Original title: “Fanta-Ghirò, persona bella”. Told by Luisa Ginanni in Montale Pistoiese. Transcribed and collected by Gherardo Nerucci in Sessanta novelle popolari montalesi (1880). Rewritten by Italo Calvino in Fiabe italiane (1956). Translated into English by George Martin in Italian Folktales (1980). In olden times there was a king who had no sons, but only three beautiful daughters. The oldest was Carolina, the next Assuntina, and the youngest was called Fanta-Ghirò the Beautiful, since she was the loveliest of the three. The king, who was always sick and irritable, stayed shut up in his room the whole day long. He had three chairs-a sky-blue one, a black one, and a red one. Every morning upon going in to greet him, his daughters were quick to note in which chair he sat. If it was sky-blue, that meant high spirits. But the black one spelled death, and the red one war. One day the girls found their father in the red chair. "Father!" exclaimed the eldest. "What's happened?" The king replied, "I've just received a declaration of war from the king next door to our land. What will I do? I'm ailing, as usual, and there's no one to take command of the army for me. Where can I get a good general at a moment's notice?" "If you'll allow me," said the oldest girl, ''I'll be your general myself. Do you think I couldn't command the soldiers?" "Don't be silly! That's no task for a woman!" said the king. "Do let me try," begged the girl. "Try. Very well, we shall try it," said the king, "but understand that if, along the way, you get to talking about women's work, you march straight back home." She agreed to that condition, and the king ordered his trusted squire, Tonino, to mount his horse and ride with the princess to war, but to bring her straight home to the palace the first time she mentioned women's work. So the princess and squire rode off to war, with the whole army behind them. They had already gone a good way when they came to a cane field and started through it. The princess exclaimed, "What magnificent canes! If we had them at home, we could make any number of distaffs for our spinning!" "Whoa, princess!" cried Tonino. "I'm under orders to take you back to the palace. You've brought up women's work." They wheeled their horses around, and the whole army about-faced and followed them home. Then the second girl went to the king. "Majesty, I will take command of the army myself." "Under the same conditions as your sister?" "The very same." They set out on horseback, she and the squire side by side, with the army right behind them. On and on they galloped. They went through the cane field, and the princess said nothing. They passed by a pile of vine stakes, and the princess said, "Look at these fine stakes, Tonino. So straight and thin! If we had them at home, there's no telling how many spindles we could make." "Whoa, princess!" cried Tonino the squire, stopping her horse. "Back home you go! You brought up women's work." So the whole army, bag and baggage, took the road back to town. The king no longer knew which way to turn, when Fanta-Ghirò came to him. "No, a thousand times NO!" he replied. "You're too young. How could you command an army if neither of your sisters could?" "Is there any harm in letting me try, Papa? I promise won't let you down or disgrace you. Let me try." So it was agreed that Fanta-Ghirò would go to war. She dressed as a warrior, with helmet, armor, sword, and two pistols, and galloped off with Tonino at her side. They passed the cane field without comment; they passed the pile of vine stakes, also without comment. Thus they reached the border. "Before going into battle," said Fanta-Ghirò, "I'd like a word with the enemy king." The enemy king was a handsome young man. The minute he laid eyes on Fanta-Ghirò he suspected she was a maiden rather than a general, and invited her to his palace to agree on the reasons for the war before going into battle. They arrived at the palace, and the king ran to his mother. "Mamma, Mamma," he said, "listen! I've brought home with me the general In command of the enemy forces, but just wait until you see him! "Beautiful Fanta-Ghirò With eyes so black and speech so low: She's a maiden, I know, I know!" His mother replied, "Take him into the armory. If the general is really a girl, arms won't interest her at all, and she won't even look at them." The king led Fanta-Ghirò into the armory. Fanta-Ghirò took down the swords hanging on the walls carefully noting how you gripped them and how heavy they were. Then she moved on to the guns and pistols, breaking them to see how they were loaded. The king ran back to his mother. "Mamma, the general handles weapons like a man. But the more I look at him, the more I'm convinced of what I say. "Beautiful Fanta-Ghirò With eyes so black and speech so low: She's a maiden, I know, I know!" His mother said, "Take him into the garden. If the general is a girl, she will pick a rose or a violet and pin it on her bosom. If he is a man, he will choose the Catalonian jasmine, sniff it, and then stick it behind his ear." So the king and Fanta-Ghirò went for a stroll in the garden. She reached for the Catalonian jasmine, plucked a blossom, sniffed it, then stuck it behind her ear. In great distress, the king returned to his mother. "The general did what a man would do, but I stick to what I've said all along. "Beautiful Fanta-Ghirò With eyes so black and speech so low: She's a maiden, I know, I know!" Realizing that her son was head over heels in love, the queen said, "Invite him to dinner. If the general holds the bread against his chest when he cuts it, then the general is a girl. But if he holds it in the air and cuts it, he is a man for sure, and you have fallen in love for nothing." But the results of this test were no better. Fanta-Ghirò cut her bread like a man. The king, however, continued to say to his mother: "Beautiful Fanta-Ghirò With eyes so black and speech so low: She's a maiden, I know, I know!" "Well, put him to the final test," proposed the queen. "Invite him to swim with you in the fishpond in the garden. If the general is a girl, she w'ill certainly refuse." He extended the invitation, and Fanta-Ghirò replied, "Of course! I would love to go swimming; not now, though, but tomorrow morning." She took Tonino the squire aside and said. "Leave the palace and return tomorrow morning with a letter bearing my father's seal. The letter should say: 'Dear Son, Fanta-Ghirò, I am deathly ill and wish to see you before I die.' "The next day they went to the fishpond. The king undressed and dived in first, then invited Fanta-Ghirò to do the same. "Please wait a little longer, for I'm wet with perspiration," she said, listening for approaching hoofbeats of the squire's horse. The king insisted that she get undressed. Fanta-Ghirò replied, "I don't know what it is, but I suddenly feel quite uneasy, as though something terrible were about to happen somewhere." "Nonsense! Nothing is going to happen," answered the king. "Get undressed and jump in! The water is fine. What could go wrong? " At that moment hoofbeats were heard, and up rode the squire and handed Fanta-Ghirò a letter with the royal seal. Fanta-Ghirò turned pale. "I'm terribly sorry, Majesty, but this is bad news. My father lies on his deathbed and is asking for me. I must depart at once. All you and I can do is make peace, and if any matters remain to be settled, you will find me at home in my kingdom. Farewell. I will go swimming with you some other time." The king stayed in the fishpond, alone and naked. The water was cold, and he gave way to despair: Fanta-Ghirò was surely a girl, but she had left before he could prove it. Before leaving, Fanta-Ghirò stopped by her room to get her things. On the bed, she placed this note: Woman came and woman went, But of her presence gave the king no hint. After the king found and read the note, he continued to stand there like a fool, half angry and half jubilant. He ran to his mother. "Mamma, Mamma, I guessed it, the general was a girl after all!" And without giving his mother time to reply, he jumped into his carriage and sped off in the tracks of Fanta-Ghirò. When Fanta-Ghirò got home, she embraced her father and told him how she had won the war and made the enemy king abandon his plans for an invasion of their kingdom. At that moment the' clatter of wheels was heard in the courtyard. It was the enemy king arriving, head over heels in love. As soon as he saw Fanta-Ghirò, he asked, "General, will you marry me?" The nuptials were celebrated, the two kings made peace, and when Fanta-Ghirò's father died, he left everything to his son-in-law, and Fanta-Ghirò the Beautiful became queen of two kingdoms. (Montale Pistoiese) Further readings Calvino, Italo ([1956] 2015). Fiabe italiane, 3 vols. Milan: Mondadori.
Nerucci, Gherardo (1880). Sessanta novelle popolari montalesi. Florence: Successori Le Monnier. English translation: Calvino, Italo ([1956] 1980). Italian Folktales Selected and Retold by Italo Calvino, trans. George Martin, with an introduction translated by Catherine Hill. New York: Pantheon Books. Scholarly works: Sottilotta, Elena Emma (2023). Conference Paper: “Fantaghirò as an ‘Activist Adaptation’: Gender Subversions from Italo Calvino’s Fairy Tale to Lamberto Bava’s Cult TV series and Contemporary Fan Art”, presented at the International Conference Norm and Transgression in the Fairy-Tale Tradition: (Non)Normative Identities, Forms, and Writings, organized by Alessandro Cabiati and Lewis Seifert at Brown University, Providence, Rhodes Island, United States. I am very happy to share the first tale of the podcast series ''Fiabe e racconti ritrovati'' hosted by Radio Dante, a multilingual radio programme run by the European Cultural Centre La Dante in Cambridge.
If you would like to know more about the Italian fairy-tale tradition while practising Italian, you can listen to the tale ''La scaltra contadinella'' here: https://www.radiodante.org/radioshow/radio-dante-racconta-fiabe-e-racconti-ritrovati-1-la-scaltra-contadinella-di-laura-gonzenbach/ Il racconto di oggi è tratto dal volume Fiabe siciliane (1870). Queste fiabe, tradotte da Luisa Rubini e rilette da Vincenzo Consolo, furono raccolte nella seconda metà dell’Ottocento da Laura Gonzenbach, folklorista nata a Messina da una famiglia di origine svizzera. La protagonista del racconto è una contadinella che riesce con la sua astuzia a scoprire l’inganno del servo di un re, trasformando così il suo destino. In More English Fairy Tales (1894) by Joseph Jacobs. First collected by Marie Clothilde Balfour. Illustration by John Batten Long ago, in my grandmother’s time, the Car-land was all in bogs, great pools of black water, and creeping trickles of green water, and squishy mools which squirted when you stepped on them. Well, granny used to say how long before her time the Moon herself was once dead and buried in the marshes, and as she used to tell me, I’ll tell you all about it. The Moon up yonder shone and shone, just as she does now, and when she shone she lighted up the bog- pools, so that one could walk about almost as safe as in the day. But when she didn’t shine, out came the Things that dwelt in the darkness and went about seeking to do evil and harm ; Bogles and crawling Horrors, all came out when the Moon didn’t shine. Well, the Moon heard of this, and being kind and good —as she surely is, shining for us in the night instead of taking her natural rest—she was main troubled. “I’ll see for myself, I will,” said she, “maybe it’s not so bad as folks make out.” Sure enough, at the month’s end down she stept, wrapped up in a black cloak, and a black hood over her yellow shining hair. Straight she went to the bog edge and looked about her. Water here and water there ; waving tussocks and trembling mools, and great black snags all twisted and bent. Before her all was dark— dark but for the glimmer of the stars in the pools, and the light that came from her own white feet, stealing out of her black cloak. The Moon drew her cloak faster about and trembled, but she wouldn’t go back without seeing all there was to be seen ; so on she went, stepping as light as the wind in the summer from tuft to tuft between the greedy gurgling water-holes. Just as she came near a big black pool her foot slipped and she was nigh tumbling in. She grabbed with both hands at a snag near by to steady herself with, but as she touched it, it twined itself round her wrists, like a pair of handcuffs, and gript her so that she couldn’t move. She pulled and twisted and fought, but it was no good. She was fast, and must stay fast. Presently as she stood trembling in the dark, wondering if help would come, she heard something calling in the distance, calling, calling, and then dying away with a sob, till the marshes were full of this pitiful crying sound ; then she heard steps floundering along, squishing in the mud and slipping on the tufts, and through the darkness she saw a white face with great feared eyes. ’Twas a man strayed in the bogs. Mazed with fear he struggled on toward the flickering light that looked like help and safety. And when the poor Moon saw that he was coming nigher and nigher to the deep hole, further and further from the path, she was so mad and so sorry that she struggled and fought and pulled harder than ever. And though she couldn’t get loose, she twisted and turned, till her black hood fell back off her shining yellow hair, and the beautiful light that came from it drove away the darkness. Oh, but the man cried with joy to see the light again. And at once all evil things fled back into the dark corners, for they cannot abide the light. So he could see where he was, and where the path was, and how he could get out of the marsh. And he was in such haste to get away from the quicks, and bogles and things that dwelt there, that he scarce looked at the brave light that came from the beautiful shining yellow hair, streaming out over the black cloak and falling to the water at his feet. And the Moon herself was so taken up with saving him, and with rejoicing that he was back on the right path, that she clean forgot that she needed help herself, and that she was held fast by the Black Snag. So off he went ; spent and gasping, and stumbling and sobbing with joy, flying for his life out of the terrible bogs. Then it came over the Moon, she would main like to go with him. So she pulled and fought as if she were mad, till she fell on her knees, spent with tugging, at the foot of the snag. And as she lay there, gasping for breath, the black hood fell forward over her head. So out went the blessed light and back came the darkness, with all its evil Things, with a screech and a howl. They came crowding round her, mocking and snatching and beating; shrieking with rage and spite, and swearing and snarling, for they knew her for their old enemy, that drove them back into the corners, and kept them from working their wicked wills. “Drat thee !” yelled the witch-bodies, “thou’st spoiled our spells this year agone !” “And us thou sent’st to brood in the corners !” howled the Bogles. And all the Things joined in with a great “Ho, ho !” till the very tussocks shook and the water gurgled. And they began again. “We’ll poison her—poison her !” shrieked the witches. And “Ho, ho !” howled the Things again. “We’ll smother her—smother her !” whispered the crawling Horrors, and twined themselves round her knees. And “Ho, ho !” mocked the rest of them. And again they all shouted with spite and ill-will. And the poor Moon crouched down, and wished she was dead and done with. And they fought and squabbled what they should do with her, till a pale grey light began to come in the sky ; and it drew nigh the dawning. And when they saw that, they were feared lest they shouldn’t have time to work their will ; and they caught hold of her, with horrid bony fingers, and laid her deep in the water at the foot of the snag. And the Bogles fetched a strange big stone and rolled it on top of her, to keep her from rising. And they told two of the will-o’-the-wykes to take turns in watching on the black snag, to see that she lay safe and still, and couldn’t get out to spoil their sport. And there lay the poor Moon, dead and buried in the bog, till some one would set her loose ; and who’d know where to look for her. Well, the days passed, and ’twas the time for the new moon’s coming, and the folk put pennies in their pockets and straws in their caps so as to be ready for her, and looked about, for the Moon was a good friend to the marsh folk, and they were main glad when the dark time was gone, and the paths were safe again, and the Evil Things were driven back by the blessed Light into the darkness and the water-holes. But days and days passed, and the new moon never came, and the nights were aye dark, and the Evil Things were worse than ever. And still the days went on, and the new moon never came, Naturally the poor folk were strangely feared and mazed, and a lot of them went to the Wise Woman who dwelt in the old mill, and asked if so be she could find out where the Moon was gone. “Well,” said she, after looking in the brewpot, and in the mirror, and in the Book, “it be main queer, but I can’t rightly tell ye what’s happed to her. If ye hear of aught, come and tell me.” So they went their ways ; and as days went by, and never a moon come, naturally they talked—my word ! I reckon they did talk ! their tongues wagged at home, and at the inn, and in the garth. But so came one day, as they sat on the great settle in the Inn, a man from the far end of the bog lands was smoking and listening, when all at once he sat up and slapped his knee. “My faicks !” says he, “I’d clean forgot, but I reckon I kens where the Moon be !” and he told them of how he was lost in the bogs, and how, when he was nigh dead with fright, the light shone out, and he found the path and got home safe. So off they all went to the Wise Woman, and told her about it, and she looked long in the pot and the Book again, and then she nodded her head. “It’s dark still, childer, dark !” says she, “and I can’t rightly see, but do as I tell ye, and ye’ll find out for yourselves. Go all of ye, just afore the night gathers, put a stone in your mouth, and take a hazel-twig in your hands, and say never a word till you’re safe home again. Then walk on and fear not, far into the midst of the marsh, till ye find a coffin, a candle, and a cross. Then ye’ll not be far from your Moon ; look, and m’appen ye’ll find her.” So came the next night in the darklings, out they went all together, every man with a stone in his mouth, and a hazel-twig in his hand, and feeling, thou may’st reckon, main feared and creepy. And they stumbled and stottered along the paths into the midst of the bogs ; they saw nought, though they heard sighings and flutterings in their ears, and felt cold wet fingers touching them ; but all at once, looking around for the coffin, the candle, and the cross, while they came nigh to the pool beside the great snag, where the Moon lay buried. And all at once they stopped, quaking and mazed and skeery, for there was the great stone, half in, half out of the water, for all the world like a strange big coffin ; and at the head was the black snag, stretching out its two arms in a dark gruesome cross, and on it a tiddy light flickered, like a dying candle. And they all knelt down in the mud, and said, “Our Lord,” first forward, because of the cross, and then backward, to keep off the Bogles ; but without speaking out, for they knew that the Evil Things would catch them, if they didn’t do as the Wise Woman told them. Then they went nigher, and they took hold of the big stone, and shoved it up, and afterwards they said that for one tiddy minute they saw a strange and beautiful face looking up at them glad-like out of the black water ; but the light came so quick and so white and shining, that they stept back mazed with it, and the very next minute, when they could see again, there was the full Moon in the sky, bright and beautiful and kind as ever, shining and smiling down at them, and making the bogs and the paths as clear as day, and stealing into the very corners, as though she’d have driven the darkness and the Bogles clean away if she could. *** This empowering story inspired two Bristol-based artists, Annie Randall and Emily Unsworth White, to organise the multidisciplinary art exhibition Buried Moons – Forgotten Tales From Beyond the Patriarchy, featuring creative workshops and artistic reinterpretations of brave FINT (female, intersex, non-binary, transgender) characters in folklore. This exhibition will take place on 3rd - 8th March, in Centrespace Gallery, Bristol. Come and celebrate FINT folklore! Check out @buriedmoons_folk for further details! By William Carleton In William Butler Yeats (1892). Irish Fairy Tales. London: Unwin. In the north of Ireland there are spinning meetings of unmarried females frequently held at the houses of farmers, called kemps. Every young woman who has got the reputation of being a quick and expert spinner attends where the kemp is to be held, at an hour usually before daylight, and on these occasions she is accompanied by her sweetheart or some male relative, who carries her wheel, and conducts her safely across the fields or along the road, as the case may be. A kemp is, indeed, an animated and joyous scene, and one, besides, which is calculated to promote industry and decent pride. Scarcely anything can be more cheering and agreeable than to hear at a distance, breaking the silence of morning, the light-hearted voices of many girls either in mirth or song, the humming sound of the busy wheels–jarred upon a little, it is true, by the stridulous noise and checkings of the reels, and the voices of the reelers, as they call aloud the checks, together with the name of the girl and the quantity she has spun up to that period; for the contest is generally commenced two or three hours before daybreak. This mirthful spirit is also sustained by the prospect of a dance–with which, by the way, every kemp closes; and when the fair victor is declared, she is to be looked upon as the queen of the meeting, and treated with the necessary respect. But to our tale. Every one knew Shaun Buie M’Gaveran to be the cleanest, best-conducted boy, and the most industrious too, in the whole parish of Faugh-a-ballagh. Hard was it to find a young fellow who could handle a flail, spade, or reaping-hook in better style, or who could go through his day’s work in a more creditable or workmanlike manner. In addition to this, he was a fine, well-built, handsome young man as you could meet in a fair; and so, sign was on it, maybe the pretty girls weren’t likely to pull each other’s caps about him. Shaun, however, was as prudent as he was good-looking; and although he wanted a wife, yet the sorrow one of him but preferred taking a well-handed, smart girl, who was known to be well-behaved and industrious, like himself. Here, however, was where the puzzle lay on him; for instead of one girl of that kind, there were in the neighbourhood no less than a dozen of them–all equally fit and willing to become his wife, and all equally good-looking. There were two, however, whom he thought a trifle above the rest; but so nicely balanced were Biddy Corrigan and Sally Gorman, that for the life of him he could not make up his mind to decide between them. Each of them had won her kemp; and it was currently said by them who ought to know, that neither of them could over-match the other. No two girls in the parish were better respected, or deserved to be so; and the consequence was, they had every one’s good word and good wish. Now it so happened that Shaun had been pulling a cord with each; and as he knew not how to decide between, he thought he would allow them to do that themselves if they could. He accordingly gave out to the neighbours that he would hold a kemp on that day week, and he told Biddy and Sally especially that he had made up his mind to marry whichever of them won the kemp, for he knew right well, as did all the parish, that one of them must. The girls agreed to this very good-humouredly, Biddy telling Sally that she (Sally) would surely win it; and Sally, not to be outdone in civility, telling the same thing to her. Well, the week was nearly past, there being but two days till that of the kemp, when, about three o’clock, there walks into the house of old Paddy Corrigan a little woman dressed in high-heeled shoes and a short red cloak. There was no one in the house but Biddy at the time, who rose up and placed a chair near the fire, and asked the little red woman to sit down and rest herself. She accordingly did so, and in a short time a lively chat commenced between them. ‘So,’ said the strange woman, ‘there’s to be a great kemp in Shaun Buie M’Gaveran’s?’ ‘Indeed there is that, good woman,’ replied Biddy, smiling and blushing to back of that again, because she knew her own fate depended on it. ‘And,’ continued the little woman, ‘whoever wins the kemp wins a husband?’ ‘Ay, so it seems.’ ‘Well, whoever gets Shaun will be a happy woman, for he’s the moral of a good boy.’ ‘That’s nothing but the truth, anyhow,’ replied Biddy, sighing, for fear, you may be sure, that she herself might lose him; and indeed a young woman might sigh from many a worse reason. ‘But,’ said she, changing the subject, ‘you appear to be tired, honest woman, an’ I think you had better eat a bit, an’ take a good drink of buinnhe ramwher (thick milk) to help you on your journey.’ ‘Thank you kindly, a colleen,’ said the woman; ‘I’ll take a bit, if you plase, hopin’, at the same time, that you won’t be the poorer of it this day twelve months.’ ‘Sure,’ said the girl, ‘you know that what we give from kindness ever an’ always leaves a blessing behind it.’ ‘Yes, acushla, when it is given from kindness.’ She accordingly helped herself to the food that Biddy placed before her, and appeared, after eating, to be very much refreshed. ‘Now,’ said she, rising up, ‘you’re a very good girl, an’ if you are able to find out my name before Tuesday morning, the kemp-day, I tell you that you’ll win it, and gain the husband.’ ‘Why,’ said Biddy, ‘I never saw you before. I don’t know who you are, nor where you live; how then can I ever find out your name?’ ‘You never saw me before, sure enough,’ said the old woman, ‘an’ I tell you that you never will see me again but once; an’ yet if you have not my name for me at the close of the kemp, you’ll lose all, an’ that will leave you a sore heart, for well I know you love Shaun Buie.’ So saying, she went away, and left poor Biddy quite cast down at what she had said, for, to tell the truth, she loved Shaun very much, and had no hopes of being able to find out the name of the little woman, on which, it appeared, so much to her depended. It was very near the same hour of the same day that Sally Gorman was sitting alone in her father’s house, thinking of the kemp, when who should walk in to her but our friend the little red woman. ‘God save you, honest woman,’ said Sally, ‘this is a fine day that’s in it, the Lord be praised!’ ‘It is,’ said the woman, ‘as fine a day as one could wish for: indeed it is.’ ‘Have you no news on your travels?’ asked Sally. ‘The only news in the neighbourhood,’ replied the other, ‘is this great kemp that’s to take place at Shaun Buie M’Gaveran’s. They say you’re either to win him or lose him then,’ she added, looking closely at Sally as she spoke. ‘I’m not very much afraid of that,’ said Sally, with confidence; ‘but even if I do lose him, I may get as good.’ ‘It’s not easy gettin’ as good,’ rejoined the old woman, ‘an’ you ought to be very glad to win him, if you can.’ ‘Let me alone for that,’ said Sally. ‘Biddy’s a good girl, I allow; but as for spinnin’, she never saw the day she could leave me behind her. Won’t you sit an’ rest you?’ she added; ‘maybe you’re tired.’ ‘It’s time for you to think of it,’ thought the woman, but she spoke nothing: ‘but,’ she added to herself on reflection, ‘it’s better late than never–I’ll sit awhile, till I see a little closer what she’s made of.’ She accordingly sat down and chatted upon several subjects, such as young women like to talk about, for about half an hour; after which she arose, and taking her little staff in hand, she bade Sally good-bye, and went her way. After passing a little from the house she looked back, and could not help speaking to herself as follows: ‘She’s smooth and smart, But she wants the heart; She’s tight and neat, But she gave no meat.’ Poor Biddy now made all possible inquiries about the old woman, but to no purpose. Not a soul she spoke to about her had ever seen or heard of such a woman. She felt very dispirited, and began to lose heart, for there is no doubt that if she missed Shaun it would have cost her many a sorrowful day. She knew she would never get his equal, or at least any one that she loved so well. At last the kemp day came, and with it all the pretty girls of the neighbourhood to Shaun Buie’s. Among the rest, the two that were to decide their right to him were doubtless the handsomest pair by far, and every one admired them. To be sure, it was a blythe and merry place, and many a light laugh and sweet song rang out from pretty lips that day. Biddy and Sally, as every one expected, were far ahead of the rest, but so even in their spinning that the reelers could not for the life of them declare which was the better. It was neck-and-neck and head-and-head between the pretty creatures, and all who were at the kemp felt themselves wound up to the highest pitch of interest and curiosity to know which of them would be successful. The day was now more than half gone, and no difference was between them, when, to the surprise and sorrow of every one present, Biddy Corrigan’s heck broke in two, and so to all appearance ended the contest in favour of her rival; and what added to her mortification, she was as ignorant of the red little woman’s name as ever. What was to be done? All that could be done was done. Her brother, a boy of about fourteen years of age, happened to be present when the accident took place, having been sent by his father and mother to bring them word how the match went on between the rival spinsters. Johnny Corrigan was accordingly despatched with all speed to Donnel M’Cusker’s, the wheelwright, in order to get the heck mended, that being Biddy’s last but hopeless chance. Johnny’s anxiety that his sister should win was of course very great, and in order to lose as little time as possible he struck across the country, passing through, or rather close by, Kilrudden forth, a place celebrated as a resort of the fairies. What was his astonishment, however, as he passed a White-thorn tree, to hear a female voice singing, in accompaniment to the sound of a spinning-wheel, the following words: ‘There’s a girl in this town doesn’t know my name; But my name’s Even Trot–Even Trot.’ ‘There’s a girl in this town,’ said the lad, ‘who’s in great distress, for she has broken her heck, and lost a husband. I’m now goin’ to Donnel M’Cusker’s to get it mended.’ ‘What’s her name?’ said the little red woman. ‘Biddy Corrigan.’ The little woman immediately whipped out the heck from her own wheel, and giving it to the boy, desired him to take it to his sister, and never mind Donnel M’Cusker. ‘You have little time to lose,’ she added, ‘so go back and give her this; but don’t tell her how you got it, nor, above all things, that it was Even Trot that gave it to you.’ The lad returned, and after giving the heck to his sister, as a matter of course told her that it was a little red woman called Even Trot that sent it to her, a circumstance which made tears of delight start to Biddy’s eyes, for she knew now that Even Trot was the name of the old woman, and having known that, she felt that something good would happen to her. She now resumed her spinning, and never did human fingers let down the thread so rapidly. The whole kemp were amazed at the quantity which from time to time filled her pirn. The hearts of her friends began to rise, and those of Sally’s party to sink, as hour after hour she was fast approaching her rival, who now spun if possible with double speed on finding Biddy coming up with her. At length they were again even, and just at that moment in came her friend the little red woman, and asked aloud, ‘Is there any one in this kemp that knows my name?’ This question she asked three times before Biddy could pluck up courage to answer her. She at last said, ‘There’s a girl in this town does know your name– Your name is Even Trot–Even Trot.’ ‘Ay,’ said the old woman, ‘and so it is; and let that name be your guide and your husband’s through life. Go steadily along, but let your step be even; stop little; keep always advancing; and you’ll never have cause to rue the day that you first saw Even Trot.’ We need scarcely add that Biddy won the kemp and the husband, and that she and Shaun lived long and happily together; and I have only now to wish, kind reader, that you and I may live longer and more happily still. Further readings: Yeats, William Butler (1888). Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry. London: Walter Scott.
Yeats, William Butler (1892). Irish Fairy Tales. London: Unwin. Yeats, William Butler (1893). The Celtic Twilight: Men and Women, Dhouls and Faeries. London: A. H. Bullen. Original title: ‘La mammana di la Principissa-fata’. Told by Agatuzza Messia in Palermo. Collected by Giuseppe Pitrè. Translated into English by Jack Zipes and Joseph Russo. Once upon a time there was a married woman who was a midwife. One day, as she was cooking in her kitchen, she saw a hand appear and heard the words, “Give me some!” So she took a plate and filled it with what she was cooking. When the hand came back and returned the plate, it was filled with gold coins. The next day, as she was cooking, the hand appeared again: “Give me some!” She gave it a plate bigger than the first, and the same hand returned it filled with gold coins. And so it went on for nine months with the hand always doing the same thing, and the woman making the plates larger and larger until she was using a big serving platter. When it was just one day short of a full nine months, the midwife heard a knocking on her door at night, as if someone needed her to help with a birth. But when she got dressed and went downstairs, she found two giants standing in her doorway. They blindfolded her, tossed her up on their shoulders, and ran off with her. She couldn’t see who they were or where they were taking her. Soon they entered a doorway, took off her blindfold, and led her upstairs. Entering a bedroom, she saw a very pregnant lady, who addressed her saying, “Good woman, it’s you I want as my midwife.” So the midwife stayed with her and didn’t budge. After two weeks passed and her husband had no idea where she was, the poor man began to lose his mind. “What’s happened? Oh my poor wife, are you still alive?” And he combed the entire city by day and night and looked for her everywhere. Now the pregnant lady, as it turns out, was a fairy princess, and on the fifteenth day she gave birth to two handsome boys. “My good woman,” she said to the midwife, “you’ve been with me for fifteen days, and now I must ask that you stay another fifteen to take care of me.” In turn, the midwife agreed to remain fifteen days longer. At the end of the month the princess said, “My good woman, do you wish to leave now?”“Only as your Excellency commands.” “And how do you wish to be paid, in punches or pinches?” The midwife thought to herself: “If I say ‘pinches,’ my death will be slow. So it’s better to say ‘punches,’ then at least I can die quickly.” (She actually believed the princess intended to give her punches.) So she replied, “Punches.” The fairy princess called the two giants to bring a large sack of gold coins and another sack half its size. She ordered the giants to empty these by handfuls and to fill up another sack for the woman to take with her. That night she commanded one giant to carry the woman blindfolded, the other, the sack, and they brought the woman back to her house. Now, since her husband had found no trace of her and had decided she was dead, he had begun wearing black. When the giants knocked at his door, he thought it was his wife’s soul returning and cried out, “I exorcize you, in God’s name!” “Now don’t go exorcizing me! I’m your wife! Open the door!” The husband was frightened to death but went to open the door. “It really is my wife!” he said when he saw her, and they embraced. “Where have you been? I was sure you were dead!” But when he saw the gold coins, and she recounted all that had happened, he ceased his mourning and made no more mention of these events. Now that the midwife was so wealthy, she gave up being a midwife. She acquired carriages and fine clothes in abundance and became one of the leading ladies of Palermo. Ten years later she was at the Four Corners when a luxurious carriage came along. Looking up, she heard someone call her: “Psst, psst! Climb up here!” It was a lady calling her to come up into the carriage. The carriage took her to a grand palace, where she was led upstairs. she and the lady were face to face, the lady said, “Good woman, don’t you remember who I am?” “No, my lady.” “Really? Don’t you remember that ten years ago you came to assist me for a whole month, and I had those two beautiful boys? And I was also the one who held out my hand and asked for food. I was part of the society of fairies, and if you hadn’t been generous and given me food, that very night would have been your last. But because you were generous, we made you rich. Now I have left that society, and I live here with my two sons.” The midwife looked at her in astonishment. She blessed the moment when she had obeyed her generous impulse. And the two of them became friends for ever after. And so they remained content and at peace, While we have to sit here, grinding our teeth. Further readings: Pitrè, Giuseppe (2013 [1875]). Fiabe novelle e racconti popolari siciliani, trans. Bianca Lazzaro, introduction by Jack Zipes, preface by Giovanni Puglisi, 4 vols. Rome: Donzelli.
Pitrè, Giuseppe (2009 [1875]). The Collected Sicilian Folk and Fairy Tales of Giuseppe Pitrè, trans. and ed. by Jack Zipes and Joseph Russo, illustrated by Carmelo Lettere, 2 vols. New York and London. Routledge. Scholarly works: Cocchiara, Giuseppe (1951). Pitrè, la Sicilia e il folklore. Messina: D’Alma. Zipes, Jack (2009). ‘The Indomitable Giuseppe Pitrè’, Folklore, 120, 1, 1-18. In Lady Augusta Gregory’s Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland (1920). In talking to the people I often heard the name of Biddy Early, and I began to gather many stories of her, some calling her a healer and some a witch. Some said she had died a long time ago, and some that she was still living. I was sure after a while that she was dead, but was told that her house was still standing, and was on the other side of Slieve Echtge, between Feakie and Tulla. So one day I set out and drove Shamrock, my pony, to a shooting lodge built by my grandfather in a fold of the mountains, and where I had sometimes, when a young girl, stayed with my brothers when they were shooting the wild deer that came and sheltered in the woods. It had like other places on our estate a border name brought over from Northumberland, but though we called it Chevy Chase the people spoke of its woods and outskirts as Daire−caol, the Narrow Oak Wood, and Daroda, the Two Roads, and Druim−da−Rod, their Ridge. I stayed tile night in the low thatched house, setting out next day for Feakle "eight strong miles over the mountain." It was a wild road, and the pony had to splash his way through two unbridged rivers, swollen with the summer rains. The red mud of the road, the purple heather and foxglove, the brown bogs were a contrast to the grey rocks and walls of Burren and Aidline, and there were many low hills, brown when near, misty blue in the distance; then the Golden Mountain, Slieve nan−Or, "where the last great battle will be fought before the end of the world." Then I was out of Connacht into Clare, the brown turning to green pasture as I drove by Raftery's Lough Greine. I put up my pony at a little inn. There were portraits of John Dillon and Michael Davitt hanging in the parlour, and the landlady told me Parnell's likeness had been with them, until the priest had told her he didn't think well of her hanging it there. There was also on the wall, in a frame, a warrant for the arrest of one of her sons, signed by, I think, Lord Cowper, in the days of the Land War. "He got half a year in gaol the same year Parnell did. He got sick there, and though he lived for some years the doctor said when he died the illness he got in gaol had to do with his death. I had been told how to find Biddy Early's house "beyond the little hum py bridge," and I walked on till I came to it, a poor cottage enough, high up on a mass of rock by the roadside. There was only a little girl in the house, but her mother came in afterwards and told me that Biddy Early had died about twenty years before, and that after they had come to live in the house they had been "annoyed for a while" by people coming to look for her. She had sent them away, telling them Biddy Early was dead, though a friendly priest had said to her, "Why didn't you let on you were her and make something out of them?" She told me some of the stories I give below, and showed me the shed where the healer had consulted with her invisible friends. I had already been given by an old patient of hers a "bottle" prepared for the cure, but which she had been afraid to use. It lies still unopened on a shelf in my storeroom. When I got back at nzght fall to the lodge in the woods I found many of the neighbours gathered there, wanting to hear news of "the Tulla Woman" and to know for certain if she was dead. I think as time goes on her fame will grow and some of the myths that always hang in the air will gather round her, for I think the first thing I was told of her was, "There used surely to be enchanters in the old time, magicians and freemasons. Old Biddy Early's power came from the same thing." An Old Woman in the Lodge Kitchen says: Do you remember the time John Kevin beyond went to see Biddy Early, for his wife, she was sick at the time. And Biddy Early knew everything, and that there was a forth behind her house, and she said, "Your wife is too fond of going out late at night." I was told by a Gate−keeper: There was a man at Cranagh had one of his sheep shorn in the night, and all the wool taken. And he got on his horse and went to Feakie and Biddy Early, and she told him the name of the man that did it, and where it was hidden, and so he got it back again. There was a man went to Biddy Early, and she told him that the woman he'd marry would have had her husband killed by his brother. And so it happened, for the woman he married was sitting by the fire with her husband, and the brother came in, having a drop of drink taken, and threw a pint pot at him that hit him on the head and killed him. It was the man that married her that told me this. Mrs. Kearns: Did I know any one that was taken by them? Well, I never knew one that was brought back again. Himself went one time to Biddy Early for his uncle, Donohue, that was sick, and he found her there and her fingers all covered with big gold rings, and she gave him a bottle, and she said: "Go in no house on your way home, or stop nowhere, or you'll lose it." But going home he had a thirst on him and he came to a public−house, and he wouldn't go in, but he stopped and bid the boy bring him out a drink. But a little farther on the road the horse got a fall, and the bottle was broke. Mrs. Cregan: It's I was with this woman here to Biddy Early. And when she saw me, she knew it was for my husband I came, and she looked in her bottle and she said, "It's nothing put upon him by my people that's wrong with him." And she bid me give him cold oranges and some other things−herbs. He got better after. Further readings Gregory, Lady Augusta (2006 [1920]). Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland. Gerrards Cross: Smythe.
Lenihan, Edmund (2018). In Search of Biddy Early. Ennistymon: Hayesprint Publishing. Scholarly works: Jeckins, Richard (2007). ‘The Transformations of Biddy Early: From Local Reports of Magical Healing to Globalised New Age Fantasies’, Folklore, 118, 2, 162-182. Ó Crualaoich, Gearóid (2005). ‘Reading the Bean Feasa’, Folklore, 116, 1, 37-50. Grazia Deledda, ‘Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio. Leggenda Sarda’ (1899). Palermo: Remo Sandron. First published in Il Paradiso dei bambini, Rome, 3, 10, 17 November 1892. Oggi, miei piccoli amici, voglio raccontarvi una storia che vi commuoverà moltissimo, e che, se non vi commuoverà, non sarà certamente per colpa mia o delle cose che vi narro, ma perché avete il cuore di pietra. C’era dunque una volta, in un villaggio della Sardegna per il quale voi non siete passati e forse non passerete mai, un uomo cattivo, che non credeva in Dio e non dava mai elemosina ai poveri. Quest’uomo si chiamava don Juanne Perrez, perché d’origine spagnola, ed era brutto come il demonio. Abitava una casa immensa, ma nera e misteriosa, composta di cento e una stanza, e aveva con sé, per servirlo, una nipotina di quindici anni, chiamata Mariedda. Mariedda era buona, bella e devota quanto suo zio era cattivo, brutto e scomunicato. Mariedda possedeva i più bei capelli neri di tutta la Sardegna, e i suoi occhi sembravano uno la stella del mattino, l’altro la stella della sera. Don Juanne voleva male a Mariedda, come del resto voleva male a tutti i cristiani della terra; e, potendo, le avrebbe cavato gli occhioni belli; ma per un ultimo scrupolo di coscienza non voleva farle danno; solo, quando essa ebbe compito i quindici anni, pensò di sbarazzarsene maritandola a un brutto uomo del villaggio. Ella però non volte acconsentire a questo infelice matrimonio, e il brutto uomo del villaggio, per vendicarsi dell’umiliante rifiuto, una notte sradicò tutte le piante del giardino di don Juanne e pose sulla soglia della casa, ove Mariedda e lo zio abitavano, un paio di corna e due grandissime zucche; e ogni notte passava sotto le finestre cantando canzoni cattive. Impossibile descrivere l’ira di don Juanne, e l’avversione che d’allora cominciò a nutrire contro la povera Mariedda. Basta dire che un giorno la prese con sé nella stanza più remota della casa, e le disse: «Tu non hai voluto per marito Predu Concaepreda (Pietro Testadipietra). Beh! Ma siccome tu devi assolutamente maritarti, preparati a sposare me». La poveretta rimase, come suol dirsi, di stucco, poi esclamò: «Ma come va quest’affare? Voi non siete mio zio? E da quando in qua gli zii possono sposar le nipoti?». «Tu sta zitta, fraschetta! Io ho dal papa il permesso di sposarmi con chi voglio, anche senza prete. E ho deciso di ammogliarmi con chi mi pare e piace. Tu pensa bene ai fatti tuoi. O quell’uomo del villaggio, o me. Ti lascio una notte per deciderti.» E se n’andò chiudendola dentro. Appena sola, Mariedda si mise a piangere e a pregare fervorosamente Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio, perché l’aiutasse e la ispirasse. Ed ecco, appena fatto notte, le apparve una donna bellissima, tutta circondata di luce, vestita di raso e di velo bianco, con un mantello azzurro e un diadema d’oro simile a quello della regina di Spagna. Donde era entrata? Mariedda non poteva spiegarselo, e stava a guardare a bocca aperta la bella Signora, quando questa le disse con voce che sembrava musica di violino: «Io sono Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio, ed ho sentito la tua preghiera. Senti, Mariedda: chiedi a tuo zio otto giorni di tempo, e se in capo a questi egli non avrà deposto il suo pensiero, chiamami di nuovo. Conservati sempre buona, e mai ti mancherà il mio aiuto e il mio consiglio». Ciò detto sparve, lasciando nella stanza come una luce di luna e un odore di gelsomino. Mariedda, che provava una viva gioia, pregò tutta la notte; e il domani chiese a suo zio otto giorni di tempo. Sebbene a malincuore, don Juanne glieli concesse; intanto, perché non fuggisse, la teneva sempre rinchiusa in quella stanza remota, nella quale perdurava la luce di luna e l’odore di gelsomino. Passati però gli otto giorni, le chiese se si era decisa, ché lui voleva assolutamente sposarla il giorno dopo. Rimasta sola, Mariedda si rimise a piangere e pregare, ma tosto ricomparve quella Celeste Signora, che ora aveva un vestito di broccato d’oro e un diadema di perle come quello della Regina di Francia. «Dormi, Mariedda, e non temere», le disse con voce che pareva musica di rosignuolo. «Prendi questo rosario, che ha virtù di guarire i malati, e nella fortuna non dimenticarti di me, se non vuoi che t’incolga sventura.» E sparì, lasciando nella stanza una luce d’aurora primaverile e una fragranza di garofani. Mariedda non aveva potuto dire una sola parola. Speranzosa ed estasiata baciò il rosario di madreperla lasciatole dalla divina Signora, se lo pose al collo e si addormentò tranquillamente senza chiedersi che cosa l’indomani sarebbe avvenuto. Ma l’indomani ella si svegliò sotto un roveto, vicino ad una palude; e tosto pensò che colà doveva averla trasportata, durante il sonno, la sua Santa Protettrice. Levatasi, recitò la solita preghiera, poi si avviò verso una città che si scorgeva in lontananza, tra i vapori rosei del bellissimo mattino. Cammina, cammina, vide un piccolo pescatore che, a piedi scalzi e con la lenza sulla spalla, si recava a pescare in certi piccoli stagni azzurreggianti là intorno. Gli chiese: «Bel pescatore, in grazia, come si chiama quella città?». Il pescatore non rispose, ma si mise a cantare: Io pesco anguilla, e do la caccia all’oca; Quella città laggiù si chiama Othoca. «Be’», pensò Mariedda, «siamo ad Oristano.» Cammina, cammina, entrò in città, e subito si diede a cercar una casa in cui potesse entrar come serva; ma inutilmente. Dopo tre giorni e tre notti di viavai da una porta all’altra, morente di fame e di stanchezza, non aveva ancora trovato padrona. Ma non disperava; e pregava, pregava sempre la bella Signora del Buon Consiglio, perché l’aiutasse. Ora, al quarto giorno, passando davanti al palazzo reale, vide molta gente che parlava sommessa, pallida in volto e piena di dolore. «Bel soldato», chiese ad un giovine armigero, triste anch’egli come il resto della folla, «che cosa avviene?» «Sta per morire il figlio del Giudice di Arboréa, e nessun medico può più salvarlo.» Il Giudice era il re di Arboréa; quindi il figlio era il principe reale, il più bel cavaliere di tutta la Sardegna. Mariedda fu scossa dalla dolorosa notizia e stava per dire un’Ave per il principe moribondo, quando, toccando i grani del suo rosario si ricordò con gioia che questo possedeva la virtù di guarire i malati. Senza dir nulla, attraversò la folla e riuscì a penetrare nel reale palazzo; ma un capitano delle guardie la fermò, e le chiese con arroganza cosa voleva. «Vengo a guarire don Mariano, il principe malato», ella rispose umilmente. «Ho una medicina meravigliosa che fa guarire anche i moribondi.» Allora il capitano arrogante la introdusse presso il Giudice, un vecchio re dalla barba lunga fino alle ginocchia, al quale Mariedda dové ripetere le sue parole. Il Giudice restò commosso dalla bellezza della piccola sconosciuta, e più per la sua promessa, ma le disse: «Bada, fanciulla dagli occhi di stella, se tu c’inganni, noi ti troncheremo la testa». «E se salvo il principe?» «Ti daremo ciò che vorrai.» Ciò detto introdusse egli stesso Mariedda presso il principe morente. Era tempo. Ancora pochi istanti e tutto era perduto. Ma la nipote di don Juanne Perrez mise il rosario intorno al collo del principe e, inginocchiatasi sulla pelle di cervo stesa davanti al letto, pregò fervidamente. Allora tutti gli astanti, bianchi in volto e pieni di meraviglia, videro un miracolo straordinario. Don Mariano riapriva gli occhi, i begli occhi castani dalle lunghe ciglia. A poco a poco le sue guance diventarono rosee come il fior degli oleandri dei giardini reali; la sua fronte rifulse di vita; sorrise; si alzò dicendo: «Padre mio, io rinasco. Chi mi ha salvato?». Il Giudice piangeva di gioia, piangeva tanto che la sua barba gocciolava di lagrime come un albero bagnato dalla pioggia. «Ecco!», rispose, sollevando Mariedda. «Tu devi essere una fata», disse il principe, abbracciandola. «I tuoi occhi hanno una luce di luna. Tu sarai la mia sposa.» Infatti, poco tempo dopo, cioè appena giunsero dalla Francia e dalle Fiandre i vestiti di broccato che stavano ritti da sé, tanto oro e argento avevano, e i veli e i manti per Mariedda, essa diventò Giudicessa d’Arboréa. Ed era tanto felice che cominciò a dimenticare la raccomandazione di Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio, cioè di pregarla e ricordarla sempre, anche nella buona fortuna. Dopo un anno Mariedda aveva interamente dimenticato la sua Celeste Protettrice: il rosario miracoloso stava appeso nella reale cappella, fra altre reliquie e la Giudicessa scendeva raramente nella cappella, passando invece il tempo tra feste, cacce, tornei, e fra i canti e i liuti, e le mandole dei trovadori, che non mancavano nella corte degli Arboréa. Ora avvenne che gli Spagnoli invasero il regno di Arboréa, e don Mariano, lo sposo di Mariedda, dovette partire col suo esercito per difendere le sue terre e cacciare gl’invasori. Partì e lasciò Mariedda presso a diventare madre di un bel principino. «Addio, bella amica», le disse baciandola in fronte, prima di montare sul suo gran cavallo bianco dalla gualdrappa rossa, «sta di buon animo, e fa che al mio ritorno trovi un nuovo principino bello e forte come…» «Come te, bell’amico! », rispose donna Mariedda con orgoglio. Durante la guerra, don Mariano stette lungo tempo lontano dalla sua capitale, dal vecchio padre, dalla sposa, e questa, qualche mese dopo la sua partenza, divenne madre di un bellissimo bambino. Questo bambino era tutto color di rosa, e aveva i piedini e le manine che sembravano fiori. Bisogna sappiate, però, che vi era chi aspettava ansiosamente il giorno della nascita del bellissimo bambino, per demolire tutta la felicità della Giudicessa donna Mariedda. Era don Juanne Perrez. Sentite. Dopo la separazione dalla nipote, egli aveva cominciato a odiarla ferocemente, giurando di vendicarsi. Ma per quante ricerche facesse nel Logudoro e nelle terre vicine, nessuno aveva mai veduto né sentito parlare della fanciulla dagli occhi di stella; e don Juanne già cominciava, con malvagia gioia, a creder che se l’avesse portata via il demonio; quando, recatosi ad Oristano per le feste in occasione delle nozze del principe, vide con meraviglia e dispetto, che la sposa era Mariedda! Allora egli cosa fece? Tornò nel suo villaggio, vendé tutto quanto possedeva, e vendé persino la sua anima al diavolo, perché lo aiutasse nella vendetta; e si vestì da medico, con una lunga barba bianca, e una zimarra nera. Si vestì così perché in un vecchio libro aveva letto che talmente vestiva Claudio Galeno, un antico dottore. Così travestito, don Juanne Perrez se n’andò nuovamente ad Oristano, spacciandosi per un medico arrivato da Alemagna, e che aveva studiato a Ratisbona. E tanto disse e tanto fece, che lo accettarono per medico di Corte. Mariedda non lo riconobbe punto. Perciò, quando nacque il bellissimo bambino più sopra accennato, fu chiamato il falso medico; e il falso medico, che aspettava questa occasione per vendicarsi, nascose il bellissimo bambino, e lo sostituì destramente con un cagnolino nero, brutto e rognoso, che teneva pronto. E fece quest’azione vigliacca con tanta destrezza, che neppure Mariedda se ne accorse. Don Juanne non uccise il bellissimo bambino, ma lo lasciò morir di fame; perciò ancor oggi, in molti punti della Sardegna, la fame vien chiamata Monsiù Juanne, in memoria di questo fatto. Intanto nella Corte Reale si era immersi nel massimo dolore e spavento, perché mai si era vista una cosa simile; e Mariedda aveva la febbre dal dispiacere e dall’umiliazione. Pazienza fosse stata una popolana a diventar madre di un cagnolino nero, brutto e rognoso, Santo Iddio! la cosa sarebbe stata passabile, perché in quei tempi esistevano le streghe che si maritavano col diavolo, e da questi orribili matrimoni potevano nascere anche cagnolini e scorpioni: ma una Giudicessina, che aveva vestiti di broccato, i quali stavano ritti da sé tant’oro e argento portavano!… Basta; la cosa fu scritta a don Mariano che, per la prima volta in vita sua, pianse di dolore. E forse egli avrebbe perdonato Mariedda; ma sparsasi nel campo spagnolo la notizia destò tale ilarità e tante beffe a danno del principe nemico, che egli salì su tutte le furie, e scrisse al suo Maggiordomo che tosto pigliasse la Giudicessina col suo mostriciattolo e la portasse lontano, lontano, in luogo donde non potesse far ritorno, poiché egli la ripudiava. Il Maggiordomo obbedì; e una notte la povera Mariedda si vide trasportata lontano lontano, in una campagna deserta e silenziosa. Fra le braccia ella stringeva il cagnolino, al quale aveva posto un grande amore. Lasciata sola in quella campagna deserta e silenziosa, in quell’ora tremenda di disperazione, ella ricordò finalmente il suo passato, ricordò Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio, e cadde al suolo piangendo, chiedendo misericordia e perdono. Allora, come nella stanza buia e remota della casa di don Juanne, ecco si fece una gran luce d’oro, e in essa apparve la Madonna col vestito bianco e il manto azzurro e il diadema simile a quello della Regina di Spagna. «Mariedda, Mariedda», disse con voce soavissima, che consolò la povera afflitta, «tu ti sei dimenticata di me, e per ciò sventura t’incolse. Ma io non abbandono gli afflitti, e sono la madre dei dolorosi» Con la fronte al suolo Mariedda piangeva e pregava. «Mariedda», continuò la Madonna, «cammina, cammina. Troverai una casa che sarà tua, e dove nulla ti mancherà. Vivi là finché sia giunto il tuo giorno e non dimenticarti più di me.» Ciò detto sparve. Sulle desolate campagne si sparse una luce di sole nascente, le siepi fiorirono, i ruscelli brillarono; un soave profumo di puleggio passò per l’aria, e una fila di merli dal becco giallo cantò su un muro vicino. Quando sollevò la fronte dal suolo, Mariedda si trovò fra le braccia non più il cagnolino nero, ma un bellissimo bambino tutto color di rosa, le cui manine e i cui piedini sembravano fiori. Per un momento pensò di tornarsene in Corte con quel bellissimo bambino; ma le parole di Nostra Signora del Buon Consiglio le stavano fitte in mente: e tosto riprese a camminare attraverso la grande pianura improvvisamente fiorita. Cammina, cammina e cammina, dopo lunghe ore si trovò davanti una bella casetta verde, nascosta in un boschetto d’aranci e rose. Dagli aranci pendevano grosse palle d’oro, e dalle rose salivano grandi fiori di corallo. Mariedda picchiò. Una serva vestita in costume, con la sottana di scarlatto fiammante, il corsetto di broccato verde-oro e un gran velo bianco in testa, aprì e disse inchinandosi: «Siete voi la padrona che s’aspettava?». «Sì», rispose Mariedda sorridendo. E da quel giorno, infatti, essa fu la padrona di quella casetta verde nascosta fra gli aranci e le rose. Nessuno passava mai là vicino; il mondo era lontano, lontano, eppure nulla mancava mai nella casetta: c’era sempre il pane che sembrava d’oro; l’acqua che sembrava d’argento; il vino che sembrava sangue; l’uva che sembrava grappolo di perle; la carne che sembrava corallo; l’olio che sembrava ambra; il miele che sembrava topazio; il latte che sembrava neve. E infine tutte le cose. Mariedda era felice: pregava sempre, e aspettava il giorno promesso, nel quale sperava rivedere lo sposo diletto. Intanto il bellissimo bambino, che si chiamava Consiglio, cresceva come i piccoli aranci del boschetto, e rideva e correva su cavalli di canna, ai quali, sebbene non avessero che la coda, faceva eseguire rapidissimi volteggi. Scorsero cinque anni. Un giorno, finalmente, passò vicino alla casetta verde una comitiva di cacciatori, che si erano smarriti in quelle campagne disabitate, e chiesero ospitalità a Mariedda. Immaginatevi voi il batticuore, la sorpresa e la gioia di Mariedda nel riconoscere il suo sposo nel capo di quei cacciatori smarriti! «Ecco giunto il giorno!», pensò trepidando. Ma non si fece conoscere, perché era alquanto cambiata e vestiva in costume. Però accolse graziosamente i cacciatori, fra i quali eravi anche don Juanne, il medico del diavolo. Tutti furono incantati della buona accoglienza e della bellezza di Mariedda e di Consiglio. A tavola don Mariano, che sedeva accanto alla padrona, le raccontò la sua sventura, e le disse che si era pentito del suo atroce comando, che aveva fatto cercare la povera sposa per tutti i monti e le valli di Sardegna, e che, non avendola potuta ritrovare, ora egli era l’uomo più infelice della terra, tormentato dai rimorsi e dalle ricordanze. Mariedda fu intenerita da questo racconto, e decise rivelarsi prima che i cacciatori partissero. Intanto accadde questo fatto straordinario, che dimostrò come la giustizia di Dio si riveli nelle più piccole cose. Sentite. Un cucchiarino d’oro del servizio da tavola era caduto per terra. Consiglio, che giocherellava attraverso le sedie, lo raccolse, e introdottosi sotto la mensa, così giocando, lo pose dentro la scarpina di marocchino ricamata di don Juanne. Poi se n’andò via, e dalla serva fu posto a dormire. Quando si venne a sparecchiare, si notò la mancanza del cucchiarino d’oro, e questo non si poté rinvenire in alcun posto. «Bel signore», allora disse Mariedda al principe, «io ho dato ospitalità a voi ed ai vostri cavalieri. Perché dunque mi si paga così?» E raccontò l’affare del cucchiarino d’oro, che, senza dubbio, era stato rubato da qualcuno dei cacciatori. Don Mariano salì su tutte le furie, e traendo la spada, gridò: «Cavalieri, qualcuno da qui ha rubato. Confessate la vostra onta o ve ne pentirete amaramente!». Tutti negarono: don Mariano riprese: «Bene, bei signori! Frugherò io stesso le vostre persone, e guai al traditore indegno, che ha così ricompensato l’ospitalità di questa nobile dama. Lo trapasserò con la mia spada». Detto fatto. Frugò tutti i cacciatori, e trovò il cucchiarino d’oro nella scarpina di marocchino ricamato di don Juanne. Invano questo si protestò innocente. «Messere», gli disse il principe, «voi morrete per mia mano.» E stava per ucciderlo, quando Mariedda impietosita, chiese grazia per lui, e si rivelò con grande contentezza del principe. Commosso da questa scena, don Juanne si gettò ai piedi della nipote, che lo aveva salvato, e confessò le sue colpe. Mariedda e il principe lo perdonarono; solo, in penitenza, gl’imposero di viver sempre nella casetta verde nascosta fra gli aranci e le rose, perché si pentisse ed espiasse i suoi peccati nella solitudine. Non sappiamo se egli veramente si sia pentito: sappiamo però che egli non si mosse più di là; mentre Mariedda, Consiglio col suo cavallo di canna, la serva col suo costume e il suo velo, don Mariano e tutti gli altri cacciatori tornarono alla Corte, dove furono accolti con grandi feste, e dove vissero lungamente felici. Mentre passavano vicino agli stagni, quel pescatore che aveva cantato quando Mariedda veniva la prima volta ad Oristano, questa volta cantava così: Uccelli che volate, che volate, In compagnia di me, Andate e ritornate, Fatto han la pace la regina e il re. Further readings Deledda, Grazia (2016). Leggende e fiabe della Sardegna, edited by Chiara Livretti, illustrated by Eva Rasano. Cagliari: Condaghes.
English translations: Mazzoni, Cristina (2019). ‘A Fairy Tale Madonna: Grazia Deledda’s “Our Lady of Good Counsel”’, Spiritus: A Journal of Christian Spirituality, 19, 1, 131-145. Deledda, Grazia (2021). ‘Our Lady of Good Counsel’, in The Pomegranates and Other Italian Fairy Tales, edited, translated and with an introduction by Cristina Mazzoni. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, pp. 112-122. Deledda, Grazia (2022). ‘Our Lady of Good Counsel’, in The Enchanted Boot: Italian Fairy Tales and Their Tellers, edited, translated and with an introduction by Nancy Canepa. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, pp. 321-330. Scholarly works: Carolan, Mary Ann McDonald (1999). ‘Icon, Intercession and Insight: The Madonna as Interpretative Key to Grazia Deledda’, Quaderni d’italianistica, 20, 1-2, 103-117. Mazzoni, Cristina (2008). ‘“The Loving Re-Education of a Soul”: Learning from Fairy Tales through Grazia Deledda and Cristina Campo’, Quaderni d’italianistica, 24, 2, 93-110. In Lady Wilde’s Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland (1887). A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the door, and a voice called: "Open! Open!" "Who is there?" said the woman of the house. "I am the Witch of the one Horn," was answered. The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in her hand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud: "Where are the women? They delay too long." Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before: "Open! Open!" The mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead, and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool. "Give me place," she said, "I am the Witch of the two Horns," and she began to spin as quick as lightning. And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire -- the first with one horn, the last with twelve horns. And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning wheels, and wound and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and frightful to look upon, were these twelve women, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help, but she could not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the spell of the witches was upon her. Then one of them called to her in Irish, and said: "Rise, woman, and make us a cake." Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none. And they said to her: "Take a sieve and bring water in it." And she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well and wept. Then a voice came by her and said, "Take yellow clay and moss, and bind them together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold." This she did, and the sieve held water for the cake; and the voice said again: "Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house, cry aloud three times and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over it is all on fire'." And she did so. When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and shrieks, and fled away to Slieve-namon, where was their chief abode. But the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and prepare her home against the enchantments of witches if they returned again. And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she had washed her child's feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the threshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her absence of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family, and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the jambs, so that they could not enter, and having done these things she waited. Not long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called for vengeance. "Open! Open!" they screamed, "Open, feet-water!" "I cannot," said the feet-water, "I am scattered on the ground, and my path is down to the Lough." "Open, open, wood and trees and beam!" they cried to the door. "I cannot," said the door, "for the beam is fixed in the jambs and I have no power to move." "Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!" they cried again. "I cannot," said the cake, "for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is on the lips of the sleeping children." Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back to Slieve-namon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left in peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was kept hung up by the mistress as a sign of the night's awful contest; and this mantle was in possession of the same family from generation to generation for five hundred years after. Further readings Wilde, Lady Jane (1887). Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland, with Sketches of the Irish Past, 2 vols. Boston: Ticknor.
Scholarly works: O’Neill, Áine (1991). ‘“The Fairy Hill is on Fire” (MLSIT 6071): A Panorama of Multiple Functions’, Béaloideas, 59, 189-96. In Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen [Sicilian Fairy Tales] (1870), translated into English by Jack Zipes. Once upon a time there was a powerful king who had three handsome sons, and among them the youngest was the handsomest and smartest. The king lived in a magnificent castle with a splendid garden. There were many trees with rare fruit and beautiful flowers in the garden, and the flowers had a lovely aroma. Now one morning the king happened to go into the garden to look at his fruit and discovered that the fruits were missing on one tree. “That’s very strange,” he thought. “The garden has a tall wall. How could someone get in here?” So he called his sons and told them what had happened, and the eldest said, “Dear Father, don’t you worry about this. I’ll keep watch this evening and discover who the thief is.” In the evening the prince took his sword and sat down in the garden. Toward midnight he was overcome by a deep sleep. When he awoke, it was bright daylight, and the fruit was missing on another tree. The king and his two younger brothers came up to him, and the eldest said, “What do you want? When it got late, I couldn’t stay awake any longer, and someone came again and stole more fruit.” “Well, I’m going to keep watch this evening,” the second son announced. “Perhaps things will go better for me.” But they did not go any better for him because he was overcome by a deep sleep toward midnight, and when he awoke, it was broad daylight, and the fruit from another tree had been stolen. “Dear Father,” the second son said to the king, “it’s not my fault. I couldn’t stay awake. Somehow the thief returned and plundered another one of the trees.” “Well, tonight it’s my turn,” the youngest son declared. “I’m going to see if I can stay awake.” That evening he took his sword and went into the garden. However, he did not sit down but walked back and forth. All of a sudden at midnight he saw a gigantic arm reach over the wall and pick some fruit. Swiftly he drew out his sword and cut off the arm. The giant uttered a loud cry and ran away. The prince quickly climbed over the wall and followed the traces of blood because the giant had been wounded. Finally he came to a well where the traces of blood stopped. “Good,” thought the prince. “I’ll find you again tomorrow.” And he returned to the garden and calmly lay down to sleep. The next morning the king came into the garden with his two brothers to see what the youngest had done, and he showed them the giant’s arm and said, “Now, my dear brothers, let’s set out and pursue the giant.” They took a long rope and a small bell with them and made their way to the well, where the eldest brother said, “Whew! That well’s really deep! I’m certainly not going to climb down into it.” The second brother looked down into the well and said the same thing, but the youngest said, “What kind of heroes are you!? Tie the rope around my body. I’m not afraid to try to go down.” They tied him securely, and he took the little bell with him and let himself be lowered into the well. It was very deep, but eventually he came to the bottom and stood in the middle of a beautiful garden. All of a sudden three beautiful maidens appeared in front of him and asked, “What are you doing here, handsome lad? You had better flee while you still have time. If the wicked sorcerer finds you here, he’ll eat you because someone hacked off his arm this past night, and he’s even more evil than usual.” “Don’t you worry, beautiful maidens,” the prince replied. “I’ve come here because I want to murder the sorcerer.” “If you want to murder him, you’d better hurry,” the maidens said. “As long as he’s still asleep, perhaps you can defeat him.” They led him into a great hall where the giant was lying on the ground sleeping. The prince crept quietly over to him, and with one stroke he sliced off the giant’s head so that it flew far into a corner of the room. The beautiful maidens rejoiced and thanked him. “We are three princesses,” they told him, “and the wicked sorcerer kept us here as his prisoners. Because you have rescued us, one of us shall become your wife.” “For now,” he answered, “we just want to get out of this underworld and return to the world above. We can talk about this once we reach the top of the well.” So first he tied the eldest sister tightly with the rope, gave the signal with the bell, and his two brothers pulled her up. When the eldest brother caught sight of the beautiful maiden, he cried out, “Oh! What a beautiful face! I want her for my wife!” But she answered, “First pull up my sisters, and then we can discuss the rest.” When the second sister was pulled up, she was even more beautiful than the first one, and the eldest son cried out again, “Oh, what a beautiful face! I want her for my wife!” Now the youngest sister was still down below, and when the prince tied the rope around her, he said, “You must wait for me, one year, one month, and one day. If I don’t reappear, you may marry.” Then he gave the signal with the little bell, and his brothers pulled up the youngest sister. As she climbed over the rim of the well, she was more beautiful than the sun and the moon, and the eldest brother cried out, “Oh, what a beautiful face! I want her for my wife!” And wicked thoughts entered his mind. “Oh,” the princess said, “throw the rope back down to your brother. He’s waiting for it at the bottom of the well.” So they threw the rope down, but the youngest prince was smart, and because he did not trust his brothers, he took a large heavy rock and tied the rope around it. As the other two princes began pulling the rope, they thought they were pulling their brother. When they believed he was half way up the well, they cut the rope, and the rock fell to the bottom and broke into a thousand pieces. The prince saw how terrible his brothers were and what they had in store for him, and had to remain down below. “Oh,” he thought, “how shall I ever get out of here?” He wandered through the entire castle down below and finally came to a stable where he found a beautiful horse. As he began petting it, the horse opened its mouth and said, “You are the one who killed the giant, who was my lord and master, and now you shall be my master. If you want to take my advice, then stay here until I tell you.” So the prince remained in the underworld and found everything he needed in the palace. Meanwhile, his brothers returned to their father with the three maidens. They told him everything that had happened and that the rope had ripped as they were pulling up their youngest brother. The unlucky prince, they said, had fallen back down into the well and was dead. The king began to weep and lament very loudly and could not be consoled. After some time had passed, the eldest son married the eldest princess, and the second son took the middle princess for his wife. But the youngest princess did not want to get married. Afterward, the two brothers lived in peace and quiet and did not think about their youngest brother, whom they had murdered. However, the king could not forget his youngest son and wept day and night over him, and he eventually lost his sight due to all the crying. All the doctors of the kingdom were summoned to the palace, but none of them could help him. They all said, “There is only one way to save him, and that’s the water of the Fata Morgana. Whoever washes his eyes with this water can regain his sight. But who can find this water?” So the king said to his sons, “Have you heard what the doctors said, my sons? Set out and find the water of the Fata Morgana for me so that I can regain my sight.” The two brothers began their quest and traveled throughout the entire world, but it was in vain. They could not find Fata Morgana anywhere. But let’s leave them for now and see what’s happened to the youngest brother in the underworld. He was still living comfortably in his underground castle, and he had everything he wanted. One day the horse said to him, “Shall I tell you something? Your father has become blind because he wept so much for you, and the doctors told him that nothing can help him except the water of Fata Morgana. Therefore, your brothers set out to find it, but they won’t find it because they don’t know the way to Fata Morgana. But I know where Fata Morgana is living because she is my sister. So, get on my back and we’ll set out to fetch the water.” The prince mounted the horse, and they began their journey. Along the way the horse said, “It will take a great deal to fetch the water because my sister is strong and powerful, and we can only get it from her if we are cunning. So listen to my words and pay close attention to what I say. First you’ll come to a large gate that keeps opening and shutting so that nobody can get through. Take an iron rod with you, and stick it between the wings of the gate. That will create space enough to allow us to get through. Then you’ll see a gigantic scissors that keeps opening and closing and cuts everything in two that it encounters. Take a roll of paper with you, wet it, and place it between the scissors. That will create an opening large enough for us to get through. Once we’ve escaped the scissors, two lions will come charging at us and want to swallow us. Therefore, you must take a goat with you, and you must throw half of it to the lion at the left, and the other half to the lion at the right. They’ll become so occupied with the goat that they’ll let us pass by. Then we’ll enter a beautiful garden, and in the garden there’s a fountain with water that is my sister’s sweat. This is the water you’re to fetch. Place a little bottle beneath it so that you can catch the drops. Next to the fountain you’ll see a pomegranate tree with beautiful apples. Pick three from the tree because we shall need them.” The prince promised to follow everything exactly as the horse said. He continued riding the horse until he finally came to the large gate, which opened and shut with a great noise so that nobody could get through it. The prince stuck a strong iron rod between the two wings. This quieted the gate, and there was a crack through which the prince could force his way with the horse. Then he came to a gigantic scissors that opened and closed, and it was so huge and sharp that it could easily cut a man in two. However, the prince stuck a roll of wet paper between the blades, and while the scissors tried to cut the paper, he made his way through on the horse. No sooner had he escaped the scissors than two fierce lions came charging at him to swallow him. So he tore the goat into two pieces and threw one half to the right and the other to the left, and the lions pounced on the meat and let him and his horse pass by. Finally he entered the beautiful garden in which the fountain was standing. He got off the horse, pulled out his little bottle, and put it beneath the fountain to catch some drops of the precious water. Then he picked three pomegranates and put them in a safe place. Now he should have followed the horse’s instructions and waited patiently until the little bottle was full, but because the water only came out drop by drop, he became restless and thought, “While the little bottle is being filled, I could take a look at the castle a bit and see what it looks like inside.” So he climbed the stairs and entered the castle, where he saw more treasures and precious things than anyone could imagine. The more he moved about the castle, the more splendid things he found. Finally he came to a magnificent room in which Fata Morgana was lying on a bed, and she was so beautiful that her beauty shone through all the seven veils that she was wearing. The prince bent over her and removed the seven veils, and when he saw how beautiful she was, he fell passionately in love with her and leaned over to kiss her. No sooner did he give her the kiss, however, than he was seized by such a terrible fright that he fled the room with the seven veils and ran out of the castle. In the meantime the little bottle had become full. He grabbed it, jumped on the horse, and dashed away. Now, Fata Morgana had been wakened by the kiss, and when she saw that the veils had been taken off, she sprang out of bed to pursue the prince. “Oh, lions,” she shouted, “why did you let the prince pass through? Come and help me pursue him!” All at once the lions jumped up and began to follow the prince. “Turn around,” said the horse, “and tell me what you see.” “Oh, my dear little horse,” the prince cried, “the beautiful Fata Morgana is following us with two ferocious lions!” “Don’t be scared, and throw a pomegranate behind you.” The prince threw a pomegranate behind him, and all of a sudden a wide river rose flowing with sheer blood. Fata Morgana and the lions were held up by this river, but eventually they made their way over it. The prince had a good lead on them, but Fata Morgana was faster and soon was able to catch up with him. “Turn around,” the horse said, “and tell me what’s happening.” “Oh, dear little horse,” the prince cried out, “Fata Morgana is right on our heels.” “Don’t be scared, and throw the second pomegranate behind you.” Then the prince threw the second pomegranate behind him, and all at once a mountain totally covered with thorns arose. When Fata Morgana and the lions tried to make their way over the mountain, they were miserably stuck by the thorns. However, they persisted and eventually made their way through the thorns with great difficulty and continued to pursue the prince. “Turn around,” the horse said, “and tell me what’s happening.” “Oh, my dear little horse,” Fata Morgana is right on our heels again.” “Don’t be scared, and throw the last pomegranate behind you.” The prince threw the last pomegranate behind him, and all at once a mountain of fire arose. When the lions tried to make their way over, they were burned by the flames. As for Fata Morgana, she gave up the pursuit and returned to her castle. After the prince rode for a little while longer, the horse said to him, “Look, there come your brothers! They’re searching for the water of Fata Morgana. Tell them that you have it, and when they ask you for it, let them have the little bottle.” The prince did what the horse told him to do. He went toward his brothers and said, “Welcome, dear brothers, where are you heading?” “We’ve been traveling to search for the water of Fata Morgana for our blind father so that he’ll be able to see again.” “Oh, dear brothers,” the prince said, “you’ll never succeed. I’ve just managed to obtain a small bottle, but it almost cost me my life, and I know how difficult it is to get there.” When the two brothers heard this, they threatened to murder him if he did not give them the bottle. So he gave them the water, which they took to their old father. When he washed his eyes with the water, he could see again, and he was so pleased that he gave each one of his sons half of his kingdom. Meanwhile, the horse carried the youngest prince back to the underworld, and he remained there for some time. One day the horse said to him, “Your brothers returned to your father and cured him of his blindness. Now it’s time that you return to the world above.” So the prince put on royal garments and wished for a royal retinue. Then he mounted the horse and rode until he came to his father’s realm. As he approached the city, he looked so gallant that people quickly spread the news to his brothers that a powerful king was coming with a large retinue. His brothers rode toward him, and when the little horse saw them coming, it said, “Here come your brothers. If they try to take you prisoner, don’t resist.” As soon as the two brothers recognized their youngest brother, they said to one another, “Is that our youngest brother coming with such a large retinue? We are in for trouble. He’ll certainly tell our father all about what we did to him. We had better take him prisoner right away and tell our father that a foreign king came to declare war against us, and we defeated him.” And, indeed, this is what they did. They pounced on their brother, who let himself be taken prisoner and said, “Just grant me permission to take my little horse into prison with me.” They gave him permission, and the prince was led into the prison with his horse. However, his retinue disappeared for it had only been created out of magic. When the prince was in the prison with his little horse, the horse said, “Now pay attention to my words, and do what I tell you to do. Take this heavy club and beat me until I fall down dead. Then take a knife and cut my body open. This will bring both us our fortune.” “Oh, my dear little horse, I don’t have the heart to do this! You’ve done so much good for me. How can I repay you this way? No, no, I won’t do it!” “But you must do it,” the horse said. “It is the only way to free me.” So the prince took a heavy club and beat the horse. With each blow he cried out, “Oh, my dear little horse, forgive me if I’m hurting you! I’m only doing your command.” But the horse said, “Be strong, and just keep beating me. Otherwise I won’t die, and then you and I shall suffer a misfortune.” So the prince beat the horse harder and harder until the horse fell down dead. Then the prince took a sharp knife and cut open his body very carefully. All of a sudden, a handsome young man popped out and said, “I’m Fata Morgana’s brother and was enchanted in the body of the horse. Because you’ve freed me, I’m going to help you now.” All at once he wished himself and the prince out of the prison, and suddenly the doors opened, and the two of them went out and walked to the outskirts of the city. When they were outside the city gate, they wished for royal garments and a mighty army. All of a sudden an army appeared behind them much larger than the king’s. The army began to attack and shoot and scare the entire city. Meanwhile, the prince sent a messenger to his brothers who said, “Your youngest brother has arrived with a large army to punish you for all that you have done to him.” When his brothers heard this, they became very frightened, and their hearts became as thin as paper. “We had better go to our youngest brother,” they said to each other, “and throw ourselves at his feet and beg forgiveness.” So they went out, fell to their knees, and asked for forgiveness. “I shall forgive you for all the evil things you have done against me,” their brother responded, “but you can no longer be kings. You must hand over my father’s realm to me to rule alone. Now lead me to my dear father.” They led him to the old king, and the prince told him everything that had happened. The old king was very glad when he saw his dear son again and embraced him and kissed him. While they were together and rejoicing, the door sprung open all at once, and a tall, beautiful lady entered dressed in magnificent robes followed by a large entourage. “I am Fata Morgana,” she said, “and this young man stole my seven veils and kissed me while I was asleep. Therefore he must become my husband, and I shall make him into a powerful king. As for the youngest princess, who is still single, she will become my brother’s wife.” And this is what happened. There were festivities for three days, and the prince married the beautiful Fata Morgana and moved with her to her realm. At the same time he gave his father’s kingdom to his brother-in-law, who married the youngest princess. And so they remained happy and content, and we did not receive a cent. Further readings English translation: Gonzenbach, Laura (2006). Beautiful Angiola: The Lost Sicilian Folk and Fairy Tales of Laura Gonzenbach, ed. and trans. Jack Zipes. New York: Routledge.
Italian translation: Gonzenbach, Laura (2019). Fiabe Siciliane, trans. Luisa Rubini, re-read by Vincenzo Consolo. Rome: Donzelli. Scholarly works: Sottilotta, Elena Emma (2021). ‘From Avalon to Southern Italy: The Afterlife of Fata Morgana in Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen (1870)’, Women Language Literature in Italy / Donne Lingua Letteratura in Italia, 3, 103-121. |
AboutThis engagement project is run by researcher, folklorist and language specialist Elena Emma Sottilotta (PhD, University of Cambridge), with the support of the University Council of Modern Languages. ArchivesCategories |