Waltey

Prevod

_Marziella, for showing kindness to an old woman, receives a fairy’s blessing; but her aunt, envious of her good fortune, throws her into the sea, where a siren keeps her chained for a long time. Freed by her brother, she becomes queen, and her aunt pays the penalty for her wickedness._ _The princes would surely have declared that Antonella’s tale outdid all those told before it, had they not feared discouraging Ciulla, who, having couched the lance of her tongue, carried off the ring of Taddeo’s and his wife’s delight in the following fashion._ I have always heard it said that whoever does a kindness will find kindness in return. The bell of Manfredonia says, “Give to me, and I’ll give to you.” Whoever fails to bait the hook of affection with courtesy will never catch the fish of a good turn. And if you would see the proof, listen to this tale, and then tell me whether the miser has not always lost more than the generous soul.

Now, they say there were once two sisters, Luceta and Troccola, who had two daughters, Marziella and Puccia. Marziella was as lovely in face as she was in heart, while Puccia’s heart and hide were cut from the same cloth: a face like the plague and a heart like the pestilence. But the girl took after her family, for her mother Troccola was a harpy, a foul piece of work inside and out. Now it happened that Luceta, who had four parsnips to boil before frying them and serving them with green sauce, said to her daughter, “Marziella, my dear, go to the fountain, sweetheart, and fetch me a pitcher of water.” “Gladly, Mother,” answered the girl, “but if you love me, give me a little cake, so I can eat it beside that cool water.” “With pleasure,” said her mother, and from a basket hanging on a hook she took a fine little cake, for she had baked bread the day before, and gave it to Marziella. Setting the pitcher on a little pad upon her head, the girl went off to the fountain, which, like a mountebank upon a marble platform, was selling remedies for thirst to the music of tumbling water. While she was filling her pitcher, an old woman came along who, upon the stage of an enormous hump, was performing the tragedy of Time. Seeing the lovely cake that Marziella was just about to bite, she said, “My pretty girl, as you hope that Heaven will send you good fortune, give me a little of that cake.” Marziella, who had the makings of a queen, said, “Here, take it all. Eat, my good woman, and I am only sorry it is not made of sugar and almonds, for I would give you that just as gladly.” Seeing Marziella’s kindness, the old woman said, “Go, and may Heaven always reward you for the loving heart you have shown me. I pray to all the stars that you may always be happy and contented; that whenever you breathe, roses and jasmine may fall from your mouth; whenever you comb your hair, pearls and garnets may rain from your head; and wherever you set your foot upon the ground, lilies and violets may spring up.” The girl thanked her and went home, where, once her mother had finished cooking, they paid the body its natural dues. That day passed, and next morning, when the Sun displayed in the marketplace of the heavenly fields the wares of light he had brought from the East, Marziella began to comb her hair and saw a shower of pearls and garnets fall into her lap. Overjoyed, she called her mother, and together they put them into a basket. Luceta went to sell a good part of them to a broker she knew, and meanwhile Troccola came to see her sister. Finding Marziella busily gathering and sorting the pearls, she asked how, when, and where she had come by them. The girl, who knew nothing of muddying the waters and had perhaps never heard the proverb, _Do not do all you can, eat all you want, spend all you have, or tell all you know_, related the whole affair to her aunt. Troccola did not trouble to wait for her sister, but could scarcely bear the time it took to get home. Giving her daughter a cake, she sent her to fetch water from the fountain. There Puccia met the same old woman, who asked her for a little of the cake. But the girl, a nasty little creature, answered, “Have I nothing better to do than give you my cake? Did you get my donkey with foal, that I should give you what is mine? Be off! My teeth are nearer to me than my kin.” And with that she wolfed down the cake in four bites, making the old woman’s mouth water. When the old woman saw the last mouthful swallowed, and her own hopes buried with the cake, she said in a fury, “Go, and whenever you breathe, may you foam like a doctor’s mule; whenever you comb your hair, may lice fall from your head in heaps; and wherever you set your foot upon the ground, may ferns and spurges spring up.” Puccia fetched the water and returned home, where her mother could hardly wait to comb her hair. Spreading a fine cloth in her lap, she laid her daughter’s head upon it and began to comb. And there came pouring down a torrent of those little alchemists that can bring quicksilver to a standstill. At this sight, the mother added the fire of rage to the snow of envy, until she breathed flame and smoke through her nose and mouth. Some time later, Ciommo, Marziella’s brother, was at the court of the King of Chiunzo. A discussion arose concerning the beauty of various women, and, without being asked, he thrust himself forward and declared that all the beauties in the world might as well go hawking bones at the bridge if his sister appeared. Besides her lovely features, which sang a counterpoint to the steady melody of a beautiful soul, she possessed wonderful gifts in her hair, her mouth, and her feet, bestowed upon her by a fairy. Hearing these praises, the king told Ciommo to send for her, for if she proved to be all that he made her out, he would take her as his wife.

Ciommo, who thought this an opportunity not to be missed, immediately sent a special messenger to his mother, telling her what had happened and begging her to come at once with her daughter, lest they let such good fortune slip away.

Luceta, who was very ill, entrusted the lamb to the wolf, asking her sister to do her the kindness of escorting Marziella to the court of Chiunzo, and explaining why. Seeing matters fall so neatly into her hands, Troccola promised her sister that she would deliver the girl safe and sound into her brother’s care. Then she embarked in a boat with Marziella and Puccia, and when they were out at sea, while the sailors slept, she threw Marziella into the water. Just as the girl was about to bob under like a little duck, a most beautiful siren came, took her in her arms, and carried her away. Troccola arrived at Chiunzo, and Ciommo received Puccia as though she were Marziella, for he had not seen his sister for so long that he failed to recognize the imposture. He brought her straight before the king, who had her hair combed, whereupon there began to rain down those creatures so hostile to truth that they are always attacking the temples. Looking into her face, he saw that her heavy breathing on the journey had raised such a lather around her mouth that it looked like a cloth-fulling mill; and lowering his eyes to the ground, he beheld a meadow of stinking weeds that turned his stomach. He drove out Puccia and her mother and, in his anger, sent Ciommo to tend the court geese. In despair at this affair, and unable to understand what had befallen him, Ciommo took the geese into the countryside, let them wander at will along the shore, and withdrew into a straw hut, where he wept over his fate until evening, when it was time to go home. But as the geese roamed along the beach, Marziella came out of the water and fed them almond paste and gave them rosewater to drink, until each goose grew as fat as a wether, so plump it could scarcely see. And every evening, when they reached a little garden beneath the king’s window, they began to sing, “Pire, pire, pire!

_Fair indeed are Sun and Moon,_ _Fairer still is she who tends us._” Hearing this goose music every evening, the king summoned Ciommo and demanded to know where, how, and on what he fed his geese. Ciommo told him, “I give them nothing to eat but the fresh grass of the fields.” This answer did not ring true to the king, so he sent a trusted servant secretly after him to watch where he took the geese. Following in his footsteps, the servant saw him enter the straw hut and leave the geese to themselves. They made their way to the shore, and when they arrived, Marziella came out of the sea. I do not believe that the mother of that blind boy who, as the poet says, _asks no other alms than tears_, rose so beautiful from the waves.

At this sight, the king’s servant, astonished and quite beside himself, ran to his master and told him of the lovely spectacle he had seen upon the stage of the seashore. The man’s words so stirred the king’s curiosity that he longed to go and see this beauty for himself. Next morning, when the Cock, that ringleader of the birds, roused them all to raise their voices against the night, Ciommo set out with the geese for his accustomed place, and the king followed, never letting him out of his sight. The geese reached the sea without Ciommo, who had stayed behind as usual, and the king saw Marziella emerge. After giving the geese a tray of little pastries to eat and a basin of rosewater to drink, she sat down upon a stone to comb her hair, from which pearls and garnets fell by the handful. Meanwhile a cloud of flowers issued from her mouth, and beneath her feet there spread a Syrian carpet of lilies and violets. At this sight the king sent for Ciommo and, pointing out Marziella, asked whether he knew that lovely girl. Recognizing her, Ciommo ran to embrace her, and in the king’s presence he heard the whole story of Troccola’s treachery, and how the envy of that foul wretch had condemned this lovely flame of love to dwell in the waters of the sea. Words cannot tell the king’s delight at finding such a precious jewel. Turning to her brother, he said that Ciommo had been quite right to praise her so highly, for he found her more than two-thirds lovelier still than he had been told. He therefore judged her more than worthy to be his wife, if she would consent to accept the sceptre of his kingdom. “Oh, if only the Sun in Leo would grant it!” replied Marziella. “If only I might come and serve you as a slave to your crown! But do you not see this golden chain about my foot? With it the enchantress keeps me prisoner, and whenever I take too much air and linger too long upon this shore, she pulls me back into the water, where she keeps me in splendid servitude, bound in gold.” “What means could there be,” said the king, “of freeing you from this siren’s claws?” “The only way,” replied Marziella, “would be to cut through this chain with a noiseless file, and then for me to make my escape.”

“Wait for me tomorrow morning,” replied the king, “and I shall come with everything ready and take you home with me, where you shall be my right eye, the apple of my heart, and the very marrow of my soul.” Having pledged their love with a clasp of hands, she went back into the water, while he plunged into fire—and such a fire that he had not an hour’s peace all day. And when the black rabble of night came out to beat its drums among the stars, he never closed his eyes, but kept chewing over Marziella’s beauty with the jaws of memory, dwelling in thought upon the wonders of her hair, the miracles of her mouth, and the marvels of her feet. Testing the gold of her charms upon the touchstone of his judgment, he found it twenty-four carats fine. He cursed the night for taking so long to finish its embroidery of stars, and railed at the Sun for not hastening along with his cartload of light, so that he might enrich his house with the treasure he desired, bringing into his chambers a gold mine that yielded pearls, a pearl shell that yielded flowers. But while his thoughts tossed upon a sea of longing for the girl who lay beneath the sea, behold, the Sun’s sappers began to clear the road along which he was to march with his army of rays. The king dressed and set off with Ciommo for the shore. There they found Marziella, and with the file they had brought, the king cut with his own hands the chain about his beloved’s foot, forging another, stronger chain about his own heart. Setting behind him on his horse the girl who already rode upon his heart, he made for the royal palace. There, by his orders, all the beautiful women of the country were assembled to welcome her and acknowledge her as their mistress. He married her with great celebrations, and among the many barrels burned for the illuminations, he ordered that one should contain Troccola herself, so that she might pay for the treachery she had practised upon Marziella. Then he sent for Luceta and gave her and Ciommo the means to live like lords. As for Puccia, she was driven out of the kingdom and spent the rest of her days begging. Because she had refused to sow a little piece of cake, she forever suffered a famine of bread, for it is Heaven’s will _That whoever shows no mercy shall find none._

Izvirnik

_Marziella pe mmostrarese cortese co na vecchia, ave la fatazione; ma la Zia ’nvediosa de la bona fortuna soja, la jetta a mmaro, dove la serena la tene gran tiempo ncatenata: ma liberata da lo frate, deventa Regina, e la zia porta la pena de l’arrore sujo._ _Averriano securamente ditto li Princepe, ca sto cunto de Antonella passava vattaglia de quante se n’erano contate, si n’era pe llevare d’anemo Ciulla, la quale avenno posta la lanza de la lengua a rresta, dette l’aniello de lo gusto de Taddeo, e de la mogliere, de manera, che ssecota._ Sempre aggio sentuto dicere, chi fa piacere, nne trova; la campana de Manfredonia dice, danne, e dotte; chi non mette l’esca de la cortesia all’ammo de ll’affezzione, non piglia maje pesce de beneficio, e

bolitene vedere lo ccostrutto, sentite sto cunto, e po derrite si sempre perdette cchiù l’avaro, che lo liberale. Ora dice, ch’era na vota, doje sore carnale Luceta, e Ttroccola, ch’avevano doje figlie femmene, Marziella, e Puccia. Era Marziella cossì bella de facce, commo bella de core: commo a lo contrario lo core, e la caira de Puccia facevano pe na stessa regola facce de gliannola, e ccore de pestelenzia; ma la zita arresemegliava a li pariente: perchè Troccola la mamma era n’arpia, dinto e ffora correggia. Ora soccesse, ch’avenno Luceta a scaudare quatto pastenache pe le ffriere co la sauza verde, disse a la figlia: Marziella mia, va bene mio a la fontana, pigliame na lancella d’acqua. De bona voglia, mamma mia, respose la figlia, ma si mme vuoje bene damme na pizzella,

ca mme la voglio magnare a chell’acqua fresca: volentiere, disse la mamma, e da drinto no panaro che penneva a n’ancino, pigliaje na bella pizzella, che lo juorno nnante aveva fatto lo furno de pane, e la dette a Marziella, la quale puostose la lancella ’n capo sopra no truocchioniello, se nne jette a la fontana, la quale comm’a Cciarlatano ncoppa a no banco de preta marmora a la Museca de n’acqua cascariccia, venneva secrete pe ccacciare la sete; dove stanno a nchire la lancella, arrivaje na vecchia, che sopra lo parco de no gruosso scartiello rappresentava la tragedia de lo tiempo, la quale vedenno chella bella pizza, che ttanno nce voleva Marziella dare de muorzo, le disse: Bella figliola mia, se lo cielo te manna bona ventura, damme no poco de ssa

pizza. Marziella, che pozzava de Regina, le disse: eccotella tutta, magna femmena mia, e mme dispiace, che non è de zuccaro, ed ammennole, ca puro te la darria co ttutto lo core. Visto la vecchia l’amorosanza de Marziella, le disse và, che te pozza mprofecare sempre lo Cielo de sto buono ammore, che m’aje mostrato, e prego tutte le stelle, che puozz’essere sempre felice, e ccontenta, che quando sciate t’escano Rose, e Giesommine da la vocca; quanno te piettene cadano sempre perne, e granatelle da ssa capo, e quanno miette lo pede ’n terra, aggiano da sguigliare giglie, e biole. La fegliola rengraziannola, tornaje a la casa, dove cocinato ch’appe la mamma, dettero sodisfazione a lo cuorpo de lo debeto naturale, e passato chillo juorno, comme l’autra

matina a lo mercato de li campe celeste, fece mostra lo Sole de le mmercanzie de luce, che portava dall’Oriente, Marziella volennose pettenare la capo, se vedde cadere ’n sino na chioppeta de perne, e granatelle, che chiammato co allegrezza granne la mamma, le mmesero drinto a no cuofano, ed essenno juta Luceta a smautirene na gran parte a no bancarotto ammico sujo, venne arrivanno Troccola a bedere la ssore, e ttrovato Marziella tutta ammassariata, e affacennata sopra a cchelle pperne, domannaje commo, quanto, e dove l’avesse avute? Ma la figliola, che non sapeva ntrovolare ll’acqua, e non aveva fuorze ntiso chillo proverbio: _non fare quanto puoje, non magnare quanto vuoje; non spennere quanto aje, nè dire quanto saje_, contaje tutto

lo negozio a la Zia, la quale non curannose d’aspettare la sora, le parze ogn’ora mill’anne de tornare a la casa, e dato na pizzella a la figlia, la mannaje ped’acqua a la fontana, dove trovato la stessa vecchia, e demmannatole no poco de pizza, essa ch’era na bella mosogna, le respose; non avea, che fare autro, che dare la pizza a ttene? che m’avive mprenato l’aseno, che te voleva dare la rrobba mia? Và, ca so chiù becino li diente, che li pariente; e accossì decenno, se nnorcaje ’n quatto muorze la pizza; facenno cannaola a la vecchia, la quale quanno nne vedde sciso l’utemo muorzo, e sepelluta co la pizza la speranza soja, tutta arraggiata le disse. Và, che quanno sciate, puozze fare scumma, comme a mmula de miedeco, quanno te piettene, pozzano

cadere da la capo a mmontune li piccenache, e dovonca miette lo pede ’n terra, pozzano schiudere fielice, e tutomaglie. Pigliata l’acqua Puccia, e ttornata a la casa, la mamma non bedde l’ora de pettenarela, e postase na bella tovaglia ’n sino, nce mese la capo de la figlia, e ccommenzanno a ppettenare, eccote cadere na lava d’anemale alchemiste, che fermavano l’argento vivo; la quale cosa vedenno la mamma, a la neve de la ’nvidia agghionze lo ffuoco de la collera, che ghiettava sciamma, e ffummo pe nnaso, e pe bocca. Ora passato quarche tiempo, trovatose Ciommo frate de Marziella a la Corte de lo Rrè de Chiunzo, e descorrennose de le bellizze de varie femmene, isso, senz’essere chiammato, se mese ’nnante, decenno, che tutte le belle potevano ire a

botare ossa a lo ponte, dove fosse comparza la sore, la quale otra le bellezze de li miembre, che facevano contrapunto sopra lo canto fermo de na bell’arma, aveva de cchiù na bella virtù nne li capille, nne la vocca, e nne li piede, che le dette la Fata. Lo Rrè, che sentette sti vante, disse a Ciommo, che la facesse venire, che si la trovava tale, quale la metteva ’mperecuoccolo, se l’averria pigliata pe mmogliere.

Ciommo, che non le parze chesta occasione de perdere, mannaje subeto corriero a posta a la mamma, contannole sto ffatto, e pregannola a beniresene subeto co la figlia pe no le fare perdere sta bona ventura. Luceta, che se trovava assaje male racommannanno la pecora a lo Lupo, pregaje la sore, che le facesse piacere d’accompagnare Marziella pe fi a la Corte de Chiunzo pe ttale, e ttale cosa. Troccola vedenno ca lo negozio le jeva nchienno pe le mmano, prommese a la sore de portarencella sana, e ssarva ’n potere de lo fratiello, e nvarcatose co Marziella, e co Puccia drinto na varca, comme fu a mmiezo mare, mentre li marinare dormevano, la jettaje drinto l’acqua, dove mentre steva pe ffare lo papariello, venne na bellissema Serena, e ppigliannola ’n

braccio, se la portaje. Ora arrivata Troccola a Chiunzo, e rrecevuta Puccia da Ciommo, comme si fusse stata Marziella, che pe la longhezza de tiempo, che no l’aveva vista, l’aveva scanosciuta, la portaje subeto ’nnante a lo Rrè, lo quale facennole pettenare la capo, commenzaro a cchiovere chille anemale cossì nemmice de lo vero, che sempre offenneno li testimmonie, e puostole mente ’n facce, vedde, che pe lo cammino, resciatanno fore de muodo, aveva fatto na ’nsaponata a la vocca, che pareva varchera de panne, e basciato l’uocchie a tterra, miraje no prato d’erve fetiente, che le venne stommaco a bederele, pe la quale cosa cacciato Puccia, e la mamma, mannaje pe ddespietto Ciommo a guardare le ppapare de la Corte; lo quale desperato pe sto negozio,

non sapenno, che l’era socciesso, portava le ppapare ’n campagna, e lassannole ire a boglia lloro pe la marina, isso se retirava drinto na pagliara, dove pe fi a la sera, quanno era tiempo de retirarese, chiagneva la sciorta soja. Ma le ppapare scorrevano pe lo lito, sceva Marziella da drinto l’acqua, e le ccevava de pasta riale, e abbeverava d’acqua rosa, tanto che le ppapare erano fatte quanto no crastato l’uno, che non nce vedevano, e quanno la sera arrevavano a n’orteciello, che rresponneva sotto la fenestra de lo Rrè, commenzavano a ccantare. Pire, pire, pire.

_Assaje bello è lo Sole co la Luna,_ _Assaje cchiù bella è chi coverna a nnuje._ Lo Rrè sentenno ogne ssera sta museca paparesca, se fece chiammare Ciommo, e boze sapere, dove, e ccomme, e de che cosa pasceva le ppapare soje, e Ciommo le disse: autro no le faccio magnare, che l’erva fresca de la campagna. E lo Rrè, che non le jeva a ssuono sta resposta, le mannaje no servetore fidato retomano, perchè occhejasse mente dove portava le ppapare; lo quale secotanno le ppedate soje, lo vedde trasire a lo pagliaro, e lassare le ppapare sole, che abbiatese verzo la marina, arrivate che fforo, scette Marziella da lo maro, che non creo, che cossì bella scesse dall’onne la mamma de Chillo Cecato, che (comme disse chillo Poeta) _non vole autra lemmosena, che de chianto_:

la quale cosa visto lo servetore de lo Rrè, tutto spantato, e ffore de se stisso, corze a lo Patrone, contannole lo bello spettacolo, ch’aveva visto ’n miezo la scena de la marina. La curiosità de lo Rrè sbauzata da le pparole de st’ommo, le mosse desederio de ire ’n perzona a bedere sta bella vista, e la matina, quanno lo Gallo capo puopolo dell’aucielle le solleva tutte ad armare le vive contra la notte, essenno juto Ciommo co le ppapare a lo luoco soleto, isso non perdennolo maje de la vista, le jeze appriesso, e arrivate le ppapare a lo maro, senza Ciommo, ch’era restato a lo luoco soleto, vedde scire Marziella, che dato a mmagnare na spasa de pastetella a le ppapare, e ffattele vevere a na caudarella d’acqua rosa, se sedette ’ncoppa a na

preta a ppettenarese li capille, da li quale cadevano a branca a branca le pperne, e granatelle, e ’ntanto da la vocca le sceva na nugola de sciure, e ssotto li piede suoje s’era fatto no trappito soriano de giglie, e biole: la quale cosa visto lo Rrè, fece chiammare Ciommo, e mostrannole Marziella, le disse; si canosceva chella bella figliola, e Ciommo recanosciutala, corze ad abbracciarela, e ’n presenzia de lo Rrè sentette tutto lo trademiento fattole da Troccola, e ccomme la ’nvidia de chella brutta pesta aveva arredutto sto bello fuoco d’ammore ad abetare drinto l’acqua de lo mare. Non se po dire lo gusto, che sentette lo Rrè de sta bella gioja acquistata, e botatose a lo frate, disse, ch’aveva gran ragione de laudarela tanto, e ca trovava duje

tierze e cchiù de chello, che nne l’aveva contato, e perzò la stimmava cchiù ca degna de l’essere mmogliere, quanno essa se contentasse de recevere lo scettro de lo regno sujo. O che lo bolesse lo Sole lione, respose Marziella, e potesse venire a sservirete pe bajassa de la Corona toja. Ma non vide sta catena d’oro, che tengo a lo pede, co la quale mme tene presone la Maga, e quanno piglio troppo d’ajero, e mme trattengo assaje a sta marina, essa mme tira drinto, tenennome co na ricca servetù ’ncatenata d’oro. Che remmedio nce sarria, disse lo Rrè a llevarete da le granfe de sta serena? lo remmedio sarria, respose Marziella, a ssecare co na limma sorda sta catena, e sbegnaremella.

Aspettame craje mmatino (leprecaje lo Rrè) ca mme ne vengo co lo negozio lesto, e mme te porto a la casa, dove sarraje l’uocchio deritto mio, la popella de lo core mio, e la visciola de st’arma. E datose lo caparro de l’ammore loro, co na toccata de manzolla, essa se nne jette pe drinto l’acqua, ed isso pe drinto a lo ffuoco, e ffuoco tale, che non appe n’ora de repuoso tutto lo juorno: e come scette la negra cargiumma de la notte a ffare tubba catubba co le stelle, non chiudenno maje uocchie, jette romenanno co le mmasche de la memoria le bellezze de Marziella, descorrenno co lo penziero ’ntuorno a le mmaraviglie de li capille, a li miracole de la vocca, e a li stopure de lo pede, e ttoccanno l’oro de le grazie soje a la preta paragone de lo jodizio, le

trovava de vintequatto carate: ma desgraziava la notte, che ttardasse tanto a ’nzoperare da li racamme, che fa de stelle, e ghiastemmava lo Sole, che non arrivasse priesto co lo carruggio de luce ped’arrecchire la casa soja de lo bene, che desederava, pe pportare a le ccammare soje na menera d’oro, che ghietta perne, na quaquiglia de perne, che ghietta sciure. Ma ntanto, che ghieva pe mmaro penzanno a chella che stava a mmaro, ecco li guastature de lo Sole, che schianaro lo cammino pe dove doveva passare co l’asserceto de li ragge, e bestutose lo Rrè, s’abbiaje co Ciommo a la marina, dove trovato Marziella, co la limma, che avevano portato, lo Rrè secaje de mano propia la catena de lo pede de la cosa ammata; ma se nne fravecaje n’autra chiù forte a lo core,

e postase ngroppa chella, che le cravaccava lo core, toccaje a la vota de lo Palazzo riale, dove trovaje ped’ordene de lo Rrè tutte le belle femmene de lo pajese, che la recevettero, e nnotarono comm’a ppatrona loro: e nguadiatosella co na festa granne fra tante vutte, che s’ardèro pe llommenaria, voze che nce fosse ncruso pe ccarrattiello la perzona de Troccola, azzò pagasse lo nganno, ch’aveva fatto a Marziella; e mmannato a chiamare Luceta, dette ad essa ed a Ciommo da vivere da Segnure: e Puccia cacciata da chillo regno, jette sempre pezzenno: e pe n’avere semmenato no pocorillo de pizza, appe sempre carestia de pane, essenno volontà de lo Cielo, _Che chi non ha pietà, pietà non trova._

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