Pitong.

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

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

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

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

It began to grow dark. Pitong advised his brothers to pluck up courage, and said to them, “Follow me.” So they went on without taking any particular course, and in about a half-hour they came to a tall tree. Pitong climbed it to see if there was a road near by. When he reached the top, he said, “Brothers, I see a lighted house from here. Let us go look for the house! Maybe we can get something to eat there.”

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

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

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

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

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

The Enchanted Prince.

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

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

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

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

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

Notes.

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

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

The Prince’s Dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Note.

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

The Wicked Woman’s Reward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Note.

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

The Magic Ring (“Ang Singsing Nga Tantanan”).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Note.

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

Maria and the Golden Slipper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abadeja.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.