There once dwelt in this street a woman who was called by all who knew her La Diavolina, or She-Devil, because she quarrelled day and night with everybody — men, women, and children — and the cause of all this was that she had a daughter.

This girl would gladly have been beautiful, but was naturally very ugly — so ugly that all who beheld her la scansevano (shrank back with repugnance). And when the poor girl saw that others were invited to dances and all kinds of festivities while she was left out, and that other girls had lovers and she none, she became utterly miserable and said to her mother:
“Why did you not let me die when I was a babe, since you saw that I was so ugly? Thou art beautiful, but I shall never have a husband.”

Now when a woman is very beautiful, yet has a temper of the very devil, and an ugly child with it all, some witchcraft is never wanting in her. And La Diavolina, who well knew the cause why her child was cursed with such ugliness — as witches’ children often are — seeing her daughter become ill with grief, was seized with such rage and spite that she resolved to be revenged on all the girls and young men who made the young girl so unhappy.

Having a small garden, she planted in it a beautiful rosebush, which she enchanted (le amlio), and the incantation was such that the roses gave out a wonderfully strong perfume, delightful beyond all belief. But if a girl smelt it, she would certainly quarrel with her lover; and if a young man, he would do the same with his inamorata.

It was on a night during the Carnival that La Diavolina planted the rosebush, and the next morning it was in full bloom with the most beautiful flowers, which sent forth such a perfume that it was noticed by all the neighbours, some of whom finally saw the plant from their windows. And all became mad to obtain a rose, yet were either afraid of La Diavolina or averse to speak to her daughter, whom they had treated so unkindly. Therefore they resolved on what is generally regarded as the easiest and cheapest course — that is, to steal them. And remembering the proverb that it is difficile – rubare l’uovo sotto la gallina (“difficult to steal an egg from under a hen”), they waited till the hen had gone away from her nest — or, until La Diavolina had quitted the house.

But as il diavolo è sottile, e fila grosso (“the devil is fine but spins coarse,” meaning very crafty), so too is a diavolina, for the witch foresaw all this, and left the garden gate open that they might come in and steal freely — which they did, going in as softly as cats into a dairy, and coming out smelling like perambulating perfumers’ shops, with roses hidden in their bosoms — ben celate! e la maledizione addosso! (“well hidden — and the curse upon them!”)

For there was to be a ball that evening, and everyone wanted a rose for himself or his girl, and some both.

Now there was another charm at work, and it was this: that the spell of jealousy, hatred, and ill-temper being taken from the ugly girl, her mother was able to act on her to give her a certain charm, and then beauty. For by witchcraft people can be enchanted into anything, if they are first fascinated. And it came about thus:

All the youths and girls of the Via del Fiore who had the stolen roses did nothing but quarrel, flout one another, gibe, jeer, sneer, curse, and quarrel — like a bottle full of black scorpions, in a worse temper than a pack of devils in a holy-water font — so that smiles became as scarce among them as white flies, and frowns as common as black ones.

Now it occurred to them all, by a kindred feeling of ill-temper, to confide all their spite and quarrelsome secrets to the ugly girl, whose name was Rosina. And she, finding that having a lover meant having a bitter foe, and that being a belle was no better than being a beast, felt wonderfully consoled, and began to smile and be happy, and to grow pretty — since there is no way in the world so easy to get anything as not to want it. For, as the saying is, quando Pietro non volle più denari, la zia morì e glieli lasciò (“when Pietro no longer wanted money, the next day his aunt died and left him a fortune”).

Then there was another ball, and as the saying is, guerra cominciata, l’inferno scatenato (“war begun, hell let loose”); so all the young folk of the Via del Fiore quarrelled ten times worse than before, while those of the other streets kept their temper, made love cosily, and wondered what the devil had come over their friends — the end thereof being a general cutting of the whole party of those who wore roses.

But the mother of one of the girls of the Via del Fiore, who was very observant, and knew how many loaves it took to make three, observed that the marvellous roses — which never faded, no matter how long they were kept, and whose delicious scent spread as far as a girl could see a fine dress on another girl (which is a mile in fine weather) — were all worn by those who were in such a bad temper that everybody began to call them le indiavolate (“the bedevilled”). And this made her think of La Diavolina.

Which having done, she at once smelt one of the roses, and immediately felt herself impelled to call her daughter una sfacciatella infame e civetta del diavolo, e da più una cagnetta — which words mean in brief “a shameless minx.” To which the daughter promptly replied by informing her parent that she was una brutta vecchiaccia — “an old broom, a disgusting old cow,” and other objects, the whole being more suggestive of the Mercato Vecchio than of the commandment to honour thy parents.

Then the mother saw exactly how it was, and took the measure of the business with a spoon, as the Romagnoli say. For until these roses had come into the market, the damsel had been a pattern of modesty and love.

Then this mother quietly persuaded the young people to go to the ball without their roses, which they did. And that evening all went as smooth and fair as a pond by sunlight when there is no breeze, and not a duck to ruffle its surface.

And therefore there was a fearful raging at La Diavolina, and it was all the worse because no one could now revile her daughter as ugly. For by this witchery she had become the most beautiful girl in the quarter, and it came to pass that she rolled the river in which they would fain drown her back on them all.

For they, having accused La Diavolina of sorcery before the tribunal, she replied that it was absurd, because, firstly, nothing was the matter with them; and secondly, she had given them nothing. And that, if the smell of the roses had made them quarrel, she had nothing to do with it, because they had broken into her garden and stolen her flowers — very much against her will. For, as she said and pled, like any old lawyer:

“Three things are needed to make a pudding: volere, potere, e sapere — to want, to be able, and to know how to do it. And as it was beyond all question that I had shown no will or wish to make this pudding, the whole cooking of it came not unto me.”

So La Diavolina was acquitted, and her daughter married un bel giovane del tribunale — a fine young man of the tribunal. And so she was happy and rich, which good fortune was an endless grief and cruel affliction to all the other dear girls of her acquaintance, who bitterly regretted that they had brought her into court, since it had only ended in her being happily courted.