Italian Folktales (104 page)

He dressed up as a soldier and went to the left-hand squire's palace. He rang the bell, and the door was answered by the maid, who asked, “What do you wish?”

“I must speak to the lady of the house.”

“What do you wish of my lady?”

“I have to talk to her.”

“My lady is resting and cannot receive you.”

“I shall come inside anyway.”

“No, you cannot.” She gave him a shove and was about to shut the door in his face, when the king unbuckled his soldier-jacket and showed her the Royal Fleece.

The maid fell to her knees. “Pardon me, Majesty! I did not recognize you!”

“That is all right,” replied the king. “You prove that you are a faithful maidservant. Now I wish you merely to let me look on the princess's face, and I will leave.”

“Of course, Majesty”—and on tiptoe she led him to where her lady was resting. She was in a deep sleep, when one's face becomes rosier, and the king grew weak in the knees at the beautiful sight. He removed one of his gloves, laid it on the canopy, and reached out to caress her; but he checked himself in time.

He stood there contemplating her to his heart's content, then all of a sudden turned away and departed.

When the king got home, the knights and all the court were free to leave. The left-hand squire returned to his house and went to his wife. What should meet his eye as he entered the bedchamber but the glove the king had placed on the canopy and forgotten. The squire might just as well have beheld the Devil. From that day forward, he no longer looked at his wife.

The poor lady, innocent as a lamb, knew not what to make of this change of heart in her husband and, keeping to herself and never complaining, she grew thin and wrinkled.

Her maidservant would say, “My lady, wherefore are you always sad and alone, while other ladies go to balls and the theater?”

One day that evil-hearted right-hand squire chanced to walk by the left-hand squire's residence, and whom should he see on the balcony but the poor princess, now thin as a rail. Even this evil-hearted man was moved to pity and told the king about it. “Would you believe, Majesty, the once exquisitely beautiful wife of the left-hand squire has fallen off and faded beyond recognition.”

The king grew thoughtful and, after much pondering, slapped his forehead. “Oh, dear, what have I done!”

Two days later, he gave orders for a court banquet. Every knight was to bring his wife or, if unmarried, his sister or some other lady of his household. The left-hand squire had no choice but to take his wife, since he had neither sister nor anyone else he could bring. He summoned the maidservant and instructed her to tell his wife to get herself the most beautiful outfit conceivable, sparing no expense, since she was invited to the banquet at the court.

At the banquet, the lady was seated beside her husband, who sat on the king's left. The king proceeded to ask his guests about their life, questioning everyone except his left-hand squire and the squire's wife. At last he turned to her. “And how have you spent your life, my lady?”

Softly, the poor lady replied in verse:

 

“A vine was I, a vine am I;

He pruned me once, though now no more.

I know not why

My master tends his vine no more.”

 

Then the squire answered her:

 

“A vine were you, a vine are you yet;

I pruned you once, though now no more.

The reason is the lion's threat,

And thus your master tends his vine no more.”

 

The king realized that the vine was the lady, who had been deserted by her husband upon finding the glove on the canopy. Now aware of all the harm his curiosity had wrought, he said:

 

“About this vine of which you speak:

I raised its leaves and saw the stalk,

But touched it not,

To keep my crown from blot;

I swear by it the truth to speak.”

 

Now one knows that when kings swear by their crown, they are taking the gravest of oaths, so when the squire heard that his wife was innocent, he was utterly speechless.

After the banquet, the king took the couple aside and told them how the glove had found its way to the lady's bed, and he thus concluded his account. “I admired the maidservant's fidelity to her lady and, even more, the integrity of this lady who never looked at any man but her husband. Forgive me for all the grief I have caused you.”

 

(
Palermo
)

 

161

There was once a king and queen who had no children. Strolling in the garden one day, the queen noticed a rosemary bush with many seedlings growing around it, and said, “Just look at that! A mere rosemary bush has all those children, while I am a queen and childless!”

Not long afterward, the queen herself became a mother. But she was delivered not of a baby, but a rosemary bush! She planted it in an exquisite pot and watered it with milk.

They received a visit from a nephew of theirs, who was the king of Spain. “Royal aunt,” he asked, “what plant is this?”

“Royal nephew,” replied his aunt, “that is my daughter, and I water her four times daily with milk.”

The nephew was so charmed with the plant that he planned to steal it. He took it, pot and all, and carried it aboard his yacht, purchased a nanny goat for milk, and ordered the anchors raised. During the voyage he milked the goat and fed the rosemary plant four times a day. When he disembarked at his city, he had the bush planted in his garden.

This youthful king of Spain loved to play the flute, and every day he circled through the garden playing and dancing. As he played and danced, a comely maiden with long hair emerged from the rosemary foliage and began dancing beside him.

“Where do you come from?” he asked her.

“From the rosemary bush,” she answered.

When the dance was done, she disappeared into the rosemary foliage and was seen no more. From that day forward, the king would rush through all his official business to go into the garden with his flute. He would play, and the lovely maiden would come out of the rosemary bush; they would dance and converse, holding hands.

At the height of the romance, war was declared against the king, and he had to go off to battle. “Rosemary, my dear,” he said, “do not come out of your plant until I return. When I get back I will play three notes on the flute, and then you can come out.”

He summoned the gardener and instructed him to water the rosemary bush four times a day with milk. He added that if he found the plant withered upon his return, the gardener would be beheaded. With that, he was off.

Now the king had three sisters, girls with much curiosity, who had been wondering for some time why their brother spent hours on end in
the garden with his flute. While he was away at war, they proceeded to inspect his bedchamber and found the flute. They picked it up and carried it to the garden. The oldest girl tried to play it and drew forth one note. The second girl took the instrument from her hands, blew, and produced another note. Then the youngest, in her turn, also sounded one note. Hearing the three notes and believing the king to be back, Rosemary jumped out of the bush. “Ah!” exclaimed the sisters. “Now we understand why our brother spent all his time in the garden!” Malicious girls that they were, they caught hold of the maiden and beat her unmercifully. All but dead, the poor thing fled back to the rosemary bush and out of sight.

When the gardener came by, he found the shrub partially withered, with its leaves fading and drooping. “Woe is me! Now what will I do when the king returns?” He ran inside his house and said to his wife, “Farewell, I must flee for my life. Water the rosemary with milk”—and he was gone.

Mile after mile the gardener walked through the countryside, finding himself in a forest when night fell. Fearful of wild animals, he climbed a tree. At midnight, beneath the tree, a dragon-woman and a dragon-man had agreed to meet. Cold chills went over the gardener crouched in the treetop as he listened to their fierce snorting.

“What's new?” asked the dragon-woman.

“What do you expect?” answered the dragon-man.

“Don't you ever have anything of interest to tell me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do: the king's rosemary bush has withered.”

“How did that happen?”

“Well, the king went off to war, his sisters started playing his flute, and out of the rosemary came the enchanted girl. The sisters all but killed her with their blows. So the bush is withering away.”

“And there's no way to save it?”

“Yes, there is a way . . . ”

“Tell me.”

“It's not something to be repeated; the trees around us have eyes and ears.”

“Go on, tell me. Who could be out here listening in the middle of the forest?”

“Well, I'll tell you this secret: one would have to take the blood from my windpipe and the fat from the nape of your neck and boil them together in a pot, then grease the whole rosemary bush with the solution. The shrub will dry up completely, but the girl will emerge well and healthy.”

The gardener listened, his heart in his mouth. As soon as the dragon
man and dragon-woman fell asleep and began snoring, he ripped a knotty branch from the tree, jumped to the ground and, dealing two hearty blows, sent them both to kingdom come. Then he drew blood from the dragon-man's windpipe, scraped fat from the dragon-woman's scruff, and rushed home as fast as his legs would carry him. He awakened his wife and said, “Quick, boil this stuff!” Then he took it and greased the rosemary shrub, twig by twig. The maiden emerged, and the bush dried up. The gardener took her by the hand and led her into his house, put her to bed, and served her a bowl of tasty hot broth.

The king came back from the war, and the first thing he did was take his flute out to the garden. He played three notes, then another three—yes, he was in the mood to make music! He went up to the rosemary bush and found it all dried up, with every leaf gone.

In bestial fury he rushed up to the gardener's house.

“Your head will roll this very day, wretch!”

“Majesty, calm down and step inside for a minute. I have something wonderful to show you!”

“Something wonderful, my foot! Your head will roll, for sure!”

“Just come inside, and then do whatever you like!”

The king went in and found Rosemary in bed, as she was still convalescing. She looked up and said, her eyes full of tears, “Your sisters beat me nearly to death, but the poor gardener saved my life!”

The king was overjoyed to find Rosemary again; he had only contempt for his sisters and deep gratitude for the gardener. When the maiden was completely well, he decided to marry her, and he wrote his uncle king that the rosemary plant he stole had become a lovely young lady, and he invited him and the queen to the wedding. The king and queen, who had given up all hope of ever hearing of the plant again, went wild with joy when the messenger presented them with the letter stating that the plant was really a beautiful maiden, their daughter. They set sail at once and “Boom! Boom!” went the cannons in salute as they pulled into port where Rosemary stood awaiting them. The wedding took place, and all of Spain rejoiced and feasted.

 

(
Palermo
)

 

162

Lame Devil lived in Hell. Men were dying and coming straight to Hell and face to face with Lame Devil, who asked, “Well, friends, what brings you here? Why is everyone coming down below?”

“All because of women,” the dead would reply.