ZEZOLLA,

THE CAT CINDERELLA

An Italian Fairytale

Story by Giambattista Basile

Translated by John Edward Taylor

Adapted by Rachel Louise Lawrence

BlackdownPublications

This revised edition of Giambattista Basile’s “La gatta Cenerentola” from ‘Lo Cunti de li Cunto’ (1634) and English translation by John Edward Taylor from ‘The Pentamerone’ (1850) first published in 2014 by Blackdown Publications BlackdownPublications Address 83 Blackdown View, Ilminster, Somerset TA19 0BD Email blackdownpublications@mail.com Copyright © Rachel Louise Lawrence 2014 Illustration on front cover by Eleanor Abbott (1920) The rights of Rachel Louise Lawrence to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. Folklore Type: ATU-510A (Persecuted Heroine)

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CONTENTS

PART I: THE TALE OF ZEZOLLA

Chapter I – Changes

PART II: THE TALE OF CENERENTOLA

Chapter II – The Wish Tree

Chapter III – The King’s Feast

PART III: THE FINAL RESOLUTION

Chapter IV – The Shoe-Test

PART I: THE TALE OF ZEZOLLA

Chapter I – Changes

In Italy, there once lived a Prince, who was a widower but who

had a daughter, so dear to him that he saw with no other eyes

than hers. He kept a governess for her, who taught her chain-

work and knitting, and to make point-lace, and showed her such

affection as no words can tell.

But, after a time, the Prince married again. She was a jaded

wife who soon conceived a violent dislike of her stepdaughter. All

day long she terrorised the poor child, who bewailed to her

governess the bad treatment she received from her stepmother,

saying to her many a time, “Oh, that you had been my mother,

you who shows me such kindness and love.”

Zezolla, for that was the name of the young Lady, went on

thus, sighing and singing to this tune so often that, at last, her

governess said to her one day, “If you will do as this foolish head

of mine advises I shall be mother to you, and you will be as dear

to me as the apple of my eye.”

She was going to say more, when Zezolla said, “Pardon me

if I stop the word upon your tongue. I know you wish me well,

therefore, show me the way to get out of my trouble; write and I

will subscribe.”

“Well, then,” answered Carmosina, her governess, “open

your ears and listen, and you will get bread as white as the

flowers. When your father goes out, ask your stepmother to give

you one of the old dresses that are in the large chest in the closet,

in order to save the one you are wearing. Then she, who will like

most of all things to see you in rags and tatters, will open the

chest and say to you, ‘Hold up the lid’, and whilst you are holding

it up, and she is rummaging about inside, let it fall with a bang, so

as to break her neck. When this is done, you know well enough

that your father would even coin false money to please you, so

entreat him when he is caressing you to marry me and make me

his Princess. Then - bless your stars! - you shall be the mistress of

my life.”

When Zezolla heard this, every hour seemed a thousand

years to her until she had done all Carmosina had advised.

As soon as the mourning for her stepmother’s death was

ended, Zezolla began to feel her father’s pulse, and beg him to

marry Carmosina. At first, the Prince took it as a joke, but Zezolla

went on shooting so long past the mark that at length she hit it,

and he gave way to her entreaties. So he married Carmosina, and

gave a great feast at the wedding.

Now, while the young folks danced, Zezolla stood at the

window of her house and a dove came flying and perched upon a

wall, and said to her, “Whenever you need anything send your

request to the Dove of the Fairies in the Island of Sardinia, the

land of your mother, and you will instantly have what you wish.”

For the five or six days following the wedding, Carmosina,

as her new stepmother, overwhelmed Zezolla with caresses,

seating her at the best place at table, giving her the choicest

morsels to eat, and clothing her in the richest apparel. But before

long, forgetting entirely the good service she had received,

Carmosina began to bring forward six daughters of her own,

whom she had kept concealed until then; and she praised them

so much, and worked on her husband in such a fashion, that his

stepdaughters at last won his good graces and he let thoughts of

his own daughter slip out of his heart. In short, it fared so ill for

Zezolla – bad today and worse tomorrow – that, at last, she was

brought down from her royal chamber to the kitchen, from the

canopy of state to the hearth, from her splendid apparel of silks

and gold to dishclouts, from the sceptre to the spit. And not only

was her condition changed, but even her name; for, instead of

Zezolla, she was now called Cenerentola.