people who saw them were wondering. They said, “Were this deed not by enchantment, they could not sail on dry land. Where do you think this ship came from, if not from the land of enchanters?”
When the sailors reached the city, they found King Palmarin looking out of the window of his palace. Don Juan then disembarked from his ship and went before the king to greet him. Don Juan said, “Your Majesty’s servant is here. He is ready to obey your will: so, if there is anything more to be done, let your Highness order him.”
The king felt ashamed for being a liar, and did not ask Don Juan to perform any more miracles. “Don Juan, I have now seen your wonderful wisdom. You may return to your country, for I will not give you the hand of my daughter,” said King Palmarin.
“Farewell, O king! Your own order has caused all that has happened. Though I have not succeeded in accomplishing my purpose, I have no reason to be ashamed to face anybody. What troubles me is, that, in spite of your widespread reputation for honor, you do not keep even one of your thousand million words. After some one has done you some service, you turn him away. Farewell, king! To my own country I will return,” said Don Juan as he left the palace.
The king did not say anything, for he realized the truth of the knight’s statement. Don Juan went to the boat. He and his companions sailed back to their station. As they passed out of the city, the people hailed them. His companions cheered him up and encouraged him. When they arrived at their lodging-place, Noet Noen said, “Let us stay a little longer and wait for God’s aid, which He always gives to the humble! All that has happened is God’s will, so do not worry, Don Juan.”
“I will do whatever you wish,” said Don Juan.
So they staid in the ship. Several months passed by, but nothing was heard. At last the Moors invaded Marsella. They put to death many of the inhabitants, and shut up the king and the rest of his men in jail. He, the queen, and the princess grieved very much, for they suffered many hardships in their narrow prison. When news of this conquest reached the seven, Noet Noen said to his companions, “Now is our turn to help Marsella. Use all your skill; for in driving away the Moors we serve a double purpose: first, we help the Christians; second, Don Juan.”
“Let me be general!” said Curan Curing. “If I rush at the Moors, they will not know what to do.”
Supla Supling said, “As for me, no Moor can stay near me, for I will blow him away, and he will be lost in the air.”
“Though I have no weapons, no one can face me in battle without tumbling down in fear,” said Miran Miron.
Carguen Cargon joined in. “I will pull up a tree and carry it with me; so that, even if all the Moors unite against me, they shall lie prostrate before me.”
“My arrow is enough for me to face Moors with,” said Punta Punting.
At the command of Noet Noen they set out. Curan Curing walked with one leg; still he was far ahead of his companions. He then would stop, return to his friends, and say impatiently, “Hurry up!”
At last they told him that he would be overtired. “The general ought to get weary if he commands,” said Curan Curing. “But I shall never get tired from walking at this rate!”
When they arrived at Marsella, Noet Noen encouraged his companions. Carguen Cargon pulled up a tree fifteen yards tall and six yards in circumference. He rushed at the Moors, and, by swinging the tree constantly, he swept away the enemy. Curan Curing walked with both his legs. He crushed the enemy, who fell dead as he stepped on them. Miran Miron shouted. His loud voice frightened the Moors. Punta Punting shot with his arrow. Whenever it had killed a Moor, it returned to its master. After many Moors had fallen, the rest could not maintain the fight, and they fled. Noet Noen then gathered together his men, and said, “Let us look for the king!”
They opened all the jails and freed the prisoners. The six victors cried, “Hurrah for Don Juan!” and said to the released persons, “All of you who have been held prisoners must thank Don Juan; for, were it not for him, we should not have come to your aid.”
“Who is this benefactor? We wish to know to whom we owe our lives,” said the king.
Noet Noen said, “By God’s will we gained the victory. It is Don Juan who brought us here to save you from the hands of the infidels. So he is indeed the benefactor.”
“Don Juan!” the crowd then shouted. “Our lives we owe to you.–Hurrah for our savior! Hurrah for the whole kingdom!”
The king, queen, princess, counsellors, and the victors went to the palace. They were all happy. When they had taken their seats, the king spoke thus: “What shall we give the victor? As for me, even the whole kingdom is too small a reward for saving us. Lend me your advice.”
Noet Noen answered, “Let me make a suggestion, O king! You already know what Don Juan desires. Do him justice, for he not only beat you in the wager, but also succeeded in accomplishing all your commands. Now he saves you and your kingdom, and restores you to power. Let your issued decree be carried out.” The king then consulted the queen, and said that the stranger was right.
The counsellors said, “King, Don Juan deserves the reward named in the edict; for, were it not for him, your people and even you would now be slaves.”
So at last the king agreed, and, as a bishop was present, the marriage was performed immediately. After the marriage ceremony, the king said, “Hear me, counsellors! As I am now too old to rule, and can no longer perform the duty of king, I am going to abdicate in favor of my son-in-law.–Don Juan, on your head I lay the crown with its sceptre. Do whatever you will, for you are now full king.”
The queen rose from her seat, and, taking off the diadem from her head, she placed it on her daughter, saying, “My darling, receive the diadem of the kingdom, so that all may recognize you as their new queen.” All the counsellors then rose, and shouted, “Hurrah for the new couple! May God give them long lives! May they be successful!” The entire kingdom rejoiced, and held banquets.
When Don Juan had become king, he made a trip with his six companions throughout the entire kingdom, giving alms to the needy and sick. When the royal visit was over, he returned with his friends to the palace. Then Noet Noen said to the king, “Our king, Don Juan, do not be astonished at what I am going to tell you. Since you have now got what you wanted, we now bid you farewell.”
“Why are you going away? What is there in me that you do not like? Pray do not leave me until I have repaid you!” He then called each of the six, and expressed his great gratitude to him, and begged him not to go away. “I will even abdicate the throne if you want me to,” Don Juan said, “for your departure will kill me.” The queen also begged the six men not to leave.
At last Noet Noen said, “Don Juan, long have we lived together; yet you know not whence we come, for we have never told you. We cannot be absent from there much longer.” The prophet then related minutely to the king who they were, and why they had come to his aid. Then the six men disappeared.
Notes.
The course of events common to these three stories is this: A king proclaims that he will give the hand of his daughter to the one who can furnish him with a very costly or marvellous conveyance. The poor young hero, because of his kindness to a wretched old man or woman (or corpse), is given the wonderful conveyance. On his way to the palace to present his gift, he meets certain extraordinary men, whom he takes along with him as companions. The king, realizing the low birth of the hero, refuses the hand of his daughter until additional tasks have been performed. With the help of his companions, the hero performs these, and finally weds the princess. This group of stories was almost certainly imported into the Philippines from Europe, where analogues of it abound. I know of no significant Eastern variants. Parallels to certain incidents can be found in Malayan and Filipino lore, but the cycle as a whole is clearly not native to the Islands.
In a broad sense, our stories belong to the “Bride Wager” formula (see Von Hahn, 1 : 54, Nos. 23 and 24). The requirement that a suitor shall guess correctly the kind of skin from which a certain drum-head is made (usually a louse-skin) is to be found in Italian (Basile, 1 : 5; cf. Gonzenbach, No. 22; Schneller, No. 31), Spanish (Caballero, trans, by J. H. Ingram, “The Hunchback”), German (Grimm, 2 : 467, “The Louse,” where the princess makes a dress, not a drum, from the skin of the miraculous insect). Only Basile’s story combines the louse-skin motif with the wonderful companions,–a combination found in our “King Palmarin.” There seems to be no close connection, however, between these two tales. Although Oriental Maerchen turning on this motif of the louse-skin drum are lacking, the Filipino corrido need not have got the conception from Europe: it is Malayan. In a list of the Jelebu regalia occurs this item: “The royal drums (gendang naubat); said to be ‘headed’ with the skins of lice (kulit tuma)” (see Skeat 2, 27).
We have already met with the extraordinary companions (No. 3; see especially variant d, “Sandangcal,” which relates a contest between the hero’s runner and the king’s messenger). For the formula, see Bolte-Polivka’s notes to Grimm, No. 71. Benfey (Ausland, 1858, pp. 1038 et seq., 1067 et seq.) believes the “Skilful Companions” cycle as represented by Grimm, Nos. 71 and 134; Basile, Nos. 28 and 36; Straparola, 4 : 1, etc.–to be a kind of humorous derivative of the cycle we shall call the “Rival Brothers” (q.v., No. 12 of this collection), and which he shows to have spread into Europe from India. There are significant differences, however, between these two groups; and Benfey’s treatment of them together causes confusion. In the “Skilful Companions” cycle, the extraordinary men are in reality servants of the hero, who sets out and wins the hand of a princess. They are picked up by chance. In the “Rival Brothers” cycle, on the other hand, the three (or four) brothers set out to learn trades and to win their fortunes, often wonderful objects of magic; the brothers meet later by appointment, combine their skill to succor a princess, and then quarrel as to which deserves her most. In stories of the “Strong Hans” type (e.g., Grimm, No. 166) or “John the Bear” (Cosquin, No. 1), where the extraordinary companions also appear, they turn out to be rascals, who faithlessly desert the hero. In our stories, however, the specially-endowed men are supplied by a grateful supernatural being, to help the kind-hearted hero win in his contests with the stubborn king. (Compare Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story, No. 74, which includes a thankful saint, with characteristics of the “Grateful Dead,” a “Land-and-water Ship,” and “Skilful Companions.”)
The names of the companions in “King Palmarin” and “Juan and his Six Friends” are clearly derived from the Spanish. In Caballero’s story of “Lucifer’s Ear” we find these names: Carguin (“carrier”), Oidin (“hearer”), Soplin (“sigher or blower”). All three occur in “Juan and his Six Friends.” In the three Filipino tales the total number of different strong men is only seven,–Know-All, Blower, Farsight, Runner, Hunter, Carrier, Sharp-Ear. This close conformity, when we consider the wide variety to be found in the European stories (see Bolte-Polivka, 2 : 87-94; Panzer, Beowulf, 66-74), suggests an ultimate common source for our variants. The phrase “Soplin Soplon, son of the great blower” (in “Juan and his Six Friends”) is almost an exact translation of “Soplin Soplon, hijo del buen soplador” (Caballero, “Lucifer’s Ear”). This same locution in the vernacular is found in the Tagalog folk-tale of “Lucas the Strong.”
The ship that will sail on land is often met with in European stories. See R. Koehler, “Orient und Occident,” 2 : 296-299; also his notes to Gonzenbach, No. 74. Compare also the Argonaut saga; and Bolte-Polivka, 2 : 87-95 passim.
In two of our stories the hero’s runner is almost defeated by the king’s messenger, who treacherously makes use of a magic sleep-producing ring. One of the other companions, however, discovers the trick, and the skilful hunter awakens the sleeper with a well-aimed shot. For this feat of Sharpshooter’s, see Gonzenbach, No. 74; Grimm, No. 71; Meier, No. 8; Ey, Harzmaerchenbuch, 116.
Of native beliefs found in our stories, two are deserving of comment. The method by which Lucas becomes possessed of great strength reflects a notion held by certain old Tagalogs. Some of the men around Calamba, Laguna province, make an incision in the wrist and put in it a small white bone taken from the end of the tail of the sawang bitin (a species of boa). The cut is then sewed up. Those who have a talisman of this sort believe that at night it travels all over the body and produces extraordinary strength. (For similar Malayan superstitions, see Skeat 2, 303-304.) The legend (in “King Palmarin”) about the origin of Mount Arayat and the swamp of Candaba is but one of many still told by old Pampangans. Its insertion into a romance with European setting is an instance of the Filipino romance writers’ utter disregard or ignorance of geographical propriety.
In conclusion, attention may be called to the fact that while these three stories have the same basic framework, each has its own peculiar variations. The testimony of the narrator of “Juan and his Six Companions,” that his informant, an old Balayan woman, said that the story was very popular in her section of the country, is a bit of evidence that the tale has been known in the Philippines for decades, probably. Whether or not her form of the story was derived from a printed account, I am unable to say; but I suspect that it was; the diction sounds “bookish.” Nevertheless I have found no external evidence of a Tagalog corrido treating the story we have printed.
TALE 12
The Three Brothers.
Narrated by Clodualdo Garcia, an llocano, who was told the story by his mother when he was a small boy.
There was once an old woman who had three sons. The father died when Tito, the youngest brother, was only five years old; and the mother was left alone to bring up her three boys. The family was very poor; but the good woman worked hard, and her sons grew into sturdy young men.
One day the mother called her sons before her, and said, “Now, my sons, as you see my strength is failing me, I want each of you to go into the world to seek his fortune. After nine years, come back home and show me what you have learned to do.” The three brothers consented, and resolved to leave home the very next morning.
Early the following day the three brothers–An-no the oldest, Berto the second, and Tito the youngest–bade their mother good-by, and set out on their travels. They followed a wide road until they came to a place where it branched in three directions. Here they stopped and consulted. It was at last agreed that An-no should take the north branch, Berto the south branch, and Tito the east branch. Before they separated, An-no proposed that at the end of the nine years they should all meet at the cross-roads before presenting themselves to their mother. Then each, wishing the others good luck, proceeded on his way.
Well, to make a long story short, at the end of the nine years the three brothers met again at the place designated. Each of them told what he had learned during that time. An-no had been in the company of glass-makers, and he had learned the art of glass-making. Berto had been employed in a shipyard, and during the nine years had become an expert boat-builder. The youngest brother, unfortunately, had fallen into the company of bad men, some notorious robbers. While he was with this band, he became the best and most skilful robber in the gang. After each had heard of the others’ fortunes, they started for their home. Their mother felt very glad to have all her sons with her once more.
Shortly after this family had been re-united, the king issued a proclamation stating that his daughter, the beautiful princess Amelia, had been kidnapped by a brave stranger, and that whoever could give any information about her and restore her to the palace should be allowed to marry her. When the three brothers heard this news, they resolved to use their knowledge and skill to find the missing princess.
An-no had brought home with him a spy-glass in which everything hidden from the eyes of men could be seen. With this instrument, he told his brothers, he could locate the princess. He looked through his glass, and saw her confined in a tower on an island. When An-no had given this information to the king, the next question was how to rescue her. “We’ll do the rest,” said the two younger brothers.
Accordingly Berto built a ship. When it was finished, the three brothers boarded her and sailed to the island where the princess was confined; but there they found the tower very closely guarded by armed soldiers, so that it seemed impossible to get into it. “Well, that is easy,” said Tito. “You stay here and wait for my return. I will bring the princess with me.”
The famous young robber then went to work to steal the princess. Through his skill he succeeded in rescuing her and bringing her to the ship. Then the four sailed directly for the king’s palace. The beautiful princess was restored to her father. With great joy the king received them, and a great feast was held in the palace in honor of the rescue of his daughter. After the feast the king asked the three brothers to which of them he should give his daughter’s hand. Each claimed the reward, and a quarrel arose among them. The king, seeing that all had played important parts in the rescue of the princess, decided not to bestow his daughter on any of them. Instead, he gave half his wealth to be divided equally among An-no, Berto, and Tito.
Three Brothers of Fortune.
Narrated by Eugenio Estayo, a Pangasinan, who heard the story from Toribio Serafica, a native of Rosales, Pangasinan.
In former times there lived in a certain village a wealthy man who had three sons,–Suan, Iloy, and Ambo. As this man was a lover of education, he sent all his boys to another town to school. But these three brothers did not study: they spent their time in idleness and extravagance. When vacation came, they were ashamed to go back to their home town, because they did not know anything; so, instead, they wandered from town to town seeking their fortunes.
In the course of their travels they met an old woman broken with age. “Should you like to buy this book, my grandsons?” asked the old woman as she stopped them.
“What is the virtue of that book, grandmother?” asked Ambo.
“My grandsons,” replied she, “if you want to restore a dead person to life, just open this book before him, and in an instant he will be revived.” Without questioning her further, Ambo at once bought the book. Then the three continued their journey.
Again they met an old woman selling a mat. Now, Iloy was desirous of possessing a charm, so he asked the old woman what virtue the mat had.
“Why, if you want to travel through the air,” she said, “just step on it, and in an instant you will be where you desire to go.” Iloy did not hesitate, but bought the mat at once.
Now, Suan was the only one who had no charm. They had not gone far, however, before he saw two stones, which once in a while would meet and unite to form one round black stone, and then separate again. Believing that these stones possessed some magical power, Suan picked them up; for it occurred to him that with them he would be able to unite things of the same or similar kind. This belief of his came true, as we shall see.
These three brothers, each possessing a charm, were very happy. They went on their way light-hearted. Not long afterward they came upon a crowd of persons weeping over the dead body of a beautiful young lady. Ambo told the parents of the young woman that he would restore her to life if they would pay him a reasonable sum of money. As they gladly agreed, Ambo opened his book, and the dead lady was brought back to life. Ambo was paid all the money he asked; but as soon as he had received his reward, Iloy placed his mat on the ground, and told his two brothers to hold the young woman and step on the mat. They did so, and in an instant all four were transported to the seashore.
From that place they took ship to another country; but when they were in the middle of the sea, a severe storm came, and their boat was wrecked. All on board would have been drowned had not Suan repaired the broken planks with his two magical stones. When they landed, a quarrel arose among the three brothers as to which one was entitled to the young woman.
Ambo said, “I am the one who should have her, for it was I who restored her to life.”
“But if it had not been for me, we should not have the lady with us,” said Iloy.
“And if it had not been for me,” said Suan, “we should all be dead now, and nobody could have her.”
As they could not come to any agreement, they took the question before the king. He decided to divide the young woman into three parts to be distributed among the three brothers. His judgment was carried out. When each had received his share, Iloy and Ambo were discontented because their portions were useless, so they threw them away; but Suan picked up the shares of his two brothers and united them with his own. The young woman was brought to life again, and lived happily with Suan. So, after all, Suan was the most fortunate.
Pablo and the Princess.
Narrated by Dolores Zafra, a Tagalog from La Laguna. She heard the story from her father.
Once upon a time there lived three friends,–Pedro, Juan, and Pablo. One morning they met at the junction of three roads. While they were talking, Pedro said, “Let each of us take one of these roads and set out to find his fortune! there is nothing for us to do in our town.” The other two agreed. After they had embraced and wished each other good luck, they went their several ways. Before separating, however, they promised one another to meet again in the same plate, with the arrangement that the first who came should wait for the others.
Pedro took the road to the right. After three months’ travelling, sometimes over mountains, sometimes through towns, he met an old man. The old man asked him for food, for he was very hungry. Pedro gave him some bread, for that was all he had. The old man thanked the youth very much, and said, “In return for your kindness I will give you this carpet. It looks like an ordinary carpet, but it has great virtue. Whoever sits on it may be transported instantly to any place he desires to be.” Pedro received the carpet gladly and thanked the old man. Then the old man went on his way, and Pedro wandered about the town. At last, thinking of his two friends, he seated himself on his carpet and was transported to the crossroads, where he sat down to wait for Juan and Pablo.
Juan had taken the road to the left. After he had travelled for three months and a half, he, too, met an old man. This old man asked the youth for something to eat, as he was very hungry, he said. So Juan, kind-heartedly, shared with him the bread he was going to eat for his dinner. As a return for his generosity, the old man gave him a book, and said, “This book may seem to you of no value; but when you know of its peculiar properties, you will be astonished. By reading in it you will be able to know everything that is happening in the world at all times.” Juan was overjoyed with his present. After thanking the old man and bidding him good-by, the youth returned to the meeting-place at the cross-roads, where he met Pedro. The two waited for Pablo.
Pablo took the road in the middle, and, after travelling four months, he also met an old man, to whom he gave the bread he was going to eat for his dinner. “As you have been very kind to me,” said the old man, “I will give you this ivory tube as a present. Perhaps you will say that it is worthless, if you look only at the outside; but when you know its value, you will say that the one who possesses it is master of a great treasure. It cures all sick persons of every disease, and, even if the patient is dying, it will restore him instantly to perfect health if you will but blow through one end of the tube into the sick person’s nose.” Pablo thanked the old man heartily for his gift, and then set out for the meeting-place. He joined his friends without mishap.
The three friends congratulated one another at having met again in safety and good health. Then they told one another about their fortunes. While Pedro was looking in Juan’s book, he read that a certain princess in a distant kingdom was very sick, and that the king her father had given orders that any person in the world who could cure his daughter should be her husband and his heir. When Pedro told his companions the news, they at once decided to go to that kingdom. They seated themselves on the carpet, and were transported in a flash to the king’s palace. After they had been led into the room of the sick princess, Pablo took his tube and blew through one end of it into her nose. She immediately opened her eyes, sat up, and began to talk. Then, as she wanted to dress, the three friends retired.
While the princess was dressing, Pablo, Juan, and Pedro went before the king, and told him how they had learned that the princess was sick, how they had been transported there, and who had cured her. The king, having heard all each had to say in his own favor, at last spoke thus wisely to them:–
“It is true, Pablo, that you are the one who cured my daughter; but let me ask you whether you could have contrived to cure her if you had not known from Juan’s book that she was sick, and if Pedro’s carpet had not brought you here without delay.–Your book, Juan, revealed to you that my daughter was sick; but the knowledge of her illness would have been of no service had it not been for Pedro’s carpet and Pablo’s tube. And it is just the same way with your carpet, Pedro.–So I cannot grant the princess to any one of you, since each has had an equal share in her cure. As this is the case, I will choose another means of deciding. Go and procure, each one of you, a bow and an arrow. I will hang up the inflorescence of a banana-plant. This will represent the heart of my daughter. The one who shoots it in the middle shall be the husband of my daughter, and the heir of my kingdom.”
The first to shoot was Pedro, whose arrow passed directly through the middle of the banana-flower. He was very glad. Juan shot second. His arrow passed through the same hole Pedro’s arrow had made. Now came Pablo’s turn; but when Pablo’s turn came, he refused to shoot, saying that if the banana-flower represented the heart of the princess, he could not shoot it, for he loved her too dearly.
When the king heard this answer, he said, “Since Pablo really loves my daughter, while Pedro and Juan do not, for they shot at the flower that represents her heart, Pablo shall marry the princess.”
And so Pablo married the king’s daughter, and in time became king of that country.
Legend of Prince Oswaldo.
Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna.
Once upon a time, on a moonlight night, three young men were walking monotonously along a solitary country road. Just where they were going nobody could tell: but when they came to a place where the road branched into three, they stopped there like nails attracted by a powerful magnet. At this crossroads a helpless old man lay groaning as if in mortal pain. At the sight of the travellers he tried to raise his head, but in vain. The three companions then ran to him, helped him up, and fed him a part of the rice they had with them.
The sick old man gradually regained strength, and at last could speak to them. He thanked them, gave each of the companions a hundred pesos, and said, “Each one of you shall take one of these branch-roads. At the end of it is a house where they are selling something. With these hundred pesos that I am giving each of you, you shall buy the first thing that you see there.” The three youths accepted the money, and promised to obey the old man’s directions.
Pedro, who took the left branch, soon came to the house described by the old man. The owner of the house was selling a rain-coat. “How much does the coat cost?” Pedro asked the landlord.
“One hundred pesos, no more, no less.”
“Of what value is it?” said Pedro.
“It will take you wherever you wish to go.” So Pedro paid the price, took the rain-coat, and returned.
Diego, who took the middle road, arrived at another house. The owner of this house was selling a book. “How much does your book cost?” Diego inquired of the owner.
“One hundred pesos, no more, no less.”
“Of what value is it?”
“It will tell you what is going on in all parts of the world.” So Diego paid the price, took the book, and returned.
Juan, who took the third road, reached still another house. The owner of the house was selling a bottle that contained some violet-colored liquid. “How much does the bottle cost?” said Juan.
“One hundred pesos, no more, no less.”
“Of what value is it?”
“It brings the dead back to life,” was the answer. Juan paid the price, took the bottle, and returned.
The three travellers met again in the same place where they had separated; but the old man was now nowhere to be found. The first to tell of his adventure was Diego. “Oh, see what I have!” he shouted as he came in sight of his companions. “It tells everything that is going on in the world. Let me show you!” He opened the book and read what appeared on the page: “‘The beautiful princess of Berengena is dead. Her parents, relatives, and friends grieve at her loss.'”
“Good!” answered Juan. “Then there is an occasion for us to test this bottle. It restores the dead back to life. Oh, but the kingdom of Berengena is far away! The princess will be long buried before we get there.”
“Then we shall have occasion to use my rain-coat,” said Pedro. “It will take us wherever we wish to go. Let us try it! We shall receive a big reward from the king. We shall return home with a casco full of money. To Berengena at once!” He wrapped the rain-coat about all three of them, and wished them in Berengena. Within a few minutes they reached that country. The princess was already in the church, where her parents were weeping over her. Everybody in the church wore deep mourning.
When the three strangers boldly entered the church, the guard at the door arrested them, for they had on red clothes. When Juan protested, and said that the princess was not dead, the guard immediately took him to the king; but the king, when he heard what Juan had said, called him a fool.
“She is only sleeping,” said Juan. “Let me wake her up!”
“She is dead,” answered the king angrily. “On your life, don’t you dare touch her!”
“I will hold my head responsible for the truth of my statement,” said Juan. “Let me wake her up, or rather, not to offend your Majesty, restore her to life!”
“Well, I will let you do as you please,” said the king; “but if your attempt fails, you will lose your head. On the other hand, should you be successful, I will give you the princess for a wife, and you shall be my heir.”
Blinded by his love for the beautiful princess, Juan said that he would restore her to life. “May you be successful!” said the king; and then, raising his voice, he continued, “Everybody here present is to bear witness that I, the King of Berengena, do hereby confirm an agreement with this unknown stranger. I will allow this man to try the knowledge he pretends to possess of restoring the princess to life. But there is this condition to be understood: if he is successful, I will marry him to the princess, and he is to be my heir; but should he fail, his head is forfeit.”
The announcement having been made, Juan was conducted to the coffin. He now first realized what he was undertaking. What if the bottle was false! What if he should fail! Would not his head be dangling from the ropes of the scaffold, to be hailed by the multitude as the remains of a blockhead, a dunce, and a fool? The coffin was opened. With these meditations in his mind, Juan tremblingly uncorked his bottle of violet liquid, and held it under the nose of the princess. He held the bottle there for some time, but she gave no signs of life. An hour longer, still no trace of life. After hours of waiting, the people began to grow impatient. The king scratched his head, the guards were ready to seize him; the scaffold was waiting for him. “Nameless stranger!” thundered the king, with indignant eyes, “upon your honor, tell us the truth! Can you do it, or not? Speak. I command it!”
Juan trembled all the more. He did not know what to say, but he continued to hold the bottle under the nose of the princess. Had he not been afraid of the consequences, he would have given up and entreated the king for mercy. He fixed his eyes on the corpse, but did not speak. “Are you trying to joke us?” said the king, his eyes flashing with rage. “Speak! I command!”
Just as Juan was about to reply, he saw the right hand of the princess move. He bade the king wait. Soon the princess moved her other hand and opened her eyes. Her cheeks were fresh and rosy as ever. She stared about, and exclaimed in surprise, “Oh, where am I? Where am I? Am I dreaming? No, there is my father, there is my mother, there is my brother.” The king was fully satisfied. He embraced his daughter, and then turned to Juan, saying, “Stranger, can’t you favor us now with your name?”
With all the rustic courtesy he knew, Juan replied to the king, told his name, and said that he was a poor laborer in a barrio far away. The king only smiled, and ordered Juan’s clothes to be exchanged for prince’s garments, so that the celebration of his marriage with the princess might take place at once. “Long live Juan! Long live the princess!” the people shouted.
When Diego and Juan heard the shout, they could not help feeling cheated. They made their way through the crowd, and said to the king, “Great Majesty, pray hear us! In the name of justice, pray hear us!”
“Who calls?” asked the king of a guard near by. “Bring him here!” The guard obeyed, and led the two men before the king.
“What is the matter?” asked the king of the two.
“Your Majesty shall know,” responded Diego. “If it had not been for my book, we could not have known that the princess was dead. Our home is far away, and it was only because of my magic book that we knew of the events that were going on here.”
“And his Majesty shall be informed,” seconded Pedro, “that Juan’s good luck is due to my rain-coat. Neither Diego’s book nor Juan’s bottle could have done anything had not my raincoat carried us here so quickly. I am the one who should marry the princess.”
The king was overwhelmed: he did not know what to do. Each of the three had a good reason, but all three could not marry the princess. Even the counsellors of the king could not decide upon the matter.
While they were puzzling over it, an old man sprang forth from the crowd of spectators, and declared that he would settle the difficulty. “Young men,” he said, addressing Juan, Pedro, and Diego, “none of you shall marry the princess.–You, Juan, shall not marry her, because you intended to obtain your fortunes regardless of your companions who have been helping you to get them.–And you, Pedro and Diego, shall not have the princess, because you did not accept your misfortune quietly and thank God for it.–None of you shall have her. I will marry her myself.”
The princess wept. How could the fairest maiden of Berengena marry an old man! “What right have you to claim her?” said the king in scorn.
“I am the one who showed these three companions where to get their bottle, rain-coat, and book,” said the old man. “I am the one who gave each of them a hundred pesos. I am the capitalist: the interest is mine.” The old man was right; the crowd clapped their hands; and the princess could do nothing but yield. Bitterly weeping, she gave her hand to the old man, who seemed to be her grandfather, and they were married by the priest. The king almost fainted.
But just now the sun began to rise, its soft beams filtering through the eastern windows of the church. The newly-married couple were led from the altar to be taken home to the palace; but, just as they were descending the steps that lead down from the altar, the whole church was flooded with light. All present were stupefied. The glorious illumination did not last long. When the people recovered, they found that their princess was walking with her husband, not an old man, however, but a gallant young prince. The king recognized him. He kissed him, for they were old-time acquaintances. The king’s new son-in-law was none other than Prince Oswaldo, who had just been set free from the bonds of enchantment by his marriage. He had been a former suitor of the princess, but had been enchanted by a magician.
With magnificent ceremony the king’s son-in-law was conducted to the royal residence. He was seated on the throne, the crown and sceptre were transferred to him, and he was hailed as King Oswaldo of Berengena.
Notes.
I have still a fifth Filipino story (e) of three brothers setting out to seek their fortunes, their rich father promising his estate to the son who should show most skill in the profession he had chosen. This Bicol version, which was narrated by Simeon Paz of Nueva Caceres, Camarines, contains a long introduction telling how the youngest brother was cruelly treated by the two older. After the three have left home in search of professions, the older brothers try to kill the youngest, but he escapes. In his wanderings he meets with an old hermit, who, on hearing the boy’s story, presents him with a magic booklet and dagger. These articles can furnish their possessor with whatever he wishes. At the appointed time the three brothers meet again at home, and each demonstrates his skill. The oldest, who has become an expert blacksmith, shoes a horse running at full speed. The second brother, a barber, trims the hair of a running man. The youngest causes a beautiful palace to appear instantly. The father, somewhat unfairly, perhaps, bestows his estate on the youngest, who has really displayed no skill at all.
These five Filipino stories belong to a large group of tales to which we may give the name of the “Rival Brothers.” This cycle assumes various forms; but the two things that identify the relationship of the members are the rivalry of the brothers and the conundrum or “problem” ending of the stories. Within this cycle we can distinguish at least three simple, distinct types, and a compound fourth made up of parts of two of the others. These four types may be very generally outlined as follows: (I) A number of artisans (usually not brothers), by working cumulatively, as it were, make and bring to life a beautiful woman; they then quarrel as to which one has really produced her and is therefore entitled to have her. (II) Through the combined skill of three suitors (sometimes brothers, oftener not), a maiden is saved from death, and the three quarrel over the possession of her. The difficulty is solved satisfactorily by her father or by some one else appointed to judge. (III) A father promises his wealth to the son that shall become most skilful in his profession; the three sons seek their fortunes, and at an appointed time return, and are tested by their father. He judges which is most worthy of the estate. (IV) A combination of the first part of the third type with the second.
Benfey (in Ausland, 1858 : 969, 995, 1017, 1038, 1067) has made a somewhat exhaustive study of the Maerchen, which he calls “Das Maerchen von den Menschen mit den wunderbaren Eigenschaften.” As a matter of fact, he examines particularly the stories of our type II (see above), to which he connects the folk-tales of our types III and IV as a later popular development. As has been said in the notes to No. 11 Benfey thinks that the “Skilful Companions” cycle is a droll or comic offshoot of this much older group. Our type I he does not discuss at all, possibly thinking that it is not a part of the “Rival Brothers” cycle. It strikes me, however, as being a part fully as much as is the “Skilful Companions” cycle, which is perhaps more nearly related to the “Bride Wager” group than to the “Rival Brothers.” Professor G. L. Kittredge, in his “Arthur and Gorlagon” (Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature, No. 8), 226, has likewise failed to differentiate clearly the two cycles, and his outline of the “Skilful Companions” is that of our type II of the “Rival Brothers.” I am far from wishing to quarrel over nomenclature,–possibly “Rival Brothers” is no better name for the group of tales under discussion than is “Skilful Companions,”–but, as G. H. Gerould has remarked (“The Grateful Dead,” Folk-Lore Society, 1907 : 126, note 3), Kittredge’s analysis would not hold for all variants, even when uncompounded. However, Mr. Gerould does not attempt to explain the cause of the confusion, nor was he called upon to do so in his study of an entirely distinct cycle. Consequently, as no one else has yet done so, for the sake of clearness, I propose a division of the large family of sagas and folk-tales dealing with men endowed with extraordinary powers [46] into at least two cycles, –the “Rival Brothers” and the “Skilful Companions” (see No. 11). The former of these, which is the group discussed here, I subdivide, as has already been indicated, into four types. Of intermixtures of these types with other cycles we shall not concern ourselves here, though they have been many. [47] We now turn to an examination of the four types. [48]
(I) Type I had its origin in India, doubtless. The oldest form seems to be that found in the Sanscrit “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 22, whence it was incorporated into Somadeva’s story collection (twelfth century) called the “Kathasaritsagara.” An outline of this last version (Tawney’s translation, 2 : 348-350) is as follows.
Story of the Four Brahman Brothers who Resuscitated the Lion.
Four Brahman brothers, sons of a very poor man, leave home to beg. After their state has become even more miserable, they decide to separate and to search through the earth for some magic power. So, fixing upon a trysting-place, they leave one another, one going east, one west, one north, one south. In the course of time they meet again, and each tells of his accomplishments: the first can immediately produce on a bit of bone the flesh of that animal; the second can produce on that flesh skin and hair appropriate to that animal; the third can create the limbs of the animal after the flesh, skin, and hair have been formed; the fourth can endow the completed carcass with life. The four now go into the forest to find a piece of bone with which to test their skill; they find one, but are ignorant that it is the bone of a lion. The first Brahman covers the bone with flesh; the second gives it skin and hair; the third completes the animal by supplying appropriate limbs; the fourth endows it with life. The terrible beast, springing up, charges the four brothers and slays them on the spot.
The question which the vetala now asks the king is, “Which of these four was guilty in respect of the lion who slew them all?” King Vikramasena answers, “The one that gave life to the lion is guilty. The others produced flesh, skin, hair, and limbs without knowing what kind of animal they were making. Therefore, being ignorant, they were not guilty. But the fourth, seeing the complete lion’s shape before him, was guilty of their death, because he gave the creature life.”
The “Pancatantra” version (v, 4) varies slightly. Here, as in the preceding, there are four brothers, but only three of them possess all knowledge; the fourth possesses common sense. The first brother joins together the bones of a lion; the second covers them with skin, flesh, and blood; the third is about to give the animal life, when the fourth brother–he who possessed common sense–says, “If you raise him to life, he will kill us all.” Finding that the third brother will not desist from his intention, the fourth climbs a tree and saves himself, while his three brothers are torn to pieces. For a modern Indian popular form, see Thornhill, 289.
In the Persian “Tuti-namah” (No. 5) the story assumes a decidedly different form, as may be seen from the following abstract. (I think that there can be no doubt, however, that this tale was inspired by some redaction of “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 22, not unlikely in combination with “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 2.)
The Goldsmith, the Carpenter, the Tailor, and the Hermit who Quarrelled about a Wooden Woman.
A goldsmith, a carpenter, a tailor, and a hermit, travelling together, come to a desert place where they must spend the night. They decide that each shall take a watch during the night as guard. The carpenter’s turn is first: to prevent sleep he carves out a wooden figure. When his turn comes, the goldsmith shows his skill by preparing jewels and adorning the puppet. The tailor’s turn is next: he sees the beautiful wooden woman decked with exquisite jewels, but naked; consequently he makes neat clothes becoming a bride, and dresses her. When the hermit’s turn to watch comes, he prays to God that the figure may have life; and it begins to speak like a human being.
In the morning all four fall desperately in love with the woman, and each claims her as his. Finally they come to a fifth person, and refer the matter to him. He claims her to be his wife, who has been seduced from his house, and hails the four travellers before the cutwal. But the cutwal falls in love with the woman, says that she is his brother’s wife, accuses the five of his brother’s murder, and carries them before the cazi. The cazi, no less enamoured, says that the woman is his bondmaid, who had absconded with much money. After the seven have disputed and wrangled a long time, an old man in the crowd that has meantime gathered suggests that the case be laid before the Tree of Decision, which can be found in a certain town. When they have all come before the tree with the woman, the tree divides, the woman runs into the cleft, the tree unites, and she has disappeared forever. A voice from the tree then says, “Everything returns to its first principles.” The seven suitors are overwhelmed with shame.
A Mongolian form, to be found in the Ardschi-Bordschi saga (see Busk, 298-304), seems to furnish the link of connection between the “Tuti-namah” version and “Vetalapancavincati,” Nos. 22 and 2:–
Who Invented Woman?
Four shepherd youths pasture their flocks near one another, and when they have time amuse themselves together. One day one of them there alone, to pass away the time, takes wood and sculptures it until he has fashioned a beautiful female form. When he sees what he has done, he cares no more for his companions, but goes his way. The next day the second youth comes alone to the place, and, finding the image, he paints it fair with the five colors, and goes his way. On the third day the third youth finds the statue, and infuses into it wit and understanding. He, too, cares no more to sport with his companions, and goes his way. On the fourth day the fourth youth finds the figure, and, breathing softly into its lips, behold! he gives it a soul that can be loved,–a beautiful woman.
When the other three see what has happened, they come back and demand possession of her by right of invention. Each urges his claim; but they can come to no decision, and so they lay the matter before the king. The question is, Who has invented the woman, and to whom does she belong by right? The answer of the king is as follows: “The first youth stands in the place of a father to her; the second youth, who has tinted her fairly, stands in the place of a mother; the third, is he not Lama (Buddhist priest, hence instructor)? The fourth has given her a soul that can be loved, and it is he alone who has really made her. She belongs to him, and therefore he is her husband.”
I cannot refrain from giving a resume of “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 2, because it has been overlooked by Benfey, and seems to be of no little significance in connection with our cycle: it establishes the connection between types I and II. This abstract is taken from Tawney’s translation of Somadeva’s redaction, 2 : 242-244:–
Story of the Three Young Brahmans who Restored a Dead Lady to Life.
Brahman Agnisvamin has a beautiful daughter, Mandaravati. Three young Brahmans, equally matched in accomplishments, come to Agnisvamin, and demand the daughter, each for himself. Her father refuses, fearing to cause the death of any one of them. Mandaravati remains unmarried. The three suitors stay at her house day and night, living on the sight of her. Then Mandaravati suddenly dies of a fever. The three Brahmans take her body to the cemetery and burn it. One builds a hut there, and makes her ashes his bed; the second takes her bones, and goes with them to the sacred river Ganges; the third becomes an ascetic, and sets out travelling.
While roaming about, the third suitor reaches a village, where he is entertained by a Brahman. From him the ascetic steals a magic book that will restore life to dead ashes. (He has seen its power proved after his hostess, in a fit of anger, throws her crying child into the fire.) With his magic book he returns to the cemetery before the second suitor has thrown the maiden’s bones into the river. After having the first Brahman remove the hut he had erected, the ascetic, reading the charm and throwing some dust on the ashes of Mandaravati, causes the maiden to rise up alive, more beautiful than ever. Then the three quarrel about her, each claiming her as his own. The first says, “She is mine, for I preserved her ashes and resuscitated her by asceticism.” The second says, “She belongs to me, for she was produced by the efficacy of sacred bathing-places.” The third says, “She is my wife, for she was won by the power of my charm.”
The vetala, who has been telling the story, now puts the question to King Vikramasena. The king rules as follows: “The third Brahman must be considered as her father; the second, as her son; and the first, as her husband, for he lay in the cemetery embracing her ashes, which was an act of deep affection.”
A modern link is the Georgian folk-tale of “The King and the Apple” (Wardrop, No. XVI), in which the king’s magic apple tells three riddle-stories to the wonderful boy:–
(1) A woman is travelling with her husband and brother. The party meets brigands, and the two men are decapitated. Their heads are restored to them by the woman through the help of a magic herb revealed to her by a mouse. However, she gets her husband’s head on her brother’s body. Q.–Which man is the right husband? A.–The one with the husband’s head.
(2) A joiner, a tailor, and a priest are travelling. When night comes, they appoint three watches. The joiner, for amusement, cuts down a tree and carves out a man. The tailor, in his turn, takes off his clothes and dresses the figure. The priest, when his turn comes, prays for a soul for the image, and the figure becomes alive. Q.-Who made the man? A.–He who gave him the soul.
(3) A diviner, a physician, and a swift runner are met together. The diviner says, “There is a certain prince ill with such and such a disease.” The physician says, “I know a cure.” The swift runner says, “I will run with it.” The physician prepares the medicine, the runner runs with it, and the prince is cured. Q.–Who cured the king’s son? A.–He who made the medicine.
These three stories, with their framework, appear to be descended in part from the Ardschi-Bordschi saga. A connection between the third and our type II is obvious.
A Bohemian form of this type is No. 4 of Wratislaw’s collection.
(II) Type II, according to Benfey, also originated in India. The oldest known form of the story is the “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 5. A brief summary of Somadeva’s version, “The Story of Somaprabha and her Three Suitors” (Tawney, 2 : 258-260), may be given here:–
In Ujjayini there lived a Brahman who had an excellent son and a beautiful proud daughter. When the time for her to be married came, she told her mother to give the following message to her father and her brother: “I am to be given in marriage only to a person possessed of heroism, knowledge, or magic power.”
A noble Brahman (No. 1) in time came to the father and asked for his daughter’s hand. When told of the conditions, he said, “I am possessed of magic power,” and to demonstrate, he made a chariot and took the father for a ride in the clouds. Then Harisvamin, the father, promised his daughter to the Brahman possessed of magic power, and set the marriage day seven days hence.
Another Brahman (No. 2) came and asked the son for his sister’s hand. When told the conditions, he said that he was a hero, and he displayed his skill in the use of weapons. The brother, ignorant of what his father had done, promised his sister’s hand to this man, and by the advice of an astrologer he selected the same day for the wedding as his father had selected.
A third Brahman (No. 3) on that same day asked the mother for her daughter’s hand, saying that he was possessed of wisdom. Ignorant of what her husband and her son had done, she questioned this Brahman about the past and the future, and at length promised him her daughter’s hand on the same seventh day.
On the same day, then, three bridegrooms appeared, and, strange to say, on that very day the bride disappeared. No. 3, with his knowledge, discovered that she had been carried off by a Rakshasa. No. 1 made a chariot equipped with weapons, and the three suitors and Harisvamin were carried to the Rakshasa’s abode. There No. 2 fought and killed the demon, and all returned with the maiden. A dispute then arose among the Brahmans as to which was entitled to the maiden’s hand. Each set forth his claim.
The vetala, who has been telling the story, now makes King Vikramasena decide which deserves the girl. The king says that the girl ought to be given to No. 2, who risked his life in battle to save her. Nos. 1 and 3 were only instruments; calculators and artificers are always subordinate to others.
The story next passed over into Mongolia, growing by the way. The version in the “Siddhi-Kuer,” No. 13, is interesting, because it shows our story already linked up with another cycle, the “True Brothers.” Only the last part, which begins approximately where the companions miss the rich youth, corresponds to the Sanscrit above. (This Mongolian version may be found in English in Busk, 105-114.) The story then moved westward, and we next meet it in the Persian and the Turkish “Tuti-namah,” “The Story of the Beautiful Zehra.” (For an English rendering from the Persian, see “The Tootinameh; or, Tales of a Parrot,” Persian text with English translation [Calcutta, 1792], pp. 111-114.)
W. A. Clouston (Clouston 3, 2 : 277-288) has discussed this group of stories, and gives abstracts of a number of variants that Benfey does not mention: Dozon, “Albanian Tales,” No. 4; a Persian manuscript text of the “Sindibad Nama;” a Japanese legend known as early as the tenth century; the “1001 Nights” story of “Prince Ahmed and the Peri Banu;” Powell and Magnussen’s “Icelandic Legends,” pp. 348-354, “The Story of the Three Princes;” Von Hahn, “Contes Populaires Grecs” (Athens and Copenhagen, 1879), No. II, p. 98. Of these he says (p. 285), “We have probably the original of all these different versions in the fifth of the ‘Vetalapanchavinsati,'”–but hardly from No. 5 alone, probably in combination with Nos. 2 and 22 (cf. above). At least, the Arabian, Icelandic, and Greek forms cited by Clouston include the search for trades or magic objects by rival brothers, a detail not found in No. 5, but occurring in Nos. 22 and 2. Clouston calls attention to the fact that in No. 5 and in the “Tuti-namah” version the damsel is not represented as being ill, while in the “Sindibad-Nama” and in the Arabian version she is so represented.
(III) The third type seems to be of European origin. It is perhaps best represented by Grimm, No. 124, “The Three Brothers.” In his notes, Grimm calls this story an old lying and jesting tale, and says that it is apparently very widespread. He cites few analogues of it, however. He does mention an old one (sixteenth century) which seems to be the parent of the German story. It is Philippe d’Alcripe’s “Trois freres, excellens ouvriers de leurs mestiers” (No. 1 in the 1853 Paris edition, Biblioth. Elzevirien). As in Grimm, the three skilled brothers in the French tale are a barber, a horse-shoer, and a swordsman; and the performances of skill are identical in the two stories. The French version, however, ends with the display of skill: no decision is made as to which is entitled to receive the “petite maison,” the property that the father wishes to leave to the son who proves himself to be the best craftsman. Our fifth story, the Bicol variant, clearly belongs to this type, although it has undergone some modifications, and has been influenced by contact with other cycles.
(IV) The fourth type represents the form to which our four printed stories most closely approximate. As remarked above, it is a combination of the third and the second types. This combination appears to have been developed in Europe, although, as may be seen from the analysis of “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 2, it might easily have been suggested by the Sanscrit. Compare also the “Siddhi-Kuer” form of type II, where, although not brothers, and six in number instead of three, the six comrades set out to seek their fortunes. But here there is no suggestion of the six acquiring skill: they have that before they separate.
The earliest known European version of this type is Morlini’s, Nov. 30 (about 1520). His Latin was translated by Straparola (about 1553) in the “Tredici piacevoli Notti,” VII, 5. In outline his version runs about as follows:–
Three brothers, sons of a poor man, voluntarily leave home to seek their fortunes, promising to return in ten years. After determining on a meeting-place, they separate. The first takes service with soldiers, and becomes expert in the art of war: he can scale walls, dagger in hand. The second becomes a master shipwright. The third spends his time in the woods, and becomes skilled in the tongues of birds. After ten years they meet again, as appointed. While they are sitting in an inn, the youngest hears a bird say that there is a great treasure hidden by the corner-stone of the inn. This they dig up, and return as wealthy men to their father’s house.
Another bird announces the imprisonment of the beautiful Aglea in a tower on an island in the AEgean Sea. She is guarded by a serpent. The second brother builds a swift ship, in which all three sail to the island. There the first brother climbs the tower, rescues Aglea, and plunders all the serpent’s treasure. With the wealth and the lady the three return. A dispute now arises as to which brother has the best claim over her. The matter is left undecided by the story-teller.
At the beginning of the seventeenth century, Basile, working very likely on oral tradition, and independent of Straparola (with whose work he does not appear to have been acquainted), gives another version, “Pentamerone,” v, 7:–
Pacione, a poor father, sends his five good-for-nothing sons out into the world for one year to learn a craft. They return at the appointed time. During the year the eldest son has learned thieving; the second has learned boat-building; the third, how to shoot with the cross-bow; the fourth has learned of an herb that will cause the dead to rise; the fifth has learned the language of birds. While the five sons are eating with their father, the youngest son hears sparrows saying that a ghoul has stolen the princess, daughter of the King of Autogolfo. The father suggests that his five sons go to her rescue. So a boat is built, the princess is stolen from the ghoul, the ghoul pursues and is blinded by a shot from the bow, the princess falls in a dead faint and is restored by the life-giving herb. After the five brothers have returned the princess to her father, they dispute as to who did the greatest deed of prowess, so as to be worthy of being her husband. Her father the king decides the dispute by giving his daughter to Pacione, because he is the parent-stem of all these branches.
Benfey thinks that the brother who knows of the life-restoring herb is an original addition of Basile’s or of his immediate source; but this character is to be found in the cycle from earliest times (see “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 2; and “Siddhi-Kuer,” No. 13).
The story is next found as a Maerchen pretty well scattered throughout Europe. German, Russian, Bohemian, Italian, Greek, and Serbian forms are known (see Benfey’s article, and Grimm’s notes to No. 129). We may examine briefly six interesting versions not mentioned by Benfey or Grimm:–
Greek (Von Hahn, No. 47).–A king with three sons wishes to marry off the eldest. He seeks a suitable wife for the prince; but when she is found and brought to the court, she is so beautiful, that all three brothers want her. To decide their dispute, the king, on advice, sends them abroad, promising the hand of the princess to the one who shall bring back the most valuable article. The three brothers set out; they separate at Adrianople, agreeing to meet there again at an appointed time. On his travels, the eldest buys a telescope through which he can see anything he wishes to see. The second buys an orange that will restore to life the dying if the sick person but smells of the fruit. The third buys a magic transportation-carpet. They all meet as agreed. By means of the telescope one of the brothers learns that the princess is dying. The magic carpet carries them all home instantaneously, and the orange cures the maiden. A quarrel arises as to which brother deserves her hand. The king, unable to decide, marries her himself.
Bohemian (Waldau [Prag, 1860], “Das Weise Urteil”).–In this there are three rival brothers. One has a magic mirror; another, a magic chariot; and the third, three magic apples. The first finds out that the lady is desperately ill; the second takes himself and his rivals to her; and the third restores her to health. A dispute arising, an old man decides that the third brother should have her, as his apples were consumed as medicine, while the other two still have their chariot and mirror respectively. (Compare the decision in the Georgian folk-tale under type II.)
Serbian (Mme. Mijatovies, 230 ff., “The Three Suitors”).–Three noblemen seek the hand of a princess. As the king cannot make a choice, he says to the three, “Go travel about the world. The one who brings home the most remarkable thing shall be my son-in-law.” As in the Greek story, one gets a transportation-carpet; another, a magic telescope; and the third, a wonder-working ointment that will cure all diseases and even bring the dead to life. The three noblemen meet, learn through the telescope of the princess’s mortal illness, and, hastening to her side with the help of the magic carpet, cure her with the ointment. A dispute arises as to which suitor shall have her. The king decides that each has as good a claim as the others, and persuades all to give up the idea of marrying the princess. They do so, go to a far-off desert, and become hermits, while the king marries his daughter to another noble. The story does not end here, but thus much is all we are interested in.
Italian Tyrolese (Schneller, No. 14, “Die Drei Liebhaber”).–This story is like Von Hahn, No. 47. The magic objects are an apple, a chair, and a mirror. In the magic mirror the three suitors see the bride on the point of death. They are carried to her in the magic chair, and she is saved by means of the apple. The story ends as a riddle: Who married the maiden?
Icelandic (Rittershaus, No. XLIII, “Die drei Freier um eine Braut”).–This story, which closely follows the “1001 Nights” version and is probably derived from it, agrees in the first part with Von Hahn, No. 47. When a folk-tribunal is called to decide which brother most deserves the princess and is unable to agree, the king proposes another test,–a shooting-match. The princess is to be given to the one who can shoot his arrow the farthest. The youngest really wins; but, as his arrow goes out of sight and cannot be found, the princess is given to the second brother. From this point on, the adventures of the hero are derived from another cycle that does not belong with our group.
Icelandic (Rittershaus, No. XLII, “Die Kunstreichen Brueder”).–Although this story is very different from any of ours, I call attention to it here because Dr. Rittershaus says (p. 181) that in it we have, “in allerdings verwischter Form, das Maerchen von ‘der Menschen mit den wunderbaren Eigenschaften,'” and she refers to Benfey’s “Ausland” article. The collector states, however, that the story is so different from the other Maerchen belonging to this family, that no further parallels can be adduced. As a matter of fact, this Icelandic story is a combination of the “Skilful Companions” cycle with the “Child and the Hand” cycle. For this combined Maerchen, see Kittredge, “Arthur and Gorlagon,” 222-227.
It might be noted, in passing, that a connection between this type of the “Rival Brothers” and the “Skilful Companions” cycle is established through Gonzenbach’s Sicilian story of “The Seven Brothers who had Magic Articles,” No. 45. (See Koehler’s notes to this tale and also to No. 74; to Widter-Wolf, No. 6 [Jahrb. f. rom. und eng. lit., VII]; and to V. Tagic, No. 46 [Koehler-Bolte, 438-440].)
I have not attempted to give an exhaustive bibliographical account of this cycle of the “Rival Brothers,” but have merely suggested points that seem to me particularly significant in its history and development. So far as our four Filipino examples are concerned, I think that it is perfectly clear that in their present form, at least, they have been derived from Europe. There is so much divergence among them, however, and they are so widely separated from one another geographically, that it would be fruitless to search for a common ancestor of the four.
The Ilocano story is the best in outline, and is fairly close to Grimm, No. 129, though there are only three brothers in the Filipino tale, and there is no skill contest held by the mother before the youths set out to rescue the princess. The all-seeing telescope and the clever thief, however, are found in both. The solution at the end is the same: the king keeps his daughter, and divides half a kingdom among her rescuers.
The Pangasinan tale has obviously been garbled. The use of two magic articles with properties so nearly the same, the taking ship by the three brothers when they had a transportation-mat at their service, and finally the inhuman decision of the king, [49]–all suggest either a confusion of stories, or a contamination of old native analogies, or crude manufacture on the part of some narrator. It may be remarked, however, that the life-restoring book is analogous to the magic book in “Vetalapancavincati,” No. 2, while the repairing of the shattered ship by means of the magic stones suggests the stitching-together of the planks in Grimm, No. 129. The setting appears to be modern.
In the first Tagalog story (c) the three men are not brothers. They are given the magic objects as a reward for kindness. The sentimental denouement reads somewhat smug and strained after all three men have been represented as equally kind-hearted. The shooting-contest with arrows to decide the question, however, may be reminiscent of the “1001 Nights” version. For the resuscitating flute in droll stories, see Bolte-Polivka’s notes to Grimm, No. 61 (episode G1). The book of knowledge suggests the magic book in the Pangasinan version.
TALE 13
The Rich and the Poor.
Narrated by Jose L. Gomez, a Tagalog from Rizal province.
Once upon a time there lived in the town of Pasig two honest men who were intimate friends. They were called Mayaman [50] and Mahirap, [51] because one was much richer than the other.
One pleasant afternoon these two men made up their minds to take a long walk into the neighboring woods. Here, while they were talking happily about their respective fortunes, they saw in the distance a poor wood-cutter, who was very busy cutting and collecting fagots for sale. This wood-cutter lived in a mean cottage on the outskirts of a little town on the opposite shore of the lake, and he maintained his family by selling pieces of wood gathered from this forest.
When they saw the poor man, Mayaman said to his friend, “Now, which one of us can make that wood-cutter rich?”
“Well, even though I am much poorer than you,” said Mahirap, “I can make him rich with just the few cents I have in my pocket.”
They agreed, however, that Mayaman should be the first to try to make the poor man rich. So Mayaman called out to the wood-cutter, and said, “Do you want to be rich, my good man?”
“Certainly, master, I should like to be rich, so that my family might not want anything,” said the wood-cutter.
Pointing to his large house in the distance, Mayaman said, “All right. Come to my house this evening on your way home, and I will give you four bags of my money. If you don’t become rich on them, come back, and I will give you some more.”
The wood-cutter was overjoyed at his good luck, and in the evening went to Mayaman’s house, where he received the money. He placed the bags in the bottom of his banca, [52] and sailed home. When he reached his little cottage, he spread out all the gold and silver money on the floor. He was delighted at possessing such wealth, and determined first of all to buy household articles with it; but some dishonest neighbors, soon finding out that the wood-cutter had much money in the house, secretly stole the bags.
Then the wood-cutter, remembering the rich man’s promise, hastily prepared his banca and sailed across to Pasig. When Mayaman saw the wood-cutter, he said, “Are you rich now, my good man?”
“O kind master!” said the wood-cutter, “I am not yet rich, for some one stole my bags of money.”
“Well, here are four more bags. See that you take better care of them.”
The wood-cutter reached home safely with this new wealth; but unfortunately it was stolen, too, during the night.
Three more times he went to Mayaman, and every time received four bags of money; but every time was it stolen from him by his neighbors.
Finally, on his sixth application, Mayaman did not give the wood-cutter money, but presented him with a beautiful ring. “This ring will preserve you from harm,” he said, “and will give you everything you ask for. With it you can become the richest man in town; but be careful not to lose it!”
While the wood-cutter was sailing home that evening, he thought he would try the ring by asking it for some food. So he said, “Beautiful ring, give me food! for I am hungry.” In an instant twelve different kinds of food appeared in his banca, and he ate heartily. But after he had eaten, the wind calmed down: so he said to the ring, “O beautiful ring! blow my banca very hard, so that I may reach home quickly.” He had no sooner spoken than the wind rose suddenly. The sail and mast of his little boat were blown away, and the banca itself sank. Forgetting all about his ring, the unfortunate man had to swim for his life. He reached the shore safely, but was greatly distressed to find that he had lost his valuable ring. So he decided to go back to Mayaman and tell him all about his loss.
The next day he borrowed a banca and sailed to Pasig; but when Mayaman had heard his story, he said, “My good man, I have nothing more to give you.” Then Mayaman turned to his friend Mahirap, and said, “It is your turn now, Mahirap. See what you can do for this poor man to enrich him.” Mahirap gave the poor wood-cutter five centavos,–all he had in his pocket,–and told him to go to the market and buy a fish with it for his supper.
The wood-cutter was disappointed at receiving so small an amount, and sailed homeward in a very downcast mood; but when he arrived at his town, he went straight to the market. As he was walking around the fish-stalls, he saw a very fine fat fish. So he said to the tendera, [53] “How much must I pay for that fat fish?”
“Well, five centavos is all I’ll ask you for it,” said she.
“Oh, I have only five centavos; and if I give them all to you, I shall have no money to buy rice with. So please let me have the fish for three!” said the wood-cutter. But the tendera refused to sell the fish for three centavos; and the wood-cutter was obliged to give all his money for it, for the fish was so fine and fat that he could not leave it.
When he went home and opened the fish to clean it, what do you suppose he found inside? Why, no other thing than the precious ring he had lost in the lake! He was so rejoiced at getting back his treasure, that he walked up and down the streets, talking out loud to his ring:–
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!
I have found you now;
You are here, and nowhere else.”
When his neighbors who had stolen his bags of money from him heard these words, they thought that the wood-cutter had found out that they were the thieves, and was addressing these words to them. They ran up to him with all the bags of money, and said, “O wood-cutter! pardon us for our misdoings! Here are all the bags of money that we stole from you.”
With his money and the ring, the wood-cutter soon became the richest man in his town. He lived happily with his wife the rest of his days, and left a large heritage to his children.
So Mahirap, with five centavos only, succeeded in making the wood-cutter rich.
Lucas the Rope-maker.
Narrated by Elisa Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, Laguna. Miss Cordero says that the story is well known and is old.
Luis and Isco were intimate friends. They lived in a country called Bagdad. Though these two friends had been brought up together in the same school, their ideas were different. Luis believed that gentleness and kindness were the second heaven, while Isco’s belief was that wealth was the source of happiness and peace in life.
One day, while they were eating, Isco said, “Don’t you believe, my friend, that a rich man, however cruel he may be, is known everywhere and has great power over all his people? A poor man may be gentle and kind, but then he is disdainfully looked upon by his neighbors.”
“Oh,” answered Luis, “I know it, but to me everybody is the same. I love them all, and I am not enchanted by anything that glisters.”
“My friend,” said Isco, “our conversation is becoming serious. Let us take a walk this afternoon and see how these theories work out in the lives of men.”
That afternoon Luis and Isco went to a town called Cohija. On their way they saw a rope-maker, Lucas by name, who by his condition showed his great suffering from poverty. He approached Lucas and gave him a roll of paper money, saying, “Now, Lucas, take this money and spend it judiciously.”
Lucas was overjoyed: he hardly knew what to do. When he reached home, he related to his wife Zelima what had happened to him. As has been said, Lucas was very poor and was a rope-maker. He had six little children to support; but he had no money with which to feed them, nor could he get anything from his rope-making. Some days he could not sell even a yard of rope. When Lucas received the money from Luis, and had gone home and told his wife, he immediately went out again to buy food. He had one hundred pesos in paper money. He bought two pounds of meat, and a roll of canamo; [54] and as there was some more money left, he put it in one of the corners of his hat. Unfortunately, as he was walking home, an eagle was attracted by the smell of the meat, and began flying about his head. He frightened the bird away; but it flew so fast that its claws became entangled in his hat, which was snatched off his head and carried away some distance. When he searched for the money, it was gone. He could not find it anywhere.
Lucas went home very sad. When his wife learned the cause of his sorrow, she became very angry. She scolded her husband roundly. As soon as the family had eaten the meat Lucas bought, they were as poor as before. They were even pale because of hunger.
One day Luis and Isco decided to visit Lucas and see how he was getting along. It happened that while they were passing in the same street as before, they saw Lucas weeping under a mango-tree near his small house. “What is the matter?” said Luis. “Why are you crying?”
Poor Lucas told them all that had happened to him,–how the money was lost, and how his wife had scolded him. At first Luis did not believe the rope-maker’s story, and became angry at him. At last, however, when he perceived that Lucas was telling the truth, he pardoned him and gave him a thousand pesos.
Lucas returned home with delight, but his wife and children were not in the house. They were out asking alms from their neighbors. Lucas then hid the bulk of the money in an empty jar in the corner of the room, and then went out to buy food for his wife and children. While he was gone, his wife and children returned. They had not yet eaten anything.
Not long afterward a man came along selling rice. Zelima said to him, “Sir, can’t you give us a little something to appease our hunger? I’ll give you some darak [55] in exchange.”
“Oh, yes!” said the man, “I’ll give you some rice, but you do not need to give me anything.”
Zelima took the rice gladly; and as she was looking for something with which to repay the man, she happened to see the empty jar in which her husband had secretly put his money. She filled the jar with darak and gave it to the rice-seller.
When Lucas came home, he was very happy. He told his wife about the money he had hidden. But when he found out that the money was gone, he was in despair: he did not know what to do. He scolded his wife for her carelessness. As he could not endure to see the suffering of his children, he tried to kill himself, but his children prevented him. At last he concluded to be quiet; for he thought, “If I hurt my wife, and she becomes sick, I can’t stand it. I must take care of her.”
Two months passed by, and Luis and Isco again visited their friend Lucas. While they were walking in the street, Luis found a big piece of lead. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. When they reached Lucas’s house, they were astonished to see him in a more wretched condition than before. Luis asked what was the matter. Lucas related to him all that had occurred; but Luis just said, “Oh, no! you are fooling us. We will not believe you.” Lucas was very sad. He asked pardon of Luis for his carelessness, and said, “Don’t increase the burden of my suffering by your scolding!”
Now, Luis was by nature gentle and pitiful. He could not endure to see his friend suffering. So he gave him the lead he had found in the street, saying, “Now, take care of that! Maybe your wealth will come from it.” Luis accepted the lead unwillingly, for he thought that Luis was mocking him.
When Lucas went into the house, he threw the lead away in the corner, and went to sleep. During the night a neighbor knocked at their door, asking for a piece of lead for her husband. The neighbor said, “My husband is going fishing early in the morning, and he asked me to buy him some lead for his line, but I forgot it. I know he will scold me if I don’t have some ready for him.” Lucas, who was wakened by the talk, told his wife to get the lead he had thrown in the corner. When Zelima found it, she gave it to their neighbor, who went away happy, promising that she would bring them the first fish her husband should catch.
The next morning Lucas woke very late. The neighbor was already there with a big fish, and Zelima was happy at having so much to eat. While she was cleaning the fish, she found a bright stone inside it. As she did not know of the value of the stone, she gave it to her youngest son to play with; but when the other children saw it, they quarrelled with their brother, and tried to take it away from him. Lucas, too, was ignorant of the fact that the stone was worth anything.
In front of their house lived a rich man named Don Juan. When he heard the noise of his neighbor’s children quarrelling, he sent his wife to see what was the matter. Don Juan’s wife saw the stone, and wanted to have it very much. She asked Zelima to sell it to her, but Zelima said that she would wait and ask her husband. The rich man’s wife went home and told her husband about the jewel. He went to Lucas’s house, and offered the rope-maker a thousand pesos for the stone; but Lucas refused, for now he suspected that it was worth more than that. At last he sold it for twenty thousand pesos.
Lucas was now a rich man. He bought clothes for his wife and children, renewed his house, which was falling to pieces, and bought a machine for making rope. As his business increased, he bought another machine. But although Lucas was the richest man in town, he was very kind. His house was open to every comer. He supported crippled persons, and gave alms to the poor.
When Luis and Isco visited Lucas the last time, they were surprised and at the same time delighted to see him so rich. Lucas did not know how to thank them. He gave a banquet in honor of these two men. After the feast was over, Lucas told his friends every detail of all that had happened to him, how he had lent the lead, how his wife had found the stone in the fish, and how a rich man had bought it for twenty thousand pesos.
Luis was now convinced that Lucas was honest, and had told the truth on former occasions. Lucas lived in his big house happily and in peace with his wife and children.
Notes.
These two Tagalog stories are probably derived from the same ultimate source; the second, “Lucas the Rope-Maker,” being very much closer to the original. That source is the “History of Khevajah Hasan al-Habbal” in the “Arabian Nights Entertainments” (see Burton’s translation, Supplemental Nights, III : 341-366). There is also a Tagalog literary version of this story,–“Life of a Rope-maker in the Kingdom of Bagdad,” by Franz Molteni. I have at present no copy of this chap-book; but the work may safely be dated 1902-05, as those were the years in which Molteni published. This story follows faithfully the “Arabian Nights” tale. The two rich friends are Saadi and Saad, and the name of the rope-maker is Cojia Hasan.
Our second folk-tale (b) seems to stand half way between this literary version and “The Rich and the Poor,”–not chronologically, to be sure, but so far as fidelity to the Arabian story is concerned. Although the events are practically the same in (b) and in Molteni, the proper names differ throughout. It is possible that (b) derives from an earlier Tagalog literary version that is no longer extant. (a) is definitely localized on Laguna de Bay, and the story as a whole seems thoroughly native. It is likely much older than either of the other two forms.
A Bengal tale somewhat similar to these is to be found in McCulloch’s “Bengali Household Tales,” No. III; it is also connected with the Dr. Knowall cycle (our No. 1). Caballero has a Spanish story (see Ingram, “Dame Fortune and Don Money”). For a discussion of the continuously unlucky hero, see Clouston 2, 489-493. In Ralston 1, I95 f., may be found a group of stories dealing with luck. Compare also Thorpe’s “Yule-tide Stories,” 460 f., for the North German story of “The Three Gifts.”
For the “ejaculation guess” in No. 13(a), see notes to No. 1 (pp. 7-8).
TALE 14
The King and the Dervish.
Narrated by Jose M. Hilario of Batangas, Batangas, who heard the story from his father, a Tagalog.
Once there lived a young and brave king with his gentle and loving wife. Both had enjoyed an easy, comfortable, and, best of all, happy life. The king ruled his people well. The queen was a good wife as well as a good sovereign: she always cheered her husband when he was sad.
One day a dervish came to the palace. He told the king that he possessed magical power, and straightway they became friends. This dervish had the power to leave his body and enter that of a dead animal or person. Now, the king was fond of hunting, and once he took his new friend with him to shoot deer. After a few hours of hard chasing, they succeeded in killing a buck. To show his power, the dervish left his body and entered that of the dead deer. Then he resumed his former shape. The king was very anxious to be able to do the same thing; whereupon the dervish gave him minute instructions, and taught him the necessary charms. Then the king left his body, and took possession of that of the deer. In an instant the dervish entered the king’s body and went home as the monarch. He gave orders that a deer with certain marks should be hunted out and killed. The true king was very unhappy, especially when he saw his own men chasing him to take his life.
In his wanderings through the forest, he saw a dead nightingale. He left the deer’s body and entered the bird’s. Now he was safe, so he flew to his palace. He sang so sweetly, that the queen ordered her attendants to catch him. He gladly allowed himself to be caught, and to be cared for by the queen. Whenever the dervish took the bird in his hands, the bird pecked him; but the beautiful singer always showed signs of satisfaction when the queen smoothed his plumage.
Not long after the bird’s capture, a dog died in the palace. The king underwent another change: he left the bird’s body and entered that of the dog. On waking up in the morning, the queen found that her pet was dead. She began to weep. Unable to see her so sad, the dervish comforted her, and told her that he would give the bird life again. Consequently he left the king’s body and entered the bird’s. Seeing his chance, the real king left the dog’s body and resumed his original form. He then went at once to the cage and killed the ungrateful bird, the dervish.
The tender queen protested against the king’s act of cruelty; but when she heard that she had been deceived by the dervish, she died of grief.
The Mysterious Book.
Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna.
Once upon a time there lived a poor father and a poor son. The father was very old, and was named Pedro. The son’s name was Juan. Although they were very poor, Juan was afraid of work.
One day the two did not have a single grain of rice in the house to eat. Juan now realized that he would have to find some work, or he and his father would starve. So he went to a neighboring town to seek a master. He at last found one in the person of Don Luzano, a fine gentleman of fortune.
Don Luzano treated Juan like a son. As time went on, Don Luzano became so confident in Juan’s honesty, that he began to intrust him with the most precious valuables in the house. One morning Don Luzano went out hunting. He left Juan alone in the house, as usual. While Juan was sweeping and cleaning his master’s room, he caught sight of a highly polished box lying behind the post in the corner. Curious to find out what was inside, he opened the box. There appeared another box. He opened this box, and another box still was disclosed. One box appeared after another until Juan came to the seventh. This last one contained a small triangular-shaped book bound in gold and decorated with diamonds and other precious gems. Disregarding the consequences that might follow, Juan picked up the book and opened it. Lo! at once Juan was carried by the book up into the air. And when he looked back, whom did he see? No other than Don Luzano pursuing him, with eyes full of rage. He had an enormous deadly-looking bolo in his hand.
As Don Luzano was a big man, he could fly faster than little Juan. Soon the boy was but a few yards in front of his antagonist. It should also be known that the book had the wonderful power of changing anybody who had laid his hands on it, or who had learned by heart one of its chapters, into whatever form that person wished to assume. Juan soon found this fact out. In an instant Juan had disappeared, and in his place was a little steed galloping as fast as he could down the street. Again, there was Don Luzano after him in the form of a big fast mule, with bubbling and foaming mouth, and eyes flashing with hate. The mule ran so fast, that every minute seemed to be bringing Juan nearer his grave.
Seeing his danger, Juan changed himself into a bird,–a pretty little bird. No sooner had he done so than he saw Don Luzano in the form of a big hawk about to swoop down on him. Then Juan suddenly leaped into a well he was flying over, and there became a little fish. Don Luzano assumed the form of a big fish, and kept up the chase; but the little fish entered a small crack in the wall of the well, where the big fish could not pursue him farther. So Don Luzano had to give up and go home in great disappointment.
The well in which Juan found himself belonged to three beautiful princesses. One morning, while they were looking into the water, they saw the little fish with its seven-colored scales, moving gracefully through the water. The eldest of the maidens lowered her bait, but the fish would not see it. The second sister tried her skill. The fish bit the bait; but, just as it was being drawn out of the water, it suddenly released its hold. Now the youngest sister’s turn came. The fish allowed itself to be caught and held in the tender hands of this beautiful girl. She placed the little fish in a golden basin of water and took it to her room, where she cared for it very tenderly.
Several months later the king issued a proclamation throughout his realm and other neighboring kingdoms, saying that the youngest princess was sick. “To any one who can cure her,” he said, “I promise to give one-half of my kingdom.” The most skilful doctors had already done the best they could, but all their efforts were in vain. The princess seemed to grow worse and worse every day. “Ay, what foolishness!” exclaimed Don Luzano when he heard the news of the sick princess. “The sickness! Pshaw! That’s no sickness, never in the wide world!”
The following morning there was Don Luzano speaking with the king. “I promise to cure her,” said Don Luzano. “I have already cured many similar cases.”
“And your remedy will do her no harm?” asked the king after some hesitation.
“No harm, sir, no harm. Rely on my honor.”
“Very well. And you shall have half of my kingdom if you are successful.”
“No, I thank you, your Majesty. I, being a faithful subject, need no payment whatever for any of my poor services. As a token from you, however, I should like to have the fish that the princess keeps in her room.”
“O my faithful subject!” exclaimed the king in joy. “How good you are! Will you have nothing except a poor worthless fish?”
“No more” that’s enough.”
“Well, then,” returned the king, “prepare your remedy, and on the third day we shall apply it to the princess. You can go home now, and you may be sure that you shall have the fish.”
Don Luzano took his leave of the king, and then went home. On the third day this daring magician came back to the palace to apply his remedy to the princess. Before he began any part of the treatment, however, he requested that the fish be given to him. The king consented to his request: but as he was about to dip his hand into the basin, the princess boldly stopped him. She pretended to be angry on the ground that Don Luzano would soil with his hands the golden basin of the monarch. She told him to hold out his hands, and she would pour the fish into them. Don Luzano did as he was told: but, before the fish could reach his hands, the pretty creature jumped out. No fish now could be seen, but in its stead was a beautiful gold ring adorning the finger of the princess. Don Luzano tried to snatch the ring, but, as the princess jerked her hand back, the ring fell to the floor, and in its place were countless little mungo [56] seeds scattered about the room. Don Luzano instantly took the form of a greedy crow, devouring the seeds with extraordinary speed. Juan, who was contained in one of the seeds that had rolled beneath the feet of the princess, suddenly became a cat, and, rushing out, attacked the bird. As soon as you could wink your eyes or snap your fingers, the crow was dead, miserably torn to pieces. In place of the cat stood Juan in an embroidered suit, looking like a gay young prince.
“This is my beloved,” confessed the princess to her father as she pointed to Juan. The king forgave his daughter for concealing from him the real condition of her life, and he gladly welcomed his new son-in-law. Prince Juan, as we shall now call our friend, was destined to a life of peace and joy. He was rid of his formidable antagonist; he had a beautiful princess (who was no longer sick) for a wife; and he had an excellent chance of inheriting the throne. There is no more.
Notes.
A third form (c) I have only in abstract; it is entitled “The Priest and his Pupil:”–
A boy learns a number of magic tricks from the priest, his master. He changes himself into a hog, and is sold to the priest; then he runs away, transforms himself into a horse, and is again sold to his master for much money. The horse breaks loose and runs off. The priest now realizes the truth, and, transforming himself into a horse, pursues the first horse. When they come to a river, the first horse becomes a small fish, and the second a large fish, and the chase continues. Then the two fish become birds wheeling aloft, the larger chasing the smaller. As he flies over the palace of the King of Persia, the boy becomes a small cocoanut-ring, and drops on to the finger of the princess. The defeated priest returns home, and threatens the King of Persia with war if he will not give up the ring. When the priest calls at the court, the boy has changed himself from a ring into a dog. The priest is told that he shall have the ring provided he becomes a duck. Immediately when he has complied, the dog seizes him and kills him. The hero later weds the princess.
A fourth form (d) is the Tagalog story “The Battle of the Enchanters,” printed in JAFL 20 : 309-310.
Both of these variants (c and d) bear a close resemblance to our second story of “The Mysterious Book,” and all three probably go back to a common source; but that source is not the “Arabian Nights” (as Gardner hints, JAFL 20 : 309, note), although the second calendar’s tale in that collection represents one form of the “Transformation Combat” cycle. These three Filipino variants are members of the large family of Oriental and European folk-tales of which the Norse “Farmer Weathersky” (Dasent, No. XLI) or the German “The Thief and his Master” (Grimm, No. 68) may be taken as representatives. The essential elements of this form of the “Transformation Combat” cycle have been noted by Bolte-Polivka (2 : 61) as follows:–
A A father gives his son up to a magician to be taught, the condition being that the father at the end of a year must be able to recognize his son in animal form.
B The son secretly learns magic and thieving.
C In the form of a dog, ox, horse, he allows his father to sell him, finally to the magician himself, to whom the father, contrary to directions, also hands over the bridle.
D1 The son, however, succeeds in slipping off the bridle, and (D2) overcomes the magician in a transformation combat (hare, fish, bird, etc.). D3 Usually, after the hero has flown in the guise of a bird to a princess and is concealed by her in the form of a ring, the magician appears to the king her father, who has become sick, and demands the ring as payment for a cure. The princess drops the ring, and there lies in its place a pile of millet-seed, which the magician as a hen starts to pick up; but the hero quickly turns himself into a fox, and bites off the hen’s head.
With slight variations from the formula as given above, these elements are distributed thus in our stories:–
(b) BD2D3
(c) BCD2D3
(d) BCD1D3
Bolte and Polivka (2 : 66) cite a number of Oriental versions of the story (Hindoo and Arabian) which in their main outlines are practically identical with our variants. In the absence of the story in any Spanish version, it seems most reasonable to look to India as the source of our tales; unless, as is possible, they were introduced into the Islands from Straparola (viii, 5), whose collection of stories might have found their way there through the Spaniards. For further discussions of this cycle, see Macculloch, 164-166; Clouston 3, 1 : 413 ff.; Koehler-Bolte, 1 : 138 ff., 556 f.; Benfey, 1 : 410-413.
Our first story, “The King who became a Deer, a Nightingale, and a Dog,” while containing the “transformation combat” between magician and pupil, differs from the other members of this group in one important respect: the transformation cannot take place unless there is a dead body for the transformer’s spirit to enter. It is also to be noted that, as soon as a spirit leaves a body, that body becomes dead. There can be no doubt that this story of ours is derived from the 57th to the 60th “Days” in the “1001 Days” (Persian Tales, 1 : 212 ff.; Cabinet des Fees, XlV, p. 326 f.), the story of Prince Fadlallah. For other variants of this cycle, see Benfey, 1 : 122 f., especially 126. The Persian story might have reached the Philippines through the medium of the French translation, of which our tale appears to be little more than the baldest abstract.
Benfey explains the “transformation combat” as originating in the disputes between Buddhists and Brahmans. Doubtless the story first grew up in India. A very ancient Oriental analogue, which has not hitherto been pointed out, I believe, is the Hebrew account of Aaron’s magical contest with the Egyptian sorcerers (see Exodus, vii, 9-12). Compare also the betting-contest between the two kings in No. 1 of this collection, and see the notes.
TALE 15
The Miraculous Cow.
Narrated by Adela Hidalgo, a Tagalog from Manila, who heard the story from another Tagalog student.
There was once a farmer driving home from his farm in his carreton. [57] He had tied his cow to the back of his cart, as he was accustomed to do every evening on his way home. While he was going along the road, two boys saw him. They were Felipe and Ambrosio. Felipe whispered to Ambrosio, “Do you see the cow tied to the back of that carreton? Well, if you will untie it, I will take it to our house.”
Ambrosio approached the carreton slowly, and untied the cow. He handed the rope to Felipe, and then tied himself in the place of the animal.
“Come on, Ambrosio! Don’t be foolish! Come on with me!” whispered Felipe impatiently.
“No, leave me alone! Go home, and I will soon be there!” answered the cunning Ambrosio.
After a while the farmer happened to look back. What a surprise for him! He was frightened to find a boy instead of his cow tied to the carreton. “Why are you there? Where is my cow?” he shouted furiously. “Rascal, give me my cow!”
“Oh, don’t be angry with me!” said Ambrosio. “Wait a minute, and I will tell you my story. Once, when I was a small boy, my mother became very angry with me. She cursed me, and suddenly I was transformed into a cow; and now I am changed back into my own shape. It is not my fault that you bought me: I could not tell you not to do so, for I could not speak at the time. Now, generous farmer, please give me my freedom! for I am very anxious to see my old home again.”
The farmer did not know what to do, for he was very sorry to lose his cow. When he reached home, he told his wife the story. Now, his wife was a kind-hearted woman; so, after thinking a few minutes, she said, “Husband, what can we do? We ought to set him free. It is by the great mercy of God that he has been restored to his former self.”
So the wily boy got off. He rejoined his friend, and they had a good laugh over the two simple folks.
Notes.
Like the preceding, this story is of Oriental origin. It must have grown up among a people to whom the idea of metempsychosis was well known, but who at the same time held a skeptical view of that doctrine. Whether or not this droll reached the Philippines by way of the Iberian Peninsula, is hard to say definitely. A Spanish folk-tale narrating practically the same incident is to be found in C. Sellers, pp. 1 ff.: “The Ingenious Student.” There the shrewd but poverty-stricken Juan Rivas steals a mule from the pack-train of a simple-minded muleteer; and while the companions escape with the animal and sell it, Juan puts on the saddle and bridle, and takes the place of the stolen beast. His explanation that he has just fulfilled a long period of punishment imposed on him by Mother Church satisfies the astonished mule-owner, and Juan escapes with only the admonition never again to incur the wrath of his spiritual Mother.
The oldest version with which I am familiar is the “Arabian Nights” anecdote of “The Simpleton and the Sharper” (Burton’s translation, v : 83). This story is practically identical with ours, except that the Filipino version lacks the additional final comical touch of the Arabian. The owner of the ass, after the adventure with the sharper, went to the market to buy another beast, “and, lo! he beheld his own ass for sale. And when he recognized it, he advanced to it, and, putting his mouth to its ear, said, ‘Wo to thee, O unlucky! Doubtless thou hast returned to intoxication and beaten thy mother again. By Allah, I will never again buy thee!'” The sharper had previously given as the reason of his transformation the fact that his mother had cursed him when he, in a fit of drunkenness, had beaten her. Clouston tells this story in his “Book of Noodles” (81-83).
Stories of the transformation of a child into an animal because of a parent’s curse are found all over Europe. This motif is also widespread in the Philippines among both the Christian and the Pagan tribes. It is usually incorporated in an origin story, such as “The Origin of Monkeys.” For this belief among a non-Christian people in northern Luzon, see Cole, Nos. 65-67. None of these tales, however, assume the droll form: they are told as serious etiological myths.
TALE 16
The Clever Husband and Wife.
Narrated by Elisa Cordero, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna. She heard the story from her servant.
Pedro had been living as a servant in a doctor’s house for more than nine years. He wanted very much to have a wife, but he had no business of any kind on which to support one.
One day he felt very sad. His look of dejection did not escape the notice of his master, who said, “What is the matter, my boy? Why do you look so sad? Is there anything I can do to comfort you?”
“Oh, yes!” said Pedro.
“What do you want me to do?” asked the doctor.
“Master,” the man replied, “I want a wife, but I have no money to support one.”
“Oh, don’t worry about money!” replied his master. “Be ready to-morrow, and I will let you marry the woman you love.”
The next day the wedding was held. The doctor let the couple live in a cottage not far from his hacienda, [58] and he gave them two hundred pieces of gold. When they received the money, they hardly knew what to do with it, as Pedro had never had any business of any sort. “What shall we do after we have spent all our money?” asked the wife. “Oh, we can ask the doctor for more,” answered Pedro.
Years passed by, and one day the couple had not even a cent with which to buy food. So Pedro went to the doctor and asked him for some money. The doctor, who had always been kind to them, gave him twenty pieces of gold; but these did not last very long, and it was not many days before the money was all spent. The husband and wife now thought of another way by which they could get money from the doctor.
Early one day Pedro went to the doctor’s house weeping. He said that his wife had died, and that he had nothing with which to pay for her burial. (He had rubbed onion-juice on his eyes, so that he looked as if he were really crying.) When the doctor heard Pedro’s story, he pitied the man, and said to him, “What was the matter with your wife? How long was she sick?” “For two days,” answered Pedro.