伯爵的胡子&意大利童话
博卡帕利亚是建在陡峭山坡上的一个小镇，镇上人家的鸡只要一下蛋就会滚落到山下的树林里。为了防止鸡蛋滚落丢失，居民们在每只母鸡的尾巴上挂了一个小袋子。
这说明博卡帕利亚人并非像别人挖苦的那样软弱无能，附近曾经流传着这样一句话：
谁都知道在博卡帕利亚，
驴子吹口哨，主人嚎叫。
这纯粹是附近村镇的人对他们的污蔑，这些人这样对待博卡帕利亚人就是因为他们生性平静，不愿意和任何人争吵。
“让你们诬蔑吧，挖苦吧，”博卡帕利亚人都这样说，“等马西诺回来，看我们当中谁还会嚎叫。”
马西诺是博卡帕利亚人中最聪明的人，深受全镇的人爱戴。他并不比别人粗壮，甚至比一般人还瘦弱很多，但他天生聪明。他刚出世时，看上去瘦弱娇小，妈妈为了让他能活下来，而且还能长得强壮一点，就用热葡萄酒给他洗澡。爸爸还把烧红的铁放到酒里给酒加热。这样马西诺既通过浸泡皮肤而获得了酒的柔力，又吸收了铁的刚强。洗完澡后，妈妈又把她放在铺满生栗子壳的摇篮里，让他的身体变凉爽，使他在刺痛中变得更加睿智。
长大后，马西诺出发去服兵役，以后再也没有回到自己的村镇。现在好像到了非洲的某个地方。这期间博卡帕利亚开始出了一系列的怪事。每天晚上人们都会发现，他们的牛从平原上的草地放牧回来时，总要被女巫米奇利娜抢走好几头。
女巫米奇利娜总是藏在村子下方的树林中，伺机而出，她只须吹一口气就可以把一头牛劫走。天黑后，每当村民们听到林中灌木丛的沙沙响动，就会吓的牙齿打架，甚至昏倒在地，所以大家都说：
女巫米奇利娜，
从牛栏把牛偷走，
只要用眼斜一下，
你就吓得倒下。
村民们只好在夜里点起一堆堆大篝火，使女巫米奇利娜不敢从树丛中现身。但当只有一个人在篝火边上看守牲畜时，女巫就会悄悄地靠上去，用气把这个人吹昏，等到早上他醒过来的时候，奶牛、耕牛早已不见了，于是大家便听到他痛哭、绝望，击自己的头。然后，所有的人都会一齐到树林中寻找牲畜，结果，除了一绺头发、女人的的发钗和女巫米奇利娜四处留下的足印，什么也找不到。
就这样过去了好几个月，奶牛被一直关在牛圈里变得越来越瘦。刷毛的时候已经不需要刷子了，用耙子在牛肋骨上耙几下就行了。没有人再敢将牲畜带到草地上去了，也没有人敢再进树林里，林子里边的蘑菇因为长久无人采摘，长得像雨伞一般大。
女巫米奇利娜从不去别的村镇抢牛，因为她知道再没有哪个村的村民像博卡帕利亚人这样与世无争、平静忍耐了。每天晚上，这些贫苦的村民就在场院中间点上一堆篝火，女人和孩子留在家中，男人则围着篝火挠头抱怨着。怨了今天，怨明天，最后，他们决定得去找这里的伯爵帮忙。
伯爵住在村镇山顶上的一座圆形庄园里，四周围着围墙，墙上还插满了玻璃片。一个星期天的早上，村民们聚在一块，帽子拿在手上，前来敲响了伯爵家的门。门打开后，村民们来到伯爵圆形房屋前的庭院，只见屋子的窗户都用铁栅栏封着，庭院四周坐着伯爵的卫兵，他们的胡子上都涂着油，好让胡子看上去光彩油亮。这些人一个个对村民们怒目而视。庭院的最里端，伯爵坐在丝绒面的椅子上，黑胡子很长很长，四个卫兵正用四把梳子在给他从上往下地梳理它。
年纪最长的村民定了定神，说：“伯爵老爷，我们斗胆来您这里，是为了向您禀告我们的不幸遭遇，森林中有一个女巫米奇利娜，把我们的牲畜都抢了去。”随后，老人叹着气，诉着苦，在别的村民的点头证实下，向伯爵讲述了他们这段时间的可怕经历。
伯爵一声不吭。
老人又说：“我们来这里想冒昧向老爷您求讨一个解决办法。”
伯爵还是一声不吭。
老人又补充说：“我们来这里想斗胆请老爷您行行好帮我们一把，要是您肯派出一队卫士，我们就可以回到草场上放牲畜了。”
伯爵把脑袋在脖子上转了一圈，说：“要是派卫兵，我就还得派一个队长……”
村民们都竖着耳朵听着，似乎感受到一线希望。
“但要是我派队长去，”伯爵说，“那么，晚上，我还跟谁玩掷彩游戏呢？”
村民们跪在地上说：“帮帮我们吧，伯爵老爷，可怜可怜我们吧！”周围的卫士们开始厌烦地打着哈欠，给胡子涂着黑油。
伯爵又转了一下头，说：
“我是伯爵，我说话能顶三个人说话，
既然我没见过女巫，
说明根本就没有女巫。”
听到伯爵的话，那些正打着哈欠的卫士立即端起步枪，用刺刀慢慢地逼着村民们退出了庭院。
村民们垂头丧气地回到场院，不知下一步该怎么办，那个跟伯爵说过话的年纪最长的老人说：“现在我们得派人去把马西诺请回来！”
说完，他们便立即给马西诺写了封信，然后将信寄到非洲。一天晚上，当村民们像往常一样聚集在场院的篝火旁边时，马西诺回来了。人们激动的情景就别提了，大家冲上去拥抱他，煮上加香料的热葡萄酒。有人问：“你去了什么地方？”有人说：“你见到了些什么东西？”还有人说：“你知道我们有多惨吗？”
马西诺先让大家说了个够，然后他开始叙述起来：“在非洲我遇到过不吃人只吃蝉的野蛮人；在沙漠我碰到过一个为了挖地下水而留了十二米长的指甲的疯子；在海上我见过一条鱼穿着一只皮鞋和一只拖鞋，它想成为众鱼之王，因为别的鱼既没有穿皮鞋的，也没有穿拖鞋的；在西西里，我认识一位妇女生了七十个儿子，但全家只有一口锅；在那不勒斯，我看见人们停住脚也能往前走，因为别人的闲言碎语太厉害了，变成了一股很大的推力；我还看见过圣人，看见过罪犯，看见过一百公斤重的胖子，也看见过骨瘦如柴的矮子，我见过很多胆小的人，但从没见过像博卡帕利亚人这么胆小的人。”
村民们都羞愧地低下了头，马西诺说他们胆小，实在是一针见血。但马西诺并没有责怪乡亲们的意思。他让大家把女巫的事详细地说了一遍，然后说：“我现在问你们三个问题，然后，等半夜一到，我就去抓住这个女巫，把她带到这里来。”
“问吧，问吧！”大家齐说。
“第一个问题要先问理发师。这个月有多少人到你那里理发？”
理发师回答：
“有长胡子的，有短胡子的，
有胡子软软的，有胡子弯曲的，
有鬈发的，有蓬发的，
我的剪刀给他们都剪过。”
“现在我问你，鞋匠，这个月有多少人到你那里修鞋呢？”
“唉，”鞋匠说：
“我修过木拖鞋，修过皮拖鞋，
钉了一堆鞋钉，上了一堆掌铁；
我修过布鞋，修过蛇皮鞋，
但现在人们都没了钱，无人再来了。”
“第三个问题要问你了，制绳匠，这个月你卖出去多少根绳子？”
制绳匠说：
“柳绳，线绳，
搓的和编的草绳，
细细的柳条井绳，
粗如胳膊，细如针，
硬的如铁，软的如猪油，
这个月我卖了很多根。”
“好了，都明白了。”马西诺说，在篝火旁躺下，“我现在先睡上两个小时，我实在太累了。到半夜，你们把我叫醒，我去抓那个女巫。”说完，他用帽子遮住脸，睡着了。
村民们静静地守候在一边，连大气都不敢出，怕吵醒他。到半夜，马西诺自己醒了过来，他打了个哈欠，喝下一小杯热酒，又朝篝火吐了三口唾沫，然后，旁若无人地站起来直奔树林。
村民们都留在原地等他，只见篝火烧成了火炭，火炭又烧成了柴灰，柴灰也变黑了，这时，马西诺回来了。身后还带着一个人，好像被拉着胡子，是谁呀？是伯爵，伯爵一边哭着，挣扎着，一边求饶。
“这就是女巫！”马西诺喊道。随后又问：“热酒放在哪里了”？
伯爵在众人的怒目逼视下，蜷缩在地上，好像一只冻坏的苍蝇。
马西诺解释说：“不可能是你们当中的人干的，因为你们都理过发，剪过胡须，不可能在树丛中留下须毛；树林里有又大又重的鞋印，而你们都是赤脚进树林的。也不可能是什么精灵干的，因为精灵没必要去买那么多绳子绑了牲畜，再拉走。哎，我要的热酒呢？”
伯爵浑身哆嗦着，竭力要躲到他的胡子里面，马西诺把他从树丛后拉出来的时候，他的胡子被拉得乱七八糟。
“那他用什么方法看我们一眼，就会让我们昏倒呢？”一位村民问。
“他用包了布的木棍子在你们的头上猛击一棍，这样你们觉得像吹气一样，头上无痕迹，醒来时头昏脑沉。”
“那他丢在森林中的那些头钗呢？”另一个人问。
“这些头钗是他用来把胡子扎到头上的，就像女人扎头发那样。”
村民们都安静地听着，当马西诺说“现在，大家想怎么处置他？”时，人群中爆发出一阵激动的喊声：“烧死他！剥他的皮！把他绑在杆子上当稻草人！把他关在桶里让他不停地转！把他跟六只猫，六只狗一起捆进一个袋子里！”
“饶命！”伯爵用颤抖的声音哀求着。
“我看这样吧，”马西诺说，“让他把牲畜都还给大家，再让他把所有的牛棚打扫干净。既然他喜欢夜里到森林中去，就罚他每天晚上都去给你们捡柴火。告诉孩子们以后看到地上有发钗的话再也不要捡了，它们都是女巫米奇利娜的，她再也不能梳理好头发和胡子了。”
村民们就照马西诺说的做了。随后，马西诺又动身游历世界去了，一路上，他加入了一次又一次的战争，每一次战争都持续了很长时间，有诗为证：
啊，战争中的士兵，
你吃的差，睡在地上，
将火药装进炮膛，
嘣！嘣!
The Counts Beard
The town of Pocapaglia was perched on the pinnacle of a hill so steep that its inhabitants tied little bags on the tail feathers of their hens to catch each freshly laid egg that otherwise would have gone rolling down the slopes into the woods below.
All of which goes to show that the people of Pocapaglia were not the dunces they were said to be, and that the proverb,
In Pocapaglia ways
The donkey whistles, the master brays,
merely reflected the malicious grudge the neighboring townspeople bore the Pocapaglians for their peaceful ways and their reluctance to quarrel with anyone.
"Yes, yes," was all the Pocapaglians would reply, "but just wait until Masino returns, and you will see who brays more, we or you."
Everybody in Pocapaglia loved Masino, the smartest boy in town. He was no stronger physically than anybody else; in fact, he even looked rather puny. But he had always been very clever. Concerned over how little he was at birth, his mother had bathed him in warm wine to keep him alive and make him a little stronger. His father had heated the wine with a red-hot horseshoe. That way Masino absorbed the subtlety of wine and the endurance of iron. To cool him off after his bath, his mother cradled him in the shell of an unripened chestnut; it was bitter and gave him understanding.
At the time the Pocapaglians were awaiting the return of Masino, whom no one had seen since the day he went off to be a soldier (and who was now most likely somewhere in Africa), strange things started happening in Pocapaglia. Every evening as the cattle came back from pasture in the plain below, an animal was whisked away by Micillina the Witch.
The witch would hide in the woods at the foot of the hill, and all she needed to do was give one heavy puff, and she had herself an ox. When the farmers heard her steal through the thicket after dark, their teeth would chatter, and everyone would fall down in a swoon. That became so common that people took to saying:
Beware of Micillina, that old witch,
For all your oxen she will filch,
Then train on you her crossed-eye,
And wait for you to fall and die.
At night they began lighting huge bonfires to keep Micillina the Witch from venturing out of the woods. But she would sneak up on the solitary farmer watching over cattle beside the bonfire and knock him out in one breath. In the morning upon awaking, hed find cows and oxen gone, and his friends would hear him weeping and moaning and hitting himself on the head. Then everybody combed the woods for traces of the stolen cattle, but found only tufts of hair, hairpins, and footprints left here and there by Micillina the Witch.
Things went from bad to worse. Shut up all the time in the barn, the cows grew as thin as rails. A rake instead of a brush was all that was needed to groom them, from rib to rib. Nobody dared lead the cattle to pasture any more. Everyone stayed clear of the woods now, and the mushrooms that grew there went unpicked and got as big as umbrellas.
Micillina the Witch was not tempted to plunder other towns, knowing full well that calm and peace-loving people were to be found only in Pocapaglia. There the poor farmers lit a big bonfire every night in the town square, while the women and children locked themselves indoors. The men sat around the fire scratching their heads and groaning. Day after day they scratched and groaned until a decision was finally reached to go to the count for help.
The count lived high above the town on a large circular estate surrounded by a massive wall. The top of the wall was encrusted with sharp bits of glass. One Sunday morning all the townsmen arrived, with hats in hand. They knocked, the door swung open, and they filed into the courtyard before the courts round dwelling, which had bars at all the windows. Around the courtyard sat the courts soldiers smoothing their mustaches with oil to make them shine and scowling at the farmers. At the end of the courtyard, in a velvet chair, sat the count himself with his long black beard, which four soldiers were combing from head to foot.
The oldest farmer took heart and said, "Your Honor, we have dared come to you about our misfortune. As our cattle go into the woods, Micillina the Witch appears and makes off with them." So, amid sighs and groans, with the other farmers nodding in assent, he told the count all about their nightmare.
The count remained silent.
"We have come here," said the old man, "to be so bold as to ask Your Honors advice."
The count remained silent.
"We have come here," he added, "to be so bold as to ask Your Honor to help us. If you assigned us an escort of soldiers, we could again take our cattle down to pasture."
The count shook his head. "If I let you have the soldiers," he said, "I must also let you have the captain..."
The farmers listened, hardly daring to hope.
"But if the captain is away in the evening," said the count, "who can I play lotto with?"
The farmers fell to their knees. "Help us, noble count, for pitys sake!" The soldiers around the courtyard yawned and stroked their mustaches.
Again the count shook his head and said:
I am the count and I count for three;
No witch have I seen,
So, no witch has there been.
At those words and still yawning, the soldiers picked up their guns and, with bayonets extended, moved slowly toward the farmers, who turned and filed silently out of the courtyard.
Back in the town square and completely discouraged, the farmers had no idea what to do next. But the senior of them all, the one who had spoken to the count, said, "Theres nothing left to do but send for Masino!"
So they wrote Masino a letter and sent it to Africa. Then one evening, while they were all gathered around the bonfire as usual, Masino returned. Imagine the welcome they gave him, the embraces, the pots of hot, spiced wine! "Where on earth have you been? What did you see? If you only knew what we have been going through!"
Masino let them have their say, then he had his. "In Africa I saw cannibals who ate not men but locusts; in the desert I saw a madman who had let his fingernails grow twelve meters long to dig for water; in the sea I saw a fish with a shoe and a slipper who wanted to be king of the other fish, since no other fish possessed shoe or slipper; in Sicily I saw a woman with seventy sons and only one kettle; in Naples I saw people who walked while standing still, since the chatter of other people kept them going; I saw sinners and I saw saints; I saw fat people and people no bigger than mites; many, many frightened souls did I see, but never so many as here in Pocapaglia."
The farmers hung their heads in shame, for Masino had hit a sensitive spot in suggesting they were cowards. But Masino was not cross with his fellow townsmen. He asked for a detailed account of the witchs doings, then said, "Let me ask you three questions, and at the stroke of midnight Ill go out and catch the witch and bring her back to you."
"Lets hear your questions! Out with them!" they all said.
"The first question is for the barber. How many people came to you this month?"
The barber replied:
"Long beards, short beards,
Fine beards, coarse beards,
Locks straight, locks curly,
All I trimmèd(sic) in a hurry."
"Your turn now, cobbler. How many people brought you their old shoes to mend this month?"
"Alas!" began the cobbler:
"Shoes of wood, shoes of leather,
Nail by nail I hammered back together,
Mended shoes of satin and shoes of serpent.
But theres nothing left to do,
All their money is spent."
"The third question goes to you, rope maker. How much rope did you sell this month?"
The rope maker replied:
"Rope galore of every sort I sold:
Hemp rope, braided, wicker, cord,
Needle-thin to arm-thick,
Lard-soft to iron-strong...
This month I couldnt go wrong."
"Very well," said Masino, stretching out by the fire. "Im now going to sleep for a few hours, Im very tired. Wake me up at midnight and Ill go after the witch." He put his hat over his face and fell asleep.
The farmers kept perfectly quiet until midnight, not even daring to breathe, for fear of awaking him. At midnight Masino shook himself, yawned, drank a cup of mulled wine, spat three times into the fire, got up without looking at a soul, and headed for the woods.
The farmers stayed behind watching the fire burn down and the last embers turn to ashes. Then, whom should Masino drag in by the beard but the count! A count that wept, kicked, and pleaded for mercy.
"Heres the witch!" cried Masino, and asked, "Where did you put the mulled wine?"
Beneath the farmers amazed stares, the count tried to make himself as small as possible, sitting on the ground and shrinking up like a cold-bitten fly.
"The thief could have been none of you," explained Masino, "since you had all gone to the barber and had no hair to lose in the bushes. Then there were those tracks made by big heavy shoes, but all of you go barefoot. Nor could the thief have been a ghost, since he wouldnt have needed to buy all that cord to tie up the animals and carry them away. But where is my mulled wine?"
Shaking all over, the count tried to hide in that beard of his which Masino had tousled and torn in pulling him out of the bushes.
"How did he ever make us faint by just looking at us?" asked one farmer.
"He would smite you on the head with a padded club. That way you would hear only a whir. Hed leave no mark on you, youd simply wake up with a headache."
"And those hairpins he lost?" asked another.
"They were used to hold his beard up on his head and make it look like a womans hair."
Until then the farmers had listened in silence, but when Masino said, "And now, what shall we do with him?" a storm of shouts arose: "Burn him! Skin him alive! String him up for a scarecrow! Seal him in a cask and roll him down the cliff! Sew him up in a sack with six cats and six dogs!"
"Have mercy!" said the count in a voice just above a whisper.
"Spare him," said Masino, "and he will bring back your cattle and clean your barns. And since he enjoyed going into the woods at night, make him go there every night and gather bundles of firewood for each of you. Tell the children never to pick up the hairpins they find on the ground, for they belong to Micillina the Witch, whose hair and beard will be disheveled from now on."
The farmers followed the suggestion, and soon Masino left Pocapaglia to travel about the world. In the course of his travels, he found himself fighting in first one war and another, and they all lasted so long that his saying sprang up:
Soldier fighter, what a hard lot!
Wretched food, the ground for a cot.
You feed the cannon powder:
Boom-BOOM! Boom-BOOM! Boom louder!
(Bra)
NOTES:
"The Counts Beard" (La barba del Conte). Published here for the first time, collected by Giovanni Arpino in July 1956, in certain villages of southern Piedmont: Bra (told by Caterina Asteggiano, inmate of a home for old people, and Luigi Berzia), in Guarene (told by Doro Palladino, farmer), in Narzole (told by Annetta Taricco, servant woman), and in Pocapaglia.
This long narrative, which writer Giovanni Arpino has transcribed and unified from different versions with variants and additions from Bra and surroundings, cannot in my view be classified as a folktale. It is a local legend of recent origin in part (I am thinking, for instance, of the geographical particulars given), that is, not prior to the nineteenth century, and containing disparate elements: explanation of a local superstition (the hairpins of Witch Micillina), antifeudal country legend such as one finds in many northern countries, curious detective-story structure à la Sherlock Holmes, many digressions nonessential to the story (such as the trip from Africa back to town -- which Arpino tells me also exists as a separate story -- and all the allusions to Masinos past and future adventures which lead to the conclusion globetrotter from a country whose inhabitants are reputed to be contrastingly slow and backward), verse (of which Arpino and I have presented only as much as we could effective translate), and grotesque images which seem rooted in tradition, such as the sacks under the hens tails, the oxen so thin that they were curried with the rake, the count whose beard was combed by four soldiers, etc....
Copyright: Italian Folktales Selected and Retold by Italo Calvino,
translated by George Martin,
Pantheon Books, New York 1980