When in that fleeting truthful week three Thursdays came in a row once upon a time there was, there was... ...an old farmer who lived in a poor hut. This peasant had a suffering son, hunchbacked and hamstrung from birth, who was unfortunately called Fortunato. At the age of eighteen, Fortunato decided to leave his father's hut and set out to seek his fortune. He said farewell to his father, who blessed him with tears, carved himself a brand new pair of crutches and took the way towards the East, crossed mountains and plains, suffered hunger and thirst, always waiting for his luck to manifest. But luck wouldn’t come his way. One day, at dusk, darkness was catching upon him while he lingered on an unknown path cutting through a fir forest. He quickened his pace to reach some sort of shelter before nightfall, and he felt his heart leap with terror at the cries of the nocturnal birds and the howl of wolves. Suddenly, between the twigs and the trunks, he thought he saw a flickering light: he sprang forward as much as his crutches allowed him, reached a wooden hut, and knocked in the cold. The door opened: a tiny, bent, white-haired, wrinkled old lady appeared in the room, showered by the light of a fireplace. - Good woman, I am lost; welcome me in, for charity’s sake. - Come forward, my son. Fortunato entered the warmth of the hut. - I will share with you part of my dinner; you will be satisfied with the little I have. - Even a little will be too much kindness, mother. They sat down at the table and the old woman placed between them a plate and a tiny bowl, with a crumb of bread and two grains of rice. Fortunato looked at her in amazement. "She wasn't wrong," he thought to himself, "in telling me to be satisfied with little." But the old lady gestured imperiously with her right hand: and behold, the crumb grew, grew, took the shape of a sparrow, a pigeon, a chicken, a roasted turkey with appetising shades of gold. And there the bowl grew, turning into an elegant tureen where a sweetly scented soup steamed. Fortunato thought he was dreaming. He ate with appetite, amazed to taste that magical food under his teeth. And he looked at his mysterious host with different eyes. After dinner the old lady made Fortunato sit under the fireplace mantle, and she crouched against him in the warmth of the ashes. - Son, tell me your story. Fortunato told her of his illness, of his plight and of his vain pilgrimage in search of fortune. - Help me, you must be a powerful fairy. - I am no powerful fairy, my son, and my spells are few... I will help you by showing you a secret that everyone ignores: there’s a path in the forest, and it leads to the castle of desires... At dawn the next day, the old lady accompanied Fortunato through the woods, stopped at a crossroads, and showed him which path to choose. - Walk three days and three nights without looking back, no matter what you feel and hear. For centuries no one has dared to face the mystery of those walls. You will knock with this stone on the great door, and it will open by magic. You will cross courtyards and rooms, entrance halls and corridors. In the last room you will find a sleeping old man, standing with his arm outstretched, holding a green candle between his fingers; that is the talisman that you must steal and that will grant your every wish. The castle is full of magical frauds and diabolical horrors. But the necromancer, dragons and other spirits will fall asleep at noon and sleep till the strike of one. If you’re still there when the bell strikes, though, you will be lost forever... Fortunato took the stone, thanked the old woman and continued along the road on his crutches. Towards evening he heard a call from behind: - Lucky man! Hey, you, Lucky man! He didn't remember the old woman's warning and turned around in curiosity. And he was suddenly brought back to the limits of the forest, from which he had started. - Never mind: I’ll start again. And he undertook the way of the forest again, and again he heard a voice calling for him. - They'll kill me! Help! Young man, help me, for goodness' sake! He turned around in pity and there he was, brought back to the starting point again. He had a fit of anger, then patiently resumed his journey on his crutches. He walked for two days: at sunset on the second day he heard the clash of weapons, the trampling of horses; he turned around in fear and there he was, led back to the starting crossroads. - These are deceptions sent by that necromancer; but I will learn how to resist them. And he blocked his ears with flax tows and continued along the road calmly, unaware of the calls that were trying to distract him. After three days he arrived at the uninhabited castle. He waited for the stroke of twelve and banged with the stone. The immense door, sculpted with fabulous carvings, opened by magic. Fortunato recoiled, horrified. In front of him was a courtyard full of gigantic salamanders, toads, vipers, colossal scorpions. But everyone was asleep and Fortunato took courage and walked on his crutches among the slimy backs, the tails, the iron armour plates, the inert tentacles. He crossed courtyards, entrance halls, corridors, and eventually reached a room completely cladded with silver coins: struck by awe, thinking of everything he could do with such riches, he bent down and filled his pockets with them. He came to a second room full of gold coins: he bent down, tossed away the silver coins and picked up the gold coins. He came to a third room, cluttered with tall pyramids of gems: he emptied his pockets of gold and filled them with diamonds. He crossed other courtyards, other corridors, arriving in a final, immense and dark room. The decrepit necromancer, with his long, white beard, slept standing up, holding the green candle in his outstretched hand. Fortunato looked at him in amazement, and with equal amazement he inspected the thousand things in his diabolical laboratory. Then he remembered the time was passing, snatched the candle from the necromancer's hand, ran back, and got lost in the corridors. Dawn must have been imminent and if he couldn’t come out before that, he was going to be lost forever. He finally found the room again with diamonds, and the one with gold, and the one with silver, crossed the courtyard of the sleeping beasts, passed on his crutches between the slimy backs and tails again, and reached the immense door. The doors closed behind him with a dull crash. The touch of one resounded instantly. A frightening clamour arose behind the castle walls: croaks, hoarse and furious screams; they were the guardian monsters who noticed the theft. But Fortunato was safe outside the walls. He immediately lit the candle and commanded: - Let my legs straighten, let my illness be gone! And the hump disappeared from his back, and his legs straightened strong, and the pain melted away from his body. Fortunato threw away his crutches, put out the candle because it was burning very quickly, and headed for the city. He arrived there late at night, chose a spacious hill and lit up the candle again, commanding it to build a residence more beautiful than the Royal Palace. At dawn the citizens looked in amazement at the new marvellous building, its towers, loggias, staircases, terraces and hanging gardens that blossomed in a single night. Fortunato stood there on a balcony, dressed as a great gentleman, and bathed in their admiring looks. The King, who was an evil tyrant, burned with indignation and envy for the unknown stranger and sent out a valet ordering him to appear in front of the Court and explain his sudden arrival. - You will tell the King that I bow to no one. If he thinks it’s important, he can be the one to come to me. The King ordered the valet to be beheaded, and swore eternal hatred to the mysterious stranger. Fortunato lived the life of a great lord, eclipsing the king with a display of rich clothes, horses and riches: all he had to do was light the green candle for a few seconds and his every wish was immediately satisfied. But the candle was getting shorter and shorter, and Fortunato was starting to get restless and reduce his commands. And he wasn't happy. He felt that something was missing from his life, and he didn't know what. One day, riding through the city, he saw the King's only daughter in a loggia of the palace. The princess seemed to smile benevolently at him, but she was surrounded by the ladies and watched closely by pages and knights. The next day Fortunato passed under the loggia again and saw the princess among her women giving him a complacent smile. Fortunato fell madly in love with her. One full moon evening he stood on the highest of his hanging gardens, leaning on the balustrades that dominated the city. - Perhaps the candle could satisfy me in this too... And he pondered for a long time how to express his desire for her. - Candle, beautiful candle, I want the princess to be made invisible and to be transported instantly to my garden. Fortunato waited, with his heart beating strongly... And here the King's daughter appeared, dressed in a white tunic and with her hair undone. - Help! Help! Where am I? Who are you? The princess trembled, gripped by terror. She felt herself being lifted from her bed, and carried away through space. Fortunato knelt beside her, kissing the hem of her tunic. - I am the knight who passes under your balconies every day, princess, and if I had you transported here it was not with an evil purpose, but only to be able to humbly speak to you. And Fortunato declared his love for her and told her that he wanted to introduce himself to the King and ask for her hand. - Don't do that! My father hates you because you are more powerful than him. If you show up he'll have you instantly killed. After that evening Fortunato often invited Princess Nazzarena to his terraces through the magic of the candle. She appeared at Fortunato’s call, no longer pale and trembling, but sudden and smiling, like a celestial vision. They walked under the palm trees, among the roses and jasmine, and looked at the sleeping city. At dawn Fortunato commanded the green candle to transport the princess to her rooms and she found herself, a few moments later, laying in her alabaster bed. But a malevolent maid had noticed these nocturnal absences and reported the matter to the King. - If it's not true I'll have you hanged - the King said threateningly. - Your Majesty, you can verify this with your own eyes. The next evening the King hid behind the curtains, spying on his sleeping daughter. And behold, towards midnight, a very remote voice said: - Candle, beautiful candle, bring me my beloved Nazzarena! And then his daughter became invisible and the window opened by magic. The King was furious. And when at dawn Nazzarena reappeared sleeping in her bed, her father grabbed her by her golden braids: - Where have you been, you wretched girl? - In my bed, father: I slept all night. The King calmed down. - Then it is a curse you are unaware of, and that I will uncover its secret. He consulted a necromancer, who pondered around the matter in vain. - There is only one expedient, Your Majesty. Hang a perforated bag full of flour on Princess Nazzarena's robes: at dawn we will discover the path she takes. With the help of the treacherous maid, a perforated bag full of flour was hung above the princess's bed so that it would overturn as she moved. At dawn the King armed his entire guard, and with sword in hand he followed the thin white trail... And the trail led him to the palace of the mysterious stranger. He burst into Fortunato's sleeping room, where he was conversing with the princess. Before he could resort to the saving candle, the King had him tied up, transported to the royal palace, imprisoned in the basement, and awaiting punishment. He was condemned to death, and people crowded the large square on the day of his execution. On the balconies of the royal palace stood the whole Court, with the King, the Queen, and the pale and desperate Princess. Fortunato calmly climbed the scaffolding. The executioner said to him: - As is customary in the kingdom, you can express one last wish to His Majesty. - I only ask that a small green candle be brought to me, which I left back at my palace in an ivory casket. It is a dear memory and I would like to kiss it before I die. - May it be granted to him - said the King. A valet returned with the ivory casket and, amid the attention of all the people, Fortunato took the green candle, lit it, and murmured: - Candle, beautiful candle, may all those present here, with the exception of the princess, sink into the ground up to their chin. And the crowd, the Court, the King, the Queen, suddenly sank into the pavement. The square and the streets of the city appeared covered with heads staring and crying for help. Fortunato distinguished among the innumerable heads the crowned head of the King who rolled his eyes to the right and left, and imperiously commanded for someone to free him. But in the whole kingdom there was not a single subject left standing. Fortunato took Nazzarena by the arm and approached the royal head. - Your Majesty, I have the honour of asking you for the hand of Princess Nazzarena. The King looked at Fortunato with angry eyes and said nothing. - If you remain silent, I will depart with her today and leave you and your subjects forever buried up to your chin. The King looked at Fortunato, saw him young and handsome, recalled he was more powerful than him, and recognised he would be a good successor. - Your Majesty, I ask you again for Nazzarena's hand. - May it be granted to you - sighed the king. - Upon your Royal word? - Upon my Royal word. Fortunato commanded the candle to dig up everyone, and everyone soared from the ground by magic. And on the same day, in place of a ferocious beheading, a wedding was celebrated instead. About Guido G. Gozzano: Guido G. Gozzano, born in Turin on December 1883, was an Italian poet and writer and he belonged to the literary movement known as the "Crepuscolari" (Twilight Poets), which emerged in Italy during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Gozzano came from a well-established family and pursued classical studies at the Liceo Classico Cavour in Turin. In his early years, he was influenced by French symbolism and decadentism, and his poetry often reflected a sense of nostalgia and melancholy. Inspired by Leopardi and fierce political opposer of Gabriele d’Annunzio, Gozzano published both poetry and prose. His notable works include "La via del rifugio" (The Way to Refuge) and "I colloqui" (Dialogues). His poetry, characterized by musicality and refined language, explored themes of fleeting beauty, disillusionment, and the passage of time. During the latest years of his life he dedicated himself to delicate fragments of poetry called The Butterflies, segments of prose in epistolary form and, most importantly, the fairy tales published in this collection. They originally appeared serialized on the children's magazine Corriere dei Piccoli. His life was cut short when he succumbed to tuberculosis at the age of 32. His poetry continued to gain recognition posthumously, and he is remembered as one of the significant figures of Italian symbolism. About the translator:
Chiara was born and raised in Italy, and she always pursued a passion for the way fairytales and mythology speak to our innermost struggles. Her first published piece in a magazine was an angry article against Sophocle’s Oedipus Rex, her first published piece in a book was an essay on the aesthetics of Tolkien’s Goldberry. Her first non-fiction book included a build-your-own-adventure RPG-styled section. Her blog www.shelidon.it has been running in both Italian and English language for over 18 years and includes over 2000 articles on literature, folklore, art and history.
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