chapter V

). As this conception is widespread in the Orient and is found in Malayan literature (e.g., in "Bidasari"), there is no need of tracing its occurrence in the Philippines to Europe. In the norm of this cycle, the animal brothers-in-law help the hero perform tasks which the king requires all suitors for his daughter's hand to perform. Here the beasts help the hero secure the life and strength of the giant who is holding the princess captive.

Taken as a whole, our story seems to have been imported into the Philippines from the Occident, for the reason that no Oriental analogues of it appear to exist, while not a few are known from southern Europe. Our two variants are from the Tagalog province of Batangas, and, so far as I know, the story is not found elsewhere in the Islands. As suggested above, however, the introduction is probably native, or at least very old, and the conclusion has been modified by the influence of another cycle well known in the Orient.

TALE 19

JUAN WEARING A MONKEY'S SKIN.

Narrated by Lorenzo Licup, a Pampango from Angeles, Pampanga.

Once upon a time there was a couple which was at first childless. The father was very anxious to have a son to inherit his property: so he went to the church daily, and prayed God to give him a child, but in vain. One day, in his great disappointment, the man exclaimed without thinking, "O great God! let me have a son, even if it is in the form of a monkey!" and only a few days later his wife gave birth to a monkey. The father was so much mortified that he wanted to kill his son; but finally his better reason prevailed, and he spared the child. He said to himself, "It is my fault, I know; but I uttered that invocation without thinking." So, instead of putting the monkey to death, the couple just hid it from visitors; and whenever any one asked for the child, they merely answered, "Oh, he died long ago."

The time came when the monkey grew to be old enough to marry. He went to his father, and said, "Give me your blessing, father! for I am going away to look for a wife." The father was only too glad to be freed from this obnoxious son, so he immediately gave him his blessing. Before letting him go, however, the father said to the monkey, "You must never come back again to our house."

"Very well, I will not," said the monkey.

The monkey then left his father's house, and went to find his fortune. One night he dreamed that there was a castle in the midst of the sea, and that in this castle dwelt a princess of unspeakable beauty. The princess had been put there so that no one might discover her existence. The monkey, who had been baptized two days after his birth and was named Juan, immediately repaired to the palace of the king. There he posted a letter which read as follows: "I, Juan, know that your Majesty has a daughter."

Naturally the king was very angry to have his secret discovered. He immediately sent soldiers to look for Juan. Juan was soon found, and brought to the palace. The king said to him, "How do you know that I have a daughter? If you can bring her here, I will give her to you for a wife. If not, however, your head shall be cut off from your body."

"O your Majesty!" said Juan, "I am sure that I can find her and bring her here. I am willing to lose my head if within three days I fail to fulfil my promise." After he had said this, Juan withdrew, and sadly went out to look for the hidden princess.

As he was walking along the road, he heard the cry of a bird. He looked up, and saw a bird caught between two boughs so that it could not escape. The bird said to him, "O monkey! if you will but release me, I will give you all I have."

"Oh, no!" said the monkey. "I am very hungry, and would much rather eat you."

"If you will but spare my life," said the bird, "I will give you anything you want."

"On one condition only will I set you free," said the monkey. "You must procure for me the ring of the princess who lives in the midst of the sea."

"Oh, that's an easy thing to do," said the bird. So the monkey climbed the tree and set the bird free.

The bird immediately flew to the island in the sea, where fortunately it found the princess refreshing herself in her garden. The princess was so charmed with the song of the bird, that she looked up, and said, "O little bird! if you will only promise to live with me, I will give you anything you want."

"All right," said the bird. "Give me your ring, and I will forever live with you." The princess held up the ring; and the bird suddenly snatched it and flew away with it. It gave the ring to the monkey, who was, of course, delighted to get it.

Now the monkey jogged along the road until finally he saw three witches. He approached them, and said to them, "You are the very beings for whom I have spent the whole day looking. God has sent me here from heaven to punish you for your evil doings toward innocent persons. So I must eat you up."

Now, witches are said to be afraid of ill-looking persons, although they themselves are the ugliest beings in all the world. So these three were terribly frightened by the monkey's threat, and said, "O sir! spare our lives, and we will do anything for you !"

"Very well, I will spare you if you can execute my order. From this shore you must build a bridge which leads to the middle of the sea, where the castle of the princess is situated."

"That shall be speedily done," replied the witches; and they at once gathered leaves, which they put on their backs. Then they plunged into the water. Immediately after them a bridge was built. Thus the monkey was now able to go to the castle. Here he found the princess. She was very much surprised to see this evil-looking animal before her; but she was much more frightened when the monkey showed her the ring which the bird had given him, and claimed her for his wife. "It is the will of God that you should go with me," said the monkey, after the princess had shown great repugnance towards him. "You either have to go with me or perish." Thinking it was useless to attempt to resist such a mighty foe, the princess finally yielded.

The monkey led her to the king's palace, and presented her before her parents; but no sooner had the king and queen seen their daughter in the power of the beast, than they swooned. When they had recovered, they said simultaneously, "Go away at once, and never come back here again, you girl of infamous taste! Who are you? You are not the princess we left in the castle. You are of villain's blood, and the very air which you exhale does suffocate us. So with no more ado depart at once!"

The princess implored her father to have pity, saying that it was the will of God that she should be the monkey's wife. "Perhaps I have been enchanted by him, for I am powerless to oppose him." But all her remonstrance was in vain. The king shut his ears against any deceitful or flattering words that might fall from the lips of his faithless and disobedient daughter. Seeing that the king was obstinate, the couple turned their backs on the palace, and decided to find a more hospitable home. So the monkey now took his wife to a neighboring mountain, and here they settled.

One day the monkey noticed that the princess was very sad and pale. He said to her, "Why are you so sad and unhappy, my darling? What is the matter?"

"Nothing. I am just sorry to have only a monkey for my husband. I become sad when I think of my past happiness."

"I am not a monkey, my dear. I am a real man, born of human parents. Didn't you know that I was baptized by the priest, and that my name is Juan?" As the princess would not believe him, the monkey went to a neighboring hut and there cast off his disguise (balit cayu). He at once returned to the princess. She was amazed to see a sparkling youth of not more than twenty years of age--nay, a prince--kneeling before her. "I can no longer keep you in ignorance," he said. "I am your husband, Juan."

"Oh, no! I cannot believe you. Don't try to deceive me! My husband is a monkey; but, with all his defects, I still cling to him and love him. Please go away at once, lest my husband find you here! He will be jealous, and may kill us both."

"Oh, no! my darling, I am your husband, Juan. I only disguised myself as a monkey."

But still the princess would not believe him. At last she said to him, "If you are my real husband, you must give me a proof of the fact." So Juan [we shall hereafter call him by this name] took her to the place where he had cast off his monkey-skin. The princess was now convinced, and said to herself, "After all, I was not wrong in the belief I have entertained from the beginning,--that it was the will of God that I should marry this monkey, this man."

Juan and the princess now agreed to go back to the palace and tell the story. So they went. As soon as the king and queen saw the couple, they were very much surprised; but to remove their doubt, Juan immediately related to the king all that had happened. Thus the king and queen were finally reconciled to the at first hated couple. Juan and his wife succeeded to the throne on the death of the king, and lived peacefully and happily during their reign.

The story is now ended. Thus we see that God compensated the father and mother of Juan for their religious zeal by giving them a son, but punished them for not being content with what He gave them by taking the son away from them again, for Juan never recognized his parents.

Notes.

A Bicol version, "The Monkey becomes King," narrated by Gregorio Frondoso, who heard the story from an old man of his province, is almost identical with this Pampango tale. There are a few slight differences, however. "In the Bicol, the rich parents give their monkey-offspring away to a man, who keeps the animal in a cage. Finally the monkey manages to escape, and sets out on his travels. Now the king of that country builds a high tower in the middle of the sea, imprisons his daughter there, and promises her hand to the one who can take her from the tower. The monkey succeeds, as in the Pampango. The rest of the story is practically as given in the text, except that the narrator mentions the fact that the monkey's parents fall into poverty, and in their distress seek aid from their son, now become king. However, he refuses to recognize them, because of their former harshness to him, and drives them away." With both these stories may be compared two other Filipino tales already in print, "The Enchanted Shell" (JAFL 20 : 90-91) and "The Living Head" (ibid., 19 : 106).

The "Animal Child" cycle, of which our story and its variants are members is widely spread throughout Europe. The main incidents of this group are the following.

A In accordance with the wish of the parents, a child in the form of an animal is brought into the world. This phenomenon usually takes place in consequence of a too vehement prayer for children, or an inconsiderate wish for a son even if he should prove to be only an animal.

B The animal offspring grows up, is married usually through his own ingenuity, and is finally disenchanted through the burning of his animal disguise either with or without his consent.

European representatives of this type are Grimm, Nos. 108, 144; Von Hahn, Nos. 14, 31, 43, 57, 100; Wuk, No. 9; Pröhle, No. 13; Straparola 2 : i; Basile, No. 15; Schott, No. 9; Pitrè, No. 56 (see also his notes); Comparetti, Nos. 9, 66. Compare also Köhler-Bolte, 318-319. Related Oriental forms of this story are discussed by Benfey, 1 : 254 ff. (section 92).

Although our stories are related to this large family of "Animal Child" tales, it appears to be the Oriental branch rather than the Occidental with which they are the more closely connected. The monkey-child, the castle in the midst of the sea, the building of the bridge from the mainland to the island, the retirement of the monkey and his royal wife to live in the forest,--all suggest vaguely but unmistakably Indian material. I am unable to point to any particular story as source, and our tale appears to have incorporated in it other Märchen motifs; but it seems to be faintly reminiscent of the "Ramayana." The imprisoning or hiding of a princess, and the promise of her hand to the one who can discover her, are found in our No. 21 (q.v.). No. 29, too, should be compared.

Among the Santals, the theme of a girl's marrying a monkey is common in Märchen (see Bompas, No. XV, "The Monkey Boy;" No. XXXII, "The Monkey and the Girl;" and No. LXX, "The Monkey Husband"). In none of these stories, however, is there a transformation of the animal into a human being.

TALE 20

HOW SALAKSAK BECAME RICH.

Narrated by Lorenzo Licup, a Pampango from Angeles, Pampanga.

Once upon a time there lived two brothers. The elder was named Cucunu, and the younger Salaksak. Their parents were dead, so they divided the property that had been left to them. In accordance with this division, each received a cow and a piece of land. Salaksak separated from his brother, and built a small house of his own.

Now, the rice of Cucunu grew faster than that of his brother: so his brother became jealous of him. One night Salaksak turned his cow loose in his brother's field. When Cucunu heard of this, he went to his brother, and said to him, "If you let your cow come into my field again, I shall whip you." But Salaksak paid no attention to his brother's threat, and again he let his cow go into the field of Cucunu. At last his brother grew so impatient that he killed the cow. When Salaksak went to look for his animal, all he found was its skin. As he was ashamed of his deed and afraid of his brother, he dared not accuse him: so he took the skin and put it into a basket.

Not long afterward several hundred cows passed him along the road. He followed them. While the herdsmen were eating their dinner, Salaksak threw his skin among the cows. Then he went up to the hut where the herdsmen were, and said to the chief of the herdsmen, "Friend, it is now a week since I lost my cow, and I am afraid that she has become mixed up with your herd. Please be so kind, therefore, as to count them." The chief immediately went over to where the cows were. As he was counting them, Salaksak picked up the skin, and, shaking his head, he said, "Alas! here is the mark of my cow, and this must be my cow's skin. You must pay me a thousand pesos, or else you shall be imprisoned. My cow was easily worth a thousand pesos; for when she was alive, she used to drop money every day." In their great fear, the herdsmen paid Salaksak the money at once.

Salaksak now went home and told his brother of his good fortune. Hoping to become as rich as his brother, Cucunu immediately killed his cow. He took the skin with him, and left the flesh to Salaksak. As he was in the street calling out, "Who wants to buy a hide?" he was summoned by the ruler of the town, and was accused of having stolen the hide, and he was whipped so badly that he could hardly walk home.

Maddened by the disgrace he had suffered, Cucunu burned the house of his brother one day while he was away. When Salaksak came home, he found nothing but ashes. These he put into a sack, however, and set out to seek his fortune again. On his way he overtook an old man who was carrying a bag of money on his back. Salaksak asked him, "Are you going to the ruler's house?"

"Yes," replied the old man, "I have to give this money to him."

"I am sorry for you, old man. I, too, am going to the palace. What do you say to exchanging loads? Mine is very light in comparison with yours."

"With all my heart, kind boy!" said the old man; and so they exchanged sacks.

After they had travelled together a short distance, Salaksak said, "Old man, you seem to be stronger when you have a light load. Let me see how fast you can run." The old man, having no suspicion of his companion, walked ahead as fast as he could. As soon as Salaksak came to a safe place along the road to hide, he deserted his companion. He went to his brother's house, and told him that he had gotten a sack of silver for a sack of ashes.

"Why," said his brother, "my house is bigger than yours! I ought to get two sacks of ashes if I burn it. I think that would be a good bargain." So he burned his house, too. Then he went through the town, crying, "Who wants to buy ashes?"

"What a foolish man!" said the housewives. "Why should we buy ashes when we don't know what to do with those that come from our own stoves?" When Cucunu came near the house of the ruler, the ruler said to his servants, "I think that fellow is the same one I bade you whip before. Call him in and give him a good thrashing, for he is only making a fool of himself." So Cucunu was summoned and lashed again.

Thoroughly enraged, Cucunu determined that his brother should not deceive him a third time. He thought and thought of what he should do to get rid of him. At last he decided to throw his brother into the river. For this purpose he made a strong cage. One day he caught his brother and confined him in it.

"I will give you three days to repent," said Cucunu. "Now you cannot deceive me any more." He then left his brother in the cage by the bank of the river.

As a young man was passing by, Salaksak began to cry out, "They have put me into this cage because I do not want to marry the ruler's daughter." The young man, who had vainly striven for the hand of the girl, immediately approached Salaksak, and said, "If you will let me take your place, so that I may marry her, I will give you all the cows I have with me."

So by this trick Salaksak escaped. Cucunu, thinking that the man in the cage was his brother, would not listen to what he said, but unmercifully threw him into the river. A few days later, Salaksak went to his brother's house, and told him that it was quite beautiful under the water. "There," he said, "I saw our father and mother. They told me I was not old enough to stay with them, so they sent me back here with a large number of cows."

"Well, well!" said Cucunu, "I too must go see our parents." He then hastened to the river, and threw himself in and was drowned. Thus Salaksak grew rich because of his craftiness.

Clever Juan and Envious Diego.

Narrated by Pablo Anzures, a Tagalog from Manila, who heard the story from another Tagalog from Santa Maria, Bulakan.

There were once two brothers named Diego and Juan. Their father had died a long time before, so they lived only with their good mother. In character these two brothers were very different. Diego, the older, was envious and foolish; Juan was clever.

One morning, while Diego was away, Juan called his mother, and said, "Mother, help me fool Diego! Please lie down as if you were dead; and when he arrives, I will blow air through your nose through a bamboo tube. As soon as you feel me blowing, get up and try to look like a woman that has risen from the dead." His mother agreed to do all that she had been told. Then Juan watched and waited for Diego. When he saw him coming, he called to his mother and told her to lie down. Then he pretended to be crying.

When Diego came in and saw his brother, he said, "Juan, why are you crying?"

"Don't you see? Our mother is dead," said Juan. Then Diego felt very sorry, and he too began to weep. Juan then said, "O brother! I remember that I have a magic instrument that resuscitates dead persons." He opened his trunk and took out a short bamboo tube, and began to blow through it into his mother's nose. His mother then pretended to revive, as she had been told. Diego rejoiced; he too was very much surprised at his brother's possession.

The next day the envious Diego stole the bamboo tube and went to the churchyard. There he waited for a funeral to pass by. After a short time the funeral procession of a small boy came along. Diego stopped it, and called to the mother of the boy, "Don't cry! your son is only sleeping. Lay him down here, and you will soon see that he is alive." The mother then ordered the carriers to lay the coffin on the ground. Diego took out his bamboo tube, and, after he had opened the coffin, he began to blow air into the boy's nose; but the boy did not move. He blew harder and harder, but the boy remained as stiff and lifeless as ever. Then the mother of the dead boy became angry; she kicked Diego, and said, "You are only trying to fool us!" Diego was very much ashamed, so he threw away the bamboo tube and ran home.

Some days later the mother of Diego and Juan became ill and died. She left her sons two carabaos for an inheritance. As Diego was the older, he took the fat carabao for himself, and gave the thin one to Juan. Juan was angry: so he killed his carabao, and decided to sell the hide. He tried to sell it in the neighboring villages, but he could not find a buyer. He then walked on and on until he came to a forest. Not very far off, and coming towards him, he saw a band of Tulisanes. [65] They were on horseback, and had a large amount of treasure with them. Juan was afraid: so he climbed a tree, and hid himself with his hide among the branches and leaves. He had no more than concealed himself when the Tulisanes came up and stopped to eat under that very tree. Juan watched them closely. He unintentionally moved the hide which was on the branch beside him, and it fell crashing down on the Tulisanes. Frightened by this most unexpected noise, they ran away as fast as they could, not stopping to take anything with them. Juan descended quickly, mounted a horse, and made off with as much as he could carry.

When he reached home, his brother said to him, "Where did you get all those riches?" Juan replied that he had been given them by the neighboring villages in return for his carabao-hide. Again Diego envied his brother. He went out and killed his fat carabao and dried its hide. Next he went to the neighboring villages and tried to sell it; but many days passed, and still no one would buy.

Now Diego was very angry. He took a wooden box and put his brother inside. He bound the box and carried it to the seashore. He was about to throw it into the water when he remembered that it was not locked: so he left it, and went back to the house to get the key. Meanwhile a Chinese peddler selling gold rings came along. Juan heard him, and shouted, "Chino, Chino, come and see these beautiful and precious things inside!" The Chinaman approached, and opened the box. Juan came out, and said, "I will put you inside, and you will see many beautiful things in the bottom." The Chinaman was willing, so Juan put him in and closed the box. He then took the Chino's gold rings and ran away. Not many minutes later Diego came up, and, after locking the box, he threw it into the ocean.

That same day, while Diego was eating his dinner, Juan came along with some fine gold rings. Diego was astonished to see his brother, and said, "How did you manage to get out of the box, and where did you get those rings?" Juan answered that he sank to the bottom of the ocean, where he saw his mother, and that she had given him all those rings. The foolish Diego believed everything that Juan told him, so he asked his brother to put him into a box and throw him into the ocean. Juan lost no time in obeying. He got a box, put Diego inside, took it to the seashore, and there cast it into the deep water. After that Juan lived happily for many years.

Ruined because of Invidiousness.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel, a Tagalog from Jaen, Nueva Ecija, who was told the story when he was a boy.

In time out of memory there lived two brothers, Pedro and Juan. Pedro was rich, for he had a large herd of cattle: consequently he did not have much use for his younger brother, who was very poor. Juan had nothing that he could call his own but a cow. One day, disappointed over his life of poverty, he killed his cow, and some days afterward he set out to find his fortune. He took nothing with him but the hide of his cow. When he reached the next town, he saw large piles of cattle-hides in front of a butcher's shop. Late that night he stole out secretly and put the skin of his cow in one of the piles. The next morning he went to the shop to talk with the butcher.

"Mr. Butcher," he said, "I have come here to look for my lost cow. Have you not killed a cow with a mark J on the right hip?"

"No," answered the honest man, "all the cows which were killed here came from my herd out there in the mountains."

Juan stood musing for a few moments, and then said, "Let us look through these piles of hide to see whether you killed my cow or not!"

"All right," answered the butcher, and so they began the investigation.

When they found the hide which Juan had put there, he began to quarrel with the man. "You must pay me five hundred pesos for my cow, or else I shall bring a law-suit before the court against you," he said angrily.

"I wonder how this could have happened!" the butcher exclaimed.

"There is no use of wondering," said Juan impatiently. "You stole my cow, and now you have to pay for it." The man, who was very much afraid of being brought before the court, gave Juan the five hundred pesos; and Juan went away with the money in his pocket, and the hide on his head.

On his way home he came to a tree standing at a cross-roads. He was very tired and thirsty, but he could not find a house where to ask for water. He climbed the tree to look for a place to go to, but, instead of a house, he saw a company of armed men coming down the road. The men stopped under the tree to rest. Juan was so terrified that he hardly knew what to do. As he was trembling with fright, the hide fell down from the tree and frightened the men away. They thought that it was a curse from heaven because of their misdeeds. When Juan realized that the men were gone, he recovered from his fright and quickly descended. There on the ground he saw a number of sacks full of money, and, loading a horse with two of the sacks, he started for his home town.

As soon as he reached his house, he went to his brother's to borrow a salop. [66] Then he inserted several pesetas and ten-centavo pieces in the cracks of the salop, and returned the measure. When Pedro saw the coins sticking in the cracks of his measure, he said, "What did you do with the salop?"

"I measured money," said Juan.

"Where did you get the money?" Pedro demanded.

"Where did I get the money?" retorted Juan. "Don't you know that I went to the neighboring town to sell my cowhide?"

"Yes," said Pedro. Then he added, "The price of hides there must be very high, I suppose."

"There is no supposing about it," said Juan. "Just think! one hide is worth two sacks of money."

Pedro, who was envious of his brother's good fortune, killed all his cattle, old and young, and threw the meat into the river. The he started with several carretons [67] full of hides; but he was disappointed when he came to the town, for nobody would buy hides. Discouraged and tired out, he returned. He found Juan living comfortably in a fine new home. Thus Pedro lost all his property because of his invidiousness.

The Two Friends.

Narrated by Tomas V. Vargas (of Iloilo?).

Once there lived in a certain village two friends, Juan and Andres. Juan, a very rich man, was tall, big, and strong; while Andres, a very poor man, was small, weak, and short. Andres worked very hard to earn his living, while Juan spent most of his time on pleasure.

One morning Andres went to his friend Juan, and asked to borrow one of his mules. Juan consented, but told Andres that, if any one should ask who the owner of the mule was, he should tell the truth. Andres promised, and went off with the mule. He set to work immediately to plough his small farm. Very soon two neighbors of Andres passed by, and, seeing him with a mule, asked him where he got it. Andres said that he had bought it. The men wondered how a poor man like Andres could buy a mule, and they spread the news about the village. When this news reached Juan, he was very angry, and he ordered his servant to go bring back the mule. The animal was brought back, and Juan was determined not to lend it to his friend any more.

A week later two of Juan's mules, including that which Andres had borrowed, died. Juan threw the carcasses away, but Andres took the skins of those dead mules and dried them to sell in the next town.

The next day Andres set out for the town, resting now and then on account of his heavy load. He was overtaken by night near a solitary house between his village and the town where he was going to sell the hides. He knocked at the house, and asked a woman he found there for a night's lodging. She told him that she could not do anything for him until her husband arrived. So Andres had to wait on the road near the house. Not long afterwards a man came towards the house. Andres went up to him, and asked him if he was the master of the house; but the man said he was not, so Andres had to go back to the road. From where he was sitting, Andres could see that the woman inside was preparing a good supper for the stranger, who meanwhile had entered. While she and the stranger were sitting at the table, Andres saw another man approaching in the distance. The woman hastily opened a big empty trunk and hid the man inside, then she put all the cooked fish in the cupboard.

When the other man, who was the husband, arrived, Andres asked for a night's lodging, and was received kindly. While the husband and Andres were talking, the wife told them that supper was ready, and they went to the table to eat: but there they found nothing for them but rice; so Andres told the husband that he had an enchanted hide, and that they could have fish if he wished. The husband wished to see the skin tested. Andres ordered the skin to bring a man into the trunk; and when the trunk was opened, there was the man. Next he ordered the skin to bring cooked fish to the cupboard; and when the cupboard was opened, there was the cooked fish. The husband then offered Andres a very high price for the enchanted skin, and Andres willingly sold it.

Early the next morning Andres left the house before the others were up. It was not long, however, before the husband found out that the skin was not magic, and he was determined to punish the skin-seller if he should catch him again. Meanwhile Andres had returned to the village. There he met Juan, who, noticing the money in his pocket, asked him where he had gotten it. Andres told him that it was the price of the skins of his dead mules, which he had sold in the neighboring town. On hearing this, Juan went directly home, killed all his mules, and flayed them. As he was passing by the solitary house on his way to the town, he cried out that he had skins for sale. The husband in the house thought that it must be the same man who had sold him the enchanted skin, so he went down and whipped Juan nearly to death.

After this experience, Juan returned home, determined to kill his friend. But Andres was very cunning, and avoided him. Finally Juan, angry beyond all measure, killed the mother of Andres. When Andres found that his mother was dead, he dressed her very well and took her to town. Then he went directly to the town doctor, to whom he explained definitely the sickness of his mother. The doctor immediately prepared medicine for the patient; but just after she had been given the medicine, he noticed that the woman was dead. Andres then accused him of having poisoned his mother; and the doctor, fearing the consequences if Andres should seek justice, agreed to pay him a large sum of money.

Andres returned to his village richer than ever. Juan became friendly again, and asked him where he had gotten his money. Andres told him that it was the price of his mother's corpse, which he had sold in the town. When Juan heard this, he went home and killed his mother. Then he took the corpse to town to sell it; but, as he was passing along the street, a crowd of men began to abuse him, and he narrowly escaped with his life.

Now, Juan was determined not to let Andres escape him. He was after him all the time. Finally one day he caught Andres. He put him inside a sack and carried it down to the seashore. On the way to the sea, he saw a house, and, wishing to have a smoke, he left Andres on the road, and went to the house to get a light. Meanwhile Andres, who was bound in the sack, was crying out that he did not wish to marry the daughter of the king, and that he was being forced against his will. At this instant a cowboy with his herd of cows passed by. He heard Andres, and said that he was willing to marry the king's daughter. Andres told him to unbind the sack, then. He did so, and Andres put the cowherd in his stead. Then Andres hurried away with the cows. Juan came back, picked up the sack, and threw it into the sea. When he returned home, he found Andres there with a fine herd of cows. He asked Andres where he had found them, and Andres said that he had gotten them from under the sea. So Juan, envious as ever, ordered Andres to put him in a sack and throw him into the sea. Andres gladly did so.

Juan the Orphan.

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna.

There once lived a boy whose name was Juan. His parents had died, leaving Juan nothing but a horse. As he did not have a place at home in which to keep the animal, he begged his Uncle Diego to let the horse stay in his stable. From time to time Juan went to the stable to feed his horse. He loved the animal, and took as great care of it as a father would of a son.

One day Uncle Diego noticed that Juan's horse was growing fatter and more beautiful than any of his own animals. In his envy he killed the horse of his nephew, and said to the innocent boy that the animal had been stricken by "bad air." Being thus deprived of his sole wealth, Juan cut off the best meat from the dead horse, and with this food for his only provision he set out to seek his fortune in another country. On his way through a forest he came across an old man dying of starvation; but the old man had with him a bag full of money.

"Pray," said the old man, talking with difficulty in his pain and weakness, "what have you in your sack, my son?"

"Some dried horse-meat," said Juan.

"Let me see!" The old man looked into the sack, and saw with watering mouth the sweet-smelling meat. "Will you exchange your sack of meat for my sack of money?" he said to Juan. "I have money here, but I cannot eat it. Nor can I go to the town to buy food, because I am too weak. Since you are stronger, my son, pray take this sack of money in exchange, and go to the town and buy meat with it for yourself. For God's sake, leave this meat to me! I am starving to death."

Juan accepted the money in exchange for his meat, and pretended to feel great pity for the old man. He put the heavy bag of money on his shoulder, and with difficulty carried it home. "Uncle Diego!" Juan called out from the foot of his uncle's ladder, "come here! Please come here and help me carry this bag upstairs!"

"Tremendous sum of money," Uncle Diego remarked to his nephew. "Where did you get it?"

"I sold the meat of my dead horse. This is what I got for it," said Juan.

The uncle once more became jealous of Juan. "If with only one horse," he muttered to himself, "he could gain so much money, how much should I get for my fifteen horses!" So he killed all the horses he had in his stable and cut the meat from them. Then he placed the meat in bags, and, carrying two on his shoulders, he cried as he went along the street, "Meat, meat! Horse-meat! Who wishes to buy fresh horse-meat?"

"How much?" asked a gray-headed old woman who was looking out of the window.

"Three hundred ninety-nine thousand pesos, ninety-nine pesetas, six and one half centavos a pound," said Uncle Diego.

The people who heard him only laughed, and thought that something was the matter with his head. Nobody would buy his meat. Nobody cared to deal with him in earnest, and all his meat decayed.

He went home in despair, and planned to take vengeance on his nephew for the mischief he had done him. He cast the little orphan into a big sack, and sewed the mouth of the little prison all up. Then he said that at night he would take the sack and throw it into the river. However, Juan managed to get out of the bag, and in his place he put a muzzled dog. When night came, the uncle shouldered the bag, took it to the river, and hurled it into the deep water. He hoped that Juan would perish there, and that he himself could gain full possession of his nephew's money.

But when morning came, Uncle Diego saw Juan smilingly enter the door of his house. "Juan," said the uncle, "I am surprised to see you again. Tell me all about how you managed to escape from the sack."

"Oh, no, Uncle!" returned Juan, "I haven't time; there is not a moment to lose. I have only come here to bid you good-by."

"And where are you going?"

"Back to the bottom of the river. My love, the Sirena, [68] is waiting for me."

"O Juan!" pleaded the uncle, "if I could only go with you!"

"No, no, no!" protested the boy. "Only one can go at a time. The Sirena would be angry, and she would consequently refuse to admit to her glorious habitation any being from this outside world."

"Then let me go first!"

"No, no, no!" said the boy.

But the uncle pleaded so earnestly, that finally the boy yielded with pretended reluctance. The uncle then covered himself with a rice-sack, and Juan tied the mouth of the bag securely. "I will fool him," Uncle Diego said to himself. "When I am under the water and the Sirena takes me to her house to become her husband, I shall never come back to Juan. Ha, ha, ha!"

"I will fool him," Juan said to himself. "There is no such thing as the Sirena in the river. Thank God, my dreadful uncle will soon be disposed of!" At midnight Juan hurled his happy uncle into the river, saying, "There is no one who owes that must not pay his debt. [69] May my act be justified!"

The heavy sack sank to the bottom of the river, and nothing more was heard of Uncle Diego.

Notes.

Two other variants, which were collected by Mr. Rusk, and which I have only in abstract, run about as follows:--

Juan the Ashes-Trader.--Juan, a poor dealer in ashes, was in the woods when he heard some robbers coming, and climbed a tree for safety. While they were busy at the foot of the tree, counting their money, he dropped the sack of ashes among them. They ran away in fright, and he acquired all their gold. When the people of the town heard Juan tell how valuable ashes had become, they all burned their houses and took the ashes to the forest, where they arrived just in time to suffer from the wrath of the robbers. Only two escaped to accuse Juan; but Juan was already on a journey, doing good with his money. A dying woman, whom he helped, gave him a magic cane; and when the angry villagers at last found him, he summoned a legion of soldiers by means of his cane, and all of his assailants were killed. [With the second half of this story, cf. No. 28 and notes.]

Colassit and Colaskel.--Colassit was good but poor; Colaskel, rich but bad. Colaskel, quarrelling with Colassit, killed the latter's only carabao. Colassit skinned his dead animal, and took the hide to Laoag to sell it, but could find no purchaser. At night he asked for shelter at a house, but was refused on the ground that the husband was away from home; yet he boldly staid under the house. At midnight he heard the clatter of dishes above, looked up through a hole in the floor, and saw the woman dining merrily with a man. Just then the husband arrived home and knocked at the door. Colassit saw the woman put her paramour into a box in the corner, and the food in another box. Colassit now appeared at the door, and was invited in by the hospitable husband. On being asked what was in his bag, Colassit replied that it was a miraculous thing, which, when it made a noise, as it had a moment before when he had stepped on it, desired to say something. On being asked to interpret, Colassit said that the skin told him that there was delicious food in one of the boxes. Thereupon the food was produced. Now, it was said in the neighborhood that this house was haunted by the Devil, and the owner thought this a good opportunity to find out by magic where the Devil was. Colassit interpreted for the carabao-hide. The Devil was in the other box, he said. After tying the box with heavy ropes, Colassit started toward the river with it. He repeated a jingle which informed the man inside of his imminent fate. The latter replied (also in verse) that he would give a thousand pesos ransom. Colassit accepted, and so became rich. [The narrator says that this is only one of ten adventures belonging to the complete story. It is a pity that the other nine are missing.]

The cycle of tales to which all our variants belong, and which may appropriately be called the "Master Cheat" cycle, is one of the most popular known. It occurs in many different forms; indeed, the very nature of the story--merely a succession of incidents in which a poor but shrewd knave outwits his rich friend or enemy (the distinction matters little to the narrator), and finally brings about his enemy's death while he himself becomes rich--is such as to admit of indefinite expansion, so far as the number and variety of the episodes are concerned. There have been at least four comprehensive descriptive or bibliographical studies of this cycle made,--Köhler's (on Campbell's Gaelic story, No. 39), Cosquin's (notes to Nos. 10 and 20), Clouston's (2 : 229-288), and Bolte-Polívka's (on Grimm, No. 61). Of these, the last, inasmuch as it is the latest (1914) and made use of all the preceding, is the most complete. From it (2 : 10) we learn that the characteristic incidents of this family of drolls are as follows:--

A1 A rabbit (goat, bird) as carrier of messages. A2 A wolf sold for a ram.

B A gold-dropping ass (or horse).

C A self-cooking vessel.

D A hat which pays the landlord.

E1 Dirt (ashes) given (sold, substituted) for gold. E2 Money which was alleged to be in a chest, demanded from the storer of the chest.

F1 Cowhide (or "talking" bird) sold to adulteress, or (F2) sold to her husband, or (F3) exchanged for the chest in which the paramour is concealed, or (F4) elsewhere exchanged for money.

G1 A flute (fiddle, staff, knife) which apparently brings to life again the dead woman. G2 The dead mother killed a second time, and paid for by the supposed murderer.

H Escape of the hero from the sack (chest) by exchanging places with a shepherd.

J Death of the envious one, who wishes to secure some "marine cattle."

The opponents in this group of stories, says Bolte, "are either village companions, or unacquainted marketers, or a rich and an avaricious brother." In addition to the episodes enumerated above, might be mentioned two others not uncommonly found in this cycle:--

F5 Frightening robbers under tree by dropping hide or table on them.

F6 Borrowed measure returned with coins adhering to it.

As these last two occur in other stories, both droll and serious (e.g., Grimm, No. 59; and "1001 Nights," "Ali Baba"), they may not originally have belonged to our present group. However, see Cosquin's notes on his No. xx, "Richedeau" (1 : 225 f.). It is hard to say with certainty just what was originally the one basic motif to which all the others have at one time or another become attached; but it seems to me likely that it was incident H, the sack-by-the-sea episode, for it is this which is the sine qua non of the cycle. To be sure, our third story (c) lacks it, but proves its membership in the family by means of other close resemblances.

Of the elements mentioned by Bolte-Polívka, our five stories and two variants have the following: "How Salaksak became Rich," F4BE1HJ; "Clever Juan and Envious Diego," G1F5HJ; "Ruined because of Invidiousness," F4F5F6; "The Two Friends," F2G2HJ; "Juan the Orphan," F4H (modified) J; "Juan the Ashes-Trader," E1F5; "Colassit and Colaskel," F3. In a Visayan tale (JAFL 19 : 107-109) we find a combination of HJ with a variant of our No. 1. Incident D (hat paying landlord) forms a separate story, which we give below,--No. 50, "Juan and his Painted Hat." Incident B is also narrated as a droll by the Tagalogs; the sharper of the story scattering silver coins about the manure of his cow, and subsequently selling the "magic" animal for a large sum. An examination of the incidents distributed among the Filipino members of this cycle reveals the fact that episode A1 (hare as messenger) is altogether lacking. I have not met with it in any native story, and am inclined to believe that it is not known in the Islands. It is found widespread in Europe, but does not appear to be common in India: among fifteen Indian variants cited by Bolte it is found only twice (i.e., Indian Antiquary, 3 : 11 f.; Bompas, No. 80, p. 242). These Indian versions show, however, that the story in one form or another is found quite generally throughout that country, the Santali furnishing the largest number of variants (six, in all). It would seem reasonable to conclude, therefore, considering the fact that at least seven forms of the tale are known in the Philippines, extending from the Visayas to the northernmost part of Luzon, that the source of the incidents common to these and the Indian versions need not be sought outside the Orient. The case of incidents F1F2F3 seems different. They are lacking in the Far-Eastern representatives of this cycle; and their appearance in the Philippines may be safely traced, I think, to European influence. However, an Indian source for these incidents may yet be discovered, just as sources already have been for so many Italian novella and French fabliaux of a similar flavor. The fact that the earliest form of the "Master Cheat" cycle known is a Latin poem of the eleventh, possibly tenth, century (Köhler-Bolte, 233-234), is of course no proof that elements F4G1HJ, found in that poem, were introduced into India from Europe, though it might be an indication.

TALE 21

IS HE THE CRAFTY ULYSSES?

Narrated by Lorenzo Licup, a Pampango from Angeles, Pampanga.

Balbino and Alaga had only one child, a son named Suguid, who was at first greatly beloved by them. The couple was very rich, and therefore the boy wanted nothing that was not granted by his parents. Now, the son was a voracious eater. While still a baby, he used to pull up the nails from the floor and eat them, when his mother had no more milk to give him. When all the nails were exhausted, he ate the cotton with which the pillows were stuffed. Thus his parents used to compare him to a mill which consumes sugarcane incessantly. It was not many years before the wealth of the couple had become greatly diminished by the lavish expenditure they had to make for Suguid's food. So Suguid became more and more intolerable every day. At last his parents decided to cast him away into a place from which he might not be able to find his way home again.

One day they led him to a dense forest, and there abandoned him. Luckily for Suguid, a merchant soon passed by that place. The merchant heard him crying, and looked for him. He found the boy, and, being a good-natured man, he took the boy home with him. It was not long before the merchant realized that Suguid was a youth of talent, and he put him in school. In a few weeks the boy showed his superiority over his classmates. In time he beat even the master in points of learning. And so it was that after only five months of studying he left the school, because he found it too small for his expanding intellect.

By some mathematical calculation, so the tradition says, or by certain mysterious combinations of characters that he wrote on paper, Suguid discovered one day that a certain princess was hidden somewhere. She had been concealed in such a way that her existence might not be known other than by her parents and the courtiers. Suguid immediately went to the palace of the king, and posted a paper on the palace-door. The paper read as follows: "Your Majesty cannot deny me the fact that he has a daughter secluded somewhere. Your humble servant, Suguid Bociu."

When the king read this note, he became very angry, as he could now no longer keep the secret of his daughter's existence. He immediately despatched his soldiers to look for the presumptuous Suguid. The soldiers found the boy without much difficulty, and brought him before the king. Bursting with anger, the king said, "Are you the one who was bold enough to post this paper?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Can you prove what you have stated?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Very well," said the king; "if you can, I will give you my daughter for your bride. If within three days you fail to produce her before me, however, you shall be unconditionally executed."

"I will not fail to fulfil my promise, your Majesty," said Suguid.

After this brief interview, Suguid went directly home. He told the merchant all about his plan to marry the princess.

"Why did you dare tell the king that you know where his daughter is," said the merchant, "when there is no certainty at all of your finding her or of gaining her consent?"

"Oh, do not be afraid, father!" said Suguid. "If you will but provide me with twelve of the best goldsmiths that can be found in the whole city, I have no doubt of finding and captivating the fair princess." As the merchant was a rich man, and influential too, he summoned in an hour all the good goldsmiths that could be found in the city. When all the goldsmiths were assembled, Suguid ordered them to make a purlon. This purlon was made of gold, silver, and precious stones. It was oblong in shape, and hollow inside, being five feet high, three feet deep, and four feet long. Inside it were placed a chair and a lamp. By means of a certain device a person inside the purlon could breathe. Altogether its construction was so beautiful, that it seemed as if it were intended for the sight of the gods alone.

When all was ready, Suguid entered the purlon, taking with him all the necessary provisions,--food, fine clothes, a poniard, and a guitar. Every part of the purlon was so well joined, that no opening whatever could be detected. Before going into the purlon, Suguid told the merchant to take the goldsmiths home, and not to allow them to leave the house for three days, lest they should reveal the secret. Suguid then ordered five men to carry the purlon towards the king's palace. In the mean time he was playing the sweetest piece of music that mortal ears had ever heard. When the purlon was near the palace, the king was so charmed by the melodious music, that he asked the master of the carriers to halt for a moment. "Pray," he said, "are you the owner of that thing?"

"No, sir! a certain man in our district owns it," said the carrier.

"Who gave him this divine gift?"

"Your Majesty, this purlon, as it is called, is of a rather mysterious origin. The owner of this (pointing to the purlon) was a religious man. He was formerly very wealthy; but because he gave much alms to the poor and the needy, his riches soon came to an end. He is now so poor, that his silken clothes have all been exchanged for ragged cotton ones. Early one morning, when he was about to go to the church, he was surprised to find this purlon at his door, giving out music as you hear it now."

The king turned to the queen, who was sitting beside him, and said, "Oh, how happy our daughter would be if she should hear this enchanting piece of music!--Sir, if you will lend me this purlon, you may ask of me as a compensation any favor that you may want."

"Your Majesty, I will lend it to you with all my heart, but on condition that it be returned within two days, lest the owner scold me for having given it up."

"Yes," answered the king, "I will give it back as soon as my daughter has seen it." The king and queen then immediately ordered that the purlon be carried before the princess. The princess's joy need not be described if we only think how happy we should be if we were in the same situation as she. She was so bewitched by the music, that she told her father never to take it away from her.

"O daughter!" said the king, "we have just borrowed this purlon, and we promised to return it as soon as you had seen it. However, you may have it the whole night."

The king and the queen, convinced that their daughter was quite happy, soon bade her good-by. Before leaving, the king said, "You must not spend the whole night in listening to the sweet music."

"Have no fear, father! I will go to sleep early."

Suguid, who was inside the purlon, listened very carefully to the retreating footsteps of the king and queen. As soon as he thought they were too far away to hear their daughter in case she should cry out, he came out from the purlon, poniard in hand. The princess, of course, was very much frightened when she saw Suguid kneeling before her, and saying, "Fair princess, let not my presence cause any fear! In coming here, I had no other purpose than to reveal to you a secret that I have long cherished in my heart. It is universally acknowledged that you are the most beautiful, the most virtuous, the most accomplished living mortal on earth, and as such you have awakened in me an intense love. So, taking no heed of the danger that I might encounter on the way, I ventured to search for you, Lily of the Valley and Rose of the Town--to love you, to adore you as a living saint. Your ring, my adored princess, will give me life or death,--life, because I shall be spared from being beheaded; death, for I have promised your father to present your ring to him within three days as a token of your acceptance of my suit. Therefore, Queen of Beauty, choose, your ring, or my death. I have my poniard ready, and I prefer a hundred times to die--nay, die smiling--at your hands."

The princess was so moved by this passionate speech, that she was mute for some time. After a difficult struggle within herself, she said, "Seeing your intense love and devotion for me, I cannot but consent to your proposal. Were not the matter pressing, however, I should not give my consent in so short a time. Here is the ring, if pleasure it will give you."

Suguid took the ring courteously, and said, "How can I paint in words my pleasure and gratitude! As it were, you have snatched me from the cold hands of Death. You have saved me from the fury of your father. You have given me a heaven of joy. Oh, how shall I describe it! I thank you very much. But now I must leave you and go into the purlon,--the blessed purlon,--as it is almost morning. Your father will soon come and take this purlon away. But I must let you know this one fact: as soon as I have presented this ring to the king, you will be taken away from here. You will be made my beloved wife."

"Yes, I have no objection to that," said the princess. Suguid, being thus assured of his success, entered the purlon again.

Morning came, and the king and queen went to the princess's palace at ten o'clock. They talked a while with their daughter, who assured them of her great satisfaction with the purlon. Then they bade her good-by, as there was important business to be transacted that day. They took the purlon with them, and returned it to the agent.

On the appointed day Suguid appeared at the king's palace, carrying with him the emblem of his victory,--the ring. On seeing Suguid approaching so cheerfully, the king knew that he was lost. He therefore swooned, but on recovering he realized that he had to abide by his promise. He reluctantly caused the princess to be summoned from her palace, and she and Suguid were married together; and it was not long before the king and queen began to appreciate the talent of their humble and lowly son-in-law. By Suguid's wise policy the kingdom prospered, and for the first time learned what peace really meant.

Notes.

I have a variant of this story, "Juan the Poor," told more briefly, narrated by Andrea Mariano, a Tagalog, who heard it from her little brother. It runs thus in outline:--

Juan is the son of a beggar. The beggar dies, and the son sells himself to a merchant for money to bury his father properly. After Juan has been educated, he posts this sign in front of the merchant's house: "I can trace everything that is lost.--Juan." The king sees the sign, and requires the boy to discover his hidden daughter. Method: Golden carriage with Juan playing music inside; old man hired to push it. The king borrows the carriage and takes it to his daughter. When alone with the princess, Juan declares his love, and she gives him her ring. Next day the carriage is returned to the old man. Juan takes the ring to the king, and is given the princess's hand in marriage because he is so wise.

For another Tagalog variant see "The King, the Princess, and the Poor Boy" (JAFL 20 : 307). This is almost identical with the variant above, except that the hero is advised by two statues how to discover where the princess is. Furthermore, the hero is discovered with the princess after he has gained access to her by means of the gilt carriage and music-box.

The fullest form of the story, however, is the Tagalog metrical romance popularly known under the title "Juan Bachiller." The full title runs as follows: "The Sad Life of a Father and of his Son named Juan, in the Kingdom of Spain. The son sold himself to a merchant on condition that he would bury the corpse of his father." My copy bears the date 1907, but this is merely a reprint of an older edition. Retana cites an edition dated 1902 (No. 4337) and one before 1898 (No. 4156). The poem is in 12-syllable lines, and contains 350 quatrains. It is still very popular among the Tagalogs, but does not appear to have been printed in any of the other Philippine languages. Inasmuch as there is a close connection between our variants and the verse form of the story, I give a prose paraphrase of the latter:--

There was once a poor beggar, Serbando, who had an only son named Juan. They lived in the kingdom of Spain. They had a little hut outside the city in which Serbando used to go to beg their living. One morning, when Juan returned home from school and was playing around their little hovel, he heard many kinds of birds speaking to him thus: "Juan, be patient and toil in poverty. The time will come when God will reward you." Then a large bird flew to him, and said, "Juan, leave your little miserable hut; go and seek your fortune." When his father returned home, Juan told him all about the advice of the birds. Serbando did not believe that birds could talk, and doubted, of course, the truth of what his son said.

Now, it happened that Serbando became sick, and after a short time died, leaving his son alone in the world. Poor Juan wept bitterly over the dead body. He did not know what to do. He covered the corpse of his father, and then went crying out through the streets of the city, "Who wants to buy a slave?" A merchant heard him. "I will serve you as long as I live if you will only see to the burial of my dead father," said Juan to the merchant. Without hesitation the merchant assented, and together they went to the little hut. The merchant ordered and paid for a funeral; there was a procession, a mass, and after the burial a banquet. Then the merchant took the boy to live with him in the city where the king and queen lived. Moreover, this kind merchant sent Juan to school, and treated him as a son. In time Juan took his bachelor's degree, and was greatly admired and respected by his teachers.

One afternoon Juan put a notice on the door of the merchant's house, which read thus: "If we use money, there is nothing we cannot discover." It happened that on that same afternoon the king and queen were driving through the streets of the city. The king chanced to fix his eyes on the sign which Juan had put up. He did not believe that the notice was true; and so, when he arrived at the palace, he ordered the merchant to appear before him. The merchant was very much frightened at the summons, so Juan himself went and presented himself before the king.

"Is the notice on your door true?" asked the king.

"It is true, your Majesty," said Juan.

"Then go and find my daughter. If you can find her, she shall be your wife; if not, you shall lose your head three days from now," said the king, who hid his daughter in a secret room in the palace.

Juan went home and called all the best goldsmiths in the kingdom. He told them to make a little wagon of pure gold, with a secret cell inside in which a man could sit with a musical instrument and play it. The goldsmiths finished the wagon in two days and were paid off. Then Juan called a man and told him to drag this little wagon along the street toward the palace, and then to the plaza. After entering the secret cell with his musical instrument, he told the driver to do as he had been directed. The man began to drag the wagon along the street toward the palace. Men, women, and children crowded both sides of the street to see this wagon of pure gold, which gave out such sweet music. When the wagon passed in front of the palace, the queen was amazed at it. She asked the king to summon the driver before him. So the king called the driver, and asked him to bring the golden wagon into the hall where the queen was.

"How much will you sell this for?" asked the queen.

"I will not sell it," answered the driver.

"Can you not lend it to me until this afternoon?" said the king; and at last the driver agreed to lend the wagon for a few hours.

The queen then dragged the wagon along the hall, and took it to her daughter in the secret room. The princess was delighted. As she pushed it forwards and backwards, sweet music charmed her ears. At last Juan came out of the secret cell in the wagon and knelt before the princess. He told her why he had been led to play this trick, and last of all he told her that he would have lost his life on the morrow if he had not been able to find her. He also began to express his love for her. At first she hesitated to accept his protestations of affection; but at last she accepted him, and gave him one of her rings as a sign that she would marry him. Fearing that he might be caught in the room by some one else, Juan now entered the secret cell of the wagon again.

At last the king came, and started to drag the wagon out of the palace to the place where the driver was waiting. Juan suddenly opened the door of the secret cell and stood before the king. "O king!" he said, "now I have accomplished your command. I have found and seen your daughter in the secret room, and she has given me this ring."

The king was amazed, and said to himself that, had he known that the wagon contained any one inside, he would not have allowed it to be brought to his hidden daughter. He said to Juan, "You have told the truth, that anything can be discovered if money is used; but you shall not marry my daughter."

"Remember your promise," said Juan.

"Wait, and I will ask the princess," said the king. "She might refuse."

"Whether she refuses or not, she is to be my wife, for I have seen her and found her," replied Juan.

"Then you shall have her," said the king.

So Juan was married to the princess, and there was great rejoicing in the kingdom. The king, however, was very sorry that his daughter had married Juan, who had now the right to inherit the throne from him. He could not endure the idea, so he pondered night and day how to kill Juan under some pretext or other. Juan learned of the king's plot, and decided to leave the city for a while. He asked his wife for permission to go and visit the little hut in which he was born, and at last she consented.

One day Juan left the palace and went to the country. While he was walking in the woods near his old home, two birds flew to him. "Juan, take this ring with you: it has magic power, and will furnish you whatever you ask of it," said the male bird.

"Here, take this pen-point, and use it whenever the king asks you to write for him," said the female bird. "Remember, Juan, you do not need to have any ink; you can use your saliva," it continued. "Now go back to the kingdom, and do not be afraid of the king's plots," said the two birds together. So Juan went back to the palace, and lived there with his wife.

One day the king called Juan, and ordered him to write something. The king thought that if Juan should make any mistakes in the writing, he would order him to be executed. Juan used the pen-point which the second bird had given him. The king furnished him only paper, but no ink, so Juan used his saliva. "Write this, Juan," said the king: "'It is not right that you should be heir to my crown, and successor to the throne.'"

Juan wrote the words just as the king had given them, and they appeared on the paper in letters of pure gold. The king was very much surprised by this demonstration of Juan's ability.

Then the king continued, "Write this: 'You ought not to inherit the crown, you who were born in a little village, and whose ancestors are unknown.'" Juan wrote this dictation, and, as before, the letters were of pure gold. Again the king said, "Write now what I shall say: 'You cannot cheat a king like me; you saw my daughter the princess because you were hiding in the wagon of gold.'"

Juan wrote these words, and they were in pure gold too. The king was now sad, for he could think of no other way in which to detect a fault in Juan. So he dismissed his son-in-law, and showed the queen the golden letters that Juan had written. Juan returned to his apartments.

When night came, Juan decided to ask his magic ring for a tower which should stand beside the palace of the king. During the night the tower was erected; it was garrisoned with field-marshals, colonels, and soldiers. Early in the morning the king was surprised to see this tall tower standing beside his palace. He said to himself, "I rule the kingdom, and the kingdom is mine; this tower is in my kingdom, therefore the tower is mine." So the king went out of the palace and entered the tower. No one saluted him. Then he called Juan, and asked him about the tower. Juan answered that its presence there was due to the will and power of God. When Juan and the king together entered the tower, all the soldiers lined up and saluted Juan, and music was heard everywhere. Everything inside was made of solid silver and gold. The king was astounded at the magic power of his son-in-law, whom he was trying to kill.

"Juan," said the king, "wipe away this tower and erect at this moment a palace in its place. If you can do this, you shall be the king of the whole of Spain." By the magic power of the ring, Juan was able to fulfil the command, and the tower was changed into a beautiful palace. The council of the kingdom, at the order of the king, agreed to crown Juan and his wife king and queen. There was great rejoicing throughout the realm. The old king and his wife abandoned the palace, and went to live in an abbey, where they died.

Juan now called the merchant, his former master, to the palace. The merchant was afraid, for he feared that the king wished to do him mischief; he did not know that Juan was now king. But Juan received him affectionately, and from that time on the merchant, Juan, and the beautiful princess lived together happily in the palace.

It will be noticed that the Tagalog poem differs from the three oral versions, in that after Juan has won the first wager from the king, his skill is subjected to further tests, which he comes out of successfully through the aid of magic objects given him by birds. In other words, the poem carries on the folk-tale by adding some additional episodes. The fact that the folk-tales, both Pampango and Tagalog, preserve the simple structure, while only the printed Tagalog verse-form seeks to elaborate and extend the tale, suggests that the simpler form is the older, and that the anonymous author of the romance added to the oral material for mere purposes of length. As it is, the poem is very short compared with the other popular metrical stories, which average well over 2000 lines. The localization of the events in Spain signifies nothing.

The story is known also in southern Europe: e.g., in Greece (Von Hahn, No. 13), in Sicily (Gonzenbach, No. 68; Pitrè, Nos. 95, 96). In the Greek version, after the hero has decided to risk his neck for the hand of the hidden princess, he goes to a shepherd and has himself covered with the hide of a lamb with golden fleece. In this disguise he is taken to the princess. In the night he throws off his fleece covering and makes love to the princess, who finally accepts him, and tells him how he may be able to recognize her among her maidens, all of whom, herself included, her father will change into ducks, and then will require the youth to pick out the duck which is the princess. He succeeds, and wins her hand in marriage. In Gonzenbach, No. 68, the hero is one of three brothers who set out to seek their fortunes. They each come in succession to the beautiful city where the king has issued the proclamation that whoever can find his hidden daughter within eight days shall receive her hand in marriage; whoever tries and fails, loses his head. The first two brothers fail and are killed. The youngest, arriving in the city and reading the proclamation, determines to take the risk. He is advised by an old beggar-woman how to find the princess. He has goldsmiths make a golden lion with crystal eyes. The animal is so contrived that it plays continually beautiful music. The hero hides inside, and the old woman takes the lion to the king, to whom she lends it. Then follow the discovery of the princess, her acceptance of the hero's love, the token given to the hero, etc. The hero is obliged to pick the princess out from among her eleven maids who look exactly like her. In Pitrè, No. 95, we find practically the same incidents recorded: two older sons of a merchant go off to seek their fortunes, and lose their heads because they cannot discover the princess "within a year, a month, and a day." The youngest comes in turn to the same country, wagers his head, and searches a year and fifteen days in vain. On the advice of an old woman, he has built a golden àcula (just what this word means I have been unable to determine) large enough to contain a person playing a musical instrument. Four men carry the àcula to the palace; discovery of the princess follows. Second test: to pick the princess out from twenty-four maidens dressed exactly alike.

In none of these three stories (nor in Pitrè, No. 96, which is a shorter variant of No. 95) does the opening resemble our forms of the tale. Nor in any of the three, either, does the hero bring the wager on himself because of the announcement he makes that he who has gold can discover anything. With this detail, however, compare the couplet which the hero displays in Pitrè, No. 96:--

"Cu' havi dinari fa chiddu chi voli, Cu' havi bon cavallu va unni voli."

The line "He who has gold can do whatever he wishes" is almost identical with the corresponding line in the Tagalog verse story.

It is to be noted that the bride-wager incident in this group of stories resembles closely the same episode in our No. 19. The opening of our No. 21 has been influenced by the setting of the stories of the Carancal group (No. 3).

TALE 22

THE REWARD OF KINDNESS.

Narrated by Elisa Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna, who heard the story from a Tagalog friend.

In a certain town there once lived a couple who had never had a child. They had been married for nearly five years, and were very anxious for a son. The name of the wife was Clara; and of the man, Philip.

One cloudy night in December, while they were talking by the window of their house, Clara said to her husband that she was going to pray the novena, [70] so that Heaven would give them a child. "I would even let my son serve the Devil, if he would but give us a son!" As her husband was willing that she should pray the novena, Clara began the next day her fervent devotions to the Virgin Mary. She went to church every afternoon for nine days. She carried a small prayer-book with her, and prayed until six o'clock every evening. At last she finished her novenario; [71] but no child was born to them, and the couple was disappointed.

A month had passed, when, to their great happiness, Clara gave birth to a son. The child they nicknamed Idó. Idó was greatly cherished by his parents, for he was their only child; but he did not care much to stay at home. He early began to show a fondness for travelling abroad, and was always to be found in the dense woods on the outskirts of the town.

One afternoon, when the family was gathered together around a small table, talking, a knock was heard at the door. "Come in!" said Philip.

"No, I just want to talk with your wife," answered a hoarse voice from without.

Clara, trembling, opened the door, and, to her great surprise, she saw standing there a man who looked like a bear. "A devil, a devil!" she exclaimed, but the Devil pacified her, and said, "Clara, I have come here to get your son you promised me a long time ago. Now that the day has come when your son can be of some service to me, will you deny your promise?"

Clara could make no reply at first. She merely called her son; and when he came, she said to the Devil, "Here is my son. Take him, since he is yours." Idó, who was at this time about seventeen years old, was not frightened by the Devil.

"Come," said the Devil, "and be my follower!" At first Idó refused; but he finally consented to go, because of his mother's promise.

The Devil now took Idó to his cave, far away outside the town. He tried in many ways to tempt Idó, but was unable to do so, because Idó was a youth of strong character. Finally the Devil decided to exchange clothes with him. Idó was obliged to put on the bear-like clothes of the Devil and to give him his own soldier-suit. Then the Devil produced a large bag full of money, and said to Idó, "Take this money and go travelling about the world for seven years. If you live to the end of that time, and spend this money only in doing good, I will set you free. If, however, you spend the money extravagantly, you will have to go to hell with me." When he had said these words, he disappeared.

Idó now began his wanderings from town to town. Whenever people saw him, they were afraid of him, and would refuse to give him shelter; but Idó would give them money from his bag, and then they would gather about him and be kind to him.

After many years he happened to come to a town where he saw an old woman summoned before a court of justice. She was accused of owing a sum of money, but was unable to pay her debt and the fine imposed on her. When Idó paid her fine for her and thus released her from prison, the woman could hardly express her gratitude. As most of the other people about were afraid of Idó and he had no place to sleep, this woman decided to take him home with her.

Now, this old woman had three daughters. When she reached home with the bear-like man, she called her eldest daughter, and said, "Now, my daughter, here is a man who delivered me from prison. As I can do nothing to reward him for his great kindness, I want you to take him for your husband."

The daughter replied, "Mother, why have you brought this ugly man here? No, I cannot marry him. I can find a better husband."

On hearing this harsh reply, the mother could not say a word. She called her second daughter, and explained her wishes to her; but the younger daughter refused, just as her sister had refused, and she made fun of the man.

The mother was very much disappointed, but she was unable to persuade her daughters to marry her benefactor. Finally she determined to try her youngest daughter. When the daughter heard her mother's request, she said, "Mother, if to have me marry this man is the only way by which you can repay him for his kindness, I'll gladly marry him." The mother was very much pleased, but the two older daughters were very angry with their sister. The mother told the man of the decision of her youngest daughter, and a contract was signed between them. But before they were married, the bear-like man asked permission from the girl to be absent for one more year to finish his duty. She consented to his going, and gave him half her ring as a memento.

At the end of the year, which was the last of his seven years' wandering, the bear-like man went to the Devil, and told him that he had finished his duty. The Devil said, "You have beaten me. Now that you have performed your seven years' wandering, and have spent the money honestly, let us exchange clothes again!" So the man received back his soldierlike suit, which made him look like a knight, and the Devil took back his bear-skin.

Then the man returned to Clara's [72] house. When his arrival was announced to the family, the two older daughters dressed themselves in their best, for they thought that he was a suitor come to see them; but when the man showed the ring and asked for the hand of Clara's youngest daughter, the two nearly died with vexation, while the youngest daughter was very happy.

Notes.

This story is a variant of Grimm, No. 101, "Bear-Skin," which it follows fairly closely from the point where the hero makes his pact with the Devil. The bibliography of this cycle is fully given in Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 427-435, to which I have nothing to add except this story itself! Our version is the only one so far recorded from the Orient, and there can be no doubt that it is derived directly from Europe. Ralston and Moe seem to detect a relationship between this cycle and a Hindoo saga translated into Chinese in the seventh century, and from the Chinese into French in the middle of the nineteenth century, by the French orientalist Stanislas Julien; but Bolte is of the opinion (p. 435) that there is probably no connection between the two. In any case, to judge from recorded variants, the Tagalog story is an importation from the Occident.

And yet there are not a few deviations in our version from the norm, if Grimm's tale may be considered representative of the cycle. The most important of these is the opening, which is one form of the "Promised Child" opening (see Macculloch, 415 ff.). This formula of a childless couple finally promising in despair to let their child serve even the Devil if they are granted offspring, or to be satisfied with an animal-child or some other monstrosity, is a favorite one in Filipino Märchen (cf. Nos. 3 and variants, 19 and variant, and 23), and its use here may have been influenced by the beginning of the next tale.

Other differences may be noted briefly: (1) The compact made between the hero and the Devil does not include the characteristic prohibitions in the European versions; namely, that the hero is not to comb his hair, wash himself, trim his beard, etc., during his seven years of wandering. The Devil seems to rely merely on his bear-suit, which he makes the hero wear, to produce insurmountable difficulties. It may be that the prohibitions mentioned above were omitted because they involved conditions wholly foreign to Filipino conception. The natives take great pride in their hair, and always dress it carefully, are scrupulously clean personally, and are beardless! I can cite no parallel in folk-tales for the condition substituted; i.e., if the wanderer does good with his money, the Devil will have no power over him at the end of the seven years, while, if he spends it extravagantly and foolishly, he goes to hell. Perhaps none need be sought outside of actual experience. (2) The hero is supplied with money from a large bag which the Devil gives him, not from the inexhaustible pockets of a magic green coat, as in Grimm. The mention of the hero's soldier-suit, by the way, since nothing has been said earlier in the story of his having followed the profession of arms, is likely a reminiscence of the characteristic opening of the European versions, where it is a poor soldier who has the experience with the Devil. (3) The person ransomed by the hero in our story is an old woman instead of an old man. (4) The two disappointed sisters do not kill themselves, and hence the Devil does not reappear at the end of the story,--as he does in Grimm,--and say, "I have now got two souls in the place of thy one!"

The broken-ring recognition on the return home is a feature which I believe occurs in no other Filipino folk-tale, but is met with not infrequently in European saga and story (cf. Köhler-Bolte, 117, 584; see also Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 234; 2 : 348).

TALE 23

PEDRO AND SATAN.

Narrated by Pedro D. L. Sorreta, a Bicol from Catanduanes, who heard the story when he was a little boy.

Once upon a time there lived a very rich man, whose wife had never given birth to a child. The couple had already made several pilgrimages, and had spent great sums of money for religious services, in the hope that God might give them a child, even though a sickly one, to inherit their money; but all their efforts were in vain. Disappointed, the man resolved to rely upon Satan for the performance of his wish.

One dark night, when he was thinking hard about the matter, he heard a voice say, "Your wish will be quickly fulfilled if you but ask me for it." The rich man was so filled with joy, that he turned towards the voice and knelt before the invisible speaker: "I will give you my life, and even my wife's, in return for a son who will be the heir to my riches," said the man. Meanwhile he perceived in front of him a figure which in an instant assumed the form of Satan. At first he was frightened; but his fear was only momentary, and he was eager to hurry up the agreement with Satan, so that he might receive the child. They therefore made a golden document which provided that the first child of the heir was to be given to the Devil at the age of ten, and that the man and his wife were no longer God's subjects, but Satan's.

After the agreement had been made, the Devil promised the rich man that his wife would give birth to the longed-for son early the next morning. Then he disappeared. The child was born at the appointed time, and grew wonderfully fast, for in five days he was a full-grown youth. But the parents could not but blame themselves for their impious act. They intended to keep the secret from their son; but they could not do so, for the boy was always asking about the nature of his existence. So when Pedro--they called him by this name--knew of his pitiful lot, he decided not to marry until he had succeeded in wresting the golden document from the hands of Satan.

Now, Pedro knew that devils do not like crosses, and cannot even stay where they have to look at them. So one day he asked his mother to make for him two gowns, one having little crosses hanging from it. When these had been finished, Pedro asked his father to give him over to Satan, so that he might work with the demons in hell. No sooner had he expressed his desire to his father than the Devil appeared and took the young man off to his kingdom. There Pedro was assigned the task of directing the demons in hauling the logs that were to be used for fuel.

Pedro ordered the demons to tie a strong piece of rope to one end of a log, and ordered them to pull it while he stood on the other end. Every time he counted "One, two, three!" he would hold up his outer gown; and the demons, seeing the crosses, would run away in confusion. As the devils could not endure Pedro's conduct, they ran to their master Satan, and asked him to send the young man away, for he could not do any work. The demons could not say anything about Pedro's trick, however, for they did not dare even speak the word "cross." Satan then summoned Pedro to his office, and had him work there.

Now, the young man had put a strong piece of rope under his gown. One day, when Satan was taking his siesta in a rocking-chair, Pedro tied him fast to the chair. Then he removed his outer gown and woke Satan. The Devil with closed eyes struggled hard to escape; but he could not get loose. So he humbly requested Pedro to go away and leave him alone; but Pedro would neither leave him nor let him go. He demanded the document, but Satan would not give it up. So Pedro kept on frightening the Devil until at last Satan said that he would give up the document if Pedro would release him. Pedro put on his outer robe, and the Devil called his secretary and told him to give the golden document to the young man. Pedro threw the bond into the fire; and when he saw that it was completely melted, he took off his outer robe again, and turned Satan loose. The Devil ran away exceedingly terrified.

Then Pedro went home, where his parents received him with great joy. Thus by his cleverness he saved his parents and his future child from a terrible fate.

Notes.

Like the preceding, this story is doubtless also an importation into the Islands from Europe. It belongs to the general family of tales known as the "Promised Child," but the narrative takes a turn which leads into a special group of this family. The members of this group are usually not long; and the stories, on the whole, are simple. A parent promises, wittingly or unwittingly, his child to the Devil in return for some service, and gives his signature to the bond. The child grows up, and, noticing the dejection of his parents, forces from them the secret of the pact. After equipping himself for the struggle, he sets out for hell to recover the contract. In hell he frightens or annoys the devils in various ways, and becomes such a nuisance that finally the arch-fiend is glad to get rid of him by surrendering the bond.

In a Lorraine story (Cosquin, No. LXIV, "Saint Etienne") "a woman in confinement is visited by a grand gentleman, who persuades her to sell her child to him for a large sum of money. He is to come for the child in six or seven years. One day after a visit of the stranger, the mother begins to suspect him of being the Devil. Her son notices her sadness, and learns the secret that is troubling her. 'I'm not afraid of the Devil,' he says boldly, and tells her to provide him with a sheep-skin filled with holy water. Thus equipped, he sets off with the stranger when the time comes, and, reaching hell, so frightens the devils by sprinkling them with the holy water, that they are glad to leave him in peace to return to his mother." In this story nothing is said of a contract; but in a variant mentioned by Cosquin (2 : 232) a poor man signs in blood a bond according to which he agrees to give up his son at the age of twenty to the rich stranger (Devil in disguise) who has consented to be godfather to the infant. The demon is finally put to flight with the aid of an image of the cross and with the liberal use of holy water.

In a Wallachian story (Schott, No. 15) we find a close parallel of incident to our story: the hero, acting on the advice of his school-master, makes some ecclesiastical garments decorated with crosses, and, dressed in these, he goes to hell and knocks on the door. The demons, frightened by the sight, want to drive him away; but he will not go until they surrender the parchment signed by his father. This story differs from ours in the opening, however; for the father is a poor fisherman, and promises unwittingly "that which he loves most at home" in exchange for great riches. At the end of the story, too, is added an episode of the conversion by the hero of a band of robbers. With the beginning of this Wallachian story compare the Italian "Lionbruno" (Crane, No. XXXVI). In a Lithuanian tale (Chodzko, Contes des paysans et des pâtres slaves [Paris 1864], p. 107), the hero, before setting out to meet the Devil, arms himself with holy water and a piece of chalk blessed by the priest. With the chalk he draws a magic circle about him, from which he throws water on the demons until they give up the contract. For other variants, see Cosquin, No. LXXV and notes.

Our story, while somewhat crude in style, is well motivated throughout, and has one amusing episode for which I know no parallel, the tying of Satan in his rocking-chair while he is taking his siesta, and then frightening him into compliance, when he wakes, by displaying, before him the cross-embroidered gown. The first task the hero is put to when he enters hell--directing the hauling of logs for fuel--seems more appropriate than that of draining two ponds, which the hero is obliged to perform in Cosquin's "La Baguette Merveilleuse," No. LXXV.

The testimony of the narrator that he heard the story from one of his playmates when he was a little boy, throws an interesting ray of light on the way in which popular stories circulate in the Philippines.

TALE 24

THE DEVIL AND THE GUACHINANGO.

Narrated by José Laki of Guagua, Pampanga. He got the story from his uncle, who heard it from an old Pampango story-teller.

There once lived in a suburb of a town a very religious old widow who had a beautiful daughter, Piriang by name. Young men from different parts of the town came to court Piriang, and the mother always preferred the rich to the poor. Whenever Piriang's friends told her that the man whom she rejected would have been a good match for her, she always answered that she would rather have a devil for a husband than such a man.

One day a devil heard Piriang giving this answer to one of her friends. Thus encouraged, he disguised himself as a young man of noble blood, and went to Piriang's house to offer her his love. The mother and daughter received this stranger with great civility, for he appeared to them to be the son of a nobleman. In the richness of his dress he was unexcelled by his rivals. After he had been going to Piriang's house for a few weeks, the old widow told him one day to come prepared to be married on the following Tuesday. On the Sunday before the wedding-day he had a long conversation with Piriang. He calmly asked her to take off the cross that she had about her neck, for it made her look ugly, he said. She refused to do so, however, because she had worn this cross ever since she was a child. After he had departed, Piriang told her mother what he had asked her to do.

The next day the mother went to the church. She told the priest that Piriang's bridegroom had ordered her to take off her cross from her neck. The priest said that that man was a devil; for no man, as a son of God, would say that a cross made the one who wore it look ugly. The priest gave the mother a small image of the Virgin Mary. He instructed her to show the image to the bridegroom. If when he beheld it he turned his back on her as she was holding it, she was to tie him around the neck with her cintas. [73] Then she was to put him in a large jar, and bury him at least twenty-one feet under the ground.

The mother went home very much distressed because she had allowed her daughter to become engaged to a devil. She told Piriang not to talk with her bridegroom, because she feared that he was a devil. That night he came with his friend dressed like him. The mother was very gracious to them. They talked about the wedding. When the old woman held up the image of the Virgin Mary, the two men turned their backs on her. She immediately wound her cintas around the neck of her daughter's bridegroom, and Piriang came in with the dried tail of a sting-ray in her right hand. She whipped him with this as hard as she could. [74] Then the two together forced him to get into a large jar. After warning him not to come back to earth again, the old woman covered the jar with a piece of cloth wet with holy water. The other devil suddenly disappeared.

The next morning a guachinango [75] happened to pass by the house of the old woman. She called him in, showed him the jar, and told him to bury it at least twenty-one feet deep. When he asked how much she would pay him, she promised to give him ten pesos. He agreed: so, putting the jar on his right shoulder, he set out. When he reached a quiet place, he heard whispers behind him. He stopped and looked around, but could see nothing. Then he put the jar on the ground to rest a few minutes. Now he discovered that the whispers were coming from inside the jar. He was very much surprised.

"What are you?" asked the guachinango. "Are you a man, or a devil?"

"I am a devil, my friend," answered the voice. "The old woman forced me to go into this jar. Be kind to me, my friend, and liberate me!"

"I shall obey the old woman in order to get my pay," said the guachinango. "I will bury you even deeper than twenty-one feet."

"If you will bury me just three feet deep," said the devil, "I will give you a large sum of money."

"I will bury you just one and a half feet deep, if you can give me much money," said the guachinango.

"I will give you five hundred pesos," said the devil. "Dig the ground near the stump of that mabolo-tree. There you will find the money in a dirty black purse."

After the guachinango had buried the devil, he went to the mabolo-tree and took the money. Then he went to the nearest village and played casino. As soon as he lost all his money, he returned to the devil. "I have lost all the money you gave me," he said. "I will now bury you twenty-one feet deep."

"No, do not bury me so deep as that, my friend!" said the devil calmly. "I can give you twice as much money as I gave you before. You will find it in the same place that you found the other."

The guachinango took the money and went to the village again to gamble. Again he lost. He returned to the devil, and asked him angrily why he always lost the money he gave him. "I don't know," answered the devil. "I have given you fifteen hundred pesos, but you haven't even a cent now. You ought to set me free at once."

"Aha! I won't let you go," said the guachinango. "I will bury you thirty-nine feet now."

"I have a plan in mind," said the devil, "which will benefit you extremely; but before I explain my plan, let me ask you if you would like to marry the daughter of the king."

"I have a great desire to be king some day," said the guachinango; "but how can you make me the husband of a princess, when you are only a devil, and I am nothing but a poor guachinango?"

"As soon as you set me free," said the devil, "I will enter the mouth of the princess and go into her brains. Then I will give her a very painful headache which no physician can cure. The king will make an announcement saying that he who can cure his daughter of her disease shall marry her. When you hear this announcement, go to the palace at once, and offer your services to the king. As soon as you reach the princess, tell me that you have come, and I will leave her immediately. The princess will then recover her former health, and you will be married to her. Do not fail to go to the palace, for I am determined to reward you for your kindness to me."

After the guachinango had liberated the devil, he immediately set out for the city. He had not been there three days when he met a group of soldiers crying that "he who could cure the princess should have her to wife." The guachinango stopped the soldiers, and said that he could cure the princess. They took him before the king, where a written agreement was made. If he could not cure the princess in three days, he should lose his life; but if he cured her by the end of the third day, he should marry her. The guachinango was then conducted to the room of the princess. When he approached her, he said to the devil that he had come. "You must leave the princess now; for, if you don't, I shall be executed." But the devil refused to leave, because he wanted to get revenge. He further told the guachinango that he wanted him to die, for then his soul would go to hell.

The guachinango became more and more hopeless. On the morning of the third day he thought of a good plan to get rid of his enemy. He asked the king to order all the bells of the neighboring churches to be tolled, while every one in the palace was to cry out loud, "Here she comes!" While all this noise was going on, the guachinango approached the princess, and told the devil that the old woman was coming with her cintas. When the devil heard this, he was terribly frightened, and left the princess and disappeared. The next day the guachinango was married to the princess.

Notes.

From the testimony of the narrator, this capital story appears to have been known in Pampanga for some time. The incident of the demon entering the body of the princess, and then leaving at the request of one who has befriended him, occurs in a Tagalog story also, which I will give for the purpose of comparison. While the story is more of a fairy-tale than a Märchen proper, it appears to be a variant of our No. 24. Significant differences between the two will be noted, however. The Tagalog story was collected and written down for me by Manuel Reyes, a native of Manila. It runs as follows:

Mabait and the Duende.

Menguita, a king of Cebu, had two slaves,--Mabait and Masama. Mabait was honest and industrious, while Masama was envious and lazy. Mabait did nearly all of the hard work in the palace, so he was admired very much by the king. Masama, who was addicted to gambling, envied Mabait.

One night, while Mabait was asleep, a duende [76] awakened him, and said, "I have seen how you labor here patiently and honestly. I want to be your friend."

Mabait was amazed and frightened. He looked at the duende carefully, and saw that it resembled a very small man with long hair and a white beard. It was about a foot high. It had on a red shirt, a pair of green trousers, a golden cap, and a pair of black shoes. At last Mabait answered in a trembling voice, "I don't want to be a friend of an evil spirit."

"I am not evil, I am a duende."

"I don't know what duendes are, so I don't want to be your friend."

"Duendes are wealthy and powerful spirits. They can perform magic. If you are the friend of one of them, you will be a most fortunate man."

"How did you come into the world?" said Mabait.

"Listen! When Lucifer was an angel, a contest in creating animals arose between him and God. He and his followers were defeated and thrown into hell. Many angels in that contest belonged neither to God's side not to Lucifer's. They were dropped on the earth. Those that fell in the forests became tigbalangs, ikis, and mananangals; [77] those in the seas became mermaids and mermen; and those in the cities became duendes."

"Ah, yes! I know now what duendes are."

"Now let our friendship last forever," said the duende. "I am ready at any time to help you in your undertakings."

From that time on Mabait and the duende were good friends. The duende gave Mabait two or three isabels [78] every day, and by the end of the month he had saved much money. He bought a fine hat and a pair of wooden shoes.

Masama wondered how Mabait, who was very poor, could buy so many things. At last he asked, "Where do you get money? Do you steal it?"

"No, my friend gives it to me."

"Who is your friend?"

"A duende."

Masama, in great envy, went to the king, and said, "Master, Mabait, your favorite slave, has a friend. This friend is a duende, which will be injurious to us if you let it live here. As Mabait said, it will be the means of his acquiring all of your wealth and taking your daughter for his wife."

The king, in great rage, summoned Mabait, and punished him severely by beating his palms with a piece of leather. Then he ordered his servants to find the duende and kill it. The duende hid in a small jar. Masama saw it, and covered the mouth of the jar with a saint's dress. The duende was afraid of the dress, and dared not come out. "Open the jar, and I will give you ten isabels," said the little man.

"Give me the money first."

After Masama received the money, he went away to the cockpit without opening the jar. On his way there he lost his money. He went back to the duende, and said, "Friend, give me ten isabels more, and I will open the jar."

"I know that you will cheat me," answered the duende. "Just let me come out of the jar, and I promise that you shall have the princess here for your wife."

"What! Will the princess be my wife?"

"Yes."

"How can you make her love me?"

"I will enter the princess's abdomen. I will talk, laugh, and do everything to make her afraid. I will not leave her for anybody but you."

"Good, good!" Masama opened the jar, and the duende, flew a way to the princess's tower.

Only a few weeks after that time a proclamation of the king was read in public. It was as follows: "The princess, my daughter, has something in her abdomen. It speaks and laughs. No one knows what it is, and no one can force it to come out. Whoever can cure my daughter shall be my heir and son-in-law; but he who tries and fails shall lose his head."

When Masama heard this, he said to Mabait, "Why don't you cure the princess? You are the only one who can cure her."

"Don't flatter me!" answered Mabait.

"I'm not flattering you. It is the duende, your friend, who is in her abdomen, and no one can persuade it to come out but you. So go now, for fortune is waiting for you."

Mabait was at last persuaded, and so he departed. Before going to the king, he first went to a church, and there he prayed Bathala that he might be successful in his undertakings. When Mabait was gone, Masama said to himself, "It is not fortune, but it is death, that is waiting for him. When he is dead, I shall not have anybody to envy."

After sitting for about a half-hour, Masama also set out for the princess's tower, but he reached the palace before Mabait. There he told the king that he could cure his daughter. He was conducted into the princess's room. He touched her abdomen, and said, "Who are you?"

"I am the duende."

"Why are you there?"

"Because I want to be here."

"Go away!"

"No, I won't."

"Don't you know me?"

"Yes, I know you. You are Masama, who cheated me once. Give your head to the king." So the executioner cut Masama's head off.

Then Mabait came, and told the king that he could cure the princess. After he was given permission to try, he said to the duende, "Who are you?"

"I am the duende, your friend."

"Will you please come out of the princess's abdomen?"

"Yes, I will, for the sake of our friendship."

Mabait was married to the princess, was crowned king, and lived happily with his friend the duende.

Before attempting to decide anything concerning the provenience of these two tales, we shall first examine versions of the story from other parts of the world. The nearest European analogue that I am familiar with is an Andalusian story printed by Caballero in 1866 (Ingram, 107, "The Demon's Mother-in-Law"). An outline of the chief elements of this tale follows:--

Mother Holofernes, while very neat and industrious, was a terrible termagant and shrew. Her daughter Panfila, on the contrary, was so lazy and thoughtless, that once, when the old woman burnt herself badly because her daughter was listening to some lads singing outside, instead of helping her mother with the boiling lye for washing, the enraged Mother Holofernes shouted to her offspring, "Heaven grant that you may marry the Evil One himself!" Not long afterward a rich little man presented himself as a suitor for Panfila's hand. He was accepted by the mother, and preparations for the marriage went forward. The old woman, however, began to dislike the suitor, and, recalling her curse, suspected that he was none other than the Devil himself. Accordingly, on the night of the wedding, she bade Panfila lock all the windows and doors of the room, and then beat her husband with a branch of consecrated olive. So done. The husband tried to escape from his wife by slipping through the key-hole; but his mother-in-law anticipated this move. She caught him in a glass bottle, which she immediately sealed hermetically. Then the old lady climbed to the summit of a mountain, and there deposited the bottle in an out-of-the-way place. Ten years the imp remained there a prisoner, suffering cold, heat, hunger, thirst. One day a soldier, returning to his native town on leave, took a short cut over the mountain, and spied the bottle. When he picked it up, the imp begged to be released, and told him of all he had suffered; but the soldier made a number of conditions,--his release from the army, a four-dollar daily pension, etc.,--and finally the imp promised to enter the body of the daughter of the King of Naples. The soldier was to present himself at court as a physician, and demand any reward he wished to, in return for a cure. So done. The king accepted the services of the soldier, but stipulated that if in three days he had not cured the princess, he should be hanged. The soldier accepted the conditions; but the demon, seeing that he had his arrogant enemy's life in his hands, and bent on revenge, refused to leave the body of the princess. On the last day, however, the soldier ordered all the bells rung. On the demon's asking what all the noise was about, the soldier said, "I have ordered your mother-in-law summoned, and she has just arrived." In great terror the Devil at once quitted the princess, and the soldier was left "in victorious possession of the field."

It will be noticed that the last episode is almost identical with the ending of our story "The Devil and the Guachinango," while there is a considerable amount of divergence between the two elsewhere.

For versions collected before 1860 I am indebted to Benfey's treatment of this cycle. It is found in his "Pantschatantra," 1 : 519 ff. I take the liberty of summarizing it in this place, first, because it is the only exhaustive handling of the story I know of; and, second, because Benfey's brilliant work, while constantly referred to and quoted, has long been out of print, and has never been accessible in English.

The occasion for Benfey's dissertation on this particular tale is the relationship he sees between it and the large family of stories turning on the motive of a marvellous cure, a representative of which is "Pantschatantra," 5 : 12, "The Miraculous Cure of a Blind Man, a Humpback, and a Three-breasted Princess." [79] While the story we are discussing cannot be considered in any sense an offshoot of the Pantschatantra tale, it can scarcely be denied, says Benfey, that between the two there is a definite internal relationship, which is further manifested by the fact that in its later development the latter is actually joined to the former (p. 519).

The earliest form of our story is found in the "Cukasaptati," where it is told as the story for the 45th and 46th nights. In this version,--

A Brahman, driven away from home by the malice of his wife, is befriended by a demon who had formerly lived in the Brahman's house, but who had also fled in fear from her shrewish tongue. The demon enters the body of a princess; and the Brahman, appearing as a conjurer, forces him to leave, in accordance with their pact, and wins half a kingdom and the hand of the princess. The demon now goes to another city where he possesses the queen, an aunt of the Brahman's new father-in-law. The Brahman, whose reputation as an enchanter has become great, is summoned to cure this queen. When he arrives, the demon threatens and insults him, refusing to leave the queen because they are now quits. The Brahman, however, whispers in the woman's ear, "My wife is coming here close on my heels, I have come only to warn you;" whereupon the demon, terror-stricken, at once leaves the queen. The Brahman is highly honored.

Benfey conjectures that this story must have passed over into the Persian redaction of the "Cukasaptati" (i.e., the "Tuti-nameh"), but what changes it underwent in the transmission cannot yet be determined. The earliest European form of the tale is that found in the Turkish "Forty Vezirs" (trans. by Behrnauer, p. 277).

Here a young wood-cutter saves money to buy a rope; but his shrewish wife, thinking that he is going to spend it on a sweetheart, insists on accompanying him to his work in the mountains, so that she can keep him under her eye. In the mountains the husband decides to abandon his wife in a well. He tells her to hold a rope while he descends to fetch a treasure which he pretends is concealed at the bottom; but she is so avaricious, that she insists on being let down first. Then he drops the rope, and returns home free. A few days later, conscience-smitten, he goes back to rescue his wife, and, lowering another rope, he calls to her that he will draw her up; but he hauls a demon to the surface instead. The demon thanks the wood-cutter for rescuing him from a malicious woman "who some days ago descended, and has made my life unbearable ever since." As in the Cukasaptati story, the demon enters a princess and makes her insane, and the wood-cutter cures her and marries her. Then the demon enters another princess. The wood-cutter is summoned; he has to resort to the well-known trick to force the imp to leave this second maiden.

In the Persian form of this story, in the "1001 Days" (Prenzlau ed.), 11 : 247, is added the death-penalty in case the hero fails to perform the second cure, which consists in persuading the spirit, in the form of a snake, to unwind itself from the body of the vezir's daughter. The hero had already cured the sultan's daughter and married her.

A Serbian story (Wuk, No. 37) is closer to the "Forty Vezirs" version than is the "1001 Days." The only essential difference is that the opening of the Serbian tale is the well-known fabliau of the "Meadow that was mowed."

Here the wife falls into a pit. When the husband attempts to draw her out again, a devil appears. The devil is thankful; and, to reward the man, it enters the body of the emperor's daughter. Here the hero appears, not as an enchanter, but as a physician.

Practically identical is the story of "The Bad Wife and the Devil," in Vogl, "Slowenische Volksmärchen" (Wien, 1837).

In a Finnish version of the story (Benfey, 524-525) the hero, as in the preceding, assumes the rôle of a physician.

The husband pushes his bad wife into an abyss. When he attempts to draw her out again, another woman appears. She is the Plague. [80] Out of gratitude for her liberation from that other wicked woman, she proposes to him that they travel together through the world: she, the pest, will make people ill; he, as physician, will cure them. So done. As a result the man becomes rich. But at last he grows weary of his excessive work: so he procures a snappish dog, and puts it in a sack. The next time he is called to the side of a person made sick by the pest, he says to her, "Enter human beings no more: if you do, I will liberate from this sack the woman that tormented you in the abyss," at the same time irritating the dog so that it growls. The Plague, full of terror, begs him for God's sake not to set the woman free, and promises to reform.

It will be seen that in its method of the "sickness and the cure," this story is related to Grimm, No. 44, "Godfather Death," where Death takes the place of the Plague, and where, instead of gratitude, the motive is the godfather relationship of Death toward the hero.

This folk-tale, says Benfey (p. 525), was early put into literary form in Europe. Among others, he cites Machiavelli's excellent version in his story of "Belfagor" (early sixteenth century):--

Belfagor, a devil, is sent to earth by his master to live as a married man for ten years, to see whether certain accusations made against women by souls in hell are true or slanderous. Belfagor marries in Florence; but his imperious wife causes him so much bad fortune, that he is compelled to flee from his creditors. A peasant conceals him, and out of gratitude Belfagor tells his rescuer his story, and promises to make him rich by possessing women and allowing himself to be driven out only by the peasant himself. So done. The peasant wins great renown; and at last Belfagor says that his obligations have been fulfilled, and that the peasant must look out for himself if they meet again. The devil now enters the daughter of Ludwig II, King of France. The peasant is summoned to cure her, but is afraid, and refuses. At last he is compelled to go, like the physician, against his will (see Benfey, 515 ff.). Belfagor rages when he sees the peasant, and threatens him vehemently. At last the peasant employs the usual trick: "Your wife is coming!" and the devil flees in consternation, choosing rather to rush back to hell than into the arms of his wife.

Benfey considers a Bohemian story in Wenzig's collection (West-slawische Märchen, Leipzig, 1857, p. 167) to be the best of all the popular versions belonging to this group, and he reproduces it in full (pp. 527-534). This long story we may pass over, since it contains no new features that are found in our story. In fact, it little resembles ours or any of the others, except in general in two or three episodes. Benfey concludes his discussion of this cycle by stating that there have been many other imitations of this tale, and he mentions some of these (p. 534). It may be added that further references will be found in Wilson's note in his edition of Dunlop, 2 : 188-190.

The question of the origin of the Pampango version of this story is not easy to answer definitely, for the reason that it presents details not found in any of the other variants. However, since nearly all the machinery of our story turns on the teachings of the Roman Church, and since the denouement is practically identical with the ending of Caballero's Andalusian story, I conclude that in its main outlines our version was derived from Spain. At the same time, I think it likely that the fairy-tale of "Mabait and the Duende" was already existent earlier in the Islands (though this, too, may have been imported), and that the motivation of the spirit's desire to revenge himself on his tormentor for his avarice and greed was incorporated into the Märchen from the fairy-tale. My reasons for thinking the fairy-tale the older are: (1) its crudeness (the good and the bad hero are a very awkward device compared with the combination of qualities in the guachinango); (2) its local references and its native names; (3) its use of native superstitions and beliefs.

TALE 25

JUAN SADUT.

Narrated by Nicolas Zafra, an Ilocano from San Fernando, La Union. The story is very popular among the country people about San Fernando, he reports.

Many years ago there lived a certain old couple who had an only son. Juan, for that was the boy's name, was known throughout the village as an idler, and for this reason he was called Juan Sadut. He had no liking for any kind of work; in fact, his contempt for all work was so great, that he never even helped his father or mother.

One day his father took him to the fields to have him help harvest their crops; but, instead of going to work, Juan betook himself to a shady spot on the edge of the field, and fell asleep.

His father, who was very much enraged by this conduct of his son, determined then and there to dispose of him. He carried the sleeping boy to another part of the field, and laid him down just beside a large snake-hole. He expected that the snake, when it came out of its hole, would sting the sleeping idler, who would thus be disposed of quietly.

When Juan awoke, he found a large snake coiled near him. In his fright, he sprang to his feet to run away; but the snake looked up at him sympathetically, and then began to speak: "Why do you fear me? Don't you know that I am the king of the snakes? I am going to give you a wonderful gift that will make you happy forever;" and having said this, it dropped a gold ring on the ground, and bade Juan pick it up and wear it on his finger. The ring was of pure gold, and it had on it initials that Juan could not understand. "Keep that ring carefully, for it will be of great use to you," said the snake. "Consult it for anything you want, and it will advise you how to proceed to obtain the object of your desire."

After thanking the snake for its gift, Juan set out on his travels. He never worried about his food from day to day, for from his magic ring he could get anything he needed.

In his wanderings, word reached Juan's ears that the king of that country would give his beautiful daughter to any one who could fulfil three conditions. Juan was thrilled with joy on hearing this news, for he was sure that he would be the successful competitor for the hand of the princess. When he presented himself before the court, his slovenly appearance and awkward movements only excited laughter and mirth among the nobles. "What chance have you of winning the prize?" they asked him in derision.

"Let me know the conditions, and time will show," said Juan. "You must fulfil three conditions before I give my daughter to you," said the king. "First, you must fight with my tiger, and kill it if you can; second, you must go get and bring back to me the burning stone that the dragon in the mountains has in its possession; third, you must answer correctly a question that I shall ask you."

"Very well," said Juan as he turned to go, "I will do all you require of me." Now, many a young man had risked his life for the hand of the beautiful princess; but no one had yet succeeded in winning even the first contest. The king's tiger was ferocious and strong, and as agile as a mouse. Then there was the formidable dragon in the mountains, whose breath alone was deadly poisonous. This dragon lived in a cave the entrance to which was guarded by poisonous serpents. Every morning it would come out of its cave to play with its wonderful stone by tossing it up into the air and catching it in its mouth when it fell. Hence it was difficult, if not impossible, to succeed in these undertakings. The young men who had been stirred by their intense love for the princess had bartered away their lives for her hand.

When Juan arrived home, he took up his little ring, and said to it, "Advise me as to how I may overcome the king's tiger."

"Get a handful of sand," replied the ring, "and mix with it an equal quantity of red pepper. Take the mixture with you into the arena, and when the tiger comes near you, fling the sand into its eyes."

Juan prepared the sand and pepper as he had been advised. The next day he stepped into the arena amid the shouts and cheers of the spectators. He looked, as usual, to be an idle, slow-moving fellow, who would have no chance at all against the wild beast. The tiger soon appeared at the opposite end of the arena, and advanced rapidly towards Juan. When the animal was about three yards from him, he flung the mixture of sand and pepper into its eyes. The tiger was blinded. Juan then drew his dagger and buried it deep into the animal's heart.

The next task he had to perform was to obtain the dragon's fiery stone. The ring advised him thus: "Go to the cave, and, in order to gain admittance, show me to the serpents. I am sacred to them, and they will fulfil whatever commands my possessor gives them." Juan proceeded to the cave in the mountains. He had no sooner entered it than hissing serpents came towards him in threatening attitudes. Juan, however, showed them the signet ring; and they at once became tame, and showed him that they were glad to obey whatever he should command them to do. "Go and get the dragon's stone," he ordered, and soon they came back with the much-coveted treasure.

When the king saw that Juan had fulfilled two of the hardest conditions, he became alarmed because the new bridegroom was to be a person of very low birth: so he devised the most difficult question possible, with the view of preventing Juan from winning his daughter the princess.

Juan now presented himself before the king and his court to perform the third and last task. "What am I thinking about now?" asked the king.

Juan appeared to hesitate a moment, but he was really consulting his ring. The ring said to him, "The king has in mind the assurance that you will not be able to answer his question." Then looking up, Juan answered the king's question in the precise words of the ring, and thus answered it correctly.

Astonished at the wonderful power of Juan, the king gave his daughter to him; and when he died, the young couple inherited the crown of the kingdom.

Notes.

I know of no parallels to this story as a whole. In its separate incidents it is reminiscent of other tales; and in its main outline, from the point where the hero sets out to seek adventures with the help of his magic ring, the narrative belongs to the "Bride Wager" group. In this group Von Hahn distinguishes at least two types (1 : 54, Nos. 23 and 24): in the one, the hero bets his head against the bride, and wins by performing difficult tasks; in the other, he wins by answering riddles. In our story there is no formal staking of his head by the hero, but undertaking the first two tasks amounts to the same thing. The third task, it will be noticed, is the answering of a difficult question, which in a way connects our story with Von Hahn's second type.

The two distinctive features in our story are the introduction and the first task. The cruelty displayed by the hero's father is not unusual in folk-tales, but his method of getting rid of his son is. The benevolence of the snake, which is not motivated at all, may be at bottom connected with some such moralizing tradition as is found in Somadeva, "The Story of the Three Brahmin Brothers" (Tawney, 1 : 293), where two older brothers, in order to get rid of the youngest, who has been slandered by their wives ("Potiphar's wife" situation), order him to dig up an ant-hill in which lives a venomous snake. Because of his virtue, however, he finds a pitcher filled with gold! There is nothing else in this story which even in the remotest way suggests ours. While Benfey (1 : 214-215, note) has shown that the conception of the snake-jewel is essentially Indian,--and the belief in one form or another is widespread in the Philippines,--he also shows that it was held in Europe even in classical times; and, as every one knows, the idea is a commonplace in folk-lore. Obviously nothing can be concluded as to the origin of our story from this detail alone. The first task, which is performed without supernatural aid, though the hero asks his ring for advice, may be a remnant of tradition; if so, it is of Indian or Malayan tradition, not Philippine, for the tiger is not found in the Islands.

TALE 26

AN ACT OF KINDNESS.

Narrated by Pacita Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna.

Early one morning Andres went out to buy five cents' worth of rice. On his way he came across a man who was about to kill a small snake. "Please don't kill the poor creature!" said Andres. "Did it harm you?"

"No," answered the man, "but it may bite us or some other passer-by," and he again drew out his bolo; but Andres restrained him. "What do you want this snake for?" said the merciless man.

"Leave it alone, for pity's sake!" cried Andres. "Here are five cents! Don't injure the harmless creature!"

The man, very glad to get the money, did not say a word, and went away. After the man was gone, the snake said to Andres, "Kind friend, come home with me. There you will find our huge chief snake, and many others like myself. But don't fear anything! Trust me, for I will never lead you into danger. When we reach out dwelling, I will recommend you to our chief. He will be harsh to you at first, since you are a stranger; but never mind that! When he asks you what you want, ask him to give you his red cloth. This enchanted cloth can supply you with whatever you want." So the two friends started for the horrible snake-cave.

"Who is that stranger with you,--a murderer, or a robber?" hissed the chief as soon as the snake and Andres entered.

"He is neither of the two," replied the snake. "Please don't do a bit of harm to him! Had it not been for him, my life would have been lost. He rescued me from the hands of a cruel person who found me creeping through the grass."

"Well," said the chief to Andres, "what reward do you want me to give you?"

"Only your red cloth, and nothing else," answered Andres. The chief hesitated for a moment. Then he went into a very dark cell, and got out the red cloth. He returned with it, and said to Andres, "Since you have saved the life of one of our number, I give you this cloth as a reward. You can ask of it anything you want."

Andres thanked the chief, and went away. It was now ten o'clock, and he had not yet bought rice for breakfast. "Poor mother! she must be very hungry." Andres himself felt hungry, so he asked the red cloth to bring him food. Soon a breakfast, richer than the ordinary ones he was accustomed to, was spread before him. Having eaten his hearty meal under the shade of a tree, he resumed his journey homeward. He had yet several miles to go.

After a few hours' walk he again became hungry. He went to a hut and asked the old woman there if he might eat in her house. He said that he had brought his own food with him. The old woman invited him in, and Andres asked his red cloth for food. In an instant a fine luncheon was before them. Andres invited the old woman to eat with him, which she willingly did. She liked the food so very much, that she asked Andres to let her have his wonderful red cloth. She said, "Give me this cloth, and I will let you have my two stones in exchange. When you want to get rid of persons who annoy you, just tell these two stones where to go, and they will inflict heavy blows on the evil-doers." Andres agreed to the exchange.

He proceeded on his way, taking with him the two stones. Tired and exhausted from his long journey, Andres again began to feel hungry. Now what would become of him? His red cloth was gone, and he had nothing to eat. Fortunately he saw another hut by the roadside. He went to it, and easily gained admittance. The witch, the only person in the cottage, had just finished her dinner. She had nothing left to give the starving boy. Andres then said to his stones, "Go to your former mistress, the old woman, and tell her that I take back my red cloth. If she refuses to give it to you, do what you think it best to do."

The two stones went back to the hut. There they found the old woman eating. "We have come here," they said, "to take the red cloth away from you. Our master, the boy who was here this afternoon, wants it back again." The old woman refused to give up the cloth, so the stones struck her with heavy blows until she fell down senseless on the floor. Then the stones rolled themselves in the red cloth and hastened back to their master with it. Andres spread it out and ate his dinner. He asked for an extraordinary breakfast besides. Then he said to the witch, "You need not prepare anything for your breakfast to-morrow. Here is a good meal that I have asked my red cloth to give to you, you have been so kind in letting me come to your hut." The witch was very glad, and thanked the boy. She said to him, "Boy, I have here two magic canes which I want to dispose of. I am very old now, and don't need them any more. They have served me well. These canes can kill your enemies, or any bad persons whom you want to be put to death. Just give them directions, and they will obey you."

Andres now had three enchanted possessions. It was very late when he reached home, and his mother was very hungry and very angry. He had no more than reached the foot of the stairs when she met him with a loud scolding. But Andres just laughed. He asked his red cloth to bring his mother a good dinner; and while she was eating, he related to her the occurrences of the day.

Andres and his mother were not rich, and their wealthy neighbors were greatly surprised to see them become rich so soon. One particularly selfish neighbor, already rich, who was eager to deprive Andres and his mother of their wealth, sent a band of robbers to the cottage one night. At midnight Andres heard his dogs barking, and he knew that there was some one lurking about. When he saw the robbers coming, he took out his magic stones and canes, and commanded them to get rid of the thieves. In a few minutes all the robbers lay dead.

Andres and his mother remained rich.

Notes.

Through its main incidents and situations, this story is connected with a number of tales, although, as in the case of the preceding narrative, I can point to no complete analogue for it. The introduction has some points of close resemblance to the introduction of the "Language of Animals" cycle, where the hero saves the life of a snake, usually from fire, and is consequently rewarded by the king of snakes with the gift of understanding the tongues of birds and beasts. This cycle has been fully discussed by Benfey (Orient und Occident, 2 : 133-171, "Ein Märchen von der Thiersprache, Quelle und Verbreitung"). Additional bibliographical details may be found in Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 132-133, note 1. The invitation of the rescued snake to its savior to visit the king of snakes, and its advice that he ask for one particular magic reward only, are found in many versions of the "Language of Animals" group, as well as in our story; but this is as far as the similarity between the two extends. From this point on, our story deviates altogether, except for the vaguest reminiscences.

Again, in the fact that Andres does not save the snake from an accidental death, but buys its life from a cruel person about to kill it, our story appears to be connected with the "Magic Ring" cycle. We have already discussed two variants of this cycle in No. 10; but, as has been pointed out in the notes to those stories, the most characteristic beginning is lacking there. In most of the members of the "Magic Ring" group, the kind-hearted hero spends all his money to ransom from death certain animals, including a snake which invites him to the home of its father, and then tells him what to ask for. But in our present story, only the snake is saved; the recompense is a magic wishing-cloth that can do only one thing, not a stone or ring that fulfils any command; and as in the case above of the "Language of Animals" cycle, so here, from this point on, our story is entirely different from the "Magic Ring" group, and attaches itself to still another family of tales. This, for want of a better title, may be called the "Knapsack, Hat, and Horn" cycle. I use this name merely because the most familiar member of that family (Grimm, No. 54) bears it.

In Grimm, No. 54, the youngest of three poverty-stricken brothers who set out to seek their fortunes finds a little table-cloth, which, when spread out and told to cover itself, instantly becomes covered with choice food. Not yet satisfied with his luck, he takes the cloth and continues his wandering. One night he meets a charcoal-burner who is about to make his meal off potatoes. The youth invites the man to eat with him. The charcoal-burner, thinking the cloth just what he needs in his solitude, offers to trade for it an old knapsack, from which, whenever it is tapped, out jump a corporal and six soldiers to do whatever they are ordered to do. The exchange is made. The youth travels on, taps the knapsack, and orders the soldiers to bring him the wishing-cloth that the charcoal-burner has. In this same way the youth acquires from two other charcoal-burners successively a magic hat which shoots off artillery and destroys the owner's enemies, and a magic horn a blast from which throws down walls, fortifications, and houses. By means of these articles the hero finally wins the king's daughter to wife, and becomes ruler. Further adventures follow when the wife tries, but without ultimate success, to steal his treasures from him.

The magic articles are not at all constant in this cycle, as may be seen from an examination of Bolte-Polívka's variants (1 : 467-470), but most of the lists include the wishing-cloth and articles in the nature of weapons or soldiers for offensive purposes. A comparison of our story with this formula discloses an undoubted relationship between the two. The hero trades his wishing-cloth for two fighting stones, which he later sends back to fetch the cloth. He then acquires two magic canes (but not by trickery this time). Later, when he becomes an object of envy, and an attempt is made by a rich neighbor to steal his wealth (corresponding to the envy of the king), the magic stones and canes kill all his opponents. Compare the Tagalog variant in the notes to the following tale (No. 27).

The extraordinary articles are found as machinery in other Philippine stories, though not in the above sequence: a "table, spread yourself" and a magic cane occur in No. 27; a magic guitar, in No. 28; a magic buyo, cane, purse, and guitar, in No. 35. Compare also the magic articles in the various forms of No. 12. I know of no other occurrence in folk-tales of two fighting stones. This detail sounds very primitive. It might be compared with the magic "healing stones" in No. 12 (b), "Three Brothers of Fortune," though the two objects are wholly dissimilar in power.

As a whole, while our story is reminiscent of at least three different cycles of tales, it nevertheless does not sound like a modern bit of patchwork, but appears to be old; how old, I am unable to say. The most unreasonable part of our narrative is the fact that the hero should find himself so many miles from home when going to buy five cents' worth of rice. It must be supposed that the trip to the snake-cave occupied much more time than it appears in the story to have taken.

TALE 27

THE INDOLENT HUSBAND.

Narrated by Gregorio Frondoso, a Bicol from Tigaon, Camarines, who heard the story when he was a small boy. One of the servants told it to him.

Many hundreds of years ago there lived in the isolated village of Hignaroy a poor couple who had many children to care for. Barbara, the wife, was an industrious but shrewish woman. She worked all day in a factory to support her many children. The husband, Alejo, on the other hand, idled away his time. He either ate, or drank, or slept all the time his wife was away at work. In the course of time Barbara naturally became disgusted with her husband's indolence; and every time she came home, she would rail at him and assail him with hot, insolent words, taxing him with not doing anything, and with caring nothing about what was going on in the house: for, on her return home in the evening, she would always find him asleep; while the floor would always be strewn with chairs, benches, and pictures, which the children had left in a disorderly way after playing.

Alejo seemed to take no heed of what she said; he became more sluggish, and had no mind for anything but sleeping all day. What was worse, was that he would eat such big meals, that he left but little food for his wife and children. Barbara's anger and impatience grew so strong, that she no longer used words as a means to reform her husband. She would kick him as he lay lazily on his bed, and would even whip him like a child. Finally the thought of leaving home came into his head; he determined to travel to some distant land, partly with the purpose of getting away from his wife, who was always interfering with his ease, and partly with the purpose of seeking his fortune.

One day he set out on a long journey, wandering through woods, over hills, and along the banks of rivers, where no human creature could be seen. After roaming about a long time, he became tired, and lay down to rest in the shade of a tree near the bank of a river. While he was listening to the melodious sounds of the birds and the sweet murmur of the water, and was meditating on his wretched condition, an old humpback came upon him, and addressed him in this manner: "What is the matter, my friend? Why do you look so sad?"

"I am in great trouble," said Alejo. "I will tell you all about it. I am married, and have many children to support; but I am poor. I have been idling away my time, and my wife has been kicking and whipping me like a child for not doing anything all day. So I have finally left home to seek my fortune."

"Don't be worried, my son!" said the old man. "Here, take this purse! It has nothing in it; but, if you need money at any time, just say these words,--'Sopot, ua-ua sopot!' [81]--and it will give you money."

Alejo was very glad to have found his fortune so quickly. He took the purse from the old man, and, after thanking him for it, started for his home with lively spirits. Soon he reached the village. Before going home, however, he went to the house of his compadre and comadre, [82] and related to them what he had found. They entertained him well; they drank and sang. While they all were feeling in good spirits, Alejo took out his magic purse to test it before his friends.

"Friends," said Alejo, now somewhat drunk, "watch my purse!" at the same time pronouncing the words "Sopot, ua-ua sopot!" Then showers of silver coins dropped on the floor. When the couple saw this wonder, they thought at once that their friend was a magician. They coveted the purse. So they amused Alejo, gave him glass after glass of wine,--for he was a great drinker,--until finally he was dead-drunk. At last he was overcome by drowsiness, and the couple promptly provided him with a bed. Just as he fell asleep, the wife stealthily untied the purse from Alejo's waist, and put in its place one of their own.

After a good nap of an hour or two, Alejo awoke. He thanked his friends for their kind reception and entertainment, and, after bidding them good-by, went to his own home. There he found his wife busy sewing by the fireside. He surprised her with his affectionate greeting. "My dear, lovely wife, be cheerful! Here I have found something useful,--a magic purse which will furnish us with money."

"O you rogue!" she replied, "don't bother me with your foolishness! How could you ever get anything useful? You are lying to me."

"Believe me, my dear, I am telling the truth."

"All right; prove it to me at once."

"Call all out children, so that they may also see what I have found." When all the children were called together, Alejo asked the purse for money, just as the old man had showed him how to ask; but no shower of coins dropped to the floor, for, as you know, it was not the magic purse. Barbara was so enraged, that she stormed at him with all the bitter words that can be imagined, and drove him from the house. Alejo was a tender-hearted, if lazy, husband, and it never occurred to him to beat his wife in turn. In fact, he loved her and his children very much.

He wandered away again in the direction of the place where he had met the old humpback. Here he found the old man, who said to him, "Where are you going, Alejo?"

"Guiloy, your purse did not prove to be any good."

"Well, take this goat home with you. It will give you money if you ask for it. Whenever you want any money, just say these words: 'Canding, pag coroquinanding!'" [83]

Alejo gladly accepted the goat, and set out for home again. Again he passed by his friends' house. There he stopped, and they entertained him as before: they drank, danced, and sang. Alejo told them about the virtues of his magic goat when he was feeling in a jovial mood; and when he fell asleep, they exchanged his beast for one of their own. After his nap, Alejo started home, his goat flung over his shoulder; but again, when he tried to demonstrate to his wife the magic powers of the goat, the animal did nothing, but stood looking as foolish as before Alejo spoke the words the old man had taught him. Barbara was more angry than ever, and, after railing at her husband, would have nothing more to do with him.

Alejo immediately left home to find the old man again. In a short time he met him. "How now, Alejo? What's the matter?"

"Your magic goat would not obey my command," said Alejo. "Try this table, then," said the old man. "It will provide you with all kinds of delicious food and drink. Just say, 'Tende la mesa!' [84] and all kinds of foods will be served you."

Thanking the old man and bidding him good-by, Alejo shouldered the magic table and left. He was invited into his friends' house as before, and was entertained by the deceitful couple. Alejo imparted to them the secret of his table. "Tende la mesa!" he said, and in the wink of an eye every kind of food you could wish for appeared on the table. They ate, and drank wine. Again Alejo drank so much, that soon he was asleep, and again the false couple played a trick on him: they exchanged his magic table for a common one of their own. When Alejo woke up, he hastened to his own home, carrying the table on his shoulder. He called his wife, and assured her that the table would provide them with every variety of food. Now, this was indeed good news to Barbara, so she called all their children about them. When every one was seated about the table, Alejo exclaimed, "Tende la mesa!"... You cannot imagine what blows, what pinches, what whips, Alejo received from his wife's hands when not even a single grain of rice appeared on the table!

Alejo now felt greatly ashamed before his wife. He wondered why it was that when before his friends' eyes the purse, the goat, and the table displayed their magic properties, they failed to display them before his wife. However, he did not give up hope. He immediately set out to seek the old man again. After a long wandering through the same woods and hills and along river-banks, he came to the place where he usually met him.

"Did the table prove good?" said the old man.

"No, Guiloy; so I have come here again."

"Well, Alejo," said the old man, "I pity you, indeed. Take this cane as my last gift. Be very careful in using it, for I have no other object to give you. The secret of this cane is this: if somebody has done you wrong, say to the cane, 'Baston, pamordon!' [85] and then it will lash that person. There are no princes, kings, or emperors that it will not punish."

Taking the cane and thanking the old man, Alejo hastily returned home. This time, when he reached the village, he did not pass by his friends' house, but went directly home. He told his wife to go call in all their friends, relatives, and neighbors, for they were going to have a sort of banquet. At first Barbara was unwilling to do so, because she remembered how she had been deceived before; but at last Alejo persuaded her to do as he wished.

When all their friends, relatives, and neighbors were gathered in his house, Alejo shut all the doors and even the windows. Then he shouted to his magic cane, "Baston, pamordon!" and it at once began to lash all the people in the house, throwing them into great confusion. At last Alejo's two friends, the deceitful couple, exclaimed almost in one voice, "Compadre, please stop, and we will give you back your magic purse, goat, and table." When Alejo heard them say this, he was filled with joy, and commanded the cane to cease.

That very day the magic purse, goat, and table were returned to him by his compadre and comadre, and now Barbara realized that her husband's wanderings had been profitable. The husband and wife became rich, and they lived many happy years together.

Notes.

A Tagalog story resembling the Bicol tale in some respects is "The Adventures of Juan" (JAFL 20 : 106-107), in which

A magic tree furnishes the lad who spares it a goat that shakes silver money from its whiskers, a net which will catch fish even on dry ground, a magic pot always full of rice, and spoons full of whatever vegetables the owner wishes, and finally a stick that will beat and kill. The first three articles a false friend steals from Juan by making him drunk. With the help of his magic cane, however, he gets them back, and becomes rich and respected. One night a hundred robbers come to break into the house, to take all his goods and kill him; but he says to the stick, "Boombye, boom-ha!" and with the swiftness of lightning the stick flies around, and all those struck fall dead, until there is not one left. Juan is never troubled again by robbers, and in the end marries a princess and lives happily ever after.

The last part of this story I have given in full, because it is almost identical with the episode at the end of the preceding tale (No. 26, q.v.), and consequently connects that story with our present cycle. In a "Carancal" variant (III, e) the hero finds a magic money-producing goat.

The hero of our tale is a lazy, good-natured man, whose industrious wife's reproaches finally drive him from home. Analogous to this beginning, but not furnishing a complete parallel, is Caballero's "Tio Curro el de la porra" (Ingram, 174-180).

Uncle Curro is pleasure-loving and improvident, and soon finds himself and his family in the direst need. Unable finally to bear the reproaches of his wife, he goes out in the field to hang himself, when a little fairy dressed like a friar appears, and blames him for his Judas-like thought. The fairy then gives him an inexhaustible purse, but this is stolen from him by a rascally public-house keeper. Again he goes to hang himself; but the fairy restrains him, and gives him a cloak that will furnish him with all kinds of cooked food. This is likewise stolen. The third time he is given a cudgel. While on his way home, he is met by his wife and children, who begin to insult him. "Cudgel, beat them!" Magistrates and officers are summoned. These are put to rout; and finally Uncle Curro and his stick make such havoc among all sent to restrain him, that the king promises him a large estate in America.

This version differs from the usual form, in that the inn-keeper is not punished, nor are the first two magic objects recovered.

The "Ass-Table-Stick" cycle, of which the "Indolent Husband" is clearly a member, is one of the most widespread Märchen in the world. For a full bibliography of this group, see Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 346-361 (on Grimm, No. 36). The usual formula for this cycle is as follows:--

A young servant (or a poor man) is presented by his master (or by some powerful personage--in some of the versions, God himself) on two different occasions with a magic object, usually a gold-giving animal, and a table or cloth which miraculously supplies food. When in an inn, he is robbed of the magic object and magic animal by the inn-keeper or his wife, and worthless objects resembling those that are stolen are substituted while the hero sleeps (or is drunk). The third magic article, which he gets possession of in the same way as he acquired the other two, is a magic cudgel or cane, through the aid of which he recovers his stolen property.

This is the form of the story as it is found in Basile (1 : i), Gonzenbach (No. 52), Cosquin (Nos. IV and LVI), Schott (No. 20), Schneller (No. 15), Jacobs (English Fairy Tales, "The Ass, the Table, and the Stick"), Dasent (No. XXXIV, "The Lad Who Went to the North Wind" = Asbjörnsen og Moe, 1868, No. 7), Crane (No. XXXII, "The Ass that Lays Money"); and it is this formula that our story follows. Grimm, No. 36, however, differs from these stories in two respects: (1) it has a framework-story of the deceitful goat on whose account the father drives from home his three sons; (2) the story proper concerns three brothers, one of whom acquires the little wishing-table, another the gold-ass, and the third the cudgel. However, as in the other tales, the possessor of the stick compels the thieving inn-keeper to return the property stolen from his brothers.

In their details we notice a large number of variations, even among the European forms. The personage from whom the poor man receives the magic objects is sometimes God, Fortune, a fairy, a statue, a magician, a dwarf, a priest, a lord, a lady, etc. (Cosquin, 1 : 52). The old humpback in our story may be some saint in disguise, though the narrator does not say so. The gold-producing animal is not always an ass, either: it may be a ram (as in the Norse and Czech versions), a sheep (Magyar, Polish, Lithuanian), a horse (Venetian), a mule (Breton), a he-goat (Lithuanian, Norwegian), a she-goat (Austrian), a cock (Oldenburg), or a hen (Tyrolese, Irish). For references see Macculloch, 215.

The Indian members of this cycle are Lal Behari Day, No. 3, "The Indigent Brahman;" Minajev, "Indiislda Skaski y Legendy" (1877), No. 12; Stokes, No. 7, "The Foolish Sakhouni;" Frere, No. 12, "The Jackal, the Barber, and the Brahmin who had Seven Daughters." Of these versions, Day's most closely resembles the European form (Cosquin, 1 : 57).

Numerous as are the Indian and other Oriental variants, it seems to me very likely that out story was not derived directly from them, but from Europe. However, I shall not undertake to name the parent version.

TALE 28

CECILIO, THE SERVANT OF EMILIO.

Narrated by Sancho B. de Leon, a Tagalog from Santa Cruz, Laguna. He heard the story from his grandfather.

Once upon a time there lived a witty orphan whose name was Cecilio. His parents had died when he was six years old. After that time he became a servant of Emilio, a man of wealth living in a very lonely and desolate barrio. The boy was faithful and kind-hearted, but his master was cruel. Cecilio had no wages at all. In short, he served Emilio for four years, and at the end of that time he was given five hundred centavos as a payment for his services. Cecilio thought that he had been given too much: he was so simple-minded, that he did not know he had been cheated by his master, who should have given him ten times five hundred centavos.

Cecilio put his money in a new purse, and rushed out into the main road of the barrio to find his companions and tell them of the reward he had received. He was so very happy, that before he knew it, and without feeling at all tired, he had reached another barrio. Suddenly on his way he met two men with drawn bolos. They stopped him, and said, "Boy, your money, or your life!" Cecilio was much amazed at these words, but was also so frightened that he gave up the money at once. He only said to himself, "Well, since I am not strong enough to defend myself, I either have to surrender my money or die." He sat under a tree lamenting his fortune. But the two robbers were in trouble, because one of them wanted a greater share than the other. The second robber said that their shares should be the same, for they had stolen the money together; but the former answered, "I am in all respects better than you are."--"Oh, no! for we have not yet had a trial," said the second. At this they began to fight; and soon both fell so severely wounded, that they died before Cecilio, who had heard the noise of the struggle, could reach the place where they were disputing.

Now the boy was very happy again, for he had gotten his money back. As he had already travelled very far, he did not know where he was: he was lost. But he proceeded along the road until he met another man, who said roughly to him, "Give me your money, or else you will die!" Cecilio, thinking that he would rather live than try to defend his wealth, which he would lose in any case, gave his purse to the man. Then the boy went away and wept. While he was crying over his bad luck, a very old woman came near him, and said, "Why are you weeping, my boy?"

The boy replied, "I am weeping because somebody took my money."

"Well, why did you give it up?" said the old woman.

"I gave it up because he said that he would kill me if I didn't."

Then the old woman said, "Take this cane with you, and whenever you see him, let it loose and pronounce these words:--

"'Sigue garrote, sigue garrote, [86] Strike that fellow over there!'

"When you want the cane to stop, all you need to say is--

"'Stop, stop, For that is enough!'"

The boy then said, "Is that all?"

"After you have recovered your money," said the old woman, "you must turn back here; but you had better hurry up now."

Cecilio then bade the old woman good-by, and at once ran away to overtake the man who had robbed him. When he saw the man, he said, "Give me back my money, or else you now shall die, and not I!"

The man laughed at him, and said, "Of course I shall not give you back your money."

When he heard these words, the boy said, "Is that so?" and, letting go of his cane, he uttered the formula that the old woman had told him to pronounce. The cane at once began to rain blows on the stranger's head and body. When he could no longer endure the blows, and saw that he could not catch the stick, the man said, "If you will call off your cane, I will return your purse."

"Very well, I will pardon you," said Cecilio; "but if you had treated me as you should have treated me and others, you would not have been harmed." Then he said to the cane,--

"Stop, stop, For that is enough!"

At once the magic stick stopped, and returned to its owner. The money was given back, and the man promised Cecilio that he would not rob any poor boy again.

On his way back toward the old woman, Cecilio met another man who wanted to rob him; but the boy said, "Don't you dare attempt to take my purse, or you will get yourself into trouble!" The man became angry, and rushed at Cecilio to knock him down; but the boy pronounced the words which the old woman had taught him, and let the cane loose. The cane at once began to rain blows on the man's head and body. When he could no longer endure the pain, the man asked Cecilio's pardon. As the youth was kind-hearted, he forgave the man.

When he reached the old woman's house, Cecilio told her that the cane had been very useful to him, for it had saved both his life and his money. Then he returned the stick to the old woman, and thanked her very much. She now offered to sell him a guitar which she had, the price of which was five hundred centavos. Since she had been so good to him, Cecilio at once agreed to the exchange; and after he had once more bade her good-by, he set out for his master's house.

When he came near his old home, Cecilio saw his master Emilio shooting at a very handsome bird on the top of a bamboo-tree. The bird fell down, and the man ran to pick it up. As Emilio was making his way up to the bird through the thorny bamboo undergrowth, Cecilio sat down to wait for him, and, having nothing else to do, began to play his guitar. The master at once began to dance among the bamboo-trees, and he received many wounds because of the sharp spines. Now, in reality, the boy was playing his guitar unintentionally, and did not know of its magic power; but Emilio thought that Cecilio had discovered the deceit that had been practised on him, and was playing for revenge. Now, it happened that Emilio had a purse of money with him to give to the laborers working in his hacienda, so he promised to give all this money to Cecilio if he would only stop playing. The boy, who had by this time learned of the magic power of his guitar, stopped his music and received the money.

The crafty Emilio, however, at once hastened to the town, and asked the magistrate to apprehend Cecilio, a young robber. Cecilio set out for the old woman's house again; but the policemen soon overtook him, arrested him, and took him before the magistrate. There the boy was sentenced to death the next morning. Emilio's money was given back to him. The following day, when he was about to be shot, Cecilio asked permission to play his guitar once more, and he was not refused it. As soon as he began to play, all began to dance, even his master, who was still sore from the previous day's exercise. Finally Emilio could endure no more. He begged Cecilio to stop playing, and promised to give him all his wealth. He then told the soldiers to set the boy free, for it was all his own fault. Cecilio stopped playing, and was liberated by the magistrate. Emilio kept his word, and bestowed on the boy all his wealth. When the old man died, Cecilio was the richest man in the town. He became a capitan, [87] and was greatly honored by the inhabitants of his barrio.

Notes.

A Tagalog variant of this story by the same narrator may be given here in abstract. While this briefer form seems to bear evidence of some contamination with the tale of "Cecilio," each, nevertheless, preserves characteristics lacking in the other; and again, while the two seem to be more or less distinct versions, there can be no doubt that they go back to the same original. The title of the variant is "The Fortunes of Andoy, an Orphan." In abstract it runs thus:--

Once a poor orphan named Andoy, while taking a walk, found a purse. On his way home he met a man who, without a word, took the purse from him. The boy beginning to cry, the man had pity on him, and returned the purse, keeping only a few coins for himself. Andoy next met two hunters, who robbed him; but these men had not gone far when two genuine robbers met them, and a fight ensued in which all four were killed. When Andoy heard the noise of the struggle, he ran to see what was happening. He found hunters and robbers dead; so he recovered his purse and went on. Not long afterward he met a hermit, who sold him a magic cane. The next man he encountered was looking for a purse he had lost in the road, and, when he saw Andoy's, took it without a word; but the money did not really belong to this man. The boy immediately turned his cane loose on his assailant, who, after being badly beaten, confessed that the purse was not his, and promised Andoy half his wealth if he would call off his stick. The rich man kept his word; and when he died, Andoy received his entire fortune.

Another variant, which was collected by Mr. R. L. Rusk of Indiana University, and which I have only in abstract, is called "Peter the Violinist." It runs thus:--

Peter, a lazy ne'er-do-well, ran away from home, leaving his parents to die of grief. For being kind to a sick "old woman" he was given a magic violin. Soon after, he was arrested for climbing into a house at night. When he was about to be hanged for a thief, he was granted a last request. He asked to be allowed to play his favorite piece on his violin. As soon as he began, every one commenced to dance. He continued, and all cried out for him to stop; but he would not cease until they pardoned him and promised to make him king besides.

The history of the cycle of tales to which our story and the two variants belong has been traced briefly in Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 491-503. The earliest forms of the Märchen are the Middle-English poems of the fifteenth century entitled "Jack and his Step-Dame" and "The Frere and the Boye."

Here the hero is Jack, who is hated by his step-mother. Since his father is not willing to turn him out of the house altogether, the step-mother manages to bring it about that Jack is set to watch the cattle, and she allows him only rotten food. An old man with whom he shares his victuals grants him three wishes in return for his kindness. He asks for a bow and a fife; and the old man gives him a bow that never misses its aim, and a fife that compels every one to dance. He also grants Jack's third wish, that every time his step-mother hurls a bad word at him or about him, she shall give forth another noise not permitted in polite society. When this happens that evening at home to the amusement of all, the step-mother plans to send the monk Tobias into the field the next day to punish Jack. However, Jack asks the monk to fetch from the brambles a bird which he has shot, and then he begins to play dance-music for the monk. All scratched and bloody, Tobias returns home. That night the father calls his son to account; but he is so pleased at the effects of the magic fife, that he decides not to punish the boy. The official, too, the bishop's agent, at whose court the next Friday step-mother and monk bring charges of witchcraft against Jack, has to hear the fife, and is obliged to dance until he promises to let Jack go unpunished.

The English story seems to have passed over into Holland, where in 1528 a Dutch form appeared, with some additions. A most significant modification appears in a German handling of the Dutch form, by Dieterich Albrecht in 1599:--

Here the hero is not a cowherd plagued by his malicious step-mother, but a simple-minded servant who serves an avaricious master for three years and receives as pay three pfennigs for the whole time. Pleased with his earnings, however, he goes away singing. When he meets two beggars who ask him for alms, he gives them his three coins. They grant him three wishes in return for his goodness; and he gets a "never-miss" crossbow, a magic fiddle that makes all dance, and the promise that no one shall ever be able to deny him a request. By a lake he meets a monk, who jeers at his shooting-ability, and undertakes, if the youth can bring down a raven there on the island, to swim over naked and fetch the bird. Soon, however, the monk regrets his bargain, for the crossbow does not miss. While the monk stands naked in the bushes on the island, the boy begins to fiddle. Wailing and moaning, the ecclesiastic promises the youth the hundred ducats that he has stolen from the monastery, and he is now permitted to return and get his clothes. But he treacherously follows the youth, lodges a complaint against him with the council of the nearest city, and succeeds in getting him condemned. When the youth is already on the gallows ladder, he requests the judge to allow him to play just one more song; and he makes all those present dance so violently, that the judge agrees to pardon him if he will only cease playing. Then the monk confesses his own theft and deceit, and receives his deserved punishment.

In this version, as Bolte and Polívka note (2 : 493), the chief deviations from the English-Dutch form of the story are the omission of the step-mother rôle, the nature of the third wish, and the modification of the character of the monk, who, from a mere tool of the step-mother, has here developed into a thieving rascal. A Czech redaction (1604) of the German poem substitutes for the runaway monk a Jew. This substitution is also found in the German prose tale "Von Knecht Treurecht" (about 1690).

Of the modern oral folk-versions of the story, some are based on the Middle-English droll; but by far the larger number omit the hostile step-mother, and retain only the dance of the monk or the Jew and the scene at the gallows. For a complete list of stories of this second type, see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 495-501. All the variants, both literary and popular, cited in this bibliography, are Occidental; and we must inevitably conclude that the story was imported into the Philippines some time during the Spanish occupation of the Islands. Some rather important differences are presented by our versions, however; and these we shall call attention to briefly, first mentioning the details that definitely connect our forms with the European.

The opening of the story of "Cecilio" is like that of Albrecht's, given above. Our hero works four years for a cruel master, and receives five hundred centavos as pay,--a sum with which he is more than satisfied. At this point our story digresses. After two adventures with robbers, in the first of which he recovers his money by a lucky accident (this incident is considerably elaborated in the variant), he meets an old woman who lends him a magic cane, and with its help he is able to regain his money from a second robber. This feature of the magic beating-stick seems to be borrowed from the preceding story. He now returns the cane to the old woman, and she sells him a magic guitar. The next adventure--with his former master, who is substituted for the knavish monk--contains a distorted reminiscence of the shooting of the bird, and ends with the dance among the thorns (here bamboo-spines). The hero is bought off by his master, who immediately rushes to town and accuses him of theft. The rest is practically as in Albrecht.

While our version introduces two magic articles, it can be seen that the first does not properly belong to the story. The "three-wishes" incident, and accordingly the third wish itself, is lacking altogether. A rather artistic attempt to unify the story as a whole is the substitution of the rascally master introduced in the beginning of the story, for the knavish monk or Jew later on; though it is to be noticed that the narrator falls to motivate the hero's return to the house that he had apparently left for good when he was paid off. The episode of the shooting is obscure, and appears to be only a vague echo of the detail definitely connected with one of the three gifts in some of the European literary forms. Again, in "Cecilio" the musical instrument is a guitar instead of the usual violin or fife; while in the variant "Andoy" the magic cane is the only enchanted object, no musical instrument appearing at all. The episode of the two robbers killing each other over the treasure (paralleled in "Andoy," where two robbers fight with two hunters, and all four are killed) is an interesting addition, the source of which I am unable to point out. It may be derived from some moral tale related in kind to the "Vedabbha-jataka," No. 48; "Cento Novelle Antiche," No. 82; Morlini, No. 42; Chaucer's "Pardoner's Tale," etc.; although the characteristic treachery emphasized in those stories is lacking here. The incident is not found in other versions of our tale that I know of.

I am unable to name the immediate source of our story of "Cecilio" and of the two variants; though, as has been remarked above, it was pretty certainly European. None of the three seems to owe anything in

## particular to the Spanish ballad printed in the "Romancero General,"

No. 1265, which Bolte and Polívka think is based directly on Grimm, No. 110. The local modifications in our story, and the definite native atmosphere maintained throughout, suggest that it is not a recent importation.

An interesting animal version from South Africa, containing the magic bow and magic fiddle, is given by Honeÿ (p. 14), "The Monkey's Fiddle." This story was doubtless taken over by the natives from the Dutch.

TALE 29

CHONGUITA.

Narrated by Pilar Ejercito, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, Laguna. She heard the story from her aunt, who had heard it when she was still a little girl.

There was a king who had three sons, named Pedro, Diego, and Juan. One day the king ordered these three gentlemen to set out from the kingdom and seek their fortunes. The three brothers took different directions, but before they separated they agreed to meet in a certain place in the forest.

After walking for many days, Don Juan met an old man on the road. This old man gave Don Juan bread, and told him to go to a palace which was a mile away. "But as you enter the gate," said the old man, "you must divide the bread which I have given you among the monkeys which are guarding the gate to the palace; otherwise you will not be able to enter."

Don Juan took the bread; and when he reached the palace, he did as the old man had advised him. After entering the gate, he saw a big monkey. Frightened at the sight of the animal, Don Juan was about to tun away, when the animal called to him, and said, "Don Juan, I know that your purpose in coming here was to find your fortune; and at this very moment my daughter Chonguita will marry you." The archbishop of the monkeys was called, and Don Juan and Chonguita were married without delay.

A few days afterwards Don Juan asked permission from his wife to go to the place where he and his brothers had agreed to meet. When Chonguita's mother heard that Don Juan was going away, she said to him, "If you are going away, take Chonguita with you." Although Don Juan was ashamed to go with Chonguita because she was a monkey, he was forced to take her, and they set out together. When Don Juan met his two brothers and their beautiful wives at the appointed place, he could not say a word. Don Diego, noticing the gloomy appearance of his brother, said, "What is the matter with you? Where is your wife, Don Juan?"

Don Juan sadly replied, "Here she is."

"Where?" asked Don Pedro.

"Behind me," replied Don Juan.

When Don Pedro and Don Diego saw the monkey, they were very much surprised. "Oh!" exclaimed Don Pedro, "what happened to you? Did you lose your head?"

Don Juan could say nothing to this question. At last, however, he broke out, "Let us go home! Our father must be waiting for us." So saying, Don Juan turned around and began the journey. Don Pedro and Don Diego, together with their wives, followed Don Juan. Chonguita walked by her husband's side.

When the return of the three brothers was announced to the king, the monarch hastened to meet them on the stairs. Upon learning that one of his sons had married a monkey, the king fainted; but after he had recovered his senses, he said to himself, "This misfortune is God's will. I must therefore bear it with patience." The king then assigned a house to each couple to live in.

But the more the king thought of it, the greater appeared to be the disgrace that his youngest son had brought on the family. So one day he called his three sons together, and said to them, "Tell your wives that I want each one of them to make me an embroidered coat. The one who falls to do this within three days will be put to death." Now, the king issued this order in the hope that Chonguita would be put to death, because he thought that she would not be able to make the coat; but his hope was disappointed. On the third day his daughters-in-law presented to him the coats that they had made, and the one embroidered by Chonguita was the prettiest of all.

Still anxious to get rid of the monkey-wife, the king next ordered his daughters-in-law to embroider a cap for him in two days, under penalty of death in case of failure. The caps were all done on time.

At last, thinking of no other way by which he could accomplish his end, the king summoned his three daughters-in-law, and said, "The husband of the one who shall be able to draw the prettiest picture on the walls of my chamber within three days shall succeed me on the throne." At the end of the three days the pictures were finished. When the king went to inspect them, he found that Chonguita's was by far the prettiest, and so Don Juan was crowned king.

A great feast was held in the palace in honor of the new king. In the midst of the festivities Don Juan became very angry with his wife for insisting that he dance with her, and he hurled her against the wall. At this brutal action the hall suddenly became dark; but after a while it became bright again, and Chonguita had been transformed into a beautiful woman.

Notes.

A Visayan variant of this story, though differing from it in many details, is the story of the "Three Brothers," printed in JAFL 20 : 91-93.

A number of Indian Märchen seem to be related more or less closely to our story. Benfey cites one (1 : 261) which appears in the "Asiatic Journal" for 1833.

Some princes are to obtain their wives by this device: each is to shoot an arrow; and where the arrow strikes, there will each find his bride. The arrow of the youngest hits a tamarind-tree; he is married to it, but his bride turns out to be a female monkey. However, he lives happily with her, but she never appears at his father's court. The sisters-in-law are curious to know what kind of wife he has. They persuade the father-in-law to give a least for all his sons' wives. The prince is grieved over the fact that the secret will come out. Then his wife comforts him; she lays off her monkey covering, and appears as a marvellously beautiful maiden. She enjoins him to preserve the monkey-skin carefully, since otherwise great danger threatens her; but he, in order to keep her in her present beautiful human form, burns the hide while she is at the feast. She disappears instantly. The prince seeks her again, and at last discovers her in heaven as the queen of the monkeys. There he remains with her.

In a Simla tale, "The Story of Ghose" (Dracott, 40 f.), the animal is a squirrel, which is finally changed by the god Mahadeo into a human being, after the little creature has performed many services for her husband. Somewhat analogous, also, is Maive Stokes, "The Monkey Prince" (No. x, p. 41 ff.). Compare also the notes to our No. 19 and Benfey's entire discussion of "The Enchanted Son of the Brahman" (1 : 254-269).

These forms are not close enough to our version, however, to justify our tracing it directly to any one of them. Both it and the Visayan variant are members of the European cycle of tales represented by Grimm's "Three Feathers" (No. 63). The skeleton outline of this family group Bolte and Polívka construct as follows (2 : 37):--

A father wishes to test the skill of his three sons (or their wives), and requests that they produce extraordinary or costly articles. The despised youngest son wins the reward with the help of an enchanted princess in the form of a cat, rat, frog, lizard, monkey, or as a doll, or night-cap, or stocking. At last she regains her human form. The disenchantment is sometimes accomplished by a kiss, or by beheading, or by the hero's enduring for three nights in silence the blows of spirits.

In only two of the variants cited by Bolte-Polívka (to Grimm, No. 63) is the animal wife a monkey,--Comparetti, No. 58, "Le Scimmie;" and Von Hahn, No. 67, "Die Aeffin." Of these, only the Greek story resembles our tale; but here the similarities are so many, that I will summarize briefly the main points of Von Hahn's version:--

An old king once called his three sons to him, and said, "My sons, I am old; I should like to have you married, so that I may celebrate your wedding with you before I die. Therefore each of you are to shoot an arrow into the air, and to follow its course, for there each will find what is appointed for him." The eldest shot first: his arrow carried him to a king's daughter, whom he married. The second obtained a prince's daughter. But the arrow of the third stuck in a dung-hill. He dug a hole in it, and came to a marble slab, which, when raised, disclosed a flight of stairs leading down. Courageously he descended, and came to a cellar in which a lot of monkeys were sitting in a circle. The mother of the monkeys approached him, and asked him what he wanted. He answered, that, according to the flight of his arrow, he was destined to have a monkey-wife. "Choose one for yourself," she said. "Here sit my maids; there, my daughters." He selected one, and took her back to his father. His brothers, however, ridiculed him.

After a time the eldest son asked the king to divide up his kingdom, as he was already old and was likely to die. "I'll give you three tasks," said the king to his sons. "The one who performs them best shall be king." The first count was to be won by the son whose house forty days thence was cleanest and most beautifully adorned. The youngest son was very sad when inspection-time approached. "Why so sad?" said his wife. He told her; and she said to him on the morning of the last day, "Go to my mother, and ask her for a hazel-nut and an almond." He did so. When the time for inspection arrived, the monkey-wife cracked the hazel-nut and drew from it a diamond covering for the whole house. From the almond she drew a very beautiful carpet for the king to walk on. Youngest son won the first count, naturally. The second task was to furnish the king with fresh fruits in the winter-time. The two oldest sons were unable to get any, but the youngest son got a fine supply from the monkeys' garden under the dunghill. The third count was to be won by the son whose wife should be declared the most beautiful at a feast to be given ten days thence. The monkey-wife sent her husband again for an almond, a hazel-nut, two stallions, and five servants. When he returned with them, she cracked the almond and drew from it a magnificent dress for herself. From the hazelnut she drew her own beauty, and handsome equipment for her husband. When she was arrayed, she rode into the courtyard of the king, and tried to escape without being recognized; but the king was too quick for her: she was caught, and her husband was declared the final winner. He became king when his father died.

This Greek story can hardly have any immediate relationship with "Chonguita," though it does appear in its first half to be connected with the 1833 Indian Märchen given above. Our story, it will be noticed, lacks the shooting of arrows, so characteristic of the European forms; it mentions the monkey-kingdom to which the youngest prince was directed by an old man, and where Chonguita is forced on him; it represents the king as requiring his daughters-in-law to perform difficult tasks because he wishes to find an excuse for putting to death the animal-wife. Moreover, the three tasks themselves are different, although the first two are reminiscent of some found in the Occidental versions. For the third I know of no folk-tale parallel. On the whole, I am prone to believe that our story was not imported from Europe, but that it belongs to an Oriental branch of the family.

The disenchantment of the monkey-wife by hurling her in anger against the wall is exactly like the disenchantment of the frog-prince in Grimm, No. 1. This conceit is most unusual, and, it might be added, unreasonable. Hence this identity of detail in two stories so far removed in every other way is particularly striking. I know of no further occurrences of the incident.

TALE 30

THE GOLDEN LOCK.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario of Batangas, Batangas, who heard the story from an old man (now deceased) from the barrio of Balayan.

Long ago there lived in a distant kingdom an influential noble named Ludovico, who vastly increased his wealth by his marriage to a rich heiress called Clotilde. During the first ten years of their union she had never peeped out of her window or stirred out of her room: she only walked to the door of her chamber to bid farewell to her husband or to receive his parting kiss when he was off to attend to his official business, and to meet him with a tender embrace when he returned. Nobody else but Ludovico and her chaperon could see or talk with her: to these two persons only did Clotilde reveal her secrets and convey the thoughts of her spotless soul. She spent her time in voluntary seclusion, not in the luxuries of the court or the gaieties of society, but in embroidery, knitting, and in the unnecessary embellishment of her extremely lovely person.

But an incident now happened that seriously threatened to destroy the foundations of their blissful union, for there may be eddies and counter-currents in the steady and swift flow of a stream. The king invited all the nobles in the land to a sumptuous banquet to be given in one of the principal frontier cities. Ludovico was among the first persons to accept the king's invitation. When the luxurious repast was over, the guests gathered in groups around small tables in the adjoining grounds to while away the sultry hours and to discuss the questions of the day. One of these groups was composed of Ludovico and six other nobles, among whom was a bold, sharp-tongued rich youth named Pio. The conversation touched on topics concerning the fair sex, especially of women historically famous for their personal charms, virtues, and vices. The garrulous Pio ridiculed the noble constancy and other excellent traits of the fair Clotilde.

"I will bet you anything you want to bet, that you cannot learn the secrets of my wife in fifteen days," said Ludovico, his face flushed with wrath.

"All right," said Pio, exasperated by Ludovico's boast. "The loser shall be hanged. I will bet my life that I'll know the secrets of your wife within fifteen days."

The terms of the contract were carefully written down, solemnly ratified by the king, and signed by the two contestants and by the other high-born gentlemen.

Pio set out the next day for Ludovico's home town. The inexperienced youth looked in vain for Ludovico's residence. Finally he asked a jolly fellow, who showed him the house after a long roundabout conversation. Pio went upstairs, where he saw the gray-haired chaperon sitting alone in the spacious hall, which was decorated to vie in magnificence with the most gorgeously furnished apartment of the king. The accomplished Pio doffed his bonnet to the old woman, and politely asked for her mistress.

"Nobody but her husband and me is allowed to see her," said the ugly old hag.

Pio then sat down and began to talk to her. By his persuasive language and the magnetic touch of his hands he easily insinuated himself into her confidence. Then, dropping a piece of gold on her palm, he said, "Will you tell me the secrets of your mistress?"

The old woman looked at him suspiciously, but the brilliant coin proved too great a temptation for her. "Clotilde," she said, "has three golden [88] locks of hair under her left armpit. I know this fact, because I bathe her every day."

Pio heaved a deep groan and turned his face aside. After recovering himself, he dropped another gold-piece into the hand of the chaperon, and said, "Will you get one of those locks for me?"

She hesitated, but his eloquence was irresistible. "I'll give you the lock to-morrow," she said. Pio then departed, and she returned to her mistress.

Early the next morning, while the old woman was bathing Clotilde as usual, she pulled out one of Clotilde's golden locks. "Aray!" exclaimed Clotilde, "what's the matter with you?"

"Never mind, never mind!" said the old woman with many caresses. "This is the only reward I want for my many faithful services to you."

Ignorant of the treasonable intrigues of her chaperon, Clotilde said nothing more. Before noon Pio arrived. With trembling hands and pale cheeks, the old woman gave him the golden lock. She was amply rewarded with a purse of gold. Ignorant of the fatal consequences of her treacherous act, she gayly went back to Clotilde's private chamber.

Pio left the town late in the afternoon, and soon arrived at the capital. Ludovico was struck aghast at the sight of the golden lock. He at once wrote a letter to his wife which ran in part as follows:--

"I have spent ten years of my life in perfect happiness with you. I expected to enjoy such blissful days for a much longer period. But now everything is hopeless. My life shall be ended by violence, because of your faithlessness. We shall see each other no more. Receive the sad farewell of your Ludovico."

When Clotilde read this letter, she swooned. When she came to her senses, she awoke as from a trance. But when she beheld the letter again, she read again the opprobrious word "faithlessness" in her husband's handwriting. She did not know what act of disloyalty she had committed. She moved about in her room by fits and starts. At last a thought came to her mind: she sent for the best goldsmith in town, and told him to make her a gold slipper adorned with precious stones. Under her strict supervision the work was completed in a marvellously short time. Then she put on her best clothes and the precious slipper, and with all possible expedition set out for Ludovico.

Clotilde arrived in the city just a few minutes before the execution. She drove directly to the king's pavilion. Her only companion was the same old woman who had caused all this trouble. The turbulent persons who had gathered in the public square to witness the horrible spectacle were awed by the loveliness and magnificent attire of Clotilde. When she reached the king, and asked him for all the details concerning Ludovico's case, and when the king had given her all the information he could, she turned and pointed toward Pio, and said, "That man has stolen my other slipper which looks like this one I am wearing."

The king called Pio from the place where he was standing, and told him all about the fair lady's accusation. "I have not committed any crime against her," said Pio angrily. "I don't even know her. This is the first time I have ever seen her."

"Sir," said Clotilde sneeringly, "why, then, did you tell his Majesty and other persons that you have discovered my secrets? I am the wife of Ludovico, whose life you have threatened to end by your deceit. I know now by what means you got possession of my golden lock."

Clotilde's statement sealed Pio's fate. He was hanged in place of Ludovico, who deeply regretted having doubted his faithful wife. And what happened to the old woman, who preferred the gold of an impostor to the kindness of a virtuous woman? The hag was sentenced to spend the remainder of her life in a damp, dreary dungeon.

Notes.

A close Tagalog parallel is to be found in the last part of the metrical romance entitled (in English translation) "The Life of Duke Almanzor and the Kind and Clever Maria, in the Kingdom of Toledo when it was under the Moors." My copy bears no date, but Retana mentions an edition before 1898 (No. 4159). The poem is in 402 quatrains of 12-syllable lines. The section which resembles our story begins at line 1260, and may be paraphrased in prose as follows:--

Soon after this, Almanzor was baptized (he had been a Moor), and was married to Maria. After a few months of happy life, the duke was called away to Cordova on important business. When Duke Almanzor arrived at the court of the Governor of Cordova, he found that all the noblemen were present. As he arrived somewhat late, he excused himself by saying that he was newly married, and that he could not leave his wife any sooner. Among the nobles was a proud, self-confident man named Abdala, who, when Almanzor had finished speaking, remarked that he (Abdala) did not mean to marry, as he could very easily seduce any woman, be she unmarried or a wife. Almanzor was angered by this remark. He said to Abdala, "I have my wife in Toledo: go and see if you can seduce her." Abdala said that there was no doubt of his being able to do so. A wager of death for the loser was agreed upon.

Abdala immediately set out for Toledo. He tried to gain access to the duke's palace; but ever since her husband's departure, Maria had ordered the servants to keep all the windows and doors closed. Moreover, nobody but women were allowed to enter the palace. Abdala was about to give up in despair, when he met a sorceress, who offered to help him. This witch gained admittance into the palace, and was allowed to pass the night there. At midnight the hag secretly went to Maria's bedroom and jotted down a brief description of it. Then she cut off a lock of Maria's hair. The next morning the witch left the palace. She went to Abdala, and gave him the lock of hair, together with the description of the bedroom.

Abdala hurriedly returned to Cordova. When he reached the palace, the governor at once assembled the nobles. Abdala then showed the lock of hair, and described minutely Maria's bedroom. Almanzor was asked what he had to say. The noble duke said that he acknowledged to be true everything that Abdala had said. Then the governor ordered his guards to take the duke to prison. The duke was to be beheaded on the third day. While in prison, Duke Almanzor wrote to his wife, telling her of his coming death. Maria resolved at once to save her husband. She went to Cordova, carrying with her all her wealth. She had a famous jeweller make for her a large, beautiful ear-ring.

The third day came, and the soldiers took Duke Almanzor out of prison. The governor and all the nobles accompanied the duke to the plaza where he was to be executed. Maria stopped the procession, and addressed the governor thus: "My lord, do you see this ear-ring?" The governor nodded. "Then I ask you to give me justice. My other ear-ring was stolen by that gentleman who is standing near you," and she pointed at Abdala as she made the accusation. Abdala became very angry. He said, "I don't know you; I have never seen you before. How could I steal your ear-ring?"--"Do you say that you have never seen me before?" Maria asked. "I do say so," said Abdala emphatically. "Why, then, do you claim that you have been in my room, and that I gave you a lock of my hair?" Maria demanded. Abdala could not answer. "Answer, Abdala," the governor said, But Abdala could not utter a single word. At last he confessed that he had never seen Maria, and that the description of the room and the lock of hair had been furnished him by a sorceress. The governor then ordered him to be seized. Duke Almanzor was set free. His wife gently reprimanded him for risking his life so foolishly. As for Abdala, he was beheaded, and the sorceress who helped him was burned at the stake.

In our notes to No. 7 we have already summarized the first part of the "Story of Rodolfo." The last episode of this romance is an analogue of our present story, and runs briefly thus:--

After his marriage, Rodolfo went back to Valencia, and informed the king that he had found a virtuous woman and had married her. She was then in Babilonia. The king detained him for a few days in the palace. At the same time he sent Fortunato, a gallant, to court Rodolfo's wife, to test whether or not she was true to her husband. Fortunato went to Babilonia and declared his love to Estela; but she would have nothing to do with him. Ashamed to return to the palace without having won her affection, Fortunato stole her underskirt and took it to the king, stating that Estela had given it to him as a remembrance. Rodolfo was summoned: and when he saw the skirt with Adela's name on it, he was thunderstruck. The king then said, "You see, your wife is no more virtuous than my daughter Leocadia. Remember your boast; your life is forfeit." Rodolfo, however, asked for a complete investigation of his wife's alleged treachery. Estela was accordingly summoned to Valencia; and when asked how her underskirt happened to be there in the palace, she asked in turn who had brought it. "Fortunato," she was told. Then she said, "The underskirt is mine. The knight Fortunato declared his love to me, but I rejected it because I am married. He stole the underskirt while I was taking a bath, and ought to be punished." When confronted with the charge, Fortunato denied the theft, and maintained that he had been given the garment by Estela as a token of her love for him. When Rodolfo heard this denial, he begged the king to assemble all the dignitaries and judges in the kingdom. Before the court Rodolfo asked Fortunato for definite proof to back up his assertions. He was unable to give any, and was consequently sentenced to be deported for ten years to a lonely island. Rodolfo and his wife were now honored by the king, and Rodolfo was finally made a knight.

Although this portion of the romance is only a distant analogue of out story, inasmuch as it lacks both the wager and the clever trick of the wife to get her maligner to convict himself, I give it, because this same combination of the "chastity-wager" motive with the "hen-divided" motive (see first part of "Rodolfo," notes to No. 7) occurs in a Mentonese story, "La Femme Avisée" (Romania, II : 415-416). The tale may be briefly summarized:--

A prince benighted in a forest is entertained for the night at a countryman's house. At dinner the prince carves the fowl, and gives the head to the father, the stomach to the mother, and the heart to the daughter. On the old man's complaining later of his guest's strange division of the bird, the girl explains to her father just why the prince acted as he did. The prince overhears her, admires her wit, falls in love with her, and marries her. Some time afterward the prince is called to Egypt on business. He leaves his wife behind at home, and she promises to be very discreet. The prince communicates her promise to a friend, who wagers that he will be able to tell the prince of any defects on her body. The friend goes to the home of the prince and bribes the lady-in-waiting. She informs him, that, beautiful as the young wife is, she has a strawberry-mark on her shoulder. When the prince, on his return, is told this intimate detail by his friend, he is very angry, and, going home, accuses his wife of faithlessness. She proves her innocence by going before the king and swearing that her maligner has stolen one of her golden slippers. He denies the charge, and swears that he has never seen his accuser before. Thus self-convicted, he is imprisoned for many years.

The Mentonese folk-tale and "Rodolfo" emphasize not only the virtue of the wife, but her cleverness as well, and definitely connect the "Chastity Wager" cycle with our No. 7. While it would be difficult to maintain successfully that the "Chastity Wager" cycle and the "Clever Lass" group are descended from the same parent,--I really believe the latter to be much the older,--it seems that we have a sort of combination of the two as early as the time of the "Tuti-nameh" collection. In the following story taken from that compilation, traces of both cycles may be discerned, though clearly the tale is more nearly related as a whole to the "Chastity Wager" group. This Persian story is entitled "The Nobleman and the Soldier's Wife, whose Virtue he put to the Proof" (No. 4, pp. 42 ff., of "The Tootinameh; or, Tales of a Parrot" in the Persian Language, with an English Translation; Calcutta, 1792). An abridged version of it follows:--

In a certain city dwelt a military man who had a very beautiful wife. He was always under apprehension on her account; and one day, after he had been idle a long time, she asked him why he had quitted his profession. He answered, "I have no confidence in you, and therefore I do not go anywhere in quest of employment." The wife told him that he was perverse; for no one could seduce a virtuous woman, and a vicious woman no husband could guard successfully. Then she told him a story to illustrate the second type of wife. When he asked if she had anything more to say to him, she replied, "It is right for you to travel and seek service. I will give you a fresh nosegay: as long as the nosegay continues in this stare, you may be assured that I have not committed any bad action; if the nosegay should wither, you will then know that I have been guilty of some fault." The soldier heeded her words, and set out on a journey, taking the nosegay with him. When he arrived at a certain city, he entered the service of a nobleman of that place. Winter came on, and the nobleman was astonished to see the soldier wearing a fresh nosegay every day, though flowers were practically unattainable, and he asked him about it. The soldier told him that his wife had given the nosegay to him as an emblem of her chastity; that as long as it continued fresh, he was sure that her honor was unspotted.

Now, the nobleman had two cooks remarkable for their cunning and adroitness. To one of these he said, "Repair to the soldier's country, where, through artifice and deceit, contrive to form an intimacy with his wife, and return quickly with a particular account of her. Then we shall see whether this nosegay continues fresh or not." The cook, in accordance with his master's command, went to the soldier's city, and sent a procuress to the wife with his message. The wife did not assent directly, but told the procuress to send the man to her, so that she might see whether he was agreeable or not. The wife made a secret assignation with the cook, but trapped him in a dry well; and when he found that he could not get out, he confessed the nobleman's plot. When the cook did not return, the nobleman sent the second cook; but he fared no better: he too was captured in the same way by the clever wife. Now the nobleman resolved to go himself. He set out under the pretext of hunting, accompanied by the soldier. When they arrived at the soldier's city, the soldier went to his own home and presented the fresh nosegay to his wife, who told him all that had happened. So the next day the soldier conducted the nobleman to his home, where a hospitable entertainment was given him. The two cooks, under promise of subsequent liberty, consented to dress as women and wait on the guests. When the nobleman saw them, he failed to recognize them, for their long confinement and bad air had made them thin and pale. He asked the soldier about the "girls," but the soldier told the cooks to tell their own story. Then the nobleman recognized them; and when they testified to the woman's chastity, he was abashed, and asked forgiveness for his offences.

Another Oriental form of this story is given by Somadeva,