Note 2 — Morozko.1

There the poor little thing remained on the fringe of the forest, sat down under a fir-tree, shivered, and softly said her prayers. All at once she heard something. Morozko was crackling in a fir-tree not far off, and he leaped from fir to fir and snapped his fingers. And look! now he has come to that fir beneath which the girl was sitting; and he snapped his fingers, and leaped up and down, and looked at the pretty girl. “Maiden, maiden, ’tis I—Moroz-ruby-nose!”—“Welcome, Moroz! God must have sent thee to my poor sinful soul.”—“Art thou warm, maiden?”—“Warm, warm, dear little father Morozushko2!” Moroz began to descend lower, and crackle still more, and snap his fingers more than ever, and again he began speaking to the girl. “Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, beauty?” The girl was scarce able to draw her breath, and yet she kept on saying, “Yes, warm, Morozushko; warm, little father!” Morozko crackled more than ever, and snapped his fingers harder and yet harder, and he said to the maiden for the last time, “Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, beauty? Art thou warm, sweet clover?” The girl was all benumbed, and it was only in a voice scarcely audible that she could say, “Oh, yes! warm, darling little pigeon mine, Morozushko!” Morozko quite loved her for her pretty speeches. He had compassion on the girl; he wrapped her in furs, warmed her with warm coverings, and brought her a coffer, high and heavy, full of bridal garments, and gave her a robe all garnished with gold and silver. She put it on, and oh, how beautiful and stately she looked! And she sat down and began to sing songs. And the stepmother was preparing her funeral feast and frying pancakes. “Be off, husband, and bury your daughter!” she cried. And off the old man went. But the little dog under the table said, “Bow-wow! the old man’s daughter is going about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.”—“Silence, you fool! There’s a pancake for you, and now say, ‘The wooers will take the old woman’s daughter, but there’s nothing left of the old man’s daughter but her bones.’” The little dog ate the pancake, but again he said, “Bow-wow! the old man’s daughter goes about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.” The old woman kept beating the dog and giving him pancakes, but the little dog would have his way, and said, “The old man’s daughter goes about in silver and gold, but the old woman’s daughter no wooers will look at.”