Okay, maybe I should have saved this one for winter, but it's in the triple digits where I live with no sign of mercy, so I needed something to take my mind off of this insufferable heat. Without further ado, I present to you one of my favorite bits of folklore from none other than the great Russia, that gigantic landmass that covers most of Eurasia, most of which is basically uninhabited--Father Frost.
Father Frost is the Russian version of winter incarnate. He was one of the most respected--and feared--entities in the whole of Russian folklore. And he absolutely can't stand poor manners.
Our story begins with the traditional fairy tale family model--man has wife, man loves wife, man and wife have daughter, wife falls ill and dies, man remarries. And, of course, the new wife has a daughter, and both despise the man's poor child.
The man's daughter--naturally our protagonist--grows up to be kind and beautiful and perfect in pretty much every way. Meanwhile, her stepsister is mean and ugly and good for very little around the home. Not exactly marriage material in those days, especially considering the man and his new wife didn't have two pennies to rub together. So, the stepmother and stepsister grow increasingly jealous and angry toward the man's own daughter. Eventually, this spills over and the stepmother demands that he get rid of the girl. How should he accomplish this? The Siberian winter will take care of her without getting any blood on his hands.
The next morning, he and his daughter tearfully climb into the sleigh, and he drives her out to a frozen field. There, he leaves her--no food, no cloak, just the clothes on her back and a heart-wrenching goodbye. It is the last time he expects to see his beloved daughter alive.
When her father drives away, the girl sits there, shivering for a few minutes before a figure approaches. Tall, cloaked, with eyes like ice, he greets his newest victim, who recognizes him as Father Frost, the spirit of winter. Seating himself adjacent to the freezing child, he appraises her, and inquires:
"My child, are you comfortable?"
Now, we all know what we would say in her situation. We're hungry, we're cold, we're literally growing closer to death by the minute out here. But the girl knew full well that here was Frost's domain, and therefore, he was her host. And you never treat your host with disrespect. So she tried to smile, and through chattering teeth managed to reply, "Yes, Father Frost, I am very comfortable. Thank you."
The spirit summoned a freezing wind to chill her. The force of it hit her and nearly knocked her down. She shivered and pressed her arms tighter against her chest, but said nothing.
"Are you comfortable, my child?"
"Yes, Father Frost, I am. Thank you."
So he made the air around her even colder, and the wind blew harder than ever. Seeing her curled up and shaking uncontrollably, he asked her once again if she was comfortable.
"Yes, Father Frost. Thank you," was her only reply.
Having passed his test, she was rewarded with a gilded trunk filled with priceless treasures, including jewelry and a beautiful new sarafan--the traditional dress of Eastern Europe--but likely the most precious to her was the heavy fur cloak, which she donned immediately.
When her father came for her the next morning, Frost had disappeared, leaving the trunk behind. Astonished at seeing his daughter still alive, and better yet, with a trunk full of valuables, he ran to embrace her. He lifted the trunk into the sleigh and they drove toward home.
Needless to say, the depraved stepmother was not happy. She demanded an explanation from her husband and his wretched daughter. The girl related to her the whole story, drawing her stepmother's attention to the trunk. One could almost see the gears in her head working out a plan. If her husband's daughter could be sent out and come home rich, then why not her own? She pulled the man aside and asked that the same thing which had been done to his daughter be done to hers. Terrifed of his lunatic wife, the man agreed.
That night the clueless stepsister was left in the same field. She tried to run after the sleigh but wasn't fast enough. Sobbing, she fell to her knees in the snow. Just then, Frost appeared before her.
"Are you comfortable, child?" he asked, just as he had with the other girl.
The stepsister, however, didn't know of a little thing called courtesy. She raised her head to glare at the stranger and snapped, "Do I look like I'm comfortable? I am hungry and my limbs are numb from cold."
Father Frost made the wind blow colder, freezing the girl's angry tears to her cheeks. "Are you comfortable, child?" he repeated in the same even tone.
"I'm even less comfortable!" she shouted.
What followed was cold the likes of which the girl had never felt before. She had no feeling left in her stiff limbs, and her heartbeat grew faint. "Are you comfortable now, child?" inquired Father Frost quietly. But there was no reply.
The next morning the man, accompanied by his wife, set out to retrieve his stepdaughter. Instead of finding her warm and well with a trunk of treasures, however, all that was there was the girl's frozen body. The woman ran to her daughter, weeping bitter tears for the child she'd sentenced to death out of her own greed.
Source:
Folktales from the Russian, retold by Verra Xenophontovna Kalamatiano de Blumenthal
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