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Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite...

Vasilissa the Fair.[182]

Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition Ralston, William Ralston Shedden
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“Never fear, Vasilissa the Fair! Sup, say your prayers, and go to bed. The morning is wiser than the evening!”
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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.
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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.
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“Ah, my preserver!” cried Vasilissa, “you’ve saved me from danger!”
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“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!”
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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.
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“Is everything done?” asks the Yaga.
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“Please to look for yourself, granny!” says Vasilissa.
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The Baba Yaga examined everything, was vexed that there was nothing to be angry about, and said:
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“Well, well! very good!”
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“My trusty servants, zealous friends, grind this my wheat!”
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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:
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“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:
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“Pray to God, and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening. All shall be done, Vasilissa dear!”
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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!”
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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.
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“Why don’t you speak to me?” said the Baba Yaga; “there you stand like a dumb creature!”
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“I didn’t dare,” answered Vasilissa; “but if you give me leave, I should like to ask you about something.”
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“Ask away; only it isn’t every question that brings good. ‘Get much to know, and old soon you’ll grow.’”
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“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?”
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“That was my bright Day!” answered the Baba Yaga.
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“Afterwards there passed me another rider, on a red horse; red himself, and all in red clothes. Who was he?”
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“That was my red Sun!”[191] answered the Baba Yaga.
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“And who may be the black rider, granny, who passed by me just at your gate?”
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“That was my dark Night; they are all trusty servants of mine.”
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Vasilissa thought of the three pairs of hands, but held her peace.
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“Why don’t you go on asking?” said the Baba Yaga.
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“That’s enough for me, granny. You said yourself, ‘Get too much to know, old you’ll grow!’”
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“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?”
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“My mother’s blessing assists me,” replied Vasilissa.
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“Eh! eh! what’s that? Get along out of my house, you bless’d daughter. I don’t want bless’d people.”
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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:
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“Lay hold of that. It’s a light you can take to your stepsisters. That’s what they sent you here for, I believe.”
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Home went Vasilissa at a run, lit by the skull, which went out only 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.
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“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:
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“Throw me not away. Carry me to your stepmother!”
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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.
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“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]

Source attribution

Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite Folk-lore, Project Gutenberg eBook #22373

The Baba Yaga.[161] The Witch.[206]

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