GERBILDOC Vasilisa A Russian Folk Tale Scroll *1* of 6 Deep in a birch forest in the heart of Russia was a small clearing, and in that clearing lived the witch Baba Yaga, meager as a skeleton and always hungry. Eve-rything around her had to do with food. Her crooked little hut perched high on a giant chicken leg,and the fencearound the hut was built from human bones, left over from her messy meals. When Baba Yaga went hunting, she traveled in a mor-tar, rowing the air with a pestle and sweeping her tracks away with a broom. She lived a solitary life, as might be expected, for she cared to risk her ea-ger grasp and ever blazing oven. Still, even Baba Yaga had occasional visitors, mostly straying travelers, and some of her visitors lived to tell the tale. One of these was no more than a timid girl. This is how the adventure came about. At the edge of Baba Yaga's forest lived an ugly, evil-tempered woman with her two equally ugly, evil-tempered daughters and, to the woman's chagrin, her one lovely stepdaughter, Vasilisa, Vasilisa's father was a merchant who had married the woman after his first wife's death and then-driven no doubt by the tenor of his new spouse conversation - traveled far away on business, leaving his sweet-natured daughter in her care. The girl's lot was a hard one. Her stepmother banished her to a cold and lonely attic room. Her jelous stepsisters made no secret of their dislike, and what is worse, they used her as a servant. Vasilisa was required to tend the pigs and weed the garden, clean the house and cook the meals, and from these meals she was given only the meanest scraps. Curiously enough, however, she flourished and bloomed, pretty as a rose among the thorns. Vasilisa thrived because her own mother, on her deathbed, had given her a magical doll. It was a tiny creature with glowing eyes, and it was alive. Vasilisa kept it near her always, as her mother had said to do, and she told no one of its existence. The doll did the sweeping and polishing, the cooking and gardening, so the growing girl could rest. In return, Vasilisa petted and fed it. At night, when the girl was locked in her room, the doll kept her company. As the years passed and the maidens in the household approached marriagable age, the stepmother found herself rankled by the very sight of Vasilisa, whose charming face presented an unwelcome contrast to the appearance of her own dull daughters. Eventually, the stepmother decided to rid herself of the girl. Accordingly, one autumm evening she set tasks for all three maidens. Her own daughters were to knit and lace, Vasilisa to spin, and all this fine work was to be done by the light of one candle. Obediently,the maidens bent over their work. Daylight departs early in the Russian autumm, and soon the candle made only a tiny pool of light in the shadowy room where the three girls worked. After a while, the elder stepsister - pretending to trim the candle wick - snuffed out even that feeble light, just as she had been instructed by her mother. At once, there occurred an event so strange that it has not been explained from that day to this, although it appears to have been the work of Vasilisa's stepmother, and she must have had magical aid to do it. It was as if a spell had been cast upon the house. Every cnadle guttered and died. Every room was dark and so silent that the maidens clearly heard the rustling of a mouse, busy at work behind the walls. The elder stepsister - as her mother had told her do do - turned spitefully on Vasilisa, just as if the pretty girl had caused this calamity. "Now," she said, "this house will be without a light unless we get it from Baba Yaga in the forest, and how will you finish the task our mother set for you? I need not go, I can see to work by the moonlight on my lacemaking pins. My sister need not go. She can work by the moonlight on her knitting needles. But no light reflects from your spindle. Since you cnnot see to work, you can make yourself useful by going to Baba Yaga and bringing back a light for us. "And she leaped up and thrust Vasilisa from the room. Vasilisa slowly climbed the stairs to her attic, where the magic doll quietly waited. She fed the doll the scraps she had saved for it and cried, "Help me, dolly. My father is not here to save me and my stepsisters are sending me to Baba Yaga. She is death itself." The doll's eyes shone like two candles It appeared to consider the dilemma for a moment. Then it said calmly in its tiny voice, "Do as you are told, Vasilisa, but take me in your pocket. No harm will befall you while I am with you." So Vasilisa took the doll, put it in the pocket of her apron and slipped from the house into the forest, picking her way as quickly as she could among the gleaming white trunks of the birch trees. The moon sailed overhead, its light casting curius shapes in Vasilisa's path. As she walked, she saw the eyes of forest creatures glittering in the shadows, and she heard strange rustlings and murmurings. Once she heard a deep, low growl. No harm came to her however. The night wore on and the moon set Vasilisa shivered with the cold, but still she walked. Suddently a pale horseman galloped across her path, white-faced, wearing white and riding a white horse. He disappeared into the forest A silvery light crept through the trees behind him, and at that moment, the first bird sang. Now Vasilisa walked through a waking forest. After an hour another rider flew by. This one was a red-faced man, clothed in blazing scarlet and mounted upon a roan. Behind him a shaft of rosy sunlight shone through the leaves. The air began to warm. Still Vasilisa walked alone, save for the doll in her pocket. She walked the whole day, and the light began to slant through the trees and the shadows to lengthen, she came upon a clearing. She halted at once in the shelter of the birches, for what she saw was fearful indeed. In the clearing stood a high fence made of silvery bones, and on each fence post grinned an empty-eyed skull. The gate was made of bones, too, but the lock was a sharp-toothed mouth and the bolt a skeletal hand. Within the fence was the witch's house, rocking gently on its chicken leg. No one was there. As Vasilisa stared, a black-cloaked rider on a sable horse swept across the clearing and vanished into the trees. Behind him streamed smoky fingers of darkness that curled around the bone fence and shadowed the house. As night fell the eyes of the fence-post skulls began to glow like torches, csting double beams of firelight on the ground around the fence. The clearing was very still after the horseman passed by, but Vasilisa waited among the trees she began to hear faraway the faint sounds of branches crackling and leaves rustling. The noises sounded nearer and nearer, and then out of the wood swept Baba Yaga, riding in her mortar, with her pestle in one hand and her broom in the other. She alighted before the gate, her long nose quivering in the cool evening air. "I smell Russian blood, "she said in a thin reedy voice. "Come out, whoever hides here. "Vasilisa felt in her pocket to make sure the doll was with her, then stepped from the sheltering branches and bowed before the witch. "It is I, Vasilisa. "The girl spoke shyly and kept her eyes politely lowered "My stepsisters have sent me for light." "Indeed I know of your stepsisters, "said Baba Yaga with an unpeasant smile. "You shall have light, and you might even live to take it home. But first you must live here and work for me. Unlock. Open up, "she added to the gate, which did so at once. Vasilisa followed the witch through the gate, which shut behind her with a rattle of bones and a click of the lock. The mortar, pestle and broom that the witch had used whisked themselves out of sight, and Vasilisa followed Baba Yaga up a ladder into the hut. Then Baba Yaga threw herself into a chair. Her eyes glittered. "I'm hungry, "she said "Serve me everything you find in the oven." In the oven Vasilisa found a roast suckling pig and in the pantry pickled mushrooms and kasha, salt herring, bliny with butter, borscht and the little pastries called pirozhki as well as wine - enough food for at least ten people All of it she served the witch, who ate with gusto and at length. Finally she wiped her mouth and announced "Tomorrow I am going out. In the wooden bin in the yard is a bushel of wheat, sort it from the chaff. Sweep the yard. Clean the hut until not a speck of dirt remains. Wash all the linen, and make sure that it is as white as new - fallen snow. Then cook me a fine big dinner. If all this isn't done, and done well, I'll grind your bones. "And she closed her eyes and began to snore. Vasilisa crept into a corner with the scraps of food the witch had left, and fed them carefully to the doll. She wept at the impossible task the witch had set her and at the prospect of becoming the witch's next dinner, but the doll was not at all perturbed. Its eyes shone comfortingly, and it said in its little voice. "The morning is wiser than the evening. Go to sleep, Vasilisa the Beautiful, and fear not." When Vasilisa awoke early the next morning, the glowing eyes of the skulls were fading to blankness. The white horseman and then the red galloped through the clearing, light streaming behind them, and the day broke. Baba Yaga awoke and whistled for her mortar and pestle, which appeared, along with the broom. The witch hopped into the mortar, favored Vasilisa with an ominous and long-toothed grin, and swept away, leaving the girl to her tasks. But the doll was ready. It leaped from Vasilisa's pocket and washed the clothing, hanging it neatly up to dry and whiten in the sunshine. It cleaned the hut, swept the yard and raked the dirt into neat patterns. Vasilisa had nothing to do but cook the dinner and examine the witch's hut, which she did with curiosity, admiring the embroideries and chests full of silver, and avoiding mysterious jars and bottles and jugs of strange liquids. As the day drew to a close, the doll settle down to the wheat bin with its nimble little fingers winnowed the grain from the chaff. Eventually the black horseman swept by, the skulls eyes began to gleam, and Vasilisa heard the far-off rustling that heralded the witch's arrival. Then in came Baba Yaga, looking ravenous. "Everything done?" said the witch. "Yes, indeed,"said Vasilisa. "Please see for yourself." Baba Yaga marched through the hut to inspect it, growing more morose with each piece of tidily folded snowy linen and each neatly scrubbed pot. She clearly was disappointed, but all she said was, "Faithful servants, grind my wheat. "At once, three pairs of hands appeared, gathered up the wheat and disappeared again. The evening passed much as had the one before. The witch ate a gargantuan meal and set the girl another round of tasks for the following day the worst of which was to separate all the dust particles from a barrelful of poppy seeds. Then after reminding Vasilisa that failing at any of the tasks would mean death, she had arranged herself for sleep and soon was snoring peacefully away. Trapped in the dreadful hut within the bony fence, Vasilisa spent a second anxious night, listening to the rumblings of the sleeping Baba Yaga and fearing both the darkness and the coming dawn. In the morning, however, Baba Yaga simply disappeared with her mortar and pestle into the forest as before. The doll set to work to fulfill all the tasks and separate the dust from the poppy seeds. By nightfall, when the black horseman rode by again, the skull's eyes gleamed again and the witch returned, the seeds were clean. Baba Yaga made no comment to the girl. She only cried, "Faithful servants, grind these seeds to get their oil." And the three pairs of hands materialized out of the air as before and disappeared with the pile of poppy seeds. Still, Baba Yaga seemed in a benevolent frame of mind, for her. After her huge dinner she seemed in need of entertainment. She glanced at Vasilisa and said, "You've certainly been dull and quiet up until now. You may ask a question, if you are curious enough and brave enough I will warn you in fairness, however, that not every question has the answer you might wish for." Vasilisa gathered her courage and said, "Baba Yaga, I want to ask about the three riders I saw on my journey." "It's as well for you that you thought to ask only about things outside this hut, "the witch replied with her nasty grin. "I don't like young maidens who pry into my private affairs. Very well, here is an answer for you. Those riders are my faithful servants all. The pale man on the pale horse is my daybreak, the red man on the roan is my sun, and the black rider my night. "And now it's my turn, "she continued. "How did you manage to do the tasks I set for you?" "By my mother's blessing, "replied the girl timidly. But she need not have been frightened. Baba Yaga had a profound dislike of any blessing. With a snarl she jumped from her chair and pushed Vasilisa out of the house and through the gate. She snatched a skull from the fence, stuck it on a pole and thrust it into Vasilisa's hand. "A little light for your sisters, "she explained. "Now go away." The journey home was dreadful. Trees clustered in her path and as before she saw glimmerings in the underbrush and heard strange noises. She kept a firm grasp on the pole that bore the skull, however, and its eyes gleamed steadily, lighting Vasilisa's way for her. The skull itself made not a sound. When day broke, the eyes faded to emptiness. Vasilisa walked on through the forest until dusk, when at last she found herself at her stepmother's house again. The house was dark, not a light shone from any of the windows. Still, it was just twilight and not quite time to light the candles. Thinking that her stepmother and sisters would have no use for it, Vasilisa made to throw the skull away. A deep voice from within it stopped her. "Do not cast me away," said the skull. "I am meant for your stepmother and sisters, and you must take me to them." So Vasilisa pushed open the door of the house and went inside, bearing the skull. To her surprise, the three women within greeted her with pleasure, the first welcome she ever had in that house. The reason for their unusual courtesy, it turned out, was the thing that had happened in Vasilisa's absence. If the stepmother had indeed used magic to douse her household's light, she had gotten more than she bargained for. No light at all could be made in the house. Even torches borrowed from neighbors guttered and died as soon as they were carried across the threshold. The women turned eagerly to the skull, whose eyes had begun to glow. The glaze of those eyes for gaze it now seemed fell on the stepmother, who gave a cry and jumped aside. At once the light in the skull's eyes flared greedily. Of its own accord, the creature's head turned so that it again looked on the stepmother. In a moment she was enveloped in flame, and in another, entirely consumed. The eyes sought each of the stepsisters in turn and burned them to ashes. Then the light within the skull faded and the room was quit. Left alone with the magical doll and the skull, Vasilisa waited out the night, pondering what to do next. She could not stay on alone in that unhappy house on the edge of Baba Yaga's forest. She decided to seek protection until her father should return from his travels and claim her for his own once more. In the morning, therefore, she carefully buried the skull in the earth, gathered her clothing into a bundle and locked up the house. Then Vasilisa tucked her faithful doll into the pocket of her apron and walked to the nearest village. There she met an old woman so gentle and kindly looking that Vasilisa found the courage to tell her tale. This woman, being childish and, moreover, charmed by the girl's beauty and sad story, took Vasilisa in to live at her little cottage. The old woman treated Vasilisa kindly - so kindly, in fact, that the girl found time hanging heavy on her hands. She asked the woman for flax to spin, and when she had it, set to work. Vasilisa's spinning was faster than lighting, and the thread she spun was as silky as her own hair. It was so very fine that no loom delicate enough for weaving it could be found, and no one in the village was skilled enough to make one. No one, that is, except the doll, who, one night while Vasilisa slept, made a loom from an old comb, a shuttle and the hairs from a horse's mane. Vasilisa was delighted, and by the end of the winter had finished weaving her linen. It was so fine a fabric that it could be passed through the eye of a needle, and with the old woman's help. Vasilisa bleached it to perfect whiteness. "Sell this linen, "said Vasilisa to her protectress, "and keep the money for yourself. It seems only a fair payment for your kindness to me. "But that good soul had better ideas. The linen, she thought, was too fine for anyone but the Tsar, and she set out for his palace, bearing the treasure. She arrived in short order, and found the palace courtyard crowded with courtiers. They paid her no attention, being busy with affair more important than whatever a poor old woman might want. Taking advantage of this, she unwraped her beautiful linen and walked up and down the courtyard. The Tsar happened to glimpse her from a window. His curiosity aroused, he ordered her brought to him and so saw the enchanting fabric. "How much do you want for this, grandmother?" he asked her with great kindness. But the woman replied that she could not sell it, for it was too fine to be anything but a gift. So the Tsar took it. No one in the palace, however, dared hurt the gossamer stuff by sewing it into shirts, and in the end, he summoned the old woman again. "If you can spin and weave such stuff, "he said, "surely you can sew it into shirts for me." "It was not I who spun and wove, but a girl I sheltered, "said the woman, for she was honest as well as kind. Then let her sew the shirts." And that is what happened. The old woman took the linen home to her village and told Vasilisa of the Tsar's command. With a smile Vasilisa obeyed. She locked herself in a room and cut her linen to make twelve fine shirts, which she sewed with stitches so small that they were invisible. The shirts were given to the Tsar, who found them so beautiful that he straightaway sent for the seamstress. Vasilisa was brought to the court and to the Tsar. He was captivated at once by her beauty, then charmed by her goodness, in short, the Tsar fell in love with Vasilisa the Beautiful, and nothing would do but that she marry him. She did that very happily, of course, and her trials were over for good. She had and imperial palace to live in, a hundred servants to do her bidding and Tsar of All the Russias to love her. But Vasilisa the Beautiful kept the magical doll safe in her pocket for the rest of her life. (Afanasev, Aleksandr Nikolaevich, Russian Folk Tales Translated by Robert Chandler. Shambhala/Random House, 1980.*)