Filipino Popular Tales Part 37

When Masama heard this, he said to Mabait, "Why don't you cure the princess? You are the only one who can cure her."

"Don't flatter me!" answered Mabait.

"I'm not flattering you. It is the duende, your friend, who is in her abdomen, and no one can persuade it to come out but you. So go now, for fortune is waiting for you."

Mabait was at last persuaded, and so he departed. Before going to the king, he first went to a church, and there he prayed Bathala that he might be successful in his undertakings. When Mabait was gone, Masama said to himself, "It is not fortune, but it is death, that is waiting for him. When he is dead, I shall not have anybody to envy."

After sitting for about a half-hour, Masama also set out for the princess's tower, but he reached the palace before Mabait. There he told the king that he could cure his daughter. He was conducted into the princess's room. He touched her abdomen, and said, "Who are you?"

"I am the duende."

"Why are you there?"

"Because I want to be here."

"Go away!"

"No, I won't."

"Don't you know me?"

"Yes, I know you. You are Masama, who cheated me once. Give your head to the king." So the executioner cut Masama's head off.

Then Mabait came, and told the king that he could cure the princess. After he was given permission to try, he said to the duende, "Who are you?"

"I am the duende, your friend."

"Will you please come out of the princess's abdomen?"

"Yes, I will, for the sake of our friendship."

Mabait was married to the princess, was crowned king, and lived happily with his friend the duende.

Before attempting to decide anything concerning the provenience of these two tales, we shall first examine versions of the story from other parts of the world. The nearest European a.n.a.logue that I am familiar with is an Andalusian story printed by Caballero in 1866 (Ingram, 107, "The Demon's Mother-in-Law"). An outline of the chief elements of this tale follows:--

Mother Holofernes, while very neat and industrious, was a terrible termagant and shrew. Her daughter Panfila, on the contrary, was so lazy and thoughtless, that once, when the old woman burnt herself badly because her daughter was listening to some lads singing outside, instead of helping her mother with the boiling lye for washing, the enraged Mother Holofernes shouted to her offspring, "Heaven grant that you may marry the Evil One himself!" Not long afterward a rich little man presented himself as a suitor for Panfila's hand. He was accepted by the mother, and preparations for the marriage went forward. The old woman, however, began to dislike the suitor, and, recalling her curse, suspected that he was none other than the Devil himself. Accordingly, on the night of the wedding, she bade Panfila lock all the windows and doors of the room, and then beat her husband with a branch of consecrated olive. So done. The husband tried to escape from his wife by slipping through the key-hole; but his mother-in-law antic.i.p.ated this move. She caught him in a gla.s.s bottle, which she immediately sealed hermetically. Then the old lady climbed to the summit of a mountain, and there deposited the bottle in an out-of-the-way place. Ten years the imp remained there a prisoner, suffering cold, heat, hunger, thirst. One day a soldier, returning to his native town on leave, took a short cut over the mountain, and spied the bottle. When he picked it up, the imp begged to be released, and told him of all he had suffered; but the soldier made a number of conditions,--his release from the army, a four-dollar daily pension, etc.,--and finally the imp promised to enter the body of the daughter of the King of Naples. The soldier was to present himself at court as a physician, and demand any reward he wished to, in return for a cure. So done. The king accepted the services of the soldier, but stipulated that if in three days he had not cured the princess, he should be hanged. The soldier accepted the conditions; but the demon, seeing that he had his arrogant enemy's life in his hands, and bent on revenge, refused to leave the body of the princess. On the last day, however, the soldier ordered all the bells rung. On the demon's asking what all the noise was about, the soldier said, "I have ordered your mother-in-law summoned, and she has just arrived." In great terror the Devil at once quitted the princess, and the soldier was left "in victorious possession of the field."

It will be noticed that the last episode is almost identical with the ending of our story "The Devil and the Guachinango," while there is a considerable amount of divergence between the two elsewhere.

For versions collected before 1860 I am indebted to Benfey's treatment of this cycle. It is found in his "Pantschatantra," 1 : 519 ff. I take the liberty of summarizing it in this place, first, because it is the only exhaustive handling of the story I know of; and, second, because Benfey's brilliant work, while constantly referred to and quoted, has long been out of print, and has never been accessible in English.

The occasion for Benfey's dissertation on this particular tale is the relationship he sees between it and the large family of stories turning on the motive of a marvellous cure, a representative of which is "Pantschatantra," 5 : 12, "The Miraculous Cure of a Blind Man, a Humpback, and a Three-breasted Princess." [79] While the story we are discussing cannot be considered in any sense an offshoot of the Pantschatantra tale, it can scarcely be denied, says Benfey, that between the two there is a definite internal relationship, which is further manifested by the fact that in its later development the latter is actually joined to the former (p. 519).

The earliest form of our story is found in the "Cukasaptati," where it is told as the story for the 45th and 46th nights. In this version,--

A Brahman, driven away from home by the malice of his wife, is befriended by a demon who had formerly lived in the Brahman's house, but who had also fled in fear from her shrewish tongue. The demon enters the body of a princess; and the Brahman, appearing as a conjurer, forces him to leave, in accordance with their pact, and wins half a kingdom and the hand of the princess. The demon now goes to another city where he possesses the queen, an aunt of the Brahman's new father-in-law. The Brahman, whose reputation as an enchanter has become great, is summoned to cure this queen. When he arrives, the demon threatens and insults him, refusing to leave the queen because they are now quits. The Brahman, however, whispers in the woman's ear, "My wife is coming here close on my heels, I have come only to warn you;" whereupon the demon, terror-stricken, at once leaves the queen. The Brahman is highly honored.

Benfey conjectures that this story must have pa.s.sed over into the Persian redaction of the "Cukasaptati" (i.e., the "Tuti-nameh"), but what changes it underwent in the transmission cannot yet be determined. The earliest European form of the tale is that found in the Turkish "Forty Vezirs" (trans. by Behrnauer, p. 277).

Here a young wood-cutter saves money to buy a rope; but his shrewish wife, thinking that he is going to spend it on a sweetheart, insists on accompanying him to his work in the mountains, so that she can keep him under her eye. In the mountains the husband decides to abandon his wife in a well. He tells her to hold a rope while he descends to fetch a treasure which he pretends is concealed at the bottom; but she is so avaricious, that she insists on being let down first. Then he drops the rope, and returns home free. A few days later, conscience-smitten, he goes back to rescue his wife, and, lowering another rope, he calls to her that he will draw her up; but he hauls a demon to the surface instead. The demon thanks the wood-cutter for rescuing him from a malicious woman "who some days ago descended, and has made my life unbearable ever since." As in the Cukasaptati story, the demon enters a princess and makes her insane, and the wood-cutter cures her and marries her. Then the demon enters another princess. The wood-cutter is summoned; he has to resort to the well-known trick to force the imp to leave this second maiden.

In the Persian form of this story, in the "1001 Days" (Prenzlau ed.), 11 : 247, is added the death-penalty in case the hero fails to perform the second cure, which consists in persuading the spirit, in the form of a snake, to unwind itself from the body of the vezir's daughter. The hero had already cured the sultan's daughter and married her.

A Serbian story (Wuk, No. 37) is closer to the "Forty Vezirs" version than is the "1001 Days." The only essential difference is that the opening of the Serbian tale is the well-known fabliau of the "Meadow that was mowed."

Here the wife falls into a pit. When the husband attempts to draw her out again, a devil appears. The devil is thankful; and, to reward the man, it enters the body of the emperor's daughter. Here the hero appears, not as an enchanter, but as a physician.

Practically identical is the story of "The Bad Wife and the Devil,"

in Vogl, "Slowenische Volksmarchen" (Wien, 1837).

In a Finnish version of the story (Benfey, 524-525) the hero, as in the preceding, a.s.sumes the role of a physician.

The husband pushes his bad wife into an abyss. When he attempts to draw her out again, another woman appears. She is the Plague. [80]

Out of grat.i.tude for her liberation from that other wicked woman, she proposes to him that they travel together through the world: she, the pest, will make people ill; he, as physician, will cure them. So done. As a result the man becomes rich. But at last he grows weary of his excessive work: so he procures a snappish dog, and puts it in a sack. The next time he is called to the side of a person made sick by the pest, he says to her, "Enter human beings no more: if you do, I will liberate from this sack the woman that tormented you in the abyss," at the same time irritating the dog so that it growls. The Plague, full of terror, begs him for G.o.d's sake not to set the woman free, and promises to reform.

It will be seen that in its method of the "sickness and the cure,"

this story is related to Grimm, No. 44, "G.o.dfather Death," where Death takes the place of the Plague, and where, instead of grat.i.tude, the motive is the G.o.dfather relationship of Death toward the hero.

This folk-tale, says Benfey (p. 525), was early put into literary form in Europe. Among others, he cites Machiavelli's excellent version in his story of "Belf.a.gor" (early sixteenth century):--

Belf.a.gor, a devil, is sent to earth by his master to live as a married man for ten years, to see whether certain accusations made against women by souls in h.e.l.l are true or slanderous. Belf.a.gor marries in Florence; but his imperious wife causes him so much bad fortune, that he is compelled to flee from his creditors. A peasant conceals him, and out of grat.i.tude Belf.a.gor tells his rescuer his story, and promises to make him rich by possessing women and allowing himself to be driven out only by the peasant himself. So done. The peasant wins great renown; and at last Belf.a.gor says that his obligations have been fulfilled, and that the peasant must look out for himself if they meet again. The devil now enters the daughter of Ludwig II, King of France. The peasant is summoned to cure her, but is afraid, and refuses. At last he is compelled to go, like the physician, against his will (see Benfey, 515 ff.). Belf.a.gor rages when he sees the peasant, and threatens him vehemently. At last the peasant employs the usual trick: "Your wife is coming!" and the devil flees in consternation, choosing rather to rush back to h.e.l.l than into the arms of his wife.

Benfey considers a Bohemian story in Wenzig's collection (West-slawische Marchen, Leipzig, 1857, p. 167) to be the best of all the popular versions belonging to this group, and he reproduces it in full (pp. 527-534). This long story we may pa.s.s over, since it contains no new features that are found in our story. In fact, it little resembles ours or any of the others, except in general in two or three episodes. Benfey concludes his discussion of this cycle by stating that there have been many other imitations of this tale, and he mentions some of these (p. 534). It may be added that further references will be found in Wilson's note in his edition of Dunlop, 2 : 188-190.

The question of the origin of the Pampango version of this story is not easy to answer definitely, for the reason that it presents details not found in any of the other variants. However, since nearly all the machinery of our story turns on the teachings of the Roman Church, and since the denouement is practically identical with the ending of Caballero's Andalusian story, I conclude that in its main outlines our version was derived from Spain. At the same time, I think it likely that the fairy-tale of "Mabait and the Duende" was already existent earlier in the Islands (though this, too, may have been imported), and that the motivation of the spirit's desire to revenge himself on his tormentor for his avarice and greed was incorporated into the Marchen from the fairy-tale. My reasons for thinking the fairy-tale the older are: (1) its crudeness (the good and the bad hero are a very awkward device compared with the combination of qualities in the guachinango); (2) its local references and its native names; (3) its use of native superst.i.tions and beliefs.

TALE 25

JUAN SADUT.

Narrated by Nicolas Zafra, an Ilocano from San Fernando, La Union. The story is very popular among the country people about San Fernando, he reports.

Many years ago there lived a certain old couple who had an only son. Juan, for that was the boy's name, was known throughout the village as an idler, and for this reason he was called Juan Sadut. He had no liking for any kind of work; in fact, his contempt for all work was so great, that he never even helped his father or mother.

One day his father took him to the fields to have him help harvest their crops; but, instead of going to work, Juan betook himself to a shady spot on the edge of the field, and fell asleep.

His father, who was very much enraged by this conduct of his son, determined then and there to dispose of him. He carried the sleeping boy to another part of the field, and laid him down just beside a large snake-hole. He expected that the snake, when it came out of its hole, would sting the sleeping idler, who would thus be disposed of quietly.

When Juan awoke, he found a large snake coiled near him. In his fright, he sprang to his feet to run away; but the snake looked up at him sympathetically, and then began to speak: "Why do you fear me? Don't you know that I am the king of the snakes? I am going to give you a wonderful gift that will make you happy forever;" and having said this, it dropped a gold ring on the ground, and bade Juan pick it up and wear it on his finger. The ring was of pure gold, and it had on it initials that Juan could not understand. "Keep that ring carefully, for it will be of great use to you," said the snake. "Consult it for anything you want, and it will advise you how to proceed to obtain the object of your desire."

After thanking the snake for its gift, Juan set out on his travels. He never worried about his food from day to day, for from his magic ring he could get anything he needed.

In his wanderings, word reached Juan's ears that the king of that country would give his beautiful daughter to any one who could fulfil three conditions. Juan was thrilled with joy on hearing this news, for he was sure that he would be the successful compet.i.tor for the hand of the princess. When he presented himself before the court, his slovenly appearance and awkward movements only excited laughter and mirth among the n.o.bles. "What chance have you of winning the prize?" they asked him in derision.