Italian Folktales (126 page)

“O Death,” replied old Francis. “Bless you! Yes, I have seen enough of the world and everything in it; I have had my fill of everything. But before coming with you, I must first bid someone farewell. Allow me one more day.”

“Say your prayers, if you don't want to die like a heathen, and hurry after me.”

“Please, wait until the cock crows in the morning.”

“No.”

“Just one hour more, then?”

“Not even one minute more.”

“Since you are so cruel, then, jump into my sack!”

Death shuddered, all her bones rattled, but she had no choice but jump into the sack. In the same instant appeared the queen of the fairies, as radiant and youthful as the first time. “Fairy,” said Francis, “I thank you!” Then he addressed Death: “Jump out of the sack and attend to me.”

“You have never abused the power I gave you, Francis,” said the fairy. “Your sack and your stick have always been put to good use. I shall reward you, if you tell me what you would like.”

“I have no more desires.”

“Would you like to be a chieftain?”

“No.”

“Would you like to be king?”

“I wish nothing more.”

“Now that you're an old man, would you like health and youth again?”

“I have seen you, and I'm content to die.”

“Farewell, Francis. But first burn the sack and the stick.” And the fairy vanished.

The good Francis built a big fire, warmed his frozen limbs briefly, then threw the sack and the stick into the flames, so that no one could put them to evil use.

Death was hiding behind a bush. “Cockadoodledo! Cockadoodledo!” crowed the first cock.

Francis did not hear. Age had made him deaf.

“There's the cock crowing!” announced Death, and struck the old man with her scythe. Then she vanished, bearing his mortal remains.

 

(
Corsica
)

English translation edited and slightly revised by Italo Calvino.

 

For each tale, except the first, Calvino lists, in the following order:

(1) the particular version followed—indicated by the original compiler's name (see Bibliography for complete data on the compilations)

(2) the place where the tale was collected

(3) the narrator's name, when known.

 

1. “Dauntless Little John” (
Giovannin senza paura
). I begin with a folktale for which I do not indicate, in contrast to my procedure in all the other tales, the particular version I followed. As the versions of it from the various regions of Italy are all quite similar, I let myself be freely guided by common tradition. Not only for that reason have I put this tale first, but also because it is one of the simplest and, in my view, one of the most beautiful folktales.

Italian tradition sharply diverges from the Grimms' “Tale of a Boy Who Set Out to Learn Fear” (Grimm no. 4) which is no doubt closer to my no. 80. The type of tale is of European origin and not found in Asia.

The disappearance of the man limb by limb is not traditional, but a personal touch of my own, to balance his arrival piece by piece. I took the finishing stroke of the shadow from a Sienese version (De Gubernatis, 22), and it is merely a simplification of the more common ending, where Little John is given a salve for fastening heads back on. He cuts his head off and puts it on again—backward; the sight of his rear end so horrifies him that he drops dead.

2. “The Man Wreathed in Seaweed” (
L'uomo verde d'alghe
) from Andrews, 7, Menton, told by the widow Lavigna.

This sea tale transfers to an unusual setting a plot well known throughout Europe: that of the younger brother who goes down into the well to free the princess and is subsequently abandoned there himself (cf. my no. 78). Andrews's collection of tales presents no more than brief summaries in French; for this tale, then, as well as the following, taken from the same compilation, I gave free rein to my imagination in supplying details, while adhering to the basic plot. I chose the name Baciccin Tribordo (Giovanni Battista Starboard) to replace the original name whose meaning is not very clear. In the original text, the princess is abducted by a dragon instead of by an octupus, and the dragon changes into a barnacle, which seemed to me too easy to catch.

[>]
. “The Ship with Three Decks” (
Il bastimento a tre piani
) from Andrews, 2 and 27, Menton, told by Giuanina Piombo
dite
La Mova, and by Angelina Moretti.

Prosperous sea-trading, with unusual cargoes coming into ports where the merchandise is highly prized, is a metaphor of luck in the popular mind. It recurs in diverse folktales and is woven into various plots (cf. my no. 173, from Sicily). In this tale from the Italian Riviera border, the curious motifs of the ship with three decks and of the isles inhabited by animals are incorporated into the widespread type featuring the enchanted filly (in one of Andrews's versions, advice is given by the horse) and grateful animals (cf. my nos. 24 and 79). I have freely rendered the two versions summarized in French by Andrews.

[>]
. “The Man Who Came Out Only at Night” (
L'uomo che usciva solo di notte
) from Andrews, 14 and 21, Menton, told by Iren Gena and Irene Panduro.

A tale full of oddities, the most striking of which is that of women constables, given as a historical fact regarding a particular police system. In Andrews's first variant, the bridegroom turns into a toad.

[>]
. “And Seven!” (E
sette!
) from Andrews, 4, 23, 47. (The first two were collected in Menton, the third near Ventimiglia.)

Marriage anecdotes and fairy-tale initiation motifs (the secret name to remember) are blended in this old story widespread in Europe (of English, Swedish, or German origin, according to scholars), subjected to literary treatment in the seventeenth century in Naples (Basile, IV, 4) and well known throughout Italy.

[>]
. “Body-without-Soul” (
Corpo-senza-Vanima
) from Andrews, 46, Riviera ligure.

This Ligurian Jack differs from fellow heroes and liberators of princesses by his systematic cautiousness bordering on distrust (he is one of the few who, the minute he receives a magic gift, must test it before he is able to believe in it). In that respect he takes after his mother, who will not let him go out into the world until he has given proof of perseverance by felling the tree with his kicks. I have been faithful to the original version while aiming to endow it with a particular rhythm.

[>]
. “Money Can Do Everything” (
Il danaro fa tutto
) from Andrews, 64, Genoa, told by Caterina Grande.

This story, of oriental origin (found in the
Pancbatantra
), stresses in its Genoese version a utilitarian and commercial moral all its own. (The final remark of the king was even too harsh along that line, so I decided to give credit also, as is meet, to cleverness . . . . )

[>]
. “The Little Shepherd” (
Il pastore che non cresceva mat
) from Guarnerio (
Due fole nel dialetto del contado genovese
collected by P. E. Guarnerio,
Genoa, 1892), Torriglia, near Genoa, told by the countrywoman Maria Banchero.

A feature of this Genoese variant of the widespread tale of the “three oranges” includes encounters with creatures like those in the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch—tiny fairies rocking in nutshells or eggshells. We meet the same beings in another Genoese version (Andrews, 51).

[>]
. “Silver Nose” (
Il naso d'argento
) from Carraroli, 3, from Langhe, Piedmont.

Bluebeard in Piedmont is Silver Nose. His victims are not wives but servant girls, and the story is not taken from chronicles about cruel feudal masters as in Perrault, but from medieval theological legends: Bluebeard is the Devil, and the room containing the murdered women is Hell. I found the silver nose only in this version translated from dialect and summarized by Carraroli; but the Devil-Bluebeard, the flowers in the hair, and the ruses to get back home were encountered all over Northern Italy. I integrated the rather meager Piedmont version with one from Bologna (Coronedi S. 27) and a Venetian one (Bernoni, 3).

[>]
. “The Count's Beard” (
La barba del Conte
). Published here for the first time, collected by Giovanni Arpino in July 1956, in certain villages of southern Piedmont: Bra (told by Caterina Asteggiano, inmate of a home for old people, and Luigi Berzia), in Guarene (told by Doro Palladino, farmer), in Narzole (told by Annetta Taricco, servant woman), and in Pocapaglia.

This long narrative, which writer Giovanni Arpino has transcribed and unified from different versions with variants and additions from Bra and surroundings, cannot in my view be classified as a folktale. It is a local legend of recent origin in part (I am thinking, for instance, of the geographical particulars given), that is, not prior to the nineteenth century, and containing disparate elements: explanation of a local superstitution (the hairpins of Witch Micillina), antifeudal country legend such as one finds in many northern countries, curious detective-story structure a la Sherlock Holmes, many digressions nonessential to the story (such as the trip from Africa back to town—which Arpino tells me also exists as a separate story—and all the allusions to Masino's past and future adventures which lead to the conclusion that we are dealing with a “Masino cycle,” Masino being the wily hero and globetrotter from a country whose inhabitants are reputed to be contrastingly slow and backward), verse (of which Arpino and I have presented only as much as we could effectively translate), and grotesque images which seem rooted in tradition, such as the sacks under the hens' tails, the oxen so thin that they were curried with the rake, the count whose beard was combed by four soldiers, etc . . . . 

[>]
. “The Little Girl Sold with the Pears” (
La bambina venduta con le pere
) from Comparetti, 10, Monferrato, Piedmont.

I changed the name Margheritina to Perina (Pearlet), and I invented the
motif of the peartree and the little old woman (in the original, the magic props come from the king's son, who is under a spell), to reinforce the pear/girl link.

[>]
. “The Snake” (
La Biscia
) from Comparetti, 25, Monferrato, Piedmont.

The luxuriant story from
The Facetious Nights
(III, 3) about Biancabella and the serpent, one of Straparola's finest, is here told, on the contrary, in bare rustic simplicity, in the midst of meadows ready for mowing, fruits, and seasons. The episode of the pomegranate tree with its fruit that cannot be plucked was added by me to fill out a somewhat sketchy passage in the Piedmontese version. I took it from a Tuscan variant (Gradi), based on motifs from this tale and others, where supernatural help comes from a red and gold fish.

[>]
. “The Three Castles” (
I tre castelli
) from Comparetti, 62 and 22, Monferrato, Piedmont.

These two Piedmontese tales are variants of a single type. I took the beginning from one and concluded with the other. Nothing was added; I merely underlined a few elements already in the text (such as the tax collector) and the rhythm.

[>]
. “The Prince Who Married a Frog” (
Il principe che sposò una rana
) from Comparetti, 4, Monferrato, Piedmont.

The tale of the frog bride is common to all of Europe; scholars have counted 300 versions. Comparing it, for instance, with Grimm, no. 63, or with Afanas'ev's “The Frog Prince,” this variant which we can classify as distinctly Italian (since it shows up uniformly throughout the Peninsula, even if slinging to locate the bride is rather rare) stands out in its near-geometrical logic and linearity.

[>]
. “The Parrot” (
Il pappagallo
) from Comparetti, 2, Monferrato, Piedmont. See my remarks on this folktale in the Introduction, p. xxx-xxxi. I have taken the liberty of doctoring the two versions published by Comparetti—the Piedmontese one and a Tuscan one, from Pisa (1)—and I heightened the suspense by placing the interruptions at the crucial moments.

[>]
. “The Twelve Oxen” (
I dodici buoi
) from Comparetti, 47, Monferrato, Piedmont.

The folktales about the sister who rescues her brother or brothers changed into animals can be divided into two groups: the one where the seven sons are under a curse (as in Basile, IV, 8, or in Grimm, 9 and 25), and the other where the sole brother is transformed into a lamb (as in Grimm, 11, or in my no. 178). The brothers are most commonly transformed into birds (swans, ravens, doves), and the first literary manifestation of the motif dates back to the twelfth century; the latest is possibly Andersen's “Wild Swans.”

[>]
. “Crack and Crook” (
Cric e Croc
) from Comparetti, 13, Monferrato, Piedmont.

This is one of the oldest and most famous tales, which has occupied the attention of scholars for generations. The Piedmontese version I followed is faithful to the oldest tradition and includes the curious character-names and a brisk dose of rustic cunning. Herodotus (
Histories
) tells in detail about Egyptian King Rhampsinitus's treasure, chief source of the vast narrative tradition concerning wily robbers put to the test by a ruler. The beheading of a cadaver so it will not be recognized is also encountered in Pausanias, who presents the myth of Trophonius and Agamedes (
Description of Greece
, IX, 372). Either through the Greeks or through oriental tradition the tale entered medieval literature, in the various translations of the
Book of the Seven Sages
and other Italian, English, and German texts. Literary versions by Italian Renaissance story writers are numerous.

[>]
. “The Canary Prince” (
Il Principe canarino
) from Rua (in
Archivio per lo studio delle tradizioni popolari
, Palermo-Turin, VI [1887], 401), Turin.