Translation:Collection of Slavic Folk Tales/IX

IX

SNOW-WHITE

(RUSSIAN TALE)

There was once a peasant named Ivan; his wife was called Marie: they were already old and had no children. This grieved them greatly, and they found solace only in watching other people's children. What could they do? God surely willed it so; things in the world do not go as we wish, but according to God's will.

One time, — it was in winter, — there was snow up to the knees. Children were playing in the street, and the two old people watched them, seated at the window. The children began to make a snow woman; Ivan and Marie watched them thoughtfully.

Suddenly Ivan smiled and said:

"Wife, what if we made a snow woman?"

Marie was in a good mood.

"Why not?" she said; "we can have a bit of fun. But why make a woman? Let's make a snow child instead, since God hasn't given us a living one."

"You're right," said Ivan.

And he took his cap and went out to the garden with the old woman.

And indeed, they began to make a snow doll: they shaped a little body, little hands, little feet; on top of it all, they placed a snowball and made it the head.

"May God help you!" a passerby said to them.

"Many thanks," replied Ivan.

"God's help is always good for something," added Marie.

"What are you doing?"

"You see," answered Ivan.

"A snow girl," added Marie.

They had made the nose, the chin; they made two holes for the eyes, and Ivan drew the lips; as soon as he had done so, a warm breath came from them. Ivan quickly pulled back his hands; he looked… the child's eyes bulged; they cast dove-like glances; the lips colored like raspberries and smiled.

"What's this, Lord? Isn't this some temptation?" cried Ivan, making the sign of the cross.

The snow child tilted its head like a living being; it moved its little arms and legs in the snow like a living being.

"Ah! Ivan! Ivan!" cried Marie, trembling with joy; "here God is giving us a child."

And she threw herself on Snow-White (that was her name) and covered her with kisses; the snow fell from Snow-White's body like the shell of an egg: a young girl threw herself into Marie's arms.

"Ah! my dear Snow-White!" cried the old woman, embracing the desired and unexpected child.

And she led her into their cottage.

Ivan had great difficulty recovering from such a surprise; Marie was wild with joy.

And Snow-White grew, not by the day, but by the hour; and each day she was more beautiful. Ivan and Marie could not get enough of their joy. Happiness dwelt in the house; the village girls came constantly to their home; they entertained Snow-White; they dressed her like their doll; they chatted with her, sang her songs, played all sorts of games, taught her everything they knew; and Snow-White was so clever! she noticed everything, learned everything. During the winter, she became like a thirteen-year-old girl: she understood everything, spoke of everything, and with a voice so sweet that one could not tire of hearing it. She was kind, obedient, attentive. She was white as snow; her eyes were blue like forget-me-nots; her golden hair fell to her waist; only she had no pink on her cheeks; it was as if she had no blood; but she was so good, so gentle, that everyone loved her.

"See," said old Marie, "God has given us joy instead of sorrow. Our troubles are over."

And Ivan answered her: "God be blessed! Nothing is eternal here below, neither joy nor sorrow."

Winter passed. The spring sun played merrily in the sky and warmed the earth; the grass greened in the meadows, and the lark sang; the village girls gathered to sing together the refrain:

Pretty spring, on what did you come?
On what did you come?
On a plow? On a harrow?

But Snow-White stayed in her place, all sad.

"What's wrong, dear child?" Marie said to her, drawing her close and covering her with caresses. "Are you ill? You're all melancholy! Has someone hurt you?"

"No," answered Snow-White; "it's nothing, mother; I'm fine."

The fine days of spring had chased away the last snows; the gardens and meadows were in bloom: the nightingale and all the birds sang, and the whole world was livelier and merrier. And Snow-White was sadder and sadder: she avoided her companions, hid from the sun in the shade, like a lily of the valley under the trees. She loved only to take refuge near cool springs, under green willows. She loved only coolness and rain; at twilight, she was happy. When a fine storm came, a good heavy hail, she rejoiced as if seeing pearls. But when the sun reappeared, when the hail had melted, Snow-White began to cry, as if she wanted to melt into tears herself, like a sister crying for her brother.

Spring passed; St. John's Day arrived. The girls gathered in the woods to play; they went to fetch Snow-White and said to Marie: "Let her come with us."

Marie was afraid; she didn’t want to let her go; Snow-White didn’t want to go with them either; but they couldn’t refuse. Marie thought the outing would do her daughter good. She dressed her nicely, kissed her, and said:

"Go, my child, go have fun with your friends; and you, my girls, take good care of my Snow-White; you know I love her like the apple of my eye."

"Yes! Yes!" cried the girls merrily.

And they ran in a crowd to the woods.

There they wove crowns, made bouquets, sang sad and joyful songs. Snow-White stayed with them.

When sunset came, they made a fire of dry grass; then they lined up, each with a crown on her head. Snow-White was the last.

"Watch closely," they told her, "how we’ll run, and run after us."

And they all began to sing and jump one after another through the fire.

Suddenly, behind them, they heard a sigh, a moan: "Ah!" Frightened, they looked. There was nothing. They looked again: Snow-White was no longer among them! — "She must have hidden to laugh," they thought. They searched everywhere and couldn’t find her. They shouted, they called; no answer!

"Where could she be?" — "Surely she must have gone back home." And they returned to the village; but Snow-White wasn’t there.

They searched for her the next day and the day after; they scoured all the woods, beat all the bushes: no trace of Snow-White.

For a long time, Ivan and Marie wept for their Snow-White; for a long time, the poor mother went looking for her in the woods; she cried out like a cuckoo: "Snow-White, come, my dove!"

More than once, it seemed to her that her daughter’s voice answered. Ah! but no, it wasn’t Snow-White.

What had become of Snow-White? Had a wild beast dragged her into the murmuring woods? Had a predatory bird carried her off to the blue sea?

No, it wasn’t a wild beast that had dragged her into the murmuring woods; no, it wasn’t a predatory bird that had carried her to the blue sea. When Snow-White began to run with her friends, she suddenly vanished into a light vapor, a transparent cloud, and flew away to the heavenly heights.