Folk Tales of the Russian Empire

Folk Tales of the Russian Empire
Коллектив авторов

It has long been known that the folk tale is the soul of people. Since ancient times, the Russian Empire was formed as a multi-ethnic country. The Russian language and Russian culture are the fruit of the interaction of different cultures and peoples living in the vast territory. That is why this book presents folk tales of Native peoples inhabiting Russia in different years. Each tale, presented in this book, reflects some features, typical for people of a particular nation.

Folk Tales of the Russian Empire

Retold, translated and illustrated by Vladimir Slaviansky

Редактор Владимир Славянский

© Редактор Владимир Славянский, 2016

© Владимир Владимирович Славянский, translation, 2016

© Владимир Владимирович Славянский, illustrations, 2016

Дизайн обложки Владимир Владимирович Славянский

Editor Владимир Владимирович Славянский

Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero

Cock-The-Shah

A Tatar folk tale

However, the Tatar khans continued to consider the grand princes of Moscow to be their vassals, and from time to time they still raided the territory of Moscow and indeed the city itself. Moreover, the Kazan Tatars controlled the middle Volga, frustrating the ambitions of Russia’s rulers to extend their trading activities to the east.

A History of the Peoples of Siberia, by James Forsyth

A very long time ago there lived a rich peasant in a village. He had a homestead and a good house. There was a pen in his yard and there lived a brave cockerel and several hens. The cockerel was used to walking around the yard, looking to the left and looking to the right: he kept order, putting on airs and graces.

One early morning the cockerel jumped up, sat on the fence and began to yell:

“Cock-a-doodle-doo! Ku-ka-re-ku! Dear girls and ladies, you have received a great honour! Now I am not just a cock – I am Cock-The-Khan! I am Cock-The-Shah, I am Cock-The-Padishah, I am Cock-The-Sultan! My winsome chickens, my dear babies, – blackish and whitish, greyish, reddish and goldish: tell me, who is the most handsome in the world? Who is the greatest man of courage?”

Having heard him, there gathered all the chickens, – blackish and whitish, greyish, reddish and goldish. They surrounded their master – the magnificent Khan, the great Shah, the mighty Padishah, the powerful Sultan, – and began to sing:

“Cock-a-doodle-doo, oh, Magnificent Khan! Kud-ku-da, oh, Great Shah! Cock-a-doodle-doo, oh, Mighty Padishah! Kud-ku-da, oh, Powerful Sultan! No one in the world is so brave, as you are. No one in the world is so smart, as you are. There is nobody in the world as handsome as you are!”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The Cock was singing louder. “Who has a colourful dress? Who has strong legs? Who has a loud voice?”

“Oh, Great Shah, you have a colourful dress. Oh, Magnificent Padishah, you have strong legs. You, the Great of the Greatest, have a voice louder than a lion!” were clucking the chickens.

The Cock inflated with pride, raised his high crest and cackled his best:

“Ku-ka-re-ku! Come to me closer and tell me loudly: who has the highest Crown on his head?”

The chickens came to the fence, bowing down before the Very Important Cock and singing:

“You have the highest Crown on your head, which is glittering like a blaze. You are our Only Shah. You are our Only Padishah!”

At that time, a fat cook had crept up to the cockerel, like a bolt out of a clear sky, and grabbed him by the neck.

“Ku-ka-re-ku! What a horrid nightmare!” cried Cock-The-Shah.

“Kud-ku-da! Where are you going?” shouted the chickens.

The cook caught the Mighty Khan by his right leg, and he killed the Great Shah with a sharp knife! The cook plucked all the variegated dress off the Powerful Padishah, and he cooked chicken soup, – that despicable cook, – from the King of Glory!

The kind folks gathered around the table, where there was a big pot of soup. They were eating and praising:

“Oh yeah, what a delicious cockerel! Quite so, what a fatty rooster!”

Kookylin the Dodger

An Eskimo folk tale

The shamans of the American Eskimo of the nearest shore of Alaska also enjoy the respect of their Asiatic neighbors, both Maritime Chukchee and Asiatic Eskimo. In one tale a contest between two shamans – one an American, one an Asiatic – ends with a full victory for the American, although the shaman from the Asiatic shore resorts even to treachery, and is severely punished for it.

The Chukchee, by Waldemar Bogoras

There lived a man in his hut – yaranga. His name was Kookylin. He had a wife and three children. His kids had not let him lie around – they were used to eating up everything very quickly. Almost each day Kookylin went out to hunt for food, but there were few game birds at that place, and often he returned home empty-handed. In the long run, he got tired of such a life, and one day he thought:

“Well, now I might pretend to be dead, like I have already died. When they bury me, I will live alone, I will have my fill!”

One day he pretended to be ill: he fell to the ground and was lying motionless on his back. Then he said to his wife:

“When I do grow old (pass away), don’t cut my clothes. Simply take them off and put beside me. Put my weapon, a bola (a sort of sling) and a knife-cleaver, by my side. And send a pan, a pot and some meat with me. Maybe in the next world, if revive, I will need something.”

Really he had seen life not so long and then died. His wife and children shed a few tears, and then began to bury him according to the ancient custom. They brought him to a remote place. His sons put him on the ground and covered his body with stones. They put his clothes in the grave, as he had instructed, without cutting. They left him some food, the pan, the bola, the knife and the pot. They left him alone and then went home.

When the mourners vanished over the horizon, Kookylin got up, dressed himself and began to build a cabin – nynloo. For a few days he had built the nynloo and began hunting. The man felt free and used to catch a lot of ptarmigans. Indeed, he ate his fill every day. He lived a happy life, forgetting about his old home.

And his wife would go out of the yaranga in the morning and sit on a stone in sorrow – her husband died! A little later, she would take her knife and snares and go hunting…

With the lapse of time, Kookylin stopped thinking about his family. He enjoyed in the morning, cutting meat off the ptarmigan’s legs, pounding it with fat and eating to satiety. He sat by the fire in his dugout, stirring the fat with the meat in the pan and singing:

“Kookyl, Kookyl, Kookylin – I eat the fat of the land!” He was stirring and singing:

“Kookyl, Kookyl, Kookylin – oh, yea!”

Once an arctic fox saw him hunting in the tundra, and ran off down the road. At that time the wife of Kookylin was sitting at her yaranga. Suddenly she saw the arctic fox running around the corner. The woman thought:

“Why is she walking just here? It’s cool!” The woman looked then: it was already not the fox but a young woman. And the fox-woman asked the wife of Kookylin:

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, my husband has recently died – about him and my poor children I’m thinking!”