Mossy

In a small hut lived a poor widow. She had a daughter of indescribable beauty. From morning till evening, the mother knitted a magical shirt for her.

A peddler fell in love with the girl. He began to visit almost every day, asking her to marry him.

But she, as it happened, did not love him. She thought and thought about what to do and asked her mother for advice.

"Tell him," said the mother, "to give you a white satin dress, embroidered with golden leaves, and it must fit you perfectly. Then you will marry him. And who knows, by then the magical shirt might be ready."

The peddler came and asked the girl to marry him. She answered him as her mother had advised. But the peddler was an evil sorcerer. A week later, he brought the dress, exactly as the girl had described—satin, embroidered with golden leaves. She ran upstairs to her mother, put on the dress, and it fit her perfectly.

"What should I do now?" the daughter asked her mother.

"Tell him," the mother replied, "to give you a dress the color of the sky, smooth and without a single wrinkle. Then you will marry him. And by then, the magical shirt might be ready."

The girl told the peddler what her mother had advised. He returned three days later with a dress the color of the sky, tailored just for her. Again, the daughter asked her mother what to do.

"Tell him," the mother said, "to bring you silver shoes, neither too small nor too big, but just the right size. Then you will marry him."

The girl told him what her mother had said; a day or two later, he brought silver shoes. The girl's feet were tiny, only three inches, but the shoes fit her perfectly—not too tight and not slipping off. Again, the girl asked her mother what to do now.

"Tonight I will finish knitting the magical shirt; only a little is left. Tell the peddler that you will marry him. Let him come tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."

"I will come, I will definitely come," replied the peddler, giving her an evil look.

That evening, the mother stayed up late and finally finished the magical shirt. She had knitted it from moss with golden thread, and whoever wore it could instantly find themselves at the edge of the world, just by wishing it.

The next morning, the mother rose at dawn. She called her daughter and told her to prepare for a journey, to seek her fortune in a foreign land. This fortune, she said, would be the most splendid one could imagine. The mother was a wise woman and knew what the next day would bring. The daughter put on the moss shirt and over it the dress she wore at home. Her mother gave her a golden crown and the dresses with the silver shoes that the peddler had brought. Moss Shirt—as she was now called—was ready to go, and her mother gave her parting advice:

"Wish to be a hundred miles from here. There you will see a grand manor. Knock on the door and ask the owners for work. They will have a job for you."

Moss Shirt did as her mother said and soon found herself in front of a large manor. She knocked on the front door and said she was wandering the world, looking for work. The mistress of the house was called, and she took a liking to the girl.

"What kind of work can you do?" she asked.

"I can cook, good mistress," replied Moss Shirt. "People say I cook well."

"We already have a cook," said the mistress. "But if you wish, I will take you on as a junior cook."

"Thank you, good mistress. I would like that very much."

And so it was decided. The mistress showed Moss Shirt where she would sleep and took her to the kitchen to meet the other servants.

"This is Moss Shirt," the mistress said to the servants. "She will be our junior cook." And she left.

Moss Shirt went up to her room and hid the golden crown, the silver shoes, and both dresses—the white one and the sky-blue one—far away.

Meanwhile, the other servants were nearly bursting with envy.

"Just think," they clucked, "this ragamuffin in tatters will be a junior cook! Washing dishes—that's her job! If anyone should be a junior cook, it should be one of us. We know all kinds of dishes, unlike this beggar! We'll knock her down a peg!"

Moss Shirt came downstairs, ready to start working, but the servants all pounced on her at once.

"Who do you think you are! Look at her, wanting to be a junior cook! Nothing will come of it; you've met your match! You'll be scrubbing pots and pans, cleaning spits and knives. Don't hope for anything else!"
Once upon a time, a young maid grabbed a ladle and gave Mokhovushka a knock on the head—tuk-tuk-tuk.

"That's what the likes of you deserve!"

Yes, things had taken a bad turn for Mokhovushka. She stoked the stoves, scrubbed the pans, and her face was smeared with soot. And the kitchen maids—first one, then another—would grab a ladle and give her a knock—tuk-tuk-tuk—on the head. The poor girl's head ached constantly, never easing.

One day, the neighbors threw a grand celebration: during the day, there was hunting and other amusements, and in the evening, a ball. And this went on for three days straight. Guests arrived from all around, and the master, mistress, and their son also joined the festivities. In the kitchen, all anyone talked about was the upcoming ball. Some dreamed of catching even a glimpse of the fun, others of dancing with a young gentleman, and still others of seeing how the noble ladies dressed. If only they had ball gowns, they said, they wouldn’t embarrass themselves.

How were they any worse than baronesses and countesses? Only Mokhovushka stayed silent.

"And you, Mokhovushka," the cruel maids asked her, "surely you want to go to the ball too? As if they’d let someone like you, such a mess, in."

And they started hitting her—tuk-tuk-tuk—with the ladle on her head. They teased her, laughed at her—such a vile bunch.

But Mokhovushka, as already mentioned, was a true beauty, and neither soot nor rags could hide it. The master's son noticed her right away, and even the master and mistress singled her out from the rest of the servants. As they prepared for the ball, they sent for Mokhovushka, inviting her to come along.

"No, thank you," Mokhovushka replied. "I wouldn’t dare think of it. My place is in the kitchen. I’d feel sorry for the carriage and your fine clothes—I’d get them all dirty."

The master and mistress laughed, urging her to come. But Mokhovushka stood her ground: she thanked them for their kindness and refused. She insisted. When she returned to the kitchen, the maids, of course, asked why the master and mistress had called for her. Had they decided to fire her or something? Mokhovushka told them they had invited her to the ball.

"You? To the ball?" the maids cried. "Unheard of! If they’d invited one of us—that would be one thing. But you! As if they’d let someone like you into a ball! Imagine young gentlemen dancing with a scullery maid—as if! They’d be afraid of getting their clothes dirty! And the smell coming off you—the ladies would hold their noses."

No, they declared, they would never believe that the master and mistress had invited her to the ball. She was lying! And they started hitting her—tuk-tuk-tuk—with the ladle on her head.

The next day, the master's son himself called for Mokhovushka to come to the ball. The ball, he said, had been wonderful, and it was a shame she hadn’t come. Today would be even better.

"No," Mokhovushka replied. "I won’t go. Where would a mess like me, a ragged girl, fit in?"

No matter how much the master's son begged and pleaded, Mokhovushka flatly refused. And the servants again didn’t believe that the master and mistress had invited her to the ball, let alone that the master's son had urged her to come.

"Just listen to what this liar has come up with now!"

But Mokhovushka decided to go to the ball alone, without anyone knowing. First, she cast a spell on the maids, putting them to sleep. Then she washed herself thoroughly. She went upstairs, shed her torn clothes and old shoes, and put on a white satin dress embroidered with golden leaves, silver slippers, and a golden crown on her head. She looked at herself and wished to be at the ball. For a moment, she felt as if she were flying through the air, and before she could finish her thought—there she was, at the ball. The master's son saw her and couldn’t take his eyes off her: he had never seen such a beauty, stately and elegant.

"Who is that?" he asked his mother. His mother didn’t know either.

"Find out, Mother," the son pleaded. "Go talk to her." His mother understood—her son wouldn’t rest until he spoke to the mysterious guest. She approached Mokhovushka, introduced herself, and asked who she was and where she came from. Mokhovushka didn’t answer, only saying that where she lived, she was often hit on the head with a ladle. Then the master's son himself approached Mokhovushka and began to question her, but Mokhovushka didn’t even give her name. He invited her to dance—she refused. He wouldn’t leave her side, and finally, they danced. They moved back and forth.

"It’s time to go home," Mokhovushka said.

The master's son begged her to stay, but Mokhovushka stood firm.

"Alright," he said, "I’ll walk you home."

But at that moment, Mokhovushka wished to return home, and he barely saw her. She was standing beside him one moment and gone the next. He was stunned. He looked everywhere—no Mokhovushka, and no one had seen where she went.

Mokhovushka found herself back home. She saw the maids were still asleep. She changed back into her old clothes and woke them up. They rubbed their eyes, wondering if it was night or morning. Mokhovushka told them they were in for trouble since they’d slept the whole evening. The maids begged her not to tell on them; one gave her a skirt, another stockings, and a third a pair of shoes—old but still wearable. Mokhovushka promised not to say anything to the mistress. The maids were overjoyed, and there were no beatings that evening.

On the third day, the master's son was beside himself. He could think of nothing but the mysterious beauty he had fallen for at first sight. Would she come to the ball today? What if she disappeared again? No, today he wouldn’t let her go for anything. It was the last ball—he couldn’t lose her completely.

"I’ve fallen in love with her for life," he told his mother. "If I don’t marry her, I’ll die."
– She's a good girl, modest, – his mother replies. – But she won't tell her name.

– I don't care who she is or where she's from. I love her, and that's that. I can't live without her, truly, I can't live.

As is well known, servants have long ears and tongues even longer. Soon, the only topic of conversation in the kitchen is about the mysterious beauty with whom the master's son has fallen in love at the ball.

– So, Mossy, – the cruel servants tease the poor girl, – how is the young master doing? He invited you to the ball, didn't he?

They tease and mock her, and one of them grabs a ladle and starts hitting her – thump-thump-thump – on the head: next time she won't dare to deceive good people. Closer to evening, the master and mistress send for her again, inviting her to the ball. Mossy refuses once more. But she casts a spell to put the nasty servants to sleep and, just like last time, goes to the ball. Only this time, she is dressed in a gown the color of the azure sky.

Mossy enters the hall, and the young master has already been waiting for her.

As soon as he sees her, he asks his father to send for the fastest horse and have it saddled at the porch. He also asks his mother to speak with Mossy. The mother approaches the girl but returns empty-handed. Then a servant reports that the saddled horse is already waiting at the porch. The master's son invites Mossy to dance. They dance back and forth. It's time to go home, Mossy says. The master's son takes her by the hand and leads her to the porch.

Mossy wishes to return home and in an instant finds herself back in the kitchen. She vanishes like the wind, and the master's son can only throw up his hands in despair. But it seems he managed to catch one of her slippers, which falls right at his feet. Or maybe he didn't catch it, but most likely, that's exactly what happened.

He picks up the silver slipper, holding it in his hand, but the girl is gone. Where could she be? Easier to hold back a gust of wind on a stormy night.

Mossy returns home, changes back into her rags, and wakes the servants. They rub their eyes, wondering how they could have slept so soundly. They promise Mossy: one offers a shilling, another half a crown, and the third a week's wages, just so Mossy won't complain to the mistress.

The next day, the master's son falls ill – stricken with a deadly love for the beauty who lost her slipper at the ball. Doctors are called, but his condition only worsens. A proclamation is made throughout the kingdom: the girl whose foot fits the silver slipper can save him. The young master will marry her and recover.

Girls from near and far come in droves. Some have tiny feet, others enormous ones – all eager to try on the slipper. They try every which way to squeeze their feet in – but the slipper fits no one. Even the poorest girls are invited, even the servants – all to no avail. The young master is barely breathing.

– Have all the girls in the kingdom tried on the slipper? – the mother asks in despair. – Is there really no one left, rich or poor?

– No one, – the servants reply. – Except for dirty little Mossy.

– Call her at once, – the mistress orders.

Mossy takes the silver slipper, slips her foot into it, and it fits perfectly!

The master's son leaps out of bed, eager to embrace Mossy.

– Wait, – the girl says.

She runs upstairs and returns wearing a golden crown, silver slippers, and a white satin dress embroidered with golden leaves.

The master's son wants to embrace Mossy, but she says again:

– Wait!

She runs upstairs and comes back wearing a gown the color of the azure sky.

The master's son embraces Mossy, and this time she says nothing. He jumps out of bed – alive, healthy, his cheeks rosy, as if he had never been ill.

The mistress asks why Mossy said at the ball that she was being hit on the head with a ladle at home.

– It's true, – Mossy replies, – by the cruel servants. The master and mistress get angry and throw the servants out of the house, even setting the dogs on them to make sure they never return.

The young master and Mossy marry. They live happily and harmoniously. They have many children. Perhaps they are still alive to this day.

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Mossy

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