Stories from Pentamerone [0]
Stories from Pentamerone
by Giambattista Basile
NOTE
The collection of folk-tales known as Il Pentamerone was first
published at Naples and in the Neopolitan dialect, by Giambattista
Basile, Conte di Torrone, who is believed to have collected them
chiefly in Crete and Venice, and to have died about the year 1637.
CONTENTS
1. How the Tales came to be told
2. The Myrtle
3. Peruonto
4. Vardiello
5. The Flea
6. Cenerentola
7. The Merchant
8. Goat-Face
9. The Enchanted Doe
10. Parsley
11. The Three Sisters
12. Violet
13. Pippo
14. The Serpent
15. The She-Bear
16. The Dove
17. Cannetella
18. Corvetto
19. The Booby
20. The Stone in the Cock's Head
21. The Three Enchanted Princes
22. The Dragon
23. The Two Cakes
24. The Seven Doves
25. The Raven
26. The Months
27. Pintosmalto
28. The Golden Root
29. Sun, Moon, and Talia
30. Nennillo and Nennella
31. The Three Citrons
32. Conclusion
I HOW THE TALES CAME TO BE TOLD
It is an old saying, that he who seeks what he should not, finds what he would not. Every one has heard of the ape who, in trying to pull on his boots, was caught by the foot. And it happened in like manner to a wretched slave, who, although she never had shoes to her feet, wanted to wear a crown on her head. But the straight road is the best; and, sooner or later, a day comes which settles all accounts. At last, having by evil means usurped what belonged to another, she fell to the ground; and the higher she had mounted, the greater was her fall--as you shall see.
Once upon a time the King of Woody Valley had a daughter named Zoza, who was never seen to laugh. The unhappy father, who had no other comfort in life but this only daughter, left nothing untried to drive away her melancholy. So he sent for folks who walk on stilts, fellows who jump through hoops, for boxers, for conjurers, for jugglers who perform sleight-of-hand tricks, for strong men, for dancing dogs, for leaping clowns, for the donkey that drinks out of a tumbler--in short, he tried first one thing and then another to make her laugh. But all was time lost, for nothing could bring a smile to her lips.
So at length the poor father, at wit's end, and to make a last trial, ordered a large fountain of oil to be set in front of the palace gates, thinking to himself that when the oil ran down the street, along which the people passed like a troop of ants, they would be obliged, in order not to soil their clothes, to skip like grasshoppers, leap like goats, and run like hares; while one would go picking and choosing his way, and another go creeping along the wall. In short, he hoped that something might come to pass to make his daughter laugh.
So the fountain was made; and as Zoza was one day standing at the window, grave and demure, and looking as sour as vinegar, there came by chance an old woman, who, soaking up the oil with a sponge, began to fill a little pitcher which she had brought with her. And as she was labouring hard at this ingenious device, a young page of the court passing by threw a stone so exactly to a hair that he hit the pitcher and broke it to pieces. Whereupon the old woman, who had no hair on her tongue, turned to the page, full of wrath, and exclaimed, "Ah, you impertinent young dog, you mule, you gallows-rope, you spindle-legs! Ill luck to you! May you be pierced by a Catalan lance! May a thousand ills befall you and something more to boot, you thief, you knave!"
The lad, who had little beard and less discretion, hearing this string of abuse, repaid the old woman in her own coin, saying, "Have you done, you grandmother of witches, you old hag, you child-strangler!"
When the old woman heard these compliments she flew into such a rage that, losing hold of the bridle and escaping from the stable of patience, she acted as if she were mad, cutting capers in the air and grinning like an ape. At this strange spectacle Zoza burst into such a fit of laughter that she well-nigh fainted away. But when the old woman saw herself played this trick,