Strap in for a long one, listeners. We hit some juicy folklore in these three stories. If we can’t find a use for a dragon cruising the streets of a town in a car powdered by by four golden elephants, what are we even doing here? The unbowdlerised story is very similar to the one below.
There is the scatological humor we have come to expect. The farmer’s wife calls her husband a hernia. When the palace is turned to gold, it is “like a gilded a pill that makes a hundred houses constipated by ill-fortune evacuate their poverty”. This presumably perpetual antimony pills which I thought were a far later invention, but it turns out they are medieval. In the section where the maiden asks the prince to forget his love, he says he cannot, even if his love gives him a “dose of senna to purge it with”. Senna’s a herb that’s still used in over-the-counter laxatives.
XIV: THE SERPENT
It always happens that he who is over-curious in prying into the affairs of other people, strikes his own foot with the axe; and the King of Long-Furrow is a proof of this, who, by poking his nose into secrets, brought his daughter into trouble and ruined his unhappy son-in-law—who, in attempting to make a thrust with his head was left with it broken.
There was once on a time a gardener’s wife, who longed to have a son more than a man in a fever for cold water, or the innkeeper for the arrival of the mail-coach.
It chanced one day that the poor man went to the mountain to get a faggot, and when he came home and opened it he found a pretty little serpent among the twigs. At the sight of this, Sapatella (for that was the name of the gardener’s wife) heaved a deep sigh, and said, “Alas! even the serpents have their little serpents; but I brought ill-luck with me into this world.” At these words, the little serpent spoke, and said, “Well, then, since you cannot have children, take me for a child, and you will make a good bargain, for I shall love you better than my mother.” Sapatella, hearing a serpent speak thus, nearly fainted; but, plucking up courage, she said, “If it were for nothing else than the affection which you offer, I am content to take you, and treat you as if you were really my own child.” So saying, she assigned him a hole in a corner of the house for a cradle, and gave him for food a share of what she had with the greatest goodwill in the world.
The serpent increased in size from day to day; and when he had grown pretty big, he said to Cola Matteo, the gardener, whom he looked on as his father, “Daddy, I want to get married.” “With all my heart,” said Cola Matteo. “We must look out for another serpent like yourself, and try to make up a match between you.” “What serpent are you talking of?” said the little serpent. “I suppose, forsooth, we are all the same with vipers and adders! It is easy to see you are nothing but a country bumpkin, and make a nosegay of every plant. I want the King’s daughter; so go this very instant and ask the King for her, and tell him it is a serpent who demands her.” Cola Matteo, who was a plain, straightforward kind of man, and knew nothing about matters of this sort, went innocently to the King and delivered his message, saying—
“The messenger should not be beaten more
Than are the sands upon the shore!”
“Know then that a serpent wants your daughter for his wife, and I am come to try if we can make a match between a serpent and a dove!” The King, who saw at a glance that he was a blockhead, to get rid of him, said, “Go and tell the serpent that I will give him my daughter if he turns all the fruit of this orchard into gold.” And so saying, he burst out a-laughing, and dismissed him.
When Cola Matteo went home and delivered the answer to the serpent, he said, “Go to-morrow morning and gather up all the fruit-stones you can find in the city, and sow them in the orchard, and you will see pearls strung on rushes!” Cola Mateo, who was no conjurer, neither knew how to comply nor refuse; so next morning, as soon as the Sun with his golden broom had swept away the dirt of the Night from the fields watered by the dawn, he took a basket on his arm and went from street to street, picking up all the stones of peaches, plums, nectarines, apricots, and cherries that he could find. He then went to the orchard of the palace and sowed them, as the serpent had desired. In an instant the trees shot up, and stems and branches, leaves, flowers, and fruit were all of glittering gold—at the sight of which the King was in an ecstasy of amazement, and cried aloud with joy.
But when Cola Matteo was sent by the serpent to the King, to demand the performance of his promise, the King said, “Fair and easy, I must first have something else if he would have my daughter; and it is that he make all the walls and the ground of the orchard to be of precious stones.”
When the gardener told this to the serpent, he made answer, “Go to-morrow morning and gather up all the bits of broken crockery-ware you can find, and throw them on the walks and on the walls of the orchard; for we will not let this small difficulty stand in our way.” As soon, therefore, as the Night, having aided the robbers, is banished from the sky, and goes about collecting the faggots of twilight, Cola Matteo took a basket under his arm, and went about collecting bits of tiles, lids and bottoms of pipkins, pieces of plate and dishes, handles of jugs, spouts of pitchers. He picked up all the spoiled, broken, cracked lamps and all the fragments of pottery he could find in his way. And when he had done all that the serpent had told him, you could see the whole orchard mantled with emeralds and chalcedonies, and coated with rubies and carbuncles, so that the lustre dazzled your eyes. The King was struck all of a heap by the sight, and knew not what had befallen him. But when the serpent sent again to let him know that he was expecting the performance of his promise, the King answered, “Oh, all that has been done is nothing, if he does not turn this palace into gold.”
When Cola Matteo told the serpent this new fancy of the King’s, the serpent said, “Go and get a bundle of herbs and rub the bottom of the palace walls with them. We shall see if we cannot satisfy this whim!” Away went Cola that very moment, and made a great broom of cabbages, radishes, leeks, parsley, turnips, and carrots; and when he had rubbed the lower part of the palace with it, instantly you might see it shining like a golden ball on a weather-vane. And when the gardener came again to demand the hand of the Princess, the King, seeing all his retreat cut off, called his daughter, and said to her, “My dear Grannonia, I have tried to get rid of a suitor who asked to marry you, by making such conditions as seemed to me impossible. But as I am beaten, and obliged to consent, I pray you, as you are a dutiful daughter, to enable me to keep my word, and to be content with what Fate wills and I am obliged to do.”
“Do as you please, father,” said Grannonia; “I shall not oppose a single jot of your will!” The King, hearing this, bade Cola Matteo tell the serpent to come.
The serpent then set out for the palace, mounted on a car all of gold and drawn by four golden elephants. But wherever he came the people fled away in terror, seeing such a large and frightful serpent making his progress through the city; and when he arrived at the palace, the courtiers all trembled like rushes and ran away; and even the very scullions did not dare to stay in the place. The King and Queen, also, shivering with fear, crept into a chamber. Only Grannonia stood her ground; for though her father and her mother cried continually, “Fly, fly, Grannonia, save yourself,” she would not stir from the spot, saying, “Why should I fly from the husband you have given me?” And when the serpent came into the room, he took Grannonia by the waist, in his tail, and gave her such a shower of kisses that the King writhed like a worm, and went as pale as Death. Then the serpent carried her into another room and fastened the door; and shaking off his skin on the floor, he became a most beautiful youth, with a head all covered with ringlets of gold, and with eyes that would enchant you!
When the King saw the serpent go into the room with his daughter and shut the door after him, he said to his wife, “Heaven have mercy on that good soul, my daughter! for she is dead to a certainty, and that accursed serpent has doubtless swallowed her down like the yolk of an egg.” Then he put his eye to the key-hole to see what had become of her; but when he saw the exceeding beauty of the youth, and the skin of the serpent that he had left lying on the ground, he gave the door a kick, then in they rushed, and, taking the skin, flung it into the fire and burned it.
When the youth saw this, he cried, “Ah, fools, what have you done!” and instantly he was turned into a dove and flew at the window, where, as he struck his head through the panes, he cut himself sorely.
Grannonia, who thus saw herself at the same moment happy and unhappy, joyful and miserable, rich and poor, tore her hair and bewailed her fate, reproaching her father and mother; but they excused themselves, declaring that they had not meant to do harm. But she went on weeping and wailing until Night came forth to drape the canopy of the sky for the funeral of the Sun; and when they were all in bed, she took her jewels, which were in a writing-desk, and went out by the back-door, to search everywhere for the treasure she had lost.
She went out of the city, guided by the light of the moon; and on her way she met a fox, who asked her if she wished for company. “Of all things, my friend,” replied Grannonia. “I should be delighted; for I am not over well acquainted with the country.” So they travelled along together till they came to a wood, where the trees, at play like children, were making baby-houses for the shadows to lie in. And as they were now tired and wished to rest, they sheltered under the leaves where a fountain was playing tricks with the grass, throwing water on it by the dishful. There they stretched themselves on a mattress of tender soft grass, and paid the duty of repose which they owed to Nature for the merchandise of life.
They did not awake till the Sun, with his usual fire, gave the signal to sailors and travellers to set out on their road; and, after they awoke, they still stayed for some time listening to the songs of the birds, in which Grannonia took great delight. The fox, seeing this, said to her, “You would feel twice as much pleasure if, like me, you understood what they are saying.” At these words Grannonia—for women are by nature as curious as they are talkative—begged the fox to tell her what he had heard the birds saying. So, after having let her entreat him for a long time, to raise her curiosity about what he was going to relate, he told her that the birds were talking to each other about what had lately befallen the King’s son, who was as beautiful as a jay. Because he had offended a wicked ogress, she had laid him under a spell to pass seven years in the form of a serpent; and when he had nearly ended the seven years, he fell in love with the daughter of a King, and being one day in a room with the maiden, he had cast his skin on the ground, when her father and mother rushed in and burned it. Then, when the Prince was flying away in the shape of a dove, he broke a pane in the window to escape, and hurt his head so severely that he was given over by the doctors.
Grannonia, who thus heard her own onions spoken of, asked if there was any cure for this injury. The fox replied that there was none other than by anointing his wounds with the blood of those very birds that had been telling the story. When Grannonia heard this, she fell down on her knees to the fox, entreating him to catch those birds for her, that she might get their blood; adding that, like honest comrades, they would share the gain. “Fair and softly,” said the fox; “let us wait till night, and when the birds are gone to bed, trust me to climb the tree and capture them, one after the other.”
So they waited till Day was gone, and Earth had spread out her great black board to catch the wax that might drop from the tapers of Night. Then the fox, as soon as he saw all the birds fast asleep on the branches, stole up quite softly, and one after another, throttled all the linnets, larks, tomtits, blackbirds, woodpeckers, thrushes, jays, fly-catchers, little owls, goldfinches, bullfinches, chaffinches, and redbreasts that were on the trees. And when he had killed them all they put the blood in a little bottle, which the fox carried with him, to refresh himself on the road.
I’ll pause the story here to note that it gives quite detailed instructions on what is required to make this potion. The fox seems to want it as a traveller’s restorative. How he (originally she) handles the bottle (originally flask) is unclear – is he a faerie or a shapeshifter? That being said, might a witch of an experimental bent try the potion and see what it cures? Presumably it works on normal humans, but even if it only works on faeries, it might have value.
Let’s consider these birds for a moment. The list has been changed from Italian to English birds. One that turns up in both lists are goldfinches. These are a little songbird that has a red patch on the top of its head. Folkloristically it is linked to the redcap goblins who provide the faerie blood in one line of House Mercere. It is though to cure illness through its song, and to omen wealth due to its gold feathers.
A group of goldfinches is called a “Charm”. This is obviously interesting to magi, but linguistically it comes from the word “chime” because a group of goldfinches sound a little like a carillon of bells.
Grannonia was so overjoyed that she hardly touched the ground; but the fox said to her, “What fine joy in a dream is this, my daughter! You have done nothing, unless you mix my blood also with that of the birds”; and so saying he set off to run away. Grannonia, who saw all her hopes likely to be destroyed, had recourse to woman’s art—flattery; and she said to him, “Gossip fox, there would be some reason for your saving your hide if I were not under so many obligations to you, and if there were no other foxes in the world. But you know how much I owe you, and that there is no scarcity of the likes of you on these plains. Rely on my good faith. Don’t act like the cow that kicks over the pail which she has just filled with milk. You have done the chief part, and now you fail at the last. Do stop! Believe me, and come with me to the city of this King, where you may sell me for a slave if you will!”
The fox never dreamed that he could be out-forced by a woman; so he agreed to travel on with her. But they had hardly gone fifty paces, when she lifted up the stick she carried and gave him such a neat rap that he forthwith stretched his legs. Then she put his blood into the little bottle; and setting off again she stayed not till she came to Big Valley, where she went straightway to the royal palace, and sent word that she was come to cure the Prince.
Then the King ordered her to be brought before him, and he was astonished at seeing a girl undertake a thing which the best doctors in his kingdom had failed to do. However, a trial could do no harm; and so he said he wished greatly to see the experiment made. But Grannonia answered, “If I succeed, you must promise to give him to me for a husband.” The King, who looked on his son to be even as already dead, answered her, “If you give him to me safe and sound, I will give him to you sound and safe; for it is no great matter to give a husband to her that gives me a son.”
So they went to the chamber of the Prince, and hardly had she anointed him with the blood, when he found himself just as if nothing had ever ailed him. Grannonia, when she saw the Prince stout and hearty, bade the King keep his word; whereupon he, turning to his son, said, “My son, a moment ago you were all but dead, and now I see you alive, and can hardly believe it. Therefore, as I have promised this maiden that if she cured you she should have you for a husband, now enable me to perform my promise, by all the love you bear me, since gratitude obliges me to pay this debt.”
When the Prince heard these words, he said, “Sir, I would that I was free to prove to you the love I bear you. But as I have already pledged my faith to another woman, you would not consent that I should break my word, nor would this maiden wish that I should do such a wrong to her whom I love; nor can I, indeed, alter my mind!”
Grannonia, hearing this, felt a secret pleasure not to be described at finding herself still alive in the memory of the Prince. Her whole face became crimson as she said, “If I could induce this maiden to resign her claims, would you then consent to my wish?” “Never,” replied the Prince, “will I banish from this breast the fair image of her whom I love. I shall ever remain of the same mind and will; and I would sooner see myself in danger of losing my place at the table of life than play so mean a trick!”
Grannonia could no longer disguise herself, and discovered to the Prince who she was; for, the chamber having been darkened on account of the wound in his head, he had not known her. But the Prince, now that he recognised her, embraced her with a joy that would amaze you, telling his father what he had done and suffered for her. Then they sent to invite her parents, the King and Queen of Long Field; and they celebrated the wedding with wonderful festivity, making great sport of the great ninny of a fox, and concluding at the last of the last that—
“Pain doth indeed a seasoning prove
Unto the joys of constant love.”
XV
THE SHE-BEAR
Again, this lies close to the non-bowdlerised version. There is a bit of frame narrative that says people found the previous story uproariously funny.
Truly the wise man said well that a command of gall cannot be obeyed like one of sugar. A man must require just and reasonable things if he would see the scales of obedience properly trimmed.
From orders which are improper springs resistance which is not easily overcome, as happened to the King of Rough-Rock, who, by asking what he ought not of his daughter, caused her to run away from him, at the risk of losing both honour and life.
There lived, it is said, once upon a time a King of Rough-Rock, who had a wife the very mother of beauty, but in the full career of her years she fell from the horse of health and broke her life. Before the candle of life went out at the auction of her years she called her husband and said to him, “I know you have always loved me tenderly; show me, therefore, at the close of my days the completion of your love by promising me never to marry again, unless you find a woman as beautiful as I have been, otherwise I leave you my curse, and shall bear you hatred even in the other world.”
The Queen threatens to squeeze the curse from her breasts, which has a cultural element in it that may have been removed not so much for its risqué nature as it requiring a level of cultural competency beyond the period readers.
The King, who loved his wife beyond measure, hearing this her last wish, burst into tears, and for some time could not answer a single word. At last, when he had done weeping, he said to her, “Sooner than take another wife may the gout lay hold of me; may I have my head cut off like a mackerel! My dearest love, drive such a thought from your mind; do not believe in dreams, or that I could love any other woman; you were the first new coat of my love, and you shall carry away with you the last rags of my affection.”
The bit about the mackerel is new, unless the one word of Italian I can’t get is a reference to that fish. He also says “May I be killed by a Catalan spear.”
As he said these words the poor young Queen, who was at the point of death, turned up her eyes and stretched out her feet. When the King saw her life thus running out he unstopped the channels of his eyes, and made such a howling and beating and outcry that all the Court came running up, calling on the name of the dear soul, and upbraiding Fortune for taking her from him, and plucking out his beard, he cursed the stars that had sent him such a misfortune. But bearing in mind the maxim, “Pain in one’s elbow and pain for one’s wife are alike hard to bear, but are soon over,” ere the Night had gone forth into the place-of-arms in the sky to muster the bats he began to count upon his fingers and to reflect thus to himself, “Here is my wife dead, and I am left a wretched widower, with no hope of seeing any one but this poor daughter whom she has left me. I must therefore try to discover some means or other of having a son and heir. But where shall I look? Where shall I find a woman equal in beauty to my wife? Every one appears a witch
A harpy in the Penguin edition.
in comparison with her; where, then, shall I find another with a bit of stick, or seek another with the bell, if Nature made Nardella (may she be in glory), and then broke the mould? Alas, in what a labyrinth has she put me, in what a perplexity has the promise I made her left me! But what do I say? I am running away before I have seen the wolf; let me open my eyes and ears and look about; may there not be some other as beautiful? Is it possible that the world should be lost to me? Is there such a dearth of women, or is the race extinct?”
So saying he forthwith issued a proclamation and command that all the handsome women in the world should come to the touch-stone of beauty, for he would take the most beautiful to wife and endow her with a kingdom. Now, when this news was spread abroad, there was not a woman in the universe who did not come to try her luck—not a witch, however ugly, who stayed behind; for when it is a question of beauty, no scullion-wench
Hag, in the penguin edition. Note the classism in “scullion-wench”.
will acknowledge herself surpassed; every one piques herself on being the handsomest; and if the looking-glass tells her the truth she blames the glass for being untrue, and the quicksilver for being put on badly.
When the town was thus filled with women the King had them all drawn up in a line, and he walked up and down from top to bottom, and as he examined and measured each from head to foot
In the Penguin edition “Like the Grand Turk entering his seraglio seeking a way to sharpen his Damascus knife”. This was considered subtlety and wit at the time.
one appeared to him wry-browed, another long-nosed, another broad-mouthed, another thick-lipped, another tall as a may-pole,
Bean pole in the Penguin. The history of maypoles is something we need to do an episode about.
another short and dumpy, another too stout, another too slender; the Spaniard did not please him on account of her dark colour,
“Sallow” in the Penguin, which means an unhealthy yellow or brown. This is still a racist jibe, but it’s a different racist jibe based on the two audiences.
the Neopolitan was not to his fancy on account of her gait,
“because of the platform heels she walked on” in the Penguin edition. These were used by people from the great metropolis because the streets were too filthy to walk around the muck.
the German appeared cold and icy, the Frenchwoman frivolous and giddy, the Venetian with her light hair looked like a distaff of flax.
Her hair is “bleached” in the Penguin edition, and we’ve covered that in some detail over in the Venice episodes. In Venice, a great deal of effort is taken to make the hair pale and fine.
At the end of the end, one for this cause and another for that, he sent them all away, with one hand before and the other behind; and, seeing that so many fair faces were all show and no wool, he turned his thoughts to his own daughter, saying, “Why do I go seeking the impossible when my daughter Preziosa is formed in the same mould of beauty as her mother? I have this fair face here in my house, and yet go looking for it at the fag-end of the world. She shall marry whom I will, and so I shall have an heir.”
The father uses a phrase which has been trimmed here because it needs a bit of historical depth to understand, but it appears in the Penguin as “Why am I looking for Maria per Ravenna?” This refers to something you know you cannot find. This is theoretically a reference to a 15th century erotic poem, but I can’t find it – its trail is obscured by a 19th century erotic novel based on the poem and my lack of skill in Italian.
The “fag-end” in this case is the “asshole” of the world. Oddly this isn’t a coded homophobic slur, as that use for the word appears continents and decades away from the work I’m quoting here.
When Preziosa heard this she retired to her chamber, and bewailing her ill-fortune as if she would not leave a hair upon her head; and, whilst she was lamenting thus, an old woman came to her, who was her confidant.
In the Penguin edition, she is not so meek: she so insults her father that he tells her to come to terms with it, or the “largest part of her left will be her ear”.
As soon as she saw Preziosa, who seemed to belong more to the other world than to this, and heard the cause of her grief, the old woman said to her, “Cheer up, my daughter, do not despair; there is a remedy for every evil save death. Now listen; if your father speaks to you thus once again
“”Wishes to act the stallion tonight”” in the Penguin edition.
put this bit of wood into your mouth, and instantly you will be changed into a she-bear; then off with you! for in his fright he will let you depart, and go straight to the wood, where Heaven has kept good-fortune in store for you since the day you were born, and whenever you wish to appear a woman, as you are and will remain, only take the piece of wood out of your mouth and you will return to your true form.” Then Preziosa embraced the old woman, and, giving her a good apronful of meal, and ham and bacon, sent her away.
As soon as the Sun began to change his quarters,
In the Penguin edition “like an unsuccessful whore”. They really don’t seem to like the Sun.
the King ordered the musicians to come, and, inviting all his lords and vassals, he held a great feast. And after dancing for five or six hours,
It’s marked as “Moorish” dancing. This is, of course, racism, but I like to think of them as a troupe of Morris Dancers.
they all sat down to table, and ate and drank beyond measure. Then the King asked his courtiers to whom he should marry Preziosa, as she was the picture of his dead wife. But the instant Preziosa heard this, she slipped the bit of wood into her mouth, and took the figure of a terrible she-bear, at the sight of which all present were frightened out of their wits, and ran off as fast as they could scamper.
This scene takes place with fewer courtiers, and in her bedroom, in the Penguin edition. Why she doesn’t tear them apart and leave no piece larger than an ear is not clear to me.
Meanwhile Preziosa went out, and took her way to a wood, where the Shades were holding a consultation how they might do some mischief to the Sun at the close of day. And there she stayed, in the pleasant companionship of the other animals, until the son of the King of Running-Water came to hunt in that part of the country, who, at the sight of the bear, had like to have died on the spot. But when he saw the beast come gently up to him, wagging her tail like a little dog and rubbing her sides against him, he took courage, and patted her, and said, “Good bear, good bear! there, there! poor beast, poor beast!”
In the Penguin he makes animal noises to her. Why he thinks impersonating a cat or dog should avail him anything is unclear. In Realms of Power : Magic I believe all quadrupeds share some sort of language, though, so there might be a grain of sense in his actions.
Then he led her home and ordered that she should be taken great care of; and he had her put into a garden close to the royal palace, that he might see her from the window whenever he wished.
One day, when all the people of the house were gone out, and the Prince was left alone, he went to the window to look out at the bear; and there he beheld Preziosa, who had taken the piece of wood out of her mouth, combing her golden tresses. At the sight of this beauty, which was beyond the beyonds, he had like to have lost his senses with amazement, and tumbling down the stairs he ran out into the garden. But Preziosa, who was on the watch and observed him, popped the piece of wood into her mouth, and was instantly changed into a bear again.
When the Prince came down and looked about in vain for Preziosa, whom he had seen from the window above, he was so amazed at the trick that a deep melancholy came over him, and in four days he fell sick, crying continually, “My bear, my bear!” His mother, hearing him wailing thus, imagined that the bear had done him some hurt, and gave orders that she should be killed. But the servants, enamoured of the tameness of the bear, who made herself beloved by the very stones in the road, took pity on her, and, instead of killing her, they led her to the wood, and told the queen that they had put an end to her.
When this came to the ears of the Prince, he acted in a way to pass belief. Ill or well he jumped out of bed, and was going at once to make mincemeat of the servants. But when they told him the truth of the affair, he jumped on horseback, half-dead as he was, and went rambling about and seeking everywhere, until at length he found the bear. Then he took her home again, and putting her into a chamber, said to her, “O lovely morsel for a King, who art shut up in this skin! O candle of love, who art enclosed within this hairy lanthorn! Wherefore all this trifling? Do you wish to see me pine and pant, and die by inches? I am wasting away; without hope, and tormented by thy beauty. And you see clearly the proof, for I am shrunk two-thirds in size, like wine boiled down, and am nothing but skin and bone, for the fever is double-stitched to my veins. So lift up the curtain of this hairy hide, and let me gaze upon the spectacle of thy beauty! Raise, O raise the leaves off this basket, and let me get a sight of the fine fruit beneath! Lift up that curtain, and let my eyes pass in to behold the pomp of wonders! Who has shut up so smooth a creature in a prison woven of hair? Who has locked up so rich a treasure in a leathern chest? Let me behold this display of graces, and take in payment all my love; for nothing else can cure the troubles I endure.”
But when he had said, again and again, this and a great deal more, and still saw that all his words were thrown away, he took to his bed, and had such a desperate fit that the doctors prognosticated badly of his case. Then his mother, who had no other joy in the world, sat down by his bedside, and said to him, “My son, whence comes all this grief? What melancholy humour has seized you? You are young, you are loved, you are great, you are rich—what then is it you want, my son? Speak; a bashful beggar carries an empty bag. If you want a wife, only choose, and I will bring the match about;
“Put down the deposit.” Dowries are a big business in period, particularly in Italy. This leads us back to a very early episode of Games From Folktales, number 26, about dowry bargains in Shakespeare. His characters were pretending to be Italian.
do you take, and I’ll pay. Do you not see that your illness is an illness to me? Your pulse beats with fever in your veins, and my heart beats with illness in my brain, for I have no other support of my old age than you. So be cheerful now, and cheer up my heart, and do not see the whole kingdom thrown into mourning, this house into lamentation, and your mother forlorn and heart-broken.”
The mother threatens to shave off all her hair in the Penguin edition.. I’m not sure of the cultural connotation. I believe it’s a mourning ritual?
When the Prince heard these words, he said, “Nothing can console me but the sight of the bear. Therefore, if you wish to see me well again, let her be brought into this chamber; I will have no one else to attend me, and make my bed, and cook for me, but she herself; and you may be sure that this pleasure will make me well in a trice.”
“Four snaps.”
Thereupon his mother, although she thought it ridiculous enough for the bear to act as cook and chambermaid, and feared that her son was not in his right mind, yet, in order to gratify him, had the bear fetched. And when the bear came up to the Prince’s bed, she raised her paw and felt the patient’s pulse, which made the Queen laugh outright, for she thought every moment that the bear would scratch his nose. Then the Prince said, “My dear bear, will you not cook for me, and give me my food, and wait upon me?” and the bear nodded her head, to show that she accepted the office. Then his mother had some fowls brought, and a fire lighted on the hearth in the same chamber, and some water set to boil; whereupon the bear, laying hold on a fowl, scalded and plucked it handily, and drew it, and then stuck one portion of it on the spit, and with the other part she made such a delicious hash that the Prince, who could not relish even sugar, licked his fingers at the taste.
The “hash” above is what a 19th century English person apparently would have called a gratin, which, for the non-culinary among us, is a sort of casserole with a browned upper crust, generally made of cheese, breadcrumbs and various other things. I’m not sure how you make one on a fireplace. I could do it with a camp oven, because that lets you pile coals on top of the lid so the heat is directional.
And when he had done eating, the bear handed him drink with such grace that the Queen was ready to kiss her on the forehead. Thereupon the Prince arose, and the bear quickly set about making the bed; and running into the garden, she gathered a clothful of roses and citron-flowers and strewed them over it, so that the queen said the bear was worth her weight in gold, and that her son had good reason to be fond of her.
Citron-flowers here is a mistake, but an informative one. In English the term citron originally covered what we now call a citron, but also what the French call a citron (a lemon) and perhaps some other citruses. It’s not much of a stretch to suggest the fruit meant here is the orange, as translated in the Penguin edition, because it is known for its strongly scented, somewhat aphrodisiacal, flowers.
For my fellow Australians, I’m not talking about the Buddha’s Hand, which is the citron I see locally most often or the yuzu, which is the citron I eat most often. The citron being discussed is knobbly like a Eureka lemon, but larger and orange.
But when the Prince saw these pretty offices they only added fuel to the fire; and if before he wasted by ounces, he now melted away by pounds, and he said to the Queen, “My lady mother, if I do not give this bear a kiss, the breath will leave my body.” Whereupon the Queen, seeing him fainting away, said, “Kiss him, kiss him, my beautiful beast! Let me not see my poor son die of longing!” Then the bear went up to the Prince, and taking him by the cheeks, kissed him again and again. Meanwhile (I know not how it was) the piece of wood slipped out of Preziosa’s mouth, and she remained in the arms of the Prince, the most beautiful creature in the world; and pressing her to his heart, he said, “I have caught you, my little rogue! You shall not escape from me again without a good reason.” At these words Preziosa, adding the colour of modesty to the picture of her natural beauty, said to him, “I am indeed in your hands—only guard me safely, and marry me when you will.”
“My little finch” “The colour of her of her embarrassment”.
Then the Queen inquired who the beautiful maiden was, and what had brought her to this savage life; and Preziosa related the whole story of her misfortunes, at which the Queen, praising her as a good and virtuous girl, told her son that she was content that Preziosa should be his wife. Then the Prince, who desired nothing else in life, forthwith pledged her his faith; and the mother giving them her blessing, this happy marriage was celebrated with great feasting and illuminations, and Preziosa experienced the truth of the saying that—
“One who acts well may always expect good.”
Let us pause to consider what a “light display” is here. The temptation is to think they are fireworks. I was looking at the history of fireworks for a Magonomia spell the other day and found out that in the Elizabethan period they were known (in Arabic they are called “Chinese Flowers” which is lovely) but they were not as bright or colourful as now. It turns out that one of the things that gives the distinctive silver shine to modern fireworks is powdered aluminium. That wasn’t known to exist in period. Similarly, most of the colours are due to adulterants in the gunpowder that have yet to be discovered in Europe. I know Napoleonic navies had some sort of signal flares, but I’ve not followed up their history.
XVI: THE DOVE
He who is born a prince should not act like a beggar boy.
“Scoundrel” – remember the poor are evil in the Victorian English translation.
The man who is high in rank ought not to set a bad example to those below him; for the little donkey learns from the big one to eat straw. It is no wonder, therefore, that Heaven sends him troubles by bushels—as happened to a prince who was brought into great difficulties for ill-treating and tormenting a poor woman, so that he was near losing his life miserably.
The prince has “a gadfly up his arse” in the Penguin edition, which is the earliest version I’ve heard of someone having a “bug in their butt”.
About eight miles from Naples there was once a deep wood of fig-trees and poplars. In this wood stood a half-ruined cottage, wherein dwelt an old woman, who was as light of teeth as she was burdened with years. She had a hundred wrinkles in her face, and a great many more in her purse, and all her silver covered her head, so that she went from one thatched cottage to another, begging alms to keep life in her. But as folks nowadays much rather give a purseful of crowns to a crafty spy than a farthing to a poor needy man,
In the translation used here, the coins have been adjusted for inflation and nation.
she had to toil a whole day to get a dish of kidney-beans, and that at a time when they were very plentiful. Now one day the poor old woman, after having washed the beans, put them in a pot, placed it outside the window, and went on her way to the wood to gather sticks for the fire. But while she was away, Nardo Aniello, the King’s son, passed by the cottage on his way to the chase; and, seeing the pot at the window, he took a great fancy to have a fling at it; and he made a bet with his attendants to see who should fling the straightest and hit in the middle with a stone. Then they began to throw at the innocent pot; and in three or four casts the prince hit it to a hair and won the bet.
The old woman returned just after they had gone away, and seeing the sad disaster, she began to act as if she were beside herself, crying, “Ay, let him stretch out his arm and go about boasting how he has broken this pot! The villainous rascal who has sown my beans out of season. If he had no compassion for my misery, he should have had some regard for his own interest; for I pray Heaven, on my bare knees and from the bottom of my soul, that he may fall in love with the daughter of some ogress, who may plague and torment him in every way. May his mother-in-law lay on him such a curse that he may see himself living and yet bewail himself as dead; and being spellbound by the beauty of the daughter, and the arts of the mother, may he never be able to escape, but be obliged to remain. May she order him about with a cudgel in her hand, and give him bread with a little fork, that he may have good cause to lament over my beans which he has spilt on the ground.”
In the Penguin edition, the curses, which are slightly different, make it clear that the woman knows she is cursing a nobleman, because she refers to his coat of arms.
The old woman’s curses took wing and flew up to Heaven in a trice; so that, notwithstanding what a proverb says, “for a woman’s curse you are never the worse, and the coat of a horse that has been cursed always shines,” she rated the Prince so soundly that he well-nigh jumped out of his skin.
“You may sow a woman’s curses in your arsehole” is the Penguin translation. I remind you this was written for children, and that it reminds me of Dav Pilkey.
Scarcely had two hours passed when the Prince, losing himself in the wood and parted from his attendants, met a beautiful maiden, who was going along picking up snails and saying with a laugh—
“Snail, snail, put out your horn,
Your mother is laughing you to scorn,
For she has a little son just born.”
When the Prince saw this beautiful apparition he knew not what had befallen him; and, as the beams from the eyes of that crystal face fell upon the tinder of his heart, he was all in a flame, so that he became a lime-kiln wherein the stones of designs were burnt to build the houses of hopes.
Now Filadoro (for so the maiden was named) was no wiser than other people; and the Prince, being a smart young fellow with handsome moustachios, pierced her heart through and through, so that they stood looking at one another for compassion with their eyes, which proclaimed aloud the secret of their souls.
The mustachos do not come into the other translation at all. It says she does not “waste her time peeling medlars” but falls for him right away. Let’s unpack that phrase. Medlars are a fruit that was popular in the Middle Ages, but have fallen out of modern favour. They fruit in the winter, which was welcome, but they can only be eaten once they have bletted. That is, they can’t be eaten until they start to decay due to frost damage. This is much like quinces, mentioned in the episode about the Goblin Market. They also have freaky little tentacles on them and are brown, which does not help their shelf appeal. That they are not ripe before they rot was used for various metaphors in the Elizabethan period, particularly to sex work. Peeling medlars is a waste of time because by the time you can eat the fruit the skins are soft and edible.
After they had both remained thus for a long time, unable to utter a single word, the Prince at last, finding his voice, addressed Filadoro thus, “From what meadow has this flower of beauty sprung? From what mine has this treasure of beauteous things come to light? O happy woods, O fortunate groves, which this nobility inhabits, which this illumination of the festivals of love irradiates.”
“Kiss this hand, my lord,” answered Filadoro, “not so much modesty; for all the praise that you have bestowed on me belongs to your virtues, not to my merits. Such as I am, handsome or ugly, fat or thin, a witch or a fairy, I am wholly at your command; for your manly form has captivated my heart, your princely mien has pierced me through from side to side, and from this moment I give myself up to you for ever as a chained slave.”
At these words the Prince seized at once her hand, kissing the ivory hook that had caught his heart.
The hook joins the “bell to the dinner of delight” and a call to horse for amorous battle.
At this ceremony of the prince, Filadoro’s face grew as red as scarlet.
There’s a lot more here, and as we are looking at the alchemy of makeup over in the Venice episodes I’d like to tarry a bit. Her face is a blend of the “Minium of embarrassment, the cerise of fear, the verdigris of hope and the cinnabar of desire”. Minium is red lead, used for the rubrication of capital letters in books. It comes from Iberia. Cerise is cherry pink. Verdigris is green, usually copper carbonate. Cinnabar is a red oxide of mercury, and the main producer in period is a single mine in Spain. Cinnabar and minium are used, in the modern day, as synonyms, and there was some confusion in period about the two.
But the more Nardo Aniello wished to continue speaking, the more his tongue seemed tied; for in this wretched life there is no wine of enjoyment without dregs of vexation. And just at this moment Filadoro’s mother suddenly appeared, who was such an ugly ogress that Nature seemed to have formed her as a model of horrors. Her hair was like a besom of holly; her forehead like a rough stone; her eyes were comets that predicted all sorts of evils; her mouth had tusks like a boar’s—in short, from head to foot she was ugly beyond imagination. Now she seized Nardo Aniello by the nape of his neck, saying, “Hollo! what now, you thief! you rogue!”
The “rough” stone is “Genoese” stone. I have not been able to trace this reference. It is to sharpen the knife of fear that rips open chests. She also causes “diarrhoea of the soul”.and her mouth is as big as a scorpion-fish’s. It also notes that if he did not die of shock it must be because he has a “story of Marco and Fliorella sewn in his jacket.” That’s a reference to a popular, but now lost, work by William of Blois. We know Flaura et Marcus was a tragedy, but virtually nothing else.
“Yourself the rogue,” replied the Prince, “back with you, old hag!” And he was just going to draw his sword, when all at once he stood fixed like a sheep that has seen the wolf and can neither stir nor utter a sound, so that the ogress led him like an ass by the halter to her house. And when they came there she said to him, “Mind, now, and work like a dog, unless you wish to die like a dog. For your first task to-day you must have this acre of land dug and sown level as this room; and recollect that if I return in the evening and do not find the work finished, I shall eat you up.” Then, bidding her daughter take care of the house, she went to a meeting of the other ogresses in the wood.
Nardo Aniello, seeing himself in this dilemma, began to bathe his breast with tears, cursing his fate which brought him to this pass. But Filadoro comforted him, bidding him be of good heart, for she would ever risk her life to assist him. She said that she ought not to lament his fate which had led him to the house where she lived, who loved him so dearly, and that he showed little return for her love by being so despairing at what had happened. The Prince replied: “I am not grieved at having exchanged the royal palace for this hovel; splendid banquets for a crust of bread; a sceptre for a spade; not at seeing myself, who have terrified armies, now frightened by this hideous scarecrow; for I should deem all my disasters good fortune to be with you and to gaze upon you with these eyes. But what pains me to the heart is that I have to dig till my hands are covered with hard skin—I whose fingers are so delicate and soft as Barbary wool; and, what is still worse, I have to do more than two oxen could get through in a day. If I do not finish the task this evening your mother will eat me up; yet I should not grieve so much to quit this wretched body as to be parted from so beautiful a creature.”
The Barbary wool is new. He says “I have to work with a hoe and spit on my hands a hundred times a day, when before I would not spit on a boil.”
So saying he heaved sighs by bushels, and shed many tears. But Filadoro, drying his eyes, said to him, “Fear not that my mother will touch a hair of your head. Trust to me and do not be afraid; for you must know that I possess magical powers, and am able to make cream set on water and to darken the sun. Be of good heart, for by the evening the piece of land will be dug and sown without any one stirring a hand.”
She says she can curdle water in the Penguin edition. Curdling milk is, in the later period, seen as a sign of evil, and curdling water would be due to legendary vileness, so it seems to have changed to her being able to make magical cheese. That’s a handy talent: very Tiffany Aching.
When Nardo Aniello heard this, he answered, “If you have magic power, as you say, O beauty of the world, why do we not fly from this country? For you shall live like a queen in my father’s house.” And Filadoro replied, “A certain conjunction of the stars prevents this, but the trouble will soon pass and we shall be happy.”
General Divination Astrology, for the Magonomia players. Alternatively, she’s a faerie and needs him to suffer for a while for Ars players.
With these and a thousand other pleasant discourses the day passed, and when the ogress came back she called to her daughter from the road and said, “Filadoro, let down your hair,” for as the house had no staircase she always ascended by her daughter’s tresses. As soon as Filadoro heard her mother’s voice she unbound her hair and let fall her tresses, making a golden ladder to an iron heart. Whereupon the old woman mounted up quickly, and ran into the garden; but when she found it all dug and sown, she was beside herself with amazement; for it seemed to her impossible that a delicate lad should have accomplished such hard labour.
But the next morning, hardly had the Sun gone out to warm himself on account of the cold he had caught in the river of India, than the ogress went down again, bidding Nardo Aniello take care that in the evening she should find ready split six stacks of wood which were in the cellar, with every log cleft into four pieces, or otherwise she would cut him up like bacon and make a fry of him for supper.
On hearing this decree the poor Prince had liked to have died of terror, and Filadoro, seeing him half dead and pale as ashes, said, “Why! What a coward you are to be frightened at such a trifle.”
She calls him a “pants shitter” in the Penguin edition. Remember that that this is a story for children, and told as if it is to a demanding queen among the noble ladies of her court. Remember also that this woman is utterly in love with the man, so this is apparently not a particularly unkind thing to say.
“Do you think it a trifle,” replied Nardo Aniello, “to split six stacks of wood, with every log cleft into four pieces, between this time and the evening? Alas, I shall sooner be cleft in halves myself to fill the mouth of this horrid old woman.” “Fear not,” answered Filadoro, “for without giving yourself any trouble the wood shall all be split in good time. But meanwhile cheer up, if you love me, and do not split my heart with such lamentations.”
Now when the Sun had shut up the shop of his rays, in order not to sell light to the Shades, the old woman returned; and, bidding Filadoro let down the usual ladder, she ascended, and finding the wood already split she began to suspect it was her own daughter who had given her this check. At the third day, in order to make a third trial, she told the Prince to clean out for her a cistern which held a thousand casks of water, for she wished to fill it anew, adding that if the task were not finished by the evening she would make mincemeat of him. When the old woman went away Nardo Aniello began again to weep and wail; and Filadoro, seeing that the labours increased, and that the old woman had something of the brute in her to burden the poor fellow with such tasks and troubles, said to him, “Be quiet, and as soon as the moment has passed that interrupts my art, before the Sun says I am off,’ we will say good-bye to this house; sure enough, this evening my mother shall find the land cleared, and I will go off with you, alive or dead.” The Prince, on hearing this news, embraced Filadoro and said, “Thou art the pole-star of this storm-tossed bark, my soul! Thou art the prop of my hopes.”
A bark here is a ship. In the Penguin, it’s “You are the North Wind of the ship of my soul”” We sometime spell it barque here, because Captain Cook rocked up in one and we don’t want it to sound like he had a canoe.
Now, when the evening drew nigh, Filadoro having dug a hole in the garden into a large underground passage, they went out and took the way to Naples.
But when they arrived at the grotto of Pozzuolo, Nardo Aniello said to Filadoro, “It will never do for me to take you to the palace on foot and dressed in this manner. Therefore wait at this inn and I will soon return with horses, carriages, servants, and clothes.” So Filadoro stayed behind and the Prince went on his way to the city. Meantime the ogress returned home, and as Filadoro did not answer to her usual summons, she grew suspicious, ran into the wood, and cutting a great, long pole, placed it against the window and climbed up like a cat. Then she went into the house and hunted everywhere inside and out, high and low, but found no one. At last she perceived the hole, and seeing that it led into the open air, in her rage she did not leave a hair upon her head, cursing her daughter and the Prince, and praying that at the first kiss Filadoro’s lover should receive he might forget her.
But let us leave the old woman to say her wicked curses and return to the Prince, who on arriving at the palace, where he was thought to be dead, put the whole house in an uproar, every one running to meet him and crying, “Welcome! welcome! Here he is, safe and sound, how happy we are to see him back in this country,” with a thousand other words of affection. But as he was going up the stairs his mother met him half-way and embraced and kissed him, saying, “My son, my jewel, the apple of my eye, where have you been and why have you stayed away so long to make us all die with anxiety?” The Prince knew not what to answer, for he did not wish to tell her of his misfortunes; but no sooner had his mother kissed him than, owing to the curse, all that had passed went from his memory. Then the Queen told her son that to put an end to his going hunting and wasting his time in the woods, she wished him to get married. “Well and good,” replied the Prince, “I am ready and prepared to do what you desire.” So it was settled that within four days they should lead home to him the bride who had just arrived from the country of Flanders; and thereupon a great feasting and banquets were held.
Powerful Perdo Mentem.
But meanwhile Filadoro, seeing that her husband stayed away so long and hearing (I know not how) of the feast, waited in the evening till the servant-lad of the inn had gone to bed, and taking his clothes from the head of the bed, she left her own in their place, and disguising herself like a man, went to the court of the king, where the cooks, being in want of help, took her as kitchen boy. When the tables were set out and the guests all took their seats, and the dishes were set down and the carver was cutting up a large English pie which Filadoro had made with her own hands, lo, out flew such a beautiful dove
So, we know I’m a fool for the history of pies, but did I ever write my episode about the idea that a pie is a perfect sort of vessel for a potion? English pies in period have a hard outer shell called a coffin, which just means something like box or container in period. The pie crust is not eaten, generally – its function is to exclude air from the contents so they do not spoil. Pies are raised on wooden molds, called dollies, and baked, so they are waterproof, before succulent morsels are put inside, and then a lid is put on. Generally something will go over the top of the pie filing to exclude the air that would otherwise lie under the lid. Aspic, which is a sort of savoury gelatin, works best.
As the sides of the pie are self-supporting, you can put things inside. Songbirds are common, but I did read of one pie that had a diminutive jester inside it, who emerged much like a lady from a cake. The empty space inside pies can also be used to store clockworks, which can animate little figurines upon the top of the pie. One might put a bomb in a pie, but the lack of accurate and discrete fuses makes this more difficult than simple poison.
that the guests in their astonishment, forgetting to eat, fell to admiring the pretty bird, which said to the Prince in a piteous voice, “Have you so soon forgotten the love of Filadoro, and have all the services you received from her, ungrateful man, gone from your memory? Is it thus you repay the benefits she has done you: she who took you out of the claws of the ogress and gave you life and herself too? Woe to the woman who trusts too much to the words of man, who ever requites kindness with ingratitude, and pays debts with forgetfulness. But go, forget your promises, false man. And may the curses follow you which the unhappy maiden sends you from the bottom of her heart. But if the gods have not locked up their ears they will witness the wrong you have done her, and when you least expect it the lightning and thunder, fever and illness, will come to you. Enough, eat and drink, take your sports, for unhappy Filadoro, deceived and forsaken, will leave you the field open to make merry with your new wife.”
In the penguin edition it asks if he has eaten a cat’s brain. I presume that’s an alchemical charm for forgetfulness.
So saying, the dove flew away quickly and vanished like the wind. The Prince, hearing the murmuring of the dove, stood for a while stupefied. At length, he inquired whence the pie came, and when the carver told him that a scullion boy who had been taken to assist in the kitchen had made it, he ordered him to be brought into the room. Then Filadoro, throwing herself at the feet of Nardo Aniello, shedding a torrent of tears, said merely, “What have I done to you?” Whereupon the Prince at once recalled to mind the engagement he had made with her; and, instantly raising her up, seated her by his side, and when he related to his mother the great obligation he was under to this beautiful maiden and all that she had done for him, and how it was necessary that the promise he had given should be fulfilled, his mother, who had no other joy in life than her son, said to him, “Do as you please, so that you offend not this lady whom I have given you to wife.” “Be not troubled,” said the lady, “for, to tell the truth, I am very loth to remain in this country; with your kind permission I wish to return to my dear Flanders.” Thereupon the Prince with great joy offered her a vessel and attendants; and, ordering Filadoro to be dressed like a Princess, when the tables were removed, the musicians came and they began the ball which lasted until evening.
There’s an extra scene in the Penguin edition, where a terrible mask appears and tells the prince it is the ghost of the woman whose beans he spilled. She explains her curse, then the ogress’s curse on the kiss. She then curses him again with a traditional saying (“He that spills beans grows horns”) and vanishes. The faerie bride says not to worry about the curse and that she’ll get him out of it. Horns here could refer to going to Hell, but it may also refer to cuckoldry, and if that’s the case, her assurances aren’t worth very much.
So the feast being now ended, they all betook themselves to rest, and the Prince and Filadoro lived happily ever after, proving the truth of the proverb that—
“He who stumbles and does not fall,
Is helped on his way like a rolling ball.”
Games From Folktales 