_Fiabe_, No. 11) entitled "The Fool," of which the following is the
first part:

Once upon a time there was a mother who had a son with little brains.
One morning she said, "We must get up early, for we have to make bread."
So they both rose early, and began to make bread. The mother made the
loaves, but took no pains to make them the same size. Her son said to
her finally, "How small you have made this loaf, mother." "Oh," said
she, "it does not matter whether they are big or little, for the proverb
says, 'Large and small, all must go to mass.'" "Good! good!" said her
son. When the bread was made, instead of taking it to the baker's, the
son took it to the church, for it was the hour for mass, saying, "My
mother said that, 'large and small, all must go to mass.'" So he threw
the loaves down in the middle of the church. Then he went home to his
mother, and said, "I have done what you told me to do," "Good! Did you
take the bread to the baker's?" "O mother, if you had seen how they all
looked at me!" "You might also have cast an eye on them in return," said
his mother. "Wait; wait. I will cast an eye at them too," he exclaimed,
and went to the stable and cut out the eyes of all the animals, and
putting them in a handkerchief, went to the church, and when any man or
woman looked at him, he threw an eye at them.[2]

Silly Matt has a brother in Russia, according to M. Leger's _Contes
Populaires Slaves_, published at Paris in 1882: An old man and his
wife had a son, who was about as great a noodle as could be. One day his
mother said to him, "My son, thou shouldst go about among people, to get
thyself sharpened and rubbed down a little." "Yes, mother," says he;
"I'm off this moment." So he went to the village, and saw two men
threshing pease. He ran up to them, and rubbed himself now on one and
then on the other. "No nonsense!" cried the men. "Get away." But he
continued to rub himself on them, till at last they would stand it no
longer, and beat him with their flails so lustily that he could hardly
crawl home. "What art thou crying about, child?" asked his mother. He
related his misfortune. "Ah, my child," said she, "how silly thou art!
Thou shouldst have said to them, 'God aid you, good men! Do you wish me
to help you to thresh?' and then they would have given thee some pease
for thy trouble, and we should have had them to cook and eat." On
another occasion the noodle again went through the village, and met some
people