Episode 134 – Into the Woods – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 134 Show Notes

Source: Slavic Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’re headed to the wintry forests of the old Russian Empire. You’ll discover that dolls make the best imaginary friends, that you should always keep a pie in your pocket for emergencies, and that even trees like to feel stylish. Then, in Gods and Monsters, some woodland critters are going to discover why you have to be careful when choosing your roommates. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 134, “Into the Woods”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week’s story comes to us from Vasilisa the Beautiful: Russian Fairy Tales, edited and translated by Irina Zhelenova in 1966, though it was originally collected by Alexander Afanasyev in the 1850s. Appropriately enough, the subject of this episode is the titular Vasilisa. Once upon a time in a tsardom far, far away, there lived (as is so often the case) an old man and an old woman. The couple lived with their only daughter, Vasilisa, in a small, humble hut. Their lives were simple but happy and peaceful. Of course, it wouldn’t be much of a fairy tale if that wasn’t about to change.
Misfortune struck the small family and the old woman fell gravely ill. You know the kind of sickness you eventually get better from? This wasn’t that kind of sickness. The old woman knew that her time was short so she called Vasilisa to her bedside and handed her a little doll the younger woman had never seen before. “This is going to sound strange my sweet child, but I need you to listen well and do as I say. Take this doll and take very good care of it. Never, ever show it to anyone else. If you ever find yourself in a bad situation, offer the doll something to eat and ask for its advice. Listen to whatever it tells you – it can help you with any trouble.” Giving her beloved daughter a last, weak kiss on the forehead, the old woman died.
The old man and his daughter grieved for their shared loss for a time and the little house felt very empty. He saw how bereft his daughter was and he thought that maybe she would be happier with someone else to be her mother. (He was also very lonely himself, but he convinced himself that this would be best for everyone and not just him). So, after what was hopefully but was probably not an appropriate amount of time, he remarried. As you have almost certainly guessed, Vasilisa didn’t get a loving replacement mother but a cruel and wicked stepmother. And, even worse, this stepmother came with two even crueler daughters.
The two stepsisters were spiteful, mean, and impossible to please but their mother was utterly blind to all of their faults and doted on them. And, naturally enough, she treated Vasilisa exactly as harshly and terribly as you would expect from your typical wicked step family fairy tale trope. All three would scold and insult poor Vasilisa day and night, never giving her a moment’s peace and working her until her hands blistered and her back throbbed. The poor woman was understandably miserable in this terrible situation but kept hoping that they would warm up to her eventually. They definitely wouldn’t though. The cruelty and overwork was a feature, not a bug – they were hoping that they would break her and turn her lovely face haggard and ugly with all of the exposure to the biting wind and burning sun.
They treated her like a serf, and a badly treated one at that. “Fetch the wood! Start the fire! Mix the dough! Wash the plates! Milk the cow! Scrub the floor! Hurry up, don’t dawdle you slovenly little bitch! Get your chores done now now now!” Vasilisa did everything she was told to do without complaint, waiting on everyone and doing all the chores on time. And yet, despite the constant abuse, Vasilisa only grew more and more beautiful. Before long, she was such a rare and impossible beauty that the story says she was a wonder and a joy to behold beyond the power of words to convey. At the heart of Vasilisa’s success was the help of her mother’s little doll.
She would get up early in the morning to milk the cow and then, before anyone else was awake, she would lock herself in the pantry and feed the doll a little of the milk. “Come little doll and drink your milk. Let me pour out all my troubles into your tiny ear.” At her words, the doll would come to life and would indeed drink the milk. She would then comfort poor Vasilisa for all the abuse she’d suffered and then would go and perform many of the daily chores for her. While Vasilisa sat in the garden braiding flowers into her hair, the garden was weeded, the water was fetched from the well, the fire was lit, and the food was prepped. The doll showed Vasilisa an herb that could be used to protect her fair skin from the sun and made it soft and dewey. It’s important to moisturize, after all.
This went on for a time and, one day late in the fall, the old man had to leave for a journey. He would be gone for quite some time, leaving the four women alone without whatever moderating influence he provided. Nothing in the story has given any indication that he’s said boo to a ghost to protect his daughter from his bad decisions, but maybe he helped a little. The weather turned foul almost as soon as the old man left because of course it did. The sky grew dark and ugly, the wind whipped up into a howl, and the rain began to crash down in buckets.
So it hasn’t been relevant until now, but the small hut this unhappy family lived in lay on the outskirts of a deep, dark forest. If you remember back in Episodes 18A-C, a very specific and very powerful witch has a tendency to lurk in these kinds of places – the Baba Yaga. As a reminder, it’s unclear if the Baba Yaga is a single witch that appears in multiple places or multiple witches (possibly three sisters) who all use the same name. Indeed, Baba Yaga might be more of a title than a name. Baba Yaga is incredibly dangerous and cunning and has something of a taste for human flesh. She could be a powerful ally in the right situations but she could be an equally dangerous enemy if you crossed her.
With the weather so terrible, the stepmother gave each of the three younger women something to do. Work would keep them busy while also getting something useful done. The eldest stepdaughter was set to weaving lace; the younger was tasked with knitting stockings; and Vasilisa was told to spin yarn. With the sky so dark and no idea when it would brighten up, all of the lights were put out to save money except for a single splinter of birch wood burning in the corner where the sisters were working. Leaving them to their tasks, the stepmother went to bed. Naturally enough, a fucking splinter doesn’t burn for very long and it soon went out leaving the house very dark.
The stepsisters quickly realized that it was impossible to do any of their assigned tasks in pitch blackness and they had no easy way of making a new fire with everything put out. All of the wood outside was soaked now, so they couldn’t even light the main fire if they wanted to. The eldest stepdaughter put down her weaving in a huff. “Well this isn’t gonna work. Somebody’s gonna have to go into the woods to Baba Yaga’s house and ask her for a light.” The three of them stared at each other, each waiting for one of the others to make the first move. When no one did, the eldest picked up her lace again. “Well it’s not gonna be me. My needle is just bright enough for me to see by. I can weave lace without a light.” The younger stepdaughter followed her older sister’s lead. “I’m not going either. I’ve got two needles, so I need light even less than you do. I can knit stockings without a light.”
The two girls looked at each other and then, in unison, swiveled to look at Vasilisa with twin cruel smiles. “You don’t have any needles, so you need to be the one to go ask Baba Yaga for a light. Now! Go now! Go to Baba Yaga’s house right this fucking second!” Knowing that things would only get worse for her if her stepmother woke up, Vasilisa hurried out of the house and into the storm. She realized immediately that she had made a mistake. Exposed to the storm’s naked fury in pitch blackness, she headed into the more terrifying darkness of the deadly forest.
Vasilisa burst into frightened tears and pulled the little doll out of her pocket. “My little doll, I need your help! They’re sending me to Baba Yaga’s house for a light, but that wicked witch gobbles people up bones and all for bothering her. What do I do?” Despite not having been fed, the little doll came to life. “Don’t worry child, you’ll be alright. Nothing bad can happen to you as long as you have me with you. I’ll protect you.” Vasilisa felt a little better at this assurance. “Thank you, dear doll.” Putting it back in her pocket, she set out into the forest with a little more courage in her heart but a tremble still in her step.
Even when the storm finally passed, the forest rose above her like a solid wall blocking out the stars and the crescent moon that would have been twinkling overhead. From nowhere appeared a man on horseback galloping between the trees. This stranger was clad all in white and rode a white horse harnessed in silver. The pair practically gleamed in the darkness as they rode past Vasilisa and disappeared into the forest. Dawn was approaching, which she could tell because the storm had apparently passed them by. Unsure what that was about, the young woman continued deeper into the woods in search of Baba Yaga.
The faint light made it a little easier to see but her exhaustion more than made up for the better visibility. She tripped over roots and stumbled over stumps as she trudged on, dew glistening in her long, braided hair and on her cold, numb hands. Up ahead, Vasilisa heard the sound of more hoofbeats and looked up. Sure enough, another horseman was galloping towards her. This rider was dressed all in red and riding a red horse with a red harness. This was even stranger than the white rider, but he too rode past Vasilisa without acknowledging her and vanished through the trees.
The sun continued to rise, warming the chill air and drying out her soaked clothes and wet hair. She walked on throughout the day until the sun was once again low in the sky. Evening was coming and the sun would soon be setting by the time Vasilisa finally broke out of the forest and into a small glade. In the center stood a hut but, if you’ve been paying attention, you already know that this was no ordinary hut. This was something straight out of a horror film: an isolated cabin in the woods surrounded by a fence made from human bones topped with human skulls. The gate was built of human leg bones bolted together with human arm bones and locked with sharpened teeth. Baba Yaga certainly knows how to commit to a theme.
The terrifying sight froze Vasilisa into horrified stillness. Out of the darkening forest rode a third horseman, this one dressed in solid black and riding a black horse with a black harness. See again, committing to a theme. He trotted up behind the horrified young woman and rode past her towards the bone gate. As he crossed the threshold, much to her surprise, he vanished into thin air. At the same moment, the last light of the sun vanished leaving her alone in the rising shadows. To her horror, the skulls lining the skeletal fence began to glow with an eerie fire, lighting up the glade as bright as if it were midday.
Vasilisa trembled with fear. She didn’t care about borrowing fire anymore. She didn’t care what her stepmother would do to her for failing, even if they’d surely been able to light another fire while she was away. Vasilisa wanted only to flee and save herself from this awful place, but her feet refused to obey her commands. As she fought against her own fear, the ground around her began to rumble and shake and then Baba Yaga appeared. She flew into the open glade in a mortar and swinging a pestle like a whip to clear the way for her flight and wipe away any trace of her passing. The mortar and pestle are a bowl and a manual grinder used for grinding up herbs, so it’s often associated with women, medicine, and magic.
Baba Yaga swept up to the gate and paused, sniffing the air like a hound. She cocked her head and looked around. I’m guessing Vasilisa wasn’t standing right at the gate but somewhere in the trees nearby. “Who’s here visiting my home? Don’t bother hiding, I can smell your tasty, tasty flesh.” Realizing that the time to escape this situation was about five minutes ago, Vasilisa drew up her courage and approached the cannibal witch with all the respect she could muster. She bowed low before Baba Yaga and put as much humility into her voice as she could manage. “I am Vasilisa, Grandmother. My stepsisters sent me here to ask you for a light. Our fire has gone out.”
Baba Yaga considered the young woman. “Oh, it’s you huh? I know who you are – your stepmother is one of my kinswomen.” She sighed. “Since you’re kind of a distant relative of mine, I guess I should invite you in. Stay with me for a while and work for me, and we’ll see what there is to see.” Without waiting for an answer, the witch turned to her skeletal fence. “Come unlocked, O bolts so strong. Open up, O gate so wide.” At her command, the gate did indeed swing open. Baba Yaga rode through in her mortar with a tentative Vasilisa trailing behind her.
Just inside the gate grew a birch tree. As the pair moved past, it shivered and shook and the branches suddenly whipped out as though they were going to flay the flesh from Vasilisa’s bones. Baba Yaga tsked and wagged her finger at the tree. “Do not touch the maid, you damned birch tree. I brought her here tonight.” At her words, the tree settled back into stillness. Walking on, they approached the hut (which traditionally sat on two chicken legs, allowing it to move around if the witch so chose), there was a dog laying by the door. As the two approached, the dog’s hackles rose and it snarled at Vasilisa, clearly preparing to lunge at her. Again, Baba Yaga wagged her finger and made a tsking noise. “Do not touch the maid, you damned mutt. I brought her here tonight.” At her words, the dog settled back into a light snoozle.
Vasilisa followed Baba Yaga through the door of the hut into the shadowy interior. Just inside the door stalked a grizzled old tomcat (which the story describes as a grumbler-rumbler of a cat, whatever that means). It hissed at the young woman, fur standing on end, and it made to swipe at her with his razor-sharp claws. A third time, the witch shut the threat down with a tsk and a shaken finger. “Do not touch the maid, you damned pussy cat. I brought her here tonight.” As before, the cat settled at the witch’s words and curled up for a cat nap. Vasilisa was pretty cowed by all of these near misses, but Baba Yaga turned to the young woman to really drive the point home. “I hope you were paying attention to all of that. I wouldn’t try to run from me if I were you. My cat will claw you, my dog will bite you, and my tree will lash you. If you even make it to the gate without collapsing into a bloody heap of raw flesh, you’ll find that my gate won’t open. You’ll be stuck inside until I can finish the job my protectors started.”
Leading the way into the main room of the hut, Baba Yaga stretched out on a bench and eyed Vasilisa. “Well here we are. Dinner time. Where are you at, my black-haired maid? Come and make us something to eat.” Vasilisa jumped as a terrified woman rushed out of another room, hastening to obey. Bustling around the hut’s kitchen and larder, she prepared a pot of borshch, butchered half a cow, roasted a whole pig, plucked twenty chickens, sauteed forty geese, and baked two enormous pies plus an extra piece. To wash it all down, she poured the witch ten jugs of milk and entire pails of cider, mead, home-brewed ale, kvass (a fermented drink made from rye flour), and entire barrels of beer. Baba Yaga ate every last scrap and drank every last drop. Vasilisa got only a single chunk of plain bread for her dinner.
Once dinner was done, Baba Yaga had her new servant fetch a bulging sack of millet (a very small grain). In a move that we have seen in several similar stories before, the witch ordered Vasilisa to go through the sack grain by grain and pick out all of the black bits from the good golden seed. “If you miss even a single speck, I shall eat you up bones and all.” Instructions given, Baba Yaga stretched out on the bench, closed her eyes, and started to snore very, very loudly. Like, obnoxiously loudly.
Confident that the witch was well and truly asleep, Vasilisa pulled the little doll out of her pocket. Having only her own supper of a single hunk of bread, the young woman decided to sacrifice it to the doll. Better to go hungry tonight than to be eaten in the morning, right? “Come little doll and eat your bread. Let me pour out all my troubles into your tiny ear.” As soon as the doll began nibbling on the bread, Vasilisa explained the situation. “I found Baba Yaga but she has given me an impossible task to do and threatened to devour me whole if I fail. I don’t know what to do.” The doll burped and wiped its mouth. “Dry your tears and calm your heart. I will handle it. Lay down, close your eyes, and go to sleep. Everything will seem a lot less dire in the light of morning.” Or as the story phrases it, morning is wiser than evening, which I like. I’ve definitely made some bad decisions due to the brain fog of being up too late.
Trusting her mother’s doll completely, Vasilisa did as she was told – she curled up in the corner and was soon fast asleep. Once she was out cold, the doll stood up and walked over to the hut’s open window. “Tomtits, pigeons, and sparrows hear my voice! There is work to do I’m sorry to say and I need your help to get it done. Sweet Vasilisa’s life depends on all of you, so come in answer to this call. You are needed, one and all.” This is giving definite echoes of Psyche and Cupid from back in Episode 7 or even of Cinderella from Episode 76. I must say that the addition of a magic doll to corral the forest beasties is an interesting addition. It’s clearly magic, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t be able to magically convince the local wildlife to help out with the chores.
Before the doll’s voice had trailed off completely, birds began winging their way into the hut, flocks soaring in from all directions until they practically filled Baba Yaga’s home. Somehow, neither of the two human (or at least, human-ish) sleepers nor the witch stirred in their slumber. Maybe that was also part of the doll’s magic. It didn’t take long for them to understand the task and they hopped to. Their sharp beaks were ideal for sorting through individual grains of millet and they went through the entire pile. The good golden grains were put in a sack while the blackened bits were tossed in the midden heap. Even with as many birds as had answered the call, it took them all night to sort the seeds but, as dawn finally broke, the task was done and the birds flew away again.
Even as the great flocks still filled the sky, the white horseman galloped past the skeleton gate on his white horse and was lost in the forest. Baba Yaga woke with the dawn, stretching and yawning hugely. “Did you do as I asked, Vasilisa?” The young woman had awoken only moments before and, opening the sack, was relieved to see that the little doll had saved her ass. “Yes, Grandmother. All of the grains are properly sorted.” The witch snorted in frustration that she couldn’t devour this succulent morsel just yet, but a deal was a deal. “Harumph. Well I’m off to go hunting. You take that sack over by the back wall, the one full to bursting with a mix of peas and poppy seeds. While I’m gone, you sort those out into two distinct piles. If you don’t get it done before I come back, I’ll devour you whole, girl.” Whistling, Baba Yaga strolled out the door, grabbed her pestle, hopped in her mortar, and flew off into the woods.
Even as the witch vanished between the trees, the red horseman galloped out of the gate and into the light of the rising sun. Taking a little of the crust of bread she hadn’t already fed to the doll the night before, Vasilisa begged her tiny helper for assistance again. “Take pity on me, my dear little doll, and help me out!” As always, the doll came to life, munched on the bread, and then smiled reassuringly up at Vasilisa. “Have no fear – I’ve got this.” Raising her voice up so that her ringing tones filled the small cabin, the doll cried out “Come to me, O mice of the house and the barn and the field. Come and help for there is work to be done!”
Swarms of fuzzy mice appeared from every nook and cranny in response, swarms of them until gray and brown and white fur filled the house as far as the eye could see. The doll explained the situation and, using whatever magical compulsion she had over small critters, she set the mice to work sorting the sack. It took about an hour for them to finish, leaving Vasilisa plenty of time to sit around with the two piles and fretting about just how much shit she’d gotten herself into. This could still break very, very bad for her. As the sun began to slide towards the horizon, the young woman went ahead and set the table for the witch’s imminent arrival.
Night fell and the black horseman rode out through the gate once more before the rumbling earth once again announced the arrival of Baba Yaga. As darkness spread, the eyes of the skulls caught flame, spreading their eerie witchlight through the clearing for Baba Yaga to fly through the gate by. The trees creaked and groaned with no wind to stir them. She doesn’t always announce her presence like this, but she was enjoying tormenting her hapless prisoner. A little terror made the flesh all the sweeter. Hopping out of her mortar and whistling a tune that was somehow cheerful and threatening at the same time (picture the whistling from Kill Bill and you’ll be in the right ballpark), the witch sauntered inside.
“Time’s up, dearie. Did you do as I asked?” “Yes, Grandmother – the peas and poppy seeds are all sorted.” The witch snarled in anger at another futile attempt to eat her captive but a deal was a deal and there was nothing she could do. Baba Yaga paused and thought for a moment. “What the fuck am I doing? I’m a fucking evil witch and if I want to eat someone who comes to my house, then I’ll fucking eat them! Besides, I didn’t promise not to eat her. I’m not above murdering a guest.” Smiling wickedly to herself, she stretched and yawned. “Well it’s been a long day. Go on to bed, Vasilisa. I’ll be turning in myself before much longer. And you, my black-haired maid! Come and light the stove for us. It gets cold at night.”
The young maid did as she was told and went over to the stove. Vasilisa made herself a less-than-comfortable bed out of sight behind the stove. It was cramped but at least it would be warm. From her tucked away spot, she heard the witch cackling quietly to herself, clearly thinking Vasilisa couldn’t hear her. “Yes, that’s it. Light the stove and make that fire nice and hot. When I wake up, I’m going to roast Vasilisa for breakfast.” Still cackling, Baba Yaga lay down on the bench again, placed her chin on a nearby shelf, and covered herself up with her foot like it was a blanket. No, I don’t know exactly how that works – maybe the witch’s body is some kind of supernatural Stretch Armstrong. I think she’s showing off to upset her soon-to-be-victim. The witch was asleep in no time and snoring loud enough to shake not just the hut but the entire forest all around the clearing.
Choking back terrified sobs, Vasilisa pulled the little doll out of her pocket and, with trembling hands, fed it a chunk of bread she had scrounged from the witch’s evening meal. “Come to me my dear little doll. Have some bread while I pour out my troubles in your ear. That terrible witch Baba Yaga plans to roast me alive and eat my flesh!” The doll came to life yet again, devoured the bread, and then carefully considered the situation. She quickly devised a plan and walked the trembling Vasilisa through everything she would need to do to survive.
Pulling her silken kerchief, one of the few treasures she still had from her mother, Vasilisa hurried over to the black-haired maid who, as far as she knew, didn’t have a name and bowed deeply. “Please help me, black-haired maid. I don’t want to die! When you’re lighting the stove tonight, pour some water on the wood so that it won’t burn properly. I’ll give you this gorgeous silk kerchief for your trouble.” The black-haired maid considered for a moment and then took the proffered cloth. “Alright, I’ll help. I’ll make the sure the stove takes a long time to heat up. What’s more, I’ll go and tickle and scratch Baba Yaga’s heels so that she’ll sleep very soundly all night, giving you a chance to get the hell out of here. If you’re going, go now.”
Vasilisa hesitated. “What about the three horsemen? Won’t they ride me down and drag me back here?” The maid shook her head. “Oh no, they won’t touch you. The white horseman is bright day, the red horseman is the burning sun, and the black horseman is dark night. Just ignore them and run.” She did. Racing out towards the door, she saw the grizzled tomcat, the grumbler rumbler, his back arched and his paw raised. His wicked claws glittered in the faint moonlight. Vasilisa tossed him a pie that she had apparently snagged during dinner and kept who knows where. Distracted, the cat let her pass unscratched.
She was out the door and into the yard where the massive dog was waiting for her with a snarl. He lowered his head in that stiff-legged way that dogs do when they’re about to attack. Vasilisa pulled out a loaf of bread she’d tucked away who knows where and tossed it to the pupper, who forgot all about being mad. Happily munching on his treat, he let her pass unbitten. I’m starting to think our humble protagonist has some kind of bag of holding to stash all of this stolen food because I doubt she kept a whole damned pie in her pocket.
Hurrying out towards the gate, she saw the birch tree stir to life, its limbs lashing in anticipation of whipping her tender flesh. Pulling a ribbon out of her hair, she tied it around the tree. I don’t know if she’s supposed to be magically binding the tree somehow or if it’s just so flattered at its new fashion accessory that it decides to be friends. Maybe both. Either way, the tree let her pass unbloodied. The gate was still standing open after Baba Yaga’s return but, as Vasilisa raced towards it, the skeletal thing sensed her approach and tried to swing shut. Before it could close, she caught it and used some lard that she’d snagged from dinner and hidden in that same wherever the hell she’s keeping all this shit to grease the hinges so that it swung back open.
The young woman raced into the deep shadows of the forest. As she did so, the black horseman rode past and night fell and the world became pitch black. This made her journey all the more difficult, but even more, it reminded her that she had forgotten something kind of huge. How was she supposed to go home without a light? She’d grabbed all kinds of food from the table but no fire. You know, the thing she’d been sent here explicitly to obtain. If she came back in failure, her stepmother would do Baba Yaga’s job for her. I mean, she wouldn’t eat Vasilisa, but dead was dead.
Completely lost, the young woman pulled the little doll out of her pocket again and asked it for advice. As it had so many times before, the doll considered for a moment and then told her what to do. Without hesitation, she did as she was told. Hurrying back to the skeletal fence, Vasilisa grabbed one of the skulls with their witchlight eyes, mounted it on a stick, and used it to navigate the forest, which was now bright as day for her.
Back in the hut, some time later, Baba Yaga awoke from a deep, restful sleep. Stretching and yawning, she looked around for her captive so that she could get started on cooking her morning meal. Only there was no Vasilisa to be found. She rushed over to the tomcat. “Did you just let Vasilisa slip past you? Did you at least scratch her?” The cat glared at the witch. “No, I did not. That nice young lady gave me a whole pie. I’ve been serving you for ten years and in all that time, you haven’t given me so much as a crust of bread.”
Snarling, the witch headed outside to confront the dog. “Surely you tried to stop Vasilisa from escaping, my faithful hound, right?” The dog snorted. “No, I did not. That kind young lady gave me a whole loaf of bread. I’ve been serving you for ten years and in all that time, you’ve never given me so much as a gnawed on bone.” Cursing, the witch hurried out into the clearing towards the birch tree. “Surely you didn’t fail me, towering birch tree. Please tell me you put out Vasilisa’s eyes or something, right?” The tree shivered. “No, I did not. That wonderful young lady bound my branches with this lovely ribbon. I’ve been growing in this spot for ten years and in all that time, you’ve never decorated me with so much as a string.”
Absolutely furious now, Baba Yaga rushed to the gate, her last line of defense. “The rest of these assholes have failed me, so tell me that you tried to stop Vasilisa from escaping, mighty gate.” The bone-wrought gate presumably used one of its magical skulls to respond to the witch (although the thought of it just squeaking an answer is pretty fun). “No, I did not. That resourceful young woman greased my hinges so that I swing open smoothly. I’ve been serving you for ten years and you’ve never put so much as water on me.” Water would be very bad for most gates, but I guess a magical one built of bones plays by its own rules.
The failure of literally every single one of her servants to stop her cannibalistic breakfast from escaping threw Baba Yaga into a towering rage. Even though this was all clearly her fault for being a shitty boss, the witch blamed everyone around her for not taking her constant abuse with a smile. She responded to their very reasonable complaints by beating the shit out of them all. She thrashed the dog, she kicked the cat, she tore apart the skeleton gate, and she chopped down the birch tree. She was so focused on her rage that she forgot all about Vasilisa. You know, the supposed reason she was so mad. Wholesale destruction proved therapeutic for the witch. By the time she was done, she was tired enough to go back inside and sit down for dinner without bothering to even pretend to chase down the escaped girl. Vasilisa was safe – well, from Baba Yaga anyway. The black-haired maid apparently escaped any punishment somehow.
Her way lit by the magical skull flashlight, Vasilisa made it through the woods safely and eventually stood in front of her own front door once again. Although it was dark outside, every window in the house was pitch black. That was weird. I mean, they did send her to fetch a new light, sure, but she had known good and well that it was a cruel trick designed to get her killed. Vasilisa’s stepmother was perfectly capable of lighting a new fire without outside help, so why hadn’t she done so? The young woman entered the house with a great deal of trepidation.
Which immediately proved warranted. Her stepmother and two stepsisters didn’t waste a single second being glad that Vasilisa had returned from a deadly quest alive and well; instead, they began to berate and scream at her. “What the hell took you so long? We’ve been trying to light a fire over and over and over again, but none of them will stay lit. It makes no sense. We even went to a neighbor’s house to borrow a light from them, but it snuffed itself out as soon as we crossed the threshold!” This of course proves that Vasilisa never needed to go take her chances with Baba Yaga – she could have gone to a closer, safer neighbor if her stepsisters weren’t trying to get her killed.
They brought the glowing skull into the house and breathed a sigh of relief when the eyes stayed lit. That sigh turned into an agonized shriek as the skull’s eyes turned on the three wicked women and burned them alive. Screaming, they tried to flee but the skull’s gaze followed them without fail wherever they ran. It was a slow, horrifying thing so that they had time to feel the fat liquefying beneath skin that was slowly bubbling and blackening. It wasn’t until the sun rose in the morning that they finally stopped twitching and whimpering, burnt to literal cinders. Only Vasilisa was spared the carnage. Though she’ll probably still have nightmares about it. I wonder if the doll had warned her about what the skull was going to do or if it just told her to make sure to bring it home.
She didn’t have any need for the skull any longer so, likely still following the doll’s instructions, she buried it in the yard. In a matter of minutes, a bed of roses grew on the spot where it was buried. Vasilisa had lost any sense of nostalgia for the house and really didn’t fancy sleeping in the place she’d just watched her (admittedly horrible) family be brutally executed. She headed into town and found an old woman with a spare room that she could stay in. I get the impression that the old woman was just lonely and maybe looking for some help around the house because the young woman doesn’t seem to be paying rent.
It was nice not being forced to slave away day and night, but Vasilisa soon found herself bored with an idle existence. “Grandmother, I love living here with you but sitting around all day with nothing to do is less than awesome. The next time you go to the market, would you please buy me some flax? The best you can find.” The old woman was able to procure some fine flax for Vasilisa, who set up her spinning wheel to turn it into thread. It was nice working for herself for once, and her work was the best it had ever been. The flax thread came out as fine and golden as her own lovely hair.
Once she’d spun out the thread, she set to weaving it into yellow cloth so fine that it could pass through the eye of a needle (the woven cloth, not the thread). It sounded pretty beautiful already, but she apparently decided it needed to be bleached. It came out as pure white as freshly fallen snow. “Here, Grandmother, go and sell this cloth in the marketplace. Keep the money for yourself in thanks for your kindness.” The old woman took the proffered cloth and gasped as she felt it on her skin. “You can’t be serious. This is the finest cloth I have ever seen, far too nice for our humble market. Only a Tsarevich is fit to wear such finery. I’d better take it to the palace.” If you’re not up on your Russian monarchy positions, a Tsarevich is the son of the Tsar – basically a prince.
The old woman took the gorgeous cloth, bundled it up nicely, and carried it to the palace. She was able to get an audience with the Tsarevich, who was amazed by the wondrous weaving in the old woman’s hands. “This is clearly the work of a master. How much do you want for it?” She shook her head. “It is indeed fine work, too fine to be sold, I think. I brought it as a gift for you, your highness.” The young man thanked her for her kindness and sent her home with lots of fine gifts that definitely weren’t payment. It’s a matter of courtesy and letting the woman have her pride in giving the court a kingly gift.
The Tsarevich excitedly looked for a tailor to make a shirt for him with the incredible new cloth, but no one had enough skill to work with the finely woven thing. Realizing that there could only be one person who had the workmanship to do the job – the old woman who made it – he sent for her. After listening to his request, she explained that it wasn’t she who had done the work, but a lovely young woman who lived with her named Vasilisa. “Okay, have her make me the shirt then.” Realizing the wisdom of this, the old woman returned home and told her young boarder the situation.
Vasilia set to work immediately, making not one but two shirts out of it. She embroidered them with silken thread and studded the work with large, round pearls. When she was finished, they were clearly fit for royalty. Handing the two shirts over to the old woman to deliver, Vasilisa sat at the window and worked on a piece of elaborate embroidery. You know, for funsies. She was absorbed in her work until her focus was broken by an unusual sight – a servant from the palace running through town. She paused. Not just through town, he was clearly running directly for her. “The Tsarevich bids you come to the palace right away.”
One doesn’t turn down a direct invitation from the palace, so Vasilisa put away her embroidery and followed the servant. As she entered, the Tsarevich was utterly smitten with her casual beauty. He confessed to her that he had fallen in love with her and couldn’t bear for her to leave him again. He wished for nothing so much as to make her his wife. She smiled her acceptance and so he took her milk-white hands in his and led her to a seat beside his own.
Thus were Vasilisa and the Tsarevich married. In time, Vasilisa’s father (remember him?) returned from whatever business he had been away on. He wasn’t terribly upset to find that his wicked wife and his two truly terrible step daughters had died mysteriously. He moved into the palace with his daughter, who he loved even if he had done precisely jack and shit to protect her from his mistakes, and made his home with them. Vasilisa also brought the old woman who had so kindly taken her in. And of course the little doll was always in Vasilisa’s pocket even if she didn’t need to ask its advice very often anymore.
This is a fairly unique take on the young woman perseveres through terrible siblings or step siblings and has to conquer an impossible sorting challenge. Instead of a fairy godmother or a divine oracle, Vasilisa has a magical doll. I have no idea how her mother got ahold of such a potent magical artifact, but I’m glad she did. Maybe it has something to do with being distantly related to Baba Yaga. Our young heroine is plucky and resourceful as well. Sure, she gets magically good advice from the doll, but she has to carry out these nerve-wracking tasks with the threat of literally being cooked and eaten alive hanging over her head. I like Vasilisa, and I’m glad she ended up with a happy ending. And so, with Baba Yaga successfully distracted into not murdering, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s unorthodox house is a horse’s skull.
This story comes from Old Peter’s Russian Tales by Arthur Ransome from 1916. Once upon a time, a horse’s skull lay out on an empty plain. The story doesn’t say what happened to the rest of the horse – maybe it was carried off by a bear or something. Anyway, the skull had by this time been picked clean by ants, leaving it shining clean and white in the sunlight.
LIttle Burrowing Mouse came scurrying along, twirling his whiskers and exploring the wide world. He happened upon the plain and the clean horse’s skull. From his very small perspective, it seemed like a very fine place to put down some roots. Why, it was as large and spacious as a palace for a mouse such as he. Being a cautious little rodent, he hopped up to the front of the skull and knocked politely. “Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in this little house?” No answer came from inside the skull, which was all the assurance that Little Burrowing Mouse needed. He ducked inside and was delighted to find it as empty as he’d thought. “Perfect. I’ll make this skull my own personal bachelor pad. Home sweet home.”
He was just getting things set up the way he liked (I prefer to imagine him unpacking tiny suitcases and arranging tiny furniture), he heard a noise outside. Peering out through the skull, Little Burrowing Mouse saw a frog coming up the way with a jump, three awkward steps, and then another jump. He too noticed the horse’s skull and thought it would be a pleasant place to live. Fortunately, he too was polite and so he knocked on the skull. “Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in this little house?” The current resident stuck his fuzzy head out an eye socket. “I am Little Burrowing Mouse and I live here. Who are you?” “I am Croaking Frog. You have a very fine house here.” “Thank you, it is indeed very fine. And very spacious. Would you like to come in?” Bobbing his head in assent, Croaking Frog hopped inside. He and Little Burrowing Mouse had just become roomates.
They spent some time arranging the inside of the skull the way they wanted when they heard a new commotion outside. Popping both of their heads out of the two empty eye sockets, they saw a bunny rabbit hopping towards them. Like the others, he was a polite hare and so he knocked on the skull. “Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in this little house?” “I’m Little Burrowing Mouse and this is my roommate Croaking Frog. We live here. Who are you?” “I am Hare Hide-in-the-Hill. You’ve got a very beautiful house here.” “Thank you, we certainly like it. It’s also got quite a lot of room if you want to move in as well.” Hare Hide-in-the-Hill was thrilled at this invitation and wiggled his way inside the skull and set up his own things.
Not much time had passed before some other critter could be heard outside. The three roommates popped their heads out to look – one from each eye and one out of an ear – to see a swift fox considering the skull. He too was polite and came to knock on the structure.”Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in the little house?” “Little Burrowing Mouse, Croaking Frog, and Hare Hide-in-the-Hill all live in here. Who are you?” “I Am Fox Run-about-Everywhere. You all have made a very impressive home in this skull.” “Thank you, we certainly think so. It’s still got a bit of room inside if you want to move in with us.” Fox Run-about-Everywhere decided in a flash to become the fourth roommate and moved in with the other three in the increasingly cramped skull. Just how big had this horse been?
Pretty fucking big, judging by the fuzzy critter now coming into the plain. It was a large gray wolf that prowled through the grasses and up to the shining white skull. Being a polite predator (or maybe just not a very hungry one), he knocked on it. “Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in the little house?” All four roommates popped out, one from each eye and one from each ear. “Little Burrowing Mouse, Croaking Frog, Hare Hide-in-the-Hill, and Fox Run-about-Everywhere all live in this skull as roommates and friends. Who are you?” The wolf smiled up at them. “I am Wolf Leap-out-of-the-Bushes. You’ve got quite the setup here, very cozy looking. Is there room for one more perchance?” I don’t see how their could possibly be room for a fucking wolf inside the skull of a horse, but apparently there was because he became the fifth roommate of the skull house. This could make for an interesting animated sitcom, at least.
The five animals spent some time arranging the now fairly cramped accommodations for everyone. These preparations were interrupted by the sound of heavy, booming footsteps outside. All five popped out their heads to look: one from each eye, one from each ear, and one from the nose. Standing there, knocking politely on the skull, was an enormous bear. “Knock, knock, anyone home? Who lives in the little house?” “Uh, we do. Little Burrowing Mouse, Croaking Frog, Hare Hide-in-the-Hill, Fox Run-about-Everywhere, and Wolf Leap-out-of-the-Bushes. Who are you?” “I am Bear Squash-the-Lot.” “That’s, uh, that’s a very ominous name.” The bear didn’t answer. Instead, he simply sat down on the horse’s skull and, you guessed it, squashed the whole lot of them. Why? I don’t know, maybe he’s just a jerk.
There’s no real lesson to be learned here, I think. The story is meant to be entertainment only and even gives instructions on how to make the hand gestures that go along with the tale for the audience’s amusement. You make one hand be the skull with the fingers and thumb of the other hand being the five animals that all move in one by one. When you got to big old Bear Squash-the-Lot, that was the storyteller themselves (the titular Old Peter in the original version) who would sit on their hands and squash the imaginary animals. Or, if you preferred, you could squash the lot with a big bear hug with the listeners (assuming that this is a parent telling a bedtime story to their kids I think). Just pick the approach that feels right in the moment.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth, on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod, and on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re trekking up the windswept mountains of Tibet for a tale about the dangers of impulsive marriage. You’ll see that some brothers know how to share, that there have always been grifters preying on the desperate, and that you can stop a demon with a well-placed hog skull. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll find out that bats are wiser than the birds they are apparently related to. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.