Translation:Collection of Slavic Folk Tales/III

III

THE RUSSIAN TOM THUMB

(A RUSSIAN TALE)

There was once an old man who lived with his old wife. One day, while the old woman was chopping cabbages, she cut her little finger; she tore it off and threw it behind the stove. All at once, she heard a human voice speaking behind the stove:

"Mother, mother, take me out of here!"

She was astonished, made the sign of the cross, and asked:

"Who are you then?"

"It is I, your son; I was born from your little finger."

The old woman took him and looked at him. He was a tiny, very tiny child. One could hardly see him. She called him Tom Thumb.

"And where is my father?" asked Tom Thumb.

"He has gone to the fields."

"I will go find him and help him."

He arrived at the fields.

"God help you, little father!"

The old man looked around him.

"What a miracle!" he thought. "I hear a man's voice, and I see no one. Who is speaking to me?"

"It is I, your son."

"But I have no son."

"I have just been born; my mother, while cutting cabbages, cut her little finger and threw it behind the stove. That is how I was born, I, Tom Thumb. I have come to help you plow the land. Sit down, father, eat what God has sent you, and rest a little."

The old man rejoiced and began to eat. Tom Thumb climbed into the horse's ear and began to plow the field. But first he said to his father:

"If anyone asks to buy me, sell me without fear. I will not be lost, and I will come back home."

A lord came passing by; he looked and was amazed: the horse was walking, the plow was turning the earth, and no one was guiding them.

"Never has one seen, never has one heard that a horse should plow by itself."

"Are you blind?" replied the peasant. "It is my son who is plowing."

"Sell him to me."

"No, I will not sell him; he is the only joy my wife and I have, our only consolation."

"Sell him to me, old man."

"Well then! give a thousand rubles, and you shall have him."

"What? so much?"

"You see, the child is small, but valiant, light of foot and quick to run errands."

The lord paid the thousand rubles, put the little one in his pocket, and went home. But Tom Thumb grew bored in the pocket, made a hole in it, and escaped.

He walked and walked; the dark night overtook him; he hid under a tuft of grass and began to sleep. Three thieves came by.

"Greetings, brave fellows," said Tom Thumb. "Where are you going?"

"To the priest's house."

"For what purpose?"

"To steal some bulls."

"Take me with you."

"What good are you to us? We need a sturdy lad, one capable of doing a fine job."

"Perfect. I will slip under the gate and open it for you."

"Ah! that is something else; come with us."

They all four went to the priest's house; Tom Thumb slipped under the gate, opened it, and said:

"Brothers, stay here; I will creep into the stable, choose the finest bull, and bring it to you."

And indeed he chose the finest one and brought it out; they led it into the woods; the thieves killed it, skinned it, and divided the meat among themselves.

"Give me the guts," said Tom Thumb; "that will be enough for me."

He took them and lay down inside them. The thieves, after sharing the meat, went back home.

A hungry wolf came along; he swallowed the guts and the little one; there he was sitting, alive and well, inside the wolf's belly, and he was not badly off. But the wolf had bad luck. He saw a flock grazing. The shepherd was asleep; master wolf crept up and carried off a sheep. But Tom Thumb began to shout at the top of his voice:

"Shepherd! sheep-soul! you sleep, and the wolf is carrying off a sheep!"

The shepherd woke up, rushed at the wolf with a club, let his dogs loose upon him; they tore at him with sharp teeth, his hair flew in tufts, and the wolf took to flight.

But he could eat no more; he grew thin; he would have died of hunger. He begged Tom Thumb to go away.

"Take me to my father and mother, and I will come out."

The wolf ran to the village, dashed into the old man's hut. Tom Thumb came out of the wolf from behind, seized his tail, and shouted:

"Kill the wolf, kill the gray wolf!"

The old man seized a club, his wife another, and they began to beat the wolf; they killed him, took his skin, and made a coat for Tom Thumb; and they lived long after.