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A study and Critique of
the greatest Fairy Tales and Folklore in the world. Russian Fairy Tale and Folklore |
Fairy Tale Home |
A Russian Fairy Tale In a certain country there lived an old couple who had
a daughter called Marusia (Mary). In their village it was customary to
celebrate the feast of St. Andrew the First-Called (November 30). The girls
used to assemble in some cottage, bake pampushki,
and enjoy themselves for a whole week, or even longer. Well, the girls met
together once when this festival arrived, and brewed and baked what was wanted.
In the evening came the lads with the music, bringing liquor with them, and
dancing and revelry commenced. All the girls danced well, but Marusia the best
of all. After a while there came into the cottage such a fine fellow! Marry,
come up! regular blood and milk, and smartly and richly dressed. “Hail, fair
maidens!” says he. “Hail, good
youth!” say they. “You’re
merry-making?” “Be so good
as to join us.” Thereupon he
pulled out of his pocket a purse full of gold, ordered liquor, nuts and
gingerbread. All was ready in a trice, and he began treating the lads and
lasses, giving each a share. Then he took to dancing. Why, it was a treat to
look at him! Marusia struck his fancy more than anyone else; so he stuck close
to her. The time came for going home. “Marusia,”
says he, “come and see me off.” She went to
see him off. “Marusia,
sweetheart!” says he, “would you like me to marry you?” “If you like
to marry me, I will gladly marry you. But where do you come from?” “From such
and such a place. I’m clerk at a merchant’s.” Then they
bade each other farewell and separated. When Marusia got home, her mother asked
her: “Well,
daughter! have you enjoyed yourself?” “Yes,
mother. But I’ve something pleasant to tell you besides. There was a lad there
from the neighborhood, good-looking and with lots of money, and he promised to
marry me.” “Harkye
Marusia! When you go to where the girls are to-morrow, take a ball of thread
with you, make a noose in it, and, when you are going to see him off, throw it
over one of his buttons, and quietly unroll the ball; then, by means of the
thread, you will be able to find out where he lives.” Next day
Marusia went to the gathering, and took a ball of thread with her. The youth
came again. “Good
evening, Marusia!” said he. “Good
evening!” said she. Games began
and dances. Even more than before did he stick to Marusia, not a step would he
budge from her. The time came for going home. “Come and
see me off, Marusia!” says the stranger. She went out
into the street, and while she was taking leave of him she quietly dropped the
noose over one of his buttons. He went his way, but she remained where she was,
unrolling the ball. When she had unrolled the whole of it, she ran
after the thread to find out where her betrothed lived. At first the thread
followed the road, then it stretched across hedges and ditches, and led Marusia
towards the church and right up to the porch. Marusia tried the door; it was
locked. She went round the church, found a ladder, set it against a window, and
climbed up it to see what was going on inside. Having got into the church, she
looked—and saw her betrothed standing beside a grave and devouring a dead
body—for a corpse had been left for that night in the church. She wanted
to get down the ladder quietly, but her fright prevented her from taking proper
heed, and she made a little noise. Then she ran home—almost beside herself,
fancying all the time she was being pursued. She was all but dead before she
got in. Next morning her mother asked her: “Well,
Marusia! did you see the youth?” “I saw him,
mother,” she replied. But what else she had seen she did not tell. In the
morning Marusia was sitting, considering whether she would go to the gathering
or not. “Go,” said
her mother. “Amuse yourself while you’re young!” So she went
to the gathering; the Fiend was there already. Games, fun, dancing,
began anew; the girls knew nothing of what had happened. When they began to
separate and go homewards: “Come,
Marusia!” says the Evil One, “see me off.” She was
afraid, and didn’t stir. Then all the other girls opened out upon her. “What are
you thinking about? Have you grown so bashful, forsooth? Go and see the good
lad off.” There was no
help for it. Out she went, not knowing what would come of it. As soon as they
got into the streets he began questioning her: “You were in
the church last night?” “And saw
what I was doing there?” “No.” “Very well!
To-morrow your father will die!” Having said
this, he disappeared. Marusia
returned home grave and sad. When she woke up in the morning, her father lay
dead! They wept
and wailed over him, and laid him in the coffin. In the evening her mother went
off to the priest’s, but Marusia remained at home. At last she became afraid of
being alone in the house. “Suppose I go to my friends,” she thought. So she
went, and found the Evil One there. “Good
evening, Marusia! why arn’t you merry?” “How can I
be merry? My father is dead!” “Oh! poor
thing!” They all
grieved for her. Even the Accursed One himself grieved; just as if it hadn’t
all been his own doing. By and by they began saying farewell and going home. “Marusia,”
says he, “see me off.” She didn’t
want to. “What are
you thinking of, child?” insist the girls. “What are you afraid of? Go and see
him off.” So she went
to see him off. They passed out into the street. “Tell me,
Marusia,” says he, “were you in the church?” “No.” “Did you see
what I was doing?” “No.” “Very well!
To-morrow your mother will die.” He spoke and
disappeared. Marusia returned home sadder than ever. The night went by; next
morning, when she awoke, her mother lay dead! She cried all day long; but when
the sun set, and it grew dark around, Marusia became afraid of being left
alone; so she went to her companions. “Why,
whatever’s the matter with you? you’re clean out of countenance!”say the girls. “How am I likely to be
cheerful? Yesterday my father died, and to-day my mother.” “Poor thing!
Poor unhappy girl!” they all exclaim sympathizingly. Well, the
time came to say good-bye. “See me off, Marusia,” says the Fiend. So she went
out to see him off. “Tell me;
were you in the church?” “No.” “And saw
what I was doing?” “No.” “Very well!
To-morrow evening you will die yourself!” Marusia
spent the night with her friends; in the morning she got up and considered what
she should do. She bethought herself that she had a grandmother—an old, very
old woman, who had become blind from length of years. “Suppose I go and ask her
advice,” she said, and then went off to her grandmother’s. “Good-day,
granny!” says she. “Good-day,
granddaughter! What news is there with you? How are your father and mother?” “They are
dead, granny,” replied the girl, and then told her all that had happened. The old
woman listened, and said:— “Oh dear me!
my poor unhappy child! Go quickly to the priest, and ask him this favor—that if
you die, your body shall not be taken out of the house through the doorway, but
that the ground shall be dug away from under the threshold, and that you shall
be dragged out through that opening. And also beg that you may be buried at a
crossway, at a spot where four roads meet.” Marusia went
to the priest, wept bitterly, and made him promise to do everything according
to her grandmother’s instructions. Then she returned home, bought a coffin, lay
down in it, and straightway expired. Well, they
told the priest, and he buried, first her father and mother, and
then Marusia herself. Her body was passed underneath the threshold and buried
at a crossway. Soon
afterwards a seigneur’s son happened to drive past Marusia’s grave. On that
grave he saw growing a wondrous flower, such a one as he had never seen before.
Said the young seigneur to his servant:— “Go and
pluck up that flower by the roots. We’ll take it home and put it in a
flower-pot. Perhaps it will blossom there.” Well, they
dug up the flower, took it home, put it in a glazed flower-pot, and set it in a
window. The flower began to grow larger and more beautiful. One night the
servant hadn’t gone to sleep somehow, and he happened to be looking at the
window, when he saw a wondrous thing take place. All of a sudden the flower
began to tremble, then it fell from its stem to the ground, and turned into a
lovely maiden. The flower was beautiful, but the maiden was more beautiful
still. She wandered from room to room, got herself various things to eat and
drink, ate and drank, then stamped upon the ground and became a flower as
before, mounted to the window, and resumed her place upon the stem. Next day
the servant told the young seigneur of the wonders which he had seen during the
night. “Ah,
brother!” said the youth, “why didn’t you wake me? To-night we’ll both keep
watch together.” The night
came; they slept not, but watched. Exactly at twelve o’clock the blossom began
to shake, flew from place to place, and then fell to the ground, and the
beautiful maiden appeared, got herself things to eat and drink, and sat down to
supper. The young seigneur rushed forward and seized her by her white hands.
Impossible was it for him sufficiently to look at her, to gaze on her beauty! Next morning
he said to his father and mother, “Please allow me to get married. I’ve found
myself a bride.” His parents
gave their consent. As for Marusia, she said: “Only on
this condition will I marry you—that for four years I need not go to church.” ] “Very good,” said he. Well, they
were married, and they lived together one year, two years, and had a son. But
one day they had visitors at their house, who enjoyed themselves, and drank,
and began bragging about their wives. This one’s wife was handsome; that one’s
was handsomer still. “You may say
what you like,” says the host, “but a handsomer wife than mine does not exist
in the whole world!” “Handsome,
yes!” reply the guests, “but a heathen.” “How so?” “Why, she
never goes to church.” Her husband
found these observations distasteful. He waited till Sunday, and then told his
wife to get dressed for church. “I don’t
care what you may say,” says he. “Go and get ready directly.” Well, they
got ready, and went to church. The husband went in—didn’t see anything
particular. But when she looked round—there was the Fiend sitting at a window. “Ha! here
you are, at last!” he cried. “Remember old times. Were you in the church that
night?” “No.” “And did you
see what I was doing there?” “No.” “Very well!
To-morrow both your husband and your son will die.” Marusia
rushed straight out of the church and away to her grandmother. The old woman
gave her two phials, the one full of holy water, the other of the water of
life, and told her what she was to do. Next day both Marusia’s husband and her
son died. Then the Fiend came flying to her and asked:— “Tell me;
were you in the church?” “I was.” “And did you
see what I was doing?” “You were
eating a corpse.” She spoke, and splashed the holy water over him; in a moment he
turned into mere dust and ashes, which blew to the winds. Afterwards she
sprinkled her husband and her boy with the water of life: straightway they
revived. And from that time forward they knew neither sorrow nor separation, but
they all lived together long and happily. Another
lively sketch of a peasant’s love-making is given in the introduction to the
story of “Ivan the widow’s son and Grisha.” The tale is one of magic and enchantment,
of living clouds and seven-headed snakes; but the opening is a little piece of
still-life very quaintly portrayed. A certain villager, named Trofim, having
been unable to find a wife, his Aunt Melania comes to his aid, promising to
procure him an interview with a widow who has been left well provided for, and
whose personal appearance is attractive—“real blood and milk! When she’s got on
her holiday clothes, she’s as fine as a peacock!” Trofim grovels with gratitude
at his aunt’s feet. “My own dear auntie, Melania Prokhorovna, get me married
for heaven’s sake! I’ll buy you an embroidered kerchief in return, the very
best in the whole market.” The widow comes to pay Melania a visit, and is
induced to believe, on the evidence of beans (frequently used for the purpose
of divination), that her destined husband is close at hand. At this propitious moment
Trofim appears. Melania makes a little speech to the young couple, ending her
recommendation to get married with the words:— “I can see
well enough by the bridegroom’s eyes that the bride is to his taste, only I
don’t know what the bride thinks about taking him.” “I don’t
mind!” says the widow. “Well, then, glory be to God! Now, stand up, we’ll say a
prayer before the Holy Pictures; then give each other a kiss, and go in
Heaven’s name and get married at once!” And so the question is settled. From a
courtship and a marriage in peasant life we may turn to a death and a burial.
There are frequent allusions in the Skazkas to these gloomy subjects, with
reference to which we will quote two stories, the one pathetic, the other
(unintentionally) grotesque. Neither of them bears any title in the original,
but we may style the first— |