Vasilisa the Beautiful
In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there once lived a merchant. He had been married for twelve years and had only one daughter, Vasilisa the Beautiful. When her mother passed away, the girl was eight years old. On her deathbed, the merchant's wife called her daughter to her, took a doll from under the blanket, handed it to her, and said:"Listen, Vasilisa! Remember and carry out my last words. I am dying, and along with my parental blessing, I leave you this doll. Always keep it with you and never show it to anyone. And when some misfortune befalls you, give it something to eat and ask for its advice. It will eat and then tell you how to help in your trouble." Then the mother kissed her daughter and passed away.
After his wife's death, the merchant grieved as was proper, but then he began to think about remarrying. He was a good man, so finding a bride was not difficult, but one widow caught his fancy more than the others. She was already advanced in years, had two daughters of her own, almost the same age as Vasilisa, and thus was both an experienced housewife and a mother.
The merchant married the widow, but he was mistaken and did not find in her a kind stepmother for his Vasilisa. Vasilisa was the most beautiful girl in the entire village, and her stepmother and stepsisters envied her beauty. They burdened her with all sorts of work, hoping she would grow thin from labor and dark from the sun and wind. Life with them became unbearable!
Vasilisa endured everything without complaint and grew more beautiful and plump with each passing day, while the stepmother and her daughters grew thin and ugly from spite, even though they always sat idle like ladies. How did this happen? Vasilisa had her doll to help her. Without it, how could the girl have managed all the work! Vasilisa herself would sometimes go without eating, saving the most delicious morsel for her doll. In the evening, when everyone had gone to bed, she would lock herself in her little room and feed the doll, saying:
"Here, little doll, eat and listen to my sorrow! I live in my father's house, but I find no joy. My wicked stepmother is driving me out of the world. Teach me how to live and what to do!"
The doll would eat and then give her advice and comfort her in her sorrow. By morning, the doll would have done all of Vasilisa's work, so she only had to rest in the shade and pick flowers, while the garden beds were weeded, the cabbage watered, the water fetched, and the stove heated. The doll even showed Vasilisa which herbs to use to protect her skin from the sun. Life with the doll was good.
Several years passed, and Vasilisa grew up and became a bride. All the suitors in the town began to admire Vasilisa, while no one paid any attention to the stepmother's daughters. The stepmother grew even angrier and would tell all the suitors:
"I won't give the younger one away before the older ones!"
And after sending the suitors away, she would vent her anger on Vasilisa with beatings.
One day, the merchant had to leave home for a long time on business. The stepmother moved to another house, and near this house was a dense forest. In the forest, on a clearing, stood a hut, and in the hut lived Baba Yaga. She allowed no one near her and ate people like chickens. After moving to the new house, the stepmother began sending the hated Vasilisa into the forest for various things, but Vasilisa always returned home safely: the doll would show her the way and keep her away from Baba Yaga's hut.
Autumn came. The stepmother gave each of the three girls evening tasks: one was to weave lace, another to knit stockings, and Vasilisa was to spin. She gave each of them a set amount of work to do. Then she extinguished all the fires in the house, leaving only one candle where the girls were working, and went to bed herself. The girls worked. When the candle burned low, one of the stepmother's daughters took the snuffers to trim the wick, but instead, following her mother's instructions, she pretended to accidentally put out the candle.
"What shall we do now?" the girls said. "There's no fire in the whole house, and our tasks aren't finished. We must go to Baba Yaga for fire!"
"I have enough light from my pins!" said the one weaving lace. "I won't go."
"And I won't go either," said the one knitting stockings. "I have enough light from my needles!"
"You go for the fire," they both shouted at Vasilisa. "Go to Baba Yaga!"
And they pushed Vasilisa out of the room.
Vasilisa went to her little room, set the prepared supper before the doll, and said:
"Here, little doll, eat and listen to my sorrow: they are sending me to Baba Yaga for fire, and Baba Yaga will eat me!"
The doll ate, and its eyes shone like two candles.
"Don't be afraid, Vasilisa!" it said. "Go where they send you, but always keep me with you. With me, nothing will happen to you at Baba Yaga's."
Vasilisa got ready, put the doll in her pocket, crossed herself, and set off into the dense forest.
She walked and trembled with fear. Suddenly, a rider galloped past her: he was all white, dressed in white, on a white horse with white harness—it was dawn. She walked further, and another rider galloped past: he was all red, dressed in red, on a red horse—the sun was rising.
Vasilisa walked all night and all day, and only by the next evening did she reach the clearing where Baba Yaga's hut stood. The fence around the hut was made of human bones, with human skulls on top, their eyes glowing. Instead of doors, there were human legs; instead of bolts, human arms; and instead of a lock, a mouth with sharp teeth. Vasilisa was petrified with horror and stood rooted to the spot. Suddenly, another rider appeared: he was all black, dressed in black, on a black horse. He galloped up to Baba Yaga's gate and vanished as if swallowed by the earth—night had fallen.
But the darkness did not last long: the eyes of all the skulls on the fence lit up, and the entire clearing became as bright as day. Vasilisa trembled with fear but, not knowing where to run, remained where she was.
Soon, a terrible noise was heard in the forest: trees creaked, dry leaves crunched, and out rode Baba Yaga—riding in a mortar, driving with a pestle, and sweeping her tracks with a broom. She rode up to the gate, stopped, sniffed the air, and shouted:
"Fu, fu! I smell Russian flesh! Who's here?"
Vasilisa approached the old woman fearfully, bowed low, and said:
"It is I, grandmother! My stepmother's daughters sent me to you for fire."
"Very well," said Baba Yaga, "I know them. Live with me first and work for me, then I'll give you fire. But if you don't, I'll eat you!"
Then she turned to the gate and shouted:
"Hey, my strong bolts, unlock! My wide gates, open!"
The gates opened, and Baba Yaga rode in, whistling. Vasilisa followed her inside, and then everything locked up again.
Entering the room, Baba Yaga stretched out and said to Vasilisa:
"Bring me what's in the oven: I want to eat."
Vasilisa lit a torch from the skulls on the fence and began to take food out of the oven and serve it to Baba Yaga. There was enough food for ten people. From the cellar, she brought kvass, mead, beer, and wine. The old woman ate and drank everything, leaving Vasilisa only a little cabbage soup, a crust of bread, and a piece of pork. Baba Yaga began to prepare for bed and said:
"When I leave tomorrow, make sure to clean the yard, sweep the house, cook dinner, prepare the laundry, and go to the granary to take a quarter of wheat and clean it of black grains. And make sure everything is done, or else I'll eat you!"
After this order, Baba Yaga began to snore, and Vasilisa placed the old woman's leftovers in front of her doll, burst into tears, and said:
"Here, little doll, eat and listen to my sorrow! Baba Yaga has given me heavy work and threatens to eat me if I don't do everything. Help me!"
The doll replied:
"Don't be afraid, Vasilisa the Beautiful! Have supper, say your prayers, and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening!"
Vasilisa woke up early, and Baba Yaga was already up. She looked out the window: the eyes of the skulls were fading, and then a white rider flashed by—it was dawn. Baba Yaga went out into the yard, whistled, and a mortar with a pestle and broom appeared before her. A red rider flashed by—the sun rose. Baba Yaga sat in the mortar and rode out of the yard, driving it with the pestle and sweeping her tracks with the broom.
Vasilisa was left alone. She looked around Baba Yaga's house, marveled at the abundance of everything, and paused to think about which task to start first. But when she looked, all the work was already done—the doll was picking the last black grains from the wheat.
"Oh, my savior!" Vasilisa said to the doll. "You saved me from trouble."
"All you have left is to cook dinner," the doll replied, climbing into Vasilisa's pocket. "Cook with God's blessing, and then rest!"
By evening, Vasilisa had set the table and was waiting for Baba Yaga. It began to grow dark, and a black rider flashed by the gates—it was completely dark, only the skulls' eyes glowed. The trees creaked, the leaves crunched—Baba Yaga was coming. Vasilisa greeted her.
"Is everything done?" Baba Yaga asked.
"Please see for yourself, grandmother!" Vasilisa replied.
Baba Yaga inspected everything, annoyed that there was no reason to be angry, and said:
"Well, good!"
Then she shouted:
"My faithful servants, dear friends, grind my wheat!"
Three pairs of hands appeared, grabbed the wheat, and carried it away. Baba Yaga ate her fill, prepared to sleep, and again gave Vasilisa an order:
"Tomorrow, do the same as today, and also take some poppy seeds from the granary and clean them grain by grain—someone, out of spite, mixed dirt into them!"
The old woman turned to the wall and began to snore, while Vasilisa fed her doll. The doll ate and said, as before:
"Pray to God and go to sleep: the morning is wiser than the evening. Everything will be done, Vasilisa!"
In the morning, Baba Yaga again rode out of the yard in her mortar, and Vasilisa and the doll immediately completed all the work. The old woman returned, inspected everything, and shouted:
"My faithful servants, dear friends, press oil from the poppy seeds!"
Three pairs of hands appeared, grabbed the poppy seeds, and carried them away. Baba Yaga sat down to eat, and Vasilisa stood silently.
"Why don't you say anything to me?" Baba Yaga said. "You stand there like a mute."
"I didn't dare," Vasilisa replied, "but if you allow me, I would like to ask you something."
"Ask, but not every question leads to good: the more you know, the sooner you'll grow old!"
"I want to ask you, grandmother, only about what I saw: when I was coming to you, a rider on a white horse overtook me—he was white and dressed in white. Who is he?"
"That is my bright day," Baba Yaga replied.
"Then another rider on a red horse overtook me—he was red and dressed in red. Who is he?"
"That is my red sun!" Baba Yaga answered.
"And what about the black rider who overtook me right at your gates, grandmother?"
"That is my dark night—all of them are my faithful servants!"
Vasilisa remembered the three pairs of hands and remained silent.
"Why don't you ask more?" Baba Yaga said.
"That's enough for me. You yourself said, grandmother, that the more you know, the sooner you'll grow old."
"Good," Baba Yaga said, "that you only ask about what you saw outside the yard, not inside! I don't like my dirty laundry aired, and I eat the overly curious! Now I'll ask you: how do you manage to do all the work I give you?"
"My mother's blessing helps me," Vasilisa replied.
"So that's it! Get away from me, blessed daughter! I have no need for the blessed."
She dragged Vasilisa out of the chamber and pushed her out of the gate, took down a skull with burning eyes from the fence, stuck it on a stick, handed it to her, and said:
"Here’s fire for your stepmother’s daughters. Take it; that’s why they sent you here."
Vasilisa ran off by the light of the skull, which only extinguished at dawn, and by the evening of the next day, she finally reached her home. As she approached the gate, she thought to throw the skull away: "Surely, at home, they no longer need fire," she thought to herself. But suddenly, a muffled voice came from the skull:
"Do not throw me away; take me to your stepmother!"
She glanced at her stepmother’s house and, seeing no light in any of the windows, decided to go there with the skull. For the first time, they greeted her kindly and told her that since she had left, there had been no fire in the house: they couldn’t light it themselves, and any fire they brought from the neighbors would go out as soon as they entered the chamber.
"Perhaps your fire will last!" said the stepmother.
They brought the skull into the chamber, and the eyes from the skull stared at the stepmother and her daughters, burning them! They tried to hide, but wherever they ran, the eyes followed them, and by morning, they were reduced to ashes—only Vasilisa was left unharmed.
In the morning, Vasilisa buried the skull in the ground, locked up the house, went to town, and asked to live with a lonely old woman. She stayed there, waiting for her father. One day, she said to the old woman:
"I’m bored sitting idle, grandmother! Go and buy me the best flax; at least I’ll spin."
The old woman bought good flax, and Vasilisa set to work. Her work went quickly, and the yarn came out smooth and fine as a hair. When she had spun a lot of yarn, it was time to start weaving, but no one could find a loom suitable for Vasilisa’s yarn, and no one dared to make one. Vasilisa asked her doll for help, and the doll said:
"Bring me an old reed, an old shuttle, and a horse’s mane, and I’ll make everything for you."
Vasilisa got everything she needed and went to sleep, and by morning, the doll had prepared a fine loom. By the end of winter, the cloth was woven, so fine that you could thread it through a needle instead of thread. In the spring, the cloth was bleached, and Vasilisa said to the old woman:
"Sell this cloth, grandmother, and keep the money for yourself."
The old woman looked at the cloth and gasped:
"No, my dear! No one but the king could wear such cloth. I’ll take it to the palace."
The old woman went to the royal chambers, walking past the windows. The king saw her and asked:
"What do you need, old woman?"
"Your Majesty," replied the old woman, "I’ve brought a wondrous item, and I don’t want to show it to anyone but you."
The king ordered the old woman to be let in, and when he saw the cloth, he was amazed.
"What do you want for it?" asked the king.
"It has no price, Your Majesty! I’ve brought it as a gift to you."
The king thanked her and sent her away with gifts. They began to make shirts from the cloth for the king, but they couldn’t find a seamstress willing to sew them. After a long search, the king called the old woman and said:
"If you could spin and weave such cloth, you must also be able to sew shirts from it."
"It wasn’t me, Your Majesty, who spun and wove the cloth," said the old woman. "It was the work of my foster child—a young girl."
"Well then, let her sew them!"
The old woman returned home and told Vasilisa everything.
"I knew," said Vasilisa, "that this work wouldn’t pass me by."
She locked herself in her chamber and set to work. She sewed tirelessly, and soon a dozen shirts were ready.
The old woman took the shirts to the king, and Vasilisa washed, combed her hair, dressed, and sat by the window. She sat there, waiting to see what would happen. She saw a royal servant coming to the old woman’s house; he entered the chamber and said:
"His Majesty the King wishes to see the skilled craftswoman who made his shirts and to reward her from his royal hands."
Vasilisa went and appeared before the king. As soon as the king saw Vasilisa the Beautiful, he fell in love with her instantly.
"No," he said, "my beauty! I will not part with you; you shall be my wife."
Then the king took Vasilisa by her white hands, seated her beside him, and soon they held a wedding. Vasilisa’s father returned shortly after, rejoiced at her fate, and stayed to live with his daughter. Vasilisa took the old woman in, and she carried her doll in her pocket for the rest of her life.
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