How the Fox Saved the Horse's Life

Once upon a time a bear was hiding behind some trees on the edge of a field in Russia, hungrily watching a peasant and his horse ploughing the soil.

The horse was old and tired, and presently the peasant shouted angrily: ‘I’m fed up with your slowness, old horse! You are no use to me at all. I shall let the bears have you!’

Now the peasant did not really mean what he said, and was thoroughly alarmed when the bear lumbered out from behind the trees and growled, ‘Very well! I will eat your horse for you. Give him to me.’

‘Oh no!’ gasped the man. ‘Don’t eat him yet, I beg you. Give me enough time to finish ploughing this field and then I will let you have him.’

Of course the man had no intention of giving his horse to the bear, for he knew he would never find enough money to buy another one, but he hoped that by the end of the day he might have thought of a plan to outwit the bear.

‘Very well,’ said the bear. ‘I will wait until you have finished.’

The peasant went on with his ploughing, but his mind was not on his job. He kept wondering how he could get the horse home safely, for the bear was a big one who could kill both the horse and man with one blow.

Later in the day the peasant stopped work for a few moments’ rest, and sat down at the edge of the field to eat a crust of bread.

He heard a rustle in the nearby bushes and turning he saw the face of a fox peering at him.

‘Sh!’ said the fox. ‘Don’t call out! I heard what the bear said to you, and have worked out a plan that will save your horse. But you will have to reward me.’

‘I would give anything I have to save my poor old horse,’ said the old man. ‘What is your plan?’

‘First of all, we will decide on my reward,’ said the greedy fox. ‘I shall want twelve hens for my supper.’

‘Very well,’ said the peasant, who had only twelve hens and no more. ‘I will give them to you if your plan works.’

‘I have a small bell here, which I shall fasten round my neck,’ said the fox. ‘Then I shall go into the forest, creep behind the bear, and leap about so that the bell rings.’

‘But that will not frighten a bear!’ exclaimed the man.

‘Of course it won’t,’ said the fox, impatiently. ‘But when the bear hears it and asks you what it is, you must tell him that the King’s son is bear-hunting with a number of his courtiers. That should frighten the bear away pretty quickly.’

Off went the fox among the trees, and up got the peasant and began to plough again. Presently the sound of a bell reached him, and he knew that the fox was leaping about in the forest, trying to make his bell sound like those the bear-hunters tied to their horses.

The bear came towards the peasant with his eyes full of fear. ‘What is that noise?’ he asked.

‘I heard that the King’s son was coming into the forest today, bear-hunting with his friends,’ replied the peasant. ‘I expect they have started the hunt and the bells are those on their horses.’

The bear had changed from a bully to a coward now, and he begged the peasant to save him. ‘Don’t betray me,’ he said, ‘and I promise not to eat your horse after all.’

‘I will not let the hunters get you,’ said the peasant, ‘but I will hold you to your promise afterwards.’

The bear crouched on the ground beside the cart on which the peasant had brought the plough to his field. Then the fox got as close to the bear as he could without being seen, and shouted: ‘We are hunting bears. What is that dark shape beside you, my man?’

‘That is a tree stump,’ called the peasant. ‘I have been cutting wood for my fire.’

‘If it’s a tree stump, why is it standing up? Are you sure it’s not a bear?’

‘Lie down,’ whispered the peasant, giving the terrified bear a push, and sending him under the cart. ‘It’s a tree stump all right,’ called the man. ‘I have cut it down now, and it’s on the ground.’

‘Well that’s a queer place to put it,’ shouted the fox, who was still well hidden by the trees. ‘Why don’t you load it on your cart, and tie it firmly with rope, so that it doesn’t fall off? That is what we do with logs as big as that.’

‘Very well,’ said the man, and the bear, needing no encouragement, scrambled up into the cart and allowed the peasant to tie him up firmly with rope.

‘You are a foolish fellow,’ called the fox. ‘Most people put an axe in the cart with the log, and then they can chop it up for firewood as soon as they get home.’

So the peasant took his axe, climbed into the cart, and killed the bear with one blow.

The horse neighed with happiness as the peasant harnessed him to the cart and prepared to go home, but the fox kept leaping and bounding around them as they went, crying: ‘Don’t forget my reward. Twenty hens you promised me.’

‘Not twenty! I have only twelve and that was the number we agreed on,’ said the poor peasant, wondering what his wife would say when he handed over her fine, plump laying hens to the fox.

As they neared the peasant’s cottage, his three dogs heard him coming, and leaping up from their place beside the hearth, the rushed out joyously to greet him.

‘Dogs!’ screamed the fox. ‘You didn’t tell me you kept dogs!’

He turned tail at once and rushed back towards the forest. The three dogs chased after him for several miles but he just managed to get into his hole before they caught up with him.

‘I shall never try to help a human being again,’ said the fox as he lay down to get back his breath in the safety of his home.

But the peasant was delighted that his dogs had saved him from giving up his wife’s precious hens, and when they returned, panting loudly and extremely hungry, he gave them an extra big supper.

Later on, he told his wife the whole story. But she did not believe him, so he took her outside in the darkness and showed her the dead bear, promising that he would skin it in the morning, and make her a fine, fur rug to go on her bed and keep her warm during the bitter, winter nights.

As for the horse, he said nothing, but he lived to a ripe old age, and never again did the peasant threaten to give him up to the bears.

The Enchanted Tsarévich

Once upon a time there was a merchant who had three daughters. It so happened he had one day to go to strange countries to buy wares, and so he asked his daughters, "What shall I bring you from beyond the seas?"

The eldest asked for a new coat, and the next one also asked for a new coat; but the youngest one only took a sheet of paper and sketched a flower on it. "Bring me, bátyushka [father], a flower like this!"

So the merchant went and made a long journey to foreign kingdoms, but he could never see such a flower. So he came back home, and he saw on his way a splendid lofty palace with watchtowers, turrets, and a garden. He went a walk in the garden, and you cannot imagine how many trees he saw and flowers, every flower fairer than the other flowers. And then he looked and he saw a single one like the one which his daughter had sketched.

"Oh," he said, "I will tear off and bring this to my beloved daughter; evidently there is nobody here to watch me."

So he ran up and broke it off, and as soon as he had done it, in that very instant a boisterous wind arose and thunder thundered, and a fearful monster stood in front of him, a formless, winged snake with three heads. "How dared you play the master in my garden!" cried the snake to the merchant. "Why have you broken off a blossom?"

The merchant was frightened, fell on his knees and besought pardon.

"Very well," said the snake, "I will forgive you, but on condition that whoever meets you first, when you reach home, you must give me for all eternity; and, if you deceive me, do not forget, nobody can ever hide himself from me. I shall find you wherever you are."

The merchant agreed to the condition and came back home. And the youngest daughter saw him from the window and ran out to meet him. Then the merchant hung his head, looked at his beloved daughter, and began to shed bitter tears.

"What is the matter with you? Why are you weeping, bátyushka?"

He gave her the blossom and told what had befallen him.

"Do not grieve, bátyushka ," said the youngest daughter. "It is God's gift. Perhaps I shall fare well. Take me to the snake."

So the father took her away, set her in the palace, bade farewell, and set out home. Then the fair maiden, the daughter of the merchant, went in the different rooms, and beheld everywhere gold and velvet; but no one was there to be seen, not a single human soul.

Time went by and went by, and the fair damsel became hungry and thought, "Oh, if I could only have something to eat!" But before ever she had thought, in front of her stood a table, and on the table were dishes and drinks and refreshments. The only thing that was not there was birds' milk. Then she sat down to the table, drank and ate, got up, and it had all vanished.

Darkness now came on, and the merchant's daughter went into the bedroom, wishing to lie down and sleep. Then a boisterous wind rustled round and the three- headed snake appeared in front of her.

"Hail, fair maiden! Put my bed outside this door!"

So the fair maiden put the bed outside the door and herself lay on the bedstead.

She awoke in the morning, and again in the entire house there was not a single soul to be seen. And it all went well with her. Whatever she wished for appeared on the spot.

In the evening the snake flew to her and ordered, "Now, fair maiden, put my bed next to your bedstead."

She then laid it next to her bedstead, and the night went by, and the maiden awoke, and again there was never a soul in the palace.

And for the third time the snake came in the evening and said, "Now, fair maiden, I am going to lie with you in the bedstead."

The merchant's daughter was fearfully afraid of lying on a single bed with such a formless monster. But she could not help herself, so she strengthened her heart and lay down with him.

In the morning the serpent said to her, "If you are now weary, fair maiden, go to your father and your sisters. Spend a day with them, and in the evening come back to me. But see to it that you are not late. If you are one single minute late I shall die of grief."

"No, I shall not be late," said the maiden, the merchant's daughter, and descended the steps; there was a barouche ready for her, and she sat down. That very instant she arrived at her father's courtyard.

Then the father saw, welcomed, kissed her, and asked her, "How has God been dealing with you, my beloved daughter ? Has it been well with you?"

"Very well, father!" And she started telling of all the wealth there was in the palace, how the snake loved her, how whatever she only thought of was in that instant fulfilled.

The sisters heard, and did not know what to do out of sheer envy.

Now the day was ebbing away, and the fair maiden made ready to go back, and was bidding farewell to her father and her sisters, saying, "This is the time I must go back. I was bidden keep to my term."

But the envious sisters rubbed onions on their eyes and made as though they were weeping: "Do not go away, sister; stay until tomorrow."

She was very sorry for her sisters, and stayed one day more.

In the morning she bade farewell to them all and went to the palace. When she arrived it was as empty as before. She went into the garden, and she saw the serpent lying dead in the pond! He had thrown himself for sheer grief into the water.

"Oh, my God, what have I done!" cried out the fair maiden, and she wept bitter tears, ran. up to the pond, hauled the snake out of the water, embraced one head and kissed it with all her might. And the snake trembled, and in a minute turned into a good youth.

"I thank you, fair maiden," he said. "You have saved me from the greatest misfortune. I am no snake, but an enchanted prince."

Then they went back to the merchant's house, were betrothed, lived long, and lived for good and happy things.