‘Oh, dear!’ said the peasant’s wife, ‘while I wasn’t looking, my sick daughter got up and killed the calf, and ate its heart.’
Assuming an air of terrible authority, the beggar said: ‘Did not I warn you not to let the sick daughter get at the calf? Now, either calf or maiden I must have; make haste with your choice; calf or maiden, one or the other!’[4]
But the poor woman could not get back the calf, seeing it was dead, and she was resolved not to give up her daughter. So she said: ‘I can’t give you the calf, because it is dead. So I must give you my daughter, only if I went to take her now while she’s awake, she would make such a fuss you would never get her along; so leave me your sack, that while she’s asleep I may put her in it, and then when you come back you can have her.’
So the beggar left his sack and went away. As soon as he was gone the peasant’s wife took the sack and put some stones at the bottom, to make it heavy, and thrust in a ferocious mad dog; then having made fast the mouth of the sack, she stood it up against the wall.
Next day the beggar came back and asked for his sack.
‘There it is against the wall,’ said the peasant’s wife.
So the beggar put it on his shoulder and went away.
As soon as he got home, he opened the sack to take out the maiden; but the ferocious mad dog rushed out upon him and killed him.
[1] ‘Il Poverello del Cece.’ The termination of the word ‘Poverello’ is one of those which determine the sentiment of the speaker in a way it is impossible to put into English. We use ‘poor’ (e.g. joined to the name of a deceased friend) to express sympathy and endearment; if we put ‘poor’ in this sense before the expression ‘povero,’ ‘a poor man,’ ‘poverello,’ ‘a poor poor man,’ we have the nearest rendering. Dante calls St. Francis, apostle of voluntary poverty, ‘Quel poverel’ di Dio.’ It is the common expression in Rome for a beggar. The ‘Poverello’ in this story, however, was not one that merited much compassion. [↑]