Maria's mother was drowned by the cruel husband, a fisherman, who

desired to marry another woman. The daughter was now ill-treated

by her step-mother, and often went to the seashore to talk with the

spirit of her dead mother. When the mother could no longer continue

the meetings with Maria, she told her to plant in a certain place

all the fins of all the fish the family should eat on a certain

day. From these fins there grew up a magic tree of gold and precious

stones. One day a prince, hearing the music made by the wind in the

magic tree, approached the tree and found the beautiful Maria. Later

he married her.

For still other Philippine variants of the Cinderella story, see

JAFL 19 : 265-272, where Fletcher Gardner gives two oral Tagalog

versions. In the same journal (29 : 226 f.) I have given synopses of

two Tagalog metrical romances which open with the Cinderella setting.

The Cinderella story is perhaps the most widespread Märchen

in the world. See M. R. Cox's bibliographical study of it:

"Cinderella, 345 Variants of Cinderella, Catskin, and Cap o' Rushes,

abstracted and tabulated, with a discussion of medieval analogues,

and notes. London, 1893." Bolte-Polívka's notes to Grimm, No. 21,

examine Miss Cox's material from a somewhat new angle, and are very

useful for reference. It seems hardly necessary to attempt to add here

to those two exhaustive monographs. Attention may be called to the

fact, however, that our story of "Abadeja," which comes from Leyte,

presents a number of interesting items not found in the other Filipino

variants: e.g., (1) the task of washing a black handkerchief white,

and vice-versâ; (2) the magic tree growing up from the feet of a

wonderful chicken given the heroine by the mysterious woman; (3) the

unusual device for providing a rich husband for the heroine. There

are some slight resemblances between these last two details and

corresponding incidents in Mr. Rusk's variant "The Wonderful Tree."

TALE 46

JUAN THE POOR.

Narrated by Dolores Zafra, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, who heard this

story from her grandfather.

Many years ago there lived a king who was always sad. He used to go to

a mountain and climb the highest tree that was growing there. One day

when he was in the top of the tree, he saw on another high mountain a

beautiful princess, Doña Maria. When he returned home to his palace,

he sent a proclamation all over his kingdom, saying that the one

who could take Doña Maria from her mountain and bring her before him

should have one-half of his kingdom.

Juan was a beggar; and it was his custom, whenever he saw a beggar

like himself, to share with that beggar the alms which had been given

him. One day he saw a wretched old woman, and out of pity for her he

gave her all the food he had begged that day. Then the old woman,

who knew of the proclamation of the king, said to Juan, "You must

tell the king, my boy, that you will fetch Doña Maria for him." Juan

did not want to, because he said that he did not know where and how he

might get Doña Maria; but the old woman at last persuaded Juan to go by

telling him that she would accompany him, and promising her help. After

Juan had visited the palace and told the king that he would bring the

princess Doña Maria to him, the poor boy and the old woman set out

on their journey to the distant mountain. When they reached the gates

of the city, the old woman said to Juan, "Juan, I am very tired, and

I cannot go any farther, but I will give you this handkerchief. When

you come to the first mountain, you must spread the handkerchief on the

ground, and many fat horses will approach you; but I advise you not to

choose any of them. You must choose the very last one, which will be

lean and weak-looking. That is the horse which can endure hardships,

and which will be able to carry you to the princess's palace."

Juan followed the advice of the old woman, when the time came, and

chose the thin horse. He mounted on its back, and rode on towards the

mountain of Doña Maria. When he had ridden very far, he saw before

him a hill full of ants. He was afraid to try to pass over this hill,

lest the ants should devour him and his animal. The horse said to

him, "You must ask the handkerchief for food, and we will feed the

ants." Juan spread out the handkerchief, and asked it to bring him

much food. After he had scattered it on the ground for the ants, the

leader of the ants approached Juan, and said, "Since you have been

very kind to us, I will give you one of my legs; and at any time you

want aid from us, you must burn the leg, and let the ashes be carried

by the wind. Then we will come to help you."

When Juan had again gone a long distance from the hill, he saw the sky

full of birds flying around and looking for food. Again the horse told

Juan to ask for food from the handkerchief; so that they might feed the

birds, and not be killed by them and eaten. Juan did so, and gave the

birds all they wanted to eat. Then the king of the birds, the eagle,

flew up to Juan, and said, "To repay you for your kindness, I will

give you some feathers from my wings. Any time you want aid from us,

just burn some of the feathers, and let the ashes be carried by the

wind. Then we will come to you." Juan thanked the bird, and put the

feathers in his pocket where he kept the leg of the ant.

Then he continued his journey. When they came near the palace of

Doña Maria, the horse told Juan to hide, and said that he alone

would enter her garden; but before he should hide, Juan should ask

his handkerchief for a complete equipment of saddle and bridle, so

that the horse could be mounted by a lady. Juan did so, hid himself,

and the horse wandered into the garden of Doña Maria. When the princess

saw the horse, she became very angry, and said, "Who is the one who is

so bold as to let his horse enter my garden?" She looked all about,

but could see no one: so she said to herself, "I will mount this

horse and find out who its owner is." She mounted the horse, which

immediately ran to the place where Juan was hiding, and told him to

get up on its back. Then the horse carried them swiftly back to the

small house of Juan. When he reached home, Juan sent word to the king

that the princess Doña Maria was in his home. The king, accompanied

by all his retinue, went in great state to Juan's house, made over to

him one-half of his dominion, and took Doña Maria back to his palace.

Now, Doña Maria was very beautiful, and the king fell deeply in love

with her. When he was alone with her in the palace, he began to court

her. He asked her to be his wife; but Doña Maria said, "Only the one

who can do what I wish him to do shall be my husband. I will mix one

hundred cavans of husked rice with one hundred cavans of unhusked

rice (palay). He who in one night can separate the two kinds of rice,

and also bring my palace here to your kingdom, shall be married to

me." The king said that no one could accomplish those things; but

Doña Maria told him that there was one who could accomplish the tasks,

and that was Juan.

The king then sent for Juan, and said to him, "Juan, here are one

hundred cavans of husked rice mixed with one hundred cavans of unhusked

rice. To-night you must separate the grain into two piles, and also

transport the palace of Doña Maria to my kingdom. If you have not

done both by to-morrow morning, you shall lose your head." Juan went

away very sad toward the mountain. As he was walking along, he met

the thin horse which had helped him before. The horse said to him,

"Why are you so sad, Juan?" Juan told the horse what the king had

ordered him to do. Then the horse said, "Don't be sad, Juan! you can

accomplish both those difficult tasks. Don't you remember the leg

of the ant and the feathers of the eagle which were given to you,

and the promise of the ant and eagle?" So Juan took the ant's leg

and the feathers from his pocket, burned them, and threw the ashes

into the air. In a short time thousands of birds and ants came to him

and asked him what he wanted. Then Juan said, "I want the palace of

Doña Maria brought here before daybreak, and the two hundred cavans

of mixed rice separated." When they heard Juan's order, the birds

flew to the mountain to get the palace, and the ants hastened to the

king's grounds to separate the unhusked from the husked rice.

By morning both tasks were completed: so Juan was married to Doña

Maria, for she would have no other husband.

Notes.

Although this story is clearly derived from the Tagalog romance of the

"Life of King Asuero," nevertheless it is also told as a folk-tale,

and for that reason I have included it in this collection. As has been

intimated already so many times, it is often hard to draw the line

between folk-tales and literary tales, especially when the latter are

widely told and read. Since our object in this collection is to present

to Occidental readers a comprehensive account of what is in Philippine

popular literature, it has seemed unwise to exclude this story.

The full title of the romance is "The Story and Life of King Asuero,

Doña Maria, and Juan the Poor, in the City of Jerusalem." My copy

is dated 1905; Retana (No. 4192) mentions an edition between the

years 1860 and 1898. In outline the folk-tale differs little from

the romance, hence it is unnecessary to give a detailed summary of

the printed version. The more important variations might be noted,

however. The romance opens thus:--

Once there lived an old man whose name was Asuero. He was the king

of Jerusalem. One night he dreamed that he should be dethroned,

and that a poor young countryman would take his place. He awoke and

became sad and thoughtful. Unable to go to sleep again, he climbed a

tower of his palace, and began to look around with a spy-glass. When

he directed his gaze toward a mountain-region beyond the Nile (!),

he saw an enchantress who was looking out of her window. She was

Doña Maria. He was charmed by her beauty, and became restless. At

length he resolved to relate to his council of chiefs what he had

seen, and to ask their advice. Many suggestions were made, and many

objections. Since the king could not be deterred from his purpose

of attempting to get possession of Doña Maria, his chief counsellor

proposed an assembly of all the people of the kingdom, where the king's

desire might be made known. At the assembly the king promised money

to any one who dared to undertake the adventure, and his appointment

as chief counsellor if he were successful.

The folk-tale and the romance are practically identical, except

that the romance is more detailed, up to the point where the horse

leaves Juan to go to entice Doña Maria from her palace and get her

in its power.

The horse told Juan that it would go with the golden bit and saddle

and get Doña Maria, while Juan should hide in a bush near by until they

should come back. The horse also told Juan that when it passed by the

bush, he should seize its tail and hold on tight. Then the horse left,

and after a time came to the garden of Doña Maria. When the maiden

saw the animal, she became angry at its owner for letting it into her

garden. After looking about for the rider in vain, she claimed the

horse, and was about to mount it when the animal spoke to her, and told

her to put on a better dress, one which would be more appropriate for

the golden saddle. When she returned, she had on a magnificent gown,

and wore a magic ring. The horse told her that it had been sent by

God to be her faithful steed, and then suggested that she visit the

abode of the eagles. She was very anxious to see this wonderful place,

and agreed to be taken there. Before they set out, the horse asked her

for her magic ring, saying that he would carry it safely for her in

his mouth. She surrendered the ring, and the horse carried her to the

place where Juan was concealed. Juan seized the tail of the horse, and

the animal flew into the air and alighted beyond the sea. Here, by the

magic power of the handkerchief, Juan produced food, a table, and two

chairs at the request of the horse. Six maids served them. The horse

now gave Juan the ring of Doña Maria; and as long as he kept this,

he was sure of keeping the maiden. After eating, Doña Maria asked Juan

why she had been brought there; but Juan, following the advice of the

horse, made no reply. She flattered him and tried to get him to sleep,

but he paid no attention to her. At length the horse told them that

they must resume their journey. The horse travelled rapidly, and soon

reached the royal palace; but the gates were closed, for it was then

about midnight. So the riders decided to spend the rest of the night

at Juan's house. There the old mother received them all gladly. When

the saddle and bit had been taken from the horse, the animal said

that it would return the following morning and carry Juan to the

palace. It further warned Juan not to sleep if he valued his life ....

The romance closes with the inevitable war with the Moors, and the

rescue of the kingdom from the hands of the Pagans by the invincible

Juan.

The exact source of this romance I am unable to point to; but without

question it is Occidental, I believe.

TALE 47

THE FATE OF AN ENVIOUS WOMAN.

Narrated by Vicente M. Hilario, a Tagalog from Batangas, Batangas. He

was told the story by his gardener.

There lived once upon a time a young couple of the middle class. The

man was a reckless scapegrace and spendthrift; but the woman was a

pious, faithful, and virtuous housewife. Juan was the husband's name;

Maria, the wife's. One of the worst things about Juan was that he

spent on another woman the greater part of the money which Maria

could with difficulty scrape together. This other woman's name was

Flora. It is true that she surpassed Maria in personal charm, but in

real worth Flora was greatly Maria's inferior. Hence we should not

wonder at the fact that Maria soon grew distasteful to her husband,

and that after a year of married life he should seek to be entertained

by a more beautiful woman. He spent most of his time in listless

indolence by the side of Flora, returning home only to get his meals,

which Maria prepared with the greatest care. But her efforts were all

to no purpose. In vain did Maria array herself in her best clothes,

and scent herself with the most delicate perfumes: her face remained

pitted with small-pox scars, as before.

Years came and passed, and Juan became more and more harsh to his

wife. At last Maria sought the aid of St. Vicente Ferrer. She knelt

before the image, and asked the saint to rescue her husband from the

pit into which he had fallen. Her prayers were soon answered. The

image became animated. It touched her face several times, and in a few

seconds Maria was converted into an extraordinary beauty. Her once

rough skin was now smooth and velvety. She then went to the window

to await her husband's return. When he arrived an hour later, he was

at first unwilling to come up into the house, for he did not believe

that the beautiful woman was his wife; but at last she disclosed her

true self to him. A great change now came over Juan. The once despised

wife now began to enjoy the caresses of her husband, who pressed her

close to his heart.

Days elapsed, and Flora began to get uneasy at her home. She

wondered why Juan did not come to see her. At length she went to

his house. After asking Maria how she had acquired her beauty, Flora

decided to try her fortune also. She too knelt before the image of

St. Vicente Ferrer. But, alas! instead of becoming as white and as

beautiful as the women of a Turkish harem, she became as black and as

ugly as the mistress of a Kaffir household. Her once delicate lips

became thick and coarse, and her nose became as long as a monkey's

tail. Filled with shame at her appearance, and with a consciousness

of her own guilt, she went home, where she pined away and died.

The once homely Maria, whose home had rung with laughter by the taunt

and ridicule of those who made fun of her ugliness, [94] now graced her

house with sweet smiles and engaging features, which drew scores of

visitors to her home. Juan confessed his sins, and underwent penance

for his wickedness; and the two lived together in peace and happiness

the rest of their lives.

Notes.

A Visayan variant, "The Two Wives and the Witch," may be found in

JAFL 19 : 105. In the southern version "Juan puts away his first,

plain-looking wife, and takes another, handsomer one. The first

wife, weeping by a well, is transformed by a witch into a beautiful

woman. She wins her husband's affections back again. The second wife,

deserted in turn, weeps by the well, and is transformed by the witch

into such a hideous old hag, that, when she looks at herself in

the glass and sees her ugliness, she refuses to eat, and in a few

days dies."

In a broad way this story and ours belong to the "Toads and

Diamonds" group (see Grimm, No. 13 ["The Three Little Men in the

Wood"] and No. 24 ["Mother Holle"]; and Bolte-Polívka's notes to

the two stories). In these groups, however, the two young women

are sisters,--one bad, and the other good. About all there is in

common between the norm of the "Toads and Diamonds" cycle and our

tales is the situation of the plain-looking but faithful, unselfish,

good-hearted woman being granted by some supernatural creature wealth

and beauty; while the handsome but selfish and wicked woman, envious

of her rival's good luck, becomes loathsome and miserable when she

asks a boon from the same supernatural source.

The only other member of this group that narrates the story of

two wives instead of two sisters is Lal Behari Day's No. 22. This

Bengal tale, it appears to me, is related both to our stories and to

those of the "Mother Holle" group, thus linking ours with the latter

also. Following is Cosquin's summary of Day's story (2 : 123):--

A man had two wives,--one young, and one old. The latter was treated by

the other as if she were a slave. One day her rival, in a fit of anger,

snatched from the old woman's head the one tuft of hair she had, and

drove her from the door. The old woman went into the forest. Passing

by a cotton-tree, she saw that the ground round about the tree needed

sweeping, and she swept it. The tree, much pleased, showered its

blessings on her. She did the same thing for other trees--a banana

and a tulasi--and also for a bull, whose stall she swept out. All

blessed her. She arrived next at the hut of a venerable mouni (a

kind of ascetic), and she told him of her misery. The mouni told her

to go plunge herself once, but only once, in a certain pool. She

obeyed, and came up out of the water with the most beautiful hair

in the world, and altogether rejuvenated. The mouni next told her

to enter his hut and to select from among many willow baskets that

which pleased her. The woman took one very simple in appearance. The

mouni bade her open it: it was filled with gold and precious stones,

and was never empty. On her way back home she passed in front of the

tulasi. The tree said to her, "Go home in peace! your husband will

love you to madness." Next the bull gave her some shell ornaments

which were about its horns, and told her to place them on her wrists:

if she would but shake them, she would have all the ornaments she could

wish. The banana-tree gave her one of its large leaves, which filled

itself of its own accord with excellent dishes. And, last of all,

the cotton-tree gave her one of its branches, which would give her,

if she shook it, every kind of beautiful garment. When she returned

to the house, the other wife could hardly believe her eyes. Having

learned of the old woman's adventures, she too went into the forest:

but she passed by the trees and the bull without stopping. And instead

of dipping herself only once in the pool, as the mouni told her to do,

she plunged in a second time, hoping to become even more beautiful;

and so she came out of the water as ugly as before. The mouni did

not give her any present, either; and thenceforth, disdained by her

husband, she finished her life as a servant in his house.

It is unsafe to attempt to trace a story with only three examples

as data: but it appears to me not unreasonable to suppose that our

Tagalog story is a refined, pious, Christianized modernization of the

Visayan form represented by "The Two Wives and the Witch;" and that

the Visayan form, in turn, goes back to some Indian or Malayan moral

tale of two wives, rivals for the affection of their husband. The

Bengali tale can hardly be the direct source of our Visayan form,

but it appears to be fairly closely related to that source.

TALE 48

THE MONKEY AND JUAN PUSONG TAMBI-TAMBI.

Narrated by Encarnacion Gonzaga, a Visayan from Jaro, Iloilo. She says

that she has often heard this story; that it was very popular among

the "inhabitants of yesterday;" and that even now many are fond of it.

Tiring-tirang was a barrio in the town of Tang-tang, situated at

the foot of a hill which was called "La Campana" because of its

shape. Around the hill, about a mile from the barrio, flowed the

Malogo River, in which the people of the town used to bathe. It

so happened that one time an epidemic broke out in the community,

killing off all the inhabitants except one couple. This couple had

an only son named Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi.

When Juan had reached his twelfth year, his father died: consequently

the boy had to go to work to earn money for the support of himself

and his mother. At first Juan followed the occupation of his father,

that of fisherman; but, seeing that he made little money from this,

he decided to become a farmer. His mother had now reached the age of

seventy (!), and was often sick. Juan frequently had to neglect his

farm in order to take care of her.

One day Juan went to Pit-pit to buy medicine for his mother. On his

way to the town he saw a flock of crows eating up his corn. He paid

no attention to the birds; but on his way back, when he saw these

same birds still eating his corn, he became angry. He picked up a

stone about the size of his fist, and crept into a bush near by. He

had hardly hidden himself when the birds heard a rustling, and began

to fly off. Juan jumped up, and hurled his stone with such accuracy

and force that one of the crows fell dead to the ground. He tied

the dead crow to a bamboo pole, and planted it in the middle of his

cornfield. No sooner was he out of sight than the crows flew back to

the field again; but when they saw their dead companion, they flew off,

and never troubled Juan again.

For six months Juan had no trouble from birds. He did not know,

however, that not far from his field there was a monkey (chongo)

living in a large tree. This monkey used to come to his field every

day and steal two or three ears of corn. One day, as Juan was walking

across his field, he saw many dead cornstalks. He said to himself,

"I wonder who it is that comes here and steals my corn! I am no longer

troubled by birds; and yet I find here many husks." He went home and

made an image of a crooked old man like himself. This he covered with

sticky wax. He placed it in the middle of the field.

The next morning, when the sun was shining very brightly, the monkey

felt hungry, so he ran towards the field to steal some corn to

eat. There he saw the statue. Thinking that it was Juan, he decided

to ask permission before he took any corn. "Good-morning, Juan!" said

the monkey in a courteous tone; but the image made no reply. "You

are too proud to bend your neck, Juan," continued the monkey. "I have

only come to ask you for three or four ears of corn. I have not eaten

since yesterday, you know; and if you deny me this request, I shall

die before morning." The waxen statue still stood motionless. "Do you

hear me, Juan?" said the monkey impatiently. Still the statue made

no reply. "Since you are too proud to answer me, I will soon give you

some presents. Look out!" he cried, and with his right paw he slapped

the statue which he thought was Juan; but his paw stuck to the wax,

and he could not get free. "Let my hand loose!" the monkey shouted,

"or you will get another present." Then he slapped the statue with his

left paw, and, as before, stuck fast. "You are foolish, Juan. If you

do not let me go this very moment, I'll kick you." He did so, first

with one foot, and then with the other. At last he could no longer

move, and he began to curse the statue. Juan, who had been hiding

in a bush near by, now presented himself, and said to the monkey,

"Now I have caught you, you thief!" He would have killed the monkey

at once, had not the monkey begged for mercy, and promised that he

would at some future time repay him for his kindness if he would only

spare his life. So Juan set the monkey free.

It was now the month of April. The monkey, impatient to fulfil his word

to Juan, went one day to the field, and there he found Juan hard at

work. "Good-morning, Master Juan!" he cried. "I see that you are busy."

"Busy indeed!" replied Juan.

"Master Juan, do you want to marry the king's daughter? If you do,

I'll arrange everything for you," said the monkey.

Juan replied, "Yes," little thinking that what the monkey promised

could be true.

The monkey scampered off towards the market. When he entered the

market, he saw a boy counting his money. The monkey pretended to be

looking in the other direction, but walked towards the boy. When he

saw that the money was fairly within his reach, he seized it and ran

back to Juan. After telling his master what he had done, the monkey

went to the king's palace, and said, "Sir, my master, Juan, wants

to borrow your ganta, for he desires to measure his money." The king

gave him the ganta. In three days the monkey appeared at the palace

again to return the measure, in the bottom of which he stuck three

centavos. "My master, Juan, thanks you for your kindness," said the

monkey. The monkey was about to leave the room when the king perceived

the three centavos sticking to the bottom of the measure.

"Here, monkey, here are your three cents!" said the king. "Oh, oh,

oh, oh, oh!" answered the monkey, laughing, "my master cares not for

three cents. He has too much money. He is very, very rich." The king

was much surprised to hear that there was a man richer than himself.

Two weeks later the monkey returned to the palace again, and said,

"Pray, king, my master, Juan, desires to borrow your ganta again. He

wants to finish measuring his money."

The king was filled with curiosity; and he said, "I'll let you borrow

the ganta, monkey, but you must tell me first who is this Juan whom

you call your master."

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

world."

Before giving the measure to the monkey, the king went to his room

and stuck four pieces of gold on the four corners of the ganta. "I'll

find out who is the richer, Juan or I," he said to himself. The monkey

took the measure, and left the hall with a polite bow.

As he was walking towards Juan's farm, the monkey noticed the four

pieces of gold sticking to the corners of the ganta. He knew that they

had been artfully placed there by the king himself. Two weeks later

he went back to the palace to return the measure, not forgetting to

stick a gold dollar on each corner. "Good-afternoon, king!" said he,

"my master, Juan, returns you your ganta with a thousand thanks."

"Very well," replied the king; "but tell me all about this master

of yours who measures his money. I am a king; still I only count

my money."

The monkey remained silent. Not receiving a prompt reply, the king

turned to Cabal, one of his lords, and said in a whisper, "Do you

know who this Juan is who measures his money?"

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

and yourself."

The king then turned to the monkey, and said, "Monkey, if you don't

tell me who your master is, where he lives, and all about him, I'll

hang you." Doubtless the king was jealous of Juan because of his

great wealth.

Fearing that he would lose his life, the monkey said to the king,

"My master, Juan, the richest and best man in the world, lives in

the town of XYZ. He goes to church every morning wearing his striped

(tambi-tambi) clothes. This is why he is known among his people as

Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi. If you will just look out of your window

to-morrow morning, you will see him pass by your garden."

The king's anger was appeased by this explanation. Early the next

morning he was at his window, anxious to get a glimpse of Juan. He had

not been there long when his attention was attracted by the appearance

of a crooked man dressed in striped clothes. "This must be the man whom

the monkey described to me yesterday," he said to himself. Soon his

servant entered the room, and said, "The monkey desires to see you."

The king left the window and went to where the monkey was waiting for

him. As soon as the monkey saw the king, he bowed politely, and said,

"My master, Juan, sends me to tell you frankly that he loves your

daughter, and that, if it pleases you, he will marry her." At first

the king was angry to hear these words; but, being very desirous to

get more money, he at last consented without even asking his daughter.

"If my master does not call on you to-day, he will surely come

to-morrow." So saying, the monkey left the palace, and ran about

town, trying to think of some way he might escape the great danger he

was in. It so happened that an old man who was carrying a bundle of

clothes to his son in the mountains passed along the same road where

the monkey was. The sun was very hot, so the old man decided to rest

under a leafy tree. No sooner was he seated there than the cunning

monkey climbed the tree, and shook the branches with such force that

twigs and fruits fell all around the old man. Panic-stricken, he ran

away as fast as his feet would carry him, leaving everything behind

him. When the man was out of sight, the monkey climbed down the tree,

picked up the bundle of clothes, and carried it to Juan.

"To-morrow, Juan," said the monkey, "you will marry the princess. I'll

arrange everything for you if you will only follow my advice." Half

doubting and half believing, Juan asked the monkey if he really meant

what he said. "What do you think of me?" asked the monkey.

Without waiting for a reply from Juan, the monkey left the hut, and ran

towards the home of the Burincantadas who lived on the summit of the

hill. As soon as he entered the gate, he began to scoop up the ground

as fast as he could. The Burincantadas, who at that very moment were

looking out of the window, saw the monkey. They rushed downstairs,

and, half frightened, said to him, "What are you trying to do?"

"Why, our king has been defeated in the war. The enemies have already

taken possession of the crown. The princess is dead, and it is said

that everybody will be killed before tomorrow noon," replied the

monkey, his teeth chattering. "I am resolved to hide myself under

the ground to save my life."

The three Burincantadas seized him by the arm, and said, "For mercy's

sake, have pity on us! Tell us where we can hide!" They were already

trembling with fear.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! let me loose! The enemy are coming!" On hearing

these words, the Burincantadas all shouted at once, "Tell us where

to hide!"

"If you will not let me scoop out a hole here, I'll jump into the

well," said the monkey in a hoarse voice.

As soon as the Burincantadas heard the word "well," they all ran as

fast as they could, following the monkey. "Let me jump first!" said

the monkey.

"No, let us jump first!" shouted the Burincantadas; and so they

did. The monkey made a motion as if he were going to follow; but,

instead, he lifted up the biggest stone he could find and threw it

down the well. "They are dead," he said to himself, laughing. "Ah,

I have caught you! Ha, ha!"

The Burincantadas now being dead, the monkey was at leisure to

decide what to do next. He entered their palace, and there he found

everything magnificent. "This is the very place where my master

shall live!" He opened the first room, but there he found nothing

but bones. He closed the door and opened the second, where he found

many prisoners who were waiting to be eaten. He set them all free,

and told them to clean up the palace at once. The prisoners set to

work, not forgetting to thank the monkey for his kindness. Before he

left the palace, he addressed the crowd as follows: "My brothers and

sisters, if any one comes and asks you who your master is, tell him

that he is Don Juan Pusong Tambi-tambi."

Then he left the crowd of people busy cleaning the palace, and went

to the farm, where he found thousands of horses, cows, and sheep. "My

master is indeed rich," he said to himself. He called the shepherd

who was lying under the tree, and said to him, "Tell your other

companions that, if any one comes and asks whose animals these are,

they must answer that they all belong to Don Juan Pusong. Don Juan

is your master now."

After seeing that everything was in order, the monkey hastened to

his master, who was still ploughing, and said, "Throw away your

plough. Let's go to the king's palace, for to-night you will be

married to the princess Doña Elena."

Night came. The palace was splendidly adorned. The princess was

sitting by her father, when Don Juan, dressed in his striped clothes

and accompanied by the monkey, entered the gate of the palace. Soon the

priest came, and the princess was called to the reception-hall. When

she saw her bridegroom, she ran away in despair, and cried to her

father, "Father, how dare you accept as my husband such a base, dirty,

crooked man! Look at him! Why, he is the meanest of the mean."

But the king replied, "He is rich. If you don't marry him, I'll punish

you very severely." The princess had to obey her father; but, before

giving her hand to Juan Pusong, she said, "O God! let me die."

When the marriage ceremony was over, the king called the monkey,

and asked, "Where is the couple going to live?"

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

The king immediately ordered carriages to be gotten ready. Then they

started on their journey. Four hours passed, and still no palace

was to be seen. The king became impatient, and said to the monkey,

"Monkey, if what you have said to me is not true, your head shall

answer for your lie." Hardly had he said these words when he beheld

before him a number of men watching a herd of cattle. "I wonder who

owns these, monkey!" said the king.

The monkey made some signs, and soon three shepherds came running up

to them. "Good-evening, king!" they said.

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

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

The king nodded, and said to himself, "He is truly rich." The palace

was now in sight. The king could hardly express his joy on seeing

such a magnificent building. "Why, it is not a palace; it is heaven

itself," he said.

They were now upstairs. The king, on seeing still more beauties, said,

"I confess, I am not the richest man on earth." Soon he died of joy,

and his body was placed in a golden coffin and buried in the church.

The couple inherited his dominion; but Queen Elena could not endure

her ugly husband, and two weeks later she died broken-hearted. So

Juan was left as sole ruler of two kingdoms. The monkey became his

chief minister.

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

Andres the Trapper.

Narrated by Domingo Perez of San Carlos, Pangasinan, who heard the

story from his grandfather, now dead. The story is popular among

the Pangasinanes.

Once upon a time there lived in a village a poor widow who had an

only son named Andres. They lived in a small hut situated near the

Patacbo forest. When Andres was between twelve and thirteen years old,

his mother died. From now on he lived alone in his mean little hut,

where he had to cook his own food and wash his clothes.

One morning some boys invited Andres to go to the woods with them to

trap. When they got to the forest, his companions set their traps

in the places where the wild chickens used to feed. Then they went

home. In the afternoon they returned to the woods, where they found

that each trap had caught a wild cock. Now Andres became envious of

his companions: so when he reached home, he took his knife and made

two traps of his own. After he had finished them, he ran to the forest

and set them. Early the next morning he went to the woods to see if he

had caught anything. There he found two wild cocks snared. He took them

home, sold one, and ate the other for his dinner. When he had finished

eating, he made many traps, which he set up that afternoon. From now

on he made his living by trapping, often catching as many as fifteen

birds in a day. From the money he earned he was able to feed himself

and buy clothes.

One day, after Andres had been a trapper for many years, he went

to the forest, as usual, to see what he had caught. He found that

his traps had been moved, and that in one of them was a big monkey

caught by the leg. As Andres was about to kill the monkey with a big

stick which he picked up, the animal said to him, "My dear Andres,

don't harm me! and I will be your helper by and by."

Andres was much astonished to hear the monkey talk. He was moved

to pity, and set the animal free. When he started toward his home,

the monkey followed him. From now on they lived together. Soon the

monkey learned how to sell wild chickens in the market.

Now, in that town there lived a very rich man by the name of Toribio,

who had a daughter named Aning. The people considered Aning the most

beautiful lady in the province. However, none of the young men of

the town courted Aning, for they felt unworthy and ashamed to woo

the richest and most beautiful girl. One fine day the monkey went to

town and sold wild chickens, as usual. On his way home he stopped at

Don Toribio's house. Don Toribio asked what he wanted, and the monkey

said that his master had sent him to borrow their money-measure.

"Who is your master?" said Don Toribio.

"Don't you know? Don Andres, a very rich, handsome young gentleman

who lives in the valley of Obong," said the monkey.

Don Toribio at once lent the ganta-measure to the monkey, who

thanked him and hurried home. Before he returned it to the owner

the next morning, he put a peso, a fifty-centavo piece, a peseta,

and a media-peseta in the cracks of the measure.

When the monkey handed the ganta back to Don Toribio, the man said,

"Why do you return it? Has your master finished measuring his money?"

"No, sir!" said the monkey, "we have not finished; but this box is

too small, and it takes us too long to measure with it."

"Well," said Don Toribio, "we have a bigger one than that; do you

want to borrow it?"

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

monkey.

Don Toribio then brought a cavan, which equals about twenty-five

gantas. When the monkey reached home carrying the large measure,

Andres said to him, "Where did you get that box?" The monkey said

that it had been lent to him by the richest man in the town.

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

Andres.

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

"Ah, me!" said Andres, "what money are you going to count? Don't you

know that we are very poor?"

"Let me manage things, Andres," said the monkey, "and I promise you

that you shall marry the beautiful daughter of the rich man."

The following day Andres caught many wild chickens. When the monkey

had sold them all in the market, he went back to their hut, and took

the cavan which he had borrowed. Before returning it to Don Toribio,

he stuck money in the cracks, as he had done to the first measure.

"Good-morning, Don Toribio!" said the monkey. Don Toribio was sitting

in a chair by the door of his house.

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

you come to return the box?"

"Yes, sir!" said the monkey, "we have finished. My master sends his

thanks to you." When Don Toribio took the box and saw the money inside,

he told the monkey about it; but the monkey said, "Never mind! we

have plenty more in our house."

"I am the richest man in town, yet I cannot throw money away like the

master of this fellow," said Don Toribio to himself. "Perhaps he is

even richer than I am." When the monkey was about to take his leave,

the rich man told him to tell his master to come there on the third

day. The monkey said that he would, and thanked Don Toribio for

the invitation.

On his way home, the monkey stopped at the market to buy a pair of

shoes, some ready-made clothes, and a hat for Andres. He took these

things home to his master, and in three days had taught Andres how to

walk easily with shoes on, how to speak elegantly, how to eat with a

spoon and fork and knife, and how to tell Don Toribio that he wanted

to marry his daughter.

When the time came, Andres and the monkey set out for the town. They

were welcomed by Don Toribio and his daughter Aning. After a short

talk, Andres spoke of his purpose in coming there. He said that he

wanted to marry Don Toribio's daughter. Don Toribio gladly accepted the

offer, and said that the wedding would be held the next morning. Hasty

preparations were made for the ceremony. In the morning a priest

came, and Andres and Aning were married. Many guests were present,

and everybody had a good time.

A few years later Don Toribio died, and Andres inherited all his

wealth. He then became a very rich man.

Notes.

Two other Philippine variants of the "Puss in Boots" cycle have been

printed,--one Visayan, "Masoy and the Ape" (JAFL 20 : 311-314);

and the other Tagalog, "Juan and the Monkey" (ibid., 108-109). It

would thus appear, not only from the fact of its wide distribution,

but also from the testimony of the recorders of the stories, that

the tale is fairly well known and popular throughout the Archipelago.

The most complete bibliography of this cycle is Bolte-Polívka's notes

on Grimm, No. 33 (a), "Puss in Boots" (Anmerkungen, I : 325-334). See

also Köhler's notes to Gonzenbach, No. 65, "Vom Conte Piro" (2 :

242 f.); Macculloch, ch. VIII (p. 225 f.); W. R. S. Ralston in the

"Nineteenth Century" (13 [1883] : 88-104). The oldest known version

of the story is Straparola's (XI, i), which is translated in full by

Crane (pp. 348-350). The second oldest is also Italian, by Basile (2 :

iv); the third, French, Perrault's "Le Chat Botté." In all three the

helpful animal is a cat, as it is without exception in the German,

Scandinavian, English, and French forms. In the Italian the animal is

usually a cat, though the fox takes its place in a number of Sicilian

tales. In the Greek, Roumanian, Bulgarian, Serbian, Russian, and in

general all East European forms, the helpful animal is regularly the

fox, as it is also in the examples collected from Siberia, Kurdestan,

Daghestan, and Mongolia. In the four Indian variants known, the animal

is a jackal; in the four from the Philippines, a monkey. In a Swahili

tale (Steere, p. 13) it is a gazelle. It is not hard to see how,

through a process of transmission, jackal, fox, and cat might become

interchanged; but where the Philippine monkey, consistently used in

all versions, came from, is more difficult to explain; so the Swahili

gazelle. I have, however, attempted an explanation below.

An examination of the four members of the Philippine group reveals some

striking family resemblances: (1) The motive of the monkey's gratitude

is the same in all the stories: the thieving animal is caught in some

sort of trap, and promises to serve the hero for life if he will only

spare it. The animal is true to its word. (2) In all the stories occurs

the incident of the borrowed measure returned with coins sticking

to it. (3) In all the versions occurs the marriage of the poor hero

with the chief's daughter, brought about by the ingenious monkey. (4)

In three of the versions (all except the Pangasinan) we have as the

final episode the destruction of a powerful witch or demon, and the

winning of all its fortune by the monkey for the hero. In the Hindoo

variants we find that the motive of the jackal's gratitude agrees

with the motive in our versions. In other respects they differ (with

the exception of the marriage, which is found in nearly all members

of the "Puss in Boots" cycle): the Hindoo tales lack the incidents

of the borrowed measure and the destruction of the demon. So far as

the opening is concerned, then, our variants and the Indian belong

to the same family. The separation, however, must have taken place

ages ago; for in India the animal is consistently a jackal, and in the

Philippines a monkey. The only other form that I know of in which the

animal is a monkey is the Arabian, in the "1001 Nights," "Aboo Mohammed

the Lazy;" but here the helpful ape later turns out to be a malicious

demon, who treacherously abducts the hero's beautiful wife. At last,

through the aid of a friendly jinnee, the hero recovers her, captures

the ape, and encloses it forever in a bottle of brass. He then gains

possession of all the demon's enormous wealth. It is difficult to

see any immediate connection between the Arabian version and ours.

Our two Visayan forms are of particular interest in that they make

use of the "Tar Baby" device to catch the monkey. If Joseph Jacobs

is correct in tracing this incident to the Buddhist birth-story, the

"Pancavudha-jataka," No. 55 (see Indian Fairy Tales, pp. 305 ff.),

the Philippines may easily have derived it directly from India along

with other Buddhistic fables (e.g., "The Monkey and the Crocodile,"

No. 56, below). Indeed, Batten's ingenious explanation that the Brer

Rabbit of Negro lore is a reminiscence of an incarnation of Buddha

may be applied equally well to the monkey in our Visayan tales,

for the monkey is a much more common form for the Bodhisatta than

is the hare. In the five hundred and forty-seven Jatakas, Buddha

is born as a hare only once; whereas in eleven separate stories he

appears as a monkey,--oftener, indeed, than as any other animal (lion,

ten times; stag, nine; elephant, seven). This same explanation (viz.,

that "Puss in Boots" is the Bodhisatta) would account for the gazelle

(deer) in the Swahili tale. The extreme cleverness of the Bodhisatta

in most of his animal manifestations might easily have suggested the

"Puss in Boots" cycle. Another point worth noticing in connection

with this theory is the consistent faithfulness of the animal. The

ingratitude of the human hero, which is found even in some of the

Occidental versions, and the gratitude of the animal, form a favorite

Buddhistic contrast. Altogether it appears to me wholly reasonable to

derive not only the "Tar Baby" incident, but also the whole "Puss in

Boots" cycle, from Buddhistic lore. For the appearance of both in the

Philippines we do not need to go to Europe as a source. The "Tar Baby"

device to catch a thieving jackal is found in a Santal story, "The

Jackal and the Chickens" (Bompas, No. CXII). See also two South African

tales in Honeÿ,--"The Story of a Dam" (p. 73), and "Rabbit's Triumph"

(p. 79). For other references, see Dähnhardt, 4 : 26-43 (ch. 2).

There is a connection, however, between some of the Occidental

versions and three of ours,--the incident of the destruction of

the demon. This detail, as I have pointed out, is hinted at in the

"1001 Nights" version. [95] In spite of the fact that it exists in

a number of the oldest European literary forms of the story and is

not found in modern Indian folk-tales, I believe that this incident

is of Oriental origin. In Straparola it has been rationalized, so

to speak. A significant version intermediary between the Orient and

Occident in this respect, as well as geographically, is the Mongolian

tale of "Boroltai Ku" (FLJ 4 : 32 f):--

This story has the Oriental opening: the animal is a fox, which the

hero digs out of its hole and spares. Through its cleverness the

fox brings about the marriage of Boroltai Ku, the man who spared

its life, with the daughter of Gurbushtên Khan. After the wedding

the khan sends the new couple back to their home, and with them an

official attendant. On the return journey the fox runs on ahead, and

requests every herdsman it meets to say, if he is asked whose cattle

he is tending, "It is the cattle of Boroltai Ku, the rich khan." At

last the fox comes to the tent of Khan Manguis, and groans. "What's

the matter?" says the khan. "A storm is coming," says the fox. "That

is a misfortune for me too," says the khan. "How so? You can order a

hole ten fathoms deep to be dug, and can hide in it," says the fox. So

done. Boroltai Ku and his party now appear, and he occupies the khan's

tent as if it were his own. The fox assures the official attendant

that the tent is Boroltai Ku's, but that it has one defect. "What is

that?"--"Under the tent lives a demon. Won't you bring down lightning

to slay him?" The attendant brings down lightning and slays Khan

Manguis, who is sitting in the hole. Boroltai Ku becomes khan,

and takes all the possessions, cattle, and people of Khan Manguis,

and goes to live near his father-in-law.

In this story, it will be noticed, the animal's ruse is the same as

ours,--it persuades the rich khan (demons in ours) to hide himself

in a pit. There he is subsequently killed.

The borrowed measure returned with coins sticking to it has already

been met with in No. 20 (c). The incident occurs elsewhere in Filipino

drolls. It is curious to find it so consistently a part of the Filipino

"Puss in Boots" stories.

In conclusion may be noted the fact that in "Andres the Trapper"

the monkey's solicitude over the appearance his master will make at

the rich man's house has a parallel in the jackal's similar concern

in the Santal story:--

Before the wedding-feast, the jackal gave Jogeswhar some hints as to

his behavior. He warned him that three or four kinds of meats and

vegetables would be handed round with the rice, and bade him to be

sure to help himself from each dish; and when betel-nut was handed

to him after the feast, he was not to take any until he had a handful

of money given him; by such behavior he would lead every one to think

he was really a prince.--BOMPAS, p. 175.

In Dracott's story the human hero is a weaver also, as in the

Santal. His last exploit has been borrowed from another Indian tale

not connected with our group, "Valiant Vicky the Weaver" (Steel-Temple,

p. 80; cf. Kingscote, No. IX).

TALE 49

JUAN THE FOOL.

This story was narrated by Remedios Mendoza of Manila, but the story

itself comes from the Tagalog province of Bulakan.

(NARRATOR'S NOTE.--This story was told to me by a student. He said

that he first heard it in one of the informal gatherings which are

very common in Bocawe, Bulakan, during the hot season. The young men

often assemble at a little shop kept by a young woman, and there the

story-teller of the barrio tells stories. This story of Juan was told

at one of these gatherings by an old man about fifty years old.)

Juan is twenty years old. At this age he begins to become famous in his

little barrio. He is short in stature. His eyes are neither bright nor

dull: they are very black, and slowly roll in their sockets. His mouth

is narrow. He has a double chin, and a short flat nose. His forehead

is broad, and his lips are thick. His hair is black and straight. His

body is round like a pumpkin, and his legs are short. He seems to be

always tired. In spite of all these physical peculiarities, however,

he is invited to every bayluhan and katapusan, [96] because he is

sure to bring with him laughter and merriment.

Juan lives in a poor barrio, which consists of a few poor nipa

huts. It has a small chapel of stone, with a turret and bells. In

the courtyard in front of the chapel is erected a cross. A few nipa

cottages are scattered along the lonely streets of the barrio. There

is a rivulet just outside the village. Its course is hidden and lost

in a thick forest which extends to the foot of a mountain.

At the time the story opens Juan is eating his breakfast with his

mother. She is an old widow, whose sole ambition is to establish

Juan in a good social position. She is constantly advising her

son, when there is any occasion to preach, to be on the lookout

for a virtuous wife. She tells him that, since she is an old and

experienced woman, he must follow her advice. Her advice is that a

good wife is always quiet and tongue-tied, and does not go noisily

about the house. As Juan is an obedient son, he soon determines to get

him a good wife. After a short time Juan comes home to his mother,

and says to her, "Mother, I have found the girl you will like,--the

one who shall be my wife. She is speechless and motionless. Her eyes

are staring in just one place. Though I have watched her closely for

about twelve hours, I have not observed the slightest motion in her

lips and eyelids. She remained quiet in her bed, although there were

many noisy people in the house."

"And is that all?" says his mother.

"No, mother," says Juan, "her hands were very cold. She was deaf,

and she did not answer me. This fact makes her all the lovelier,

and I am sure you will like her. There is only one thing you did not

tell me, however."

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

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

odor."

"O Juan!" exclaims his mother, "I already suspected from your long

description that you followed my instructions too literally. The girl

you found is a dead one. Now, remember: those who stink are dead."

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

A few days later, when Juan and his mother are eating their breakfast,

Juan smells a stinking odor. He looks around the little room. As

he does not see any one else there, he thinks that his mother is

dead. Then, when his mother is taking her siesta, Juan says to himself,

"Surely mother is dead." He goes out quietly and digs a grave for

her. Then he buries her in it, and mourns for her nine days. Now Juan

is alone in the world.

One morning, when Juan is eating his breakfast by himself, he smells

again a stinking odor. He looks around, and, as he does not see

any one, he thinks that he himself is dead. There is nobody to bury

him. So he goes to the river, takes five or six banana-trunks, and

makes a raft of them. He lies down on the raft, and lets the current

of the river carry him away. In three hours the current has carried

him into the woods. While he is floating through the forest, all of

a sudden he is called in a fierce voice by some one on shore. This

man was the captain of a band of robbers. Juan does not stir in his

place. The second shout is accompanied by a terrible oath. Juan opens

his eyes. He sadly looks at the robbers, and tells them that he is

a dead man. The robbers laugh; but when Juan insists on remaining on

the river, the captain frightens Juan, and says that he will shoot if

he does not get up. As Juan does not care for the taste of bullets,

he goes to the bank of the river, still thinking that he is a walking

dead body.

Juan goes with the robbers into the woods. Their house is in a deserted

spot. The captain appoints Juan their housekeeper. He tells him to

cook rice, but orders him to keep very still and quiet, for they may

be caught by the Spanish soldiers (cazadores). Then the robbers go

out on an expedition, and Juan is left alone in the house. He shuts

the windows, and everything is quiet and undisturbed. He even tries to

control his breathing for fear of the noise it may make. He cautiously

takes an earthen pot and puts rice and water into it. Then he places

the pot on the fire, and sits down near it. Everything is silent. But

suddenly a murmuring sound seems to come from the pot. (The water

is beginning to boil.) Soon the sound seems to be very loud. Juan

thinks that the pot is saying, "Buluk ka." This expression means,

"You are decayed." So Juan gets very angry. He whispers to the pot

to stop; but the pot does not seem to hear him, for the murmuring

sound becomes louder and louder. At last Juan is so exasperated,

that he takes a piece of bamboo-bellows (ihip) and gives the pot a

fatal blow. This puts an end to the pot, the rice, and the flames.

At noon the hungry robbers come home. They find Juan almost breathless

in the darkest corner of the house, the pot broken, and the rice

scattered over the floor. They ask Juan what is the matter. Juan

says that the naughty pot was making too much noise, and was mocking

him; and, as the captain bade him be careful about making a noise,

he struck the pot and broke it into pieces. The captain cannot help

smiling at Juan's foolishness, and he tells Juan to prepare a lunch

with anything he can find in the house.

The next day comes, and all the food is eaten. The captain gives Juan

some money, and tells him to go to the market to buy some earthen pots

and some crabs. When Juan reaches the barrio, he buys all the crabs

he can find, and about two dozen large earthen pots. He next finds

out that the pots are too bulky for him to carry, although they are

not heavy. At last he thinks of a good way to carry them. He has the

pots carried to one corner of the market, where he buys a long piece

of rattan. He sharpens one end of the rattan and passes it through

the bottoms of all the pots, so that they are now very easy to be

carried. He slings them over his shoulder, and starts for home with

the pots and the crabs. Soon he comes to a large, wide river with a

very strong current. He sits down on the bank and wonders what is to

be done. He remembers that crabs are good swimmers, so he decides to

untie them and let them swim to the other side of the river. As he

unties the crabs, he says, "Now, crabs, we have to cross this broad

river. I know that you are good swimmers. I am a slow swimmer myself,

and especially with these pots to carry. Please swim to the other

side of the river as quickly as you can, for I cannot carry you. If

you reach the other side before I do, you may go straight home, or

wait for me." With this warning, he releases the crabs one by one

so that they may go in a straight line. He is very glad to see them

swim so fast. Then with the help of a piece of bamboo, and after a

long struggle, he himself reaches the opposite shore. He looks around

for the crabs; but, seeing none, he says to himself, "Perhaps they

have become tired of waiting for me and have gone straight home, as

I ordered them to do. What a surprise for the captain!" Juan is very

glad at the decision of the crabs, and he sets out for the robbers'

house, always hoping to overtake the rear of the long procession of

crabs. He soon reaches home. He asks the robbers if the crabs have

arrived. When Juan finds out that not one of the naughty crabs obeyed

him, he blames himself for his quiet nature, and swears that he will

never trust a crab again. The captain asks him about the pots. Juan

tells him that they are all safe, and that the captain must thank him

for his wit in solving the problem of how to carry two dozen large

pots at the same time. All the robbers are eager to see what Juan's

scheme was. When they find out what Juan has done, and see the holes

in the bottom of all the pots, they cannot help laughing. The captain,

however, addresses Juan with all the epithets found in a common slang

dictionary. The captain now decides never to let Juan stay in the house

alone, and from that time on takes him with them on their expeditions.

Several days later the captain calls Juan one night, and tells him

to get ready, for they are going to rob a certain house. They go

through the forest, and soon come to a clearing, in the middle of

which stands a large nipa house. While they are still in the thicket,

the captain calls Juan to him, and says, "Juan, go into the silong

[97] of the house, and see if the people are awake. Now, remember,

if you feel something hot, it is a man; but if it is cold, it is a

bolo. Do you understand?" Juan answers, "Yes," and obediently goes

to the house, repeating to himself the orders of the captain. He

cautiously goes under the house, and looks around. After a while

something hot falls on his back. He quickly runs away, and begins

to cry, "Tao, tao!" ("Man, man!") All the robbers get frightened,

so they run away too. After a few minutes they come together. Seeing

that they are not pursued, the captain calls Juan, and says to him,

"Juan, why did you fool us? Nobody is pursuing us."

"Well," says Juan, "I followed your orders. You said that if I felt

something hot, it was a man; but if cold, it was a bolo. I went into

the silong. I looked up. There was a faint light, and I saw a large

mat outlined on the floor. As I was looking at it, a hot thing fell

on my back. Then I ran away to warn you."

"Let us see," says the captain impatiently, "what tao that is which has

fallen on your back." One of the robbers lights a match. The robbers

examine Juan's back, and they see only a little lizard clinging to his

worn-out camisa (loose, thin cotton coat). [98] Some of the robbers

get angry, and some laugh at Juan's foolishness. The captain tells

Juan that he may go away, for he is not worth anything. He also tells

Juan not to tell anybody that he has been with them, for, if he does,

they will kill him.

Juan leaves the band of robbers, and decides to live up in a tree,

because he is all alone, he says. He takes a low bamboo table and

goes up into a very large mango-tree. He chooses a well-hidden place,

and there he ties his table firmly to the branches. He spends the day

in the neighboring towns looking for food, but at night he comes back

to the tree and sleeps there.

Early one morning Juan wakes up and hears faint whispers. He looks

down, and sees two men talking very earnestly together. One is carrying

a bag of money. Juan loosens his table and lets it fall on the men. It

makes a loud crash, and they run away. Juan quickly climbs down the

tree and makes off with the bag of money. He now decides to live in

town. After he has found a barrio that suits him, he buys a house, a

carabao, and a cart. He lives peacefully in his new house. Sometimes

he works; but he spends most of his time sleeping, for he is a very

lazy fellow.

One morning the capitan of the town sends a town crier around to

announce an order to the people. The town crier says, "The capitan

orders you all to sprinkle with water the street in front of your

houses." Juan takes a small cocoanut-shell full of water, and goes

out and sprinkles the street. In the afternoon the capitan of the

town goes about the streets to see if the people have obeyed his

orders. He sees that everybody has obeyed him except Juan. He goes

to Juan's house, and asks him why he has not sprinkled the street;

and Juan tells him what he has done. The capitan then tells him that

he must use much water. As soon as the capitan has left, Juan begins

to pour buckets of water on the street. But when the water all flows

away, Juan thinks that his irrigation is not good enough: so he takes

his cart and carabao, and with their help he digs a large ditch. All

night long Juan works filling the ditch with water. The next morning,

when the capitan sees the ditch, he becomes very angry, and summons

Juan. Juan excuses himself by saying that the laws of the town are

not stated clearly. So the capitan has to let Juan go.

When Sunday comes, Juan goes to church. In the pulpit the priest tells

the people to put a little cross on their street doors. When Juan

goes home, he takes a piece of tinting (the rib of a cocoanut-leaf)

and makes a little cross about two inches high. When the priest makes

his rounds, he does not see the cross, for it is so small. He asks

Juan where his cross is. Juan shows him; and the priest tells him

to make a large one, for it is too small, and the evil spirits will

not be able to see it. Juan takes his bolo and cuts two long pieces

of bamboo. This time his cross is so large, that the priest cannot

see it, either. The priest becomes so angry at Juan's stupidity, that

he expels him from the town. Juan good-naturedly goes away. He sells

his house, and with his cart and carabao he moves on to another town.

He settles in a barrio where the soil is red. Here he lives several

weeks, but he is always longing to go back to his old home. He finally

says to himself that he is going there in spite of the anger of the

priest. He fills his cart with red earth, and hitches his carabao to

it. He sits in the middle of his cart, and slowly drives to the town

where he had lived before. As he is driving down the main street

in the afternoon, whom should he meet but the priest himself! The

priest cries, "Juan, so you are here again! Didn't I tell you that you

must never tread the soil of this town again? If you do not go away,

I shall tell the capitan to imprison you."

"Dear priest," says Juan humbly, "before you accuse me, use your

eyes. I am not treading on your soil. This earth which I have in my

cart is my own." The priest looks in the cart. By this time there are

many people around them, and they too look in the cart. They laugh at

Juan's wit. The priest wants to laugh too; but he controls himself,

for he is afraid that the people will not respect him any more if he

laughs. So he angrily threatens Juan, and tells him to leave the town

instantly. Poor Juan has nothing to do but go.

He sells his carabao and cart, and spends the money foolishly in

the neighboring villages. Soon Juan is reduced to poverty again, so

he decides to go back to his native town. There he finds everything

changed: the houses are better, and the little chapel is prettier. He

looks for relatives or friends, but he finds only his old grandmother,

who lives by herself in the field. He goes to her and tells her the

history of his family. The old woman recognizes him at last, and

asks him if he is not the Juan who buried his mother. Juan answers,

"Yes," but excuses himself by saying that he only obediently followed

his mother's advice.

Juan now stays with his grandmother. Her hut, which is very small,

is surrounded by a small garden of vegetables. Juan does nothing but

eat and sleep. He soon develops the bad habit of throwing things out

of the window. His grandmother tells him that he must throw them far

away. One morning the old woman does not find Juan, and he does not

appear until midnight. She asks him where he has been, and he tells

her that he went to the other side of the mountain to throw away a

banana-skin which was left on his plate. She tells him that he does not

need to go so far, that he can throw the banana-skins behind the fence.

One day early in the morning the old woman leaves Juan in charge

of the house, for she is going to town. She tells him to cook two

small measures (chupas) of rice for her, for perhaps she will be very

hungry when she gets home. Then she goes away quite happy, thinking

that Juan understands her. As soon as she leaves, Juan thinks it is

time to begin to cook. He is surprised to find only one measure in

the earthen jar. He looks for the other one everywhere; but, as he

cannot find it, he thinks his grandmother was mistaken when she told

him to cook two measures of rice. So he takes his bolo, goes outside,

cuts a piece of bamboo, and makes a wooden measure just like the other

one. This takes him a long time; but when he has finished, he fills

the two measures with dry rice, and puts them in the fire. While

the measures are burning, the grandmother arrives. She calls Juan,

and asks him if the rice is ready, for she is very hungry. Juan tells

her that it is quite ready. The old woman sees that it is very bright

in the house, and she fears that it is on fire. Juan says that it is

the two measures burning. When the old woman sees what Juan has done,

she becomes angry. However, she controls herself, and teaches Juan how

to cook rice. Under the supervision of the old woman, Juan takes an

earthen pot, cleans it, and puts rice into it. Then he puts water into

the pot, and finally puts the pot on the fire. The old woman goes to

rest, telling him to watch the rice. After a while she calls to Juan,

and says,

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

"No, I did not," says Juan.

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

"That is impossible," says Juan.

"Why impossible?" cries the old woman. "The rice will have a smoky

taste if you don't."

"All right," says Juan, getting up. He goes to the fireplace and thinks

for a little while. Then he jumps up to the rafters of the ceiling,

which are but two feet above his head. He goes just above the pot,

adjusts his feet very well, and then lets himself fall. The pot is

broken to pieces. The old woman wakes up at the noise of the crash,

and says, "What is that, Juan? Is the rice cooked?"

"Why do you ask me that?" says Juan impatiently. "You told me to step

on the pot, and now you ask me if the rice is cooked!"

She goes out to the kitchen; and when she sees her broken pot, the old

woman becomes truly angry. She drives Juan from the house, telling him

that he cannot live with her any more because he is too troublesome.

Juan now goes off, and wanders from town to town. Sometimes he is

obliged to work in order to get anything to eat. Finally he comes

to a large town where the people wear shoes and carry umbrellas. He

becomes enchanted with the shoes and umbrellas: so he works hard, and

saves enough money to buy both. But he surprises every one who sees

him; for he carries his shoes dangling at his belt, and his umbrella

closed under his arm. Some of the more curious fellows follow after

him. They see that, although it rains or the sun is very hot, Juan

never opens his umbrella except when he sits to rest under a tree;

and also that he never puts his shoes on when he is on dry land,

but only when he is crossing a river. At last they ask him why he

does such foolish things. Juan says, "Don't you know that there are

many worms and loose branches in a tree? If, for example, a snake

should fall down, well, it would hit my umbrella. As for the shoes,

it is better for one to wear his shoes when he crosses a river,

for there he cannot see the ground." The people leave him alone;

but some persons think he is wise, and imitate his example.

Juan goes on with his travels. At last he falls in love. He serves

the girl's parents, and becomes their cook. He always keeps the

best parts of the chicken for the girl and himself, and gives only

the bones to the parents. They ask him why he gives them the worst

parts. Juan replies, "I do that because you are our supporters. The

bones, compared with a house, are the foundation and framework." The

parents find Juan's reasoning so good, that they at once marry their

daughter to him. After this Juan is a good and sensible fellow,

and does not do foolish things any more.

Notes.

This long, loosely-constructed droll is not of any fixed length,

according to the narrator; adventures are added or omitted at the

caprice of the story-teller. It would be useless to attempt to parallel

the tale as a whole, because of the very nature of its composition. The

separate incidents, however, we may examine, pointing out analogues

already in print, and citing others from my own manuscript collection.

(1) "If it smells bad, it's dead." This joke is common among the

Tagalogs and Pampangans, and forms the basis of many of their comical

stories. As an example I will give the opening of a story entitled

"Ricardo and his Adventures" narrated by Paulo Macasaet, a Tagalog

from Batangas:--

Ricardo and his Adventures.

Once there was a widow who had a son named Ricardo. One day the mother

said to the boy, "Ricardo, I want you to go to school, so that you

may learn something about our religion." Ricardo was willing enough,

so he took his Catechism and set out. Instead of going to the school,

however, he went to a neighboring pond and listened to the merry

croaking of the frogs. When eleven o'clock came, he went home and

told his mother about the real school. The poor woman was very happy,

thinking that her son was spending his time wisely. Ricardo took great

delight in joining the chorus of the frogs, for his mother gave him

food as a reward for his diligence.

One morning the woman asked her son to read his lesson. The boy opened

his Catechism and croaked very loudly. His mother was glad when she

heard that her son could croak so well, because she thought that that

was the way to read the book.

As Ricardo was playing with his schoolmates one day, he saw a dead

cat. It smelled very bad, so he left the pond and went home. He

said, "Mother, I saw a cat lying near our school. It had a very bad

odor." The mother said, "My son, remember this: whenever a body smells

bad, you may be sure that it is dead." Ricardo repeated the words of

his mother many times to himself, and learned them by heart.

One day, when he was on his way to the pond, Ricardo smelled something

bad. He looked in every direction, but he could not find anybody. So

he said, "Since I cannot find any dead body here, I must be the one

who is dead." He lay down on the ground, and said, "Ricardo is dead! I

cannot eat any more. O how unhappy I am!" While he was lying there,

he saw a ripe guava above his head. He exclaimed, "Delicious fruit,

you are very fortunate! If I were alive, I would eat you." He wished

to get the fruit, but he dared not do so. After a while, when he

could no longer smell the stink, he got up and went home, and told

his mother his story.

[As the rest of the story is not droll, and is in no way connected

with our present tale, it may be given in abstract.]

One day Ricardo learned from his mother how his father had been

killed by a giant who had afterwards carried away his sister. The

boy set out in search of the giant. An old man along the way, whom he

treated kindly, gave him two bottles of magic water,--one that would

make invulnerable the man who should drink it, another that would take

away all the strength of him on whose head it should be poured. Later

a leprous old woman to whom he gave some food presented him with

a magic saddle that would carry him through the air. So equipped,

he soon arrived at the cave of the giant. He succeeded in killing

that seven-headed monster and in freeing his sister and many other

prisoners. Ten barrels of money were found in the cave. Of these,

Ricardo took two; the rest he gave to the prisoners he had freed. Later

Ricardo married a beautiful woman named Lucia.

(2) Destruction of the singing rice-pot. Another Tagalog form of this

incident, likewise connected with Juan's experiences while cook for a

band of robbers, was collected from Singalong, Manila. It was related

by Crisanto H. Aragon, and runs as follows:--

Juan and the Robbers.

Once there was a young man named Juan, who left his parents to seek

his fortune. While he was wandering in the mountains, he reached

the cave of some robbers. Juan decided to be a robber, and asked the

chief to admit him. The chief accepted Juan.

One night Juan was left alone in the cave, for his companions had gone

to town to make a raid. Before leaving, the chief said, "Juan, you

will stay here and take care of our property. If you hear a noise, take

your bolo and kill whoever makes that noise, for he is our enemy. Cook

some rice, so that when we return we may have something to eat."

While Juan was cooking the rice, to his great surprise he heard a

noise. Faithful to the command that had been laid upon him, Juan

took his bolo and walked around the cave to see where the noise came

from. When he reached the kitchen, he noticed that the noise was

louder. After a careful observation, he concluded that it was coming

from the rice-pot. "The enemies must be here," said Juan, pointing

to the rice-pot; and, without a moment's hesitation or fear, Juan

smashed the pot into a thousand pieces. The noise stopped at once,

and Juan was satisfied.

When the robbers came home and asked Juan for rice, he told them what

had happened. The chief realized that the fault was his, so he only

laughed at Juan; but, from that time on, Juan was never allowed to

stay alone in the cave.

One night the robbers decided to rob the captain of the Municipal

Police in a town near by. When they reached the captain's house, they

saw that it was empty: so they took everything they could find. Juan

entered the captain's bedroom, but, instead of searching for valuables,

he took the captain's uniform and put it on. Then Juan went out to

join his companions. But as soon as the robbers saw the uniformed man,

they thought it was the captain, and ran away as fast as their legs

would carry them. Juan ran too, for he thought that the captain must

be after them. The robbers were so frightened, that they separated;

but Juan decided to follow the chief. Finally the chief became so

tired, that he made up his mind to stop and fight his pursuer; but

when Juan came up, the chief recognized him, and it was only then

that both of them felt that they had gotten rid of the real captain.

For a Santal story of a stupid hero joining a band of thieves, see

A. Campbell, "Jhorea and Jhore," pp. 11-12; Bompas, p. 19.

(3) Adventure with the crabs. Compare "The Adventures of Juan" (JAFL

20 : 106), in which Juan's mother sends her foolish son to town to

buy meat to eat with the boiled rice. He buys a live crab, which he

sets down in the road and tells to go to his mother to be cooked for

dinner. The crab promises, but, as soon as Juan's back is turned,

runs in another direction. Clearly our version of the incident is

superior to this.

(4) Juan as a thief. With this incident may be compared another

Tagalog story, narrated by Adolfo Scheerer. It is entitled--

The Adventure of two Robbers.

There were once two robbers, who, hearing of the trip that a certain

family was about to make, decided to rob them during the night. They

were encouraged in their purpose by the thought that everything in

the house would be in a state of great confusion. During the night

the two thieves climbed a tree which grew close by a window of this

house. From this place they could easily observe what the people

inside were doing. As they sat there waiting, they saw two servants

packing something which seemed to be very heavy. They believed that

the bundle contained much money, so they decided to steal it.

In the dead of night one of the robbers went up into the house, took

the bundle, and passed it to his companion below. When he joined the

other, they took to their heels, carrying the bundle between them on

their shoulders. When they had gone some way, the one in the rear began

to get curious as to what they were carrying, so he cut an opening in

the mat that was wrapped around the contents. To his great surprise,

he noticed a human toe stick out; and he at once shouted, "Man, man,

man!" The one in front took this shout as a warning that some one was

chasing them, so he ran faster. The other only continued to shout,

"Man, man!" but his companion paid no attention to him. Finally his

foot caught in the root of a tree, and he fell down. When he understood

the situation, the two villains left the bundle and ran away.

(5) Frightening robbers under tree. This incident is widespread, and

has made its way into many Märchen cycles. It is distinctly comic in

its nature. For references to its occurrence, see Köhler-Bolte, 99

and 341 (sub "Herabwerfen der Thür"); Crane, 380, note 19; Cosquin,

I : 243 f.; and especially Bolte-Polívka, I : 521-525 (on Grimm,

No. 59), episode F.

(6) Walking on his own soil. This trick of Juan's we have already

met with in "King Tasio," No. 7 (b).

(7) Cooking rice-measures. Juan's misunderstanding about cooking two

measures of rice is almost exactly paralleled in a Santal story in

Bompas, No. I. The story is entitled "Bajun and Jhore," and this is

the first of a series of noodle-like incidents:--

Once upon a time there were two brothers named Bajun and Jhore. Bajun

was married, and one day his wife fell ill of fever. So, as he was

going ploughing, Bajun told Jhore to stay at home and cook the dinner,

and he bade him put into the pot three measures of rice. Jhore staid

at home, and filled the pot with water and put it on to boil; then

he went to look for rice-measures. There was only one in the house;

and Jhore thought, "My brother told me to put in three measures,

and if I only put in one, I shall get into trouble." So he went to a

neighbor's house and borrowed two more measures, and put them into the

pot, and left them to boil. At noon Bajun came back from ploughing,

and found Jhore stirring the pot, and asked him whether the rice was

ready. Jhore made no answer: so Bajun took the spoon from him, saying,

"Let me feel how it is getting on!" but when he stirred with the spoon,

he heard a rattling noise; and when he looked into the pot, he found

no rice, but only three wooden measures floating about. Then he turned

and abused Jhore for his folly; but Jhore said, "You yourself told

me to put in three measures, and I have done so." So Bajun had to

set to work and cook the rice himself, and got his dinner very late.

This ludicrous mistake suggests a not dissimilar droll of the Tinguian

(Cole, 198, No. 86):--

A man went to the other town. When he got there, the people were

eating bamboo sprouts (labon). He asked them what they ate, and they

said pangaldanen (the bamboo ladder is called aldan). He went home and

had nothing to eat but rice: so he cut his ladder into small pieces,

and cooked all day, but the bamboo was still very hard. He could

not wait longer, so he called his friends, and asked why he could

not make it like the people had in the other town. Then his friends

laughed and told him his mistake.

For an almost identical Santal story, see Bompas, No. CXXIV, "The

Fool and his Dinner."

(8) The last two episodes--wearing of shoes only when crossing rivers

and raising umbrella under tree, and the division of the fowl--we have

discussed in the notes to No. 7 (see pp. 63-64, [9], [8]). Add to the

bibliography given there, Bompas, No. CXXVIII, "The Father-in-law's

Visit," which contains a close parallel to the first episode.

In conclusion I will give two other Filipino noodle stories,

which, while not variants of any of those given above, have the

same combination of stupidity and success as that found in "Juan the

Fool." The first is an Ilocano story narrated by Presentacion Bersamin

of Bangued, Abra, and runs thus:--

Juan Sadut.

Juan Sadut was a very lazy fellow. His mother was a poor old woman,

who earned their living by husking rice. What she earned each day

was hardly enough to last them until the next. When a boy, Juan was

left at home to watch over their hens and chickens. One day, as his

mother went to work, she told Juan to take care of the little chicks,

lest a hawk should get them. Now, Juan had been told this so many

times, that he had grown tired of watching chickens: consequently,

when his mother went away, he tied all the chickens and hens together,

and hung them on a tree. He did this, because he thought that no bird

of prey could see them there. In the evening, when his mother came

home, she asked if everything was all right. Juan said, "Nana, I tied

all the hens and chickens by their legs, and hung them in that tree,

so that they would be safe." The mother asked where they were. Juan

showed them to her, but they were all dead. The mother was angry,

and whipped Juan very severely.

Time passed on, and Juan grew up to be a man; but he was as lazy as

ever. He wanted to get married, but the girl he had picked out was the

daughter of a rich man; and his mother told him that he was not a good

match for the girl, for they were very poor, and, besides, he was too

lazy to support a wife. Still Juan was determined to marry the girl,

and he thought out a way to get her. One day Juan went to work in the

fields, and earned a peseta. The next day he earned another. Then he

said to his mother, "Nana, please go to the father of Ines Cannogan

(for such was the name of the girl) and borrow their salup (a half

cocoanut-shell used for measuring). The mother went, and Ines asked

her who had sent for the salup. The mother told her that her son

Juan was a merchant that had just arrived from a successful trip. So

the salup was lent. When returning the measure, Juan put the two

pesetas in the husk of the cocoanut-shell, and told his mother to

take it back to Ines, pesetas and all. When Ines examined the salup,

she found the pesetas, and told her father all about them.

Not long afterwards Juan sent his mother again to borrow the

measure. Again Juan returned it with money sticking in the husk of

the shell. This he did several times, until at last Ines's father

believed that Juan was very rich. Juan now had a chance to talk with

Ines's father about his daughter, and of course the old man accepted

his proposal immediately. So Juan and Ines were married.

After their marriage, when the old man found out that his new

son-in-law was not only very poor, but also very lazy, he repented

of his rashness. However, he compelled both Juan and his wife to

go work on his farm. Once, when Ines was taking her siesta, many

wild cocks and hens came to eat the rice which she had put in the

sun to dry. Juan was too lazy to get up and drive them away, so he

took Ines's gold hairpin and threw it at the birds. When Ines awoke,

she missed her hairpin. Juan told her what he had done with it. She

scolded him so severely, that he felt hurt, and began to weep bitterly,

for even his wife disliked him.

The next day Juan went to look for the hairpin at the place where

he had thrown it. To his great surprise, he found a bush with golden

branches, and on one of them was the hairpin. Immediately he called

his wife. They pulled up the bush, and discovered at its roots a

jar full of gold and silver money. Now Ines was very proud of her

husband's luck. They went to the town to tell their father of their

good fortune. From now on, the old man no longer hated Juan, hut

loved him, and gave him all his property to supervise.

Thus Juan Sadut became a rich man without any effort. Fortune favors

the lazy--sometimes.

The other story comes from the other end of the Archipelago, from the

province of Misamis. It was narrated by Antonio Cosin of Tagoloan,

Misamis, and is a Visayan tale. As may easily be seen, it is distantly

related to Grimm, No. 7, "A Good Bargain." For the "sale to animals"

comic episode, see Grimm's notes; Clouston, "Book of Noodles," p. 148;

and Bolte-Polívka, 1 : 60. For the "sale to statue" incident, which

is analogous to our third episode below, see Clouston, ibid., p. 146;

Crane, 379, note 12; Cosquin, 2 : 178. The story follows:--

Juan Loco.

A great many years ago there lived a certain fool that went by the name

of Juan Loco. He was the son of a butcher, in so far as the following

experiences of his are concerned; he had many other experiences that

are not recorded in this story.

Juan could not be intrusted with anything, he was such a dunce; but one

day he persuaded his father to let him go out and sell meat. So about

eight in the morning Juan left home with about three pesos' worth

of pork, full of many a hopeful expectation. After having wandered

through many streets, he noticed that a big horse-fly was following him

with an imploring murmur. Imagining that the fly wanted to buy meat,

this sapient vender said to it, "Do you want to buy meat?" The fly

answered with a "buzzzzz." For Juan this was a sufficient answer:

so he left one-third of the pork with the fly, saying that he was

coming back again for his pay. Next he met a hungry and greatly-abused

pig, and he asked it if it wanted to buy meat. The pig merely said,

"hack, hack," and gave a few angry nods, but Juan understood it to

be saying, "Yes:" so he threw it one-half of the meat he had left,

with the same warning as he gave the fly,--that he was coming back

to collect the price of the meat. His third customer was himself, or

his reflection. Warm, tired, and thirsty from his wanderings, he came

to a well, where he thought he would take a drink. On looking down,

however, he saw a man in the bottom of the well. When Juan shouted

to him and made gestures, the man--or his reflection and the echo of

his own voice--returned some sort of inarticulate sound, and made

the same gestures as Juan. For the third time this sufficed for a

"Yes." So Juan threw the rest of his pork down the well, and said he

would come back for his money.

Now comes the collection, which he found to be quite easy. He

entered a dry-goods store, where he saw a fly on the hand of the

shop-keeper. Juan talked to the fly and demanded his money. It

did not answer: so he began chasing it around the room, sometimes

striking at it when it was on some customer's hand. At last, tired

of the disturbance, the shop-keeper paid him off to get rid of

him. Next Juan came to a garden where there was a pig. With the pig

he encountered the same obstinate silence. He began to chase the pig,

and he beat it whenever he was near enough to hit it. When the owner

of the animal saw what he was doing, and realized that he was crazy,

he paid him off, too. Now, as to his third customer. The reflection

in the pool simply mocked him and made him disgusted. So Juan got a

long pole and stirred the bottom of the well. When he found that this

treatment simply made his customer disappear, he began shouting at the

top of his voice. Finally the owner of the well came; and, to avoid

further disturbance, he also paid him off, for every one could easily

see that the vender was crazy (loco) from the way he talked and acted.

So Juan went home in ecstasy. He received much praise from his father,

who promised to let him sell meat every day; and the poor fellow

gloried in being thus praised.

For other noodle stories of the Filipinos, see our No. 9 and JAFL

20 : 104-106.

TALE 50

JUAN AND HIS PAINTED HAT.

Narrated by Adolfo Scheerer, a Tagalog from Manila, who heard the

story from their native servant some fifteen years ago.

There once lived a man by the name of Juan, who did nothing but fool

people all the time. Once, when he had only seventy pesos left in his

pockets, he determined to resort to the following scheme: he bought

a balangut hat (a very cheap straw), and painted it five different

colors. In the town where Juan was to operate, there were only three

stores. He went to each one of them and deposited twenty pesos,

saying to the owner of each, "I will deposit twenty pesos in your

store, and to-morrow afternoon I will bring some friends here with

me. We will perhaps take some refreshments or buy some goods, but in

any case I will see to it that the total amount of the things we take

is not over the twenty pesos. Then, when we leave, do not ask me to

pay you for the things. I will simply make you a bow with my hat,

and your attendants should thank me with much courtesy. That mere

bow with my hat is to be the payment. You may keep the twenty pesos,

but you must also keep this little plan a secret." The owners of the

three stores promised.

The next day Juan was walking in the street with his painted hat on,

when one of his friends met him. "Halloo, Juan!" exclaimed his friend,

"where did you get that funny hat?"

Juan looked serious, and said, "Don't be foolish! Don't you know that

this hat is the only means I have of earning a living?"

"Means of living?" returned the other.

"Why, of course. I can go in any store, take anything I please,

and pay for it with a mere bow of my hat."

By this time two other friends of Juan had come along, and they

too were surprised to see what Juan had on his head. To convince

them of the marvellous character of the hat, Juan took his friends

to one of the stores. There they sat down, and Juan ordered some

refreshments. They ate much, and of the best that the store could

furnish. After they had had enough, Juan stood up, made a bow to the

proprietor with his hat, and then they all left. Then they visited

another store, where the same thing took place.

The friends of Juan were very much astonished, and each wished to

possess the hat. One offered him a thousand pesos for it; another, two

thousand; and the third, one-half of all his property, which amounted

to about five thousand pesos. Juan, of course, was willing to sell it

to the highest bidder; but when the sale was about to be concluded,

the buyer began to doubt the power of the hat. So he asked Juan to

take him to another store to prove once more the qualities of the hat,

after which trial, he said, he would pay him the money. Juan took

his friend to the third store, and the friend was now sure that the

hat could really work wonders. So he paid Juan the five thousand pesos.

When he had received the money, Juan left his friends, went on board

ship, and sailed away to a foreign country. One day the friend who

had bought the hat desired to make a showing with it. So he invited

several friends, among them some ladies. He took them to one of the

stores, and there ordered some refreshments to be served them. When

they had finished, the man bowed with his hat, and started to leave.

"Thank you, sir!" said the owner of the store, "but where is my

payment for the refreshments you have just eaten?"

The owner of the hat was astonished, and, thinking that perhaps he

held the hat in the wrong way, or else his fingers were not on the

right color, he turned the hat around. Then he made another bow. The

owner of the shop now became angry, and began to swear at the man. The

other became excited, twirling the hat around, and holding it in as

many different ways as he could think of. Finally the shop-keeper

ordered the man arrested.

When the owner of the hat heard how Juan had played his trick by paying

twenty pesos in advance, he fainted and became very sick. In the mean

time Juan was performing other tricks in some different country.

Notes.

This droll was without doubt imported from Europe, where it has

a fairly wide distribution. It does not appear hitherto to have

been found in the Orient. In the European forms we find it both as

a separate tale, like our story, and also as a part of the "Master

Cheat" cycle, which we have discussed in the notes to No. 20. For a

complete list of the known occurrences of the "hat pays" episode, see

Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 10-15, incident D (on Grimm, No. 61). According

to their classification, versions from Holland, Denmark, Sweden,

Rumania, Serbo-Croatia, Poland, Russia, and Lithuania are known. See

also Köhler-Bolte, 246, 251 (note 1).

TALE 51

JUAN AND CLOTILDE.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario, a Tagalog, who heard the story from an

old man living in Batangas.

In ages vastly remote there lived in a distant land a king of such

prowess and renown, that his name was known throughout the four regions

of the compass. His name was Ludovico. His power was increased twofold

by his attachment to an aged magician, to whom he was tied by strong

bonds of friendship.

Ludovico had an extremely lovely daughter by the name of Clotilde. Ever

since his arrival at the palace the magician had been passionately

in love with her; but his extreme old age and his somewhat haughty

bearing were obstacles in his path to success. Whenever he made love

to her, she turned aside, and listened instead to the thrilling tales

told by some wandering minstrel. The magician finally succumbed to the

infirmities of old age, his life made more burdensome by his repeated

disappointments. He left to the king three enchanted winged horses;

to the princess, two magic necklaces of exactly the same appearance,

of inimitable workmanship and of priceless worth. Not did the

magician fall to wreak vengeance on the cause of his death. Before

he expired, he locked Clotilde and the three magic horses in a high

tower inaccessible to any human being. She was to remain in this

enchanted prison until some man succeeded in setting her free.

Naturally, King Ludovico wanted to see his daughter before the hour

of his death, which was fast approaching. He offered large sums of

money, together with his crown and Clotilde's hand, to anybody who

could set her free. Hundreds of princes tried, but in vain. The stone

walls of the tower were of such a height, that very few birds, even,

could fly over them.

But a deliverer now rose from obscurity and came into prominence. This

man was an uneducated but persevering peasant named Juan. He

possessed a graceful form, herculean frame, good heart, and unrivalled

ingenuity. His two learned older brothers tried to scale the walls

of the tower, but fared no better than the others. At last Juan's

turn came. His parents and his older brothers expostulated with him

not to go, for what could a man unskilled in the fine arts do? But

Juan, in the hope of setting the princess free, paid no attention to

their advice. He took as many of the biggest nails as he could find,

a very long rope, and a strong hammer. As he lived in a town several

miles distant from the capital, he had to make the trip on horseback.

One day Juan set out with all his equipment. On the way he met his

disappointed second brother returning after a vain attempt. The

older brother tried in every way he could to divert Juan from his

purpose. Now, Juan's parents, actuated partly by a sense of shame if

he should fail, and partly by a deep-seated hatred, had poisoned his

food without his knowledge. When he felt hungry, he suspected them

of some evil intention: so before eating he gave his horse some of

his provisions. The poor creature died on the road amidst terrible

sufferings, and Juan was obliged to finish the journey on foot.

When he arrived at the foot of the tower, he drove a nail into the

wall. Then he tied one end of his rope to this spike. In this way he

succeeded in making a complete ladder of nails and rope to the top of

the tower. He looked for Clotilde, who met him with her eyes flooded

with tears. As a reward for his great services to her, she gave him

one of the magic necklaces. While they were whispering words of love

in each other's ears, they heard a deafening noise at the bottom of

the tower. "Rush for safety to your ladder!" cried Clotilde. "One of

the fiendish friends of the magician is going to kill you."

But, alas! some wanton hand had pulled out the nails; and this

person was none other then Juan's second brother. "I am a lost man,"

said Juan.

"Mount one of the winged horses in the chamber adjoining mine," said

Clotilde. So Juan got on one of the animals without knowing where to

go. The horse flew from the tower with such velocity, that Juan had

to close his eyes. His breath was almost taken away. In a few seconds,

however, he was landed in a country entirely strange to his eyes.

After long years of struggle with poverty and starvation, Juan was

at last able to make his way back to his native country. He went

to live in a town just outside the walls of the capital. A rich old

man named Telesforo hired him to work on his farm. Juan's excellent

service and irreproachable conduct won the good will of his master,

who adopted him as his son. At about this time King Ludovico gave

out proclamations stating that any one who could exactly match his

daughter's necklace should be his son-in-law. Thousands tried, but

they tried in vain. Even the most dextrous and experienced smiths were

baffled in their attempts to produce an exact counterfeit. When word of

the royal proclamations was brought to Juan, he decided to try. One day

he pretended to be sick, and he asked Telesforo to go to the palace to

get Clotilde's necklace. The old man, who was all ready to serve his

adopted son, went that very afternoon and borrowed the necklace, so

that he might try to copy it. When he returned with the magic article,

Juan jumped from his bed and kissed his father. After supper Juan went

to his room and locked himself in. Then he took from his pocket the

necklace which Clotilde had given him in the tower, and compared it

carefully with the borrowed one. When he saw that they did not differ

in any respect, he took a piece of iron and hammered it until midnight.

Early the next morning Juan wrapped the two magic necklaces in a silk

handkerchief, and told the old man to take them to the king. "By

the aid of the Lord!" exclaimed Clotilde when her father the king

unwrapped the necklaces, "my lover is here again. This necklace,"

she said, touching the one she had given Juan, "is not a counterfeit"

for it is written in the magician's book of black art that no human

being shall be able to imitate either of the magic necklaces.--Where is

the owner of this necklace, old man?" she said, turning to Telesforo.

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

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

Within a quarter of an hour Juan arrived. After paying due respect to

the king, Juan embraced Clotilde affectionately. They were married

in the afternoon, and the festivities continued for nine days and

nine nights. Juan was made crown-prince, and on the death of King

Ludovico he succeeded to the throne. King Juan and Queen Clotilde

lived to extreme old age in peace and perfect happiness.

Notes.

This Tagalog Märchen appears to be closely related to an

eighteenth-century Spanish ballad by Alonso de Morales. The ballad is

No. 1263 in the "Romancero General," and is entitled, "Las Princesas

Encantadas, y Deslealdad de Hermanos." Although in general outline the

two stories are very close to each other, there are some significant

differences.

In the Spanish, the king's name is Clotaldo, and he rules in Syria. The

king builds a very high tower, and puts in it his three beautiful

daughters; then he calls a powerful magician to cast a spell about

the place, so that the tower cannot be scaled until the king wishes

it to be. Confined in the tower with the princesses are three winged

horses (o satánicas arpias). The king then issues a proclamation that

whoever can reach the princesses shall be married to them. The three

brothers that make the attempt are knights from Denmark. The two older

proceed to Syria on horseback, fail, and on their return home meet

their youngest brother making his way leisurely in a bullock-cart. He

too is going to try, and is taking with him abundant provisions,

many nails, and a rope. After they have tried in rain to persuade

him to return home, they accompany him. [The episode of the poisoned

food is lacking.] Juan gains the top of the tower, lowers the two

older princesses, and then, last of all, the youngest, who gives him

a necklace before she descends. The treacherous brothers now destroy

Juan's means of escape, and make off with the three maidens, leaving

him on the tower. He mounts one of the winged horses, and it flies

with him to a distant country. Making his way back to Syria on foot,

he exchanges clothes with a drover, and appears in Clotaldo's kingdom

in disguise, pretending to be simple-minded. The king has already

married his two older daughters to Juan's treacherous brothers, and

is now trying to persuade his youngest daughter to marry: but she

wishes only her rescuer. She paints a necklace in every respect like

the one which she gave Juan, and says that she will marry only when a

person is found who can make a necklace exactly like the picture. The

king sends the painting to an alchemist in the city, and orders him,

under penalty of death if he falls, to produce the necklace in two

months. He is unable to do so, and becomes downcast. Juan, who has

been in service as a porter, and is the one who carried the command

of the king to the alchemist, asks him why he is sad. He tells the

reason. Juan gives the alchemist his necklace. [The rest is practically

as in our story.]

There is a sequel to this ballad, No. 1264, which has a close

resemblance to the Tagalog "Juan Tiñoso," already summarized in the

notes to No. 36.

The Spanish story, says the editor of the "Romancero General," is one

of those founded directly on Oriental material which was transmitted

by the Arabs. It is curious that so few of these tales, which have

been preserved for generations as oral tradition, have made their

way into print. The differences noticeable between our Märchen and

the ballad may be due to a tradition somewhat divergent from that on

which Alonso de Morales's poem is based.

TALE 52

THE POOR MAN AND HIS THREE SONS.

Narrated by Gregorio Velasquez, a Tagalog from Pasig, Rizal. He says,

"This is a primitive Tagalog fable. I think. I heard it from old

people."

Once there lived a poor man who had three sons. When the father was on

his death-bed, he called his sons, and said to them, "My sons, I shall

die very soon; and I shall not be able to leave you much wealth, for

wealth I have not. But I will give each one of you something which,

if you will only be able to find a place in which it has no equal,

will make you happy men." The father then gave to one a rooster,

to another a cat, and to the third a scythe. Then he died.

The owner of the scythe was the first to try his fortune and test his

father's advice. He left his brothers, and went on a journey until

he came to a town where he saw the people harvesting rice by pulling

the stalks out of the ground. He showed the people the convenience of

the scythe. They were so delighted and astonished, that they offered

to give him a large sum of money in exchange for the tool. Of course

he was willing to sell it, and he went home a rich man.

The owner of the rooster, seeing the good luck of his brother,

next resolved to try his fortune with the bird. Like his brother,

he travelled until he came to a town where there was no rooster. The

people were very much interested in the rooster's crowing, and asked

the owner why the bird crowed. He said that the bird told the time of

day by its crowing. "The first crow in the night announces midnight,"

he said; "the second, three o'clock in the morning; and the third

crow announces five o'clock." The people were very anxious to get

the rooster for their town, and offered to buy it. The owner was

willing, and he returned to his home as rich as his brother who had

sold the scythe.

The last brother now set out to try his luck with his cat. At last

he came to a town where the rats were vexing the people very much. He

showed them the use of his cat. With wonder the people watched the cat

kill the rats, and were astounded to see how the rats fled from this

strange animal. The news of the cat reached the king, who summoned

its owner to the palace. The king asked the brother to try his cat on

the rats in the palace, and so the cat was turned loose. In a short

time all the rats had either been killed or driven away. The king

wanted the cat, and offered to pay a large sum of money for it. So

the owner of the cat, after the king had paid him, went home as rich

as his other two brothers.

Thus the three brothers became rich, because they followed their

father's wise advice: select the right place in which to trade.

Notes.

This story, like the preceding, is clearly an importation from the

Occident. The bibliography of the cycle to which it belongs may be

found in Bolte-Polívka, 2 : 69-71 (on Grimm, No. 70). German, Breton,

French, Flemish, Swedish, Catalan, Serbian, Bulgarian, Czech, Polish,

Russian, Lithuanian, and Finnish versions have been recorded. The

story as a whole does not appear to have been collected from the Far

East hitherto, though separate tales turning on the sale of a cat in

a catless country (Dick Whittington type) are found among the Jews

and in Africa. Bolte and Polívka give the bibliography of this latter

group of stories on pp. 71-76.

The oldest form of our story known is that found in Nicholas de

Troyes' "Grand Parangon des nouvelles Nouvelles," No. X, dating from

1535. The three things here bequeathed by the father are a cock, a cat,

and a sickle, as in our version. I think it probable that the tale

was introduced into the Philippines through the medium of a French

religious. The Catalan form differs from the French in mentioning a

fourth "heirloom," a raven, and was probably not the parent of our

Tagalog version.

TALE 53

THE DENIED MOTHER.

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

(One day little Antonio fell down and sprained his elbow. His

grandfather told him to put on his camisa and they would go to Tandang

Fruto, an old manghihilot (a man who pretends to correct dislocated

bones by means of certain prayers). On their way they met a beggar

with a guitar. He sat down on a stone in front of a house and began

to sing. Antonio wished to hear him, and so did the old grandfather:

so they stopped and listened. The beggar sang the story of "The Denied

Mother" in Tagalog verse. The story is this:--)

In a certain country there lived a king who had a pet dog. He loved

the dog so much and treated it so kindly, that, wherever he went, the

dog followed him. In the course of time the dog gave birth to three

puppies. The most striking thing about these new-born creatures was

that they were real human beings in every particular. So the king

ordered them to be baptized. The eldest sister was named Feliza;

the second, Juana; and the youngest, Maria. When they grew up into

beautiful young women, they married three princes, each of a different

kingdom. After the marriage-festivities, each went to live in the

country of her husband.

Feliza was very happy: she dressed elegantly, and had all that a woman

of her rank could wish for. One day, when her husband was away from

home, a lean, dirty, spectre-looking dog came to her. It was Feliza's

mother, who, after the death of her master the king, had been cast out

of the palace. The poor dog had had nothing to eat for many days. She

had been driven away from every house, and had been frightened by

mischievous boys with sticks and stones. Although Feliza's kingdom

was very far away, she had managed, in spite of difficulty, to reach

it. She hoped to gain her daughter's pity. "My daughter," she said,

as she ascended the steps of the ladder(!), "have compassion on me! I,

your mother, am in a very wretched condition."

"What care I?" returned Feliza. "What business have you to come

here? Don't you know that I will never sacrifice anything for your

sake? Get out of here!" And she kicked the poor dog until it fell

tumbling to the ground. Feliza did not want her husband to find out

that her mother was a dog.

Sadly the dog went away, and decided to go to her daughter Juana's

kingdom. The country was far away, but what else could she do? As

Juana was coming out of the church with her husband, she saw the dog

hurrying after her. Like Feliza, she was ashamed of her mother. She

whispered to one of the guards to catch the dog and tie it securely

in a distant forest, so that it might no longer annoy her.

Not long after this, Maria, the youngest daughter, was riding through

the forest with her husband. There they found the poor dog crying

and yelping in a pitiful manner. Maria recognized her mother. She

got out of the carriage, and with her own hands untied the dog. She

wrapped her veil around it, and ordered the carriage to turn back

to the palace. "Husband," she said as she ascended the steps of the

royal residence, "this dog that I am carrying is my mother, so please

your Majesty."

The husband only said, "Thank God!" and not another word. Maria ordered

the cook to prepare delicious food for the dog. She assigned the best

chamber in the palace to the animal. While the dog was eating with

Maria, the prince, and the courtiers, the dining-room was suddenly

illuminated with a bright light. The dog disappeared, and in its place

stood a beautiful woman in glorious attire. The woman kissed Maria,

and said, "I am the dog your mother. God bless you, my good child!"

Notes.

I can offer no close parallels for this somewhat savage tale, though a

few analogies to incidents in our story are to be found in an Indian

story in Frere (No. 2, "A Funny Story"), the first part of which may

be abstracted here for comparison.

A certain Rajah and Ranee are sad because they have no children and

the little dog in the palace has no puppies; but at last the Ranee is

confined, and bears two puppies, while the little dog at the same time

gives birth to two female infants. In order to keep her offspring from

the Ranee, who wishes to substitute her own for the dog's, the dog

carries its two daughters to the forest, and there rears them. When

they have become of marriageable age, they are found by two princes,

who take them away and make them their wives. For twelve years the poor

dog looks in vain for her lost children. One day the eldest daughter

looks out of her window, and sees a dog running down the street. "That

must be my long-lost mother!" she exclaims to herself; and she runs

out, gets the animal, bathes it and feeds it. The dog now wants to

go visit her younger daughter, although the elder tries in vain to

dissuade her mother from going. When the younger daughter sees the dog,

she says, "That must be my mother! What will my husband think of me

if he learns that this wretched, ugly, miserable-looking dog is my

mother?" She orders the servants to throw stones at it and drive it

away. Wounded in the head, the dog runs back to her elder daughter,

but dies, in spite of the tender care it receives. The daughter now

tries to conceal the body until she can bury it. The husband discovers

the corpse of the dog, but it has become a statue of gold set with

diamonds and other precious stones. He asks where the treasure came

from. His wife lies, and says, "Oh, it is only a present my parents

sent me!" [The rest of the story has nothing to do with ours: it is

a variant of the "Toads and Diamonds" cycle (see notes to No. 47).]

It will be noticed that in the Indian tale the rôles of the daughters

are the reverse of what they are in our story.

TALE 54

TOMARIND AND THE WICKED DATU.

Narrated by Eutiquiano Garcia of Mexico. Pampanga. He says that this

is an old Pampangan tale.

Before the Spanish occupation there were in the Philippines many

petty kingdoms headed by native princes known as datus. Luzon, the

scene of countless ravages and hard fightings of warlike tribes, was

the home of Datu Nebucheba. His kingdom--at first only a few square

miles--was greatly extended by the labor of his young brave warrior,

Tomarind. Tomarind had a very beautiful wife, with whom Datu Nebucheba

fell in love; but the ruler kept his vile desire secret in his heart

for many years. Many times he thought of getting rid of his warrior

Tomarind, and thus getting possession of his beautiful wife.

One day Tomarind was sent on a dangerous errand. He was ordered

to get an enchanted marble ball from one of the caves in a certain

mountain. Two monsters of terrible aspect, whose joy was the burning of

villages, and whose delight was the killing of human beings, guarded

the entrance of that cave. Many persons had entered the door of that

death-chamber, but nobody had come from it alive. Suspicious of the

coming danger, Tomarind did not go directly to the cave. He sought the

famous witch of Tipuca, and told her about his situation. Immediately

the witch performed a sort of diabolical ceremony, gave Tomarind a

magic cane, and sent him away. When he reached the cave, those that

guarded the cave received Tomarind very kindly, and they delivered

the enchanted marble ball to him.

"To-morrow," said Nebucheba to himself, "the wife of Tomarind

will be mine." Alas for him! very early the next morning Tomarind

presented the marble ball to Datu Nebucheba. "How quickly he executed

my orders!" exclaimed Nebucheba. "What shall I do to destroy this

brave man? The next time he will not escape the danger. I will ask

him to take a letter to my parents, who are living under ground,

in the realm of the spirits," he said to himself.

The datu caused a well to be dug, and big stones to be piled near

the mouth of it. When everything was ready, he summoned the brave

warrior. He gave him the letter, and told him to start the next

morning. Tomarind went again to the witch of Tipuca. "This is a very

great task," said the witch; "but never mind! you will get even with

Datu Nebucheba." That night the witch, with the help of unseen spirits,

made a subterranean passage connecting the bottom of the datu's well

with that of Tomarind's. "Nebucheba," the witch said to Tomarind,

"will ask you to go down into his well; and as soon as you are at the

bottom, he will order that the pile of stones be thrown on you. Lose

no time, but go in to the subterranean passage that I have prepared

for you." When morning came, Tomarind went to execute the orders of

the datu.

Now, Nebucheba firmly believed that Tomarind was dead. There was

great rejoicing in the datu's house. In the evening, while the

revelry was going on, Tomarind appeared with the pretended answer

from Nebucheba's parents. The letter read, "We wish you to come and

see us here. We have a very beautiful girl for you." Nebucheba was

greatly surprised. He made up his mind to go down into the well the

next day. He gathered all his subjects together, and said to them,

"I am going to see my parents. If the place there is better than the

place here, I shall not come back. Tomarind will be my successor."

In the morning Nebucheba's subjects took him to the well and lowered

him slowly into it. When he reached the bottom, Tomarind threw big

stones down on him, and Nebucheba was crushed to death. The people

never saw him again. Tomarind became datu, and he ruled his subjects

with justice and equity for many years.

Note.

I know of no variants of this tale, which pretty evidently represents

old tribal Pampangan tradition. The device by which Tomarind lures

the wicked datu to his death is not unlike incident J in our No. 20

(see notes), but there is clearly no other connection between the

two stories.