Stories from Pentamerone | Page 9

a leaf from it; but the youngest took off the
entire top, to which the little bell was hung; and the moment it was
touched the bell tinkled and the fairy, thinking it was the Prince,
immediately came out.
As soon as the wicked women saw this lovely creature they fastened
their talons on her, crying, "You are she who turns to your own mill the
stream of our hopes! You it is who have stolen the favour of the Prince!
But you are come to an end of your tricks, my fine lady! You are
nimble enough in running off, but you are caught in your tricks this
time, and if you escape, you were never born."
So saying, they flew upon her, and instantly tore her in pieces, and each
of them took her part. But the youngest would not join in this cruel act;
and when she was invited by her sisters to do as they did, she would

take nothing but a lock of those golden hairs. So when they had done
they went quickly away by the passage through which they had come.
Meanwhile the chamberlain came to make the bed and water the
flower-pot, according to his master's orders, and seeing this pretty piece
of work, he had like to have died of terror. Then, biting his nails with
vexation, he set to work, gathered up the remains of the flesh and bones
that were left, and scraping the blood from the floor, he piled them all
up in a heap in the pot; and having watered it, he made the bed, locked
the door, put the key under the door, and taking to his heels ran away
out of the town.
When the Prince came back from the chase, he pulled the silken string
and rung the little bell; but ring as he would it was all lost time; he
might sound the tocsin, and ring till he was tired, for the fairy gave no
heed. So he went straight to the chamber, and not having patience to
call the chamberlain and ask for the key, he gave the lock a kick, burst
open the door, went in, opened the window, and seeing the myrtle stript
of its leaves, he fell to making a most doleful lamentation, crying,
shouting, and bawling, "O wretched me! unhappy me! O miserable me!
Who has played me this trick? and who has thus trumped my card? O
ruined, banished, and undone prince! O my leafless myrtle! my lost
fairy! O my wretched life! my joys vanished into smoke! my pleasures
turned to vinegar! What will you do, unhappy man! Leap quickly over
this ditch! You have fallen from all happiness, and will you not cut
your throat? You are robbed of every treasure! You are expelled from
life, and do you not go mad? Where are you? where are you, my myrtle?
And what soul more hard than marble has destroyed this beautiful
flower-pot? O cursed chase, that has chased me from all happiness!
Alas! I am done for, I am overthrown, I am ruined, I have ended my
days; it is not possible for me to get through life without my life; I must
stretch my legs, since without my love sleep will be lamentation, food,
poison, pleasure insipid, and life sour."
These and many other exclamations that would move the very stones in
the streets, were uttered by the Prince; and after repeating them again
and again, and wailing bitterly, full of sorrow and woe, never shutting
an eye to sleep, nor opening his mouth to eat, he gave such way to grief,
that his face, which was before of oriental vermilion, became of gold
paint, and the ham of his lips became rusty bacon.

The fairy, who had sprouted up again from the remains that were put in
the pot, seeing the misery and tribulation of her poor lover, and how he
was turned in a second to the colour of a sick Spaniard, of a venomous
lizard, of the sap of a leaf, of a jaundiced person, of a dried pear, was
moved with compassion; and springing out of the pot, like the light of a
candle shooting out of a dark lantern, she stood before Cola Marchione,
and embracing him in her arms she said, "Take heart, take heart, my
Prince! have done now with this lamenting, wipe your eyes, quiet your
anger, smooth your face. Behold me alive and handsome, in spite of
those wicked women, who split my head and so ill-treated me."
The Prince, seeing this when he least expected it, arose again from
death to life, and the colour returned to his cheeks, warmth to his blood,
breath to his breast. After giving her a thousand caresses and embraces,
he