Russian Fairy Tales — 14 - Chapter 2 - Mythological - Part 7 - The Baba Yaga

In another story a king is out hunting and becomes thirsty.

Seeing a spring near at hand, he bends down and is just going to lap up its water, when the Tsar-Medved, a King-Bear, seizes him by the beard.

The king is unable to free himself from his grasp, and is obliged to promise as his ransom "that which he knows not of at home," which turns out to be a couple of children--a boy and a girl--who have been born during his absence.

In vain does he attempt to save the twins from their impending fate, by concealing them in a secret abode constructed for that purpose underground.

In the course of time the King-Bear arrives to claim them, finds out their hiding-place, digs them up, and carries them off on his back to a distant region where no man lives.

During his absence they attempt to escape being carried through the air on the back of a friendly falcon, but the King-Bear sees them, "strikes his head against the earth, and burns the falcon's wings."

The twins fall to the ground, and are carried by the King-Bear to his home amid inaccessible mountains.

There they make a second attempt at escape, trusting this time to an eagle's aid; but it meets with exactly the same fate as their first trial.

At last they are rescued by a bull-calf, which succeeds in baffling all the King-Bear's efforts to recover them.

At the end of their perilous journey the bull-calf tells the young prince to cut its throat, and burn its carcase.

He unwillingly consents, and from its ashes spring a horse, a dog, and an apple-tree, all of which play important parts in the next act of the drama.

[148] In one of the variants of the Water King story,[149] the seizer of the drinking kings' beard is not called the _Morskoi Tsar_ but _Chudo Morskoe_, a Water Chudo, whose name recalls to mind the Chudo Yudo we have already met with.

[150] The Prince who is obliged, in consequence of his father's promise, to surrender himself to the Water Giant, falls in love with a maiden whom he finds in that potentate's palace, and who is an enchantress whom the Chudo has stolen.

She turns herself into a ring, which he carries about with him, and eventually, after his escape from the Chudo, she becomes his bride.

In another story,[151] the being who obtains a child from one of the incautious fathers of the Jephthah type who abound in popular fiction, is of a very singular nature.

A merchant is flying across a river on the back of an eagle, when he drops a magic "snuff-box," which had been entrusted to his charge by that bird, and it disappears beneath the waters.

At the eagle's command, the crayfish search for it, and bring back word that it is lying "on the knees of an Idol."

The eagle summons the Idol, and demands the snuff box.

Thereupon the Idol says to the merchant--"Give me what you do not know of at home?"

The merchant agrees and the Idol gives him back his snuff-box.

In some of the variants of the story, the influence of ideas connected with Christianity makes itself apparent in the names given to the actors.

Thus in the "Moujik and Anastasia Adovna,"[152] it is no longer a king of the waters, but a devil's imp,[153] who bargains with the thirsting father for his child, and the swan-maiden whose shift the devoted youth steals bears the name of Adovna, the daughter of Ad or Hades.

In "The Youth,"[154] a moujik, who has lost his way in a forest makes the rash promise to a man who enables him to cross a great river; "and that man (says the story) was a devil."

[155] We shall meet with other instances further on of parents whose "hasty words" condemn their children to captivity among evil spirits.

In one of the stories of this class,[156] the father is a hunter who is perishing with cold one night, and who makes the usual promise as the condition of his being allowed to warm himself at a fire guarded by a devil.

Being in consequence of this deprived of a son, he becomes very sad, and drinks himself to death.

"The priest will not bury his sinful body, so it is thrust into a hole at a crossway," and he falls into the power of "that very same devil," who turns him into a horse, and uses him as a beast of burden.

At last he is released by his son, who has forced the devil to free him after several adventures--one of them being a fight with the evil spirit in the shape of a three-headed snake.

In the Hindoo story of "Brave Seventee Bai,"[157] that heroine kills "a very large Cobra" which comes out of a lake.

Touching the waters with a magic diamond taken from the snake, she sees them roll back "in a wall on either hand," between which she passes into a splendid garden.

In it she finds a lovely girl who proves to be the Cobra's daughter and who is delighted to hear of her serpent-father's death.

Demon haunted waters, which prove fatal to mortals who bathe in or drink of them, often occur in oriental fiction.

In one of the Indian stories, for instance,[158] a king is induced to order his escort to bathe in a lake which is the abode of a Rakshasa or demon.

They leap into the water simultaneously, and are all devoured by the terrible man-eater.

From the assaults of such a Rakshasa as this it was that Buddha, who was at the time a monkey, preserved himself and 80,000 of his brother monkeys, by suggesting that they should drink from the tank in which the demon lay in wait for them, "through reeds previously made completely hollow by their breath."

[159] * * * * * From these male personifications of evil--from the Snake, Koshchei, and the Water King--we will now turn to their corresponding female forms.

By far the most important beings of the latter class are those malevolent enchantresses who form two closely related branches of the same family.

Like their sisters all over the world, they are, as a general rule, old, hideous, and hateful.

They possess all kinds of supernatural powers, but their wits are often dull.

They wage constant war with mankind, but the heroes of storyland find them as easily overcome as the males of their family.

In their general character they bear a strong resemblance to the Giantesses, Lamias, female Trolls, Ogresses, Dragonesses, &c. , of Europe, but in some of their traits they differ from those well-known beings, and therefore they are worthy of a detailed notice.

In several of the stories which have already been quoted, a prominent part is played by the Baba Yaga, a female fiend whose name has given rise to much philological discussion of a somewhat unsatisfactory nature.

[160] Her appearance is that of a tall, gaunt hag, with dishevelled hair.

Sometimes she is seen lying stretched out from one corner to the other of a miserable hut, through the ceiling of which passes her long iron nose; the hut is supported "by fowl's legs," and stands at the edge of a forest towards which its entrance looks.

When the proper words are addressed to it, the hut revolves upon its slender supports, so as to turn its back instead of its front to the forest.

Sometimes, as in the next story, the Baba Yaga appears as the mistress of a mansion, which stands in a courtyard enclosed by a fence made of dead men's bones.

When she goes abroad she rides in a mortar, which she urges on with a pestle, while she sweeps away the traces of her flight with a broom.

She is closely connected with the Snake in different forms; in many stories, indeed, the leading part has been ascribed by one narrator to a Snake and by another to a Baba Yaga.

She possesses the usual magic apparatus by which enchantresses work their wonders; the Day and the Night (according to the following story) are among her servants, the entire animal world lies at her disposal.

On the whole she is the most prominent among the strange figures with which the Skazkas make us acquainted.

Of the stories which especially relate to her the following may be taken as a fair specimen.

THE BABA YAGA.

[161] Once upon a time there was an old couple.

The husband lost his wife and married again.

But he had a daughter by the first marriage, a young girl, and she found no favor in the eyes of her evil stepmother, who used to beat her, and consider how she could get her killed outright.

One day the father went away somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl, "Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make you a shift."

Now that aunt was a Baba Yaga.

Well, the girl was no fool, so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she: "Good morning, auntie!"

"Good morning, my dear!

what have you come for?"

"Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift."

Then her aunt instructed her what to do.

"There is a birch-tree there, niece, which would hit you in the eye--you must tie a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang--you must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would tear you in pieces--you must throw them these rolls; there is a cat which would scratch your eyes out--you must give it a piece of bacon."

So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came to the place.

There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba Yaga, the Bony-shanks.

"Good morning, auntie," says the girl.

"Good morning, my dear," replies the Baba Yaga.

"Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to make me a shift."

"Very well; sit down and weave a little in the meantime."

So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga went outside, and said to her servant-maid: "Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed; and mind you look sharp after her.

I want to breakfast off her."

Well, the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much dead as alive.

Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant-maid, saying: "Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of making it burn; and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve."

And she made her a present of a handkerchief.

The Baba Yaga waited awhile; then she came to the window and asked: "Are you weaving, niece?

are you weaving, my dear?"

"Oh yes, dear aunt, I'm weaving."

So the Baba Yaga went away again, and the girl gave the Cat a piece of bacon, and asked: "Is there no way of escaping from here?"

"Here's a comb for you and a towel," said the Cat; "take them, and be off.

The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must lay your ear on the ground, and when you hear that she is close at hand, first of all throw down the towel.

It will become a wide, wide river.

And if the Baba Yaga gets across the river, and tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear on the ground again, and when you hear that she is close at hand, throw down the comb.

It will become a dense, dense forest; through that she won't be able to force her way anyhow."

The girl took the towel and the comb and fled.

The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch-tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon around it, and it let her pass on.

And the Cat sat down to the loom, and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn't do much weaving.

Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked: "Are you weaving, niece?

are you weaving, my dear?"

"I'm weaving, dear aunt, I'm weaving," gruffly replied the Cat.

The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was gone, and took to beating the Cat, and abusing it for not having scratched the girl's eyes out.

"Long as I've served you," said the Cat, "you've never given me so much as a bone; but she gave me bacon."

Then the Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs, on the doors, on the birch-tree, and on the servant-maid, and set to work to abuse them all, and to knock them about.

Then the dogs said to her, "Long as we've served you, you've never so much as pitched us a burnt crust; but she gave us rolls to eat."

And the doors said, "Long as we've served you, you've never poured even a drop of water on our hinges; but she poured oil on us."

The birch-tree said, "Long as I've served you, you've never tied a single thread round me; but she fastened a ribbon around me."

And the servant-maid said, "Long as I've served you, you've never given me so much as a rag; but she gave me a handkerchief."

The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into her mortar, sent it flying along with the pestle, sweeping away the while all traces of its flight with a broom, and set off in pursuit of the girl.

Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now close at hand, she flung down the towel.

And it became a wide, such a wide river!

Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and gnashed her teeth with spite; then she went home for her oxen, and drove them to the river.

The oxen drank up every drop of the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew.

But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one!

The Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she worked, she couldn't gnaw her way through it, so she had to go back again.

But by this time the girl's father had returned home, and he asked: "Where's my daughter?"

"She's gone to her aunt's," replied her stepmother.

Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.

"Where have you been?"

asked her father.

"Ah, father!"

she said, "mother sent me to aunt's to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift.

But aunt's a Baba Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!"

"And how did you get away, daughter?"

"Why like this," said the girl, and explained the whole matter.

As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became wroth with his wife, and shot her.

But he and his daughter lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.

In one of the numerous variants of this story[162] the heroine is sent by her husband's mother to the Baba Yaga's, and the advice which saves her comes from her husband.

The Baba Yaga goes into another room "in order to sharpen her teeth," and while she is engaged in that operation the girl escapes, having previously--by the advice of the Cat, to which she had given a lump of butter--spat under the threshold.

The spittle answers for her in her absence, behaving as do, in other folk-tales, drops of blood, or rags dipped in blood, or apples, or eggs, or beans, or stone images, or wooden puppets.

[163] The magic comb and towel, by the aid of which the girl effects her escape, constantly figure in Skazkas of this class, and always produce the required effect.

A brush, also, is frequently introduced, from each bristle of which springs up a wood.

In one story, however, the brush gives rise to mountains, and a _golik_, or bath-room whisk, turns into a forest.

The towel is used, also, for the purpose of constructing or annihilating a bridge.

Similar instruments are found in the folk-tales of every land, whether they appear as the brush, comb, and mirror of the German water-sprite;[164] or the rod, stone, and pitcher of water of the Norse Troll;[165] or the knife, comb, and handful of salt which, in the Modern Greek story, save Asterinos and Pulja from their fiendish mother;[166] or the twig, the stone, and the bladder of water, found in the ear of the filly, which saves her master from the Gaelic giant;[167] or the brush, comb, and egg, the last of which produces a frozen lake with "mirror-smooth" surface, whereon the pursuing Old Prussian witch slips and breaks her neck;[168] or the wand which causes a river to flow and a mountain to rise between the youth who waves it and the "wicked old Rakshasa" who chases him in the Deccan story;[169] or the handful of earth, cup of water, and dry sticks and match, which impede and finally destroy the Rakshasa in the almost identical episode of Somadeva's tale of "The Prince of Varddhamana."

[170] In each instance they appear to typify the influence which the supernatural beings to whom they belonged were supposed to exercise over the elements.

It has been thought strange that such stress should be laid on the employment of certain toilet-articles, to the use of which the heroes of folk-tales do not appear to have been greatly addicted.

But it is evident that like produces like in the transformation in question.

In the oldest form of the story, the Sanskrit, a handful of earth turns into a mountain, a cup of water into a river.

Now, metaphorically speaking, a brush may be taken as a miniature wood; the common use of the term brushwood is a proof of the general acceptance of the metaphor.

A comb does not at first sight appear to resemble a mountain, but its indented outline may have struck the fancy of many primitive peoples as being a likeness to a serrated mountain range.

Thence comes it that in German _Kamm_ means not only a comb but also (like the Spanish _Sierra_) a mountain ridge or crest.

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