Prevod

_Marcuccio and Parmiero are brothers, one rich and vicious, the other virtuous and poor. After various turns of fortune, the poor brother, driven away by the rich one, becomes a baron, while the rich brother falls into poverty and is led to the gallows; but when his innocence is established, his brother takes him in and shares his wealth with him._ _Minec’Aniello’s adventure gave the princes great satisfaction, and they blessed the mice a thousand times for helping the poor man recover his stone, while the magicians recovered a finger’s hoop at the cost of a broken neck. But as Cecca had now girded herself to speak, all the others barred the doorway of words with the beam of silence, and she began in this manner._ There is no stronger bulwark against the assaults of Fortune than virtue, which is an antidote to misfortune, a prop against ruin, a harbor in adversity. It draws you out of the fire, saves you from storms, and shields you from calamity; it comforts you in sorrow, helps you in need, and lends you distinction in death, as you will hear from the tale I have on the tip of my tongue to tell you.

Once upon a time there was a father who had two sons, Marcuccio and Parmiero. When he was about to settle his accounts with nature and tear up the ledger of his life, he called them to his bedside and said:

“My blessed sons, the bailiffs of time cannot be long in battering down the door of my years to levy execution, contrary to the laws of this kingdom, upon the dowry of my life, for what I owe the earth. And so, loving you as dearly as the pupils of my eyes, I must not leave you without some good advice, so that, guided by the North Star of sound counsel, you may sail this gulf of troubles and reach a safe harbor. Open your ears, then, for though what I give you may seem nothing, you must know that it is wealth no robber can steal, a house no earthquake can overthrow, an estate no bailiff can consume. First and foremost, fear Heaven: everything comes from up there, and whoever strays from that road has cooked his goose.

“Do not let idleness cut your throats, fattening yourselves like pigs at the Pontile. A man who grooms his own horse need not be called a stableboy. You must help yourselves tooth and nail; he who works for others eats for himself.

“Save while you have something: a penny saved is a penny earned; farthing by farthing the penny grows; he who puts something by finds it when he needs it; he who has something to give can season a fine dish of greens;

“put something away to eat, and do not squander what you have: friends and relatives are all very well, but wretched is the house where there is nothing. He who has money builds, he who has wind sails, and he who has no money is an owl and an ass, forever in a fright. And so, my courteous friend, let your spending match your income: a backside only as big as its covering, land only as far as you can work it. Let your teeth do no more than your purse allows: a small kitchen makes a great house.

“Do not chatter too much, for the tongue has no bone, yet it can break your back. Hear, see, and hold your peace, if you wish to live at ease. What you see, see; what you hear, hear. Eating little, speaking little, and dressing warmly never did anyone harm. He who talks too much often blunders.

“Be content with little: better beans that last than sweetmeats that run out; better to enjoy a little than fret over much. If you cannot have the meat, drink the broth; if you can do no better, go to bed with your wife. Cot cot autem, patch things up as best you can;

“if you cannot have the flesh, gnaw the bone. Always keep company with your betters, and pay their expenses. Tell me whom you go with, and I will tell you what you do. Keep company with a cripple, and by the year’s end you will limp; sleep with dogs, and you will not rise without fleas. Give a rogue your property and let him go, for bad company brings a man to the gallows.

“Think before you act: it is a poor business shutting the stable after the oxen have bolted. When the barrel is full, stop it, stop it; when it is empty, there is nothing left to stop. Chew first and swallow afterward: the cat was in such a hurry that she bore blind kittens. He who walks slowly makes a good day’s journey.

“Avoid quarrels and brawls; do not stub your toe against every stone. He who jumps too many fences will get a stake up his backside; a kicking horse takes more kicks than it gives. He who wounds with a claw dies by the cleaver. The pitcher goes to the well so often that at last it leaves its handle there. The gallows is made for the unlucky.

“Do not let pride go to your heads: it takes more than a white cloth to furnish a table. Bow low and make yourself useful: no house was ever comfortable when it smoked. A good alchemist passes his distillation through ashes so that it will not taste of smoke; and a good man must pass his proud thoughts through the remembrance that he too must turn to ashes, lest he be smoked black by presumption.

“Do not meddle in other people’s affairs: he who meddles gets himself entangled. Only a busybody like Ciantiello goes about setting the price of cucumbers and putting salt in other people’s pots.

“Do not become entangled with great lords; better go hauling a fishing net than serve at court. A lord’s love is wine from a flask: good in the morning, spoiled by evening. All you can get from such men is fine words and rotten apples. There your service proves barren, your plans rotten, your hopes worm-eaten; you sweat without pity, run without rest, sleep without peace, shit without a candle, and eat without savor.

“Beware of a rich man fallen into poverty, a peasant risen in the world, a desperate beggar, a spoiled servant, an ignorant prince, a self-interested judge, a jealous woman, a man who always says tomorrow, the bait of court, a beardless man and a bearded woman, still rivers, smoky chimneys, bad neighbors, a whining child, and an envious man.

“Finally, strive to learn, for he who has a skill has a share in the world. A man can make his living even in a forest if he has salt in his pumpkin, has cut his wisdom teeth, and outgrown his first pair of ears: a good horse never lacks a saddle.

“There are a thousand other things I ought to tell you, but death’s drowsiness is coming over me, and my breath is failing.” As he spoke, he barely had the strength to raise his hand and bless them before he lowered the sails of life and entered the harbor of all this world’s troubles. Once their father had departed, Marcuccio, who had engraved his words upon his heart, devoted himself to studying at school, attending academies, exchanging learned salutations with scholars, and discussing virtuous matters, until in next to no time he became the foremost man of letters in the country;

but since Poverty is a sharp-toothed tick upon virtue, and the waters of good Fortune slide off a man anointed with Minerva’s oil, the poor fellow was always penniless, always dry, always with a clean heart and an empty belly. More often than not, he was glutted with emptying his head and hungry to lick a pan; weary of studying counsels and begging for help, laboring over indigestion while perpetually fasting. Parmiero, on the other hand, gave himself up to a reckless, carefree life, gambling here and drinking there, growing tall and lanky without acquiring a single virtue in the world. For all that, by hook and by crook he made himself a comfortable nest. Seeing this, Marcuccio regretted having taken the wrong road at his father’s advice, since Donatus had donated nothing to him, and the Cornucopia had brought him such scant abundance.

Bartolus put nothing in his bags, whereas Parmiero, by rattling bones, put flesh on his own, and by giving his hands some amusement had filled his belly. At last, unable to bear the battering of want any longer, he went to see his brother and begged him, since Fortune had made him the white hen’s chick, to remember that he was his own flesh and blood and that they had both come out of the same hole.

Parmiero, whom the flux of riches had made constipated, said to him, “You chose to pursue your studies on your father’s advice, and you were forever throwing my companions and my gambling in my face. Go and gnaw your books, and leave me alone, plague take you! I would not give you so much as a grain of salt, for I work hard enough for these few coins I have. You are old enough and have sense enough: if a man does not know how to live, that is his own loss. Every man for himself, and God for us all. If you have no money, play cups. If you are hungry, bite your legs; if you are thirsty, bite your fingers.” With these and other words, he turned his back on him. Marcuccio, finding himself treated with such inhumanity by his own brother, fell into such despair that he resolved to separate the gold of his soul from the earth of his body with the aqua fortis of desperation. He set out toward a mountain so very high that, like a spy for the earth, it wished to see what was happening up in the air; indeed, like the Grand Turk of all mountains, it rose toward Heaven wearing a turban of clouds, to fasten the moon upon its brow. He climbed and scrambled up as best he could along a very narrow path among crags and precipices, and when he reached the summit, overlooking a great abyss, he turned the tap of the fountains of his eyes and, after a long lament, was about to fling himself headlong down. Just then a beautiful woman dressed in green, with a garland of laurel upon her hair of golden thread, caught him by the arm and said, “What are you doing, poor man? Where is this crazed brain of yours dragging you? Are you a man of virtue, who has burned so much oil and lost so much sleep over his studies? Are you the man who, to make your fame sail like a freshly greased galley, has spent so long scraping away at his books, only to lose heart at the best moment and fail to use the weapons you tempered in the forge of learning against poverty and Fortune? Do you not know that Truth is an orvietan against the poison of poverty, a pinch of snuff against the catarrh of envy, a remedy against the sickness of time? Do you not know that virtue is a compass by which to steer through the winds of misfortune;

“a windproof torch to light your way through the thickets of sorrow, a sturdy arch to withstand the earthquakes of affliction? Turn back, unhappy man, come to yourself again, and do not turn your back on one who can give you courage in danger, strength in trouble, and steadfastness in despair. Know that Heaven sent you to this mountain, so hard to climb, where Virtue herself dwells, so that she, whom you have so unjustly blamed, might turn you aside from the evil purpose that was blinding you.

“Awake, then, take heart, and change your mind. And so that you may see that virtue is always good, always precious, always helpful, here, take this little packet of powder and go to the kingdom of Campo-largo. There you will find the king’s daughter at death’s door, with no remedy to be found for her illness. Give her this in a fresh egg, and at once you will serve notice to quit upon the disease that is sucking her life away like a soldier billeted at discretion. Your reward will be so great that you will shake poverty off your shoulders and live as befits you, without needing anything from others.” Marcuccio, who recognized her at a glance, flung himself at her feet and begged forgiveness for the wrong he had been about to commit, saying, “Now I lift the blindfold from my eyes, and I know you by your bearing: you are Virtue, praised by all and followed by few; Virtue, who can sharpen wits, stir minds, refine judgment, embrace honorable labors, and give us wings to fly to the heavenly spheres. I know you, and I repent of having made such poor use of the weapons you gave me. I promise you that from this day forward I shall so charm myself with your antidote that not even the thunder of March will have power over me”;

and as he bent to kiss her foot, she vanished before his eyes, leaving him as comforted as a poor sick man who, once his fit has passed, is given a draught of root in cool water. Slipping down the mountain, he set off toward Campo-largo, and when he reached the royal palace he at once sent word to the king that he wished to cure his daughter’s illness. The king welcomed him with every honor and brought him into the princess’s chamber, where he found the unfortunate girl bedridden and so wasted and shriveled that she was nothing but skin and bone. Her eyes had sunk so far into her head that one would have needed Galileo’s telescope to see the pupils; her nose was so sharp it could have served as a molded suppository; her cheeks were so hollow that she looked like the Death of Sorrento; her lower lip drooped over her chin; her breast was like a magpie’s, her arms like stripped lamb shanks. In short, she was so altered that, with the glass of pity, she drank a toast to compassion. At the sight of her in this sorry state, tears sprang to Marcuccio’s eyes as he considered the frailty of our nature, subject to the assassinations of time, the rebellions of the humors, and the ills of life. But he asked for a fresh egg from a pullet laying her first clutch, had it warmed just a little, put the powder into it, and made the princess swallow it, then covered her with four blankets. Night had scarcely come to harbor and pitched its tent when the sick girl called her maids to change her bed, which was soaked through with sweat. Once she had been dried and everything made fresh, she asked for something to eat, words that had not passed her lips in seven years of illness. Taking good hope from this, they gave her some nourishment, and as she gained strength every hour and appetite every day, before a week was out she had recovered completely and risen from her bed. For this the king hailed Marcuccio as the god of medicine, making him not only baron of a large town but chief counselor at his court, and marrying him to the richest lady in the country. Meanwhile, Parmiero had been shaken free of everything he owned, for gambling money goes as it comes, and a gambler’s fortune falls as far as it rises. Finding himself poor and wretched, he resolved to keep traveling until either a change of place brought a change of luck or he deserted his post on life’s muster roll. He walked so far that, after six months of wandering, he reached Campo-largo so bedraggled and weary that he could scarcely stand. Seeing that he could find nowhere even to drop dead, while his hunger steadily increased and his clothes fell off him in rags, he fell into such despair that, finding an old house outside the city walls, he took off his garters, which were made of cotton and thread, knotted them together, and made a handsome noose. He fastened it to a beam, climbed onto a little heap of stones he had piled up himself, and swung himself off. But chance would have it that the beam was worm-eaten and rotten, and at the jerk he gave it, it snapped in two. The living hanged man landed sideways on the stones, and felt the effects for several days. Now, when the beam broke, a quantity of gold chains, necklaces, and rings fell to the ground;

they had been stowed away inside the hollow timber, along with a cordovan-leather purse containing a good handful of crowns. Finding that with a hanged man’s leap he had leaped the ditch of poverty, Parmiero, who had first been hanging from despair, was now suspended with joy, scarcely touching the ground. Taking up this gift of Fortune, he ran straight to the tavern to revive the spirits that had so lately failed him. Two days before, some thieves had stolen these very things from the very innkeeper at whose tavern Parmiero now went to eat. They had hidden them in that beam, a hiding place they knew, intending to break up the hoard and spend it little by little. So, when Parmiero had filled his stomach well, he took out the purse to pay. The innkeeper recognized it, called some ruffians who frequented the tavern, and had him seized and conducted with great ceremony before the judge. The judge had him searched, and finding the evidence of the crime upon him, confronted him with his accuser; then, considering him convicted, condemned him to play a game of three, where his feet would turn windmills.

The poor wretch, finding himself in this fix and hearing that the vigil of a garter was to be followed by the feast of a rope, and that after his rehearsal on a rotten beam he must tilt at the crossbar of a new gallows, began to struggle and shout that he was innocent and appealed against the sentence. As he went along the street, crying and bawling that there was no justice, that poor men were never heard, that judgments were made by spinning a top, and that because he had not greased the judge’s palm, stopped the clerk’s mouth, slipped a gratuity to the registrar, and paid off the attorney, he was being sent to work stitches in the air for Mistress Widow, he happened to meet his brother. Being a counselor and president of the tribunal, Marcuccio halted the officers to hear his case. When Parmiero had told him everything that had happened, Marcuccio answered, “Be quiet: you do not know your own good fortune. Since at your first attempt you found a little chain three spans long, at this second one you will surely find another three paces long. Go cheerfully on: the gallows is your own sister, and where others empty out their lives, you fill your purse.” Parmiero, hearing himself mocked, said, “I come for justice, not to be made a fool of. Know that my hands are clean of this charge they have laid against me, for I am an honorable man, though you see me so ragged and tattered: the habit does not make the monk. But because I would not listen to my father Marchionno or my brother Marcuccio, I am being put through the wringer, and stand on the brink of singing a three-part madrigal beneath the hangman’s feet.” At the mention of his father’s name and his own, Marcuccio felt his blood stir, and looking closely at Parmiero, thought he recognized him. At last, when he knew him for his brother, he found himself torn between shame and affection, flesh and honor, justice and pity. He was ashamed to acknowledge himself the brother of a gallows-bird;

he burned to see his own blood brought so low, and kinship dragged at him with a grappling hook to remedy the affair, while honor pulled him back, lest he disgrace himself before the king by admitting to a brother charged with plying thieves’ hooks. Justice demanded satisfaction for the injured party; pity urged him to procure his own brother’s safety. But while his brain hung in the balance and his head debated the matter, along came one of the judge’s officers at a run, his tongue hanging out a span, shouting, “Stop! Stop the execution! Hold, hold! Easy! Wait!” “What is it?” asked the counselor. The man replied, “A great thing has happened, by this young man’s good fortune. Two thieves went to fetch some money and gold they had hidden in a beam in an old house. When they failed to find it, each thought the other had helped himself to the lot, and they came to blows and mortally wounded one another. The judge went there, and they at once confessed everything. So, having discovered this poor fellow’s innocence, he sends me to stop the execution and set him free, since he is blameless.” At this news Parmiero grew a span taller, whereas he had been afraid of being stretched a cubit longer. And Marcuccio, seeing his brother’s good name restored, took off his mask and made himself known, saying to Parmiero:

“My brother, since you have learned the ruin that vice and gambling bring, learn likewise the pleasure and prosperity that come from virtue. Come freely to my house, where you shall share with me the fruits of the virtue you held in such contempt. Forgetting all the scorn you showed me, I shall cherish you as the apple of my eye.” So saying, he embraced him and took him home, clothed him from head to foot, and proved to him in every way that everything else is wind, _And virtue alone makes a man happy._