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happypostbox · 9 years

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Moroz Ivanovicn by V. Odoevsky , illustrated by V. Konashevich

Once upon a time, in a house there lived two girls - Busybee and Workshy - with their nanny. Busybee was a smart girl: she woke up early, dressed herself without nanny’s help, and right out of bed she started working: made up fire in the stove, kneaded dough for bread, swept their hut , fed the cockerel, a then went to the well for water.

Meanwhile Workshy stayed in her bed, stretched, and tossed, and turned; and if she was tired of lying, she said drowsily: “Nanny, put my stockings on, Nanny, fasten my shoe-laces”, and then she would say: “Nanny, have we any buns?” She got out of bed, pranced around and sat by the window counting flies : how many flew in and how many flew away. Having counted them all, Workshy did not know what to get down to and what to set about: she would go to bed, but she was not sleepy, she would eat, but she was not hungry, she would go to the window to count flies – but she was fed up with that too. The poor thing would sit idle, cry, and grumble at the whole world that she was bored, as if the world was at fault. Meanwhile Busybee got back, filtered water and poured in the jars; and she was so bright – if water was not clear, she rolled up a paper parcel, put in charcoal and coarse sand, put this parcel in a jar and poured water, water meantime got through charcoal and sand and dripped in the jar as clear as crystal; and then Busybee started to knit stockings or hem kerchiefs and even as much as sew and cut out shirts and also started singing a handiwork song, and she was never bored because she had no time: one or another and then you see – it was evening and the day was gone. Once Busybee suffered a misfortune: she went to the well for water, lowered bucket on a rope, and the rope broke suddenly and the bucket fell down. What’s to be done? Poor Busybee broke into tears and went to Nanny to tell of her grief and trouble, but nanny Praskovia was so strict and cross that she said: “You created trouble, you amend it. You drowned the bucket, you retrieve it”. So it goes, poor Busybee went back to the well, grasped the rope and descended right to the bottom. And there a miracle happened. Just as she reached the bottom, she saw a stove in front of her and a pie in the stove, with brown and crispy crust. It sat inside, looked around and said: “I am entirely ready, browned, baked with sugar and raisins. Who takes me out, takes me away!”

Without any hesitation Busybee snatched a spatula, took the pie out and put it in her bosom. She went on. There was a garden in front of her, a tree in the garden and golden apples on the tree; apples moved their leaves and talked to each other: “We are rounded and ripe, fed through the tree’s roots, washed with chilly dew; who shakes the tree, takes us away”. Busybee went to the tree, shook it by a branch and golden apples fell into her apron.

Busybee went on. She saw a grey-haired old man named Moroz Ivanovich sitting in front of her; he sat on an ice bench and ate snowballs, when he shook his head, frost-dew fell, when he breathed, steam billowed. “Ah!” – said he. – “How do you do, Busybee? Thank you for bringing me the pie; it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten something hot”. Then he seated Busybee next to himself and they ate the pie for breakfast and chased it down with golden apples. “I know why you are here”, – said Moroz Ivanovich, - “you dropped a bucket into my chilly well; I will give your bucket back, but first you have to serve me for three days; if you are smart, good for you, if you are lazy, it’s your loss. And now”, – added Moroz Ivanovich, - “I’m an old man and it’s time for me to rest, prepare my bed and shake up my featherbed properly”. Busybee obeyed. They entered the house. Moroz Ivanovich’s house was made entirely of ice: doors, windows, floor of ice, and walls were adorned with snow stars; sun shone on it and everything in the house sparkled like diamonds. On Moroz Ivanovich’s bed fluffy snow laid instead of featherbed; cold, but it couldn’t be helped. Busybe started shaking snow so the old man could sleep on something soft, meanwhile her poor hands stiffened and fingers turned white like hands of poor people, who have to rinse linen in a hole in ice during winter – it is cold, winds blows in their face, linen is frozen like a rock, but such is life and they have to work. “It is nothing”, - said Moroz Ivanovich, - “just rub your fingers with snow and they will come to normal, you won’t freeze it. I am a kind old man, look what a wonder I have”. Then he lifted his snow featherbed and blanket and Busybee saw tiny green grass under the featherbed. Busybee took pity on poor grass.

“You say”, – said she, – “that you are a kind old man, but why then do you keep green grass under your featherbed and don’t let it out under the sun?” “I don’t let it out because its time hasn’t come yet, it hasn’t gathered enough force. In autumn it was planted by peasants and it came up and if it rose it would be caught by winter and wouldn’t blossom by summer. So I covered young greenery with my snow featherbed and lay above so snow wouldn’t be gone with the wind; and when spring comes, the snow featherbed will melt, the grass will head up, then you see corn will appear, a peasant will pick this corn and drive it to a mill, a miller will grist the corn and get flour and you, Busybee, will bake bread with this flour.” “Well, tell me, Moroz Ivanovich”, - said Busybee, - “why do you sit in a well?” “I sit in a well because spring will come soon”, - said Moroz Ivanovich, - “It’s getting hot for me; you know that even in summer it’s cold in a well, so water in a well is chill even during the hottest summer”. “And why do you, Moroz Ivanovich”, - asked Busybee, - “go down the street and knock on windows?” “I knock on windows”, – answered Moroz Ivanovich, - “in order to remind people to make up fire in their stoves and close the chimney timely. I know some slobs who make fire but don’t close the chimney or don’t close it timely when not all of coals are burnt; and then fumes get in the room, people have headache and blur in their eyes, and they even can die. And I also knock on windows to remind that there are people in the world who are cold in winter, who don’t have coats and can’t afford firewood, so I knock on windows to remind to help those people”. Then kind Moroz ivanovich stroked Busybee’s head and went to sleep on his snow featherbed. Meanwhile Busybee cleaned the house, went to the kitchen and prepared food, mended the old men’s clothes and linen.

When the old men woke up, he was very pleased and thanked Busybee. Then they went to dinner; the dinner was great, especially the ice cream that the old man made.

In so going Busybee spent as many as three days at Moroz Ivanovich’s. On the third day Moroz Ivanovich said to Busybee: “Thank you, smart girl, you comforted me well, so I won’t be in debt. You know that people get money for their work, so here is your bucket and I put in it a handful of silver coins, and above that here is a little diamond for you as a keepsake – to clip your kerchief”.

Busybee said thank you, clipped the little diamond, took the bucket, went back to the well, groped the rope and emerged under the sun. As she reached the house the cockerel she always fed saw her, rejoiced, flew up on the fence and cried out: “Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, Busybee has coins in her bucket!”

When Busybee came home and told everything that happened to her, Nanny was very astonished and then uttered: “You see, Workshy, what people get for their work! Go to the old man and work, serve him: clean his room, cook at the kitchen, mend clothes and linen and so you will also earn a handful of coins; it will come in handy: we are short on money for the holiday”. Workshy was displeased to work for the old man. But she wanted to receive coins and a diamond clip too. And so, following Busybee’s example, Workshy went to the well, groped the rope and fell right to the bottom. She saw a stove in front of her and a pie in the stove, with brown and crispy crust. It sat inside, looked around and said: “I am entirely ready, browned, baked with sugar and raisins. Who takes me out, takes me away!”

But Workshy answered: “Well, no way! I will tire myself lifting a spatula and reaching the stove; if you want, you will leap out by yourself”. She went on. There was a garden in front of her, a tree in the garden and golden apples on the tree; apples moved their leaves and talked to each other: “We are rounded and ripe, fed through the tree’s roots, washed with chilly dew; who shakes the tree, takes us away”.

“Well, no way!” – answered Workshy. – “I will tire myself lifting my arms and pulling a branch… I will pick some when they fall”. And Workshy went past it. Then she reached Moroz Ivanovich. He sat on the ice bench as before and bit snowballs. “What do you want, little girl?” – asked he. “I came to you”, – answered Workshy, - “to serve and to get something for my work”. “You talk reasonably, little girl”, - answered the old man, - “money is due for work, but first we will see what your work is worth! Go shake my featherbed, then cook meal and mend my clothes and linen”. Workshy went and thought on her way: “Will I tire myself and freeze my fingers! Perhaps the old man won’t notice and fall asleep on an unshaken featherbed”. The old man actually didn’t notice or pretended he didn’t, laid down and fall asleep, and Workshy went to the kitchen. She entered the kitchen, but she didn’t know what to do there. She loved to eat, but it never occurred to her to think how her food was made and she was too bored to look it up. She looked around: there were greens, meat, fish, vinegar, mustard, kvass – all in order. She thought for a while, cleaned the greens carelessly, cut meat and fish and not tire herself put everything as it was – washed or not – in a cooking pot: greens, meat, fish, mustard, vinegar, oured some kvass over it and thought: “Why shall I tire myself and cook everything separately? It will mix well in stomach”. The old man woke up and asked about dinner. Workshy carried the cooking pot to him as it was, not even bothering with tablecloth. Moroz Ivanovich took a bite, winced, and sand crunched in his mouth. “You are a good cook”, - observed he smiling. - “Let’s see your other abilities”. Workshy tried some food and immediately spit it out; the old man grunted, but cooked a great meal himself, and Workshy longed for more, eating someone else’s cooking.

After dinner the old man laid down again to rest and reminded Workshy that his clothes and linen needed mending. Workshy pouted, but it couldn’t be helped and she started to sort out clothes and linen - and another misfortune – Workshy wore clothes, but he never asked how it was sewn. She took a needle, prickled herself for the lack of habit and threw it away. And again it was like the old man didn’t notice anything; he called Workshy for supper and put her to sleep.

Workshy liked it; she thought: “Maybe it will go on like this. Sister could work if she wanted so, but the old man is kind, he will give me coins for free”. On the third day Workshy came to Moroz Ivanovich and asked him to honor her work and let her go home. “What was that work?” – asked the old man. – “If anything, you have to pay me, because you weren’t working for me, but I served you”. “Well, no way!” – answered Workshy. – ‘I have lived with you for three days”. “You know, dove”, - answered the old man, - “to live and to serve are different things, and there’s work and then there’s work. Notice this; it will do you good in the future. However, if your conscience sanctions this, I will honor you. As the work so the reward”. At this Moroz Ivanovich gave Workshy a huge silver bar in one hand and a huge diamond in another.

Workshy was so pleased that she snatched both things and ran home without saying thank you. She came home and started bragging. “Look”, - said she, - “what I earned. Not a match to my sister, not a handful of coins and a small diamond – but a whole silver bar, see how heavy it is, and a diamond as big as a fist… This will be enough to buy new clothes for the holiday…”

She didn’t even finish talking when the silver bar melted and spilled on the floor: it was mercury petrified from the cold. At this time the diamond started melting too. And the cockerel flew up on the fence and cried out: “Cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo, Workshy has an icicle in her hand!” And you, kiddies, think and guess what is true and what is not, what was said straight and what allusive, what to joke and what to teach…

#Moroz Ivanovich #Odoevsky #Konashevich #russian fairy tales #Illustration #children's books #book cover #fairy tale #book

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