“The princess was in part fleeced by her own greediness and in part urged on by her ladies-in-waiting, who were helping the dogs to climb up, and she let herself be convinced to content him. And that evening—when Night, like a leather dresser, threw tanning water onto the hide of the sky so that it turned black—the gardener took the necklace and the jacket and went to the princess’s apartment. When he had given her these things she let him enter her bedroom, where she had him sit in a corner, and she said, ‘Now freeze right there and don’t move, if my favor means anything to you!’ Then she traced a line on the floor with some charcoal and added, ‘If you try to cross this line, you’ll leave your ass on it!’ That said, she pulled the curtain on the canopy until it was closed and went to bed.
“As soon as the gardener king saw that she was asleep, it seemed to him that it was time to work the fields of Love; he got into bed next to her, and before the owner of the land could awaken he had picked the amorous fruits. When she did awaken and saw what had happened, she didn’t want to turn one mistake into two and ruin the garden by sending the gardener to his ruin. And so, making vice of necessity, she contented herself with the disorder and took pleasure from the mistake, and whereas before she had disdained crowned heads, now it didn’t bother her to subjugate herself to a hairy foot, since that’s what the king looked like and that’s what Cinziella thought he was.
“This practice continued, and Cinziella became pregnant. Seeing how her belly was growing day by day, she told the gardener that she imagined she would be ruined if her father realized what was going on and that they would have to think of a way to avoid this danger. The king answered her that he could think of no other solution for their predicament apart from leaving, and that he would take her to the house of an old employer of his who would supply her with what she needed to give birth. Cinziella, who saw how low she had sunk and how she had been pulled by the sin of her pride, which was dragging her from one reef to the next, let herself be moved by the king’s words and left her home, placing herself at the will of Fortune. After a long journey the king brought her to his own house, where he told his mother about the whole matter and begged her to go along with the disguise, for he wanted to pay Cinziella back for her haughtiness. And so he set her up in a little stable in the palace and left her to live miserably, sending bread to her on a crossbow.4
“Now when the king’s servant girls were making bread, he ordered them to call Cinziella to help them, and at the same time told her to try to snitch a roll or two so that they could take care of their hunger. As she was taking the bread out of the oven, poor Cinziella, disregarding all the eyes upon her, snatched up a roll and stuck it in her pocket. But at that very moment the king arrived, dressed as who he really was, and said to the servant girls, ‘Who told you to let this little beggar woman into the house? Can’t you see from her face that she’s a thief? And if you want proof that it’s true, put your hand in her pocket and you’ll find the evidence!’ They searched her, and when they found the goods they chewed her out so badly that the jeers and uproar lasted the whole day.
“But then the king put his disguise back on and, finding her humiliated and melancholic on account of the affront she had received, told her not to be so afflicted by what had happened, since need is the tyrant of men, and, as that Tuscan poet said, ‘A wretch who is starving sometimes commits actions which, in a better state, he would have blamed on someone else.’5 And therefore, seeing as hunger draws the wolf from the woods, she could be forgiven for doing what it would be wrong for someone else to do. Thus she should go upstairs, where the lady was cutting some cloth, and, offering to help, see if she could steal a few pieces, since she was close to giving birth and there were a thousand things they needed. Cinziella didn’t know how to contradict her husband (for she considered him such) and went upstairs. After she joined the ladies-in-waiting in cutting a quantity of swaddling cloths, sashes, little caps, and diapers, she lifted a bundle of them and put them under her clothes. But then the king arrived and there was another outburst, as there had been with the bread. He had her searched, and when the stolen goods were found on her she received another flood of insults, as if she had been found with a whole load of laundry on her. And after that she went down to the stable.
“The king disguised himself again and ran downstairs, and when he found her there, desperate, he told her not to give in to her melancholy, since everything in the world was an opinion, and to try a third time to get hold of some little thing, since she was close to giving birth and the time was right for making a profit: ‘Your mistress has wed her son to a foreign lady and wants to send her a few dresses of brocade and golden cloth, all nice and ready to wear; she says the bride is just your size, and so she wants to cut them using your body as a model. Now it’s very likely that a pretty scrap or two will pass through your hands: put them in your bag6 and then we’ll sell them and survive a bit longer.’ Cinziella did what her husband had ordered her to, and had just tucked away a fine piece of looped brocade when the king arrived. Making a big scene, he had Cinziella searched, and when he found the stolen goods he sent her away covered in shame; then he disguised himself again as the gardener and ran downstairs to comfort her. For if with one hand he stung her, out of the love he felt for her it gratified him to grease her up with the other, so that she would not be driven to despair. But, out of anguish for what had happened, poor Cinziella thought that it was all a punishment sent from the heavens for the arrogance and pride she had demonstrated, that because she had used so many princes and kings like foot wrappings now she herself was being treated like a little rag, and that because her father’s advice had been met with a hard heart she was now blushing at the servant girls’ braying. And out of the anger, as I was saying, that came over her due to this humiliation, her labor pains began.
“When the queen was notified, she had the girl brought upstairs and, showing compassion for her state, put her in a bed embroidered all over with gold and pearls, in a room whose walls were covered with golden cloth. This bewildered Cinziella, for she found herself taken from a stable to a royal chamber and from a dunghill to such a precious bed, and she could not understand what had happened. And she was immediately given choice broths and cakes so that she would be more vigorous when it came time to deliver.
“As the heavens willed it, without too much suffering she gave birth to two beautiful baby boys, the most splendid things you ever could see. But no sooner had she been delivered than the king came in, saying to his mother, ‘Where has your good judgment gone? You put a fancy saddlecloth on an ass? You think this is a bed fit for a filthy whore? Quick, beat her till she jumps out of that bed and then fumigate the room with rosemary to get rid of the stench!’7 When the queen heard this she said, ‘No more, no more, my son! Enough, enough of the torments you’ve already given this poor girl! By now you should be sated, since you’ve boiled her so thoroughly that she’s shrunk to little more than a nightcap! If you don’t feel avenged for the disdain she showed you at her father’s court, then let these two beautiful jewels she has given you serve as payment for her debt!’
“As she was saying this she had the babies brought in, who were the most beauteous things in the world. When the king saw those pretty little dolls, his heart grew tender and, embracing Cinziella, he revealed himself for who he was, telling her that everything he had done had been the result of his indignation at seeing a king of his level held in such low consideration, but that from now on he would raise her up higher than his own head. And with the queen embracing her, in the meantime, as her daughter-in-law and child, she was given such a good reward for her sons that this moment of consolation seemed far sweeter to her than all of her past suffering, even if she always made sure to keep her sails lowered, ever remembering that the daughter of pride is ruin.”
When the tales given out as piecework for that day had been completed, so as to rid his spirit of some of the melancholy that Cinziella’s travails had
given him the prince called Cicco Antuono and Narduccio to do their part. Wearing wide-brimmed hats, black thigh pieces with knee bands, and jackets fringed with lace, they came out from behind a garden bed to recite the eclogue that follows.
THE HOOK*
Eclogue
Narduccio, Cicco Antuono
NARDUCCIO: Hey, Cicco Antuono, lend me a coin, and take something in pledge.
CICCO ANTUONO: On my word, I’d gladly lend you one if I hadn’t made a substantial purchase just this morning.
NARD.: Bad luck for me; what did you buy?
CICCO: I got a good deal on a new hook, and even if they had wanted thousands of scudos for it, I would have spent it!
NARD.: You’re rash when it comes to spending! The most a hook can be worth is two cents.
CICCO: Sure, my dear Narduccio! You don’t know a thing about it; get out of here, sweetheart! Don’t you know that hooks have risen in value? They were once used to fish for buckets, but now they fish for money!
NARD.: What do you mean, they fish for money? I don’t get it.
CICCO: I’m sorry, but you’re a jackass. You’re like someone arriving in the world for the first time! Don’t you know that there’s not a man who doesn’t hold a hook in his hand? He earns a living and revels with it, he flaunts his stuff and grows fat with it, he puts good straw under his behind, he fills his pen with pigs, he shines and stuffs himself to the brim; in short, he dominates the world with it!
NARD.: You astound me; I’m in ecstasy! I’ll bet you got it into your noggin to show me the moon in the well, and to make me swallow the idea that a hook is a rare thing, a philosopher’s stone!
CICCO: That’s exactly what it is; it’s a stone straight out of the alembic of an ingenious mind!
NARD.: I’ve got to tell you, brother, that I’ve eaten bread from many ovens and I’ve never heard it mentioned. Either I’m a featherbrain or you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes.
CICCO: Open your ears and learn something, for you’re a simpleton. Few people call it a hook, since at first glance that would give a bad impression. And so the best minds have changed its name, since in this age everything wears a mask. The prince gives it the name of a “present” or “donation”; the judge has assigned it the name of a “nice bonus” or “softener-up” or “hand greaser” or “morsel”; the scribe calls it a “straight fee” and heaven only knows that it’s more crooked than a dog’s haunch. For the merchant it’s “earnings,” for the artisan “a certain matter,” for the shopkeeper “business,” for the thief “ingenuity” or a “slap,” for the cop a “touch of the hand,” for the bandit “an arrangement,”1 for the soldier “a redemption,”2 for the spy “the fact,” for the whore a “gift,” for the procurer “income” or “a glove liner,” for the matchmaker “a tip,” and the commissioner calls it a “provision.” In short, the pirate gives it the color of “spoils,” the captain of “peaceful living,” and if it’s not peaceful he returns to bring havoc and ruin, and I assure you, on my word, that he wages greater war with his hook than with his sword! Do you want more? The poet strips all the books that find their way into his hands of their conceits and words—those by Aratus and Ovid and Masaro3 and Bignose4—and gives it the name of “imitation!”5
NARD.: I do declare, I get what you’re saying, by God! On my word, it seems to me that you’re a fine knave, a member of the trade council, familiar with the crucible, a wily old fox, a sly boots; you’re a crafty fellow, cunning and slick as a Saturday child. You’re telling me they all wield a grapnel?
CICCO: A grapnel and a hook are the same thing! Enough said: there’s not a man who doesn’t carry one on his belt—some gold, others silver, copper, iron or wood, according to the quality of the person. How should I say it? That great man6 who conquered the world used one made of gold and set with carbuncles and diamonds to fish his kingdoms; he who helped Cicero salt so many sow tits7 carried one of silver; others, according to their judgment and power, make them as they can. The important thing is that everyone fishes, and that’s why this fishing has various names: clutching, relieving, wrapping up, lightening and lifting, scratching off and neatening up, shearing, blowing away, tearing off, defrauding, scraping, cleaning out and pinching, swiping and pulling off a coup, ripping off,8 cleaning out the dustpan, robbing the abbot, playing the cymbals, shaking up the purse, and wielding the iron.
NARD.: You can say all of that with just one word: playing the game of triumph,9 robbing and assassinating!
CICCO: You have a short memory! I told you that nowadays the world gives evil the title of good, and minds are sharpened for no other reason than to set this hook in action, this hook that pulls and is not seen, clasps and is not heard, grabs and is not touched, and always takes and snatches and claws.
NARD.: I am, my brother, without envy, for everything is eventually thrown out with the water. What is acquired in a bad way is never enjoyed by the third heir; people with bottomless riches sink to the bottom and see their houses crumble, and their families destroyed and reduced to rags and wandering far and wide like vagabonds. A schoolmaster expressed it well: “the millstone grinds it all out.”
CICCO: These days the crooked necked10 are hanged by their hunger; he who robs not, has not; he who takes not, has no straw; he who catches not, always has anguish in his soul; and he who fishes not, never celebrates Easter!11
NARD.: But at payback time give me three lashings!12 Besides the fact that quite often a three-alarm scoundrel, greedy to snatch dough, is sentenced to ride on a jackass like a baboon. He receives from the court a paper miter; he finds himself marked in the market square;13 he becomes infamous so that he won’t famish; he loses his honor so that he can revel for an hour; for a little copper he gets himself an oar; the best of relishes tastes like seawater to him; he earns three pieces of wood for clawing with his nails; his plumes become a black pennant.14 What’s the use of so much bread, so much tin, so many berries and rocks, chips and coins, and pennies and half-pennies if, as it has been seen from so many, so very many examples and tests, those who have the most cash never cash in on happiness?
CICCO: If you try the hook once, you’ll never part with it. It’s like the mange: the more you scratch the more you itch. Let’s take a spin among the trades and professions of this world, and you’ll see that everyone uses it. We’ll start first, and above all, with he who keeps vassals. He catches sight of and spots a farmer who has filled his pen with pigs. Today he asks him for a loan of many scudos, which he’ll return to him when it rains raisins and dried figs;15 tomorrow he sends for a load of barley, which he’ll pay back at harvest time; now he orders that he give him a donkey, or some oxen, with the excuse that he needs them for his court. And this annoyance lasts so long, this bitter siege continues at such length, that the farmer, desperate, insults the bailiff in some way, or gets a little too free with his hands. Oh, unfortunate fellow, better if your mama had not shat you, better if you had broken your neck! There, he’s carried off and thrown into a ditch with shackles on his feet, irons around his neck, cuffs on his hands, and an epitaph hanging on the gate: “Proclamation and command: hey you, get out of here! He who speaks to this man pays six ducats!” In short, he can shout as much as he likes, send out memorials, and spend all his means, but he’ll never be freed unless after so many bitter agonies and torments, expenses and suffering, he strikes a deal. When the cravings of this wolf are finally quenched and satisfied, his assassin ways go by the name of pardon!16
NARD.: O accursed hook! May the shameless forge where you were hammered and tempered be damned!
CICCO: Listen. As the calf learns from the full-grown ox to pull the plow, so you can see the captain or the magistrate’s clerk suborn witnesses, mix up the papers, rent out sentences, hide documents, and jail without cause, and there the hook is worth seven.17 And whereas he should be dragged away, he earns the title of a man practiced at his affairs, or a go-ge
tter and a man of good judgment!
NARD.: That is more than true, and if a respectable man comes home with a purse as clean as his conscience—something that has happened to me maybe twelve times—everyone says he’d better stay out of it, it’s not a job for him, and it’s a shame to give him a license to practice,18 since he’s a good-for-nothing who reaps no profits.
CICCO: The doctor, if he is a bad fellow, draws out the illness and divvies it up with the apothecary. Even if he’s a good one, he makes it clear that apart from all his prescriptions he also knows the secret of holding his hand out behind him.19
NARD.: You can’t say anything bad about this hook, for it is modest and honorable. In fact, you can call it a reward of fate: the one who makes you shit is paid off behind!
CICCO: The merchant doesn’t lose his cap in the crowd: he hands out musty goods; he puts glue on the interface to bring the weight up; he swears, he vows, he affirms that what is rotten is new, that what is falling apart is first-rate, and with pretty words and ugly actions he hoodwinks you and pretends it’s white when it’s black, though you always find some flaw in the merchandise; and when it comes time to measure, with elegant ostentation he stretches the fabric so that later you find that it’s too short.
NARD.: No wonder, then, that the heavens turn against him and because of one error he loses his catch.
The Tale of Tales Page 46
