From Morozko, Lord of Winter to Snowballs Boiled in Butter
Via Solstice & Festive Menus with Meaning & Bitters for Healing
My dearest of Gentle Readers,
I am so sorry for the terrible lateness of this letter, it is most unlike me. I hope you will forgive me when you find out what I have been creating for you. First however, on this crisp blue, cold, crackling day I feel that I owe you a story. However you must beware, this is no feel good Christmas tale with an uncomplicated ending. It could be said to be as cold as winter but for some winter can still be kind …..
I will tell you the story of Morozko, the Winter King, of his kindness and his cruelty.
Once upon a time there was a man and a woman. Now the woman was the man's second wife. His first wife had died, and had left him with a daughter called Marfa who was as beautiful as sunshine in June and as brave and good-hearted besides.
Her stepmother was an attractive woman they say and made delicious cakes, wove fine cloth and brewed rich kvass, but her heart was cold and cruel. She hated Marfa for her kindness and goodness, preferring instead her own cruel daughter.
The stepmother first tried to destroy Marfa’s beauty by making her do all the work of the house. Before daybreak she would feed the cattle and give them to drink, fetch wood and water indoors, light the fire in the stove and keep it burning. She had to draw the water for her sister to wash her hands in. She had to make the clothes, and wash them and mend them. She had to cook the dinner, and clean the dishes after the others had done before having a bite for herself. The stepdaughter had red kisel jelly every day, and honey too, as much as she could eat. But poor little Martha, only got what the others left. When they were cross they threw away what they left, and then she got nothing at all.
For all that the stepmother was never satisfied, and was for ever shouting at her: "Look, the kettle is in the wrong place;" "There is dust on the floor;" "There is a spot on the tablecloth;" or, "The spoons are not clean, you stupid, ugly, idle madam.”
She tried in every way to accommodate herself to her stepmother, and to be of service to her stepsister. But she, taking pattern from her mother, was always insulting Marfa, bullying her, and making her cry. Her biggest enjoyment was her cruelty to Marfa. As for the stepsister, she lay in bed late, washed herself in water got ready for her, dried herself with warm towels, and didn’t sit down to work till after dinner.
But Martha was a strong girl and perhaps had a little magic of her own because she did all her hard work uncomplainingly, and steadily grew lovelier and lovelier as the years passed. She always had a song on her lips, except when her stepmother had beaten her.
This just made the stepmother angrier, so she thought of a way to get rid of her stepdaughter, and a cruel way it was.
"See here, old man," says she, "it is high time Martha was married, and I have a bridegroom in mind for her. To-morrow morning you must harness the old mare to the sledge, and put a bit of food together and be ready to start early, as I'd like to see you back before night."
To Martha she said: "To-morrow you must pack your things in a box, and put on your best dress to show yourself to your betrothed."
"Who is he?" asked Martha with red cheeks.
"You will know when you see him," said the stepmother.
All that night Martha hardly slept. She could hardly believe that she was really going to escape from stepmother at last, and have a hut of her own, where there would be no one to scold her. She wondered who the young man was. She hoped he was Fedor Ivanovitch, who had such kind eyes, and such nimble fingers on the balalaika, and such a merry way of flinging out his heels when he danced the Russian dance. But although he always smiled at her when they met, she felt she hardly dared to hope that it was he. Early in the morning she got up and said her prayers to God, put the whole hut in order, and packed her things into a little box. That was easy, because she had such few things. It was other daughters who had new dresses. Any old thing was good enough for Martha. But she put on her best blue dress, and there she was, as pretty a maiden as ever walked under the birch trees in spring.
Marfa’s father harnessed the mare to the sledge and brought it to the door. The snow was very deep and frozen hard, and the wind peeled the skin from his ears before he covered them with the flaps of his fur hat.
"Sit down at the table and have a bite before you go," says the stepmother.
Marfa’s father sat down, and his daughter with him, and drank a glass of tea and ate some black bread. And the stepmother put some cabbage soup, left from the day before, in a saucer, and said to Martha, "Eat this, my little pigeon, and get ready for the road." But when she said "my little pigeon," she did not smile with her eyes, but only with her cruel mouth, and Martha was afraid. The stepmother whispered to the father : "I have a word for you, old fellow. You will take Martha to her betrothed, and I'll tell you the way. You go straight along, and then take the road to the right into the forest ... you know ... straight to the big fir tree that stands on a hillock, and there you will give Martha to her betrothed and leave her. He will be waiting for her, and his name is Morozko, Lord of Winter .”
Marfa’s father stared in horror at his wife and stopped eating. The maiden, who had heard the last words, began to cry,
"Now, what are you whimpering about?" cried the stepmother “Morozko is a rich bridegroom and a handsome one. See how much he owns. All the pines and firs are his, and the sparkling frost. Any one would envy his possessions, and he himself is a a man of strength and power."
Her father trembled for he loved his daughter after all, and the cold embrace of the winter god is not for mortal maidens, but certainly the stepmother had a little magic of her own and that was the reason her husband could refuse her nothing. And Martha went on crying quietly, though she tried to stop her tears.
Her father also wept as he packed up what was left of the black bread, told Martha to put on her sheepskin coat, set her in the sledge and climbed in, and drove off along the white, frozen road.
The road was long and the country open, and the wind grew colder and colder, while the frozen snow blew up from under the hoofs of the mare and spattered the sledge with white patches. The tale is soon told, but it takes time to happen, and the sledge was white all over long before they turned off into the forest. They came in the end deep into the forest, and left the road, and over the deep snow through the trees to the great fir. There the father stopped, lifted his daughter out of the sledge, set her little box under the fir, and said, "Wait here for your bridegroom, and when he comes be sure to receive him kindly.” Then he turned the mare round and drove home, with the tears running from his eyes and freezing on his cheeks before they had had time to reach his beard. He was underneath it all a good man and did not care to see his daughter’s death.
The maiden sat and trembled. Her sheepskin coat was worn through, and in her blue bridal dress she sat, while fits of shivering shook her whole body. She wanted to run away; but she had not strength to move, or even to keep her little teeth from chattering between her frozen lips.
Suddenly, not far away, she heard Frost crackling, laughing, talking to himself among the fir trees, just as he does on an early winter’s morning when you leave the comfort of your warm home. He was leaping from tree to tree, crackling as he came. He leapt at last into the great fir tree, under which Marfa was sitting. He crackled in the top of the tree, and then called; down out of the topmost branches:
"Are you warm, little maiden?”
Marfa was a well brought up girl who bore her troubles uncomplainingly
“Quite warm, thank you dear Lord Frost."
Morozko laughed, and came a little lower in the tree and the wind blew colder than before causing the trees to groan above them.
Then he asked "Are you still warm, little maiden? Are you warm, sweetheart?”
The maiden could hardly speak. She was nearly dead, but she answered,—
"Warm, dear Morozko; I am warm thank you.”
Morozko climbed lower in the tree, and the storm raged overhead and the wind gnashed its teeth until Marfa felt it would pull the skin from her bones’
"Are you still warm, little maiden? Are you warm, sweetheart? Are you warm, little pigeon?”
Marfa was frozen all over, but she whispered so that Frost could just hear her,—
"Warm, l am warm my dear Lord Frost’
Morozko was sorry for her and filled with admiration for her courage for he knew that no mortal could struggle too long against the power of the lord of winter. He leapt down with a tremendous crackle and a scattering of frozen snow, wrapped the little maid up in rich cloak lined with furs, and covered her with her silk quilts—light like feathers and warm as a mother's lap. He also gave her a large heavy trunk filled with many beautiful, beautiful things. Dresses and jewels worth more than a royal ransom. In addition to all this, Morozko gave her a lovely blue wedding gown ornamented with silver and pearls.
In the morning the old woman said to her husband, laughing cruelly,
"Drive off now to the forest, and wake the young couple."
The old man wept when he thought of his daughter, for he was sure that he would find her dead. He harnessed the mare, and drove off through the snow. He came to the tree, and heard his daughter singing merrily, there she was, alive and warm, with a good fur cloak about her shoulders, a rich veil, costly blankets round her feet, and a box full of splendid presents.
The old man did not say a word. He was too surprised. He just climbed from the sledge, lifted her box and the box of presents, set them in the sledge, handed her into the sledge, wrapping her in the silk quilts and then climbed in, and sat down beside her.
The stepmother was in the kitchen busy baking pancakes for the meal which it is the custom to give to the priests and friends after the usual service for the dead.
Somebody opened the gate, voices were heard laughing and talking outside. The old woman looked out and sat down in amazement. The stepdaughter was there like a princess, bright and happy in the most beautiful garments, and behind her the old father had hardly strength enough to carry the heavy trunk full of beautiful gowns and jewels and the valuable quilts.
The stepmother nearly exploded with rage when she saw her alive, with her fur cloak, silk quilts and the box of splendid presents fit for the daughter of a prince.
She turned to her husband and said “If Morozko has given your daughter all these rich presents it is as nothing to what he will give my girl”
Early next morning the old woman woke her daughter, fed her with good food, dressed her as befitted a bride, hustled the old man, made him put clean hay in the sledge and warm blankets, and sent them off to the forest.
Although in his heart he protested all this folly he drove to the big fir tree, set the box under the tree, lifted out his stepdaughter and set her on the box, and drove back home.
Lisa was warmly dressed and well fed, and at first, as she sat there did not think about the cold. She kept herself entertained by thinking of how much better presents she would get than her hated stepsister. Her envy and greed was keeping her warm. However as time wore on she began to get the cold shivers and thought to herself that if her fated ones did not come soon, she would perish of cold.
Morozko, crackling among the trees, laughing to himself, froze the hands of the girl, and she hid her hands in the sleeves of her fur coat and shivered. And Frost, not so far away, crackled and laughed, and leapt from fir tree to fir tree, crackling as he came. The girl heard some one was coming through the forest began to blow on her fingers
And Morozko came nearer and nearer, crackling, laughing, talking to himself, just as he is does when you hear him when you out walking alone, late on a winter’s night. Nearer and nearer he came, leaping from tree-top to tree-top, till at last he leapt into the great fir under which the girl was sitting.
He leant down, looking through the branches, and asked,—
"Are you warm, maiden? Are you warm, sweetheart? Are you warm, little pigeon?"
Lisa answered “Of course not, you fool! Can you not see that I am quite perished with cold“
Morozko came a little lower in the tree, and crackled louder and swifter and the wind howled
"Are you warm, maiden? Are you warm, sweetheart?”
“No idiot!” She cried out. “I am quite frozen, I have never been colder in my life. I am waiting for my bridegroom Frost but the oaf hasn’t come“
Frost came still lower in the branches, and cracked and crackled louder than ever.
"Are you warm now maiden?" he asked and he touched her.
And as she she started to curse him, the words died on her lips, for the girl, the cruel daughter of the cruel stepmother, sat frozen where she sat from his touch.
Morozko hung from the lowest branches of the tree, swaying and crackling while he looked at the anger frozen on her face. Then he climbed swiftly up again, and crackling and cracking, chuckling to himself, he went off, leaping from fir tree to fir tree, this way and that through the white, frozen forest.
In the morning the stepmother said to her husband,—
"Now then, old man, harness the mare to the sledge, and put new hay in the sledge to be warm for my daughter, and lay fresh rushes on the hay to be soft for her; and take warm rugs with you, for maybe she will be cold, even in her furs. And look sharp about it, and don't keep her waiting. The frost is hard this morning, and it was harder in the night."
Her husband said nothing and he had not time to eat even a mouthful of black bread before she had driven him out into the snow. He put hay and rushes and soft blankets in the sledge, and harnessed the mare, and went off to the forest. He came to the great fir, and found the girl under it dead, with her anger still to be seen on her frozen faces.
He wept for her senseless death brought about by her own greed and her mother’s wickedness because he was a kind man, although he had the misfortune to be married to a cruel woman that used her little magic for ill.
He picked her up and put her in the rushes and the warm hay, covered her with the blankets, and drove home.
The mother ran out to meet them but seeing her husband’s frozen tears slowed, walking until she caught a glimpse of her daughter’s frozen body. At that moment the finger of frost touched the stepmother’s heart too and she died on the spot.
Marfa’s father buried his wife and step-child his heart full of grief at the folly that had led to their death.
As for Martha, Fedor Ivanovitch sought her in marriage, as he had meant to do all along and beautiful she looked in all that Morozko had given her. Her princes’s ransom of a dowry made them extremely comfortable. As her children grew up in their happy home , her father told them the story of crackling Frost, to ensure that they all knew how kind words won kindness, and angry words resulted in terrible cold treatment so that the awful tragedy would never be repeated.
Did you enjoy that? I hope it wasn’t too harsh. There was at least a happy ending for some people.
So are you ready for what I have created? I hope you like it, or at the least find it interesting. I don’t wish to give you any guilt but I worked out that I spent the equivalent amount of time as would normally deliver a quarter of my monthly income on this. You are all definitely worth it.
I have started to develop some seasonal menus to accompany celebration events. I have explored how folklore, principles of astrology, mythology and even biodynamics can be applied to seasonal foods to create combinations which can only enhance the gathering at which they are being served.
I present these in the spirit of celebration but the most important thing is that even without these fascinating meanings, the food combinations should result in a mouth watering meal and charm your guests. I have separated out the menus from the reasons behind my choices so those of you that just want menu ideas can enjoy them without unwanted additional information. Those of you that are intrigued why these particular dishes and ingredients were chosen can indulge yourselves in the supporting notes page of each menu.
I eat meat and drink alcohol but you could fairly easily make this vegetarian/cater to vegetarians and not drink and still relly enjoy these menus. You probably can't make them completely plant based. You can make wonderful plant based feasts but you probably need to start from scratch, not just adapt these.
I’m only sharing this with my wonderful recipients of this letter so this is just between us:
You can find downloadable pdfs of the menus and a proper preview here: https://hestiaskitchen.co.uk/menus-with-meaning/
I would dearly love your feedback if you can spare the time. You can reach me via the links on my linktree.
Here is an update on my Festive Food Folklore for those of you that don’t follow my other social media:
I had lovely plans to deliver one more letter after this before Christmas and I may still do that but I don’t like to promise what I can’t deliver. I’m so tired and I need a holiday to top up all my reservoirs. How else will I have lovely exciting things to share with you?
Just in case we must have a remedy and a recipe to keep us going, both are from The Practice of Cookery from Mrs Dalgairns printed in 1830 in Scotland.
Firstly Bitters as a cure. As always don’t use advice from a book in 1830’s as a replacement for actual medical advice but I think this would taste like something that would make you better. I may well be wrong.
I love this recipe, it’s essentially small round cardamom doughnuts and I adore both the name and the idea of them. I think I can even smell how good they are!
With that, Gentle Reader, I must bring this letter to a close. I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank you for reading these frippery notes and to send you every good wish during the festive season ahead no matter how you celebrate. You are very important to me and I appreciate the chance you give me to share my thoughts with you. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch via the comments or via any of my social media profiles/my website . If you have enjoyed this and would like to read further such nonsense and have not yet subscribed, please don’t hesitate to subscribe for free at the button below. You’d be very welcome and it would be a joy to write to you.
i love this story and the menus! i just read a similar story but instead of Frost the bridegroom, the daughters are pushed down a well and meet an old woman who sets impossible tasks for them. bc the stepdaughter has always be kind and helpful, different creatures come to her aid in completing each task. finally the old woman offers her to choose a casket and the stepdaughter chooses the most humble which turns out to be full of unimaginable gifts and riches. the daughter however, is unable to complete the tasks. no one helps her as she has helped no one and she choose the gaudiest of the caskets thinking they will be filled with even finer riches but when she opens it back at home fire leaps forth and consumes her and her wicked mother. do you know this version?
the menu notes are lovely! the symbolism and meaning for each dish will make each meal so potent with intention for the new year. i'm going to try some from the winter solstice menu as it contains all my favorite foods! thank you!