Little Khavroshechka

You know there are good people in the world, and some not so good, and others who neither fear God nor feel ashamed before their fellow human beings. Little…

You know there are good people in the world, and some not so good, and others who neither fear God nor feel ashamed before their fellow human beings. Little Khavroshechka fell into the hands of just such people. She had been orphaned when she was small. They took her in and fed her, but never let her out into God’s wide world. Every day they wore her down with work until she was exhausted. She served, she tidied, and she answered for everyone and everything.

Her mistress had three grown daughters. The eldest was called One-Eye, the middle one Two-Eyes, and the youngest Three-Eyes. All they knew how to do was sit by the gate and look out at the street, while Little Khavroshechka worked for them, sewed their clothes, spun and wove for them, and never heard a kind word. That is what hurts: there is always someone to poke and shove you, but no one to greet you kindly or encourage you!

Little Khavroshechka would go out into the field, embrace her spotted cow, lay her head against its neck and tell it how hard her life was:

“Dear mother cow! They beat me, scold me, give me no bread and won’t let me cry. They’ve given me five poods to spin, weave, bleach and roll up by tomorrow.”

The cow answered her:

“Fair maiden, climb into one of my ears and out of the other. Everything will be done.”

And so it happened. When the fair maiden came out of the ear, everything was ready: woven, bleached and rolled. She took it to her stepmother, who looked, grunted, put it in a chest and gave her even more work. Khavroshechka went back to the cow, climbed into one ear and out of the other, and brought home the finished cloth.

The old woman was amazed and called One-Eye:

“My good daughter, my pretty daughter! Find out who is helping the orphan: who weaves and spins and rolls the cloth for her?”

One-Eye went with the orphan into the forest and out into the field. She forgot her mother’s orders, grew warm in the sunshine and stretched out on the grass. Khavroshechka murmured:

“Sleep, little eye, sleep, little eye!”

The little eye fell asleep. While One-Eye slept, the cow wove and bleached the cloth. The stepmother learned nothing and sent Two-Eyes. She too grew warm in the sun, lay down on the grass, forgot her mother’s orders and closed her eyes. Khavroshechka sang her to sleep:

“Sleep, little eye, sleep, other eye!”

The cow wove, bleached and rolled the cloth, while Two-Eyes still slept.

The old woman was angry. On the third day she sent Three-Eyes and gave the orphan even more work. Three-Eyes skipped about, just as her elder sisters had, then dropped onto the grass. Khavroshechka sang:

“Sleep, little eye, sleep, other eye!” But she forgot the third.

Two eyes fell asleep, but the third watched and saw everything: how the fair maiden climbed into one ear and out of the other and gathered up the finished linen. Three-Eyes told her mother all she had seen. The old woman was pleased and went to her husband the very next day:

“Slaughter the spotted cow!”

The old man tried to object:

“What are you saying, wife? Have you lost your senses? The cow is young and good!”

Slaughter it, and that was that! He sharpened his knife…

Khavroshechka ran to the cow:

“Dear mother cow! They want to slaughter you.”

“Then, fair maiden, do not eat my meat. Gather my bones, tie them in a little kerchief and plant them in the garden. Never forget me, and water them every morning.”

Khavroshechka did everything the cow had told her. Though she went hungry, she ate none of its meat and watered the bones in the garden every day. An apple tree grew from them, and what a tree—dear God! Juicy apples hung upon it, golden leaves rustled and silver branches bent. Those traveling past stopped; those walking nearby gazed in wonder.

One day the girls were walking in the garden when a gentleman came across the field, rich, young and curly-haired. He saw the apples and called to the girls:

“Fair maidens! Whichever of you brings me an apple shall be my wife.”

The three sisters rushed to the apple tree, each trying to get there first. The apples had been hanging low, within reach, but suddenly rose high, high above their heads. When the sisters tried to knock them down, leaves showered into their eyes; when they tried to pick them, branches undid their braids. However they struggled and darted about, they only scratched their hands and could not reach an apple. Khavroshechka came up, and the branches bowed and the apples lowered themselves. The gentleman married her, and she lived in comfort, knowing no more sorrow.