The Pentamerone 3

This month the three stories we have from the Pentamerone don’t need a lot of elucidation on plot, but they have been bowdlerised in ways of interest to Ars Magica players.

XI: THE THREE SISTERS

It is a great truth that from the same wood are formed the statues of idols and the rafters of gallows, kings’ thrones and cobblers’ stalls; and another strange thing is that from the same rags are made the paper on which the wisdom of sages is recorded, and the crown which is placed on the head of a fool. The same, too, may be said of children: one daughter is good and another bad; one idle, another a good housewife; one fair, another ugly; one spiteful, another kind; one unfortunate, another born to good luck, and who being all of one family ought to be of one nature. But leaving this subject to those who know more about it, I will merely give you an example in the story of the three daughters of the same mother, wherein you will see the difference of manners which brought the wicked daughters into the ditch and the good daughter to the top of the Wheel of Fortune.

There was at one time a woman who had three daughters, two of whom were so unlucky that nothing ever succeeded with them, all their projects went wrong, all their hopes were turned to chaff. But the youngest, who was named Nella, was born to good luck, and I verily believe that at her birth all things conspired to bestow on her the best and choicest gifts in their power. The Sky gave her the perfection of its light; Venus, matchless beauty of form; Love, the first dart of his power; Nature, the flower of manners. She never set about any work that it did not go off to a nicety; she never took anything in hand that it did not succeed to a hair; she never stood up to dance, that she did not sit down with applause. On which account she was envied by her jealous sisters and yet not so much as she was loved and wished well to by all others; as greatly as her sisters desired to put her underground, so much more did other folks carry her on the palms of their hands.

Now there was in that country an enchanted Prince who was so attracted by her beauty that he secretly married her. And in order that they might enjoy one another’s company without exciting the suspicion of the mother, who was a wicked woman, the Prince made a crystal passage which led from the royal palace directly into Nella’s apartment, although it was eight miles distant. Then he gave her a certain powder saying, “Every time you wish to see me throw a little of this powder into the fire, and instantly I will come through this passage as quick as a bird, running along the crystal road to gaze upon this face of silver.”

Having arranged it thus, not a night passed that the Prince did not go in and out, backwards and forwards, along the crystal passage, until at last the sisters, who were spying the actions of Nella, found out the secret and laid a plan to put a stop to the sport. And in order to cut the thread at once, they went and broke the passage here and there; so that, when the unhappy girl threw the powder into the fire, to give the signal to her husband, the Prince, who used always to come running in furious haste, hurt himself in such a manner against the broken crystal that it was truly a pitiable sight to see. And being unable to pass further on he turned back all cut and slashed like a Dutchman’s breeches. Then he sent for all the doctors in the town; but as the crystal was enchanted the wounds were mortal, and no human remedy availed. When the King saw this, despairing of his son’s condition, he sent out a proclamation that whoever would cure the wounds of the Prince—if a woman she should have him for a husband—if a man he should have half his kingdom.

Now when Nella, who was pining away from the loss of the Prince, heard this she dyed her face, disguised herself, and unknown to her sisters she left home to go to see him before his death. But as by this time the Sun’s gilded ball with which he plays in the Fields of Heaven, was running towards the west, night overtook her in a wood close to the house of an ogre, where, in order to get out of the way of danger, she climbed up into a tree. Meanwhile the ogre and his wife were sitting at table with the windows open in order to enjoy the fresh air while they ate; as soon as they had emptied their cups and put out the lamps they began to chat of one thing and another, so that Nella, who was as near to them as the mouth to the nose, heard every word they spoke.

Among other things the ogress said to her husband, “My pretty Hairy-Hide, tell me what news; what do they say abroad in the world?” And he answered, “Trust me, there is no hand’s breadth clean; everything’s going topsy-turvy and awry.” “But what is it?” replied his wife. “Why I could tell pretty stories of all the confusion that is going on,” replied the ogre, “for one hears things that are enough to drive one mad, such as buffoons rewarded with gifts, rogues esteemed, cowards honoured, robbers protected, and honest men little thought of. But, as these things only vex one, I will merely tell you what has befallen the King’s son. He had made a crystal path along which he used to go to visit a pretty lass; but by some means or other, I know not how, all the road has been broken; and as he was going along the passage as usual, he has wounded himself in such a manner that before he can stop the leak the whole conduit of his life will run out. The King has indeed issued a proclamation with great promises to whoever cures his son; but it is all labour lost, and the best he can do is quickly to get ready mourning and prepare the funeral.”

When Nella heard the cause of the Prince’s illness she sobbed and wept bitterly and said to herself, “Who is the wicked soul who has broken the passage and caused so much sorrow?” But as the ogress now went on speaking Nella was as silent as a mouse and listened.

“And is it possible,” said the ogress, “that the world is lost to this poor Prince, and that no remedy can be found for his malady?”

“Hark-ye, Granny,” replied the ogre, “the doctors are not called upon to find remedies that may pass the bounds of nature. This is not a fever that will yield to medicine and diet, much less are these ordinary wounds which require lint and oil; for the charm that was on the broken glass produces the same effect as onion juice does on the iron heads of arrows, which makes the wound incurable. There is one thing only that could save his life, but don’t ask me to tell it to you, for it is a thing of importance.”

“Do tell me, dear old Long-tusk,” cried the ogress; “tell me, if you would not see me die.”

“Well then,” said the ogre, “I will tell you provided you promise me not to confide it to any living soul, for it would be the ruin of our house and the destruction of our lives.”

“Fear nothing, my dear, sweet little husband,” replied the ogress; “for you shall sooner see pigs with horns, apes with tails, moles with eyes, than a single word shall pass my lips.” And so saying, she put one hand upon the other and swore to it.

“You must know then,” said the ogre, “that there is nothing under the sky nor above the ground that can save the Prince from the snares of death, but our fat. If his wounds are anointed with this his soul will be arrested which is just at the point of leaving the dwelling of his body.”

Nella, who overheard all that passed, gave time to Time to let them finish their chat; and then, getting down from the tree and taking heart, she knocked at the ogre’s door crying, “Ah! my good masters, I pray you for charity, alms, some sign of compassion. Have a little pity on a poor, miserable, wretched creature who is banished by fate far from her own country and deprived of all human aid, who has been overtaken by night in this wood and is dying of cold and hunger.” And crying thus, she went on knocking and knocking at the door.

Upon hearing this deafening noise, the ogress was going to throw her half a loaf and send her away. But the ogre, who was more greedy of flesh than the squirrel is of nuts, the bear of honey, the cat of fish, the sheep of salt, or the ass of bran, said to his wife, “Let the poor creature come in, for if she sleeps in the fields, who knows but she may be eaten up by some wolf.” In short, he talked so much that his wife at length opened the door for Nella; whilst with all his pretended charity he was all the time reckoning on making four mouthfuls of her. But the glutton counts one way and the host another; for the ogre and his wife drank till they were fairly tipsy. When they lay down to sleep Nella took a knife from a cupboard and made a hash of them in a trice. Then she put all the fat into a phial, went straight to the court, where, presenting herself before the King, she offered to cure the Prince. At this the King was overjoyed and led her to the chamber of his son, and no sooner had she anointed him well with the fat than the wound closed in a moment just as if she had thrown water on the fire, and he became sound as a fish.

When the King saw this, he said to his son, “This good woman deserves the reward promised by the proclamation and that you should marry her.” But the Prince replied, “It is hopeless, for I have no store-room full of hearts in my body to share among so many; my heart is already disposed of, and another woman is already the mistress of it.” Nella, hearing this, replied, “You should no longer think of her who has been the cause of all your misfortune.” “My misfortune has been brought on me by her sisters,” replied the Prince, “and they shall repent it.” “Then do you really love her?” said Nella. And the Prince replied, “More than my own life.” “Embrace me then,” said Nella, “for I am the fire of your heart.” But the Prince seeing the dark hue of her face answered, “I would sooner take you for the coal than the fire, so keep off—don’t blacken me.” Whereupon Nella, perceiving that he did not know her, called for a basin of clean water and washed her face. As soon as the cloud of soot was removed the sun shone forth; and the Prince, recognising her, pressed her to his heart and acknowledged her for his wife. Then he had her sisters thrown into an oven, thus proving the truth of the old saying—

“No evil ever went without punishment.”

In the original the prince who rushes to his lover’s bedside whenever she uses her magical Powder of Booty Calling does so naked, and the injuries of a naked man in a shattering tube of glass-like crystal need little imagination. This is arguably a faerie trod – how a prince who is apparently mortal can make himself crystal tunnel and summoning powder are never clearly explained. Also, the washing of the face might be a race ting : the book is full of it, or it might be a class thing.

The punishment at the end, where the Prince has the sisters tossed into an over, is different in the original: they are bricked into a chimney so their envy can be rendered out by the heat. It’s not clear if they are supposed to survive this process, or if there is a distilled liquid envy left afterward. Presumably this is infernally-tainted vis.

XII: VIOLET

Envy is a wind which blows with such violence, that it throws down the props of the reputation of good men, and levels with the ground the crops of good fortune. But, very often, as a punishment from Heaven, when this envious blast seems as if it would cast a person flat on the ground, it aids him instead of attain the happiness he is expecting sooner even than he expected: as you will hear in the story which I shall now tell you.

There was once upon a time a good sort of man named Cola Aniello, who had three daughters, Rose, Pink, and Violet, the last of whom was so beautiful that her very look was a syrup of love, which cured the hearts of beholders of all unhappiness. The King’s son was burning with love of her, and every time he passed by the little cottage where these three sisters sat at work, he took off his cap and said, “Good-day, good-day, Violet,” and she replied, “Good-day, King’s son! I know more than you.” At these words her sisters grumbled and murmured, saying, “You are an ill-bred creature and will make the Prince in a fine rage.” But as Violet paid no heed to what they said, they made a spiteful complaint of her to her father, telling him that she was too bold and forward; and that she answered the Prince without any respect, as if she were just as good as he; and that, some day or other, she would get into trouble and suffer the just punishment of her offence. So Cola Aniello, who was a prudent man, in order to prevent any mischief, sent Violet to stay with an aunt, to be set to work.

Now the Prince, when he passed by the house as usual, no longer seeing the object of his love, was for some days like a nightingale that has lost her young ones from her nest, and goes from branch to branch wailing and lamenting her loss; but he put his ear so often to the chink that at last he discovered where Violet lived. Then he went to the aunt, and said to her, “Madam, you know who I am, and what power I have; so, between ourselves, do me a favour and then ask for whatever you wish.” “If I can do anything to serve you,” replied the old woman, “I am entirely at your command.” “I ask nothing of you,” said the Prince, “but to let me give Violet a kiss.” “If that’s all,” answered the old woman, “go and hide yourself in the room downstairs in the garden, and I will find some pretence or another for sending Violet to you.”

As soon as the Prince heard this, he stole into the room without loss of time; and the old woman, pretending that she wanted to cut a piece of cloth, said to her niece, “Violet, if you love me, go down and fetch me the yard-measure.” So Violet went, as her aunt bade her, but when she came to the room she perceived the ambush, and, taking the yard-measure, she slipped out of the room as nimbly as a cat, leaving the Prince with his nose made long out of pure shame and bursting with vexation.

When the old woman saw Violet come running so fast, she suspected that the trick had not succeeded; so presently after, she said to the girl, “Go downstairs, niece, and fetch me the ball of thread that is on the top shelf in the cupboard.” So Violet ran, and taking the thread slipped like an eel out of the hands of the Prince. But after a little while the old woman said again, “Violet, my dear, if you do not go downstairs and fetch me the scissors, I cannot get on at all.” Then Violet went down again, but she sprang as vigorously as a dog out of the trap, and when she came upstairs she took the scissors and cut off one of her aunt’s ears, saying, “Take that, madam, as a reward for your pains—every deed deserves its need. If I don’t cut off your nose, it is only that you may smell the bad odour of your reputation.” So saying, she went her way home with a hop, skip, and jump, leaving her aunt eased of one ear and the Prince full of Let-me-alone.

Not long afterwards, the Prince again passed by the house of Violet’s father; and, seeing her at the window where she used to stand, he began his old tune, “Good-day, good-day, Violet!” Whereupon she answered as quickly as a good parish-clerk, “Good-day, King’s son! I know more than you.” But Violet’s sisters could no longer bear this behaviour, and they plotted together how to get rid of her. Now, one of the windows looked into the garden of an ogre, so they proposed to drive the poor girl away through this; and letting fall from it a skein of thread with which they were working a door-curtain for the queen, they cried, “Alas! alas! we are ruined and shall not be able to finish the work in time, if Violet, who is the smallest and lightest of us, does not let herself down by a cord and pick up the thread that has fallen.”

Violet could not endure to see her sisters grieving thus, and instantly offered to go down; so, tying a cord to her, they lowered her into the garden. But no sooner did she reach the ground than they let go the rope. It happened that just at that time the ogre came out to look at his garden, and having caught cold from the dampness of the ground, he gave such a tremendous sneeze, with such a noise and explosion, that Violet screamed out with terror, “Oh, mother, help me!” Thereupon the ogre looked round and seeing the beautiful maiden behind him, he received her with the greatest care and affection; and treating her as his own daughter, he gave her in charge of three fairies, bidding them take care of her, and rear her up on cherries.

The Prince no longer seeing Violet, and hearing no news of her, good or bad, fell into such grief that his eyes became swollen, his face became pale as ashes, his lips livid; and he neither ate a morsel to get flesh on his body, nor slept a wink to get any rest to his mind. But trying all possible means and offering large rewards, he went about spying and inquiring everywhere until, at last, he discovered where Violet was. Then he sent for the ogre and told him that, finding himself ill (as he might see was the case) he begged of him permission to spend a single day and night in his garden, adding that a small chamber would suffice for him to repose in. Now, as the ogre was a subject of the Prince’s father he could not refuse him this trifling pleasure; so he offered him all the rooms in his house; if one was not enough, and his very life itself. The Prince thanked him, and chose a room which by good luck was near to Violet’s; and, as soon as Night came out to play games with the Stars, the Prince, finding that Violet had left her door open, as it was summertime and the place was safe, stole softly into her room, and taking Violet’s arm he gave her two pinches. Then she awoke and exclaimed, “Oh, father, father, what a quantity of fleas!” So she went to another bed and the Prince did the same again and she cried out as before. Then she changed first the mattress and then the sheet; and so the sport went on the whole night long, until the Dawn, having brought the news that the Sun was alive, the mourning that was hung round the sky was all removed.

As soon as it was day, the Prince, passing by that house, and seeing the maiden at the door, said, as he was wont to do, “Good-day, good-day, Violet!” and when Violet replied, “Good-day, King’s son! I know more than you!” the Prince answered, “Oh, father, father, what a quantity of fleas!”

The instant Violet felt this shot she guessed at once that the Prince had been the cause of her annoyance in the past night; so off she ran and told it to the fairies. “If it be he,” said the fairies, “we will soon give him tit for tat and as good in return. If this dog has bitten you, we will manage to get a hair from him. He has give you one, we will give him back one and a half. Only get the ogre to make you a pair of slippers covered with little bells, and leave the rest to us. We will pay him in good coin.”

Violet, who was eager to be revenged, instantly got the ogre to make the slippers for her; and, waiting till the Sky, like a Genoese woman, had wrapped the black taffety round her face, they went, all four together, to the house of the Prince, where the fairies and Violet hid themselves in the chamber. And as soon as ever the Prince had closed his eyes the fairies made a great noise and racket, and Violet began to stamp with her feet at such a rate that, what with the clatter of her heels and the jingling of her bells, the Prince awoke in great terror and cried out, “Oh, mother, mother, help me!” And after repeating this two or three times, they slipped away home.

The next morning the Prince went to take a walk in the garden, for he could not live a moment without the sight of Violet, who was a pink of pinks. And seeing her standing at the door, he said, “Good-day, good-day, Violet!” And Violet answered, “Good-day, King’s son! I know more than you!” Then the Prince said, “Oh, father, father, what a quantity of fleas!” But Violet replied, “Oh, mother, mother, help me!”

When the Prince heard this, he said to Violet, “You have won—your wits are better than mine. I yield—you have conquered. And now that I see you really know more than I do, I will marry you without more ado.” So he called the ogre and asked her of him for his wife; but the ogre said it was not his affair, for he had learned that very morning that Violet was the daughter of Cola Aniello. So the Prince ordered her father to be called and told him of the good fortune that was in store for his daughter; whereupon the marriage feast was celebrated with great joy, and the truth of the saying was seen that—

“A fair maiden soon gets wed.”

So, in Ars Magica we know the finest horses in the world have magical blood, because their mothers are impregnated by the North Wind. Where these horses come from is questionable: in the Pentamerone it’s Iberia, in some other sources Scythia. Now, in this story, originally, the sneeze which so frightens the young woman that she cries out is a fart, and the giant believes that he has created a fart of such force that he has, much like the north wind, made one of his trees pregnant, and that the young woman is his daughter, which is why he treats her so well. He later discovers that his “nether eye has been deceived” and gives her back to her real father.

I originally thought the coarseness of these stories was because they were not meant for children and the later bowdlerisation was to make them suitable as nursery stories. I note, though, that in the original they are flagged by the author as “tales for the little ones”. They are full of jokes about excrement and flatulence. My children having aged sufficiently that they are now afficianadoes of the works of Dav Pilkey, writer of the Captain Underpants stories, and I now understand my mistakes. An ogre farting so hard he thinks he’s made a tree pregnant is just the sort of thing Pilkey would write, if his society were a bit more open on matters of reproduction, as the agrarian communities of Renaissance Italy were.

XIII PIPPO

Ingratitude is a nail, which, driven into the tree of courtesy, causes it to wither. It is a broken channel by which the foundations of affection are undermined; and a lump of soot, which, falling into the dish of friendship, destroys its scent and savour—as is seen in daily instances, and, amongst others, in the story which I will now tell you.

There was one time in my dear city of Naples an old man who was as poor as poor could be. He was so wretched, so bare, so light, and with not a farthing in his pocket, that he went naked as a flea. And being about to shake out the bags of life, he called to him his sons, Oratiello and Pippo, and said to them, “I am now called upon by the tenor of my bill to pay the debt I owe to Nature. Believe me, I should feel great pleasure in quitting this abode of misery, this den of woes, but that I leave you here behind me—a pair of miserable fellows, as big as a church, without a stitch upon your backs, as clean as a barber’s basin, as nimble as a serjeant, as dry as a plum-stone, without so much as a fly can carry upon its foot; so that, were you to run a hundred miles, not a farthing would drop from you. My ill-fortune has indeed brought me to such beggary that I lead the life of a dog, for I have all along, as well you know, gaped with hunger and gone to bed without a candle. Nevertheless, now that I am a-dying, I wish to leave you some token of my love. So do you, Oratiello, who are my first-born, take the sieve that hangs yonder against the wall, with which you can earn your bread; and do you, little fellow, take the cat and remember your daddy!” So saying, he began to whimper; and presently after said, “God be with you—for it is night!”

Oratiello had his father buried by charity; and then took the sieve and went riddling here, there, and everywhere to gain a livelihood; and the more he riddled, the more he earned. But Pippo, taking the cat, said, “Only see now what a pretty legacy my father has left me! I, who am not able to support myself, must now provide for two. Whoever beheld so miserable an inheritance?” Then the cat, who overheard this lamentation, said to him, “You are grieving without need, and have more luck than sense. You little know the good fortune in store for you; and that I am able to make you rich if I set about it.” When Pippo had heard this, he thanked Her Pussyship, stroked her three or four times on the back, and commended himself warmly to her. So the cat took compassion on poor Pippo; and, every morning, when the Sun, with the bait of light on his golden hook, fishes for the shakes of Night, she betook herself to the shore, and catching a goodly grey mullet or a fine dory, she carried it to the King and said, “My Lord Pippo, your Majesty’s most humble slave, sends you this fish with all reverence, and says, A small present to a great lord.'” Then the King, with a joyful face, as one usually shows to those who bring a gift, answered the cat, “Tell this lord, whom I do not know, that I thank him heartily.”

Again, the cat would run to the marshes or the fields, and when the fowlers had brought down a blackbird, a snipe, or a lark, she caught it up and presented it to the King with the same message. She repeated this trick again and again, until one morning the King said to her, “I feel infinitely obliged to this Lord Pippo, and am desirous of knowing him, that I may make a return for the kindness he has shown me.” And the cat replied, “The desire of my Lord Pippo is to give his life for your Majesty’s crown; and tomorrow morning, without fail, as soon as the Sun has set fire to the stubble of the fields of air, he will come and pay his respects to you.”

So when the morning came, the cat went to the King, and said to him: “Sire, my Lord Pippo sends to excuse himself for not coming, as last night some of his servants robbed him and ran off, and have not left him a single shirt to his back.” When the King heard this, he instantly commanded his retainers to take out of his own wardrobe a quantity of clothes and linen, and sent them to Pippo; and, before two hours had passed, Pippo went to the palace, conducted by the cat, where he received a thousand compliments from the King, who made him sit beside himself, and gave him a banquet that would amaze you.

While they were eating, Pippo from time to time turned to the cat and said to her, “My pretty puss, pray take care that those rags don’t slip through our fingers.” Then the cat answered, “Be quiet, be quiet; don’t be talking of these beggarly things.” The King, wishing to know the subject of their talk, the cat made answer that Pippo had taken a fancy to a small lemon; whereupon the King instantly sent out to the garden for a basketful. But Pippo returned to the same tune about the old coats and shirts, and the cat again told him to hold his tongue. Then the King once more asked what was the matter, and the cat had another excuse to make amends for Pippo’s rudeness.

At last, when they had eaten and conversed for some time about one thing and another, Pippo took his leave; and the cat stayed with the King, describing the worth, the wisdom, and the judgment of Pippo; and, above all, the great wealth he had in the plains of Rome and Lombardy, which well entitled him to marry even into the family of a crowned King. Then the King asked what might be his fortune; and the cat replied that no one could ever count the moveables, the fixtures, and the household furniture of this rich man, who did not even know what he possessed. If the King wished to be informed of it, he had only to send messengers with the cat, and she would prove to him that there was no wealth in the world equal to his.

Then the King called some trusty persons, and commanded them to inform themselves minutely of the truth; so they followed in the footsteps of the cat, who, as soon as they had passed the frontier of the kingdom, from time to time ran on before, under the pretext of providing refreshments for them on the road. Whenever she met a flock of sheep, a herd of cows, a troop of horses, or a drove of pigs, she would say to the herdsmen and keepers, “Ho! have a care! A troop of robbers is coming to carry off everything in the country. So if you wish to escape their fury, and to have your things respected, say that they all belong to the Lord Pippo, and not a hair will be touched.”

She said the same at all the farmhouses, so that wherever the King’s people came they found the pipe tuned; for everything they met with, they were told, belonged to the Lord Pippo. At last they were tired of asking, and returned to the King, telling seas and mountains of the riches of Lord Pippo. The King, hearing this report, promised the cat a good drink if she should manage to bring about the match; and the cat, playing the shuttle between them, at last concluded the marriage. So Pippo came, and the King gave him his daughter and a large portion.

At the end of a month of festivities, Pippo wished to take his bride to his estates, so the King accompanied them as far as the frontiers; and he went on to Lombardy, where, by the cat’s advice, he purchased a large estate and became a baron.

Pippo, seeing himself now so rich, thanked the cat more than words can express, saying that he owed his life and his greatness to her good offices; and that the ingenuity of a cat had done more for him that the wit of his father. Therefore, said he, she might dispose of his life and his property as she pleased; and he gave her his word that when she died, which he prayed might not be for a hundred years, he would have her embalmed and put into a golden coffin, and set in his own chamber, that he might keep her memory always before his eyes.

The cat listened to these lavish professions; and before three days she pretended to be dead, and stretched herself at full length in the garden. When Pippo’s wife saw her, she cried out, “Oh, husband, what a sad misfortune! The cat is dead!” “Devil die with her!” said Pippo. “Better her than we!” “What shall we do with her?” replied the wife. “Take her by the leg,” said he, “and fling her out of the window!”

Then the cat, who heard this fine reward when she least expected it, began to say, “Is this the return you make for my taking you from beggary? Are these the thanks I get for freeing you from rags that you might have hung distaffs with? Is this my reward for having put good clothes on your back when you were a poor, starved, miserable, tatter-shod ragamuffin? But such is the fate of him who washes an ass’s head! Go! A curse upon all I have done for you! A fine gold coffin you had prepared for me! A fine funeral you were going to give me! Go, now! serve, labour, toil, sweat to get this fine reward! Unhappy is he who does a good deed in hope of a return. Well was it said by the philosopher, He who lies down an ass, an ass he finds himself.’ But let him who does most, expect least; smooth words and ill deeds deceive alike both fools and wise!”

So saying, she drew her cloak about her and went her way. All that Pippo, with the utmost humility, could do to soothe her was of no avail. She would not return; but ran on and on without ever turning her head about, saying—

“Heaven keep me from the rich grown poor,
And from the beggar who of wealth gains store.”

Note that the Renaissance Italians and Victorians both thought poor people who gained wealth were still not gentlefolk.

The first major NPC I wrote for my university Ars Magica games was a version of Angela Carter’s Puss in Boots. If you get the chance to read “The Bloody C?hamber and Other Stories you should. I’m pleased to see an early version which leaves Puss able to head out into the world and join the players characters. Note that Puss is female here.