Vasilísa the Fair

Vasilísa the Fair

Once upon a time there was a merchant who had been married for twelve

years and had only one daughter, Vasilísa the Fair. When her mother died

the girl was eight years old. On her death-bed the mother called the

maiden to her, took a doll out of her counterpane, said: “Vasilísushka,

hear my last words. I am dying, and I will leave you my mother’s

blessing and this doll. Keep this doll always by you, but show it to

nobody, and no misfortune can befall you. Give it food and ask it for

advice. After it has eaten, it will tell you how to avoid your evil.”

Then the wife kissed her daughter and died.

After the wife’s death the merchant mourned as it behoved, and then he

thought of a second wife. He was a handsome man and found many brides,

but he liked one widow more than any one. She was no longer young, and

had two daughters of about the same age as Vasilísa. So she was an

experienced housewife and mother. The merchant married her, but he had

made a mistake, for she was no good mother to his own daughter.

Vasilísa was the fairest damsel in the entire village, and the

stepmother and the sisters envied her therefore. And they used to

torture her by piling all the work they could on her, that she might

grow thin and ugly, and might be tanned by the wind and the sun. And the

child lived a hard life. Vasilísa, however, did all her work without

complaining, and always grew more beautiful and plumper, while the

stepmother and her daughters, out of sheer spite, grew thinner and

uglier. Yet there they sat all day long with their hands folded, just

like fine ladies. How could this be?

It was the doll that had helped Vasilísa. Without her the maiden could

never have done her task. Vasilísa often ate nothing herself, and kept

the tastiest morsels for the doll; and when at night they had all gone

to bed, she used to lock herself up in her cellaret below, give the doll

food to eat, and say, “Dollet, eat and listen to my misery. I am living

in my father’s house, and my lot is hard. My evil stepmother is

torturing me out of the white world. Teach me what I must do in order to

bear this life.”

Then the doll gave her good advice, consoled her, and did all her

morning’s work for her. Vasilísa was told to go walking, plucking

flowers; and all her flowerbeds were done in time, all the coal was

brought in, and the water-jugs carried in, and the hearthstone was hot.

Further, the doll taught her herb-lore; so, thanks to her doll, she had

a merry life; and the years went by.

Vasilísa grew up, and all the lads in the village sought her. But the

stepmother’s daughters nobody would look at; and the stepmother grew

more evil than ever and answered all her suitors: “I will not give my

youngest daughter before I give the elders.” So she sent all the

bargainers away, and to show how pleased she was, rained blows on

Vasilísa.

One day the merchant had to go away on business for a long time; so the

stepmother in the meantime went over to a new house near a dense,

slumbrous forest. In the forest there was a meadow, and on the meadow

there was a hut, and in the hut Bába Yagá lived, who would not let

anybody in, and ate up men as though they were poultry. Whilst she was

moving, the stepmother sent her hated stepdaughter into the wood, but

she always came back perfectly safe, for the doll showed her the way by

which she could avoid Bába Yagá’s hut.

So one day the harvest season came and the stepmother gave all three

maidens their task for the evening: one was to make lace and the other

to sew a stocking, and Vasilísa was to spin. Each was to do a certain

amount. The mother put all the fires out in the entire house, and left

only one candle burning where the maidens were at work, and herself went

to sleep. The maidens worked on. The candle burned down, and one of the

stepmother’s daughters took the snuffers in order to cut down the wick.

But the stepmother had told her to put the light out as though by

accident.

“What is to be done now?” they said. “There is no fire in the house and

our work is not finished. We must get a light from the Bába Yagá.”

“I can see by the needles,” said the one who was making lace.

“I also am not going,” said the second, “for my knitting needles give me

light enough. You must go and get some fire. Go to the Bába Yagá!” And

they turned Vasilísa out of the room.

And Vasilísa went to her room, put meat and drink before her doll, and

said: “Dolly dear, eat it and listen to my complaint. They are sending

me to Bába Yagá for fire, and the Bába Yagá will eat me up.”

Then the Dollet ate, and her eyes glittered like two lamps, and she

said: “Fear nothing, Vasilísushka. Do what they say, only take me with

you. As long as I am with you Bába Yagá can do you no harm.” Vasilísa

put the doll into her pocket, crossed herself, and went tremblingly into

the darksome forest.

Suddenly a knight on horseback galloped past her all in white. His cloak

was white, and his horse and the reins: and it became light. She went

further, and suddenly another horseman passed by, who was all in red,

and his horse was red, and his clothes: and the sun rose. Vasilísa went

on through the night and the next day. Next evening she came to the mead

where Bába Yagá’s hut stood. The fence round the hut consisted of human

bones, and on the stakes skeletons glared out of their empty eyes. And,

instead of the doorways and the gate, there were feet, and in the stead

of bolts there were hands, and instead of the lock there was a mouth

with sharp teeth. And Vasilísa was stone-cold with fright.

Suddenly another horseman pranced by on his way. He was all in black, on

a jet-black horse, with a jet-black cloak. He sprang to the door and

vanished as though the earth had swallowed him up: and it was night. But

the darkness did not last long, for the eyes in all the skeletons on the

fence glistened, and it became as light as day all over the green.

Vasilísa trembled with fear, but remained standing, for she did not know

how she could escape. Suddenly a terrible noise was heard in the forest,

and the tree-boughs creaked and the dry leaves crackled. And out of the

wood Bába Yagá drove in inside the mortar with the pestle, and with the

broom swept away every trace of her steps. At the door she stopped,

sniffed all the way round, and cried out:

     “Fee, Fo, Fi, Fum, I smell the blood of a Russian mum!

Who is there?”

Vasilísa, shuddering with dread, stepped up to her, bowed low to the

ground, and said: “Mother, I am here. My stepmother’s daughters sent me

to you to ask for fire.”

“Very well,” said Bába Yagá: “I know them. Stay with me, work for me,

and I will give you fire. Otherwise I shall eat you up.”

Then she went to the door, and she cried out: “Ho! my strong bolts, draw

back, my strong door, spring open!” And the door sprang open, and Bába

Yagá went in whistling and whirring, and Vasilísa followed her.

Then the door closed, and Bába Yagá stretched herself in the room and

said to Vasilísa: “Give me whatever there is in the oven. I am hungry.”

So Vasilísa lit a splinter from the skulls on the hedge and fetched Bába

Yagá food out of the oven, and there was food enough there for ten men.

Out of a cellar she fetched kvas, mead, and wine. Bába Yagá ate and

drank it all up. But all there was left for Vasilísa was a little of

some kind of soup, and a crust of bread, and a snippet of pork.

Bába Yagá lay down to sleep and said: “In the morning, to-morrow, when I

go away you must clean the courtyard, brush out the room, get dinner

ready, do the washing, go to the field, get a quarter of oats, sift it

all out, and see that it is all done before I come home. Otherwise I

will eat you up.”

And, as soon as ever she had given all the orders, she began snoring.

Vasilísa put the rest of the dinner in front of the doll and said:

“Dollet, eat it up and listen to my woe. Heavy are the tasks which the

Bába Yagá has given me, and she threatens to eat me up if I don’t carry

them all out. Help me!”

“Have no fear, Vasilísa, thou fair maiden. Eat, pray, and lie down to

sleep, for the morning is wiser than the evening.”

Very early next day Vasilísa woke up. Bába Yagá was already up and was

looking out of the window. The glimmer in the eyes of the skulls had

dimmed; the white horseman raced by: and it dawned. Bába Yagá went into

the courtyard, and whistled, and the mortar, the pestle, and the besom

appeared at once, and the red horseman came by: and the sun rose. Bába

Yagá sat in the mortar and went by, thrusting the mortar with the

pestle, and with the besom she removed every trace of her steps.

Vasilísa, left all by herself, looked over the house of the Bába Yagá,

wondered at all the wealth gathered in, and began to consider what she

should start with. But all the work was already done, and the doll had

sifted out the very last of the ears of oats.

“Oh, my saviour!” said Vasilísa. “You have helped me in my great need.”

“You now have only to get dinner ready,” the doll answered, and

clambered back into Vasilísa’s pocket. “With God’s help get it ready,

and stay here quietly waiting.”

In the evening Vasilísa laid the cloth and waited for Bába Yagá. The

gloaming came, and the black horseman reached by: and it at once became

dark, but the eyes in the skulls glowed. The trees shuddered, the leaves

crackled, Bába Yagá drove in, and Vasilísa met her.

“Is it all done?” Bába Yagá asked.

“Yes, grandmother: look!” said Vasilísa.

Bába Yagá looked round everywhere, and was rather angry that she had

nothing to find fault with and said: “Very well.” Then she cried out:

“Ye my faithful servants, friends of my heart! Store up my oats.” Then

three pairs of hands appeared, seized the oats and carried them off.

Bába Yagá had her supper, and, before she went to sleep, once more

commanded Vasilísa: “To-morrow do the same as you did to-day, but also

take the hay which is lying on my field, clean it from every trace of

soil, every single ear. Somebody has, out of spite, mixed earth with