Russian Fairy Tales — 16 - Chapter 2 - Mythological - Part 9 - The Witch

The puppet which plays so important a part in this story is worthy of a special examination.

It is called in the original a _Kukla_ (dim.

_Kukolka_), a word designating any sort of puppet or other figure representing either man or beast.

In a Little-Russian variant[194] of one of those numerous stories, current in all lands, which commence with the escape of the heroine from an incestuous union, a priest insists on marrying his daughter.

She goes to her mother's grave and weeps there.

Her dead mother "comes out from her grave," and tells her what to do.

The girl obtains from her father a rough dress of pig's skin, and two sets of gorgeous apparel; the former she herself assumes, in the latter she dresses up three _Kuklui_, which in this instance were probably mere blocks of wood.

Then she takes her place in the midst of the dressed-up forms, which cry, one after the other, "Open, O moist earth, that the fair maiden may enter within thee!"

The earth opens, and all four sink into it.

This introduction is almost identical with that prefixed to the German story of "Allerleirauh,"[195] except in so far as the puppets are concerned.

Sometimes it is a brother, instead of a father, from whom the heroine is forced to flee.

Thus in the story of _Kniaz Danila Govorila_,[196] Prince Daniel the Talker is bent upon marrying his sister, pleading the excuse so often given in stories on this theme, namely, that she is the only maiden whose finger will fit the magic ring which is to indicate to him his destined wife.

While she is weeping "like a river," some old women of the mendicant-pilgrim class come to her rescue, telling her to make four _Kukolki_, or small puppets, and to place one of them in each corner of her room.

She does as they tell her.

The wedding day arrives, the marriage service is performed in the church, and then the bride hastens back to the room.

When she is called for--says the story--the puppets in the four corners begin to coo.

[197] "Kuku!

Prince Danila!

"Kuku!

Govorila.

"Kuku!

He wants to marry, "Kuku!

His own sister.

"Kuku!

Split open, O Earth!

"Kuku!

Sister, disappear!"

The earth opens, and the girl slowly sinks into it.

Twice again the puppets sing their song, and at the end of its third performance, the earth closes over the head of the rescued bride.

Presently in rushes the irritated bridegroom.

"No bride is to be seen; only in the corners sit the puppets singing away to themselves."

He flies into a passion, seizes a hatchet, chops off their heads, and flings them into the fire.

[198] In another version of the same story[199] a son is ordered by his parents to marry his sister after their death.

They die, and he tells her to get ready to be married.

But she has prepared three puppets, and when she goes into her room to dress for the wedding, she says to them: "O Kukolki, (cry) Kuku!"

The first asks, "Why?"

The second replies, "Because the brother his sister takes."

The third says, "Split open, O Earth!

disappear, O sister!"

All this is said three times, and then the earth opens, and the girl sinks "into that world."

In two other Russian versions of the same story, the sister escapes by natural means.

In the first[200] she runs away and hides in the hollow of an oak.

In the second[201] she persuades a fisherman to convey her across a sea or lake.

In a Polish version[202] the sister obtains a magic car, which sinks underground with her, while the spot on which she has spat replies to every summons which is addressed to her.

[203] Before taking leave of the Baba Yaga, we may glance at a malevolent monster, who seems to be her male counterpart.

He appears, however, to be known in South Russia only.

Here is an outline of the contents of the solitary story in which he is mentioned.

There were two old folks with whom lived two orphan grandchildren, charming little girls.

One day the youngest child was sent to drive the sparrows away from her grandfather's pease.

While she was thus engaged the forest began to roar, and out from it came Verlioka, "of vast stature, one-eyed, crook-nosed, bristly-headed, with tangled beard and moustaches half an ell long, and with a wooden boot on his one foot, supporting himself on a crutch, and giving vent to a terrible laughter."

And Verlioka caught sight of the little girl and immediately killed her with his crutch.

And afterwards he killed her sister also, and then the old grandmother.

The grandfather, however, managed to escape with his life, and afterwards, with the help of a drake and other aiders, he wreaked his vengeance on the murderous Verlioka.

[204] We will now turn to another female embodiment of evil, frequently mentioned in the Skazkas--the Witch.

[205] She so closely resembles the Baba Yaga both in disposition and in behavior, that most of the remarks which have been made about that wild being apply to her also.

In many cases, indeed, we find that one version of a story will allot to a Baba Yaga the part which in another version is played by a Witch.

The name which she bears--that of _Vyed'ma_--is a misnomer; it properly belongs either to the "wise woman," or prophetess, of old times, or to her modern representative, the woman to whom Russian superstition attributes the faculties and functions ascribed in olden days by most of our jurisprudents, in more recent times by a few of our rustics, to our own witch.

The supernatural being who, in folk-tales, sways the elements and preys upon mankind, is most inadequately designated by such names as _Vyed'ma_, _Hexe_, or _Witch_, suggestive as those now homely terms are of merely human, though diabolically intensified malevolence.

Far more in keeping with the vastness of her powers, and the vagueness of her outline, are the titles of Baba Yaga, Lamia, Striga, Troll-Wife, Ogress, or Dragoness, under which she figures in various lands.

And therefore it is in her capacity of Baba Yaga, rather than in that of _Vyed'ma_, that we desire to study the behavior of the Russian equivalent for the terrible female form which figures in the Anglo-Saxon poem as the Mother of Grendel.

From among the numerous stories relating to the _Vyed'ma_ we may select the following, which bears her name.

THE WITCH.

[206] There once lived an old couple who had one son called Ivashko;[207] no one can tell how fond they were of him!

Well, one day, Ivashko said to his father and mother: "I'll go out fishing if you'll let me."

"What are you thinking about!

you're still very small; suppose you get drowned, what good will there be in that?"

"No, no, I shan't get drowned.

I'll catch you some fish;

do let me go!"

So his mother put a white shirt on him, tied a red girdle round him, and let him go.

Out in a boat he sat and said: Canoe, canoe, float a little farther, Canoe, canoe, float a little farther!

Then the canoe floated on farther and farther, and Ivashko began to fish.

When some little time had passed by, the old woman hobbled down to the river side and called to her son: Ivashechko, Ivashechko, my boy, Float up, float up, unto the waterside;

I bring thee food and drink.

And Ivashko said: Canoe, canoe, float to the waterside;

That is my mother calling me.

The boat floated to the shore: the woman took the fish, gave her boy food and drink, changed his shirt for him and his girdle, and sent him back to his fishing.

Again he sat in his boat and said: Canoe, canoe, float a little farther, Canoe, canoe, float a little farther.

Then the canoe floated on farther and farther, and Ivashko began to fish.

After a little time had passed by, the old man also hobbled down to the bank and called to his son: Ivashechko, Ivashechko, my boy, Float up, float up, unto the waterside;

I bring thee food and drink.

And Ivashko replied: Canoe, canoe, float to the waterside;

That is my father calling me.

The canoe floated to the shore.

The old man took the fish, gave his boy food and drink, changed his shirt for him and his girdle, and sent him back to his fishing.

Now a certain witch[208] had heard what Ivashko's parents had cried aloud to him, and she longed to get hold of the boy.

So she went down to the bank and cried with a hoarse voice: Ivashechko, Ivashechko, my boy, Float up, float up, unto the waterside;

I bring thee food and drink.

Ivashko perceived that the voice was not his mother's, but was that of a witch, and he sang: Canoe, canoe, float a little farther, Canoe, canoe, float a little farther;

That is not my mother, but a witch who calls me.

The witch saw that she must call Ivashko with just such a voice as his mother had.

So she hastened to a smith and said to him: "Smith, smith!

make me just such a thin little voice as Ivashko's mother has: if you don't, I'll eat you."

So the smith forged her a little voice just like Ivashko's mother's. Then the witch went down by night to the shore and sang: Ivashechko, Ivashechko, my boy, Float up, float up, unto the waterside;

I bring thee food and drink.

Ivashko came, and she took the fish, and seized the boy and carried him home with her.

When she arrived she said to her daughter Alenka,[209] "Heat the stove as hot as you can, and bake Ivashko well, while I go and collect my friends for the feast."

So Alenka heated the stove hot, ever so hot, and said to Ivashko, "Come here and sit on this shovel!"

"I'm still very young and foolish," answered Ivashko: "I haven't yet quite got my wits about me.

Please teach me how one ought to sit on a shovel."

"Very good," said Alenka; "it won't take long to teach you."

But the moment she sat down on the shovel, Ivashko instantly pitched her into the oven, slammed to the iron plate in front of it, ran out of the hut, shut the door, and hurriedly climbed up ever so high an oak-tree [which stood close by].

Presently the witch arrived with her guests and knocked at the door of the hut.

But nobody opened it for her.

"Ah!

that cursed Alenka!"

she cried.

"No doubt she's gone off somewhere to amuse herself."

Then she slipped in through the window, opened the door, and let in her guests.

They all sat down to table, and the witch opened the oven, took out Alenka's baked body, and served it up.

They all ate their fill and drank their fill, and then they went out into the courtyard and began rolling about on the grass.

"I turn about, I roll about, having fed on Ivashko's flesh," cried the witch.

"I turn about, I roll about, having fed on Ivashko's flesh."

But Ivashko called out to her from the top of the oak: "Turn about, roll about, having fed on Alenka's flesh!"

"Did I hear something?"

said the witch.

"No it was only the noise of the leaves."

Again the witch began: "I turn about, I roll about, having fed on Ivashko's flesh!"

And Ivashko repeated: "Turn about, roll about, having fed on Alenka's flesh!"

Then the witch looked up and saw Ivashko, and immediately rushed at the oak on which Ivashko was seated, and began to gnaw away at it.

And she gnawed, and gnawed, and gnawed, until at last she smashed two front teeth.

Then she ran to a forge, and when she reached it she cried, "Smith, smith!

make me some iron teeth; if you don't I'll eat you!"

So the smith forged her two iron teeth.

The witch returned and began gnawing the oak again.

She gnawed, and gnawed, and was just on the point of gnawing it through, when Ivashko jumped out of it into another tree which stood beside it.

The oak that the witch had gnawed through fell down to the ground; but then she saw that Ivashko was sitting up in another tree, so she gnashed her teeth with spite and set to work afresh, to gnaw that tree also.

She gnawed, and gnawed, and gnawed--broke two lower teeth, and ran off to the forge.

"Smith, smith!"

she cried when she got there, "make me some iron teeth; if you don't I'll eat you!"

The smith forged two more iron teeth for her.

She went back again, and once more began to gnaw the oak.

Ivashko didn't know what he was to do now.

He looked out, and saw that swans and geese[210] were flying by, so he called to them imploringly: Oh, my swans and geese, Take me on your pinions, Bear me to my father and my mother, To the cottage of my father and my mother, There to eat, and drink, and live in comfort.

"Let those in the centre carry you," said the birds.

Ivashko waited; a second flock flew past, and he again cried imploringly: Oh, my swans and geese!

Take me on your pinions, Bear me to my father and my mother, To the cottage of my father and my mother, There to eat, and drink, and live in comfort.

"Let those in the rear carry you!"

said the birds.

Again Ivashko waited.

A third flock came flying up, and he cried: Oh, my swans and geese!

Take me on your pinions, Bear me to my father and my mother, To the cottage of my father and my mother, There to eat, and drink, and live in comfort.

And those swans and geese took hold of him and carried him back, flew up to the cottage, and dropped him in the upper room.

Early the next morning his mother set to work to bake pancakes, baked them, and all of a sudden fell to thinking about her boy.

"Where is my Ivashko?"

she cried; "would that I could see him, were it only in a dream!"

Then his father said, "I dreamed that swans and geese had brought our Ivashko home on their wings."

And when she had finished baking the pancakes, she said, "Now, then, old man, let's divide the cakes: there's for you, father!

there's for me!

There's for you, father!

there's for me."

"And none for me?"

called out Ivashko.

"There's for you, father!"

went on the old woman, "there's for me."

"And none for me!"

[repeated the boy.

] "Why, old man," said the wife, "go and see whatever that is up there."

The father climbed into the upper room and there he found Ivashko.

The old people were delighted, and asked their boy about everything that had happened.

And after that he and they lived on happily together.

[That part of this story which relates to the baking and eating of the witch's daughter is well known in many lands.

It is found in the German "Haensel und Grethel" (Grimm.

_KM.

_ No. 15, and iii.

p. 25, where a number of parallels are mentioned); in the Norse "Askelad" (Asbjoernsen and Moe, No. 1. Dasent, "Boots and the Troll," No. 32), where a Troll's daughter is baked; and "Smoerbuk" (Asb.

and Moe, No. 52. Dasent, "Buttercup," No. 18), in which the victim is daughter of a "Haugkjoerring," another name for a Troll-wife;

in the Servian story of "The Stepmother," &c. (Vuk Karajich, No. 35, pp. 174-5) in which two _Chivuti_, or Jews, are tricked into eating their baked mother;

in the Modern Greek stories (Hahn, No. 3 and ii.

p. 181), in which the hero bakes (1) a _Drakaena_, while her husband, the _Drakos_, is at church, (2) a _Lamiopula_, during the absence of the _Lamia_, her mother; and in the Albanian story of "Augenhuendin" (Hahn, No. 95), in which the heroine gets rid in a similar manner of Maro, the daughter of that four eyed +sykieneza+.

(See note, ii, 309. ) Afanasief also refers (i. p. 121) to Haltrich, No. 37, and Haupt and Schmaler, ii.

pp. 172-4. He also mentions a similar tale about a giantess existing among the Baltic Kashoubes.

See also the end of the song of Tardanak, showing how he killed "the Seven Headed Jelbegen," Radloff, i. p. 31. ]