Bolha | Waltey

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_A King, who had little enough to think about, raises a Flea as big as a ram, has it skinned, and offers his daughter as a prize to anyone who can identify the hide. An Ogre recognizes it by its smell and wins the Princess; but an Old Woman’s seven sons rescue her by seven feats of skill._ _The Prince and the slave woman burst out laughing at Vardiello’s stupidity, and praised his mother’s good sense in foreseeing and remedying his foolishness. Then Popa was called upon to speak, and when all the others had put their chatter under lock and key, she began._ Rash decisions always bring disasters beyond remedy:

He who acts like a fool must grieve like a wise man, as happened to the King of Automonte, who, over a trifle not worth four pennies, committed a piece of monumental folly, putting his daughter and his honour in the gravest danger.

Once upon a time the King of Automonte was bitten by a flea. He caught it very deftly, and seeing what a handsome, sturdy creature it was, felt it would be a sin to sentence it to death upon the bed of his fingernail. So he put it into a glass jar and fed it every day with blood from his own arm. It thrived so well that, after seven months, when it needed larger quarters, it had grown bigger than a ram. Seeing this, the King had it skinned, and when the hide had been dressed, issued a proclamation that whoever could tell him what animal it belonged to should have his daughter for a wife. Once this announcement was made public, people flocked in crowds, coming from the far ends of the earth to try their knowledge and their luck. One said it was a baboon’s, another a lynx’s, another a crocodile’s, and others named one beast or another; but they were all a hundred miles wide of the mark, and not one hit the nail on the head. At last an Ogre came to inspect this specimen, the most misshapen creature in the world: the mere sight of him was enough to give the boldest young man alive the shakes, the shivers, a bellyful of writhing worms, and a fit of the horrors. No sooner had he arrived than he sniffed and snuffled at the hide and struck the very centre of the target. “This hide,” he said, “belongs to the grand arch-champion of fleas.” When the King saw that he had guessed it to a hair, he sent for his daughter Porziella, unwilling to go back on his word. She was all milk and roses. My goodness, what a slender little spindle she was! You could have devoured her with your eyes, she was so beautiful. The King said to her, “My daughter, you know the proclamation I have issued, and you know who I am. In short, I cannot go back on my promise: a king is a king, not a strip of poplar bark. My word is given, and I must keep it, even if my heart should break. Who could have imagined that this prize would fall to an Ogre? But since not a leaf stirs without Heaven’s consent, we must believe that this marriage was first arranged up above, and only afterwards here below. So have patience;

“and if you are a dutiful daughter, do not argue with your father. My heart tells me you will be happy, for treasures have often been found inside a rough earthenware jar.” At this bitter decision, Porziella’s eyes grew dim, her face turned yellow, her lips drooped, and her legs trembled. She was within a hair’s breadth of letting the falcon of her soul fly after the quail of her grief. At last she burst into tears and cried aloud to her father, “What harm have I done this household, that I should be punished so? How have I wronged you, that I should be handed over to this bogeyman?

“Oh, unhappy Porziella! Here you go, like a weasel, willingly into the toad’s throat! Here you are, an ill-fated sheep, made prey to a werewolf! Is this the affection you bear your own flesh and blood? Is this the love you show the child you used to call the darling of your soul?

“Is this how you tear from your heart one who is part of your own blood? Is this how you put out of your sight the apple of your eye? Oh, Father, cruel Father, surely you were not born of human flesh! Sea monsters gave you their blood, and wildcats suckled you. But why do I speak of beasts of sea and land? Every beast loves its own kind. You alone loathe and detest your own offspring; you alone cannot stomach your daughter. Oh, would that my mother had smothered me, that my cradle had been my deathbed, my nurse’s breast a bladder of poison, my swaddling bands a noose, and the little charm they hung about my neck a millstone! For I was to come to this dreadful misfortune, to live to see this evil day: to be stroked by a harpy’s hand, embraced by a pair of bear’s shanks, and kissed by a pair of boar’s tusks!” She would have said more, but the King, now in a towering rage, told her:

“No bitterness, please: sugar is expensive! Gently now, the shields are only poplar wood! Cork it up, you’re spilling dregs! Be quiet, not another peep! You are far too sharp-toothed, long-tongued, and fork-tongued. Whatever I do is well done. Don’t teach your father how to make children. Enough! Stick that tongue up your backside, and don’t make my mustard rise, for if I lay these claws on you, I won’t leave a whole bone in your body, and I’ll make you bite the dust. Look at this fart from my own arse, wanting to play the man and lay down the law to her father! Since when has a girl whose breath still smells of milk had the right to argue with my wishes? Quick, give him your hand, and this very instant set off for his house! I won’t have that brazen, impudent face before my eyes for another quarter of an hour.” Poor Porziella, finding herself in such straits, with the face of someone condemned to death, the eyes of someone possessed, the mouth of someone who has swallowed a bitter purge, and the heart of someone caught between axe and block, took the Ogre’s hand. Without a single attendant, he dragged her into a forest where the trees formed a palace over the meadow to hide it from the Sun; where the streams complained that, travelling in darkness, they knocked themselves against the stones; and where the wild beasts, paying no grazing dues, enjoyed a paradise and roamed the thickets without fear. No man ever came there unless he had lost his way. In that place, black as a stopped-up chimney and dreadful as the face of Hell, stood the Ogre’s house, hung and decked all round with the bones of men he had gobbled up. Let any Christian soul imagine the trembling, the swooning, the sinking of the heart, the shuddering, the terror, the writhing in the belly, and the loosening of the bowels that seized the poor girl. You may be sure there was not a drop of blood left in her face. But this was nothing, not a farthing beside the rest of the penny: she had chickpeas before the meal and beans in their pods afterwards. For the Ogre went hunting and came home laden with the quarters of slaughtered men, saying:

“Now you cannot complain, wife, that I do not provide for you. Here is a fine store of meat to go with your bread. Take it, feast on it, and love me well, for the sky may fall, but I shall never let you lack a bite.” Poor Porziella spat like a pregnant woman sickened by a smell and turned her face away. Seeing this, the Ogre said, “This is casting sweetmeats before swine! But never mind: have a little patience until tomorrow morning, for I have been invited to hunt wild boar. I shall bring you back a pair, and we’ll have a fine wedding feast with my relations, to celebrate our marriage all the more pleasantly.” With that he marched off into the forest. While she remained lamenting at the window, a little Old Woman happened to pass the house. Feeling faint with hunger, she asked for something to revive her. The unhappy young woman answered, “Oh, my good woman, God knows my heart! I am in the power of a devil who brings home nothing but quarters of men and pieces of murdered bodies. I don’t know how my stomach can bear even the sight of such horrors. I lead the most miserable life that any baptized soul ever endured. And yet I am a King’s daughter! And yet I was brought up on dainty morsels! And yet I once had everything in abundance!” As she spoke, she began crying like a little girl who has had her afternoon snack taken away. The Old Woman’s heart was so touched that she said, “Take heart, my pretty child. Don’t waste that beauty in tears, for you have found your good fortune. I am here to help you, saddle and all. Now listen: I have seven sons, seven mighty oaks, seven giants—Mase, Nardo, Cola, Micco, Petrullo, Ascaddeo, and Ceccone. They have more virtues than rosemary. In particular, whenever Mase puts his ear to the ground, he hears and listens to everything happening thirty miles away.

“Whenever Nardo spits, he makes a great sea of soap. Whenever Cola throws down a scrap of iron, he makes a field of sharpened razors. Every time Micco tosses down a little stick, he makes a tangled forest. Whenever Petrullo spills a drop of water on the ground, he makes a terrible river.

“Whenever Ascaddeo throws a stone, he brings a mighty tower into being; and Ceccone shoots so straight with a crossbow that he can hit a hen’s eye a mile away. Now, with the help of these lads, who are all kind-hearted and loving and will all take pity on your plight, I mean to see if I can get you out of this Ogre’s clutches, for such a tender morsel is not meant for that bogeyman’s gullet.” “There could never be a better time than now,” Porziella answered, “for that evil shadow of a husband of mine has gone out and will not be back tonight. We should have time to slip away and make our escape.” “It cannot be tonight,” replied the Old Woman, “for I live some distance away. Enough that tomorrow morning my sons and I shall all be here to deliver you from your troubles.” With that she left, and Porziella, her heart greatly lightened, rested that night. But no sooner had the Birds cried, “Long live the Sun!” than the Old Woman appeared with her seven sons. They placed Porziella in their midst and set off towards the City. They had not gone half a mile when Mase pressed his ear to the ground and shouted, “Look sharp! Ho there, stand ready! The fox is on the prowl! The Ogre has already come home, and finding the girl gone, he’s coming after us with his cap tucked under his arm.” Hearing this, Nardo spat on the ground and made a sea of soap. When the Ogre reached it and saw all that slippery stuff, he ran home, fetched a sack of bran, and scattered so much of it beneath his feet that, with great difficulty, he crossed the obstacle. But Mase put his ear to the ground again and said:

“Your turn, comrade! Here he comes!” Cola threw his scrap of iron to the ground, and a field of razors sprang up. But the Ogre, finding his way barred, ran home once more, clad himself in iron from head to foot, and returned to get over this hurdle. Mase pressed his ear to the ground again and shouted, “Up, up! To arms, to arms! Here comes the Ogre, running so fast he flies!” Micco promptly tossed down his little stick and brought forth a most fearsome forest, all but impossible to penetrate. But when the Ogre came to this difficult pass, he drew a great cartman’s knife that he wore at his side and began felling a poplar here, an oak there, a wild service tree farther on, until in four or five strokes he had laid the forest flat and got clear of the tangle. Mase, whose ears were pricked like a hare’s, raised his voice again. “We can’t sit here as though we were having a shave! The Ogre has sprouted wings; he’ll be on our backs in a moment!” Hearing this, Petrullo took a mouthful of water from a little fountain that pissed drop by drop out of a stone shell, and spat it on the ground. At once a mighty river appeared. Seeing yet another obstacle, and that every hole he opened was stopped up again, the Ogre stripped stark naked and swam to the other side with his clothes on his head. Mase, who had an ear for every opening, heard the thudding of the Ogre’s heels and said, “This business of ours has taken a nasty turn. The Ogre’s heels are pounding away, and Heaven itself is warning you through me. So let us keep our wits about us and prepare for this storm, or we are done for.” “Have no fear,” said Ascaddeo. “I’ll settle this ugly beggar now.” As he spoke, he threw a stone, and a tower appeared. They all darted inside at once and barred the door. But when the Ogre arrived and saw that they had taken refuge there, he ran home, fetched a ladder used for gathering grapes, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and hurried back to the tower. Mase, who was keeping his ears cocked, heard the Ogre coming from afar and said, “The candle of our hopes has burnt down to its last inch. Ceccone is our last chance of saving our lives, for the Ogre is coming back in a mighty fury. Alas, my heart is pounding, and I have forebodings of disaster!” “What a shit-breeches you are!” answered Ceccone. “Leave it to your little man, and see whether I can hit the mark with my little arrows.” As he spoke, the Ogre set up his ladder and began to climb. But Ceccone took aim, put out one of his lamps, and sent him tumbling full length to the ground like a pear. Then he came out of the tower and, with the Ogre’s own great knife, sliced off his head as though it were made of ricotta cheese. They carried it with great rejoicing to the King, who was overjoyed to have his daughter back, for he had repented a hundred times of giving her to an Ogre. Within a few days he found her a handsome husband and made the seven sons and their mother rich, since they had freed his daughter from so wretched a life. Nor did he cease confessing his fault to Porziella a thousand times over, for on a whim as light as the wind he had exposed her to such danger, never thinking what a dreadful mistake a man makes when he goes looking for _wolves’ eggs and fifteen-toothed combs._

Izvirnik

_No Rrè, ch’aveva poco pensiero, cresce no Polece granne quanto no crastato, lo quale fatto scortecare, offere la figlia pe premmio a cchi conosce la pella. N’Uorco la sente a l’addore, e sse piglia la Prencepessa; ma da sette figlie de na Vecchia con autrettante prove è lliberata._ _Risero a schiattariello lo Prencepe, e la schiava de la gnoranzia de Vardiello, e llaudato lo jodizio de la mamma, che seppe antevedere, e rremmediare a le bestialetate soje, ed essendo sollecetata Popa a ddicere, comme tutte l’autre mesero le cchiave a lo chiacchiariare, commenzaje essa a ddicere._ Sempre le rresoluzione senza jodizio, portano le rroine senza remmedio: Chi se coverna da pazzo, da sapio se dole, comme successe a lo Rrè

d’Automonte, che pe no sproposeto a quatto sole, fece na pazzia ’ncordoana, mettendo a ppericolo senza mesura la figlia, e l’onore. Essenno na vota lo Rrè d’Automonte mozzecato da no polece, pigliatolo co na bella destrezza, lo vedde cossì bello, e cchiantuto, che le parze coscienzia de sentenziarelo ’ncoppa lo talamo de ll’ogna, e perzò missolo dinto na carrafa, e nnotrennolo ogne ghiuorno co lo sango de lo proprio vraccio, fu de ccosì bona crescenza, che ’ncapo de sette mise bisognanno cagnarele luoco, deventaje cchiù gruosso de no crastato: la quale cosa vedenno lo Rrè, lo fece scortecare, e cconciata la pelle, jettaje no banno, che chi avesse canosciuto de che anemale fosse lo cuojero, l’averria dato la figlia pe mmogliere: dove sprubecato che

fu sto manefesto, corzero le gente a mmorra, e bennero da culo de lo munno pe ttrovarese a sto scrutinio, e ttentare la sciorta lloro: e chi diceva, ch’era de Gatto maimone, e chi de Lupo cerviere, chi de Coccodrillo, e chi de n’anemale, e chi de n’autro; ma tutte nn’erano ciento miglia da rasso, nnesciuno coglieva a lo chiuovo. All’utemo jonze a sta Natomia n’Uorco, lo quale era la cchiù strasformata cosa de lo munno, che ’nvederelo schitto faceva venire lo tremmolese, lo filatorio, la vermenara, e lo jajo a lo cchiù arresecato giovane de sto munno. Ora chisso appena arrivato, e moschianno, e annasando la pella, couze subeto da miezo a mmiezo, decenno: chisso cuojero è dell’arcenfanfaro de li pulece. Lo Rrè che bedde ca l’aveva ’nzertata a

mmilo schiuoccolo, pe no mmancare la parola, fece chiammare Porziella la figlia, la quale non mostrava autro, che llatte, e sango. Bene mio, ca vedive no fusillo, e te la schiudive co l’uocchie, tanto era bella: a la quale disse lo Rrè: Figlia mia, tu saje lo banno, ch’aggio jettato, e ssaje chi songo io: All’utemo non me pozzo dare arreto de la prommessa; o Rrè, o scorza de chiuppo: la parola è ddata, besogna comprirela, anche mme crepa lo core: Chi poteva ’nmagenarese, ca sta beneficiata toccasse a n’Uorco? ma pocca non se cotola fronna, senza la volontate de lo Cielo, besogna credere, che sto matremmonio sia fatto ’mprimma là ’ncoppa, e po ccà bascio. Aggiete addonca pacienzia; e sse si ffiglia benedetta, no leprecare a lo tata tujo, ca mme dice

lo core, ca starraje contenta, perchè spisso dinto no ziro de preta rosteca, se ce so trovate li tresore. A Porziella, sentenno st’ammara resoluzione, s’ascoraro l’uocchie, se ’ngiallette la faccia, cascaro le lavre, e tremmaro le gamme, e fo ’mpizzo ’mpizzo pe dare vuolo a lo farcone de l’arma dereto a la quaglia de lo dolore. All’utemo rompenno a cchiagnere, e sparanno la voce, disse a lo Patre; e che mmale servizio aggio fatto a la casa, che mme sia data sta pena; che mmale termene aggio usato co buje, che sia data ’nmano de sto paputo: o negrecata Porziella: ed ecco volontariamente comm’a Donnole ire ’ncanna de lo Ruospo; ed ecco pecora sbentorata essere frutto de no lupo menaro. Chesta è l’affezzione, che puorte a lo sango tujo? Chisto

è ll’ammore, che mmustre a chi chiammave Popella dell’arma toja? Cossì scraste da lo core chi è pparte de lo sango tujo? Cossì te lieve da nanze ll’uocchie, chi è la visciola dell’uocchie tuoje? O Patre, patre crodele, non si nnato cierto de carne omana, l’Orche marine te dezero lo sango, le Gatte sarvateche te dezero lo llatte. Ma che dico anemale de maro, e de terra; ogne anemale ama la razza soja. Tu sulo aje contracore, e ’nsavuorio la semmenta propria, tu schitto aje contra stommaco la figlia; o che meglio m’avesse strafocata mammama, che la connola fosse stato lietto martoro, la zizza de la notriccia vessica de tuosseco, le ffasce chiappe, e lo siscariello, che m’attaccaro ’ncanna, fosse stato mazara? pocca doveva correre sta mala sciagura

a vedereme sto male juorno a ccanto, a vedereme accarezzata da mano d’Arpia, abbracciata da doje stenche d’Urzo, vasata da doje zanne de puorco. Cchiù voleva dicere, quanno lo Rrè ’nfomatose tutto, le disse: Senza collera, ca lo zuccaro vale caro; chiano, ca li brocchiere so de chiuppe; appila, ca esce feccia; zitto non pipitare, ca si troppo mozzecutola, lenguta, e fforcelluta; chello, che faccio io, è ben fatto; non mezzare lo Patre de fare figlie, scumpela, e ’nficcate ssa lengua dereto: e non fare, che mme saglia lo senapo, ca si te mecco ste granfe adduosso, non te lasso zeruola sana: e te faccio pigliare sto tterreno a diente: vide fieto de lo culo mio, ca vo fare dell’ommo, e mmettere legge a lo Patre; da quanno niccà, una, ch’ancora

le fete la vocca de latto, ha da leprecare a le boglie meje? priesto, toccale la mano, a sta medesima pedata tocca a la vota de la casa soja, ca non voglio tenere manco no quarto d’ora ’nnante all’uocchie ssa facce sfrontata, presentosa. La negra Porziella, che se vedde a ste rretaglie, co na facce de connannato a mmorte, co n’uocchio de spiritato, co na vocca de chi ha pigliato lo domene Agostino, co no core de chi sta fra la mannara, e lo cippo, pigliaje pe mmano l’uorco, da lo quale senza compagnia fu strascenata a no vosco, dove l’arvole facevano palazzo a lo prato, che non fosse scopierto da lo Sole; li sciumme se gualiavano, che pe ccammenare a lo scuro tozzavano pe le pprete, e ll’anemale sarvateche senza pagare fida gaudevano

no Beneviento, e ghievano secure pe dinto chelle mmacchie: dove no ce arrivaje maje ommo, si non aveva sperduto la strata. A lo luoco nigro comm’a ccemmenera appilata, spaventuso comme facce de ’nfierno, nc’era la casa dell’Uorco tutta tapezzata, e apparata ’ntuorno d’ossa d’uommene, che s’aveva cannariato. Considera mò, chi è Ccrestejano, lo tremmoliccio, lo sorrejemiento, l’assottigliamento de lo core, lo filatorio, lo spaviento, la quatra de vierme, e la cacavessa, ch’appe la povera figliola; fa cunto ca no le restaje sango adduosso. Ma chesto non fu niente, non fu zubba a lo riesto de lo carrino, pocca ’nnante pasto appe cicere, e dopò pasto fave ngongole; perchè juto a ccaccia, ll’Uorco tornaje a la casa tutto carreco de quarte d’accise, dicenno:

mò non te puoje lammentare mogliere mia, ca non te coverno; eccote bona monizione de companateco, piglia, e sguazza, e vuoglieme bene, ca pò cadere lo Cielo, ch’io non te faccio mancare lo mazzeco. La negra Porziella, sputanno comm’a ffemmena prena, votaje la faccia da ll’autra banna. L’Uorco, che vedde sto motivo disse; chesso è ddare confiette a ppuorce: ma no ’mporta, agge no poco de freuma ’nfi a ccraje mmatino, ca so stato committato a na caccia de puorce sarvateche, de li quale te ne portarraggio no pare, e ffarrimmo nozze ’ncaudariello co li pariente, pe cconzommare co cchiù gusto lo parentato. Cossì ditto, ammarciaje pe dinto a lo vosco, ed essa restata a ttrivoliare a la fenestra, passaje pe desgrazia da chella casa na Vecchiarella, che

sentennose allancare de la famme, le cercaje quarche refrisco: a la quale la negrecata giovane respose: O bona femmena mia, Dio sapere core, ca sto ’npotere de no Zefierno, che non me porta a casa autro, che quarte d’uomene, e piezze d’accise, che non saccio, comm’aggio stommaco a vedere schitto ste schefienzie, tanto che passo la cchiù mmisera vita, che passasse maje arma vattiata, e ppuro so ffiglia de Rrè: e ppuro so cresciuta a pappalardiello; e ppuro mme so bista dinto lo grasso; e cossì decenno se mese a cchiagnere comm’a ppeccerella, che se vede levare la marenna: tale che ’ntenneruto lo core de la Vecchia, le disse: crisce, bella figliola mia, no strudere ssa bellezza chiagnenno, ch’aje trovata la sciorta toja; so ccà ped’ajutarete a

varda, e a ssella. Ora ’ntienne: io aggio sette figlie mascole, che bide, sette cierre, sette giagante; Mase, Nardo, Cola, Micco, Petrullo, Ascaddeo, e Cceccone, li quale hanno cchiù vertute de la Rosa marina, e pparticolarmente Mase ogne vota, che mette l’aurecchia ’nterra, sente, e ausoleja tutto chello, che se fa pe trenta miglia da rasso. Nardo ogne bota, che sputa, fa no gran maro de sapone. Cola sempre, che ghietta no ferruccio fa no campo de rasole ammolate. Micco tutte le bote, che tira no spruoccolo, fa no vosco ’ntricato. Petrullo sempre che ghietta ’nterra na stizza d’acqua fa no sciummo terribele.

Ascaddeo ogne bota, che tira na vreccia fa nascere na torra fortissema; e Cceccone ceca cossì deritto co na valestra, che tira no miglio da rasso a n’uocchio de na gallina. Ora co l’ajuto de chiste, che sò ttutte cortise, tutte ammoruse, e averanno tutte compassione de lo stato tujo, voglio vedere de levarete da le ggranfe de st’Uorco, ca sso bello muorzo gliutto non è pe lo cannarone de sto paputo: Maje, e mmeglio tiempo de mò, respose Porziella, ca la mal’ombra de maritemo è sciuto, pe non tornare sta sera, e averriamo tiempo d’allippare, e ffare lo sfilo. Non pò essere sta sera, leprecaje la vecchia, ca stò no poco lontano: vasta ca craje mmatino io, e li figlie mieje sarrimmo nsiemme a llevarete de travaglio. Cossì ditto se partette, e

Pporziella fatto no core largo largo, arreposaje la notte. Ma subeto, che l’Aucielle gridaro, viva lo Sole, eccote venire la Vecchia co li sette figlie, e ppuostose Porziella nmiezo s’abbejaro a la vota de la Cetate; ma non foro no miezo miglio descuosto, che ’mpizzanno Mase l’aurecchie ’nterra gridaje; allerta, olà, a nnuie, ch’è borpe. Già l’Uorco è tornato a la casa, e non avenno asciato sta figliola, mò se nne vene co la coppola sotto tetilleco ad arrivarence. Sentuto chesto Nardo sputaje ’nterra, e ffece no maro de sapone, dove junto l’Uorco, e vedenno sta ’nsaponata corze a la casa, e ppigliato no sacco de vrenna, se la ’mbroscinaje tanto e ttanto pe li piede, ch’a gran pena passaje sto ’ntuppo. Ma tornato Mase a mettere l’aurecchia ’nterra, disse:

a tte compagno, mò se ne vene; e Ccola jettato lo ferruccio ’nterra sguigliaje no campo de rasola: ma l’Uorco, che se vedde serrato lo passo, corze n’autra vota a la casa, e se vestette da capo a piede de fierro; e ttornato, scavallaje sto fuosso. Ma Mase ’mpizzate de nuovo l’aurecchie ’nterra, gridaje; Sù, sù, arme arme, ca mo te vide ccà l’Uorco co na carrera, che bola, e Mmicco lesto co lo spruoccolo fece sorriere no vosco terribelissimo, cosa defficile a sperciare. Ma comme jonze l’Uorco a sto male passo, cacciaje mano a na cortella carrese, che portav’a llato, ed accommenzaje a ffare cadere da ccà no chiuppo, da llà no cierro, da n’autra no suorvo peluso; tanto, che ’nquattro, o cinco cuorpe stese lo vosco ’nterra, e scette scapolo da chillo

’ntrico. Mase, che teneva l’aurecchie a lleparo, tornaje ad auzare la voce; no stammo comme ’nce radessemo, ca l’Uorco ha puosto l’ascelle, mo te lo vide a le spalle nostre; Chesto sentuto Petrullo, pigliaje da na fontanella, che pisciava a stizza a stizza da na quaquiglia de preta, no surzo d’acqua, sbruffatola ’nterra, lloco te vediste no gruosso sciummo. L’Uorco, che bedde st’autro ’mpiedeco, e cca non tanto faceva pertosa, quanta trovavano appelarielle, se spogliaje nudo nudo, e ppassaje a nnatune co li vestite ’ncapo da ll’autra banna. Mase, che mmetteva l’aurecchia ad ogne pertuso, sentette lo struscio de carcagna de ll’Uorco, e ddisse: Sto negozio nuostro ha pigliato de granceto, e già l’Uorco fa no vattere de tallune, che lo Cielo te lo ddice pe

mmene; perzò stammo ’ncellevriello, e rreparammo a sta tempesta, si nò simmo jute: non dubetare, disse Ascaddeo, ca mò chiarisco sto brutto pezzente: e ddecenno chesto, tiraje na vrecchia, e fece apparere na torre, dove se schiaffaro subeto dinto, varrianno la porta. Ma arrivato l’Uorco, e bisto ca s’erano puoste nsarvo, corze a la casa, e ppigliaje na scala de vennegnare, e ’ntorzatasella ’ncuollo corze a la torre. Mase, che steva co l’aurecchie pesole, sentette da lontano la venuta dell’Uorco, e ddisse, mò simmo a ll’utemo de la cannela de le speranze: a Cceccone stà l’utemo refugio de la vita nostra, ca l’Uorco mò torna, e co na furia granne. Oimè, ca me sbatte lo core, e mme ’nzonno la mala jornata. Comme si caca-vrache, respose Ceccone,

lassa fare a Menechiello, e bi si coglio ’mpunto co le pparrette. Cossì decenno, eccote l’Uorco appoja la scala, e ccommenza ad arrampinarese, ma Ceccone pigliatolo de mira, e ccacciatole na lanterna, lo fece cadere luongo luongo comm’a ppiro ’nterra, e sciuto pa la torre co lo cortellaccio stisso, che pportava, le tagliaje lo cuollo, comme se fosse de caso-recotta: lo quale portattero co n’allegrezza granne a lo Rrè, che giubelejanno d’avere ricuperato la figlia, pocca s’era ciento vote pentuto d’averela data a n’Uorco, fra poche juorne le trovaje no bello marito, facenno ricche li sette figlie, e la mamma, che avevano spastorato la figlia da na vita cossì ’nfelice, non lassanno de chiammarese mille vote corpato co Pporziella, che pe no capriccio de

viento, l’aveva posta a ttanto pericolo, senza penzare quanto arrore commette chi va cercanno _Ova de Lupo, e ppiettene da quinnece._

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