Sugaar, la serpiente macho

Los protagonistas del relato son dos hermanos pastores, que junto con tres hermanas y sus padres, vivían en la casa Iturriondobetia, en el barrio de Bargondia, de la población vizcaína de Dima.

Cierto día que los hermanos andaban agrupando el ganado, parte del cual se había colado en la cueva de Baltzola, encontraron en ella una gran culebra. El menor de los hermanos comenzó a tirarle piedras y de una pedrada le cortó parte de la cola. El otro hermano, en cambio, le reprendió y le pidió que desistiese de su actitud, alegando que también las serpientes eran criaturas de Dios. En esto un terrible estruendo sonó en el interior de la caverna, cosa que puso en fuga a los dos muchachos.

Pasó el tiempo y el mayor de los hermanos fue llamado a ser soldado. Estando de servicio por Nochebuena, añorando su casa y a los suyos, se le presentó un individuo muy feo que le preguntó si deseaba ir a Baltzola. A ello respondió el soldado afirmativamente. El hombre le dijo que lo haría pero pero mediando para ello la condición de que llevase dos cosas a su casa, que le daría en la cueva. Al instante ambos se encontraron en la mencionada caverna vizcaína. Le dió entonces el desconocido al muchacho un terrón de oro para él, y un cinturón de seda para su hermano. Y le exigió que pasados tres días tendría que regresar a la cueva, para encontrarse nuevamente con él.

La sorpresa de su familia al verlo entrar por la puerta fue indecible, pero aún fue mayor cuando el soldado relató con todo detalle cuanto le había sucedido. Entonces el hermano menor, rechazando el cinturón, mandó al hermano mayor que lo ciñese al nogal que había delante de la vivienda. Nada más hacerlo el árbol prendió como la pólvora, volatilizándose y dejando un profundo hoyo en el suelo.

Al día siguiente se presentaron ambos hermanos en la cueva. Salió a recibirles un mal encarado individuo, al que le faltaba un brazo. Sin mediar saludo, preguntó al menor de los hermanos: "¿Por qué me has dejado manco?" A lo que el muchacho respondió que él, ni conocía a aquel tipo de de nada, ni había dejado jamás manco a nadie. Pero el manco insistió, haciéndole recordar que tiempo atrás había apedreado allí mismo a una serpiente. Aquel reptil era él y la cola que le arrancó equivalía al brazo que ahora le faltaba. Mas como observó contrariado que el joven llevaba una medalla con una efigie cristiana en medio de su pecho, añadió: "Da gracias a esa imagen que te cuelga del cuello, pues sin ella hoy no hubieras salido vivo de aquí. Pero te lanzo esta maldición: no faltará jamás manco, cojo, sordo o ciego en Iturriondobetia"

The cook's tale

Excerpt from "The Canterbury Tales"

THE COOK'S PROLOGUE
The cook from London, while the reeve yet spoke,
Patted his back with pleasure at the joke.
"Ha, ha!" laughed he, "by Christ's great suffering,
This miller had a mighty sharp ending
Upon his argument of harbourage!
For well says Solomon, in his language,
'Bring thou not every man into thine house;'
For harbouring by night is dangerous.
Well ought a man to know the man that he
Has brought into his own security.
I pray God give me sorrow and much care
If ever, since I have been Hodge of Ware,
Heard I of miller better brought to mark.
A wicked jest was played him in the dark.
But God forbid that we should leave off here;
And therefore, if you'll lend me now an ear,
From what I know, who am but a poor man,
I will relate, as well as ever I can,
A little trick was played in our city."
Our host replied: "I grant it readily.
Now tell on, Roger; see that it be good;
For many a pasty have you robbed of blood,
And many a Jack of Dover have you sold
That has been heated twice and twice grown cold.
From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse,
For of your parsley they yet fare the worse,
Which they have eaten with your stubble goose;
For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
Now tell on, gentle Roger, by your name.
But yet, I pray, don't mind if I make game,
A man may tell the truth when it's in play."
"You say the truth," quoth Roger, "by my fay!
But 'true jest, bad jest' as the Fleming saith.
And therefore, Harry Bailey, on your faith,
Be you not angry ere we finish here,
If my tale should concern an inn-keeper.
Nevertheless, I'll tell not that one yet,
But ere we part your jokes will I upset."
And thereon did he laugh, in great good cheer,
And told his tale, as you shall straightway hear.
THUS ENDS THE PROLOGUE OF THE COOK'S TALE

THE COOK'S TALE
There lived a 'prentice, once, in our city,
And of the craft of victuallers was he;
Happy he was as goldfinch in the glade,
Brown as a berry, short, and thickly made,
With black hair that he combed right prettily.
He could dance well, and that so jollily,
That he was nicknamed Perkin Reveller.
He was as full of love, I may aver,
As is a beehive full of honey sweet;
Well for the wench that with him chanced to meet.
At every bridal would he sing and hop,
Loving the tavern better than the shop.
When there was any festival in Cheap,
Out of the shop and thither would he leap,
And, till the whole procession he had seen,
And danced his fill, he'd not return again.
He gathered many fellows of his sort
To dance and sing and make all kinds of sport.
And they would have appointments for to meet
And play at dice in such, or such, a street.
For in the whole town was no apprentice
Who better knew the way to throw the dice
Than Perkin; and therefore he was right free
With money, when in chosen company.
His master found this out in business there;
For often-times he found the till was bare.
For certainly a revelling bond-boy
Who loves dice, wine, dancing, and girls of joy-
His master, in his shop, shall feel the effect,
Though no part have he in this said respect;
For theft and riot always comrades are,
And each alike he played on gay guitar.
Revels and truth, in one of low degree,
Do battle always, as all men may see.
This 'prentice shared his master's fair abode
Till he was nigh out of his 'prenticehood,
Though he was checked and scolded early and late,
And sometimes led, for drinking, to Newgate;
But at the last his master did take thought,
Upon a day, when he his ledger sought,
On an old proverb wherein is found this word:
"Better take rotten apple from the hoard
Than let it lie to spoil the good ones there."
So with a drunken servant should it fare;
It is less ill to let him go, apace,
Than ruin all the others in the place.
Therefore he freed and cast him loose to go
His own road unto future care and woe;
And thus this jolly 'prentice had his leave.
Now let him riot all night long, or thieve.
But since there's never thief without a buck
To help him waste his money and to suck
All he can steal or borrow by the way,
Anon he sent his bed and his array
To one he knew, a fellow of his sort,
Who loved the dice and revels and all sport,
And had a wife that kept, for countenance,
A shop, and whored to gain her sustenance.
OF THIS COOK'S TALE CHAUCER MADE NO MORE