Italian Folktales (95 page)

The next evening as well Ninetta refused to accompany her sisters to the ball. “She's lost her mind,” they said, “over her date-palm branch!
We're going, though!” And they were off. Ninetta turned at once to the branch.

 

“Lovely date-palm, Gràttula-Beddàttula,

Come forth and dress up Nina,

Make her more beautiful than ever.”

 

And the fairies plaited her hair, dressed her in gala robes, and covered her with jewels.

At the palace everyone stared with admiration, especially her sisters and her father. The prince was by her side at once. “Madam, how are you?”

“As well in winter as in summer.”

“What is your name?”

“Ah, my name . . . ” And so on.

The prince let matters be, and invited her to dance. They danced the whole evening long.

“Goodness me!” said one sister to the other. “That lady is the spitting image of Ninetta!”

While the prince accompanied her to her carriage, the king signaled to the servants. Seeing herself followed, Ninetta pulled out a handful of gold pieces. But this time she aimed at the faces of the servants, hitting some on the nose and others in the eyes. Thus they lost sight of the carriage and went crawling back to the palace, looking so much like whipped dogs that even the king felt sorry for them. But he said, “The final ball is tomorrow evening. You must find out something by hook or by crook.”

Meanwhile Ninetta was saying to her branch:

 

“Lovely date-palm, Gràttula-Beddàttula,

Come down and undress Nina,

Make her just the same as ever.”

 

In the twinkling of an eye she was changed back to her usual self, and her sisters arrived and told her once more how much that elegant and bejeweled lady resembled her.

The third evening was like the previous ones. Nina went to the palace lovelier and more radiant than she had ever been. The prince danced with her even longer than before and melted with love, like a candle.

At a certain hour as Ninetta was preparing to leave, she was called before the king. Shaking like a leaf, she went up and bowed.

“Maiden,” said the king, “you have made sport of me for the past two nights, but the third night you won't get away with it.”

“But what on earth have I done, Majesty?”

“What have you done? You have made my son fall madly in love with you. Don't expect to escape.”

“What sentence awaits me?”

“You are sentenced to become the prince's wife.”

“Majesty, I am not free. I have a father and two older sisters.”

“Have the father brought to me.”

When the poor merchant heard he was wanted by the king, he thought, A royal summons bodes ill. Having several frauds on his conscience, he got goose pimples. But the king pardoned him on every count, and asked him for Ninetta's hand for his son. The next day they opened up the royal chapel for the marriage of the prince and Ninetta.

 

They were as happy as happy could be,

While here we sit, tap-tapping our teeth.

 

(
Palermo
)

149

Once, so the story goes, there were seven children, all of them girls and daughters of a king and queen. War was declared on their father. He was captured and dethroned, while his wife and children were left to shift for themselves. To make ends meet, the queen gave up the palace, and they all squeezed into a hovel. Times were hard, and it was a miracle if they got anything to eat. One day a fruit vendor came by. The queen stopped him to buy a few figs. While she was making her purchase, an old woman passed, asking for alms. “Goodness me!” said the queen. “I wish I could help you, but I can't I am poor too.”

“How do you happen to be poor?” asked the old woman.

“You don't know? I am the queen of Spain, humbled by the war waged against my husband.”

“You poor thing. But do you know why everything is going badly for you now? You have under your roof a daughter who is truly ill-starred. You'll never prosper again as long as she stays at home.”

“You don't mean I should send one of my daughters away?”

“Alas, my good lady, that's the only solution.”

“Who is this ill-starred daughter?”

“The one who sleeps with her hands crossed. Tonight while your daughters are sleeping, take a candle and go and look at them. The one you find with her hands crossed must be sent away. Only in that way will you recover your lost domains.”

At midnight the queen took the candle and filed past the beds of her seven daughters. They were all asleep, some with hands folded, others with their hands under their cheeks or pillows. She came to the last girl, who happened to be the youngest, and found her sleeping with her hands crossed. “Oh, my poor daughter! I really am obliged to send you away.”

As she said that, the young lady awakened and saw her mother holding a candle and weeping. “What's wrong, Mother?”

“Nothing, my daughter. An old beggar-woman happened by and explained that I'll prosper only after sending away that daughter of mine who sleeps with her hands crossed. The unfortunate girl turns out to be you!”

“That's all you're weeping over?” replied the daughter. “I'll dress and leave at once.” She put her clothes on, tied her personal effects up in a bundle, and was off.

After going a great distance she came to a desolate moor where only one house stood. She approached, heard the sound of a loom, and saw some women weaving.

“Won't you come in?” said one of the weavers.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name?”

“Misfortune.”

“Would you like to work for us?”

“I certainly would.”

She set to work sweeping and doing the housework. In the evening, the women said to her, “Listen, Misfortune, we are going out tonight. After we've locked the door on the outside, you are to lock it on the inside. When we return in the morning, we'll unlock it on the outside, and you'll unlock it on the inside. You must see that no one steals the silk, braiding, or cloth we have woven.” With that, they left.

When midnight struck, Misfortune heard a snipping of scissors. Candle in hand, she rushed to the loom and beheld a woman with a pair of scissors cutting all the gold cloth from the loom, and she realized her Evil Fate had followed her here. In the morning her mistresses returned; they unlocked the door from the outside, and she unlocked it from the inside. As soon as they came in, their eyes fell on the shreds littering the floor.
“You shameless wretch! Is this how you repay us for taking you in? Begone with you!” And they dismissed her with a kick.

Misfortune walked on through the countryside. Before entering a certain town, she stopped before a shop where they sold bread, vegetables, wine, and other things, and asked for alms. The shopkeeper's wife gave her a bit of bread and a glass of wine. When the shopkeeper returned, he took pity on her and told his wife to let her stay and sleep in the shop that night on the sacks. The shopkeeper and his wife slept upstairs, and in the middle of the night they heard a commotion below. Rushing downstairs to see what was going on, they found the casks uncorked and wine running all over the house. At that, the husband went looking for the girl and found her atop the sacks groaning as though caught in a nightmare. “Shameless wretch! Only you could be responsible for all this mess!” He took a stick and beat her, then put her out of the shop.

Not knowing which way to turn, Misfortune ran off, weeping. At daybreak she met a woman doing her laundry.

“What are you looking at?”

“I'm lost.”

“Can you wash and iron?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, stay and help me. I'll do the lathering and you'll do the rinsing.”

Misfortune began rinsing the clothes and hanging them up to dry. As soon as they dried, she gathered them up to mend, starch, and press.

Now these clothes were the prince's. When he saw them, he was struck by how beautifully they had been done. “Signora Francisca,” he said, “you've never done such a good piece of work. I really must reward you for it.” And he gave her ten gold pieces.

Signora Francisca used the money to dress Misfortune up and buy a sack of flour to bake bread. Two of the loaves were ring-shaped and seasoned with anise and sesame seed. “Take these two ring-shaped loaves to the seashore,” she told Misfortune, “and call my Fate, like this—‘Hallooooo! Fate of Signora Franciscaaaaa!'—three times. At the third call my Fate will appear, and you will give her a ring-shaped loaf and my regards. Then ask her where your own Fate is and do the same with her.”

Misfortune walked slowly to the seashore.

“Hallooooo! Fate of Signora Franciscaaaa! Halloooo! Fate of Signora Franciscaaaaa! Hallooooo! Fate of Signora Franciscaaaa!” Signora Francisca's Fate came out. Misfortune delivered the message, gave her the ring-shaped loaf, and then asked, “Fate of Signora Francisca, would you be so gracious as to inform me of the whereabouts of my own Fate?”

“Hear me through: follow this mule trail a piece until you come to an
oven. Beside the pit of oven-sweepings sits an old witch. Approach her gently and give her the ring-shaped loaf, for she is your Fate. She will refuse it and insult you. But leave the bread for her and come away.”

At the oven Misfortune found the old woman, who was so foul, bleareyed, and smelly that the girl was almost nauseated. “Dear Fate of mine, will you do me the honor of accepting—” she began, offering her the bread.

“Away with you! Be gone! Who asked you for bread?” And she turned her back on the girl. Misfortune put the loaf down and returned to Signora Francisca's.

The next day was Monday, washday. Signora Francisca put the clothes in to soak, then lathered them. Misfortune scrubbed and rinsed them; when they were dry, she mended and ironed them. When the ironing was finished, Signora Francisca put everything in a basket and carried it to the palace. Seeing the clothes, the king said, “Signora Francisca, you won't pretend you've ever washed and ironed that nicely before!” For her pains, he gave her ten more gold pieces.

Signora Francisca bought more flour, made two ring-shaped loaves again, and sent Misfortune off with them to their Fates.

The next time she did his wash, the prince, who was getting married and anxious to have his clothes perfectly laundered for the event, rewarded Signora Francisca with twenty gold pieces. This time Signora Francisca bought not only flour for two loaves; for Misfortune's Fate she purchased an elegant dress with a hoop skirt, a petticoat, dainty handkerchiefs, and a comb and pomade for her hair, not to mention other odds and ends.

Misfortune walked to the oven. “Dear Fate of mine, here is your ringshaped loaf.”

The Fate, who was growing tamer, came forward grumbling to take the bread. Then Misfortune reached out and grabbed her and proceeded to wash her with soap and water. Next she did her hair and dressed her up from head to foot in her new finery. The Fate at first writhed like a snake, but seeing herself all spick-and-span she became a different person entirely. “Listen to me, Misfortune,” she said. “For all your kindness to me, I'm making you a present of this little box,” and she handed her a box as tiny as those which contain wax matches.

Misfortune went flying home to Signora Francisca and opened the little box. In it lay a piece of braid. They were both somewhat disappointed. “What a piece of nothing!” they said, and stuffed the braid away in the bottom of a drawer.

The following week when Signora Francisca took clean wash back to
the palace, she found the prince quite depressed. Being on familiar terms with him, the washerwoman asked, “What's the matter, my prince?”

“What's the matter? Here I am all ready to get married, and now we find out that my betrothed's bridal gown lacks a piece of braid which cannot be matched anywhere in the kingdom.”

“Wait a minute, Majesty,” said Signora Francisca, and ran home, rummaged through the drawer, and came back to the prince with that special piece of braid. They compared it with what was on the bridal dress: it was identical.

The prince said, “You have saved the day for me, and I intend to pay you the weight of this piece of braid in gold.”

He took a pair of scales, placing the braid in one plate and gold in the other. But no amount of gold made the scales balance. He then tried measuring the braid's weight with a steelyard, but this too was unsuccessful.

“Signora Francisca,” he said, “be honest. How can a little piece of braid possibly weigh so much? Where did you get it?

Signora Francisca had no alternative but to tell the whole story, and the prince then wanted to see Misfortune. The washerwoman dressed her up (they had gradually accumulated a little finery) and took her to the palace. Misfortune entered the throne room and gave a royal curtsy; she was a monarch's daughter and by no means ignorant of courtly decorum. The prince welcomed her, offered her a seat, then asked, “But who are you?”

“I am the youngest daughter of the king of Spain, who was dethroned and imprisoned. My bad luck forced me out into the world where I have endured insults, contempt, and many beatings”—and she told him all.

The first thing the prince did was send for the weavers whose silk and braid the Evil Fate had cut up. “How much did this damage cost you?”

“Two hundred gold crowns.”

“Here are your two hundred gold crowns. Let me tell you that this poor maiden you cast out is the daughter of a king and queen. That is all, be gone!”

Next he summoned the owners of the shop where the Evil Fate had tapped the casks. “And how much damage did you suffer?”