Tales of Wisdom. Insights from Russian Folklore

– Beautiful maidens! The one who brings me an apple shall marry me.

All three sisters rushed toward the tree. The apples hung low enough to reach, then rose high above their heads. The sisters tried to shake the branches, to pluck the fruit, but the leaves blinded their eyes, the branches tangled their hair. No matter how they struggled, they could not reach.

Little Havroshka approached; the branches bowed, the apples fell into her hands. The lord married her, and she lived in happiness, never knowing hardship again.

Key Themes for Discussion

The Power of Kindness and Loyalty

– The cow helped Havroshka selflessly because the girl loved her and shared her grief.

– After loss, Havroshka kept the cow’s promise—watering the bones and preserving her memory.

Industry versus Laziness and Envy 

– Despite injustice, Havroshka is shown as diligent and patient.

– The sisters’ laziness and envy led to the loss of the magical helper (the cow’s death).

Fairness of Magic

– The apple tree justly changed Havroshka’s fate, rewarding her goodness.

– The sisters, driven by greed, could not obtain the fruit and missed the reward.

Discussion Questions for Children

Why did the cow help only Havroshka?

Shows that kindness attracts miracles.

How did the step‑mother’s and the sisters’ envy affect their destiny?

Explains cause and effect: by destroying the cow they lost their chance at magical aid.

What would you do if you were Three‑eyed, seeing the miracle?

Encourages choosing between envy and keeping a secret.

Why did the apple tree give fruit only to Havroshka?

Helps understand fairness: the tree rewarded a kind heart, not greed.

What lesson does this fairy tale teach?

Guides children to formulate the story’s main moral and draw life lessons

Baba Yaga

There once lived an old man and an old woman. The man had been widowed and married again. From his first wife he had a kind, clever daughter. The new wife, the step‑mother, instantly disliked the step‑daughter: she scolded her, forced her to work hard, and constantly thought of ways to get rid of her.

One day the old man went to the town on business. While he was away the step‑mother said to the girl:

– Go to my sister, your aunt, in the forest. Ask her for a needle and a spool of thread—I will sew you a new shirt.

She knew, however, that her sister was the terrible Baba Yaga, a bone‑legged witch who lived in a dark forest in a crooked hut on chicken legs.

The girl sensed danger. She was clever and first went to her own aunt, who lived on the edge of the village.

– Greetings, dear aunt! – the girl said as she entered the bright bedroom.

– Hello, sunshine! What brings you here? – the aunt embraced her.

– The step‑mother sent me to her sister’s hut for a needle and thread.

The aunt grew pale:

– Oh, her sister is Baba Yaga! But do not despair; I will teach you what to do. When you go, a birch will meet you—wrap its branches with a beautiful ribbon. You will come to a squeaky gate at the hut—oil the hinges so it will not slam shut. If dogs bark, throw them a fresh piece of bread and they will let you pass. If a cat appears, give it a slice of ham and it will become friendly.

The girl’s heart hammered with fear, but she took a deep breath and entered the deep forest. Soon a crooked hut on chicken legs appeared. In a window, hunched over, sat Baba Yaga herself, her bone leg tapping the loom.

– Hello, aunt, – the girl whispered timidly.

– Hello, dear! – Baba Yaga grinned, her iron teeth flashing. – What brings you here?

– My mother sent me to ask you for a needle and thread so I may sew a shirt.

– Very well; sit down and help me spin.

The girl began to spin, while Baba Yaga slipped away and called to her servant:

– Go, heat the bathhouse and wash my niece, then look after her well; I intend to have breakfast with her.

The girl heard this and shivered with terror. She sat, half‑alive, half‑dead, waiting for a moment when Baba Yaga would not see her, and whispered to the servant:

– My dear, do not pile wood, pour water instead, carry water in a sieve–and she gave her a handkerchief.

Baba Yaga waited for the bathhouse to heat, then approached the window:

– Are you spinning, my niece?

– I am, aunt, I am, dear!

When Baba Yaga turned away, the girl took the ham and gave it to the cat sleeping by the stove:

– Please help me! How can I escape?

The cat replied:

– Take this comb and this towel—run without looking back! Baba Yaga will chase you. Press your ear to the ground; when you hear her near, toss the towel first— a wide river will spring up! If she crosses the river and still pursues, press your ear again and toss the comb— an impenetrable forest will rise, and she cannot pass.

The girl grabbed the towel and the comb and fled. On the way, barking dogs lunged at her—she threw them bread and they let her pass. The gate began to creak shut—she poured oil on the hinges and it opened smoothly. The birch swayed its branches—she tied a ribbon around them. The birch brushed her shoulder gently, as if thanking her.

Meanwhile the cat sat at the loom, not so much weaving as tangling. Baba Yaga returned to the window:

– Are you spinning, my niece?

– I am, aunt, I am, dear! – the cat answered gruffly.

Baba Yaga burst into the hut, saw the girl missing, and began to berate the cat for not protecting her niece’s eyes.

– I have served you for years, and you have not even tossed me a bone! – the cat protested. – She fed me ham!

Enraged, Baba Yaga attacked the dogs, the gate, the birch, and the servant, shouting curses and striking them.

The dogs replied:

– We have served you long, yet you never gave us a crust, and she gave us bread.

The gate answered:

– We have served you long, yet you never oiled our hinges, and she poured us oil.

The birch said:

– I have served you long, yet you never tied me with thread, and she tied me with a ribbon.

The servant said:

– I have served you long, yet you never gave me a rag, and she gave me a handkerchief.

Baba Yaga, bone‑legged, hopped onto her mortar, began to chase the girl, scattering dust behind her.

Sensing danger, the girl pressed her ear to the ground, heard Baba Yaga’s approach, and threw the towel. In an instant a broad river appeared.

Baba Yaga, furious, arrived at the river and snarled with her teeth. She rode home, fetched her mighty oxen, and drove them to the river. The oxen drank the water dry. Enraged, she chased again.

The girl pressed her ear again, heard Baba Yaga near, and tossed the comb. At once a dense, dark forest sprang up. Baba Yaga tried to chew through it, but could not, and turned back.

Meanwhile the old man had already returned home and asked:

– Where is my daughter?

– She went to her aunt, – growled the step‑mother.

A short while later the girl ran home.

– Where have you been? – asked her father.

– Father! – she replied. – My step‑mother sent me to my aunt for a needle and thread to sew a shirt, and the aunt, Baba Yaga, wanted to eat me.

– How did you escape, daughter?

She told everything: the kind aunt, the advice, the frightening hut, the helpful cat and his magical gifts.

The old man, hearing the tale, became angry with his wife. His fury filled him:

– You are no longer my wife! You are cruel and heartless! You tried to kill my child! Leave my house at once! Know this: if you ever think of harming my daughter again, I will strike you down from the light! Depart immediately!

The step‑mother, trembling with fear, grabbed a bundle and fled the house like a bullet, never to return to those lands. The father and his daughter lived thereafter in peace, love, and plenty. The girl grew up kind and wise.

Key Themes for Discussion

Kindness versus Cruelty

The girl showed kindness and attention to everyone she met—the cat, the dogs, the gate, the birch, the servant—and that kindness returned to her manyfold, saving her life.

Baba Yaga and the step‑mother displayed cruelty and indifference, receiving the punishment they deserved.

Cleverness and Caution      

The girl used her mind and caution, first seeking advice from her own aunt, then following the aunt’s instructions precisely in the dangerous situation.

She did not panic, used the magical items given to her, and outwitted Baba Yaga.

Justice and Protection of Family

When the father learned the truth, he immediately and decisively defended his daughter, expelling the wicked step‑mother and restoring justice.

His stern threat shows the depth of his anger and his determination to protect his family at any cost.

Discussion Questions for Children

Why did the girl go to her own aunt first instead of heading straight to Baba Yaga?

This helps discuss the importance of trusting close relatives, sensing danger, and valuing the counsel of wise people.

How did the girl’s good deeds (ribbon, oil, bread, ham, handkerchief) help her survive?

It shows that kindness, attention, and generosity—even in small acts—often return as help in difficult moments.

How was Baba Yaga punished?

This question teaches that cruelty and neglect push people away and strip them of support.

Why did the father become so angry with the step‑mother?

The discussion can reveal a parent’s feelings—love, fury at betrayal, and the desire to protect a child.

What did the heroine learn from this story? What does the tale teach us?

The question summarizes the main lessons: the value of kindness, the importance of wit and caution, the power of justice, and the need to protect loved ones.

Vasilisa the Beautiful

In a large town lived a merchant. For twelve years he and his wife lived in love and harmony, and they had only one daughter—Vasilisa, whom everyone called the Beautiful. When Vasilisa’s mother fell gravely ill, the girl was only eight years old. Before she passed, the mother called her daughter, took a small rag‑doll from under her pillow, handed it to Vasilisa and whispered:

– Listen, dear Vasilisa! Remember my last words. I am leaving and give you this doll. Keep it always close and never show it to anyone. If trouble comes, feed the doll a tiny crumb of bread and ask it for advice. It will eat and tell you how to help a sorrowful heart.

The mother kissed her daughter on the forehead and closed her eyes forever.

After the funeral the merchant mourned a long time, then began to think about a new wife. He was a kind and respected man, and a suitable bride would have been easy to find, but his heart was drawn to a widow. She was older, had two daughters almost the same age as Vasilisa, and seemed a capable housekeeper and mother. The merchant married her, but he made a cruel mistake: the new wife was not a kind step‑mother to Vasilisa.

Vasilisa blossomed into a girl of extraordinary beauty, and the step‑mother and her daughters—One‑eyed, Two‑eyed and Three‑eyed—were blinded by envy. They piled work on Vasilisa, hoping the hard labor would make her thin and her skin darkened by sun and wind. Vasilisa’s life turned into endless hardship.

Yet Vasilisa endured without complaint. Remarkably, each day she grew more radiant, while the step‑mother and her daughters, though idle, grew thinner and more sour. What was the secret? The little doll helped Vasilisa. Without it the girl could not have managed. Vasilisa often went hungry, but she always saved the tastiest morsel for the doll. In the evening, when everyone was asleep, she locked herself in her little room, placed the offering before the doll and whispered:

– Here, little doll, eat and listen to my sorrow! I live with my father, but I see no joy. The wicked step‑mother drives me away like an unwanted guest. Teach me how to live and what to do.

The doll “ate” the treat, then gave wise counsel and comfort. By morning all the work was done: the garden beds were weeded, the cabbage watered, water fetched, the stove stoked. The doll even suggested which herb to use to protect the face from the sun. Thus Vasilisa found solace in her magical helper.

Years passed. Vasilisa grew into a true beauty. All the city’s suitors dreamed of asking her hand, while the step‑mother’s daughters were no longer of interest. The step‑mother’s anger grew even hotter. To every suitor she declared:

– I will not give my younger daughter in marriage until the older ones are settled! – and after sending the guests away she vented her fury on Vasilisa with blows and harsh words.

One day the merchant had to travel far on business. The step‑mother immediately moved the family to an old house on the very edge of town, next to a dense, impassable forest. Deep in that forest, on a clearing, stood a hut where Baba Yaga lived. Rumor said she let no one near her and was extremely dangerous. After the move, the step‑mother constantly sent the hated step‑daughter into the forest for various errands. Yet Vasilisa always returned unharmed: the doll showed her a safe path and kept her away from the terrifying hut.

Autumn arrived. One evening the step‑mother gave each of the three girls a task: the eldest must weave lace, the middle one knit a stocking, and Vasilisa must spin yarn. She extinguished all the lights in the house, leaving only a single candle in the room where the girls sat, and went to sleep. The girls worked in the dim light. The candle began to smoke, and one of the step‑mother’s daughters grabbed a pair of tongs, supposedly to adjust the wick, but, following her mother’s suggestion, “accidentally” blew out the flame.

– What shall we do now? – the sisters cried. – There is no fire in the house and the work is unfinished! We must run to Baba Yaga for fire!

– I won’t go! – said the one who was weaving lace. – I won’t.

– Me neither! – added the one knitting the stocking. – The pins are bright enough for me!

– Then you go, Vasilisa! – they shouted in chorus, pushing her out of the room.

Vasilisa went to her little chamber, placed a dinner before the doll and said, holding back tears:

– Here, doll, eat and hear my grief: they send me to Baba Yaga for fire! She will eat me!

The doll “ate” and its eyes suddenly glowed like two tiny stars.

– Do not be afraid, dear Vasilisa! – it said gently. – Go where you are sent, but keep me always with you. With me, Baba Yaga cannot harm you.

Vasilisa calmed, slipped the doll into the pocket of her dress, crossed herself and set off into the dark, frightening forest.

Her heart hammered with fear. Suddenly a rider in white galloped past on a white horse, his harness gleaming in the early dawn. She walked on and saw another rider, this one in red on a red horse, as the sun rose and lit the woods. Vasilisa walked through night and day, and only by the next evening did she reach a clearing where Baba Yaga’s hut stood. A fence of dry, creaking branches surrounded it; on the posts hung old, cracked pumpkins with carved eyes and mouths. Instead of a door were twisted trunks, and instead of hinges, gnarled roots that looked like crooked fingers. Vasilisa froze with terror.

A third rider appeared, all in black on a raven horse. He galloped to the gate and vanished as if melted into the air—night fell. The darkness lasted only a moment: inside the pumpkins on the fence tiny lights ignited, and their grim, grinning faces glowed, casting an uneven, trembling light over the clearing. Vasilisa shivered, but there was nowhere to run.

Soon the forest filled with a dreadful noise: trees cracked, dry leaves rustled under unseen footsteps. From the thicket emerged Baba Yaga herself—not in a mortar, but in a rattling cart, driving a thin horse and sweeping the ground with a broom. She pulled up to the gate, stopped, sniffed the air and croaked:

– Ugh! It smells of Russian spirit! Who dares to come?

Vasilisa, trembling, approached the old woman, bowed low and said:

– It is I, grandmother! My step‑mother’s daughter sent me for fire.

– Ah, I know those! – Baba Yaga sneered. – Fine, stay with me, work, and I will give you fire. If you fail, you will blame yourself! – she glared with fierce eyes.

She turned to the gate and shouted:

– Hey, my strong locks, open!

The gate creaked open. Baba Yaga drove into the yard, whistling; Vasilisa followed, and the gate slammed shut behind her. Inside the hut, Baba Yaga flopped onto a bench and ordered:

– Bring me what is in the oven! I am hungry!

Vasilisa lit a small flame in one of the pumpkins and began pulling food from the oven—a mountain of pies, meat and porridge enough for ten people. From the cellar she fetched kvass, honey‑mead and wine. Baba Yaga ate everything, leaving Vasilisa only a spoonful of soup, a crust of bread and a piece of chicken. The old woman prepared to sleep and said:

– Tomorrow I will leave. You must sweep the yard, sweep the hut, prepare lunch, wash the linen and go to the storehouse, take a quarter of wheat and clean it of black grains. Do everything, or else… – she narrowed her eyes and snored loudly.

Vasilisa placed the meager leftovers before the doll, tears falling onto the table:

– Here, doll, eat and hear my grief! Baba Yaga gave me impossible work and threatens disaster if I fail. Help!

The doll “ate” and soothed:

– Do not be afraid, Vasilisa the Beautiful! Eat yourself, pray to God and go to sleep. Morning is wiser than evening!

At dawn Vasilisa awoke. Baba Yaga was already up, peering out the window: the pumpkin lights were dimming; a white rider flashed—day had come. Baba Yaga stepped into the yard, whistled and her rattling cart appeared. A red rider flashed—the sun rose. The old woman climbed into the cart, drove away, chasing the horse and sweeping the ground. Vasilisa was left alone. She inspected the house, amazed by the abundance of good, and wondered which task to start with. To her astonishment she saw that the yard was already swept, the hut cleaned, the linen washed, and the doll was just pulling the last black grains from the wheat!

– Oh, my savior! – Vasilisa exclaimed, taking the doll in her hands. – You have rescued me again!

– Only the lunch remains, – the doll replied, hopping into the pocket. – Pray to God, then rest!

By evening Vasilisa set the table and waited for the mistress. Dusk fell, a black rider appeared at the gate—night had returned, and the pumpkins on the fence glowed again. The forest rustled—Baba Yaga was coming. Vasilisa went out to meet her.

– Did you finish everything? – the old woman barked.

– Look yourself, grandmother, – Vasilisa answered quietly.

Baba Yaga walked around the yard, peered into the hut, into the storehouse—everything shone with cleanliness. She could not be angry.

– Fine, it will do! – she muttered, then shouted: – Hey, my wild winds, carry the wheat and grind it into flour!

A gust lifted the sacks of wheat and carried them away.

Baba Yaga finished her dinner, yawned and gave another task:

– Tomorrow do the same, and also go to the storehouse, take poppy seeds and clean them of earth. Someone has poured soil onto them!

The old woman turned to the wall and snored, while Vasilisa fed her doll.

In the morning Baba Yaga left again, and Vasilisa and the doll hurried through all the chores. When the old woman returned, she inspected the work and shouted:

– Hey, my winds, squeeze oil from the poppy!

The wind lifted the poppy and carried it away.

Vasilisa stood silent, recalling the previous day’s winds.

– Why are you silent as a log? – Baba Yaga asked. – You will not say a word!

– I dared not, grandmother, – Vasilisa replied. – If you allow, I will ask something.

– Ask, but know: not every question brings good. Too much knowledge ages you!

– May I ask, grandmother, about the rider on the white horse who passed me? Who was he?

– That is my bright day, – Baba Yaga answered.

– And the rider on the red horse?

– That is my red sun!

– And the black rider who vanished at your gate?

– That is my dark night. All three are my faithful servants!

Vasilisa remembered the winds but stayed quiet.

– Why do you stop asking? – Baba Yaga wondered.

– I will have my share of that, – Vasilisa said. – You told me that too much knowledge ages a person.

– Well done! – Baba Yaga unexpectedly praised. – It is good you ask only about what you saw beyond the gate, not about the house! I do not like people who pry… – she clicked her teeth. – Now tell me, how do you finish all the work so quickly?

– My mother’s blessing helps me, – Vasilisa answered honestly.

– So that is it! – Baba Yaga exclaimed. – Away with you, blessed one! I do not need you!

She seized Vasilisa by the arm, led her out of the hut and pushed her through the gate. She took a small pumpkin with a carved face from the fence, inside of which a tiny flame flickered, and handed it to the girl:

– Here, a light for the step‑mother’s daughters! Carry it. Know that this light is special—it sees the truth in hearts. Those who receive it with evil will not find joy, only a lesson.

Vasilisa clutched the warm pumpkin‑lantern to her chest and ran home. Its glow kept her from losing the way in the darkness. The flame faded only at sunrise; by the next evening she reached the step‑mother’s house. Approaching the gate she thought: Perhaps the light is already there and I do not need it. But then the pumpkin whispered: