[With this story may be compared a multitude of tales in very many languages. In German for instance, “Der König vom goldenen Berg,” (Grimm,KM.No. 92. See also Nos. 51, 56, 113, 181, and the opening of No. 31), “Der Königssohn und die Teufelstochter,” (Haltrich, No. 26), and “Grünus Kravalle” (Wolf’s “Deutsche Hausmärchen,” No. 29)—the Norse “Mastermaid,” (Asbjörnsen and Moe, No. 46, Dasent, No. 11) and “The Three Princesses of Whiteland,” (A. and M. No. 9, Dasent, No. 26)—the Lithuanian story (Schleicher, No. 26, p. 75) in which a “field-devil” exacts from a farmer the promise of a child—the Wallachian stories (Schott, Nos. 2 and 15) in which a devil obtains a like promise from a woodcutter and a fisherman—the Modern Greek (Hahn, Nos. 4, 5, 54, and 68) in which a child is promised to a Dervish, aDrakos, the Devil, and a Demon—and the Gaelic tales of “The Battle of the Birds” and “The Sea-maiden,” (Campbell, Nos. 2 and 4) in the former of which the child is promised to a Giant, in the latter to a Mermaid. The likeness between the Russian story and the “Battle of the Birds” is very striking. References to a great many other similar tales will be found in Grimm (KM.iii. pp. 96-7, and 168-9). The group to which all these stories belong is linked with a set of tales about a father who apprentices his son to a wizard, sometimes to the Devil, from whom the youth escapes with great difficulty. The principal Russian representative of the second set is called “Eerie Art,” “Khitraya Nauka,” (Afanasief, v. No. 22, vi. No. 45, viii. p. 339).To the hero’s adventures while with the Water King, and while escaping from him, an important parallel is offered by the end of the already mentioned (at p. 92) Indian story of Sringabhuja. That prince asks Agnisikha, the Rákshasa whom, in his crane-form, he has wounded, to bestow upon him the hand of his daughter—the maiden who had met him on his arrival at the Rákshasa’s palace. The demon pretends to consent, but only on condition that the prince is able to pick out his love from among her numerous sisters. This Sringabhuja is able to do in spite of all thedemon’s daughters being exactly alike, as she has told him beforehand she will wear her pearls on her brow instead of round her neck. Her father will not remark the change, she says, for being of the demon race, he is not very sharp witted. The Rákshasa next sets the prince two of the usual tasks. He is to plough a great field, and sow a hundred bushels of corn. When this, by the daughter’s help, is done, he is told to gather up the seed again. This also the demon’s daughter does for him, sending to his aid a countless swarm of ants. Lastly he is commanded to visit the demon’s brother and invite him to the wedding. He does so, and is pursued by the invited guest, from whom he escapes only by throwing behind him earth, water, thorns, and lastly fire, with all of which he has been provided by his love. They produce corresponding obstacles which enable him to get away from the uncle of his bride. The demon now believes that his proposed son-in-law must be a god in disguise, so he gives his consent to the marriage. All goes well for a time, but at last the prince wants to go home, so he and his wife fly from her father’s palace. Agnisikha pursues them. She makes her husband invisible, while she assumes the form of a woodman. Up comes her angry sire, and asks for news of the fugitives. She replies she has seen none, her eyes being full of tears caused by the death of the Rákshasa prince Agnisikha. The slow-witted demon immediately flies home to find out whether he is really dead. Discovering that he is not, he renews the pursuit. Again his daughter renders her husband invisible, and assumes the form of a messenger carrying a letter. When her father arrives and repeats his question, she says she has seen no one: she is going with a letter to his brother from Agnisikha, who has just been mortally wounded. Back again home flies the demon in great distress, anxious to find out whether he has really been wounded to death or not. After settling this question, he leaves his daughter and her husband in peace. See Professor Brockhaus in the “Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K. Sächs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften,” 1861, pp. 226-9, and Professor Wilson, “Essays, &c.,” ii. p. 136-8. Cf. R. Köhler in “Orient und Occident,” ii. pp. 107-14.]
[With this story may be compared a multitude of tales in very many languages. In German for instance, “Der König vom goldenen Berg,” (Grimm,KM.No. 92. See also Nos. 51, 56, 113, 181, and the opening of No. 31), “Der Königssohn und die Teufelstochter,” (Haltrich, No. 26), and “Grünus Kravalle” (Wolf’s “Deutsche Hausmärchen,” No. 29)—the Norse “Mastermaid,” (Asbjörnsen and Moe, No. 46, Dasent, No. 11) and “The Three Princesses of Whiteland,” (A. and M. No. 9, Dasent, No. 26)—the Lithuanian story (Schleicher, No. 26, p. 75) in which a “field-devil” exacts from a farmer the promise of a child—the Wallachian stories (Schott, Nos. 2 and 15) in which a devil obtains a like promise from a woodcutter and a fisherman—the Modern Greek (Hahn, Nos. 4, 5, 54, and 68) in which a child is promised to a Dervish, aDrakos, the Devil, and a Demon—and the Gaelic tales of “The Battle of the Birds” and “The Sea-maiden,” (Campbell, Nos. 2 and 4) in the former of which the child is promised to a Giant, in the latter to a Mermaid. The likeness between the Russian story and the “Battle of the Birds” is very striking. References to a great many other similar tales will be found in Grimm (KM.iii. pp. 96-7, and 168-9). The group to which all these stories belong is linked with a set of tales about a father who apprentices his son to a wizard, sometimes to the Devil, from whom the youth escapes with great difficulty. The principal Russian representative of the second set is called “Eerie Art,” “Khitraya Nauka,” (Afanasief, v. No. 22, vi. No. 45, viii. p. 339).
To the hero’s adventures while with the Water King, and while escaping from him, an important parallel is offered by the end of the already mentioned (at p. 92) Indian story of Sringabhuja. That prince asks Agnisikha, the Rákshasa whom, in his crane-form, he has wounded, to bestow upon him the hand of his daughter—the maiden who had met him on his arrival at the Rákshasa’s palace. The demon pretends to consent, but only on condition that the prince is able to pick out his love from among her numerous sisters. This Sringabhuja is able to do in spite of all thedemon’s daughters being exactly alike, as she has told him beforehand she will wear her pearls on her brow instead of round her neck. Her father will not remark the change, she says, for being of the demon race, he is not very sharp witted. The Rákshasa next sets the prince two of the usual tasks. He is to plough a great field, and sow a hundred bushels of corn. When this, by the daughter’s help, is done, he is told to gather up the seed again. This also the demon’s daughter does for him, sending to his aid a countless swarm of ants. Lastly he is commanded to visit the demon’s brother and invite him to the wedding. He does so, and is pursued by the invited guest, from whom he escapes only by throwing behind him earth, water, thorns, and lastly fire, with all of which he has been provided by his love. They produce corresponding obstacles which enable him to get away from the uncle of his bride. The demon now believes that his proposed son-in-law must be a god in disguise, so he gives his consent to the marriage. All goes well for a time, but at last the prince wants to go home, so he and his wife fly from her father’s palace. Agnisikha pursues them. She makes her husband invisible, while she assumes the form of a woodman. Up comes her angry sire, and asks for news of the fugitives. She replies she has seen none, her eyes being full of tears caused by the death of the Rákshasa prince Agnisikha. The slow-witted demon immediately flies home to find out whether he is really dead. Discovering that he is not, he renews the pursuit. Again his daughter renders her husband invisible, and assumes the form of a messenger carrying a letter. When her father arrives and repeats his question, she says she has seen no one: she is going with a letter to his brother from Agnisikha, who has just been mortally wounded. Back again home flies the demon in great distress, anxious to find out whether he has really been wounded to death or not. After settling this question, he leaves his daughter and her husband in peace. See Professor Brockhaus in the “Berichte der phil. hist. Classe der K. Sächs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften,” 1861, pp. 226-9, and Professor Wilson, “Essays, &c.,” ii. p. 136-8. Cf. R. Köhler in “Orient und Occident,” ii. pp. 107-14.]
In another story a king is out hunting and becomes thirsty. Seeing a spring near at hand, he bends down and is just going to lap up its water, when the Tsar-Medvéd, a King-Bear, seizes him by the beard. The king is unable to free himself from his grasp, and is obliged to promise as his ransom “that which he knows not of at home,” which turns out to be a couple of children—a boy and a girl—who have been born during his absence. In vain does he attempt to save the twins from their impending fate, by concealing them in a secret abode constructed for that purpose underground. In the course of time the King-Bear arrives to claim them, finds out their hiding-place, digs them up, and carries them off on his back to a distant region where noman lives. During his absence they attempt to escape being carried through the air on the back of a friendly falcon, but the King-Bear sees them, “strikes his head against the earth, and burns the falcon’s wings.” The twins fall to the ground, and are carried by the King-Bear to his home amid inaccessible mountains. There they make a second attempt at escape, trusting this time to an eagle’s aid; but it meets with exactly the same fate as their first trial. At last they are rescued by a bull-calf, which succeeds in baffling all the King-Bear’s efforts to recover them. At the end of their perilous journey the bull-calf tells the young prince to cut its throat, and burn its carcase. He unwillingly consents, and from its ashes spring a horse, a dog, and an apple-tree, all of which play important parts in the next act of the drama.[148]
In one of the variants of the Water King story,[149]the seizer of the drinking kings’ beard is not called theMorskoi TsarbutChudo Morskoe, a Water Chudo, whose name recalls to mind the Chudo Yudo we have already met with.[150]The Prince who is obliged, in consequence of his father’s promise, to surrender himself to the Water Giant, falls in love with a maiden whom he finds in that potentate’s palace, and who is an enchantress whom the Chudo hasstolen. She turns herself into a ring, which he carries about with him, and eventually, after his escape from the Chudo, she becomes his bride.
In another story,[151]the being who obtains a child from one of the incautious fathers of the Jephthah type who abound in popular fiction, is of a very singular nature. A merchant is flying across a river on the back of an eagle, when he drops a magic “snuff-box,” which had been entrusted to his charge by that bird, and it disappears beneath the waters. At the eagle’s command, the crayfish search for it, and bring back word that it is lying “on the knees of an Idol.” The eagle summons the Idol, and demands the snuff box. Thereupon the Idol says to the merchant—“Give me what you do not know of at home?” The merchant agrees and the Idol gives him back his snuff-box.
In some of the variants of the story, the influence of ideas connected with Christianity makes itself apparent in the names given to the actors. Thus in the “Moujik and Anastasia Adovna,”[152]it is no longer a king of the waters, but a devil’s imp,[153]who bargains with the thirsting father for his child, and the swan-maiden whose shift the devoted youth steals bears the name of Adovna, the daughter of Ad or Hades. In “The Youth,”[154]a moujik, who has lost his way in a forest makes the rash promise to a man who enables him to cross a great river; “and that man (says the story) was a devil.”[155]We shall meet with other instances further on of parents whose “hasty words” condemn theirchildren to captivity among evil spirits. In one of the stories of this class,[156]the father is a hunter who is perishing with cold one night, and who makes the usual promise as the condition of his being allowed to warm himself at a fire guarded by a devil. Being in consequence of this deprived of a son, he becomes very sad, and drinks himself to death. “The priest will not bury his sinful body, so it is thrust into a hole at a crossway,” and he falls into the power of “that very same devil,” who turns him into a horse, and uses him as a beast of burden. At last he is released by his son, who has forced the devil to free him after several adventures—one of them being a fight with the evil spirit in the shape of a three-headed snake.
In the Hindoo story of “Brave Seventee Bai,”[157]that heroine kills “a very large Cobra” which comes out of a lake. Touching the waters with a magic diamond taken from the snake, she sees them roll back “in a wall on either hand,” between which she passes into a splendid garden. In it she finds a lovely girl who proves to be the Cobra’s daughter and who is delighted to hear of her serpent-father’s death.
Demon haunted waters, which prove fatal to mortals who bathe in or drink of them, often occur in oriental fiction. In one of the Indian stories, for instance,[158]a king is induced to order his escort to bathe in a lake which is the abode of a Rákshasa or demon. They leap into the water simultaneously, and are all devoured by the terrible man-eater. From the assaults of such a Rákshasa as this it was that Buddha, who was at the time a monkey, preservedhimself and 80,000 of his brother monkeys, by suggesting that they should drink from the tank in which the demon lay in wait for them, “through reeds previously made completely hollow by their breath.”[159]
From these male personifications of evil—from the Snake, Koshchei, and the Water King—we will now turn to their corresponding female forms. By far the most important beings of the latter class are those malevolent enchantresses who form two closely related branches of the same family. Like their sisters all over the world, they are, as a general rule, old, hideous, and hateful. They possess all kinds of supernatural powers, but their wits are often dull. They wage constant war with mankind, but the heroes of storyland find them as easily overcome as the males of their family. In their general character they bear a strong resemblance to the Giantesses, Lamias, female Trolls, Ogresses, Dragonesses, &c., of Europe, but in some of their traits they differ from those well-known beings, and therefore they are worthy of a detailed notice.
In several of the stories which have already been quoted, a prominent part is played by the Baba Yaga, a female fiend whose name has given rise to much philological discussion of a somewhat unsatisfactory nature.[160]Her appearance is that of a tall, gaunt hag, with dishevelled hair. Sometimes she is seen lying stretched out from one corner to the other of a miserable hut, through the ceiling of which passes her long iron nose; the hut is supported “by fowl’s legs,” and stands at the edge of a forest towards which its entrance looks. When the proper words are addressed to it, the hut revolves upon its slender supports, so as to turn its back instead of its front to the forest. Sometimes, as in the next story, the Baba Yaga appears as the mistress of a mansion, which stands in a courtyard enclosed by a fence made of dead men’s bones. When she goes abroad she rides in a mortar, which she urges on with a pestle, while she sweeps away the traces of her flight with a broom. She is closely connected with the Snake in different forms; in many stories, indeed, the leading part has been ascribed by one narrator to a Snake and by another to a Baba Yaga. She possesses the usual magic apparatus by which enchantresses work their wonders; the Day and the Night (according to the following story) are among her servants, the entire animal world lies at her disposal. On the whole she is the most prominent among the strange figures with which the Skazkas make us acquainted. Of the stories which especially relate to her the following may be taken as a fair specimen.
Once upon a time there was an old couple. The husband lost his wife and married again. But he had a daughter by the first marriage, a young girl, and she found no favor in the eyes of her evil stepmother, who used to beat her, and consider how she could get her killed outright. One day the father went away somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl, “Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make you a shift.”Now that aunt was a Baba Yaga. Well, the girl was no fool, so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she:“Good morning, auntie!”“Good morning, my dear! what have you come for?”“Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”Then her aunt instructed her what to do. “There is a birch-tree there, niece, which would hit you in the eye—you must tie a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang—you must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would tear you in pieces—you must throw them these rolls; there is a cat which would scratch your eyes out—you must give it a piece of bacon.”So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came to the place. There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba Yaga, the Bony-shanks.“Good morning, auntie,” says the girl.“Good morning, my dear,” replies the Baba Yaga.“Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”“Very well; sit down and weave a little in the meantime.”So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga went outside, and said to her servant-maid:“Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed; and mind you look sharp after her. I want to breakfast off her.”Well, the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much dead as alive. Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant-maid, saying:“Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of making it burn; and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve.” And she made her a present of a handkerchief.The Baba Yaga waited awhile; then she came to the window and asked:“Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?”“Oh yes, dear aunt, I’m weaving.” So the Baba Yaga went away again, and the girl gave the Cat a piece of bacon, and asked:“Is there no way of escaping from here?”“Here’s a comb for you and a towel,” said the Cat; “take them, and be off. The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must lay your ear on the ground, and when you hear that she is close at hand, first of all throw down the towel. It will become a wide, wide river. And if the Baba Yaga gets across the river, and tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear on the ground again, and when you hear that she is close at hand, throw down the comb. It will become a dense, dense forest; through that she won’t be able to force her way anyhow.”The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch-tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon around it, and it let her pass on. And the Cat sat down to the loom, and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn’t do much weaving. Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked:“Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?”“I’m weaving, dear aunt, I’m weaving,” gruffly replied the Cat.The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was gone, and took to beating the Cat, and abusing it for not havingscratched the girl’s eyes out. “Long as I’ve served you,” said the Cat, “you’ve never given me so much as a bone; but she gave me bacon.” Then the Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs, on the doors, on the birch-tree, and on the servant-maid, and set to work to abuse them all, and to knock them about. Then the dogs said to her, “Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never so much as pitched us a burnt crust; but she gave us rolls to eat.” And the doors said, “Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never poured even a drop of water on our hinges; but she poured oil on us.” The birch-tree said, “Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never tied a single thread round me; but she fastened a ribbon around me.” And the servant-maid said, “Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never given me so much as a rag; but she gave me a handkerchief.”The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into her mortar, sent it flying along with the pestle, sweeping away the while all traces of its flight with a broom, and set off in pursuit of the girl. Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now close at hand, she flung down the towel. And it became a wide, such a wide river! Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and gnashed her teeth with spite; then she went home for her oxen, and drove them to the river. The oxen drank up every drop of the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew. But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one! The Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she worked, she couldn’t gnaw her way through it, so she had to go back again.But by this time the girl’s father had returned home, and he asked:“Where’s my daughter?”“She’s gone to her aunt’s,” replied her stepmother.Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.“Where have you been?” asked her father.“Ah, father!” she said, “mother sent me to aunt’s to askfor a needle and thread to make me a shift. But aunt’s a Baba Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!”“And how did you get away, daughter?”“Why like this,” said the girl, and explained the whole matter. As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became wroth with his wife, and shot her. But he and his daughter lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.
Once upon a time there was an old couple. The husband lost his wife and married again. But he had a daughter by the first marriage, a young girl, and she found no favor in the eyes of her evil stepmother, who used to beat her, and consider how she could get her killed outright. One day the father went away somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl, “Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make you a shift.”
Now that aunt was a Baba Yaga. Well, the girl was no fool, so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she:
“Good morning, auntie!”
“Good morning, my dear! what have you come for?”
“Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”
Then her aunt instructed her what to do. “There is a birch-tree there, niece, which would hit you in the eye—you must tie a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang—you must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would tear you in pieces—you must throw them these rolls; there is a cat which would scratch your eyes out—you must give it a piece of bacon.”
So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came to the place. There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba Yaga, the Bony-shanks.
“Good morning, auntie,” says the girl.
“Good morning, my dear,” replies the Baba Yaga.
“Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”
“Very well; sit down and weave a little in the meantime.”
So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga went outside, and said to her servant-maid:
“Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed; and mind you look sharp after her. I want to breakfast off her.”
Well, the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much dead as alive. Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant-maid, saying:
“Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of making it burn; and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve.” And she made her a present of a handkerchief.
The Baba Yaga waited awhile; then she came to the window and asked:
“Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?”
“Oh yes, dear aunt, I’m weaving.” So the Baba Yaga went away again, and the girl gave the Cat a piece of bacon, and asked:
“Is there no way of escaping from here?”
“Here’s a comb for you and a towel,” said the Cat; “take them, and be off. The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must lay your ear on the ground, and when you hear that she is close at hand, first of all throw down the towel. It will become a wide, wide river. And if the Baba Yaga gets across the river, and tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear on the ground again, and when you hear that she is close at hand, throw down the comb. It will become a dense, dense forest; through that she won’t be able to force her way anyhow.”
The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch-tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon around it, and it let her pass on. And the Cat sat down to the loom, and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn’t do much weaving. Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked:
“Are you weaving, niece? are you weaving, my dear?”
“I’m weaving, dear aunt, I’m weaving,” gruffly replied the Cat.
The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was gone, and took to beating the Cat, and abusing it for not havingscratched the girl’s eyes out. “Long as I’ve served you,” said the Cat, “you’ve never given me so much as a bone; but she gave me bacon.” Then the Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs, on the doors, on the birch-tree, and on the servant-maid, and set to work to abuse them all, and to knock them about. Then the dogs said to her, “Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never so much as pitched us a burnt crust; but she gave us rolls to eat.” And the doors said, “Long as we’ve served you, you’ve never poured even a drop of water on our hinges; but she poured oil on us.” The birch-tree said, “Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never tied a single thread round me; but she fastened a ribbon around me.” And the servant-maid said, “Long as I’ve served you, you’ve never given me so much as a rag; but she gave me a handkerchief.”
The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into her mortar, sent it flying along with the pestle, sweeping away the while all traces of its flight with a broom, and set off in pursuit of the girl. Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now close at hand, she flung down the towel. And it became a wide, such a wide river! Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and gnashed her teeth with spite; then she went home for her oxen, and drove them to the river. The oxen drank up every drop of the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew. But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one! The Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she worked, she couldn’t gnaw her way through it, so she had to go back again.
But by this time the girl’s father had returned home, and he asked:
“Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s gone to her aunt’s,” replied her stepmother.
Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.
“Where have you been?” asked her father.
“Ah, father!” she said, “mother sent me to aunt’s to askfor a needle and thread to make me a shift. But aunt’s a Baba Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!”
“And how did you get away, daughter?”
“Why like this,” said the girl, and explained the whole matter. As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became wroth with his wife, and shot her. But he and his daughter lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.
In one of the numerous variants of this story[162]the heroine is sent by her husband’s mother to the Baba Yaga’s, and the advice which saves her comes from her husband. The Baba Yaga goes into another room “in order to sharpen her teeth,” and while she is engaged in that operation the girl escapes, having previously—by the advice of the Cat, to which she had given a lump of butter—spat under the threshold. The spittle answers for her in her absence, behaving as do, in other folk-tales, drops of blood, or rags dipped in blood, or apples, or eggs, or beans, or stone images, or wooden puppets.[163]
The magic comb and towel, by the aid of which the girl effects her escape, constantly figure in Skazkas of this class, and always produce the required effect. A brush, also, is frequently introduced, from each bristle of which springs up a wood. In one story, however, the brush gives rise to mountains, and agolik, or bath-room whisk, turns into a forest. The towel is used, also, for the purpose of constructing or annihilating a bridge. Similar instruments are found in the folk-tales of every land, whether they appear as the brush, comb, and mirror of the German water-sprite;[164]or the rod, stone, and pitcher of water of the Norse Troll;[165]or the knife, comb, and handful of saltwhich, in the Modern Greek story, save Asterinos and Pulja from their fiendish mother;[166]or the twig, the stone, and the bladder of water, found in the ear of the filly, which saves her master from the Gaelic giant;[167]or the brush, comb, and egg, the last of which produces a frozen lake with “mirror-smooth” surface, whereon the pursuing Old Prussian witch slips and breaks her neck;[168]or the wand which causes a river to flow and a mountain to rise between the youth who waves it and the “wicked old Rákshasa” who chases him in the Deccan story;[169]or the handful of earth, cup of water, and dry sticks and match, which impede and finally destroy the Rákshasa in the almost identical episode of Somadeva’s tale of “The Prince of Varddhamána.”[170]
In each instance they appear to typify the influence which the supernatural beings to whom they belonged were supposed to exercise over the elements. It has been thought strange that such stress should be laid on the employment of certain toilet-articles, to the use of which the heroes of folk-tales do not appear to have been greatly addicted. But it is evident that like produces like in the transformation in question. In the oldest form of the story, the Sanskrit, a handful of earth turns into a mountain, a cup of water into a river. Now, metaphorically speaking, a brush may be taken as a miniature wood; the common use of the term brushwood is a proof of the general acceptance of the metaphor. A comb does not at first sight appear to resemble a mountain, but its indentedoutline may have struck the fancy of many primitive peoples as being a likeness to a serrated mountain range. Thence comes it that in GermanKammmeans not only a comb but also (like the SpanishSierra) a mountain ridge or crest.[171]
In one of the numerous stories[172]about the Baba Yaga, four heroes are wandering about the world together; when they come to a dense forest in which a small izba, or hut, is twirling round on “afowl’sleg.” Ivan, the youngest of the party, utters the magical formula “Izbushka, Izbushka! stand with back to the forest and front towards us,” and “the hut faces towards them, its doors and windows open of their own accord.” The heroes enter and find it empty. One of the party then remains indoors, while the rest go out to the chase. The hero who is left alone prepares a meal, and then, “after washing his head, sits down by the window to comb his hair.” Suddenly a stone is lifted, and from under it appears a Baba Yaga, driving in her mortar, with a dog yelping at her heels. She enters the hut and, after some short parley, seizes her pestle, and begins beating the hero with it until he falls prostrate. Then she cuts a strip out of his back, eats up the whole of the viands he has prepared for his companions, and disappears. After a time the beaten hero recovers his senses, “ties up his head with a handkerchief,” and sits groaning until his comrades return. Then he makes some excuse for not having got any supper ready for them, but says nothing about what has really happened to him.
On the next day the second hero is treated in the same manner by the Baba Yaga, and on the day after that the third undergoes a similar humiliation. But on the fourthday it falls to the lot of the young Ivan to stay in the hut alone. The Baba Yaga appears as usual, and begins thumping him with her pestle; but he snatches it from her, beats her almost to death with it, cuts three strips out of her back, and then locks her up in a closet. When his comrades return, they are surprised to find him unhurt, and a meal prepared for them, but they ask no questions. After supper they all take a bath, and then Ivan remarks that each of his companions has had a strip cut out of his back. This leads to a full confession, on hearing which Ivan “runs to the closet, takes those strips out of the Baba Yaga, and applies them to their backs,” which immediately become cured. He then hangs up the Baba Yaga by a cord tied to one foot, at which cord all the party shoot. At length it is severed, and she drops. As soon as she touches the ground, she runs to the stone from under which she had appeared, lifts it, and disappears.[173]
The rest of the story is very similar to that of “Norka,” which has already been given, only instead of the beast of that name we have the Baba Yaga, whom Ivan finds asleep, with a magic sword at her head. Following the advice of her daughters, three fair maidens whom he meets in her palace, Ivan does not attempt to touch the magic sword while she sleeps. But he awakes her gently, and offers her two golden apples on a silver dish. She lifts her head and opens her mouth, whereupon he seizes the sword and cuts her head off. As is usual in the stories of this class, his comrades, after hoisting the maidens aloft, cut the cord and let him fall back into the abyss. But he escapes, and eventually “he slays all the three heroes, and flings their bodies on the plain for wild beasts to devour.” This Skazka is one of the many versions of a widespread tale,which tells how the youngest of a party, usually consisting of three persons, overcomes some supernatural foe, generally a dwarf, who had been more than a match for his companions. The most important of these versions is the Lithuanian story of the carpenter who overcomes a Laume—a being in many respects akin to the Baba Yaga—who has proved too strong for his comrades, Perkun and the Devil.[174]
The practice of cutting strips from an enemy’s back is frequently referred to in the Skazkas—much more frequently than in the German and Norse stories. It is not often that such strips are turned to good account, but in the Skazka with which we have just been dealing, Ivan finding the rope by which he is being lowered into the abyss too short, ties to the end of it the three strips he has cut from the Baba Yaga’s back, and so makes it sufficiently long. They are often exacted as the penalty of losing a wager, as well in the Skazkas as elsewhere.[175]In a West-Slavonian story about a wager of this kind, the winner cuts off the loser’s nose.[176]In the Gaelic stories it is not an uncommon incident for a man to have “a strip of skin cut off him from his crown to his sole.”[177]
The Baba Yaga generally kills people in order to eat them. Her house is fenced about with the bones of the men whose flesh she has devoured; in one story she offersa human arm, by way of a meal, to a girl who visits her. But she is also represented in one of the stories[178]as petrifying her victims. This trait connects her with Medusa, and the three sister Baba Yagas with the three Gorgones. The Russian Gorgo’s method of petrifaction is singular. In the story referred to, Ivan Dévich (Ivan the servant-maid’s son) meets a Baba Yaga, who plucks one of her hairs, gives it to him, and says, “Tie three knots and then blow.” He does so, and both he and his horse turn into stone. The Baba Yaga places them in her mortar, pounds them to bits, and buries their remains under a stone. A little later comes Ivan Dévich’s comrade, Prince Ivan. Him also the Yaga attempts to destroy, but he feigns ignorance, and persuades her to show him how to tie knots and to blow. The result is that she becomes petrified herself. Prince Ivan puts her in her own mortar, and proceeds to pound her therein, until she tells him where the fragments of his comrade are, and what he must do to restore them to life.
The Baba Yaga usually lives by herself, but sometimes she appears in the character of the house-mother. One of the Skazkas[179]relates how a certain old couple, who had no children, were advised to get a number of eggs from the village—one from each house—and to place them under a sitting hen. From the forty-one eggs thus obtained and treated are born as many boys, all but one of whom develop into strong men, but the forty-first long remains a poor weak creature, a kind of “Hop-o’-my-thumb.” They all set forth to seek brides, and eventually marry the forty-one daughters of a Baba Yaga. On the wedding night she intends to kill her sons-in-law; but they, acting on the advice of him who had been the weakling of theirparty, but who has become a mighty hero, exchange clothes with their brides before “lying down to sleep.” Accordingly the Baba Yaga’s “trusty servants” cut off the heads of her daughters instead of those of her sons-in-law. Those youths arise, stick the heads of their brides on iron spikes all round the house, and gallop away. When the Baba Yaga awakes in the morning, looks out of the window, and sees her daughters’ heads on their spikes, she flies into a passion, calls for “her burning shield,” sets off in pursuit of her sons-in-law, and “begins burning up everything on all four sides with her shield.” A magic, bridge-creating kerchief, however, enables the fugitives to escape from their irritated mother-in-law.
In one story[180]the heroine is ordered to swing the cradle in which reposes a Baba Yaga’s infant son, whom she is ordered to address in terms of respect when she sings him lullabies; in others she is told to wash a Baba Yaga’s many children, whose appearance is usually unprepossessing. One girl, for instance, is ordered by a Baba Yaga to heat the bath, but the fuel given her for the purpose turns out to be dead men’s bones. Having got over this difficulty, thanks to the advice of a sparrow which tells her where to look for wood, she is sent to fetch water in a sieve. Again the sparrow comes to her rescue telling her to line the sieve with clay. Then she is told to wait upon the Baba Yaga’s children in the bath-room. She enters it, and presently in come “worms, frogs, rats, and all sorts of insects.” These, which are the Baba Yaga’s children, she soaps over and otherwise treats in the approved Russian-bath style, and afterwards she does as much for their mother. The Baba Yaga is highly pleased, calls for a “samovar” (or urn), and invites heryoung bath-woman to drink tea with her. And finally she sends her home with a blue coffer, which turns out to be full of money. This present excites the cupidity of her stepmother, who sends her own daughter to the Baba Yaga’s, hoping that she will bring back a similar treasure. The Baba Yaga gives the same orders as before to the new-comer, but that conceited young person fails to carry them out. She cannot make the bones burn, nor the sieve hold water, but when the sparrow offers its advice she only boxes its ears. And when the “rats, frogs, and all manner of vermin,” enter the bath-room, “she crushed half of them to death,” says the story; “the rest ran home, and complained about her to their mother.” And so the Baba Yaga, when she dismisses her, gives her a red coffer instead of a blue one. Out of it, when it is opened, issues fire, which consumes both her and her mother.[181]
Similar to this story in many of its features as well as in its catastrophe is one of the most spirited and dramatic of all the Skazkas, that of—
In a certain kingdom there lived a merchant. Twelve years did he live as a married man, but he had only one child, Vasilissa the Fair. When her mother died, the girl was eight years old. And on her deathbed the merchant’s wife called her little daughter to her, took out from under the bed-clothes a doll, gave it to her, and said, “Listen, Vasilissa, dear; remember and obey these last words of mine. I am going to die. And now, together with my parental blessing, I bequeath to you this doll. Keep it always by you, and never show it to anybody; and whenever any misfortune comes upon you, give the doll food, and ask its advice. When it has fed, it will tell you a cure for your troubles.” Then the mother kissed her child and died.After his wife’s death, the merchant mourned for her a befitting time, and then began to consider about marrying again. He was a man of means. It wasn’t a question with him of girls (with dowries); more than all others, a certain widow took his fancy. She was middle-aged, and had a couple of daughters of her own just about the same age as Vasilissa. She must needs be both a good housekeeper and an experienced mother.Well, the merchant married the widow, but he had deceived himself, for he did not find in her a kind mother for his Vasilissa. Vasilissa was the prettiest girl[183]in all the village; but her stepmother and stepsisters were jealous of her beauty, and tormented her with every possible sort of toil, in order that she might grow thin from over-work, and be tanned by the sun and the wind. Her life was made a burden to her! Vasilissa bore everything with resignation, and every day grew plumper and prettier, while the stepmother and her daughters lost flesh and fell off in appearance from the effects of their own spite, notwithstanding that they always sat with folded hands like fine ladies.But how did that come about? Why, it was her doll that helped Vasilissa. If it hadn’t been for it, however could the girl have got through all her work? And therefore it was that Vasilissa would never eat all her share of a meal, but always kept the most delicate morsel for her doll; and at night, when all were at rest, she would shut herself up in the narrow chamber[184]in which she slept, and feast her doll, saying[185]the while:“There, dolly, feed; help me in my need! I live in my father’s house, but never know what pleasure is; my evil stepmother tries to drive me out of the white world; teach me how to keep alive, and what I ought to do.”Then the doll would eat, and afterwards give her advice, and comfort her in her sorrow, and next day it would do all Vasilissa’swork for her. She had only to take her ease in a shady place and pluck flowers, and yet all her work was done in good time; the beds were weeded, and the pails were filled, and the cabbages were watered, and the stove was heated. Moreover, the doll showed Vasilissa herbs which prevented her from getting sunburnt. Happily did she and her doll live together.Several years went by. Vasilissa grew up and became old enough to be married.[186]All the marriageable young men in the town sent to make an offer to Vasilissa; at her stepmother’s daughters not a soul would so much as look. Her stepmother grew even more savage than before, and replied to every suitor—“We won’t let the younger marry before her elders.”And after the suitors had been packed off, she used to beat Vasilissa by way of wreaking her spite.Well, it happened one day that the merchant had to go away from home on business for a long time. Thereupon the stepmother went to live in another house; and near that house was a dense forest, and in a clearing in that forest there stood a hut,[187]and in the hut there lived a Baba Yaga. She never let any one come near her dwelling, and she ate up people like so many chickens.Having moved into the new abode, the merchant’s wife kept sending her hated Vasilissa into the forest on one pretence or another. But the girl always got home safe and sound; the doll used to show her the way, and never let her go near the Baba Yaga’s dwelling.The autumn season arrived. One evening the stepmother gave out their work to the three girls; one she set to lace-making, another to knitting socks, and the third, Vasilissa, to weaving; and each of them had her allotted amount to do.By-and-byshe put out the lights in the house, leaving only one candle alight where the girls were working, and then she went to bed. The girls worked and worked. Presently the candle wantedsnuffing; one of the stepdaughters took the snuffers, as if she were going to clear the wick, but instead of doing so, in obedience to her mother’s orders, she snuffed the candle out, pretending to do so by accident.“What shall we do now?” said the girls. “There isn’t a spark of fire in the house, and our tasks are not yet done. We must go to the Baba Yaga’s for a light!”“My pins give me light enough,” said the one who was making lace. “I shan’t go.”“And I shan’t go, either,” said the one who was knitting socks. “My knitting-needles give me light enough.”“Vasilissa, you must go for the light,” they both cried out together; “be off to the Baba Yaga’s!”And they pushed Vasilissa out of the room.Vasilissa went into her little closet, set before the doll a supper which she had provided beforehand, and said:“Now, dolly, feed, and listen to my need! I’m sent to the Baba Yaga’s for a light. The Baba Yaga will eat me!”The doll fed, and its eyes began to glow just like a couple of candles.“Never fear, Vasilissa dear!” it said. “Go where you’re sent. Only take care to keep me always by you. As long as I’m with you, no harm will come to you at the Baba Yaga’s.”So Vasilissa got ready, put her doll in her pocket, crossed herself, and went out into the thick forest.As she walks she trembles. Suddenly a horseman gallops by. He is white, and he is dressed in white, under him is a white horse, and the trappings of the horse are white—and the day begins to break.She goes a little further, and a second rider gallops by. He is red, dressed in red, and sitting on a red horse—and the sun rises.Vasilissa went on walking all night and all next day. It was only towards the evening that she reached the clearing on which stood the dwelling of the Baba Yaga. The fence around it was made of dead men’s bones; on the top of the fence were stuck human skulls with eyes in them; instead of uprights at the gateswere men’s legs; instead of bolts were arms; instead of a lock was a mouth with sharp teeth.Vasilissa was frightened out of her wits, and stood still as if rooted to the ground.Suddenly there rode past another horseman. He was black, dressed all in black, and on a black horse. He galloped up to the Baba Yaga’s gate and disappeared, just as if he had sunk through the ground—and night fell. But the darkness did not last long. The eyes of all the skulls on the fence began to shine and the whole clearing became as bright as if it had been midday. Vasilissa shuddered with fear, but stopped where she was, not knowing which way to run.Soon there was heard in the forest a terrible roar. The trees cracked, the dry leaves rustled; out of the forest came the Baba Yaga, riding in a mortar, urging it on with a pestle, sweeping away her traces with a broom. Up she drove to the gate, stopped short, and, snuffing the air around her, cried:—“Faugh! Faugh! I smell Russian flesh![188]Who’s there?”Vasilissa went up to the hag in a terrible fright, bowed low before her, and said:—“It’s me, granny. My stepsisters have sent me to you for a light.”“Very good,” said the Baba Yaga; “I know them. If you’ll stop awhile with me first, and do some work for me, I’ll give you a light. But if you won’t, I’ll eat you!”Then she turned to the gates, and cried:—“Ho, thou firm fence of mine, be thou divided! And ye, wide gates of mine, do ye fly open!”The gates opened, and the Baba Yaga drove in, whistling as she went, and after her followed Vasilissa; and then everything shut to again. When they entered the sitting-room, the Baba Yaga stretched herself out at full length, and said to Vasilissa:“Fetch out what there is in the oven; I’m hungry.”Vasilissa lighted a splinter[189]at one of the skulls which wereon the fence, and began fetching meat from the oven and setting it before the Baba Yaga; and meat enough had been provided for a dozen people. Then she fetched from the cellar kvass, mead, beer, and wine. The hag ate up everything, drank up everything. All she left for Vasilissa was a few scraps—a crust of bread and a morsel of sucking-pig. Then the Baba Yaga lay down to sleep, saying:—“When I go out to-morrow morning, mind you cleanse the courtyard, sweep the room, cook the dinner, and get the linen ready. Then go to the corn-bin, take out four quarters of wheat, and clear it of other seed.[190]And mind you have it all done—if you don’t, I shall eat you!”After giving these orders the Baba Yaga began to snore. But Vasilissa set the remnants of the hag’s supper before her doll, burst into tears, and said:—“Now, dolly, feed, listen to my need! The Baba Yaga has set me a heavy task, and threatens to eat me if I don’t do it all. Do help me!”The doll replied:“Never fear, Vasilissa the Fair! Sup, say your prayers, and go to bed. The morning is wiser than the evening!”Vasilissa awoke very early, but the Baba Yaga was already up. She looked out of the window. The light in the skull’s eyes was going out. All of a sudden there appeared the white horseman, and all was light. The Baba Yaga went out into the courtyard and whistled—before her appeared a mortar with a pestle and a broom. The red horseman appeared—the sun rose. The Baba Yaga seated herself in the mortar, and drove out of the courtyard, shooting herself along with the pestle, sweeping away her traces with the broom.Vasilissa was left alone, so she examined the Baba Yaga’s house, wondered at the abundance there was in everything, and remained lost in thought as to which work she ought to take to first. She looked up; all her work was done already. The doll had cleared the wheat to the very last grain.“Ah, my preserver!” cried Vasilissa, “you’ve saved me from danger!”“All you’ve got to do now is to cook the dinner,” answered the doll, slipping into Vasilissa’s pocket. “Cook away, in God’s name, and then take some rest for your health’s sake!”Towards evening Vasilissa got the table ready, and awaited the Baba Yaga. It began to grow dusky; the black rider appeared for a moment at the gate, and all grew dark. Only the eyes of the skulls sent forth their light. The trees began to crack, the leaves began to rustle, up drove the Baba Yaga. Vasilissa went out to meet her.“Is everything done?” asks the Yaga.“Please to look for yourself, granny!” says Vasilissa.The Baba Yaga examined everything, was vexed that there was nothing to be angry about, and said:“Well, well! very good!”Afterwards she cried:“My trusty servants, zealous friends, grind this my wheat!”There appeared three pairs of hands, which gathered up the wheat, and carried it out of sight. The Baba Yaga supped, went to bed, and again gave her orders to Vasilissa:“Do just the same to-morrow as to-day; only besides that take out of the bin the poppy seed that is there, and clean the earth off it grain by grain. Some one or other, you see, has mixed a lot of earth with it out of spite.” Having said this, the hag turned to the wall and began to snore, and Vasilissa took to feeding her doll. The doll fed, and then said to her what it had said the day before:“Pray to God, and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening. All shall be done, Vasilissa dear!”The next morning the Baba Yaga again drove out of the courtyard in her mortar, and Vasilissa and her doll immediately did all the work. The hag returned, looked at everything, and cried, “My trusty servants, zealous friends, press forth oil from the poppy seed!”Three pairs of hands appeared, gathered up the poppy seed, and bore it out of sight. The Baba Yaga sat down to dinner. She ate, but Vasilissa stood silently by.“Why don’t you speak to me?” said the Baba Yaga; “there you stand like a dumb creature!”“I didn’t dare,” answered Vasilissa; “but if you give me leave, I should like to ask you about something.”“Ask away; only it isn’t every question that brings good. ‘Get much to know, and old soon you’ll grow.’”“I only want to ask you, granny, about something I saw. As I was coming here, I was passed by one riding on a white horse; he was white himself, and dressed in white. Who was he?”“That was my bright Day!” answered the Baba Yaga.“Afterwards there passed me another rider, on a red horse; red himself, and all in red clothes. Who was he?”“That was my red Sun!”[191]answered the Baba Yaga.“And who may be the black rider, granny, who passed by me just at your gate?”“That was my dark Night; they are all trusty servants of mine.”Vasilissa thought of the three pairs of hands, but held her peace.“Why don’t you go on asking?” said the Baba Yaga.“That’s enough for me, granny. You said yourself, ‘Get too much to know, old you’ll grow!’”“It’s just as well,” said the Baba Yaga, “that you’ve only asked about what you saw out of doors, not indoors! In my house I hate having dirt carried out of doors;[192]and as to over-inquisitive people—well, I eat them. Now I’ll ask you something. How is it you manage to do the work I set you to do?”“My mother’s blessing assists me,” replied Vasilissa.“Eh! eh! what’s that? Get along out of my house, you bless’d daughter. I don’t want bless’d people.”She dragged Vasilissa out of the room, pushed her outside the gates, took one of the skulls with blazing eyes from the fence, stuck it on a stick, gave it to her and said:“Lay hold of that. It’s a light you can take to your stepsisters. That’s what they sent you here for, I believe.”Home went Vasilissa at a run, lit by the skull, which went outonly at the approach of the dawn; and at last, on the evening of the second day, she reached home. When she came to the gate, she was going to throw away the skull.“Surely,” thinks she, “they can’t be still in want of a light at home.” But suddenly a hollow voice issued from the skull, saying:“Throw me not away. Carry me to your stepmother!”She looked at her stepmother’s house, and not seeing a light in a single window, she determined to take the skull in there with her. For the first time in her life she was cordially received by her stepmother and stepsisters, who told her that from the moment she went away they hadn’t had a spark of fire in the house. They couldn’t strike a light themselves anyhow, and whenever they brought one in from a neighbor’s, it went out as soon as it came into the room.“Perhaps your light will keep in!” said the stepmother. So they carried the skull into the sitting-room. But the eyes of the skull so glared at the stepmother and her daughters—shot forth such flames! They would fain have hidden themselves, but run where they would, everywhere did the eyes follow after them. By the morning they were utterly burnt to cinders. Only Vasilissa was none the worse.[193]
In a certain kingdom there lived a merchant. Twelve years did he live as a married man, but he had only one child, Vasilissa the Fair. When her mother died, the girl was eight years old. And on her deathbed the merchant’s wife called her little daughter to her, took out from under the bed-clothes a doll, gave it to her, and said, “Listen, Vasilissa, dear; remember and obey these last words of mine. I am going to die. And now, together with my parental blessing, I bequeath to you this doll. Keep it always by you, and never show it to anybody; and whenever any misfortune comes upon you, give the doll food, and ask its advice. When it has fed, it will tell you a cure for your troubles.” Then the mother kissed her child and died.
After his wife’s death, the merchant mourned for her a befitting time, and then began to consider about marrying again. He was a man of means. It wasn’t a question with him of girls (with dowries); more than all others, a certain widow took his fancy. She was middle-aged, and had a couple of daughters of her own just about the same age as Vasilissa. She must needs be both a good housekeeper and an experienced mother.
Well, the merchant married the widow, but he had deceived himself, for he did not find in her a kind mother for his Vasilissa. Vasilissa was the prettiest girl[183]in all the village; but her stepmother and stepsisters were jealous of her beauty, and tormented her with every possible sort of toil, in order that she might grow thin from over-work, and be tanned by the sun and the wind. Her life was made a burden to her! Vasilissa bore everything with resignation, and every day grew plumper and prettier, while the stepmother and her daughters lost flesh and fell off in appearance from the effects of their own spite, notwithstanding that they always sat with folded hands like fine ladies.
But how did that come about? Why, it was her doll that helped Vasilissa. If it hadn’t been for it, however could the girl have got through all her work? And therefore it was that Vasilissa would never eat all her share of a meal, but always kept the most delicate morsel for her doll; and at night, when all were at rest, she would shut herself up in the narrow chamber[184]in which she slept, and feast her doll, saying[185]the while:
“There, dolly, feed; help me in my need! I live in my father’s house, but never know what pleasure is; my evil stepmother tries to drive me out of the white world; teach me how to keep alive, and what I ought to do.”
Then the doll would eat, and afterwards give her advice, and comfort her in her sorrow, and next day it would do all Vasilissa’swork for her. She had only to take her ease in a shady place and pluck flowers, and yet all her work was done in good time; the beds were weeded, and the pails were filled, and the cabbages were watered, and the stove was heated. Moreover, the doll showed Vasilissa herbs which prevented her from getting sunburnt. Happily did she and her doll live together.
Several years went by. Vasilissa grew up and became old enough to be married.[186]All the marriageable young men in the town sent to make an offer to Vasilissa; at her stepmother’s daughters not a soul would so much as look. Her stepmother grew even more savage than before, and replied to every suitor—
“We won’t let the younger marry before her elders.”
And after the suitors had been packed off, she used to beat Vasilissa by way of wreaking her spite.
Well, it happened one day that the merchant had to go away from home on business for a long time. Thereupon the stepmother went to live in another house; and near that house was a dense forest, and in a clearing in that forest there stood a hut,[187]and in the hut there lived a Baba Yaga. She never let any one come near her dwelling, and she ate up people like so many chickens.
Having moved into the new abode, the merchant’s wife kept sending her hated Vasilissa into the forest on one pretence or another. But the girl always got home safe and sound; the doll used to show her the way, and never let her go near the Baba Yaga’s dwelling.
The autumn season arrived. One evening the stepmother gave out their work to the three girls; one she set to lace-making, another to knitting socks, and the third, Vasilissa, to weaving; and each of them had her allotted amount to do.By-and-byshe put out the lights in the house, leaving only one candle alight where the girls were working, and then she went to bed. The girls worked and worked. Presently the candle wantedsnuffing; one of the stepdaughters took the snuffers, as if she were going to clear the wick, but instead of doing so, in obedience to her mother’s orders, she snuffed the candle out, pretending to do so by accident.
“What shall we do now?” said the girls. “There isn’t a spark of fire in the house, and our tasks are not yet done. We must go to the Baba Yaga’s for a light!”
“My pins give me light enough,” said the one who was making lace. “I shan’t go.”
“And I shan’t go, either,” said the one who was knitting socks. “My knitting-needles give me light enough.”
“Vasilissa, you must go for the light,” they both cried out together; “be off to the Baba Yaga’s!”
And they pushed Vasilissa out of the room.
Vasilissa went into her little closet, set before the doll a supper which she had provided beforehand, and said:
“Now, dolly, feed, and listen to my need! I’m sent to the Baba Yaga’s for a light. The Baba Yaga will eat me!”
The doll fed, and its eyes began to glow just like a couple of candles.
“Never fear, Vasilissa dear!” it said. “Go where you’re sent. Only take care to keep me always by you. As long as I’m with you, no harm will come to you at the Baba Yaga’s.”
So Vasilissa got ready, put her doll in her pocket, crossed herself, and went out into the thick forest.
As she walks she trembles. Suddenly a horseman gallops by. He is white, and he is dressed in white, under him is a white horse, and the trappings of the horse are white—and the day begins to break.
She goes a little further, and a second rider gallops by. He is red, dressed in red, and sitting on a red horse—and the sun rises.
Vasilissa went on walking all night and all next day. It was only towards the evening that she reached the clearing on which stood the dwelling of the Baba Yaga. The fence around it was made of dead men’s bones; on the top of the fence were stuck human skulls with eyes in them; instead of uprights at the gateswere men’s legs; instead of bolts were arms; instead of a lock was a mouth with sharp teeth.
Vasilissa was frightened out of her wits, and stood still as if rooted to the ground.
Suddenly there rode past another horseman. He was black, dressed all in black, and on a black horse. He galloped up to the Baba Yaga’s gate and disappeared, just as if he had sunk through the ground—and night fell. But the darkness did not last long. The eyes of all the skulls on the fence began to shine and the whole clearing became as bright as if it had been midday. Vasilissa shuddered with fear, but stopped where she was, not knowing which way to run.
Soon there was heard in the forest a terrible roar. The trees cracked, the dry leaves rustled; out of the forest came the Baba Yaga, riding in a mortar, urging it on with a pestle, sweeping away her traces with a broom. Up she drove to the gate, stopped short, and, snuffing the air around her, cried:—
“Faugh! Faugh! I smell Russian flesh![188]Who’s there?”
Vasilissa went up to the hag in a terrible fright, bowed low before her, and said:—
“It’s me, granny. My stepsisters have sent me to you for a light.”
“Very good,” said the Baba Yaga; “I know them. If you’ll stop awhile with me first, and do some work for me, I’ll give you a light. But if you won’t, I’ll eat you!”
Then she turned to the gates, and cried:—
“Ho, thou firm fence of mine, be thou divided! And ye, wide gates of mine, do ye fly open!”
The gates opened, and the Baba Yaga drove in, whistling as she went, and after her followed Vasilissa; and then everything shut to again. When they entered the sitting-room, the Baba Yaga stretched herself out at full length, and said to Vasilissa:
“Fetch out what there is in the oven; I’m hungry.”
Vasilissa lighted a splinter[189]at one of the skulls which wereon the fence, and began fetching meat from the oven and setting it before the Baba Yaga; and meat enough had been provided for a dozen people. Then she fetched from the cellar kvass, mead, beer, and wine. The hag ate up everything, drank up everything. All she left for Vasilissa was a few scraps—a crust of bread and a morsel of sucking-pig. Then the Baba Yaga lay down to sleep, saying:—
“When I go out to-morrow morning, mind you cleanse the courtyard, sweep the room, cook the dinner, and get the linen ready. Then go to the corn-bin, take out four quarters of wheat, and clear it of other seed.[190]And mind you have it all done—if you don’t, I shall eat you!”
After giving these orders the Baba Yaga began to snore. But Vasilissa set the remnants of the hag’s supper before her doll, burst into tears, and said:—
“Now, dolly, feed, listen to my need! The Baba Yaga has set me a heavy task, and threatens to eat me if I don’t do it all. Do help me!”
The doll replied:
“Never fear, Vasilissa the Fair! Sup, say your prayers, and go to bed. The morning is wiser than the evening!”
Vasilissa awoke very early, but the Baba Yaga was already up. She looked out of the window. The light in the skull’s eyes was going out. All of a sudden there appeared the white horseman, and all was light. The Baba Yaga went out into the courtyard and whistled—before her appeared a mortar with a pestle and a broom. The red horseman appeared—the sun rose. The Baba Yaga seated herself in the mortar, and drove out of the courtyard, shooting herself along with the pestle, sweeping away her traces with the broom.
Vasilissa was left alone, so she examined the Baba Yaga’s house, wondered at the abundance there was in everything, and remained lost in thought as to which work she ought to take to first. She looked up; all her work was done already. The doll had cleared the wheat to the very last grain.
“Ah, my preserver!” cried Vasilissa, “you’ve saved me from danger!”
“All you’ve got to do now is to cook the dinner,” answered the doll, slipping into Vasilissa’s pocket. “Cook away, in God’s name, and then take some rest for your health’s sake!”
Towards evening Vasilissa got the table ready, and awaited the Baba Yaga. It began to grow dusky; the black rider appeared for a moment at the gate, and all grew dark. Only the eyes of the skulls sent forth their light. The trees began to crack, the leaves began to rustle, up drove the Baba Yaga. Vasilissa went out to meet her.
“Is everything done?” asks the Yaga.
“Please to look for yourself, granny!” says Vasilissa.
The Baba Yaga examined everything, was vexed that there was nothing to be angry about, and said:
“Well, well! very good!”
Afterwards she cried:
“My trusty servants, zealous friends, grind this my wheat!”
There appeared three pairs of hands, which gathered up the wheat, and carried it out of sight. The Baba Yaga supped, went to bed, and again gave her orders to Vasilissa:
“Do just the same to-morrow as to-day; only besides that take out of the bin the poppy seed that is there, and clean the earth off it grain by grain. Some one or other, you see, has mixed a lot of earth with it out of spite.” Having said this, the hag turned to the wall and began to snore, and Vasilissa took to feeding her doll. The doll fed, and then said to her what it had said the day before:
“Pray to God, and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening. All shall be done, Vasilissa dear!”
The next morning the Baba Yaga again drove out of the courtyard in her mortar, and Vasilissa and her doll immediately did all the work. The hag returned, looked at everything, and cried, “My trusty servants, zealous friends, press forth oil from the poppy seed!”
Three pairs of hands appeared, gathered up the poppy seed, and bore it out of sight. The Baba Yaga sat down to dinner. She ate, but Vasilissa stood silently by.
“Why don’t you speak to me?” said the Baba Yaga; “there you stand like a dumb creature!”
“I didn’t dare,” answered Vasilissa; “but if you give me leave, I should like to ask you about something.”
“Ask away; only it isn’t every question that brings good. ‘Get much to know, and old soon you’ll grow.’”
“I only want to ask you, granny, about something I saw. As I was coming here, I was passed by one riding on a white horse; he was white himself, and dressed in white. Who was he?”
“That was my bright Day!” answered the Baba Yaga.
“Afterwards there passed me another rider, on a red horse; red himself, and all in red clothes. Who was he?”
“That was my red Sun!”[191]answered the Baba Yaga.
“And who may be the black rider, granny, who passed by me just at your gate?”
“That was my dark Night; they are all trusty servants of mine.”
Vasilissa thought of the three pairs of hands, but held her peace.
“Why don’t you go on asking?” said the Baba Yaga.
“That’s enough for me, granny. You said yourself, ‘Get too much to know, old you’ll grow!’”
“It’s just as well,” said the Baba Yaga, “that you’ve only asked about what you saw out of doors, not indoors! In my house I hate having dirt carried out of doors;[192]and as to over-inquisitive people—well, I eat them. Now I’ll ask you something. How is it you manage to do the work I set you to do?”
“My mother’s blessing assists me,” replied Vasilissa.
“Eh! eh! what’s that? Get along out of my house, you bless’d daughter. I don’t want bless’d people.”
She dragged Vasilissa out of the room, pushed her outside the gates, took one of the skulls with blazing eyes from the fence, stuck it on a stick, gave it to her and said:
“Lay hold of that. It’s a light you can take to your stepsisters. That’s what they sent you here for, I believe.”
Home went Vasilissa at a run, lit by the skull, which went outonly at the approach of the dawn; and at last, on the evening of the second day, she reached home. When she came to the gate, she was going to throw away the skull.
“Surely,” thinks she, “they can’t be still in want of a light at home.” But suddenly a hollow voice issued from the skull, saying:
“Throw me not away. Carry me to your stepmother!”
She looked at her stepmother’s house, and not seeing a light in a single window, she determined to take the skull in there with her. For the first time in her life she was cordially received by her stepmother and stepsisters, who told her that from the moment she went away they hadn’t had a spark of fire in the house. They couldn’t strike a light themselves anyhow, and whenever they brought one in from a neighbor’s, it went out as soon as it came into the room.
“Perhaps your light will keep in!” said the stepmother. So they carried the skull into the sitting-room. But the eyes of the skull so glared at the stepmother and her daughters—shot forth such flames! They would fain have hidden themselves, but run where they would, everywhere did the eyes follow after them. By the morning they were utterly burnt to cinders. Only Vasilissa was none the worse.[193]