Die großartige Sammlung russischer Volksmärchen von Alexander Afanasjew verzauberte schon Generationen von Lesern in aller Welt. Ihr Reiz speist sich aus dem Reichtum der russischen Erzähltradition und der schier grenzenlos wirkenden Vielfalt ihrer Stoffe. Afanasjew gilt zu Recht als der russische Grimm: Ähnlich wie dem berühmten deutschen Brüderpaar ging es ihm um die Bewahrung des wertvollen literarischen Erbes seiner Sprache, um das Bewusstsein, welch grandioser Schatz in den mythischen Märchenerzählungen seines Landes liegt.
Alexander Nikolayevich Afanasyev (Russian: Александр Николаевич Афанасьев) was a Russian folklorist who recorded and published over 600 Russian folktales and fairytales, by far the largest folktale collection by any one man in the world. His first collection was published in eight volumes from 1855-67, earning him the reputation of a Russian counterpart to the Brothers Grimm.
Born in 1826 in Boguchar, in Voronezh Governate, he grew up in Bobrov, becoming an early reader thanks to the library of his grandfather, a member of the Russian Bible Society. He was educated at the Voronezh gymnasium and from 1844-48 he studied law at the University of Moscow. Despite being a promising student, he did not become a professor, due largely to attacks upon his work by the conservative Minister of National Enlightenment, Count Sergey Uvarov.
Afanasyev worked for thirteen years at the Moscow's Main Archive Directorate under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Empire, during which time he also amassed a huge library and published numerous articles and reviews. In 1862 he was fired from his position, because of his association with philosopher Alexander Herzen. Jobless for a number of years thereafter, he sold his library in order to support his family, eventually finding work as a secretary at the Moscow City Duma and at the Moscow Congress of Justices of the Peace.
Afanasyev wrote a large theoretical work (three volumes of 700 pages each) – "The Poetic Outlook of Slavs about Nature" (Поэтические воззрения славян на природу) – which came out between 1865 and 1869. In 1870 his Русские детские сказки (Russian Children's Fairy Tales) were published. He died in poverty in 1871, at the age of forty-five.
Поредицата „Златни детски книги” на издателска къща „Труд” достигна своя 80-ти том. А кое ли е новото заглавие, с което така приятно закръгляме номерацията на тази чудесна колекция класики с твърди корици? Това е сборникът „Руски народни приказки”, съдържащ цели 72 истории, специално подбрани от мащабните осем тома истории, събрани и публикувани в средата на ХІХ век от големия руски фолклорист Александър Н. Афанасиев. Очакват ви над 300 страници, изпълнени със сюжети за всички възрасти и от всички приказни жанрове. Майсторски преведени от Красимира Стоичкова, тези приказки демонстрират богатството, пъстротата и мъдростта на славянското народно творчество. Прочетете ревюто на „Книжни Криле”: https://knijnikrile.wordpress.com/202...
I’ve hugely enjoyed reading these marvellous stories, just one each night as a starter on my bedtime reading menu! There’s an excellent introduction by Harvard Professor and author Maria Tatar, which conveys the fascinating history behind the collection, including the following:
‘In 1649 Alexei Mikhailovich, father to Peter the Great, declared war on those who ‘propound riddles and tell fairy stories’ ... The activities of the country’s skomorokhi - minstrels, harlequins, peddlers, jesters and tale spinners - were banned. Some were even rounded up, their tongues cut out to prevent them from practising their art...
Two centuries later, Aleksandr Afanas’ev- lawyer, archivist and the man who became Russia’s answer to the Brothers Grimm - was denounced by the Moscow Metropolitan Filaret for collecting tales ... ‘
He was persecuted thereafter and died in poverty of consumption in 1871 aged forty-five. What a debt is owed to this man of great courage, conviction and integrity.
The edition I have was a present from my son, who always gives me wonderful books.
For the information of hopeless bookworms like myself, the book is a thing of beauty, set in Ehrhardt with Saltzburg display at the Folio Society, printed on Abbey Wove paper in Memmingen, Germany, and quarter-bound in red leather with cloth sides by Lachenmaier, Reutlingen, Germany. The beautiful illustrations are by Niroot Puttapipat, and the gold spine lettering is by John Andrew. The text is translated by Norbert Guterman.
Diolch yn fawr to all of the above for the joy of reading these fantastic stories! ❤️
Relato: El soldado y la muerte - Alexandr Nikoláievich Afanásiev (cuento folklórico) El relato ya es conocido por muchos. Un soldado al ser generoso recibe de regalo una baraja de cartas y un saco. Al escuchar el rumor que en un viejo castillo habitan demonios, el soldado decide ir a tentar suerte y, usando la baraja regalada, logra ganar a los demonios y expulsarlos del castillo no sin antes hacer un pacto con uno de ellos. Tiempo después hará uso de su saco en el que, a fin de evitar su propia muerte, encerrará ahí a aquella. Pasando el tiempo se dará cuenta que encerrar a la muerte no fue la mejor opción, así que liberándola y viéndose él tan anciano le pide que la lleve con él, pero la muerte temerosa huye y el soldado no muere. Decide ir al infierno a que lo quemen en alquitrán pero los demonios no lo quieren ahí pues no olvidan la tortura que el soldado les hizo pasar, a cambio de no entrar el soldado pide 200 almas para pedir el perdón de Dios y entrar al paraíso, le entregan 250. En la entrada del paraíso no le permiten entrar y pide a una de las almas que, cuando esté dentro, le ordene entrar en el saco que acaba de entregarle, pero el alma se olvida y el soldado queda vagando por años y años y por ahí se dice que murió un día de aquellos. Este es el resumen del relato y es el mismo que muchos conocemos por el Narrador de Cuentos; sin embargo, si se dan cuenta, aunque se explica o se entiende el por qué el soldado no puede entrar en el infierno, no se explica bien el por qué no puede entrar en el paraíso, solo se hace una mención a que espera que Dios lo perdone. Felizmente, en la edición que he leído “Leyendas populares rusas” de la editorial Páginas de Espuma, se han incorporado notas del autor con 4 variantes de este relato. En la mayoría de estas variantes se explica el porqué el soldado no puede entrar al paraíso y básicamente era por que una vez estando ahí lo rechazó o pudiendo pedir ir al paraíso escogió otro camino. La diferencia que advierto entre la serie de televisión y el relato son mínimas, por ejemplo, en la serie el soldado rompe la pierna al demonio y en la versión que leí le hace un corte y con su sangre le hace firmar un contrato. Asimismo, si mal no recuerdo, en la serie el soldado no llega a morir, pero en el libro se indica que murió pero no se dice cuándo. Está de más decir que este relato es uno de mis favoritos de los que la mencionada serie llevó a la televisión. Siempre me llamó la atención la forma de relacionarse que tenía el soldado con los demonios y con la muerte. No sé si es porque era un soldado muy valiente, lo que lo haría admirable, o si, en el contexto del relato, podía llegarse a dar ese tipo de interacción entre un humano y los demonios. Quizás se más lo primero ya que se cuenta en el relato que las personas del pueblo no podían deshacerse de los demonios del castillo abandonado. Un hecho que me llamó mucho la atención es también la relación que existe con la muerte. No se le ve o describe como un espíritu maligno, del cual hay que huir con temor y que solo hace el mal. Siento que su trato y descripción era como la de un ser que cumple un rol natural en la vida del hombre y que solo cumple su función, sin maldad o venganza. No llega a causar miedo sino hasta uno puede llegar a compadecerse de ella, haciéndola humana, cercana y por lo tanto te genera esa sensación que, llegado el momento, podrás recibirla como un ser que solo cumplirá su rol. No sé cuántos habrán leído “Las intermitencias de la muerte” de J. Saramago, pues mientras leía el relato y las consecuencias que traía el hecho que la muerte esté atrapada, me trajo mucho a la memoria ese libro en el cual, por motivos distintos, la muerte deja de cumplir con su misión y las personas ya no mueren, lo que va desatando una serie de consecuencias que parecen un desarrollo de las consecuencias que en el relato se mencionan muy brevemente. Asimismo, otro aspecto que me pareció peculiar por la semejanza es que en ambos relatos la muerte no se presenta como un espíritu de miedo, de terror, sino que poco a poco se empieza a humanizarla. Definitivamente es un relato que recomiendo, les encantará de principio a fin. 5 estrellas. Leído con el Club ClasicoEsLeerte.
"The Cockerel and the Handmill" "Right and Wrong" In these two tales, the motif of the conflict between the righteous vs the wicked emerges. This imagery draws heavily, if not explicitly, from from the parable of the rich man and Lazarus.
In "The Cockerel", the poor peasant couple is (predictably) cast in the role of the righteous, while a wealthy lord plays a wicked soul.
"Right and Wrong" also operates in parable. It may be read as a dialogue between parts of the soul - Good and Evil forces - or between God and the Devil. Unsurprisingly, the long suffering "righteous" man becomes the "King's son" (Christ). The tale is also full of striking and charming "real-world" details. Such as the quarrelling muzhik's encounters with the three exponents of utterly native crookedness (who echo the three friends of Job, who mistakenly try to convince Job that he must have done something to warrant his fate). Here, they take the form of the serf, the merchant, and the priest. Another detail: after rubbing elbows with royal family, eating their food and dressing in royal garb, of all people, the uncouth rustic surf "pretty much gets the knack of it". The egalitarian idea behind this is that the distinction between the highest and lowest classes is strictly a matter of constructed appearances, and with practice, anyone can play the king. This idea could only have sprung from the peasant imagination (this was long before the Slavophile movement that planted the seeds of romanticizing the purity of the souls of the serfs, which eventually develops into the ideas of Tolstoy). Another motif, one pervasive in folktales, is the conflict between family members. This drives many "fairy / magic" folk tales, particularly - which begin with the hero's expulsion from his home, thus launching them on their quest. This echoes the Biblical account of Abraham, who is commanded by God to leave his birthplace and idol worshipping family, to go to the "land which I will show you". In Russian folklore, daughters are especially susceptible to this sort of difficulty. They are typically driven out by the "wicked stepmother". The story also features some of extravagant elements of oral style, with the action frequently recounted in “loops”—thus, after he did X, he did Y; he did Y, and then he did Z, etc.—and the bizarre refrain y’know, accompanying nearly every statement, whether the storyteller’s, a peasant’s, or a demon’s.
"Baba Yaga", "Prince Danila" and "The Little White Duck" all feature the motif of daughter's being expelled from their homes, as mentioned above. These three tales all feature a defenseless heroine, driven out of her rightful home. In "Baba Yaga", our heroine is a daughter, in "Prince Danila", a sister, and and "White Duck", a wife.
In "Baba Yaga", a stepdaughter is sent on an errand to her auntie Baba Yaga, who is actually an enigmatic shapeshifter who takes on a variety of guises - here, she devours undesirable children. The stepdaughter's escape depends on her passing a series of tests - showing kindness to various animate and inanimate characters in Yaga's service, who Yaga rules through fear, rather than love. By winning over Yaga's minions, the girl can hope to return to her Father / husband (its ambiguous) intact.
However, reading "Baba Yaga" side by side with "Prince Danila", a different reading emerges. In "Prince Danila", a young girl flees her home to escape the incestous advances of her brother. She too, ends up in Baba Yaga's hut, but to get there she must go underground (eg: a Hades-like adventure into the abode of the dead). This journey to the underworld is an ancient layer of the tale - onto which the motif of the power sturggle in a peasant's household is grafted later.
If Baba Yaga is not a cruel mother in law, who is she? Why does she actively seek out "Russian blood", and why does she want to shove her guests into her stove? Is she a demon of the underworld? It may a distant echo of initiation by fire - a motif reflected in the myth of Achilles' heel. Is the heroine already dead when she arrives in the underworld?
In this tale, we should also take special note of a distinct episode in which the two girls, pursued by Yaga, toss a comb, a brush, and a hand towel behind their backs in an effort to deter their pursuer. These rather common items of a young girl’s toilette invariably turn into a mountain range, a dense forest, and a great body of water, in that order. This “chase scene” recurs again and again from one tale to another in a variety of forms. The great Russian folklorist V. Ya. Propp saw this motif as an echo of the ancient myth of the giver of fire (a proto-Prometheus), whose flight from the abode of the gods becomes the act of creation of our own world— raising up mountains and forests, laying down rivers and seas. It is very unlikely, if not impossible, that these tales were scripted by anyone Jewish. It is therefore ironically poetic that this "chase scene" reminds me so much of the Kabbalistic idea of creation. First, God is infinite - and precisely because of this infiniteness, there can be no space for anything else to co-exist among God. Therefore, for something to come into existence, God must deliberately withdraw his presence. Second, that God contracted his presence from the Universe intentionally in order to carve out a space for creation. Third, that humans, distinguished from angels by our free will, are paradoxically (1) less holy than angels, because more of God's infinite light is withdrawn from us in order to give us the space for free will (2) infinitely more holy than angels, because it is with free will comes the possibility to become creators in our own right ["creators" in this context means fulfilling Biblical commandments, thus 'bringing heaven down to earth']. This act of "creation" is what will eventually bring about the Messianic age. These ideas have been clumsily and inaccurately interpreted by subsequent Russian authors (Dostoevsky being the worst offender), but that's an essay for another time.
This same motif appears in the "White Duck" - in an unexpected form. As a punishment for her misdeeds, the Baba Yaga is tied to a horse’s tail and “broken across the field”: her severed limbs and head become features in the landscape. Remarkably, like the myth itself, the witch’s physical being is completely effaced and thoroughly forgotten, leaving only vague outlines in the landscape—for those with an eye to discern them. There is a reoccurring focus in Russian literature on the difference between form and content - most commonly seen in the motif of the virtuous serf vs the morally squalid landowner. The idea is that our material forms (our bodies / lives) and possessions are inescapably finite - the only things that are infinite are values, and the integrity of your spirit and soul. The remnants of Baba Yaga's severed remains remaining visible do not just symbolize her physical death - but signify that after death, the content of your soul is the only thing that remains, and, God, seeing everything, sees this too.
This vast collection of stories runs the gamut of themes, with the most common being a sort of fairy tale, where the protagonist (invariably a 'doughty youth') has to overcome massive odds, for which he's helped by magical creatures (mostly hawks, eagles, pike and the like which have magical powers and are either threatened by the protagonist or shown kindness by him to encourage them to use their powers on his behalf). There are beautiful princesses, cruel tsars, penurious peasants, and - cropping up again and again, like a bad penny - the famous old witch, Baba Yaga, who travels in a flying mortar and lives in a home on chicken legs.
Other stories (just a few of them, sadly) feature an all-animal cast, and a couple of these (The Bear, the Dog and the Cat in particular) have a delightfully wry wittiness about them. Equally witty are a couple of stories that feature Jesus Christ (there are several stories about Christ, mostly taking the place of the fabled 'wise old man' in the tale; there are also stories featuring other biblical prophets). A handful of stories can be easily identified as Russian versions of popular European fairytales: there's a version of Beauty and the Beast, for instance, and another of Bearskin.
On the whole, enjoyable (and Magnus's explanatory notes on some of the themes, locations and characters are interesting and insightful). After a while, the themes do seem a bit repetitive, but still, the stories are never outright boring.
Afanasjev spese l'intera sua vita raccogliendo le antiche fiabe che si faceva raccontare dalle anziane bocche di tutta la Russia. La collezione che è pervenuta sino a noi è sterminata: ma non è tanto la quantità delle fiabe ad impressionare, quanto la loro straordinaria capacità di evocare nel lettore una Russia d'altri tempi, ricostruita tramite l'immaginario popolare folcloristico del tempo. Potenti e sinistre baba yaghe, bellissime principesse, sagge fanciulle, intrepidi contadini, principi dotati di gran saggezza e incommensurabile forza, dominano la scena assieme ad animali magici capaci di cavare dagli impicci più gravosi i protagonisti. Si rimane sempre meravigliati quando si conclude la lettura di un'antica fiaba russa. La morale tradizionale che permea le favole o le storie tradizionali della nostra letteratura è quasi del tutto assente; i finali non sempre sono a lieto fine né prevedibili; spesso si assiste a episodi di mal celata misogenia o ingiustizia. Tuttavia, la carica allusiva, profonda di ogni immagine narrata trasporta in una dimensione ancestrale che viene avvertita sempre come autentica, vicina, già insita come primigenia in noi. E' nell'umida terra che i personaggi possono attuare stupefacenti metamorfosi; è in terre lontane e sconosciute che si rivela la vera natura del carattere. Leggendo i resti di quella che era la cultura contadina non solo veniamo a contatto col folclore di un mondo che fu, ma con le radici che ancora sono in noi stessi.
I had forgotten how much I both enjoyed and disliked folktales. This book was hard to get through at times, but I think it was a combination of having heard variations of these stories as a kid and the rambling of the storyteller. The stories themselves were entertaining, but the pacing was weird. (That might also have been due to translation.) I was quite happy that I was able to read some of the Russian, even after all these years. I think this would have been better listened to than read, however. Folktales are meant to be heard, in my opinion.
A must read for any fairy tale lovers. The composition of russian fairy tales are very different from the brothers Grimm or H. C. Andersen, a refreshing read.
LEYENDAS, NO CUENTOS No pocas de las opiniones leídas se refieren a los cuentos y no a las leyendas, que son muy distintos (bastante mejor los cuentos, en mi opinión). Yo voy a opinar sobre las leyendas, de la editorial Páginas de Espuma. 1) En una de las primeras leyendas leemos "este agua"; bueno, pienso será un error de imprenta. Pero cuando a lo largo del libro aparece una y otra vez "aquel agua", queda patente que no es un error, sino un desconocimiento de la lengua castellana., confirmado al leer (también varias veces) "Viejo Testamento", en lugar de "Antiguo Testamento". No basta conocer muy bien la lengua desde la que se traduce, hay que conocer también la lengua a la que se vierte; si este no es el caso, ¿por qué no revisa alguien de la editorial el texto definitivo? 2) De muchas leyendas se presenta numerosas versione - incluso no rusas-, por lo que le texto resulta repetitivo. El lbro está pensado más para el estudio comparativo que para el goce literario
Folio society's publication of Russian Fairy Tales by Pantheon, which is one of my favoritest books in the universe. Evar. It has all of the same myths and folk tales (none omitted) as the "regular" Pantheon version. Beautifully bound and with 15 pen and ink illustrations from selected folk tales. It's like my favorite book in the universe mated with a giant ball of awesome, implanted the blastocyst in a tree that had an artist captive inside and then had a beautiful baby made of win.
Un total de cuarenta y un cuentos rusos llenos de fantasía. El amor, el engaño, la sabiduría y la desgracia son temáticas recurrentes en estos relatos. Muchos quedan impregnando nuestra mente con paisajes de una antigua Rusia, llena de leyendas, brujas, dragones e instrumentos mágicos. La cultura popular zarista con todas sus costumbres que se enlaza a los mitos de oriente y Europa, me asombra un relato que inclusive tiene tintes vampíricos. En esta antología podemos ver la universalidad del cuento, reminiscencias de blanca nieves, de la bella durmiente, de hermanastras y de alfombras mágicas. Un libro que vale la pena leer para poder extraviarse por momentos en un mundo fantástico.
As any book of fairytales this one is full of dakness and death. It is very rich in differente tales some about animals others about princes and princess, witchs, demons and poor farmers. Some of the fairytales in the book are very similiar in the way the hero works out his troubles and defeats the evil. I enjoyed reading for the first time tales with Baba Yaga.