tory was only the fore-runner of mischief to
follow; and from a cloudy morning she foretold a bad day. But Zoza,
meanwhile, began to enchant all around her with the sweetness of her
words, relating her sorrows from first to last, and beginning with her
natural melancholy, the unhappy augury of all she had to suffer. Then
she went on to tell of the old woman's curse, her painful wanderings,
her arrival at the fountain, her bitter weeping, and the treacherous
sleep which had been the cause of her ruin.

The Slave, hearing Zoza tell the story in all its breadth and length,
and seeing the boat go out of its course, exclaimed, "Be quiet and hold
your tongue! or I will not answer for the consequences." But Taddeo,
who had discovered how matters stood, could no longer contain himself;
so, stripping off the mask and throwing the saddle on the ground, he
exclaimed, "Let her tell her story to the end, and have done with this
nonsense. I have been made a fool of for long enough, and, if what I
suspect is true, it were better that you had never been born." Then he
commanded Zoza to continue her story in spite of his wife; and Zoza,
who only waited for the sign, went on to tell how the Slave had found
the pitcher and had treacherously robbed her of her good fortune. And,
thereupon, she fell to weeping in such a manner, that every person
present was affected at the sight.

Taddeo, who, from Zoza's tears and the Slave's silence, discerned the
truth of the matter, gave Lucia a rare scolding, and made her confess
her treachery with her own lips. Then he gave instant orders that she
should be buried alive up to her neck, that she might die a more
painful death. And, embracing Zoza, he caused her to be treated with
all honour as his Princess and wife, sending to invite the King of
Wood-Valley to come to the feast.

With these fresh nuptials terminated the greatness of the Slave and the
amusement of these stories. And much good may they do you, and promote
your health! And may you lay them down as unwillingly as I do, taking
my leave with regret at my heels and a good spoonful of honey in my
mouth.

End of Project Gutenberg's Stories from Pentamerone, by Giambattista Basile

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