RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES FROM THE SKAZKI OF POLEVOI - 24 Russian Fairy Tales E-Book

Anon E. Mouse

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The existence of the Russian Skazki or Märchen (Stories, Folklore or Fairy Tales) was first made generally known to the British Public in about 1880 by William Ralston in his Russian Folk Tales. A year after the appearance of Ralston's book, the eminent Russian historian and archæologist, Peter Nikolaevich Polevoi selected, from the inexhaustible stores of Afanasiev, some three dozen of the Skazki (stories) most suitable for children, and worked them up into a fairy tale book which was published at St. Petersburg in 1874, under the title of Narodnuiya Russkiya Skazki (Popular Russian Stories). To manipulate these quaintly vigorous old world stories for nursery purposes was, no easy task, but, on the whole, M. Polevoi did his work excellently well, softening the crudities and smoothing out the occasional roughness, turning these charming stories into entirely readable stories for children. It is from the first Russian edition of M. Polevoi's book that the following selection of 24 Russian stories has been made. With the single exception of "Morozko," a variant of which may be familiar to those who know Mr. Ralston's volume. Some of the stories in this volume are: The Golden Mountain Morozko The Flying Ship The Story of the Tsarevich Ivan, and of The Harp that Harped Without A Harper The Story of Gore-Gorinskoe Go I Know Not Whither—Fetch I Know Not What Kuz’ma Skorobogaty The Tsarevna Loveliness-Inexhaustible Verlioka; and many more. As to the merits of these Skazki, they must be left to speak for themselves. So, we invite you to down this book of 24 unique Russian Fairy Tales and curl up in a comfy chair with a mug for of steaming hot chocolate and be whisked away to a country that is still as mysterious as it is large. 10% of the profit from the sale of this eBook will be donated to charities. ============ KEYWORDS/TAGS: Russian, Russia, Skazki, Folklore, fairy tales, myths, legends, folk tales, story, children’s stories, bedtime, fables, culture, cultural, golden mountain, morozko, flying ship, muzhichek, big as your thumb, moustaches, seven versts, long, tsarevich ivan, harp gore gorinskoe, go, fetch, kuz’ma, Kuzma,  skorobogaty, tsarevna, loveliness, inexhaustible, verlioka, frog, tsarevna, two sons, ivan, soldier, woman, accuser, Thomas, berennikov, white duck, little fool, little feather, fenist, bright falcon, peasant, demyan, enchanted, ring, brave, labourer, sage, damsel, prophetic, dream, two out, knapsack, marko the rich, vasily the luckless, R, Nisbet Bain, C. M. Gere

Leseprobe

Russian Fairy Tales from the Skazki of Polevoi

Compiled, Translated and Retold ByR. Nisbet Bain

Illustrated By C. M. Gere

Third EditionOriginally Published ByA. H. Bullen, London1901

Resurrected byAbela Publishing, London[2018]

Russian Fairy TalesFrom the Skazki of Polevoi

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing, London

United Kingdom

2018

ISBN-13: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX

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Abela Publishing

The Golden Mountain

Preface

The existence of the Russian Skazki or Märchen was first made generally known to the British Public some twenty years ago by Mr. W. R. S. Ralston in his Russian Folk Tales. That excellent and most engrossing volume was, primarily, a treatise on Slavonic Folk-Lore, illustrated with admirable skill and judgment, by stories, mainly selected from the vast collection of Afanasiev, who did for the Russian what Asbjörnsen has done for the Norwegian Folk-Tale. A year after the appearance of Mr. Ralston’s book, the eminent Russian historian and archæologist, Peter Nikolaevich Polevoi (well known, too, as an able and ardent Shaksperian scholar), selected from the inexhaustible stores of Afanasiev some three dozen of the Skazki most suitable for children, and worked them up into a fairy tale book which was published at St. Petersburg in 1874, under the title of Narodnuiya Russkiya Skazki (Popular Russian Märchen). To manipulate these quaintly vigorous old-world stories for nursery purposes was, as may well be imagined, no easy task, but, on the whole, M. Polevoi did his work excellently well, and while softening the crudities and smoothing out the occasional roughness of these charming stories, neither injured their simple texture nor overlaid the original pattern.

It is from the first Russian edition of M. Polevoi’s book that the following selection has been made. With the single exception of “Morozko,” a variant of which will be familiar to those who know Mr. Ralston’s volume, none of these tales has seen the light in an English dress before; for though both Ralston and Polevoi drew, for the most part, from the same copious stock, their purposes were so different that their selections naturally proved to be different also.

As to the merits of these Skazki, they must be left to speak for themselves. It is a significant fact, however, that all those scholars who are equally familiar with the Russian Skazki and the German Märchen, unhesitatingly give the palm, both for fun and fancy, to the former.

R. Nisbet Bain.

Contents

The Golden Mountain

Morozko

The Flying Ship

The Muzhichek-As-Big-As-Your-Thumb-with-

Moustaches-Seven-Versts-Long

The Story of the Tsarevich Ivan, and of the Harp

that Harped Without a Harper

The Story of Gore-Gorinskoe

Go I Know Not Whither—Fetch I Know Not What

Kuz’ma Skorobogaty

The Tsarevna Loveliness-Inexhaustible

Verlioka

The Frog-Tsarevna

The Two Sons of Ivan the Soldier

The Woman-Accuser

Thomas Berennikov

The White Duck

The Tale of Little Fool Ivan

The Little Feather of Fenist the Bright Falcon

The Tale of the Peasant Demyan

The Enchanted Ring

The Brave Labourer

The Sage Damsel

The Prophetic Dream

Two Out of the Knapsack

The Story of Marko the Rich and Vasily the

Luckless

List of Illustrations

The Golden Mountain Frontispiece

Morosko

The Tsarevna Loveliness-Inexhaustible

The Princess and the Cunning Witch

The Damsel Went on Further, and the Road Grew Lighter and Lighter

The Sage Damsel

Russian Fairy Tales

The Golden Mountain

There was once upon a time a merchant’s son who squandered and wasted all his goods. To such a pass did he come at last that he had nothing to eat. So he seized a spade, went out into the market-place, and began waiting to see if anyone would hire him as a labourer. And behold, the merchant who was one in seven hundred1 came along that way in his gilded coach; all the day-labourers saw him, and the whole lot of them immediately scattered in every direction and hid themselves in corners. The merchant’s son alone of them all remained standing in the market-place. “Do you want work, young man?” said the merchant who was one in seven hundred; “then take hire from me.”—“Right willingly; ’twas for no other reason that I came to the market-place.”—“And what wage do you require?”—“If you lay me down one hundred roubles2 a day, ’tis a bargain.”—“That is somewhat dear!”—“If you think it dear, go and seek a cheaper article; but this I know, crowds of people were here just now, you came, and—away they all bolted.”—“Well, agreed! come to-morrow to the haven.” The next day, early in the morning, our merchant’s son came to the haven; the merchant who was one in seven hundred had already been awaiting him some time. They went on board ship and went to sea. They sailed and sailed. In the midst of the sea an island appeared; on this island stood high mountains, and on the sea-shore something or other was burning like fire. “Can that which I see be fire?” said the merchant’s son. “Nay, that is my little golden castle.” They drew near to the island; they went ashore; his wife and daughter came forth to meet the merchant who was one in seven hundred, and the daughter was beautiful with a beauty that no man can imagine or devise, and no tale can tell. As soon as they had greeted one another they went on to the castle, and took the new labourer along with them; they sat them down at table, they began to eat, drink, and be merry. “A fig for to-day,” said the host; “to-day we’ll feast, to-morrow we’ll work.” And the merchant’s son was a fair youth, strong and stately, of a ruddy countenance like milk and blood, and he fell in love with the lovely damsel. She went out into the next room; she called him secretly, and gave him a flint and steel. “Take them,” said she, “and if you should be in any need, use them.” Next day the merchant who was one in seven hundred set out with his servant for the high golden mountain. They climbed and climbed, but they climbed not up to the top; they crawled and crawled, but they crawled not up to the top. “Well,” said the merchant, “let’s have a drink first of all.” And the merchant handed him a sleeping poison. The labourer drank and fell asleep. The merchant drew out his knife, killed his wretched nag which he had brought with him, took out its entrails, put the young man into the horse’s stomach, put the spade in too, sewed up the wound, and went and hid himself among the bushes. Suddenly there flew down a whole host of black iron-beaked ravens. They took up the carcase, carried it up into the mountain, and fell a-pecking it; they began eating up the horse, and soon pierced right down to the merchant’s son. Then he awoke, beat off the black crows, looked hither and thither, and asked himself, “Where am I?” The merchant who was one in seven hundred bawled up at him, “On the golden mountain; come, take your spade and dig gold.” So he digged and digged, throwing it all down below, and the merchant put it on wagons. By evening he had filled nine wagons. “That’ll do,” cried the merchant who was one in seven hundred; “thanks for your labour. Adieu!”—“But how about me?”—“You may get on as best you can. Ninety-nine of your sort have perished on that mountain—you will just make up the hundred!” Thus spake the merchant and departed. “What’s to be done now?” thought the merchant’s son; “to get down from this mountain is quite impossible. I shall certainly starve to death.” So there he stood on the mountain, and above him wheeled the black iron-beaked crows, they plainly scented their prey. He began to bethink him how all this had come to pass, and then it occurred to him how the lovely damsel had taken him aside and given him the flint and steel, and said to him herself—“Take it, and if you are in need make use of it.”—“And look now, she did not say it in vain. Let us try it.” The merchant’s son took out the flint and steel, struck it once, and immediately out jumped two fair young heroes. “What do you want? What do you want?”—“Take me from this mountain to the sea-shore.” He had no sooner spoken than they took him under the arms and bore him carefully down from the mountain. The merchant’s son walked about by the shore, and lo, a ship was sailing by the island. “Hi, good ship-folk, take me with you!”—“Nay, brother, we cannot stop, such a stoppage would lose us one hundred knots.” The mariners passed by the island, contrary winds began to blow, a frightful hurricane arose. “Alas! he is plainly no simple man of our sort, we had better turn back and take him on board ship.” So they returned to the island, stopped by the shore, took up the merchant’s son, and conveyed him to his native town. A long time and a little time passed by, and then the merchant’s son took his spade and again went out into the market-place to wait for someone to hire him. Again the merchant who was one in seven hundred passed by in his gilded carriage; the day-labourers saw him and scattered in every direction, and hid them in corners. The merchant’s son was the sole solitary little one left. “Will you take hire from me?” said the merchant who was one in seven hundred. “Willingly; put down two hundred roubles a day, and set me my work.”—“Rather dear, eh?”—“If you find it dear, go and seek cheaper labour. You saw how many people were here, and the moment you appeared they all ran away.”—“Well, then, done; come to-morrow to the haven.” The next morning they met at the haven, went on board the ship, and sailed to the island. There they ate and drank their fill one whole day, and the next day they got up and went towards the golden mountain. They arrived there, the merchant who was one in seven hundred pulled out his drinking-glass. “Come now, let us have a drink first,” said he.—“Stop, mine host! You who are the chief ought to drink the first, let me treat you with mine own drink.” And the merchant’s son, who had betimes provided himself with sleeping poison, poured out a full glass of it and gave it to the merchant who was one in seven hundred. He drank it off and fell into a sound sleep. The merchant’s son slaughtered the sorriest horse, disembowelled it, laid his host in the horse’s belly, put the spade there too, sewed up the wound, and went and hid himself among the bushes. Instantly the black iron-beaked crows flew down, took up the carcase, carried it to the mountain, and fell a-pecking at it. The merchant who was one in seven hundred awoke and looked hither and thither. “Where am I?” he asked. “On the mountain,” bawled the merchant’s son. “Take your spade and dig gold; if you dig much, I will show you how to get off the mountain.” The merchant who was one in seven hundred took his spade and dug and dug, he dug up twenty wagon loads. “Stop, that’s enough now,” said the merchant’s son; “thanks for your labour, and good-bye.”—“But what about me?”—“You? why, get off as best you can. Ninety-nine of your sort have perished on that mountain, you can make up the hundred.” So the merchant’s son took all the twenty wagons, went to the golden castle, married the lovely damsel, the daughter of the merchant who was one in seven hundred, took possession of all her riches, and came to live in the capital with his whole family. But the merchant who was one in seven hundred remained there on the mountain, and the black iron-beaked crows picked his bones.

FOOTNOTES

1I.e. the merchant who was seven hundred times richer than any one else.

Morozko1

There was once a stepmother who, besides her stepdaughter, had a daughter of her own. Whatever her own daughter might do, she looked kindly at her and said, “Sensible darling!” but as for the stepdaughter, whatever she might do to please, it was always taken amiss. Everything she did was wrong, and not as it should be. Yet, sooth to say, the little stepdaughter was as good as gold; in good hands she would have swum in cheese and butter, but, living with her stepmother, she bathed herself every day in tears. What was she to do? The blast, though it blows, does not blow forever, but a scolding old woman it is not so easy to avoid. She will take anything into her head, even to combing one’s teeth. And the stepmother took it into her head to drive her stepdaughter from the house. “Take her, take her away, my old man, whithersoever you like, that mine eyes may not see her, that my ears may not hear of her; but don’t take her to my own daughter in the warm room, but take her into the bare fields to the bitter, biting frost.” The old man began to lament and weep, but for all that he put his daughter in the sledge; he would have liked to cover her with the horse-cloth, but even that he dared not do.

Morosko.

So he took the homeless one into the bare fields, threw her on a heap of snow, crossed himself, and hastened home as fast as possible, that his eyes might not see his daughter’s death.

There the poor little thing remained on the fringe of the forest, sat down under a fir-tree, shivered, and softly said her prayers. All at once she heard something. Morozko was crackling in a fir-tree not far off, and he leaped from fir to fir and snapped his fingers. And look! now he has come to that fir beneath which the girl was sitting; and he snapped his fingers, and leaped up and down, and looked at the pretty girl. “Maiden, maiden, ’tis I—Moroz-ruby-nose!”—“Welcome, Moroz! God must have sent thee to my poor sinful soul.”—“Art thou warm, maiden?”—“Warm, warm, dear little father Morozushko2!” Moroz began to descend lower, and crackle still more, and snap his fingers more than ever, and again he began speaking to the girl. “Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, beauty?” The girl was scarce able to draw her breath, and yet she kept on saying, “Yes, warm, Morozushko; warm, little father!” Morozko crackled more than ever, and snapped his fingers harder and yet harder, and he said to the maiden for the last time, “Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, beauty? Art thou warm, sweet clover?” The girl was all benumbed, and it was only in a voice scarcely audible that she could say, “Oh, yes! warm, darling little pigeon mine, Morozushko!” Morozko quite loved her for her pretty speeches. He had compassion on the girl; he wrapped her in furs, warmed her with warm coverings, and brought her a coffer, high and heavy, full of bridal garments, and gave her a robe all garnished with gold and silver. She put it on, and oh, how beautiful and stately she looked! And she sat down and began to sing songs. And the stepmother was preparing her funeral feast and frying pancakes. “Be off, husband, and bury your daughter!” she cried. And off the old man went. But the little dog under the table said, “Bow-wow! the old man’s daughter is going about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.”—“Silence, you fool! There’s a pancake for you, and now say, ‘The wooers will take the old woman’s daughter, but there’s nothing left of the old man’s daughter but her bones.’” The little dog ate the pancake, but again he said, “Bow-wow! the old man’s daughter goes about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.” The old woman kept beating the dog and giving him pancakes, but the little dog would have his way, and said, “The old man’s daughter goes about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.”

The floors creaked, the doors flew open wide, and in they brought the high and heavy coffer, and behind it walked the stepdaughter, in gold and silver, glittering like the sun. The stepmother looked at her, and threw up her arms. “Old man, old man! put to a pair of horses, and take my daughter at once. Put her in the selfsame field, in the selfsame place.” And the old man took the daughter to the selfsame place. And Moroz-ruby-nose came and looked at his guest, and began to ask her, “Art thou warm, maiden?”—“Be off with you!” replied the old woman’s daughter, “or are you blind not to see that my arms and legs are quite benumbed with cold?” Morozko began skipping and jumping, fair words were not to be expected from that quarter. And he was angry with the stepdaughter, and froze her to death.

“Old man, old man! go and fetch my daughter. Put to my swift horses, and don’t overturn the sledge and upset the coffer.” But the little dog under the table said, “Bow-wow! the wooers will wed the old man’s daughter, but they’ll bring home nothing of the old woman’s daughter but a sack of bones.”—“Don’t lie! There’s a cake. Take it and say, ‘They’ll carry about the old woman’s daughter in gold and silver!’” And the doors flew open, the nasty old woman ran out to meet her daughter, and instead of her she embraced a cold corpse. She began to howl and cry; she knew then that she had lost her wicked and envious daughter.

FOOTNOTES

1 Caressing diminutive of Russian moroz (frost). Perhaps “Jack Frost” is the nearest English equivalent.

2I. e. darling Moroz.

The Flying Ship

There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman, and they had three sons; two were clever, but the third was a fool. The old woman loved the first two, and quite spoiled them, but the latter was always hardly treated. They heard that a writing had come from the Tsar which said, “Whoever builds a ship that can fly, to him will I give my daughter the Tsarevna to wife.” The elder brothers resolved to go and seek their fortune, and they begged a blessing of their parents. The mother got ready their things for the journey, and gave them something to eat on the way, and a flask of wine. And the fool began to beg them to send him off too. His mother told him he should not go. “Whither would you go, fool?” said she; “why, the wolves would devour you!” But the fool was always singing the same refrain: “I will go, I will go!” His mother saw that she could do nothing with him, so she gave him a piece of dry bread and a flask of water, and quickly shoved him out of the house.

The fool went and went, and at last he met an old man. They greeted each other. The old man asked the fool, “Whither are you going?”—“Look now!” said the fool, “the Tsar has promised to give his daughter to him who shall make a flying ship!”—“And can you then make such a ship?”—“No, I cannot, but they’ll make it for me somewhere.”—“And where is that somewhere?”—“God only knows.”—“Well, in that case, sit down here; rest and eat a bit. Take out what you have got in your knapsack.”—“Nay, it is such stuff that I am ashamed to show it to people.”—“Nonsense! Take it out! What God has given is quite good enough to be eaten.” The fool undid his knapsack, and could scarcely believe his eyes—there, instead of the dry crust of bread, lay white rolls and divers savoury meats, and he gave of it to the old man. So they ate together, and the old man said to the fool, “Go into the wood, right up to the first tree, cross yourself thrice, and strike the tree with your axe, then fall with your face to the ground and wait till you are aroused. Then you will see before you a ship quite ready; sit in it and fly wherever you like, and gather up everything you meet on your road.” So our fool blessed the old man, took leave of him, and went into the wood. He went up to the first tree and did exactly as he had been commanded; he crossed himself three times, struck the tree with his axe, fell with his face to the ground, and went to sleep. In a little while someone or other awoke him. The fool rose up, and saw the ship quite ready, and without thinking long about it, he sat in it, and the ship flew up into the air. It flew and flew, and look!—there on the road below, a man was lying with his ear to the damp earth. “Good-day, uncle!”—“Good-day.”—“What are you doing?”—“I am listening to what is going on in the world.”—“Take a seat in the ship beside me.” The man did not like to refuse, so he sat in the ship, and they flew on further. They flew and flew, and look!—a man was coming along hopping on one leg, with the other leg tied tightly to his ear. “Good-day, uncle; what are you hopping on one leg for?”—“Why, if I were to untie the other I should stride half round the world at a single stride.”—“Come and sit with us.” The man sat down, and they flew on. They flew and flew, and look!—a man was standing with a gun and taking aim, but at what they could not see. “Good-day, uncle; at what are you aiming? Not even a bird is to be seen.”—“What! I am shooting at short range. I could hit bird or beast at a distance of one hundred leagues. That’s what I call shooting!”—“Sit down with us.” This man also sat with them, and they flew on further. They flew and flew, and look!—a man was carrying on his back a whole sack-load of bread. “Good-day, uncle; whither are you going?”—“I am going,” he said, “to get some bread for dinner.”—“But you’ve got a whole sack-load on your back already!”—“That! Why I should think nothing of eating all that at a single mouthful.”—“Come and sit with us.” The Gobbler sat in the ship, and they went flying on further. They flew and they flew, and look!—a man was walking round a lake. “Good-day, uncle; what are you looking for?”—“I want to drink, but I can find no water.”—“But there’s a whole lake before you, why don’t you drink of it?”—“That! Why that water would not be more than a mouthful to me!”—“Then come and sit with us.” He sat down, and again they flew on. They flew and flew, and look!—a man was walking in the forest, and on his shoulders was a bundle of wood. “Good-day, uncle; why are you dragging about wood in the forest?”—“But this is not common wood.”—“What sort is it then?”—“It is of such a sort that if you scatter it, a whole army will spring up.”—“Sit down with us then.” He sat down with them, and they flew on further. They flew and flew, and look!—a man was carrying a sack of straw. “Good-day, uncle; whither are you carrying that straw?”—“To the village.”—“Is there little straw in the village then?”—“Nay, but this straw is of such a kind that if you scatter it on the hottest summer day, cold will immediately set in with snow and frost.”—“Won’t you sit with us, then?”—“Thank you, I will.”