Folk-lore and Legends: Russian and Polish 4

Folk-lore and Legends: Russian and Polish 4

All of a sudden Ivan said—

 

“Wife, suppose we make a snow figure?”

 

Mary was ready.

 

“Why not?” said she; “we might as well amuse ourselves a little. But

what is the use of making a big figure? Better make a snow-child, since

God has not given us a living one.”

 

“You are right,” said Ivan, and he took his hat and went out into the

garden with his wife.

 

So they set to work to make a snow-child. They fashioned a little body,

little hands, and little feet, and when all that was done they rolled a

snow-ball and shaped it into a head.

 

“Heaven bless you!” cried a passer-by.

 

“Thanks,” replied Ivan.

 

“The help of Heaven is always good,” said Mary.

 

“What are you doing?” asked the stranger.

 

“Look,” said Ivan.

 

“We are making a snow-girl,” said Mary.

 

On the ball of snow which stood for a head they made the nose and the

chin. Then they put two little holes for the eyes. As Ivan finished the

work, oh, wonderful! the figure became alive! He felt a warm breath come

from its lips. Ivan drew back, and looked. The child had sparkling eyes,

and there was a smile upon its lips.

 

“Heavens! what is this?” cried Ivan, making the sign of the cross.

 

The snow figure bent its head as if it was alive, and stirred its little

arms and legs in the snow as if it was a real child.

 

“Ivan! Ivan!” cried Mary, trembling with joy, “Heaven has heard our

prayers,” and she threw herself on the child and covered her with

kisses. The snow fell away from the little girl like the shell from a

chicken.

 

“Ah, my dear Snyegurka!” cried Mary, embracing the long wished for and

unexpected child, and she carried her off into the cottage.

 

Ivan had much to do to recover himself, he was so surprised, and Mary

was foolish with joy.

 

Snyegurka grew hour by hour, and became more and more beautiful. Ivan

and Mary were overjoyed, and their hut was full of life and merriment.

The village girls were always there playing with Snyegurka, dressing

her, chattering with her, singing songs to her, teaching her all they

knew. Snyegurka was very clever; she noticed everything, and learnt

things quickly. During that winter she grew as big as a three-year-old

child. She understood things, and when she spoke her voice was so sweet

that one could have listened to it for ever. She was amiable, obedient,

and affectionate. Her skin was white, her hair the colour of flax, and

her eyes deep blue; her cheeks, however, had no rosy flush in them, for

she had no blood, but she was so good and so amiable that every one

loved her.

 

“You see,” said Mary, “what joy has Heaven given us in our old age.”

 

“Heaven be thanked,” responded Ivan.

 

At last the winter was ended, and the spring sun shone down and warmed

the earth. The snow melted, the green grass sprang up in the fields, and

the lark sang high up in the sky. The village girls went singing—

 

“Sweet spring, how did you come to us?

How did you come?

Did you come on a plough, or on a harrow?”

 

Snyegurka, however, became very sad. “What is the matter with you, my

dear child?” said Mary, drawing her to her and caressing her. “Are you

not well? You are not merry. Has an evil eye glanced on you?”

 

“No,” answered Snyegurka; “it is nothing, mother. I am quite well.”

 

The last snow of the winter had melted and disappeared. Flowers sprang

up in all the gardens and fields. In the woods the nightingale and all

the birds sang, and all the world seemed very happy save Snyegurka, who

became more and more sad. She would run away from her companions, and

hide herself from the sun in dark nooks, like a timid flower under the

trees. She liked nothing save playing by the water-side under the green

willows. She seemed to enjoy only the cool and the shower. At night-time

she was happy; and when a good storm occurred, a fierce hail-storm, she

was as pleased with the drops as if they had been pearls. When the sun

broke forth again—when the hail was melted—then Snyegurka began to weep

bitterly.

 

The spring was ended, the summer came, and the feast of Saint John was

at hand. The girls were going to play in the woods, and they called for

Snyegurka to go with them.

 

Mary was afraid to let her go, but she thought that the outing might do

her child good, so she got her ready, embraced her, and said—

 

“Go, my child, and play with your friends; and you, my daughters, look

well after her. You know I love her better than the apple of my eye.”

 

“All right,” cried they all, and they ran off in a body to the woods.

 

There they plucked the wild-flowers, made themselves wreaths, and sang

songs.

 

When the sun was setting they made a fire of dry grass and placed

themselves in a row by it, each of them having a crown of flowers on her

head. “Look at us,” said they to Snyegurka, “how we run, and follow us,”

and then they began to sing and to jump, around and over the little

fire.

 

All of a sudden they heard, behind them, a sigh—

 

“Ah!”

 

They looked about them, and then at one another. There was nothing to be

seen. They looked again, and found that Snyegurka was no longer among

them.

 

“She has hidden herself,” cried they. Then they looked for her, but

could not find her, calling out and shouting her name, but there was no

answer.

 

“Where can she be? She must have gone home,” said they.

 

They ran back to the village, but there no one had seen Snyegurka. All

the folk searched during the next day and the day following. They went

through all the woods, they looked through every thicket, but no trace

of the child was discovered.

 

Ivan and Mary were inconsolable, and for a long time did the poor mother

seek her child in the woods, crying—

 

“Snyegurka, my sweet, come to me.”

 

Sometimes she thought she could hear the voice of her child replying to

her; but no, it was not Snyegurka.

 

“What could have become of her?” folk asked one another; “can a wild

beast have carried her off into the woods? Has some bird of prey flown

off with her?”

 

No beast had carried her off, nor had a bird flown away with her. When

she began to run with her companions she suddenly changed into a light

vapour, and was carried up to heaven.

 

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PRINCE PETER AND PRINCESS MAGILENE.

 

 

IN the kingdom of France there was once a high-born prince named

Volchvan who married a noble lady named Petronida. They had one son, who

was called Peter. This Prince Peter in his youth was very fond of

horsemanship and of war, and when he grew up he thought of nothing but

knightly deeds. Now it chanced that just at that time there arrived a

knight named Ruiganduis, who had come from Naples, and he, seeing the

Prince’s disposition, said to him, “Prince Peter, the King of Naples has

a beautiful daughter named Magilene, and he bestows great rewards on the

knights who by their deeds do honour to her.”

 

Peter, when he heard that, went to his father and mother, and begged

them to let him go to Naples to learn knightly arts, and, especially, to

see the beautiful Magilene, the daughter of the King.

 

They parted with Prince Peter with great sorrow, and bade him only make

friends of good folk. Then they gave him three gold rings with precious

stones, and also a golden key. So they sent him off.

 

When Prince Peter came to Naples he went to a clever workman, and

ordered him to make him a coat of mail, and a helmet to match, and told

him to fasten to it two golden keys. When he had done this he rode away

to the place where the tournaments were held, where he found the King.

The folk called Peter, Peter with the Golden Keys, and off he went and

placed himself among the knights. First of all there rode out the Knight

Andrei Skrintor, and against him appeared the son of the King of

England. Andrei dealt Henry such a blow, that he was nearly thrown off

his horse. Then Landiot, the King’s son, came forth and threw Andrei off

his horse on to the ground.

 

When Prince Peter saw that Landiot had thrown Andrei from his saddle, he

rode out and cried aloud—

 

“Long may their Majesties live in happiness, the King, the Queen, and

their beautiful daughter, the Princess Magilene.”

 

He rode at Landiot with such force that his horse rolled on the ground

and the spear went through his heart. This deed won for him the praise

of the King and of all the knights, but especially that of the Princess

Magilene, and Prince Peter became the first of all the King’s knights.

 

Now when the beautiful Princess saw how brave and handsome Prince Peter

was she fell in love with him, and resolved to marry him. She made a

confidante of her maid, and from that time Prince Peter used to see the

Princess daily. He gave her the three golden rings as a mark of his true

love, and one day, taking her with him, rode away from the city.

 

They rode off on their good horse, taking much gold and silver with

them, and they continued their journey all night. At length they came to

a thick forest which stretched far away to the seashore. There they

stopped to rest, and the Princess, lying down on the grass, fell fast

asleep. Prince Peter sat by her side and watched her, and as he looked

at her he saw a locket having a golden fastening. He opened it and out

fell the three gold rings he had given to her. The Prince put them on

the grass, and, as it chanced, a black raven flew by at the moment,

seized the rings, and took them off into a tree. Peter climbed up the

tree, hoping to catch the bird; but as he was about to seize it, the

raven flew into another tree, and so from tree to tree till at last it

went away over the sea to an island, letting the rings fall into the water.