every word in the book had changed because of the new letter now in the title.

  Yelena the Wise slammed the book shut and struck it against the ground. All the letters scattered out of the book. And when the first letter in the title struck the ground, it turned into Ivan.

  Ivan looked at Yelena the Wise. He looked and looked at his wife and couldn’t take his eyes off her. The tsaritsa for her part was gazing at Ivan; and, as she gazed at him, she began to smile. And this made her still more beautiful than she had been before.

  ‘And there was I,’ she said, ‘thinking I had a hapless peasant for a husband – but he hid from the magic mirror and outwitted the book of wisdom!’

  And from then on they lived in peace and harmony. One day, though, the tsaritsa said to Ivan, ‘What about your dear mother? Why hasn’t she come to see you yet?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right to ask! And we haven’t seen your dear father for a long time either. Tomorrow morning I’ll go and fetch them both.’

  But by daybreak Ivan’s dear mother and Yelena’s dear father were already there; they had come of their own accord to be with their children. Yelena’s father knew a close way to their tsardom. They had walked only a short distance and were not in the least tired.

  Ivan bowed to his mother; then he turned to the old man and fell down at his feet.

  ‘It’s bad, Father. I did what you forbade. Forgive your hapless son.’

  The old man embraced and forgave him.

  ‘Thank you, son,’ he said. ‘There was charm in the forbidden dress and wisdom in the book. The mirror showed all things visible – all that seems in the world. I thought I’d collected a good dowry for my daughter, only I didn’t want to give it to her too soon. I thought I’d brought her gifts of every kind, but I’d left out the one kind that matters, the kindness that was there inside you. I went far away in search of this gift, but it was close at hand all the time. It’s never a given, nor can anyone give it – it seems we must each seek it out for ourselves.’

  Yelena the Wise began to cry. She kissed her husband and begged his forgiveness.

  And from then on Yelena and her father and Ivan and his mother all lived together. They lived a splendid life and they’re still living it to this day.

  The Magic Ring

  A peasant woman lived in a village. Together with her lived her son Semyon; he had not yet married. They were very poor. They slept on straw, their clothes were old and patched, and they had nothing to put in their mouths. This was a long time ago, when the peasants had little land and what land they did have was barren. What the peasants managed to sow would be killed by frosts. If it was not killed by frosts, it would be destroyed by drought. If it was not destroyed by drought, it would be drowned by rain. If it was not drowned by rain, it would be gobbled up by locusts.

  Once a month Semyon used to go into town on behalf of his mother – to collect her widow’s pension of one kopek.

  Once he was on his way back home with the money, with the one kopek, when he saw someone strangling a dog with a piece of rope. It was very small, a little white dog, a mere puppy.

  ‘Why are you tormenting the puppy?’ Semyon asked.

  ‘That’s none of your business. If I want to kill it, I’ll kill it.’

  ‘Why not sell him to me for a kopek?’

  ‘All right. Take him!’

  Semyon gave the man his last kopek, took the puppy in his arms and set off back home. ‘I have no cow and no horse,’ he said to himself, ‘but I do have a puppy.’

  He brought the puppy back home, but his mother just scolded him: ‘You fool,’ she shouted. ‘We’ve got nothing to eat ourselves – and you have to go off and buy dogs!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mama. Dogs are livestock too. They may not moo, but they know how to bark.’

  A month later Semyon went to town again for the pension. It had gone up. This time he was given two kopeks.

  On his way back he met the same man. This time he was tormenting a cat.

  Semyon ran up to him. ‘It’s a living being,’ he said. ‘Why are you torturing it?’

  ‘That’s none of your business. It’s my cat and I’ll do what I like with it.’

  ‘Sell her to me.’

  ‘All right – but a cat’s dearer than a dog.’

  They settled on two kopeks.

  Semyon took the cat and set off back home. His mother scolded her son more than ever. She scolded him right into the evening and began scolding him again early the next morning.

  Another month passed by. Semyon went to town again for the pension. It had gone up by another kopek. This time he was given three kopeks.

  Semyon made his way out of the town. There on the road stood the same man. Now he was strangling a snake.

  Semyon said straight away, ‘Don’t kill her. She’s no common snake – I’ve never seen a snake like her before. I’m sure she’s not poisonous. Why not sell her to me?’

  He bought the snake for three kopeks, which was all the money he had in the world. Then he tucked the snake under his shirt and set off back home.

  Once the snake had warmed up in Semyon’s bosom, she said to him, ‘You won’t be sorry you spent all your money on me. I’m no ordinary snake – I’m Snake Skarapeya.1 If it weren’t for you I’d have met my death. But I’m alive now and my father will show you his thanks.’

  Semyon got back home and let the snake out from under his shirt. The moment his mother caught sight of the snake, she climbed straight up onto the stove. She wasn’t even able to scold her son – she was tongue-tied with fright. As for Skarapeya, she slid underneath the stove, curled up there and fell fast asleep.

  And so now there were five of them, all living together – a white dog, a grey cat, Semyon and his mother and then Snake Skarapeya.

  Semyon’s mother didn’t like Skarapeya. She was always forgetting her food or not putting out her water. Sometimes she stepped on her tail.

  One day Skarapeya said to Semyon, ‘Your mother’s not very kind to me. Take me back to my father.’

  The snake slid off along the path. Semyon followed. He followed the snake for a long time – all day and all night, all night and all day. Now they were deep in the forest. Semyon began to wonder where he was going and how he would ever find his way back.


  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ the snake consoled him. ‘There’s not much further to glide. Look – we’ve already come to the border of the snake tsardom! And I’m the daughter of the snake tsar – soon we’ll meet my father. But listen now. When I tell my father how you saved me, he’ll thank you and offer you a great deal of gold. You must refuse the gold. Instead you must ask just for one thing – the gold ring my father wears on his finger. It’s a magic ring. My father’s been keeping it for me, but I want to give it to you.’

  Semyon and the snake tsarevna arrived at the snake tsar’s. The snake tsar was very glad to see his daughter again.

  ‘Thank you for saving my beloved daughter,’ he said to Semyon. ‘I’d give her to you in marriage, I’d be only too glad, but she’s already betrothed. Please take as much of my gold as you wish!’

  Semyon refused the gold. Instead, he said to the snake tsar, ‘Give me the ring you’re wearing – it will be a keepsake for me to remember your daughter by. Yes, I can see an embossed snake’s head on it, and two green stones that burn like eyes.’

  The snake tsar thought deeply, then took the ring from his finger and gave it to Semyon. As he did this, he whispered in Semyon’s ear, telling him what to do with the ring, how he should act in order to summon its magic power.

  Semyon bid farewell to the snake tsar and his daughter Skarapeya. Standing nearby was the adopted son of the snake tsar; his name was Aspid.2 Semyon said goodbye to him, too.

  Semyon went back home, to his mother. The first night, as soon as his mother had lain down to sleep, Semyon slipped the snake’s ring from one finger to another. Twelve strong men at once appeared before him.

  ‘Greetings, new master!’ they said. ‘What do you want done?’

  ‘Fill the whole barn with flour, brothers. And make sure there’s some sugar too, and some butter.’

  ‘Certainly!’ said the young men.

  And they vanished.

  When he awoke in the morning, Semyon saw his mother dipping dry crusts in water and chewing away at them with her few wobbly teeth.

  ‘What are you doing, mother? Why haven’t you mixed some dough and set it to rise? You could be baking some pies for us!’

  ‘Have you lost your senses, my son? It’s over a year now since we’ve had so much as a handful of flour.’

  ‘Just have a look in the barn, mother. Maybe you’ll find some flour there after all.’

  ‘What’s the good of looking in an empty place? Even the mice out there have all starved to death. I’d do better to block up the barn door for good.’

  Off went the mother to the barn. She pushed the barn door. It swung wide open and she fell straight into a mountain of flour.

  After that they began to live well. Semyon sold half the flour and, with the money he got for it, bought lots of beef. Even the cat and the dog were now eating rissoles every day. They grew sleek and glossy.

  And then one night Semyon saw a vision. The moment he fell asleep he saw a beautiful maiden. It was as if she were there in the room. But when he awoke, she had gone. Semyon began to long for her, but he did not even know where she lived.

  He moved the snake’s ring from one finger to another.

  ‘What are your orders, master?’ asked the twelve young men.

  Semyon told them about his vision: he had seen a beautiful maiden. He didn’t know where she lived but, wherever it was, that was where he must go.

  In the twinkling of an eye Semyon was in another tsardom. He was in the tsardom where the beautiful maiden lived.

  He went up to someone who lived there and asked about the beautiful maiden.

  ‘Now which one might that be?’ the man asked in reply.

  Semyon told him about the maiden.

  ‘That sounds like the tsar’s daughter!’ the man said.

  Semyon transferred his ring from one finger to another and ordered the young men to take him into the palace, to the tsarevna. Straight away he was inside the palace – and there he saw the tsarevna. She was even more beautiful than she had appeared in his dream.

  Semyon gave a deep sigh – what else was there for him to do? – and summoned the young men again. He ordered them to take him back home.

  Back in his own home he felt sad and lonely. He was longing for the tsarevna. Without her he could hardly eat his bread or drink his beer.

  His mother began to worry: ‘What’s the matter with you, son? Are you ill or are you pining for someone?’

  ‘I’m pining for someone, Mama,’ said Semyon. And he told her all that had happened.

  His mother was terrified. ‘Whatever next!’ she said. ‘How can a peasant’s son even think of loving a tsarevna? Tsars are sly and deceitful people. They’ll mock you and abuse you. And a tsar will have you executed sooner than he’ll give you the hand of his daughter. Marry a poor peasant’s daughter if you want to be happy!’

  Semyon just carried on repeating the same thing: ‘Go on, Mama, go and ask for the tsarevna’s hand.’ But his mother kept refusing to go.

  Semyon thought for a long time. He thought and thought till he thought something up.

  He used his snake ring to summon the twelve young men. The twelve young men appeared just like that.

  ‘What are our orders, master?’

  ‘I want a splendid mansion, and I want it ready by morning. There must be a fine chamber for my mother. And make sure you lay a mattress of down on her bed.’

  ‘All right, master, we’ll build you your mansion and we’ll fill your mother’s mattress with the finest of down.’

  Semyon’s mother awoke in the morning and could hardly get out of bed – so deep had she sunk into her mattress of down. She looked around her chamber and rubbed her eyes. Was she still dreaming – or was this for real?

  Then Semyon came in and wished her good morning. Everything, she realized, was for real. ‘What’s happened, son?’ she asked. ‘Where have all these goods come from?’

  ‘From one good,’ he replied, ‘comes another good. Now you’ll be able to live in comfort and I’ll be able to marry whomever I like. No one can look down on us now.’

  ‘Well,’ thought his mother, ‘what a bold, quick-witted son I’ve got!’

  The son then returned to his same request: ‘Go on, mother, now you must go to the tsar and tsaritsa. You must ask on my behalf for the hand of their daughter.’

  The mother looked all around her. She walked about the mansion. She thought how rich and splendid everything looked.

  ‘All right,’ she decided. ‘I’ll go to the tsar and tsaritsa and ask for the hand of their daughter. We may not be their equals, but we’re not far beneath them.’

  Off she went.

  She walked straight into the imperial hut, into the tsar’s front room. The tsar and tsaritsa were drinking tea. They’d poured a little into their saucers and were blowing on it to cool it down. The tsarevna was in her maiden’s room, sorting through the chests that contained her dowry.

  The tsar and tsaritsa went on blowing into their saucers. They didn’t even notice Semyon’s mother. Some of the tea splashed onto the tablecloth. And it wasn’t just tea – it was tea with sugar! A tsar – and he didn’t even know how to drink tea!

  ‘That’s tea, you know, not water,’ said Semyon’s mother. ‘Why splash it about?’

  The tsar looked at her. ‘And what’s brought you here?’ he asked.

  Semyon’s mother stepped forward into the centre of the room. As a matchmaker should, she stood beneath the roof beam – beneath the mother beam of the hut.

  ‘Good day, Sir Sovereign Tsar,’ she said. ‘You’ve got stock for sale and we’ve got a buyer. Allow my son to marry your daughter.’

  ‘Who is this son of yours? Where are his estates and what is his lineage?’

  ‘He’s from peasant stock and he’s from a village some way away. His name is Semyon Yegorovich. Have you not heard of him?’

  The tsaritsa gaped in astonishment. ‘What’s got into you, woman? We’re knee-deep in suitors
– we can pick and choose. What do we want with the son of a peasant?’

  Semyon’s mother took offence at this. ‘My son’s no ordinary peasant, thank you. He’s worth more than ten tsareviches. And as for a mere tsarevna, a mere girl-daughter …’

  The tsar thought up a cunning ruse. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘tell your son to construct a crystal bridge from our palace hut to his front door. In the morning we’ll ride over and take a look at his rooms. Yes indeed!’

  Semyon’s mother went back home. As she went in, she nearly tripped up over the cat and dog. They had grown very sleek.

  She shooed them angrily out of the way. ‘Eating and sleeping all day,’ she said to herself. ‘A fat lot of use those two are!’

  Then she spoke to her son: ‘It’s no good, my son. They didn’t agree.’

  ‘What do you mean? How could they not agree?’

  ‘What did you expect, son? Did you think they were going to jump for joy? The tsar just made fun of us. He said, “Let him construct a crystal bridge from our palace to his front door. Then we can ride over to you across crystal.” ’

  ‘That’s all right, mother. That’s child’s play.’

  That night Semyon cast his ring from one hand to the other hand. He summoned his young men and ordered them to construct a crystal bridge by the following morning. The bridge was to go from his own porch to the imperial palace hut, it was to cross over all the rivers and gullies, and there was to be a carriage that would travel the length of the bridge under its own power.

  Everywhere round about, from midnight until dawn, could be heard the ring of hammers and the rasping of saws. In the morning Semyon went out onto the porch to have a look. The bridge was ready; it was made of crystal and a self-powered carriage was travelling along it.

  ‘Go on, mother,’ he said. ‘Go and speak to the tsar now. Tell him and the tsaritsa to get ready to come and visit. Say I’ll be rolling up any moment to collect them in the self-powered carriage.’

  His mother set off.

  Crystal is slippery and it was a windy day. The moment she stepped onto the bridge, there was a gust of wind from behind her. She fell down in fright, then slid all the way to the tsar’s porch on her backside.