Episode 56 – Ogre Achiever – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 56 Show Notes

Source: Italian Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’ll get into the age-old rivalry between giants and ogres You’ll learn that the bugs get big in Italy, that pride goeth before a stupid bet, and that being royal doesn’t make you a good dad. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll meet the beautiful, magical women from outside. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 56, “Ogre-Achiever”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week, we’re going to be covering a bizarre lesser-known tale from a fairy tale collector responsible for a lot of the stories we all know and love today, though his name is not nearly so famous as the later Brothers Grimm (although they would praise his work as an influence in their own collection). Giambattista Basile was an Italian poet, courtier, and (most relevant to us) a collector of tales. His collections include the oldest recorded forms of many well-known stories, such as Rapunzel and Cinderella, as well as some obscure gems which deserve more attention than they get (which is why we’re going to give one of them a little love today). Our story, known as The Flea, comes from his seminal 1634 work Il Pentamerone: Lo Cunto de il Cunti, which translates roughly to Five Days: The Tale of Tales. All of the stories are caught up in a basic frame story in which 50 tales are told over the course of 5 days.
In the frame story, a melancholy princess name Zoza, which roughly translates to ‘mud’ or ‘slime’ in Neapolitan but was also used as a term of endearment (kind of the way ‘bitch’ is today, I guess) is the focus. Zoza was melancholy because she suffered under a curse for reasons that aren’t adequately explained: for some reason, she cannot seem to laugh, no matter what her father tries. In desperation, he resorts to slapstick and sets up a fountain of oil by the door with the express intention of causing people to slip and fall, hoping that the princess will laugh at the misfortune of unsuspecting victims. An old woman came to gather oil from this strange fountain, since oil was expensive and she was poor. A page boy comes to help her and slips in the oil, breaking her jug. The old woman was furious at the shattering of her only good jug (since, as mentioned, she was quite poor), and she began to berate the poor young page while dancing madly about in her rage. This whole scene was so preposterous that Zoza finally laughed for the first time ever, which turned out to be a bad thing. The old woman, already in a fine fete, was driven to still higher peaks of blinding rage at the laughter of the princess, and she whirled on the young woman and laid a new curse on her: she would only be able to marry the prince of Round-Field, whom she could only wake from a magical slumber by filling a pitcher with tears in three days.
Undeterred, Zoza sets out and, with the help of some surprisingly friendly fairies, she finds the pitcher and goes about filling it up. She’s very close to succeeding when, overcome with exhaustion from her trials, she falls asleep, and the pitcher is stolen by a Moorish slave who finishes filling up the last bit, wakes the prince, and claiming him for her own, becoming a queen. Prodded by the fairy gifts given to Zoza, the already pregnant slave-queen demands that her husband tell her stories or she will crush the unborn fetus. The prince, panicking, hires ten women to tell stories continuously (unknowingly hiring Zoza among them). Each woman tells five stories with Zoza being the final storyteller and revealing the slave-queen’s underhanded dealings. The prince abandons his wife for Zoza, since she had done most of the hard work, but they both are understanding of a poor, mistreated slave seizing an opportunity to escape her terrible lot and forgive her. Just kidding, they murder the fuck out of her for daring to try and rise above her station, burying the pregnant woman up to her neck and leaving her to die. Zoza and the prince get to live happily ever after though, so…win I guess?
The Flea is one of the tales from the first day, and is a wild, rolicking tale that begins, as so many fairy tales do, with a royal overreacting to something. Once upon a time, the king of High Mountain was bitten by a flea. In a surprising display of reflexes, the king managed to snatch the flea off of his skin before it could hop away and hold it between his fingers without killing it. He stared at the tiny insect up close, fascinated by the unexpected beauty of the miniscule thing when seen up close (and not actively biting him). He is moved by it magnificent structure and cannot bring himself to execute it on his fingernail, so he decides to keep it as a pet. As one does.
He put it in a jar and began to feed it every day with blood drawn from his own arm. It’s not clear if there was something magical about the flea, something magical about the blood (mystic properties are often ascribed to royal blood after all), or if all fleas have the abilities of this flea, but whatever it was, the flea began to grow to massive proportions on this steady diet until, at the end of 7 months, it was bigger than a lamb.
Although he had previously been too soft-hearted to kill the tiny flea, he apparently had no such compunctions about this new, larger variety. He was fascinated by the strange, marvelous skin of this enormous flea, so he had it flayed such that the skin remained carefully intact once removed from the suffering, dying insect. Pleased with his good fortune, he decided to test his kingdom. He issued a proclamation that whomever was able to correctly identify the animal that this unusual pelt had come from would be given his daughter’s hand in marriage. This king was apparently incredibly impulsive and given to playing with lives without worrying much about consequences.
Unsurprisingly, people arrived in droves as word spread of this proclamation, hoping to be the one to guess correctly and earn a royal marriage for basically no justification. They came from every corner of the earth (although one translation I found said, and I quote, that people arrived ‘from the asshole of the earth to be present at this exam and try their luck’ and that’s just an amazing turn of phrase). Unsurprisingly, the people who came to answer the summons guessed pretty much everything except ‘giant mutant flea’. They guessed a bunch of different types of cats (weird choice), and one a crocodile (which makes more sense), but no one got anywhere near the right answer because of course they didn’t. Who would?
The king had to be feeling pretty smug about now (although I still don’t fully understand why he made this offer since he stands to gain nothing in the best case scenario). That self-satisfaction lasted right up until an ogre strode boldly into the audience hall in answer to the summons. There were audible gasps, but the king thought back over his decree and realized that he hadn’t said anything at all about limiting the scope to humans. It was too late to change it now – the ogre had the right to make his guess. The king gulped. Well, ogres were supposed to be stupid, right?
Whether or not they are stupid, ogres were definitely hideous. Ogres are, in general, so repulsive that the mere sight of one could bring on tremors, diarrhea, or even fainting spells in even the bravest men, and this particular ogre was ugly even by the standards of his species. He hovered around the flayed skin, staring at it and even sniffing it, before turning to the king. “This hide belongs to the king of the fleas.”
The king’s heart dropped into his stomach like a stone. Shit, he was right. Somehow, that bastard had hit the hail on the head. Well, fuck. The king, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, had painted himself into a corner with no escape, and, being a man of his word, he sent for his daughter Porziella. She was a beautiful young woman (as fairy tale princesses tend to be unless they’re evil or something), with skin as fair as milk except for the small roses that bloomed in her cheeks. Her beauty was renowned throughout the kingdom and beyond, and it was said that you could marvel at her beauty forever and never tire.
She answered her father’s summons with a smile, though it may have been a tad strained since she had undoubtedly heard about her father’s proclamation. “Yes, father?” “My beloved daughter, I have taught you about the importance of honesty and honor since you were a tiny babe sleeping in my arms. You know how important my word is to me and, once given to a king or a beggar, I cannot break my oath.” Porziella nodded uncomfortably, more convinced than ever about where this unfortunate conversation was going. “I have given my word to the kingdom, and my heart would break if I went back on it. When I promised your hand to anyone who could solve my little mystery, I never imagined that the winner would be an ogre! I probably should have thought about this a little before I made that stupid proclamation, but done is done. For me to maintain my honor, I need you to…” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I need you to marry this ogre. Don’t worry though, my dear daughter, for my heart tells me that you’ll be happy with this decision. Rich treasures are often found inside a rough earthen jar, after all.” Which is a saying I’ve never heard before and, I think, only applies in metaphors and Legend of Zelda games, but whatever. The king is clearly just trying to put a brave face on his fuck up and justify letting his daughter pay the price for his own hubris.
Porziella was about as comforted by this hollow aphorism as you would expect. She grew pale and began to tremble slightly, and a few silent tears leaked from her eyes. She took a breath, trying to steady herself, but instead she opened the floodgates of her despair. Tears flowed freely as she fell to her knees at her father’s feet. “What crime have I committed to deserve so cruel a punishment? Have I ever done anything to you worth sacrificing me to this hideous monster? Is this all the love you can muster for your own goddamned daughter? You used to call me the joy of your soul, and now you cast me into the pit because you made a stupid bet with the world? You cruel, horrid man! No, not a man for surely no human could hand their beloved sheep over to a werewolf like this. Orcas gave you your blood and lions your milk. No, that’s not quite right, for even the wild animals love and protect their children; you alone cannot stomach your own daughter if this is all I ever meant to you, it would have been better if my mother had smothered me in my cradle, if my wet nurse’s tit had held poison, if I had tied my swaddling clothes into a noose and hanged myself. At least I’d have died without knowing how little love you bear for me, that you would force me to be caressed by harpy’s hands, embraced by bear’s arms, and kissed by pig’s tusks.”
Porziella was sobbing freely now, but she choked in another breath to continue her completely justified tirade against the asshole who’d traded her to a random monster for absolutely nothing and for no good goddamn reason, but the king’d had enough of being criticized (even though he knew deep down that he deserved every cutting word she hurled at him). “You will hold your tongue, princess! Appearances can be deceiving, and for all you know, this…fine ogre is the nicest creature you could possibly be married to. Besides, it’s hardly right for a daughter to chastise her father, and besides – a leaf cannot fall unless the heavens will it, so we have to assume that this marriage is for the best. Now, be silent, girl, for if you force me to lay my hands on you, I won’t leave a single one of your bones unbroken and I will sow the earth with your teeth! How dare you, a mere child barely whose breath still reeks of your mother’s milk, oppose my will! I have decided, and whatever I decide is by definition right and good! Take his hand, you ungrateful little bitch, and set off with him this fucking instant for I will not have your saucy face or sharp tongue in my presence a single goddamned moment longer! Begone!” Yeah, this king’s definitely in the running for Father of the Year.
Porziella knew her father well enough to know that he was absolutely not bluffing. Left with a choice between going with the ogre and literally being beaten and tortured to the very edge of death, she turned to the ogre. Her face was as hard as someone walking to their own execution, but she took the rough hand of the ogre, who dragged her away from the palace without any of her things or any attendants. She was alone and without a single possession or any money, utterly at the mercy of this monster (who might still be less monstrous than her father, at least).
He led her out of the city and into the deep woods, to a place where the trees stood thick enough to leave the world a perpetual twilight, silent except for the babbling of a small brook somewhere in the dimness. More than once, they came across wild beasts roaming the wilderness without fear of her or her companion, for they had passed beyond the world of man to the place where the beasts still ruled unchallenged, where indeed no human had ever passed except for a handful of unfortunate souls who had lost their way and never returned to the world of men alive. Finally, deep in this alien wilderness, the ogre led her to his home in a part of the forest as black as a clogged chimney and as terrifying as the very gates of Hell. Almost no light of the sun penetrated this abyssal place, but the little that did showed the poor terrified princess that her new husband’s home was decorated with the bones of the men that he had murdered and devoured. Porziella was absolutely terrified and convinced that she was about to be raped, murdered, and eaten (and who can blame her?).
Impossible as it seemed to her, though, things were about to go from bad to worse. There was no food to be had in the house, save for some old withered peas and some stale dried beans, so while she did her best to make these palatable, the ogre went out hunting. He came back as the beans were going from chewy to mushy, dappled in the blood of his fresh kill. Porziella’s stomach lurched at the sight of her monstrous husband tromping in the door with gutted and butchered men draped over his shoulder. Even knowing the reputations of ogres, she had foolishly hoped that he would come home with a deer or a brace of rabbits.
The ogre leered at his new bride and tossed the gory corpses at her feet. “Here you go, wife! Don’t say I don’t provide well for you. There’s plenty of good meat here. Clean and cook it for dinner. Celebrate your good fortune, for the sky will fall before I let you run out of manflesh to eat.” Her stomach heaved at this awful proclamation of the cannibalistic horror that was to be her future and, paler than ever, she turned away from the macabre sight to try and stop herself from retching. “Ha! It’s almost a waste to cast such fine cuts of meat before a pig like you. I’ll forgive you though, and if you don’t mind going hungry tonight, I can get you something more suitable to your…delicate stomach tomorrow. I’ve been invited to a wild boar hunt, and I will bring you home a few boars. We can have a grand feast with my kinfolk to celebrate our marriage.” Laughing at his poor wife’s misfortune, the ogre headed back out into the forest (exactly why he left immediately after returning home is unclear).
Porziella was utterly miserable, and rather than cook the horrid feast left by her husband, she stood at the window and wept. An old woman happened to pass by as Porziella was sobbing, even though I previously said that no one ever came this way unless they were stupid lost, but don’t think too hard about that. The woman, ignoring Porziella’s tears, begged her for food saying she was famished, not having eaten in days. “I cannot help you, my good woman. I am bound to a dreadful ogre who brings me nothing but the corpses of the men he has slaughtered. I was born a princess, but now I am doomed to the most squalid life imaginable.” So saying, she began to bawl like a little girl who, though starving, has her bread and butter stolen from her.
The old woman was moved to pity by the plight of someone even worse off than she (which she definitely hadn’t expected to encounter). “Sweet child, be of good heart and don’t spoil your beauty with ugly tears for you have found luck in this awful place. I can help you. You see, I have seven sons, and they are all giants: Mase, Nardo, Cola, Micco, Petrullo, Ascaddeo, and Ceccone. They are fine boys, and incredibly skilled. Mase can put his ear to the ground and hear everything moving within 30 miles; Nardo can make a virtual sea of soap bubbles any time he washes his hands (which is a truly bizarre and oddly specific skill); Cola can throw a bit of iron to the ground and summon a field of deadly razors; Micco can fling a little stick to the earth and create a thick, tangled forest; Petrullo can spill a single droplet of water and bring forth a torrential river; Ascaddeo can throw a stone and turn it into a strong tower; and Ceccone can shoot a crossbow accurately enough to hit a chicken’s eye from a mile away. With the help of my sons, who are all courteous and friendly (even though they are apparently okay with letting their aged mother starve but whatever), I can free you from the claws of this awful ogre.”
Porziella couldn’t believe her incredible luck (and it does seem pretty unbelievable), but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “No time like the present then, you incredible woman you! My husband has gone out, but I have no idea when he’s coming back, so we should slip out and run now while we have the chance.” The old woman shook her head. “We can’t leave today, my dear. I live a long way away, but I will be back tomorrow morning with my sons to save you (which begs the question – just how far away can her home be if she can make it there and back by tomorrow morning, but there’s no good answer to that so just pretend that what she said made sense).
Leaving a confused by hopeful Porziella behind, the old woman disappeared into the black forest. Hungry but not hungry enough to try cannibalism, Porziella went to bed and fell into a deep slumber. As soon as the birds began to sing in the morning (and I mean that literally, as they apparently cried out ‘long live the sun!), Porziella rose and raced to the window. I don’t know how the birds knew it was morning since it’s apparently super dark near the ogre’s home, but apparently there was some magical dark-light here, because Porziella was able to see the old woman approaching with her seven giant sons.
The ogre hadn’t come back yet, so the seven men placed Porziella and their mother in the center of a loose protective circle and headed towards the distant city. They had gone only half a mile before Mase called a halt to put his ear to the ground. “Beware my brothers – the ogre has returned home. He knows his wife is missing and is hunting us with his cap under his arm.” Even accepting that he can hear everything moving within 30 miles, how in the hell does he know that the ogre has a hat under his arm (and why is he carrying it instead of wearing it?). As usual with this tale, there are no good answers.
Nardo stepped forward at his brother’s words, pulled a cake of soap from his bag, and began to wash his hands with the help of a little water from his canteen. An ocean of suds spread from his hands, covering the land behind them and hiding their trail from sight and smell. Their path covered, they continued on. The ogre followed until he came to the strange bubble sea, considered for a moment, then raced back home to fetch a sack of bran he had in his storeroom. Returning, he cast the grain into the suds, absorbing the soap and allowing him to freely move through the forest again.
Ahead, Mase again checked on their pursuer, who was catching up despite doubling back. At a word, Cola took some scrap iron from his bag and cast it behind them, filling the path with a field of wicked razors. The party hurried on. Soon enough, the ogre reached the razor field. Again, he considered for a moment then raced home. This time, he created makeshift armor for himself, covering every inch of flesh with pots, pans, plows, and pieces of armor ripped from dead men, then raced back along the trail of his fleeing wife. Thus protected, he was able to force his way through the razors unharmed.
Mase again checked behind them and heard the ogre gaining on the group once again. “Guys, this ogre is coming after us so fast, he might actually be flying. We need to slow him down.” This time, Micco stepped forward. He picked up a small stick and hurled it behind them. As soon as it struck the earth, a thick, old-growth forest sprang up, filling the path with huge gnarled trees. Wasting no time, the group hurried off again towards the city.
When the ogre reached this brand-new forest, he drew his belt knife and began to hack at the poplars, oaks, pines, and chestnut trees right and left. His arm swung wide and strong, felling many trees with each blow such that, with four or five strokes, he had cut clean through the entire forest. His way once more clear, he raced off in pursuit. Mase was checking more and more often now as the ogre kept clearing their obstacles with ease, so he heard the ogre coming clear of the forest. “We must hurry, brothers! That ogre moves like the wind and is hot on our heels.”
Petrullo stepped up to the challenge this time. Petrullo took some water from his canteen and sprinkled it on the ground behind them. In a blink of an eye, a massive, roaring river sprang up between themselves and the ogre with no ford or bridge for the ogre to cross. Hoping that they had bought a little more time, the group once more hurried off. Soon enough, the ogre came to the river and looked over it. There was only one option here and he knew it so he stripped himself naked, piled his clothes up on top of his head, and waded in. The ogre was an incredibly strong swimmer, and he forced his way across the raging water without much effort.
Mase heard as the ogre stepped out of the water and got dressed again. “Shit, guys – that didn’t hold him long at all. I can already hear the ogre’s footsteps this side of the river. We must be on our guard and prepared to meet this oncoming storm.” Ascaddeo stepped boldly forward at this to offer his aid. He flung a small pebble at the ground and it grew with an earth-shaking roar to a massive tower. Knowing that they weren’t going to be able to reach the city before the ogre caught them, they rushed up into the tower to make a stand, barring the massive door behind them.
The ogre reached the tower and saw that the walls were tall and thick. He wouldn’t be able to force his way through this, but that also didn’t mean he was ready to give up. Leaving them to their little fortress, the ogre rushed home. Although it must have taken a lot of time for him to get all the way to his home and back, the giants didn’t try to make a break for the city. Maybe they were just running out of magical powers (I can only assume they can’t do their mojo again for a while or they could just keep throwing obstacles behind them as they fled). They must have decided that the tower was their best and only hope.
The giant soon returned with the ladder he used to decorate his dark home with human bones. Mase heard him coming, and could somehow tell that he was now carrying a ladder with him. “We’re running out of options here, brothers. That goddamned ogre is still coming with a white hot fury. Ceccone is our last hope. You’re up, little brother.” As they spoke, the ogre placed his ladder against the tower wall and began to climb. Ceccone leaned out of the tower window above him and pulled his ball out of his bag. Taking aim, he hurled the ball at the ogre, striking him right between the eyes. The ogre was stunned and dropped like a stone from the ladder. He landed on the ground below with a thud and lay there, knocked the fuck out. This seems only tangentially related to his ability for shooting a crossbow, but whatever.
Ceccone wasted no time, rushing down the tower stairs and unbarring the door. The ogre was still out cold, but he wouldn’t be for long. Ceccone drew his knife and, without a moment’s hesitation, he slit the ogre’s throat, then cut off his head just to be sure. Figuring that the ogre had been something of a terror to the nearby kingdom, they decided to bring the severed head with them when they went to see the king. He rejoiced to see them coming with the daughter that he apparently loved again now that he had managed to keep his word and still end up with his daughter returned and the ogre dead. He’d felt bad about having to use her as a pawn in his own stupid bets, so it was nice to get out of any consequences without having to change or grow in any way.
Because clearly a fairy tale can’t end without the princess being married off to somebody, the king married her to a handsome prince a few days later, but not anyone we’ve met before though I’m sure he was a great guy and they were happy forever and nothing bad ever happened again. The seven sons and their mother, who had risked their lives to save the princess (doing much more for her than her own father had), were rewarded with gold and jewels so that they could live a prosperous, happy life and never need to beg again. Happily ever after or whatever.
The story just kind of…ends. After all of that build up, the actual climax kind of isn’t. There’s no huge fight, no clever trick, nothing. He just gets hit on the head with a ball and then gets his head cut off without a fight. Nothing in this tale really feels earned, but I love the way it starts. The whole thing with a skinned giant flea king is so surreal and bizarre and I love it. With everyone’s future settled and happy, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monsters are the donas de fuera.
In Sicilian folklore, the donas de fuera, or the Ladies from the Outside, were powerful magical women comparable to the fairies of English folklore. Like the fae, they would sometimes contact humans, especially women, and take them to, of all places, Benevento, a city near Naples. The name ‘donas de fueras’ applied both to the magical fairies and the human woman they associated with. The fairies were, of course, beautiful, and usually dressed in white, black, or red. Despite the name, some of the donas were, in fact, male. You could tell them from a human, however, because their feet were either cat’s paws, horse hooves, or some peculiar and undefined round shape.
The donas de fuera usually showed up in groups of five or seven, with a single male fairy who would play the lute or guitar and dance for the ladies. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, the fairies would meet with the humans belonging to their particular company in the woods, led by an ensign. In March, several of the companies would gather together for a mass meeting called The Seven Fairies, during which they could turn themselves into cats or some undefined type of magical creature called aydons, which were apparently extremely lethal.
As is pretty much always the case with fairies, they could easily be offended by humans. One story says that a man was playing music in the woods one day, so beautifully that he drew a crowd of the donas de fuera. Unfortunately, he was unable to see them and actually hit one of them while playing, pissing them off (although it was totally not his fault). In retribution, they afflicted him with a painful cramp.
On a darker note, the donas de fuera became associated with several witch trials in Sicily between 1579 and 1651 as part of the Spanish Inquisition. According to the summaries of the trials sent to the Inquisition’s Suprema in Madrid by the Sicilian tribunal, 65 people (57 of them women) were put on trial for sorcery as a result of being associated the donas de fuera. Many of the confessions mentioned meetings with elves which were sometimes compared to the Witch’s Sabbath by the Inquisition, but since the local Sicilian population actually had a fairly positive few of the elves and fairies, the Inquisition went relatively easy on those accused of consorting with fairies.
The Sicilian witch trials were actually fairly mild in general, with those accused usually being freed, exiled, or jailed rather than executed. Unsurprisingly, most of those accused were poor and female, although a few did testify that nobles took part in the fairy meetings. Apparently, the accused didn’t even have to be tortured to confess – since the fairies were seen as mostly positive, the accused were generally pretty proud of being chosen by the donas de fuera and did not see them as contrary to their Christian faiths. So if you find yourself in the Sicilian countryside, try and be careful of any invisible fairies that might be lurking about so they don’t curse you with mild discomfort.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you like what you’ve heard, I’d appreciate a review on iTunes. These reviews really help increase the show’s standing and let more people know it exists. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff, whom you can find on fiverr.com.
Next time, we’ll head to Israel for some dark Valentine’s Day fun. You’ll discover why you should never ignore a wall capped with skulls, that seven-headed monsters sleep in the weirdest positions, and that roosters make good friends. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see why you should never let a horse decide where to bury a king. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.