chapter XIII

(Tawney, 1 : 85 f.), "The Story of Devasmita." It runs in part as follows:--

Here, on the departure of the husband, the divinity Siva says to the couple, "Take each of you one of these red lotuses; and, if either of you shall be unfaithful during your separation, the lotus in the hand of the other shall fade, but not otherwise." Then the husband set out for another city, where he began to buy and sell jewels. Four merchants of that country, astonished at the never-fading lotus in his hand, wormed the secret out of the husband by making him drunk, and then planned the seduction of the wife out of mere curiosity. To aid them in their plan, they had recourse to a female ascetic. She went to the wife, and attempted to move her to pity by showing her a weeping bitch, which she said was once a woman, but was transformed into a dog because of her hard-heartedness [for this device worked with better success; see Gesta Romanorum, chap. XXVIII]. The wife divined the plot and the motive of the young merchants, and appeared to be glad to receive them; but when they came at appointed times, she drugged them, and branded them on the forehead with an iron dog's foot. Then she cast them out naked in a dung-heap. The procuress was later served even worse: her hose and ears were cut off. The young wife, fearing that for revenge the four merchants might go slay her husband, told her whole story to her mother-in-law. The mother-in-law praised her for her conduct, and devised a plan to save her son. The wise wife disguised herself as a merchant, and embarked in a ship to the country where her husband was. When she arrived there, she saw him in the midst of a circle of merchants. He, seeing her afar off in the dress of a man, thought to himself, "Who may this merchant be that looks so like my beloved wife?" But she went to the king, said that she had a petition to present, and asked him to assemble all his subjects. He did so, and asked her what her petition was. She replied, "There are residing here four escaped slaves of mine; let the king give them back to me." She was told to pick out her slaves, which she did, choosing the four merchants who had their heads tied up. When asked how these distinguished merchants' sons could be her slaves, she said, "Examine their foreheads, which I marked with a dog's foot." So done. The truth came out; the other merchants paid the wife a large sum of money to ransom the four, and also a fine to the king's treasury.

There can be no doubt of a rather close relationship between the Persian and the Indian stories; nor can there be any doubt, it seems to me, of the relationship of these two with the "Chastity Wager" cycle. The additional details in Somadeva's narrative connect it with European Märchen; e.g., J. F. Campbell, No. 18, and Groome, No. 33.

Our story of the "Golden Lock," as well as the variants, is unquestionably an importation from Europe; but what the immediate source of the tale is, I am unable to say. For the convenience of any, however, who are interested in this group of stories, and care to make a further study of it, I give here a list of the occurrences of the tale in literature and in popular form. In literature, this story in Europe dates from the end of the twelfth century.

Roman de Guillaume de Dole (c. 1200). Ed. by G. Servois for the Soc. des Anc. Textes français. Paris, 1893. Roman de la Violette (13th century). Ed. by Michel. 1834. Roman du Comte de Poitiers (13th century). Ed. by Michel. 1831. Le roi Flore et la belle Jehanne (a 13th century prose story). Published by L. Moland et C. d'Hericault in Nouvelles françaises en prose du xiiie siècle, 1856 : 87-157; also in Monmerqué et Michel, Théâtre français au Moyen Age, 1842 : 417. Miracle de Othon, roy d'Espaigne (a 14th century miracle), in the Miracles de Nostre Dame. Published by G. Paris and U. Robert for the Soc. des Anc. Textes français, 4 : 315-388; and in Monmerqué et Michel, op. cit., p. 431 f. Perceforest, bk. iv, ch. 16, 17 (an episode, where the chastity token is a rose), retold by Bandello, part I, nov. 21 (cf. R. Köhler, in Jahrb. für rom. u. eng. lit., 8 : 51 f.). Boccaccio's Decameron, 2 : 9 (cf. Landau, Die Quellen des Dekameron, 1884 : 135 ff.).

Two important treatments of the story in dramatic form are sixteenth-century Spanish, Lope de Rueda's "Eufemia," where the heroine tricks her maligner by accusing him of having spent many nights with her and of finally having stolen a jewel from under her bed; he denies all knowledge of her (cf. J. L. Klein, Geschichte des Dramas, 9 [1872] : 144-156); and English, Shakespeare's "Cymbeline." For modern dramas and operas dealing with this theme, see G. Servois, op. cit., p. xvi, note 5. In ballad form the story occurs in "The Twa Knights" (Child, 5 : 21 ff., No. 268).

Popular stories belonging to this cycle and containing the wager are the following:--

J. F. Campbell, No. 18. J. W. Wolf, p. 355. Simrock, Deutsche Märchen, No. 51 (1864 ed., p. 235). H. Pröhle, No. 61, p. 179 (cf. also p. xlii). Ausland, 1856 : 1053, for a Roumanian story. F. Miklosisch, Märchen und Lieder der Zigeuner der Bukowina, No. 14. D. G. Bernoni, Fiabe popolari veneziane, No. I. Gonzenbach, No. 7. G. Pitrè, Nos. 73, 75. V. Imbriani, La Novellaja Fiorentina, p. 483.

Other folk-tales somewhat more distantly related are,--

Comparetti, Nos. 36 and 60. Webster, Basque Legends, p. 132. F. Kreutzwald, Estnische Märchen (übersetzt von F. Löwe), 2d Hälfte, No. 6. H. Bergh, Sogur m. m. fraa Valdris og Hallingdal, p. 16.

For the story in general, see the following:--

Landau on the Dekameron, op. cit. A. Rochs, Ueber den Veilchen Roman und die Wanderung der Euriant saga. Halle, 1882. (Reviewed as a worthless piece of work by R. Köhler in Literaturblatt für germ. und rom. Philologie, 1883 : No. 7.) R. Ohle, Shakespeares Cymbeline und seine Romanischen Vorläufer. Berlin, 1890. (This does not discuss the popular versions at all.) H. A. Todd, Guillaume de Dole, in Transactions and Proceedings of the Modern Language Association of America, 2 (1887) : 107 ff. Von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, 3 : LXXXIII. G. Servois, op. cit., Introduction.

For some additional bibliographical items in connection with this cycle, see Köhler, "Literaturblatt," etc., p. 274. To the list above should be added finally, of course, the stories given in more detail earlier in this note.

TALE 31

WHO IS THE NEAREST RELATIVE?

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog of Calamba, Laguna.

"On my life!" exclaimed old Julian one day to his grandson Antonio, who was clinging fast to his elbows and bothering him, as usual, "you will soon become insane with stories. Now, I will tell you a story on this condition: you must answer the question I shall put at the end of the narrative. If you give the correct answer, then I will tell you some more tales; if not, why, you must be unfortunate." Antonio nodded, and said, "Very well!" as he leaned on the table to listen to his grandfather. Then the old man began:--

"There was once a young man who had completed his course of study and was to be ordained a priest. Now, whenever a man was about to be entrusted with the duty of being a minister of God, and Christ's representative on earth, it was the custom to trace his ancestry back as far as possible, to see that there was no bad member on any branch of his family tree. Inquiries were made and information was sought regarding the young man's relatives. Unfortunately his mother's brother was an insurrecto. But the boy wanted very much to become a priest, so he set out for Mount Banahaw to look for his uncle.

"As he was walking along the mountain road, he came across his uncle, but neither knew the other. The uncle had a long bolo in his hand. 'Hold!' shouted the old man as the boy came in sight. 'Hands up!'

"'Mercy!' entreated the young man. 'I am a friend, not an enemy.'

"'What are you doing in this part of the country, then? Have you come to spy?'

"'No,' said the youth. 'I have come in search of my uncle named Paulino, general of the Patriots of Banahaw.'

"'And who are you to seek for him? What is your name?'

"'Federico.'

"The uncle stared at him. 'If that is so,' he said, 'I am the man you are looking for. I am your uncle.' Federico was amazed, but was very glad to have found his uncle so easily. Then the old man took his nephew to the cave where he dwelt with his soldiers.

"Weeks passed by, months elapsed, but Federico never thought of going back to his mother. So one day Federico's father went out to seek for his son, and soon found him and his uncle. The father, too, remained there with the soldiers, and never thought of going back home.

"One day Josefa received news that the bandits of Banahaw had been caught by the government authorities. Among the prisoners were her brother Paulino, her son Federico, and her husband. The captives were to be executed at sunrise without any trial. Josefa hurried to the capitan general, and pleaded with him to release her husband, her son, and her brother. Besides, the woman presented the officer with some gifts. She pleaded so hard, that finally the capitan general was moved with pity. He consented to release one of the prisoners, but one only. Josefa did not know what to do. Whom should she select of the three,--her husband, the other half of her life; her son, the fruit of her love; or her brother, that brother who came from the same womb and sucked the same milk from the same mother? To take one would mean to condemn the other two to death. She wished to save them all, but she was allowed to select only one."

"If you, Antonio, were in her place, whom would you select?" Antonio did not speak for some moments, but with knitted eyebrows looked up to the ceiling and tried to think of the answer.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the grandfather; "you cannot find the answer in the ceiling! You really do not know, do you? Very well. I will give you until next Tuesday to get your answer. You have one week in which to think it out. Tell me the correct answer before you go to school on that day."

When Tuesday came, Antonio had gotten the answer to his grandfather's puzzle-tale; but the rascally little boy deceived the old man: he had sought the information from his uncle.

"If you were in the place of the woman," asked the playful grandfather with a smile on his face, "whom would you select?" Antonio timidlv said that he would select the brother.

"You are only guessing, aren't you?" said old Julian doubtfully.

"Bah! No, sir!" said the boy. "I can give you a reason for my selection."

"Very well, give your reason, then."

"The woman would be right in selecting her brother"--

"Because"--

"Because, what to a woman is a husband? She can marry again; she can find another."

"That is true," said the old man.

"And what to a woman is her son? Is it not possible to bear another one after she marries again?"

"To be sure," said old Julian.

"But," continued the boy, raising his voice, "is it possible for her to bring into the world another brother? Is it possible? The woman's parents were dead. Therefore she would be right in selecting her brother instead of her husband or her son."

"Exactly so, my boy," returned the satisfied old man, nodding his gray head. "Since you have answered correctly, to-morrow I will tell you another story."

Notes.

This saga-like story is of peculiar literary interest because of its ancient connections. I know of no modern analogues; but there are two very old parallels, as well as two unmistakable references to the identical situation in our story which date from before the Christian era, and also a Persian Märchen that goes back as far as the twelfth century.

Herodotus (III, 119) first tells the story of a Persian woman who chooses rather to save the life of her brother than of her husband and children.

"When all the conspirators against Darius had been seized [i.e., Intaphernes, his children, and his family], and had been put in chains as malefactors condemned to death, the wife of Intaphernes came and stood continually at the palace-gates, weeping and wailing. So Darius after a while, seeing that she never ceased to stand and weep, was touched with pity for her, and bade a messenger go to her and say, 'Lady, King Darius gives thee as a boon the life of one of thy kinsmen; choose which thou wilt of the prisoners.' Then she pondered a while before she answered, 'If the king grants the life of one alone, I make choice of my brother.' Darius, when he heard the reply, was astonished, and sent again, saying, 'Lady, the king bids thee tell him why it is that thou passest by thy husband and thy children, and preferrest to have the life of thy brother spared. He is not so near to thee as thy children, not so dear as thy husband.' She answered, 'O king! if the gods will, I may have another husband and other children when these are gone; but, as my father and mother are no more, it is impossible that I should have another brother. That was my thought when I asked to have my brother spared.' The woman appeared to Darius to have spoken well, and he granted to her the one that she asked and her eldest son, he was so pleased with her. All the rest he put to death."

This story from the Greek historian clearly supplied not merely the thought but also the form of the reference in lines 909-912 of Sophocles' "Antigone." In Campbell's English translation of the Greek play, the passage, which is put into the mouth of the heroine, runs thus:--

"A husband lost might be replaced; a son, If son were lost to me, might yet be born; But with both parents hidden in the tomb, No brother may arise to comfort me."

Chronologically, the next two occurrences of the story are Indian. In the "Ucchanga-jataka" (Fausböll, No. 67, of uncertain date, but possibly going back to the third century B.C.) we are told--

"Three husbandmen were by mistake arrested on a charge of robbery, and imprisoned. The wife of one came to the King of Kosala, in whose realm the event took place, and entreated him to set her husband at liberty. The king asked her what relation each of the three was to her. She answered, 'One is my husband, another my brother, and the third is my son.' The king said, 'I am pleased with you, and I will give you one of the three; which do you choose?' The woman answered, 'Sire, if I live, I can get another husband and another son; but, as my parents are dead, I can never get another brother. So give me my brother, sire.' Pleased with the woman, the king set all three men at liberty."

In the Cambridge translation of this "Jataka," the verse reply of the woman is rendered thus:--

"A son's an easy find; of husbands too An ample choice throngs public ways. But where With all my pains another brother find?"

In the "Ramayana," the most celebrated art epic of India, we are told how, in the battle about Lanka, Lakshmana, the favorite brother and inseparable companion of the hero Rama, is to all appearances killed. Rama laments over him in these words: "Anywhere at all I could get a wife, a son, and all other relatives; but I know of no place where I might be able to acquire a brother. The teaching of the Veda is true, that Parjanya rains down everything; but also is the proverb true that he does not rain down brothers." (Ed. Gorresio, 6 : 24, 7-8.) This parallel was pointed out by R. Pischel in "Hermes," 28 (1893) : 465.

The Persian Märchen alluded to above is cited by Th. Nöldeke in "Hermes," 29 : 155.

In this story the wife, when she is given the opportunity to choose which she will save of her three nearest relatives,--i.e., her husband, her son, and her brother, who have been selected to be the food for the man-eating snake that grows from the devil-prince Dahak's shoulder,--says, "I am still a young woman. I can get another husband, and it may happen that I might have another child by him: so that the fire of separation I can quench somewhat with the water of hope, and for the poison of the death of a husband find a cure in the antidote of the survival of a son; but it is not possible, since my father and mother are dead, for me to get another brother; therefore I bestow my love on him [i.e., she chooses the brother]." The Dahak is moved to pity, and spares her the lives of all three.

The riddle form in which our story is cast is possibly an invention of the narrator; but folk-tales ending thus are common (see notes to No. 12). Again, our story fails to state whether or not all three men were pardoned. The implication is that they were not. The localization of the events seems to point either to a long existence of the story in La Laguna province or to exceptional adaptive skill on the part of the narrator.

TALE 32

WITH ONE CENTAVO JUAN MARRIES A PRINCESS.

Narrated by Gregorio Frondoso, a Bicol, who heard the story from another Bicol student. The latter said that the story was traditional among the Bicols, and that he had heard it from his grandfather.

In ancient times, in the age of foolishness and nonsense, there lived a poor gambler. He was all alone in the world: he had no parents, relatives, wife, or children. What little money he had he spent on cards or cock-fighting. Every time he played, he lost. So he would often pass whole days without eating. He would then go around the town begging like a tramp. At last he determined to leave the village to find his fortune.

One day, without a single cent in his pockets, he set out on his journey. As he was lazily wandering along the road, he found a centavo, and picked it up. When he came to the next village, he bought with his coin a small native cake. He ate only a part of the cake; the rest he wrapped in a piece of paper and put in his pocket. Then he took a walk around the village; but, soon becoming tired, he sat down by a little shop to rest. While resting, he fell asleep. As he was lying on the bench asleep, a chicken came along, and, seeing the cake projecting from his pocket, the chicken pecked at it and ate it up. Tickled by the bird's beak, the tramp woke up and immediately seized the poor creature. The owner claimed the chicken; but Juan would not give it up, on the ground that it had eaten his cake. Indeed, he argued so well, that he was allowed to walk away, taking the chicken with him.

Scarcely had he gone a mile when he came to another village. There he took a rest in a barber-shop. He fell asleep again, and soon a dog came in and began to devour his chicken. Awakened by the poor bird's squawking, Juan jumped up and caught the dog still munching its prey. In spite of the barber's protest and his refusal to give up his dog, Juan seized it and carried it away with him. He proceeded on his journey until he came to another village. As he was passing by a small house, he felt thirsty: so he decided to go in and ask for a drink. He tied his dog to the gate and went in. When he came out again, he found his dog lying dead, the iron gate on top of him. Evidently, in its struggles to get loose, the animal had pulled the gate over. Without a word Juan pulled off one of the iron bars from the gate and took it away with him. When the owner shouted after him, Juan said, "The bar belongs to me, for your gate killed my dog."

When Juan came to a wide river, he sat down on the bank to rest. While he was sitting there, he began to play with his iron bar, tossing it up into the air, and catching it as it fell. Once he missed, and the bar fell into the river and was lost. "Now, river," said Juan, "since you have taken my iron bar, you belong to me. You will have to pay for it." So he sat there all day, watching for people to come along and bathe.

It happened by chance that not long after, the princess came to take her bath. When she came out of the water, Juan approached her, and said, "Princess, don't you know that this river is mine? And, since you have touched the water, I have the right to claim you."

"How does it happen that you own this river?" said the astonished princess.

"Well, princess, it would tire you out to hear the story of how I acquired this river; but I insist that you are mine."

Juan persisted so strongly, that at last the princess said that she was willing to leave the matter to her father's decision. On hearing Juan's story, and after having asked him question after question, the king was greatly impressed with his wonderful reasoning and wit; and, as he was unable to offer any refutation for Juan's argument, he willingly married his daughter to Juan.

Notes.

I know of no complete analogues of this droll; but partial variants, both serious and comic, are numerous. In our story a penniless, unscrupulous hero finds a centavo, and by means of sophistical arguments with foolish persons makes more and more profitable exchanges until he wins the hand of a princess. A serious tale of a clever person starting with no greater capital than a dead mouse, and finally succeeding in making a fortune, is the "Cullaka-setthi-jataka," No. 4. This story subsequently made its way into Somadeva's great collection (Tawney, 1 : 33-34), "The Story of the Mouse Merchant" (ch. VI). Here it runs approximately as follows:--

A poor youth, whose mother managed to give him some education in writing and ciphering, was advised by her to go to a certain rich merchant who was in the habit of lending capital to poor men of good family. The youth went; and, just as he entered the house, that rich man was angrily talking to another merchant's son: "You see this dead mouse here upon the floor; even that is a commodity by which a capable man would acquire wealth; but I gave you, you good-for-nothing fellow, many dinars, and, so far from increasing them, you have not even been able to preserve what you got." The poor stranger-youth at once said to the merchant that he would take the dead mouse as capital advanced, and he wrote a receipt for it. He sold the mouse as cat-meat to a certain merchant for two handfuls of gram. Next he made meal of the gram, and, taking his stand by the road, civilly offered food and drink to a band of wood-cutters that came by. Each, out of gratitude, gave him two pieces of wood. This wood he sold, bought more gram with a part of the price, and obtained more wood from the wood-cutters the next day, etc., until he was able in time to buy all their wood for three days. Heavy rains made a dearth of wood, and he sold his stock for a large sum. Then he set up a shop, began to traffic, and became wealthy by his own ability. Now he had a golden mouse made, which he sent to the rich merchant from whom he had gotten his start, and that merchant bestowed the hand of his daughter on the once poor youth.

The comic atmosphere, it will be seen, is altogether absent from this Buddhistic parable.

A slight resemblance to our story may be traced in Bompas, No. XLIX, "The Foolish Sons," where the clever youngest (of six brothers) manages to acquire ten rupees, starting with one anna. He proceeds by "borrowing," and paying interest in advance. The trick used here is the same as that practised on the foolish wife in "Wise Folks" (Grimm, No. 104), where a sharper buys three cows, and leaves one with the seller as a pledge for the price of the three (see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 440 f.).

Much closer parallels than the preceding, to the incidents of out story, are to be found in a cycle of tales discussed by Bolte-Polívka (2 : 201-202) in connection with "Hans in Luck" (Grimm, No. 83). It will be recalled that in the Grimm story the foolish Hans exchanges successively gold for horse, horse for cow, cow for pig, pig for goose, goose for grindstone, which he is finally glad to get rid of by throwing it into the water. "A counterpart of this story," say Bolte and Polívka, "is the Märchen of the 'profitable exchange,' in which a poor man acquires from another a hen because it has eaten up a pea or millet-seed that belonged to him; for the hen he gets a pig which has killed it; for the pig, a cow; for the cow, a horse. But when he finally levies his claim for damages upon a girl, and places her in a sack, his luck changes: strangers liberate the maiden without the knowledge of her captor, and put in her place a big dog, which falls upon him when he opens the sack." It is to be noted that the cycle as here outlined consists really of two parts,--the "biter biting" and the "biter bit." Cosquin (2 : 209) believes that the last two episodes--the maiden gained by chicanery, and the substitution of an animal for her in the sack--form a separate theme not originally a part of the cumulative motive; and, to prove his belief, he cites a number of Oriental tales containing the former, but lacking the cumulative motive (ibid., 209-212). Cosquin seems to be correct in this; although, on the other hand, he is able to cite only one story (Rivière, p. 95) in which there is not some trace of the "biter-bit" idea. Moreover, even in the animal stories belonging to this group,--and he analyzes Stokes, No. 17, and Rivière, p. 79,--the animal-rogue meets with an unlucky end. The same is true of Steel-Temple, No. 2, "The Rat's Wedding." In another Indian story, however, "The Monkey with the Tom-Tom" (Kingscote, No. XIV, a rather pointless tale), the monkey, whose last exchange is puddings for a tom-tom, is left at the top of a tree lustily beating his drum and enumerating his clever tricks. A very similar story is to be found in Rouse, p. 132, "The Monkey's Bargains." It will thus be seen that Bolte and Polívka's analysis holds for the larger number of human hero tales of this cycle, as well as for the animal tales; but that the first half of the sequence of events, where the hero's good luck is continually on the increase, is also to be found as a separate story,--Kingscote's, Rouse's, and our own.

The Filipino version appears to be old, and I am inclined to think that it is native; that is, if any stories may be called native. Several facts point to the primitiveness of the tale: (1) the local color and realistic touches, slight though they are; (2) the non-emphasis of the comic possibilities of the situations; (3) the somewhat unsystematic arrangement of incidents, the third demand and exchange (iron rod for dead dog) not appearing to be an upward progression; (4) the crudity of invention displayed in this same third exchange (though an iron-picketed fence seems modern). My reasons for thinking our story not imported from the Occident are the differences in beginning, middle, and end between it and the European versions cited by Bolte-Polívka (loc. cit.). The good luck coming to the hero from the exchange of dead animals suggests a distant basic connection between our story and the "Jataka," although it must be admitted that the idea could occur independently to many different peoples.

TALE 33

THE THREE HUMPBACKS.

Narrated by Pacita Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, Laguna, who heard the story from her lavandera, or washer-woman.

Pablo was badly treated by his older brothers Pedro and Juan. The coarsest food was given to him. His clothes were ragged. He slept on the floor, while his two brothers had very comfortable beds. In fact, he was deprived of every comfort and pleasure.

In the course of time this unfortunate youth fell in love with a well-to-do girl, and after a four-years engagement they were married. Thus Pablo was separated from his brothers, to their great joy. Pedro and Juan now began spending their money lavishly on trifles. They learned how to gamble. Pablo, however, was now living happily and out of want with his wife. Every morning he went to fish, for his wife owned a large fishery.

One day, as Pablo was just leaving the house at the usual hour to go fishing, he said to his wife, "Wife, if two humpbacks like myself ever come here, do not admit them. As you know, they are my brothers, and they used to treat me very badly." Then he went away. That very afternoon Pedro and Juan came to pay their brother a visit. They begged Marta, Pablo's wife, to give them some food, for they were starving. They had squandered all their money, they said. Marta was so impressed by the wretched appearance of her brothers-in-law, that she admitted them despite her husband's prohibition. She gave them a dinner. When they had finished eating, she said to them, "It is now time for my husband to come home. He may take vengeance on you for your past unkindness to him, if he finds you here, so I'll hide you in two separate trunks. You stay there till to-morrow morning, and I'll let you out when my husband is gone again."

She had scarcely locked the trunks when Pablo entered. He did not find out that his brothers had been there, however. The next morning Pablo went to his work, as usual. Marta had so much to do about the house that day, that she forgot all about Pedro and Juan. The poor boys, deprived of air and food, died inside the trunks. Not until two days later did Marta think of the two humpbacks. She ran and opened the trunks, and found their dead bodies inside. Her next thought was how to dispose of them. At last a plan occurred to her. She called to her neighbor, and asked him to come bury one of her brothers-in-law who had just died in her house. She promised to pay him five pesos when he came back from his work.

The neighbor lifted the heavy body of Pedro, and, putting it on his shoulder, carried it away to a far place. There he dug a hole that was waist deep, put the corpse into it, and covered it up. Then he hastened back to Marta, and said, "Madam, I have buried the dead man in a very deep grave."

"No, you have not," said Marta. "What is that lying over there?" and she pointed to the corpse of Juan.

"That's very strange!" exclaimed the neighbor, scratching his head. "You are very artful," he said to the dead body of Juan. He was very angry with the corpse now, for he had not yet received his pay. So he bore the corpse of Juan to the seashore. He got a banca [89] and dug a very deep grave beneath the water. Then he said to the corpse, "If you can come out of this place, you are the wisest person in the world." He then returned to Marta's house.

On his way back he happened to look behind him, when he saw, to his great surprise, the humpback following him, carrying some fish. The gambler gazed at him; and when he saw that he resembled exactly the corpse that he had just buried, he said, "So you have come out of the grave again, have you, you naughty humpback!" And with these words he killed the humpback that very instant. This humpback was Marta's husband returning home from the fishery.

Thus Marta tried to deceive, but she was the one who was deceived.

The Seven Humpbacks.

Narrated by Teofilo Reyes, a Tagalog from Manila.

Once there lived seven brothers who were all humpbacks, and who looked very much alike. Ugly as these humpbacks were, still there was a lady who fell in love with one of them and married him. This lady, however, though she loved her husband well, was a very stingy woman. Finally the time came when the unmarried humpbacks had to depend on the other one for food. Naturally this arrangement was very displeasing to the wife; and in time her hate grew so intense, that she planned to kill all her brothers-in-law.

One day, when her husband was away on business, she murdered the six brothers. Next she hired a man to come and bury a corpse. She told him of only one corpse, because she wanted to deceive the man. When he had buried one of the bodies, he came back to get paid for his work. The woman, however, before he had time to speak, began to reproach him for not burying the man in the right place. "See here!" she said, showing him the corpse of the second brother, "you did not do your work well. Go and bury the body again. Remember that I will not pay you until you have buried the man so that he stays under the earth."

The man took the second corpse and buried it; but when he returned, there it was again. And so on: he repeated the operation until he thought that he had buried the same corpse six times. But after the sixth, the last humpback, had been buried, the married humpback came home from his work. When the grave-digger saw this other humpback, he immediately seized and killed him, thinking he was the same man he had buried so many times before.

When the wicked woman knew that her very husband had been killed, she died of a broken heart.

Notes.

A Pampango variant (c), which I have only in abstract, is entitled "The Seven Hunchbacked Brothers." It was collected by Wenceslao Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. It runs thus:--

There were seven hunchbacked brothers that looked just alike. One of them married, and maintained the other six in his house. The wife, however, grew tired of them, and locked them up in the cellar, where they starved to death. In order to save burial-expenses, the woman fooled the grave-digger. When he had buried one man and returned for his money, she had another body lying where the first had lain, and told him that he could not have his money until the man was buried to stay. Thus the poor gravedigger buried all six corpses under the impression that he was working with the same one over and over again. On his way back from burying the sixth, he met the husband riding home on horseback. Thinking him to be the corpse, which he exactly resembled, the grave-digger cried out, "Ah! so this is the way you get ahead of me!" and he struck the living hunchback with his hoe and killed him.

This Pampango variant, although it is a little more specific than the Tagalog, is identical with our second version.

Our two stories and the variant represent a family of tales found scattered all over Europe. They are also connected distantly with one of the stories in the "1001 Nights," and thus with the Orient again. For a discussion of this cycle, see Clouston, "Popular Tales and Fictions," 2 : 332 ff., where are cited and abstracted versions from the Old-English prose form of the "Seven Wise Masters," from the Gesta Romanorum, also the fabliau "Destourmi;" then five other fabliaux from Legrand's and Barbasan's collections, especially the trouvere Dutant's "Les Trois Bossus;" and the second tale of the seventh sage in the "Mishlé Sandabar," the Hebrew version of the book of Sindibad. On pp. 344-357 Clouston gives variants of the related story in which the same corpse is disposed of many times. For further bibliography, see Wilson's Dunlop, 2 : 42, note.

The nearest parallel I know of to our first story is Straparola, 5 : 3, from which it was probably derived.

There were three humpbacked brothers who looked very much alike. The wife of one of them, disobeying the order of her husband, secretly received her two brothers-in-law. When her husband returned unexpectedly, she hid the brothers in the kitchen, in a trough used for scalding pigs. There the two humpbacks smothered before the wife could release them. In order to rid herself of their corpses, she hired a body-carrier to cast one of them into the Tiber; and when he returned for his pay, she informed him that the corpse had come back. After the man had removed the second corpse, he met the humpbacked husband, whom he now likewise cast into the river.

The identity of this story with ours makes a direct connection between the two practically certain. The two stories differ in this respect, however: the Italian has a long introduction telling of the enmity between the hunchback brothers, and of the knavish tricks of Zambo, the oldest, who goes out to seek his fortune, and is finally married in Rome. All this detail is lacking in the Filipino version, as is likewise the statement (found in Straparola) that the wife rejoiced when she learned that she had been rid of her husband as well as of the corpses of her brothers-in-law.

In our other story and the Pampango variant we note some divergences from the preceding tale. Here the one married brother charitably supports his six indigent brothers, whom the wife subsequently murders. In the majority of the European versions the deaths are either accidental or are contrived by the husband and wife together (e.g., Gesta Romanorum; and Von der Hagen, No. 62). While I am inclined to think these two stories of ours imported, they do not appear to be derived immediately from the same source (Straparola). However, the facts that the seven men are brothers and are humpbacks, and that the husband is killed by mistake, make an Occidental source for our second story and for the Pampango variant most probable.

I know of no Oriental analogues to the story as a whole, though the trick of getting a number of corpses buried for one appears in several stories from Cochin-China, Siam, and the Malay Archipelago:--

(1) Landes, No. 180, which I summarize here from Cosquin (2 : 337):

In the course of some adventures more or less grotesque, four monks are killed at one time near an inn. The old woman who keeps this hostelry, fearful of being implicated in a murder, wishes to get rid of the corpses. She hides three of the bodies, and has one buried by a monk who is passing by. She pretends that the dead man is her nephew. The monk, returning to the inn after his task, is stupefied to see the corpse back there again. The old woman tells him not to be astonished, for her nephew loved her so much that he could not bear to leave her; he would have to be buried deeper. The monk carries this corpse away, and on his return has the same experience with the third and fourth corpses. After the last time, he meets, while crossing a bridge, another, live monk resembling those he has interred. "Halloo!" he says, "I have been burying you all day, and now you come back to be buried again!" With that he pushes the fifth monk into the river.

(2) Skeat, I : 36-37, "Father Follow-My-Nose and the Four Priests:"

Father Follow-My-Nose would walk straight, would climb over a house rather than turn aside. One day he had climbed up one side of a Jerai-tree and was preparing to descend, when four yellow-robed priests, lest he should fall, held a cloak for him. But he jumped without warning, and the four cracked their heads together and died. Old Father Follow-My-Nose travelled on till he came to the hut of a crone. The crone went back and got the bodies of the four priests. An opium-eater passed by; and the crone said, "Mr. Opium-Eater, if you'll bury me this yellow-robe here, I'll give you a dollar." The opium-eater agreed, and took the body away to bury it; but when he came back for his money, there was a second body waiting for him. "The fellow must have come to life again," he said; but he took the body and buried it too. After he had buried the fourth in like manner, it was broad daylight, and he was afraid to go collect his money.

(3) A story communicated to me by a Chinese student, Mr. Jut L. Fan of Canton, who says that he saw the tale acted at a popular theatre in Canton in 1913. The story I give is but the synopsis of the play:

In Canton, the capital of Kwong Tung, a mile's walk from the marketplace, stood a prehistoric abbey, away from the busy streets, and deep in the silent woods. In this old monastery an aged abbot ruled over five hundred young monks; but they were far from being like their venerable master. Men and women, rich and poor, for fear of the dread consequences if they should incur the displeasure of the gods, went in great numbers to worship in the ancient buildings, kneeling in long rows before the sacred figures and incense.

These gatherings made it possible for the young monks and the young girls to become intimately acquainted,--so intimate, that sometimes shame and disgrace followed. One young girl who had been seduced, on an appropriate occasion and after great consideration, persuaded seven of the disciples who had been engaged in her ruin to enter her house. Then she invited them into her private chamber. As if by chance, there came a sharp rap on the locked door; so she hid her unusual visitors in a big wardrobe. What this young lady next did might seem unnatural; but, with the help of her servants, she poured boiling oil into the wardrobe, and killed the miscreants.

She next hired a porter to convey one body to the river near by and bury it. This porter was not informed as to the number of corpses he would have to bury; but every time he came back for his pay, there was another body for him. So one after another he dropped the bodies of the young monks into the swift-flowing stream, wondering all the while by what magic the lifeless body managed to return to the original spot.

Just after he had disposed of the seventh, up came the old abbot himself, with dignified mien. "Ah! I see now how you return," said the drudger, and he laid hold of the priest and ended his natural days. The old abbot thus suffered the fate of his seven unworthy disciples.

TALE 34

RESPECT OLD AGE.

Narrated by José Ignacio, a Tagalog from Malabon, Rizal.

Once there lived a poor man who had to support his family, the members of which were a hot-headed wife who predominated over the will of her husband; a small boy of ten; and an old man of eighty, the boy's grandfather. This old man could no longer work, because of his feebleness. He was the cause of many quarrels between the husband and wife, but was loved by their son.

One rainy morning the husband was forced by his wife to send his father away. He called his son, and ordered him to carry a basket full of food and also a blanket. He told the boy that they were to leave the old man in a hut on their farm some distance away. The boy wept, and protested against this harsh treatment of his grandfather, but in vain. He then cut the blanket into two parts. When he was asked to explain his action, he said to his father, "When you grow old, I will leave you in a hut, and give you this half of the blanket." The man was astonished, hurriedly recalled his order concerning his father, and thereafter took good care of him.

The Golden Rule.

Narrated by Cipriano Seráfica, a Pangasinan from Mangaldan, Pangasinan.

A long time ago there lived in a town a couple who had a son. The father of the husband lived with his son and daughter-in-law happily for many years. But when he grew very old, he became very feeble. Every time he ate at the table, he always broke a plate, because his hands trembled so. The old man's awkwardness soon made his son angry, and one day he made a wooden plate for his father to eat out of. The poor old man had to eat all his food from this wooden plate.

When the grandson noticed what his father had done, he took some tools and went down under the house. There he took a piece of board and began to carve it. When his father saw him and said to him, "What are you doing, son?" the boy replied to him, "Father, I am making wooden plates for you and my mother when you are old."

As the son uttered these words, tears gushed from the father's eyes. From that time on, the old man was always allowed to eat at the table with the rest of the family, nor was he made to eat from a wooden plate.

MORAL: Do unto others as you want them to do unto you.

Notes.

A Pampango variant of these stories, entitled "The Old Man, his Son, and his Grandson," and narrated by Eutiquiano Garcia of Mexico, Pampanga, has been printed by H. E. Fansler (p. 100). Mr. Garcia says that he heard the story told by his father at a gathering of a number of old story-tellers at his home during the Christmas vacation in 1908. The tale has every appearance of having long been naturalized in the Islands, if not of being native. It is brief, and may be reprinted here:--

In olden times, when men lived to be two or three hundred years old, there dwelt a very poor family near a big forest. The household had but three members,--a grandfather, a father, and a son. The grandfather was an old man of one hundred and twenty-five years. He was so old, that the help of his housemates was needed to feed him. Many a time, and especially after meals, he related to his son and his grandson his brave deeds while serving in the king's army, the responsible positions he filled after leaving a soldier's life; and he told entertaining stories of hundreds of years gone by. The father was not satisfied with the arrangement, however, and planned to get rid of the old man.

One day he said to his son, "At present I am receiving a peso daily, but half of it is spent to feed your worthless grandfather. We do not get any real benefit from him. To-morrow let us bind him and take him to the woods, and leave him there to die."

"Yes, father," said the boy.

When the morning came, they bound the old man and took him to the forest. On their way back home the boy said to his father, "Wait! I will go back and get the rope."--"What for?" asked his father, raising his voice. "To have it ready when your turn comes," replied the boy, believing that to cast every old man into the forest was the usual custom. "Ah! if that is likely to be the case with me, back we go and get your grandfather again."

This exemplum is known in many countries and in many forms. For the bibliography, see Clouston, "Popular Tales and Fictions," 2 : 372-378; T. F. Crane, "Exempla of Jacques de Vitry" (FLS, 1890 : No. 288 and p. 260); Bolte-Polívka (on Grimm, No. 78), 2 : 135-140. The most complete of these studies is the last, in which are cited German, Latin, Dutch, English, French, Spanish, Greek, Croatian, Albanian, Bulgarian, Polish, Russian, Lettish, Turkish, and Indian versions. Full as Bolte-Polívka's list is, however, an old important Buddhistic variant has been overlooked by them,--the "Takkala-jataka," No. 446. This Indian form of the story, it seems to me, has some close resemblances to our Pampango variant; and I give it here briefly, summarizing from Mr. Rouse's excellent English translation:--

In a certain village of Kasi there lived a man who supported his old father. The father regretted seeing his son toil so hard for him, and against the son's will sent for a woman to be his daughter-in-law. Soon the son began to be pleased with his new wife, who took good care of his father. As time went on, however, she became tired of the old man, and planned to set his son against him. She accused her father-in-law of being not only very untidy, but also fierce and violent, and forever picking quarrels with her, and at last, by constant dinning her complaints in his ear, persuaded her husband to agree to take the old man into a cemetery, kill him, and bury him in a pit. Her small son, a wise lad of seven, overheard the plot, and decided to prevent his father from committing murder. The next day he insisted on accompanying his father and grandfather. When they reached the cemetery, and the father began to dig the pit, the small boy asked what it was for. The father replied,--

"Thy grandsire, son, is very weak and old, Opprest by pain and ailments manifold; Him will I bury in a pit to-day; In such a life I could not wish him stay."

The boy caught the spade from his father's hands, and at no great distance began to dig another pit. His father asked why he dug that pit; and he answered,--

"I too, when thou art aged, father mine, Will treat my father as thou treatest thine; Following the custom of the family, Deep in a pit I too will bury thee."

By repeating a few more stanzas the son convinced his father that he was about to commit a great crime. The father, penitent, seated himself in the cart with his son and the old man, and they returned home. There the husband gave the wicked wife a sound drubbing, bundled her heels over head out of the house, and bade her never darken his doors again. [The rest of the story, which has no connection with ours, tells how the little son by a trick made his mother repent and become a good woman, and brought about a reconciliation between her and his father.]

The chief difference between our Pampango variant and the "Jataka," it will be seen, is in the prominent rôle played by the wife in the latter. She is lacking altogether in the Filipino story. The resemblances are strong, on the other hand. The father plans to kill the grandfather,--a turn seldom found in the Occidental versions,--and, accompanied by his son, he goes out to the forest (in the Indian, cemetery) to despatch the old man. The small boy's thinking (or pretending to think) it a family custom to put old men out of the way is found in both stories. Our Pampango variant appears to me to represent a form even older than the "Jataka," but at the same time a form that is historically connected with that Indian tale.

Of our two main stories,--"Respect Old Age" and "The Golden Rule,"--the second is very likely derived from Europe. Compare it, for instance, with Grimm, No. 78. The "machinery" of the wooden plates establishes the relationship, I believe. This form of the story, however, is not unlike an Oriental Märchen cited by Clouston (op. cit., 2 : 377). It is from a Canarese collection of tales called the "Kathá Manjarí," and runs thus:--

A rich man used to feed his father with congi from an old broken dish. His son saw this, and hid the dish. Afterwards the rich man, having asked his father where it was, beat him [because he could not tell]. The boy exclaimed, "Don't beat grandfather! I hid the dish, because, when I become a man, I may be unable to buy another one for you." When the rich man heard this, he was ashamed, and afterwards treated his father kindly.

The Pangasinanes may have got this story of "The Golden Rule" through the Church, from some priest's sermon.

Our first example, "Respect Old Age," is the only one of the three which turns on the "housse partie" idea. This is the form found in the thirteenth-century French fabliau "La Housse Partie;" and a variant of it is given by Ortensio Lando, an Italian novelist of the sixteenth century (Dunlop, 2 : 206). The only Spanish example I know of is found in the fourteenth-century "El Libro de los Enxemplos" (printed in Bibliotéca de Autores Españoles, vol. 51 [Madrid, 1884]), No. CCLXXII. It runs in the original as follows:--

Patri qualis fueris, tibi filius talis erit. Cual fueres á tu padre que trabajó por tí, El fijo que engendrares tal será á tí.

Cuentan que un viejo dió á un fijo que lo sirvió mucho bien todos sus bienes; mas despues que gelos hobo dado, echólo de la cámara onde dormia é tomóla para él é para su mujer, é fizo facer á su padre el lecho tras la puerta. É de que vino el invierno el viejo habia frio, ca el fijo le habia tornado la buena ropa con que se cobria, é rogó á un su nieto, fijo de su fijo, que rogase á su padre que le diese alguna ropa para se cobrir; é el mozo apenas pudo alcanzar de su padre dos varas de sayal para su abuelo, é quedábanle al fijo otros dos. É el mozo llorando rogó al padre que le diese las otros dos, é tanto lloró, que gelas hobo de dar, é demandóle que para qué las queria, é respondióle: "Quiérolas guardar fasta que tú seas tal commo es agora tu padre, é estonce non te daré mas, así commo tú non quieres dar á tu padre."

Finally may be given another Indian story, No. 16 in the "Antarakathasamgraha" of Rajasekhara (Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 139), which connects the "divided-blanket" motif with the old "Jataka." Rajasekhara flourished about A.D. 900. This story runs thus:--

In Haripura lived a merchant named Sankha, who had four sons. When he became old, he handed over his business and all his wealth to them. But they would no longer obey him; their wives mistreated him; and the old man crept into a corner of the house, wasted by hunger and oppressed with years. Once in the cold time of the year he asked his oldest son, Kumuda, for a cloth to protect him from the night frost. Kumuda spoke this verse:--

"For an old man whose wife is dead, who is dependent on his sons for money, who is cut by the words of his step-daughters, death is better than life."

But at the same time he said to his son Kuntala, "Give him that curtain there!" Kuntala, however, gave the old man only half of the small curtain. When the old man showed the piece to Kumuda, Kumuda angrily asked his son why he had not given his grandfather the whole curtain. Respectfully placing his hands together, Kuntala replied, "Father, when old age also overtakes you, there will be ready for you the half-curtain which corresponds to the one here." Then Kumuda was shamed; and he said, "Son, we have been instructed by you; you have become a support for us whose senses have been stupefied by the delirium of power and wealth." And from that time on he began to show his father love, and so did the whole family.

In conclusion, and by way of additional illustrative material, I give in full another brief Tagalog moral tale which seems to be distantly related to our stories. It was collected by Felix Guzman, a Tagalog from Gapan, Nueva Ecija, who got it from his uncle. It is entitled "Juan and his Father."

Five hundred years ago there lived in Pagao an old man, and his son named Juan. The latter had a wife. As Juan's father was very weak on account of old age, and could not do any work in the house, Juana, his daughter-in-law, became discontented. One day the old man became sick. He moaned day and night so constantly, that Juana could get no sleep at all. So she said to her husband, "If you do not drive your father away from the house immediately, I shall go away myself. I cannot sleep, because he is always moaning." Juan then drove his poor father away for the sake of his wife.

The poor old man went begging about the neighborhood. After a long walk, he found at last a cave where he could live. After he had recovered his health, he found in the cave a bag of ashes. He further discovered, that, whenever he took some of the ashes and exposed them to the light, they became money. Now the old man went back to his son with the magic bag. On his arrival, he was welcomed, for the couple saw that he was carrying a bag that might contain something useful for them.

The old man next gave his son a certain sum of money, and said, "Juan, with this you may find another wife." So Juan gladly took the money and went and bought him another wife. When he returned, the old man gave his son some more money, and said, "Go over there, Juan, and buy an old man in that house to serve us as our servant." When Juan reached the house where the other old man was, he said, "I want to buy your father, the old man." Juan had scarcely got the sentence out of his mouth when the son of the old man fell on him with a whip and drove him away. Juan went running to his father, and said, "Father, I only said that I wanted to buy their father, but they began to whip me. Why did they do that?"

"You see," said the old man, "you can buy a wife with money, but not a single father can you buy."

Compare this last story with No. 31.

TALE 35

COCHINANGO.

Narrated by Felix Y. Velasco, who heard the story from his grandmother, a native of Laoag, Ilocos Norte.

Once upon a time there lived in a small village on the border of a powerful kingdom a poor farmer, who had a son. This son was called a fool by many; but a palmer predicted that Cochinango would some day dine with the king, kiss the princess, marry her, and finally would himself be king.

Cochinango wondered how he could ever marry the princess and himself be king, for he was very poor. One day he heard that the king had summoned all those who would like to attempt to answer the questions of the princess. It was announced that the person who could answer them all without fall should marry her. Cochinango thought that the time had now come for him to try his fortune, so he mounted his ass and rode towards the king's palace.

On his way Cochinango had to pass through a wide forest. Just at the edge of the wood he met a weary traveller. Cochinango had forgotten to bring buyo with him, so he asked the traveller for some. The traveller said, "I have with me a magic buyo that will answer any question you put to it. If you give me some food, I will give you my buyo." Cochinango willingly exchanged a part of his provisions for it. Then he rode on.

He came to a stream, where he met an old man leaning on his cane. Seeing that the old man wanted to get on the other side, but was too weak to swim, Cochinango offered to carry him across. In return for his kindness, the old man gave him his cane. "You are very kind, young man," said he. "Take this cane, which will furnish you with food at any time." Cochinango thanked the old man, took the cane, and rode on. It is to be known that this old man was the same one who had given him the magic buyo. It was God himself, who had come down on earth to test Cochinango and to reward him for his kindness.

Cochinango had not ridden far when he met a wretched old woman. Out of pity he gave her a centavo, and in return she gave him an empty purse from which he could ask any sum of money he wanted. Cochinango rode on, delighted with his good fortune, when he met God again, this time in the form of a jolly young fellow with a small guitar. He asked Cochinango to exchange his ass for the guitar. At first Cochinango hesitated; but, when he was told that he could make anybody dance by plucking its strings, he readily agreed to exchange.

Cochinango now had to proceed on foot, and it took him two days to reach the gates of the palace. Luckily he arrived on the very day of the guessing-contest. In spite of his mean dress, he was admitted. The princess was much astonished at Cochinango's appearance, and disgusted by his boldness; but she was even more chagrined when he rightly answered her first question. Yet she denied that his answer was correct. She asked him two more questions, the most difficult that she could think of; but Cochinango, with the help of his magic buyo, answered both. The princess, however, could not admit that his answers were right. She shrunk from the idea of being married to a poor, foolish, lowly-born man. So she asked her father the king to imprison the insolent peasant, which was instantly done.

In the prison Cochinango found many nobles who, like himself, were victims of the guessing-match. Night came, and they were not given any food. The princess wanted to starve them to death. Cochinango told them not to worry; he struck a table with his cane, and instantly choice food appeared. When this was reported to the princess by the guards, she went to the prison and begged Cochinango to give her the cane; but he would not give it up unless she allowed him to kiss her. At last she consented, and went away with the cane, thinking that this was the only way by which she could starve her prisoners. The next day Cochinango asked for a large sum of money from his magic purse. He distributed it among his companions and among the guards, and they had no difficulty in getting food. Again the princess went to the prison, and asked Cochinango for the purse; but he would give it up only on condition that he be allowed to dine with the king. Accordingly he was taken to the king's table, where he ate with the king and the princess; but he was put in prison again as soon as the dinner was over.

At last Cochinango began to be tired of prison life, so he took up his wonderful guitar and began to play it. No sooner had he touched the strings than his fellow-prisoners and the guards began to dance. As he played his guitar louder and louder, the inmates of the palace heard it, and they too began to dance. He kept on playing throughout the night; and the king, princess, and all got no rest whatsoever. By morning most of them were tired to death. At last the king ordered the guards to open the prison doors and let the prisoners go free; but Cochinango would not stop playing until the king consented to give him the princess in marriage. The princess also at last had to agree to accept Cochinango as her husband, so he stopped playing. The next day they were married with great pomp and ceremony.

Thus the poor, foolish boy was married to a princess. More than once he saved the kingdom from the raiding Moros by playing his guitar; for all his enemies were obliged to dance when they heard the music, and thus they were easily captured or killed. When the king died, Cochinango became his successor, and he and the princess ruled happily for many years.

Notes.

I know of no parallel to this story as a whole; the separate incidents found in it, however, are widespread.

The first part of the story--the prophecy concerning the hero recalls the opening of many Märchen; but our narrative is so condensed, that it is impossible to say just what material was drawn on to furnish this section. The riddle-contest for the hand of a princess forms a separate cycle, to which we have already referred (notes to No. 25); but the turn the motive takes here is altogether different from the norm. Our hero, provided with his magic buyo, has really won the wager before the contest is begun. As for the magic objects, the last three--cane, purse, guitar--we have met with before, with properties either identical with or analogous to those attributed in this story. The method of the hero's acquiring them, too, is not new (cf. No. 27). The magic buyo, however, is unusual: it is very likely native Ilocano belief, or else a detail borrowed from the Ilocanos' near neighbors, the Tinguian (see Cole, 18-19, Introduction, for betel-nuts with magic powers). In No. 25, it will be recalled, the hero's magic ring furnishes the answer to the king's question, just as the buyo does in this tale. Indeed, there may be some association of idea between a buyo and a ring suggested here. The last part of the story--the imprisonment of the hero, and his success in thwarting the evil designs of the obstinate princess--is reminiscent of various cycles of tales, but I know of no exact analogue.

With the general outline of the story of "Cochinango" might be compared a Tagalog tale,--"The Shepherd who became King" (H. E. Fansler, 78 ff.), though the resemblances between the two are only vague. The Tagalog story, it might be noted in passing, is connected with the second half of Grimm, No. 17, and with Grimm, No. 165. For the "sack full of words" in the Tagalog tale, see Rittershaus, 419-421 (No. CXVIII, and notes).

The reference at the end to raiding Moros appears to be a remnant of very old native tradition.

TALE 36

PEDRO AND THE WITCH.

Narrated by Santiago Dumlao of San Narciso, Zambales.

Pedro was the son of a poor man. He lived with his father and mother by the seashore. Early one morning his parents went to look for food, leaving him alone in the house. He staid there all day waiting for them to return. Evening came, but his father and mother did not appear; some misfortune had overtaken them. Pedro felt very hungry, but he could find no food in the house. In the middle of the night he heard some one tapping at the door. Thinking that it was his mother, he arose and went to meet her. When he opened the door, however, he saw that it was not his mother who had rapped, but Boroka, [90] whom children are very much afraid of. Now, Boroka was a witch. She had wings like a bird, four feet like a horse, but a head like that of a woman. She devoured boys and girls, and was especially fond of their liver. As soon as Pedro opened the door, she seized him and carried him off to her home in the mountains.

Pedro was not afraid of the witch; he was obedient to her, and soon she made him her housekeeper. Whenever she went out at night to look for food, he was sure to have flesh and liver for breakfast the next day. Whenever the witch was away, Pedro used to amuse himself riding on the back of a horse that would often come to see him. It taught him how to ride well, and the two became great friends.

One day when children began to get scarce, and Boroka was unable to find any to eat, she made up her mind to kill Pedro. She left the house and went to invite the other witches, so that they might have a great feast. While she was gone, the horse came and told Pedro of his danger, and advised him what to do. It gave him two handkerchiefs,--one red and the other white. Then Pedro jumped on the horse's back, and the horse ran away as fast as it could. Not long afterward he noticed that the witches were pursuing them. When they came nearer, Pedro dropped the red handkerchief, which was immediately changed into a large fire. The wings of the witches were all burnt off. However, the witches tried to pursue the horse on foot, for they could run very fast. When they were almost upon him again, Pedro dropped the white handkerchief, which became a wide sea through which the witches could not pass. Pedro was now safe, and he thanked the horse for its great help.

Notes.

While this story is not much more than a fragment, I have given it because of its interesting connections. The chief elements appear to be three: (1) the kidnapping of the hero by a cannibal witch, (2) the friendly horse, (3) the transformation-flight and the escape of the hero. Clearly much is missing. What becomes of the hero is not stated, except that he escapes from the witches. The story is in the form rather of a fairy-tale than of a Märchen proper, since it deals primarily with an ogress fond of the flesh of children. On its surface it might be mistaken for a native demon-story told as an exemplum to children not to answer strange knocks at the door at night. But a glance below the surface reveals the fact that the details of the story must have been imported, as they are not indigenous,--Boroka, horse, transformation-flight; and a little search for possible sources reveals the fact that this tale represents the detritus of a literary tradition from Europe. To demonstrate, I will cite a Pampangan metrical romance and a Tagalog romance, the former probably the parent of our folk-tale. These two romances, in turn, will be shown to be a borrowing from the Occident.

The Pampangan romance is a long story in 954 quatrains of 12-syllable lines, and is entitled "Story of the Life of King Don Octavio and Queen Teodora, together with that of their son Don Fernando, in the Kingdom of Spain [no date]." The inside of the cover bears the statement that the work is the property of Doña Modesta Lanuza. Señora Lanuza was doubtless the redactor of this version; her name appears on other corridos (see JAFL 29 : 213). Although a consideration of this literary form takes us somewhat out of the realm of popular stories, strictly speaking, we may give as our excuse for summarizing it the fact that the related Tagalog romance, "Juan Tiñoso," is one of the most widely-known stories in the Islands, and is told as a folk-tale in many of the provinces where no printed translations of it exist. The story of "Don Octavio"--or "Pugut Negro," as it is popularly known among the Pampangans--runs as follows:--

In Spain there lived a king whose queen, in the ninth month of pregnancy, longed greatly for some pau (a species of mango). As it was the custom then to procure any kind of fruit a pregnant woman might desire to eat, the whole kingdom was stirred up in search of some pau, but in vain. At last a general and a company of soldiers who had been sent out to scour the kingdom found a pau-tree in the mountain of Silva; but the owner, a giant, Legaspe by name, would not give up any of the fruit except to the king himself. When the king was informed of this, he went to the giant, and was obliged to agree that the giant should be the godfather of the expected child. Then he was given the fruit.

Not long after this event the queen gave birth to a son. While the baby was being carried to the church to be baptized, the giant appeared and claimed his right. After the baptism, the giant snatched the boy from the nurse's hands and carried him off to his cave. He found an old woman to take care of the infant, which grew to be a fine youth.

Now, this giant fed on human flesh. One day, when the boy was about fifteen, the giant gave this horrible command to the old woman: "If I fail to catch any human beings for dinner to-day, you will have to cook my godchild, for I am intolerably hungry." No sooner had the giant disappeared than the old woman woke up the youth, and said to him, "My master wants me to cook you for his dinner, but I cannot do such a thing. I will save you. Yonder you see a horse. Fetch it to me, so that we can depart at once." The boy got the horse, and he and the old woman mounted it and rode off as fast as they could.

They had not gone very far, however, when they heard the giant roaring after them. The old woman immediately dropped her comb to the ground, and it became a big mountain. Thus they gained some time; but the giant was soon after them again. The old woman dropped her pin, which became a dense underbrush of thorns; but the giant got through this too. Now the old woman poured out the contents of a small bottle, and all at once there was a large sea, in which the giant was drowned. By this time the two companions were a great distance from Spain. Then the old woman said to the young prince, "Take this whip. On your way home you will see a dead Negro. Flay him, and put on his skin so that you will be disguised. Cultivate humility, be kind to others, and look to the whip in time of need." Having given these directions, the old woman, who was none other than the Virgin Mary in disguise, disappeared.

Pugut-Negru ("disguised Negro") went on his way, and soon found the dead Negro. When he had flayed him and put on the black skin, he mounted his horse and rode facing its tail. When he reached the capital of Albania, he was greatly ridiculed by every one. However, he went to the king and applied for work. The king said that he might take care of his sheep which were in a certain meadow. When he had been conducted to the meadow where the sheep were, he saw the bones of many men. It was said that every shepherd in that place had been killed by "spirits" (multos). That night the spirits threw bones at Pugut-Negru; but he chastised them with his whip, and was left in peace.

This Negro disguise of Prince Fernando, however, was only for Albania. Leaving Albania for a time, he went in his princely garments to visit his parents. He found them in the power of the Moors, who had conquered the kingdom of Spain. With his whip he drove all the Moors out of the country, and freed his family. Later he went to Navarre, and won a tournament and the hand of the princess. Instead of marrying her, however,--for he had already fallen in love with the youngest daughter of the King of Albania,--he went back and resumed his old work as shepherd, disguised as a Negro.

Some time afterwards it was proclaimed that whoever could cure the king's illness would be amply rewarded. The king had an eye-disease, but none of the learned doctors could help him. Finally it was said that Pugut-Negru knew how to cure eye-diseases, and so the king summoned him. "If you can cure my disease," said the afflicted king, "I will marry one of my daughters to you. If you cannot, you shall be hung."--"I'll do my best, your Majesty," said Pugut-Negru humbly. Then he gathered certain herbs, and applied them to the king's eyes. The king soon got well, and asked his three daughters which of them wanted to marry his savior. "I won't!" said the eldest. "Neither will I," rejoined the second. But the youngest and prettiest one said, "I am at your disposal, father." So Pugut-Negru took the youngest for his wife. After the ceremony he went back to his sheep, but he did not live with his wife; he left her at the palace.

It was not many months after the king had been cured when the queen fell ill. As before, it was proclaimed that any one who could cure her would receive one of her daughters in marriage. Two princes presented themselves, and promised to get the lion's milk that was needed to make the queen well. After they had started on their search, they came to the dwelling of Pugut-Negru, whom they forced to accompany them. Pugut-Negru pretended to be lame, and so he could not keep up with them. As he was so slow, they mercilessly threw him into a bush of thorns and left him there. But he said to his magical whip, "Build me at once, along the road in which the two princes will pass, a splendid palace; and let lions, leopards, and other animals be about it." No sooner was the order given than the palace was built, and Pugut-Negru was in it, attired like a king. When the two princes came up, they said to him, "May we have some of your lion's milk?"--"Yes, on one condition I will give you the milk: you must let me brand you with my name." Although this condition was very bitter to them, they agreed. Then they hastened back to present the milk to the queen, who at once married them to her two older daughters. Pugut-Negru went back to his old life as shepherd.

Not long after this event the Moors declared war on the Christians. The king's country was invaded, and the Christians were about to be disastrously defeated, when a strange knight with a magic whip (Pugut-Negru) appeared on the field and put the Saracens to flight. This knight wounded himself in his left arm so that he might receive the attention of the princess. The king's youngest daughter (Pugut-Negru's own wife) dressed his wound without recognizing her husband. After the battle was over, the knight said to the king, "Do you know where my brother Pugut-Negru lives?" But the king was ashamed at the way he had treated Pugut-Negru, so he denied all knowledge of him. Although the king pressed the strange knight to come to the palace, he refused. He hastened back to his sheep, and donned his disguise once more.

One day the youngest princess, the wife of Don Fernando, went stealthily to the hut of Pugut-Negru. She found him undisguised, and at once recognized her handkerchief with which she had tied the strange knight's wound. She embraced her husband with joy, and hastened back to the palace to tell the king of her discovery. The king immediately despatched his prime-minister to the hut in the fields, and Don Fernando was brought back in state. When he had been welcomed to the palace, he told all about his treatment by the two cruel princes, who he said were his slaves. When the king was convinced of their imposture,--they said they had got the lion's milk by their own bravery,--he drove them and their heartless wives from his kingdom. After many other adventures, in which he was always successful, Don Fernando took his wife Maria to Spain, where they lived with his father, King Octavio.

While it is not absolutely certain that our folk-tale of "Pedro and the Witch" was derived from the first part of this romance, I think it most likely. The problem here is the same as that we have met with in the notes to Nos. 13, 16, and 21: Which are earlier,--the more elaborate literary forms, or the simpler popular forms? Obviously no general rule can be made that will hold: each particular case must be examined. In the present instance, as I have shown at the beginning of the note, the evidence seems to point to the folk-tale as being the derivative, not necessarily of this particular form of the story, but at any rate of the source of the romance.

The romance of "Prince Don Juan Tiñoso, Son of King Artos and Queen Blanca of the Kingdom of Valencia, and the Four Princesses, the Daughters of Don Diego of Hungary," which we have spoken of above as a Tagalog romance, has been printed also in the Pampangan, Visayan, Ilocano, Bicol, and Pangasinan dialects. As to the date of the Tagalog version, Retana mentions an edition between 1860 and 1898 (No. 4176). This romance is not directly connected with our folk-tale, it will be seen, but is related closely (in the second half, at least) with "Pugut-Negru." Briefly the life of Juan Tiñoso runs thus:--

King Artos and Queen Blanca of Valencia had one son, Don Juan Tiñoso,--handsome, brave, strong, kind. One day, while passing the prison, Don Juan heard sounds of great lamentation. On being admitted, he saw the giant Mauleon, a captive of his father's. Moved by the giant's entreaties, Juan freed him; and the monster, grateful in return, gave him a magic handkerchief that would furnish him with everything he wanted, and would, if displayed, subdue all wild animals. Then the giant departed. King Artos, extremely wroth with his son for freeing one of his captives, drove Juan out of his kingdom. Juan went to the mountains, and there became king of the animals.

One night Juan dreamed of the beautiful Flocerpida, the youngest and most beautiful of the four daughters of Diego, King of Hungary. But, determined to do penance for the liberty he had taken in freeing Mauleon, Juan asked his magic handkerchief for the disguise of an old leper, which he vowed he would wear for seven years. He went to Hungary and entered the service of King Diego as a gardener. The princess Flocerpida was very compassionate toward the old leper, and Juan's love grew stronger. One night, when Juan was bathing, Flocerpida saw him without his disguise, and immediately fell in love with him. One day King Diego summoned all the knights of his kingdom, so that his daughters might choose husbands. The three older princesses threw their golden granadas, which were caught by men of rank; but Flocerpida refused to throw hers. Angry, the king next day ordered all his subjects to be present, and required his daughter to throw her golden apple. She threw it to the old leprous gardener, and the two were married; but the king drove his daughter from the palace.

Soon King Diego grew sick. The doctors prescribed lion's milk, and the three noble sons-in-law set out to get it. They forced the gardener, their brother-in-law, to go with them, reviling him all the way; but, as he was on foot, they soon left him behind. By means of his magic handkerchief, Juan procured a prince's armor and mount, and, riding fast, he anticipated his brothers-in-law at the cave of the lioness. They soon came up and asked for milk. Juan, king of the animals, would give it to them only on condition that they allowed themselves to be branded on the back with an inscription saying that they were the servants of Don Juan Tiñoso. They agreed, and received the milk. On the return Don Juan again outstripped them, resumed his old disguise, and was reviled by the brothers when they came up. King Diego drank the milk and recovered his health.

Later King Diego received an embassy from the Moors saying that they were coming to fight him. He appointed his three sons-in-law generals. While they were at the war, Juan Tiñoso summoned three giants, and told them to go fight the Moors too, to get the Moorish flag, and to exchange it with the generals for their three golden granadas. On the return of the Christian army, a big fiesta was prepared to honor the successful princes. King Artos and Queen Blanca of Valencia were invited. On the first day some of the guests asked about Flocerpida, and the king gave orders that she should appear on the morrow in an old beggar's gown that he was sending her; but Juan Tiñoso supplied her with beautiful clothes and a coach, and he himself was dressed as a prince. They went to the fiesta, where, in the presence of the king, he demanded his three servants, pointing to his three brothers-in-law. They were made to undress, and the brands on their backs became clear. Then Juan Tiñoso told his story: he said that it was he who obtained the lion's milk, who won against the Moors, (and showed the golden granadas exchanged for the enemy's standard.) King Diego and King Artos were then reconciled to him and Flocerpida, and the other three princes and their wives were driven out of Hungary.

Next to "Doce Pares" and "Bernardo Carpio," this romance is the most popular of the metrical romances circulating in the Philippines. It is read, told as a folk-tale, and acted as a moro-moro (see JAFL 29 : 205 [note], 206). It belongs to the same cycle of stories as Grimm, No. 136, "Iron John," which has many members. (For bibliography, see Köhler-Bolte, 330-334; Cosquin, I : 138-154.) These members vary greatly, and some of them (e.g., Cosquin, No. XII) establish definitely the connection between the "Pugut-Negru" type--kidnapping of hero, friendly horse, transformation-flight, disguise of hero, etc.--and the "Juan Tiñoso" type, although it will be seen that our second romance lacks the first three incidents mentioned.

This whole family of stories is one well worth studying in detail. Unfortunately the war has held up the appearance of Bolte-Polívka's "Anmerkungen," Volume III, which is to contain the notes to the Grimm story; but, with the references furnished by Köhler-Bolte and Cosquin, a good beginning towards such a study might be made. Compare also Rittershaus, No. XXlV and notes; Von Hahn, No. 6 and notes; Macculloch, 173.

It might be added as an item of some interest that "Juan Tiñoso" is written as a sequel to another story of widespread popularity, "The Story of Prince Oliveros and Princess Armenia in the Kingdom of England, and that of Prince Artos and Princess Blanca, who were the Father and Mother of Don Juan Tiñoso in the Kingdom of Valencia." This tale of Oliveros and Artos is directly derived from a Spanish romance of chivalry, and is one form of the "Grateful Dead" type (see Gerould, "The Grateful Dead," FLS 1907).

TALE 37

THE WOMAN AND HER COLES PLANT.

Narrated by José Hilario of Batangas, who says that the tale is common among the Tagalogs, especially among the people living in the city of Batangas.

One summer afternoon I saw several men talking to one another. They seemed to be lively and enjoying themselves, for they had finished their work for the day. I went towards them; and, upon coming within earshot, I found out that they were telling tales to one another. The following was one of the stories I heard that afternoon:--

Once there lived a very poor woman. She lived practically by begging, but sometimes she got money with which to buy rice by selling small vegetables in the market. She had a little garden, and one day planted some seeds. Out of one of these seeds there grew up a plant which we call coles. [91] This plant grew very fast, and in a few months it reached the sky.

Out of curiosity, one day the woman began to climb the plant. When she was assured that it was strong, she kept on climbing, and did not stop until she reached the sky. There she called to St. Peter, and asked him to give her a magic wand from which she could ask anything she wished. St. Peter gave her what she asked for, but told her not to disturb him again. Then she descended, and went down so quickly that she almost hurt herself. When she reached her little hut, she at once asked the wand for food. Immediately there appeared a table on which was the best food in the world. When she had finished eating, she commanded the table to disappear, and it disappeared instantly. Now she became very proud on account of her wonderful possession. She did not recognize her friends any more.

One day an archbishop arrived in the town in which she was living, and all the bells were rung in his honor. She then became very angry, and wondered why the bells were not rung for her whenever she passed in front of the church. So she went to the tower where the bells were, and commanded them to toll for her. They began to ring, but she was struck on the head and was knocked senseless. When she recovered, she hastened home, and began to climb the plant to ask St. Peter for another gift; but, before she had covered one-half the distance to the sky, the plant broke, and she was killed by her fall. Thus she was punished for her vanity.

Notes.

This story is a sort of exemplum of the sin of pride and avarice. In this respect it is connected in idea with Grimm's story of "The Fisherman and his Wife" (No. 19). In its method and machinery, again, it belongs to the "Jack and the Beanstalk" cycle, the main feature of which is a magic plant which grows rapidly until it reaches the sky and enables its owner to climb to the upper regions and secure magic articles. Macculloch devotes a whole chapter (XVI) to the discussion of this cycle, and cites many folk-tales turning on the incident of the magic plant reaching from earth to heaven (see especially pp. 434-435). Brief, and lacking in detail though our story is, it is nevertheless interesting as a combination of incidents from the two cycles just mentioned; and in its combination it shows, I believe, that it has been derived from some southern European Märchen,--such a one, perhaps, as the following from Normandy (given in Köhler-Bolte, 102-103), the story of poor Misère and his ever-dissatisfied wife:--

Misère meets Christ and St. Peter, and begs from them. Christ gives him a bean, and tells him to be satisfied with it. Misère goes home with his gift, and sticks the bean in the hearth inside his hut. Straightway a plant grows out of the bean, and rapidly pushes its way up through the chimney. The next day its top is entirely out of sight. The wife now orders Misère to find out if there are any beans on it ready to be picked. He climbs up the plant, and, since he finds no pods, continues higher and higher, until he finds himself before a large golden house. This house is Paradise. St. Peter opens the door for him, and in answer to his request promises him that he will find at home food and drink. The next day Misère's wife gives her husband no rest until he again climbs up to Paradise and asks St. Peter for a new house. Some days later Misère is again forced to visit St. Peter and ask him to make him and his wife king and queen. The saint fulfils this wish likewise, but warns Misère against coming any more. In brief, however, Misère's wife is still unsatisfied, and even wishes to become the Holy Virgin and her husband to be made God himself. When Misère, with this request, comes again to Paradise, St. Peter angrily sends him away; and the poor man finds on earth his old hut and everything else just as it was in the first place.

Köhler (ibid., p. 103) says that probably the heaven-reaching plant did not originally belong to this story of the poor man's proud wife, and that it was probably taken over from the English folk-tale of "Jack and the Beanstalk." Bolte and Polívka, in their notes to Grimm, No. 19 (1 : 147), observe: "It can easily be seen that these stories (i.e., the variants of the 'Fisherman and his Wife') fall into two groups. In the one, which is particularly widespread among the Germanic and Slavic peoples, but is also found in France and Spain, a captive goblin in the form of a fish grants his captor three or more wishes; among the French and Italians, on the other hand, it is usually God or the door-keeper of heaven who grants the same wishes to a poor man who reaches Paradise by means of a bean-stalk. This beanstalk here may have originated from the story of 'Jack and the Beanstalk' or from the 'lying-story,' Grimm No. 112." In a French folk-tale given by Carnoy (Romania, 8 : 250), "La Tige de Fève," the husband plants a bean which he has received from a beggar, and climbs up the stalk to heaven. When he asks for his last wish, he plunges down to earth. This story, it will be seen, resembles ours in its tragic conclusion, although the protagonist, as in the Normandy version, is a man instead of a woman. The fact that in our story no husband is mentioned counts for little, as practically all the exempla of this type are directed against woman's vanity; and the woman's case in our story illustrates the punishment for that vanity, or pride. There appears to be recorded no Spanish story containing the insatiable wife and the heaven-reaching plant. It seems reasonable to conclude, therefore, that our folk-tale was derived from the French or Italian, and probably through the medium of the clergy.

TALE 38

A NEGRITO SLAVE.

Narrated by Jesus de la Rama, a Visayan from Valladolid, Negros Occidental.

Once upon a time there were three princes who owned a Negrito slave. Although he was called a slave, he was not really one: he was only nominally a slave; for the princes, especially the youngest, whom he loved most, treated him kindly. One striking characteristic of this Negrito was that his grinning was like that of a monkey; and he often grinned, and grinned without cause. He would often follow his young master when he went out for a walk; and he had a suit similar to the prince's, so that, when they were out on the street, they looked very much alike. The only difference between them was that he was black, and the prince was white. Yet he owned a ring, a charm which had been given him by a woman for saving her from the hands of a robber. This ring gave him power to call for anything he wanted; and this was the reason, doubtless, why he was treated with kindness by his masters.

In a neighboring land there was a king who had a beautiful daughter. This princess wanted to marry. She was so desirous of having a companion, that she could not sleep day or night, meditating on how she could have a husband that would suit both herself and her father. At last, won over by her many entreaties, the king proclaimed to all the world that his daughter would marry any one who had a handsome appearance, and who could answer his three difficult questions. Those who came to the court and were unable to answer the questions of the king were to lose their lives.

The three princes were all handsome. The two elder brothers tried to answer the king's questions, but lost their lives. The youngest remained, and, although he wanted to try, he was sure that he would fail too. The Negrito determined to help him. By means of his ring he was able to make his skin white. He also got a mask that was exactly like the face of his young master. Then he dressed himself to resemble the prince, and went to the court of the king. The king said to him, "Will you have your head cut off, too?" He answered, "Yes, if I cannot answer your questions; but let us see!"

"All right," said the king. Then he asked, "Who owns this kingdom?"

The prince answered, "God owns this kingdom." The king was surprised at his bold reply. However, he could not say that it was not God's, for that would be untrue: therefore he could not compel the prince to answer that it was his, the king's. The next question was this: "How much am I worth?"

The prince answered, "You are not worth more than thirty pieces of silver." The king was furious when he heard this, and said that, if the prince could not give a good reason for his insulting words, he would be put to death instantly.

"Yes, yes!" said the Negrito. "Our Saviour was sold for that much: therefore you, who are inferior to the Saviour, cannot be worth more than he was sold for." The people at the court were astounded by this bold answer; and they murmured to one another, "The prince is wise. He is wise, indeed!"

"Well," said the king, "answer this third question, and you shall be married to my daughter: Can you drink all the fresh water in the world?"

"Yes," said the prince.

"Well, then," said the king, "drink it."

"But here," answered the prince, "in many parts of the world the water of the ocean mixes with the fresh water: so, before I drink, you must separate the fresh water from the salt." As the king was unable to do this, he acknowledged himself vanquished.

"All right," said the king. "To-morrow come here for the wedding." The Negrito hastened home, and told his young master all that had happened. The prince gave him five thousand pesetas, and promised him that he would urge the princess to give her consent to the marriage of the Negrito with her maid of honor. The next morning the prince and the princess were married, and the following day the Negrito received the maid of honor for his wife.

Notes.

Like the preceding, this story was doubtless imported from Europe, and probably through the medium of the religious. The occasion for the three questions, as well as the questions themselves, varies widely in the many different forms of the story; but the relationship among the members of the cycle is unmistakable. A general outline that would embrace most of the variants is this: A certain person, on penalty of losing his head if he fails, is required to give satisfactory answers to three (or four) difficult questions; a friend of the contestant, who resembles him, wears the other's clothes, and answers the questions ingeniously, thus saving his friend's life and winning a considerable reward for him and himself. The fullest bibliography of this cycle is that given by Oesterley in his edition of Pauli's "Schimpf und Ernst" (Stuttgart, 1866), p. 479. For other references to the group of stories, see Grimm, No. 152, and his notes; Rittershaus, 404-408 (No. CXV, "Der König und der Bischof"); Köhler-Bolte, 82 (on Moncaut's French story "Le Meunier et le Marquis"), 267 (on J. F. Campbell's No. 50), and 492 (on the Turkish Nasreddin's 70th jest).

The opening of our story is like that of many of the tales in the "Bride Wager" group, in which the youngest of three brothers, after the two older have lost their lives, risks his. Compare, for instance, the European variants cited in our notes to No. 21. This opening, which does not belong to our present cycle, was doubtless attached to the story of the three questions in the Islands themselves. The combination does not appear to have been very happily effected, although it is easy to see the basis for the association (cf. Von Hahn's formula 24 and bibliography). Very little distinction is made between the good qualities of the three brothers, and the Negrito's determination to help the last only is not motivated. The Negrito himself, however, is necessary to the story,--he takes the place of the miller in most of the European forms,--and he had to be fitted in as best he could. The magic ring of the slave, with the aid of which he is able to make himself look exactly like his master, does not appear in any of the other variants that I know of. In many of the European forms the occasion of the questions is this: A king or a nobleman becomes angry with a priest or bishop, and threatens him with death if he cannot answer within a definite time three questions that are put to him. As the chief interest of the story is in the solving of the riddles or problems, it is easy to see how there might be a wide variation in setting if the story passed around much by word of mouth.

The questions themselves are curious. Here are some of those found in the European versions: (1) How much water is there in the sea? (2) How many days have passed since Adam lived? (3) Where is the centre of the earth? (4) How far is it from earth to heaven? (5) What is the breadth of heaven? (6) What is the exact value of the king and his golden crown? (7) How long a time would it take to ride around the whole world? (8) What is the king thinking of this very moment? (9) How far is fortune removed from misfortune? (10) How far is it from East to West? (11) How heavy is the moon? (12) How deep is water?

Some of the answers to these questions are clever; others are only less stupid than the persons who asked the questions. The solutions to the twelve just given are: (1) "A tun."--"How can you prove that?"--"Just order all the streams which flow into the sea to stand still." This reply is not unlike the counter-demand to the third question in our story. (2) "Seven; and when they come to an end, they begin again." (3) "Where my church stands: let your servants measure with a cord, and if there is the breadth of a blade of grass more on one side than on the other, I have lost my church." (4) "Just so far as a man's voice can easily be heard." (5) "A thousand fathoms and a thousand ells: then take away the sun and moon and all the stars, and press all together, and it will be no broader." (6) This question is answered exactly as the second in out story. (7) "If you set out with the Sun and ride with him, you will get around the earth in twenty-four hours." (8) "The king thinks I'm an abbot, and I'm only a shepherd (or miller)." With this question and answer compare the last task in our No. 25. (9) "Only one night, for yesterday I was a shepherd, and to-day I am an abbot." (10) "A day's journey." (11) "A quarter (of a pound): if the king doesn't believe it, let him weigh the moon himself." (12) "A stone's throw."

The method of answering the questions asked in this cycle of stories, and the obscure origin of the clever substitute, form a direct connection, I believe, between this group and the "Clever Lass" cycle. Not only do we find in both the situation of a person out of favor required to answer difficult riddles, and the task assumed voluntarily by some one humbler but more clever than he, but even some of the questions themselves, and the same style of answers, are found in both cycles. For example, compare questions and answers 1, 3, 5, 7, above, with tasks 1, 2, 4, in the notes to our No. 7. In Grimm, No. 152, "The Shepherd Boy," the hero is asked three questions impossible to answer,--How many drops of water are there in the sea? How many stars are in the heavens? How many seconds has eternity? He gets out of his difficulty just as the "Clever Lass" gets out of hers,--by making equally impossible counter-demands, or else giving answers that cannot be proved incorrect.

TALE 39

ALBERTO AND THE MONSTERS.

Narrated by Pacita Cordero of Pagsanjan, Laguna. She says, "This story is common among the Tagalogs. It was told to me by my nurse when I was a little girl."

Once there was a king in Casiguran named Luis. King Luis had three beautiful daughters, but the youngest was the fairest of all. One day the three princesses went to the orchard to amuse themselves. It happened that on that day the wind blew very hard, and they were swept away. The king felt very sad over the loss of his daughters; and he issued proclamations in all parts of his kingdom, saying that any one who could find his daughters within three days would be allowed to choose one of the three for his wife.

At that time there was also in the neighboring kingdom of Sinucuan a king who had a brave son named Alberto. When Alberto heard of the matter, he went to the king, and said that he would look for his lost daughters. King Luis accepted his offer. Prince Alberto now began his search. He walked and walked until he came to a large forest where he found two boys fighting. "What are you fighting about?" he said. The one answered that the other boy was taking his boot away from him. Alberto then said to the other boy, "Why don't you give the boy his boot? The boot is old." The boy said that the boot, if worn by any one, would carry him to whatever place he wanted to go, provided he kicked the ground. To settle the contest between the two, Prince Alberto took the boot from them, and said, "Go over by that large tree, and the one who can run here first shall have the boot." While the boys were walking towards the tree, the prince put on the boot and kicked the ground. He was at once carried far away. When the boys got back to the original place, Alberto had disappeared.

At the place where the boot carried him Alberto found two young men fighting over a rusty key. He said to them, "Why do you fight for such an old rusty key? You are not children: you are young men. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves." The elder of them answered that the key, if it were knocked against a stone, would open the stone, however hard it might be. The prince took the key from them, and said, "Go to a certain place, and face back here. The one to reach here first shall have the key." The two agreed, and started away. While they were gone, Alberto kicked the ground, and the boot carried him to another place. When the young men came back, the prince was no longer there.

This time Prince Alberto found two old men fighting. He asked them the same question as he had asked the others; and one of them answered, "If that hat is worn by any one, his body will be invisible; he will not be seen." The prince secured the hat from these old men by telling them the same thing he had told the others. While they were running their race, he put the hat on and kicked the ground.

The boot now brought him before a huge rock which had a small hole in it. Alberto put the key in the hole, and the rock suddenly opened. When he entered it, he found a street leading to a palace. He went up to the palace; and when he entered the door, a beautiful princess met him. Before Alberto could say a word, the princess told him to go away; for she said that a seven-headed monster was living with her. "If that is the case," said the prince, "show me his sword, and I will kill him." The princess pointed to the sword, which was hanging on the wall. The prince went to get it, but it was too heavy for him: he could not even move it. Then the princess gave him a pail of water to drink. She said that that was the water the monster always drank before touching his sword. The prince drank the water, and then sat down on an iron chair, and the chair broke. The princess now told him that he was strong. Soon steps were heard on the stairs. Prince Alberto put on his hat, and stood by the door, sword in hand. When the monster came up, he thrust one of his heads through a window near the door, and said, "I smell something human!" The prince cut off that head. "Somebody must be here!" cried the monster; but the princess answered that there was no one there with her. The prince then cut off the monster's heads one after another until only the main one was left. The monster waved his arms, but he could not grasp anything. At last he entered the door. The prince cut off his last head, and he fell dead.

Inexpressible was the joy of the princess when she saw the monster lying dead on the floor. She embraced the prince, and thanked him for her deliverance. Then she told him how she happened to be there. When the prince knew that she was one of the daughters of King Luis, he said to her that she was the very one for whom he was looking. The princess then told the prince about her two sisters, who were kept prisoners in the same way. So Prince Alberto left her, saying that he would go save her two sisters and then return.

He went outside and kicked the ground, and was brought before another huge rock. He entered it, and another princess met him. After asking him a few questions, she told him to go away, for the ten-headed monster who was living with her would soon return. But the prince said that he did not fear anything, and he told her to give him the monster's sword. Before he could lift the sword he had to drink two pails of water, which the princess gave him. Then he sat down on an iron bed, and the bed broke in two, so he thought he was strong enough. When the ten-headed monster came home, Alberto killed him in the same way he had killed the other. The princess rejoiced, and told the prince that he had saved her life. Then she embraced him and thanked him. Her joy was increased when Alberto told her that he had saved her younger sister. She begged him to save her eldest sister, who was in the next rock. The prince answered that that was what he had come for. So he left her without further talk, for it was already the night of the second day.

He then kicked the ground, and found himself in front of another huge rock, which he opened. Here the third princess greeted him. After asking him several questions as to how he had come there, she begged him to go away, for she said that it was time for the twelve-headed monster to come home. But he did not go away. He asked for the sword of the monster, but of course he could not move it. So the princess gave him three pails of water to drink. When the monster came home, the prince cut his heads off one after another, as he had done to the other two. The main head was now the only one left. Then the prince removed his hat, and presented himself before the monster, who thought that he could easily kill him, now that he could see him. He said, "Wait, I'll go and get my sword." But he could not find it, for the prince had already taken it. When he returned, he said to the prince, "You have my sword." He had scarcely spoken these words when Alberto cut off his remaining head. When Alberto told the princess that he had already saved her two sisters, she jumped with joy and embraced him.

Alberto now took the princess in his arms, kicked the ground, and they were brought to the palace of the second sister. Then the prince kicked the ground again, and all three were carried to the palace of the youngest sister. But there was no time for delay, as the third day was nearly gone. So he quickly brought all three princesses back to their father's kingdom. When they arrived at the palace, King Luis was overjoyed to see his daughters again. He told the prince to decide which one he wanted for a wife. While the three princesses were talking about their life with the monsters, Alberto managed, without being noticed, to give his handkerchief to the youngest.

The next day Alberto called at the palace. "Have you decided whom you are going to take for a wife?" said the king. The prince answered, "The one who has a handkerchief just like mine shall be my wife." Now, all three were anxious to have the brave prince for their husband, so they hastened to their rooms to get their handkerchiefs. The two older sisters first presented theirs, but neither resembled Alberto's. Then the youngest showed the one which Alberto had given her the day before, and so she was married to him. For three days banquets of thanksgiving were held, and the marriage festivities lasted for two days. The other two princesses were also married to kings' sons.

Notes.

There is a striking analogy between the opening of our story and that of a Servian tale (Wuk, No. 5), where a Kaiser has three daughters whom he rears in close confinement, but whom he permits one day, after they have become of marriageable age, to dance the kolo. While they are dancing, a storm blows up, and carries them all away. The rest of the story is a variant of our No. 18, with which our present story, too, has some points of contact.

For the magic articles secured by the hero from certain persons quarrelling over them, and for the "Fee-fi-fo-fum" formula, see notes to No. 18.

The hero's drinking a pail of magic water, and becoming so strong that when he sits in an iron chair it breaks down under him, recalls the similar feat of Strong Hans (Grimm, No. 166).

The three monsters of increasingly greater formidability--Seven-Heads, Ten-Heads, Twelve-Heads--which are slain by the hero, who uses their own Weapons on them, recall the underworld monsters killed by the hero in the "Bear's Son" cycle (cf. our notes to No. 17).

Although the events of our story are located in the Philippines, the Casiguran mentioned probably being the town in Tayabas on the west toast of Luzon, the tale as a whole appears to have been imported. The Sinucuan referred to is probably the famous legendary King of Pampanga, of whom the Pampangans have a rich oral literature. He is said to have lived on Mount Arayat. He figures in our No. 79 (b).

TALE 40

JUAN AND MARIA.

Narrated by Anicio Pascual of Arayat, Pampanga, who says, "This story is often told by Pampangan grandmothers to their grandchildren. I have heard it many times. Lately it was told to me again by an old woman."

Once there lived in a barrio an old beggar couple. They had a son named Juan, and a daughter Maria. The proceeds from their begging were hardly enough to support the family. One day, after the old man had returned home from town, he ordered his wife to cook the rice that had been given him. The old woman obeyed him. When he saw that the rice was not enough for him and his wife and children, he angrily said to her, "From now on, don't let me see our children in this house. Chase them as far as you can, and let them find their own food." The old mother wept when she heard the words of her cruel husband. She did not want to be separated from her children; but she feared that she would be whipped if she kept them, so she obeyed the cruel order. At first the poor children did not want to go away; but, when they saw that their bad father was going to kick them, they ran off crying.

Soon the children came to a wild forest. "Maria, what will become of us here?" said Juan. "I am very hungry," said the little girl. "I don't think that I can get you any food in this wilderness," said the kind brother, "but let me see!" He then looked around. By good luck he found a guava-tree with one small fruit on it. He immediately climbed up for the guava, and gave it to his hungry sister. Then the two children resumed their journey.

As they were walking along, Maria found a hen's egg on the grass. She picked it up and carried it along with her in her dirty ragged skirt. At last they saw a very small hut roofed with dry talahib (coarse, long grass). An old woman in the hut welcomed them, and asked them where they were going. After Juan had told her their story, she invited the tired children to stay in the hut with her. She promised that she would treat them as her little son and daughter. From that time on, Juan and Maria lived with the kind old woman. Juan grew to be a strong fine man, and Maria became a beautiful young woman. Juan spent almost all his time hunting in the mountains and woods.

One morning he caught a black deer. While he was taking the animal home, the deer said to him, "Juan, as soon as you reach your home, kill me, eat my flesh, and put my hide in your trunk. After three days open your trunk, and you will see something astonishing." When Juan reached home, he did as the deer had told him to do. On the third day he found in the trunk golden armor. He was greatly delighted by the precious gift.

Maria had not been living long with the old woman when she found that the egg had hatched into a chick, which soon grew into a fine fighting cock. One morning the cock crowed, "Tok-to-ko-kok! Take me to the cockpit. I'll surely win!" Maria told the old woman what the cock had said, and the next Sunday Juan took the fighting cock to the cockpit. There the rooster was victorious, and won much money for Juan.

One day Juan heard that a tournament would be held in front of the king's palace. The winner of the contest was to become the husband of the princess, and would inherit the throne. Juan quickly put on his golden armor, and hastened to the palace to try his skill. He defeated all his opponents. The next day his bridal ceremony was celebrated, and the crown was placed on his head. That very day he ascended the throne to rule over the kingdom. Although Juan was now king, he was not proud. He and the queen visited Maria to get her to live in the palace; but the old woman would not allow her to go with her brother, as she had no other companion in the hut.

One day a prince was lost in the forest. He happened to come across the hut in which Maria was living. He fell in love with her, and wanted to marry her. As the old woman offered no objections to the proposal of the prince, the following day Maria became a queen, just as her brother had become king. Although the parents of Juan and Maria had been very cruel, yet the king and queen did not forget them. The brother and sister visited their father and mother, whom they found in the most wretched condition. When the father saw that his children had become king and queen, he wept greatly for his former cruelty to them.

Notes.

A Tagalog folk-tale printed in the "Journal of American Folk-Lore" (20 : 306), "Tagalog Babes in the Woods," is related to our story. "There the twins Juan and Maria are driven to the forest by their cruel father. After days of wandering, Juan climbs a tree, and sees in the distance a house. They approach it, and, having asked permission to enter, are invited in; but there is no one to be seen in this magic house, although food and drink and clothing are supplied the two wanderers in abundance." The story is evidently incomplete. It is based on a metrical romance, "The Life of the Brother and Sister, Juan and Maria, in the Kingdom of Spain," of which I will give a brief synopsis, since the chap-book version contains details which are lacking in the fragment cited above.

This metrical romance is printed in both Tagalog and Pampangan. My Tagalog copy, which contains 1836 lines, bears the date 1910, but is clearly a reprint. The Pampangan text is slightly shorter, with 1812 lines. Retana (No. 4164) cites a Pampangan version some time between the years 1860 and 1898, and a later reprint of 1902 (No. 4349). The summary that follows is based on the Tagalog.

Juan and Maria.

During the reign of King Charles the Fifth there lived in Spain a poor couple, Fernando and Juana. They had a son Juan, ten years old, and a daughter Maria, but eight months in age. Fernando was very cruel to his wife and children. He was also very selfish. During meal-times he ate alone, without inviting the rest of his family to eat with him.

One day Fernando said to his wife, "You must send our two children away. If my command is not executed, your life shall answer for your disobedience." The broken-hearted mother summoned her children, and with tears in her eyes told them of the cruel order of their father. The children had to obey their father, for they feared him, and so set off for the mountains. For many days they wandered around, living on wild fruits, and sleeping under trees.

One day Juan was greatly surprised to hear Maria ask for some water to drink, for she had never spoken before. They were far from any stream, and Juan did not know what to do to satisfy his sister. At last he climbed a tree to see whether there was any water near by, and he saw in a valley not far off a beautiful house surrounded with flowers. Juan quickly came down the tree, and the two children set out for the house. When they reached it, they knocked at the door, but no one answered. After knocking again in vain, the boy decided to enter. He pushed open the door, and found himself in a golden salon, luxuriously furnished with gold and silver chairs. On the silver wall hung an image of the Immaculate Conception. The two children knelt down in front of the image and prayed. Then they went to the dining-room, where they found a golden table with exquisite dishes of all kinds.

Several years passed by. Under the care of the Virgin, Maria grew to be a beautiful young woman. One day, as Maria was praying, the Virgin spoke to her through the image. She said that the gallant prince of Borgoña would come to the mountains to hunt deer, and that he would lose his way in the woods. He would come to their house to ask for some water, and would fall in love with Maria. Everything turned out as had been predicted. The gallant prince was so attracted by the beauty and grace of Maria, that he could not help saying to her, "I love you." With the consent of her guardian the Virgin, Maria accepted the Prince of Borgoña, and the day for their wedding was set. The king, his son, and all the nobility of Borgoña, set out for the mountains to get Maria, and on their arrival were surprised at the magnificence of her house. The bishop who was with the company married the couple, and all the retinue went back to the capital.

When Juan now found himself left all alone in the house, he knelt before the image and complained to the Virgin of his situation. The Virgin said to him, "Don't worry! To-morrow mount the horse which is in the stable, clothe yourself in iron, and go to the kingdom of Moscobia to help the king drive the Moors away." Juan did so, and upon his arrival in Moscobia he found thousands of Moors threatening the king. With his sword he killed half the enemy: the rest were routed. Because of his great services, the king married his daughter to Juan, and the new couple were proclaimed king and queen.

Some time afterwards, Juan wrote to his sister, suggesting that they visit their parents. The two couples, accompanied by many of the nobles of their kingdoms, set out for Spain. Their cruel father was astounded to see his children raised to such a lofty position, and he begged their pardon for his former harsh treatment of them. They forgave him, and then returned to their respective kingdoms, where they lived peacefully for many years.

The connection between our folk-tale and the romance is not very clear. In both we have the abandoned children, the discovery of the house in the woods where the children are reared to manhood and womanhood, and the marriage of Maria with a prince who loses his way in the forest. In both Juan becomes a king, and in both the two children seek again their cruel parents and forgive them. On the other hand, there is much in the folk-tale that is lacking in the romance; e.g., the incident of the egg that hatches into a fighting cock, and the incident of the black deer with the miraculous hide. In the folk-tale Juan becomes king because of his skill in a tournament; in the romance, because, with the help of the Virgin, he defeats a large Moorish army. In the one, the shelter in the woods is but a thatch-roofed hut inhabited by a kindly old woman; in the other, it is a magnificent house occupied by no one except the image of the Virgin. The correspondences as well as the differences between the two versions, neither of which appears to be new, suggest that the source of the folk-tale and the romance is one and the same, but that the folk-tale went its own way, the way of the people, and thus acquired its more native appearance. That the common source was some European story, can hardly be doubted, I think.

The opening of our story is not unlike that of the German "Hänsel und Gretel" (Grimm, No. 15). Bolte and Polívka (1 : 123) note that various different Märchen have this beginning "of children whom their father, either because of bitter necessity or because he is forced by their step-mother, takes to the woods and there abandons." One of the most widespread cycles in which it occurs is "Hop o' my Thumb," a version of which is told among the Tagalogs. I will give this Tagalog version here in the notes, by way of compromise, as it were: for while the story is a bona fide Tagalog tale, in that it is told in the dialect, it must have been received directly from Europe; and it appears to have retained the form in which it was received, with but few modifications. No other Oriental form whatsoever of this story has been recorded (see Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 124-126). The Tagalog story was narrated by Pacita Cordero of Pagsanjan, Laguna, and runs thus:--

Pitong.

Melanio and Petrona had seven sons. The father was a woodman. They were so poor, that sometimes the whole family went without dinner. One day Melanio said to his wife, "Petrona, our children are growing, and I don't see how we shall be able to support them all. At present they cannot help us earn a living, because they are too small. Don't you think we should get along better without them?"--"Yes," answered Petrona, "if we could only get rid of them some way!"--"Well, to-morrow I will take them to the forest to gather fuel," said the husband. "While they are busy, I will leave them on the pretext of looking for better kinds of wood, and will hurry home. They will not be able to get home, for they won't know the way."

The wife agreed to this cruel plan. But the youngest son overheard the conversation, and told his brothers about it. At last Pitong (seventh), for that was the name of the youngest, and he was the wisest of all, made this suggestion: "Before we go to the forest to-morrow, I will pick up white stones. I will carry them with me, and as we go along I will drop them one by one. I'll walk behind, so that father will not notice what I am doing. Then, if he leaves us, we can easily follow the track of stones back home." While the six brothers consented to the plan, their minds were troubled, for they doubted the ability of so small a boy to save them.

The next day the children marched straight into the forest with their father as if they were going on a picnic. Pitong dropped his stones one by one. When they reached the woods, their father commanded them to get together what sticks they could find. He left them there, promising that he would meet them in a certain place; but really he hurried home and told his wife. "We are now rid of a heavy burden," he said, and the two were very happy. When the poor boys had finished their work, they looked in vain for their father. Of course they could not find him; but Pitong led the company, and they followed the track of stones. The boys reached home safely, and the parents were route with astonishment.

The next morning Melanio took his sons out with him again. This time all the boys took white stones with them, besides bread, which they intended to eat if they should get hungry; but the part of the forest to which they went was so far, that all the stones were used up before they got there. Pitong did not eat his bread; he broke it into pieces, and dropped them on the ground as they went along. They now reached the nook where their father proposed to leave them. This place was grown up with wild shrubs, so that there were plenty of twigs to keep the boys busy. Melanio slipped away from them without their noticing it. After the seven brothers had worked a long time, they thought of returning home. But they could not find the track: the pieces of bread had been eaten by the ants. They cried out, "Father, father! where are you?" When they were so hungry and tired that they could not shout any more, they sat down on the ground and began to weep.

It began to grow dark. Pitong advised his brothers to pluck up courage, and said to them, "Follow me." So they went on without taking any

## particular course, and in about a half-hour they came to a tall

tree. Pitong climbed it to see if there was a road near by. When he reached the top, he said, "Brothers, I see a lighted house from here. Let us go look for the house! Maybe we can get something to eat there."

When they came near the house, they saw that it was well lighted and richly adorned, as if there were a banquet going on; only it was very quiet. Pitong, followed by his brothers, knocked at the door. A woman kindly admitted them, and the boys begged for some food. They told her how they had been deserted by their selfish father. The woman said to them, "I have a giant husband who is a great eater of human beings. If he finds you here, you will surely be devoured; but I can give you something to eat. I will hide you before he comes, and you must remain perfectly still." The boys had hardly finished dinner when a loud sound was heard from without. The woman said to them, "Here comes my husband! Boys, follow me into that room! You all get into this big trunk and stay here."

The door was suddenly flung open. As soon as the giant entered, he said in a fierce voice, "I smell something human: somebody must be here." He said this many times; and although the wife did not want to show him the boys, she finally did so, for she feared that she would be punished. She beckoned to them to come out of the trunk. "Welcome, my young friends!" said the giant. "I am very glad to have you here." Pitong gazed fearlessly at him, but the others trembled with fright. "Give these boys some food, and prepare them a comfortable bed," said the giant to his wife. "To-morrow early in the morning they will all be killed."

These words increased the terror of the six older brothers. They could not swallow a morsel more of food when the old woman set it before them. Pitong, however, kept trying to think of a plan by which he could save them all. Now, the room in which they were to sleep was also the room of the giant's seven sons, who were about the same height as the woodman's sons. But the giant's sons had on rich garments. At midnight Pitong awoke his brothers. They quietly and carefully exchanged clothes with the giant's sons, and then pretended to sleep. At four o'clock in the morning the giant came in. He paused before the two beds, but at last turned to the one his sons were in. When he felt their rough clothes, he thought them the strangers, and with his axe he cut off the heads of all seven. Then he went away and slept again.

Now Pitong and his six brothers stealthily hurried away into the forest. When morning came, and the giant found that he had killed his own children, he was enraged. He at once took his magic cane, and put on his magic boots and cap. When the boys heard the giant coming after them, they went down into a big hole they had dug. There they hid. But the giant had a keen sense of smell, and he walked around and around, looking for them. At last he became tired; he leaned against a tree and fell asleep. Pitong peeped through a small opening from under the ground. When he saw that the giant was asleep, he called out to his brothers. They quickly stole the magic boot, cap, and cane of the giant, and were soon carried home. Their parents were very much surprised to see them back; but they welcomed their children when they knew of the magic objects. By means of these the family became rich.

As for the giant, when he awoke, he was deprived of all his power. He was so weak that he could not even get up from the ground, so he died there in the woods.

TALE 41

THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

Narrated by Pedro D. L. Sorreta, a Bicol from Virac, Albay, who heard the story from his grandfather.

Many years ago there lived a very rich king in a beautiful city near a wild forest, the home of many wicked witches. The king had a gallant son named Ucay, who fell in love with a beautiful young witch, the daughter of the most bitter enemy of his father. When Ucay became old enough to marry, his father requested him to select the most beautiful lady in the city for his wife; but the prince would neither select one, nor would he tell his father about his love for the witch. So the rich king ordered his soldiers to bring to the palace all the beautiful women that could be found in the kingdom. His order was soon obeyed, but none of the girls suited the prince. So the king took the matter of selection into his own hands; and, after choosing a very handsome girl, he forced his son to marry her. Out of fear, Ucay consented to do as his father bade him. But the beautiful young witch to whom he had already pledged his love became angry with him for his timidity, and so she resolved to change the city into a forest of beautiful trees. Her fickle lover she transformed into a monkey, who should live in the tallest tree, and who should not be able to recover his human shape till five centuries had passed, when a charming girl would live with him and love him more than anything else. Moreover, she changed the king's subjects into other animals as she pleased. No sooner had the marriage of the prince been proclaimed, then, than the desire of the witch was accomplished, to the great surprise of the neighboring cities.

Four centuries had already passed. The wonderful disappearance of the city was already forgotten, and people from other places began to build houses in the enchanted city. The monkey-prince was always watching for an opportunity to catch a beautiful girl who should break the spell that kept him in his miserable condition. Soon a church was built near the foot of the tree in which he lived. He had already succeeded in capturing two ladies, but they had died of fear. After incalculable suffering and extraordinary patience, the time for his recovery came at last.

One Sunday morning before the mass was over, a very beautiful girl, the daughter of a poor man, came out of the church and sat at the foot of the tree. She had been disappointed in her love with a rich man's son, who had forsaken her in order to marry the daughter of a rich man. So she wished to die. When the monkey-prince saw her sitting there alone, he noiselessly went down, carefully took her by the right hand, and carried her to the top of the tree. She would have died of fright, as was the fate of the two former women, had she not seen in the monkey's eyes a noble look that filled her with wonder and sympathy. As days went by, she lived on delicious fruits which were entirely strange to her; and her love for the poor creature grew greater and greater, until at last she loved him more than anything else.

On the evening of the tenth day she was surprised to find herself beside a gallant prince in a richly-decorated room. At first she thought that she was dreaming; but when the prince woke up, kissed her, and then told her the history of his life, she knew that it was real. She was so astonished, that she exclaimed, "Ah, me! God is wise!" The next morning she was crowned queen of her husband's happy subjects, whom she had restored from the enchantment of the wicked witch. Every one in the kingdom loved his new queen as long as he lived.

Notes.

I know of no parallels to this interesting story, which appears to be old native tradition. The hero transformed by enchantment into a beast, and saved by the devotion of the human lover, suggests the "Beauty and Beast" cycle (Macculloch, ch. IX; Crane, 7, 324 [notes 5 and 6]; Ralston, Tibetan Tales, p. XXXVII f.); only it is to be noted that those stories are, after all, heroine tales, not hero tales, for the interest in them is centred on the disenchantment brought about by the maiden who comes to love the prince in his beast form. The curse by a disappointed witch, and the prophecy that only after five hundred years will the curse be removed, suggest in a way the "Sleeping Beauty" cycle (Grimm, No. 50; and Bolte-Polívka's exhaustive notes); only here, too, the resemblance is but vague. There is no magic sleep in our story, but a Circe-like transformation of the prince and all his subjects into animals, the city itself being changed into a forest of trees. We have already met with stories in the Philippines based on the idea of animal-marriages (e.g., Nos. 18, 19, 29); but, even were it demonstrable that all those tales were imported, it would not necessarily follow that the savage idea behind them, too, was imported. Their adoption by the natives might indicate, on the contrary, that the basic idea was already well known.

I might call attention to the fact that the number 500 and the monkey-prince suggest vaguely Buddhistic lore.

TALE 42

THE PRINCE'S DREAM.

Narrated by Gregorio Frondoso, a Bicol of Tigaon, Camarines. The narrator says, "This story was told to me by my guardian while I was in Nueva Caceres. He told it to me in the Bicol dialect, and said that this must be a Bicol story."

Once there lived a young prince who, after his father's death, succeeded to the throne as the sole heir of a vast, rich kingdom. He indulged himself in all worldly pleasures. He gave dances, and all sorts of merry-making surrounded his court to attract the most beautiful ladies of the kingdom. Meanwhile the royal treasury was being drained, and his subjects were becoming disloyal to him; for, his time being chiefly absorbed in personal cares, he often neglected his duties as king. Disappointed by his conduct, his counsellors plotted against him: they resolved to dismiss him from the realm. The prince's mother, the widowed queen, learned of their plot. So, when he returned to the palace from his evening walk one day, she said to him, "My son, I wish you would turn from your foolish trifling, and govern your people as you ought to do; for your advisers are planning to dethrone you." The prince, who was not bad at heart, followed his mother's sensible advice: he now began to devote himself to the welfare of his subjects. His ministers, too, gave up their plan, and aided the young king in his royal tasks.

One noon, when the prince was taking his siesta, he had a dream. A ghost appeared to him, and spoke in this manner: "Your father left a hidden treasure of gold and diamonds, which he forgot to mention in his will. Should you care to have that treasure, go to the city of Black. There you will find a Negro, the richest in that city, who will tell you all about the treasure." On hearing these words, the prince woke up, and hurriedly acquainted his mother with his dream. "Undeceive yourself," she said. "Never believe in dreams. I don't believe in them myself." In spite of his mother's words, he decided to look for the Negro.

The next day, disguising himself as a poor traveller, the prince set out for the city of Black. He arrived there at ten o'clock at night, and the gate of the city was closed; for there was a law there, that, after the bell had rung ten, no person could enter the city. So he had to sleep outside the walls. Then the very same ghost that had spoken to him in his palace appeared to him, and said, "Go back to your palace, prince, and there in the cellar you will find the treasure I spoke of." The moment he heard the voice, the prince got up and returned to his own city. When his mother saw him, she said to him, "Did you find what you were looking for?"--"Mother, the very same ghost told me that the treasure is buried in the cellar of the palace."

"I have told you that dreams are never true," she said. "The ghost must be joking you. You see, you have gone to a faraway land in vain. Banish all thoughts of that treasure, and continue ruling your kingdom well, and you will be very much better off."

At first the prince followed his mother's counsel, and tried to rid his mind of the thought of the treasure; but the ghost haunted him in his sleep, day and night, reminding him of the gold and diamonds. Early one morning, without the knowledge of his mother, he took a pointed iron bar and went down into the cellar of the palace. There he dug where the treasure was supposed to be. He dug and dug to find the coveted gold and diamonds. He remained there several hours, and had excavated a hole some three metres deep, but had found no sign of the hidden wealth. Just as he was about to give up, his bar struck something hard which produced a metallic sound. He went on digging until finally he uncovered an iron platform in the form of a square. It was locked with a padlock, and the key was in the lock. He lifted the platform, and to his great surprise and wonder found a low ladder made of diamond bars, leading down into a small apartment all shining bright as if it were day. Here he found two columns of diamond bars, each a foot in thickness and a metre in height, whose brightness shot through all the corners like sunbeams. This subterranean chamber immediately led to another in which there was a big safe about five feet in height and three feet wide. He opened the safe, and from out of it flowed gold coins like water in torrents from a cliff. His eyes were dazzled by their brightness; and he was so startled at the inexhaustible flow of money, that he said to himself, "Are these gold coins and diamonds real, or am I simply dreaming?" To assure himself, he filled his cap with the gold coins and went up into the sunlight. He rubbed his eyes and examined the coins: they were of pure gold. Greatly delighted by his discovery, he hastened to his mother, and said, "I have found the treasure, I have found the treasure!" When the queen saw the gold glittering in her son's hand, she was very glad. Now both mother and son hurried down to the cellar. There the prince continued his search for the hidden treasure, while his mother contemplated in awe the columns of diamonds she saw in those underground apartments. Now the prince came to a third chamber, in which he found two more columns of diamonds like those in the first room; and finally he came to a fourth apartment, in which he saw a wide curtain of silk hanging on the wall. Back of this wall was another apartment, but it was securely locked. On the curtain were embroidered the following words in big golden letters: "Inside this chamber is another column of diamonds twice as large and twice as high as those in the other two; none can unlock this apartment but the wealthiest Negro in the city of Black."

Anxious to have this last column of diamonds, the prince determined to find the Negro. Disguising himself again as a poor traveller, he set out for the city of Black. There he found the Negro, who received him very kindly. In the course of their talk the prince spoke of his dream, and told how he found the gold coins and the diamond columns, and finally gave the reason for his coming there as a poor traveller. Furthermore, the prince mentioned his father's name. On hearing the prince's story, the Negro knelt down before him, saying, "My prince, I was the most beloved servant of your father. I acknowledge you as my master, and am disposed and ready to do anything for your sake. As to the chamber you spoke of, I have not the power to unlock it. There is but one man who can unlock it, who knows very well your dead father, and who was his friend. He knows me, too, very well. This man is the king of the demons. And to him we will go together; but before we go, we should eat our dinner." Then the Negro ordered all kinds of delicious dishes, and the two feasted together.

After they had dined, they set out on their journey to the palace of the king of the demons. Soon they came to a river. There the Negro instructed the prince not to say anything if he should see any extraordinary sights, lest some terrible danger befall them. The Negro waved his hand, and in a moment there came a sphinx paddling a small banca towards them. They got into it, and the sphinx rowed back to the other side. Then they walked on till they came to the palace of the king of the demons, which was protected by two circular walls. They knocked at the gate of the first. The moment they knocked, it became dark all around them; lightnings flashed before their eyes, and it thundered. Then the gate opened. After passing through the first gate, they came to the second. "They knocked, and the gate flung open. At once two lions ran out towards them with eyes glowing like balls of fire, and were ready to spring upon them and devour them; but on coming nearer the strangers, and recognizing the Negro, these two kings of beasts wagged their tails as a sign of welcome.

The Negro and the prince were conducted to the king's throne. The king of the demons asked them what they wanted. The prince spoke: "King of the demons, I have found in the cellar of my palace a store of gold coins and several diamond columns, my father's hidden treasure which he forgot to mention in his will. The last column is locked up in a separate apartment, and there is none who has the power to unlock it but yourself."

"Young king," replied the king of the demons, "it is true that I am the only one who can unlock it. I gave that diamond column to your father as a gift which he might bequeath to his son; and if you are his son, you shall have it. But, before giving it to you, I should like to have you do me a favor in return for that rich gift. If you will bring me a very beautiful woman to be my companion, one whose heart is untainted by any worldly passion, I will unlock for you your wished-for treasure, the diamond room."

At this request the young man stood speechless for some time. At last, perplexed, he replied, "O king of the demons! it seems to me impossible to fulfil your wish. I am not a man of superhuman power to read into a woman's heart."

"Well," returned the king of the demons, taking out of his pocket a small oval mirror, "if you see a beautiful woman, hold this mirror before her face. If the surface of the mirror becomes clouded, leave her; but if the surface of the mirror remains as clear as before, bring her to me, for she is the one I want for my comfort."

The prince took the mirror, and with his Negro companion left the palace to look for the desired girl for the king of the demons. They visited cities and villages. In three days they had searched through three cities and three villages, but every girl that looked on the magic mirror clouded its surface. Then, discouraged by their failure, the travellers decided to go back to the palace of the king of the demons. On their return they felt very tired, and so stopped in a small village to rest. There they found a most beautiful girl, the daughter of a poor farmer. It was the very girl desired by the king of the demons; for, after she had looked on the magic mirror, its surface remained as clear as before. Then with joyful hearts the Negro and the prince set out with the lady for the abode of the king of the demons.

On their way, the prince, fascinated by her beauty, fell in love with the girl. He did not want to give her up to the king of the demons, and so proposed to the Negro that they take her to his palace. But the Negro would not consent, for the king of the demons knew all about their doings, he said. So the prince gave up his plan on condition that the girl's face be veiled.

When they arrived at the palace, the king of the demons gladly met them, and said to the prince, "Now you have fulfilled my wish. You may go back to your palace, and there you will find the diamond apartment unlocked for you." The sorrowing prince turned his back and left the palace with heavy heart; for he no longer thought of the treasure of gold and diamonds, but had his whole soul centred in that beautiful maiden that he had given up to the king of the demons. He reached his own palace sad and dejected. Yet, to divert his mind from the thought of her, he went to the subterranean apartment; and there he found the last chamber unlocked.

After some hesitation, he went into the apartment. There he found two veiled figures,--the one in the form of a king with his sceptre and crown; the other, a maiden. He unveiled the one with the crown, and was astounded to find the very same king of the demons. "Prince, unveil that figure," said the king of the demons to him. The young king did so, and to his great joy saw the beautiful maiden he had lost his heart to. At once his sadness disappeared. Then the king of the demons said to the prince, "Young king, since on your way to my palace you fell in love with this maiden, I deem it fit that you should have her for your companion; but do not expect the diamond column any more." Then the king of the demons disappeared. The prince at once embraced the maiden, and conducted her up to his palace. That same day their marriage was celebrated with pomp and luxury.

Note.

Dr. Franz Boas informs me that this story is from the "Arabian Nights," "The Tale of Zayn Al-Asnam" (see Burton, Supplemental Nights," iii, 3-38; for Clouston's discussion of variants and analogues, ibid., 553-563).

TALE 43

THE WICKED WOMAN'S REWARD.

Narrated by Gregorio Frondoso, a Bicol from Camarines. The story was told by a father to one of his sons.

Once there lived a certain king. He had concubines, five in number. Two of them he loved more than the others, for they were to bear him children. He said that the one who should give birth to a male baby he would marry. Soon one of them bore a child, but it was a girl, and shortly afterward the other bore a handsome boy. The one which had given birth to the baby girl was restless: she wished that she might have the boy. In order to satisfy her wish, she thought of an ingenious plan whereby she might get possession of the boy.

One midnight, when all were sound asleep, she killed her own baby and secretly buried it. Then she quietly crept to her rival's bed and stole her boy, putting in his place a newborn cat. Early in the morning the king went to the room of his concubine who had borne the boy, and was surprised to find a cat by her side instead of a human child. He was so enraged, that he immediately ordered her to be drowned in the river. His order was at once executed. Then he went into the room of the wicked woman. The moment he saw the boy baby, he was filled with great joy, and he smothered the child with kisses. As he had promised, he married the woman. After the marriage the king sent away all his other concubines, and he harbored a deep love for his deceitful wife.

Soon afterwards there was a great confusion throughout the kingdom. Everybody wondered why it was that the river smelled so fragrant, and the people were very anxious to find out the cause of the sweet odor. It was not many days before the townspeople along the river-bank found the corpse of the drowned woman floating in the water; and this was the source of the sweetness that was causing their restlessness. It was full of many different kinds of flowers which had been gathered by the birds. When the people attempted to remove the corpse from the water, the birds pecked them, and would not let the body be taken away.

At last the news of the miracle was brought to the ears of the king. He himself went to the river to see the wonderful corpse. As soon as he saw the figure of the drowned woman, he was tortured with remorse. Then, to his great surprise and fear, the corpse suddenly stood up out of the water, and said to him in sorrowful tones, "O king! as you see, my body has been floating on the water. The birds would have buried me, but I wanted you to know that you ordered me to be killed without any investigation of my fault. Your wife stole my boy, and, as you saw, she put a cat by my side." The ghost vanished, and the king saw the body float away again down the river. The king at once ordered the body of his favorite to be taken out of the water and brought to the palace; and he himself was driven back to the town, violent with rage and remorse. There he seized his treacherous wife and hurled her out of the window of the palace, and he even ordered her body to be hanged.

Having gotten rid of this evil woman, the king ordered the body of the innocent woman to be buried among the noble dead. The corpse was placed in a magnificent tomb, and was borne in a procession with pompous funeral ceremonies. He himself dressed entirely in black as a sign of his genuine grief for her; yet, in spite of his sorrow for his true wife, he took comfort in her son, who grew to be a handsome boy. As time went on, the prince developed into a brave youth, who was able to perform the duties of his father the king: so, as his father became old, no longer able to bear the responsibilities of regal power, the prince succeeded to the throne, and ruled the kingdom well. He proved himself to be the son of the good woman by his wise and just rule over his subjects.

Note.

I know of no other versions of this story. The incident of the animal substitution for child is a commonplace in folk-tales, though it is usually ascribed to an envious step-mother rather than an envious co-wife. For abstracts of Filipino stories containing this incident see JAFL 29 : 226 et seq., 228, 229; 19 : 265-272.

TALE 44

THE MAGIC RING ("ANG SINGSING NGA TANTANAN").

Narrated by Encarnacion Gonzaga, a Visayan from Jaro, Iloilo. The story, she says, is very popular among the Visayans.

In the town of X, not far from the kingdom of Don Fernando, there lived an old religious woman named Carmen. She had a son named Carlos. She had been a widow since Carlos was nine months old. She was poor--poor even to raggedness. One day she said to her son, "I have named you Carlos because I love you. For me, no name is prettier than yours. Every letter in it means something." Carlos asked his mother to tell him the meaning of his name; but she said to him, "I'll tell it to you later. First go to the king's palace, and there beg something for us to eat. O my son! if you only knew the miseries I have had to endure to bring you up, you would not refuse this request of your poor mother," she said, weeping.

Carlos pitied his mother very much, so he ran towards the king's palace to beg some food; but when he reached the gate, he hesitated to enter. He was ashamed to beg, so he went and stood silently under the orange-tree which was not far from the princess's window. "If I should obey my mother's request," he said to himself, "what would the princess say? She would probably say to me, 'You are too young to beg.' What a disgrace then would it be for me!" As Carlos was looking at the declining sun with tears in his eyes, the princess raised her window and unintentionally spit on his head. Carlos's eyes flashed. He looked at the princess sternly, and said, "If the Goddess of the Sea, who has a star on her forehead [92] and a moon on her throat, does not dare to spit on me, how can you--you who are but the shadow of her power and beauty?"

At these harsh words the princess fainted. When she came to herself, she cried. Her tears were like drops of dew falling from the leaves in the morning. Her father entered her room, and found her in her sorrow. "Why do you weep, Florentina?" asked Don Fernando.

"O Father!" answered Florentina, "my heart is broken. I have been disgraced."

"Why should you say so?" replied her father. "Who broke your heart, and who disgraced you?"

"There's a man under the orange-tree," answered the princess, "who said to me these words"--and she repeated what Carlos had said to her.

The king instantly ordered Carlos to be seized and brought into his presence. Carlos stood fearless before him, and answered all his questions. Don Fernando at last said, "If within a week you cannot show me that what you said to my daughter is true, you'll be hanged without mercy."

These words frightened Carlos. With tears in his eyes and with his thoughts devoted to God, who alone could give him consolation, he walked down the shore of the Golden River. He sat down to rest under a pagatpat-tree [93]. An eagle which had a nest at the very top of the tree saw him crying, and said to him, "Why do you weep, Carlos?"

"O Eagle, queen of the birds! I'd be very thankful to you if you'd only tell me where the home of the Goddess of the Sea is," said Carlos.

"Why do you want her house?" asked the eagle. "Don't you know that no human being is able to see her?"

"I didn't know that; but if I cannot see her, my life is lost," said Carlos sadly.

The eagle pitied Carlos very much: so she said, "Come, Carlos, come! and I'll lead you to the right path." Carlos followed her until they came to the mouth of the river. There they stopped. The eagle shouted, "O king of the fishes! come and help me, for I am in great need of assistance." The king of the fishes appeared, and asked what the eagle needed. The eagle told him the story of Carlos, and asked him if he could take Carlos to the home of the Goddess of the Sea. As the fish could not refuse the request of the queen of the birds, he said to Carlos, "Carlos, lie on my back and close your eyes: within five minutes you'll be in the home of the goddess."

Carlos obeyed the fish. When he opened his eyes, he found that he was in a very beautiful house. He was lying on a golden bed, and beside him was standing a beautiful woman with a star on her forehead and a moon on her throat. Carlos could not believe that the vision was true. By and by he heard a sweet voice saying, "What has brought you to this place?"

Carlos trembled, and answered, "I have come here to ask for your help."

"What help do you desire?" asked the goddess. Carlos related his story. The goddess could not refuse help to one who had spoken so well of her beauty, so she took her diamond ring off her finger and gave it to Carlos, saying, "Take this ring with you. Whenever you want or need my help, touch the ring thrice, and say, 'O God, help me!' If the king wants my presence, touch the ring six times, and I'll appear before you."

Carlos received the ring, and, humbly kneeling before the goddess, said, "I can find no words in which to express to you my gratitude. I thank you with all my heart."

The goddess then called to the king of the fishes, and ordered him to take Carlos back to land. When Carlos arrived at the shore of the river, he met the eagle, who showed him the way to the king's palace.

The king Don Fernando, on seeing Carlos once more before him, said, "You wretch! one day more is all you have to live."

"To-morrow," replied Carlos, "I'll come before your Highness, and I'll show to you that what I said to the princess is true." When morning came the next day, Carlos was ordered into the king's presence. All the lords and nobles of the kingdom were in the palace, anxious to see the Goddess of the Sea. It was already eight o'clock, and the goddess had not yet appeared. The king asked, "Where is she, Carlos?"

"She cannot come," replied Carlos; "but, if your Highness wants me to, I'll give you a trunk filled with gold in exchange for my life."

"No," said the king angrily: "what we want is the Goddess of the Sea. If you cannot show her to us, prepare to be hanged."

Carlos touched the ring six times, and the beautiful Goddess of the Sea appeared. All were amazed to see a woman with curly hair, a star on her forehead, a moon on her throat, and wearing a white dress glistening with diamonds. "Carlos is an enchanter!" cried the king, and he ran to embrace the goddess. In five minutes she disappeared, and Carlos's life was saved.

Don Fernando now proposed to marry his daughter Florentina to Carlos. At first the princess hesitated to say yes, but at last she consented. Carlos was glad to marry the beautiful princess; but, before the marriage took place, he went to get his poor mother, who was anxiously awaiting his return home.

Carlos with his diamond ring could now have everything he needed. In fact, he made the chapel in which he was married all of gold. The wedding-dress of the princess was adorned with diamonds. Immediately after the wedding, poor Carmen died of happiness. Carlos continued to live in the palace with his wife Florentina, but he never came to know the meaning of his name.

Note.

I know of no variants of this story. The detail of the helpful animals is common in Filipino Märchen; here, however, the kindness of the eagle and the fish lack the usual motivation.

TALE 45

MARIA AND THE GOLDEN SLIPPER.

Narrated by Dolores Zafra, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, Laguna. She says that this is a Tagalog story, and was told to her when she was a little girl.

Once there lived a couple who had an only daughter, Maria. When Maria was a little girl, her mother died. A few years later Maria's father fell in love with a widow named Juana, who had two daughters. The elder of these daughters was Rosa, and the younger was Damiana. When Maria was grown to be a young woman, her father married the woman Juana. Maria continued to live with her father and step-mother. But Juana and her two daughters treated Maria as a servant. She had to do all the work in the house,--cook the food, wash the clothes, clean the floors. The only clothes she herself had to wear were ragged and dirty.

One day Prince Malecadel wanted to get married: so he gave a ball, to which he invited all the ladies in his kingdom. He said that the most beautiful of all was to be his wife. When Damiana and Rosa knew that all the ladies were invited, they began to discuss what clothes they would wear to the ball; but poor Maria was in the river, washing the clothes. Maria was very sad and was weeping, for she had no clothes at all in which she could appear at the prince's fête. While she was washing, a crab approached her, and said, "Why are you crying, Maria? Tell me the reason, for I am your mother."

Then Maria said to the crab, "I am treated by my aunt (sic!) and sisters as a servant; and there will be a ball to-night, but I have no clothes to wear." While she was talking to the crab, Juana came up. The step-mother was very angry with Maria, and ordered her to catch the crab and cook it for their dinner. Maria seized the crab and carried it to the house. At first she did not want to cook it, for she knew that it was her mother; but Juana whipped her so hard, that at last she was forced to obey. Before it was put in the earthen pot to be cooked, the crab said to Maria, "Maria, don't eat my flesh, but collect all my shell after I am eaten, and bury the pieces in the garden near the house. They will grow into a tree, and you can have what you want if you will only ask the tree for it." After her parents had eaten the flesh of the crab, Maria collected all its shell and buried it in the garden. At twilight she saw a tree standing on the very spot where she had buried the shell.

When night came, Rosa and Damiana went to the ball, and Juana retired for the night as soon as her daughters were gone. When Maria saw that her aunt was sleeping, she went into the garden and asked the tree for what she wanted. The tree changed her clothes into very beautiful ones, and furnished her with a fine coach drawn by four fine horses, and a pair of golden slippers. Before she left, the tree said to her, "You must be in your house before twelve o'clock. If you are not, your clothes will be changed into ragged, dirty ones again, and your coach will disappear."

After promising to remember the warning of the tree, Maria went to the ball, where she was received by the prince very graciously. All the ladies were astonished when they saw her: she was the most beautiful of all. Then she sat between her two sisters, but neither Rosa nor Damiana recognized her. The prince danced with her all the time. When Maria saw that it was half-past eleven, she bade farewell to the prince and all the ladies present, and went home. When she reached the garden, the tree changed her beautiful clothes back into her old ones, and the coach disappeared. Then she went to bed and to sleep. When her sisters came home, they told her of everything that had happened at the ball.

The next night the prince gave another ball. After Rosa and Damiana had dressed themselves in their best clothes and gone, Maria again went to the garden to ask for beautiful clothes. This time she was given a coach drawn by five (?) horses, and again the tree warned her to return before twelve. The prince was delighted to see her, and danced with her the whole evening. Maria was so enchanted that she forgot to notice the time. While she was dancing, she heard the clock striking twelve. She ran as fast as she could down stairs and out the palace-door, but in her haste she dropped one of her golden slippers. This night she had to walk home, and in her old ragged clothes, too. One of her golden slippers she had with her; but the other, which she had dropped at the door, was found by one of the guards, who gave it to the prince. The guard said that the slipper had been lost by the beautiful lady who ran out of the palace when the clock was striking twelve. Then the prince said to all the people present, "The lady whom this slipper fits is to be my wife."

The next morning the prince ordered one of his guards to carry the slipper to every house in the city to see if its owner could be found. The first house visited was the one in which Maria lived. Rosa tried to put the slipper on her foot, but her foot was much too big. Then Damiana put it on her foot, but her foot was too small. The two sisters tried and tried again to make the slipper fit, but in vain. Then Maria told them that she would try, and see if the slipper would fit her foot; but her sisters said to her, "Your feet are very dirty. This golden slipper will not go on your foot, for your feet are larger than ours." And they laughed at her. But the guard who had brought the slipper said, "Let her try. It is the prince's order that all shall try." So he gave it to Maria. Then Maria put it on, and it fitted her foot exactly. She then drew the other slipper from underneath her dress, and put it on her other foot. When the two sisters saw the two slippers on Maria's feet, they almost fainted with astonishment.

So Maria became the wife of the prince, and from that time on she was very dear to her sisters and aunt.

Abadeja.

This is a Visayan story from Leyte. Unfortunately I have no record of the name of the narrator.

Once upon a time there lived in the town of Baybay a man whose name was Abac. The name of his wife was Abadesa. They had a beautiful daughter named Abadeja. The mother died when her daughter was about thirteen years old; and in a year her father married again, a widow who had three daughters. The second wife envied her step-daughter because Abadeja was much more beautiful than her own children: consequently she treated the poor girl very badly, and made her do all the hard work. When Abadeja could not do the work, her step-mother punished her severely.

One evening the step-mother said to Abadeja, "Take these two handkerchiefs to the river and wash them. The white one must be black, and the black one white, when you bring them back to me. If they are not, I shall beat you." Abadeja went to the river, where she sat down on a rock and began to cry. In a little while she heard a noise that made her look up. There in front of her stood a beautiful woman. The woman asked Abadeja why she was crying. Abadeja replied, "I am crying because my step-mother has commanded me to do the impossible. She told me that I must change this white handkerchief into black, and the black one into white." The woman took the handkerchiefs, and in an instant they were transformed. Then she gave them back to Abadeja, and invited the girl to come see her any time she needed help. After she had spoken thus, she disappeared. Abadeja went home and gave the handkerchiefs to her cruel step-mother, who now had no excuse to punish her.

The next morning Abadeja was ordered to put some rice on a mat in the sun to dry. While she was in the house doing other work, a pig came, ate up the rice, and tore the mat to pieces. When the step-mother knew what had happened, she whipped Abadeja severely for having lost the rice, and told her that she would have to repair the mat so that it was as good as new. Abadeja took the mat and went across the river, crying. The beautiful woman met her again, and, taking her by the hand, led her to her home among the high trees. Then she asked Abadeja what she wanted. Abadeja told her friend that her step-mother had ordered her to repair the mat so that it would be as good as new. The woman took the mat from the girl and waved it in the air. Immediately it became a whole mat again. Then she gave Abadeja a beautifully-colored chicken. Abadeja thanked her for her help and her gift, and hurried home, for she knew that her step-mother would be waiting to scold her if she were late.

The next day when Abadeja was away from the house, her cruel step-mother took the chicken, killed it, and cooked it. When the girl returned, only the feet of her chicken were left. She cried over her loss, and ran to the river to ask the beautiful woman what she should do. The beautiful woman, when she heard what had happened, told the girl to take the chicken's feet and plant them in the forest. Abadeja went home, took the feet, and carried them with her to the forest. There she made a little garden, in which she planted the right foot toward the east, and the left foot toward the west.

A month later she visited her garden in the woods, and was astonished to see that the feet had grown up into the air, and that they bore pearls, diamonds, gold dresses, rings, bracelets, shoes, necklaces, and ear-rings. She was delighted, but she did not tell her step-mother about her garden.

One day the son of the richest man in Baybay came across this little garden in the forest. He picked off a ring and put it on his finger. When he reached home, his finger began to swell. His father called in all the best physicians, but they could not remove the ring. Then he called in all the girls of the town, and said that the one who could take the ring from the finger of his son should be his son's wife. All the girls of the town tried except Abadeja. She did not try, because her mother would not allow her to go. At last some one told the rich man that there was still a girl who had not tried, and that it was Abadeja: so he sent for her. Now, her step-mother did not dare refuse to let her go. Abadeja ran to her little garden, put on one of the gold dresses, and went to the rich man's house. As soon as she touched the ring, it slid off.

The next day Abadeja was married to the son of the rich man. The beautiful woman attended the wedding unseen by every one except Abadeja. The young couple lived happily for many years.

Notes.

In another variant (c), "The Wonderful Tree," which was collected by Mr. Rusk, and of which I have only an abstract,--

Maria's mother was drowned by the cruel husband, a fisherman, who desired to marry another woman. The daughter was now ill-treated by her step-mother, and often went to the seashore to talk with the spirit of her dead mother. When the mother could no longer continue the meetings with Maria, she told her to plant in a certain place all the fins of all the fish the family should eat on a certain day. From these fins there grew up a magic tree of gold and precious stones. One day a prince, hearing the music made by the wind in the magic tree, approached the tree and found the beautiful Maria. Later he married her.

For still other Philippine variants of the Cinderella story, see JAFL 19 : 265-272, where Fletcher Gardner gives two oral Tagalog versions. In the same journal (29 : 226 f.) I have given synopses of two Tagalog metrical romances which open with the Cinderella setting.

The Cinderella story is perhaps the most widespread Märchen in the world. See M. R. Cox's bibliographical study of it: "Cinderella, 345 Variants of Cinderella, Catskin, and Cap o' Rushes, abstracted and tabulated, with a discussion of medieval analogues, and notes. London, 1893." Bolte-Polívka's notes to Grimm, No. 21, examine Miss Cox's material from a somewhat new angle, and are very useful for reference. It seems hardly necessary to attempt to add here to those two exhaustive monographs. Attention may be called to the fact, however, that our story of "Abadeja," which comes from Leyte, presents a number of interesting items not found in the other Filipino variants: e.g., (1) the task of washing a black handkerchief white, and vice-versâ; (2) the magic tree growing up from the feet of a wonderful chicken given the heroine by the mysterious woman; (3) the unusual device for providing a rich husband for the heroine. There are some slight resemblances between these last two details and corresponding incidents in Mr. Rusk's variant "The Wonderful Tree."

TALE 46

JUAN THE POOR.

Narrated by Dolores Zafra, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, who heard this story from her grandfather.

Many years ago there lived a king who was always sad. He used to go to a mountain and climb the highest tree that was growing there. One day when he was in the top of the tree, he saw on another high mountain a beautiful princess, Doña Maria. When he returned home to his palace, he sent a proclamation all over his kingdom, saying that the one who could take Doña Maria from her mountain and bring her before him should have one-half of his kingdom.

Juan was a beggar; and it was his custom, whenever he saw a beggar like himself, to share with that beggar the alms which had been given him. One day he saw a wretched old woman, and out of pity for her he gave her all the food he had begged that day. Then the old woman, who knew of the proclamation of the king, said to Juan, "You must tell the king, my boy, that you will fetch Doña Maria for him." Juan did not want to, because he said that he did not know where and how he might get Doña Maria; but the old woman at last persuaded Juan to go by telling him that she would accompany him, and promising her help. After Juan had visited the palace and told the king that he would bring the princess Doña Maria to him, the poor boy and the old woman set out on their journey to the distant mountain. When they reached the gates of the city, the old woman said to Juan, "Juan, I am very tired, and I cannot go any farther, but I will give you this handkerchief. When you come to the first mountain, you must spread the handkerchief on the ground, and many fat horses will approach you; but I advise you not to choose any of them. You must choose the very last one, which will be lean and weak-looking. That is the horse which can endure hardships, and which will be able to carry you to the princess's palace."

Juan followed the advice of the old woman, when the time came, and chose the thin horse. He mounted on its back, and rode on towards the mountain of Doña Maria. When he had ridden very far, he saw before him a hill full of ants. He was afraid to try to pass over this hill, lest the ants should devour him and his animal. The horse said to him, "You must ask the handkerchief for food, and we will feed the ants." Juan spread out the handkerchief, and asked it to bring him much food. After he had scattered it on the ground for the ants, the leader of the ants approached Juan, and said, "Since you have been very kind to us, I will give you one of my legs; and at any time you want aid from us, you must burn the leg, and let the ashes be carried by the wind. Then we will come to help you."

When Juan had again gone a long distance from the hill, he saw the sky full of birds flying around and looking for food. Again the horse told Juan to ask for food from the handkerchief; so that they might feed the birds, and not be killed by them and eaten. Juan did so, and gave the birds all they wanted to eat. Then the king of the birds, the eagle, flew up to Juan, and said, "To repay you for your kindness, I will give you some feathers from my wings. Any time you want aid from us, just burn some of the feathers, and let the ashes be carried by the wind. Then we will come to you." Juan thanked the bird, and put the feathers in his pocket where he kept the leg of the ant.

Then he continued his journey. When they came near the palace of Doña Maria, the horse told Juan to hide, and said that he alone would enter her garden; but before he should hide, Juan should ask his handkerchief for a complete equipment of saddle and bridle, so that the horse could be mounted by a lady. Juan did so, hid himself, and the horse wandered into the garden of Doña Maria. When the princess saw the horse, she became very angry, and said, "Who is the one who is so bold as to let his horse enter my garden?" She looked all about, but could see no one: so she said to herself, "I will mount this horse and find out who its owner is." She mounted the horse, which immediately ran to the place where Juan was hiding, and told him to get up on its back. Then the horse carried them swiftly back to the small house of Juan. When he reached home, Juan sent word to the king that the princess Doña Maria was in his home. The king, accompanied by all his retinue, went in great state to Juan's house, made over to him one-half of his dominion, and took Doña Maria back to his palace.

Now, Doña Maria was very beautiful, and the king fell deeply in love with her. When he was alone with her in the palace, he began to court her. He asked her to be his wife; but Doña Maria said, "Only the one who can do what I wish him to do shall be my husband. I will mix one hundred cavans of husked rice with one hundred cavans of unhusked rice (palay). He who in one night can separate the two kinds of rice, and also bring my palace here to your kingdom, shall be married to me." The king said that no one could accomplish those things; but Doña Maria told him that there was one who could accomplish the tasks, and that was Juan.

The king then sent for Juan, and said to him, "Juan, here are one hundred cavans of husked rice mixed with one hundred cavans of unhusked rice. To-night you must separate the grain into two piles, and also transport the palace of Doña Maria to my kingdom. If you have not done both by to-morrow morning, you shall lose your head." Juan went away very sad toward the mountain. As he was walking along, he met the thin horse which had helped him before. The horse said to him, "Why are you so sad, Juan?" Juan told the horse what the king had ordered him to do. Then the horse said, "Don't be sad, Juan! you can accomplish both those difficult tasks. Don't you remember the leg of the ant and the feathers of the eagle which were given to you, and the promise of the ant and eagle?" So Juan took the ant's leg and the feathers from his pocket, burned them, and threw the ashes into the air. In a short time thousands of birds and ants came to him and asked him what he wanted. Then Juan said, "I want the palace of Doña Maria brought here before daybreak, and the two hundred cavans of mixed rice separated." When they heard Juan's order, the birds flew to the mountain to get the palace, and the ants hastened to the king's grounds to separate the unhusked from the husked rice.

By morning both tasks were completed: so Juan was married to Doña Maria, for she would have no other husband.

Notes.

Although this story is clearly derived from the Tagalog romance of the "Life of King Asuero," nevertheless it is also told as a folk-tale, and for that reason I have included it in this collection. As has been intimated already so many times, it is often hard to draw the line between folk-tales and literary tales, especially when the latter are widely told and read. Since our object in this collection is to present to Occidental readers a comprehensive account of what is in Philippine popular literature, it has seemed unwise to exclude this story.

The full title of the romance is "The Story and Life of King Asuero, Doña Maria, and Juan the Poor, in the City of Jerusalem." My copy is dated 1905; Retana (No. 4192) mentions an edition between the years 1860 and 1898. In outline the folk-tale differs little from the romance, hence it is unnecessary to give a detailed summary of the printed version. The more important variations might be noted, however. The romance opens thus:--

Once there lived an old man whose name was Asuero. He was the king of Jerusalem. One night he dreamed that he should be dethroned, and that a poor young countryman would take his place. He awoke and became sad and thoughtful. Unable to go to sleep again, he climbed a tower of his palace, and began to look around with a spy-glass. When he directed his gaze toward a mountain-region beyond the Nile (!), he saw an enchantress who was looking out of her window. She was Doña Maria. He was charmed by her beauty, and became restless. At length he resolved to relate to his council of chiefs what he had seen, and to ask their advice. Many suggestions were made, and many objections. Since the king could not be deterred from his purpose of attempting to get possession of Doña Maria, his chief counsellor proposed an assembly of all the people of the kingdom, where the king's desire might be made known. At the assembly the king promised money to any one who dared to undertake the adventure, and his appointment as chief counsellor if he were successful.

The folk-tale and the romance are practically identical, except that the romance is more detailed, up to the point where the horse leaves Juan to go to entice Doña Maria from her palace and get her in its power.

The horse told Juan that it would go with the golden bit and saddle and get Doña Maria, while Juan should hide in a bush near by until they should come back. The horse also told Juan that when it passed by the bush, he should seize its tail and hold on tight. Then the horse left, and after a time came to the garden of Doña Maria. When the maiden saw the animal, she became angry at its owner for letting it into her garden. After looking about for the rider in vain, she claimed the horse, and was about to mount it when the animal spoke to her, and told her to put on a better dress, one which would be more appropriate for the golden saddle. When she returned, she had on a magnificent gown, and wore a magic ring. The horse told her that it had been sent by God to be her faithful steed, and then suggested that she visit the abode of the eagles. She was very anxious to see this wonderful place, and agreed to be taken there. Before they set out, the horse asked her for her magic ring, saying that he would carry it safely for her in his mouth. She surrendered the ring, and the horse carried her to the place where Juan was concealed. Juan seized the tail of the horse, and the animal flew into the air and alighted beyond the sea. Here, by the magic power of the handkerchief, Juan produced food, a table, and two chairs at the request of the horse. Six maids served them. The horse now gave Juan the ring of Doña Maria; and as long as he kept this, he was sure of keeping the maiden. After eating, Doña Maria asked Juan why she had been brought there; but Juan, following the advice of the horse, made no reply. She flattered him and tried to get him to sleep, but he paid no attention to her. At length the horse told them that they must resume their journey. The horse travelled rapidly, and soon reached the royal palace; but the gates were closed, for it was then about midnight. So the riders decided to spend the rest of the night at Juan's house. There the old mother received them all gladly. When the saddle and bit had been taken from the horse, the animal said that it would return the following morning and carry Juan to the palace. It further warned Juan not to sleep if he valued his life ....

The romance closes with the inevitable war with the Moors, and the rescue of the kingdom from the hands of the Pagans by the invincible Juan.

The exact source of this romance I am unable to point to; but without question it is Occidental, I believe.

TALE 47

THE FATE OF AN ENVIOUS WOMAN.

Narrated by Vicente M. Hilario, a Tagalog from Batangas, Batangas. He was told the story by his gardener.

There lived once upon a time a young couple of the middle class. The man was a reckless scapegrace and spendthrift; but the woman was a pious, faithful, and virtuous housewife. Juan was the husband's name; Maria, the wife's. One of the worst things about Juan was that he spent on another woman the greater part of the money which Maria could with difficulty scrape together. This other woman's name was Flora. It is true that she surpassed Maria in personal charm, but in real worth Flora was greatly Maria's inferior. Hence we should not wonder at the fact that Maria soon grew distasteful to her husband, and that after a year of married life he should seek to be entertained by a more beautiful woman. He spent most of his time in listless indolence by the side of Flora, returning home only to get his meals, which Maria prepared with the greatest care. But her efforts were all to no purpose. In vain did Maria array herself in her best clothes, and scent herself with the most delicate perfumes: her face remained pitted with small-pox scars, as before.

Years came and passed, and Juan became more and more harsh to his wife. At last Maria sought the aid of St. Vicente Ferrer. She knelt before the image, and asked the saint to rescue her husband from the pit into which he had fallen. Her prayers were soon answered. The image became animated. It touched her face several times, and in a few seconds Maria was converted into an extraordinary beauty. Her once rough skin was now smooth and velvety. She then went to the window to await her husband's return. When he arrived an hour later, he was at first unwilling to come up into the house, for he did not believe that the beautiful woman was his wife; but at last she disclosed her true self to him. A great change now came over Juan. The once despised wife now began to enjoy the caresses of her husband, who pressed her close to his heart.

Days elapsed, and Flora began to get uneasy at her home. She wondered why Juan did not come to see her. At length she went to his house. After asking Maria how she had acquired her beauty, Flora decided to try her fortune also. She too knelt before the image of St. Vicente Ferrer. But, alas! instead of becoming as white and as beautiful as the women of a Turkish harem, she became as black and as ugly as the mistress of a Kaffir household. Her once delicate lips became thick and coarse, and her nose became as long as a monkey's tail. Filled with shame at her appearance, and with a consciousness of her own guilt, she went home, where she pined away and died.

The once homely Maria, whose home had rung with laughter by the taunt and ridicule of those who made fun of her ugliness, [94] now graced her house with sweet smiles and engaging features, which drew scores of visitors to her home. Juan confessed his sins, and underwent penance for his wickedness; and the two lived together in peace and happiness the rest of their lives.

Notes.

A Visayan variant, "The Two Wives and the Witch," may be found in JAFL 19 : 105. In the southern version "Juan puts away his first, plain-looking wife, and takes another, handsomer one. The first wife, weeping by a well, is transformed by a witch into a beautiful woman. She wins her husband's affections back again. The second wife, deserted in turn, weeps by the well, and is transformed by the witch into such a hideous old hag, that, when she looks at herself in the glass and sees her ugliness, she refuses to eat, and in a few days dies."

In a broad way this story and ours belong to the "Toads and Diamonds" group (see Grimm, No. 13 ["The Three Little Men in the Wood"] and No. 24 ["Mother Holle"]; and Bolte-Polívka's notes to the two stories). In these groups, however, the two young women are sisters,--one bad, and the other good. About all there is in common between the norm of the "Toads and Diamonds" cycle and our tales is the situation of the plain-looking but faithful, unselfish, good-hearted woman being granted by some supernatural creature wealth and beauty; while the handsome but selfish and wicked woman, envious of her rival's good luck, becomes loathsome and miserable when she asks a boon from the same supernatural source.

The only other member of this group that narrates the story of two wives instead of two sisters is Lal Behari Day's No. 22. This Bengal tale, it appears to me, is related both to our stories and to those of the "Mother Holle" group, thus linking ours with the latter also. Following is Cosquin's summary of Day's story (2 : 123):--

A man had two wives,--one young, and one old. The latter was treated by the other as if she were a slave. One day her rival, in a fit of anger, snatched from the old woman's head the one tuft of hair she had, and drove her from the door. The old woman went into the forest. Passing by a cotton-tree, she saw that the ground round about the tree needed sweeping, and she swept it. The tree, much pleased, showered its blessings on her. She did the same thing for other trees--a banana and a tulasi--and also for a bull, whose stall she swept out. All blessed her. She arrived next at the hut of a venerable mouni (a kind of ascetic), and she told him of her misery. The mouni told her to go plunge herself once, but only once, in a certain pool. She obeyed, and came up out of the water with the most beautiful hair in the world, and altogether rejuvenated. The mouni next told her to enter his hut and to select from among many willow baskets that which pleased her. The woman took one very simple in appearance. The mouni bade her open it: it was filled with gold and precious stones, and was never empty. On her way back home she passed in front of the tulasi. The tree said to her, "Go home in peace! your husband will love you to madness." Next the bull gave her some shell ornaments which were about its horns, and told her to place them on her wrists: if she would but shake them, she would have all the ornaments she could wish. The banana-tree gave her one of its large leaves, which filled itself of its own accord with excellent dishes. And, last of all, the cotton-tree gave her one of its branches, which would give her, if she shook it, every kind of beautiful garment. When she returned to the house, the other wife could hardly believe her eyes. Having learned of the old woman's adventures, she too went into the forest: but she passed by the trees and the bull without stopping. And instead of dipping herself only once in the pool, as the mouni told her to do, she plunged in a second time, hoping to become even more beautiful; and so she came out of the water as ugly as before. The mouni did not give her any present, either; and thenceforth, disdained by her husband, she finished her life as a servant in his house.

It is unsafe to attempt to trace a story with only three examples as data: but it appears to me not unreasonable to suppose that our Tagalog story is a refined, pious, Christianized modernization of the Visayan form represented by "The Two Wives and the Witch;" and that the Visayan form, in turn, goes back to some Indian or Malayan moral tale of two wives, rivals for the affection of their husband. The Bengali tale can hardly be the direct source of our Visayan form, but it appears to be fairly closely related to that source.

TALE 48

THE MONKEY AND JUAN PUSONG TAMBI-TAMBI.

Narrated by Encarnacion Gonzaga, a Visayan from Jaro, Iloilo. She says that she has often heard this story; that it was very popular among the "inhabitants of yesterday;" and that even now many are fond of it.

Tiring-tirang was a barrio in the town of Tang-tang, situated at the foot of a hill which was called "La Campana" because of its shape. Around the hill, about a mile from the barrio, flowed the Malogo River, in which the people of the town used to bathe. It so happened that one time an epidemic broke out in the community, killing off all the inhabitants except one couple. This couple had an only son named Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi.

When Juan had reached his twelfth year, his father died: consequently the boy had to go to work to earn money for the support of himself and his mother. At first Juan followed the occupation of his father, that of fisherman; but, seeing that he made little money from this, he decided to become a farmer. His mother had now reached the age of seventy (!), and was often sick. Juan frequently had to neglect his farm in order to take care of her.

One day Juan went to Pit-pit to buy medicine for his mother. On his way to the town he saw a flock of crows eating up his corn. He paid no attention to the birds; but on his way back, when he saw these same birds still eating his corn, he became angry. He picked up a stone about the size of his fist, and crept into a bush near by. He had hardly hidden himself when the birds heard a rustling, and began to fly off. Juan jumped up, and hurled his stone with such accuracy and force that one of the crows fell dead to the ground. He tied the dead crow to a bamboo pole, and planted it in the middle of his cornfield. No sooner was he out of sight than the crows flew back to the field again; but when they saw their dead companion, they flew off, and never troubled Juan again.

For six months Juan had no trouble from birds. He did not know, however, that not far from his field there was a monkey (chongo) living in a large tree. This monkey used to come to his field every day and steal two or three ears of corn. One day, as Juan was walking across his field, he saw many dead cornstalks. He said to himself, "I wonder who it is that comes here and steals my corn! I am no longer troubled by birds; and yet I find here many husks." He went home and made an image of a crooked old man like himself. This he covered with sticky wax. He placed it in the middle of the field.

The next morning, when the sun was shining very brightly, the monkey felt hungry, so he ran towards the field to steal some corn to eat. There he saw the statue. Thinking that it was Juan, he decided to ask permission before he took any corn. "Good-morning, Juan!" said the monkey in a courteous tone; but the image made no reply. "You are too proud to bend your neck, Juan," continued the monkey. "I have only come to ask you for three or four ears of corn. I have not eaten since yesterday, you know; and if you deny me this request, I shall die before morning." The waxen statue still stood motionless. "Do you hear me, Juan?" said the monkey impatiently. Still the statue made no reply. "Since you are too proud to answer me, I will soon give you some presents. Look out!" he cried, and with his right paw he slapped the statue which he thought was Juan; but his paw stuck to the wax, and he could not get free. "Let my hand loose!" the monkey shouted, "or you will get another present." Then he slapped the statue with his left paw, and, as before, stuck fast. "You are foolish, Juan. If you do not let me go this very moment, I'll kick you." He did so, first with one foot, and then with the other. At last he could no longer move, and he began to curse the statue. Juan, who had been hiding in a bush near by, now presented himself, and said to the monkey, "Now I have caught you, you thief!" He would have killed the monkey at once, had not the monkey begged for mercy, and promised that he would at some future time repay him for his kindness if he would only spare his life. So Juan set the monkey free.

It was now the month of April. The monkey, impatient to fulfil his word to Juan, went one day to the field, and there he found Juan hard at work. "Good-morning, Master Juan!" he cried. "I see that you are busy."

"Busy indeed!" replied Juan.

"Master Juan, do you want to marry the king's daughter? If you do, I'll arrange everything for you," said the monkey.

Juan replied, "Yes," little thinking that what the monkey promised could be true.

The monkey scampered off towards the market. When he entered the market, he saw a boy counting his money. The monkey pretended to be looking in the other direction, but walked towards the boy. When he saw that the money was fairly within his reach, he seized it and ran back to Juan. After telling his master what he had done, the monkey went to the king's palace, and said, "Sir, my master, Juan, wants to borrow your ganta, for he desires to measure his money." The king gave him the ganta. In three days the monkey appeared at the palace again to return the measure, in the bottom of which he stuck three centavos. "My master, Juan, thanks you for your kindness," said the monkey. The monkey was about to leave the room when the king perceived the three centavos sticking to the bottom of the measure.

"Here, monkey, here are your three cents!" said the king. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" answered the monkey, laughing, "my master cares not for three cents. He has too much money. He is very, very rich." The king was much surprised to hear that there was a man richer than himself.

Two weeks later the monkey returned to the palace again, and said, "Pray, king, my master, Juan, desires to borrow your ganta again. He wants to finish measuring his money."

The king was filled with curiosity; and he said, "I'll let you borrow the ganta, monkey, but you must tell me first who is this Juan whom you call your master."

"My master, Juan," replied the monkey, "is the richest man in the world."

Before giving the measure to the monkey, the king went to his room and stuck four pieces of gold on the four corners of the ganta. "I'll find out who is the richer, Juan or I," he said to himself. The monkey took the measure, and left the hall with a polite bow.

As he was walking towards Juan's farm, the monkey noticed the four pieces of gold sticking to the corners of the ganta. He knew that they had been artfully placed there by the king himself. Two weeks later he went back to the palace to return the measure, not forgetting to stick a gold dollar on each corner. "Good-afternoon, king!" said he, "my master, Juan, returns you your ganta with a thousand thanks."

"Very well," replied the king; "but tell me all about this master of yours who measures his money. I am a king; still I only count my money."

The monkey remained silent. Not receiving a prompt reply, the king turned to Cabal, one of his lords, and said in a whisper, "Do you know who this Juan is who measures his money?"

"I have not heard of him," replied the lord, "except from this monkey and yourself."

The king then turned to the monkey, and said, "Monkey, if you don't tell me who your master is, where he lives, and all about him, I'll hang you." Doubtless the king was jealous of Juan because of his great wealth.

Fearing that he would lose his life, the monkey said to the king, "My master, Juan, the richest and best man in the world, lives in the town of XYZ. He goes to church every morning wearing his striped (tambi-tambi) clothes. This is why he is known among his people as Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi. If you will just look out of your window to-morrow morning, you will see him pass by your garden."

The king's anger was appeased by this explanation. Early the next morning he was at his window, anxious to get a glimpse of Juan. He had not been there long when his attention was attracted by the appearance of a crooked man dressed in striped clothes. "This must be the man whom the monkey described to me yesterday," he said to himself. Soon his servant entered the room, and said, "The monkey desires to see you."

The king left the window and went to where the monkey was waiting for him. As soon as the monkey saw the king, he bowed politely, and said, "My master, Juan, sends me to tell you frankly that he loves your daughter, and that, if it pleases you, he will marry her." At first the king was angry to hear these words; but, being very desirous to get more money, he at last consented without even asking his daughter.

"If my master does not call on you to-day, he will surely come to-morrow." So saying, the monkey left the palace, and ran about town, trying to think of some way he might escape the great danger he was in. It so happened that an old man who was carrying a bundle of clothes to his son in the mountains passed along the same road where the monkey was. The sun was very hot, so the old man decided to rest under a leafy tree. No sooner was he seated there than the cunning monkey climbed the tree, and shook the branches with such force that twigs and fruits fell all around the old man. Panic-stricken, he ran away as fast as his feet would carry him, leaving everything behind him. When the man was out of sight, the monkey climbed down the tree, picked up the bundle of clothes, and carried it to Juan.

"To-morrow, Juan," said the monkey, "you will marry the princess. I'll arrange everything for you if you will only follow my advice." Half doubting and half believing, Juan asked the monkey if he really meant what he said. "What do you think of me?" asked the monkey.

Without waiting for a reply from Juan, the monkey left the hut, and ran towards the home of the Burincantadas who lived on the summit of the hill. As soon as he entered the gate, he began to scoop up the ground as fast as he could. The Burincantadas, who at that very moment were looking out of the window, saw the monkey. They rushed downstairs, and, half frightened, said to him, "What are you trying to do?"

"Why, our king has been defeated in the war. The enemies have already taken possession of the crown. The princess is dead, and it is said that everybody will be killed before tomorrow noon," replied the monkey, his teeth chattering. "I am resolved to hide myself under the ground to save my life."

The three Burincantadas seized him by the arm, and said, "For mercy's sake, have pity on us! Tell us where we can hide!" They were already trembling with fear.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! let me loose! The enemy are coming!" On hearing these words, the Burincantadas all shouted at once, "Tell us where to hide!"

"If you will not let me scoop out a hole here, I'll jump into the well," said the monkey in a hoarse voice.

As soon as the Burincantadas heard the word "well," they all ran as fast as they could, following the monkey. "Let me jump first!" said the monkey.

"No, let us jump first!" shouted the Burincantadas; and so they did. The monkey made a motion as if he were going to follow; but, instead, he lifted up the biggest stone he could find and threw it down the well. "They are dead," he said to himself, laughing. "Ah, I have caught you! Ha, ha!"

The Burincantadas now being dead, the monkey was at leisure to decide what to do next. He entered their palace, and there he found everything magnificent. "This is the very place where my master shall live!" He opened the first room, but there he found nothing but bones. He closed the door and opened the second, where he found many prisoners who were waiting to be eaten. He set them all free, and told them to clean up the palace at once. The prisoners set to work, not forgetting to thank the monkey for his kindness. Before he left the palace, he addressed the crowd as follows: "My brothers and sisters, if any one comes and asks you who your master is, tell him that he is Don Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi."

Then he left the crowd of people busy cleaning the palace, and went to the farm, where he found thousands of horses, cows, and sheep. "My master is indeed rich," he said to himself. He called the shepherd who was lying under the tree, and said to him, "Tell your other companions that, if any one comes and asks whose animals these are, they must answer that they all belong to Don Juan Pusong. Don Juan is your master now."

After seeing that everything was in order, the monkey hastened to his master, who was still ploughing, and said, "Throw away your plough. Let's go to the king's palace, for to-night you will be married to the princess Doña Elena."

Night came. The palace was splendidly adorned. The princess was sitting by her father, when Don Juan, dressed in his striped clothes and accompanied by the monkey, entered the gate of the palace. Soon the priest came, and the princess was called to the reception-hall. When she saw her bridegroom, she ran away in despair, and cried to her father, "Father, how dare you accept as my husband such a base, dirty, crooked man! Look at him! Why, he is the meanest of the mean."

But the king replied, "He is rich. If you don't marry him, I'll punish you very severely." The princess had to obey her father; but, before giving her hand to Juan Pusong, she said, "O God! let me die."

When the marriage ceremony was over, the king called the monkey, and asked, "Where is the couple going to live?"

"In Don Juan's palace," was the reply of the monkey.

The king immediately ordered carriages to be gotten ready. Then they started on their journey. Four hours passed, and still no palace was to be seen. The king became impatient, and said to the monkey, "Monkey, if what you have said to me is not true, your head shall answer for your lie." Hardly had he said these words when he beheld before him a number of men watching a herd of cattle. "I wonder who owns these, monkey!" said the king.

The monkey made some signs, and soon three shepherds came running up to them. "Good-evening, king!" they said.

"Good-evening!" replied the king. "Whose cattle are these?"

"They are all owned by Don Juan Pusong," said the shepherds.

The king nodded, and said to himself, "He is truly rich." The palace was now in sight. The king could hardly express his joy on seeing such a magnificent building. "Why, it is not a palace; it is heaven itself," he said.

They were now upstairs. The king, on seeing still more beauties, said, "I confess, I am not the richest man on earth." Soon he died of joy, and his body was placed in a golden coffin and buried in the church.

The couple inherited his dominion; but Queen Elena could not endure her ugly husband, and two weeks later she died broken-hearted. So Juan was left as sole ruler of two kingdoms. The monkey became his chief minister.

This story shows that a compassionate man oftentimes gets his reward.

Andres the Trapper.

Narrated by Domingo Perez of San Carlos, Pangasinan, who heard the story from his grandfather, now dead. The story is popular among the Pangasinanes.

Once upon a time there lived in a village a poor widow who had an only son named Andres. They lived in a small hut situated near the Patacbo forest. When Andres was between twelve and thirteen years old, his mother died. From now on he lived alone in his mean little hut, where he had to cook his own food and wash his clothes.

One morning some boys invited Andres to go to the woods with them to trap. When they got to the forest, his companions set their traps in the places where the wild chickens used to feed. Then they went home. In the afternoon they returned to the woods, where they found that each trap had caught a wild cock. Now Andres became envious of his companions: so when he reached home, he took his knife and made two traps of his own. After he had finished them, he ran to the forest and set them. Early the next morning he went to the woods to see if he had caught anything. There he found two wild cocks snared. He took them home, sold one, and ate the other for his dinner. When he had finished eating, he made many traps, which he set up that afternoon. From now on he made his living by trapping, often catching as many as fifteen birds in a day. From the money he earned he was able to feed himself and buy clothes.

One day, after Andres had been a trapper for many years, he went to the forest, as usual, to see what he had caught. He found that his traps had been moved, and that in one of them was a big monkey caught by the leg. As Andres was about to kill the monkey with a big stick which he picked up, the animal said to him, "My dear Andres, don't harm me! and I will be your helper by and by."

Andres was much astonished to hear the monkey talk. He was moved to pity, and set the animal free. When he started toward his home, the monkey followed him. From now on they lived together. Soon the monkey learned how to sell wild chickens in the market.

Now, in that town there lived a very rich man by the name of Toribio, who had a daughter named Aning. The people considered Aning the most beautiful lady in the province. However, none of the young men of the town courted Aning, for they felt unworthy and ashamed to woo the richest and most beautiful girl. One fine day the monkey went to town and sold wild chickens, as usual. On his way home he stopped at Don Toribio's house. Don Toribio asked what he wanted, and the monkey said that his master had sent him to borrow their money-measure.

"Who is your master?" said Don Toribio.

"Don't you know? Don Andres, a very rich, handsome young gentleman who lives in the valley of Obong," said the monkey.

Don Toribio at once lent the ganta-measure to the monkey, who thanked him and hurried home. Before he returned it to the owner the next morning, he put a peso, a fifty-centavo piece, a peseta, and a media-peseta in the cracks of the measure.

When the monkey handed the ganta back to Don Toribio, the man said, "Why do you return it? Has your master finished measuring his money?"

"No, sir!" said the monkey, "we have not finished; but this box is too small, and it takes us too long to measure with it."

"Well," said Don Toribio, "we have a bigger one than that; do you want to borrow it?"

"Yes, I do, if you will let me keep it till to-morrow," said the monkey.

Don Toribio then brought a cavan, which equals about twenty-five gantas. When the monkey reached home carrying the large measure, Andres said to him, "Where did you get that box?" The monkey said that it had been lent to him by the richest man in the town.

"What did you tell the man that you were going to do with it?" said Andres.

"I told him that you wanted to count your money," said the monkey.

"Ah, me!" said Andres, "what money are you going to count? Don't you know that we are very poor?"

"Let me manage things, Andres," said the monkey, "and I promise you that you shall marry the beautiful daughter of the rich man."

The following day Andres caught many wild chickens. When the monkey had sold them all in the market, he went back to their hut, and took the cavan which he had borrowed. Before returning it to Don Toribio, he stuck money in the cracks, as he had done to the first measure.

"Good-morning, Don Toribio!" said the monkey. Don Toribio was sitting in a chair by the door of his house.

"Good-morning, monkey! How do you do?" replied the rich man. "Have you come to return the box?"

"Yes, sir!" said the monkey, "we have finished. My master sends his thanks to you." When Don Toribio took the box and saw the money inside, he told the monkey about it; but the monkey said, "Never mind! we have plenty more in our house."

"I am the richest man in town, yet I cannot throw money away like the master of this fellow," said Don Toribio to himself. "Perhaps he is even richer than I am." When the monkey was about to take his leave, the rich man told him to tell his master to come there on the third day. The monkey said that he would, and thanked Don Toribio for the invitation.

On his way home, the monkey stopped at the market to buy a pair of shoes, some ready-made clothes, and a hat for Andres. He took these things home to his master, and in three days had taught Andres how to walk easily with shoes on, how to speak elegantly, how to eat with a spoon and fork and knife, and how to tell Don Toribio that he wanted to marry his daughter.

When the time came, Andres and the monkey set out for the town. They were welcomed by Don Toribio and his daughter Aning. After a short talk, Andres spoke of his purpose in coming there. He said that he wanted to marry Don Toribio's daughter. Don Toribio gladly accepted the offer, and said that the wedding would be held the next morning. Hasty preparations were made for the ceremony. In the morning a priest came, and Andres and Aning were married. Many guests were present, and everybody had a good time.

A few years later Don Toribio died, and Andres inherited all his wealth. He then became a very rich man.

Notes.

Two other Philippine variants of the "Puss in Boots" cycle have been printed,--one Visayan, "Masoy and the Ape" (JAFL 20 : 311-314); and the other Tagalog, "Juan and the Monkey" (ibid., 108-109). It would thus appear, not only from the fact of its wide distribution, but also from the testimony of the recorders of the stories, that the tale is fairly well known and popular throughout the Archipelago.

The most complete bibliography of this cycle is Bolte-Polívka's notes on Grimm, No. 33 (a), "Puss in Boots" (Anmerkungen, I : 325-334). See also Köhler's notes to Gonzenbach, No. 65, "Vom Conte Piro" (2 : 242 f.); Macculloch, ch. VIII (p. 225 f.); W. R. S. Ralston in the "Nineteenth Century" (13 [1883] : 88-104). The oldest known version of the story is Straparola's (XI, i), which is translated in full by Crane (pp. 348-350). The second oldest is also Italian, by Basile (2 : iv); the third, French, Perrault's "Le Chat Botté." In all three the helpful animal is a cat, as it is without exception in the German, Scandinavian, English, and French forms. In the Italian the animal is usually a cat, though the fox takes its place in a number of Sicilian tales. In the Greek, Roumanian, Bulgarian, Serbian, Russian, and in general all East European forms, the helpful animal is regularly the fox, as it is also in the examples collected from Siberia, Kurdestan, Daghestan, and Mongolia. In the four Indian variants known, the animal is a jackal; in the four from the Philippines, a monkey. In a Swahili tale (Steere, p. 13) it is a gazelle. It is not hard to see how, through a process of transmission, jackal, fox, and cat might become interchanged; but where the Philippine monkey, consistently used in all versions, came from, is more difficult to explain; so the Swahili gazelle. I have, however, attempted an explanation below.

An examination of the four members of the Philippine group reveals some striking family resemblances: (1) The motive of the monkey's gratitude is the same in all the stories: the thieving animal is caught in some sort of trap, and promises to serve the hero for life if he will only spare it. The animal is true to its word. (2) In all the stories occurs the incident of the borrowed measure returned with coins sticking to it. (3) In all the versions occurs the marriage of the poor hero with the chief's daughter, brought about by the ingenious monkey. (4) In three of the versions (all except the Pangasinan) we have as the final episode the destruction of a powerful witch or demon, and the winning of all its fortune by the monkey for the hero. In the Hindoo variants we find that the motive of the jackal's gratitude agrees with the motive in our versions. In other respects they differ (with the exception of the marriage, which is found in nearly all members of the "Puss in Boots" cycle): the Hindoo tales lack the incidents of the borrowed measure and the destruction of the demon. So far as the opening is concerned, then, our variants and the Indian belong to the same family. The separation, however, must have taken place ages ago; for in India the animal is consistently a jackal, and in the Philippines a monkey. The only other form that I know of in which the animal is a monkey is the Arabian, in the "1001 Nights," "Aboo Mohammed the Lazy;" but here the helpful ape later turns out to be a malicious demon, who treacherously abducts the hero's beautiful wife. At last, through the aid of a friendly jinnee, the hero recovers her, captures the ape, and encloses it forever in a bottle of brass. He then gains possession of all the demon's enormous wealth. It is difficult to see any immediate connection between the Arabian version and ours.

Our two Visayan forms are of particular interest in that they make use of the "Tar Baby" device to catch the monkey. If Joseph Jacobs is correct in tracing this incident to the Buddhist birth-story, the "Pancavudha-jataka," No. 55 (see Indian Fairy Tales, pp. 305 ff.), the Philippines may easily have derived it directly from India along with other Buddhistic fables (e.g., "The Monkey and the Crocodile," No. 56, below). Indeed, Batten's ingenious explanation that the Brer Rabbit of Negro lore is a reminiscence of an incarnation of Buddha may be applied equally well to the monkey in our Visayan tales, for the monkey is a much more common form for the Bodhisatta than is the hare. In the five hundred and forty-seven Jatakas, Buddha is born as a hare only once; whereas in eleven separate stories he appears as a monkey,--oftener, indeed, than as any other animal (lion, ten times; stag, nine; elephant, seven). This same explanation (viz., that "Puss in Boots" is the Bodhisatta) would account for the gazelle (deer) in the Swahili tale. The extreme cleverness of the Bodhisatta in most of his animal manifestations might easily have suggested the "Puss in Boots" cycle. Another point worth noticing in connection with this theory is the consistent faithfulness of the animal. The ingratitude of the human hero, which is found even in some of the Occidental versions, and the gratitude of the animal, form a favorite Buddhistic contrast. Altogether it appears to me wholly reasonable to derive not only the "Tar Baby" incident, but also the whole "Puss in Boots" cycle, from Buddhistic lore. For the appearance of both in the Philippines we do not need to go to Europe as a source. The "Tar Baby" device to catch a thieving jackal is found in a Santal story, "The Jackal and the Chickens" (Bompas, No. CXII). See also two South African tales in Honeÿ,--"The Story of a Dam" (p. 73), and "Rabbit's Triumph" (p. 79). For other references, see Dähnhardt, 4 : 26-43 (ch. 2).

There is a connection, however, between some of the Occidental versions and three of ours,--the incident of the destruction of the demon. This detail, as I have pointed out, is hinted at in the "1001 Nights" version. [95] In spite of the fact that it exists in a number of the oldest European literary forms of the story and is not found in modern Indian folk-tales, I believe that this incident is of Oriental origin. In Straparola it has been rationalized, so to speak. A significant version intermediary between the Orient and Occident in this respect, as well as geographically, is the Mongolian tale of "Boroltai Ku" (FLJ 4 : 32 f):--

This story has the Oriental opening: the animal is a fox, which the hero digs out of its hole and spares. Through its cleverness the fox brings about the marriage of Boroltai Ku, the man who spared its life, with the daughter of Gurbushtên Khan. After the wedding the khan sends the new couple back to their home, and with them an official attendant. On the return journey the fox runs on ahead, and requests every herdsman it meets to say, if he is asked whose cattle he is tending, "It is the cattle of Boroltai Ku, the rich khan." At last the fox comes to the tent of Khan Manguis, and groans. "What's the matter?" says the khan. "A storm is coming," says the fox. "That is a misfortune for me too," says the khan. "How so? You can order a hole ten fathoms deep to be dug, and can hide in it," says the fox. So done. Boroltai Ku and his party now appear, and he occupies the khan's tent as if it were his own. The fox assures the official attendant that the tent is Boroltai Ku's, but that it has one defect. "What is that?"--"Under the tent lives a demon. Won't you bring down lightning to slay him?" The attendant brings down lightning and slays Khan Manguis, who is sitting in the hole. Boroltai Ku becomes khan, and takes all the possessions, cattle, and people of Khan Manguis, and goes to live near his father-in-law.

In this story, it will be noticed, the animal's ruse is the same as ours,--it persuades the rich khan (demons in ours) to hide himself in a pit. There he is subsequently killed.

The borrowed measure returned with coins sticking to it has already been met with in No. 20 (c). The incident occurs elsewhere in Filipino drolls. It is curious to find it so consistently a part of the Filipino "Puss in Boots" stories.

In conclusion may be noted the fact that in "Andres the Trapper" the monkey's solicitude over the appearance his master will make at the rich man's house has a parallel in the jackal's similar concern in the Santal story:--

Before the wedding-feast, the jackal gave Jogeswhar some hints as to his behavior. He warned him that three or four kinds of meats and vegetables would be handed round with the rice, and bade him to be sure to help himself from each dish; and when betel-nut was handed to him after the feast, he was not to take any until he had a handful of money given him; by such behavior he would lead every one to think he was really a prince.--BOMPAS, p. 175.

In Dracott's story the human hero is a weaver also, as in the Santal. His last exploit has been borrowed from another Indian tale not connected with our group, "Valiant Vicky the Weaver" (Steel-Temple, p. 80; cf. Kingscote, No. IX).

TALE 49

JUAN THE FOOL.

This story was narrated by Remedios Mendoza of Manila, but the story itself comes from the Tagalog province of Bulakan.

(NARRATOR'S NOTE.--This story was told to me by a student. He said that he first heard it in one of the informal gatherings which are very common in Bocawe, Bulakan, during the hot season. The young men often assemble at a little shop kept by a young woman, and there the story-teller of the barrio tells stories. This story of Juan was told at one of these gatherings by an old man about fifty years old.)

Juan is twenty years old. At this age he begins to become famous in his little barrio. He is short in stature. His eyes are neither bright nor dull: they are very black, and slowly roll in their sockets. His mouth is narrow. He has a double chin, and a short flat nose. His forehead is broad, and his lips are thick. His hair is black and straight. His body is round like a pumpkin, and his legs are short. He seems to be always tired. In spite of all these physical peculiarities, however, he is invited to every bayluhan and katapusan, [96] because he is sure to bring with him laughter and merriment.

Juan lives in a poor barrio, which consists of a few poor nipa huts. It has a small chapel of stone, with a turret and bells. In the courtyard in front of the chapel is erected a cross. A few nipa cottages are scattered along the lonely streets of the barrio. There is a rivulet just outside the village. Its course is hidden and lost in a thick forest which extends to the foot of a mountain.

At the time the story opens Juan is eating his breakfast with his mother. She is an old widow, whose sole ambition is to establish Juan in a good social position. She is constantly advising her son, when there is any occasion to preach, to be on the lookout for a virtuous wife. She tells him that, since she is an old and experienced woman, he must follow her advice. Her advice is that a good wife is always quiet and tongue-tied, and does not go noisily about the house. As Juan is an obedient son, he soon determines to get him a good wife. After a short time Juan comes home to his mother, and says to her, "Mother, I have found the girl you will like,--the one who shall be my wife. She is speechless and motionless. Her eyes are staring in just one place. Though I have watched her closely for about twelve hours, I have not observed the slightest motion in her lips and eyelids. She remained quiet in her bed, although there were many noisy people in the house."

"And is that all?" says his mother.

"No, mother," says Juan, "her hands were very cold. She was deaf, and she did not answer me. This fact makes her all the lovelier, and I am sure you will like her. There is only one thing you did not tell me, however."

"I think," says the mother, "that I advised you well."

"Yes, I think so too," says Juan. "The girl had a stinking waxy-like odor."

"O Juan!" exclaims his mother, "I already suspected from your long description that you followed my instructions too literally. The girl you found is a dead one. Now, remember: those who stink are dead."

"Thanks, mother," says Juan quietly, "I will never forget that."

A few days later, when Juan and his mother are eating their breakfast, Juan smells a stinking odor. He looks around the little room. As he does not see any one else there, he thinks that his mother is dead. Then, when his mother is taking her siesta, Juan says to himself, "Surely mother is dead." He goes out quietly and digs a grave for her. Then he buries her in it, and mourns for her nine days. Now Juan is alone in the world.

One morning, when Juan is eating his breakfast by himself, he smells again a stinking odor. He looks around, and, as he does not see any one, he thinks that he himself is dead. There is nobody to bury him. So he goes to the river, takes five or six banana-trunks, and makes a raft of them. He lies down on the raft, and lets the current of the river carry him away. In three hours the current has carried him into the woods. While he is floating through the forest, all of a sudden he is called in a fierce voice by some one on shore. This man was the captain of a band of robbers. Juan does not stir in his place. The second shout is accompanied by a terrible oath. Juan opens his eyes. He sadly looks at the robbers, and tells them that he is a dead man. The robbers laugh; but when Juan insists on remaining on the river, the captain frightens Juan, and says that he will shoot if he does not get up. As Juan does not care for the taste of bullets, he goes to the bank of the river, still thinking that he is a walking dead body.

Juan goes with the robbers into the woods. Their house is in a deserted spot. The captain appoints Juan their housekeeper. He tells him to cook rice, but orders him to keep very still and quiet, for they may be caught by the Spanish soldiers (cazadores). Then the robbers go out on an expedition, and Juan is left alone in the house. He shuts the windows, and everything is quiet and undisturbed. He even tries to control his breathing for fear of the noise it may make. He cautiously takes an earthen pot and puts rice and water into it. Then he places the pot on the fire, and sits down near it. Everything is silent. But suddenly a murmuring sound seems to come from the pot. (The water is beginning to boil.) Soon the sound seems to be very loud. Juan thinks that the pot is saying, "Buluk ka." This expression means, "You are decayed." So Juan gets very angry. He whispers to the pot to stop; but the pot does not seem to hear him, for the murmuring sound becomes louder and louder. At last Juan is so exasperated, that he takes a piece of bamboo-bellows (ihip) and gives the pot a fatal blow. This puts an end to the pot, the rice, and the flames.

At noon the hungry robbers come home. They find Juan almost breathless in the darkest corner of the house, the pot broken, and the rice scattered over the floor. They ask Juan what is the matter. Juan says that the naughty pot was making too much noise, and was mocking him; and, as the captain bade him be careful about making a noise, he struck the pot and broke it into pieces. The captain cannot help smiling at Juan's foolishness, and he tells Juan to prepare a lunch with anything he can find in the house.

The next day comes, and all the food is eaten. The captain gives Juan some money, and tells him to go to the market to buy some earthen pots and some crabs. When Juan reaches the barrio, he buys all the crabs he can find, and about two dozen large earthen pots. He next finds out that the pots are too bulky for him to carry, although they are not heavy. At last he thinks of a good way to carry them. He has the pots carried to one corner of the market, where he buys a long piece of rattan. He sharpens one end of the rattan and passes it through the bottoms of all the pots, so that they are now very easy to be carried. He slings them over his shoulder, and starts for home with the pots and the crabs. Soon he comes to a large, wide river with a very strong current. He sits down on the bank and wonders what is to be done. He remembers that crabs are good swimmers, so he decides to untie them and let them swim to the other side of the river. As he unties the crabs, he says, "Now, crabs, we have to cross this broad river. I know that you are good swimmers. I am a slow swimmer myself, and especially with these pots to carry. Please swim to the other side of the river as quickly as you can, for I cannot carry you. If you reach the other side before I do, you may go straight home, or wait for me." With this warning, he releases the crabs one by one so that they may go in a straight line. He is very glad to see them swim so fast. Then with the help of a piece of bamboo, and after a long struggle, he himself reaches the opposite shore. He looks around for the crabs; but, seeing none, he says to himself, "Perhaps they have become tired of waiting for me and have gone straight home, as I ordered them to do. What a surprise for the captain!" Juan is very glad at the decision of the crabs, and he sets out for the robbers' house, always hoping to overtake the rear of the long procession of crabs. He soon reaches home. He asks the robbers if the crabs have arrived. When Juan finds out that not one of the naughty crabs obeyed him, he blames himself for his quiet nature, and swears that he will never trust a crab again. The captain asks him about the pots. Juan tells him that they are all safe, and that the captain must thank him for his wit in solving the problem of how to carry two dozen large pots at the same time. All the robbers are eager to see what Juan's scheme was. When they find out what Juan has done, and see the holes in the bottom of all the pots, they cannot help laughing. The captain, however, addresses Juan with all the epithets found in a common slang dictionary. The captain now decides never to let Juan stay in the house alone, and from that time on takes him with them on their expeditions.

Several days later the captain calls Juan one night, and tells him to get ready, for they are going to rob a certain house. They go through the forest, and soon come to a clearing, in the middle of which stands a large nipa house. While they are still in the thicket, the captain calls Juan to him, and says, "Juan, go into the silong [97] of the house, and see if the people are awake. Now, remember, if you feel something hot, it is a man; but if it is cold, it is a bolo. Do you understand?" Juan answers, "Yes," and obediently goes to the house, repeating to himself the orders of the captain. He cautiously goes under the house, and looks around. After a while something hot falls on his back. He quickly runs away, and begins to cry, "Tao, tao!" ("Man, man!") All the robbers get frightened, so they run away too. After a few minutes they come together. Seeing that they are not pursued, the captain calls Juan, and says to him, "Juan, why did you fool us? Nobody is pursuing us."

"Well," says Juan, "I followed your orders. You said that if I felt something hot, it was a man; but if cold, it was a bolo. I went into the silong. I looked up. There was a faint light, and I saw a large mat outlined on the floor. As I was looking at it, a hot thing fell on my back. Then I ran away to warn you."

"Let us see," says the captain impatiently, "what tao that is which has fallen on your back." One of the robbers lights a match. The robbers examine Juan's back, and they see only a little lizard clinging to his worn-out camisa (loose, thin cotton coat). [98] Some of the robbers get angry, and some laugh at Juan's foolishness. The captain tells Juan that he may go away, for he is not worth anything. He also tells Juan not to tell anybody that he has been with them, for, if he does, they will kill him.

Juan leaves the band of robbers, and decides to live up in a tree, because he is all alone, he says. He takes a low bamboo table and goes up into a very large mango-tree. He chooses a well-hidden place, and there he ties his table firmly to the branches. He spends the day in the neighboring towns looking for food, but at night he comes back to the tree and sleeps there.

Early one morning Juan wakes up and hears faint whispers. He looks down, and sees two men talking very earnestly together. One is carrying a bag of money. Juan loosens his table and lets it fall on the men. It makes a loud crash, and they run away. Juan quickly climbs down the tree and makes off with the bag of money. He now decides to live in town. After he has found a barrio that suits him, he buys a house, a carabao, and a cart. He lives peacefully in his new house. Sometimes he works; but he spends most of his time sleeping, for he is a very lazy fellow.

One morning the capitan of the town sends a town crier around to announce an order to the people. The town crier says, "The capitan orders you all to sprinkle with water the street in front of your houses." Juan takes a small cocoanut-shell full of water, and goes out and sprinkles the street. In the afternoon the capitan of the town goes about the streets to see if the people have obeyed his orders. He sees that everybody has obeyed him except Juan. He goes to Juan's house, and asks him why he has not sprinkled the street; and Juan tells him what he has done. The capitan then tells him that he must use much water. As soon as the capitan has left, Juan begins to pour buckets of water on the street. But when the water all flows away, Juan thinks that his irrigation is not good enough: so he takes his cart and carabao, and with their help he digs a large ditch. All night long Juan works filling the ditch with water. The next morning, when the capitan sees the ditch, he becomes very angry, and summons Juan. Juan excuses himself by saying that the laws of the town are not stated clearly. So the capitan has to let Juan go.

When Sunday comes, Juan goes to church. In the pulpit the priest tells the people to put a little cross on their street doors. When Juan goes home, he takes a piece of tinting (the rib of a cocoanut-leaf) and makes a little cross about two inches high. When the priest makes his rounds, he does not see the cross, for it is so small. He asks Juan where his cross is. Juan shows him; and the priest tells him to make a large one, for it is too small, and the evil spirits will not be able to see it. Juan takes his bolo and cuts two long pieces of bamboo. This time his cross is so large, that the priest cannot see it, either. The priest becomes so angry at Juan's stupidity, that he expels him from the town. Juan good-naturedly goes away. He sells his house, and with his cart and carabao he moves on to another town.

He settles in a barrio where the soil is red. Here he lives several weeks, but he is always longing to go back to his old home. He finally says to himself that he is going there in spite of the anger of the priest. He fills his cart with red earth, and hitches his carabao to it. He sits in the middle of his cart, and slowly drives to the town where he had lived before. As he is driving down the main street in the afternoon, whom should he meet but the priest himself! The priest cries, "Juan, so you are here again! Didn't I tell you that you must never tread the soil of this town again? If you do not go away, I shall tell the capitan to imprison you."

"Dear priest," says Juan humbly, "before you accuse me, use your eyes. I am not treading on your soil. This earth which I have in my cart is my own." The priest looks in the cart. By this time there are many people around them, and they too look in the cart. They laugh at Juan's wit. The priest wants to laugh too; but he controls himself, for he is afraid that the people will not respect him any more if he laughs. So he angrily threatens Juan, and tells him to leave the town instantly. Poor Juan has nothing to do but go.

He sells his carabao and cart, and spends the money foolishly in the neighboring villages. Soon Juan is reduced to poverty again, so he decides to go back to his native town. There he finds everything changed: the houses are better, and the little chapel is prettier. He looks for relatives or friends, but he finds only his old grandmother, who lives by herself in the field. He goes to her and tells her the history of his family. The old woman recognizes him at last, and asks him if he is not the Juan who buried his mother. Juan answers, "Yes," but excuses himself by saying that he only obediently followed his mother's advice.

Juan now stays with his grandmother. Her hut, which is very small, is surrounded by a small garden of vegetables. Juan does nothing but eat and sleep. He soon develops the bad habit of throwing things out of the window. His grandmother tells him that he must throw them far away. One morning the old woman does not find Juan, and he does not appear until midnight. She asks him where he has been, and he tells her that he went to the other side of the mountain to throw away a banana-skin which was left on his plate. She tells him that he does not need to go so far, that he can throw the banana-skins behind the fence.

One day early in the morning the old woman leaves Juan in charge of the house, for she is going to town. She tells him to cook two small measures (chupas) of rice for her, for perhaps she will be very hungry when she gets home. Then she goes away quite happy, thinking that Juan understands her. As soon as she leaves, Juan thinks it is time to begin to cook. He is surprised to find only one measure in the earthen jar. He looks for the other one everywhere; but, as he cannot find it, he thinks his grandmother was mistaken when she told him to cook two measures of rice. So he takes his bolo, goes outside, cuts a piece of bamboo, and makes a wooden measure just like the other one. This takes him a long time; but when he has finished, he fills the two measures with dry rice, and puts them in the fire. While the measures are burning, the grandmother arrives. She calls Juan, and asks him if the rice is ready, for she is very hungry. Juan tells her that it is quite ready. The old woman sees that it is very bright in the house, and she fears that it is on fire. Juan says that it is the two measures burning. When the old woman sees what Juan has done, she becomes angry. However, she controls herself, and teaches Juan how to cook rice. Under the supervision of the old woman, Juan takes an earthen pot, cleans it, and puts rice into it. Then he puts water into the pot, and finally puts the pot on the fire. The old woman goes to rest, telling him to watch the rice. After a while she calls to Juan, and says,

"Did you cover the pot [tinungtungan mo na ang paliok]?" [99]

"No, I did not," says Juan.

"Cover the pot, then [tungtungan mo]!" she cries.

"That is impossible," says Juan.

"Why impossible?" cries the old woman. "The rice will have a smoky taste if you don't."

"All right," says Juan, getting up. He goes to the fireplace and thinks for a little while. Then he jumps up to the rafters of the ceiling, which are but two feet above his head. He goes just above the pot, adjusts his feet very well, and then lets himself fall. The pot is broken to pieces. The old woman wakes up at the noise of the crash, and says, "What is that, Juan? Is the rice cooked?"

"Why do you ask me that?" says Juan impatiently. "You told me to step on the pot, and now you ask me if the rice is cooked!"

She goes out to the kitchen; and when she sees her broken pot, the old woman becomes truly angry. She drives Juan from the house, telling him that he cannot live with her any more because he is too troublesome.

Juan now goes off, and wanders from town to town. Sometimes he is obliged to work in order to get anything to eat. Finally he comes to a large town where the people wear shoes and carry umbrellas. He becomes enchanted with the shoes and umbrellas: so he works hard, and saves enough money to buy both. But he surprises every one who sees him; for he carries his shoes dangling at his belt, and his umbrella closed under his arm. Some of the more curious fellows follow after him. They see that, although it rains or the sun is very hot, Juan never opens his umbrella except when he sits to rest under a tree; and also that he never puts his shoes on when he is on dry land, but only when he is crossing a river. At last they ask him why he does such foolish things. Juan says, "Don't you know that there are many worms and loose branches in a tree? If, for example, a snake should fall down, well, it would hit my umbrella. As for the shoes, it is better for one to wear his shoes when he crosses a river, for there he cannot see the ground." The people leave him alone; but some persons think he is wise, and imitate his example.

Juan goes on with his travels. At last he falls in love. He serves the girl's parents, and becomes their cook. He always keeps the best parts of the chicken for the girl and himself, and gives only the bones to the parents. They ask him why he gives them the worst parts. Juan replies, "I do that because you are our supporters. The bones, compared with a house, are the foundation and framework." The parents find Juan's reasoning so good, that they at once marry their daughter to him. After this Juan is a good and sensible fellow, and does not do foolish things any more.

Notes.

This long, loosely-constructed droll is not of any fixed length, according to the narrator; adventures are added or omitted at the caprice of the story-teller. It would be useless to attempt to parallel the tale as a whole, because of the very nature of its composition. The separate incidents, however, we may examine, pointing out analogues already in print, and citing others from my own manuscript collection.

(1) "If it smells bad, it's dead." This joke is common among the Tagalogs and Pampangans, and forms the basis of many of their comical stories. As an example I will give the opening of a story entitled "Ricardo and his Adventures" narrated by Paulo Macasaet, a Tagalog from Batangas:--

Ricardo and his Adventures.

Once there was a widow who had a son named Ricardo. One day the mother said to the boy, "Ricardo, I want you to go to school, so that you may learn something about our religion." Ricardo was willing enough, so he took his Catechism and set out. Instead of going to the school, however, he went to a neighboring pond and listened to the merry croaking of the frogs. When eleven o'clock came, he went home and told his mother about the real school. The poor woman was very happy, thinking that her son was spending his time wisely. Ricardo took great delight in joining the chorus of the frogs, for his mother gave him food as a reward for his diligence.

One morning the woman asked her son to read his lesson. The boy opened his Catechism and croaked very loudly. His mother was glad when she heard that her son could croak so well, because she thought that that was the way to read the book.

As Ricardo was playing with his schoolmates one day, he saw a dead cat. It smelled very bad, so he left the pond and went home. He said, "Mother, I saw a cat lying near our school. It had a very bad odor." The mother said, "My son, remember this: whenever a body smells bad, you may be sure that it is dead." Ricardo repeated the words of his mother many times to himself, and learned them by heart.

One day, when he was on his way to the pond, Ricardo smelled something bad. He looked in every direction, but he could not find anybody. So he said, "Since I cannot find any dead body here, I must be the one who is dead." He lay down on the ground, and said, "Ricardo is dead! I cannot eat any more. O how unhappy I am!" While he was lying there, he saw a ripe guava above his head. He exclaimed, "Delicious fruit, you are very fortunate! If I were alive, I would eat you." He wished to get the fruit, but he dared not do so. After a while, when he could no longer smell the stink, he got up and went home, and told his mother his story.

[As the rest of the story is not droll, and is in no way connected with our present tale, it may be given in abstract.]

One day Ricardo learned from his mother how his father had been killed by a giant who had afterwards carried away his sister. The boy set out in search of the giant. An old man along the way, whom he treated kindly, gave him two bottles of magic water,--one that would make invulnerable the man who should drink it, another that would take away all the strength of him on whose head it should be poured. Later a leprous old woman to whom he gave some food presented him with a magic saddle that would carry him through the air. So equipped, he soon arrived at the cave of the giant. He succeeded in killing that seven-headed monster and in freeing his sister and many other prisoners. Ten barrels of money were found in the cave. Of these, Ricardo took two; the rest he gave to the prisoners he had freed. Later Ricardo married a beautiful woman named Lucia.

(2) Destruction of the singing rice-pot. Another Tagalog form of this incident, likewise connected with Juan's experiences while cook for a band of robbers, was collected from Singalong, Manila. It was related by Crisanto H. Aragon, and runs as follows:--

Juan and the Robbers.

Once there was a young man named Juan, who left his parents to seek his fortune. While he was wandering in the mountains, he reached the cave of some robbers. Juan decided to be a robber, and asked the chief to admit him. The chief accepted Juan.

One night Juan was left alone in the cave, for his companions had gone to town to make a raid. Before leaving, the chief said, "Juan, you will stay here and take care of our property. If you hear a noise, take your bolo and kill whoever makes that noise, for he is our enemy. Cook some rice, so that when we return we may have something to eat."

While Juan was cooking the rice, to his great surprise he heard a noise. Faithful to the command that had been laid upon him, Juan took his bolo and walked around the cave to see where the noise came from. When he reached the kitchen, he noticed that the noise was louder. After a careful observation, he concluded that it was coming from the rice-pot. "The enemies must be here," said Juan, pointing to the rice-pot; and, without a moment's hesitation or fear, Juan smashed the pot into a thousand pieces. The noise stopped at once, and Juan was satisfied.

When the robbers came home and asked Juan for rice, he told them what had happened. The chief realized that the fault was his, so he only laughed at Juan; but, from that time on, Juan was never allowed to stay alone in the cave.

One night the robbers decided to rob the captain of the Municipal Police in a town near by. When they reached the captain's house, they saw that it was empty: so they took everything they could find. Juan entered the captain's bedroom, but, instead of searching for valuables, he took the captain's uniform and put it on. Then Juan went out to join his companions. But as soon as the robbers saw the uniformed man, they thought it was the captain, and ran away as fast as their legs would carry them. Juan ran too, for he thought that the captain must be after them. The robbers were so frightened, that they separated; but Juan decided to follow the chief. Finally the chief became so tired, that he made up his mind to stop and fight his pursuer; but when Juan came up, the chief recognized him, and it was only then that both of them felt that they had gotten rid of the real captain.

For a Santal story of a stupid hero joining a band of thieves, see A. Campbell, "Jhorea and Jhore," pp. 11-12; Bompas, p. 19.

(3) Adventure with the crabs. Compare "The Adventures of Juan" (JAFL 20 : 106), in which Juan's mother sends her foolish son to town to buy meat to eat with the boiled rice. He buys a live crab, which he sets down in the road and tells to go to his mother to be cooked for dinner. The crab promises, but, as soon as Juan's back is turned, runs in another direction. Clearly our version of the incident is superior to this.

(4) Juan as a thief. With this incident may be compared another Tagalog story, narrated by Adolfo Scheerer. It is entitled--

The Adventure of two Robbers.

There were once two robbers, who, hearing of the trip that a certain family was about to make, decided to rob them during the night. They were encouraged in their purpose by the thought that everything in the house would be in a state of great confusion. During the night the two thieves climbed a tree which grew close by a window of this house. From this place they could easily observe what the people inside were doing. As they sat there waiting, they saw two servants packing something which seemed to be very heavy. They believed that the bundle contained much money, so they decided to steal it.

In the dead of night one of the robbers went up into the house, took the bundle, and passed it to his companion below. When he joined the other, they took to their heels, carrying the bundle between them on their shoulders. When they had gone some way, the one in the rear began to get curious as to what they were carrying, so he cut an opening in the mat that was wrapped around the contents. To his great surprise, he noticed a human toe stick out; and he at once shouted, "Man, man, man!" The one in front took this shout as a warning that some one was chasing them, so he ran faster. The other only continued to shout, "Man, man!" but his companion paid no attention to him. Finally his foot caught in the root of a tree, and he fell down. When he understood the situation, the two villains left the bundle and ran away.

(5) Frightening robbers under tree. This incident is widespread, and has made its way into many Märchen cycles. It is distinctly comic in its nature. For references to its occurrence, see Köhler-Bolte, 99 and 341 (sub "Herabwerfen der Thür"); Crane, 380, note 19; Cosquin, I : 243 f.; and especially Bolte-Polívka, I : 521-525 (on Grimm, No. 59), episode F.

(6) Walking on his own soil. This trick of Juan's we have already met with in "King Tasio," No. 7 (b).

(7) Cooking rice-measures. Juan's misunderstanding about cooking two measures of rice is almost exactly paralleled in a Santal story in Bompas, No. I. The story is entitled "Bajun and Jhore," and this is the first of a series of noodle-like incidents:--

Once upon a time there were two brothers named Bajun and Jhore. Bajun was married, and one day his wife fell ill of fever. So, as he was going ploughing, Bajun told Jhore to stay at home and cook the dinner, and he bade him put into the pot three measures of rice. Jhore staid at home, and filled the pot with water and put it on to boil; then he went to look for rice-measures. There was only one in the house; and Jhore thought, "My brother told me to put in three measures, and if I only put in one, I shall get into trouble." So he went to a neighbor's house and borrowed two more measures, and put them into the pot, and left them to boil. At noon Bajun came back from ploughing, and found Jhore stirring the pot, and asked him whether the rice was ready. Jhore made no answer: so Bajun took the spoon from him, saying, "Let me feel how it is getting on!" but when he stirred with the spoon, he heard a rattling noise; and when he looked into the pot, he found no rice, but only three wooden measures floating about. Then he turned and abused Jhore for his folly; but Jhore said, "You yourself told me to put in three measures, and I have done so." So Bajun had to set to work and cook the rice himself, and got his dinner very late.

This ludicrous mistake suggests a not dissimilar droll of the Tinguian (Cole, 198, No. 86):--

A man went to the other town. When he got there, the people were eating bamboo sprouts (labon). He asked them what they ate, and they said pangaldanen (the bamboo ladder is called aldan). He went home and had nothing to eat but rice: so he cut his ladder into small pieces, and cooked all day, but the bamboo was still very hard. He could not wait longer, so he called his friends, and asked why he could not make it like the people had in the other town. Then his friends laughed and told him his mistake.

For an almost identical Santal story, see Bompas, No. CXXIV, "The Fool and his Dinner."

(8) The last two episodes--wearing of shoes only when crossing rivers and raising umbrella under tree, and the division of the fowl--we have discussed in the notes to No. 7 (see pp. 63-64, [9], [8]). Add to the bibliography given there, Bompas, No. CXXVIII, "The Father-in-law's Visit," which contains a close parallel to the first episode.

In conclusion I will give two other Filipino noodle stories, which, while not variants of any of those given above, have the same combination of stupidity and success as that found in "Juan the Fool." The first is an Ilocano story narrated by Presentacion Bersamin of Bangued, Abra, and runs thus:--

Juan Sadut.

Juan Sadut was a very lazy fellow. His mother was a poor old woman, who earned their living by husking rice. What she earned each day was hardly enough to last them until the next. When a boy, Juan was left at home to watch over their hens and chickens. One day, as his mother went to work, she told Juan to take care of the little chicks, lest a hawk should get them. Now, Juan had been told this so many times, that he had grown tired of watching chickens: consequently, when his mother went away, he tied all the chickens and hens together, and hung them on a tree. He did this, because he thought that no bird of prey could see them there. In the evening, when his mother came home, she asked if everything was all right. Juan said, "Nana, I tied all the hens and chickens by their legs, and hung them in that tree, so that they would be safe." The mother asked where they were. Juan showed them to her, but they were all dead. The mother was angry, and whipped Juan very severely.

Time passed on, and Juan grew up to be a man; but he was as lazy as ever. He wanted to get married, but the girl he had picked out was the daughter of a rich man; and his mother told him that he was not a good match for the girl, for they were very poor, and, besides, he was too lazy to support a wife. Still Juan was determined to marry the girl, and he thought out a way to get her. One day Juan went to work in the fields, and earned a peseta. The next day he earned another. Then he said to his mother, "Nana, please go to the father of Ines Cannogan (for such was the name of the girl) and borrow their salup (a half cocoanut-shell used for measuring). The mother went, and Ines asked her who had sent for the salup. The mother told her that her son Juan was a merchant that had just arrived from a successful trip. So the salup was lent. When returning the measure, Juan put the two pesetas in the husk of the cocoanut-shell, and told his mother to take it back to Ines, pesetas and all. When Ines examined the salup, she found the pesetas, and told her father all about them.

Not long afterwards Juan sent his mother again to borrow the measure. Again Juan returned it with money sticking in the husk of the shell. This he did several times, until at last Ines's father believed that Juan was very rich. Juan now had a chance to talk with Ines's father about his daughter, and of course the old man accepted his proposal immediately. So Juan and Ines were married.

After their marriage, when the old man found out that his new son-in-law was not only very poor, but also very lazy, he repented of his rashness. However, he compelled both Juan and his wife to go work on his farm. Once, when Ines was taking her siesta, many wild cocks and hens came to eat the rice which she had put in the sun to dry. Juan was too lazy to get up and drive them away, so he took Ines's gold hairpin and threw it at the birds. When Ines awoke, she missed her hairpin. Juan told her what he had done with it. She scolded him so severely, that he felt hurt, and began to weep bitterly, for even his wife disliked him.

The next day Juan went to look for the hairpin at the place where he had thrown it. To his great surprise, he found a bush with golden branches, and on one of them was the hairpin. Immediately he called his wife. They pulled up the bush, and discovered at its roots a jar full of gold and silver money. Now Ines was very proud of her husband's luck. They went to the town to tell their father of their good fortune. From now on, the old man no longer hated Juan, hut loved him, and gave him all his property to supervise.

Thus Juan Sadut became a rich man without any effort. Fortune favors the lazy--sometimes.

The other story comes from the other end of the Archipelago, from the province of Misamis. It was narrated by Antonio Cosin of Tagoloan, Misamis, and is a Visayan tale. As may easily be seen, it is distantly related to Grimm, No. 7, "A Good Bargain." For the "sale to animals" comic episode, see Grimm's notes; Clouston, "Book of Noodles," p. 148; and Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 60. For the "sale to statue" incident, which is analogous to our third episode below, see Clouston, ibid., p. 146; Crane, 379, note 12; Cosquin, 2 : 178. The story follows:--

Juan Loco.

A great many years ago there lived a certain fool that went by the name of Juan Loco. He was the son of a butcher, in so far as the following experiences of his are concerned; he had many other experiences that are not recorded in this story.

Juan could not be intrusted with anything, he was such a dunce; but one day he persuaded his father to let him go out and sell meat. So about eight in the morning Juan left home with about three pesos' worth of pork, full of many a hopeful expectation. After having wandered through many streets, he noticed that a big horse-fly was following him with an imploring murmur. Imagining that the fly wanted to buy meat, this sapient vender said to it, "Do you want to buy meat?" The fly answered with a "buzzzzz." For Juan this was a sufficient answer: so he left one-third of the pork with the fly, saying that he was coming back again for his pay. Next he met a hungry and greatly-abused pig, and he asked it if it wanted to buy meat. The pig merely said, "hack, hack," and gave a few angry nods, but Juan understood it to be saying, "Yes:" so he threw it one-half of the meat he had left, with the same warning as he gave the fly,--that he was coming back to collect the price of the meat. His third customer was himself, or his reflection. Warm, tired, and thirsty from his wanderings, he came to a well, where he thought he would take a drink. On looking down, however, he saw a man in the bottom of the well. When Juan shouted to him and made gestures, the man--or his reflection and the echo of his own voice--returned some sort of inarticulate sound, and made the same gestures as Juan. For the third time this sufficed for a "Yes." So Juan threw the rest of his pork down the well, and said he would come back for his money.

Now comes the collection, which he found to be quite easy. He entered a dry-goods store, where he saw a fly on the hand of the shop-keeper. Juan talked to the fly and demanded his money. It did not answer: so he began chasing it around the room, sometimes striking at it when it was on some customer's hand. At last, tired of the disturbance, the shop-keeper paid him off to get rid of him. Next Juan came to a garden where there was a pig. With the pig he encountered the same obstinate silence. He began to chase the pig, and he beat it whenever he was near enough to hit it. When the owner of the animal saw what he was doing, and realized that he was crazy, he paid him off, too. Now, as to his third customer. The reflection in the pool simply mocked him and made him disgusted. So Juan got a long pole and stirred the bottom of the well. When he found that this treatment simply made his customer disappear, he began shouting at the top of his voice. Finally the owner of the well came; and, to avoid further disturbance, he also paid him off, for every one could easily see that the vender was crazy (loco) from the way he talked and acted.

So Juan went home in ecstasy. He received much praise from his father, who promised to let him sell meat every day; and the poor fellow gloried in being thus praised.

For other noodle stories of the Filipinos, see our No. 9 and JAFL 20 : 104-106.

TALE 50

JUAN AND HIS PAINTED HAT.

Narrated by Adolfo Scheerer, a Tagalog from Manila, who heard the story from their native servant some fifteen years ago.

There once lived a man by the name of Juan, who did nothing but fool people all the time. Once, when he had only seventy pesos left in his pockets, he determined to resort to the following scheme: he bought a balangut hat (a very cheap straw), and painted it five different colors. In the town where Juan was to operate, there were only three stores. He went to each one of them and deposited twenty pesos, saying to the owner of each, "I will deposit twenty pesos in your store, and to-morrow afternoon I will bring some friends here with me. We will perhaps take some refreshments or buy some goods, but in any case I will see to it that the total amount of the things we take is not over the twenty pesos. Then, when we leave, do not ask me to pay you for the things. I will simply make you a bow with my hat, and your attendants should thank me with much courtesy. That mere bow with my hat is to be the payment. You may keep the twenty pesos, but you must also keep this little plan a secret." The owners of the three stores promised.

The next day Juan was walking in the street with his painted hat on, when one of his friends met him. "Halloo, Juan!" exclaimed his friend, "where did you get that funny hat?"

Juan looked serious, and said, "Don't be foolish! Don't you know that this hat is the only means I have of earning a living?"

"Means of living?" returned the other.

"Why, of course. I can go in any store, take anything I please, and pay for it with a mere bow of my hat."

By this time two other friends of Juan had come along, and they too were surprised to see what Juan had on his head. To convince them of the marvellous character of the hat, Juan took his friends to one of the stores. There they sat down, and Juan ordered some refreshments. They ate much, and of the best that the store could furnish. After they had had enough, Juan stood up, made a bow to the proprietor with his hat, and then they all left. Then they visited another store, where the same thing took place.

The friends of Juan were very much astonished, and each wished to possess the hat. One offered him a thousand pesos for it; another, two thousand; and the third, one-half of all his property, which amounted to about five thousand pesos. Juan, of course, was willing to sell it to the highest bidder; but when the sale was about to be concluded, the buyer began to doubt the power of the hat. So he asked Juan to take him to another store to prove once more the qualities of the hat, after which trial, he said, he would pay him the money. Juan took his friend to the third store, and the friend was now sure that the hat could really work wonders. So he paid Juan the five thousand pesos.

When he had received the money, Juan left his friends, went on board ship, and sailed away to a foreign country. One day the friend who had bought the hat desired to make a showing with it. So he invited several friends, among them some ladies. He took them to one of the stores, and there ordered some refreshments to be served them. When they had finished, the man bowed with his hat, and started to leave.

"Thank you, sir!" said the owner of the store, "but where is my payment for the refreshments you have just eaten?"

The owner of the hat was astonished, and, thinking that perhaps he held the hat in the wrong way, or else his fingers were not on the right color, he turned the hat around. Then he made another bow. The owner of the shop now became angry, and began to swear at the man. The other became excited, twirling the hat around, and holding it in as many different ways as he could think of. Finally the shop-keeper ordered the man arrested.

When the owner of the hat heard how Juan had played his trick by paying twenty pesos in advance, he fainted and became very sick. In the mean time Juan was performing other tricks in some different country.

Notes.

This droll was without doubt imported from Europe, where it has a fairly wide distribution. It does not appear hitherto to have been found in the Orient. In the European forms we find it both as a separate tale, like our story, and also as a part of the "Master Cheat" cycle, which we have discussed in the notes to No. 20. For a complete list of the known occurrences of the "hat pays" episode, see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 10-15, incident D (on Grimm, No. 61). According to their classification, versions from Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Rumania, Serbo-Croatia, Poland, Russia, and Lithuania are known. See also Köhler-Bolte, 246, 251 (note 1).

TALE 51

JUAN AND CLOTILDE.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario, a Tagalog, who heard the story from an old man living in Batangas.

In ages vastly remote there lived in a distant land a king of such prowess and renown, that his name was known throughout the four regions of the compass. His name was Ludovico. His power was increased twofold by his attachment to an aged magician, to whom he was tied by strong bonds of friendship.

Ludovico had an extremely lovely daughter by the name of Clotilde. Ever since his arrival at the palace the magician had been passionately in love with her; but his extreme old age and his somewhat haughty bearing were obstacles in his path to success. Whenever he made love to her, she turned aside, and listened instead to the thrilling tales told by some wandering minstrel. The magician finally succumbed to the infirmities of old age, his life made more burdensome by his repeated disappointments. He left to the king three enchanted winged horses; to the princess, two magic necklaces of exactly the same appearance, of inimitable workmanship and of priceless worth. Not did the magician fall to wreak vengeance on the cause of his death. Before he expired, he locked Clotilde and the three magic horses in a high tower inaccessible to any human being. She was to remain in this enchanted prison until some man succeeded in setting her free.

Naturally, King Ludovico wanted to see his daughter before the hour of his death, which was fast approaching. He offered large sums of money, together with his crown and Clotilde's hand, to anybody who could set her free. Hundreds of princes tried, but in vain. The stone walls of the tower were of such a height, that very few birds, even, could fly over them.

But a deliverer now rose from obscurity and came into prominence. This man was an uneducated but persevering peasant named Juan. He possessed a graceful form, herculean frame, good heart, and unrivalled ingenuity. His two learned older brothers tried to scale the walls of the tower, but fared no better than the others. At last Juan's turn came. His parents and his older brothers expostulated with him not to go, for what could a man unskilled in the fine arts do? But Juan, in the hope of setting the princess free, paid no attention to their advice. He took as many of the biggest nails as he could find, a very long rope, and a strong hammer. As he lived in a town several miles distant from the capital, he had to make the trip on horseback.

One day Juan set out with all his equipment. On the way he met his disappointed second brother returning after a vain attempt. The older brother tried in every way he could to divert Juan from his purpose. Now, Juan's parents, actuated partly by a sense of shame if he should fail, and partly by a deep-seated hatred, had poisoned his food without his knowledge. When he felt hungry, he suspected them of some evil intention: so before eating he gave his horse some of his provisions. The poor creature died on the road amidst terrible sufferings, and Juan was obliged to finish the journey on foot.

When he arrived at the foot of the tower, he drove a nail into the wall. Then he tied one end of his rope to this spike. In this way he succeeded in making a complete ladder of nails and rope to the top of the tower. He looked for Clotilde, who met him with her eyes flooded with tears. As a reward for his great services to her, she gave him one of the magic necklaces. While they were whispering words of love in each other's ears, they heard a deafening noise at the bottom of the tower. "Rush for safety to your ladder!" cried Clotilde. "One of the fiendish friends of the magician is going to kill you."

But, alas! some wanton hand had pulled out the nails; and this person was none other then Juan's second brother. "I am a lost man," said Juan.

"Mount one of the winged horses in the chamber adjoining mine," said Clotilde. So Juan got on one of the animals without knowing where to go. The horse flew from the tower with such velocity, that Juan had to close his eyes. His breath was almost taken away. In a few seconds, however, he was landed in a country entirely strange to his eyes.

After long years of struggle with poverty and starvation, Juan was at last able to make his way back to his native country. He went to live in a town just outside the walls of the capital. A rich old man named Telesforo hired him to work on his farm. Juan's excellent service and irreproachable conduct won the good will of his master, who adopted him as his son. At about this time King Ludovico gave out proclamations stating that any one who could exactly match his daughter's necklace should be his son-in-law. Thousands tried, but they tried in vain. Even the most dextrous and experienced smiths were baffled in their attempts to produce an exact counterfeit. When word of the royal proclamations was brought to Juan, he decided to try. One day he pretended to be sick, and he asked Telesforo to go to the palace to get Clotilde's necklace. The old man, who was all ready to serve his adopted son, went that very afternoon and borrowed the necklace, so that he might try to copy it. When he returned with the magic article, Juan jumped from his bed and kissed his father. After supper Juan went to his room and locked himself in. Then he took from his pocket the necklace which Clotilde had given him in the tower, and compared it carefully with the borrowed one. When he saw that they did not differ in any respect, he took a piece of iron and hammered it until midnight.

Early the next morning Juan wrapped the two magic necklaces in a silk handkerchief, and told the old man to take them to the king. "By the aid of the Lord!" exclaimed Clotilde when her father the king unwrapped the necklaces, "my lover is here again. This necklace," she said, touching the one she had given Juan, "is not a counterfeit" for it is written in the magician's book of black art that no human being shall be able to imitate either of the magic necklaces.--Where is the owner of this necklace, old man?" she said, turning to Telesforo.

"He is at home," said Telesforo with a bow.

"Go and bring him to the palace," said Clotilde.

Within a quarter of an hour Juan arrived. After paying due respect to the king, Juan embraced Clotilde affectionately. They were married in the afternoon, and the festivities continued for nine days and nine nights. Juan was made crown-prince, and on the death of King Ludovico he succeeded to the throne. King Juan and Queen Clotilde lived to extreme old age in peace and perfect happiness.

Notes.

This Tagalog Märchen appears to be closely related to an eighteenth-century Spanish ballad by Alonso de Morales. The ballad is No. 1263 in the "Romancero General," and is entitled, "Las Princesas Encantadas, y Deslealdad de Hermanos." Although in general outline the two stories are very close to each other, there are some significant differences.

In the Spanish, the king's name is Clotaldo, and he rules in Syria. The king builds a very high tower, and puts in it his three beautiful daughters; then he calls a powerful magician to cast a spell about the place, so that the tower cannot be scaled until the king wishes it to be. Confined in the tower with the princesses are three winged horses (o satánicas arpias). The king then issues a proclamation that whoever can reach the princesses shall be married to them. The three brothers that make the attempt are knights from Denmark. The two older proceed to Syria on horseback, fail, and on their return home meet their youngest brother making his way leisurely in a bullock-cart. He too is going to try, and is taking with him abundant provisions, many nails, and a rope. After they have tried in rain to persuade him to return home, they accompany him. [The episode of the poisoned food is lacking.] Juan gains the top of the tower, lowers the two older princesses, and then, last of all, the youngest, who gives him a necklace before she descends. The treacherous brothers now destroy Juan's means of escape, and make off with the three maidens, leaving him on the tower. He mounts one of the winged horses, and it flies with him to a distant country. Making his way back to Syria on foot, he exchanges clothes with a drover, and appears in Clotaldo's kingdom in disguise, pretending to be simple-minded. The king has already married his two older daughters to Juan's treacherous brothers, and is now trying to persuade his youngest daughter to marry: but she wishes only her rescuer. She paints a necklace in every respect like the one which she gave Juan, and says that she will marry only when a person is found who can make a necklace exactly like the picture. The king sends the painting to an alchemist in the city, and orders him, under penalty of death if he falls, to produce the necklace in two months. He is unable to do so, and becomes downcast. Juan, who has been in service as a porter, and is the one who carried the command of the king to the alchemist, asks him why he is sad. He tells the reason. Juan gives the alchemist his necklace. [The rest is practically as in our story.]

There is a sequel to this ballad, No. 1264, which has a close resemblance to the Tagalog "Juan Tiñoso," already summarized in the notes to No. 36.

The Spanish story, says the editor of the "Romancero General," is one of those founded directly on Oriental material which was transmitted by the Arabs. It is curious that so few of these tales, which have been preserved for generations as oral tradition, have made their way into print. The differences noticeable between our Märchen and the ballad may be due to a tradition somewhat divergent from that on which Alonso de Morales's poem is based.

TALE 52

THE POOR MAN AND HIS THREE SONS.

Narrated by Gregorio Velasquez, a Tagalog from Pasig, Rizal. He says, "This is a primitive Tagalog fable. I think. I heard it from old people."

Once there lived a poor man who had three sons. When the father was on his death-bed, he called his sons, and said to them, "My sons, I shall die very soon; and I shall not be able to leave you much wealth, for wealth I have not. But I will give each one of you something which, if you will only be able to find a place in which it has no equal, will make you happy men." The father then gave to one a rooster, to another a cat, and to the third a scythe. Then he died.

The owner of the scythe was the first to try his fortune and test his father's advice. He left his brothers, and went on a journey until he came to a town where he saw the people harvesting rice by pulling the stalks out of the ground. He showed the people the convenience of the scythe. They were so delighted and astonished, that they offered to give him a large sum of money in exchange for the tool. Of course he was willing to sell it, and he went home a rich man.

The owner of the rooster, seeing the good luck of his brother, next resolved to try his fortune with the bird. Like his brother, he travelled until he came to a town where there was no rooster. The people were very much interested in the rooster's crowing, and asked the owner why the bird crowed. He said that the bird told the time of day by its crowing. "The first crow in the night announces midnight," he said; "the second, three o'clock in the morning; and the third crow announces five o'clock." The people were very anxious to get the rooster for their town, and offered to buy it. The owner was willing, and he returned to his home as rich as his brother who had sold the scythe.

The last brother now set out to try his luck with his cat. At last he came to a town where the rats were vexing the people very much. He showed them the use of his cat. With wonder the people watched the cat kill the rats, and were astounded to see how the rats fled from this strange animal. The news of the cat reached the king, who summoned its owner to the palace. The king asked the brother to try his cat on the rats in the palace, and so the cat was turned loose. In a short time all the rats had either been killed or driven away. The king wanted the cat, and offered to pay a large sum of money for it. So the owner of the cat, after the king had paid him, went home as rich as his other two brothers.

Thus the three brothers became rich, because they followed their father's wise advice: select the right place in which to trade.

Notes.

This story, like the preceding, is clearly an importation from the Occident. The bibliography of the cycle to which it belongs may be found in Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 69-71 (on Grimm, No. 70). German, Breton, French, Flemish, Swedish, Catalan, Serbian, Bulgarian, Czech, Polish, Russian, Lithuanian, and Finnish versions have been recorded. The story as a whole does not appear to have been collected from the Far East hitherto, though separate tales turning on the sale of a cat in a catless country (Dick Whittington type) are found among the Jews and in Africa. Bolte and Polívka give the bibliography of this latter group of stories on pp. 71-76.

The oldest form of our story known is that found in Nicholas de Troyes' "Grand Parangon des nouvelles Nouvelles," No. X, dating from 1535. The three things here bequeathed by the father are a cock, a cat, and a sickle, as in our version. I think it probable that the tale was introduced into the Philippines through the medium of a French religious. The Catalan form differs from the French in mentioning a fourth "heirloom," a raven, and was probably not the parent of our Tagalog version.

TALE 53

THE DENIED MOTHER.

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

(One day little Antonio fell down and sprained his elbow. His grandfather told him to put on his camisa and they would go to Tandang Fruto, an old manghihilot (a man who pretends to correct dislocated bones by means of certain prayers). On their way they met a beggar with a guitar. He sat down on a stone in front of a house and began to sing. Antonio wished to hear him, and so did the old grandfather: so they stopped and listened. The beggar sang the story of "The Denied Mother" in Tagalog verse. The story is this:--)

In a certain country there lived a king who had a pet dog. He loved the dog so much and treated it so kindly, that, wherever he went, the dog followed him. In the course of time the dog gave birth to three puppies. The most striking thing about these new-born creatures was that they were real human beings in every particular. So the king ordered them to be baptized. The eldest sister was named Feliza; the second, Juana; and the youngest, Maria. When they grew up into beautiful young women, they married three princes, each of a different kingdom. After the marriage-festivities, each went to live in the country of her husband.

Feliza was very happy: she dressed elegantly, and had all that a woman of her rank could wish for. One day, when her husband was away from home, a lean, dirty, spectre-looking dog came to her. It was Feliza's mother, who, after the death of her master the king, had been cast out of the palace. The poor dog had had nothing to eat for many days. She had been driven away from every house, and had been frightened by mischievous boys with sticks and stones. Although Feliza's kingdom was very far away, she had managed, in spite of difficulty, to reach it. She hoped to gain her daughter's pity. "My daughter," she said, as she ascended the steps of the ladder(!), "have compassion on me! I, your mother, am in a very wretched condition."

"What care I?" returned Feliza. "What business have you to come here? Don't you know that I will never sacrifice anything for your sake? Get out of here!" And she kicked the poor dog until it fell tumbling to the ground. Feliza did not want her husband to find out that her mother was a dog.

Sadly the dog went away, and decided to go to her daughter Juana's kingdom. The country was far away, but what else could she do? As Juana was coming out of the church with her husband, she saw the dog hurrying after her. Like Feliza, she was ashamed of her mother. She whispered to one of the guards to catch the dog and tie it securely in a distant forest, so that it might no longer annoy her.

Not long after this, Maria, the youngest daughter, was riding through the forest with her husband. There they found the poor dog crying and yelping in a pitiful manner. Maria recognized her mother. She got out of the carriage, and with her own hands untied the dog. She wrapped her veil around it, and ordered the carriage to turn back to the palace. "Husband," she said as she ascended the steps of the royal residence, "this dog that I am carrying is my mother, so please your Majesty."

The husband only said, "Thank God!" and not another word. Maria ordered the cook to prepare delicious food for the dog. She assigned the best chamber in the palace to the animal. While the dog was eating with Maria, the prince, and the courtiers, the dining-room was suddenly illuminated with a bright light. The dog disappeared, and in its place stood a beautiful woman in glorious attire. The woman kissed Maria, and said, "I am the dog your mother. God bless you, my good child!"

Notes.

I can offer no close parallels for this somewhat savage tale, though a few analogies to incidents in our story are to be found in an Indian story in Frere (No. 2, "A Funny Story"), the first part of which may be abstracted here for comparison.

A certain Rajah and Ranee are sad because they have no children and the little dog in the palace has no puppies; but at last the Ranee is confined, and bears two puppies, while the little dog at the same time gives birth to two female infants. In order to keep her offspring from the Ranee, who wishes to substitute her own for the dog's, the dog carries its two daughters to the forest, and there rears them. When they have become of marriageable age, they are found by two princes, who take them away and make them their wives. For twelve years the poor dog looks in vain for her lost children. One day the eldest daughter looks out of her window, and sees a dog running down the street. "That must be my long-lost mother!" she exclaims to herself; and she runs out, gets the animal, bathes it and feeds it. The dog now wants to go visit her younger daughter, although the elder tries in vain to dissuade her mother from going. When the younger daughter sees the dog, she says, "That must be my mother! What will my husband think of me if he learns that this wretched, ugly, miserable-looking dog is my mother?" She orders the servants to throw stones at it and drive it away. Wounded in the head, the dog runs back to her elder daughter, but dies, in spite of the tender care it receives. The daughter now tries to conceal the body until she can bury it. The husband discovers the corpse of the dog, but it has become a statue of gold set with diamonds and other precious stones. He asks where the treasure came from. His wife lies, and says, "Oh, it is only a present my parents sent me!" [The rest of the story has nothing to do with ours: it is a variant of the "Toads and Diamonds" cycle (see notes to No. 47).]

It will be noticed that in the Indian tale the rôles of the daughters are the reverse of what they are in our story.

TALE 54

TOMARIND AND THE WICKED DATU.

Narrated by Eutiquiano Garcia of Mexico. Pampanga. He says that this is an old Pampangan tale.

Before the Spanish occupation there were in the Philippines many petty kingdoms headed by native princes known as datus. Luzon, the scene of countless ravages and hard fightings of warlike tribes, was the home of Datu Nebucheba. His kingdom--at first only a few square miles--was greatly extended by the labor of his young brave warrior, Tomarind. Tomarind had a very beautiful wife, with whom Datu Nebucheba fell in love; but the ruler kept his vile desire secret in his heart for many years. Many times he thought of getting rid of his warrior Tomarind, and thus getting possession of his beautiful wife.

One day Tomarind was sent on a dangerous errand. He was ordered to get an enchanted marble ball from one of the caves in a certain mountain. Two monsters of terrible aspect, whose joy was the burning of villages, and whose delight was the killing of human beings, guarded the entrance of that cave. Many persons had entered the door of that death-chamber, but nobody had come from it alive. Suspicious of the coming danger, Tomarind did not go directly to the cave. He sought the famous witch of Tipuca, and told her about his situation. Immediately the witch performed a sort of diabolical ceremony, gave Tomarind a magic cane, and sent him away. When he reached the cave, those that guarded the cave received Tomarind very kindly, and they delivered the enchanted marble ball to him.

"To-morrow," said Nebucheba to himself, "the wife of Tomarind will be mine." Alas for him! very early the next morning Tomarind presented the marble ball to Datu Nebucheba. "How quickly he executed my orders!" exclaimed Nebucheba. "What shall I do to destroy this brave man? The next time he will not escape the danger. I will ask him to take a letter to my parents, who are living under ground, in the realm of the spirits," he said to himself.

The datu caused a well to be dug, and big stones to be piled near the mouth of it. When everything was ready, he summoned the brave warrior. He gave him the letter, and told him to start the next morning. Tomarind went again to the witch of Tipuca. "This is a very great task," said the witch; "but never mind! you will get even with Datu Nebucheba." That night the witch, with the help of unseen spirits, made a subterranean passage connecting the bottom of the datu's well with that of Tomarind's. "Nebucheba," the witch said to Tomarind, "will ask you to go down into his well; and as soon as you are at the bottom, he will order that the pile of stones be thrown on you. Lose no time, but go in to the subterranean passage that I have prepared for you." When morning came, Tomarind went to execute the orders of the datu.

Now, Nebucheba firmly believed that Tomarind was dead. There was great rejoicing in the datu's house. In the evening, while the revelry was going on, Tomarind appeared with the pretended answer from Nebucheba's parents. The letter read, "We wish you to come and see us here. We have a very beautiful girl for you." Nebucheba was greatly surprised. He made up his mind to go down into the well the next day. He gathered all his subjects together, and said to them, "I am going to see my parents. If the place there is better than the place here, I shall not come back. Tomarind will be my successor."

In the morning Nebucheba's subjects took him to the well and lowered him slowly into it. When he reached the bottom, Tomarind threw big stones down on him, and Nebucheba was crushed to death. The people never saw him again. Tomarind became datu, and he ruled his subjects with justice and equity for many years.

Note.

I know of no variants of this tale, which pretty evidently represents old tribal Pampangan tradition. The device by which Tomarind lures the wicked datu to his death is not unlike incident J in our No. 20 (see notes), but there is clearly no other connection between the two stories.

## PART II

FABLES AND ANIMAL STORIES.

TALE 55

THE TURTLE AND THE MONKEY.

Narrated by Eutiquiano Garcia of Mexico, Pampanga.

It was mid-day. The blinding heat of the sun forced all the water-loving animals--such as pigs, carabaos, and turtles--to go to the river-banks and there seek to cool themselves in the water. On that part of the bank where a big shady tree stood, a monkey and a turtle were having a good time, discussing the past, present, and future. Just then they saw a banana-stalk floating by.

"Don't you think that it would be a wise thing for us to get that banana-stalk and plant it?" said the monkey.

"Can you swim?" replied the turtle.

"No, I can't, but you can," said the monkey.

"I will get the banana-tree," said the turtle, "on condition that we divide it. You must allow me to have the upper part, where the leaves are." The monkey agreed; but when the stalk was brought to shore, the monkey took the leaves himself, and gave the turtle only the roots. As the humble turtle was unable to fight the monkey, all he could do was to pick up his share and take it to the woods and plant it. It was not strange that the monkey's part died, while that of the turtle brought forth clusters of ripe bananas in time.

When the monkey learned that the bananas were ripe, he went to visit his friend the turtle. "I will give you half the bananas," said the turtle, "if you will only climb the stalk and get the fruit for me."

"With great pleasure," replied the monkey. In less than a minute he was at the top of the tree. There he took his time, eating all he could, and stopping now and then to throw a banana-peeling down to his friend below. What could the poor turtle do? It was impossible for him to climb.

"I know what I'll do!" he said to himself. He gathered pointed sticks, and set them all around the base of the tree. Then he cried out to the monkey, saying, "The hunters are coming! The hunters are coming!" The monkey was very much frightened, so he jumped down in the hope of escaping; but he was pierced by the sharp sticks, and in a few hours he died. Thus the turtle got his revenge on the selfish monkey.

When the monkey was dead, the turtle skinned him, dried his meat, and sold it to the other monkeys in the neighborhood. But, in taking off the skin, the turtle was very careless: he left here and there parts of the fur sticking to the meat; and from this fact the monkeys which had bought the meat judged the turtle guilty of murder of one of their brethren. So they took the turtle before their chief, and he was tried.

When the turtle's guilt had been established, the monkey-chief ordered him to be burned.

"Fire does not do me any harm," said the turtle. "Don't you see the red part on my back? My father has burned me many times."

"Well, if fire doesn't harm him, cut him to pieces," said the monkey-chief angrily.

"Neither will this punishment have any effect on me," continued the wise turtle. "My back is full of scars. My father used to cut me over and over again."

"What can we do with him?" said the foolish monkeys. At last the brightest fellow in the group said, "We will drown him in the lake."

As soon as the turtle heard this, he felt happy, for he knew that he would not die in the water, However, he pretended to be very much afraid, and he implored the monkeys not to throw him into the lake. But he said to himself, "I have deceived all these foolish monkeys." Without delay the monkeys took him to the lake and threw him in. The turtle dived; and then he stuck his head above the surface of the water, laughing very loud at them.

Thus the turtle's life was saved, because he had used his brains in devising a means of escape.

The Monkey and the Turtle.

Narrated by Bienvenido Gonzales of Pampanga. He heard the story from his younger brother, who heard it in turn from a farmer. It is common in Pampanga.

Once there lived two friends,--a monkey and a turtle. One day they saw a banana-plant floating on the water. The turtle swam out and brought it to land. Since it was but a single plant and they had to divide it, they cut it across the middle.

"I will have the part with the leaves on," said the monkey, thinking that the top was best. The turtle agreed and was very well pleased, but she managed to conceal her joy. The monkey planted his part, the top of the tree; and the turtle planted hers, the roots. The monkey's plant died; but that of the turtle grew, and in time bore much fine fruit.

One day, since the turtle could not get at the bananas, she asked the monkey to climb the tree and bring down the bananas. In return for this service she offered to give him half the fruit. The monkey clambered up the tree, but he ate all the fruit himself: he did not give the turtle any. The turtle became very angry, waiting in vain; so she collected many sharp sticks, and stuck them in the trunk of the tree. Then she went away. When the monkey slid down to the ground, he injured himself very badly on the sharp sticks; so he set off to find the turtle and to revenge himself.

The monkey looked for a long time, but finally found the turtle under a pepper-plant. As the monkey was about to strike her, she said, "Keep quiet! I am guarding the king's fruits."

"Give me some!" said the monkey.

"Well, I will; here are some!" said the turtle. "But you must promise me not to chew them until I am far away; for the king might see you, and then he would punish me." The monkey agreed. When the turtle was a long way off, he began to chew the peppers. They were very hot, and burned his mouth badly. He was now extremely angry, and resolved that it would go hard with the turtle when he should catch her.

He searched all through the woods and fields for her. At last he found her near a large snake-hole. The monkey threatened to kill the turtle; but she said to him, "Friend monkey, do you want to wear the king's belt?"

"Why, surely! Where is it?" said the monkey.

The turtle replied, "It will come out very soon: watch for it!" As soon as the snake came out, the monkey caught it; but the snake rolled itself around his body, and squeezed him nearly to death. He finally managed to get free of the snake; but he was so badly hurt, that he swore he would kill the turtle as soon as he should find her.

The turtle hid herself under a cocoanut-shell. The monkey was by this time very tired, so he sat down on the cocoanut-shell to rest. As he sat there, he began to call loudly, "Turtle, where are you?"

The turtle answered in a low voice, "Here I am!"

The monkey looked all around him, but he saw nobody. He thought that some part of his body was joking him. He called the turtle again, and again the turtle answered him.

The monkey now said to his abdomen, "If you answer again when I don't call you, stomach, I'll punish you." Once more he called the turtle; and once more she said, "I am here!"

This was too much for the monkey. He seized a big stone, and began to hit his belly with it. He injured himself so much, that he finally died.

The Monkey and the Turtle.

Narrated by José M. Katigbak of Batangas, Batangas. This is a genuine Tagalog story, he says, which he heard from his friend Angel Reyes.

Once upon a time there was a turtle who was very kind and patient. He had many friends. Among them was a monkey, who was very selfish. He always wanted to have the best part of everything.

One day the monkey went to visit the turtle. The monkey asked his friend to accompany him on a journey to the next village. The turtle agreed, and they started early the next morning. The monkey did not take much food with him, because he did not like to carry a heavy load. The turtle, on the contrary, took a big supply. He advised the monkey to take more, but the monkey only laughed at him. After they had been travelling five days, the monkey's food was all gone, so the turtle had to give him some. The monkey was greedy, and kept asking for more all the time. "Give me some more, friend turtle!" he said.

"Wait a little while," said the turtle. "We have just finished eating."

As the monkey made no reply, they travelled on. After a few minutes the monkey stopped, and said, "Can't you travel a little faster?"

"I can't, for I have a very heavy load," said the turtle.

"Give me the load, and then we shall get along more rapidly," said the monkey. The turtle handed over all his food to the monkey, who ran away as fast as he could, leaving the turtle far behind.

"Wait for me!" said the turtle, doing his best to catch his friend; but the monkey only shouted, "Come on!" and scampered out of sight. The turtle was soon very tired and much out of breath, but he kept on. The monkey climbed a tree by the roadside, and looked back. When he saw his friend very far in the rear, he ate some of the food. At last the turtle came up. He was very hungry, and asked the monkey for something to eat.

"Come on a little farther," said the selfish monkey. "We will eat near a place where we can get water." The turtle did not say anything, but kept plodding on. The monkey ran ahead and did the same thing as before, but this time he ate all the food.

"Why did you come so late?" said the monkey when the turtle came up panting.

"Because I am so hungry that I cannot walk fast," answered the turtle. "Will you give me some food?" he continued.

"There is no more," replied the monkey. "You brought very little. I ate all there was, and I am still hungry."

As the turtle had no breath to waste, he continued on the road. While they were on their way, they met a hunter. The monkey saw the hunter and climbed a tree, but the man caught the turtle and took it home with him. The monkey laughed at his friend's misfortune. But the hunter was kind to the turtle: he tied it near a banana-tree, and gave it food every hour.

One day the monkey happened to pass near the house of the hunter. When he saw that his friend was tied fast, he sneered at him; but after he had remained there a few hours, and had seen how the turtle was fed every hour, he envied the turtle's situation. So when night came, and the hunter was asleep, the monkey went up to the turtle, and said, "Let me be in your place."

"No, I like this place," answered the turtle.

The monkey, however, kept urging and begging the turtle, so that finally the turtle yielded. Then the monkey set the turtle free, and tied himself to the tree. The turtle went off happy; and the monkey was so pleased, that he could hardly sleep during the night for thinking of the food the hunter would give him in the morning.

Early the next morning the hunter woke and looked out of his window. He caught sight of the monkey, and thought that the animal was stealing his bananas. So he took his gun and shot him dead. Thus the turtle became free, and the monkey was killed.

MORAL: Do not be selfish.

Notes.

The story of these two opponents, the monkey and the turtle, is widespread in the Philippines. In the introduction to a collection of Bagobo tales which includes a version of this fable, Laura Watson Benedict says (JAFL 26 [1913] : 14), "The story of 'The Monkey and the Turtle' is clearly modified from a Spanish source." In this note I hope to show not only that the story is native in the sense that it must have existed in the Islands from pre-Spanish times, but also that the Bagobo version represents a connecting link between the other Philippine forms and the original source of the whole cycle, a Buddhistic Jataka. Merely from the number of Philippine versions already collected, it seems reasonable to suspect that the story is Malayan: it is found from one end of the Archipelago to the other, and the wild tribes have versions as well as the civilized. In addition to our one Tagalog and two Pampangan versions, five other Philippine forms already exist in print, and may be cited for comparison. These are the following:--

(d) Bagobo, "The Monkey and the Tortoise" (JAFL 26 : 58). (e) Visayan, "Ca Matsin and Ca Boo-ug" (JAFL 20 : 316). (f) Tagalog, "The Monkey and the Turtle" (JAFL 21 : 46). (g) Tinguian, "The Turtle and the Monkey" (Cole, 195, No. 77). (k) Tagalog, Rizal's "Monkey and the Turtle." [100]

Before discussing the origin of the story, we may examine the different incidents found in the Philippine versions. That they vary considerably may be seen from the following list:--

A The division of the banana-stalk: monkey takes top; and turtle, roots. Monkey's share dies, turtle's grows, or (A1) monkey and turtle together find banana-tree growing; turtle unable to climb, but monkey easily gets at the fruit.

B Monkey steals turtle's bananas and will not give him any, or (B1) sticks banana up his anus and throws it to turtle, or (B2) drops his excrement into turtle's mouth.

C Turtle, in revenge, plants sharp stakes (or thorns) around base of the banana-tree; and when monkey descends, he is severely injured, or (C1) he is killed.

D Turtle sells monkey-flesh to other monkeys; either his trick is discovered accidentally by the monkeys, or (D1) the turtle jeers them for eating of their kind.

E Turtle is sentenced to death. He says, "You may burn me or pound me, but for pity's sake don't drown me!" The monkeys "drown" the turtle, and he escapes.

F The monkeys attempt to drink all the water in the lake, so as to reach the turtle: they burst themselves and perish. Or (F1) they get a fish to drain the pond dry; fish is punctured by a bird, water rushes out, and monkeys are drowned. Or (F2) monkeys summon all the other animals to help them drink the lake dry. The animals put leaves over the ends of their urethras, so that the water will not flow out; but a bird pecks the leaves away, and the monkeys turn to revenge themselves on the bird. (F3) They catch him and pluck out all his feathers; but the bird recovers, and revenges himself as below (G).

G Monkeys and other animals are enticed to a fruit-tree in a meadow, and are burned to death in a jungle fire kindled by the turtle and his friend the bird.

H Episode of guarding king's fruit-tree or bread-tree (Chile peppers).

J Episode of guarding king's belt (boa-constrictor).

K Turtle deceives monkey with his answers, so that the monkey thinks part of his own body is mocking him. Enraged, he strikes himself with a stone until he dies.

L Turtle captured by hunter gets monkey to exchange places with him by pointing out the advantages of the situation. Monkey subsequently shot by the hunter.

These incidents are distributed as follows:

Version (a) ABC1DE Version (b) ABCHJK Version (c) (Opening different, but monkey greedy as in B) L Version (d) A1B2C1D1EF2F3G Version (e) ABC1DEF1 Version (f) A1BC (glass on trunk of tree) EF (monkey in his rage leaps after turtle and is drowned) Version (g) AB1C1 (sharp shells) DEF (monkeys dive in to catch fish when they see turtle appear with one in his mouth, and are drowned). Incidents K and a form of J are found in the story of "The Turtle and the Lizard" (Cole, 196)

The incidents common to most of these versions are some form of ABCDEF; and these, I think, we must consider as integral parts of the story. It will be seen that one of our versions (c) properly does not belong to this cycle at all, except under a very broad definition of the group. In all these tales the turtle is the injured creature: he is represented as patient and quiet, but clever. The monkey is depicted as selfish, mischievous, insolent, but stupid. In general, although the versions differ in details, they are all the same story, in that they tell how a monkey insults a turtle which has done him no harm, and how he finally pays dearly for his insult.

The oldest account I know of, telling of the contests between the monkey and the turtle, is a Buddhist birth-story, the "Kacchapa-jataka," No. 273, which narrates how a monkey insulted a tortoise by thrusting his penis down the sleeping tortoise's throat, and how the monkey was punished. Although this particular obscene jest is not found in any of our versions, I think that there is a trace of it preserved in the Bagobo story. The passage runs thus (loc. cit. pp. 59-60): "At that all the monkeys were angry [incident D], and ran screaming to catch the tortoise. But the tortoise hid under the felled trunk of an old palma brava tree. As each monkey passed close by the trunk where the tortoise lay concealed, the tortoise said, 'Drag (or lower) your membrum! Here's a felled tree.' Thus every monkey passed by clear of the trunk, until the last one came by; and he was both blind and deaf. When he followed the rest, he could not hear the tortoise call out, and his membrum struck against the fallen trunk. He stopped, and became aware of the tortoise underneath. Then he screamed to the rest; and all the monkeys came running back, and surrounded the tortoise, threatening him." This incident, in its present form obscure and unreasonable (it is hard to see how following the tortoise's directions would have saved the monkeys from injury, and how the blind and deaf monkey "became aware" of the tortoise just because he hit the tree), probably originally represented the tortoise as seizing the last monkey with his teeth (present form, "his membrum struck against the fallen trunk"), so that in this way the monkey became painfully aware of the tortoise's close proximity. Hence his screams, too,--of pain. With incident B2 two other Buddhist stories are to be compared. The "Mahisa-jataka," No. 278, tells how an impudent monkey voids his excrement on a patient buffalo (the Bodhisatta) under a tree. The vile monkey is later destroyed when he plays the same trick on another bull. In the "Kapi-jataka," No. 404, a bad monkey drops his excrement first on the head and then into the mouth of a priest, who later takes revenge on the monkey by having him and all his following of five hundred destroyed. All in all, the agreement in general outline and in some details between these Hindoo stories and ours justifies us, I believe, in assuming without hesitation that our stories are descended directly from Buddhistic fables, possibly these very Jatakas. Compare also the notes to Nos. 48 and 56.

For a Celebes variant of the story of "The Monkey and the Turtle," see Bezemer, p. 287.

The sources of the other incidents, which I have not found in the Buddhistic stories, I am unable to point out. However, many of them occur in the beast tales of other Oriental and Occidental countries: for instance, incident E is a commonplace in "Brer Rabbit" stories both in Africa and America, whence it has made its way into the tales of the American Indians (see, for example, Honeÿ, 82; Cole, 195, note; Dähnhardt, 4 : 43-45); incident J and another droll episode found in an Ilocano story--"king's bell" (= beehive) motif--occur in a Milanau tale from Sarawak, Borneo, "The Plandok, Deer, and the Pig" (Roth, 1 : 347), and in two other North Borneo stories given by Evans (p. 474), "Plandok and Bear" and "Plandok and Tiger." In Malayan stories in general, the mouse-deer (plandok) is represented as the cleverest of animals, taking the rôle of the rabbit in African tales, and of the jackal in Hindoo. In the Ilocano story referred to, both these incidents--"king's belt" and "king's bell"--are found, though the rest of the tale belongs to the "Carancal" group (No. 3; see also No. 4 [b]), Incident L is found among the Negroes of South Africa (Honeÿ, 84, where the two animals are a monkey and a jackal). With incident G compare a Tibetan story (Ralston, No. XLII), where men take counsel as to how to kill a troop of monkeys that are destroying their corn. The plan is to cut down all the trees which stand about the place, one Tinduka-tree only being allowed to remain. A hedge of thorns is drawn about the open space, and the monkeys are to be killed inside the enclosure when they climb the tree in search of food. The monkeys escape, however; for another monkey goes and fires the village, thus distracting the attention of the men. Incident D, the Thyestean banquet, is widespread throughout European saga and Märchen literature: but even this incident Cosquin (I : xxxix) connects with India through an Annamite tale. With incident F3 compare a story from British North Borneo (Evans, 429-430), in which the adjutant-bird (lungun) and the tortoise revenge themselves on monkeys. The monkeys pull out all of the bird's feathers while it is asleep. In two months the feathers grow in again, and the bird seeks vengeance. It gets the tortoise to help it by placing its body in a large hole in the bottom of a boat, so that the water will not leak in; the bird then sails the boat. The monkeys want a ride, and the bird lets forty-one of them in. When the boat is out in the ocean and begins to roll, the bird advises the monkeys to tie their tails together two and two and sit on the edge of the boat to steady it. Then the bird flies away, the tortoise drops out of the hole, and the boat sinks. All the monkeys are drowned but the odd one.

TALE 56

THE MONKEY AND THE CROCODILE.

Tagalog Version.

Narrated by Engracio Abasola of Manila. He heard the story from his nephew.

One day, while a clever monkey was searching for his food along the river-bank, he saw a tall macopa-tree laden with ripe fruits. The tree was standing just by the shore of a river where a young crocodile lived. After eating all the fruit he wanted, the monkey climbed down the tree. He suddenly conceived the desire of getting on the other side of the wide river, but he found no means by which to cross. At last he saw the crocodile, who had just waked up from his siesta; and the monkey said to him in a friendly way, "My dear crocodile, will you do me a favor?"

The crocodile was greatly surprised by this amicable salutation of the monkey. However, he answered humbly, "Oh, yes! If there is anything I can do for you, I shall be glad to do it." The monkey then told the crocodile that he wanted to reach the other side of the river. Then the crocodile said, "I'll take you over with all my heart. Just sit on my back, and we'll go at once."

When the monkey was firmly seated on the crocodile's back, they began their trip. In a short while they reached the middle of the stream, and the crocodile began to laugh aloud. "Now, you foolish monkey!" it said, "I'll eat your liver and kidneys, for I'm very hungry." The monkey became nervous; but he concealed his anxiety, and said, "To be sure! I thought myself that you might be hungry, so I prepared my liver and kidneys for your dinner; but unfortunately, in our haste to depart, I left them hanging on the macopa-tree. I'm very glad that you mentioned the matter. Let us return, and I'll get you the food."

The foolish crocodile, convinced that the monkey was telling the truth, turned back toward the shore they had just left. When they were near, the monkey nimbly jumped on to the dry land and scampered up the tree. When the crocodile saw how he had been deceived, he said, "I am a fool."

Zambal Version.

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog, who heard the story from a native of Zambales.

One stormy day a monkey was standing by the shore of a river, wondering how he could get to the other side. He could not get over by himself; for the water was deep, and he did not know how to swim. He looked about for some logs; but all he saw was a large crocodile with its mouth wide open, ready to seize him. He was very much frightened; but he said, "O Mr. Crocodile! pray, do not kill me! Spare my life, and I will lead you to a place where you can get as many monkeys as will feed you all your life."

The crocodile agreed, and the monkey said that the place was on the other side of the river. So the crocodile told him to get on his back, and he would carry him across. Just before they reached the bank, the monkey jumped to land, ran as fast as he could, and climbed up a tree where his mate was. The crocodile could not follow, of course: so he returned to the water, saying, "The time will come when you shall pay."

Not long afterwards the monkey found the crocodile lying motionless, as if dead. About the place were some low Chile pepper-bushes loaded with numerous bright-red fruits like ornaments on a Christmas tree. The monkey approached the crocodile, and began playing with his tail; but the crocodile made a sudden spring, and seized the monkey so tightly that he could not escape. "Think first, think first!" said the monkey. "Mark you, Mr. Crocodile! I am now the cook of his Majesty the king. Those bright-red breads have been intrusted to my care," and the monkey pointed to the pepper-shrubs. "The moment you kill me, the king will arrive with thousands of well-armed troops, and will punish you."

The crocodile was frightened by what the monkey said. "Mr. Monkey, I did not mean to harm you," he said. "I will set you free if you will let me eat only as many pieces of bread as will relieve my hunger."

"Eat all you can," responded the monkey kindly. "Take as many as you please. They are free to you."

Without another word, the crocodile let the monkey go, and rushed at the heavily-laden bushes. The monkey slipped away secretly, and climbed up a tree, where he could enjoy the discomfiture of his voracious friend. The crocodile began to cough, sneeze, and scratch his tongue. When he rushed to the river to cool his mouth, the monkey only laughed at him.

MORAL: Use your own judgment; do not rely on the counsel of others, for it is the father of destruction and ruin.

Notes.

Like the monkey and the turtle, the monkey and the crocodile have been traditional enemies from time immemorial. In our present group of stories, however, the rôles are reversed: the monkey is clever; the water-animal (crocodile), cruel and stupid. Two very early forms of this tale are the "Vanarinda-jataka," No. 57, which tells how the crocodile lay on a rock to catch the monkey, and how the latter outwitted the crocodile; and the "Sumsumara-jataka," No. 208, in which a crocodile wanted the heart of a monkey, and the monkey pretended that it was hanging on a fig-tree. From the Buddhistic writings the story made its way into the famous collection known as the "Kalilah and Dimnah," of which it forms the ninth chapter in De Sacy's edition, and the fifth section in the later Syriac version (English translation by I. G. N. Keith-Falconer, Cambridge, 1885). In the "Pancatantra" this story forms the framework for the fourth book. For a discussion of the variations this tale underwent when it passed over into other collections and spread through Europe, see Benfey, 1 : 421 ff. Apparently Benfey did not know of these two Buddhistic birth-stories; but he has shown very ingeniously that most of the fables in the "Pancatantra" go back to Buddhistic writings. Nor can there be any doubt in this case, either, though it is not to be supposed that the five hundred and forty-seven Jatakas were invented by the Buddhistic scribes who wrote them down. Many of them are far older than Buddhism.

Our Zambal form of the story does not represent the purest version. A variant much closer to the Buddhistic and close to the Tagalog is a tale collected by Wenceslao Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. He says that the story is very common throughout his province, and is well known in the Visayas. His version follows in abstract form:--

A crocodile goes out to look for a monkey-liver for his wife, who is confined at home. As the crocodile starts to cross a stream, a monkey asks for passage on its back. The crocodile gladly complies, and, on arriving in mid-stream, laughs at the credulous monkey, and tells him that he must have a monkey-liver. The monkey says, "Why didn't you tell me before? There's one on a tree near the bank we just left." The simple crocodile went back to the bank, whereupon the monkey escaped and scrambled up into a tree to laugh at the crocodile. The crocodile then tried to "play dead," but he could not fool the monkey. Next he decided to go to the monkey's house. The monkey, suspecting his design, said aloud, "When no one is in my house, it answers when I call." The crocodile inside was foolish enough to answer when the monkey called to his house, and the monkey ran away laughing.

Our Zambal story has evidently been contaminated with the story of "The Monkey and the Turtle;" for it lacks the characteristic incident of the monkey-heart (or liver), and contains incident H from our No. 55. However, it does preserve an allusion to the principal episode of the cycle,--in the ride the monkey takes on the crocodile's back across the stream. Other Oriental versions of the "heart on tree" incident are the following: Chinese, S. Beal's "Romantic Legend of Sâkya Buddha" (London, 1875), pp. 231-234, where a dragon takes the place of the crocodile; Swahili, Steere, p. i, where, instead of a crocodile, we have a shark (so also Bateman, No. I); Japanese, W. E. Griffis's "Japanese Fairy World," p. 144, where the sea-animal is a jelly-fish. An interesting Russian variant, in which a fox takes the place of the monkey, is printed in the Cambridge Jataka, 2 : 110.

Once upon a time the king of the fishes was wanting in wisdom. His advisers told him that, once he could get the heart of a fox, he would become wise. So he sent a deputation consisting of the great magnates of the sea,--whales and others. "Our king wants your advice on some state affairs." The fox, flattered, consented. A whale took him on his back. On the way the waves beat upon him. At last he asked what they really wanted. They said what their king really wanted was to eat his heart, by which he hoped to become clever. He said, "Why didn't you tell me that before? I would gladly sacrifice my life for such a worthy object. But we foxes always leave our hearts at home. Take me back, and I'll fetch it. Otherwise I'm sure your king will be angry." So they took him back. As soon as he got near to the shore, he leaped on land, and cried, "Ah, you fools! Have you ever heard of an animal not carrying his heart with him?" and ran off. The fish had to return empty.

A reminiscence of this incident is also found in Steel-Temple, No. XXI, "The Jackal and the Partridge," where a partridge induces a crocodile to carry her and the jackal across a river, and en route suggests that he should upset the jackal, but at last dissuades him by saying that the jackal had left his life behind him on the other shore.

Related to our Zambal story are two modern Indian folk-tales in which a jackal is substituted for the monkey (this substitution is analogous to the Indian substitution of the jackal for the Philippines monkey in the "Puss-in-Boots" cycle). In the first of these--Frere, No. XXIV, "The Alligator and the Jackal"--we have the incident of the house answering when the owner calls. In Steel-Temple, No. XXXI, "The Jackal and the Crocodile," the jackal makes love to the crocodile, and induces her, under promise of marriage, to swim him across a stream to some fruit he wants to eat. When she has brought him back, he says that he thinks it may be a long time before he can make arrangements for the wedding. The crocodile, in revenge, watches till he comes to drink, and then seizes him by the leg. The jackal tells her that she has got hold of a root instead of his leg: so she lets go, and he escapes. Next she goes to his den to wait for him, and shams dead. When the jackal sees her, he says that the dead always wag their tails. The crocodile wags hers, and the jackal skips off. Closely connected with this last is a story by Rouse, No. 20, "The Cunning Jackal," only here the jackal's opponent is a turtle. The original, unadapted story runs thus as given in the notes by Mr. Rouse:--

Jackal sees melons on the other side of the river. Sees a tortoise. "How are you and your family?"--"I am well, but I have no wife."-"Why did you not tell me? Some people on the other side have asked me to find a match for their daughter."--"If you mean it, I will take you across." Takes him across on his back. When the melons are over (gone?), the jackal dresses up a jhan-tree as a bride. "There is your bride, but she is too modest to speak till I am gone." Tortoise carries him back. Calls to the stump. No answer,--Goes up and touches it. Finds it a tree. Vows revenge. As jackal drinks, catches his leg. "You fool! you have got hold of a stump by mistake; see, here is my leg!" pointing to stump. Tortoise leaves hold, Jackal escapes. Tortoise goes to jackal's den. Jackal returns, and sees the footprints leading into the den. Piles dry leaves at the mouth, and fires them. Tortoise expires.

Compare also a Borneo tale of a mouse-deer and a crocodile (Evans, 475). In a Santal story (Bompas, No. CXXIII, "The Jackal and the Leopards") a jackal tricks some leopards. In the second half he outwits a crocodile. Crocodile seizes jackal's leg. Jackal: "What a fool of a crocodile to seize a tree instead of my leg!" Crocodile lets go, and jackal escapes. Crocodile hides in a straw-stack to wait for jackal. Jackal comes along wearing a sheep-bell it has found. Crocodile says, "What a bother! Here comes a sheep, and I am waiting for the jackal." Jackal hears the exclamation, bums the straw-stack, and kills the crocodile.

The "Vanarinda-jataka," No. 57, contains what I believe is the original of the "house-answering owner" droll episode in our Pampangan variant. The monkey suspected the crocodile of lurking on the rock to catch him: so he shouted, "Hi, rock!" three times, but received no answer. Then he said, "How comes it, Friend Rock, that you won't answer me to-day?" The crocodile, thinking that perhaps it was the custom of the rock to return the greeting, answered for the rock; whereupon the monkey knew of his presence, and escaped by a trick. The "house-answering owner" episode is also found in a Zanzibar tale of "The Hare and the Lion" (Bateman, No. 2, pp. 42-43). The hare here suggests a Buddhistic source.

Of all the modern Oriental forms of the story, our Tagalog version and Pampangan variant are closest to the Jatakas, and we may conclude without hesitation that they mark a direct line of descent from India. The fact that the story is popular in many parts of the Islands makes it highly improbable that it was re-introduced to the Orient through a Spanish translation of the "Kalilah and Dimnah."

For further bibliography and discussion of this cycle, see Dähnhardt, 4 : 1-26.

TALE 57

THE MONKEYS AND THE DRAGON-FLIES.

Narrated by Pedro D. L. Sorreta, a Bicol from Albay, who says that the story is very common in the island of Catanduanes.

One day, when the sun was at the zenith and the air was very hot, a poor dragon-fly, fatigued with her long journey, alighted to rest on a branch of a tree in which a great many monkeys lived. While she was fanning herself with her wings, a monkey approached her, and said, "Aha! What are you doing here, wretched creature?"

"O sir! I wish you would permit me to rest on this branch while the sun is so hot," said the dragon-fly softly. "I have been flying all morning, and I am so hot and tired that I can go no farther," she added.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the monkey in a mocking tone. "We don't allow any weak creature such as you are to stay under our shelter. Go away!" he said angrily, and, taking a dry twig, he threw it at the poor creature.

The dragon-fly, being very quick, had flown away before the cruel monkey could hit her. She hurried to her brother the king, and told him what had happened. The king became very angry, and resolved to make war on the monkeys. So he despatched three of his soldiers to the king of the monkeys with this challenge:--

"The King of the Monkeys.

"Sir,--As one of your subjects has treated my sister cruelly, I am resolved to kill you and your subjects with all speed.

"DRAGON."

The monkey-king laughed at the challenge. He said to the messengers, "Let your king and his soldiers come to the battle-field, and they will see how well my troops fight."

"You don't mean what you say, cruel king," answered the messengers. "You should not judge before the fight is over."

"What fools, what fools!" exclaimed the king of the monkeys. "Go to your ruler and tell him my answer," and he drove the poor little creatures away.

When the king of the dragon-flies received the reply, he immediately ordered his soldiers to go to the battle-field, but without anything to fight with. Meanwhile the monkeys came, each armed with a heavy stick. Then the monkey-king shouted, "Strike the flying creatures with your clubs!" When King Dragon heard this order, he commanded his soldiers to alight on the foreheads of their enemies. Then the monkeys began to strike at the dragon-flies, which were on the foreheads of their companions. The dragon-flies were very quick, and were not hurt at all: but the monkeys were all killed. Thus the light, quick-witted dragon-flies won the victory over the strong but foolish monkeys.

Notes.

A Visayan variant, "The Ape and the Firefly" (JAFL 20 : 314) shows the firefly making use of the same ruse the dragon-flies employ to get the monkeys to slay one another. The first part of this variant is connected with our No. 60. The "killing fly on head" incident we have already met with in No. 9, in the notes to which I have pointed out Buddhistic parallels. It also occurs in No. 60 (d). In a German story (Grimm, No. 68, "The Dog and the Sparrow") the sparrow employs the same trick to bring ruin and death on a heartless wagoner who has cruelly run over the dog.

A closer analogue is the Celebes fable of "The Butterfly and the Ten Monkeys," given in Bezemer, p. 292.

Our story belongs to the large cycle of tales in which is represented a war between the winged creatures of the air and the four-footed beasts. In these stories, as Grimm says in his notes to No. 102, "The Willow-Wren and the Bear," "the leading idea is the cunning of the small creatures triumphing over the large ones .... The willow-wren is the ruler, for the saga accepts the least as king as readily as the greatest." For the bibliography of the cycle and related cycles, see Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 517-519, and 2 : 435-438, to which add the "Latukika-jataka," No. 357, which tells how a quail brought about the destruction of an elephant that had killed her young ones. I am inclined to think that the Bicol and Visayan stories belonging to this group are native--at least, have not been derived through the Spanish.

I have another Visayan story, however, relating a war between the land and the air creatures, which may possibly have come from the Occident. It was narrated by José R. Cuadra, and runs thus:--

The Battle between the Birds and the Beasts.

A great discussion once took place between the lion, king of the land-animals, and the bat, king of the air-animals, over the relative strength of each. The lion claimed to be more powerful than the bat, while the bat claimed to be more powerful than the lion. The final outcome was a declaration of war. The lion then called a general meeting of all his subjects. Among them were tigers, leopards, elephants, carabaos, wolves, and other fierce land-animals. The carabao was appointed leader of the army. Each animal in turn made a speech to the king, promising a sure victory for him. At the same time the bat also called a general meeting of his subjects. There were present all kinds of birds and insects. The leadership of the army was given to the bees and the wasps. Early in the morning the two opposing armies were assembled on the battle-field. At a given signal the battle began. The land-animals tried to chase the air-animals, but in vain, for they could not leave the ground. The bees and wasps were busy stinging the eyes and bodies of their enemy. At last the land-animals retired defeated, because they could not endure longer their severe punishment.

TALE 58

THE MONKEY, THE TURTLE, AND THE CROCODILE.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario, a Tagalog from Batangas. He heard the story from his father, who said that it is common among the country people around Batangas town.

There was once a monkey who used to deceive everybody whom he met. As is the case with most deceivers, he had many enemies who tried to kill him.

One day, while he was walking in the streets of his native town, he met in a by-lane a turtle and a crocodile. They were so tired that they could hardly breathe. "I'll try to deceive these slow creatures of the earth," said the monkey to himself. So said, so done. He approached the crocodile and turtle, and said to them, "My dear sirs, you are so tired that you can hardly move! Where did you come from?"

The two travellers were so much affected by the kind words of the monkey, that they told him all about themselves with the greatest candor imaginable. They said, "We are strangers who have just made a long journey from our native town. We don't know where to get food or where to spend this cold night."

"I'll conduct you to a place where you can spend the night and get all you want to eat," said the monkey.

"All right," said the two travellers. "Lead on! for we are very hungry and at the same time very tired."

"Follow me," said the crafty monkey.

The turtle and the crocodile followed the monkey, and soon he brought them to a field full of ripe pumpkins. "Eat all the pumpkins you want, and then rest here. Meanwhile I'll go home and take my sleep, too."

While the two hungry travellers were enjoying a hearty meal, the owner of the plantation happened to pass by. When he saw the crocodile, he called to his laborers, and told them to bring long poles and their bolos. The turtle clung to the tail of the crocodile, and away they went.

"Don't cling to my tail! Don't cling to my tail!" said the crocodile. "I cannot run fast if you cling to my tail. Let go! for the men will soon overtake us."

"I have to cling to your tail," said the turtle, "or else there will be no one to push you."

But their attempt to escape was unsuccessful. The men overtook them and killed them both. Such was the unhappy end of the turtle and the crocodile.

MORAL: Never trust a new friend or an old enemy.

Notes.

I know of no exact parallels for this story, though the character of the monkey as depicted here is similar to that in No. 55. Compare with it the rôle of the deceitful jackal in some of the South African stories (e.g., Metelerkamp, No. v; Honeÿ, 22, 24, 45, 105, etc.). This may be a sort of "compensation story," manufactured long ago, however, in which the monkey gets even with his two traditional opponents, the crocodile and the turtle.

TALE 59

THE IGUANA AND THE TURTLE.

Narrated by Sixto Guico of Binalonan, Pangasinan, who says that the story is fairly common among the Pangasinanes.

Once upon a time there lived two good friends,--an iguana and a turtle. They always went fishing together. One day the turtle invited the iguana to go catch fish in a certain pond that he knew of. After they had been there about two hours, the old man who owned the pond came along. The iguana escaped, but the turtle was caught. The old man took the turtle home, tied a string around its neck, and fastened it under the house.

Early in the morning the iguana went to look for his friend the turtle. The iguana wandered everywhere looking for him, and finally he found him under the old man's house, tied to a post.

"What are you doing here, my friend?" said the iguana.

"That old man wants me to marry his daughter, but I do not want to marry her," said the turtle.

Now, the iguana very much wanted a wife, and he was delighted at this chance. So he asked the turtle to be allowed to take his place. The turtle consented. So the iguana released the turtle, and was tied up in his place. Then the turtle made off as fast as he could.

When the old man woke up, he heard some one saying over and over again, "I want to marry your daughter." He became angry, and went down under the house to see who was talking. There he found the iguana saying, "I want to marry your daughter." The old man picked up a big stick to beat its head, but the iguana cut the string and ran away.

On his way he came across the turtle again, who was listening to the sound produced by the rubbing of two bamboos when the wind blew. "What! are you here again?" said the iguana.

"Be quiet!" said the turtle. "I am listening to the pipe of my grandfather up there. Don't you hear it?"

The iguana wanted to see the turtle's grandfather, so he climbed up the tree, and put his mouth between the two bamboos that were rubbing together. His mouth was badly pinched, and he fell down to the ground. The turtle meanwhile had disappeared.

MORAL: This teaches that the one who believes foolishly will be injured.

Notes.

This story is doubtless native. A Tinguian tale related to ours is given by Cole (No. 78), whose abstract runs thus:--

A turtle and lizard go to stem ginger. The lizard talks so loudly that he attracts the attention of the owner. The turtle hides; but the lizard runs, and is pursued by the man. The turtle enters the house, and hides under a cocoanut-shell. When the man sits on the shell, the turtle calls. He cannot discover source of noise, and thinks it comes from his testicles. He strikes these with a stone, and dies. The turtle and the lizard see a bees' nest. The lizard hastens to get it, and is stung. They see a bird-snare, and turtle claims it as the necklace of his father. Lizard runs to get it, but is caught and killed.

Some of the incidents found in the Tinguian story we have met with in No. 55; e.g., episodes K, J, L, and "king's bell." Indeed, there appears to be a close connection between the "Monkey and Turtle" group and this story. A Borneo tale of the mouse-deer (plandok), small turtle (kikura), long-tailed monkey (kra), and bear contains the "king's necklace" incident, and many other situations worthy of notice. A brief summary of the droll, which may be found in Roth, 1 : 342-346, is here given:--

The Kikura deceives the Plandok with the necklace sell (snare), and the Plandok is caught. When the hunter comes up, the little animal feigns death, and is thrown away. Immediately it jumps up, and is off to revenge itself on the turtle. It entices the turtle into a covered pit by pretending to give it a good place to sleep. Man examining pitfall discovers turtle, and fastens it with a forked stick. Monkey comes along, exchanges places with the turtle, but escapes with his life by feigning dead, as did the Plandok. Monkey, turtle, and Plandok go fishing. Monkey steals ride across stream on back of good-natured fish, which he later treacherously kills. The three friends prepare the fish, and Bruin comes along. Fearing the size of the bear's appetite, they send him to wash the pan; and when he returns, fish, monkey, turtle, and mouse-deer have disappeared.

The escape of snared animals and birds by shamming dead, and then making off when the bunter or fowler throws them aside as worthless, is commonly met with in Buddhistic fables.

TALE 60

THE TRIAL AMONG THE ANIMALS.

Narrated by Domingo Pineda of Pampanga.

In ancient times Sinukuan, the judge of the animals, lived in one of the caves of Mount Arayat. He had formerly lived in a neighboring town; but, since he was so brave and strong, the people began to envy him, then to hate him. At last they made so many plots against his life, that he gave up all his property and friends in the town, and went to live in Mount Arayat, where he devoted all his time to gaining the friendship of the animals there.

Now, it was not hard for Sinukuan to win the love of the animals, for he had the power of changing himself into whatever form he pleased; and he always took the form of those animals who came to him. It was not long before all the animals realized the power, wisdom, and justice of their good companion, so they made him their judge.

One day a bird came to Sinukuan's court, and asked Sinukuan to punish the frog for being so noisy during the night, while it was trying to sleep. Sinukuan summoned the troublesome frog, and asked him the reason for his misbehavior. The frog answered respectfully, "Sir, I was only crying for help, because the turtle was carrying his house on his back, and I feared that I might be buried under it."

"That is good enough reason," said Sinukuan; "you are free."

The turtle was the next to be summoned to Sinukuan's court. On his arrival, he humbly replied to the question of the judge, "Honorable Judge, I carried my house with me, because the firefly was playing with fire, and I was afraid he might set fire to my home. Is it not right to protect one's house from fire?"

"A very good reason; you are free," said Sinukuan.

In the same way the firefly was brought to court the next day, and when the judge asked him why he was playing with fire, he said in a soft voice, "It was because I have no other means with which to protect myself from the sharp-pointed dagger of the mosquito." This seemed a reasonable answer, so the firefly was liberated too.

Finally the mosquito was tried; and, since he did not have any good reason to give for carrying his dagger, Sinukuan sentenced him to three days' imprisonment. The mosquito was obliged to submit; and it was during this confinement of the mosquito that he lost his voice. Ever since, the male mosquito has had no voice; and he has been afraid to carry his dagger, for fear of greater punishment.

The Pugu's Case.

Narrated by Bienvenido Tan of Manila, who got the story from Pampanga.

"Why, horse," said the pugu (a small bird), "did you touch my eggs, so that now they are broken?"

"Because," said the horse, "the cock crowed, and I was startled."

"Why, cock," said the pugu, "did you crow, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the cock, "I saw the turtle carrying his house; that made me crow."

"Why, turtle," said the pugu, "did you carry your house with you, so that the cock crowed, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the turtle, "the firefly was carrying fire, and I was afraid that he would burn my house."

"Why, firefly," said the pugu, "did you bring fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, and the cock crowed when he saw him, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the firefly, "the mosquito will sting me if I have no light."

"Why, mosquito," said the pugu, "did you try to sting the firefly, so that he had to carry fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, so that the cock laughed at the turtle, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the mosquito, "Juan put up his mosquito-net, and there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly (alipatpat.)"

"Why, Juan," said the pugu, "did you put up your mosquito-net? The mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs."

"Because," said Juan, "I did not care to lose any blood."

Why Mosquitoes Hum and Try to get into the Holes of our Ears.

Narrated by Fermin Torralba, a Visayan from Tagbilaran, Bohol. He heard the story from an old man of his province.

A long time ago, when the world was much quieter and younger than it is now, people told and believed many strange stories about wonderful things which none of us have ever seen. In those very early times, in the province of Bohol, there lived a creature called Mangla; [101] he was king of the crabs.

One night, as he was very tired and sleepy, Mangla ordered his old sheriff, Cagang, [102] leader of the small land-crabs, to call his followers, Bataktak, [103] before him. Although the sheriff was old, yet he brought them all in in a very short time. Then Mangla said to the Bataktak, "You must all watch my house while I am sleeping; but do not make any noise that will waken me." The Bataktak said, "We are always ready to obey you." So Mangla went to sleep.

While he was snoring, it began to rain so hard that the guards could not help laughing. The king awoke very angry; but, as he was still very tired and sleepy, he did not immediately ask the Bataktak why they laughed. He waited till morning came. So, as soon as the sun shone, he called the Bataktak, and said to them, "Why did you laugh last night? Did I not tell you not to make any noise?"

The Bataktak answered softly, "We could not help laughing, because last night we saw our old friend Hu-man [104] carrying his house on his shoulder." On account of this reasonable reply, the king pardoned the Bataktak. Then he called his sheriff, and told him to summon Hu-man. In a short time he came. The king at once said to him, "What did you do last night?"

"Sir," replied Hu-man humbly, "I was carrying my house, because Aninipot [105] was bringing fire, and I was afraid that my only dwelling would be burned." This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he pardoned Hu-man. Then he told his sheriff Cagang to summon Aninipot. When Aninipot appeared, the king, with eyes flashing with anger, said to the culprit, "Why were you carrying fire last night?"

Aninipot was very much frightened, but he did not lose his wits. In a trembling voice he answered, "Sir, I was carrying fire, because Lamoc [106] was always trying to bite me. To protect myself, I am going to carry fire all the time." The king thought that Aninipot had a good reason, so he pardoned him also.

The king now realized that there was a great deal of trouble brewing in his kingdom, of which he would not have been aware if he had not been awakened by the Bataktak. So he sent his sheriff to get Lamoc. In a short time Cagang appeared with Lamoc. But Lamoc, before he left his own house, had told all his companions to follow him, for he expected trouble. Before Lamoc reached the palace, the king was already shouting with rage, so Lamoc approached the king and bit his face. Then Mangla cried out, "It is true, what I heard from Bataktak, Hu-man, and Aninipot!" The king at once ordered his sheriff to kill Lamoc; but, before Cagang could carry out the order, the companions of Lamoc rushed at him. He killed Lamoc, however, and then ran to his home, followed by Lamoc's friends, who were bent on avenging the murder. As Cagang's house was very deep under the ground, Lamoc's friends could not get in, so they remained and hummed around the door.

Even to-day we can see that at the doors of the houses of Cagang and his followers there are many friends of Lamoc humming and trying to go inside. It is said that the Lamoc mistake the holes of our ears for the house of Cagang, and that that is the reason mosquitoes hum about our ears now.

A Tyrant.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel of Jaen, Nueva Ecija. This is a Tagalog story.

Once there lived a tyrannical king. One of his laws prohibited the people from talking loudly. Even when this law had been put in force, he still was not satisfied: so he ordered the law to be enforced among the animals.

One of his officers once heard a frog croak. The officer caught the frog and carried it before the king. The king began the trial by saying, "Don't you know that there is a law prohibiting men and animals from making a noise?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said the frog, "but I could not help laughing to see the snail carrying his house with him wherever he goes."

The king was satisfied with the frog's answer, so he dismissed him and called the snail. "Why do you always carry your house with you?" asked the king.

"Because," said the snail, "I am always afraid the firefly is going to burn it." The king next ordered the firefly to appear before him. The king then said to the firefly, "Why do you carry fire with you always?"

"Because the mosquitoes will bite me if I do not carry this fire," said the firefly. This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he summoned the mosquito. When the mosquito was asked why he was always trying to bite some one, he said, "Why, sir, I cannot live without biting somebody."

The king was tired of the long trial, so with the mosquito he determined to end it. After hearing the answer of the mosquito, he said, "From now on you must not bite anybody. You have no right to do so." The mosquito tried to protest the sentence, but the king seized his mallet and determined to crush the mosquito with it. When the mosquito saw what the king was going to do, he alighted on the forehead of the king. The king became very angry at this insult, and hit the mosquito hard. He killed the mosquito, but he also put an end to his own tyranny.

MORAL: It is foolish to carry matters to extremes.

Notes.

A fifth form (e) of this "clock" story is "The Bacuit's Case," narrated by W. Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. As I have this tale only in abstract, I give it here in that form:--

The bacuit (small, light gray bird which haunts marshes and ponds) went to the eagle-king and brought suit against the frog because the latter croaked all night, thus keeping the bacuit awake. The frog said he croaked for fear of the turtle, who always carried his house with him. The turtle, being summoned, explained that he carried his house with him for fear that the firefly would set it on fire. The firefly, in turn, showed that it was necessary for him to carry his lamp in order to find his food.

There is a striking agreement of incident in all these stories, as may be seen from the following abstracts of the versions.

Version a (Pampango), "Trial among Animals." Bird vs. frog; frog vs, turtle; turtle vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version b (Pampango), "The Pugu's Case." Pugu vs. horse; horse vs. cock; cock vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly, firefly vs. mosquito; mosquito vs. Juan.

Version c (Visayan), "Why Mosquitoes Hum." Crab vs. frogs; frogs vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version d (Tagalog) "A Tyrant". King's officer vs. frog; frog vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version e (Pampango), "The Bacuit's Case." Bacuit vs. frog; frog vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly.

With the exception of the substitution of snail for turtle, and crab for bird, in the Tagalog and Visayan versions, four of these forms (a, c, d, e) are practically identical. Pampango e lacks the fourth link in the chain (firefly vs. mosquito). Pampango b adds one link (horse vs. cock), and substitutes cock for frog; the method of narration varies somewhat from the others, also. The punishment of the mosquito differs in a, c, and d. "The Trial among Animals" develops into a "just-so" story, and may be a connecting link between a Tinguian fable (Cole, No. 84) and two Borneo sayings (Evans, 447). In the Tinguian, a mosquito came to bite a man. The man said, "You are very little, and can do nothing to me." The mosquito answered, "If you had no ears, I would eat you." The Bajan (Borneo) saying is, "Mosquitoes do not make their buzzing unless they are near men's ears; and then they say, 'If these were not your ears, I would swallow you.'" The Dusun version (Borneo) is, "The mosquito says, 'If these were not your horns, I would swallow you.'" The "killing fly on face" droll episode, which terminates the Tagalog version (d), we have already met with twice, Nos. 9 and 57 (q.v.). The link "firefly vs. mosquito" is found in the Visayan story "The Ape and the Firefly" (JAFL 20 : 314).

There can be no question but that this cycle is native to the Islands, and was not imported from the Occident. A Malayan story given by Skeat (Fables and Folk-Tales from an Eastern Forest, 9-12), "Who Killed the Otter's Babies?" is clearly related to our tales, at least in idea and method:--

The mouse-deer (plandok) is charged with killing the otter's babies by trampling them to death, but excuses himself by saying that he was frightened because the woodpecker sounded his war-gong. In the trial before King Solomon, the above facts come out, and the woodpecker is asked why he sounded the war-gong.

WOODPECKER. Because the great lizard was wearing his sword.

GREAT LIZARD. Because the tortoise had donned his coat of mail.

TORTOISE. Because King Crab was trailing his three-edged pike.

KING CRAB. Because Crayfish was shouldering his lance.

CRAYFISH. Because Otter was coming down to devour my children.

Thus the cause of the death of the otter's children is traced to the otter himself.

Another Far-Eastern story from Laos (French Indo-China), entitled "Right and Might" (Fleeson, 27), is worth notice:--

A deer, frightened by the noise of an owl and a cricket, flees through the forest and into a stream, where it crushes a small fish almost to death. The fish complains to the court; and the deer, owl, cricket, and fish have a lawsuit. In the trial comes out this evidence: As the deer fled, he ran into some dry grass, and the seed fell into the eye of a wild chicken, and the pain caused by the seed made the chicken fly up against a nest of red ants. Alarmed, the red ants flew out to do battle, and in their haste bit a mongoose. The mongoose ran into a vine of wild fruit, and shook several pieces of it on the head of a hermit, who sat thinking under a tree. The hermit then asked the fruit why it fell, and the fruit blamed the mongoose; mongoose blamed ants; ants blamed chicken; chicken blamed seed; seed blamed deer; deer blamed owl. "O Owl!" asked the hermit, "why didst thou frighten the deer?" The owl replied, "I called but as I am accustomed to call; the cricket, too, called." Having heard the evidence, the judge says, "The cricket must replace the crushed parts of the fish and make it well," as he, the cricket, called and frightened the deer. Since the cricket is smaller and weaker than the owl or the deer, he had to bear the penalty.

TALE 61

THE GREEDY CROW.

Narrated by Agapito O. Gaa, from Taal, Batangas. He heard the story from an old Tagalog man who is now dead.

One day a crow found a piece of meat on the ground. He picked it up and flew to the top of a tree. While he was sitting there eating his meat, a kasaykasay (a small bird) passed by. She was carrying a dead rat, and was flying very fast. The crow called to her, and said, "Kasaykasay, where did you get that dead rat that you have?" But the small bird did not answer: she flew on her way. When the crow saw that she paid no attention to him, he was very angry; and he called out, "Kasaykasay, Kasaykasay, stop and give me a piece of that rat, or I will follow you and take the whole thing for myself!" Still the small bird paid no attention to him. At last, full of greed and rage, the crow determined to have the rat by any means. He left the meat he was eating, and flew after the small creature. Although she was only a little bird, the Kasaykasay could fly faster than the crow--so he could not catch her.

While the crow was chasing the Kasaykasay, a hawk happened to pass by the tree where the crow had left his meat. The hawk saw the meat, and at once seized it in his claws and flew away.

Although the crow pursued the Kasaykasay a long time, he could not overtake her: so at last he gave up his attempt, and flew back to the tree where he had left his meat. But when he came to the spot, and found that the meat was gone, he was almost ready to die of disappointment and hunger. By and by the hawk which had taken the meat passed the tree again. He called to the crow, and said to him, "Mr. Crow, do you know that I am the one who took your meat? If not, I will tell you now, and I am very sorry for you."

The crow did not answer the hawk, for he was so tired and weak that he could hardly breathe.

The moral of this story is this: Do not be greedy. Be contented with what you have, and do not wish for what you do not own.

Notes.

This fable appears to be distantly related to the European fable of "The Dog and his Shadow." More closely connected, however, is an apologue incorporated in a Buddhistic birth-story, the "Culladhanuggaha-jataka," No. 374. In this Indian story,--

An unfaithful wife eloping with her lover arrives at the bank of a stream. There the lover persuades her to strip herself, so that he may carry her clothes across the stream, which he proceeds to do, but never returns. Indra, seeing her plight, changes himself into a jackal bearing a piece of meat, and goes down to the bank of the stream. In its waters fish are disporting; and the Indra-jackal, laying aside his meat, plunges in after one of them. A vulture hovering near seizes hold of the meat and bears it aloft; and the jackal, returning unsuccessful from his fishing, is taunted by the woman, who had observed all this, in the first gatha:--

"O jackal so brown! most stupid are you; No skill have you got, not knowledge, nor wit; Your fish you have lost, your meat is all gone, And now you sit grieving all poor and forlorn."

To which the Indra-jackal repeats the second gatha:--

"The faults of others are easy to see, But hard indeed our own are to behold; Thy husband thou hast lost, and lover eke, And now, I ween, thou grievest o'er thy loss."

The same story is found in the "Pancatantra" (V, viii; see Benfey, I : 468), whence it made its way into the "Tuti-nameh." It does not appear to be known in the Occident in this form (it is lacking in the "Kalilah and Dimnah").

Although the details of our story differ from those of the Indian fable of "The Jackal and the Faithless Wife," the general outlines of the two are near enough to justify us in supposing a rather close connection between them. I know of no European analogues nearly so close, and am inclined to consider "The Greedy Crow" a native Tagalog tale. From the testimony of the narrator, it appears that the fable is not a recent importation.

TALE 62

THE HUMMING-BIRD AND THE CARABAO.

Narrated by Eusebio Lopez, a Tagalog from the province of Cavite.

One hot April morning a carabao (water-buffalo) was resting under the shade of a quinine-tree which grew near the mouth of a large river, when a humming-bird alighted on one of the small branches above him.

"How do you do, Friend Carabao?" said the humming-bird.

"I'm very well, little Hum. Do you also feel the heat of this April morning?" replied the carabao.

"Indeed, I do, Friend Carabao! and I am so thirsty, that I have come down to drink."

"I wonder how much you can drink!" said the carabao jestingly. "You are so small, that a drop ought to be more than enough to satisfy you."

"Yes, Friend Carabao?" answered little Hum as if surprised. "I bet you that I can drink more than you can!"

"What, you drink more than I can, you little Hum!"

"Yes, let us try! You drink first, and we shall see."

So old carabao, ignorant of the trick that was being played on him, walked to the bank of the river and began to drink. He drank and drank and drank; but it so happened that the tide was rising, and, no matter how much he swallowed, the water in the river kept getting higher and higher. At last he could drink no more, and the humming-bird began to tease him.

"Why, Friend Carabao, you have not drunk anything. It seems to me that you have added more water to the river instead."

"You fool!" answered the carabao angrily, "can't you see that my stomach is almost bursting?"

"Well, I don't know. I only know that you have added more water than there was before. But it is now my turn to drink."

But the humming-bird only pretended to drink. He knew that the tide would soon be going out, so he just put his bill in the water, and waited until the tide did begin to ebb. The water of the river began to fall also. The carabao noticed the change, but he could not comprehend it. He was surprised, and agreed that he had been beaten. Little Hum flew away, leaving poor old Carabao stupefied and hardly able to move, because of the great quantity of water he had drunk.

Notes.

That this story was not imported from the Occident is pretty clearly established by the existence in North Borneo of a tale almost identical with it. The Borneo fable, which is told as a "just-so" story, and is entitled "The Kandowei [rice-bird] and the Kerbau [carabao]," may be found in Evans (pp. 423-424). It runs about as follows:--

The bird said to the buffalo, "If I were to drink the water of a stream, I could drink it all."--"I also," said the buffalo, "could finish it; for I am very big, while you are very small."--"Very well," said the bird, "tomorrow we will drink." In the morning, when the water was coming down in flood, the bird told the buffalo to drink first. The buffalo drank and drank; but the water only came down the faster, and at length he was forced to stop. So the buffalo said to the bird, "You can take my place and try, for I cannot finish." Now, the bird waited till the flood had gone down; and when it had done so, he put his beak into the water and pretended to drink. Then he waited till all the water had run away out of the stream, and said to the buffalo, "See, I have finished it!" And since the bird outwitted the buffalo in this manner, the buffalo has become his slave, and the bird rides on his back.

I know of no other Philippine versions, but I dare say that many exist between Luzon and Mindanao.

TALE 63

THE CAMANCHILE AND THE PASSION.

Narrated by Fernando M. Maramag of Ilagan, Isabella province. He says that this is an Ilocano story.

Once upon a time there grew in a forest a large camanchile-tree [107] with spreading branches. Near this tree grew many other trees with beautiful fragrant flowers that attracted travellers. The camanchile had no fragrant flowers; but still its crown was beautifully shaped, for the leaves received as much light as the leaves of the other trees. But the beauty of the crown proved of no attraction to travellers, and they passed the tree by.

One day Camanchile exclaimed aloud, "Oh, what a dreary life I lead! I would that I had flowers like the others, so that travellers would visit me often!" A vine by the name of Passion, which grew near by, heard Camanchile's exclamation. Now, this vine grew fairly close to the ground, and consequently received "only a small amount of light. Thinking that this was its opportunity to improve its condition, it said, "Camanchile, why is your life dreary?"

"Ah, Passion!" replied Camanchile, "just imagine that you were unappreciated, as I am! Travellers never visit me, for I have no flowers."

"Oh, that's easy!" said Passion. "Just let me climb on you, and I'll display on your crown my beautiful flowers. Then many persons will come to see you." Camanchile consented, and let Passion climb up on him. After a few days Passion reached the top of the tree, and soon covered the crown.

A few months later Camanchile realized that he was being smothered: he could not get light, so he asked Passion to leave him. "O Passion! what pain I am in! I can't get light. Your beauty is of no value. I am being smothered: so leave me, I beg of you!"

Passion would not leave Camanchile, however, and so Camanchile died.

MORAL: Be yourself.

Note.

With this story compare the "Palasa-jataka," No. 370, which tells how a Judas-tree was destroyed by the parasitic growth of a banyan-shoot. The general idea is the same in both stories, though I hardly suspect that ours is descended from the Indian. The situation of a tree choked to death by a parasite is such a commonplace in everyday experience, that a moral story based on it might arise spontaneously almost anywhere.

TALE 64

AUAC AND LAMIRAN.

Narrated by Anastacia Villegas of Arayat, Pampanga. She heard the story from her father, and says that it is well known among the Pampangans.

Once Auac, a hawk, stole a salted fish which was hanging in the sun to dry. He flew with it to a branch of a camanchile-tree, where he sat down and began to eat. As he was eating, Lamiran, a squirrel who had his house in a hole at the foot of the tree, saw Auac. Lamiran looked up, and said, "What beautiful shiny black feathers you have, Auac!" When he heard this praise, the hawk looked very dignified. Nevertheless he was much pleased. He fluttered his wings. "You are especially beautiful, Auac, when you walk; for you are very graceful," continued the squirrel. Auac, who did not understand the trick that was being played on him, hopped along the branch with the air of a king. "I heard some one say yesterday that your voice is so soft and sweet, that every one who listens to your song is charmed. Please let me hear some of your notes, you handsome Auac!" said the cunning Lamiran. Auac, feeling more proud and dignified than ever, opened his mouth and sang, "Uac-uac-uac-uac!" As he uttered his notes, the fish in his beak fell to the ground, and Lamiran got it.

A heron which was standing on the back of a water-buffalo near by saw the affair. He said, "Auac, let me give you a piece of advice. Do not always believe what others tell you, but think for yourself; and remember that 'ill-gotten gains never prosper.'"

Notes.

This is the old story of the "Fox and Crow [and cheese]," the bibliography for which is given by Jacobs (2 : 236). Jacobs sees a connection between this fable and two Buddhistic apologues:--

(1) The "Jambu-khadaka-jataka," No. 294, in which we find a fox (jackal) and a crow flattering each other. The crow is eating jambus, when he is addressed thus by the jackal:--

"Who may this be, whose rich and pleasant notes Proclaim him best of all the singing birds, Warbling so sweetly on the jambu-branch, Where like a peacock he sits firm and grand!"

The crow replies,--

"'Tis a well-bred young gentleman who knows To speak of gentlemen in terms polite! Good sir,--whose shape and glossy coat reveal The tiger's offspring,--eat of these, I pray!"

Buddha, in the form of the genius of the jambu-tree, comments thus on their conversation:--

"Too long, forsooth, I've borne the sight Of these poor chatterers of lies,-- The refuse-eater and the offal-eater Belauding each other."

(2) The "Anta-jataka," No. 295, in which the rôles are reversed, the crow wheedling flesh from the jackal; here, too, the Buddha comments as above.

Our Pampangan story is of particular interest because of the moralizing of the heron at the end, making the form close to that of the two Jatakas. Possibly our story goes back to some old Buddhistic fable like these. The squirrel (or "wild-cat," as Bergafio's "Vocabulario," dated 1732, defines lamiran) is not a very happy substitution for the original ground-animal, whatever that was; for the squirrel could reach a fish hanging to dry almost as easily as a bird could. Besides, squirrels are not carnivorous. Doubtless the older meaning of "wild-cat" should be adopted for lamiran.

## PART III

"JUST-SO" STORIES.

TALE 65

WHY THE ANT IS NOT SO VENOMOUS AS THE SNAKE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa of Lipa, Batangas. This is a Tagalog story.

God first created the earth. Then he took a rock from the earth and threw it on the terrestrial surface. When the rock was broken into many small pieces, he breathed into them the breath of life, and they became living creatures. At first these creatures, though differing in shapes and sizes, were not given different powers.

Among these creatures of God's were the snake and the ant. One day the snake went to God to ask for power. It said, "I come to thee, O God! to ask for thy favor. The world thou hast just created is wild with confusion. I have come to ask thee to give me the special power to kill all those that are rebellious and troublesome."

"Go back to your fellow-creatures!" answered God. "Hereafter you are endowed with the power to store in your teeth this poison. When you bite the vile and contemptible, inject into the wound some of this poison, and they will be killed; but first of all, observe their

## actions, and be conscientious and thoughtful." Then God gave the

snake the poison. The snake returned to the earth in great joy.

When the ant heard that the snake was endowed with such power, it at once went to God to ask that the same privilege be granted it. The ant found God on his heavenly throne, instructing his host of angels. The ant approached God, and addressed him thus: "O thou almighty God! my brother the snake has been granted a great privilege by thee. Why art thou so unkind to me? Give me the same power, and I will be of great aid to the snake in destroying sinners." God, thinking that the snake might need an assistant, gave the ant the same privilege that he had given the snake.

The ant was so greatly overjoyed, that it ran as fast as it could to the earth. When God saw it running, he called to the ant, but it paid no attention to him. Then God, being very much enraged, took away some of the ant's power, lest the ant might use it unreasonably. And so to-day the ant's bite is not so poisonous as the snake's.

Notes.

Another form of this story, recorded by Andrea Silva, also of Lipa, Batangas, runs as follows:--

In the olden times, when this great universe was still young, the inhabitants of this Archipelago had a sacred belief in a superior god whom they called Bathala. He was the creator of all things.

One day Bathala called the animals one by one, and bestowed upon each a gift, or the power of doing something. To the bird he gave the power to fly. Next Bathala called the ant, likewise intending to bestow on it more power than on any other animals, because it was so very small; but the ant was the most stupid and lazy of all creatures. It did not pay any attention to the summons of the god, but pretended to be deaf. Whereupon Bathala became so angry that he called the snake and gave to it the wonderful power that he had intended to give the ant. "You, Sir Snake, shall seldom be caught by any person, for you shall have the power of being very nimble. Besides, every one shall be afraid of you."

When finally the ant appeared before the god, asking him for the gift he had promised, Bathala said, "O you poor, tiny, imprudent creature! Since you disobeyed your god, from now on you and your tribe shall meet with death very often, for you shall be pinched by those whom you bite."

And so it is to-day that we pinch to death the ants whenever they bite us.

The narrator testified that she heard the story from an old woman in her town of Lipa. So far as I know, this "just-so" fable of "The Ant and the Snake and God" has not been recorded outside of Lipa, Batangas; and I am inclined to believe that it represents old local tradition.

TALE 66

WHY LOCUSTS ARE HARMFUL.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

During the dawn of humanity, some angels headed by Satanas revolted against God. They wanted to establish a kingdom for themselves. In a battle against the army of God, in which God himself was present, Satanas threw a handful of sand into God's face; but the heavenly monarch just laughed, and said, "I turn the sand back to thee. The

## particles shall become the scourge of all ages to thee and to thy

followers, O Satanas!"

No sooner had God uttered these words than the particles of sand became a mighty swarm of locusts, that flew in all directions. Such was the beginning of the pest.

Notes.

A tribal Bicol-story narrated by Maximina Navarro of Albay runs thus:--

The Origin of Locusts.

Many years ago there lived a head man whose home was situated in a very fertile valley, all the inhabitants of which he governed. He was not a good ruler, however; for he was so greedy, that he wanted to hoard up all the rice produced by his people. Every year, therefore, he squeezed from his subjects as much rice as he could get, so that at the end of four years his granaries were full to bursting. It happened that in the fifth year the crop failed, and the people knew that they should starve unless their ruler would let them have rice from his barns. At first they were afraid to go petition the head man, for they feared that he would refuse them; but, when nearly one-half of the children had died from starvation, they agreed to send some representatives to beg for rice.

Seven men were chosen to be the ambassadors. When they reached the house of the datu, for so they called their ruler, they asked for admittance, crying that they wanted rice for their wives and children. When the datu heard their cry, he went to the door and made a motion as if he would knock the petitioners off the ladder leading to the house. He lost his balance and fell, striking his head sharply on the bottom of the ladder. Thinking that he was dead, the seven men made no attempt to help him, but went home, proclaiming that soon there would be rice enough for all.

But the datu was not dead, only badly stunned. The next morning, as he was walking around his granaries, they exploded with a loud noise; and all the rice flew away in the form of insects, and vanished from his sight. This kind of insect which originated from the rice we call doron (from the Spanish word duro), on account of the toughness of its skin.

A more intelligible version of this story is the following related by Felix de la Llana, who was told it by an old farmer of Candelaria, Zambales. It appears to represent old Pagan tradition modified somewhat by Christianity.

The Origin of Locusts.

When all the surface of the earth was yet a wilderness and the people were very few, there lived a farmer who wished to become rich all at once. So he told his wife to pray to Kayamanan, the goddess of riches, to give them fortune.

One night the goddess with arms extended appeared to them in a dream, and advised the ambitious farmer to build six large barns. Then she went to the goddess of plenty, Kainomayan, and asked her to give this farmer abundant crops. When the farmer harvested his rice the next season, he was astounded to find that the crop more than filled his six barns. So delighted was he, and so greedy, that he and his wife thought no more of the source of their good fortune, and they neglected to celebrate a feast in honor of God and his goddesses. He felt like a powerful monarch, and did not wish to work any more. However, his riches did not last long, as we shall see.

One day the goddess Kayamanan disguised herself, and in the form of a beggar came to the house of the rich farmer. She begged him to let her rest for a little while under his roof, for she had been travelling in many countries, she said. When she asked for some remnants of rice to eat, the ungrateful farmer said to her, "Get off my grounds! don't come here to bother me! If you don't leave at once, I shall let this dog loose, and you will be its food." The poor beggar went away without a word, but she begged almighty God to give her the power to change anything to any form or creature she wished. As she was God's favorite, her request was granted. So she assumed her own form, and went again to the farmer's house. To him she said, "You who became rich by my aid, and have denied food and shelter to a beggar, shall be punished. Since you have neglected your duty both to the poor and to me, I therefore, with the consent of the almighty God, punish you thus: your rice shall turn to a swarm of locusts, which will destroy all the crops of the farmers of your own race and those of other countries."

The punishment was carried out, and the farmer was left destitute.

This story is also known in the Tagalog province of Batangas.

In a Rumanian saga (Dähnhardt, 3 : 250) a swarm of locusts is sent by God to punish an emperor who would not invite any priests or nuns to his wedding-banquet. When the guests were about to eat the feast prepared, the insects appeared and devoured everything. Since that time locusts have appeared whenever mankind has forgotten God.

TALE 67

HOW LANSONES BECAME EDIBLE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time the fruit of the lansone-tree was very poisonous. Its very juice could make a man sick with leprosy. One day a very religious old man was passing through a forest to attend the fiesta of the neighboring town. When he reached the middle of the thick wood, he became very hungry and tired, and he felt that he could go no farther. No matter where he looked, he could see nothing but the poisonous lansone-trees. So he lay down on the soft grass. Hardly a moment had passed, when a winged being from heaven approached him, and said, "My good Christian pilgrim, take some of these lansone-fruits, eat them, and you will be much relieved." At first the old man would not do it, but the angel picked some of the fruits and handed them to the pilgrim. He then ate, and soon his hunger was removed. After thanking Heaven, he continued on his journey. Ever since this time, lansones have been good to eat. All the fruits still bear the marks of the angel's fingers.

Notes.

The lanson (Lansium domesticum) is a small tree of Malaysia, extensively cultivated for its fruit, which resembles a yellow plum (from E. Ind. lansa). It is not native to the Philippines, and was probably introduced into the Islands by the Malays in prehistoric times. Our story, which I think we must consider not imported, is based on a fancied etymological connection between lanson and lason (Tag. for "poison"), and does not appear to be known except to the Tagalogs of La Laguna province, although in Pampango also the word lason means "poison." Lason itself is derived from the Malay rachun, perhaps through the Sulu lachun.

Two other Tagalog versions, both from Laguna province, also show the influence of Christianity, but vary enough from our story to be worthy of record here. One, related by Manuel Gallego of San Antonio, Nueva Ecija, is entitled "The Adam and Eve of the Tagalogs." Mr. Gallego heard the story from a farmer living in Lubang, La Laguna. It runs as follows:--

Many hundreds of years ago, when Luzon was still uninhabited, Bathala, our supreme god, was envious of Laon, the god of the Visayans, because Laon had many subjects, while Bathala's kingdom was a barren desert. It was within the power of Bathala to create human beings, but not food for them; and so he asked for advice from Diwata, the supreme god of the universe.

Diwata told Bathala that the next day he would send an angel to earth with seeds to be planted. The promise was fulfilled, and Bathala scattered the seeds all over Luzon. Within a short time the island was covered with trees and shrubs, and was then ready for human habitation. Accordingly Bathala created Adam and Eve, the ancestors of the Tagalogs. In spite of the fact that they were forbidden to eat the green fruit of a certain plant, they disobeyed and ate it; so, as a punishment, they were poisoned and made very sick. They did not die, however. As a result of their experience, they gave the name lason ("poison") to this plant. Conscious of their fault, Adam and Eve implored forgiveness of Diwata. By order of Diwata, Bathala forgave the criminals; but the lason still remained poisonous. In order to rid it of its dangerous properties, an angel was sent to earth. He put the marks of his finger-nails on the surface of the pulp of each lason-seed, and these marks may be seen to this day. Afterwards the name of the plant was changed from lason to lanzon, the name by which it has been known ever since.

In the other Tagalog version, narrated by Eulogio Benitez of Pagsanjan, La Laguna, the incident of the finger-prints is told as a local saint-legend of Paete. The story is entitled "How Lanzones became Edible."

The little town of Paete, on the southern and western shore of Laguna de Bay, produces more lanzones than any other town in the province. Steamers call daily at her wharves for the fruits which have made her famous. In the church of this town may still be seen the image of the mother of God, the Virgin Mary, leading her child.

One evening a long time ago it was discovered that the beautiful image was missing from its accustomed place in the church. The news spread like wildfire, and all the people were in great amazement and consternation. While all was confusion in the town, a heavenly sight was being presented in a little place outside the municipality. A beautiful woman dressed in white was walking over the grass with a child in her arms. They were going towards a lanzon-tree on the other side of the meadow. The boy, who was evidently tired of being carried, asked to be put down. When the child saw the fruits scattered all over the ground, he felt very thirsty, and, picking up one of the tempting fruits, began to open it. The mother told her son that the fruit was poisonous; but the child said that he was very thirsty, and could go no farther if he did not have a drink. Then the mother took the fruit from his hands, and with her delicate white fingers pinched the pulp gently. Turning to her son, she said, "Now you may take this and eat it. You will find it the most delicious and refreshing of all fruits." The child obeyed, and the fruit was indeed sweet.

This is the way by which the lanzones were transformed from a poisonous, dangerous fruit to a sweet, delicate food. If any one discredits this story, all he needs to do to prove its truth is to open up any lanzon he finds, and he will see without fall the finger-prints of the Virgin.

TALE 68

WHY COCKS FIGHT ONE ANOTHER.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time in an unknown country there lived a royal couple endowed with almost all the blessings of God. Their palace was decorated with all kinds of precious stones, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. They were often honored with visits from the celestial beings. There was hardly an hour of the day when some sort of jubilation or festival was not being held in the royal home. But, in spite of all his riches, there was a melancholy in the mind of the king,--a brooding, a cankering thought, that would not give him an hour of rest or contentment. In spite of all the favors lavished on him by God, he felt miserable and uneasy. He had a happy and wealthy kingdom, but--he had no heir. There was nobody to manage the government after his death. Whenever the thought of death came to his mind, he fell on his knees and implored the Almighty to give him a son: "Have mercy on me, O God! Give me a son to manage my kingdom after I am gone!"

One evening an angel from Paradise came to visit him, and, on finding the king at his prayers, said, "Dry thy tears, O king! Thy royal prayer is heard in heaven. Thou shalt be given more than a son, but not in the same shape as thou art. Thy sons shall see the light of day crowned with their own flesh." The king was so greatly overjoyed, that he could not speak a single word of gratitude in reply.

Not long afterward the queen gave birth to a cock that crowed on seeing the light of day. The couple were very glad: night and day they caressed the royal babe, and they would have made for him a cage of gold had not God forbidden them to do so. Every year a cock was born into the royal family, until the feathered sons numbered thirteen. But these sons were jealous of one another: each thought that the others had no right to wear crowns.

At last the old king and queen died, and no one was left to manage the royal demesne but the dumb sons. Thereafter the feathered orphans began fighting one another, each one trying to wrest the crown from the others.

Note.

I know of no variant of this story.

TALE 69

WHY BATS FLY AT NIGHT.

Narrator, Francisco M. Africa.

Many years ago the earth was inhabited by only one man. His body was composed of minute organisms that were incessantly warring against one another. One day this man became so weak that he could not obtain food for his support. He laid himself down on some soft moss by the bank of a river, and there he remained till night.

The organisms that lived in his body began to fight against one another most fiercely. Each ate his fellow until he became very big. At last the man died, and only one organism remained alive. This organism then flew away, and became the ancestor of the bats. The light of day so dazzled his eyes, that he could not fly very far, so he decided to fly only at night. And ever since, his descendants, too, have hidden themselves in the day-time, and come out only when it is dark.

Note.

This somewhat unsatisfactory pourquoi story appears to represent at bottom a very ancient tradition. I know of no parallels; but tales explaining why the bat flies at night are found among many peoples (e.g., Dähnhardt, 3 : 94, 267, 270; Dayrell, Nos. VII, XII).

TALE 70

WHY THE SUN SHINES MORE BRIGHTLY THAN THE MOON.

A Tagalog story narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Long, long ago there lived a fairy with two very beautiful daughters. Araw, the elder daughter, was very amiable, and had a kindly disposition; but Buwan, unlike her sister, was disobedient, cruel, and harsh. She was always finding fault with Araw. One night, when the fairy came home from her nocturnal rambles and saw Buwan badly mistreating her elder sister, she asked God for help against her unruly daughter.

Before this time God had prepared very valuable gifts for the two sisters. These gifts were two enormous diamonds that could light the whole universe. When God heard the prayer of the fairy, he descended to earth disguised as a beggar. On learning for himself how bad-tempered Buwan was, and how sweet and kind-hearted Araw, God gave the older sister her diamond as a reward. Buwan was greatly angered by this favoritism on the part of the Almighty, so she went to the heavenly kingdom and stole one of God's diamonds. Then she returned to earth with the precious stone, but there she found that her jewel was not so brilliant as Araw's.

When God went back to heaven and learned what Buwan had done, he sent two angels to punish her. But the angels abused their commission: they seized both sisters and hurled them into the sea. Then they threw the two stones upward into the sky, and there they stuck. But Araw's diamond was bigger and brighter than the one Buwan stole. Thereafter the bigger jewel was called Araw ("day" or "sun"); and the smaller one, Buwan ("moon").

Notes.

A Pangasinan myth, narrated by Emilio Bulatao of San Carlos, Pangasinan, tells how the light from the sun and the moon proceeds from two fiery palaces. The story follows:--

The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars.

There was once a powerful god called Ama ["father"], the father and ruler of all others, and the creator of man. He had a wonderful aerial abode, from which he could see everything. Of all his sons, Agueo ["sun, day"] and Bulan ["moon"] were his two favorites, and to these he gave each a fiery palace. In accordance with the wish of their father, Agueo and Bulan daily passed across the earth side by side, and together they furnished light to mankind. Now, Agueo was of a morose and taciturn disposition, but he was always very obedient to his father; Bulan, on the other hand, was merry and full of mischief.

Once, when they were near the end of their day's labor, they saw thieves on the earth below, wishing that it were night so that they might proceed with their unlawful business. Bulan, who was one of their kind, urged Agueo to be quick, so that the earth might soon be left in darkness. As Agueo obstinately refused to be hurried, a quarrel ensued between the two brothers. Their father, who had been watching the two boys and had heard all that passed between them, became very angry with the mischievous Bulan; and, in his wrath, he seized an enormous rock and hurled it whistling through the air. The rock struck the palace of Bulan, and was broken into thousands of pieces, which got perpetual light from contact with the fiery palace. These may still be seen in the heavens, and they are called Bituen ["stars"]. Bulan was forbidden to travel with Agueo any more, but was commanded to light the ways of thieves henceforth with his much-dimmed fiery palace.

A somewhat similar Pampango myth may also be given here, as it has never before been printed. It was narrated by Leopoldo Layug of Guagua, Pampanga, and is entitled "The Sun and the Moon."

Long ago the earth was created and ruled by Bathala. He had two children, Apolaqui and Mayari. From the eyes of these two children the earth received its first light. The people, the birds of the air, the animals of the mountains, and even the fishes of the sea, were glad because they had light, and so they were great friends of the two children.

Bathala loved his children tenderly, and never wanted them to be separated from him. So, no matter how tired he was, he always followed them in their daily walks. But as time went on, and Bathala became old and feeble and could no longer keep up with his active son and daughter, he asked them to stay with him at all times; but they were so absorbed in their pleasures, that they paid no heed to their father's wish. One day he became sick, and died suddenly, without leaving any written will as to the disposition of his kingdom. Now Apolaqui wanted to rule the earth without giving any power to his sister Mayari. She refused to consent to her brother's plan, and a bitter conflict arose between them. For a long time they fought with bamboo clubs. At last Mayari had one of her eyes put out. When Apolaqui saw what he had done to his sister, he felt very sorry for her, and said that they should struggle no longer, but that they should exercise equal power on the earth, only at different times. Since that time, Apolaqui, who is now called the Sun, has ruled the earth during the day, and from his eyes we receive bright light. Mayari, who is called the Moon, rules the world at night. Her light, however, is fainter than her brother's, for she has but one eye.

This same struggle between the two great luminaries is reflected in two short cradle-songs that Pampangan mothers sing to their children to still them. These verses were contributed by Lorenzo Licup of Angeles:--

Ing bulan ilaning aldo Mitatagalan la baho Pangaras da quetang cuarto Nipag sundang, mipagpusto.

"The Moon and the Sun chased each other above. When they came into a room, they took their daggers from their sides and were ready to fight each other."

Ing aldo ilaning bulan Mitatagalan la lalan Pangaras da quetang Pampang Mipagpustu, 't, mitabacan.

"The Sun and the Moon chased each other below. When they came to a bank, they first made preparation, and then began to fight each other with bolos."

The two stories and the two stanzas just given appear to be genuine old native tradition, unmodified by Christianity.

For Tinguian, Bukidnon, Mandaya, and Visayan myths of the sun, moon, and stars, see M. C. Cole, 65, 124, 145, 201.

TALE 71

WHY THE CULING HAS A TONSURE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

In a certain field there lived two birds,--Pogô ("quail") and Culing (a small black bird that has no feathers on the top of its head). One day Pogô, while scratching the ground for food, met Culing. When Culing saw Pogô, he said in a taunting tone, "Where are you going, lazy one? Be more active. Don't be as lazy as a leech!"

Pogô became very angry. "You call me lazy!" he said. "You are much lazier than I. Let us see which can fly higher into the sky!"

Thereupon Culing agreed, and he began to fly upward until he was lost from sight. He flew so high, that his head touched the surface of the sky. As the sky was hot, all the feathers on the top of his head were burned off; and ever since, the culing has had a tonsure.

The Culeto and the Crow.

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna. He says, "This tradition is a favorite one among Tagalog children. I have often heard the story told by old men while I was waiting my turn at barber-shops in my province."

The culeto is a fine singer, but it is bald-headed. The natives often capture it and train it to talk. Formerly this little black bird was not so bald as it is to-day: its head, in fact, was covered with a thick growth of feathers. And the crow, too: it was not black once, but its feathers were as white as starch.

Once upon a time, shortly after the Deluge, the crow was merrily crowing on the branch of a tree when the culeto came by. The voice of the crow was so harsh, that the culeto made fun of it. "Good-morning, Mr. Crow!" said the culeto, "I am very glad to hear you sing. Your voice is so fine, that I cannot help closing my ears."

"Pray, think first of yourself!" answered the crow. "What do I care for a good voice, so long as I have a strong body? Why don't you laugh at yourself? See how weak and tiny you are!"

"Weak!" said the culeto. "Do you call me weak? I would fly a race even with an eagle."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the crow. "The idea of racing the eagle when you do not even dare race me!"

"Race with you! Why, you would only disgrace yourself," retorted the culeto.

"Wait!" answered the crow. "Eat some more rice, drink some more water, fill your body with more air! And wait till you grow bigger before you venture to race with me!"

"The strength of a person," said the culeto, nettled, "is not to be judged by his size. Don't you know that it is the smallest pepper that is the hottest?"

"Well, then," replied the crow, "if you wish to race me now at your own risk, let us begin!"

"One, two, three!" counted the culeto, and up they flew. During their flight the two birds became separated from each other by a dense cloud. The culeto flew at full speed so high upward, that he knocked his head very hard against the door of the sky,--so hard, in fact, that a large piece of skin was scraped from his scalp. The crow, having lost his way, flew so near the sun, that his feathers were burned black.

It is on account of this bet between the culeto and the crow that all the descendants of the former have been bald-headed, while all the descendants of the crow have black feathers to-day.

The Hawk and the Coling.

Narrated by Agapito Gaa of Taal, Batangas. He says that this Tagalog story is well known in every town in Batangas province. He heard the story from his grandfather.

Early one morning a hawk sallied forth from his nest to find something to eat. He flew so high that he could hardly be seen from the earth. He looked down; but as he could not see anything, he flew lower and lower, until he came to the top of a tree. On one of the branches he saw sitting quietly a coling. The hawk despised the little bird, and at once made up his mind to challenge him to a flight upward.

So the hawk said to the coling, "Do you wish to fly up into the sky with me to see which of us can fly the faster and the higher?"

The coling did not answer at once, but he thought of the matter for a while. Then he said to the hawk, "When do you want to have the race?"

"That is for you to decide," said the hawk. "If you wish to have it now, well and good."

"Well," said the coling, "let us have it to-morrow morning before sunrise!"

"All right," said the hawk.

"But," said the coling, "each of us is to carry a load with him to make the flight a little more difficult."

"Well, what do you want to take with you?" said the hawk.

"I will take some salt," said the coling.

"Then I will take some cotton," replied the hawk. "Let us meet here in this tree early to-morrow!" This agreed upon, the two birds separated. The hawk went to the cotton-field and got his load of cotton, while the coling went to the sea and got some salt.

The next morning they met in the tree, each having the object he would carry with him in his flight. They asked the crow, who was present, to be the judge of the contest. The crow accepted the commission, and said that he would give a caw as a signal for them to start. He did so, and the two contestants were off. At first the hawk flew faster and higher than the coling; but very soon it began to rain. The cotton on the hawk's back became soaked with water, and soon was very heavy; but the salt on the coling's back was soon dissolved, and then he had no load at all. Under these conditions, the coling soon overtook the bigger bird. For a time they flew side by side; but after a few minutes the coling had the best of the race, and in a little while longer the hawk could no longer see his rival. But the coling flew so high, that at last his head touched the sun, and all the feathers on the top were burned off. The hawk now flew down to the crow, and said that he had won the race, for the coling had fallen to the ground dead. But by and by the coling himself came. He showed them the top of his head as a proof that he had won the race. The crow gave his decision in favor of the coling, and the hawk flew off disgraced.

From that time all colings have had the tops of their heads bald to show that they are the descendants of the victorious bird.

Notes.

These three forms of the "flight-contest" incident are all from southern Luzon,--the provinces of La Laguna and Batangas. The tale seems to be definitely localized there. I know of its occurrence nowhere else in the Islands. Nor have I found any Malayan variants.

For other pourquoi stories of why certain birds are bald, see Dähnhardt, 3 : 11-14. Dähnhardt (ibid., 142) cites a Ceylon tale of the crow and the drongo, who had a bet as to which could fly the higher carrying a load. Crow selected tree-cotton for his burden; but Drongo, noticing the black rain-clouds overhead, carried salt, and thus won; for his load became constantly lighter, while Crow's became heavier.

With the explanation given in the second tale of this group of why the crow is black, compare a Pawnee story (JAFL 6 : 126), in which a crow, which is sent to the sun to get fire, has all his feathers singed.

TALE 72

WHY THE COW'S SKIN IS LOOSE ON THE NECK.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

There was once a poor farmer who possessed a cow and a carabao. These two animals were his only wealth. Every day he led them to the field to plough. He worked his animals so hard, that they often complained to him; but the cruel master would not even listen to their words. One day the cow, who had grown tired of this kind of life, said to the carabao, "Let us run away from this evil man! Though we are very dirty, he is not willing for us even to take a bath. If we remain here with him, we shall be as ugly and as filthy as pigs. If we run away from him, however, he will have to do his own work, and then we shall be revenged. Hurry up! Let us go!"

The spirit of the carabao was aroused: he jumped with a loud roar, and said, "I too have long been meditating escape, but I hesitated because I was afraid you might not be willing to join me in flight. We are so ill-treated by our cruel master, that God will have pity on us. Come on! Let us go!"

The two animals at once set out, running as fast as they could, always trying to avoid any human beings. When they came to a river, the cow said, "We are very dirty. Let us take a bath before we go on! The water of this river is so clean and clear, that we shall soon be as clean as we were before our contemptible master got hold of us."

The carabao answered, "We would better run a little farther, for perhaps our master is already in pursuit of us. Besides, we are very tired now, and I have been told that to take a bath when one is tired injures the health."

"Don't believe that!" returned the cow. "Our bodies are so big, that we do not need to fear sickness."

At last the carabao was persuaded by the arguments of the cow; and he said, "All right! Let us take off our clothes before we go into the water!"

The two animals then stripped themselves of all their clothes, then they plunged into the deep, cool river. They had been in the water less than an hour, however, when they saw their master coming after them with a big stick in his hand. They ran up to where their clothes were; but in their haste the carabao put on the cow's clothes, and the cow got the carabao's. As soon as they were dressed, they continued their mad flight; and as their master was very tired, he had to give up the chase and return home disappointed.

Since the carabao was larger than the cow, the skin on the cow's neck has been loose ever since, because the two friends were separated and could never exchange clothes again. And likewise the skin on the carabao's neck has been tight ever since these two animals made their mistake in dressing.

The First Loose-Skinned Cow and the First Tight-Skinned Carabao.

Narrated by Amanda Morente, a Tagalog from Pinamalayan, Mindoro. She heard the story from an old woman of her town.

Many years ago, when the people of the world were still few in number and the animals took the place of servants, an old man bought a cow and a carabao from his neighbor. With these animals he travelled until he reached the top of a mountain. There they saw a cave, and the old man told his servants to enter and see if there was any danger inside. With slow and cautious steps the carabao and the cow went in, examining every corner. All at once the cow perceived something moving. In his fright he jumped back, and hid behind his companion; but the slow-going carabao did not see the figure, and suddenly he felt his hind leg seized in a strong grasp. The god of the cave had caught him. Then the god of the cave spoke. His voice was terrifying, but his words were kind. He told them how for many days he had been hungry, and he asked for meat. The cow, whose courage had by this time been somewhat restored, gladly offered him some of her master's provisions, which she was carrying. In return for this kindness, the god gave each of the animals a dress: to the carabao he gave one of gold; and to the cow, one of bronze. He also invited the two to remain with him and be his servants.

Some time after the two friends had been installed in their new home, the god of the cave sent them one day to gather fruits. The carabao and the cow were delighted at this prospect of a change, and they jumped with joy. They rushed out into the woods; and when they came to a pond, they took off their new clothes and plunged into the soft mud. While they were enjoying their bath, they saw their master coming. He was carrying a big stick. They knew very well that he would beat them, for they had been away the whole morning. In their haste to get their clothes back on, they made a mistake: the carabao got into the cow's dress, and the cow into the carabao's. After that they never exchanged their clothes, which finally became their outer skin. So to-day the carabao has a tight bronze-colored skin; and the cow, a loose golden-colored one.

Note.

Like the preceding, this story appears to be a native Tagalog tale. I know of no other variants.

TALE 73

WHY THE MONKEY IS WISE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had seven sons. These young men, all except the youngest, helped their aged father with the work; but the family became poorer and poorer. One day, when they had exhausted all their means of support, the father called his sons before him. To every son he assigned a certain kind of work, so that there might be cooperation, and hence efficiency, in the labors of the humble family. To the youngest son was assigned the task of gathering sticks in the forest for fuel.

Not long afterwards a pestilence broke out in the little town where the old man lived, and all his sons but the youngest died. The father was left to starve on his bed, for his only living son was so ungrateful as not to give any help to his father in his last years. When the old man was about to breathe his last, he called his son to give him his final benediction; but the ungrateful boy, instead of going to his dying father, ran away into the woods, and the old man passed away without anybody to care for him.

But God punished the unfilial son; he cursed him; and the boy lost his power of speech, and was condemned to live in the forests ever after as a monkey. Thus, although monkeys cannot talk, they are wise because they are descended from a human being.

Notes.

I know of no analogues of this story, but will cite two other Filipino myths accounting for the origin of monkeys. The first was narrated by Antonio Maceda, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, who heard it from his grandfather. The story follows.

Origin of the Monkey.

A long time ago the world, which was divided into earth and heaven, was very lonesome, for Bathala was the only living being in it. He lived in heaven. One day Bathala felt so lonely, that the thought of creating some living beings for his companions came into his mind. He had never thought of this before, although with his infinite power he could do anything he pleased. So he came down to earth to get some clay; but he found the ground very dry, for there was no such thing as rain on the earth. Immediately he said, "Let there be rain!" and the rain fell down. Then, with a large load of slippery clay, Bathala returned to heaven and began the work of creation. He created men, birds, plants, mountains, and rivers (sic!). While he was in the act of creating men, however, an accident occurred. As he was moulding a piece of clay into the shape of a man, the mould slipped from his left hand. Bathala was quick enough to grasp the back of this lifeless mass of clay; but the clay was so soft that it stretched out into a long rope, and the mould fell into a tree. In his anger, Bathala said, "I curse thee! Thou shalt have life, but thou shalt inhabit trees. The part of thy body that has been stretched out into a rope shall become thy tail."

The lifeless mould was at once changed into a monkey, the great-grandfather of all the monkeys.

The following story was written down by Sotero Albano, an Ilocano from Dingras, Ilocos Norte:--

The First Monkey.

Long years ago there lived in a thick forest a young girl under the care of the goddess of weaving. Here she lived happily and without care, for everything that she wanted to eat was provided for her by her patroness.

One day the goddess said to the girl, "Take this cotton, clean it, and make out of it a dress for yourself." Now, the girl knew nothing about making cloth and weaving it: so she said to the goddess, "When the cotton is cleaned, is it ready for use?"

"No," answered her guardian; "after it is cleaned, it must be beaten." "Well, after it is beaten, is it ready for use?" said the lazy girl.

The goddess said that before it could be used, it would have to be spun.

"Well, after it is spun," persisted the saucy maiden, "is it ready for use?"

"No; it must next be woven into cloth, cut, and sewed," answered the patient goddess.

"Oh!" said the girl, "it will take a long time and much hard work to make clothes that way. This leather hide, which you have given me to beat the cotton on, will make me better clothing, because it will wear longer." So she covered herself with the leather. The goddess was so angry at the girl for her laziness, that she determined that the leather should not only be her dress, but also become her very skin. Then the goddess took the stick for beating the cotton, and, thrusting it between the maiden's buttocks, said to her, "This stick will become a part of your body, and you will use it for climbing-purposes. As a penalty for your laziness, henceforth you shall live in trees in the forest, and there you will find your food."

Thus originated the first monkey with a coat of leather and a tail.

Obviously connected with this Ilocano story are three Tinguian myths recorded by Cole, who abstracts them thus:--

(No. 65.) A lazy man, who is planting corn, constantly leans on his planting-stick. It becomes a tail, and he turns into a monkey.

(No. 66.) A boy is too lazy to strip sugarcane for himself. His mother, in anger, tells him to stick it up his anus. He does so, and becomes a monkey.

(No. 67.) A lazy girl pretends she does not know how to spin. Her companions, in disgust, tell her to stick the spinning-stick up her anus. She does so, and at once changes into a monkey.

Compare also a Bagobo story collected by Miss Benedict (JAFL 26 : 21), where a ladle becomes a monkey's tail; also an African saga in Dähnhardt (3 : 488).

The Filipinos have other explanatory myths which credit Lucifer with the creation of monkeys and snakes.

TALE 74

THE LOST NECKLACE.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel, a Tagalog, who heard the story from a friend from Cebu. The story is Visayan.

Once a crow bought a fine necklace from a merchant. He was very proud of his purchase, which he immediately put around his neck, so that everybody could see it. Then he flew away, and came to a beautiful little garden, where he met his old friend the hen strutting about, with her chicks following her. The hen said to him, "Oh, what a fine necklace you have! May I borrow it? I will return it to you to-morrow without fail."

Now, the crow liked the hen: so he willingly lent her the necklace for a day. The next morning, when the crow returned for his property, he found the hen and her chicks scratching the ground near an old wall. "Where is my necklace?" said the crow.

"It is lost," said the hen. "My chicks took it yesterday while I was asleep, and now they do not remember where they put it. We have been looking for it all day, and yet we have not been able to find it."

"You must pay for it at once," said the crow, "or else I shall go to the king and tell him that you stole my necklace."

The hen was frightened at this reply, and she began to wonder how she could raise the necessary money. The crow, who was on his way to a fiesta, at last said impatiently, "I will take one of your chicks every day in payment of what you owe me. As soon as you find the necklace, give it to me, and then I will stop eating your chicks." The hen had to be satisfied with this arrangement, for she feared that the crow would go to the king if she refused.

Unto this day, then, you can find hens and chicks together looking for the lost necklace by scratching the ground; and the crows are still exacting payment for the lost jewel by eating chicks. It is said that the hens and chickens will never cease scratching the ground until the lost necklace is found.

The Cock and the Sparrow-Hawk.

Narrated by Dolores Asuncion of Manila. She heard the story from an old Tagalog.

Long ago the sparrow-hawk and the cock were very good friends. Once, when the cocks were going to hold a great fiesta in the neighboring village, a proud young rooster, who wished to get the reputation for being rich and consequently win him a wife, went to the sparrow-hawk, and said, "My friend, please lend me your bracelet! I am going to our fiesta; and I wish to make some young hens there believe that I am rich, in order that they may love me."

The sparrow-hawk answered, "With much pleasure, my friend."

So the cock went to the fiesta wearing the borrowed bracelet. While he was dancing, however, he lost the jewel, and could find it nowhere. At last he went back to the sparrow-hawk, and said, "I am very sorry, my friend, but I lost your bracelet while I was dancing, and I can find it nowhere. What do you wish me to give you in payment for it?"

The sparrow-hawk answered, "Since that bracelet was an heirloom, I valued it very highly. You must go back to the place where you think you lost it, and there look for it until you find it. In the mean time I reserve the right to take from your flock a chicken whenever I please."

So, ever since that time sparrow-hawks are often seen carrying off young chickens, while the cocks have been busy scratching the ground to find the lost bracelet. Hens also scratch the soil, for they hate to lose their chicks, and they want to find the bracelet as soon as possible. They look up into the sky to see if the sparrow-hawk is near; then they scratch the soll vigorously, and cry, "Tac-ta-laoc!" which means, "Come and help me!"

Note.

Another Visayan variant of these two stories may be found in the "Journal of American Folk-Lore" (20 : 100), whence it has been reprinted by M. C. Cole (p. 212), "The Hawk and the Hen." An African analogue may be found in Dayrell (No. xv, p. 62).

TALE 75

THE STORY OF OUR FINGERS.

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

"Why," said Antonio to his grandfather one day, "does our thumb stand separate from the other fingers?"

"That is only so in our days," replied old Julian. "In the days of long ago the fingers of our ancestors stood together in the same position. One day one of these fingers, the one we call the little finger, became very hungry, and he asked the finger next to him to give him some food.

"'O brother!' said the Ring-Finger in reply, 'I am hungry also; but where shall we get food?'

"'Heaven is merciful,' put in the Middle-Finger, trying to comfort his two brothers; 'Heaven will give us some.'

"'But, Brother Middle-Finger,' protested the Forefinger, 'what if Heaven gives us no food?'

"'Well, then,' interposed the Thumb, 'let us steal!'

"'Steal!' echoed the Forefinger, not at all pleased by the advice that had just been given. 'Mr. Thumb knows better than to do that, I hope!'

"'That is bad policy, Mr. Thumb,' concluded the other three unanimously. 'Your idea is against morality, against God, against yourself, against everybody. Our conscience will not permit us to steal.'

"'Oh, no, no!' returned Thumb angrily, 'you are greatly mistaken, my friends! Haven't you sense enough even to know how foolish you are to oppose my plan? Do you call my scheme bad policy,--to save your lives and mine?'

"'Ay, if that be your plan,' said the other four fingers, 'you can go your own way. As for us, we would rather starve and die than steal.' Then the four virtuous brothers drove Thumb in shame out of their community, and would have nothing more to do with him.

"So that is why," concluded old Julian, "we see our thumbs separated from the other four fingers. He was a thief; and the other four, who were honest, did not care to live with him. And it is because Little-Finger did not have enough to eat, that we see him lean and weak these days."

Note.

I know of no other Filipino accounts of why the thumb is separated from the rest of the fingers. As an interesting curiosity, however, I might cite a Bicol children's jingle of five lines which characterize briefly the five fingers (the thumb is the last described) :--

Maya-mayang saday Magayon na singsignan Daculang mangmang Atrevido Hababang tao

"Pretty little sparrow, Beautiful for a ring, Long but lazy fellow, Froward, insolent thing, Dumpy, dwarfish one."

TALE 76

WHY SNAILS CLIMB UP GRASS.

Narrated by José E. Tomeldan of Binalonan, Pangasinan.

Long ago, when the various kinds of animals dwelt together in a kind of community, a dalag (a kind of mud-fish), a dragonfly, a wasp, and a snail agreed to live together in a common house. They furthermore agreed to divide up the different household duties according to their power and skill. Accordingly, Dalag, since he was the biggest and strongest of all, was made the head of the house. He was also to provide food for his little companions. Dragon-Fly was made the messenger, because he was the swiftest of them all, but was too weak for any other kind of work. Wasp was made the house-guard because of his poisonous sting. Besides being guard, he was also to keep the house in repair, because he could carry bits of earth and other building-materials. Snail was made the cook, because he was too slow for any other duty except tending the house.

Early one day Dalag went out to look for food. He swam slowly here and there among the water-plants, when suddenly he saw something moving on the surface of the water. When he approached nearer, he saw that it was a big frog swimming helplessly among the duck-weeds. "This is a big piece of sweet food for us," thought Dalag, and without hesitation he seized the frog. When he had assured himself that it could not get away from him, he started to swim home. But, alas! he never reached his companions; for a sharp hook was inside the frog, and poor Dalag was caught fast. He tried hard to free himself, but in rain. Soon a fisherman came, and, putting Dalag in his basket, took him home and ate him.

In the mean time Dalag's three companions were anxiously waiting for him. When they realized that he was lost, Dragon-Fly was sent out to look for him. Before he went, Dragon-Fly spent a long time arranging his neck-tie. Then he flew away, turning his head in all directions to look for Dalag. At last he met Bolasi (a kind of fish whose lips always move in and out on the surface of the water), and he became very angry because he thought that Bolasi was laughing at his neck-tie. Dragon-Fly thought that his tie must be too loose, so he tightened it. Still Bolasi laughed every time he saw Dragon-Fly. Dragon-Fly kept drawing his tie tighter and tighter, until at last he cut his own head off, and that was the end of him.

Two days had now passed; still Dalag and Dragon-Fly were missing from home. By this time Wasp and Snail were very hungry. But Snail had the advantage over Wasp; for Snail could eat mud to pass away the time, while Wasp could not eat mud, but could only draw in his belt a little tighter. At last Wasp could no longer endure his hunger. His abdomen by this time had become very slender: so he flew forth in search of either Dalag or Dragon-Fly. While he was flying about, his hunger oppressed him so much, that he tightened his belt again and again, until he finally broke in two; and that was the end of Wasp.

Now only Snail was left. He set out from his home, and wandered everywhere in search of his three companions, weeping as he went. His food consisted mostly of mud. Whenever he could find a stalk of grass or the stem of a water-plant, Snail would climb up to look around and to see if any of his old friends were in sight. Even to-day the snails still weep; and whenever they see a stalk of grass projecting above the surface of the water, they climb up and look around, trying to discover their old friends.

TALE 77

WHY THE CUTTLE-FISH AND SQUIDS PRODUCE A BLACK LIQUID.

Narrated by Victoria Ciudadano of Batangas. She says she heard the story from an old woman. It is known by both the Tagalogs and the Visayans.

A long time ago, after Bathala [108] had created the fishes, he assigned a certain day for all of them to meet in the Dark Sea. The object of this convention was to appoint some officers. Early in the morning of the day designated, the fishes were to be seen hurrying to the meeting. When they reached the assembly hall, they found Bathala sitting on a beautiful stone, waiting for them. He called the roll when it seemed that all of the fishes were present. It was found that the cuttle-fish and squid were absent, so they waited for them a half-hour; but still they did not come. At last Bathala arose, and said, "The meeting will come to order." After the fishes had taken their proper positions, Bathala continued, "The object of this meeting is to appoint some officers and to issue their appointments."

At once all the fishes became very quiet and respectful, for all were anxious to know what offices each was going to hold. Bathala appointed the sting-ray sergeant-at-arms: hence all sting-rays now have whip-like tails. The crocodile was appointed cadaver-carrier: so now all its children have a coffin-like skin on their backs. The crab was made a soldier: so to-day all its descendants have large and strong fore-legs. Bathala had not finished giving out his appointments when the two missing members came. They at once interrupted the meeting by asking what it was all about. Bathala became very angry at the interruption, so he scolded the sting-ray and the squid severely. The rebuke humiliated them so, that they agreed between themselves to go get mud and throw it on the official appointments. When they had gotten the mud, they came back and asked Bathala to give them something to do; but, instead of appointing them to some work, he only scolded them for being late. Angered, they now threw mud on all the appointments that had already been drawn up. This insulting act of the cuttle-fish and the squid so enraged Bathala, that he stood up, and said in thundering tones, "Now I shall punish you. From this time on, you and your descendants shall carry pouches of mud with you all the time. Besides, you shall be very slow in moving because of your heavy loads." The squid tried to make excuses, but Bathala became angrier than ever, and said, "You are the naughtiest creature I ever had. As a punishment, you and your children shall remain the same size as you are now." And all of Bathala's words have turned out to be true.

TALE 78

WHY COCKS HAVE COMBS ON THEIR HEADS.

Narrated by Rosita Nieva, a Tagalog from Boac, Marinduque. She heard the story from her grandmother.

Once upon a time there was a magician named Pablo, who had a son called Juan. Pablo was very industrious, but Juan was lazy and disobedient. Juan cared for nothing but fine clothes and his own appearance; he would not help his father. One day Pablo went into his son's room to find out what he was doing. There he was, standing before a mirror, and combing his hair. Pablo was so angry at his son, that he immediately snatched the comb from his hand. Then he angrily struck the boy's head with the comb, and spoke these harsh words: "Since you always want to use the comb, let it be on your head forever! I prefer to have no son at all. I would rather see you changed into a bird than to remain such a disobedient, worthless boy." The father struck his son's head so hard, that the comb stuck deep into the skull. By Pablo's magic power, Juan was immediately changed into a cock, and the comb on his head was changed into flesh. We can see it to-day on the heads of all the descendants of Juan.

Note.

I know of no variants of stories Nos. 76-78.

TALE 79

HOW THE CROW BECAME BLACK.

Narrated by Vicente L. Neri, a Visayan from Cagayan, Misamis. He was told the story by his grandmother.

A long time ago, when Bathala, the god of the land, was peacefully ruling his dominions, he had many pets. Among these, his two favorites were the dove and the crow. The crow was noted for its bright, pretty plumage.

One day Bathala had a quarrel with Dumagat, the god of the sea. Bathala's subjects had been stealing fish, which were the subjects of Dumagat. When Dumagat learned of this, and could get no satisfaction from Bathala, he retaliated. He opened the big pipe through which the water of the world passes, and flooded the dominions of Bathala, until nearly all the people were drowned. When the water had abated somewhat, Bathala sent the crow, his favorite messenger, to find out whether all his subjects had been killed. The crow flew out from the palace where the god lived, and soon saw the corpses of many persons floating about. He descended, alighted on one, and began to eat the decaying cadaver. When Bathala saw that it was late and that the crow had not returned, he sent the dove on the same errand, telling the bird also to find out what had become of the first messenger. The dove flew away, looking for any signs of life. At last he saw the crow eating some of the decaying bodies. Immediately he told the crow that the king had sent for him, and together they flew back to Bathala's palace.

When the two birds arrived at the king's court, the dove told Bathala that the crow had been eating some dead bodies, and consequently had not done what he had been sent to do. Bathala was very angry at this disobedience. Without saying a word, he seized his big inkstand filled with black ink and threw it at the crow, which was immediately covered. Bathala then turned to the dove, and said, "You, my dove, because of your faithfulness, shall be my favorite pet, and no longer shall you be a messenger." Then he turned to the crow, and said, "You, foul bird, shall forever remain black; you shall forever be a scavenger, and every one shall hate you."

So that is why to-day the dove is loved by the people, and the crow hated. The crows to-day are all black, because they are descendants of the bird punished by Bathala.

Why the Crow is Black.

Narrated by Ricardo Ortega, an Ilocano living in Tarlac. The story, however, is Pampangan.

The first crow that lived on the earth was a beautiful bird with a sweet voice. The universe was ruled over by the god Sinukuan, and all his subjects were either plants or animals. No human beings were yet in existence. Sinukuan lived in a beautiful palace surrounded with gardens of gold. In these gardens lived two crows who sang sweet songs, and did nothing but fly about among the flowers and trees. Their golden plumage was beautiful to see, and Sinukuan took great delight in them.

Once a terrible pestilence visited the earth, and a great many of Sinukuan's animals began to die. In his distress and sorrow, Sinukuan at once set out and made a tour of his kingdom to give what relief he could to his suffering subjects. After being away three days, he returned to his palace, his mind weighted down by all the death and sickness he had seen. When he reached his garden, he called to his two birds to come sing for him and relieve his mental anguish; but neither of the birds came. Sinukuan went through his gardens, but he called in rain. "O birds! where are you?" he cried. Thinking that perhaps they had flown away and had been attacked by the pestilence, he determined to make another trip through his kingdom and look for them.

He had not walked a mile, when, approaching a number of dead animals, he saw the pair feasting on the decaying flesh. When they saw their master, they bowed their heads in shame. Had not Sinukuan restrained himself, he might have killed them that very moment; but he thought of a better way to punish them. "Now," he said, as he cursed them, "from this time on, you shall be very ugly black birds; you shall lose your beautiful voice, and shall be able to make only a harsh cry."

From that time on, those birds were black, and their offspring are the crows of to-day.

The Dove and the Crow.

Narrated by Restituto D. Carpio, a Zambal from Cabangan, Zambales.

A few days after the inundation of the world, God sent a crow down to earth to see how deep the water was on the land. When the crow flew down to earth, he was surprised to see so many dead animals everywhere. It came to his mind that perhaps they would taste good, so he alighted on one of them and began to eat. He was so very much pleased with the abundance of food about him, that he forgot all about the command God had given him, and he remained on the earth.

On the third day, since the crow had not returned, God sent a dove down to earth to find out the depth of the water, and to make other observations of the things that had taken place on the earth. As the dove was a faithful creature, she did not forget what God told her. When she reached the earth, she did not alight on any dead animal, but alighted directly in the water. Now, the water was red from the blood of so many creatures that had been slain. When the dove stood in the bloody water, she found that it was only an inch deep. She at once flew back to heaven, where, in the presence of God, she related what she had seen on earth, while the crimson color on her feet was evidence of the depth of the water.

After a short time the crow returned. He came before God, who spoke to him thus: "What made you so long? Why did you not return sooner from the earth?" As the crow had no good reason to give for his delay, he said nothing: he simply bent his head.

God punished the crow by putting a chain on his legs. So that to-day the crow cannot walk: all he can do is to hop from place to place. The dove, which was faithful to God, is now the favorite pet bird the world over. The red color on her feet may be seen to-day as evidence that she performed her duty.

Notes.

None of our stories presents the exact sequence of events found in other folk-tales of the sending-out of the raven and the dove after the Deluge to measure the depth of the water; but there can be no doubt that the Zambal story (c) derives immediately from one of these. The Visayan account mentions a flood, but not the Deluge. In the fact that the cause of the great inundation is a quarrel between two chief Pagan deities, there seems to be preserved an old native tradition. In the Pampangan story not only is the curse of the crow attributed to a Pagan deity, Sinukuan, but the occasion of the bird's downfall is a pestilence. There is no mention whatever of a flood, nor is the dove alluded to.

Dähnhardt (1 : 283-287) has discussed a number of folk-tales and traditions of the punishment of the raven and the rewarding of the dove. These are for the most part associated with popular accounts of events immediately after the Deluge. Two that seem to be nearly related to our versions may be reproduced here in English:--

(Polish story of the dove.) When Noah had despatched a dove from the Ark, the bird alighted on an oak, but soiled its feet in the water of the Flood, which was all red from the blood of the multitudes that had been drowned. Since then, doves have all had red feet. (This detail appears in part word for word in our Zambal story.)

(Arabian tradition recorded by the ninth-century historian Tabarî.) Noah said to the raven, "Go and set foot on the earth and see how deep the water is now." The raven flew forth. But on the way it found a corpse; it began to eat of it, and did not return to Noah. Noah, troubled, cursed the raven: "May God make you despised of mankind, and may your food always be corpses!" Then Noah sent the dove forth. The dove flew away, and without alighting dipped its feet in the water. But the water of the Flood was salty and stinging; it burned the dove's feet so that the feathers did not grow in again, and the skin dropped off. Those doves that have red feet without feathers are the descendants of the dove that Noah sent forth. Then Noah said, "May God make you welcome among mankind!" For this reason the dove is even to-day beloved of mankind. (This version is of especial interest in connection with the Visayan story, which comes from Mindanao, the home of Mohammedanism in the Philippines. Note the close correspondences.)

While it appears to me more than likely that our Filipino stories derive ultimately from Arabian sources through the Moros of the southern islands rather than through the Spaniards, nevertheless to settle the question absolutely more variants are needed for comparison.

Attention might be called to incidents peculiar to the Philippine accounts and not found in any of the versions cited by Dähnhardt:--

(1) A deity, not Noah, sends out the birds.

(2) The crows of Sinukuan (b), in addition to becoming black, are condemned forever afterward to have raucous, unpleasant voices.

(3) In the Visayan story Bathala makes the crow black by hurling an inkstand at it. This undignified detail may have been taken over from one of the popular metrical romances ("Baldovinos" or "Doce Pares") in which Charlemagne loses his temper and throws an inkwell at Roland (see JAFL 29 : 208, 214, 215). Or it is just barely possible that this popular bit of machinery became attached to our story of the crow on the analogy of an Annamite tale (Landes, Contes annamites, p. 210 f., cited by Dähnhardt, 3 : 65):--

The raven and the coq de pagode were once men in the service of the saint (Confucius), who transformed them into birds as a punishment for disobedience. In order to undo the punishment and to make the saint laugh, the raven smeared itself all over with ink. The coq de pagode wished to do the same to itself, but had only enough black ink for half its body; for the rest it was obliged to use red. Therefore the raven is black, and the coq de pagode is half red, half black.

(4) In the Zambal story the crow is punished, not by being made black, but by having a chain put on its legs; so that the crows to-day cannot walk, but must hop from place to place.

In conclusion I will cite merely for completeness an American Indian version not found in Dähnhardt. It is referred to by Sir J. G. Frazer (Folk-Lore in the Old Testament [1918], 1 : 297), who writes as follows:--

"The same missionary [i.e., Mgr. Faraud, in Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, xxxvi (1864), 388 et seq.] reports a deluge legend current among the Crees, another tribe of the Algonquin stock in Canada; but this Cree story bears clear traces of Christian influence, for in it the man is said to have sent forth from the canoe, first a raven, and second a wood-pigeon. The raven did not return, and as a punishment for his disobedience the bird was changed from white to black; the pigeon returned with his claws full of mud, from which the man inferred that the earth was dried up; so he landed."

For other folk explanations of the black color of the crow or raven, see Dähnhardt, 3 : 59, 65-66, 71, 369. An entirely different account of how the crow's feathers, which were originally as white as starch, became black, is given in out No. 71 (b).

TALE 80

WHY THE OCEAN IS SALTY.

Narrated by José M. Paredes of Bangued, Ilocos Sur. He heard the story from a farmer.

A few years after the creation of the world there lived a tall giant by the name of Ang-ngalo, the only son of the god of building. Ang-ngalo was a wanderer, and a lover of work. He lived in the mountains, where he dug many caves. These caves he protected from the continual anger of Angin, the goddess of the wind, by precipices and sturdy trees.

One bright morning, while Ang-ngalo was climbing to his loftiest cave, he spied across the ocean--the ocean at the time was pure, its water being the accumulated tears of disappointed goddesses--a beautiful maid. She beckoned to him, and waved her black handkerchief: so Ang-ngalo waded across to her through the water. The deep caverns in the ocean are his footprints.

This beautiful maid was Sipgnet, the goddess of the dark. She said to Ang-ngalo, "I am tired of my dark palace in heaven. You are a great builder. What I want you to do for me is to erect a great mansion on this spot. This mansion must be built of bricks as white as snow."

Ang-ngalo could not find any bricks as white as snow: the only white thing there was then was salt. So he went for help to Asin, the ruler of the kingdom of Salt. Asin gave him pure bricks of salt, as white as snow. Then Ang-ngalo built hundreds of bamboo bridges across the ocean. Millions of men were employed day and night transporting the white bricks from one side of the ocean to the other. At last the patience of Ocean came to an end: she could not bear to have her deep and quiet slumber disturbed. One day, while the men were busy carrying the salt bricks across the bridges, she sent forth big waves and destroyed them. The brick-carriers and their burden were buried in her deep bosom. In time the salt dissolved, and today the ocean is salty.

Note.

I know of no close analogues to this etiological myth.

The hero of the tale, Ang-ngalo, is the same as the Aolo (Angalo) mentioned in the notes to No. 3 (p. 27, footnote). Blumentritt (s.v.) writes, "Angangalo is the name of the Adam of the Ilocanos. He was a giant who created the world at the order of the supreme God."

TALE 81

WHY THE SKY IS CURVED.

Narrated by Aurelia Malvar, a Tagalog from Santo Tomas, Batangas. Her father told her the story.

Many, many years ago, when people were innocent, as soon as they died, their souls went directly to heaven. In a short time heaven was crowded with souls, because nearly every one went there. One day, while God was sitting on his throne, he felt it moved by some one. On looking up, he saw that the souls were pushing towards him, because the sky was about to fall. At once he summoned five angels, and said to them, "Go at once to the earth, and hold up the sky with your heads until I can have it repaired." Then God called together all his carpenters, and said to them, "Repair the heavens as soon as possible."

The work was done; but it happened that the tallest angel was standing in the centre of the group; and so, ever since, the sky has been curved.

Why the Sky is High.

Narrated by Deogracias Lutero of Janiuay, Iloilo. He says that the story is often heard in his barrio.

In olden days the sky was low,--so low that it could be reached by a stick of ordinary length. The people in those days said that God had created the sky in such a way that he could hear his people when they called to him. In turn, God could send his blessings to earth as soon as men needed them. Because of this close connection between God and his subjects, the people were well-provided for, and they did not need to work. Whenever they wanted to eat, they would simply call God. Before their request was made, almost, the food would be on the table; but after the expulsion of Adam and Eve, God made men work for their own living. With this change in their condition came the custom of holding feasts, when the men would rest from their labors.

One day one of the chiefs, Abing by name, held a feast. Many people came to enjoy it. A sayao, or native war-dance, was given in honor of the men belonging to the chief, and it was acted by men brandishing spears. While acting, one of the actors, who was drunk, tried to show his skill, but he forgot that the sky was so low. When he darted his spear, he happened to pierce the sky, and one of the gods was wounded. This angered God the Father: so he raised the sky as we have it to-day, far from the earth.

Notes.

I have come across no variants of the Tagalog story of why the sky is curved.

Our second story, however, "Why the Sky is High," is without doubt a Malayan tradition, as analogues from the Bagobos and the Pagan tribes of Borneo attest. Miss Benedict (JAFL 26 : 16-17) furnishes two Bagobo myths on "Why the Sky Went Up:"--

(a) "In the beginning the sky lay low over the earth--so low that when the Mona wanted to pound their rice, they had to kneel down on the ground to get a play for the arm. Then the poor woman called Tuglibung said to the sky, 'Go up higher! Don't you see that I cannot pound my rice well?' So the sky began to move upwards. When it had gone up about five fathoms, the woman said again, 'Go up still more!' This made the sun angry at the woman, and he rushed up very high."

(b) "In the beginning the sky hung so low over the earth that the people could not stand upright, could not do their work. For this reason the man in the sky said to the sky, 'Come up!' Then the sky went up to its present place."

With Miss Benedict's first version, compare Hose and McDougall (2 : 142):--

"According to an old man of the Long Kiputs of Borneo, the stars are holes in the sky made by the roots of trees in the world above the sky projecting through the floor of that world. At one time, he explained, the sky was close to the earth, but one day Usai, a giant, when working sago with a wooden mallet, accidentally struck his mallet against the sky; since which time the sky has been far up out of the reach of man."

A different explanation of why the sky went up is current in British North Borneo. It is embodied in the story of "The Horned Owl and the Moon" (Evans, JRAI 43 : 433):--

"The moon is male and the Pwak (horned owl) is female.

"Long ago, when the sky was very low down, only a man's height from the ground, the moon and the Pwak fell in love and married. At that time there was a man whose wife was with child. The woman came down from the house, and as the heat of the sun struck her on the stomach, she became ill, for the sky was very low. Then the man was very angry because his wife was ill, and he made seven blow-pipe arrows. Early the next morning he took his blow-pipe with him and went to the place where the sun rises, and waited. Now at that time there were seven suns. When they rose, he shot six of them and left one remaining; then he went home. At the time the man shot the suns the Pwak was sitting on the house-top in the sky combing her hair. The comb fell from the sky to the ground, and the Pwak flew down to get it; but when she found it, she could no longer fly back to the sky; for, while she had been looking for the comb, the sky had risen to its present place; since, when the man had shot the six suns, the remaining sun, being frightened, ran away up into the air and took the sky with it. And so on the present day, whenever the moon comes out, the Pwak cries to it; but the moon says to it, 'What can I do, for you are down there below, while I am up here in the sky?'"

TALE 82

AN UNEQUAL MATCH; OR, WHY THE CARABAO'S HOOF IS SPLIT.

Narrated by Godofredo Rivera, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna.

Once a carabao and a turtle met on a road. They walked in the woods, and had a fine talk together. The turtle was a sort of humorist, and was constantly giving exhibitions of his dexterity in getting food by trickery. But he was especially anxious to win the friendship of the carabao; for he thought that, if they were friendly, this big fellow would help him whenever he got into trouble. So he said to the carabao, "Let us live together and hunt out food together! thus we shall break the monotony of our solitary lives."

But the carabao snorted when he heard this proposal; and he replied, "You slow thing! you ought to live with the drones, not with a swift and powerful person like me."

The turtle was very much offended, and to get even he challenged the carabao to a race. At first the carabao refused to accept the challenge, for he thought it would be a disgrace for him to run against a turtle. The turtle said to the carabao, "If you will not race with me, I will go to all the forests, woods, and mountains, and tell all your companions and all my friends and all the animal kingdom that you are a coward."

Now the carabao was persuaded; and he said, "All right, only give me three days to get ready for the race." The turtle was only too glad to have the contest put off for three days, for then he too would have a chance to prepare his plans. The agreement between the turtle and the carabao was that the race should extend over seven hills.

The turtle at once set out to visit seven of his friends; and, by telling them that if he could win this race it would be to the glory of the turtle kingdom, he got them to promise to help him. So the next day he stationed a turtle on the top of each hill, after giving them all instructions.

The third day came. Early the next morning the turtle and the carabao met at the appointed hill. At a given signal the race began, and soon the runners lost sight of each other. When the carabao reached the second hill, he was astonished to see the turtle ahead of him, shouting, "Here I am!" After giving this yell, the turtle at once disappeared. And at every hill the carabao found his enemy ahead of him. When the carabao was convinced at the seventh hill that he had been defeated, he became so angry that he kicked the turtle. On account of the hardness of its shell, the turtle was uninjured; but the hoof of the carabao was split in two, because of the force of the blow. And even to-day, the carabaos still bear the mark which an unjust action on the part of their ancestor against one whom he knew was far inferior to him in strength produced on himself.

Notes.

A Pampangan story furnished by Wenceslao Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga, runs thus in abstract:--

The Deer and the Snail.

Snail challenges deer to race, and stations his friends at intervals along the way. Every time deer stops and calls out to see where his antagonist is, a snail answers from a spot a few yards ahead of deer. At the end of the course the defeated deer falls fainting. His gall is sucked out by the snails near him. To this day snails taste bitter, and the deer has no gall.

For a similar Visayan tale see "The Snail and the Deer" (JAFL 20 : 315). A Tinguian version may be found in Cole (No. 82, p. 198).

This very widespread story is comprehensively discussed by Dähnhardt (4 : 46-97), who gives a large number of variants from all parts of the world. The Philippine forms of it may reasonably be adjudged native, I believe; at any rate, they need not have been derived from Europe.

A Borneo version (Evans, 475-476) not given in Dähnhardt may be mentioned here in conclusion. In it the plandok (mouse-deer), which has deceived and brought about the deaths of all the larger animals, agrees to tun a race with the omong (hermit-crab). The crab stations three companions at corners of the square race-course, and wins. The mouse-deer runs itself to death.

APPENDIX.

[Additional notes, chiefly in the nature of American Indian, Negro, and Sinhalese (Ceylon) variants.]

Supplementary Bibliography.

BOLTE (JOHANNES) UND POLÍVKA (GEORG). Anmerkungen zu den Kinder- und Hausmärchen der Brüder Grimm. Vol. 3 (Nos. 121-225). Leipzig, 1918.

Journal of American Folk-Lore. (Cited JAFL.)

--Boas, F. Notes on Mexican Folk-Lore (JAFL 25 : 204-260). 1912.

--Bolduc (E.), Tremblay (M.), and Barbeau (C.-M.). Contes populaires canadiens (troisième série) (JAFL 32 : 90-167). 1919.

--Bundy, R.C. Folk-Tales from Liberia (JAFL 32 : 406-427). 1919.

--Espinosa, A.M. Comparative Notes on New-Mexican and Mexican Spanish Folk-Tales (JAFL 27 : 211-231). 1914.

----New-Mexican Spanish Folk-Lore (JAFL 27 : 105-147). 1914.

----New-Mexican Spanish Folk-Lore: Folk-Tales (JAFL 24 : 397-444). 1911.

--Folk-Tales from Alabama (JAFL 32 : 397-401). 1919.

--Folk-Tales from Georgia (JAFL 32 : 402-405). 1919.

--Mason, J.A. Folk-Tales of the Tepecanos (JAFL 27 : 148-210). 1914.

--Mechling, W. H. Stories and Songs from the Southern Atlantic Coastal Region of Mexico (JAFL 29 : 547-558). 1916.

--Stories from Tuxtepec, Oaxaca (JAFL 25 : 199-203). 1912.

Parsons, E. C. Pueblo-Indian Folk-Tales, probably of Spanish Provenience (JAFL 31 : 216-255). 1918.

--Tales from Guilford County, North Carolina (JAFL 30 : 168-200). 1917.

--Recinos, Adrián. Cuentos populares de Guatemala (JAFL 31 : 472-487). 1918.

--Skinner, Alanson. European Tales from the Plains Ojibwa (JAFL 29 : 330-340). 1916.

----Plains Ojibwa Tales (JAFL 32 : 280-305). 1919.

--Speck, F.G. Malecite Tales (JAFL 30 : 479-485). 1917.

--Stewart, Sadie E. Seven Folk-Tales from the Sea Islands, South Carolina (JAFL 32 : 394-396). 1919.

--Teit, James. European Tales from the Upper Thompson Indians (JAFL 29 : 301-329). 1916.

LAIDLAW, GEORGE E. Ojibwa Myths and Tales (reprinted from the Archæological Report, 1918).

PARKER, H. Village Folk-Tales of Ceylon. London: Vol. 1, 1910; Vol. 2, 1914; Vol. 3, 1914.

PARSONS, ELSIE CLEWS. Folk-Tales of Andros Island, Bahamas (Memoirs of the American Folk-Lore Society, Vol. 13). New York, 1918. (Cited MAFLS 13.) See also under Journal of American Folk-Lore.

RADIN-ESPINOSA. El Folklore de Oaxaca, recogido por Paul Radin y publicado por Aurelio M. Espinosa (Anales de la Escuela Internacional de Arqueología y Etnología Americanas). New York, 1917.

SAUNIÈRE, S. DE. Cuentos populares araucanos y chilenos (Revista de folklore chileno, Vol. 7). Santiago de Chile, 1918.

THOMPSON, STITH. European Tales among the North American Indians (Colorado College Publication). Colorado Springs, 1919.

Supplementary Notes.

1. [109]

Dr. Boas gives the bibliography of "Dr. Know-All" in America in JAFL 25 : 151.

A Sinhalese variant may be found in Parker, 1 : 179-185 (No. 23).

2.

Page 11 (footnote). Dr. Boas informs me that petate is a Mexican-Spanish word borrowed from the Nahuatl.

Full bibliography of Grimm, No. 122 ("Donkey Cabbages") is given in Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 3-9.

In JAFL 28 : 56 is a Penobscot story containing the loss of three magic objects, transportation to a distant place, escape of princess by means of transportation-cap, discovery by hero of magic apples, punishment of princess, and the recovery of the magic objects (see Thompson, 401).

3.

Page 25 (A). For a list of Hindoo stories in which the hero is only a span high, see Parker, 2 : 256.

Page 25-26 (B1-5). In a Biloxi tale not belonging in other respects to our group, the hero's uncle puts the hero to some hard tests, hoping to make away with him (see Thompson, 376).

Page 26 (B2). The attempts to kill the hero in a well by throwing huge rocks on him are found in some of the American variants of the "Strong John" cycle. (See Thompson, 435-436, for French-Canadian and Maliseet versions.)

Page 26 (D.) In a Maliseet tale (Thompson, 340) the strong hero sets out on his travels with a giant cane that will hold fifty salted cattle.

Page 27 (E). In ten of the American Indian versions of "John the Bear" are found the extraordinary companions (see Thompson, 336-344).

Page 29. With Kakarangkang's adventure inside the crocodile, compare an Araucano story (Saunière, No. 3), in which the heroine with a knife is swallowed by the big king of fishes. She cuts her way out, saving her brother and others imprisoned.

4.

Interrupted-cooking episode. For a Negro version from Bahamas, see MAFLS 13, No. 93; also bibliography on p. 142 (footnote). In his analysis of "John the Bear" stories among the American Indians, Thompson (336-342) notes this episode in Assiniboin, Tehuano, Shoshone, Thompson River, Maliseet, Loucheux, and Micmac versions.

Bee-hive hoax. Three Mexican variants on this idea may be noted. In one (JAFL 25 : 237), rabbit pretends that the bee-hive is a school, which he permits coyote to keep. In another (ibid., 206) rabbit pretends that a wasp-nest is a cradle, and gets coyote to rock it. The third is a Cora story given in abstract by Dr. Boas (ibid., 260), which is nearest the form of the incident as found in our tales. Opossum pretends that the bee-hive is a bell which coyote is to ring when he hears the sky-rockets. In a New-Mexican Spanish story (JAFL 27 : 134-135) fox tells coyote that the bee-hive is his school humming.

5.

Parker's Sinhalese story "The Elephant-Fool" (3 : 100-111, No. 203) tells of a man who borrowed another's elephant; but the beast died before it could be returned. The borrower offers payment or another animal, but the owner will accept nothing but his own elephant alive. Through the cleverness of his wife, the borrower is able to make the obdurate man break a water-pot, and in turn demands his very water-pot back unbroken. Unable to do anything else, the owner of the elephant says that the two debts cancel each other, and goes away. Parker notes that in another Sinhalese form of this story both persons institute law-suits. He also cites a Chinese variant (p. 111).

6.

Page 51, line 41. For bibliography of Grimm, No. 183, see Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 333-335.

Parker (2 : 247-268, No. 137) gives a Sinhalese story, with three variants, which is definitely connected with our tales, and confirms my belief that the "False-Proofs" cycle is native to southern India. In Parker's main story the false proofs are five,--ass (voice), two winnowing-trays (ears), two bundles of creepers (testicles?), a tom-tom (eye), and two elephant tusks (teeth). In variant b the false proofs are drum (roar), deer-hide rope (hair), pair of elephant tusks (teeth).

For another Sinhalese story of how a man and his wife "bluffed" a terrible Yaka hiding under the bed to kill him, see Parker, 1 : 148-149 (No. 17).

7.

Page 62. Analogous to the task cited from Jataka, No. 546, is one of the problems in the Liberian story "Impossible vs. Impossible" (JAFL 32 : 413). Problem: Make a mat from rice-grains. Solution: Old rice-mat demanded as pattern.--For making rope out of husks, and analogous tasks, see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 513.

Page 62 (3). In Parker, No. 79, a king requires a man to put a hundred gourd-fruits in a hundred small-mouthed vessels. His clever daughter grows them there. Parker cites a story from Swynnerton's Indian Night's Entertainment, in which a clever girl sends melons in jars to a prince and requires him to remove the melons without injuring them or the jars. This problem is identical with one on our p. 58 (16-17).

In still another Sinhalese story a foolish king requires a Panditaya, under penalty of death, to teach the royal white horse to speak. The wise man's daughter saves her father's life by telling him what to reply to the king (Parker, 1 : 199-200, No. 27).--In Parker, 3 : 112-113 (No. 204), a country-girl meets a prince, to whose questions she gives enigmatical replies. He is clever enough to interpret them correctly.

Page 63 (4). In Parker, 2 : 7-9 (No. 78), a king requires milk from oxen. The clever village girl's answer is of a kind with Marcela's (our collection, p. 55): she sets out for the washerman's with a bundle of cloths, is met by the king, and tells him her father has come of age in the same manner as women (i.e., he has menstruated).

8.

For stealing eggs from under bird, see Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 57-58. Bolte-Polívka's notes on Grimm, No. 192, include a discussion of both the "Master Thief" cycle (3 : 379-395) and the Rhampsinitus "Treasure-House" saga (3 : 395-406). Two Sinhalese variants of the latter cycle, lacking in Bolte-Polívka's bibliography, are Parker's No. 189 and variant (3 : 41-46). Here the thieves are father and son; son cuts off father's head to prevent identification. The stories end with the exposure of the body and the escape of the son, who falls from a tree when his mother bursts into laments at the sight of her husband's corpse.

Four American Indian versions of the "Master Thief" are analyzed by Thompson (427-429),--Maliseet, Dakota, Thompson River, Wyandot.

A Oaxaca version of the "Master Thief" is given in Radin-Espinosa, 226-227 (No. 116): it preserves a number of features of the Rhampsinitus story. Likewise a New-Mexican Spanish tale (JAFL 24 : 423-424), in which, after preliminary skill-tests, the two thieves rob the king. The Mexican thief is caught; the Spanish thief cuts off his head. The corpse, by order of the king, is carried through town, and the house of the mourner is marked with blood. The Spanish thief escapes by marking all the houses with blood. (For the bibliography of marking all the house-doors with chalk to prevent discovery, see Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 145, note.)

9.

Page 78. Not counting self. This incident occurs in a Sinhalese story (Parker, 1 : 258, No. 44). (See ibid., 259, for three variants from India and one from China.) Comparative bibliography of this motif is given in Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 149 (note 1).

Page 78. Killing fly on face. Sinhalese (Parker, 1 : 319-321, No. 58): The stupid hero strikes with a rice-pestle at a fly on his mother's head, and kills her. Wyandot (Thompson, 423): The numskull hero hits the head of a sleeping child to kill mosquito, and kills child. Ojibwa (Laidlaw, 63): Flies on baby's head "killed" with rubber boot.

10.

Page 87. Add to the bibliography of the "Magic Ring" cycle three American forms of the story,--French-Canadian, Micmac, and Maliseet (analyzed by Thompson, 398-399).

An interesting Sinhalese version is Parker's No. 208 (3 : 127-131). Here a lazy prince buys a cobra, parrot, and cat. From the snake-king he receives a ring by means of which he can create anything he wants. He creates a palace and a princess. The princess and ring are stolen by an old woman acting as agent for a king who came to know of the beautiful princess (hair floating down-stream). Through the aid of his faithful animals, especially the cat, which coerces the king of the rats, the hero recovers his wife and magic object. (See also Parker's extensive notes [131-135] for other Oriental versions.)

11.

Page 114. See Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 483-486, for notes on Grimm's fragment "The Louse." Bolte and Polívka (3 : 84-85) give brief notes on Grimm, No. 134, mostly in the nature of addenda to their notes on Grimm, No. 71, with which this story is closely related.

Three American Indian variants of Grimm, No. 71, are analyzed by Thompson (346-347).

For a Negro version from the Bahamas, see MAFLS 13, No. 20.

12.

Page 125, line 21. For "Diego and Juan" read "Diego and Pedro."

Page 128, note 3. Dr. Farnham presents a fuller and more recent study of the cycle of the "Contending Lovers" in Publications of the Modern Language Association, 28 (1920): 247-323.

Page 128. Full bibliographical treatment of our Type I, the "Creation of Woman," may be found in Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 53-57.

Page 133. Bibliography of Grimm, No. 124, will be found in Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 10-12; of Grimm, No. 129, ibid., 45-58. Bolte and Polívka are of the opinion that Grimm, Nos. 71, 124, and 129, are all related (3 : 45).

A New-Mexican Spanish variant of Grimm, No. 129 (JAFL 24 : 411-414), tells of three brothers sent out to learn trades. One becomes a carpenter; another, a silversmith; and the third, a thief. They are tested by the king, who is satisfied that they have learned their trades well. A Negro version from the Bahamas (MAFLS 13 : 43-44, No. 23) tells of four brothers who went out and became skilled (tailor, robber, thief, archer). Skill-test with egg (stealing from nest, shooting it into four parts, stitching egg together, replacing under bird). Rescue of princess stolen by dragon (stitching planks of shattered ship together).

Very close to the Bahamas tale, except in the dénouement, is a Sinhalese story (Parker, 2 : 33 ff., No. 82). Four princes set out to learn sciences: the first learns sooth; the second, theft; the third, archery; the fourth, carpentry. They are tested by their father the king (stealing egg from crow, cutting it with arrow, repairing it, and restoring it to nest). They then search for and bring back the queen, who had been stolen by a Rakshasa. They then quarrel as to who should have the sovereignty. In variant a (ibid., 36-39) a nobleman's five sons learn sciences (soothsayer, marksman, thief, runner, physician) and jointly restore a dead princess to life. In variant b (39-42) seven princes become skilled. In variant c four Brahmans learn sciences to win the hand of a princess, and afterwards restore her to life. As they cannot settle their quarrel, they all give her up. (For other versions, see Parker, 2 : 43-45, 157-159 [No. 109]).

Page 136, line 31. For "Tagic" read "Jagic."

13.

In a Oaxaca story (Radin-Espinosa, 249-250, No. 137) a rich compadre tries with no success to advance the fortunes of his poor compadre, and comes to the conclusion that he who is born to be poor will always be poor.

14 b.

A Oaxaca version of "The Thief and his Master," with the transformation-combat detail, is given in Radin-Espinosa, 240 (No. 131). An analogous story has also been recorded by F. Boas at Zuñi.

Three Sinhalese versions of "The Magician and his Pupil" may be found in Parker, 3 : 400-407 (No. 266). Many other Oriental variants are given in abstract in the notes to these stories (ibid., 408-410).

15.

In JAFL 31 : 480-481 is given a Guatemala droll which is clearly derived from the Arabian Nights form of our story.

For additional bibliography of the tricky thief who pretends he had been transformed into the ass which he has just stolen from the simple peasant, see Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 9. Related to this motif are two Oriental tales given in abstract by Parker (3 : 205-206).

17.

Page 161. Identical with our first task is one found in a Oaxaca version (Radin-Espinosa, 223, No. 112). No. 109 in this same collection is a variant of "John the Bear." An excellent New-Mexican Spanish version of "John the Bear" is given by Espinosa (JAFL 24 : 437-444). (For American Indian versions of this cycle, see Thompson, 336-344.)

Page 165. For comparative bibliography of the "Forgotten Betrothed" cycle, see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 516-527 (on Grimm, No. 113) ; for American versions of the tasks and magic flight, MAFLS 13 : 54 n2; and for American Indian versions of this cycle as a whole. Thompson, 370-381. In only four of the twenty Indian stories analyzed, however, does the incident of the forgetting of his fiancée by the hero occur.

The first part of the "Forgotten Betrothed" cycle is found in an Araucano story (Saunière, No. 9), in which the hero takes service with a supernatural being, falls in love with his daughter, performs two difficult tasks and answers three questions, and flees with her in a transformation-flight that ends with the death of the pursuer.

In a Negro story from Bahamas (MAFLS 13 : No. 27) are found the tasks, magic-flight, and forgotten-betrothed elements.

18.

Our story is closely related to Grimm, No. 82 a (see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 190-196, for text), a story derived from Musäus. Grimm, No. 197 (Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 424-443), is also related. Thompson (410) cites a Micmac version that agrees with ours in its main outlines,--a version which he believes goes back to a French original. A very brief Kutenai version is given in Boas, "Kutenai Tales" (Bulletin 59, Bureau of American Ethnology), p. 34.

19.

See Bolte-Polívka's notes on Grimm, No. 108 (2 : 234 ff.).

20.

Page 196. The following American Indian variants of motifs found in our stories are analyzed by Thompson (419-426):--

Fatal imitation (G1): Maliseet (wife), Ojibwa, Dakota, Zuñi.

Substitute for execution (H): Maliseet, Ojibwa, Wyandot, Thompson River, Dakota, Tepecano, Creek, Yuchi, Jicarilla Apache, Pochulta, Chalina, Aztec, Tuxtepec.

Marine cattle (J): Micmac, Maliseet, Ojibwa, Thompson River, Dakota, Tepecano.

Frightening robbers under tree (F5): Micmac, Maliseet, Wyandot, Ojibwa (for Ojibwa see also Laidlaw, 196).

For a Negro (Bahamas) variant of G1, see MAFLS 13, No. 41; of F5, ibid., No. 46. In a Oaxaca story, "Los Dos Compadres" (Radin-Espinosa, 198-199, No. 101), one compadre frightens a band of robbers unwittingly and acquires treasure (sale-of-ashes incident). Then follows the incident of the borrowed measure returned with coins adhering, whereupon the rich compadre tries to "sell ashes," and is killed by the robbers. For bibliography of the motif coins sticking to borrowed measure, see Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 520; 2 : 6; 3 : 143 n.

The incident of frightening robbers under tree appears to be characteristic of the Pedro di Urdemales group (see JAFL 27 : 119-134, especially 125, 133). For the sack-by-sea episode in the same story, see ibid., 134.

To Bolte-Polívka's bibliography of Grimm, No. 61, should be added a Sinhalese version (Parker, 2 : 116-119, No. 101), which contains the rejuvenating-cudgel, sack-by-sea, and marine-cattle motifs.

21.

Page 206. In a Oaxaca story (Radin-Espinosa, 246, No. 134) closely related to our No. 21, a king sentences a gentleman to death for having said, "El que tiene dinero hace lo que quiere." This sentiment is almost identical with that found in the Sicilian story by Pitrè. In both, too, the device by means of which the hero discovers the hidden princess is a golden eagle which gives forth beautiful music.

In a New-Mexican Spanish version (JAFL 27 : 135-137) the hero gains access to the princess by means of a bronze eagle.

23.

Page 213. In a New-Mexican Spanish story (JAFL 27 : 128) one of the adventures of Pedro di Urdemales is to make a pact with the Devil in return for much money. In hell he wins his freedom by sticking the demons to their chairs with varnish and then frightening them with a cross. This version seems nearly related to our story. In a Tepecano tale of the same hero (ibid., 171) Pedro frightens and beats devils with a holy palm-leaf.

24.

Page 221. Add to Benfey's Oriental versions a Sinhalese story by Parker (2 : 288-291, No. 141). Parker analyzes three other Hindoo variants which should be noted.

Page 222. Parker, No. 252 (3 : 339-341), "How Maraya was put in the Bottle," is a close variant of Grimm, No. 44. Death is finally outwitted by the hero, who persuades him to creep into a bottle to demonstrate that he had been able to enter a closed room through a keyhole. Thereafter all the hero has to do to cure a sick person is to place the bottle at his head! This detail of enclosing a demon in a bottle is found in Caballero's story.

In another Sinhalese story (Parker, 3 : 185-186, No. 222) a water-snake, pleased by a beggar's actions, promises to make him rich by creeping up the trunk of the king's tusk elephant and making the animal mad. The beggar "cures" the elephant when he tells the snake to leave, and becomes wealthy.

27.

Thompson (413-414) cites two American Indian stories, Penobscot and Maliseet, which open with the obtaining of a gold-dropping horse from an old man because of kindness, the loss of it at an inn at the bands of a rascally landlord, and the recovery of the animal through the generous use of a magic cudgel. The remainder of the two stories is connected with the last part of the "Golden Goose" cycle (Grimm, No. 64).

Page 237. To the East Indian variants of this story add Parker, No. 97 (2 : 101-104), in which an indigent man who frightens a Yaka obtains from the demon a magic self-filling plate, a ring which when sold will always return to its owner, and a gold-dropping cow. These are stolen from him on successive days by a Hettiyä, and worthless imitations substituted. Then the Yaka gives the hero a magic cudgel, with which he regains his magic articles. (See Parker, ibid., 104-105, for other Oriental versions.)

29.

Page 247. A Sinhalese story, "The Mouse Maiden" (Parker, 1 : 308 f., No. 54), tells of a princess in the form of a mouse who was married to a prince. Her permanent disenchantment is brought about by the burning of her mouse-jacket. Similarly in No. 223 (Parker, 3 : 187-188) the youngest of seven princes is married to a female hare, which is permanently disenchanted when her husband burns her hare-skin. This story and another cited by Parker, in which the youngest of seven princes married a female monkey who in the end proved to be a fairy and took off her monkey-skin (Chilli: Folk Tales of Hindustan, 54), appear to be related to the Indian Märchen cited by Benfey (1 : 251).

For other tales of animal-marriages with transformation, see Parker, Nos. 151, 207 (turtle), No. 163 (snake), No. 164 (lizard), No. 165 (frog); without transformation, No. 158 (bear), No. 159 (leopard).

30.

A Sinhalese variant of the "Chastity-Wager" story is Parker, No. 149 (2 : 334-336).

33.

In a French-Canadian version (JAFL 32 : 161-163), while a jealous hunchback is away from home, three other hunchbacks (unrelated to the husband) apply to the wife for food. While they are eating, she sees her husband returning. She hides her three guests in a chest, where they are smothered. The remainder of the story is regular.

35.

Page 278. Our story appears to be related to some of the variants of Grimm, No. 22, though there is little resemblance between it and the German story itself. Compare, however, an Ojibwa tale (JAFL 29 : 337), in which a princess is offered in marriage to whoever can propose a riddle she cannot solve (in our story it is the hero who must give the answer to the princess's riddle). On his way to court, the hero receives magic objects. He successfully outriddles his opponent, but is put in prison. He wins release and the princess's hand by means of the magic objects. (See Thompson, 415-416.)

36.

Page 283. A New-Mexican Spanish variant of "Juan Tiñoso" (JAFL 24 : 403-408) combines features from "John the Bear."

Page 284. The "Iron Hans" cycle (Grimm, No. 136) Bolte and Polívka (3 : 97) outline as follows:--

(A1) A prince sets free a wild man, Iron Hans, whom his father has captured; (A2) the prince flees from the machinations of his hostile or wanton step-mother; (A3) the wild man bestows on a childless couple a son, who, however, after a definite term, must be surrendered to him.

(B) While with Iron Hans, whose orders he disobeys, the boy acquires golden halt, and (B1) is either forgiven and restored to favor, or (B2) escapes on a talking horse.

(C) After covering his gold hair with a hat or cloth, he takes service as a gardener at a king's palace, where the princess falls in love with him.

(D) At a tournament he appears three times on a magnificent horse that Iron Hans has furnished him with, and he gains the hand of the king's daughter.

(E) He manifests his nobility as victor in a combat, as a dragon-killer, as a bringer of a cure for the sick king (cf. No. 97), or on a hunt, where he disgraces his mocking brothers-in-law.

(F) Iron Hans or the helpful horse is disenchanted.

For American Indian variants of the "Iron Hans" cycle, see Thompson, 350-357.

Page 284, line 3. For throwing of apples to intended husbands, see Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 381; 3 : 111.

Line 16. For the branding of the brothers-in-law, see Grimm, Nos. 59, 91, 97; also Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 114 (note 1).

Juan Tiñoso means John the Scabby. Two French versions have exactly the same title, "Jean le Teignous" and "Jean le Tigneux" (Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 99). A somewhat distant Sinhalese relative of "Juan Tiñoso," in which the hero is a turtle, is Parker, No. 151 (2 : 345-352).

In an Osage Indian story occurs the release of an imprisoned monster by a boy (Thompson, 331).

38.

Page 288. For bibliography of the question "How much is the king worth?" see Bolte-Polívka, 3 : 232. The Negrito's counter-demand to the king's third task (i.e., drink all the fresh water) is identical with the counter-demand to the task of counting the drops in the sea (ibid., 3 : 231).

Page 291. Bolte and Polívka (3 : 214) emphasize the fact of the mutual borrowing of incidents by this cycle and the "Clever Lass" cycle.

Two Sinhalese stories not unlike our No. 38 are given by Parker,--"The Three Questions" (1 : 150-152), "The Four Difficult Questions" (153-154).

40.

Page 299, "Pitong." In a Oaxaca story (Radin-Espinosa, 204, No. 104) occur the abandoned-children opening, corn-trail, fruit-trail, ogre's house, advice of rat, ogre pushed in oven. A Chile version of "Le Petit Poucet" is "Piñoncito" (Saunière, 262). The following American Indian versions are noticed by Thompson (361-365): Thompson River (3), Shuswap (2), Ojibwa, Maliseet, Ponka, Bellacoola, Mewan, Uintah Ute.

45.

For a Negro (Bahamas) version of "Cinderella," see MAFLS 13, No. 17; for American Indian versions, Thompson, 384-385.

47.

Compare a Negro story from the Bahamas (MAFLS 13, No. 14); also a Sinhalese tale, "The Roll of Cotton" (Parker, 1 : 364-366, No. 69), in which the two women are sisters.

48.

Two Hindoo (Sinhalese) versions of the "Puss-in-Boots" cycle are Parker, No. 49 (1 : 278-283) and No. 235 (3 : 243-248). These are of extreme importance in trying to establish the provenience of our stories: for in both the helpful animal is a monkey; both contain the incident of the borrowed measure, the incident of the killing of the demon by the monkey (obscure but unmistakable in No. 49) and the claiming of the monster's palace as his master's; in both the monkey marries his master to a king's daughter. These two stories differ from ours in the conclusion: the master proves ungrateful, and the faithful monkey runs off into the forest. Again, too, in the opening, these two Sinhalese stories differ from ours: the monkey's gratitude is not motivated; the animal is not a thieving animal, hence there is no tar-baby device.

Page 336, Tar-Baby. For the distribution of the "Tar-Baby" story among the American Indians, see Boas (JAFL 25 : 249), supplemented by Thompson (444-446). For Negro versions, see MAFLS 13 : Nos. 10, 11, 12; JAFL 30 : 171, 222; Thompson, 440. Other American versions are Mexico (JAFL 29 : 549); Guatemala (JAFL 31 : 472 f.); Oaxaca (Radin-Espinosa, 120-121, 183, 197; JAFL 25 : 200, 201, 235-236).

49.

In a Sinhalese noodle-story the foolish hero joins a band of thieves and tries to steal a millstone, wakening the owner of the house and asking him for assistance (Parker, 2 : 70-75, No. 90). In another tale in the same collection, No. 57 (1 : 317-318), a gang of robbers steal a devil-dancer's box. While they are sleeping, one of their number, a fool, puts on the costume. They awake, think he is the Devil, and flee, the fool pursuing and calling, "Stay there! stay there!" This story is like our "Juan and the Robbers" (348-349). Compare also the story cited by Parker on p. 318.

50.

Since writing the notes to No. 50, I have found a Sinhalese version of the "Hat-pays-landlord" story which is essentially the same as ours, only a three-cornered hat, not a painted one, is the hoax. The motive of the hero's trick is his desire for revenge on three sharpers who have cozened him out of a bull which they pretend is a goat (Parker, 3 : 200-205, No. 226). For this last situation, compare our No. 15 and notes.

53.

In the Sinhalese "Story of the Bitch" (Parker, 3 : 102-104, No. 201) a bitch gives birth to two princesses, who marry princes. Later the elder daughter drives her dog-mother away when it seeks to visit her, but the younger treats it kindly. The elder daughter is killed by a cobra-bite because of her avariciousness. This version is nearly related to Miss Frere's old Deccan story.

54.

In the latter part of a long Sinhalese story (Parker, No. 145) a king conceives a passion for the hero's wife, and resorts to the same ruse as the wicked datu in our story,--underground tunnel, and letter to parents in the underworld. The hero escapes by means of a cross-tunnel, returns with marvellous raiment (provided by heroine) and news that the king's father and mother are happy. The avaricious king makes the same trip, and is destroyed. Parker, No. 146 (2 : 313-314), contains almost the identical situation.

55.

Page 371 (E). Probably the earliest literary version of the drowning-turtle motif (undoubtedly the prototype of the brier-patch punishment) is Buddhistic: Jataka, No. 543. This motif occurs in a Sinhalese story otherwise wholly unrelated to the cycle of which this punishment is usually a part (Parker, No. 150, 2 : 339-340; see also 343-344).

For additional bibliography of the brier-patch punishment, in many of the American Indian versions of which the turtle or tortoise is substituted for the rabbit, see Thompson, 446-447; JAFL 31 : 229 (note). Thompson (440) also lists some American Negro variants.

Page 372. With Jataka, No. 273, compare a Negro story from the Bahamas (MAFLS 13 : 92, No. 45, II). Skinner (JAFL 32 : 295-297) gives an Ojibwa story in which occurs the "drowning" of the turtle and the biting-off of otter's testicles by the turtle. This second detail appears reminiscent of the turtle's revenge discussed on our pp. 372-373.

56.

Page 379. Some American versions of the house-answering-owner episode are the following: Oaxaca (Radin-Espinosa, 184-185; 194, rabbit and coyote; JAFL 25 : 208, rabbit and crocodile); Chile (JAFL 26 : 248, a curious modification of the motif); Mexico (JAFL 29 : 552). In another Mexican story we find the episode of the rabbit crossing the river on the crocodile's back (JAFL 29 : 551-552).

In a Sinhalese story of "The Crocodile and the Jackal" (Parker, 1 : 380-381, No. 75), the crocodile shams dead. Jackal says, "In our country dead crocodiles wag their tails." (This appears to me a variant of the house-answering-owner motif.) Later follows the incident of the seizure of the foot of the jackal, who pretends crocodile has hold of a root. (See also Parker, No. 36 [1 : 235 f.] for deceptions turtle practises on jackal.)

57.

Page 381. A Oaxaca story (Radin-Espinosa, 190, No. 94) combines an account of a war between the animals and the winged creatures (animals defeated) with a race between the lion and the cricket.

59.

American versions of the let-me-take-your-place motif are numerous: Oaxaca (Radin-Espinosa, 121, 153, 183, 185, 197; JAFL 25 : 201, 236); Mexico (JAFL 29 : 550); Tepecano (JAFL 27 : 162); Negro (JAFL 32 : 400, 402; MAFLS 13 : Nos. 12, 33, 39).

60.

The following American forms of the accumulative story may be noted: Guatemala (JAFL 31 : 482-483); Mexico (JAFL 25 : 219 f.); Oaxaca (Radin-Espinosa, 195, No. 99); New-Mexican Spanish (JAFL 27 : 138); Tepecano (JAFL 27 : 175). See also Thompson, 453-454. The stories resemble ours only in general method, not at all in detail. For discussion and abstracts of some South American variants that are closer to our form than are those of Central and North America, see Boas (JAFL 25 : 352-353 and notes).

A curious Sinhalese accumulative story, No. 251 in Parker's collection (3 : 336-338), tells how, when some robbers were apprehended for digging into the king's palace and were sentenced, they replied that the mason who made the walls was at fault, not they. The mason accused his lime-mixer; the lime-mixer, a beautiful woman for having distracted his attention; the woman, a goldsmith. The goldsmith is condemned, but by a ruse succeeds in getting a wholly innocent fat-bellied Mohammedan trader executed in his place. Parker abstracts a similar story from southern India (p. 338). (See also his No. 28 [1 : 201-205] for another kind of "clock-story" nearer the type of "The Old Woman and her Pig.")

61.

Page 392. Parker's No. 107 (2 : 146-149) is an elaboration of Jataka, No. 374. (For other Oriental variants of this theme, see ibid., 149-150.)

71.

For a Negro version of a flight-contest (not etiological) between a crow and a pigeon, see MAFLS 13 : No. 53.

79.

The Upper Thompson Indians have a story of how the raven and the crow were sent out after the Flood to find land. They did not return, but fed on the corpses of the drowned people. For this reason they were transformed into birds of black color, where formerly they were white-skinned (JAFL 29 : 329).

82.

For bibliography of the relay-race motif among the American Indians see Boas (JAFL 25 : 249; Thompson, 448-449). Thompson cites fourteen American Indian versions, in all but two of which the winner is the turtle. In one, the clever animal is a gopher; in the other, a frog. For American Negro variants, see Thompson, 441; JAFL 31 : 221 (note 2); JAFL 32 : 394. In a Negro version from Bahamas (MAFLS 13 : No. 54), horse and conch race; horse is defeated, and kicks the little conches to death (cf. the ending of our No. 82). For a Mexican version (rabbit and toad) see JAFL 25 : 214-215; for Oaxaca (toad and deer), Radin-Espinosa, 193.

In an Araucano story (Saunière, No. XI) the race between the fox and the crawfish does not assume the relay form.

NOTES

[1] I am greatly indebted to Professor E. Arsenio Manuel, Department of Anthropology, University of the Philippines, for biographical and other data with regard to Dean S. Fansler. Mr. E. D. Hester kindly furnished additional details.

[2] A common nickname for "Juan," equivalent to the English "Jack."

[3] Datu, old native name for "village chieftain."

[4] Casco, a commodious wooden cargo-boat commonly used in rivers and propelled by poling.

[5] Carabao, a gray water-buffalo used throughout the Archipelago as a draught-animal.

[6] The usual means of getting into a native grass house is a bamboo ladder.

[7] This is a common Tagalog expression, and means, "I consider that you are all inferior to me in every respect."

[8] Petate (Sp.-Mexican), a sleeping-mat made of woven straw.

[9] Cavan, a dry measure used in the Philippines, equal to about 75 quarts.

[10] Bolo, a cutlass-like knife used by the natives either for agricultural or war purposes.

[11] The usual Filipino salute of respect for parents or grandparents.

[12] This name literally means, "only one palasan [a large plant of llana]." The hero was so called because he was the strongest man in his town.

[13] So called because he used as a cane (Tag. tungkod) the large cylindrical piece of iron used for crushing sugarcane (Tag. bola).

[14] Literally, "one who can overturn a mountain."

[15] For the "Fee-fi-fo-fum" phrase in folk-tales, see Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 289-292.

[16] Literally, "without fear, fearless."

[17] Paridis may possibly be identified with Paderes, the strong man whom Rodrigo de Villas (the Cid) meets in the woods, who uproots a huge tree with which to fight the hero, but who is finally overcome. Paderes and Rodrigo become fast friends. This character occupies a prominent place in the metrical romance entitled "Rodrigo de Villas," which has been printed in the Pampango, Ilocano, Tagalog, and Bicol dialects. Aolo may be a corruption of Afigalo, represented in Ilocano saga as a great fisherman. Many legends told to-day by the Ilocanos in connection with the Abra River, in northern Luzon, centre about the heroic Afigalo.

[18] Aba! a very common exclamation of surprise. It sometimes expresses disgust.

[19] We seem here to have a myth element explaining why the Negrito's hair is kinky. See notes for definition of pugut.

[20] The root pugut is found in many of the dialects, and has two distinct meanings: (1) "a Negro or Negrito of the mountains;" (2) "decapitated, or with the hands or feet cut off." Among the Tagalogs, Bicols, and Visayans, the word is not used to designate a night-appearing demon or monster. Tag. cafre, which is equivalent to Iloc. pugut, is Spanish for Kaffir. Blumentritt defines cafre thus: "Nombre árabe (kafir), importado por los Españoles ó Portugueses; lo dan los campesinos Tagalos de la provincia de Tayabas á un duende antropófago, al que no gusta la sal. En las provincias Ilocanas denominan asi los Españoles al Pugot."

Speaking of the demons and spirits of northern India, W. Crooke writes (1 : 138) that "some of the Bhût [= pugut ?], like the Kâfari [= cafre ?], the ghost of a murdered Negro, are black, and are

## particularly dreaded."

[21] For full translation, see Jataka, ed. by E. B. Cowell (Cambridge University Press, 1895), 2 : 207-215; and FLJ 3 : 337 f. See also C. H. Tawney's discussion of the story in the Journal of Philology, 12 : 112-119.

[22] Camisa china, a thin native coat-shirt worn outside the trousers.

[23] Patianac, mischievous birth-spirits that live in the woods and fields, and lead travellers astray at night.

[24] Pagui, the sting-ray, or skate-fish. Its tail is very efficacious against evil spirits and witches, according to native belief.

[25] Tuba. a wine distilled from the coco and other palm trees.

[26] Typhoon (Ar. tufan), a wind of cyclonic force and extraordinary violence.

[27] Literally, "Give us here in the ceiling some good food."

[28] Manglalabas, literally, "the one who appears;" i.e., apparition.

[29] Barrio, a small collection of houses forming a kind of suburb to a town.

[30] Mangkukulam, an old woman endowed with the powers of a witch.

[31] Paragos, a kind of rude, low sledge drawn by carabaos and used by farmers.

[32] Pipit, a tiny bird.

[33] Why peso, I cannot say. A hole the size of a peso would accommodate a rope, but hardly a man or a large tub. The story is clearly imperfect in many respects.

[34] Mankukulam, see note 1, p. 53.

[35] As Mr. Gardner notes, a chap-book form of "Aladdin" exists in Tagalog. The full title of my copy runs thus (in translation): "The Wonderful story of Aladin, who got possession of the Marvelous Lamp, and of his Marriage with the Princess of China the Great. Manila, 1901. (Pp. 127.)" W. Retana, in his "Aparato Bibliográfico" (Madrid, 1906), cites an edition before 1898 (see item No. 4161). The story has also been printed in the Pampango, Ilocano, Bicol, and Visayan dialects.

[36] From the Spanish corredor ("runner").

[37] From the Spanish mirador ("seer, gazer").

[38] A Tagalog boys' game played in the streets, with lines marked off by water (tubig).

[39] From the Spanish puntador ("gunner").

[40] From the Spanish cargador ("carrier").

[41] From the Spanish soplador ("ventilator, blower").

[42] From the Spanish oidor ("hearer"). These six proper names are given here exactly as they appear in the original narrative. Strictly speaking, they are not derivatives from the Spanish: they merely suggest the Spanish words from which they have been coined as patronymics.

[43] Tuma, Tagalog, Pampangan, and Malayan for "louse."

[44] Perhaps from the Spanish conocer ("to know, understand"). For the names of the other companions, see footnotes to the preceding tale.

[45] In Spanish this word means "witch, sorceress."

[46] Whether or not these powers reside in the men themselves, who have acquired them through practice, or in magic objects which they find or are presented with. Benfey (loc. cit., p. 969) makes two distinct cycles on an entirely different basis from mine, both derived from India: the one telling of the extraordinary endowments of men; the other, of extraordinary properties of objects (i.e., magic objects). It seems to me a mistake, however, to make a cycle of this second group, for magic articles are only machinery in a story. A family of folk-tales cannot turn merely on things; the magic objects are only latently powerful until guided and controlled by the human hero.

[47] For example, "The Grateful Dead," "John the Bear," "The Child and the Hand," "The Ransomed Woman," etc.

[48] The most recent investigation of this cycle that I know of is that of W. E. Farnham in connection with the sources of Chaucer's "Parlement of Foules" (in Publications of the Modem Language Association, 32 : 502-513 [1917]). Dr. Farnham has named the cycle "The Contending Lovers," the stories of which, he says, fall into six clearly marked types. My discussion of the cycle may require some modification in the light of his study; but I have printed it here as I wrote it, some two years before Dr. Farnham's article came to my notice.

[49] For practically this identical judgment, see the Dsanglun (St. Petersburg, 1843), p. 94 (cited by Benfey, 1 : 396, note 2).

[50] Tag. for "rich."

[51] Tag. for "poor."

[52] A native dug-out or canoe.

[53] A Spanish word meaning "a woman who keeps a little shop or store [tienda]."

[54] Cañamo, ordinarily a kind of coarse cloth made from hemp. Here the word probably means the thread from which hempen ropes are made.

[55] Darak, "bran, shorts, chaff."

[56] Mungo. a small legume about the size and shape of a lentil. Same as mongo.

[57] Carreton, a heavy two-wheeled springless cart drawn by a carabao.

[58] Hacienda, a ranch of considerable extent. The fact of Pedro's living at some distance from the doctor might account for the success of the ruse.

[59] Chupa, a measure, equal roughly to about four handfuls of raw rice.

[60] Camotes, sweet potatoes.

[61] Mongo, a variety of legume slightly smaller than the lentil (same as mungo).

[62] This episode is found in a Tagalog folk-tale collected by Gardner (JAFL 20 : 304). This folk-tale, it might be noted, is based directly on a corrido, The Story of the Life of Doña Maria of Murcia, Manila, 1909. The romance has been printed in Pampango and Tagalog. Retana (No. 4166) mentions an edition between 1860 and 1898, and one dated 1901 (No. 4307).

[63] I have the text and a complete English paraphrase of a Tagalog metrical romance which combines incidents from this story with incidents from "The Adarna Bird" (supra). The romance is entitled "The Story of the Life of King Don Luis, his Three Sons, and Queen Mora. Manila 1906." Retana (Nos. 4190, 4362) cites editions 1860-98 and 1902. This story contains the quest for the water of healing, the two hermits, the flight on the eagle's back, the sleeping enchanted queen, the stolen favor and the theft of the slipper, the ransoming of the two older brothers, their treachery, the hero disguised as servant in his father's palace, the invasion by the magic queen and her recovery of her lover the hero. This story is closely related to Groome No. 55. Compare also Groome's summary of Vernaleken's Austrian story of the "Accursed Garden" (p. 232), which in some respects resembles this Filipino romance more closely than does the Gypsy tale.

[64] These were the leaves of a plant which the Tagalogs call Colis (see note 2, p. 285).

[65] Tulisanes, highway robbers or bandits.

[66] Salop, a dry measure of about fifteen centimetres cube.

[67] Carreton, a heavy two-wheeled springless cart.

[68] Sirena, a beautiful enchantress, half woman and half fish, who was supposed to dwell in certain rivers. This belief is fairly common in La Laguna province, especially in the town of Pagsanjan.

[69] One of the most common Tagalog proverbs.

[70] Novena, a devotion consisting of prayers held for nine consecutive days and asking for some special favor.

[71] Novenario, the act of performing or holding a novena.

[72] There seems to be an inconsistency here,--Clara was the mother of Idó,--or, if not an inconsistency (there might be two Claras), at least a useless and confusing repetition of names.

[73] Cintas, a holy belt worn by women.

[74] See note 1 on pagui ("sting-ray"), p. 43.

[75] Guachinango, defined by the narrator as "vagabond." The word is used in Cuba as a nickname for the natives of Mexico.

[76] While the term duende is Spanish, the other three spirits mentioned--tigbalang, iki, mananangal--are good old native demons.

[77] See footnote 1, p. 217.

[78] Same as the Cuban isabelina.

[79] The episode of a mutual cure being effected by a blind man and a lame man, we have already met with in two of the versions of our No. 6.

[80] It may be noted, in passing, that among certain of the Tagalogs the pestilence (cholera particularly) is personified as an old woman dressed in black, who goes about the town at night knocking for admittance. If any one pays attention to her summons, the result is fatal to him. This evil spirit is known as salut.

[81] That is, "Purse, spit money from your throat!"

[82] Compadre and comadre, the godfather and godmother of one's child.

[83] That is, "Goat, leap about!"

[84] That is, "Table, spread yourself!"

[85] That is, "Cane, whip!"

[86] (Spanish) "At him, cudgel!"

[87] Capitan. In the Philippines this word is used as a title of address to a justice of the peace (gobernadorcillo). It is also used to designate the office itself.

[88] "Golden," in this story, does not mean merely "of the color of gold," but also "made of gold."

[89] Banca, a native dug-out.

[90] Boroka, apparently a corruption of the Spanish bruja ("witch").

[91] Coles,--Memecylon edule Roxb. (Melastomata taceæ), a common and widely distributed shrub in the forests, with small purple flowers and small black or purple berries. It is found in the Indo-Malayan region generally.

[92] For this very old symbol of beauty and noble lineage, see Prato, Zeitschrift für Volkskunde, 5 : 376; 6 : 28.

[93] Mangrove tree.

[94] The Filipinos have many mocking children's rhymes making fun of personal deformities, such as pock-marks, cross-eyes, very black skin, etc. They always raise a laugh when recited.

[95] The Arabian story, I believe, is well worth study in connection with the theory of the Buddhistic origin of this cycle. The rôle of the ape; the conflict between the good and bad jinn, the ape belonging with the latter group; and the narrator's statement, "All this I have received from the bounty of God, whose name be exalted!"--suggest at the base of this version the struggle between Buddhism and Mohammedanism; with Mohammedanism triumphant, of course.

[96] Bayluhan (from the Spanish baile), "a dancing-party." Katapusan (Tag.; from tapus, "end, finish"), a fiesta given nine days after the death of an adult, or three days after the death of a child.

[97] Silong, the ground floor of a Filipino house. Usually it has only a dirt floor, and is not finished off.

[98] The narrator has probably made the original episode a little more delicate here. There are inconsistencies in the present form of the story: a lizard would feel cold, not hot; besides, it would hardly remain clinging to Juan's coat as he rushed through the forest. Clearly, something other than a lizard fell on Juan.

[99] Tuntung is the earthen cover of an earthen pot. The verb derived from it, tuntungan, has two meanings: one is "to cover something," the other is: to step on or over something." Hence Juan's mistake.

[100] Unfortunately this work is inaccessible at present, and I am unable to indicate definitely its episodes. It contains nothing unique, however.

[101] Mangla, big land-crabs.

[102] Cagang, small land-crabs.

[103] Bataktak, non-edible frogs.

[104] Hu-man, land-snails.

[105] Aninipot, fireflies.

[106] Lamoc, mosquitoes.

[107] Camanchile, Pithecolobium dulce Benth. (Leguminosæ), a native of tropical America; introduced into the Philippines by the Spaniards probably in the first century of Spanish occupation; now thoroughly naturalized and widely distributed in the Archipelago.

[108] Bathala, the Supreme Being of the ancient Tagalogs.

[109] This and the serial numbers following refer to corresponding numbers of tales.

End of Project Gutenberg's Filipino Popular Tales, by Dean S. Fansler