Manca bore a very strong resemblance to her brother," and for the first
time Uira looked away from Quito, and glanced questioningly at Juan.
The boy nodded. "Go on," he said, his gaze, too, traveling to the city
of antiquity, where, centuries ago, Manca made her hitherto unrecorded
sacrifice.
"The spirited girl," went on Uira, "realized that when Pizarro had his
booty, his cowardly fear for himself would outweigh his honor, and
cause him to kill his prisoner; and so, when the day came on which
Attahualpa was to open the doors of the treasure-filled chamber,
Attahualpa lay at his home, guarded by servants, who were not to
liberate him till sundown; and Manca, garbed in her brother's clothes,
gave to Pizarro the store of wealth. As she walked home, along a
lonely forest path, she received the poisoned arrow intended for
Attahualpa. He, when he discovered his sister's bravery, slunk off to
the mountains, with never a thought of the rumors which would forever
darken his name. Thus Manca's life, by the sacrifice of which she had
hoped that she might keep bright the fame of her brother, was given
up for the sake of a coward's reputation. By crediting herself with
the surrender of the wealth, she had intended that Attahualpa, though
he had been defeated in battle, should still remain the hero of the
Incas."
There was a pause. The man and the boy both were now staring down at
Ecuador's capital city, whose pillars seemed to be floating in the mist
just rising from Pinchincha's side.
"As you said, it is not a pretty legend. But don't you think, Uira,
that Manca must have been very beautiful?"
--Dorothea Knoblock.
=The Place of the Red Grass: or, The Invasion of Pangasinan by the
Ilocanos=
Long before the Spaniards discovered the Philippines, there was war in
Luzon among the Pangasinan and Ilocano tribes. Each tribe had powerful
chiefs of remarkable courage and bravery. It was believed that they
were sons of gods, and possessed magical power. Among them was Palaris,
the distinguished chief of the Pangasinanes, and Lumtuad, the skillful
chief of the Ilocanos. These rulers were neighbors and the army of the
one plundered the towns of the other. On account of this reason and
also of the ambition of each to enlarge his dominion, a war broke out.
Lumtuad collected three hundred ships in Laoag, Ilocos Norte. These
ships were loaded with his chosen men armed with bolos, spears, and
bows and arrows. These ships sailed toward the south, and entered the
Gulf of Lingayen, Pangasinan. Palaris and his army went to meet them.
At first, the battle took place on the water. Lumtuad showed his skill
to his enemy. He fought jumping from one ship to another. Unfortunately
he was shot by an arrow and fell into the water. After his death, his
soldiers fought furiously, and drove back the enemy into the town.
When the invading army had landed all its forces, it pursued Palaris's
army as far as Mangaldan, a town fifteen miles from Lingayen. When
Palaris foresaw the future defeat of his army, he escaped into a sugar
field. There by Lumtuad's scouts he was found sleeping. They thrust a
lance through the middle of his body. But Palaris whirled himself free
from the lance, killed some of these soldiers, and pursued the rest
until his last breath was gone. He was then succeeded by his lieutenant
Afilado, and the battle was renewed. Afilado's forces were entirely
defeated and those who survived were killed outright. A river of blood
flowed from the spot where the battle took place, and the grass that
grows there today is red. The place where Palaris was struck was named
after him.
After the war the victorious Ilocanos settled in the province of
Pangasinan; so that now they constitute a greater number in population
than the Pangasinanes themselves.
--Sixto Guico.
III. The Fairy Tale
[The attitude toward fairy stories]
"From Ghoulies and Ghoosties, long-leggetty Beasties, and Things that
go Bump in the Night, Good Lord, deliver us!" the quaint old litany
pleads, and is probably better representative of the attitude of
primitive peoples toward the extraordinary personages of the sub-world
than is our more modern and debonair view. We have come to look upon a
fairy story as a mental holiday, to enjoy which the narrator and the
listener are off on a picnic. But not so do the unsophisticated folk
think of the events. The grown-up primitive man believes more seriously
in the tricks of goblins and sprites than do our most credulous modern
children. To him, the good or malicious influence of the nunu or
ticbalan is not a fiction, but a reality that must be reckoned with.
Luckily he can reckon with it; for even in the earlier folk tales the
fairies are not generally immortal, and they do not have unlimited
power.
[Fundamental characteristics of fairies]
One chief characteristic that distinguishes these extra-natural beings
from the gods is that the extra-natural are for the most part small and
belong to the under-world. They are not so much superhuman as other
than human. They may be checked or outwitted or even finally overcome.
They have power to tease a man, though not the power utterly to destroy
him. A pixy may cast a spell, but not forever. Jack-o-lantern, or
Will-o-the-wisp, may lead astray into a bog and may hope that his
victim be not a good wader, but the trick and the malicious wish are
the extent of the evil. The victim usually in the end escapes. If he
perishes, he has forgotten his charms or neglects to say his prayers.
There is a somewhat well-fixed literary atmosphere for English fairy
stories and allusions. As we have said, they must have about them the
air of holiday. The English elfin people are a merry folk from the
dainty queen to the clumsiest boggart, and enjoy a bit of fun even at
their own expense,--though, to tell the truth, the joke is usually the
other way.
If you wish to write an original narrative about these charming
creatures, the best way to prepare is to get acquainted with them.
No doubt you know where some of them live. Perhaps only this morning
you chanced upon a forgotten hammock left swinging between two stout
little sprigs of grass where a fairy had slept, or maybe last night
you clearly heard the tinkle of pranckling feet and were too lazy
or indifferent to go to the window to catch a glimpse of a wondrous
sight. I pray you, if you have the chance again, join the masquerade,
remembering only that if Oberon asks you why you are there, you must
speak out frankly. His promise is
"We fairies never injure men
Who dare to tell us true."
Oh, yes, one more thing to remember! Leave before cock-crow if you
expect to bring your wits with you.
If you are afraid to try the experiment of original sightseeing and
fear Sir Topas's fate, do the next best thing. Seek out somebody who
has witnessed a fairy revel, or been at a brownies' banquet, has
outtricked a bogie, or propitiated an angry gnome, or, best of all,
likely, has made a little green cloak and hood for the lubber-fiend
of the kitchen hearth, and has seen him fling himself out-of-doors in
high glee to return no more except with good luck. Watchers who have
seen these things, I dare say, will have much to tell you. Get their
narratives.
The Filipino fairies are not so winsome as the English, but they are
far more actual. The English fairies are "but mortals beautifully
masquerading," says Mr. W. B. Yeats. He could find no fault with the
Filipino fairies; for they are potent forces. Like the Irish deenee
shee, the Filipino supernatural beings are thoroughly believed in by
the peasants, and, like the Irish creatures, the Malayan are not always
small, but may be small or large at will. Some of their manifestations
are indeed gruesome; a few are harmless or even helpful; all are very
interesting.
The educated young people of the Philippines have a mission to perform
for the native fairies. It has become the fashion in some places to
frown upon the unseen folk and to attempt to drive them out. The
endeavor is commendable so far as it discriminates. The bad fairies
should go. The wholesome ones should stay. They should stay for the
sake of future native poetry and for the sake of all the little brown
children who love stories.
[Northern fairies and their attributes]
A bare list of the names of fairies and subhuman beings is inspiring.
In the Norse countries there are dwarfs, known also as trolls, kobalds,
goblins, brownies, pucks, or elle-folk. It is said that 'they are
less powerful than gods, but far more intelligent than men; that
their knowledge is boundless and extends even to the future. They can
transport themselves with celerity from one place to another, and love
to hide behind rocks and repeat the last words of every conversation
they overhear. Echoes are known as dwarfs' talk. A Tarnkappe each one
owns, a tiny red cap which makes the wearer invisible. Dwarfs are ruled
by a king spoken of in various northern countries as Andvari, Alberich,
Elbegast, Gondemar, Laurin, or Oberon. He dwells in a magnificent
subterranean palace and owns a magic ring, an invisible sword, and a
belt of strength. His subjects often fashion marvelous weapons and
girdles. In general, dwarfs are kindly and helpful: sometimes they
knead bread, grind flour, brew beer, and perform countless other
household tasks; sometimes they harvest and thresh grain for the
farmers. If ill-treated or turned to ridicule, these little creatures
forsake the house never to come back to it again. Sometimes they take
vengeance by means of changelings. Changelings are the weazened and
puny offspring of the dwarfs which they substitute for unbaptized
children that they steal from people who have offended them. The
dwarfs, envious of the taller stature of the human race, desire to
improve their own, and so consider it good morals thus to make their
enemies their benefactors.'
Fairies, elves, and ariels include all the small creatures who are
fair, good, and useful. They have their dwelling-place, it is said,
'in the airy realm of Alf-heim (home of the light-elves), situated
between heaven and earth, whence they can flit downwards whenever they
please, to attend to the plants and flowers, sport with the birds and
butterflies, or dance in the silvery moonlight on the green.' They have
golden hair, sweet musical voices, and magic harps. These gentle aerial
beings, scholars say, were introduced into Europe by the Crusaders and
the Moors of Spain. Before that time the creatures of the North had
been cold and ungenial, like their heath-clad mountains, chilly lakes,
and piny solitudes; but after the advent of the Peri of the East, who
live in the sun or the rainbow and subsist on the odor of flowers, the
Northern elves took on more winning attributes and finally became
beneficent and beautiful.
Many of the stories in the so-called fairy books are technically
not fairy stories but nursery sagas, as we use the term today; for
instance, most of those in Miss Mulock's "Fairy Book" and the larger
part in the "Blue and the Green Fairy Books." They are English, French,
German, and other _Märchen_ retold. Jean Ingelow's "Mopsa the Fairy"
has a good-sounding title for a typical fairy book, though the material
seems to be literary rather than traditional. Brentano's creatures
in translation surely bear literary names, whatever they have in the
original. Dream-my-Soul and Sir Skip-and-a-Jump are suggestive of
the pen. But Puck of Pook's Hill comes near to being of the solid
traditional Northern type--at least in declaration. He says he is
the oldest Old Thing in England--very much at your service if you
care to have anything to do with him; but, by Oak and Ash and Thorn,
he hates the painty-winged, wand-waving, sugar-and-shake-your-head
set of imposters! He is for Wayland-Smith and magic and the old days
before the Conquest. Charles Kingsley's Madam How and Lady Why are
noble fairies without dispute--really goddesses; yet, strange to say,
they have revealed themselves to a pedagogue and have permitted their
work to be the subject of lectures. Still, they are companionable and
wholesome and none the less marvelous than their more common sisters.
This is an interesting contamination of genres--the pedagogical
narrative combined with the fairy tale. Usually the combination is not
so happily made.
[How to proceed to write a fairy-tale]
If a writer cares to attempt a new "old" fairy tale of the real sort,
he might observe the following more specific suggestions, which were
written out before "Puck of Pook's Hill" came into the hands of the
author of this book, but which happen to express fairly well what might
be deduced as Kipling's procedure. (1) Decide on the country in which
the events are to take place. (2) If you are not already familiar
with that country through the medium of traveling or residence, make
yourself familiar with it by reading. The more you know about the
common people and their superstitions, the better your story will be.
(3) Make lists of names of the good and bad spirits of that country
together with their occupations and powers. (4) From these lists pick
out the being you are going to treat as your chief personage and
clearly define to yourself its relation to the other spirits. (5)
Then weave about this personality a series of events for which it is
directly or indirectly responsible. (6) Be sure to make the fairies
or spirits of the other world the chief actors. If living man comes
in, he must be simply the object to whom they offer their favors or on
whom they play their pranks or wreak their vengeance. It is the doings
of the fairies or of the beings of the extra-natural world that you
must make your reader interested in. (7) If you care to write a weird
fairy tale, select the unpleasant spirits and proceed; but be sure not
to make your story revolting instead of weird. A good weird tale is
the work of a master and pleases because of its art. A horrible story
any bungler can tell. (8) Finally, remember the working definition:
[Summary definition] A fairy tale is a narrative of imaginary events
wherein the chief actors are beings other than man and the gods--beings
who have power to help man or to tease and molest him, but not the
power utterly to destroy him.
PARTIAL LIST OF FAIRIES, GOOD AND BAD, OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES:
=Northern Fairies=
Duergar, or Dwerger--Gotho-German dwarfs, dwelling in rocks and
hills; noted for their strength, subtlety, magical powers, and
skill in metallurgy. They are personifications of the subterranean
powers of nature.
Kobold--a house-spirit in German superstition; same as English Robin
Goodfellow, or Puck.
Nick--a water-wraith or Kelpie. There are nicks in sea, lake, river,
or waterfall. Sometimes represented as half-child, half-horse, the
hoofs being reversed.
Nis, or Nisse--a Scandinavian fairy friendly to farm-houses.
Trolls--similar to Duergar; dwarfs of Northern mythology living
in hills and mounds. They are represented as stumpy, misshapen,
humpbacked, inclined to thieving and fond of carrying off children
or substituting one of their own offspring for that of a human
mother. They are said to dislike noise very much.
Stromkarl--a Norwegian musical spirit, like Neck.
=Irish and Scotch Fairies=
Banshee--domestic Spirit of certain Irish or Highland Scotch
families; supposed to take an interest in their welfare.
Boggart (Scotch)--a local hobgoblin or spirit.
Bogie (Scotch, Welsh, and Irish)--a scarecrow, a goblin.
Brownie--the house spirit in Scottish superstition. Called in England
Robin Goodfellow. Farms are his favorite abode.
Jack-a-lantern--a bog or marsh spirit who delights to mislead.
Lepracaun, or Leprechaun (Irish)--a fairy shoemaker.
=Filipino Fairies and Other Minor Supernatural Creatures=
The list that follows is necessarily very brief, for every tribe of the
Philippine Islands has its host of mischievous creatures, whose chief
delight is to annoy or frighten men. Others are of a more malignant
nature, however; some cause sickness; some insanity; and occasionally
some cause death, for the Filipinos as well as the Hungarians have
their vampires.
The name of the tribe in which the belief in the spirit is most common
is given in parentheses after the description:
Salut--the spirits of pestilence in general and cholera in
particular. They are described as tall, thin persons dressed in
flowing black robes, who walk the streets at night and knock at the
doors of the houses to which they wish to carry death. (Tagalog,
Pampango, Bicol.)
Matanda sa punso--a little old man who lives in a mound of earth. He
loves children, and is willing to help those who respect him and
his house. (Tagalog.)
Lampong--a tall harmless creature with a horse's head and feet but
a man's body. He lives in the woods, can travel very rapidly, and
is deathly afraid of a rosary. He possesses some magic power.
(Pangasinan.)
Camana--an evil spirit that lives in gloomy places. It can assume the
form of any small animal, or can make itself invisible. If a person
who comes across the camana does not propitiate it with food or
something entertaining, he will become sick; and he can be cured
only by an old woman who is a manganito. (Parts of Zambales.)
Patianak--Accounts about patianak are very contradictory. It is most
commonly believed, however, to be a mischievous fairy that assumes
the form of a small child and misleads travelers at night. It has a
mirthful laugh that is very attractive. The only way for the victim
to drive the fairy away and to find the right road is for him to
take off his coat and wear it inside out. (Tagalog and Bicol.)
Mamamarang--a sorceress who fights with travelers in lonely places
and tries to kill them that she may eat them. (Visayan.)
Managbatu--a spirit in the form of a man, which lives in trees and at
midnight throws stones and clods at the houses near his dwelling.
He can cause sickness to those that try to injure him. (Cagayan.)
Cafre--an enormous black man that smokes long cigars. He does very
little harm, but delights in frightening people. Some say he can
transform himself into almost anything from a pig to a ball of
fire. He appears only at night, of course. (Pampango, Tagalog,
Bicol.)
Tigbalang--a demon who lives in trees, especially the baliti tree.
His body is covered with long hair and one of his feet is a horse's
hoof. His chief delight is to lead people astray and make them
crazy, or to ravage banana plantations, to empty water jars, shake
houses, and disturb people generally. (Tagalog.)
Tigabulak--a demon who in the form of an old man entices children
with candy and cakes. After he has led them far from home, he puts
them in a sack and carries them to his dwelling. Then he kills them
and makes money out of their blood. (Tagalog.)
Caibaan--little mischievous field spirits who play tiny guitars.
They steal dishes and hide them, and indulge in other pranks.
(Pangasinan and Ilocano.)
=Russian Fairies and Witches=
Domovoy--the Russian brownie that lives behind the stove. If he is
neglected, he waxes wroth and knocks the tables and benches around
at night.
Baba-yaga--an ogress who lives on the edge of the forest, in a hut
built so as to turn with the wind like a weathercock.
Rusalki--water sprites.
Vodianoi--river genii.
Lieshii and the Liesnik--forest demons.
Vampires--ghosts who steal by night from their tombs, and suck the
blood of the living during their sleep.
=Arabian Fairies and Witches=
Jinn--a sort of fairies of Arabian mythology--the offspring of fire.
(The singular of jinn is jinnee.)
Afreet--a sort of Arabian ghoul or demon--the epitome of what is
terrible and monstrous in Arabian superstition.
Peri (plural of Peris)--Peri are delicate, gentle, fairy-like beings
of Eastern mythology, begotten by fallen spirits. With a wand they
direct the pure in mind the way to heaven.
=Miscellaneous Fairies and Other Supernatural Creatures=
Esprit Follet--the house-spirit of France.
Familiar spirit--a spirit or demon supposed to be summoned by a
necromancer or a soothsayer from the unseen world to attend upon
him as a servant.
Fay--the French word for fairy, anglicised.
Gnome--one of a fabulous race of dwarfed and misshapen earth-spirits
or goblins, reputed to be special guardians of mines and miners.
(<French _gnome_, from the Greek.)
Hag--a forbidding or malicious old woman; a witch. (<A. S. _haegtes_,
a fury.)
Hamadryad--a wood-nymph fabled to live and die with the tree she
inhabited, the oak being considered as the tree preferred. (Greek
mythology.)
Hornie, or Horny--the devil; so called because commonly represented
with horns.
Imp--an evil spirit of low rank; a small, puny, or contemptible
devil. (Russian folk tales often make use of this spirit.)
Undine--a female water-spirit without a soul, with which she might
be endowed only by marrying a mortal and bearing a child. (<Latin
_unda_, wave.)
Werwolf--a person who, according to mediæval superstition, became
voluntarily or involuntarily a wolf and in that form practiced
cannibalism. (<A. S. _wer_, man + _wulf_, wolf.)
Wraith--a fantom of a living person, supposed to be ominous of that
person's death.
Lamia--a female demon or vampire that enticed youths and fed upon
their flesh and blood. (Classical mythology.)
Merrow--a mermaid. (Irish mythology.)
Monaciello--the house-spirit of Naples.
Nightmare--an evil spirit once supposed to oppress people during
sleep. Called also Incubus. (<A. S. _niht_, night + _maere_, a
nightmare.)
Ogre--a demon or monster that was supposed to devour human beings.
(<French _ogre_. The derivation is uncertain.)
Ouphe--an elf or fairy. (<the Scandinavian. A variation of _oaf_ =
elf.)
Pigwidgeon--a very small fairy.
Sprite--a spirit of the earth or air.
Sylph--originally, a being, male or female, living in and on the air
and intermediate between material and immaterial beings. (Used by
Paracelsus. The word is undoubtedly of Greek origin.)
=The Boggart=
In the house of an honest farmer in Yorkshire, named George Gilbertson,
a Boggart had taken up his abode. He here caused a good deal of
annoyance, especially by tormenting the children in various ways.
Sometimes their bread and butter would be snatched away, or their
porringers of milk be capsized by an invisible hand; for the Boggart
never let himself be seen; at other times the curtains of their beds
would be shaken backwards and forwards, or a heavy weight would press
on them and nearly suffocate them. The parents had often, on hearing
their cries, to fly to their aid. There was a kind of closet, formed
by a wooden partition on the kitchen stairs, and a large knot having
been driven out of one of the deal boards of which it was made, there
remained a hole. Into this one day the farmer's youngest boy stuck
the shoe horn with which he was amusing himself, when immediately it
was thrown out again, and hit the boy on the head. The agent was, of
course, the Boggart, and it soon became the children's sport (called
_laking with Boggart_) to put the shoe horn into the hole and have it
shot back at them.
The Boggart at length proved such a torment that the farmer and his
wife resolved to quit the house and let him have it all to himself.
This decision was put into execution, and the farmer and his family
were following the last loads of furniture, when a neighbor named John
Marshall came up: "Well, Georgey," said he, "and soa you're leaving
t'ould hoose at last?" "Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I'm forced tull it; for
that villain Boggart torments us soa, we can neither rest neet nor
day for't. It seems loike to have such a malice again t'poor bairns,
it ommost kills my poor dame here at thoughts on't, and soa, ye see,
we're forced to flitt loike." He scarce had uttered the words when a
voice from a deep upright churn cried out: "Aye, aye, Johnny, we 're
flitting, ye see." "Od hang thee," cried the poor farmer, "if I'd known
thou'd been there, I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it's no use,
Mally," said he to his wife, "we may as weel turn back to t'ould hoose
as be tormented in another that's not so convenient."
From "English Fairy and Other Folk Tales." Selected and edited by
Edwin Sidney Hartland (Walter Scott Pub. Co.).
=Cafre and the Fisherman's Wife=
Once in the little village of Babancal there lived a happy couple. They
were poor and it was necessary for them both to work for their living.
The husband's occupation was farming during the wet season and fishing
during the dry season. The wife kept the house, helped the husband in
some of his work, and in addition, made mats of _buli_, _pandan_, or
_ticay_, and sacks of _buli_.
One night, at about six o'clock after a slight supper, when it was
_dolom_ (moonless), the husband went to fish. The wife remained alone
at home and sat waiting for the husband, and, at the same time, making
a mat. The house was lighted with a home-made lamp of bamboo and earth.
The lampwick of ragged doth dipped in oil made from the fruit of the
bitaog tree gave a very poor light.
At about midnight some one threw a _dalag_ (a kind of fish) through
the window. The wife was frightened and surprised. In a minute she
recovered herself.
"Come in, Gregorio," she said, for she thought her husband was outside.
No one answered.
"Stop this nonsense. You know it is late now," she said angrily. "You
had better come in and let us cook the fish and eat our supper." She
did not rise from her seat and went on with her work.
In a few minutes a rod with another _dalag_ hanging on it was thrust
into the room. The fish fell on the floor before her.
"Oh, how foolish! Come in, I say," she said.
Hardly had she uttered the last word when the fish on the hook came
down upon her head. She muttered some oaths and tried to catch the fish
and take hold of the rod. But before she could do so, it was raised.
Then she got up, took the lamp, and went to the window.
When she peeped out, she saw Cafre, the Spirit, grinning at her. His
smile showed his large white teeth, forming a strong contrast with
his dark complexion and the darkness of the night. The woman was
frightened. She trembled and could not move an inch. She bent down her
head to avoid his gaze. At last when she raised her eyes, he was gone.
--Benito C. Ebuen.
=The Friendship of an Aswang and a Duende=
About a half mile from Noveleta there is a small pond. The tall bamboo
trees that grow at the edge of the water bow their heads toward each
other so that they form a complete vaulted arch over the pond. There
are but small spaces left between the thick leaves above and so the
sunshine can hardly go through them. The lilies, the sea weed, and
the falling leaves of the bamboo trees, decaying under the water have
deposited a deep layer of sediment.
A long time ago a shooting meteor from heaven fell on the water of
this pond. This meteor bore within it a beautiful nymph named Bituin.
Her slender white body, whose skin was very delicate, was covered with
beautiful leaves of the lilies whenever she came out of the water.
Every night numberless fireflies lighted her dwelling with their fresh
rays. Bituin had a large diamond, which she always put on a floating
leaf at the center of the pond to serve as a light when it was dark.
Bituin had no neighbors for a number of years, and so she was not
familiar with the form of man. However, as time glided on she was known
by many, who began to love her. She did not dare to speak with men,
because she was not familiar with the ugly complexion of the skin of
mortals. One night an aswang was passing by this pond, and he heard the
musical vibration of the bamboo leaves in harmony with the whistling
sound of the wings of fireflies. He stopped and admired the beautiful
nymph, who was sitting on the water, watching the wonderful rays of
light from her large diamond. He was led to wonder at her beauty, and
he fell in love with her. He asked Bituin to approach him, but his
words had hardly died from his ugly lips when Bituin upon hearing his
unfamiliar voice disappeared. There began the sadness of this aswang.
Every night he passed by the pond only to see and to speak with Bituin,
the beautiful and elusive nymph. Yet all his hopes and efforts were in
vain.
This aswang laid himself to die near a heap of hay. Here lived an army
of small men called duendes. The duendes are usually good to those who
are very strongly in love with women. At midnight one of these little
creatures came out of the hay with a flute longer than himself. Little
duende blew the flute, and the aswang thinking that the sweet vibration
of the air came from the lips of Bituin, at once raised up his head and
looked around. Aswang being a wild man said, "How is it that you little
duendes are so troublesome?" "Master," said the little duende, "I came
here to restore the broken heart of a lover and it is you." "How now
can you comfort me?" said the aswang. "Come with me," said the little
duende, "and show me where Bituin lives."
So they started toward the pond. On their way the duende, being as
small as a little doll, often lost himself from the sight of his friend
aswang. The duende was full of fun and jokes, and he was happy all
the way. When they came near the pond little duende jumped over the
thorny bushes that fringed the dwelling of Bituin. Now he rode on a
lily leaf floating on the water, and he was singing a song at the same
time that he was playing on his flute. He gathered some lily flowers
and put one of them on his head. Duende skipped over the sea weeds as
light as could be. Strange to say, the attractive music caught the
ears of Bituin, and so she appeared before the duende. The music was
so sweet, so charming, and so pleasant to her ears that fear of such
a being never entered her thoughts. She approached the little duende,
but he would not allow her to touch his enchanting flute. Aswang could
not come inside. He tried to jump over the bushes, but he knew that he
could not. All at once he roared with a sharp tone that put Bituin to
flight, and she never returned again.
Duende blamed the aswang for roaring, but the broken-hearted aswang
in anger said, "Why did you not catch hold of her?" Duende did not
answer and tried to flee, but aswang held him by the neck and tore him
to pieces. So from that time on the duendes have not often been heard
of; and, if they ever come, they do evil things and cause misfortune
to little children. None of the aswangs since has ever been afraid of
small creatures.
--Emanuel E. Baja.
=A Tianac Frightens Juan=
One harvest day, one of our neighbors, whose name is Juan, built a nipa
hut on a farm amid his rice plantation. There he slept alone during the
harvest time to look after his grain.
One night about twelve o'clock he began to feel the cold north wind,
and the leaves began to rustle. By and by the wind stopped. He tried
to sleep, but he could not, for the mosquitoes were too thick. He then
went out of his hut and gathered some dry twigs and grasses and made
a small fire to drive the mosquitoes away. When the fire began to
kindle, he sat before his hut, facing a small hill. Not long afterward
he heard the laughing of a child from the top of the hill. The child
seemed to be very happy, for it laughed as hard as it could. Juan then
began to wonder who the child was, for he knew that no one was living
near him. Soon the laughing grew louder and louder and Juan began to be
frightened. He supposed that the child was approaching him, but at once
the laughing stopped and again everything was silent about the field.
He looked around him several times because he did not know what kind of
creature that child was, and he feared that she might take hold of him
from behind.
While Juan was thinking of what to do, a girl with white complexion and
golden hair appeared before him laughing as hard as she could. Juan
then was about to run away and call for help, but he knew that there
was no one to help him, so he gathered all his strength and courage and
approached the girl with his _bolo_ in hand and said, "Tell me who you
are or else this night is your last." The girl did not answer him, but
continued laughing. He struck at her, but she at once vanished away
and reappeared behind him laughing as hard as she could. He struck at
her several times. He did not touch her at all and she laughed louder.
Juan then threw his _bolo_ at her and ran home shouting as he went
along calling for help, "St. John, St. Peter, St. Nicholas, come and
help me!" When he came to the forest a cricket alighted on his coat
and began to sing. He mistook it for the girl, so he ran very fast.
When he came to the town, the policemen tried to stop him, but they
could not. He tried to tell them that a girl was singing behind him,
but he was so terribly frightened that his calling to the gods confused
him, and while he was running he shouted, "St. John sings, St. John
sings, etc.," until he came to his house. His family asked him what the
matter was, but he could not speak because of fatigue. By this time the
cricket had flown away. Later the family found out that Juan had seen a
_tianac_.
--Santiago Ochoa.
=The Black Cloth of the Calumpang Tree=
Once there lived on a lonely farm about two miles from the town of San
Juan two brothers whose names were Mariano and Pedro. They were the
sons of a farmer named Rafael.
Along the road leading from this farm to the town there was not a
single house. There was a big calumpang tree by this road about a mile
from the farm. Some of its large branches almost touched the ground.
Many stories had been told about this calumpang; some said that they
saw a ghost in the form of a white dog under it; others said they saw
it in the form of a tall, thin black man sitting sideways on a big
branch with eyes as large as saucers and with a big cigar a meter long
in his mouth.
One day Mariano with his little brother Pedro went to the town to
attend a procession. It was night when they started for home. On their
way when they were out of the town, they heard a noise on one side of
the road not far from them. It seemed to them that the noise was caused
by the walking of a carabao, which was going along the road in the
same direction they were going. They could not tell whether it was a
carabao or not, for the grass was very tall. At last at an open side of
the road, where the noise was, Pedro saw a little white dog. "Mariano,
Mariano, see that little dog," whispered Pedro, touching the back of
his brother with his finger. Pedro looked at it with great surprise. He
could hardly believe that the little creature could make such a loud
noise. The oftener they looked at the dog, the larger it appeared.
Pedro now began to think that this dog was the one that somebody had
seen under the calumpang. He was afraid; he would not go behind nor
before his brother; his hair stood on end, and he felt as if he were
wearing a hat having a large brim; his heart beat faster than before,
but he said not a word. The appearance of the dog reminded Mariano of
the black man of the calumpang. For this reason he was more afraid than
his little brother.
After a while a noise was again heard on the other side of the road.
There appeared a white hog about the size of a carabao. It was also
going in the same direction as the two brothers were. The hog was
grunting, while there was seen coming from his mouth a continuous
discharge of living charcoals. The minute the boys stopped, the dog
and the hog stopped also. The two brothers intended to go back, but
suddenly they heard another noise--_pac, pac, pac_. They looked behind
them and saw a tall black horse mounted by a man dressed like the
prince usually seen in comedies. The man's feet were so long that they
almost touched the ground. The two brothers could do nothing but walk
faster, in order that the horseman might not overtake them.
When they came near the calumpang, a black cloth was extended across
the road. This cloth prevented their further advance, for it would bind
them in case they should touch it. Mariano was then so much frightened
that he could not keep from trembling. He felt as if the very hand of
the black man of the calumpang was holding his head.
"Father, father!" cried Pedro with a prolonged voice, but nobody
answered. The dog growled; the horse pounded the ground with his feet;
the hog snorted, while a greater amount of charcoal than before poured
out of its mouth; the black cloth waved, producing a sound like the
groaning of a sick man. Pedro grabbed his brother by the waist so
tightly that Mariano could hardly breathe. Then Mariano remembered that
he had in his pocket the remainder of a candle which a sexton had given
him at the procession. He quickly lighted it. Instantly the ghosts
disappeared. Mariano and Pedro reached home, but alas! they could
neither eat nor sleep, for it seemed to them as if the ghosts were
still around them.
--Eusebio Ramos.
IV. The Nursery Saga or Märchen
[Origin]
The ethnologists are not agreed concerning the history of nursery
sagas, or _märchen_, as they call them. Whether such stories as
"Jack-the-Giant-Killer" are reduced and modified forms of once greater
sagas or whether they are immature stories arrested in their growth
toward sagas, the scientists are still discussing. But happily for the
narrator, as we noticed before, the question of origin is not of prime
importance. He need consider it only so far as it helps to reveal the
distinctions of the type.
As the generic title indicates, nursery sagas are tales told to
children after lessons are done. Nobody wants instruction; nobody wants
facts. "Once upon a time in a certain village" is definite enough.
What the listener desires is action, things a-doing, Jack to kill the
giant, Cinderella to marry the prince, Tom Thumb to get safely home.
The end is always happy, no matter how many troubles the hero or
heroine encounters during the course of the narrative. The brothers
Grimm expressed their realization that such an end is essential to a
_märchen_. Their devoted scientific collecting and their charmingly
sympathetic retelling have given back not only to Germany but also to
the whole world much of its otherwise lost pleasure.
[English nursery sagas]
Good native nursery sagas are scarce in English. Many of our best
known, like Cinderella, are importations. "Jack-the-Giant-Killer" and
"Jack and the Bean-Stalk" and "Rumpelstiltskin"--or "Tom Tit Tot," as
the older version has it--are recorded, however, as of English origin.
They have been handed down verbally and in chapbooks and various other
written forms for hundreds of years.
[Distinguishing elements--the kind of hero]
The most important distinguishing element of a nursery saga is the
kind of hero. He is always human, very often sagacious of himself as
well as finally fortunate because of the aid of some supernatural
being or charm; but before the beginning of his adventure he is pretty
generally considered foolish or a lazy ne'er-do-well. He is always of
obscure origin, and is persistently ignored by history. The place where
he lives or where he performs his deeds is selected at random, is of
no practical importance, and might just as well have been any other.
If the locality is definite and the details of the story are really
pertinent, we have crossed the borderland into legend, which is very
near to nursery saga. Indeed, say the students of folk-lore, the same
story is often told in one country as a nursery saga and in another as
a dignified national epic.
[Rhymes]
The uncouth rhymes occurring here and there within the story are to
the nursery saga what the refrain is to the ballad--a sure sign of its
type. All the original tales I dare say had rhymes at first, even if
many are without them to-day.
The artificial nursery saga is not always marked off closely from the
fairy story. Some writers do not appear to have felt the traditional
distinctions; but, when a differentiation is made, it is on the basis
of the chief actor. The irresistible Alice is a true nursery saga
heroine. Whether in "Wonderland" or "Through the Looking Glass" her
adventures are her adventures, and not a fairy's. And although the
dialogue of the characters is imposed by the brilliant naïveté of the
author, it is yet clearly within our classification--as the delectable
rhymes attest.
[Repetition of situation]
Another characteristic you will observe is the repetition of situation:
Cinderella goes to the ball more than once; Jack-of-the-Bean-Stalk
visits the castle in the sky three times; the king's wife is allowed
two false guesses; and there are Cormelian's and Thunderdell's heads to
be cut off as well and Gallingantus's.
Two of our worthy literary men, G. K. Chesterton and Bernard Shaw, have
recently bandied words over the value and significance of such heroes
as Jack. When you come to write an original nursery saga, you can
decide for yourself whether you want your hero to conquer a foe greater
and stronger than he or whether you want your hero to conquer a foe
lesser than he because he himself is greater and stronger than all his
foes and conquers by the magic force of his personality. In making the
decision, however, you should remember that "greater" and "lesser" are
terms subject to a number of varying interpretations.
[Supernatural element]
After you have decided which kind your hero is to be, you must set
about making him human despite the wonderful deeds you mean him to do.
The more human, the more interesting; but he must be naturally human,
not merely philosophically so. The homeliest touches of every-day life
are exactly in keeping with your subject. No poetry here. If you have
metrics interspersed, they must be "from jigging veins or rhyming
mother wits." Nothing higher than "Fee, fi, fo, fum," or "Ninny, ninny
not," or "Be bold, be bold, but not too bold," or "It is not so, nor
'twas not so, but indeed God forbid it should be so." Although your
hero is to be human, he need not stand alone; he may have supernatural
aid. A fairy, a witch, a charm, or anting-anting may help him. Success,
of course, however, must ultimately depend upon his own bravery and
wit. What makes the nursery saga different from the fairy story is
just the element of the independence and prominence of the human hero.
If supernatural agents are present in the nursery saga, they are only
assistants: they are not the chief actors; in fact, they are usually at
first opponents. The human person is the chief actor.
Tolstoy's Ivan the Fool surely wins by the force of his personality
alone. He is one of the _pure_ fools who think no evil and therefore
make men good. Although he has the power the imps have given him to
call up soldiers, rub gold out of oak leaves, and to cure the sick, he
uses this power only for fool-wise ends: he heals beggars, gives away
the gold, and makes the soldiers sing. Despite its didactic purpose,
this is a typical _märchen_ in having the human fool hero in repeated
situations, chanting crude rhymes, and being assisted finally by the
supernatural agents that first opposed him.
[A few specific suggestions]
When you come to the writing, remember that your story is for a
child, grown-up or not grown-up, and that you must therefore make
the language simple and vivid. Use a good many crude similes and
metaphores. Be concrete in comparisons about size, shape, color, garb,
and the like. Though you select your hero with care, you need make
no fine distinctions of character, since broad strokes will be most
effective. Endow your personages, both the hero and his enemy, with a
few mannerisms and let them display these often. Get quickly into the
action of the story and keep things lively to the end.
[Working definition]
Here is the working definition: A nursery saga is a narrative of
imaginary events wherein is celebrated a hero of a more-or-less humble
origin, a child's hero, who, by his own wit and energy, together with
the possession of a charm, is enabled to do stupendous deeds, which
bring to him material happiness.
=Princess Helena the Fair=
We say that we are wise folks, but our people dispute the fact, saying,
"No, no, we were wiser than you are." But shaskas tell us that before
our grandfathers had learned anything, before their grandfathers were
born----
There lived in a certain land an old man of this kind who instructed
his three sons in reading and writing and all book learning. Then he
said to them, "Now, my children, when I die, mind you, come and read
prayers over my grave."
"Very good, father, very good," they replied.
The two elder brothers were such fine strapping fellows, so tall and
stout! But as for the youngest one, Ivan, he was like a half-grown lad
or a half-fledged duckling, terribly inferior to the others. Well,
their old father died. At that very time there came tidings from the
king that his daughter, the Princess Helena the Fair, had ordered a
shrine to be built for her with twelve columns, with twelve rows of
beams. In that shrine she was sitting upon a high throne and awaiting
her bridegroom, the bold young youth who with a single bound of his
swift steed should reach high enough to kiss her on the lips. A stir
ran through the whole youth of the nation. They took to licking their
lips and scratching their heads, and wondering to whose share so great
an honor would fall.
"Brothers," said: Vanyusha (Ivan), "our father is dead; which of us is
to read prayers over his grave?"
"Whoever feels inclined, let him go!" answered the brothers.
So Vanya went. But as for his elder brothers they did nothing but
exercise their horses and curl their hair and dye their mustaches.
The second night came.
"Brothers," said Vanya, "I've done my share of reading. It is your turn
now; which of you will go?"
"Whoever likes can go and read. We've business to look after; don't you
meddle."
And they cocked their caps and shouted and whooped and flew this way
and shot that way and roved about the open country.
So Vanyusha read prayers this time also--and on the third night, too.
Well, his brothers got ready their horses, combed out their mustaches
and prepared to go next morning to test their mettle before the eyes of
Helena the Fair.
"Shall we take the youngster?" they thought. "No, no. What would be the
good of him? He'd make folks laugh and put us to confusion; let's go by
ourselves."
So away they went. But Vanyusha wanted very much to have a look at the
Princess Helena the Fair. He cried, cried bitterly, and went out to his
father's grave. And his father heard him in his coffin, and came out to
him, shook the damp earth off his body, and said, "Don't grieve, Vanya.
I'll help you in your trouble."
And immediately the old man drew himself up and straightened himself
and called aloud and whistled with a ringing voice, with a shrill
whistle.
From goodness knows where appeared a horse, the earth quaking beneath
it, a flame rushing from its ears and nostrils. To and fro it flew, and
then stood still before the old man, as if rooted in the ground, and
cried, "What are thy commands?"
Vanya crept into one of the horse's ears and out of the other, and
turned into such a hero as no skazka can tell of, no pen describe! He
mounted the horse, set his arms akimbo, and flew, just like a falcon,
straight to the home of the Princess Helena. With a wave of his hand,
with a bound aloft, he failed only by the breadth of two rows of beams.
Back again he turned, galloped up, leapt aloft, and got within one beam
row's breadth. Once more he turned, once more he wheeled, then shot
past the eye like a streak of fire, took an accurate aim, and kissed
the fair Helena right on the lips!
"Who is he? Who is he? Stop him!" was the cry. Not a trace of him was
to be found!
Away he galloped to his father's grave, let the horse go free,
prostrated himself on the earth, and besought his father's counsel. And
the old man held counsel with him.
When he got home, he behaved as if he hadn't been anywhere. His
brothers talked away, describing where they had been, what they had
seen, and he listened to them as of old.
The next day there was a gathering again. In the princely halls there
were more boyars and nobles than a single glance could take in. The
elder brothers rode there. Their younger brother went there, too,
but on foot, meekly and modestly, just as if he hadn't kissed the
Princess, and seated himself in a distant corner. The Princess Helena
asked for her bridegroom, wanted to show him to the world at large,
wanted to give him half her kingdom; but the bridegroom did not put
in an appearance! Search was made for him among the boyars, among
the generals; everyone was examined in his turn--but with no result!
Meanwhile, Vanya looked on, smiling and chuckling, and waiting till the
bride should come to him herself.
"I pleased her then," says he, "when I appeared as a gay gallant; now
let her fall in love with me in my plain caftan."
Then up she rose, looked around with bright eyes that shed a radiance
on all who stood there, and saw and knew her bridegroom, and made him
take his seat by her side, and speedily was wedded to him. And he--good
heavens! How clever he turned out, and how brave, and what a handsome
fellow! Only see him mount his flying steed, give his cap a cock, and
stick his elbows akimbo! Why, you'd say he was a king, a born king!
You'd never suspect he was once only Vanyusha.
From "Russian Fairy and Folk Tales." Translated and edited by W. R.
S. Ralston (Hurst and Company).
=Juan the Guesser=
Once there lived a youth by the name of Juan. He was the only son of
a family and so he was dearly loved. One day his father said to him,
"Juan, you are quite old now so you have to study." "Yes, father," said
Juan obediently. Juan was then sent to a large town to school. But he
did not study; he spent all his time going to places of amusement. When
vacation was coming near, Juan bought a reader so that he could give
proof that he studied. His father was very anxious to see him and so
prepared a large fiesta in honor of his arrival. When Juan arrived,
he would not speak his dialect, and if he was asked something he just
answered "Si, señor." Everybody then was astonished; for all thought
that he had learned so much that he had forgotten his own dialect.
One day Juan threw his father's plow into a well because he wanted to
show the people that he knew how to divine. The father came to him then
and said, "Dear Juan, will you tell me where I can find the plow which
I lost yesterday?" "Ah, father!" said Juan, "there is no difficulty in
finding it; fetch my book and I will look it up." The father obeyed
instantly and Juan looked in his book and said:
"A B C, A B C,
Oh, my father's plow is lost!
A B C, A B C,
It has the well for a host."
"Well, my book tells me that it is in the bottom of the well." The
father ordered the servants to look in the well, and sure enough they
found the plow in it. The father was very proud of his son now, for he
had had a real proof of his ability. So Juan was called prophet and his
name was heard everywhere.
Once the princess of his country lost a very valuable ring, and the
king offered to marry her to the one who could find the ring. But he
ordered that anyone who might attempt and not guess rightly should be
beheaded. Many of the wise men in the kingdom attempted to guess, but
nobody was right and so they had to be killed. The rumors of Juan's
knowledge reached the king's ears, so he sent a carriage to his home
in order to bring him to the palace. Juan did not want to go because
he knew that he would surely be killed. He could not disobey the king,
however, and so he got into the carriage. As soon as he entered the
carriage he became very sad and thoughtful and repented of having
tricked his father. When they were quite near the town of the king,
Juan opened his book and groaned sadly:
"Someone is to die,
Not far from here, oh, my!"
Instantly the carriage stopped and the driver presented himself before
Juan and said, "Oh, sir! I beg you to pardon me; I am the one who stole
the princess's ring. She was washing her hands in a dish one day and
took the ring off her hand, and then threw the water away. While I was
cleaning the garden I saw it and picked it up. Kindly forgive me, here
is the ring!" Juan did not take the ring, but said, "I forgive you now;
I thought you would not tell me anything about it, and I was going to
tell the king to have you killed, for I knew, that you were the one who
stole it; my book said so. As soon as we arrive at the palace, place
the ring under the stairs and cover it with a cocoanut shell." The
driver was very happy and promised to do everything he was commanded.
Juan was received with honors in the palace and when he was asked about
the ring, he told everything about the theft of it from the information
he had got from the driver and said, "My book tells me all of this and
says that now it is under a cocoanut shell under the stairs." Everybody
went down to look for it and they found it. Once more now Juan's
knowledge was talked of everywhere. According to the king's promise, he
was married to the princess. The marriage ceremony was celebrated with
much pomp and splendor, and many kings from different countries came to
attend it.
Once a neighbor king came to Juan's country. When he went to the
palace and met the other king, he said, "If your son-in-law is really
a prophet, I propose to you a wager. I have three watermelons in my
ship; one of them has one seed, the other has two, and the other has
three. Should your son-in-law guess which has one, which has two, and
which has three seeds, I will give you half of my kingdom. But if he
fails, you will have to give me half of yours." The king was well
pleased to hear the proposal, and being confident of Juan's knowledge,
he accepted it. Fortunately, while the two kings were conversing, the
vassals of the foreign king stood near the door of Juan's room and
talked about the watermelons. One of them said, "If I were the one to
guess I would say that the smallest has three seeds, the largest has
two, and the middle-sized has one, then I should be very rich and would
be as powerful a king as our master." Juan, after hearing all that the
men had said, went to his bed and pretended to be asleep. When the
foreign king had gone away, his father-in-law went to awake him in his
room, and told him everything about the challenge. Juan said that he
was afraid of no defiance so long as he had his book. The next morning,
when the king and he went to the boat, Juan told exactly the number
of seeds in each watermelon, according to what he had heard, after
reading, or rather feigning to read, some characters in his book. The
fruits were cut open then and it was found out that Juan was right. The
king, his father-in-law, was very happy and liked Juan very much, for
he said that Juan was, without any doubt, the wisest man the world ever
knew.
Not long after this another king came on a large ship loaded with
money. He came to propose another challenge. He said that he had
three earthen jars, filled with salt, water, and vinegar. And if Juan
should guess what each contained, the load of this ship would be his
father-in-law's; but if he should fail, the king had to give him in
turn another ship full of money also. The king accepted the proposal
immediately; but Juan was very sad because he knew that the king would
order him to be beheaded if he should not guess rightly. So he decided
to commit suicide before the day when he should appear before the
contending monarchs. During the night he went down silently and threw
himself in the river behind the palace, in which the foreign ship was
anchored. He tried to drown himself, but he could not, for he knew how
to swim. He heard then some men talking in the ship, and one of them
said, "If that guesser could just know that the jar with white marking
on the neck contains salt, and the one which has the largest lid holds
vinegar, he would be the richest man on earth." Juan swam quietly back
after hearing this and slept. The next morning Juan and the king went
to the ship, and Juan, after turning back and forth the leaves of his
reader, told rightly the contents of every jar. The king was very happy
and held a large festival in honor of the wise Juan the Prophet.
Juan was afraid to hazard his life any more, so he burned his magic
volume. From that time on he never guessed any more, because he said
that his book was gone and so his knowledge, too.
--Bienvenido Gonzales.
=The Shepherd Who Became King=
Many years before the birth of Christ, when the victorious legions
of Rome were gradually conquering the then known world, there lived
in a foreign country a cruel and despotic king. He had a daughter in
the very bloom and freshness of youth. She was so beautiful that many
a young man of the country asked her father to allow him to be his
son-in-law. The suitors were so many that the king determined to marry
his daughter to somebody. But he could not find the right man. He sent
proclamations to the different provinces of his kingdom, telling the
people that he intended to marry his daughter to the man who could
accomplish three things which the king would require the competitor to
do; but if the competitor should fail to do the three things within the
required time, his head should be cut off. Many young men attempted,
but they were all killed.
Near the king's palace there was living at that time a shepherd. This
man had, since his boyhood, devoted his life to the interests of his
fellow countrymen. Everybody loved him.
One day while he was tending his sheep out in the fields, an old woman
saw him and said, "Receive this pipe as a present from me. Whenever you
want anything from any animal, blow this pipe and the desired animal
will come to you. Keep this carefully for it will be of great service
to you." The shepherd thanked her and went away. He wanted to know
whether the woman was telling the truth or not. So he blew the pipe
and said, "Come here, all the serpents." He no sooner said these words
than hundreds of serpents came to him hissing and twisting. Then he
dismissed them.
He decided to compete for the hand of the princess. So he went to the
palace in the evening and expressed his desire. "Ha! ha!" said the
king, "do you want to have your head cut off, young man?" "We will see
the result," said the shepherd proudly. "All right," said the king;
"the first thing you must do is to eat in one day all of the bread
there is to be found in my granary. You must either eat the bread or
lose your head."
"I will go to the granary now and begin eating," said the shepherd.
"Well, go!" said the king, and he told a soldier to conduct the
shepherd to the granary. The shepherd was locked up in the granary with
nobody but himself and the bread. He took out the pipe which he had
concealed under his coat. He blew the instrument and said, "Come here,
all of the rats." He had just finished his command when thousands of
rats came to him. He told them to eat all of the bread. The rats were
so numerous that all of the bread was eaten before daybreak. Not a
single crumb was left. Many rats arrived too late to get their share.
When the king and his court went to the granary in the morning, they
were surprised to see that the building which was full of bread the day
before was now totally empty. "All right," said the king, "you have to
do the second thing. You must separate in one day the grains of corn
from the grains of rice. Go to my granary, where you will find the corn
and the rice. Remember the punishment."
"All right," said the shepherd; "I'll go to the granary this evening
and begin my work."
So he went to the building where the corn and the rice were and there
he was locked up again. He then blew his pipe and said, "Come here, all
of the ants." Just then millions of ants arrived. He told the big ants
to pick up all of the grains of corn and place them on one side of the
granary. To the small ants he assigned the work of selecting the grains
of rice and placing them on the other side of the building. The ants
were so numerous that the entire work was finished before morning.
The king and his court were surprised to see that the shepherd had done
his work. "Very well," said the king, "you have to accomplish the third
and last thing and then you may marry my daughter."
"I'll do the work this afternoon," said the shepherd. "Good!" said the
king. "Come here this afternoon at two o'clock. I'll give you twelve
wild hares. Tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock you must return them to
me without a change in any of them. The number must be exact."
At two o'clock in the afternoon the shepherd went to the palace. The
king gave him the twelve hares. They were no sooner in the hands of the
shepherd than they ran away. The king and his court laughed loudly and
said, "He will not catch them. He is sure to fail in his work."
"We will see," said the shepherd proudly. He then went to his cottage.
He blew his pipe and said, "Come all of the twelve hares of the king."
He had no sooner said these words than the twelve hares came to him and
began to jump about him.
An hour later the king sent one of his servants to see whether the
shepherd was out looking for the hares or not. When the servant reached
the shepherd's cottage, he was surprised to see the hares sleeping
quietly by the side of the shepherd. The servant went back to the king
and related to him all that he saw. The king grew pale and did not
know what to do. He told the princess to go to the shepherd and try to
get one of the hares. So the princess disguised herself as a country
girl and went to the shepherd's cottage. The shepherd recognized her
immediately. Her solicitations were all in vain. At last the shepherd
said, "I'll give you one of the hares if you scrub my kitchen for me."
To prevent herself from being married to the shepherd she said "Yes."
So the shepherd told her to do her work. When she had finished her
work, the shepherd gave her one of the hares. When she was a hundred
yards from the shepherd's cottage, the shepherd blew his pipe and said,
"Come here, the hare with the princess." He had just finished speaking
when the hare ran away from the princess to the side of the cottage.
The princess was crying when she reached the palace and told the king
how she had been fooled. The king determined to get one of the hares
by means of money. So he disguised himself as a merchant, mounted a
horse with two panniers slung on the sides, and went to the shepherd's
cottage. But the shepherd recognized him at once. His solicitations
also were in vain. Even the bag of gold was useless. The shepherd would
not allow himself to be fooled. At last he said, "I'll give you one of
the hares if you wash my feet." To prevent the marriage of the princess
with the shepherd, the king agreed. So he dismounted and washed the
shepherd's dusty feet. Then the shepherd gave him one of the hares. The
King put the animal in one pannier and went away. But his undertaking
was unsuccessful. The note of the pipe and the cry of the shepherd
excited the hare, who jumped out of the pannier and ran away.
The king went to the palace with a sad face. He told his courtiers how
unsuccessful he had been, and went to his private room. The next day at
two o'clock in the afternoon the shepherd returned the twelve hares.
Not a single hare was changed.
But the king still refused to fulfill his promise. He told the shepherd
to fill a bag with all the bad words he knew. The shepherd uttered
every kind of bad words; but the bag was still empty. But one thing
came to his mind. He said loudly, "The princess scrubbed my kitchen
yesterday afternoon." The princess jumped from her seat and said, "The
bag is full."
"No," said the king. "Continue." "The king," said the shepherd,
"wa--wa--wash----" The king jumped from his throne and said, "That's
enough," and tied the bag. The marriage was then arranged and the next
day the shepherd and the princess were married.
From this time on the shepherd and princess lived happily for many
years. He succeeded his father-in-law as king.
--Vincente M. Hilario.