A certain priest’s daughter went strolling in the forest one day, without having obtained leave from her father or her mother—and she disappeared utterly. Three years went by. Now in the village in which her parents dwelt there lived a bold hunter, who went daily roaming through the thick woods with his dog and his gun. One day he was going through the forest; all of a sudden his dog began to bark, and the hair of its back bristled up. The sportsman looked, and saw lying in the woodland path before him a log, and on the log there sat a moujikplaitinga bast shoe. And as he plaited the shoe, he kept looking up at the moon, and saying with a menacing gesture:—“Shine, shine, O bright moon!”The sportsman was astounded. “How comes it,” thinks he, “that the moujik looks like that?—he is still young; but his hair is grey as a badger’s.”[265]He only thought these words, but the other replied, as if guessing what he meant:—“Grey am I, being the devil’s grandfather!”[266]Then the sportsman guessed that he had before him no mere moujik, but a Léshy. He levelled his gun and—bang! he let him have it right in the paunch. The Léshy groaned, and seemed to be going to fall across the log; but directly afterwards he got up and dragged himself into the thickets. After him ran the dog in pursuit, and after the dog followed the sportsman. He walked and walked, and came to a hill: in that hill was a fissure, and in the fissure stood a hut. He entered thehut—there on a bench lay the Léshy stone dead, and by his side a damsel, exclaiming, amid bitter tears:—“Who now will give me to eat and to drink?”“Hail, fair maiden!” says the hunter. “Tell me whence thou comest, and whose daughter thou art?”“Ah, good youth! I know not that myself, any more than if I had never seen the free light—never known a father and mother.”“Well, get ready as soon as you can. I will take you back to Holy Russia.”So he took her away with him, and brought her out of the forest. And all the way he went along, he cut marks on the trees. Now this damsel had been carried off by the Léshy, and had lived in his hut for three years—her clothes were all worn out, or had got torn off her back, so that she was stark naked but she wasn’t a bit ashamed of that. When they reached the village, the sportsman began asking whether there was any one there who had lost a girl. Up came the priest, and cried, “Why, that’s my daughter.” Up came running the priest’s wife, and cried:—“O thou dear child! where hast thou been so long? I had no hope of ever seeing thee again.”But the girl gazed and just blinked with her eyes, understanding nothing. After a time, however, she began slowly to come back to her senses. Then the priest and his wife gave her in marriage to the hunter, and rewarded him with all sorts of good things. And they went in search of the hut in which she had lived while she was with the Léshy. Long did they wander about the forest; but that hut they never found.
A certain priest’s daughter went strolling in the forest one day, without having obtained leave from her father or her mother—and she disappeared utterly. Three years went by. Now in the village in which her parents dwelt there lived a bold hunter, who went daily roaming through the thick woods with his dog and his gun. One day he was going through the forest; all of a sudden his dog began to bark, and the hair of its back bristled up. The sportsman looked, and saw lying in the woodland path before him a log, and on the log there sat a moujikplaitinga bast shoe. And as he plaited the shoe, he kept looking up at the moon, and saying with a menacing gesture:—
“Shine, shine, O bright moon!”
The sportsman was astounded. “How comes it,” thinks he, “that the moujik looks like that?—he is still young; but his hair is grey as a badger’s.”[265]
He only thought these words, but the other replied, as if guessing what he meant:—
“Grey am I, being the devil’s grandfather!”[266]
Then the sportsman guessed that he had before him no mere moujik, but a Léshy. He levelled his gun and—bang! he let him have it right in the paunch. The Léshy groaned, and seemed to be going to fall across the log; but directly afterwards he got up and dragged himself into the thickets. After him ran the dog in pursuit, and after the dog followed the sportsman. He walked and walked, and came to a hill: in that hill was a fissure, and in the fissure stood a hut. He entered thehut—there on a bench lay the Léshy stone dead, and by his side a damsel, exclaiming, amid bitter tears:—
“Who now will give me to eat and to drink?”
“Hail, fair maiden!” says the hunter. “Tell me whence thou comest, and whose daughter thou art?”
“Ah, good youth! I know not that myself, any more than if I had never seen the free light—never known a father and mother.”
“Well, get ready as soon as you can. I will take you back to Holy Russia.”
So he took her away with him, and brought her out of the forest. And all the way he went along, he cut marks on the trees. Now this damsel had been carried off by the Léshy, and had lived in his hut for three years—her clothes were all worn out, or had got torn off her back, so that she was stark naked but she wasn’t a bit ashamed of that. When they reached the village, the sportsman began asking whether there was any one there who had lost a girl. Up came the priest, and cried, “Why, that’s my daughter.” Up came running the priest’s wife, and cried:—
“O thou dear child! where hast thou been so long? I had no hope of ever seeing thee again.”
But the girl gazed and just blinked with her eyes, understanding nothing. After a time, however, she began slowly to come back to her senses. Then the priest and his wife gave her in marriage to the hunter, and rewarded him with all sorts of good things. And they went in search of the hut in which she had lived while she was with the Léshy. Long did they wander about the forest; but that hut they never found.
To another group of personifications belong those of the Rivers. About them many stories are current, generally having reference to their alleged jealousies and disputes. Thus it is said that when God wasallottingtheir shares to the rivers, the Desna did not come in time, and so failed to obtain precedence over the Dnieper.
“Try and get before him yourself,” said the Lord.
The Desna set off at full speed, but in spite of all her attempts, the Dnieper always kept ahead of her until he fell into the sea, where the Desna was obliged to join him.[267]
About the Volga and its affluent, the Vazuza, the following story is told:—
Volga and Vazuza had a long dispute as to which was the wiser, the stronger, and the more worthy of high respect. They wrangled and wrangled, but neither could gain the mastery in the dispute, so they decided upon the following course:—“Let us lie down together to sleep,” they said, “and whichever of us is the first to rise, and the quickest to reach the Caspian Sea, she shall be held to be the wiser of us two, and the stronger and the worthier of respect.”So Volga lay down to sleep; down lay Vazuza also. But during the night Vazuza rose silently, fled away from Volga, chose the nearest and the straightest line, and flowed away. When Volga awoke, she set off neither slowly nor hurriedly, but with just befitting speed. At Zubtsof she came up with Vazuza. So threatening was her mien, that Vazuza was frightened, declared herself to be Volga’s younger sister, and besought Volga to take her in her arms and bear her to the Caspian Sea. And so to this day Vazuza is the first to awake in the Spring, and then she arouses Volga from her wintry sleep.
Volga and Vazuza had a long dispute as to which was the wiser, the stronger, and the more worthy of high respect. They wrangled and wrangled, but neither could gain the mastery in the dispute, so they decided upon the following course:—
“Let us lie down together to sleep,” they said, “and whichever of us is the first to rise, and the quickest to reach the Caspian Sea, she shall be held to be the wiser of us two, and the stronger and the worthier of respect.”
So Volga lay down to sleep; down lay Vazuza also. But during the night Vazuza rose silently, fled away from Volga, chose the nearest and the straightest line, and flowed away. When Volga awoke, she set off neither slowly nor hurriedly, but with just befitting speed. At Zubtsof she came up with Vazuza. So threatening was her mien, that Vazuza was frightened, declared herself to be Volga’s younger sister, and besought Volga to take her in her arms and bear her to the Caspian Sea. And so to this day Vazuza is the first to awake in the Spring, and then she arouses Volga from her wintry sleep.
In the Government of Tula a similar tradition is current about the Don and the Shat, both of which flow out of Lake Ivan.
Lake Ivan had two sons, Shat and Don. Shat, contrary to his father’s wishes, wanted to roam abroad, so he set out on his travels, but go whither he would, he could getreceived nowhere. So, after fruitless wanderings, he returned home.
But Don, in return for his constant quietness (the river is known as “the quiet Don”), obtained his father’s blessing, and he boldly set out on a long journey. On the way, he met a raven, and asked it where it was flying.
“To the blue sea,” answered the raven.
“Let’s go together!”
Well, they reached the sea. Don thought to himself, “If I dive right through the sea, I shall carry it away with me.”
“Raven!” he said, “do me a service. I am going to plunge into the sea, but do you fly over to the other side and as soon as you reach the opposite shore, give a croak.”
Don plunged into the sea. The raven flew and croaked—but too soon. Don remained just as he appears at the present day.[269]
In White-Russia there is a legend about two rivers, the beginning of which has evidently been taken from the story of Jacob and Esau:—
There was once a blind old man called Dvina. He had two sons—the elder called Sozh, and the younger Dnieper. Sozh was of a boisterous turn, and went roving about the forests, the hills, and the plains; but Dnieper was remarkably sweet-tempered, and he spent all his time at home, and was his mother’s favorite. Once, when Sozh was away from home, the old father was deceived by his wife into giving the elder son’s blessing to the younger son. Thus spake Dvina while blessing him:—“Dissolve, my son, into a wide and deep river. Flow pasttowns, and bathe villages without number as far as the blue sea. Thy brother shall be thy servant. Be rich and prosperous to the end of time!”Dnieper turned into a river, and flowed through fertile meadows and dreamy woods. But after three days, Sozh returned home and began to complain.“If thou dost desire to become superior to thy brother,” said his father, “speed swiftly by hidden ways, through dark untrodden forests, and if thou canst outstrip thy brother, he will have to be thy servant!”Away sped Sozh on the chase, through untrodden places, washing away swamps, cutting out gullies, tearing up oaks by the roots. The Vulture[270]told Dnieper of this, and he put on extra speed, tearing his way through high hills rather than turn on one side. Meanwhile Sozh persuaded the Raven to fly straight to Dnieper, and, as soon as it had come up with him to croak three times; he himself was to burrow under the earth, intending to leap to the surface at the cry of the Raven, and by that means to get before his brother. But the Vulture fell on the Raven; the Raven began to croak before it had caught up the river Dnieper. Up burst Sozh from underground, and fell straight into the waves of the Dnieper.[271]
There was once a blind old man called Dvina. He had two sons—the elder called Sozh, and the younger Dnieper. Sozh was of a boisterous turn, and went roving about the forests, the hills, and the plains; but Dnieper was remarkably sweet-tempered, and he spent all his time at home, and was his mother’s favorite. Once, when Sozh was away from home, the old father was deceived by his wife into giving the elder son’s blessing to the younger son. Thus spake Dvina while blessing him:—
“Dissolve, my son, into a wide and deep river. Flow pasttowns, and bathe villages without number as far as the blue sea. Thy brother shall be thy servant. Be rich and prosperous to the end of time!”
Dnieper turned into a river, and flowed through fertile meadows and dreamy woods. But after three days, Sozh returned home and began to complain.
“If thou dost desire to become superior to thy brother,” said his father, “speed swiftly by hidden ways, through dark untrodden forests, and if thou canst outstrip thy brother, he will have to be thy servant!”
Away sped Sozh on the chase, through untrodden places, washing away swamps, cutting out gullies, tearing up oaks by the roots. The Vulture[270]told Dnieper of this, and he put on extra speed, tearing his way through high hills rather than turn on one side. Meanwhile Sozh persuaded the Raven to fly straight to Dnieper, and, as soon as it had come up with him to croak three times; he himself was to burrow under the earth, intending to leap to the surface at the cry of the Raven, and by that means to get before his brother. But the Vulture fell on the Raven; the Raven began to croak before it had caught up the river Dnieper. Up burst Sozh from underground, and fell straight into the waves of the Dnieper.[271]
Here is an account of—
The Dnieper, Volga, and Dvina used once to be living people. The Dnieper was a boy, and the Volga and Dvina his sisters. While they were still in childhood they were left complete orphans, and, as they hadn’t a crust to eat, they were obliged to get their living by daily labor beyond their strength. “When was that?” Very long ago, say the old folks; beyond the memory even of our great-grandfathers.Well, the children grew up, but they never had even the slightest bit of good luck. Every day, from morn till eve, it was always toil and toil, and all merely for the day’s subsistence. As for their clothing, it was just what God sent them! They sometimes found rags on the dust-heaps, and with these they managed to cover their bodies. The poor things had to endure cold and hunger. Life became a burden to them.[273]One day, after toiling hard afield, they sat down under a bush to eat their last morsel of bread. And when they had eaten it, they cried and sorrowed for a while, and considered and held counsel together as to how they might manage to live, and to have food and clothing, and, without toiling, to supply others with meat and drink. Well, this is what they resolved: to set out wandering about the wide world in search of good luck and a kindly welcome, and to look for and find out the best places in which they could turn into great rivers—for that was a possible thing then.Well, they walked and walked; not one year only, nor two years, but all but three; and they chose the places they wanted, and came to an agreement as to where the flowing of each one should begin. And all three of them stopped to spend the night in a swamp. But the sisters were more cunning than their brother. No sooner was Dnieper asleep than they rose up quietly, chose the best and most sloping places, and began to flow away.When the brother awoke in the morning, not a trace of his sisters was to be seen. Then he became wroth, and made haste to pursue them. But on the way he bethought himself, and decided that no man can run faster than a river. So he smote the ground, and flowed in pursuit as a stream. Through gullies and ravines he rushed, and the further he went the fiercer did he become. But when he camewithina few versts of the sea-shore, his anger calmed down and he disappeared in the sea. And his two sisters, who had continued running from him during his pursuit, separated in different directions and fledto the bottom of the sea. But while the Dnieper was rushing along in anger, he drove his way between steep banks. Therefore is it that his flow is swifter than that of the Volga and the Dvina; therefore also is it that he has many rapids and many mouths.
The Dnieper, Volga, and Dvina used once to be living people. The Dnieper was a boy, and the Volga and Dvina his sisters. While they were still in childhood they were left complete orphans, and, as they hadn’t a crust to eat, they were obliged to get their living by daily labor beyond their strength. “When was that?” Very long ago, say the old folks; beyond the memory even of our great-grandfathers.
Well, the children grew up, but they never had even the slightest bit of good luck. Every day, from morn till eve, it was always toil and toil, and all merely for the day’s subsistence. As for their clothing, it was just what God sent them! They sometimes found rags on the dust-heaps, and with these they managed to cover their bodies. The poor things had to endure cold and hunger. Life became a burden to them.[273]
One day, after toiling hard afield, they sat down under a bush to eat their last morsel of bread. And when they had eaten it, they cried and sorrowed for a while, and considered and held counsel together as to how they might manage to live, and to have food and clothing, and, without toiling, to supply others with meat and drink. Well, this is what they resolved: to set out wandering about the wide world in search of good luck and a kindly welcome, and to look for and find out the best places in which they could turn into great rivers—for that was a possible thing then.
Well, they walked and walked; not one year only, nor two years, but all but three; and they chose the places they wanted, and came to an agreement as to where the flowing of each one should begin. And all three of them stopped to spend the night in a swamp. But the sisters were more cunning than their brother. No sooner was Dnieper asleep than they rose up quietly, chose the best and most sloping places, and began to flow away.
When the brother awoke in the morning, not a trace of his sisters was to be seen. Then he became wroth, and made haste to pursue them. But on the way he bethought himself, and decided that no man can run faster than a river. So he smote the ground, and flowed in pursuit as a stream. Through gullies and ravines he rushed, and the further he went the fiercer did he become. But when he camewithina few versts of the sea-shore, his anger calmed down and he disappeared in the sea. And his two sisters, who had continued running from him during his pursuit, separated in different directions and fledto the bottom of the sea. But while the Dnieper was rushing along in anger, he drove his way between steep banks. Therefore is it that his flow is swifter than that of the Volga and the Dvina; therefore also is it that he has many rapids and many mouths.
There is a small stream which falls into Lake Ilmen on its western side, and which is called Chorny Ruchei, the Black Brook. On the banks of this brook, a long time ago, a certain man set up a mill, and the fish came and implored the stream to grant them its aid, saying, “We used to have room enough and be at our ease, but now an evil man is taking away the water from us.” And the result was this. One of the inhabitants of Novgorod was angling in the brook Chorny. Up came a stranger to him, dressed all in black, who greeted him, and said:—
“Do me a service, and I will show thee a place where the fish swarm.”
“What is the service?”
“When thou art in Novgorod, thou wilt meet a tall, big moujik in a plaited blue caftan, wide blue trowsers, and a high blue hat. Say to him, ‘Uncle Ilmen! the Chorny has sent thee a petition, and has told me to say that a mill has been set in his way. As thou may’st think fit to order, so shall it be!’”
The Novgorod man promised to fulfil this request, and the black stranger showed him a place where the fish swarmed by thousands. With rich booty did the fisherman return to Novgorod, where he met the moujik with the blue caftan, and gave him the petition. The Ilmen answered:—
“Give my compliments to the brook Chorny, and say to him about the mill: there used not to be one, and so there shall not be one!”
This commission also the Novgorod man fulfilled, and behold! during the night the brook Chorny ran riotous, Lake Ilmen waxed boisterous, a tempest arose, and the raging waters swept away the mill.[274]
In old times sacrifices were regularly paid to lakes and streams in Russia, just as they were in Germany[275]and in other lands. And even at the present day the common people are in the habit of expressing, by some kind of offering, their thanks to a river on which they have made a prosperous voyage. It is said that Stenka Razin, the insurgent chief of the Don Cossacks in the seventeenth century, once offered a human sacrifice to the Volga. Among his captives was a Persian princess, to whom he was warmly attached. But one day “when he was fevered with wine, as he sat at the ship’s side and musingly regarded the waves, he said: ‘Oh, Mother Volga, thou great river! much hast thou given me of gold and of silver, and of all good things; thou hast nursed me, and nourished me, and covered me with glory and honor. But I have in no way shown thee my gratitude. Here is somewhat for thee; take it!’ And with these words he caught up the princess and flung her into the water.”[276]
Just as rivers might be conciliated by honor and sacrifice, so they could be irritated by disrespect. One of the old songs tells how a youth comes riding to the Smorodina, and beseeches that stream to show him a ford. His prayer is granted, and he crosses to the other side. Then he takes to boasting, and says, “People talk about the Smorodina, saying that no one can cross it whether on foot or on horseback—but it is no better than a pool of rain-water!”But when the time comes for him to cross back again, the river takes its revenge, and drowns him in its depths, saying the while: “It is not I, but thy own boasting that drowns thee.”
From these vocal rivers we will now turn to that elementary force by which in winter they are often rendered mute. In the story which is now about to be quoted will be found a striking personification of Frost. As a general rule, Winter plays by no means so important a part as might have been expected in Northern tales. As in other European countries, so in Russia, the romantic stories of the people are full of pictures bathed in warm sunlight, but they do not often represent the aspect of the land when the sky is grey, and the earth is a sheet of white, and outdoor life is sombre and still. Here and there, it is true, glimpses of snowy landscapes are offered by the skazkas. But it is seldom that a wintry effect is so deliberately produced in them as is the case in the following remarkable version of a well-known tale.
There was once an old man who had a wife and three daughters. The wife had no love for the eldest of the three, who was her stepdaughter, but was always scolding her. Moreover, she used to make her get up ever so early in the morning, and gave her all the work of the house to do. Before daybreak the girl would feed the cattle and give them to drink, fetch wood and water indoors, light the fire in the stove, give the room a wash, mend the dresses, and set everything in order. Even then her stepmother was never satisfied, but would grumble away at Marfa, exclaiming:—“What a lazybones! what a slut! Why here’s a brush not in its place, and there’s something put wrong, and she’s left the muck inside the house!”The girl held her peace, and wept; she tried in every way to accommodate herself to her stepmother, and to be of service to her stepsisters. But they, taking pattern by their mother, were always insulting Marfa, quarrelling with her, and making her cry: that was even a pleasure to them! As for them, they lay in bed late, washed themselves in water got ready for them, dried themselves with a clean towel, and didn’t sit down to work till after dinner.Well, our girls grew and grew, until they grew up and were old enough to be married. The old man felt sorry for his eldest daughter, whom he loved because she was industrious and obedient, never was obstinate, always did as she was bid, and never uttered a word of contradiction. But he didn’t know how he was to help her in her trouble. He was feeble, his wife was a scold, and her daughters were as obstinate as they were indolent.Well, the old folks set to work to consider—the husband how he could get his daughters settled, the wife how she could get rid of the eldest one. One day she says to him:—“I say, old man! let’s get Marfa married.”“Gladly,” says he, slinking off (to the sleeping-place) above the stove. But his wife called after him:—“Get up early to-morrow, old man, harness the mare to the sledge, and drive away with Marfa. And, Marfa, get your things together in a basket, and put on a clean shift; you’re going away to-morrow on a visit.”Poor Marfa was delighted to hear of such a piece of good luck as being invited on a visit, and she slept comfortably all night. Early next morning she got up, washed herself, prayed to God, got all her things together, packed them away in proper order, dressed herself (in her best things), and looked something like a lass!—a bride fit for any place whatsoever!Now it was winter time, and out of doors was a rattling frost. Early in the morning, between daybreak and sunrise, the old man harnessed the mare to the sledge, and led it up to the steps. Then he went indoors, sat down on the window-sill, and said:—“Now then! I’ve got everything ready.”“Sit down to table and swallow your victuals!” replied the old woman.The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his side. On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf,[278]and cut bread for himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of old cabbage soup, and said:—“There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I’ve looked at you quite enough! Drive Marfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old greybeard! drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off from the road to the right, you know, into the forest—right up to the big pine that stands on the hill, and there hand Marfa over to Morozko (Frost).”The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped eating, and the girl began lamenting.“Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing about?” said her stepmother. “Surely your bridegroom is a beauty, and he’s that rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him, the firs, the pine-tops, and the birches, all in their robes of down—ways and means that any one might envy; and he himself abogatir!”[279]The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his daughter put on a warm pelisse, and set off on the journey. After a time, he reached the forest, turned off from the road; and drove across the frozen snow.[280]When he got into the depths of the forest, he stopped, made his daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine, and said:—“Sit here, and await the bridegroom. And mind you receive him as pleasantly as you can.”Then he turned his horse round and drove off homewards.The girl sat and shivered. The cold had pierced her through. She would fain have cried aloud, but she had not strengthenough; only her teeth chattered. Suddenly she heard a sound. Not far off, Frost was cracking away on a fir. From fir to fir was he leaping, and snapping his fingers. Presently he appeared on that very pine under which the maiden was sitting and from above her head he cried:—“Art thou warm, maiden?”“Warm, warm am I, dear Father Frost,” she replied.Frost began to descend lower, all the more cracking and snapping his fingers. To the maiden said Frost:—“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, fair one?”The girl could scarcely draw her breath, but still she replied:“Warm am I, Frost dear: warm am I, father dear!”Frost began cracking more than ever, and more loudly did he snap his fingers, and to the maiden he said:—“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, pretty one? Art thou warm, my darling?”The girl was by this time numb with cold, and she could scarcely make herself heard as she replied:—“Oh! quite warm, Frost dearest!”Then Frost took pity on the girl, wrapped her up in furs, and warmed her with blankets.Next morning the old woman said to her husband:—“Drive out, old greybeard, and wake the young couple!”The old man harnessed his horse and drove off. When he came to where his daughter was, he found she was alive and had got a good pelisse, a costly bridal veil, and a pannier with rich gifts. He stowed everything away on the sledge without saying a word, took his seat on it with his daughter, and drove back. They reached home, and the daughter fell at her stepmother’s feet. The old woman was thunderstruck when she saw the girl alive, and the new pelisse and the basket of linen.“Ah, you wretch!” she cries. “But you shan’t trick me!”Well, a little later the old woman says to her husband:—“Take my daughters, too, to their bridegroom. The presents he’s made are nothing to what he’ll give them.”Well, early next morning the old woman gave her girls theirbreakfast, dressed them as befitted brides, and sent them off on their journey. In the same way as before the old man left the girls under the pine.There the girls sat, and kept laughing and saying:“Whatever is mother thinking of! All of a sudden to marry both of us off! As if there were no lads in our village, forsooth! Some rubbishy fellow may come, and goodness knows who he may be!”The girls were wrapped up in pelisses, but for all that they felt the cold.“I say, Prascovia! the frost’s skinning me alive. Well, if our bridegroom[281]doesn’t come quick, we shall be frozen to death here!”“Don’t go talking nonsense, Mashka; as if suitors[282]generally turned up in the forenoon. Why it’s hardly dinner-time yet!”“But I say, Prascovia! if only one comes, which of us will he take?”“Not you, you stupid goose!”“Then it will be you, I suppose!”“Of course it will be me!”“You, indeed! there now, have done talking stuff and treating people like fools!”Meanwhile, Frost had numbed the girl’s hands, so our damsels folded them under their dress, and then went on quarrelling as before.“What, you fright! you sleepy-face! you abominable shrew! why, you don’t know so much as how to begin weaving: and as to going on with it, you haven’t an idea!”“Aha, boaster! and what is it you know? Why, nothing at all except to gooutto merry-makings and lick your lips there. We’ll soon see which he’ll take first!”While the girls went on scolding like that, they began to freeze in downright earnest. Suddenly they both cried out at once:“Whyever is he so long coming. Do you know, you’ve turned quite blue!”Now, a good way off, Frost had begun cracking, snapping his fingers, and leaping from fir to fir. To the girls it sounded as if some one was coming.“Listen, Prascovia! He’s coming at last, and with bells, too!”“Get along with you! I won’t listen; my skin is peeling with cold.”“And yet you’re still expecting to get married!”Then they began blowing on their fingers.Nearer and nearer came Frost. At length he appeared on the pine, above the heads of the girls, and said to them:“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones? Are ye warm, my darlings?”“Oh, Frost, it’s awfully cold! we’re utterly perished! We’re expecting a bridegroom, but the confounded fellow has disappeared.”Frost slid lower down the tree, cracked away more, snapped his fingers oftener than before.“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones?”“Get along with you! Are you blind that you can’t see our hands and feet are quite dead?”Still lower descended Frost, still more put forth his might,[283]and said:“Are ye warm, maidens?”“Into the bottomless pit with you! Out of sight, accursed one!” cried the girls—and became lifeless forms.[284]Next morning the old woman said to her husband:“Old man, go and get the sledge harnessed; put an armful of hay in it, and take some sheep-skin wraps. I daresay the girls are half-dead with cold. There’s a terrible frost outside! And, mind you, old greybeard, do it quickly!”Before the old man could manage to get a bite he was out of doors and on his way. When he came to where his daughterswere, he found them dead. So he lifted the girls on to the sledge, wrapped a blanket round them, and covered them up with a bark mat. The old woman saw him from afar, ran out to meet him, and called out ever so loud:“Where are the girls?”“In the sledge.”The old woman lifted the mat, undid the blanket, and found the girls both dead.Then, like a thunderstorm, she broke out against her husband, abusing him saying:“What have you done, you old wretch? You have destroyed my daughters, the children of my own flesh and blood, my never-enough-to-be-gazed-on seedlings, my beautiful berries! I will thrash you with the tongs; I will give it you with the stove-rake.”“That’s enough, you old goose! You flattered yourself you were going to get riches, but your daughters were too stiff-necked. How was I to blame? it was you yourself would have it.”The old woman was in a rage at first, and used bad language; but afterwards she made it up with her stepdaughter, and they all lived together peaceably, and thrived, and bore no malice. A neighbor made an offer of marriage, the wedding was celebrated, and Marfa is now living happily. The old man frightens his grandchildren with (stories about) Frost, and doesn’t let them have their own way.
There was once an old man who had a wife and three daughters. The wife had no love for the eldest of the three, who was her stepdaughter, but was always scolding her. Moreover, she used to make her get up ever so early in the morning, and gave her all the work of the house to do. Before daybreak the girl would feed the cattle and give them to drink, fetch wood and water indoors, light the fire in the stove, give the room a wash, mend the dresses, and set everything in order. Even then her stepmother was never satisfied, but would grumble away at Marfa, exclaiming:—
“What a lazybones! what a slut! Why here’s a brush not in its place, and there’s something put wrong, and she’s left the muck inside the house!”
The girl held her peace, and wept; she tried in every way to accommodate herself to her stepmother, and to be of service to her stepsisters. But they, taking pattern by their mother, were always insulting Marfa, quarrelling with her, and making her cry: that was even a pleasure to them! As for them, they lay in bed late, washed themselves in water got ready for them, dried themselves with a clean towel, and didn’t sit down to work till after dinner.
Well, our girls grew and grew, until they grew up and were old enough to be married. The old man felt sorry for his eldest daughter, whom he loved because she was industrious and obedient, never was obstinate, always did as she was bid, and never uttered a word of contradiction. But he didn’t know how he was to help her in her trouble. He was feeble, his wife was a scold, and her daughters were as obstinate as they were indolent.
Well, the old folks set to work to consider—the husband how he could get his daughters settled, the wife how she could get rid of the eldest one. One day she says to him:—
“I say, old man! let’s get Marfa married.”
“Gladly,” says he, slinking off (to the sleeping-place) above the stove. But his wife called after him:—
“Get up early to-morrow, old man, harness the mare to the sledge, and drive away with Marfa. And, Marfa, get your things together in a basket, and put on a clean shift; you’re going away to-morrow on a visit.”
Poor Marfa was delighted to hear of such a piece of good luck as being invited on a visit, and she slept comfortably all night. Early next morning she got up, washed herself, prayed to God, got all her things together, packed them away in proper order, dressed herself (in her best things), and looked something like a lass!—a bride fit for any place whatsoever!
Now it was winter time, and out of doors was a rattling frost. Early in the morning, between daybreak and sunrise, the old man harnessed the mare to the sledge, and led it up to the steps. Then he went indoors, sat down on the window-sill, and said:—
“Now then! I’ve got everything ready.”
“Sit down to table and swallow your victuals!” replied the old woman.
The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his side. On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf,[278]and cut bread for himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of old cabbage soup, and said:—
“There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I’ve looked at you quite enough! Drive Marfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old greybeard! drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off from the road to the right, you know, into the forest—right up to the big pine that stands on the hill, and there hand Marfa over to Morozko (Frost).”
The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped eating, and the girl began lamenting.
“Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing about?” said her stepmother. “Surely your bridegroom is a beauty, and he’s that rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him, the firs, the pine-tops, and the birches, all in their robes of down—ways and means that any one might envy; and he himself abogatir!”[279]
The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his daughter put on a warm pelisse, and set off on the journey. After a time, he reached the forest, turned off from the road; and drove across the frozen snow.[280]When he got into the depths of the forest, he stopped, made his daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine, and said:—
“Sit here, and await the bridegroom. And mind you receive him as pleasantly as you can.”
Then he turned his horse round and drove off homewards.
The girl sat and shivered. The cold had pierced her through. She would fain have cried aloud, but she had not strengthenough; only her teeth chattered. Suddenly she heard a sound. Not far off, Frost was cracking away on a fir. From fir to fir was he leaping, and snapping his fingers. Presently he appeared on that very pine under which the maiden was sitting and from above her head he cried:—
“Art thou warm, maiden?”
“Warm, warm am I, dear Father Frost,” she replied.
Frost began to descend lower, all the more cracking and snapping his fingers. To the maiden said Frost:—
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, fair one?”
The girl could scarcely draw her breath, but still she replied:
“Warm am I, Frost dear: warm am I, father dear!”
Frost began cracking more than ever, and more loudly did he snap his fingers, and to the maiden he said:—
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, pretty one? Art thou warm, my darling?”
The girl was by this time numb with cold, and she could scarcely make herself heard as she replied:—
“Oh! quite warm, Frost dearest!”
Then Frost took pity on the girl, wrapped her up in furs, and warmed her with blankets.
Next morning the old woman said to her husband:—
“Drive out, old greybeard, and wake the young couple!”
The old man harnessed his horse and drove off. When he came to where his daughter was, he found she was alive and had got a good pelisse, a costly bridal veil, and a pannier with rich gifts. He stowed everything away on the sledge without saying a word, took his seat on it with his daughter, and drove back. They reached home, and the daughter fell at her stepmother’s feet. The old woman was thunderstruck when she saw the girl alive, and the new pelisse and the basket of linen.
“Ah, you wretch!” she cries. “But you shan’t trick me!”
Well, a little later the old woman says to her husband:—
“Take my daughters, too, to their bridegroom. The presents he’s made are nothing to what he’ll give them.”
Well, early next morning the old woman gave her girls theirbreakfast, dressed them as befitted brides, and sent them off on their journey. In the same way as before the old man left the girls under the pine.
There the girls sat, and kept laughing and saying:
“Whatever is mother thinking of! All of a sudden to marry both of us off! As if there were no lads in our village, forsooth! Some rubbishy fellow may come, and goodness knows who he may be!”
The girls were wrapped up in pelisses, but for all that they felt the cold.
“I say, Prascovia! the frost’s skinning me alive. Well, if our bridegroom[281]doesn’t come quick, we shall be frozen to death here!”
“Don’t go talking nonsense, Mashka; as if suitors[282]generally turned up in the forenoon. Why it’s hardly dinner-time yet!”
“But I say, Prascovia! if only one comes, which of us will he take?”
“Not you, you stupid goose!”
“Then it will be you, I suppose!”
“Of course it will be me!”
“You, indeed! there now, have done talking stuff and treating people like fools!”
Meanwhile, Frost had numbed the girl’s hands, so our damsels folded them under their dress, and then went on quarrelling as before.
“What, you fright! you sleepy-face! you abominable shrew! why, you don’t know so much as how to begin weaving: and as to going on with it, you haven’t an idea!”
“Aha, boaster! and what is it you know? Why, nothing at all except to gooutto merry-makings and lick your lips there. We’ll soon see which he’ll take first!”
While the girls went on scolding like that, they began to freeze in downright earnest. Suddenly they both cried out at once:
“Whyever is he so long coming. Do you know, you’ve turned quite blue!”
Now, a good way off, Frost had begun cracking, snapping his fingers, and leaping from fir to fir. To the girls it sounded as if some one was coming.
“Listen, Prascovia! He’s coming at last, and with bells, too!”
“Get along with you! I won’t listen; my skin is peeling with cold.”
“And yet you’re still expecting to get married!”
Then they began blowing on their fingers.
Nearer and nearer came Frost. At length he appeared on the pine, above the heads of the girls, and said to them:
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones? Are ye warm, my darlings?”
“Oh, Frost, it’s awfully cold! we’re utterly perished! We’re expecting a bridegroom, but the confounded fellow has disappeared.”
Frost slid lower down the tree, cracked away more, snapped his fingers oftener than before.
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones?”
“Get along with you! Are you blind that you can’t see our hands and feet are quite dead?”
Still lower descended Frost, still more put forth his might,[283]and said:
“Are ye warm, maidens?”
“Into the bottomless pit with you! Out of sight, accursed one!” cried the girls—and became lifeless forms.[284]
Next morning the old woman said to her husband:
“Old man, go and get the sledge harnessed; put an armful of hay in it, and take some sheep-skin wraps. I daresay the girls are half-dead with cold. There’s a terrible frost outside! And, mind you, old greybeard, do it quickly!”
Before the old man could manage to get a bite he was out of doors and on his way. When he came to where his daughterswere, he found them dead. So he lifted the girls on to the sledge, wrapped a blanket round them, and covered them up with a bark mat. The old woman saw him from afar, ran out to meet him, and called out ever so loud:
“Where are the girls?”
“In the sledge.”
The old woman lifted the mat, undid the blanket, and found the girls both dead.
Then, like a thunderstorm, she broke out against her husband, abusing him saying:
“What have you done, you old wretch? You have destroyed my daughters, the children of my own flesh and blood, my never-enough-to-be-gazed-on seedlings, my beautiful berries! I will thrash you with the tongs; I will give it you with the stove-rake.”
“That’s enough, you old goose! You flattered yourself you were going to get riches, but your daughters were too stiff-necked. How was I to blame? it was you yourself would have it.”
The old woman was in a rage at first, and used bad language; but afterwards she made it up with her stepdaughter, and they all lived together peaceably, and thrived, and bore no malice. A neighbor made an offer of marriage, the wedding was celebrated, and Marfa is now living happily. The old man frightens his grandchildren with (stories about) Frost, and doesn’t let them have their own way.
In a variant from the Kursk Government (Afanasief IV. No. 42.b), the stepdaughter is left by her father “in the open plain.” There she sits, “trembling and silently offering up a prayer.” Frost draws near, intending “to smite her and to freeze her to death.” But when he says to her, “Maiden, maiden, I am Frost the Red-Nosed,” she replies “Welcome, Frost; doubtless God has sent you for my sinful soul.” Pleased by her “wise words,” Frost throws a warm cloak over her, and afterwards presents her with “robesembroidered with silver and gold, and a chest containing rich dowry.” The girlputson the robes, and appears “such a beauty!” Then she sits on the chest and sings songs. Meantime her stepmother is baking cakes and preparing for her funeral. After a time her father sets out in search of her dead body. But the dog beneath the table barks—“Taff! Taff! The master’s daughter in silver and gold by the wedding party is borne along, but the mistress’s daughter is wooed by none!” In vain does its mistress throw it a cake, and order it to modify its remarks. It eats the cake, but it repeats its offensive observations, until the stepdaughter appears in all her glory. Then the old woman’s own daughter is sent afield. Frost comes to have a look at his new guest, expecting “wise words” from her too. But as none are forthcoming, he waxes wroth, and kills her. When the old man goes to fetch her, the dog barks—“Taff! Taff! The master’s daughter will be borne along by the bridal train, but the bones of the mistress’s daughter are being carried in a bag,” and continues to bark in the same strain until the yard-gates open. The old woman runs out to greet her daughter, and “instead of her embraces a cold corpse.”
To the Russian peasants, it should be observed, Moroz, our own Jack Frost, is a living personage. On Christmas Eve it is customary for the oldest man in each family to take a spoonful of kissel, a sort of pudding, and then, having put his head through the window, to cry:
“Frost, Frost, come and eat kissel! Frost, Frost, do not kill our oats! drive our flax and hemp deep into the ground.”
The Tcheremisses have similar ideas, and are afraid of knocking the icicles off their houses, thinking that, if they do so, Frost will wax wroth and freeze them to death. Inone of the Skazkas, a peasant goes out one day to a field of buckwheat, and finds it all broken down. He goes home, and tells the bad news to his wife, who says, “It is Frost who has done this. Go and find him, and make him pay for the damage!” So the peasant goes into the forest and, after wandering about for some time, lights upon a path which leads him to a cottage made of ice, covered with snow, and hung with icicles. He knocks at the door, and out comes an old man—“all white.” This is Frost, who presents him with the magic cudgel and table-cloth which work wonders in so many of the tales.[285]In another story, a peasant meets the Sun, the Wind, and the Frost. He bows to all three, but adds an extra salutation to the Wind. This enrages the two others, and the Sun cries out that he will burn up the peasant. But the Wind says, “I will blow cold, and temper the heat.” Then the Frost threatens to freeze the peasant to death, but the Wind comforts him, saying, “I will blow warm, and will not let you be hurt.”[286]
Sometimes the Frost is described by the people as a mighty smith who forges strong chains with which to bind the earth and the waters—as in the saying “The Old One has built a bridge without axe and without knife,”i.e., the river is frozen over. Sometimes Moroz-Treskun, the Crackling Frost, is spoken of without disguise as the preserver of the hero who is ordered to enter a bath which has been heated red-hot. Frost goes into the bath, and breathes with so icy a breath that the heat of the building turns at once to cold.[287]
The story in which Frost so singularly figures is one which is known in many lands, and of which many variants are current in Russia. The jealous hatred of a stepmother, who exposes her stepdaughter to some great peril, has been made the theme of countless tales. What gives its special importance, as well as its poetical charm, to the skazka which has been quoted, is the introduction of Frost as the power to which the stepmother has recourse for the furtherance of her murderous plans, and by which she, in the persons of her own daughters, is ultimately punished. We have already dealt with one specimen of the skazkas of this class, the story of Vasilissa, who is sent to the Baba Yaga’s for a light. Another, still more closely connected with that of “Frost,” occurs in Khudyakof’s collection.[288]
A certain woman ordered her husband (says the story) to make away with his daughter by a previous marriage. So he took the girl into the forest, and left her in a kind of hut, telling her to prepare some soup while he was cutting wood. “At that time there was a gale blowing. The old man tied a log to a tree; when the wind blew, the log rattled. She thought the old man was going on cutting wood, but in reality he had gone away home.”
When the soup was ready, she called out to her father to come to dinner. No reply came from him, “but there was a human head in the forest, and it replied, ‘I’m coming immediately!’ And when the Head arrived, it cried, ‘Maiden, open the door!’ She opened it. ‘Maiden, Maiden! lift me over the threshold!’ She lifted it over. ‘Maiden, Maiden! put the dinner on the table!’ She did so, and she and the Head sat down to dinner. Whenthey had dined, ‘Maiden, Maiden!’ said the Head, ‘take me off the bench!’ She took it off the bench, and cleared the table. It lay down to sleep on the bare floor; she lay on the bench. She fell asleep, but it went into the forest after its servants. The house became bigger; servants, horses, everything one could think of suddenly appeared. The servants came to the maiden, and said, ‘Get up! it’s time to go for a drive!’ So she got into a carriage with the Head, but she took a cock along with her. She told the cock to crow; it crowed. Again she told it to crow; it crowed again. And a third time she told it to crow. When it had crowed for the third time, the Head fell to pieces, and became a heap of golden coins.”[289]
Then the stepmother sent her own daughter into the forest. Everything occurred as before, until the Head arrived. Then she was so frightened that she tried to hide herself, and she would do nothing for the Head, which had to dish up its own dinner, and eat it by itself. And so “when she lay down to sleep, it ate her up.”
In a story in Chudinsky’s collection, the stepdaughter is sent by night to watch the rye in anovin,[290]or corn-kiln. Presently a stranger appears and asks her to marry him. She replies that she has no wedding-clothes, upon which he brings her everything she asks for. But she is very careful not to ask for more than one thing at a time, and so the cock crows before her list of indispensablenecessaries is exhausted. The stranger immediately disappears, and she carries off her presents in triumph.
The next night her stepsister is sent to theovin, and the stranger appears as before, and asks her to marry him. She, also, replies that she has no wedding-clothes, and he offers to supply her with what she wants. Whereupon, instead of asking for a number of things one after the other, she demands them all at once—“Stockings, garters, a petticoat, a dress, a comb, earrings, a mirror, soap, white paint and rouge, and everything which her stepsister had got.” Then follows the catastrophe.
The stranger brought her everything, all at once.“Now then,” says he, “will you marry me now?”“Wait a bit,” said the stepmother’s daughter, “I’ll wash and dress, and whiten myself and rouge myself, and then I’ll marry you.” And straightway she set to work washing and dressing—and she hastened and hurried to get all that done—she wanted so awfully to see herself decked out as a bride. By-and-by she was quite dressed—but the cock had not yet crowed.“Well, maiden!” says he, “will you marry me now?”“I’m quite ready,” says she.Thereupon he tore her to pieces.[291]
The stranger brought her everything, all at once.
“Now then,” says he, “will you marry me now?”
“Wait a bit,” said the stepmother’s daughter, “I’ll wash and dress, and whiten myself and rouge myself, and then I’ll marry you.” And straightway she set to work washing and dressing—and she hastened and hurried to get all that done—she wanted so awfully to see herself decked out as a bride. By-and-by she was quite dressed—but the cock had not yet crowed.
“Well, maiden!” says he, “will you marry me now?”
“I’m quite ready,” says she.
Thereupon he tore her to pieces.[291]
There is one other of those personifications of natural forces which play an active part in the Russian tales, about which a few words may be said. It often happens that the heroine-stealer whom the hero of the story has to overcome is called, not Koshchei nor the Snake, but Vikhor,[292]the whirlwind. Here is a brief analysis of part ofone of the tales in which this elementary abducer figures. There was a certain king, whose wife went out one day to walkinthe garden. “Suddenly a gale (vyeter) sprang up. In the gale was the Vikhor-bird. Vikhor seized the Queen, and carried her off.” She left three sons, and they, when they came to man’s estate, said to their father—“Where is our mother? If she be dead, show us her grave; if she be living, tell us where to find her.”
“I myself know not where your mother is,” replied the King. “Vikhor carried her off.”
“Well then,” they said, “since Vikhor carried her off, and she is alive, give us your blessing. We will go in search of our mother.”
All three set out, but only the youngest, Prince Vasily, succeeded in climbing the steep hill, whereon stood the palace in which his mother and Vikhor lived. Entering it during Vikhor’s absence, the Prince made himself known to his mother, “who straightway gave him to eat, and concealed him in a distant apartment, hiding him behindanumber of cushions, so that Vikhor might not easily discover him.” And she gave him these instructions. “If Vikhor comes, and begins quarrelling, don’t come forth, but if he takes to chatting, come forth and say, ‘Hail father!’ and seize hold of the little finger of his right hand, and wherever he flies do you go with him.”
Presently Vikhor came flying in, and addressed the Queen angrily. Prince Vasily remained concealed until his mother gave him a hint to come forth. This he did, and then greeted Vikhor, and caught hold of his right little finger. Vikhor tried to shake him off, flying first about the house and then out of it, but all in vain. At last Vikhor, after soaring on high, struck the ground, and fell to pieces, becoming a fine yellow sand. “But the little fingerremained in the possession of Prince Vasily, who scraped together the sand and burnt it in the stove.”[293]
With a mention of two other singular beings who occur in the Skazkas, the present chapter may be brought to a close. The first is a certain Morfei (Morpheus?) who figures in the following variant of a well-known tale.
There was a king, and he had a daughter with whom a general who lived over the way fell in love. But the king would not let him marry her unless he went where none had been, and brought back thence what none had seen. After much consideration the general set out and travelled “over swamps, hill, and rivers.” At last he reached a wood in which was a hut, and inside the hut was an old crone. To her he told his story, after hearing which, she cried out, “Ho, there! Morfei, dish up the meal!” and immediately a dinner appeared of which the old crone made the general partake. And next day “she presented that cook to the general, ordering him to serve the general honorably, as he had served her. The general took the cook and departed.” By-and-by he came to a river and was appealed to for food by a shipwrecked crew. “Morfei, give them to eat!” he cried, and immediately excellent viands appeared, with which the mariners were so pleased that they gave the general a magic volume in exchange for his cook—who, however, did not stay with them but secretly followed his master. A little later the general found another shipwrecked crew, who gave him, in exchange for his cook, a sabre and a towel, each of magic power. Then the general returned to his own city, and his magic properties enabled him to convince the kingthat he was an eligible suitor for the hand of the Princess.[294]
The other is a mysterious personage whose name is “Oh!” The story in which he appears is one with which many countries are familiar, and of which numerous versions are to be found in Russia. A father sets out with his boy for “the bazaar,” hoping to find a teacher there who will instruct the child in such science as enables people “to work little, and feed delicately, and dress well.” After walking a long way the man becomes weary and exclaims, “Oh! I’m so tired!” Immediately there appears “an old magician,” who says—
“Why do you call me?”
“I didn’t call you,” replies the old man. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“My name is Oh,” says the magician, “and you cried ‘Oh!’ Where are you taking that boy?”
The father explains what it is he wants, and the magician undertakes to give the boy the requisite education, charging “one assignat rouble” for a year’s tuition.[295]
The teacher, in this story, is merely called a magician; but as in other Russian versions of it his counterpart is always described as being demoniacal, and is often openly styled a devil, it may be assumed that Oh belongs to the supernatural order of beings. It is often very difficult, however, to distinguish magicians from fiends in storyland, the same powers being generally wielded, and that for thesame purposes, by the one set of beings as by the other. Of those powers, and of the end to which the stories represent them as being turned, some mention will be made in thenext chapter.