WE were in the chestnut woods; I swinging lazily in my hammock,
Clementina with her knitting, sitting on the grass beside me, a pretty
clear pool reflecting the trees at our feet.
“Do you know the story of Monte Rochettino?” asked Clementina, taking a
piece of dry bread to keep her mouth moist.
“No,” said I.
So she settled herself comfortably and began the following curious
tale, in which ever and anon one seems to recognise a likeness to the
old Greek legend of Cupid and Psyche; but a likeness all distorted in
transmission through ignorant, unimaginative minds:—
* * * * *
Once upon a time there was a widow with three daughters. (“Women
always have three daughters in fairy tales,” she added, by way of
parenthesis.) This widow was very poor, so that when a famine came over
the country she and her children were almost dying with hunger, and
had to go out into the fields and get grass to eat. Once as they were
looking for food they found a beautiful golden cabbage. The eldest
girl took a _zappa_ (a sort of pickaxe with only one arm to it) and
tried to root up the cabbage. This she could not succeed in doing,
but she broke off a leaf which she took to the market, and sold for a
hundred gold scudi.
The next day the second daughter went, worked all day at the cabbage,
and broke off two leaves. Away she went with them to the market, and
got two hundred gold scudi.
The third morning the youngest daughter took the _zappa_, and went into
the field. At the very first stroke the whole cabbage came up, and a
little man jumped out of the earth; a very tiny little man he was, but
beautifully dressed. He took the maiden by the hand, and led her down
a flight of stairs underground. There she found herself in a beautiful
palace, such as she had never dreamt of, all golden and shining. The
little man gave her a bunch of keys, and said:—
“This palace is yours, you may do what you like, and go where you like
in it. You are the mistress of it. The master of it, your husband, you
will not see, he will only come to you at night. Be happy, and make
no effort to look at him, or you will lose everything. If you want
anything in the daytime call Monte Rochettino.”
With that the little man vanished. The maiden wandered all over the
new dwelling, and when it was dark she laid herself down and waited
for her husband, the master of the palace. So time went on. She loved
her husband, although she had never seen him, and felt that she would
be very happy if only she could know something about her mother and
sisters.
At last she could bear the suspense no longer, and one morning she
called “Monte Rochettino!”
In an instant the little man stood before her.
“Oh, Monte Rochettino,” said she, “let me go home and see my mother and
sisters. Poor things, they must be so sad at losing me; they’ll think I
am dead.”
“You’ll betray me,” said Monte Rochettino.
“No, no, I won’t: I promise you: only let me just go and see them.”
“Well, go, but be sure you don’t betray me, and be back in three days.”
So the girl went home, and her mother and sisters did all they could to
prove their joy at seeing her, poor things. Then they asked her where
she lived, and she told them she lived with her husband in a beautiful
palace underground; but that her husband came to her at night, and she
had never seen him. Then her mother said to her:—
“I will give you these matches and this candle. When he is asleep,
light the candle, and see what he has round his neck.”
So the girl took the matches and the candle and went back to the palace.
“Well, have you betrayed me?” said Monte Rochettino.
“No,” said she.
“The better for you,” answered the little man.
That night while her husband was asleep, the girl got up softly,
lighted the candle, and saw a box round her husband’s neck. The key was
in the lock, she turned it, and went in.[1] She found herself in a room
where was a woman weaving.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am weaving swaddling clothes for the king’s son, who is about to be
born.”
Then she went into another room and found a woman sewing.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am making robes for the king’s son, who is about to be born.”
In the next room she found a shoemaker.
“What are you doing?” she asked again.
“Making shoes for the king’s son, who is about to be born.”
Then she went back, locked the box again, and held the candle low down
to look at her husband. As she did so a drop of wax fell on his neck,
and he woke.
“You have betrayed me,” said he, “and must lose me.”
In an instant she found herself standing above-ground, her _zappa_ over
her shoulder, and clad only in her nightdress, poor thing. She went a
little way, and found the king’s washerwomen at work. They gave her
some clothes and said:—
“You see that hill yonder? Walk all day till you come to it, and there
you will find a shepherd, who will take you in for to-night.” (But
really, they had been sent by her husband, and so had the shepherd.)
The poor girl walked all day, and in the evening came to the shepherd.
He received her kindly, gave her supper and a bed, and in the morning
made her some coffee and gave her breakfast. Then he said:—
“You see that other hill, over there? Walk all day till you come to it,
there you will find my brother” (but really it was himself) “who will
be kind to you. And now take this chestnut, but be sure you don’t open
it unless you are in great need.”
So the poor thing walked all day until she reached the second hill and
found the second shepherd. He gave her supper, a bed, and coffee in the
morning, and then said:—
“Go on to the next hill, where you will find a third shepherd, my
brother; ask him to take you in. Now take this nut, but be sure you
don’t crack it unless you are in great need.”
That evening she reached the third shepherd, who treated her as the
others had done. In the morning he said to her:—
“You must pass this first hill, and then you will find another; go up
that, and you will come to a palace. In the palace lives a queen, who
lost her little son, and who now receives poor women, and has them
taken care of for forty days; she will be kind to you.” Then he gave
her a walnut, saying:—“Mind you don’t crack it, unless you are in
great need.”
So the poor creature walked and walked and walked, and in the evening
reached the palace.
The queen received her kindly, and had her taken care of for forty
days. Then she sent a servant, who said:—
“The queen says you must be off, she can’t keep you any longer.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said the poor woman, “whatever shall I do? I have
nowhere to go. I’ll crack the chestnut.”
She did so, and out jumped a lovely little golden dog, which capered
about and caressed her and fawned on her. She sent it as a present to
the queen, who said:—
“Why, this woman is richer than I am; let her stay forty days more.”
So the poor thing remained forty days longer, and then the servant
came again to send her away. This time she cracked the nut, and out
came two beautiful golden capons. These, too, she sent to the queen,
who said:—
“This is certainly a wonderful woman, let her stay another forty days.”