The White Duck
A prince married a beautiful princess. He had scarcely had time to gaze at her, talk with her or listen to her when they had to part: he had to set out on a…
A prince married a beautiful princess. He had scarcely had time to gaze at her, talk with her or listen to her when they had to part: he had to set out on a long journey and leave his wife in other people’s care. What could they do? As the saying goes, you cannot spend your whole life in an embrace. The princess wept a great deal, and the prince comforted her at length. He told her not to leave her lofty chamber, not to go visiting, not to keep company with wicked people or listen to harmful talk. The princess promised to do everything he asked. The prince departed; she shut herself in her room and stayed there.
After a little while or a long while, a woman came to see her, seemingly so simple and kindhearted!
“Why sit here pining?” she said. “You might at least look out on God’s world, take a walk in the garden, ease your sorrow and get some fresh air.”
For a long time the princess made excuses and refused. At last she thought that a walk in the garden could do no harm, and went. Clear spring water flowed through the garden, bright as crystal.
“What a hot day!” said the woman. “The sun is blazing, and that cool water is splashing so invitingly. Shall we bathe here?”
“No, no, I don’t want to!” But then she thought that a bath could do no harm.
She took off her sarafan and jumped into the water. As soon as she dipped beneath it, the woman struck her on the back.
“Swim away,” she said, “as a white duck!”
And the princess swam away as a white duck. The witch immediately put on her clothes, dressed herself up, painted her face and sat down to wait for the prince. The moment the puppy yapped and the little bell jingled, she ran to meet him, threw herself upon him, kissed and caressed him. He was delighted, stretched out his arms to her and did not recognize the deception.
The white duck laid eggs and hatched little ones: two fine, strong ones and a third that was frail. Her little ones turned out to be boys. She raised them, and they began to wander along the river, catch golden fish, gather scraps of cloth, sew themselves little coats, scramble up the bank and look out over the meadow.
“Oh, do not go there, children!” their mother said.
The children did not listen. One day they played on the grass, the next they ran over the green turf, farther and farther, until they reached the prince’s courtyard. The witch sensed who they were and ground her teeth. She called the children in, gave them food and drink and put them to bed. Then she ordered fires to be laid, cauldrons to be hung and knives to be sharpened. The two brothers lay down and fell asleep. Their mother had told them to carry the frail little one against their breasts to keep him from catching cold, and the frail one did not sleep: he heard and saw everything. In the night the witch came to the door and asked:
“Are you asleep, children, or not?”
The frail little one answered:
“We sleep, we do not sleep; we lie thinking that they mean to kill us all with knives. They lay fires of guelder-rose wood, hang boiling cauldrons and sharpen blades of tempered steel!”
“They are not asleep!”
The witch went away, paced about for a while and returned to the door.
“Are you asleep, children, or not?”
The frail little one said the same thing again:
“We sleep, we do not sleep; we lie thinking that they mean to kill us all with knives. They lay fires of guelder-rose wood, hang boiling cauldrons and sharpen blades of tempered steel!”
“Why is it always the same voice?” thought the witch. She quietly opened the door and saw both brothers sleeping soundly. At once she swept a dead hand over them, and they died.
In the morning the white duck called her children, but they did not come. Her heart sensed trouble; she started up and flew to the prince’s courtyard. There the brothers lay side by side, white as little cloths and cold as slabs. She rushed to them, spread her wings, gathered her children close and cried out in a mother’s voice:
Quack, quack, my little children!
Quack, quack, my little doves!
Through hardship I raised you,
With tears I gave you drink,
Through dark nights I went without sleep,
And left sweet morsels uneaten!
“Wife, do you hear this marvel? A duck is speaking.”
“You are imagining it! Tell them to drive the duck out of the yard!”
They drove her off, but she flew around and came back to her children:
Quack, quack, my little children!
Quack, quack, my little doves!
The old witch has destroyed you,
The old witch, that cruel snake,
That cruel snake beneath the log;
She took your own father from you,
Your own father, my husband,
Drowned us in the swift little river,
Turned us into white ducks,
And now she lives in pride and splendour!
“Aha!” thought the prince, and he shouted:
“Catch that white duck for me!”
Everyone rushed after her, but the white duck flew about and let no one catch her. The prince himself ran out, and she dropped into his arms. He took her by a wing and said:
“Let a white birch stand behind me, and a beautiful maiden before me!”
A white birch rose behind him, and a beautiful maiden stood before him. In her the prince recognized his young wife. They immediately caught a magpie, tied two little vials to her and told her to fill one with life-giving water and the other with speech-giving water. The magpie flew away and brought the water. They sprinkled the children with the life-giving water, and they stirred; they sprinkled them with the speech-giving water, and they spoke. Now the prince had his whole family, and they all lived together, prospered and forgot their troubles. As for the witch, they tied her to a horse’s tail and dragged her apart across the field. Where a leg fell off, a poker appeared; where an arm fell off, a rake; where the head fell, a bush and a log. Birds flew down and pecked away the flesh; winds rose and scattered the bones, until not a trace or memory of her remained!