Vasilisa the Beautiful

In a certain kingdom there lived a merchant who had been married for twelve years and had just one child, a daughter called Vasilisa the Beautiful. When the girl was eight, her mother fell ill and knew she was dying. She called Vasilisa to her bed, drew a little doll from under the covers and gave it to her. “Listen carefully, Vasilisa, and remember my last words,” she said. “I am going to die. Along with my blessing, I leave you this doll. Keep it with you always and never show it to anyone. Whenever trouble comes, give the doll something to eat and ask what you should do. Once it has eaten, it will tell you how to mend your trouble.” Then she kissed her daughter and died.

The merchant grieved for a proper time and then began to think of marrying again. He was well off and could have chosen almost anyone, but the woman who caught his eye was a widow with two daughters of about Vasilisa’s age. He supposed she must know how to keep a house and raise children.

So he married her, and found he had fooled himself, for she was no kind mother to Vasilisa. Vasilisa was the loveliest girl in the village, and her stepmother and stepsisters hated her for it. They loaded her with every kind of heavy work, hoping the exhausting work and exposure would wear her down. Vasilisa put up with all of it without complaint, and each day she grew healthier and prettier, while the other three grew more resentful that their plan had failed.

How could that be? It was the doll. Without it, the girl could never have managed all that work. That was why Vasilisa never ate her whole meal but always saved the tastiest bit for the doll. At night, when everyone was asleep, she would shut herself in the tiny storeroom where she slept, set the food before the doll and say, “Eat, little doll, and listen to my trouble. I live in my father’s house, yet I have no joy at all. My wicked stepmother wants to drive me out of the world. Tell me how to stay alive and what I should do.”

The doll would eat, then give her advice and comfort her, and the next day it did all her work while Vasilisa rested in the shade and picked flowers. Somehow everything was finished on time: the beds weeded, the buckets filled, the cabbages watered, the stove lit. The doll even showed her herbs that kept her skin from burning in the sun. The two of them lived together very happily.

Years went by, and Vasilisa grew old enough to marry. Every young man in town sent someone to ask for her hand, while nobody glanced at the stepsisters. The stepmother grew fiercer than ever and told every suitor, “The youngest will not marry before the older girls.” When the suitors had gone, she beat Vasilisa to vent her rage.

Then the merchant had to travel far away on business for a long time. While he was gone, the stepmother moved the household to another house beside a thick forest. In a clearing in that forest stood a little hut where a Baba Yaga lived. She let no one come near and ate people as easily as chickens. Once they had moved, the stepmother kept finding reasons to send Vasilisa into the forest, but the girl always came home safely, because the doll showed her the way and kept her far from the witch’s hut.

Autumn came. One evening the stepmother handed out work to the three girls: lace-making for one, knitting stockings for another, and spinning and weaving for Vasilisa, each with a set amount to finish. She put out every light in the house except a single candle where the girls sat, and went to bed. They worked on. When the candle needed trimming, one stepsister picked up the snuffers as if to clean the wick and, just as her mother had told her, put the flame out, pretending it was an accident.

“Now what?” said the girls. “There isn’t a spark of fire in the house and we haven’t finished. Someone has to go to Baba Yaga for a light!” “My pins shine enough for me to see,” said the lace-maker. “I’m not going.” “My needles give me light enough,” said the knitter. “I’m not going either.” “Vasilisa, you go!” they both shouted. “Off to Baba Yaga’s!” And they pushed her out of the room.

Vasilisa went to her little room, set out the supper she had saved for the doll and said, “Eat, little doll, and hear my trouble. They’re sending me to Baba Yaga for a light, and she will eat me!” The doll ate, and its eyes began to glow like two candles. “Don’t be afraid, Vasilisa dear,” it said. “Go where they send you, only keep me with you all the time. While I’m with you, Baba Yaga can do you no harm.” So Vasilisa put the doll in her pocket, crossed herself and walked into the dark forest.

She trembled as she went. Suddenly a horseman galloped past her, white all over, dressed in white, riding a white horse with white harness, and the day began to dawn. A little farther on a second rider raced by, red from head to foot on a red horse, and the sun came up. Vasilisa walked all that night and all the next day, and only toward evening did she reach the clearing where Baba Yaga lived. The fence round the hut was made of bones, and on top of it sat skulls with eyes in them. The gateposts, the bolts and even the lock were made from parts of people, and the lock had sharp teeth. Vasilisa was so frightened that she stood rooted to the spot.

Then a third horseman rode by, black all over, dressed in black, on a black horse. He galloped to the gate and vanished as though the ground had swallowed him, and night fell. But the darkness did not last. The eyes in all the skulls on the fence began to glow, and the clearing grew as bright as noon. Vasilisa shook with fear but stayed where she was, not knowing which way to run.

Soon a dreadful roaring came through the forest. Trees creaked and dry leaves rattled, and out came Baba Yaga, riding in a mortar, driving it along with a pestle and sweeping away her tracks with a broom. She pulled up at the gate, sniffed the air and screeched, “Phew! I smell a Russian! Who’s there?”

Shaking, Vasilisa stepped forward and bowed low. “It’s me, granny. My stepsisters sent me to you for a light.” “Very well,” said Baba Yaga. “I know them. Stay and work for me a while first, and I’ll give you a light. If you won’t, I’ll eat you.” Then she called to her fence to part and her gates to swing open. In she drove, whistling, with Vasilisa behind her, and everything closed again.

Inside, Baba Yaga stretched out full length and said, “Bring me what’s in the oven. I’m hungry.” Vasilisa lit a splinter of wood from one of the skulls and began carrying out meat, enough to feed a dozen people, and then kvass, mead, beer and wine from the cellar. The witch ate every bite and drank every drop, leaving Vasilisa only a crust of bread and a scrap of roast piglet. Then she lay down. “Tomorrow, when I go out, clean the yard, sweep the house, cook dinner and get the linen ready. Then take four measures of wheat from the bin and pick out every wild seed mixed into it. Have it all done, or I’ll eat you.” And she began to snore.

Vasilisa set the scraps before her doll and burst into tears. “Eat, little doll, and hear my trouble. Baba Yaga has given me a dreadful task and says she’ll eat me if I don’t finish. Please help me!” “Don’t be afraid, Vasilisa the Beautiful,” said the doll. “Have your supper, say your prayers and go to sleep. Morning is wiser than evening.”

Vasilisa woke very early, but Baba Yaga was up already. Looking out, the girl saw the light dying in the skulls’ eyes. The white horseman appeared and it was day. Baba Yaga went into the yard and whistled, and her mortar, pestle and broom appeared before her. The red horseman went by and the sun rose. The witch climbed into her mortar and shot out of the yard, sweeping away her tracks behind her.

Left alone, Vasilisa wandered through the house, amazed at how full of good things it was, and wondered which job to start first. When she looked round, everything was done. The doll had picked the last wild seed out of the wheat. “Oh, you have saved me!” cried Vasilisa. “Now you only need to cook dinner,” said the doll, slipping back into her pocket. “Cook it, and then rest.”

Toward evening Vasilisa laid the table and waited. Dusk fell, the black rider flashed past the gate and it was dark except for the glowing skulls. The trees creaked, the leaves rustled, and Baba Yaga drove up. “Is everything done?” she asked. “Look for yourself, granny,” said Vasilisa. The witch inspected every corner, annoyed that she could find nothing to scold, and grunted, “Well, well, very good.” Then she called out, “My faithful servants, my loyal friends, grind my wheat!” Three pairs of hands appeared from nowhere, gathered up the wheat and carried it off.

After supper she gave her orders again. “Tomorrow do the same as today, and also take the poppy seed out of the bin and clean the soil off it, seed by seed. Somebody mixed earth into it out of spite.” Then she turned to the wall and snored, and Vasilisa fed her doll. “Pray and go to sleep,” said the doll, as before. “Morning is wiser than evening. It will all be done.”

Next morning, the moment the witch drove off, Vasilisa and the doll finished everything. When Baba Yaga came home she looked it all over and called, “My faithful servants, my loyal friends, press oil from the poppy seed!” The three pairs of hands appeared and carried the seed away. The witch sat down to eat while Vasilisa stood quietly beside her.

“Why don’t you say anything?” said Baba Yaga. “You stand there like a mute.” “I didn’t dare,” said Vasilisa. “But if you’ll allow me, I’d like to ask you something.” “Ask, then. But not every question leads to good. Know too much and you’ll grow old too soon.” “I only want to ask about what I saw on my way here. A rider passed me on a white horse, all in white. Who was he?” “That was my bright Day,” said Baba Yaga. “Then another rider passed me on a red horse, all in red. Who was he?” “That was my red Sun.” “And the black rider who passed me at your gate, granny?” “That was my dark Night. They are all my faithful servants.”

Vasilisa thought about the three pairs of hands, but she kept quiet. “Why have you stopped asking?” said the witch. “That’s enough for me, granny. You said yourself that knowing too much makes you old.” “Just as well,” said Baba Yaga, “that you asked only about what you saw outside and not about what goes on in my house. I don’t like my household business carried out of doors, and people who are too curious I eat. Now I have a question for you. How do you manage to get through all the work I give you?” “My mother’s blessing helps me,” said Vasilisa.

“Eh? What’s that?” cried Baba Yaga. “Out of my house, you blessed daughter! I want no blessed people here!” She pulled Vasilisa out of the room and shoved her through the gate. Then she took one of the skulls with burning eyes from the fence, stuck it on a stick and handed it to her. “Take that. It’s a light for your stepsisters. That’s what they sent you for, isn’t it?”

Vasilisa ran home by the light of the skull, which went dark only as each dawn came, and on the evening of the second day she reached her stepmother’s house. At the gate she was about to throw the skull away, thinking, “Surely they have a light by now.” But a hollow voice spoke from it: “Don’t throw me away. Take me to your stepmother.” She looked at the house, saw that not one window was lit, and decided to carry the skull inside.

For the first time in her life her stepmother and stepsisters greeted her warmly. They told her that since she left they had not had a spark of fire in the house. They could not strike a light themselves, and every flame they borrowed from the neighbours went out as soon as it came through the door. “Perhaps your light will stay lit,” said the stepmother. They carried the skull into the main room, but its eyes blazed at the stepmother and her daughters and shot out flames. The three tried to hide, but wherever they ran the eyes followed them, and by morning nothing was left of them but ashes. Only Vasilisa was unharmed.

The next morning Vasilisa buried the skull, locked up the house and went to live in a nearby town with an old woman. After a while she wanted work. The doll made her a wonderful loom, and by winter’s end she had woven linen so fine that it could be drawn through the eye of a needle like thread. In spring, when it was bleached, she gave it to the old woman, who took it to the king. The king ordered shirts made from it, but no seamstress dared cut such cloth, until at last it was brought to Vasilisa. When she had sewn a dozen shirts, she sent them to the king. As soon as they had gone, she washed, combed her hair, dressed and sat by the window. Before long a messenger arrived to summon her to court, and when the king saw her he fell deeply in love. He said he would not part with her and asked her to be his wife, and they were married. In time her father came home and went to live with her. Vasilisa took the old woman into her household, and for the rest of her life she kept the doll in her pocket.

About this story

“Vasilissa the Fair” is in W. R. S. Ralston’s Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite Folk-lore (Project Gutenberg #22373). Ralston’s footnote gives his source as Afanasief’s collection, volume iv, no. 44. He tells the tale in full up to the night the skull’s eyes burn the stepfamily. He then gives the rest (the fine linen, the king’s shirts and the wedding) only as a short summary in brackets, because he felt that part was weaker and did not want to spoil “one of the best folk-tales I know.”

Ralston’s notes explain that the doll is a kukla, a word for any small figure of a person or animal. They also say that Baba Yaga’s “I smell a Russian” is the Russian version of the English giant’s “Fee, faw, fum.” This telling describes the bone fence only briefly and keeps the stepfamily’s end short, but the order of events is Ralston’s.

Read the original: W. R. S. Ralston, Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite Folk-lore (Project Gutenberg #22373)

For older readers: includes the death of a parent, abuse of a child, threats of cannibalism, human bones and three people burned to ashes.

Two helpers, two kinds of power

The doll asks Vasilisa to eat, rest and seek advice while it makes the impossible work manageable. Baba Yaga demands labour under threat of death and leaves only scraps. Their contrast makes care, rather than endless endurance, central to Vasilisa’s survival. Much of the work is done magically; the ending cannot be reduced to “work hard and you will be safe.”

The skull is a different kind of helper. Vasilisa considers throwing it away, but it orders her to carry it indoors and then destroys her persecutors. She does not direct its flames. The story releases her from abuse through frightening supernatural force, not through a realistic plan children should copy.

Compare three households

For the stepmother’s house, Baba Yaga’s hut and the old woman’s home, note what Vasilisa is asked to do, what help she receives and whether she can rest safely. What changes when her weaving becomes skilled work she offers, instead of a demand backed by threats?

Talk about it

• What does Vasilisa’s mother ask her to do with the doll, and how does Vasilisa keep that promise?
• Why does Vasilisa stop asking questions about the three pairs of hands?
• Baba Yaga throws Vasilisa out when she hears about her mother’s blessing. Why do you think the blessing upsets the witch so much?

More stories like this

• Baba Yaga — another Russian girl who escapes Baba Yaga with kindness and help
• Morozko — a Russian stepdaughter rewarded for gentleness
• The Tsarevna Frog — another Vasilisa who works wonders in a Russian tale