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Title: Italian Popular Tales

Author: Thomas Frederick Crane

Release date: November 26, 2007 [eBook #23634]

Language: English

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POPULAR TALES ***

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Transcriber's Note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected.

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 PITRÈ.

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.
[A] Other condensations are indicated by brackets.

The notes are intended to supplement those of Pitrè and Köhler by citing the
stories published since the Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti, and the Sicilianische
Märchen, 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 Märchen-
und Sagformeln (Griechische und Albanesische Märchen, 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 Pitrè, 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 319
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 Kûr, and Thousand and One Nights.[3]
There remain, then, twenty-nine stories, the property of Straparola, of
which twenty-two are märchen, 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 Botté," 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.
Lhéritier 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 für romanische und
englische Literatur, Vol. VII. (1866), pp. 1-36, 121-154, 249-290, with
comparative notes by R. Köhler. 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 Pitrè's collection, being over four
hundred. Pitrè 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 Pitrè'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 Pitrè, 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 Pitrè. It
is not, however, numerically that Pitrè'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 Köhler'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, Köhler, 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 fràuli 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 nuàtri semu senza nenti."
(They remained happy and contented, and we are without anything.) The
last line often is "E nui semu ccà munnamu li denti" (And here we are
picking our teeth), or "Ma a nui 'un ni dèsinu 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 è ditta."

(Story written, story told; tell yours, for mine is told.) So in Venice,—

"Longa la tua, curta la mia;
Conta la tua, chè la mia xè finìa."

(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 è la foglia è larga è la via,
Dite la vostra chè 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'è 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. Pitrè e S. Salomone-Marino. Palermo, 1882-1885. 8vo.
The following popular tales have been published in the
Archivio: Novelle popolari toscane, edited by G. Pitrè, 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 [= Pitrè, 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. 8o. Pp. 15.
Per le Nozze Biagi-Piroli. Edizione di 100 copie numerate.
The novellina is a version of Pitrè, 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. 12o.
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 mìi Fol divers tradutt dal parlar
Napulitan in lengua Bulgnesa per rimedi innucent dla sonn, e dla malincunj.
Dedicà al merit singular dl gentilessem sgnori d' Bulogna. Bologna, 1813.
4o.
Der Pentamerone oder: Das Märchen aller Märchen von Giambattista
Basile. Aus dem Neapolitanischen übertragen von Felix Liebrecht. Nebst
einer Vorrede von Jacob Grimm. 2 vols. Breslau, 1846. 8o.
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. 8o.
Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen.
Herausgegeben von Ludwig Herrig. Vol. XLV. p. 1. Eine neapolitanische
Märchen-sammlung aus der ersten Hälfte 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. 8o.
Leggende fantastiche popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe
Bernoni. Venice, 1873. 8o.

Le Strighe: Leggende popolari veneziane raccolte da Dom. Giuseppe
Bernoni. Venice, 1874. 16o.
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. 8o.
Pp. 50. [Estratto dal VII. Annuario della Società 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. 8o.
The Folk-Lore of Rome. Collected by word of mouth from the people. By
R. H. Busk. London, 1874. 8o.
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. 8o.
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. 8o.

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. 8o.
La Fola dêl Muretein, Novellina popolare Bolognese. Estratto dalla Rivista
Europea. Florence, 1873. 8o. 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 Pitrè'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. 8o. 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. 8o.

See Rivista di Letteratura Popolare.
Zoölogical Mythology, or the Legends of Animals. By Angelo De
Gubernatis. 2 vols. London, 1872. 8o.
De Nino, Antonio.

Usi e Costumi Abruzzesi. Vol. III. Fiabe. Florence, 1883. 16o.
Finamore, Gennaro.
Tradizioni popolari abruzzesi. Vol. I. Novelle. Prima Parte, Lanciano, 1882.
8o. Parte seconda, Lanciano, 1885.
Frizzi, Giuseppe.

Novella montanina, Florence, 1876. 8o. Pp. 36. Edizione di 150 esemplari.
Gargiolli, Carlo.

Novelline e Canti popolari delle Marche. Fano, 1878. 8o. 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. 12o. 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 Märchen. Aus dem Volksmund gesammelt von Laura
Gonzenbach. Mit Anmerkungen Reinhold Köhler's und einer Einleitung
herausgegeben von Otto Hartwig. 2 vols. Leipzig, 1870. 8o.

Gradi, Temistocle.
Saggio di Letture varie per i Giovani di Temistocle Gradi da Siena. Turin,
1865. 8o.
La Vigilia di Pasqua di Ceppo. Otto Novelle di Temistocle Gradi. Coll'
aggiunta di due racconti. Turin, 1860. 8o.
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 cioè fiabe e novelline stenografate in Firenze dal
dettato popolare e corredate di qualche noterella da Vittorio Imbriani.
Naples, 1871. Esemplari 150. 16o.
La Novellaja milanese, esempii e panzane lombarde raccolte nel Milanese
da Vittorio Imbriani. Bologna, 1872. Esemplari 40. 8o.
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.
8o. Pp. 14. 250 esemplari fuori di commercio.
Due Fiabe Toscane annotate da V. I. Esemplari 100. Naples, 1876. 8o. 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.
8o.
'E Sette Mane-Mozze. In dialetto di Avellino. Principato Ulteriore.
Pomigliano d'Arco, 1877. 8o. Per le nozze Pitrè-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 è accolta integralmente
La Novellaja Milanese dello stesso raccoglitore. Leghorn, 1877. 8o.
Ive, Antonio.
Fiabe popolari rovignesi. Per le Nozze Ive-Lorenzetto, XXVIII. Novembre,
1877. Vienna, 1877. 8o. 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. 8o. Pp. 26. Edizione fuori di commercio di soli
100 esemplari.
See Academy, March 22, 1879, p. 262
Kaden, Woldemar.
Unter den Olivenbäumen. Süditalienische Volksmärchen. Nacherzählt,
Leipzig, 1880. 8o.
Of the forty-four stories in this work thirty-four are translated
from Pitrè'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.
Köhler in the Literarisches Centralblatt, 1881, vol. XXXII. p.
337, and afterwards by Pitrè in the Nuove Effemeridi siciliane,
1881.
Knust, Hermann.
Italienische Märchen. (Leghorn.) In Jahrbuch für romanische und englische
Literatur. Leipzig, 1866. Vol. VII. Pp. 381-401.
Koehler, Reinhold.

Italienische Volksmärchen. (Sora). In Jahrbuch für romanische und
englische Literatur. Leipzig, 1867. Vol. VIII. Pp. 241-260.
Marc-Monnier.
Les Contes de Nourrice de la Sicile, d'après des recueils nouveaux publiés
récemment in Italie. Revue des Deux Mondes, 15 Aug., 1875.
Devoted to Pitrè'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. 16o.
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. 4o. Leggende, pp.
73-77.
Nerucci, Prof. Gherardo.
Sessanta novelle popolari montalesi (Circondario di Pistoja). Florence,
1880. 12o.
Cincelle da Bambini in nella stietta parlatura rustica d' i' Montale Pistolese.
Pistoia, 1881. 8o.
Ortoli, J. B. Frédéric.

Les Contes populaires de l'Ile de la Corse. Paris, 1883. 8o.
Vol. XVI. of Littératures populaires de toutes les Nations, Paris,
Maisonneuve.

Panzanega d' on re.

In dialetto di Crenna [Provincia di Milano]. Rome, 1876. 8o. Pp. 15. 200
esemplari fuori di commercio.
Papanti, Giovanni.
Novelline popolari livornesi raccolte e annotate da Giovanni Papanti.
Leghorn, 1877. 8o. Pp. 29.
Per le nozze Pitrè-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. 8o. Pp. 143.
Pitrè, Giuseppe.
Saggio (Primo) di Fiabe e Novelle popolari Siciliane raccolte da Giuseppe
Pitrè. Palermo, 1873. 8o. Pp. 16.
Nuovo Saggio (Secundo) di Fiabe e Novelle popolari Siciliane raccolte ed
illustrate da Giuseppe Pitrè. Estratto dalla Rivista di Filologia Romanza,
vol. I., fasc. II. e III. Imola, 1873. 8o. Pp. 34.
Otto Fiabe (Terzo Saggio) e Novelle Siciliane raccolte dalla bocca del
Popolo ed annotate da Giuseppe Pitrè. Bologna, 1873. Estratto dal
Propugnatore, Vol. VI. 8o. Pp. 42.
Novelline popolari siciliane raccolte in Palermo ed annotate da Giuseppe
Pitrè. Palermo, 1873. 8o.
Edizione di soli 100 esemplari.

Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti. 4 vols. Palermo, 1875. 8o.[A]
Biblioteca delle tradizioni popolari siciliane per cura di
Giuseppe Pitrè. Vols. IV.-VII.

[A] When Pitrè 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
Pitrè. Palermo, 1875. 8o.
Per le Nozze Montuoro-Di Giovanni.
Cinque novelline popolari siciliane ora per la prima volta pubblicate da G.
Pitrè. Palermo, 1878. 8o.
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. Pitrè. Il
Medico grillo. Vocaboli. La Gamba. Serpentino. Palermo, 1878. 8o. Pp. 16.
Per le Nozze Imbriani-Rosnati. Tirato a soli 25 esemplari.

Una variante toscana della novella del Petit Poucet. 8o. 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
Pitrè. Quattrasteriscopoli, 1882. 8o. Pp. 14.
Per le Nozze Papanti-Giraudini. Esemplari novanta.
Il Zoccolo di Legno, Novella popolare fiorentina. In Giornale Napoletano
della Domenica, 2 July, 1882. [= Pitrè, Fiabe, No. XIII.]
I tre pareri. Novella popolare toscana di Pratovecchio nel Cosentino. In
Giornale Napoletano della Domenica, 20 August, 1882. [= Pitrè, Fiabe, No.
CXCVII.]

Novelle popolari toscane. Florence, 1885. 16o.
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. 8o. Pp.
8. Extract from I Nuovi Goliardi.
La Leggenda del Tesoro di Rampsinite nelle varie redazioni Italiane e
Straniere. Como, 1882. 8o. Pp. xii., 51. Edizione di soli 100 esemplari
numerati.

Una Novellina popolare monferrina. Como, 1882. 8o. 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.
8o. 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. Pitrè, 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. Pitrè, Una variante toscana della novella del Petit Poucet; p. 213, R.
Köhler Das Räthselmärchen von dem ermordeten Geliebten; p. 266, G.
Pitrè, 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. 8o. 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. 12o. Naples, 1789.
Scalageri della Fratta, Camillo.
Sette novellette, non più ristampate da oltre due secoli, ripubblicate da V.
Imbriani. Pomigliano d'Arco, 1875. 8o. Pp. 15. Soli 150 esemplari.
Schneller, Christian.
Märchen und Sagen aus Wälschtirol. Ein Beitrag zur deutschen
Sagenkunde. Gesammelt von Christian Schneller. Innsbruck, 1867. 8o.
Somma, Michele.
Cento Racconti per divertire gli amici nelle ore oziose e nuovi brindisi per
spasso nelle tavole e nelle conversazioni. Messina, 1883. 16o.
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.
8o.
Le Tredici Piacevolissime Notte di M. Gio: Francesco Straparola da
Caravaggio. Divise in due libri... con licenza de' superiori. Venice, 1604.
Appresso Zanetto Zanetti. 8o. Con figure.

Les Facetieuses Nuits de Straparole. Traduites par Jean Louveau et Pierre
de Larivey. 2 vols. Paris, 1857. 8o.
Bibliothèque elzeverienne.
Die Märchen des Straparola. Aus dem Italienischen, mit Anmerkungen von
Dr. F. W. V. Schmidt. Berlin, 1817. 8o. In Märchen-Saal. Sammlung alter
Märchen mit Anmerkungen; herausgegeben von Dr. F. W. V. Schmidt.
Erster Band.
Giovan Francesco Straparola da Caravaggio. Inaugural-Dissertation zur
Erlangung der philosophischen Doctorwürde in Göttingen von F. W. J.
Brakelmann. Göttingen, 1867. 8o.
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. 16o.
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.
Volksmärchen aus Venetian. Gesammelt und herausgegeben von Georg
Widter und Adam Wolf. Mit Nachweisen und Vergleichungen verwandter
Märchen von Reinhold Köhler. In Jahrbuch für 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
* The King of Love. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 18, Lu Re
I. 1
d'Amuri)
Zelinda and the Monster. (Tuscan, Nerucci, No. 1,
II. 7
Zelinda e il Mostro)
* King Bean. (Venetian, Bernoni, Fiabe, No. 17, El Re
III. 12
de Fava)
* The Dancing Water, the Singing Apple and the
IV. Speaking Bird. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 36, Li Figghi di lu 17
Cavuliciddaru)
The Fair Angiola. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 53, Von
V. 26
der schönen Angiola)
The Cloud. (Tuscan, Comparetti, No. 32, La
VI. 30
Nuvolaccia)
VII. * The Cistern. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 80, La Jisterna) 36
* The Griffin. (Neapolitan, Imbriani, Pomiglianesi, p.
VIII. 40
195, L'Auciello Crifone)
Cinderella. (Tuscan, Novellaja fiorentina, p. 151, La
IX. 42
Cenerentola)
* Fair Maria Wood. (Vincenza, Corazzini, p. 484, La
X. 48
Bela Maria del Legno)
* The Curse of the Seven Children. (Bolognese,
XI. 54
Coronedi-Berti, No. 19, La Malediziôn di Sèt Fiù)
Oraggio and Bianchinetta. (Tuscan, Novellaja
XII. 58
fiorentina, p. 314, Oraggio e Bianchinetta)
The Fair Fiorita. (Basilicata, Comparetti, No. 20, La
XIII. 61
Bella Fiorita)
XIV. * Bierde. (Istrian, Ive, 1877, p. 13, Bierde) 68

* Snow-white-fire-red. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 13, Bianca-
XV. 72
comu-nivi-russa-comu-focu)
How the Devil married Three Sisters. (Venetian,
XVI. Widter-Wolf, No. 11, Der Teufel heirathet drei 78
Schwestern)
In Love with a Statue. (Piedmontese, Comparetti, No.
XVII. 85
29, L'Innamorato d'una Statua)
XVIII. * Thirteenth. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 33, Tridicinu) 90
* The Cobbler. (Milanese, Novellaja fiorentina, p. 575,
XIX. 94
El Sciavattin)
Sir Fiorante, Magician. (Tuscan, De Gubernatis, Sto.
XX. 322
Stefano, No. 14, Sor Fiorante mago)
The Crystal Casket. (Tuscan, La Scatola di Cristallo
XXI. 326
raccolta da G. Pitrè)
* The Stepmother. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 283, La
XXII. 331
Parrastra)
* Water and Salt. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 10, L'Acqua e lu
XXIII. 333
Sali)
* The Love of the Three Oranges. (Istrian, Ive, 1878, p.
XXIV. 338
3, L'Amur dei tri Narançi)
The King who wanted a Beautiful Wife. (Sicilian,
XXV. Gonzenbach, No. 73, Von dem Könige, der eine schöne 97
Frau wollte)
* The Bucket. (Milanese, Novellaja fiorentina, p. 190,
XXVI. 100
El Sidellin)
The Two Humpbacks. (Tuscan, Novellaja fiorentina, p.
XXVII. 103
559, I due Gobbi)
The Story of Catherine and her Fate. (Sicilian,
XXVIII. Gonzenbach, No. 21, Die Geschichte von Caterina und 105
ihrem Schicksal)
* The Crumb in the Beard. (Bolognese, Coronedi-Berti,
XXIX. 110
No. 15, La Fola d' Brisla in Barba)
* The Fairy Orlanda. (Neapolitan, Novellaja fiorentina,
XXX. 114
p. 333, 'A Fata Orlanna)
XXXI. The Shepherd who made the King's Daughter laugh. 119
(Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 31, Von dem Schäfer der die

Königstochter zum Lachen brachte)
The Ass that lays Money. (Tuscan, Nerucci, No. 43, Il
XXXII. 123
Ciuchino caca-zecchini)
* Don Joseph Pear. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 88, Don
XXXIII. 127
Giuseppi Piru)
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
* The Peasant and the Master. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 194,
XXXVII. 150
Lu Burgisi e lu Patruni)
The Ingrates. (Piedmontese, Comparetti, No. 67, Gli
XXXVIII. 150
Ingrati)
XXXIX. * The Treasure. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 138, La Truvatura) 156
* The Shepherd. (Milanese, Novellaja fiorentina, p.
XL. 156
572, El Pegorée)
* The Three Admonitions. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 197, Li
XLI. 157
tri Rigordi)
* Vineyard I was and Vineyard I am. (Venetian,
XLII. Bernoni, Trad. pop. venez., Punt. I. p. 11, Vigna era e 159
Vigna son)
The Language of Animals. (Piedmontese, Comparetti,
XLIII. 161
No. 56, Il Linguaggio degli Animali)
* The Mason and his Son. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 160, Lu
XLIV. 163
Muraturi e sò Figghiu)
The Parrot. First Version. (Tuscan, Comparetti, No. 1, Il
XLV. 168
Pappagallo)
The Parrot. Second Version. (Tuscan, Teza, La
XLVI. Tradizione dei Sette Savi, etc., p. 52, La Novellina del 169
Papagallo)
* The Parrot which tells Three Stories. Third Version.
XLVII. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 2, Lu Pappagaddu chi cunta tri 173
cunti)
First Story of the Parrot 175
Second Story of the Parrot 178
Third Story of the Parrot 180

* Truthful Joseph. (Neapolitan, Pomiglianesi, p. 1,
XLVIII. 184
Giuseppe 'A Veretà)
The Man, the Serpent, and the Fox. (Otranto, Morosi, p.
XLIX. 354
75)
* The Lord, St. Peter, and the Apostles. (Sicilian, Pitrè,
L. 186
No. 123, Lu Signuri, S. Petru e li Apostuli)
The Lord, St. Peter, and the Blacksmith. (Venetian,
LI. Widter-Wolf, No. 5, Der Herrgott, St. Peter und der 188
Schmied)
* In this World one weeps and another laughs. (Sicilian,
LII. Pitrè, Cinque nov. pop. sicil., p. 7, A stu munnu cu' 190
chianci e cu' ridi)
* The Ass. (Sicilian, Pitrè, Cinque nov. pop. sicil., p. 8,
LIII. 190
Lu Sceccu)
St. Peter and his Sisters. (Tyrolese, Schneller, p. 6, St.
LIV. 193
Petrus und seine Schwestern)
LV. * Pilate. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 119, Pilatu) 194
* The Story of Judas. (Sicilian, Pitrè, vol. I. p. cxxxviii.,
LVI. 195
Lu Cuntu di Giuda)
* Desperate Malchus. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 120, Marcu
LVII. 196
dispiratu)
* Malchus at the Column. (Venetian, Bernoni,
LVIII. 197
Preghiere pop. veneziane, p. 18, Malco a la Colona)
* The Story of Buttadeu. (Sicilian, Pitrè, vol. I. p.
LIX. 197
cxxxiii., La Storia di Buttadeu)
The Story of Crivòliu. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 85,
LX. 198
Vom Crivòliu)
The Story of St. James of Galicia. (Sicilian,
LXI. Gonzenbach, No. 90, Die Geschichte von San Japicu 202
alla Lizia)
* The Baker's Apprentice. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 111, Lu
LXII. 212
Giuvini di lu Furnaru)
LXIII. * Occasion. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 124, Accaciùni) 215
* Brother Giovannone. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 125, Fra
LXIV. 217
Giugannuni)

Godfather Misery. (Tuscan, De Gubernatis, Sto.
LXV. 221
Stefano, No. 32, Compar Miseria)
Beppo Pipetta. (Venetian, Widter-Wolf, No. 7, Beppo
LXVI. 222
Pipetta)
* The Just Man. (Venetian, Bernoni, Trad. pop. venez.,
LXVII. 226
Punt. I. p. 6, El Giusto)
* Of a Godfather and a Godmother of St. John who
made love. (Venetian, Bernoni, Leggende, p. 3, De una
LXVIII. 228
comare e un compare de San Zuane che i conversava in
fra de lori)
* The Groomsman. (Venetian, Bernoni, Leggende, p. 7,
LXIX. De un compare de l' anelo ch' el gà strucà la man a la 231
sposa co cativa intenzion)
* The Parish Priest of San Marcuola. (Venetian,
Bernoni, Leggende, p. 17, De un piovan de San
LXX. 234
Marcuola, che gà dito che i morti in dove che i xè i
resta)
* The Gentleman who kicked a Skull. (Venetian,
LXXI. Bernoni, Leggende, p. 19, De un signor che gà dà 'na 236
peada a un cragno da morto)
* The Gossips of St. John. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 110, Li
LXXII. 369
Cumpari di S. Giuvanni)
LXXIII. * Saddaedda. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 128, Saddaedda) 238
* Mr. Attentive. (Venetian, Bernoni, Punt. II. p. 53, Sior
LXXIV. 240
Intento)
* The Story of the Barber. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 141, Lu
LXXV. 241
Cuntu di lu Varveri)
* Don Firriulieddu. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 130, Don
LXXVI. 241
Firriulieddu)
Little Chick-Pea. (Tuscan, Rivista di Lett. pop. I. p. 161,
LXXVII. 242
Cecino)
LXXVIII. * Pitidda. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 131, Pitidda) 248
* The Sexton's Nose. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 135, Lu Nasu
LXXIX. 250
di lu Sagristanu)
* The Cock and the Mouse. (Principato Ulteriore,
LXXX. 252
Imbriani, Pomiglianesi, p. 239, 'O Gallo e 'o Sorece)

* Godmother Fox. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 132, Cummari
LXXXI. 254
Vurpidda)
* The Cat and the Mouse. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 134, La
LXXXII. 257
Gatta e lu Surci)
* A Feast Day. (Venetian, Bernoni, Fiabe, No. 4, 'Na
LXXXIII. 261
Giornada de Sagra)
* The Three Brothers. (Venetian, Bernoni, Trad. pop.
LXXXIV. 263
venez., Punt. I. p. 18, I tre Fradei)
Buchettino. (Tuscan, Papanti, Novelline pop. livornesi,
LXXXV. 265
p. 25, Buchettino)
* The Three Goslings. (Venetian, Bernoni, Trad. pop.
LXXXVI. 267
venez., Punt. III. p. 65, Le Tre Ochete)
* The Cock. (Venetian, Bernoni, Trad. pop. venez.,
LXXXVII. 270
Punt. III. p. 69, El Galo)
The Cock that wished to become Pope. (Sicilian,
LXXXVIII. Gonzenbach, No. 66, Von dem Hahne, der Pabst 272
werden wollte)
LXXXIX. The Goat and the Fox. (Otranto, Morosi, p. 73) 375
XC. The Ant and the Mouse. (Otranto, Morosi, p. 73) 376
* The Cook. (Milan, Novellaja fiorentina, p. 621, El
XCI. 275
Coeugh)
* The Thoughtless Abbot. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 97, L'
XCII. 276
Abbati senza Pinseri)
* Bastianelo. (Venetian, Bernoni, Fiabe, No. 6,
XCIII. 279
Bastianelo)
* Christmas. (Neapolitan, Imbriani, Pomiglianesi, p.
XCIV. 283
226, Natale)
* The Wager. (Venetian, Bernoni, Fiabe, No. 13, La
XCV. 284
Scomessa)
* Scissors They Were. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 257, Fòrfici
XCVI. 285
fôro)
* The Doctor's Apprentice. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 180, L'
XCVII. 287
Apprinnista di lu Medicu)
* Firrazzanu's Wife and the Queen. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No.
XCVIII. 288
156, La Mugghieri di Firrazzanu e la Riggina)

* Giufà and the Plaster Statue. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 190,
XCIX. 291
I, Giufà e la statua di ghissu)
* Giufà and the Judge. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 190, 3, Giufà
C. 293
e lu Judici)
The Little Omelet. (Tuscan, Novellaja fiorentina, p.
CI. 294
545, La Frittatina)
* Eat, my Clothes! (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 190, 9,
CII. 296
Manciati, rubbiceddi mei!)
CIII. Giufà's Exploits. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 37, Giufà) 297
CIV. * The Fool. (Venetian, Bernoni, Fiabe, No. 11, El Mato) 302
* Uncle Capriano. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 157, Lu Zu
CV. 303
Crapianu)
* Peter Fullone and the Egg. (Sicilian, Pitrè, No. 200,
CVI. 381
Petru Fudduni e l' ovu)
The Clever Peasant. (Sicilian, Gonzenbach, No. 50,
CVII. 309
Vom Klugen Bauer)
The Clever Girl. (Tuscan, Comparetti, No. 43, La
CVIII. 311
Ragazza astuta)
CIX. Crab. (Mantuan, Visentini, No. 41, Gàmbara) 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 (Pitrè, 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 Pitrè (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 (Pitrè, 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 Pitrè'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 Pitrè (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 (Pitrè, 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 (Pitrè, 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 Verdeliò." "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 Verdeliò, 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 Verdeliò 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 Verdeliò, 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 Verdeliò, 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 Verdeliò, 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
Verdeliò, 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 Verdeliò, 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 Verdeliò, 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.
It happened that there were balls at that place which the best ladies and
gentlemen attended. The gentleman who had the servant dressed in wood
prepared to go to the ball, and after he had departed, the servant said to his
mother: "Do me this kindness, mistress: let me go to the ball too, for I have
never seen any dancing." "What, you wish to go to the ball so badly dressed
that they would drive you away as soon as they saw you!" The servant was
silent, and when the mistress was in bed, dressed herself in one of her silk
dresses and became the most beautiful woman that was ever seen. She went
to the ball, and it seemed as if the sun had entered the room; all were
dazzled. She sat down near her master, who asked her to dance, and would
dance with no one but her. She pleased him so much that he fell in love with
her. He asked her who she was and where she came from. She replied that
she came from a distance, but told him nothing more.
At a certain hour, without any one perceiving it, she went out and
disappeared. She returned home and put on her wooden dress again. In the
morning the master returned from the ball, and said to his mother: "Oh! if
you had only seen what a beautiful lady there was at the ball! She appeared

like the sun, she was so beautiful and well dressed. She sat down near me,
and would not dance with any one but me." His mother then said: "Did you
not ask her who she was and where she came from?" "She would only tell
me that she came from a distance; but I thought I should die; I wish to go
again this evening." The servant heard all this dialogue, but kept silent,
pretending that the matter did not concern her.
In the evening he prepared himself again for the ball, and the servant said to
him: "Master, yesterday evening I asked your mamma to let me, too, go to
the ball, for I have never seen dancing, but she would not; will you have the
kindness to let me go this evening?" "Be still, you ugly creature, the ball is
no place for you!" "Do me this favor," she said, weeping, "I will stand out
of doors, or under a bench, or in a corner so no one shall see me; but let me
go!" He grew angry then, and took a stick and began to beat the poor
servant. She wept and remained silent.
After he had gone, she waited until his mother was in bed, and put on a
dress finer than the first, and so rich as to astonish, and away to the ball!
When she arrived all began to gaze at her, for they had never seen anything
more beautiful. All the handsomest young men surround her and ask her to
dance; but she would have nothing to do with any one but her master. He
again asked her who she was, and she said she would tell him later. They
danced and danced, and all at once she disappeared. Her master ran here
and there, asked one and another, but no one could tell him where she had
gone. He returned home and told his mother all that had passed. She said to
him: "Do you know what you must do? Take this diamond ring, and when
she dances with you give it to her; and if she takes it, it is a sign that she
loves you." She gave him the ring. The servant listened, saw everything,
and was silent.
In the evening the master prepared for the ball and the servant again asked
him to take her, and again he beat her. He went to the ball, and after
midnight, as before, the beautiful lady returned more beautiful than before,
and as usual would dance only with her master. At the right moment he took
out the diamond ring, and asked her if she would accept it. She took it and
thanked him, and he was happy and satisfied. Afterward he asked her again
who she was and where from. She said that she was of that country

That when they speak of going to a ball,
They are beaten on the head;

and said no more. At the usual hour she stopped dancing and departed. He
ran after her, but she went like the wind, and reached home without his
finding out where she went. But he ran so in all directions, and was in such
suffering, that when he reached home he was obliged to go to bed more
dead than alive. Then he fell ill and grew worse every day, so that all said
he would die. He did nothing but ask his mother and every one if they knew
anything of that lady, and that he would die if he did not see her. The
servant heard everything; and one day, when he was very ill, what did she
think of? She waited until her mistress' eye was turned, and dropped the
diamond ring in the broth her master was to eat. No one saw her, and his
mother took him the broth. He began to eat it, when he felt something hard,
saw something shine, and took it out.... You can imagine how he looked at it
and recognized the diamond ring! They thought he would go mad. He asked
his mother if that was the ring and she swore that it was, and all happy, she
said that now he would see her again.
Meanwhile the servant went to her room, took off her wooden dress, and
put on one all of silk, so that she appeared a beauty, and went to the room of
the sick man. His mother saw her and began to cry: "Here she is; here she
is!" She went in and saluted him, smiling, and he was so beside himself that
he became well at once. He asked her to tell him her story,—who she was,
where she came from, how she came, and how she knew that he was ill. She
replied: "I am the woman dressed in wood who was your servant. It is not
true that I was a poor girl, but I had that dress to conceal myself in, for
underneath it I was the same that I am now. I am a lady; and although you
treated me so badly when I asked to go to the ball, I saw that you loved me,
and now I have come to save you from death." You can believe that they
stayed to hear her story. They were married and have always been happy
and still are.[17]

In the various stories thus far mentioned which involve the family relations,
we have had examples of treachery on the part of brothers, ill-treatment of
step-children, etc. It remains now to notice the trait of treachery on the part
of sister or mother towards brother or son. The formula as given by Hahn
(No. 19) is as follows: The hero, who is fleeing with his sister (or mother),
overcomes a number of dragons or giants. The only survivor makes love to
the sister (or mother), and causes her, for fear of discovery, to send her
brother, in order to destroy him, on dangerous adventures, under the
pretence of obtaining a cure for her illness. The hero survives the dangers,
discovers the deception, and punishes the guilty ones. Traces of this formula
are found in several Italian stories,[18] but it constitutes only two entire
stories: one in Pitrè (No. 71) the other in Comparetti (No. 54, "The Golden
Hair," from Monferrato, Piedmont). The latter is in substance as follows: A
king with three sons marries again in his old age. The youngest son falls in
love with his step-mother and the jealous father tries to poison her. The son
and wife flee together, and fall in with some robbers whom they kill, and set
at liberty a princess who has the gift of curing blindness and other diseases.
They afterward find a cave containing rooms and all the necessaries of life,
but see no one. They spend the night there, and the next morning the youth
goes hunting; and as soon as he has departed a giant appears and solicits the
step-mother's love, saying that if she will marry him, she will always be
healthy and never lose her youth. But first it will be necessary to remove
from her step-son's head a golden hair, and then he will become so weak
that he can be killed by a blow. She was unwilling at first, because he had
saved her life, but finally yielded. First she tried to get rid of him by
pretending to be ill, and sending him for some water from a fountain near
which was a lion. He obtained the water safely. Then his step-mother,
pretending to comb his hair, cut off the golden hair, and the giant dragged
him by the feet fifty miles, and let him fall first in the bushes and then on
the ground. From the wounds in his head he became blind, but recovered
his sight by means of the princess mentioned in the first part of the story,
whom he married. After his golden lock had grown out again he returned to
the cave and killed the giant, punishing his step-mother by leaving her there
without even looking at her.
The story in Pitrè (No. 71, "The Cyclops") is more detailed. A queen who
has been unfaithful to her husband is put in confinement, gives birth to a

son, and afterward, through his aid, escapes. They encounter some cyclops,
a number of whom the son kills; but one becomes secretly the mother's
lover. To get rid of her son, she sends him for the water of a certain
fountain, which he brings back safely. Finally the mother binds the son fast,
under the pretence of playing a game, and delivers him to the cyclops, who
kills him and cuts him into small bits, which he loads on his horse and turns
him loose. The youth is, however, restored to life by the same water that he
had brought back, and kills the cyclops and his mother, finally marrying the
princess to whom he owes his life.[19]
In marked contrast to the above class is the one in which a number of
brothers owe their deliverance from enchantment to the self-sacrifice of a
sister. Generally the sister is the innocent cause of her brothers'
transformation. They live far from home, and their sister is not aware for a
long time of their existence. When she learns it she departs in search of
them, finds them, and, after great risk to herself, delivers them. But two
versions of this story have yet been published in Italy: one from Naples
(Pent. IV. 8), the other from Bologna (Coronedi-Berti, No. 19). The latter
version we give at length.

XI. THE CURSE OF THE SEVEN CHILDREN.

There was once a king and a queen who had six children, all sons. The
queen was about to give birth to another child, and the king said that if it
was not a daughter all seven children would be cursed. Now it happened
that the king had to go away to war; and before departing he said to the
queen, "Listen. If you have a son, hang a lance out of the window; if a
daughter, a distaff; so that I can see as soon as I arrive which it is." After the
king had been gone a month, the queen gave birth to the most beautiful girl
that was ever seen. Imagine how pleased the queen was at having a girl. She
could scarcely contain herself for joy, and immediately gave orders to hang
the distaff out of the window; but in the midst of the joyful confusion, a
mistake was made, and they put out a lance. Shortly after, the king returned
and saw the sign at the window, and cursed all his seven sons; but when he
entered the house and the servants crowded around him to congratulate him
and tell him about his beautiful daughter, then the king was amazed and
became very melancholy. He entered the queen's room and looked at the

child, who seemed exactly like one of those wax dolls to be kept in a box;
then he looked about him and saw nothing of his sons, and his eyes filled
with tears, for those poor youths had wandered out into the world.
Meanwhile the girl grew, and when she was large she saw that her parents
caressed her, but always with tears in their eyes. One day she said to her
mother: "What is the matter with you, mother, that I always see you
crying?" Then the queen told her the story, and said that she was afraid that
some day she would see her disappear too. When the girl heard how it was,
what did she do? One night she rose softly and left the palace, with the
intention of going to find her brothers. She walked and walked, and at last
met a little old man, who said to her: "Where are you going at this time of
the night?" She answered: "I am in search of my brothers." The old man
said: "It will be difficult to find them, for you must not speak for seven
years, seven months, seven weeks, seven days, seven hours, and seven
minutes." She said: "I will try." Then she took a bit of paper which she
found on the ground, wrote on it the day and the hour with a piece of
charcoal, and left the old man and hastened on her way. After she had run a
long time, she saw a light and went towards it, and when she was near it,
she saw that it was over the door of a palace where a king lived. She entered
and sat down on the stairway, and fell asleep. The servants came later to put
out the light, and saw the pretty girl asleep on the stone steps; they
awakened her, asking her what she was doing there. She began to make
signs, asking them to give her a lodging. They understood her, and said they
would ask the king. They returned shortly to tell her to enter, for the king
wished to see her before she was shown to her room. When the king saw the
beautiful girl, with hair like gold, flesh like milk and wine, teeth white as
pearls, and little hands that an artist could not paint as beautiful as they
were, he suddenly imagined that she must be the daughter of some lord, and
gave orders that she should be treated with all possible respect. They
showed her to a beautiful room; then a maid came and undressed her and
put her to bed. Next morning, Diana, for so she was called, arose, saw a
frame with a piece of embroidery in it, and began to work at it. The king
visited her, and asked if she needed anything, and she made signs that she
did not. The king was so pleased with the young girl that he ended by
falling in love with her, and after a year had passed he thought of marrying
her. The queen-mother, who was an envious person, was not content with

the match, because, said she, no one knows where she came from, and,
besides, she is dumb, something that would make people wonder if a king
should marry her. But the king was so obstinate that he married her; and
when his mother saw that there was no help, she pretended to be satisfied.
Shortly after, the queen-mother put into the king's hands a letter which
informed him of an imminent war, in which, if he did not take part, he
would run the risk of losing his realm. The king went to the war, in fact,
with great grief at leaving his wife; and before departing, he commended
her earnestly to his mother, who said: "Do not be anxious, my son, I shall
do all that I can to make her happy." The king embraced his wife and
mother, and departed.
Scarcely had the king gone when the queen-mother sent for a mason, and
made him build a wall near the kitchen-sink, so that it formed a sort of box.
Now you must know that Diana expected soon to become a mother, and this
afforded the queen-mother a pretext to write to her son that his wife had
died in giving birth to a child. She took her and put her in the wall she had
had built, where there was neither light nor air, and where the wicked
woman hoped that she would die. But it was not so. The scullion went every
day to wash the dishes at the sink near where poor Diana was buried alive.
While attending to his business, he heard a lamentation, and listened to see
where it could come from. He listened and listened, until at last he
perceived that the voice came from the wall that had been newly built. What
did he do then? He made a hole in the wall, and saw that the queen was
there. The scullion asked how she came there; but she only made signs that
she was about to give birth to a child. The poor scullion had his wife make a
fine cushion, on which Diana reposed as well as she could, and gave birth
to the most beautiful boy that could be seen. The scullion's wife went to see
her every moment, and carried her broth, and cared for the child; in short,
this poor woman, as well as her husband, did everything she could to
alleviate the poor queen, who tried to make them understand by signs what
she needed. One day it came into Diana's head to look into her
memorandum book and see how long she still had to keep silent, and she
saw that only two minutes yet remained. As soon as they had passed, she
told the scullion all that had happened. At that moment the king arrived, and
the scullion drew the queen from out the hole, and showed her to the king.
You can imagine how delighted he was to see again his Diana, whom he

believed to be dead. He embraced her, and kissed her and the child; in short,
such was his joy that it seemed as if he would go mad. Diana related
everything to him: why she had left her home, and why she had played
dumb so long, and finally how she had been treated by the queen-mother,
and what she had suffered, and how kind those poor people had been to her.
When he had heard all this, he said: "Leave the matter to me; I will arrange
it."
The next day the king invited all the nobles and princes of his realm to a
great banquet. Now it happened that in setting the tables the servants laid
six plates besides the others; and when the guests sat down, six handsome
youths entered, who advanced and asked what should be given to a sister
who had done so and so for her brothers. Then the king sprang up and said:
"And I ask what shall be done to a mother who did so and so to her son's
wife?" and he explained everything. One said: "Burn her alive." Another:
"Put her in the pillory." Another: "Fry her in oil in the public square." This
was agreed to. The youths had been informed by that same old man whom
Diana had met, and who was a magician, where their sister was and what
she had done for them. Then they made themselves known, and embraced
Diana and their brother-in-law the king, and after the greatest joy, they all
started off to see their parents. Imagine the satisfaction of the king and
queen at seeing again all their seven children. They gave the warmest
reception to the king, Diana's husband, and after they had spent some days
together, Diana returned with her husband to their city. And all lived there
afterward in peace and contentment.[20]

We shall now turn our attention to another wide-spread story, which may be
termed "The True Bride," although the Grimm story of that name is not a
representative of it. One of the simplest versions is Grimm's "The Goose-
Girl," in which a queen's daughter is betrothed to a king's son who lives far
away. When the daughter grew up she was sent to the bridegroom, with a
maid to wait upon her. On the journey the maid takes the place of the
princess, who becomes a poor goose-girl. The true bride is of course
discovered at last, and the false one duly punished. "The White and the
Black Bride," of the same collection, is a more complicated version of the

same theme. The first part is the story of two sisters (step-sisters) who
receive different gifts from fairies, etc.; the second part, that of the brother
who paints his sister's portrait, which the king sees and desires to marry the
original. The sister is sent for, but on the journey the ugly step-sister pushes
the bride into a river or the sea, and takes her place. The true bride is
changed into a swan (or otherwise miraculously preserved), and at last
resumes her lawful place. In the above stories the substitution of the false
bride is the main incident in the story; but there are many other tales in
which the same incident occurs, but it is subordinate to the others.
Examples of this latter class will be given as soon as we reach the story of
"The Forgotten Bride."
The first class mentioned is represented in Italy by two versions also. The
first is composed of the two traits: "Two Sisters" and "True Bride"; the
second, of "Brother who shows beautiful sister's portrait to king." This
second version sometimes shows traces of the first. It is with this second
version that we now have to do, as in it only is the substitution of the false
bride the main incident. Examples of the first version will be found in the
notes.[21] The story we have selected to illustrate the second version of this
story is from Florence (Nov. fior. p. 314), and is entitled:

XII. ORAGGIO AND BIANCHINETTA.

There was once a lady who had two children: the boy was called Oraggio,
the girl, Bianchinetta. By misfortunes they were reduced from great wealth
to poverty. It was decided that Oraggio should go out to service, and indeed
he found a situation as valet de chambre to a prince. After a time the prince,
satisfied with his service, changed it, and set him to work cleaning the
pictures in his gallery. Among the various paintings was one of a very
beautiful lady, which was constantly Oraggio's admiration. The prince often
surprised him admiring the portrait. One day he asked him why he spent so
much time before that picture. Oraggio replied that it was the very image of
his sister, and having been away from her some time, he felt the need of
seeing her again. The prince answered that he did not believe that picture
resembled his sister, because he had a search made, and it had not been
possible to find any lady like the portrait. He added: "Have her come here,
and if she is as beautiful as you say, I will make her my wife."

Oraggio wrote at once to Bianchinetta, who immediately set out on her
journey. Oraggio went to the harbor to await her, and when he perceived the
ship at a distance, he called out at intervals: "Mariners of the high sea,
guard my sister Bianchina, so that the sun shall not brown her." Now, on the
ship where Bianchinetta was, was also another young girl with her mother,
both very homely. When they were near the harbor, the daughter gave
Bianchinetta a blow, and pushed her into the sea. When they landed,
Oraggio could not recognize his sister; and that homely girl presented
herself, saying that the sun had made her so dark that she could no longer
be recognized. The prince was surprised at seeing such a homely woman,
and reproved Oraggio, removing him from his position and setting him to
watch the geese. Every day he led the geese to the sea, and every day
Bianchinetta came forth and adorned them with tassels of various colors.
When the geese returned home, they said:—

"Crò! crò!
From the sea we come,
We feed on gold and pearls.
Oraggio's sister is fair,
She is fair as the sun;
She would suit our master well."

The prince asked Oraggio how the geese came to repeat those words every
day. He told him that his sister, thrown into the sea, had been seized by a
fish, which had taken her to a beautiful palace under the water, where she
was in chains. But that, attached to a long chain, she was permitted to come
to the shore when he drove the geese there. The prince said: "If what you
relate is true, ask her what is required to liberate her from that prison."
The next day Oraggio asked Bianchinetta how it would be possible to take
her from there and conduct her to the prince. She replied: "It is impossible
to take me from here. At least, the monster always says to me: 'It would
require a sword that cuts like a hundred, and a horse that runs like the wind.'
It is almost impossible to find these two things. You see, therefore, it is my
fate to remain here always." Oraggio returned to the palace, and informed
the prince of his sister's answer. The latter made every effort, and succeeded
in finding the horse that ran like the wind, and the sword that cut like a
hundred. They went to the sea, found Bianchinetta, who was awaiting them.

She led them to her palace. With the sword the chain was cut. She mounted
the horse, and thus was able to escape. When they reached the palace the
prince found her as beautiful as the portrait Oraggio was always gazing at,
and married her. The other homely one was burned in the public square,
with the accustomed pitch-shirt; and they lived content and happy.[22]

We have already encountered the trait of "Thankful Animals," who assist
the hero in return for kindness he has shown them. What is merely an
incident in the stories above alluded to constitutes the main feature of a
class of stories which may be termed "Animal Brothers-in-law." The usual
formula in these stories is as follows: Three princes, transformed into
animals, marry the hero's sisters. The hero visits them in turn; they assist
him in the performance of difficult tasks, and are by him freed from their
enchantment. This formula varies, of course. Sometimes there are but two
sisters, and the brothers-in-law are freed from their enchantment in some
other way than by the hero. A good specimen of this class is from the south
of Italy, Basilicata (Comparetti, No. 20), and is called:

XIII. THE FAIR FIORITA.

There was once a king who had four children: three daughters and a son,
who was the heir to the throne. One day the king said to the prince: "My
son, I have decided to marry your three sisters to the first persons who pass
our palace at noon." At that time there first passed a swine-herd, then a
huntsman, and finally a grave-digger. The king had them all three
summoned to his presence, and told the swine-herd that he wished to give
him his oldest daughter for a wife, the second to the huntsman, and the third
to the grave-digger. Those poor creatures thought they were dreaming. But
they saw that the king spoke seriously, or rather commanded. Then, all
confused, but well pleased, they said: "Let your Majesty's will be done."
The prince, who loved his youngest sister dearly, was deeply grieved that
she should become a grave-digger's wife. He begged the king not to make
this match, but the king would not listen to him.

The prince, grieved at his father's caprice, would not be present at his
sisters' wedding, but took a walk in the garden at the foot of the palace.
Now, while the priest in the marriage hall was blessing the three brides, the
garden suddenly bloomed with the fairest flowers, and there came forth
from a white cloud a voice which said: "Happy he who shall have a kiss
from the lips of the fair Fiorita!" The prince trembled so that he could
hardly stand; and afterward, leaning against an olive-tree, he began to weep
for the sisters he had lost, and remained buried in thought many hours. Then
he started, as if awakening from a dream, and said to himself: "I must flee
from my father's house. I will wander about the world, and will not rest
until I have a kiss from the lips of the fair Fiorita."
He travelled over land and sea, over mountains and plains, and found no
living soul that could give him word of the fair Fiorita. Three years had
elapsed, when one day, leaving a wood and journeying through a beautiful
plain, he arrived at a palace before which was a fountain, and drew near to
drink. A child two years old, who was playing by the fountain, seeing him
approach, began to cry and call its mother. The mother, when she saw the
prince, ran to meet him, embraced him, and kissed him, crying: "Welcome,
welcome, my brother!" The prince at first did not recognize her; but looking
at her closely in the face, he saw that it was his oldest sister, and embracing
her in turn, exclaimed: "How glad I am to see you, my sister!" and they
rejoiced greatly. The sister invited him to enter the palace, which was hers,
and led him to her husband, who was much pleased to see him, and all three
overwhelmed with caresses the child who, by calling his mother, had been
the cause of all that joy.
The prince then asked about his other two sisters, and his brother-in-law
replied that they were well, and lived in a lordly way with their husbands.
The prince was surprised, and his brother-in-law added that the fortunes of
the three husbands of his sisters had changed since they had been enchanted
by a magician. "And cannot I see my other two sisters?" asked the prince.
The brother-in-law replied: "Direct your journey towards sunrise. After a
day you will find your second sister; after two days, the third." "But I must
seek the way to the fair Fiorita, and I do not know whether it is towards
sunrise or sunset." "It is precisely towards sunrise; and you are doubly
fortunate: first, because you will see your two sisters again; secondly,
because from the last you can receive information about the fair Fiorita. But

before departing I wish to give you a remembrance. Take these hog's
bristles. The first time you encounter any danger from which you cannot
extricate yourself, throw them on the ground, and I will free you from the
danger." The prince took the bristles, and after he had thanked his brother-
in-law, resumed his journey.
The next day he arrived at the palace of his second sister; was received
there also with great joy, and this brother-in-law, too, wished to give him a
memento before he departed; and because he had been a huntsman,
presented him with a bunch of birds' feathers, telling him the same thing
that the other brother-in-law had. He thanked him and departed. The third
day he came to his youngest sister's, who, seeing the brother who had
always loved her more dearly than his other sisters, welcomed him more
warmly, as did also her husband. The latter gave him a little human bone,
giving him the same advice as the other brothers-in-law had. His sister then
told him that the fair Fiorita lived a day's journey from there, and that he
could learn more about her from an old woman who was indebted to her,
and to whom she sent him.
As soon as the prince arrived at the fair Fiorita's country (she was the king's
daughter), he went to the old woman. When she heard that he was the
brother of the one who had been so kind to her, she received him like a son.
Fortunately, the old woman's house was exactly opposite that side of the
king's palace where there was a window to which the fair Fiorita came
every day at dawn. Now one morning at that hour she appeared at the
window, scarcely covered by a white veil. When the prince saw that flower
of beauty, he was so agitated that he would have fallen had not the old
woman supported him. The old woman attempted to dissuade him from the
idea of marrying the fair Fiorita, saying that the king would give his
daughter only to him who should discover a hidden place, and that he killed
him who could not find it, and that already many princes had lost their lives
for her. But, notwithstanding, he answered that he should die if he could not
obtain possession of the fair Fiorita. Having learned afterward from the old
woman that the king bought for his daughter the rarest musical instruments,
hear what he devised! He went to a cymbal-maker and said: "I want a
cymbal that will play three tunes, and each tune to last a day, and to be
made in such a way that a man can be hidden inside of it; and I will pay you
a thousand ducats for it. When it is finished I will get in it; and you must go

and play it in front of the king's palace; and if the king wishes to buy it you
will sell it to him on condition that you shall take it every three days to fix
it." The cymbal-maker consented, and did all that the prince commanded
him. The king purchased the cymbal with the maker's condition, had it
carried to his daughter's bed-chamber, and said to her: "See, my daughter, I
do not wish you to lack any diversion, even when you are in bed and cannot
sleep."
Next to the fair Fiorita's chamber slept her maids of honor. In the night
when all were asleep, the prince, who was hidden in the cymbal, came out
and called: "Fair Fiorita! fair Fiorita!" She awoke in a fright and cried:
"Come, my maids of honor, I hear some one calling me." The maids of
honor came quickly, but found no one, for the prince hid himself suddenly
in the instrument. The same thing happened twice, and the maids coming
and finding no one, the fair Fiorita said: "Well, it must be my fancy. If I call
you again, do not come, I command you." The prince, within the cymbal,
heard this. Scarcely had the maids of honor fallen asleep again, when the
prince approached the fair one's bed and said: "Fair Fiorita, give me, I beg
you, a kiss from your lips; if you do not, I shall die." She, all trembling,
called her maids; but obeying her command, they did not come. Then she
said to the prince: "You are fortunate and have won. Draw near." And she
gave him the kiss, and on the prince's lips there remained a beautiful rose.
"Take this rose," she said, "and keep it on your heart, for it will bring you
good luck." The prince placed it on his heart, and then told his fair one all
his history from the time he had left his father's palace until he had
introduced himself into her chamber by the trick with the cymbal. The fair
Fiorita was well pleased, and said that she would willingly marry him; but
to succeed, he must perform many difficult tasks which the king would lay
upon him. First he must discover the way to a hiding-place where the king
had concealed her with a hundred damsels; then he must recognize her
among the hundred damsels, all dressed alike and veiled. "But," she said,
"you need not trouble yourself about these difficulties, for the rose you have
taken from my lips, and which you will always wear over your heart, will
draw you like the loadstone, first to the hiding-place, and afterward to my
arms. But the king will set you other tasks, and perhaps terrible ones. These
you must think of yourself. Let us leave it to God and fortune."

The prince went at once to the king, and asked for the fair Fiorita's hand.
The king did not refuse it, but made the same conditions, that the princess
had told him of. He consented, and by the help of the rose quickly
performed the first tasks. "Bravo!" exclaimed the king, when the prince
recognized the fair Fiorita among the other damsels; "but this is not
enough." Then he shut him up in a large room all full of fruit, and
commanded him, under pain of death, to eat it all up in a day. The prince
was in despair, but fortunately he remembered the hog's bristles and the
advice which his first brother-in-law had given him. He threw the bristles
on the ground, and there suddenly came forth a great herd of swine which
ate up all the fruit and then disappeared. This task was accomplished. But
the king proposed another. He wished the prince to retire with his bride, and
cause her to fall asleep at the singing of the birds which are the sweetest to
hear and the most beautiful to see. The prince remembered the bunch of
feathers given him by his brother-in-law the huntsman, and threw them on
the ground. Suddenly there appeared the most beautiful birds in the world,
and sang so sweetly that the king himself fell asleep. But a servant
awakened him at once, because he had commanded it, and he said to the
prince and his daughter: "Now you can enjoy your love at liberty. But to-
morrow, on arising, you must present me with a child two years old, who
can speak and call you by name. If not, you will both be killed." "Now let
us retire, my dear wife," said the prince to the fair Fiorita. "Between now
and to-morrow some saint will aid us." The next morning the prince
remembered the bone which his brother-in-law the grave-digger had given
him. He rose and threw it to the ground, and lo! a beautiful child, with a
golden apple in his right hand, who cried papa and mamma. The king
entered the room, and the child ran to meet him, and wished to put the
golden apple on the crown which the king wore. The king then kissed the
child, blessed the pair, and taking the crown from his head, put it on his
son-in-law's, saying: "This is now yours." Then they gave a great feast at
the court for the wedding, and they invited the prince's three sisters, with
their husbands. And the prince's father, receiving such good news of the son
whom he believed lost, hastened to embrace him, and gave him his crown
too. So the prince and the fair Fiorita became king and queen of two realms,
and from that time on were always happy.[23]

In the above story the wife is won by the performance of difficult tasks by
the suitor. A somewhat similar class of stories is the one in which the bride
is won by the solution of a riddle. The riddle, or difficult question, is either
proposed by the bride herself, and the suitor who fails to answer it is killed,
or the suitor is obliged to propose one himself, and if the bride fails to solve
it, she marries him; if she succeeds, the suitor is killed. The first of the
above two forms is found in three Italian stories, two of which resemble
each other quite closely.
In the Pentamerone (I. 5, "The Flea"), the King of High-Hill, "being bitten
by a flea, caught him by a wonderful feat of dexterity; and seeing how
handsome and stately he was, he could not in conscience pass sentence on
him upon the bed of his nail. So he put him into a bottle, and feeding him
every day with the blood of his own arm, the little beast grew at such a rate
that at the end of seven months it was necessary to shift his quarters, for he
was grown bigger than a sheep. When the king saw this, he had him flayed,
and the skin dressed. Then he issued a proclamation, that whoever could tell
to what animal this skin had belonged should have his daughter to wife."
The question is answered by an ogre, to whom the king gives his daughter
rather than break his promise. The hapless wife is afterward rescued by an
old woman's seven sons, who possess remarkable gifts. In Gonz. (No. 22,
"The Robber who had a Witch's Head"), a king with three daughters fattens
a louse and nails its skin over the door as in the Pentamerone. A robber,
who had a witch's head that told him everything he wanted to know,
answers the question, and receives in marriage the king's eldest daughter.
He takes her home and leaves her alone for a time, and on his return learns
from the witch's head that his wife has reviled him. He kills her and marries
the second sister, whom he kills for the same reason, and marries the
youngest. She is more discreet, and the witch's head can only praise her.
One day she finds the head and throws it in the oven; and the robber, whose
life was in some way connected with it, died. The wife then anointed her
sisters with a life-giving salve, and all three returned to their father's house,
and afterward married three handsome princes. The third story, from the
Tyrol (Schneller, No. 31, "The Devil's Wife"), is connected with the
Bluebeard story which will be mentioned later. A king and queen had an
only daughter, who was very pretty and fond of dress. One day she found a
louse; and as she did not know what kind of an animal it was, she ran to her

mother and asked her. Her mother told her and said: "Shut the louse up in a
box and feed it. As soon as it is very large, we will have a pair of gloves
made of its skin; these we will exhibit, and whoever of your suitors guesses
from the skin of what animal they are made, shall be your husband." The
successful suitor is no other than the Devil, who takes his wife home and
forbids her to open a certain room. One day, while he is absent, she opens
the door of the forbidden chamber, and sees from the flames and
condemned souls who her husband is. She is so frightened that she becomes
ill, but manages to send word to her father by means of a carrier-pigeon.
The king sets out with many brave men to deliver her; on the way he meets
three men who possess wonderful gifts (far seeing, sharp ear, great
strength), and with their aid rescues his daughter.
More frequently, however, this class of stories turns on a riddle proposed by
the suitor himself, and which the bride is unable to solve.
The following story, which illustrates the latter version, is from Istria (Ive,
1877, p. 13), and is entitled:

XIV. BIERDE.

Once upon a time there was a mother who had a son, who went to school.
One day he came home and said to his mother: "Mother, I want to go and
seek my fortune." She replied: "Ah, my son, are you mad? Where do you
want to seek it?" "I want to wander about the world until I find it." Now he
had a dog whose name was Bierde. He said: "To-morrow morning bake me
some bread, put it into a bag, give me a pair of iron shoes, and I and Bierde
will go and seek our fortune." His mother said: "No, my son, don't go, for I
shall not see you again!" And she wept him as dead. After she was quieted
she said to him: "Well, if you will go, to-morrow I will bake you some
bread, and I will make you a bread-cake." She made the bread-cake, and put
some poison in it; she put the bread and the bread-cake in the bag, and he
went away. He walked and walked and walked until he felt hungry, and said
to the dog: "Ah, poor Bierde, how tired you are, and how hungry, too! Wait
until we have gone a little farther, and then we will eat." He went on, tired
as he was, and at last seated himself under a tree, with the dog near him. He
said: "Oh, here we are; now we will eat. Wait, Bierde; I will give you a
piece of the bread-cake so that you, too, can eat." He broke off a piece of

the cake, and gave it to him to eat. The dog was so hungry that he ate it
greedily. After he had eaten it he took two or three turns, and fell dead on
the ground, with his tongue sticking out. "Ah, poor Bierde!" said his master.
"You have been poisoned! My mother has done it! The wretch! She has put
poison in the cake in order to kill me!" He kept weeping and saying: "Poor
Bierde, you are dead, but you have saved my life!" While he was weeping
three crows passed, alighted, and pecked at the tongue of the dog, and all
three died. Then he said: "Well, well! Bierde dead has killed three crows! I
will take them with me." So he took them and continued his journey. He
saw at a distance a large fire; he approached and heard talking and singing,
and beheld seven highwaymen, who had eaten a great many birds, and who
had a great deal of meat still left. He said to himself: "Poor me! Now I shall
have to die; there is no escape; they will certainly take me and kill me!"
Then he said: "Enough; I will go ahead." As soon as they saw him they
cried: "Stop! Your money or your life!" The poor fellow said: "Brothers,
what would you have me give you? Money I have not. I am very hungry. I
have nothing but these three birds. If you want them I will give them to
you." "Very well," they said; "eat and drink; we will eat the birds." They
took the birds, picked them, skinned them, roasted them over the coals, and
said to the youth: "We will not give you any of these; you can eat the
others." They ate them, and all seven fell down dead. When the youth saw
that they did not stir, but were dead, he said: "Well, well! Bierde dead has
killed three, and these three have killed seven!" He rose and went away
after he had made a good meal. On the way he felt hungry again, and sat
down under a tree, and began to eat. When he got up he saw a beautiful
canary-bird on the top of another tree. He took up a stone and threw at it.
The bird flew away. Now, behind this tree was a hare, big with young, and
it happened that the stone fell on it and killed it. The youth went to see
where the stone fell, and when he saw the dead hare he said: "Well, well! I
threw it at the canary-bird and the stone killed the hare! I will take it with
me. If I had the fire that those robbers left I would cook it." He went on
until he came to a church, in which he found a lighted lamp and a missal.
So he skinned the hare, and made a fire with the missal, and roasted and ate
the hare. Then he continued his journey until he came to the foot of a
mountain, where the sea was. On the shore he saw two persons with a boat,
who ferried over those who wished to reach the other shore, because one
could not go on foot on account of the great dust, which was suffocating.

The price for crossing was three soldi. The youth said to the owners of the
bark: "How much do you want to set me down on the other bank?" "Three
soldi." "Take me across, brothers; I will give you two, for I have no more."
They replied: "Two do not enter if there are not three." He repeated his offer
and they made the same answer. Then he said: "Very well. I will stay here."
And he remained there. In a moment, however, there came up a shower, and
laid the dust, and he went on. He reached a city, and found it in great
confusion. He asked: "What is the matter here, that there are so many
people?" They answered: "It is the governor's daughter, who guesses
everything. He whose riddle she cannot guess is to marry her; but he whose
riddle she guesses is put to death." He asked: "Could I, too, go there?"
"What, you go, who are a foolish boy! So many students have abstained,
and you, so ignorant, wish to go! You will certainly go to your death!"
"Well," he said, "my mother told me that she would never see me again, so I
will go." He presented himself to the governor and said: "Sir governor, I
wish to go to your daughter and see whether she can guess what I have to
tell her." "Do you wish," he replied, "to go to your death? So many have
lost their lives, do you, also, wish to lose yours?" He answered: "Let me go
and try." He wished to go and see for himself. He entered the hall where the
daughter was. The governor summoned many gentlemen to hear. When they
were all there the governor again said that the youth should reflect that if
she guessed what he had to say that he would lose his life. He replied that
he had thought of that. The room was full of persons of talent, and the youth
presented himself and said:—

"Bierde dead has killed three."

She said to herself: "How can it be that one dead should kill three?"

"And three have killed seven."

She said: "Here is nothing but dead and killed; what shall I do?" She was
puzzled at once, and felt herself perplexed. He continued:—

"I threw where I saw, and reached where I did not expect to.
I have eaten that which was born, and that which was not
born.
It was cooked with words.

Two do not enter if there are not three;
But the hard passes over the soft."
When she heard this the governor's daughter could not answer. All the
others were astonished likewise, and said that she must marry him. Then he
told them all that had happened, and the marriage took place.[24]

We shall now direct our attention to a class of stories found in all lands, and
which may, from one of its most important episodes, be called "The
Forgotten Bride." In the ordinary version, the hero, in consequence of some
imprecation, sets out in search of the heroine, who is either the daughter or
in the custody of ogre or ogress. The hero, by the help of the heroine,
performs difficult tasks imposed upon him by her father or mother, etc., and
finally elopes with her. The pursuit of father or mother, etc., is avoided by
magic obstacles raised in their way, or by transformations of the fugitives.
The hero leaves his bride, to prepare his parents to receive her; but at a kiss,
usually from his mother, he entirely forgets his bride until she recalls herself
to his memory, and they are both united. The trait of difficult tasks
performed by the hero is sometimes omitted, as well as flight with magic
obstacles or transformations. All the episodes of the above story, down to
the forgetting bride at mother's kiss, are found in many stories; notably in
the class "True Bride," already mentioned.
A Sicilian story (Pitrè, No. 13) will best illustrate this class. It is entitled:

XV. SNOW-WHITE-FIRE-RED.

There was once a king and queen who had no son, and they were always
making vows to obtain one; and they promised that if they had a son, or
even a daughter, they would maintain two fountains for seven years: one
running wine, the other oil. After this vow the queen gave birth to a
handsome boy.
As soon as the child was born, the two fountains were erected, and
everybody went and took oil and wine. At the end of seven years the

fountains began to dry up. An ogress, wishing to collect the drops that still
fell from the fountain, went there with a sponge and pitcher. She sopped up
the drops with the sponge and then squeezed it in the pitcher. After she had
worked so hard to fill this pitcher, the little son of the king, who was
playing ball, from caprice threw a ball and broke the pitcher. When the old
woman saw this, she said: "Listen. I can do nothing to you, for you are the
king's son; but I can bestow upon you an imprecation: May you be unable
to marry until you find Snow-white-fire-red!" The cunning child took a
piece of paper and wrote down the old woman's words, put it away in a
drawer, and said nothing about it. When he was eighteen the king and queen
wished him to marry. Then he remembered the old woman's imprecation,
took the piece of paper, and said: "Ah! if I do not find Snow-white-fire-red I
cannot marry!" When it seemed fit, he took leave of his father and mother,
and began his journey entirely alone. Months passed without meeting any
one. One evening, night overtook him, tired and discouraged, in a plain in
the midst of which was a large house.
At daybreak he saw an ogress coming, frightfully tall and stout, who cried:
"Snow-white-fire-red, lower your tresses for me to climb up!" When the
prince heard this he took heart, and said: "There she is!" Snow-white-fire-
red lowered her tresses, which seemed never to end, and the ogress climbed
up by them. The next day the ogress descended, and when the prince saw
her depart, he came from under the tree where he had concealed himself,
and cried: "Snow-white-fire-red, lower your tresses for me to climb up!"
She, believing it was her mother (for she called the ogress mother), lowered
her tresses, and the prince climbed boldly up. When he was up, he said:
"Ah! my dear little sister, how I have labored to find you!" And he told her
of the old woman's imprecation when he was seven years old.
She gave him some refreshments, and then said: "You see, if the ogress
returns and finds you here, she will devour you. Hide yourself." The ogress
returned, and the prince concealed himself.
After the ogress had eaten, her daughter gave her wine to drink, and made
her drunk. Then she said: "My mother, what must I do to get away from
here? Not that I want to go, for I wish to stay with you; but I want to know
just out of curiosity. Tell me!" "What you must do to get away from here!"
said the ogress. "You must enchant everything that there is here, so that I

shall lose time. I shall call, and instead of you, the chair, the cupboard, the
chest of drawers, will answer for you. When you do not appear, I will
ascend. You must take the seven balls of yarn that I have laid away. When I
come and do not find you, I shall pursue you; when you see yourself
pursued, throw down the first ball, and then the others. I shall always
overtake you until you throw down the last ball."
Her daughter heard all that she said, and remembered it. The next day the
ogress went out, and Snow-white-fire-red and the prince did what they had
to do. They went about the whole house, saying: "Table, you answer if my
mother comes; chairs, answer if my mother comes; chest of drawers,
answer if my mother comes;" and so she enchanted the whole house. Then
she and the prince departed in such a hurry that they seemed to fly. When
the ogress returned, she called: "Snow-white-fire-red, let down your tresses
that I may climb up!" The table answered: "Come, come, mother!" She
waited a while, and when no one appeared to draw her up, she called again:
"Snow-white-fire-red, lower your tresses for me to climb up!" The chair
answered: "Come, come, mother!" She waited a while, but no one appeared;
then she called again, and the chest of drawers replied: "Come, come,
mother!" Meanwhile the lovers were fleeing. When there was nothing left
to answer, the ogress cried out: "Treason! treason!" Then she got a ladder
and climbed up. When she saw that her daughter and the balls of yarn were
gone, she cried: "Ah, wretch! I will drink your blood!" Then she hastened
after the fugitives, following their scent. They saw her afar off, and when
she saw them, she cried: "Snow-white-fire-red, turn around so that I can see
you." (If she had turned around she would have been enchanted.)
When the ogress had nearly overtaken them, Snow-white-fire-red threw
down the first ball, and suddenly there arose a lofty mountain. The ogress
was not disturbed; she climbed and climbed until she almost overtook the
two again. Then Snow-white-fire-red, seeing her near at hand, threw down
the second ball, and there suddenly appeared a plain covered with razors
and knives. The ogress, all cut and torn, followed after the lovers, dripping
with blood.
When Snow-white-fire-red saw her near again, she threw down the third
ball, and there arose a terrible river. The ogress threw herself into the river
and continued her pursuit, although she was half dead. Then another ball,

and there appeared a fountain of vipers, and many other things. At last,
dying and worn out, the ogress stopped and cursed Snow-white-fire-red,
saying: "The first kiss that the queen gives her son, may the prince forget
you!" Then the ogress could stand it no longer, and died in great anguish.
The lovers continued their journey, and came to a town near where the
prince lived. He said to Snow-white-fire-red: "You remain here, for you are
not provided with proper clothes, and I will go and get what you need, and
then you can appear before my father and mother." She consented, and
remained.
When the queen beheld her son, she threw herself on him to kiss him.
"Mother," said he, "I have made a vow not to allow myself to be kissed."
The poor mother was petrified. At night, while he was asleep, his mother,
who was dying to kiss him, went and did so. From that moment he forgot
all about Snow-white-fire-red.
Let us leave the prince with his mother, and return to the poor girl, who was
left in the street without knowing where she was. An old woman met her,
and saw the poor girl, as beautiful as the sun, weeping. "What is the matter,
my daughter?" "I do not know how I came here!" "My daughter, do not
despair; come with me." And she took her to her house. The young girl was
deft with her hands, and could work enchantment. She made things, and the
old woman sold them, and so they both lived. One day the maiden said to
the old woman that she wanted two bits of old cloth from the palace for
some work she had to do. The old woman went to the palace, and began to
ask for the bits, and said so much that at last she obtained them. Now the
old woman had two doves, a male and a female, and with these bits of cloth
Snow-white-fire-red dressed the doves so prettily that all who saw them
marvelled. The young girl took these doves, and whispered in their ears:
"You are the prince, and you are Snow-white-fire-red. The king is at the
table, eating; fly and relate all that you have undergone."
While the king, queen, prince, and many others were at the table, the
beautiful doves flew in and alighted on the table. "How beautiful you are!"
And all were greatly pleased. Then the dove which represented Snow-
white-fire-red began: "Do you remember when you were young how your
father promised a fountain of oil and one of wine for your birth?" The other

dove answered: "Yes, I remember." "Do you remember the old woman
whose pitcher of oil you broke? do you remember?" "Yes, I remember."
"Do you remember the imprecation she pronounced on you,—that you
could not marry until you found Snow-white-fire-red?" "I remember,"
replied the other dove. In short, the first dove recalled all that had passed,
and finally said: "Do you remember how you had the ogress at your heels,
and how she cursed you, saying that at your mother's first kiss you must
forget Snow-white-fire-red?" When the dove came to the kiss, the prince
remembered everything, and the king and queen were astounded at hearing
the doves speak.
When they had ended their discourse, the doves made a low bow and flew
away. The prince cried: "Ho, there! ho, there! see where those doves go! see
where they go!" The servants looked and saw the doves alight on a country
house. The prince hastened and entered it, and found Snow-white-fire-red.
When he saw her he threw his arms about her neck, exclaiming: "Ah! my
sister, how much you have suffered for me!" Straightway they dressed her
beautifully and conducted her to the palace. When the queen saw her there,
she said: "What a beauty!" Things were soon settled and the lovers were
married.[25]

As we have remarked above, this story is often found incomplete, the
ending—"forgetfulness of bride"—being wanting.
Several of these versions are from Milan (Nov. fior. pp. 411, 415, 417). In
the first, "The King of the Sun," a trait occurs that is of some interest. The
hero plays billiards with the King of the Sun and wins his daughter. He goes
in search of his bride, and at last finds an old man who tells him where the
King of the Sun lives, and adds: "In a wood near by is a pond where, in the
afternoon, the king's three daughters bathe. Go and carry away their clothes;
and when they come and ask for them give them back on condition that
they will take you to their father." The hero does as he is told, is taken to the
king, and obliged to choose his bride from among the three, with his eyes
blindfolded. The remainder of the story consists of the usual flight, with the
transformations of the lovers. The incident of the maidens who bathe, and

whose clothes the hero steals, is clearly an example of the Swan-maiden
myth, and occurs in a few other Italian tales. In a story from the North of
Italy (Monferrato, Comparetti, No. 50), "The Isle of Happiness," a poor boy
goes to seek his fortune. He encounters an old man who tells him that
fortune appears but once in a hundred years, and if not taken then, never is.
He adds that this is the very time for fortune to appear—that day or the next
—and advises the youth to hide himself in a wood near the bank of a
stream, and when three beautiful girls come and bathe, to carry away the
clothes of the middle one. He does so, and compels the owner (who is none
other than Fortune) to marry him. By his mother's fault he loses his bride, as
in the Cupid and Psyche stories, and is obliged to go in search of her to the
Isle of Happiness. The same incident occurs in several Sicilian stories. In
one (Pitrè, No. 50, "Give me the Veil!") the hero, a poor youth, goes in
search of his fortune as in the last story, and meets an old woman who tells
him to go to a certain fountain, where twelve doves will come to drink and
become twelve maidens "as beautiful as the sun, with veils over their
faces," and advises the youth to seize the veil of the most beautiful girl and
keep it; for if she obtains it she will become a dove again. The youth does
as he is commanded, and takes his wife home, giving the veil to his mother
to keep for him. She gives it to the wife, who becomes a dove again, and
disappears. The same thing happens twice; the third time the veil is burned,
and the wife, who turns out to be the enchanted daughter of the king of
Spain, remains with her husband.[26]
There yet remains a large and interesting class of stories to be examined.
The class may conveniently be termed "Bluebeard," although, as we shall
see, there are three versions of this story, to only one of which the above
name properly belongs. These three versions are well represented by the
three Grimm stories of "The Feather Bird" (No. 46), "The Robber
Bridegroom" (No. 40), and "The Wood-cutter's Child" (No. 3). In the first
version, which is, properly speaking, the Bluebeard story, two sisters are
married in turn and killed by their husband, because they open the
forbidden chamber. The youngest sister, although she opens the forbidden
door, manages to escape and deliver her sisters, whom she restores to life.
In the second version a robber marries several sisters, whom he kills for
disobeying his commands (the trait of forbidden chamber is usually
wanting); the youngest sister again manages to escape and restores her dead

sisters to life. Generally in this version the husband makes a desperate effort
to be revenged on the sister who has escaped from him, but fails in this also.
In the third version a young girl is under the guardianship of some
supernatural being, who forbids her to open a certain door. The child
disobeys, denies her fault, and is sent away in disgrace; she afterward
marries and her children are taken from her one by one until she confesses
her fault, or, as is the case in an Italian version, persists in her denial to the
very end. We shall examine these three versions separately, and first give an
example of the first, or Bluebeard, class. It is from Venice (Widter-Wolf,
No. 11, Jahrb. VII. 148), and is entitled:

XVI. HOW THE DEVIL MARRIED THREE SISTERS.

Once upon a time the Devil was seized with a desire to marry. He therefore
left hell, took the form of a handsome young man, and built a fine large
house. When it was completed and furnished in the most fashionable style,
he introduced himself to a family where there were three pretty daughters,
and paid his addresses to the eldest of them. The handsome man pleased the
maiden, her parents were glad to see a daughter so well provided for, and it
was not long before the wedding was celebrated.
When he had taken his bride home, he presented her with a very tastefully
arranged bouquet, led her through all the rooms of the house, and finally to
a closed door. "The whole house is at your disposal," said he, "only I must
request one thing of you; that is, that you do not on any account open this
door."
Of course the young wife promised faithfully; but equally, of course, she
could scarcely wait for the moment to come when she might break her
promise. When the Devil had left the house the next morning, under
pretence of going hunting, she ran hastily to the forbidden door, opened it,
and saw a terrible abyss full of fire that shot up towards her, and singed the
flowers on her bosom. When her husband came home and asked her
whether she had kept her promise, she unhesitatingly said "Yes;" but he saw
by the flowers that she was telling a lie, and said: "Now I will not put your
curiosity to the test any longer. Come with me. I will show you myself what
is behind the door." Thereupon he led her to the door, opened it, gave her
such a push that she fell down into hell, and shut the door again.

A few months after he wooed the next sister for his wife, and won her; but
with her everything that had happened with the first wife was exactly
repeated.
Finally he courted the third sister. She was a prudent maiden, and said to
herself: "He has certainly murdered my two sisters; but then it is a splendid
match for me, so I will try and see whether I cannot be more fortunate than
they." And accordingly she consented. After the wedding the bridegroom
gave her a beautiful bouquet, but forbade her, also, to open the door which
he pointed out.
Not a whit less curious than her sisters, she, too, opened the forbidden door
when the Devil had gone hunting, but she had previously put her flowers in
water. Then she saw behind the door the fatal abyss and her sisters therein.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "poor creature that I am; I thought I had married an
ordinary man, and instead of that he is the Devil! How can I get away from
him?" She carefully pulled her two sisters out of hell and hid them. When
the Devil came home he immediately looked at the bouquet, which she
again wore on her bosom, and when he found the flowers so fresh he asked
no questions; but reassured as to his secret, he now, for the first time, really
loved her.
After a few days she asked him if he would carry three chests for her to her
parents' house, without putting them down or resting on the way. "But," she
added, "you must keep your word, for I shall be watching you." The Devil
promised to do exactly as she wished. So the next morning she put one of
her sisters in a chest, and laid it on her husband's shoulders. The Devil, who
is very strong, but also very lazy and unaccustomed to work, soon got tired
of carrying the heavy chest, and wanted to rest before he was out of the
street on which he lived; but his wife called out to him: "Don't put it down;
I see you!" The Devil went reluctantly on with the chest until he had turned
the corner, and then said to himself: "She cannot see me here; I will rest a
little." But scarcely had he begun to put the chest down when the sister
inside cried out: "Don't put it down; I see you still!" Cursing, he dragged the
chest on into another street, and was going to lay it down on a doorstep, but
he again heard the voice: "Don't lay it down, you rascal; I see you still!"
"What kind of eyes must my wife have," he thought, "to see around corners
as well as straight ahead, and through walls as if they were made of glass!"

and thus thinking he arrived, all in a perspiration and quite tired out, at the
house of his mother-in-law, to whom he hastily delivered the chest, and then
hurried home to strengthen himself with a good breakfast.
The same thing was repeated the next day with the second chest. On the
third day she herself was to be taken home in the chest. She therefore
prepared a figure which she dressed in her own clothes, and placed on the
balcony, under the pretext of being able to watch him better; slipped quickly
into the chest, and had the maid put it on the Devil's back. "The deuce!"
said he; "this chest is a great deal heavier than the others; and to-day, when
she is sitting on the balcony, I shall have so much the less chance to rest."
So by dint of the greatest exertions he carried it, without stopping, to his
mother-in-law, and then hastened home to breakfast, scolding, and with his
back almost broken. But quite contrary to custom, his wife did not come out
to meet him, and there was no breakfast ready. "Margerita, where are you?"
he cried; but received no answer. As he was running through the corridors
he at length looked out of a window, and saw the figure on the balcony.
"Margerita, have you gone to sleep? Come down. I am as tired as a dog, and
as hungry as a wolf." But there was no reply. "If you do not come down
instantly I will go up and bring you down," he cried, angrily; but Margerita
did not stir. Enraged, he hastened up to the balcony, and gave her such a
box on the ear that her head flew off, and he saw that the head was nothing
but a milliner's form, and the body, a bundle of rags. Raging, he rushed
down and rummaged through the whole house, but in vain; he found only
his wife's empty jewel-box. "Ha!" he cried; "she has been stolen from me,
and her jewels, too!" and he immediately ran to inform her parents of the
misfortune. But when he came near the house, to his great surprise he saw
on the balcony above the door all three sisters, his wives, who were looking
down on him with scornful laughter.
Three wives at once terrified the Devil so much that he took his flight with
all possible speed.

Since that time he has lost his taste for marrying.[27]

We have already mentioned, in the class of "Bride Won by Solving Riddle,"
the story in Gonzenbach of "The Robber who had a Witch's Head." In this
story, after the robber has married the first princess, he takes her home, and
learns from the witch's head, which hangs over the window in a basket,
what his wife says of him in his absence. The counterpart of the witch's
head is found in several very curious Italian stories. In these a magician is
substituted for the robber, and marries, in the same way, several sisters. In
the version in Gonzenbach, No. 23 ("The Story of Ohimè"), Ohimè, the
magician, leaves his wife for a few days, and before he goes gives her a
human bone, telling her she must eat it before his return. The wife throws
the bone away; but when the magician returns he calls out: "Bone, where
are you?" "Here I am." "Come here, then." Then the bone came, and the
magician murdered his wife because she had not done her duty. The second
sister is married and killed in the same way. Then the youngest becomes the
magician's bride. In her perplexity and grief at her husband's command to
eat a human arm during his absence, she invokes her mother's spirit, which
tells her to burn the arm to a coal, powder it, and bind it about her body.
When the magician returns and asks the arm where it is, it replies: "In
Maruzza's body." Then her husband trusted her, and treated her kindly,
showing her, among other things, a closet containing flasks of salve which
restored the dead to life. He forbade her, however, to open a certain door.
Maruzza could not restrain her curiosity, and the first opportunity she had
she opened the door, and found in the room a handsome young prince
murdered. She restored him to life, heard his story, and then killed him
again, so that her husband would not notice it. Then she extracted from her
husband the secret of his life: "I cannot be killed, but if any one sticks a
branch of this herb in my ears I shall fall asleep, and not wake up again."
Maruzza, of course, throws her husband, as soon as possible, into this
magic sleep, restores the prince, flies with him, and marries him.
Some years after, the branch in the magician's ears withered and fell out,
and he awakened. Then he desired to be revenged, and travelled about until
he found where his wife lived. Then he had a silver statue made in which he
could conceal himself, and in which he placed some musical instruments.
He shut himself up in it, and had himself and the statue taken to the palace
where Maruzza and her husband lived. In the night, when all were asleep,
the magician came out of the statue, carried Maruzza to the kitchen, kindled

a fire, and put on some oil to boil, into which he intended to throw poor
Maruzza. But just as he was about to do it, the flask which he had laid on
the king's bed, and which had thrown him into a magic sleep, rolled off, and
the king awoke, heard Maruzza's cries, saved her, and threw the magician
into the boiling oil. In spite of his assurances he seems to have been very
thoroughly killed.[28]
A Florentine story (Nov. fior. p. 290), called "The Baker's Three Daughters,"
is a combination of the Bluebeard and Robber Bridegroom stories. The
husband forbids his wife to open a certain door with a gold key, saying:
"You cannot deceive me; the little dog will tell me; and, besides, I will leave
you a bouquet of flowers, which you must give me on my return, and which
will wither if you enter that room." The two sisters yield to their curiosity,
and are killed. The third sister kills the treacherous little dog, delivers the
prince, as in the last story, flies with him, and the story ends much as the
last does. In a Milanese version of this story, with the same title (Nov. fior.
p. 298), the robber bridegroom takes his wife home, and informs her that it
is her duty to watch at night, and open the door to the robbers when they
return. The poor wife falls asleep, and is murdered. So with the second
sister. The third remains awake, rescues the prince, and flies with him. The
rest of the story is as above.
Of the third version of the Bluebeard story there are but two Italian
examples: one from Sicily (Gonz. No. 20), and one from Pisa (Comparetti,
No. 38). The former is entitled "The Godchild of St. Francis of Paula," and
is, briefly, as follows: A queen, through the intercession of St. Francis of
Paula, has a girl, whom she names Pauline, from the saint. The saint is in
the habit of meeting the child on her way to school, and giving her candy.
One day the saint tells her to ask her mother whether it is best to suffer in
youth or old age. The mother replies that it is better to suffer in youth.
Thereupon the saint carries away Pauline, and shuts her up in a tower,
climbing up and down by her tresses, as in other stories we have already
mentioned. In the tower the saint instructed Pauline in all that belonged to
her rank. One day a king climbs up by the hair, and persuades Pauline to fly
with him. She consents and becomes his bride. When her first child was
born St. Francis came and took it away, rubbed the mother's mouth with
blood, and deprived her of speech. Three times this happened, and then the

queen was repudiated and confined in a remote room, where she spent her
time in praying to St. Francis.
Meanwhile the queen-mother arranged another marriage for her son; but
during the banquet the saint brought Pauline royal robes, and restored her
three children to her. Then he led all four to the banquet-hall, and the happy
family lived thereafter in peace and happpiness.
The "forbidden chamber" is omitted in the above version, but is found in the
Pisan story, "The Woodman." The main idea of the story, however, is
curiously distorted. A woodman had three daughters whom he cannot
support. One day a lady met him in the wood, and offered to take one of his
daughters for a companion, giving him a purse of money, and assuring him
that he would always find enough wood. The lady took her home, and told
her she must not open a certain door during her absence. The girl did so,
however, and saw her mistress in a bath, with two damsels reading a book.
She closed the door at once; but when the mistress returned and asked her
whether she had disobeyed, and what she had seen, she confessed her fault,
and told what she saw. Then the lady cut her head off, hung it by the hair to
a beam, and buried the body.
The same thing happened to the second sister, who opened the door, and
saw the lady sitting at a table with gentlemen. The lady killed her, too, and
then took the third sister, who, in spite of having seen her two sisters' heads,
could not control her curiosity, and opened the door. She saw her mistress
reclining in a beautiful bed. In the evening the lady returned and asked her
what she had seen; but she answered: "I have seen nothing." The lady could
extort no other answer from her, and finally clothed her in her peasant's
dress, and took her back to the wood and left her.
The king of the neighboring city happened to pass by, and fell in love with
her, and married her. When her first child was born the lady appeared at her
bedside, and said: "Now it is time to tell me what you saw." "I saw
nothing," replied the young queen. Then the lady carried away the child,
having first rubbed the mother's mouth with blood. This happened a second
time, and then the king put her away, and prepared to marry again. The first
wife was invited to the wedding feast. While at the table the lady appeared
under it, and pulled the first wife's dress, and said: "Will you tell what you

saw?" The reply was twice: "Nothing." Then the queen fainted. At that
moment a carriage drove up to the palace with a great lady in it, who asked
to see the king. She told him that it was she who had carried away his
children, and added that from her childhood she had been subjected to an
enchantment that was to end when she found a person who should say that
she had seen nothing in that room. She then brought back the children, and
all lived together in peace and joy.[29]
One of the most beautiful and touching of all fairy tales is the one known to
the readers of Grimm's collection by the title of "Faithful John," and which
has such a charming parallel in the story of "Rama and Luxman," in Miss
Frere's "Old Deccan Days." There are seven Italian versions of this
interesting story, which we shall mention briefly, giving first the shortest
entire, as a point of departure. It is from the North of Italy (Comparetti,
Monferrato, No. 29), and is called:

XVII. IN LOVE WITH A STATUE.

There was once a king who had two sons. The eldest did not wish to marry,
and the youngest, although he went about everywhere, found no lady to his
taste. Now it happened that he once went to a certain city, and there saw a
statue with which he fell in love. He bought it, had it carried to his room,
and every day embraced and kissed it. One day his father became aware of
this, and said to him: "What are you doing? If you want a wife, take one of
flesh and bones, and not one of marble." He answered that he would take
one exactly like the statue, or none at all. His older brother, who at this time
had nothing to do, went out into the world to seek her. On his way he saw in
a city a man who had a mouse which danced so that it seemed like a human
being. He said to himself: "I will take it home to my brother to amuse
himself with." He continued his journey, and, arrived in a more distant
town, where he found a bird that sang like an angel, and bought that, too,
for his brother. He was on the point of returning home, and was passing
through a street, when he saw a beggar knocking at a door. A very beautiful
girl appeared at the window, who resembled in every respect the prince's
statue, and suddenly withdrew. Then he told the beggar to ask alms again;
but the beggar refused, because he feared that the magician, who was then
absent, would return home and eat him up. But the prince gave him so

much money and other things that he knocked again, and the young girl
appeared again, and suddenly withdrew. Then the prince went through the
streets, saying that he mended and sold looking-glasses. The servant of the
young girl, who heard him, told her mistress to go and see the mirrors. She
went, but he told her that if she wanted to select the mirrors she would have
to go on board his ship. When she was there, he carried her away, and she
wept bitterly and sighed, so that he would let her return home, but it was
like speaking to the wall.
When they were out at sea, there was heard the voice of a large black bird,
saying: "Ciriù, ciriù! what a handsome mouse you have! You will take it to
your brother; you will turn his head; and if you tell him of it, you will
become marble. Ciriù, ciriù! a fine bird you have; you will take it to your
brother; you will turn his head; and if you tell him, you will become marble.
Ciriù, ciriù! a fine lady you have; you will take her to your brother; you
will turn his head; and if you tell him of it, you will become marble." He
did not know how he could tell his brother, because he was afraid of
becoming marble. He landed, and took the mouse to his brother; and when
he had seen it and wanted it, the elder brother cut off its head. Then he
showed him the bird that sang like an angel, and his brother wanted it; but
the elder brother again cut off its head. Then he said: "I have something
handsomer," and he produced the beautiful girl who looked like the statue.
And as the brother who had brought her said nothing, the other feared that
he would take her away from him, and had him thrown into prison, where
he was a long time; and because he continued to keep silence, he was
condemned to death. Three days before he was to die he asked his brother
to come and see him, and he consented, although unwillingly. Then the
condemned brother said: "A large black bird told me that if I brought you
back the dancing mouse, and spoke, I should become a statue." And saying
this, he became a statue to the waist. "And if, bringing you the singing bird,
I spoke, it would be the same." Then he became a statue to his breast. "And
if, bringing you the lady, I spoke, I should become a statue." Then he
became a statue all over, and his brother began to lament in despair, and
tried to restore him to life. All kinds of physicians came, but none
succeeded. Finally there came one who said that he was capable of turning
the statue into a man provided they gave him what he needed. The king said
he would do so, and the physician demanded the blood of the king's two

children; but the mother would on no account consent. Then the king gave a
ball, and while his wife was dancing he had the two children killed, and
bathed with their blood the statue of his brother, and the statue straightway
became a man and went to the ball. The mother, when she beheld him,
suddenly thought of her children. She ran to them and found them half
dead, and fainted away. All around sought to console and encourage her;
but when she opened her eyes and saw the physician, she cried: "Out of my
sight, ugly wretch! It is you who have caused my children to be killed." He
answered: "Pardon me, my lady, I have done no harm. Go and see whether
your children are there!" She ran to see, and found them alive and making a
great noise. Then the physician said: "I am the magician, your father, whom
you forsook, and I have wished to show you what it is to love one's
children." Then they made peace, and remained happy and contented.

In the Venetian version (Teza, La Trad. dei Sette Sari, p. 26), called "Mela
and Buccia," from the names of the prince and his friend, while the two
friends are spending the night in a deserted castle, Buccia hears a voice
foretelling the dangers to which Mela will be exposed. His horse will throw
him if Buccia does not kill it; a dragon will devour him on his wedding
night if Buccia does not kill it; and finally, the queen's pet dog will mortally
wound him if Buccia does not kill it. If, however, Buccia reveals what he
has heard, he will turn to stone. Buccia acts accordingly, and the king
forgives him everything but killing the queen's pet dog; for that Buccia is
condemned to be hung. Then he relates all, and gradually turns to stone
from his feet up. The king, queen, and Buccia's mother are inconsolable
until they are informed by an old woman that the blood of the little prince
will bring the statue back to life. The faithful friend is by that means
restored, and the child also saved. In this version the abduction is wanting,
and the last danger is not the one usually threatened.
In a version from Siena (Gradi, Vigilia, p. 64), one of two brothers goes in
search of the "Princess with Blonde Tresses." He also buys a parrot and a
horse, and the dangers are: he who touches the parrot will have his eyes put
out; he who mounts the horse will be thrown; he who marries the fair one

will be devoured by a dragon; and he who reveals these dangers will
become stone. The remainder of the story is like the last version.
The Florentine version (Nov. fior. p. 421) is mixed up with a number of
other incidents. The dangers from which the prince is saved by his faithful
servant are: poisoned apples, poisoned pastry, and a lion in the royal
chamber. The servant is turned to stone and restored, as in the other
versions.
In a Mantuan story (Fiabe mant, No. 9), the dangers are: parrot, horse, and
bride; whoever touches these will be devoured by a dragon; whoever
reveals these dangers will become stone. The conclusion is the same as
above.
The last version we shall mention here is in the Pentamerone (IV. 9), and
resembles the one from Monferrato. The elder brother, who goes in search
of a bride for his younger brother, buys a falcon and a horse. The first will
pick out the younger brother's eyes; the horse will throw him, and finally a
dragon will devour him on his wedding night. The remainder of the story is
as usual.[30]
We shall conclude this chapter with the class of stories in which giants are
outwitted by men. The simplest form is found in two stories which are
interesting examples of the survival of classic myths. Both stories are from
Sicily, and one was told to Pitrè by a girl eight years old (Pitrè, No. 51). It is
entitled "The Little Monk," and is, in substance, as follows: There were
once two monks who went begging for the church every year. One was
large and the other small. They lost their way once and came to a large
cave, in which was a monster (lit. animal, armalu), who was building a fire.
The two monks, however, did not believe it was a monster, but said: "Let us
go and rest there." They entered, and saw the monster killing a sheep and
roasting it. He had already killed and cooked twenty.
"Eat!" said the monster to them. "We don't want to eat; we are not hungry."
"Eat, I tell you!" After they had eaten the sheep, they lay down, and the
monster closed the entrance to the cave with a great stone. Then he took a
sharp iron, heated it in the fire, and stuck it in the throat of the larger of the
two monks, roasted the body, and wanted the other monk to help eat it. "I

don't want to eat," said he; "I am full." "Get up!" said the monster. "If you
don't I will kill you."
The wretched monk arose in fright, seated himself at the table, and
pretended to eat, but threw the flesh away. In the night the good man took
the iron, heated it, and plunged it in the monster's eyes. Then the monk in
his terror slipped into the skin of a sheep. The monster felt his way to the
entrance of the cave, removed the stone, and let the sheep out one by one;
and so the good man escaped and returned to Trapani, and told his story to
some fishermen. The monster went fishing, and being blind, stumbled
against a rock and broke his head. The other version is from the Albanian
colony of Piana de' Greci (Comparetti, No. 70), in Sicily, and is
substantially the same as the story just given.[31]
Generally, however, the stories in which giants are outwitted by men are
more complicated, and may be divided into two classes: one where the giant
is outwitted by superior cunning, the other where the giant's stupidity is
deceived by the man's braggadocio. The first class may be represented by a
Sicilian story (Pitrè, No. 33), entitled:

XVIII. THIRTEENTH.

There was once a father who had thirteen sons, the youngest of whom was
named Thirteenth. The father had hard work to support his children, but
made what he could gathering herbs. The mother, to make the children
quick, said to them: "The one who comes home first shall have herb soup."
Thirteenth always returned the first, and the soup always fell to his share,
on which account his brothers hated him and sought to get rid of him.
The king issued a proclamation in the city that he who was bold enough to
go and steal the ogre's coverlet should receive a measure of gold.
Thirteenth's brothers went to the king and said: "Majesty, we have a brother,
named Thirteenth, who is confident that he can do that and other things
too." The king said: "Bring him to me at once." They brought Thirteenth,
who said: "Majesty, how is it possible to steal the ogre's coverlet? If he sees
me he will eat me!" "No matter, you must go," said the king. "I know that
you are bold, and this act of bravery you must perform." Thirteenth
departed and went to the house of the ogre, who was away. The ogress was

in the kitchen. Thirteenth entered quietly and hid himself under the bed. At
night the ogre returned. He ate his supper and went to bed, saying as he did
so:

"I smell the smell of human flesh;
Where I see it I will swallow it!"

The ogress replied: "Be still; no one has entered here." The ogre began to
snore, and Thirteenth pulled the coverlet a little. The ogre awoke and cried:
"What is that?" Thirteenth began to mew like a cat. The ogress said: "Scat!
scat!" and clapped her hands, and then fell asleep again with the ogre. Then
Thirteenth gave a hard pull, seized the coverlet, and ran away. The ogre
heard him running, recognized him in the dark, and said: "I know you! You
are Thirteenth, without doubt!"
After a time the king issued another proclamation, that whoever would steal
the ogre's horse and bring it to the king should receive a measure of gold.
Thirteenth again presented himself, and asked for a silk ladder and a bag of
cakes. With these things he departed, and went at night to the ogre's,
climbed up without being heard, and descended to the stable. The horse
neighed on seeing him, but he offered it a cake, saying: "Do you see how
sweet it is? If you will come with me, my master will give you these
always." Then he gave it another, saying: "Let me mount you and see how
we go." So he mounted it, kept feeding it with cakes, and brought it to the
king's stable.
The king issued another proclamation, that he would give a measure of gold
to whoever would bring him the ogre's bolster. Thirteenth said: "Majesty,
how is that possible? The bolster is full of little bells, and you must know
that the ogre awakens at a breath." "I know nothing about it," said the king.
"I wish it at any cost." Thirteenth departed, and went and crept under the
ogre's bed. At midnight he stretched out his hand very softly, but the little
bells all sounded. "What is that?" said the ogre. "Nothing," replied the
ogress; "perhaps it is the wind that makes them ring." But the ogre, who
was suspicious, pretended to sleep, but kept his ears open. Thirteenth
stretched out his hand again. Alack! the ogre put out his arm and seized
him. "Now you are caught! Just wait; I will make you cry for your first
trick, for your second, and for your third." After this he put Thirteenth in a

barrel, and began to feed him on raisins and figs. After a time he said:
"Stick out your finger, little Thirteenth, so that I can see whether you are
fat." Thirteenth saw there a mouse's tail, and stuck that out. "Ah, how thin
you are!" said the ogre; "and besides, you don't smell good! Eat, my son;
take the raisins and figs, and get fat soon!" After some days the ogre told
him again to put out his finger, and Thirteenth stuck out a spindle. "Eh,
wretch! are you still lean? Eat, eat, and get fat soon."
At the end of a month Thirteenth had nothing more to stick out, and was
obliged to show his finger. The ogre cried out in joy: "He is fat, he is fat!"
The ogress hastened to the spot: "Quick, my ogress, heat the oven three
nights and three days, for I am going to invite our relatives, and we will
make a fine banquet of Thirteenth."
The ogress heated the oven three days and three nights, and then released
Thirteenth from the barrel, and said to him: "Come here, Thirteenth; we
have got to put the lamb in the oven." But Thirteenth caught her meaning;
and when he approached the oven, he said: "Ah, mother ogress, what is that
black thing in the corner of the oven?" The ogress stooped down a little, but
saw nothing. "Stoop down again," said Thirteenth, "so that you can see it."
When she stooped down again, Thirteenth seized her by the feet and threw
her into the oven, and then closed the oven door. When she was cooked, he
took her out carefully, cut her in two, divided her legs into pieces, and put
them on the table, and placed her trunk, with her head and arms, in the bed,
under the sheet, and tied a string to the chin and another to the back of her
head.
When the ogre arrived with his guests he found the dishes on the table.
Then he went to his wife's bed and asked: "Mother ogress, do you want to
dine?" Thirteenth pulled the string, and the ogress shook her head. "How
are you, tired?" And Thirteenth, who was hidden under the bed, pulled the
other string and made her nod. Now it happened that one of her relatives
moved something and saw that the ogress was dead, and only half of her
was there. She cried in a loud voice: "Treason! treason!" and all hastened to
the bed. In the midst of the confusion Thirteenth escaped from under the
bed and ran away to the king with the bolster and the ogre's most valuable
things.

After this, the king said to Thirteenth: "Listen, Thirteenth. To complete your
valiant exploits, I wish you to bring me the ogre himself, in person, alive
and well." "How can I, your Majesty?" said Thirteenth. Then he roused
himself, and added: "I see how, now!" Then he had a very strong chest
made, and disguised himself as a monk, with a long, false beard, and went
to the ogre's house, and called out to him: "Do you know Thirteenth? The
wretch! he has killed our superior; but if I catch him! If I catch him, I will
shut him up in this chest!" At these words the ogre drew near and said: "I,
too, would like to help you, against that wretch of an assassin, for you don't
know what he has done to me." And he began to tell his story. "But what
shall we do?" said the pretended monk. "I do not know Thirteenth. Do you
know him?" "Yes, sir." "Then tell me, father ogre, how tall is he?" "As tall
as I am." "If that is so," said Thirteenth, "let us see whether this chest will
hold you; if it will hold you, it will hold him." "Oh, good!" said the ogre;
and got into the chest. Then Thirteenth shut the chest and said: "Look
carefully, father ogre, and see whether there is any hole in the chest."
"There is none." "Just wait; let us see whether it shuts well, and is heavy to
carry."
Meanwhile Thirteenth shut and nailed up the chest, took it on his back, and
hastened to the city. When the ogre cried: "Enough, now!" Thirteenth ran all
the faster, and, laughing, sang this song to taunt the ogre:

"I am Thirteenth,
Who carry you on my back;
I have tricked you and am going to trick you.
I must deliver you to the king."

When he reached the king, the king had an iron chain attached to the ogre's
hands and feet, and made him gnaw bones the rest of his miserable life. The
king gave Thirteenth all the riches and treasures he could bestow on him,
and always wished him at his side, as a man of the highest valor.[32]

The second version of the above story, in which the giant is deceived by the
hero's braggadocio, is represented by several Italian stories; the simplest are

some Milanese versions (Nov. fior. pp. 575-580), one of which (Ibid. p. 575)
is as follows:

XIX. THE COBBLER.

There was once a cobbler who one day was so tired of cobbling that he said:
"Now I will go and seek my fortune." He bought a little cheese and put it on
the table. It got full of flies, and he took an old shoe, and hit the cheese and
killed all the flies. He afterward counted them, and five hundred were
killed, and four hundred wounded. He then girded on a sword, and put on a
cocked hat, and went to the court, and said to the king: "I am the chief
warrior of the flies. Four hundred I have killed, and five hundred I have
wounded." The king answered: "Since you are a warrior, you will be brave
enough to climb that mountain there, where there are two magicians, and
kill them. If you kill them, you shall marry my daughter." Then he gave him
a white flag to wave when he had killed them. "And sound the trumpet, you
will put his head in a bag, both the heads, to show me." The cobbler then
departed, and found a house, which was an inn, and the innkeeper and his
wife were none other than the magician and his wife. He asked for lodging
and food, and all he needed. Afterward he went to his room; but before
going to bed, he looked up at the ceiling. There he saw a great stone over
the bed. Instead of getting into bed, he got into a corner. When a certain
hour struck, the magicians let the stone drop and it crushed the whole bed.
The next morning the cobbler went down and said that he could not sleep
for the noise. They told him they would change his room. The same thing
happened the next night, and in the morning they told him they would give
him another room. When it was a certain hour, the husband and wife went
to the forest to cut a bundle of fagots. Then the magician went home; and
the cobbler, who had made ready a sickle, said: "Wait until I help you to
take the bundle off your back." Then he gave the magician a blow with the
sickle and cut off his head. He did the same thing when the magician's wife
returned. Then he unfurled his flag, and sounded his trumpet, and the band
went out to meet him. After he had arrived at the court, the king said to him:
"Now that you have killed the two magicians, you shall marry my
daughter." But the cobbler had got so used to drawing the thread that he did
so in his sleep, and kept hitting his wife, so that she could not rest. Then the
king gave him a great deal of money and sent him home.[33]

A more detailed version is found in a Sicilian story in Gonzenbach, "The
Brave Shoemaker" (No. 41), the first part of which is like the Milanese
version. On his way to the giant's, the cobbler makes some balls of plaster
of Paris and cream-cheese, and puts them in his pocket. When he heard the
giant coming through the woods, he climbed a tree; but the giant scented
him, and told him to come down. The cobbler answered that if he did not
leave him alone he would twist his neck; and to show him how strong he
was, he crushed the balls of plaster of Paris in his hands, telling the giant
they were marble. The giant was frightened, and invited the cobbler to
remain with him, and took him home. After a while, the giant asked him to
bring some water in a pitcher from the well. The cobbler said that if the
giant would give him a strong rope he would bring the well itself. The giant
in terror took the pitcher, and drew the water himself. Then the giant asked
the cobbler to cut some wood, but the latter asked for a strong rope to drag a
whole tree to the house with. Then the giant proposed a trial of strength, to
see which could carry a heavy stick the longer. The cobbler said that the
giant had better wind something about the thick end, for when he, the
cobbler, turned a somersault with it, he might hit the giant. When they went
to bed, the giant made the cobbler sleep with him; but the latter crept under
the bed, leaving a pumpkin in his place. The giant, who was anxious to get
rid of the cobbler, took an iron bar and struck at the pumpkin all night,
believing it the cobbler's head. After he had beaten the pumpkin to pieces,
the cobbler, under the bed, gave a sigh. "What is the matter with you?"
asked the terrified giant. "A flea has just bitten my ear," answered the
cobbler. The next day the cobbler proposed to the giant to cook a great
kettle of macaroni, and after they had eaten it, he would cut open his
stomach to show the giant that he had eaten it without chewing it; the giant
was to do the same afterward. The cobbler, of course, secretly tied a sack
about his neck, and put his macaroni in it; then he took a knife and ripped
open the bag, and the macaroni fell out. The giant, in attempting to follow
the cobbler's example, killed himself. Then the cobbler cut his head off,
carried it to the king, and claimed his daughter's hand.[34]
The stories given in this chapter constitute, as we have already said in the
Introduction, but a small part of Italian fairy tales. They represent, however,

as well as our space will allow, the great fairy cycles, so to speak. As our
purpose has been to give only those stories which have been taken down
from the mouths of the people, we have not drawn, except for purposes of
reference, upon the Pentamerone, one of the most original and charming
collections of fairy tales in any language. Enough has been given, we trust,
to show how the Italians have treated the themes familiar to us from
childhood, and to furnish the scholar with additional material for
comparison.

CHAPTER II.
FAIRY TALES CONTINUED.

The fairy tales given in the last chapter belong to what may be called the
great fairy tale cycles; that is, to extensive classes that are typical forms. It
remains to notice in this chapter those stories which do not belong to any of
these typical classes, but constitute, so to speak, independent forms.
The reader has perhaps noticed in the fairy tales of the first chapter the
conspicuous absence of the fairies to which we are accustomed in German
or Celtic stories. We have met ogres and magicians with magic powers, old
men and women, and hermits who have aided the hero and heroine, and
played the rôle of the "good fairy," but the fairy in the bright shape in which
we see her in French and Irish stories, for example, has been wanting. It
will not be amiss, then, to give a few stories in which the fairies play a more
important part. We shall first mention a curious story in which the fairies
are represented in one of their most usual rôles—that of bestowing good
gifts. The story is from Sicily (Gonz. No. 73), and is entitled:

XXV. THE KING WHO WANTED A BEAUTIFUL WIFE.

There was once a king who wanted to marry. But his wife must be more
beautiful than the sun, and no matter how many maidens he saw, none was
beautiful enough to suit him. Then he called his trusty servant, and
commanded him to seek everywhere and see whether he could find a
beautiful girl. The servant set out, and wandered through the whole land,
but found none who seemed handsome enough to him. One day, however,
after he had run about a great deal and was very thirsty, he came to a little
house. He knocked and asked for a drink of water. Now there dwelt in the
house two very old women,—one eighty and the other ninety years old,—
who supported themselves by spinning. When the servant asked for water,
the one eighty years old rose, opened a little wicket in the shutter, and
handed him out the water. From spinning so much, her hands were very

white and delicate; and when the servant saw them he thought, "It must be a
handsome maiden, for she has such a delicate white hand." So he hastened
to the king, and said: "Your royal Majesty, I have found what you seek; so
and so has happened to me." "Very well," answered the king, "go once more
and try to see her."
The servant returned to the little house, knocked, and asked again for some
water. The old woman did not open the window, but handed him the pitcher
through the little opening in the shutter. "Do you live here all alone?" asked
the servant. "No," she answered. "I live here with my sister; we are poor
girls and support ourselves by the work of our hands." "How old are you,
then?" "I am fifteen and my sister twenty." The servant went back to the
king and told him all, and the king said: "I will take the one who is fifteen.
Go and bring her to me." When the servant returned to the two old women,
and told them that the king wished to elevate the younger to the position of
his wife, she answered: "Tell the king I am ready to do his will. Since my
birth no ray of the sun has ever struck me, and if a ray of the sun or a beam
of light should strike me now, I would become perfectly black. Ask the
king, therefore, to send a closed carriage for me at night, and I will come to
his palace."
When the king heard this he sent royal apparel and a closed carriage, and at
night the old woman covered her face with a thick veil and rode to the
palace. The king received her joyfully, and begged her to lay aside the veil.
She replied: "There are too many lighted candles here; their light would
make me black." So the king married her without having seen her face.
When they came into the king's chamber, however, and she removed her
veil, the king saw for the first time what an ugly old woman he had married,
and in his rage he opened the window and threw her out. Fortunately there
was a nail in the wall, on which she caught by her clothes, and remained
hanging between heaven and earth. Four fairies chanced to pass by, and
when they saw the old woman hanging there, one of them cried: "See,
sisters, there is the old woman who cheated the king; shall we wish her
dress to tear and let her fall?" "Oh, no! let us not do that," cried the
youngest and most beautiful of the fairies. "Let us rather wish her
something good. I wish her youth." "And I, beauty." "And I, prudence."
"And I, a good heart." Thus the fairies cried, and while they were yet
speaking the old woman became a wondrous fair maiden.

The next morning, when the king looked out of the window and saw the
beautiful girl hanging there, he was terrified, and thought: "Unhappy man!
What have I done! Had I no eyes last night?" Then he had her carefully
taken down with long ladders, and begged her pardon, saying: "Now we
will have a great festival and be right happy." So they celebrated a splendid
feast, and the young queen was the fairest in the whole city.
But one day the sister ninety years old came to the palace to visit the queen,
her sister. "Who is this ugly creature?" asked the king. "An old neighbor of
mine who is half-witted," replied the queen, quickly. The old woman kept
looking at her rejuvenated sister, and asked: "What did you do to become so
young and lovely? I, too, would like to be young and pretty again." She
kept asking this the whole day, until the queen finally lost her patience, and
said: "I had my old skin taken off, and this new, smooth skin came to light."
The old woman went to a barber and said: "I will give you what you will to
remove my old skin, so that I may become young and handsome again."
"But good old woman, you will surely die if I skin you." The old woman
would not listen to him, and at last he had to do her will. He took his knife
and made a cut in her forehead. "Oh!" cried the old woman.

"Who will look fair
Must grief and pain bear,"

answered the barber. "Then skin away, master," said the old woman. The
barber kept cutting on, until all at once the old woman fell down dead.[1]

This story leads quite naturally to the class in which gifts, good and bad, are
bestowed by the fairies on two persons, one of whom is deserving of good
fortune; the other, of punishment or reproof. The simplest form of this story
is found in a Milanese tale (Nov. fior. p. 190).

XXVI. THE BUCKET.

There was once a mother who had two daughters: one was bad and the
other was very good. But the mother loved the bad one more than the good

one. She said one day to the bad one: "Go and draw a bucket of water." The
bad one did not want to go, and so she would not obey her mother. The
good daughter, however, said: "I will go and draw it." She went to draw the
water, and the bucket fell down the well. She said: "If I go home now
without the bucket, who knows what my mother will do to me?" So she
climbed down the well, and at the bottom found a narrow passage, with a
door. She knocked at the door. "Have you not found a cord and bucket?"
There was a saint there, who answered: "No, my child." She continued her
way and found another door. "Have you not found a cord and bucket?"
"No!" That was the devil there. He answered her angrily because she was a
good girl; he did not say: "My child." She knocked at another door. "Have
you not found a cord and bucket?" It was the Madonna who replied: "Yes,
my child. Listen. You could do me a pleasure to stay here while I am away.
I have my little son here, to whom you will give his soup; you will sweep
and put the house in order. When I come home I will give you your bucket."
The Madonna went away, and the good girl put the house in order, gave the
child his broth, swept the house; and while she was sweeping, instead of
finding dirt, she found coral and other beautiful things. She saw that it was
not dirt, and put it aside to give the Madonna when she returned. When the
Madonna came back, she asked: "Have you done all I told you to do?" The
good girl answered: "Yes, but I have kept these things here; I found them on
the ground; it is not dirt." "Very well; keep them for yourself. Would you
like a dress of calico, or one of silk?" The girl answered: "No, no! a calico
dress." Instead of that, the Madonna gave her the silk one. "Do you wish a
brass thimble, or a silver one?" "Give me the brass one." "No, take the
silver thimble. Here is the bucket and your cord. When you reach the end of
this passage, look up in the air." The girl did so, and a beautiful star fell on
her brow.
She went home, and her mother ran to meet her to scold her for being away
so long; and was about to strike her, when she saw the star on her brow,
which shone so that it was beautiful to see, and said: "Where have you been
until now? Who put that thing on your forehead?" The girl answered: "I
don't know what there is there." Her mother tried to wash it away, but
instead of disappearing, it shone more beautiful than ever. Then the girl told
what had happened to her, and the other sister wished to go there, too. She
went, and did the same as her sister. She let the bucket fall, climbed down,

and knocked at the saint's door. "Have you not found a cord and bucket?"
"No, my child." She knocked at the next door. "Have you not found a cord
and bucket?" The devil answered: "No, I have not found them; but come
here, my child, come here." But when she heard that he had not found her
bucket, she said: "No, I will go on." She knocked at the Madonna's door.
"Have you not found a cord and bucket?" The Madonna said that she had. "I
am going away: you will give my son his broth, and then you will sweep.
When I return I will give you your bucket." Instead of giving the broth to
the child, the bad girl ate it herself. "Oh!" she said, "how good it was!" She
swept and found a great deal of dirt. "Oh, poor me! My sister found so
many pretty things!" The Madonna returned. "Have you done what I told
you?" "Yes." "Do you wish the brass or silver thimble?" "Oh! I want the
silver one!" She gave her the brass one. "Do you want the calico dress or
the silk one?" "Give me the silk dress." She gave her the calico dress. "Here
is your bucket and cord. When you are out of here, look up into the air."
When she was out she looked up into the air and there fell on her forehead a
lump of dirt that soiled her whole face. She went home in a rage to weep
and scold her sister because she had had the star, while she had that dirt on
her face. Her mother began to wash her face and rub it; and the more she
did so the less the dirt went away. Then the mother said: "I understand; the
Madonna has done this to show me that I loved the bad girl and neglected
the good one."[2]

In other versions (mentioned in the note to the above story) the two sisters
receive different gifts from the fairies. In a Sicilian tale (Pitrè, No. 62) it is
the children of unlike sisters who receive the gifts: the one, beauty. When
she combs her hair jewels fall from it; when she washes the water becomes
full of fishes; when she opens her mouth flowers fall out; her cheeks are
like apples; and finally she can finish her work in a short time. The cousin
receives, of course, gifts the very reverse of the above. The story ends with
the trait of "True Bride," mentioned at length in Chapter I.
There is still a third version of the above story, which is popular in many
lands. The following example is from Florence (Nov. fior. p. 559), and is
entitled:

XXVII. THE TWO HUMPBACKS.

There were once two companions who were humpbacks, but one more so
than the other. They were both so poor that they had not a penny to their
names. One of them said: "I will go out into the world, for here there is
nothing to eat; we are dying of hunger. I want to see whether I can make my
fortune." "Go," said the other. "If you make your fortune, return, and I will
go and see if I can make mine." So the humpback set off on his journey.
Now these two humpbacks were from Parma. When the humpback had
gone a long way, he came to a square where there was a fair, at which
everything was sold. There was a person selling cheese, who cried out: "Eat
the little Parmesan!" The poor humpback thought he meant him, so he ran
away and hid himself in a court-yard. When it was one o'clock, he heard a
clanking of chains and the words "Saturday and Sunday" repeated several
times. Then he answered: "And Monday." "Oh, heavens!" said they who
were singing. "Who is this who has harmonized with our choir?" They
searched and found the poor humpback hidden. "O gentlemen!" he said, "I
have not come here to do any harm, you know!" "Well! we have come to
reward you; you have harmonized our choir; come with us!" They put him
on a table and removed his hump, healed him, and gave him two bags of
money. "Now," they said, "you can go." He thanked them and went away
without his hump. He liked it better, you can believe! He returned to his
place at Parma, and when the other humpback saw him he exclaimed:
"Does not that look just like my friend? But he had a hump! It is not he!
Listen! You are not my friend so and so, are you?" "Yes, I am," he replied.
"Listen! Were you not a humpback?" "Yes. They have removed my hump
and given me two bags of money. I will tell you why. I reached," he
continued, "such and such a place, and I heard them beginning to say, 'Eat
the little Parmesan! eat the little Parmesan!' I was so frightened that I hid
myself." (He mentioned the place—in a court-yard.) "At a certain hour, I
heard a noise of chains and a chorus singing: 'Saturday and Sunday.' After
two or three times, I said: 'And Monday.' They came and found me, saying
that I had harmonized their chorus, and they wanted to reward me. They
took me, removed my hump, and gave me two bags of money." "Oh,
heavens!" said the other humpback. "I want to go there, too!" "Go, poor
fellow, go! farewell!" The humpback reached the place, and hid himself
precisely where his companion had. After a while he heard a noise of

chains, and the chorus: "Saturday and Sunday!" Then another chorus: "And
Monday!" After the humpback had heard them repeat: "Saturday and
Sunday, and Monday!" several times, he added: "And Tuesday!" "Where,"
they exclaimed, "is he who has spoiled our chorus? If we find him, we will
tear him in pieces." Just think! they struck and beat this poor humpback
until they were tired; then they put him on the same table on which they had
placed his companion, and said: "Take that hump and put it on him in
front." So they took the other's hump and fastened it to his breast, and then
drove him away with blows. He went home and found his friend, who cried:
"Mercy! is not that my friend? but it cannot be, for this one is humpbacked
in front. Listen," he said, "are you not my friend?" "The same," he
answered, weeping. "I did not want to bear my own hump, and now I have
to carry mine and yours! and so beaten and reduced, you see!" "Come," said
his friend, "come home with me, and we will eat a mouthful together; and
don't be disheartened." And so, every day, he dined with his friend, and
afterward they died, I imagine.[3]

There are a number of Sicilian stories in which one's fate is personified and
appears in the rôle of a guardian angel, or good and bad fairy. In the same
way fortune is personified in several stories. The best example of the former
class, which has also a point of contact with the latter, is found in
Gonzenbach, No. 21, and is entitled:

XXVIII. THE STORY OF CATHERINE AND HER FATE.

There was once a merchant who was very rich and had greater treasures
than the king. In his reception room stood three wonderfully beautiful seats.
One was of silver, the second of gold, and the third of diamonds. This
merchant had an only daughter, whose name was Catherine, and who was
fairer than the sun.
One day as Catherine was sitting in her chamber, the door suddenly opened
of itself, and there entered a tall, beautiful lady, who held in her hand a
wheel. "Catherine," said she, "when would you rather enjoy your life, in
youth or in old age?" Catherine gazed at her in amazement, and could make

no answer. The beautiful lady again asked: "Catherine, when would you
rather enjoy your life, in youth or in old age?" Then thought Catherine: "If I
say in youth, I must suffer for it in old age; wherefore I will rather enjoy my
life in old age, and in youth God's will be done." So she answered: "In old
age." "Be it as you have wished," said the beautiful woman, turned her
wheel once, and disappeared. Now this beautiful tall lady was poor
Catherine's Fate.
A few days later, her father suddenly received news that some of his ships
had been wrecked in a storm; a few days after, he learned that several more
of his ships had foundered; and to cut the matter short, scarcely a month had
passed when he was himself deprived of all his riches. He had to sell all that
he had, and this, too, he lost, until at last he remained poor and wretched.
From grief he fell ill and died.
So poor Catherine remained all alone in the world, without a penny, and
with no one to give her shelter. She thought: "I will go to another city and
seek me a place there." So she set out and walked until she came to another
city. As she was going through the streets a noble lady happened to be
standing by the window, and asked her: "Where are you going, all alone,
pretty maiden?" "Ah! noble lady, I am a poor girl, and would like to find a
place to earn my bread. Can you not find use for me?" So the noble lady
received her, and Catherine served her faithfully.
Some days later the lady said one evening: "Catherine, I must go out for a
time, and will lock the house door." "Very well," said Catherine, and after
her mistress had gone she took her work and sat down and sewed. Suddenly
the door opened, and her Fate entered. "So?" she cried, "are you here,
Catherine? and do you think now that I am going to leave you in peace?"
With these words, her Fate ran to all the cupboards, dragged out the linen
and clothes of Catherine's mistress, and tore everything into a thousand
pieces. Catherine thought: "Woe is me if my mistress returns and finds
everything in this condition; she will certainly kill me!" And in her anguish
she opened the door and fled. Her Fate, however, gathered up all the torn
and ruined things, made them whole, and laid them away in their places.
When the mistress returned she called Catherine, but Catherine was
nowhere to be seen. "Can she have robbed me?" she thought; but when she
looked about, nothing was gone. She was very much astonished, but

Catherine did not return, but hastened on until she came to another city. As
she was passing through the streets, another lady, standing by the window,
asked her: "Where are you going, all alone, pretty maiden?" "Ah! noble
lady, I am a poor girl, and would like a place to earn my bread. Can you not
make use of me?" Then the lady took her in, and Catherine served her and
thought now she could rest in peace. It lasted, however, but a few days. One
evening, when her mistress was out, her Fate appeared again and addressed
her harshly: "So, here you are now? Do you think you can escape me?"
Then the Fate tore and destroyed everything that it found, so that poor
Catherine again fled, in her anguish of heart. To cut the matter short, poor
Catherine led this frightful life seven years, flying from one city to another,
and everywhere attempting to find a place. Her Fate always appeared after a
few days, and tore and destroyed her employers' things, so that the poor girl
had to flee. As soon as she had left the house the Fate restored everything
and put it in its place.
Finally, after seven years, her Fate seemed weary of always persecuting the
unfortunate Catherine. One day Catherine came again to a city and saw a
lady standing at a window, who asked her: "Where are you going, all alone,
pretty girl?" "Ah! noble lady, I am a poor girl, and would like to find a place
to earn my bread. Can you not find use for me?" The lady answered: "I will
give you a place willingly, but you must perform daily a service, and I do
not know whether you have strength for it." "Tell me what it is," said
Catherine, "and if I can, I will do it." "Do you see yonder high mountain?"
asked the lady. "Every morning you must carry up there a large board
covered with fresh bread, and cry with a loud voice: 'O my mistress' Fate! O
my mistress' Fate! O my mistress' Fate!' thrice. Then my Fate will appear
and receive the bread." "I will do that willingly," said Catherine, and the
lady took her into her service.
Now Catherine remained years with this lady, and every morning she took a
board with fresh bread and carried it up the mountain, and when she had
called three times: "O my mistress' Fate!" there appeared a beautiful tall
lady, who received the bread. Catherine often wept when she thought that
she, who had once been so rich, must now serve like a poor maid. One day
her mistress said to her: "Catherine, why do you weep so much?" Then
Catherine told her how ill it had fared with her, and her mistress said: "I will
tell you what, Catherine, when you take the bread to the mountain to-

morrow, ask my Fate to try and persuade your Fate to leave you now in
peace. Perhaps that will do some good." This advice pleased poor
Catherine, and the next morning, after she had taken the bread to her
mistress' Fate, she disclosed her trouble to her, and said: "O my mistress'
Fate, beg my Fate to persecute me no longer." Then the Fate answered: "Ah,
poor girl, your Fate is just now covered with seven coverlets, so that she
cannot hear you; but when you come to-morrow I will take you to her."
After Catherine had returned home, her mistress' Fate went to the young
girl's Fate and said: "Dear sister, why are you never weary of making poor
Catherine suffer? Permit her again to see some happy days." The Fate
answered: "Bring her to me to-morrow and I will give her something that
will help her out of all her trouble." When Catherine brought the bread the
next morning, her mistress' Fate conducted her to her own Fate, who was
covered with seven coverlets. Her Fate gave her a small skein of silk, and
said: "Preserve it carefully; it will be of use to you." Then Catherine went
home and said to her mistress: "My Fate has given me a little skein of silk;
what shall I do with it? It is not worth three grani." "Well," said her
mistress, "preserve it; who knows of what use it may be?"
Now it happened, some time after this, that the young king was to marry,
and on that account had royal garments made for himself. As the tailor was
about to sew a beautiful dress, there was no silk of the same color to be
found. So the king proclaimed throughout the whole land that whoever had
such silk should bring it to the court and would be well rewarded.
"Catherine," said her mistress, "your skein is of that color; take it to the
king so that he may make you a handsome present." Then Catherine put on
her best clothes, and went to the Court; and when she appeared before the
king, she was so beautiful that he could not keep his eyes from her. "Royal
Majesty," said she, "I have brought you a little skein of silk, of the color that
could not be found." "I will tell you what, royal Majesty," cried one of his
ministers, "we will pay the maiden for the silk with its weight in gold." The
king was satisfied and they brought a balance; in one scale the king laid the
silk, in the other, a gold coin. Now just imagine what happened: no matter
how many gold coins the king laid in the scale, the silk was always heavier.
Then the king had a larger balance brought, and threw all his treasures into
the scale, but the silk still weighed the more. Then the king at last took his
crown from his head and placed it with all the other treasures, and behold!

the scale with gold sank and weighed exactly as much as the silk. "Where
did you get this silk?" asked the king. "Royal Majesty, it was a present from
my mistress," answered Catherine. "No, that is impossible," cried the king.
"If you do not tell me the truth, I will have your head cut off." Then
Catherine related all that had happened to her since she was a rich maiden.
Now there lived at the court a wise lady, who said: "Catherine, you have
suffered much, but you will now see happy days; and that it was not until
the golden crown was put in the scale that the balance was even, is a sign
that you will be a queen." "If she is to be a queen," cried the king, "I will
make her one, for Catherine and none other shall be my wife." And so it
was; the king informed his betrothed that he no longer wished her, and
married the fair Catherine. And after Catherine in her youth had suffered so
much, she enjoyed nothing but happiness in her old age, and was happy and
contented.[4]

In the class of stories of which "The Bucket" is an example, we have seen
the good sister rewarded, and the naughty one punished. Another well-
known moral story is the one in which a king's daughter is punished for her
pride, in refusing to marry a suitable lover, by being made to marry the first
one who asks her hand. This is the case in the Grimm story "King Thrush-
Beard," or rather the king gives his proud daughter to the first beggar who
comes to the palace gate. The same occurs in one of the Italian versions of
this story, but usually the haughty princess, after refusing a noble suitor,
either falls in love with the same suitor, who has disguised himself as a
person of ignoble rank, or she sells herself to the disguised lover for some
finery with which he tempts her. At all events, her pride is thoroughly
humbled. An example of the more common version is found in Coronedi-
Berti's Bolognese tales (No. 15), and is as follows:

XXIX. THE CRUMB IN THE BEARD.

There was once a king who had a daughter whose name was Stella. She was
indescribably beautiful, but was so whimsical and hard to please that she
drove her father to despair. There had been princes and kings who had

sought her in marriage, but she had found defects in them all and would
have none of them. She kept advancing in years, and her father began to
despair of knowing to whom he should leave his crown. So he summoned
his council, and discussed the matter, and was advised to give a great
banquet, to which he should invite all the princes and kings of the
surrounding countries, for, as they said, there cannot fail to be among so
many, some one who should please the princess, who was to hide behind a
door, so that she could examine them all as she pleased. When the king
heard this advice, he gave the orders necessary for the banquet, and then
called his daughter, and said: "Listen, my little Stella, I have thought to do
so and so, to see if I can find any one to please you; behold, my daughter,
my hair is white, and I must have some one to leave my crown to." Stella
bowed her head, saying that she would take care to please him. Princes and
kings then began to arrive at the court, and when it was time for the
banquet, they all seated themselves at the table. You can imagine what sort
of a banquet that was, and how the hall was adorned: gold and silver shone
from all their necks; in the four corners of the room were four fountains,
which continually sent forth wine and the most exquisite perfumes. While
the gentlemen were eating, Stella was behind a door, as has been said, and
one of her maids, who was near by, pointed out to her now this one, now
that one. "See, your Majesty, what a handsome youth that is there." "Yes,
but he has too large a nose." "And the one near your father?" "He has eyes
that look like saucers." "And that other at the head of the table?" "He has
too large a mouth; he looks as if he liked to eat." In short, she found fault
with all but one, who, she said, pleased her, but that he must be a very dirty
fellow, for he had a crumb on his beard after eating. The youth heard her
say this, and swore vengeance. You must know that he was the son of the
king of Green Hill, and the handsomest youth that could be seen. When the
banquet was finished and the guests had departed, the king called Stella and
asked: "What news have you, my child?" She replied, that the only one who
pleased her was the one with the crumb in his beard, but that she believed
him to be a dirty fellow and did not want him. "Take care, my daughter, you
will repent it," answered her father, and turned away.
You must know that Stella's chamber looked into a court-yard into which
opened the shop of a baker. One night, while she was preparing to retire,
she heard, in the room where they sifted the meal, some one singing so well

and with so much grace that it went to her heart. She ran to the window and
listened until he finished. Then she began to ask her maid who the person
with the beautiful voice could be, saying she would like to know. "Leave it
to me, your Majesty," said the maid; "I will inform you to-morrow." Stella
could not wait for the next day; and, indeed, early the next day she learned
that the one who sang was the sifter. That evening she heard him sing again,
and stood by the window until everything became quiet. But that voice had
so touched her heart that she told her maid that the next day she would try
and see who had that fine voice. In the morning she placed herself by the
window, and soon saw the youth come forth. She was enchanted by his
beauty as soon as she saw him, and fell desperately in love with him.
Now you must know that this was none other than the prince who was at the
banquet, and whom Stella had called "dirty." So he had disguised himself in
such a way that she could not recognize him, and was meanwhile preparing
his revenge. After he had seen her once or twice he began to take off his hat
and salute her. She smiled at him, and appeared at the window every
moment. Then they began to exchange words, and in the evening he sang
under her window. In short, they began to make love in good earnest, and
when he learned that she was free, he began to talk about marrying her. She
consented at once, but asked him what he had to live on. "I haven't a
penny," said he; "the little I earn is hardly enough to feed me." Stella
encouraged him, saying that she would give him all the money and things
he wanted. To punish Stella for her pride, her father and the prince's father
had an understanding, and pretended not to know about this love affair, and
let her carry away from the palace all she owned. During the day Stella did
nothing but make a great bundle of clothes, of silver, and of money, and at
night the disguised prince came under the balcony, and she threw it down to
him. Things went on in this manner some time, and finally one evening he
said to her: "Listen. The time has come to elope." Stella could not wait for
the hour, and the next night she quietly tied a cord about her and let herself
down from the window. The prince aided her to the ground, and then took
her arm and hastened away. He led her a long ways to another city, where
he turned down a street and opened the first door he met. They went down a
long passage; finally they reached a little door, which he opened, and they
found themselves in a hole of a place which had only one window, high up.
The furniture consisted of a straw bed, a bench, and a dirty table. You can

imagine that when Stella saw herself in this place she thought she should
die. When the prince saw her so amazed, he said: "What is the matter? Does
the house not please you? Do you not know that I am a poor man? Have
you been deceived?" "What have you done with all the things I gave you?"
"Oh, I had many debts, and I have paid them, and then I have done with the
rest what seemed good to me. You must make up your mind to work and
gain your bread as I have done. You must know that I am a porter of the
king of this city, and I often go and work at the palace. To-morrow, they
have told me, the washing is to be done, so you must rise early and go with
me there. I will set you to work with the other women, and when it is time
for them to go home to dinner, you will say that you are not hungry, and
while you are alone, steal two shirts, conceal them under your skirt, and
carry them home to me." Poor Stella wept bitterly, saying it was impossible
for her to do that; but her husband replied: "Do what I say, or I shall beat
you." The next morning her husband rose with the dawn, and made her get
up, too. He had bought her a striped skirt and a pair of coarse shoes, which
he made her put on, and then took her to the palace with him, conducted her
to the laundry and left her, after he had introduced her as his wife, saying
that she should remember what awaited her at home. Then the prince ran
and dressed himself like a king, and waited at the gate of the palace until it
was time for his wife to come. Meanwhile poor Stella did as her husband
had commanded, and stole the shirts. As she was leaving the palace, she
met the king, who said: "Pretty girl, you are our porter's wife, are you not?"
Then he asked her what she had under her skirt, and shook her until the
shirts dropped out, and the king cried: "See there! the porter's wife is a
thief; she has stolen some shirts." Poor Stella ran home in tears, and her
husband followed her when he had put on his disguise again. When he
reached home Stella told him all that had happened and begged him not to
send her to the palace again; but he told her that the next day they were to
bake, and she must go into the kitchen and help, and steal a piece of dough.
Everything happened as on the previous day. Stella's theft was discovered,
and when her husband returned he found her crying like a condemned soul,
and swearing that she had rather be killed than go to the palace again. He
told her, however, that the king's son was to be married the next day, and
that there was to be a great banquet, and she must go into the kitchen and
wash the dishes. He added that when she had the chance she must steal a
pot of broth and hide it about her so that no one should see it. She had to do

as she was told, and had scarcely concealed the pot when the king's son
came into the kitchen and told his wife she must come to the ball that had
followed the banquet. She did not wish to go, but he took her by the arm
and led her into the midst of the festival. Imagine how the poor woman felt
at that ball, dressed as she was, and with the pot of broth! The king began to
poke his sword at her in jest, until he hit the pot, and all the broth ran on the
floor. Then all began to jeer her and laugh, until poor Stella fainted away
from shame, and they had to go and get some vinegar to revive her. At last
the king's mother came forward and said: "Enough; you have revenged
yourself sufficiently." Then turning to Stella: "Know that this is your
mother, and that he has done this to correct your pride and to be avenged on
you for calling him dirty." Then she took her by the arm and led her to
another room, where her maids dressed her as a queen. Her father and
mother then appeared and kissed and embraced her. Her husband begged
her pardon for what he had done, and they made peace and always lived in
harmony. From that day on she was never haughty, and had learned to her
cost that pride is the greatest fault.[5]

A curious feature in Italian stories is the part played by dolls or puppets.
They sometimes serve to represent an absent mistress, or to take her place
and receive the brunt of the husband's anger. The most peculiar of these
doll-stories are found in the south of Italy; the one that follows is from
Naples (Nov. fior. p. 333) and is entitled:

XXX. THE FAIRY ORLANDA.

There was once a merchant who had no children. He was obliged to go
away for merchandise. His wife said to him: "Here is a ring; put it on your
finger. You must bring me a doll as large as I am; one that can move, sew,
and dress herself. If you forget, this ring will turn red, and your steamer will
go neither forward nor backward." And so it happened. He forgot the doll,
embarked on the steamer, and it would not move. The pilot said: "Sir, have
you forgotten anything?" to all the gentlemen who were there. "No, sir;
nothing." At the end of the steamer was this merchant. "Sir, have you

forgotten anything; for the steamer cannot move?" He looked at his hand
and replied: "Yes, I have forgotten something—my wife's doll." He landed,
got the doll, reëmbarked, and the steamer continued its way. On his arrival
at Naples, he carried the doll to his wife, well dressed and elegant; it
seemed like a very handsome young girl. His wife, well pleased, talked to
the doll, and they both worked near the balcony. Opposite lived a king's
son, who fell in love with the doll, and became ill from his passion. The
queen, who saw that her son was ill, asked: "My son, what is the matter
with you? Tell your mamma. To-day or to-morrow we die, and you reign;
and if you take an illness and die, who will reign?" He answered: "Mamma,
I have taken this illness because there is a young girl, the daughter of the
merchant who lives opposite, who is so beautiful that she has enamored
me." The queen said: "Yes, my son, I shall marry you to her. Were she the
daughter of a scavenger, you shall marry her." "You would do a good thing.
Now let us send for the merchant." They sent a servant to the merchant's
house. "Her Majesty wishes you at the palace!" "What does she want?"
"She must speak with you." The merchant went to the palace, and asked:
"Majesty, what do you wish?" "Have you a daughter?" "No, Majesty."
"What do you mean? My son has fallen ill from the love he has conceived
for your daughter." "Your Majesty, I tell you it is a doll, and not a human
being." "I don't want to hear nonsense! If you don't present your daughter to
me in a fortnight, your head will fall under the guillotine." (Do you not
know what the guillotine is? It is the gallows. He was to be hung if he did
not take her his daughter within a fortnight.) The merchant went home,
weeping. His wife said: "What is the matter; what has the king said to you
at the palace, to make you weep?" "Can you not guess what has happened
to me? The king's son has fallen ill for the sake of the doll you have!" "He
has fallen ill? did he not see that it was a doll?" "He would not believe it,
and says it is my daughter, and that if I do not bring her to him within a
fortnight, my head will fall under the guillotine." "Well," said his wife,
"take the doll, and carry her out into the country, and see what will happen."
He did so, and while he was going along, all confused, he met an old man
who asked him: "Merchant, what are you doing?" "Ah, my old man, why
should I tell you?" "I know all." Then said the merchant: "Since you know
all, find some remedy for my life." The old man said: "Exactly. Go to such
and such a place, where there is a fairy, who is called the fairy Orlanda. She
has a palace with no doorkeeper, and no stairway. Here is a violin and a silk

ladder. When you reach this palace, begin to play. The fairy and all her
twelve maidens will appear at the window. This fairy Orlanda can give you
help."
The merchant continued his journey, and found the palace without a
doorkeeper, and with no stairway. He began to play the violin, and the fairy
and all her twelve damsels appeared and said: "What do you want that you
call us?" "Ah! fairy Orlanda, help me!" "What help do you want?" "I have
this doll, and the king's son has fallen in love with it, and is ill. What shall I
do? If I do not present her to him in a fortnight my head will be cut off."
The fairy Orlanda said: "Put this ladder to the wall. Give me the doll. Wait
two hours and I will give her back to you again." He waited two hours and
then the fairy appeared: "Here is your daughter. She will speak to all, to the
king, to the queen, but not to the prince. Farewell." The fairy Orlanda
disappeared within, and the merchant departed with his daughter. He took
her home to his wife. The doll said: "Mamma, how do you do?" "I am very
well, my daughter. Where have you been?" "I have been into the country
with papa, and now I have returned." In a fortnight the merchant dressed
her elegantly and carried her to the palace. As soon as the king saw her he
said to the queen: "My son was right; she is a beautiful girl!" She went into
the gallery and spoke with the king and queen, but did not speak to the
prince. The mortified prince thought: "She speaks to papa, she speaks to
mamma, but not to me! What does it mean? Perhaps she does not speak to
me from embarrassment." They were married, but even then she did not
speak to him. So the prince was obliged to separate from her, and they lived
in two rooms apart. The prince, meanwhile, courted another princess. One
morning, while he was breakfasting with his sweetheart, his wife called a
servant: "Come here; is the prince at table?" "Yes, Highness." "Wait!" She
cut off her two hands and put them in the oven, and there came out a roast,
with ten sausages. "Carry these to the prince." "Prince, the princess sends
you this." He asked: "How was it made?" The servant replied: "Prince, she
cut off her two hands and put them in the oven. She amazed me." "Enough,"
said the prince, "let us eat them." His sweetheart said: "I can do it, too." So
she cut off her hands and put them in the oven; but they were burned and
she died. "Oh, what have you done to me! you have killed one for me!" said
the prince. After a time he made love to another. The first time he sat at
table with her, the princess called another servant: "Servant, where are you

going?" "I am going, Majesty, to the prince's table." "Wait!" She cut off her
arms, and put them in the oven, and there came out a roast, with two blood-
puddings. She said: "Carry it to the prince, at table." "Prince!" "Go away, I
don't want to hear any nonsense." "But listen; let me tell you!" "Well, tell
away." So the servant told how the princess had cut off her arms (which had
grown out again) and put them in the oven, and the roast and puddings had
come out. The second sweetheart tried to do the same and died. After a
while the prince fell in love with another, and the same thing was repeated.
The princess cut off her legs and put them in the oven, and a large roast
came out, with two larded hams. The third sweetheart tried to do the same,
and died like the others. Then the prince said: "Ah! she has done it to three
for me! Unhappy me! I will not make love to any more."
During the night when the princess had gone to bed, the lamp said: "Lady, I
want to drink." "Oil-cruet, give the lamp a drink." "Lady, it has hurt me."
"Oil-cruet, why did you hurt the lamp? How beautiful is the fairy Orlanda!
How beautiful is the fairy Orlanda! How beautiful is the fairy Orlanda!" So
she did all night until day. All these things were enchanted: the lamp and the
oil-cruet. The prince, who heard it, said one day to a servant: "This evening
you must enter the princess' room. You must spend the night under her bed.
You must see what she does in the night." The servant did so, and the same
thing was repeated with the lamp and the oil-cruet. The servant told the
prince, who said: "To-night, I will go." At night he crept under his wife's
bed. The same thing was repeated. The lamp said: "Lady, I want to drink!"
"Oil-cruet, give the lamp a drink." "Lady, it has hurt me." "Oil-cruet, why
have you hurt the lamp? How beautiful is the fairy Orlanda!" The whole
night she repeated: "How beautiful is the fairy Orlanda!" The prince
responded: "Blessed be the fairy Orlanda!" "Ah!" said the princess, "did it
need so much to say a word?" Then they embraced and kissed each other,
and remained contented and happy.[6]

We now pass to an amusing class of stories, in which the hero comes in
possession of enchanted objects and loses them, finally regaining them in
various ways. There are three versions of this class. In the first, the hero
loses the objects by the cunning of a woman, and regains them by means of

two kinds of fruits, one of which produces some bodily defect and the other
cures it. In the second, the episode of the fruits is wanting, and the owner
regains his property either by preventing the princess from cheating him at
play or by making her fall in love with him. In the third, a person (usually a
landlord) substitutes worthless objects for two enchanted ones, which are
recovered by means of a third magic object (usually a stick), which beats
until the stolen property is restored.[7] To illustrate the first version, we will
give a Sicilian story from Gonzenbach (No. 31), which is entitled:

XXXI. THE SHEPHERD WHO MADE THE KING'S
DAUGHTER LAUGH.

There was once a king and a queen who had an only daughter, whom they
loved very dearly. When she was fifteen years old she became suddenly
very sad and would not laugh any more. So the king issued a proclamation
that whoever made his daughter laugh, whether he were a prince, peasant,
or beggar, should become her husband. Many made the attempt, but none
succeeded. Now there was a poor woman who had an only son, who was
idle and would not learn any trade; so finally his mother sent him to a
farmer to keep his sheep. One day, as he was driving the sheep over the
fields, he came to a well, and bent over it to drink. As he did so he saw a
handsome ring on the wheel, and as it pleased him, he put it on the ring
finger of his right hand. He had scarcely put it on, however, when he began
to sneeze violently, and could not stop until he had accidentally removed
the ring. Then his sneezing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. "Oh!"
thought he, "if the ring has this virtue, I had better try my fortune with it,
and see whether it will not make the king's daughter laugh." So he put the
ring on his left hand, and no longer had to sneeze. Then he drove the sheep
home, took leave of his master, and set out toward the city where the king
lived. He was obliged, however, to pass through a dense forest which was
so extensive that it grew dark before he left it. He thought: "If the robbers
find me here they will take away my ring, and then I should be a ruined
man. I would rather climb a tree and spend the night there." So he climbed a
tree, tied himself fast with his belt, and soon fell asleep. Before long,
thirteen robbers came and sat down under the tree, and talked so loud that
the shepherd awoke. The captain of the robbers said: "Let each relate what
he has accomplished to-day;" and each exhibited what he had taken. The

thirteenth, however, pulled out a tablecloth, a purse, and a whistle, and said:
"I have gained to-day the greatest treasures, for these three things I have
taken from a monk, and each of them has a particular virtue. If any one
spreads out the tablecloth and says: 'My little tablecloth, give me macaroni,
or roast meat,' or whatever one will, he will find everything there
immediately. Likewise the purse will give all the money one wants; and
whoever hears the whistle must dance whether he will or no." The robbers
at once put the power of the tablecloth to the test, and then went to sleep,
the captain laying the precious articles near himself. When they were all
snoring hard the shepherd descended, took the three articles, and crept
away.
The next day he came to the city where the king lived, and went straight to
the palace. "Announce me to the king," said he to the servants; "I will try to
make the king's daughter laugh." The servants tried to dissuade him, but he
insisted on being led before the king, who took him into a large room, in
which was the king's daughter, sitting on a splendid throne and surrounded
by the whole court. "If I am to make the princess laugh," said the shepherd
to the king, "you must first do me the kindness to put this ring on the ring-
finger of your right hand." The king had scarcely done so when he began to
sneeze violently, and could not stop, but ran up and down the room,
sneezing all the time. The entire court began to laugh, and the king's
daughter could not stay sober, but had to run away laughing. Then the
shepherd went up to the king, took off the ring, and said: "Your Majesty, I
have made the princess laugh; to me belongs the reward." "What! you
worthless shepherd!" cried the king. "You have not only made me the
laughing-stock of the whole court, but now you want my daughter for your
wife! Quick! take the ring from him, and throw him into prison."
While there the wonderful tablecloth provides him and his companions with
plenty to eat, and when it is discovered and taken from him by the king's
orders, the purse enables them all to live in comfort. That is also discovered,
and nothing is left but the whistle. "Well!" thought the shepherd, "if we
can't eat any more, we will at least dance;" and he pulled out his pipe and
began to play on it, and all the prisoners began to dance, and the guards
with them, and between them all they made a great noise. When the king
heard it he came running there with his servants, and had to dance like all

the rest, but found breath enough to order the pipe to be taken away from
the shepherd, and all became quiet again.
So now the shepherd had nothing left, and remained in prison some time,
until he found an old file, and one night filed through the iron bars and
escaped. He wandered about all day, and at last came to the same forest
where he had formerly been. All at once he saw a large fig-tree bearing the
most beautiful fruit,—on one side black figs, on the other, white ones. "That
is something I have never seen," thought the shepherd,—"a fig-tree that
bears black and white figs at the same time. I must try them." Scarcely had
he tasted them when he felt something move on the top of his head, and
putting his hand up, found he had two long horns. "Unhappy man!" he
cried; "what shall I do?" However, as he was very hungry, he picked some
of the white figs and ate them, and immediately one of the horns
disappeared, and also the other after he had eaten a few more white figs.
"My fortune is made!" he thought. "The king will have to give me all my
things back, and his daughter in the bargain."
The shepherd disguised himself and went to the city with two baskets of
figs,—one of the black and one of the white kind, the former of which he
sold to the king's cook, whom he met in the market place. While the king
was at the table the servant put the figs before him, and he was much
pleased with them, and gave some to his wife and daughter; the rest he ate
himself. Scarcely had they eaten them when they saw with terror the long
horns that had grown from their heads. The queen and her daughter began
to weep, and the king, in a rage, called the cook and asked him who had
sold him the figs. "A peasant in the market," answered the cook. "Go at
once and bring him here," cried the king.
The shepherd had remained near the palace, and as the cook came out, he
went up to him with the basket of white figs in his hand. "What miserable
figs did you sell me this morning!" cried out the cook to him. "As soon as
the king, queen, and princess had eaten your figs, great horns grew on their
heads." "Be quiet," said the shepherd; "I have a remedy here, and can soon
remove the horns. Take me to the king." He was led before the king, who
asked him what kind of figs he had sold. "Be quiet, your Majesty," said the
shepherd, "and eat these figs," at the same time giving him a white one; and
as soon as the king had eaten it one of the horns disappeared. "Now," said

the shepherd, "before I give you any more of my figs you must give me
back my whistle; if not, you may keep your horn." The king in his terror
gave up the whistle, and the shepherd handed the queen a fig. When one of
the queen's horns had disappeared, he said: "Now give me my purse back,
or else I will take my figs away." So the king gave him his purse, and the
shepherd removed one of the princess' horns. Then he demanded his
tablecloth; and when he had received it he gave the king another fig, so that
the second horn disappeared. "Now give me my ring," he said; and the king
had to give him his ring before he would remove the queen's horn. The only
one left now was the princess, and the shepherd said: "Now fulfil your
promise and marry me to the princess; otherwise she may keep her horn as
long as she lives." So the princess had to marry him, and after the wedding
he gave her another fig to eat, so that her last horn also disappeared. They
had a merry wedding, and when the old king died the shepherd became
king, and so they remained contented and happy, and were like a bundle of
roots.[8]

The second version of this story is represented by but three examples, none
of them worth giving at length. In one (Pomiglianesi, p. 110) the princess
wins the magic objects (purse, cloak that renders invisible, and horn that
blows out soldiers) at play. The loser disguises himself as a priest and
confesses the princess when she is ill, and makes her give back the objects
she has won or stolen. In a Florentine version (Nov. fior. p. 349), the owner
of the objects, a poor shepherd's son, pretends to be the son of the king of
Portugal. He plays with the princess and wins, but his true origin is
discovered and he is thrown into prison. There he makes use of the magic
tablecloth, which he sells to the king for the privilege of passing a night in
the princess' room. The same payment is asked for the box that fills itself
with money, and the little organ that makes every one dance. The shepherd,
of course, becomes the princess' husband and inherits the kingdom when
the king dies. In the Sicilian story (Pitrè, No. 26) the fairies give Peter the
purse, tablecloth, and violin, and he goes to play chess with the daughter of
the king of Spain, who is to marry whoever beats her at the game. She
cheats and wins, and Peter is thrown into prison. There he uses the

tablecloth, and when the princess hears of it, she proposes to play for it.
Again she cheats by changing a chessman while Peter is looking away, and
the loser is thrown into prison again. They play again for the magic violin,
and Peter, who has been warned in prison by other losers of the princess'
tricks, keeps a sharp lookout, detects, and defeats her. They are married, and
Peter releases all the defeated players from jail, and afterward gets rid of
them by means of the violin.[9]
The third version is the most popular one; the following example of it is
from Nerucci's collection of Montalese tales (No. 43).

XXXII. THE ASS THAT LAYS MONEY.

There was once a poor widow with an only son, and whose brother-in-law
was a steward. One day she said to her child: "Go to your uncle and ask him
to give you something to keep you from starving." The boy went to the farm
and asked his uncle to help him a little. "We are dying of hunger, uncle. My
mother earns a little by weaving, and I am too small to find anything. Be
charitable to us, for we are your relatives." The steward answered: "Why
not? You should have come sooner and I would have helped you the sooner.
But now I will give you something to support you always, without need of
anything more. I will give you this little ass that lays money. You have only
to put a cloth under him, and he will fill it for you with handsome coins.
But take care! Don't tell it, and don't leave this animal with any one." The
youth departed in joy, and after he had travelled a long way, he stopped at
an inn to sleep, for his house was distant. He said to the landlord: "Give me
a lodging, but look! my ass spends the night with me." "What!" said the
landlord, "what are you thinking about! It cannot be." The youth replied:
"Yes, it can be, because my ass does not leave my side." They disputed a
while, but the landlord finally consented; but he had some suspicions; and
when the boy and his beast were shut in the room, he looked through the
key-hole, and saw that wonder of an ass that laid money in abundance.
"Bless me!" cried the host. "I should be a fool, indeed, if I let this piece of
good fortune escape my hands!" He at once looked for another ass of the
same color and size, and while the lad was asleep, exchanged them. In the
morning the boy paid his bill and departed, but on the way, the ass no
longer laid any money. The stupefied child did not know what to think at

first, but afterward examining it more closely, it appeared to him that the ass
was not his, and straightway he returned to the innkeeper, to complain of
his deception. The landlord cried out: "I wonder at your saying such a
thing! We are all honest people here, and don't steal anything from anybody.
Go away, blockhead, or you will find something to remember a while."
The child, weeping, had to depart with his ass, and he went back to his
uncle's farm, and told him what had happened. The uncle said: "If you had
not stopped at the innkeeper's, you could not have met with this misfortune.
However, I have another present to help you and your mother. But take
care! Do not mention it to any one, and take good care of it. Here it is. I
give you a tablecloth, and whenever you say: 'Tablecloth, make ready,' after
having spread it out, you will see a fine repast at your pleasure." The youth
took the tablecloth in delight, thanked his uncle, and departed; but like the
fool he was, he stopped again at the same inn. He said to the landlord:
"Give me a room and you need not prepare anything to eat. I have all I want
with me." The crafty innkeeper suspected that there was something beneath
this, and when the lad was in his room, he looked through the key-hole, and
saw the tablecloth preparing the supper. The host exclaimed: "What good
luck for my inn! I will not let it escape me." He quickly looked for another
tablecloth like this one, with the same embroidery and fringe, and while the
child was sleeping, he exchanged it for the magic one, so that in the
morning the lad did not perceive the knavery. Not until he had reached a
forest where he was hungry, did he want to make use of the tablecloth. But
it was in vain that he spread it out and cried: "Tablecloth, make ready." The
tablecloth was not the same one, and made nothing ready for him. In
despair the boy went back to the innkeeper to complain, and the landlord
would have thrashed him if he had not run away, and he ran until he
reached his uncle's. His uncle, when he saw him in such a plight, said: "Oh!
what is the matter?" "Uncle!" said the boy, "the same innkeeper has
changed the tablecloth, too, for me." The uncle was on the point of giving
the dunce a good thrashing; but afterward, seeing that it was a child, he
calmed his anger, and said: "I understand; but I will give you a remedy by
which you can get back everything from that thief of a landlord. Here it is!
It is a stick. Hide it under your bolster; and if any one comes to rob you of
it, say to it, in a low voice: 'Beat, beat!' and it will continue to do so until
you say to it, 'Stop.'"

Imagine how joyfully the boy took the stick! It was a handsome polished
stick, with a gold handle, and delighted one only to see it. So the boy
thanked his uncle for his kindness, and after he had journeyed a while, he
came to the same inn. He said: "Landlord, I wish to lodge here to-night."
The landlord at once drew his conclusions about the stick, which the boy
carried openly in his hands, and at night when the lad appeared to be sound
asleep, but really was on the watch, the landlord felt softly under the bolster
and drew out the stick. The boy, although it was dark, perceived the theft
and said in a low voice: "Beat, beat, beat!" Suddenly blows were rained
down without mercy; everything broken to pieces, the chest of drawers, the
looking-glass, all the chairs, the glass in the windows; and the landlord, and
those that came at the noise, beaten nearly to death. The landlord screamed
to split his throat: "Save me, boy, I am dead!" The boy answered: "What! I
will not deliver you, if you do not give me back my property,—the ass that
lays gold, and the tablecloth that prepares dinner." And if the landlord did
not want to die of the blows, he had to consent to the boy's wishes.
When he had his things back, the boy went home to his mother and told her
what had happened to him, and then said: "Now, we do not need anything
more. I have an ass that lays money, a tablecloth that prepares food at my
will, and a stick to defend me from whoever annoys me." So that woman
and her son, who, from want had become rich enough to cause every one
envy, wished from pride to invite their relatives to a banquet, to make them
acquainted with their wealth. On the appointed day the relatives came to the
woman's new house; but noon strikes, one o'clock strikes, it is almost two,
and in the kitchen the fire is seen extinguished, and there were no
provisions anywhere. "Are they playing a joke on us?" said the relatives.
"We shall have to depart with dry teeth." At that moment, however, the
clock struck two, and the lad, after spreading the cloth on the table,
commanded: "Tablecloth, prepare a grand banquet." In short, those people
had a fine dinner and many presents in money, and the boy and his mother
remained in triumph and joy.[10]

The next story to which we shall direct our attention is "Puss in Boots,"
which, in the form known to our children, is of French origin, being one of

the tales which Perrault made so popular by his versions. Before Perrault,
however, two literary versions of this story existed: one in Straparola and
one in the Pentamerone. There are, besides, several popular versions of this
story, which are somewhat peculiar. The one that follows is from Sicily
(Pitrè, No. 88).

XXXIII. DON JOSEPH PEAR.

There were once three brothers who owned a pear-tree and lived on the
pears. One day one of the brothers went to pick these pears, and found that
they had been gathered. "Oh! my brothers! what shall we do, for our pears
have been picked?" So the eldest went and remained in the garden to guard
the pear-tree during the night. He fell asleep, however, and the next
morning the second brother came and said: "What have you done, my
brother? Have you been sleeping? Do you not see that the pears have been
picked? To-night I will stay." That night the second brother remained. The
next morning the youngest went there and saw more of the pears picked,
and said: "Were you the one that was going to keep a good watch? Go, I
will stay here to-night; we shall see whether they can cheat me to my face."
At night the youngest brother began to play and dance under the pear-tree;
while he was not playing, a fox, believing that the youth had gone to sleep,
came out and climbed the tree and picked the rest of the pears. When it was
coming down the tree, the youth quickly aimed his gun at it and was about
to shoot. The fox said: "Don't shoot me, Don Joseph; for I will have you
called Don Joseph Pear, and will make you marry the king's daughter." Don
Joseph answered: "And where shall I see you again? What has the king to
do with you? With one kick that he would give you, you would never
appear before him again." However, Don Joseph Pear from pity let her
escape. The fox went away to a forest and caught all sorts of game,
squirrels, hares, and quails, and carried them to the king; so that it was a
sight. "Sir Majesty, Don Joseph Pear sends me; you must accept this game."
The king said: "Listen, little fox, I accept this game; but I have never heard
this Don Joseph Pear mentioned." The fox left the game there, and ran away
to Don Joseph. "Softly, Don Joseph, I have taken the first step; I have been
to the king, and carried him the first game; and he accepted it."

A week later the fox went to the forest, caught the best animals, squirrels,
hares, birds, and took them to the king. "Sir Majesty, Don Joseph Pear sends
me to you with this game." The king said to the fox: "My daughter, I don't
know who this Don Joseph Pear is; I am afraid you have been sent
somewhere else! I will tell you what: have this Don Joseph Pear come here,
so that I can make his acquaintance." The fox wished to leave the game, and
said: "I am not mistaken; my master sent me here; and for a token, he said
that he wished the princess for his wife."
The fox returned to Don Joseph Pear, and said to him: "Softly, things are
going well; after I have been to the king again, the matter is settled." Don
Joseph said: "I will not believe you until I have my wife."
The fox now went to an ogress and said: "Friend, friend, have we not to
divide the gold and silver?" "Certainly," said the ogress to the fox; "go and
get the measure and we will divide the gold from the silver." The fox went
to the king and did not say: "The ogress wants to borrow your measure;" but
she said: "Don Joseph Pear wants to borrow, for a short time, your measure
to separate the gold from the silver." "What!" said the king, "has this Don
Joseph Pear such great riches? Is he then richer than I?" And he gave the
fox the measure. When he was alone with his daughter he said to her, in the
course of his conversation: "It must be that this Don Joseph Pear is very
rich, for he divides the gold and silver." The fox carried the measure to the
ogress, who began to measure and heap up gold and silver. When she had
finished, the fox went to Don Joseph Pear and dressed him in new clothes, a
watch with diamonds, rings, a ring for his betrothed, and everything that
was needed for the marriage. "Behold, Don Joseph," said the fox, "I am
going before you now; you go to the king and get your bride and then go to
the church." Don Joseph went to the king; got his bride, and they went to
the church. After they were married, the princess got into the carriage and
the bridegroom mounted his horse. The fox made a sign to Don Joseph and
said: "I will go before you; you follow me and let the carriages and horses
come after."
They started on their way, and came to a sheep-farm which belonged to the
ogress. The boy who was tending the sheep, when he saw the fox approach,
threw a stone at her, and she began to weep. "Ah!" she said to the boy;
"now I will have you killed. Do you see those horsemen? Now I will have

you killed!" The youth, terrified, said: "If you will not do anything to me I
will not throw any more stones at you." The fox replied: "If you don't want
to be killed, when the king passes and asks you whose is this sheep-farm,
you must tell him: 'Don Joseph Pear's,' for Don Joseph Pear is his son-in-
law, and he will reward you." The cavalcade passed by, and the king asked
the boy: "Whose is this sheep-farm?" The boy replied at once: "Don Joseph
Pear's." The king gave him some money.
The fox kept about ten paces before Don Joseph, and the latter did nothing
but say in a low tone: "Where are you taking me, fox? What lands do I
possess that you can make me believed to be rich? Where are we going?"
The fox replied: "Softly, Don Joseph, and leave it to me." They went on and
on, and the fox saw another farm of cattle, with the herdsman. The same
thing happened there as with the shepherd: the stone thrown and the fox's
threat. The king passed. "Herdsman, whose is this farm of cattle?" "Don
Joseph Pear's." And the king, astonished at his son-in-law's wealth, gave the
herdsman a piece of gold.
Don Joseph was pleased on the one hand, but on the other was perplexed
and did not know how it was to turn out. When the fox turned around,
Joseph said: "Where are you taking me, fox? You are ruining me." The fox
kept on as if she had nothing to do with the matter. Then she came to
another farm of horses and mares. The boy who was tending them threw a
stone at the fox. She frightened him, and he told the king, when the king
asked him, that the farm was Don Joseph Pear's.
They kept on and came to a well, and near it the ogress was sitting. The fox
began to run and pretended to be in great terror. "Friend, friend, see, they
are coming! These horsemen will kill us! Let us hide in the well, shall we
not?" "Yes, friend," said the ogress in alarm. "Shall I throw you down
first?" said the fox. "Certainly, friend." Then the fox threw the ogress down
the well, and then entered the ogress' palace. Don Joseph Pear followed the
fox, with his wife, his father-in-law, and all the riders. The fox showed them
through all the apartments, displaying the riches, Don Joseph Pear
contented at having found his fortune, and the king still more contented
because his daughter was so richly settled. There was a festival for a few
days, and then the king, well satisfied, returned to his own country and his
daughter remained with her husband. One day the fox was looking out of

the window, and Don Joseph Pear and his wife were going up to the terrace.
Don Joseph Pear took up a little dust from the terrace and threw it at the
fox's head. The fox raised her eyes. "What is the meaning of this, after the
good I have done you, miserable fellow?" said she to Don Joseph. "Take
care or I will speak!" The wife said to her husband: "What is the matter
with the fox, to speak thus?" "Nothing," answered her husband. "I threw a
little dust at her and she got angry." Don Joseph took up a little more dust
and threw it at the fox's head. The fox, in a rage, cried: "Joe, you see I will
speak! and I declare that you were the owner of a pear-tree!" Don Joseph
was frightened, for the fox told his wife everything; so he took an earthen
jar and threw it at the fox's head, and so got rid of her. Thus—the ungrateful
fellow that he was—he killed the one who had done him so much kindness;
but nevertheless he enjoyed all his wealth with his wife.[11]

The story we shall next consider is, in some of its versions, legendary in its
nature, and might more properly, perhaps, have been treated in chapter IV.
Its legendary character, however, is only accidental, and it really belongs to
the class of stories discussed in the present chapter. The story in general
maybe termed "The Thankful Dead," from the most important episode in it.
The hero shows some respect to a corpse (paying the debts it incurred when
alive, and so obtaining the right of burial for it), the soul of which becomes
the hero's good fairy, and assists him when in danger, and finally brings
about his good fortune. Around this nucleus have gathered various episodes,
which will be mentioned in the notes. As an example of this story, we give,
on account of its rarity, the Istrian version (Ive, Nozze Ive-Lorenzetto, III. p.
19).

XXXV. FAIR BROW.

There was once a father who had a son. After this son had passed through
school, his father said to him: "Son, now that you have finished your
studies, you are of an age to travel. I will give you a vessel, in order that
you may load it and unload it, buy and sell. Be careful what you do; take
care to make gains!" He gave him six thousand scudi to buy merchandise,

and the son started on his voyage. On his journey, without having yet
purchased anything, he arrived at a town, and on the sea-shore he saw a
bier, and noticed that those who passed by left there some a penny, some
two; they bestowed alms on the corpse. The traveller went there and asked:
"Why do you keep this dead man here? for the dead desires the grave."
They replied: "Because he owed a world of debts, and it is the custom here
to bury no one until his debts are paid. Until this man's debts are paid by
charity we cannot bury him." "What is the use of keeping him here?" he
said. "Proclaim that all those whom he owed shall come to me and be paid."
Then they issued the proclamation and he paid the debts; and, poor fellow!
he did not have a farthing left—not a penny of his capital. So he returned to
his father's house. "What news, son? What means your return so soon?" He
replied: "On crossing the sea, we encountered pirates; they have robbed me
of all my capital!" His father said: "No matter, son; it is enough that they
have left you your life. Behold, I will give you more money; but you must
not go again in that direction." He gave him another six thousand scudi. The
son replied: "Yes, father, don't worry; I will change my course." He
departed and began his journey. When he was well out at sea he saw a
Turkish vessel. He said to himself: "Now it is better for me to summon
them on board than for them to summon us." They came on board. He said
to them: "Whence do you come?" They answered: "We come from the
Levant." "What is your cargo?" "Nothing but a beautiful girl." "How do you
come to have this girl?" "For her beauty; to sell her again. We have stolen
her from the Sultan, she is so beautiful!" "Let me see this girl." When he
saw her he said: "How much do you want for her?" "We want six thousand
scudi!" The money which his father gave him he gave to those corsairs, and
took the girl and carried her away to his ship. But he at once had her
become a Christian and married her.
He returned to his father's house; he went up, and his father said to him:

"Welcome! O my handsome son.
What merchandise of women have you made?"
"My father, I bring you a handsome ring,
I bring it for your reward;
It cost me neither city nor castle,
But the most beautiful woman you have ever seen:
The daughter of the Sultan, who is in Turkey,
Her I bring for my first cargo!"

"Ah, you miserable knave!" cried his father. "Is this the cargo you have
brought?" He ill-treated them both, and drove them from the house. Those
poor unfortunate ones did not know where to find shelter. They went away,
and at a short distance from their town there were some rooms at a villa.
They went to live in one of those. He said: "What shall we do here? I do not
know how to do anything; I have no profession or business!" She said:
"Now I can paint beautiful pictures; I will paint them, and you shall go and
sell them!" He said: "Very well!" "But, remember, you must tell no one that
I paint them!" "No, no!" he said.
Now let us go to Turkey. The Sultan, meanwhile, had sent out many vessels
in search of his daughter. These ships went here and there in quest of her.
Now it happened that one of these vessels arrived in the town near where
she lived, and many of the sailors went on land. Now one day the husband
said to his wife: "Make many pictures, for to-day we shall sell them!" She
made them, and said to him that he should not sell them for less than twenty
scudi apiece. She made a great many, and he carried them to the public
square. Some of the Turks came there; they gave a glance at the paintings,
and said to themselves: "Surely, it must be the Sultan's daughter who has
painted these." They came nearer, and asked the young man how he sold
them. He said they were dear; that he could not let them go for less than
twenty scudi. They said: "Very well! we will buy them; but we want some
more." He answered: "Come to the house of my wife who makes them!"
They went there, and when they saw the Sultan's daughter, they seized her,
bound her, and carried her far away to Turkey. This husband, then, unhappy,
without wife, without a trade, alone in that house, what could he do?

Every day he walked along the beach, to see if he could find a ship that
would take him on board; but he never saw any. One day he saw an old man
fishing in a little boat; he cried: "Good old man, how much better off you
are than I!" The old man asked: "Why, my dear son?" He said: "Good old
man, will you take me to fish with you?" "Yes, my son," said he; "if you
wish to come with me in this boat, I will take you!" "Thank heaven!" said
he. "Good!" said the old man:

"You with the rod, and I with the boat,
Perhaps we shall catch some fish.

I will go and sell the fish, for I am not ashamed, and we will live together!"
They ate, and afterward went to sleep; without knowing it, there arose in the
night a severe storm, and the wind carried them to Turkey. The Turks,
seeing this boat arrive, went on board, seized them, made slaves of them,
and took them before the Sultan. He said: "Let one of them make bouquets;
let the other plant flowers; put them in the garden!" They placed the old
man there as gardener, and the young man to carry flowers to the Sultan's
daughter, who with her maids was shut up in a very high tower for
punishment. They were very comfortable there. Every day they went into
the garden and made friends with the other gardeners. As time went on, the
old man made some fine guitars, violins, flutes, clarionets, piccolos—all
sorts of instruments he made. The young man played them beautifully when
he had time. One day his wife, who was in the tower, hearing his fine songs,
—Fair Brow had a voice which surpassed all instruments,—said: "Who is
playing, who is singing so beautifully?" They went out on the balcony, and
when she saw Fair Brow, she thought at once of having him come up. The
Sultan's daughter said to one of those who filled the basket with flowers:
"Put that young man in the basket and cover him with flowers!" He put him
in, and the maids drew him up. When he was up, he came out of the basket,
and beheld his wife. He embraced and kissed her and thought about
escaping from there. Then she told her damsels that she wished to depart
without any one knowing it. So they loaded a large ship with pearls and
precious stones, with rods of gold and jewels; then they let down Fair Brow
first, then his wife; finally the damsels. They embarked and departed. When
they were out at sea the husband remembered that he had forgotten the old
man and left him on shore. Fair Brow said: "My sister, even if I thought I

should lose my life, I would turn back, for the word which I have given him
is the mother of faith!" So they turned back, and saw the old man, who was
still awaiting them in a cave; they took him with them, and put to sea again.
When they were near home, the old man said: "Now, my son, it is fitting for
us to settle our accounts and divide things!" "Know, good old man," said
Fair Brow to him, "that all the wealth that I have belongs half to you and
half to me!" "Your wife, too, belongs half to me!" He said: "Good old man,
I will leave you three quarters, and I will take one only, but leave me my
wife. Do you want me to divide her in two?" Then the old man said: "You
must know that I am the soul of him whom you had buried; and you have
had all this good fortune because you did that good action, and converted
and baptized your wife!" Then he gave him his blessing and disappeared.
Fair Brow, when he heard this, as you can imagine, came near dying of joy.
When they reached his city, they fired a salute, for Fair Brow had arrived
with his wife, the wealthiest gentleman in the world. He sent for his father
and told him all that had happened to him. He went to live with them, and
as he was old, he died soon, and all his riches went to Fair Brow.[12]

We have already stated in the preface that it was not our design to admit
into this work (except for occasional reference) any stories that were
literary in their character. For this reason we have not drawn on the
treasures of Straparola or Basile, or even on the more popular chap-books,
of which there are in Italy, as elsewhere, a great profusion. Of some of the
stories contained in the last named class of works there are purely popular
versions. As an example of the class, and for purposes of comparison, we
give the story of Leombruno, or Lionbruno, one of the oldest and most
popular of its kind. The most complete version is the one from the
Basilicata, given by Comparetti, No. 41, which is as follows:

XXXVI. LIONBRUNO.

There was once a mariner who had a wife and three or four children. He
followed the business of a fisherman, and he and his family lived on his
fishing. For three or four years there had been a dearth of fish, so that he

had not been able to catch even a sardine. Poor mariner! From this
misfortune he had been obliged to sell, little by little, all he possessed, to
live, and was reduced almost to beggary. One day he was fishing, and as
you can imagine, poor fellow! he did not haul in even a shell. He cursed
madonnas and saints. All at once a certain person (it was the Enemy) rose in
the midst of the sea before his bark. "What is the matter, mariner, that you
are so angry?" "What should the matter be? My bad luck. For three or four
years I have been ruining myself, body and soul, in this sea with these nets,
and I cannot catch even a string to hang myself with." "Listen," said the
Enemy. "If you will agree to give me your wife's next child in thirteen
years, from now until you deliver it to me I will cause you to catch so much
fish that you shall become the richest of men by selling it." Then the
mariner understood that this was the Enemy, and said to himself: "My wife
has had no children for some years. Will she take it into her head to have
another just now when I make this agreement with the Enemy? Oh, come!
she is old now; she will have no more." Then turning to the Enemy, he said:
"Well, since you wish to make this contract, let us make it. But, remember,
you must make me rich." "Don't fear," said the Enemy; "let us make the
agreement and then leave the matter to me." "Softly, we must settle another
matter first; then we will make the contract." "What is it?" "Listen. Suppose
my wife should have no children during these thirteen years?" "Then you
will remain rich and give me nothing." "That is what I wanted to know.
Now we can make the contract." And they settled everything at once. Then
the Enemy disappeared. The mariner began to draw in his nets, and they
were full to overflowing of all kinds of fish, and he became richer from day
to day. In great joy he said: "I have played a trick on the devil!"—and, poor
man! he did not know that it was the devil who had played a trick on him.
Now you must know that just when they were making the contract, the
mariner's wife, old as she was, expected to become a mother again, and the
Enemy knew it. In due time the wife gave birth to a boy so handsome that
he seemed a flower. His parents named him Lionbruno. The Enemy
suddenly appeared: "Mariner! mariner!" "How can I serve you?" replied the
poor man, all trembling. "The promise is due. Lionbruno is mine." "Yes,
you are right. But you must obey the contract. Remember that it is in
thirteen years. Now only a few months have passed." "That is true," replied
the Enemy; "farewell, then, until the end of the thirteen years." Then he
vanished. Meanwhile Lionbruno grew every day, and became constantly

handsomer, and his parents sent him to school. But time passes, and behold
the end of the thirteen years draws near. One day, before the time agreed
upon, the Enemy appeared. "Mariner! mariner!" "Oh, poor me!" said the
wretched man, who recognized him by his horrid voice. But he had to
answer. And what could he do? The contract was clear and the time come.
The poor mariner, willingly or unwillingly, was obliged to promise to send
the boy the next day alone to the sea. The next day the mother sent her son,
when he returned from school, to carry something to eat to his father. The
unhappy father had, however, gone far out to sea, so that his son could not
find him. The poor boy sat down on the beach, and to pass the time, took
pieces of wood and made little crosses of them, and stuck them in the sand
around him, so that he was surrounded by them, and held one also in his
hand, singing all the time.
Behold, the Enemy comes to take him, and says to him: "What are you
doing, boy?" "I am waiting for my father," he replied. The Enemy looked
and saw that he could not take him, because he was seated in the midst of
all those little crosses, and moreover had one in his hand. He regarded the
boy with an ugly look, and cried: "Destroy those crosses, miserable boy!"
"No, I will not destroy them." "Destroy them at once, or—or"—and he
threatened him and frightened him with his ugly face. Then the poor child
destroyed the little crosses around him, but still held one in his hand.
"Destroy the other, quick!" cried the Enemy, more enraged than ever. "No,
no!" the poor child replied, all in tears; "I will not destroy this little cross."
The Enemy threatened him again and terrified him with his rolling eyes, but
the child was firm, and then a bright light appeared in the air. The fairy
Colina, queen of the fairies, came down, took the good boy by the hair, and
delivered him from the Enemy. Then if you had seen what lightnings and
thunder! what darts! The Enemy shot fire from his eyes, mouth, nose, ears,
everywhere! But with all his flames he remained duped, and the fairy
carried the good boy away to her splendid palace. There Lionbruno grew up
in the midst of the fairies. Imagine how well off he was there! He lacked
nothing. Increasing always in beauty, he became a youth whom you should
have seen! Some years passed. One day Lionbruno said to the fairy Colina:
"Listen. I want to go and see my mother and father a little. You will not
refuse me your permission, will you?" "No, I will not refuse you it," said
the fairy. "I will give you twenty days to go and see your family. But do not

stay any longer. Remember that I have saved you from the Enemy and have
brought you up in the midst of great wealth. Now this wealth we are to
enjoy together, for you, Lionbruno, are to be my husband." You can imagine
whether the youth wished to say no. He replied at once: "I will do your will
in all things." Then the fairy said: "My Lionbruno, take this ruby; all that
you ask of it you shall have." He took the ruby. Then all the fairies gave
him in turn some token. He took them, and thanked them all. Then he
embraced his bride and departed. Lionbruno travelled better than a prince,
magnificently dressed, on a superb horse, with guards before him. He
arrived at his town, went to the square, and a crowd of people surrounded
him out of curiosity. He asked his way to the house of the mariner who was
his father. He did not reveal himself to his parents, but asked them for a
lodging that night. At midnight Lionbruno changed, by virtue of the ruby,
the wretched hovel into a magnificent palace, and the next day he changed
himself into the thirteen-year-old Lionbruno and revealed himself to his
parents, telling them how the fairy Colina had liberated him from the
Enemy, brought him up, and made him her husband. "For this reason, dear
father and mother," said he, "I cannot remain with you. I have come to see
you, to embrace you, to make you rich; but I can stay with you a few days
only, and then I must leave you." His father and mother saw that they could
do nothing, and had to be contented. One fine morning Lionbruno, by an
order to the ruby, which he wore on his finger, brought together a great
mass of riches, and then called his parents and said: "I leave you masters of
all this wealth and of this palace. You will no longer need anything. Now
give me your blessing, for I wish to go." The poor people began to weep,
and said: "Bless you, my son!" They embraced each other in tears, and he
departed.
He arrived at a great city,—like Naples, for example,—and went to lodge at
the finest inn. Then he went out to walk and heard a proclamation which
declared: "Whatever prince or knight, on horse, with spear in hand, shall
pierce and carry away a gold star, shall marry the king's daughter." Imagine
how many princes and knights entered the lists! Lionbruno, more for
braggadocio than for anything else, said to himself: "I wish to go and carry
away the star;" and he commanded the ruby: "My ruby, to-morrow, I wish
to carry away the golden star." The princes and knights began to assemble
and try their skill. Every one reached the star and touched it with his spear,

but there was no talk of their carrying it away. Lionbruno came, and with a
master-stroke carried off the star. Then he quickly escaped with his horse to
the inn, so that no one should see him. "Who is he?" "Where is the winner?"
No one can give any news of him. The king was ill-humored about it, and
issued the proclamation again for the next day. But, to cut the matter short,
the same thing occurred the next day. Lionbruno duped them a second time.
Imagine how angry the king was! He issued a third proclamation. But this
time what does the crafty king do? He posts a large number of soldiers at all
the places by which one could escape. The princes and knights begin their
courses. As usual, no one carries away the star, and Lionbruno carries it off
and rides away. But the soldiers, quicker than he, seize him, arrest him, and
carry him to the king. "What do you take me for, that, not satisfied with
duping me twice, you wish to dupe me a third time?" Thus spoke the king,
who was seated on the throne. "Pardon, Majesty. I did not dare to enter your
presence." "Then you ought not to have undertaken to carry away the star.
Now you have done so, and must become my daughter's husband."
Lionbruno, nolens volens, was obliged to marry the princess. The king
prepared a magnificent feast for the wedding, and invited all the princes,
counts, and barons,—all sorts of persons. When the hall was filled with
these gentlemen, Lionbruno, before marrying the princess, said to the king:
"Majesty, it is true that your daughter is a very beautiful girl, but I had a
bride by whose side your daughter could not stand for beauty, grace,
everything." Imagine how the king felt when he heard these words. The
poor princess, at this affront in the presence of so many noblemen, became
as red as fire. The king, greatly disturbed, said: "Well, if it is so, we wish to
see your wife, if she is as beautiful as you say." "Yes, yes!" cried all the
noblemen; "we, too, wish to see her; we wish to see her!" Poor Lionbruno
was in a tight place. What could he do? He had recourse to the ruby. "Ruby
mine, make fairy Colina come here." But this time he was mistaken. The
ruby could do everything, but it could not compel the fairy to come, for it
was she who had given it its magic power. The summons, however, reached
the fairy Colina; but she did not go. "My friend has done a pretty thing!"
said she. "Bravo! good! Now I will fix him as he deserves!" She called the
lowest of her servants, and made her suddenly appear in the great hall of the
king, where all were assembled for the wedding. "How beautiful she is!
how beautiful she is!" all said as soon as they saw her. "Is this, then, your
first bride?" "What!" answered Lionbruno, "my first bride! This is the

lowest of the servants of my first bride." "Gracious!" exclaimed the
noblemen; "if this is the lowest of the servants and is so beautiful, imagine
what the mistress must be!" "Then," said the king, "if this is not your first
bride, I wish you to make her come herself." "Yes, yes, herself!" cried the
others, likewise. Poor Lionbruno! He was obliged to have recourse again to
the ring. But this time, also, the fairy did not go, but sent instead her next
servant. Scarcely had they seen her when they all said: "This one, oh, this
one, is really beautiful! This, now, is certainly your first bride, is she not,
Lionbruno?" "No, no!" replied Lionbruno; "my first bride is a marvel of
beauty. Different from this one! This one is only the second servant." Then
the king, in a threatening tone, said to him: "Lionbruno, let us put an end to
this! I command you to cause your first wife to come here instantly." The
matter was growing serious. Poor Lionbruno had recourse for the third time
to the ruby, and said to it: "Ruby mine, if you really wish to help me, now is
the moment. You must cause the fairy Colina herself to come here." The
summons reached her at once, and this time she went. When all those great
lords and the king and his daughter saw that marvel of beauty, they became
as so many statues. But the fairy Colina approached Lionbruno, pretended
to take his hand, and drew off his ring, saying: "Traitor! you cannot find me
until you have worn out seven pairs of iron shoes." Then she vanished. The
king, in fury, said to Lionbruno: "I understand. The power of carrying off
the star was not yours, but your ruby's. Leave my palace!" He had him
seized and well beaten and sent away.
And so poor Lionbruno was left without the fairy Colina and the king's
daughter, and departed from the city in great grief. When he had gone a few
steps, he heard a great noise. It was a smithy. He entered, and called the
blacksmith: "Master, I want seven pairs of iron shoes." "I will make you
twelve if you wish, but it seems to me that you must have some agreement
with the Eternal to live who knows how many hundred years to wear out all
these shoes." "What does that matter to you? It is enough if I pay you. Make
me the shoes and hold your tongue." He made them for him at once.
Lionbruno paid him, put on one pair, and stuck three in one side of his
travelling sack and three in the other, and set out. After walking a long time,
he arrived late at night in a forest. All at once three robbers came there.
"Good man," said they to Lionbruno, "how did you happen here?" "I am a
poor pilgrim," he replied; "it grew dark and I stopped here to rest. And who

are you, gentlemen?" "We are travellers." And they all stopped there to rest.
The next day Lionbruno arose, took leave of the three robbers, and
departed. But he had scarcely gone a few steps when he heard them
quarrelling. Now you must know that those robbers had stolen three objects
of great value, and were now disputing as to how they should divide them.
One of them said: "Fools that we are! We had here that pilgrim, who could
have acted as judge and made the division, and we have let him go. Let us
call him back." "Yes, yes! let us call him," said the others. They called him,
and he came back. "How can I serve you, gentlemen?" said he. "Listen,
good man; we have three objects of great value to divide. You must be the
judge, and give to each one what belongs to him." "Very well; but what
objects are you talking of?" "Here is a pair of boots, a purse, and a cloak.
The boots have this virtue, that he who has them on runs faster than the
wind. If you say to the purse, 'open and shut,' it at once gives you a hundred
ducats. Finally he who puts on the cloak and buttons it up, can see and yet
not be seen." "Very good. But to act the judge well, I must first examine
these three objects carefully." "Certainly, that is right." Lionbruno put on the
boots, tried to run, and went marvellously. "What do you think of these
boots?" asked the thieves. "Excellent, indeed," replied Lionbruno, and kept
them on. Then he said: "Now let us see the purse." He took it and said:
"Purse, open and shut," and at once there came forth a hundred silver
ducats. "Now let us see what this cloak is," he said, at last. He put it on and
began to button it up. While he was doing so he asked the robbers: "Do you
see me now?" They answered: "Yes." He kept on buttoning it and asked
again: "Now do you see me?" "Yes." Finally he reached the last button.
"Now do you see me?" "No." "If you don't see me now you never will see
me again." He threw away the iron shoes and cried: "Now for you, boots!"
And away! faster than the wind. When the three robbers saw themselves
duped in that way, what a rage they were in! They thrashed each other
soundly, and especially the one who had called Lionbruno back; and at last
they all found themselves with broken bones.
Lionbruno, after having cheated the robbers thus, continued his way
joyfully. After a long journey, he arrived in the midst of a forest. He saw at
a distance a slight smoke, and among frightful rocks, a little old hovel all
surrounded by dense wild shrubs, with a little door entirely covered with
ivy, so that it could scarcely be seen. Lionbruno approached the door and

knocked softly. "Who is knocking?" asked from within an old woman's
voice. "I am a poor Christian," replied Lionbruno; "night has overtaken me
here, and I am seeking a lodging, if it can be had." The door opened and
Lionbruno entered. "Oh, poor youth! How have you been tempted to come
and ruin yourself in this remote place?" demanded, in great wonder, the old
woman, who was within, and who was Borea.[13] (Do you know who Borea
is? No less a person than the mother of the winds.) "Oh, dear little old lady,
my aunt," replied Lionbruno, "I am lost in this great forest, for I have been
travelling a long time to find my dear bride, the fairy Colina, and I have not
yet been able to find any trace of her." "My son, you have made a great
mistake! What shall we do now that my sons are coming home? Perhaps,
God help you! they will want to eat you." "Oh, wretched me!" cried
Lionbruno, then, all trembling; "who, my aunt, are these sons of yours who
so devour Christians?" "My son," replied Borea, "you do not know where
you are. Do you not know that this house in the midst of these precipices is
the house of the winds? And I, you do not recognize me; I, my son, am
Borea, the mother of all the winds." "What shall I do now? Oh, my dear
aunt, help me; do not let your sons eat me up!" The old woman finally
concealed him in a chest, telling him not to make the slightest noise when
her sons returned. Soon a loud noise was heard at a distance: it was the
winds returning home. The nearer they approached the louder the noise
grew, and a sound of branches and trees broken off was heard. At last the
winds arrived, pushed open the door, and entered. "Good evening,
mamma." "Welcome, my sons!" replied their mother, all smiling. And so
one after the other all the winds entered, and the last to enter was Sirocco,
for you must know that Sirocco is the youngest of Borea's sons. Scarcely
had they entered when they began to say: "What smell of human flesh is
here? Here Christians, Christians!" "Oh, bad luck to you! what fools you
are! Where is there any smell of human flesh here? Who do you think
would risk their lives by coming here?" But her sons would not be
convinced, especially that obstinate Sirocco. Lionbruno commended his
soul to God, for he saw death at his heels. But finally Borea succeeded in
convincing her sons. "Oh, mamma, what is there to eat to-night? We have
travelled so far, and are so hungry!" "Here, my sons," the mother answered,
"come here; for a nice polenta is cooking for you. I will finish cooking it
soon, and put it at once on the table." The next day Borea said to her sons:
"My sons, when you came you said you smelled human flesh. Tell me,

should you really see a man now, what would you do to him?" "Now, we
would not do anything to him. Last night, we should have torn him in
pieces." "But you would not do anything to him, truly?" "Truly." "Well, if
you will give me your promise by St. John not to harm him, I will show you
a live man." "Oh! just see! A man here! Yes, yes, mamma, show him to us at
once. We swear by St. John! we will not touch a hair of his head." Then
their mother opened the chest and made Lionbruno come forth. If you had
heard the winds then! They puffed and blowed around him and asked him,
first of all, how he had come to that place, where no living soul had ever
penetrated. Lionbruno said: "Would to heaven that my journey ended here!
I must go to the palace of the fairy Colina; perhaps one of you can tell me
where it is?" Then Borea asked her sons one by one and each replied that he
knew nothing of it. Finally she questioned her youngest son: "And you,
Sirocco, do you not know anything about it?" "I? Should I not know
something about it? Am I perchance like my brothers who never can find a
hiding-place? The fairy Colina is love-sick. She says that her lover has
betrayed her, and continually weeps, and is so reduced by her grief that she
can live but little longer. And I deserve to be hanged, for I have seen her in
this condition, and yet I have annoyed her so that I have driven her to
despair. I amused myself by making a noise about her palace, and more than
once I burst open windows and turned things upside down, even the bed she
was resting on." "Oh, my dear Sirocco!" said Lionbruno; "my good Sirocco,
you must aid me! Since you have given me news of her, you must also do
me the favor to show me the way to my bride's palace. I, dear Sirocco, am
the betrothed of the fairy Colina, and it is not true that I have betrayed her;
on the contrary, if I do not find her, I shall die of grief." "My son," said
Sirocco, "listen; for my part I would take you there with all my heart. But I
should have to carry you about my neck. And the trouble is I cannot do so,
for I am wind, I am air, and you would slip off. Were you like me the matter
would go very well." "Don't worry about that," said Lionbruno, "show me
the way, and I will not lag behind." "He is crazy," said Sirocco to himself;
then he said to Lionbruno: "Very well, since you feel so strong, to-morrow
we will make the trial. Meanwhile let us go to bed, for it is late, and to-
morrow, God willing, we will rise early!" And all went to sleep. In the
morning early Sirocco arose and cried: "Lionbruno! Lionbruno! get up
quickly!" And Lionbruno put on his boots in a hurry, seized his purse, fixed
his cloak carefully, and left the house with Sirocco. "There," said Sirocco,

"is the way we must take. Be careful! Don't let me out of your sight, and
leave the rest to me. If a few hours after sunset to-night I don't make you
find your beauty, you may call me an ass." They started. They ran like the
wind. Every little while Sirocco called out: "Lionbruno!" and he, who was
ahead, answered at once: "Oh! don't think I am going to lag behind!" and
with these questions and answers they finally reached the palace of the fairy
Colina about two hours after sunset. "Here we are," said Sirocco. "Here is
your fair one's balcony! See how I am going to blow open the window for
you. Attention, now! As soon as it is opened you give a jump and spring in."
And so he did. Before the servants could run and shut the balcony window,
Lionbruno was already under the fairy Colina's bed. Afterwards one of the
maids said to the fairy: "My mistress, how do you feel now? Do you not
feel a little better?" "Better? I am half dead. That cursed wind has nearly
killed me." "But, mistress, will you not take something this evening? A little
coffee, or chocolate, or broth?" "I wish nothing at all." "Take something, if
you don't, you will not rest to-night, you have eaten nothing for three or
four days. Really, you must take something." And the servant said so much
that to get rid of her importunity the fairy said: "Well, bring something; if I
want it, I will take it." The servant brought a little coffee, and left it by the
side of the bed. Lionbruno, in his cloak so that no one could see him, came
from under the bed and drank the coffee himself. The servant, believing her
mistress had drunk it, brought the chocolate too, and Lionbruno drank that
as before. Then the servant brought the fairy some broth and a pigeon.
"Mistress," said she, "since, thank God, you have taken the coffee and the
chocolate, take this broth and a bit of pigeon, and so you will gain strength
and be better to-morrow." The mistress on hearing all this believed that the
servants were making fun of her. "Oh, stupid blockheads! What are you
saying? Are not the cups still here with the coffee and the chocolate? I have
touched nothing." The servants thought that their mistress was out of her
mind. Then Lionbruno took off his cloak, came out from under the bed, and
said: "My bride, do you know me?" "Lionbruno mine, is it you?" and she
rose from the bed and embraced him. "Then it is not true, my Lionbruno,
that you have forgotten me?" "If I had forgotten you I should not have
suffered so much to find you. But do you still love me?" "My Lionbruno, if
I had not always loved you, you would not have found me at the point of
death. And now you see I am cured only because I have seen you."

Then they ate and drank together, and summoned the servants and made a
great festival. The next day they arranged everything for the wedding and
were married with great splendor and joy. In the evening they gave a grand
ball and a fine banquet, which you should have seen![14]

The above story is extremely popular, and has long circulated among the
people as an independent work in the shape of a chap-book. We have,
however, given the form which is handed down by oral tradition, purposely
avoiding the use of any literary materials. Many similar tales might be
added to this chapter, but the most important and best known have been
given. To give those tales which cannot be described as fairy tales and
which are usually found in the shape of chap-books in prose and poetry
would fall without the scope of the present volume, and would belong more
appropriately to a work on Italian popular literature.[15]

CHAPTER III.
STORIES OF ORIENTAL ORIGIN.

The geographical situation of Italy and its commercial connections during
the Middle Ages would lead us to expect a large foreign element in its
popular tales. This foreign element, it is hardly necessary to say, is almost
exclusively Oriental, and was introduced either by direct communication
with the East, or indirectly from France, which received it from Spain,
whither it was brought by the Saracens. Although this Oriental element is
now perfectly popular, it is, as far as its origin is concerned, purely literary.
That is to say, the stories we are about to examine are to be found in the
great Oriental collections of tales which were early translated into all the
languages of Europe, and either passed directly from these translations into
circulation among the people, or became familiar to them from the novelists
who made such frequent use of this element.[1] A few stories may have been
taken from the French fabliaux or from the French translations of the
Disciplina Clericalis, as we shall afterwards see.[2] The Pentamerone, and
especially Straparola's tales, may finally be mentioned as the source from
which many Oriental stories have flowed into popular circulation.[3] In this
chapter it is proposed to notice briefly only those stories the Oriental origin
of which is undoubted, and which may be found in the great collections
above mentioned and in some others less known. For convenience, some
stories of this class have been referred to chapter VI.
The first of this class which we shall mention is well known from the
version in Lafontaine (IX. 1), Le Dépositaire infidèle. The only Italian
version we have found is Pitrè, No. 194, which is as follows:

XXXVII. THE PEASANT AND THE MASTER.

A peasant one day, conversing in the farmhouse with his master and others,
happened, while speaking of sheep and cheese, to say that he had had a
present of a little cheese, but the mice had eaten it all up. Then the master,

who was rich, proud, and fat, called him a fool, and said that it was not
possible that the mice could have eaten the cheese, and all present said the
master was right and the peasant wrong. What more could the poor man
say? Talk makes talk. After a while the master said that having taken the
precaution to rub with oil his ploughshares to keep them from rusting, the
mice had eaten off all the points. Then the friend of the cheese broke forth:
"But, master, how can it be that the mice cannot eat my cheese, if they can
eat the points of your ploughshares?" But the master and all the others
began to cry out: "Be silent, you fool! Be silent, you fool! the master is
right!"[4]

The above story really belongs to the class of fables of which there are but
few of Oriental origin in the Italian collections.[5] The following version of
one of the most famous of the Eastern apologues is from Monferrato
(Comparetti, No. 67). It is called:

XXXVIII. THE INGRATES.

There was once a man who went into the forest to gather wood, and saw a
snake crushed under a large stone. He raised the stone a little with the
handle of his axe and the snake crawled out. When it was at liberty it said to
the man: "I am going to eat you." The man answered: "Softly; first let us
hear the judgment of some one, and if I am condemned, then you shall eat
me." The first one they met was a horse as thin as a stick, tied to an oak-
tree. He had eaten the leaves as far as he could reach, for he was famished.
The snake said to him: "Is it right for me to eat this man who has saved my
life?" The nag answered: "More than right. Just look at me! I was one of the
finest horses. I have carried my master so many years, and what have I
gained? Now that I am so badly off that I can no longer work they have tied
me to this oak, and after I have eaten these few leaves I shall die of hunger.
Eat the man, then; for he who does good is ill rewarded, and he who does
evil must be well rewarded. Eat him, for you will be doing a good day's
work." They afterwards happened to find a mulberry-tree, all holes, for it
was eaten by old age; and the snake asked it if it was right to eat the man

who had saved its life. "Yes," the tree answered at once, "for I have given
my master so many leaves that he has raised from them the finest silk-
worms in the world; now that I can no longer stand upright, he has said that
he is going to throw me into the fire. Eat him, then, for you will do well."
Afterwards they met the fox. The man took her aside and begged her to
pronounce in his favor. The fox said: "The better to render judgment I must
see just how the matter has happened." They all returned to the spot and
arranged matters as they were at first; but as soon as the man saw the snake
under the stone he cried out: "Where you are, there I will leave you." And
there the snake remained. The fox wished in payment a bag of hens, and the
man promised them to her for the next morning. The fox went there in the
morning, and when the man saw her he put some dogs in the bag, and told
the fox not to eat the hens close by, for fear the mistress of the house would
hear it. So the fox did not open the bag until she had reached a distant
valley; then the dogs came out and ate her; and so it is in the world; for who
does good is ill rewarded and who does evil is well rewarded.[6]

It would be surprising if we did not find the fascinating stories of the
Thousand and One Nights naturalized among the people. It is, of course,
impossible to tell whether they were communicated to the people directly
from a literary source, or whether the separate stories came to Italy from the
Orient by way of oral transmission.[7] These stories have circulated among
the people long enough to be treated as their own property and changed to
suit their taste. Incidents from other stories have been added and the
original story remodelled until it is hardly recognizable. The story of
"Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp," for instance, is found from Sicily to
Lombardy; but in no one version are all the features of the original story
preserved. In one of the Sicilian versions (Messina) Aladdin does not lose
his lamp; in another (Palermo), after Aladdin has lost his lamp he goes in
search of it, and on his journey settles the quarrel of an ant, an eagle, and a
lion, who give him the power to transform himself into any one of them. He
finally discovers the magician, who has his life elsewhere than in his own
body, and who is killed after the usual complicated process. In the Roman
version the point of the unfinished window in Aladdin's palace is missed,

the magician requires to be killed, as in the version from Palermo, and there
are some additional incidents not in the Oriental original. In the Mantuan
story, instead of a lamp we have a rusty ring, which the youngest brother
finds inside of a dead cock bequeathed to three brothers by their father.
After the ring has fallen into the possession of the magician and the palace
has disappeared, the hero goes in search of his wife and ring. On his way he
is assisted by the "King of the Fishes" and the "King of the Birds." The
eagle carries a letter to the captive princess, who obtains the ring from the
magician, rubs it on a stone, and when it asks what she wishes, answers: "I
wish this palace to return where it first was and the magician to be drowned
in the sea."[8]
Of almost equal popularity is the story of the "Forty Thieves," who are,
however, in the Italian versions, reduced to thirteen, twelve, or six in
number. The versions in Pitrè (No. 23 and variants) contain but one incident
of the original story, where the robbers are detected in the oil-jars, and
killed by pouring boiling oil over them. In one of Pitrè's versions the
robbers are hidden in sacks of charcoal, and the cunning daughter pierces
the bags with a red-hot spit. In another, they are hidden in oil-skins, and
sold to the abbess of a certain convent for oil. One of the nuns has some
suspicion of the trick, and invites her companions to tap the skins with red-
hot irons. Another Sicilian version (Gonz. No. 79, "The Story of the Twelve
Robbers") contains the first part of the Arabian tale, the robbers' cave which
opens and closes by the words, "Open, door!" and "Shut, door!" The story
ends with the death of one of the brothers, who entered the cave and was
killed by one of the robbers who had remained. It is only in the version
from Mantua (Visentini, No. 7, "The Cunning Maid") that we find the story
complete; boiling water is used instead of oil in killing the thieves, and the
servant girl afterwards kills the captain, who had escaped before. The story
of the "Third Calendar" is told in detail in Comparetti (No. 65, "The Son of
the King of France") and the "Two Envious Sisters" furnishes details for a
number of distinct stories.[9] The story of "The Hunchback" is found in Pitrè
and Straparola, and as it is also the subject of an Old-French fabliau, it may
have been borrowed from the French, or, what is more likely, both French
and Italians took it from a common source.[10] The fable of "The Ass, the
Ox, and the Peasant," which the Vizier relates to prevent his daughter
becoming the Sultan's wife, is found in Pitrè (No. 282) under the title of

"The Curious Wife," and is also in Straparola.[11] The beautiful story of
"Prince Ahmed and the fairy Peribanu" is found in Nerucci, No. 40, "The
Three Presents, or the Story of the Carpets." The three presents are the
magic telescope that sees any distance, the carpet that carries one through
the air, and the magic grapes that bring to life. The Italian version follows
closely the Oriental original. The same may be said of another story in the
same collection, No. 48, "The Traveller from Turin," which is nothing but
Sindbad's "Fourth Voyage."[12] The last story taken from the Arabian Nights
which we shall mention is that of "The Second Royal Mendicant," found in
Comparetti (No. 63, "My Happiness") from the Basilicata, and in the
collection of Mantuan stories. The latter (No. 8) is entitled: "There is no
longer any Devil." The magician is the devil, and the story concludes, after
the transformations in which the peasant's son kills the devil in the shape of
a hen, with the words: "And this is the reason why there is no longer any
devil."[13]
The first collection of Oriental tales known in Europe as a collection was
the Disciplina Clericalis, that is, Instruction or Teaching for Clerks or
Clergymen. It was the work of a converted Spanish Jew, Petrus Alphonsi,
and was composed before 1106, the date of the baptism of the author, the
time and place of whose death are not known. The Disciplina Clericalis
was early translated into French prose and poetry, and was the storehouse
from which all subsequent story-tellers drew abundant material.[14]
Precisely how the Disciplina Clericalis became known in Italy we cannot
tell; but the separate stories must have become popular and diffused by
word of mouth at a very early date. One of the stories of this collection is
found in Italian literature as early as the Cento Novelle Antiche.[15] Four of
the stories in the Disciplina Clericalis are found in Pitrè and other
collections of popular tales, and although belonging, with one exception, to
the class of jests, they are mentioned here for the sake of completeness.
In one of the stories of the Disciplina Clericalis, two citizens of a certain
town and a countryman were making the pilgrimage to Mecca together, and
on the way ran so short of food that they had only flour enough left to make
one small loaf. The two citizens in order to cheat the countryman out of his
share devised the following scheme: While the bread was baking they
proposed that all three should sleep, and whoever should have the most

remarkable dream should have the whole loaf. While the citizens were
asleep, the countryman, who had divined their plan, stole the half-cooked
bread from the fire, ate it, and then threw himself down again. One of the
other two pretended to wake up in a fright, and told his companion that he
had dreamed that two angels had led him through the gates of heaven into
the presence of God. The other declared that he had been led by two angels
into the nether-world. The countryman heard all this and still pretended to
sleep. When his companions aroused him he asked in amazement: "Who are
those calling me?" They answered: "We are your companions." "What,"
said he, "have you got back already?" "Where have we been to in order to
return?" The countryman replied: "It seemed to me that two angels led one
of you to heaven, and afterwards two others conducted the other to hell.
From this I imagined that neither of you would return, so I got up and ate
the bread."[16]
The same story is told in Pitrè (No. 173) of a monk who was an itinerant
preacher, and who was accompanied on his journey by a very cunning lay
brother. One day the monk received a present of some fish which he wished
to eat himself alone, and therefore proposed to the brother that the one of
them who dreamed the best dream should have all the fish. The dreams and
the conclusion are the same as in the original.[17]
The next story is well known from the use made of it by Cervantes in Don
Quixote (Part I., chap. xx.) where Sancho relates it to beguile the hours of
the memorable night when the noise of the fulling-mill so terrified the
doughty knight and his squire. The version in the Disciplina Clericalis is as
follows: A certain king had a story-teller who told him five stories every
night. It happened once that the king, oppressed by cares of state, was
unable to sleep, and asked for more than the usual number of stories. The
story-teller related three short ones. The king wished for more still, and
when the story-teller demurred, said: "You have told me several very short
ones. I want something long, and then you may go to sleep." The story-
teller yielded, and began thus: "Once upon a time there was a certain
countryman who went to market and bought two thousand sheep. On his
way home a great inundation took place, so that he was unable to cross a
certain river by the ford or bridge. After anxiously seeking some means of
getting across with his flock, he found at length a little boat in which he
could convey two sheep over." After the story-teller had got thus far he

went to sleep. The king roused him and ordered him to finish the story he
had begun. The story-teller answered: "The flood is great, the boat small,
and the flock innumerable; let the aforesaid countryman get his sheep over,
and I will finish the story I have begun."[18]
The version in Pitrè (No. 138) lacks all connection and is poor, but we give
it here, as it is very brief.

XXXIX. THE TREASURE.

Once upon a time there was a prince who studied and racked his brains so
much that he learned magic and the art of finding hidden treasures. One day
he discovered a treasure in a bank, let us say the bank of Ddisisa: "Oh, he
says, now I am going to get it out." But to get it out it was necessary that ten
million million ants should cross one by one the river Gianquadara (let us
suppose it was that one) in a bark made of the half shell of a nut. The prince
puts the bark in the river and begins to make the ants pass over. One, two,
three,——and he is still doing it.
Here the person who is telling the story pauses and says: "We will finish
this story when the ants have finished passing over."[19]

The version from Milan is still shorter:

XL. THE SHEPHERD.

Once upon a time there was a shepherd who went to feed his sheep in the
fields, and he had to cross a stream, and he took the sheep up one by one to
carry them over....
What then? Go on!

When the sheep are over, I will finish the story.[20]

In chapter V. we shall meet two popular figures in Sicilian tales, whose
jokes are repeated elsewhere as detached stories. One of these persons is
Firrazzanu, the practical joker and knave, who is cunning enough to make
others bear the penalty of his own boldness. In the story in Pitrè (No. 156,
var. 2) Firrazzanu's master wants a tailor for some work, and Firrazzanu
tells him he knows of one who is good, but subject to fits, which always
make their approach known by a twitching of the mouth, and the only
remedy for them is a sound beating. Of course, when the unlucky tailor
begins to cut his cloth, he twists his mouth, and receives, to his amazement,
a sudden beating.
In this version there is no reason given why Firrazzanu should play such a
joke on the innocent tailor. In the original, however, a motive is given for
the trick.[21]
The last story we shall mention from the Disciplina Clericalis is the one
known in Pitrè (No. 197) as:

XLI. THE THREE ADMONITIONS.

A man once left his country to go to foreign parts, and there entered the
service of an abbot. After he had spent some time in faithful service, he
desired to see his wife and native land. He said to the abbot: "Sir, I have
served you thus long, but now I wish to return to my country." "Yes, my
son," said the abbot, "but before departing I must give you the three
hundred ounces[A] that I have put together for you. Will you be satisfied
with three admonitions, or with the three hundred ounces?" The servant
answered: "I will be satisfied with the three admonitions." "Then listen:
First: When you change the old road for the new, you will find troubles
which you have not looked for. Second: See much and say little. Third:
Think over a thing before you do it, for a thing deliberated is very fine.[22]
Take this loaf of bread and break it when you are truly happy."
[A] The ounce is equivalent to nearly thirteen francs (12.75).

The good man departed, and on his journey met other travellers. These said
to him: "We are going to take the by-way. Will you come with us?" But he
remembering the three admonitions of his master answered: "No, my

friends, I will keep on this road." When he had gone half way, bang! bang!
he heard some shots. "What was that, my sons?" The robbers had killed his
companions. "I have gained the first hundred ounces!" he said, and
continued his journey. On his way he arrived at an inn as hungry as a dog
and called for something to eat. A large dish of meat was brought which
seemed to say: "Eat me, eat me!" He stuck his fork in it and turned it over,
and was frightened out of his wits, for it was human flesh! He wanted to ask
the meaning of such food and give the innkeeper a lecture, but just then he
thought: "See much and say little;" so he remained silent. The innkeeper
came, he settled his bill, and took leave. But the innkeeper stopped him and
said: "Bravo, bravo! you have saved your life. All those who have
questioned me about my food have been soundly beaten, killed, and nicely
cooked." "I have gained the second hundred ounces," said the good man,
who did not think his skin was safe until then.
When he reached his own country he remembered his house, saw the door
ajar and slipped in. He looked about and saw no one, only in the middle of
the room was a table, well set with two glasses, two forks, two seats,
service for two. "How is this?" he said: "I left my wife alone and here I find
things arranged for two. There is some trouble." So he hid himself under the
bed to see what went on. A moment after he saw his wife enter, who had
gone out a short time before for a pitcher of water. A little after he saw a
sprucely dressed young priest come in and seat himself at the table. "Ah, is
that he?" and he was on the point of coming forth and giving him a sound
beating; but there came to his mind the final admonition of the abbot:
"Think over a thing before you do it, for a thing deliberated is very fine;"
and he refrained. He saw them both sit down at the table, but before eating
his wife turned to the young priest and said: "My son, let us say our
accustomed Paternoster for your father." When he heard this he came from
under the bed crying and laughing for joy, and embraced and kissed them
both so that it was affecting to see him. Then he remembered the loaf his
master had given him and told him to eat in his happiness; he broke the loaf
and there fell on the table all the three hundred ounces, which the master
had secretly put in the loaf.[23]

We now turn to some stories taken from a collection more famous in some
respects than those previously mentioned, The Seven Wise Masters, which
enjoyed during the Middle Ages a popularity second only to that of the
Bible. Of this collection there are several Italian translations reaching back
to the fourteenth century.[24] From one of these, or possibly from oral
tradition, the stories about to be mentioned passed into the popular tales of
Italy. The first story we shall cite is interesting because popular tradition has
connected it with Pier delle Vigne, the famous chancellor of the Emperor
Frederick the Second. The Venetian version (Bernoni, Trad. pop. venez.
Punt. I. p. 11) is in substance as follows:

XLII. VINEYARD I WAS AND VINEYARD I AM.

A king, averse to marriage, commanded his steward to remain single. The
latter, however, one day saw a beautiful girl named Vigna, and married her
secretly. Although he kept her closely confined in her chamber, the king
became suspicious and sent the steward off on an embassy. After his
departure the king entered the apartment occupied by him, and saw his
officer's wife sleeping. He did not disturb her, but, in leaving the room,
dropped one of his gloves accidentally on the bed. When the husband
returned he found it, but kept a discreet silence, ceasing, however, all
demonstrations of affection, believing his wife had been faithless. The king,
anxious to see again the beautiful woman, made a feast and ordered the
steward to bring his wife. He denied in vain that he had one, but brought her
at last, and while every one else was talking gayly at the feast she was
silent. The king observed it and asked her the cause of her silence; and she
answered with a pun on her name: "Vineyard I was and Vineyard I am, I
was loved and no longer am: I know not for what reason the Vineyard has
lost its season." Her husband, who heard this, replied: "Vineyard thou wast
and Vineyard thou art, loved thou wast and no longer art: the Vineyard has
lost its season for the lion's claw." The king, who understood what he
meant, answered: "I entered the Vineyard, I touched the leaves, but I swear
by my crown that I have not tasted the fruit." Then the steward understood
that his wife was innocent, and the two made peace and always after lived
happy and contented.[25]

This story is found only in the Greek and Hebrew versions of The Seven
Wise Masters, and in the Arabic Seven Viziers. It did not pass into any of
the Occidental versions, although it was known to Boccaccio, who based on
it the fifth novel of the first day of the Decameron. Either, then, the story is
a late adaptation of the Oriental tale, which is unlikely, or it comes from
some now lost, but once popular Italian version of the Oriental form of The
Seven Wise Masters.[26]
The three following stories are found only in the Western, or European
versions of the collection. The first, technically called "Vaticinium" or "The
Prophecy," relates that a son who understood the language of birds heard
the prediction that his father and mother should come to such want that they
would not have bread to eat; but that he, the son, should rise so high that his
father should offer him water to wash his hands with. The father, enraged at
this prediction, threw his son into the sea. He was rescued, and after many
adventures, married the daughter of the king of Sicily. One day, while riding
through Messina, he saw his father and mother, meanly dressed, sitting at
the door of an inn. He alighted from his horse, entered their house, and
asked for food. After his father and mother had brought him water to wash
his hands he revealed himself to them and forgave his father for his cruelty.
The only Italian version, and disfigured by some extraneous details, is in
the Mantuan tales (Visentini, No. 50): "Fortune aid me." Here the son does
not hear the prophecy from the birds, but an angel tells a king, who has long
desired a son, that he shall have one whom he shall one day serve. When
the child was ten years old the king was so vexed by the prediction that he
exposed his son in a wood. The child was found by a magician, who
brought him up, and from whom he afterwards escaped. He went to the
court of the king, his father, and won the hand of the princess (his own
sister) by leaping his horse over a broad ditch. At the marriage banquet the
king handed his son a glass of wine, and the latter recognized him and
exclaimed: "Behold, the father serves the son." The marriage was of course
given up and the previous aversion of the sister explained.[27]
Closely connected with the original story in The Seven Wise Masters is the
class of stories where the hero is acquainted with the language of animals,
and attains by means of it some high position (generally becoming pope)

after he has been driven from home by his father. The following version is
from Monferrato (Comparetti, No. 56) and is entitled:

XLIII. THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.

A father once had a son who spent ten years in school. At the end of that
time, the teacher wrote the father to take away his son because he could not
teach him anything more. The father took the boy home and gave a grand
banquet in his honor, to which he invited the most noble gentlemen of the
country. After many speeches by those gentlemen, one of the guests said to
the host's son: "Just tell us some fine thing that you have learned." "I have
learned the language of dogs, of frogs, and of birds." There was universal
laughter on hearing this, and all went away ridiculing the pride of the father
and the foolishness of the son. The former was so ashamed at his son's
answer and so angry at him that he gave him up to two servants, with orders
to take him into a wood and kill him and to bring back his heart. The two
servants did not dare to obey this command, and instead of the lad they
killed a dog, and carried its heart to their master. The youth fled from the
country and came to a castle a long way off, where lived the treasurer of the
prince, who had immense treasures. There he asked for and obtained a
lodging, but scarcely had he entered the house when a multitude of dogs
collected about the castle. The treasurer asked the young man why so many
dogs had come, and as the latter understood their language he answered that
it meant that a hundred assassins would attack the castle that very evening,
and that the treasurer should take his precautions. The castellan made two
hundred soldiers place themselves in ambush about the castle and at night
they arrested the assassins. The treasurer was so grateful to the youth that he
wished to give him his daughter, but he replied that he could not remain
now, but that he would return within a year and three days. After he left that
castle he arrived at a city where the king's daughter was very ill because the
frogs which were in a fountain near the palace gave her no rest with their
croaking. The lad perceived that the frogs croaked because the princess had
thrown a cross into the fountain, and as soon as it was removed the girl
recovered. The king, too, wished the lad to marry her, but he again said that
he would return within a year and three days. After leaving the king he set
out for Rome, and on the way met three young men, who became his
companions. One day it was very warm and all three lay down to sleep

under an oak. Immediately a great flock of birds flew into the oak and
awakened the pilgrims by their loud singing. One of them asked: "Why are
these birds singing so joyfully?" The youth answered: "They are rejoicing
with the new Pope, who is to be one of us."
And suddenly a dove alighted on his head, and in truth shortly after he was
made Pope. Then he sent for his father, the treasurer, and the king. All
presented themselves trembling, for they knew that they had committed
some sin. But the Pope made them all relate their deeds, and then turned to
his father and said: "I am the son whom you sent to be killed because I said
I understood the language of birds, of dogs, and of frogs. You have treated
me thus, and on the other hand a treasurer and a king have been very
grateful for this knowledge of mine." The father, repenting his fault, wept
bitterly, and his son pardoned him and kept him with him while he lived.[28]

The next story is doubly interesting because it is found not only in the
mediæval collection last mentioned, but also in Greek literature, being told
of Rampsinitus, King of Egypt, by Herodotus (II. 121), and by Pausanias of
the two architects Agamedes and Trophonius who robbed the treasury of
Hyrieus.[29] There are four versions in Italian: two from Sicily (Pitrè, Nos.
159, 160), one from Bologna (Coronedi-Berti, No. 2), and one from
Monferrato (Comparetti, No. 13). In one of the Sicilian versions (Pitrè, No.
159), and in the other two from Bologna and Monferrato, the thieves are
two friends. In the other Sicilian version they are a father and son. We give
a translation of the last named version, which is called:

XLIV. THE MASON AND HIS SON.

There was once a mason who had a wife and son. One day the king sent for
the mason to build a country-house in which to put his money, for he was
very rich and had no place to keep it. The mason set to work with his son.
In one corner they put in a stone that could be taken out and put back, large
enough for a man to enter. When the house was finished the king paid them
and they went home. The king then had his money carted to the house and

put guards around it. After a few days he saw that no one went there and
took away the guard. Let us leave the king, who took away the guard, and
return to the mason. When his money was gone he said to his son: "Shall
we go to the country-house?" They took a sack and went there. When they
arrived at the house they took out the stone and the father entered and filled
the bag with gold. When he came out he put the stone back as it was before
and they departed. The next day the king rode out to his house and saw that
his pile of gold had diminished. He said to his servants: "Who has been
taking the money?" The servants answered: "It is not possible, your
Majesty; for who comes here; where could they get in? It may be that the
house has settled, being newly built." So they took and repaired it. After a
while the mason said again to his son: "Let us go back there." They took the
accustomed sack and went there; arriving as usual they took out the stone
and the father entered, filled the sack, and they departed. The same night
they made another trip, filled the same sack again, and went away. The next
day the king visited the house with his soldiers and councillors. When he
entered he went to see the money and it was very greatly diminished; he
turned to his councillors and said: "Some one comes here and takes the
money." The councillors said: "But, your Majesty, while you are saying so,
one thing can be done; take a few tubs, fill them with melted pitch, and
place them around the walls on the inside, whoever enters will fall in them,
and the thief is found."
They took the tubs and put them inside, and the king left sentinels and
returned to the city. The sentinels remained there a week; but as they saw no
one, they, too, left.
Let us leave the sentinels, who have departed, and return to the mason. He
said to his son: "Let us go to the accustomed place." They took the sack and
went. Arriving there, they took out the stone, and the father entered. As he
entered he stuck fast in the pitch. He tried to help himself and get his feet
loose, but his hands stuck fast. Then he said to his son: "Do you hear what I
tell you, my son? Cut off my head, tear my coat to pieces, put back the
stone as it was, and throw my head in the river, so that I shall not be
known." The son did as he was told, and returned home. When he told his
mother what had become of his father, she began to tear her hair. After a
few days, the son, who did not know any trade, entered the service of a

carpenter, and told his mother not to say anything, as if nothing had
happened.
Let us leave these and return to the king, who went the next day with his
councillors to the country-house. They entered and saw the body, and the
king said: "But it has no head! How shall we find out who it is?" The
councillors said: "Take him and carry him through the streets three days;
where you see weeping you will know who it is." They took the body, and
called Filippu Carruba and Brasi Vutùru,[A] and made them carry it about.
When they passed through the street where the mason's widow lived, she
began to weep. The son, whose shop was near by, heard it, and gave himself
a blow in the hand with an axe and cut off his fingers. The police arrested
the mother, saying: "We have found out who it is." Meanwhile the son
arrived there and said: "She is not weeping for that; she is weeping because
I have cut off my fingers and can no longer work and earn my bread." The
police saw it was so, believed him, and departed. At night they carried the
body to the palace and built outside a scaffold to put the body on, because
they had to carry it around three days. About the scaffold they placed nine
sentinels—eight soldiers and a corporal. Now it was in the winter and was
very cold; so the son took a mule and loaded it with drugged wine, and
passed up and down. When the soldiers saw him they cried: "Friend, are
you selling that wine?" He said: "I am." "Wait until we drink, for we are
trembling with the cold." After they had drunk they threw themselves down
and went to sleep, and the son took the body, and, after he had buried it
outside of the town, returned home.
[A] Names of two undertakers in Salaparuta, where the story was collected.

[In the morning the soldiers awoke and told the king what had happened,
and he issued a proclamation that whoever found the body should receive a
large sum of money. The body was found and carried about the street again,
but no one wept. That night new sentinels were appointed, but the same
thing happened as the night before. The soldiers were drugged and dressed
in monks' robes, and the corporal had a cross stuck between his legs. The
next day another proclamation, the body again found and carried about, but
no one detected weeping. The story then continues:]

The mason's son (here called for the first time Ninu) could not rest, and
went to Cianedda.[A] "Will you do me a favor?" "If I can," answered
Cianedda; "not one, but two. What can I do for you?" "Will you lend me
your goats this evening?" "I will." Ninu took them, bought four rotula[B] of
candles and an old earthen pot, knocked out the bottom and fastened some
candles around it. Then he took the goats and fixed two candles to the horns
of each one and took them where the body was, and followed with the pot
on his head and the candles lighted. The soldiers ran away in terror, and the
son took the body and threw it in the sea.
[A] The name of a goatherd in Salaparuta.
[B] A rotulu = .793 kilos.

[The next day the king commanded that the price of meat should be set at
twelve tari[C] a rotulu, and ordered that all the old women of the city should
assemble at the palace. A hundred came, and he told them to go begging
about the city and find out who was cooking meat; thinking that only the
thief could afford to buy meat at that price. Ninu, of course, bought some
and gave it to his mother to cook. While it was cooking, and Ninu absent,
one of the old women came begging, and the widow gave her a piece of
meat. As she was going down-stairs Ninu met her and asked her what she
was doing. She explained that she was begging for some bread. Ninu,
suspecting the trick, took her and threw her into the well.]
[C] Frs. 5.10.

At noon, when the old women were to present themselves to the king, one
was missing. The king then sent for the butchers, and found that just one
rotulu of meat had been sold. When the king saw this, he issued a
proclamation to find out who had done all these wonders, and said: "If he is
unmarried, I will give him my daughter; if he is married, I will give him
two measures of gold." Ninu presented himself to the king and said: "Your
Majesty, it was I." The king burst out laughing, and asked: "Are you
married or single?" He said: "Your Majesty, I am single." And the king said:
"Will you be satisfied with my daughter, or with two measures, of gold?"
"Your Majesty," he said, "I want to marry; give me your daughter." So he
did, and they had a grand banquet.[30]

The story in The Seven Wise Masters, known as "Inclusa," or "The
Elopement," is found only in Pitrè (No. 176), where it is told of a tailor who
lived next to the king's palace, with which his house communicated by a
secret door known only to the king and the tailor's wife. The tailor, while at
work in the palace, imagines he sees his wife there, and pretending that he
has forgotten his shears, etc., rushes home to find his wife there. She finally
elopes with the king, leaving at her window an image that deceives her
husband until she is beyond pursuit.[31]
Far more curious than any of the stories above given is the last one we shall
mention from The Seven Wise Masters. The story in this collection known
as "Avis," or "The Talking Bird," is briefly as follows: A jealous husband
has a talking bird that is a spy upon his wife's actions. In order to impair his
confidence in the bird, one night while he is absent the wife orders a servant
to shower water over the bird's cage, to make a heavy sound like thunder,
and to imitate the flashing of lightning with candles. The bird, on its
master's return, tells him of the terrific storm the night before, and is killed
for its supposed falsehood. This story is found in both the Eastern and
Western versions of The Seven Wise Masters, and practically constitutes the
framework of another famous Oriental collection, the Çukasaptati (from
çuka, a parrot, and saptati, seventy, The Seventy Tales of a Parrot), better
known by its Persian and Turkish name, Tûtî-Nâmeh, Tales of a Parrot.[32]
The frame, or groundwork, of the various Oriental versions is substantially
the same. A husband is obliged to leave home on business, and while he is
absent his wife engages in a love affair with a stranger. A parrot, which the
husband has left behind, prevents the wife meeting her lover by telling her
stories which interest her so much that she keeps putting off her
appointment until her husband returns. In the Turkish version the parrot
reconciles the husband and wife; in the Persian versions the parrot relates
what has happened, and the faithless wife is killed.
The Italian versions, as will soon be seen, are not derived from The Seven
Wise Masters, but from the Çukasaptati; and what is very curious, the
framework has been retained and filled with stories that are not in the
original.[33] The most simple version is from Pisa (Comparetti, No. 1), and
is called:

XLV. THE PARROT (First Version).

There was once a merchant who had a beautiful daughter, with whom the
king and the viceroy were both in love. The former knew that the merchant
would soon have to depart on business, and he would then have a chance to
speak with the girl. The viceroy knew it, too, and pondered on how he could
prevent the king succeeding in his plan. He was acquainted with a witch,
and promised her immunity and a large sum of money if she would teach
him how to change himself into a parrot. This she did, and of course the
merchant bought him for his daughter, and departed.
When the parrot thought it was about time for the king to come, he said to
the girl: "Now, to amuse you, I will tell you a story; but you must attend to
me and not see any one while I am telling it." Then he began his story, and
after he had gone a little way in it a servant entered and told her mistress
that there was a letter for her. "Tell her to bring it later," said the parrot,
"and now listen to me." "I do not receive letters while my father is away,"
said the mistress, and the parrot continued. After a while another
interruption. A servant announces the visit of an aunt. (It was not an aunt,
but a woman who came from the king.) The parrot said: "Do not receive
her; we are in the finest part of our story," and the young girl sent word that
she did not receive any visits while her father was absent, and the parrot
went on. When his story was ended the girl was so pleased that she would
listen to no one else until her father returned. Then the parrot disappeared,
and the viceroy visited the merchant and asked his daughter's hand. He
consented, and the marriage took place that very day. The wedding was
scarcely over when a gentleman came to ask the girl's hand for the king; but
it was too late, and the poor king, who was much in love with her, died of a
broken heart, and the girl remained the wife of the viceroy, who had been
more cunning than the king.

We have omitted the story told by the parrot because we shall meet it again
in the Sicilian version, and substantially in the following version from

Florence, which we give entire on account of the rarity of the work in which
it is found, and for its own merits.[34] It is also entitled:

XLVI. THE PARROT. (Second Version.)

Once upon a time there was a merchant who, having to go on a journey,
gave his wife a parrot to amuse her in her loneliness. The wife, vexed that
her husband should leave her so soon, threw the bird in a corner and
thought no more about it. At evening she went to the window and saw pass
a young man, who fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. On the first
floor there lived a woman who sold coals, and the young man began to
tempt her to help him in his love affair. She would not promise, because the
merchant's wife had been married but a few days, and was an honest
woman. She added, however, that there was a way; her daughter was to be
married shortly, she would invite the young wife to the wedding, and the
young man, being there too, could manage the rest. The wife accepted the
invitation, dressed herself in her finest clothes, and was on the point of
leaving when the parrot cried from its corner: "O mistress, where are you
going? I wished to tell you a story; but suit yourself." The wife then
dismissed the coal-woman, who, not to spoil matters, promised to put off
the wedding and return for her the next day. Then the parrot began:
"Once upon a time there was a king's son whose master was so learned in
magic that with certain words he could change himself into various animals.
The prince wanted to learn these words, too; but the magician hesitated and
refused, although he had to yield at last. Then the prince became a crow and
flew far away to a distant country and into the garden of a king, where he
saw a beautiful girl with a mirror in which was set her portrait. The crow in
wonder snatched the glass from her hands, and flew home and resumed his
own form, but he fell so deeply in love with the unknown girl that he
became ill.
"She, meanwhile, who was the daughter of a king, seeing the glass taken
from her, no longer had any peace of mind, and begged her father until he
gave her permission to go in search of it. She dressed herself like a
physician and departed. She came to a city and heard a proclamation by the
king, that whatever physician should pass that way should be obliged to
visit and try to cure his daughter. Then the new physician had to go to the

palace, but she could not discover any remedy for the grave disease. At
night, while sitting by the princess' bed, the light went out, and she left the
room to light it, and saw in a little cottage three old women sitting around a
cauldron boiling over a great fire. 'Good women, are you washing?' 'What a
washing! these are three heads, and when they are cooked the princess will
die.' 'Bravo, my good women; bring the wood and I will help, too.' She
remained there some time and promised to return. The brighter the fire
burned, the nearer the princess came to death. The physician consoled the
king and had a fine supper prepared. The second night she carried food and
a great deal of wine to the old women, and when they were drunk threw
them into the fire and lifted off the cauldron with the boiling heads. The
princess recovered and the king wished to give her to the physician and
reward him with gems and gold, but the physician would take nothing, and
departed."
"You know, mistress, it is late and I am tired," interrupted the parrot; "I will
tell you the rest to-morrow."
The next day the woman who sold coals came again, and the merchant's
wife was on the point of accompanying her; but the parrot detained her,
promising to finish the story. So the woman went away in anger, and the
parrot continued:
"The princess disguised as a physician journeyed until she came to another
city, and heard a proclamation by the king, that every physician who passed
that way should be forced to visit and attempt to cure his son. The new
physician, too, had to go to court; but could find no remedy for the severe
disease. At night, while sitting at the bedside of the prince, she heard a loud
noise in the next room: went to the door and saw three old women, who
were preparing a banquet. Afterwards they approached the invalid, anointed
him from head to foot, and carried him healed to the table; then when they
were full of wine and merry, they anointed him again and replaced him on
his bed worse than before. The physician comforted the king, and the
second night allowed the witches to take the prince to the table, then
appeared and frightening the old women with threats of the king's anger
drove them from the room and restored the son to his father. The king, well
pleased, wished to recompense the physician, who would take nothing, and
departed."

"But you know, mistress, it is late and I am weary. I will tell you the rest to-
morrow."
The next day the woman who sold coals returned, and the merchant's wife
was on the point of following her; but the parrot detained her, promising to
finish the story. The woman went away angry, and the parrot continued:
"After a long journey the princess disguised as a physician came to another
city, and heard a proclamation by the king, that every physician who passed
that way should be compelled to visit and attempt to cure his son. The new
physician, too, had to go to court; but she could find no remedy for the
severe disease. The prince would speak to no one, but the physician at last
made the invalid disclose the secret of his heart, and he told of the mirror
and showed the portrait of the unknown lady whom he loved desperately.
The physician consoled the king; had garments and ornaments exactly like
those of the young girl in the glass prepared; dressed in them, and as she
appeared before the prince he leaped from his bed, embracing his betrothed
in the midst of rejoicings."
But here the lady hears her husband arriving. Joy makes her beside herself;
and she throws from the window the poor parrot, which now seems to her
only a tiresome companion. The merchant enters and inquires about the
bird; sees the parrot hurt upon the neighboring roof and picks it up kindly.
The parrot narrates to him the wiles of the coal-woman and its own
prudence; assures the husband that his wife is innocent; but complains of
her being so ungrateful; she had promised him a gold vase, and now treats
him thus. The merchant consoles the dying bird, and afterwards has him
embalmed and placed in the gold vase. As for his wife, he loved her more
than ever.

Another version from Piedmont (Comparetti, No. 2; De Gub. Zoöl. Myth.
II. 322) differs materially from the ones just given. A king is obliged to go
to war and leave behind him his wife, with whom another king is in love.
Before parting he forbids his wife to leave the palace during his absence,
and presents her with a parrot. No sooner has the king departed than his

rival attempts to obtain an interview with the queen by giving a feast and
inviting her to it. The parrot prevents her going by relating the story
contained in the first version. They are interrupted in the same manner by
an old woman sent by the lover, but to no purpose. When the story is
finished, the husband returns, and the parrot becomes a young man, whom
the king had engaged to watch over his wife's fidelity.
The Sicilian version of our story is the most interesting as well as the most
complete of all; the single story in the continental versions has been
expanded into three, and the frame is more artistic. The story is the second
in Pitrè, and is as follows:

XLVII. THE PARROT WHICH TELLS THREE STORIES.

(Third Version.)

Once upon a time there was a rich merchant who wanted to marry, and who
happened to find a wife as good as the day was long, and who loved her
husband desperately. One day she saw him a little annoyed, and said: "What
makes you feel so?" "What should make me feel so! I have important
business to attend to, and must go and see to it on the spot." "And are you
annoyed about that? let us arrange matters thus: you will leave me
provisions and close up all the doors and windows but one high up; make
me a wicket, and then depart." "The advice pleases me," said her husband,
and he laid in at once a large provision of bread, flour, oil, coals, and
everything; had all the doors and windows closed up but one, to take the air,
had a wicket made like those in the convents, and departed, and the wife
remained with her maid. The next day a servant called at the wicket to do
what was necessary and then went away. After ten days the lady began to be
oppressed, and had a great mind to cry. The maid said: "There is a remedy
for everything, my mistress; let us draw the table up to the window, and
climb up and enjoy the sight of the Corso." They did so, and the lady looked
out. "Ah! I thank you, sirs!" As she uttered the ah! opposite her was a
notary's office, and there were the notary and a cavalier. They turned and
saw this beautiful young woman. "Oh! what a handsome woman! I must
speak with her!" said the cavalier. "No: I will speak first," said the notary.
And "I first," and "I first." They laid a wager of four hundred ounces as to

who would speak with her first. The lady perceived them and withdrew
from the window.
The notary and the cavalier thought about the bet, and had no rest running
here and there and trying to speak with the lady. At last the notary in despair
went out into the fields and began to call his demon. The demon appeared
and the notary told him everything, saying: "And this cavalier wishes to
have the advantage of speaking with the lady first." "What will you give
me?" said the demon. "My soul." "Then see what you have to do; I will
change you into a parrot and you must fly and alight on the window of the
lady. The maid will take you and have a silver cage made for you and put
you in it. The cavalier will find an old woman who is able to make the lady
leave the house. But she will not make her leave, you know. You must say:
'My pretty mamma, sit down while I tell you a story.' The old woman will
come thrice; you must tear out your feathers and fly into a passion and say
always: 'My pretty mamma, don't go with that old woman, she will betray
you; sit down while I tell you a story.' And then tell her any story you wish."
The demon ended with: "Man you are, become a parrot!" and the parrot
flew away to the window. The maid saw it and caught it with her
handkerchief. When the lady saw the parrot she said: "How beautiful you
are! Now you will be my consolation." "Yes, pretty mamma, I will love
you, too." The lady had a silver cage made, and shut the parrot up in it.
Let us leave the parrot in the cage, and return to the cavalier, who was
making desperate efforts to see the lady. An old woman met him, and asked
him what the matter was. "Must I tell you what the matter is?" and
dismissed her; but the old woman was persistent. At last to get rid of her he
told her all about the wager. The old woman said: "I am able to make you
speak with the lady. You must have prepared for me two handsome baskets
of early fruit." The cavalier was so anxious to see the lady that he had the
baskets of early fruit prepared and given to her. With these things the old
woman went to the wicket, pretending that she was the lady's grandmother.
The lady believed her. One word brings on another. "Tell me, my
granddaughter, you are always shut up, but don't you hear mass Sundays?"
"How could I hear it shut up?" "Ah, my daughter, you will be damned. No,
this is not well. You must hear mass Sundays. To-day is a feast day; let us
go to mass."

While the lady was being persuaded, the parrot began to lament. When its
mistress opened the clothespress, the parrot said: "My pretty mamma, don't
go, for the old woman will betray you. If you don't go I will tell you a
story." The lady took an idea into her head. "Now, my grandmother," she
said, "go away, for I cannot come." And the old woman went away. When
she had gone, the lady went to the parrot, which related to her this story:

FIRST STORY OF THE PARROT.

Once upon a time there was a king who had an only daughter, who was very
fond of dolls, and had one that was her delight. She dressed her and
undressed her and put her to bed, in short did for her what is done for
children. One day the king wished to go into the country, and the princess
wished to take the doll. While they were walking about, in a moment of
forgetfulness, she left her doll on a hedge. It was meal time, and after they
had eaten they got into the carriage and returned to the royal palace. What
do you suppose the princess forgot? the doll!
As soon as they arrived at the palace the princess remembered the doll.
What did she do? Instead of going up-stairs, she turned round and went to
look for the doll. When she got outdoors, she became lost and wandered
about like a person bereft of her senses. After a time she came to a royal
palace and asked who was the king of that palace. "The King of Spain,"
they said. She asked for a lodging. She entered; the king gave her lodging
and treated her like a daughter. She made herself at home in the palace and
began to be the mistress. The king had no daughters and gave her liberty to
do as she pleased in spite of twelve royal damsels. Now, as there is envy
among equals, the damsels began to oppose her. Said they: "Just see! Who
knows who she is? and is she to be our princess? Now this thing must
stop!" The next day they said to the princess: "Will you come with us?"
"No, because papa does not wish it. If he is willing, I will come." "Do you
know what you must do to make him let you come? tell him: 'By the soul of
his daughter he must let you go.' When he hears that, he will let you go at
once." The princess did so, but when the king heard her say: "By the soul of
his daughter!" "Ah! wretch," exclaimed the king; "quick, throw her down
the trap-door!" When the princess fell down the trap-door she found a door,
then another, and another, always feeling her way along. At a certain point

she felt with her hands like the blind, and found tinder and matches. She
then lighted a candle which she found there, and saw a beautiful young girl,
with a padlock on her mouth, so that she could not speak, but she made
signs that the key to open it with was under the pillow of the bed. The
princess got it and opened the padlock; then the young girl spoke, and said
that she was the daughter of the king whom a magician had stolen. This
magician brought her, every day, something to eat, and then locked up her
mouth, and she had to wait until the next day to open it again. "But tell me,"
said the princess, "what way is there to free you?" "How do I know? I can
do nothing but ask the magician when he opens my mouth; you hide under
the bed and listen, and afterwards think what has to be done." "Good!
good!" The princess locked her mouth, put the key under the pillow, and
crawled under the bed. But at midnight a great noise was heard; the earth
opened, lightning, smoke, and smell of sulphur, and the magician appeared
in a magician's robe. With the magician was a giant with a bowl of food,
and two servants with two torches. The magician sent away the servants,
and locked the doors, took the key, and opened the mouth of the king's
daughter. While they were eating, she said: "Magician, I have a thought: out
of curiosity I would like to know what it would be necessary for me to do to
escape from here." "You want to know a great deal, my daughter!" "Never
mind, I don't care to know." "However, I will tell you. It would be necessary
to make a mine all around the palace, and precisely at midnight, when I am
on the point of entering, to explode the mine: you will find yourself with
your father, and I will fly up in the air." "It's as if you had not told any one,"
said the young girl. The magician dressed himself and went away. After a
few hours the princess came out from under the bed, took leave of her little
sister, for she already called her "little sister," and departed.
She went back to the trap-door and, at a certain point, stopped and called
for help. The king heard her, and had a rope lowered. The princess climbed
up and related everything to the king. He was astounded, and began the
mine, which he had filled with shot, powder, and balls. When it was full to
the brim, the princess descended with a watch and went to the king's
daughter: "Either both dead, or both alive!" When she entered the room, she
said: "It is I," took the lock from her mouth, talked with her, and then
concealed herself under the bed. At midnight the magician came, and the
king was on the lookout, with his watch in his hand. As the clock struck

twelve, the princess fired the mine: boom! and a great noise was heard: the
magician vanished, and the two young girls found themselves free and in
each other's arms. When the king saw them, he exclaimed: "Ah! my
daughters! your misfortune was your good fortune. My crown belongs to
you," said he to the princess whom he had adopted. "No, your Majesty, for I
am a king's daughter, and I, too, have a crown."
This matter spread over the world, and her fame passed through all the
kingdoms, and every one talked of nothing but the great courage and
goodness of this princess who had delivered the other princess from the
magician. And they remained happy and always enjoyed holy peace.
"What do you think, pretty mamma, of this story?" "It is very fine," said the
lady to the parrot.
A week passed after the story; the old woman again came with two other
baskets of fruit to her granddaughter: "Pretty idea!" said the parrot. "Take
care, pretty mamma; the old woman is coming." The old woman said:
"Come, my daughter, are you going to mass?" "Yes, my grandmother;" and
the lady began dressing herself. When the parrot saw her dressing herself it
began to tear out its feathers and weep: "No, pretty mamma, don't go to
mass; that old woman will ruin you. If you will stay with me, I will tell you
another story." "Now go away," said the lady to the old woman, "for I
cannot kill my dear little parrot, for the sake of the mass." "Ah! wicked
woman! to lose your soul for an animal!" The old woman went away and
the parrot told this story:

SECOND STORY OF THE PARROT.

Well then, my lady, there was once upon a time a king who had an only
daughter as beautiful as the sun and moon. When she was eighteen a
Turkish king wished to marry her. When she heard that it was a Turkish
king she said: "What do I want of Turks!" and refused him. Shortly after she
became very ill, convulsions, twisting of the body, rolling of her eyes to the
back of her head, and the doctors did not know what was the matter. The
poor father in confusion called his council together, and said: "Gentlemen,
my daughter is losing ground every day; what advice do you give me?" The
sages said: "Your Majesty, there is a young girl who found the daughter of

the King of Spain;[A] find her and she will tell you what must be done for
your daughter." "Bravo! the council has been favorable." The king ordered
vessels to go for this young girl: "And if the King of Spain will not let her
go, give him this iron glove and declare war!" The vessels departed and
reached Spain one morning. They fired a salute, the ambassador landed,
presented himself to the king, and gave him a sealed letter. The king opened
it and after reading it began to weep and said: "I prefer war, and I will not
give up this girl." Meanwhile the girl entered: "What is the matter, your
Majesty? (and she saw the letter). What are you afraid of? I will go at once
to this king." "How, my daughter, will you then leave me thus?" "I will
return. I will go and see what is the matter with this young girl and then
come back."
[A] The princess of the last story.

She took leave of her half-sister and departed. When she arrived the king
went to meet her: "My daughter, if you cure this sick daughter of mine, I
will give you my crown!" "That makes two crowns!" she said to herself. "I
have a crown, your Majesty. Let us see what the matter is, and never mind
the crowns." She went and saw the princess all wasted away. She turned to
the king and said: "Your Majesty! have some broth and substantial things
made," and they were prepared at once. "I am going to shut myself up with
your daughter, and you must not open the door, for in three days I will give
her to you alive or dead. And listen to what I say: even if I should knock
you must not open." Everything was arranged and the door was fastened
with chains and padlocks, but they forgot the tinder to light the candle with
at night. In the evening there was great confusion. The young girl did not
wish to knock, and as she looked out of the window she saw a light at a
distance. So she descended by a ladder of silk, taking with her a candle.
When she drew near the light she saw a large cauldron placed on some
stones and a furnace under it, and a Turk who was stirring it with a stick.
"What are you doing, Turk?" "My king wanted the daughter of the king, she
did not want him, he is bewitching her." "My poor little Turk! You are tired,
are you not? do you know what you must do? rest yourself a little while I
stir." "I will, by Mahomet!" He got down; she got up and began to stir with
the stick. "Am I doing it all right thus?" "Yes, by Mahomet." "Well then,
you take a nap, and I will stir." When he was asleep, she came down, seized
him, and threw him into the boiling cauldron, where he died. When she saw

that he was dead, she lighted her candle and returned to the palace. She
entered the room and found the invalid had fainted on the floor. She brought
her to with cologne water (acqua d' oduri) and in three days she had
recovered. Then she knocked at the door and the king entered, beside
himself at finding his daughter cured. "Ah! my daughter," he said to the
young girl who had healed her, "how much we owe you! you must remain
here with me." "It is impossible; you threatened my father with war if he
did not allow me to come; now my father declares war with you if you do
not let me return to him." She remained there a fortnight, then departed, and
the king gave her quantities of riches and jewels. She returned to the king of
Spain's palace.
And so the story ends.

"What did you think of the story, pretty mamma?" said the parrot.
"Beautiful, beautiful." "But you must not go with the old woman, because
there is treason."
After a week the old woman came with her baskets. "My daughter, you
must do me this pleasure to-day, come and hear the holy mass." "I will."
When the parrot heard that, he began to weep and tear out his feathers: "No,
my pretty mamma, don't go with the old woman. If you will stay, I will tell
you another story." "Grandmother mine," says she, "I can't come, for I don't
wish to lose the parrot for your sake." She closed the wicket and the old
woman went away grumbling and cursing. The lady then seated herself near
the parrot, which told this story:

THIRD STORY OF THE PARROT.

Once upon a time there was a king and a queen who had an only son, whose
sole diversion was the chase. Once he wished to go hunting at a distance,
and took with him his attendants. Where do you think he happened to go?
To the country where the doll was.[A] When he saw the doll he said: "I have
finished my hunt, let us return home!" He took the doll and placed it before
him on the horse, and exclaimed every few minutes: "How beautiful this

doll is! think of its mistress!" When he reached the palace he had a glass
case made in the wall, and put the doll in it, and kept looking at it
continually and saying: "How beautiful the doll is! think of the mistress!"
[A] The doll of the first story.

The young man would not see any one and became so melancholy that his
father summoned the physicians, who said: "Your Majesty, we know
nothing of this illness; see what he does with his doll." The king went to see
his son and found him gazing at the doll, and exclaiming: "Oh! how
beautiful the doll is! think of the mistress!" The physicians departed as wise
as when they came. The prince meanwhile did nothing but sit and look at
the doll, and draw deep breaths, and sigh, and exclaim: "How beautiful the
doll is! think of the mistress!" The king at last, in despair, summoned his
council, and said: "See how my son is reduced! He has no fever, or pain in
his head, but he is wasting away, and some one else will enjoy my
kingdom! Give me advice." "Majesty, are you perplexed? Is there not that
young girl who found the King of Spain's daughter, and cured the other
princess? Send for her. If her father will not let her come, declare war with
him."
The king sent his ambassadors with the message that the young girl should
be sent nolens volens. While the ambassadors were in the king's presence,
his daughter entered, the one who had done the wonders, and found her
father perplexed: "What is the matter, your Majesty?" "Nothing, my
daughter. Another occasion has arrived, another king wants you. Does he
mean that I am no longer your master?" "Never mind, your Majesty; let me
go; I will soon return."
So she embarked with all her attendants and began her journey. When she
arrived where the prince was, she saw him drawing such deep breaths that it
seemed as if he would swallow himself, and always exclaiming: "Oh! how
beautiful the doll is! think of the mistress!" She said: "You have called me
none too soon! However, give me a week: bring me ointments, food; and in
a week, alive and well, or dead."
She shut herself up with him and listened to hear what the prince said, for
she had not yet heard what he was saying, he was so feeble. When she
heard him whisper: "Oh! how be-au-ti-ful is the doll; con-sid-er," and saw

the doll, she cried: "Ah! wretch! it was you who had my doll! Leave it to
me, I will cure you." When he heard these words he came to himself and
said: "Are you the doll's mistress?" "I am." Just think! he returned to life
and she began to give him broth until she had restored him. When he was
restored she said: "Now tell me how you got the doll," and the prince told
her everything. To make the matter short, in a week the prince was cured,
and they declared that they would marry each other. The king, beside
himself with joy because his son was healed, wrote several letters: one to
the King of Spain to tell him that his daughter had found her doll, another to
the other king, her father, to tell him that his daughter was found, and
another to the king whose daughter she had cured. Afterwards all these
monarchs came together and made great festivals, and the prince married
the princess, and they lived together in great peace.

"Has this story pleased you, pretty mamma?" "Yes, my son." "But you must
not go with the old woman, you know."
After the story was ended a servant came: "My lady, my lady, the master is
coming!" "Truly!" said the lady. "Now, parrot, listen; I will have a new cage
made for you." The master arrived, the windows were all opened, and he
embraced his wife. At dinner they placed the parrot in the middle of the
table, and when the joy was at its height the bird threw some soup in its
master's eyes. The master, when he felt it, put his hands to his eyes, and the
parrot darted at his throat, strangled him, and flew away.
He flew away to the country, and saying, "I am a parrot, and I become a
man," he was changed into a handsome, cunning, and well-kempt man on
the Corso. He met the cavalier: "Do you know," said this one, "that the poor
lady's husband is dead? a parrot strangled him!" "Truly? poor woman! poor
woman!" said the notary, and went his way without speaking of the wager.
The notary learned that the lady had a mother, and went to her to ask her
daughter in marriage. After hesitating, the lady finally said yes, and they
were married. That evening the notary said to the lady: "Now tell me, who
killed your husband?" "A parrot." "And what about this parrot?" The lady
told him everything to where the parrot dashed the broth in its master's

eyes, and then flew away. "True! true!" said the notary. "Was I not the
parrot?" "It was you! I am amazed." "It was I, and I became a parrot for
your sake!"
The next day the notary went to the cavalier to get the four hundred ounces
of the wager, which he enjoyed with his wife.

The three stories related by the parrot are, as has been seen, in reality one
story, and they are, in fact found as such independent of the frame.[35] It has
also been seen that the story or stories related by the parrot are,
substantially, the same in all the versions. The Florentine version alone does
not contain the episode of the doll. The story, as a whole, has no parallels,
although it bears a slight resemblance to the story in the Pentamerone (II.
2), "Green Meadow." The princess as physician, and the secret malady of
the prince or princess, are traits which abound in all the popular tales of
Europe.[36]
Many single stories of Oriental origin will be found in the chapters
following. We shall close this one with a story which was popular in Europe
during the Middle Ages, being found in one of the great collections of that
period, the Gesta Romanorum. Of the various Italian versions we shall
select one from Pomigliano d'Arco called:

XLVIII. TRUTHFUL JOSEPH.

Once upon a time there was a mother who had a son named Joseph; and
because he never told a lie she called him Truthful Joseph. One day when
she was calling him, the king happened to pass by, and hearing her call him
thus, asked her: "Why do you call him Truthful Joseph?" "Because he never
tells a lie." Then the king said that he would like to have him in his service,
and set him to keeping his cows. Every morning Joseph presented himself
to the king, and said: "Your Majesty's servant." The king answered: "Good
morning, Truthful Joseph. How are the cows?" "Well and fat." "How are the
calves?" "Well and handsome." "How is the bull?" "The same." So he did
every morning. The king praised him so highly in the presence of all his

courtiers that they became angry at him; and one day, to make Joseph a liar,
they sent to him a lady, who was to induce him by her words to kill the bull.
Joseph was urged so strongly that he consented; but afterwards he was in
great perplexity as to what he should tell the king. So he put his cloak on a
chair and pretended that it was the king, and said: "Your Majesty's servant.
Good morning, Truthful Joseph. How are the cows? Well and fat. How are
the calves? Well and handsome. How is the bull? The same. But no; that
will not do! I am telling a lie! When the king asks me how the bull is, I will
tell him that it is dead."
He presented himself to the king and said: "Your Majesty's servant." "Good
morning, Truthful Joseph. How are the cows?" "Well and fat." "How are the
calves?" "Well and handsome." "How is the bull?" "Your Majesty, a lady
came and with her manners made me kill the bull. Pardon me." The king
answered: "Bravo, Truthful Joseph!" He summoned his courtiers and
showed them that Joseph had not yet told any lie. And so Joseph remained
always with the king, and the courtiers were duped, because they gained
nothing that they had expected.[37]

CHAPTER IV.
LEGENDS AND GHOST STORIES.

The Italian people possess an inexhaustible store of legends which they
have inherited from the Middle Ages. With the great mass of these stories—
legends of the saints or local legends—we have at present nothing to do. It
is enough to say that they do not differ materially from the legends of the
other Catholic peoples of Europe. The class to which we shall devote our
attention in this chapter is that of popular legendary stories which have
clustered around the person of our Lord and his disciples, and around other
favorite characters of mediæval fancy, such as Pilate, The Wandering Jew,
etc. To these may be added tales relating to the other world and stories
which are of a legendary nature. The first stories which we shall mention
are those referring to mythical journeys of our Lord and his apostles.
The first, "St. Peter and the Robbers" (Pitrè, No. 121), relates that once
while the Master was journeying with the apostles they found themselves at
night out in the fields, and took shelter in a cabin belonging to some
shepherds, who received them very inhospitably and gave them nothing to
eat. Soon after, a band of robbers attacked the flock and robbed the
shepherds, who ran away. The robbers came to the cabin, and when they
heard from the apostles how shabbily they had been treated, gave them the
supper that the shepherds had prepared for themselves, and went their way.
"Blessed be the robbers!" said St. Peter, "for they treat the hungry poor
better than the rich do." "Blessed be the robbers!" said the apostles, and ate
their fill.
This story, as can easily be seen, is a tradition of the robbers who pretend to
have been blessed by Christ. St. Peter is the hero of several stories, in which
he plays anything but a dignified rôle. In one (Pitrè, No. 122), he is sent to
buy some wine, and allows himself to be persuaded by the wine merchant
to eat some fennel-seed. After this he cannot distinguish between good and
bad wine, and purchases an inferior kind. When the Master tasted it he said:
"Eh! Peter! Peter! you have let yourself be deceived."[A] Peter tasted it

again and saw that it was sour. Another apostle was sent to get some good
wine, and "hence it is that when you have to taste wine to see whether it is
good, you must not eat fennel-seed."
[A] This story is an attempt to explain the origin of the word 'nfinucchiari
(infinocchiare) to impose on one, by the word finocchio, fennel-seed.

L. THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE APOSTLES.

Once, while the Master was on a journey with the thirteen apostles, they
came to a village where there was no bread. The Master said: "Peter, let
each one of you carry a stone." They each took up a stone—St. Peter a little
bit of a one. The others were all loaded down, but St. Peter went along very
easily. The Master said: "Now let us go to another village. If there is any
bread there, we shall buy it; if there is none, I will give you my blessing and
the stones will become bread."
They went to another town, put the stones down, and rested. The Master
gave them his blessing, and the stones became bread. St. Peter, who had
carried a little one, felt his heart grow faint. "Master," he said, "how am I
going to eat?" "Eh! my brother, why did you carry a little stone? The others,
who loaded themselves down, have bread enough."
Then they went on, and the Master made them each carry another stone. St.
Peter was cunning this time and took a large one and all the others carried
small ones. The Lord said to the others: "Little ones, we will have a laugh at
Peter's expense." They arrived at another village, and all the apostles threw
away their stones because there was bread there; and St. Peter was bent
double, for he had carried a paving-stone with him to no purpose.
On their journey they met a man; and as St. Peter was in advance of the
others, he said: "The Lord is coming shortly; ask Him a favor for your
soul." The man drew near and said: "Lord, my father is ill with old age.
Cure him, Master." The Lord said: "Am I a physician? Do you know what
you must do? Put him in a hot oven and your father will become a boy
again." They did so, and his father became a little boy.
The idea pleased St. Peter, and when he found himself alone he went about
seeking to make some old men young. By chance there met him one who

was seeking the Master because his mother was at the point of death and he
wanted her cured. St. Peter said: "What do you want?" "I want the Master,
for I have an old mother who is very ill, and the Master alone can cure her."
"Fortunately Peter is here! Do you know what you must do? Heat an oven
and put her in it, and she will be cured." The poor man believed him, for he
knew that the Lord loved St. Peter, so he went home and immediately put
his mother in the hot oven. What more could you expect? The old woman
was burned to a coal. "Ah! santu di ccà e di ddà!"[A] cried the son; "that
scurvy fellow has made me kill my mother!" He hastened to St. Peter. The
Master was present, and when he heard the story could not control his
laughter, and said: "Ah, Peter! what have you done?" St. Peter tried to
excuse himself, but the poor man kept crying for his mother. What must the
Master do? He had to go to the house of the dead, and with a blessing which
he there pronounced he brought the old woman to life again, a beautiful
young girl, and relieved St. Peter of his great embarrassment.
[A] This is the strongest imprecation in Sicily.

The last anecdote is quite popular, and is found in a number of popular
stories, as well as in the Cento Novelle Antiche[1]. A very amusing version is
from Venice (Widter-Wolf, No. 5), and is entitled:

LI. THE LORD, ST. PETER, AND THE BLACKSMITH.

In a little town about as large as Sehio or Thiene once lived a master-smith,
—a good, industrious, and skilful man, but so proud of his skill that he
would not deign to reply to anyone who did not address him as "Professor."
This pride in a man otherwise so blameless gave universal dissatisfaction.
One day our Lord appeared in the blacksmith's shop, accompanied by St.
Peter, whom He was always in the habit of taking with Him on such
excursions. "Professor," said the Lord, "will you be so good as to permit me
to do a little work at your forge?" "Why not? it is at your service," replied
the flattered smith. "What do you wish to make?" "That you will soon see,"
said the Lord, and took up a pair of tongs, with which he seized Peter and
held him in the forge until he was red-hot. Then he drew him out and

hammered him on all sides, and in less than ten minutes the old bald-headed
apostle was forged anew into a wonderfully handsome youth with beautiful
hair. The blacksmith stood speechless with astonishment, while the Lord
and St. Peter exchanged the most courteous thanks and compliments.
Finally the master-smith recovered himself and ran straight up to the second
story, where his sick old father lay in bed. "Father," he cried, "come
quickly! I have just learned how to make a strong young man of you." "My
son, have you lost your senses?" said the old man, half terrified. "No; only
believe me. I have just seen it myself." Finding that the old man protested
against the attempt, his son seized him forcibly, carried him to the shop, and
in spite of his shrieks and entreaties, thrust him into the forge, but brought
nothing out but a piece of charred leg, which fell to pieces at the first blow
of the hammer. Then he was seized with anguish and remorse. He ran
quickly in search of the two men, and fortunately found them in the market-
place. "Sir," he cried, "what have you done? You have misled me. I wanted
to imitate your skill, and I have burned my father alive! Come with me
quickly, and help me, if you can!" Then the Lord smiled graciously, and
said: "Go home comforted. You will find your father alive and well, but an
old man again." And so he did find him, to his great joy. From that time his
pride disappeared, and whenever any one called him "Professor" he would
exclaim: "Ah, what folly that is! There are gentlemen in Venice and
professors in Padua, but I am a bungler."

The version in Knust is different. It is called "A Journey of Our Saviour on
Earth," and is, in substance, as follows: A father whose son is a gambler,
makes him become a soldier. The son deserts during a stormy night and
takes refuge in an inn. There he meets a man who seems acquainted with
his whole life and whose name is Salvatore (Saviour). He knows that Peter
has deserted and is pursued, but he will save him. To gain a livelihood, he
proposes to him to travel together and heal the sick. An opportunity to do
this is soon offered. A rich man is ill, and Salvatore promises to heal him in
three days. He makes every one withdraw, prepares a potion from herbs,
and cures the patient. The relatives of the rich man offer in their gratitude
all manner of costly things to Salvatore, who, however, accepts only enough

to support life. Such an unreasonable proceeding enrages his companion to
such a degree that he parts from him. He wishes to cure people
independently, and promises a king to heal his sick daughter at once. But
although he does everything exactly like Salvatore, the only effect of the
potion is to kill the princess. As soon as the king learns this, he has Peter
thrown into prison. On his way there he meets Salvatore, who is ready to
help him at his request. The latter goes to the king and promises to raise his
daughter if he will release to him the prisoner. The king consents, but
threatens Salvatore with death in case of failure. The dead, however, comes
to life, and in gratitude offers her hand, through her father, to Salvatore,
who declares that it is his vocation to wander over the earth. He asks that
the maiden be given to his companion.[2]
In a story from Venice our Lord and St. Peter are hospitably received by a
poor woman who has no bed to offer them, but makes up one for them from
some straw and five ells of linen which she has bought that day. When the
Lord departs the next morning he bestows on the woman the power of
doing all day the first thing she does in the morning. She begins by taking
the linen from the bed of her guests, and pulls off piece after piece of linen.
A friend of hers learns this and determines to do the same, but is punished
by the Lord for her selfishness.[3]

LII. IN THIS WORLD ONE WEEPS AND ANOTHER
LAUGHS.

Once the Lord, while he was making the world, called one of the apostles
and told him to look and see what the people were doing. The apostle
looked and said: "How curious! the people are weeping." The Lord
answered: "It is not the world yet!" The next day he bade the apostle look
again and see what the people were doing. The apostle looked and saw the
people laughing, and said: "The people are laughing." The Lord answered:
"It is not the world yet." The third day he made him look again, and the
apostle saw that some were weeping, and some were laughing, and said:
"Some of the people are weeping, and some are laughing." The Lord said:
"Now it is the world, because in this world one weeps and another laughs."

The next legend accounts for the ass' long ears.

LIII. THE ASS.

It is related that when the Lord created the world, he also made all the
animals, and gave each its name. He also created the ass, which said: "Lord,
what is my name?" "Your name is ass!" The ass went away well pleased.
After a while it forgot its name, and went back to the Lord. "Lord, what is
my name?" "Ass!" After a while it came back again. "Excuse me, Lord,
what is my name?" "Ass, ass!" The ass turned and went away, but forgot it
another time, and came back. "Lord, I have forgotten my name." The Lord
could not stand it any longer, but seized its ears and pulled them sharply,
exclaiming: "Ass! Ass! Ass!" The ears were pulled so hard that they became
long, and that is why the ass has long ears, and why we pull a person's ears
to keep him from forgetting a thing.

Another legend relates that when Christ was journeying through the world
he happened, dying with thirst, to enter a town. He saw a woman combing
her hair, and said: "Will you give me a drink of water? for I am dying of
thirst." "I am busy; it is not the time for water!" Christ said at once:

"Cursed be the braid
That is braided Friday."

And continued his journey. After a time he saw a woman making dough for
bread. "Good woman, will you give me a drink of water?" "As much as you
will!" and went and drew some water and gave him. Christ said:

"Blessed be the dough
That is kneaded on Friday."

Hence it is that certain women are accustomed not to comb their hair on
Friday.

There is a satirical legend, called "The Lord's Will," which relates that when
Christ came to leave the world, he was in doubt as to whom to leave all on
the earth. If he left it to the gentlemen, what would the nobility do? if to the
nobility, what would become of the gentry, and the workmen, and the
peasants? While He was reflecting, the noblemen came and asked the Lord
to give them everything, which he did. Then the priests came; and when
they were told that everything had been given to the nobility, "Oh! the
devil!" they exclaimed. "Then I leave you the devil," said the Lord. To the
monks, who, when they heard what had been done, exclaimed, "Patience!"
patience was left. The workmen cried: "What a fraud!" and received that for
their share. Finally the peasants came and said, with resignation: "Let us do
the will of God;" and that was their portion. And this is the reason why in
this world the noblemen command, the priests are helped by the devil, the
monks are patient, workmen fraudulent, and the peasants have to do many
things they don't want to, and are obliged to submit to the will of God.[4]
St. Peter's mother is the subject of a story which has given rise to a wide-
spread proverb. She was, so runs the story, an avaricious woman, who never
was known to do good to any one. In fact, during her whole life she never
gave anything away, except the top of an onion to a beggar woman. After
her death St. Peter's mother went to hell, and the saint begged our Lord to
release her. In consideration of her one charitable act, an angel was sent to
draw her from hell with an onion-top. The other lost spirits clutched hold of
her skirts, in order to escape with her, but the selfish woman tried to shake
them off, and in her efforts to do so broke the onion-top, and fell back into
hell. This story has given rise to the saying, "Like St. Peter's mamma,"
which is found, with slight variations, all over Italy.[5]
A curious version of this story is given in Bernoni (Leggende fant. No. 8):
After the onion-top was broken and St. Peter's mother had fallen back into
hell, the story continues: "Out of regard, however, for St. Peter, the Lord
permitted her once a year, on St. Peter's day, to leave hell and wander about
the earth a week; and, indeed, she does so every year, and during this week
she plays all sorts of pranks and causes great trouble."[6]
St. Peter's sisters are the subject of a story with a moral, contained in
Schneller, p. 6.

LIV. ST. PETER AND HIS SISTERS.

St. Peter had two sisters—one large, the other small. The little one entered a
convent and became a nun. St. Peter was delighted at this and tried to
persuade his big sister to become a nun also. She would not listen to him,
however, and said: "I would rather marry." After St. Peter had suffered
martyrdom, he became, as is well known, Porter of Heaven. One day the
Lord said to him: "Peter, open the gate of heaven to-day as wide as you can,
and get out all the heavenly ornaments and decorations, for to-day a very
deserving soul is going to arrive here." St. Peter did as he was told with
great joy, and thought: "Certainly my little sister is dead, and is coming to
heaven to-day." When everything was ready, there came the soul of ——
his big sister, who had died and left many children, who bitterly lamented
her loss. The Lord gave her an exalted place in heaven, much to the
astonishment of St. Peter, who thought: "I never should have imagined this;
what shall I have to do when the soul of my little sister comes?"
Not long after, the Lord said to him: "Peter, open the gate of heaven to-day
a little way, but a very little,—do you hear?" St. Peter did so and wondered:
"Who is coming to-day?" Then came the soul of his little sister, and had so
much trouble to squeeze through the gate that she hurt herself; and she
received a much lower place in heaven than the big sister. At first St. Peter
was amazed; afterwards he said: "It has happened differently from what I
imagined; but I see now that every profession has its merits, and every one,
if he only wishes, can enter heaven."

The cycle of stories referring to our Lord would not be complete without
legends of Pilate, Judas, and the Wandering Jew. A powerful story is told of
the first in Pitrè, No. 119, which is as follows:

LV. PILATE.

It is said that the following once took place at Rome: A wagon loaded with
stones was crossing a solitary spot in the country when one of the wheels

sank into the ground and it was impossible to extricate it for some time.
Finally they got it out, but there remained a large hole that opened into a
dark room under ground. "Who wishes to descend into this hole?" "I," said
the carter. They soon procured a rope and lowered the carter into the dark
room. We will suppose that this carter's name was Master Francis. Well,
then, Master Francis, when he was let down, turned to the right and saw a
door, which he opened, and found himself in darkness that you could cut.
He turned to the left, the same; he went forward, the same; he turned once
more and when he opened the door what did he see? He saw a man seated
before a table; before him, pen, ink, and a written paper that he was reading;
and when he finished it he began over again, and never raised his eyes from
the paper. Master Francis, who was of incomparable courage, went up to
him and said: "Who are you?" The man made no answer, but continued to
read. "Who are you?" said Master Francis again; but not a word. The third
time, the man said: "Turn around, open your shirt, and I will write who I am
on your back. When you leave this place, go to the Pope and make him read
who I am. Remember, however, that the Pope alone must read it." Master
Francis turned about, opened his shirt, the man wrote on his back, and then
sat down again. Master Francis was courageous, it is true; but he was not
made of wood, and in that moment he was frightened to death. He fixed his
shirt and then asked: "How long have you been here?" but could get no
answer from him. Seeing that it was time lost to question him, he gave the
signal to those outside and was drawn up. When they saw him they did not
recognize him; he had grown entirely white and seemed like an old man of
ninety. "What was it? What happened?" they all began to say. "Nothing,
nothing," he replied; "take me to the Pope, for I must confess." Two of
those who were present conducted him to the Pope. When he was with him
he related what had happened and taking off his shirt, said to him: "Read,
your Holiness!" His Holiness read: "I Am Pilate." And as he uttered these
words the poor carter became a statue. And it is said that that man was
Pilate, who was condemned to stay in a cave, always reading the sentence
that he had pronounced on Jesus Christ, without ever being able to take his
eyes from the paper. This is the story of Pilate who is neither saved nor
damned.[7]

Judas is believed to have hanged himself on a tamarind-tree, which, before
that time, was a tall, beautiful tree. After Judas's death it became the
diminutive, shapeless shrub called vruca, which is a synonym for all that is
worthless. The soul of the traitor is condemned to wander through the air,
and every time it sees this shrub it pauses, and imagines it sees its miserable
body dangling from it, the prey of birds and dogs.[8] This popular legend is
told in the following words:

LVI. THE STORY OF JUDAS.

You must know that Judas was the one who betrayed Jesus Christ. Now
when Judas betrayed him, his Master said: "Repent, Judas, for I pardon
you." But Judas, not at all! he departed with his bag of money, in despair
and cursing heaven and earth. What did he do? While he was going along
thus desperate he came across a tamarind-tree. (You must know that the
tamarind was formerly a large tree, like the olive and walnut.) When he saw
this tamarind a wild thought entered his mind, remembering the treason he
had committed. He made a noose in a rope and hung himself to the
tamarind. And hence it is (because this traitor Judas was cursed by God)
that the tamarind-tree dried up, and from that time on it ceased growing up
into a tree and became a short, twisted, and tangled bush; and its wood is
good for nothing, neither to burn, nor to make anything out of, and all on
account of Judas, who hanged himself on it.
Some say that the soul of Judas went to the lowest hell, to suffer the most
painful torments; but I have heard, from older persons who can know, that
Judas's soul has a severer sentence. They say that it is in the air, always
wandering about the world, without being able to rise higher or fall lower;
and every day, on all the tamarind shrubs that it meets, it sees its body
hanging and torn by the dogs and birds of prey. They say that the pain he
suffers cannot be told, and that it makes the flesh creep to think of it. And
thus Jesus Christ condemned him for his great treason.[9]

An interesting legend (Pitrè, No. 120) is told of the Jew who struck our
Lord with the palm of his hand (St. John xviii. 22), and whom the popular
imagination has identified with the Malchus mentioned by St. John, xviii.
10. It is called

LVII. DESPERATE MALCHUS.

This Malchus was one of those Jews who beat our Lord; a Jew more brutal
than can be told. When Christ was taken to Pilate's house, this Malchus,
with an iron glove, gave him a blow so heavy that it knocked out all his
teeth. For the sacrilegious act, the Lord condemned him to walk constantly,
without ever resting, around a column in an underground room. This
column is in a round room, and Malchus walks and walks without ever
having peace or rest. They say that he has walked so much that he has worn
the ground down many yards and made the column seem higher than it was,
for this Malchus has led this life ever since our Lord's passion and death. It
is said that this Malchus is desperate from his remorse, and while he walks
he beats the column, strikes his head against the wall, and rages and
laments; but notwithstanding he does not die, for the sentence of God is that
he must live until the day of judgment.[10]
The same legend is found in Bernoni as follows:

LVIII. MALCHUS AT THE COLUMN.

Malchus was the head of the Jews who killed our Lord. The Lord pardoned
them all, and likewise the good thief, but he never pardoned Malchus,
because it was he who gave the Madonna a blow. He is confined under a
mountain, and condemned to walk around a column, without resting, as
long as the world lasts. Every time that he walks about the column he gives
it a blow in memory of the blow he gave the mother of our Lord. He has
walked around the column so long that he has sunk into the ground. He is
now up to his neck. When he is under, head and all, the world will come to
an end, and God will then send him to the place prepared for him. He asks
all those who go to see him (for there are such) whether children are yet
born; and when they say yes, he gives a deep sigh and resumes his walk,

saying: "The time is not yet!" for before the world comes to an end there
will be no children born for seven years.[11]

This legend recalls the Wandering Jew, who is known in Sicilian tradition
under the name of Buttadeu (from buttari, to thrust away, and deu, God) or
more commonly as "The Jew who repulsed Jesus Christ." He is reported to
have appeared in Sicily, and the daughter of a certain Antonino Caseio, a
peasant of Salaparuta, gives the following account of her father's encounter
with Buttadeu:

LIX. THE STORY OF BUTTADEU.

It was in the winter, and my good father was at Scalone, in the warehouse,
warming himself at the fire, when he saw a man enter, dressed differently
from the people of that region, with breeches striped in yellow, red, and
black, and his cap the same way. My good father was frightened. "Oh!" he
said, "what is this person?" "Do not be afraid," the man said. "I am called
Buttadeu." "Oh!" said my father, "I have heard you mentioned. Be pleased
to sit down a while and tell me something." "I cannot sit, for I am
condemned by my God always to walk." And while he was speaking he was
always walking up and down and had no rest. Then he said: "Listen. I am
going away; I leave you, in memory of me, this, that you must say a credo
at the right hand of our Lord, and five other credos at his left, and a salve
regina to the Virgin, for the grief I suffer on account of her son. I salute
you." "Farewell." "Farewell, my name is Buttadeu."[12]

We have only a few legends of the saints to mention. Undoubtedly a large
number are current among the people (Busk, pp. 196, 202, 203, 213-228,
gives a good many), but they do not differ materially from the literary
versions circulated by the Church. Those which we shall cite are purely
popular and belong to the great mediæval legend-cycle.

The first is the legend of "Gregory on the Stone," which was so popular in
the mediæval epics. There are several Italian versions, but we select as the
most complete the one in Gonzenbach, No. 85, called:

LX. THE STORY OF CRIVÒLIU.

Once upon a time there was a brother and sister who had neither father nor
mother, and lived alone together. They loved each other so much that they
committed a sin which they should not have committed. When the time
came the sister gave birth to a boy, which the brother had secretly baptized.
Then he burnt into his shoulders a cross, with these words: "Crivòliu, who
is baptized; son of a brother and sister." After the child was thus marked, he
put it in a little box and threw it into the sea.
Now it happened that a fisherman had just gone out to fish, and saw the box
floating on the waves. "A ship must have sunk somewhere," he thought. "I
will get the box, perhaps there is something useful in it." So he rowed after
it and got it. When he opened it and saw the little child in it, he had pity on
the innocent child, took it home to his wife, and said: "My dear wife, our
youngest child is already old enough to wean; nurse in its place this poor
innocent child." So his wife took little Crivòliu and nursed him, and loved
him as though he were her own child. The boy grew and thrived and
became every day larger and stronger.
The fisherman's sons, however, were jealous because their parents loved the
little foundling as well as them, and when they played with Crivòliu and
quarrelled, they called him a "foundling." The boy's heart was saddened by
this and he went to his foster-parents and said: "Dear parents, tell me, am I
truly not your son?" The fisherman's wife said: "How should you not be my
son? Have I not nursed you when you were a baby?" The fisherman forbade
his children very strictly to call little Crivòliu a "foundling."
When the child was larger, the fisherman sent him to school with his sons.
The children, when they were out of their father's hearing, began again to
mock little Crivòliu and to call him "foundling," and the other children in
the school did the same. Then Crivòliu went again to his foster-parents and
asked them if he was not their son. They persuaded him out of it, however,
and put him off until he was fourteen. Then he could no longer stand being

called "foundling," and went to the fisherman and his wife, and said: "Dear
parents, I entreat you to tell me whether I am your child or not." Then the
fisherman told him how he had found him and what was written on his
shoulders. "Then I will go forth, and do penance for the sins of my parents,"
said Crivòliu. The fisherman's wife wept and lamented and would not let
him go; but Crivòliu would not be detained and wandered out into the wide
world.
After he had wandered about a long time, he came one day to a lonely place
where there was only an inn. He asked the hostess: "Tell me, good woman,
is there a cave near by, to which you alone know the entrance?" She
answered: "Yes, my handsome youth, I know such a cave and will take you
to it willingly." Then Crivòliu took two grani's worth of bread and a little
pitcher of water with him and had the hostess show him the cave. It was
some distance from the inn, and the entrance was so covered with thorns
and bushes that he could scarcely penetrate into the cave. He sent the
hostess back, crept into the cave, put the bread and water on the ground,
knelt with folded arms, and so did penance for the sins of his parents.
Many, many years passed, I know not how many, but so many, that his
knees took root and he grew fast to the ground.
Now it happened that the Pope died at Rome, and a new one was to be
chosen. The cardinals all assembled, and a white dove was let loose: for he
on whom it should alight was to be Pope. The white dove made several
circles in the air, but alighted on no one. Then all the archbishops and
bishops were summoned, and the dove was again let loose, but it did not
settle on any one. Then all the priests and monks and hermits were
collected, but the white dove would not choose any of them. The people
were in great despair, and the cardinals had to wander forth and search the
whole country to see whether another hermit was yet to be found, and a
crowd of people accompanied them.
At last they came to the inn in the lonely neighborhood, and asked the
hostess whether she knew of any hermit or penitent who was yet unknown
to the world. The hostess answered: "Many years ago a sorrowful youth
came here and made me conduct him to a cave to do penance. He is surely
dead long ago, for he took with him only two grani's worth of bread and a

pitcher of water." The cardinals said: "We will look, however, and see
whether he is still alive; take us to him." Then the hostess conducted them
to the cave; the entrance was scarcely to be recognized, so overgrown was it
with brambles, and before they could enter the attendants had to cut away
the brambles and bushes with axes. After they had forced their way in, they
saw Crivòliu kneeling in the cave, with crossed arms, and his beard had
grown so long that it touched the ground, and before him lay the bread, and
by it the pitcher of water; for in all those years he had not eaten or drunken.
When they let the white dove loose now, it flew about in a circle for a
moment and then alighted on the head of the penitent. Then the cardinals
perceived that he was a saint, and begged him to come with them and be
their Pope. As they were going to raise him up, they noticed that his knees
had grown fast, and they had to cut the roots. Then they took him to Rome
with them and he was made Pope.
Now it happened that at the same time the sister said to her brother: "Dear
brother, when we were young, we committed a sin that we have not yet
confessed, for the Pope alone can absolve us from it. Let us go, then, to
Rome, before death overtakes us, and confess there our sin." So they started
on their journey to Rome, and when they arrived there they entered the
church where the Pope sat in the confessional.
When they had confessed in a loud voice, for one always confesses openly
to the Pope, the Pope said: "Behold, I am your son, for on my shoulder is
the mark you speak of. I have done penance many years for your sin, until it
has been forgiven you. I absolve you, therefore, from your sin, and you
shall stay with me and live in comfort." So they remained with him, and
when their time came, the Lord called them all three to his kingdom.[13]

An important episode of the original legend is omitted in the above version,
but preserved in those in Pitrè (No. 117) and Knust (No. 7). The youth after
discovering his origin sets out on his wanderings and comes by chance to
the country where his mother is living. They meet and, not knowing their
relation, marry. In the Sicilian story this relationship is disclosed the day of
the marriage by the son showing his mother the box in which he was

exposed as a child. In the version of Knust (from Leghorn), the child leaves
his foster-father and goes in search of his parents. He encounters them
without knowing it of course, and they, supposing him to be a beggar boy,
give him shelter and care for him until he has grown up. Then he marries
his mother, who recognizes him by a lock of red hair. At the conclusion of
the story, after the Pope has heard the confession of his parents he reveals
himself, they all three embrace, and die thus united. The story adds, "their
tomb is still preserved in St. Peter's at Rome."
Another Pope, Silvester I, is the subject of a legend in Pitrè (No. 118) which
contains the well-known myth of Constantine's leprosy healed by his
baptism at the hands of St. Silvester.
Of greater interest is a legend of St. James the Elder, the patron-saint of
Spain, a pilgrimage to whose shrine at Santiago in Galicia was so popular
during the Middle Ages. The only popular version which we have found is
in a Sicilian story in Gonzenbach, No. 90.

LXI. THE STORY OF ST. JAMES OF GALICIA.

There was once a king and queen who had no children, and who longed to
have a son or daughter. The queen prayed to St. James of Galicia, and said:
"O St. James! if you will grant me a son, he shall make a pilgrimage to your
shrine when he is eighteen years old." After a time the queen had, through
the favor of God and the saint, a beautiful boy who was as handsome as if
God had made him. The child grew rapidly and became larger and fairer
every day. When he was twelve years old, the king died, and the queen
remained alone with this son, whom she loved as dearly as her eyes. Many
years passed and the time drew near when the prince should be eighteen.
When the queen thought that she must soon part from him to send him
alone on the long pilgrimage, she became very sorrowful and wept and
sighed the whole day.
One day the prince said to her: "Mother, why do you sigh all day?" "It is
nothing, my son, only some cares of mine," she answered. "What are you
concerned about?" asked he. "Are you afraid that your farms in the Plain (of
Catania) are badly tilled? Let me go and look after them and bring you
news of them." The queen consented and the prince rode to the Plain, to the

property that belonged to them. He found everything in good order, and
returned to his mother and said: "Dear mother, rejoice, and cease your care,
for everything is going well on your property; the cattle are thriving; the
fields are tilled, and the grain will soon be ripe." "Very well, my son,"
answered the queen, but she was not cheerful, and the next day began to
sigh and weep again. Then the prince said to her: "Dear mother, if you do
not tell me why you are so sad, I will depart, and wander out in the wide
world." The queen answered: "Ah, my dear son, I am sad because you must
now part from me. For before you were born, when I longed for you so
much, I vowed to St. James of Galicia, that if he would grant you to me,
you should make a pilgrimage to his shrine when you were eighteen years
old. And now you will soon be eighteen, and I am sad because you must
wander away alone, and be gone so many years; for to reach the saint, one
must journey a whole year." "Is it nothing but that, dear mother?" asked her
son. "Be not so sorrowful. Only the dead return not. If I live, I will soon
come back to you."
So he comforted his mother, and when he was eighteen he took leave of the
queen, and said: "Now farewell, dear mother, and, God willing, we shall
meet again." The queen wept bitterly, and embraced him with many tears;
then she gave him three apples, and said: "My son, take these three apples
and give heed to my words. You shall not make the long journey alone.
When, however, a youth joins you and wishes to accompany you, take him
with you to the inn, and let him eat with you. After the meal cut an apple in
two halves, one large and the other small, and offer them to the young man.
If he takes the larger half, part from him, for he will be no true friend to
you; but if he takes the smaller half, regard him as your brother, and share
everything that you have with him." After these words she embraced her
son and blessed him, and the prince departed.
He had already travelled a long time, and no one had met him. One day,
however, he saw a youth coming along the road who joined him and asked:
"Where are you going, handsome youth?" "I am making a pilgrimage to St.
James of Galicia;" and he told him of his mother's vow. "I must go there,
too," said the other, "for the same thing happened to my mother as to yours;
if we have the same journey to make, we can make it together." They
continued their journey together, but the prince was not confidential

towards his companion, for he thought: "I must first make the trial with the
apple."
As they were passing an inn, the prince said: "I am hungry: shall we not
have something to eat?" The other was willing, so they went in and ate
together. After they had eaten, the prince took out the apple, cut it in two
unequal halves, and offered them to the other, who took the larger half.
"You are no true friend," thought the prince; and to get rid of him, he
pretended to be ill, and obliged to remain there. The other said: "I cannot
wait for you, for I have far to go yet; so farewell." "Farewell," said the
prince, and was glad to be rid of him.
When he continued his journey again, he thought: "Ah, if God would only
send me a true friend, so that I should not have to travel alone!"
Not long after, another youth joined him and asked: "Handsome young
man, where are you going?" The prince answered him as he had done
before, and everything happened the same as with the first young man.
After the prince had got rid of him he resumed his journey and thought: "O
God, let me find a true friend who shall be to me a brother on the long
journey!" While he was uttering this prayer he saw a youth coming along
the way, who was a handsome lad, and appeared so friendly that he liked
him at once, and thought: "Ah, may this be the true friend!" The youth
joined him, and everything passed as before, except that this time the youth
took the smaller half of the apple, and the prince rejoiced that he had found
a true friend. "Fair youth," said he to him, "we must consider ourselves as
brothers now; what is mine shall be yours also, and what is yours, shall be
mine. We will travel together, until we come to the shrine of the saint; and if
one of us dies on the way, the other must carry his body there. We will both
promise this." They did so, and regarded each other as brothers, and
continued their journey together.
To reach the shrine of the saint requires a whole year; imagine, then, how
long the two must travel. One day when they came, weary and exhausted, to
a large, beautiful city, they said: "We will stay here and rest a few days, and
afterwards continue our journey." So they took a small house, and dwelt in
it. Now opposite it was the royal palace, and one morning as the king was
standing on the balcony, he saw the two handsome youths, and thought:

"Oh! how handsome these two youths are! one is, however, much
handsomer than the other. I will give him my daughter in marriage." Now
the prince was the handsomer of the two. In order to attain his aim, the king
invited them both to dinner, and when they came to the palace received
them in a very friendly manner and had his daughter called, who was more
beautiful than the sun and moon. When they retired for the night, the king
had a poisonous drink given to the prince's companion, who fell down dead;
for the king thought: "If his friend dies, the other will remain here willingly,
and think no more of his pilgrimage, but marry my daughter."
The next morning, when the prince awoke, he asked: "Where is my friend?"
"He died suddenly last night, and is to be buried at once," answered the
servants. The prince said: "If my friend is dead, I cannot remain here longer,
but must depart this very hour." "Ah! do remain here," begged the king. "I
will give you my daughter for your wife." "No," said the prince, "I cannot
stay here. If you will grant me a wish, give me a horse, and let me depart in
peace; and when I have completed my pilgrimage, I will return and marry
your daughter." The king then gave him a horse, which the prince mounted,
and took his dead friend before him on the saddle, and thus completed his
journey. The young man, however, was not dead, but lay only in a deep
sleep.
When the prince reached the shrine of St. James of Galicia, he dismounted,
took his friend in his arms like a child, and entered the church and laid the
body on the steps of the altar before the saint, and prayed: "O St. James of
Galicia! behold, I have kept my vow. I have come to you and have brought
you my friend, also. I confide him now to you; if you will restore him to
life, we will laud your mercy; but if he is not to come to life again, he has at
least kept his vow." And behold, while he was still praying, his dead friend
rose, and became again alive and well. Both thanked the saint, and gave
him costly presents, and then started on their journey home.
When they reached the city where the king lived, they occupied again the
little house opposite the royal palace. The king was greatly rejoiced to see
the handsome prince there again, and much handsomer than before; he
arranged great festivities, and had a splendid marriage celebrated, and thus
the prince married the fair princess. After the wedding they remained
several months with her father, and then the prince said: "My mother is

expecting me at home with great anxiety; therefore I cannot stay longer
here, but will return to my mother with my wife and my friend." The king
consented and they prepared for the journey.
Now the king had a deadly hatred against the poor, innocent youth, to
whom he had before given the fatal drink, and who had nevertheless
returned alive, and in order to cause him sorrow, he sent him in great haste
on the morning of the departure into the country with an errand. "Hasten,"
he said. "Your friend will not start until you return." The youth hastened
away, without taking leave, and performed the king's errand. The king,
meanwhile, said to the prince: "Hasten your departure, otherwise you
cannot reach your quarters for the night before evening." "I cannot depart
without my friend," answered the prince. The king, however, said: "Set out
on your journey; he will be here within an hour, and will soon overtake you
on his swift horse." The prince allowed himself to be persuaded, took leave
of his father-in-law, and departed with his wife. The poor friend could not
fulfil the king's commission before several hours, and when he finally
returned, the king said to him: "Your friend is already far from here; see
how you can overtake him."
So the poor youth had to leave the palace, and did not even receive a horse,
and began to run, and ran day and night until he overtook the prince. From
his great exertions, however, he contracted leprosy, so that he looked ill,
wretched, and dreadful. The prince, nevertheless, received him in a friendly
manner and cared for him like a brother.
They finally reached home, where the queen had awaited her son with great
anxiety, and now embraced him with perfect joy. The prince had a bed
prepared at once for his sick friend and summoned all the physicians of the
town and state, but no one could help him. When the poor youth grew no
better the prince addressed himself to St. James of Galicia and said: "O St.
James of Galicia! you raised my friend from the dead; help him now this
time also, and let him recover from his leprosy." While he was praying, a
servant entered and said: "A strange physician is without, who will make
the poor youth well again." This physician was St. James of Galicia himself,
who had heard the prayer of the prince and had come to help his friend. You
must know now that the prince's wife had had a little girl who was a pretty,
lovely child.

When the saint approached the bed of the sick youth, he first examined him,
and then said to the prince: "Do you really wish to see your friend well
again at any price?" "At any price," answered the prince; "only tell me what
can help him." "This evening, take your child," said the saint, "open all her
veins, and anoint with her blood your friend's wounds, and he will be healed
at once."
The prince was horrified when he heard that he himself must kill his dear
little daughter, but he answered: "I have promised my friend to treat him
like my brother; and if there is no other remedy, I will sacrifice my child."
At evening he took the child and opened her veins and anointed with the
blood the sores of the sick youth, who was at once cleansed from his foul
leprosy. The child became pale and weak, and looked as if it were dead.
Then they laid it in its cradle and the poor parents were deeply grieved, for
they believed they had lost their child.
The next morning the physician came and asked after the patient. "He is
well and sound," answered the prince. "And where have you put your
child?" asked the saint. "There it lies dead in its cradle," said the poor
father, sadly. "Just look at her once and see how she is," said the saint; and
when they hastened to the cradle, they saw the child in it alive and well
again. Then the saint said: "I am St. James of Galicia, and have come to
help you, because I have seen what true friendship you have displayed.
Continue to love one another, and when you are in trouble turn to me and I
will come to your aid." With these words he blessed them and disappeared
from their sight. They lived piously and did much good to the poor, and
were happy and contented.[14]

There are several interesting legends found only in Gonzenbach's
collection. They can be mentioned but briefly here. The first (No. 87) is
entitled: "The Story of St. Onirià or Nerià." Two huntsmen lost their way in
a wood and found at night a hut in which was a table set for supper, and a
fire which emitted a heavenly odor. They examined it and found in the coals
a heart, which they took with them when they departed, the next morning.

After they had travelled a while, they stopped at an inn, and the pious and
virtuous daughter of the innkeeper waited on them, and noticed the odor
which came from the jacket that one of the huntsmen had laid aside on
account of the heat. In the pocket she found the heart, which she kept for a
time on a table in her room. One day she was seized with a great longing to
eat it. She did so, and it soon was evident that she was about to become a
mother. Her father treated her cruelly, for the shame she was going to bring
on the family, but her godmother interfered, and one night had a strange
dream. There appeared to her a saint, who said: "I am St. Onirià, and was
consumed by fire. Only my heart was left, so that I might be born again.
This heart the host's daughter has eaten, and she will, in due time, give birth
to me." The child was born as predicted, and grew handsomer every day.
The grandfather, however, could not endure him, and ill-treated him as well
as his mother.
One day, when the child was five years old, the grandfather took him to the
city. On the way they passed a place where there was much filth, and the
child said to his grandfather: "I wish you might wallow in it." Afterwards
they saw a poor man being carried to the grave on a ladder, without any
coffin. The child here wished that his grandfather, when he died, might be
like this one. Next they met the long funeral procession of a rich man, and
the child wished that his grandfather might not be like this rich man. The
grandfather, of course, in each case was very angry, and was only restrained
from beating the child by the mother's godfather, who had accompanied
them.
After they had finished their business in the city they set out for home; and
when they came to the spot where they had met the rich man's funeral
procession, the child made his grandfather put his ear to the ground, when
he heard a great noise, as if of iron pestles and lamentations. The child
explained that what he heard were the devils tormenting the rich man's soul.
When they came where they had seen the poor man on the ladder, the
grandfather listened again and heard the rejoicings of the angels on
receiving the poor man's soul.
When they came to the place where the filth was, the child made his
grandfather dig and find a pot of money which he told him to use better
than he had done his own. The child then said he was St. Onirià, exculpated

his mother, and said his grandfather would see him again when the dead
spoke with the living. Then he was taken up into heaven.
Years after, two men spent the night in the inn, and one murdered the other
and hid the body under the straw, where it was afterwards found by other
travellers, and the innkeeper accused of the murder. He was condemned and
was on the scaffold when a beautiful youth came riding in hot haste, crying:
"Pardon!" The youth led the people into the church, before the coffin of the
murdered man, and cried: "Rise, dead one, and speak with the living, and
tell us who murdered you." The dead man replied: "The innkeeper is
innocent; my treacherous companion killed me." Then the youth
accompanied the innkeeper home, revealed himself as St. Onirià, blessed
them, and disappeared.[15]
Another legend (No. 92), "The Story of the Hermit," has as its subject the
mystery of God's Providence, and is familiar to English readers in the form
of Parnell's Hermit. The substance of the Sicilian version is as follows: A
hermit sees a man wrongfully accused of theft and shockingly maltreated.
He thereupon concludes that God is unjust to suffer such things, and
determines to return to the world. On his way back a handsome youth meets
him and they journey together. A muleteer allows them to ride his beasts,
and in return the youth abstracts the muleteer's money from his wallet and
drops it in the road. A woman who keeps an inn receives them hospitably,
and on leaving the next morning, the youth strangles her child in the cradle.
All at once the youth becomes a shining angel, and says to the hermit:
"Listen to me, O man who has been bold enough to murmur against God's
decrees;" and then explains that the person who had been wrongfully
accused of theft had years before murdered his father on that very spot; the
muleteer's money was stolen money, and the child of the hostess, had it
lived, would have become a robber and murderer. Then the angel says:
"Now you see that God's justice is more far-sighted than man's. Return,
then, to your hermitage, and repent if so be that your murmuring be
forgiven you." The angel disappears and the hermit returns to his mountain,
does severer penance, and dies a saint.[16]
The legend in Gonzenbach (No. 91) entitled "Joseph the Just" is nothing but
the story of Joseph and his Brethren, taken from the Bible. In the Sicilian
version Joseph has only three brothers; otherwise the story follows the

account in Genesis very closely. Another legend in the same collection (No.
89), "The Story of Tobià and Tobiòla," is the story of Tobit and Tobias,
taken from the apocryphal book of Tobit. The Sicilian story differs in the
names only.
There are several other Sicilian legends the heroes of which are pious,
simple youths, the religious counterparts of Giufà. One (Pitrè, No. 112),
called "The Poor Boy," tells the story of a simple youth who asked the
priest the way to paradise, and was told he must follow the strait and narrow
way. He took the first one he came to, and reached a convent church during
a festival, and imagined he had reached paradise. He was found in the
church when all had departed; but he persisted in remaining, and the
superior sent him a bowl of soup, which he put on the altar; and when he
was alone he began to converse confidentially with the Lord on the crucifix,
and said: "Lord, who put you on the cross?" "Your sins!" and so the Lord
responded to all his questions. The youth, in tears, promised he would sin
no more, and invited the Lord to descend and partake of his repast with
him. The Lord did so, and commanded him to tell the monks in the convent
that they would be damned unless they sold all their property and bestowed
it on the poor. If they would do so and come and confess to the Lord
himself, he would hear their confession and give them the communion, and
when it was finished they would all die, one after the other, and enter the
glory of paradise. The poor youth went to the superior and gave him the
Lord's message. The superior sold the property of the convent, and
everything turned out as the Lord had said. The monks all confessed and
died, and all who were present or heard of the event were converted and
died in the grace of God.[17]
This legend leads quite naturally to another, in which intercourse with the
other world is represented as still occasionally permitted to mortals. It is
found only in Sicily, having, curiously enough, parallels in the rest of
Europe, but none in Italy. It is called:

LXII. THE BAKER'S APPRENTICE.

There was once a baker who every morning loaded an ounceworth of bread
on a horse that came to his shop. One day he said: "I give this ounceworth
of bread to this horse and he renders me no account of it." Then he said to

his apprentice: "Vincenzo, the horse will come to-morrow and I will give
him the bread, but you must follow him and see where he goes." The next
day the horse came and the baker loaded him, and gave the apprentice a
piece of bread for himself. Vincenzo followed the horse, and after a while
came to a river of milk, and began to eat bread and milk, and could not
overtake the horse again. He then returned to his master, who, seeing him
return to no purpose, said: "To-morrow the horse will come again; if you
cannot tell me where he goes I will no longer have you for my apprentice."
The next day the apprentice followed the horse again, and came to a river of
wine, and began to eat bread and wine, and lost sight of the horse. He
returned to his master in despair at having lost the horse. His master said:
"Listen. The first time, one pardons; the second time, one condones; the
third time, one beats. If to-morrow you do not follow the horse I will give
you a good thrashing and send you home." What did poor Vincenzo do? He
followed the horse the next day with his eyes open. After a while he came
to a river of oil. "What shall I do? the horse will get away from me now!"
So he tied the horse's reins to his girdle and began to eat bread and oil. The
horse pulled, but Vincenzo said: "When I finish the bread I will come."
When he had finished the bread he followed the horse, and after a time he
came to a cattle-farm where the grass was long and thick and the cattle so
thin that they could scarcely stand on their feet. Vincenzo was astonished at
seeing the grass so long and the cattle so lean. Then he came to another
farm, and saw that the grass was dry and short, and the cattle fatter than you
can believe. He said to himself: "Just see! There, where the grass was long,
the cattle were lean; here, where you can hardly see the grass, the cattle are
so fat!" The horse kept on, and Vincenzo after him. After a while he met a
sow with her tail full of large knots, and wondered why she had such a tail.
Farther on he came to a watering-trough, where there was a toad trying to
reach a crumb of bread, and could not. Vincenzo continued his way, and
arrived at a large gate. The horse knocked at the gate with his head, and the
door opened and a beautiful lady appeared, who said she was the Madonna.
When she saw the youth she asked: "And what are you here for?" Vincenzo
replied: "This horse comes constantly to my master's to get an ounceworth
of bread, and my master never has been able to find out where he carries it."
"Very well; enter," said the lady; "I will show you where he carries it." Then
the lady began to call all the souls in purgatory: "My children, come
hither!" The souls then descended; and to some she gave the worth of a

grano of bread, to some the worth of a baiocco, and to others the worth of
five grani, and the bread was gone in a moment. When the bread had
disappeared, the lady said to Vincenzo: "Did you see nothing on your way?"
"Yes, lady. The first day that my master sent me to see where the horse
went, I saw a river of milk." The lady said: "That is the milk I gave my
son." "The second day I saw a river of wine." "That," said the lady, "is the
wine with which my son was consecrated." "The third day I saw a river of
oil." "That is the oil that they ask of me and of my son. What else did you
see the third day?" "I saw," answered Vincenzo, "a farm with cattle. There
was plenty of grass, but the cattle were lean. Afterwards I saw another farm,
where you could scarcely see the grass, and the cattle were fine and fat."
"These, my son, are the rich, who are in the midst of wealth; and no matter
how much they eat, it does no good; and the fat ones, that have no grass to
eat, are the poor, for my son supports and fattens them. What else did you
see?" "I saw a sow with her tail full of knots." "That, my son, is those who
repeat their rosaries and do not offer their prayers to me or to my son; and
my son makes knots in them." "I also saw a watering-trough, with a toad
that was reaching after a crumb of bread, and could not get it." She said: "A
poor person asked a woman for a bit of bread, and she gave his hand such a
blow that she made him drop it. And what else did you see, my son?"
"Nothing, lady." "Then come with me, and I will show you something else."
She took him by the hand and led him into hell. When the poor youth heard
the clanking of chains and saw the darkness, he came near dying, and
wanted to get out. "You see," said the lady, "those who are lamenting and in
chains and darkness are those who are in mortal sin. Now come, and I will
take you to purgatory." There they heard nothing, and the darkness was so
great that they could see nothing. Vincenzo wished to depart, for he felt
oppressed by anguish. "Now," said the lady, "I will take you to the church
of the Holy Fathers. Do you see it, my son? This is the church of the Holy
Fathers, which first was full and now is empty. Come; now I will take you
to limbo. Do you see these little ones? These are those who died
unbaptized." The lady wished to show him paradise; but he was too
confused, so the lady made him look through a window. "Do you see this
great palace? There are three seats there; one for you, one for your master,
and one for your mistress." After this she took him to the gate. The horse
was no longer there. "Now," said Vincenzo, "how shall I find my way back?
I will follow the tracks of the horse, and so will get home." The lady

answered: "Close your eyes!" Vincenzo closed his eyes, and found himself
behind his master's door. When he entered he told all that had occurred to
his master and mistress. When he had finished his story all three died and
went to paradise.[18]
The most famous story of the class we are now considering is, however, the
one best known by its French title, "Bonhomme Misère." The French
version was popular as a chap-book as early as 1719, running through
fifteen editions from that date. The editor of the reprint referred to in the
note, as well as Grimm (II. 451), believed the story to be of Italian origin
and that the original would some day be discovered.[19] This has proved to
be the case, and we have now before us a number of versions. These may be
divided into two classes: one independent, the other constituting a part only
of some other story. The latter class is generally connected with the cycle of
our Lord's journeys upon earth, and is represented by "The Master Thief"
and "Brother Lustig" in Germany, and "Beppo Pipetta" from Venice. The
Sicilian versions which we shall mention first, although independent stories,
are connected with the cycle of our Lord's journeys upon earth. We give
first two versions from Pitrè (Nos. 124, 125).

LXIII. OCCASION.

Once upon a time there was a father and a mother who had a little boy.
They died and the child was left in the street. One of the neighbors had pity
upon him and took him in. The boy throve well and when he had grown up
the one who had sheltered him said: "Come now, Occasion (for this was the
boy's name), you are a man; why do you not think about supporting
yourself and relieving us from that care?" So the lad made up a bundle and
departed. He journeyed and journeyed until his clothes were worn out and
he was almost dead from hunger. One day he saw an inn and entered it, and
said to the innkeeper: "Do you want me for a servant? I wish only a piece of
bread for my wages." The host said to his wife: "What do you say, Rosella?
We have no children; shall we take this lad?" "Yes;" and so they took him.
The boy was very attentive and did willingly whatever was commanded
him, and at last his master and mistress, who had grown to love him like a
son, went before the judge and adopted him.

Time passed and the innkeeper and his wife died and left all their property
to the young man, who, when he saw himself in possession of it, made
known: "That whoever should come to Occasion's inn could have food for
nothing." You can imagine the people that went there!
Now the Master and his apostles happened once to pass that way, and when
St. Thomas read this announcement he said: "Unless I see and touch with
my hands I shall not believe it. Let us go to this inn." They went there and
ate and drank and Occasion treated them like gentlemen. Before leaving St.
Thomas said: "Occasion, why don't you ask a favor of the Master?" Then
Occasion said: "Master, I have before my door this fig-tree, and the children
do not let me eat one of the figs. Whoever goes by climbs up and pulls off
some. Now I would like this favor, that when any one climbs this tree, he
must stay there until I permit him to come down." "Your request is granted,"
said the Lord, and blessed the tree.
It was a fine thing! The first who climbed up for figs stuck fast to the tree
without being able to move; another came, the same thing; and so on; all
stuck fast, one by the hand, another by the foot, another by the head. When
Occasion saw them he gave them a sound scolding and let them go. The
children were frightened and touched the figs no more.
Years passed and Occasion's money was coming to an end; so he called a
carpenter and told him to cut up the fig-tree and make him a bottle out of it.
This bottle had the property that Occasion could shut up in it whoever he
wished. One day Death went to fetch him, for Occasion was now very old.
Occasion said: "At your service; we will go. But see here, Death, first do
me a favor. I have this bottle of wine, and there is a fly in it, and I don't like
to drink from it; just go in there and take it out for me, and then we will go."
Death very foolishly entered the bottle, when Occasion corked it and put it
in his wallet, saying: "Stay a bit with me."
While Death was shut up no one died; and everywhere you might see old
men with such long white beards that it was a sight. The apostles, seeing
this, went to the Master about it several times, and at last he visited
Occasion. "What is this? Here you have kept Death shut up so many years,
and the people are falling down from old age without dying!" "Master," said
Occasion, "do you want me to let Death out? If you will give me a place in

paradise, I will let him out." The Lord thought: "What shall I do? If I don't
grant him this favor, he will not leave me in peace." So he said: "Your
request is granted!" At these words Death was set at liberty; Occasion was
permitted to live a few years longer, and then Death took him. Hence it is
"That there is no death without Occasion."

LXIV. BROTHER GIOVANNONE.

Once upon a time there was a convent at Casteltermini which contained
many monks, one of whom was named Brother Giovannone. At the time
when the Lord and all his apostles were on their travels they visited this
convent, and all the monks asked the Lord to pardon their souls; Brother
Giovannone asked nothing. St. Peter said to him: "Why do you not ask
pardon for your soul, like the others?" "I don't wish anything." St. Peter
said: "Nothing? When you come to paradise we will talk about it." When
the Master had taken his departure and had gone some distance, Brother
Giovannone began to cry out: "Master, Master, wait! I want a favor, and it is
that any one I command must get into my pouch." The Master said: "This
request is granted."
Brother Giovannone was old and one day Death came and said to him:
"Giovannone, you have three hours to live!" Brother Giovannone replied:
"When you come for me you must let me know half an hour before." After a
while Death came and said: "You are a dead man!" Brother Giovannone
replied: "In the name of Brother Giovannone, into my pouch with you,
Death!" Then he carried his pouch to a baker and asked him to hang it up in
the chimney until he came for it. For forty years no one died. At the end of
that time Brother Giovannone went and set Death free, so that he might
himself die, for he was so old he could do no more. The first one that Death
killed when he was free was Brother Giovannone, and then he destroyed all
those who had not died in the forty years.
After he was dead Brother Giovannone went and knocked at the gate of
paradise and St. Peter said to him: "There is no room for you here." "Where
must I go, then?" asked Brother Giovannone. "To purgatory," answered St.
Peter. So he knocked at purgatory and they told him: "There is no place for
you here." "Where must I go, then?" "To hell." He knocked at hell and
Lucifer asked: "Who is there?" "Brother Giovannone." Then Lucifer said to

his devils: "You take the mace; you, the hammer; you, the tongs!" Brother
Giovannone asked: "What are you going to do with these instruments?"
"We are going to beat you." "In the name of Brother Giovannone, into my
pouch with you, all you devils!" Then he hung the pouch about his neck and
carried all the devils to a smith who had eight apprentices, and the master,
nine. "Master-smith, how much do you want to hammer this pouch eight
days and nights?" They agreed upon forty ounces, and hammered day and
night and the pouch was not reduced to powder, and Brother Giovannone
was always present. The last day the smiths said: "What the devil are these;
for they cannot be pounded fine!" Brother Giovannone answered: "They are
indeed devils! Pound hard!" After they were through hammering, he took
the pouch and emptied it out in the plain; the devils were so bruised and
mangled that they could hardly drag themselves back to hell. Then Brother
Giovannone went and knocked again at paradise. "Who is there?" "Brother
Giovannone." "There is no room for you." "Peter, if you don't let me in I
will call you baldhead." "Now that you have called me baldhead," said St.
Peter, "you shall not enter." Brother Giovannone said: "Ah, what is that you
say? I will be even with you!" So he stood near the gate of paradise and said
to all the souls who were going to enter: "In the name of Brother
Giovannone, into my pouch, all you souls!" and no more souls entered
paradise. One day St. Peter said to the Master: "Why do no more souls
enter?" The Lord answered: "Because Brother Giovannone is behind the
gate putting them all in his pouch." "What shall we do?" said St. Peter. The
Lord answered: "See if you can get hold of the pouch and bring them all in
together." Brother Giovannone heard all this outside. What did he do? He
said: "Into the pouch with myself!" and in a moment was in his own pouch.
When St. Peter looked Brother Giovannone was not to be seen, so he seized
the pouch and dragged it into paradise and shut the gate at once, and opened
the pouch. The first one who came out was Brother Giovannone himself,
who began at once to quarrel with St. Peter because St. Peter wished to put
him out, and Brother Giovannone did not want to go. Then the Lord said:
"When one once enters the house of Jesus, he does not leave it again."[20]

These stories have close parallels in two Roman legends collected by Miss
Busk. In the first, the innkeeper asks first for the faculty of always winning
at cards; and second, that any one who climbs his fig-tree must stay there.
When Death comes the host asks her (Death is feminine in Italian) to climb
the tree and pick him a few figs. When once up the tree, the host refuses to
let her down until she promises him four hundred years of life. Death has to
consent and the host in turn promises to go quietly with her when she
comes again. At the end of the four hundred years Death takes the host to
paradise. They pass by hell on the way and the host proposes to the devil to
play for the newly received souls. The host wins fifteen thousand, which he
carries with him to paradise. St. Peter objects to letting the "rabble" in, and
Jesus Christ himself says: "The host may come in himself, but he has no
business with the others." Then the host says that he has made no difficulty
about numbers when Christ has come to his inn With as many as he pleased.
"That is true! that is right!" answered Jesus Christ. "Let them all in! let them
all in!"[21]
In the other story, a priest, Pret' Olivo, received from the Lord, in reward for
his hospitality, the favor of living a hundred years, and that when Death
came to fetch him he should be able to give her what orders he pleased, and
that she must obey him. Death called at the end of the hundred years, and
Pret' Olivo made her sit by the fire while he said a mass. The fire grew
hotter and hotter, but Death could not stir until Pret' Olivo permitted her to,
on condition that she should leave him alone a hundred years. The second
time Death called, Pret' Olivo asked her to gather him some figs and
commanded her to stay in the tree. So Death a second time was obliged to
promise him a respite of a hundred years. The next time Death called, Pret'
Olivo put on his vestments and a cope, and took a pack of cards in his hand
and went with Death. She wanted to take him directly to paradise, but he
insisted on going around by the way of hell and playing a game of cards
with the Devil. The stakes were souls, and as fast as Pret' Olivo won, he
hung a soul on his cope until it was covered with them; then he hung them
on his beretta, and at last was obliged to stop, for there was no more room
to hang any souls. Death objected to taking all these souls to paradise, but
could not take Pret' Olivo without them. When they arrived at paradise St.
Peter made some objection to admitting them, but the Master gave his
permission and they all got in.[22]