Although our stories are related to this large family of "Animal Child"

tales, it appears to be the Oriental branch rather than the Occidental

with which they are the more closely connected. The monkey-child, the

castle in the midst of the sea, the building of the bridge from the

mainland to the island, the retirement of the monkey and his royal

wife to live in the forest,--all suggest vaguely but unmistakably

Indian material. I am unable to point to any particular story as

source, and our tale appears to have incorporated in it other Märchen

motifs; but it seems to be faintly reminiscent of the "Ramayana." The

imprisoning or hiding of a princess, and the promise of her hand to

the one who can discover her, are found in our No. 21 (q.v.). No. 29,

too, should be compared.

Among the Santals, the theme of a girl's marrying a monkey is common

in Märchen (see Bompas, No. XV, "The Monkey Boy;" No. XXXII, "The

Monkey and the Girl;" and No. LXX, "The Monkey Husband"). In none of

these stories, however, is there a transformation of the animal into

a human being.

TALE 20

HOW SALAKSAK BECAME RICH.

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

Once upon a time there lived two brothers. The elder was named Cucunu,

and the younger Salaksak. Their parents were dead, so they divided the

property that had been left to them. In accordance with this division,

each received a cow and a piece of land. Salaksak separated from his

brother, and built a small house of his own.

Now, the rice of Cucunu grew faster than that of his brother: so

his brother became jealous of him. One night Salaksak turned his

cow loose in his brother's field. When Cucunu heard of this, he went

to his brother, and said to him, "If you let your cow come into my

field again, I shall whip you." But Salaksak paid no attention to

his brother's threat, and again he let his cow go into the field of

Cucunu. At last his brother grew so impatient that he killed the

cow. When Salaksak went to look for his animal, all he found was

its skin. As he was ashamed of his deed and afraid of his brother,

he dared not accuse him: so he took the skin and put it into a basket.

Not long afterward several hundred cows passed him along the road. He

followed them. While the herdsmen were eating their dinner, Salaksak

threw his skin among the cows. Then he went up to the hut where the

herdsmen were, and said to the chief of the herdsmen, "Friend, it is

now a week since I lost my cow, and I am afraid that she has become

mixed up with your herd. Please be so kind, therefore, as to count

them." The chief immediately went over to where the cows were. As

he was counting them, Salaksak picked up the skin, and, shaking his

head, he said, "Alas! here is the mark of my cow, and this must be my

cow's skin. You must pay me a thousand pesos, or else you shall be

imprisoned. My cow was easily worth a thousand pesos; for when she

was alive, she used to drop money every day." In their great fear,

the herdsmen paid Salaksak the money at once.

Salaksak now went home and told his brother of his good fortune. Hoping

to become as rich as his brother, Cucunu immediately killed his cow. He

took the skin with him, and left the flesh to Salaksak. As he was in

the street calling out, "Who wants to buy a hide?" he was summoned

by the ruler of the town, and was accused of having stolen the hide,

and he was whipped so badly that he could hardly walk home.

Maddened by the disgrace he had suffered, Cucunu burned the house

of his brother one day while he was away. When Salaksak came home,

he found nothing but ashes. These he put into a sack, however, and

set out to seek his fortune again. On his way he overtook an old

man who was carrying a bag of money on his back. Salaksak asked him,

"Are you going to the ruler's house?"

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

"I am sorry for you, old man. I, too, am going to the palace. What

do you say to exchanging loads? Mine is very light in comparison

with yours."

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

sacks.

After they had travelled together a short distance, Salaksak said,

"Old man, you seem to be stronger when you have a light load. Let me

see how fast you can run." The old man, having no suspicion of his

companion, walked ahead as fast as he could. As soon as Salaksak came

to a safe place along the road to hide, he deserted his companion. He

went to his brother's house, and told him that he had gotten a sack

of silver for a sack of ashes.

"Why," said his brother, "my house is bigger than yours! I ought to

get two sacks of ashes if I burn it. I think that would be a good

bargain." So he burned his house, too. Then he went through the town,

crying, "Who wants to buy ashes?"

"What a foolish man!" said the housewives. "Why should we buy ashes

when we don't know what to do with those that come from our own

stoves?" When Cucunu came near the house of the ruler, the ruler said

to his servants, "I think that fellow is the same one I bade you whip

before. Call him in and give him a good thrashing, for he is only

making a fool of himself." So Cucunu was summoned and lashed again.

Thoroughly enraged, Cucunu determined that his brother should not

deceive him a third time. He thought and thought of what he should

do to get rid of him. At last he decided to throw his brother into

the river. For this purpose he made a strong cage. One day he caught

his brother and confined him in it.

"I will give you three days to repent," said Cucunu. "Now you cannot

deceive me any more." He then left his brother in the cage by the

bank of the river.

As a young man was passing by, Salaksak began to cry out, "They have

put me into this cage because I do not want to marry the ruler's

daughter." The young man, who had vainly striven for the hand of the

girl, immediately approached Salaksak, and said, "If you will let

me take your place, so that I may marry her, I will give you all the

cows I have with me."

So by this trick Salaksak escaped. Cucunu, thinking that the man

in the cage was his brother, would not listen to what he said, but

unmercifully threw him into the river. A few days later, Salaksak

went to his brother's house, and told him that it was quite beautiful

under the water. "There," he said, "I saw our father and mother. They

told me I was not old enough to stay with them, so they sent me back

here with a large number of cows."

"Well, well!" said Cucunu, "I too must go see our parents." He then

hastened to the river, and threw himself in and was drowned. Thus

Salaksak grew rich because of his craftiness.

Clever Juan and Envious Diego.

Narrated by Pablo Anzures, a Tagalog from Manila, who heard the story

from another Tagalog from Santa Maria, Bulakan.

There were once two brothers named Diego and Juan. Their father had

died a long time before, so they lived only with their good mother. In

character these two brothers were very different. Diego, the older,

was envious and foolish; Juan was clever.

One morning, while Diego was away, Juan called his mother, and said,

"Mother, help me fool Diego! Please lie down as if you were dead;

and when he arrives, I will blow air through your nose through

a bamboo tube. As soon as you feel me blowing, get up and try to

look like a woman that has risen from the dead." His mother agreed

to do all that she had been told. Then Juan watched and waited for

Diego. When he saw him coming, he called to his mother and told her

to lie down. Then he pretended to be crying.

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

you crying?"

"Don't you see? Our mother is dead," said Juan. Then Diego felt very

sorry, and he too began to weep. Juan then said, "O brother! I remember

that I have a magic instrument that resuscitates dead persons." He

opened his trunk and took out a short bamboo tube, and began to blow

through it into his mother's nose. His mother then pretended to revive,

as she had been told. Diego rejoiced; he too was very much surprised

at his brother's possession.

The next day the envious Diego stole the bamboo tube and went to

the churchyard. There he waited for a funeral to pass by. After a

short time the funeral procession of a small boy came along. Diego

stopped it, and called to the mother of the boy, "Don't cry! your son

is only sleeping. Lay him down here, and you will soon see that he

is alive." The mother then ordered the carriers to lay the coffin on

the ground. Diego took out his bamboo tube, and, after he had opened

the coffin, he began to blow air into the boy's nose; but the boy did

not move. He blew harder and harder, but the boy remained as stiff

and lifeless as ever. Then the mother of the dead boy became angry;

she kicked Diego, and said, "You are only trying to fool us!" Diego

was very much ashamed, so he threw away the bamboo tube and ran home.

Some days later the mother of Diego and Juan became ill and died. She

left her sons two carabaos for an inheritance. As Diego was the

older, he took the fat carabao for himself, and gave the thin one

to Juan. Juan was angry: so he killed his carabao, and decided to

sell the hide. He tried to sell it in the neighboring villages,

but he could not find a buyer. He then walked on and on until he

came to a forest. Not very far off, and coming towards him, he saw

a band of Tulisanes. [65] They were on horseback, and had a large

amount of treasure with them. Juan was afraid: so he climbed a tree,

and hid himself with his hide among the branches and leaves. He

had no more than concealed himself when the Tulisanes came up and

stopped to eat under that very tree. Juan watched them closely. He

unintentionally moved the hide which was on the branch beside him,

and it fell crashing down on the Tulisanes. Frightened by this most

unexpected noise, they ran away as fast as they could, not stopping

to take anything with them. Juan descended quickly, mounted a horse,

and made off with as much as he could carry.

When he reached home, his brother said to him, "Where did you get

all those riches?" Juan replied that he had been given them by the

neighboring villages in return for his carabao-hide. Again Diego

envied his brother. He went out and killed his fat carabao and dried

its hide. Next he went to the neighboring villages and tried to sell

it; but many days passed, and still no one would buy.

Now Diego was very angry. He took a wooden box and put his brother

inside. He bound the box and carried it to the seashore. He was about

to throw it into the water when he remembered that it was not locked:

so he left it, and went back to the house to get the key. Meanwhile

a Chinese peddler selling gold rings came along. Juan heard him, and

shouted, "Chino, Chino, come and see these beautiful and precious

things inside!" The Chinaman approached, and opened the box. Juan

came out, and said, "I will put you inside, and you will see many

beautiful things in the bottom." The Chinaman was willing, so Juan

put him in and closed the box. He then took the Chino's gold rings

and ran away. Not many minutes later Diego came up, and, after locking

the box, he threw it into the ocean.

That same day, while Diego was eating his dinner, Juan came along

with some fine gold rings. Diego was astonished to see his brother,

and said, "How did you manage to get out of the box, and where did

you get those rings?" Juan answered that he sank to the bottom of

the ocean, where he saw his mother, and that she had given him all

those rings. The foolish Diego believed everything that Juan told him,

so he asked his brother to put him into a box and throw him into the

ocean. Juan lost no time in obeying. He got a box, put Diego inside,

took it to the seashore, and there cast it into the deep water. After

that Juan lived happily for many years.

Ruined because of Invidiousness.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel, a Tagalog from Jaen, Nueva Ecija,

who was told the story when he was a boy.

In time out of memory there lived two brothers, Pedro and Juan. Pedro

was rich, for he had a large herd of cattle: consequently he did not

have much use for his younger brother, who was very poor. Juan had

nothing that he could call his own but a cow. One day, disappointed

over his life of poverty, he killed his cow, and some days afterward

he set out to find his fortune. He took nothing with him but the

hide of his cow. When he reached the next town, he saw large piles of

cattle-hides in front of a butcher's shop. Late that night he stole

out secretly and put the skin of his cow in one of the piles. The

next morning he went to the shop to talk with the butcher.

"Mr. Butcher," he said, "I have come here to look for my lost cow. Have

you not killed a cow with a mark J on the right hip?"

"No," answered the honest man, "all the cows which were killed here

came from my herd out there in the mountains."

Juan stood musing for a few moments, and then said, "Let us look

through these piles of hide to see whether you killed my cow or not!"

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

When they found the hide which Juan had put there, he began to quarrel

with the man. "You must pay me five hundred pesos for my cow, or else I

shall bring a law-suit before the court against you," he said angrily.

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

"There is no use of wondering," said Juan impatiently. "You stole

my cow, and now you have to pay for it." The man, who was very much

afraid of being brought before the court, gave Juan the five hundred

pesos; and Juan went away with the money in his pocket, and the hide

on his head.

On his way home he came to a tree standing at a cross-roads. He was

very tired and thirsty, but he could not find a house where to ask

for water. He climbed the tree to look for a place to go to, but,

instead of a house, he saw a company of armed men coming down the

road. The men stopped under the tree to rest. Juan was so terrified

that he hardly knew what to do. As he was trembling with fright, the

hide fell down from the tree and frightened the men away. They thought

that it was a curse from heaven because of their misdeeds. When Juan

realized that the men were gone, he recovered from his fright and

quickly descended. There on the ground he saw a number of sacks full

of money, and, loading a horse with two of the sacks, he started for

his home town.

As soon as he reached his house, he went to his brother's to borrow a

salop. [66] Then he inserted several pesetas and ten-centavo pieces

in the cracks of the salop, and returned the measure. When Pedro saw

the coins sticking in the cracks of his measure, he said, "What did

you do with the salop?"

"I measured money," said Juan.

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

"Where did I get the money?" retorted Juan. "Don't you know that I

went to the neighboring town to sell my cowhide?"

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

very high, I suppose."

"There is no supposing about it," said Juan. "Just think! one hide

is worth two sacks of money."

Pedro, who was envious of his brother's good fortune, killed all

his cattle, old and young, and threw the meat into the river. The

he started with several carretons [67] full of hides; but he

was disappointed when he came to the town, for nobody would buy

hides. Discouraged and tired out, he returned. He found Juan living

comfortably in a fine new home. Thus Pedro lost all his property

because of his invidiousness.

The Two Friends.

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

Once there lived in a certain village two friends, Juan and

Andres. Juan, a very rich man, was tall, big, and strong; while Andres,

a very poor man, was small, weak, and short. Andres worked very hard

to earn his living, while Juan spent most of his time on pleasure.

One morning Andres went to his friend Juan, and asked to borrow one

of his mules. Juan consented, but told Andres that, if any one should

ask who the owner of the mule was, he should tell the truth. Andres

promised, and went off with the mule. He set to work immediately to

plough his small farm. Very soon two neighbors of Andres passed by,

and, seeing him with a mule, asked him where he got it. Andres said

that he had bought it. The men wondered how a poor man like Andres

could buy a mule, and they spread the news about the village. When

this news reached Juan, he was very angry, and he ordered his servant

to go bring back the mule. The animal was brought back, and Juan was

determined not to lend it to his friend any more.

A week later two of Juan's mules, including that which Andres had

borrowed, died. Juan threw the carcasses away, but Andres took the

skins of those dead mules and dried them to sell in the next town.

The next day Andres set out for the town, resting now and then on

account of his heavy load. He was overtaken by night near a solitary

house between his village and the town where he was going to sell the

hides. He knocked at the house, and asked a woman he found there for

a night's lodging. She told him that she could not do anything for him

until her husband arrived. So Andres had to wait on the road near the

house. Not long afterwards a man came towards the house. Andres went

up to him, and asked him if he was the master of the house; but the

man said he was not, so Andres had to go back to the road. From where

he was sitting, Andres could see that the woman inside was preparing

a good supper for the stranger, who meanwhile had entered. While she

and the stranger were sitting at the table, Andres saw another man

approaching in the distance. The woman hastily opened a big empty

trunk and hid the man inside, then she put all the cooked fish in

the cupboard.

When the other man, who was the husband, arrived, Andres asked for

a night's lodging, and was received kindly. While the husband and

Andres were talking, the wife told them that supper was ready, and

they went to the table to eat: but there they found nothing for them

but rice; so Andres told the husband that he had an enchanted hide,

and that they could have fish if he wished. The husband wished to see

the skin tested. Andres ordered the skin to bring a man into the trunk;

and when the trunk was opened, there was the man. Next he ordered the

skin to bring cooked fish to the cupboard; and when the cupboard was

opened, there was the cooked fish. The husband then offered Andres

a very high price for the enchanted skin, and Andres willingly sold it.

Early the next morning Andres left the house before the others were

up. It was not long, however, before the husband found out that the

skin was not magic, and he was determined to punish the skin-seller

if he should catch him again. Meanwhile Andres had returned to the

village. There he met Juan, who, noticing the money in his pocket,

asked him where he had gotten it. Andres told him that it was the price

of the skins of his dead mules, which he had sold in the neighboring

town. On hearing this, Juan went directly home, killed all his mules,

and flayed them. As he was passing by the solitary house on his way

to the town, he cried out that he had skins for sale. The husband in

the house thought that it must be the same man who had sold him the

enchanted skin, so he went down and whipped Juan nearly to death.

After this experience, Juan returned home, determined to kill his

friend. But Andres was very cunning, and avoided him. Finally Juan,

angry beyond all measure, killed the mother of Andres. When Andres

found that his mother was dead, he dressed her very well and took her

to town. Then he went directly to the town doctor, to whom he explained

definitely the sickness of his mother. The doctor immediately prepared

medicine for the patient; but just after she had been given the

medicine, he noticed that the woman was dead. Andres then accused him

of having poisoned his mother; and the doctor, fearing the consequences

if Andres should seek justice, agreed to pay him a large sum of money.

Andres returned to his village richer than ever. Juan became friendly

again, and asked him where he had gotten his money. Andres told him

that it was the price of his mother's corpse, which he had sold in the

town. When Juan heard this, he went home and killed his mother. Then

he took the corpse to town to sell it; but, as he was passing along

the street, a crowd of men began to abuse him, and he narrowly escaped

with his life.

Now, Juan was determined not to let Andres escape him. He was after

him all the time. Finally one day he caught Andres. He put him inside

a sack and carried it down to the seashore. On the way to the sea, he

saw a house, and, wishing to have a smoke, he left Andres on the road,

and went to the house to get a light. Meanwhile Andres, who was bound

in the sack, was crying out that he did not wish to marry the daughter

of the king, and that he was being forced against his will. At this

instant a cowboy with his herd of cows passed by. He heard Andres,

and said that he was willing to marry the king's daughter. Andres told

him to unbind the sack, then. He did so, and Andres put the cowherd

in his stead. Then Andres hurried away with the cows. Juan came back,

picked up the sack, and threw it into the sea. When he returned home,

he found Andres there with a fine herd of cows. He asked Andres where

he had found them, and Andres said that he had gotten them from under

the sea. So Juan, envious as ever, ordered Andres to put him in a

sack and throw him into the sea. Andres gladly did so.

Juan the Orphan.

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

There once lived a boy whose name was Juan. His parents had died,

leaving Juan nothing but a horse. As he did not have a place at home

in which to keep the animal, he begged his Uncle Diego to let the

horse stay in his stable. From time to time Juan went to the stable

to feed his horse. He loved the animal, and took as great care of it

as a father would of a son.

One day Uncle Diego noticed that Juan's horse was growing fatter and

more beautiful than any of his own animals. In his envy he killed the

horse of his nephew, and said to the innocent boy that the animal had

been stricken by "bad air." Being thus deprived of his sole wealth,

Juan cut off the best meat from the dead horse, and with this food

for his only provision he set out to seek his fortune in another

country. On his way through a forest he came across an old man dying

of starvation; but the old man had with him a bag full of money.

"Pray," said the old man, talking with difficulty in his pain and

weakness, "what have you in your sack, my son?"

"Some dried horse-meat," said Juan.

"Let me see!" The old man looked into the sack, and saw with watering

mouth the sweet-smelling meat. "Will you exchange your sack of meat

for my sack of money?" he said to Juan. "I have money here, but I

cannot eat it. Nor can I go to the town to buy food, because I am too

weak. Since you are stronger, my son, pray take this sack of money in

exchange, and go to the town and buy meat with it for yourself. For

God's sake, leave this meat to me! I am starving to death."

Juan accepted the money in exchange for his meat, and pretended to

feel great pity for the old man. He put the heavy bag of money on his

shoulder, and with difficulty carried it home. "Uncle Diego!" Juan

called out from the foot of his uncle's ladder, "come here! Please

come here and help me carry this bag upstairs!"

"Tremendous sum of money," Uncle Diego remarked to his nephew. "Where

did you get it?"

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

said Juan.

The uncle once more became jealous of Juan. "If with only one horse,"

he muttered to himself, "he could gain so much money, how much should I

get for my fifteen horses!" So he killed all the horses he had in his

stable and cut the meat from them. Then he placed the meat in bags,

and, carrying two on his shoulders, he cried as he went along the

street, "Meat, meat! Horse-meat! Who wishes to buy fresh horse-meat?"

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

the window.

"Three hundred ninety-nine thousand pesos, ninety-nine pesetas,

six and one half centavos a pound," said Uncle Diego.

The people who heard him only laughed, and thought that something was

the matter with his head. Nobody would buy his meat. Nobody cared to

deal with him in earnest, and all his meat decayed.

He went home in despair, and planned to take vengeance on his nephew

for the mischief he had done him. He cast the little orphan into

a big sack, and sewed the mouth of the little prison all up. Then

he said that at night he would take the sack and throw it into the

river. However, Juan managed to get out of the bag, and in his place

he put a muzzled dog. When night came, the uncle shouldered the bag,

took it to the river, and hurled it into the deep water. He hoped

that Juan would perish there, and that he himself could gain full

possession of his nephew's money.

But when morning came, Uncle Diego saw Juan smilingly enter the door

of his house. "Juan," said the uncle, "I am surprised to see you

again. Tell me all about how you managed to escape from the sack."

"Oh, no, Uncle!" returned Juan, "I haven't time; there is not a moment

to lose. I have only come here to bid you good-by."

"And where are you going?"

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

for me."

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

"No, no, no!" protested the boy. "Only one can go at a time. The

Sirena would be angry, and she would consequently refuse to admit to

her glorious habitation any being from this outside world."

"Then let me go first!"

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

But the uncle pleaded so earnestly, that finally the boy yielded with

pretended reluctance. The uncle then covered himself with a rice-sack,

and Juan tied the mouth of the bag securely. "I will fool him," Uncle

Diego said to himself. "When I am under the water and the Sirena

takes me to her house to become her husband, I shall never come back

to Juan. Ha, ha, ha!"

"I will fool him," Juan said to himself. "There is no such thing as

the Sirena in the river. Thank God, my dreadful uncle will soon be

disposed of!" At midnight Juan hurled his happy uncle into the river,

saying, "There is no one who owes that must not pay his debt. [69]

May my act be justified!"

The heavy sack sank to the bottom of the river, and nothing more was

heard of Uncle Diego.

Notes.

Two other variants, which were collected by Mr. Rusk, and which I

have only in abstract, run about as follows:--

Juan the Ashes-Trader.--Juan, a poor dealer in ashes, was in the woods

when he heard some robbers coming, and climbed a tree for safety. While

they were busy at the foot of the tree, counting their money, he

dropped the sack of ashes among them. They ran away in fright, and he

acquired all their gold. When the people of the town heard Juan tell

how valuable ashes had become, they all burned their houses and took

the ashes to the forest, where they arrived just in time to suffer from

the wrath of the robbers. Only two escaped to accuse Juan; but Juan

was already on a journey, doing good with his money. A dying woman,

whom he helped, gave him a magic cane; and when the angry villagers

at last found him, he summoned a legion of soldiers by means of his

cane, and all of his assailants were killed. [With the second half

of this story, cf. No. 28 and notes.]

Colassit and Colaskel.--Colassit was good but poor; Colaskel, rich

but bad. Colaskel, quarrelling with Colassit, killed the latter's

only carabao. Colassit skinned his dead animal, and took the hide to

Laoag to sell it, but could find no purchaser. At night he asked for

shelter at a house, but was refused on the ground that the husband was

away from home; yet he boldly staid under the house. At midnight he

heard the clatter of dishes above, looked up through a hole in the

floor, and saw the woman dining merrily with a man. Just then the

husband arrived home and knocked at the door. Colassit saw the woman

put her paramour into a box in the corner, and the food in another

box. Colassit now appeared at the door, and was invited in by the

hospitable husband. On being asked what was in his bag, Colassit

replied that it was a miraculous thing, which, when it made a noise,

as it had a moment before when he had stepped on it, desired to say

something. On being asked to interpret, Colassit said that the skin

told him that there was delicious food in one of the boxes. Thereupon

the food was produced. Now, it was said in the neighborhood that

this house was haunted by the Devil, and the owner thought this a

good opportunity to find out by magic where the Devil was. Colassit

interpreted for the carabao-hide. The Devil was in the other box,

he said. After tying the box with heavy ropes, Colassit started

toward the river with it. He repeated a jingle which informed the

man inside of his imminent fate. The latter replied (also in verse)

that he would give a thousand pesos ransom. Colassit accepted,

and so became rich. [The narrator says that this is only one of ten

adventures belonging to the complete story. It is a pity that the

other nine are missing.]

The cycle of tales to which all our variants belong, and which

may appropriately be called the "Master Cheat" cycle, is one of

the most popular known. It occurs in many different forms; indeed,

the very nature of the story--merely a succession of incidents in

which a poor but shrewd knave outwits his rich friend or enemy (the

distinction matters little to the narrator), and finally brings about

his enemy's death while he himself becomes rich--is such as to admit

of indefinite expansion, so far as the number and variety of the

episodes are concerned. There have been at least four comprehensive

descriptive or bibliographical studies of this cycle made,--Köhler's

(on Campbell's Gaelic story, No. 39), Cosquin's (notes to Nos. 10

and 20), Clouston's (2 : 229-288), and Bolte-Polívka's (on Grimm,

No. 61). Of these, the last, inasmuch as it is the latest (1914)

and made use of all the preceding, is the most complete. From it

(2 : 10) we learn that the characteristic incidents of this family

of drolls are as follows:--

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

a ram.

B A gold-dropping ass (or horse).

C A self-cooking vessel.

D A hat which pays the landlord.

E1 Dirt (ashes) given (sold, substituted) for gold. E2 Money which

was alleged to be in a chest, demanded from the storer of the chest.

F1 Cowhide (or "talking" bird) sold to adulteress, or (F2) sold to

her husband, or (F3) exchanged for the chest in which the paramour

is concealed, or (F4) elsewhere exchanged for money.

G1 A flute (fiddle, staff, knife) which apparently brings to life

again the dead woman. G2 The dead mother killed a second time, and

paid for by the supposed murderer.

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

a shepherd.

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

The opponents in this group of stories, says Bolte, "are either

village companions, or unacquainted marketers, or a rich and an

avaricious brother." In addition to the episodes enumerated above,

might be mentioned two others not uncommonly found in this cycle:--

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

F6 Borrowed measure returned with coins adhering to it.

As these last two occur in other stories, both droll and serious

(e.g., Grimm, No. 59; and "1001 Nights," "Ali Baba"), they may not

originally have belonged to our present group. However, see Cosquin's

notes on his No. xx, "Richedeau" (1 : 225 f.). It is hard to say with

certainty just what was originally the one basic motif to which all

the others have at one time or another become attached; but it seems

to me likely that it was incident H, the sack-by-the-sea episode,

for it is this which is the sine qua non of the cycle. To be sure,

our third story (c) lacks it, but proves its membership in the family

by means of other close resemblances.

Of the elements mentioned by Bolte-Polívka, our five stories

and two variants have the following: "How Salaksak became Rich,"

F4BE1HJ; "Clever Juan and Envious Diego," G1F5HJ; "Ruined because

of Invidiousness," F4F5F6; "The Two Friends," F2G2HJ; "Juan the

Orphan," F4H (modified) J; "Juan the Ashes-Trader," E1F5; "Colassit

and Colaskel," F3. In a Visayan tale (JAFL 19 : 107-109) we find

a combination of HJ with a variant of our No. 1. Incident D (hat

paying landlord) forms a separate story, which we give below,--No. 50,

"Juan and his Painted Hat." Incident B is also narrated as a droll by

the Tagalogs; the sharper of the story scattering silver coins about

the manure of his cow, and subsequently selling the "magic" animal

for a large sum. An examination of the incidents distributed among

the Filipino members of this cycle reveals the fact that episode A1

(hare as messenger) is altogether lacking. I have not met with it in

any native story, and am inclined to believe that it is not known in

the Islands. It is found widespread in Europe, but does not appear to

be common in India: among fifteen Indian variants cited by Bolte it is

found only twice (i.e., Indian Antiquary, 3 : 11 f.; Bompas, No. 80,

p. 242). These Indian versions show, however, that the story in one

form or another is found quite generally throughout that country, the

Santali furnishing the largest number of variants (six, in all). It

would seem reasonable to conclude, therefore, considering the fact

that at least seven forms of the tale are known in the Philippines,

extending from the Visayas to the northernmost part of Luzon, that the

source of the incidents common to these and the Indian versions need

not be sought outside the Orient. The case of incidents F1F2F3 seems

different. They are lacking in the Far-Eastern representatives of this

cycle; and their appearance in the Philippines may be safely traced,

I think, to European influence. However, an Indian source for these

incidents may yet be discovered, just as sources already have been for

so many Italian novella and French fabliaux of a similar flavor. The

fact that the earliest form of the "Master Cheat" cycle known is a

Latin poem of the eleventh, possibly tenth, century (Köhler-Bolte,

233-234), is of course no proof that elements F4G1HJ, found in that

poem, were introduced into India from Europe, though it might be

an indication.

TALE 21

IS HE THE CRAFTY ULYSSES?

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

Balbino and Alaga had only one child, a son named Suguid, who was at

first greatly beloved by them. The couple was very rich, and therefore

the boy wanted nothing that was not granted by his parents. Now,

the son was a voracious eater. While still a baby, he used to pull

up the nails from the floor and eat them, when his mother had no

more milk to give him. When all the nails were exhausted, he ate the

cotton with which the pillows were stuffed. Thus his parents used to

compare him to a mill which consumes sugarcane incessantly. It was

not many years before the wealth of the couple had become greatly

diminished by the lavish expenditure they had to make for Suguid's

food. So Suguid became more and more intolerable every day. At last

his parents decided to cast him away into a place from which he might

not be able to find his way home again.

One day they led him to a dense forest, and there abandoned

him. Luckily for Suguid, a merchant soon passed by that place. The

merchant heard him crying, and looked for him. He found the boy, and,

being a good-natured man, he took the boy home with him. It was not

long before the merchant realized that Suguid was a youth of talent,

and he put him in school. In a few weeks the boy showed his superiority

over his classmates. In time he beat even the master in points of

learning. And so it was that after only five months of studying he left

the school, because he found it too small for his expanding intellect.

By some mathematical calculation, so the tradition says, or by certain

mysterious combinations of characters that he wrote on paper, Suguid

discovered one day that a certain princess was hidden somewhere. She

had been concealed in such a way that her existence might not be known

other than by her parents and the courtiers. Suguid immediately went

to the palace of the king, and posted a paper on the palace-door. The

paper read as follows: "Your Majesty cannot deny me the fact that he

has a daughter secluded somewhere. Your humble servant, Suguid Bociu."

When the king read this note, he became very angry, as he could

now no longer keep the secret of his daughter's existence. He

immediately despatched his soldiers to look for the presumptuous

Suguid. The soldiers found the boy without much difficulty, and

brought him before the king. Bursting with anger, the king said,

"Are you the one who was bold enough to post this paper?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Can you prove what you have stated?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Very well," said the king; "if you can, I will give you my daughter

for your bride. If within three days you fail to produce her before

me, however, you shall be unconditionally executed."

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

After this brief interview, Suguid went directly home. He told the

merchant all about his plan to marry the princess.

"Why did you dare tell the king that you know where his daughter is,"

said the merchant, "when there is no certainty at all of your finding

her or of gaining her consent?"

"Oh, do not be afraid, father!" said Suguid. "If you will but

provide me with twelve of the best goldsmiths that can be found in

the whole city, I have no doubt of finding and captivating the fair

princess." As the merchant was a rich man, and influential too, he

summoned in an hour all the good goldsmiths that could be found in

the city. When all the goldsmiths were assembled, Suguid ordered them

to make a purlon. This purlon was made of gold, silver, and precious

stones. It was oblong in shape, and hollow inside, being five feet

high, three feet deep, and four feet long. Inside it were placed a

chair and a lamp. By means of a certain device a person inside the

purlon could breathe. Altogether its construction was so beautiful,

that it seemed as if it were intended for the sight of the gods alone.

When all was ready, Suguid entered the purlon, taking with him all

the necessary provisions,--food, fine clothes, a poniard, and a

guitar. Every part of the purlon was so well joined, that no opening

whatever could be detected. Before going into the purlon, Suguid

told the merchant to take the goldsmiths home, and not to allow

them to leave the house for three days, lest they should reveal the

secret. Suguid then ordered five men to carry the purlon towards the

king's palace. In the mean time he was playing the sweetest piece of

music that mortal ears had ever heard. When the purlon was near the

palace, the king was so charmed by the melodious music, that he asked

the master of the carriers to halt for a moment. "Pray," he said,

"are you the owner of that thing?"

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

"Who gave him this divine gift?"

"Your Majesty, this purlon, as it is called, is of a rather mysterious

origin. The owner of this (pointing to the purlon) was a religious

man. He was formerly very wealthy; but because he gave much alms to

the poor and the needy, his riches soon came to an end. He is now

so poor, that his silken clothes have all been exchanged for ragged

cotton ones. Early one morning, when he was about to go to the church,

he was surprised to find this purlon at his door, giving out music

as you hear it now."

The king turned to the queen, who was sitting beside him, and said,

"Oh, how happy our daughter would be if she should hear this enchanting

piece of music!--Sir, if you will lend me this purlon, you may ask

of me as a compensation any favor that you may want."

"Your Majesty, I will lend it to you with all my heart, but on

condition that it be returned within two days, lest the owner scold

me for having given it up."

"Yes," answered the king, "I will give it back as soon as my daughter

has seen it." The king and queen then immediately ordered that the

purlon be carried before the princess. The princess's joy need not

be described if we only think how happy we should be if we were in

the same situation as she. She was so bewitched by the music, that

she told her father never to take it away from her.

"O daughter!" said the king, "we have just borrowed this purlon,

and we promised to return it as soon as you had seen it. However,

you may have it the whole night."

The king and the queen, convinced that their daughter was quite happy,

soon bade her good-by. Before leaving, the king said, "You must not

spend the whole night in listening to the sweet music."

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

Suguid, who was inside the purlon, listened very carefully to the

retreating footsteps of the king and queen. As soon as he thought

they were too far away to hear their daughter in case she should cry

out, he came out from the purlon, poniard in hand. The princess,

of course, was very much frightened when she saw Suguid kneeling

before her, and saying, "Fair princess, let not my presence cause any

fear! In coming here, I had no other purpose than to reveal to you

a secret that I have long cherished in my heart. It is universally

acknowledged that you are the most beautiful, the most virtuous,

the most accomplished living mortal on earth, and as such you have

awakened in me an intense love. So, taking no heed of the danger

that I might encounter on the way, I ventured to search for you,

Lily of the Valley and Rose of the Town--to love you, to adore you as

a living saint. Your ring, my adored princess, will give me life or

death,--life, because I shall be spared from being beheaded; death,

for I have promised your father to present your ring to him within

three days as a token of your acceptance of my suit. Therefore, Queen

of Beauty, choose, your ring, or my death. I have my poniard ready,

and I prefer a hundred times to die--nay, die smiling--at your hands."

The princess was so moved by this passionate speech, that she was mute

for some time. After a difficult struggle within herself, she said,

"Seeing your intense love and devotion for me, I cannot but consent

to your proposal. Were not the matter pressing, however, I should not

give my consent in so short a time. Here is the ring, if pleasure it

will give you."

Suguid took the ring courteously, and said, "How can I paint in

words my pleasure and gratitude! As it were, you have snatched me

from the cold hands of Death. You have saved me from the fury of your

father. You have given me a heaven of joy. Oh, how shall I describe

it! I thank you very much. But now I must leave you and go into the

purlon,--the blessed purlon,--as it is almost morning. Your father

will soon come and take this purlon away. But I must let you know

this one fact: as soon as I have presented this ring to the king,

you will be taken away from here. You will be made my beloved wife."

"Yes, I have no objection to that," said the princess. Suguid, being

thus assured of his success, entered the purlon again.

Morning came, and the king and queen went to the princess's palace at

ten o'clock. They talked a while with their daughter, who assured them

of her great satisfaction with the purlon. Then they bade her good-by,

as there was important business to be transacted that day. They took

the purlon with them, and returned it to the agent.

On the appointed day Suguid appeared at the king's palace, carrying

with him the emblem of his victory,--the ring. On seeing Suguid

approaching so cheerfully, the king knew that he was lost. He therefore

swooned, but on recovering he realized that he had to abide by his

promise. He reluctantly caused the princess to be summoned from her

palace, and she and Suguid were married together; and it was not long

before the king and queen began to appreciate the talent of their

humble and lowly son-in-law. By Suguid's wise policy the kingdom

prospered, and for the first time learned what peace really meant.

Notes.

I have a variant of this story, "Juan the Poor," told more briefly,

narrated by Andrea Mariano, a Tagalog, who heard it from her little

brother. It runs thus in outline:--

Juan is the son of a beggar. The beggar dies, and the son sells himself

to a merchant for money to bury his father properly. After Juan has

been educated, he posts this sign in front of the merchant's house:

"I can trace everything that is lost.--Juan." The king sees the sign,

and requires the boy to discover his hidden daughter. Method: Golden

carriage with Juan playing music inside; old man hired to push it. The

king borrows the carriage and takes it to his daughter. When alone

with the princess, Juan declares his love, and she gives him her

ring. Next day the carriage is returned to the old man. Juan takes

the ring to the king, and is given the princess's hand in marriage

because he is so wise.

For another Tagalog variant see "The King, the Princess, and the

Poor Boy" (JAFL 20 : 307). This is almost identical with the variant

above, except that the hero is advised by two statues how to discover

where the princess is. Furthermore, the hero is discovered with

the princess after he has gained access to her by means of the gilt

carriage and music-box.

The fullest form of the story, however, is the Tagalog metrical romance

popularly known under the title "Juan Bachiller." The full title runs

as follows: "The Sad Life of a Father and of his Son named Juan, in

the Kingdom of Spain. The son sold himself to a merchant on condition

that he would bury the corpse of his father." My copy bears the date

1907, but this is merely a reprint of an older edition. Retana cites

an edition dated 1902 (No. 4337) and one before 1898 (No. 4156). The

poem is in 12-syllable lines, and contains 350 quatrains. It is still

very popular among the Tagalogs, but does not appear to have been

printed in any of the other Philippine languages. Inasmuch as there

is a close connection between our variants and the verse form of the

story, I give a prose paraphrase of the latter:--

There was once a poor beggar, Serbando, who had an only son named

Juan. They lived in the kingdom of Spain. They had a little hut outside

the city in which Serbando used to go to beg their living. One morning,

when Juan returned home from school and was playing around their

little hovel, he heard many kinds of birds speaking to him thus:

"Juan, be patient and toil in poverty. The time will come when God

will reward you." Then a large bird flew to him, and said, "Juan,

leave your little miserable hut; go and seek your fortune." When

his father returned home, Juan told him all about the advice of the

birds. Serbando did not believe that birds could talk, and doubted,

of course, the truth of what his son said.

Now, it happened that Serbando became sick, and after a short time

died, leaving his son alone in the world. Poor Juan wept bitterly over

the dead body. He did not know what to do. He covered the corpse of

his father, and then went crying out through the streets of the city,

"Who wants to buy a slave?" A merchant heard him. "I will serve you as

long as I live if you will only see to the burial of my dead father,"

said Juan to the merchant. Without hesitation the merchant assented,

and together they went to the little hut. The merchant ordered and paid

for a funeral; there was a procession, a mass, and after the burial a

banquet. Then the merchant took the boy to live with him in the city

where the king and queen lived. Moreover, this kind merchant sent Juan

to school, and treated him as a son. In time Juan took his bachelor's

degree, and was greatly admired and respected by his teachers.

One afternoon Juan put a notice on the door of the merchant's

house, which read thus: "If we use money, there is nothing we cannot

discover." It happened that on that same afternoon the king and queen

were driving through the streets of the city. The king chanced to

fix his eyes on the sign which Juan had put up. He did not believe

that the notice was true; and so, when he arrived at the palace,

he ordered the merchant to appear before him. The merchant was very

much frightened at the summons, so Juan himself went and presented

himself before the king.

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

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

"Then go and find my daughter. If you can find her, she shall be

your wife; if not, you shall lose your head three days from now,"

said the king, who hid his daughter in a secret room in the palace.

Juan went home and called all the best goldsmiths in the kingdom. He

told them to make a little wagon of pure gold, with a secret cell

inside in which a man could sit with a musical instrument and play

it. The goldsmiths finished the wagon in two days and were paid

off. Then Juan called a man and told him to drag this little wagon

along the street toward the palace, and then to the plaza. After

entering the secret cell with his musical instrument, he told the

driver to do as he had been directed. The man began to drag the wagon

along the street toward the palace. Men, women, and children crowded

both sides of the street to see this wagon of pure gold, which gave

out such sweet music. When the wagon passed in front of the palace,

the queen was amazed at it. She asked the king to summon the driver

before him. So the king called the driver, and asked him to bring

the golden wagon into the hall where the queen was.

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

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

"Can you not lend it to me until this afternoon?" said the king;

and at last the driver agreed to lend the wagon for a few hours.

The queen then dragged the wagon along the hall, and took it to her

daughter in the secret room. The princess was delighted. As she pushed

it forwards and backwards, sweet music charmed her ears. At last

Juan came out of the secret cell in the wagon and knelt before the

princess. He told her why he had been led to play this trick, and last

of all he told her that he would have lost his life on the morrow if he

had not been able to find her. He also began to express his love for

her. At first she hesitated to accept his protestations of affection;

but at last she accepted him, and gave him one of her rings as a sign

that she would marry him. Fearing that he might be caught in the room

by some one else, Juan now entered the secret cell of the wagon again.

At last the king came, and started to drag the wagon out of the palace

to the place where the driver was waiting. Juan suddenly opened the

door of the secret cell and stood before the king. "O king!" he said,

"now I have accomplished your command. I have found and seen your

daughter in the secret room, and she has given me this ring."

The king was amazed, and said to himself that, had he known that

the wagon contained any one inside, he would not have allowed it to

be brought to his hidden daughter. He said to Juan, "You have told

the truth, that anything can be discovered if money is used; but you

shall not marry my daughter."

"Remember your promise," said Juan.

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

"Whether she refuses or not, she is to be my wife, for I have seen

her and found her," replied Juan.

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

So Juan was married to the princess, and there was great rejoicing

in the kingdom. The king, however, was very sorry that his daughter

had married Juan, who had now the right to inherit the throne from

him. He could not endure the idea, so he pondered night and day how

to kill Juan under some pretext or other. Juan learned of the king's

plot, and decided to leave the city for a while. He asked his wife

for permission to go and visit the little hut in which he was born,

and at last she consented.

One day Juan left the palace and went to the country. While he was

walking in the woods near his old home, two birds flew to him. "Juan,

take this ring with you: it has magic power, and will furnish you

whatever you ask of it," said the male bird.

"Here, take this pen-point, and use it whenever the king asks you to

write for him," said the female bird. "Remember, Juan, you do not

need to have any ink; you can use your saliva," it continued. "Now

go back to the kingdom, and do not be afraid of the king's plots,"

said the two birds together. So Juan went back to the palace, and

lived there with his wife.

One day the king called Juan, and ordered him to write something. The

king thought that if Juan should make any mistakes in the writing,

he would order him to be executed. Juan used the pen-point which the

second bird had given him. The king furnished him only paper, but no

ink, so Juan used his saliva. "Write this, Juan," said the king:

"'It is not right that you should be heir to my crown, and successor

to the throne.'"

Juan wrote the words just as the king had given them, and they appeared

on the paper in letters of pure gold. The king was very much surprised

by this demonstration of Juan's ability.

Then the king continued, "Write this: 'You ought not to inherit the

crown, you who were born in a little village, and whose ancestors are

unknown.'" Juan wrote this dictation, and, as before, the letters

were of pure gold. Again the king said, "Write now what I shall say:

'You cannot cheat a king like me; you saw my daughter the princess

because you were hiding in the wagon of gold.'"

Juan wrote these words, and they were in pure gold too. The king was

now sad, for he could think of no other way in which to detect a fault

in Juan. So he dismissed his son-in-law, and showed the queen the

golden letters that Juan had written. Juan returned to his apartments.

When night came, Juan decided to ask his magic ring for a tower which

should stand beside the palace of the king. During the night the

tower was erected; it was garrisoned with field-marshals, colonels,

and soldiers. Early in the morning the king was surprised to see this

tall tower standing beside his palace. He said to himself, "I rule

the kingdom, and the kingdom is mine; this tower is in my kingdom,

therefore the tower is mine." So the king went out of the palace and

entered the tower. No one saluted him. Then he called Juan, and asked

him about the tower. Juan answered that its presence there was due to

the will and power of God. When Juan and the king together entered

the tower, all the soldiers lined up and saluted Juan, and music

was heard everywhere. Everything inside was made of solid silver and

gold. The king was astounded at the magic power of his son-in-law,

whom he was trying to kill.

"Juan," said the king, "wipe away this tower and erect at this moment

a palace in its place. If you can do this, you shall be the king of

the whole of Spain." By the magic power of the ring, Juan was able

to fulfil the command, and the tower was changed into a beautiful

palace. The council of the kingdom, at the order of the king, agreed

to crown Juan and his wife king and queen. There was great rejoicing

throughout the realm. The old king and his wife abandoned the palace,

and went to live in an abbey, where they died.

Juan now called the merchant, his former master, to the palace. The

merchant was afraid, for he feared that the king wished to do him

mischief; he did not know that Juan was now king. But Juan received

him affectionately, and from that time on the merchant, Juan, and

the beautiful princess lived together happily in the palace.

It will be noticed that the Tagalog poem differs from the three

oral versions, in that after Juan has won the first wager from

the king, his skill is subjected to further tests, which he comes

out of successfully through the aid of magic objects given him by

birds. In other words, the poem carries on the folk-tale by adding

some additional episodes. The fact that the folk-tales, both Pampango

and Tagalog, preserve the simple structure, while only the printed

Tagalog verse-form seeks to elaborate and extend the tale, suggests

that the simpler form is the older, and that the anonymous author of

the romance added to the oral material for mere purposes of length. As

it is, the poem is very short compared with the other popular metrical

stories, which average well over 2000 lines. The localization of the

events in Spain signifies nothing.

The story is known also in southern Europe: e.g., in Greece (Von Hahn,

No. 13), in Sicily (Gonzenbach, No. 68; Pitrè, Nos. 95, 96). In the

Greek version, after the hero has decided to risk his neck for the

hand of the hidden princess, he goes to a shepherd and has himself

covered with the hide of a lamb with golden fleece. In this disguise

he is taken to the princess. In the night he throws off his fleece

covering and makes love to the princess, who finally accepts him,

and tells him how he may be able to recognize her among her maidens,

all of whom, herself included, her father will change into ducks,

and then will require the youth to pick out the duck which is the

princess. He succeeds, and wins her hand in marriage. In Gonzenbach,

No. 68, the hero is one of three brothers who set out to seek

their fortunes. They each come in succession to the beautiful city

where the king has issued the proclamation that whoever can find his

hidden daughter within eight days shall receive her hand in marriage;

whoever tries and fails, loses his head. The first two brothers fail

and are killed. The youngest, arriving in the city and reading the

proclamation, determines to take the risk. He is advised by an old

beggar-woman how to find the princess. He has goldsmiths make a

golden lion with crystal eyes. The animal is so contrived that it

plays continually beautiful music. The hero hides inside, and the

old woman takes the lion to the king, to whom she lends it. Then

follow the discovery of the princess, her acceptance of the hero's

love, the token given to the hero, etc. The hero is obliged to pick

the princess out from among her eleven maids who look exactly like

her. In Pitrè, No. 95, we find practically the same incidents recorded:

two older sons of a merchant go off to seek their fortunes, and lose

their heads because they cannot discover the princess "within a year,

a month, and a day." The youngest comes in turn to the same country,

wagers his head, and searches a year and fifteen days in vain. On the

advice of an old woman, he has built a golden àcula (just what this

word means I have been unable to determine) large enough to contain

a person playing a musical instrument. Four men carry the àcula to

the palace; discovery of the princess follows. Second test: to pick

the princess out from twenty-four maidens dressed exactly alike.

In none of these three stories (nor in Pitrè, No. 96, which is a

shorter variant of No. 95) does the opening resemble our forms of the

tale. Nor in any of the three, either, does the hero bring the wager

on himself because of the announcement he makes that he who has gold

can discover anything. With this detail, however, compare the couplet

which the hero displays in Pitrè, No. 96:--

"Cu' havi dinari fa chiddu chi voli,

Cu' havi bon cavallu va unni voli."

The line "He who has gold can do whatever he wishes" is almost

identical with the corresponding line in the Tagalog verse story.

It is to be noted that the bride-wager incident in this group of

stories resembles closely the same episode in our No. 19. The opening

of our No. 21 has been influenced by the setting of the stories of

the Carancal group (No. 3).

TALE 22

THE REWARD OF KINDNESS.

Narrated by Elisa Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna,

who heard the story from a Tagalog friend.

In a certain town there once lived a couple who had never had a

child. They had been married for nearly five years, and were very

anxious for a son. The name of the wife was Clara; and of the man,

Philip.

One cloudy night in December, while they were talking by the window

of their house, Clara said to her husband that she was going to pray

the novena, [70] so that Heaven would give them a child. "I would

even let my son serve the Devil, if he would but give us a son!" As

her husband was willing that she should pray the novena, Clara began

the next day her fervent devotions to the Virgin Mary. She went to

church every afternoon for nine days. She carried a small prayer-book

with her, and prayed until six o'clock every evening. At last she

finished her novenario; [71] but no child was born to them, and the

couple was disappointed.

A month had passed, when, to their great happiness, Clara gave birth to

a son. The child they nicknamed Idó. Idó was greatly cherished by his

parents, for he was their only child; but he did not care much to stay

at home. He early began to show a fondness for travelling abroad, and

was always to be found in the dense woods on the outskirts of the town.

One afternoon, when the family was gathered together around a small

table, talking, a knock was heard at the door. "Come in!" said Philip.

"No, I just want to talk with your wife," answered a hoarse voice

from without.

Clara, trembling, opened the door, and, to her great surprise,

she saw standing there a man who looked like a bear. "A devil, a

devil!" she exclaimed, but the Devil pacified her, and said, "Clara,

I have come here to get your son you promised me a long time ago. Now

that the day has come when your son can be of some service to me,

will you deny your promise?"

Clara could make no reply at first. She merely called her son; and

when he came, she said to the Devil, "Here is my son. Take him, since

he is yours." Idó, who was at this time about seventeen years old,

was not frightened by the Devil.

"Come," said the Devil, "and be my follower!" At first Idó refused;

but he finally consented to go, because of his mother's promise.

The Devil now took Idó to his cave, far away outside the town. He

tried in many ways to tempt Idó, but was unable to do so, because

Idó was a youth of strong character. Finally the Devil decided to

exchange clothes with him. Idó was obliged to put on the bear-like

clothes of the Devil and to give him his own soldier-suit. Then the

Devil produced a large bag full of money, and said to Idó, "Take this

money and go travelling about the world for seven years. If you live

to the end of that time, and spend this money only in doing good,

I will set you free. If, however, you spend the money extravagantly,

you will have to go to hell with me." When he had said these words,

he disappeared.

Idó now began his wanderings from town to town. Whenever people saw

him, they were afraid of him, and would refuse to give him shelter;

but Idó would give them money from his bag, and then they would gather

about him and be kind to him.

After many years he happened to come to a town where he saw an old

woman summoned before a court of justice. She was accused of owing

a sum of money, but was unable to pay her debt and the fine imposed

on her. When Idó paid her fine for her and thus released her from

prison, the woman could hardly express her gratitude. As most of the

other people about were afraid of Idó and he had no place to sleep,

this woman decided to take him home with her.

Now, this old woman had three daughters. When she reached home with

the bear-like man, she called her eldest daughter, and said, "Now,

my daughter, here is a man who delivered me from prison. As I can do

nothing to reward him for his great kindness, I want you to take him

for your husband."

The daughter replied, "Mother, why have you brought this ugly man

here? No, I cannot marry him. I can find a better husband."

On hearing this harsh reply, the mother could not say a word. She

called her second daughter, and explained her wishes to her; but the

younger daughter refused, just as her sister had refused, and she

made fun of the man.

The mother was very much disappointed, but she was unable to persuade

her daughters to marry her benefactor. Finally she determined to try

her youngest daughter. When the daughter heard her mother's request,

she said, "Mother, if to have me marry this man is the only way by

which you can repay him for his kindness, I'll gladly marry him." The

mother was very much pleased, but the two older daughters were very

angry with their sister. The mother told the man of the decision of

her youngest daughter, and a contract was signed between them. But

before they were married, the bear-like man asked permission from the

girl to be absent for one more year to finish his duty. She consented

to his going, and gave him half her ring as a memento.

At the end of the year, which was the last of his seven years'

wandering, the bear-like man went to the Devil, and told him that he

had finished his duty. The Devil said, "You have beaten me. Now that

you have performed your seven years' wandering, and have spent the

money honestly, let us exchange clothes again!" So the man received

back his soldierlike suit, which made him look like a knight, and

the Devil took back his bear-skin.

Then the man returned to Clara's [72] house. When his arrival was

announced to the family, the two older daughters dressed themselves in

their best, for they thought that he was a suitor come to see them;

but when the man showed the ring and asked for the hand of Clara's

youngest daughter, the two nearly died with vexation, while the

youngest daughter was very happy.

Notes.

This story is a variant of Grimm, No. 101, "Bear-Skin," which it

follows fairly closely from the point where the hero makes his pact

with the Devil. The bibliography of this cycle is fully given in

Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 427-435, to which I have nothing to add except

this story itself! Our version is the only one so far recorded from

the Orient, and there can be no doubt that it is derived directly

from Europe. Ralston and Moe seem to detect a relationship between

this cycle and a Hindoo saga translated into Chinese in the seventh

century, and from the Chinese into French in the middle of the

nineteenth century, by the French orientalist Stanislas Julien; but

Bolte is of the opinion (p. 435) that there is probably no connection

between the two. In any case, to judge from recorded variants, the

Tagalog story is an importation from the Occident.

And yet there are not a few deviations in our version from the norm,

if Grimm's tale may be considered representative of the cycle. The most

important of these is the opening, which is one form of the "Promised

Child" opening (see Macculloch, 415 ff.). This formula of a childless

couple finally promising in despair to let their child serve even

the Devil if they are granted offspring, or to be satisfied with an

animal-child or some other monstrosity, is a favorite one in Filipino

Märchen (cf. Nos. 3 and variants, 19 and variant, and 23), and its

use here may have been influenced by the beginning of the next tale.

Other differences may be noted briefly: (1) The compact made between

the hero and the Devil does not include the characteristic prohibitions

in the European versions; namely, that the hero is not to comb his

hair, wash himself, trim his beard, etc., during his seven years of

wandering. The Devil seems to rely merely on his bear-suit, which

he makes the hero wear, to produce insurmountable difficulties. It

may be that the prohibitions mentioned above were omitted because

they involved conditions wholly foreign to Filipino conception. The

natives take great pride in their hair, and always dress it carefully,

are scrupulously clean personally, and are beardless! I can cite no

parallel in folk-tales for the condition substituted; i.e., if the

wanderer does good with his money, the Devil will have no power over

him at the end of the seven years, while, if he spends it extravagantly

and foolishly, he goes to hell. Perhaps none need be sought outside

of actual experience. (2) The hero is supplied with money from a large

bag which the Devil gives him, not from the inexhaustible pockets of a

magic green coat, as in Grimm. The mention of the hero's soldier-suit,

by the way, since nothing has been said earlier in the story of his

having followed the profession of arms, is likely a reminiscence of

the characteristic opening of the European versions, where it is a

poor soldier who has the experience with the Devil. (3) The person

ransomed by the hero in our story is an old woman instead of an old

man. (4) The two disappointed sisters do not kill themselves, and hence

the Devil does not reappear at the end of the story,--as he does in

Grimm,--and say, "I have now got two souls in the place of thy one!"

The broken-ring recognition on the return home is a feature which I

believe occurs in no other Filipino folk-tale, but is met with not

infrequently in European saga and story (cf. Köhler-Bolte, 117, 584;

see also Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 234; 2 : 348).

TALE 23

PEDRO AND SATAN.

Narrated by Pedro D. L. Sorreta, a Bicol from Catanduanes, who heard

the story when he was a little boy.

Once upon a time there lived a very rich man, whose wife had

never given birth to a child. The couple had already made several

pilgrimages, and had spent great sums of money for religious

services, in the hope that God might give them a child, even though

a sickly one, to inherit their money; but all their efforts were

in vain. Disappointed, the man resolved to rely upon Satan for the

performance of his wish.

One dark night, when he was thinking hard about the matter, he heard

a voice say, "Your wish will be quickly fulfilled if you but ask me

for it." The rich man was so filled with joy, that he turned towards

the voice and knelt before the invisible speaker: "I will give you

my life, and even my wife's, in return for a son who will be the heir

to my riches," said the man. Meanwhile he perceived in front of him a

figure which in an instant assumed the form of Satan. At first he was

frightened; but his fear was only momentary, and he was eager to hurry

up the agreement with Satan, so that he might receive the child. They

therefore made a golden document which provided that the first child

of the heir was to be given to the Devil at the age of ten, and that

the man and his wife were no longer God's subjects, but Satan's.

After the agreement had been made, the Devil promised the rich man

that his wife would give birth to the longed-for son early the next

morning. Then he disappeared. The child was born at the appointed

time, and grew wonderfully fast, for in five days he was a full-grown

youth. But the parents could not but blame themselves for their

impious act. They intended to keep the secret from their son; but

they could not do so, for the boy was always asking about the nature

of his existence. So when Pedro--they called him by this name--knew

of his pitiful lot, he decided not to marry until he had succeeded

in wresting the golden document from the hands of Satan.

Now, Pedro knew that devils do not like crosses, and cannot even stay

where they have to look at them. So one day he asked his mother to make

for him two gowns, one having little crosses hanging from it. When

these had been finished, Pedro asked his father to give him over to

Satan, so that he might work with the demons in hell. No sooner had

he expressed his desire to his father than the Devil appeared and took

the young man off to his kingdom. There Pedro was assigned the task of

directing the demons in hauling the logs that were to be used for fuel.

Pedro ordered the demons to tie a strong piece of rope to one end of a

log, and ordered them to pull it while he stood on the other end. Every

time he counted "One, two, three!" he would hold up his outer gown;

and the demons, seeing the crosses, would run away in confusion. As

the devils could not endure Pedro's conduct, they ran to their master

Satan, and asked him to send the young man away, for he could not

do any work. The demons could not say anything about Pedro's trick,

however, for they did not dare even speak the word "cross." Satan

then summoned Pedro to his office, and had him work there.

Now, the young man had put a strong piece of rope under his gown. One

day, when Satan was taking his siesta in a rocking-chair, Pedro

tied him fast to the chair. Then he removed his outer gown and woke

Satan. The Devil with closed eyes struggled hard to escape; but he

could not get loose. So he humbly requested Pedro to go away and

leave him alone; but Pedro would neither leave him nor let him go. He

demanded the document, but Satan would not give it up. So Pedro kept on

frightening the Devil until at last Satan said that he would give up

the document if Pedro would release him. Pedro put on his outer robe,

and the Devil called his secretary and told him to give the golden

document to the young man. Pedro threw the bond into the fire; and when

he saw that it was completely melted, he took off his outer robe again,

and turned Satan loose. The Devil ran away exceedingly terrified.

Then Pedro went home, where his parents received him with great

joy. Thus by his cleverness he saved his parents and his future child

from a terrible fate.

Notes.

Like the preceding, this story is doubtless also an importation into

the Islands from Europe. It belongs to the general family of tales

known as the "Promised Child," but the narrative takes a turn which

leads into a special group of this family. The members of this group

are usually not long; and the stories, on the whole, are simple. A

parent promises, wittingly or unwittingly, his child to the Devil in

return for some service, and gives his signature to the bond. The

child grows up, and, noticing the dejection of his parents, forces

from them the secret of the pact. After equipping himself for the

struggle, he sets out for hell to recover the contract. In hell he

frightens or annoys the devils in various ways, and becomes such a

nuisance that finally the arch-fiend is glad to get rid of him by

surrendering the bond.

In a Lorraine story (Cosquin, No. LXIV, "Saint Etienne") "a woman

in confinement is visited by a grand gentleman, who persuades her to

sell her child to him for a large sum of money. He is to come for the

child in six or seven years. One day after a visit of the stranger,

the mother begins to suspect him of being the Devil. Her son notices

her sadness, and learns the secret that is troubling her. 'I'm not

afraid of the Devil,' he says boldly, and tells her to provide him with

a sheep-skin filled with holy water. Thus equipped, he sets off with

the stranger when the time comes, and, reaching hell, so frightens the

devils by sprinkling them with the holy water, that they are glad to

leave him in peace to return to his mother." In this story nothing

is said of a contract; but in a variant mentioned by Cosquin (2 :

232) a poor man signs in blood a bond according to which he agrees to

give up his son at the age of twenty to the rich stranger (Devil in

disguise) who has consented to be godfather to the infant. The demon

is finally put to flight with the aid of an image of the cross and

with the liberal use of holy water.

In a Wallachian story (Schott, No. 15) we find a close parallel

of incident to our story: the hero, acting on the advice of his

school-master, makes some ecclesiastical garments decorated with

crosses, and, dressed in these, he goes to hell and knocks on the

door. The demons, frightened by the sight, want to drive him away;

but he will not go until they surrender the parchment signed by his

father. This story differs from ours in the opening, however; for

the father is a poor fisherman, and promises unwittingly "that which

he loves most at home" in exchange for great riches. At the end of

the story, too, is added an episode of the conversion by the hero

of a band of robbers. With the beginning of this Wallachian story

compare the Italian "Lionbruno" (Crane, No. XXXVI). In a Lithuanian

tale (Chodzko, Contes des paysans et des pâtres slaves [Paris 1864],

p. 107), the hero, before setting out to meet the Devil, arms himself

with holy water and a piece of chalk blessed by the priest. With the

chalk he draws a magic circle about him, from which he throws water

on the demons until they give up the contract. For other variants,

see Cosquin, No. LXXV and notes.

Our story, while somewhat crude in style, is well motivated throughout,

and has one amusing episode for which I know no parallel, the tying

of Satan in his rocking-chair while he is taking his siesta, and

then frightening him into compliance, when he wakes, by displaying,

before him the cross-embroidered gown. The first task the hero is put

to when he enters hell--directing the hauling of logs for fuel--seems

more appropriate than that of draining two ponds, which the hero is

obliged to perform in Cosquin's "La Baguette Merveilleuse," No. LXXV.

The testimony of the narrator that he heard the story from one of

his playmates when he was a little boy, throws an interesting ray of

light on the way in which popular stories circulate in the Philippines.

TALE 24

THE DEVIL AND THE GUACHINANGO.

Narrated by José Laki of Guagua, Pampanga. He got the story from his

uncle, who heard it from an old Pampango story-teller.

There once lived in a suburb of a town a very religious old widow who

had a beautiful daughter, Piriang by name. Young men from different

parts of the town came to court Piriang, and the mother always

preferred the rich to the poor. Whenever Piriang's friends told her

that the man whom she rejected would have been a good match for her,

she always answered that she would rather have a devil for a husband

than such a man.

One day a devil heard Piriang giving this answer to one of her

friends. Thus encouraged, he disguised himself as a young man of

noble blood, and went to Piriang's house to offer her his love. The

mother and daughter received this stranger with great civility, for

he appeared to them to be the son of a nobleman. In the richness of

his dress he was unexcelled by his rivals. After he had been going to

Piriang's house for a few weeks, the old widow told him one day to

come prepared to be married on the following Tuesday. On the Sunday

before the wedding-day he had a long conversation with Piriang. He

calmly asked her to take off the cross that she had about her neck,

for it made her look ugly, he said. She refused to do so, however,

because she had worn this cross ever since she was a child. After he

had departed, Piriang told her mother what he had asked her to do.

The next day the mother went to the church. She told the priest that

Piriang's bridegroom had ordered her to take off her cross from her

neck. The priest said that that man was a devil; for no man, as a son

of God, would say that a cross made the one who wore it look ugly. The

priest gave the mother a small image of the Virgin Mary. He instructed

her to show the image to the bridegroom. If when he beheld it he turned

his back on her as she was holding it, she was to tie him around the

neck with her cintas. [73] Then she was to put him in a large jar,

and bury him at least twenty-one feet under the ground.

The mother went home very much distressed because she had allowed her

daughter to become engaged to a devil. She told Piriang not to talk

with her bridegroom, because she feared that he was a devil. That

night he came with his friend dressed like him. The mother was very

gracious to them. They talked about the wedding. When the old woman

held up the image of the Virgin Mary, the two men turned their backs

on her. She immediately wound her cintas around the neck of her

daughter's bridegroom, and Piriang came in with the dried tail of

a sting-ray in her right hand. She whipped him with this as hard as

she could. [74] Then the two together forced him to get into a large

jar. After warning him not to come back to earth again, the old woman

covered the jar with a piece of cloth wet with holy water. The other

devil suddenly disappeared.

The next morning a guachinango [75] happened to pass by the house of

the old woman. She called him in, showed him the jar, and told him

to bury it at least twenty-one feet deep. When he asked how much she

would pay him, she promised to give him ten pesos. He agreed: so,

putting the jar on his right shoulder, he set out. When he reached

a quiet place, he heard whispers behind him. He stopped and looked

around, but could see nothing. Then he put the jar on the ground to

rest a few minutes. Now he discovered that the whispers were coming

from inside the jar. He was very much surprised.

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

"I am a devil, my friend," answered the voice. "The old woman forced

me to go into this jar. Be kind to me, my friend, and liberate me!"

"I shall obey the old woman in order to get my pay," said the

guachinango. "I will bury you even deeper than twenty-one feet."

"If you will bury me just three feet deep," said the devil, "I will

give you a large sum of money."

"I will bury you just one and a half feet deep, if you can give me

much money," said the guachinango.

"I will give you five hundred pesos," said the devil. "Dig the ground

near the stump of that mabolo-tree. There you will find the money in

a dirty black purse."

After the guachinango had buried the devil, he went to the mabolo-tree

and took the money. Then he went to the nearest village and played

casino. As soon as he lost all his money, he returned to the devil. "I

have lost all the money you gave me," he said. "I will now bury you

twenty-one feet deep."

"No, do not bury me so deep as that, my friend!" said the devil

calmly. "I can give you twice as much money as I gave you before. You

will find it in the same place that you found the other."

The guachinango took the money and went to the village again

to gamble. Again he lost. He returned to the devil, and asked him

angrily why he always lost the money he gave him. "I don't know,"

answered the devil. "I have given you fifteen hundred pesos, but you

haven't even a cent now. You ought to set me free at once."

"Aha! I won't let you go," said the guachinango. "I will bury you

thirty-nine feet now."

"I have a plan in mind," said the devil, "which will benefit you

extremely; but before I explain my plan, let me ask you if you would

like to marry the daughter of the king."

"I have a great desire to be king some day," said the guachinango;

"but how can you make me the husband of a princess, when you are only

a devil, and I am nothing but a poor guachinango?"

"As soon as you set me free," said the devil, "I will enter the

mouth of the princess and go into her brains. Then I will give her

a very painful headache which no physician can cure. The king will

make an announcement saying that he who can cure his daughter of

her disease shall marry her. When you hear this announcement, go to

the palace at once, and offer your services to the king. As soon as

you reach the princess, tell me that you have come, and I will leave

her immediately. The princess will then recover her former health,

and you will be married to her. Do not fail to go to the palace,

for I am determined to reward you for your kindness to me."

After the guachinango had liberated the devil, he immediately set out

for the city. He had not been there three days when he met a group

of soldiers crying that "he who could cure the princess should have

her to wife." The guachinango stopped the soldiers, and said that

he could cure the princess. They took him before the king, where a

written agreement was made. If he could not cure the princess in three

days, he should lose his life; but if he cured her by the end of the

third day, he should marry her. The guachinango was then conducted

to the room of the princess. When he approached her, he said to

the devil that he had come. "You must leave the princess now; for,

if you don't, I shall be executed." But the devil refused to leave,

because he wanted to get revenge. He further told the guachinango

that he wanted him to die, for then his soul would go to hell.

The guachinango became more and more hopeless. On the morning of

the third day he thought of a good plan to get rid of his enemy. He

asked the king to order all the bells of the neighboring churches

to be tolled, while every one in the palace was to cry out loud,

"Here she comes!" While all this noise was going on, the guachinango

approached the princess, and told the devil that the old woman was

coming with her cintas. When the devil heard this, he was terribly

frightened, and left the princess and disappeared. The next day the

guachinango was married to the princess.

Notes.

From the testimony of the narrator, this capital story appears to

have been known in Pampanga for some time. The incident of the demon

entering the body of the princess, and then leaving at the request

of one who has befriended him, occurs in a Tagalog story also, which

I will give for the purpose of comparison. While the story is more

of a fairy-tale than a Märchen proper, it appears to be a variant of

our No. 24. Significant differences between the two will be noted,

however. The Tagalog story was collected and written down for me by

Manuel Reyes, a native of Manila. It runs as follows:

Mabait and the Duende.

Menguita, a king of Cebu, had two slaves,--Mabait and Masama. Mabait

was honest and industrious, while Masama was envious and lazy. Mabait

did nearly all of the hard work in the palace, so he was admired very

much by the king. Masama, who was addicted to gambling, envied Mabait.

One night, while Mabait was asleep, a duende [76] awakened him, and

said, "I have seen how you labor here patiently and honestly. I want

to be your friend."

Mabait was amazed and frightened. He looked at the duende carefully,

and saw that it resembled a very small man with long hair and a white

beard. It was about a foot high. It had on a red shirt, a pair of

green trousers, a golden cap, and a pair of black shoes. At last

Mabait answered in a trembling voice, "I don't want to be a friend

of an evil spirit."

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

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

"Duendes are wealthy and powerful spirits. They can perform magic. If

you are the friend of one of them, you will be a most fortunate man."

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

"Listen! When Lucifer was an angel, a contest in creating animals

arose between him and God. He and his followers were defeated and

thrown into hell. Many angels in that contest belonged neither to

God's side not to Lucifer's. They were dropped on the earth. Those

that fell in the forests became tigbalangs, ikis, and mananangals;

[77] those in the seas became mermaids and mermen; and those in the

cities became duendes."

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

"Now let our friendship last forever," said the duende. "I am ready

at any time to help you in your undertakings."

From that time on Mabait and the duende were good friends. The duende

gave Mabait two or three isabels [78] every day, and by the end of

the month he had saved much money. He bought a fine hat and a pair

of wooden shoes.

Masama wondered how Mabait, who was very poor, could buy so many

things. At last he asked, "Where do you get money? Do you steal it?"

"No, my friend gives it to me."

"Who is your friend?"

"A duende."

Masama, in great envy, went to the king, and said, "Master, Mabait,

your favorite slave, has a friend. This friend is a duende, which

will be injurious to us if you let it live here. As Mabait said,

it will be the means of his acquiring all of your wealth and taking

your daughter for his wife."

The king, in great rage, summoned Mabait, and punished him severely by

beating his palms with a piece of leather. Then he ordered his servants

to find the duende and kill it. The duende hid in a small jar. Masama

saw it, and covered the mouth of the jar with a saint's dress. The

duende was afraid of the dress, and dared not come out. "Open the jar,

and I will give you ten isabels," said the little man.

"Give me the money first."

After Masama received the money, he went away to the cockpit without

opening the jar. On his way there he lost his money. He went back to

the duende, and said, "Friend, give me ten isabels more, and I will

open the jar."

"I know that you will cheat me," answered the duende. "Just let me

come out of the jar, and I promise that you shall have the princess

here for your wife."

"What! Will the princess be my wife?"

"Yes."

"How can you make her love me?"

"I will enter the princess's abdomen. I will talk, laugh, and do

everything to make her afraid. I will not leave her for anybody

but you."

"Good, good!" Masama opened the jar, and the duende, flew a way to

the princess's tower.

Only a few weeks after that time a proclamation of the king was read in

public. It was as follows: "The princess, my daughter, has something

in her abdomen. It speaks and laughs. No one knows what it is, and no

one can force it to come out. Whoever can cure my daughter shall be my

heir and son-in-law; but he who tries and fails shall lose his head."

When Masama heard this, he said to Mabait, "Why don't you cure the

princess? You are the only one who can cure her."

"Don't flatter me!" answered Mabait.

"I'm not flattering you. It is the duende, your friend, who is in her

abdomen, and no one can persuade it to come out but you. So go now,

for fortune is waiting for you."

Mabait was at last persuaded, and so he departed. Before going to the

king, he first went to a church, and there he prayed Bathala that

he might be successful in his undertakings. When Mabait was gone,

Masama said to himself, "It is not fortune, but it is death, that is

waiting for him. When he is dead, I shall not have anybody to envy."

After sitting for about a half-hour, Masama also set out for the

princess's tower, but he reached the palace before Mabait. There he

told the king that he could cure his daughter. He was conducted into

the princess's room. He touched her abdomen, and said, "Who are you?"

"I am the duende."

"Why are you there?"

"Because I want to be here."

"Go away!"

"No, I won't."

"Don't you know me?"

"Yes, I know you. You are Masama, who cheated me once. Give your head

to the king." So the executioner cut Masama's head off.

Then Mabait came, and told the king that he could cure the

princess. After he was given permission to try, he said to the duende,

"Who are you?"

"I am the duende, your friend."

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

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

Mabait was married to the princess, was crowned king, and lived

happily with his friend the duende.

Before attempting to decide anything concerning the provenience of

these two tales, we shall first examine versions of the story from

other parts of the world. The nearest European analogue that I am

familiar with is an Andalusian story printed by Caballero in 1866

(Ingram, 107, "The Demon's Mother-in-Law"). An outline of the chief

elements of this tale follows:--

Mother Holofernes, while very neat and industrious, was a terrible

termagant and shrew. Her daughter Panfila, on the contrary, was so lazy

and thoughtless, that once, when the old woman burnt herself badly

because her daughter was listening to some lads singing outside,

instead of helping her mother with the boiling lye for washing,

the enraged Mother Holofernes shouted to her offspring, "Heaven

grant that you may marry the Evil One himself!" Not long afterward a

rich little man presented himself as a suitor for Panfila's hand. He

was accepted by the mother, and preparations for the marriage went

forward. The old woman, however, began to dislike the suitor, and,

recalling her curse, suspected that he was none other than the

Devil himself. Accordingly, on the night of the wedding, she bade

Panfila lock all the windows and doors of the room, and then beat

her husband with a branch of consecrated olive. So done. The husband

tried to escape from his wife by slipping through the key-hole; but his

mother-in-law anticipated this move. She caught him in a glass bottle,

which she immediately sealed hermetically. Then the old lady climbed

to the summit of a mountain, and there deposited the bottle in an

out-of-the-way place. Ten years the imp remained there a prisoner,

suffering cold, heat, hunger, thirst. One day a soldier, returning

to his native town on leave, took a short cut over the mountain, and

spied the bottle. When he picked it up, the imp begged to be released,

and told him of all he had suffered; but the soldier made a number of

conditions,--his release from the army, a four-dollar daily pension,

etc.,--and finally the imp promised to enter the body of the daughter

of the King of Naples. The soldier was to present himself at court

as a physician, and demand any reward he wished to, in return for

a cure. So done. The king accepted the services of the soldier, but

stipulated that if in three days he had not cured the princess, he

should be hanged. The soldier accepted the conditions; but the demon,

seeing that he had his arrogant enemy's life in his hands, and bent on

revenge, refused to leave the body of the princess. On the last day,

however, the soldier ordered all the bells rung. On the demon's asking

what all the noise was about, the soldier said, "I have ordered your

mother-in-law summoned, and she has just arrived." In great terror

the Devil at once quitted the princess, and the soldier was left

"in victorious possession of the field."

It will be noticed that the last episode is almost identical with the

ending of our story "The Devil and the Guachinango," while there is

a considerable amount of divergence between the two elsewhere.

For versions collected before 1860 I am indebted to Benfey's treatment

of this cycle. It is found in his "Pantschatantra," 1 : 519 ff. I take

the liberty of summarizing it in this place, first, because it is the

only exhaustive handling of the story I know of; and, second, because

Benfey's brilliant work, while constantly referred to and quoted,

has long been out of print, and has never been accessible in English.

The occasion for Benfey's dissertation on this particular tale is

the relationship he sees between it and the large family of stories

turning on the motive of a marvellous cure, a representative of which

is "Pantschatantra," 5 : 12, "The Miraculous Cure of a Blind Man,

a Humpback, and a Three-breasted Princess." [79] While the story we

are discussing cannot be considered in any sense an offshoot of the

Pantschatantra tale, it can scarcely be denied, says Benfey, that

between the two there is a definite internal relationship, which

is further manifested by the fact that in its later development the

latter is actually joined to the former (p. 519).

The earliest form of our story is found in the "Cukasaptati," where it

is told as the story for the 45th and 46th nights. In this version,--

A Brahman, driven away from home by the malice of his wife,

is befriended by a demon who had formerly lived in the Brahman's

house, but who had also fled in fear from her shrewish tongue. The

demon enters the body of a princess; and the Brahman, appearing as

a conjurer, forces him to leave, in accordance with their pact, and

wins half a kingdom and the hand of the princess. The demon now goes

to another city where he possesses the queen, an aunt of the Brahman's

new father-in-law. The Brahman, whose reputation as an enchanter has

become great, is summoned to cure this queen. When he arrives, the

demon threatens and insults him, refusing to leave the queen because

they are now quits. The Brahman, however, whispers in the woman's

ear, "My wife is coming here close on my heels, I have come only to

warn you;" whereupon the demon, terror-stricken, at once leaves the

queen. The Brahman is highly honored.

Benfey conjectures that this story must have passed over into the

Persian redaction of the "Cukasaptati" (i.e., the "Tuti-nameh"),

but what changes it underwent in the transmission cannot yet be

determined. The earliest European form of the tale is that found in

the Turkish "Forty Vezirs" (trans. by Behrnauer, p. 277).

Here a young wood-cutter saves money to buy a rope; but his shrewish

wife, thinking that he is going to spend it on a sweetheart, insists

on accompanying him to his work in the mountains, so that she can

keep him under her eye. In the mountains the husband decides to

abandon his wife in a well. He tells her to hold a rope while he

descends to fetch a treasure which he pretends is concealed at the

bottom; but she is so avaricious, that she insists on being let down

first. Then he drops the rope, and returns home free. A few days

later, conscience-smitten, he goes back to rescue his wife, and,

lowering another rope, he calls to her that he will draw her up;

but he hauls a demon to the surface instead. The demon thanks the

wood-cutter for rescuing him from a malicious woman "who some days

ago descended, and has made my life unbearable ever since." As in the

Cukasaptati story, the demon enters a princess and makes her insane,

and the wood-cutter cures her and marries her. Then the demon enters

another princess. The wood-cutter is summoned; he has to resort to

the well-known trick to force the imp to leave this second maiden.

In the Persian form of this story, in the "1001 Days" (Prenzlau ed.),

11 : 247, is added the death-penalty in case the hero fails to perform

the second cure, which consists in persuading the spirit, in the form

of a snake, to unwind itself from the body of the vezir's daughter. The

hero had already cured the sultan's daughter and married her.

A Serbian story (Wuk, No. 37) is closer to the "Forty Vezirs" version

than is the "1001 Days." The only essential difference is that the

opening of the Serbian tale is the well-known fabliau of the "Meadow

that was mowed."

Here the wife falls into a pit. When the husband attempts to draw

her out again, a devil appears. The devil is thankful; and, to reward

the man, it enters the body of the emperor's daughter. Here the hero

appears, not as an enchanter, but as a physician.

Practically identical is the story of "The Bad Wife and the Devil,"

in Vogl, "Slowenische Volksmärchen" (Wien, 1837).

In a Finnish version of the story (Benfey, 524-525) the hero, as in

the preceding, assumes the rôle of a physician.

The husband pushes his bad wife into an abyss. When he attempts to

draw her out again, another woman appears. She is the Plague. [80]

Out of gratitude for her liberation from that other wicked woman,

she proposes to him that they travel together through the world: she,

the pest, will make people ill; he, as physician, will cure them. So

done. As a result the man becomes rich. But at last he grows weary

of his excessive work: so he procures a snappish dog, and puts it in

a sack. The next time he is called to the side of a person made sick

by the pest, he says to her, "Enter human beings no more: if you do,

I will liberate from this sack the woman that tormented you in the

abyss," at the same time irritating the dog so that it growls. The

Plague, full of terror, begs him for God's sake not to set the woman

free, and promises to reform.

It will be seen that in its method of the "sickness and the cure,"

this story is related to Grimm, No. 44, "Godfather Death," where

Death takes the place of the Plague, and where, instead of gratitude,

the motive is the godfather relationship of Death toward the hero.

This folk-tale, says Benfey (p. 525), was early put into literary form

in Europe. Among others, he cites Machiavelli's excellent version in

his story of "Belfagor" (early sixteenth century):--

Belfagor, a devil, is sent to earth by his master to live as a married

man for ten years, to see whether certain accusations made against

women by souls in hell are true or slanderous. Belfagor marries in

Florence; but his imperious wife causes him so much bad fortune,

that he is compelled to flee from his creditors. A peasant conceals

him, and out of gratitude Belfagor tells his rescuer his story, and

promises to make him rich by possessing women and allowing himself

to be driven out only by the peasant himself. So done. The peasant

wins great renown; and at last Belfagor says that his obligations

have been fulfilled, and that the peasant must look out for himself

if they meet again. The devil now enters the daughter of Ludwig II,

King of France. The peasant is summoned to cure her, but is afraid, and

refuses. At last he is compelled to go, like the physician, against his

will (see Benfey, 515 ff.). Belfagor rages when he sees the peasant,

and threatens him vehemently. At last the peasant employs the usual

trick: "Your wife is coming!" and the devil flees in consternation,

choosing rather to rush back to hell than into the arms of his wife.

Benfey considers a Bohemian story in Wenzig's collection

(West-slawische Märchen, Leipzig, 1857, p. 167) to be the best of

all the popular versions belonging to this group, and he reproduces

it in full (pp. 527-534). This long story we may pass over, since

it contains no new features that are found in our story. In fact,

it little resembles ours or any of the others, except in general in

two or three episodes. Benfey concludes his discussion of this cycle

by stating that there have been many other imitations of this tale,

and he mentions some of these (p. 534). It may be added that further

references will be found in Wilson's note in his edition of Dunlop,

2 : 188-190.

The question of the origin of the Pampango version of this story is

not easy to answer definitely, for the reason that it presents details

not found in any of the other variants. However, since nearly all the

machinery of our story turns on the teachings of the Roman Church,

and since the denouement is practically identical with the ending of

Caballero's Andalusian story, I conclude that in its main outlines our

version was derived from Spain. At the same time, I think it likely

that the fairy-tale of "Mabait and the Duende" was already existent

earlier in the Islands (though this, too, may have been imported),

and that the motivation of the spirit's desire to revenge himself

on his tormentor for his avarice and greed was incorporated into the

Märchen from the fairy-tale. My reasons for thinking the fairy-tale

the older are: (1) its crudeness (the good and the bad hero are a

very awkward device compared with the combination of qualities in

the guachinango); (2) its local references and its native names;

(3) its use of native superstitions and beliefs.

TALE 25

JUAN SADUT.

Narrated by Nicolas Zafra, an Ilocano from San Fernando, La Union. The

story is very popular among the country people about San Fernando,

he reports.

Many years ago there lived a certain old couple who had an only

son. Juan, for that was the boy's name, was known throughout the

village as an idler, and for this reason he was called Juan Sadut. He

had no liking for any kind of work; in fact, his contempt for all

work was so great, that he never even helped his father or mother.

One day his father took him to the fields to have him help harvest

their crops; but, instead of going to work, Juan betook himself to

a shady spot on the edge of the field, and fell asleep.

His father, who was very much enraged by this conduct of his son,

determined then and there to dispose of him. He carried the sleeping

boy to another part of the field, and laid him down just beside a large

snake-hole. He expected that the snake, when it came out of its hole,

would sting the sleeping idler, who would thus be disposed of quietly.

When Juan awoke, he found a large snake coiled near him. In his fright,

he sprang to his feet to run away; but the snake looked up at him

sympathetically, and then began to speak: "Why do you fear me? Don't

you know that I am the king of the snakes? I am going to give you

a wonderful gift that will make you happy forever;" and having said

this, it dropped a gold ring on the ground, and bade Juan pick it up

and wear it on his finger. The ring was of pure gold, and it had on it

initials that Juan could not understand. "Keep that ring carefully,

for it will be of great use to you," said the snake. "Consult it for

anything you want, and it will advise you how to proceed to obtain

the object of your desire."

After thanking the snake for its gift, Juan set out on his travels. He

never worried about his food from day to day, for from his magic ring

he could get anything he needed.

In his wanderings, word reached Juan's ears that the king of that

country would give his beautiful daughter to any one who could fulfil

three conditions. Juan was thrilled with joy on hearing this news,

for he was sure that he would be the successful competitor for the

hand of the princess. When he presented himself before the court,

his slovenly appearance and awkward movements only excited laughter

and mirth among the nobles. "What chance have you of winning the

prize?" they asked him in derision.

"Let me know the conditions, and time will show," said Juan. "You must

fulfil three conditions before I give my daughter to you," said the

king. "First, you must fight with my tiger, and kill it if you can;

second, you must go get and bring back to me the burning stone that

the dragon in the mountains has in its possession; third, you must

answer correctly a question that I shall ask you."

"Very well," said Juan as he turned to go, "I will do all you require

of me." Now, many a young man had risked his life for the hand of the

beautiful princess; but no one had yet succeeded in winning even the

first contest. The king's tiger was ferocious and strong, and as agile

as a mouse. Then there was the formidable dragon in the mountains,

whose breath alone was deadly poisonous. This dragon lived in a

cave the entrance to which was guarded by poisonous serpents. Every

morning it would come out of its cave to play with its wonderful stone

by tossing it up into the air and catching it in its mouth when it

fell. Hence it was difficult, if not impossible, to succeed in these

undertakings. The young men who had been stirred by their intense

love for the princess had bartered away their lives for her hand.

When Juan arrived home, he took up his little ring, and said to it,

"Advise me as to how I may overcome the king's tiger."

"Get a handful of sand," replied the ring, "and mix with it an equal

quantity of red pepper. Take the mixture with you into the arena,

and when the tiger comes near you, fling the sand into its eyes."

Juan prepared the sand and pepper as he had been advised. The next

day he stepped into the arena amid the shouts and cheers of the

spectators. He looked, as usual, to be an idle, slow-moving fellow,

who would have no chance at all against the wild beast. The tiger soon

appeared at the opposite end of the arena, and advanced rapidly towards

Juan. When the animal was about three yards from him, he flung the

mixture of sand and pepper into its eyes. The tiger was blinded. Juan

then drew his dagger and buried it deep into the animal's heart.

The next task he had to perform was to obtain the dragon's fiery

stone. The ring advised him thus: "Go to the cave, and, in order to

gain admittance, show me to the serpents. I am sacred to them, and

they will fulfil whatever commands my possessor gives them." Juan

proceeded to the cave in the mountains. He had no sooner entered it

than hissing serpents came towards him in threatening attitudes. Juan,

however, showed them the signet ring; and they at once became tame,

and showed him that they were glad to obey whatever he should command

them to do. "Go and get the dragon's stone," he ordered, and soon

they came back with the much-coveted treasure.

When the king saw that Juan had fulfilled two of the hardest

conditions, he became alarmed because the new bridegroom was to be a

person of very low birth: so he devised the most difficult question

possible, with the view of preventing Juan from winning his daughter

the princess.

Juan now presented himself before the king and his court to perform the

third and last task. "What am I thinking about now?" asked the king.

Juan appeared to hesitate a moment, but he was really consulting

his ring. The ring said to him, "The king has in mind the assurance

that you will not be able to answer his question." Then looking up,

Juan answered the king's question in the precise words of the ring,

and thus answered it correctly.

Astonished at the wonderful power of Juan, the king gave his daughter

to him; and when he died, the young couple inherited the crown of

the kingdom.

Notes.

I know of no parallels to this story as a whole. In its separate

incidents it is reminiscent of other tales; and in its main outline,

from the point where the hero sets out to seek adventures with the

help of his magic ring, the narrative belongs to the "Bride Wager"

group. In this group Von Hahn distinguishes at least two types (1 :

54, Nos. 23 and 24): in the one, the hero bets his head against the

bride, and wins by performing difficult tasks; in the other, he wins

by answering riddles. In our story there is no formal staking of his

head by the hero, but undertaking the first two tasks amounts to the

same thing. The third task, it will be noticed, is the answering of a

difficult question, which in a way connects our story with Von Hahn's

second type.

The two distinctive features in our story are the introduction and

the first task. The cruelty displayed by the hero's father is not

unusual in folk-tales, but his method of getting rid of his son

is. The benevolence of the snake, which is not motivated at all,

may be at bottom connected with some such moralizing tradition as

is found in Somadeva, "The Story of the Three Brahmin Brothers"

(Tawney, 1 : 293), where two older brothers, in order to get rid of

the youngest, who has been slandered by their wives ("Potiphar's wife"

situation), order him to dig up an ant-hill in which lives a venomous

snake. Because of his virtue, however, he finds a pitcher filled with

gold! There is nothing else in this story which even in the remotest

way suggests ours. While Benfey (1 : 214-215, note) has shown that the

conception of the snake-jewel is essentially Indian,--and the belief in

one form or another is widespread in the Philippines,--he also shows

that it was held in Europe even in classical times; and, as every one

knows, the idea is a commonplace in folk-lore. Obviously nothing can

be concluded as to the origin of our story from this detail alone. The

first task, which is performed without supernatural aid, though the

hero asks his ring for advice, may be a remnant of tradition; if so,

it is of Indian or Malayan tradition, not Philippine, for the tiger

is not found in the Islands.

TALE 26

AN ACT OF KINDNESS.

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

Early one morning Andres went out to buy five cents' worth of

rice. On his way he came across a man who was about to kill a small

snake. "Please don't kill the poor creature!" said Andres. "Did it

harm you?"

"No," answered the man, "but it may bite us or some other passer-by,"

and he again drew out his bolo; but Andres restrained him. "What do

you want this snake for?" said the merciless man.

"Leave it alone, for pity's sake!" cried Andres. "Here are five

cents! Don't injure the harmless creature!"

The man, very glad to get the money, did not say a word, and went

away. After the man was gone, the snake said to Andres, "Kind friend,

come home with me. There you will find our huge chief snake, and

many others like myself. But don't fear anything! Trust me, for I

will never lead you into danger. When we reach out dwelling, I will

recommend you to our chief. He will be harsh to you at first, since

you are a stranger; but never mind that! When he asks you what you

want, ask him to give you his red cloth. This enchanted cloth can

supply you with whatever you want." So the two friends started for

the horrible snake-cave.

"Who is that stranger with you,--a murderer, or a robber?" hissed

the chief as soon as the snake and Andres entered.

"He is neither of the two," replied the snake. "Please don't do a

bit of harm to him! Had it not been for him, my life would have been

lost. He rescued me from the hands of a cruel person who found me

creeping through the grass."

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

give you?"

"Only your red cloth, and nothing else," answered Andres. The chief

hesitated for a moment. Then he went into a very dark cell, and got

out the red cloth. He returned with it, and said to Andres, "Since

you have saved the life of one of our number, I give you this cloth

as a reward. You can ask of it anything you want."

Andres thanked the chief, and went away. It was now ten o'clock, and

he had not yet bought rice for breakfast. "Poor mother! she must be

very hungry." Andres himself felt hungry, so he asked the red cloth

to bring him food. Soon a breakfast, richer than the ordinary ones

he was accustomed to, was spread before him. Having eaten his hearty

meal under the shade of a tree, he resumed his journey homeward. He

had yet several miles to go.

After a few hours' walk he again became hungry. He went to a hut

and asked the old woman there if he might eat in her house. He said

that he had brought his own food with him. The old woman invited

him in, and Andres asked his red cloth for food. In an instant a

fine luncheon was before them. Andres invited the old woman to eat

with him, which she willingly did. She liked the food so very much,

that she asked Andres to let her have his wonderful red cloth. She

said, "Give me this cloth, and I will let you have my two stones in

exchange. When you want to get rid of persons who annoy you, just

tell these two stones where to go, and they will inflict heavy blows

on the evil-doers." Andres agreed to the exchange.