homea poetic rendition of
THE TWO CAKES
Day 4, Tale 7
The Intended Bride
Luceta, Troccola, two sisters by birth,
had each one a daughter, unlike as could be.
Luceta’s Marziella was fairest on earth.
Troccola’s Puccia was ugly to see.
In fact she was much like her mother, who bore
the heart of a harpy, the face of a crow.
Luceta was cooking one day. I need more
of the fountain’s fresh water. Yes, mother, I’ll go
but please, if you love me, may I have a cake
to eat near the fountain? her good daughter said.
You may, laughed Luceta, and reached up to take
a cake from a basket. With pad on her head
to carry the pitcher, Marziella set out.
She had just filled the pitcher when there by her side
stood a hump-backed old woman. I see you’re about
to bite into the cake which your mother supplied.
Might I have the littlest taste of it, miss?
You may have it all, said this generous maid.
And if it were richer and bigger than this,
it were yours. Dear, your kindness will soon be repaid.
I pray to the stars that your life will be fair.
Sweet jasmines and roses will bud when you talk.
Garnets and pearls will cascade from your hair,
and lilies and violets spring up where you walk.
Next morning the old woman’s promise came true.
Marziella, while combing, saw pearls falling down.
Her mother came running and gathered a few
and took them right off to a banker in town.
Troccola, meanwhile, came to call and she saw
Marziella store gems in a casket nearby.
Without even stopping to hem or to haw
Marziella, when asked, told the how, when, and why.
Troccola ran home just as fast as she could.
And said to her daughter, You go to the well.
Take this cake. You might find there a crone. If you should
make sure that she gives you a magical spell.
The old hump-backed woman was there. In a whine
she asked of Puccia, A taste? Just a crumb?
I’ve nothing to share, said Puccia. It’s mine.
She gulped down the cake. Do you think I am dumb?
Have I nothing to do but to give you my cake?
When the old woman saw it was gone, every bit,
her back straightened up and she started to shake.
She purpled with rage and she said, in a fit,
I pray to the stars you’ll be cheerless in life.
Toads and foam will come forth whenever you talk.
Your hair not with pearls but with lice will be rife,
prickly ferns and bare thistles will grow where you walk.
Troccola oozed greed. When Puccia came home
she combed out her hair, and the lice leaped around
and her mouth became filled with a venomous foam.
Her anger was seething and hot and profound.
Some time had gone by when one day at the court
Marziella’s young brother, Ciommo, could hear
as the king and his courtiers talked, all in sport,
of the beautiful damsels they’d seen far and near.
Ciommo, without being asked, said, I swear
there is no one as blessed with a fine form and face
as my sister. Besides which her feet, mouth and hair
have been blessed by a fairy because of her grace.
Have her come, said the king, if she equals your praise
I will wed her. Luceta was sick in her bed,
but Marziella must go. There could be no delays
so she asked if Troccola would go in her stead.
The two girls and Troccola then boarded a boat.
When the boat was off shore and the sailors asleep
Troccola said, Now, let us see if you’ll float!
and she threw Marziella off into the deep.
Marziella, poor girl, was about to be drowned
but a beautiful mermaid clasped her in her arms.
When Puccia was welcomed the king quickly found
she had none of the attributes, none of the charms.
In fact he was horrified. There were the lice.
Her mouth reeked with lather. She walked among weeds.
He banished them both. As for Ciommo’s advice,
You will now be my herder of geese for your deeds.
In disgrace and despair Ciommo drove out the geese
to the shore where he left them to graze on their own.
He did not even notice them growing obese
while he, in a shed, sat to weep and to moan.
They were fattened because Marziella each day
came out from the waters and fed them on sweets.
They sat at her feet and then waddled away
to sing to the king of their marvelous treats.
Honk, honk, they proclaimed. Who’s as lucky as we?
Each day we are nourished till we’ve had our fill.
The sun and the moon are both splendid to see,
but she who provides is more beautiful still.
Ciommo was called. Tell me what, said the king
are you feeding my geese? Tell me how. Tell me where.
And what is the cause of this song that they sing?
At the seashore. They feed on the grass growing there.
The king thought Ciommo had not told the truth.
He was curious to know. I will venture, he said,
to see for myself. So he followed the youth.
He watched as Ciommo slipped into the shed
and saw the geese hurry straight down to the shore.
He saw Marziella emerge from the sea.
He watched as she fed them on sweets as before.
He gazed on her loveliness passionately.
And next he observed her, with wondering eyes,
as she combed out her locks from which many pearls fell.
Clouds of flowers enclosed her, and to his surprise
there were carpets of lilies beneath her as well.
Ciommo was called, and the siblings embraced.
To the king and her brother she quickly explained
that her aunt had betrayed her, and how she’d been placed
in the thrall of a mermaid to whom she was chained.
Though I may take the air, if I tarry too long
she draws me back in to her watery den.
But I want you for wife. This enslavement is wrong.
Tell me how, darling girl, I may free you again.
There is one way alone. This encompassing sheath
(and this you must do with your very own hands)
must be cut from my foot by a file with smooth teeth.
Only then may I make my escape on the sands.
The king the next morning brought all that he’d need.
He worked on the chain till the links came apart.
But while he made sure Marziella was freed
he was forging a much stronger chain in his heart.
They plighted their love and they rode on his horse
to his palace where all were assembled to greet
their new queen. And her brother and mother, of course,
were enriched and ennobled. Their living was sweet.
Troccola, though, suffered a terrible doom.
At the wedding feast barrels were burned for their light.
She was placed in a cask at behest of the groom
and there turned to ashes to darken the night.
Puccia was forced to spend life on her knees
begging bread from her neighbors because of her lack
of compassion, a payment which heaven decrees
she deserved. Deny pity, get no pity back.
