🤎 📚Good Luck and Bad Luck (Russian fairytale)

Once, in a small village, there were two brothers. They were the best of friends all through their boyhood and into their young man years. But then they got married, and that's when the trouble started.

The older brother married a poor woman he loved with all his heart. The younger brother married a rich woman who was as proud as a peacock.

The two wives bickered from sunup to sundown.

The older brother's wife would say, "My husband is the head of the family, so what I say goes!"

The younger brother's wife would sneer, "Nonsense! My father is the most important man in the village. My dowry alone wouldn't fit in three chests, while yours wouldn't fill a small box!"

The brothers grew tired of the squabbling. They decided to split their father's inheritance and live apart.

They divided everything equally, but their luck was far from equal.

For the older brother,every year brought a new child, but his farm grew poorer and poorer. He ended up with nothing—an empty house, empty barns, and an empty purse. He loved his children, but his heart was heavy with worry.

The younger brother, with only himself and his wife to feed, grew wildly wealthy. His chests were stuffed with coin, his barns bursting with grain.

Finally, the older brother swallowed his pride and went to the younger.

"Brother,"he said, "I am in need. Can you help me?"

The younger brother scoffed. "Help you? That's not how the world works. The younger doesn't prop up the older. You're on your own."

A while later, the older brother returned. "At least lend me your horses for a day. I have nothing to plough with."

"Fine,"the rich brother said impatiently. "Take them from the field. But don't bother my workers!"

The poor man went to the field and saw strangers ploughing with his brother's horses.

"Hey!"he shouted. "What are you doing with those horses?"

"And who's asking?"one worker replied.

"They belong to my brother!"

An older worker halted his horse."We know. We're the ones who make them his. I am your brother's Good Luck. He spends his days in ease, while we work for him, day and night, holiday or not."

"Well, I'll be," the poor man said. "And where is my Good Luck? I've lived my whole life and never once laid eyes on it!"

"Yours?" the worker laughed and pointed to a shady bush. "There it is, fast asleep. It sleeps all day and all night."

The poor man's blood boiled. He cut a stout stick, crept up on his sleeping Good Luck, and thwacked it good.

His Good Luck woke with a start, rubbing its side. "What was that for?!"
"For being lazy!" the man shouted.

"Everyone else's Good Luck is hard at work, and you're here napping! I'll starve at this rate!"

"Well, did you expect me to plough for you and your big family? Think again!"

"So I'm just supposed to lie down and die?"

"Who said anything about dying?" replied Good Luck. "If you want my help, you have to leave this village. Go to the city. I'm a city Good Luck—clever and suited for trade, not for digging in the dirt."

"Trade? With what? I don't have a penny to my name!"

"Pah! Take your wife's old dress and sell it. That's your start! Use the money to buy a new one and sell that. I'll be right beside you, I promise. You won't take a step without me."

"Alright," the man said. "But don't you dare trick me."

"You just be brave.I'll do the rest."

The next morning,the poor man told his wife, "Wife, pack our things. We're moving to the city."

"Have you lost your mind? We can't even feed the children!"

"Just do it. We're going."

As they were boarding up their old hut,they heard a loud, miserable wailing from inside.

"Who's there?"the man called.

"Who do you think?"a voice wept. "It is your Bad Luck! You're leaving me behind!"

The man smiled."Don't you worry, you wretched thing. I won't leave you. Wife, empty that chest!"

He threw the chest open. "Alright, Bad Luck, get in. It's clean and dry. A first-class ride for you."

📕To be continued...

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🤎 📚 Good Luck and Bad Luck - Part 2

The story begins here

The moment Bad Luck hopped in, the man slammed the lid shut, locked it with three heavy locks, and buried the chest deep in the ground.

"Rot there,you curse!" he said. "I'm done with you for good!"

They moved to the city,rented a small house, and the man started to trade. He sold his wife's old dress for a ruble. He bought a new one and sold it for two. Everything he touched turned to gold. His Good Luck was true to its word. He became rich, bought a fine house, and lived in comfort.

When the younger brother heard of this, he came to visit, his eyes wide with envy.

"Brother,"he asked, "how did you do it? How did you go from a beggar to a rich man?"

"It was simple,"the older brother said. "I found my Good Luck, and I locked my Bad Luck in a chest and buried it in the old yard."

A burning envy took hold of the younger brother.He had always prided himself on being the smart, successful one. Now he felt cheated. He rushed back to the old village, dug up the chest, and broke the locks.

"Go!"he commanded the moment Bad Luck crawled out. "Go to my brother! He's the one who escaped you!"

"Oh no,my dear," Bad Luck crooned with a nasty smile. "He locked me away in the dark earth. But you... you set me free. I think I'll stay with you."

And it did.Bad Luck clung to the younger brother like a shadow. His own Good Luck vanished. His wealth disappeared, and he was ruined completely.

In the end, he was so poor that his older brother had to pay for his funeral—a final, bitter twist for the man who thought he had it all figured out.

📕 #fairytaleRussia@TCofRus

❄️ The gingerbread workshop at Nikolsky-Solbinsky Monastery is always buzzing with activity. Come Christmastime, things really heat up—in every sense of the word. The oven never cools down, the food printer hums away nonstop, and the artists' hands are constantly at work, adding those cozy little touches to every piece.

❄️ Colorful lanterns light up the sweet Christmas tree, sparkling sugar snow dusts everything in sight, and intricate patterns bloom across the gingerbread stars, as if traced from frosty winter windows.

❄️ Here, Christmas comes alive—you can touch it, taste it, and savor its aroma. Ginger and cinnamon, fresh-baked warmth—the scent of Mom's hands. The smell of childhood.

#RussianCulture@TCofRus