E-text prepared by Cathy Smith, Chloe P. H. Lewis, Josephine Paolucci, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net.)
Transcriber's note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected.
Carets (^) indicate a superscript letter.
This book has two types of notes. Footnotes are in the text and
are indicated by a letter. These have been moved to the end of
the appropriate paragraph. Endnotes are indicated by a number,
and the notes for all the chapters are at the end of the stories.
ITALIAN POPULAR TALES
by
THOMAS FREDERICK CRANE, A. M.
Professor of the Romance Languages
in Cornell University
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1885,
by Thomas Frederick Crane.
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
To
GIUSEPPE PITRE.
PREFACE.
The growing interest in the popular tales of Europe has led me to
believe that a selection from those of Italy would be entertaining to
the general reader, and valuable to the student of comparative
folk-lore.
The stories which, with but few exceptions, are here presented for the
first time to the English reader, have been translated from recent
Italian collections, and are given exactly as they were taken down from
the mouths of the people, and it is in this sense, belonging to the
people, that the word popular is used in the title of this work. I have
occasionally changed the present to the past tense, and slightly
condensed by the omission of tiresome repetitions;[A] but otherwise my
versions follow the original closely, too closely perhaps in the case of
the Sicilian tales, which, when recited, are very dramatic, but seem
disjointed and abrupt when read.
[Footnote A: Other condensations are indicated by brackets.]
The notes are intended to supplement those of Pitre and Koehler by citing
the stories published since the _Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti_, and the
_Sicilianische Maerchen_, and also to furnish easy reference to the
parallel stories of the rest of Europe. As the notes are primarily
intended for students I have simply pointed out the most convenient
sources of information and those to which I have had access. My space
has obliged me to restrict my notes to what seemed to me the most
important, and I have as a rule given only references which I have
verified myself.
My object has been simply to present to the reader and student
unacquainted with the Italian dialects a tolerably complete collection
of Italian popular tales; with theories as to the origin and diffusion
of popular tales in general, or of Italian popular tales in particular,
I have nothing to do at present either in the text or notes. It is for
others to draw such inferences as this collection seems to warrant.
It was, of course, impossible in my limited space to do more than give a
small selection from the class of Fairy Tales numbering several hundred;
of the other classes nearly everything has been given that has been
published down to the present date. The Fairy Tales were selected to
represent as well as possible typical stories or classes, and I have
followed in my arrangement, with some modification and condensation,
Hahn's _Maerchen- und Sagformeln_ (_Griechische und Albanesische
Maerchen_, vol. i. p. 45), an English version of which may be found in W.
Henderson's _Notes on the Folk-lore of the Northern Counties of England
and the Borders. With an Appendix on Household Stories_, by S.
Baring-Gould. London, 1866.
In conclusion, I must express my many obligations to Dr. Giuseppe Pitre,
of Palermo, without whose admirable collection this work would hardly
have been undertaken, and to the library of Harvard College, which so
generously throws open its treasures to the scholars of less favored
institutions.
T. F. CRANE.
ITHACA, N. Y., _September 9, 1885_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
BIBLIOGRAPHY xix
LIST OF STORIES xxix
I. FAIRY TALES 1
II. FAIRY TALES CONTINUED 97
III. STORIES OF ORIENTAL ORIGIN 149
IV. LEGENDS AND GHOST STORIES 185
V. NURSERY TALES 240
VI. STORIES AND JESTS 275
NOTES 317
LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO 384
INDEX 387
INTRODUCTION.
By popular tales we mean the stories that are handed down by word of
mouth from one generation to another of the illiterate people, serving
almost exclusively to amuse and but seldom to instruct. These stories
may be roughly divided into three classes: nursery tales, fairy stories,
and jests. In countries where the people are generally educated, the
first two classes form but one; where, on the other hand, the people
still retain the credulity and simplicity of childhood, the stories
which with us are confined to the nursery amuse the fathers and mothers
as well as the children. These stories were regarded with contempt by
the learned until the famous scholars, the brothers Grimm, went about
Germany some sixty years ago collecting this fast disappearing
literature of the people. The interesting character of these tales, and
the scientific value attributed to them by their collectors, led others
to follow their footsteps, and there is now scarcely a province of
Germany that has not one or more volumes devoted to its local popular
tales. The impulse given by the Grimms was not confined to their own
country, but extended over all Europe, and within the last twenty years
more than fifty volumes have been published containing the popular tales
of Iceland, Greenland, Norway, Sweden, Russia, Germany, England,
Scotland, France, Biscay, Spain, Portugal, and Greece. Asia and Africa
have contributed stories from India, China, Japan, and South Africa. In
addition to these we have now to mention what has been done in this
field in Italy.
From their very nature the stories we are now considering were long
confined to the common people, and were preserved and transmitted solely
by oral tradition. It did not occur to any one to write them down from
the lips of the people until within the present century. The existence
of these stories is, however, revealed by occasional references, and
many of them have been preserved, but not in their original form, in
books designed to entertain more cultivated readers.[1] The earliest
literary collection of stories having a popular origin was made in the
sixteenth century by an Italian, Giovan Francesco Straparola, of
Caravaggio.[2] It is astonishing that a person of Straparola's
popularity should have left behind him nothing but a name. We only know
that he was born near the end of the fifteenth century at Caravaggio,
now a small town half way between Milan and Cremona, but during the
Middle Ages an important city belonging to the duchy of Milan. In 1550
he published at Venice a collection of stories in the style of the
_Decameron_, which was received with the greatest favor. It passed
through sixteen editions in twenty years, was translated into French and
often printed in that language, and before the end of the century was
turned into German. The author feigns that Francesca Gonzaga, daughter
of Ottaviano Sforza, Duke of Milan, on account of commotions in that
city, retires to the island of Murano, near Venice, and surrounded by a
number of distinguished ladies and gentlemen, passes the time in
listening to stories related by the company. Thirteen nights are spent
in this way, and seventy-four stories are told, when the approach of
Lent cuts short the diversion. These stories are of the most varied form
and origin; many are borrowed without acknowledgment from other writers,
twenty-four, for example, from the little known Morlini, fifteen from
Boccaccio, Sachetti, Brevio, Ser Giovanni, the Old-French _fabliaux_,
the Golden Legend, and the _Romance of Merlin_. Six others are of
Oriental origin, and may be found in the _Pantschatantra_, _Forty
Viziers_, _Siddhi Kur_, and _Thousand and One Nights_.[3] There remain,
then, twenty-nine stories, the property of Straparola, of which
twenty-two are _maerchen_, or popular tales. We say "the property" of
Straparola: we mean they had never appeared before in the _literature_
of Europe, but they were in no sense original with Straparola, being the
common property which the Occident has inherited from the Orient. There
is no need of mentioning in detail here these stories as they are
frequently cited in the notes of the present work, and one, the original
of the various modern versions of "Puss in Boots," is given at length in
the notes to Chapter I.[4] Two of Straparola's stories have survived
their author's oblivion and still live in Perrault's "_Peau d'Ane_" and
"_Le Chat Botte_," while others in the witty versions of Madame D'Aulnoy
delighted the romance-loving French society of the seventeenth
century.[5] Straparola's work had no influence on contemporary Italian
literature, and was soon forgotten,--an unjust oblivion, for to him
belongs the honor of having introduced the Fairy Tale into modern
European literature. He has been criticised for his style and blamed for
his immorality. The former, it seems to us, is not bad, and the latter
no worse than that of many contemporaneous writers who have escaped the
severe judgment meted out to Straparola.
We find no further traces of popular tales until nearly a century later,
when the first edition of the celebrated _Pentamerone_ appeared at
Naples in 1637. Its author, Giambattista Basile (known as a writer by
the anagram of his name, Gian Alesio Abbattutis), is but little better
known to us than Straparola. He spent his youth in Crete, became known
to the Venetians, and was received into the _Academia degli
Stravaganti_. He followed his sister Adriana, a celebrated cantatrice,
to Mantua, enjoyed the duke's favor, roamed much over Italy, and finally
returned to Naples, near where he died in 1632.[6] The _Pentamerone_, as
its title implies, is a collection of fifty stories in the Neapolitan
dialect, supposed to be narrated, during five days, by ten old women,
for the entertainment of the person (Moorish slave) who has usurped the
place of the rightful princess.[7] Basile's work enjoyed the greatest
popularity in Italy, and was translated into Italian and into the
dialect of Bologna. It is worthy of notice that the first fairy tale
which appeared in France, and was the _avant-coureur_ of the host that
soon followed under the lead of Charles Perrault, "_L'Adroite
Princesse_," is found in the _Pentamerone_.[8] We know nothing of the
sources of Basile's work, but it contains the most popular and extended
of all European tales, and must have been in a great measure drawn
directly from popular tradition. The style is a wonderful mass of
conceits, which do not, however, impair the interest in the material,
and it is safe to say that no people in Europe possesses such a monument
of its popular tales as the _Pentamerone_. Its influence on Italian
literature was not greater than that of Straparola's _Piacevoli Notti_.
From the _Pentamerone_ Lorenzo Lippi took the materials for the second
_cantare_ of his _Malmantile Racquistato_, and Carlo Gozzi drew on it
for his curious _fiabe_, the earliest dramatizations of fairy tales,
which, in our day, after amusing the nursery, have again become the
vehicles of spectacular dramas. Although there is no proof that Mlle.
Lheritier and Perrault took their stories from Straparola and the
_Pentamerone_, there is little doubt that the French translation of the
former, which was very popular (Jannet mentions fourteen editions
between 1560 and 1726) awakened an interest in this class of stories,
and was thus the origin of that copious French fairy literature, which,
besides the names mentioned above, includes such well-known writers as
Mde. D'Aulnoy, the Countess Murat, Mlle. De La Force, and Count Caylus,
all of whom drew on their Italian prototypes more or less.[9]
Popular as were the two collections above mentioned they produced but
one imitation, _La Posillecheata_, a collection of five stories in the
Neapolitan dialect and in the style of the _Pentamerone_, by Pompeo
Sarnelli, Bishop of Bisceglie, whose anagram is Masillo Reppone. The
first edition appeared at Naples in 1684, and it has been republished
twice since then at the same place. The work is exceedingly coarse, and
has fallen into well-deserved oblivion.[10]
Nearly two centuries elapsed before another collection of Italian tales
made its appearance. The interest that the brothers Grimm aroused in
Germany for the collection and preservation of popular traditions did
not, for obvious reasons, extend to Italy. A people must first have a
consciousness of its own nationality before it can take sufficient
interest in its _popular_ literature to inspire even its scholars to
collect its traditions for the sake of science, to say nothing of
collections for entertainment. In 1860, Temistocle Gradi, of Siena,
published in his _Vigilia di Pasqua di Ceppo_, eight, and in his _Saggio
di Letterature varie_, 1865, four popular tales, as related in Siena.
These were collected without any other aim than that of entertainment,
but are valuable for purposes of comparison. No attempt at a scientific
collection of tales was made until 1869, when Professor De Gubernatis
published the _Novelline di Santo Stefano_, containing thirty-five
stories, preceded by an introduction on the relationship of the myth to
the popular tale. This was the forerunner of numerous collections from
the various provinces of Italy, which will be found noted in the
Bibliography. The attention of strangers was early directed to Italian
tales, and the earliest scientific collection was the work of two
Germans, Georg Widter and Adam Wolf, who published a translation of
twenty-one Venetian tales in the _Jahrbuch fuer romanische und englische
Literatur_, Vol. VII. (1866), pp. 1-36, 121-154, 249-290, with
comparative notes by R. Koehler. In the same volume were published, pp.
381-400, twelve tales from Leghorn, collected by Hermann Knust; and
finally the eighth volume of the same periodical, pp. 241-260, contains
three stories from the neighborhood of Sora, in Naples. In 1867
Schneller published at Innsbruck a German translation of sixty-nine
tales, collected by him in the Italian Tyrol. Of much greater interest
and importance than any of the above are the two volumes of Sicilian
tales, collected and translated into German by Laura Gonzenbach,
afterwards the wife of the Italian general, La Racine. There are but two
other collections of Italian stories by foreigners: Miss Busk's
_Folk-Lore of Rome_, and the anonymous _Tuscan Fairy Tales_ recently
published.
The number of stories published, in German and English, is about twice
as many as those published in Italian before Pitre's collection, being
over four hundred. Pitre contains more than all the previous Italian
publications together, embracing over three hundred tales, etc., besides
those previously published by him in periodicals and elsewhere. Since
Pitre's collection, the three works of Comparetti, Visentini, and
Nerucci, have added one hundred and eighty tales, not to speak of
wedding publications, containing from one to five stories. It is, of
course, impossible to examine separately all these collections,--we will
mention briefly the most important. To Imbriani is due the first
collection of tales taken down from the mouths of the people and
compared with previously published Italian popular tales. In 1871
appeared his _Novellaja fiorentina_, and in the following year the
_Novellaja milanese_. These two have been combined, and published as a
second edition of the _Novellaja fiorentina_, containing fifty
Florentine and forty-five Milanese tales, besides a number of stories
from Straparola, the _Pentamerone_, and the Italian novelists, given by
way of illustration. The stories are accompanied by copious references
to the rest of Italy, and Liebrecht's references to other European
parallels. It is an admirable work, but one on which we have drawn but
seldom, restricting ourselves to the stories in the various dialects as
much as possible. The Milanese stories are in general very poor versions
of the typical tales, being distorted and fragmentary. In 1873 Dr.
Giuseppe Pitre, of Palermo, well known for his collection of popular
Sicilian songs, published three specimens of a collection of Sicilian
popular tales, and two years later gave to the world his admirable work,
_Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti_, forming vols. IV.-VII. of the _Biblioteca
delle Tradizioni populari Siciliane_ per cura di Giuseppe Pitre. It is
not, however, numerically that Pitre's collection surpasses all that
has previously been done in this field. It is a monument of patient,
thorough research and profound study. Its arrangement is almost
faultless, the explanatory notes full, while the grammar and glossary
constitute valuable contributions to the philology of the Italian
dialects. In the Introduction the author, probably for the first time,
makes the Sicilian public acquainted with the fundamental principles of
comparative mythology and its relation to folk-lore, and gives a good
account of the Oriental sources of the novel. He has, it seems to us,
very properly confined his notes and comparisons entirely to Italy, with
references of course to Gonzenbach and Koehler's notes to Widter-Wolf
when necessary. In other words, his work is a contribution to _Italian_
folk-lore, and the student of comparative Aryan folk-lore must make his
own comparisons: a task no longer difficult, thanks to the works of
Grimm, Hahn, Koehler, Cox, De Gubernatis, etc. The only other collection
that need be mentioned here is the one in the _Canti e Racconti del
Popolo italiano_, consisting of the first volume of the _Novellino pop.
ital._ pub. ed ill. da Dom. Comparetti, and of Visentini's _Fiabe
Mantovane_. The stories in both of the above works are translated into
Italian. In the first there is no arrangement by locality or subject;
and the annotations, instead of being given with each story, are
reserved for one of the future volumes,--an unhandy arrangement, which
detracts from the value of the work.
We will now turn our attention from the collections themselves to the
stories they contain, and examine these first as to their form, and
secondly as to their contents.
The name applied to the popular tale differs in various provinces, being
generally a derivative of the Latin _fabula_. So these stories are
termed _favuli_ and _frauli_ in parts of Sicily, _favole_ in Rome,
_fiabe_ in Venice, _foe_ in Liguria, and _fole_ in Bologna. In Palermo
and Naples they are named _cunti_, _novelle_ and _novelline_ in Tuscany,
_esempi_ in Milan, and _storie_ in Piedmont.[11] There are few
peculiarities of form, and they refer almost exclusively to the
beginning and ending of the stories. Those from Sicily begin either
with the simple "_cc'era_" (there was), or "_'na vota cc'era_" (there
was one time), or "_si raccunta chi'na vota cc'era_" (it is related that
there was one time). Sometimes the formula is repeated, as, "_si cunta e
s' arricunta_" (it is related and related again), with the addition at
times of "_a lor signuri_" (to your worships), or the story about to be
told is qualified as "_stu bellissimu cuntu_" (this very fine story).
Ordinarily they begin, as do our own, with the formula, "once upon a
time there was." The ending is also a variable formula, often a couplet
referring to the happy termination of the tale and the relatively
unenviable condition of the listeners. The Sicilian ending usually is:--
"Iddi arristaru filici e cuntenti,
E nuatri semu senza nenti."
(They remained happy and contented, and we are without anything.) The
last line often is "_E nui semu cca munnamu li denti_" (And here we are
picking our teeth), or "_Ma a nui 'un ni desinu nenti_" (But to us they
gave nothing), which corresponds to a Tuscan ending:--
"Se ne stettero e se la goderono
E a me nulla mi diedero."
(They stayed and enjoyed it, and gave nothing to me.) A common Tuscan
ending is:--
"In santa pace pia
Dite la vostra, ch'io detto la mia."
(In holy pious peace tell yours, for I have told mine.) In some parts of
Sicily (Polizzi) a similar conclusion is found:--
"Favula scritta, favula ditta;
Diciti la vostra, ca la mia e ditta."
(Story written, story told; tell yours, for mine is told.) So in
Venice,--
"Longa la tua, curta la mia;
Conta la tua, che la mia xe finia."
(Long yours, short mine; tell yours, for mine is ended.) The first line
is sometimes as follows:--
"Stretto il viuolo, stretta la via;
Dite la vostra, ch'io detto la mia."
(Narrow the path, narrow the way; tell yours, for I have told mine.) The
most common form of the above Tuscan ending is:--
"Stretta e la foglia e larga e la via,
Dite la vostra che ho detto la mia."
(Narrow is the leaf, broad is the way, etc.) This same ending is also
found in Rome.[12] These endings have been omitted in the present work
as they do not constitute an integral part of the story, and are often
left off by the narrators themselves. The narrative is usually given in
the present tense, and in most of the collections is animated and
dramatic. Very primitive expedients are employed to indicate the lapse
of time, either the verb indicating the action is repeated, as, "he
walked, and walked, and walked," a proceeding not unknown to our own
stories, or such expressions as the following are used: _Cuntu 'un porta
tempu_, or _lu cuntu 'un metti tempu_, or _'Ntra li cunti nun cc'e
tempu_, which are all equivalent to, "The story takes no note of time."
These Sicilian expressions are replaced in Tuscany by the similar one:
_Il tempo delle novelle passa presto_ ("Time passes quickly in
stories"). Sometimes the narrator will bring himself or herself into the
story in a very naive manner; as, for example, when a name is wanted. So
in telling a Sicilian story which is another version of "The Fair
Angiola" given in our text, the narrator, Gna Sabbedda, continues: "The
old woman met her once, and said: 'Here, little girl, whose daughter are
you?' 'Gna Sabbedda's', for example; I mention myself, but, however, I
was not there."[13]
If we turn our attention now to the contents of our stories we shall
find that they do not differ materially from those of the rest of
Europe, and the same story is found, with trifling variations, all over
Italy.[14] There is but little local coloring in the fairy tales, and
they are chiefly interesting for purposes of comparison. We have given
in our text such a copious selection from all parts of the country that
the reader can easily compare them for himself with the tales of other
lands in their more general features. If they are not strikingly
original they will still, we trust, be found interesting variations of
familiar themes; and we shall perhaps deem less strange to us a people
whose children are still amused with the same tales as our own.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.
ARCHIVIO per lo Studio delle Tradizioni popolari. Rivista trimestrale
diretta da G. Pitre e S. Salomone-Marino. Palermo, 1882-1885. 8vo.
The following popular tales have been published in the
Archivio: _Novelle popolari toscane_, edited by G. Pitre, vol.
I. pp. 35-69, 183-205, 520-540; vol. II. pp. 157-172. _La
Storia del Re Crin_, collected by A. Arietti [Piedmont], vol.
I. pp. 424-429. _Cuntu di lu Ciropiddhu, novellina popolare
messinese_, collected by T. Cannizzaro, vol. I. pp. 518-519.
_Novelle popolari sarde_, collected by P. E. Guarnerio, vol.
II. pp. 19-38, 185-206, 481-502; vol. III. pp. 233-240. _La
Cenerentola a Parma e a Camerino_, collected by Caterina
Pigorini-Beri, vol. II. pp. 45-58. _Fiabe popolari crennesi_
[_provincia di Milano_], collected by V. Imbriani, vol. II. pp.
73-81. _Fiaba veneziana_ [= Pitre, xxxix.], collected by
Cristoforo Pasqualigo, vol. II. pp. 353-358. _Il Re Porco,
novellina popolare marchigiana_, collected by Miss R. H. Busk,
vol. II. pp. 403-409. _Tre novellini pugliesi di Cerignola_,
collected by N. Zingarelli, vol. III. pp. 65-72. _La Bona Fia,
fiaba veneziana_, collected by A. Dalmedico, vol. III. pp.
73-74. _Tradizioni popolari abruzzesi, Novelle_, collected by
G. Finamore, vol. III. pp. 359-372, 331-350. _I Tre Maghi
ovverosia Il Merlo Bianco, novella popolare montalese_,
collected by G. Nerucci, vol. III. pp. 373-388, 551-568.
BARTOLI, A., E G. SANSONI.
Una novellina e una poesia popolare gragnolesi. Florence, 1881. 8^o. Pp.
15. Per le Nozze Biagi-Piroli. Edizione di 100 copie numerate.
The _novellina_ is a version of Pitre, Nos. 159, 160 ("The
Treasure of Rhampsinitus").
BASILE, GIAMBATTISTA.
Lo Cunto de li Cunti. Overo Lo Trattenemiento de Peccerille. De Gian
Alesio Abbattutis. Iornate Cinco. Naples, Per Camillo Cavallo. 1644.
12^o.
Il conto de' conti trattenimento a' fanciulli. Trasportato dalla
Napolitana all' Italiana favella, ed adornato di bellissime Figure.
Naples, 1784.
La Chiaqlira dla Banzola o per dir mii Fol divers tradutt dal parlar
Napulitan in lengua Bulgnesa per rimedi innucent dla sonn, e dla
malincunj. Dedica al merit singular dl gentilessem sgnori d' Bulogna.
Bologna, 1813. 4^o.
Der Pentamerone oder: Das Maerchen aller Maerchen von Giambattista Basile.
Aus dem Neapolitanischen uebertragen von Felix Liebrecht. Nebst einer
Vorrede von Jacob Grimm. 2 vols. Breslau, 1846. 8^o.
The Pentamerone, or the Story of Stories, Fun for the Little Ones. By
Giambattista Basile. Translated from the Neapolitan by John Edward
Taylor. With Illustrations by George Cruikshank. Second edition. London,
1850. 8^o.
Archiv fuer das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen.
Herausgegeben von Ludwig Herrig. Vol. XLV. p. 1. Eine
neapolitanische Maerchen-sammlung aus der ersten Haelfte des
XVII. Jahrhunderts--Pentamerone des Giambattista Basile.
BASILE, GIAMBATTISTA. Archivio di Letteratura popolare. Naples, 1883-85.
A monthly periodical devoted to popular literature. The volumes
which have already appeared contain a large number of popular
tales collected at Naples or in the vicinity.
BERNONI, DOM. GIUSEPPE.
Fiabe popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe Bernoni. Venice,
1875. 8^o.
Leggende fantastiche popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe
Bernoni. Venice, 1873. 8^o.
Le Strighe: Leggende popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe
Bernoni. Venice, 1874. 16^o.
Tradizioni popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe Bernoni. Puntate
I.-IV. Venice, 1875-77.
BOLOGNINI, DR. NEPOMUCENO.
Fiabe e Legende della Valle di Rendena nel Trentino. Rovereto, 1881.
8^o. Pp. 50. [Estratto dal VII. Annuario della Societa degli Alpinisti
Tridentini.]
BUSK, R. H.
Household Stories from the Land of Hofer; or, Popular Myths of Tirol,
including the Rose-Garden of King Lareyn. London, 1871. 8^o.
The Folk-Lore of Rome. Collected by word of mouth from the people. By R.
H. Busk. London, 1874. 8^o.
CANTI E RACCONTI DEL POPOLO ITALIANO.
See Comparetti and Visentini.
COMPARETTI, DOMENICO.
Novelline popolari italiane pubblicate ed illustrate da Domenico
Comparetti. Vol. I. Turin, 1875. 8^o.
In Canti e Racconti del Popolo italiano. Pubblicati per cura di D.
Comparetti ed A. D'Ancona. Vol. VI.
COOTE, HENRY CHARLES.
Some Italian Folk-Lore, Folk-Lore Record, I., pp. 187-215.
Notice of Comparetti's Nov. pop. ital., with translations.
CORAZZINI, FRANCESCO.
I Componimenti minori della letteratura popolare italiana nei principali
dialetti o saggio di letteratura dialettale comparata. Benevento, 1877.
8^o.
Novelle toscane, beneventane, apicese (Benvento), bolognese,
bergamasca e vicentina. Pp. 409-489.
CORONEDI-BERTI, CAROLINA.
Novelle popolari bolognesi raccolte da Carolina Coronedi-Berti. Bologna,
1874. 8^o.
La Fola del Muretein, Novellina popolare Bolognese. Estratto dalla
Rivista Europea. Florence, 1873. 8^o. Pp. 9.
CRANE, T. F.
A Nursery Tale. The Cornell Review, May, 1876, pp. 337-347.
Italian Fairy Tales. St. Nicholas, December, 1878, pp. 101-107.
Italian Popular Tales. North American Review, July, 1876, pp. 25-60.
Le Novelle Popolari Italiane. In Giornale di Sicilia. Palermo. Nos.
186-188, 190, 195, 206, 207, 216, 225, 236, 239, 240. Aug.-Oct., 1877.
Italian translation of above Article.
Recent Italian Popular Tales. The Academy, London, March 22, 1879, pp.
262-263.
Sicilian Folk-Lore. Lippincott's Magazine, October, 1876, pp. 433-443.
Devoted to Pitre's collection.
La Novellistica Popolare di Sicilia per T. F. Crane. Versione dall'
Inglese per F. Polacci Nuccio. Estratto dalle Nuove Effemeridi
Siciliane, Vol. VI. Palermo, 1877. 8^o. Pp. 26.
Italian translation of above Article.
DE GUBERNATIS, A.
Le Novelline di Santo Stefano raccolte da Angelo De Gubernatis e
precedute da una introduzione sulla parentela del mito con la novella.
Turin, 1869. 8^o.
See Rivista di Letteratura Popolare.
Zoological Mythology, or the Legends of Animals. By Angelo De
Gubernatis. 2 vols. London, 1872. 8^o.
DE NINO, ANTONIO.
Usi e Costumi Abruzzesi. Vol. III. Fiabe. Florence, 1883. 16^o.
FINAMORE, GENNARO.
Tradizioni popolari abruzzesi. Vol. I. Novelle. Prima Parte, Lanciano,
1882. 8^o. Parte seconda, Lanciano, 1885.
FRIZZI, GIUSEPPE.
Novella montanina, Florence, 1876. 8^o. Pp. 36. Edizione di 150
esemplari.
GARGIOLLI, CARLO.
Novelline e Canti popolari delle Marche. Fano, 1878. 8^o. Pp. 18.
Per le Nozze Imbriani-Rosnati.
GIANANDREA, ANTONIO.
Biblioteca delle Tradizioni popolari marchigiane. Novelline e Fiabe
popolari marchigiane raccolte e annotate da Antonio Gianandrea. Jesi,
1878. 12^o. Punt. I. pp. 32.
See Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262.
Della novella del Petit Poucet. In Giornale di Filologia Romanza, II.,
pp. 231-234.
A few copies were printed separately.
GONZENBACH, LAURA.
Sicilianische Maerchen. Aus dem Volksmund gesammelt von Laura Gonzenbach.
Mit Anmerkungen Reinhold Koehler's und einer Einleitung herausgegeben
von Otto Hartwig. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1870. 8^o.
GRADI, TEMISTOCLE.
Saggio di Letture varie per i Giovani di Temistocle Gradi da Siena.
Turin, 1865. 8^o.
La Vigilia di Pasqua di Ceppo. Otto Novelle di Temistocle Gradi. Coll'
aggiunta di due racconti. Turin, 1860. 8^o.
GUARNERIO, P. E.
Una novellina nel dialetto di Luras in Gallura (Sardinia). Milan, 1884.
Per le Nozze Vivante-Ascoli. Edizione di soli L. esemplari.
An incomplete version of the Cupid and Psyche myth.
IMBRIANI, VITTORIO.
La Novellaja fiorentina cioe fiabe e novelline stenografate in Firenze
dal dettato popolare e corredate di qualche noterella da Vittorio
Imbriani. Naples, 1871. Esemplari 150. 16^o.
La Novellaja milanese, esempii e panzane lombarde raccolte nel Milanese
da Vittorio Imbriani. Bologna, 1872. Esemplari 40. 8^o.
Paralipomeni alla Novellaja Milanese. Bologna, pp. 9. Tratura a parte
del Propugnatore, Vol. VI. Esemplari 30.
'A 'Ndriana Fata. Cunto pomiglianese. Per nozze. Pomigliano d' Arco,
1875. 8^o. Pp. 14. 250 esemplari fuori di commercio.
Due Fiabe Toscane annotate da V. I. Esemplari 100. Naples, 1876. 8^o.
Pp. 23.
These _fiabe_ are also in Nerucci, pp. 10, 18.
Dodici conti pomiglianesi con varianti avellinesi, montellesi,
bagnolesi, milanesi, toscane, leccesi, ecc. Illustrati da Vittorio
Imbriani. Naples, 1877. 8^o.
'E Sette Mane-Mozze. In dialetto di Avellino. Principato Ulteriore.
Pomigliano d'Arco, 1877. 8^o. Per le nozze Pitre-Vitrano. Esemplari cc.
Fuori commercio.
La Novellaja Fiorentina. Fiabe e Novelline stenografate in Firenze dal
dettato popolare da Vittorio Imbriani. Ristampa accresciuta di molte
novelle inedite, di numerosi riscontri e di note, nelle quali e accolta
integralmente La Novellaja Milanese dello stesso raccoglitore. Leghorn,
1877. 8^o.
IVE, ANTONIO.
Fiabe popolari rovignesi. Per le Nozze Ive-Lorenzetto, XXVIII.
Novembre, 1877. Vienna, 1877. 8^o. Pp. 32. Edizione fuori di commercio
di soli 100 esemplari.
See Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262.
Fiabe popolari rovignesi raccolte ed annotate da Antonio Ive. Per le
Nozze Ive-Rocco. Vienna, 1878. 8^o. Pp. 26. Edizione fuori di commercio
di soli 100 esemplari.
See Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262
KADEN, WOLDEMAR.
Unter den Olivenbaeumen. Sueditalienische Volksmaerchen. Nacherzaehlt,
Leipzig, 1880. 8^o.
Of the forty-four stories in this work thirty-four are
translated from Pitre's Fiabe, six from Comparetti's Nov. pop.
ital., and three from Imbriani's XII. Conti pomig., without any
acknowledgment. This plagiarism was first exposed by R. Koehler
in the Literarisches Centralblatt, 1881, vol. XXXII. p. 337,
and afterwards by Pitre in the Nuove Effemeridi siciliane,
1881.
KNUST, HERMANN.
Italienische Maerchen. (Leghorn.) In Jahrbuch fuer romanische und
englische Literatur. Leipzig, 1866. Vol. VII. Pp. 381-401.
KOEHLER, REINHOLD.
Italienische Volksmaerchen. (Sora). In Jahrbuch fuer romanische und
englische Literatur. Leipzig, 1867. Vol. VIII. Pp. 241-260.
MARC-MONNIER.
Les Contes de Nourrice de la Sicile, d'apres des recueils nouveaux
publies recemment in Italie. Revue des Deux Mondes, 15 Aug., 1875.
Devoted to Pitre's collection.
Les Contes de Pomigliano et la filiation des Mythes populaires. Revue
des Deux Mondes, 1 Nov., 1877.
Contes populaires de l'Italie. Les Contes de Toscane et de Lombardie.
Revue des Deux Mondes, 1 Dec., 1879.
Devoted to the Novellaja Fiorentina of Imbriani.
Les Contes populaires en Italie. Paris, 1880. 16^o.
Reprint of the above articles.
MOROSI, PROF. DOTT. GIUSEPPE.
Studi sui Dialetti Greci della Terra d' Otranto. Preceduto da una
raccolta di Canti, Leggende, Proverbi, e Indovinelli. Lecce, 1870. 4^o.
Leggende, pp. 73-77.
NERUCCI, PROF. GHERARDO.
Sessanta novelle popolari montalesi (Circondario di Pistoja). Florence,
1880. 12^o.
Cincelle da Bambini in nella stietta parlatura rustica d' i' Montale
Pistolese. Pistoia, 1881. 8^o.
ORTOLI, J. B. FREDERIC.
Les Contes populaires de l'Ile de la Corse. Paris, 1883. 8^o.
Vol. XVI. of Litteratures populaires de toutes les Nations,
Paris, Maisonneuve.
PANZANEGA D' ON RE.
In dialetto di Crenna [Provincia di Milano]. Rome, 1876. 8^o. Pp. 15.
200 esemplari fuori di commercio.
PAPANTI, GIOVANNI.
Novelline popolari livornesi raccolte e annotate da Giovanni Papanti.
Leghorn, 1877. 8^o. Pp. 29.
Per le nozze Pitre-Vitrano. Edizione fuori di commercio di soli
150 esemplari.
PELLIZZARI, P.
Fiabe e Canzoni popolari del Contado di Maglie in Terra d' Otranto.
Fasc. I. Maglie, 1884. 8^o. Pp. 143.
PITRE, GIUSEPPE.
Saggio (Primo) di Fiabe e Novelle popolari Siciliane raccolte da
Giuseppe Pitre. Palermo, 1873. 8^o. Pp. 16.
Nuovo Saggio (Secundo) di Fiabe e Novelle popolari Siciliane raccolte ed
illustrate da Giuseppe Pitre. Estratto dalla Rivista di Filologia
Romanza, vol. I., fasc. II. e III. Imola, 1873. 8^o. Pp. 34.
Otto Fiabe (Terzo Saggio) e Novelle Siciliane raccolte dalla bocca del
Popolo ed annotate da Giuseppe Pitre. Bologna, 1873. Estratto dal
Propugnatore, Vol. VI. 8^o. Pp. 42.
Novelline popolari siciliane raccolte in Palermo ed annotate da Giuseppe
Pitre. Palermo, 1873. 8^o.
Edizione di soli 100 esemplari.
Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti. 4 vols. Palermo, 1875. 8^o.[B]
Biblioteca delle tradizioni popolari siciliane per cura di
Giuseppe Pitre. Vols. IV.-VII.
[Footnote B: When Pitre is mentioned without any other qualification
than that of a numeral, this work is understood.]
La Scatola di Cristallo. Novellina popolare senese raccolta da Giuseppe
Pitre. Palermo, 1875. 8^o.
Per le Nozze Montuoro-Di Giovanni.
Cinque novelline popolari siciliane ora per la prima volta pubblicate da
G. Pitre. Palermo, 1878. 8^o.
Per le Nozze Salomone Marino-Abate. Ediz. di 50 esemplari. See
Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262.
Novelline popolari toscane ora per la prima volta pubblicate da G.
Pitre. Il Medico grillo. Vocaboli. La Gamba. Serpentino. Palermo, 1878.
8^o. Pp. 16.
Per le Nozze Imbriani-Rosnati. Tirato a soli 25 esemplari.
Una variante toscana della novella del Petit Poucet. 8^o. Pp. 6.
Estratto dalla Rivista di Lett. Pop. Vol. I. pp. 161-166.
La Tinchina dell' alto Mare. Fiaba toscana raccolta ed illustrata da
Giuseppe Pitre. Quattrasteriscopoli, 1882. 8^o. Pp. 14.
Per le Nozze Papanti-Giraudini. Esemplari novanta.
Il Zoccolo di Legno, Novella popolare fiorentina. In Giornale Napoletano
della Domenica, 2 July, 1882. [= Pitre, Fiabe, No. XIII.]
I tre pareri. Novella popolare toscana di Pratovecchio nel Cosentino. In
Giornale Napoletano della Domenica, 20 August, 1882. [= Pitre, Fiabe,
No. CXCVII.]
Novelle popolari toscane. Florence, 1885. 16^o.
Collected by Giovanni Siciliano. A few of the stories in this
collection have already been published in the Archivio per lo
Studio delle Tradizioni popolari.
PRATO, STANISLAO.
La Leggenda Indiana di Nala in una Novellina popolare Pitiglianese. 8^o.
Pp. 8. Extract from I Nuovi Goliardi.
La Leggenda del Tesoro di Rampsinite nelle varie redazioni Italiane e
Straniere. Como, 1882. 8^o. Pp. xii., 51. Edizione di soli 100 esemplari
numerati.
Una Novellina popolare monferrina. Como, 1882. 8^o. Pp. 67. Edizione di
soli 80 esemplari.
Quattro Novelline popolare livornesi accompagnate da varianti umbre
raccolte, pubblicate ed illustrate con note comparative. Spoleto, 1880.
Gr. 8^o. Pp. 168.
L' Uomo nella Luna. Fol. pp. 4. Estratto dalla rivista di Ancona: Il
Preludio, del 30 gennaio, 1881.
L' Orma del Leone, un racconto orientale nella tradizione popolare.
Romania XII., pp. 535-565.
RALSTON, W. R. S.
Sicilian Fairy Tales. Fraser's Magazine, New Series, vol. XIII. 1876,
pp. 423-433.
RIVISTA DI LETTERATURA POPOLARE DIRETTA DA G. PITRE, F. SABATINI. Rome,
1877.
Vol. I., pp. 81-86, contains _Novelline di Sto. Stefano di Calcinaia_ in
continuation of _Le Novelline di Santo Stefano_, see De Gubernatis; p.
161, G. Pitre, _Una variante toscana della novella del Petit Poucet_; p.
213, R. Koehler _Das Raethselmaerchen von dem ermordeten Geliebten_; p.
266, G. Pitre, _La Lucerna, nov. pop. tosc._; p. 288, F. Sabatini, _La
Lanterna, nov. pop. bergamasca_.
ROMANE, QUATTRO NOVELLINE POPOLARI. Nel giornale Il Manzoni (Spoleto),
No. 1, 1 Marzo, 1880.
SABATINI, FRANCESCO.
La Lanterna. Novella popolare siciliana pubblicata ed illustrata a cura
di Francesco Sabatini. Imola, 1878. 8^o. Pp. 19.
Per le nozzi Salomone-Marino-Abate. Edizione di soli 180
esemplari. See Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262.
SARNELLI, POMPEO, BISHOP OF BISCEGLIE.
La Posillecheata de Masillo Reppone di Gnanopole. Naples, 1789. In
Collezione di tutti li poeti in lingua Napoletana. 28 vols. 12^o.
Naples, 1789.
SCALAGERI DELLA FRATTA, CAMILLO.
Sette novellette, non piu ristampate da oltre due secoli, ripubblicate
da V. Imbriani. Pomigliano d'Arco, 1875. 8^o. Pp. 15. Soli 150
esemplari.
SCHNELLER, CHRISTIAN.
Maerchen und Sagen aus Waelschtirol. Ein Beitrag zur deutschen Sagenkunde.
Gesammelt von Christian Schneller. Innsbruck, 1867. 8^o.
SOMMA, MICHELE.
Cento Racconti per divertire gli amici nelle ore oziose e nuovi brindisi
per spasso nelle tavole e nelle conversazioni. Messina, 1883. 16^o.
The book really contains one hundred and thirty-one stories,
and deserves mention here solely for its relation to the class
of stories discussed in Chapter VI.
STRAPAROLA, GIOVAN FRANCESCO.
Piacevoli Notti di M. Giovan Francesco Straparola da Caravaggio, Nelle
quali si contengono le Favole con i loro Enimmi da dieci donne, et da
duo giovani raccontate. 2 vols. Venice, Per Comin da Trino di
Monferrato, 1562. 8^o.
Le Tredici Piacevolissime Notte di M. Gio: Francesco Straparola da
Caravaggio. Divise in due libri... con licenza de' superiori. Venice,
1604. Appresso Zanetto Zanetti. 8^o. Con figure.
Les Facetieuses Nuits de Straparole. Traduites par Jean Louveau et
Pierre de Larivey. 2 vols. Paris, 1857. 8^o.
Bibliotheque elzeverienne.
Die Maerchen des Straparola. Aus dem Italienischen, mit Anmerkungen von
Dr. F. W. V. Schmidt. Berlin, 1817. 8^o. In Maerchen-Saal. Sammlung alter
Maerchen mit Anmerkungen; herausgegeben von Dr. F. W. V. Schmidt. Erster
Band.
Giovan Francesco Straparola da Caravaggio. Inaugural-Dissertation zur
Erlangung der philosophischen Doctorwuerde in Goettingen von F. W. J.
Brakelmann. Goettingen, 1867. 8^o.
TEZA, E.
La Tradizione dei Sette Savi nelle novelline magiare di E. Teza.
Bologna, 1874. Pp. 56. Contains: _Mila e Buccia, novellina veneziana_,
p. 26; _La Novellina del Papagallo, novellina toscana_, p. 52.
TUSCAN FAIRY TALES (Taken down from the Mouths of the People). With
sixteen illustrations by J. Stanley, engraved by Edmund Evans. London,
1880. 16^o.
VENETIAN POPULAR LEGENDS.
The Cornhill Magazine, July, 1875, pp. 80-90.
Devoted to Bernoni's collections.
VISENTINI, ISAIA.
Fiabe Mantovane raccolte da Isaia Visentini. Turin, 1879. In Canti e
Racconti del Popolo italiano. Vol. VII.
WIDTER-WOLF.
Volksmaerchen aus Venetian. Gesammelt und herausgegeben von Georg Widter
und Adam Wolf. Mit Nachweisen und Vergleichungen verwandter Maerchen von
Reinhold Koehler. In Jahrbuch fuer romanische und englische Literatur.
Leipzig, 1866. VII. vol., pp. 1-36; 121-154; 249-290.
LIST OF STORIES.
Those marked with an * are translated from the dialect; those in italics
are found in the notes.
PAGE
I. * THE KING OF LOVE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 18, _Lu Re d'Amuri_) 1
II. ZELINDA AND THE MONSTER. (Tuscan, Nerucci, No. 1, _Zelinda e
il Mostro_) 7
III. * KING BEAN. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Fiabe_, No. 17, _El Re
de Fava_) 12
IV. * THE DANCING WATER, THE SINGING APPLE AND THE SPEAKING
BIRD. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 36, _Li Figghi di lu Cavuliciddaru_) 17
V. THE FAIR ANGIOLA. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 53,
_Von der schoenen Angiola_) 26
VI. THE CLOUD. (Tuscan, Comparetti, No. 32, _La Nuvolaccia_) 30
VII. * THE CISTERN. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 80, _La Jisterna_) 36
VIII. * THE GRIFFIN. (Neapolitan, Imbriani, _Pomiglianesi_,
p. 195, _L'Auciello Crifone_) 40
IX. CINDERELLA. (Tuscan, _Novellaja fiorentina_, p. 151,
_La Cenerentola_) 42
X. * FAIR MARIA WOOD. (Vincenza, Corazzini, p. 484,
_La Bela Maria del Legno_) 48
XI. * THE CURSE OF THE SEVEN CHILDREN. (Bolognese,
Coronedi-Berti, No. 19, _La Maledizion di Set Fiu_) 54
XII. ORAGGIO AND BIANCHINETTA. (Tuscan, _Novellaja
fiorentina_, p. 314, _Oraggio e Bianchinetta_) 58
XIII. THE FAIR FIORITA. (Basilicata, Comparetti, No. 20,
_La Bella Fiorita_) 61
XIV. * BIERDE. (Istrian, Ive, 1877, p. 13, _Bierde_) 68
XV. * SNOW-WHITE-FIRE-RED. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 13,
_Bianca-comu-nivi-russa-comu-focu_) 72
XVI. HOW THE DEVIL MARRIED THREE SISTERS. (Venetian,
Widter-Wolf, No. 11, _Der Teufel heirathet drei Schwestern_) 78
XVII. IN LOVE WITH A STATUE. (Piedmontese, Comparetti,
No. 29, _L'Innamorato d'una Statua_) 85
XVIII. * THIRTEENTH. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 33, _Tridicinu_) 90
XIX. * THE COBBLER. (Milanese, _Novellaja fiorentina_,
p. 575, _El Sciavattin_) 94
XX. SIR FIORANTE, MAGICIAN. (Tuscan, De Gubernatis,
_Sto. Stefano_, No. 14, _Sor Fiorante mago_) 322
XXI. THE CRYSTAL CASKET. (Tuscan, _La Scatola di Cristallo
raccolta da_ G. Pitre) 326
XXII. * THE STEPMOTHER. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 283, _La
Parrastra_) 331
XXIII. * WATER AND SALT. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 10, _L'Acqua
e lu Sali_) 333
XXIV. * THE LOVE OF THE THREE ORANGES. (Istrian, Ive,
1878, p. 3, _L'Amur dei tri Naranci_) 338
XXV. THE KING WHO WANTED A BEAUTIFUL WIFE. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach,
No. 73, _Von dem Koenige, der eine schoene Frau wollte_) 97
XXVI. * THE BUCKET. (Milanese, _Novellaja fiorentina_,
p. 190, _El Sidellin_) 100
XXVII. THE TWO HUMPBACKS. (Tuscan, _Novellaja fiorentina_,
p. 559, _I due Gobbi_) 103
XXVIII. THE STORY OF CATHERINE AND HER FATE. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach,
No. 21, _Die Geschichte von Caterina und ihrem Schicksal_) 105
XXIX. * THE CRUMB IN THE BEARD. (Bolognese, Coronedi-Berti,
No. 15, _La Fola d' Brisla in Barba_) 110
XXX. * THE FAIRY ORLANDA. (Neapolitan, _Novellaja
fiorentina_, p. 333, _'A Fata Orlanna_) 114
XXXI. THE SHEPHERD WHO MADE THE KING'S DAUGHTER LAUGH.
(Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 31, _Von dem Schaefer der
die Koenigstochter zum Lachen brachte_) 119
XXXII. THE ASS THAT LAYS MONEY. (Tuscan, Nerucci,
No. 43, _Il Ciuchino caca-zecchini_) 123
XXXIII. * DON JOSEPH PEAR. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 88,
_Don Giuseppi Piru_) 127
XXXIV. PUSS IN BOOTS. (Straparola, XI. 1.) 348
XXXV. * FAIR BROW. (Istrian, Ive, 1877, p. 19, _Biela Fronte_) 131
XXXVI. LIONBRUNO. (Basilicata, Comparetti, No. 41, _Lionbruno_) 136
XXXVII. * THE PEASANT AND THE MASTER. (Sicilian,
Pitre, No. 194, _Lu Burgisi e lu Patruni_) 150
XXXVIII. THE INGRATES. (Piedmontese, Comparetti, No. 67, _Gli Ingrati_) 150
XXXIX. * THE TREASURE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 138, _La Truvatura_) 156
XL. * THE SHEPHERD. (Milanese, _Novellaja fiorentina_,
p. 572, _El Pegoree_) 156
XLI. * THE THREE ADMONITIONS. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 197, _Li tri Rigordi_) 157
XLII. * VINEYARD I WAS AND VINEYARD I AM. (Venetian,
Bernoni, _Trad. pop. venez., Punt._ I. p. 11,
_Vigna era e Vigna son_) 159
XLIII. THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. (Piedmontese,
Comparetti, No. 56, _Il Linguaggio degli Animali_) 161
XLIV. * THE MASON AND HIS SON. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 160, _Lu Muraturi e so Figghiu_) 163
XLV. THE PARROT. FIRST VERSION. (Tuscan, Comparetti,
No. 1, _Il Pappagallo_) 168
XLVI. THE PARROT. SECOND VERSION. (Tuscan, Teza,
_La Tradizione dei Sette Savi_, etc., p. 52, _La Novellina
del Papagallo_) 169
XLVII. * THE PARROT WHICH TELLS THREE STORIES. THIRD VERSION.
(Sicilian, Pitre, No. 2, _Lu Pappagaddu chi cunta tri cunti_) 173
First Story of the Parrot 175
Second Story of the Parrot 178
Third Story of the Parrot 180
XLVIII. * TRUTHFUL JOSEPH. (Neapolitan, _Pomiglianesi_,
p. 1, _Giuseppe 'A Vereta_) 184
XLIX. _The Man, the Serpent, and the Fox._ (Otranto,
Morosi, p. 75) 354
L. * THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE APOSTLES.
(Sicilian, Pitre, No. 123, _Lu Signuri, S. Petru e
li Apostuli_) 186
LI. THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE BLACKSMITH.
(Venetian, Widter-Wolf, No. 5, _Der Herrgott, St.
Peter und der Schmied_) 188
LII. * IN THIS WORLD ONE WEEPS AND ANOTHER LAUGHS.
(Sicilian, Pitre, _Cinque nov. pop. sicil._,
p. 7, _A stu munnu cu' chianci e cu' ridi_) 190
LIII. * THE ASS. (Sicilian, Pitre, _Cinque nov. pop. sicil._,
p. 8, _Lu Sceccu_) 190
LIV. ST. PETER AND HIS SISTERS. (Tyrolese, Schneller,
p. 6, _St. Petrus und seine Schwestern_) 193
LV. * PILATE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 119, _Pilatu_) 194
LVI. * THE STORY OF JUDAS. (Sicilian, Pitre, vol. I.
p. cxxxviii., _Lu Cuntu di Giuda_) 195
LVII. * DESPERATE MALCHUS. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 120,
_Marcu dispiratu_) 196
LVIII. * MALCHUS AT THE COLUMN. (Venetian, Bernoni,
_Preghiere pop. veneziane_, p. 18, _Malco a la Colona_) 197
LIX. * THE STORY OF BUTTADEU. (Sicilian, Pitre,
vol. I. p. cxxxiii., _La Storia di Buttadeu_) 197
LX. THE STORY OF CRIVOLIU. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach,
No. 85, _Vom Crivoliu_) 198
LXI. THE STORY OF ST. JAMES OF GALICIA. (Sicilian,
Gonzenbach, No. 90, _Die Geschichte von San
Japicu alla Lizia_) 202
LXII. * THE BAKER'S APPRENTICE. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 111, _Lu Giuvini di lu Furnaru_) 212
LXIII. * OCCASION. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 124, _Accaciuni_) 215
LXIV. * BROTHER GIOVANNONE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No.
125, _Fra Giugannuni_) 217
LXV. GODFATHER MISERY. (Tuscan, De Gubernatis,
_Sto. Stefano_, No. 32, _Compar Miseria_) 221
LXVI. BEPPO PIPETTA. (Venetian, Widter-Wolf, No. 7, _Beppo Pipetta_) 222
LXVII. * THE JUST MAN. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Trad. pop.
venez., Punt._ I. p. 6, _El Giusto_) 226
LXVIII. * OF A GODFATHER AND A GODMOTHER OF ST. JOHN WHO MADE LOVE.
(Venetian, Bernoni, _Leggende_, p. 3, _De una comare e un
compare de San Zuane che i conversava in fra de lori_) 228
LXIX. * THE GROOMSMAN. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Leggende_,
p. 7, _De un compare de l' anelo ch' el ga struca la
man a la sposa co cativa intenzion_) 231
LXX. * THE PARISH PRIEST OF SAN MARCUOLA. (Venetian, Bernoni,
_Leggende_, p. 17, _De un piovan de San Marcuola, che ga
dito che i morti in dove che i xe i resta_) 234
LXXI. * THE GENTLEMAN WHO KICKED A SKULL. (Venetian,
Bernoni, _Leggende_, p. 19, _De un signor che
ga da 'na peada a un cragno da morto_) 236
LXXII. * _The Gossips of St. John._ (Sicilian, Pitre, No.
110, _Li Cumpari di S. Giuvanni_) 369
LXXIII. * SADDAEDDA. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 128, _Saddaedda_) 238
LXXIV. * MR. ATTENTIVE. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Punt._ II.
p. 53, _Sior Intento_) 240
LXXV. * THE STORY OF THE BARBER. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 141, _Lu Cuntu di lu Varveri_) 241
LXXVI. * DON FIRRIULIEDDU. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 130,
_Don Firriulieddu_) 241
LXXVII. LITTLE CHICK-PEA. (Tuscan, _Rivista di Lett.
pop._ I. p. 161, _Cecino_) 242
LXXVIII. * PITIDDA. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 131, _Pitidda_) 248
LXXIX. * THE SEXTON'S NOSE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 135,
_Lu Nasu di lu Sagristanu_) 250
LXXX. * THE COCK AND THE MOUSE. (Principato Ulteriore,
Imbriani, _Pomiglianesi_, p. 239, _'O Gallo
e 'o Sorece_) 252
LXXXI. * GODMOTHER FOX. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 132,
_Cummari Vurpidda_) 254
LXXXII. * THE CAT AND THE MOUSE. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 134, _La Gatta e lu Surci_) 257
LXXXIII. * A FEAST DAY. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Fiabe_,
No. 4, _'Na Giornada de Sagra_) 261
LXXXIV. * THE THREE BROTHERS. (Venetian, Bernoni,
_Trad. pop. venez., Punt._ I. p. 18, _I tre Fradei_) 263
LXXXV. BUCHETTINO. (Tuscan, Papanti, _Novelline pop.
livornesi_, p. 25, _Buchettino_) 265
LXXXVI. * THE THREE GOSLINGS. (Venetian, Bernoni,
_Trad. pop. venez., Punt._ III. p. 65, _Le Tre Ochete_) 267
LXXXVII. * THE COCK. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Trad. pop.
venez., Punt._ III. p. 69, _El Galo_) 270
LXXXVIII. THE COCK THAT WISHED TO BECOME POPE.
(Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 66, _Von dem Hahne,
der Pabst werden wollte_) 272
LXXXIX. _The Goat and the Fox._ (Otranto, Morosi, p. 73) 375
XC. _The Ant and the Mouse._ (Otranto, Morosi, p. 73) 376
XCI. * THE COOK. (Milan, _Novellaja fiorentina_, p. 621, _El Coeugh_) 275
XCII. * THE THOUGHTLESS ABBOT. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 97, _L' Abbati senza Pinseri_) 276
XCIII. * BASTIANELO. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Fiabe_, No.
6, _Bastianelo_) 279
XCIV. * CHRISTMAS. (Neapolitan, Imbriani, _Pomiglianesi_,
p. 226, _Natale_) 283
XCV. * THE WAGER. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Fiabe_, No.
13, _La Scomessa_) 284
XCVI. * SCISSORS THEY WERE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No.
257, _Forfici foro_) 285
XCVII. * THE DOCTOR'S APPRENTICE. (Sicilian, Pitre,
No. 180, _L' Apprinnista di lu Medicu_) 287
XCVIII. * FIRRAZZANU'S WIFE AND THE QUEEN. (Sicilian,
Pitre, No. 156, _La Mugghieri di Firrazzanu e
la Riggina_) 288
XCIX. * GIUFA AND THE PLASTER STATUE. (Sicilian,
Pitre, No. 190, I, _Giufa e la statua di ghissu_) 291
C. * GIUFA AND THE JUDGE. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 190,
3, _Giufa e lu Judici_) 293
CI. THE LITTLE OMELET. (Tuscan, _Novellaja fiorentina_,
p. 545, _La Frittatina_) 294
CII. * EAT, MY CLOTHES! (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 190, 9,
_Manciati, rubbiceddi mei!_) 296
CIII. GIUFA'S EXPLOITS. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 37, _Giufa_) 297
CIV. * THE FOOL. (Venetian, Bernoni, _Fiabe_, No. 11, _El Mato_) 302
CV. * UNCLE CAPRIANO. (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 157, _Lu Zu Crapianu_) 303
CVI. * _Peter Fullone and the Egg._ (Sicilian, Pitre, No. 200,
_Petru Fudduni e l' ovu_) 381
CVII. THE CLEVER PEASANT. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No.
50, _Vom Klugen Bauer_) 309
CVIII. THE CLEVER GIRL. (Tuscan, Comparetti, No. 43,
_La Ragazza astuta_) 311
CIX. CRAB. (Mantuan, Visentini, No. 41, _Gambara)_ 314
ITALIAN POPULAR TALES
CHAPTER I.
FAIRY TALES.
The most wide-spread and interesting class of Fairy Tales is the one in
which a wife endeavors to behold the face of her husband, who comes to
her only at night. She succeeds, but her husband disappears, and she is
not reunited to him until she has expiated her indiscretion by weary
journeys and the performance of difficult tasks. This class, which is
evidently the popular form of the classic myth of Cupid and Psyche, may
for convenience be divided into four classes. The first turns on the
punishment of the wife's curiosity; the second, on the husband's
(Melusina); in the third the heroine is married to a monster, is
separated from him by her disobedience, but finally is the means of his
recovering his human form; the fourth class is a variant of the first
and third, the husband being an animal in form, and parted from his wife
by the curiosity or disobedience of the latter or of her envious
sisters.
To illustrate the first class, we select, from the large number of
stories before us, a Sicilian tale (Pitre, No. 18) entitled:
I. THE KING OF LOVE.
Once upon a time there was a man with three daughters, who earned his
living by gathering wild herbs. One day he took his youngest daughter
with him. They came to a garden, and began to gather vegetables. The
daughter saw a fine radish, and began to pull it up, when suddenly a
Turk appeared, and said: "Why have you opened my master's door? You
must come in now, and he will decide on your punishment."
They went down into the ground, more dead than alive; and when they were
seated they saw a green bird come in and bathe in a pan of milk, then
dry itself, and become a handsome youth. He said to the Turk: "What do
these persons want?" "Your worship, they pulled up a radish, and opened
the door of the cave." "How did we know," said the father, "that this
was Your Excellency's house? My daughter saw a fine radish; it pleased
her, and she pulled it up." "Well, if that's the case," said the master,
"your daughter shall stay here as my wife; take this sack of gold and
go; when you want to see your daughter, come and make yourself at home."
The father took leave of his daughter and went away.
When the master was alone with her, he said: "You see, Rosella
(Rusidda), you are now mistress here," and gave her all the keys. She
was perfectly happy (literally, "was happy to the hairs of her head").
One day, while the green bird was away, her sisters took it into their
heads to visit her, and asked her about her husband. Rosella said she
did not know, for he had made her promise not to try to find out who he
was. Her sisters, however, persuaded her, and when the bird returned and
became a man, Rosella put on a downcast air. "What is the matter?" asked
her husband. "Nothing." "You had better tell me." She let him question
her a while, and at last said: "Well, then, if you want to know why I am
out of sorts, it is because I wish to know your name." Her husband told
her that it would be the worse for her, but she insisted on knowing his
name. So he made her put the gold basins on a chair, and began to bathe
his feet. "Rosella, do you really want to know my name?" "Yes." And the
water came up to his waist, for he had become a bird, and had got into
the basin. Then he asked her the same question again, and again she
answered yes, and the water was up to his mouth. "Rosella, do you really
want to know my name?" "Yes, yes, yes!" "Then know that I am called THE
KING OF LOVE!" And saying this he disappeared, and the basins and the
palace disappeared likewise, and Rosella found herself alone out in an
open plain, without a soul to help her. She called her servants, but no
one answered her. Then she said: "Since my husband has disappeared, I
must wander about alone and forlorn to seek him!"
The poor woman, who expected before long to become a mother, began her
wanderings, and at night arrived at another lonely plain; then she felt
her heart sink, and, not knowing what to do, she cried out:--
"Ah! King of Love,
You did it, and said it.
You disappeared from me in a golden basin,
And who will shelter to-night
This poor unfortunate one?"
When she had uttered these words an ogress appeared and said: "Ah!
wretch, how dare you go about seeking my nephew?" and was going to eat
her up; but she took pity on her miserable state, and gave her shelter
for the night. The next morning she gave her a piece of bread, and said:
"We are seven sisters, all ogresses, and the worst of all is your
mother-in-law; look out for her!"
To be brief, the poor girl wandered about six days, and met all six of
the ogresses, who treated her in the same way. The seventh day, in great
distress, she uttered her usual lament, and the sister of the King of
Love appeared and said, "Rosella, while my mother is out, come up!" and
she lowered the braids of her hair, and pulled her up. Then she gave her
something to eat, and told her how to seize and pinch her mother until
she cried out: "Let me alone for the sake of my son, the King of Love!"
Rosella did as she was told, but the ogress was so angry she was going
to eat her. But her daughters threatened to abandon her if she did.
"Well, then, I will write a letter, and Rosella must carry it to my
friend." Poor Rosella was disheartened when she saw the letter, and,
descending, found herself in the midst of a plain. She uttered her usual
complaint, when the King of Love appeared, and said: "You see your
curiosity has brought you to this point!" Poor thing! when she saw him
she began to cry, and begged his pardon for what she had done. He took
pity on her, and said: "Now listen to what you must do. On your way you
will come to a river of blood; you must bend down and take some up in
your hands, and say: 'How beautiful is this crystal water! such water as
this I have never drunk!' Then you will come to another stream of turbid
water, and do the same there. Then you will find yourself in a garden
where there is a great quantity of fruit; pick some and eat it, saying:
'What fine pears! I have never eaten such pears as these.' Afterward,
you will come to an oven that bakes bread day and night, and no one buys
any. When you come there, say: 'Oh, what fine bread! bread like this I
have never eaten,' and eat some. Then you will come to an entrance
guarded by two hungry dogs; give them a piece of bread to eat. Then you
will come to a doorway all dirty and full of cobwebs; take a broom and
sweep it clean. Half-way up the stairs you will find two giants, each
with a dirty piece of meat by his side; take a brush and clean it for
them. When you have entered the house, you will find a razor, a pair of
scissors, and a knife; take something and polish them. When you have
done this, go in and deliver your letter to my mother's friend. When she
wants to make you enter, snatch up a little box on the table, and run
away. Take care to do all the things I have told you, or else you will
never escape alive."
Rosella did as she was told, and while the ogress was reading the letter
Rosella seized the box and ran for her life. When the ogress had
finished reading her letter, she called: "Rosella! Rosella!" When she
received no answer, she perceived that she had been betrayed, and cried
out: "Razor, Scissors, Knife, cut her in pieces!" They answered: "As
long as we have been razor, scissors, and knife, when did you ever deign
to polish us? Rosella came and brightened us up." The ogress, enraged,
exclaimed: "Stairs, swallow her up!" "As long as I have been stairs,
when did you ever deign to sweep me? Rosella came and swept me." The
ogress cried in a passion: "Giants, crush her!" "As long as we have been
giants, when did you ever deign to clean our food for us? Rosella came
and did it."
Then the furious ogress called on the entrance to bury her alive, the
dogs to devour her, the furnace to burn her, the fruit-tree to fall on
her, and the rivers to drown her; but they all remembered Rosella's
kindness, and refused to injure her.
Meanwhile Rosella continued her way, and at last became curious to know
what was in the box she was carrying. So she opened it, and a great
quantity of little puppets came out; some danced, some sang, and some
played on musical instruments. She amused herself some time with them;
but when she was ready to go on, the little figures would not return to
the box. Night approached, and she exclaimed, as she had so often
before:--
"Ah! King of Love," etc.
Then her husband appeared and said, "Oh, your curiosity will be the
death of you!" and commanded the puppets to enter the box again. Then
Rosella went her way, and arrived safely at her mother-in-law's. When
the ogress saw her she exclaimed: "You owe this luck to my son, the King
of Love!" and was going to devour poor Rosella, but her daughters said:
"Poor child! she has brought you the box; why do you want to eat her?"
"Well and good. You want to marry my son, the King of Love; then take
these six mattresses, and go and fill them with birds' feathers!"
Rosella descended, and began to wander about, uttering her usual lament.
When her husband appeared Rosella told him what had happened. He
whistled and the King of the Birds appeared, and commanded all the birds
to come and drop their feathers, fill the six beds, and carry them back
to the ogress, who again said that her son had helped Rosella. However,
she went and made up her son's bed with the six mattresses, and that
very day she made him marry the daughter of the King of Portugal. Then
she called Rosella, and, telling her that her son was married, bade her
kneel before the nuptial bed, holding two lighted torches. Rosella
obeyed, but soon the King of Love, under the plea that Rosella was not
in a condition to hold the torches any longer, persuaded his bride to
change places with her. Just as the queen took the torches in her hands,
the earth opened and swallowed her up, and the king remained happy with
Rosella.
When the ogress heard what had happened she clasped her hands over her
head, and declared that Rosella's child should not be born until she
unclasped her hands. Then the King of Love had a catafalque erected, and
stretched himself on it as though he were dead, and had all the bells
tolled, and made the people cry, "How did the King of Love die?" The
ogress heard it, and asked: "What is that noise?" Her daughters told her
that their brother was dead from her fault. When the ogress heard this
she unclasped her hands, saying, "How did my son die?" At that moment
Rosella's child was born. When the ogress heard it she burst a
blood-vessel (in her heart) and died. Then the King of Love took his
wife and sisters, and they remained happy and contented.[1]
* * * * *
There is another version of this story in Pitre (No. 281) entitled, "The
Crystal King," which resembles more closely the classic myth.
A father marries the youngest of his three daughters to a cavalier (the
enchanted son of a king) who comes to his wife at night only. The
cavalier once permits his wife to visit her sisters, and they learn from
her that she has never seen her husband's face. The eldest gives her a
wax candle, and tells her to light it when her husband is asleep, and
then she can see him and tell them what he is like. She did so, and
beheld at her side a handsome youth; but while she was gazing at him
some of the melted wax fell on his nose. He awoke, crying, "Treason!
treason!" and drove his wife from the house. On her wanderings she
meets a hermit, and tells him her story. He advises her to have made a
pair of iron shoes, and when she has worn them out in her travels she
will come to a palace where they will give her shelter, and where she
will find her husband. The remainder of the story is of no interest
here.[2]
In the second class of stories belonging to this myth it is the
curiosity of the husband which is punished, the best known example of
this class, out of Italy, being the beautiful French legend of
Melusina.[3] A Sicilian story in Gonzenbach, No. 16, "The Story of the
Merchant's Son Peppino," is a very close counterpart of "The King of
Love," above given. Peppino is wrecked on a rock in the sea; the rock
opens, fair maidens come out and conduct Peppino to a beautiful castle
in the cave. There a maiden visits him at night only. After a time
Peppino wishes to see his parents, and his wife allows him to depart,
with the promise to return at a certain date. His parents, after hearing
his story, give him a candle with which to see his wife. Everything
happens as in the first story; the castle disappears, and Peppino finds
himself on the top of a snow-covered mountain. He recovers his wife only
after the lapse of many years and the accomplishment of many difficult
tasks.[4]
The third class, generally known by the title of "Beauty and the Beast,"
is best represented by a story from Montale (near Pistoja), called:
II. ZELINDA AND THE MONSTER.
There was once a poor man who had three daughters; and as the youngest
was the fairest and most civil, and had the best disposition, her other
two sisters envied her with a deadly envy, although her father, on the
contrary, loved her dearly. It happened that in a neighboring town, in
the month of January, there was a great fair, and that poor man was
obliged to go there to lay in the provisions necessary for the support
of his family; and before departing he asked his three daughters if
they would like some small presents in proportion, you understand, to
his means. Rosina wished a dress, Marietta asked him for a shawl, but
Zelinda was satisfied with a handsome rose. The poor man set out on his
journey early the next day, and when he arrived at the fair quickly
bought what he needed, and afterward easily found Rosina's dress and
Marietta's shawl; but at that season he could not find a rose for his
Zelinda, although he took great pains in looking everywhere for one.
However, anxious to please his dear Zelinda, he took the first road he
came to, and after journeying a while arrived at a handsome garden
inclosed by high walls; but as the gate was partly open he entered
softly. He found the garden filled with every kind of flowers and
plants, and in a corner was a tall rose-bush full of beautiful
rose-buds. Wherever he looked no living soul appeared from whom he might
ask a rose as a gift or for money, so the poor man, without thinking,
stretched out his hand, and picked a rose for his Zelinda.
Mercy! scarcely had he pulled the flower from the stalk when there arose
a great noise, and flames darted from the earth, and all at once there
appeared a terrible Monster with the figure of a dragon, and hissed with
all his might, and cried out, enraged at that poor Christian: "Rash man!
what have you done? Now you must die at once, for you have had the
audacity to touch and destroy my rose-bush." The poor man, more than
half dead with terror, began to weep and beg for mercy on his knees,
asking pardon for the fault he had committed, and told why he had picked
the rose; and then he added: "Let me depart; I have a family, and if I
am killed they will go to destruction." But the Monster, more wicked
than ever, responded: "Listen; one must die. Either bring me the girl
that asked for the rose or I will kill you this very moment." It was
impossible to move him by prayers or lamentations; the Monster persisted
in his decision, and did not let the poor man go until he had sworn to
bring him there in the garden his daughter Zelinda.
Imagine how downhearted that poor man returned home! He gave his oldest
daughters their presents and Zelinda her rose; but his face was
distorted and as white as though he had arisen from the dead; so that
the girls, in terror, asked him what had happened and whether he had met
with any misfortune. They were urgent, and at last the poor man, weeping
bitterly, related the misfortunes of that unhappy journey and on what
condition he had been able finally to return home. "In short," he
exclaimed, "either Zelinda or I must be eaten alive by the Monster."
Then the two sisters emptied the vials of their wrath on Zelinda. "Just
see," they said, "that affected, capricious girl! She shall go to the
Monster! She who wanted roses at this season. No, indeed! Papa must stay
with us. The stupid creature!" At all these taunts Zelinda, without
growing angry, simply said: "It is right that the one who has caused the
misfortune should pay for it. I will go to the Monster's. Yes, Papa,
take me to the garden, and the Lord's will be done."
The next day Zelinda and her sorrowful father began their journey and at
nightfall arrived at the garden gate. When they entered they saw as
usual no one, but they beheld a lordly palace all lighted and the doors
wide open. When the two travellers entered the vestibule, suddenly four
marble statues, with lighted torches in their hands, descended from
their pedestals, and accompanied them up the stairs to a large hall
where a table was lavishly spread. The travellers, who were very hungry,
sat down and began to eat without ceremony; and when they had finished,
the same statues conducted them to two handsome chambers for the night.
Zelinda and her father were so weary that they slept like dormice all
night.
At daybreak Zelinda and her father arose, and were served with
everything for breakfast by invisible hands. Then they descended to the
garden, and began to seek the Monster. When they came to the rose-bush
he appeared in all his frightful ugliness. Zelinda, on seeing him,
became pale with fear, and her limbs trembled, but the Monster regarded
her attentively with his great fiery eyes, and afterward said to the
poor man: "Very well; you have kept your word, and I am satisfied. Now
depart and leave me alone here with the young girl." At this command the
old man thought he should die; and Zelinda, too, stood there half
stupefied and her eyes full of tears; but entreaties were of no avail;
the Monster remained as obdurate as a stone, and the poor man was
obliged to depart, leaving his dear Zelinda in the Monster's power.
When the Monster was alone with Zelinda he began to caress her, and make
loving speeches to her, and managed to appear quite civil. There was no
danger of his forgetting her, and he saw that she wanted nothing, and
every day, talking with her in the garden, he asked her: "Do you love
me, Zelinda? Will you be my wife?" The young girl always answered him in
the same way: "I like you, sir, but I will never be your wife." Then the
Monster appeared very sorrowful, and redoubled his caresses and
attentions, and, sighing deeply, said: "But you see, Zelinda, if you
should marry me wonderful things would happen. What they are I cannot
tell you until you will be my wife."
Zelinda, although in her heart not dissatisfied with that beautiful
place and with being treated like a queen, still did not feel at all
like marrying the Monster, because he was too ugly and looked like a
beast, and always answered his requests in the same manner. One day,
however, the Monster called Zelinda in haste, and said: "Listen,
Zelinda; if you do not consent to marry me it is fated that your father
must die. He is ill and near the end of his life, and you will not be
able even to see him again. See whether I am telling you the truth."
And, drawing out an enchanted mirror, the Monster showed Zelinda her
father on his death-bed. At that spectacle Zelinda, in despair and half
mad with grief, cried: "Oh, save my father, for mercy's sake! Let me be
able to embrace him once more before he dies. Yes, yes, I promise you I
will be your faithful and constant wife, and that without delay. But
save my father from death."
Scarcely had Zelinda uttered these words when suddenly the Monster was
transformed into a very handsome youth. Zelinda was astounded by this
unexpected change, and the young man took her by the hand, and said:
"Know, dear Zelinda, that I am the son of the King of the Oranges. An
old witch, touching me, changed me into the terrible Monster I was, and
condemned me to be hidden in this rose-bush until a beautiful girl
consented to become my wife."
* * * * *
The remainder of the story has no interest here. Zelinda and her husband
strive to obtain his parents' consent to his marriage. They refuse and
the young couple run away from the royal palace and fall into the power
of an ogre and his wife, from whom they at last escape.[5]
A characteristic trait of this class of stories is omitted in the above
version, but found in a number of others. In a Sicilian version (Pitre,
No. 39, "The Empress Rosina") the monster permits Rosina to visit her
family, but warns her that if she does not return at the end of nine
days he will die. He gives her a ring the stone of which will grow black
in that event. The nine days pass unheeded, and when Rosina looks at her
ring it is as black as pitch. She returns in haste, and finds the
monster writhing in the last agony under the rose-bush. Four days she
rubbed him with some ointment she found in the palace, and the monster
recovered. As in the last story, he resumes his shape when Rosina
consents to marry him. In one of Pitre's variants the monster allows
Elizabeth to visit her dying father, if she will promise not to tear her
hair. When her father dies she forgets, in her grief, her promise, and
tears out her hair. When she returns to the palace the monster has
disappeared. She seeks him, exclaiming:--
"Fierce animal mine,
If I find thee alive
I will marry thee although an animal."
She finds him at last, and he resumes his form.[6]
The fourth class consists of stories more or less distantly connected
with the first and third classes above mentioned, and which turn on the
heroine's separation from, and search after, her lost husband, usually
an animal in form.
The example we have selected from this class is from Venice (Bernoni,
XVII.), and is as follows:--
III. KING BEAN.
There was once an old man who had three daughters. One day the youngest
called her father into her room, and requested him to go to King Bean
and ask him whether he wished her for his wife. The poor old man said:
"You want me to go, but what shall I do; I have never been there?" "No
matter," she answered; "I wish you to obey me and go." Then he started
on his way, and asked (for he did not know) where the king lived, and
they pointed out the palace to him. When he was in the king's presence
he said: "Your Majesty's servant." The king replied: "What do you want
of me, my good old man?" Then he told him that his daughter was in love
with him, and wanted to marry him. The king answered: "How can she be in
love with me when she has never seen or known me?" "She is killing
herself with weeping, and cannot stand it much longer." The king
replied: "Here is a white handkerchief; let her dry her tears with it."
The old man took back the handkerchief and the message to his daughter,
who said: "Well, after three or four days you must go back again, and
tell him that I will kill myself or hang myself if he will not marry
me."
The old man went back, and said to the king: "Your Majesty, do me the
favor to marry my daughter; if not, she will make a great spectacle of
herself." The king replied: "Behold how many handsome portraits I have
here, and how many beautiful young girls I have, and not one of them
suits me." The old man said: "She told me also to say to you that if you
did not marry her she would kill herself or hang herself." Then the king
gave him a knife and a rope, and said: "Here is a knife if she wants to
kill herself, and here is a rope if she wants to hang herself."
The old man bore this message back to his daughter, who told her father
that he must go back to the king again, and not leave him until he
obtained his consent. The old man returned once more, and, falling on
his knees before the king, said: "Do me this great favor: take my
daughter for your wife; do not say no, for the poor girl is beside
herself." The king answered: "Rise, good old man, and I will consent,
for I am sorry for your long journeys. But hear what your daughter must
do first. She must prepare three vessels: one of milk and water, one of
milk, and one of rose-water. And here is a bean; when she wants to speak
with me, let her go out on the balcony and open the bean, and I will
come."
The old man returned home this time more satisfied, and told his
daughter what she must do. She prepared the three vessels as directed,
and then opened the bean on the balcony, and saw at once something
flying from a distance towards her. It flew into the room by the
balcony, and entered the vessel of water and milk to bathe; then it
hastened into the vessel of milk, and finally into that containing the
rose-water. And then there came out the handsomest youth that was ever
seen, and made love to the young girl. Afterward, when they were tired
of their love-making, he bade her good-night, and flew away.
After a time, when her sisters saw that she was always shut up in her
room, the oldest said: "Why does she shut herself up in her room all the
time?" The other sister replied: "Because she has King Bean, who is
making love to her." The oldest said: "Wait until she goes to church,
and then we will see what there is in her room." One day the youngest
locked her door, and went to church. Then the two sisters broke open the
door, and saw the three vessels prepared, and said: "This is the vessel
in which the king goes to bathe." The oldest said: "Let us go down into
the store, and get some broken glass, and put a little in each of the
three vessels; and when the king bathes in them, the glass will pierce
him and cut all his body."
They did so, and then left the room looking as it did first. When the
youngest sister returned, she went to her room, and wished to talk with
her husband. She opened the balcony, and then she opened the bean, and
saw at once her husband come flying from a distance, with his arms open
to embrace her. He flew on to the balcony, and threw himself into the
vessel of milk and water, and the pieces of glass pierced his body; then
he entered the vessel of milk and that of rose-water, and his body was
filled with the fragments of glass. When he came out of the rose-water,
he flew away. Then his wife hastened out on the balcony, and saw a
streak of blood wherever he had flown. Then she looked into the vessels,
and saw all three full of blood, and cried: "I have been betrayed! I
have been betrayed!"
She called her father, and told him that she had been betrayed by her
sisters, and that she wished to go away and see whether she could cure
her husband. She departed, and had not gone far when she found herself
in a forest. There she saw a little house, with a little bit of a door,
at which she knocked, and heard a voice saying, "Are you Christians?"
She replied, "Yes." Then the door opened, and she saw a holy hermit, who
said: "Blessed one, how did you get here? In a moment the witches will
come who might bewitch you." She replied: "Father, I am seeking King
Bean, who is ill." The hermit said: "I know nothing about him. Climb
that tree; the witches will soon come, and you will learn something from
them. If you want anything afterward, come to me, and I will give it to
you."
When she was up the tree she heard a loud noise and the words, "Here we
are! here we are!" and all the witches run and seat themselves on the
ground in the midst of the forest, and begin to say: "The cripple is not
here! Where has that cursed cripple gone?" Some one answered: "Here she
is coming!" Another said: "You cursed cripple, where have you been?" The
cripple answered: "Be still; I will tell you now. But wait a moment
until I shake this tree to see whether there is any one in it." The
poor girl held on firmly so as not to fall down. After she had shaken it
this cripple said to her companions: "Do you want me to tell you
something? King Bean has only two hours to live." Another witch said:
"What is the matter with him?" The cripple answered: "He had a wife, and
she put some broken glass in the three vessels, and he filled his body
with it." Another witch asked: "Is there nothing that can cure him?" The
cripple replied: "It is very difficult." Another said: "What would be
necessary?" The cripple said: "Listen to what it needs. One of us must
be killed, and her blood put in a kettle, and have added to it the blood
of one of these doves flying about here. When this blood is well mixed,
it must be heated, and with this blood the whole body of the king must
be anointed. Another thing yet is necessary. Under the stone you see
there is a flask of water. The stone must be removed, a bottle of the
water must be poured over the king, and all the bits of glass will come
out of him, and in five minutes he will be safe and sound."
Then the witches ate and drank until they were intoxicated and tired,
and then threw themselves down on the ground to sleep. When the young
girl saw that they were asleep, she descended quietly from the tree,
knocked at the hermit's door, told him what the witches had said, and
asked him for a kettle, knife, and bottle. He gave them to her, and
caught a dove, which he killed, bled, and put the blood in a kettle.
The young girl did not know which one of the witches to kill, but
finally she decided to kill the cripple who had spoken, and put her
blood in the kettle. Afterward she lifted the stone, found the flask of
water, and filled her bottle with it. She then returned to the hermit,
and told him all she had done. He gave her a physician's dress, which
she put on, and went to the palace of King Bean. There she asked the
guards to let her pass, for she was going, she said, to see about curing
the king. The guards refused at first, but, seeing her so confident,
allowed her to enter. The king's mother went to her at once and said:
"My good physician, if you can cure my son, you shall mount the throne,
and I will give you my crown." "I have come in haste from a distance,"
said the physician, "and will cure him." Then the physician went to the
kitchen, put the kettle on the fire, and afterward entered the room of
the king, who had but a few minutes to live, anointed his whole body
with the blood, and then poured the bottle of water all over him. Then
the glass came out of his body, and in five minutes he was safe and
sound. The king said: "Here, physician, is my crown. I wish to put it on
your head." The physician answered: "How did your Majesty come to have
this slight trouble?" The king said: "On account of my wife. I went to
make love to her, and she prepared for me three vessels of water and
milk, of milk, and of rose-water, and put broken glass in them, so that
I had my body full of it." Said the physician: "See whether it was your
wife who worked you this treason! Could it not have been some one else?"
"That is impossible," said the king; "for no one entered her room." "And
what would you do," said the physician, "if you had her now in your
hands?" "I would kill her with a knife." "You are right," said the
physician; "because, if it is true that she has acted thus, she deserves
nothing but death."
Then the physician said he must depart; but the king's mother said: "No,
no! It shall never be said that after saving my son's life you went
away. Here you are, and here I wish you to stay; and, on account of the
promise I made you, I wish my crown to come upon your head." "I want but
one thing," said the physician. "Command, doctor; only say what you
desire." "I wish the king to write on the palm of one of my hands my
name and surname, and on the other his name and surname." The king did
so, and the physician said: "Now I am going to make some visits, then I
will return."
Instead of returning, the pretended physician went to her own home, and
threw away the water and milk in the three vessels, and put in other
pure water and milk and rose-water. Then she went out on the balcony,
and opened the bean. The king, who felt his heart opened, seized his
dagger, and hastened to his wife to kill her. When she saw the dagger,
she raised her hands, and the king beheld his name and hers. Then he
threw his dagger away, bathed in the three vessels, and then threw his
arms about his wife's neck, and exclaimed: "If you are the one who did
me so much harm, you are also the one who cured me." She answered: "It
was not I. I was betrayed by my sisters." "If that is so," said he,
"come at once to my parents' house, and we will be married there." When
she arrived at the king's palace, she related everything to his parents,
and showed them her hands with her name and surname. Then the king's
parents embraced her, and gave her a wedding, and she and the king loved
each other as long as they lived.[7]
* * * * *
The next class to which we shall direct our attention is the one in
which jealous relatives (usually envious sisters or mother-in-law),
steal a mother's new-born children, who are exposed and afterwards
rescued and brought up far from their home by some childless person; or
the mother is accused of having devoured them, and is repudiated or
punished, and finally delivered and restored to her former position by
her children, who are discovered by their father.[8]
The following story, belonging to this class, is from Pitre (No. 36),
slightly condensed.
IV. THE DANCING WATER, THE SINGING APPLE, AND THE SPEAKING BIRD.[9]
There was once an herb-gatherer who had three daughters who earned their
living by spinning. One day their father died and left them all alone in
the world. Now the king had a habit of going about the streets at night,
and listening at the doors to hear what the people said of him. One
night he listened at the door of the house where the three sisters
lived, and heard them disputing about something. The oldest said: "If I
were the wife of the royal butler, I would give the whole court to drink
out of one glass of water, and there would be some left." The second
said: "If I were the wife of the keeper of the royal wardrobe, with one
piece of cloth I would clothe all the attendants, and have some left."
The youngest said: "Were I the king's wife, I would bear him three
children: two sons with apples in their hands, and a daughter with a
star on her brow."
The king went back to his palace, and the next morning sent for the
sisters, and said to them: "Do not be frightened, but tell me what you
said last night." The oldest told him what she had said, and the king
had a glass of water brought, and commanded her to prove her words. She
took the glass, and gave all the attendants to drink, and there was some
water left. "Bravo!" cried the king, and summoned the butler. "This is
your husband. Now it is your turn," said the king to the next sister,
and commanded a piece of cloth to be brought, and the young girl at once
cut out garments for all the attendants, and had some cloth left.
"Bravo!" cried the king again, and gave her the keeper of the wardrobe
for her husband. "Now it is your turn," said the king to the youngest.
"Your Majesty, I said that were I the king's wife, I would bear him
three children: two sons with apples in their hands, and a daughter with
a star on her brow." The king replied: "If that is true, you shall be
queen; if not, you shall die," and straightway he married her.
Very soon the two older sisters began to be envious of the youngest.
"Look," said they: "she is going to be queen, and we must be servants!"
and they began to hate her. A few months before the queen's children
were to be born, the king declared war, and was obliged to depart; but
he left word that if the queen had three children: two sons with apples
in their hands and a girl with a star on her brow, the mother was to be
respected as queen; if not, he was to be informed of it, and would tell
his servants what to do. Then he departed for the war.
When the queen's children were born, as she had promised, the envious
sisters bribed the nurse to put little dogs in the place of the queen's
children, and sent word to the king that his wife had given birth to
three puppies. He wrote back that she should be taken care of for two
weeks, and then put into a tread-mill.
Meanwhile the nurse took the little babies, and carried them out of
doors, saying: "I will make the dogs eat them up," and she left them
alone. While they were thus exposed, three fairies passed by and
exclaimed: "Oh how beautiful these children are!" and one of the fairies
said: "What present shall we make these children?" One answered: "I will
give them a deer to nurse them." "And I a purse always full of money."
"And I," said the third fairy, "will give them a ring which will change
color when any misfortune happens to one of them."
The deer nursed and took care of the children until they grew up. Then
the fairy who had given them the deer came and said: "Now that you have
grown up, how can you stay here any longer?" "Very well," said one of
the brothers, "I will go to the city and hire a house." "Take care,"
said the deer, "that you hire one opposite the royal palace." So they
all went to the city and hired a palace as directed, and furnished it as
if they had been royal personages. When the aunts saw these three
youths, imagine their terror! "They are alive!" they said. They could
not be mistaken, for there were the apples in their hands, and the star
on the girl's brow. They called the nurse and said to her: "Nurse, what
does this mean? are our nephews and niece alive?" The nurse watched at
the window until she saw the two brothers go out, and then she went over
as if to make a visit to the new house. She entered and said: "What is
the matter, my daughter; how do you do? Are you perfectly happy? You
lack nothing. But do you know what is necessary to make you really
happy? It is the Dancing Water. If your brothers love you, they will
get it for you!" She remained a moment longer and then departed.
When one of the brothers returned, his sister said to him: "Ah! my
brother, if you love me go and get me the Dancing Water." He consented,
and next morning saddled a fine horse, and departed. On his way he met a
hermit, who asked him, "Where are you going, cavalier?" "I am going for
the Dancing Water." "You are going to your death, my son; but keep on
until you find a hermit older than I." He continued his journey until he
met another hermit, who asked him the same question, and gave him the
same direction. Finally he met a third hermit, older than the other two,
with a white beard that came down to his feet, who gave him the
following directions: "You must climb yonder mountain. On top of it you
will find a great plain and a house with a beautiful gate. Before the
gate you will see four giants with swords in their hands. Take heed; do
not make a mistake; for if you do that is the end of you! When the
giants have their eyes closed, do not enter; when they have their eyes
open, enter. Then you will come to a door. If you find it open, do not
enter; if you find it shut, push it open and enter. Then you will find
four lions. When they have their eyes shut, do not enter; when their
eyes are open, enter, and you will see the Dancing Water." The youth
took leave of the hermit, and hastened on his way.
Meanwhile the sister kept looking at the ring constantly, to see whether
the stone in it changed color; but as it did not, she remained
undisturbed.
A few days after leaving the hermit the youth arrived at the top of the
mountain, and saw the palace with the four giants before it. They had
their eyes shut, and the door was open. "No," said the youth, "that
won't do." And so he remained on the lookout a while. When the giants
opened their eyes, and the door closed, he entered, waited until the
lions opened their eyes, and passed in. There he found the Dancing
Water, and filled his bottles with it, and escaped when the lions again
opened their eyes.
The aunts, meanwhile, were delighted because their nephew did not
return; but in a few days he appeared and embraced his sister. Then they
had two golden basins made, and put into them the Dancing Water, which
leaped from one basin to the other. When the aunts saw it they
exclaimed: "Ah! how did he manage to get that water?" and called the
nurse, who again waited until the sister was alone, and then visited
her. "You see," said she, "how beautiful the Dancing Water is! But do
you know what you want now? The Singing Apple." Then she departed. When
the brother who had brought the Dancing Water returned, his sister said
to him: "If you love me you must get for me the Singing Apple." "Yes, my
sister, I will go and get it."
Next morning he mounted his horse, and set out. After a time he met the
first hermit, who sent him to an older one. He asked the youth where he
was going, and said: "It is a difficult task to get the Singing Apple,
but hear what you must do: Climb the mountain; beware of the giants, the
door, and the lions; then you will find a little door and a pair of
shears in it. If the shears are open, enter; if closed, do not risk it."
The youth continued his way, found the palace, entered, and found
everything favorable. When he saw the shears open, he went in a room and
saw a wonderful tree, on top of which was an apple. He climbed up and
tried to pick the apple, but the top of the tree swayed now this way,
now that. He waited until it was still a moment, seized the branch, and
picked the apple. He succeeded in getting safely out of the palace,
mounted his horse, and rode home, and all the time he was carrying the
apple it kept making a sound.
The aunts were again delighted because their nephew was so long absent;
but when they saw him return, they felt as though the house had fallen
on them. Again they summoned the nurse, and again she visited the young
girl, and said: "See how beautiful they are, the Dancing Water and the
Singing Apple! But should you see the Speaking Bird, there would be
nothing left for you to see." "Very well," said the young girl; "we
will see whether my brother will get it for me."
When her brother came she asked him for the Speaking Bird, and he
promised to get it for her. He met, as usual on his journey, the first
hermit, who sent him to the second, who sent him on to a third one, who
said to him: "Climb the mountain and enter the palace. You will find
many statues. Then you will come to a garden, in the midst of which is a
fountain, and on the basin is the Speaking Bird. If it should say
anything to you, do not answer. Pick a feather from the bird's wing, dip
it into a jar you will find there, and anoint all the statues. Keep your
eyes open, and all will go well."
The youth already knew well the way, and soon was in the palace. He
found the garden and the bird, which, as soon as it saw him, exclaimed:
"What is the matter, noble sir; have you come for me? You have missed
it. Your aunts have sent you to your death, and you must remain here.
Your mother has been sent to the tread-mill." "My mother in the
tread-mill?" cried the youth, and scarcely were the words out of his
mouth when he became a statue like all the others.
When the sister looked at her ring she saw that it had changed its color
to blue. "Ah!" she exclaimed, and sent her other brother after the
first. Everything happened to him as to the first. He met the three
hermits, received his instructions, and soon found himself in the
palace, where he discovered the garden with the statues, the fountain,
and the Speaking Bird.
Meanwhile the aunts, who saw that both their nephews were missing, were
delighted; and the sister, on looking at her ring, saw that it had
become clear again.
Now when the Speaking Bird saw the youth appear in the garden it said to
him: "What has become of your brother? Your mother has been sent to the
tread-mill." "Alas, my mother in the tread-mill!" And when he had spoken
these words he became a statue.
The sister looked at her ring, and it had become black. Poor child! not
having anything else to do, she dressed herself like a page and set out.
Like her brothers, she met the three hermits, and received their
instructions. The third concluded thus: "Beware, for if you answer when
the bird speaks you will lose your life." She continued her way,
followed exactly the hermit's directions, and reached the garden in
safety. When the bird saw her it exclaimed: "Ah! you here, too? Now you
will meet the same fate as your brothers. Do you see them? one, two, and
you make three. Your father is at the war. Your mother is in the
tread-mill. Your aunts are rejoicing." She did not reply, but let the
bird sing on. When it had nothing more to say it flew down, and the
young girl caught it, pulled a feather from its wing, dipped it into the
jar, and anointed her brothers' nostrils, and they at once came to life
again. Then she did the same with all the other statues, with the lions
and the giants, until all became alive again. Then she departed with her
brothers, and all the noblemen, princes, barons, and kings' sons
rejoiced greatly. Now when they had all come to life again the palace
disappeared, and the hermits disappeared, for they were the three
fairies.
The day after the brothers and sister reached the city where they lived,
they summoned a goldsmith, and had him make a gold chain, and fasten the
bird with it. The next time the aunts looked out they saw in the window
of the palace opposite the Dancing Water, the Singing Apple, and the
Speaking Bird. "Well," said they, "the real trouble is coming now!"
The bird directed the brothers and sister to procure a carriage finer
than the king's, with twenty-four attendants, and to have the service of
their palace, cooks and servants, more numerous and better than the
king's. All of which the brothers did at once. And when the aunts saw
these things they were ready to die of rage.
At last the king returned from the war, and his subjects told him all
the news of the kingdom, and the thing they talked about the least was
his wife and children. One day the king looked out of the window and
saw the palace opposite furnished in a magnificent manner. "Who lives
there?" he asked, but no one could answer him. He looked again and saw
the brothers and sister, the former with the apples in their hands, and
the latter with the star on her brow. "Gracious! if I did not know that
my wife had given birth to three puppies, I should say that those were
my children," exclaimed the king. Another day he stood by the window and
enjoyed the Dancing Water and the Singing Apple, but the bird was
silent. After the king had heard all the music, the bird said: "What
does your Majesty think of it?" The king was astonished at hearing the
Speaking Bird, and answered: "What should I think? It is marvellous."
"There is something more marvellous," said the bird; "just wait." Then
the bird told his mistress to call her brothers, and said: "There is the
king; let us invite him to dinner on Sunday. Shall we not?" "Yes, yes,"
they all said. So the king was invited and accepted, and on Sunday the
bird had a grand dinner prepared and the king came. When he saw the
young people, he clapped his hands and said: "I cannot persuade myself;
they seem my children."
He went over the palace and was astonished at its richness. Then they
went to dinner, and while they were eating the king said: "Bird, every
one is talking; you alone are silent." "Ah! your Majesty, I am ill; but
next Sunday I shall be well and able to talk, and will come and dine at
your palace with this lady and these gentlemen." The next Sunday the
bird directed his mistress and her brothers to put on their finest
clothes; so they dressed in royal style and took the bird with them. The
king showed them through his palace and treated them with the greatest
ceremony: the aunts were nearly dead with fear. When they had seated
themselves at the table, the king said: "Come, bird, you promised me you
would speak; have you nothing to say?" Then the bird began and related
all that had happened from the time the king had listened at the door
until his poor wife had been sent to the tread-mill; then the bird
added: "These are your children, and your wife was sent to the mill, and
is dying." When the king heard all this, he hastened to embrace his
children, and then went to find his poor wife, who was reduced to skin
and bones and was at the point of death. He knelt before her and begged
her pardon, and then summoned her sisters and the nurse, and when they
were in his presence he said to the bird: "Bird, you who have told me
everything, now pronounce their sentence." Then the bird sentenced the
nurse to be thrown out of the window, and the sisters to be cast into a
cauldron of boiling oil. This was at once done. The king was never tired
of embracing his wife. Then the bird departed and the king and his wife
and children lived together in peace.[10]
* * * * *
We next pass to the class of stories in which children are promised by
their parents to witches or the Evil One. The children who are thus
promised are often unborn, and the promise is made by the parents either
to escape some danger with which they are threatened by witch or demon,
or in return for money. Sometimes there is a misunderstanding, as in
Grimm's story of the "Handless Maiden," where the Miller in return for
riches promises the Evil One to give him "what stands behind his mill."
The Miller supposes his apple-tree is meant, but it is his daughter, who
happened to be behind the mill when the compact was made. The most usual
form of the story in Italian is this: A woman who expects to give birth
to a child is seized with a great longing for some herb or fruit
(generally parsley) growing in the witch's garden. The witch (ogress)
catches her picking it, and only releases her on condition that she
shall give her the child after it is born and has reached a definite
age. The following Sicilian story from Gonzenbach (No. 53) will
illustrate this class sufficiently:
V. THE FAIR ANGIOLA.
Once upon a time there were seven women, neighbors, all of whom were
seized with a great longing for some jujubes which only grew in a garden
opposite the place where they all lived, and which belonged to a witch.
Now this witch had a donkey that watched the garden and told the old
witch when any one entered. The seven neighbors, however, had such a
desire for the jujubes that they entered the garden and threw the donkey
some nice soft grass, and while he was eating it they filled their
aprons with jujubes and escaped before the witch appeared. This they did
several times, until at last the witch noticed that some one had been in
her garden, for many of the jujubes were gone. She questioned the
donkey, but he had eaten the nice grass and noticed nothing. Then she
resolved the third day to remain in the garden herself. In the middle of
it was a hole, in which she hid and covered herself with leaves and
branches, leaving only one of her long ears sticking out. The seven
neighbors once more went into the garden and began picking jujubes, when
one of them noticed the witch's ear sticking out of the leaves and
thought it was a mushroom and tried to pick it. Then the witch jumped
out of the hole and ran after the women, all of whom escaped but one.
The witch was going to eat her, but she begged hard for pardon and
promised never to enter the garden again. The witch finally forgave her
on the condition that she would give her her child, yet unborn, whether
a boy or girl, when it was seven years old. The poor woman promised in
her distress, and the witch let her go.
Some time after the woman had a beautiful little girl whom she named
Angiola. When Angiola was six years old, her mother sent her to school
to learn to sew and knit. On her way to school she had to pass the
garden where the witch lived. One day, when she was almost seven, she
saw the witch standing in front of her garden. She beckoned to Angiola
and gave her some fine fruits and said: "You see, fair Angiola, I am
your aunt. Tell your mother you have seen your aunt, and she sends her
word not to forget her promise." Angiola went home and told her mother,
who was frightened and said to herself: "Ah! the time has come when I
must give up my Angiola." Then she said to the child: "When your aunt
asks you to-morrow for an answer, tell her you forgot her errand." The
next day she told the witch as she was directed. "Very well," she
replied, "tell her to-day, but don't forget." Thus several days passed;
the witch was constantly on the watch for Angiola when she went to
school, and wanted to know her mother's answer, but Angiola always
declared that she had forgotten to ask her. One day, however, the witch
became angry and said: "Since you are so forgetful, I must give you some
token to remind you of your errand." Then she bit Angiola's little
finger so hard that she bit a piece out. Angiola went home in tears and
showed her mother her finger. "Ah!" thought her mother, "there is no
help for it. I must give my poor child to the witch, or else she will
eat her up in her anger." The next morning as Angiola was going to
school, her mother said to her: "Tell your aunt to do with you as she
thinks best." Angiola did so, and the witch said: "Very well, then come
with me, for you are mine."
So the witch took the fair Angiola with her and led her away to a tower
which had no door and but one small window. There Angiola lived with the
witch, who treated her very kindly, for she loved her as her own child.
When the witch came home after her excursions, she stood under the
window and cried: "Angiola, fair Angiola, let down your pretty tresses
and pull me up!" Now Angiola had beautiful long hair, which she let down
and with which she pulled the witch up.
Now it happened one day when Angiola had grown to be a large and
beautiful maiden, that the king's son went hunting and chanced to come
where the tower was. He was astonished at seeing the house without any
door, and wondered how the people got in. Just then the old witch
returned home, stood under the window, and called: "Angiola, fair
Angiola, let down your beautiful tresses and pull me up." Immediately
the beautiful tresses fell down, and the witch climbed up by them. This
pleased the prince greatly, and he hid himself near by until the witch
went away again. Then he went and stood under the window and called:
"Angiola, fair Angiola, let down your beautiful tresses and pull me up."
Then Angiola let down her tresses and drew up the prince, for she
believed it was the witch. When she saw the prince, she was much
frightened at first, but he addressed her in a friendly manner and
begged her to fly with him and become his wife.
She finally consented, and in order that the witch should not know where
she had gone she gave all the chairs, tables, and cupboards in the house
something to eat; for they were all living beings and might betray her.
The broom, however, stood behind the door, so she did not notice it, and
gave it nothing to eat. Then she took from the witch's chamber three
magic balls of yarn, and fled with the prince. The witch had a little
dog that loved the fair Angiola so dearly that it followed her.
Soon after they had fled, the witch came back, and called: "Angiola,
fair Angiola, let down your beautiful tresses and draw me up." But the
tresses were not let down for all she called, and at last she had to get
a long ladder and climb in at the window. When she could not find
Angiola, she asked the tables and chairs and cupboards: "Where has she
fled?" But they answered: "We do not know." The broom, however, called
out from the corner: "The fair Angiola has fled with the king's son, who
is going to marry her." Then the witch started in pursuit of them and
nearly overtook them. But Angiola threw down behind her one of the magic
balls of yarn, and there arose a great mountain of soap. When the witch
tried to climb it she slipped back, but she persevered until at last she
succeeded in getting over it, and hastened after the fugitives. Then
Angiola threw down the second ball of yarn, and there arose a great
mountain covered all over with nails small and large. Again the witch
had to struggle hard to cross it; when she did she was almost flayed.
When Angiola saw that the witch had almost overtaken them again, she
threw down the third ball, and there arose a mighty torrent. The witch
tried to swim across it, but the stream kept increasing in size until
she had at last to turn back. Then in her anger she cursed the fair
Angiola, saying: "May your beautiful face be turned into the face of a
dog!" and instantly Angiola's face became a dog's face.
The prince was very sorrowful and said: "How can I take you home to my
parents? They would never allow me to marry a maiden with a dog's face."
So he took her to a little house, where she was to live until the
enchantment was removed. He himself returned to his parents; but
whenever he went hunting he visited poor Angiola. She often wept
bitterly over her misfortunes, until one day the little dog that had
followed her from the witch's said: "Do not weep, fair Angiola. I will
go to the witch and beg her to remove the enchantment." Then the little
dog started off and returned to the witch and sprang up on her and
caressed her. "Are you here again, you ungrateful beast?" cried the
witch, and pushed the dog away. "Did you leave me to follow the
ungrateful Angiola?" But the little dog caressed her until she grew
friendly again and took him up on her lap. "Mother," said the little
dog, "Angiola sends you greeting; she is very sad, for she cannot go to
the palace with her dog's face and cannot marry the prince." "That
serves her right," said the witch. "Why did she deceive me? She can keep
her dog's face now!" But the dog begged her so earnestly, saying that
poor Angiola was sufficiently punished, that at last the witch gave the
dog a flask of water, and said: "Take that to her and she will become
the fair Angiola again." The dog thanked her, ran off with the flask,
and brought it safely to poor Angiola. As soon as she washed in the
water, her dog's face disappeared and she became beautiful again, more
beautiful even than she had been before. The prince, full of joy, took
her to the palace, and the king and queen were so pleased with her
beauty that they welcomed her, and gave her a splendid wedding, and all
remained happy and contented.[11]
* * * * *
An interesting class of stories is the one in which the heroes are twin
brothers (sometimes three born at the same time, or a larger number) who
are born in some unusual manner, generally in consequence of the
mother's partaking of some magic fruit or fish. One of the brothers
undertakes some difficult task (liberation of princess, etc.) and falls
into great danger; the other brother discovers the fact from some
sympathetic object and proceeds to rescue him. The following story from
Pisa (Comparetti, No. 32) will give a good idea of the Italian stories
of this class:
VI. THE CLOUD.
Once upon a time there was a fisherman who had a wife and many children.
Now it happened that the fisherman did not catch any fish for a time and
did not know how to support his family. One day he cast his net and drew
out a large fish which began to talk: "Let me go and cast in your net
again and you will catch as many fish as you wish." The fisherman did so
and caught more fish than he remembered to have taken before. But in a
few days the fish were gone and the fisherman cast his net again, and
again caught the big fish, which said: "I see clearly that I must die,
so kill me now, and cut me into pieces. Give half to the king, a piece
to your wife, one to your dog; and one to your horse; the bones you will
tie to the kitchen rafters; your wife will bear sons, and when anything
happens to one of them the fish-bone will sweat drops of blood." The
fisherman did as he was told, and in due time his wife gave birth to
three sons, the dog to three puppies, and the horse to three colts. The
boys grew up and went to school and learned much and prospered. One day
the oldest said: "I want to go and see a little of the world," and took
one of the dogs, one of the horses, and some money, and set out, after
receiving his father's and mother's blessing. He arrived at a forest,
and there saw a lion, an eagle, and an ant which had found a dead ass
that they wanted to divide among themselves, but could not agree and so
were quarrelling. They saw the youth, and called on him to make the
division. He was afraid at first, but took heart and gave the lean meat
to the eagle, the brains to the ant, and the rest to the lion. They were
all satisfied, and the youth continued his way. After he had gone a few
steps the animals called him back, and the lion said: "You have settled
our dispute, and we wish to reward you; when you wish to become a lion,
you have only to say: 'No more a man, a lion, with the strength of a
hundred lions!'" The eagle said: "When you wish to become an eagle, say:
'No more a man, an eagle, with the strength of a hundred eagles!'" The
ant, also, gave him power to transform himself into an ant in the same
way. The youth thanked them and departed. As he was passing along the
shore of the sea, he saw a dog-fish that was out of the water; he put it
back into the sea. The fish said: "When you need me, come to the sea and
cry: 'Dog-fish, help me!'"
The youth continued his way and arrived at a city all hung with
mourning. "What is the matter?" the young man asked. "There is here,"
they told him, "a big cloud (it was a fairy) that every year must have a
young girl. This year the lot has fallen on the king's daughter. If they
do not give her up, the cloud will throw so many things into the city
that we shall all be killed." The youth asked if he could see how the
thing went, and they told him he could. The ceremony began with muffled
drums and an escort of soldiers; the king and queen in tears accompanied
their daughter, who was taken to the top of a mountain, placed in a
chair, and left alone. The youth, who had followed them, hid himself
behind a bush. Then the cloud came, took the young girl in her lap, took
her finger in her mouth, and began to suck her blood. This was what the
cloud lived on. The princess remained half dead, like a log, and then
the cloud carried her away. The youth, who had seen all this, cried: "No
more a man, an eagle, with the strength of a hundred eagles!" Then he
became an eagle and flew after the cloud. They arrived at a palace, the
doors flew open and the cloud entered and carried the princess
up-stairs. The eagle alighted on a tree opposite and saw a large room
all full of young girls in bed. When the cloud entered they exclaimed:
"Mamma! here is our mamma!" The poor girls were always in bed, because
the fairy half killed them. She put the princess in a bed, and said to
the girls: "I am going to leave you for a few days." She went away and
left the girls. The youth was near and heard everything; he said: "No
more an eagle, an ant, with the force of a hundred ants!" He became an
ant, entered the palace unseen, and went to the room where the young
girls were. There he resumed his shape, and the girls were astonished at
seeing a man appear so suddenly, and one of them said to him: "Take
care, there is a fairy here; if she finds you on her return she will
kill you." "Do not be troubled," he answered, "for I wish to see about
setting you all free." Then he went to the bed of the king's daughter
and asked her if she had some token to send her mother. She gave him a
ring, and the youth took it and went to the queen, told her where her
daughter was, and asked her to send some food to the poor girl. She did
so, and the youth retraced his steps, reached the palace, informed the
girls, and drew up the food with ropes. He then said to the girls: "When
the fairy returns, ask her what you shall do when she dies; thus you
will find out how to kill her." Then he hid himself, and when the fairy
returned the girls asked her the question; but she answered: "I shall
never die." They urged her to tell them, and the next day she took them
out on a terrace, and said: "Do you see that mountain far off there? On
that mountain is a tigress with seven heads. If you wish me to die, a
lion must fight that tigress and tear off all seven of her heads. In her
body is an egg, and if any one hits me with it in the middle of my
forehead I shall die; but if that egg falls into my hands the tigress
will come to life again, resume her seven heads, and I shall live."
"Good!" said the young girls; "certainly our mamma can never die." But
in their hearts they were discouraged. When the fairy had departed, the
youth came forth and they told him all. "Do not be disheartened," he
said, and straightway went to the princess' father, asked him for a
room, a pan of bread, a barrel of good wine, and a child seven years
old. He took all these things and shut himself up in the room, and said
to the child: "Do you want to see something, my child? I am going to
turn into a lion." Then he turned into a lion, and the child was afraid;
but the youth persuaded him that it was only himself after all, and the
child fed him, and was no longer frightened. As soon as he had
instructed the child, he took all the things and went to the mountain
where the tigress was. Then he filled the pan with bread and wine and
said to the child: "I am going to become a lion; when I return give me
something to eat." Then he became a lion, and went to fight the tigress.
Meanwhile the fairy returned home, saying: "Alas! I feel ill!" The young
girls said to themselves, in delight: "Good!" The youth fought until
night, and tore off one of the tigress' heads; the second day another,
and so on until six heads were gone. The fairy kept losing her strength
all the time. The youth rested two days before tearing off the last
head, and then resumed the fight. At evening the last head was torn off,
and the dead tigress disappeared, but the youth was not quick enough to
catch the egg, which rolled from her body into the sea and was swallowed
by the dog-fish. Then the youth went to the sea: "Dog-fish, help me!"
The fish appeared: "What do you want?" "Have you found an egg?" "Yes."
"Give it to me;" and the fish gave him the egg. He took it and went in
search of the fairy, and suddenly appeared before her with the egg in
his hand. The fairy wanted him to give her the egg, but he made her
first restore all the young girls to health and send them home in
handsome carriages. Then the youth took the egg, struck it on the
fairy's forehead, and she fell down dead. When the youth saw that she
was really dead, he entered a carriage with the king's daughter and
drove to the palace. When the king and queen saw their daughter again,
they wept for joy, and married her to her deliverer. The wedding took
place with great magnificence, and there were great festivities and
rejoicings in the city.
A few days after, the husband looked out of the window and saw at the
end of the street a dense fog; he said to his wife: "I will go and see
what that fog is." So he dressed for the chase and went away with his
dog and horse. After he had passed through the mist, he saw a mountain
on which were two beautiful ladies. They came to meet him, and invited
him to their palace. He accepted and they showed him into a room, and
one of the ladies asked: "Would you like to play a game of chess?" "Very
well," he answered, and began to play and lost. Then they took him into
a garden where there were many marble statues, and turned him into one,
together with his dog and horse. These ladies were sisters of the fairy,
and this was the way they avenged her death.
Meanwhile the princess waited and her husband did not return. One
morning the father and brothers of the youth found the kitchen full of
blood, which dropped from the fish-bone. "Something has happened to
him," they said, and the second brother started in search of him with
another one of the dogs and horses. He passed by the palace of the
princess, who was at the window, and those brothers looked so much alike
that when she saw him she thought it was her husband and called him. He
entered and she spoke to him of the fog, but he did not understand her;
he let her talk on, however, imagining that his brother was mixed up in
that affair. The next morning he arose and went to see the fog with his
dog and horse. He passed through the fog, found the mountain and the two
ladies, and, to make the story short, the same thing happened to him
that happened to his brother, and he became stone. And the queen waited,
and in the father's kitchen the bone dropped blood faster than ever.
The third brother too set out with his dog and horse. When he came to
the palace, the princess saw him from the window, took him for her
husband, and called him in. He entered and she reproved him for having
made her wait so long, and spoke of the mist; but he did not understand
her and said: "I did not see very clearly what was in the mist, and I
wish to go there again." He departed, and when he had passed through the
mist he met an old man who said to him: "Where are you going? Take care,
your brothers have been turned into statues. You will meet two ladies;
if they ask you to play chess with them, here are two pawns, say that
you cannot play except with your own pawns. Then make an agreement with
them that, if you win, you can do with them what you please; if they
win, they can do what they please with you. If you win, and they beg for
mercy, command them to restore to life all the stone statues with which
the palace is filled, and when they have done so, you can do what you
will with these ladies."
The youth thanked the old man, departed, followed his directions, and
won. The two ladies begged for their lives, and he granted their prayer
on condition of restoring to life all those stone statues. They took a
wand, touched the statues, and they became animated; but no sooner were
they all restored to life than they fell on the two ladies and cut them
into bits no larger than their ears.
Thus the three brothers were reunited. They related their adventures,
and returned to the palace. The princess was astonished when she saw
them, and did not know which was her husband. But he made himself known,
told her that these were his brothers, and they had their parents come
there, and they all lived happily together, and thus the story is
ended.[12]
* * * * *
We now pass to the class of stories in which one of several brothers
succeeds in some undertaking where the others fail, and thereby draws
down on himself the hatred of the others, who either abandon him in a
cavern, or kill him and hide his body, which is afterwards discovered
by a musical instrument made of one of the bones or of the reeds growing
over the grave. The former treatment is illustrated by a Sicilian tale
(Pitre, No. 80) called:
VII. THE CISTERN.
There were once three king's sons. Two of them were going hunting one
day, and did not want to take their youngest brother with them. Their
mother asked them to let him go with them, but they would not. The
youngest brother, however, followed them, and they had to take him with
them. They came to a beautiful plain, where they found a fine cistern,
and ate their lunch near it. After they had finished, the oldest said:
"Let us throw our youngest brother into the cistern, for we cannot take
him with us." Then he said to his brother: "Salvatore, would you like to
descend into this cistern, for there is a treasure in it?" The youngest
consented, and they lowered him down. When he reached the bottom, he
found three handsome rooms and an old woman, who said to him: "What are
you doing here?" "I am trying to find my way out; tell me how to do it."
The old woman answered: "There are here three princesses in the power of
the magician; take care." "Never mind, tell me what to do; I am not
afraid." "Knock at that door." He did so and a princess appeared: "What
has brought you here?" "I have come to liberate you; tell me what I have
to do." "Take this apple and pass through that door; my sister is there,
who can give you better directions than I can."
She gave him the apple as a token. He knocked at that door, another
princess appeared, who gave him a pomegranate for a remembrance and
directed him to knock at a third door. It opened and the last princess
appeared. "Ah! Salvatore" (for she knew who he was), "what have you come
for?" "I have come to liberate you; tell me what to do." She gave him a
crown, and said: "Take this; when you are in need, say: 'I command! I
command!' and the crown will obey you. Now enter and eat; take this
bottle; the magician, you see, is about rising; hide yourself behind
this door, and when he awakens he will ask you: 'What are you here for?'
You will answer: 'I have come to fight you; but you must agree to take
smaller horse and sword than mine, because I am smaller than you.' You
will see there a fountain which will invite you to drink; do not risk
it, for all the statues you see there are human beings who have become
statues drinking that water; when you are thirsty drink secretly from
this bottle."
With these directions the youth went and knocked at the door. Just then
the magician arose and said: "What are you here for?" "I have come to
fight with you." And he added what the princess had told him. The
fountain invited him to drink, but he would not. They began to fight,
and at the first blow the youth cut off the magician's head. He took the
head and sword, and went to the princesses and said: "Get your things
together, and let us go, for my brothers are still waiting at the mouth
of the cistern."
Let us now return to the brothers. After they had lowered their youngest
brother into the cistern, they turned around and went back to the royal
palace. The king asked: "Where is your brother?" "We lost him in a wood,
and could not find him." "Quick!" said the king, "go and find my son, or
I will have your heads cut off." So they departed, and on their way
found a man with a rope and a bell, and took them with them. When they
reached the cistern, they lowered the rope with the bell, saying among
themselves: "If he is alive he will hear the bell and climb up; if he is
dead, what shall we do with our father?" When they lowered the rope,
Salvatore made the princesses ascend one by one. As the first appeared,
who was the oldest, the oldest brother said: "Oh, what a pretty girl!
This one shall be my wife." When the second appeared, the other brother
said: "This is mine." The youngest princess did not wish to ascend, and
said to Salvatore: "You go up, Salvatore, first; if you do not, your
brothers will leave you here." He said he would not; she said he must;
finally he prevailed, and she ascended. When she appeared the two
brothers took her, and left Salvatore in the cistern, and returned to
the palace. When they arrived there, they said to their father: "We have
looked for Salvatore, but we could not find him; but we have found these
three young girls, and now we wish to marry them." "I," said the oldest
brother, "will take this one." "And I," said the second, "take this one.
The other sister we will marry to some other youth."
Now let us return to Salvatore, who, when he found himself alone and
disconsolate, felt in his pockets and touched the apple. "O my apple,
get me out of this place!" And at once he found himself out of the
cistern. He went to the city where he lived, and met a silversmith, who
took him as an apprentice, feeding and clothing him. While he was with
the silversmith, the king commanded the latter to make a crown for his
oldest son, who was to be married: "You must make me a royal crown for
my son, and to-morrow evening you must bring it to me."
He gave him ten ounces and dismissed him. When he reached home, the
silversmith was greatly disturbed, for he had such a short time to make
the crown in. Salvatore said: "Grandfather, why are you so disturbed?"
The master replied: "Take these ten ounces, for now I am going to seek
refuge in a church, for there is nothing else for me to do." (For in
olden times the church had the privilege that whoever robbed or killed
fled to the church, and they could not do anything with him.) The
apprentice replied: "Now I will see if I can make this crown. My master
would take refuge in a church for a trifle." So he began to make the
crown. What did he do? He took out the apple and commanded it to make a
very beautiful crown. He hammered away, but the apple made the crown.
When it was finished he gave it to the wife of the silversmith, who took
it to her husband. When the latter saw that he need not flee to the
church, he went to the king, who, well pleased, invited him to the feast
in the evening. When he told this at home, the apprentice said: "Take
me to the feast." "How can I take you when you have no clothes fit to
wear? I will buy you some, and when there is another feast I will take
you." When it struck two, the silversmith departed, and Salvatore took
the apple and said: "O my apple, give me clothes and carriages and
footmen, for I am going to see my brother married." Immediately he was
dressed like a prince, and went to the palace, where he hid in the
kitchen, saw his brother married, and then took a big stick and gave the
silversmith a sound beating. When the latter reached home, he cried: "I
am dying! I am dying!" "What is the matter?" asked the apprentice, and
when he learned what had happened, he said: "If you had taken me with
you to the feast this would not have happened."
A few days after, the king summoned the silversmith again to make
another crown within twenty-four hours. Everything happened as before:
the apprentice made a crown handsomer than the first, with the aid of
the pomegranate. The smith took it to the king, but after the feast came
home with his shoulders black and blue from the beating he received.
After a time they wanted to marry the third sister, but she said: "Who
wishes me must wait a year, a month, and a day." And she had no peace
wondering why Salvatore did not appear for all he had the apple, the
pomegranate, and the crown. After a year, a month, and a day, the
wedding was arranged, and the smith had orders to make another crown
more beautiful than the first two. (This was so that no one could say
that because the young girl was a foreigner they treated her worse than
the others.) Again the smith was in despair, and the apprentice had to
make, by the aid of his magic crown, a better and larger crown than the
others. The king was astonished when he saw the beautiful crown, and
again invited the silversmith to the feast. The smith returned home
sorrowful, for fear that he should again receive a beating, but he would
not take his apprentice with him.
After Salvatore had seen him depart, he took his magic crown and
ordered splendid clothes and carriages. When he reached the palace, he
did not go to the kitchen, but before the bride and groom could say
"yes," "Stop!" said Salvatore. He took the apple and said: "Who gave me
this?" "I did," replied the wife of the oldest brother. "And this?"
showing the pomegranate. "I, my brother-in-law," said the wife of the
second brother. Then he took out the crown. "Who gave me that?" "I, my
husband," said the young girl whom they were marrying. And at once she
married Salvatore, "for," said she, "he freed me from the magician."
The bridegroom was fooled and had to go away, and the astonished
silversmith fell on his knees, begging for pity and mercy.[13]
* * * * *
In some of the versions of the above story, the hero, after he is
abandoned by his brothers in the cistern or cave, is borne into the
upper world by an eagle. The rapacious bird on the journey demands from
the young man flesh from time to time. At last the stock of flesh with
which he had provided himself is exhausted and he is obliged to cut off
and give the eagle a piece of his own flesh. In one version (Pitre, ii.
p. 208) he gives the eagle his leg; and when the journey is concluded
the bird casts it up, and the hero attaches it again to his body, and
becomes as sound as ever.[14]
The class of stories in which the brother is killed and his death made
known by a musical instrument fashioned from his body is sufficiently
illustrated by a short Neapolitan story (Imbriani, _Pomiglianesi_, p.
195) entitled:
VIII. THE GRIFFIN.
There was once a king who had three sons. His eyes were diseased, and he
called in a physician who said that to cure them he needed a feather of
the griffin. Then the king said to his sons: "He who finds this feather
for me shall have my crown." The sons set out in search of it. The
youngest met an old man, who asked him what he was doing. He replied:
"Papa is ill. To cure him a feather of the griffin is necessary. And
papa has said that whoever finds the feather shall have his crown." The
old man said: "Well, here is some corn. When you reach a certain place,
put it in your hat. The griffin will come and eat it. Seize him, pull
out a feather, and carry it to papa." The youth did so, and for fear
that some one should steal it from him, he put it into his shoe, and
started all joyful to carry it to his father. On his way he met his
brothers, who asked him if he had found the feather. He said No; but his
brothers did not believe him, and wanted to search him. They looked
everywhere, but did not find it. Finally they looked in his shoe and got
it. Then they killed the youngest brother and buried him, and took the
feather to their father, saying that they had found it. The king healed
his eyes with it. A shepherd one day, while feeding his sheep, saw that
his dog was always digging in the same place, and went to see what it
was, and found a bone. He put it to his mouth, and saw that it sounded
and said: "Shepherd, keep me in your mouth, hold me tight, and do not
let me go! For a feather of the griffin, my brother has played the
traitor, my brother has played the traitor."
One day the shepherd, with this whistle in his mouth, was passing by the
king's palace, and the king heard him, and called him to see what it
was. The shepherd told him the story, and how he had found it. The king
put it to his mouth, and the whistle said: "Papa! papa! keep me in your
mouth, hold me tight, and do not let me go. For a feather of the
griffin, my brother has played the traitor, my brother has played the
traitor." Then the king put it in the mouth of the brother who had
killed the youngest, and the whistle said: "Brother! brother! keep me in
your mouth, hold me fast, and do not let me go. For a feather of the
griffin, you have played the traitor, you have played the traitor." Then
the king understood the story and had his two sons put to death. And
thus they killed their brother and afterwards were killed
themselves.[15]
The feminine counterpart of "Boots," or the successful youngest brother,
is Cinderella, the youngest of three sisters who despise and ill-treat
her. Her usual place is in the chimney-corner, and her name is derived
from the grime of cinders and ashes (her name in German is
_Aschenputtel_). Assisted by some kind fairy who appears in various
forms, she reveals herself in her true shape, captivates the prince, who
finally recognizes her by the slipper. There are two branches of this
story: the one just mentioned, and one where the heroine assumes a
repulsive disguise in order to escape the importunities of a father who
wishes to marry her. This second branch may be distinguished by the name
of "Allerleirauh," the well-known Grimm story of this class. For the
first branch of this story we have selected a Florentine story
(_Novellaja fior._ p. 151) called:
IX. CINDERELLA.
Once upon a time there was a man who had three daughters. He was once
ordered to go away to work, and said to them: "Since I am about making a
journey, what do you want me to bring you when I return?" One asked for
a handsome dress; the other, a fine hat and a beautiful shawl. He said
to the youngest: "And you, Cinderella, what do you want?" They called
her Cinderella because she always sat in the chimney-corner. "You must
buy me a little bird Verdelio." "The simpleton! she does not know what
to do with the bird! Instead of ordering a handsome dress, a fine shawl,
she takes a bird. Who knows what she will do with it!" "Silence!" she
says, "it pleases me." The father went, and on his return brought the
dress, hat, and shawl for the two sisters, and the little bird for
Cinderella. The father was employed at the court, and one day the king
said to him: "I am going to give three balls; if you want to bring your
daughters, do so; they will amuse themselves a little." "As you wish,"
he replies, "thanks!" and accepts. He went home and said: "What do you
think, girls? His Majesty wishes you to attend his ball." "There, you
see, Cinderella, if you had only asked for a handsome dress! This
evening we are going to the ball." She replied: "It matters nothing to
me! You go; I am not coming." In the evening, when the time came, they
adorned themselves, saying to Cinderella: "Come along, there will be
room for you, too." "I don't want to go; you go; I don't want to."
"But," said their father, "let us go, let us go! Dress and come along;
let her stay." When they had gone, she went to the bird and said: "O
Bird Verdelio, make me more beautiful than I am!" She became clothed in
a sea-green dress, with so many diamonds that it blinded you to behold
her. The bird made ready two purses of money, and said to her: "Take
these two purses, enter your carriage, and away!" She set out for the
ball, and left the bird Verdelio at home. She entered the ball-room.
Scarcely had the gentlemen seen this beautiful lady (she dazzled them on
all sides), when the king, just think of it, began to dance with her the
whole evening. After he had danced with her all the evening, his Majesty
stopped, and she stood by her sisters. While she was at her sisters'
side, she drew out her handkerchief, and a bracelet fell out. "Oh,
Signora," said the eldest sister, "you have dropped this." "Keep it for
yourself," she said. "Oh, if Cinderella were only here, who knows what
might not have happened to her?" The king had given orders that when
this lady went away they should find out where she lived. After she had
remained a little, she left the ball. You can imagine whether the
servants were on the lookout! She entered her carriage and away! She
perceives that she is followed, takes the money and begins to throw it
out of the window of the carriage. The greedy servants, I tell you,
seeing all that money, thought no more of her, but stopped to pick up
the money. She returned home and went up-stairs. "O Bird Verdelio, make
me homelier than I am!" You ought to see how ugly, how horrid, she
became, all ashes. When the sisters returned, they cried:
"Cin-der-ella!" "Oh, leave her alone," said her father; "she is asleep
now, leave her alone!" But they went up and showed her the large and
beautiful bracelet. "Do you see, you simpleton? You might have had it."
"It matters nothing to me." Their father said: "Let us go to supper, you
little geese."
Let us return to the king, who was awaiting his servants, who had not
the courage to appear, but kept away. He calls them. "How did the matter
go?" They fall at his feet. "Thus and thus! She threw out so much
money!" "Wretches, you are nothing else," he said, "were you afraid of
not being rewarded? Well! to-morrow evening, attention, under pain of
death." The next evening the usual ball. The sisters say: "Will you come
this evening, Cinderella?" "Oh," she says, "don't bother me! I don't
want to go." Their father cries out to them: "How troublesome you are!
Let her alone!" So they began to adorn themselves more handsomely than
the former evening, and departed. "Good-by, Cinderella!" When they had
gone, Cinderella went to the bird and said: "Little Bird Verdelio, make
me more beautiful than I am!" Then she became clothed in sea-green,
embroidered with all the fish of the sea, mingled with diamonds more
than you could believe. The bird said: "Take these two bags of sand, and
when you are followed, throw it out, and so they will be blinded." She
entered her carriage and set out for the ball. As soon as his Majesty
saw her he began to dance with her and danced as long as he could. After
he had danced as long as he could (she did not grow weary, but he did),
she placed herself near her sisters, drew out her handkerchief, and
there fell out a beautiful necklace all made of coal. The second sister
said: "Signora, you have dropped this." She replied: "Keep it for
yourself." "If Cinderella were here, who knows what might not happen to
her! To-morrow she must come!" After a while she leaves the ball. The
servants (just think, under pain of death!) were all on the alert, and
followed her. She began to throw out all the sand, and they were
blinded. She went home, dismounted, and went up-stairs. "Little Bird
Verdelio, make me homelier than I am!" She became frightfully homely.
When her sisters returned they began from below: "Cin-der-ella! if you
only knew what that lady gave us!" "It matters nothing to me!" "But
to-morrow evening you must go!" "Yes, yes! you would have had it!" Their
father says: "Let us go to supper and let her alone; you are really
silly!"
Let us return to his Majesty, who was waiting for his servants to learn
where she lived. Instead of that they were all brought back blinded, and
had to be accompanied. "Rogue!" he exclaimed, "either this lady is some
fairy or she must have some fairy who protects her."
The next day the sisters began: "Cinderella, you must go this evening!
Listen; it is the last evening; you must come." The father: "Oh let her
alone! you are always teasing her!" Then they went away and began to
prepare for the ball. When they were all prepared, they went to the ball
with their father. When they had departed, Cinderella went to the bird:
"Little Bird Verdelio, make me more beautiful than I am!" Then she was
dressed in all the colors of the heavens; all the comets, the stars, and
moon on her dress, and the sun on her brow. She enters the ball-room.
Who could look at her! for the sun alone they lower their eyes, and are
all blinded. His Majesty began to dance, but he could not look at her,
because she dazzled him. He had already given orders to his servants to
be on the lookout, under pain of death; not to go on foot, but to mount
their horses that evening. After she had danced longer than on the
previous evenings she placed herself by her father's side, drew out her
handkerchief, and there fell out a snuff-box of gold, full of money.
"Signora, you have dropped this snuff-box." "Keep it for yourself!"
Imagine that man: he opens it and sees it full of money. What joy! After
she had remained a time she went home as usual. The servants followed
her on horseback, quickly; at a distance from the carriage; but on
horseback that was not much trouble. She perceived that she had not
prepared anything to throw that evening. "Oh!" she cried, "what shall I
do?" She left the carriage quickly, and in her haste lost one of her
slippers. The servants picked it up, took the number of the house, and
went away. Cinderella went up-stairs and said: "Little Bird Verdelio,
make me more homely than I am!" The bird does not answer. After she had
repeated it three or four times, it answered: "Rogue! I ought not to
make you more homely, but..." and she became homely and the bird
continued: "What are you going to do now? You are discovered." She began
to weep in earnest. When her sisters returned, they cried:
"Cin-der-ella!" You can imagine that she did not answer them this
evening. "See what a beautiful snuff-box. If you had gone you might have
had it." "I do not care! Go away!" Then their father called them to
supper.
Let us now turn to the servants who went back with the slipper and the
number of the house. "To-morrow," said his Majesty, "as soon as it is
day, go to that house, take a carriage, and bring that lady to the
palace." The servants took the slipper and went away. The next morning
they knocked at the door. Cinderella's father looked out and exclaimed:
"Oh, Heavens! it is his Majesty's carriage; what does it mean?" They
open the door and the servants ascend. "What do you want of me?" asked
the father. "How many daughters have you?" "Two." "Well, show them to
us." The father made them come in there. "Sit down," they said to one of
them. They tried the slipper on her; it was ten times too large for her.
The other one sat down; it was too small for her. "But tell me, good
man, have you no other daughters? Take care to tell the truth! because
his Majesty wishes it, under pain of death!" "Gentlemen, there is
another one, but I do not mention it. She is all in the ashes, the
coals; if you should see her! I do not call her my daughter from shame."
"We have not come for beauty, or for finery; we want to see the girl!"
Her sisters began to call her: "Cin-der-ella!" but she did not answer.
After a time she said: "What is the matter?" "You must come down! there
are some gentlemen here who wish to see you." "I don't want to come."
"But you must come, you see!" "Very well; tell them I will come in a
moment." She went to the little bird: "Ah little Bird Verdelio, make me
more beautiful than I am!" Then she was dressed as she had been the last
evening, with the sun, and moon, and stars, and in addition, great
chains all of gold everywhere about her. The bird said: "Take me away
with you! Put me in your bosom!" She puts the bird in her bosom and
begins to descend the stairs. "Do you hear her?" said the father, "do
you hear her? She is dragging with her the chains from the
chimney-corner. You can imagine how frightful she will look!" When she
reached the last step, and they saw her, "Ah!" they exclaimed, and
recognized the lady of the ball. You can imagine how her father and
sisters were vexed. They made her sit down, and tried on the slipper,
and it fitted her. Then they made her enter the carriage, and took her
to his Majesty, who recognized the lady of the other evenings. And you
can imagine that, all in love as he was, he said to her: "Will you
really be my wife?" You may believe she consents. She sends for her
father and sisters, and makes them all come to the palace. They
celebrate the marriage. Imagine what fine festivals were given at this
wedding! The servants who had discovered where Cinderella lived were
promoted to the highest positions in the palace as a reward.[16]
* * * * *
In the second class of stories alluded to above, the heroine flees in
disguise from her home to avoid a marriage with her father or brother.
The remainder of the story resembles Cinderella: the heroine reveals
herself from time to time in her true form, and finally throws off her
disguise. The following story, which illustrates this class, is from the
province of Vicenza (Corazzini, p. 484), and is entitled:
X. FAIR MARIA WOOD.
There was once a husband and wife who had but one child, a daughter. Now
it happened that the wife fell ill and was at the point of death. Before
dying she called her husband, and said to him, weeping: "I am dying; you
are still young; if you ever wish to marry again, be mindful to choose a
wife whom my wedding ring fits; and if you cannot find a lady whom it
fits well, do not marry." Her husband promised that he would do so. When
she was dead he took off her wedding ring and kept it until he desired
to marry again. Then he sought for some one to please him. He went from
one to another, but the ring fitted no one. He tried so many but in
vain. One day he thought of calling his daughter, and trying the ring on
her to see whether it fitted her. The daughter said: "It is useless,
dear father; you cannot marry me, because you are my father." He did not
heed her, put the ring on her finger, and saw that it fitted her well,
and wanted to marry his daughter _nolens volens_. She did not oppose
him, but consented. The day of the wedding, he asked her what she
wanted. She said that she wished four silk dresses, the most beautiful
that could be seen. He, who was a gentleman, gratified her wish and took
her the four dresses, one handsomer than the other, and all the
handsomest that had ever been seen. "Now, what else do you want?" said
he. "I want another dress, made of wood, so that I can conceal myself in
it." And at once he had this wooden dress made. She was well pleased.
She waited one day until her husband was out of sight, put on the wooden
dress, and under it the four silk dresses, and went away to a certain
river not far off, and threw herself in it. Instead of sinking and
drowning, she floated, for the wooden dress kept her up.
The water carried her a long way, when she saw on the bank a gentleman,
and began to cry: "Who wants the fair Maria Wood?" That gentleman who
saw her on the water, and whom she addressed, called her and she came to
the bank and saluted him. "How is it that you are thus dressed in wood,
and come floating on the water without drowning?" She told him that she
was a poor girl who had only that dress of wood, and that she wanted to
go out to service. "What can you do?" "I can do all that is needed in a
house, and if you would only take me for a servant you would be
satisfied."
He took her to his house, where his mother was, and told her all that
had happened, saying: "If you, dear mother, will take her as a servant,
we can try her." In short, she took her and was pleased with this woman
dressed in wood.