Section 11 of 21 - Table of Contents
PRINCE IVAN, THE WITCH BABY, AND THE LITTLE SISTER OF THE SUN.
Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a little Prince Ivan who
was dumb. Never a word had he spoken from the day that he was
born--not so much as a "Yes" or a "No," or a "Please" or a "Thank
you." A great sorrow he was to his father because he could not speak.
Indeed, neither his father nor his mother could bear the sight of him,
for they thought, "A poor sort of Tzar will a dumb boy make!" They
even prayed, and said, "If only we could have another child, whatever
it is like, it could be no worse than this tongue-tied brat who cannot
say a word." And for that wish they were punished, as you shall hear.
And they took no sort of care of the little Prince Ivan, and he spent
all his time in the stables, listening to the tales of an old groom.
He was a wise man was the old groom, and he knew the past and the
future, and what was happening under the earth. Maybe he had learnt
his wisdom from the horses. Anyway, he knew more than other folk, and
there came a day when he said to Prince Ivan,--
"Little Prince," says he, "to-day you have a sister, and a bad one at
that. She has come because of your father's prayers and your mother's
wishes. A witch she is, and she will grow like a seed of corn. In six
weeks she'll be a grown witch, and with her iron teeth she will eat up
your father, and eat up your mother, and eat up you too, if she gets
the chance. There's no saving the old people; but if you are quick,
and do what I tell you, you may escape, and keep your soul in your
body. And I love you, my little dumb Prince, and do not wish to think
of your little body between her iron teeth. You must go to your father
and ask him for the best horse he has, and then gallop like the wind,
and away to the end of the world."
The little Prince ran off and found his father. There was his father,
and there was his mother, and a little baby girl was in his mother's
arms, screaming like a little fury.
"Well, she's not dumb," said his father, as if he were well pleased.
"Father," says the little Prince, "may I have the fastest horse in the
stable?" And those were the first words that ever left his mouth.
"What!" says his father, "have you got a voice at last? Yes, take
whatever horse you want. And see, you have a little sister; a fine
little girl she is too. She has teeth already. It's a pity they are
black, but time will put that right, and it's better to have black
teeth than to be born dumb."
Little Prince Ivan shook in his shoes when he heard of the black teeth
of his little sister, for he knew that they were iron. He thanked his
father and ran off to the stable. The old groom saddled the finest
horse there was. Such a horse you never saw. Black it was, and its
saddle and bridle were trimmed with shining silver. And little Prince
Ivan climbed up and sat on the great black horse, and waved his hand
to the old groom, and galloped away, on and on over the wide world.
"It's a big place, this world," thought the little Prince. "I wonder
when I shall come to the end of it." You see, he had never been
outside the palace grounds. And he had only ridden a little Finnish
pony. And now he sat high up, perched on the back of the great black
horse, who galloped with hoofs that thundered beneath him, and leapt
over rivers and streams and hillocks, and anything else that came in
his way.
On and on galloped the little Prince on the great black horse. There
were no houses anywhere to be seen. It was a long time since they had
passed any people, and little Prince Ivan began to feel very lonely,
and to wonder if indeed he had come to the end of the world, and could
bring his journey to an end.
Suddenly, on a wide, sandy plain, he saw two old, old women sitting in
the road.
They were bent double over their work, sewing and sewing, and now one
and now the other broke a needle, and took a new one out of a box
between them, and threaded the needle with thread from another box,
and went on sewing and sewing. Their old noses nearly touched their
knees as they bent over their work.
Little Prince Ivan pulled up the great black horse in a cloud of dust,
and spoke to the old women.
"Grandmothers," said he, "is this the end of the world? Let me stay
here and live with you, and be safe from my baby sister, who is a
witch and has iron teeth. Please let me stay with you, and I'll be
very little trouble, and thread your needles for you when you break
them."
"Prince Ivan, my dear," said one of the old women, "this is not the
end of the world, and little good would it be to you to stay with us.
For as soon as we have broken all our needles and used up all our
thread we shall die, and then where would you be? Your sister with the
iron teeth would have you in a minute."
The little Prince cried bitterly, for he was very little and all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping, and throwing the dust from his thundering
hoofs.
He came into a forest of great oaks, the biggest oak trees in the
whole world. And in that forest was a dreadful noise--the crashing of
trees falling, the breaking of branches, and the whistling of things
hurled through the air. The Prince rode on, and there before him was
the huge giant, Tree-rooter, hauling the great oaks out of the ground
and flinging them aside like weeds.
"I should be safe with him," thought little Prince Ivan, "and this,
surely, must be the end of the world."
He rode close up under the giant, and stopped the black horse, and
shouted up into the air.
"Please, great giant," says he, "is this the end of the world? And may
I live with you and be safe from my sister, who is a witch, and grows
like a seed of corn, and has iron teeth?"
"Prince Ivan, my dear," says Tree-rooter, "this is not the end of the
world, and little good would it be to you to stay with me. For as soon
as I have rooted up all these trees I shall die, and then where would
you be? Your sister would have you in a minute. And already there are
not many big trees left."
And the giant set to work again, pulling up the great trees and
throwing them aside. The sky was full of flying trees.
Little Prince Ivan cried bitterly, for he was very little and was all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping under the tall trees, and throwing clods of
earth from his thundering hoofs.
He came among the mountains. And there was a roaring and a crashing in
the mountains as if the earth was falling to pieces. One after another
whole mountains were lifted up into the sky and flung down to earth,
so that they broke and scattered into dust. And the big black horse
galloped through the mountains, and little Prince Ivan sat bravely on
his back. And there, close before him, was the huge giant
Mountain-tosser, picking up the mountains like pebbles and hurling
them to little pieces and dust upon the ground.
"This must be the end of the world," thought the little Prince; "and
at any rate I should be safe with him."
"Please, great giant," says he, "is this the end of the world? And may
I live with you and be safe from my sister, who is a witch, and has
iron teeth, and grows like a seed of corn?"
"Prince Ivan, my dear," says Mountain-tosser, resting for a moment and
dusting the rocks off his great hands, "this is not the end of the
world, and little good would it be to you to stay with me. For as soon
as I have picked up all these mountains and thrown them down again I
shall die, and then where would you be? Your sister would have you in
a minute. And there are not very many mountains left."
And the giant set to work again, lifting up the great mountains and
hurling them away. The sky was full of flying mountains.
Little Prince Ivan wept bitterly, for he was very little and was all
alone. He rode on further over the wide world, the black horse
galloping and galloping along the mountain paths, and throwing the
stones from his thundering hoofs.
At last he came to the end of the world, and there, hanging in the sky
above him, was the castle of the little sister of the Sun. Beautiful
it was, made of cloud, and hanging in the sky, as if it were built of
red roses.
"I should be safe up there," thought little Prince Ivan, and just then
the Sun's little sister opened the window and beckoned to him.
Prince Ivan patted the big black horse and whispered to it, and it
leapt up high into the air and through the window, into the very
courtyard of the castle.
"Stay here and play with me," said the little sister of the Sun; and
Prince Ivan tumbled off the big black horse into her arms, and laughed
because he was so happy.
Merry and pretty was the Sun's little sister, and she was very kind to
little Prince Ivan. They played games together, and when she was tired
she let him do whatever he liked and run about her castle. This way
and that he ran about the battlements of rosy cloud, hanging in the
sky over the end of the world.
But one day he climbed up and up to the topmost turret of the castle.
From there he could see the whole world. And far, far away, beyond the
mountains, beyond the forests, beyond the wide plains, he saw his
father's palace where he had been born. The roof of the palace was
gone, and the walls were broken and crumbling. And little Prince Ivan
came slowly down from the turret, and his eyes were red with weeping.
"My dear," says the Sun's little sister, "why are your eyes so red?"
"It is the wind up there," says little Prince Ivan.
And the Sun's little sister put her head out of the window of the
castle of cloud and whispered to the winds not to blow so hard.
But next day little Prince Ivan went up again to that topmost turret,
and looked far away over the wide world to the ruined palace. "She has
eaten them all with her iron teeth," he said to himself. And his eyes
were red when he came down.
"My dear," says the Sun's little sister, "your eyes are red again."
"It is the wind," says little Prince Ivan.
And the Sun's little sister put her head out of the window and scolded
the wind.
But the third day again little Prince Ivan climbed up the stairs of
cloud to that topmost turret, and looked far away to the broken palace
where his father and mother had lived. And he came down from the
turret with the tears running down his face.
"Why, you are crying, my dear!" says the Sun's little sister. "Tell me
what it is all about."
So little Prince Ivan told the little sister of the Sun how his sister
was a witch, and how he wept to think of his father and mother, and
how he had seen the ruins of his father's palace far away, and how he
could not stay with hen happily until he knew how it was with his
parents.
"Perhaps it is not yet too late to save them from her iron teeth,
though the old groom said that she would certainly eat them, and that
it was the will of God. But let me ride back on my big black horse."
"Do not leave me, my dear," says the Sun's little sister. "I am lonely
here by myself."
"I will ride back on my big black horse, and then I will come to you
again."
"What must be, must," says the Sun's little sister; "though she is
more likely to eat you than you are to save them. You shall go. But
you must take with you a magic comb, a magic brush, and two apples of
youth. These apples would make young once more the oldest things on
earth."
Then she kissed little Prince Ivan, and he climbed up on his big
black horse, and leapt out of the window of the castle down on the end
of the world, and galloped off on his way back over the wide world.
He came to Mountain-tosser, the giant. There was only one mountain
left, and the giant was just picking it up. Sadly he was picking it
up, for he knew that when he had thrown it away his work would be done
and he would have to die.
"Well, little Prince Ivan," says Mountain-tosser, "this is the end;"
and he heaves up the mountain. But before he could toss it away the
little Prince threw his magic brush on the plain, and the brush
swelled and burst, and there were range upon range of high mountains,
touching the sky itself.
"Why," says Mountain-tosser, "I have enough mountains now to last me
for another thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."
And he set to work again, heaving up mountains and tossing them down,
while little Prince Ivan galloped on across the wide world.
He came to Tree-rooter, the giant. There were only two of the great
oaks left, and the giant had one in each hand.
"Ah me, little Prince Ivan," says Tree-rooter, "my life is come to
its end; for I have only to pluck up these two trees and throw them
down, and then I shall die."
"Pluck them up," says little Prince Ivan. "Here are plenty more for
you." And he threw down his comb. There was a noise of spreading
branches, of swishing leaves, of opening buds, all together, and there
before them was a forest of great oaks stretching farther than the
giant could see, tall though he was.
"Why," says Tree-rooter, "here are enough trees to last me for another
thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."
And he set to work again, pulling up the big trees, laughing joyfully
and hurling them over his head, while little Prince Ivan galloped on
across the wide world.
He came to the two old women. They were crying their eyes out.
"There is only one needle left!" says the first.
"There is only one bit of thread in the box!" sobs the second.
"And then we shall die!" they say both together, mumbling with their
old mouths.
"Before you use the needle and thread, just eat these apples," says
little Prince Ivan, and he gives them the two apples of youth.
The two old women took the apples in their old shaking fingers and ate
them, bent double, mumbling with their old lips. They had hardly
finished their last mouthfuls when they sat up straight, smiled with
sweet red lips, and looked at the little Prince with shining eyes.
They had become young girls again, and their gray hair was black as
the raven.
"Thank you kindly, little Prince," say the two young girls. "You must
take with you the handkerchief we have been sewing all these years.
Throw it to the ground, and it will turn into a lake of water. Perhaps
some day it will be useful to you."
"Thank you," says the little Prince, and off he gallops, on and on
over the wide world.
He came at last to his father's palace. The roof was gone, and there
were holes in the walls. He left his horse at the edge of the garden,
and crept up to the ruined palace and peeped through a hole. Inside,
in the great hall, was sitting a huge baby girl, filling the whole
hall. There was no room for her to move. She had knocked off the roof
with a shake of her head. And she sat there in the ruined hall,
sucking her thumb.
And while Prince Ivan was watching through the hole he heard her
mutter to herself,--
"_Eaten the father, eaten the mother,
And now to eat the little brother_"
And she began shrinking, getting smaller and smaller every minute.
Little Prince Ivan had only just time to get away from the hole in the
wall when a pretty little baby girl came running out of the ruined
palace.
"You must be my little brother Ivan," she called out to him, and came
up to him smiling. But as she smiled the little Prince saw that her
teeth were black; and as she shut her mouth he heard them clink
together like pokers.
"Come in," says she, and she took little Prince Ivan with her to a
room in the palace, all broken down and cobwebbed. There was a
dulcimer lying in the dust on the floor.
"Well, little brother," says the witch baby, "you play on the dulcimer
and amuse yourself while I get supper ready. But don't stop playing,
or I shall feel lonely." And she ran off and left him.
Little Prince Ivan sat down and played tunes on the dulcimer--sad
enough tunes. You would not play dance music if you thought you were
going to be eaten by a witch.
But while he was playing a little gray mouse came out of a crack in
the floor. Some people think that this was the wise old groom, who had
turned into a little gray mouse to save Ivan from the witch baby.
"Ivan, Ivan," says the little gray mouse, "run while you may. Your
father and mother were eaten long ago, and well they deserved it. But
be quick, or you will be eaten too. Your pretty little sister is
putting an edge on her teeth!"
Little Prince Ivan thanked the mouse, and ran out from the ruined
palace, and climbed up on the back of his big black horse, with its
saddle and bridle trimmed with silver. Away he galloped over the wide
world. The witch baby stopped her work and listened. She heard the
music of the dulcimer, so she made sure he was still there. She went
on sharpening her teeth with a file, and growing bigger and bigger
every minute. And all the time the music of the dulcimer sounded among
the ruins.
As soon as her teeth were quite sharp she rushed off to eat little
Prince Ivan. She tore aside the walls of the room. There was nobody
there--only a little gray mouse running and jumping this way and that
on the strings of the dulcimer.
When it saw the witch baby the little mouse ran across the floor and
into the crack and away, so that she never caught it. How the witch
baby gnashed her teeth! Poker and tongs, poker and tongs--what a noise
they made! She swelled up, bigger and bigger, till she was a baby as
high as the palace. And then she jumped up so that the palace fell to
pieces about her. Then off she ran after little Prince Ivan.
Little Prince Ivan, on the big black horse, heard a noise behind him.
He looked back, and there was the huge witch, towering over the trees.
She was dressed like a little baby, and her eyes flashed and her teeth
clanged as she shut her mouth. She was running with long strides,
faster even than the black horse could gallop--and he was the best
horse in all the world.
Little Prince Ivan threw down the handkerchief that had been sewn by
the two old women who had eaten the apples of youth. It turned into a
deep, broad lake, so that the witch baby had to swim--and swimming is
slower than running. It took her a long time to get across, and all
that time Prince Ivan was galloping on, never stopping for a moment.
The witch baby crossed the lake and came thundering after him. Close
behind she was, and would have caught him; but the giant Tree-rooter
saw the little Prince galloping on the big black horse, and the witch
baby tearing after him. He pulled up the great oaks in armfuls, and
threw them down just in front of the witch baby. He made a huge pile
of the big trees, and the witch baby had to stop and gnaw her way
through them with her iron teeth.
It took her a long time to gnaw through the trees, and the black horse
galloped and galloped ahead. But presently Prince Ivan heard a noise
behind him. He looked back, and there was the witch baby, thirty feet
high, racing after him, clanging with her teeth. Close behind she
was, and the little Prince sat firm on the big black horse, and
galloped and galloped. But she would have caught him if the giant
Mountain-tosser had not seen the little Prince on the big black horse,
and the great witch baby running after him. The giant tore up the
biggest mountain in the world and flung it down in front of her, and
another on the top of that. She had to bite her way through them,
while the little Prince galloped and galloped.
At last little Prince Ivan saw the cloud castle of the little sister
of the Sun, hanging over the end of the world and gleaming in the sky
as if it were made of roses. He shouted with hope, and the black horse
shook his head proudly and galloped on. The witch baby thundered after
him. Nearer she came and nearer.
"Ah, little one," screams the witch baby, "you shan't get away this
time!"
The Sun's little sister was looking from a window of the castle in the
sky, and she saw the witch baby stretching out to grab little Prince
Ivan. She flung the window open, and just in time the big black horse
leapt up, and through the window and into the courtyard, with little
Prince Ivan safe on its back.
How the witch baby gnashed her iron teeth!
"Give him up!" she screams.
"I will not," says the Sun's little sister.
"See you here," says the witch baby, and she makes herself smaller and
smaller and smaller, till she was just like a real little girl. "Let
us be weighed in the great scales, and if I am heavier than Prince
Ivan, I can take him; and if he is heavier than I am, I'll say no more
about it."
The Sun's little sister laughed at the witch baby and teased her, and
she hung the great scales out of the cloud castle so that they swung
above the end of the world.
Little Prince Ivan got into one scale, and down it went.
"Now," says the witch baby, "we shall see."
And she made herself bigger and bigger and bigger, till she was as big
as she had been when she sat and sucked her thumb in the hall of the
ruined palace. "I am the heavier," she shouted, and gnashed her iron
teeth. Then she jumped into the other scale.
She was so heavy that the scale with the little Prince in it shot up
into the air. It shot up so fast that little Prince Ivan flew up into
the sky, up and up and up, and came down on the topmost turret of the
cloud castle of the little sister of the Sun.
The Sun's little sister laughed, and closed the window, and went up to
the turret to meet the little Prince. But the witch baby turned back
the way she had come, and went off, gnashing her iron teeth until
they broke. And ever since then little Prince Ivan and the little
sister of the Sun play together in the castle of cloud that hangs over
the end of the world. They borrow the stars to play at ball, and put
them back at night whenever they remember.
"So when there are no stars?" asked Maroosia.
"It means that Prince Ivan and the Sun's little sister have gone to
sleep over their games and forgotten to put their toys away."
THE STOLEN TURNIPS, THE MAGIC TABLECLOTH, THE SNEEZING GOAT, AND THE
WOODEN WHISTLE.
This is the story which old Peter used to tell whenever either Vanya
or Maroosia was cross. This did not often happen; but it would be no
use to pretend that it never happened at all. Sometimes it was Vanya
who scolded Maroosia, and sometimes it was Maroosia who scolded
Vanya. Sometimes there were two scoldings going on at once. And old
Peter did not like crossness in the hut, whoever did the scolding. He
said it spoilt his tobacco and put a sour taste in the tea. And, of
course, when the children remembered that they were spoiling their
grandfather's tea and tobacco they stopped just as quickly as they
could, unless their tongues had run right away with them--which
happens sometimes, you know, even to grown-up people. This story used
to be told in two ways. It was either the tale of an old man who was
bothered by a cross old woman, or the tale of an old woman who was
bothered by a cross old man. And the moment old Peter began the story
both children would ask at once, "Which is the cross one?"--for t hen
they would know which of them old Peter thought was in the wrong.
"This time it's the old woman," said their grandfather; "but, as like
as not, it will be the old man next."
And then any quarrelling there was came to an end, and was forgotten
before the end of the story. This is the story.
An old man and an old woman lived in a little wooden house. All round
the house there was a garden, crammed with flowers, and potatoes, and
beetroots, and cabbages. And in one corner of the house there was a
narrow wooden stairway which went up and up, twisting and twisting,
into a high tower. In the top of the tower was a dovecot, and on the
top of the dovecot was a flat roof.
Now, the old woman was never content with the doings of the old man.
She scolded all day, and she scolded all night. If there was too much
rain, it was the old man's fault; and if there was a drought, and all
green things were parched for lack of water, well, the old man was to
blame for not altering the weather. And though he was old and tired,
it was all the same to her how much work she put on his shoulders. The
garden was full. There was no room in it at all, not even for a single
pea. And all of a sudden the old woman sets her heart on growing
turnips.
"But there is no room in the garden," says the old man.
"Sow them on the top of the dovecot," says the old woman.
"But there is no earth there."
"Carry earth up and put it there," says she.
So the old man laboured up and down with his tired old bones, and
covered the top of the dovecot with good black earth. He could only
take up a very little at a time, because he was old and weak, and
because the stairs were so narrow and dangerous that he had to hold on
with both hands and carry the earth in a bag which he held in his
teeth. His teeth were strong enough, because he had been biting crusts
all his life. The old woman left him nothing else, for she took all
the crumb for herself. The old man did his best, and by evening the
top of the dovecot was covered with earth, and he had sown it with
turnip seed.
Next day, and the day after that and every day, the old woman scolded
the old man till he went up to the dovecot to see how those turnip
seeds were getting on.
"Are they ready to eat yet?"
"They are not ready to eat."
"Is the green sprouting?"
"The green is sprouting."
And at last there came a day when the old man came down from the
dovecot and said: "The turnips are doing finely--quite big they are
getting; but all the best ones have been stolen away."
"Stolen away?" cried the old woman, shaking with rage. "And have you
lived all these years and not learned how to keep thieves from a
turnip bed, on the top of a dovecot, on the top of a tower, on the top
of a house? Out with you, and don't you dare to come back till you
have caught the thieves."
The old man did not dare to tell her that the door had been bolted,
although he knew it had, because he had bolted it himself. He hurried
away out of the house, more because he wanted to get out of earshot of
her scolding than because he had any hope of finding the thieves.
"They may be birds," thinks he, "or the little brown squirrels. Who
else could climb so high without using the stairs? And how is an old
man like me to get hold of them, flying through the tops of the high
trees and running up and down the branches?"
And so he wandered away without his dinner into the deep forest.
But God is good to old men. Hasn't He given me two little pigeons, who
nearly always are as merry as all little pigeons should be? And God
led the old man through the forest, though the old man thought he was
just wandering on, trying to lose himself and forget the scolding
voice of the old woman.
And after he had walked a long way through the dark green forest, he
saw a little hut standing under the pine trees. There was no smoke
coming from the chimney, but there was such a chattering in the hut
you could hear it far away. It was like coming near a rookery at
evening, or disturbing a lot of starlings. And as the old man came
slowly nearer to the hut, he thought he saw little faces looking at
him through the window and peeping through the door. He could not be
sure, because they were gone so quickly. And all the time the
chattering went on louder and louder, till the old man nearly put his
hands to his ears.
And then suddenly the chattering stopped. There was not a sound--no
noise at all. The old man stood still. A squirrel dropped a fir cone
close by, and the old man was startled by the fall of it, because
everything else was so quiet.
"Whatever there is in the hut, it won't be worse than the old woman,"
says the old man to himself. So he makes the sign of the holy Cross,
and steps up to the little hut and takes a look through the door.
There was no one to be seen. You would have thought the hut was empty.
The old man took a step inside, bending under the little low door.
Still he could see nobody, only a great heap of rags and blankets on
the sleeping-place on the top of the stove. The hut was as clean as if
it had only that minute been swept by Maroosia herself. But in the
middle of the floor there was a scrap of green leaf lying, and the old
man knew in a moment that it was a scrap of green leaf from the top of
a young turnip.
And while the old man looked at it, the heap of blankets and rugs on
the stove moved, first in one place and then in another. Then there
was a little laugh. Then another. And suddenly there was a great stir
in the blankets, and they were all thrown back helter-skelter, and
there were dozens and dozens of little queer children, laughing and
laughing and laughing, and looking at the old man. And every child had
a little turnip, and showed it to the old man and laughed.
Just then the door of the stove flew open, and out tumbled more of the
little queer children, dozens and dozens of them. The more they came
tumbling out into the hut, the more there seemed to be chattering in
the stove and squeezing to get out one over the top of another. The
noise of chattering and laughing would have made your head spin. And
everyone of the children out of the stove had a little turnip like
the others, and waved it about and showed it to the old man, and
laughed like anything.
"Ho," says the old man, "so you are the thieves who have stolen the
turnips from the top of the dovecot?"
"Yes," cried the children, and the chatter rattled as fast as
hailstones on the roof. "Yes! yes! yes! _We_ stole the turnips."
"How did you get on to the top of the dovecot when the door into the
house was bolted and fast?"
At that the children all burst out laughing, and did not answer a
word.
"Laugh you may," said the old man; "but it is I who get the scolding
when the turnips fly away in the night."
"Never mind! never mind!" cried the children. "We'll pay for the
turnips."
"How can you pay for them?" asks the old man. "You have got nothing to
pay with."
All the children chattered together, and looked at the old man and
smiled. Then one of them said to the old man, "Are you hungry,
grandfather?"
"Hungry!" says the old man. "Why, yes, of course I am, my dear. I've
been looking for you all day, and I had to start without my dinner."
"If you are hungry, open the cupboard behind you."
The old man opened the cupboard.
"Take out the tablecloth."
The old man took out the tablecloth.
"Spread it on the table."
The old man spread the tablecloth on the table.
"Now!" shouted the children, chattering like a thousand nests full of
young birds, "we'll all sit down and have dinner."
They pulled out the benches and gave the old man a chair at one end,
and all crowded round the table ready to begin.
"But there's no food," said the old man.
How they laughed!
"Grandfather," one of them sings out from the other end of the table,
"you just tell the tablecloth to turn inside out,"
"How?" says he.
"Tell the tablecloth to turn inside out. That's easy enough."
"There's no harm in doing that," thinks the old man; so he says to the
tablecloth as firmly as he could, "Now then you, tablecloth, turn
inside out!"
The tablecloth hove itself up into the air, and rolled itself this
way and that as if it were in a whirlwind, and then suddenly laid
itself flat on the table again. And somehow or other it had covered
itself with dishes and plates and wooden spoons with pictures on them,
and bowls of soup and mushrooms and kasha, and meat and cakes and fish
and ducks, and everything else you could think of, ready for the best
dinner in the world.
The chattering and laughing stopped, and the old man and those dozens
and dozens of little queer children set to work and ate everything on
the table.
"Which of you washes the dishes?" asked the old man, when they had all
done.
The children laughed.
"Tell the tablecloth to turn outside in."
"Tablecloth," says the old man, "turn outside in."
Up jumped the tablecloth with all the empty dishes and dirty plates
and spoons, whirled itself this way and that in the air, and suddenly
spread itself out flat again on the table, as clean and white as when
it was taken out of the cupboard. There was not a dish or a bowl, or a
spoon or a plate, or a knife to be seen; no, not even a crumb.
"That's a good tablecloth," says the old man.
"See here, grandfather," shouted the children: "you take the
tablecloth along with you, and say no more about those turnips."
"Well, I'm content with that," says the old man. And he folded up the
tablecloth very carefully and put it away inside his shirt, and said
he must be going.
"Good-bye," says he, "and thank you for the dinner and the
tablecloth."
"Good-bye," say they, "and thank you for the turnips."
The old man made his way home, singing through the forest in his
creaky old voice until he came near the little wooden house where he
lived with the old woman. As soon as he came near there he slipped
along like any mouse. And as soon as he put his head inside the door
the old woman began,--
"Have you found the thieves, you old fool?"
"I found the thieves."
"Who were they?"
"They were a whole crowd of little queer children."
"Have you given them a beating they'll remember?"
"No, I have not."
"What? Bring them to me, and I'll teach them to steal my turnips!"
"I haven't got them."
"What have you done with them?"
"I had dinner with them."
Well, at that the old woman flew into such a rage she could hardly
speak. But speak she did--yes, and shout too and scream--and it was
all the old man could do not to run away out of the cottage. But he
stood still and listened, and thought of something else; and when she
had done he said, "They paid for the turnips."
"Paid for the turnips!" scolded the old woman. "A lot of children!
What did they give you? Mushrooms? We can get them without losing our
turnips."
"They gave me a tablecloth," said the old man; "it's a very good
tablecloth."
He pulled it out of his shirt and spread it on the table; and as
quickly as he could, before she began again, he said, "Tablecloth,
turn inside out!"
The old woman stopped short, just when she was taking breath to scold
with, when the tablecloth jumped up and danced in the air and settled
on the table again, covered with things to eat and to drink. She smelt
the meat, took a spoonful of the soup, and tried all the other dishes.
"Look at all the washing up it will mean," says she.
"Tablecloth, turn outside in!" says the old man; and there was a whirl
of white cloth and dishes and everything else, and then the tablecloth
spread itself out on the table as clean as ever you could wish.
"That's not a bad tablecloth," says the old woman; "but, of course,
they owed me something for stealing all those turnips."
The old man said nothing. He was very tired, and he just laid down and
went to sleep.
As soon as he was asleep the old woman took the tablecloth and hid it
away in an iron chest, and put a tablecloth of her own in its place.
"They were my turnips," says she, "and I don't see why he should have
a share in the tablecloth. He's had a meal from it once at my expense,
and once is enough." Then she lay down and went to sleep, grumbling to
herself even in her dreams.
Early in the morning the old woman woke the old man and told him to go
up to the dovecot and see how those turnips were getting on.
He got up and rubbed his eyes. When he saw the tablecloth on the
table, the wish came to him to have a bite of food to begin the day
with. So he stopped in the middle of putting on his shirt, and called
to the tablecloth, "Tablecloth, turn inside out!"
Nothing happened. Why should anything happen? It was not the same
tablecloth.
The old man told the old woman. "You should have made a good feast
yesterday," says he, "for the tablecloth is no good any more. That is,
it's no good that way; it's like any ordinary tablecloth."
"Most tablecloths are," says the old woman. "But what are you dawdling
about? Up you go and have a look at those turnips."
The old man went climbing up the narrow twisting stairs. He held on
with both hands for fear of falling, because they were so steep. He
climbed to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top
of the dovecot, and looked at the turnips. He looked at the turnips,
and he counted the turnips, and then he came slowly down the stairs
again wondering what the old woman would say to him.
"Well," says the old woman in her sharp voice, "are they doing nicely?
Because if not, I know whose fault it is."
"They are doing finely," said the old man; "but some of them have
gone. Indeed, quite a lot of them have been stolen away."
"Stolen away!" screamed the old woman. "How dare you stand there and
tell me that? Didn't you find the thieves yesterday? Go and find
those children again, and take a stick with you, and don't show
yourself here till you can tell me that they won't steal again in a
hurry."
"Let me have a bite to eat," begs the old man. "It's a long way to go
on an empty stomach."
"Not a mouthful!" yells the old woman. "Off with you. Letting my
turnips be stolen every night, and then talking to me about bites of
food!"
So the old man went off again without his dinner, and hobbled away
into the forest as quickly as he could to get out of earshot of the
old woman's scolding tongue.
As soon as he was out of sight the old woman stopped screaming after
him, and went into the house and opened the iron chest and took out
the tablecloth the children had given the old man, and laid it on the
table instead of her own. She told it to turn inside out, and up it
flew and whirled about and flopped down flat again, all covered with
good things. She ate as much as she could hold. Then she told the
tablecloth to turn outside in, and folded it up and hid it away again
in the iron chest.
Meanwhile the old man tightened his belt, because he was so hungry. He
hobbled along through the green forest till he came to the little hut
standing under the pine trees. There was no smoke coming from the
chimney, but there was such a chattering you would have thought that
all the Vanyas and Maroosias in Holy Russia were talking to each other
inside.
He had no sooner come in sight of the hut than the dozens and dozens
of little queer children came pouring out of the door to meet him. And
every single one of them had a turnip, and showed it to the old man,
and laughed and laughed as if it were the best joke in the world.
"I knew it was you," said the old man.
"Of course it was us," cried the children. "_We_ stole the turnips."
"But how did you get to the top of the dovecot when the door into the
house was bolted and fast?"
The children laughed and laughed and did not answer a word.
"Laugh you may," says the old man; "but it is I who get the scolding
when the turnips fly away in the night."
"Never mind! never mind!" cried the children. "We'll pay for the
turnips."
"All very well," says the old man; "but that tablecloth of yours--it
was fine yesterday, but this morning it would not give me even a glass
of tea and a hunk of black bread."
At that the faces of the little queer children were troubled and
grave. For a moment or two they all chattered together, and took no
notice of the old man. Then one of them said,--
"Well, this time we'll give you something better. We'll give you a
goat."
"A goat?" says the old man.
"A goat with a cold in its head," said the children; and they crowded
round him and took him behind the hut where there was a gray goat with
a long beard cropping the short grass.
"It's a good enough goat," says the old man; "I don't see anything
wrong with him."
"It's better than that," cried the children. "You tell it to sneeze."
The old man thought the children might be laughing at him, but he did
not care, and he remembered the tablecloth. So he took off his hat and
bowed to the goat. "Sneeze, goat," says he.
And instantly the goat started sneezing as if it would shake itself to
pieces. And as it sneezed, good gold pieces flew from it in all
directions, till the ground was thick with them.
"That's enough," said the children hurriedly; "tell him to stop, for
all this gold is no use to us, and it's such a bother having to sweep
it away."
"Stop sneezing, goat," says the old man; and the goat stopped
sneezing, and stood there panting and out of breath in the middle of
the sea of gold pieces.
The children began kicking the gold pieces about, spreading them by
walking through them as if they were dead leaves. My old father used
to say that those gold pieces are lying about still for anybody to
pick up; but I doubt if he knew just where to look for them, or he
would have had better clothes on his back and a little more food on
the table. But who knows? Some day we may come upon that little hut
somewhere in the forest, and then we shall know what to look for.
The children laughed and chattered and kicked the gold pieces this way
and that into the green bushes. Then they brought the old man into the
hut and gave him a bowl of kasha to eat, because he had had no dinner.
There was no magic about the kasha; but it was good enough kasha for
all that, and hunger made it better. When the old man had finished the
kasha and drunk a glass of tea and smoked a little pipe, he got up and
made a low bow and thanked the children. And the children tied a rope
to the goat and sent the old man home with it. He hobbled away through
the forest, and as he went he looked back, and there were the little
queer children all dancing together, and he heard them chattering and
shouting: "Who stole the turnips? _We_ stole the turnips. Who paid for
the turnips? _We_ paid for the turnips. Who stole the tablecloth? Who
will pay for the tablecloth? Who will steal turnips again? _We_ will
steal turnips again."
But the old man was too pleased with the goat to give much heed to
what they said; and he hobbled home through the green forest as fast
as he could, with the goat trotting and walking behind him, pulling
leaves off the bushes to chew as they hurried along.
The old woman was waiting in the doorway of the house. She was still
as angry as ever.
"Have you beaten the children?" she screamed. "Have you beaten the
children for stealing my good turnips?"
"No," said the old man; "they paid for the turnips."
"What did they pay?"
"They gave me this goat."
"That skinny old goat! I have three already, and the worst of them is
better than that."
"It has a cold in the head," says the old man.
"Worse than ever!" screams the old woman.
"Wait a minute," says the old man as quickly as he could, to stop her
scolding.--"Sneeze, goat."
And the goat began to shake itself almost to bits, sneezing and
sneezing and sneezing. The good gold pieces flew all ways at once. And
the old woman threw herself after the gold pieces, picking them up
like an old hen picking up corn. As fast as she picked them up more
gold pieces came showering down on her like heavy gold hail, beating
her on her head and her hands as she grubbed after those that had
fallen already.
"Stop sneezing, goat," says the old man; and the goat stood there
tired and panting, trying to get its breath. But the old woman did not
look up till she had gathered everyone of the gold pieces. When she
did look up, she said,--
"There's no supper for you. I've had supper already."
The old man said nothing. He tied up the goat to the doorpost of the
house, where it could eat the green grass. Then he went into the house
and lay down, and fell asleep at once, because he was an old man and
had done a lot of walking.
As soon as he was asleep the old woman untied the goat and took it
away and hid it in the bushes, and tied up one of her own goats
instead. "They were my turnips," says she to herself, "and I don't see
why he should have a share in the gold." Then she went in, and lay
down grumbling to herself.
Early in the morning she woke the old man.
"Get up, you lazy fellow," says she; "you would lie all day and let
all the thieves in the world come in and steal my turnips. Up with
you to the dovecot and see how my turnips are getting on."
The old man got up and rubbed his eyes, and climbed up the rickety
stairs, creak, creak, creak, holding on with both hands, till he came
to the top of the house, to the top of the tower, to the top of the
dovecot, and looked at the turnips.
He was afraid to come down, for there were hardly any turnips left at
all.
And when he did come down, the scolding the old woman gave him was
worse than the other two scoldings rolled into one. She was so angry
that she shook like a rag in the high wind, and the old man put both
hands to his ears and hobbled away into the forest.
He hobbled along as fast as he could hobble, until he came to the hut
under the pine trees. This time the little queer children were not
hiding under the blankets or in the stove, or chattering in the hut.
They were all over the roof of the hut, dancing and crawling about.
Some of them were even sitting on the chimney. And everyone of the
little queer children was playing with a turnip. As soon as they saw
the old man they all came tumbling off the roof, one after another,
head over heels, like a lot of peas rolling off a shovel.
"_We_ stole the turnips!" they shouted, before the old man could say
anything at all.
"I know you did," says the old man; "but that does not make it any
better for me. And it is I who get the scolding when the turnips fly
away in the night."
"Never again!" shouted the children.
"I'm glad to hear that," says the old man.
"And we'll pay for the turnips."
"Thank you kindly," says the old man. He hadn't the heart to be angry
with those little queer children.
Three or four of them ran into the hut and came out again with a
wooden whistle, a regular whistle-pipe, such as shepherds use. They
gave it to the old man.
"I can never play that," says the old man. "I don't know one tune from
another; and if I did, my old fingers are as stiff as oak twigs."
"Blow in it," cried the children; and all the others came crowding
round, laughing and chattering and whispering to each other. "Is he
going to blow in it?" they asked. "He _is_ going to blow in it." How
they laughed!
The old man took the whistle, and gathered his breath and puffed out
his cheeks, and blew in the whistle-pipe as hard as he could. And
before he could take the whistle from his lips, three lively whips had
slipped out of it, and were beating him as hard as they could go,
although there was nobody to hold them. Phew! phew! phew! The three
whips came down on him one after the other.
"Blow again!" the children shouted, laughing as if they were mad.
"Blow again--quick, quick, quick!--and tell the whips to get into the
whistle."
The old man did not wait to be told twice. He blew for all he was
worth, and instantly the three whips stopped beating him. "Into the
whistle!" he cried; and the three lively whips shot up into the
whistle, like three snakes going into a hole. He could hardly have
believed they had been out at all if it had not been for the soreness
of his back.
"You take that home," cried the children. "That'll pay for the
turnips, and put everything right."
"Who knows?" said the old man; and he thanked the children, and set
off home through the green forest.
"Good-bye," cried the little queer children. But as soon as he had
started they forgot all about him. When he looked round to wave his
hand to them, not one of them was thinking of him. They were up again
on the roof of the hut, jumping over each other and dancing and
crawling about, and rolling each other down the roof and climbing up
again, as if they had been doing nothing else all day, and were going
to do nothing else till the end of the world.
The old man hobbled home through the green forest with the whistle
stuck safely away into his shirt. As soon as he came to the door of
the hut, the old woman, who was sitting inside counting the gold
pieces, jumped up and started her scolding.
"What have the children tricked you with this time?" she screamed at
him.
"They gave me a whistle-pipe," says the old man, "and they are not
going to steal the turnips any more."
"A whistle-pipe!" she screamed. "What's the good of that? It's worse
than the tablecloth and the skinny old goat."
The old man said nothing.
"Give it to me!" screamed the old woman. "They were my turnips, so it
is my whistle-pipe."
"Well, whatever you do, don't blow in it," says the old man, and he
hands over the whistle-pipe.
She wouldn't listen to him.
"What?" says she; "I must not blow my own whistle-pipe?"
And with that she put the whistle-pipe to her lips and blew.
Out jumped the three lively whips, flew up in the air, and began to
beat her--phew! phew! phew!--one after another. If they made the old
man sore, it was nothing to what they did to the cross old woman.
"Stop them! Stop them!" she screamed, running this way and that in the
hut, with the whips flying after her beating her all the time. "I'll
never scold again. I am to blame. I stole the magic tablecloth, and
put an old one instead of it. I hid it in the iron chest." She ran to
the iron chest and opened it, and pulled out the tablecloth. "Stop
them! Stop them!" she screamed, while the whips laid it on hard and
fast, one after the other. "I am to blame. The goat that sneezes gold
pieces is hidden in the bushes. The goat by the door is one of the old
ones. I wanted all the gold for myself."
All this time the old man was trying to get hold of the whistle-pipe.
But the old woman was running about the hut so fast, with the whips
flying after her and beating her, that he could not get it out of her
hands. At last he grabbed it. "Into the whistle," says he, and put it
to his lips and blew.
In a moment the three lively whips had hidden themselves in the
whistle. And there was the cross old woman, kissing his hand and
promising never to scold any more.
"That's all right," says the old man; and he fetched the sneezing goat
out of the bushes and made it sneeze a little gold, just to be sure
that it was that goat and no other. Then he laid the tablecloth on
the table and told it to turn inside out. Up it flew, and came down
again with the best dinner that ever was cooked, only waiting to be
eaten. And the old man and the old woman sat down and ate till they
could eat no more. The old woman rubbed herself now and again. And the
old man rubbed himself too. But there was never a cross word between
them, and they went to bed singing like nightingales.
"Is that the end?" Maroosia always asked.
"Is that all?" asked Vanya, though he knew it was not.
"Not quite," said old Peter; "but the tale won't go any quicker than
my old tongue."
In the morning the old woman had forgotten about her promise. And just
from habit, she set about scolding the old man as if the whips had
never jumped out of the whistle. She scolded him for sleeping too
long, sent him upstairs, with a lot of cross words after him, to go to
the top of the dovecot to see how those turnips were getting on.
After a little the old man came down.
"The turnips are coming on grandly," says he, "and not a single one
has gone in the night. I told you the children said they would not
steal any more."
"I don't believe you," said the old woman. "I'll see for myself. And
if any are gone, you shall pay for it, and pay for it well."
Up she jumped, and tried to climb the stairs. But the stairs were
narrow and steep and twisting. She tried and tried, and could not get
up at all. So she gets angrier than ever, and starts scolding the old
man again.
"You must carry me up," says she.
"I have to hold on with both hands, or I couldn't get up myself," says
the old man.
"I'll get in the flour sack, and you must carry me up with your
teeth," says she; "they're strong enough."
And the old woman got into the flour sack.
"Don't ask me any questions," says the old man; and he took the sack
in his teeth and began slowly climbing up the stairs, holding on with
both hands.
He climbed and climbed, but he did not climb fast enough for the old
woman.
"Are we at the top?" says she.
The old man said nothing, but went on, climbing up and up, nearly dead
with the weight of the old woman in the sack which he was holding in
his teeth.
He climbed a little further, and the old woman screamed out,--
"Are we at the top now? We must be at the top. Let me out, you old
fool!"
The old man said nothing; he climbed on and on.
The old woman raged in the flour sack. She jumped about in the sack,
and screamed at the old man,--
"Are we near the top now? Answer me, can't you! Answer me at once, or
you'll pay for it later. Are we near the top?"
"Very near," said the old man.
And as he opened his mouth to say that the sack slipped from between
his teeth, and bump, bump, bumpety bump, the old woman in the sack
fell all the way to the very bottom, bumping on every step. That was
the end of her.
After that the old man lived alone in the hut. When he wanted tobacco
or clothes or a new axe, he made the goat sneeze some gold pieces, and
off he went to the town with plenty of money in his pocket. When he
wanted his dinner he had only to lay the tablecloth. He never had any
washing up to do, because the tablecloth did it for him. When he
wanted to get rid of troublesome guests, he gave them the whistle to
blow. And when he was lonely and wanted company, he went to the
little hut under the pine trees and played with the little queer
children.
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