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_Cianne and Lise are brothers, one rich and the other poor. Lise, being poor and receiving no help from his rich brother, leaves home and meets with such good fortune that he becomes immensely wealthy. The other, out of envy, seeks the same luck, but finds it so contrary that he cannot escape a great misfortune without his brother’s help._ _The laughter that broke out among the company at the Prince’s mishap was so unrestrained that they were all in danger of rupturing themselves, and they would have gone on exchanging peals of laughter until dawn had Cecca not signalled that she was ready to let her own tale loose. At this, every mouth was put under restraint, and she began to speak._ It is a saying fit to be written in letters as large as those on a funeral bier: keeping quiet never harmed anyone. But as for the tongues of certain little backbiters, who never know how to speak well of anything, who are forever cutting and stitching, snipping and pricking—never fear, they get their full share of trouble from it. For when the sacks are shaken out, it has always been seen, and still is, that while speaking well wins love and profit, speaking ill earns hatred and ruin. Listen to how it happened, and you will grant me a hundredweight of good sense.

They say there were once two brothers, Cianne, who lived as comfortably as a count, and Lise, who scarcely had enough to keep body and soul together. But the poorer the one was in worldly goods, the meaner the other was in spirit: he would not have risen from taking a shit even to refresh his soul. At last poor Lise, in despair, left his native country and set out to roam the world. He walked and walked, until one evening, after a wretched day’s journey, he reached an inn, where he found twelve young men sitting round the fire. Seeing poor Lise all stiff and shrivelled, nearly wasting away with cold, both because the season was bitter and because his clothes were threadbare, they invited him to sit beside the hearth. He accepted gladly, for he was sorely in need of it, and began to warm himself. As he did so, one of the young men, all bristling and with a face sour enough to make you shudder, asked him, “What do you think of this weather, countryman?” “What should I think?” said Lise. “It seems to me that all the months of the year do their duty. But we, who do not know what we are asking for, want to lay down the law to Heaven. We wish everything to suit ourselves, without looking too closely into whether whatever takes our fancy is good or bad, useful or harmful. So in winter, when it rains, we want the blazing sun of the Dog Days, and in August we want the clouds to pour down on us, never considering that if this were so, the seasons would be turned arse over head, the seed would perish, the harvests would come to nothing, our bodies would sicken, and nature would go headlong to ruin. So let us leave Heaven to take its course. That is why it made trees: to remedy winter’s harshness with their wood and summer’s heat with their leaves.” “You speak like a Solomon,” said the young man, “but surely you cannot deny that this month of March, which we are now in, is altogether too troublesome, with all its frosts and downpours, snow and hail, winds, gusts, fogs, storms, and other nuisances that make us weary of life.” “You speak of the harm this poor month does,” replied Lise, “but say nothing of the benefits it brings us. For by ushering in spring it sets all things breeding and growing; and even if it did nothing else, it allows the sun to enjoy the happiness of the present season by bringing it into the house of the Ram.” The young man took great pleasure in Lise’s words, for he was none other than the month of March himself, who had happened upon that inn with his eleven brothers. To reward Lise’s goodness, since he had found nothing ill to say of a month so harsh that even shepherds will not mention its name, he gave him a pretty little casket, saying, “Take this. Think of anything you need, and ask for it freely: when you open this little box, you will find it before you.”

Liso thanked the young man with many humble words, and, putting the casket under his head for a pillow, lay down to sleep. No sooner had the sun come with the brushes of its rays to touch up the shadows of night with light than he took leave of the young men and set off. He had not gone fifty paces from the inn, however, before he opened the little casket and said, “Oh, my dear treasure, could I not have a litter lined with frieze, with a little fire inside, so that I might travel snug and warm through this snow?” Scarcely had he finished speaking when a litter appeared with its bearers, who lifted him up and settled him inside. He told them to make for his home, and when the time came to set his jaws to work, he opened the little box and said, “Let there be food!” And there you would have seen Heaven’s bounty come pouring forth: it was such a feast that ten crowned kings might have dined on it. One evening they reached a wood that would not admit the sun, as though it had come from some plague-stricken place. Opening the little casket, he said, “Here in this lovely spot, where the river plays its counterpoint over the stones to accompany the plainsong of the cool breezes, I should like to rest tonight.” At once there appeared a bed of fine scarlet beneath a tent of waxed cloth, with feather mattresses, a Spanish blanket, and sheets so fine that a breath would have sent them flying. When he asked for supper, a display of silver fit for a prince was instantly set out, and beneath another tent a table was spread with dishes whose fragrance travelled a hundred miles. When he had eaten, he went to sleep. Then, when the cock, the sun’s spy, informed his master that the shadows were slack and weary, and that now was the time, like a seasoned soldier, to fall upon their rear and slaughter them, Lise opened the casket and said, “I should like a fine suit of clothes, for my brother is to see me today, and I want to make his mouth water.” And there, in an instant, he saw a gentleman’s suit of rich black velvet, with red camlet garments and a broad cloak lined with yellow wool, so that it looked like a field of flowers. Lise dressed, climbed into the litter, and arrived home. When Cianne saw him coming in such splendour and comfort, he wanted to know what good fortune had befallen him. Lise told him about the young men he had found at the inn and the present they had given him, but kept to himself the conversation he had had with them. Cianne could hardly wait to take leave of his brother, telling him to go and rest, since he was tired. He immediately set off by post and reached the inn, where he found the same young men and began chatting with them. When the young man put the same question to him—what he thought of this month of March—he opened his great gullet and began: “Oh, may God confound this accursed month, the enemy of those with the French pox, the shepherds’ scourge, the disturber of our humours, the wrecker of our bodies! A month that gives us a saying whenever we wish to foretell a man’s ruin: ‘Off with you—March has shaved you bare!’ A month whose name we use when we wish to call someone the most presumptuous fellow alive: ‘What does March care?’ In short, it is a month that would make the world fortunate, the earth happy, and mankind rich if its place were wiped out of the company of its brothers.” When the month of March heard Cianne giving him this drubbing, he kept up appearances until morning, determined to make him pay for his fine speech. As Cianne was about to leave, he gave him a handsome whip, saying, “Whenever you wish for anything, just say, ‘Whip, give me a hundred,’ and you will see pearls strung upon a rush.”

Cianne thanked the young man and began to ply his spurs, unwilling to try out the whip until he reached his own house. Scarcely had he set foot inside when he went into a private room, where he meant to store the money he expected from the whip, and said to it, “Whip, give me a hundred.” And if the whip failed to give him his full measure, you may tell him to go back for the rest! It played a music-master’s counterpoint upon his legs and face, until his shrieks brought Lise running. Seeing that the whip could not be restrained, but was behaving like a horse running loose, Lise opened his little casket and made it stop. Then he asked Cianne what had happened. Having heard the story, he told him to blame no one but himself, since, like a foolish thrush, he had brought his own trouble upon his head. He had behaved like the camel that wished for horns and lost its ears instead. Let him learn another time to bridle his tongue, which had been the key that opened the storehouse of this misfortune. Had he spoken well of those young men, he might perhaps have met with the same good luck; all the more so since kind words are merchandise that costs nothing and often yields an undreamed-of profit. Finally he consoled him, telling him not to seek more comforts than Heaven had granted him: his own casket was enough to fill thirty misers’ houses to bursting, and Cianne should be master of all he possessed, for Heaven is the generous man’s treasurer. Though another brother might have borne him a grudge for the cruelty he had shown him in his poverty, Lise reflected that Cianne’s meanness had been the favourable wind that brought him into this harbour. He therefore owed him thanks, and meant to repay the kindness. Hearing this, Cianne begged forgiveness for his past lack of brotherly love, and the two joined forces and enjoyed their good fortune together. From that day forward Cianne spoke well of everything, however bad it might be, _For the dog once scalded by hot water_ _Is afraid even of cold._

Izvirnik

_Cianne, e Llise fratielle, l’uno ricco, e l’autro povero. Lise ped essere povero, e niente ajutato da lo frate ricco, se parte, e ncontra tale fortuna, che se fa straricco: l’autro cerca pe ’nvidia la medesema sciorte, e le resce accossì ccontraria, che non se po scazzecare da na desgrazia granne, senza l’ajuto dell’autro frate._ _Lo riso, che mmattette a chella scommerzione pe la desgrazia de lo Prencepe, fu accossì spotestato, che l’avette a scennere la polletra ad ogn’uno de lloro, e se nne sarriano jute contrapuntianno rise pe fi a la rosa, se Cecca non avesse fatto signo, che era all’ordene pe sbufarare lo sujo, pe la quale cosa fatto no sequestro a le bocche de tutte, accommenzaje a dicere._ È Mutto de scrivere a llettere de catafarco; che maje lo stare zitto

fece nozemiento a nnesciuno. Ma la lengua de certe mmozzecutole, che non sanno maje dicere bene, e sempre tagliano, e ccoseno, e sempre fuorfechejanno, e pogneno, non te curare, ca nne cauzano bene de la costejone, ca a lo scotolare de li sacche sempre s’è bisto, e se vede ca dove lo dire bene s’acquista amore, ed utile, lo ddire male se guadagna nemicizia, e rroina, e ssentite de che mmanera, ca mme darrite no cantaro de ragione.

Dice, ch’era na vota duje frate carnale, Cianne, che steva commodo commodo comme a no Conte, e Llise, che n’aveva manco la vita, ma quanto l’uno era povero de fortuna, tanto l’autro era meschino d’animo, che non se sarria auzato de cacare pe rrefrescarese lo spirito, tanto che lo povero Lise desperato lassaje la patria, e se la dette a cammenare lo munno, e tanto cammenaje, che na sera arrivaje co na jornata pessema a na taverna, dove trovaje dudece giuvene sedute ’ntuorno a lo ffuoco, li quali visto lo nigro Lise tutto aggrancato, che era adesa tisico de lo friddo sì pe la stascione, che era forte, comme pe li vestite, ch’erano lasche, lo commetaro a ssedere a canto a lo focolaro, lo quale azzettato lo ’nvito, ca nn’aveva no granne abbesuogno, se mese

a scarfare, e scarfannose fu addemandato da uno de chille giuvene, ch’era tutto ngrifato co na cera brosca da fare sorrejere; Che te pare pajesano de sto tiempo? che mme vo parere? disse Lise, mme pare, ca tutte le mise dell’anno fanno lo debeto lloro: ma nuje, che non sapimmo chello, che addemannammo, volimmo dare legge a lo Cielo, e ddesederanno le ccose a mmuodo nuostro, non pescammo troppo a ffunno se sia bene, o male, utele, o danno, chello, che nce vene ’n crapiccio, tanto che lo Vierno, quanno chiove, vorriamo lo Sole Lione, e lo mese d’Agusto le scarrecate de le nnuvole, non penzanno, che se chesto fosse, le stasciune jarriano a ccapo culo, le semmiente se perderriano, le rraccovote jarriano a mmitto, le cuorpe se ntamarriano, e la natura

jarria a gamme ’n cuollo, perrò lassammo fare a lo cielo lo curzo sujo, ca perzò ha fatto l’arvole, pe rremmediare co llegna a lo regore de lo Vierno, e co le frunne a lo caudo de la Stata. Tu parle da Sanzone, disse chillo giovene, ma non me puoje già negare, che chisto mese de Marzo, dove simmo, non sia troppo mpertenente co ttante jelate, e cchioppete, neve, e grannole, viente, refole, neglie, e ttempeste, ed autre fruscole, che nce fa venire ’n fastidio la vita. Tu dice lo mmale de sso povero Mese, respose Lise, ma non parle già dell’utele, che nce porta: pocca isso dà principio, co lo mmettere nnanze la Primmavera, a la ngenerazione de le ccose, e quanno maje autro isso è ccausa, che lo Sole prova la felecetà de lo tiempo presente, co starelo trasire

a la casa de lo montone. Appe gran gusto sto giovene de le pparole de Lise, perchè appunto era lo stisso mese de Marzo, che coll’autre unnece fratielle era capetato a chella Taverna, e pe rremonerare la bontà de Lise, che non avenno saputo dire male de no Mese tanto tristo, che mmanco li Pasture lo vonno mentoare, le deze na bella cascettella, decennole: Pigliate chesta, vide tutto chello, che t’abbesogna, e cerca puro, che rraprenno sta casciolella, te lo ttrovarraje nnante.

Liso co pparole granne de sommessione rengraziaje chillo giovene, e puostose la cascetta a ccapo comme coscino, se mese a ddormire, e non tanto priesto lo Sole co li pennielle de li ragge venne a rretoccare de chiaro l’ombre de la notte, che lecenziatose da chille giuvane, se mese ’n cammino, ma non fu cinquanta passe allontanato da la taverna, che rraprenno la cascetella, disse: O bene mio, e non porria avere na lettica nforrata de friso, co no poco de fuoco drinto, e cammenasse caudo caudo pe drinto ste nneve? Non accossì priesto appe scomputo de dire, che comparze na lettica co li lettechiere, che pigliatolo pesole, e puostolo drinto, isso le decette, che cammenassero verzo la casa soja; e comme fu l’ora de menare li guoffole, aperta la casciolella,

disse: Venga rrobba da magnare, e lloco te vediste sbrommare lo bene de lo Cielo, e fu tale lo banchetto, che nce potevano manciare diece Rrì de corona. Arrivate na sera a no vosco, che non deva pratteca a lo Sole pe benire da luoche sospette, aperta la cascettella, e decenno a sto bello luoco, dove sto sciummo fa contrapunte ncoppa le pprete, pe accompagnare lo canto fermo de li viente frische, io vorria reposare sta notte; lloco te vediste armare na travacca de scarlato fino sotto a na tenna de ncerato, co mmatarazze de penne, coperta de Spagna, e llenzola, sciosciale, ca vola; e demannanno da manciare, subeto fu puosto ’n ordene no repuosto d’argentaria a facce de no Prencepe, ed aparata na tavola sotto n’autra tenna de vevanne, che l’addore

jeva ciento miglia. Manciato che appe, jette a ddormire, e quanno lo Gallo, ch’è spione de lo Sole, avisaje lo patrone, ca l’ombre erano allentate, e stracque, e ca mo era tiempo, comme a ssordato pratteco, de darele a la coda, e farene scafaccio, aperta la cascia, decenno, vorria no bello vestito, perchè ogge m’ha da vedere fratemo, e le vorria fare cannagola, e nnitto ’nfatto se vedde n’abeto de Segnore de velluto ’n quaranta, nigro, co vernille de ciambellotto russo, co no picco granne sopra na nforra de lanetta gialla, che bedive no campo de sciure, e bestutose Lise, se mettette drinto la lettica, e arrivaje a la casa. Cianne, vedennolo venire accossì sforgiuto, e co ttanta commodetate, voze sapere, che ffortuna era stata la soja; lo quale

le contaje de li Giuvene, ch’aveva trovato a chella taverna, e de lo presiente, che l’avevano fatto, ma tenne fra li diente lo descurzo passato co chille Giuvene. Cianne non vedde l’ora de lecenziarese da lo frate, decennole, che ghiesse a rreposare, ch’era stracquo, e ssubeto se mese pe le pposte, ed arrivaje a cchella taverna, dove trovato li medeseme Giuvene, se mese a chiacchiariare co lloro, e ffattole chillo giovene la medesema ’nterrogazione, che le pareva de sto Mese de Marzo, isso aprenno de cannarone, commenzaje a dire; O che Dio lo sconfonna sto mese mmarditto, nnemmico de li nfranzesate, odiuso de li pecorare, ’ntrovolamiento de l’umure, scasamiento de li cuorpe. Mese che bolenno annonziare quarche rroina a n’ommo, se le

dice; và ca Marzo te n’ha raso: Mese che quanno vuoje dare a uno lo titolo maggiore de presentuso, se le dice: che ccura Marzo? nsomma è no mese, che sarria la fortuna de lo munno, la ventura de la terra, la recchezza dell’uommene, se le fosse sborrato la chiazza de la Squatra de li fratielle. Lo Mese de Marzo, che se sentette fare sta lavata de capo da Cianne, sfarzaje la casa nsino a la matina, co ppenziero de le nzoccare lo bello trascurzo, e bolennose Cianne partire le dette no bello scorriato, decennole: Sempre che te vene desederio de quarcosa, e tu dì: Scorriato dammene ciento, e bedarraje perne nfilate a lo junco.

Cianne ringraziato lo Giovane, accomenzaje a toccare de sperone, e non voze fare prova de lo scorriato, finchè n’arrevaje a la casa soja, dove appena puosto lo pede, trasette a na cammara segreta pe cconservare li denare, che sperava da lo scorrejato, a lo quale dicette: Scorriato, dammene ciento, e lo scorriato se non ce ne deze, di che torna pe lo riesto, facenno contrapunto de compositore de museca pe le gamme, e pe la facce de manera che a li strille corze Lise, e bedenno ca lo scorriato non se poteva tenere, ca faceva comme a ccavallo scapolo, aperze la cascettella, e lo facette fermare; e ddommannato Cianne, che l’era socciesso, ntese la storia, e le decette, che non se lamentasse d’autro, che de se medesemo, che se aveva causato da se stisso lo male,

comme a tturdo, e che aveva fatto comme a lo cammelo, che desideranno avere le ccorna, perdette l’aurecchie, ma che nvezzasse n’autra vota a ttenere frieno a la lengua, la quale era stata la chiava, che l’aveva apierto lo magazeno de sta desgrazia; perchè se isso diceva bene de chille Giuvene, correva fuorze la medesema Fortuna, tanto cchiù ca lo ddire bene è na mercanzia, che non costa niente, e sole avanzare guadagno, che non se crede. All’utemo lo conzolaje, che non cercasse chiù commodetà de chello, che l’aveva dato lo Cielo, ca la cascetta soja vastava a nchire a scafaccio trenta case d’avare, e ca isso sarria stato patrone de tutto lo bene sujo, perchè a l’ommo liberale lo Cielo è ttesauriero, e ca si be n’autro frate l’averria nsavuorio pe la

canetate, che l’aveva usate nne le mmeserie soje, tutta vota penzava ca la meschenezza soja era stato lo viento prospero, che l’aveva portato a sto puorto, e perzò nce ne voleva avere grazia, ed aveva anemo de recanoscere sto piacere. Sentute ste ccose Cianne, le cercaje perdonanzia de lo nzamoramiento passato, e fatto na lega de poteca, se gaudettero nziemme la bona ventura, e dall’ora nnante Cianne disse bene d’ogni cosa, pe ttrista che ffosse, _Ca lo cane scaudato d’acqua cauda,_ _Ha paura perzì de l’acqua fredda._

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