“Uncle Wolf,” by Italo Calvino
[Music plays softly] NARRATOR: Hello! I’m the Narrator. Welcome to Mythical, the podcast that wanders the dark and fantastical pages of fairy tale and myths. Throughout season two I’m reading Italian fairy tales. Today’s story is titled “Uncle Wolf,” by Italo Calvino. The part of Uncle Wolf will be played by Shawn Enis, host of the podcast Stories of Yore and Yours; another storytelling podcast with classic and new tales alike. Shawn and I have collaborated in the past and the work he does is always impressive. I’ll begin today’s story as all good stories should, with once upon a time. [Chimes] NARRATOR: There was once a greedy little girl. One day during carnival time, she schoolmistress said to the children, SCHOOLMISTRESS: If you are good and finish your knitting, I will give you pancakes. NARRATOR: But the little girl didn’t know how to knit and asked for permission to go to the privy. There she sat and fell asleep. When she came back into school, the other children had eaten all the pancakes. She went home crying and told her mother what had happened. MOTHER: Be a good little girl, my poor dear. NARRATOR: Said her mother. MOTHER: I’ll make pancakes for you. NARRATOR: But her mother was so poor she didn’t even have a skillet. MOTHER: Go to Uncle Wolf and asked him if he’ll lend us his skillet. NARRATOR: The little girl went to Uncle Wolf’s house and knocked. Knock, knock. UNCLE WOLF: “Who is it?” GIRL: It’s me! UNCLE WOLF: “For years and months no one has knocked at this door! What do you want?” GIRL: Mamma sent me to ask if you’ll lend us your skillet to make pancakes. UNCLE WOLF: “Just a minute, let me put my shirt on.” NARRATOR: Knock, knock. UNCLE WOLF: “Just a minute, let me put on my drawers.” NARRATOR: Knock, knock. UNCLE WOLF: “Just a minute, let me put on my pants.” NARRATOR: Knock, knock. UNCLE WOLF: “Just a minute, let me put on my overcoat.” NARRATOR: Finally Uncle Wolf opened the door and gave her the skillet. UNCLE WOLF: “I’ll lend it to you, but tell Mamma to return it full of pancakes, together with a round loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.” GIRL: Yes, yes, I’ll bring you everything. NARRATOR: When she got home, her mother made her a whole stack of pancakes, and also a stack for Uncle Wolf. Before nightfall she said to the child, MOTHER: Take the pancakes to Uncle Wolf together with this loaf of bread and bottle of wine. NARRATOR: Along the way the child, glutton that she was, began sniffing the pancakes. GIRL: Oh, what a wonderful smell! I think I’ll try just one. NARRATOR: But then she had to eat another and another and another, and soon the pancakes were all gone and followed by the bread, down to the last crumb, and the wine, down to the last drop. Now to fill up the skillet she raked up some donkey manure from off the road. She refilled the bottle with dirty water. To replace the bread, she made a round loaf out of the lime she got from a stonemason working along the way. When she reached Uncle Wolf’s, she gave him this ugly mess. Uncle Wolf bit into a pancake. UNCLE WOLF: “Uck! This is donkey dung!” NARRATOR: He uncorked the wine at once to wash the bad taste out of his mouth. UNCLE WOLF: “Uck! This is dirty water!” NARRATOR: He bit off a piece of bread. UNCLE WOLF: “Uck! This is lime!” NARRATOR: He glared at the child and said, UNCLE WOLF: “Tonight I’m coming to eat you!” NARRATOR: The child ran home to her mother. GIRL: Tonight Uncle Wolf is coming to eat me! NARRATOR: Her mother went around closing doors and windows and stopping up all the holes in the house, so Uncle Wolf couldn’t get in; but she forgot to stop up the chimney. When it was night and the child was already in bed, Uncle Wolf’s voice was heard outside the house. UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now. I’m right outside!” NARRATOR: Then a footstep was heard on the roof. UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now! I’m on the roof!” NARRATOR: Then a clatter was heard in the chimney. UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now. I’m in the chimney!” GIRL” Mamma, Mamma! The wolf is here! MOTHER: Hide under the covers! UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now. I’m on the hearth!” NARRATOR: Shaking like a leaf, the child curled up as small as possible in a corner of the bed. UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now! I’m in the room!” NARRATOR: The little girl held her breath. UNCLE WOLF: “I’m going to eat you now! I’m at the foot of the bed!” Ahem, here I go!” NARRATOR: And he gobbled her up. So Uncle Woolf always eats greedy little girls. [Chimes] NARRATOR: The moral of this story is, stay true to your word and don’t be a glutton. For if you like to eat so much, you may be eaten yourself. Unlike the more commonly known story of Little Red Riding Hood, the wolf does eat the little girl. But in this version his actions are for revenge, rather than a wolf who happens to be hungry and is looking for a meal. While I wouldn’t murder someone if they ate all my food, I do feel that this story has more of a moral to it than Little Red Riding Hood, and it shows children there are consequences for their actions. Calvino has a note on this story. He mentions how this tale is the simplest for children, with its rudimentary elements: such as the progression of fear and gluttony. He took the richest version, as he called it, for his collection and edits. Coming back to Little Red Riding Hood, Calvino does acknowledge how this Italian tale would lead to the more popular version, and he called Riding Hood, a “perfect grace.” While I do enjoy Little Red Riding Hood, I do also enjoy Uncle Wolf and prefer this ending myself. Today’s story was read from Italian Folktales, Selected and Retold by Italo Calvino. Thank you to Shawn Enis for his voice acting abilities in bringing Uncle Wolf to life. Links to his show, Stories of Yore and Yours, will be in the show notes. If you have a fairy tale you’d like me to read you can email me at [email protected]. You can follow the show on Instagram and Twitter at MythicalPodcast. There I post updates, behind the scenes, and clues to each episode’s fairy tale. Thank you for joining me today! Have a magical week and don’t anger the fairies. [Music fades]
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[Music plays softly]
NARRATOR: Hello! I’m the Narrator. Welcome to Mythical. The podcast that wanders the dark and fantastical pages of fairy tales and myths. I’m delighted to welcome you to the second season of Mythical! It’s going to be a wonderful season full of brand new Italian fairy tales and folklore. This season will feature several different Italian folklorists, different storytelling styles, and several guest voices. To begin the season, I’ve chosen a listener suggested tale. It’s titled, “Face,” by Giambattista Basile. I’d like to introduce our first guest voices. MOXIE: Tonight the part of Renza will be played by Moxie LaBouche NARRATOR: The role of Cecio will be played by Ian Aldridge. I’ll begin “Face” as all good stories should, with once upon a time. [Cimes indicate the start of the story] NARRATOR: There once was a king, the king of Narrow Ditch, who had a beautiful daughter. Since he wanted to know what sort of destiny was written for her in the book of the stars, he summoned all the necromancers, astrologers, and gypsies of the land. They came to the royal court, and when some had examined the lines of her hand, others the signs on her face, and others the birthmarks on Renza’s body, for this was her name, each of them spoke their opinion, and the majority of them concluded that she was in danger of tapping the sewer main of her life because of a big bone. When the king heard this, he decided to duck so that he wouldn’t get hit, and he had a lovely tower built where he enclosed his daughter together with twelve ladies-in-waiting and a governess to serve her, and gave the order that, under penalty of death, they were always to being her meat without bones so as to bypass that unlucky planet. Renza grew like a moon, and one day, as she was at a window covered by an iron railing, Cecio, the son of the queen of Wide Vineyard, passed by the tower. At the sight of such a beautiful thing, he immediately got all heated up, and when he saw that his greeting was returned and that a little laugh filled her mouth, he took heart, moved closer to the window, and said, CECIO: Hello, register of all of nature’s privileges! Hello, archive of all of the heavens concessions! Hello, universal table of all of the titles of beauty! NARRATOR: Hearing this praise bestowed upon her, Renza became more beautiful in her embarrassment, and as she threw wood onto Cecio’s fire she poured, as someone once said, boiling water on hsi burns. And since she didn’t want Cecio to outdo her in courtesy, she answered, RENZA: May you be welcome, O larder of the Graces’ provisions, O warehouse of Virtue’s merchandise, O customshouse of Love’s commerce! NARRATOR: Cecio replied, CECIO: How can the castle of Cupid’s forces be shut up in that tower? How can the prison of souls be thus jailed? How can there be a golden apple behind that iron railing? NARRATOR: And when Renza explained the situation to him, Cecio told her that he was the son of a queen but the vassal of her beauty, and that if it were her pleasure to steal away to his kingdom, he would put a crown on her head. Renza was feeling musty inside those four walls and couldn’t wait to air out her life, and so she accepted the proposal and told him to come back in the morning--when Dawn would call the birds as witnesses to the filth Aurora smeared her with--and they would sneak out together. And after she threw him a kiss from the window, she went back in and the prince returned to his lodgings. Now while Renza was thinking of how she could slip out of there and fool her ladies-in-waiting, a Corsican hound, which the king kept to guard the tower, came into her room with a big bone in its mouth, and as the dog was gnawing on it under the bed, Renza put her head down and saw the goings-on. Since all this seemed to have been sent by fortune for her very needs, she kicked the dog out and took the bone, and when she had made it clear to her ladies-in-waiting that her head hurt and they should therefore leave her to rest without bothering her, she set a prop against the door and began, with this bone, to put in a day’s work. Chipping at the stone in the wall, she worked until she pried it away and took enough of the wall out to be able to get through it without hardship. Then she ripped up a couple of sheets and knotted them together like a rope, and--as soon as the curtain of shadows had been raised on the stage of the heavens so that Aurora might come out and recite the prologue to Night’s tragedy--when she heard Cecio whistle she attached the end of the sheets to a doorpost and lowered herself down to the street below where, once Cecio embraced her and put her on a donkey covered by a rug, they set off for Wide Vineyard. That evening they arrived in a certain placed called Face and found a splendid palace there, where Cecio planted his stakes in the lovely farmland and marked off his amorous property. But since fortune always has the bad habit of tangling the yarn, putting an end to games, and slamming the door on the nose of all the fine plans that lovers may have, just as their pleasure reached its highest point a courier arrived with a letter from Cecio’s mother, in which she wrote that if he did not race home that very instant to see her he would not find her alive, since she was carrying on as best she could but was close to reaching the “z” of the alphabet of life. Upon hearing this bad news Cecio said to Renza, CECIO: My heart, this business is of great importance, and I’ll need to run off posthaste in order to arrive in time. So stay for five or six days in this palace, and then I’ll either return or send someone to get you. NARRATOR: And when Renza heard this bitter news, she burst into tears and answered, RENZA: O, hapless is my fate! How quickly the barrel of my pleasures has been drained to its dregs, the pot of my good times scraped to its very bottom, the basket of my delights filled with mere scraps! Poor me. My hopes are thrown away with the water, my plans turn to bran, and every satisfaction I have goes up in smoke! I have only just brought this royal sauce to my lips and already it’s caught in my throat. I have only just put my mouth to this fountain of sweetness and already my pleasure has muddied. I have only just seen the sun rise and I can already say, “good night, uncle mattress!” NARRATOR: These and other words were coming out from under the Turkish arches of those lips to pierce Cecio’s soul, when he said to her, CECIO: Quiet, O lovely support of my life. O bright lantern of those eyes. O curative hyacinth of this heart. I will soon be back, and the miles of distance cannot separate me one span from this lovely body, nor can the force of time knock the memory of you from this noggin. Calm down, rest that head, dry those eyes, and keep me in your heart! NARRATOR: And as he said this he got on his horse and began to gallop toward his kingdom. Renza, who saw herself ditched like a cucumber seed, set out to follow Cecio’s tracks, and after untying a horse that she found grazing in the middle of a field, she raced off on his trail. When she encountered a hermit’s errand boy she got off her horse and gave him her clothes, which were all trimmed with gold, and had him giver her the sack and cord that he was wearing. She put it over her head and then got back on her horse, spurring the animal so hard that in a short time she reached Cecio, and said to him, RENZA: Good to see you, my dear gentlemen! NARRATOR: And Cecio answered her, CECIO: Welcome, my little monk! Where are you coming from? And were are you headed? NARRATOR: And Renza answered. RENZA: I come from a place where there is a woman ever in tears, who cries, “O white face, alas, who has taken you from my side?” NARRATOR: When he head this, Cecio said to what he thought was a boy, CECIO: O my lovely young man, how dear your company is to me! Do me a favor and take the pupils of my eyes. Never leave my side, and every now and then repeat those verses, which really tickle my heart. NARRATOR: And so, cooling themselves with the fan of chatter to relieve themselves from the heat of the road, they arrived at Wide Vineyard, where they found that the queen had arranged a marriage for Cecio, having sent for him with a ruse, and that the bride was ready and waiting. When Cecio arrived, he begged his mother to keep the boy who accompanied him in their house and to treat him as if he were a brother of his. And since his mother was happy with this, she made sure the boy was always at his side and ate at the table where he and his bride sat. Now consider how poor Renza’s heart felt, and whether she was able to swallow this nux vomica. Nonetheless, every now and then she repeated the verses that Cecio liked so much. But when the tables had been cleared and the newlyweds retired to a little room so that they could talk in private, the field was open for Renza to pour out her heart’s passion in solitude. She went into a garden outside the hall and retired under a mulberry tree, where she began to lament in this manner, RENZA: Alas, cruel Cecio, is this your thousand thanks for the love I bear you? Is this the deposit on the fondness I feel for you? I this the reward for the affection I show you? There you have it: I dumped my father, left my home, trampled on my honor, and let myself fall under the power of a rabid dog, and all so that I can see my steps stayed, the door slammed in my face, and the bridge raised. And just when I believed I would take possession of this lovely fortress! So that I can see myself put on the tax list of your ingratitude, when I thought I would live quietly at the Duchesca of your graces. So that I can see myself made to play Master Iommiento Proclaims and Orders. When I imagined playing Anca Nicola with you! I sowed hope, and now I’m harvesting bits of cheese! I threw out nets of desire and now I’m pulling in sands of ingratitude. I built castles in the air, and now my body is knocked down--boom!--to the ground! So this is what I get in exchange! This is the trade off I’m given! This is the payment I’ve gotten out of all this! I lowered the bucket into the well of amorous longing and I’m left with the handle in my hand. I hung out the laundry of my plans and out of the blue it started to rain. I put the pot of my thoughts on the fire of desire and the soot of disgrace fell in. But who would have thought, you turncoat, that your words would reveal themselves to be copper? That the barrel of your promises would be drained to its dregs? That the bread of your goodness would turn moldy? Nice manners for a respectable man, nice example for an honorable person, nice habits for a king’s son to have. You tricked me, you hoodwinked me! You gave me a stomachache! You cut me a wide cape only to leave me with a jacket that’s too short. You promised me the sea and mountains only to hurl me into a ditch. You washed my face clean only to leave me with a black heart. O promises of wind! O words of bran! O oaths of sauteed spleen! There you have it: I said “four” before it was in the bag. I’m a hundred miles away when I thought I’d reached the baron’s house. It seems quite clear that evening words are carried off by the wind. Alas, I thought I’d be flesh and blood with this cruel man, but we’ll be like cat and dog. I imagined I’d be bowl and spoon with this rabid mutt, but we’ll be like snake and toad, since I can’t bear that with a fifty-five of good fortune someone else will take the winning primero of hopes from my hand, and I can’t stand that I’ll be checkmated! O, misguided Renza, see what trust brings you, see what happens when you let men’s words impregnate you. Men without law, without faith; poor is the woman who mixes with them, sorry is the woman who grows attached to them, wretched is the woman who gets into the wide bed they’re in the habit of preparing for you. But not to worry: you know that he who tricks children dies like a cricket. You know that in the bank of the heavens there are no swindling clerks to fiddle with the papers. And when you least expect it your day will come! You worked this sleight of hand on one who gave herself to you on credit, only to receive this bad service in cash! But don’t I realize that I’m telling my reasons to the wind? That I’m sighing into the void. I’m sighing at a net loss; I’m lamenting to myself! This evening he’ll settle his accounts with the bride and collect his ransom, while I balance my account with Death and pay my debt to nature. He’ll lie in a white bed that smells of fresh laundry, and I’ll be in a dark coffin that stinks of the freshly killed. He’ll play Empty the Barrel with that good-luck bride, while I do I’m Wounded, My Friend and pierce my loins with a pointed stick to prove my mastery over life! NARRATOR: After these and other words spoken in rage, it was by then time for everyone to get their teeth moving, and Renza was called to the table, where the grains and the stews were arsenic and euphorbia to her, since she had other things in her head than the desire to eat, and other things in her stomach than an appetite for filling it. When Cecio saw her so lost in thought and downhearted he said to her, CECIO: What does it mean that you’re not doing honor to these dishes? What’s the matter? What are you thinking? How do you feel? RENZA: I don’t feel at all well. NARRATOR: Answered Renza. RENZA: Nor do I know whether it’s indigestion or vertigo. CECIO: You’re right to skip a meal, NARRATOR: Replied Cecio. CECIO: For a diet is the best tobacco for every ill. But if you need a physician we can send for the urine doctor, who can recognize people’s illnesses by merely looking at their face, without even taking a pulse. RENZA: This is not an ailment that can be cured by prescription, NARRATOR: Answered Renza. RENZA: For no one knows the troubles of the pot like the serving spoon. CECIO: Go out for a bit and get some air. NARRATOR: Said Cecio. And Renza, RENZA: The more I see, the more my heart breaks. NARRATOR: As they continued talking, the eating came to an end and it was time to go to sleep. Cecio wanted Renza to sleep on a sofa in the same room where he was going to sleep with the bride, so that he could always hear her song, and every now and then he called her over and had her repeat the usual words, which were daggers in Renza’s heart and a headache for the bride, who, after sitting there for a while, finally burst out, BRIDE: You’ve broken my ass with this white face! What kind of dark music is this? It’s been going on for so long now that it’s nothing short of diarrhea! That’s enough, for heaven’s sake! What, are your brains falling out, so that you repeat the same thing over and over again? I thought I was getting into bed with you to hear the music of instruments, not a lament for voices, but just look how you stoop down and always play the same note! By your good graces, no more of this, my husband. And you shut up, since you stink of garlic, and let us rest a little! CECIO: Be quiet, my wife, NARRATOR: Answered Cecio. CECIO: We’re going to break the thread of our talk now. NARRATOR: And saying this, he gave her a kiss so loud you could hear it a mile away. The sound of their lips was thunder in Renza’s breast, and she felt such pain that when all of her spirits raced to aid her heart it happened just as the proverb says--”Too much breaks the lid”--for the rush of blood was such and so much that it suffocated her, and she stretched out her feet for the last time. After Cecio had given the bride four little pats he called Renza under his breath, so that she would repeat those words that he liked so much. Not hearing her answer as he wishes, he started begging her again to do him this little favor, but when he saw that she was not saying a word, he got up very quietly and pulled her by the arm. When she didn’t respond even then, he put his hand on her face, and when he touched her freezing nose he realized that the fire of that body’s natural heat had gone out. This dismayed and terrified him, and he had candles brought in. Renza was uncovered, and he recognized her by a lovely mole she had in the middle of her chest. His shrieks rising to the sky, he began to cry, CECIO: What do you see, O wretched Cecio? What has happened to you, unlucky one? What sort of spectacle is before your eyes? What sort of ruin falls on your joints? O my flower, who has picked you? O, my lantern, who has put you out? O pot of love’s delights, how did you overflow? Who has demolished you, O lovely house of my joys? Who has torn you up, O permit of all my pleasures? Who has sunk you, O lovely ship of the pastimes of this heart? O, my darling, when those beautiful eyes closed, the shop of beauty went bankrupt, the business of the graces came to a halt, and love went to throw bones off the bridge. With the departure of this beautiful soul the seed of all beautiful women has been lost and the mold of all charming women broken, nor will the compass for the sea of amorous sweetness ever be found again! O damage without repair, O agony without comparison, O ruin without measure! Go flex your muscles, my dear mother, for you’ve been quite successful at strangling me until I lost this lovely treasure! What will I do, hapless, devoid of every pleasure, cleaned out of every consolation, lightened of every joy, deprived of every satisfaction, stripped of every amusement, emptied of all happiness? Do not believe, O dear heart, that I intend to continue weighing on this world without you, for I intend to follow you and lay siege to wherever you may go. And in spite of death’s grip we will be united; if I took you on to do service as bedside companion, now I will be your partner in the grace, and one and the same epitaph will tell of the misfortunes of us both! NARRATOR: As he said this he took hold of a nail and gave himself a devigorating treatment under his left tittie, and his life gushed out all at once, leaving his bride cold and freezing. As soon as she was able to untie her tongue and unleash her voice she called the queen, who at all the noise came running with the whole court. And when she saw the dismal end of her son and Renza and heard the reason for this disaster, she left not a lock of hair on her noodle, and, heaving herself this way and that like a fish out of water, she accused the cruel stars that had caused so much ill luck to rain down on her house and cursed her sad old age that had preserved her for so much ruin. And after she screamed, knocked herself around, pulled her hair out, and moaned and groaned, she had the two of them thrown into a ditch and atop it written the whole bitter story of their fortune. At that same time, Renza’s father, the king, arrived. While roaming the world in search of his runaway daughter, he had encountered the hermit’s servant selling Renza’s clothes. He had told the king what had happened and how Renza was following the king of Wide Vineyard. And the king got there at the very moment when death had finished harvesting the spikes of their years and they were about to be buried in the ditch. He saw her and recognized her and cried for her and sighed for her, and then cursed the bone that had fattened up the soup of his ruin, for he had found it in his daughter’s room and recognized it as the instrument of her bitter tragedy. And this abomination thus verified for him, in general and in particular, the gloomy omen of those mountebanks who had said that she would die from a big bone, in clear demonstration of the fact that when calamity intends to strike, it enters through the cracks in the door. [Chimes to indicate the end of the story] [Music plays softly] NARRATOR: The moral of today’s story is: Basile’s work was written for courtly and adult audiences, rather than the audience we imagine fairy tales to be for: children. “Face” is a rare tale, one with a tragic ending. Basile’s collection of fairy tales is an interesting one. There are 50 stories in The Tale of Tales; but the structure is fairy tales in a fairy tale. The frame for the 49 tales is about Lucia, who craves tales. Ten of the best storytellers are summoned and over five days tell stories. “Face” is the third story on the third day. And before it begins, the frame is written as this: While Cecca was telling her tale to great effect, you could see a stew of pleasure and disgust, of comfort and affliction, of laughter and tears cooking. They cried at Penta’s misfortune, they laughed at how her hardships came to an end, and they were afflicted to see her in so much danger, it was a comfort to them that she was saved so honorably, they were disgusted by the betrayals of which she was a victim, and they felt pleasure at the vendetta that followed. In the meantime Meneca, who was about to light the fuse of her chatter, took her weapons in hand and said, “it often happens that just when someone thinks he has escaped a misfortune he runs right into one. For this reason a wise man should put all his affairs in the hands of the heavens and not go searching for magicians’ circles or astrologers’ eyeholes, since if he tries to foresee dangers in a prudent manner he falls to his ruin like a beast. Listen, and you will find that it is true.” Who is Lucia and why does she crave tales? That is an answer for another episode. I’ll be doing a few more Basile tales, and I don’t want to give away all the fun all at once. Today’s story was read from The Tale of Tales, by Giambattista Basile. Thank you to Moxie and Ian for lending your talents to today’s episode. Moxie hosts a fantastic podcast called “Your Brain on Facts,” which gives lots of interesting information on topics ranging from British comedy to banned book to funeral practices across the globe. To easily find both of my guests, I’ll post links in the show notes. If you have a fairy tale you’d like me to read you can email me at [email protected]. You can follow the show on Instagram and Twitter at MythicalPodcast. There I post updates, behind the scenes, and clues to each episode’s fairy tale. Thank you for joining me today! I’m the Narrator. Have a magical week and don’t anger the fairies. [Music fades] |
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