CHAPTER I

THE PRIMITIVE-RELIGIOUS GROUP

The traditional types--myth, legend, fairy tale, and nursery saga--are designated as primitive-religious in order to express the fact that they grew up in response to the reverent credulity of simple folk. The myths of all races are the embodiment of their highest prehistoric religious thinking. The legends are their semi-historical, semi-religious thinking. The fairy and nursery stories are modified forms of the other two. Consequently they all belong together in one group.

I. The Myth

There are two general classes of myths: the primitive-tribal and the artificial-literary, or myths of growth and myths of art.

From the point of view of ethnology, the myth of growth is primitive philosophy, and represents racial anthropomorphic thinking concerning the universe. Anthropomorphic is a term derived from the Greek ἄνθρωπος, meaning man, and μορφἠ, meaning shape or form, and is used to describe the tendency of people to represent invisible forces as having human form (for example, the Deity), or natural forces like fire and wind as being animate, volitional agents. It is probably true that, at a very early stage in the development of both the individual and the race, every object is looked upon as having life; and later, if any distinction is made between animate and inanimate, spirits are yet regarded as agents controlling the inanimate and causing changes therein. A myth of growth is the verbal expression of this attitude of the mind of a people in its wider and deeper imaginings.

Doubtless after the first or second repetition of a myth, which some seer of a tribe chants in rude verse, the primitive listener is confused between fact and fancy. The non-essential incidents which the narrator adds from sheer love of making up a story are not distinguished from the incidents that really express the working of natural forces. So it happens that, in the time between the first starting up of the account and the analysis and explanation of it by some philosopher, a narrative handed down from father to son is believed in, word for word, as religious truth, though gaining details and losing its original meaning as it goes. As some one has said, it was because the Greeks had forgotten that Zeus meant _the bright sky_ that they could talk of him as a king ruling a company of manlike deities on Mount Olympus.

There are many beautiful myths existing to-day in prose and poetry. In the tribal species, there is the great mass of Greek and Roman early religious stories and there are the Oriental and the Norse cycles. In the artificial group there are the later Greek and Roman myths like those devised by Plato and Plutarch, and there are our more modern beautiful creations with myth elements like Milton's "Comus" and many of the poems of Keats, where not only the incidents are newly made but the deities also. In prose we have the delightful "Wonder Book," which Hawthorne prepared for children. We have become so familiar with "Paradise Lost" that we hardly realize that it is essentially myth--a great seer's expression of the anthropomorphism of his people. Like a true bard of old, Milton added much also to his people's thinking on the universe. How much he added we see fully only when we deliberately compare the extension and concreteness of his account with the meagerness of the Hebrew Scriptures.

[Myth age not a past epoch]

An error we are liable to fall into concerning myths is that of presuming that they are wholly things of the past; that nowadays nobody believes in them or tells them. In fact, many persons and many tribes believe in them and tell them. The myth age is not a past epoch, but a condition of thinking. It is always present somewhere and present to some extent always among all races. The primitive tribes of the Philippines believe implicitly in their myths. The Bontoc Igorots, for example, tell how the Moon woman, Kabigat, cut off the head of a child of the Sun man, Chal-chal, and thus taught head-hunting to earth people; some of them tell, too, how Coling, the Serpent Eagle, was made, and happens to be always hovering over their pueblo. Even the youngest child knows how the rice-bird came about, and why an Igorot never harms O-wug, the snake. These stories are being gathered to-day by American scientists and are being written down for the first time. The native college students of the Islands have joined in a movement to preserve the traditions of the more civilized tribes also, and are industriously putting into written form the stories of their people. Most of these are not beliefs that are past, but beliefs about the past--a distinction noteworthy to the student of myths. Little children of all races are naturally in a myth age, and many of their imaginings are as beautiful as those of the old Greeks, and, if made known, would be as contributive to literature, I dare say. Poets are but grown-up children to whom Nature makes a continued concrete appeal, and they are always thinking myth-wise, we well know.

So it happens that even the most learned man is willing to listen to a new myth. All the reader demands is that it shall be either a scientifically made record of some present tribal belief or a beautiful and philosophical interpretation of the workings of nature--such a one as a simple, early pagan, but poetic and essentially refined, mind might imagine. Plato's myths were advisedly artificial. He deliberately set out to modify and improve the government of his time by means of religious stories, and he begged the other philosophers to attempt the like also. He gave his magnificent "Vision of Er" as an example of what might be done.

[How traditional myths are collected]

If one wishes to collect traditional myths among a primitive people, this is in general the way he proceeds: He calls to his aid the more elderly folk and the little children--those that have time and inclination to talk. If he can not speak their dialect, he obtains an interpreter--if possible, one very intimate and sociable with the tribe. Then he himself tries to get into good fellowship with all, and to induce free and natural talking. He asks for tales of the sun and moon, the wind and the rain, grasses, flowers, birds, clouds, mountain-systems, river-chains, lightning, thunder, and whatever else their gods have charge of. He asks about the relation of these gods with the deities of neighboring peoples--which, if any, are to be feared and why. Then he makes note of as many historical facts as he can about the tribe--where it first lived, what are the topographical features of the remote and the immediate places of abode, how powerful the warriors are, what respect they command from outsiders, what are considered most honored occupations, and so on. These facts are not to go explicitly into the story, but are to form the background of explanation if he cares to seek or give one. Then, too, they may aid him in making a happy translation of the primitive oral narrative. The aim of the collector, however, is accuracy rather than beauty, though beauty may be present in his versions.

[How original myths are composed]

The writer of an original myth, on the other hand, tries to make his diction as exquisite as he can without affectation. He proceeds somewhat differently, though with no less forethought. If he wishes to use gods and goddesses already known, he attempts not to violate the generally accepted notions of their characteristics. He bears in mind that the beings of myths are large, ample, superhuman, of the race of the infinite. Above mortals, they rule mortals or ignore them. The gods are never petty, though they may be trivial. They belong to the over-world. They are essential: they make day and night, the coming of the seasons, the roll of the ocean, the rising and setting of the constellations. Connected with them too, of course, he knows, are the lesser events of Nature's activity, the speaking of echo, the blooming of the slender narcissus at the edge of the pool, the drooping of the poplars. Hence the writer of a myth of art modifies or adds, but avoids making radical changes. If he chooses wholly to invent his deities, he picks out for each a definite phenomenon and keeps it steadily in mind in order that his created personage may be an appropriate one to perform the well-known actions of the natural force he is explaining. He makes the deeds of his beings far-reaching in result and does not forget to give them euphonious and suggestive names.

[Difference between myth and allegory]

There is a difference between myth and allegory as narratives, although myth is fundamentally allegorical in the broad sense of the term. The actors of myth are rather representative than figurative. Being grander they are at once more simple and dignified than those of allegory. The gods are not thin abstractions raised to concreteness, but are powerful forces reduced to the likeness of men.

Pure myth is different from pure legend likewise, though legend may have gods in it. Legend is generally confined to a particular person or event, or is connected with a definite spot and a limited result; whereas myth deals with universal phenomena.

[Working definition of myth]

The collector or composer of myths, accordingly, posits for himself some such working definition as this: A myth is a story accounting in a fanciful way for a far-reaching natural phenomenon. The basis on which the narrator proceeds is emphatically not science, but imagination and philosophy. He pictures the activities of the universe as the conduct of personal beings, as gods and goddesses doing good or evil, creating and destroying, ruling man or ignoring him, punishing and rewarding.

A List of Deities

=Great Greek Deities= =Great Roman Deities= Zeus Jupiter (king) Appollon Apollo (the sun) Ares Mars (war) Hermes Mercury (messenger) Poseidon Neptune (ocean) Hephaistos Vulcan (smith who made the armor of the gods) Hera Juno (queen) Demeter Ceres (tillage) Artemis Diana (moon, hunting) Athena Minerva (wisdom) Aphrodite Venus (love and beauty) Hestia Vesta (home life) Dionysos Bacchus (wine and revelry) Eros Cupid (the lad Love) Pluton Pluto (king of Hades) Kronos Saturn (Time, who devoured all his children except Jupiter, Neptune and Pluto)

Juno was the wife of Jupiter, Hera of Zeus, Venus of Vulcan, Aphrodite of Hephaistos.

Persephone was wife of Pluton, Proserpine was wife of Pluto, Cybele was wife of Saturn, Rhea was wife of Kronos.

Egyptian Gods

Ra--the sun, usually represented as a hawk-headed man. He protects mankind, but has nothing in common with men.

Shu--light, a type of celestial force, for he is represented supporting the goddess of heaven. His consort was Tefnet.

Seb--the god of the earth; Nut was the goddess of heaven. These two are called "father of the gods."

Osiris--the good principle. He is in perpetual warfare with evil. He is the source of warmth, life and fruitfulness. Isis, his wife, was his counterpart in many respects. Osiris became the judge of the under-world, and Isis was the giver of death.

Horus--the son of Osiris. He avenged his father, who was slain by Typhon.

Seth, or Typhon--the brother of Osiris, and his chief opponent. He represented physical evil; he was the enemy of all good. His consort was Nebti.

Thoth--the god of letters, the clerk of the underworld, and the keeper of the records for the great judge, Osiris. The chief moon-god.

Ptah--the Egyptian Hephaestus, the divine architect.

Ma-t--the goddess of truth. She is characterized by the ostrich feather, the emblem of truth, on her head.

Anubis--the jackal-headed, presided over tombs and mummification.

The Sphinx--a beneficent being who personified the fruit-bearing earth, and was a deity of wisdom and knowledge.

Hindoo Gods

Dyaus--the most ancient name for the supreme god. Dyaus, the heaven, married Prithivi, the earth, and they became the father and mother of the other Hindu gods. Dyaus is also the god of rain.

Indra--the rain-bringer. The son of Dyaus. He is a strong, impetuous warrior, drives a chariot drawn by pawing steeds, bears a resistless lance that is lightning.

Vishnu--one name for the sun; second god of the Hindu triad, literally the Pervader. (Brahma and Siva are the other two of the trinity.)

Vishnu is represented as being of blue color. His _sacti_, or wife, is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.

Mitra--another name for the sun-god.

Rudra--the father of the storm-gods, the Maruts.

Maruts--the storm gods. "They overturn trees, destroy whole forests, they roar like lions, are swift as thought. In the Maruts we see blind strength and fury without judgment."

Vayu--sometimes the wind was thought of as a single personality. He was called Vayu.

Agni--the fire-god. Considered the messenger between the Hindus and heaven. He carried their offerings to Dyaus-pitar.

Varuna--the noblest figure of the Vedic religion. The supreme god at one time. Sometimes he was the All-Surrounder. Later he was ruler of the seas.

Yama--the judge of the dead. He had a dog with four eyes and wide nostrils, whom he sent to earth to collect those about to die.

Vritva--an evil snake which had stolen some treasure and a maiden, Ushas. She was rescued by Indra.

Ushas (Ahana)--a pure, white-robed being from whose presence every dark thing fled away. Ushas never grows old, but she makes others old. (Same as Eos, Greek; Aurora, Latin.) She is the dawn; is also known by the name of Dahana.

Rita--a word to signify the all-pervading law of nature. It was the power that settled the path of the sun. The abode of Rita was in the east, and finally every good thing traveled in the path of Rita.

Asoura Medhas--the wise living one, the animation of moving mind and matter. He is the mysterious principle of life, is represented as one god high over everything. However, he mingles in the affairs of men.

Surya (same as Gr. Helios)--the special god who dwelt in the body of the sun.

Savitar--another personification of the sun. He is spoken of as golden-eyed, golden-tongued and golden-handed.

MINOR DEITIES

Kuvera--the god of riches.

Kamadeva--the god of love, represented as riding on a dove, and armed with an arrow of flowers and a bow, whose string is formed of bees.

Ganesha--the god of prudence and policy.

Russian Gods

Peroun--Lightning; the chief god.

Svaroga--begetter of fire and of the sun gods. Used also sometimes as name of chief god.

Dajh'bog--grandfather of the sun.

Kolyada--beneficent spirit who was supposed to visit the farms and villages in mid-winter and bring fertility to the pent-up herds and frost-bound seeds. A festival in honor of Kolyada was held about December 25, the date when the sun was supposed to triumph over the death in which Nature had gripped him, and to enter again on his new span of life.

Stribog--wind-god.

Finnish Mythology (derived from Kalevala)

Ahto--god of the sea.

Hisi--evil spirit, also called Lempo. His son was Ahti, another name for Lemminkainen.

Lowjatar--Tuoni's daughter; mother of the nine diseases.

Mana--also called Tuoni; the god of death.

Manala--also called Tuonela; the Deathland, for it was the abode of Mana.

Suonetar--the goddess of the veins.

Tapio--the forest-god.

Ukko--the greatest god of the Finns.

Mielikki--the forest-goddess.

Osmotar--the wise maiden who first made beer.

Sampo--the magic mill forged by Ilmarinen, which brought wealth and happiness to its possessor.

Norse Deities

Odin--the All-father.

Thor--the thunderer.

Baldr--the shining god; he typifies day.

Freyr (Fro)--fruitfulness; the patron of seafarers.

Tyr--the god of war and athletic sports.

Bragi--god of poetry and eloquence.

Hodur--Baldur's twin brother; the god of darkness.

Heimdall--kept the keys of heaven; was the watchman of Asgard.

Ulle--god of the chase and of archery. A fast runner on stilts or snowshoes.

Mimir--most celebrated of the giants; god of wisdom and knowledge.

Loki--the god of strife and the spirit of evil. He had three cruel and hateful children: Fenris, a huge wolf; Hel, half black and half blue, who lived on men's brains and marrow; and Formungard, the monstrous serpent of Midgard. Loki's wife was Sigura.

Filipino Deities

TAGALOG

Atasip--a demon of the ancient Tagalogs.

Bathala--principal god of the Tagalogs.

Dian Masalanta--the god which was the patron of lovers and the god of procreation.

Idinale--the god of husbandry.

Lakhanbakor or Lakhanbakod--a god who cured sickness.

Lakambui--a god who first (according to some writers) gave food.

Pasing-tabi sa nono--with this phrase the Tagalogs used to pray the gods of the fields to allow them to walk on the fields and cultivate them.

Sinaya--a divinity which the fishermen used to pray to.

Sitan--a kind of evil spirit (a Mohametan word).

Sonat--the pontifex maximus of the ancient Tagalogs.

VISAYAN

Laon--the supreme god.

Makabantog--the god of licentiousness and tumult.

Sigbin--certain familiar spirits, which used to accompany any woman. They made a bargain with her and served her constantly.

Solad--the Inferno.

Sikabay--Eve, the first woman.

Sikalak--the first man, Adam.

Sinburanen--the god who conducted the souls of the dead consigned to Hades.

Suigaguran } Suinuran } gods of the Inferno. Sumpay }

Tagalabong--spirits who lived in the fields and woods.

Yatangao--a god which made himself visible in the rainbow. Warriors going to battle invoked this god.

BAGOBOS

Bayguebay--the first woman or Eve.

Damakolen--the god who made the hills and mountains.

Makakoret--the god who created the air.

Makaponquis--the god who created water.

Malibud--the deity (fem.) who created woman.

Mamale--the god who created the earth.

Rioa-Rioa--a horrible and evil being which, suspended from the zenith like a large pendulum, approaches the earth and devours those men which his servant Tabankak gives him.

Salibud--the god who taught the first men to cultivate the fields, to trade, and to practice other industries.

Note: In the Filipino themes a foreign word is italicized only the first time it appears.

=The World's Creation and the Birth of Wainamoinen=

Long, long ago, before this world was created, there lived a lovely maiden called Ilmatar, the daughter of the Ether. She dwelt in the air--there were only air and water then--but at length she grew tired of always being on high, and came down and floated on the surface of the water. Suddenly, as she lay there, a mighty storm-wind began to blow and poor Ilmatar was tossed about helplessly on the waves, until at length the wind died down, the waves became still, and Ilmatar, worn out by the violence of the tempest, sank beneath the waters.

Then a magic spell overpowered her, and she swam on and on vainly seeking to rise above the waters, but always unable to do so. Seven hundred long weary years she swam thus, until one day she could not bear the loneliness longer, and cried out: "Woe is me that I have fallen from my happy home in the air, and cannot now rise above the surface of the waters. O great Ukko, ruler of the skies, come and aid me in my sorrow!"

No sooner had she ended her appeal to Ukko than a lovely duck flew down out of the sky, and hovered over the waters looking for a place to alight; but it found none. Then Ilmatar raised her knees above the water, so that the duck might rest upon them; and no sooner did the duck spy them than it flew towards them and, without even stopping to rest, began to build a nest upon them.

When the nest was finished, the duck laid in it six golden eggs, and a seventh of iron, and sat upon to hatch them. Three days the duck sat on the eggs, and all the while the water around Ilmatar's knees grew hotter and hotter, and her knees began to burn as if they were on fire. The pain was so great that it caused her to tremble all over, and her quivering shook the nest off her knees, and the eggs all fell to the bottom of the ocean and broke in pieces. But these pieces came together into two parts and grew to a huge size, and the upper one became the arched heavens above us, and the lower one our world itself. From the white part of the egg came the moonbeams, and from the yolk the bright sunshine.

At last the unfortunate Ilmatar was able to raise her head out of the waters, and she then began to create the land. Wherever she put her hand there arose a lovely hill, and where she stepped she made a lake. Where she dived below the surface are the deep places of the ocean, where she turned her head towards the land there grew deep bays and inlets, and where she floated on her back she made hidden rocks and reefs where so many ships and lives have been lost. Thus the islands and the rocks and the firm land were created.

After the land was made Wainamoinen was born, but he was not born a child, but a full-grown man, full of wisdom and magic power. For seven whole years he swam about in the ocean, and in the eighth he left the water and stepped upon the dry land. Thus was the birth of Wainamoinen, the wonderful magician.--From the _Kalevala_.

"Finnish Legends for English Children," by R. Eivind (T. Fisher Unwin).

_TRIBAL MYTH_

=Origin of the Moon=

South and east of Manila Bay stretches a piece of land, on which there used to be a large forest surrounded and fringed by the Sierra Madre mountains on the east, and guarded by the active Taal volcano on the south. This volcano, which is on a small lake, is said to be always looking toward the east, shouting with his big mouth the name of _Buan Buan_, a very beautiful nymph who dwelt once in this deep forest. The large trees formed towering pillars, the vines and moss that grew wild, together with the blooming flowers, were ornaments of her court. The birds, the insects, and all kinds of animals were her subjects.

The people who live now in this land say that in the beginning of the world there was no such thing as the moon that shines at night. They assert that the origin of the moon came in this wise:

Many thousands of years ago, when the beautiful nymph Buan was in her court, a warlike tribe settled on her land of enjoyment. The invaders began to cultivate the rich soil of this place. Buan, seeing that her flowers would be destroyed and her birds driven away, fled toward the west in grief. On the sea she saw a little _banca_ into which she climbed and in which she drifted along until she came to an island near where the Sun sleeps.

One afternoon when the Sun was about to hide his last rays, he was met by the beautiful nymph, who at once said to him, "O Sun, bear me with you, and I will be your faithful wife forever." Without hesitation or doubt, the gallant Sun, who had been shining over the earth with open eyes looking for a wife, took Buan under his golden arm, and they together, as true lovers, departed.

The Arch-Queen of the Nymphs, ever quarrelsome and jealous, seeing the departure of Buan, sent lightning and hurled thunderbolts after the two fleeing lovers. Buan, who was peacefully slumbering on the breast of her lover, fell down into the water. The Sun in his fright ran away, and continued his course as usual. Pitied by the gods Buan did not drown, but floated on the foam of the sea. The Sun lighted the world the next morning with a great deal of heat and sorrow in his eyes, searching for his lost sweetheart. Buan, who was hidden in the foam that floated on the sea, did not come out until evening. By that time Sun had retired to his wonderful cave beneath the ocean. Buan wandered about until finally she saw a glittering light within the waves. In her fright she cried aloud. The Sun, who was suddenly awakened from his cave by her grief, saw her. With a satisfied heart he took her into his cave, where they dwelt for a whole night. They sat and talked about their love. The Sun taught her how to travel across the sky. However, he asked Buan not to follow him in any of his journeys.

One afternoon Buan was sitting before the door of the cave waiting for her lover. Longing and sentiment grew strong in her, and she remembered the past days when she had lived in her forest court. This state of mind made her come out of the cave, and she rode on the air by magic. For fifteen successive nights she did this, yet she could not see her old home. Finally she asked her husband to bear her across heaven in order that she might see her home. The next morning the Sun took Buan on his back, and they sailed across the sky. The world became dark, for the sun could not then well illuminate the earth. The gods were astonished. The Arch-Queen of the Nymphs sent a storm of wind and rain, which made Buan turn into a soft brilliant mass of light. She was to be with her husband but once every thirty days. She was also punished by not being allowed to show herself entirely every night. She could not sail across heaven for more than thirteen or fourteen days at a time.

--Emanuel Baja.

_TRIBAL MYTH_

=The First Cocoanut Tree and the Creation of Man=

There were three gods, Bathala, Ulilangkalulua, and Galangkalulua. Bathala, a very large giant, ruled the earth; Ulilangkalulua, a very large snake, ruled the clouds; and Galangkalulua, a winged head, wandered from place to place. In fact, each of these gods thought that he was the only living being in the universe.

The earth was composed of hard rocks. There were no seas and no oceans. There were also no plants and no animals. It was indeed a very lonely place. Bathala, its true inhabitant, had often wanted to have some companions, but he wondered how he could provide these companions with food, drink, and shelter when there was nothing on the earth but rocks.

What was true of Bathala was also true of Ulilangkalulua. In his kingdom Ulilangkalulua saw nothing but white clouds. His solitary condition led him to visit other places. He often came down to the earth and enjoyed himself climbing high mountains and entering deep caves.

As he was at the top of a very high hill one day, he saw some one sitting on a large stone down below him. He was very greatly amazed and it was a very long time before he could speak. At last he said, "Sir, tell me who you are."

"I am Bathala, the ruler of the universe," answered the god. Ulilangkalulua was filled with anger when he heard these words. He approached Bathala and said, "If you declare yourself to be the ruler of all things, I challenge you to combat."

A long struggle took place, and after the fighting had continued about three hours Ulilangkalulua was slain. Bathala burned his body near his habitation.

Not many years after this event Galangkalulua, the wandering god, happened to find Bathala's house. Bathala received him and treated him kindly. Thus, they lived together for many years as true friends.

Unfortunately, Galangkalulua became sick. Bathala did not sleep day and night for taking care of his friend. When Galangkalulua was about to die, he called Bathala and said, "You have been very kind to me, and I have nothing to repay your kindness with. But if you will do what I tell you, there is a way in which I can benefit you. You once told me that you had planned to create creatures of the same appearance as you in order that you might have subjects and companions, and that you had not been successful because you did not know how you could supply them with all the necessary things. Now, when I die, bury my body in Ulilangkalulua's grave. In this grave will appear the thing that will satisfy you."

Bathala did what Galangkalulua told him, and Galangkalulua's promise was fulfilled. From the grave grew a plant, whose nut contained water and meat. Bathala was very anxious to examine the different parts of the tree because he had never seen such a thing before. He took a nut and husked it. He found that its inner skin was hard and that the nut itself resembled the head of his friend, Galangkalulua. It had two eyes, a flat nose, and a round mouth. Bathala then looked at the tree itself and discovered that its leaves were really the wings of Galangkalulua and its trunk the body of his enemy, Ulilangkalulua.

Bathala was now free to carry out his plan. He created the first man and woman. He built a house for them, the roof and walls of which were made of the leaves of the cocoanut and the posts of which were cocoanut tree trunks. Thus lived happily under the cocoanut palm this couple for many years until the whole world was crowded with their children. These children still use the cocoanut for food and clothing--the leaves for making mats, hats, and brooms, and the fiber for rope and other things.

--Manuel Reyes.

_ORIGINAL MYTH_

=The Lotus=

Long ago, when the world was young, the Nile loved a maiden. She was Isis, daughter of a hundred stars, who, as she nightly climbed the dark pinnacle of cloud, drew her silver drapery across the stream's dark bosom. Many were the sighs he breathed throughout the long nights--but Isis heard him not; for the wind had told her of Osiris, Osiris the beautiful, the well-beloved, who daily waked the dreaming earth with his warm kiss. And afterwards Mira, the great Star-Mother, bending from her gleaming throne, had spoken of Osiris and his glittering steeds, while Isis listening, yearned for him whom she had never seen, whose radiance was brighter even than that of Nefra-the-fire-bearer, who, once in a century, flashed through the still heavens. So Isis heeded not the Nile, moaning at her feet, for her eyes were ever bent on the rim of the world, whence would come in rosy haste the heralds of Osiris.

But one morning, when the starry sisters were fleeing, one by one, to the silent underworld, Isis stayed in the dark cloudland. The night winds called her to hasten, but she heard them not, and stood waiting--while above the eastern horizon rose the Hours, streaking the heavens with their amber veils, and borne along behind them, Osiris himself, more radiant than her dreams. But Osiris, glad in the greetings of the jubilant earth, saw only a star-maiden lingering in her pale robes on the borders of the forbidden Kingdom. Catching up a barbed shaft, he hurled it shrieking through the air--and Isis fell.

The winds fled in horror from the earth; the air shuddered, and shrank away; but the Nile, roaming in agony through the fields, stretched out his mighty arms and, with a great cry, gathered the lifeless star-maiden to his bosom. And there, where Isis fell, rose a starry flower, pale, but with the stain of the dawn in its heart.

--Ida F. Treat.

II. The Legend

[Myth and legend compared]

Historically the legend may or may not be a later development than the myth. The bards may have ascribed the fanciful deeds of the gods to their tribal heroes, or they may have elevated their tribal heroes into gods by exaggerating actual adventures into far-reaching phenomena. For our present study the descent is immaterial; the distinction is all. In the myth the chief actors are gods; in the legend, men--men endowed with superhuman strength often, to be sure, but still men, though the favorites of the gods. The course of events in the typical myth is pure and absolute imagination; the course of events in the typical legend is somewhat held down by facts. When the deeds are magnified or wholly fanciful, the characters are semi-historical; when the events or places are historical, the chief actors are generally imaginary.

[Saga]

In the myth-legend, or saga, the deeds transcend the ordinarily credible and the heroes are often directed by superhuman agencies. Perhaps the oldest examples of this kind are those recorded in the Sanscrit "Mahabharata" and "Ramayana", and the Persian "Shah Nameh." In the last occurs the beautiful story of Sohrab and Rustam, who lived six hundred years before Christ. Firdousi, writing as late as the first decade of the eleventh century, was therefore working over very ancient material. Such combinations likewise of older tradition and later writing are the Anglo-Saxon "Beowulf", the French "Chanson de Roland", the Spanish "Cid", the Italian "Orlando Furioso" (which is the French story adapted), the German "Hildebrand", "Waltharilied", and "Nibelungen Nôt", and the Icelandic "Grettir the Strong" and "Volsunga Saga". The "Volsunga Saga" as we have it today is prose with some songs from the "Elder Edda". Legend in its written form as a composition type we think of as prose, though it may be verse, or prose and verse combined.

[Saint legends]

To the early church a legend meant the narrative of the life of a saint or a martyr, especially the account of his triumphs over temptation and of the miracles he witnessed or performed. Even to-day in some monasteries such stories are read at meals while the monks eat. It is interesting to note that the church distinguishes between _legenda_, things to be read, and _credenda_, things to be believed. What appears to be the earliest of these legends and the model of the others is said to have been written by St. John of Damascus, a monk of Syria, who lived in the eighth century. It is called "Barlaam and Josaphat" and contains besides the lives of the prince and the prophet many beautiful parables, one of which Shakespeare immortalized in the casket scene in the "Merchant of Venice". The life of Josaphat is in turn said to be the legendary life of the Buddha. There are many beautiful Celtic and Anglo-Saxon Christian stories of this type. In the Cynewulfian group of Anglo-Saxon Lives of the Saints, the "Andreas" is considered very fine. With its account of St. Andrew's miraculous rescue of St. Matthew from prison among the heathen is a sturdy, realistic description of a stormy voyage on northern seas. "The Golden Legend", published by Caxton in 1483, is a translation of a celebrated medieval collection of lives of the greater saints, composed in Latin by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican archbishop of Genoa, in the thirteenth century.

[Geoffrey of Monmouth]

The great English legendary history and a great source-book of English literary legend is the _Historia Britonum_ of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Besides giving us the original story of Lear and many other things in his record of British rulers down to the Saxon Invasion, this twelfth century author, building on the meager basis of an unknown Nennius and possibly a cleric's version of Welsh traditions, started the magnificent Arthurian cycle on its way. This Latin account joined the great stream of continental legendary romance, added to it and took from it, and came back into English in Layamon's "Brut" in the form of a series of metrical legends for the common people.

[Legendary romance]

That most original and enchanting of all the medieval legendary romance books, Malory's "Morte Darthur", stands between the old and the new English fiction in that it has the content of the one and the form of the other. In it were gathered up the religious element (that had come in with the tradition of Joseph of Arimathæa), the love element (of the Launcelot-Guinevere stories), and the national element (Arthur, his wonderful Excalibur and his knights), and so emphasized, so incomparably set forth, so shaken together, if you please, that they combined and stayed together ever afterwards. On the form side, this work is prose and it is art--the first English prose fiction, so announced and so taken. It is literary legend. An artist conscious of his art offered the material not as history or religion, but as a thing of beauty. The preface states, "And for to pass the time this book shall be pleasant to read in, but for to give faith and belief that all is true that is contained herein, ye be at your liberty."

When stories such as these, either by an aim at history or at art, emphasize what has been believed, they are classed as legend; when they emphasize magic and combine history in a riotous way for the mere sake of astonishing, they are classed as wonder tales.

While on the one side legend shades off into myth and wonder tales, on the other it shades off into anecdote. A tendency to write legend instead of fact is always present. As soon as a man or a place becomes prominent, fictitious stories begin to spring up, founded not only on what was done, but also on what might have been done. But to persist, a legendary account must be true to the character and traits of the hero or town or tribe or race with which it deals; at least, it must be true to the popular conception of the character. Though innumerable, the versions of the Faust story, for example, are nevertheless essentially consistent. Typical legends shading off into history and anecdote are those about William Tell, Robert the Bruce, Alfred the Great, John Smith and Pocahontas, and many of the popular tales about Columbus, Washington, Lincoln, and Rizal.

[Modern literary legends]

There are modern literary legends. An exquisite legend of a place is "Rip Van Winkle" by Washington Irving. A terrific French novel is founded on the legendary idea of the Wandering Jew. A wholesome boys' story that is often mistaken for history is "The Man Without a Country." Selma Lagerlöf, who was given the Nobel prize in 1909 for the most original piece of literature, has written among others a saint's legend about a hermit who was won to brotherly love by a pair of birds that built a nest and hatched their young in his outstretched palms as, keeping a vow, he stood day and night praying heaven to take vengeance and destroy the sinful world. Allied to this species is one of Count Tolstoy's most widely read stories. It is built upon an idea current in all races and appearing in many legends; namely, of an angel sent by God to live a while among men. But Tolstoy, with his fervent devotion to the good of the people, has turned his narrative into a parable, and calls it "What Men Live By." Another beautiful religious narrative, an art legend tangent to tradition, is Henry Van Dyke's "The Other Wise Man."

[How to select and record a legend of growth]

It is easy for one to select a place legend. Every town in the world, I suppose, has stories connected with it that are only typically true. Almost every prominent topographical feature has an explanatory narrative current about it. Take any of these popular tales concerning the cliffs, river, mountain peak, spring, lake, gully, or pictured rocks of your neighborhood and you have a legend, so long as your story confines itself to that particular spot, and does not let its subject be emphatically the result of great natural forces or of the cause of all subsequent similar formations. In other words, one must remember that the basis of legend is particular incident, while that of myth is universal phenomenon; the content of legend is exaggerated history, while the content of myth is fanciful science. All one needs to do to record such a place legend is to arrange the details in a coherent fashion and to write out the sentences in good, clear, simple English, sticking as close to the original oral account as correct syntax will allow. If one cares to write about people instead of places, one follows in general the same directions, being sure not to fall into mere anecdote or incident, but to have a full, complete account.

[How to write a legend of art]

To write a literary art legend, an author selects in history some period that he likes very much or some hero or heroine he has always admired, and notes down a number of facts that are connected with one another and with his subject; then he lets his imagination loose upon them. He uses terms and expressions of the age of which he is writing; phrases that now appear quaint add a flavor of reality to the tale. But he is careful, however, not to misuse words and thus commit what the critics call anachronism, by putting the idioms peculiar to one age or one people into the mouth of another. An occasional special touch is good, but too much straining for effect spoils a story. He gets rather into the mood of simple faith in greatness and goodness, and tells of brave deeds and generous actions that might well have happened. Dramatic truth there must be; literal truth, not necessarily. A working definition runs somewhat like this:

[Working definition]

Legend is a narrative partly true and partly imaginary, about a particular person, event, place or natural feature; a story that has the semblance of history, but is in reality almost altogether fanciful, since the basic fact is amplified, abridged, or wholly changed at the will of the narrator.

=Kenach's Little Woman=

As the holy season of Lent drew nigh the Abbot Kenach felt a longing such as a bird of passage feels in the south when the first little silvery buds on the willow begin here to break their ruddy sheaths, and the bird thinks tomorrow it will be time to fly over seas to the land where it builds its nest in pleasant croft or under the shelter of homely eaves. And Kenach said, "_Levabo oculos_--I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help," for every year it was his custom to leave his abbey and fare through the woods to the hermitage on the mountainside, so that he might spend the forty days in fasting and prayer in the heart of solitude.

Now on the day which is called the Wednesday of Ashes he set out, but first he heard the mass of remembrance and led his monks to the altar steps, and knelt there in great humility to let the priest sign his forehead with a cross of ashes. And on the forehead of each of the monks the ashes were smeared in the form of a cross, and each time the priest made the sign he repeated the words, "Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."

So with the ashes still in his brow and with the remembrance of the end of earthly days in his soul, he bent his steps towards the hermitage; and as he was now an aged man and nowise strong, Diarmait, one of the younger brethren, accompanied him in case any mischance should befall.

They passed through the cold forest, where green there was none, unless it were the patches of moss and the lichens on the rugged tree trunks and tufts of last year's grass, but here and there the white blossoms of the snowdrops peered out. The dead gray leaves and dry twigs crackled and snapped under their feet with such a noise as a wood fire makes when it is newly lighted; and that was all the warmth they had on their wayfaring.

The short February day was closing in as they climbed among the boulders and withered bracken on the mountainside, and at last reached the entrance of a cavern hollowed in the rock and fringed with ivy. This was the hermitage. The Abbot hung his bell on a thick ivy bough in the mouth of the caves; and they knelt and recited vespers and compline; and thrice the Abbot struck the bell to scare away the evil spirits of the night; and they entered and lay down to rest.

Hard was the way of their sleeping; for they lay not on wool or on down, neither on heather or bracken, nor yet on dry leaves, but their sides came against the cold stone, and under the head of each there was a stone for pillow. But being weary with the long journey, they slept sound and felt nothing of the icy mouth of the wind blowing down the mountainside.

Within an hour of daybreak, when the moon was setting, they were awakened by the wonderful singing of a bird, and they rose for matins and strove not to listen, but so strangely sweet was the sound in the keen moonlight morning that they could not forbear. The moon set, and still in the dark sang the bird, and the gray light came, and the bird ceased; and when was white day they saw that all the ground and every stalk of bracken was hoary with frost, and every ivy leaf was crusted white round the edge, but within the edge it was all glossy green.

"What bird is this that sings so sweet before day in the bitter cold?" said the Abbot. "Surely no bird at all, but an Angel from heaven waking us from the death of sleep."

"It is the blackbird, Domine Abbas," said the young monk; "often they sing thus in February, however cold it may be."

"O soul, O Diarmait, is it not wonderful that the senseless small creatures should praise God so sweetly in the dark, and in the light before the dark, while we are fain to lie warm and forget His praise?" And afterwards he said, "Gladly could I have listened to that singing, even till tomorrow was a day; and yet it was but the singing of a little earth wrapped in a handful of feathers. O soul, tell me what it must be to listen to the singing of an Angel, a portion of heaven wrapped in the glory of God's love!"

Of the forty days thirty went by, and oftentimes now, when no wind blew, it was bright and delightsome among the rocks, for the sun was gaining strength, and the days were growing longer, and the brown trees were being speckled with numberless tiny buds of white and pale green, and wild flowers were springing between the boulders and through the mountain turf.

Hard by the cave there was a wall of rock covered with ivy, and as Diarmait chanced to walk near it, a brown bird darted out from among the leaves. The young monk looked at the place from which it had flown, and behold! among the leaves and the hairy sinews of the ivy there was a nest lined with grass, and in the nest there were three eggs--pale green with reddish spots. And Diarmait knew the bird and knew the eggs, and he told the Abbot, who came noiselessly, and looked with a great love at the open house and the three eggs of the mother blackbird.

"Let us not walk too near, my son," he said, "lest we scare the mother from her brood, and so silence beforehand some of the music of the cold hours before the day." And he lifted his hand and blessed the nest and the bird, saying, "And He shall bless thy bread and thy water." After that it was very seldom they went near the ivy.

Now after days of clear and benign weather a shrill wind broke out from beneath the North Star, and brought with it snow and sleet and piercing cold. And the woods howled for distress of the storm, and the gray stones of the mountain chattered with discomfort. Harsh cold and sleeplessness were their lot in the cave, and as he shivered, the Abbot bethought him of the blackbird in her nest, and of the wet flakes driving in between the leaves of the ivy and stinging her brown wings and patient bosom. And lifting his head from his pillow of stone he prayed the Lord of the elements to have the bird in His gentle care, saying,

"How excellent is Thy loving kindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Thy wings."

Then after a little while he said, "Look out into the night, O son, and tell me if yet the storm be abated."

And Diarmait, shuddering, went to the mouth of the cavern, and stood there gazing and calling in a low voice, "Domine Abbas! My Lord Abbot! My Lord Abbot!"

Kenach rose quickly and went to him, and as they looked out the sleet beat on their faces, but in the midst of the storm there was a space of light, as though it were moonshine, and the light streamed from an Angel, who stood near the wall of rock with outspread wings, and sheltered the blackbird's nest from the wintry blast.

And the monks gazed at the shining loveliness of the Angel, till the wind fell and the snow ceased and the light faded away and the sharp stars came out and the night was still.

Now at sundown of the day that followed, when the Abbot was in the cave, the young monk, standing among the rocks, saw approaching a woman who carried a child in her arms; and crossing himself, he cried aloud to her, "Come not any nearer; turn thy face to the forest, and go down."

"Nay," replied the woman, "for we seek shelter for the night, and food and the solace of fire for the little one."

"Go down, go down," cried Diarmait; "no woman may come to this hermitage."

"How canst thou say that, O monk?" said the woman. "Was the Lord Christ any worse than thou? Christ came to redeem woman no less than to redeem man. Not less did He suffer for the sake of woman than for the sake of man. Women gave service and tendance to Him and His Apostles. A woman it was who bore Him, else had men been left forlorn. It was a man who betrayed Him with a kiss; and woman it was who washed His feet with tears. It was a man who smote Him with a reed, but a woman who broke the alabaster box of precious ointment. It was a man who thrice denied Him; a woman stood by His cross. It was a woman to whom He first spoke on Easter morn, but a man thrust his hand into His side and put his finger in the prints of the nails before he would believe. And not less than men do women enter the heavenly kingdom. Why, then, shouldst thou drive my little child and me from thy hermitage and thy hospitality?"

Then Kenach, who had heard all that was said, came forth from the cave, and blessed the woman. "Well hast thou spoken, O daughter; come, and bring the small child with thee." And turning to the young monk, he said, "O soul, O son, O Diarmait, did not God send His Angel out of high heaven to shelter the mother bird? And was not that, too, a little woman in feathers? But now hasten, and gather wood and leaves, and strike fire from the flint, and make a hearth before the cave, that the woman may rest and the boy have the comfort of the bright flame."

This was soon done, and by the fire sat the woman eating a little barley bread; but the child, who had no will to eat, came round to the old man, and held out two soft hands to him. And the Abbot caught him up from the ground to his breast, and kissed his golden head, saying, "God bless thee, sweet little son, and give thee a good life and a happy, and strength of thy small body, and if it be His holy will, length of glad days; and ever mayest thou be a gladness and deep joy to thy mother."

Then, seeing that the woman was strangely clad in an outland garb of red and blue and that she was tall, with a golden-hued skin and olive eyes, arched, very black eyebrows, aquiline nose, and a rosy mouth, he said, "Surely O daughter, thou art not of this land of Erinn in the sea, but art come out of the great world beyond?"

"Indeed, then, we have traveled far," replied the woman; "as thou sayest, out of the great world beyond. And now the twilight deepens upon us, and we would sleep."

"Thou shalt sleep safe in the cave, O daughter, but we will rest here by the embers. My cloak of goat's hair shalt thou have, and such dry bracken and soft bushes as may be found."

"There is no need," said the woman, "mere shelter is enough," and she added in a low voice, "Often has my little son had no bed wherein he might lie."

Then she stretched out her arms to the boy, and once more the little one kissed the Abbot, and as he passed by Diarmait he put the palms of his hands against the face of the young monk, and said laughingly, "I do not think thou hadst any ill-will to us, though thou wert rough and didst threaten to drive us away into the woods."

And the woman lifted the boy on her arm, and rose and went towards the cavern; and when she was in the shadow of the rocks she turned towards the monks beside the fire and said, "My son bids me thank you."

They looked up, and what was their astonishment to see a heavenly glory shining about the woman and her child in the gloom of the cave. And in his left hand the child carried a little golden image of the world, and round his head was a starry radiance, and his right hand was raised in blessing.

For such a while as it takes the shadow of a cloud to run across a rippling field of corn, for so long the vision remained; and then it melted into the darkness, even as a rainbow melts away into the rain.

On his face fell the Abbot, weeping for joy beyond words; but Diarmait was seized with fear and trembling till he remembered the way in which the child had pressed warm palms against his face and forgiven him.

The story of these things was whispered abroad, and ever since, in that part of Erinn in the sea, the mother blackbird is called Kenach's Little Woman.

And as for the stone on which the fire was lighted in front of the cave, rain rises quickly from it in mist, and leaves it dry, and snow may not lie upon it, and even in the dead of winter it is warm to touch. And to this day it is called the Stone of Holy Companionship.

--William Canton.

"W. V.'s Golden Legend" (Dodd, Mead & Co.).

=A Legend of Gapan=

In the early part of December, in the year 1889, a poor man named Carlos left the town where he lived to go to Gapan, about twenty miles distant.

Day was beginning to break as Carlos reached the foot of a hill, which he was just about to climb, when he heard the sound of music. Looking upward to find whence the sound came, he saw a bright white cloud. From the center of this cloud shone a ray of light, forming a circle in which were all the colors of the rainbow.

Carlos could scarcely believe his eyes, till he heard a sweet voice call his name. He hastened to climb the hill, and at the top found a very beautiful woman, around whom shone a light that made the stones and bushes sparkle like gems.

When the man had drawn near, our Blessed Lady--for it was she--told him that she wished a church to be built on that spot, and bade him go to Gapan and tell this fact to the priest. On reaching the town, Carlos went straight to the priest, and related what the Blessed Virgin had confided to him.

"I believe you," said the priest, "but to be still more certain, ask her who sends you for some sign by which we may know that she is really the Mother of God."

Afterwards Carlos went to the spot where the Blessed Mother was waiting for him. As soon as he saw her, he immediately threw himself at her feet, and told her what the priest had said. With great tenderness our Lady bade him come to her the next day, saying she would give him the sign for which the priest had asked.

Carlos came the next day. "Go now," said the Blessed Virgin, "to the top of the hill, and gather the roses that are blooming there. Put them in your handkerchief, and bring them to me; I will tell you what to do with them."

Though Carlos believed that there were no roses there, he obeyed without a word. How great, then, was his surprise to find a garden rich with flowers! Filling his handkerchief with roses, he hurried back to the Blessed Virgin.

Our Lady took the roses in her pure hands, and letting them drop back into the handkerchief, said to Carlos, "Present these roses to the priest, and say that they are the proof of the command I give you. Do not show any one what you carry, and open your handkerchief only in the presence of the priest."

Thanking the Blessed Virgin, Carlos started once more for the town. When he reached the convent and was brought before the priest, he opened his handkerchief to show the sign that was to prove his words, and fresh, sweet-smelling roses, wet with dew, fell to the floor, while on the handkerchief itself appeared a beautiful picture of the Mother of God.

"The Blessed Virgin is here," said the father, and then he knelt before the picture and gave praise to God. The miraculous handkerchief was placed in the church of Gapan, where it remained until a suitable chapel was built on the very top of the hill, as our Lady desired.

--Teofilo P. Corpus.

=A Legend of the Incas=

"We will rest here for a time, Uira." The hollow-eyed, tired-looking youth dismounted from his burro. His companion Uira, a short, swarthy-skinned Peruvian, turned and gazed down the mountainside whence they had come, upon the flat roofs of Quito, which seemed like a dream city, so lovely did the distance make it. "It is beautiful, is it not, Juan? My home, the home of the Incas, the most ancient city in all the land?"

"Yes, indeed, it is beautiful, and, Uira, while we rest, you shall tell me a tale of your people; some pretty legend of the Incas. I think nothing else would so thoroughly refresh me." Now Juan could by no exercise of ingenuity have touched a more responsive chord in the nature of his friend.

"Well, what shall it be, Juan? You have never heard the story of Manca, have you? It may not be what you would call a pretty legend; yet I think you would like it," said Uira, readily complying.

"Very well, I know I cannot help but enjoy it," said Juan, as he settled himself comfortably, with dried leaves for a couch and a tree stump for a pillow.

"Well," began Uira, his gaze still on the town below them.

"Uira, you're not beginning right; you should say many, many, years ago." The fine-featured Spanish boy looked mischievously at the stolid descendant of the Incas.

"You perhaps have heard," went on Uira, discouraging flippancy by disregarding it, "of the story of Attahualpa; at least you have known something of it from the histories you have studied; how, before he died, the mighty Huayan Capar divided his kingdom between his two sons, Attahualpa and Huascar, half-brothers, giving to Attahualpa the northern region, Quito, which your geography calls Ecuador; how Huascar, arrogant in his newly-acquired greatness, demanded tribute from Quito. You know how Attahualpa angrily refused; how he came at the head of a great army to the seat of his brother's power, defeated Huascar, and taking from the conquered man kingdom and freedom, left him only his life. Then the Spaniards, curses on them all----"

"You forget that I am proud of my Spanish blood, Uira," the lad interrupted, his cheeks flushing with resentment.

"Ah, yes, Juan, I forgot. Forgive my hasty speech and unintended insult. But to go on, the Spaniards, mad with lust for gold, marched with armies legion in number. If you do not know, boy, how many legion is, look at the tree tops above you; the leaves are countless; they are legion. The invaders, with the Pizarro at their head, burned our homes, desecrated our temples, and captured Attahualpa, who, elated with his conquest, was returning to Quito. The Attahualpa, the records say, collected in one room and gave the Pizarro the wealth of the Incas; and your traditions tell you that in fear of his own life, Pizarro put his captive to death. This is the story of Attahualpa as you have been taught it.

But I will now tell you what it is given only the few in whose veins still flows the blood of the Incas to know. Huayan had a daughter Manca, whose name is not written in the annals. She was sister to Attahualpa, and in her heart was all the mighty pride of the Incas. Oh, how she loved the name of her race! How she rejoiced in their conquests, their prowess! How she delighted to look upon the gold in the temples, and think that it was all part of the prosperity of her people! There was a woman, Juan, perhaps not beautiful, I cannot say, well worthy to bear the name of an Incan.

How she wept when Pizarro, with his Spanish followers, seized Attahualpa! But do not think that it was for fear that she wept, Juan. It was for injured pride; for sorrow that she was to lose her dearest friend, her brother.

But when the loyal girl found that Attahualpa, a ruler, a conqueror of men, and most of all, an Incan, was bargaining for his life with a roomful of gold as the price, she prayed to the gods she worshiped, to take her brother to the spirit world, before he should place this blot upon the nation. She--heroine that she was--would rather a thousand times have lost her companion than have had him coward enough to buy his life thus. Day and night she pondered and prayed, and planned ways by which she might ward off so awful an outrage against Incan pride. After a week of despair and vain thought, while Attahualpa was robbing the shrines of their ornaments to fill the great chamber chosen by the Spanish general, Manca determined that since she could not by pleading with Attahualpa or by playing upon his love for his sister or his country or even for his gods, move him from his purpose, she would at least save him from himself.

This was Manca's purpose. Perhaps, Juan, I failed to tell you that Manca bore a very strong resemblance to her brother," and for the first time Uira looked away from Quito, and glanced questioningly at Juan. The boy nodded. "Go on," he said, his gaze, too, traveling to the city of antiquity, where, centuries ago, Manca made her hitherto unrecorded sacrifice.

"The spirited girl," went on Uira, "realized that when Pizarro had his booty, his cowardly fear for himself would outweigh his honor, and cause him to kill his prisoner; and so, when the day came on which Attahualpa was to open the doors of the treasure-filled chamber, Attahualpa lay at his home, guarded by servants, who were not to liberate him till sundown; and Manca, garbed in her brother's clothes, gave to Pizarro the store of wealth. As she walked home, along a lonely forest path, she received the poisoned arrow intended for Attahualpa. He, when he discovered his sister's bravery, slunk off to the mountains, with never a thought of the rumors which would forever darken his name. Thus Manca's life, by the sacrifice of which she had hoped that she might keep bright the fame of her brother, was given up for the sake of a coward's reputation. By crediting herself with the surrender of the wealth, she had intended that Attahualpa, though he had been defeated in battle, should still remain the hero of the Incas."

There was a pause. The man and the boy both were now staring down at Ecuador's capital city, whose pillars seemed to be floating in the mist just rising from Pinchincha's side.

"As you said, it is not a pretty legend. But don't you think, Uira, that Manca must have been very beautiful?"

--Dorothea Knoblock.

=The Place of the Red Grass: or, The Invasion of Pangasinan by the Ilocanos=

Long before the Spaniards discovered the Philippines, there was war in Luzon among the Pangasinan and Ilocano tribes. Each tribe had powerful chiefs of remarkable courage and bravery. It was believed that they were sons of gods, and possessed magical power. Among them was Palaris, the distinguished chief of the Pangasinanes, and Lumtuad, the skillful chief of the Ilocanos. These rulers were neighbors and the army of the one plundered the towns of the other. On account of this reason and also of the ambition of each to enlarge his dominion, a war broke out. Lumtuad collected three hundred ships in Laoag, Ilocos Norte. These ships were loaded with his chosen men armed with bolos, spears, and bows and arrows. These ships sailed toward the south, and entered the Gulf of Lingayen, Pangasinan. Palaris and his army went to meet them.

At first, the battle took place on the water. Lumtuad showed his skill to his enemy. He fought jumping from one ship to another. Unfortunately he was shot by an arrow and fell into the water. After his death, his soldiers fought furiously, and drove back the enemy into the town.

When the invading army had landed all its forces, it pursued Palaris's army as far as Mangaldan, a town fifteen miles from Lingayen. When Palaris foresaw the future defeat of his army, he escaped into a sugar field. There by Lumtuad's scouts he was found sleeping. They thrust a lance through the middle of his body. But Palaris whirled himself free from the lance, killed some of these soldiers, and pursued the rest until his last breath was gone. He was then succeeded by his lieutenant Afilado, and the battle was renewed. Afilado's forces were entirely defeated and those who survived were killed outright. A river of blood flowed from the spot where the battle took place, and the grass that grows there today is red. The place where Palaris was struck was named after him.

After the war the victorious Ilocanos settled in the province of Pangasinan; so that now they constitute a greater number in population than the Pangasinanes themselves.

--Sixto Guico.

III. The Fairy Tale

[The attitude toward fairy stories]

"From Ghoulies and Ghoosties, long-leggetty Beasties, and Things that go Bump in the Night, Good Lord, deliver us!" the quaint old litany pleads, and is probably better representative of the attitude of primitive peoples toward the extraordinary personages of the sub-world than is our more modern and debonair view. We have come to look upon a fairy story as a mental holiday, to enjoy which the narrator and the listener are off on a picnic. But not so do the unsophisticated folk think of the events. The grown-up primitive man believes more seriously in the tricks of goblins and sprites than do our most credulous modern children. To him, the good or malicious influence of the nunu or ticbalan is not a fiction, but a reality that must be reckoned with. Luckily he can reckon with it; for even in the earlier folk tales the fairies are not generally immortal, and they do not have unlimited power.

[Fundamental characteristics of fairies]

One chief characteristic that distinguishes these extra-natural beings from the gods is that the extra-natural are for the most part small and belong to the under-world. They are not so much superhuman as other than human. They may be checked or outwitted or even finally overcome. They have power to tease a man, though not the power utterly to destroy him. A pixy may cast a spell, but not forever. Jack-o-lantern, or Will-o-the-wisp, may lead astray into a bog and may hope that his victim be not a good wader, but the trick and the malicious wish are the extent of the evil. The victim usually in the end escapes. If he perishes, he has forgotten his charms or neglects to say his prayers.

There is a somewhat well-fixed literary atmosphere for English fairy stories and allusions. As we have said, they must have about them the air of holiday. The English elfin people are a merry folk from the dainty queen to the clumsiest boggart, and enjoy a bit of fun even at their own expense,--though, to tell the truth, the joke is usually the other way.

If you wish to write an original narrative about these charming creatures, the best way to prepare is to get acquainted with them. No doubt you know where some of them live. Perhaps only this morning you chanced upon a forgotten hammock left swinging between two stout little sprigs of grass where a fairy had slept, or maybe last night you clearly heard the tinkle of pranckling feet and were too lazy or indifferent to go to the window to catch a glimpse of a wondrous sight. I pray you, if you have the chance again, join the masquerade, remembering only that if Oberon asks you why you are there, you must speak out frankly. His promise is

"We fairies never injure men Who dare to tell us true."

Oh, yes, one more thing to remember! Leave before cock-crow if you expect to bring your wits with you.

If you are afraid to try the experiment of original sightseeing and fear Sir Topas's fate, do the next best thing. Seek out somebody who has witnessed a fairy revel, or been at a brownies' banquet, has outtricked a bogie, or propitiated an angry gnome, or, best of all, likely, has made a little green cloak and hood for the lubber-fiend of the kitchen hearth, and has seen him fling himself out-of-doors in high glee to return no more except with good luck. Watchers who have seen these things, I dare say, will have much to tell you. Get their narratives.

The Filipino fairies are not so winsome as the English, but they are far more actual. The English fairies are "but mortals beautifully masquerading," says Mr. W. B. Yeats. He could find no fault with the Filipino fairies; for they are potent forces. Like the Irish deenee shee, the Filipino supernatural beings are thoroughly believed in by the peasants, and, like the Irish creatures, the Malayan are not always small, but may be small or large at will. Some of their manifestations are indeed gruesome; a few are harmless or even helpful; all are very interesting.

The educated young people of the Philippines have a mission to perform for the native fairies. It has become the fashion in some places to frown upon the unseen folk and to attempt to drive them out. The endeavor is commendable so far as it discriminates. The bad fairies should go. The wholesome ones should stay. They should stay for the sake of future native poetry and for the sake of all the little brown children who love stories.

[Northern fairies and their attributes]

A bare list of the names of fairies and subhuman beings is inspiring. In the Norse countries there are dwarfs, known also as trolls, kobalds, goblins, brownies, pucks, or elle-folk. It is said that 'they are less powerful than gods, but far more intelligent than men; that their knowledge is boundless and extends even to the future. They can transport themselves with celerity from one place to another, and love to hide behind rocks and repeat the last words of every conversation they overhear. Echoes are known as dwarfs' talk. A Tarnkappe each one owns, a tiny red cap which makes the wearer invisible. Dwarfs are ruled by a king spoken of in various northern countries as Andvari, Alberich, Elbegast, Gondemar, Laurin, or Oberon. He dwells in a magnificent subterranean palace and owns a magic ring, an invisible sword, and a belt of strength. His subjects often fashion marvelous weapons and girdles. In general, dwarfs are kindly and helpful: sometimes they knead bread, grind flour, brew beer, and perform countless other household tasks; sometimes they harvest and thresh grain for the farmers. If ill-treated or turned to ridicule, these little creatures forsake the house never to come back to it again. Sometimes they take vengeance by means of changelings. Changelings are the weazened and puny offspring of the dwarfs which they substitute for unbaptized children that they steal from people who have offended them. The dwarfs, envious of the taller stature of the human race, desire to improve their own, and so consider it good morals thus to make their enemies their benefactors.'

Fairies, elves, and ariels include all the small creatures who are fair, good, and useful. They have their dwelling-place, it is said, 'in the airy realm of Alf-heim (home of the light-elves), situated between heaven and earth, whence they can flit downwards whenever they please, to attend to the plants and flowers, sport with the birds and butterflies, or dance in the silvery moonlight on the green.' They have golden hair, sweet musical voices, and magic harps. These gentle aerial beings, scholars say, were introduced into Europe by the Crusaders and the Moors of Spain. Before that time the creatures of the North had been cold and ungenial, like their heath-clad mountains, chilly lakes, and piny solitudes; but after the advent of the Peri of the East, who live in the sun or the rainbow and subsist on the odor of flowers, the Northern elves took on more winning attributes and finally became beneficent and beautiful.

Many of the stories in the so-called fairy books are technically not fairy stories but nursery sagas, as we use the term today; for instance, most of those in Miss Mulock's "Fairy Book" and the larger part in the "Blue and the Green Fairy Books." They are English, French, German, and other _Märchen_ retold. Jean Ingelow's "Mopsa the Fairy" has a good-sounding title for a typical fairy book, though the material seems to be literary rather than traditional. Brentano's creatures in translation surely bear literary names, whatever they have in the original. Dream-my-Soul and Sir Skip-and-a-Jump are suggestive of the pen. But Puck of Pook's Hill comes near to being of the solid traditional Northern type--at least in declaration. He says he is the oldest Old Thing in England--very much at your service if you care to have anything to do with him; but, by Oak and Ash and Thorn, he hates the painty-winged, wand-waving, sugar-and-shake-your-head set of imposters! He is for Wayland-Smith and magic and the old days before the Conquest. Charles Kingsley's Madam How and Lady Why are noble fairies without dispute--really goddesses; yet, strange to say, they have revealed themselves to a pedagogue and have permitted their work to be the subject of lectures. Still, they are companionable and wholesome and none the less marvelous than their more common sisters. This is an interesting contamination of genres--the pedagogical narrative combined with the fairy tale. Usually the combination is not so happily made.

[How to proceed to write a fairy-tale]

If a writer cares to attempt a new "old" fairy tale of the real sort, he might observe the following more specific suggestions, which were written out before "Puck of Pook's Hill" came into the hands of the author of this book, but which happen to express fairly well what might be deduced as Kipling's procedure. (1) Decide on the country in which the events are to take place. (2) If you are not already familiar with that country through the medium of traveling or residence, make yourself familiar with it by reading. The more you know about the common people and their superstitions, the better your story will be. (3) Make lists of names of the good and bad spirits of that country together with their occupations and powers. (4) From these lists pick out the being you are going to treat as your chief personage and clearly define to yourself its relation to the other spirits. (5) Then weave about this personality a series of events for which it is directly or indirectly responsible. (6) Be sure to make the fairies or spirits of the other world the chief actors. If living man comes in, he must be simply the object to whom they offer their favors or on whom they play their pranks or wreak their vengeance. It is the doings of the fairies or of the beings of the extra-natural world that you must make your reader interested in. (7) If you care to write a weird fairy tale, select the unpleasant spirits and proceed; but be sure not to make your story revolting instead of weird. A good weird tale is the work of a master and pleases because of its art. A horrible story any bungler can tell. (8) Finally, remember the working definition: [Summary definition] A fairy tale is a narrative of imaginary events wherein the chief actors are beings other than man and the gods--beings who have power to help man or to tease and molest him, but not the power utterly to destroy him.

PARTIAL LIST OF FAIRIES, GOOD AND BAD, OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES:

=Northern Fairies=

Duergar, or Dwerger--Gotho-German dwarfs, dwelling in rocks and hills; noted for their strength, subtlety, magical powers, and skill in metallurgy. They are personifications of the subterranean powers of nature.

Kobold--a house-spirit in German superstition; same as English Robin Goodfellow, or Puck.

Nick--a water-wraith or Kelpie. There are nicks in sea, lake, river, or waterfall. Sometimes represented as half-child, half-horse, the hoofs being reversed.

Nis, or Nisse--a Scandinavian fairy friendly to farm-houses.

Trolls--similar to Duergar; dwarfs of Northern mythology living in hills and mounds. They are represented as stumpy, misshapen, humpbacked, inclined to thieving and fond of carrying off children or substituting one of their own offspring for that of a human mother. They are said to dislike noise very much.

Stromkarl--a Norwegian musical spirit, like Neck.

=Irish and Scotch Fairies=

Banshee--domestic Spirit of certain Irish or Highland Scotch families; supposed to take an interest in their welfare.

Boggart (Scotch)--a local hobgoblin or spirit.

Bogie (Scotch, Welsh, and Irish)--a scarecrow, a goblin.

Brownie--the house spirit in Scottish superstition. Called in England Robin Goodfellow. Farms are his favorite abode.

Jack-a-lantern--a bog or marsh spirit who delights to mislead.

Lepracaun, or Leprechaun (Irish)--a fairy shoemaker.

=Filipino Fairies and Other Minor Supernatural Creatures=

The list that follows is necessarily very brief, for every tribe of the Philippine Islands has its host of mischievous creatures, whose chief delight is to annoy or frighten men. Others are of a more malignant nature, however; some cause sickness; some insanity; and occasionally some cause death, for the Filipinos as well as the Hungarians have their vampires.

The name of the tribe in which the belief in the spirit is most common is given in parentheses after the description:

Salut--the spirits of pestilence in general and cholera in particular. They are described as tall, thin persons dressed in flowing black robes, who walk the streets at night and knock at the doors of the houses to which they wish to carry death. (Tagalog, Pampango, Bicol.)

Matanda sa punso--a little old man who lives in a mound of earth. He loves children, and is willing to help those who respect him and his house. (Tagalog.)

Lampong--a tall harmless creature with a horse's head and feet but a man's body. He lives in the woods, can travel very rapidly, and is deathly afraid of a rosary. He possesses some magic power. (Pangasinan.)

Camana--an evil spirit that lives in gloomy places. It can assume the form of any small animal, or can make itself invisible. If a person who comes across the camana does not propitiate it with food or something entertaining, he will become sick; and he can be cured only by an old woman who is a manganito. (Parts of Zambales.)

Patianak--Accounts about patianak are very contradictory. It is most commonly believed, however, to be a mischievous fairy that assumes the form of a small child and misleads travelers at night. It has a mirthful laugh that is very attractive. The only way for the victim to drive the fairy away and to find the right road is for him to take off his coat and wear it inside out. (Tagalog and Bicol.)

Mamamarang--a sorceress who fights with travelers in lonely places and tries to kill them that she may eat them. (Visayan.)

Managbatu--a spirit in the form of a man, which lives in trees and at midnight throws stones and clods at the houses near his dwelling. He can cause sickness to those that try to injure him. (Cagayan.)

Cafre--an enormous black man that smokes long cigars. He does very little harm, but delights in frightening people. Some say he can transform himself into almost anything from a pig to a ball of fire. He appears only at night, of course. (Pampango, Tagalog, Bicol.)

Tigbalang--a demon who lives in trees, especially the baliti tree. His body is covered with long hair and one of his feet is a horse's hoof. His chief delight is to lead people astray and make them crazy, or to ravage banana plantations, to empty water jars, shake houses, and disturb people generally. (Tagalog.)

Tigabulak--a demon who in the form of an old man entices children with candy and cakes. After he has led them far from home, he puts them in a sack and carries them to his dwelling. Then he kills them and makes money out of their blood. (Tagalog.)

Caibaan--little mischievous field spirits who play tiny guitars. They steal dishes and hide them, and indulge in other pranks. (Pangasinan and Ilocano.)

=Russian Fairies and Witches=

Domovoy--the Russian brownie that lives behind the stove. If he is neglected, he waxes wroth and knocks the tables and benches around at night.

Baba-yaga--an ogress who lives on the edge of the forest, in a hut built so as to turn with the wind like a weathercock.

Rusalki--water sprites.

Vodianoi--river genii.

Lieshii and the Liesnik--forest demons.

Vampires--ghosts who steal by night from their tombs, and suck the blood of the living during their sleep.

=Arabian Fairies and Witches=

Jinn--a sort of fairies of Arabian mythology--the offspring of fire. (The singular of jinn is jinnee.)

Afreet--a sort of Arabian ghoul or demon--the epitome of what is terrible and monstrous in Arabian superstition.

Peri (plural of Peris)--Peri are delicate, gentle, fairy-like beings of Eastern mythology, begotten by fallen spirits. With a wand they direct the pure in mind the way to heaven.

=Miscellaneous Fairies and Other Supernatural Creatures=

Esprit Follet--the house-spirit of France.

Familiar spirit--a spirit or demon supposed to be summoned by a necromancer or a soothsayer from the unseen world to attend upon him as a servant.

Fay--the French word for fairy, anglicised.

Gnome--one of a fabulous race of dwarfed and misshapen earth-spirits or goblins, reputed to be special guardians of mines and miners. (<French _gnome_, from the Greek.)

Hag--a forbidding or malicious old woman; a witch. (<A. S. _haegtes_, a fury.)

Hamadryad--a wood-nymph fabled to live and die with the tree she inhabited, the oak being considered as the tree preferred. (Greek mythology.)

Hornie, or Horny--the devil; so called because commonly represented with horns.

Imp--an evil spirit of low rank; a small, puny, or contemptible devil. (Russian folk tales often make use of this spirit.)

Undine--a female water-spirit without a soul, with which she might be endowed only by marrying a mortal and bearing a child. (<Latin _unda_, wave.)

Werwolf--a person who, according to mediæval superstition, became voluntarily or involuntarily a wolf and in that form practiced cannibalism. (<A. S. _wer_, man + _wulf_, wolf.)

Wraith--a fantom of a living person, supposed to be ominous of that person's death.

Lamia--a female demon or vampire that enticed youths and fed upon their flesh and blood. (Classical mythology.)

Merrow--a mermaid. (Irish mythology.)

Monaciello--the house-spirit of Naples.

Nightmare--an evil spirit once supposed to oppress people during sleep. Called also Incubus. (<A. S. _niht_, night + _maere_, a nightmare.)

Ogre--a demon or monster that was supposed to devour human beings. (<French _ogre_. The derivation is uncertain.)

Ouphe--an elf or fairy. (<the Scandinavian. A variation of _oaf_ = elf.)

Pigwidgeon--a very small fairy.

Sprite--a spirit of the earth or air.

Sylph--originally, a being, male or female, living in and on the air and intermediate between material and immaterial beings. (Used by Paracelsus. The word is undoubtedly of Greek origin.)

=The Boggart=

In the house of an honest farmer in Yorkshire, named George Gilbertson, a Boggart had taken up his abode. He here caused a good deal of annoyance, especially by tormenting the children in various ways. Sometimes their bread and butter would be snatched away, or their porringers of milk be capsized by an invisible hand; for the Boggart never let himself be seen; at other times the curtains of their beds would be shaken backwards and forwards, or a heavy weight would press on them and nearly suffocate them. The parents had often, on hearing their cries, to fly to their aid. There was a kind of closet, formed by a wooden partition on the kitchen stairs, and a large knot having been driven out of one of the deal boards of which it was made, there remained a hole. Into this one day the farmer's youngest boy stuck the shoe horn with which he was amusing himself, when immediately it was thrown out again, and hit the boy on the head. The agent was, of course, the Boggart, and it soon became the children's sport (called _laking with Boggart_) to put the shoe horn into the hole and have it shot back at them.

The Boggart at length proved such a torment that the farmer and his wife resolved to quit the house and let him have it all to himself. This decision was put into execution, and the farmer and his family were following the last loads of furniture, when a neighbor named John Marshall came up: "Well, Georgey," said he, "and soa you're leaving t'ould hoose at last?" "Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I'm forced tull it; for that villain Boggart torments us soa, we can neither rest neet nor day for't. It seems loike to have such a malice again t'poor bairns, it ommost kills my poor dame here at thoughts on't, and soa, ye see, we're forced to flitt loike." He scarce had uttered the words when a voice from a deep upright churn cried out: "Aye, aye, Johnny, we 're flitting, ye see." "Od hang thee," cried the poor farmer, "if I'd known thou'd been there, I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it's no use, Mally," said he to his wife, "we may as weel turn back to t'ould hoose as be tormented in another that's not so convenient."

From "English Fairy and Other Folk Tales." Selected and edited by Edwin Sidney Hartland (Walter Scott Pub. Co.).

=Cafre and the Fisherman's Wife=

Once in the little village of Babancal there lived a happy couple. They were poor and it was necessary for them both to work for their living. The husband's occupation was farming during the wet season and fishing during the dry season. The wife kept the house, helped the husband in some of his work, and in addition, made mats of _buli_, _pandan_, or _ticay_, and sacks of _buli_.

One night, at about six o'clock after a slight supper, when it was _dolom_ (moonless), the husband went to fish. The wife remained alone at home and sat waiting for the husband, and, at the same time, making a mat. The house was lighted with a home-made lamp of bamboo and earth. The lampwick of ragged doth dipped in oil made from the fruit of the bitaog tree gave a very poor light.

At about midnight some one threw a _dalag_ (a kind of fish) through the window. The wife was frightened and surprised. In a minute she recovered herself.

"Come in, Gregorio," she said, for she thought her husband was outside.

No one answered.

"Stop this nonsense. You know it is late now," she said angrily. "You had better come in and let us cook the fish and eat our supper." She did not rise from her seat and went on with her work.

In a few minutes a rod with another _dalag_ hanging on it was thrust into the room. The fish fell on the floor before her.

"Oh, how foolish! Come in, I say," she said.

Hardly had she uttered the last word when the fish on the hook came down upon her head. She muttered some oaths and tried to catch the fish and take hold of the rod. But before she could do so, it was raised. Then she got up, took the lamp, and went to the window.

When she peeped out, she saw Cafre, the Spirit, grinning at her. His smile showed his large white teeth, forming a strong contrast with his dark complexion and the darkness of the night. The woman was frightened. She trembled and could not move an inch. She bent down her head to avoid his gaze. At last when she raised her eyes, he was gone.

--Benito C. Ebuen.

=The Friendship of an Aswang and a Duende=

About a half mile from Noveleta there is a small pond. The tall bamboo trees that grow at the edge of the water bow their heads toward each other so that they form a complete vaulted arch over the pond. There are but small spaces left between the thick leaves above and so the sunshine can hardly go through them. The lilies, the sea weed, and the falling leaves of the bamboo trees, decaying under the water have deposited a deep layer of sediment.

A long time ago a shooting meteor from heaven fell on the water of this pond. This meteor bore within it a beautiful nymph named Bituin. Her slender white body, whose skin was very delicate, was covered with beautiful leaves of the lilies whenever she came out of the water. Every night numberless fireflies lighted her dwelling with their fresh rays. Bituin had a large diamond, which she always put on a floating leaf at the center of the pond to serve as a light when it was dark.

Bituin had no neighbors for a number of years, and so she was not familiar with the form of man. However, as time glided on she was known by many, who began to love her. She did not dare to speak with men, because she was not familiar with the ugly complexion of the skin of mortals. One night an aswang was passing by this pond, and he heard the musical vibration of the bamboo leaves in harmony with the whistling sound of the wings of fireflies. He stopped and admired the beautiful nymph, who was sitting on the water, watching the wonderful rays of light from her large diamond. He was led to wonder at her beauty, and he fell in love with her. He asked Bituin to approach him, but his words had hardly died from his ugly lips when Bituin upon hearing his unfamiliar voice disappeared. There began the sadness of this aswang. Every night he passed by the pond only to see and to speak with Bituin, the beautiful and elusive nymph. Yet all his hopes and efforts were in vain.

This aswang laid himself to die near a heap of hay. Here lived an army of small men called duendes. The duendes are usually good to those who are very strongly in love with women. At midnight one of these little creatures came out of the hay with a flute longer than himself. Little duende blew the flute, and the aswang thinking that the sweet vibration of the air came from the lips of Bituin, at once raised up his head and looked around. Aswang being a wild man said, "How is it that you little duendes are so troublesome?" "Master," said the little duende, "I came here to restore the broken heart of a lover and it is you." "How now can you comfort me?" said the aswang. "Come with me," said the little duende, "and show me where Bituin lives."

So they started toward the pond. On their way the duende, being as small as a little doll, often lost himself from the sight of his friend aswang. The duende was full of fun and jokes, and he was happy all the way. When they came near the pond little duende jumped over the thorny bushes that fringed the dwelling of Bituin. Now he rode on a lily leaf floating on the water, and he was singing a song at the same time that he was playing on his flute. He gathered some lily flowers and put one of them on his head. Duende skipped over the sea weeds as light as could be. Strange to say, the attractive music caught the ears of Bituin, and so she appeared before the duende. The music was so sweet, so charming, and so pleasant to her ears that fear of such a being never entered her thoughts. She approached the little duende, but he would not allow her to touch his enchanting flute. Aswang could not come inside. He tried to jump over the bushes, but he knew that he could not. All at once he roared with a sharp tone that put Bituin to flight, and she never returned again.

Duende blamed the aswang for roaring, but the broken-hearted aswang in anger said, "Why did you not catch hold of her?" Duende did not answer and tried to flee, but aswang held him by the neck and tore him to pieces. So from that time on the duendes have not often been heard of; and, if they ever come, they do evil things and cause misfortune to little children. None of the aswangs since has ever been afraid of small creatures.

--Emanuel E. Baja.

=A Tianac Frightens Juan=

One harvest day, one of our neighbors, whose name is Juan, built a nipa hut on a farm amid his rice plantation. There he slept alone during the harvest time to look after his grain.

One night about twelve o'clock he began to feel the cold north wind, and the leaves began to rustle. By and by the wind stopped. He tried to sleep, but he could not, for the mosquitoes were too thick. He then went out of his hut and gathered some dry twigs and grasses and made a small fire to drive the mosquitoes away. When the fire began to kindle, he sat before his hut, facing a small hill. Not long afterward he heard the laughing of a child from the top of the hill. The child seemed to be very happy, for it laughed as hard as it could. Juan then began to wonder who the child was, for he knew that no one was living near him. Soon the laughing grew louder and louder and Juan began to be frightened. He supposed that the child was approaching him, but at once the laughing stopped and again everything was silent about the field. He looked around him several times because he did not know what kind of creature that child was, and he feared that she might take hold of him from behind.

While Juan was thinking of what to do, a girl with white complexion and golden hair appeared before him laughing as hard as she could. Juan then was about to run away and call for help, but he knew that there was no one to help him, so he gathered all his strength and courage and approached the girl with his _bolo_ in hand and said, "Tell me who you are or else this night is your last." The girl did not answer him, but continued laughing. He struck at her, but she at once vanished away and reappeared behind him laughing as hard as she could. He struck at her several times. He did not touch her at all and she laughed louder. Juan then threw his _bolo_ at her and ran home shouting as he went along calling for help, "St. John, St. Peter, St. Nicholas, come and help me!" When he came to the forest a cricket alighted on his coat and began to sing. He mistook it for the girl, so he ran very fast. When he came to the town, the policemen tried to stop him, but they could not. He tried to tell them that a girl was singing behind him, but he was so terribly frightened that his calling to the gods confused him, and while he was running he shouted, "St. John sings, St. John sings, etc.," until he came to his house. His family asked him what the matter was, but he could not speak because of fatigue. By this time the cricket had flown away. Later the family found out that Juan had seen a _tianac_.

--Santiago Ochoa.

=The Black Cloth of the Calumpang Tree=

Once there lived on a lonely farm about two miles from the town of San Juan two brothers whose names were Mariano and Pedro. They were the sons of a farmer named Rafael.

Along the road leading from this farm to the town there was not a single house. There was a big calumpang tree by this road about a mile from the farm. Some of its large branches almost touched the ground. Many stories had been told about this calumpang; some said that they saw a ghost in the form of a white dog under it; others said they saw it in the form of a tall, thin black man sitting sideways on a big branch with eyes as large as saucers and with a big cigar a meter long in his mouth.

One day Mariano with his little brother Pedro went to the town to attend a procession. It was night when they started for home. On their way when they were out of the town, they heard a noise on one side of the road not far from them. It seemed to them that the noise was caused by the walking of a carabao, which was going along the road in the same direction they were going. They could not tell whether it was a carabao or not, for the grass was very tall. At last at an open side of the road, where the noise was, Pedro saw a little white dog. "Mariano, Mariano, see that little dog," whispered Pedro, touching the back of his brother with his finger. Pedro looked at it with great surprise. He could hardly believe that the little creature could make such a loud noise. The oftener they looked at the dog, the larger it appeared. Pedro now began to think that this dog was the one that somebody had seen under the calumpang. He was afraid; he would not go behind nor before his brother; his hair stood on end, and he felt as if he were wearing a hat having a large brim; his heart beat faster than before, but he said not a word. The appearance of the dog reminded Mariano of the black man of the calumpang. For this reason he was more afraid than his little brother.

After a while a noise was again heard on the other side of the road. There appeared a white hog about the size of a carabao. It was also going in the same direction as the two brothers were. The hog was grunting, while there was seen coming from his mouth a continuous discharge of living charcoals. The minute the boys stopped, the dog and the hog stopped also. The two brothers intended to go back, but suddenly they heard another noise--_pac, pac, pac_. They looked behind them and saw a tall black horse mounted by a man dressed like the prince usually seen in comedies. The man's feet were so long that they almost touched the ground. The two brothers could do nothing but walk faster, in order that the horseman might not overtake them.

When they came near the calumpang, a black cloth was extended across the road. This cloth prevented their further advance, for it would bind them in case they should touch it. Mariano was then so much frightened that he could not keep from trembling. He felt as if the very hand of the black man of the calumpang was holding his head.

"Father, father!" cried Pedro with a prolonged voice, but nobody answered. The dog growled; the horse pounded the ground with his feet; the hog snorted, while a greater amount of charcoal than before poured out of its mouth; the black cloth waved, producing a sound like the groaning of a sick man. Pedro grabbed his brother by the waist so tightly that Mariano could hardly breathe. Then Mariano remembered that he had in his pocket the remainder of a candle which a sexton had given him at the procession. He quickly lighted it. Instantly the ghosts disappeared. Mariano and Pedro reached home, but alas! they could neither eat nor sleep, for it seemed to them as if the ghosts were still around them.

--Eusebio Ramos.

IV. The Nursery Saga or Märchen

[Origin]

The ethnologists are not agreed concerning the history of nursery sagas, or _märchen_, as they call them. Whether such stories as "Jack-the-Giant-Killer" are reduced and modified forms of once greater sagas or whether they are immature stories arrested in their growth toward sagas, the scientists are still discussing. But happily for the narrator, as we noticed before, the question of origin is not of prime importance. He need consider it only so far as it helps to reveal the distinctions of the type.

As the generic title indicates, nursery sagas are tales told to children after lessons are done. Nobody wants instruction; nobody wants facts. "Once upon a time in a certain village" is definite enough. What the listener desires is action, things a-doing, Jack to kill the giant, Cinderella to marry the prince, Tom Thumb to get safely home. The end is always happy, no matter how many troubles the hero or heroine encounters during the course of the narrative. The brothers Grimm expressed their realization that such an end is essential to a _märchen_. Their devoted scientific collecting and their charmingly sympathetic retelling have given back not only to Germany but also to the whole world much of its otherwise lost pleasure.

[English nursery sagas]

Good native nursery sagas are scarce in English. Many of our best known, like Cinderella, are importations. "Jack-the-Giant-Killer" and "Jack and the Bean-Stalk" and "Rumpelstiltskin"--or "Tom Tit Tot," as the older version has it--are recorded, however, as of English origin. They have been handed down verbally and in chapbooks and various other written forms for hundreds of years.

[Distinguishing elements--the kind of hero]

The most important distinguishing element of a nursery saga is the kind of hero. He is always human, very often sagacious of himself as well as finally fortunate because of the aid of some supernatural being or charm; but before the beginning of his adventure he is pretty generally considered foolish or a lazy ne'er-do-well. He is always of obscure origin, and is persistently ignored by history. The place where he lives or where he performs his deeds is selected at random, is of no practical importance, and might just as well have been any other. If the locality is definite and the details of the story are really pertinent, we have crossed the borderland into legend, which is very near to nursery saga. Indeed, say the students of folk-lore, the same story is often told in one country as a nursery saga and in another as a dignified national epic.

[Rhymes]

The uncouth rhymes occurring here and there within the story are to the nursery saga what the refrain is to the ballad--a sure sign of its type. All the original tales I dare say had rhymes at first, even if many are without them to-day.

The artificial nursery saga is not always marked off closely from the fairy story. Some writers do not appear to have felt the traditional distinctions; but, when a differentiation is made, it is on the basis of the chief actor. The irresistible Alice is a true nursery saga heroine. Whether in "Wonderland" or "Through the Looking Glass" her adventures are her adventures, and not a fairy's. And although the dialogue of the characters is imposed by the brilliant naïveté of the author, it is yet clearly within our classification--as the delectable rhymes attest.

[Repetition of situation]

Another characteristic you will observe is the repetition of situation: Cinderella goes to the ball more than once; Jack-of-the-Bean-Stalk visits the castle in the sky three times; the king's wife is allowed two false guesses; and there are Cormelian's and Thunderdell's heads to be cut off as well and Gallingantus's.

Two of our worthy literary men, G. K. Chesterton and Bernard Shaw, have recently bandied words over the value and significance of such heroes as Jack. When you come to write an original nursery saga, you can decide for yourself whether you want your hero to conquer a foe greater and stronger than he or whether you want your hero to conquer a foe lesser than he because he himself is greater and stronger than all his foes and conquers by the magic force of his personality. In making the decision, however, you should remember that "greater" and "lesser" are terms subject to a number of varying interpretations.

[Supernatural element]

After you have decided which kind your hero is to be, you must set about making him human despite the wonderful deeds you mean him to do. The more human, the more interesting; but he must be naturally human, not merely philosophically so. The homeliest touches of every-day life are exactly in keeping with your subject. No poetry here. If you have metrics interspersed, they must be "from jigging veins or rhyming mother wits." Nothing higher than "Fee, fi, fo, fum," or "Ninny, ninny not," or "Be bold, be bold, but not too bold," or "It is not so, nor 'twas not so, but indeed God forbid it should be so." Although your hero is to be human, he need not stand alone; he may have supernatural aid. A fairy, a witch, a charm, or anting-anting may help him. Success, of course, however, must ultimately depend upon his own bravery and wit. What makes the nursery saga different from the fairy story is just the element of the independence and prominence of the human hero. If supernatural agents are present in the nursery saga, they are only assistants: they are not the chief actors; in fact, they are usually at first opponents. The human person is the chief actor.

Tolstoy's Ivan the Fool surely wins by the force of his personality alone. He is one of the _pure_ fools who think no evil and therefore make men good. Although he has the power the imps have given him to call up soldiers, rub gold out of oak leaves, and to cure the sick, he uses this power only for fool-wise ends: he heals beggars, gives away the gold, and makes the soldiers sing. Despite its didactic purpose, this is a typical _märchen_ in having the human fool hero in repeated situations, chanting crude rhymes, and being assisted finally by the supernatural agents that first opposed him.

[A few specific suggestions]

When you come to the writing, remember that your story is for a child, grown-up or not grown-up, and that you must therefore make the language simple and vivid. Use a good many crude similes and metaphores. Be concrete in comparisons about size, shape, color, garb, and the like. Though you select your hero with care, you need make no fine distinctions of character, since broad strokes will be most effective. Endow your personages, both the hero and his enemy, with a few mannerisms and let them display these often. Get quickly into the action of the story and keep things lively to the end.

[Working definition]

Here is the working definition: A nursery saga is a narrative of imaginary events wherein is celebrated a hero of a more-or-less humble origin, a child's hero, who, by his own wit and energy, together with the possession of a charm, is enabled to do stupendous deeds, which bring to him material happiness.

=Princess Helena the Fair=

We say that we are wise folks, but our people dispute the fact, saying, "No, no, we were wiser than you are." But shaskas tell us that before our grandfathers had learned anything, before their grandfathers were born----

There lived in a certain land an old man of this kind who instructed his three sons in reading and writing and all book learning. Then he said to them, "Now, my children, when I die, mind you, come and read prayers over my grave."

"Very good, father, very good," they replied.

The two elder brothers were such fine strapping fellows, so tall and stout! But as for the youngest one, Ivan, he was like a half-grown lad or a half-fledged duckling, terribly inferior to the others. Well, their old father died. At that very time there came tidings from the king that his daughter, the Princess Helena the Fair, had ordered a shrine to be built for her with twelve columns, with twelve rows of beams. In that shrine she was sitting upon a high throne and awaiting her bridegroom, the bold young youth who with a single bound of his swift steed should reach high enough to kiss her on the lips. A stir ran through the whole youth of the nation. They took to licking their lips and scratching their heads, and wondering to whose share so great an honor would fall.

"Brothers," said: Vanyusha (Ivan), "our father is dead; which of us is to read prayers over his grave?"

"Whoever feels inclined, let him go!" answered the brothers.

So Vanya went. But as for his elder brothers they did nothing but exercise their horses and curl their hair and dye their mustaches.

The second night came.

"Brothers," said Vanya, "I've done my share of reading. It is your turn now; which of you will go?"

"Whoever likes can go and read. We've business to look after; don't you meddle."

And they cocked their caps and shouted and whooped and flew this way and shot that way and roved about the open country.

So Vanyusha read prayers this time also--and on the third night, too.

Well, his brothers got ready their horses, combed out their mustaches and prepared to go next morning to test their mettle before the eyes of Helena the Fair.

"Shall we take the youngster?" they thought. "No, no. What would be the good of him? He'd make folks laugh and put us to confusion; let's go by ourselves."

So away they went. But Vanyusha wanted very much to have a look at the Princess Helena the Fair. He cried, cried bitterly, and went out to his father's grave. And his father heard him in his coffin, and came out to him, shook the damp earth off his body, and said, "Don't grieve, Vanya. I'll help you in your trouble."

And immediately the old man drew himself up and straightened himself and called aloud and whistled with a ringing voice, with a shrill whistle.

From goodness knows where appeared a horse, the earth quaking beneath it, a flame rushing from its ears and nostrils. To and fro it flew, and then stood still before the old man, as if rooted in the ground, and cried, "What are thy commands?"

Vanya crept into one of the horse's ears and out of the other, and turned into such a hero as no skazka can tell of, no pen describe! He mounted the horse, set his arms akimbo, and flew, just like a falcon, straight to the home of the Princess Helena. With a wave of his hand, with a bound aloft, he failed only by the breadth of two rows of beams. Back again he turned, galloped up, leapt aloft, and got within one beam row's breadth. Once more he turned, once more he wheeled, then shot past the eye like a streak of fire, took an accurate aim, and kissed the fair Helena right on the lips!

"Who is he? Who is he? Stop him!" was the cry. Not a trace of him was to be found!

Away he galloped to his father's grave, let the horse go free, prostrated himself on the earth, and besought his father's counsel. And the old man held counsel with him.

When he got home, he behaved as if he hadn't been anywhere. His brothers talked away, describing where they had been, what they had seen, and he listened to them as of old.

The next day there was a gathering again. In the princely halls there were more boyars and nobles than a single glance could take in. The elder brothers rode there. Their younger brother went there, too, but on foot, meekly and modestly, just as if he hadn't kissed the Princess, and seated himself in a distant corner. The Princess Helena asked for her bridegroom, wanted to show him to the world at large, wanted to give him half her kingdom; but the bridegroom did not put in an appearance! Search was made for him among the boyars, among the generals; everyone was examined in his turn--but with no result! Meanwhile, Vanya looked on, smiling and chuckling, and waiting till the bride should come to him herself.

"I pleased her then," says he, "when I appeared as a gay gallant; now let her fall in love with me in my plain caftan."

Then up she rose, looked around with bright eyes that shed a radiance on all who stood there, and saw and knew her bridegroom, and made him take his seat by her side, and speedily was wedded to him. And he--good heavens! How clever he turned out, and how brave, and what a handsome fellow! Only see him mount his flying steed, give his cap a cock, and stick his elbows akimbo! Why, you'd say he was a king, a born king! You'd never suspect he was once only Vanyusha.

From "Russian Fairy and Folk Tales." Translated and edited by W. R. S. Ralston (Hurst and Company).

=Juan the Guesser=

Once there lived a youth by the name of Juan. He was the only son of a family and so he was dearly loved. One day his father said to him, "Juan, you are quite old now so you have to study." "Yes, father," said Juan obediently. Juan was then sent to a large town to school. But he did not study; he spent all his time going to places of amusement. When vacation was coming near, Juan bought a reader so that he could give proof that he studied. His father was very anxious to see him and so prepared a large fiesta in honor of his arrival. When Juan arrived, he would not speak his dialect, and if he was asked something he just answered "Si, señor." Everybody then was astonished; for all thought that he had learned so much that he had forgotten his own dialect.

One day Juan threw his father's plow into a well because he wanted to show the people that he knew how to divine. The father came to him then and said, "Dear Juan, will you tell me where I can find the plow which I lost yesterday?" "Ah, father!" said Juan, "there is no difficulty in finding it; fetch my book and I will look it up." The father obeyed instantly and Juan looked in his book and said:

"A B C, A B C, Oh, my father's plow is lost! A B C, A B C, It has the well for a host."

"Well, my book tells me that it is in the bottom of the well." The father ordered the servants to look in the well, and sure enough they found the plow in it. The father was very proud of his son now, for he had had a real proof of his ability. So Juan was called prophet and his name was heard everywhere.

Once the princess of his country lost a very valuable ring, and the king offered to marry her to the one who could find the ring. But he ordered that anyone who might attempt and not guess rightly should be beheaded. Many of the wise men in the kingdom attempted to guess, but nobody was right and so they had to be killed. The rumors of Juan's knowledge reached the king's ears, so he sent a carriage to his home in order to bring him to the palace. Juan did not want to go because he knew that he would surely be killed. He could not disobey the king, however, and so he got into the carriage. As soon as he entered the carriage he became very sad and thoughtful and repented of having tricked his father. When they were quite near the town of the king, Juan opened his book and groaned sadly:

"Someone is to die, Not far from here, oh, my!"

Instantly the carriage stopped and the driver presented himself before Juan and said, "Oh, sir! I beg you to pardon me; I am the one who stole the princess's ring. She was washing her hands in a dish one day and took the ring off her hand, and then threw the water away. While I was cleaning the garden I saw it and picked it up. Kindly forgive me, here is the ring!" Juan did not take the ring, but said, "I forgive you now; I thought you would not tell me anything about it, and I was going to tell the king to have you killed, for I knew, that you were the one who stole it; my book said so. As soon as we arrive at the palace, place the ring under the stairs and cover it with a cocoanut shell." The driver was very happy and promised to do everything he was commanded.

Juan was received with honors in the palace and when he was asked about the ring, he told everything about the theft of it from the information he had got from the driver and said, "My book tells me all of this and says that now it is under a cocoanut shell under the stairs." Everybody went down to look for it and they found it. Once more now Juan's knowledge was talked of everywhere. According to the king's promise, he was married to the princess. The marriage ceremony was celebrated with much pomp and splendor, and many kings from different countries came to attend it.

Once a neighbor king came to Juan's country. When he went to the palace and met the other king, he said, "If your son-in-law is really a prophet, I propose to you a wager. I have three watermelons in my ship; one of them has one seed, the other has two, and the other has three. Should your son-in-law guess which has one, which has two, and which has three seeds, I will give you half of my kingdom. But if he fails, you will have to give me half of yours." The king was well pleased to hear the proposal, and being confident of Juan's knowledge, he accepted it. Fortunately, while the two kings were conversing, the vassals of the foreign king stood near the door of Juan's room and talked about the watermelons. One of them said, "If I were the one to guess I would say that the smallest has three seeds, the largest has two, and the middle-sized has one, then I should be very rich and would be as powerful a king as our master." Juan, after hearing all that the men had said, went to his bed and pretended to be asleep. When the foreign king had gone away, his father-in-law went to awake him in his room, and told him everything about the challenge. Juan said that he was afraid of no defiance so long as he had his book. The next morning, when the king and he went to the boat, Juan told exactly the number of seeds in each watermelon, according to what he had heard, after reading, or rather feigning to read, some characters in his book. The fruits were cut open then and it was found out that Juan was right. The king, his father-in-law, was very happy and liked Juan very much, for he said that Juan was, without any doubt, the wisest man the world ever knew.

Not long after this another king came on a large ship loaded with money. He came to propose another challenge. He said that he had three earthen jars, filled with salt, water, and vinegar. And if Juan should guess what each contained, the load of this ship would be his father-in-law's; but if he should fail, the king had to give him in turn another ship full of money also. The king accepted the proposal immediately; but Juan was very sad because he knew that the king would order him to be beheaded if he should not guess rightly. So he decided to commit suicide before the day when he should appear before the contending monarchs. During the night he went down silently and threw himself in the river behind the palace, in which the foreign ship was anchored. He tried to drown himself, but he could not, for he knew how to swim. He heard then some men talking in the ship, and one of them said, "If that guesser could just know that the jar with white marking on the neck contains salt, and the one which has the largest lid holds vinegar, he would be the richest man on earth." Juan swam quietly back after hearing this and slept. The next morning Juan and the king went to the ship, and Juan, after turning back and forth the leaves of his reader, told rightly the contents of every jar. The king was very happy and held a large festival in honor of the wise Juan the Prophet.

Juan was afraid to hazard his life any more, so he burned his magic volume. From that time on he never guessed any more, because he said that his book was gone and so his knowledge, too.

--Bienvenido Gonzales.

=The Shepherd Who Became King=

Many years before the birth of Christ, when the victorious legions of Rome were gradually conquering the then known world, there lived in a foreign country a cruel and despotic king. He had a daughter in the very bloom and freshness of youth. She was so beautiful that many a young man of the country asked her father to allow him to be his son-in-law. The suitors were so many that the king determined to marry his daughter to somebody. But he could not find the right man. He sent proclamations to the different provinces of his kingdom, telling the people that he intended to marry his daughter to the man who could accomplish three things which the king would require the competitor to do; but if the competitor should fail to do the three things within the required time, his head should be cut off. Many young men attempted, but they were all killed.

Near the king's palace there was living at that time a shepherd. This man had, since his boyhood, devoted his life to the interests of his fellow countrymen. Everybody loved him.

One day while he was tending his sheep out in the fields, an old woman saw him and said, "Receive this pipe as a present from me. Whenever you want anything from any animal, blow this pipe and the desired animal will come to you. Keep this carefully for it will be of great service to you." The shepherd thanked her and went away. He wanted to know whether the woman was telling the truth or not. So he blew the pipe and said, "Come here, all the serpents." He no sooner said these words than hundreds of serpents came to him hissing and twisting. Then he dismissed them.

He decided to compete for the hand of the princess. So he went to the palace in the evening and expressed his desire. "Ha! ha!" said the king, "do you want to have your head cut off, young man?" "We will see the result," said the shepherd proudly. "All right," said the king; "the first thing you must do is to eat in one day all of the bread there is to be found in my granary. You must either eat the bread or lose your head."

"I will go to the granary now and begin eating," said the shepherd.

"Well, go!" said the king, and he told a soldier to conduct the shepherd to the granary. The shepherd was locked up in the granary with nobody but himself and the bread. He took out the pipe which he had concealed under his coat. He blew the instrument and said, "Come here, all of the rats." He had just finished his command when thousands of rats came to him. He told them to eat all of the bread. The rats were so numerous that all of the bread was eaten before daybreak. Not a single crumb was left. Many rats arrived too late to get their share.

When the king and his court went to the granary in the morning, they were surprised to see that the building which was full of bread the day before was now totally empty. "All right," said the king, "you have to do the second thing. You must separate in one day the grains of corn from the grains of rice. Go to my granary, where you will find the corn and the rice. Remember the punishment."

"All right," said the shepherd; "I'll go to the granary this evening and begin my work."

So he went to the building where the corn and the rice were and there he was locked up again. He then blew his pipe and said, "Come here, all of the ants." Just then millions of ants arrived. He told the big ants to pick up all of the grains of corn and place them on one side of the granary. To the small ants he assigned the work of selecting the grains of rice and placing them on the other side of the building. The ants were so numerous that the entire work was finished before morning.

The king and his court were surprised to see that the shepherd had done his work. "Very well," said the king, "you have to accomplish the third and last thing and then you may marry my daughter."

"I'll do the work this afternoon," said the shepherd. "Good!" said the king. "Come here this afternoon at two o'clock. I'll give you twelve wild hares. Tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock you must return them to me without a change in any of them. The number must be exact."

At two o'clock in the afternoon the shepherd went to the palace. The king gave him the twelve hares. They were no sooner in the hands of the shepherd than they ran away. The king and his court laughed loudly and said, "He will not catch them. He is sure to fail in his work."

"We will see," said the shepherd proudly. He then went to his cottage. He blew his pipe and said, "Come all of the twelve hares of the king." He had no sooner said these words than the twelve hares came to him and began to jump about him.

An hour later the king sent one of his servants to see whether the shepherd was out looking for the hares or not. When the servant reached the shepherd's cottage, he was surprised to see the hares sleeping quietly by the side of the shepherd. The servant went back to the king and related to him all that he saw. The king grew pale and did not know what to do. He told the princess to go to the shepherd and try to get one of the hares. So the princess disguised herself as a country girl and went to the shepherd's cottage. The shepherd recognized her immediately. Her solicitations were all in vain. At last the shepherd said, "I'll give you one of the hares if you scrub my kitchen for me." To prevent herself from being married to the shepherd she said "Yes." So the shepherd told her to do her work. When she had finished her work, the shepherd gave her one of the hares. When she was a hundred yards from the shepherd's cottage, the shepherd blew his pipe and said, "Come here, the hare with the princess." He had just finished speaking when the hare ran away from the princess to the side of the cottage.

The princess was crying when she reached the palace and told the king how she had been fooled. The king determined to get one of the hares by means of money. So he disguised himself as a merchant, mounted a horse with two panniers slung on the sides, and went to the shepherd's cottage. But the shepherd recognized him at once. His solicitations also were in vain. Even the bag of gold was useless. The shepherd would not allow himself to be fooled. At last he said, "I'll give you one of the hares if you wash my feet." To prevent the marriage of the princess with the shepherd, the king agreed. So he dismounted and washed the shepherd's dusty feet. Then the shepherd gave him one of the hares. The King put the animal in one pannier and went away. But his undertaking was unsuccessful. The note of the pipe and the cry of the shepherd excited the hare, who jumped out of the pannier and ran away.

The king went to the palace with a sad face. He told his courtiers how unsuccessful he had been, and went to his private room. The next day at two o'clock in the afternoon the shepherd returned the twelve hares. Not a single hare was changed.

But the king still refused to fulfill his promise. He told the shepherd to fill a bag with all the bad words he knew. The shepherd uttered every kind of bad words; but the bag was still empty. But one thing came to his mind. He said loudly, "The princess scrubbed my kitchen yesterday afternoon." The princess jumped from her seat and said, "The bag is full."

"No," said the king. "Continue." "The king," said the shepherd, "wa--wa--wash----" The king jumped from his throne and said, "That's enough," and tied the bag. The marriage was then arranged and the next day the shepherd and the princess were married.

From this time on the shepherd and princess lived happily for many years. He succeeded his father-in-law as king.

--Vincente M. Hilario.