Prevod

_Seven brothers leave home because their mother has borne them no sister. At last she gives birth to a girl, but while they await the news and the agreed signal, their mother mistakes the signs, and they go wandering abroad. Their sister grows up, sets out to seek them, and finds them; after various adventures, they return home rich._ _The tale of the Two Little Pizzas was truly a pie stuffed to bursting, and pleased everyone’s palate so well that they were still licking their fingers.

But Paola had already braced herself to tell her story, and the Prince’s command was like the wolf’s eye, striking everyone else dumb; so she began as follows._ Those who do a kindness always find kindness in return. A good deed is a grappling hook for friendship and a crook that catches love: whoever does not sow does not reap. Ciulla has already served you an example as an appetizer, and I shall give you another for dessert, if you will remember what Caro said: speak little at the feast. So kindly lend me your ears, and may Heaven always make them grow, that you may hear things to your pleasure and delight.

Once upon a time, in the village of Arzano, there lived a good woman who brought a boy into the world every year, until she had seven of them, looking like the god Pan’s seven-reeded pipe, each taller than the next. Once they were past their first tender years, they said to their mother Jannetella, who was pregnant again, “You must know, Mother dear, that if, after so many sons, you do not give us a daughter, we have firmly resolved to leave this house and wander through the world like young blackbirds, scattered far and wide.” Hearing this dreadful announcement, their mother begged Heaven to rid her sons of this desire and spare her the loss of seven jewels such as they were. When the hour of her delivery was near, the sons said to Jannetella, “We shall withdraw to that hill, or ridge, facing the house. If you bear a boy, put an inkwell and a pen in the window; if you bear a girl, put out a spoon and a distaff. If we see the sign of a girl, we shall come home and spend the rest of our lives beneath your wings; but if we see the sign of a boy, forget us, for you may count us flown.” After the sons had gone, Heaven willed that Jannetella should give birth to a lovely little girl. She told the midwife to signal to the brothers, but the woman was so muddled and distracted that she put out the inkwell and the pen. When the seven brothers saw this, they took to their heels and walked and walked, until, after three years’ journeying, they reached a wood where the trees danced a country dance to the music of a stream, which played its counterpoint over the stones. In this wood stood the house of an ogre whose eyes had been put out by a woman while he slept, and who therefore hated the whole sex so fiercely that he ate every woman he could lay hands on. The young men reached the ogre’s house weary from their journey and faint with hunger, and asked whether, out of pity, he would give them a morsel of bread. The ogre replied that he would feed them if they would enter his service: they would have nothing to do but look after him, one each day in turn, as if he were a little lapdog. Hearing this, the young men felt they had found both father and mother, and, having struck their bargain, they stayed in the ogre’s service. He learned their names by heart, calling now for Giangrazio, now Cecchitiello, now Pascale, now Nuccio, now Pone, now Pezzillo, and now Carcavecchia, for these were the brothers’ names. He gave them a room on the lower floor of his house and enough to keep body and soul together. Meanwhile their sister grew up, and when she heard that her seven brothers, through the midwife’s carelessness, had gone wandering through the world and had never been heard of again, she took it into her head to search for them. She pleaded and pleaded with her mother until the poor woman, driven out of her wits by so many entreaties, dressed her as a pilgrim and gave her leave to go. So she walked and walked, asking everywhere whether anyone had seen seven brothers, and passed through so many lands that at last she heard news of them at an inn. There she was shown the way to the wood, and one morning, when the Sun was using the penknife of his rays to scrape away the inkblots Night had made upon the paper of the sky, she reached the place. Her brothers recognized her with great joy, cursing the inkwell and the pen that had falsely written down so many misfortunes for them. After a thousand caresses, they warned her to keep hidden in their room so that the ogre would not see her; and furthermore, whatever food came into her hands, she must give a share to a cat that lived there, or it would do her some mischief. Cianna, for that was their sister’s name, wrote these counsels in the notebook of her heart, and shared everything she had with the cat like a good companion, always dividing fairly and saying, “This for me, this for thee, this for the King’s daughter,” giving it a portion even of a fennel bulb. Now it happened that the brothers went hunting for the ogre and left her a little basket of chickpeas to cook. As she was sorting them, she unfortunately found a hazelnut among them, which proved the stumbling stone of her peace; for she popped it into her mouth without giving half to the cat. Out of spite, the creature ran to the hearth and pissed on the fire until it went out. Seeing this, Cianna did not know what to do. Contrary to her brothers’ orders, she left their rooms, went into the ogre’s apartment, and asked for a little fire. Hearing a woman’s voice, the ogre said, “Welcome, master! Wait a moment: you have found what you were looking for.” With that he took a Genoese whetstone, oiled it, and began to sharpen his tusks. Cianna, seeing the cart headed for disaster, snatched up a firebrand, ran back to her room, and barred the door, piling behind it poles, chairs, bed trestles, little chests, stones, and everything else in the room. Once the ogre had put an edge on his teeth, he rushed to the room, and, finding it shut, began kicking the door to smash it in. The seven brothers came running at the noise and found this uproar, while the ogre reproached them as traitors for making their room a refuge for his enemies. Giangrazio, who was the eldest and had more sense than the others, saw how badly matters stood and said to the ogre, “We know nothing of this business. Perhaps this accursed woman slipped into our room by chance while we were out hunting. But since she has fortified herself inside, come with me, and I shall take you by a way where we can fall upon her without her being able to defend herself.” So they took the ogre by the hand and led him to a very deep pit, gave him a shove, and sent him tumbling down:

then, taking a shovel they found on the ground, they covered him with earth. They made their sister open the door and gave her a thorough scolding for her mistake and the danger she had exposed herself to, telling her to use her wits better in future and take care not to gather any herbs around the place where the ogre was buried, for if she did, all seven of them would turn into little doves. “Heaven forbid,” Cianna answered, “that I should ever do you such harm!” And so they took possession of the ogre’s goods and made themselves masters of the whole house, living happily while they waited for winter to pass, so that, when the Sun presented the earth with a green gown embroidered with flowers as a gift upon entering the house of Taurus, they might set out for home. It happened that, while the brothers were up in the mountains gathering wood against the cold, which grew sharper every day, a poor pilgrim came into the forest. He had jeered at a great monkey sitting in a pine tree, and the creature had thrown a pinecone onto his head, raising such an enormous lump that the poor fellow was howling like a damned soul. Cianna came out at the noise and, taking pity on his pain, at once picked a sprig of rosemary from a bush that had grown over the ogre’s pit. With chewed bread and salt she made him a poultice, gave him something to eat, and sent him on his way. As she was laying the table and waiting for her brothers, seven little doves came flying in and said to her, “Oh, better that your hands had been lopped off, you cause of all our misery, before you picked that accursed rosemary and sent us roaming far and wide! Have you eaten cats’ brains, sister, that you let our warning slip your mind? Here we are turned into birds, at the mercy of the talons of kites, sparrowhawks, and goshawks; here we are made companions to wagtails, blackcaps, goldfinches, kestrels, linnets, little owls, jackdaws, magpies, wheatears, gnatsnappers, wood grouse, shrikes, larks, moorhens, woodcocks, golden orioles, gulls, chaffinches, wrens, tits, reed warblers, wrynecks, skylarks, wigeons, flycatchers, hoopoes, bats, little grebes, hedge sparrows, robins, nuns, mallards, tufted ducks, teal, siskins, and storm petrels. A fine thing you have done! Now we shall return to our own country only to find nets spread and limed twigs waiting for us. To heal one pilgrim’s head you have broken the heads of seven brothers, and there is no remedy for our misfortune unless you find the mother of Time and have her tell you how to deliver us from our trouble.” Cianna, like a plucked quail in her dismay at what she had done, begged her brothers’ forgiveness and offered to roam the whole world until she found the old woman’s house. She begged them to remain at home until she returned, lest some misfortune befall them, and set off, never stopping to rest. Though she travelled on foot, her longing to help her brothers served her as a post mule, carrying her three miles an hour. At last she reached a shore where the sea was thrashing the rocks with the flat of its waves because they would not answer the Latin lesson it set them. There she saw a great whale, which said to her, “My lovely girl, what are you about?” “I am looking for the house of Time’s mother,” she answered. “Do you know what you should do?” replied the whale. “Go straight along this shore, and when you come to the first river, follow it upstream, and you will find someone to show you the way. But do me a kindness: when you find that good old woman, ask her on my behalf whether she can discover some means by which I may travel safely, without so often striking rocks or running aground on the sand.” “Leave it to me,” said Cianna, and, thanking the whale for showing her the way, she began trotting along the beach. After a long journey she reached the river, which, like a tax collector, paid silver coins into the bank of the sea, and followed it upstream. Coming to a lovely countryside where the meadow mimicked the sky, displaying its green mantle starred with flowers, she found a mouse, which said to her, “Where are you going all alone, beautiful woman?” And she answered:

“I am looking for Time’s mother.” “You still have a very long way to go,” the mouse replied, “but do not lose heart: everything has an end. Keep walking towards those mountains, which, as independent lords of these fields, claim the title of Highness, and you will hear more and more of what you seek. But do me a kindness: when you reach the house you are looking for, ask that good old woman what remedy we might find to free ourselves from the tyranny of cats. After that, command me as you please: I shall be your slave.” Cianna promised to do him this favour and set off towards the mountains, which, though they seemed close by, never seemed to grow any nearer. At last she reached them as best she could and sat down wearily on a stone, where she saw an army of ants carrying a great store of grain. One turned towards her and said, “Who are you, and where are you going?” Cianna, who was courteous to everyone, answered, “I am an unfortunate young woman, and on a matter of great importance to me I am seeking the house of Time’s mother.” “Go farther on,” replied the ant, “and where these mountains open onto a broad plain, you will hear news of her. But do us a great kindness: try to find out from the old woman what we ants might do to live a little longer. It seems to me one of the great follies of earthly things that we should toil to gather so much and lay in such stores of food for so short a life, which, like an enchanter’s candle, goes out just when our years are at their richest.” “Be at ease,” said Cianna, “for I shall repay the kindness you have done me.” Crossing the mountains, she found herself on a lovely plain. After walking some distance, she came upon a great oak, a witness to antiquity, a sweetmeat from the bridal feast of that happy age, a morsel Time still gives this bitter century of its lost delights. Forming lips from its bark and a tongue from its pith, it said to Cianna, “Where, where are you hurrying in such distress, my child? Come into my shade and rest.” She thanked it warmly but excused herself, saying that she was in haste to find Time’s mother. Hearing this, the oak said, “You are not far from her. Before you have travelled another day, you will see a house upon a mountain, and there you will find what you seek. But if your courtesy is as great as your beauty, try to learn what I might do to regain my lost honour, for from being the food of great men I have become fodder for pigs.” “Leave that care to Cianna,” she replied, “for I shall see what I can do for you.” With that she departed, and, walking without a moment’s rest, reached the foot of a spoilsport of a mountain, which thrust its head up to trouble the clouds. There she found a little old man who, exhausted by walking, had lain down in some hay. At the sight of Cianna, he recognized her at once as the girl who had treated the lump on his head. When he heard what she was seeking, he told her that he was bringing Time the rent for the land he had sown; that Time was a tyrant who had usurped everything in the world and demanded tribute from everyone, especially men of his age; and that, since he had received a kindness at Cianna’s hands, he now wished to repay it a hundredfold by giving her some sound advice concerning her journey up the mountain. He regretted that he could not accompany her, for his age, condemned rather to descend than to climb, compelled him to remain at the mountain’s foot, to settle his accounts with Time’s clerks—the troubles, sorrows, and illnesses of life—and pay the debt of nature. And so he said to her, “Now listen carefully, my fair and innocent daughter. You must know that on the top of that mountain you will find a ramshackle house so old that it has forgotten when it was built. Its walls are cracked, its foundations rotten, its doors worm-eaten, its furniture musty; in short, everything is worn out and ruined. Here you will see broken columns, there shattered statues, and nothing whole except a quartered coat of arms above the door, on which you will see a serpent biting its tail, a stag, a raven, and a phoenix. Once inside, you will see noiseless files, saws, scythes, and pruning knives lying on the floor, and hundreds upon hundreds of little jars of ashes, labelled like apothecaries’ pots. On them you may read Corinth, Saguntum, Carthage, Troy, and a thousand other cities gone sour, which he keeps as memorials of his exploits.

“Now, when you come near this house, hide to one side until Time goes out. Once he has left, go inside, and you will find a very, very old woman whose beard touches the ground and whose hump reaches the sky. Her hair, like the tail of a dapple-grey horse, covers her heels; her face is like a ruff, its folds stiffened by the starch of years. She sits upon a clock fixed to the wall:

“and because her eyelids are so large that they cover her eyes, she will not be able to see you. As soon as you enter, take the weights off the clock; then call the old woman and beg her to grant what you desire. She will immediately call to her son to come and eat you, but since the clock that carries his mother will have lost its weights, he will be unable to move, and so she will be forced to give you what you want. But believe none of the oaths she swears unless she swears by her son’s wings:

“then trust her and do as she tells you, and you will be satisfied.” As he spoke, the poor fellow crumbled away like a body buried in a crypt when it is exposed to the open air. Cianna gathered up his ashes and, mingling them with a measure of tears, dug a grave and buried them, praying that Heaven would grant him peace and rest. Then she climbed the mountain, which left her quite breathless, and waited for Time to come out. He was an old man with a very, very long beard, wearing a very, very old cloak covered all over with little labels sewn to it, bearing this person’s name and that person’s. He had great wings and ran so swiftly that she immediately lost sight of him. Entering his mother’s house, she could not help smiling at the sight of that wretched old husk:

and, at once seizing the clock weights, she told the old woman what she wanted. The old woman gave a shriek and called her son, but Ciannella said, “You may batter your head against these walls, but you certainly will not see your son while I hold these weights.” Finding herself checked, the old woman began to coax her, saying, “Let them go, my darling. Do not hinder my son’s running, something no living person in the world has ever done before. Let them go, as you hope for God’s protection, and I promise by my son’s strong acid, with which he eats away everything, that I shall do you no harm.” “You are wasting your time,” replied Cianna. “You will have to say something better if you want me to let them go.” “I swear by those teeth that gnaw all mortal things that I shall tell you whatever you wish to know.” “You will make no chaff of me,” Cianna answered, “for I suspect you mean to trick me.” “Come, then,” said the old woman, “I swear by those wings that fly everywhere that I shall do you more kindness than you can imagine.” Cianna released the weights and kissed the old woman’s hand, which smelled of mould and reeked of damp. Seeing the young woman’s good manners, she said, “Hide behind that door, and when Time comes home I shall make him tell me what you wish to know. When he goes out again—for he never stays still in one place—you can slip away. But do not let him hear you, for he is such a glutton that he does not spare even his own children; and when all else fails, he eats himself, then sprouts anew.” Cianna did as the old woman told her, and soon Time arrived. Swiftly and lightly, he gnawed everything that came to hand, down to the plaster on the walls. As he was about to leave, his mother told him everything she had heard from Cianna, begging him, by the milk she had given him, to answer each of her questions in turn. After a thousand entreaties, her son replied, “The tree may be told that it can never be dear to men while it keeps treasures buried beneath its roots. The mice will never be safe from the cat unless they tie a little bell to her leg, so that they can hear her coming. The ants will live a hundred years if they can forgo flying, for when the ant wishes to die, it grows wings.

“The whale must give a warm welcome to the sea mouse and keep it as a friend, for it will always serve as her guide and she will never go astray. And the little doves will return to their former selves when they alight upon the pillar of wealth.” Having said this, Time began running his accustomed course, and Cianna took leave of the old woman and went down the mountain. At that very moment the seven little doves arrived, having followed their sister’s footsteps. Exhausted by so much flying, they all went to perch upon the horns of a dead ox, and no sooner had their feet touched them than they became handsome young men again, just as before. Amazed at this, they listened to Time’s answer and understood that the horn, as the symbol of abundance, was the pillar of wealth he had meant. Rejoicing greatly with their sister, they set off along the same road Cianna had travelled. When they found the oak and told it what they had learned from Time, the tree begged them to remove the treasure from beneath it, since that was the reason its acorns had fallen into disrepute. The seven brothers found a hoe in a garden and dug until they uncovered a great earthenware jar of gold coins, which they divided into eight shares among themselves and their sister, so that they could carry it more easily.

But, wearied by the journey and the weight, they lay down to sleep beside a hedge. A band of robbers came upon them there and saw the poor wretches sleeping with their heads upon their bundles of coins;

they tied them hand and foot to some trees, took the money, and left them there, lamenting not only the fortune that had slipped from their hands almost as soon as they had found it, but their very lives, for, with no hope of help, they were in danger either of dying racked by hunger or of satisfying the hunger of some wild beast. While they were bewailing their wretched fate, the mouse came along. On hearing Time’s answer, it repaid their service by gnawing through the cords that bound them and setting them free.

But after walking another good stretch, they came upon the ant along the road. Having heard Time’s advice, she asked Cianna what was wrong, that she looked so downcast and yellow about the face. When Cianna told her of their misfortune and the outrage the robbers had done them, the ant replied, “Hush now, for here is my chance to repay the kindness you showed me. You must know that, while carrying a load of grain underground, I discovered the place where those murderous dogs hide their plunder. They have made some winding passages beneath an old building, where they store everything they steal. And now that they have gone off on some other villainous business, I shall take you there and show you the place, so that you can recover what is yours.” With that, she set off towards some ruined houses and showed the seven brothers the mouth of a pit. Giangrazio, being the boldest of them, climbed down and found all the money that had been taken from them. Having gathered it up, they set out towards the shore, where they found the Whale and told her the good advice they had received from Time, who is the father of all counsel. While they were talking about their journey and everything that had happened to them, they suddenly saw the ruffians appear, armed to the teeth, having followed their tracks. At the sight, they cried, “Alas, this time not a scrap of us poor wretches will be left! Here come the thieves with weapons in their hands, and they will flay us alive!” “Have no fear,” replied the Whale, “for I can rescue you from the fire and so repay the kindness you have shown me. Climb onto my back, and I shall carry you straight to safety.” The poor souls, seeing their enemies at their heels and finding themselves in such desperate straits, climbed onto the Whale. She drew away from the rocks and carried them within sight of Naples, but, not daring to put the young people ashore because the water was so shallow, she said, “Where would you like me to leave you? Along this coast of Amalfi?”

And Giangrazio replied, “Let us avoid it if we can, my lovely fish, for they say: at Massa, greet them and pass on; at Sorrento, grit your teeth; at Vico, bring your own; at Castellammare, neither friends nor godparents.” So the Whale, to oblige them, turned towards the Rock of Salt and left them there. They hailed the first fishing boat that passed and had it take them ashore. Then they returned to their own village, safe, sound, and rich, bringing joy to their mother and father, and thanks to Cianna’s goodness they lived happily ever after. Thus she bore true witness to the old saying, _Whenever you can, do good, and forget it._