Russian Folktales

In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there once lived a Tsar and Tsarítsa, who had one only daughter, Márya Tsarévna. But the old Tsarítsa died and the Tsar took to him a second wife, who was a witch. And the witch had three daughters, one of whom had one eye, the next two eyes, and the third had three. The stepmother could not abide Márya Tsarévna, and sent the girl with a dun cow on to the heath, and gave her a dry crust as her only food.

Márya Tsarévna went on to the heath, bowed down to the right foot of the cow, and all at once was splendidly dressed, and had as much to eat and drink as she liked. So she guarded the dun cow the whole day, and looked as gay as any lady in the land. And at night she bowed down again in front of the right foot, and again became shabby and went home. And the bit of bread she took with her and offered it to her stepmother.

“Whatever is she living on?” the witch thought, and she gave her the same piece of bread next day, and told her eldest daughter to watch what Márya Tsarévna did.

When they reached the heath Márya Tsarévna said: “Come, little sister, I will find a cushion for your head.” So she went to look, but whispered to herself:

“Sleep, my sister, sleep, Sleep, O sister mine; One eye go to sleep, Close that eye of thine.”

There was once, in a certain kingdom, a certain state, where there lived Tsar Výslav Andrónovich, who had three sons: the first was called Dmítri Tsarévich, the second Vasíli Tsarévich, and the third Iván Tsarévich. This Tsar had a garden so rich that in no other kingdom was there any better, and in that garden many rare trees grew with fruits and without fruits. And the Tsar had an apple-tree which he especially loved, and on that apple-tree all the apples that grew were of gold. But it happened that the Bird of Light began to fly to visit Tsar Výslav. The feathers of the bird were all gold, but the eyes were like crystal of the East. It flew into the garden every night and sat on the apple-tree beloved of Tsar Výslav, and used to pluck down the golden apples and fly away. Tsar Výslav Andrónovich was deeply afflicted, and he called to him his three sons and said to them: “My beloved children, which of you will go into my garden and catch the Bird of Light? He who captures it alive, I will in my lifetime give him the half of my kingdom, and at my death he shall have it all.”

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 deathbed 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.

If you think of it, what a big world God’s world is: in it rich and poor folk live, and there is room enough for them all; and the Lord overlooks and judges them all. There are fine folk who have holidays, there are wailful folk who must moil; every man has his lot.

In the Tsar’s palace, in the Prince’s chamber, every day the Princess Without a Smile grew fairer. What a life she had, what plenty, what beauty round her! There was enough of everything that exists that the soul may desire, but she never smiled, never laughed, and it seemed as though her heart could not rejoice at anything.

It was a bitter thing for the Tsar her father to gaze at his doleful daughter. He used to open his imperial palace to whoever would be his guest. “Come,” he said, “come and try to enliven the Princess Without a Smile: anyone who succeeds shall gain her as his wife.” And as soon as he had said this all folk thronged up at the gates of the palace, driving up from all sides, coming on foot, Tsarévichi and princes’ sons, boyárs and noblemen, military folk and civil. Feasts were celebrated, rivers of mead flowed, and the Princess would not smile.

Ilyá Múromets went to the city of Kíev straight from Chernígov on the road by the village of Kutúzovo, which the Nightingale Robber had been oppressing for thirty years, not letting any man pass, whether on horseback or on foot, and assailing them not with any weapon, but only with his robber’s whistle. Ilyá Múromets rode into the open field and saw the scattered bones of knights and warriors. He rode over them and arrived at the Bryánski woods, the miry swamp, to the hazel-tree bridges, and to the Smoródina river. The Nightingale Robber heard his end approaching, and felt a foreboding of a terrible ill; and before Ilyá Múromets had advanced twenty versts, he whistled with his powerful robber’s whistle. But the valorous heart of Ilyá was not afraid, and before ever he had advanced ten versts more the Nightingale Robber whistled more terribly than before, and the horse of Ilyá Múromets stumbled at the sound.

At last Ilyá arrived at the nest, which was spread above twelve oaks, and the Nightingale Robber was sitting in the nest, saw the white Russian knight approaching, and began to whistle with all of his might, essaying to smite Ilyá Múromets to death. Ilyá Múromets took out his strong bow, put a tempered dart to it, and shot it at the nest of the Nightingale Robber; it fell into his right eye and went beyond. And the Robber-Nightingale fell down from his nest like a sheaf of oats. Ilyá Múromets took the Robber-Nightingale, tied him strongly to his steel stirrup and rode to the famous city of Kíev.