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THE  JOURNAL  OF 

AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE 

VOLUME  XXIX 


'^ 


LANCASTER,  PA.,  and  NEW  YORK 

^uWMJ)eti  Bp  tl)e  American  f  olft^Hore  <f  ocietp 

G.  E.  STECHERT  &  CO.,  Agents 

NEW  YORK :  151-1SS  West  25TH  Street  PARIS :  16  rue  de  Cokde 

LONDON:  DAVID  NUTT.  57.  59  Long  Acre 

LEIPZIG:  OTTO  HARRASSOWITZ.  Querstrasse.  14 

MDCCCCXVI 


Copyright,  1916, 
By  the  AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE  SOCIETY 

All  rights  reserved 


1 


PRESS  OF 

THE  NEW  ERA  PRINTINQ  COMPANY 

LANCASTER.  tA. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  XXIX. 

ARTICLES. 

PACB 

Contes  Populaires  Canadiens C.-Marius  Barheau      i 

Un  Conte  de  la  Beauce Evelyn  Bolduc  i^j 

Fables,  Contes  et  Formules Gustave  Lanctot  141 

Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States Albert  H.  Tolman  155 

More  Songs  and  Ballads  from  the  Southern  Appalachians. 

Isabel  Nanton  Rawn  and  Charles  Peabody  198 

Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines Dean  S.  Pansier  203 

Story  of  the  Eventful  Life  of  Princess  Florentina  of  the  Kingdom  of  Germany. 

Translated  from  Tagalog  by  Dean   S.  Pansier  and  Salvador  Unson  235 

Avoidance  in  Melanesia Elsie  Clews  Parsons  282 

The  Cherry-Tree  Carol Josephine  McGill  293 

Twenty-Seventh  Annual  Meeting  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society 295 

European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians James  Teit  301 

European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa Alanson  Skinner  330 

Plains  Cree  Tales Alanson  Skinner  341 

Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior William  Jones  368 

The  Zuni  Mo'lawia Elsie  Clews  Parsons  392 

Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.     Riddles,     (Edited  by  Aurelio  M.  Espinosa). 

J.  Alden  Mason  423 
New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.     X.  Children's  Games.     XL  Nursery  Rhymes 

and  Children's  Songs Aurelio  M.  Espinosa  505 

New-Mexican  Spanish   Folk-Lore Barbara   Freire   Marreco  536 

Stories  and  Songs  from  the  Southern  Atlantic  Coastal  Region  of  Mexico. 

William  Hubbs  Mechling  547 
Algunas  observaciones  sobre  el  folk-lore   de   Guatemala. ..  .^t/riaw   Recinos  5^9 

LOCAL  MEETINGS. 

Kentucky  Branch 299 

Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society 299 

West  Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society John  Harrington  Cox  40a 

NOTES  AND  QUERIES. 

The  Story  of  No-Tongue George  P.  Will  402 

Two  Cheyenne  Stories Stanley  Campbell  406 

A  Piegan  Tale Truman  Michelson  408 

Piegan  Tales  of  European  Origin Truman  Michelson  409 

The  Hawaiian  Hula-Dance Martha  W.  Beckwith  409 

Present-Day  Survivals  of  Ancient  Jewish  Customs Leah  R.  C.  Yoffie  412 

The  Cherry-Tree  Carol Josephine  McGill  417 

Announcement  of  publication  of  Memoirs  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society. .  417 

iii 


iv  Contents  oj  Volume  XXIV. 

REVIEWS. 

PAGE 

Johann  Jacob  Meyer's  Das  Weib  in  altindischen  Epos B.  Laufer  419 

W.  S.  Fox's  Greek  and  Roman  (The  Mythology  of  All  Races  series,  Vol.  I). 

John  R.  Crawford  420 
Hartley  Burr  Alexander's  North  American  (The  Mythology  of  All  Races  series, 

Vol.   X) Franz  Boas  421 

Officers  and  Members  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society 5^7 

Index  to  Volume  XXIX 577 


THE  JOURNAL  OF 

AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE, 

Vol.  XXIX.  — JANUARY -march,  1916.— No.  CXI. 


CONTES  POPULAIRES  CANADIENS.^ 

PAR    C.-MARIUS    BARBEAU. 
PREFACE. 

Il  y  a  pres  de  deux  ans,  le  Dr  Franz  Boas,  de  Columbia  University, 
New- York,  nous  posait  la  question  suivante:  "Les  Canadiens-frangais 
ont-ils  conserve  leurs  anciennes  traditions  orales?  Y  a-t-il  encore, 
en  Canada,  des  anciennes  chansons,  des  contes,  des  legendes  et  des 
croyances  populaires?"  II  n'etait  pas  facile,  a  brWe-pourpoint,  de 
repondre  a  cette  question.  Mais  une  conclusion  affirmative  resulta 
de  recherches  subsequentes,  faites  parmi  des  paysans  des  environs  de 
Quebec.  II  devint  meme  evident  que  les  ressources  du  folklore  cana- 
dien  sont  apparemment  inepuisables.  Quarante  contes  populaires 
recueillis  en  1914,  dans  les  comtes  de  Beauce  et  de  Quebec,  P.  Q., 
d^montrerent  que  les  anciens  recits  oraux  de  France  se  sont  conserves 
intacts.  Peu  apres,  on  nous  signala  I'existence  de  traditions  semblables 
dans  les  comtes  de  LaPrairie,  de  Valley  field,  de  Joliette,  d'Arthabasca, 
de  Dorchester,  de  I'lslet,  de  Kamouraska,  de  Rimouski,  et  h  la  rive 
nord  du  Saint-Laurent.  En  1915,  une  nouvelle  serie  de  soixante 
contes  et  legendes  fut  rocueillie  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska;  et 
quelques  recits  additionnels  nous  furent  communiques  par  Mile 
Evelyn  Bolduc,  de  la  Beauce,  et  par  M.  Gustave  Lanctot,  originaire- 
ment  de  LaPrairie. 

Ces  r^sultats  avaient  d'ailleurs  ete  prevus  par  M.  Boas  et  certains 
folkloristes.  On  avait  depuis  longtemps  remarque  I'existence  d'un 
nombre  considerable  de  contes  et  de  faceties  d'origine  frangaise 
parmi  les  Indiens  des  regions  parcourues  par  les  pionniers  et  les  cou- 
reurs-des-bois.  II  devenait  naturel  de  deduire  que  la  source  meme 
de  cette  abondante  litterature  orale  ne  s'etait  pas  si  tot  tarie,  la  oii 
les  circonstances  premieres  favorisaient  sa  preservation. 

1  Copyright,  1916,  by  C.  Marius  Barbeau,  Ottawa,  Can. 


2  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Comprenant  I'importance  et  la  richesse  du  folklore  canadien, 
M.  Boas  et  la  Soei^t^  de  Folklore  Am^ricain  d^ciderent,  a  la  seance 
annuelle  de  1914,  d'encourager  effieacement  Tinitiative  individuelle 
de  tout  Canadien  d^sireux  d'<5tudier  et  de  publier  les  anciennes  tra- 
ditions locales  frangaises.  Afin  de  faciliter  la  publication  p^riodique 
de  ces  mat^riaux  in^dits,  a  mesure  qu'on  les  obtient  parmi  le  peuple, 
la  Soci^t^  ofifrit  de  disposer  annuellement  d'un  num^ro  entier  de  sa 
revue,  "The  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,"  moyennant  I'appui  d'une 
section  canadienne.  Cette  section  vient  de  s'organiser  grace  a  I'aide 
d'un  certain  nombre  d'abonn^s,  de  sir  Lomer  Gouin,  au  nom  du 
gouvernement  de  Quebec,  et  du  concours  de  M.  Victor  Morin.  Et 
chaque  ann^e,  a  partir  de  1916,  un  numero  frangais  de  la  revue  devra 
contenir  soit  des  contes  et  des  Idgendes  populaires,  des  ballades  et 
des  chansons  ou  d'autres  pieces  du  folklore  des  Frangais  d'Amerique, 
particuliereraent  des  Canadiens.  On  espere,  d'ailleurs,  que  des  litte- 
rateurs desinteresses  collaboreront  bientot  a  notre  ojuvre.  Une  ample 
serie  de  traditions  populaires  sera  ainsi,  d'annee  en  annee,  transmise  a 
la  post^rite.  Tandis  que  les  ecrivains  y  trouveront  sans  doute  une 
veine  f^conde  et  reg^neratrice,  les  savants  se  contenteront  d\'  decou- 
vrir,  libre  de  tout  alliage  et  dans  sa  purete  relative,  le  folklore  de  la 
France  au  temps  de  Richelieu.  Car,  depuis  le  jour  oij  la  France 
abandonna  le  Canada  a  ses  destinees,  les  traditions  populaires  ances- 
trales  se  sont  fixees,  ou  ont  suivi  un  cours  independant  de  celles  de 
I'Europe. 

Le  present  numero  de  la  revue  contient  plus  de  quarante  contes  et 
l^gendes  obtenus  dans  la  province  de  Quebec.  II  s'y  trouve  aussi  des 
formules  et  quelqucs  pieces  rimees  ou  a  retours.  Tandis  que  la  plupart 
de  ces  recits  ont  ete  recueillis  et  prepares  par  I'autcur,  quelques-uns 
lui  ont,  ete  communiques  par  Mile  Evelyn  Bolduc  et  M.  Gustave 
Lanctot.  Ces  derniers  recits  sont  publics  separement,  et  precedes 
du  nom  des  auteurs.  Une  note  accompagnant  chaque  piece  en  indique 
la  source,  le  nom  du  conteur,  quelquefois  meme  une  origine  plus 
(51oignee,  la  date  et  la  localite. 

Les  conteurs  cites  ici  sont  les  suivants:  1.  Paul  Patry,  de  Saint- 
Victor,  Beauce,  age  de  82  ans  (1914) ;  vieux  cultivateur  illettre,  residant 
au  milieu  de  sa  famille  sur  une  ferme  isolee;  remarquablement  doue, 
comme  la  plupart  de  ses  parents,  les  Coulombe  et  les  Couture,  qui 
passent  pour  des  conteurs  emerites;  2.  Achille  Fournier,  surnomme 
"Ti-Chillc,"  journalier  illettr^  do  64  ans,  ne  et  residant  a  Sainte-Anne, 
Kamouraska,  qui  a  appris  des  contes  un  peu  partout  autour  de  lui; 
3.  Prudent  Sioui,  sa  femme  (nee  Picard),  et  David  Sioui,  des  Cana- 
diens-hurons  illettres,  de  la  Jeune-Lorette,  Quebec,  tous  ages  de  plus 
de  cinquante  ans;  4.  Narcisse  Thiboutot,  artisan,  age  de  25  ans 
(1915),  et  residant  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  qui  a  bien  conserve 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  3 

les  contes  souvcnt  recites  par  son  oncle  Charles  Francoeur,  de  la 
Riviere-Ouellc;  5.  Gustave  Lanctot,  homme  de  lettres,  ag6  de  plus 
de  30  ans,  qui  a  retenu  quelques  contes  appris  dans  son  enfance, 
k  Saint-Constant,  LaPrairie;  6.  Antoinette  Leduc,  jeune  servante  k 
Valleyfield,  P.  Q.,  de  qui  M.  Lanctot  a  recueilli  quelques  contes  et 
chansons. 

Quant  a  la  methode,  il  va  de  soi  que  I'exactitude  historique  doit  etre 
ici  le  seul  guide.  Enregistrer  mot  a  mot  la  dictee  du  conteur  est  un 
ideal  que  tous  ne  peuvent  atteindre.  II  est  indispensable,  neanmoins, 
de  rapporter  le  plus  fidelement  possible  toutes  les  locutions  du  conteur, 
et  de  ne  negliger  ni  recits,  ni  episodes,  alors  meme  qu'ils  paraissent 
anodins  ou  saugrenus.  Rien  n'est  indigne  de  I'attention  de  I'historien- 
ethnographe;  et  un  jugement  premature  sur  le  choix  ou  I'exclusion  de 
certains  materiaux  de  nature  douteuse  ne  pent  que  nuire  aux  fins 
proposees.  Le  meme  scrupule  doit  presider  a  la  preparation  des  textes. 
On  peut  sans  doute  donner  une  forme  grammatical  aux  tournures 
incorrectes  et  retrancher  les  repetitions  inutiles;  mais  la  simplicite 
n'en  doit  jamais  etre  alteree;  et  le  langage  curieux  du  conteur  ne  fait 
qu'ajouter  a  la  valeur  du  texte,  surtout  au  point  de  vue  de  la  linguis- 
tique. 

L'auteur  a  recueilli  les  contes  suivants  a  la  stenographic,  sous  la 
dictee  courante  des  conteurs.  La  transcription  en  a  ete  faite  avec  la 
plus  grande  fidelite  possible.  Des  mots  archaiques  ou  familiers  et  des 
neologismes  populaires  ont  ete  indiques  en  italiques,a  titre  d'exemples 
seulement.  II  ne  faut  d'ailleurs  pas  oublier  que  nos  conteurs  parlaient 
tous  le  langage  des  paysans  illettres,  et  y  melaient  souvent  des  ex- 
pressions grossieres  et  bannies  de  toute  autre  societe,  en  Canada. 
Notre  devoir  d'historien  etait,  cependant,  de  tout  enregistrer,  sans 
omission  ni  contrefagon;  et  le  lecteur  eclaire  ne  nous  en  voudra  pas 
d'avoir  suivi  la  methode  strictement  scientifique.  A  un  Parisien  ou 
meme  a  un  Canadien  peu  verse  dans  I'etude  de  la  langue  fran^aise, 
certains  termes  paraitront  etranges,  incorrects  et  nouveaux.  Une 
^tude  tant  soit  peu  approfondie,  toutefois,  dissipera  cette  illusion  et 
revelera  qu'a  peu  pres  tous  les  elements  lexicologiqucs  apparemment 
formes  en  Canada  se  retrouvent  dans  les  provinces  de  France,  et  sont 
indiques  dans  les  grands  lexiques  frangais. 

C'etait  d'abord  notre  intention  de  parsemer  cette  etude  de  notes 
et  de  listes  de  themes  mythologiques  compares,  avec  indication  de 
leur  distribution  geographique.  Mais  I'immensite  meme  de  cette 
tache,  deja  partiellement  entreprise  par  certains  auteurs,nous  en  a  fait 
remettre  a  plus  tard  les  premiers  essais,  dont  le  but  sera  d'etudier 
des  versions  paralleles  anterieurement  recueillies  en  Europe  ou  parmi 
les  Indiens  d'Amerique  qui  les  ont  de  bonne  heure  empruntees  des 
coureurs-des-bois. 


4  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

Nous  d^sirons,  enfin,  remercier  la  Section  d'Anthropologie,  Mus^e 
Victoria,  Ottawa,  pour  la  collection  des  mat^riaux  et  la  preparation 
du  manuscrit. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Les  contes,  les  l^gendes  et  les  faceties  populaires  des  Canadiens 
sont  des  r^cits  traditionnels  transmis  oralement  d'une  generation  k 
I'autre,  et  d'une  anciennete  plus  ou  moins  grande.  S'apprenant  et  se 
r^petant,  ils  retiennent  leur  forme  relativement  fixe  et  sont  consider^s 
comme  purement  fictifs.  Ils  different  radicalement  des  anecdotes  ou 
r^cits  d'evenements  presumes  authentiques  de  certains  conteurs. 
Bien  qu'appartenant  tous  au  folklore  populaire,  les  contes  traditionnels 
et  les  anecdotes  viennent  de  sources  independantes  et  sont  d'ages 
differents.  Aux  epoques  recuiees,  les  premiers  passaient  de  bouche 
en  bouche  et  se  disseminaient  partout;  les  seconds,  en  raison  meme 
de  leur  recente  origine,  sont  restes  exclusivement  canadiens.  Ainsi 
on  retrouve  dans  tous  les  recoins  de  TEurope,  et  meme  au-dela,  de 
nombreuses  versions  paralleles  des  anciens  contes  de  fees,  de  magiciens, 
de  heros  et  de  metamorphoses.^  Plus  un  recit  est  ancien,  plus  il  est 
repandu;  et  I'etendue  de  ses  ramifications  indique  sa  relative  antiquite. 
Presque  tous  les  contes  proprement  dits  commencent  par  une  formule, 
telle  que:  "Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait.  . .,"  ou  "Une  fois, 
il  y  avait.  . . "  N'appartenant  generalement  a  aucun  temps  ou  aucun 
lieu  en  particulier,  ils  different  des  recits  anecdotiques  qui,  eux,  sont 
plutot  des  reminiscences  personnelles  et  se  revetent  des  atours  de  la 
verite.  La  litterature  canadienne  est  assez  riche  en  anecdotes  et  en 
chroniques;  mais  les  contes  anciens,  peut-etre  a  cause  de  leur  trompeuse 
apparence  de  futilite,  n'y  ont  pas  encore  trouve  la  place  qu'ils  meritent 
a  plus  d'un  titre.  La  valeur  scientifique  et  litteraire  de  la  mythologie 
populaire  et  des  anciennes  traditions  orales  n'est,  toutefois,  pas  dis- 
cutable;  et  les  savants  en  ont  depuis  longtemps  reconnu  I'importance 
primordiale.  II  suffira  de  dire  qu'elles  sont  les  reliques  ou  les  survi- 
vances  d'un  age  lointain  et  disparu.  La  oii  il  n'y  avait  pas  encore  de 
litterature  ecrite,  les  traditions  orales  florissaient.  Au  lieu  de  remettre 
au  parchemin  le  patrimoine  des  souvenirs  collectifs,  on  le  conservait 
precieusement  dans  une  memoire  d'autant  plus  tenace  qu'elle  etait  plus 
necessaire  et  cultivee.  C'est  en  vertu  de  cette  coutume  profondement 
enracinee  dans  toutes  les  races  et  dans  toutes  les  classes  incultes  que 
les  anciens  recits  se  sont  conserves  intacts  jusqu'a  nos  jours  chez  des 
paysans  de  differents  pays,  et  en  particulier  chez  ceux  du  Canada 
frangais. 

1  L'^tude  la  plus  ambitieuse  que  nous  connaissions  sur  la  diffusion  et  les 
differentcs  versions  de  certains  contes  anciens  est  celle  qu'ont  publi6e  recemment 
J.  Bolte  et  G.  Polivka,  Anmerkungen  zu  den  Kinder-  u.  Hausmarchen  der  Briider 
Grimm  (Leipzig,  1913,  1915). 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  5 

Le  seul  role  de  cette  litt^rature,  ici,  ^tait  d'amuser.  Durant  les 
longs  soirs  d'hiver  surtout,  les  villageois  et  les  habitants  se  rassem- 
blaient  pour  entendre  leurs  conteurs  favoris  redirc  les  aventures  mer- 
veilleuses,  heroiques  ou  romanesques  des  heros  fabuleux  d'autrefois. 
Le  coureur-des-bois,  le  b<lcheron  a  I'emploi  des  compagnies,  le  men- 
diant,  I'idiot  errant  et  le  commer^ant  de  bestiaux  ^taient  souvent 
pr^c^d^s  en  maints  lieux  de  leur  reputation  de  conteur,  et  on  ne  man- 
quait  pas  de  se  r^unir  a  I'occasion  de  leur  passage  p(5riodique.  On  ai- 
mait  meme  particulierement  a  entendre  le  repertoire  un  peu  renou- 
veie  de  ces  noraades,  qui  prenaient  d'ailleurs  leur  role  corarae  une 
mission. 

Cette  fiction  populaire  canadienne  se  r^partit  en  plusieurs  groupes, 
entre  lesquels  les  transitions  sont  imperceptibles.  Quoiqu'on  y  trouve 
quelquefois  des  vers  et  des  retours  rythmiques,  la  prose  simple,  des- 
criptive et  dialogu^e  en  est  le  mode  usuel  et  approprie.  Le  sujet  lui- 
m6me  se  prete  a  une  classification  tant  soit  peu  arbitraire,  soit:  (I)  les 
fables,  (II)  les  contes  merveilleux  et  les  mythes,  (III)  les  contes  pseudo- 
merveilleux  ou  Ton  feint  ou  parodie  le  merveilleux,  (IV)  les  legendes  et 
les  contes  chretiens,(V)les  contes  ou  r^cits  romanesques  du  moyen  age, 
(VI)  les  faceties  et  les  anecdotes  modernes.^  Presque  la  moiti^  des 
contes  jusqu'ici  recueillis  en  Canada  sont  d'origine  et  de  nature  pure- 
ment  paiennes.  Le  merveilleux  y  est  le  principal  ressort,  et  les  per- 
sonnages  sont  ceux  des  mythologies  paiennes  de  I'Europe.  Si  ces 
personnages  disparaissent  dans  les  contes  plus  modernes,  il  n'en  est 
pas  ainsi  des  objets  merveilleux,  qui  se  sont  perpetuus  avec  tenacity 
au-dela  des  revolutions  religieuses.  Ainsi  dans  les  contes  Chretiens, 
on  trouve  des  charmes  de  toutes  sortes,  tels  que:  le  sac  magique 
(conte  22),  la  baguette  merveilleuse,  les  cartes  qui  gagnent  a  souhait 
(conte  23),  et  les  taches  indelebiles  de  sang  (conte  28). 

L'origine  et  la  formation  d'une  grande  partie  de  cette  litt^rature 
orale  remontent  a  des  temps  recul^s.  Quand  la  composition  d'un 
r^cit  est  relativement  moderne,  les  sources,  les  themes  et  le  modele 
en  sont  souvent  anciens.  II  va  de  soi  que  ces  recits,  en  passant  de 
bouche  en  bouche,  sont  sujets  a  une  decadence  et  a  une  renovation 
graduelles,  au  cours  des  transmissions  seculaires.  La  memoire  des 
conteurs  a  souvent  fait  defaut;  ou  encore  certains  traits  appartenant 
d'abord  a  un  recit  se  glissent  dans  d'autres.  Les  moyens  de  style,  les 
noms  des  personnages,  les  themes  mythologiques,  les  episodes,  les 
incidents  et  maints  traits  caracteristiques  s'echangent  ou  font  place 
a  d'autres.  Ce  procede  opere  souvent  sans  que  les  conteurs  eux-memes 
s'en  rendent  compte.  II  ne  faut  pas  toutefois  s'exagerer  I'etendue  de 
ces  variations  qui  ne  troublent  que  legerement  la  remarquable  fixite 

1  Dans  la  serie  de  contes  suivants,  toutes  ces  categories  ne  sont  pas  egale- 
ment  bien  representees.     Ainsi  on  n'y  trouvera  que  trois  fables,  1,  40,  et  41. 


6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

des  textes  traditionnels.  Les  centaines  de  versions  peu  divergentes 
de  nombreux  contes  populaires,  que  les  folkloristes  compilateurs  ont 
retrouvees  dans  toutes  les  parties  de  I'Europe  et  au-dela,  demontrent 
la  fidelite  etonnante  de  la  memoire  collective. 

Ce  n'est  pas  notre  but  d'entreprendre  ici  I'etude  comparee  des 
contes  et  des  legendes  de  ce  recueil,  et  dont  aucun  n'est  foncierement 
original  ou  canadien.  La  tache  moins  ambitieuse  d'en  reunir  les 
principaux  traits  d'interet  general  en  une  liste  graduee  contribuera  a 
en  rendre  I'acces  plus  facile  pour  une  etude  comparee. 

FORME    ET    STYLE. 

1.  For  mules  initiales.  —  (a)  "Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire, 
c'etait.  . . ;"  "II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'etait.  .  ."  (voir  les 
contes  3,  18,  20,  27,  29,  30,  33,  36,  39).  (6)  "Une  fois,  vour  vous 
dire..."  (formule  employee  dans  le  comte  de  Rimouski,  P.  Q.). 
(c)  "Une  fois  c'etait.  .  . ",  "II  etait,  une  fois.  .  . ,"  "Une  fois,  il  y  avait 
..."  (voir  1,  2,  40,  42,  44).     {d)  "Un  jour,  c'est.  .  ."  (30). 

2.  Formules  finales.  —  (a)  ".  .  .Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici  vous 
le  raconter"  (3,  16,  17).  (6)  ".  .  .Et  moi*  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici  avec 
pas  un  sou."  ".  .  .Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici.  Je  leur  avals  aide, 
mais  ils  ne  m'ont  pas  donne  un  sou"  (2).  (c)  "  .  .  .  Et  moi,  elle  a  voulu 
m'engager  pour  que  je  reste  au  chateau;  mais  je  n'ai  pas  voulu.  Qui 
salt?  Ce  Jean-Parle,  etant  sorcier,  reviendrait  peut-etre!  J'ai 
aime  mieux  rester  ici  pour  vous  en  raconter  I'histoire"  (28).  (d)  "... 
Et  9a  finit  la.  Je  ne  sais  pas  ce  qui  leur  est  arrive  depuis;  car  ga  fait 
longtemps  que  je  ne  suis  pas  alle  les  voir;"  ".  .  .  Je  pense  qu'ils  ont 
toujours  bien  vecu;  mais  je  ne  le  sais  pas,  comme  je  ne  suis  pas  all6 
les  voir  depuis;"  ".  .  .J'etais  aux  noces;  mais  depuis  ce  temps,  je  n'ai 
pas  revu  ces  gens-la;"  ".  .  .Je  suis  passe  par  la  I'automne  dernier,  et 
Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  que  j'ai  vu,  m'a  paru  bien  portant"  (4,  6,  16,  19). 
(e)  "...Et  ils  vecurent  tous  comme  des  bienheureux;"  "...II  vit 
comme  un  bienheureux,  et  ccetera;"  "...II  resta  toujours  avec  sa 
mere,  vivant  heureux  et  aime  des  voisins  et  de  tout  le  village;"  "...  Ou 
il  regna  longtemps  avec  bonheur;"  ".  .  .lis  demeurerent  avec  leurs 
parents,  contents  et  heureux,  jusqu'a  la  fin  de  leurs  jours;"  ".  .  .11  faut 
qu'elle  se  trouve  bien  la  ou  elle  est,  puisqu'elle  n'en  revient  pas.  J'en 
juge  par  la;"  "...  Martineau-pain-sec  est  reste  chez  le  roi,  oil  il  a  tou- 
jours bien  vecu;"  ".  .  .  Je  pense  qu'il  a  passe  des  beaux  jours  et  qu'il 
s'amuse  encore;"  ".  .  .Us  ont  vecu  ensemble  dans  le  bonheur"  (1,  18, 
45,  42,  43,  33,  20,  5,  27).  (/)"..  .Et  depuis  ce  temps,  il  n'a  jamais 
eu  I'idee  d'y  retourner;"  ".  .  .Et  le  diable  I'a  emporte;"  ".  .  .Et  c'est 
tout"  (29,  30,  39). 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  7 

3.  Reiours  et  randonn^es. —  (a)  La  petite,  et  Zacharie  (46,  47). 
(6)  Minette  m'a  vol^  mes  roulettes  (37). 

4.  Maximes,  proverbes.^  —  "...II  faut  faire  le  bien  pour  le  mal" 
(10);  ''.  .  .On  dit  qu'un  bienfait  n'est  jamais  perdu"  (25);  le  loup  est 
puni  pour  ses  mensonges  (41);  ".  .  .suffit  que  deux  si  belles  personnes 
s'^taient  promises  par  serment.  ..  C'est  une  punition  du  bon  Dieu" 
(11). 

5.  Marche,  marche.^  —  ".  .  .Marche,  marche,  marche.  . .  arrive  au 
petit  sentier"  (6);  "...Prend  le  sentier,  marche,  marche.  .  ."(20); 
"...Prend  le  chemin,  puis  le  petit  sentier,...  marche,  marche..." 
(4);  "...Ti-Jean  marche  jusqu'au  bout  du  chemin,  prend  le  petit 
sentier.  .  ."  (6);  etc. 

6.  Epithetes.  —  "Mon  ver  de  terre!"  ".  .  .ver  de  terre!"  ".  .  .Petit 
ver  de  terre!" — Epithetes  qu'emploient  les  grants  et  le  Corps-sans- 
4me  k  regard  de  personnages  de  petite  taille  (13,  3,  42);  etc. 

7.  Parole  ou  foi  de  roi!  —  (a)  "Foi  de  prince,  de  princesse  et  de 
roi!"  (7);  ".  .  .Parole  de  roi!  il  faut  que  tu  paries.  .  ."  (12);  ".  ..Parole 
de  prince!  il  faut  que  vous  me  racontiez.  .  ."  (27).  (b)  "Je  ne  peux 
pas  mentir  a  ma  parole;  il  me  faut  done  payer"  (39);  "La  parole  du 
roi  en  est  donn^e,  il  faut  bien  que  la  princesse  Spouse  le  petit  gargon" 
(7,  12).     (c)  "Le  roi  a  trois  paroles"  (6). 

8.  Pas  plus  que.  .  . —  Le  roi  dit:  "Un  beau  prince.  .  .est  venu .  .  ." 
La  princesse  r^pond:  "Pas  plus  beau  que  mon  petit  teigneux!" — 
"Tais-toi,  ou  je..."  (4);  le  roi  dit  "un  monsieur..." — "Pas  plus 
monsieur  que  moi!"  r^pond  Ti-Jean.     "Tais-toi!.  .  ."  (3). 

9.  Un  de  plus  a  manger. —  Le  geant  ou  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes  dit  k 
plusieurs  reprises:  "Je  pensais  n'en  avoir  qu'un  a  manger,  mais  j'en 
aurai  deux,"  ou  "Je  pensais  n'en  avoir  que  deux  et  j'en  aurai  trois." 
L'autre  repond:  "Tu  vas  toujours  bien  les  gagner!"  (3,  5). 

10.  Mouchoir  enveloppe.  —  ".  .  .11  enveloppe  les  langues  de  la  Bete- 
a-sept-tetes  dans  son  mouchoir"  (5);  "...il  coupe  les  sept  langues 
de  la  bete,  et  les  met  dans  son  mouchoir.  .  ."  (42);  "Ti-Jean  met  les 
sept  galettes  de  sarrasin  dans  son  mouchoir.  .  ."  (42);  le  proteg^  du 
lion,  de  I'aigle  et  de  la  chenille  enveloppe  dans  son  mouchoir  les 
talismans  qu'ils  lui  donnent  (2). 

11.  Cheminee. —  (o)  La  vieille  monte  dans  la  chemin6e;  on  tire 
r^chelle;  elle  tombe  dans  le  chaudron  d'huile  bouillante,  ou  elle  se 
tue  (3);  le  loup  monte  dans  la  cheminee,  tombe  dans  le  chaudron 
d'eau  bouillante,  ou  il  meurt  (40) ;  la  vieille  descend  par  la  cheminee, 

1  Les  maximes,  les  proverbes,  les  conclusions  et  les  morales  ne  se  ren- 
contrent  h  peu  pres  jamais,  dans  les  contes  canadiens. 

2  Des  mots  caracteristiques  serviront  dans  la  suite  k  designer  brievement 
les  traits  mythologiques  d'int6ret  g^n^ral  ou  compart. 


8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

et  meurt  dans  le  chaudron  d'eau  bouillante  (45);  (6)  trois  hommes 
noirs  sortent  de  la  cheminee  (22);  Parle  grimpe  dans  la  cheminee  et 
verse  du  sel  dans  le  chaudron  des  geants  (13);  la  vieille  descend  par  la 
cheminee  dans  la  maison  du  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  (45). 

12.  Sous  le  lit. —  (a)  Les  bottes  et  le  violon  du  geant  sont  enchain^s 
sous  le  lit,  et  Parlafine  et  Parle  y  vont  plusieurs  fois  pour  s'en  emparer 
(13,  14);  Petit-Jean  se  cache  sous  le  lit  des  grants,  qu'il  tue  pendant 
leur  sommeil  (15).  (6)  Le  cocassier  met  son  panier  sous  le  lit  de  son 
hotesse  (29). 

13.  Galerie}  —  "...Se  promene  sur  la  galerie..."  (3,  10,  18); 
.  .  .laisse  le  sac  sur  la  galerie  (21). 

14.  Langage  imite  ou  deforme.  —  Le  conteur  imite  la  prononciation 
d'un  Gascon,  vers  la  fin  (3);  imitation  du  langage  d'une  idiote  (11). 

15.  Chansons  citees. —  Chansons  de  banquet  (29);  chanson  de 
Cacholet  (29). 

THEMES    OU    TRAITS    MYTHOLOGIQUES. 

Nombres  mystiques. 

16.  Trois.  —  (a)  le  roi  donne  leur  heritage  a  ses  trois  fils  qui 
partent  en  voyage  (10) ;  le  roi  donne  trois  cents  piastres  a  ses  trois 
fils  (10);  le  roi  et  ses  trois  fils,  Cordon-bleu,  Cordon-vert  et  Petit- 
Jean  (6);  Brise-bois,  Brise-montagnes  et  Petit-Jean,  les  trois  com- 
pagnons  forts  (16);  les  trois  filles  de  la  veuve,  Charlotte,  Javotte  et 
Finette  (28) ;  les  trois  filles  pauvres  (27) ;  les  trois  fils,  Pierre,  Jacques 
et  Jean  (42);  les  trois  filles,  Josephine,  Therese  et  Margoulette  (33); 
les  trois  freres  et  les  trois  chevaux  protecteurs  (5) ;  les  trois  fils  pauvres, 
Pierre,  Jacques  et  Jean  (43) ;  les  trois  fils  de  la  veuve,  Georges,  Charles 
et  Jean  (13);  Jacquelin,  Jacqueline  et  Couleuvrine.  (6)  Les  trois 
grants  (3,  16,  12,  20);  les  trois  princesses  "gardees"  (16);  les  trois 
chiens  du  geant  (11);  les  trois  secrets  du  lion,  de  Tours  et  du  loup  (1); 
les  trois  animaux  dans  le  Corps-sans-ame  (2);  les  trois  hommes  noirs 
sortant  de  la  cheminee  (22) ;  les  trois  fermiers  du  roi  (39) ;  les  trois  vo- 
leurs  (43);  les  trois  chasseurs  (35);  les  trois  Gascons  (18,  36).  (c)  Les 
trois  obstacles  magiques  (4);  les  trois  coups  de  lime  pour  couper  la 
chaine  de  trois  pouces  qui  retient  les  bottes  du  geant  (13);  les  trois 
ceufs  d'or  de  la  poule  (43);  ''Tu  n'as  que  trois  fois  a  eteindre  mon  feu," 
ou  k  faire  cela  "avant  que  je  te  donne  la  plus  fine  volee"  (15,  16);  les 
trois  combats  de  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes  (4,  5);  les  trois  gages  de  la 
princesse  (12);  les  trois  concours  des  fils  du  roi  pour  gagner  la  cou- 
ronne  (6);  Dom  Jean  se  leve  a  trois  heures  pour  travailler  (39).  (d) 
Dans  les  contes  modernes,  ce  nombre  mystique  se  retrouve  encore 

1  Ce  trait  est  peut-etre  purement  canadien. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  9 

souvent,  soit:  trois  sacs  de  grain,  trois  gerbes  de  bl^  (31);  ma  hache 
"dont  je  coupais  un  orme  en  trois  coups"  (32);  trois  grands  cabarouets 
bien  pleins  (33). 

17.  Sept.  —  (a)  Les  sept  filles  du  geant,  les  sept  enfants  pauvres 
(14).  (6)  La  Bete-a-sept-tetes  (5,  42);  les  Sept-montagnes-vertes  (7); 
Ti-Jean  compte  les  sept  tetes  de  la  bete,  et  la  reveille  en  criant:  "Sept!" 
(42).  (c)  Le  violon  du  geant  "qu'on  entend  a  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde," 
ou  "qui  fait  danser  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde;" les  bottes  de  sept  lieues, ou 
"qui  font  sept  lieues  au  pas"  (13, 14).  (d)  Antoine  et  Josephine  vivent 
sept  ans  seuls  dans  les  bois  (12);  Petit- Jean-petit-bois  essaie  ses 
forces  a  Fage  de  sept  ans.  Ne  se  trouvant  pas  encore  assez  fort,  il 
retourne  chez  sa  mere,  ou  il  reste  encore  sept  ans  (15);  les  trois  freres 
demandent  a  leur  mere  sept  petites  galettes  de  sarrasin  (42). 

18.  Quatre. —  Les  quatre  Vents  grants,  Norde,  Suroit,  Su  et  Nord 
(10);  Petit-Jean  fend  la  petite  Capuche-bleue  en  quatre  quartiers 
(16);  quatre  grants  (10);  les  quatre  chevaux  de  la  princesse  m^tamor- 
phosee  (6);  Parle  va  quatre  fois  chez  le  geant  (13). 

19.  Cent  et  un. —  (a)  line  fee  "cent  fois  plus  m^chante  que  moi" 
(7);  "le  dragon  de  feu  sera  cent  fois  plus  fort  qu'hier"  (3);  (6)  Ti-Jean 
ne  se  mariera  a  la  princesse  que  dans  un  an  et  un  jour  (7);  Petit- Jean 
se  fait  construire  un  palais  cent  fois  plus  beau  que  celui  du  roi  (10); 
".  .  .pour  un  an  et  un  careme"  (30).  (c)  La  princesse  cause  une  heu- 
re  avec  Petit- Jean;  la  f^e  dort  une  heure  chaque  jour  (7). 

20.  Autres  nomhres. —  Les  trente  aunes  de  toile  dans  une  noix 
merveilleuse  (6);  la  fee  dit  a  Cendrillon  de  revenir  avant  minuit,  car 
au  coup  de  minuit  I'enchantement  doit  finir  (9).  Le  nombre  deux 
se  trouve  aussi,  mais  rarement. 

Talismans,  Charmes,  Objets  et  Faits  Merveilleux. 

21.  Baguette  magique.  —  (a)  Petit- Jean  ordonne  a  la  baguette, 
qu'il  a  regue  d'une  fee,  de  nettoyer  les  ^curies  du  roi;  ce  qu'elle  fait  en 
un  instant.  II  lui  fait  aussi  couper  la  tete  du  geant  (42) ;  saint  Jacques 
donne  une  baguette  magique  a  Pipette,  qui  s'en  sert  pour  se  faire 
construire  un  chateau  et  pour  coller  la  Mort  dans  un  c^nellier  (23). 
(6)  Pois-verts  feint  de  posseder  un  fouet  magique  qui  fait  bouillir  la 
soupe  sans  feu  (21). 

22.  Baton  tape!  —  La  magicienne  donne  un  gourdin  a  Petit-Jean. 
En  disant  de  bonne  foi  "Joue  mon  gourdin!"  le  baton  se  met  a  f rapper 
qui  veut  son  maitre,  jusqu'a  ce  qu'il  le  rappelle  (18);  "Fesse,  baton 
rond!"ou  "Guerre,  mon  rond  bdton!"  (19);  "Baton,  tape!"  (43). 

23.  Repas  miraculeux.  —  (a)  Serviette  donnant  a  boire  et  a  manger 
quand  on  le  lui  ordonne  (19);  "Nappe,  mets  la  table!"  (43).     (6)  Un 


10  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

boeuf  dit  a  son  protege  de  prendre  dans  son  oreille  un  petit  morceau 
de  toile  et  un  de  fer,  et  de  les  mettre  a  terre;  la  toile  devient  une  tente, 
et  le  fer,  un  poele ;  et  un  repas  y  est  servi  (3) ;  Larrivee  se  fait  servir 
un  repas  par  son  sac  merveilleux  (22). 

24.  Durandal.^  —  Le   sabre   invincible    de    Petit-Jean    (4,  10,  16). 

25.  Autres  "souhaite-vertus."" — (a)  Notre-Seigneur  donne  a  Larri- 
vee un  sac  merveilleux,  dans  lequel  entre  tout  ce  qu'il  y  souhaite 
(22).  (6)  Petit-Jean  trouve  un  sifflet  merveilleux,  au  chateau  des 
geants.  Quand  il  y  souffle,  quelqu'un  repond:  "Que  voulez-vous, 
maitre  ?"  et  il  accomplit  tous  les  souhaits  (3) ;  Pois-verts,  parodiant  le 
merveilleux,  pretend  ressusciter  les  morts  avec  son  sifflet  (21).  (c)  Un 
poil  blanc  de  la  patte  du  lion,  une  plume  blanche  de  Taile  de  I'aigle, 
une  patte  de  la  chenille  donnent  le  pouvoir  a  un  jeune  homme  de  se 
transformer  en  lion,  en  aigle  ou  en  chenille  (2).  (d)  Notre-Seigneur 
donne  a  Pipette  un  jeu  de  cartes  avec  lequel  il  gagne  quand  il  le 
souhaite  (23). ^ 

26.  Agents  surnaturels.  —  Une  lime  coupant  un  pouce  du  coup  (13) 
une  petite  noix  contenant  trente  aunes  de  belle  toile  du  pays  (6) 
feuilles  rendant  la  vue  aux  aveugles  qui  s'en  frottent  les  paupi^res 
un  crapaud  causant  la  maladie  du  roi  en  se  tenant  sous  son  lit  (1) 

27.  Moisson  d'or.  —  (a)  La  poule  pondant  For  quand  on  le  lui 
ordonne  (43) ;  I'ane  crottant  Tor  et  Targent  quand  on  lui  frappe  sur  la 
queue  (18,  19).  (b)  Le  pommier  aux  fruits  d'or  du  roi  (11);  le  jardin 
aux  fruits  defendus,  garde  par  des  taureaux  aux  longues  cornes  d'acier 
{le  jardin  des  Esperides)  (3).  (c)  La  fontaine  d'oii  coule  I'or  et  dont  le 
contact  dore  pour  toujours  (4);  des  perles,  de  Tor  et  des  fleurs  tombent 
de  la  bouche  de  Cendrillon  (9). 

28.  Don  d'invisibilite.  —  La  ceinture  que  Petit-Jean  obtient  d'une 
fee  le  rend  invisible  quand  il  s'en  ceint  les  reins  (42) ;  Petit-Jean-petit- 
bois  obtient  un  'habit  couleur  d'invisible',  avec  lequel  il  entre  chez  le 
geant  sans  etre  vu  (13). 

29.  Bottes  de  sept  lieues.  —  Les  bottes  "qui  marchent  sept  lieues 
le  pas"  (13);  les  bottes  de  sept  lieues  (14). 

30.  Sept  lieues  a  la  ronde. —  (a)  Le  violon  du  g^ant  qu'on  entend 
jouer  a  sept  lieues  h  la  ronde  (14);  le  violon  des  geants  qui  fait  danser 
sept  lieues  h  la  ronde  (13);  le  violon  des  geants  (16);  la  jument  qui 

1  L'^pee  fabuleuse  de  Roland  ^tait  sans  doute  de  la  m6me  trempe  que  celle 
de  Petit-Jean. 

2  Souhaite-vertus  est  le  terme  que  les  conteurs  du  comte  de  Kamouraaka 
emploient  pour  designer  ces  objets  merveilleux  operant  k  souhait. 

3  II  est  probable  que  des  talismans,  dont  la  nature  a  ete  oubli^e,  op^raient 
dans  les  cas  suivants  :  1.  Ti-Jean  se  fait  bdtir  un  chdteau  de  cristal  cent  foia 
plus  beau  que  celui  du  roi  (10);  2.  Son  souhait  h  I'efifet  d'dtre  transporte  au  pays 
lointain  d'un  roi  est  immediatement  accompli  (10). 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  11 

boit  la  moitie  de  la  mer  et  qui  eteint  le  dragon  de  feu  sept  lieues  a  la 
ronde  (3). 

31.  Eau  de  Jouvence.  —  L'eau  de  la  rajeunie,  ou  qui  rajeunit,  venant 
de  la  fontaine  gardee  par  la  vieille  fee  (8). 

32.  Sommeil  enchante.  —  (o)  Des  marins  font  prendre  de  l'eau 
d'endormie,  ou  eau  de  sommeil,  a  Petit-Jean,  qui  s'endort  aussitot 
(10).  (6)  Le  roi  envoie  sa  servante  endormir  Petit- Jean;  et  aussitot 
qu'elle  approche  de  lui,  elle  reussit  a  le  faire.  Malgr^  tous  ses  efforts, 
la  princesse  ne  peut  pas  le  reveiller  (7). 

33.  Talon  d'Achille.  —  (a)  On  ne  peut  tuer  la  petite  chienne  gar- 
dant  la  princesse  qu'en  I'atteignant  dans  la  petite  lune  blanche,  au 
milieu  de  son  front  (12).  (6)  Pour  d^truire  le  Corps-sans-dme,  il  faut 
tuer  le  lion,  F^ventrer,  y  saisir  !e  pigeon,  prendre  les  trois  ceufs  dans 
le  corps  du  pigeon  et  les  casser  sur  le  front  du  Corps-sans-ame  (2). 

34.  Luminaires  dechus.  —  (a)  Le  soleil  des  grants  qui  6claire,  la 
nuit,  dans  leur  souterrain  (16).  (6)  La  lune  du  g^ant  'qui  ^claire 
notre  besoin',  qu'on  tient  renferm^e  dans  une  boite,  et  qu'on  place 
sur  le  bas  cote  (petite  maison)  pour  s'en  servir  (13). 

35.  Obstacles  magiques. —  Etant  poursuivi  par  la  sorciere,Petit-Jean 
jette  une  etrille  derriere  lui;  I'^trille  devient  une  montagne  d'^trilles 
dans  laquelle  la  sorciere  s'empetre;  une  bride  et  une  bouteille  devien- 
nent  successivement  une  montagne  de  brides,  une  montagne  de  bou- 
teilles  (4). 

36.  Taches  indelebiles.  —  (a)  Charlotte  et  Javotte  ne  r^ussissent 
pas  a  enlever  le  sang  ou  la  rouille  qui  s'attache  a  la  clef,  quand  elles 
ouvrent  la  porte  que  Jean-Parle  leur  a  d^fendu  d'ouvrir;  Finette, 
6tant  sorciere,  reussit  a  enlever  les  taches  de  sang  sur  la  boule  d'or  et 
sur  la  clef  (28).  (6)  Petit-Jean  ne  peut  plus  enlever  Tor  qui  s'attache 
a  son  doigt  quand  il  le  trempe  a  la  fontaine  d'or  que  la  sorciere  lui  a 
defendu  de  visiter  (4). 

37.  Nourriture  dormant  la  force.  —  (a)  Avant  de  se  battre  avec  le 
lion,  Petit-Jean  se  fait  faire  de  la  bouillie  (qui  semble  douee  de  vertus 
magiques)  (2).     (6)  La  bouillie  est  la  nourriture  des  grants  (3,  13). 

38.  La  femme  de  Loth.  —  Une  voix  en  arriere  appelle  Pierre;  il  finit 
par  se  retourner,  et  il  regoit  en  plein  front  un  coup  de  massue  qui  1'^- 
tend  par  terre;  et  il  en  est  ainsi  de  son  frere  (42). 

39.  Jonas.— Apres  lui  avoir  donn6  de  l'eau  de  sommeil,  les  marins 
jettent  Petit-Jean  a  la  mer.  II  se  reveille  dans  le  ventre  d'une  baleine 
qui  I'a  avale.  II  la  mene  s'echouer  sur  une  ile,  ou  il  retrouve  sa  li- 
berty (10). 

40.  Les  pets  du  loup. —  Le  loup  pete,  detruisant  ainsi  les  maisons 
de  la  poule  et  de  la  dinde.  Ce  moyen  ne  reussit  point  a  d^truireja^ 
maison  du  renard  (40). 


12  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

41.  Tresors.  —  Petit-Jean,  sur  la  mer,  apergoit  au  loin  une  mon- 
tagne  d'or  et  une  montagne  d 'argent;  il  en  charge  deux  navires  qu'il 
renvoie  au  roi  (10);  Dom  Jean  pardonne  au  roi  etranger  a  condition 
qu'il  lui  remette  un  batiment  charge  d'or  pur  (39) ;  le  heros  trouve  le 
tr6sor  des  geants,  des  tonnes  d'or  (42). 

42.  La  toison  d'or.  —  (a)  Petit-Jean  se  trempe  les  cheveux  dans  la 
fontaine  de  la  sorciere,  et  en  revient  avec  des  cheveux  d'or  (4).  (6)  Un 
beau  cheval,  le  crin  en  argent  et  ferre  en  or  (6). 

43.  Chateau  dans  les  airs. —  La  maison  dans  les  airs  que  Petit- Jean 
fait  porter  par  ses  quatre  aigles  (39). 

44.  Fontaines  miraculeuses. —  (a)  Tout  le  village  souffre  de  la 
soif;  le  heros  n'a  qu'a  enlever  une  pierre  sous  I'eglise  pour  que  I'eau 
jaillisse  (1).  (b)  La  fontaine  d'eau  qui  rajeunit,  gardee  par  la  magi- 
cienne  (8);  la  fontaine  de  Paris,  dont  I'eau  guerit  certains  maux  (29). 

Monstres  et  Personnages  Mythologigues. 

45.  Monstres.  —  Le  Corps-sans-ame,  un  monstre  apparaissant  sou- 
vent  sous  la  forme  d'un  lion  (2) ;  le  dragon  de  feu  (3) ;  la  Bete-^-sept- 
tetes  (5,  42) ;  la  petite  Capuche-bleue  (16) ;  la  hcorne,  qui  tue  tout  le 
monde  (20). 

46.  Geants.  —  Les  trois  geants,  le  premier,  de  dix  pieds  de  haut,  le 
deuxieme,  de  vingt  pieds,  le  troisieme,  de  trente  pieds  (3) ;  quatre  grants 
ayant  des  faux  de  vingt-cinq  pieds  de  longueur  (10);  les  trois  geants 
qui  jouent  aux  cartes  et  veulent  delivrer  la  princesse  (12);  le  geant,  sa 
femme  et  sa  fille,  a  qui  Parle  joue  des  tours  (13);  le  geant,  sa  femme 
et  ses  sept  filles;  les  geants  qui  ne  traversent  jamais  I'eau  (14);  les 
geants  Brise-bois,  Brise-montagne  et  Petit- Jean  (16);  Petit- Jean-petit- 
bois,  a  quatorze  ans,  le  plus  fort  des  hommes  (15) ;  les  trois  geants 
portent  des  arbres  et  des  tonnes  d'eau  (20);  les  geants  de  dix  pieds 
de  haut,  et  la  Bete-^-sept-tetes  (42). 

47.  Ogres  et  leurs  femmes. —  Le  geant  ogre  sent  la  viande  fraiche, 
les  sept  petits  enfants  que  sa  femme  cherche  a  lui  soustraire  (14);  les 
geants  sentent  la  viande  fraiche,  quand  Petit-Jean  est  cache  sous 
leur  lit  (16);  les  quatre  Vents  renoncent  a  devorer  Petit-Jean,  qui 
les  apaise  en  leur  donnant  un  baril  de  pore  et  un  de  biscuits  (10). 

48.  Noms  des  heros  et  des  personnages. — Petit-Jean  (3,  4,  5,  6, 
10,  16,  18,  42,  43);  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  (15);  Dom  Jean  (39);  Parle 
(13);  Parlafine  ou  Petit-Poucet  (14);  Jean-Parle  (28);  Ti-Pierre  et 
Jacqueline  (33);  Pierre  (42,  43);  Cendrillon  (9);  Cendrouillonne  (8); 
Vent-de-nord'e,  Vent-de-sur'oi,  Vent-du-su  et  Vent-de-nord  (10); 
le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  (11);  Antoine  et  Josephine  (12);  Josephine, 
Tharese  et  Margoulette  (33);  Martineau-pain-sec  (20);  Pois- verts  (21); 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  13 

Larrivee  (22) ;  Pipette  (23) ;  Michel  Morin  (30,  32,  32) ;  le  nomm6  Ri- 
chard (34);  Gilbert  (44);  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  (45);  un  roi, 
un  prince  ou  une  princesse  (1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12,  13,  15, 
16,  17,  20,  27,  29,  39,  42,  44);  Notre-Seigneur,  saint  Pierre  et  saint 
Jacques  (22,  23);  le  cure  (11,  8,  21,  28);  des  Gascons  (18,  36);  le 
cocassier  (29). 

49.  Animaux  parlants.  —  Le  lion.  Tours  et  le  loup  (1);  le  lion,raigle 
et  la  chenille  (2) ;  les  chevaux  parlants  (5) ;  le  loup  et  le  renard  (40) ; 
le  loup,  la  dinde,  la  poule  et  le  renard  (41). 

50.  Fees,  sorciers  ou  magiciens.  —  (a)  Une  fee  est  la  maitresse  de 
tous  les  animaux,  une  autre,  de  tous  les  oiseaux  (8);  f^es  protectrices 
(7,  8,  9,  10,  18,  19,  28,  42,  43).  (6)  Magiciens  et  sorciers  (4,  17). 
(c)  Le  genisse  fee  (42). 

51.  Le  diable.  — (a)  Le  diable  se  deguise  en  homme  et  va  k  la  re- 
cherche d'ames(24,25).  (6)Le  diable  a  un  mouHn  ou  il  moud  le  grain; 
il  se  querelle  avec  Petit- Jean-petit-bois  (15).  (c)  Le  diable  vient 
chercher  Pipette  sur  la  terre  (22,  23,  30). 

52.  Les  dmes.  —  Les  ames  de  Larrivee  et  de  Pipette  s'en  vont  dans 
I'autre  monde  (22,  23) ;  un  revenant  s'engage  sur  la  terre  pour  gagner 
sa  dette  (25). 

53.  Anthropomorphisme.  —  (a)  La  Mort  est  envoyee  par  Dieu  sur 
la  terre  (23);  la  Mort  guette  Michel  Morin  (30,  31).  (6)  Les  quatre 
Vents,  qui  sont  des  geants  ogres  (16). 

54.  Les  cadets  favoris.  —  (a)  Parlafine,  le  plus  jeune  de  sept  freres, 
est  ruse  (14);  le  plus  jeune  de  trois  freres  est  d'une  habilete  extraordi- 
naire, bien  que  ses  freres  le  considerent  comme  un  idiot  (13,  5,  6,  42); 
Petit-Jean  choisit  la  troisieme  fille  du  roi,  qui  est  la  plus  belle  (4) ;  la 
plus  jeune  de  trois  soeurs,  la  plus  belle,  devient  reine  (27). 

55.  Les  cadets  habiles  et  ruses.  —  Antoine  vise,  et  ses  filches  ne 
manquent  jamais  le  but;  les  geants  finissent  par  perir  de  sa  main  (12) ; 
Parlafine  et  Parle  reussissent,  a  force  de  ruses,  a  enlever  les  talismans 
du  geant,  et  a  le  faire  perir  (13,  14);  Finette,  la  cadette,  conduit 
Jean-Parle  a  sa  perte  (28). 

56.  Les  solitaires.  —  Un  petit  gargon  et  sa  sceur  grandissent  seuls 
dans  les  bois  (11);  Antoine  et  Josephine  passent  sept  ans  seuls  dans  les 
bois  (12). 

57.  Les  metamorphoses.  —  Le  cheval  blanc  aidant  Petit-Jean  est  un 
beau  prince  metamorphose  (4);  la  chatte  blanche  est  une  princesse 
transformee  (6) ;  la  princesse  vient  sous  la  forme  d'une  nuee  (7). 


14  Journal  of  American  Folh-Lore. 


Fails  Domestiques. 

58.  Enfants  perdus.  —  Des  parents  pauvres  abandonnent  leurs 
enfants  dans  les  bois  (13,  14);  les  scEurs  jalouses  deposent  un  enfant 
dans  une  corbeille  d'or,  au  bord  des  flots,  pour  qu'il  disparaisse  (27). 

59.  Faibles  opprimes.  —  (a)  Des  belles-meres  maltraitent  leurs 
enfants  (3,  8,  9).  (6)  Un  veuf  maltraite  son  fils,  Petit-Jean  (4); 
un  mari  persecute  sa  femme,  et  une  femme  son  mari  (19,  24). 

60.  S'en  vont  chercher  fortune.  —  (a)A3'ant  regu  leur  heritage. 
Pipette,  Martineau-pain-sec  et  Ti-Pierre  quittent  la  raaison  paternelle 
(20,  23,  33).  (6)  Les  enfants  de  parents  pauvres  s'en  vont  gagner 
leur  vie  ou  chercher  fortune  (2,  18,  43).  (c)  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  k 
quatorze  ans,  quitte  sa  mere  et  s'en  va  gagner  sa  vie  (15);  Petit-Jean 
va  commencer  (18). 

61.  Souhait  de  mariage  realise. — Trois  soeurs  souhaitent  de  se  marier, 
I'une  a  un  boulanger,  I'autre  a  un  boucher,  la  plus  jeune  au  roi;  le  roi 
I'apprend,  par  indiscretion,  et  realise  leur  d^sir  (27). 

62.  Au  service  d'un  maitre.—  (a)  Petit-Jean  et  le  fils  de  la  veuve 
vont  s'engager  dans  I'armee  du  roi  (4,  13).  (6)  Petit-Jean  va  s'enga- 
ger  comme  jardinier  chez  le  roi,  mais  devient  un  valeureux  soldat 
(4);  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  Petit-Jean  et  Martineau-pain-sec  s'enga- 
gent  chez  le  roi  pour  faire  tous  les  ouvrages  difficiles  (15,  42,  20); 
Petit-Jean  s'engage  comme  cuisinier  chez  la  princesse  des  Sept-mon- 
tagnes-vertes  (7).  (c)  Un  jeune  homme  s'engage  pour  garder  les 
chevaux  de  la  magicienno,  les  moutons  de  la  vieille  ou  les  cochons  du 
roi  (4,  2,  3).  {d)  Pois-verts  est  le  serviteur  du  cur^  (21).  (e)  Dom 
Jean  est  I'esclave  du  roi  (39). 

63.  Adoptions.  —  Le  petit  gargon  perdu  sur  mer  est  adopts  par 
le  capitaine  d'un  navire;  perdu  encore,  il  est  adopts  par  le  roi  qui  le 
fait  instruire  (10);  une  vieille  femme  adopte  I'enfant  trouve  dans  la 
corbeille  d'or,  au  bord  de  I'eau  (27) ;  le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  adopte 
la  vieille  sorciere  et  sa  fille  (11);  le  prince  adopte  le  vieux  et  la  vieille 
qui  ont  protege  son  enfant  (27). 

64.  Fidelite  conjugale.  —  Pendant  qu'elle  envoie  son  mari  lui  chercher 
de  I'eau  de  la  fontaiue  de  Paris,  une  femme  reyoit  la  visite  du  prince 
(29). 

Protection  Surnaturelle. 

65.  Les  fees  conseilleres.  —  (a)  La  fee  protege  Cendrillon,  lui  donne 
dos  habits  et  I'envoie  au  bal  (19);  une  fee  console  et  guide  Petit-Jean 
dans  ses  tribulations  (7);  une  vieille  magicienne  donne  des  conseils 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  15 

k  Ti-Jean  et  lui  dit  comment  il  peut  detruire  les  geants  (10).     (6) 
Parlafine  va  voir  sa  marraine  et  regoit  d'elle  de  la  laine  et  du  pain  (13). 

66.  La  fee  Parole. — La  fee  gardant  la  fontaine  d'eau  de  sommeil  dit 
a  Cendrillon  de  lui  chercher  des  poux  dans  la  tete;  Cendrillon  pretend 
y  trouver  des  grains  d'or  et  d'argent;  et  la  fee  la  recompense  disant: 
"Quand  tu  parleras,  des  fieurs  et  des  grains  d'or  et  d'argent  tomberont 
detabouche."  A  une  autre  qu'elle  hait  elle  dit :  "Quand  tu  parleras, 
il  tombera  de  ta  bouche  des  crapauds  et  des  couleuvres."  C6s  sou- 
haits  se  realisent  (8). 

67.  Dons  de  fees,  de  magiciens  et  d'autres  puissances. —  (a)  Pierre, 
Ti-Jean  et  Jacques  aident  une  vieille  fee  qui,  en  retour,  donne  a  Tun 
la  poule  aux  oeufs  d'or,  k  I'autre  le  baton  de  guerre,  la  nappe  au  repas 
servi,  la  ceinture  rendant  invisible,  la  baguette  magique  (42,  43). 
(b)  Une  magicienne  donne  h  Petit-Jean  la  serviette,  I'ane  et  le  baton 
merveilleux  (18,  19);  le  g^ant  donne  ses  chiens  doues  de  raison  au 
petit  orphelin  qui  lui  abandonne  ses  pelleteries  (11). 

68.  Chevaiix  protedeurs.  —  (a)  Le  cheval  blanc  —  un  prince  meta- 
morphose—  parle  k  Petit-Jean:  "Ne  me  bats  pas,  et  soigne-moi  bien; 
je  te  rendrai  service  plus  tard."  Et,  protege  par  son  cheval  blanc, 
Petit-Jean  surmonte  tous  les  obstacles,  d^livre  une  princesse,  qu'il 
Spouse  (4);  Petit-Jean  laisse  trois  chevaux,  un  blanc,  un  noir  et  un 
rouge,  manger  dans  la  grange  de  son  p^re;  et  les  chevaux  deviennent 
ses  protecteurs  (5).  (6)  De  son  sifflet  magique  Petit- Jean  obtient  la 
jument  qui  peut  boire  la  moitie  de  la  mer,  eteindre  le  dragon  de  feu, 
et  sauter  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or  mille  pieds  de  rond  d'air  (3). 

69.  Bceufs  protecteurs. —  (a)  Un  petit  bceuf  protege  un  petit  vacher, 
lui  donne  des  talismans,  et  k  sa  mort  se  fait  Scorcher  en  lui  disant  de 
se  revetir  de  sa  peau,  qui  le  rendra  plus  fort  que  tout  autre  au  monde 
(3);  une  g^nisse  fee  dit  k  Petit-Jean:  "Taille-moi  une  bahiche  de  la 
tete  k  la  queue,  et  la  babiche  attachera  tout  ce  que  tu  voudras"  (42). 
(6)  Bceufs  aux  cornes  d'acier  gardant  le  jardin  prohibe  (3). 

70.  Autres  animaux  protecteurs. —  (a)  Le  lion,  I'aigle  et  la  chenille 
r^compensent  un  service  en  donnant  des  talismans  (2) ;  de  gros  chiens 
obeissent  k  un  orphelin  qui  leur  envoie  chercher  des  habits,  de  la  nour- 
riture  et  de  Tor  (11).  (6)  Une  princesse  serait  morte  dans  son  cachot 
si  un  petit  chien  ne  lui  avait,  tous  les  matins,  apporte  un  morceau 
de  pain  par  le  soupirail  (27). 

71.  Le  rock.  — Un  gros  aigle,  ob^issant  k  la  magicienne,  transporte 
Petit-Jean  sur  son  dos  aux  Sept-montagnes-vertes ;  Petit-Jean  lui 
donne  k  manger  un  quartier  de  bceuf  et  un  morceau  de  sa  propre  chair, 
k,  defaut  d'autre  (7,  16). 

72.  Dons  du  Christ  et  des  apotres.  —  'En  reconnaissance  de  services 
que  rend  Larrivee,  Notre-Seigneur  lui  donne  un  sac  magique  dans 


16  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

lequel  il  trouvera  tout  ce  qu'il  souhaite  (22);  a  Pipette  pauvre,  mais 
genereux,  saint  Jacques  donne  la  baguette  merveilleuse,  et  Notre- 
Seigneur  les  cartes  gagnant  a  souhait  (23). 

73.  Secrets  gardes.  —  (a)  Les  chevaux  qui  protegent  Petit-Jean 
lui  disent:  "N'en  parle  pas!"  (5).  (6)  Les  secrets  du  lion,  de  Tours  et 
du  loup  (1). 

74.  Formules  ou  fails  magiques.—  (a)  Formules  attach^es  aux 
talismans:  "Adieu,  lion!"  "Adieu,  aigle!"  (2);  le  sifflet  magique  est 
accompagn^  d'un  homme  qui  dit:  "Que  voulez-vous,  maitre?" — 
"Je  veux.  . . ;"  a  sa  jument,  Petit-Jean  dit:  "Ma  jument,  bois  la  moiti6 
de  la  mer!"  "...  Ma  jument,  eteins  le  dragon  de  feu. .  . ,"  "Ma  jument, 
saute  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or  mille  pieds  de  rond  d'air;^^  a  ses  chiens 
il  crie:  "Fort,  Raide,  S'est-fait-tort,  Prends-ma-garde,  A-ton-maitre, 
Feu!"  Et  toutes  les  merveilles  d^sir^es  s'accomplissent  (3);  en  met- 
tant  un  collier  d'or  autour  du  cou  de  la  princesse,  la  magicienne  dit: 
"Tu  seras  poisson  au  fond  de  la  mer  tant  que  la  mer  sera  mer  et  tant 
que  la  terre  sera  terre;"  et  la  princesse  devient  poisson  (11);  ''Croite, 
mon  ane,  dit  Petit-Jean, lui  frappant  sur  la  queue;  et  I'^ne  crotte  Tor 
et  I'argent  (18,  19);  "Joue,  mon  gourdin!"  "Fesse,  mon  rond  baton!" 
"Guerre,  mon  baton!"  ou  "Baton,  tape!"  et  le  baton  frappe  (18,  19, 
43);  "Je  souhaite  une  table  bien  greyee  pour  boire  et  manger,  et  que 
rien  n'y  manque;"  ou  "Nappe,  mets  la  table!"  et  la  table  est  servie 
(19,  43);  a  sa  baguette,  Petit-Jean  dit:  "Je  veux  que  les  ^curies  soient 
nettes!"  Et  les  ecuries  sont  aussitot  nettoy^es  (theme:  "Ecuries 
d^Augias) ;  se  touchant  de  sa  baguette,  il  dit:  "Je  veux  devenir  un  grand 
officier!"  Son  souhait  se  realise  (42);  a  sa  peau  de  g6nisse,  Petit- 
Jean  dit:  "Babiche,  attache!"  Et  la  babiche  attache  tout  ce  qu'il  d^signe 
(42);  Petit-Jean  compte  les  sept  tetes  de  la  bete:  "un,  deux.  . ."  et 
en  criant:  "Sept!"  il  reveille  la  bete;  "Poule,  ponds-moi  de  I'or!"  dit-il 
a  sa  poule;  et  elle  pond  trois  ceufs  d'or  (42);  (b)  II  suffit  au  heros 
de  penser  a  la  chenille  ou  aux  chevaux  pour  que  la  protection  desir^e 
se  produise  (2,  5).  (c)  Imitant  le  merveilleux,  Pois-verts  fouette  son 
chaudron  en  disant:  "Bouille,  ma  soupe!"  Et  la  soupe  est  bouillante; 
plus  tard,  Pois-verts,  feignant  de  ressusciter  sa  mere  avec  son  sifHet, 
dit:  "Tourlututu,  reviendras-tu ?"  Et  la  derniere  fois  il  r^ussit  en 
disant:  "Tourlututu,  reviendras-tu,  ou  ne  reviendras-tu  pas?"  Quand 
on  s'en  va  le  jeter  dans  un  sac  a  la  mer,  il  r^pete:  "Non,  je  ne  veux  pas 
y  aller!"  jusqu'a  ce  qu'un  autre  vienne  prendre  sa  place  (21). 

Metamorphoses. 

75.  Transformations  successives.  —  (a)  A  I'aide  de  trois  talismans, 
un  jeune  homme  peut  se  transformer  en  le  plus  beau  de  tous  les  lions 
ou  de  tous  les  aigles,  ou  en  la  plus  belle  de  toutes  les  chenilles;  le  Corps- 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  17 

sans-^me  se  transforrae  en  lion  (2).  (h)  Deux  magiciens,  a  souhait, 
se  transforment  en  ehevaux,  en  earpe,  en  diamant  jaune,  en  pdpin  de 
pomme,  en  coq  ou  en  renard  (17).  (c)  La  princesse  est  transform^e 
en  nu^e  blanche  et  en  nuee  bleue  (7). 

76.  Metamorphoses  fixes. —  (a)  Le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  est  rdduit 
en  un  etre  immobile  et  sec;  sa  scEur  est  transformee  en  poisson  au 
fond  de  la  mer,  au  moyen  d'une  chaine  d'or  (11);  un  navire  et  des 
marins  sont  transformes  en  chicots  de  sapin  sec  (10).  (6)  Petit-Jean 
se  transforme  en  grand  officier  (42) ;  la  fee  rend  Cendrillon  belle  prin- 
cesse. (c)  Un  prince  est  metamorphos6  en  cheval  blanc  (4),  une 
princesse,  en  chatte  blanche,  et  ses  chevaux,  en  crapauds  (6). 

77.  Charme  rompu. —  (a)  Le  poisson  redevient  princesse,  et  le 
prince  reprend  vie  quand,  a  cinq  brasses  sous  I'eau,  on  coupe  la  chaine 
d'or  avec  une  tranche  d'or  pur  et  un  marteau  d'or  pesant  huit  livres 
(11) ;  le  cheval  redevient  homme  quand  on  lui  enleve  la  selle  et  la  bride 
magiques  (17);  Petit-Jean  fend  le  cheval  blanc  en  deux,  et  de  son  corps 
sort  un  beau  prince  (4);  la  chatte  blanche  ne  redevient  a  jamais  prin- 
cesse que  lorsqu'un  prince  I'epouse;  elle  reprend  temporairement  sa 
forme  humaine  en  se  trempant  dans  une  cuve  d'eau  (6).  (h)  Les 
chicots  de  sapins  reprennent  forme  humaine  quand  Petit-Jean  les 
frotte  avec  la  graisse  d'un  certain  petit  pot  que  lui  a  donn^  la  ma- 
gicienne  (10). 

Enchantements,  Possessions  et  Delivrance. 

78.  Princesses  "gardees^^  ou  "e?nmuraillees." — (a)  Princesse  ^'gard^e" 
dans  un  chateau  par  une  petite  chienne  fee  (12);  les  quatre  Vents 
gardent  une  princesse  "emmuraillee,"  dans  leur  chateau  (10);  princesse 
"gard^e"  par  une  vieille  f^e  (7);  trois  princesses  "gardees"  par  trois 
grants,  dans  leur  chateau  souterrain  (16);  princesse ''gard(5e"  par  le 
Corps-sans-ame  (2).  (6)  Princesse  qu'une  fde  garde  endormie  dans 
son  chateau  (12);  fille  de  roi  prisonniere  des  geants  (42). 

79.  Princesses  sacrifices. — La  fille  du  roi  doit  etre  d^vorde  par  le 
dragon  de  feu  (3) ;  tons  les  ans  le  roi  est  oblige  de  donncr  une  de  ses 
filles  k  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes  (5). 

80.  La  prole  du  diable. —  (a)  Le  diable  fait  I'ouvrage  de  la  femme 
battue  par  son  mari,  a  condition  qu'elle  devine  son  nom;  si  elle  n'y 
r^ussit  point,  elle  lui  appartient  (24) ;  le  diable  remplit  de  poissons  le 
filet  d'un  pecheur,  a  condition  qu'il  lui  abandonne  le  premier  etre 
venant  a  sa  rencontre,  et  qui  est  le  fils  meme  du  pecheur;  dans  les 
deux  cas  le  diable  est  d6jou6  (25).  (6)  Le  diable  renonce  a  "ses 
droits"  sur  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  et  sur  Pipette  (15,  23).  (c)  Le 
diable  refuse  de  laisser  entrer  Larrivee  en  enfer,  mais  emporte  Michel 
Morin  (22,  30). 


18  Journal  of  American  Polk-Lore. 

81.  Le  roi  fait  hattre  un  ban. —  Le  roi  fait  battre  un  ban  que  celui  qui 
delivrerait  la  princesse  Taurait  en  mariage  (2,  3) ;  le  roi  fait  battre  un 
ban  que  celle  qui  chausserait  la  petite  pantoufle  deviendra  I'epouse  du 
roi,  et  que  celui  qui  a  ete  blesse  et  qui  rapportera  le  bout  de  la 
lance  cassee  aura  la  princesse  en  mariage  (9,  5). 

82.  Epreuves  des  pretendants. —  (a)  Le  roi  dit:  "C'est  vous  qui  avez 
delivre  ma  princesse .  . .  mais  vous  allez  nous  donner  des  preuves  de 
votre  adresse;"  et  une  ^preuve  consiste  a  enfiler  une  lance  dans  un 
anneau  suspendu  par  un  brin  de  sole  au-dessus  d'un  sentier  (5).  (6) 
Les  traverses  de  Petit-Jean,  pendant  un  an  et  un  jour  avant  son  ma- 
riage a  la  princesse  delivree  (7). 

83.  Princesses  delivrees. —  (a)  Quand  le  liberateur  se  presente,  la 
princesse  dit:  "C'est  impossible!  beaucoup  y  ont  deja  perdu  la  vie;" 
mais,  malgre  les  difficultes,  elles  sont  delivrees  (3,  7).  (b)  Petit- 
Jean  et  d'autres  heros  delivrent  des  princesses,  qu'ils  ram^nent  k 
leur  p^re  dans  presque  tous  les  cas  (2,  5,  6,  7,  10,  12,  16,  42). 

84.  Le  merite  se  cache. —  (a)  Quand  le  roi  ordonne  a  ses  armies  de 
s'emparer  du  liberateur,  il  s'echappe  en  sautant  par-dessus  les  arraees 
avec  sa  jument  merveilleuse  (3),  en  galopant  sur  son  cheval  blanc  (4), 
ou  en  se  cachant  chez  un  charbonnier  (5);  dans  chacun  de  ces  cas  le 
liberateur  est  Petit-Jean,  qui  se  deguise  pour  delivrer  la  princesse  sans 
etre  reconnu.  (6)  Cendrillon  ne  se  fait  pas  reconnaitre  ^  ses  sceurs 
vaniteuses  (9). 

85.  Pretendants  rivaux. —  (a)  Le  liberateur  qui  se  cache  a  et^  blessd, 
et  un  fragment  de  lance  est  reste  dans  la  plaie;  des  pretendants  se 
pr^sentent  au  roi  avec  des  bouts  de  fourche  et  de  faucille,  qu'ils  se 
sont  mis  dans  la  hanche  (3,  4).  (6)  Un  charbonnier  pretend  avoir 
delivre  la  princesse,  qu'il  est  sur  le  point  d'epouser,  quand  le  vrai 
liberateur  est  reconnu  (5) ;  Petit-Jean,  le  liberateur  est  reconnu  au 
dernier  moment,  et  le  prince  pr^tendant  est  congedie  (7);  Brise-bois 
et  Brise-montagnes  ne  reussissent  point  h.  supplanter  Petit-Jean,  le 
vrai  liberateur  (16). 

86.  Gages  d'identite. —  (a)  A  Petit-Jean  endormi  par  la  sorci^re  la 
princesse  laisse  en  gage-souvenir  un  anneau,  une  tabatidre  et  un 
mouchoir  brode,  oil  se  trouve  la  marque  de  la  princesse.  (6)  Antoine, 
quand  il  delivre  la  princesse,  prend  en  gages  sa  bague,  sa  tabatiere  et 
son  mouchoir;  et  Petit- Jean  emporte  les  joyaux  de  la  princesse;  ces 
objets  les  font  plus  tard  reconnaitre  (5,  12). 

87.  Preuves  d'identite. —  (a)  La  pantoufle  ne  fait  qxi'h  Cendrillon 
et  la  bague  qu'a  Antoine  (9,  12) ;  au  banquet  de  mariage,  le  charbonnier 
montre  les  sept  tetes  de  la  Bete-a-sept-t^tes  qu'il  dit  avoir  tuee;  mais 
Petit-Jean  se  fait  reconnaitre  en  montrant  les  sept  langues  de  la  bete 
qu'il  a  conserv6es  dans  son  mouchoir  (5,  42);  Petit-Jean  montre  le 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  19 

soleil  et  le  violon  des  geants,  que  le  roi  accepte  comme  preuve  d'iden- 
tlt6  (16);  la  princesse,de  ses  yeux  memes, reconnait  son  lib(5rateur  (7). 

88.  U eclat  d'epee  de  Tristan. —  (a)  En  essaj^ant  de  capturer  le 
lib^rateur  inconnu  de  la  princesse,  les  soldats  du  roi  lanccnt  leurs 
6pees,  et  Tune  d'elles  se  casse  en  laissant  un  fragment  dans  sa  hanche; 
le  roi  envoie  des  medeeins  par  toute  la  ville;.trouvant  Petit-Jean 
couch6  chez  un  charbonnier,  ils  le  saisissent  et  apergoivent  le  bout 
d'^p^e  dans  sa  hanche  (5);  un  vieux  Frangais  dit:  "Car,  nom  de  Dieu! 
je  vais  toujours  le  blesser  avec  mon  epee."  II  lance  I'^pee  dans  sa 
hanche  ou  elle  se  casse;  Petit-Jean  lui-meme  porte  le  fragment  d'(5p6e 
au  roi  (3) ;  "le  roi  jette  sa  lance,  qui  se  casse  dans  la  cuisse  de  Ti-Jean;" 
le  petit  jardinier,  plus  tard,  lui  rapporte  le  fragment  et  se  fait  re- 
connaitre  (4). 

89.  Banquet  nuptial. —  (a)  Le  roi,  a  I'occasion  du  mariage  de  la 
princesse  d^livr^e,  donne  un  banquet  de  noces,  et  fait  raconter  leurs 
aventures  aux  pretendants,  pour  d(5couvrir  qui  est  le  lib^rateur  (12, 
16).  (6)  A  son  banquet  de  noces,  la  princesse  s'asseoit  entre  son 
lib^rateur  et  le  prince  pretendant,  dit  une  parabole  et  choisit  le 
premier  (7).  (c)  Au  souper  nuptial,  pour  empecher  les  traitres  de 
s'^chapper,  le  roi  fait  condamner  portes  et  fenetres,  et  dire  a  chacun 
son  histoire  (5,  16).  (d)  La  femme  legere  donne  un  souper  au  prince, 
ou  I'on  s'amuse  en  chantant  (29). 

90.  Noces  royales. —  (a)  Le  liberateur  epouse  la  princesse  qu'il  a  de- 
livr^e  (2,  3,  5,  12,  16,  42).  (6)  Petit-Jean  epouse  la  princesse  meta- 
morphosee  en  chatte,  qui  lui  a  fait  des  dons  (6).  (c)  Le  roi  donne  la 
main  de  la  princesse,  sa  fille,  a  celui  qui  lui  a  rendu  maints  services 
(1,  13,  39).  (d)  Le  heros  refuse  d'epouser  la  princesse  a  laquelle 
il  a  droit,  ou  qui  lui  est  ofTerte  (10,  15,  39).  (c)  Un  jeune  magicien 
Spouse  la  princesse  qui  lui  a  sauve  la  vie  (17).  (/)  Le  prince  de 
I'Epee-verte  epouse  la  soeur  d'un  roi  etranger  (11).  (g)  Gilbert  veut 
epouser  la  fille  du  roi,  mais  n'y  reussit  point. 

91.  Choix  de  la  plus  belle. —  (a)  Cendrillon,  etant  la  plus  belle,  est 
choisie  par  le  fils  du  roi,  qui  Tepouse  (7,  8);  Petit-Jean  se  marie  a  la 
plus  jeune  des  princesses,  qui  est  la  plus  belle  (4).  (6)  Le  roi  donne  sa 
couronne  a  Petit-Jean,  le  cadet  de  ses  fils,  parce  qu'il  a  epouse  la  plus 
belle  des  princesses  (6) ;  Brise-bois  et  Brise-montagnes  se  battent  pour 
la  plus  belle  des  trois  princesses  (16);  le  roi  epouse  la  plus  jeune  de 
trois  paysannes,  qui  est  la  plus  belle  (27). 

92.  Testament  de  roi. —  (a)  Le  liberateur  se  marie  a  la  princesse,  et 
le  roi  lui  donne  ses  richesses  et  son  royaume  (2);  "le  roi  leur  a  donn6 
tons  ses  biens,  son  chateau,  ses  parterres  et  son  royaume"  (3);  "apres 
le  mariage,  le  roi  remet  sa  couronne  a  Ti-Jean  (4).  (6)  Le  roi  dit: 
"C'est  mon  Ti-Jean  qui  a  gagne  ma  couronne,"  et  I'enlevant  de  sa  tete, 


r 


20  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

bang!  il  la  met  sur  celle  de  Ti-Jean  (6) ;  Parle,  en  epousant  la  princesse, 
h^rite  de  tout  le  royaume  (13);  "  le  manage  eut  lieu  avec  de  grandes 
c^r^monies,  et  Ti-Jean  monta  sur  le  trone  ou  il  regna  longtemps  avec 
bonheur"  (42). 

93.  Chdtiment  des  crimes.  —  (a)  Sont  ecartelees:  les  deux  sceurs 
jalouses  de  leur  eadette  (27),  et  la  sorciere  et  sa  fille  qui  ont  metamor- 
phose le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  et  sa  sceur  (11) ;  le  charbonnier  trompeur 
est  brtile  sur  un  bucher  (5);  Charles  et  Georges  sont  mis  en  cage  et 
briiles  a  petit  feu,  en  punition  de  leur  jalousie  malfaisante  (13);  Brise- 
bois  et  Brise-montagnes  perissent  sous  le  sabre  de  Petit-Jean  qu'ils 
ont  trahi  (16).  (6)  Le  roi  dit  a  Petit-Jean:  "Qu'est-ce  que  tu  ordonnes 
au  capitaine  qui  t'a  trahi  pour  epouser  ma  princesse  a  ta  place?" 
—  "Je  ne  lui  ordonne  rien;  car  il  faut  faire  le  bien  pour  le  mal"  (10); 
le  sorcier  Jean-Parle  a  la  tete  tranchee  par  les  gens  de  justice,  et 
Finette  h^rite  de  ses  biens  et  de  son  chateau  (28). 

Combats,  Jalousies  et  Rivalites. 

94.  Destruction  des  geants.  —  (a)  Petit-Jean  tue  les  grants  pen- 
dant qu'ils  dorment  (10,  16).  (6)  Petit-Jean,  vetu  de  la  peau  de 
boeuf  qui  le  rend  invincible,  enfonce  les  trois  geants  sous  terre  et 
leur  rompt  la  tete  (3);  Antoine  tranche  la  tete  des  trois  geants  k 
mesure  qu'ils  entrent  dans  le  soupirail  (12);  Martineau-pain-sec 
acheve  les  grants  epuises  a  force  de  se  battre  (20) ;  Jean  tue  les  geants 
avec  sa  baguette  magique  (42).  (c)  Parle  et  Parlafine  emprisonnent 
les  geants  dans  une  boite  trainee  sur  un  chariot  (13,  14). 

95.  Querelles  qu^amene  la  ruse.  —  Antoine  tire  une  fleche  et  mouche 
un  g^ant;  tire  une  autre  fleche  et  eteint  la  chandelle;  les  geants  se 
battent  chaque  fois,  s'accusant  les  uns  les  autres  de  ces  tours  (12); 
Martineau-pain-sec,  cache  dans  un  arbre,  lance  des  pierres  aux  geants 
dormant  au-dessous  et  leur  casse  des  dents;  les  geants  s'entretuent 
en  s'accusant  mutuellement  de  brutalite  (20);  Jean,  rendu  invisible 
par  sa  ceinture  magique,  mange  la  soupe  des  geants  qui,  pour  cette 
raison,  se  querellent  (42). 

96.  Destruction  des  dragons.  —  (a)  Petit-Jean  dort  sur  les  genoux 
de  la  princesse,  en  attendant  I'arrivee  du  dragon  de  feu;  quand  elle 
le  reveille,  a  I'approche  du  monstre,  il  dit  h  sa  jument:  "Bois  la  moiti^ 
de  la  mer  !  Eteins  le  dragon  de  feu  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde  !"  Le 
dragon  demande  quartier;  et,  le  lendemain,  les  chiens  Fort,  Raide, 
S'est-fait-tort,  Prends-ma-garde,  A-ton-maitre  et  Feu  le  dechirent 
en  mille  miettes  (3).  (6)  "A  trois  reprises  Petit- Jean  tranche  plu- 
sieurs  tetes  de  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes;  mais  la  troisieme  fois  seulement 
il  reussit  a  la  tuer  (7) ;  Jean  tue  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes  avec  sa  baguette 
magique  (42). 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  21 

97.  Quartier  au  lendemain.  —  Le  Corps-sans-ame  et  le  dragon  de 
feu  demandent  quartier  au  lendemain;  ce  qui  leur  est  accord^;  mais 
le  lendemain  ils  sont  plus  forts  que  la  veille  (2,  3);  la  B6te-^-scpt- 
tetes  demande  trois  fois  quartier  avant  d'etre  detruite  (5);  I'ennemi 
demande  trois  fois  quartier  avant  d'etre  definitivement  vaincu  (4), 

98.  Concours  d'hahilete  ou  de  force.  —  (a)  Dans  le  concours  de 
la  lance  et  de  I'anneau,  Petit-Jean  reussit  la  ou  son  rival,  le  char- 
bonnier,  echoue  (5);  le  roi  promet  sa  couronne  a  celui  de  ses  fils  qui 
lui  procurera  la  plus  belle  toile  du  pays,  lui  ramdnera  le  plus  beau 
cheval  et  la  plus  belle  princesse;  et  c'est  Petit-Jean  qui  remporte  la 
victoire  (6);  Brise-bois  et  Brise-montagnes  sont  battus  par  la  petite 
Capuche-bleue,  et  leur  compagnon  Petit-Jean  est  le  seul  qui  vienne 
k  bout  de  la  detruire  (16).  (6)  Petit-Jean  s'esseye  avec  le  geant  et 
reussit  a  le  convaincre  qu'il  peut  lancer  plus  loin  que  lui  la  canne 
de  fer  de  trois  mille  livres  et  manger  plus  de  bouillie  que  lui  (3). 
(c)  Trois  personnes  gagent  que  celui  qui  fera  le  plus  beau  reve  aura 
ce  qui  leur  reste  a  manger  (35,  36). 

99.  Champ  aride  et  champ  fertile.  —  A  cote  d'un  champ  brule  du 
soleil  et  sans  herbe  se  trouve  un  paturage  ou  I'herbe  croit  k  hauteur 
d'homme,  mais  en  la  possession  des  geants  ou  du  Corps-sans-ame; 
un  vacher,  un  berger  ou  un  porcher  y  font  entrer  leurs  animaux, 
luttent  avec  les  occupants  qu'ils  finissent  par  vaincre,  grace  h  la 
ruse  ou  a  certains  charmes  (3,  2,  43). 

100.  Force  herculeenne.  —  (a)  Brise-bois  frappait  les  arbres  k 
coups  de  poing;  Brise-montagnes  frappait  les  montagnes;  et  Petit- 
Jean,  etant  le  plus  fort  des  trois,  detruit  la  petite  Capuche-bleue 
apr^s  deux  combats  (41);  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  en  battant  le  grain 
du  roi,  fait  ecrouler  ses  granges;  au  moulin  du  diable  il  ne  trouve 
point  son  maitre;  et  les  roches  qu'on  lui  lance  sur  la  tete  dans  un 
puits  ne  lui  paraissent  que  des  gravois  (15);  Dom  Jean  est  tellement 
fort  et  laborieux  qu'il  excite  la  jalousie  des  fermiers  du  roi  (39).  (6) 
Feignant  la  puissance,  Martineau-pain-sec  gagne  I'admiration  du 
roi  (20).  (c)  Vetu  de  sa  peau  magique  de  boeuf,  Petit-Jean  ne  ren- 
contre point  son  egal  sur  la  terre;  il  renverse  les  arbres  et  les  murail- 
les,  et  detruit  les  geants  en  les  enfon^ant  sous  terre  (3).  (d)  Force 
phenomenale  des  geants  (voir  plus  haut,  No  46). 

101.  Jalousie  fraternelle.  —  (a)  Les  deux  freres  aines  ne  reussis- 
sent  pas  a  decouvrir  qui  prend  le  foin  dans  la  tasserie  de  leur  pere. 
Petit- Jean  dit:  "Moi,  je  vais  y  aller."  Les  autres  se  mettent  a  rire 
de  lui.  "Oui,  un  beau  Jin  pour  garder  la  tasserie  !"  II  y  va  et  de- 
couvre  ce  qu'il  cherche  (5);  les  trois  freres  arrivent  ensemble  aux 
trois  chemins;  les  deux  freres  aines  disent  a  Petit-Jean:  "Ne  nous  suis 
pas;  c'est  un  vrai  deshonneur  !"     II  repond:  ''Qa  ne  fait  rien;  allez- 


22  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

vous-en  !"  Et,  devant  leiir  pere,  ils  se  moquent  de  leur  cadet.  C'est 
Petit-Jean,  toutefois,  qui  gagne  la  couronne  du  roi  (6);  Cendrillon, 
que  ses  soeurs  et  sa  belle-mere  honnissent,  devient  I'epouse  du  prince 
(8,  9) ;  Parle,  que  ses  freres  meprisent  et  renient,  fait  tant  de  merveilles 
qu'il  devient  roi  (13).  (6)  Poussees  par  I'envie,  les  deux  sceurs  ain^es 
font  croire  au  roi  que  leur  cadette,  son  Spouse,  a  donne  le  jour  a 
un  singe  (27). 

Tours,  Fraudes  et  Deceptions. 

102.  Trahison  de  Venvie.  —  (a)  Craignant  la  force  extraordinaire 
de  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  le  roi  cherche  a  le  faire  d^truire  en  I'ex- 
posant  a  toutes  sortes  de  dangers  (15).  (6)  L'envie  mene  a  vouloir 
la  perte  d'un  parent  ou  d'un  protecteur  (3,  8,  11,  13,  16,  17,  27,  39, 
45). 

103.  Vidime  substituee.  —  (a)  Pensant  tuer  les  enfants  ^gar^s, 
k  qui  sa  femme  a  donn6  des  bonnets  bruns,  le  g^ant  tue  ses  propres 
filles  a  qui  Parlafine  a  mis  les  bonnets  par  ruse  (14);  Pois-verts,  qu'on 
va  Jeter  a  la  mer  dans  un  sac,  echange  sa  place  avec  un  autre,  qui, 
en  cherchant  ainsi  fortune,  s'en  va  a  sa  perte  (21);  le  petit  Bonhomme- 
de-graisse  met  a  sa  place,  dans  le  sac,  le  fils  de  la  vieille  qui  vient  I'y 
tuer  a  coups  de  couteau,  sans  le  reconnaitre  (45).  (b)  Quand  les 
animaux  se  vengent  de  la  perte  de  leur  secret,  c'est  sur  le  frere  infame 
de  celui  qu'ils  veulent  d^truire  (1). 

104.  Substitutions.  —  (a)  La  vieille  couvre  sa  fille  hideuse  d'un 
voile,  et  la  remet  au  prince  en  lui  faisant  croire  que  c'est  Cendrillon 
(8);  la  vieille  magicienne  fait  croire  au  roi  que  son  fantome  est  la 
princesse  de  I'Ep^e-verte  a  qui  il  a  promis  par  serment  de  se  marier 
(11).  (6)  La  magicienne  coupe  le  pommier  aux  fruits  d'or  et  en  accuse 
le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte;  elle  tue  I'enfant  du  roi  et  fait  punir  le  prince 
pour  ce  crime  (11).  (c)  Le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  met  un  caillou 
a  sa  place  dans  le  sac  de  la  vieille  femme  (45).  (d)  On  accuse  la 
reine  d'avoir  donne  naissance  a  un  singe,  quand  son  enfant  ^tait  le 
plus  beau  au  monde  (27). 

105.  Credidite  exploitee.  —  (a)  Petit-Jean  feint  de  lancer  la  canne 
de  fer  du  geant  a  neuf  lieues,  ce  dont  le  geant  le  croit  capable;  plus 
tard,  Petit- Jean  gage  qu'il  pent  manger  plus  que  le  geant,  verse  la 
bouillie  dans  un  sac  qu'il  perce  ensuite;  croyant  que  son  rival  s'est 
percd  le  ventre,  le  geant  en  fait  autant,  et  meurt  (3).  (6)  Les  freres 
jaloux  font  croire  au  roi  que  Petit-Jean  s'est  vante  d'aller  chercher 
le  violon,  la  lune,  les  bottes  du  g^ant  et  le  gdant  lui-meme.  Au  roi 
qui  lui  dit:  "Puisque  tu  t'en  es  vante,  tu  vas  y  aller,"  Parle  repond: 
"Je  ne  m'en  suis  pas  vante,  mais  je  vais  y  aller  quand  meme ..."  (13) ; 
Parlafine  se  fait  donner  la  bourse  des  geants,  et,  a  la  fin,  capture  m^me 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  23 

un  geant  en  exploitant  sa  naivete  (14).  (c)  Martineau-pain-sec 
devient  le  favori  du  roi  en  feignant  la  force  et  la  bravoure,  quand  il 
n'est  qu'un  paresseux  et  un  lache  (20);  Pois- verts  se  moque  de  la 
cupidit6  de  son  maitre  en  lui  vendant  comme  charmes  des  objets 
inutiles,  et  en  le  faisant  mettre  dans  un  sac  et  jeter  a  la  mer  (21). 
(d)  La  naivete  du  diable  lui  fait  perdre  ses  victimes  (22,  23) ;  en  fei- 
gnant d'etre  raalade,  Finette  conduit  le  dangereux  Jean-Parle  h  sa 
ruine  (28).  (e)  La  credulite  est  aussi  le  theme  qu'on  utilise  dans 
maints  autres  contes  (1,  4,  11,  12,  16,  41,  44,  etc.). 

106.  La  porte  defendue.  —  En  lui  remettant  toutes  les  clefs  du 
chateau,  la  sorciere  defend  a  Petit-Jean  d'ouvrir  une  certaine  porte; 
mais  Petit-Jean  desobeit  et  trouve  la  fontaine  d'or  qu'elle  reccile; 
la  magicienne  lui  pardonne  la  premiere  fois,  mais  le  poursuifc  pour  le 
tuer,  la  seconde  (4);  Jean-Parle  defend  a  ses  servantes  d'ouvrir  une 
certaine  porte  durant  son  absence, et  leur  laisse  les  clefs;  les  servantes 
Guvrent  la  porte  et  trouvent  les  cadavres  de  ses  femmes;  la  clef  qui 
se  tache  du  sang  indelebile  revele  leur  indiscretion  fatale  (28). 

107.  Le  sac  de  Pois-verts.  —  On  va  jeter  Pois- verts  a  la  mer;  il 
crie  qu'il  ne  veut  pas  y  aller;  un  pauvre  passe  et  lui  demande  od; 
Pois-verts  repond  qu'il  ne  veut  pas  aller  coucher  avec  la  princesse; 
le  pauvre  prend  sa  place  dans  le  sac,  et  perit.  Voyant  revenir  Pois- 
verts,  d'autres  sont  trompes  de  la  meme  manidre,  et  jetes  a  la  mer 
(21). 

108.  Deguisement.  —  (a)  L'homme  se  deguise  en  petit  gargon 
pour  voir  si  le  loup  ment  (41);  Parlafine  se  deguise  en  chien  pour 
entrer  chez  le  geant  (14);  Parle  se  deguise  en  roi  pour  capturer  le 
g^ant,  dans  son  chariot  (13) ;  Petit-Jean  se  deguise  pour  aller  combattre 
le  dragon  ou  la  Bete-^-sept-tetes  (4,  5);  Petit-Jean  se  deguise  pour 
aller  punir  les  Gascons  voleurs  (18).  (6)  Le  diable  se  deguise  pour 
tromper  des  personnes  de  bonne  foi  (24,  25). 

109.  Secrets  decouverts.  —  (a)  Cach^  dans  un  arbre,  I'aveugle 
d^couvre  les  secrets  de  trois  animaux  qui,  plus  tard,  punissent  un 
autre  pour  cette  indiscretion  (1).  (6)  La  princesse  se  fait  dire  le 
secret  de  vie  du  Corps-sans-ame,  qu'elle  trahit  ensuite  et  conduit 
a  sa  perte  (2) ;  le  secret  de  la  metamorphose  de  la  princesse  de  I'Ep^e- 
verte  est  decouvert  par  un  paysan,  qui  le  declare  au  roi  (11).  (6) 
Parlafine,  par  indiscretion,  decouvre  que  son  pere  va  I'abandonner 
le  lendemain,  dans  les  bois  (14);  le  secret  du  diable,  qui  se  nomme 
Cacholet,  est  decouvert  par  un  bticheron,  dans  les  bois  (24);  un  ser- 
viteur  rapporte  au  roi  le  souhait  des  trois  paysannes,  qu'il  a  entendu 
par  indiscretion  (27).  Le  cocassier  revile  au  mari  trompe  les  four- 
beries  de  sa  femme  (29). 

110.  Choses    subtilisees.  —  (a)  L'hdtelier    subtilise    la    poule    aux 


24  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

ceufs  d'or,  I'ane  crottant  Tor  et  I'argent,  la  serviette  au  repas  servi, 
et  les  remplace  par  des  objets  semblables,  mais  de  moindre  valeur 
(19,  43).  (6)  Un  Gascon  vole  impudemment  le  cochon  que  Petit- 
Jean  veut  lui  vendre;  Petit-Jean,  a  son  tour,  vole  a  main  armee  I'ane 
crottant  Tor  et  I'argent;  voleurs  mis  en  fuite  (2,  18).  (e)  Parlafine, 
h  force  de  ruses,  vole  le  violon,  la  lune,  les  bottes,  la  bourse  et  le 
troupeau  des  geants  (13,  14).  (d)  Un  individu  meurt  sans  payer  sa 
dette  et  expie  sa  faute  en  revenant  souffrir  sur  la  terre  (26). 

111.  Propriete  reconquise.  —  Petit-Jean,  au  moyen  de  son  baton 
magique,  recouvre  les  objets  qui  lui  ont  ete  vol^s  (19,  42). 

112.  Les  figues  d'Esope.  —  Les  fermiers  du  roi  mangent  les  mets 
que  Dom  Jean  a  prepares  pour  son  maitre,  et  en  rejettent  la  faute 
sur  Dom  Jean  lui-meme.  A  la  suggestion  de  Dom  Jean  chacun 
absorbe  une  dose  de  sel,  et  en  vomissant  ce  qu'ils  ont  mang^,les  fer- 
miers s'accusent  de  leur  fourberie  (39). 

113.  L'ami  contradideur.  —  Au  roi  qui  lui  demande  s'il  a  des 
biens,  Gilbert  r^pond  que  non.  Son  ami  declare  qu'il  est  le  plus  riche 
de  la  terre.  Le  roi  demande  a  Gilbert  pourquoi  il  se  gratte;  il  r^pond 
qu'il  a  un  petit  bouton.  Son  ami  declare  qu'il  est  cousu  de  boutons. 
C'est  pourquoi  le  roi  le  cong^die  (44). 

Voyages  et  Transports. 

114.  Peregrinations  lointaines.  —  Le  voyage  de  Petit-Jean  aux 
Sept-montagnes-vertes,  au  cours  duquel  il  est  aid6  par  trois  magi- 
ciennes  et  le  rock,  et  qui  dure  un  an  et  un  jour  (7);  voyage  au  pays 
du  Corps-sans-ame  (2);  les  longs  voyages  sur  mer  du  petit  gargon 
et  du  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  (10,  11);  le  mari  d'une  femme  legere 
va  chercher  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris  (29). 

115.  Transports  dans  un  sac.  —  Pois- verts,  le  pauvre  et  le  cur6 
sont  portes  a  la  mer  dans  un  sac  (21);  Larriv^e  porte  a  un  forgeron 
les  trois  emissaires  du  diable  dans  son  sac;  et  lui-meme  entre  au  ciel 
dans  son  sac  (22);  sans  le  savoir,  Jean-Parle  transporte  Charlotte, 
Javotte  et  Finette  dans  des  coffres  qu'il  croit  remplis  de  linge  (28); 
le  cocassier  transporte  et  cache  dans  son  panier  I'homme  qui  allait 
chercher  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris  (29);  la  vieille  transporte  le 
petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  dans  un  sac  (45). 

116.  Voyages  datis  V autre  monde.  —  (a)  Apres  sa  mort,  Larriv^e  va 
f rapper  a  la  porte  du  ciel;  mais  on  le  renvoie  a  I'enfer;  de  la  il  revient 
de  nouveau  au  ciel  ou  il  finit  par  entrer  (22);  Pipette,  s'^tant  fait 
enterrer  vivant,  s'en  va  au  ciel,  de  la,  a  I'enfer;  mais  comme  le  diable 
a  promis  de  ne  I'y  point  recevoir,  il  revient  au  ciel,  ou  il  entre  (23). 
(6)  Le  revenant  part  pour  le  ciel  sous  la  forme  d'une  petite  lumiere, 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  25 

et  le  mauvais  seigneur  est  enfonce  dans  Tenfer  (26).  (c)  Les  tvo'iA 
chasseurs,  ou  les  trois  Gascons,  revent  qu'ils  vont  au  ciel  et  voient 
Dieu  et  la  Sainte  Vierge  (35,  36). 

117.  Orphee  aux  enfers.  —  Petit-Jean  se  rend  dans  un  monde 
inf^rieur,  dont  I'entree  est  un  puits  profond  ou  Ton  descend  dans  un 
panier  suspendu.  C'est  la  que  vit  la  petite  Capuche-bleue,  un  mons- 
tre,  et  que  les  geants  gardent  trois  princesses.  Le  meme  panier 
remonte  les  princesses  au  haut  du  puits,  oii  Petit-Jean  se  fait  trans- 
porter par  le  rock  (16). 

118.  Retoiirs  de  V autre  monde.  —  (a)  Saint  Pierre  permet  k  Larriv^e 
de  descendre  un  moment  sur  la  terre  ou  11  revient  chercher  son  sac 
magique  (22).  (6)  Maudit  apres  sa  mort  par  un  crediteur  impitoya- 
ble,  un  homme  revient  sur  la  terre  s'engager  et  gagner  sa  dette  (26). 

119.  Les  portiers  du  ciel  et  de  Venfer.  —  Saint  Pierre  est  le  portier 
du  ciel,  et  le  diable  est  celui  de  Tenfer  (22,  23). 

CONTES  MERVEILLEUX. 
1.    LES   SECRETS    DU   LION,    DE   l'OURS   ET    DU   LOUP.^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  deux  orphelins.  L'un  dit  a  I'autre:  "Pour  gagner 
votre  vie,  je  vas  te  crever  les  yeux;  et  nous  irons  dans  les  campagnes 
demander  la  charite  pour  I'aveugle  que  tu  seras.  Et  nous  ferons  pas 
mal  d'argent."  Le  plus  jeune  repond  :  "  C'est  bien  !  Je  consens 
a  ce  que  tu  me  creves  les  yeux,  pourvu  que  jamais  tu  ne  m'abandonnes." 
Lui  ayant  promis  de  ne  jamais  Tabandonner,  son  frere  lui  creve 
yeux. 

Apres  avoir  parcouru  ensemble  les  paroisses  -  pendant  cinq  ou 
six  annees,  ils  se  sont  ramasse  un  peu  d'argent;  mais  le  frere  aine 
devient  tanne  de  trainer  ainsi  partout  son  frere  aveugle.  II  I'emmene 
au  bord  d'une  riviere  dans  la  foret,  le  jette  a  I'eau  et  ne  s'en  va  que 
quand  il  le  voit  au  milieu  de  la  riviere.  L'aveugle,  a  la  fin,  reussit  t\ 
s'accrocher  a  une  branche  au  bord  de  la  riviere  et  a  se  retirer  de  I'eau. 
Dans  la  crainte  de  se  faire  devorer  par  les  loups,  il  vient  a  bout  de 
grimper  dans  un  arbre,  en  se  disant:  "La,  du  moins,  je  ne  me  ferai 
pas  manger." 

Vers  le  soir,  un  ours,  un  lion  et  un  loup  arrivcnt  ensemble  au  pied 
de  I'arbre.  Pendant  qu'ils  conversent,  I'ours  dit:  "J'ai  un  secret, 
moi."  Le  lion  repond:  "Moi  aussi."  Et  le  loup:  "Moi  aussi,  j'en 
sais  un."  L'ours  reprend:  "Le  prince  est  bien  maladc;  mais  je  suis 
capable  de  le  guerir.     II  y  a  un  gros  crapaud  sous  son  lit :  c'est  ce  qui 

1  Racont6  par  Mme  Prudent.  Sioui,  en  aoiit,  1914,  a  Lorette,  Quebec.  Ce 
conte  lui  venait  de  feue  Marie  Michaud  (Picard). 

2  I.e.,  communes,  en  France. 


26  Journal  of  Ainerican  Folk-Lore. 

le  tient  malade.  Je  n'aurais  qu'a  I'oter  de  la,  et  le  prince  reviendrait 
k  la  sant^."  Le  lion  dit  a  Tours:  "Voici  mon  secret:  le  roi  est  aveugle; 
je  n'aurais  qu'a  prendre  une  feuille  de  cet  arbre-ci  et  a  lui  en  frotter 
les  yeux  pour  qu'il  recouvre  la  vue."  Quant  au  loup:  "Moi,  j'ai 
un  secret:  dans  le  village,  ils^  n'ont  pas  une  goutte  d'eau.  lis  n'au- 
raient  seulement  qu'a  oter  une  pierre  sous  I'^glise  pour  que  Teau 
revienne." 

Ayant  entendu  cette  conversation,  le  jeune  homme  dans  I'arbre 
prend  une  feuille,  s'en  frotte  les  yeux  et  recouvre  la  vue  ;  prend  une 
autre  feuille  et  la  met  dans  sa  poche. 

L'ours,  le  lion  et  le  loup  s'en  vont  chacun  de  leur  hord.  Le  gargon 
descend  de  I'arbre,  se  rend  au  chateau  et  va  voir  le  roi,  a  qui  il  dit: 
"Votre  prince  est  bien  malade.  Moi,  je  puis  le  guerir,  si  vous  me 
donnez  cinq  mille  piastres."  ^  Comme  aucun  m^decin  ne  connaissait 
sa  maladie  et  ne  pouvait  le  soulager,  le  roi  est  bien  content  et  dit: 
"Je  vas  te  donner  les  cinq  mille  piastres."  Le  jeune  homme  fait 
semblant  de  rien  et  avint  ^  le  crapaud,  sous  le  lit  du  prince.  II  ne 
I'avait  pas  sitot  avindu  que  ddja  le  prince  allait  mieux.  Le  roi  dit: 
"C'est  assez!  il  va  bien.  Mais  tu  demandes  trop  chcr."  Le  gargon 
qarroche  *  le  crapaud  sous  le  lit,  et  voila  le  prince  encore  bien  malade. 
"C'est  bien,  c'est  bien!  dit  le  roi;  gu^ris-le,  je  vais  te  donner  I'argent." 
Mon  bonhomme  enleve  done  la  bete  sans  que  le  roi  s'en  apergoive; 
et  voila  le  prince  gu^ri.  Avec  ses  cinq  mille  piastres,  il  part  et  s'en 
va. 

Le  lendemain,  il  arrive  au  chateau  du  roi  aveugle  et  lui  dit:  "Vous 
ne  voyez  rien.  Moi,  je  puis  vous  guerir  si  vous  me  donnez  sept  mille 
piastres."  Le  roi  ne  regarde  pas  a  I'argent  pour  recouvrer  la  vue. 
Le  jeune  homme  prend  sa  feuille  et  en  frotte  les  yeux  du  roi  qui, 
de  suite,  voit  clair.  Bien  content  d'avoir  d'aussi  bons  yeux  qu'll 
r^ge  de  quinze  ans,  le  roi  lui  donne  les  sept  mille  piastres  promises. 

De  la,  le  gargon  se  rend  chez  le  maire  de  la  paroisse  et  lui  dit:  "Vous 
n'avez  pas  une  goutte  d'eau;  mais  je  suis  capable  de  la  faire  revenir 
si  vous  me  donnez  huit  mille  piastres."  Le  maire  ne  trouve  pas 
cela  trop  cher,  vu  que  sans  eau  dans  le  village,  ce  n'est  pas  ais6  d'y 
vivre.  II  accepte,  et  le  gargon  va  dessous  I'eglise,  ote  la  pierre;  et 
I'eau  rcssoud  dans  tout  le  village. 

Une  fois  sorti  de  chez  le  maire,  mon  gargon  rencontre  heji  son  frere: 
"Tiens!  bonjour,  mon  frere;  tu  vols  clair!"  Et  se  jetant  a  ses  pieds, 
il  lui  demande  pardon.  "Dis-moi  n'importe  quelle  penitence,  et  je  la 
ferai."     Son  frere  lui  repond:  "Mais  va  done  h.  I'endroit  ou  tu  m'as 

1  I.e.,  les  villageois. 

2  La  "piastre"  ou  "dollar,"  au  Canada,  ^quivaut  k  cinq  francs,  au  pair. 

3  I.e.,  atlrape. 

4  I.e.,  lance. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  27 

quitte  aveugle.  La,  monte  dans  I'arbrc  au  bord  do  la  rivi6re  !"  Ce 
que  son  frere  fait. 

Le  soir  venu,  Tours,  le  lion  et  le  loup  arrivent  encore  a  la  memo  place, 
sous  I'arbre.  En  colere  de  voir  leurs  secrets  decouverts,  ils  se  mettent 
k  regarder  dans  I'arbre.  Y  apercevant  un  homme,  ils  s'ecrient:  "C'est 
lui  qui  nous  a  declares;^  rnangeons-le!"  Et  ils  le  devorent  ^belles 
dents. 

Quant  k  son  frere,  il  se  maria  a  la  fille  du  roi,  cliez  qui  il  vit  encore 
comme  un  bienheureux,  et  cmtera. 

2.    LE    CORl'S-SANS-AME.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  un  homme  et  une  femme,  lis  etaient  si  pauvres 
qu'ils  n'avaient  pas  les  moyens  de  faire  instruire  leur  seul  enfant,  un 
petit  gargon. 

A  I'age  de  dix-sept  ans,  le  jeune  homme  dit:  "Mes  parents,  au- 
jourd'hui,  je  pars  d'ici."  Le  pere  repond:  "Mon  petit  gargon,  tu 
pars  ?  Je  vais  te  donner  quelque  chose  pour  que  tu  te  souviennes  de 
moi."  —  "Je  ne  peux  pas  voir  ^  ce  que  vous  allez  me  donner?" —  "Ce 
que  je  te  donne,  c'est  mon  canif  d'argent."  Prenant  le  canif  d'argent, 
le  gargon  part,  prend  le  chemin  et  marche.  Au  bout  de  sept  jours, 
il  arrive  au  bord  d'un  fleuve,  dans  les  bois.  N'ayant  pas  d'abri 
pour  la  nuit,  il  se  couche  pres  d'une  souche,  et,  lo  lendemain  matin,  il 
commence  a  suivre  le  sentier,  le  long  du  fleuve.  Marche  toute  la 
journee.  Comme  il  n'y  a  pas  de  fin  a  la  foret,  vers  le  soir  il  pense: 
"Peut-etre  serais-je  mieux  de  revirer?  Je  crois  bien  que  je  suis  pris 
pour  mourir  ici."  Mais  il  pense  toujours  a  son  canif  d'argent,^  de 
peur  d'etre  attaqu^  par  quelque  bete  feroce.  Le  lendemain  matin,  il 
apergoit,  le  long  du  sentier,  un  vieux  cheval  mort  et  a  moitie  devor6. 
Passant  tout  droit,  il  marche  vite  et,  au  bout  d'une  heure,  il  entend 
un  vacarme  epouvantable.  Un  lion,  un  aigle  ^  et  une  chenille  se 
battent  pour  avoir  le  cheval.  Le  hon  dit  a  I'aigle  eta  la  chenille:  "II 
vient  de  passer  un  jeune  homme  ici.  Donnons  apres  lui  !  ^  Toi, 
I'aigle,  tu  voles  vite.  Va  lui  dire  qu'il  vienne  nous  le  separer  pour  nous 
faire  plaisir,  et  que  nous  le  rccompenserons."  L'aigle  prend  sa  volee 
vers    le    jeune    homme,    et,  arrivant    k    lui,  il  dit:    "Venez  done  ou 

1  I.e.,  denonce;  ici  le  sens  est  "qui  a  decouvert  nos  secrets." 

2  Raconte  par  Narcisse  Thiboutot,  de  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juii- 
let,  1915.  Ce  conte  lui  venait  de  son  oncle,  feu  Charles  Francocur,  ne  b.  la 
Rivi^re-Ouelle,  mais  residant  a  Sainte-Anne.  Le  titre  du  conte  est  celui  que  le 
conteur  a  donne  de  lui-meme. 

3  I.e.,  deviner. 

4  Ce  canif  etait  doue  de  vertus  magiques. 

5  Thiboutot  disait:  un  zaigle. 
8  Courons  apres  lui. 


28  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

ce  qu'est  le  cheval,  pour  le  s^parer  entre  nous,  un  lion,  un  aigle  et  une 
chenille,  qui  nous  nous  battons  pour  I'avoir."  —  ''Ah!  je  suppose 
que  vous,  bStes,  avez  fini  de  manger  cette  pauvre  carcasse?"  —  "Ne 
craignez  rien,  r^pete  Faigle;  le  lion  vous  fait  demander  de  venir. 
II  y  a  longtemps  que  nous  nous  chicanons  sans  pouvoir  manger,  et 
nous  avons  faim."  Bien  en  peine,  le  jeune  homme  revive,  se  disant:  "Je 
suis  toujours  pour  mourir;  j'y  vais."  Le  voyant  arriver,  le  lion  dit: 
"Bonjour,  maitre  des  braves!"  La  chenille  en  dit  autant.  Et  ils 
demandent:  "S^pare  qa  entre  nous;  et  ce  que  tu  feras  sera  bien  fait. 
Nous  te  r^compenserons."  Le  gargon  prend  done  son  canif,  coupe  le 
cou  du  cheval,  et  donne  la  tete  a  la  chenille,  disant:  ''Toi,  la  chenille, 
tu  n'es  pas  grosse;  tu  mangeras  la  moelle  dans  les  os,  et  le  crane  te 
fera  un  abri  pour  le  mauvais  temps."  Puis  il  ^ventre  le  cheval  et 
donne  les  tripes  a  I'aigle,  disant:  "Toi,  I'aigle,  on  te  voit  toujours  sur 
la  greve  a  manger  du  poisson.  Ceci  est  pour  toi."  Et  au  lion,  il  dit: 
"Je  te  donne  le  restant;  ayant  de  bonnes  dents,  tu  peux  manger  les  os." 
Le  lion  s'ecrie:  "Merci,  monsieur,  merci,  monsieur!  c'est  justement 
pour  9a  que  je  me  battais."  La  chenille  repete  la  meme  chose,  et 
I'aigle  en  dit  autant.  "Pour  ta  recompense,  dit  le  lion,  je  vais  te 
donner  la  meilleure  chose  que  tu  pourras  jamais  avoir."  —  "Quoi, 
mon  lion  ?  Que  vas-tu  me  donner  ?"  —  "Regarde  sous  ma  patte  gauche 
de  devant,  et  prends-y  un  poil  blanc.  Enveloppe-le  dans  ton  mou- 
choir,  pour  ne  pas  le  perdre.  Quand  tu  voudras  devenir  lion  toi-meme, 
tu  diras:  'Adieu,  lion!'  et  tu  seras  le  plus  beau  des  lions  et  maitre  de 
tons  les  lions."  L'aiglc,  a  son  tour,  dit:  "Moi,  je  vais  aussi  te  donner 
ma  recompense.  Regarde  dans  mon  aile  gauche,  ou  il  y  a  une  plume 
blanche.  Arrache-la  et  conserve-la.  Et  quand  tu  voudras  devenir 
aigle,  tu  n'auras  qu'a  dire:  'Adieu,  aigle!'  et  tu  seras  le  mattre  des 
aigles  et  le  plus  beau  de  tous  les  aigles."  II  reste  encore  la  chenille. 
Elle  dit:  "Moi,  je  ne  suis  pas  grosse,  mais  je  te  donne  ma  recompense 
pareil.  ^  Prends  ma  patte  gauche  d'en  arriere,  et  arrache-la.  Quand 
tu  voudras  devenir  chenille,  tu  n'auras  qu'a  penser  a  moi,  et  tu  seras 
la  plus  belle  et  la  maitresse  de  toutes  les  chenilles."  Partant  de  d'ld, 
il  les  remercie  comme'i'faut,  et  bien  content  comme  eux,  il  continue 
son  chemin. 

Un  peu  plus  tard  dans  la  journee,  il  entend,  dans  la  foret,  un  train 
6pouvantable.  "Qu'est-ce  que  ga  peut  bien  etre?"  se  demande-t-il. 
C'etait  comme  si  des  betes  feroces  se  battaient;  et  par  secousses,- 
il  y  avait  des  voix.  Tout  a  coup,  que  voit-il  venir  ?  Une  bande  de 
voleurs,  vingt  en  tout,  qui  se  disent:  "Je  viens  de  voir  un  homme." 
En  les  apercevant,  le  gargon  pense  a  sa  chenille.  Le  voila  chenille, 
et  il  se  cache  sous  la  racine  d'un  arbre.  Des  voleurs  disent:  "II  y  a 
un  homme  ici;  il  faut  le  prendre  et  le  tuer."     D'autres  r^pondent: 

1  Pour  parcillemenl.  2  Ou  cscousses]  i.e.,  par  moments. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  29 

"Ce  n'est  pas  vrai;  il  n'y  a  personne  ici."  Ne  pouvant  s'accorder,  ils 
se  battent.  La  chenille  pense:  "II  faut  que  je  me  mette  en  lion, 
pour  leur  faire  peur."  En  voyant  le  lion,  imaginez-vous  que  les  voleurs 
crient!  Ne  sachant  ou  se  sauver,  ils  prennent  la  fuite  de  tons  c6t6s. 
Et  le  jeune  homme  continue  son  chemin. 

Un  peu  plus  loin,  il  se  dit:  'Tlutot  que  de  marcher,  je  vais  devenir 
aigle,  pour  aller  plus  vite,  en  volant."  Aigle,  il  vole  par-dessus  les 
arbres  et  arrive  dans  une  belle  prairie  s^paree  en  deux.  Du  c6t6 
ou  se  trouve  une  petite  maison,  il  y  a  un  grand  troupeau  de  moutons. 
L'aigle  arrive  a  la  maison,  se  change  en  homme,  cogne  a  la  porte  et 
demande  a  loger.  "Mais,  mon  cher  monsieur,  s'dcrie  la  maitresse 
de  la  maison,  zetes-voxis  de  ce  monde-ci  ou  bien  de  I'autre  mon- 
de?" — "Madame,  j'ai  longtemps  marche  pour  traverser  cette  foret." 
— "Je  ne  puis  pas  vous  croire.  II  faut  que  vous  ayez  ^t^  transports, 
car  c'est  ici  la  prairie  du  Corps-sans-ame."  Le  jeune  homme  de- 
mande: "Voulez-vous  m'engager?"  Elle  repond:  "Oui,  et  ce  sera 
pour  garder  les  moutons." 

Le  lendemain,  de  bon  matin,  il  part  avcc  son  troupeau  de  moutons. 
Mais  comme  il  n'y  a  pas  grand'herbe,  les  moutons  braillent  pour 
passer  dans  le  clos  voisin,  celui  du  Corps-sans-ame,  qui  est  tout  en 
beau  foin.  "Ces  pauvres  moutons!  dit  le  jeune  homme,  ils  seraient 
bien  mieux  dans  le  champ  de  foin  qu'ici,  oii  il  n'y  a  rien  a  manger." 
DSbouche  une  pagee  ^  de  cloture  et  fait  passer  le  troupeau.  Ce 
quHl  apergoit?  Le  Corps-sans-ame,  sous  la  forme  d'un  lion,  couche 
le  long  de  la  cloture.  "Que  viens-tu  faire  ici,  ver  de  terre?"  —  "Je 
ne  suis  pas  plus  ver  de  terre  que  toi."  —  "C'est  ce  qu'on  va  voir. 
Esseyons-nousV  —  "Oui,  il  faut  s'essmjer.  Mais  attendons  a  demain 
pour  avoir  une  chance."  —  "Oui,  mais  pourquoi  attendre  a  demain  ?" 
—  "Je  voudrais  manger  de  la  bouillie  au  sucre  pour  etre  aussi  fort 
que  toi,  le  lion."  —  "Tu  peux  bien  manger  de  la  bouillie  au  sucre  et 
la  saler  aussi." 

Ayant  eu  connaissance  de  cette  ostination''  entre  le  lion  et  le  ser- 
viteur,  la  fille  de  la  vieille  femme  dit  a  sa  mere:  "II  faut  lui  faire  de 
la  bouillie,  ce  soir.  Demain  il  doit  se  battrc  avec  le  Corps-sans-ame." 
Et  quand  il  arrive,  le  soir,  la  vieille  est  a  faire  de  la  bouillie.  II  de- 
mande: "La  mere,  pourquoi  done  faites-vous  de  la  bouillie?"  — 
"Jeune  homme,  repond-elle,  vous  avez  dit  que  si  vous  mangiez  de 
la  bouillie,  vous  seriez  aussi  fort  que  le  Corps-sans-ame,  qui  est  sous 
la  forme  d'un  lion."  —  "Oui,  grand'mere,  je  serai  aussi  fort,  certain. 
Demain,  je  me  battrai  avec  lui.  Mais,  que  j'aie  le  dessous  ou  le  dessus, 
ne  venez  pas  voir,  ne  regardcz  pas." 

Le  jeune  homme  mange  la  bouillie. 

1  Consistant  des  perches  comprises  entre  deux  paires  de  piquets. 

2  Obstination;  pour  dispute,  querelle. 


30  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Le  lendemain  matin,  le  Corps-sans-ame  est  presse  d'arriver,  pour 
commencer  la  lutte.  Trouvant  le  jeune  homme  endormi  le  long  de  la 
cloture,  il  le  reveille,  et,  tout  enrage,  il  lui  dit:  "Tu  ne  m'as  pas  Fair 
d'un  homme  qui  a  mange  de  la  bouillie."  —  "Tu  t'apercevras  tantot 
de  ce  que  j'ai  mange.  La,  il  se  tourne  en  ^  lion.  La  bataille  prend, 
et  ga  se  bat,  ga  se  bat!  A  la  fin,  le  Corps-sans-ame  a  le  dessous,  et 
demande  quartier  a  trois  jours,  pour  prendre  sa  revanche.  Le  jeune 
homme  repond:  "Dans  trois  jours  tu  ne  seras  pas  meilleur  qu'aujour- 
d'hui."  —  "Mets  tes  moutons  dans  mon  champ  a  foin  jusqu'a  ce  que 
j'aie  pris  ma  revanche."  Et  le  jeune  homme  lui  donne  quartier  k 
trois  jours. 

Le  soir,  de  bonne  heure,  pendant  qu'il  soupe,  il  dit  a  la  vieille  et  k 
sa  fille:  "II  faut  que,  cette  nuit,  j'aille  voir  de  I'autre  bord  de  cette 
prairie."  Et,  se  mettant  en  aigle,  il  traverse  toute  la  prairie,  apergoit 
le  plus  beau  des  chateaux,  et  se  jouque^  sut  une  fenetre.  Dans  ce 
chdteau  se  trouvait  une  princesse  que  le  Corps-sans-ame  avait  volee 
a  son  pere.  Emprisonnee  dans  ce  chateau,  elle  se  croyait  gardee 
pour  toujours  par  le  sorcier  que  personne  ne  pourrait  jamais  tuer. 
L'aigle  se  change  en  jeune  homme,  et,  passant  la  nuit  avec  la  princesse, 
il  lui  demande:  "Que  faudrait-il  faire  pour  detruire  le  Corps-sans- 
ame?"  Elle  repond:  "II  est  bien  malade.  Apres  s'etre  battu  hier 
avec  je  ne  sais  qui,  il  est  revenu  bien  massacre.  II  doit  bientot  prendre 
sa  revanche."  —  "Demande-lui  done  ce  qu'il  faudrait  faire  pour 
trouver  son  ame."  —  "Je  lui  demanderai.  Tu  reviendras  demain  soir, 
que  je  te  le  dise."  De  la,  le  jeune  homme  s'en  va  rejoindre  son  trou- 
peau. 

Comme  le  Corps-sans-ame,  le  lendemain,  se  prepare  a  sortir  de 
son  chateau,  la  princesse  dit:  "Mon  Corps-sans-ame,  pourquoi  sortez- 
vous  et  me  laissez-vous  toujours  seule.  Je  crains  que  vous  ne  veniez 
k  vous  faire  tuer."  —  "Ne  crains  pas!  II  n'y  a  point  de  danger! 
Personne  ne  pent  me  tuer."  —  "Mais  comment  done?"  —  "Pour  me 
detruire  il  faudrait  qu'on  me  tue  quand  je  suis  en  lion,  qu'on  eventre 
le  lion  et  dans  son  corps  prenne  le  pigeon  qui  s'y  trouve,  qu'on  ouvre 
le  pigeon  et  y  prenne  les  trois  oeufs,  et  qu'on  vienne  me  les  casser 
sur  le  front."  —  "Ah!  puisque  c'est  comme  9a,  repond-elle,  il  n'y  a  pas 
de  danger  qu'il  vous  arrive  malheur." 

Le  soir,  l'aigle  ressoud  encore,  et  se  jouque  a  la  fenetre.  Ouvrant 
le  chassis,  elle  le  fait  entrer.  "Qu'est-ce  que  le  Corps-sans-ame  t'a 
dit ?"  deraanda-t-il;  et  elle  lui  raconte  tout.  Quand  elle  acheve,  il  dit: 
"Moi,  je  puis  faire  tout  ga,  princesse."  —  "Si  tu  en  es  capable,  jeune 
homme,  mon  pere  a  fait  publier  dans  tout  son  pays  *  que  celui  qui  me 

1  Se  change  en. 

2  I.e.,  sejuche. 

3  Thiboutot,  ayant  un  peu  d'mstruction  et  un  langago  plus  recherche  que  la 
plupart  des  conteurs,  a  ici  substitue  cette  expression  k  la  plus  ancienne  ...  "a  fait 
battre  un  ban." 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  31 

d^livrerait  m'aurait  en  mariage."  —  ''Ala  princesse,  Qa  va  arriver 
demain.  Quand  j'aurai  tu^  le  lion,  il  viendia  ici  en  personne,  bien 
malade;  et  il  te  demandera  a  boire;  mais,  prends  bien  garde  de  lui  en 
donner.  Si  tii  le  faisais  il  pourrait  t'arriver  malheur:  en  te  frappant, 
il  pourrait  te  donner  la  mort."  —  "Ne  eraignez  pas!"  repond-elle. 

Le  lendemain,  les  deux  lions  se  rencontrent,  et  voila  la  chicane  qui 
prend.  Qa  buchc!  ^  Toujours,  ^  le  Corps-sans-ame  finit  par  revoler 
en  eclats.  Et  quand  le  lion  est  mourant,  le  Corps-sans-ame  arrive  en 
personne  a  son  chateau  et  tombe  paralyse,  incapable  de  grouiller. 
"De  I'eau,  vite,  vite!"  demande-t-il  a  la  princesse.  "Attends,  tu  vas 
beto^  avoir  ce  qu'il  te  faut."  De  son  cot^,  le  jeune  homme  prend  son 
canif  d'argent  et  eventre  le  lion.  Un  pigeon  en  sort  et  s'envole  dans 
les  airs.  Pensant  a  son  aigle,  le  jeune  homme  devient  aigle  et  chasse 
le  pigeon.  L'ayant  attrap6,  il  I'ouvre,  prend  les  trois  oeufs  et  les 
enveloppe  bien  precieusement  dans  son  mouchoir. 

II  arrive  au  chateau  du  Corps-sans-ame,  y  entre,  et  le  trouve  para- 
lyse: "N'approche  pas  ici!  dit  le  malade;  tu  es  mort  si  je  saute  sur  toi." 
—  "Ah!  tu  n'es  pas  dangereux!"  Prenant  les  trois  oeufs  de  pigeon,  il 
les  lui  casse  sur  le  front,  d'abord  un  et  ensuite  les  deux  autres.  Voila 
le  Corps-sans-ame  mort.  La  princesse  n'est  pas  Idche  *  a  venir  trouver 
le  jeune  homme.  "Tu  vas  t'en  venir  avec  moi  au  pays  de  mon  pere. 
Quand  j'ai  ete  volee,  a  I'age  de  quinze  ans,  mon  pere  m'a  promise  en 
mariage  a  celui  qui  me  ramenerait."  Le  jeune  homme  repond:  "Prin- 
cesse, il  faut  toujours  que  j'aille  dire  a  la  vieille  femme  dent  je  garde 
les  moutons,  que  je  m'en  vais.  Autrement,  elle  serait  occupee  ^  de 
moi."  Arrive  chez  la  vieille,  il  dit:  "La  mere!  la  belle  prairie  a  foin  du 
Corps-sans-ame  vous  appartient  admeiire.^  Je  viens  de  le  tuer.  Moi, 
je  m'en  vais  avec  la  princesse  chez  son  pere."  Bien  contente,  la  vieille 
lui  a  pay*^  le  temps  qu'il  a  de  fait.^ 

Le  jeune  homme  et  la  princesse  arrivent  chez  le  roi,  qui  les  marie 
ensemble  et  leur  donne  toutes  ses  richesses  et  son  royaume. 

Et  moi,  i!s  m'ont  renvoye  ici.  Je  leur  avais  aide,  mais  ils  ne  m'ont 
pas  dcnnd  un  sou. 

3.    LE    DRAGON    DE    FYV ^ 

line  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  un  roi.      II  dit  a  sa  femme,  un 

1  Bucher  ici  est  dans  le  sens  do  Jrapper,  se  haUre. 

2  Pour  enfin. 

3  Pour  bientot. 

4  I.e.,  lente. 

5  I.e.,  inquiete. 

6  Pour  d  demcure,  definitivcraent. 

7  I.e.,  paye  pour  le  temps  qu'il  avait  et^  a  son  service. 

8  Racont(5  par  Achille  Fournicr,  a  Sainte-Anne  de  la  Pocatiere,  Kamquraska, 
P.Q.,  en  juillet,  1915.  Fournier  dit  qu'il  a  appris  ce  conte,  quand  il  etait  jeune 
homme,  d'un  mendiant,  a.  Sainte-Anne. 


32  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

jour:  "Celui  qui  mourra  devant  ^  ne  se  remariera  point;  notre  petit 
gargon  aurait  de  la  misere."  De  Tun  et  de  I'autre  ce  marche  passe 
entre  les  deux.  La  femme  meurt  et  le  roi,  veuf,  va  a  la  ehasse  tous 
les  jours. 

Le  petit  gargon  dit  a  son  pere:  "Poupa,'^  n'allez  pas  dans  les  bois, 
pour  ne  pas  rencontrer  une  fille  qui  pourrait  vous  tenter."  —  "Mon 
petit  gargon,  repond  le  roi,  je  vais  faire  la  ehasse  dans  les  bois,  ou  on  ne 
rencontre  pas  des  filles." 

Rendu  dans  les  bois,  ce  qu'i\  voit  ?  Une  belle  perdrix  blanche.  Tire 
sur  la  perdrix,  qui  tombe  dans  les  feuilles.  Gratte  dans  les  feuilles,  et 
ce  qu'il  trouve  ?  Un  bel  arganeau  ^  d'or.  Qa  fait  qu'il  tire  I'arganeau  ; 
ce  qui  s'ouvre  ?  Une  trappe.  Ouvre  la  trappe  et  apergoit  un  chateau 
tout  en  or  et  en  argent.  II  se  trouve  face  h  face  avec  une  vieille 
magicienne,  qui  dit:  "II  faut  que  tu  m'epouses  ast'heure." — "Je  ne 
peux  pas  t'epouser;  ce  serait  contre  la  promesse  que  j'ai  faite  a  ma  de- 
funte  femme."  —  "Ah,  si  tu  ne  m'epouses  pas,  tu  meurs!"  Lui, 
plutot  que  d'etre  tue  —  elle  a  un  poignard  a  la  main  —  I'epouse. 
Aussitot,  le  beau  chateau  disparait,  et  la  magicienne  s'en  revient  avec 
le  roi. 

Le  roi  gardait  k  I'annee  un  petit  vacher  pour  avoir  soin  de  son 
troupeau.  "Mon  mari,  dit  la  belle-mere,  pourquoi  ce  petit  vacher? 
Ton  petit  gargon  serait  bien  capable  d'avoir  soin  des  vaches."  Le  roi 
repond:  "J'ai  les  moyens;  je  ne  veux  pas  mettre  mon  enfant  vacher." 
Mais  c'est  pas  tout  ci  tout  qa,  ^  elle  envoie  le  petit  gargon  garder  les  va- 
ches. Le  voila  devenu  vacher,  qui  s'en  va  dans  le  haut  du  clos.  ^ 
Toujours,  une  fois  les  frets  ^  arrives,  le  bonhomme  se  met  h  I'abri  de 
la  cloture  et  il  tremble.  Le  petit  bceuf,  parmi  les  vaches,  dit:  "Mon 
Petit-Jean,  f'as /reL?"  ^  —  "Oui,  j'ai /re«."  —  "Regarde  a  mon  oreille 
gauche,  oil  il  y  a  un  petit  morceau  de  fer.  Mets-le  a  terre,  et  ga  te 
fera  un  beau  poele.  Regarde  a  mon  oreille  drete;  ^  il  y  a  un  petit 
morceau  de  toile;  ga  te  fera  une  belle  tente.  Tout  ce  que  tu  aimes 
a  manger  se  trouvera  dans  la  tente."  Mon  Petit-Jean  regarde  dans 
I'oreille  gauche  du  bceuf,  trouve  un  petit  morceau  de  fer,  le  met  k 
terre,  et  voila  un  beau  poele.  Regarde  dans  I'oreille  drete,  met  a  terre 
le  petit  morceau  de  toile;  et  ga  lui  fait  une  belle  tente.  Et  tout  ce 
qu'il  souhaite  a  manger,  il  I'a. 

Voyant  que  le  petit  boeuf  le  regarde,  il  dit:  "Comment,  mon  petit 
bceuf,  9  tu  paries,  toi?     On  i°  va  done  jaser,  tous  les  deux."    Le  soir, 

I  I.e.,  le  premier.  -  I.e.,  papa. 

3  Diet.  :  "  Anneau  de  fer  scelle  dans  le  mur  d'lm  quai  pour  attacher  les  ba- 
teaux."    Ce  mot  n'est  peut-etre  pas  connu  en  dehors  des  contes,  en  Canada. 

4  I.e.,  rien  ne  pent  Ten  dissuader. 

5  I.e.,  le  haut  ici  est  pas  opposition  ^  en  has,  dans  ou  vers  la  vallee. 

6  I.e.,  lefroid,  Vhiver.  7  Tu  as  froid.  8  Pour  droite. 
9  Fournicr  pronon^ait  hexi.                                                             i"  Pour  nous. 


Conks  Populaires  Canadiens.  33 

il  embargue  *  a  cheval  sur  son  petit  boeuf  pour  revenir  au  chateau  de 
son  pere.  Quand  la  belle-mere  le  voit  arriver,  elle  dit  k  son  mari: 
"Je  pensais  bien  qu'il  ferait  un  bon  vacher;  il  a  d6ja  dompt6  le  petit 
boeuf."  Le  roi  r^pond:  "Tais-toi  done,  ma  vieille!  il  n'a  toujours 
pas  la  peine  de  marcher."  Le  lendemain,  le  petit  vacher  revient 
encore  a  cheval.  Voila  la  vieille  malade  pour*  manger  du  bceuf. 
Voyant  qa,  Petit- Jean  s'en  va  trouver  son  bceuf ,  et  lui  dit:  "Mon 
petit  boeuf,  la  vieille  veut  te  faire  tuer  demain  matin  par  trois  bou- 
chers."  —  *'Tu  diras  aux  bouchers  qu'il  faut  que  ce  soit  toi  qui  me  tue." 
Les  bouchers  lui  demandent:  "Es-tu  capable  de  le  tuer?"  —  "Oui,  j'en 
suis  capable."  Mon  Petit-Jean  prend  la  hache,  coupe  le  cable,  monte 
a  cheval  sur  le  petit  boeuf,  tandis  que  la  belle-mere  sur  sa  galerie 
se  promene  en  disant:  "M'a^  en  manger,  du  petit  boeuf!"  Mais  le 
boeuf  saute,  donne  un  coup  de  patte  dans  le  front  de  la  vieille,  la 
tue  raide  et  se  sauve  avec  le  petit  vacher  sur  son  dos.  Le  roi  s'arrache 
les  cheveux  de  voir  son  enfant  parti. 

Le  lendemain,  le  boeuf  dit:  "Mon  Petit-Jean,  nous  arrivons  k  un 
jardin  oil  il  y  a  des  fruits  d^fendus,  gardes  par  des  boeufs  trois  fois 
plus  gros  que  moi.  Si  je  m'y  fais  tuer,  pleu?ne-Tnoi,  *  mets-toi  ma 
peau  sur  la  tete,  et  il  n'y  aura  rien  de  plus  fort  que  toi  sur  la  terre." 
La  bataille  prend,  et  le  petit  boeuf  tue  les  trois  autres.  Une  fois 
repartis,  "Mon  Petit-Jean,  dit  le  boeuf,  nous  allons  encore  passer 
par  un  autre  jardin  aux  fruits  d^fendus,  garde  par  des  boeufs  aux  cornes 
d'acier.  Si  je  me  fais  tuer,  pleume-moi,  mets-toi  ma  peau  sur  la  tete, 
et  il  n'y  aura  rien  de  plus  fort  que  toi  sur  la  terre."  La  bataille  com- 
mence, et  le  petit  boeuf  se  fait  tuer.  Petit-Jean  le  pleume  et  se  coiffe 
de  la  peau.  Le  voila  comme  Barhan,  ^  une  peau  sur  la  tete.  Se  disant : 
"II  faut  que  je  m'asseye,  ast'heure,  avec  ma  peau  de  boeuf,"  il  arrive 
devant  un  chene  de  six  pieds  sur  la  souche ;  ^  pousse  ses  cornes  sous 
le  chene,  verse  le  chene. 

De  la,  Petit-Jean  s'en  va  chez  le  roi.  "Monsieur  le  roi,  vous  n'avez 
pas  besoin  d'un  engag^?"^ — "Oui,  rdpond  le  roi,  j'en  ai  un  de  parti 
hier;  si  tu  veux  prendre  sa  place,  tu  es  a  memo."  —  "J'accepte." 
—  "Eh  bien!  tu  garderas  mes  cochons.  Mais  ne  vas  pas  les  faire 
passer  sur  les  terrains  de  mes  voisins,  les  grants,  qui  vous  tueraient 
certain,  toi  et  les  cochons." 

S'approchant  du  mur  de  pierre  de  soixante  pieds  de  haut,  Petit- 
Jean  pousse  ses  cornes  sous  le  mur,  le  renverse,  fait  passer  ses  cochons 
sur  la  terre  des  grants,  et  monte  dans  un  gros  chene.  Ce  qu'il  voit 
venir?     Un  geant  de  dix  pieds  de  haut,  qui  crie:  "Je  croyais  n'en 

1  I.e.,  monle.  2  J.e,,  feignant  d'etre  malade. 

3  Pour  je  vais;  m'a  est  I'abr^viation  de  je  m'en  vas. 

*  I.e.,  icorche.  5  Peut-etre  Brabant. 

6  Foumier  disait:  "six  pieds  sur  la  chousse;"  ce  qui  signifie  "six  pieds  de  diametre." 

7  I.e.,  serviteur,  prononc6  engahi  (h  aspir6). 


34  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore, 

avoir  que  deux  a  manger,  mais  j'en  ai  trois."  —  "Si  tu  en  as  trois, 
r^pond  Ti-Jean,  tu  vas  les  gagner."  II  vous  attrape  le  geant  par 
les  deux  epaules,  le  plante  jusqu'aux  oreilles  dans  la  terre;  et  cran! 
sur  son  genou,  lui  casse  le  cou,  et  met  la  tete  pres  de  lui,  k  terre. 
"Tiens!  il  dit,  vous  ne  repeterez  pas  avec  moi,  mes  geants!"  Et  il 
s'en  retourne  avec  ses  cochons,  qui  ont  engraisse  d'un  demi-pouce  dans 
la  journee.  Le  roi  dit:  "C'est  le  meilleur  cochonnier  ^  que  j'aie  jamais 
eu;  mes  cochons  ont  engraisse  d'un  demi-pouce  dans  la  journee." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  Petit-Jean  repart  encore  avec  ses  animaux, 
repasse  sur  les  terrains  des  geants  et  monte  dans  le  chene.  Ce  qui 
ressoudf  Un  geant  de  vingt  pieds  de  haut.  "Aie,  ver  de  terre! 
ce  que  ^  tu  fais  ici  ?  Je  croyais  en  avoir  seulement  deux  a  manger, 
mais  j'en  ai  trois."  —  "Si  tu  en  as  trois,  tu  les  auras  gagn^s."  Attrape 
le  g^ant  par  les  deux  epaules  et  le  plante  jusqu'aux  oreilles  dans  la 
terre,  et  cran!  sur  son  genou,  lui  casse  le  cou.  II  repart  avec  ses  co- 
chons, qui  ont  engraisse  d'un  pouce  dans  deux  jours.  Demonte,  le 
roi  dit:  "C'est  un  bon  cochonnier,  depareille.^'  ^ 

Petit-Jean,  le  lendemain  matin,  retourne  encore  avec  ses  cochons 
sur  le  terrain  des  geants,  et  monte  dans  le  chene.  Ce  qui  ressoudf 
Un  geant  de  trente  pieds  de  haut.  "Aie,  ver  de  terre!  ce  que  tu  fais  ici? 
Je  croyais  n'en  avoir  que  deux  a  manger,  mais  j'en  ai  trois."  —  "Si 
tu  en  as  trois,  tu  les  auras  gagnes,  comme  tes  freres."  —  "Ah!  dit  le 
geant,  ne  fais  done  pas  qa,  Petit-Jean.  Mes  freres  etaient  des  vrais 
chicaniers.  *  Viens  faire  un  tour  avec  moi,  et  soj^ons  bons  amis." 
En  marchant,  le  geant  dit:  "II  faut  s^esseyer,  ast'heure,  pour  voir 
qui  est  le  plus  fort.  J'ai  une  canne  de  fer  de  trois  mille  livres.  Celui 
qui  la  jettera  le  plus  loin  gagnera."  Prenant  la  canne  de  fer,  il  la 
fait  tourner  en  I'air  et  la  jette  a  trois  milles,  disant:  "Petit-Jean,  tu 
n'es  pas  capable  de  la  jeter  plus  loin,  grosse  vache^  que  tu  es!"  Petit- 
Jean  repond:  "J'ai  un  de  mes  freres,  un  forgeron,  qui  reste  k  neuf  milles 
d'ici;  ga,  lui  sera  bien  utile,  trois  mille  livres  de  fer."  —  "Aie!  Petit- 
Jean,  ne  va  pas  lancer  la  ma  canne,  j'en  ai  encore  besoin.  Mais 
viens  a  mon  chateau  avec  moi."  Rendu  chez  lui  avec  le  jeune  homme, 
il  dit  a  sa  mere:  "Petit-Jean  vient  nous  voir.  Vous  lui  enverrez 
chercher  un  jambon  dans  le  haut  de  la  cheminee,^  et,  quand  il  sera 
monte,  vous  le  ferez  tomber  dans  une  chaudronne  ^  d'huile  bouillante. 
C'est  le  seul  moyen  de  s'en  debarrasser."  Petit-Jean,  ayant  tout 
entendu,  dit  a  la  vieille,  quand  le  geant  est  sorti:  "Allons,  la  vieille! 
marche,  monte  dans  la  cheminee,  et  va  chercher  le  jambon."     Et 

1  Pour  porcher. 

2  Pour  qu'est-ce  que. 

3  DepareillS  veut  dire  "  saos  pareil,  saoa  6gal."  Fournier  prononfait  cocho- 
gnye. 

4  Prononc6  chicagne.  6  I.e.,  gros  paresseux. 
6  Fournier  prononcait  chunee.                                           7  I.e.,  ua  chaudron. 


Conies  Pdpulaires  Canadiens.  35 

aussit6t  qu'elle  est  au  haut,  il  tire  l'6chelle,  et  la  bonne-femme  tombe 
dans  la  chaudronne  d'huile.  En  entrant  le  g^ant  dit:  "La  voila  morte! 
On  est  bien  d^barrass^." 

**Ast'heure,  mon  petit  jeune  horame,  il  faut  s'esseyer;  celui  qui 
mangera  le  plus  de  bouillie  sera  le  plus  capable."  ^  Petit- Jean  s'en 
va  a  la  ville,  oil  il  se  fait  faire  un  habit  des  pieds  a  la  t^te,  avec  un  sac 
dedans.  Arrive  chez  le  g^ant  avec  son  habit,  on  s^pare  la  bouillie; 
£i  chacun  quatre  siaux.  "^  Petit-Jean  dit:  "Dmrons-nous  dos  k  dos;  moi, 
je  n'aime  pas  a  manger  face  a  face."  —  "C'est  bon!"  r^pond  le  geant. 
Et  pendant  que  le  g^ant  mange  sa  bouillie,  Petit-Jean  la  jette  h 
cuiller^e  dans  le  sac  de  son  habit.  Le  g^ant  dit:  "Je  suis  malade, 
moi."  —  "Et  moi  aussi,"  r^pond  Petit-Jean,  en  ajoutant:  "Mais  j'ai 
un  bon  remede;  je  me  fends  la  pause  avec  un  couteau."  Prenant 
son  couteau,  il  se  fend  la  pause,  et  la  bouillie  se  repand.  Le  g^ant 
dit:  "Af'a^  hen  faire  pareil,  moi  aussi."  Prend  le  couteau,  h^site  un 
peu,  et  se  fend  la  pause.     II  tombe  a  la  renverse,  mort,  d^truit. 

Petit-Jean  s'en  va  a  I'ecurie  du  g^ant  et  y  trouve  vingt  beaux 
grands  chevaux  noirs  et  reluisant  comme  des  souris.  Grattant  dans 
un  quart  d'avoine,  il  trouve  un  sifflet,  ^  siffle  dedans.  Ce  qui  arrive 
d  lui?  Un  homme,  qui  dit:  "Que  voulez-vous,  maltre?"  —  "Je  veux 
que  ces  vingt  beaux  chevaux  soient  bien  soignes  et  ^trilles.  Tout  ce 
qu'on  veut  avoir  de  ce  sifflet,  on  I'a?"  —  "Oui,  maitre!" 

Petit-Jean  part  avec  ses  cochons  et  arrive  au  chateau  du  roi.  Tout 
est  en  deuil.  "Qu'est-ce  que  9a  veut  dire?"  demande-t-il.  Le  roi 
r^pond:  "Une  de  mes  filles  va  etre^  d^vor^e  par  le  dragon  de  feu, 
demain  matin,  a  sept  heures.  J'ai  d^ja  envoye  bien  des  armies  pour 
le  d^truire,  mais  je  n'ai  jamais  pu."  Petit-Jean  part,  retourne  au 
chateau  des  geants,  prend  son  sifflet,  siffle  et  demande:  "Donne-moi  la 
jument  qui  est  capable  de  boire  la  moiti^  de  la  mer  et  d'^teindre  le 
dragon  de  feu  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde." 

II  se  rend  avec  sa  jument,  le  lendemain  matin,  sur  le  rivage  oii 
est  la  belle  princesse.  "Qu'es-tu  venu  faire  ici?"  II  r^pond:  "Je  suis 
venu  combattre  le  dragon  de  feu  et  te  d^livrer."  —  ^^Poupa  a  envoy^ 
des  centaines  d'arm^es  pour  d^truire  le  dragon,  sans  jamais  y  r^ussir." 
—  "Belle  princesse!  je  vais  me  coucher  sur  vos  genoux,  et  quand  vous 
verrez  le  dragon  venir,  vous  me  reveillerez."  Le  dragon  de  feu 
arrive,  la  princesse  le  reveille.  II  dit:  "Ma  jument!  bois  la  moiti6  de 
la  mer!"  Et  elle  boit  la  moiti^  de  la  mer:  "Eteins  le  dragon  de  feu 
sept  lieues  a  la  ronde!"  La  jument  vomit  I'eau  de  la  mer  et  6teint 
le  dragon  de  feu  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde.  Le  dragon  demande  quartier 
jusqu'au  lendemain  matin.  Accepts.  Petit-Jean  arrive  au  chateau 
du  roi.     "Petit-Jean?"  —  "Sire  le  roi,  qu'est-ce  que  ga  veut  dire? 

1  I.e.,  fort,  puissant.  2  Pour  seau.  3  I.e.,  je  fas. 

4  Fournier  disait  soufflet.  *  Foumier  dit  est  pour  ilre  devoree. 


36  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Tout  etait  en  deuil  hier,  et  tout  est  aujourd'hui  en  rejouissance." 
Le  roi  r^pond:  "Un  monsieur  est  venu  combattre  le  dragon  de  feu." 
—  'Tas  plus  monsieur  que  moi,"  dit  Petit-Jean.  "Tais-toi  done!  Tu 
n'es  toujours  bien  rien  qu'un  petit  cochonnier."  Le  roi  dit:  "Demain 
matin,  je  vais  envoyer  une  armee  pour  guetter  celui  qui  va  combattre 
le  dragon  de  feu."  Qa  fait  que  Petit-Jean  s'en  va  au  chateau  des 
grants,  prend  son  sifflet,  siffle  et  demande:  "Donne-moi  la  jument 
qui  est  capable  de  sauter  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or,  mille  pieds  de  rond 
d'air,  et  les  chiens  qui  s'appellent  Fort,  Raide,  S'est-fait-tort,  Prends- 
ma-garde,  A-ton-maitre,  Feu." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  Petit-Jean  s'en  va  avec  sa  jument  et  ses 
chiens  sur  le  rivage  oii  est  la  belle  princesse.  La  princesse  dit:  "C'est 
comme  rien,^  le  dragon  de  feu  va  etre  cent  fois  plus  terrible  aujourd'hui 
qu'hier."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas,  belle  princesse;  je  suis  cent  mille  fois 
plus  fort,  moi."  Le  roi  place  une  armee  pour  guetter  le  beau  cavalier 
stranger.  Comme  le  dragon  arrive,  Petit-Jean  appelle  ses  chiens: 
"Fort,  Raide,  S'est-fait-tort,  Prends-ma-garde,  A-ton-maitre,  Feu!" 
Et  se  jetant  sur  le  dragon,  les  chiens  le  dechirent  en  mille  miettes. 
A  sa  jument,  Petit-Jean  dit:  "Saute  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or,  mille 
pieds  de  rond  d'air."  Et  la  jument  saute  par-dessus  I'armee  du  roi. 
II  y  avait  1^  un  vieux  Frangais  qui  dit:  "Car,  nom  de  Dieu!  je  vais 
toujours  le  blesser  avec  mon  ^pee."  Lance  son  ep^e  a  sa  hanche, 
oil  elle  se  casse. 

Le  roi  fait  battre  ^  un  ban  que  celui  qui  serait  trouve  avec  le  bout 
de  I'ep^e  dans  la  hanche  aurait  la  belle  princesse  en  mariage.  Beau- 
coup  de  jeunes  gens  se  mettent  des  bouts  de  fer,  de  faucille,  dans  la 
hanche.  Mais  c'est  inutile.  Petit-Jean  arrive,  le  soir,  en  boitant. 
Le  roi  dit:  'Tetit-Jean,  tu  t'es  plante  un  bout  de  fourche  dans  la 
hanche  pour  avoir  ma  princesse?"  —  "Non,  sire  le  roi!  J'ai  couru 
apres  mes  cochons,  aujourd'hui,  et  je  me  suis  plants  un  chicot  dans 
le  pied."  Le  roi  I'examine,  ajuste  I'epee  au  bout  qui  sort  de  sa 
hanche;  ga  fait  juste!  "Petit-Jean,  es-tu  capable  de  me  montrer 
la  jument  qui  a  saute  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or?"  —  "Oui,  sire  le  roi. 
J'ai  mon  gros  cochon  noir  dans  la  grange.  II  est  capable  de  sauter 
par-dessus."  Et  il  monte  a  cheval  sur  le  cochon,  qui  fait  des  sauts  de 
quatre  pieds  en  I'air.  Le  roi  est  d  terre  de  rire.  Petit-Jean  dit: 
"Ast'heure  que  vous  avez  ben  ri,  je  vais  aller  chercher  la  jument  qui 
a  saute  par-dessus  la  boule  d'or. — Et  vous,  belle  princesse,  appareillez- 
vous '  pour  venir  k  cheval  avec  moi."  Comme  il  arrive  avec  la  jument, 
la  princesse  emharque,  et,  tous  les  deux,  ils  sautent  par-dessus  la  boule 
d'or  mille  pieds  de  rond  d'air.    Voila  le  roi  sans  connaissance  de  peur; 

1  I.e.,  inutile. 

2  Fournier  disait  toujours  mettre  un  ban. 

3  I.e.,  preparez-vous;  terme  d'origine  mariae. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  37 

sa  princesse  va  peut-etre  se  tuer!     Mais  non;  ils  redescendent,  et 
Petit-Jean  la  ramene.     Le  roi  dit:  "Tu  vas  epouser  ma  princesse,  tu 
I'as  gagnee."     lis  se  sont  done  marids,  et  le  roi  leur  a  donnd  tous  sea 
biens,  son  chateau,  ses  parterres  et  tout  son  royaume. 
Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici  vous  le  raconter. 

4.    TI-JEAN    ET    LE    CHEVAL    BLANC.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  un  veuf  qui  cherchait  h  se  remarier.  II  mal- 
traitait  tellement  son  petit  gargon,  Ti-Jean,  que,  decourage,  celui-ci 
d^serte  un  bon  matin,  prend  le  chemin  et  raarche,  marche.  II  arrive 
au  bout  du  chemin  et,  ne  sachant  ou  aller,  il  prend  un  petit  sentier 
menant  dans  les  bois.  Suit  le  petit  sentier,  et  ressoud'^  devant 
un  beau  batiment,  un  beau  chateau.  II  cogne  a  la  porte  et  on  lui 
dit:  "Entrez!"  Une  vieille  magicienne  est  \k,  toute  seule.  Elle 
demande:  "Mon  petit  gargon,  dis-moi  done  d'ou  tu  viens?"  —  "Bonne 
m^re!  Je  ne  sais  pas."  —  "Oil  vas-tu?"  —  "Je  ne  sais  pas."  —  "Veux- 
tu  t'engager?"  II  r<5pond:  "Oui!"  —  "Tu  n'auras  pas  grand'chose  ^ 
faire,"  lui  dit-elle.  Elle  I'engage  done.  "C'est  pour  soigner  un  cheval 
noir  et  un  vieux  cheval  blanc.  Tiens!  au  cheval  blanc  tu  ne  donneras 
que  de  la  paille;  et  voici  un  baton;  tu  le  battras  tant  qu'il  te  plaira. 
Mais  mon  cheval  noir,  tu  le  soigneras  au  foin  et  k  Tavoine  et  tu  le 
brosseras  tous  les  jours."     Ti-Jean  repond:  "C'est  bien!" 

Ast'heure  elle  I'emm^ne  au  chateau  et  lui  montre  tout,  ouvrant  dea 
portes  siir  un  sens,  sur  I'autre,  partout.  Arrivant  a  une  porte,  elle 
dit:  "  Tant  qu'd^  celle-ci,  n'y  entre  pas,  ou  je  te  mettrai  k  mort." 
— "Ne  craignez  pas,"  repond-il. 

La  vieille  femme  part  pour  huit  jours.  Une  fois  seul,  Ti-Jean 
visite  le  chateau,  examine  tout  et  est  satisfait.  Mais  il  se  met  k 
penser:  "Dis-moi  done,  dans  ce  petit  cabinet,  ce  qu'il  peut  bien  y 
avoir  de  drole?"  Prenant  la  clef,  il  ouvre  la  porte.  Un  grand  trou 
sans  fond  et  une  echelle  qui  y  descend.  "Dis-moi  done!  ce  qu'il  peut 
bien  y  avoir,  la?"  Prenant  I'echelle,  il  descend,  descend,  descend. 
Rendu  pas  mal  loin,  il  fourre  son  bras  et  son  doigt  oil  ga  reluit, 
au  fond.  Retirant  son  bras,  il  voit  que  son  doigt  est  dore.  C'etait 
une  fontaine  d'or. 

Ti-Jean  remonte  et  ferme  la  porte. 

Sorti  de  1^,  Ti-Jean  essaie  d'arracher  I'or  de  son  doigt;  mais  c'est 
impossible.  II  se  I'enveloppe  done.  La  vieille  magicienne  arrive  et 
demande:  "Qu'est-ce  que  tu  t'es  fait  au  doigt?"  —  "J'ai  dol6  et 
je  me  suis  coupe  le  doigt."  —  "Montre  done!  montre  done!"  —  "Non! 

1  Conte  r6cit6  h.  Saint-Victor,  Beauce,  en  aodt,  1914,  par  Paul  Patry,  qui 
I'avait  appris  de  sa  mdre,  Genevidve  Coulombe  (Patry). 

2  I.e.,  arrive. 

'  Pour  quani  d. 


38  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

je  ne  me  suis  coup6  qu'un  peu."  Lui  pognant  ^  la  main,  elle  arrache 
Tenveloppe  et  dit:  "Ah,  mon  malheureux!  tu  es  descendu  a  la  fontaine 
d'or."  II  r^pond:  "Je  ne  savais  pas  quoi  faire  et,  m'ennuyant,  je 
suis  descendu  voir.  Au  fond,  e'^tait  comme  de  I'eau;  j'y  ai  fourr^  le 
doigt,  et  c'est  rest6  coll6."  —  'Trends  garde  d'y  retourner,  ou  je 
te  prendrai  la  vie."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas,  vu  que  je  connais  ce  que 
c'est."  Elle  ajoute:  "Je  repars  encore  pour  huit  jours;  aie  bien  soin 
de  mon  cheval  noir;  nourris-le  et  brosse-le.       Mais  I'autre,  rosse-le." 

La  bonne-femme  partie,  Ti-Jean  va  soigner  ses  chevaux.  Le 
cheval  blanc  lui  dit:  "Ne  me  bats  done  pas  et  soigne-moi  bien.  Je 
te  rendrai  service  plus  tard.  Quant  au  noir,  donne-lui  de  la  paille 
et  foute-lui^  la  vol^e  a  son  tour.  Tu  verras!"  Ti-Jean  r^pond: 
"Tu  paries,  toi?"  —  "Ah!  dit-il,  oui!  et  je  te  sauverai  la  vie,  toi." 
Le  petit  gargon  soigne  son  vieux  cheval  blanc  au  foin  et  a  I'avoine,  et 
donne  une  bonne  volee  a  Tautre.  Sapre!^  le  noir  trouve  ga  dur,  lui 
qui  n'y  est  pas  habitu^. 

L'ennui  le  prenant  encore,  le  petit  gargon  debarre  le  cabinet  et 
descend  encore  a  la  fontaine  d'or.  —  II  ^tait  comme  moi,  il  avait 
les  cheveux  longs  effrayant.  Rendu  au  bas  de  I'^chelle,  il  se  fourre 
la  tete  dans  la  fontaine  d'or,  et  sort  de  la  avec  une  belle  chevelure 
dor^e.  "De  ce  coup-la,  pense-t-il,  la  bonne-femme  va  me  tuer." 
Cherchant  partout,il  trouve  une  peau  de  petit  jeune  mouton,*  et  s'en 
fait  une  bonne  perruque  cachant  bien  ses  cheveux  d'or. 

Avant  le  retour  de  la  magicienne,  le  cheval  blanc  dit  a  Ti-Jean: 
"Mon  petit  gargon,  c'est  le  temps  de  deserter.  Tu  te  ferais  tuer  pour 
t'etre  mis  la  tete  dans  la  fontaine  d'or."  Et  ils  se  greyent  pour  partir. 
"Prends  I'^trille  et  une  bouteille,  dit  le  cheval  blanc;  bride-moi,  et 
partons!  Quand  elle  arrivera,  ga  ne  sera  pas  drole!"  Comme  de  fait, 
Ti-Jean  prend  I'^trille,  une  bouteille,  et  les  met  dans  sa  poche;  bride 
son  cheval  blanc;  et  ils  partent.     Le  cheval  dit:  "Touche,  et  filons!" 

La  magicienne  ressoud.  Pas  de  cheval  blanc  ni  de  petit  gargon. 
Elle  dit:  "Le  petit  bougre,il  a  fait  quelque  mechant  coup!"  Et  pendant 
que  Ti-Jean  et  le  cheval  blanc  se  sauvent  a  I'^pouvante,  ils  voient 
venir,  en  arriere,  une  tempete  terrible.  Le  cheval  dit:  "C'est  la  vieille 
magicienne  qui  court  apres  nous.  Si  elle  nous  rattrape,  c'est  la 
mort."  Et  la  tempete  approche.  Quand  elle  est  tout  pres,  le  cheval 
dit:  "Jette  ton  etrille!"  Jette  I'^trille ;  et  voila  une  montagne 
d'^trilles,  dans  laquelle  la  vieille  et  son  cheval  noir  s'empetrent. 
Ti-Jean  et  son  cheval  continuent,  et  fa  mene!  Apres  une  escousse,^ 
ils  s'apergoivent  que  le  temps  noircit,  regardent  en  arriere,  et  je  vous 
dis  que  ga  vient!    Le  cheval  blanc  dit:  "C'est  encore  la  vieille.     S'il 

1  I.e.,  saisissant.  3  Juron. 

*  I.e.,  donne-lui,  *  Pour  agneau. 

6  I.e.,  laps  de  temps. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  39 

faut  qu'elle  nous  rejoigne,  nous  sommes  morts  tous  les  deux.  Quand 
elle  sera  tout  pres,  jette  la  bride."  Et  Ti-Jean  jette  la  bride.  Voil^ 
une  montagne  de  brides  epouvantable.  La  bonne-femme  voit  I'heure 
qu'elle  ne  s'en  demancherait  pas,  tandis  que  les  autres  filent.  Apr^s 
un  bout  de  temps,  elle  s^en  demanche  et  part  encore  apres  eux.  Le  temps 
devient  encore  noir,  et  la  tempete  casse  et  arrache  les  arbres.  "S'il 
faut  qu'elle  nous  pogne,  de  ce  coup-la,  c'est  fini!  Jette  la  bouteille." 
Ti-Jean  jette  la  bouteille;  et  voila  une  montagne  de  bouteilles  epou- 
vantable. Prise  dans  les  bouteilles,  essayant  de  monter,  la  vieille  roule 
toujours  en  bas.     C'est  impossible,  elle  ne  peut  pas  s'en  demancher. 

Le  cheval  blanc  dit  a  Ti-Jean:  "Ast'heure,  rends-toi  la-bas,  au 
chateau,  en  passant  par  la  petite  riviere,  dans  les  arbres.  Et  va 
chez  le  roi  t'engager  comme  jardinier."  Ti-Jean  arrive  chez  le  roi, 
qui  n'avait  pas  de  jardinier,  et  offre  ses  services.  Bien  content,  le 
roi  accepte,  et  I'envoie  loger  dans  une  petite  batisse,  en  arriere  du 
chateau. 

Le  roi  dit  a  ses  trois  filles:  "Une  de  vous  ira  porter  h  manger  au 
jardinier."  La  plus  jeune  des  trois,  une  beaute  sans  pareille,  va  done 
lui  porter  a  manger,  tous  les  jours. 

Qa  s'adonne  hien  que  '  la  belle  fille  a  sa  chambre  vis-a-vis  du  jardin, 
et  qu'elle  voit  souvent  le  petit  jardinier.  Le  matin,  Ti-Jean  fait 
toujours  sa  toilette  et  se  debarbouille.  La  petite  fille  le  regarde  faire, 
de  sa  chambre.  Ah!  les  beaux  cheveux  d'or!  En  finissant  de  se  pei- 
gner,  il  met  sa  perruque  en  peau  de  mouton.  Quand  on  lui  demande: 
"Pourquoi  mets-tu  cette  calotte?"  il  repond:  "Je  suis  teigneux." 
La  fille  a  bien  vu  ses  beaux  cheveux  d'or,  mais  elle  n'en  parle  k  personne. 

Un  jour,  voila  la  guerre  declaree.  A  tout  son  monde  le  roi  ordonne 
de  rejoindre  le  regiment  et  de  partir  pour  la  guerre.  Le  vieux  cheval, 
que  Ti-Jean  va  voir  tous  les  jours,  lui  dit:  "Le  roi  s'en  va  a  la  guerre. 
Allons  lui  aider;  il  va  perdre,  car  il  n'a  pas  assez  de  soldats.  Viens 
ici,  demain  matin,  et  nous  irons  joindre  I'armee."  Le  lendemain 
matin,  le  petit  teigneux  ote  sa  calotte  de  mouton  et  s'en  va  trouver 
son  cheval,  qui  est  plus  blanc  que  la  neige,  blanc  comme  on  n'en  a 
jamais  vu.  Mettant  un  habit  tout  blanc,  il  laisse  tomber  ses  cheveux 
d'or  sur  ses  epaules.  A  cheval,  et  ses  armes  pendant  de  chaque  cote, 
il  part  pour  la  guerre.  II  arrive  dans  I'arm^e,  passe  pres  du  roi,  faisant 
un  grand  salut,  pendant  que  tout  le  monde  regarde  ce  beau  prince 
qu'on  n'a  encore  jamais  vu.  La  bataille  commence.  Le  cheval 
blanc  saute  d'un  bord,  saute  de  I'autre,  pendant  que  Ti-Jean  joue  si 
bien  du  sabre  que  I'ennemi  demande  quartier  pour  jusqu'au  lende- 
main. C'est  Ti-Jean  qui  a  gagne  la  victoire  !  En  repassant  pr^s 
du  roi,  il  lui  fait  un  salut  et  part.  Le  roi  retourne  k  son  chateau, 
disant:  "Je  ne  sais  pas  quel  est  ce  beau  prince,  si  vaillant,  les  cheveux 

I  Pour  le  hasard  veut  Men  que. 


40  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

en  or  et  habill6  tout  en  blanc,  qui  m'a  fait  gagner  la  victoire."  La 
plus  jeune  de  ses  filles  dit:  "Pas  plus  beau  que  mon  petit  teigneux!" 
—  "Ton  petit  teigneux?  r^pond  le  roi;  tais-toi!  ou  je  te  fais  p6terla 
gueule."     Et  la  fille  ne  reparle  pas. 

Le  lendemain  matin,  la  meme  fille  va  porter  a  manger  au  petit 
teigneux  pendant  qu'il  se  peigne.  Elle  voit  encore  ses  beaux  cheveux 
d'or,  mais  ne  dit  rien.  A  Ti-Jean  le  cheval  blanc  dit:  "La  bataille 
recommence  aujourd'hui;  il  faut  aider  au  roi.  Aujourd'hui,  habillons- 
nous  en  rouge,"  lis  s'habillent  done  tout  en  rouge.  En  arrivant 
dans  I'arm^e,  Ti-Jean  passe  encore  pres  du  roi  et  fait  un  salut.  Comme 
la  bataille  commence,  son  cheval  est  si  vigoureux  que,  saute  d'un 
cot^,  saute  de  I'autre,  Ti-Jean  avec  son  sabre  gagne  encore  la  victoire. 
En  revenant,  il  passe  contre  le  roi  et  lui  fait  un  salut.  Le  roi  essaie  de 
le  pogner,^  mais  il  en  est  incapable. 

De  retour  au  chateau,  le  roi  dit  a  la  reine:  "Un  beau  cavalier,  tout 
habill^  en  rouge  et  des  cheveux  d'or  sur  le  dos,  m'a  encore  fait  gagner 
la  victoire.  Mais  je  ne  peux  pas  savoir  qui  il  est."  La  petite  fille 
dit:  "II  n'est  pas  plus  beau  que  mon  petit  teigneux." — "Ferme  ta 
gueule  !    Tu  vas  baiser  ma  main." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  le  cheval  blanc  dit:  "Mon  Ti-Jean,  nous  allons 
encore  a  la  guerre,  aujourd'hui.  Habillons-nous  tout  en  noir."  Et 
ils  se  greyent,  leurs  habits,  le  sabre,  le  cheval,  tout  en  noir.  Sur  ses 
^paules,  Ti-Jean  laisse  tomber  ses  cheveux  d'or.  En  passant  a  c6t6 
du  roi,  il  fait  un  grand  salut  et  file  encore  en  avant,  saute  d'un  c6t6, 
saute  de  I'autre,  et,avec  son  sabre,  gagne  la  victoire.  La  guerre  est 
finie.  Le  roi  dit:  "Que  ga  coute  ce  que  ga  voudra,  il  faut  le  pogner, 
pour  voir  qui  il  est!"  Ti-Jean  fait  encore  un  salut  au  roi,  en  passant; 
et  le  roi  jette  sa  lance,  qui  se  casse  dans  la  cuissc  de  Ti-Jean.  Mon 
petit  jeune  homme  s'^chappe  quand  meme,  sans  qu'on  puisse  arriver  k 
I'arreter. 

Le  roi,  en  arrivant,  dit:  "Un  beau  prince  tout  en  noir  a  encore  gagn6 
la  victoire  et  fini  la  guerre."  II  fait  battre  un  ban  que  celui  qui  lui 
apporterait  le  bout  de  la  lance  cass^e  alirait  sa  fille  en  mariage  et  sa 
couronne.  On  vient  done  de  tous  bords  et  tous  c6t6s  avec  des  bouts  de 
fourche,  de  broc^  et  de  faucille,  pour  essayer  de  les  ajuster  a  la  lance. 
Mais  c'est  inutile.  Le  vieux  cheval  blanc  dit:  "Mon  Ti-Jean,  habil- 
lons-nous tout  en  blanc,  comme  la  premiere  fois  que  nous  sommes 
all^s  a  la  guerre."  Le  petit  jeune  homme  s'habille  en  blanc,  et, 
nu-tete,  il  laisse  battre  ses  beaux  cheveux  d'or  sur  son  dos.  Partant 
k  cheval,  il  arrive  comme  une  tempete.  Comme  il  passe  pres  du 
chateau,  on  essaie  de  le  saisir,  mais  sans  y  r^ussir. 

Une  fois  re venu,  Ti-Jean  mene  le  cheval  blanc  dans  sa  foret;  et, 

1  I.e.,  le  saisir. 

2  I.e.,  longues  fourches  k  foin.    Mot  d'origine  celtique. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  41 

arrivant  au  chateau,  il  remet  sa  petite  calotte  de  mouton.  La  belle 
princesse  en  le  regardant  s'apergoit  qu'il  boite,  mais  elle  n'en  dit 
rien. 

Le  lendemain  matin,  le  cheval  dit:  "Retournons,  comme  au  deuxi^- 
me  jour,  tout  en  rouge!"  Ti-Jean  s'habille  done  tout  en  rouge.  En 
les  voyant  arriver  comme  une  tempete,  le  roi  dit:  "Celui-la,  c'est  le 
prince  qui  est  venu  me  gagner  la  bataille,  le  deuxieme  jour."  Comme 
il  repasse,  on  essaie  de  le  prendre,  mais  il  leur  glisse  dans  les  mains 
et  passe  tout  dret. 

De  retour  au  chateau,  il  relache  son  cheval,  change  d'habit  et  se 
remet  a  jardiner. 

Le  cheval  blanc  dit,  le  lendemain:  "Allons-y  vetus  tout  en  noir, 
comme  au  dernier  jour  de  la  guerre,  quand  tu  as  ete  bless6."  Et  ils 
partent  pour  le  chateau,  Ti-Jean  habille  en  noir,  et  ses  beaux  cheveux 
d'or  lui  battant  sur  le  dos.  "C'est  le  dernier  prince  venu  h  ma  guerre," 
dit  le  roi.  On  essaie  encore  de  le  prendre  au  passage,  mais  sans  y 
reussir.  Le  roi  remarque:  "C'est  bien  curieux,  on  ne  peut  pas  les 
prendre,  ni  trouver  qui  ils  sont  !  "  En  s'en  revenant,  il  ajoute  : 
"Cotlte  que  co{lte,  il  faut  essayer  de  les  pogner!" 

Au  roi  qui  entre  au  chateau,  le  petit  jardinier  dit:  "Venez  voir, 
monsieur  le  roi,  si  ce  bout  de  lance  ajuste  k  la  votre."  L'ayant  essay^, 
le  roi  reconnait  que  c'est  le  vrai,  cette  fois.  "J'ai  promis  ma  fille 
en  mariage  et  ma  couronne  k  celui  qui  m'apporterait  le  bout  cass6 
de  ma  lance."  Et  le  prenant  par  la  main,  il  I'emmene  voir  ses  trois 
filles,  en  disant:  'Trends  celle  que  tu  voudras."  Ti-Jean  tend  la 
main  k  la  plus  jeune  et  la  plus  belle  des  trois,  k  celle  qui  lui  portait  k 
manger.  Fachees,  les  deux  autres  se  mettent  k  brailler:  "Voir  que 
le  beau  prince  a  choisi  la  plus  jeune!" 

Apres  le  mariage,  le  roi  remet  sa  couronne  k  Ti-Jean.  Le  vieux 
cheval  blanc  vient  et  dit:  "Mon  Ti-Jean,  tu  es  marie.  Je  viens 
done  te  voir  pour  la  derni^re  fois.  Ast'heure,  tue-moi  et  fends-moi 
en  deux."  Ti-Jean  prend  une  hache,  tue  son  cheval  blanc,  le  fend 
en  deux;  et  un  beau  prince  en  sort,  disant:  "Merci  bien!"  Le  vieux 
cheval  etait  un  prince  que  la  vieille  sorciere  avait  amorphose.  ^ 

Et  ga  finit  1^.  Je  ne  sais  pas  ce  qui  leur  est  arrive  depuis;  car  ga 
fait  longtemps  que  je  ne  suis  pas  alle  les  voir. 

5.    TI-JEAN,     LES     CHEVAUX     ET    LA     stTE-X-SEPT-TiTES.  ^ 

C'^tait  un  habitant^  k  I'aise  et  ses  trois  gargons.  II  s'apercevait 
que  le  foin  baissait  vite  dans  la  tasserie  d'une  de  ses  granges,  sur 
ses  terres,  et  n'en  pouvait  trouver  la  raison. 

1  Pour  metamorphose. 

2  Recite  en  aotlt,  1914,  k  Lorette,  Quebec,  par  David  Sioui,  4g6  de  pr^s  de 
cinquante  ans,  et  le  frSre  de  Prudent  Sioui.  David  Sioui  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte 
de  son  defunt  pSre,  Clement  Sioui. 

3  I.e.,  cultivateur  ou  paysan. 


42  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Toujours  que  le  plus  ag6  des  gargons  dit:  "Poupa,  je  vas  ^  garder 
la  tasserie."  Mais,  durant  la  nuit,  la  peur  le  prend,  le  gargon,  et  il 
se  sauve,  les  jambes  a  son  cou.  Le  deuxieme  gargon  dit:  "Je  vas  y 
aller,  poupa."     A  la  fin,  la  peur  I'emporte,  lui  aussi,  et  il  se  sauve. 

Ti-Jean,  le  troisieme  gargon,  dit:  "Moi,  poupa,  je  vas  y  aller." 
Et  ils  se  mettent  tous  a  rire  de  lui.  "Qui,  un  beau  fin  pour  garder  la 
tasserie!"  —  "J'y  vas  quand  meme."  II  part,  arrive  a  la  grange, 
entre  et  s'asseoit  sur  la  tasserie.  Vers  les  onze  heures  de  la  nuit, 
un  cheval  blanc  entre.  Ti-Jean  demande:  "Que  viens-tu  faire  ici?" 
— "Comment?  C'est  toi,  Ti-Jean?  Ne  dis  pas  un  mot!  Laisse- 
moi  manger  du  foin,  et  quand  tu  seras  en  peine,  tu  n'auras  qu'a  penser 
a  moi,  et  je  serai  a  toi."  —  "Mange!"  dit  Ti-Jean.  Et  le  cheval  blanc 
mange  a  peu  pres  une  demi-heure.  Apres  quoi,  jl  sort.  Un  cheval 
noir  entre.  "Comment,  que  viens-tu  faire  ici,  toi?"  —  "Ti-Jean,  ne 
dis  pas  un  mot!  Laisse-moi  manger  du  foin.  Quand  tu  seras  en  peine, 
tu  penseras  a  moi,  et  je  serai  a  toi."  Ti-Jean  dit:  "Mange!"  Le 
cheval  noir  mange  une  demi-heure  et  s'en  va.  Apres  lui,  un  cheval 
rouge  entre.  "En  voila  encore  un  autre?  Mais  combien  etes-vous 
de  votre  bande?"  —  "Ti-Jean,  je  suis  le  dernier.  Laisse-moi  manger 
du  foin,  et  quand  tu  seras  en  peine,  tu  penseras  a  moi,  et  je  serai  a  toi. 
Mais,  souviens-toi,  n'en  parle  pas.     Ne  dis  pas  un  mot." 

Le  matin,  Ti-Jean  s'en  retourne  a  la  maison,  ou  on  lui  demande: 
"Qu'as-tu  vu  ?"  —  "Je  n'ai  rien  vu,"  r^pond-il.  On  rit  de  lui  en  disant: 
"II  a  dormi  toute  la  nuit;  il  pouvait  bien  ne  rien  voir!"  Et  tout  en 
finit  la. 

En  se  promenant  sur  les  terres  de  son  pere,  Ti-Jean  pense  a  son 
cheval  blanc.  Tout  a  coup  le  cheval  blanc  [vient]  a  lui.  "Que  veux- 
tu,  Ti-Jean?"  —  "Ce  que  je  veux?  Ah!  c'etait  seulement  pour  voir 
si  tu  m'avais  conte  des  menteries."  —  "Ti-Jean,  embarque,  ^  je  vas 
te  faire  faire  un  tour."  Mon  Ti-Jean  embarque.  Les  voila  partis;  et, 
je  vous  assure  que  ga  marche,  ga  marche!  Quand  il  en  fut  tann^, 
Ti-Jean  dit:     "C'est  assez!"     II  descend,  et  son  cheval  disparait. 

Le  lendemain,  il  en  fait  autant:  pense  a  son  cheval  noir.  Le  cheval 
noir  a  lui.^  "Que  veux-tu,  Ti-Jean?"  —  "C'etait  seulement  pour 
voir  si  tu  m'avais  conte  des  menteries."  —  "Ah  non!  repond  le  cheval; 
embarque!  Je  vas  te  faire  faire  un  tour."  Et  voila  Ti-Jean  parti 
en  promenade  sur  le  cheval  noir,  allant  partout,  de  ville  en  ville. 

II  entend  quelque  part  dire  que,  tous  les  ans,  le  roi  est  forcd  de 
donner  une  de  ses  filles  a  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes.  Apres  s'etre  inform^ 
du  jour  oil  ga  arrivait,  il  pense  a  son  cheval  rouge.  Le  cheval  rouge 
a  lui.     "Que  veux-tu,  Ti-Jean?"  —  "J'ai  besoin  de  vous,  les  che- 

1  Sioui  dit  m'a  garder  pour  iri'en  vas  garder  et  je  m'en  vas  garder. 

2  Pour  vionte  a  cheval;  terme  d'origine  marine. 

3  l.e.,lui  apparait.  Ici  le  verbe  vient  est  omis  apparemment  pour  d^noter  la 
rapidit6  de  Taction. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  43 

vaux!"  —  "Nous  sommes  h  toi!"  r^pond  le  cheval  rouge.  Et  Ti-Jeaa 
continue:  "Sais-tu  qu'une  princesse  va  se  faire  manger  par  la  B^te- 
^-sept-tetes  ?  "  —  "Oui,  je  le  sais."  —  "Je  veux  me  battre  avec  elle." 
—  "On  ira,  on  ira!"  r^pond  le  cheval. 

Le  jour  arriv^,  Ti-Jean  pense  k  son  cheval  blanc.  Le  cheval  blanc 
d  lui.  Et  ils  galopent  tout  dret  vers  la  ville,  arrivent  au  miheu  de 
I'arm^e  du  roi,  qui  conduit  la  belle  princesse  au  pied  de  la  montagne, 
passent  au  milieu  des  soldats  qu'ils  bousculent,  et  jettent  tout  d 
terre.  Les  voyant  arriver  sur  la  montagne  h  la  suite  de  la  princesse, 
la  Bete-^-sept-tetes  dit:  "Je  pensais  n'en  manger  qu'un;  mais  j'en 
aurai  deux."  Ti-Jean  r^pond:  "Avant  de  les  manger,  tu  vas  les 
gagner!"  Les  voila  pris  a  se  battre.  A  Ti-Jean  qui  vient  de  lui 
couper  deux  tetes,  la  bete  demande  quartier  pour  jusqu'au  lendemain. 
Ti-Jean  consent. 

Le  lendemain,  Ti-Jean  pense  ^  son  cheval  noir.  Le  cheval  noir 
d  lui.  L'entendant  arriver  sur  la  montagne,  la  Bete-^-sept-t^te3 
dit:  "C'est  un  bon  repas  que  je  vas  faire!"  —  "Tu  vas  toujours  bien 
le  gagner,"  r^pond  Ti-Jean.  Et  les  voila  pris  d  se  battre.  Ti-Jean 
coupe  encore  deux  tetes  de  la  bete,  k  qui  il  n'en  reste  plus  que  troia. 
"Quartier  jusqu'^  demain?"  demande-t-elle.  Ti-Jean  consent  et 
redescend  la  montagne.  A  son  cheval  noir  il  demande:  "Penses-tu 
que  je  vas  en  venir  k  bout?"  —  "Elle  va  se  recoller  deux  tetes;  et, de- 
main,  elle  te  redemandera  quartier;  mais  c'est  tout;  plus  *  de  quartier! 
Le  cheval  rouge,  qui  a  deux  fois  plus  de  force  que  nous,  te  le  dira." 

Le  lendemain,  Ti-Jean  pense  k  son  cheval  rouge.  Le  cheval  rouge 
d  lui.  lis  arrivent  sur  la  montagne  oil  la  bete,  grondant  de  fureur, 
se  dit:  "C'est  ce  matin  que  je  fais  un  bon  repas!"  Et  Ti-Jean  conti- 
nue: "Comme  de  coutume."  Les  voil^  encore  pris;  bat  et  puis  bat.^ 
II  lui  coupe  deux  tetes.  "Quartier!"  —  '^ Plus  de  quartier!  Au 
bout!"  A  la  fin,  toutes  les  sept  tetes  sont  tranch^es,  et  la  b^te  est 
morte.  De  son  couteau,  Ti-Jean  en  coupe  les  sept  langues  et  les 
enveloppe  dans  son  mouchoir.  Prenant  les  joyaux  de  la  princesse, 
il  les  y  met  aussi.  La  princesse  se  jette  k  ses  genoux,  et  lui  saute  au 
cou.  Mais  il  la  repousse,  et,  ne  voulant  pas  la  ramener,  il  s'en  va  sans 
elle.  De  1^,  Ti-Jean  s'en  va  vivre  avec  un  vieux  pecheur  et  sa  vieille, 
dans  une  petite  grotte. 

Quant  k  la  belle  princesse,  elle  restait  seule  sur  la  montagne  quand, 
un  jour,  un  charbonnier  s'adonne  a  passer  1^.  Fiere  de  trouver 
quelqu'un  qui  puisse  la  ramener  chez  son  p^re,  elle  consent  et  promet 
de  dire  au  roi  que  c'est  le  charbonnier  qui  I'a  delivree  en  tuant 
la  Bete-S,-sept-tetes.  La  ramenant  au  chateau,  oH  le  roi  est  content 
de  la  revoir,  le  charbonnier  la  demande  de  suite  en  mariage.     Le  roi 

1  Pour  pas  plus,  point. 

2  Ici  employ^  d'une  maniSre  impersonnelle. 


44  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

dit:  "Ben  s^t\  C'est  vous  qui  avez  d41ivr6  ma  princesse;  elle  vous 
appartient.  Mais  reposez-vous  d'abord.  Et,  corame  c'est  ici  la 
fagon,  il  y  aura  festin  avant  le  mariage.  Vous  allez  nous  y  donner 
des  preuves  de  votre  adresse."  —  "Ah  oui!"  repond  le  charbonnier. 

Le  moment  venu,  le  roi  prend  un  anneau,  le  suspend  par  un  brin 
de  sole  au-dessus  d'un  sentier  et  fait  monter  le  charbonnier  sur  le 
cheval  le  plus  vigoureux  de  son  ^curie.  Montant  d'un  bord/  le  char- 
bonnier retombe  de  I'autre.  II  se  fait  garrotter  sur  le  cheval, 
qu'on  Idche.  En  passant  a  cheval  dessous  I'anneau,  il  s'agissait  d'y 
enfiler  une  6p6e.  Mon  charbonnier  la  manque.  Mais  tout  a  coup 
on  entend  ding!  et  I'anneau  part.  Personne  ne  salt  ce  que  ga  veut 
dire. 

Le  lendemain,  on  garrotte  encore  le  charbonnier  sur  un  cheval,  et 
tout  recommence  comme  la  veille.  II  manque  encore  I'anneau,  de 
son  6p6e.  Mais,  ding!  I'anneau  part  encore.  On  n'avait  encore  rien 
vu.  Le  roi  fait  done  avancer  ses  troupes  et  les  place  en  deux  rangs, 
r^p^e  a  la  main,  de  chaque  cote  de  I'anneau.  "Quand  vous  verrez 
partir  I'anneau,  leur  dit-il,  vous  vous  lancerez  en  avant."  Sur  son 
cheval  on  garrotte  le  charbonnier,  qui  manque  encore  I'anneau,  de 
eon  ^p^e.  Mais  a  peine  est-il  pass6  que  ding!  I'anneau  part.  Les 
soldats  de  suite  dardent  de  leur  6p^e,  jusqu'a  ce  que  I'un  d'eux  casse 
sa  lame,  sans  voir  ou  elle  s'est  bris^e,  ni  ce  qu'en  est  devenu  I'^clat. 
Personne  ne  pent  dire  comment  9a  s'est  fait. 

Le  roi  envoie  deux  m^decins  de  porte  en  porte,  par  la  ville,  pour 
visiter  tout  malade  ou  bless^.  Les  medecins  arrivent  a  la  grotte  oil 
Ti-Jean,  bless6,  est  couch6  sur  un  petit  lit.  "Y  a-t-il  quelqu'un  de 
malade  ici?"  demandent  les  medecins.  Jetant  I'oeil  dans  la  maison, 
ils  apergoivent  Ti-Jean  couche  dcrriere  le  poele.  "Vous  n'etes  pas 
malade,  vous?"  —  "Non,  repond  Ti-Jean;  je  ne  suis  pas  malade;  je 
suis  couche."  —  "II  faut  vous  examiner."  Saisissant  mon  Ti-Jean,  ils 
I'examinent  et  trouvent  un  bout  d'^p^e  dans  sa  cuisse.^  lis  I'arra- 
chent  et  s'en  vont  le  porter  au  roi.  On  ajuste  ce  morceau  a  I'ep^e 
cass^e  du  soldat,  et  on  trouve  qu'il  fait  juste.  "Attelez  deux  chevaux, 
dit  le  roi,  et  allez  chercher  Ti-Jean."  —  "Cocher!  repond  Ti-Jean, 
va  dire  au  roi  que  demain  j'irai  de  moi-meme  au  chateau." 

Le  lendemain,  pendant  que  le  roi  attend,  Ti-Jean  part  a  cheval 
pour  le  chateau.  Oh!  tout  de  suite,  un  valet  vient  tenir  son  cheval 
par  la  bride.  "Que  me  voulez-vous  ?"  demande  Ti-Jean  au  roi. 
"Ce  que  je  te  veux?  Je  marie  ma  fille,  et  j'aimerais  te  voir  au  festin 
de  noces."  —  "C'est  bien  trop  de  bont^,  mon  roi!  Puisque  vous  le 
voulez,  je  reste.    Mais  je  vais  soigner  mon  cheval." — "Ne  sois  pas 

1  Le  mot  bord,  ainsi  que  maints  termes  surtout  marins,  a  pris  I'acception  de  cole, 
direction,  chez  les  paysans  canadiens. 

2  II  devient  ici  Evident  que  Ti-Jean,  invisible,  avait  au  lieu  du  charbonnier 
pass6  son  6p6e  dans  I'anneau. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  45 

inquiet,  dit  le  roi,  quelqu'un  en  prend  soin."  Ti-Jean  sort  quand 
m^me;  et  ayant  reldch^  son  cheval,  il  revient  passer  la  journde  k  la 
cour.  La,  il  reconnait  la  princesse;  mais,  quand  au  charbonnier,  il 
ne  I'avait  jamais  vu. 

Le  roi  donne  un  grand  souper,le  soir,  avant  le  mariage  de  sa  fille,la 
princesse.  La  table  prete  et  le  temps  venu,  le  roi  fait  entrer  tout  le  mon- 
de  et  barrer  la  porte.^  A  sa  droite,  il  fait  asseoir  le  charbonnier,  et, 
k  sa  gauche,  Ti-Jean.  En  face  s'asseoit  la  princesse.  Une  fois  le 
Bouper  fini,  il  n'est  pas  question  de  chansons;  ce  sont  des  histoires 
qu'on  raconte.  On  commence  par  Ti-Jean:  "Une  histoire,  Ti-Jean!" 
Pas  trop  fou,  il  r^pond:  "M'avez-vous  invito  pour  rire  tout  de  suite 
de  moi.  Commencez  done  par  un  autre."  Le  roi  fait  conter  son 
histoire  au  charbonnier,  et  lui  demande:  "Comment  t'y  es-tu  pris 
pour  tuer  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes ?"  Le  charbonnier  emmanche^  son 
histoire  aussi  bien  qu'il  le  peut,  fait  des  menteries  au  roi,  et  dit  en 
achevant:  "Vous  en  voyez  la  preuve;  j'ai  les  sept  tetes  dans  ma 
voiture."  Le  roi  r^pond:  "Q'a  bien  du  bon  sens!"  On  trouve  que 
rhistoire  du  charbonnier  n'est  pas  la  plus  amoureuse.  "Ti-Jean, 
ton  histoire!  Conte-nous  ton  histoire,  Ti-Jean!"  demande-t-on. 
II  r^pond:  "Mon  histoire  n'est  pas  longue.  Tout  en  me  promenant 
dans  le  pays,  je  m'adonnais  a  passer  par  ici  a  cheval.  II  y  avait  la 
Bete-ll-sept-tetes.  Trois  jours  de  suite,  je  me  suis  battu  avec  elle; 
et  le  troisieme  jour,  je  Tai  tu6e.  Dans  mon  mouchoir,  voici  les  sept 
langues  de  la  bete.  Allez  voir  aux  sept  tetes  si  les  langues  y  sont. 
Dites-moi  s'il  ^tait  facile  d'aller  chercher  les  langues  dans  la  gueule 
de  la  bete  vivante.  Et  voici  les  joyaux  de  la  belle  princesse,  que  j'ai 
gardes."  Se  retournant  vers  la  princesse,  le  roi  lui  demande:  "Tout 
9a  est-il  bien  vrai  ?"  La  princesse  ne  parle  pas.  "Si  tu  as  fait  quelque 
promesse,  reprend  le  roi,  parle  quand  meme;  je  prends  ga  sur  moi." 
—  "C'est  Ti-Jean  qui  m'a  d^livr^e,"  dit-elle  aussitot. 

Le  lendemain,  on  fit  un  grand  feu  d'artifice,  ou  le  charbonnier  fut 
brAl^.  Quant  a  Ti-Jean,  il  hdrita  de  la  princesse.  Je  pense  qu'il  a 
pass6  des  beaux  jours  et  qu'il  s'amuse  encore. 

6.    TI-JEAN    ET    LA    CHATTE    BLANCHE.  ^ 

C'est  un  roi  qui  a  trois  fils.  Un  s'appelle  Jean,  un  autre,  Cordon- 
bleu,  et  I'autre,  Cordon- vert.  Le  roi,  un  jour,  leur  dit:  "Tous  trois 
vous  etes  maintenant  en  age.  Celui  de  vous  qui  ira  chercher  le  plus 
beau  cheval  aura  ma  couronne."      Les  gargons  se  greyent,*  partent 

1  Pour  que  personne  ne  sorte. 

2  I.e.,  invente  tant  bien  que  mal. 

3  R6cit6  par  Paul  Patry,  en  aotit,  1914,  ^  Saint- Victor,  comt^  de  Beauce. 
M.  Patry  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte  de  sa  mdre,  Genevieve  Coulombe. 

4  Pour  greer. 


46  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

et  marchent ....  Rendus  a  la  fourche  de  trois  ^  chemins,  Cordon-vert 
dit:  "Je  prends  ce  chemin."  Cordon-bleu  ajoute:  "Et  moi,  ce  chemin;" 
et  Ti-Jean  achdve:  "Et  moi,  1' autre  chemin."  Avant  de  se  quitter 
ils  se  disent:  ^' Tel  jour,  nous  nous  retrouverons  tous  trois  k  la  fourche 
des  chemins." 

Mon  Ti-Jean  marche,  ^  marche  jusqu'au  bout  du  chemin.  L^,  il 
prend  un  petit  sentier  dans  la  foret  et  il  marche.  Arrive  pr^s  d'une 
petite  cabane  de  paille,  il  apergoit  une  grande  chatte  blanche  char- 
royant  de  I'eau  avec  quatre  crapauds.  II  s'assied  et  regarde.  La 
chatte,  ayant  rempli  une  cuve  d'eau,  y  met  ses  quatre  crapauds, 
et  rrnyao,  rrnyao,  s'y  fourre  elle-meme.  Et  de  la  cuve  sort  une  belle 
princesse,  telle  que  Ti-Jean  n'en  a  jamais  vu.  Elle  lui  demande: 
"Que  cherches-tu  ?"  —  "Un  cheval,  r6pond-il;  nous  sommes  trois 
gargons,  et  notre  pdre,  le  roi,  a  promis  sa  couronne  h  celui  de  nous 
qui  ram^nerait  le  plus  beau  cheval."  La  princesse  lui  dit:  "Demain 
matin,  je  serai  encore  la  grande  chatte  blanche  que  tu  as  vue.  Tu 
iras  dans  mon  6curie  et  prendras  le  plus  galeux  de  mes  crapauds. 
Une  fois  rendu  chez  ton  pere  le  roi,  tu  le  renfermeras,  et  le  lendemain, 
il  sera  devenu  le  plus  beau  cheval  de  la  terre." 

Comme  de  fait,^  le  lendemain  matin,  Ti-Jean  prend  le  crapaud 
et  s'en  va  h  cheval  dessus,  paiati,  paiata.  Aux  trois  chemins,  il  ren- 
contre ses  frdres,  dont  les  chevaux  sont  fort  beaux.  Regardant 
Ti-Jean  et  son  crapaud,  ils  disent:  "Ne  te  montre  pas  ainsi  k  notre 
p§re,  ou  tu  vas  te  faire  tuer."  Mais  celui-ci  part  par  derriere  eux, 
patati,  patata,  fouettant  sa  monture  d'une  petite  hart.  "Ne  nous 
suis  pas,  dirent-ils;  c'est  un  vrai  deshonneur!"  —  "Qa  ne  fait  rien; 
allez-vous  en!"  lis  arrivent  sur  le  tard  chez  leur  pere  et  mettent 
leurs  chevaux  k  T^curie.  Ti-Jean  passe  I'^trille  sur  son  crapaud, 
perarrar.  . .  Et  ses  fr^res  disent:  "Tu  vas  briser  I'etrille  de  notre 
p§re." — "Poupa  a  les  moyens  d'en  avoir  une  autre." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  Cordon-bleu  et  Cordon-vert  se  Invent  et 
vont  montrer  leurs  beaux  chevaux  au  roi.  "Et  Ti-Jean  ?"  il  demande. 
Ils  r^pondent:  "Ah,  lui?  c'est  un  crapotte.'^  *  —  "Crapotte?  II  faut 
que  je  le  voie."  Ti-Jean  se  leve  apres  les  autres.  Son  crapaud 
c'est  le  plus  beau  cheval  qu'on  ait  jamais  vu,  le  crin  en  argent,  et 
ferr6  en  or.  "Ah  !  s'^crie  le  roi,  c'est  Ti-Jean  qui  a  gagn^  la  victoire; 
c'est  lui  qui  a  le  plus  beau  cheval.  Mais,  vous  savez  qu'un  roi  a 
trois  paroles.  Ast'heure,  celui  de  vous  qui  me  rapportera  la  plus  belle 
toile  d'hahitant  °  aura  ma  couronne."     Et  ils  partent  tous  les  trois 

1  A  un  endroit  de  ce  conte,  M.  Pa  try  dit  gualre  chemins. 

2  L'expression  originale  6tait  marche  d  plein. 

3  I.e.,  en  effel. 

«  Crapotte  au  lieu  de  crapavd  est  ici  employ^  par  moquerie. 
6  Habitant  poxii  fermier,  cuUivateur. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  47 

sur  leurs  chevaux.  Rendus  a  la  fourche  des  trois  chemins,  Cordon- 
bleu  dit:  "Je  prends  le  meme  chemin."  Cordon-vert  prend  aussi 
le  sien.  "Moi,  je  prends  aussi  le  mien,"  finit  Ti-Jean  en  partant. 
II  marche,  marche,  arrive  au  petit  sentier  et  de  \k  a  la  maison 
recouverte  de  paille.  La  grande  ehatte  blanche  charroie  encore  de 
I'eau  avec  ses  trois  crapauds.  Ti-Jean  s'assied  et  les  regarde  faire. 
Une  fois  la  cuve  pleine,  rrnyao,  rrnyao,  la  ehatte  blanche  se  fourre 
dans  la  cuve  et  en  ressort  une  belle  princesse.  Elle  dit:  ''Ast'heure, 
mon  Ti-Jean,  que  cherches-tu  ?"  II  r^pond:  "Je  cherche  la  plus  belle 
toile  du  pays  ^  que  mon  pere  ait  jamais  vue." — "Demain  matin, 
reprend  la  princesse,  je  serai  rede  venue  une  grande  ehatte  blanche. 
Tu  regarderas  dans  ma  petite  commode  et  tu  y  prendras  la  plus  vilaine 
noix  qui  s'y  trouve  et  la  mettras  dans  ta  poche.  Arriv^  chez  ton 
p6re,tu  la  fendras  avec  un  couteau;  et  il  en  sortira  trente  aunes  de  la 
plus  belle  toile  qui  se  puisse  voir." 

Cordon-bleu  et  Cordon-vert  se  rencontrent  aux  trois  chemins. 
Ah!  qu'ils  ont  de  la  belle  toile!  Mais  Ti-Jean,  ayant  mis  la  noix 
dans  sa  poche,  n'en  avait  pas.  Un  de  ses  freres  lui  demande:  "Ti-Jean, 
je  crS  hen^  que  tu  n'en  as  pas?"  A  quoi  il  r^pond:  "Je  ere  hen  qu'avec 
autant  de  toile  que  vous  en  avez,  mon  pere  en  aura  assez." 

Chez  leur  pere  le  roi,  le  matin,  ils  se  levent  et  s'en  vont  montrer 
leur  toile.  Leur  toile  est  belle.  Celle  de  Cordon-vert  surtout  est 
depareillee?  "  Quant  a  Ti-Jean,  je  ere  hen  qu'il  n'en  a  pas."  Mais 
Ti-Jean  ressoud^  et  donne  la  noix  a  son  pere,  en  disant:  "Fendez-la 
sur  la  table,  avec  un  couteau."  Le  roi  fend  la  noix  et  en  tire  trente 
aunes  de  la  plus  belle  toile  qu'il  ait  jamais  vue."  II  dit:  "C'est  encore 
Ti-Jean  qui  a  gagn6  la  victoire.  Mais  vous  savez  qu'un  roi  a  troia 
paroles.  Ast'heure,  il  vous  reste  encore  une  chose  a  faire.  "Qu'est- 
ce  que  c'est  ?"  demandent-ils.  "Celui  qui  ira  q'ri  ^  la  plus  belle  femme 
aura  ma  couronne,  et  cette  fois,  c'est  le  houte."  lis  repartent  done 
tous  trois.  Cordon-vert  et  Cordon-bleu  sur  leurs  chevaux,  et  Ti-Jean 
sur  son  crapaud.  Cordon-bleu  dit:  "Je  reprends  encore  le  meme 
chemin."  Cordon-vert:  "Et  moi  aussi."  Et  Ti-Jean:  "Je  prends 
aussi  le  mien."  Marche,  marche,®  et  Ti-Jean  arrive  au  petit  chateau 
convert  de  paille,  et  revoit  encore  la  grande  ehatte  blanche  charroyant 
de  I'eau  avec  ses  crapauds.  Rrnyao,  rrnyao,  la  ehatte  plonge  dans 
la  cuve  pleine  d'eau  et  en  ressort  belle  princesse.  Ti-Jean  en  tumhe 
sur  le  cul  d'admiration,  tellement  il  la  trouve  belle.  "Dis-moi  done, 
Ti-Jean,  ce  que  tu  cherches?   Voila  bien  ton  troisieme  voyage  ici." 

1  I.e.,  toile  tissee  par  les  paysans. 

2  Pour  crois  bien. 

3  I.e.,  sans  pareille. 

4  De  ressoudre,  pour  arriver. 

5  Pour  querir,  chercher. 

6  Employd  ici  d'une  mani^re  quasi  impersonnelle. 


48  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Et  sa  r^ponse  est:  **Mon  p6re  le  roi,  vous  savez,  a  trois  paroles.  II 
a  dit:  'Celui  qui  m'emm^nera  la  plus  belle  fiUe,  c'est  le  boute,  il  aura 
ma  couronne.'  "  Et  il  ajoute:  "Ast'heure,  je  n'en  vols  pas  sur  la  terre 
de  plus  belle  que  vous."  —  "Moi,  dit-elle,  je  suis  metamorphosee,  ^ 
et  je  ne  redeviendrai  princesse  que  si  le  fils  d'un  roi  m'epouse."  Ti- 
Jean  dit:  "C'est  bon!"  —  "Demain  matin,  ajoute-t-elle,  je  serai 
encore  grande  chatte  blanche.  Tu  attelleras  mes  quatre  crapauds  k 
mon  vieux  carrosse,  et  nous  nous  en  irons  ensemble." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  Ti-Jean  se  16ve  et  revolt  la  princesse  meta- 
morphosee. Au  carrosse  il  attelle  les  crapauds  et  s'asseoit  sur  le  petit 
sidge,  la  grande  chatte  blanche  pres  de  lui.  ^  Qa  fait  de  manidre  que,^ 
elle  se  frole  contre  lui,  se  prom^ne  sur  ses  genoux  et  frotte  ses  joues 
contre  les  siennes,  rrnyao,  rrnyao! 

Ses  frdres  arrivent  ^  la  fourche  des  trois  chemins.  Acre!  ^ils  ont 
des  belles  fiUes!  Puis  ils  regardent  Ti-Jean  avec  sa  chatte  blanche 
et  les  quatre  crapauds,  et  disent:  "De  ce  coup-1^,  c'est  le  restant!^ 
Ti-Jean  va  se  faire  tuer."  Et  ils  ont  un  plaisir !  "Avec  ce  vieux 
carrosse  et  ces  quatre  crapauds,  ne  nous  suis  pas,  au  moins!" 
—  "AUez-vous  en  done!"  r^pond-il.  Le  voilh  par  derri^re  eux, 
fouettant  d'une  hart  ses  crapauds,  tandis  que  la  chatte  blanche  se 
fr61e  dans  son  visage  en  miaulant  rrnyao,  rrnyao.  Les  trois  fr^res 
arrives  chez  leur  p6re,  Ti-Jean  emm^ne  la  chatte  blanche  dans  sa 
chambre  et  va  etriller  ses  crapauds  bring,  brang,  brang!  "Ti-Jean,  tu 
vas  briser  I'etrille  de  notre  p^re,  le  roi."  —  "Notre  pSre  est  capable 
d'en  avoir  une  autre." 

Le  matin,  ah!  le  roi  trouve  que  Cordon-vert  et  Cordon-bleu  ont 
des  belles  crietures.^  II  demanda:  "Ti-Jean?"  —  "Ah!  lui,  il  a  une 
grande  chatte  blanche." — "Que  9a  soit  ce  que^avoudra,  il  faut  que 
je  la  voie."  Et  mon  Ti-Jean  ressoud  avec  sa  princesse  par  la  main. 
C'est  pas  qa! ''  le  roi  n'en  revient  pas.  II  n'a  jamais  vu  de  si  belle 
crieture  de  sa  vie.  Ayant  atteie  les  crapauds,  Ti-Jean  arrive  avec 
quatre  chevaux  sans  pareils  et  un  carrosse  comme  on  n'en  a  jamais 
encore  vu.  Les  trois  fr^res  partent  et  s'en  vont  ensemble  se  marier 
k  chacune  de  leurs  belles,  Ti-Jean,  ^ la  princesse.  "C'est  mon  Ti- 
Jean  qui  a  gagne  ma  couronne,"  dit  le  roi;  et,  I'enlevant  de  sa  tite, 
bang!  il  la  met  sur  celle  de  Ti-Jean. 

1  Amorphosee  est  I'expression  employee  ici  par  Paul  Patry. 

2  A  contre  de  lui,  dit  M.  Patry. 

'  Locution  conjonctive  h  peu  pr^  d6nu6e  de  sens,  mais  aouveat  employee 
par  les  paysans. 

4  Juron. 

5  Expression  souvent  employee  par  les  paysans  dans  le  sens  de  cette  fois, 
c'est  la  limite  extrSme. 

«  Four  femmes.    Ce  mot,  au  Canada,  n'est  pas  pris  dans  son  sens  pejoratif. 
7  Expression  emphatique  familiSre. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  49 

Qa  fait  de  maniere .  . .  ^  J'etais  aux  noces.  Mais  depuis  ce  temps, 
je  n'ai  pas  revu  ces  gens-la  et  je  ne  sais  pas  comment  ga  se  passe 
1^-bas. 

7.    TI-JEAN    ET    LA    PRINCESSE    DES    SEPT-MONT  AGNES- VERTES.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  une  princesse  qui  avait  ete  metamorphosee '  par 
une  vieille  fee.  Un  nomme  Ti-Jean,  un  jour,  passe  pres  du  chateau 
dans  lequel  la  princesse  est  prisonniere.  L'apercevant  a  la  fenetre, 
en  haut,  il  lui  demande:  "Mais  que  fais-tu  done  1^?"  Elle  r6pond: 
"Je  suis  la  prisonniere  d'une  vieille  fee."  —  "Que  faut-il  faire  pour  te 
d^livrer?"  —  "C'est  impossible!"  Sur  quoi  Ti-Jean  la  quitte  et  s'en 
va.  Le  long  du  chemin,  il  rencontre  une  vieille  fee,  et  lui  demande: 
*'Mais  qui  done  garde  la  princesse  dans  le  chateau  ?"  Celle-ci  repond: 
"C'est  une  fee  cent  fois  plus  mechante  que  moi."  —  "Comment  faire 
pour  la  d^livrer?" —  "Cette  fee  dort  pendant  une  heure,chaque  jour; 
et  la  princesse  en  profite  pour  venir  h  la  fenetre  de  sa  chambre,  oil  il 
est  impossible  k  quiconque  d'entrer.  Rends-toi  au  chateau,  et  quand 
la  prisonniere  viendra  k  sa  fenetre,  demande-lui  de  te  tendre  la  corde 
qui  est  dans  sa  chambre,  afin  que  tu  y  puisses  monter.  Sitot  mont6, 
va  renfermer  la  fee  chez  elle,  pour  qu'elle  n'en  puisse  plus  sortir,  et 
pour  qu'elle  y  meure."  Ti-Jean  se  rend  done  au  chateau,  apergoit 
la  princesse.  "II  y  a  une  corde  prSs  de  ta  chambre,  dit-il;  va  la  chercher 
et  tends-la  moi,  pour  que  j'aille  te  delivrer."  —  "C'est  impossible! 
plusieurs  y  ont  d^j^  perdu  la  vie."  —  "Va  vite  chercher  la  corde!  le 
temps  est  court."  La  princesse  va  done  chercher  la  corde  et  la  tend 
k  son  lib^rateur,  qui  monte  et  se  hate  d'emprisonner  la  f^e  chez  elle. 
Sans  perdre  un  instant,  Ti-Jean  aide  la  princesse  k  descendre  et  des- 
cend aprds  elle,  pendant  que  la  fee  lance  des  cris  et  des  lamentations  si 
dpouvantables  que  le  chateau  en  tremble. 

Ayant  conduit  la  princesse  au  chateau  du  roi,  Ti-Jean  dit:  "C'est 
moi  qui  I'ai  d^Uvr^e."  Le  roi  repond:  "Tu  as  delivre  ma  princesse; 
mais  tu  ne  deviendras  son  ^poux  que  dans  un  an  et  un  jour." 

Toujours  pensif,  loin  de  la  princesse,  Ti-Jean  trouve  maintenant 
les  journees  fort  longues.  Rencontrant  la  vieille  fee,  sa  bienfaitrice, 
il  regoit  encore  un  conseil  d'elle:  "Tu  n'as  pas  eu  grand'peine  k  delivrer 
la  princesse,  mais  tu  vas  essuyer  bien  des  traverses  avant  de  Tepouser." 
Et  elle  ajoute;  "Tu  iras  au  chateau,  tel  jour,  et  vous  pourrez  jaser 

I  Expression  souvent  usitee  comme  locution  conjonctive. 

*  Recite  par  Prudent  Sioui,  de  la  Jeune  Lorette,  Quebec,  qui  avait  appris  ce 
conte  de  son  pdre,  et,  jusqu'^  I'dge  de  20  ans,  le  lui  avait  souvent  entendu  raconter. 
Recueilli  en  aotlt,  1914. 

3  Amorphosee  est  I'expression  employee  par  Sioui  ;  il  est  Evident  que  le 
conteur  emploie  ici  une  expression  inappropriee,  la  princesse  n'^tant  rdellement 
point  m^tamorphos^e  en  un  autre  dtre,  mais  etant  seulement  prisonnidre. 


50  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

une  heure  ensemble."  Le  jour  arriv^,  Ti-Jean  se  rend  au  chateau; 
et  la  princesse  arrive,  fiere  ^  de  causer  une  heure  avec  lui.  Parlant 
ensemble  de  leurs  malheurs,  ils  se  redisent;  "La  parole  du  roi  en  est 
donn^e,  nous  ne  pourrons  nous  marier  que  dans  un  an  et  un  jour,  et 
apres  bien  des  traverses."  Tout  9a  mettait  Ti-Jean  dans  I'inquietude. 
La  princesse,  avant  de  partir,lui  dit:  "Va  revoir  la  fee,et  reste  toujours 
pres  d'elle.  Moi,  je  repars;  et,  tel  jour,  j'arreterai  la  pour  causer 
une  heure  avec  toi." 

Ayant  entendu  leur  conversation,  une  servante  du  roi  s'en  va  la 
raconter  a  son  maitre,  qui  repond:  '*Tu  endormiras  Ti-Jean!"  A 
Fheure  oil  la  princesse  doit  arriver,  la  servante  va  trouver  Ti-Jean 
et  lui  donne  une  dose.  La  princesse  arrive  et  le  trouve  endormi. 
Elle  le  pogne,  ^  le  pince,  lui  tire  les  bras,  le  secoue  et  essaie  de  toutes 
manieres  de  le  reveiller.  Impossible.  L'heure  pass^e,  il  lui  faut  s'en 
aller.  A  peine  est-elle  partie  que  Ti-Jean  se  reveille,  pensif .  La  vieille 
fee  vient  lui  dire:  "Elle  est  repartie.  Dans  quinze  jours,  tu  pourras 
causer  une  heure  avec  elle."  Au  bout  de  quinze  jours,  ils  sont  fiers 
de  se  revoir.  La  princesse  fait  des  reproches  a  Ti-Jean,  qui  repond: 
"La  dose  de  la  servante,  je  le  ere  hen,  m'avait  endormi;  et  je  me  suis 
reveille  bien  pensif  et  triste."  —  "Ti-Jean,  dit  la  princesse,  je  vais 
encore  revenir,  et,  cette  fois,  en  nu^e  bleue.  Mais,  garde-toi  bien  de 
rien  accepter  de  la  servante.  Dans  un  an  et  un  jour,  mon  pere  en  a 
donn^  sa  parole,  nous  nous  marierons."     II  retourne  voir  la  fee. 

La  journ^e  venue,  la  servante  prepare  encore  une  dose,  que  Ti-Jean 
refuse  de  la  prendre.  En  disant:  "Tu  as  quelque  chose  de  sale  sous  le 
nez,"  elle  lui  passe  son  mouchoir  dans  le  visage;  et  il  s'endort  aussitot. 
La  princesse  arrive  et  le  trouve  endormi.  Elle  passe  son  heure  a  le 
secouer  et  a  lui  faire  toutes  sortes  de  cruautes  pour  le  reveiller.  Im- 
possible. Au  bout  de  l'heure,  il  lui  faut  partir.  Voyant  la  nu^e 
bleue  disparaitre  au  loin,  Ti-Jean  se  dit:  "C'est  fini,  jamais  je  ne  la 
reverrai!" 

II  avait  toujours  a  I'id^e  son  mariage  a  elle,  dans  un  an  et  un  jour, 
comme  le  roi  I'avait  dit.  Mais  il  etait  toujours  dans  le  trouble,  pen- 
dant que  le  temps  passait.  Sa  f^e  protectrice,  un  jour,  lui  dit:  "La 
princesse  va  revenir  ce  soir,  et  tu  vas  avoir  le  plaisir  de  causer  une 
heure  avec  elle."  Ti-Jean  se  rend  done  au  chateau  et  cause  une 
heure  avec  la  princesse.  II  se  lamente  plusieurs  fois  de  ne  pas  la 
revoir  plus  souvent.  "C'est  par  ordre  de  mon  pere,  dit-elle,  que  la 
servante  agit  ainsi.  Courage,  Ti-Jean!  Tu  m'as  d^livree  et  tu 
m'auras  dans  un  an  et  un  jour;  mon  pere  I'a  promis.  On  m'envoie 
en  voyage  en  attendant,  pour  que  je  ne  pense  plus  a  toi  et  que,  ren- 
contrant  des  beaux  princes,  je  t'oublie  pour  eux.  Courage,  Ti-Jean! 
Que  I'ann^e  s'^coule!  et  nous  nous  marierons.     Maintenant,  je  pars, 

1  Fier  signifie  ici  "  content,"  "  heureux."  2  Pour  prendre,  saisir. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  51 

et  quand  je  passerai  ici  en  nuee  blanche,  ce  sera  pour  la  dernidre  fois. 
Apres  ga,  je  ne  reviendrai  plus,  car  I'annee  acheve."  En  partant, 
elle  ajoute:  "Rappelle-toi,  Ti-Jean,  des  ordres  de  mon  pere,  et  defie-toi 
de  la  servante.  Va  retrouver  la  fee  qui  te  protege,  et  quand  j'y 
passerai,  tel  jour,  nous  causerons  encore  une  fois  ensemble." 

La  journee  dict^e,  la  servante  arrive  pres  de  Ti-Jean  et  lui  dit: 
*'Ti-Jean,  le  roi  lui-meme  m'envoie  te  laver  et  te  mettre  de  la  poudre 
et  de  I'odeur,  avant  que  la  princesse  arrive."  Ti-Jean  consent,  et 
la  servante  s'empresse  de  le  laver  et  de  le  poudrer.  Elle  n'a  pas 
fini  que  Ti-Jean  dort.  La  princesse  arrive  aussitot  et,  le  trouvant 
endormi,  elle  se  jette  sur  lui,  le  secoue  de  bien  des  mani^res  et  lui 
fait  toutes  les  cruautes  imaginables.  A  la  fin,  elle  I'arrose  de  larmes, 
disant:  "C'est  fini,  nous  ne  nous  reverrons  plus!"  Elle  lui  laisse  en 
souvenir  sa  tabatidre  et  son  mouchoir,  oil  son  nom  est  brode  en  or. 
Et  elle  lui  fait  ses  adieux  pour  toujours. 

Se  reveillant,  Ti-Jean  aperQoit  une  nuee  blanche  au  loin  et  se  met  k 
pleurer  et  se  lamenter.  "J'ai  tout  perdu!"  Mais  on  avait  dit  qu'il 
aurait  du  trouble  pendant  un  an  et  un  jour;  et  ga  lui  donne  un  peu 
d'espoir.  La  fee  arrive  et,  le  trouvant  si  triste,  le  rassure,  malgr6 
toutes  les  traverses  qui  I'attendent.  "La  princesse  que  tu  as  d^livree, 
dit-elle,  est  partie  du  chateau  de  son  pere,  et  n'y  reviendra  jamais. 
Elle  est  sur  les  Sept-montagnes-vertes.  Ti-Jean,  je  vas  te  proteger 
comme  je  I'ai  toujours  fait.  Trois  de  mes  sceurs  sont  fees  comme 
moi.  Ast'heure,  ecoute  hen,  Ti-Jean,  et  ne  te  trompe  pas!  Au  bout 
de  ce  chemin,  tu  vas  trouver  trois  sentiers,  un  k  droite,  un  k  gauche, 
et  I'autre  au  milieu.  Prends  celui  de  gauche,  et  a  peu  pr6s  une  lieue 
plus  loin,  tu  trouveras  la  plus  jeune  de  mes  soeurs.  Voici  une  lettre 
de  recommandation  pour  elle."  Heureux  d'etre  toujours  prot^g^ 
par  la  f^e,  mais  triste  k  la  pensee  de  la  princesse,  Ti-Jean  part,  empor- 
tant  la  lettre  de  recommandation.  Rendu  chez  la  fee,  il  lui  remet  la 
lettre, od  elle  lit:  "Je  te  recommande  de  prendre  soin  de  Ti-Jean,  qui 
s'en  va  aux  Sept-montagnes-vertes,  a  la  recherche  d'une  princesse 
amorphosee.  ^  Indique-lui  le  sentier  menant  chez  notre  troisidme  sceur, 
k  qui  tu  le  recommanderas."  Ti-Jean  passe  la  nuit  chez  la  fee  qui, 
le  lendemain  matin,  lui  dit:  "Tu  vas  t'en  aller  chez  celle  de  mes  sceurs, 
la  maitresse  de  tous  les  animaux,  qui  reste  k  une  lieue  d'ici.  Pour  y 
arriver  tu  suivras  le  premier  petit  sentier  k  droite,  au  bout  de  ce 
chemin.  Attends,  Ti-Jean!  Je  vais  te  donner  une  lettre  de  recom- 
mandation. Peut-etre  pourra-t-elle  te  donner  des  nouvelles  de  la 
princesse."  Malgre  sa  peine,  Ti-Jean  se  met  k  sourire,  en  s'en  allant. 
Arrive  chez  la  troisi^me  fee,  la  maitresse  de  tous  les  animaux,  il  pre- 
sente  sa  lettre  de  recommandation.  Fi^re  de  le  voir,  la  fee  s'informe 
de  sa  sceur.     Mais  Ti-Jean  lui  raconte  son  histoire,  ses  troubles  et  sa 

I  Metamorphosee. 


52  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

peine.  Elle  lui  dit:  "Tu  vas  coucher  ici.  Demain  matin,  je  prendrai 
mon  sifflet  et  j'appellerai  tous  les  animaux  dont  je  siiis  la  mattresse. 
Peut-etre  pourront-ils  nous  donner  des  nouvelles  de  la  princesse,  qui 
est  sur  les  Sept-montagnes-vertes."  Le  lendemain  matin,  la  f^e 
prend  son  sifflet  et  appelle  les  animaux  des  bois,  qui  accourent  autour 
d'elle.  Elle  leur  demande :  ''N'avez-vous  pas  pris  connaissance  de  la 
princesse  qui  est  all^  sur  les  Sept-montagnes-vertes?"  Aucun  d'eux 
ne  Tavait  vue.  Ti-Jean  est  triste  comme  toujours;  mais  la  f^e  le 
rassure  et  lui  dit:  "Tu  vas  aller  voir  une  de  mes  soeurs,  la  reine  de  tous 
les  oiseaux  des  bois,  qui  reste  bien  plus  loin  que  les  autres.  Je  vas 
I'enseigner  la  route,  qui  est  bien  difficile  a  suivre.  Prends  ce  chemin, 
et,  rendu  a  cinq  arpents  d'ici,  tu  verras  un  petit  sentier  ^  que  tu  suivras 
un  houte.  Arriv^  a  un  autre  sentier,  tu  t'y  engageras.  Fais  bien 
attention,  et  ne  te  trorape  pas!"  Toujours  triste,  Ti-Jean  se  greye 
pour  partir.  La  f^e  lui  donne  une  lettre  de  recommandation.  II  se 
met  a  sourire,  et  part  en  disant:  "Bonsoir!"  —  "Bonsoir,  Ti-Jean!" 
r^pond  la  f^e.  Pensif  tout  le  long  du  chemin,  Ti-Jean  arrive  chez  la 
quatri^me  f^e  et  lui  pr^sente  sa  lettre.  Contente  d'avoir  des  nouvelles 
de  sa  soeur,  celle-ci  lui  demande  son  histoire.  II  s'empresse  de 
raconter  ses  troubles  et  ses  traverses.  Aussitot  qu'il  a  fini,  elle  dit : 
"Moi,  je  suis  la  reine  des  oiseaux.  Je  vas  prendre  mon  sifflet  et 
appeler  tous  les  oiseaux  pour  savoir  s'ils  ont  vu  la  princesse."  Dans 
un  instant  tous  les  oiseaux  arrivent,  et  elle  leur  demande:  "Savez- 
vous  oil  est  la  princesse?"  Aucun  d'eux  ne  I'avait  vue.  "Courage, 
Ti-Jean!  J'ai  un  vieil  aigle  qui  n'est  pas  encore  arriv^.  Courage!" 
A  I'aigle  qui  arrive  bien  fatigu6,  elle  demande:  "N'as-tu  pas  pris 
connaissance  de  la  princesse?"  L'aigle  r^pond:  "Oui,  je  viens  de 
manger  a  la  porte  de  son  chateau.  Elle  est  sur  les  Sept-montagnes- 
vertes." —  *'Es-tu  capable  d'y  conduire  Ti-Jean?"  —  "Je  suis  bien 
fatigue,  repond  l'aigle;  mais  avec  un  quartier  de  boeuf,  je  pense  m'y 
rendre."  La  f^e  consent:  "Tu  vas  avoir  le  bceuf  voulu  pour  y  mener 
Ti-Jean." 

Une  fois  Ti-Jean  sur  son  dos,  l'aigle  se  hfi,te  de  voler  vers  les  Sept- 
montagnes-vertes,  car  il  savait  que  la  princesse  allait  bientot  epouser 
un  prince.  Rendu  sur  la  sixieme  montagne,  l'aigle  faiblit;  et  Ti- 
Jean  de  plus  en  plus  souvent  lui  donne  de  la  viande.  Au  haut  de  la 
sixieme  montagne,  I'oiseau  dit:  "II  ne  reste  plus  guere  de  temps. 
Dans  vingt-quatre  heures,  la  princesse  sera  marine."  A  Ti-Jean  qui 
se  met  k  pleurer,  il  redit:  "Courage!  Avec  du  courage,  nous  arrive- 
rons."  Sur  la  septi^me  montagne,  l'aigle  crie:  "Je  n'en  peux  plus; 
il  me  faut  de  la  viande!"  Plein  de  courage  et  voulant  voir  la  prin- 
cesse, Ti-Jean  prend  son  couteau,  se  taille  un  morceau  de  chair  sur  la 
fesse  gauche,  et  le  donne  a  I'oiseau.     Bien  fatigues  tous  les  deux,  ils 

1  Sioui  disait  chantier. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  53 

arrivent  au  chateau  a  huit  heures  du  soir.  La  princessc  se  mariait 
le  lendemain  matin.  Mai  vetu  comme  il  est,  Ti-Jcan  frappe  au  cha- 
teau et  s'offre  comme  premier  cuisinier,  en  disant:  "Je  peux  faire  la 
cuisine  pour  toutes  les  classes."  La  princesse,  a  qui  on  rapporte 
qa,  le  fait  de  suite  engager  comme  premier  cuisinier.  Fier  de  son 
succes,  Ti-Jean  entre  a  la  cuisine.  Aussitot  les  chaleurs  ^  le  prennent,  ^ 
et  il  sort  son  mouchoir  pour  s'essuyer,  Mais  la  servante  aper^oit  sur 
le  mouchoir  qui  brille  un  nom  ecrit  en  lettres  d'or.  Elle  court  le 
dire  a  sa  maitresse.  La  princesse  se  met  a  penser.  Puis  elle  dit: 
"Demande  au  cuisinier  de  venir  ici  dans  ma  chambre.  Jeveux  levoir." 
—  "Mais  ce  n'est  pas  ais6.  Le  cuisinier  est  tout  en  gu^nilles."  — 
"Va  dire  a  Ti-Jean  de  venir  ici!  Je  veux  le  voir."  La  servante  ob^it 
et  r^pete  I'ordre  au  cuisinier.  "C'est  bien  difficile  de  me  presenter 
ainsi  devant  la  princesse,  r^pond  Ti-Jean;  mes  habits  ne  sont  pas 
convenables."  —  "Quand  meme  vos  habits  ne  sont  pas  convenables, 
elle  veut  vous  voir  de  suite."  Ti-Jean  monte  a  la  chambre  de  la 
princesse,  qui  le  reconnait.  "D'ou  viens-tu,  Ti-Jean  ?"  —  "De  la 
cuisine,"  r^pond-il.  "Ce  n'est  pas  toi,  Ti-Jean,  qui  as  d^livr^  une 
princesse?"  —  "Oui,  c'est  moi  qui  ai  d61ivr6  une  princesse."  —  "Ti- 
Jean,  tu  vas  me  montrer  le  mouchoir  avec  lequel  tu  t'es  essuy6  dans 
la  cuisine."  En  regardant  le  mouchoir,  elle  demande:  "Est-ce  le 
mouchoir  de  la  princesse  que  tu  as  d^livr^e?"  —  "Oui,"  dit-il.  "Ti- 
Jean,  tu  dois  avoir  une  tabatiere?"  II  prend  sa  tabatiere  et  offre  une 
prise  a  la  princesse.  Fiere  de  prendre  une  prise  a  la  suite  de  Ti-Jean, 
elle  le  salue,  et  lui  de  meme. 

Sans  se  faire  reconnaitre  I'un  a  I'autre,  ils  se  quittent,  et  Ti-Jean, 
toujours  triste,  mais  heureux  d'etre  dans  le  chateau  de  sa  princesse, 
s'en  retourne  a  la  cuisine.  Sa  maitresse  lui  fait  faire  un  habit  de 
prince,  et  dit  a  une  servante:  "Prends  soin  de  Ti-Jean,  a  la  cuisine;  et 
sois  sure  que  son  habit  soit  pret  demain  matin." 

De  bonne  heure  le  matin,  la  princesse  fait  demander  Ti-Jean  et 
lui  dit:  "Va  mettre  I'habit  de  prince  que  je  t'ai  fait  faire;  et  tiens  toi 
pret!  Aussitot  que  je  te  ferai  demander,  tu  viendras  a  ma  droite." 
Et  il  s'empresse  d'aller  se  mettre  en  toilette.  Pendant  ce  temps-la, 
le  prince  qui  doit  ^pouser  la  princesse  arrive  et  le  mariage  commence. 
Une  fois  a  table,  la  princesse  fait  demander  son  cuisinier.  Le  cuisi- 
nier arrive,  et  de  lui-meme  vient  s'asseoir  a  la  droite  de  la  princesse. 
Le  prince  assis  a  sa  gauche  se  trouve  insulte. 

Avant  que  le  mariage  soit  celebre,  les  principaux  invites  font  un 
discours  a  table.  La  princesse  demande  la  parole  et  dit:  "Voila  un  an 
et  un  jour. . ."  Les  gens  apergoivent  Ti-Jean  sourire;  "...  J'avais  une 
vieille  clef.     Cette  clef  m'avait  rendu  un  grand  service,  et  je  n'avais 

1  I.e.,  def alliance,  pdmoison. 

2  C'est  probablement  une  feinte  de  Ti-Jean. 


54  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

pas  besoin  d'autre  clef  pour  toutes  mes  serrures.  Mais  je  I'ai 
perdue;  et  je  suis  indecise  d'en  acheter  une  nouvelle  que  je  redouts. 
Foi  de  prince,  de  princesse  et  de  rouet\^  qui  etes  ici  a  ma  table!  Que 
dois-je  faire?  Je  viens  de  retrouver  ma  vieille  clef."  Tous  lea 
princes  et  princesses:  "Foi  de  prince,  princesses  et  de  rouef!  gardez  la 
vieille  clef,  parce  qu'elle  vous  a  rendu  un  si  grand  service."  —  "Eh 
bien!  dit-elle,  voici  ma  vieille  clef.  C'est  Ti-Jean  mon  heros;  c'est 
lui  qui  m'a  d^livree,  il  y  a  un  an  et  un  jour,  quand  j'etais  amorphosee. 
Toi,  beau  prince,  retire-toi!"  ^ 

8.    LES  PAROLES  DE  FLEURS,   d'OR  ET  d' ARGENT.  ' 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  un  roi  qui  avait  une  belle 
petite  fille.  S'etant  marie  en  secondes  noces  k  une  veuve  qui  avait 
aussi  une  fille  du  meme  age,  il  passait  son  temps  5,  la  chasse.  La 
belle-m^re,  elle,  tenait  I'enfant  du  roi  en  esclavage,  la  plupart  du 
temps  sous  une  grande  cuve,  devant  la  cheminee,  et  I'appelait  "sa 
petite  Cendrouillonne.^^  * 

Voulant  la  faire  detruire,  elle  lui  dit,  un  jour:  "Ma  petite  CendrouiU 
lonne,  va  k  la  cabane  des  fees  chercher  de  I'eau  de  la  rajeunie."^  La 
petite  fille  s'en  va  done  a  la  fontaine,  oil  elle  rencontre  la  vieille  ma- 
gicienne:  "Que  cherches-tu,  ma  petite  fille?"  Elle  repond:  "Je  suis 
venue  chercher  de  I'eau  de  votre  fontaine."  —  "Bien!  cherche-moi 
des  poux,  dans  la  tete."  Et  pendant  que  la  petite  fille  cherche,  elle 
demande:  "Que  trouves-tu,  dans  ma  tete?"  —  "Je  vous  trouve  des 
grains  d'or  et  d'argent."  —  "Quand  tu  parleras,  ma  petite  fille, 
il  sortira  de  ta  bouche  de  Tor,  de  I'argent  et  des  belles  fleurs."  Ayant 
pris  de  I'eau  de  la  rajeunie  k  la  fontaine,  elle  s'en  va  trouver  sa  belle- 
m^re.  "Tiens!  en  voila,  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  la  vieille  magicienne." 
Comme  elle  parle,  des  fleurs,  de  I'or  et  de  I'argent  tombent  de  sa  bou- 
che. Voyant  ga,  la  belle-m^re  se  dit:  "II  faut  que  j'y  envoie  aussi 
ma  fille."  L'enfant  arrive  chez  la  fee  magicienne  de  la  fontaine,  qui 
lui  demande:  "Que  viens-tu  faire  ici,  ma  petite  fille?"  —  "Je  viens 
chercher  de  I'eau  de  la  rajeunie  k  la  fontaine."  —  "Bien!  elle  dit, 
cherche  done  dans  ma  tete."  Et  quand  la  fille  cherche,  elle  demande: 
"Que  trouves-tu  dans  ma  tete,  ma  petite  fille?"  —  "Je  vous  trouve 
des  poux  et  des  landes."^     F&ch^e,  la  vieille  refuse  de  lui  laisser 

1  Pour  roi. 

2  Comme  le  raconteur,  Prudent  Sioui,  ne  se  souvenait  pas  trfis  clairement  de 
quelques  parties  de  ce  conte.il  est  probable  que  la  finale  est  quelque  peu  brusquee  ici. 

3  R6cit6  k  Sainte-Anne,   Kamouraska,  en   juillet,    1915,  par   Achille   Fournier, 

3ui  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte  d'un  vieux  Edouard  Lebel,  aussi  de  Sainte-Anne,   et 
6cede  il  y  a  une  douzaines  d'annees. 
*  Pour  Cendrillon. 

5  I.e.,  de  I'eau  qui  rajeunit. 

6  Pour  glandes. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  55 

prendre  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine,  et  lui  dit:  "Quand  tu  parleras,  il  te 
sortira  de  la  boiiche  des  crapauds  et  des  couleuvres."  Comme  elle 
arrive  chez  elle,  sa  mere  lui  demande:  "As-tu  apport^  de  I'eau  de  la 
rajeunie?"  Elle  parle,  et  des  crapauds  et  des  couleuvres  tombent 
de  sa  bouche. 

Ce  qui  arrive  la  ?  Le  fils  d'un  roi.  S'approehant  de  la  cheminee, 
il  leve  la  cuve  et  aperQoit  Cendrouillonne  —  qui  est  la  fille  du  roi.  II 
la  trouve  si  belle,  avec  toutes  ces  fleurs  qui  lui  tombent  de  sa  bouche 
quand  elle  parle,  qu'il  lui  fait  promettre  de  I'^pouser,  un  jour.  En 
la  quittant  il  dit:  "Je  reviendrai  te  chercher." 

Le  voyant  revenir,  la  belle-mere  greye  sa  propre  fille,  lui  met  un  voile 
sur  le  visage,  et  dit:  "La  voila,  celle  que  vous  voulez  epouser."  Elle 
enibarque  dans  la  voiture  du  prince,  et  ils  s'en  vont.  Mais,  aussitot 
qu'elle  parle,  des  couleuvres  et  des  gros  crapauds  sortent  de  sa  bouche. 
"Ah!  dit-il,  elle  m'a  jou6  un  tour.  Ce  n'est  pas  celle  que  j'ai  promis 
d'^pouser."  La  jetant  haul  en  has  de  la  voiture,  il  retourne  au  chateau 
du  roi,  et  fach^,  il  dit  a  la  vieille:  "Vous  m'avez  jou^  un  tour  et  donn6 
votre  fille  a;  la  place  de  celle  que  j'ai  promis  d'^pouser."  S'en 
allant  pres  de  la  cheminee,  il  apergoit  sa  belle  fiancee:  "Ast^heure, 
veux-tu  te  marier  a  moi?"  —  "Oui!"  C'est  sa  r^ponse.  Et  aussitot 
qu'elle  parle,  des  fleurs,  de  Tor  et  de  I'argent  tombent  de  sa  bouche, 
il  n'y  a  rien  de  plus  beau.  Bien  contents,  les  amoureux  s'en  vont 
chez  le  cur6,  qui  les  marie.     C'est  tout  ce  que  je  sais  de  leur  histoire. 

9.     CENDRILLON.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'^tait  un  veuf  et  sa  fille.  Le  veuf  se  marie  en  secondes 
noces  a  une  femme  ayant  trois  filles  pas  tres  joliyes.  Cendrillon,  la 
fille  unique,  6tait  belle.  Les  filles  de  la  veuve  devinrent  bientot 
jalouses  et  fach^es  de  voir  les  jeunes  gens  s'approcher  d'elle  plutot 
que  de  toutes  autres. 

Un  jour,  elles  disent  a  leur  mere:  "II  y  a  toujours  un  houte!  Ne  la 
laisse  pas  passer  avec  nous  au  salon.  Avec  ses  belles  fagons,  elle 
attire  tons  les  gargons;  et  il  nous  est  impossible  d'en  avoir  un  a  veiller^ 
avec  nous."  Fachee  de  cela,  la  belle-m^re  donne  un  habit  de  flanelle 
d^  habitant^  a  Cendrillon,  et  la  met  a  tous  les  ouvrages  durs,  pour  gaspiller 
sa  belle  peau.  Pendant  que  Cendrillon  est  assise  seule  pres  de  la 
cheminee,  les  jeunes  filles  sont  toujours  en  toilette,  faisant  leurs 
demoiselles. 

Un  beau  soir,  une  magniere  *  de  roi  fait  une  grosse  soiree,  invite  tout 
le  monde,  surtout  les  jeunes  filles.  Les  trois  soeurs  de  Cendrillon 
s'habillent  de  leurs  plus  beaux  habits  pour  aller  a  la  soiree.     Mais 

1  Racont6  par  Mme  P.  Sioui,  en  aoAt,  1914,  a  Lorette,  Quebec.  Mme  Sioui 
avait  appris  ce  conte  de  sa  mere,  Mme  Marie  Michaud  (Picard). 

2  I.e.,  pour  passer  la  soiree.        3  i.e.,  flanelle  du  pays.         4  Pour  manibre  de. 


56  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

on  dit  h.  Cendrillon:  "Toi,  tu  ne  viendras  pas.  Ta  place  est  ici." 
Elle  reste  done  seule  devant  la  cheminee,  a  pleurer  de  se  voir  si  jeune 
et  de  ne  pouvoir  s'amuser  comme  ses  soeurs.  A  peine  les  filles  parties, 
une  vieille  fee  ressoud^  pr^s  d'elle.  "Bonsoir,  ma  fille!  Qu'as-tu 
k  pleurer?"  Elle  repond:  "Meniere!^  Vous  voyez  ce  que  je  suis. 
Voici  ma  chaise.  Si  quelqu'un  vient  veiller,  on  me  laisse  ici  avec  ces 
habits  de  flanelle  d'hahitant.  Mes  trois  soeurs  vont  partout,  mais  pas 
moi.  Comme  vous  voyez,  ce  soir,  le  roi  donne  une  grosse  soiree;  mes 
soeurs  y  sont.  Moi,  je  ne  puis  pas  m'y  montrer;  ma  m^re  me  tuerait." 
La  fee  lui  dit:  "Greye^-to\\  tu  vas  y  aller." — "Je  ne  puis  pas  y  aller; 
je  n'ai  pas  de  robe."  —  "Moi,  je  vas  t'en  donner  une."  La  fee 
I'habille  de  beau  satin  pale,  et  lui  donne  aussi  des  pantoufles  de  satin 
p41e.  Belle  comme  elle  est,  avec  ses  beaux  cheveux  d'or,  il  n'y  a 
qu'un  ^clat  autour  d'elle.  La  fee  lui  recommande:  "Ne  passe  pas* 
minuit.  Si  tu  le  fais,  tu  redeviendras  comme  avant."  Un  beau 
carrosse  passe  h  la  porte,  Cendrillon  y  emharque  ^  et  arrive  k  la  porta 
du  chateau.  Elle  descend  et  entre.  A  la  vue  d'une  beaute  si  rare, 
tous  les  danseurs  s'arretent  et  regardent,  surpris.  C'est  k  qui  danse- 
rait  avec  elle.  Le  prince  la  trouve  si  belle  et  si  bien  vetue  qu'il  lui 
demande  une  danse.  Ne  voulant  pas  passer  minuit,  elle  demande 
rheure.  Le  prince  lui  dit:  "II  est  onze  heures."  Elle  repond:  "Ca 
me  fait  bien  de  la  peine,  mais  il  faut  que  je  m'en  aille."  Le  prince  ne 
veut  pas  la  laisser  partir  et  dit:  "II  n'est  pas  tard!"  —  "Je  ne  peux 
pas;  il  faut  que  je  parte."  Le  carrosse  est  a  la  porte,  elle  y  monte  et 
s'en  retourne.  Rendue  k  la  maison,  elle  redevient  habillee  en  Cen- 
drillon, comme  avant.  Ses  soeurs  arrivent  et  la  trouvent  assise  devant 
le  feu,  comme  toujours.  EUes  lui  disent:  "II  y  avait  done  une  belle 
fille,  belle  comme  un  ange!  On^  n'a  jamais  vu  de  beaute  pareille." 
Cendrillon  ecoute  et  fait  semblant  de  rien.  Elle  demande  k  ses 
soeurs:  "Etait-elle  bien  habillee,  cette  fille  dont  vous  parlez  tant?" 
—  "Elle  avait  la  plus  belle  robe  de  satin  pale  et  des  pantoufles  sans 
pareilles.  Oh  a-t-elle  bien  pu  les  prendre  ?  On  n'en  a  jamais  vu  d'aus- 
si  belles." 

Le  lendemain  au  soir,  il  y  avait  encore  un  bal  chez  le  roi.  Les 
trois  filles  se  disent:  "Nous  allons  toujours  nous  mettre  des  belles 
toilettes,  tout  ce  que  nous  avons  de  plus  beau."  Elles  ne  savent 
quoi  faire  pour  se  rendre  plus  jolies  et  trouver  k  se  marier.  Cendrillon 
leur  demande:  "Emmenez-moi  done?"  La  belle-mdre  repond:  "Je 
ne  veux  pas  d'une  Cendrouillonne''  comme  toi,  pour  faire  honte  k  mes 
filles."  Cendrillon  s'asseoit  comme  toujours  dans  sa  petite  chaise 
hergante,  pr^s  de  la  cheminee.     Les  trois  filles  se  greyent  pour  la  danse,* 

1  I.e.,  apparait,  arrive.  *  Pour  grand'mhre.  3  I.e.,  prepare-toi. 

*  I.e.,  reviens  avant  minuit.  5  I.e.,  monte.  6  Pour  nous. 

7  Probablement  deriv6  de  Cendrillon.  ^  I.e.,  aoiree  oCl  Ton  danae. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  57 

raettent  tout  ce  qu'elles  ont  de  plus  beau  en  or  et  en  satin,  partent 
avec  leur  mere  et  laissent  Cendrillon  seule  a  pleurer.  Aussitot  qu'elles 
sont  parties,  la  vieille  f^e  ressoud^  encore:  '^Bonsoir,  ma  fille!  tu  as 
I'air  bien  triste."  —  "Oui,  memere!  elles  sont  parties  pour  la  danse;  et 
moi,  elles  n'ont  pas  voulu  m'emmener.  Tous  les  ouvrages  les  plus 
durs,  c'est  a  moi  qu'on  les  donne."  La  f^e  demande:  "Veux-tu  y 
aller?"  —  "Qa  me  ferait  bien  plaisir  d'y  aller;  mais  je  n'ai  pas  de 
robe."  —  "Vite,  greye-toiV  dit-elle  en  lui  donnant  une  belle  robe  de 
satin  rose  et  des  pantoufles  appareill^es.  La  f^e  la  rend  deux  fois 
plus  belle  qu'elle  est,  et  Tenvoie  en  disant:  "Ne  passe  pas  minuit, 
parce  que,  a  cette  heure-la,  tu  redeviendras  Cendrouillonne."  Les 
plus  beaux  chevaux,  attel^s  a  un  carrosse  sans  pareil,  arrivent  a  la 
porte;  Cendrillon  emharque  et  arrive  au  bal.  Voyant  entrer  une  si 
belle  fille,  tout  le  monde  arrete  de  danser  pour  la  regarder.  Vitement 
le  prince  s'approche  d'elle  et  lui  demande  de  danser  avec  elle.  Elle 
accepte,  et  s'amuse  telleraent  qu'elle  oublie  I'heure.  Tout  a  coup, 
elle  lui  demande:  "Quelle  heure  est-il?"  Et,  pendant  que  minuit 
Sonne,  elle  d^gringole  I'escalier  et  redevient  Cendrillon  comme  avant. 
Dans  I'escalier  elle  perd  une  pantoufle,que  le  prince,  courant  apres  elle, 
ramasse.  Vetue  de  flanelle  d'habitant,  dans  son  carrosse,  elle  file 
chez  elle.  A  peine  assise  devant  la  chemin^e,  ses  soeurs  arrivent. 
Elles  ne  font  que  parler  de  la  belle  fille  vetue  de  satin  rose.  "Mais 
c'est  drole  comme  elle  est  partie  vite!"  disent-elles. 

Le  lendemain,  le  prince  fait  battre  un  ban.  "Celle  a  qui  la  pantoufle 
ira  sera  I'^pouse  du  prince."  En  attendant  que  le  prince  passe,  les 
trois  filles  mettent  leurs  plus  belles  toilettes.  Comme  la  pantoufle 
est  bien  petite,  elles  se  coupent  le  bout  du  pied  pour  la  mettre,  mais 
sans  y  r^ussir.  A  la  fin,  le  prince  fait  le  tour  de  toutes  les  maisons  des 
invites  a  la  danse,  sans  trouver  a  qui  la  pantoufle  appartient.  Alors 
le  roi  dit:  "R^unissez  toutes  les  jeunes  filles  du  village."  Cendrillon 
se  trouve  parmi  elles,  habillee  en  paysane.  A  elle  seule  la  pantoufle 
fait.  Et  le  roi  declare  qu'elle  est  bien  celle  que  le  prince  va  ^pouser. 
Les  gens  de  la  cour  la  font  habiller  en  princesse,  et  s'apergoivent  comme 
elle  est  belle.  Pour  le  mariage,  on  fait  une  grosse  noce.  Mais  moi, 
on  ne  m'a  pas  invitee. 

10.    LES  QUATRE    VENTS.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire  que  c'etait  un  roi.  Le  temps  ^tant 
venu  de  donner  a  ses  trois  gargons  leur  heritage,  les  deux  plus  vieux 

1  I.e.,  arrive. 

2  Conte  r6cit(5  k  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juillet,  1915,  par  Achilla 
Fournier,  qui  dit  I'avoir  appris  dans  les  chantiers  des  Montagnes-BIanches,  d'un 
Canadien-frangais,  il  y  a  line  trentaine  d'ann^es.  II  est  Evident  que  ce  conte  est, 
surtout  vers  la  fin,  bien  incomplet. 


58  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

lui  demandent  chacun  trois  cents  piastres,  et  Ti-Jean,  un  gars  de 
quinze  ans  seulement,  dit:  "Moi,  je  ne  vous  demande  que  votre 
chaloupe,  sur  la  greve." 

Dans  sa  chaloupe,  voila  Ti-Jean  parti  pour  la  peche.  Apres  avoir 
peche  toute  la  journee,  il  revient,  le  soir,  avec  plein  sa  chaloupe  de 
poissons.  "Qui  aurait  cru  ga!  dit  le  pere;  je  n'aurais  jamais  pense  que 
tu  pouvais  prendre  tant  de  poissons  dans  ta  journee."  Le  lendemain, 
le  petit  gargon  retourne  encore  a  la  peche,  se  couche  dans  sa  chaloupe 
et  s'endort.  Voila  bien  que  le  courant  Temporte  au  large.  Se  re- 
veillant,  il  pense:  "Dis-moi  done  oil  je  suis  rendu!" 

Le  capitaine  d'un  gros  batiment  passant  par  la  apergoit  un  petit 
tapon  noir.  C'etait  son  gilet  que  Ti-Jean  secouait  au  bout  d'une 
rame,  comme  signal.  Regardant  dans  sa  longue-vue,  le  capitaine  dit 
k  ses  matelots:  "Allons-3^  voir;  qa  doit  etre  quelque  naufrage."  Quand 
les  matelots  arrivent  a  lui:  "Mon  petit  gars!  ils  disent,  par  quelle 
aventure  es-tu  ici  ?"  —  "Pendant  que  je  dormais  dans  ma  chaloupe,  le 
courant  m'a  emmene  ici;  et  je  ne  puis  plus  prendre  terre."  Charme 
de  ce  petit  gars,  le  capitaine  lui  dit:  "Viens-t'en  a  bord  du  batiment, 
ou  tu  n'auras  pas  de  mis^re;  on  y  prendra  bien  soin  de  toi." 

Toujours  que,  il  fallait  arreter  a  quelque  part  pour  prendre  de  I'eau 
douce.  "Mes  matelots,  dit  le  capitaine,  allez  chercher  de  I'eau 
douce."  — "M'a^  aller  avec  vous  autres,"  dit  I'enfant  qui,  une  fois 
rendu  a  terre,  prend  sa  ligne  et  ses  ains,^  et  s'en  va  pecher  dans  la 
riviere.  Voyant  une  tempete  s'elever  sur  la  mer,  les  matelots  crient: 
"II  faut  partir!"  Et  ils  partent,  oubhant  leur  protege  k  terre.  Le 
capitaine  dit:  "Mais!  vous  ne  m'avez  pas -remmene  mon  petit  gars. 
C'est  done  de  valeur!^ moi  qui  en  etais  si  charme; je  ne  lereverrai  plus!" 

Dans  sa  journee,  Ti-Jean  peche  une  belle  hrochetee*  de  truites.  II 
prend  un  sentier,  et  arrive  a  un  chateau.  La  princesse,  qui  se  pro- 
menait  sur  la  galerie,^  apergoit  la  hrochetee  de  poissons,  et  demande: 
"Est-il  a  vendre,  ton  poisson  ?"  — "Oui,  belle  princesse!"  —  "Comment 
ce  que  tu  demandes?"  —  "Je  demande  une  piastre."  Et  la  princesse 
lui  ayant  donne  la  piastre,  il  part.  "Attends  done  un  peu!"  dit  la 
princesse,  qui  s'en  va  parler  a  son  pere:  "Si  vous  le  voulez,  je  vas  faire 
venir  ce  petit  gargon  au  chateau,  et  nous  I'enverrons  a  I'ecole  pour  le 
faire  instruire."  —  "C'est  bon!  repond  le  roi;  jette-lui  un  cri,  pour  le 
faire  entrer."  —  "Aye,  mon  petit  gars!  viens  done  ici  un  peu."  — 
"Tu  voudrais  bien  m'oter  ma  piastre?  Ah  non,  non!"  Mais  il  finit 
par  entrer  au  chateau,  oh  le  roi  lui  dit:  "Si  tu  veux  rester  avec  nous 

1  Pourje  m'en  vas. 

2  Terme  populaire  pour  hameqon. 

3  I.e.,  regrettable.     Locution  tr^s  usitee  au  Canada. 

4  Une  brochette  sur  laquelle  on  enfile  le  poisson  sitot  qu'il  est  pris. 

5  Un  promenoir  exterieur  en  saillie  devant  ou  autour  d'une  maison  ;  le  sens  de 
ce  mot,  au  Canada,  est  derive  d'un  terme  marin. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  59 

autres,  on  va  te  faire  instruire  pour  que  tu  gagnes  ta  vie  honorable- 
ment." 

A  r^cole,  Ti-Jean  apprenait  tout  ce  qu'il  voulait;  il  avait  une  tete 
epouvantahle.  ^  Apres  cinq  ou  six  ans  d'^eole,  il  avait  tout  appris 
les  affaires  de  la  marine  et  des  bdtiments  sur  la  mer.  C'etait  un  vrai 
marin,  II  dit  au  roi:  "Ast'heure,  je  suis  capable  de  gagner  ma  vie  ho- 
norablement;  je  m'en  vais  a  la  d^couverte  de  mines  d'or  et  d'argent." 
Et  il  part,  emmenant  avec  lui  les  deux  gargons  du  roi. 

Sur  la  mer,  il  prend  sa  longue-vue,  regarde  et  voit  un  petit  tapon 
clair.  "Tiens!  il  dit,  mes  petits  amis,  il  y  a  ici  une  mine  d'argent." 
II  charge  un  batiment  d'argent  et  renvoie  un  des  enfants  du  roi  chez 
son  pere,  avec  ce  batiment. 

Lui,  sur  la  mer,  il  marche  encore,  marche,  marche;  regarde  encore 
dans  la  longue-vue.  Ce  qu^il  voit?  Un  tapoii  jaune.  "Ah!  il  dit, 
ici,  c'est  une  montagne  d'or."  II  charge  un  batiment  d'or,  et  renvoie 
le  deuxieme  enfant  du  roi  a  son  pere,  sur  ce  batiment.  Et  il  dit:  '^Moi, 
il  faut  que  j'aille  encore  plus  loin,  a  la  decouverte." 

Bien  loin,  Ti-Jean  arrive  a  un  chateau,  au  bord  de  la  mer.  Comme 
ce  chateau  a  deux  Stages,  et  une  galerie  au  deuxieme,  il  monte  dans  un 
gros  arbre,  saute  sur  la  galerie,  et  entre  dans  le  chateau.  La,  il  apergoit 
une  princesse  emmuraill^e '^  dans  des  grilles  de  fer.  La  princesse  dit: 
"Je  suis  gardee  par  quatre  grants,  le  Vent-de-Suroi,  le  Vent-de-Norde, 
le  Vent-de-Nord  et  le  Vent-du-Su." 

Voila  bien  le  Vent-de-Suroi  qui  arrive  et  s'en  va  pour  manger  Ti-Jean, 
qui  dit:  "Devore-moi  point!  Que  veux-tu  d  manger?" —  "Donne-moi 
un  quart  ^  de  lard  et  un  quart  de  biscuit."  Ti-Jean  les  lui  donne. 
Le  Vent-du-Su  arrive  a  son  tour  et  dit:  "Tiens,  Ti-Jean!  Je  vas  te 
d^vorer."  — "Le  geant!  tu  n'en  aurais  pas  pour  ta  grosse  dent.  Que 
te  faut-il  d  manger?"  —  "II  me  faut  un  quart  de  lard  et  un  quart  de 
biscuit."  Et  aussitot  le  g^ant  a  ce  qu'il  demande.  Voila  le  Vent- 
de-Norde  qui  vient:  "Aye,  Ti-Jean,  je  vas  te  d^vorer!"  —  "Devore- 
mot  point!  Tu  vois  bien  que  tu  n'en  aurais  pas  pour  ta  grosse  dent.  Que 
veux-tu  manger?"  —  "II  me  faut  un  quart  de  lard  et  un  quart  de 
biscuit."  Sitot  dit,  sitot  fait.  Voila  le  Vent-de-Nord  qui  arrive: 
"Je  viens  te  d^vorer,  Ti-Jean."  —  "Devore-moi  point!  Tu  vois  bien 
que  tu  n'en  aurais  pas  pour  ta  grosse  dent  de  moi."  Et  il  lui  donne 
un  quart  de  lard  et  un  quart  de  biscuit. 

Toujours,  voila  mon  Ti-Jean  qui  prend  son  sabre,  part,  s'en  va  au 
chateau,  et  entre  dans  les  grilles  de  fer.  Une  vieille  magicienne  le  voit, 
et  lui  dit:  "Ti-Jean,  ne  fais  pas  ga!  Dans  la  foret,  il  y  a  quatre  grants 
qui  sont  bien  plus  forts  et  malins  que  toi.  Pour  faucher,  ils  ont  des 
faux  de  vingt-cinq  pieds  de  long.  Si  tu  veux  les  detruire,  va  dans  la 
foret  pendant  qu'ils  dorment."     Ti-Jean  s'en  va  done  dans  la  foret, 

1  I.e.,  extraordinaire.  2  Emprisonnee.  3  Un  baril. 


60  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

trouve  les  geants  endormis,  et,  avec  son  sabre/  leur  coupe  le  cou  k 
tous  les  quatre.     Voila  les  geants  morts. 

S'en  retournant  au  chateau,  Ti-Jean  s'en  va  trouver  la  vieille  ma- 
gicienne,et  dit:  ''Bonne  vieille!  ce  que  qa  veut  done  dire,  tous  ces  chicots 
de  sapin  sec  qu'on  voit  la?"  EUe  repond:  "Ce  sont  tous  des  bati- 
ments  que  les  geants  ont  amorphose  en  masses  de  sel."  —  "Qu'est-ce 
qu'il  faut  faire  pour  les  demarphoserf"  ^  —  'Trends  ce  petit  pot  de 
graisse  et  va  frotter  les  chicots  de  sapin."  ^  II  prend  le  petit  pot  de 
graisse,  s'en  va  frotter  les  chicots  de  sapin  sec,  qui  se  demarphosent 
et  deviennent  autant  de  batiments,  avec  matelots  et  capitaine  h  bord. 
De  la  il  s'en  va  tout  dret  au  chateau,  brise  les  grilles  de  fer  avec  son 
sabre,  delivre  la  princesse  et  I'emmene  avec  lui  dans  son  batiment. 
Pendant  le  grand  souper  qu'il  donne  a  tous  les  capitaines  delivres,  on 
lui  fait  prendre  une  dose  d'eau  d'endormi.*  Un  coup  Ti-Jean  endormi, 
on  le  met  dans  une  paillasse  et  le  sapre^  a  la  mer.  Une  baleine  passe 
et  envale^  la  paillasse.  Se  reveillant  dans  le  ventre  de  la  baleine,  mon 
Ti-Jean  s'apergoit  que  ga  marche  pas  mal  vite.  "OiJ-ce  que'^  je  suis?" 
Prend  son  couteau  et  pique  dans  le  corps  de  la  baleine.  Plus  il  pique, 
et  plus  ga  marche!  En  s'echouant  sur  une  ile,  la  baleine  se  casse  en 
deux.     Voila  Ti-Jean  qui  en  sort  et  se  met  a  se  promener  sur  I'ile. 

Ti-Jean  se  souhaite  transporte  chez  le  pere  de  la  princesse  qu'il  a 
d^livree.  L^,  pendant  la  nuit,  il  se  fait  batir  un  beau  chateau  de 
cristal.^  En  se  reveillant,  le  lendemain  matin,  le  roi  apergoit  le  beau 
chateau  de  crista!  devant  son  palais,  et  envoie  un  de  ses  valets  voir 
ce  que  ga  veut  dire.  Le  valet  demande:  "Qu'est-ce  que  ga  veut  done 
dire,  ce  chateau  de  cristal  bati  pendant  la  nuit?"  Ti-Jean  repond: 
"Va  dire  au  roi  que  s'il  a  affaire  h  moi,  il  vienne  ici  me  trouver."  Le 
roi  s'y  rend  et  demande:  "Mais,  comment  ga  se  fait  que  tu  es  rendu  h 
ma  porte,  ce  matin,  avec  un  chateau  en  cristal  cent  fois  plus  beau  que 
le  mien?"  —  "C'est  pour  vous  montrer,  sire  le  roi,  que  j'ai  ete  trahi. 
J'avais  delivre  votre  princesse  que  les  geants  avaient  emmuraillee. 
Un  capitaine  de  batiment  demarphose, que  j'avais  invite  a  souper  chez 
moi,  m'a  donne  de  I'eau  d'endormi,  m'a  mis  dans  une  paillasse  et  m'a 
sapre  a  la  mer.  Une  baleine  en  passant  m'a  envale.  En  me  reveillant 
dans  le  ventre  de  la  baleine,  je  I'ai  piquee  avec  mon  couteau,  et  elle 
est  allee  se  casser  en  deux  sur  une  ile.     L^,    je    me    suis    souhaite 

1  II  est  Evident  que  son  sabre  etait  doue  de  vertus  magiques. 

2  Desarnorphoser,  de  demetamorphoser. 

3  I.e.,  frotter  les  chicots  avec  la  graisse. 

4  Eau  qui  produit  le  sommeil,  eau  de  sommeil. 

5  I.e.,  jetle. 

6  Avale. 

7  Oil  est-ce  que. 

8  II  est  evident  qu'ici  le  conte  eat  trSs  incompl^tement  recite.  II  est  ^ 
supposer  que,  sur  Tile,  Ti-Jean  rencontra  quelque  magicien  ou  obtint  un  charme  qui 
lui  donna  des  pouvoirs  merveilleux. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiena.  61 

transporte  ici  avec  un  beau  chateau  de  cristal."  —  "Ah!  mon  Ti-Jcan, 
puisque  c'est  toi  qui  as  gagne  ma  princesse,  tu  vas  I'epouser."  —  "Non, 
sire  le  roi!  je  ne  I'epouserai  point."  —  ''Qu'est-ce  que  tu  ordonnes^ 
au  capitaine  qui  t'a  trahi  et  a  epouse  ma  princesse  a  ta  place?"  —  "Je 
ne  lui  ordonne  rien.  Laissez-le  oii  il  est;  car  il  faut  faire  le  bien  pour 
le  mal.     Moi  je  m'en  vais." 

De  la,  Ti-Jean  se  souhaite  transporte  k  la  porte  du  chateau  oii  il 
avait  vendu  sa  brochetee  de  poissons  h  la  princesse.  "Tu  as  et^  bien 
longtemps  a  ton  voyage!"  dit  le  roi.  "Eh  bien!  sire  le  roi,  les  deux 
batiments.  Fun  charge  d'argent  et  Fautre  d'or,  sont-ils  arrives?"  — 
"Oui,  ga  fait  longtemps.  Ast'heure,  mon  Ti-Jean,  tu  vas  ^pouser  ma 
princesse,  que  tu  as  ben  gagnee."     lis  se  sont  done  maries. 

Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici  vous  le  raconter. 

11.    LE  PRINCE  DE  l'eP^E-VERTE.  " 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'etait  un  prince,  dont  le  r^- 
fugiarum  ^  etait  la  foret,  oil  il  vivait  de  chasse.  Un  jour,  sa  femme 
meurt,et  il  reste  avec  deux  enfants,un  petit  gargon  et  une  petite  fille 
d'une  quinzaine  d'annees.  Plus  tard,  lui  aussi  tombe  malade,  meurt. 
Le  petit  gargon  se  met  a  chasser,  chasse.  II  tue  le  pekan,  le 
vison,  la  martre;  et,  ayant  ramasse  des  fourrures  riches  a  plein,*  il 
dit  a  sa  petite  soeur:  "Nous  sommes  tout  nus.  II  faut  que  je  prenne 
le  petit  sentier  ^  et  tache  de  trouver  du  monde,  pour  qu'on  me  vende 
des  habillements."  Leur  pere  leur  avait  dit  qu'il  y  a  des  marchands 
d'habits.  II  part  done  avec  ses  pelleteries,  et  il  marche,  marche  le 
long  du  petit  sentier  d  son  pere.®  Ce  qu'il  rencontre  dans  le  sentier  ? 
Un  gros  et  grand  homme,  epouvantable.^  "  Mon  petit  gargon,  oCi 
vas-tu?" — "Monsieur!  je  m'en  vas  vendre  mes  pelleteries  pour 
m'acheter  des  habits.  Je  suis  seul  avec  ma  petite  soeur,  et  nous  voil^ 
sans  habits,  nus."  —  "Mon  petit  gargon,  donne-moi  tes  pelleteries!" 
—  "Non,  batege!^  je  m'en  vas  les  vendre."  Le  petit  gargon  a  peur; 
et  le  geant,  qui  a  deux  gros  chiens  abominables,  repete:  "Tu  vas  me 
donner  tes  pelleteries,  et  mes  chiens  sont  a  toi.  Ce  que  tu  leur  de- 
manderas,  ils  te  I'apporteront."  Le  petit  gars  pense:  "C'est  bien  des 
menteries,  mais  c'est  ^gal !"  ^  II  revire  ^^  et  arrive  a  sa  soeur  en  braillant. 
II  lui  dit:  "J'ai  rencontre  un  gros  et  grand  homme,  avec  une  longue 
barbe.  II  m'a  pris  mes  pelleteries  et  donne  ses  chiens  en  disant:  'Ce 
que  tu  leur  demanderas,  ils  te  I'apporteront.'  " 

1  Dans  le  sens  de  "Quel  chatiment  veux-tu  qu'on  inflige  k  .  .  ." 

2  Le  conteur,  Paul  Patry,  de  Saint-Victor,  Beauce,  avait  appris  ce  conte  de 
son  neveu,  Magloire  Couture,  maintenant  un  vieillard,  de  Saint-Benoit,  Beauce. 
Recueilli  en  aoUt,  1914. 

3  Le  "  refuge,"  demeure  habituelle,  ou  endroit  familier.  *  I.e.,  trSs  riches. 
5  Patry  disait  chantier.                    6  De  son  pere.  7  XJn  geant. 

8  Juron.  9  Le.,  pareil.  lo  Le.,  retourne. 


62  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Le  lendemain  matin,  il  tue  des  chevreux  et  donne  k  manger  k  ses 
chiens.  Sa  petite  soeur  dit:  "Ah!  demande-leur  done  s'ils  sont  capables 
de  nous  apporter  quelque  chose."  II  regarde  ses  chiens  assis  sur  le  cul 
et  leur  demande:  "Etes-vous  capables  d'aller  chercher  de  quoi  nous 
habiller?"  Les  chiens  r^pondent:  "Ww/  wuV^  II  ouvre  la  porte,  et 
VQ\\k  les  chiens  partis,     "lis  ne  reviendront  plus,"  dit  la  petite  fille. 

Mais,  le  soir,  les  chiens  arrivent;  Tun  avec  un  paquet  ipouvantable  ^ 
de  beaux  habits  et  de  chemises  pour  le  petit  gargon.  L'autre  est 
charg^  de  tant  de  robes  de  sole  pour  la  petite  soeur  qu'elle  aurait  pu 
se  rhahiller  d'un  bout  a  l'autre  ^  plusieurs  fois.  lis  donnent  bien  a 
manger  a  leurs  chiens,  et  se  couchent. 

La  petite  soeur  dit  encore  le  lendemain  matin:  "Cou^don!^  si  nous 
leur  demandions  de  quoi  manger?  Tu  sais,  d^funt  p^re  apportait 
souvent  du  pain  et  de  la  viande.  C'^tait  bien  bon:  la  belle  viande 
blanche  qui  faisait  du  bouillon  en  cuisant — des  grillades!"  *  Comme 
de  fait,^  le  gargon  donne  bien  k  manger  a  ses  chiens:  "Allons,  mes 
chiens!"  Et  les  chiens  s'asseoient  sur  le  cul  en  le  regardant.  "Cou'don, 
mes  chiens!  etes-vous  capables  d'aller  nous  chercher  du  pain  blanc 
et  de  la  viande?"  Les  chiens  r^pondent:  '^Wu!  wuV^  lis  partent  et, 
le  soir,  reviennent,  un  avec  deux  sacs  pleins  de  beau  pain  blanc,  l'autre 
avec  un  gros  lard^  sur  le  dos.  Ah!  voila  les  enfants  contents.  lis 
mangent  du  bon  pain  blanc,  et  le  saucent  dans  le  bouillon  de  la  viande; 
c'est  hen  bon! 

Ast'heure,  la  petite  dit:  "Comme  ils  nous  donnent  bien  des  bonnes 
choses,  demande-leur  done  s'ils  peuvent  nous  apporter  de  I'argent." 
II  y  avait  encore  de  I'argent  blanc  dans  le  porte-monnaie  de  leur  p^re. 
Le  gargon  soigne  bien  ses  chiens,  et  quand  ils  s'asseoient  sur  le  cul,  il 
leur  demande:  "Eh  heji,  mes  chiens!  etes-vous  capables  d'aller  me 
chercher  de  I'argent  comme  ga?"^  Ils  r^pondent:  "Wii!  wu!  wuP' 
Et  les  voila  partis.  Le  soir,  ils  reviennent,  Fun  avec  un  sac  bien 
rempli  d'argent  de  papier,  l'autre  avec  un  sac  plein  d'or  et  d'argent, 
sur  le  dos.^ 

Ast'heure,  les  enfants  se  disent:  "II  faut  sortir  d'ici,  c'est  impossible 
de  rester  dans  les  bois  toute  notre  vie."  Le  petit  gargon  dit:  "Je 
m'habille,  et  je  vas  essayer  encore  un  coup  de  trouver  du  monde." 
II  s'habille,  se  greye  com'i'faut,  met  de  I'argent  dans  le  porte-manteau, 
et  part  le  long  du  petit  sentier,  marche,  marche.  Arriv^  au  bout  de 
la  foret,  il  apergoit  la  premiere  maison;  et  trouve  ga  bien  beau,  pas 
rien!  ^     II  avance  un  peu  dans  la  ville,  ou  il  ne  connait  personne. 

1  I.e.,  d'une  grosseur  extraordinaire.  2  i.e.,  des  pieds  k  la  t^te. 

3  Ellipse  de  Ecoute  done  ! 

*  Ici  grillade  est  pris  dans  le  sens  restreint  de  grillade  de  pore. 

6  I.e.,  en  r6alit6,  en  fait.  6  Cochon,  pore.  7  I.e.,  comme  celui-ci. 

8  I  e.,  sur  son  dos.  9  Pour  c'est  pas  rien  !  i.e.,  extr^mement. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  63 

Quelqu'un  lui  demande:  "Mon  jeune  homme,  que  cherchez-vous  ?" 
II  repond:  "Je  suis  seul  dans  la  foret  avec  ma  soeur;  mais  je  voudrais 
vivre  parmi  le  monde."  Comme  il  est  bien  poll  et  a  Fair  d'etre  en 
moyens,  on  I'accueille  bien  et  lui  dit:  "Oui,  vous  pouvez  vivre  ici." 
II  continue  done  son  chemin  dans  la  ville,  vers  le  fort;  continue,  marche. 
Tout  ce  qu'il  voit  autour  de  lui,  il  le  trouve  hen  hen  beau,  et  il  se  de- 
mande: "Je  ne  sais  pas  si  je  pourrais  avoir  une  cabane  ici."  N'ayant 
jamais  vu  de  maisons,  il  les  appelait  "des  cabanes"!  On  lui  repond: 
"Oui,  vous  pouvez  bien  en  avoir  une,  si  vous  le  voulez."  II  s'ach^te 
^  une  belle  maison,  au  milieu  de  la  ville.  Comme  il  a  de  I'argent  en 
masse,^  il  fait  greyer  sa  maison  de  beaux  meubles  et  de  tout  le  bran- 
lant}  Puis,  il  se  dit:  "AsCheure,  je  vais  aller  qWi^  ma  soeur,  dans  les 
bois."  Emmenant  quatre  hommes  avec  lui,  ils  se  rendent  en  voiture 
jusqu'au  bord  du  bois.  La,  ils  deharquent  et  marchent  dans  les  bois 
jusqu'a  ce  qu'ils  arrivent  chez  la  petite  fille.  "Tu  as  ^te  bien  long- 
temps  parti!"  dit-elle  a  son  frere.  II  repond:  "Tu  vas  voir  comme 
c'est  beau,  la-bas.  II  faut  nous  suivre;  nous  sommes  venus  te  q'ri." 
Montrant  a  ses  hommes  un  grand  coffre  bien  plein  d'or,  d'argent  et  de 
papier,  il  leur  dit:  "Apportez  ce  coffre."  lis  I'apportent  k  la  voi- 
ture, au  bord  de  la  foret,  pendant  que  le  petit  gargon  et  sa  soeur  les 
suivent.  Arrivee  a  la  ville,  la  petite  fille  aussi  trouve  ga  hen  beau,  et 
est  contente.  Comme  de  raison,  ces  enfants-la  ne  connaissaient 
rien.  S'apercevant  qu'ils  sont  riches,  le  cure  vient  les  voir,  et  il  les 
avertit:  "Mes  petits  jeunes  gens,  prenez  garde  a  vous  autres.  Si 
vous  voulez  preter  de  I'argent,  venez  me  le  dire.  Je  vous  introduirai, 
moi."  De  fait,  ils  vivent  a  I'aise,  pretant  de  I'argent  aux  gens  k 
qui  le  cure  les  introduit. 

Un  jour,  une  pauvre  femme  vient  leur  demander  la  charite;  elle  est 
veuve,  et  traine  avec  elle  un  fantome,*  un  enfant  inregardable.  Le 
gargon  lui  donne  la  charite  en  lui  demandant:  "Pourquoi  done  de- 
mandez-vous  la  charite?"  Elle  repond:  "Je  suis  veuve,  seule,  avec 
un  fantome  inmontrahle;  et,  ne  pouvant  pas  gagner  ma  vie,  il  faut 
bien  que  je  la  demande."  —  "La  mere!  si  vous  voulez,  vous  pouvez 
Tester  avec  nous.  Nous  vous  ferons  vivre.  Comme  je  n'aime  pas 
que  ma  sceur  travaille  a  I'ordinaire,  vous  seriez  quasiment  la  maitresse 
ici."  Mais  elle  demande:  "Mon  fantome?"  II  repond:  "II  y  a  une 
chambre  oi  vous  pouvez  le  tenir  renferme."  Bien  contente,  la  vieille 
consent  a  rester.  Elle  apporte  son  fantome,  tout  entortille  dans  une 
couverte,  sans  que  personne  ne  le  voie.  Dans  la  chambre  oil  elle  le 
garde,  chaque  jour,  elle  lui  donne  a  manger.  Sa  besogne,  a  la  maison, 
c'est  de  faire  I'ordinaire. 

I  I.e.,  en  quantite.  2  I.e.,  mobilier,  objets  accessoires. 

3  I.e.,  de  querir,  chercher. 

*  Patry  pronongait  fdtome;  fantdme  dans  le  sens  de  personne  maigre  semble  Stre 
rarement  usit6,  au  Canada. 

\ 

V 


64  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Un  bon  jour,  les  jeunesses  ^  sont  devenues  grandes  et  commencent 
h  aimer  le  monde.  Le  gar^on  dit  k  sa  soeur:  "Cou'don,  il  faut  que  je 
fasse  un  voyage,  pour  me  chercher  une  femme  de  mon  goiit."  Elle 
dit:  "C'est  bon!  Et  tache,  a  moi  tou,"^  de  trouver  un  bel  homme." 
Le  gargon  se  greye  un  beau  b^iment,  et  y  met  I'^quipage.  Allant 
chez  un  tireur  de  portraits,  ^  il  demande  son  portrait  et  celui  de  sa 
soeur,  disant:  "S'il  arrive  quelque  chose,  tu  auras  mon  portrait,  et 
j'aurai  le  tien."  Avant  de  partir,il  dit  k  la  memere*  d'avoir  bien  soin 
de  sa  soeur,  pendant  son  voyage.  lis  se  souhaitent:  "Bonsoir!  bon 
voyage!"     Et,  sur  son  batiment,  il  part. 

II  arrive  dans  une  ville  riche  et  lointaine.  Comme  il  est  en  moyens, 
un  bel  homme  et  un  monsieur  s'il  y  en  a  un,  il  devient  I'ami  du  roi, 
qui  est  jeune  et  gar^on.  Le  roi  aussi  a  une  soeur,  tres  belle  fille. 
Monsieur  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte  *  commence  k  se  promener  souvent 
avec  le  roi,  et  fait  amiti^  avec  la  soeur.  Le  roi,  voyant  qu'il  a  les 
moyens,  le  trouve  tres  bon  parti  et  consent  au  mariage  de  sa  soeur 
avec  lui.  "Monsieur  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte,  lui  demande-t-il, 
vous  dites  que  vous  avez  une  soeur?"  —  "Oui!"  —  "Si  elle  est  un  peu 
convenable,^  peut-6tre  ne  ferons-nous  qu'une  seule  noce.  Irez-vous 
la  qWi?"  II  r^pond:  "Oui!"  Et  il  lui  montre  le  portrait  de  sa  soeur. 
Le  roi  la  trouve  belle  depareilUe?  Faisant  aussi  tirer  son  portrait,  il 
le  remet  au  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte  pour  sa  soeur.  "Une  fois  parti, 
il  ne  reviendra  plus!"  dit  la  soeur  du  roi,  en  se  plaignant.  Mais  non! 
Us  se  promettent  par  serment  de  se  marier  ensemble,  tous  les  quatre. 
VoiR  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte  parti  sur  son  bMiment,  pour  aller 
qWi  sa  soeur. 

Le  voyant  arriver,  sa  soeur  lui  saute  au  cou  et  I'embrasse.  Pendant 
le  voyage  de  son  frere,  elle  avait  encore  profits.  Elle  se  frottait,  et 
elle  6tait  belle.  "T'es-tu  trouv^  une  femme?"  est  sa  premiere  de- 
mande. "M'en  as-tu  trouv^  un,  mo^  lou;^  pas  un  torchon,  mais  un 
beau  ?"  Pour  toute  r^ponse,  il  montre  a  sa  soeur  le  portrait  du  prince. 
"Ah,  sapr^  bateau!  ^  c'est  un  bel  homme."  Elle  est  contente.  La 
vieille,  leur  servante,  se  met  k  pleurer,  en  disant:  "Voila  que  j'^tais 
si  heureuse  ^°  avec  vous,  et  que  vous  vous  en  allez.  Moi,  je  vais  rester 
dans  la  misere."  —  "Non,  memere,  ne  craignez  pas!  Vous  allez  venir 
avec  nous;  vous  serez  ma  servante,  et  votre  vie  est  assur^e."  Bien 
contente,  la  vieille  enveloppe  son  fantome  dans  une  couverte,  I'em- 
porte  sur  le  batiment,  dans  une  petite  chambre  faite  expres,  pensant 
en  elle-meme:  "On  part!  mais  cherche  ^^  comment  on  sera,  la-bas!" 

1  I.e.,  le  frere  et  la  soeur.     2  Pour  d  moi  axissi;  de  el  tout.     3  Pour  photographe. 

*  Petit  nom  pour  grand' mere,  ou  toute  vieille  personne. 

6  Notre  jeune  voyageur,  k  partir  d'ici,  est  d6sign^  sous  le  nom  de  prince  de 
I'Epde-verte. 

6  Jolie.  ">  I.e.,  sans  ^^-'o  .sons  pareille.         8  I.e.,  moi  aussi. 

9  J^jron.  10  Pa  try  pr;.  u  Dans  le  sens  de  qui  sail. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  65 

Pendant  que  le  b^timent  file  et  que  la  soeur  du  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte 
repose  dans  sa  chambre,  la  vieille  s'approche  d'elle  et  lui  met  un  collier 
d'or  au  cou,  en  disant:  "Tu  seras  poisson  au  fond  de  la  mer  tant  que 
la  mer  sera  mer  et  tant  que  la  terre  sera  terre."  D'un  crac,  la  fille  est 
amorphosee  ^  en  poisson  au  fond  de  la  mer;  et  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte 
devient  sec  et  immobile,  n'ayant  que  la  vie.  Ne  voyant  plus  le  prince 
ni  sa  soeur,  le  capitaine  s'en  va  voir  ce  qui  se  passe.  II  trouve  le 
prince  immobile  et  sans  parole,  et  sa  soeur — partie.  II  demande  a  la 
servante:  "Oii  est  la  princesse  de  I'Ep^e-verte?"  Elle  r^pond:  "Dans 
la  chambre,  la."  II  entre  et  apergoit  le  fantome  de  la  vieille.  II  en 
tombe  sur  le  cul.  Ce  fantome  inmontrable  a  des  bras  et  des  jambes 
croches,  une  bosse  au  dos,  des  oreilles  en  cloche,  des  yeux  rouges  et 
une  grande  gueule  de  travers.  II  dit:  "Je  ne  crois  pas  que  ce  soit  la 
princesse  de  I'Ep^e-verte."     La  vieille  r^pond:  "Oui,  c'est  bien  elle!" 

Voyant  arriver  le  batiment,  les  gens  du  pays  61oign6  font  des  grands 
pr^paratifs  et  recouvrent  tout  le  quai  de  beau  velours.  Musique  en 
tete,  le  roi  et  sa  suite  viennent  au-devant  du  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte. 
Montant  a  bord,  le  roi  apergoit  le  pavilion  noir  qu'on  a  hiss6  en  signe 
de  tristesse:  "Qu'ya-t-il?  Est-ce  le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte  qui  est 
mort?"  On  le  mene  voir  le  prince,  qui  est  comme  mort,  grouille^ 
pas,  parle  pas.  A  la  vue  du  fantome,  tout  le  monde  se  met  a  rire  en 
se  claquant  les  mains. 

Le  roi  fait  transporter  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte  avec  beaucoup  de 
c^r^monies,  sur  un  boyart,  au  chateau  qu'il  s'^tait  fait  construire  pen- 
dant sa  premiere  visite.  On  y  emmene  aussi  le  fantome  et  la  vieille 
servante. 

Le  cur^,  a  qui  le  roi  parle  de  I'affaire,  dit:  "Qsl  doit  etre  une  punition. 
Suffit  que  deux  si  belles  personnes  se  soient  promises  par  serment. 
Oui!  ga  doit  etre  une  punition  du  bon  Dieu."  Le  roi  declare:  "C'est 
le  bon  Dieu  qui  nous  punit;  il  faut  bien  que  je  me  marie  au  fantome, 
puisque  j'en  ai  fait  serment. 

Apres  le  mariage  du  roi  au  fantome,  tous  les  m^decins  du  royaume 
essaient  de  ramener  monsieur  le  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte  a  la  sant4, 
mais  sans  y  r^ussir.    La  veuve,  sa  servante,  prend  soin  de  lui. 

Au  bout  d'une  bonne  escousse,  le  roi  et  son  fantome  achetent  un 
fils.  Pendant  que  le  roi  est  a  la  chasse,  comme  toujours,  la  vieille 
femme  dit  a  son  fantome:  "Sais-tu  que  si  not  re  secret  venait  a  se 
declarer,  ga  pourrait  tourner  bien  mal?  II  faudrait  faire  d^truire 
le  prince  de  i'Ep^e-verte."  Le  roi  avait  un  beau  jardin,  oil  se  trouvait 
un  pommier  rapportant  des  pommes  d'or.  Son  pommier,  il  ne  I'aurait 
pas  donn^  pour  des  mille  et  des  mille  piastres.  La  bonne-femme 
prend  done  une  hache  et  coupe  le  pommier.  Le  roi  ressoud^  de  la 
chasse,    n'ayant    tu^    qu'un    petit    pic-bois.     II    trouve    son    enfant 

1  Pour  m6tamorphos6e.       *  I.e.,  ne  grouille  pas,  ne  parle  pas.       3  I.e.,  arrive. 


66  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

dans  le  ber  k  jargonner  comme  le  notre;  ^  jette  la  vue  vers  son  jardin: 
"Le  pommier  aux  pommes  d'or  est  coupe!  Ah!  qui  a  coupe  mon  pom- 
mier  aux  pommes  d'or?"  Le  fantome  repond:  "Sais  pas! "-  La 
veuve  passe;  demande''  a  la  veuve:  "Qui  a  coupe  mon  pommier?" 
Elle  repond:  "Monsieur  le  roi,  vous  ne  me  croirez  pas,  si  je  vous  le 
dis.  Celui  qui  a  coupe  votre  pommier,  c'est  le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte. 
Quand  vous  etes  ici,  il  ne  grouille  pas;  mais  vous  n'etes  pas  sitot  parti 
qu'il  fait  des  mauvais  coups."  Rien  de  plus  presse,  le  roi  part  et  va 
voir  le  prince  de  FEp^e-verte,  qui  est  la,  sans  grouiller  un  doigt. 
Le  roi  se  dit:  "Je  ne  puis  toujours  pas  le  punir  sans  bien  savoir  si  c'est 
lui." 

Apr^s  quelques  jours,  le  roi  part  encore  pour  la  chasse.  La  veuve 
dit  au  fantome:  "Sais-tu  que  si  on  ne  pent  pas  le  faire  detruire,  il 
nous  arrivera  quelque  chose!"  Elle  prend  I'enfant  du  roi,  et,  avec 
un  sabre,  le  coupe  en  quatre  (morceaux),  qu'elle  porte  dans  la  chambre 
du  prince  de  I'Ep^e-verte.  La,  elle  trempe  les  mains  du  prince 
dans  le  sang.  Le  roi  arrive,  va  voir  son  enfant  dans  le  ber,  n'y  voit 
que  du  sang.  "On  va  toujours  voir  qui  a  fait  ya!"  Sans  connais- 
sance  de  fureur,  il  va  voir  son  fantome,  qui  braille:  "Enhanhan,  en- 
hanhanV  —  "Dis-moi  qui  a  tue  mon  enfant!"  —  "/  se  pas."*  La 
bonne-femme  passe.  "La  mere!  dit  le  roi,  qui  est  venu  detruire 
mon  enfant?"  Elle  repond:  "Ah!  c'est  votre  beau^  prince  de  I'Epee- 
verte.  Allez  done  le  voir,  dans  I'etat  qu'il  est,  la.  Vous  le  considerez 
tant!"  Le  roi  s'en  va  voir,  et  lui  trouve  les  mains  ensanglantees. 
"Ah,  c'est  lui!  Je  ne  suis  pas  pour  lui  oter  la  vie  admeure;^  mais  je 
le  ferai  mourir  en  longueur."  ^  A  I'ordre  du  roi,  on  fait  une  plate-forme 
au  bord  de  la  mer,  et  on  y  place  le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte,  aux  quatre 
vents.  Pour  toute  nourriture  on  ne  lui  donne  que  du  pain  et  de 
I'eau. 

Un  bon  jour,  voila  une  tempete  abominable.  La  mer  est  agitee. 
II  fait  si  noir  qu'on  ne  peut  rien  voir,  dans  la  ville.  Un  habitant, 
qui  reste  vis-a-vis  de  la  plate-forme  du  prince  de  i'Epee-verte,  se 
couche  le  long  de  la  greve,  pendant  la  tempete.  Ce  qu"i\  apergoit? 
La  sceur  du  prince,  qui  sort  de  la  mer,  amorphosee^  en  poisson,  et  qui 
traine  a  son  cou  une  longue  chaine  d'or  allant  jusqu'au  fond  de  la  mer. 
S'approchant  de  son  frere,  elle  le  prend  par  le  cou:  "Mon  pauvre 
fr^re!  nous  sommes  comme  morts  tous  les  deux,  incapables  de  tout. 

1  Le  narrateur  indique  ici  un  petit  enfant  au  berceau,  dans  sa  maison. 

2  Pour  Je  ne  sais  pas;  ici,  le  narrateur,  avec  une  grimace  comique,  imitait  la 
mani^re  ridicule  de  parler  du  fantome. 

3  I.e.,  il  demande. 

i  I.e.,  il  7ie  sail  pas,  pouTJene  sais  pas.  L'auteura  souvent  entendu  des  idiota, 
pr^  de  Quebec,  parler  d'eux-memes  k  la  troisidme  personne  du  singulier. 

5  Par  moquerie.  6  I.e.,  d  demeure,  pour  definitivement. 

7  I.e.,  en  langueur,  lenteraent,  i  petit  feu.  8  I.e.,  mHamorphos^e. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  67 

Moi,  je  serai  amorphosie  en  poisson,  au  fond  de  la  mer,  tant  que  la 
mer  sera  mer  et  tant  que  la  terre  sera  terre."  En  pleurant,  elle 
ajoute:  "C'est  la  vieille  qui  nous  a  amorphoses.  Mais  si  quelqu'un 
nous  entendait  sans  que  nous  le  voyions,  il  pourrait  nous  d^livrer  en 
coupant  ma  chaine  a  cinq  brasses  sous  I'eau,  au  moyen  d'un  marteau 
de  huit  livres  pesant  d'or  et  d'une  tranche  d'or  massif."  Ayant  tout 
entendu  de  sa  cachette,  Vhabitant  court  au  chateau  avec  ses  grosses 
bottes  pleines  de  vase,  et  tout  effarouch^,  arrive  chez  le  roi.  "Qu'avez- 
vous?"  demande  le  roi.  "Monsieur  le  roi,  vous  voyez  la  tempete. 
Eh  bien!  la  cause  en  est  la  princesse  de  I'Epc^e-verte,  qui  a  H6  amor- 
phosie  en  poisson,  au  fond  de  la  mer,  pour  tant  que  la  mer  sera  mer 
et  tant  que  la  terre  sera  terre.  Attachee  au  fond  de  la  mer  par  une 
grande  chaine  d'or,  elle  vient  de  parler  a  son  frere  qu'elle  a  pris  par 
le  cou,  en  lui  disant:  'Je  n'ai  plus  que  deux  jours  a  venir  te  voir,  avant 
ta  mort.  Si  on  m'entendait  et  venait  sous  I'eau  couper  ma  chaine, 
nous  serious  delivres  tous  les  deux'."  —  "Coii'don!  r^pond  le  roi, 
retournes-y  demain,  et  si  elle  se  remontre,  viens  me  le  dire." 

Comme  de  fait,  le  lendemain,  voila  une  tempete  pire  qu'on  n'en  a 
jamais  vu.  Pendant  que  Vhabitant  est  encore  cache  au  pied  d'un 
arbre,  la  princesse  de  I'Epee-verte  ressoud,  prend  son  frere  par  le 
cou,  I'embrasse  et  dit:  "Mon  frere!  je  n'ai  plus  qu'une  fois  a  venir  te 
voir.  Si  quelqu'un  m'entendait  et  coupait  ma  chaine  avec  une 
tranche  d'or  massif  et  un  marteau  de  huit  livres  pesant  d'or,  nous 
serious  delivres  tous  les  deux."  Apprenant  ga,  le  roi  dit:  "Ah  ben! 
tu  vas  voir;  m''a  '  te  greyer."  Dans  un  siffle,  ''■  il  fait  forger  un  marteau 
de  huit  livres  pesant  d'or  et  une  tranche  d'or  massif;  et  il  fait  faire 
un  habit  a  Vhabitant  pour  qu'il  plo7igU  ^  et  coupe  la  chaine  avec  la 
tranche. 

h' habitant  redescend  au  bord  de  la  mer,  le  lendemain,  et  avec  son 
nouvel  habit,  se  couche  a  terre.  Voila  une  tempete  epouvantable. 
C'est  pas  <;a!  *  le  temps  est  tout  blanc  et  la  mer  agit^e.  Tout  d'un 
coup,  la  princesse  amorphosee  ressoud  du  fond  de  la  mer,  poigne  son 
frere  par  le  cou;  et  c'est  la  meme  histoire  que  la  veille:  "Si  quelqu'un 
coupait  la  chaine  d'or,  ga  serait  la  d^livrance."  ^habitant  se  foute^ 
k  la  mer  avec  son  marteau  et  sa  tranche,  et  se  met  a  travailler.  Pen- 
dant que  le  frere  et  la  soeur  se  lamentent,  il  coupe  la  chaine.  Voila 
la  princesse  de  I'Ep^e-verte  et  son  frere  revenus  comme  avant.  Quant 
au  prince,  lui,  il  est  bien  maigre,  car  9a  fait  longtemps  qu'il  patit. 
Inhabitant  sort  de  la  mer,  va  chercher  un  carrosse,  et  les  emmene  au 
chateau,  qui  est  encore  en  grand  deuil. 

Les  voyant  venir  de  loin,  le  roi  court  au-devant  d'eux.  La,  c'est 
une  joie  et  une  alerte!     De  maniere  que  la  princesse  de  I'Ep^e-verte 

1  I.e.,  je  m'en  vais.  2  I.e.,  daas  un  instant.  3  Plonge. 

4  Terme  emphatique,  dont  le  sens  e.st   C'est  extraordinaire  !         6  I.e.,  jette. 


68  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

dit:  "La  vieille  m'a  mis  un  collier  d'or  dans  le  cou,  et  je  me  suis  trouv6e 
amorphosee  en  poisson,  au  fond  de  la  mer,  'tant  que  la  mer  sera  mer 
et  tant  que  la  terre  sera  terre.'  Et  mon  frere,  lui,  a  ete  amorphose 
sans  mouvement."     Le  roi  dit:  "Ast'heure,  que  faut-il  faire?" 

Le  fantome  de  la  vieille,  il  le  fait  ecartiller  ^  en  quatre  dans  la  rue, 
devant  le  chateau.  Et  la  vieille  ?  On  I'a  fait  rotir  sur  une  grille,  et 
on  a  mis  sa  graisse  aux  roues  des  voitures.  ^ 

Le  roi  s'est  marie  h  la  princesse  de  I'Epee-verte,  et  sa  soeur,  au 
prince,  son  frere.  Et  moi,  ils  ne  m'ont  pas  invite  aux  noces.  C'est 
pourquoi  je  n'ai  jamais  voulu  y  retourner. 

12,    ANTOINE    ET  JOSEPHINE.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'est  un  vieux  et  sa  vieille,  et  leurs  enfants,  Antoinette 
et  Josephine.  Etant  tres  pauvres,  le  vieux,  un  jour,  dit  a  sa  femme: 
"Nous  ne  pouvons  plus  nourrir  nos  enfants;  il  faut  les  ^carter'*  au 
mileu  d'un  grand  bois."  La  vieille  repond:  "Tu  n'y  penses  pas; 
^carter  nos  enfants!  II  n'y  a  pas  moyen  de  me  resoudre  a  ga." — "Tant 
qu'd^  les  voir  crever  de  faim  ici,  dit  le  vieux,  j'aime  mieux  les  ecarter 
dans  les  bois.  Qui  salt?  peut-etre  pourront-ils  se  r^chapper  d'eux- 
memes."     Et  il  s'en  va  ecarter  ses  enfants  dans  les  bois. 

Apres  avoir  pass6  sept  ans  dans  la  foret,  Antoine  dit  a  sa  petite 
sceur:  "II  ne  faut  pas  rester  ici  plus  longtemps;  les  loups  hurlent  k 
cceur  de®  jour.  A  la  fin,  nous  nous  ferions  devorer.  Fais  bien  atten- 
tion! Je  vais  monter  dans  le  plus  grand  arbre;  et  du  cote  oij  je  verrai 
une  lumiere,  je  jetterai  ma  calotte.     Mais,  fais  bien  attention." 

Une  fois  monte  dans  I'arbre,  il  apergoit  une  petite  lumiere,  bien 
loin.  De  ce  c6t6  il  jette  sa  calotte.  Et  puis,  tous  deux  partent  dans 
cette  direction,  s'en  allant  a  pen  pres/  dans  la  foret.  Tout  h  coup 
ils  apergoivent  une  clarte,  et  ils  arrivent  pres  d'une  petite  maison 
ou  trois  geants  sont  a  jouer  aux  cartes.  Une  grande  morve  pendait 
au  nez  d'un  des  geants,  qui  ne  prenait  pas  le  temps  de  se  moucher. 
Antoine  dit  a  sa  sceur:  "Ah!  qu'il  me  donne  mal  au  cceur!  Je  vais  le 
moucher."  —  "II  ne  faut  pas  faire  5a.  Tu  sais  que  ce  sont  des  geants, 
et  qu'ils  vont  nous  devorer."  Prenant  son  arc  et  une  fleche,  le  petit 
gargon  vise  a  travers  un  petit  trou  dans  le  mur  de  la  cabane;  et  le 
geant  est  mouche.  Voila  les  grants  pris,^  se  battant  ensemble. 
L'un  dit:  "Qui  m'a  mouche?     Oui,  c'est  toi!"  —  "Non,  ce  n'est  pas 

1  Pour  ecarleler.  2  Patry  dit:  "aux  roues  des  ivagines,"  pour  wagons. 

3  Raconte  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui  (Marie  Picard),  a  Lorette,  Quebec,  en 
aollt,  1914.     Mme  Sioui  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte  de  son  beau-p^re,  Clement  Sioui, 

4  Ici,  employe  comme  verbe  actif,  dans  le  sens  de  se  perdre. 

5  Pour  quant  a.  8  I.e.,  toiit  le  long  dujour. 

7  I.e.,  aussi  bien  qu'ils  le  peuvent,  presque  au  hasard. 

8  I.e.,  en  querelle. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  69 

moi."  —  "Oui,  c'est  toi!"  Et  tout  ga  pour  savoir  qui  I'a  mouch6. 
lis  se  raccordent  ensuite,  et  recommencent  a  jouer  aux  cartes. 

La  chandelle  qui  les  ^claire  est  toute  pleine  de  chapeaux,  comme 
lis  ne  prennent  pas  la  peine  de  la  moucher;  et  ils  ne  voient  presque  plus. 
Antoine  dit:  "Je  mouche  la  chandelle." — "Fa  done  pas!"  ^  Tu  as  vu 
comme  ils  se  sont  battus  ensemble  tout  k  I'heure.  Ils  vont  nous 
d^vorer,  c'est  certain.'  —  ''J'aime  autant  me  faire  devorer  que  de 
crever  de  faim."  II  prend  son  arc,  et  d'une  fleche  mouche  la  chandelle. 
Voila  la  chandelle  tu^e.  Les  grants  se  disent:  "II  faut  toujou  hen  voir 
qui  nous  joue  des  tours  comme  ga,  qui  nous  mouche  et  mouche  la 
chandelle."  Les  enfants,  dehors,  ne  sont  pas  gros,-  surtout  quand  ils 
voient  les  trois  grants  approcher. 

Apres  avoir  fait  entrer  Antoine  et  Josephine,  un  geant  demande 
au  petit  gargon:  "Est-ce  toi  qui  m'a  mouche?"  —  "Oui,  repond  I'en- 
fant;  vous  me  donniez  mal  au  cceur.  Vous  etiez  trop  occupe  k  jouer 
aux  cartes,  et  je  vous  ai  mouche."  —  "Est-ce  aussi  toi  quia  mouch6  la 
chandelle?"  —  "Oui!  je  vous  voyais  si  occupe  a  jouer  aux  cartes  que 
j'ai  mouche  la  chandelle.  Vous  ne  voyiez  plus  clair."  Les  geants 
se  mettent  a  lui  dire:  "Tu  es  bien  habile!  Ecoute-nous  bien:  la-bas, 
dans  le  chateau,  il  3'  a  une  princesse  gard^e''  par  une  petite  chienne 
noire  qui  a  une  lune  blanche  dans  le  front.  Pour  tuer  la  petite  chienne, 
il  faudrait  I'atteindre  dans  la  petite  lune  blanche.  Autrement,  c'est 
impossible."  Le  petit  gargon  repond:  "II  y  a  sept  ans  que  je  vis  dans 
les  bois,  a  tuer  les  oiseaux  k  la  volee,  de  mon  arc  et  de  mes  fleches.  Je 
ne  manque  jamais  mon  coup." 

Les  grants  ont  grand  soin  des  deux  enfants  et  les  traitent  de  leur 
mieux,  pensant  les  manger  apres  qu'Antoine  aurait  tue  la  petite 
chienne.  Leur  desir  est  d'epouser  la  princesse,  vu  que  le  roi  a  dit: 
"Celui  qui  la  delivrera  I'epousera." 

Ils  se  rendent  done  avec  le  petit  gargon  au  chateau  ou  la  princesse 
est  "gard^e."  II  n'y  avait  pas  d'escalier  pour  y  entrer.  Les  geants 
disent  a  Antoine:  "Nous  allons  monter  I'un  sur  I'autre  pour  te  faire 
une  echelle,  et  tu  vas  grimper  sur  nous."  Antoine  prend  sa  fleche, 
grimpe,  entre  au  chateau,  attrape  la  petite  chienne  dans  sa  lune 
blanche  et  la  tue  net.  II  avance  plus  loin  et  apergoit  la  princesse 
endormie.  La  princesse  a  un  mouchoir,  une  tabatiere  et  une  bague. 
Prenant  le  mouchoir,  Antoine  embrasse  la  princesse,  et  met  le  mouchoir 
dans  sa  poche;  prend  la  tabatiere,  embrasse  la  princesse,  et  met  la  ta- 
batiere dans  sa  poche;  prend  la  bague,  embrasse  la  princesse, et  met  la 
bague  dans  sa  poche.  Ensuite,  il  redescend  sur  les  geants  et  leur  dit: 
"Creusons  un  trou,  la  011  est  le  soupirail,  pour  entrer  dans  le  chateau." 

1  Pour  garde  fen  bien! 

2  Sont  petits,  de  frayeur. 

3  I.e.,  la  prisonni^re  d'une  fee  qui  la  garde  endormie. 


70  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Avec  le  sabre  qu'un  g^ant  lui  donne,  il  creuse  un  trou.  "Moi,  je 
suis  le  plus  petit,  ajoute-t-il,  je  vas  y  entrer  le  premier,  pour  Tagrandir. 
Toi,  le  moins  grand  des  trois,  tu  entreras  apres  moi;  ensuite,toi;  et  toi, 
le  plus  grand,  le  dernier."  De  fait,  Antoine  passe  le  premier,  agrandit 
un  peu  le  trou.  Le  moins  grand  des  grants  s'y  fourre,  et  sitot  sa  tete 
pass^e  en  dedans,  Antoine  la  coupe  d'un  coup  de  sabre,  tire  le  corps  a 
lui  et  le  jette  dans  la  cave.  Ayant  encore  agrandi  le  trou  pour  le 
deuxieme  g^ant,  il  lui  coupe  aussi  la  t^te  et  tire  le  reste  a  lui.  Et  de 
meme  de  I'autre  g^ant. 

Or,  le  roi  avait  fait  battre  un  ban  que  celui  qui  d^livrerait  la  prin- 
cesse  et  prendrait  sa  bague  Taurait  en  mariage.  II  prepare  une  grande 
fete,  a  laquelle  tous  les  princes  et  princesses  de  son  royaume  sont  invi- 
tes. Mais  la  princesse  dit  au  roi:  "Mon  pere,  vous  en  oubliez  un. 
Vous  n'avez  pas  fait  inviter  Antoine."  On  envoie  done  chercher  le 
petit  gar^on,  que  la  princesse  fait  asseoir  pres  d'elle.  Le  roi  est  de 
mauvaise  humeur.  II  y  a  tant  de  beaux  princes,  et  sa  fille  n'en  fait 
pas  de  cas,  regardant  seulement  Antoine.  Chacun  a  table  fait  son 
discours.  Quand  le  tour  vient  au  petit  gargon,  le  roi  dit  :  "  Parole 
de  roi!  il  faut  que  tu  paries, toi  aussi!"  Antoine  ne  sait  pas  quoi 
dire.  "Qu'as-tu  fait,  demande  le  roi,  quand  tu  as  d61ivr6  la  prin- 
cesse?" —  "Quand  je  suis  arrive,  la  princesse  dormait.  Son  mouchoir 
6tait  sur  la  table.  J'ai  pris  le  mouchoir,  I'ai  mis  dans  ma  poche.  Et 
j'ai  fait  autre  chose;  mais  je  ne  le  dirai  pas."  II  avait  honte  de  dire 
qu'il  Tavait  embrass^e!  "Elle  avait  une  tabatiere;  je  I'ai  mise  dans 
ma  poche;  et  j'ai  fait  autre  chose,  que  je  ne  dirai  pas.  Elle  avait 
une  bague,  que  j'ai  mise  dans  ma  poche;  et  j'ai  fait  autre  chose,  que 
je  ne  dirai  pas."  Les  princes  ont  hate  d'essayer  la  bague;  la  princesse 
est  si  belle  que  c'est  a  qui  I'aurait.^  Tous  essaient  la  bague,  mais  elle 
ne  fait  qu'au  petit  garQon.  (^a /ai^  ^Me,^  parole  de  roi !  il  faut  bien  que 
la  princesse  I'^pouse. 

Mais  moi,  ils  ne  m'ont  pas  invit<5  aux  noces. 

13.    LE    CONTE    DE    PARLE.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'dtait  une  veuve  et  ses  trois  gar^ons,  Georges,  Charles, 
et  Jean.     Le  soubriqueie*  de  Jean  etait  "  Parle." 

Un  bon  jour,  la  guerre  delate  contre  le  roi  de  leur  pays.  Charles  et 
Georges  disent  a  leur  mere:  "Mouman,  nous  allons  a  la  guerre.  Parle 
va  rester  ici  pour  vous  aider  et  avoir  soin  des  animaux."     Ti-Jean — 

1  I.e.,  que  tous  souhaitent  I'c^pouser. 

2  Locution  coDJonctive  souvent  employee  par  plusieurs  conteurs. 

3  Recueilli  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juillet,  1915,  de  Narcisse  Thi" 
boutot,  qui  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte,  il  y  a  une  dizaine  d'ann6es,  de  feu  Charles 
Francoeur,  son  oncle. 

<  Pour  sohriqxiet. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  71 

ou  Parle — dit:  "Moi  tou,^  j'y  vas."  Mais  ses  fr^res  disent  a  leur  mere: 
"Mouman,  il  n'est  pas  ben  fin,  ~  lui,  gardez-le  ici."  lis  partcnt;  mais 
Parle,  qui  va  vite,  les  rattrapo  le  lendemain.  Le  voyant  venir,  ses 
freres  disent:  "Va-t'en,  Parle!  Tu  viens  pour  nous  faire  honte.  Va- 
t'en!  on  n'a  pas  besoin  de  toi."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas,  mes  freres,  je  ne 
vous  ferai  pas  honte."  Georges  et  Charles  arrivent  chez  le  roi  et 
s'engagent.  Parle  s'engage  ensuite.  Le  roi  leur  deraandc:  "Etes- 
vous  tons  trois  parents?"  —  "Non,  sire  mon  roi,  repondent  les  deux 
premiers; nous  ne  connaissons  pas  ce  jeune  homme  qui  nous  arattrapes 
en  chemin;  nous  ne  I'avions  jamais  vu."  A  Parle  il  demande:  "Vous, 
monsieur,  connaissez-vous  ces  jeunes  hommes-la?"  —  "Non,  non!  je 
ne  les  eonnais  point."  —  "Qu'es-tu  capable  de  faire?"  —  "Je  suis 
pret  ^  faire  n'importe  quoi." —  "Bien!  tu  vas  t'occuper  de  faire  rotir 
la  viande  a  la  broche,  pour  mon  armee."  C'<5tait  1^  un  ouvrage  dur, 
que  ses  freres  avaient  sugg^ri?  au  roi  de  lui  donner,  pour  se  debarrasser 
de  lui.  II  mourrait  bientot;  alors  ils  n'auraient  plus  k  craindre  qu'il 
les  declare.  ^  Mais  Parle  ^tait  un  homme  fin  extraordinaire.  *  Si  on 
lui  demandait  d^  faire  une  chose,  il  etait  toujours  pret  et  vif. 

En  visitant  ses  troupes,  un  jour,  le  roi  dit  k  Georges  et  Charles: 
"Mais,  ce  jeune  homme-la  qui  est  venu  avec  vous  est  intelligent 
effrayant."^  Jaloux  de  leur  frere,  ils  repondent:  "Sire  le  roi,  votre 
Parle,  que  vous  dites  si  fin,  savez-vous  ce  qu'il  a  dit?"  —  "Non,  non, 
mes  soldats,  je  ne  le  sais  pas."  —  "Bien!  il  s'est  vante  d'etre  capable 
d'aller  chercher  les  bottes  du  geant,  qui  marchent  sept  lieues  le  pas, 
et  qui  sont  enchainees  sous  son  lit  avec  une  chaine  de  fer  aux  mailles 
de  trois  pouces  de  gros^  Le  roi  reprend:  "Ah,  par  exemple!  s'il  a  dit 
Qa,  il  va  le  faire.  Des  bottes  de  sept  lieues  seraient  bien  commodes  k 
la  guerre."  S'en  allant  trouver  Parle,  il  dit:  "Con' don!  mon  Parle, 
tu  t'es  vante  d'etre  capable  d'aller  chercher  les  bottes  du  geant,  qui 
font  sept  lieues  au  pas?"  —  "Non,  sire  mon  roi,  je  ne  m'en  suis  pas 
vante.  Mais  s'il  le  faut,  je  vais  y  aller,  d'abord  que  ^  vous  me  donnerez 
ce  que  je  vais  vous  demander."  —  "Que  demandes-tu,  mon  Parle?" 
—  "Je  demande  un  habillement  couleur  d'invisible,  avec  une  lime  qui 
coupe  un  pouce  du  coup."  —  "Oui,  mon  Parle,  tu  vas  les  avoir.  S'il 
ne  te  faut  que  ga,  tu  vas  aller  chercher  les  bottes."  Qa  fait  que  le 
roi  envoie  quelqu'un  au  marche  chercher  un  habillement  couleur  d'in- 
visible et  une  lime  qui  coupe  un  pouce  du  coup.  Quand  on  les  lui 
donne,  Parle  se  met  I'habit,  prend  le  chemin  et  arrive  chez  le  geant, 
pendant  qu'il  soupe  avec  sa  femme  et  sa  fille.  Rentrant  sans  etre 
vu,  il  passe  dans  la  chambre,  et  se  fourre  sous  le  lit,  o\i  les  bottes  sont 
enchainees.     Apres  la  veillee,  le  g4ant  et  sa  bonne-femme  se  couchent 

I  Pour  et  tout,  aussi.  2  I.e.,  pas  intelligent,  plutot  idiot. 

3  I.e.,  qu'il  se  dedardt  leur  frere.  *  Dans  un  sens  adverbial. 

6  De.  6  Dans  un  sens  adverbial.  7  I.e.,  pourini  que  vous  me  donniez. 


72  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

et  dorment.  Quand  ils  commencent  a  ronfler,  Parle  se  dit:  "Voila 
le  temps  pour  couper  la  chaine."  II  prend  sa  lime  et  groung!  en  donne 
un  coup.  Faisant  un  saut,  le  g^ant  dit:  "Aye!  ma  bonne-femme,  il  y 
a  quelqu'un  sour  le  lite."  ^  —  "Dors'^  done,  mon  pauvrefou!  Tu  vois 
bien  que  tu  reves;  personne  ne  viendrait  ici,  sour  le  lite."  II  repete: 
"Certain,^  il  y  a  quelqu'un  sour  le  lite;  j'y  vas  voir."  Sans  perdre  de 
temps,  la  vieille  lui  pousse  une  claque  sur  la  gueule:  "  Tu  vas  dormir, 
toi,  mon  mor'ne!"  *  Voila  le  g^ant  qui  s'endort  de  nouveau.  Voyant 
5a,  Parle  donne  un  deuxieme  coup  de  lime,  groung!  Le  geant  fait  un 
saut  que^  la  couchette^  en  craque,  "Ma  bonne-femme,  il  y  a  certain 
quelqu'un  sour  le  lite."  —  "Tu  ne  ddrs  pas?  Arrete  done,  m'a^  te 
montrer  9a!"  —  "Veux  ci,  veux  ga!  il  y  a  certain  certain  quelqu'un 
sour  le  lite."     A  la  fin,  la  vieille  reussit  a  I'endormir  de  nouveau. 

Pendant  ce  temps-la,  Parle,  sous  le  lit,  se  met  une  botte  a  chaque 
pied,  donne  le  troisieme  coup  de  lime,et  la  chaine  casse.  II  prend  la 
porte^  vitement,  et  court  chez  le  roi.  Le  voyant  venir  avec  les 
bottes  de  sept  lieues,  ses  freres  se  disent:  ''Mais,  mais!^  il  ne  s'est  pas 
fait  tuer  par  le  g^ant!  Comment  s'y  est-il  pris?"  Parle  arrive  et 
remet  les  bottes  au  roi,  qui  lui  demande:  "Voyons,  mon  Parle,  com- 
ment f'a  6te  a  ton  voyage?" — "C'^  ^^^  et^,  sire  mon  roi!  Et  j'ai 
pris  bien  moins  de  temps  a  revenir  qu'a  m'y  rendre.  Mais  je  n'airaerais 
pas  a  retourner  chez  le  geant." 

Le  lendemain,  pendant  que  le  roi  visite  encore  ses  troupes,  Georges 
et  Charles  lui  disent:  "Monsieur  le  roi,  Parle  s'est  vante  d'etre  capable 
d'aller  chercher  la  lune  du  g^ant,  qui  eclaire  notre  hesoin."  ^^ — "Ah! 
s'il  s'en  est  vant6,  repond  le  roi,  je  vas  lui  envoyer  chercher,  comme 
les  bottes  du  geant."  S'en  allant  trouver  Parle,  il  lui  dit:  "Tu  t'es 
vant6  de  pouvoir  aller  chercher  la  lune  du  geant,  qui  eclaire  notre 
besoinV  —  "Monsieur  le  roi,  je  ne  m'en  suis  pas  vant^.  Mais  s'il  le 
faut,  je  vas  y  aller,  d'ahord  que  vous  me  donnerez  ce  que  je  vas  vous 
demander."  —  "Que  te  faut-il?"  —  "Je  ne  demande  pas  grand'chose: 
un  petit  sac  de  sel  de  cinq  livres."     Le  roi  lui  donne  un  sac  de  sel. 

Parle  met  son  habillement  invisible,  part  et  arrive  chez  le  geant, 

1  Pour  sous  le  lit. 

2  Prononc^  tres  ferm^,  comme  daure;  ici,  cette  prononciation  est  exceptionnelle. 

3  Adverbial. 

4  Pour  mort-ne;  prononce  ici  rapidement.  Les  paysans  ne  le  comprennent  que 
comme  mot  simple. 

5  Tel  que. 

«  Chez  les  paysans  du  Canada,  couchette  signifie  "  lit,"  et  n'est  pas  seule- 
ment  un  diminutif  de  lit. 

7  I.e.,  je  m'en  vais. 

8  I.e.,  sort  a  la  hdte. 

9  Exclamation  exprimant  la  surprise. 
1 0  Sens  obscur. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  73 

qui  est  apres  ^  faire  de  la  bouillie  dans  un  grand  chaudron  pendu  dans 
une  cheminee  du  temps  passe.  Sans  etre  vu,  il  grimpe  dans  la  che- 
minee,  et  verse  son  sac  de  sel  dans  la  bouillie.  Quand  la  bouillie  est 
cuite,  le  bonhomme  geant  hdle^  la  bouillie,  la  met  sur  la  table,  et 
commence  k  manger  avec  sa  fille:  ''Mais,  la  mere!  tu  as  bien  sal^  la 
bouillie,  d  soir!" '' — "Pauvre  vieux  fou!  je  ne  I'ai  pas  salee  plus  que 
de  coutume.  Je  n'y  ai  pas  mis  de  sel."  —  "Cette  bouillie  est  sal4e 
effrayant;  elle  n'est  pas  mangeable."  II  dit  i  sa  fille:  "Va  chercher 
de  I'eau."  Elle  repond:  "Oui,  mais  il  fait  hen  que*  trop  noir  pour 
aller  chercher  de  I'eau  k  la  fontaine."  Son  pere  dit:  'Trends  la  lune, 
qui  est  dans  sa  boite,  et  mets-la  sur  son  has  cote."  ^  Prenant  la  lune, 
la  fille  la  place  sur  son  has  cote,  et  s'en  va  chercher  de  I'eau  k  la  fontaine. 
Parle  aussitot  saisit  la  lune,  la  met  dans  son  gilet,  prend  le  chemin 
et  s'en  va  chez  le  roi,  la  lui  remettre.  Le  voyant  arriver  avec  la  lune, 
ses  fr^res  se  disent:  "Mais!  comment  qa,  se  fait?  II  ne  s'est  pas  fait 
prendre!" 

Pendant  que  le  roi  visite  ses  troupes,  le  lendemain,  Georges  et 
Charles  lui  demandent:  "Sire  le  roi,  Parle  est-il  revenu?"  —  "Oui," 
repond  le  roi.  "Mais!  sire  le  roi,  il  s'est  vante  d'autres  choses  encore." 
—  "De  quoi  s'est-il  vante?"  —  "II  s'est  vante  de  pouvoir  aller  cher- 
cher le  violon  du  geant,  qui  fait  danser  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde,  rien  qu'^ 
y  penser."  —  "Ah  bien!  repond  le  roi,  s'il  s'en  est  vante,  il  va  aller  le 
chercher  certain."  Les  freres  pensent :  "Parle  va  bien  se  faire 
prendre,  de  ce  coup-Id;  car  le  geant  va  finir  par  s'en  raefier."  AUant 
trouver  Parle,  le  roi  dit:  "Mon  Parle,  tu  t'es  vante  de  pouvoir  aller 
chercher  le  violon  du  geant,  qui  fait  danser  sept  lieues  h  la  ronde,  rien 
qu'a  y  penser?"  —  "Monsieur  le  roi,  j'en  ai  pas  parle.^  Mais,  s'il 
faut  y  aller,  j'irai,  d'ahord  que  vous  me  donnerez  ce  que  je  vas  vous 
demander."  —  "Que  te  faut-il?"  —  "Un  habillement  couleur  d'in- 
visible  et  une  lime  qui  coupe  un  pouce  du  coup."  —  "Tu  vas  les  avoir, 
mon  Parle!"  Lui  donnant  I'habillement  et  la  lime,  il  I'envoie  chercher 
le  violon  du  geant. 

Parle  arrive  chez  le  geant  pendant  le  souper.  Rentrant  vitement, 
il  se  cache  sous  le  lit  ou  est  enchaine  le  violon.  Apr^s  la  veillde,  le 
geant  se  couche  avec  sa  vieille,  et  s'endort.  Parle  prend  sa  lime,  et 
groung!  en  donne  un  coup  sur  la  chaine  du  violon.  Le  geant  fait  un 
saut  que  la  maison  en  branle:  "Ma  bonne-femme,  il  y  en  a  un,  dessour 
le  lite,  certain!" — "Vas-tu  dormir,  mon  vieux  fou?  C'est  encore  ta  folie 

1  Pour  qui  est  a  faire  ou  ajrres  d,  faire. 

2  Pour  tire;  hdler  est  un  terme  marin  qui  a  envahi  d'autres  doraaines. 

3  Pour  ce  soir.  4  Pour  bien  trop. 

8  M.  G.  Lanctot  nous  fait  remarquer  que,  dans  LaPrairie,  bos  cote  est  le 
nom  donn6  k  un  appentis  k  la  maison  principale  et  servant  de  cuisine.  Thiboutot, 
s'il  avait  connu  le  sens  de  ce  mot,  aurait  dit:  "  Mets-la  sur  le  bas  cote." 

6  I.e.,  je  n'en  ai  pas  nar' e 


74  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore, 

qui  te  reprend."  —  "Ecoute!  avec  'ma  folie/  mes  bottes  sont  parties, 
I'autre  jour;  et  quand  j'ai  trouv^  la  bouillie  salee,  la  lune  a  6t6  vol^e. 
Je  suis  toujours  fou,  moi!  Mais,  tout  mon  butin^  disparait,  par  exem- 
ple!"  La  vieille  vient  a  bout  de  le  rendormir.  Parle  pousse  un 
deuxieme  coup  de  lime,  groung!  D'un  61an,  le  vieux  dit:  ''Ma  bonne- 
femme,  il  y  a  quelqu'un  sour  le  lite,  certain!"  La  vieille  lui  sapre"^  son 
poing  sur  un  ceil.  Le  g^ant  mene  un  raveau^  et  veut  se  lever:  "C'est 
pour  prendre  mon  violon  qu'on  zigonne*  comme  Qa."  —  "Endors-toi, 
vieux  fou!"  r^pond  sa  femme.  Quand  le  g^ant  s'est  rendormi,  Parle 
pousse  un  troisieme  coup  de  lime,  prend  le  violon  et  s'en  va  sortir. 
Le  g^ant  le  pogne:  "Ah!  il  dit,  arrete,  mon  ver  de  terre!  ^a  fait 
assez  longtemps  que  tu  fais  ton  fantasse,  ^  en  charriant  mes  bottes  et 
en  salant  la  bouillie  pour  voler  la  lune,  le  meme  soir,  Tu  es  venu 
chercher  le  violon?  Je  ere  ben  que  tu  ne  I'apporteras  pas!"  —  "Ah! 
le  g^ant,  que  veux-tu  faire  de  moi  ?"  —  "Ce  que  je  veux  faire  de  toi  ? 
Je  vas  te  manger."  —  "Me  manger,  moi?"  —  "Ah!  il  dit,  arrete, 
arrete!  Te  manger  tout  seul  ?  Non;  je  n'aurais  pas  autant  de  plaisir. 
II  faut  que  j'invite  de  mes  amis  pour  le  fricot."  —  "Inviter  de  tes 
amis?  II  va  bien  falloir  que  tu  m'engraisses  pour  ga;  je  ne  suis  pas 
assez  gros."  —  "Je  suis  bien  pret  a  t'engraisser."  —  "Pour  m'en- 
graisser,  mets-moi  huit  jours  dans  la  cave,  et  donne-moi  une  chopine 
d'eau  et  une  chopine  de  pois  par  jour."  —  "Qa  ne  me  coutera  toujours 
pas  cher  pour  t'engraisser."  Le  mettant  k  la  cave,  il  I'attache 
co7n^i'faut,  et  le  fait  soigner  par  sa  fiille,  une  chopine  de  pois  et  une 
chopine  d'eau  par  jour. 

Le  g^ant  dit,  la  sixieme  journee:  "II  faut  que  j'aille  inviter  de  mes 
amis.  On  ^  est  pas  pour  le  manger  tous  sew,^  malgr^  qu'il  ait  encore 
diminue  et  maigri."  En  partant,  il  dit  a  sa  fille:  "Chauffe  le  four,  et, 
la  huitieme  journee,  fais-le  rotir." 

Le  temps  venu,  la  fille  du  g^ant  fend  du  bois  et  chauffe  le  four. 
Ayant  connaissance  de  9a,  Parle,  dans  la  cave,  dit  a  la  fille:  "Viens 
done  me  detacher,  que^  je  t'aide  a  fendre  du  bois  et  a  chauffer  le  four; 
tu  as  bien  de  la  misere."  Aussitot  detache,  il  fend  du  bois  et  chauffe 
le  four.  Quand  le  four  est  bien  chaud,  il  dit  a  la  femme  et  la  fille: 
"Venez  done  voir  au  four."  Comme  elles  arrivent  a  la  course  et 
regardent  ensemble  dans  le  four,  il  les  pousse  dedans,  la  mere  d'abord 
et  la  fille  ensuite.  En  fermant  la  porte  sur  elles,  il  dit:  "Regardez 
bien  s'il  est  assez  chaud."  Rentrant  dans  la  maison  vitement,  il 
prend  le  violon  qui  fait  danser  sept  lieues  a  la  ronde,  met  le  feu  a  la 
maison,  et  s'en  retourne  chez  le  roi,  huit  jours  apres  en  etre  parti. 

1  I.e.,  mes  biens.  2  I.e.,  assene. 

3  I.e.,  faire  du  bruit,  un  vacarme. 

*  I.e.,  faire  grincer  quelque  chose,  particulierement  un  violon. 

6  Tour  fantasque,  impudent. 

6  Pour  nous.  7  Pour  seuls.  8  Pour  que,. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  75 

Le  voyant  arriver  quand  ils  le  pensent  mort,  ses  freres  se  disent: 
"II  a  dii  se  faire  prendre,  cette  fois-ci.  Mais,  que  pourrons-nous  faire 
pour  nous  en  d^barrasser?  Disons  qu'il  s'est  vant6  de  pouvoir  aller 
chercher  le  g^ant.  Cette  fois-ci,  il  a  dii  jouer  un  mauvais  tour  au  g^ant, 
qui  ne  manquera  pas  de  le  manger,  s'il  le  revoit." 

Le  roi  rencontre  Georges  et  Charles,  et  leur  dit:  ^^Quand  on  pense!  ^ 
Parle  est  revenu  hier  soir  avec  le  violon."  —  "C'est  impossible  que 
Parle  soit  revenu!"  —  "^a  n'empeche  pas  qu'il  est  revenu."  —  "Mon- 
sieur le  roi,  ce  n'est  pas  tout.  II  a  dit  qu'il  6tait  capable  d'aller 
chercher  le  geant,  d'apres  ce  qu'on  entend  dire."  —  "S'il  s'en  est  vante, 
il  va  aller  le  chercher."  Le  roi  part,  s'en  va  trouver  Parle  et  dit: 
"Cou'don,  mon  Parle!  tu  t'es  vant^  de  pouvoir  aller  chercher  le  geant  ?" 
— "  Non,  monsieur  le  roi,  je  ne  m'en  suis  pas  vante;  mais  s'il  faut  y 
aller,  j'y  suis  pret,  d'abord  que  vous  me  donnerez  ce  que  je  vas  vous 
demander."  —  "Qu'est-ce  qu'il  te  faut?"  —  "Je  demande  un  charriot 
en  fer  k  toute  epreuve,  qui  se  barre,  et  quinze  hommes  de  troupe. 
Je  veux  aussi  qu'on  m'habille  comme  le  plus  beau  des  rois,  et  que  mon 
charriot  de  fer  soit  train^  par  quatre  chevaux.  Avec  qa,,  je  pourrai 
ramener  le  geant." 

Peu  de  temps  apres,  greye  de  tout  ce  qu'il  a  demande  au  roi,  Parle, 
vetu  en  roi,  se  met  en  chemin  avec  quinze  hommes  de  troupe  et  son 
charriot.  Vers  le  soir  du  meme  jour,  il  rencontre  le  geant,  qui  crie: 
"Bonsoir,  monsieur  le  roi?"  —  "Bonsoir,  bonsoir!"  —  "Mais,  mon- 
sieur le  roi,  yous^  que  vous  allez  avec  ce  charriot  en  fer?"  —  "Mon 
pauvre  geant,  je  m'en  vas  chercher  Parle,  qui  m'a  joue  toutes  sortes 
de  tours."  Le  geant  dit:  "Je  ne  crois  pas  qu'il  vous  en  ait  joue  de 
pires  qu'a  moi."  —  "Que  vous  a-t-il  done  fait,  le  geant?"  —  "Ce  qu'il 
m'a  fait?  II  a  vole  mes  bottes,  il  a  vole  la  lune,  il  a  vole  mon  violon; 
et  il  a  fait  brtiler  ma  femme  et  ma  fille  dans  ma  maison.  Pour  achever 
le  restant,  il  s'est  fait  engraisser  au  pois  et  a  I'eau  pendant  huit  jours. 
Mais  attendez!  Moi  aussi  je  le  cherche;  et  si  je  le  rencontre,  je  ne 
I'engraisserai  pu,^  certain!"  — "  Mais,  le  geant,  vous  m'avez  Fair 
bien  fort  pour  courir  seul  apres  ce  Parle,  qui  passe  pour  etre  sans 
pareil."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas,  monsieur  le  roi,  il  n'est  pas  aussi  fort 
que  vous  dites.  Je  I'ai  pris  dans  ma  porte,  I'autre  jour,  et  il  etait 
comme  un  ecopeau  *  dans  ma  main.  Je  n'aurais  pas  besoin  de  charriot, 
moi,  pour  le  ramener."  Le  roi  repond:  "Je  ne  suis  pas  certain  de 
pouvoir  le  tenir  dans  ce  charriot  de  fer."  —  "Ecoutez!  dit  le  geant,  si 
vous  ne  I'etes  pas,  moi,  je  vas  vous  rendre  certain.  Rouvrez  votre 
charriot,  et  je  vas  me  coucher  dedans,  pendant  que  vous  le  ceinturerez 
avec  une  chaine;  et  je  verrai  hen  h.  quoi  il  est  bon."  Qa  prenait  bien 
quatre  hommes  pour  ouvrir  le  convert  ^  du  charriot.     Quand  c'est  fait, 

1  Dans  le  sens  de  n'est-ce  pas  etonnant !  2  I.e.,  ou  ce  que,  oil  est-ce  que. 

«  I.e.,  -plus.  4  I.e.,  copeau.  '  Couvercle. 


76  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

le  g^ant  emharque  dedans,  se  couche,  et  laisse  le  temps  aux  soldats  de 
le  fermer  et  de  le  ceinturer.  Quand  on  lui  demande:  "Foreez  done,  le 
g^ant!  pour  voir  si  9a  peut  tenir  Parle,"  il  force,  force,  et  dit:  "J'y  ai 
mis  toute  ma  force.  II  n'y  a  pas  de  danger  que  Parle  brise  cette  cage; 
il  n'est  pas  si  fort  que  moi."  —  "Oui,  mais  si  je  te  disais  que  c'est 
encore  Parle  qui  t'a  attrap^,  pourrais-tu  forcer  encore  plus  ?"  —  "C'est- 
i  vrai  que  Parle  m'a  encore  attrape?"  —  "Oui,  c'est  vrai."  La,  il 
force  tant  qu'on  lui  entend  craquer  tous  les  os. 

Parle  et  ses  soldats  ramenent  le  geant  au  roi.  En  arrivant:"Tiens! 
monsieur  le  roi,  dit  Parle,  le  fameux  geant  est  dans  mon  charriot; 
faites-en  ce  qu'il  vous  plaira.  Tant  qu'd  moi,  c'est  la  derniere  fois 
que  je  vas  chercher  quelque  chose  pour  vous.  Je  sais  bien  que  ce  sont 
mes  freres  qui  vous  ont  mis  dans  la  tete  de  m'envoyer  chercher  le 
geant,  pour  tacher  de  me  faire  perir,  parce  qu'ils  ont  honte  de  moi." 
—  "Comment,  Parle,  ceux  qui  sont  arrives  ici  en  meme  temps  que 
toi  sont  tes  freres?  lis  me  disaient  tou jours  que  tu  te  vantais  de 
pouvoir  faire  ci  et  faire  9a."  —  "Oui,  monsieur  le  roi,  ce  sont  mes 
freres." 

Voyant  qa,  le  roi  fait  venir  les  freres  Charles  et  Georges.  "Connais- 
sez-vous  bien  Parle?"  leur  demande-t-il.  "Non,  monsieur  le  roi, 
071  ne  le  connait  pas."  —  "Toi,  Parle,  connais-tu  ces  deux-la?"  — 
"Oui,  monsieur  le  roi,  je  les  connais;  ce  sont  mes  freres,  qui,  depuis 
longtemps,  cherchent  a  me  faire  p^rir  ici."  Le  roi  les  fait  renfermer 
dans  deux  cages  de  bois,  et  ordonne  qu'on  les  brule  a  petit  feu. 

Quant  a  Parle,  il  s'est  mari6  avec  la  plus  jeune  des  princesses  du 
roi  et  a  herit^  de  tout  le  royaume. 

II  est  bien  mieux  que  moi,  aujourd'hui;  il  vit  a  rien  faire  et,moi,  je 
suis  oblige  de  travailler  dur. 

14.    PARLAFINE    OU    PETIT-POUCET.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  un  vieux  bucheron,  sa  femme 
et  leurs  enfants,  sept  petits  gargons.  Le  vieux  dit  a  sa  vieille:  "II 
n'y  a  pas  d'ouvrage,et  je  ne  suis  plus  capable  d'aller  couper  du  balai. 
Si  tu  voulais  dire  comme  moi,  j'6carterais  les  enfants  en  les  menant 
tous  les  sept  couper  du  balai."  ^ 

Parlafine,  ^  le  plus  petit  des  sept  freres,  etait  m^fiant,  et  quand  ses 
parents  parlaient,  il  ecoutait  toujours.     Un  bon  soir,  le  bticheron  et 

1  Racont6,  en  aoiit,  1914,  a  Lorette,  Quebec,  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  qui 
I'avait  appris  de  sa  mere  et  de  son  grand-pere.  Mme  Sioui  admet  qu'on  lui  a  r^- 
cemment  lu  des  versions  imprimees  de  ce  conte,  lesquelles  sont  un  peu  differentes 
de  la  sienne.  Mais  elle  soutient  qu'elle  le  recite  tout  comme  elle  I'a  appris  de  ses 
parents.  M.  I'abb^  Arthur  Lapointe  a  entendu  raconter  ce  conte  a  Kamouras- 
ka,  quand  il  etait  enfant.  La  version  qu'il  a  entendue  dtait  semblable,  sauf  pour 
ce  qui  est  de  I'^pisode  de  la  bolte. 

2  Fait  de  branches  de  ccdre. 

3  Le  conteur  employait  le  nom  de  "  Petit-Poucet  "  aussi  souvent  que  celui 
de  "  Parlafine." 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  77 

sa  femme  montent  coucher  leurs  enfants,  pour  pouvoir  jaser  a  leur 
aise.  Mais  Parlafine — ou  Petit-Poucet — est  si  petit  qu'il  se  cache 
sous  la  chaise  de  sa  mere  et  ecoute  tout  ce  qu'ils  se  disent:  "Demain 
matin,  il  faut  se  lever  de  bonne  heure  pour  les  ^carter."  —  "Mais  tu 
n'y  penses  pas!  r^pond  la  vieille;  ^carter  mes  enfants!  Je  ne  puis 
pas  me  resoudre  a  ga."  —  "lis  sont  toujours  finis;  *  nous  ne  pouvons 
plus  les  nourrir;  et  je  ne  suis  pas  capable  de  les  voir  mourir  ici.  Mieux 
vaut  les  ^carter  dans  la  foret."  La  vieille  femme  finit  done  par 
consentir. 

Une  fois  la  conversation  finie,  Parlafine  s'en  va  se  coucher.  De 
bonne  heure,  le  lendemain  matin,  il  reveille  ses  petits  freres:  "Vite, 
levez-vous!  Nous  allons  dans  les  bois.  Aujourd'hui,  poupa  va  nous 
^carter."  lis  commencent  tous  a  pleurer,  en  disant:  "Qu'allons- 
nous  faire  dans  les  bois?" —  "Dites  rien!-  r^pond  Parlafine;  nous 
retrouverons  bien  le  chemin.  Je  sais  un  tour,  moi."  II  s'en  va  en 
courant  chez  sa  marraine  et  lui  demande:  "Avez-vous  un  ^cheveau 
de  laine  a  me  donner?  Papa  veut  nous  ^carter  dans  les  bois,  au- 
jourd'hui." Sa  marraine  prend  deux  gros  ^cheveaux  de  laine  et  les 
lui  donne. 

Les  sept  enfants  suivent  leur  pere  au  bois.  Le  vieux  leur  dit: 
"Passez  en  avant,  les  enfants!"  —  "Non!  repond  Parlafine;  nous  ne 
savons  pas  oil  vous  voulez  nous  mener.  Passez,  vous!"  Parlafine 
marche  le  dernier  de  tous,  deroulant  sa  laine  aux  arbres,  sans  que  son 
pere  s'en  apergoive.  Arrives  dans  un  bocage  de  cedres,  le  pere 
leur  dit:  "Restez  ici  et  coupez  du  balai!  Moi,  je  vais  la-bas."  II 
s'en  va  plus  loin,  arrange  une  planche  en  battoue,^et  pan,  pan!  la  planche 
bat  tout  le  temps  contre  un  arbre,  comme  un  bucheron.  A  la  brii- 
nante,  Parlafine  dit:  "Papa  ne  buche  pas  si  longtemps  que  ga  sans 
boire  ni  manger."  S'en  allant  dans  la  direction  d'oii  vient  le  bruit, 
il  finit  par  trouver  le  hattoui  que  son  pere  a  fait.  Ses  freres  se  mettent 
a  pleurer  et  a  dire:  "Que  faire  dans  ce  grand  bois?  Les  loups  vont 
nous  d^vorer?"  —  "  N'ayez  pas  peur  !  repond  Parlafine,  on  va  ben 
s'en  aller  a  la  maison.  ^  J'ai  un  moyen."  Reviranl  de  bord,  il  re- 
connait  le  sentier  du  matin  par  la  laine  qu'il  y  avait  deroulee,  et  il 
ramene  ses  freres  chez  eux. 

Apres  souper,  la  vieille  dit  a  son  mari:  "Si  mes  enfants  etaient  ici, 
ils  mangeraient  ben  le  reste  de  la  bouillie."  Parlafine,  qui  dcoute  a  la 
porte,  repond:  "Mais,  j'en  mangerais  ben,  mouman!"  —  "Comment? 
demande-t-elle  a  son  vieux;  tu  ne  les  a  pas  ecart^s?  Les  revoild  !" — 
"Eh  bien!  demain,  j'irai  si  loin  qu'ils  ne  reviendront  pas."  La  mere 
fait  rentrer  les  enfants,  leur  donne  a  manger  et  les  envoie  se  coucher. 
Parlafine,  lui,  reste  en  bas,  et  se  cache  encore  sous  la  chaise  de  sa 

1  I.e.,  pour  mourir.  2  Pour  ne  dites  rien. 

3  Pour  battoir.  *  Pour  chez  nous. 


78  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

m^re,  pour  ecouter  ce  qu'on  dirait:  "Je  vais  les  mener  si  loin,  dit  le 
bticheron,  qu'ils  ne  reviendront  surement  pas.  II  faut  s'en  ^  d^bar- 
rasser."     Parlafine  part  et  s'en  va  se  coucher. 

De  bon  matin,  il  reveille  ses  petits  freres:  "Vite,  depechez-vous! 
aujourd'hui,  on  va  nous  ecarter  bien  plus  loin  qu'hier."  Se  rendant 
encore  chez  sa  marraine,  il  lui  dit:  "Marraine,  avez-vous  du  pain  k 
nous  donner?  Papa,  aujourd'hui,  va  nous  ^carter  dans  un  bois, 
et  nous  n'avons  rien  a  manger."  Sa  marraine  prend  un  pain  et  le 
lui  donne.  II  le  cache  dans  son  habit.  ^'Ura,  ^  mes  enfants,  partons! 
dit  le  p^re.  Passez  en  avant!"  Parlafine  repond:  "Non!  nous  ne 
Savons  pas  ou  vous  voulez  nous  mener.  Vous  faites  mieux  de  passer 
en  avant."  Toujours  le  dernier,  Parlafine,  sans  que  son  p^re  s'en 
apergoive,  emiette  le  pain  pour  marquer  le  chemin.  Cette  fois, 
le  p^re  les  conduit  deux  fois  plus  loin  que  la  veille,  leur  trouve  une 
talle  de  cedres,et  dit:  "Restez  ici  a  couper  du  balai;  moi,je  vais  bticher 
plus  loin."  Et,  ayant  fait  un  battoue,  il  s'en  retourne  de  suite  chez 
lui.  Cette  planche-la  battait  tout  le  temps  comme  le  ferait  un  btiche- 
ron. 

Vers  la  brtlnante,  Parlafine  dit  a  ses  petits  freres:  "Papa  ne  btiche 
pas  si  longtemps  sans  boire  ni  manger."  II  va  voir  du  cote  d'oil  vient 
le  bruit,  et  apergoit  encore  une  planche  battant  sur  un  arbre.  Son 
p^re  n'y  est  pas.  II  est  parti.  ^  Voil^  les  enfants  encore  aux  cris,*  et 
disant:  "Cette  fois-ci,  nous  allons  hen  certain  y  rester!"  Parlafine  re- 
prend:  "Non!  j'ai  encore  un  chemin."  Mais  quand  il  vient  chercher 
son  chemin,  il  ne  trouve  rien.  Les  oiseaux  ont  mange  tout  le 
pain.  II  n'y  avait  done  pas  moyen  de  retrouver  la  maison.  Decou- 
rages,  ils  se  remettent  tous  a  pleurer,  h  crier.  "Ne  vous  decouragez 
pas!  dit  Parlafine;  je  trouverai  bien  un  moyen;  laissez-moi  faire." 
II  passe  en  avant  et  suit  un  petit  sentier,  marche  toute  la  nuit,  marche 
tout  le  lendemain.  Vers  le  soir,  les  freres  apergoivent  une  clart^,  et 
arrivent  a  une  petite  maison.  C'est  la  que  restait  une  de  leurs  tantes. 
Parlafine  entre  le  premier:  "Tiens!  bonjour,  ma  tante;  bonjour!"  — 
"Mais,  qui  vous  a  done  emmen^s  si  loin, dans  les  bois?" — "Papa  nous 
a  ^cartes,  et  nous  avons  marche  par  ici,  pensant  se  rendre  chez  nous. 
Nous  nous  trouvons  a  venir  vous  voir  ici."  La  tante  dit:  "Pau^ptits^ 
enfants!  je  suis  bien  contente  de  vous  voir.  Qa  fait  si  longtemps  que 
je  n'etais  pas  allee  chez  vous!  Mais,  je  suis  mariee  h  un  geant  qui 
mange  tous  les  enfants."  —  "Mais,  ma  tante,  ou  voulez-vous  que 
nous  allions?  Nous  avons  marche  une  nuit  et  un  jour  sans  boire  ni 
manger.  Nous  sommes  ^cartes,  et  nous  sommes  venus  ici."  Leur 
tante  les  chauffe,   deshabille,  et  dit:   "Vite!  mangez  avant  que  le 

1  I.e.,  des  enfants.  2  i.e.,  allons  ! 

'  Ce  pleonasme  semble  exprimer  leld^sappointement. 

<  I.e.,  h  pleurer.  5  Abreviation  pour  pauvres  petits. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  79 

g^ant  arrive."  Pour  d^tourner  son  mari  de  d^vorer  les  enfants,  elle 
va  chercher  un  gros  mouton  et  la  moiti^  d'un  boeuf,  qu'elle  fait  d^geler 
pres  du  feu. 

A  I'heure  oil  le  g^ant  arrive,  elle  dit  aux  enfants:  "Vite,  venez  avec 
moi!  Je  vas  vous  cacher,  et  je  tacherai  d'obtenir  la  grace  qu'il  ne 
vous  mange  pas."  Elle  les  cache  dans  la  cave,  sous  une  cuve.  Le 
g^ant  arrive,  se  met  a  renifler  et  a  sentir  d'un  c6t6  et  de  I'autre,  disant: 
"Qa  sent  la  viandre  fraiche."  La  femme  r^pond:  "Es-tu  fou?  C'est 
le  boeuf  et  le  mouton  que  je  fais  d^geler."  —  "Ah!  ce  n'est  pas  ga!" 
II  sent  de  tous  bords  et  tons  cotes:  "Ce  n'est  pas  9a!"  Et  il  cherche 
partout,  dans  la  maison.  La  peur  prend  la  vieille  femme,  et  elle  se 
dit:  "II  va  les  trouver."  Elle  lui  demande:  "Veux-tu  m'accorder 
une  grace?  Je  vas  te  dire  ce  que  j'ai  dans  la  maison, si  tu  veux  me 
promettre  de  ne  pas  le  manger."  —  "Dis-raoi  ce  que  c'est;  je  ne  le 
mangerai  pas."  Elle  fait  done  sortir  les  sept  freres  de  dessous  la 
cuve,  et  va  les  mener  a  son  mari.  "Bonsoir,  mon  oncle!  disent  les 
enfants;  bonsoir,  mon  oncle!"  Mais  Parlafine  est  toujours  le  dernier. 
Son  oncle  lui  dit:  "Toi,  tu  es  bien  petit!"  —  "Je  ne  suis  pas  ben  gros; 
c'est  vrai,  mon  oncle."  —  "Comment  t'appelles-tu ?  Tu  es  si  petit 
que  j'aimerais  bien  a  savoir  ton  nom."  —  "Mon  nom?  ga  me  cotite 
de  vous  le  dire,  mon  oncle.  C'est  Parlafine." — "Parlafine,  tu  as  Pair 
bien  fin."  ^ — "Ah  bien!  mon  oncle,  je  ne  suis  pas  plus  fin  que  les 
autres."  Le  g^ant  donne  a  souper  aux  enfants  comH'faut,  et  jase  une 
escousse^  avec  eux.  "Les  enfants  doivent  etre  bien  fatigues,  dit-il 
a  sa  femme;  fais  leur  un  bon  lit  et  couche-les."  En  se  couchant,  les 
enfants  s'endorment.     Mais  Parlafine,  lui,  reste  6veill6. 

Le  g^ant  avait  sept  filles.  II  dit  a  sa  femme:  "Mets  aux  petits 
gargons  des  bonnets  bruns  pour  la  nuit,  et  aux  petites  filles,  des  bonnets 
blancs." 

Pendant  la  nuit,  Parlafine  entend  le  g^ant  se  lever  et  affiler  son 
grand  couteau,  pendant  que  sa  femme  se  lamente:  "Tu  m'as  promis 
que  tu  ne  les  mangerais  pas;  et  tu  vas  le  faire!  Qu'est-ce  que  ma 
soeur  va  dire?"  —  "Laisse-moi  faire!  Je  te  dis  que  je  vas  faire  un 
snack. ^"  Entendant  le  g^ant  affiler  son  couteau,  Parlafine  se  leve  et 
echange  les  bonnets  bruns  de  ses  freres  pour  les  bonnets  blancs  des 
sept  filles.  Le  geant  monte  avec  son  grand  couteau,  sans  lumiere, 
pour  ne  pas  reveiller  les  enfants;  et  il  leur  tate  la  tete.  Touchant 
aux  bonnets  bruns,  il  se  dit:  "  Ce  sont  les  gargons."  A  I'autre  lit, 
touchant  aux  bonnets  blancs:  "Ce  sont  mes  filles."  Revenu  au  pre- 
mier lit,  il  coupe  la  tete  de  ses  filles,  qu'il  prend  pour  les  gargons,  et 
redescend  se  coucher.     Parlafine  se  leve,  reveille  ses  freres  et  dit: 

1  I.e.,  ruse.  2  I.e.,  quelques  moments. 

3  D6riv6  de  I'anglais  snack;  ce  mot,  chez  les  Canadiens-franQaia,  signifie  bon 
repas  plutot  que  legere  collation. 


80  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

"Vite,  sauvons-nous!"  Sortant  par  la  fenetre,  ils  d^gringolent  dans 
I'^chelle  et  se  sauvent,  courant  toute  la  nuit.  Apres  avoir  bien  couru, 
ils  arrivent  k  un  gros  rocher.  Fatigues,  ils  se  couchent  parmi  les 
caillouxet  s'endorment.  Mais  Parlafine,  lui,  ne  dort  pas;  il  reste  au 
guet. 

Vers  dix  heures  du  matin,  voyant  que  ses  fiUes  ne  se  Invent  pas,  la 
femme  du  g^ant  dit  k  son  homme:  "J'ai  bien  peur  qu'au  lieu  des  gar- 
50ns,  tu  aies  tu^  les  filles.  Parlafine  a  d<i  te  jouer  un  tour."  —  "Ah 
non!  r^pond  le  geant.  Elles  ont  veille  tard;  elless  ont  bien  fatigu^es." 
A  midi,  les  filles  ne  sont  pas  encore  levees.  Leur  pere  va  voir.  De 
fait,  ses  sept  filles  sont  mortes  et  les  gargons,  partis.  Voyant  qu'il  a 
tue  ses  propres  filles,  le  geant  entre  en  fureur,  et  dit  a  sa  femme:  "Vite, 
donne-moi  mes  bottes  de  sept  lieues!"  II  part  apr^s  les  enfants.  II 
arrive  pres  du  rocher  oil  ils  dorment;  et,  se  sentant  bien  fatigue,  il  se 
couche  et  s'endort.  Aussitot  qu'il  est  endormi  et  ronfle  comme  un 
bon,^  Parlafine  sort  de  sa  cachette,  lui  enleve  ses  bottes,  et  dit  k  ses 
fr^res:  "Sauvez-vous  plus  loin!" 

Quant  k  lui,  Parlafine,  il  met  les  bottes  de  sept  lieues,  s'en  retourne 
chez  sa  tante,  et  lui  dit:  "Vite,  ma  tante,  donnez-moi  la  bourse!  Mon 
oncle,  le  geant,  est  pris  dans  un  mauvais  lieu  et  il  lui  faut  de  Targent." 
Sa  tante  ne  veut  pas.  "Tu  as  fait  tuer  mes  sept  filles;  c'est  encore  un 
tour  que  tu  veux  me  jouer."  —  "Vous  voyez  bien,  ma  tante,  que  ce 
n'est  pas  un  tour:  il  m'a  donne  ses  bottes  pour  aller  plus  vite."  A  la 
fin,  pensant  que  c'est  bien  le  cas,  elle  lui  donne  la  bourse.  De  1^, 
Parlafine  s'en  va  rejoindre  ses  frdres. 

A  son  re  veil,  le  geant  est  d^sappointe  de  voir  ses  bottes  parties: 
"C'est  encore  Parlafine  qui  m'a  joue  un  tour."  Et  il  retourne  chez 
lui.  Sa  femme  lui  demande:  "Pourquoi  as-tu  envoy^  chercher  ta 
bourse?" — "Comment,  il  s'est  fait  donner  ma  bourse?  C'etait 
pourtant  bien  assez  de  me  faire  tuer  mes  filles  sans  venir  chercher  ma 
fortune!" 

C'etait  une  chose  connue  que  le  geant  avait  un  violon  qu'on  en- 
tendait  jouer  d  sept  lieues  k  la  ronde.  Parlafine  se  dit:  "Ah!  il  a 
voulu  me  manger;  eh  bien!  ce  n'est  pas  fini.  Je  vas  lui  jouer  des 
tours.  Son  violon,  je  le  vole."  Se  souvenant  que  le  gros  chien 
noir  du  geant  se  tient  tou jours  k  la  porte  de  son  maitre,  il  s'ach^te  une 
peau  de  chien  noir  complete,  s'en  recouvre,  et,  k  la  porte  du  geant,  il 
commence  k  siler,  sile,  site  ^  encore.  Causant  avec  sa  femme,  le  geant 
s'impatiente  a  force  d'entendre  siler  le  chien,  et  dit:  "Va  done  le  faire 
entrer,  qu'il  se  couche!"  Faisant  rentrer  le  chien,  la  femme  lui /ou^ 
un  coup  de  pied  et  I'envoie  se  coucher  sous  le  lit  od  se  trouve  le  violon. 

1  I.e.,  comme  un  juste,  bruyamment. 

2  Cri  6touff6  ou  aigu  des  chieaa.  3  i.e.,  donne. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  81 

Parlafine  met  la  main  sur  I'instrument,  et  zing,  zing!  on  Tentend  d 
sept  lieues  a  la  rondc.  II  s'est  fait  prendre  du  coup.  Le  geant  se  leve 
et  crie:  "Par  exemple!  1^  je  t'ai,  Parlafine!  Tu  m'as  fait  tuer  mes  sept 
filles,  vole  mes  bottes  de  sept  lieues  et  ma  bourse;  mais  je  vas  te 
croquer." — "Mais  qu'allez-vous  done  manger,  mon  oncle?  Re- 
gardez-moi!  Vous  auriez  ben  plus  d'acquet^  de  m'engraisser;  car, 
ast'heure,  tatez-moi;  vous  ne  mangeriez  que  des  os.  Attachez-moi  les 
pieds  et  les  mains,  et  gardez-moi  dans  la  cave.  La,  il  n'y  aura  tou- 
jours  pas  de  danger  que  je  m'echappe."  Le  geant  trouve  que  g'a 
bien  du  bon  sens.  II  attache  done  les  pieds  et  les  mains  de  Parlafine, 
et  I'enferme  dans  la  cave. 

Pendant  que,  tout  le  jour,  le  geant  est  a  b<icher  dans  les  bois,  sa 
femme  descend  porter  a  manger  a  Parlafine,  pour  Fengraisser.  N'ayant 
pas  de  bois  de  fendu  pour  le  diner,  elle  essaye  de  se  fendre  une  btiche, 
mais  n'y  peut  r^ussir.  "Detachez-moi  done  un  pied  et  une  main,  dit 
Parlafine;  j'aiderai,  et  je  ne  pourrai  toujours  pas  m'^chapper."  Mais 
elle  repond:"Tu  nous  as  joue  assez  de  tours;  je  ne  suis  pas  pour  te 
detacher."  —  "Rien  qu'une  main,  demande-t-il;  je  ne  pourrai  toujours 
pas  me  sauver;  et  je  vas  vous  fendre  votre  bois."  Elle  lui  detache 
une  main.  Mais,  au  lieu  de  fendre  la  btlche,  Parlafine  lui  coupe  le 
cou.  Sa  tante  est  morte.  II  se  detache,  chausse  les  bottes  de  sept 
lieues,  prend  le  violon,  et  il  est  beto  ^  rendu  k  I'autre  bord  de  la  riviere. 
On  dit  qu'un  g^ant  ne  traverse  jamais  I'eau.  Rendu  1^,  Parlafine 
joue  du  violon,  et  le  violon  en  fait  du  feu.  ^  Entendant  jouer  son 
violon  de  la  foret  oil  il  btiche,  le  g^ant  se  dit:  "Parlafine  m'a  encore 
joue  un  tour."  A  la  maison,  il  trouve  sa  femme  morte  et  le  violon 
parti.  II  court  k  la  riviere  et  dit:  "Parlafine!  passe-moi  done  la 
rivicire." — "Oui,  beau  fin!  tu  voudrais  bien  me  croquer,  mais  tu  n'es 
pas  assez  fute."  —  "Parlafine,  tu  n'es  pas  raisonnable.  Tu  m'as  fait 
tuer  mes  sept  filles,  tu  as  coupe  le  cou  de  ma  femme  et  tu  m'as  pris  ma 
fortune,  mes  bottes  et  mon  violon!"  Parlafine  repond:  "Ah,  tu  as 
voulu  nous  croquer!     Mais  je  n'ai  pas  encore  fini." 

Le  geant  avait,  sur  une  de  ses  terres,  un  troupeau  affreux  *  de  betes 
k  cornes.  Quand,  le  lendemain,  le  geant  part  comme  d'ordinaire 
pour  bticher,  Parlafine  s'en  va  en  voiture  lui  voler  tout  son  troupeau. 
Le  geant  arrive:  "La,  je  t'ai,  mon  petit  gueux!  L'autre  jour,  je  t'ai 
manque;  mais  aujourd'hui,  je  te  croque." 

I^Dans  la  voiture  il  y  avait  une  grande  boite.  Parlafine  dit  au  geant: 
"Prenez-le  done,  votre  violon!  II  est  dans  la  boite."  Le  geant  se 
penche  pour  le  prendre  le  violon;  mais  Parlafine  lui  fou^  une  poussee, 
et  il  tombe  la  tete  la  premiere  dans  la  boite,  qui  se  referme  sur  lui.   hk, 

1  I.e.,  beaucoup  plus  de  profit.  2  i.e.,  bientdt. 

'  I.e.,  joue  terriblemeut  fort.  *  I.e.,  extrSmement  nombreux. 

5  I.e.,  donne. 


82  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

le  g^ant  est  pris  et  y  reste.  II  a  beau  crier,  hurler,  se  d^battre.  Mais 
je  fenfou,^  9a  ne  sert  a  rien!     A  la  fin,  le  g^ant  est  mort. 

Parlafine  s'en  va  cherchcr  son  vieux  pere,  sa  vieille  mere  et  ses 
freres,  et  les  emmene  sur  le  bien  du  geant,  ou  ils  ont  pass6  le  reste  de 
leurs  jours. 

Mais  moi,  ils  n'ont  pas  voulu  me  garder.  lis  m'ont  envoye  ici  vous 
le  raconter. 

15.    PETIT-JEAN-PETIT-BOIS.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  une  veuve,  dont  le  seul 
enfant  —  un  petit  gargon  —  s'appelait  Petit-Jean-petit-bois.  "Tiens, 
mouman!  dit-il,  un  jour,  j'ai  sept  ans;  je  vas  aller  dans  les  bois  pour 
essayer  de  tordre  un  merisier.  Si  j'en  suis  capable,  ce  sera  signe  que 
je  peux  gagner  ma  vie."  II  s'en  va  done  dans  les  bois,  esseye  de  tordre 
un  merisier,  mais  n'y  r^ussit  pas.  Arrivant  chez  lui,  il  dit:  "Mouman, 
vous  allez  encore  me  garder  sept  ans.  T'et-hen^  qu'au  bout  de  ce 
temps,  je  serai  capable  de  gagner  ma  vie." 

Apres  sept  ans,  il  repart  encore  pour  les  bois,  et  pour  essayer  ses 
forces,  il  tord  un  merisier  comme  une  hart.  A  sa  mere  il  dit:  "Ast- 
heure,  ma  mere,  je  dois  etre  capable  de  gagner  ma  vie.  Je  pars  et  je 
vas  m'engager  chez  le  roi." 

Rendu  chez  le  roi,  il  dit:  "Sire  le  roi,  vous  n'auriez  pas  besoin 
d'un  engage?"  —  "Oui,  si  tu  veux  aller  battre  au  fleau^  dans  ma 
grange,  je  suis  pret  a  t'engager."  Une  fois  engage,  Petit-Jean-petit- 
bois  s'en  va  a  la  grange,  et  cherche  le  fleau,  mais  ne  le  trouve  point. 
II  revient  et  demande:  "Ou'c-que^  vous  avez  mis  le  fl6au,sire  le  roi?" 
Le  roi  repond:  "Sur  les  entraits."  —  "Mais,  sire  le  roi,  ce  n'est  pas 
un  fl^au,  c'est  une  hart!  Je  vas  aller  m'en  chercher,  un  fl^au."  Et 
dans  la  foret,  il  s'en  fait  un  gros  comme  une  tonne,  et  le  maintien  ^  en 
proportion.  Qa  fait  qu'il  dit  au  roi:  "Donnez-moi  done  du  cuir  pour 
faire  mon  fleau."  —  "Comment-ce  qu^il  t'en  faut?  II  y  a  un  quatre- 
cotes''  au  grenier,  prends-le."  Et  il  emploie  tout  le  quatre-cotes  de 
cuir. 

Une  fois  le  fleau  complet,  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  s'en  va  a  la  grange, 
et  se  met  a  battre.  Au  premier  coup  de  fleau,  voila  la  grange  qui 
tumhe  a  terre.^  Quand  le  roi  voit  sa  grange  a  terre:  "Dis-moi  done! 
ce  n'est  pas  qu'un  petit  homme,  ce  Petit-Jean-petit-bois-la!"  Et  il 
dit  a  sa  femme:  "Tiens!  ma  femme,  il  faut  s'en  d^faire.  Je  vais  I'en- 
voyer  au  moulin  du  diable,  pour  qu'il  s'y  fasse  d^truire." 

1  I.e.,  je  voiLS  en  assure  ! 

2  Recite  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juillet,  1915,  par  Achille  Fournier, 
qui  dit  I'avoir  appris,  il  y  a  pres  de  quarante  ans,  d'Edouard  Lizotte,  anciennement 
de  Saint-Roch-des-Aulnaies,  et  aujourd'hui  residant  au  Madawaska,  N.-B. 

3  Pour  peut-etre  bien.  *  Prononc6  flo. 

6  I.e.,  oil  est-ce  que.  6  I.e.,  manche. 

7  Une  grande  peau  tout  entiere.  8  Pour  s'ecroule. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  83 

Le  roi,  le  lendemain,  fait  charger  une  charrette  de  poches  de  grain; 
et  quand  elle  est  pleine  jusqu'aux  echelles  et  aux  haridelles,  ^  il  dit  k 
Petit-Jean:  "Va  chercher  deux  chevaux,  attelle-les  a  la  charrette,  et 
va  porter  ce  grain  an  mouHn."  —  "Sire  le  roi,  je  n'ai  pas  besoin 
d'atteler  vos  mouches."  Et  malgre  qu'un  cheval  en  eut  eu  plus  que 
sa  charge,  il  s'attelle  lui-meme  dans  les  menoires,-  part  et  arrive  au 
moulin  pendant  que  le  diable  est  apres^  moudre.  Prenant  une 
poche  de  grain  chaque  main,  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  les  envoie  revoler 
dans  le  moulin,  et  demande:  ''As-tu  le  temps  de  moudre  mon  grain?" 
En  repondant  "Oui!"  le  diable  se  met  k  engrener^  son  grain  pendant 
que  les  moulanges^  font  tiketiketiketak,  tiketiketiketak.  . .  Puis, 
prenant  une  poignee  de  grain,  le  diable  la  jette  dans  les  yeux  de 
Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  qui  dit:  Tu  ne  comptes  toujours  pas  m'en- 
voyer  de  la  farine  dans  les  yeux?  Tu  n'as  plus  que  deux  fois  a  le 
faire  avant  que  je  te  foute  la  plus  fine  volee  que  tu  aies  jamais  eue." 
Et  le  diable  continue  a  engrener  son  grain,  tiketiketiketak,  tiketike- 
tiketak. . .  Prenant  une  poignee  de  farine,  il  la  jette  dans  les  yeux 
de  Petit-Jean,  qui  crie:  "Mon  animal!  tu  n'as  plus  qu'une  fois  k  le 
faire.  Je  vas  te  montrer  a  me  boucher  les  yeux  avec  de  la  farine." 
Le  moulin  marche,  marche  encore,  tiketiketiketak,  tiketiketiketak .... 
Tout  a  coup  le  diable  prend  une  poignee  de  farine  et  la  jette  encore 
dans  les  yeux  de  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  qui,  prenant  des  grosses  te- 
nailles,  accroche  le  diable  par  les  narines,  derriere  sa  charrette.  "Petit- 
Jean!  crie  le  diable  en  se  lamentant,  lache-moi!  Je  n'aurai  jamais 
droit  sur  toi."  Le  lui  ay  ant  bien  fait  promettre.  Petit- Jean  le  re- 
14che,  prend  sa  moulee  de  grain,  ^  et  s'en  retourne  au  chateau.  Le 
voyant  arriver,  le  roi  dit  a  sa  femme:  "II  n'y  a  pas  moyen  de  s'en 
d^barrasser;  il  va  tous  nous  d^truire,  ce  gars-la.  Je  vas  I'envoyer  k  la 
guerre,  pour  qu'il  se  fasse  tuer."  A  son  engage,  il  dit:  "Ast'heure,  va 
me  chercher  le  coff re-fort  garde  par  les  soldats."  Petit-Jean-petit- 
bois  part  et  arrive  dans  I'armee  Les  gens  de  guerre  tirent  des  balles 
€t  des  boulets  sur  lui.  En  se  frottant  les  jambes  comme  pour  chasser 
des  mouches,  il  dit:  "Ce  que''  c'est  que  ga?  Des  maringouins  qui  me 
piquent?"  Prenant  le  coffre-fort,  il  le  met  sur  son  dos  et  retourne 
au  chateau.  Le  roi  dit:  "Je  n'en  ai  jamais  ^  vu  d'aussi  fort  que  ga  sur 
la  terre.     II  va  bien  tous  nous  detruire." 

1  Les  cotes  elev6s  d'une  charrette. 

2  I.e.,  timons. 

3  Pour  d  moudre. 

4  "Verse  son  grain  dans  la  tremie  du  moulin"  (Diet.  Bescherelle) . 

5  I.e.,  les  meules. 

6  Farine  grossiere. 

^  Abreviation  pour  qu'est-ce  que  c'est. 
8  Foumier  dit:  "J'en  ai  jamais  vu  . . ." 


84  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

"Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  dit  le  roi,  si  tu  veux  aller  chercher  le  tr^sor 
qui  est  enterre  au  fond  de  ce  puits,  je  te  le  donne."  Petit-Jean 
creuse  quarante  pieds  dans  sa  journ^e.  Le  lendemain  matin,  avec 
vingt  paires  de  chevaux,  les  serviteurs  du  roi  charrient  des  roches 
et  les  jettent  sur  la  tete  de  Petit-Jean,  qui  se  met  a  crier:  "Sire  le  roi! 
si  vous  ne  comptez  pas  d'arreter  vos  poules  de  me  jeter  du  sable  dans 
les  yeux,  je  vas  monter  et  leur  tordre  le  cou."  Mais  les  cailloux 
continuent  a  tomber.  Sortant  du  puits,  il  tue  toutes  les  poules  du 
roi  —  quatre  cents,  en  tout.  Le  roi  dit  k  sa  femme:  "Au  moulin  du 
diable,  il  y  a  une  moulange  de  quatre  mille  livres;  on  va  la  lui  jeter  sur 
la  tete.     C'est  le  seul  moyen  de  le  d^truire. 

Pendant  que  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  travaille  dans  le  puits,  on  arrive 
avec  la  grosse  moulange  et  la  jette  en  bas.  La  moulange  lui  passe 
autour  du  cou,  comme  un  collier.  "Sire  le  roi,  dit-il  en  sortant  du 
puits,  ne  comptez-vous  pas  arreter?  Vous  m'avez  fait  jeter  un  cha- 
peau  sans  calotte,  qui  m'est  entr^  jusqu'au  cou."  Prenant  la  mou- 
lange, il  la  jette  a  terre:  "De  chapeaux  comme  ga,  je  n'en  ai  pas  be- 
soin!"  Le  roi  lui  dit:  "Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  si  tu  veux  ne  point 
nous  faire  de  mal,  je  vas  te  donner  la  moiti^  de  mon  chateau  et  de 
mon  royaume.  Je  vois  bien  qu'il  n'y  en  a  pas  de  plus  fort  que  toi  sur 
la  terre."  —  "Sire  le  roi,  je  n'en  veux  point!" 

S'en  allant  de  chez  le  roi,  Petit-Jean-petit-bois  prend  le  coffre-fort 
sur  son  dos  et  s'en  va  trouver  sa  mere.  "Tiens!  mouman,  je  vous 
remercie  de  m'avoir  gard6  quatorze  ans.  Je  suis  capable  de  gagner 
ma  vie  comH'faut  et  de  vous  faire  vivre." 

^a  fait  gw'il  est  rest^  avec  sa  mere,  qu'il  a  tou jours  bien  fait  vivre. 

Je  suis  passe  la  I'automne  dernier,  et  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  que 
j'ai  vu,  m'a  paru  bien  portant. 

16.    LA   PETITE    CAPUCHE-BLEUE.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'est  un  nomme  Petit-Jean.  Pen- 
dant qu'il  se  promene  dans  les  bois,  ce  qu'il  trouve  ?  Une  homme  qui 
fesse  a  coups  de  poings  apres  les  arbres.  "Dites-moi  done  ce  que 
vous  faites?  Vous  allez  ben  tout  vous  briser  \es  joints!"^  L'autre 
repond:  "Bonjour,  Petit-Jean!  moi,  je  suis  Brise-bois."  Petit-Jean 
dit:  "Faisons  done  route  ensemble,  tous  les  deux."  lis  partent  done 
ensemble,  marchent,  marchent,  et  arrivent  a  une  montagne.  Ce 
gw'ils  voient?  Un  homme  fessant  a  coups  de  poings  apres  la  mon- 
tagne. "Comment  t'appelles-tu  ?"  II  repond:  "Je  m'appelle  Brise- 
montagnes,  moi."  —  "Faisons  done  tous  les  trois  route  ensemble!" 

1  Recueilli  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juillet,  1915.  Achille  Fournier, 
le  conteur,  dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte  de  feu  Jeremie  Ouellet,  du  meme  endroit,  il 
y  a  a  peu  pres  quinze  ans.  Fournier  paratt  I'avoir  entendu  plusieurs  fois  au  cours 
des  veill^es,  oil  il  apprenait  les  contes  de  Ouellet,  et  Ouellet,  les  siens. 

2  Jointures. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  85 

Dans  la  foret,  ils  trouvent  une  cabane  ou  ce  qu'il  y  a  personne.  ^ 
Brise-bois  dit:  "Moi,  je  reste  ici  pour  faire  la  soupe."  Pendant  que 
les  deux  autres  vont  a  la  chasse,  il  met  la  soupe  au  feu.  Comme  il 
va  pour  allumcr  le  feu,  la^  petite  Capuche-bleue  arrive  et  soufHe 
le  feu.  "Cou'don!  toi,  tu  n'as  plus  que  deux  fois  a  venir  souffler  mon 
feu.  Tu  vas  voir!  rn'a  te  sacrer  une  vol^e.  ^  Allume  *  son  feu,  mais  la 
petite  Capuche-bleue  le  souffle  encore.  Brise-bois  repete:  "A  midi, 
ils  viennent  diner,  et  la  soupe  ne  sera  pas  prete.  Si  tu  reviens  encore 
une  fois  souffler  mon  feu,  fa  va  jouer,  ^  parce  que  tu  ne  me  parais  pas 
bien  grosse!"  Allume  le  feu;  souffle  le  feu.^  Voila  qu'ils  se  pognent. 
La  petite  Capuche-bleue  jette  Brise-bois  dans  une  tonne  de  m^lasse,^ 
k  la  cave,  le  roule  ensuite  dans  la  plume,  et  s'en  va. 

A  midi,  Petit-Jean  et  Brise-montagnes  arrivent.  lis  ne  trouvent 
point  de  soupe.  "Mais  comment,  la  soupe  n'est  pas  prete  ?"  — "Non!" 
—  "II  s'est  pass6  quelque  chose;  tu  t'es  battu  avec  quelqu'un?" 
Brise-montagnes  dit:  "Je  vas  rester  demain  pour  la  soupe.  Je  la 
ferai  bien,  moi." 

Brise-montagnes  reste,  le  lendemain,  pendant  que  les  autres  s'en 
vont  a  la  chasse.  Allume  le  feu.  La  petite  Capuche-bleue  arrive, 
souffle  le  feu.  "Ne  viens  pas  souffler  mon  feu!  Si  tu  recommences, 
c'est  a  moi  que  tu  auras  affaire!"  Allume  le  feu;  souffle  encore. 
"Tiens!  il  dit,  tu  n'as  plus  qu'une  fois  a  le  faire."  II  allume  le  feu, 
et  elle  le  tue  encore.  lis  se  pognent  ensemble,  et  la  petite  Capuche- 
bleue  sapre^  Brise-montagnes  a  la  cave,  dans  une  tonne  de  m^lasse, 
le  roule  dans  la  plume,  et  s'en  va. 

Quand  Petit-Jean  et  Brise-bois  reviennent,  a  midi,  pas  de  soupe  de 
faite.  "Mais!  dit  Petit-Jean,  vous  n'etes  pas  seulement  capables  de 
faire  de  la  soupe,  bande  de  h^rissons  que  vous  etes!  Demain,  c'est 
moi  qui  reste.    Je  la  ferai  bien." 

Petit-Jean,  le  lendemain  matin,  allume  le  feu.  La  petite  Capuche- 
bleue  ressoud  et  I'eteint.  "Ah!  il  dit,  ah!  ah!  tu  n'as  plus  que  deux 
fois,  toi,  a  eteindre  mon  feu.  Tu  vas  voir  que,  cette  fois,  tu  n'as  pas 
affaire  a  Brise-bois  ou  a  Brise-montagnes."  La  deuxieme  fois  qu'il 
allume  le  feu,  elle  le  tue  encore.  "Je  le  rallume  pour  la  derniere  fois. 
Si  tu  reviens,  tu  ne  trouveras  pas  ga  drole!"  Le  feu  ^teint  pour  la 
troisieme  fois,  ils  se  pognent.  Petit-Jean,  avec  son  sabre,  fend  la 
petite  Capuche-bleue  en  quatre,  et  en  jette  les  morceaux  sous  le  lit. 
Et  il  chauffe  son  feu  si  fort  que  les  pois  sautent  par-dessus  le  chaudron. 
"Ah!  je  ferai  bien  cuire  la  soupe,  moi!"     A  midi,  les  deux  autres 

1  Ou  il  n'y  a  personne. 

2  Ici  le  conteur  dit  "une  petite  capuclie  bleue;  "  mais,  dans  la  suite,  il  dit  "la 
petite  capuche  bleue." 

3  Je  vais  te  donner  une  volee.  ^  n  allume. 

5  I.e.,  tu  vas  avoir  mauvais  parti.      6  Abr^viations :  il  allume  le  feu,  elle  I'eteint. 
7  Ici  prononce  menace.  8  Jette. 


86  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

arrivent:  la  soupe  boucane  sur  la  table,  et  les  pois  sont  tous  6cal^s. 
"C'est  comme  ga  qu'on  fait  la  soupe,  11  dit;  ah!  je  sais  ce  qui  vous  est 
arriv^.  La  petite  Capuche-bleue  vous  a  sapre  la  volee.  Mais,  allez 
voir  sous  le  lit;  je  Fai  f endue  en  quatre  quartiers."  lis  vont  voir  sous 
le  lit,  mais,  pas  de  Capuche;  elle  est  partie ! 

Suivant  les  traces  de  sang,  ils  arrivent  h,  un  souterrain  oil  elle  est 
descendue.  Dans  le  souterrain,  c'est  un  autre  pays.  Pour  y  des- 
cendre,  il  y  a  un  panier.  Petit-Jean  dit  a  Brise-bois:  "Descends-y, 
toi!"  Brise-bois  r^pond:  "Oui!  mais  si  la  peur  me  prend,  je  hdlerai 
sur  la  corde,et  vous  me  remontrez."  A  peine  rendu  a  la  moitie  du 
chemin,  la  peur  le  prend  et  il  hale  sur  la  corde,  et  se  fait  remonter. 
Brise-montagnes  dit:  "M'a  y  descendre,  moi;  mais  si  je  donne  un 
coup  sur  la  corde,  c'est  que  la  peur  me  prend."  II  descend,  mais  il  n'est 
pas  rendu  loin  qu'il  hale  sur  la  corde  et  se  fait  remonter.  Toujours 
que  voilk  Petit-Jean  embarque  dans  le  panier  avec  son  sabre.  Dans  le 
souterrain,  c'est  le  pays  od  des  grants  gardent  trois  princesses  prison- 
nitres,  dans  leur  chateau.  A  Petit-Jean  les  princesses  disent:  "La 
petite  Capuche-bleue  est  revenue  hier  toute  ensanglant^e."  —  "Ah! 
c'est  elle  que  je  cherche,  pour  me  battre  avec.  Hier  je  I'ai  fendue  en 
quatre,  et  elle  est  partie."  —  "C'est  dans  cette  chambre-ci  qu'est  la 
petite  Capuche-bleue."  Ouvrant  la  porte,  Petit-Jean  tumbe  face  k  face 
avec  elle.     La  bataille  reprend  et  il  la  met  toute  en  charpie. 

Petit- Jean  dit  aux  princesses:  "Je  suis  venu  pour  vous  chercher." 
— "Mais,  nous  sommes  'gardees'  par  trois  geants."  —  "Je  vas  me 
coucher  sous  leur  lit,  et  quand  ils  dormiront,  je  sortirai  et  les  tuerai." 
Les  grants  arrivent,  et//,  //,  disent:  "Belles  princesses!  ga  sent  ben  la 
viande  fraiche."  —  "Taisez-vous  done,  bande  de  fous!  vous  savez  bien 
qu'il  n'y  a  pas  de  viande  fraiche  ici."  A  peine  les  geants  couches  et 
endormis,  Petit-Jean  prend  son  sabre  et  les  tue  tous  les  trois.  Ast'- 
heure,  il  y  a  le  violon  des  geants  et  leur  soleil  qui  eclaire  la  nuit.  *  Petit- 
Jean  prend  le  violon,  prend  le  soleil,  et  emm^ne  les  princesses  k  I'entr^e 
du  souterrain.  L^,  il  fait  embarquer  une  des  princesses  dans  le  panier, 
hdle  sur  la  corde,  et  voila  Brise-montagnes  et  Brise-bois  qui  tirent  le 
panier.  Un  coup  la  princesse  rendue  au  haut,  Brise-bois  et  Brise- 
montagnes  se  battent  d  qui  Vauraient.  Elle  dit:  "Ne  vous  battez 
done  pas  pour  moi;  mes  deux  soeurs  sont  cent  fois  plus  belles  que 
moi."  Voyant  9a,  ils  rejettent  le  panier  dans  le  souterrain.  Petit- 
Jean  y  met  la  moins  belle  des  deux  princesses,  hdle  sur  la  corde;  et  la 
voil^  qui  monte.  Brise-bois  et  Brise-montagnes  se  battent  encore; 
c'est  k  qui  I'aurait,  celle-1^.  "Ne  battez-vous  done  pas  pour  moi! 
Ma  soeur,  en  bas,  est  bien  plus  belle  que  moi."  lis  se  depechent  done 
et  rejettent  le  panier  en  bas.     Petit-Jean  y  met  la  princesse,  hdle  sur 

1  Dans  les  contes  de  Parlafine  et  de  Petit-Jean-petit-bois,  il  est  dit  qu'on  entend 
le  violon  des  grants  sept  lieues  ^  la  ronde. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  87 

la  corde;  et  le  panier  remonte.  Brise-bois  et  Brise-montagnes  se 
battent  plus  que  jamais.  Mais  c'est  Brise-montagnes  qui  a  le  dessus 
et  gagne  la  plus  belle  princesse.  Quant  a  Petit-Jean,  ils  le  laissent 
en  bas.  "Lui,  ils  se  disent,  il  est  bien  plus  fort  que  nous  autres;  il 
nous  les  oterait." 

Petit-Jean  retourne  au  chateau  des  grants  et  demande  au  gros 
aigle  ^  qui  s'y  trouve:  "Veux-tu  me  porter  en  haut  du  souterrain?" 
L'aigle  r^pond:  "II  te  faut  neuf  quartiers^  de  boeuf.  Chaque  fois 
que  j'ouvrirai  la  gueule,  tu  y  mettras  un  quartier."  Toujours  que 
Petit-Jean  emharque  sur  l'aigle.  Pendant  que  I'oiseau  vole,  k  chaque 
fois  qu'il  ouvre  la  gueule,  il  regolt  un  quartier  de  bceuf.  Arriv6  au 
bord  du  souterrain,  Petit-Jean  n'a  que  le  temps  d'y  mettre  les  mains, 
et  I'oiseau  redescend. 

C'est  au  chateau  du  roi  que  s'^taient  rendus  Brise-montagnes  et 
Brise-bois.  Et,  le  soir,  le  roi  y  faisait  des  noces  de  ses  filles,  qui  se 
mariaient  a  Brise-montagnes  et  Brise-bois,  qui  les  avaient  d^livrees 
des  grants.  Petit-Jean  dit:  "Sire  le  roi,  faites  condamner  toutes 
les  portes  et  les  chassis, '  pour  que  personne  ne  sorte  d'ici,  d  soir."  * 
Voila  la  peur  qui  prend  Brise-bois  et  Brise-montagnes.  "Sire  le  roi! 
voulez-vous  savoir  qui  a  delivre  vos  belles  princesses  ?  Celui-la  qui  a 
le  violon  et  le  soleil  des  grants  serait-il  plus  croyable  que  ceux  qui 
n'ont  rien?"  —  "Oui,  foi  de  roi!  il  serait  plus  croyable."  Petit-Jean 
dit:  "Moi,  j'ai  le  soleil  des  geants  et  j'ai  le  violon  des  grants."  —  "Eh, 
mon  dou!^  que  j'ai  mal  au  ventre,  sire  le  roi!  disent  Brise-bois  et  Brise- 
montagnes;  laissez-nous  done  sortir  dehors!"  —  "Non,  non!  personne 
n'ira  dehors,  d  soir."  Et  en  disant:  "ilf'a  regler  leur  affaire,"  ^  Petit- 
Jean  tumbe  sur  eux  avec  son  sabre,  et  les  met  en  charpie.  Le  roi  de- 
clare: "Mon  Petit-Jean,  asfheure  tu  as  gagn4  une  de  mes  princesses. 
Choisis  celle  que  tu  veux  en  mariage."  —  "C'est  la  plus  belle!"  Et  il 
ajoute:  "Sire  le  roi,  j'ai  le  violon  des  geants  pour  vous  faire  danser." 
Prenant  le  violon,  il  se  met  a  jouer,  et  je  vous  garantis  que  ga  sonne! 

Le  mariage  s'est  fait;  et, depuis, Petit- Jean  a  toujours  vecu  heureux 
avec  sa  princesse.     Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoye  ici  vous  le  raconter. 

17.    LES    DEUX    MAGICIENS.^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  un  roi,  qui  avait  un  seul 
enfant.  II  lui  dit,  un  jour:  "Mon  petit  gar^on,  je  vas  te  faire  ins- 
truire."  —  ''Ben,  poupa,  repond  I'enfant,  je  voudrais  etre  instruit  sur 

1  Le  conteur  disait  le  grot  aigle.  2  Ici  prononc6  quarquie. 

3  Poxir  fenetres.  *  Ce  soir. 

5  Mon  Dieu! 

6  I.e.,  je  vais  leur  donner  ce  qu'ils  mdritent, 

7  Conte  T6cit6  a  Sainte-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  juillet,  1915,  par  Achille 
Fournier,  qui  I'a  appris,  U  y  a  pres  de  25  ans,  d'une  vieiUe  dame  Louis  Dionne,  Agie 
de  80  ans,  egalement  de  Sainte-Anne. 


88  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

le  bien  et  sur  le  mal.  Dans  la  ville,  il  y  a  un  vieux  magicien;  il  pour- 
rait  bien  m'instruire."  L'enfant  s'en  va  chez  le  magicien:  "Bonjour, 
vieux  magicien!"  —  "Bonjour!  mon  petit  gargon!"  —  "Je  viens  vous 
trouver  pour  me  faire  instruire  sur  le  bien  et  sur  le  mal."  Le  magicien 
I'instruit  done  sur  tout  ce  qu'il  sait. 

Longtemps  apres,  le  jeune  homme  s'en  retourne  chez  son  pere,  et 
dit:  "Ast'heure,  je  suis  instruit  sur  le  bien  et  sur  le  mal."  —  "Oui!  que 
sais-tu,  mon  gargon?"  —  "Demain,  je  vas  me  changer  en  beau  cheval 
blond,  et  vous  irez  me  vendre  a  la  ville  pour  cent  et  une  pistoles,  ^ 
et  vous  vous  r^serverez  la  bride  et  la  selle."  Le  pere  s'en  va  k  la  ville, 
et  le  vend  comme  il  est  entendu.  Aussitot  vendu,  debride  et  dessell^, 
voila  le  cheval  brun  qui  s'echappe,  prend  la  course  et  disparait.  L'ache- 
teur  court  aprds;  mais  bientot  il  apergoit  un  beau  prince  —  Son 
cheval  brun  s'etait  change  en  prince.  "Mais,  monsieur  le  prince, 
n'avez-vous  pas  vu  passer  un  beau  cheval  brun  par  ici  ?"  —  "Oui,  et  le 
tonnerre  remportait."  ^ 

Le  lendemain  matin,  le  prince  dit  k  son  p^re:  "Aujourd'hui,  je  serai 
un  beau  cheval  noir.  Vous  irez  encore  me  vendre  k  la  ville  pour  cent 
et  une  pistoles.  Et  vous  vous  reserverez  la  bride  et  la  selle."  Ay  ant 
appris  tout  ga,  le  vieux  magicien  se  dit:  "M'a'^  I'acheter,  moi."  Pre- 
nant  sa  bride  et  sa  selle,  il  s'en  va  k  la  ville,  et,  les  rencontrant,  de- 
mande:  "Est-il  k  vendre,  votre  cheval?"  —  "Oui,  pour  cent  et  une 
pistoles."  —  "Tiens!  prenez  I'argent;  il  est  k  moi."  —  "Mais,  dit  le 
vieux,  je  me  reserve  la  bride  et  la  selle."  Comme  il  prend  sa  bride 
et  sa  selle,  le  vieux  magicien  les  remplace  avec  les  siennes.  "Ast'heure, 
mon  ami,  dit-il,  je  vas  te  mettre  k  I'etable  et  te  faire  patir."  A  ses 
servantes  il  dit:  "Je  pars  aujourd'hui.  Je  ne  veux  pas  que  vous 
donniez  a  manger  ni  a  boire  k  mon  cheval." 

Quand  le  magicien  est  parti,  les  servantes  s'en  vont  k  I'^curie,  et 
voient  le  cheval  se  frotter  sur  la  barrure  pour  montrer  qu'il  a 
faim  et  soif.  Elles  disent:  "  Ce  pauvre  cheval  a  faim  et  soif.  Sortons- 
le  de  I'etable  et  allons  le  faire  boire."  Elles  I'emmenent  k  la  riviere. 
Mais,  ayant  encore  la  bride  et  la  selle,  il  ne  veut  pas  boire,  et  se  frotte 
pour  tdcher  de  les  oter.  Les  servantes  disent:  "Pauvre  cheval! 
otons  sa  bride  et  sa  selle,  pour  qu'il  puisse  boire."  Aussitot  dessell6 
et  debrid6,  il  leur  ^chappe,  et  se  file  en  quatre  dans  la  riviere. 

Le  vieux  magicien  arrive  le  meme  soir.  "Avez-vous  fait  boire 
le  cheval?"  Elles  repondent:  "Quand  on  pense! ^  Nous  sommes  allees 
le  faire  boire  a  la  rividre,  mais  avec  sa  bride  et  sa  selle  il  ne  voulait 
pas  boire.     Aussitot  que  nous  les  lui  avons  otees,  il  nous  a  6chappe,  et 

1  La  pistole  est  I'^quivalent  de  dix  francs.  II  y  a  longtemps  que  ce  terme  est 
tomb6  en  d6su6tude,  au  Canada. 

2  I.e.,  il  allait  d  to7ite  vitesse. 

3  I.e.,  je  m'en  vas. 

*  I.e.,  €st-ce  assez  extraordinaire!  est-il  possible! 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  89 

s'est  fiU  en  quatre  dans  la  riviere."  Le  magicien  engage  cinq  cents 
p^cheurs  et  cinq  cents  seines  pour  pecher  les  carpes  dans  la  riviere. 
Pour  ne  pas  etre  attrap6,  le  prince,  devenu  carpe,  se  change  en  beau 
diamant  jaune  sur  le  bord  de  la  riviere.  Passant  par  la,  une  princesse 
trouve  le  beau  diamant,  le  prend,  le  met  dans  son  estomac,'  et  s'en  va. 
Plus  loin,  le  diamant  se  change  en  prince  et  sort  de  son  estomac,  en 
disant:  "Oui,  je  me  suis  change  en  diamant  jaune  pour  pas  quHl  me 
seinU  dans  la  riviere.  Je  vas  me  mettre  dans  une  pomme,  et  quand  le 
vieux  magicien  passera  chez  vous,  vous  prendrez  la  pomme  et  la 
lancerez  contre  le  mur.  Tous  les  p^pins  vont  revoler^  dans  la  place. 
Vous  mettrez  le  pied  sur  celui  qui  tombera  d  ras  ^  vous. 

Le  lendemain,  le  magicien  arrive  chez  la  princesse  et  dit:  "Princesse 
avez-vous  trouv^  un  beau  diamant  jaune  sur  la  greve,  hier?  Je 
voudrais  I'avoir."  En  r^pondant:  "Oui,  je  vas  vous  le  donner,"  elle 
prend  la  pomme,  et  la  jette  apres  le  mur.  Comme  les  p^pins  revolent 
dans  la  place,  le  magicien  se  change  en  coq  et  se  met  a  les  manger. 
La  princesse  leve  aussitot  le  pied,  et  voila  le  p^pin  qui  se  change  en 
renard.     Et  crac!  le  renard  d^vore  le  coq.     Le  magicien  est  d^truit. 

Redevenu  prince,  le  renard  dit:  "Ast'heure,  princesse,  nous  allons 
nous  marier  ensemble."  U71  coup*  mari^,  il  s'en  retourne  au  chateau 
de  son  pere,  qui  dit:  "Mon  gargon,  tu  t'es  mari^  a  ton  voyage?" 
II  r^pond:  "Oui,  a  celle  qui  m'a  prot^g^  contre  le  vieux  magicien  et 
m'a  sauv6  la  vie." 

Et  moi,  ils  m'ont  renvoy6  ici  pour  vous  le  raconter. 

18.    TI-JEAN    COMMERQANT.^ 

Une  fois,  c'^tait  des  pauvres  gens  vivant  dans  les  bois,  et  dont  le 
seul  enfant  s'appelait  Ti-Jean.  Ti-Jean,  un  jour,  dit  a  ses  vieux 
parents:  "Je  m'en  vas  dans  les  paroisses'^  chercher  de  I'ouvrage. 
Peut-etre  pourrai-je  enfin  gagner  ma  vie." 

Dans  son  chemin,  il  rencontre  une  vieille  magicienne,  qui  lui  dit: 
"Ti-Jean,  mon  petit  jeune  homme,  ou  vas-tu  done?"  —  "Je  m'en  vas 
k  la  d^couverte,  r^pond  Ti-Jean;  chez  nous,  nous  sommes  tellement 
pauvres  qu'il  ne  nous  reste  a  manger  que  des  racines  et  tout  ce  qui 
nous  tombe  sous  la  dent.  Je  m'en  vas  done  chercher  de  I'ouvrage. 
En  m'engageant  peut-etre  pourrai-je  am^liorer  mon  sort."  La  vieille 
magicienne  reprend:  "Tiens!  Ti-Jean,  je  vas  te  donner  un  gourdin  ^ 
tr^s  utile.    [Pour  t'en  servir,]  tu  n'auras  qu'a  dire:  'Joue,  mon  gourdin!' 

1  I.e.,  dans  son  corsage.  2  I.e.,  s'^parpiller. 

3  I.e.,  tout  pres  de.  ^  I.e.,  une  fois. 

£  Conte  r^cit6  par  Prudent  Sioui,  et  recueilli  k  Lorette,  le  20  aoQt,  1914.  Sioui 
dit  avoir  appris  ce  conte  de  son  pere. 

6  Paroisse  est  I'^quivalent  de  commune,  en  France. 

7  Sioui,  par  erreur,  disait  hourdin. 


90  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Mais  ne  le  fais  jouer  que  de  bonne  foi."  ^  Sitot  "Merci,  grand'm^re!" 
dit,  la  vieille  ajoute:  "La-bas,  dans  le  bois  que  tu  vas  traverser,  tu 
verras  une  maniere  de  chateau.  Mefie-toi!  car  il  y  a  1^  trois  Gascons 
voleurs."  Ti-Jean,  en  s'en  allant,  se  met  h  penser:  "Trois  Gascons, 
trois  voleurs.  .  .  ^^  iie  sera  pas  facile  pour  moi  de  passer  1^  tout  seul." 
Apr^s  avoir  pense  quelques  instants,  ^  il  se  dit:  "Je  revire  et  prends 
un  autre  chemin."  Ti-Jean  revire  done,  prend  un  autre  chemin  et 
rencontre  encore  la  .^agicienne,  qui  lui  demande:  "Mais  d'oCi  viens- 
tu?"  A  quoi  il  repond:  "J'ai  revire  sitot  que  vous  m'avez  quitte; 
je  ne  suis  pas  alle  plus  loin,"  La  vieille  lui  dit:  "Retourne-t-en  chez 
tes  parents,  Ti-Jean !  Vous  avez  un  petit  cochon;  eh  bien!  prends-le, 
et,  avec  ton  gourdin,  va  commercer!"  La-dessus  le  jeune  homme 
s'en  retourne.  Le  lendemain,  il  prend  le  petit  cochon  et  dit  [a  ses 
parents]:  "Je  m'en  vas  commercer."  Son  pere  s'^crie:  "Es-tu  fou! 
Nous  n'avons  que  ga  pour  I'automne."  —  "Je  ne  suis  pas  fou;  il  n'y  a 
pas  un  commergant  de  pauvre,"  r^pond-il.  Sur  quoi  il  part  empor- 
tant  le  petit  cochon  dans  un  sac,  sous  son  bras.  Le  petit  cochon 
crie  et  crie.  Devant  le  chateau  des  trois  voleurs,  dans  le  bois,  Ti-Jean 
passe  avec  le  petit  cochon  grognant  sous  son  bras.  Se  promenant 
sur  la  galerie,  un  des  Gascons  le  voit  et  I'appelle:  "Ti-Jean,  monte 
done  au  chateau!"  La,  il  lui  demande:  "Qu'as-tu  done  dans  ton 
sac?"  —  "C'est  seulement  qu'un  petit  cochon."  —  "Qu'en  veux-tu 
faire?"  —  "Je  suis  parti  de  chez  nous  pour  commercer  et  I'echanger." 

—  "L'6changer?  demande  le  voleur;  veux-tu  le  vendre?"  Ti-Jean 
repond:  "C'est  la  meme  chose,  le  vendre  ou  I'echanger,  puisque  je 
suis  parti  pour  commercer."  —  "Quel  en  est  le  prix?"  —  "Vingt-cinq 
piastres."''  Le  voleur  reprend:  "Vingt-cinq  piastres!  Mais  on  en 
pent  avoir  quatre  pour  ce  prix."  A  quoi  Ti-Jean  repond:  "II  est  h 
prendre  ou  h  laisser!     Permettez-moi  de  passer  mon  chemin  droit." 

—  "C'est  bien!  dit  le  Gascon,  tu  auras  tes  vingt-cinq  piastres.  Mais 
va  d'abord  porter  le  petit  cochon  la-bas."  Ayant  ainsi  fait,  Ti-Jean 
revient  chercher  I'argent.  Mais  le  Gascon  est  parti,  et  deux  autres  se 
trouvent  maintenant  la.  Ti-Jean  reclame  ses  vingt-cinq  piastres; 
mais  ils  eclatent  de  rire,  en  disant:  "Nous  ne  te  devons  rien,  n'ayant 
rien  achete  de  toi."  Ti-Jean,  en  colore,  s'ecrie:  "Vous  allez  me  payer!" 
Un  des  deux  repond:  "Te  payer!  mais  descends  done  I'escalier  au  plus 
vite  et  t'en  retourne!"  —  "Je  le  ferai  quand  vous  m'aurez  paye;  pas 
avant."  L^-dessus  Ics  Gascons  s'avancent  pour  le  repousser.  "Joue, 
mon  gourdin!"  s'ecrie-t-il.  A  I'instant,  le  gourdin  s'abat  sur  la  tete 
et  les  bras  des  Gascons.     Plus  Ti-Jean  repete:  "Joue, mon  gourdin!" 


1  Le  conteur  ici  ajouta:  "C'est-a-dire,  il  ne  faudra  le  faire  jouer  qu'^  propoa." 

2  Le  conteur  usa  ici  de  I'expressio 
dants. 

3  Piastre  est  I'^quivalent  de  dollar. 


2  Le  conteur  usa  ici  de  Texpression  populaire  une  escousse,  au  lieu  de  quelques 
instants. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  91 

plus  le  gourdin  s'agite  et  frappe.  Tous  nieurtiis,  les  voleurs  k  la  fin 
demandent  grace  et  promettent  de  solder  leur  dette.  "C'est  \k  mon 
d^sir,"  r^pond  Tautre.  "Mais  arrete  done  ton  gourdin,  r6clament- 
ils;  nous  allons  te  payer."  Et  ils  lui  remettent  vingt-cinq  piastres. 
Sur  ce,  fier  de  son  exploit,  Ti-Jean  s'en  va,  laissant  les  Gascons  malades 
de  tant  de  coups. 

Le  rencontrant  de  nouveau,  la  vieille  magicienne  lui  dit:  "Quand 
tu  passeras  la  demain,  vets-toi  en  m^decin  et  porte  un  sac.  Les 
deux  Gascons  que  tu  as  battus  sont  bien  malades,  et  I'autre  est  sur 
]a  galerie  du  chateau,  guettant  I'arriv^e  d'un  m^decin." 

Le  lendemain,  d^guisd  en  m^decin,  Ti-Jean  part.  Le  Gascon  le 
voyant  venir  monte  dire  a  ses  freres  malades:  "Voila  un  medecin; 
vais-je  le  faire  entrer?"  Et  ils  repondent:  "Qui,  et  de  suite."  Leur 
frere  court  done  vite:  "Docteur,  docteur,  entrez  vite!  mes  deux  freres 
sont  bien  malades!"  Ti-Jean  monte  au  chateau,  arrive  chez  les  vo- 
leurs, oil  il  entre  sans  etre  reconnu.  "0\X  sont  vos  malades?"  de- 
mande-t-il.  Et  on  Taccompagne  a  leur  chambre.  Tous  deux  le 
questionnent:  "Sommes-nous  en  danger  de  mourir?"  II  r^pond: 
"Si  demain  vous  n'etes  pas  mieux,  il  vous  faut  voir  Ic  cur(5."  Alors  il 
quitte  ses  patients,  et,  suivi  de  leur  frere,  il  sort.  Rendus  a  la  porte, 
le  medecin  dit  au  Gascon:  "C'est  vous  qui  hier  avez  achet^  un  petit 
cochon  de  moi.  Eh  bien!  il  me  faut  mon  argent;  sinon,  c'est  la  mort. 
Joue,  mon  gourdin!"  Et  le  gourdin  joue  et  joue.  Le  voleur  se  la- 
mente  et  dit:  "C'^tait  bien  assez  d'avoir  presque  tue  mes  deux  freres." 
Ti-Jean  r^pete:  "Donne-moi  mon  argent,  ou  c'est  la  mort.  Joue 
mon  gourdin!"  —  "Arrete  ton  gourdin;  crie  le  Gascon;  c'est  entendu! 
voila  tes  vingt-cinq  piastres."     Ti-Jean  part  content. 

En  s'en  allant,  le  petit  jeune  homme  rencontre  la  vieille  magicienne, 
qui  lui  dit:  "Demain,  d^guise-toi  en  pretre,  et  retourne  chez  les  Gas- 
cons pour  les  confesser,  car  ils  sont  en  danger  de  mort.  La,  redemande 
le  paiement  de  ton  petit  cochon."  Rendu  chez  ses  parents,  il  leur 
remet  I'argent  en  disant:  "Le  commerce  va  tres  bien." 

Le  lendemain,  il  passe  devant  le  chateau,  deguisd  en  pretre.  Aper- 
cevant  le  cur^,  un  des  Gascons  de  sa  fcnetre  lui  fait  du  doigt  signe 
d'entrer.  Le  cur6  entre,  et  le  Gascon  se  lamente:  "Je  suis  bien  malade 
et  en  danger  de  mort,  ainsi  que  mes  deux  freres.  Nous  voulons  nous 
confesser."  —  "Tres  bien,  tres  bien!  repond  le  cure;  je  vas  vous  con- 
fesser." II  entre,  prend  I'un  des  malades  a  part,  et  entend  sa  con- 
fession. L'aveu  des  peches  fini,  le  cure  demande:  "Mon  cher  frere, 
n'avez-vous  pas  par  hasard  vol<5  un  petit  cochon  ?"  —  "Comment, 
c'est  encore  vous?"  Ti-Jean  dit:  "Qui,  c'est  encore  moi.  II  me 
faut  mon  argent,  ou  mon  petit  cochon.  Sinon,  c'est  la  mort."  Et  il 
ajoute:  "Joue,  mon  gourdin!"  Le  Gascon  le  supplie:  "Rappelle  ton 
gourdin!     Je  vas  te  les  donner,  tes  vingt-cinq  piastres;  car  j'en  mour- 


92  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

rais  cette  fois-ci."  Alors  le  cure  va  confesser  I'autre  voleur.  La  con- 
fession finie,  il  demande:  "Njavez-vous  pas  vole  un  petit  cochon  k 
un  jeune  homme  qui  passait?"  —  "Comment,  repond  I'autre,  est-il 
encore  question  du  petit  cochon?"  Ti-Jean  repond:  "Oui!  mon  ar- 
gent ou  la  mort;  et  au  plus  vite!"  Le  Gascon  repond:  "Les  voil^  tes 
vingt-cinq  piastres;  et  va-t-en!"  Le  troisieme  voleur  crie  de  la  cham- 
bre  suivante:  "Je  n'ai  besoin  ni  du  cure,  ni  du  medecin,  ni  de  Ti-Jean; 
qu'il  s'en  aille!"  Ti-Jean  en  sortant  leur  souhaite  un  bon  souper 
et  un  bon  soir,  ajoutant  qu'il  est  tr^s  satisfait  de  son  commerce  avec 
eux.  Et  il  revient  chez  ses  vieux  parents  od  il  continue  h  vivre  en 
paix.  ^ 

Dans  une  autre  aventure,  Ti-Jean  trafique  un  ane.  Voici  comment. 
II  part  de  chez  ses  parents  emmenant  une  vache  pour  I'echanger  ou 
en  faire  commerce.  Rendu  chez  un  marchand,  il  arrete  et  attache 
la  vache.  On  lui  demande:  "Ou  vas-tu  avec  la  vache?"  —  "Je  viens 
pour  la  vendre  ou  la  changer."  Le  marchand  lui  dit:  "L'ane  que 
j'ai  dans  mon  ecurie  te  serait  bien  plus  utile;  tu  pourrais  I'atteler  ou 
I'echanger."  Ti-Jean  repond:  "C'est  entendu:  c'est  de  I'^change 
que  je  veux  faire."     Et  il  echange  sa  vache  pour  I'ane. 

Le  long  du  chemin  il  rencontre  la  vieille  magicienne,  qui  lui  dit: 
"Va  la-bas  chez  le  voleur;  et  demande-lui  en  echange  I'ane  crottant 
I'or  et  I'argent  qu'il  possede."  Ti-Jean  s'en  va  tout  droit  chez  le 
voleur  qui,  le  voyant  venir, lui  crie:  "Aye,  I'ami!  c'est  mon  ane  que  tu 
as  la?"  —  "Deviens-tu  fou?  dit  Ti-Jean;  j'arrive  de  la-bas."  —  "Dis 
ce  qu'il  te  plaira,  c'est  mon  ane;"  reprend  le  voleur,  en  saisissant 
I'animal  par  la  bride  et  I'entrainant  dans  son  ecurie.  Ti-Jean  proteste: 
"II  me  faut  mon  ane  ou  cinquante  piastres."  A  quoi  I'autre  repond: 
"File,  petit  voleur!  ou  je  te  fais  arreter."  —  "Un  voleur  vous  ressem- 
ble,  riposte  Ti-Jean;  vite!  cinquante  piastres,  ou  mon  ane."  N'obte- 
nant  rien,  Ti-Jean  crie:  "Joue, mon  gourdin!"  Voila  le  baton  parti  k 
jouer  par  la  tete  et  les  bras  du  voleur.  Un  coup  n'attend  pas  I'autre. 
Et  plus  Ti-Jean  crie:  "Joue,  mon  gourdin!"  plus  le  gourdin  frappe. 
Bien  souffrant,  le  voleur  enfin  se  rend:  "Arrete  ton  baton,  et  va  cher- 
cher  ton  ane  au  plus  vite!"  Ti-Jean  rappelle  done  son  gourdin  et 
s'en  va  a  I'ecurie;  mais,  au  lieu  de  son  ane,  il  s'empare  de  celui  du 
voleur,  apres  I'avoir  bien  essaye.  Sitot  qu'il  le  fesse,  I'ane  crotte 
I'or  et  I'argent.  Satisfait,  Ti-Jean  prend  I'ane  et  s'en  va.  Le  long 
du  chemin,  il  arrete  chez  un  commergant,  qui  reconnait  I'animal. 
Pendant  qu'il  s'y  amuse,  un  domestique  I'echange  pour  un  autre. 
Ti-Jean  bientot  detache  I'ane  et  continue  sa  route. 

Arrive  chez  ses  vieux  parents,  il  leur  declare:  "Mon  commerce  est 
fini;  je  suis  maintenant  riche."     II  dit  a  sa  mere:  "L'or  et  I'argent, 

1  Ici  finit  cet  dpisode.  P.  Sioui  n'etait  pas  certain  de  I'ordre  dans  lequel  se 
pr6sentaient  cet  fipisode  et  le  suivant. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  93 

c'est  comme  de  I'eau.  Mettez  un  grand  tablier  blanc,  et  venez  avec 
moi  a  Tecurie."  S'empressant  de  mettre  un  grand  tablier  blanc,  elle 
suit  son  fils  a  I'ecurie.  Ti-Jean  lui  dit  de  se  tenir  en  arriere  de  I'ane, 
son  tablier  grand  6tendu,  et  il  foute^  une  tape  a  ranimal,  en  disant: 
*'Crotte,  mon  ane!"  Rien  !  II  redouble.  Rien  encore.  Plus  il  fcsse 
et  plus  Fane  se  tasse.  La  colere  enfin  I'emporte,  et  il  frappe  d'un 
baton.  L'ane  a  la  fin  envoie  une  foire  epouvantable  dans  le  tablier 
blanc  de  la  vieille.  Ti-Jean  n'en  revient  pas.  II  dit:  "C'est  un  tour 
qu'on  m'a  jou6.  On  ni'a  change  mon  ane.  Le  mien  crottait  Tor 
et  I'argent." 

Le  lendemain  matin,  il  retourne  avec  son  ane  chez  le  commergant, 
et  lui  demande:  "N'avez-vous  rien  a  echangcr?"  Le  proprietaire 
lui  repond:  "Non;  je  n'ai  rien  a,  ^changer,  aujourd'hui."  Ti-Jean 
reprend:  "Si  vous  n'avez  rien  a  echanger,  aujourd'hui,  vous  allez 
dechanger  ce  que  vous  avez  change  hier,  et  sans  retard."  Le  proprie- 
taire lui  repond:  "Va-t'en,  petit  grossier,  ou  je  te  fais  prendre." 
"Avant  de  m'en  aller,  dit  Ti-Jean,  fa  va  toujours  jouer!^  Vite, 
joue,  mon  gourdin!  II  me  faut  mon  ane."  Et  le  baton  claque  sur 
la  tete  du  voleur.  Plus  Ti-Jean  dit:  "Joue, mon  gourdin!"  plus  le 
gourdin  claque.  Se  sentant  bien  maganne,^  I'autre  crie:  "Va  chercher 
ton  ane,  et  sauve-toi  au  plus  vite." 

Ayant  recouvre  son  bien,  Ti-Jean  s'en  retourne  vivre  avec  ses  vieux 
parents.  L'ane  crottait  a  souhait  Tor  et  I'argent;  et  ils  vecurent  tons 
comme  des  bienheureux. 

19.  l'ane,  la  serviette  et  le  baton.  * 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  que  c'^tait  une  vieille  et  un  vieux  pauvres, 
pauvres,  pauvres.  La  vieille  etait  maligne  et  envoy  ait  toujours  son 
bonhomme  queter  partout;  mais  lui,  n'aimant  pas  ga,  ne  voulait  pas 
y  aller. 

Un  jour,  le  vieux  part  en  pleurant  et  marche  le  long  du  chemin, 
marche.  II  fait  la  rencontre  d'une  fee,  qui  lui  demande:  "Mais 
qu'avez-vous  a  pleurer?"  II  repond:  "Parlez  m'en  pas!  ^  Ma  vieille 
est  maligne,  et  elle  me  bat  pour  m'envoyer  queter.  Je  suis  bien 
d^courag^."  —  "Tiens!  venez  dans  mon  ecurie,"  dit-elle.  L^,  elle 
lui  donne  un  petit  ane,  en  disant:  "Vous  prendrez  un  petit  baton,  et 

1  Pour  donner. 

2  Jouer,  i.e.,  hitter,  faire  des  siennes. 

3  Maganne  est  une  locution  populaire,  signifiant  "raaltrait^,  souffrant." 

*  Raconte  par  Paul  Patry,  de  Saint-Victor,  Beauce,  en  aoUt,  1914.  Patry 
apprit  ce  conte  de  Magloire  Couture,  de  Saint-Benoit  (Beauce),  maintenant  age  de 
79  ans.  M.  I'abbe  Arthur  Lapointe  a,  quand  il  etait  enfant,  entendu  le  meme  conte, 
avec  des  Episodes  disposes  dans  le  mSme  ordre,  de  sa  grand'm^re  Christine  Ouellet, 
vivant  dans  le  comte  de  Karaouraska. 

6  I.e.,  ne  m'en  parlez  pas! 


94  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

lui  claquerez  sur  la  queue  en  disant  'Crotte,  mon  &ne!'  et  il  vous  crottera 
de  Tor  et  de  Fargent."  Le  bonhomme  prend  le  petit  ane  et  part. 
Mais  comme  il  y  a  loin,  il  arrete  en  chemin  k  une  maison,  pour  la 
nuit.  Avant  de  se  eoucher,  il  dit:  "Mettez  mon  petit  Ane  dedans;' 
mais  n'allez  pas  lui  fesser  sur  la  queue  en  disant  'Crotte,  mon  dne!' 
car  il  crotte  Tor  et  I'argent."  Et  on  r^pond:  "Ah  non!  ne  craignez 
pas!"  Mais  il  est  a  peine  couch^  qu'on  s'en  va  a  ratable,  claque  sur 
la  queue  de  I'ane  en  disant:  "Crotte,  mon  ^ne!"  Brrrr,  voilk  qu'il 
crotte  Tor  et  I'argent.  Dans  ratable,  il  y  a  bien  un  autre  ane;  on  en 
fait  r^change  sans  que  le  vieux  s'en  apergoive. 

Le  lendemain,  le  vieux  arrive  chez  lui:  "Ma  pauvre  bonne-femme! 
nous  ne  p&tirons  plus."  —  "Pourquoi?"  demande-t-elle.  "Mon 
petit  ^.ne  crotte  Tor  et  I'argent."  De  bonne  heure  le  lendemain,  il 
dit  k  sa  vieille:  "Viens  a  la  grange  avec  moi."  Rendus  la:  "Etends 
ton  tablier!"  Et  prenant  un  baton,  il  fesse  sur  I'ane  en  disant:  "Crotte, 
mon  ^ne!"  Mon  ane  envoie(0  une  foire  qui  emplit  le  tablier.  La 
bonne  femme  est  sans  connaissance.  ^  Prend  le  baton,  fout  une 
vol^e  a  son  mari,  et  dit:  "Tiens!  mon  vieux,  pour  ra'avoir  jou6  un 
tour."     Et  lui,  il  s'en  va  en  hraillant. ' 

Le  long  du  chemin,  il  rencontre  encore  sa  vieille  f^e:  "Mais  qu'avez- 
vous  done,  pere,  vous  braillez?" — "Parlez  ni'en  pas  !  Ma  femme  m'a 
encore  battu  parce  que  I'^ne  n'a  pas  crotte  I'or  et  I'argent."  La  f^e 
dit:  "Tiens,  pauvre  bonhomme!  voila  une  petite  serviet^^e.  Vous 
n'aurez  qu'a  I'etendre  et  dire  *Je  souhaite  une  table  bien  greyee  pour 
boire  et  manger,  et  que  rien  n'y  manque.'  "  Mettant  la  petite  ser- 
viette dans  sa  poche,  le  bonhomme  part,  couche  encore  a  la  meme 
maison,  apres  avoir  dit:  "J'ai  une  belle  petite  serviette  dans  ma 
poche;  touchez-y  pas!^  II  suffit  de  dire  'Je  souhaite  une  table  bien 
greyee  pour  boire  et  manger,  et  que  rien  n'y  manque;  et  tout  y  est." 
Les  gens  repondent:  "Craignez  pas!  Nous  n'y  toucherons  pas."  Le 
bonhomme  couchd,  ils  vont  prendre  la  serviette,  la  mettent  sur  la 
table,  et  disent:  "Je  souhaite  une  table  bien  greyee  de  tout  ce  qu'il 
faut  pour  boire  et  manger,  rien  de  mieux!'^  Et  je  vous  dis  qu'ils 
prennent  un  souper!  Cachent  la  serviette,  et  en  mettent  une  autre 
a  la  place. 

Rendu  chez  lui,  le  lendemain,  le  vieux  met  la  table  et  dit:  "Je 
souhaite  de  quoi  boire  et  manger!"  Rien  ne  vient.  Fachee,  la  vieille 
dit:  "Tu  es  encore  a  m'amuser  avec  9a."  Elle  prend  le  tisonnier,  lui 
fout  une  vol6e,  et  I'envoie  queter.  II  part  encore  en  hraillant,  et 
rencontre  la  vieille  f^e,  qui  lui  demande:  "Qu'avez-vous  encore  a 

1  I.e.,  dans  Vicurie ;  "  mettre  les  animaux  dedans  "  a  toujours  ici  le  sens  de 
"mettre  dans  I'^curie.  .  . " 

2  I.e.,  est  sans  connaissance  de  fureur. 

3  I.e.,  pleurant  tout  haut.  *  I.e.,  n'y  touchez  pas. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  95 

brailler,  pauvre  bonhomme?"  —  "Parlez  m'en  pas!  Je  n'ai  ricn 
pu  avoir  a  manger  de  la  serviette,  et  ma  femme  m'a  encore  battu  epou- 
vantable."  ^  La  fee  dit:  "Vous  devez  coucher  quelque  part,  sur  ie 
ehemin,  oil  on  vous  joue  des  tours?"  —  "Oui,  je  couche  a  une  maison, 
sur  le  ehemin."  —  "Tiens!  AsCheure,  voila-  un  gros  baton.  Quand 
tu  diras  'Guerre, mon  rond  baton!'  il  fessera  partout,  jusqu'a  ce  que 
tu  dises  'Arrete,  mon  baton!'  " 

Le  vieux  couche  encore  au  meme  endroit,  met  son  baton  derriere 
la  porte,  et  dit:  "Ne  touchez  pas  a  mon  baton, car  en  disant  'Guerre, 
mon  baton  rond!'  il  fesse  partout."  Durant  la  nuit,  quelqu'un  se 
leve  et  dit:  "II  faut  voir  si  c'est  vrai;  ga  serait  hen  bon  pour  la  guerre." 
lis  prennent  done  le  baton,  disant:  "Fesse,  baton  rond!"  Et  le 
baton  rond  se  met  k  jouer  a  leur  tete  et  partout,  les  jetant  a  terre  k 
force  de  fesser.  Rien  ne  pent  I'arreter.  Allant  reveiller  le  bon- 
homme, ils  disent:  "Arrete  le  baton,  il  acheve  de  nous  tuer."  "Asf- 
heure,  j'arreterai  mon  baton  quand  vous  rae  donnerez  mon  ane  et  ma 
serviette."  Le  petit  ane  crottant  I'or.et  la  serviette  a  boire  eta  manger, 
je  vous  dis  qu'ils  les  lui  redonnent! 

En  arrivant  chez  sa  bonne-femme,  il  dit:  "Tu  vas  voir,  de  ce  coiip- 
Id,^  je  les  ais!"  II  souhaite  une  belle  table,  et  tout  ce  qu'il  faut  pour 
boire  et  manger.  Et  d'un  crac,  voil^  le  repas  greye  sur  la  serviette. 
Ah!  la  bonne-femme  est  ben  contente.  Elle  dit  :  ^'Ast'heure,  allons 
k  notre  petit  ane!"  —  "Tu  vas  voir!"  dit  le  vieux.  "Ah!  tu  vas 
encore  me  jouer  un  tour?"  Elle  met  un  vieux  tablier,  pensant:  "C'est 
assez  bon,  pour  le  fairs  encore  salir."  Le  vieux  fesse  en  disant: 
"Crotte,  mon  ane!"  Et  brrr,  le  tablier  de  la  vieille  en  defonce.  Elle 
dit:  "Si  tu  m'avais  dit  qa,  j'aurais  mis  un  tablier  neuf."  —  "Je  te 
I'avais  dit!"  repond  le  bonhomme. 

Avec  Fane  et  la  serviette,  je  pense  qu'ils  ont  toujours  bien  v^cu 
Mais,  je  ne  le  sais  pas,  comme  je  n'y  suis  pas  alle  les  voir,  depuis. 

CONTES  PSEUDO-MERVEILLEUX. 
20.    MARTINEAU-PAIN-SEC.  * 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  le  nomme  Martineau-pain- 
sec,  un  paresseux.  Son  pdre  lui  dit:  "Martineau,  ga  fait  assez  long- 
temps  que  je  te  fais  vivre  a  rien  faire;  pars  et  va-t'en  travailler!" 
—  "Vous  allez  toujours  me  donner  quelque  chose  avant  de  partir."  * 
Son  pere  lui  donne  un  pain  de  sucre,^  un  pain  blanc  et  une  bouteille 
de  lait.     Et  Martineau  part. 

1  Ici  dans  un  sens  adverbial. 

2  Voild  est  souvent  usite  dans  le  sens  de  void. 

3  I.e.,  cette  fois-ci,  pour  le  coup. 

*  Raconte  par  Paul  Patry,  en  septembre,  1914,  h,  Saint-Victor,  Beauce. 

'  I.e.,  avant  que  je  parte.  6  I.e.,  un  morceau  carre  de  sucre  d'erable 


96  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

C'est  I'^t^,  au  temps  des  foins,  et  il  fait  chaud  sans  hon  se7is. '  Mar- 
tineau  sue,  et  ga  lui  cotlte  de  marcher.  Rentrant  dans  une  prairie,  il 
va  s'asseoir  pres  de  la  cloture,  oil  il  mange  son  pain,  son  sucre,  et  boit 
son  lait.  Les  mouches  se  mettent  apres  lui,  c'est  effrayant! — Le 
sucre  attire  les  mouches.  Martineau  dit:  "Laissez-moi  tranquille, 
les  mouches!     Je  vas  vous  donner  a  manger  beto."  ^ 

Quand  Martineau  a  fini  de  manger,  il  s'en  va  a  une  cabane  pr^s  de 
la,  prend  des  planches  et  en  fait  une  maniere  de  table.  Emiettant 
du  pain  et  du  sucre,  il  y  met  du  lait,  et  invite  les  mouches  a  venir 
manger.  Pensez  s'il  y  en  a  des  mouches,  c'est  ^pouvantable!  II  en 
tue  mille  d'un  coup  et  cinq  cents  du  revers. 

Rendu  dans  la  ville,  il  se  fait  faire  un  ^criteau:  "Martineau-pain-sec 
en  a  tu^  mille  d'un  coup  et  cinq  cents  du  revers."  De  1^  il  s'en  va 
se  coucher  sur  le  ventre  dans  une  veilloche  ^  de  foin. 

Le  roi,  s'adonnant  a  passer,  lit  "A  tue  mille  d'un  coup  et  cinq  cents 
du  revers."  II  dit  h  son  cocher:  '*Va  done  le  reveiller."  —  "Oui, 
je  vas  ^  me  faire  tuer!"  —  "Va  le  reveiller  poliment."  II  va  done  le 
reveiller:  "Monsieur  Martineau!"  —  "Que  me  voulez-vous  ?"  — 
"Monsieur  le  roi  a  affaire  a  vous."  S'approchant  du  roi,  il  dit: 
"Monsieur  le  roi,  que  me  voulez-vous?"  —  "Est-ce  vrai,  monsieur 
Martineau,  que  vous  en  tuez  mille  d'un  coup  et  cinq  cents  du  revers?" 
II  r^pond:  "Oui!"  —  "Voulez-vous  vous  engager?"  —  "Oui."  —  "II 
y  a  des  betes  feroces  dans  ma  foret;  je  voudrais  les  faire  d^truire." 
Aussitot  qu'arriv^s  au  chateau,  le  roi  dit:  "Dans  ma  foret,  il  y  a  trois 
grants;  mes  hommes  ne  peuvent  y  aller  sans  se  faire  tuer.  Martineau, 
es-tu  capable  de  me  les  d^truire?"  —  "Ces  petites  jeunesses-la! 
r^pond  Martineau,  c'est  assez  de  leur  donner  une  tape  sur  la  gueule 
pour  les  Jeter  a  terre." 

Le  roi  lui  fait  donner  de  quoi  manger  pour  une  journ^e,  et  lui  dit: 
"Prends  ce  sentier,  dans  la  foret."  Mon  Martineau  marche,  marche, 
marche.  Arrive  au  pied  d'une  grosse  ^pinette  blanche  ou  les  grants 
ont  leur  marmite,  il  arrete  et  se  dit:  "Je  ne  sais  pas  comment  sont 
ces  animaux-la."  Mettant  trois  ou  quatre  gros  cailloux  dans  sa 
chemise,  il  pense:  "II  faut  toujours  bien  voir  ce  que  c'est."  Et  il 
monte  dans  I'epinette,  ou  il  se  cache.  Au  bout  d'une  escousse,  un 
des  grants  arrive,  emportant  sur  son  dos  un  gros  merisier  de  vingt 
pouces,^  avec  les  branches  et  les  racines.  II  le  jette  a  bas,  et  zing! 
I'epinette  en  branle.  Martineau  se  dit:  "Ce  sont  des  durs  animaux!" 
Aussitot,  un  autre  vient  avec  une  demi-tonne  d'eau  sur  chaque  bras. 
Et  le  troisieme  arrive  avec  une  grande  chaudiere  a  potasse  et  une  grosse 

1  I.e.,  extrSmement.  2  I.e.,  bientot.  3  I.e.,  veillotte. 

4  Je  vais  est  exprim^  par  P.  Pa  try,  et  la  plupart  des  paysans  canadiens  par  ni'a 
me  faire  tuer,  pour  "je  m'en  vas".  .  . 

5  De  vingt  pouces  de  diamStre. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  97 

marmite,  qu'il  jette  k  terre  avec  un  train,  ping,  pang!  "Ce  sont  des 
durs  animaux!  "  pense  Martineau.  Un  g^ant  jette  une  demi-tonne 
d'eau  dans  la  marmite,  et  y  brasse  la  bouillie  avec  une  grande  mi- 
kwene. '  La  bouillie  faite,  les  grants  s'asseoient  autour  de  la  marmite 
et,  ayant  tout  mang<!%  ils  se  font  un  lit  de  sapin  et  de  feuilles,  s'y  cou- 
chent  sur  le  dos  et  dorment.  Le  plus  jeune  et  moins  grand  des  trois, 
couch6  au  bord,  se  met  a  ronfler.  Martineau  se  glisse  au  bout  d'une 
branche,  lui  lance  un  caillou  sur  la  gueule,  et  pan  !  lui  casse  une 
dent.  Se  r^veillant,  le  g^ant  dit  a  son  voisin:  "Cou'don!^  je  ne  t'ai 
rien  fait,  moi,  et  tu  m'as  frapp^  et  casse  une  dent."  —  "Non!"  r^- 
pond  I'autre.  lis  se  raccordent  et  s'endorment.  Avec  une  roche 
encore  plus  grosse  dans  sa  main,  Martineau  se  place  au-dessus  d'un 
autre  g^ant,  hang!  sur  sa  gueule  jette  la  roche, et  lui  casse  deux  dents. 
Le  g^ant  se  reveille  fach^,  et  dit:  "Vous  allez  voir,  vous  autres!"  Apres 
s'etre  battu,  il  se  raccorde  et  dit  a  son  ami:  "Ne  me  touche  pas  ou 
je  te  tuerai."  Aussitot  les  geants  endormis,  Martineau  arrive  dans  I'ar- 
bre  au-dessus  du  plus  grand  des  grants,  lui  jette  un  gros  caillou 
sur  la  gueule,  hang  !  lui  casse  quatre  dents.  Le  g6ant  se  leve  et 
voila  la  chicane  prise.  Arrachant  les  arbres,  ils  se  battent  ensem- 
ble, tellement  qu'a  la  fin,  ^puis^s,  ils  ne  peuvent  presque  plus  se 
grouiller.  Martineau-pain-sec  descend  de  Tarbre,  prend  son  couteau 
et  leur  coupe  la  gorge  a  tous  les  trois. 

Le  voyant  revenir  a  son  chdteau,  le  roi  lui  dit:  "Qu'est-ce  que  tu 
as  fait,  Martineau?"  II  r^pond:  "Des  petites  jeunesses  de  meme,  ga 
ne  me  prend  pas  grand  temps!  Je  les  ai  tu^s  tous  les  trois."  —  "Je 
ne  peux  pas  le  croire,"  dit  le  roi.  "Oui,  oui,  venez  les  voir."  Suivant 
Martineau  dans  le  bois,  le  roi  apergoit  les  trois  grants  morts,  et  dit: 
"Mon  Martineau,  tu  es  bon!" 

Dans  un  coin  de  la  foret,  il  y  avait  une  licorne  ^  si  f^roce  que  per- 
sonne  n'en  pouvait  approcher  sans  se  faire  d^truire.  "Martineau! 
dit  le  roi,  j'ai  dans  ma  foret  une  licorne  qui  tue  tout  le  monde.  Pour- 
rais-tu  m'en  d^barrasser,  toi?"  —  "J'irai  bien!  mais  il  me  faut  des 
provisions,  car  je  pourrais  bien  m'^carter."  — "Tu  vas  en  avoir." 
Et  lui  donnant  un  sac  de  provisions,  le  roi  le  mene  au  petit  sentier, 
disant:  "Suis  ce  sentier,  et  tu  vas  ressoudre'^  pres  de  la  vieille  masure 
d'(5glise,  oil  la  licorne  se  tient." 

Martineau-pain-sec  part,  marche,  marche,  marche,  se  disant:  "Si 
je  la  vois,  cette  maudite  bete,  je  vais  toujours  hen  me  sauver."  Et 
il  marche.  Tout  a  coup  voila  la  licorne  qui  se  leve,  pres  d'un  rocher, 
Mon  Martineau,  surpris,  continue,  incapable  d'arreter.  La  licorne 
part  derriere  lui.  Ce  qu'il  marche!  Arrive  a  la  vieille  masure  d'^glise, 
il  en  fait  le  tour  en  courant,  y  entre,  et  se  cache  derriese  la  porte.  La 

1  I.e.,  cuiller;  mot  algonkin:  ennkwdn,  en  cree  (Lemoine). 

2  I.e.,  ^coute  done!  3  P.  Patry  disait  Income.  *  I.e.,  arriver. 


98  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore, 

licorne  a  sa  suite  s'y  lance  tout  droit  avec  tant  d'elan  qu'il  a  le  temps 
d'en  sortir  vitement  et  de  fermer  la  porte.  Voila  la  licorne  renfermee 
dans  la  vieille  eglise.  Les  yeux  gros  confime  mes  poings,  elle  frappe 
les  murs  de  sa  tete,  pendant  que  Martineau  monte  sur  le  mur  et  la 
regarde.  C^est  ga  qu'elle  joue!  En  se  disant:  "Elle  ne  sortira  toujours 
pas!"  Martineau  s'en  va  chez  le  roi,  qui  dit:  "Toi?"  —  "Oui,  moi! 
Je  I'ai  prise  par  la  queue  et  jet^e  dans  la  vieille  masure  d'eglise,  d'ou 
elle  ne  sortira  plus."  —  "Je  ne  te  crois  pas."  —  "Vous  allez  voir, 
monsieur  le  roi."  Ne  le  croyant  pas,  le  roi  s'en  va  voir.  Pour 
commencer, Martineau  dit:  "Je  vas  ouvrir  la  porte."  —  "A^e  va  pas!" 
reprend  le  roi.  "Je  vas  la  prendre  par  la  queue."  —  "Pas  du  tout, 
si  tu  allais  la  manquer!"  Bien  content  de  ne  pas  avoir  a  le  faire, 
Martineau  ajoute:  "II  faut  toujou  hen  la  regarder."  Tous  deux,  ils 
montent  sur  le  mur  et  regardent  la  licorne  qui,  les  yeux  gros  comme 
mes  poings,  se  frappe  la  tete  au  mur.  Le  roi  dit:  "Martineau,  viens- 
t'en!"  lis  s'en  vont,  laissant  renfermee  la  licorne,  qui  finit  par 
mourir.     Le  roi  est  content  de  son  Martineau  et  I'aime. 

Un  bon  jour,  voila  la  guerre  qui  se  declare  contre  le  roi,  dont  on 
veut  enlever  la  puissance.  "Monsieur  Martineau,  declare  le  roi, 
voila  la  guerre  qui  vient.  Je  suis  bien  decourage."  Et  il  lui  dit 
plate:  "Tu  vas  venir  te  battre."  —  "Monsieur  le  roi,  me  donnez-vous 
le  cheval  le  plus  vigoureux  que  vous  avez?"  —  "Oui."  Le  roi  lui 
donne  son  meilleur  cheval.  Martineau  etait  comme  moi;  il  n'allait 
pas  souvent  a  cheval.  Comme  sa  bete  saute  dix  pieds  sur  un  sens, 
dix  pieds  sur  I'autre,  Martineau  a  peur  de  tomber  a  bas.  II  descend, 
et,  demandant  une  grosse  courroie,  il  se  fait  amarrer '  les  pieds  autour 
de  son  cheval.  Le  voil^  parti,  et  fa  mene!  Martineau  veut  arreter, 
se  demarrer  et  descendre  dans  I'armee.  Mais,  pas  moyen!  Son  cheval 
saute  et  galope  sans  ralentir.  Passant  pres  -  d'une  vieille  croix  plan- 
tee  au  bord  du  chemin,  il  la  pogne,  essay  ant  de  s'y  accrocher,  mais 
la  croix  vient  avec  lui.  II  la  tient  par  le  bout  et,  la  oil  on  se  bat,  il 
frappe  et  huche  avec  la  croix  a  tour  de  bras.  A  la  fin,  son  cheval 
revire.  Martineau  avait  tout  tue,  et  gagne  la  victoire.  Au  roi,  il 
dit:  "Je  n'ai  pas  besoin  de  fusil,  moi,  pour  tous  les  detruire!"  Le 
capitaine  battu  fait  dire  que,  lui,  il  ne  faisait  jamais  la  guerre  avec 
des  vieilles  croix  de  bois,  que  c'etait  le  houte  de  la  guerre,  et  qu'il  ne 
reviendrait  plus. 

Apres  9a,  Martineau-pain-sec  est  rest^  chez  le  roi,  ou  il  a  toujours 
bien  v^cu. 

1  I.e.,  attacher;  expression  d'origine  marine. 

2  Le  conteur  disait:  "d  ras  une  vieille  croix." 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  99 

21.    LE    CONTE    DE    POIS-VERTS.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'est  un  nomm^  Pois-verts,  Thomme  de  confiance  du  cur^. 
Pendant  un  certain  temps,  Pois-verts  est  bon  serviteur.  Mais,  un 
jour,  il  commence  a  jouer  des  tours  a  son  maltre.  Apres  I'avoir 
endur^  une  couple  d'ann^es,  le  cur6  se  fache  et  lui  dit:  "Pois-verts! 
ramasse  tes  gu^nilles  et  va-t'en!  Je  n'ai  plus  besoin  de  toi."  Re- 
raerciant  le  cur^,  Pois-verts  repond:  "Je  ne  demande  pas  mieux:  je 
suis  tann6  de  vous  servir."  Pois-verts  part  et  s'achete  une  petite 
propri4t6  pr^s  de  celle  de  son  ancien  maitre. 

Ce  drole-la  etait  tres  intelligent.  Un  bon  matin,  il  tire  un  plan.  ^ 
Prend  deux  gros  morceaux  de  fer,  les  fait  bien  rougir  au  feu,  met  son 
chaudron  a  soupe  tout  pret,  se  greye  ^  un  fouet,  et  envoie  chercher  le 
cur^.  Quand  le  cur^  est  tout  pres  d'arriver,  Pois-verts  prend  les 
morceaux  de  fer  rouge  et  les  jette  dans  sa  soupe.  Aussitot,  il  met 
son  chaudron  entre  ses  jambes,  et,  avec  son  petit  fouet,  il  claque  sur 
le  chaudron,  disant:  "Bouille,ma  soupe!"  Le  cure  entre,  aperyoit  son 
ancien  serviteur  fouettant  le  chaudron,  et  la  soupe  bouillant  de  plus 
belle.  "Pois-verts,  quel  secret  as-tu  pour  ainsi  faire  ton  ordinaire?" 
Pois-verts  repond:  "Ce  secret  est  dans  mon  fouet."  Tout  en  parlant, 
il  fouette  tranquillement  son  chaudron,  et  la  soupe  continue  a  bouillir. 
Enchants  d'apprendre  le  secret  du  fouet,  et  de  voir  bouillir  la  soupe, 
le  cur6  dit:  "A  moi  qui  ai  des  servantes  pas  trop  vives,  ce  fouet  irait  * 
bien.  Toi  qui  es  tout  seul,  Pois-verts,  tu  n'en  as  pas  besoin  ?"  — 
"Un  bon  article,  monsieur  le  cur6,  on  en  a  toujours  besoin.  Mais 
pour  vous  rendre  service,  je  suis  pret  a  vous  le  vendre.  Mon  fouet 
vaut  cent  piastres."  —  "II  n'est  pas  cher,  reprend  le  cure,  voila  cent 
piastres.  Donne-moi  le  fouet."  Pois-verts  prend  1 'argent  et  reraet 
le  fouet.  Le  papier^  une  fois  signe,  le  cur6  ne  tient  pas  un  bien  long 
discours,  mais  s'en  retourne,  arrive  au  presbytere  et  dit  a  ses  servantes: 
"Je  n'ai  besoin  que  d'une  servante.  Les  deux  autres,  je  les  mets  a 
la  porte."  Les  servantes  deviennent  pensives.  A  celle  qu'il  garde,  le 
cur6  dit:  "Va  chercher  la  th^iere,  mets-y  le  th6  dans  de  I'eau  froide." 
—  "Qu'est-ce  que  le  cur^  a  envie  de  faire  ?"  se  demande-t-elle,  en 
ob^issant  k  son  maitre.  Le  cure  arrive:  "La  th^iere  est  prete?"  — 
"Oui,  monsieur  le  cure,  tout  est  hen  pret."  Monsieur  le  cure  va  qWi^ 
le  fouet,  prend  la  theiere,  la  met  sur  la  table,  et  commence  a  la  fouetter, 
disant:  "Bouille,  theiere!  "  Rien  ne  bouille.  Claque  encore.  Rien! 
Decourag^,  il  dit:  "Je  vois  que  je  ne  m'y  prends  pas  bien.  Pois-verts 
^tait  assis  k  terre,  le  chaudron  entre  ses  jambes.     Je  vas  faire  comme 

1  R^cit^  par  Prudent  Sioui,  de  Lorette,  en  aoOt,  1914.  Sioui  avait  appris  ce 
conte  de  son  pere,  C16ment  Sioui. 

2  I.e.,  il  consent  un  plan,  une  id6e  lui  vient. 

3  I.e.,  se  pripare.  *  I.e.,  serail  utile. 
6  I.e.,  contrat.  *  I.e.,  querir. 


100  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

lui."  S'asseyant  a  terre,  il  met  la  theiere  entre  ses  jambes,  et  la 
fouette  de  son  mieux.  Apres  avoir  d'abord  fouette  tranquillement, 
il  se  met  a  fesser  k  grands  coups.  II  n'est  pas  plus  avance.  La 
servante  dit:  "Monsieur  le  cure,  oil  avez-vous  eu  ce  fouet-1^?"  — 
"Je  viens  de  I'acheter  de  Pois-verts."  —  "Monsieur  le  cure,  c'est 
encore  un  tour  qu'il  vous  a  joue,  comme  au  temps  oil  il  restait  ici." 
Fache,  le  cure  jette  le  fouet  au  feu:  "Demain,  Pois-verts  aura  de  mes 
nouvelles!" 

Pois-verts,  le  lendemain,  fait  venir  sa  vieille  mere,  lui  demandant 
de  passer  la  journee  chez  lui.  Ayant  rempli  une  vessie  de  sang,  il 
I'accroche  au  cou  de  sa  mere,  et  commence  k  se  promener  dans  sa 
maison,  regardant  d'une  fenetre  a  I'autre.  II  s'attendait  k  voir  bientot 
le  cure  arriver  en  fureur.  Tout  a  coup,  il  Tapergoit  approcher  de  la 
maison.  Faisant  un  grand  vacarme,  Pois-verts  se  met  k  renverser  la 
table  et  les  chaises,  et  a  tout  casser.  Comme  le  cure  entre,  il  saisit 
sa  vieille  m^re  et  leve  son  canif  en  criant:  "Vieille  garse!  il  y  a  assez 
longtemps  que  le  monde  vous  connait.  C'est  fini!"  Pour  le  calmer, 
le  cure  dit:  "Pois-verts,  que  fais-tu,  que  fais-tu?"  Mais  Pois-verts 
r^pond:  "C'est  mon  affaire;  je  ne  veux  pas  d'ecornifieux^  dans  ma 
maison,"  Et  de  son  couteau  il  perce  la  vessie  pleine  de  sang,  pendant 
au  cou  de  sa  mere.  Le  sang  coule,  et  la  vieille  tombe,  mourante. 
Cela  change  les  sangs  -  du  cure,  qui  commence  a  chanter  des  betises ' 
a  Pois-verts,  et  a  le  menacer:  "Ton  temps  est  fini!  je  vas  te  remettre 
aux  mains  de  la  justice,  et  tu  monteras  sur  I'echafaud."  —  "Je  viens 
de  vous  dire  que  je  ne  veux  pas  voir  d'ecornijleux  ici,"  repond  Pois- 
verts  en  prenant  son  sifflet.  "Monsieur  le  cure,  ma  mere  est  morte, 
mais  elle  va  re  venir.  "^  Retroussant  la  robe  de  la  vieille  femme,  il 
siffie:  "Tourlututu!  reviendras-tu  ?"  Et  la  vieille  commence  a  grouiller. 
^'Tourlututu!  reviendras-tu?"  Pois-verts  dit  au  cure:  "La  troisi^me 
fois,  je  ne  manque  jamais  mon  coup.  Tourlututu!  reviendras-tu,  ou 
ne  reviendras-tu  pas?"  II  n'a  pas  sitot  prononce  Hourlututu'  que 
la  vieille  est  debout.  Etonne  de  voir  un  sifflet  si  merveilleux,  le 
cure  demande:  "Pois-verts,  ou  as-tu  pris  ce  sifflet?"  —  "Une  vieille 
magicienne  me  I'a  donne.  Avec  ce  sifflet,  je  puis  faire  tout  ce  que  je 
veux."  —  "Ah!  vela^  I'affaire  qu'il  me  faut  pour  mes  paroissiens, 
Pois-verts."  —  "Un  bon  article  fait  I'affaire  de  tout  le  monde."  — 
"Veux-tu  me  le  vendre,  Pois-verts?"  —  "Pour  vous  rendre  service, 
je  vas  vous  le  vendre,  monsieur  le  cure."  —  "Comment  veux-tu  pour 
ton  sifflet,  Pois-verts?"  —  "Deux  cents  piastres,  monsieur  le  cure." 
—  "II  n'est  pas  cher,  Pois-verts;  je  le  prends,  et  je  vas  commencer 
par   ma   servante."  —  "Sachez    bien   I'appliquer,    monsieur   le   cure. 

1  Pour  ecornifleur.  2  I.e.,  change  Vhumeur. 

3  I.e.,  h.  quereller,  dire  des  injures.  *  I.e.,  revenir  d  la  vie. 

5  Pour  voilA. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  101 

Vous  avez  vu  comment  je  m'y  suis  pris  pour  ma  vieillc  m^rc."  — 
"Grains  pas,^  Pois-verts!"  Le  cure  part,  arrive  au  presbyt^re  pas 
trop  de  bonne  humeur,  et  commence  a  brasser  le  pupitre,  la  table  et 
la  vaisselle.  "Monsieur  le  cure!  dit  la  servante,  vous  n'etes  pas  a 
votre  place,  dans  mon  armoire."  —  "Comment,  je  ne  suis  pas  k  ma 
place?  Ah!  je  vas  t'en  faire  une  place!  "  Monsieur  le  cure  prend 
le  couteau  a  pain,  et  tranche  le  cou  de  sa  servante.  La  servante  est 
morte,  et  le  cure  est  fier  d'essayer  son  sifflet.  II  I'applique  de  la  meme 
maniere  que  Pois-verts:  "Tourlututu!  reviendras-tu  ?"  La  servante 
ne  grouille  pas.  "Tourlututu,  reviendras-tu?"  Rien!  "C'est  cu- 
rieux!  pense  le  cure;  la  premiere  fois  que  Pois-verts  I'a  applique,  la 
vieille  avait  grouille ;  et  la  deuxieme  fois,  elle  s'etait  presque  levee. 
Ici,  c'est  la  troisieme  fois,  et  elle  ne  grouille  pas.  Pourtant  je  I'ai 
bien  applique  comme  Pois-verts.  Tourlututu!  reviendras-tu  ou  ne 
reviendras-tu  pas?"  Mais  la  servante  est  morte  et  elle  y  reste.  Le 
cure  devient  pensif.  "Depuis  longtemps  Pois-verts  me  joue  des 
tours.  Cette  fois-ci,  c'est  le  dernier!  Je  vas  prendre  un  jugement^ 
contre  lui,  et  le  faire  disparaitre. 

Le  cure  prend  done  un  jugement,  et  Pois-verts  est  condamne  h  etre 
mis  dans  un  sac  et  jete  a  la  mer.  Pois-verts  est  satisfait.  Le  soir, 
les  deux  serviteurs  du  cure  viennent  le  chercher,  le  mettent  dans  un 
sac  a  sel,  et  partent  pour  la  mer.  "Non,  je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller;  non, 
je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller!"  crie  Pois-verts  tout  le  long  du  chemin.  Passant 
devant  une  auberge,  les  serviteurs  entrent  prendre  un  coup,^  et  laissent 
le  sac  dehors,  sur  la  galerie.  "Je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller,  je  ne  veux  pas 
y  aller!"  crie  toujours  Pois-verts,  pour  se  desennuyer.  Pendant 
que  les  serviteurs  boivent,  un  pauvre  passe  et,  curieux,  ecoute  Pois- 
verts  crier  dans  le  sac:  "Je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller!"  Approchant,  le 
pauvre  touche  au  sac,  et  demande:  "Oil  ne  veux-tu  pas  aller?"  —  "On 
m'emmene  coucher  avec  la  princesse;  mais  jamais  ils  ne  m'y  feront 
consentir."  —  "Veux-tu  me  donner  ta  place?"  Pois-verts  accepte 
avec  plaisir:  "Detache  le  sac,  et  prends  ma  place!"  Pois-verts  sort 
et  le  pauvre  s'y  fourre.  A  peine  Pois-verts  en  fuite,  les  serviteurs 
arrivent,  prennent  la  poehe,  *  et  pendant  qu'ils  marchent,  le  pauvre 
crie  comme  Pois-verts:  "Je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller,  je  ne  veux  pas  y  aller!" 
—  "Veux,  veux  pas!  ^  repondent  les  serviteurs,  c'est  au  large  que  tu 
vas  aller."  Tenant  le  sac  k  chaque  bout,  ils  comptent  un,  deux,  trois, 
et  vlan!  lachent  le  sac,  qui  tombe  au  large. 

Le  lendemain  matin,  le  cure  demande  a  ses  serviteurs:  "L'avez-vous 
jete  au  large?"  Ils  repondent:  "Soyez  tranquille,  monsieur  le  cur6; 
Pois-verts  vous  a  joue  assez  de  tours;  il  ne  reviendra  jamais!"  —  "En- 

i  Pour  ne  crains  pas,  sois  tranquille! 

2  I.e.,  faire  prononcer  un  jugement  contre  lui,  en  cour  de  justice. 

3  I.e.,  boire.  *  I.e.,  sac.  5  Pour  ne  veux  pas. 


102  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

fin,  j'en  serai  bien  d^barrass^!"  pense  le  cur6,  en  se  promenant  comme 
d'habitude  sur  la  galerie. 

Apres  diner,  il  voit  venir  uu  troupeau  de  betes  a  cornes.  Plus  le 
troupeau  approche,  plus  celui  qui  les  mene  ressemble  a  Pois-verts. 
Appelant  un  de  ses  serviteurs,  le  cur6  lui  dit:  "Voila  un  beau  troupeau 
de  betes  a  cornes.  Mais,  regarde  done  en  arriere;  5a  m'a  Fair  de  Pois- 
verts."  —  "Qa  ne  se  pent  pas,  r^pond  I'autre;  hier  au  soir,  nous  I'avons 
foute^  a  I'eau."  —  "Regarde  conCVfaut^"^  serviteur;  9a  m'a  I'air  de 
Pois-verts!" 

De  fait,  Pois-verts,  le  baton  a  la  main,  menait  le  troupeau,  et  de 
temps  en  temps  criait:  '^Ourche,  mourche!"  Sur  le  bout  des  pieds 
pour  mieux  voir,  le  cure  dit:  "C'est  Pois-verts!"  —  "Bonsoir,  monsieur 
le  cur^;  monsieur  le  cure,  bonsoir!"  fait  Pois-verts  en  passant  devant 
le  presbytere.  "Comment,  Pois-verts,  mais  c'est  ben  toi?"  —  "Oui, 
monsieur  le  curd,  c'est  ben  moi."  —  "Mais  d'oil  viens-tu  avec  toutes 
ces  betes  a  cornes?"  —  "Ah!  monsieur  le  cur6,  ne  m'en  parlez  pas! 
Si  vos  serviteurs  m'avaient  seulement  jete  dix  pieds  plus  loin,  je  vous 
ramenais  les  deux  plus  beaux  chevaux  noirs  qu'on  aie  jamais  vus  dans 
la  province.  Mais  ils  m'ont  jete  au  milieu  de  ce  troupeau  de  betes  a 
cornes,  que  j'ai  ramend  avec  moi."  Le  cure  tombe  encore  dans  le 
panneau,  et  croit  Pois-verts.  "Si  j'y  allais  moi-meme,  Pois-verts? 
Toi  qui  connais  la  distance.  .  .  ?"  —  "Je  vous  garantis,  monsieur  le 
curd,  que  je  ne  manquerais  pas  mon  coup!  Si  un  de  vos  serviteurs 
m'aide,  ce  soir,  je  vous  jetterai  en  plein  milieu  des  beaux  chevaux." 
Accepts!  Pois-verts  continue  et  mene  le  troupeau  sur  sa  ferme. 
Quand  il  revient,  le  soir,  il  aide  le  curd  a  entrer  dans  le  sac,  et  s'en  va 
avec  un  serviteur  le  porter  au  bord  de  la  mer.  "Foutons^  monsieur 
le  cure  au  large,"  dit  Pois-verts;  et  vlan!  monsieur  le  curd  s'en  va 
rejoindre  le  pauvre  au  fond  de  la  mer,  oil  il  est  reste. 

Avec  tous  ses  tours,  Pois-verts  devint  un  gros  commergant. 

LfiGENDES  ET  CONTES  CHRETIENS. 
22.    LARRIV^E    ET    SON    SAC.  * 

Un  jour,  Notre-Seigneur  arrive  au  bord  d'une  riviere,  ou  se  trouvent 
deux  pecheurs.  "Bon jour,  Larrivee!"  dit-il  a  I'un  d'eux.  Larrivde 
demande:  "Qui  t'a  dit  mon  nom  ?"  —  "Je  te  connais  depuis  long- 
temps,"  repond  Notre-Seigneur,  en  ajoutant:  "Larrivde,  tu  vas  me 
traverser  de  I'autre  cotd  de  la  riviere."  Mais  celui-ci  refuse  net, 
disant:  "Je  n'ai  pas  de  barque."  —  "Tu  vas  me  traverser  sur  ton  dos!" 

I  I.e.,  jeie.  2  Pour  comme  ilfaut,  ou  attentivement.  ^  I.e.,  jetons. 

*  Conte  r(5cit6  a  Lorette,  en  ao<it,  1914,  par  Prudent  Sioui,  qui  le  d^signait 
comme  "une  hi$toire  vraie."  Sioui  I'avait  appris  de  son  pere,  C16ment  Sioui,  lequel 
I'avait  peut-etre,  k  son  tour,  appris  d'une  de  ses  soeurs,  une  bonne  conteuse. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  103 

Se  pensant  bon  nageur,  Larrivee  se  dit :  "S'il  veut  se  noyer,  je  le  jetterai 
en  bas."  II  part  k  la  nage,  avec  Notre-Seigneur  sur  son  dos.  Au 
milieu  de  la  riviere,  Larrivee  enfonceetade  I'eau  jusqu'a  la  bouche. 
"Si  tu  fais  ton  plaisant,  *  dit-il,  je  te  jette  a  I'eau."  Mais  Notre- 
Seigneur  lui  repond;  ''Continue,  Larrivee!"  Et  aussitot  il  commence 
k  revenir  sur  I'eau.  Une  fois  a  terre  de  I'autre  cote,  Notre-Seigneur 
dit:  "Tu  vas  retourner  chercher  mon  associ^,  ^  de  I'autre  cote."  — 
"Associe ?  mais  qui  va  me  payer?"  —  "Au  retour  de  ton  voyage,  je  te 
paierai."  Larrivee  retourne  done  chercher  saint  Pierre,  I'associe 
de  Notre-Seigneur.  Une  fois  reunis  ensemble  sur  I'autre  rive,  il 
s'agit  du  paiement.  Notre-Seigneur  dit:  "Que  pref^res-tu?  le  ciel 
apr^s  la  mort,  ou  bien,  le  sac  ^  que  voici.  Dans  ce  sac,  tout  ce  que  tu 
souhaiteras  y  rentrera."  Larrivee  se  met  a  penser:  "Le  ciel  apr^s  la 
mort,  ou  bien  ce  sac.  Notre-Seigneur!  je  prefere  le  sac."  —  "Tu  fais 
mal  Larrivee,  tu  refuses  le  ciel?  tu  ne  verras  jamais  Dieu."  —  "Je 
pr^fdre  le  sac,  Notre-Seigneur,  parce  que  je  veux  jouir  un  peu  sur  la 
terre."  Et  il  ajoute:  "Je  veUx  essayer  le  sac."  —  "Essaie-le."  Larri- 
vee souhaite  un  dejeuner  de  premiere  classe^  dans  son  sac,  pour  tons 
les  trois.     Aussitot  souhaite,  rien  ne  manque  au  dejeuner. 

Apr^s  le  repas,  Notre-Seigneur  et  saint  Pierre  partent  de  leur  c6t6. 
Reste  quelques  minutes  pensif,  Larrivee  s'en  va  rejoindre  sa  femme. 
En  arrivant  a  son  logis,  il  s'ecrie.  "II  n'y  a  plus  de  pauvrete  pour 
nous."  —  "Tu  es  encore  le  meme,"  repond  sa  femme.  "Non,non!  j'ai 
un  secret.  Ast'heure,  nous  sommes  independants;  et  je  vas  t'en  donner 
la  preuve.  Mets  la  table!"  Sa  dame  met  la  table.  Larrivee 
prend  son  sac  et  souhaite  un  souper  de  premiere  classe  pour  lui-meme 
et  pour  sa  femme.     Le  souper  arrive  et  rien  ne  manque. 

Apres  souper,  Larrivee  dit  pour  la  troisieme  fois:  "Je  vas  essayer 
mon  sac.  Je  souhaite  qu'il  y  ait  un  derai-minot  d'argent."  Et  le 
demi-minot  s'y  trouve  complet.  Sur  quoi  il  dit  a  sa  femme:  "Notre- 
Seigneur  ne  m'a  pas  trompe." 

Larrivee  avait  entendu  dire  qu'un  chateau  du  voisinage  6tait 
"garde,"  ^  et  que  personne  n'y  pouvait  rester.  II  prend  son  sac,  s'en 
va  chez  le  roi,  et  lui  demande  la  permission  de  passer  la  nuit  dans  le 
chateau  "garde,"  oil  personne  ne  pouvait  rester.  Content,  le  roi  la 
lui  donne,  et  le  fait  accompagner  d'un  domestique.  Larrivee  et  le 
domestique  du  roi  arrivent  au  chateau,  et  Larrivee  dit:  "Quand  tu 
verras  quelque  chose,  dis-le  moi." 

Au  courant  de  la  veillee,  un  bruit  vient  de  la  cheminee;  aussitot 
un  autre  bruit  plus  effra^'ant.  Au  troisieme  bruit,  trois  hommes 
noirs  sortent  de  la  cheminee.     En  entrant  dans  la  chambre  ou  se  trou- 

i  Pour  drole.  2  Pour  compagnon. 

3  Sioui  disait  poche.  *  De  premiere  qualiU. 

6  Hants. 


104  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

vent  Larriv^e  et  le  domestique,  ils  se  disent:  "On  va  toujours  bien 
jouer  de  la  pelotte!"  Et  saisissant  le  domestique,  ils  se  le  lancent 
d'un  mur  a  I'autre.  A  la  fin,  le  domestique  est  mort.  Ils  viennent 
done  pour  saisir  Larriv^e  et  lui  en  faire  autant.  "Tenez-vous  tran- 
quille!  leur  dit-il;  moi,  je  ne  suis  pas  habitu^  a  ce  jeu-la."  Les  trois 
hommes  noirs  se  mettent  a  sourire,  et  rdpondent :  "Si  tu  n'y  es  pas 
habitue,  tu  vas  t'y  habituer."  —  "C'est  mieux  pour  vous  autres  de 
vous  tenir  tranquilles."  Mais  ils  viennent  pour  saisir  Larriv^e,  qui 
les  souhaite  tous  les  trois  dans  son  sac.  Aussitot  souhaite,  aussitot 
fait.  Ils  sont  tous  les  trois  dans  le  sac.  Larriv^e  attache  le  sac,  et 
le  jette  dans  un  coin  en  disant:  "Je  vas  au  moins  passer  le  reste  de  la 
nuit  tranquille." 

Le  lendemain,  de  bonne  heure  le  matin,  le  roi  se  hdte  d'envoyer 
quelqu'un  s'informer  de  ce  qu'est  devenu  Larriv^e.  Mais  Larriv^e 
n'est  plus  1^.  Parti  au  petit  jour  avec  son  sac  contenant  les  trois 
hommes  noirs  sur  son  dos,  il  arrive  chez  un  forgeron  et  lui  demande: 
"Combien  veux-tu  pour  fesser'  une  heure  de  temps  sur  ce  sac?"  Le 
forgeron  refuse  Touvrage.  Mais  Larrivee  lui  dit:  "Tu  vas  faire  ce 
que  je  te  dis;  tu  y  es  oblige."  Le  forgeron  consent,  vu  que  Larrivee 
lui  promet  un  demi-minot  d'argent.  Quand  le  forgeron  e^t  claqu^ 
une  heure,  Larrivee  ouvre  le  sac,  et  les  trois  individus  disparaissent. 
Souhaitant  aussitot  un  demi-minot  d'argent  pour  le  forgeron,  Larrivee 
paye  sa  dette,  disant:  "Mesure-le,  si  tu  crois  que  le  demi-minot  d'ar- 
gent n'y  est  pas."  —  "Je  suis  satisfait,"  repond  I'autre.  De  la,  Lar- 
rivee s'en  va  trouver  sa  femme. 

Un  jour,  Larrivee  arrive  a  son  logis,  et,  fort  avanc^  sur  I'age,  il 
se  pense  sur  le  point  de  mourir.  II  tombe  malade  durant  la  nuit,  et 
dit  a  sa  femme:  "Si  je  viens  a  mourir,  n'oublie  pas  de  mettre  mon  sac 
sous  ma  tete."  II  ajoute:  "C'est  un  sac  beni  de  Dieu;  tout  ce  que  j'y 
souhaite  y  entre.  Pour  I'avoir,  j'ai  refuse  le  ciel."  C'etait  la  le  testa- 
ment de  Larrivee.  Sa  femme  lui  promet  de  le  faire;  et  aussitot, 
Larrivee  lache  le  dernier  soupir.  Mais  sa  femme  garde  le  sac.  Arriv^ 
de  I'autre  cot^,  ^  il  frappe  a  la  porte  du  ciel,  pan,  pan,  pan!  Saint 
Pierre  demande:  "Qui  est  la?"  —  "C'est  Larrivee."  —  "Tu  peux  t'en 
aller,  repond  saint  Pierre;  ta  place  n'est  pas  ici;  tu  as  refus^  le  ciel 
pour  un  sac,  Ta  place  n'est  pas  ici."  Larrivee,  pensif,  demande: 
"De  quel  cot^  voulez-vous  que  j'aille?"  —  "En  enfer!"  Larrivee 
s'en  va  done  a  I'enfer,  frappe  a  la  porte,  pan,  pan,  pan!  "Qui  es-tu?" 
demande  le  diable,  "Je  suis  Larrivee."  —  "Larrivee?  As-tu  encore 
ton  sac?"'' — "Oui!"  repond  Larrivee.  "Va-t'en!  crie  le  diable; 
je  ne  veux  pas  te  voir  ici." 

1  I.e.,  frapper  du  marteau.  2  I.e.,  dans  I'autre  monde. 

3  Ici  il  devient  evident  que  dans  I'esprit  du  narrateur,  les  trois  hommes  noirs 
n'6taient  autres  que  le  diable  ou  ses  (5missaires. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  105 

Fier  de  reviver  de  hord,  Larrivee  retourne  au  ciel  et  frappe  h.  la 
porte,  pan,  pan,  pan!  Saint  Pierre  demande:  "Qui  est  1^?"  Larri- 
vee!"—  "Je  t'ai  dit  tout  a  I'heure  que  ta  place  etait  en  enfer,  vu  que 
tu  as  refuse  le  ciel.  Tu  fais  aussi  bien  de  t'en  retourner;  tu  n'entreras 
pas  ici.     Ta  place  est  en  enfer." 

Larrivee  dit:  "J'ai  regu  un  paiement  de  Notre-Seigneur,  mais  de 
vous,  aucun  paiement.  Une  grace  pour  vous  avoir  fait  traverser  la 
riviere:  celle  de  me  permettre  de  re  voir  ma  femme."  Saint  Pierre 
le  lui  permet. 

Larrivee  arrive  a  sa  maison,  entre,  et  dit  a  sa  femme:  "Malheureuse! 
tu  m'as  trompe.  Tu  as  garde  mon  sac,  malgre  ta  promesse  de  me  le 
mettre  sous  la  tete.  J'ai  hen  rase  '  d'aller  en  enfer  tout  dret.  ^  Vite  ! 
donne-moi  mon  sac  pour  quelques  minutes."  Aussitot  qu'il  tient 
le  sac,  Larrivee  disparait.  Arrive  au  ciel,  il  frappe  a  la  porte.  "Qui 
est  la?"  demande  saint  Pierre.  "C'est  Larrivee."  —  "Je  t'ai  dit  que 
ta  place  n'est  pas  ici,  mais  en  enfer."  —  "Je  suis  alle  a  I'enfer,  et  on 
ne  veut  pas  de  moi.  Je  viens  ici ;  vous  ne  voulez  pas  de  moi.  Oil 
voulez-vous  done  que  j'aille?"  Pas  de  reponse.  "Encore  une 
grace,  saint  Pierre!  demande  Larrivee;  entrebaillez  done  la  porte,  que 
je  puisse  voir  la  beaute  du  ciel."  En  souriant,  saint  Pierre  entrebaille 
la  porte.  Larrivee  aussitot  jette  son  sac  dans  le  ciel  et  se  souhaite 
dedans.  Sitot  souhaite,  sitot  fait.  Se  mettant  a  rire,  saint  Pierre 
prend  le  sac,  I'attache  et  le  jette  en  arriere  de  la  porte  du  ciel. 

Si  vous  allez  au  ciel,  jetez  un  coup  d'oeil  derriere  la  porte,  et  vous  y 
verrez  Larrivee  dans  son  sac. 

23.    PIPETTE.  ' 

Une  fois,  c'etait  Pipette.  Un  gars  paresseux  s'il  y  en  avait  un, 
il  vivait  sans  travailler,  chez  son  pdre.  Son  pere  lui  dit,  un  jour: 
"Pipette,  tu  es  capable  de  travailler,  va-t'en!"  —  "Vous  allez  toujours 
ben  me  donner  quelque  chose  avant  que  je  parte."  Le  bonhomrae, 
qui  est  en  moyens,  lui  donne  ses  droits — assez  d'argent. 

Voila  mon  Pipette  parti.  Rendu  k  une  auberge,  il  entre  et  se  met  k 
f^ter.  Notre-Seigneur,  dans  ce  temps-U,  s'adonnait  a  rouler  sur  la 
terre  avec  le  bon  saint  Jacques,  tous  les  deux.  Rencontrant  Pipette 
dans  I'auberge,  ils  se  traitent  et  fetent.  D'une  auberge  k  I'autre,  k 
force  de  feter  avec  ses  amis,  Pipette  arrive  au  bout  de  son  argent. 
De  maniere  que,  il  part  et  marche,  marche.  Avec  les  quelques  sous 
qui  lui  restent,  il  entre  dans  une  maison  s'acheter  un  pain.  Prenant 
la  route,  il  entre  dans  un  bois  et  marche  le  long  du  sentier.  Comme 
il  coupe  son  pain  en  deux  pour  le  manger,  il  rencontre  le  bon  saint 

1  I.e.,  venu  bien  pres.  2  i.e.,  tout  droit. 

3  R^citd  h  Saint-Victor,  Beauce,  en  aodt,  1914,  par  Paul  Patry,  qui  diaait 
avoir  appris  ce  conte  de  son  oncle,  Franjois  Coulombe. 


106  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Jacques.  "Bonjour,  Pipette!  tu  manges,  la?"  —  "Oui!  As-tu  faim, 
saint  Jacques?"  —  "Oui,  j'ai  faim."  Avec  son  couteau  de  poche,^ 
Pipette  coupe  un  morceau  de  pain  et  lui  donne,  disant :  "  Mange !  " 

Un  peu  plus  loin,  ils  rencontrent  Notre-Seigneur.  "Bonjour, 
Pipette!"  —  "Saa^e!^  il  dit,  bonjour!"  —  "Tu  es  apres  manger?"  — 
"Oui!  as-tu  faim?"  Notre-Seigneur  r^pond:  "Oui."  Pipette  coupe 
un  morceau  de  son  pain  et  le  donne  a  Notre-Seigneur.  Et  ils  se 
separent. 

Pipette  marche,  marche.  Dans  le  bois,  plus  loin,  il  rencontre 
Notre-Seigneur  et  le  bon  saint  Jacques,  cette  fois  tous  les  deux  en- 
semble. "Ah,  disent-ils,  bonjour,  mon  pauvre  Pipette,  bonjour!  Je 
suis  certain  qu'il  ne  te  reste  rien?"  —  "Non,  il  ne  me  reste  rien.  Je 
suis  pauvre  comme  un  rat  d'^glise."  Le  bon  saint  Jacques  dit:  "Pi- 
pette, tu  es  d'un  bon  coeur;  ^  tu  as  toujours  6t6  g^n^reux.  Je  voudrais 
te  faire  un  petit  don."  —  "Qu'est-ce  que  c'est?"  —  "Voici  une  petite 
baguette;  tout  ce  que  tu  souhaiteras,  elle  te  le  donnera."  En  disant: 
"Merci  bien!"  Pipette  met  la  baguette  dans  sa  poche.  Le  voyant 
faire,  Notre-Seigneur  lui  dit:  "Que  veux-tu  que  je  te  donne?" — "Je 
le  sais-ii,  ^  moi!"  Le  bon  saint,  en  arriere,  le  pousse:  "Pipette,  de- 
demande-lui  done  le  paradis  a  la  fin  de  tes  jours,  c'est  Notre-Seigneur!" 
—  "Laisse-moi  done  tranquille!  Je  le  gagnerai  comme  les  autres, 
quand  je  le  pourrai."  Le  bon  saint  Jacques  r^pete:  "Demande  done 
le  paradis  a  Notre-Seigneur."  Notre-Seigneur  prend  encore  la 
parole:  "Que  vais-je  te  donner?"  —  "Cou'don!^  donnez-moi  un  jeu 
de  cartes  qui  me  fera  gagner  quand  je  voudrai."  Notre-Seigneur  le 
lui  donne. 

Avec  sa  baguette.  Pipette  se  batit  une  belle  maison,  et  y  vit  bien 
des  ann^es,  bien  des  ann(5es. 

Un  bon  jour,  le  bon  Dieu  dit:  "Nous  avons  oubli^  Pipette."  A  la 
Mort  il  ordonne:  "Va  q^ri^  Pipette!"  La  Mort,  en  arrivant,  dit:  "Bon- 
jour, Pipette!"  —  "Bonjour!  qui  es-tu?"  —  "Je  suis  la  Mort."  — 
"Pourquoi  viens-tu  ici?"  —  "Je  viens  te  q^ri,  Pipette.  II  y  a  tres 
longtemps  que  tu  es  sur  la  terre."  —  "Pourquoi  ne  m'as-tu  pas  averti  ? 
Je  n'ai  pas  la  barbe  faite."  II  ajoute:  "Pendant  que  je  vas  me  greyer, 
va  dans  Tarbre  devant  la  porte  m'emplir  ce  panier  de  cenelles,  pour 
qu'on  les  mange  en  chemin."  La  Mort  monte  dans  I'arbre  de  cenelles, 
et  Pipette,  prenant  sa  baguette,  souhaite:  "Que  la  Mort  reste  collie 
dans  le  cenellier  tant  qu'elle  ne  renoncera  pas  a  m'emporter."     Voyant 

1  I.e.,  un  canif. 

2  Juron  exprimant  ici  la  surprise  ou  le  plaisir. 

3  I.e.,  tu  as  bon  caur. 

4  Pour  sais-t-il;  i.e.,  le  sais-je.  Ti  comprenant  la  consonne  t  suivie  du  pro- 
nom  impersonnel  il  est  devenu  une  particule  interrogative  tres  usit^e  ici. 

5  Ecoutez  done  ! 

6  I.e.,  chercher;  deriv6  de  qu^rir. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  107 

qu'elle  ne  pent  plus  se  demancher,  la  Mort  dit:  ^'Largue^-moi  done, 
Pipette,  et  je  to  laisserai  aller."  —  "C'est  bien!"  dit  Pipette,  en  laissant 
descendre  la  Mort,  qui  file  au  plus  vite.  La  Mort  dit  au  bon  Dieu: 
"S'il  faut  aller  le  q'ri,  vous  irez,  vous!  II  m'a  coU^  dans  son  cenellier; 
je  n'irai  plus." 

Apr^s  9a,  Pipette  vecut  encore  bien  longtemps.  Le  bon  Dieu  dit, 
un  jour:  "Sais-tu  bien  qu'on  a  oublie  Pipette?"  —  "Je  ne  veux  plus  y 
aller,"  repond  la  Mort.  'Tuisque  la  Mort  ne  veut  plus  y  aller,  dit 
le  bon  Dieu,  il  faut  envoyer  le  diable  le  q'ri."  Le  diable  part  et 
arrive  chez  Pipette.  "Bonjour,  Pipette!"  —  "Bonjour,  <oz7"  —  "Je 
suis  le  diable,  et  je  viens  te  q'ri."  —  "Tu  viens  me  ^'n?  Mais  il 
fallait  done  me  le  dire,  je  ne  suis  pas  change,  nifoute  ni  rien.  Assis-toi 
dans  cette  chaise,"  dit  Pipette  en  poussant  sa  belle  grande  berg^re. 
Le  diable  s^assit  durant  que  Pipette  va  chercher  du  beau  bois  sec  qu'il 
corde  dans  la  chemin^e,  sur  le  feu.  Assis  devant  ce  gros  feu,  qui  le 
brtile,  le  diable  se  reboute.^  "Lache-moi,  Pipette,  tu  me  brdles!" 
Mais  I'autre  pousse  la  chaise  plus  pr^s  du  feu,  pousse  encore.  II  fait 
si  chaud  que  les  orteils  du  diable  en  rougissent.  "Pipette,  largue-moi, 
largue-moiV^  —  "Je  te  larguerai  quand  tu  m'auras  promis  que  jamais 
je  n'irai  dans  ton  enfer."     Le  diable  le  lui  promet  et  se  sauve. 

Toujour s  que  voila  mon  Pipette  vieux  extraordinaire. '  Un  jour, 
il  fait  demander  tous  ses  gens  autour  de  lui,  et  leur  ayant  donn6 
tous  ses  biens,  il  se  fait  enterrer  en  vie.  Une  fois  enterr^,  il  est  mort. 
Mort,  il  s'en  va  k  la  porte  du  paradis:  "Saint  Pierre,  ouvrez-moi  la 
porte?"  —  "Qui  est  1^?"  —  "Pipette."  Le  bon  Dieu  dit:  "La  Mort 
n'a  pas  pu  t'emmener.  Je  ne  veux  pas  te  laisser  entrer  au  paradis. 
Va-t'en  en  enfer.  Je  te  donne  au  diable,  et  vas-y."  Pipette  part  et 
s'en  va  k  I'enfer,  "Ouvre-moi  la  porte,"  demande-t-il  au  diable. 
"Va-t'en,  Pipette,  je  ne  veux  pas  te  voir  dans  mon  enfer;  tu  m'as  trop 
fait  brtiler."  S'en  retournant  au  paradis,  Pipette  dit:  "Cou'don!  il 
faut  tou jours  que  je  couche  quelque  part,  et  le  diable  ne  veut  pas  de 
moi.  Saint  Pierre,  ouvrez-moi  la  porte."  — "Tu  sais  bien  que  le 
bon  Dieu  ne  veut  pas."  —  "Laissez-moi  done  me  cacher  derri^re  la 
porte;  il  faut  bien  que  j'aille  quelque  part."  Saint  Pierre  laisse  entrer 
Pipette,  qui  s'accroupit  derriere  la  porte,  et  ne  grouille  pas.  A  la  fin, 
Pipette  sort  ses  cartes,  et  a  un  autre  d  ras  *  lui,  qui  est  assis  sur  un  petit 
billotte,^  il  dit:  "Veux-tu  jouer  aux  cartes  avec  moi?"  —  "Comment, 
jouer  aux  cartes?"  —  "Oui,  jouons  place  pour  place."  lis  jouent 
trois  parties,  et  Pipette  gagne.  L§  voil^  assis  sur  le  petit  billotte. 
Un  autre,  tout  pres,  est  assis  sur  une  chaise:  "Veux-tu  jouer  aux 
cartes?"  demande  Pipette.     "Comment,  jouer  aux  cartes?"  —  "Oui, 

1  Terme  d'origine  marine,  signifiant  Idche-^moi. 

2  I.e.,  s'arc-boute.  3  Sens  adverbial. 

♦  I.e.,  prbs  de.  5  Pour  billot,  bikhe. 


108  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

jouons  place  pour  place."  Jouent  trois  parties.  Pipette  gagne 
encore  et  se  trouve  assis  sur  une  chaise.  Apres  ga,  Pipette  passe  son 
temps  a  jouer  aux  cartes.  A  celui  qui  est  assis  pres  du  bon  Dieu, 
Pipette  demande:  "Veux-tu  jouer  aux  cartes  avec  moi  ?"  —  "Comment, 
jouer  aux  cartes?"  —  "Oui,  jouons  place  pour  place."  Jouent  done 
place  pour  place;  et  Pipette  gagne  encore.  Le  voila  assis  pres  du  bon 
Dieu.  "Bon  Dieu!  bon  Dieu!  veux-tu  jouer  aux  cartes  avec  moi?" 
"Cou^don,  Pipette!  tu  es  hen  la,  restes-y!" 
Et  ils  me  Font  envoye  raconter. 

24.    CACHOLET.  ^ 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois,  c'etait  un  bticheron  et  sa  femme. 
L'homme  etait  dur  pour  sa  femme,  et  ne  trouvait  jamais  qu'elle 
faisait  assez.  Quand  il  allait  bucher,  le  matin,  il  lui  donnait  une 
tache,  lui  ordonnant  de  filer  tant-  d'echeveaux.  Si  elle  ne  pouvait 
le  faire,  il  I'envoyait  se  coucher  sans  souper,  ou  bien,  lui  foutait  ^  la 
volee. 

Un  bon  matin,  le  bijcheron  se  leve  pas  trop  de  bonne  humeur,  et 
dit  a  sa  femme:  "Si  tu  ne  files  pas  toute  cette  laine  dans  trois  jours, 
ta  vie  sera  au  boute."  *  Et  il  lui  donne  plus  de  laine  que  trois  crieiures  ^ 
n'en  auraient  pu  filer  dans  un  mois.  "Tu  vois  toujours  bien  que  je  ne 
suis  pas  capable  de  filer  ga  dans  trois  jours."  Mais  il  r^pete:  "Je  te 
donne  trois  jours  et  pas  plus."  L'homme  n'^tait  pas  sorti  que  sa 
femme  se  met  a  pleurer:  "Je  suis  bien  certaine  de  mourir,  car  je  ne 
suis  pas  capable  de  filer  9a  dans  trois  jours."  Tout  k  coup,  on  frappe 
a  la  porte.  "Entrez!"  —  "Bonjour!  madame."  —  "Bonjour!  mon- 
sieur! Asseyez-vous!"  —  "Vous  avez  Fair  bien  triste,  madame?" 
—  "Oui,  je  le  suis,  mon  cher  monsieur.  On  pourrait  I'etre  a  moins. 
Regardez  la  laine  dont  cette  chambre  est  remplie;  eh  hen!  si  je  ne  I'ai 
pas  toute  filee  dans  trois  jours,  mon  mari  va  m'oter  la  vie."  —  "Vous 
etes  ben  en  peine  pour  rien,  dit  le  visiteur;  voulez-vous  m'en  donner 
a  filer,  a  moi?  Je  vas  vous  aider.  Je  ne  vous  demanderai  pas  un 
sou,  pourvu  que  vous  deviniez  mon  nom."  Pensant  qu'il  ^tait  un 
homme  de  la  place,"  sans  plus  penser,  elle  consent,  et  lui  donne  la 
laine,  se  disant:  "Je  n'aurai  qu'a  m'en  informer  pour  le  savoir."  Mais 
elle  reste  pensive.  A  peine  est-il  parti,  elle  s'apergoit  que  I'etranger 
n'est  pas  un  homme  ordinaire,  son  pied  gauche  6tant  fait  comme  celui 
d'un  cheval.     "Mon  dou!''  je  ere  hen^  que  c'etait  le  diable.     Comment 

1  Raconte  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  de  Lorette,  en  aout,  1914. 

2  I.e.,  un  tel  nomhre. 

3  I.e.,  donnait. 
*  I.e.,  finie. 

5  I.e.,  femmes;  creatures  n'est  pas  pris  ici  dans  un  sens  p^joratif. 

6  I.e.,  de  Verulroit. 

7  I.e.,  mon  Dieu!  Don  est  "  Dieu,"  en  breton.  8  I.e.,  crois  bien. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  109 

deviner  son  nom  ?"  Elle  ne  se  trompait  pas.  C'^tait  le  diable  d^- 
guis6  en  homme  qui  ^tait  ainsi  venu  chez  elle. 

Quand  son  mari  revient,  le  soir,  il  remarque  qu'elle  a  un  air  hen 
piteux;  mais  il  n'en  fait  pas  grand  cas,  si  fait  *  qu'il  lui  avait  men6 
le  diable^  avant  de  partir.  Le  lendemain  matin,  il  trouve  strange 
de  la  voir  si  triste,  elle  qui  avait  toujours  la  meme  fagon  en  vers  lui. 
"Qu'as-tu?  lui  demande-t-il.     "Rien!"  repond-elle. 

C'etait  le  lendemain  que  le  diable  revenait.  Le  b^cheron  dit  k 
sa  femme:  "Tu  vas  toujou  ben  ^  me  dire  pourquoi  tu  es  si  triste."  Elle 
r^pond:  "Tu  sais,  la  t^che  que  tu  m'as  impos^e?  Tu  m'as  donn^ 
autant  de  laine  a  filer  dans  trois  jours  que  trois  crietures  seraient 
capables  de  le  faire  dans  un  mois.  Eh  ben!  quand  tu  es  parti,  Tautre 
matin,  un  homme  a  frapp6  a  la  porte.  Je  lui  ai  dit  d'entrer.  II  m'a 
demand^  ee  que  j 'avals  a  etre  si  triste,  a  pleurer.  Lui  montrant  la 
laine  qui  j 'avals  a  filer,  je  lui  ai  dit  mon  d^couragement.  II  m'a 
r^pondu:  'Voulez-vous  m'en  donner;  je  vas  vous  aider;  et  vous  allez 
voir  comme  je  prendrai  peu  de  temps  a  le  faire.  Je  ne  vous  deman- 
derai  pas  un  sou  si  vous  devinez  mon  nom.  Je  I'avais  pris  pour  un 
homme  de  la  place; ^ mais  je  suis  a  present  siire  que  c'^tait  le  diable; 
il  avait  un  pied  de  cheval.  Comment  deviner  son  nom?  Je  suis 
bien  certaine  qu'il  va  m'emporter." 

Malgr^  qu'il  f6t  bien  dur  pour  elle,  son  mari  est  un  peu  touchy  de  la 
voir  si  en  peine,  et  de  I'entendre  pleurer  effrayant.  ^  "Ne  sois  pas  si 
en  peine!  Son  nom,  on  le  devinera  bien!  C'est  lui  que  j'entends  filer 
dans  les  bois;  j'^couterai  aujourd'hui,  et  te  dirai  son  nom  ce  soir." 

L'homme  s'en  va  bucher  au  bois,  comme  d'habitude,  et  s^assit  sur 
une  btjche  pour  se  reposer.  Tout  a  coup,  il  entend  virer  ^  un  rouette;  ^ 
et  le  rouette  file  a  en  faire  du  feu;  et  quelqu'un  chante: 

"Si  tu  savais  que  je  m'appelle  Cacholet, 
Tu  ne  serais  pas  si  en  peine  que  tu  es." 

Le  bticheron  avait  tout  entendu,  et,  le  soir,  il  dit  a  sa  femme:  "Ne 
sois  pas  en  peine.  Son  nom,  je  I'ai!  Demain  matin,  me  qu'il^  vienne, 
tu  lui  demanderas:  'Ne  t'appelles-tu  pas  Cacholet,  par  hasard?'" 

Comme  de  fait,^  le  bticheron  est  a  peine  parti  que  le  diable  arrive : 
"Tiens!  la  voila,  la  laine.  Ton  mari  ne  te  tuera  pas.  Mais  il  faut  que 
tu  devines  mon  nom."  La  femme  fait  semblant  de  ne  le  pas  savoir. 
"Mon  cher  monsieur!  votre  nom,  c'est  malise^^  h  deviner,  vu  que 
personne  dans  le  canton  ne  vous  connait."  —  "Oui!  mais  vous  savez 
votre  promesse.     Si  vous  ne  pouvez  deviner  mon  nom,  vous  m'appar- 

1  I.e.,  vu.  2  I.e.,  lui  avait  fait  guerelle. 

3  I.e.,  toujours  bien.  ■*  I.e.,  du  village. 

6  I.e.,  affreusement.  6  I.e.,  tourner. 

7  I.e.,  rou^t.  8  Pour  quand  il. 

9  I.e.,  en  effet,  de  fait.  lo  I.e.,  mai  aise,  pas  facile. 


110  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

tenez,  et  je  vous  emm^ne  avec  moi."  La  femme  pense,  et  puis  dit: 
"Est-ce  que  vous  ne  vous  appelez  pas  Cacholet,  par  hasard?"  Se 
trouvant  dejou6,  le  diable  part  en  une  telle  fureur  qu'en  sortant,  il 
arrache  la  porte  et  I'emporte  avec  lui. 

25.    LE    DIABLE    ET   LA    BOUGIE.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  un  homme,  sa  femme  et  leur  petit  gargon.  L'hom- 
me  tous  les  jours  allait  k  la  peche,  mais  il  n'attrapait  jamais  un  poisson. 

"C'est  comme  rien^  d'aller  h  la  peche,"  lui  dit,  un  jour,  sa  femme; 
"tu  ne  prends  jamais  rien.  Tu  ferais  mieux  d'essayer  a  travailler, 
ailleurs  de^  nous  laisser  crever  de  faim."  Mais  sa  reponse  est:  "Pe- 
cher,  c'est  mon  metier!  Je  ne  suis  pas  capable  de  travailler,  et  ne  le 
ferai  point."  Le  lendemain  matin,  il  part  comme  d'ordinaire  pour  la 
peche,  malgr^  les  reproches  de  sa  femme.  Comme  il  peche,  un  homme 
tout  k  coup  se  pr^sente  a  lui  sur  la  rive.  "Que  fais-tu  done  la,  mon 
ami?"  —  "Je  suis  k  pecher.  Je  ne  prends  jamais  rien;  c'est  hen 
curieux!"  —  "Veux-tu  prendre  du  poisson?"  lui  demande  I'individu. 
"Mais  c'est  mon  gagne-pain;  comme  de  raison  que  je  veux  en  prendre!" 
—  "Eh  bien!  si  tu  veux  me  donner  ce  qui  viendra  au-devant  de  toi, 
ta  barque  va  se  remplir  de  poisson."  Le  pecheur  se  dit:  "C'est 
toujours  pas  grand'chose;  ce  qui  va  venir  au-devant  de  moi,  c'est  mon 
petit  chien  noir."  A  I'autre  il  crie:  "C'est  bien!  Vous  aurez  ce  qui 
viendra  au-devant  de  moi."  De  fait,  dans  le  temps  de  rien,  ^  il  attrape 
tant  de  poisson  que  sa  barque  en  est  remplie. 

Mais  au  lieu  de  son  petit  chien  noir,  c'est  son  petit  gargon  qui 
vient  au-devant  de  lui.  La  peur  prend  I'enfant  k  la  vue  de  I'^tranger, 
le  diable  en  personne.  Comme  il  lui  fallait  traverser  un  bois,  I'enfant 
trace  un  grand  rond  dans  le  sable,  y  fait  des  petites  croix  tout  autour, 
et  se  met  au  milieu. 

Voyant  qu'il  a  promis  son  enfant  au  diable,  le  pecheur  est  fort 
d^courag6  et  ne  salt  que  faire.  Mais  sa  femme  lui  dit:  "Laisse-moi 
donc!^  II  faut  lui  jouer  un  tour.  Quand  doit-il  venir?"  —  "De- 
main." 

Le  lendemain,  le  diable  arrive:  "Tu  vois  la  chandelle  que  j'ai  allu- 
m^e?  lui  demande  la  femme;  veux-tu  me  laisser  mon  enfant  jusqu'^ 
ce  qu'elle  s'eteigne  toute  seule?"^  Le  diable  r^pond:  "Mais  beau 
dommage!"''  et  il  pense  en  lui-meme:  "Ca  ne  fait  pas  grand'difference. 
Dans  le  temps  de  rien  cette  chandelle  sera  finie."  A  peine  la  chandelle 
k  moitie  brftlee,  la  femme  la  souffle.     A  present  que  la  chandelle  est 

1  Racont6  k  Lorette,  en  aoGt,  1914,  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  qui  dit  i'avoir 
apprifl  de  son  beau-pSre,  Clement  Sioui. 

»  I.e.,  intdUe,  '  Pour  au  lieu  de. 

*  I.e.,  un  moment.  *  Pour  AUons  done  I 

«  I.e.,  d'eUe-mime.  '  I.e.,  eertainem.ent. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  Ill 

tu4e/  votre  petit  gargon  est  a  moi!"  —  "Mais  non!  r^pond-elle;  la 
chandelle  n'est  pas  morte  toute  seule.     Je  I'ai  soufflde." 

D^jou^,  le  diable  fut  contraint  de  s'en  aller,  a  sa  courte  honte. 
L'enfant  avait  ^t^  d41ivre. 

26.    LE    REVENANT.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'^tait  iin  seigneur  qui  avait  un 
engag^.  L'homme  engag6  lui  dit:  "Je  commence  a  me  tanner  d'etre 
engage,  moi.  J'ai  bien  cent  louis  de  gagn^s  depuis  que  je  travaille 
ici.  Si  vous  voulez  me  preter  un  autre  cent  louis,  je  m'acheterai  une 
terre  et  finirai  mes  jours  chez  moi."  Le  seigneur  r^pond:  "Oui!"  et 
lui  prete  cent  louis,  sans  billet  ni  ^crit. 

Un  bon  jour,  cet  homme  meurt,  laissant  ses  biens  a  sa  veuve.  Le 
seigneur  va  la  trouver  et  dit:  "Madame,  je  viens  chercher  les  cent 
louis  que  j'ai  pret^s  a  votre  mari."  —  "Avez-vous  un  billet?"  de- 
mande  la  femme.  II  repond:  "Non!"  —  "Sans  billet,  vous  n'aurez 
pas  un  sou  de  moi."  Le  seigneur  dit:  "C'est  bien  de  valeur,  ^  madame, 
de  perdre  la  somme  de  cent  louis  parce  qu'il  ne  m'a  pas  donn6  de 
billet."  Mais  la  femme  ne  veut  rien  entendre.  C'est  pourquoi  ce 
seigneur,  tous  les  jours  de  sa  vie,  maudit^  son  engage  dans  le  feu 
^ternel. 

II  fallait  done  que  le  mort  revienne  sur  la  terre  gagner  la  somme 
de  cent  louis.  Se  rendant  chez  un  seigneur  stranger,  il  lui  demande: 
"N'avez-vous  pas  besoin  d'un  homme  engag^?"  —  "Oui,  j'en  ai 
besoin  d'un." 

C'^tait  bien  curieux,  mais  I'engag^  faisait  chaque  jour  I'ouvrage  de 
sept  hommes,  et  ne  mangeait  pas  comme  un. 

Les  servantes,  un  soir,  vont  regarder  par  la  serrure,  dans  sa  chambre. 
Elles  le  voient  se  d^shabiller  et  se  coucher  sur  des  grilles  de  fer  oil  le 
feu  I'entoure.  A  leur  maitre  elles  s'en  vont  dire:  "Seigneur,  il  vous 
coiite  cher  cet  homme-la.  II  a  des  lumieres  a  cceur  de  nuit  dans  sa 
chambre,  et  il  se  couche  sur  des  grilles  de  fer,  ou  le  feu  I'entoure." 
—  "Ce  soir,  repond  le  seigneur,  je  vas  voir  ce  que  §a  veut  dire."  II 
regarde  done  aussi  par  la  serrure,  apergoit  l'homme  qui  se  deshabille, 
met  son  hutin  ^  sur  le  lit  et  se  couche  sur  le  feu  de  la  chemin^e,  ou  les 
flammes  I'entourent. 

Le  lendemain,  il  lui  demande:  "Monsieur,  qu'est-ce  que  ga  veut 
dire  ?     Je  vous  ai  vu,  hier  soir,  oter  votre  hutin,  et  vous  coucher  sur  la 

1  I.e.,  eteinte. 

2  Racont^  par  Achille  Foumier,  k  Saint-Anne,  Kamouraska,  en  jiiillet,  1915. 
Fournier  dit  avoir  entendu  son  oncle,  Pierre  Fournier,  souvent  raconter  ce  conte,  il  y 
a  pr6s  de  cinquante  ans. 

3  I.e.,  regrettable. 

4  I.e.,  souhaite  son  engagi  dans  lefeu  etemel  en  le  maudissant. 

5  Ses  habits. 


112  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

grille,  dans  la  cheminee,ou  les  flammes  vous  entouraient  ?"  L'homme 
repond:  "Monsieur,  je  suis  maudit  tous  les  jours  par  un  tel  seigneur 
(qui  me  souhaite)  dans  le  feu  eternel.  Je  suis  mort  sans  lui  remettre 
la  somme  de  cent  louis  qu'il  m'avait  pr6tee;et  tant  que  ma  dette  ne 
sera  pas  payee,  je  brulerai  dans  le  feu  eternel."  —  "Eh  bien!  monsieur, 
vous  avez  deja  cinquante  louis  de  gagnes  depuis  que  vous  travaillez 
ici.  Je  vas  aller  trouver  ce  seigneur  et  lui  demander  de  vous  donner 
les  autres  cinquante  louis." 

Le  seigneur  s'en  va  done  chez  Tautre:  "Bonjour,  seigneur!"  —  "Bon- 
jour,  seigneur!"  —  Les  seigneurs  se  connaissaient  tous  dans  ce  temps- 
la  ;  ils  avaient  des  insignes.  ^  "Seigneur,  n'y  a-t-il  pas  un  homme 
qui  vous  doit  la  somme  de  cent  louis?"  —  "Oui,  le  maudit!  Tous 
les  jours  je  le  maudis  dans  le  feu  eternel."  —  "Ne  parlez  done  pas 
comme  ga.  Je  vas  vous  remettre  cinquante  louis  pour  lui.  Lui 
donnez-vous  les  autres?"  —  "Non!  le  maudit,  je  souhaite  qu'il 
brlile  dans  le  feu  eternel."  —  "Eh  bien,  moi  je  vous  paye  les  cent  louis." 
II  lui  compte  cet  argent  et  le  lui  remet.  "Lui  souhaitez-vous  une 
bonne  place  dans  le  ciel,  asVheure  qu'il  vous  a  paye?"  —  "Non,  je 
lui  souhaite  une  place  dans  le  feu  eternel  le  restant  de  ses  jours." 
L'autre  dit:  "Mechant  que  vous  etes!  Je  m'en  vas."  A  I'autre  qui 
vient  le  reconduire,  il  repdte:  "Voyons!  avant  que  je  parte,  je  voudrais 
que  vous  lui  souhaitiez  une  bonne  place  dans  le  ciel,  asVheure  qu'il 
vous  a  paye  sa  dette."  —  "Non!  je  souhaite  qu'il  brtlle  dans  les 
flammes  du  feu  eternel."  Comme  il  dit  ga,  la  terre  s'ouvre  et  le  voil^ 
qui  tombe  dans  le  feu  eternel,  oil  on  I'entend  gemir. 

Revenu  chez  lui,  l'autre  seigneur  dit  au  revenant:  "J'ai  pay6  votre 
dette,  mais  il  n'a  pas  voulu  vous  souhaiter  une  place  dans  le  ciel;  il 
vous  maudissait  dans  le  feu  Eternel.  Bien  !  c'est  lui  qui  y  briile 
aujourd'hui.  Le  bon  Dieu  I'a  enfonc6  dans  les  abimes.  Jamais  il 
n'en  sortira."  Le  revenant  dit:  "Vous,  seigneur,  je  vous  souhaite 
une  bonne  place  dans  le  ciel,  a  ras  moi,  me  que^  vous  mourriez."  II 
part  tout  h  coup  en  petite  lumi^re  qui  s'en  va  au  ciel. 

Plus  tard,  quand  le  tour  vint  au  seigneur  de  mourir,  il  eut  une  bonne 
place  au  ciel,  h  cote  de  celui  dont  il  avait  pay6  la  dette. 

On  dit  toujours  qu'un  bienfait  n'est  jamais  perdu.  lis  m'ont 
renvoy^  ici  pour  vous  le  dire. 

CONTES  ROMANESQUES. 

27.    LES    SCEURS  JALOUSES.  ' 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'etait  un  homme,  sa  femme 
et  leurs  trois  filles.     Leur  vieille  masure  se  trouvait  tout  pr^s  du 

1  Probablement  des  blasons. 

2  Quand  vous  mourrez. 

3  R6cit6  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  de  Lorette,  ea  aollt,  1914.  Mme  Sioui 
avait  appria  ce  conte  de  son  beau-pSre,  Clement  Sioui. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  113 

chateau,  et  un  serviteur  du  roi  venait  sou  vent,  en  cachette,  ^  6couter 
ce  que  les  filles  se  disaient.  Un  soir,  elles  se  mettent  k  parler  ainsi: 
*'Nos  parents  sont  vieux  et  incapables  de  travailler.  Mais,  que 
pouvons-nous  faire  pour  eux,  nous,  trois  filles?  Ce  n'est  pas  aise  de 
leur  donner  tout  le  necessaire.  Si  nous  pouvions  trouver  a  nous 
marier!"  Ayant  entendu  qa,  le  serviteur  s'en  va  dire  au  prince  que 
les  filles  voulaient  se  marier.  "Demain  soir,  repond  le  prince,  j'irai 
avec  toi  ecouter  ce  qu'elles  disent."  Le  soir  venu,  pendant  que  le 
prince  cache  pres  de  la  porte  ecoute  tout,  la  plus  agee  des  filles  dit: 
"Tant  qu'k  me  marier,  moi,  j'aimerais  bien  devenir  la  femme  d'un 
boulanger;  je  ne  manquerais  touj ours  pas  de  pain!"  La  seconde  sceur 
dit,  k  son  tour:  "Moi,  tant  qu^k  me  marier,  il  faudrait  que  ce  fAt  k  un 
boucher;  ga  fait  que^  je  ne  manquerais  jamais  de  viande."  La  plus 
jeune  des  soeurs,  une  beaute  rare  qui  s'en  fait  accroire  un  peu,  dit: 
"Pas  moi!  j'aimerais  mieux  me  marier  au  prince;  ga  fait  que  je  ne 
manquerais  jamais  de  rien."  Se  tenant  pres  de  la  fenetre,  le  prince 
entend  tout  et,  le  lendemain,  envoie  un  serviteur  ordonner  aux  trois 
filles  de  venir  au  chateau,  qu'on  voulait  les  voir  sans  faute.  Le  servi- 
teur arrive  chez  les  parents  des  filles  et  dit:  "Le  prince  fait  dem.ander  k 
vos  trois  filles  de  venir  immediatement."  Surpris  de  I'invitation  du 
prince,  les  vieux  parents  pensent:  "Qu'est-ce  que  le  prince  peut  bien 
nous  vouloir,  nous,  pauvres  gens  que  nous  sommes?"  Appelant 
leurs  filles,  ils  leur  demandent:  "Qu'est-ce  que  ga  veut  done  dire,  ga, 
ce  matin?  Le  prince  vous  fait  demander.  Avez-vous  fait  quelque 
coup,'  ou  quelque  chose?"  Leur  r^ponse  est:  "Mais  vous  savez, 
papa,  que  nous  n'avons  rien  fait,  n'ayant  pas  grouille  de*  la  maison. 
II  faut  bien  aller  voir  ce  qu'il  veut." 

Les  filles  se  greyent  done  immediatement  et  partent  pour  le  chateau 
avec  le  domestique.  Une  fois  arrivees  au  chateau,  le  prince  entre 
seul  avec  elles  dans  une  chambre,  et  dit:  "Je  vous  ai  fait  demander 
toutes  les  trois  pour  que  vous  me  racontiez  ce  que  vous  disiez  hier 
soir."- — ''Nous  n'avons  rien  dit!"  —  "Parole  de  prince!  il  faut  que 
vous  me  racontiez  ce  que  vous  avez  dit,  hier  soir,  ou  vous  allez  ^tre 
punies  s^v^rement."  L'ain^e  des  filles  avoue:  "Moi,  je  n'ai  pas 
dit  grand'chose;  seulement  que  tant  qu'k  me  marier,  j'aimerais  mieux 
avoir  pour  mari  un  boulanger;  ga  fait  que  je  ne  manquerais  jamais 
de  pain."  —  "Eh  bien!  c'est  r^gl^,  dit  le  prince;  vous  allez  vous  ma- 
rier au  boulanger  de  mon  chateau."  Parlant  a  la  seconde,  il  demande: 
^'Vous,  qu'avez-vous  dit, hier  soir?" —  "Moi?  pas  grand'chose;  seule- 
ment que  tant  qu'k  me  marier,  j'aimerais  mieux  que  ce  fut  a  un  boucher; 
^a  fait  que  je  ne  manquerais  jamais  de  bceuf."  Le  prince  declare: 
■"Vous  allez  vous  marier  k  mon  boucher,  dans  mon  chateau."     Mais  le 

1  La  raconteuse  disait:  d  la  cachette.  2  Pour  ainsi. 

3  I.e.,  fredaine.  *  I.e.,  sorti  de. 


114  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

pire,  c'est  pour  la  troisieme;  il  faut  le  dire  au  prince  lui-meme!  II  lui 
demande:  "Vous,  racontez-moi  ce  que  vous  avez  dit  hier  soir!"  — 
"Moi,  je  n'ai  rien  dit."  —  "Parole  de  prince!  si  vous  refusez  de  me  le 
dire,  vous  serez  punie  s^verement."  Comme  de  raison,  c'est  hen 
couteux  ^  pour  elle  de  le  dire  au  prince  lui-meme.  Mais  il  faut  plutot 
le  dire  qu'etre  punie.  "Moi,  je  n'ai  pas  dit  grand'chose;  seulement 
que  j'aimerais  mieux  me  marier  au  prince  ;  qu'ainsi  je  ne  manquerais 
jamais  de  rien."  —  "Comme  cela,  vous  allez  vous  marier  a  moi." 
Les  trois  soeurs  se  marient  done.  Tune,  au  boulanger,  I'autre,  au  boucher, 
et  I'autre,  au  prince.     Elles  vivent  ensemble,  au  chateau. 

Au  bout  d'un  an  et  un  jour,  le  prince  regoit  un  commandement,  ^  et 
il  lui  faut  faire  un  long  voyage.  A  ses  belles-sceurs  et  servantes  il  dit 
d'avoir  soin  de  sa  princesse.     Et  il  part. 

Pendant  son  absence,  la  princesse  achete^  un  petit  gargon,  le  plus 
bel  enfant  qui  se  soit  jamais  vu  dans  le  monde.  A  la  vue  d'une  telle 
merveille,  les  belles-sceurs,  pas  tres  jolies  elles-memes,  deviennent 
jalouses.  Elles  s'entendent  avec  la  vieille  garde-malade  pour  faire 
disparaltre  I'enfant,  avant  le  retour  du  prince.  S'en  emparant  done, 
elles  I'enveloppent  dans  des  langes,  une  serviette  blanche,  le  mettent 
dans  une  corbeille  d'or,  et  vont  le  deposer  sur  la  greve. 

Le  prince  avait  hate  d'arriver  et  de  voir  son  enfant,  on  n'en  parle 
pas!*  Mais  sa  belle-soeur,  la  boulangere,  lui  dit:  "J'ai  une  chose  k 
vous  apprendre,  mais  ga  me  coute  de  vous  la  dire:  vous  allez  vous 
facher?"  —  "Oui!  mais  oil  est  mon  enfant?  Je  veux  le  voir."  — 
"Votre  enfant,  il  faut  I'avouer,  je  I'ai  fait  mourir:  c'^tait  un  singe!" 
En  fureur  de  voir  que  sa  princesse  avait  achete  un  singe,  il  la  fait 
enfermer  dans  un  cachot,  ou  la  lumiere  du  jour  n'entre  point.  Elle 
a  beau  vouloir  parler,  prier,  se  plaindre;  il  ne  veut  rien  entendre. 

Au  milieu  d'un  bois  eloigne,  un  vieux  et  sa  vieille  vivaient  seuls 
dans  une  petite  maison,  sans  enfant.  Tons  les  matins,  le  vieux, 
dans  sa  barge,  parcourait  le  bord  de  la  mer  a  la  recherche  de  debris. 
Un  bon  jour,  il  apergoit  au  loin  reluire  un  objet.  Etonn^,  il  s'appro- 
che  et  examine.  C'est  une  corbeille  d'or.  Prenant  la  corbeille,  il  y  voit 
le  plus  bel  enfant  qui  soit  au  monde.  II  arrive  a  sa  maison,  et  d'une 
fierte*  sans  pareille,  dit  a  sa  vieille:  "Tiens!  en  voila  un  enfant.  Tu 
I'as  desire  si  longtemps  que  le  bon  Dieu  nous  I'a  envoy^  pour  qu'il 
ait  soin  de  toi  et  de  moi  sur  nos  vieux  jours."  Apercevant  un  si  bel 
enfant,  si  bien  vetu,  et  dans  une  corbeille  d'or,  la  vieille  pense  que  le 
bon  Dieu  lui-meme  I'a  envoye  du  ciel. 

A  I'age  de  dix  ans, I'enfant,  un  jour,  etait  sur  la  greve  avec  le  vieux 
qu'il  prenait  pour  son  pere.     Le  prince,  se  promenant  en  bateau  avec 

1  I.e.,  pdnible,  difficile.  2  Ordre  d'un  superieur. 

3  I.e.,  met  au  monde.  *  I.e.,  va  sans  dire! 

6  I.e.,  joie. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  115 

ses  domestiques,  remarque  ce  bel  enfant  et  approche  de  la  rive  pour 
le  mieux  voir.  "Mais  oil  done  avez-vous  pris  ce  bel  enfant?"  de- 
mande-t-il  au  vieux.  "C'est  le  bon  Dieu  qui  nous  I'a  donn^.  II 
vient  du  ciel.  Ma  vieille  et  moi  n'avions  jamais  eu  d'enfant,  malgr^ 
nos  prieres,  et  nous  n'avions  personne  pour  prendre  soin  de  nous  sur 
nos  vieux  jours.  Un  jour,  j'ai  trouve  cet  enfant  sur  la  grevc,  dans  une 
corbeille  d'or.  Venez  done  a  ma  maison  voir  la  corbeille."  Le  prince 
se  rend  a  la  maison  et  examine  la  corbeille  d'or  et  la  serviette.  Au  re- 
bord  de  la  serviette  est  la  marque  du  prince.  Demandant  au  vieux 
la  permission  d'examiner  I'enfant,  il  apergoit  un  medallion  k  son  cou, 
dans  lequel  les  noms  de  son  p6re  et  sa  mere  sont  ecrits.  Ce  medallion 
venait  de  sa  mere  qui,  en  le  perdant,  le  lui  avait  mis  au  cou  pour  que 
Dieu  le  preserve.  A  ga,  le  prince  ayant  reconnu  son  enfant,  s'en  va 
tout  droit  a  son  chateau,  fait  venir  la  vieille  garde-malade  seule,  et 
lui  dit:  "D^clarez  oii  vous  avez  mis  mon  enfant,  ou  je  vous  fait  ^carteler 
par  quatre  chevaux!"  Elle  dit  et  r^pMe  que  c'etait  un  singe;  mais  ga 
ne  sert  de  rien.  Le  prince  insiste:  "Que  Qa  soit  un  singe  ou  un  monstre, 
je  veux  savoir  oil  vous  avez  mis  mon  enfant."  A  la  fin,  elle  avoue  qu'il 
6tait  le  plus  bel  enfant  qui  se  soit  jamais  vu.  "Mais  vos  belles-sceurs 
jalouses  Font  fait  jeter  sur  la  greve,  en  disant  que  c'etait  un  singe,  pour 
que  vous  6tiez  la  vie  a  la  princesse."  Faisant  venir  ses  belles-sceurs, 
le  prince  leur  demande:  "Oii  avez-vous  mis  mon  enfant?"  A  cette 
question  elles  entrent  dans  une  telle  fureur  qu'elles  veulent  tout 
briser.  On  aurait  dit  le  diable  en  personne.  Le  prince  declare: 
"Dites-moi  ce  que  vous  avez  fait  de  mon  enfant,  ou  vous  allez  etre 
punies  s^verement."  Elles  r^petent  que  c'etait  un  deshonneur  pour 
un  prince  d'avoir  un  singe  pour  enfant,  et  qu'elles  I'avaient  jet6  sur 
la  gr^ve. 

Quand  le  prince  alia  chercher  sa  femme  dans  le  cachot  noir,  il  la 
trouva  presque  morte.  Car,  pendant  tout  ce  temps,  ses  sceurs  lui 
faisaient  subir  des  grandes  souffrances  pour  la  faire  mourir,  pensant 
apr^s  sa  mort  devenir  princesses  a  sa  place.  Elle  serait  morte  sans 
un  petit  chien  qui  lui  sauvait  la  vie  en  lui  apportant,  tous  les  matins, 
par  le  soupirail,  un  morceau  de  pain, 

Comme  les  belles-sceurs  du  prince  persistaient  a  dire  que  son  enfant 
^tait  un  singe,  il  les  fit  emprisonner  avec  la  garde-malade.  Qui  salt  ? 
elles  feraient  peut-etre  mourir  la  princesse  pendant  qu'il  irait  chercher 
son  enfant.     II  part  dans  un  grand  bateau,  avec  ses  serviteurs, 

Voyant  approcher  un  bateau  reluisant  d'or  et  d'argent,  le  vieux 
reste  tout  pam6  de  surprise.  Le  prince  I'apergoit  avec  I'enfant,  ra- 
massant  du  bois  sur  la  gr^ve.  II  dit:  "Venez  chez  vous  avec  I'enfant. 
Je  veux  vous  voir."  Rendu  a  la  maison,  il  dit  au  vieux  et  sa  vieille: 
"C'est  mon  enfant  que  je  suis  venu  chercher."  —  "Non!  c'est  I'enfant 
que  Dieu  m'a  envoye  du  ciel,  s'ecrie  la  vieille;  il  m'appartient.     Je 


116  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

I'avais  si  longtemps  desire!  vous  n'etes  pas  pour  nous  enlever  I'enfant 
qui  aura  soin  de  nous  sur  nos  vieux  jours."  Touchy  de  leurs  larmes 
et  de  leur  affection  pour  son  enfant,  le  prince  leur  dit:  "Vous  n'aurez 
jamais  de  misere;  je  vous  emmene  avec  moi."  —  "C'est  impossible 
de  quitter  la  maison  paternelle.  Avec  notre  enfant,  ici,  c'est  le 
bonheur."  —  "Parole  de  prince!  il  vous  faut  me  remettre  mon  enfant 
et  me  suivre  tous  les  deux."  II  ajoute:  "N'oubliez  pas  d'apporter  les 
langes  et  la  corbeille  d'or.  Quant  au  reste,  laissez-le;  c'est  inutile! 
Au  chateau,  je  vous  donnerai  tout,  a  souhait." 

Apportant  la  corbeille,  les  langes  et  la  serviette,  sur  lesquels  le  nom 
de  la  princesse  ^tait  marque,  le  vieux,  sa  femme  et  son  enfant  montent 
sur  le  bateau,  et  bientot  arrivent  au  chateau,  ou  on  les  conduit  a  leur 
chambre.  Quant  au  prince,  il  fait  venir  sa  princesse  qui,  voyant 
I'enfant,  s'^crie:  "Ah!  mon  enfant,  je  I'ai  reconnu!"  Et  elle  perd 
connaissance.  II  n'y  avait  plus  de  doute  pour  le  prince.  La  vieille 
garde-malade  reconnait  I'enfant  en  I'apercevant.  "C'est-i  bien  mon 
enfant,  celui  que  vous  avez  jet6  sur  la  greve?"  demande  le  prince. 
Elle  reste  immobile,  incapable  de  parler.  "C'est-z  bien  mon  enfant?" 
repete  le  prince.  "Ce  n'est  pas  lui.  Votre  enfant  n'etait  pas  une 
beaute:  un  singe!" 

Le  prince  ordonne  qu'on  emmene  les  prisonnieres,  ses  belles-soeurs. 
A  son  ordre,  un  domestique  va  chercher  la  corbeille  d'or  et  les  langes. 
Mais  le  vieux  refuse  de  les  lui  remettre.  "Qui  sait?  pense-t-il;  il  va 
peut-etre  les  voler!"  Et  il  les  porte  lui-meme.  A  la  vue  de  la  cor- 
beille, les  belles-sceurs  restent  immobiles,  pas  meme  capables  de 
remuer  un  doigt.  Le  prince  s'apergoit  bien  qu'elles  sont  des  men- 
teuses  et  des  m^chantes.  Quand  elles  sont  un  peu  remises,  on  leur 
montre  la  corbeille  d'or,  la  serviette  et  les  langes  ou  se  trouvent  les 
marques  du  prince  et  de  la  princesse.  L'enfant  vient  de  lui-meme. 
Au  cou  de  I'enfant  pend  le  medallion  qu'y  a  mis  sa  mere  pour  que  le 
bon  Dieu  le  preserve,  et  I'empeche  de  se  noyer.  La,  le  prince  demande 
au  vieux:  "A  quel  quantieme  I'avez-vous  trouve  ?"  —  "Le  vingt  d'aout, 
en  me  ramassant  du  bois  sur  la  greve,  j'ai  apergu  quelque  chose  luisant 
au  soleil,  comme  un  diamant.  Je  me  suis  approch6,  dans  ma  barque, 
et  j'ai  trouv^  ce  bel  enfant  dans  la  corbeille  d'or.  Moi  et  ma  vieille, 
nous  avions  tant  demande  au  bon  Dieu  de  nous  envoyer  un  enfant 
pour  avoir  soin  de  nous  sur  nos  vieux  jours,  que,  pour  ma  vieille,  il 
est  un  cadeau  du  bon  Dieu  lui-meme.  Nous  en  avons  eu  soin,  c'est 
notre  enfant.     Tout  ce  qui  est  possible,  nous  I'avons  fait  pour  lui." 

Le  prince  tumbe  en  fureur.  Un  si  bel  enfant,  et  ses  belles-soeurs 
I'avaient  dit  un  monstre!  "Allez  les  ecarteler  au  plus  vite,  devant 
mon  chateau!"  ordonne-t-il  a  ses  domestiques.  Elles  sont  bien  vite 
ecartelees,  deux  chevaux  aux  bras  ct  deux  aux  jambes. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  117 

Le  prince,  la  princesse  et  leur  enfant,  Ic  vieux  et  sa  vieille  entrerent 
au  chateau  ou  ils  demeurerent  ensemble,  dans  le  bonheur.  Et  moi, 
ils  m'ont  renvoyee  ici  avec  pas  iin  sou. 

28.   JEAN-PARLE.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'etait  une  veuve  qui  avait  trois  filles,  Charlotte,  Javotte, 
et  la  plus  jeune,  Finette.  Elles  gagnaient  leur  vie  en  filant  de  la 
laine  pour  les  habitants. 

Un  homme  bien  mis,  un  jour,  arrive  chez  elles  et  s'introduit  sous 
le  nom  de  Jean-Parle.  "Madame,  je  cherche  une  servantc,"  La 
veuve  r^pond:  "Cher  monsieur,  on  ne  vous  connait  pas;  mes  filles 
n'ont  jamais  soi-ti;  je  ne  puis  pas.  .  ."  —  "Vous  n'avez  rien  a  craindre, 
Madame;  je  suis  le  seigneur  du  pays  voisin."  —  "Quand  meme  vous 
etes  seigneur,  on  ne  connait  pas  les  gens  du  pays  voisin."  —  "Si  vous 
craignez,  vous  pouvez  vous  informer  du  cur6  ou  de  I'eveque  de  la 
place,  2  qui  me  connaissent  bien."  Prenant  la  parole,  Charlotte  dit: 
"Maman,  il  ne  peut  toujours  pas  me  manger.  Je  vas  y  aller  pour 
un  mois."  La  fille  embarque  done  en  voiture  et  s'en  va  avec  Jean- 
Parle.  Arrivant  chez  lui,  Jean-Parle  dit  a  Charlotte:  "Tu  vas  etre 
la  maltresse  de  ce  palais." 

Quelques  jours  apres,  il  lui  remet  toutes  les  clefs  de  sa  maison: 
"Voici  les  clefs;  tu  peux  tout  visiter.  Mais  je  te  fais  bien  defense 
d'entrer  dans  la  chambre  dont  voici  la  clef.  Si  tu  y  vas,  il  t'arrivera 
malheur."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas,  monsieur."  En  partant,  Jean-Parle 
dit:  "Je  pars  pour  huit  jours.  Je  t'ai  donn^  une  servante  pour  t'aider 
a  faire  le  manage.  Souviens-toi,  je  te  fais  defense  d'aller  dans  cette 
chambre." 

Charlotte,  ayant  visite  toutes  les  chambres,  se  demande  bientot: 
"Que  peut-il  bien  y  avoir  dans  cette  chambre,  et  pourquoi  m'a-t-il 
d^fendu  d'y  aller?"  A  la  servante  elle  dit:  "Aujourd'hui,  nous  y 
allons  voir."  Prenant  la  clef,  elle  debarre  la  porte,  I'ouvre  et  aper^oit 
une  trappe,  une  buche  et  une  hache,  toutes  graissees  ^  de  sang.  Ouvre 
la  trappe,  et  ce  qu'eWe  voit  ?  Des  corps  de  femmes,  la  tete  tranchee, 
dans  la  cave.  "Mon  Dieu!  pour  le  coup,  je  vais  y  aller  moi  aussi. 
Voila  bien  pourquoi  il  m'a  tant  defendu  d'entrer  ici!"  Fermant  la 
porte,  elle  tire  la  clef  de  la  serrure,  et  la  trouve  toute  rouge  de  sang. 
Frotte  la  clef  pour  I'eclaircir  et  la  remettre  a  sa  nature,  mais  qa  ne 
veut  pas  revenir.     Elle  en  reste  toute  triste. 

Apres  quelques  jours,  Jean-Parle  arrive:  "Bonjour,  ma  servante." 
—  "Bonjour,   monsieur."  —  "Vous   etes-vous   ennuyee?"  —  "Certai- 

1  R(5cit6  par  Narcisse  Thiboutot,  en  juillet,  1915,  a  Sainte-Arme  de  la  Poca- 
tiere,  Kamouraska.  II  apprit  ce  conte  de  feu  Charles  Francoeur,  il  y  a  a  peu  pres 
six  ans. 

2  I.e.,  de  I'endroit.  3  I.e.,  souillees. 


118  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

nement,  monsieur  Jean-Parle."  —  "Mais,  vous  n'avez  done  pas  visite 
le  chateau  et  fait  le  tour  des  chambres,  qui  sont  toutes  remplies  de 
meubles  nouveaux?"^  Elle  repond:  "Oui,  j'ai  visite  tout  le  chateau, 
tous  les  appartements."  —  "Tu  as  visite  tous  les  appartements  ?" 
—  "Oui."  —  "Va  me  chercher  les  clefs  pour  que  je  voie."  S'en  allant 
chercher  le  trousseau  de  clefs,  elle  en  detache  celle  qui  est  tachee  de 
sang,  et  remet  les  autres  a  son  maitre.  "La  clef  de  la  porte  defendue, 
oij  est-elle?"  ^  —  "Je  I'ai  oubliee;  elle  est  en  haut."  Elle  va  la  cher- 
cher et  la  lui  donne.  "Ah!  il  dit,  ma  malheureuse,  tu  y  es  allee!  Eh 
bien,  tu  vas  y  retourner  pour  rester."  Elle  se  jette  a  ses  genoux  et 
dit:  "Je  ne  veux  pas,  Jean-Parle."  —  "Veux,yetfx  pas!  Tu  as  ouvert 
cette  porte;  et,  asVheure  que  tu  sais  ce  qu'il  y  a  la,  tu  vas  y  aller." 
La  poussant  dans  la  chambre  defendue,  il  lui  met  la  tete  sur  le  billot 
et  la  lui  tranche  d'un  coup  de  hache. 

Quelque  temps  apres,  Jean-Parle  retourne  chez  la  veuve,  habille  en 
pretre, dit  a  la  veuve:  "Je  ne  pourrais  pas  avoir  une  servante,  iciteV^ — 
"Monsieur,  de  servante,  icite,  vous  n'en  aurez  point."  Et  elle  ajoute: 
"La  plus  ^gee  de  mes  filles,  Charlotte,  est  partie  comme  9a,  et  on 
n'en  a  pas  encore  eu  de  nouvelles."  —  "Mais,  Madame,  vous  me 
parlez  bien  severement,  a  moi  qui  suis'  pretre.  II  n'y  a  pourtant  pas 
de  danger  que  je  la  mange,  votre  fille."  La  veuve  repond:  "Vous,  vous 
etes  pretre;  I'autre  etait  seigneur  d'un  pays."  Prenant  la  parole, 
Finette  dit:  "Maman,  laisse  done  Javotte  s'engager,  ■*  C'est  un 
cure,  il  ne  la  mangera  toujours  pas!"  La  mere  repond:  "Mais,  Finette, 
nous  resterons  seules  a  faire  tout  I'ouvrage.  Tu  sais  bien,  tout  le  filage 
qu'il  y  a  a  faire."  —  "Ca  ne  fait  rien,  maman;  nous  ferons  ce  que  nous 
pourrons  et  le  reste  attendra."  Le  pretre  dit  k  Javotte:  ''Emharquez 
avec  moi,  et  au  bout  d'un  mois,  je  vous  ramenerai  voir  votre  m^re." 
Et  ils  s'en  vont  ensemble. 

En  arrivant  chez  lui,  Jean  dit  a  Javotte:  "Tu  vas  etre  la  maitresse 
du  chateau.  Si  tu  veux,  tu  seras  heureuse  avec  moi.  Mais,  si  tu 
ne  veux  pas,  tu  seras  aussi  mal."  —  "Je  vas  tacher  de  vouloir,  mon- 
sieur." —  "Voici  toutes  les  clefs  du  chateau,  et  celle-ci  est  la  clef  de  la 
porte  que  voila.  Avec  cette  clef  je  te  donne  la  boule  d'or.  Mais  je 
te  defends  d'ouvrir  cette  porte."  —  "S'il  n'y  a  rien  que  ga  k  faire  pour 
vous  plaire,  ne  craignez  pas;  c'est  bien  ais6!" 

Un  bon  matin,  Jean-Parle  dit:  "Je  pars  pour  un  mois.  Je  vas  te 
donner  une  servante  pour  t'aider.  Visite  tout  le  chateau  si  tu  veux; 
mais  je  te  defends  bien  d'ouvrir  cette  porte."  —  "Ne  craignez  pas, 
monsieur  Jean-Parle." 

1  Ici  le  conteur  dit  nouveaux  plut6t  qu'anciens,  parce  que,  dans  son  esprit,  Top- 
position  se  faisait  ^videmment  entre  nouveaux  et  vieux  (sans  valeur). 

2  Thiboutot  disait:  ou  ce  qii'elle  est  ? 

3  Thiboutot  disait:  d  moi  qui  est  pretre. 

4  Ici  dans  le  sens  particulier  de  devenir  servante,  ou  devenir  une  engagee, 
comme  les  servantes  sont  ici  designees. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  119 

Quand  ga  fait  une  quinzaine  de  jours  qu'il  est  parti,  Javotte  dit  a 
sa  servante:  "Pour  quelle  raison  n'irions-nous  pas  voir  cette  chambre- 
la?  Allons-y!"  Prend  la  clef,  debarre  la  porte,  I'ouvre  et  apergoit  la 
robe  de  sa  soeur  pendue  a  I'accrac/iai.  ^  "Mon  Dieu!  Elle  a  6t6  tu^e 
icite.  C'est  bien  pour  le  coup  que  je  vas  aller  a  la  meme  place.  Rou- 
vrant  la  trappe,  elle  voit  sa  soeur,  la  tete  coupde,  sur  un  amas  de  cada- 
vres.  Ferme  la  trappe,  sort  de  la  chambre  et  harre  la  porte.  Quand 
elle  tire  la  clef  de  la  serrure,  elle  la  voit  toute  rouill^e.  "Pour  le 
coup,  ma  servante,  nous  sommes  declar^es.  Regarde  la  clef:  elle  est 
rouill^e."  La  servante  repond:  "Allons  la  frotter;  §a  va  peut-etre 
partir."  Frotte,  frotte  la  clef  toute  la  journee.  Plus  elles  frottent 
et  plus  la  clef  rouille.  Javotte  s'en  va  voir  sa  pomme  d'or;  la  pomme 
d'or  est  toute  tach^e  de  sang.  "Ma  servante,  je  pense  bien  que  la  fin 
de  nos  jours  est  proche.  Me  qu'il  ^  arrive  et  demande  la  clef  et  la 
pomme  d'or,  tout  va  se  declarer!" 

Au  bout  du  mois,  Jean-Parle  arrive,  demande  a  sa  servante  si  elle  a 
visits  le  chateau.  "Oui,  monsieur  Jean-Parle;  j'ai  tout  visits."  — 
"Tu  n'es  pas  all^e  dans  la  chambre  defendue?"  —  "Non,  c'est  la  seule 
place  ou  je  ne  suis  pas  allee."  —  "Va  me  chercher  les  clefs  et  la  pomme 
d'or  que  je  t'ai  donnees."  Elle  apporte  le  trousseau  de  clefs.  "La 
clef  de  la  porte  de  cette  chambre  et  la  pomme  d'or  ?"  —  " Vous  n'en 
avez  toujours  pas  besoin  d^  soir."  —  "Va  la  chercher  tout  de  suite." 
Elle  va  chercher  la  clef  et  la  pomme  d'or,  et  les  lui  donne.  "Tu  voulais 
savoir  ou  etait  ta  soeur?  Tu  vas  aller  la  rejoindre.  Je  te  donne  un 
quart  d'heure  pour  demander  a  Dieu  pardon  de  tes  fautes."  Le 
quart  d'heure  fini,  Jean-Parle  I'emmene  a  la  chambre  defendue,  lui 
place  la  tete  sur  le  billot,  et  la  lui  tranche  d'un  coup  de  hache. 

Quelque  temps  passe,  et  Jean-Parle,  ayant  vole  les  habillements  de 
I'eveque  de  la  place,  se  deguise  en  eveque  et  s'en  va  encore  chez  la 
veuve.  "Madame,  pouvez-vous  m'enseigner  le  chemin  pour  aller 
a  Rome?"  Elle  repond:  "Monseigneur,  vous  qui  etes  dveque  devez 
connaitre  le  chemin  de  Rome  bien  mieux  que  moi.  Je  ne  suis  qu'une 
pauvre  veuve  sans  instruction."  —  "Oui,  mais  sans  etre  instruite,  vous 
pouvez  toujours  bien  m'enseigner  le  chemin  le  plus  court  pour  aller  a 
Rome.  C'est  un  voyage  presse  que  j'ai  a  faire."  —  "Eh  bien!  prenez 
la  premiere  route  a  droite;  suivez-la  jusqu'au  premier  chemin  de 
travers,  oil  vous  passerez  tout  dret.  Rendu  a  la  deuxieme  route,  vous 
trouverez  le  grand  chemin  qui  conduit  a  Paris.  Et  la,  vous  prendrez 
information."  —  "Oui,  madame,  c'est  bien  dit.  Mais  envoyez'^^votre 
fiUe  quelques  minutes  me  montrer  la  deuxieme  route."  —  "Ma  fille 
n'est  pas  pour  embarquer  avec  vous.  L'autre  fois,  un  cure  est  venu 
engager   Javotte,  ma   fille,  et   depuis   nous   n'en    avons    nil  vent   ni 

1  I.e.,  crochet,  2  i.e.,  sitdt  que  ou  quand  il  arrivera. 

8  Pour  ce  soir. 


120  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

nouvelles."  —  "Oui,  mais  si  vous  n'en  recevez  pas  de  nouvelles,  pen- 
sez-vous  que  je  suis  pour  vous  voler  votre  fille  ?"  En  disant:  "  Maman, 
je  vas  lui  montrer  le  chemin,  un  boute,"  Finette  emharque  et  va  le  re- 
conduire.  Voil^  monseigneur  qui  roule  fort,  ^  sans  vouloir  arreter 
et  laisser  debar quer  Finette.  "Je  ne  suis  pas  un  eveque,  dit-il;  mon 
nom  est  Jean-Parle,  et  c'est  moi  qui  suis  venu  chereher  tes  deux  scEurs, 
Charlotte  et  Javotte.  Tu  t'appelles  Finette  ?  On  va  voir  si  tu  es 
aussi  fine  que  ton  nom."  En  arrivant  au  chateau:  "Tiens,  ma  petite 
Finette,  si  tu  es  fine,  tu  seras  ben  icite.'^  II  lui  remet  les  clefs  du  cha- 
teau et  lui  donne  des  servantes  au  besoin. 

Quelque  temps  apres,  il  dit:  "Cou'don!  ma  petite  Finette,  tu  es  bien 
fine,"  mais  j'aurais  un  voyage  a  faire,  qui  durera  quinze  jours."  — 
"Oui,  monsieur  Jean-Parle,  vous  pouvez  faire  votre  voyage.  Avec 
mes  servantes  tout  ici  se  fera  comme  de  coutume."  En  partant  il 
lui  dit:  "Pendant  ces  quinze  jours,  tu  visiteras  toutes  les  chambres  du 
chateau,  une  par  une,  mais  je  ne  veux  pas  que  tu  mettes  les  pieds 
dans  cette  chambre-ci,  ni  toi,  ni  les  servantes.  Et  garde  bien  les 
clefs."  —  "Ah,  monsieur  Jean-Parle,  s'il  n'y  a  que  9a  a  faire,  vous  pou- 
vez partir  sans  crainte."  —  "Prends  garde  a  toi,  Finette!  Si  tu  veux 
^tre  bien  ici,  tu  fais  mieux  de  ne  pas  y  aller  voir." 

Une  dizaine  de  jours  passent,  et  Finette  a  visits  toutes  les  chambres 
du  chateau.  La  seule  qui  reste,  c'est  la  chambre  que  Jean-Parle  a 
defendu  d'ouvrir.  Un  bon  matin,  Finette  prend  la  clef,  la  plus  brillan- 
te  de  toutes,  la  regarde  bien,  debarre  la  porte  defendue  et  apergoit  les 
robes  de  ses  soeurs,  accrochees  au  mur.  "Comment!  c'est  ici  que  mes 
soeurs  ont  ete  tuees?"  Ouvrant  la  trappe,  elle  voit  ses  deux  sceurs 
mortes.  "II  faut  bien  qu'il  soit  sorcier,  ce  Jean-Parle!"  se  dit-elle. 
Elle  ferme  la  trappe,  sort  et  arrache  la  clef  de  la  serrure.  La  clef  est 
toute  rouillee!  Finette  pense:  "Arrete  un  peu,  toi!  Si  tu  es  sorcier, 
tu  vas  voir  qui  est  le  plus  fin."  Prenant  la  clef,  elle  s'en  va  la  saucer 
dans  le  sang  oil  baignent  ses  soeurs,  et  la  met  a  la  serrure.  Puis  ayant 
recoUe  la  tete  de  Charlotte  k  son  corps,  et  celle  de  Javotte  au  sien, 
elle  sort  de  la.  Arrache  la  clef  de  la  serrure  et  la  retrouve  aussi 
brillante  que  quand  elle  I'a  regue.  A  ses  servantes  elle  dit:  "Jean- 
Parle  revient  dans  deux  jours.  Je  me  dirai  bien  malade.  Defendez- 
lui  de  venir  me  voir.  Qu'il  prenne  le  premier  coffre,  ici,  dans  le  passage, 
et  aille  le  porter  chez  ma  mere.  C'est  du  butin^  que  j'envoie  au  la- 
vage."'' Mais  ce  qu'il  y  a  dans  le  coffre,  c'est  le  corps  de  Charlotte 
et  une  lettre  adressee  au  cure  de  la  paroisse,  lui  demandant  de  ramasser 
les  gens  de  justice  pour  punir  le  sorcier. 

En  entrant,  Jean-Parle  demande:  "Foms  ^  qu'est  ma  petite  Finette  ?" 
—  "Ah,  monsieur  Jean-Parle!  votre  petite  Finette  est  bien  malade. 

1  I.e.,  va  vile. 

*  Dans  le  sens  de:  bien  que  j'appr^cie  tes  charmes,  j'ai  k  m'abaenter. 

'  I.  e.,  du  linge.  *  Au  blanchissage.  5  Pour  oil  est-ce  qu'est. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  121 

Elle  ne  peut  pas  vous  voir  avant  que  vous  ayez  portd  k  sa  mere  ce  coffre 
de  butin  pour  le  lavage."  II  n'est  pas  sitot  parti  que  Finette  dit  k 
ses  servantes:  "Quand  il  arrivera,  envoyez-lui  porter  ce  deuxieme 
cofTre  aussi  vite  qu'il  le  pourra,"  Dans  ce  coffre  elle  met  le  corps  de 
Javotte,  afin  qu'on  I'enterre. 

Voila  Jean-Parle  qui  revient:  "Oil  est  ma  petite  Finette?  Elle 
n'est  pas  encore  debouteV'^ — "Non,  monsieur;  Finette  est  bien 
malade  et  ne  peut  vous  voir.  Elle  vous  demande  de  porter  ce  deuxie- 
me coifre  a  sa  mere,  et  de  ne  pas  tarder  a  revenir  chercher  le  troisieme, 
de  peur  qu'elle  ne  meure  avant  votre  retour."  Jean-Parle  prend  le 
coffre  et  le  porte  aussi  vite  qu'il  le  peut.  Pendant  ce  temps,  Finette 
bourre  sa  jupe  et  sa  jaquette,  et  les  couche  dans  son  lit,  a  sa  place 
ordinaire.  "Mes  servantes,  vous  lui  direz  qu'il  vienne  me  voir  a  la 
porte  de  ma  chambre,  mais  sans  me  parler,  car  autrement,j'en  mour- 
rais.  Et  qu'il  aille  vitement  porter  le  troisieme  coffre  a  ma  mere, 
sans  arretcr  en  chemin.  S'il  arretait,  il  lui  arriverait  malheur." 
Apres  quoi,  Finette  se  place  elle-meme  dans  le  coffre,  avec  tout  I'argent 
et  Tor  qu'elle  a  trouv^s  au  chateau. 

Jean-Parle  encore  une  fois  prend  le  coffre,  le  pose  sur  son  dos  et  se 
met  en  route.  Quand  il  a  un  mille  de  fait,  il  pense:  "Mais  il  est  bien 
pesant,  ce  coffre-ci!"  Le  posant  a  terre,  il  va  I'ouvrir  pour  voir  ce 
qu'il  contient.  Mais  une  voix  lui  dit:  "D^peche-toi,  Finette  se  meurt." 
Reprenant  le  coffre,  il  se  le  remet  sur  I'epaule.  Quand  on  pense!  ^ 
cette  pau'ptite  ^  Finette!  Je  I'entends  crier  d'ici.  Je  vas  me  depecher 
h  aller  a  son  secours."  Un  mille  plus  loin,  il  met  encore  le  coffre  a 
terre,  en  disant:  "Mais,  ce  coffre-la  pese  effrayant .'"  Finette  lui  lache 
un  cri:  "Depeche-toi,  Finette  se  meurt."  Pognant  le  coffre,  il  se  rend 
en  courant  chez  la  veuve,  et  lui  dit:  "II  faut  que  je  m'en  retourne 
vitement;  Finette  est  mourante."  —  "Oui?  mais  reposez-vous  quel- 
ques  minutes.  Le  souper  est  pret,  et  il  commence  a  etre  tard."  — 
"Grand'mere,  je  n'ai  pas  le  temps.  En  m'en  revenant,  elle  m'a  cri6 
deux  fois:  'D^peche-toi,  Finette  se  meurt!'  "  Mais,  pendant  ce  temps, 
les  hommes  de  justice,  I'huissier  et  la  police  arrivent,  saisissent  Jean- 
Parle,  et  lui  font  justice  sur  un  billot,  avec  une  hache. 

Quant  a  Finette  ?  Elle  a  h^rite  du  chateau  et  de  la  fortune  de  Jean- 
Parle.  Et  moi,  elle  a  voulu  m'engager  pour  que  je  reste  au  chateau. 
Mais  je  n'ai  pas  voulu.  Qui  sait?  Ce  Jean-Parle,  etant  sorcier, 
reviendrait  peut-etre!  J'ai  aim^  mieux  rester  ici  pour  vous  en  raconter 
I'histoire. 

1  Pour  debout,  i.e.,  rctablie.  2  Dans  le  sens  de  n'est-ce  pas  curieux  ! 

8  Pour  pauvre  petite. 


122  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

29.    l'eAU    DE    la    FONTAINE    DE    PARIS.  ^ 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'etait  un  homme  et  sa  femme. 
Pendant  que  Thomme,  tous  les  jours,  allait  bticher,  le  prince  venait 
causer  avec  sa  femme.  Un  bon  jour,  le  bucheron  dit:  ''J'aime  bien 
sa  visite,  mais  pas  si  souvent  que  ga.  Tu  peux  lui  dire  qu'il  ferait 
mieux  de  rester  chez  lui." 

Le  mari  parti  pour  la  foret,  le  prince  arrive  comme  d'habitude.  Son 
amie  lui  dit:  "Mon  mari  declare  qu'il  aime  bien  votre  visite,  mais  pas 
si  souvent;  et  que  vous  etes  aussi  bien  de  ne  plus  revenir."  EUe 
ajoute:  "Comment  faire  pour  s'en  debarrasser  pendant  quelques 
jours?"  Le  prince  suggere:  "Quand  vous  le  verrez  venir,  criez  du 
mal  de  dents.  II  vous  demandera:  'Faut-il  le  docteur?'-  Repondez: 
'Non!  il  me  faut  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris;  sans  cela  mon  mal  de 
dents  ne  se  passera  pas.'  "  Comme  de  fait,  ^  voyant  venir  son  mari, 
elle  se  met  au  lit  et  crie  du  mal  de  dents.  "Qu'as-tu,  pauvre  femme  ?" 
demande  son  mari,  en  entrant.  "Ne  m'en  parle  pas!  J'ai-f  un 
mal  de  dents.  Depuis  ton  depart,  je  n'ai  cesse  de  crier  de  douleur." 
—  "Veux-tu  que  j'aille  chercher  le  medecin?"  —  "Non!  les  raedecins 
ne  peuvent  rien  y  faire.  II  me  faut  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris. 
Sans  ga,  mon  mal  ne  se  passera  pas."  —  "Pauvre  femme!  Pendant 
que  j'irai  jusqu'a  Paris,  tu  auras  bien  le  temps  de  mourir  vingt-cinq 
fois."  —  "Non!  sans  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris,  mon  mal  ne  se 
passera  jamais!" 

Le  bucheron  est  si  bon  pour  sa  femme  qu'il  ne  pent  rien  lui  refuser. 
II  se  greije  done  et  part  pour  Paris.  Sitot  le  mari  parti,  le  prince 
arrive,  et  on  prepare  un  gros  souper. 

Le  long  du  chemin,  le  mari  rencontre  un  vieux  cocassier,  ■*  qui  lui 
dit:  "Bonjour,  mon  ami!"  —  "Bonjour,  monsieur!"  —  ^^Yous  que^ 
vous  allez?  Vous  avez  I'air  bien  en  peine  et  fatigue."  —  "Ne  m'en 
parlez  pas!  Ma  femme  a(-0  un  mal  de  dents  qui  ne  peut  guerir  sans 
I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris."  Le  vieux  cocassier  dit:  ''Tet,  let,  tet!^ 
votre  femme  n'a  pas  plus  mal  aux  dents  que  moi."  —  "Je  ne  crois  pas 
que  ma  femme  soit  assez  m^chante  pour  m'envoyer  a  Paris  pour  rien." 
Le  vieux  reprend:  "Eh  bien!  embarquez  dans  mon  panier.  S'il  lui 
faut  de  I'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris,  moi,  j'en  ai."  Le  mari,  dans  le 
panier,  est  rapporte  k  sa  maison  par  le  vieux  cocassier,  qui  frappe  k  la 
porte,  pan,  pan,   pan!  et  demande  k  loger.     La  femme  repond  en 

1  Raconte  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  de  Lorette,  en  aollt,  1914.  Mme  Sioui 
apprit  ce  conte  de  sa  mdre,  Marie  Michaud  (Picard). 

2  I.e.,  midecin. 

3  I.e.,  en  realite,  de  fait. 

*  Mot  dont  la  signification  est  inconnue,  au  Canada.  En  France,  il  signifie 
"commergant  de  poules."     Mme  Sioui  pronongait  cocassier. 

6  Pour  &u  esl-ce  que.  6  Negation  emphatique. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  123 

tempetant:  "On  nc  peut  jamais  avoir  la  paix,  ici.  II  faut  toujours 
quelqu'un  pour  nous  ennuyer!"  Le  prince  est  si  charitable  qu'il  lui 
dit:  "Laissez-le  done  entrer!  C'est  un  vieux  qui  vient  peut-etre  de 
loin,  bien  fatigue.  II  ne  nous  d^rangera  toujours  pas  beaucoup,  si 
nous  le  laissons  a  la  cuisine."  La  femme  dit  a  sa  servante:  "Fais-le 
entrer  et  s'asseoir  dans  la  cuisine."  Le  cocassier  entre  avec  son 
panier  et  s'asseoit  pres  du  poele,  dans  la  cuisine. 

En  se  mettant  a  table,  le  prince  dit  a  la  femme:  "Pauvre  vieux! 
il  a  Fair  de  venir  de  loin,  et  il  y  a  peut-etre  longtemps  qu'il  n'a  pas 
mang^.  Faites-le  done  entrer  et  souper  avec  nous."  La  servante 
va  dire  au  cocassier:  "Entrez  et  venez  souper  avec  nous."  —  "Je  ne 
refuse  pas,  madame;  ga  fait  longtemps  que  je  n'ai  pas  mange.  Mais 
j'aimerais  bien  a  avoir  mon  panier  pres  de  moi."  A  sa  maitresse  la 
servante  va  dire:  "Le  vieux  voudrait  apporter  avec  lui  son  panier, 
oti  il  se  trouve  quelque  chose  de  precieux."  —  "Son  panier,  son  pa- 
nier! dit  la  femme;  il  pourrait  toujours  bien  entrer  sans  son  panier!" 
Mais  le  prince,  toujours  compdssieux,^  respond:  "Laissez-lui  done 
apporter  son  panier.  II  le  mettra  sous  le  lit.  ^a  ne  vous  embarrassera 
toujours  pas."  La  servante  retourne  a  la  cuisine:  "Eh  bien!  apportez- 
le  done,  votre  panier!"  Avec  son  panier,  le  cocassier  entre,  se  met  a 
table  et  soupe. 

Dans  I'ancien  temps,  c'^tait  I'habitude  de  chanter  apres  souper.  Le 
prince  dit  a  la  dame:  "Chantez-nous  done  une  petite  chanson."  — 
"Non,  mon  prince!  c'est  bien  a  vous  a  commencer,"  Le  prince 
commence: 


"  C'est  une  jeune  dame  a  I'abandon, 

Un  beau  pdte  a  trois  pigeons  (bis), 

Kyrie  chrisii, 

Un  beau  pat(^  a  trois  pigeons, 

Qui  riait, 

Kyrie  eleison  !  " 


"C'est  bien  chantd!"  dit  la  dame.  Le  prince  reclame:  "C'est  votre 
tour."  Mais  elle  r^pond:  "Demandez  au  cocassier;  ga  convient,  vu 
qu'il  est  plus  vieux  que  moi."  —  "Non!  dit  le  cocassier,  c'est  le  tour  de 
la  dame  de  la  maison."     Elle  commence  done: 

"  Men  mari  est  all6(-z)  a  Paris; 

11  n'est  pas  par6-   d'en  revenir  {bis), 

Kyrie  christi, 

II  n'est  pas  parC  d'en  revenir 

A  sa  maison, 

Kyrie  eleison." 

1  I.e.,  rempli  de  compassion.  2  I.e.,  pres. 


124  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

"C'est  bien  chante!  c'est  bien  chante!"  disent  les  autres.  A  present, 
on  demande  a  la  servante  sa  chanson.  La  servante  repond:  "Non! 
ga  eonviendrait  mieux  au  vieux  qu'a  moi."  —  "Voulez-vous  chanter 
une  petite  chanson?"  demande  le  prince  au  cocassier.  "Pour  ne  pas 
vous  desobUger,  repond-il,  je  vas  vous  en  chanter  une: 

"  Dans  mon  chemin,  je  I'ai  rencontre; 

Je  I'ai  fait  mettre  dans  mon  panier  (bis), 

Kyrie  christi. 

Mon  panier  est  dessous  le  lit, 

Dans  la  maison, 

Kyrie  eleison!  " 

"Qa,  c'est  bien  chante!"  disent  les  autres.  Le  prince  dit  aussi  la 
meme  chose:  "Bien  chante!"  mais  il  n'aime  pas  la  chanson.  "Le  mari 
est  peut-etre  dans  le  panier?"  pense-t-il. 

"Ast'heure,  vous  allez  chanter,  la  servante!"  EUe  repond:  "Je  ne 
sais  guere  comment  chanter;  mais  pour  ne  pas  vous  desobliger,  prince, 
m'as^  chanter: 

"  J'entends  le  cocassier  qui  dit 

Que  mon  maitre  est  dans  son  panier  (bis), 

Kyrie  christi; 

Qui  dit  que  mon  maitre  est  dans  son  panier, 

Dessous  le  lit, 

Kyrie  eleison." 

Le  cocassier  demande:  "Mon  prince!  voulez-vous  que  je  fasse 
chanter  mon  panier?"  La  dame  dit:  "Vous  voyez  ben  que  c'est  un 
sapre  fou;  faire  chanter  son  panier?  Voir  si  un  panier  chante!" 
Assez  curieux  et  aimant  tout  entendre,  le  prince  dit:  "Laissez-le 
done  chanter.  Peut-etre  a-t-il  quelque  chose  qui  chante,  dans  son 
panier."  —  "Mon  vieux,  faites-le  done  chanter,  le  panier."  Le 
cocassier  va  dessous  le  lit  chercher  son  panier,  le  met  dans  le  milieu 
de  la  place,  ^  et  lui  fou  un  coup  de  pied  en  disant:  "Chante,  panier!" 
Voila  hen  le  panier  qui  commence  a  chanter: 

"  J'etais  A  Paris  et  j'en  suis  revenu; 

T"as  ete  malade,  mais  tu  I'es  pu.  * 

Tu  sortiras  de  ma  maison. 

Kyrie  christi; 

Tu  sortiras  de  ma  maison 

A  coups  d'bdton, 

Kyrie  eleison." 

Je  vous  dis  que  le  prince  sortit  de  la  maison!  II  paratt  que,  depuis, 
il  n'a  jamais  eu  I'idee  d'y  retourner. 

1  I.e.,  je  m'en  vais. 

'  I.e.,  au  milieu  de  la  salle  ou  chambre. 

3  Pour  "tu  as  ete  malade,  mais  tu  ne  I'es  plus." 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  125 

FACfiTIES. 
30.    LE   CONTE  DE  MONSIEUR  MICHEL  MORIN.  ^ 

Un  jour,  c'est  un  monsieur  Michel  Morin.  II  dit  h  son  voisin: 
"Je  m'en  vas  a  la  chasse,  dans  la  foret."  Rendu  en  un  certain  bois, 
monsieur  Michel  Morin  apergoit  un  lievre.  II  prend  son  bouchon, 
joupon,  2  le  tue.  Voyez  comme  il  avait  de  I'amour  pour  son  pro- 
chain  I^  II  prend  son  gibier,  le  pleume,  et  le  mange.  De  la  peau,  il 
se  fait  un  capot,  des  bottes  et  une  tuque.  ^  Vous  voyez  que  monsieur 
Michel  Morin  avait  de  I'amour  pour  son  prochain.  De  la  il  s'en  re- 
tourne. 

Le  long  du  chemin,il  apergoit  un  de  ses  amis  examinant  une  vieille 
croix  de  pierre.  Son  ami  lui  dit:  "Monsieur  Michel  Morin,  regarde! 
Dans  le  haut  de  la  croix  de  pierre,  il  y  a  un  nic^  de  pies."  Monsieur 
Michel  Morin  gage  qu'il  est  capable  de  denicher  les  pies.  Rendu 
dans  le  haut  de  la  croix  de  pierre,  Monsieur  Michel  Morin  tombe 
aut'en^has^  et  se  casse  les  reins.  "Et  vite,  et  vite!  dit-il;  portez-moi  k 
ma  propriete,  que  je  fasse  mon  testament!"  On  le  transporte  done 
au  milieu  de  sa  femme  et  de  ses  enfants.  Monsieur  Michel  Morin  dit 
a  sa  femme:  "Et  vite,  et  vite!  au  notaire,  ^  que  je  fasse  mes  dons!" 
"Monsieur  Michel  Morin!  [dit  sa  femme,]  pourquoi  veux-tu  le  notaire: 
nous  n'avons  rien."  II  replique:  "Et  vite,  et  vite,  au  notaire!"  L'on 
va  chercher  le  notaire,  car  monsieur  Michel  Morin  est  sur  son  lit  de 
mort.* 

Sitot  le  notaire  arrive:  "Qu'avez-vous  done,  monsieur  Michel 
Morin?"  —  "Appfochez  ici!  [repond-il.]  Toi,  ma  femme,  je  te 
donne  trois  arpents  de  terre.  Ecrivez,  notaire!"  —  "Ou  vais-je  les 
prendre, les  trois  arpents  de  terre?"  [demande  sa  femme.]  Monsieur 
Michel  Morin  reprend:  "  .  .  .Trois  arpents  de  terre.  Ecrivez, notaire!" 
Son  petit-fils  Colin  [demande]:  "Moi,  monsieur  Michel  Morin?"  — 
"Toi,  mon  petit-fils  Colin,  je  te  donne  la  plus  belle  fiUe  du  village,  k 
prendre  quand  tu  voudras,  ou  quand  tu  pourras.  Ecrivez, notaire!" 
A  sa  servante  qui  approche  en  disant:  "Moi,  monsieur  Michel  Morin, 
est-ce  que  je  n'aurai  done  rien?"     II  repond:  "Approche,  mes  grosses 

1  R4cit<^  en  aoGt,  1914,  k  la  Jeune  Lorette,  par  Prudent  Sioui,  qui  I'avait  appris 
par  cceur,  de  son  pere. 

2  Mots  rythmiques,  sans  signification  precise. 

3  Ironie. 

4  Tuque  (de  teugue,  terme  marin),  nom  populaire  d'une  coiffure  ronde,  ordi- 
nairement  faite  de  laine,  et  surmontee  d'un  pompom  ou  d'un  gland,  que  portaient 
lea  anciens  Canadiens. 

5  Pour  nid. 

6  Pour  de  haut  en  bas. 

7  Pour  allez  au  notaire  ou  allez  chercher  U  notaire. 

8  Sioui  dit:  "sur  le  lit  de  la  mort." 


126  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

glddines,^  mes  gros  sabots !*  A  toi  qui  a  6t6  bonne  servante,  je  donne 
ma  petite  chaudi^re  k  I'eau  bouillante,  avec  un  bon  bouillon  qui  ne 
te  figera  pas  sur  le  coeur,  pour  un  an  et  un  careme."  A  son  petit 
Pierrot  (il  dit):  "Approche!"  —  "Moi,  monsieur  Michel  Morin,  est-ce 
que  je  n'aurai  done  rien?"  —  "Oh!  oui,dit  monsieur  Michel  Morin; 
approche,  mon  petit  Pierrot!  tu  as  ^t^  bon  serviteur;  je  te  donne  ma 
serpe  a  fagots.  Ecrivez,  notaire!  Garde-toi  de  faire  des  fagots  de 
feuilles,  de  feuillages  et  de  feuillets;^  mais  fais  toujours  des  fagots 
de  conscience,  *  et  tu  passeras  pour  le  meilleur  fagotier  de  France." 

"Et  la!  Monsieur  Michel  Morin,  avez-vous  fait  tous  vos  dons?" 
Monsieur  Michel  Morin,  sur  son  lit  de  mort,  fait  des  reveries  et  des 
reveras  ^  et  toutes  sortes  de  grimaces,  pensant  de  vaincre  la  Mort. 
Mais  la  Mort  [s'est  moqu^]  ^  de  lui  et  lui  a  coup6  le  fil  de  la  vie,  avec 
tous  ses  reveries  et  reveras.  Monsieur  Michel  Morin  avait  la  bouche 
carr^e  et  le  bout  du  nez  rond,  et  le  diable  I'a  emport^. 

31.    MICHEL    MORIN.^ 

{TiireY        6loge   funebre   de  michel  morin,  bedeau 

DE    l'^GLISE    de    BEAUSEJOUR.^ 

(Epitaphe)  Mortuus  est '°  beatus  Gaspard  Jean,  docteur  de  la  com- 
mune, qui  contemplait  un  jour^'  sur  la  mort  des  legumes  et  des  beatus, 
arm^  de  fourches  et  d'artibus.^"^ 

1  Pour  ina  grosse  Claxidine.  2  Des  noms  d'amiti6. 

3  Le  dernier  de  ces  mots  est  denue  de  sens;  il  est  employ6  pour  produire  une 
8ort«  de  cadence  comique. 

*  C'est^^-dire,  oil  I'acheteur  trouve  son  compte. 

6  Mots  ajoutes  pour  la  cadence  et  I'effet. 

fi  Sioui  dit:  "La  mort  s'est  rassemblee  de  lui,"  probablement  par  erreur,  peut-etre 
pour  "s'est  rassemblee  autour  de  lui." 

7  Trois  versions  de  ce  conte  h6roi-comique,  toutes  issues  de  la  meme  source, 
ont  et6  recueillies.  La  premiere  provient  de  I'abb^  Frangois  T^tu,  du  college  de 
Saint e-Anne  de  la  Pocatiere;  la  seconde,  de  I'abb^  J.-P.  Grondin,de  Saint-Germain, 
Kamouraska;  et  la  troisieme,  de  I'abb^  J.-E.-B.  LeVasseur,  cur6  de  I'^glise  de  Saint- 
Jean-Baptiste,  de  Ashkum,  Illinois.  Tandis  que  la  version  de  M.  Tetu  —  la  plus 
br^ve  de  toutes— a  6t6  recueillie  h  la  st6nographie,  celles  de  MM.  Grondin  et  Le- 
Vasseur ont  ^t6  obtenues  sous  forme  de  manuscrits.  Nous  avons  g^n^ralement  re- 
produit  ici  la  plus  complete  de  ces  versions,  celle  de  M.  LeVasseur,  en  y  ajoutant  les 
differences  en  notes. 

Ce  conte  a  d'abord  6t6  appris,  il  y  a  probablement  plus  de  quarante  ans, 
dans  les  chantiers  de  Saint-Pacome,  Kamouraska,  P.  Q.,  par  une  personne  qui  I'a 
transmis  k  M.  LeVasseur,  alors  adolescent.  M.  LeVasseur,  a  son  tour,  le  rep^tait 
eouvent,  il  y  a  trente-cinq  ans  environ,  a  ses  confreres,  au  college. 

On  remarquera  que  ce  conte  est,  surtout  vers  la  fin,  rim6.  Les  quantit6s 
rythmiques  ou  t^ien  n'ont  jamais  6t6  plus  regulieres,  ou  se  sont  modifi6es  au  cours 
de  nombreux  oublis  et  transmissions. 

8  Les  mots  entre  parentheses  n'ont  pas  &t6  donnas  par  les  conteurs. 

9  Les  noms  de  localitds,  ici  et  dans  la  suite,  ne  sont  pas  canadiens.  II  y  a  un 
Beaus^jour,  en  Champagne  (France). 

10  M.  T6tu  dit:  "Ci-gtt  Gaspard  Beatus  Jean." 

u  Les  versions  de  MM.  LeVasseur  et  Grondin  ont  ceci:.  .  "qui  contemplaient 
tous  deux.  . ."     Le  sens  de  cette  phrase  n'a  pas  de  rapport  avec  le  contexte. 

1 2  Ici,  ces  mots  d^nu^s  de  sens  ont  6videmment  pour  but  de  produire  une  cadence 
comique. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  127 

(Eloge) ' 

Un  jour,  Michel  Morin,  occupait  la  place  officiale  de  la  paroisse, 
c'est-a-dire  le  banc  de  rceuvre.  II  s'apergut  que  les  moineaux  faisaient 
leurs  nids  dans  la  voiite  de  I'eglise.  II  se  leva  bien  doucement,  prit 
une  perche  a  abattre  les  fils  d'araignees,  et  patati,  patata,  vadadi, 
vadada,  les  mit  tons  hors  de  I'eglise.  Ah !  voyez  toutes  ces  betes, 
excepte  le  pretre,  avec  toutes  ces  gueules  enfarinees,-  sans  compter  le 
cure  qui  prechait!  ^     Sans  moi,  nous  n'entendions  ni  messe,  ni  sermon. 

Un  jour,  6tant  assis  k  sa  fenetre,  Michel  Morin  vit  le  petit-fils  de 
Jacquelin  et  son  voisin  qui  se  battaient  tous  deux  pour  des  prunes.  ■* 
II  se  leva,  s'approcha,  leur  mit  la  main  sur  le  collet,  donna  une  tape  k 
Tun,  un  soufflet  a  Tautre,  et  les  separa  bien  promptement.  Voyez 
comme  Michel  Morin  avait  bon  cceur  pour  son  prochain,  de  voir^ 
ces  deux  fripons  qui  s'arrachaient  la  crigne  ®  de  toutes  leurs  forces. 

Un  jour,  Michel  Morin  se  promenant  le  long  du  clos  de  Jean  Mi- 
chaud,  apergsut  un  lievre.  II  le  prit,  le  tua,  le  pleuma  et  le  mangea. 
Excellent  homme,  Michel  Morin!  C'est  Vomnis  homo.  .  .,  I'homme  k 
tout  faire,  puisqu'il  a  pris  son  lievre,  I'a  tu6,  I'a  pleume  et  I'a  mang^. 

Un  jour,  Michel  Morin,  invita  a  diner  quatre  de  ses  bons  amis  et  moi, 
qui ''  faisait  cinq.  Je  ne  me  souviens  pas  si  c'^tait  un  vendredi  ou  un 
samedi,  la  veille  d'une  fete  ou  d'un  dimanche;  toujours  que^  c'etait  un 
jour  maigre.  Michel  Morin  n'avait  rien  pour  recevoir  son  monde. 
II  courut  alors  a  la  riviere,  se  depouilla  de  ses  vetements  et  se  jeta  a  la 
nage.  Nous  le  crilmes  noye;  mais  point  du  tout!  U  re vint  avec  deux 
brochets  aussi  longs  que  d'ici  a  demain,  eventra  I'un  de  ses  deux 
brochets,  passant  son  coutelas  sur  le  pare,  britchte,  bretchte,  vritchte, 
vretchte,en  fit  une  matelote^  qu^on^'^  se  delichait^^  les  quatre  doigts  et  le 
pouce.  Apres  que  nous  etlmes  bien  mange,  il  fallut  chacun  raconter 
son  histoire.    Michel  Morin  s'y  prit  en  ces  termes,  dit-il :  Je  me  meurs, 

1  Une  strophe  ici  n'a  pu  etre  reconstitute  qu'imparfaitement  (manuscrits 
LeVasseur  et  Grondin) :  "A  chaque  endroit  oil  je  puisse  passer,  d'un  coup  de  pistolet 
je  lui  ferais  sauter  la  cervelle.  'Ah!  Ah!  dit  la  grand'm^re,  s'il  avait  etudie  en  classes, 
ce  serait  le  plus  savant  des  hommes,  s'il  en  etit  etc  capable.'  " 

2  Gueule  enfarinee,  expression  peu  usitee,  au  Canada. 

3  M.  Tetu  disait:  "...les  mit  tous  hors  de  I'eglise,  toutes  lea  betes,  sans 
compter  le  pretre." 

*  M.  Tetu  dit:  "Michel  Morin  voit  les  enfants  du  voisin  qui  se  battent  pour 
un  panier  de  prunes."  Dans  la  suite,  il  admit  la  version  de  M.  LeVasseur  authenti- 
que. 

5  Probablement  dans  le  sens  de  il  fallait  voir. 

6  La  crinibre. 

7  Ce  qui. 

8  I.e.,  ce  qui  est  certain,  c'est  que. 

9  Le  conteur  entendu  par  M.  LeVasseur  disait:  "une  rnalela.  .  ." 

1 0  Messieurs  T6tu  et  Grondin  disent  :  "  Un  ragodt  ^  a'en  delicher  les  quatre 
doigts  et  le  pouce." 

11  LSchait. 


128  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

moi  qui  avais  un  si  bel  Ane,  d'une  si  bonne  race,  dont  la  michoire  du 
cousin  germain  avait  servi  a  tuer  Cain. 

La  blanchisseuse,  un  jour,  voulant  porter  le  linge  a  la  grenouillere/  me  dit:  "Com- 
pere!" 

— "Mais  qu'est-ce  qu'il  y  a  done,  commere?" 

— "II  3'  a  bien  loin  de  chez  la  blanchisseuse  a  la  grenouillere. 

Si  nous  attelions  le  bel  Sne  a  la  charrette, 

Ce  serait  bien  plus  tot  faite." 

Je  lui  dis:  "En  effet,  prenez-le." 

EUe  le  prit  done,  le  bel  &ne,  et  I'attela  a  la  charrette. 

Mais  en  passant  par  \e  fossetle"^  Albcc, 

Le  bel  &ne  s'est  enfonc^  depuis  la  queue  jusqu'au  bee. 

EUe  me  dit:  "Compere!"^ 

— "Mais  qu'est-ce  qu'il  y  a  done,  commere  ?" 

— "Votre  bel  &ne,  il  est  mort!" 

— "Ah!  pleurez  mes  yeux,  pleurez  sans  cesse!  Versez  autant  de  larmes  qu'il  y 
a  d'eau  dans  la  riviere!" 

On  a  tant  verse  de  larmes  que  le  bel  dne  * 

Se  rendit  au  royaume  des  Taux  ^ 

Pour  le  tirer  de  la,  pour  lui  6ter  ses  sabots, 

Pour  le  porter  en  terre,  pour  le  porter  sur  I'lle  Macrele, 

II  nous  faut 

Jacquelin,  Jacqueline,  Couleuvrine  et  ses  pctits. 

On  a  eu  pour  tout  h6ritage.. 

La  viande!     Les  chiens  en  ont  fait  leur  partage. 

Un  jour,  Michel  Morin  vit  des  corneilles  qui  avaient  leur  nid  dans  le  haut  d'un 
sapin.^ 

II  gagea  une  pinte  de  whiskey  avec  son  voisin. 

"Gageons,  dit-il  a  son  ami, 

Gageons  une  bouteille  de  whiskey 

Que  je  puis  d^nicher  les  pies." 

II  y  alia,  mais,  par  malheur,  monta  sans  6chelle. 

Arrive  au  haut  du  sapin,  il  s'6cria:  "Victoire! 

Mon  voisin!  nous  allons  la  boire!" 

II  se  mit  a  descendre.     Une  branehe  cassa,  et  il  d^gringola  de  branche  en  branche. 

II  tomba  et  se  cassit  les  reins.  ^ 

1  M.  Groudin  ecrit  ici  "Cartwuillere,"  nom  propre.  2  Fosse. 

3  M.  LeVasseur  remarque  en  note  que  les  expressions  compere,  commere,  ne  sont 
pas  couramment  usit^es  ici  dans  ce  sens,  mais  bien  en  Normandie. 

4  M.  Grondin  6crit:  "Versez  autant  d'eau  qu'il  y  en  a  dans  la  riviere;  et  ils  en 
verserent  tellement  que  Fame  de  notre  bel  dne  .se  rendit.  .." 

5  M.  LeVasseur  remarque  que  ceci  veut  peut-etre  dire  "le  royaume  d'Yvetot." 

6  Ici,  les  trois  versions  different  un  peu,  celle  de  M.  Tetu  est  donn6e  en  texte. 
Celle  de  M.  LeVasseur:  "Michel  Morin  gagea  avec  son  voisin  qu'il  irait  denicher  les 
pies  dans  le  haut  de  I'orme  situ6  a  la  cote  Pierre."  La  version  de  M.  Grondin: 
"Michel  Morin  gagea  une  pinte  de  whiskey  avec  son  voisin  qu'il  irait  denicher  les 
corbeaux  qui  faisaient  leur  nid  dans  I'orme  situ6  pres  du  mur,  au  haut  de  la  cote 
Pierre."  5l.T^tu  plus  tard  voulut  ici  retrancher  sa  version,  pr^f^rant  celle  de  M. 
LeVasseur. 

7  M.  LeVasseur  ^crit:  "II  se  mit  a  descendre  de  branche  en  branche.  Une 
branche  cassa,  il  tomba  et  se  cassit  les  reins.  M.  T6tu,  lorsqu'il  lut  la  version  Le- 
Vasseur, la  d^clara  authentique. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  129 

Le  voil^  pas  trop  bien. 

"Avant  de  me  porter  en  terre,  * 

Qu'on  m'emmene  monsieur  le  notaire, 

Avant  de  me  porter  au  monument, 

Que  je  fasse  mon  testament .... 

Monsieur  le  notaire,  employez  pour  moi  du  bon  et  du  propre.  ^ 

Ecrivez  k  ma  mode, 

Et  vous  serez  pay6  en  mdthode. 

Ecrivez  pour  moi,  aujourd'hui. 

Ecrivez  sans  credit.  ^ 

Je  legue  a  ma  femme  deux  pieces  de  terre 

Situ^es  k  la  c6te  Pierre." 

— "Mais,  mon  mari,  excusez  done! 

On  n'a  jamais  eu  ni  terre,  ni  maison." 

— *'Chut,  chut,  ma  femme!    Je  vais  vous  expliquer  tout  q&. 

11  y  a,  dans  le  haut  de  notre  muraille,  un  pot 

Destine  k  servir  de  nid  aux  moineaux. 

Et,  dans  le  fond  de  la  cuisine, 

II  y  a  une  vicille  terrine. '' 

Ca  fait  deux  pieces  de  terre." 

— "Merci,  mon  mari!" 

— "Ecrivez,  notaire! 

Je  donne  k  mon  fils  Frangois^ 

Ma  hache  qui  6tait  I'empereur  des  bois,  cette  hache  que  je  tenais  entre  mes  quatre 

doigts  et  le  pouce,  et  dont^  je  coupais  un  orme  en  trois  coups." 
— "Merci,  mon  pere!" 
— "Ecrivez,  notaire! 
Je  donne  a  mon  petit-fils  Jarene,^ 
Avec  sa  grand'mine  bleme, 
Mon  b&ton,^  mon  creux^  et  mon  tabac, 
Et,  pour  m^moire,  mon  estomac." 
— "Merci,  mon  pere!" 
— "Ecrivez,  notaire! 
Je  donne  a  ma  fille  unique 
Ma  plus  grande  colique. 
Je  consens  bien  a  son  mariage, 
Dans  notre  village. 
Par  son  contrat, 
Elle  restera  fille  tant  qu'elle  voudra." 

1  M.  Grondin:  "Avant  qu'on  me  porte  au  cimetiere.  .." 

2  La  version  au  texte,  quant  a  cette  ligne,  est  celle  de  M.  Grondin.  Celle  de 
M.  LeVasseur  est  celle-ci:  "Monsieur  le  notaire,  il  faut  prendre  le  meilleur  et  plus 
superbe  moyen  pour  cela  " 

3  M.  Grondin  dit:  "Ecrivez  sans  credit  et  surtout  sans  r^plique." 

*  M.  Tetu:  "Mais  oui !  il  y  a  la  vieille  terrine  dans  I'armoire,  et  le  pot  dans  le 
buffet.  . ."  M.  Grondin:  "II  y  a  dessus  notre  armoire  un  pot  fait  en  terre;  et  dans  le 
bas  de  notre  buffet,  une  vieille  terrine  en  terre.  .." 

5  MM.  Tetu  et  Grondin  donnent  le  nom  de  Frangois  &,  celui  que  M .  LeVasseur 
d^signe  simplement  comme  'fils  aine;'  M.  Grondin  dit:  "petit-fils  Frangois." 

fi  Avec  laquelle. 

7  L'ordre  de  ces  legs  est  different  dans  les  trois  versions  recueillies.  Le  nom  de 
Jarene  n'est  pas  en  usage,  au  Canada,  a  notre  connaissance. 

8  M.  Grondin,  ici,  6crit  sac.  9  Sens  incertain. 


130  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

— "Merci,  mon  p5re!" 

— "Ecrivez,  notaire!" 

— "Et  moi,  mon  oncle  et  mon  parrain, 

Est-ce  que  vous  ne  me  donnerez  rien?" 

— "Avance  ici,  mon  neveu!    J'ai  encore  du  bon  pour  toi.     Je  te  donne  autant 

d'eau  que  tu  pourras  en  boire  a  la  riviere,  et,  aussi,  trois  sacs  de  grain."  ^ 
— "Mais,  excusez  done,  mon  parrain! 
Oil  done  le  prendre,  ce  grain  ?" 

Au  temps  de  la  moisson,  Fannee  prochaine,  lorsque  le  grain  aura 
pousse,  tu  iras  dans  le  champ  de  I'un,  dans  le  champ  de  I'autre,  dans 
le  champ  du  commun;^  tu  prendras  une  poign^e  ici  et  une  poignee  la. 
Tu  ramasseras  bien  tes  trois  sacs  de  grain,  et  tu  en  auras  pour  vivre 
jusqu'a  Paques." 

— "Merci,  mon  parrain." 

— "Ecrivez,  notaire!" 

— "Et  moi,  mon  maitre,  depuis  sept  ans 

Que  je  suis  dans  votre  maison, 

Est-ce  que  vous  ne  me  ferez  pas  quelque  don  ?" 

— "Avance  ici,  ma  grand'  Claudine, 

Avec  tes  grands  babines; 

J'ai  encore  du  bon  pour  toi. 

Va  dans  le  bas  de  mon  armoire,  ^ 

Et  tu  trouveras  deux  cEufs  de  ma  poule  noire. 

Tu  les  feras  cuire  dans  la  chaudiSre  k  merveille.  ■* 

Avec  la  graisse,  tu  feras  de  la  chandelle. 

Avec  le  bouillon,  tu  feras  de  la  soupe,  pour  ton  careme, 

Qui  ne  te  figera  pas  sur  le  cceur." 

— "Merci,  mon  mattre!"  —  "Ecrivez,  notaire! 

Je  donne  k  mon  fils  Pierrot 

Ma  serpe  k  faire  des  fagots.  ^ 

Je  t'en  prie,  mon  fils  Pierrot, 

Ne  fais  pas  de  fagots  de  rondins, 

Pour  te  degourdir  les  reins. 

Ne  fais  pas  de  fagots  d'asperges, 

Garnis  de  feuilles  et  de  feuillages, 

Mais  de  ces  bons  fagots  de  cabaret, 

Qui  durent  une  heure  k  peu  pr6s. 

Fagots,  fagotins,  fagotier, 

Fagots  lies  de  tous  cotes. 

Fagots  qui  portent  la  mesure  de  toute  la  science; 

Et  tu  deviendras  le  vaeiUeur  fagotier^  de  France." 

1  M.  Tetu  dit  ici:  "trois  gerbes  de  ble,"  ce  qu'il  retrancha  ensuite. 

2  M.  LeVasseur  remarque  en  note:  "Le  champ  de  la  commune  est,  en  France  ou 
en  Belgique,  un  immeuble  laisse  aux  pauvres  de  I'endroit;  ce  qui  est  inconnu,  au 
Canada. 

3  M.Tetu  dit;  "Va  dans  le  nid  de  la  poule  noire..."  Plus  tard,  il  pref^ra  la  ver- 
sion de  M.  LeVasseur. 

4  II  y  a  peut-etre  inversion  pour  la  rime,  le  sens  etant  :  "  Tu  les  feraa  cuire  k 
merveille,  dans  la  chaudi^re;"  ou  encore:  "dans  la  chaudi^re  aux  merveille3"(?) 

5  Ces  details,  fait  remarquer  M.  LeVasseur,  n'ont  rien  de  canadien,  la  serpe  k 
fagots  6tant  tine  chose  inconnue,  au  Canada. 

6  Fagoteur. 


Contes  Populaires  Canadiens.  131 

— "Merci,  mon  p^re!" 

— "Ecrivez,  notaire!" 

Ici  le  notaire  s'impatiente. 

"Sapristi!     Michel  Morin, 

Si  on  ecrivait  tous  vos  desseiiis 

On  en  ferait  bien  un  gros  livre!" 

Michel  Morin  se  proposait  d'en  dire  bien  davantage;  ^  mais  la  Mort 
qui  Tenvironnait  ^  de  tous  cotes  lui  coupa  le  souffle  de  la  vie. 

32.  LE  TR^PAS  DE  MICHEL  MORIN.' 

Non  loin  de  notro  6glise  est  un  orme  geant. 

C'est  la  que,  pour  plaider,  le  peuple,  s'ameutant, 

Vient  souvent  r^clamer  les  formes  judiciairea, 

Pour  un  peu  d^meler  le  fil  de  ses  affaires. 

C'est  la  que,  dans  I'ete,  un  cercle  de  gargons 

Derobent  au  soleil  leurs  imberbes  mentons: 

C'est  1^  qu'assis  en  rond,  sur  I'herbe  verdoyante, 

lis  s'amusent  aux  jeux.     Et  la  troupe  bruyante, 

[Dds  la  partie  gagnee],  se  relive  aussitot, 

Pour  le  petillant  jus  boire  h,  tire-l'arigot. 

Et,  avec  mille  bonds,  la  troupe  clapotante 

Fait  trembler  le  sol  [de  sa  course  remuante]. 

Une  bavarde  pie,  un  jour  trois  fois  maudit, 

Au  fin  sommet  de  I'orme  avait  perche  son  nid. 

Son  diable  de  caquet  interrompait  sans  cesse 

Le  sermon  du  cure.     La  troupe  vengeresse,  ^ 

Un  dimanche,  enfin,  s'assemble  vaillarament 

Pour,  avec  des  batons,  ruer  la  pie  aux  vents, 

Et  detruire  son  nid.     Hcroique  entreprise! 

A  toi  seul,  6  Morin,  les  destins  I'ont  commise! 

O  destins  trop  cruels!     O  trop  fatal  honneur! 

A  peine  son  oreille  a  saisi  la  clameur, 

Plus  vif  que  le  renard,  il  court  k  pcrdre  haleine; 

Et  sa  voix  retentit:  "Arretez  destructeurs ! 

A  quels  honteux  exc^s  vous  portent  vos  f ureurs  ? 

Pourquoi  saccagez-vous  notre  orme  h.  coups  de  gaules  ? 

Quoi!  vous  ne  pourriez  trouver  de  meilleur  role 

Qu'abattre  li,  a  vos  pieds,  le  logis  des  oiseaux  ? . . . 

Mais  qui  veut  parier  que,  grimpant  en  deux  sauts, 

1  Un  certain  nombre  des  aventures  de  Michel  Morin  ont  dti  etre  omises  ici 
par  oubU.  Ainsi  le  fragment  suivant  est-il  revenu  h  la  memoire  de  MM.  LeVasseur 
et  Grondin:  "Michel  Morin  racontait  toujours  I'histoire  de  la  chienne  et  de  sa 
cousine .  .  .  Michel  Morin,  mauvais  payeur,  d^chargeait  le  plancher  quand  on 
lui  parlait  de  payer.  II  prenait  toujours  le  large,  crainte  de  rester  pour  gage.  Du- 
rant  ce  temps-lS,,  il  faisait  toujours  des  bons  repas." 

2  MM.  Tetu  et  Grondin:  "la  Mort  qui  le  guettait. .." 

3  Cette  version  manuscrite  rimee  et  amplifi^e  d'un  episode  du  conte  de  Michel 
Morin  nous  a  6t6  communiqu^e  par  M.  I'abbe  Wilfrid  Lebon,  du  college  de  Sainte- 
Anne  de  la  Pocati^re,  Kamouraska.  L'auteur  de  ces  rimes  —  I'abbe  T.-B.  Pelletier  — 
6tait,  de  1838  h.  1848,  prefet  des  etudes  au  college  de  Sainte-Anne.  II  a  dtl  emprun- 
ter  son  sujet  au  folklore  populaire  des  environs. 

*  Des  gamins. 


132  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Je  saccage  le  nid  de  la  bavardc  pie, 

Et  qu'en  un  tour  de  main  je  la  mette  en  charpie?" 

II  dit,  et  aussitdt  il  a  tromp6  les  yeux. 

II  grimpe,  il  saute,  il  vole;  et  de  son  bras  nerveiu 

Empoignant  les  rameaux,  il  arrive  a  la  cime. 

Mais,  hllas!  quel  revers!     II  y  trouve  un  abtme, 

II  allait  se  saisir  de  I'objet  convoit^; 

D^ja  la  pie,  en  fuite,  avait  d^m6nage, 

Laissant  1^,  sans  souci,  sa  criarde  famille. 

Elle  a  vu  de  Morin  I'oeil  en  feu  qui  p4tille! 

Mais,  ivre  de  victoire,  a  de  faibles  rameaux 

Michel  avait  confi6  son  destin  et  ses  os. 

Sous  ce  fardeau  trop  lourd  on  voit  ployer  la  branche. 

On  s'6tonne,  on  s'6meut.     II  s'est  rompu  la  hanche. 

De  culbute  en  culbute,  et  par  sauts  et  par  bonds, 

Le  brave  sur  le  sol  arrive  moribond. 

O  douleur!  il  est  la  sans  souffle  et  sans  vie. 

Oh!  pleurez,  tous  les  yeux,  s'il  vous  en  prend  envie! 

Je  ne  puis  dire  plus  sur  son  bien  triste  sort. 

C'etit  €t6  un  h^ros .  . .  s'il  n'en  6tait  pas  raort. 

33.    TI-PIERRE    ET  JACQUELINE.  * 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'^tait  un  vieillard,  sa  femme  et 
leur  seul  enfant,  Ti-Pierre.  Le  vieillard,  un  jour,  dit  a  sa  femme: 
"Nous  voila  vieux  et  ineapables  ^  de  travailler.  Si  tu  veux  dire  comme 
moi,  nous  allons  donner  a  Ti-Pierre  son  heritage,  pour  qu'il  aille  se 
choisir  une  compagne."  Comme  ils  sont  d'aecord,  la  vieille  femme  don- 
ne  a  Ti-Pierre  son  heritage:  cinq  sous  en  tout  et  pour  tout,  lui  disant: 
"Voici  ton  heritage.  Choisis-toi(Oune  compagne."  —  "Mais  poupa! 
r^pond-il,  tu  crois  que  c'est  facile  avec  cinq  sous  de  se  choisir  une 
compagne?  Surtout  moi  qui  n'ai  jamais  rien  fait  que  garder  les 
troupeaux.  On  n'apprend  pas  grand  Eloquence  la-dedans.  Mais 
enfin,  puisqu'il  le  faut,  allons!" 

Voila  done  que  je-^  me  mets  mon  habit,  mes  culottes  de  bouracan,  * 
mes  bottes  de  cuir  cru,  et  ma  tuque''  barree  noire  et  rouge.  Et  puis, 
je  pars  au  grand  galop.  Arrive  a  une  maison,  je  frappe  a  la  porte. 
"Qui  est-la?  Entrez!"  J'entre.  "Est-ce  ici  qu'il  y  a  des  filles  k 
marier?"  je  demande.  "Oui,  monsieur!  Assoyez-vous.  II  y  en 
a  trois  qui  sont  joliment  grandettes.^ — Jo.s^phine,  ThaHse,^  et  Mar- 

1  R6cit6  k  Lorette,  en  ao<it,  1914,  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  avec  I'aide  de  son 
mari. 

2  Le  conteur  dit:  "et  pu  capables  de  travailler."  Pu  (i.e.,  plus)  ici  est  equivalent 
a  pas,  et  est  abr6g6  de  non  plus. 

3  Le  reste  de  ce  conte  est  un  monologue  dans  la  bouche  de  Ti-Pierre. 
*  Ici  prononc6  bouragan. 

6  Tuque,  coiffure  de  laine,  et  ordinairement  surmont^e  d'un  gland. 
6  Diminutif  de  grande. 
1  Th^rese. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens. 


133 


goulette,  descendez  ici!  Un  monsieur  voudrait  vous  voir."  J'en- 
tends  pif,  pof!  dans  I'escalier;  ce  sont  les  filles  qui  descendent.  J'en 
ai  la  chair  de  poule,  et  me  sens  tout  bete.  Je  m'approche  de  la  cesse 
qui  ^  me  parait  la  plus  gentille,  et  lui  dis:  "Mamselle!  m'aimerez-vous 
toujours?"  La  voila  qui  part  au  grand  galop,  ses  deux  soeurs  par 
derriere  elle.  Je  vous  dis  que  je  reste  bete!  Souhaitant  le  bonsoir  k 
la  mere,  je  prends  la  porte,  -  et  continue  mon  chemin. 

A  la  fin,  je  suis  venu  a  bout  de  trouver  ce  qu'il  me  fallait:  une  com- 
pagne,  une  nommee  Jacqueline.  Je  ere  ben  que  ce  n'etait  pas  ce 
qu'il  y  avait  de  mieux;  mais,  pour  moi,  j'en  etais  content. 

Jacqueline  et  moi,  nous  voila  partis  pour  nous  marier.  C'etait 
une  grosse  noce,  et  quelle  suite!  II  y  avait:  moi,  Jacqueline,  Tharese, 
Margoulette,  Suzon,  Suzanne;  ce  qui  faisait  trois  grands  cabarouets 
bien  pleins.  C'etait  beau  de  nous  voir!  Une  fois  marie,  je  m'en  fus 
avec  Jacqueline  m'etablir  sur  la  montagne.  En  chemin,  nous  ren- 
controns  Gros-Jean,  fumant  sa  pipe.  "Ah!  Ti-Pierre,  approche! 
viens  fumer  une  pipe  avec  moi."  —  **Ah!  oui,avec  plaisir.  Tu  sais, 
Gros-Jean,  que  je  suis  marie?  Nous  nous  en  allons  nous  etablir  sur 
la  montagne." — "  Ti  vre  f"  ^ — "Ah  oui!  Tiens!  je  te  presente  ma  fem- 
me,  Jacqueline."  —  "Jacqueline...  son  nom  de  famille,  Ti-Pierre?" 
—  "Je  ne  le  sais  pas,  Gros-Jean.  . .  .  AsVheure,  tu  vas  nous  escuser;* 
nous  allons  nous  etablir  sur  la  montagne." 

Rendus  sur  la  montagne,  je  me  batis  une  maisonnette  en  branches 
d'^pinette.  ''Dis  rien,^  Jacqueline!  Nous  vivrons  ben.  Je  fais 
tout  ce  que  je  veux  de  mes  mains:  d'abord,  des  manches  de  lavette,  * 
des  couverts  de  pots  de  chambre,  des  battoues''  pour  laver  le  linge.  Tu 
vas  voir  comme  nous  allons  etre  heureux  tous  les  deux.  Tu  le  sais, 
dans  trois  jours  j'ai  b&ti  notre  maisonnette,  et  greye^  la  cuisine. 
J'ai  fait  un  manche  de  lavette,  une  terrine  en  bois,  un  bassin  pour  se 
laver  les  mains.  Tu  vois  qu'on  n'est  pas  trop  mal,  pour  des  com- 
mengants."  Nous  faisions  la  soupe  dans  une  vieille  terrine;  nous 
mangions  notre  fricassee  dans  une  cuvette  defoncee,  et  une  cuiller 
en  bois  nous  suffisait  k  nous  deux.  Notre  lit  etait  fait  de  branches 
d'epinette.  Je  vous  dis  que  nous  n'etions  pas  trop  mal  griyes,  et 
quels  amoureux  nous  ^tions!  Maries  pour  toujours,  toujours,  c'etait 
le  bonheur;  et,  des  fois,'  bras  dessus,  bras  dessous,  nous  nous  prome- 
nions.     C'etait  beau  nous  voir! 

Mais  une  chose  ben  triste  je  dois  vous  dire:  au  bout  de  trois  mois 
ma  pauvre  Jacqueline  a  disparu.  Et  depuis,  je  n'en  ai  eu  ni  vent 
ni  nouvelles. 


1  I.e.,  celle  qui. 

3  Pour  c'est-il  vrai,  est-ce  vraif 

8  I.e.,  ne  dis  Hen. 
f  I.e.,  baitoirs. 

9  I.e.,  quelquejois. 


2  I.e.,  je  SOTS  precipHamment. 

*  I.e.,  excuser. 

*  Sioui  disait  navette. 
8  I.e.,  meubU. 


134  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

II  faut  qu'elle  se  trouve  bien  la  ou  elle  est,  puisqu'elle  ne  revient  pas. 
J'en  juge  par  ]a^  . . 

34.    LES    CARTES    DU    N0MM6    RICHARD.  ^ 

Un  jour,  c'est  un  nomm^  Richard,  qui  passe  devant  une  ^glise,  et 
entre  pour  y  entendre  la  sainte  messe. 

Monsieur  Richard  s'en  va  au  banc  de  I'oeuvre,  comme  on  y  entend 
et  voit  le  mieux.  La,  au  lieu  de  prendre  un  livre  de  devotion  de  sa 
poche,  il  en  tire  un  jeu  de  cartes.  Du  doigt  le  constable  lui  fait  signe 
de  sortir  de  I'^glise.  Mais  monsieur  Richard  ne  remue  pas.  Le  cons- 
table vient  a  lui  et  dit:  "Au  lieu  de  vous  amuser  avec  un  jeu  de  cartes, 
prenez  done  un  livre  de  devotion."  Monsieur  Richard  lui  r^pond: 
"Apres  la  messe,  je  vous  donnerai  le  detail^  de  mon  jeu  de  cartes." 

La  messe  finie,  le  cur6  et  le  constable  viennent  faire  des  reproches 
a  monsieur  Richard,  qui  leur  r^pond:  "Si  vous  voulez  me  permettre, 
je  vais  vous  expliquer  mon  jeu  de  cartes."  —  "Parle,  Richard!  repond 
le  cure,  je  te  le  permets."  Monsieur  Richard  tire  le  deux  en  disant: 
"Le  deux  me  repr^sente  les  deux  Testaments."  Tirant  les  trois:  "Le 
trois  me  rappelle  les  trois  personnes  de  la  sainte  Trinity :  le  quatre  me 
repr^sente  les  quatre  ^vang^listes;  le  cinq,  les  cinq  livres  de  Moise; 
le  six  me  represente  les  six  jours  que  Dieu  prit  a  cr^er  le  ciel  et  la 
terre;  et  le  sept,  le  jour  ou  il  se  reposa,  apres  la  creation."  Tirant  le 
huit,  il  dit:  "Le  huit  me  rappelle  les  huit  personnes  sauvees  du  deluge." 
Tire'*  le  neuf .  .  .  .  ^  Tire  le  dix:  "  Le  dix  me  represente  les  dix  com- 
mandements  de  Dieu."  Tire  la  dame:  "Elle  me  rappelle  la  reine  du 
ciel."  Tire  le  roi:  "Le  roi  me  represente  le  seul  maitre  a  qui  je  dois 
obeissance."     Tire  I'as:  "Un  seul  et  meme  Dieu  que  j'adore." 

Le  cure  dit:  "Monsieur  Richard,  je  m'apergois  que  tu  as  passe  le 
valet."  —  "Monsieur  le  cure,  si  vous  me  donnez  la  permission  de 
parler,  je  vous  donnerai  satisfaction."  —  "Parle,  Richard!  je  te  le 
permets."  —  "Monsieur  le  cure,  le  valet  me  represente  un  veritable 
coquin,  comme  ici  votre  constable  devant  vous." 

35.    LE    R^VE    DBS    CHASSEURS.^ 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois  c'etait  trois  messieurs  et  leur 
cuisinier,  qui  etaient  all^s  a  la  chasse,  dans  les  bois.     Apres  avoir 

1  La  m^moire  des  conteurs  faisait  defaut  dans  ce  conte,  qu'ils  admettaient  ne 
pouvoir  reciter  au  complet. 

2  Recit6  par  P.  Sioui,  de  Lorette,  en  aoilt,  1914.  Sioui  avait  appris  ce  r(5cit, 
dont  il  ne  se  souvenait  pas  tres  bien,  de  son  pere,  Clement  Sioui. 

3  I.e.,  I'explication  detailUe. 

4  I.e.,  II  tire. 

5  La  memoire  du  conteur  fit  ici  defaut. 

6  Racont^  par  Mme  Prudent  Sioui,  Lorette,  en  aotit,  1914.  Elle  avait  entendu  la 
vieille  Marie  Bastien,  de  Lorette,  le  raconter,  il  y  a  longtemps. 


Conies  Populaires  Canadiens.  135 

chass^  toute  la  journ^e  sans  manger,  ils  n'avaient  tu^  qu'une  perdrix. 
lis  se  dirent:  "Gardens  la  perdrix  pour  le  dejeuner.  EUe  sera  k  celui 
qui  fera  le  plus  beau  reve." 

Le  lendemain  matin:  "Quel  reve  as-tu  fait?"  se  demandent-ils. 
Un  d'eux  repond:  "Moi,  j'ai  reve  que  je  me  mariais  a  la  plus  belle 
princesse  du  monde."  Les  autres  dirent:  "Ah!  tu  as  fait  un  beau  r6- 
ve." — "Moi,  dit  un  autre,  j'ai  reve  a  la  sainte  Vierge,  que  j'ai  vue 
dans  toute  sa  beauts."  Le  troisieme:  "Moi,  j'ai  reve  que  j'dtais  au 
ciel,  ou  j'ai  vu  le  bon  Dieu  lui-meme." 

Le  cuisinier  ajoute:  "Moi  aussi,  j'en  ai  fait  un  beau.  J'ai  reve  que 
j'ai  mang^  la  perdrix;  et  je  vois  bien  que  mon  reve  est  vrai,  puisque 
je  ne  viens  pas  a  bout  de  la  trouver,  ce  matin." 

36.    LES   GASCONS   ET  l'cEUF.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  est  bon  de  vous  dire,  c'etait  trois  Gascons.  Aprds 
avoir  march^  toute  la  journ^e,  il  ne  leur  restait  pour  le  souper  qu'un 
oeuf.  Un  des  trois  propose:  "Celui  qui  trouvera  le  meilleur  mot  latin 
le  mangera."  —  "C'est  bien!"  r^pondent  les  autres.  Prenant  I'cBuf 
un  d'eux  dit:  ^'Et  cassatus."  Et  il  casse  I'oeuf.  Les  autres  sont 
d'opinion  que  c'est  un  bon  mot  latin.  En  disant :  "  Et  salaius,'' 
le  second  y  met  du  sel.  "C'est  un  bon  mot  latin,"  remarquent  les 
autres."  Le  troisieme  declare:  "Je  crois  que  c'est  a  moi  le  meilleur 
mot  latin:  Et  consommatus  est;"  et  il  avale  I'ceuf. 

37.    MINETTE    m'a    VOl6    MES   ROULETTES.  ^ 

Un  jour,  j'ai  jou6  avec  Minette; 

Minette  m'a  vol^  mes  roulettes. 

J'ai  dit  k  Minette: 

— "Tu  vas  me  redonner  mes  roulettes." 

Minette  dit:  "T" auras  ^  pas  de  roulettes  sans  croAtes. 

J'ai  ete  trouver  mon  pere  pour  avoir  des  croutes. 

Mon  pere  dit:  'T'auras  pas  de  croutes  sans  heurles." 

J'ai  ete  trouver  les  loups  pour  me  faire  heurler. 

Les  loups  m'ont  dit:  "T auras  pas  d'heurles  sans  veau." 

J'ai  6t6  trouver  le  veau  pour  avoir  du  veau. 

Le  veau  m'a  dit:  "7" auras  pas  de  veau  sans  lait." 

J'ai  ete  trouver  la  vache  pour  avoir  du  lait. 

La  vache  dit:  "T"aiu-as  pas  de  lait  sans  foin." 

J'ai  6te  trouver  la  faux  pour  avoir  du  foin. 

La  faux  dit:  "T" auras  pas  de  foin  sans  lard." 

J'ai  ^16  trouver  la  truie  pour  avoir  du  lard. 

La  truie  dit:  "7" auras  pas  de  lard  sans  glands." 

1  Racont^  par  P.  Sioui,  a  Lorette,  en  aoM,  1914. 

2  R^cit6  par  Prudent  Sioui,  qui  I'avait  appris  de  son  pere.  L'auteur  a  d6ik 
ent€ndu  quelque  chose  de  semblable  d'une  vieille  femme,  a  Sainte-Marie,  Beauce. 

s  Pour  tu  n'auras  pas. 


136  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

J'ai  ete  trouver  les  chSnes  pour  avoir  dea  glands. 

Les  chenes  dirent:  "T'auras  pas  de  glands  sans  vent." 

J'ai  6te  trouver  la  m^re  des  vents  pour  avoir  des  vents. 

La  mere  des  vents  m'a  vente;  j'ai  vente  les  chines; 

Les  chenes  m'ont  glante;  j'ai  glante  la  truie; 

La  truie  m'a  lare;  j'ai  tare  la  faux; 

La  faux  m^afointe;  i'siifointe  la  vache; 

La  vache  m'a  laite;  j'ai  laite  le  veau; 

Le  veau  m'a  cusse;  j'ai  cusse  les  loups; 

Les  loups  m'ont  heurle;  j'ai  heurle  mon  pere; 

Mon  pere  m'a  croUte;  j'ai  croUte  Minette; 

Minette  m'a  tout  redonne  mes  roulettes. 

38.    FORMULE    (finale    DES    CONTES).  ^ 

Je  marche  aujourd'hui  et  je  marcherai  deraain;  j'ai  la  force  de 
marcher.  Je  monte  boteau,  ^  cave,  bois  franc,  navette,  terre  labouree, 
terre  au  peigne,  aii  ravinzion,  la  reine  entend  vomer,  trois  et  trois  quart 
et  une  minute  et  demie,  pistolet  pogne,  heureux,  nez,  courte  queue! 

Section  d'Anthropoloqie, 
Ottawa,  Can. 

1  R4cit6  par  P,  Sioui,  de  Lorette.  Son  pdre  avait  I'habitude  de  r6p6ter  i  aes 
enfants  cette  tirade  d6nuee  de  sens,  quand  il  6tait  fatigu6  de  leur  dire  dea  contea. 

2  Aboteau;  mot  6tranger,  au  Canada. 


Un  conte  de  la  Beauce  137 

UN  CONTE  DE  LA  BEAUCE. 
PAR  Evelyn  bolduc. 

39.    DOM  JEAN.  ^ 

II  est  bon  de  vous  dire  qu'une  fois,  il  y  avait  un  pays.  C'^tait  la 
coutume,  dans  ce  pays,  de  vendre  au  piquet,  tout  comme  des  boeufs, 
les  hommes  qui  etaient  capables  de  lever  plus  que  leur  propre  poids. 
Or,  Dom  Jean,  un  homme  de  ce  pays,  ayant  leve  un  poids  plus  lourd 
que  lui,  fut  mene  k  la  ville  voisine  pour  y  etre  vendu.  L'encanteur 
cria:  "Que  m'offre-t-on  pour  Dom  Jean?"  Pas  de  reponse.  "Que 
m'offre-t-on  pour  Dom  Jean,  un  gros  travaillant,  un  beau  gars?" 
Le  roi  se  trouvant  k  passer  par  la,  un  faineant  qui  s'6tait  accroche  h 
sa  voiture,  repondit:  "Dix  piastres,  au  nom  de  monsieur  le  roi."  — 
"Ah  bien,  dit  le  roi,  je  ne  peux  pas  mentir  a  ma  parole.  II  me  faut  done 
payer."  Et  il  emmene  Dom  Jean  avec  lui  a  son  chateau.  "Tiens,la 
reine!  dit-il  en  entrant,  j'ai  achete  un  homme  au  piquet,  Dom  Jean. 
SArement,  tu  es  contente?"  La  reine,  une  creature  espi^gle  et 
maligne,  repondit:  "Oui,  toi,  tu  voudrais  etre  entoure  de  tous  les  fai- 
neants et  les  voyous  du  canton.  Je  ne  veux  pas  de  Dom  Jean  dans  la 
maison."  Pour  plaire  k  la  reine,  le  roi  envoya  son  nouveau  serviteur 
travailler  au  jardin,  oil  il  y  avait  deja  quatre  jardiniers.  Voyant 
arriver  Dom  Jean,  ces  hommes  se  mirent  a  bougonner:  "Nous  n'avions 
pas  besoin  de  celui-1^;  le  roi  devient  ennuyant  avec  toutes  ses  id^es." 
—  "Mais,  mettez-le  au  plus  dur  de  la  besogne,"  dit  le  roi,  qui,  les 
ayant  entendus,  voulait  les  apaiser.  "C'est  bon,  c'est  bon,  monsieur 
le  roi!"  lis  envoy^rent  Dom  Jean  k  un  coin  du  jardin, dans  un  mar^- 
cage  oil  il  ne  venait  que  des  halliers,  des  framboisiers  et  des  saules. 
Cri,  era,  Dom  Jean  arrachait,  sarclait,  aplanissait.  Vers  dix  heures 
du  matin,  il  fit  un  beau  carre,  oil  il  sema  des  graines  qu'il  avait  appor- 
t6es  avec  lui.  Le  soir,  il  y  cueilHt  trois  beaux  bouquets,  qu'il  alia 
porter  Tun  au  roi,  I'autre,  k  la  reine,  le  troisi^me,  k  la  princesse  leur 
fille.  "Vous  voyez,  dit  la  princesse,  c'est  le  premier  de  vos  serviteurs 
qui  pense  k  me  faire  un  present."  —  "Oui!  reprit  la  reine,  tu  prends 
toujours  pour  ton  pere;  aussi,  tu  n'as  de  gotit  que  pour  les  faineants." 
Quant  le  roi  vit  sa  reine  encore  si  fdchee,  il  dit  k  Dom  Jean:  "Main- 
tenant,  je  vais  t'emmener  k  ma  terre^  pour  que  tu  y  travailles."  Et 
le  lendemain,  ils  partirent  de  bon  matin.  En  arrivant  k  la  terre,  les 
trois  fermiers  du  roi  se  mirent  k  bougonner:  "Nous  sommes  bien  assez 
de  monde  ici  sans  ce  nouveau-la."  —  "Mais  mettez-le  au  plus  dur  de 

I  Racont6  par  Paul  Patry,de  Saint- Victor,  Beauce,  et  recueilli,en  1914,  par  Made- 
moiselle fivelyn  Bolduc,  du  meme  endroit. 
'  I.e.,  ma  ferme. 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

la  besogne,"  r^pondit  le  roi,  pour  les  satisfaire.  "C'est  bon!  c'est 
bon!  monsieur  le  roi."  lis  envoyerent  Dom  Jean  dans  une  grande 
prairie  ou  il  ne  poussait  que  chardons,  ronces  et  mauvaises  herbes. 
Dom  Jean  se  mit  a  labourer,  herser,  fumer,  semer  et  rouler.  Le  soir, 
il  r^colta  un  beau  champ  d'avoine.  Ses  camarades,  voyant  cela, 
murmurerent  entre  eux:  "II  faut  Fen  empecher,  ou  il  fera  seul  tout 
I'ouvrage,  et  le  roi  nous  mettra  a  la  porte."  lis  lui  dirent:  "Dom  Jean, 
vous  ferez  mieux  de  ne  plus  travailler  au  champ.  A  partir  de  demain, 
vous  serez  cuisinier."  —  "C'est  pareil  pour  moi,"  r^pondit  Dom  Jean. 
Le  lendemain  matin,  il  se  leva  a  trois  heures  pour  boulanger,  greyer 
la  table  et  le  reste.  Jaloux  de  le  voir  si  actif,  les  fermiers  deciderent 
de  lui  jouer  un  mauvais  tour,  a  I'occasion  de  la  visite  prochaine  du  roi. 
Quant  k  lui,  pour  mieux  recevoir  le  roi,  il  pr^para  un  beau  repas, 
fit  du  pain  sucr^,  cueillit  toutes  les  roses  du  jardin,  hordi,  borda. 

Quand  il  fut  couch^,  le  soir,  ses  camarades  mangerent  tout  ce  qui 
se  trouvail  sur  la  table:  viandes,  pain  sucr6  et  fleurs,  tout  y  passa. 
Le  roi  arriv^,  les  fermiers  lui  dirent:  "Monsieur  le  roi,  c'est  un  beau 
finaud  que  vous  avez  emmen^  I'autre  jour.  Venez  voir  la  table  qu'il 
vous  a  pr^par^e."  A  la  vue  de  cette  table  d^garnie  et  malpropre,  le 
roi  se  mit  en  colere:  "Nas-tu  pas  honte?"  dit-il  a  Dom  Jean,  qui  arri- 
vait.  "Monsieur  le  roi,  ce  n'est  pas  ma  faute.  La  table  que  je  vous 
avais  greyee  etait  bien  belle;  mais  on  a  voulu  me  jouer  un  tour."  Pre- 
nant  une  grande  saliere,  il  pr^para  une  m^decine  tres  forte  qu'il  but 
tout  d'un  trait.  "Que  les  fermiers  en  fassent  autant,  maintenant." 
Les  fermiers,  comme  de  raison,ne  voulaient  pas.  "Ce  n'est  pas  diffi- 
cile, dit  le  roi,  vous  pouvez  en  faire  autant  que  Dom  Jean."  Forces 
de  le  faire,  chacun  d'eux  prit  a  son  tour  une  dose  de  sel.  lis  se  mirent 
aussitot  a  vomir  fleurs,  lait,  pain  sucr6  et  viande.  "Ah!  je  vois  bien 
qui  voulait  me  tromper,  dit  le  roi.  Viens-t'en  avec  moi,  Dom  Jean!" 
Et  il  I'emmena  dans  son  carrosse.  Les  voyant  arriver,  la  reine  se 
facha  tout  rouge.  Mais  corame  cela  arrivait  souvent,  le  roi  ne  s'en 
occupa  pas  trop. 

Le  meme  soir,  le  roi  s'en  alia  diner  chez  un  de  ses  amis,  emmenant 
avec  lui  Dom  Jean.  C'^tait  alors  la  coutume  d'envoyer  un  panier 
rempli  des  meilleurs  bonbons  et  desserts  k  la  reine,  qui  n'assistait  pas 
aux  festins.  Le  roi  confia  done  ce  panier  a  Dom  Jean,  disant:  "Va 
porter  cela  a  ma  petite  choisie."  En  arrivant  au  chateau,  Dom 
Jean  s'assit  sur  le  plancher  et  appela:  "Ma  petite  choisie,  ma  petite 
choisie!"  La  chienne  de  la  reine,  dont  c'^tait  le  nom,  vint  en  sautant, 
et  d^vora  toutes  les  friandises. 

A  son  retour,  le  roi  demanda  a  sa  reine  si  elle  avait  aime  son  envoi. 
"Je  n'ai  rien  regu,  repondit-elle;  Dom  Jean  n'a  apporte  un  panier 
que  pour  la  chienne."  —  "Dom  Jean,  pourquoi  n'as-tu  pas  donne  k 
ma  reine  le  panier  que  je  t'avais  confie?"  —  "Vous  m'avez  dit  d'aller 


Un  conte  de  la  Beauce  139 

porter  ce  panier  k  voire  petite  choisie,  et  c'est  ce  que  j'ai  fait."  — 
—  "Tu  aimes  niieux  Dom  Jean  et  ta  chienne  que  moi,  s'^cria  la  reine; 
aussi  je  te  quitte."  Et  elle  partit  k  la  vive  course  sur  le  trottoir,  son 
chale  sur  le  cou. 

Eh  bien,  en  voil^  une  affaire!  Le  roi  avait  de  la  peine.  "II  faut 
que  tu  la  fasses  revenir,  mon  Dom  Jean."  —  "Ne  soyez  pas  decourag^, 
monsieur  le  roi;  demain,  elle  sera  de  retour  a  votre  chateau."  Dom 
Jean  fit  imprimer  de  grands  ^criteaux '  contenant  que  la  reine  ayant 
quitte  son  mari,  le  roi  avait  decide  de  se  remarier  avec  la  fille  d'un 
roi,  son  voisin,  et  qu'a  ses  noces  tout  son  peuple  ^tait  invito.  Dom 
Jean  se  rendit  chez  un  marchand  de  fleurs,  qui  avait  lou^  une  chambre 
k  la  reine.  "Bonjour,  monsieur!  qu'y  a-t-il  pour  voire  service?"  — 
"Je  voudrais  acheter  toutes  vos  fleurs."  —  "Touies  mes  fleurs!  Pour- 
quoi  faire?"  —  "Le  roi,  vous  le  savez,  se  marie  demain,  et  j'ai  besoin 
de  fleurs  pour  d^corer  la  chambre."  Cach^e  derriere  le  comptoir,  la 
reine  entendait  tout  cela.  Une  fois  Dom  Jean  sorti,  elle  partit  k 
la  course  sans  prendre  le  temps  de  mettre  son  chale,  se  rendit  au  cha- 
teau du  roi  et  frappa  a  la  porte.  "Qui  est  la  ?"  demanda  le  roi.  "C'est 
moi,  ta  reine.  Je  ne  veux  pas  que  tu  te  remaries;  et  je  suis  prete  k 
tout  pardonner,  si  tu  veux  me  reprendre."  Le  roi  etait  bien  content. 
"Je  savais  bien  qu'elle  reviendrait,"  dit  Dom  Jean. 

Mais  le  roi  voisin,  ayant  eu  connaissance  des  ^criieaux,  fut  fort 
indign^  de  I'insulte  faite  a  sa  fille.  II  fit  done  savoir  au  maiire  de 
Dom  Jean  que  si  on  ne  lui  faisait  pas  reparation  d'honneur,  il  enverrait 
ses  soldais  lui  faire  la  guerre.  La  reponse  fut:  "Ne  soyez  done  point 
offens^;  je  vous  envoie  cette  lettre  par  mon  serviteur  Dom  Jean, 
I'homme  le  plus  fin  que  la  terre  ait  jamais  porte."  —  "Si  tu  es  si  fin, 
dit  le  roi  stranger,  tu  vas  me  faire,  d'ici  a  un  an,  une  maison  appuy^e 
sur  rien,  dans  les  airs." —  "Je  veux  bien,  r^pondit  Dom  Jean,  pourvu 
que  vous  fournissiez  les  materiaux."  -  — "Quelle  sorte  de  mat^riaux 
faut-il  ?"  —  "C'est  a  vous  de  le  savoir,  vous  qui  me  demandez  une  mai- 
son appuy^e  sur  rien,  dans  les  airs." 

Quand  Dom  Jean  rapporta  la  volonte  du  roi  voisin  a  son  maitre, 
celui-ci  devint  fort  en  peine.  "Ne  vous  inquieiez  pas  pour  si  peu,  dit 
Dom  Jean;  il  s'est  oblig^  a  me  fournir  les  materiaux." 

Dom  Jean  alia  a  la  montagne,  sur  le  haut  de  laquelle  il  denicha 
quatre  petits  aigles,  qu'il  emporta.  A  mesure  que  les  aigles  gran- 
dissaient,  il  les  habituait  a  se  laisser  atteler,  un  a  chaque  coin  d'une 
petite  maison  de  papier,  les  faisant  voler  en  les  reienant  par  une  corde. 

Au  bout  de  I'annde,  il  se  rendit  au  royaume  du  roi  voisin,  apportant 
avec  lui  ses  aigles  et  sa  maison  de  papier.  II  arriva  a  la  porte  du  cha- 
teau: pan,  pan,  pan!     "Qui  est  la?"  crie  le  roi.     "C'est  moi,  Dom 

1  Cette  formule  a  remplace  ici  la  plus  ancienne  faire  battre  un  ban. 

2  Patry,  comme  tous  les  gens  des  environs,  disait  maieraux,  au  lieu  de  maUriaux. 


140  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lare. 

Jean!  Vos  mat^riaux  sont-ils  prets?"  —  "Mais,  monsieur  Dom 
Jean,  quelle  sorte  de  materiaux  vous  faut-il?"  —  "C'est  a  vous  de  le 
savoir.  Si  mes  materiaux  ne  sont  pas  prets  demain,  au  petit  jour,  ^ 
je  vous  coupe  la  tete  et  Temporte  sous  mon  bras  au  roi  mon  maitre." 

—  "Ah!  mon  bon  monsieur  Dom  Jean,  si  vous  me  pardonnez,  je  vous 
donnerai  ma  fille  en  mariage  et  un  batiment  charge  d'or  pur."  — 
"Je  ne  veux  pas  de  votre  fille  en  mariage;  mais  si  vous  me  promettez 
de  toujours  respecter  le  roi  mon  maitre,  je  serai  satisfait  du  batiment 
charg^  d'or  pur." — "Oui,  mon  bon  monsieur  Dom  Jean,  je  le  promets." 

—  "Ast'heure,  venez  voir  une  maison  appuy^e  sur  rien,  dans  les  airs." 
Et  Dom  Jean  montre  au  roi  sa  maison  de  papier,  portee  dans  les  airs 
par  quatre  aigles  bien  domptds.  Le  roi  etait  tout  transports  d'ad- 
miration.  "Mon  voisin  a  bien  raison;  voici  I'homme  le  plus  fin  qui 
soit  jamais  passS  sur  la  terre." 

Quand  Dom  Jean  revint,  capitaine  de  ce  beau  navire  tout  charge 
d'or  pur,  le  roi,  son  maitre,  lui  donna  la  main  et  lui  dit:  "Dom  Jean, 
tu  m'as  6t6  si  utile  que  je  veux  te  recompenser:  je  te  donne  la  moitiS 
de  mon  royaume,  et  ma  fille  en  mariage."  La  reine  bougonna  comma 
toujours,  mais  personne  ne  s'en  occupa.     Et  c'est  tout. 

1  I.e.,  d  I'aurore. 


Fables,  Contes  et  Formules.  141 

FABLES,  CONTES  ET  FORMULES. 

PAR  GUSTAVE  LANCt6t. 
40.  LE  LOUP  ET  LE  RENARD.  ^ 

Une  fois,  il  y  avait  une  poule,  une  dinde  et  un  renard,  qui  vivaient 
ensemble  au  bord  du  bois.  Comme  I'hiver  approchait,  ils  se  b&tirent 
chacun  une  maison.  La  poule  se  batit  une  maison  de  paille;  la  dinde, 
une  maison  de  tene;  et  le  renard,  une  maison  de  briques. 

Pouss6  par  la  faim,  durant  I'hiver,  un  loup  arrive  un  jour  devant 
les  trois  maisons.  En  le  voyant,  la  poule,  la  dinde  et  le  renard  se 
eauvent  dans  leur  maison,  dont  ils  barrent  la  porte.  Le  loup  s'appro- 
che  de  la  maison  de  la  poule  et  frappe  a  la  porte:  "Ouvre-moi!  ou  je 
vais  p6ter  et  jeter  ta  maison  a  terre."  Mais  la  poule  r^pond:  "Non, 
je  n'ouvrirai  pas  la  porte."  Alors  le  loup  pete  et  jette  la  maison  k 
terre.  II  se  jette  sur  la  poule  et  la  mange  en  trois  coups  de  dents. 
Puis  il  frappe  a  la  porte  de  la  dinde:  "Ouvre-moi  la  porte!  ou  je  vais 
p4ter  et  jeter  ta  maison  a  terre."  La  dinde  r^pond:  "Je  ne  t'ouvrirai 
pas  la  porte."  Alors  le  loup  pete  et  jette  la  maison  a  terre.  II  se 
jette  sur  la  dinde  et  la  mange  en  trois  coups  de  dents.  Enfin  il  frappe 
k  la  porte  du  renard  en  disant:  "Ouvre-moi  la  porte,  ou  je  pete  et  jette 
ta  maison  h  terre."  Mais  le  renard  r^pond:  "Fais  ce  que  tu  voudras, 
je  ne  t'ouvrirai  pas  la  porte."  Alors,  le  loup  pete,  mais  la  maison  ne 
tombe  pas  a  terre.  Furieux, alors  le  loup  dit:  "Ouvre-moi  la  porte, 
ou  je  vais  passer  par  la  cheminee."  Le  renard  lui  r^pond:  "Fais  ce 
que  tu  voudras,  mais  je  ne  t'ouvrirai  pas  la  porte.  Aussitot  il  met  un 
grand  chaudron  dans  la  cheminee,  le  remplit  d'eau,  et  sur  un  grand 
feu  fait  bouillir  I'eau.  Le  loup  monte  sur  la  maison  et  descend  dans  la 
cheminee.  Mais  la  fum^e  I'aveugle  et  il  tombe  dans  le  chaudron 
d'eau  bouillante,  oil  il  meurt  en  hurlant  de  douleur. 

41.    LE    CONTE    DU    LOUP.  ^ 

Une  fois,  c'dtait  un  loup  appartenant  a  un  homme  qui  I'avait  pris 
dans  le  bois.  Le  maitre  du  loup  envoie  son  petit  gar^on  lui  donner 
k  manger.  L'enfant  lui  donne  a  manger  et  a  boire.  Quand  le  loup 
eut  bien  mangd,  le  petit  gar^on  lui  demande:  "As-tu  bien  mange  et 
as-tu  bien  bu?"  —  "Oui,  r^pond  le  loup,  j'ai  bien  mang^  et  j'ai  bien 
bu.  Je  n'ai  plus  faim  du  tout."  Le  petit  gargon  s'en  retourne  alors 
k  la  maison.  Son  pere  lui  demande:  "As-tu  fait  ce  que  je  t'ai  dit,  et 
donn^  sa  nourriture  au  loup?"  —  "Oui,  rdpond  l'enfant,  je  lui  ai 

1  Appris  par  I'auteur  durant  sa  jeunesse,  a  Saint-Constant,  LaPrairie,  P.Q. 
3  Racont6  par  Mile  Antoinette  Leduc,  de  Valleyfield,  P.Q.,  en  1915. 


142  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

donn^  k  manger  et  k  boire."  Le  p^re  s'en  va  ensuite  voir  le  loup,  k  qui 
il  demande:  "As-tu  et^  bien  nourri,  aujourd'hui  ?"  —  "Non,  repond 
le  loup;  on  ne  m'a  rien  donne  du  tout  k  manger."  Furieux  en  enten- 
dant  cela,  le  maitre  rentre  k  la  maison  et  tue  son  petit  gargon.  II 
envoie  ensuite  sa  femme  donner  k  manger  au  loup.  Apr^s  avoir 
donn6  au  loup  sa  nourriture,  elle  lui  demande:  "As-tu  bien  mange 
et  bien  bu?"  —  "Oui,  repond  le  loup,  j'ai  bien  mange  et  je  n'ai  plus 
faim."  Quand  la  femme  rentre  k  la  maison,  son  mari  lui  demande 
aussi:  "As-tu  donn^  sa  nourriture  au  loup?"  —  "Certainement,  re- 
pond-elle;  je  lui  en  ai  tant  donne  qu'il  n'avait  plus  faim."  L'homme 
va  ensuite  voir  le  loup,  k  qui  il  demande  s'il  a  bien  mange.  "Non,  on 
ne  m'a  rien  donne  depuis  ce  matin."  Alors,  le  maitre  decide  de  voir 
si  le  loup  n'est  pas  un  menteur.  II  s'habille  en  petit  gargon  et  va  lui 
donner  k  manger  et  k  boire.  II  lui  en  donne  autant  qu'il  veut  en 
manger.  Puis  il  lui  demande:  "As-tu  eu  assez  de  nourriture?"  — 
"Oui,  repond  le  loup;  j'en  ai  plus  que  fen  veux."  Alors  le  maitre 
s'en  va  enlever  ses  habits  de  petit  gargon  et  reprendre  ses  habits 
d'homme.  Une  troisieme  fois  il  revient  demander  au  loup:  "As-tu 
bien  mang^  maintenant?"  —  "Je  n'ai  rien  mang^  depuis  ce  matin, 
repond  le  loup;  on  me  laisse  mourir  de  faim."  Alors  l'homme  se  fache 
et  lui  dit:  "Tu  n'es  qu'un  menteur!  C'est  moi  qui  viens  de  te  donner 
k  manger  et  k  boire.  Pour  tes  mensonges,  tu  merites  la  mort."  Et 
avec  sa  hache,  Thomme  tue  le  loup. 

42.    LA    B^lTE-A-SEPT-TflTES.  ^ 

II  6tait,  une  fois,  un  homme  et  une  femme,  qui  avaient  trois  fils, 
Pierre,  Jacques  et  Jean.  lis  ^taient  tr^s  pauvres  et  manquaient  sou- 
vent  de  quoi  manger.  Voyant  cela,  I'ain^,  Pierre,  dit  un  jour  k  sa 
m^re:  "Faites-moi  sept  petites  galettes  et  je  vais  aller  travailler  et 
m'enrichir."  La  mere  lui  fit  sept  petites  galettes,  et  il  partit.  II 
marcha  longtemps  et  arriva  a  I'entree  d'une  foret.  En  entrant  sous 
bois,  il  entendit  une  voix  qui  criait:  "Pierre,  Pierre!"  La  peur  le 
prit  et  il  n'osait  regarder  en  arri^re,  d'oii  venait  la  voix.  Mais  elle 
criait  encore:  "Pierre,  Pierre!"  Alors  il  se  retourna  et  regut  en  plein 
front  un  coup  de  massue  qui  I'etendit  par  terre. 

Au  bout  de  quelque  temps,  Jacques  dit  k  son  tour  a  sa  mere:  "Faites- 
moi  aussi  sept  petites  galettes  de  sarrasin,  et  je  vais  aller  travailler 
et  m'enrichir."  Sa  mere  lui  fit  sept  petites  galettes  de  sarrasin,  et 
il  partit  dans  la  meme  direction  que  Pierre.  En  arrivant  dans  la 
foret,  il  entendit  une  voix  qui  criait:  "Jacques,  Jacques!"  La  peur 
le  prit  et  il  continua  son  chemin  sans  regarder  en  arri^re.  Mais  la 
voix  se  remit  k  crier:  "Jacques,  Jacques!"  Alors  il  se  retourna  et 
regut  en  plein  front  un  coup  de  massue,  qui  I'etendit  par  terre. 

I  Appris  par  I'auteur,  il  y  a  une  vingtaine  d'aon^es,  k  St-Constant  de  LaPrairie. 


Fables,  Conies  et  Formules.  143 

Au  bout  de  quelque  temps,  Ti-Jean  dit,  un  jour,  k  sa  m^re:  "Faites- 
moi  sept  galettes  de  sarrasin,  et  je  vais  aller  travailler,  et  moi,  je 
reviendrai  bien."  Le  coDur  plein  de  chagrin,  car  elle  I'aimait  beau- 
coup,  sa  mere  lui  fit  sept  galettes  de  sarrasin,  et  Ti-Jean  les  mit  dans 
son  mouchoir  et  partit.  Apr^s  avoir  longtemps  raarche,  il  arriva  sur 
le  bord  d'une  riviere.  II  y  trouva  une  vieille  mendiante,  qui  lui 
demanda:  "Voudriez-vous  m'aider  k  traverser  la  riviere?"  Ti-Jean 
I'aida  aussitot  k  traverser  la  rividre,  et  une  fois  de  Tautre  c6t6,  il  lui 
donna  une  de  ses  galettes  de  sarrasin.  Alors  la  vieille  lui  dit:  "Je  suis 
une  f^e,  et  pour  te  r^compenser  de  ta  charite,  je  vais  te  donner  une 
baguette  et  une  ceinture.  Avec  la  baguette,  tu  feras  tout  ce  que  tu 
voudras,  et  quand  tu  mettras  ta  ceinture,  tu  deviendras  invisible." 
Ti-Jean  prit  la  baguette  et  la  ceinture,  remercia  grandement  la  fee  et 
continua  son  chemin.  Quand  il  arriva  dans  la  foret,  il  entendit  une 
voix  qui  criait:  "Ti-Jean,  Ti-Jean!"  Aussitot  il  mit  sa  ceinture,  et 
traversa  le  bois  sans  accident. 

Puis  il  arriva  devant  le  chateau  du  roi.  Un  grand  diable  de  sen- 
tinelle  se  tenait  k  la  porte,  qui  lui  dit:  "Qu'est-ce  que  tu  veux?"  — 
"Je  veux  voir  le  roi."  —  "On  ne  passe  pas  sans  etre  demand^."  Alors 
Ti-Jean  mit  sa  ceinture,  et  devenu  invisible,  franchit  la  porte  pendant 
que  le  soldat  cherchait  en  vain  oh  il  avait  disparu.  Ti-Jean  monta 
les  escaliers,  arriva  devant  le  roi,  qui  lui  demanda:  "Qu'est-ce  que  tu 
veux?"  —  "Sire,  je  veux  ra'engager;  je  suis  pret  k  faire  tout  ce  que 
vous  voudrez  et  tout  ce  que  les  autres  ne  pourront  faire."  —  "C'est 
ce  que  nous  allons  voir,  r^pondit  le  roi.  Va  nettoyer  mes  ecuries!" 
Or  ces  ^curies  n'avaient  pas  6t6  nettoyees  depuis  dix  ans,  et  elles  ^talent 
encombr^es  de  fumier.  Ti-Jean  descendit  aux  ecuries.  II  entra  et, 
les  touchant  de  sa  baguette,  il  dit  simplement:  "Je  veux  que  les 
^curies  soient  nettes."  Aussitot  elles  furent  nettoyees.  Tout  le 
fumier  6tait  enleve,  et  les  animaux  avaient  tous  une  litiere  de  paille 
fraiche.  Le  roi  vint  visiter  les  ecuries,  et  s'emerveilla  de  les  voir  si 
propres  en  si  peu  de  temps.  "Maintenant,  il  dit  a  Ti-Jean,  tu  vas 
aller  faire  paitre  mes  vaches;  mais  garde-toi  bien  de  les  mener  dans  le 
champ  des  geants!"  —  "On  verra!"  repondit  Ti-Jean  d'un  air  mys- 
t^rieux.  II  fit  sortir  le  troupeau  des  etables.  Alors  une  des  g^nisses 
approcha  et  lui  dit :  "Prends  ton  couteau  et  coupe-moi  une  babiche 
depuis  la  tete  jusqu'a  la  queue."  Ti-Jean  ne  voulait  pas,  craignant 
de  faire  mal  k  la  genisse.  Mais  elle  lui  dit:  "Ne  crains  pas,  je  suis  une 
f^e;  taille-moi  une  babiche  de  la  tete  jusqu'a  la  queue."  Ti-Jean 
prit  son  couteau  et  tailla  une  babiche  depuis  la  tete  jusqu'^  la  queue. 
Alors  la  fee  lui  dit:  "Tu  n'auras  qu'a  dire  'Babiche,  attache!'  et  la 
babiche  attachera  tout  ce  que  tu  voudras."  Ti-Jean,  fort  content, 
remercia  la  fee,  mit  la  babiche  dans  la  poche  et  alia  mener  les  vaches 
paftre  dans  le  champ  du  roi.     L'herbe  etait  courte  et  brtilee  par  le 


144  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

soleil,  tandis  que,  dans  le  champ  voisin  des  grants,  le  foin  montait 
plus  haut  que  les  vaches.  Ti-Jean  ouvrit  la  barriere  et  fit  passer  son 
troupeau  dans  le  champ  des  grants.  Les  vaches  se  mirent  dans  le 
grand  foin  et,  le  soir,  quand  Ti-Jean  les  ramena  a  ratable,  elles  don- 
nerent  deux  fois  plus  de  lait  que  d'habitude.  Ti-Jean  continua  de  les 
mener  paitre  dans  le  champ  des  grants,  si  bien  qu'elles  engraisserent 
k  vue  d'oeil.  Et  le  roi  6tait  fort  content  de  voir  ses  vaches  si  grasses 
et  lui  donner  tant  de  lait. 

Un  jour,  pendant  qu'il  faisait  paitre  ses  vaches,  I'id^e  vint  k  Ti- 
Jean  d'aller  au  chateau  des  grants,  dont  on  voyait  le  toit  au  loin. 
II  avait  avec  lui  sa  ceinture,  sa  baguette  et  sa  babiche.  II  marcha  k 
travers  les  champs,  dont  le  foin  lui  montait  plus  haut  que  la  tete. 
Arrivant  k  une  barriere,  qui  6tait  ouverte,  il  allait  la  franchir,  quand 
un  g^ant  6norme,  haut  de  dix  pieds,  parut  devant  lui  et  lui  dit:  "Que 
viens-tu  faire  ici,  petit  ver  de  terre  ?  Si  tu  ne  t'en  vas  pas,  je  vais  te 
couper  en  quatre  et  te  mettre  dans  mon  sac."  —  "Babiche,  attache!" 
r^pondit  Ti-Jean  sans  reculer  d'une  semelle,  Aussitot  le  g^ant  se  trouva 
attach^  et  ficelle  au  poteau  de  la  barriere.  D'un  coup  de  baguette, 
Ti-Jean  lui  coupa  la  tete  et  continua  sa  marche  vers  le  chateau.  En 
approchant,  il  apergut  deux  grants  qui  travaillaient  sur  les  toits,  a 
r^parer  la  couverture.  Ti-Jean  boucla  sa  ceinture  autour  de  ses 
reins  et  se  glissa,  invisible,  dans  la  salle  a  diner  du  chateau.  L^,  il 
aper§ut  la  fille  du  roi,  avec  ses  grands  cheveux  blonds,  qui  preparait 
la  table  pour  les  grants.  Ti-Jean  se  cacha  sous  une  chaise.  Quand 
le  diner  fut  pret,  la  fille  du  roi  appela  les  geants,  qui  vinrent  s'asseoir 
k  la  table.  Alors  Ti-Jean,  que  personne  ne  pouvait  voir  parce  qu'il 
portait  sa  ceinture  enchant^e,  mangea  rapidement  la  soupe  d'un  des 
grants,  et  quand  celui-ci  voulut  manger,  il  n'en  trouva  plus.  Furieux, 
le  g^ant  se  tourna  aussitdt  vers  son  frere,  en  lui  criant:  "C'est  toi  qui 
me  joue  des  tours.  Si  tu  recommences,  je  vais  te  casser  la  tete." 
Pendant  ce  temps,  Ti-Jean  avait  pass6  de  I'autre  c6t6  de  la  table  et 
il  mangeait  la  soupe  de  I'autre  g^ant.  En  voyant  son  assiette  vide, 
ce  dernier  se  f^cha  a  son  tour,  apostropha  son  frere,  et  dans  leur  colere, 
les  deux  grants  se  mirent  El  se  lancer  des  choses  par  la  tete,  pendant 
que  la  princesse,  effray^e  s'^tait  sauvee  dans  sa  chambre.  Ti-Jean 
prit  alors  sa  baguette  et  coupa  la  tete  des  deux  grants.  Puis,  otant  sa 
ceinture,  il  alia  trouver  la  princesse  et  lui  dit:  "Je  suis  venu  vous 
d^livrer.  J'ai  tu6  les  geants,  et  nous  allons  retourner  au  palais  du 
roi-"  —  "C'est  impossible,  r^pondit  la  princesse,  car  la  Bete-a-sept- 
t^tes  va  nous  d^vorer,  si  nous  sortons  du  chateau."  —  "Ou  est-elle?" 
demanda  Ti-Jean.     "Dans  la  cour." 

Avant  que  la  princesse  piit  I'arretcr,  Ti-Jean  courut  aussitot  dans 
la  cour,  oil  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes  dormait  au  soleil.  Ti-Jean  mit  sa 
ceinture  et,  s'approchant  d'elle,  se  mit  a  compter  les  t^tes,  en  mettant 


Fabks,  Conies  et  Formules.  145 

la  main  sur  chaque  tete,  et  en  elcvant  davantage  la  voix  a  chaquc  tete: 
"Une,deux,  trois,  quatre,cinq,  six,  sept!"  Et  il  langa  le  mot  "sept" 
de  toute  sa  force.  La  bete  se  r^veilla  et  bondit  en  hurlant  et  jetant 
du  feu  par  les  naseaux,  pendant  que  sa  queue  battait  furieusement 
le  pav6.  C'^tait  un  enorme  monstre  avec  sept  tetes  de  dragon,  avec 
sept  langues  rouges,  et  avec  une  queue  de  serpent.  Mais  Ti-Jean 
^tait  invisible,  et  apres  avoir  hurl6  en  regardant  de  tous  cotes,  la  bete 
se  tranquillisa  et  se  rendormit.  Alors  Ti-Jean  recommenga  a  compter 
les  tetes:  "Une, deux,  trois,  quatre,  cinq,  six,  sept!"  cria-t-il.  La  b^te 
se  reveilla  plus  f^roce  encore  qu'auparavant;  ses  yeux  etaient  verts 
de  colore,  ses  sept  langues  se  tordaient  dans  ses  gueules  ouvertes,  et 
ses  naseaux  langaient  du  feu.  Elle  hurlait,  battant  le  sol  de  sa  queue 
et  cherchait  a  d^couvrir  qui  I'avait  reveill^e.  Mais  elle  ne  voyait  pas 
Ti-Jean.  Elle  se  rendormit  bientot.  Alors  Ti-Jean  prit  sa  baguette 
et  trancha  les  sept  tetes  de  la  bete.  Puis  il  coupa  les  sept  langues, 
qu'il  mit  dans  son  mouchoir.  II  alia  retrouver  la  princesse,  et  ils 
visit^rent  ensemble  le  chateau  des  geants,  qui  6tait  rempli  de  grandes 
richesses.  Dans  la  cave,  ils  trouverent  des  tonnes  d'or  et  d'argent. 
Alors  Ti-Jean  remmena  la  princesse  au  roi  son  pere,  qui  fut  grandement 
r^joui  de  voir  sa  fille.  Ti-Jean  lui  dit:  "Sire!  j'ai  delivre  votre  fille,  et 
vous  avez  promis  de  la  donner  en  mariage  a  celui  qui  la 
d^livrerait  des  grants."  —  "C'est  vrai!  r^pondit  le  roi,  mais  avant 
d'^pouser  la  princesse,  il  faut  aussi  qu'il  tue  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes." 
Alors  Ti-Jean  lui  presenta  les  langues:  "Voici  les  sept  langues  de  la 
bete,  et  son  corps  est  dans  la  cour  du  chateau."  Le  roi  envoya  ses 
gardes  au  ch&teau  des  grants.  Ils  trouverent  les  grants  morts  et  la 
b^te  d^capitee  dans  la  cour.  Ils  rapporterent  chez  le  roi  toutes  les 
tonnes  d'or  et  d'argent;  et  Ti-Jean  fit  envoyer  une  tonne  d'or  a  ses 
parents.  Le  roi  lui  dit:  "Tu  peux  epouser  ma  fille,  mais  tu  es  bien 
petit."  On  commenga  de  grands  preparatifs  pour  le  mariage.  Le 
matin  des  noces,  Ti-Jean  se  toucha  avec  sa  baguette,  en  disant:  "Je 
veux  devenir  un  grand  officier."  Et  soudain,  il  devint  un  grand 
officier  blond,  avec  un  uniforme  chamarre  d'or.  II  avait  un  grand 
chapeau  de  velours,  galonne  d'argent,  avec  une  belle  plume  blanche, 
et  il  portait  au  c6t6  une  epee  d'or.  Ti-Jean  descendit  dans  la  cour  du 
chateau,  et  la  princesse,  en  le  voyant,  se  prit  a  I'aimer  davantage.  Le 
mariage  eut  lieu  avec  de  grandes  ceremonies,  et  Ti-Jean  monta  sur  le 
trone,  ou  il  regna  longtemps  avec  bonheur. 

43.     BATON-TAPE.  ^ 

II  etait,  une  fois,  une  pauvre  famille  qui  souvent  n'avait  pas  de 
quoi  manger.     Un  jour,  I'aine  des  enfants,  qui  etaient  Pierre,  Jacques 

*  Appris  par  I'auteur,  k  Saint-Constant,  LaPrairie,  pendant  son  enfance. 


146  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

et  Jean,  dit  a  sa  mere:  "Je  vais  aller  chercher  de  I'ouvrage,  et  je  re- 
viendrai  quand  je  serai  riche."  II  partit  done  un  beau  matin.  Pen- 
dant quelque  temps,  on  n'entendit  plus  parler  de  lui. 

Un  jour  qu'il  voyageait  a  pied  sur  la  route,  n'ayant  plus  qu'un 
morceau  de  pain,  il  rencontre  une  pauvre  vieille  qui  lui  demande  le 
chemin  et  la  charite.  Pierre  lui  indique  la  route  a  suivre  et  lui  donne 
son  morceau  de  pain.  Alors  la  vieille  lui  dit:  "Je  suis  une  f^e,  et  pour 
te  r^compenser  de  ta  charity,  je  te  donne  cette  nappe  blanche.  Tu 
n'auras  qu'a  dire  'Nappe,  mets  la  table!'  et  aussitot  elle  s'^tendra, 
couverte  de  toutes  sortes  de  mets  et  de  fruits.  II  en  sera  ainsi  chaque 
fois  que  tu  le  souhaiteras."  Pierre  remercie  la  vieille,  et,  prenant  la 
nappe,  se  hate  de  reprendre  la  route  de  la  maison  de  ses  parents.  En 
chemin,  il  s'arrete  a  une  auberge  pour  passer  la  nuit.  Comme  il 
avait  en  vie  de  souper,  il  prend  sa  nappe  et  dit:  "Nappe,  mets  la 
table!"  Aussitot  la  nappe  s'^tend  et  se  trouve  couverte  de  mets 
succulents  et  de  beaux  fruits.  L'aubergiste,  qui  I'avait  vu,  se  leve 
pendant  la  nuit,  et  lui  volant  sa  nappe,  en  met  une  autre  a  la  place. 
Le  lendemain,  Pierre  quitte  Tauberge  et  arrive  chez  lui.  A  ses  parents, 
tousheureuxdelerevoir,  il  dit:  "Voici  ce  que  je  rapporte:  une  nappe 
merveilleuse  qui  met  la  table  et  se  couvre  elle-meme  de  mets  et  de 
desserts.  Vous  allez  voir!"  II  prend  sa  nappe  et  prononce  les  mots: 
"Nappe,  mets  la  table!"  Mais  la  nappe  reste  pliee,  et  rien  n'appa- 
ralt.  Alors  il  examine  la  nappe  et  s'apergoit  qu'on  I'avait  chang^e. 
"Ah!  c'est  l'aubergiste  qui  m'a  vole  ma  nappe." 

Alors  son  frere  Jacques  dit:  "Moi  aussi  je  vais  aller  chercher  for- 
tune, et  je  trouverai  bien  la  nappe  de  Pierre."  II  part  et  marche 
longtemps,  sans  rien  trouver.  Un  jour,  il  arrive  sur  le  bord  d'une 
riviere,  ou  etait  assise  une  vieille  femme  toute  courbee  par  I'age  et  la 
misere.  Elle  lui  demande:  "Voulez-vous  m'aider  a  traverser  la  ri- 
viere?" Jacques  I'aide  a  traverser  la  riviere.  Quand  elle  est  de 
I'autre  cote,  elle  lui  dit:  "Je  suis  une  fee,  et  pour  vous  recompenser, 
je  vous  donne  cette  poule."  Elle  lui  donne  une  poule  qu'elle  avait 
sous  son  manteau.  "Vous  n'aurez  qu'a  dire:  'Poule,  ponds-moi  de 
I'or!'  et  elle  pondra  de  I'or."  Enchants  du  cadeau,  Jacques  remercie 
la  fee  et  s'empresse  de  retourner  chez  ses  parents.  Mais,  en  chemin, 
il  s'arrete  pour  la  nuit  a  la  meme  auberge  que  Pierre.  Le  soir,  apres 
souper,  il  monte  a  sa  chambre  et  dit  a  sa  poule:  "Ponds-moi  de  I'or!" 
Et  la  poule  lui  pond  trois  ceufs  d'or.  II  en  donne  un  a  l'aubergiste 
pour  payer  sa  depense.  Mais,  ay  ant  vu  la  poule  pondre  de  Tor, 
celui-ci  se  leve  durant  la  nuit,  vole  la  poule  de  Jacques  et  en  met  une 
autre  a  la  place.  Le  lendemain,  Jacques  arrive  chez  ses  parents. 
"Voyez  ma  poule,  s'ecrie-t-il,  elle  pond  de  I'or.  Regardez  bien!" 
Posant  sa  poule  sur  la  table,  il  lui  dit:  "Poule,  ponds-moi  de  I'or!" 
Mais  la  poule  se  contente  de  branler  la  tete  et  chanter:  "Caque-caque, 


Fables,  Contes  et  Formules.  147 

canette!"  sans  pondre  meme  un  sou.  Et  Jacques  s'ecrie:  "C'est 
I'aubergiste  qui  m'a  vol6  ma  poule." 

Alors  Jean  leur  dit:  "C'est  mon  tour,  et  je  vais  aller  chercher  fortu- 
ne." II  part  done  et  marche  longtemps,  sans  rien  trouver.  Un 
jour,  a  la  tombee  du  soir,  il  arrive  a  I'entree  d'un  bois,  oil  se  tenait 
une  vieille  femme.  Elle  lui  dit:  "Mon  cher  petit,  voulez-vous  m'aider 
k  traverser  le  bois?  Car  il  fait  noir,  je  ne  vois  pas  bien  clair  et  j'ai 
peur  des  voleurs."  Alors  Jean  la  prend  par  la  main  et  la  conduit 
jusqu'a  I'autre  cote  du  bois.  Arrivee  la,  la  vieille  femme,  se  redres- 
sant,  lui  dit:  "Je  suis  une  f^e,  et  pour  te  r^compenser,  je  te  fais  un 
cadeau  de  ce  baton.  Tu  n'auras  qu'a  dire:  'Baton,  tape!'  et  aussitot 
il  se  mettra  a  taper  sur  qui  tu  voudras."  Jean  remercie  la  fee,  et 
part  avec  son  bdton  pour  la  maison  de  ses  parents. 

Le  soir  I'ayant  surpris,  il  s'arrete  a  I'auberge  dont  lui  avaient  parl6 
ses  freres.  Le  lendemain,  avant  de  partir,  il  dit  a  I'aubergiste:  "C'est 
vous  qui  avez  vole  la  nappe  de  mon  fr^re,  la  nappe  qui  met  la  table  ?" 
—  "Non,  repond  I'autre;  je  ne  I'ai  jamais  vue."  Mais  Jean  lui  dit: 
"Vous  allez  me  rendre  la  nappe  ou  je  vais  vous  faire  cogner  par  mon 
bdton."  —  "Je  ne  I'ai  pas,"  reprend  I'autre.  "Soit,  alors  'Baton, 
tape!'  "  Aussitot  le  baton  s'abat  sur  les  6paules  de  I'aubergiste: 
"Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!"  L'aubergiste  se  sauve,  courant  partout. 
Mais  le  baton  le  suit,  frappant  toujours:  "Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!"  Le 
pauvre  homme  devient  tout  meurtri  de  coups.  II  geint  et  se  lamente 
en  criant:  "Arretez,  arretez  votre  baton!"  Jean  lui  repond:  "Pas  tant 
que  vous  n'aurez  pas  rendu  la  nappe  de  mon  frere."  Ereinte  de  coups, 
le  corps  meurtri,  I'aubergiste  enfin  sort  la  nappe  et  la  donne  a  Jean, 
qui  arrete  son  baton.  Puis  Jean  part  et  revient  le  soir  suivant,  pour 
passer  la  nuit. 

Le  lendemain,  au  moment  de  partir,  il  dit  a  I'aubergiste:  "Mainte- 
nant,  vous  allez  me  rendre  la  poule  aux  CEufs  d'or,  que  vous  avez  vol^e 
k  mon  frere."  —  "Moi,  je  ne  I'ai  jamais  vue."  —  "Oui,  vous  I'avez, 
et  si  vous  ne  me  la  donnez  pas  tout  de  suite,  je  vais  vous  faire  cogner 
par  mon  baton."  —  "Non,  non!  je  ne  I'ai  pas,"  crie  I'aubergiste  en  se 
sauvant,  tant  il  a  peur  du  baton.  Mais  Jean  crie:  "Baton,  tape!" 
et  le  baton  court  apres  I'aubergiste,  lui  saute  dans  le  dos  et  se  met  a  lui 
taper  sur  les  epaules  "Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!"  Le  pauvre  homme  crie, 
hurle,  se  roule  a  terre,  demandant  grace  et  piti^.  Mais  le  baton  con- 
tinue de  frapper:  "Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!"  A  la  fin,  n'en  pouvant  plus, 
I'aubergiste  va  chercher  la  poule  et  la  remet  a  Jean,  qui  arrete  son 
baton  et  part  joj^eux,  avec  la  nappe  et  la  poule,  pour  retourner  chez  ses 
parents. 

En  chemin,  il  rencontre  trois  voleurs,  qui  lui  disent:  "Donne  vite  ta 
poule  et  tout  ce  que  tu  as,  ou  nous  te  pendons  a  la  plus  haute  branche 
d'un  arbre!"     Mais  Jean  leur  dit:  "Laissez-moi  passer!  ou  je  vous  fais 


148  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

massacrer  de  coups  par  mon  baton."  Les  voleurs  se  mettent  k  rire: 
*'D6peche-toi!  ou  nous  allons  te  pendre."  Alors  Jean  crie:  "Bdton, 
tape!"  Et  le  baton  part  comme  un  ouragan.  II  s'abat  comme  la 
grele  sur  les  epaules  des  voleurs, "Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!"  Et  il  tape 
si  fort  et  si  dur  qu'on  aurait  dit  vingt  batons:  "Bing,  bang,  pan,  pan!" 
Les  voleurs  6pouvant^s  s'enfuient,  poursuivis  par  le  b&ton,"Bing,  bang, 
pan,  pan!"  Alors  Jean  rappelle  son  baton  et  continue  sa  route.  En 
arrivant  a  la  maison  de  ses  parents,  il  leur  dit:  "J'ai  tout  rapports,  la 
nappe,  la  poule  et  mon  baton  qui  se  met  k  cogner  chaque  fois  que  je 
le  souhaite.  Preparez  la  table,  voici  la  nappe.  'Nappe,  mets  la  ta- 
ble!' "  Aussitotjla  nappe  s'^tend  et  se  couvre  de  mets  succulents  et 
de  beaux  fruits.  Puis  il  dit:  "Poule,  ponds-moi  de  I'or!  "  Et  la  poule 
pond  trois  oeufs  d'or. 

Alors,  c'est  une  grande  rejouissance  de  se  voir  si  riches.  Les 
trois  freres  demeurent  avec  leurs  parents,  contents  et  heureux,  jusqu'^ 
la  fin  de  leurs  jours. 

44.    GILBERT   ET   LE    ROL  ^ 

Une  fois  se  trouvaient  un  homme  et  une  femme,  qui  vivaient  bien 
pauvrement.  Le  mari  en  mourant  laissa  un  fils  qui  s'appelait  Gilbert. 
II  n'^tait  pas  bien  fin.  II  voulait  aller  k  la  messe,  un  jour.  Sa  m^re 
lui  dit:  "Tu  es  trop  fou  pour  aller  a  la  messe."  Toujours  il  alia  k  la 
messe  pareil.  II  sortit  avant  que  la  messe  ftit  finie,  pensant  que  c'^tait 
tout.  Et  tout  a  coup,  il  rencontra  la  fiUe  du  roi.  Cela  lui  fit  une 
grande  joie,  vous  comprenez  bien.  II  I'aima  du  premier  coup  qu'il 
la  vit:  elle  6tait  si  belle!  II  arriva  chez  lui,  et  dit  a  sa  mere:  "Je  veux 
epouser  la  fille  du  roi."  Sa  mere  lui  r^pondit:  "II  est  vrai  que  tu 
devrais  te  marier;  je  commence  a  me  faire  vieille.  Mais  tu  es  bien  trop 
fou,  et  tu  n'arriveras  pas  aupres  de  la  fille  du  roi  pour  I'^pouser."  Sa 
mere  lui  conseilla  tout  de  meme  d'aller  chercher  un  de  ses  amis,  qui 
etait  tres  habile  et  bienveillant.  "Tu  lui  diras  qu'il  te  contredise  sur 
tout  ce  que  tu  diras,  et  qu'il  dise  toujours  plus  que  toi." 

Gilbert  va  chercher  son  ami.  lis  arrivent  aupres  du  roi.  Gilbert 
lui  dit:  "Je  suis  venu  pour  epouser  votre  fille."  Le  roi  lui  demande: 
"Es-tu  bien  riche  en  propriety?"  Gilbert  lui  repond:  "Nous  avons 
une  petite  terre,  pas  tres  riche."  Son  ami  prend  aussit6t  la  parole: 
"Ah!  pas  tres  riche?  Presque  toute  la  ville  lui  appartient,  tant  il 
est  riche."  Le  roi  fait  signe  a  sa  fille  que  c'etait  un  bon,  celui-1^,  de 
I'^pouser.  II  demande  encore  a  Gilbert:  "As-tu  une  grosse  agres^ 
d'agriculture."  II  repond:  "C/ne  petite  agresJ'  L'autre  prend  la 
parole:  "Une  petite  agresf     II  a  la  plus  belle  agres  d'agriculture  au 

1  Racontd  par  Mile  Antoinette  Leduc,  de  Valley  field,  P  Q.,  et  recueilli  le  23 
mai,  1915. 

2  Un  gros  agres,  pour  beaucoup  de  machines  agricoles. 


Fables,  Conies  et  FormuUs.  149 

monde.  C'est  Thomme  le  plus  pourvu  de  la  terre."  Le  roi  dit  encore 
k  sa  fille:  "C'est  le  meilleur  parti  a  prendre."  Tout  k  coup,  voyant 
qu'il  avait  pas  mal  gagne  sa  cause,  Gilbert  commence  a  se  gratter. 
Le  roi  lui  demande:  "Qu'as-tu  a  te  gratter?"  Gilbert  repond:  "C'est 
un  petit  bouton  que  j'ai."  Son  ami  prend  la  parole:  "Ah!  un  petit 
bouton,  ne  m'en  parlez  pas!  II  est  tout  cousu  de  boutons."  Le  roi 
eut  trop  peur;  il  ne  lui  donna  pas  sa  fille  en  mariage. 

45.    LE   PETIT   BONHOMME-DE-GRAISSE.  * 

II  ^tait,  une  fois,  une  femme  qui  vivait  seule  dans  un  village,  avec  son 
petit  gargon.  Ce  dernier  ^tait  toujours  habill6  de  blane.  Comme 
il  ^tait  toujours  tres  propre,  gras  et  joufflu,  on  I'appelait  le  petit 
Bonhomme-de-graisse.  II  se  montrait  aussi  toujours  trds  poli  et 
obligeant  pour  tout  le  monde. 

Dans  le  meme  village  residait  une  femme  mechante  et  cruelle, 
qui  ^tait  toujours  de  mauvaise  humeur.  Elle  avait'  un  petit  gargon 
toujours  mal  habill^  et  malpropre,  et  qui  passait  son  temps  a  jouer 
des  tours  aux  voisins.  Tout  le  monde  le  d^testait.  La  mauvaise 
femme  haissait  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse,  parce  qu'il  4tait  si 
propre  et  si  poli. 

Un  jour,  la  mere  du  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  eut  a  se  rendre  au 
march^.  Elle  prit  son  grand  panier  et,  en  partant,  dit  k  son  petit 
gargon:  "Sois  bien  sage  durant  mon  absence,  et  surtout  n'ouvre  la 
porte  a  personne."     L'enfant  le  promit,et  elle  partit  pour  le  march^. 

La  voyant  passer  dans  la  rue,  la  mauvaise  femme  se  dit:  "Bon! 
c'est  le  temps.  Je  vais  me  venger  du  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse." 
Aussitot  elle  prit  un  grand  sac  et  se  dirigea  vers  I'autre  maison.  Elle 
frappa  a  la  porte:  "Qui  est  la?"  demanda  le  petit  Bonhomme-de- 
graisse.  La  mechante  femme,  contrefaisant  sa  voix:  "C'est  une 
pauvre  femme  demandant  la  charite."  Le  petit  Bonhomme-de- 
graisse,  qui  faisait  toujours  la  charite,  prit  un  morceau  de  pain  et 
ouvrit  la  porte  pour  le  donner  a  la  qu^teuse.  Mais  la  vieille  se  jeta 
sur  lui  et  le  mit  dans  son  sac,  en  criant:  "Ah!  ah!  c'est  moi  qui  vaia 
te  faire  rotir."  Elle  reprit  le  chemin  de  sa  maison.  Deposant  son 
sac,  en  route,  elle  s'arreta  pour  ramasser  du  bois,  pour  faire  son  feu. 
Aussitot  le  Bonhomme-de-graisse  sortit  du  sac,  y  mit  une  grosse  pierre 
k  sa  place,  et  se  sauva  chez  sa  m^re.  La  vieille  remit  le  sac  sur  ses 
epaules,  et  trompee  par  le  poids  de  la  pierre,  elle  arriva  chez  elle  et 
dit  k  son  petit  gargon:  "Prepare  la  marmite,  pour  que  j'y  jette  le 
petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse."  II  decouvrit  la  marmite,  et  la  vieille 
vida  son  sac  dedans.  Bang!  la  pierre  tomba  dans  la  marmite  qu'elle 
brisa  en  morceaux. 

1  Appris  par  I'auteur  durant  sa  jeunesse,  h  Saint-Constant,  LaPrairie,  P.Q. 


150  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

La  vieille  6tait  furieuse.  Elle  reprit  aussitot  son  sac  et  se  mit  k 
courir  vers  la  maison  du  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse,  en  marmottant: 
"Tu  vas  me  payer  Qa!"  Qiiand  elle  arriva  a  la  maison,  elle  frappa,  en 
disant:  "C'est  une  vieille  qui  demande  la  charite."  Mais  le  petit 
Bonhomme-de-graisse  n'ouvrit  pas  la  porte.  "Si  tu  ne  m'ouvres  pas 
la  porte,  je  vais  passer  par  la  chemin^e."  Le  petit  Bonhomme-de- 
graisse  n'ouvrit  pas  la  porte,  et  la  m^chante  femme  grimpa  sur  le  toit 
et  descendit  par  la  chemin^e  dans  la  maison.  Elle  saisit  le  petit  bon- 
homme  et  le  mit  dans  son  sac  en  disant:  "Cette  fois,  tu  ne  m'^chapperas 
pas!"  Elle  rentra  tout  droit  a  sa  maison,  sans  s'arreter  a  ramasser 
du  bois.  En  arrivant,  elle  dit  a  son  petit  gargon:  "Viens  tenir  le  sac, 
pendant  que  je  vais  preparer  mon  couteau."  Pendant  qu'il  tenait  le 
sac,  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  lui  dit:  "Ouvre-rnoi  un  peu  le  sac 
et  je  vais  te  montrer  un  beau  petit  oiseau,  que  j'ai  dans  ma  poche." 
Alors  il  ouvrit  le  sac  et  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  sortit,  poussa 
le  petit  gargon  dans  le  sac,  qu'il  attacha  avec  un  nceud,  et  il  se  sauva 
chez  lui.  Quand  la  mechante  femme  eut  prepare  son  couteau,  elle 
s'approcha  du  sac  et  donna  dedans  un  grand  coup  de  couteau.  Quand 
elle  ouvrit  le  sac,  elle  trouva  son  petit  gargon  mort. 

Alors  elle  devint  furieuse,  et,  prenant  son  couteau,  elle  courut  vers 
la  maison  du  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse.  Pendant  ce  temps,  sa  m^re 
etait  revenue  du  marche,  et  il  lui  avait  racont^  tout  ce  qui  etait 
arrive.  Sa  mere  plaga  alors  un  grand  chaudron  dans  la  chemin^e, 
et  le  remplit  d'eau  bouillante.  Quand  la  mechante  femme  arriva, 
elle  frappa  a  la  porte,  en  disant:  "Ouvre-moi  la  porte,  ou  je  passe 
par  la  chemin^e!"  Mais  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse  ne  repondit 
pas.  La  vieille  grimpa  sur  le  toit  et  descendit  dans  la  cheminee. 
Etouff^e  par  la  vapeur  de  I'eau  bouillante,  elle  tomba  dans  le  chau- 
dron, od  elle  mourut. 

Et  le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse,  sage  et  propre,  resta  toujours  avec 
sa  m^re,  vivant  heureux,  aime  des  voisins  et  de  tout  le  village. 

46.    ZACHARIE.  * 

C'etait  un  soir.  Dans  une  des  belles  soirees  de  I'Amerique  du  Nord, 
une  troupe  de  brigands,  repus  de  sang  et  de  carnage,  se  r^unissait 
autour  d'un  feu.  Tout  a  coup,  le  lieutenant  se  leva  et  s'^cria  en  ces 
termes:  "Zacharie,  mon  bapteme!^  raconte-nous  un  de  ces  brillants 
faits  d'armes  qui  font  trembler  les  passants." 

Alors  Zacharie  se  leva  et  commenga  en  ces  termes:  "C'etait  un  soir. 
Dans  une  des  belles  soirees  de  I'Amerique ...  {et  Von  recommence  la 
tirade  indejiniment) . 

1  Raconte  par  le  Dr  A.  Archambault,  k  Saint-Mathias,  P.Q  ,  le  23  mai,  1915. 

2  Juron  canadien. 


Fables,  Conies  el  For  mules.  151 

47.    FORMULE.  ' 

Une  fois,  c'etait  une  petite.  Elle  s'en  allait  porter  a  diner  a  son 
pere.  Elle  avait  une  petite  chaudi^re,  marche,  marchc,  rencontre  une 
petite  barriere,  met  sa  chaudiere  a  terre,  saute  la  petite  barriere, 
marche,  marchc,  arrive  encore  une  petite  barriere,  met  sa  chaudiere  a 
terre,  saute  la  petite  barriere,  marche,  marche,  arrive  une  autre  petite 
barriere,  met  sa  chaudiere  a  terre,  saute  la  petite  barriere,  etc .  . . 
(indefiniment  la  meme  chose.) 

1  Racontd  par  Mile  Antoinette  Leduc,  de  Valleyfield,  le  23  mai,  1915. 


TABLE  DES    MATIERES. 


CONTES  POPULAIRES  CANADIENS. 
Par  C.-Marius  Barbeac. 

PAGE 

Preface       1 

Introduction 4 

Forme  et  style 6 

Themes  ou  traits  mythologiques 8 

CoNTES   MERVEILLEUX 25 

1.  Les  secrets  du  lion,  de  Tours  et  du  loup 25 

2.  Le  Corps-sans-ame 27 

3.  Le  dragon  de  feu 31 

4.  Ti-Jean  et  le  cheval  blanc 37 

5.  Ti-Jean,  les  chevaux  et  la  Bete-a-sept-tetes 41 

6.  Ti-Jean  et  la  chatte  blanche 45 

7.  Ti-Jean  et  la  princesse  rfes  Sept-montagnes-vertes 49 

8.  Les  paroles  de  fleurs,  d'or  et  d'argent 54 

9.  Cendrillon 55 

10.  Les  qiiatre  vents 57 

11.  Le  prince  de  I'Epee-verte 61 

12.  Antoine  et  Josephine  . 68 

13.  Le  conte  de  Parle 70 

14.  Parlafine  ou  Petit-Poucet 76 

15.  Petit-Jean-petit-bois 82 

16.  La  petite  Capuche-bleue 84 

17.  Les  deux  magiciens 87 

18.  Ti-Jean  commergant 89 

19.  L'dne,  la  serviette  et  le  biton 93 

CONTES   PSEUDO-MERVEILLEUX 95 

20.  Martineau-pain-sec 95 

21.  Le  conte  de  Pois-verts 99 

L^GENDES   ET    CONTES    CHRETIENS 102 

22.  Larrivee  et  son  sac 102 

23.  Pipette 105 

24.  Cacholet 108 

25.  Le  diable  et  la  bougie 110 

26.  Le  revenant Ill 


154  Table  des  matUrea. 

PA.aE 

C0NTE8   ROMANESQUES 112 

27.  Les  soeurs  jalouses 112 

28.  Jean-Parle 117 

29.  L'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris 122 

Faceties 125 

30.  Le  conte  de  monsieur  Michel  Morin 125 

31.  Michel  Morm 126 

32.  Le  trepas  de  Michel  Morin 131 

33.  Ti-Pierre  et  Jacquehne 132 

34.  Les  cartes  du  nomme  Richard     .      .           134 

35.  Le  reve  des  chasseurs 134 

36.  Les  Gascons  et  I'cDuf 135 

37.  Minette  m'a  vol6  mes  roulettes 135 

38.  Formule  (finale  des  contes) 136 

UN  CONTE  DE  LA  BEAUCE. 
Par  Evelyn  Bolduc. 

39.  Dom  Jean 137 

FABLES,  CONTES  et  FORMULES. 
Par  GusTAVE  Lanct6t. 

40.  Le  loup  et  le  renard 141 

41.  Le  conte  du  loup 141 

42.  La  Bete-^-sept-tetes 142 

43.  Baton-tape 145 

44.  Gilbert  et  le  roi 148 

45.  Le  petit  Bonhomme-de-graisse 149 

46.  Zacharie 150 

47.  Formule 151 


THE  JOURNAL   OF 

AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE, 

Vol.  XXIX.— APRIL-JUNE,  1916.  — No.  CXII. 


SOME   SONGS   TRADITIONAL    IN  THE  UNITED   STATES.' 

BY  ALBERT  H.  TOLMAN. 

For  some  years  the  writer  has  been  trying  to  get  copies  of  the 
various  songs  to  be  found  in  this  country  in  oral  tradition.  Some 
pupils  have  given  friendly  assistance,  and  most  of  the  texts  in  his 
collection  have  been  obtained  by  them.  The  material  collected 
falls  into  four  divisions,  as  follows:  I.  Older  ballads  (those  in  Child); 

II.  Modern  songs  (excluding  homiletic  ballads  and  play-party  songs) ; 

III.  Homiletic  ballads;    IV.  Play-party  songs.     The  present  paper 
will  be  concerned  only  with  the  first  three  of  these  divisions. 

Under  each  ballad  are  indicated  all  the  American  copies  that  have 
appeared  in  print,  so  far  as  these  are  known  to  the  writer.  Some 
recent  English  texts  that  are  not  in  Child  are  also  pointed  out,  but  no 
attempt  is  made  to  enumerate  them  all. 

Four  American  scholars  have  published  check-lists  of  the  songs 
in  their  collections.  These  lists  give  valuable  information,  both 
positive  and  negative.  A  song  not  in  Mr.  Barry's  list  is  sure  not  to 
be  common  in  New  England;  one  omitted  from  Professor  Shearin's 
list  cannot  be  common  in  the  Kentucky  mountains;  one  not  mentioned 
in  the  list  of  Professor  Belden  can  hardly  be  well  known  in  Missouri, 
one  not  recorded  by  Professor  Louise  Pound  is  either  unknown  or 
rare  in  Nebraska  and  the  Central  West.  If  any  ballad  treated  here 
is  in  one  of  these  lists,  the  fact  is  indicated,  unless  reference  is  made 
instead  to  a  published  version  of  that  collector.^ 

1  [At  the  suggestion  of  Professor  Tolman  I  have  added  a  number  of  notes  and  reference 
(distinguished  by  brackets).  Since  it  is  obvious  that  many  of  the  songs  and  ballads  now 
orally  current  in  America  have  passed  through  print  and  owe  their  circulation  in  large 
part  to  broadsides  and  song-books,  numerous  citations  of  such  ephemeral  publications  have 
here  been  made, — merely,  however,  as  specimens,  and  with  no  attempt  at  exhaustiveness. 
I  take  this  opportunity  to  express  my  gratitude  to  Mr.  H.  L.  Koopman,  Librarian  of  Brown 
University,  for  his  kindness  in  facilitating  my  use  of  the  recent  American  broadsides  and 
the  unrivalled  assemblage  of  American  "songsters"  in  the  great  Harris  Collection  be- 
longing to  that  institution. — G.L.K.] 

,    2  Professor  Shearin's  Syllabus  is  published  by  Transylvania  University,  Lexington, 
Ky.;  Professor  Pound's,  by  the  Nebraska  Academy  of  Sciences. 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.   112.  —  II.  155 


156  Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore . 

The  following  modern  British  collections  are  cited  in  this  paper  by 
title: 

English  County  Songs,  Lucy  E.  Broadwood  and    J.  A.  Fuller  Maitland, 

London,    1893. 
English    Folk-Songs,    Wm.    Alexander    Barrett,    London,    n.   d.,    Novello. 
English  Minstrelsie,  S.  Baring-Gould,  8  vols.,  Edinburgh  [1895  -j-].  (There 

are  not  many  folk-songs  in  this  collection.) 
Folk-Songs  from   Dorset,   H.  E.   D.   Hammond,    London,    1908,   Novello. 
Folk  Songs  from  Somerset,  Cecil  J.  Sharp  and  Charles  L.   Marson,  five 

series,  London,  1890-99. 
A  Garland  of  Country  Song,  S.  Baring-Gould  and  H.  Fleetwood  Sheppard, 

London,   1895,   Methuen. 
Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society,  4  vols.,  London,  1 899-1 911.     In  progress. 
The  Minstrelsy  of   England,  Alfred   Moffat  and  Frank   Kidson,   London, 

1901.     (Not  many  folk-songs  are  included.) 
Songs  of  the  West,  S.   Baring-Gould    and  others,   London,   2d  ed.   1905, 

Methuen. 
Traditional  Tunes,  Frank  Kidson,  Oxford,  1891. 

It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  the  airs  cannot  be  printed  with  the 
texts  here  given.  The  present  revival  of  interest  in  the  folk-songs 
in  England  has  come  about  mainly  through  a  warm  appreciation 
of  the  value  of  the  folk-melodies.  But  the  present  collector  has 
obtained  only  a  few  airs,  and  he  is  ignorant  of  the  value  of  those. 

The  texts  under  Division  I  are  arranged  according  to  the  numbers 
in  Child's  collection.  In  the  case  of  any  ballad  of  which  a  large 
number  of  American  variants  have  already  been  published,  it  seems 
best  not  to  print  any  text  here,  unless  a  copy  has  some  very  special 
interest.  The  texts  given  under  II  are  placed  in  the  alphabetical 
order  of  the  titles. 

The  spelling  and  punctuation  have  usually  been  normalized;  but 
the  intention  has  been  to  retain  all  words  and  forms  that  are  expressive 
or  characteristic. 

I  am  deeply  grateful  to  Professor  Kittredge  for  generous  help  in 
the  preparation  of  this  paper,  and  for  his  valuable  annotations. 

1.  OLDER  SONGS 

(those  in  child's  collection). 

4.   LADY  ISABEL  AND  THE  ELF-KNIGHT. 

American  texts:  Child  iii,  496;  this  Journal,  xviii,  132;  xix,  232;  xxii, 
65,  374;  xxiii,  374;  xxiv,  333,  344;  xxvii,  90;  xxviii,  148.  Barry  and  Belden 
variants  are  included  above.     Shearin  lists  four  variants,  p.  7.^ 

>  [Three  copies  from  Virginia  have  been  printed  in  The  Focus  (Farmville,  Va.),  iv, 
161-162,  212-214.  The  ballad  may  also  be  found  in  the  Red,  White  and  Blue  Songster 
(New  York,  [1861]),  pp.  212-213,  and  the  American  Songster  (New  York,  Cozans), 
pp.  212-214  (both  in  the  Brown  University  Library).] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  157 

Recent  English  texts:  Journal  of  Folk-Song  Society,  iv,  116;  Folk  Songs 
from  Somerset,  No.  84.^ 

I  have  two  variants,  one  from  Virginia,  one  from  New  York.  They 
resemble  Child's  E  version. 


12.   LORD   RANDAL. 

American  texts:  Child  i,  163;  this  Journal,  xiii,  115  +  (4  variants); 
xvi,  258  +  (Barry,  6  v.);  xviii,  195  +  (Barry,  17  v.),  303;  xxii,  376;  xxiv, 
345;  Modern  Language  Notes,  January,  1902,  p.  6;  Decennial  Publications, 
University  of  Chicago,  1903,  vol.  vii,  p.  140.  See  C.  Alphonso  Smith, 
Musical  Quarterly,  January,    1916,   pp.  5,   19-20;    Shearin,    p.    7;   Pound, 

p.  9-' 

Recent  English  texts:  Folk  Songs  from  Somerset,  Nos.  23,  24;  Journal 
of  Folk-Song  Society,  ii,  14  +;  iii,  43-  A  Garland  of  Country  Song, 
No.  38.3 

1  have  three  variants,  —  from  Indiana,  Ohio,  and  Texas.  The  Indiana 
copy,  obtained  by  Mr.  O.  B.  Sperlin,  now  of  Tacoma,  Wash.,  has  such  a 
vigorous  close,  that  all  the  versions  in  Child  seemed  to  him  to  end  weakly:  — 

"Oh,  what  did  you  will  to  your  sweetheart, 

Johnnie  Ramble  my  son? 
Oh,  what  did  you  will  to  your  sweetheart, 

My  own  dear  little  one?" 
"All  hell  and  damnation,  for  to  parch  her  soul  brown; 

For  she  is  the  one  that  has  caused  me  lie  down." 

46.    CAPTAIN  WEDDERBURN's  COURTSHIP. 
American  texts  of  No.  46:  this  Journal,  xxiii,  377;  xxiv,  335   (Barry). 
Perry  Merry  Dictum  Dominee  (Allied  to  46). 

This  version  was  obtained  from  Miss  Emma  Schrader,  Chicago,  "as 
heard  in  Chebanse,  111.,  about  1880."  Two  other  texts  received  agree 
closely.     Belden,  No.  142. 

Child  prints  an  English  version  "from  a  manuscript  assigned  to  the 
fifteenth  century,"  also  one  that  is  more  modern  (i,  415  and  note).* 

'  [Cf.  Kidson,  Traditional  Tunes,  pp.  27-29,172;  Gillington,  Eight  Hampshire  Folk 
Songs,  p.  4.  The  ballad  is  common  in  recent  broadsides:  see  the  following  in  the  Harvard 
College  Library, — 25242.2,  fol.  218  (J.  Catnach);  25242.10.5  (5);  25242.11.5,  fol.  62 
(Disley,  St.  Giles);  25242.17,  vol.  viii,  no.  126;  25242.26,  fol.  G,  h  (H.  Such,  no.  279).] 

2  [For  other  American  copies  see  Focus,  iii,  397  (December,  1913);  iv,  51-52  (February, 
1914);  iv,  100  (March,  1914);  C.  E.  Means,  Outlook,  Ixiii,  121  (Sept.  9,  1899).] 

^  [See  also  Joyce,  Old  Irish  Folk  Music  and  Songs,  1909,  pp.  394-395;  Eriu,  iii,  77; 
Gutch  and  Peacock,  County  Folk-Lore,  v,  372  (from  8  N.  &  Q.,  vi,  427).] 

^  [See  Mrs.  Valentine,  Nursery  Rhymes,  Tales,  and  Jingles,  No.  304,  pp.  1 71-172; 
[W.  A.  Wheeler],  Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  New  York,  1877,  pp.  53,  82-83;  Folk-Lore 
Journal,  1885,  iii,  pp.  272-273;  Miss  M.  H.  Mason,  Nursery  Rhymes  &  Country  Songs 
[1878],  pp.  23-25  (2  copies);  Baring-Gould,  A  Book  of  Nursery  Songs  and  Rhymes,  No. 
64,  pp.  78-79  (cf.  pp.  157-158);  Crane,  Baby's  Bouquet.] 


158  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

1.  I  had  four  brothers  over  the  sea; 

Perry  merry  dictum  dominee; 
And  they  each  sent  a  present  unto  me. 
Partum  quartum  pere  dicentum, 
Perry  merry  dictum  dominee. 

2.  The  first  sent  me  cherries  without  any  stones; 

Perry,  etc. 
The  second  sent  a  chicken  without  any  bones. 
Partum,  etc. 

3.  The  third  sent  a  blanket  that  had  no  thread; 

The  fourth  sent  a  book  that  could  not  be  read. 

4.  When  the  cherries  are  in  blossom,  they  have  no  stones; 

When  the  chicken's  in  the  egg,  it  has  no  bones. 

5.  When  the  blanket's  in  the  fleece,  it  has  no  thread; 

Perry  merry  dictum  dominee; 
When  the  book's  in  the  press,  it  cannot  be  read. 
Partum  quartum  pere  dicentum. 
Perry  merry  dictum  dominee. 

49.   THE   TWA   BROTHERS. 

American  texts:  Child,  i,  443;  this  Journal,  xxvi,  361.  Shearin  lists 
a  variant  called  "Little  Willie."     Pound,  p.  10. 

The  following  version  is  from  O.  B.  Sperlin,  Tacoma,  Wash.  It  was 
learned  in  1884  from  William  Costlow,  near  Kokomo,  Ind.,  who  "said  that 
it  was  a  true  story,  for  he  knew  of  some  one  who  knew  the  family  in  which 
it   occurred." 

1.  Two  little  boys  a-going  to  school. 

Two  little  boys  they  be, 
Two  little  boys  a-going  to  school. 
To  learn  their  A  B  C. 

2.  One  says,  "Johnnie,  will  you  toss  a  bail? 

Or  will  you  throw  a  stone? 
Or  will  you  wrastle  along  with  me, 
As  we  are  going  home?" 

3.  "  Oh  no,"  says  Johnnie,  "  I'll  not  toss  a  ball, 

Nor  either  throw  a  stone. 
But  I  will  wrastle  along  with  you, 
As  we  are  going  home." 

4.  So  they  wrastled  up  and  they  wrastled  down. 

And  they  wrastled  all  around; 
A  little  pen-knife  ran  in  Johnnie's  heart. 
Which  gave  a  deadly  wound. 

5.  "  Oh,  pick  me  up,  my  dearest  little  brother. 

And  carry  me  to  yonder  tree; 
There  I  may  lie,  there  I  may  die; 
Contented  I  shall  be." 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  159 

73.  LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET. 

American  texts:  Child  iii,  509;  this  Journal,  xviii,  128  (Barry,  2  variants); 
xix,  235  (Belden,  4  v.);  xx,  254;  xxviii,  152;  Decennial  Publications  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago,  1903,  vol.  vii,  140.  Shearin  lists  3  variants,  p.  8. 
Pound,  p.  11.^ 

An  English  variant  with  various  tunes  is  in  the  Journal  of  Follc-Song 
Society,  ii,   105.^ 

I  have  two  copies  from  Virginia,  two  from  Indiana,  and  one  incomplete 
copy  derived  from  Pennsylvania.  It  seems  best  to  print  here  only  the 
last  of   these. 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Elendar. 

The  only  American  version  of  this  ballad  in  Child  (reprinted  from 
the  Folk-Lore  Journal,  vii,  33,  1889)  was  taken  "from  the  singing  of  a 
Virginian  nurse-maid."  Child  speaks  of  "its  amusing  perversions." 
The  most  important  perversion  is  the  giving  to  "fair  Ellinter"  both 
the  wealth  and  the  beauty,  so  that  "Lord  Thomas"  has  no  reason 
for  choosing  the  brown  girl,  and  his  mother  no  reason  for  advising  it. 
The  following  fragment  shows  that  this  form  of  the  story  had  some 
currency.  The  fragment  was  obtained  from  Mrs.  Deborah  Stone, 
Winfield,  Kan.,  in  1897.  She  learned  it  about  1840  from  a  school- 
teacher from  Pennsylvania. 

1.  Lord  Thomas  he  was  a  bold  biler,  sir, 

A  biler,  sir,  was  he; 
Fair  Elendar  being  an  accomplished  young^Jady, 
Lord  Thomas  he  loved  her  dear/y,  dear/y. 
Lord  Thomas  he  loved  her  dear/y. 

2.  "Go  read  me  a  riddle,  dear  mother,"  said  he, 

"Go  riddle  it  all  in  wool; 
It's  whether  I'll  make  fair  Elendar  my  bride. 
Or  bring  me  the  brown  girl  home,  home,  home, 
Or  bring  me  the  brown  girl  home." 

3.  "Fair  Elendar  she  has  houses  and  lands. 

The  brown  girl  she  has  none; 
Before  I'll  be  bothered  with  such  a  great  peasant. 
Go  bring  me  the  brown  girl  home,  home,  home. 
Go  bring  me  the  brown  girl  home." 


'  [Other  American  texts  are  printed  in  Forget  Me  Not  Songster  (New  York,  Nafis  & 
Cornish),  p.  236;  Outlook,  Ixiii,  120  (Sept.  9,  1899);  Berea  Quarterly,  vol.  ix,  no.  3, 
pp.  lo-ii  (April,  1905);  Focus,  iii,  204-206  (May,  1913);  iv,  162  (April,  1914).] 

-  [See  also  Leather,  Folk-Lore  of  Herefordshire,  1912,  pp.  200-202.  The  Harvard 
College  Library  has  several  broadside  copies:  25242.5.5  (169);  25242.11.5,  fol.  s;  25242.17, 
vol.  viii,  no.  127  (Catnach),  vol.  ix,  no.  237  (Bebbington,  Manchester),  and  probably 
others.] 


i6o  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

74.   FAIR  MARGARET  AND   SWEET   WILLIAM. 

American  texts:  Child,  v,  293;  this  Journal,  xix,  281  (Belden);  xxiii,  381; 
xxviii,  154.  Shearin  lists  four  variants,  p.  8.  C.  Alphonso  Smith  prints 
two  melodies,  Musical  Quarterly,  January,  1916,  p.  18. 

English  texts:  Journal  of  Folk-Song  Society,  ii,  289;  iii,  64;  Hammond, 
Folk-Songs  from  Dorset,   p.  31. 

I  mention  this  ballad  only  to  call  attention  to  an  excellent  version 
from  Kentucky  which  Mr.  Julian  Ralph  brings  into  a  short  story, 
"  The  Transformation  of  Em  Durham,"  in  "  Harper's  Monthly  Maga- 
zine," July,  1903,  p.  272. 

75.    LORD   LOVEL. 

American  texts:  this  Journal,  xviii,  291  (Barry,  2  variants);  xix,  283 
(Belden,  2  v.).  See  C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Musical  Quarterly,  January,  1916, 
p.  5.  Shearin  lists  one  text,  p.  8,  "Lord  Lovely."  One  is  reported  by 
Child,  V,  294.     Pound,  p.  9. 

I  have  two  variants, —  one  from  Virginia;  one,  "  Lord  Lover,"  from  Ohio.^ 

84.    BONNY  BARBARA   ALLEN. 

American  texts:  this  Journal,  vi,  132;  xix,  285  (Belden,  6  variants); 
XX,  150;  xxii,  63;  xxviii,  144  (2  v.;  in  the  second,  "  Barbry  Allen"  is  a  man). 
C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Musical  Quarterly,  January,  1916,  pp.4,  12-14,  20-21. 
Shearin  lists  six  variants,  p.  8.  Barry,  some  years  ago,  had  "six  melodies," 
certainly  representing  a  number  of  texts.     Pound,  p.  g} 

1  [A  Virginian  copy  is  given  in  The  Focus,  iv,  215-216  (May,  1914).  The  ballad  has 
often  been  printed  in  America:  for  example,  in  The  New  Song  Book  (Hartford,  Conn., 
1836),  pp.  20-21;  The  Singer's  Own  Book  (Woodstock,  Vt.,  1838),  p.  9;  The  New  Pocket 
Song  Book  (New  York,  Leavitt  &  Allen  [ca.  i860]),  p.  20;  Beadle's  Dime  Songs  of  the 
Olden  Time  (New  York,  copyright,  1863),  pp.  13-14;  Guiding  Star  Songster  (New  York, 
copyright,  1865),  pp.  84-85;  New  York,  broadside  ca.  1855,  J.  Andrews,  list  4,  no.  84; 
New  York,  broadside  ca.  i860,  H.  de  Marsan.  There  are  five  MS.  American  copies  among 
the  Child  MSB.  in  the  Harvard  College  Library.  For  specimens  of  recent  English  broad- 
side texts  see  (in  the  same  library)  Child  Broadsides,  Such,  no.  253;  25242.17,  vol.  ix,  no.  12 
(Manchester,  Bebbington).  Cf.  Davidson's  Universal  Melodist,  i,  148;  11  N.  &  Q., 
V,  115,  171,  217,  296;  Sarah  Hewett,  Nummits  and  Crummits,  1900,  pp.  188-190.  For 
the  comic  version  "as  sung  bj'  Sam  Cowel"  see  broadside  in  Harvard  College  Library 
25242.28.] 

2  [For  other  American  texts  from  singing  or  recitation  see  Harper's  Magazine,  June, 
1888;  University  of  Virginia  Magazine,  April,  1913,  pp.  329-335;  Focus,  iii.  445-447 
(January,  1914),  iv,  joi-102  (March,  1914),  160-161  (April,  1914).  Most  of  the  texts  of 
this  ballad  current  in  the  United  States  have  undoubtedly  passed  through  print.  Ex- 
amples of  printed  American  copies  are:  The  Southern  Warbler,  Charleston,  S.C.,  1845, 
PP-  275-276;  The  Virginia  Warbler,  Richmond,  1845,  pp.  275-276;  The  Pearl  Songster, 
N.Y.,  C.  P.  Huestis,  1846,  pp.  104-106;  Forget  Me  Not  Songster,  N.Y.,  Nafis  &  Cornish. 
p.  142;  Forget-Me-Not  Songster,  Philadelphia,  Turner  &  Fisher,  pp.  129-130;  Beadle's 
Dime  Songs  of  the  Olden  Time,  N.  Y.,  copyright  1S63,  pp.  38-40;  broadside,  N.Y.,  H.  J. 
Wehman,  no.  395,  as  late  as  1880  (Harvard  College  Library,  25241.29).  Examples  of 
recent  English  broadsides  (same  library)  are:  (i)  25242.17,  vol.  v,  no.  112,  probably  Cad- 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  i6i 

English  texts:  Folk  Songs  from  Somerset,  No.  22;  Journal  of  the  Folk- 
Song  Society,  i,   in,  265-267;  ii,   15  +;  Minstrelsy  of   England,  p.   132. 

The  rose-and-brier  conclusion  is  common  in  the  texts  of  this  song,  though 
somewhat   inappropriate. 

I  have  four  texts, — one  each  from  Virginia  and  Illinois,  and  two  from 
Indiana.     The  first  of  these  is  printed  below.^ 

Barbara  Ellen. 

The  following  text  comes  through  Miss  Emma  F.  Pope,  Petersburg, 
Va.,  from  Mrs.  Eubank,  Ashland,  Va.  Taken  down  by  her  grand- 
daughter. 

The  triple  parallelism  with  climax  In  stanzas  3-5  Is  noteworthy. 

I.  ",In  Scotland  was  I  bred  and  born; 
In   Yorkshire  was   my  dwelling; 
And  there  I  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  fair  maid, 
And  her  name  was  Barbara   Ellen. 

2.  "I  sent  a  boy  down  to  her  house. 

To  the  house  that  she  did  dwell  in; 
I  sent  him  to  her  father's  house. 
Her  name  was  Barbara  Ellen."  ^ 

3.  "Look  up,  look  up  at  my  bed-head, 

You'll   see  a   napkin   hanging; 
In  that  you'll  find  a  gold  watch  and  chain. 
And  that's  for  Barbara  Ellen. 

4.  "Look  down,  look  down  at  my  bed-foot. 

You'll  see  a  trunk  a-standing; 
It's   full   of   gold   and   jewelry. 
And  that's  for  Barbara  Ellen. 

5.  "Look  down,  look  down  at  my  bed-side, 

You'll  see  a  bowl  o'erflowing; 
And  in  that  bowl  there's  my  heart's  blood. 
That's  shed  for  Barbara  Ellen." 

6.  So  slowly  she  put  on  her  clothes; 

So    slowly   she    went    walking; 

So  slowly,  as  she  crossed  the  field, 

She  met  the  corpse  a-coming. 

man  (equivalent  to  Child's  A);  (2)  same,  vol.  v,  no.  163,  Catnach  (a  later  form  of 
Child's  B);  (3)  same,  vol.  ix,  no.  201,  Bebbington,  Manchester  (same  text  as  i);  (4) 
same,  vol.  xii,  no.  53  =  Child  Broadsides,  Such,  no.  208  (same  text  as  2).  The  broadside 
formerly  belonging  to  Percy  (Child's  Be)  is  25245.36,  vol.  i,  fol.  12.] 

1  [This  resembles  in  some  respects  the  version  in  Buchan's  MSS.  and  Motherwell's 
MS.  reported  by  Child,  ii,  276,  but  is  very  different.] 

2  There  seems  to  be  an  omission  between  stanzas  2  and  3,  though  none  is  indicated  in 
the  type-written  copy  before  me. 


i62  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

7.  "Oh,  lay  him  down,  oh,  lay  him  down, 

That  I   may  gaze  upon  him." 
The  more  she  gazed,  and  still  she  gazed, 
She  could  not  keep  from  smiling. 

8.  The  young  men  cried  out,  "Oh  fie!  for  shame 

Hard-hearted  Barbara  Ellen! 
There's  many  a  wealthy  squire  died 
For  cruel  Barbara  Ellen." 

9.  She  went  down  into  yonder  vale; 

She  could  hear  the  dead-bell's  knelling 
And  every  toll  it  seemed  to  say, 
"Hard-hearted  Barbara  Ellen!" 

10.  "Oh,  father,  father!  dig  my  grave, 

And  dig  it  deep  and  narrow; 
For  a  young  man  died  for  me  to-day, 
I'll  die  for  him  to-morrow." 

11.  On  the  one  was  buried  a  red  rose  bud, 

[On]  the  other,  a  sweet  brier; 
And  they  grew  and  they  grew  to  the  church-steeple  top. 

Till  they  could  grow  no  higher. 
There  they  twined  in  a  true-lover's  knot. 

For   all    true   lovers    to   admire. 

93.  LAMKIN. 

American  texts:  Child,  v,  295;  we  learn  about  another  American  variant 
at  iii,  515;  this  Journal,  xiii,  117. 

English  texts:  Journal  of  Folk-Song  Society,  i,  212;  ii,  11 1.^ 

False  Lambkin. 

This  version  was  obtained  through  Miss  Mary  O.  Eddy  from  Miss 
Jane  Goon,  both  of  Perrysville,  O.  It  is  the  only  full  American 
version  that  I  know  of  .^ 

1.  False  Lambkin  was  a  mason. 

As  good  as  ever  laid  stone; 
He  built  Lord  Arnold's  castle. 
And  the  Lord  paid  him  none. 

2.  False  Lambkin  he  swore 

That  revenged  he  would  be 
On  Lord  Arnold's  castle. 
Or  on  his  family. 

1  [Also  Leather,  Folk-Lore  of  Herefordshire,  1912,  pp.  199-200.  "Lamkin"  occurs 
among  broadsides  issued  by  Pitts  (Harvard  College,  25242.2,  fol.  162;  cf.  25242.7,  p.  55, 
and  25242.25,  p.  52).] 

2  [A  version  from  Michigan  in  the  MS.  collection  of  Mr.  Bertrand  L.  Jones  closely  re- 
sembles this  text.  Mr.  Jones  prints  the  first  stanza  of  his  copy  in  the  Kalamazoo  Normal 
Record,  May,  1914  (Western  State  Normal  School,  Kalamazoo).] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  163 

3.  Said    the    Lord    to    his    Lady, 

"I'm  going  from  home; 
And  what  would  you  do, 

If  False  Lambkin  should  come?" 

4.  "Oh,  I  fear  not  False  Lambkin, 

Nor   more   of   his   kind; 
For    I'll   keep    my   doors   fastened, 
And  my  windows  pinned  in." 

5.  So  she  kept  her  doors  fastened. 

And  her  windows  pinned  in. 
All  except  one  kitchen  window, 
Where  Lambkin  came  in. 

6.  "Oh,  where  is  Lord  Arnold? 

Is    he    not    at    home?" 
"No;  he['s]  gone  to  old  Ireland 
To^see  his  dear  son." 

7.  "Oh,    where    is    his    Lady? 

Has  she  gone  along?" 
"No;  she's  in  her  chamber. 
Where  no  man  can  get  in." 

8.  "Oh,   what  shall   I   do, 

That  I  may  get  in?" 
"You  must  pierce  this  little  babe's  heart 
With  your  silver  bodkin." 

9.  So  he  pierced  the  little  babe's  heart, 

Till  the  blood  did  spin 
Out   into   the    cradle. 
So  falsely  she  did  sing: 

10.  "Oh,     hushy-by     baby. 

Oh,    what    aileth    thee? 
Come    down,    loving    mistress; 
Oh,  come  down  and  see." 

11.  "Oh,    how   can   I    come   down 

So  late  in  the  night, 
When  there  is  no  moon  a-shining, 
Nor  stars  to  give  light?" 

12.  "Oh,  your  [you've?]  seven  bright  lanterns, 

As    bright    as    the    sun. 

Come    down,    loving    mistress; 

Oh,  come  down  by  one." 

13.  She  had  not  advanced 

But  steps  two  or  three. 
Till  she  spied  False  Lambkin 
A-standing  close  by. 


164  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

14.  "Oh,  spare  me,  False  Lambkin; 

And  I  will  go  back, 
And  get  you  all  the  money 
You  can  carry  in  your  sack." 

15.  "I  want  none  of  your  money, 

Nor  nothing  that  I  know. 
That  will  spare  this  bright  sword 
From  your  neck  white  as  snow." 

16.  "Oh,  spare  me.  False  Lambkin; 

Oh,  spare  me  one  hour; 
And  ril  call  down  daughter  Betsey, 
The  queen  of  the  bower." 

17.  "Go,  call  down  daughter  Betsey, 

So  neat  and  so  clean. 
To  hold  the  silver  basin 
To  catch  your  blood  in." 

18.  "Daughter  Betsey,  stay  up 

In  your  chamber  so  high. 
Till  you  see  your  dear  father 
In  a  ship  sailing  nigh." 

19.  Daughter  Betsey  staid  up 

In  her  chamber  so  high, 
Till  she  saw  her  dear  father 
In  a  ship  sailing  nigh. 

20.  When  Lord  Arnold  came  to  the  castle 

And  opened  the  door, 
He  saw  his  companion 
Lying  dead  on  the  floor. 

21.  False  Lambkin  was  hung 

On  a  gallows  so  high; 
And  the  false  nurse  was  burnt 
To  a  stake  standing  by. 

155.    SIR  HUGH,   OR,   THE  JEW's   DAUGHTER. 

American  texts:  G,  H,  and  N  in  Child  were  obtained  in  the  United  States; 
H.  E.  K[rebhiel]  printed  three  variants  with  the  music  in  the  N.  Y.  Tribune, 
Sunday,  Aug.  17,  1902  (one  reprinted  in  this  Journal,  xv,  195);  this  Journal, 
xix,  293  (Belden,  2  variants);  The  University  of  Virginia  Magazine,  Decem- 
ber, 1912,  p.  115;  C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Musical  Quarterly,  January,  1916, 
15-16  (3  melodies  and  the  text  last  indicated).     Shearin  lists  2  variants,  p.  8.^ 

English  texts:  Folk  Songs  from  Somerset,  No.  68;  Journal  of  Folk-Song 
Society,  i,  264.^ 

'  [A  text  in  The  Focus,  iii,  396-397,  399  (December,  I9i3),is  closely  related  to  that 
printed  below.] 

2  [Baring-Gould,  A  Book  of  Nursery  Songs  and  Rhymes,  1895,  no.  76,  pp.  92-95; 
Gutch  and  Peacock,  County  Folk-Lore,  v,  382,  384-386.] 


Some  So?igs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  165 

[The  Jewish  Lady.] 

This  version  came  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew  from  Mrs.  Flo 
Keller,  both  of  Warren,  Ind. 

1.  It  rained  a  mist,  it  rained  a  mist, 

It  rained  all  over  the  land; 
Till  all  the  boys  throughout  the  town 
Went  out  to  toss  their  ball,  ball,  ball, 
Went  out  to  toss  their  ball. 

2.  At  first  they  tossed  their  ball  too  high, 

And  then   again  too  low, 
Till  over  in  the  Jewish  garden  it  fell, 
Where  no  one  was  darst  to  go,  go,  go. 
Where  no  one  was  darst  to   go. 

3.  Out  came  a  Jewish  lady, 

All  dressed  so  gay  and  fine. 
"Come  in,  my  pretty  little  boy,"  she  said, 
"And  you  shall  have  your  ball,  ball,  ball, 
And  you  shall  have  your  ball." 

4.  At  first  she  showed  him  a  yellow  apple  dish,i 

And  a  gay  gold  ring. 
And  then  a  cherry  as  red  as  blood, 
To  entice  this  little  boy  in,  in,  in, 
To  entice  this  little  boy  in. 

5.  She  took  him  by  his  little  white  hand, 

And  led  him  through  the  hall, 
And  then  unto  a  cellar  so  deep. 

Where  no  one  could  hear  him  lament,  lament, 
Where  no  one  could  hear  him  lament. 

6.  "If  any  my  playmates  should  call  for  me, 

You  may  tell  them  that  I'm  asleep; 
But  if   my  mother  should   call  for  me. 

You  may  tell  her  that  I  am  dead. 
And  buried  with  a  prayer-book  at  my  feet, 

And  a  bible  at  my  head,  head,  head. 

And  a  bible  at  my  head." 

[Mr.  S.  M.  Clement  gave  me  the  following  copy  in  March,  1914, 
with  this  note:  "The  following  ballad  was  taken  down  by  me,  exactly 
as  sung  by  Mr.  Ludlow  S.  Bull  (Yale,  1907).  He  told  me,  when  he 
gave  me  the  words,  that  he  had  never  seen  them  in  print,  but  that 
his  mother  had  often  sung  them  to  him  when  he  was  a  child.  She 
in  turn  had  heard  them  sung  to  her  by  her  mother.  I  think  the 
family  lived  in  Connecticut  originally." — G.  L.  K.] 

1  Or  dish  apple. 


i66  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

[The  Jew's  Maiden.] 

1.  There  was  a  little  boy, 

Who  tossed  his  ball  so  high; 
There  was  a  little  boy, 

Who  tossed  his  ball  so  low ; 

2.  He  tossed  his  ball  so  low. 

He  tossed  his  ball  so  high. 
He  tossed  it  into  a  merry  Jew's  garden, 
Where  all  the  Jews  do  lie. 

3.  Then  out  came  a  merry  Jew's  maiden, 

All  dressed  up  in  green; 
"Come  here,  come  here,  my  little  boy. 
And  fetch  your  ball  again." 

4.  She  enticed  him  with  an  apple. 

She  enticed  him  with  a  pear. 
She  enticed  him  with  a  cherry  red, 
And  so  she  enticed  him  there. 

5.  She  led  him  through  the  garden, 

She  led  him  through  the  hall, 
She  led  him  through  the  kitchen, 
Amid  the  servants  all. 

6.  She  sat  him  on  a  chair  of  gold 

And  gave  him  sugar  sweet; 
She  laid  him  on  the  dresser 
And  killed  him  like  a  sheep. 

7.  She  took  him  to  the  bedroom 

And  laid  him  on  the  bed; 
She  put  a  bible  at  his  feet 

And  a  prayer-book  at  his  head. 

8.  She  put  a  prayer-book  at  his  head 

And  a  bible  at  his  feet; 
And  all  the  people  that  passed  by 
Thought  the  little  boy  was  asleep. 

274.   OUR   GOODMAN.^ 

An  American  text  was  printed  by  Mr.  Barry  in  this  Journal,  xviii,  294. 
C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Musical  Quarterly,  January,  1916,  pp.4,  16-18  (3  melo- 
dies and  a  fragment). 

^  [The  currency  of  one  or  another  form  of  the  ballad  in  print  must  have  been  consider- 
able. In  modern  broadsides  it  is  called  "The  Unhappy  Couple"  (Harvard  College 
Library,  25242.4,  vol.  i,  p.  98,  C.  Croshaw,  York;  same  in  25242.24,  p.  93)  or  "The  Merry 
Cuckold  and  Kind  Wife"  (see  Harvard  25243.3,  fol.  117).  Cf.  Robert  Ford,  Vagabond 
Songs  and  Ballads  of  Scotland,  ii,  31-36  (with  mention  of  "Cousin  Mackintosh").  Cf. 
John  Gait,  The  Entail,  ch.  72  (Works  ed.  Meldrum,  Edinb.,  1895,  iii,  119):  "As  blin'  as 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  167 

A  noteworthy  English  version  is  No.  30,  "Old  VVitchet,"  in  Songs  of  the 
West  (Devon  and  Cornwall),  collected  by  S.  Baring-Gould  and  others, 
2d  ed.,  1905,  Methuen. 

I  have  a  text  taken  down  in  Kansas  from  a  Mrs.  Ferguson,  who  was 
born  in  Scotland. 

II.     MODERN  SONGS 

(excluding  homiletic  ballads  and  play-party  songs). 

Most  of  the  ballads  in  this  division  of  the  paper  are  believed  to  be 
of  British  origin.  Usually  the  existence  of  one  or  more  British  texts 
makes  the  fact  certain,  regardless  of  internal  evidence.  But  the 
following  songs,  printed  in  full  or  commented  upon  in  this  section, 
are  supposed  to  have  originated  in  America,  presumably  in  the  United 
States : — 

Jesse  James.  An  Old  Man  Came  to  See  Me  (?) 

The  Lazy  Man.  Springfield  Mountain. 

The  Little  Family  (?)  Young  Charlotte. 
McAfee's  Confession. 

BALLAD   OF  THE   THREE. 

In  Miss  Pound's  list,  p.  77. 

This  ballad  is  given  as  sung  by  Benjamin  Crisler,  deceased,  to  his 
children  from  fifty-five  to  seventy  years  ago.  Mr.  Crisler  was  born 
in  Boone  County,  Kentucky.  "The  last  verse,  entirely  forgotten, 
explained  how  the  three  could  have  been  saved  if  they  had  been  able 
to  sing."  ^ 

This  text  was  contributed  by  Miss  Marietta  Crisler,  2976  So.  Park 
Avenue,  Chicago. 

the  silly  blind  bodie  that  his  wife  gart  believe  her  gallant's  horse  was  a  milch  cow  sent  frae 
her  minny."  As  to  the  currency  of  the  ballad  in  New  England,  see  Whittier's  essay 
"Yankee  Gypsies,"  in  which  "a  wandering  Scotchman"  sings  part  of  it.  The  piece 
printed  by  Child  (v,  95),  "  'Twas  on  Christmas  Day,"  was  further  developed  as  a  combined 
song  and  recitation  by  E.  J.  B.  Box,  and  his  version  ("Christmas  Nuptials;  or.  Matri- 
monial Discipline")  is  given  (with  an  illustration  by  Cruikshank)  in  Davidson's  Uni- 
versal Melodist,  Lond.,  1834,  iii,  65.] 

>  [There  never  was  any  such  last  stanza  as  that  which  Professor  Tolman's  informant  says 
was  forgotten.  The  text  is  merely  an  imperfect  copy  of  a  song  once  very  familiar  to 
college  men  and  others.  Its  familiarity  is  oddly  attested  by  the  fact  that  the  student  song 
"Gin  Sling"  is  to  be  sung  to  the  tune  of  "Good  Old  Colony  Times  "according  to  Henry 
Randall  White,  Carmina  Collegensia,  Boston,  cop.  1868,  p.  24.  For  the  correct  text  of 
"Good  O.  C.  Times"  see  Edward  W.  White,  The  Boston  Melodeon,  vol.  ii,  cop.  1852, 
pp.  207-208.  An  English  version  is  given  by  Sarah  Hewett  ("The  Devil  and  the  Tailor"), 
in  Nummits  and  Crummits,  Devonshire  Customs,  Characters,  and  Folk-Lore,  1900, 
p.  2i8  (it  begins,  "'Twas  in  King  Henry's  time").] 


1 68  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

1.  In  the  good  old  colony  times, 

When  we  were  under  the  king, 
Three  roguish  chaps  fell  into_mishaps, 

Because  they  could  not  sing, 

Because  they  could  not  sing. 
Three  roguish  chaps  fell  into  mishaps, 

Because  they  could  not  sing. 

2.  And  one  he  was  a  miller, 

And  one  he  was  a  weaver, 
And  one  he  was  a  little  tailor; 

Three  roguish  chaps  together, 

Three  roguish  chaps  together. 
And  one  he  was  a  little  tailor; 

Three  roguish  chaps  together. 

3.  The   miller  he  stole  flour, 

The  weaver  he  stole  yarn, 
And  the  little  tailor  he  stole  broadcloth, 

To  keep  the  three  rogues  warm, 

To  keep  the  three  rogues  warm. 
And  the  little  tailor  he  stole  broadcloth. 

To  keep  the  three  rogues  warm. 

4.  The  miller  was  drowned  in  his  flour; 

The  weaver  was  hung  in  his  yarn; 
And  the  sheriff"  got  his  paw  on  the  little  tailor. 

With  his  broadcloth  under  his  arm, 

With  his  broadcloth  under  his  arm. 
And  the  sheriff  got  his  paw  on  the  little  tailor, 

W'ith  his  broadcloth  under  his  arm. 

THE   BRAMBLE   BRIAR. ^ 

American  texts:  this  Journal,  xx,  258;  Belden,  The  Sewanee  Review, 
April,  191 1 ;  Shearin,  The  Sewanee  Review,  July,  191 1.     Barry,  No.  49.' 

English  texts:  a  broadside  in  Belden's  article  (above);  Journal  of  theFolk- 
Song  Society,  ii,  42;  Folk  Songs  from  Somerset,  No.  12. 

I  have  a  not  very  lucid  copy  from  Ohio,  of  which  I  print  only  the  opening 
stanza. 

'  [An  H.  J.  Wehman  broadside,  no.  768,  New  York,  is  in  the  Harvard  College  Library.] 
'  [The  general  resemblance  to  Decameron,  iv,  s  (Keats's"  Isabella")  is  obvious,  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  there  is  any  historical  connection,  for  the  song  lacks  the  real  point  of  the  story 
(see  this  Journal,  xx,  258).  "The  Constant  Farmer's  Son"  is  also  in  Journal  of  the 
Folk-Song  Society,  i,  160-161,  and  in  Miss  Broadwood,  English  Traditional  Songs  and 
Carols,  1908,  pp.  28-29  (cf.  p.  116);  see  Songs  of  the  West,  iv,  p.  xxxiii.  Harvard  College 
has  several  broadsides  of  "The  Constant  Farmer's  Son:" — 25242.11.5,  fol.  no  (duplicate 
in  25242.17,  vol.  vii,  no.  86);  25242.17,  vol.  ii,  no.  167  (Forth,  Printer,  Pocklington; 
duplicate  in  vol.  iv,  no.  211);  vol.  iv,  no.  58  (J.  Gilbert,  Newcastle);  vol.  v,  no.  32  (J. 
Cadman,  Manchester,  no.  415);  vol.  vii,  no.  46;  vol.  xii,  no.  140  (H.  Such,  no.  295),  and 
probably  others.) 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  169 

In  portly  town  there  lived  a  merchant, 

Who  had  two  sons  and  a  daughter  fair, 
And  a  prentice  fond  from  a  far  intender. 

Who  plowed  the  victories  all  over  the  main. 

THE   butcher's  BOY. 

The  following  was  obtained  by  Miss  Mary  O.  Eddy  from  Miss  Jane 
Goon,  both  of  Perrysville,  O.  Shearin's  text  (p.  24)  lays  the  scene  in  New 
York;  Barry's  (No.  41),  "in  London  city;"  Belden's  (No.  21),  as  here. 
Pound,  p.  18.^ 

There  is  an  English  version  in  the  Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society, 
ii,  159.  It  seems  strange  that  this  should  begin,  "In  Jessie's  city,  oh, 
there  did  dwell." 

I.  New  Jersey  cit[y]  where  I  did  dwell, 
A  butcher's  boy  I  loved  so  well; 
He  courted   me  my  heart  away, 
And  then  with  me  he  would  not  stay. 

2.  There  is  a  man  in  this  same  town. 
Where  my  love  goes  and  sits  him  down. 
And  there  he  takes  strange  girls  on  his  knee. 
And  tells  to  them  what  he  did  to  me. 

3.  It's  grief  and  pain  to  tell  you  why: 
Because  they  had  more  gold  than  I. 

But  in  time  of  need  she  will  be  as  poor  as  I. 

4.  I  went  upstairs  to  make  my  bed, 
And  nothing  to  my  mother  said. 
My  mother  she  came  up  to  me; 

"Oh,  what['s]  the  matter,  my  daughter  dear?" 

5.  O  mother  dear,  it's,  don't  you  know, 
It's  grief  and  pain  and  sorrow,  woe. 
Go  get  me  a  chair  to  sit  me  on, 

A  pen  and  ink  to  write  it  down; 
And  every  line  she  dropped  a  tear, 
Calling  home  her  Willie  dear, 

6.  And  when  her  father  he  came  home, 
He  says:  "Where's  my  daughter  gone?" 
He  went  up  stairs,  the  door  he  broke; 
And  there  she  hung  upon  a  rope. 

7.  He  took  his  knife  and  cut  her  down. 
And  in  her  breast  these  words  he  found: 
"Oh!  what  a  silly  maid  was  I, 

To  hang  myself  for  a  butcher's  boy! 

1  [Barry  prints  the  tune  in  this  Journal,  xxii,  78.  See  also  Belden,  this  Journal,  xxv,  13. 
A  Virginian  version  of  the  words  was  published  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Babcock  in  Folk-Lore, 
vii,  32.] 


170  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

8.  "  Go  dig  my  grave  both  wide  and  deep, 
Place  marble  stone  at  my  head  and  feet, 
And  on  my  breast  a  turtle  dove. 
To  show  this  world  that  I  died  for  love."  ^ 

["The  Butcher  Boy,"  almost  word  for  word  identical  with  the  text 
here  printed,  is  found  in  an  American  broadside  of  about  i860  (H.  de 
Marsan,  New  York,  Harvard  College,  25242.5.5  [138]).  It  was 
No.  8  in  de  Marsan 's  list  No.  7,^  and  also  in  a  New  York  broadside 
of  1880-90  ("Henry  J.  Wehman,  Song  Publisher,"  No.  302,  Harvard 
College,  25241.29).  The  same  piece  is  in  "Journal  of  Folk-Song 
Society,"  11,  159-160.  For  the  last  four  stanzas  see  "Early,  Early  all 
in  the  Spring"  ("  Journal  of  Folk-Song  Society,"  11,  293-294). 

The  piece  appears  to  be  an  amalgamation  of  "The  Squire's 
Daughter  "^  (also  known  as  "The  Cruel  Father,  or.  Deceived  Maid"  *) 
with  "There  is  an  Alehouse  in  Yonder  Town"  (well  known  as  a 
student  song  in  this  country  under  the  title  "There  is  a  Tavern  in 
the  Town").^ 

An  absurdly  confused  (but  quite  singable)  piece,  "The  Rambling 
Boy,"  ^  concludes  as  follows:  — 

My  father  coming  home  at  night, 
And  asked  for  his  heart's  delight, 
He  ran  up  stairs  the  door  he  broke 
And  found  her  hanging  in  a  rope. 

He  took  a  knife  and  cut  her  down, 
And  in  her  bosom  a  note  was  found. 
Dig  me  a  grave  both  wide  and  deep, 
And  a  marble  stone  to  cover  it.^] 

1  These  last  four  lines  also  conclude  other  English  songs.  See  Journal  of  Folk-Song 
Society,  ii,  158-159;  iii,  188. 

2  The  Brown  University  collection  of  Andrews  and  de  Marsan  broadsides  has  the  list, 
from  which  the  number  can  be  ascertained. 

^  [Early  nineteenth-century  English  broadside  in  Harvard  College  Library,  25242.5.5 
(147),  no.  7  ("W.  Shelmerdine  &  Co.     Printers,  Manchester").] 

^  [Early  nineteenth-century  slip  in  Harvard  College  Library,  25242.2,  fol.  65.] 

^  [Journal  of  the  Folk-Song  Society,  i,  252-253;  ii,  168-169;  Leather,  Folk-Lore  of  Here- 
fordshire, pp.  205-206  ("A  Brisk  Young  Sailor");  cf.  Kidson,  Traditional  Tunes,  pp.  44- 
46;  Broadwood,  Traditional  Songs,  pp.  92-95.] 

^  [Pitt's  broadside  (Harvard  College  Library,  25242.2,  fol.  120);  cf.  "I  am  a  Rover" 
(Kidson,  pp.  147-148).  For  the  last  stanza  of  "The  Butcher  Boy"  see  also  Journal  of 
the  Folk-Song  Society,  ii,  158;  iii,  188.] 

^  [Cf.  a  somewhat  similar  stanza  (6)  in  "  The  Sailor's  Tragedy"  (this  Journal,  x.xvi,  177). 
To  the  references  there  given  add:  The  Universal  Songster,  London,  1834,  ii,  273;  The 
Lover's  Harmony,  London,  {ca.  1840),  p.  278;  Gavin  Greig,  Folk-Song  of  the  North-East, 
Peterhead,  1914,  no.  cxxx.] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  171 

COMMON   BILL.l 

A  fuller  version  is  given  in  "  English  County  Songs,"  p.  52.  A  text 
in  this  Journal,  xxviii,  173.  Perhaps  named  by  Shearin,  p.  29.  Pound, 
p.  61.  Obtained  by  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew  from  Mrs.  E.  A.  Thurs- 
ton, both  of  Warren,  Ind. 

1.  I  will  tell  you  of  a  fellow. 

Of  a  fellow  I  have  seen. 
Who  is  not  only  a  little  verdant. 
But  is  altogether  green.. 

2.  And  his  name  it  isn't  charming, 

For  it's  only  Common  Bill; 
And  he  wishes  me  to  wed  him, 
But  I  hardly  think  I  will. 

3.  He  was  here  last  night  to  see  me. 

And  he  made  so  long  a  stay, 
I  began  to  think  the  blockhead 
Never  meant  to  go  away. 

4.  While  the  tears  the  creature  wasted 

Were  enough  to  turn  a  mill, 
As  he  begged  me  to  accept  him; 
But  I  hardly  think  I  will. 

5.  I  am  sure  I  wouldn't  choose  him; 

But  the  very  deuce  is  in  it; 
He  says,  if  I  refuse  him, 

That  he  couldn't  live  a  minute. 

6.  And  you  know  the  blessed  Bible 

Plainly  says  we  must  not  kill; 
So  I  have  thought  the  matter  over. 
And  I  rather  think  I  will. 

DOG  AND   GUN  .2 

Cited  under  this  title  in  Barry,  No.  38,  and  in  Belden,  No.  45 

'  [There  is  a  sort  of  counterpart  (imitated  from  this  piece)  entitled  "I  hardly  think  I 
can,"  in  which  a  man  speaks  (N.  Y.  broadside,  H.  de  Marsan,  ca.  1863,  list  16,  no.  48 
(Brown  University).] 

2  [Also  known  as  "The  Golden  Glov-e"  and  "The  Squire  of  Tamworth."  Often 
printed:  see  Vocal  Library,  p.  571;  Dixon,  Ancient  Poems,  Ballads,  and  Songs  of  the 
Peasantry  of  England,  Percy  Society,  1846,  pp.  106-108;  same,  as  issued  by  Robert  Bell, 
1857,  pp.  70-72,  and  later  (under  the  title  of  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  Peasantry  of 
England),  pp.  70-72;  Christie,  Traditional  Ballad  Airs,  ii,  114-115;  Burne,  Shrop- 
shire Folk-Lore,  pp.  552-553;  Addy,  Household  Tales,  etc.,  pp.  146-147  (re- 
printed thence  in  County  Folk-Lore,  vi,  182-183);  garland  in  a  collection  formerly 
belonging  to  Heber,  Harvard  College,  25252.6,  no.  14  ("The  Golden  Glove's  Garland  .  .  . 
Licen[s]ed  and  Entered  according  to  Order");  Garland,  Harvard  College,  25276.19,  vol.  iv, 
nos.  I  and  10  ("Five  Favourite  Songs.  Glasgow:  Printed  for  the  Booksellers");  broadsides, 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.   112. — 12. 


172  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

(cf.  this  Journal,  xxv,  12).^  The  title  in  Shearin,  p.  11,  is  "The 
Golden  Glove." 

An  English  text  is  in  "Traditional  Tunes,"  p.  49.  The  song  "has 
been  much  sung  in  all  parts  of  the  country." 

The  present  text  was  obtained  for  me  from  Mrs.  Deborah  Stone, 
Winfield,  Kan.,  in  1897.  It  was  learned  by  her  in  Pennsylvania 
in  1842. 

1.  The  wealthy  young  squire  of  Yarmouth  of  late, 
He  courted  a  fair  lady  of  very  great  estate; 
And  for  to  be  married  it  was  their  intent; 
Their  friends  and  relations  had  gave  their  consent. 
And  for  to  be  married  it  was  their  intent; 
Their  friends  and  relations  had  gave  their  consent. 

2.  The  day  was  appointed  the  wedding  to  be; 
They  called  a  young  farmer  to  give  her  away. 
But  instead  of  being  married  she  took  to  her  bed, 
The  thoughts  of  the  farmer  still  run  in  her  head. 
But  instead,   etc. 

3.  The  thoughts  of  the  farmer  run  so  in  her  mind, 
And  the  way  for  to  get  him  she  quickly  did  find; 
Both  waistcoat  and  breeches  this  lady  put  on. 
And  away  she  went  a-hunting  with  her  dog  and  gun. 

4.  She  hunted  all  around  where  the  farmer  did  dwell, 
For  'twas  all  in  her  heart  that  she  loved  him  so  well. 
She  often   did   fire,   but   nothing   could   kill; 

Till  at  length  the  young  farmer  came  into  the  field. 

5.  "Why  ain't  you  at  the  wedding?"  this  lady  she  cried, 
"To  wait  upon  the  squire  and  hand  him  his  bride?" 
"Well,  now,"  says  the  farmer,  "  if  the  truth  I  must  tell, 
I  can't  give  her  away,  for  I  love  her  too  well." 

6.  "Supposing  this  lady  would  grant  you  her  love, 
And  supposing  the  squire  your  ruin  would  prove?" 
"Well,"  said  the  farmer,  "I'd  take  sword  in  hand, 
And  by  honor  I  would  gain  her,  my  life  at  his  command." 

7.  It  pleased  this  lady  to  see  him  so  bold; 

She  gave  him  a  glove  that  was  garnished  with  gold. 
She  said  that  she  had  found  it  as  she  came  along. 
As  she  was  a-hunting  with  her  dog  and  gun. 

Harvard  College — 25242.17,  vol.  iii,  no.  128  (Forth,  Pocklington) ;  vol.  iv,  no.  115  (John 
Gilbert,  Newcastle-on-Tyne);  vol.  v,  no.  52  (J.  Cadman,  Manchester);  vol.  vii,  no.  15 
(J.  Catnach);  vol.  ix,  no.  71  (John  O.  Bebbington,  Manchester);  vol.  xii,  no.  11  (H.  Such).] 
1  [An  American  broadside  of  the  early  nineteenth  century  is  in  the  Harvard  College 
Library,  25242.5.10  (211).  I  have  a  New  England  copy  (in  MS.)  the  oral  tradition  of  which 
reaches  to  a  date  before  1823.] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  173 

8.  This  lady  went  home  with  her  heart  full  of  love, 
And  gave  out  a  proclamation  that  she'd  lost  her  glove; 
"And  the  man  that  will  find  it  and  bring  it  to  me, 
Oh,  the  man  that  will  find  it,  his  bride  I  will  be." 

9.  It  pleased  this  farmer  to  hear  all  the  news; 
Straightway  to  this  lady  the  farmer  he  goes. 
Saying,  "Dear  honored  lady,  I've  picked  up  your  glove; 
And  will  you  be  pleased  to  grant  me  your  love?" 

10.  "It's  already  granted,"  this  lady  she  cried; 

"I  love  the  sweet  breath  of  the  farmer,"  she  replied; 
"I'll  be  mistress  of  his  dairy  and  milker  of  his  cows, 
While  my  jolly  young  farmer  goes  whistling  to  his  plows. 
I'll  be  mistress,"  etc. 

Barry  prints  only  the  following  couplet: 

Then  after  she  was  married,  she  told  of  the  fun. 
How  she  hunted  the  farmer  with  her  dog  and  gun. 

FATHER   GRUMBLE. 

This  title  is  given  by  Miss  Pound  to  her  text  in  this  Journal,  xxvi, 
365-366.  See  full  information  there  given  by  Professor  Kittredge.^ 
No.  50  in  Belden,  "Darby  and  Joan,"  is  this  story. 

{a)  [The-  Old  Man.] 

This  version  was  written  down  recently  by  Mr.  Jos.  B.  Tree,  Rich- 
mond, Va.,  when  eighty-seven  years  of  age.  It  was  obtained  by 
Miss  Emma  F.  Pope,  Petersburg,  Va. 

1.  There  was  an  old  man  who  lived  in  the  woods. 

And  that  you  will  plainly  see, 
Who  said  he  could  do  more  work  in  a  day 
Than  his  wife  could  do  in  three. 

2.  "Very  well,"  the  old  woman  said, 

" and  will  allow; 

And  you  must  stay  at  home  to-day 
While  I  will  follow  the  plow. 

3.  "You  must  milk  the  brindle  cow, 

For  fear  she  will  go  dry; 
And  you  must  feed  the  little  pigs 
That  run  within  the  sty. 

1  [Add:  Robert  Ford,  Song  Histories,  1900,  pp.  39  ff.  (discussion).  For  a  Devonshire 
version  see  Sarah  Hewett,  Nummits  and  Crummits,  1900,  pp.  200-201.  A  Scottish  version 
(substantially  A.  Cunningham's)  is  printed  in  Delaney's  Scotch  Song  Book  No.  i,  p.  22 
(N.  Y.).] 


174  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

4.  "And  you  must  watch  the  speckled  hen, 

For  fear  she  will  lay  astray; 
And  you  must  wind  the  spool  of  yarn 
That  I  spun  yesterday." 

5.  The  old  woman  took  the  stick  in  her  hand, 

And  went  to  follow  the  plow; 
The  old  man  took  the  pail  in  his  hand, 
And  went  to  milk  the  cow. 

6.  "So,  Jinny;  ho,  Jinny; 

Prithee,  good  cow  stand  still. 
I  declare,  if  I  milk  thee  again, 
'Twill  be  sorely  against  my  will." 

7.  But  Jinny  winced,  and  Jinny  flinched, 

And  Jinny  shook  her  nose. 
And  gave  the  old  man  a  kick  in  the  face. 
And  the  blood  ran  down  to  his  toes. 

8.  He  went  to  feed  the  little  pigs 

That  run  within  the  sty. 
And  the  old  sow  run  between  his  legs, 
And  threw  him  down  in  the  mire. 

9.  He  tangled  up  the  spool  of  yarn 

His  wife  spun  yesterday; 
And  he  forgot  the  speckled  hen. 
And  let  her  lay  astray. " 

10.  And  the  old  man  declared  by  the  sun  and  the  moon, 
And  all  the  stars  in  heaven. 
His  wife  could  do  more  work  in  one  day 
Than  he  could  do  in  seven. 

{h)  Old  Father  Grumble . 

The  following  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl   H.  Bartholomew 
from  Mrs.  Ella  Stanley,  both  of  Warren,  Ind. 

1.  Old  Father  Grumble  he  did  say. 

And  said  it  to  be  true. 
That  he  could  do  more  work  in  a  day 
Than  his  wife  could  do  in  two. 

2.  Old  Mother  Grumble  she  did  say. 

And  said  it  to  be  true. 
That  he  could  do  the  work  in  the  house. 
And  she'd  go  follow  the  plow. 

3.  "Now  you  must  feed  the  little  wee  pig 

That  stands  beneath  the  sty; 
And  you  must  milk  the  brindle  cow, 
Or  she  will  go  dry. 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  175 

4.  "Now  you  must  churn  the  cream  in  the  crock 

That  stands  beneath  the  frame; 
And  you  must  watch  the  fat  in  the  pot, 
Or  it  will  all  go  in  a  flame. 

5.  "Now  you  must  wind  the  spools  of  yarn 

That  I  spun  yesterday; 
And  you  must  feed  the  speckled  hen, 
Or  she  will  stray  away. 

6.  "Now  you  must  get  the  dinner  too, 

And  have  it  right  on  time; 
And  don't  forget  to  wring  those  clothes, 
And  hang  them  on  the  line." 

7.  Then  Mother  Grumble  took  the  whip, 

And  went  to  follow  the  plow; 
And  Father  Grumble  took  the  pail. 
And  went  to  milk  the  cow. 

8.  The  cow  she  kicked  and  lashed  her  tail, 

And  rumpled  up  her  nose; 
She  kicked  poor  Grumble  on  the  shins, 
Till  the  blood  run  through  to  his  toes. 

9.  He  went  to  feed  the  little  pig 

That  stands  beneath  the  sty; 
He  knocked  his  head  against  a  pole. 
And,  my!  how  the  wool  did  fly! 

10.  He  went  to  churn  the  cream 

That  stood  beneath  the  frame; 
And  he  forgot  the  fat  in  the  pot. 
And  it  all  run  in  a  flame. 

11.  He  went  to  wind  the  spools  of  yarn 

His  wife  spun  yesterday; 
And  he  forgot  to  feed  the  speckled  hen, 
And  she  strayed  away. 

12.  He  went  to  get  the  dinner  too. 

And  have  it  right  on  time; 
And  he  forgot  to  wring  the  clothes. 
And  hang  them  on  the  line. 

13.  Then  Mother  Grumble  she  came  in; 

She  looked  sad  and  turned  up  her  nose; 
She  rolled  up  her  sleeves, 

And  says  she,  "I  am  very  glad." 

(c)  Old  Crumbly. 

The  version  given  below  came  through  Mrs.  Bartholomew,  being 
the  joint  text  of  Mrs.  Ella  Taylor,  Mrs.  Jennie  Huff,  and  Mrs.  Belle 
Debra,  all  of  Warren,  Ind. 


176  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

1.  Old  Grumbly  he  came  in, 

As  mad  as  he  could  be, 
Saying  he,  "I  can  do  more  work  in  a  day 

Than  my  wife  can  do  in  three,  three." 
Saying  he,  "I  can  do  more  work  in  a  day 

Than  my  wife  can  do  in  three,  three." 

2.  Mrs.  Grumbly  she  came  in. 

Saying,  "Tell  your  troubles  now; 
If  you  will  do  the  work  in  the  house, 

It's  I'll  go  follow  the  plow,  plow. 
If  you  will,  etc. 

3.  "And  you  must  milk  old  muley  cow, 

For  fear  that  she'll  go  dry; 
And  you  must  feed  the  little  pig 

That  stands  within  the  sty,  sty. 
And  you  must  feed,  etc. 

4.  "And  you  must  feed  old  speckled  hen, 

For  fear  that  she'll  go  way; 
And  you  must  reel  the  spools  of  yarn 

That  I  spun  yesterday,  day. 
And  you  must  reel,  etc. 

5.  "And  you  must  churn  the  cream 

That  stands  within  the  frame; 
And  you  must  watch  the  fat  in  the  pot, 

Or  it  will  all  run  in  a  fiame,  flame. 
And  you  must  watch,"  etc. 

6.  Mrs.  Grumbly  she  took  up  the  whip, 

And  went  to  follow  the  plow. 
Old  Grumbly  he  took  up  the  pail, 

And  went  to  milk  the  cow,  cow. 
Old  Grumbly,  etc. 

7.  Old  Muley  she  kicked  up  her  heels, 

And  hit  him  on  the  nose; 
And  he  begun  to  yell  and  scream, 

i\nd  the  blood  run  to  his  toes,  toes. 
And  he  begun,  etc. 

8.  He  went  to  feed  old  speckled  hen, 

For  fear  that  she'd  go  way; 
And  he  forgot  to  reel  the  yarn 

His  wife  spun  yesterday,  day. 
And  he  forgot,  etc. 

9.  He  went  to  feed  the  little  pig 

That  stands  within  the  sty; 
He  knocked  his  head  against  a  post, 

And  the  hair  begin  to  fly,  fly. 
He  knocked,  etc. 


Some  So7igs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  177 

10.  He  went  to  churn  the  cream 

That  stood  within  the  frame; 
And  he  forgot  the  fat  in  the  pot, 

And  it  all  run  in  a  flame,  flame. 
And  he  forgot,  etc. 

11.  Old  Grumbly  he  began  to  sigh"- 

For  the  setting  of  the  sun;^ 
He  thought  it  was  the  longest  day. 

His  wife  would  never  come,  come. 
He  thought,  etc. 

12.  Mrs.  Grumbly  she  came  in. 

And  was  feeling  very  sad.^ 
She  turned  herself  about  the  room, 

And  said  that  she  was  glad,  glad. 
She  turned  herself  about  the  room, 

And  said  that  she  was  glad,  glad. 

THE   GARDEN   GATE.  2 

This  ballad  is  printed  in  "English  County  Songs,"  p.  72.     I  have 
a  text  from  Indiana.     It  begins  and  ends,  — 

The  day  was  past  and  the  moon  shone  bright, 

The  village  clock  struck  eight. 
When  Mary  hastened  with  delight 

Unto  the  garden  gate. 


And  she  blesses  the  hour  that  she  did  wait 
For  her  true  love  at  the  garden  gate. 

1  This  line  we  think  hardly  correct,  but  as  near  as  we  can  get  it. 

2  [The  words  are  by  W.  Upton,  the  well-known  song- writer  (see  S.  J.  Adair  Fitz-Gerald, 
Stories  of  Famous  Songs,  1898,  p.  169).  Often  printed,  as:  The  Universal  Songster, 
London,  1834,  i,  121;  Davidson's  Universal  Melodist,  London,  1848,  ii,  401  (with  W.  T, 
Parke's  music) ;  Dixon,  Ancient  Poems,  Ballads,  and  Songs  of  the  Peasantry,  Percy  Society, 
1846,  no.  32,  pp.  226-227;  Bell,  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  Peasantry,  pp.  221-223; 
Gavin  Greig,  Folk-Song  of  the  North-East,  Peterhead,  no.  cxxiv  (cf.  no.  Ixvii);  P.  W.  Joyce, 
Old  Irish  Folk  Music  and  Songs,  1909,  pp.  280-281  (tune  only);  The  Pearl  Songster,  N.  Y., 
C.  P.  Huestis,  1846,  p.  39;  The  New  Popular  Forget-Me-Not  Songster,  Cincinnati, 
Lorenso  Stratton,  pp.  116-117.  Harvard  College  has  many  broadside  or  slip  copies:  — 
J.  Pitts  (25242.2,  fol.  129);  J.  Catnach  (25242.2,  fol.  183);  J.  Catnach,  a  different  edition 
(25242. II. 5,  fol.  49;  also  25242.17,  vol.  V,  no.  134);  J.  Livsey,  Manchester  (25242.17, 
vol.  iii,  no.  76);  John  Gilbert,  Newcastle  (same,  vol.  iv,  no.  118);  Forth,  Pocklington 
(vol.  iv,  no.  181);  Cadman,  Manchester  (vol.  v,  no.  66);  Bebbington,  Manchester  (vol.  x, 
no.  47);  H.  Such  (vol.  xi,  no.  143;  another  edition  25242.26,  p.  28);  T.  Birt  (25242.24, 
p.  19).  Brown  University  has  this  song  in  a  N.  Y.  broadside  of  about  i860  (H.  de  Marsan, 
list  II,  no.  27).] 


178  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 


THE  IRISH   LADY. 

1  have  an  Indiana  text,  "learned  more  than  sixty  years  ago." 
Professor  Kittredge  points  out  that  my  copy  agrees  very  closely 
with  "Sally,"  printed  by  Mr.  Barry  in  this  Journal,  xxvii  (1914), 
73-74-' 

JESSE   JAMES. 2 

Belden,  No.  75;  Shearin,  p.  16;  Pound,  p.  34. 

In  a  review  of  Professor  Lomax's  "Cowboy  Songs"  in  "The  Dial," 
April  I,  191 1,  I  wrote  as  follows:  "One  ballad  glorifies  Jesse  James. 
It  is  somewhat  widely  known.  Miss  Louise  R.  Bascom  tells  us,  in 
the  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore  for  1909,  that  the  heroic  ballads 
of  Western  North  Carolina  'cluster  for  the  most  part  around  Jesse 
James.'  The  song  which  she  prints  has  much  in  common  with  that 
in  Lomax.  I  have  heard  before  of  the  existence  of  a  group  of  ballads 
about  Jesse  James.  [This  refers  to  an  account  given  me  by  a  friend, 
of  a  lecture  by  Professor  E.  C.  Perrow.]  I  am  inclined  to  conjecture 
that  some  of  the  other  songs  of  outlaw  life  have  been  transferred  to 
Jesse  James.  We  know  that  some  English  ballads  became  attached 
to  Robin  Hood  that  did  not  originally  concern  him." 

Since  the  above  was  written,  Professor  Perrow  has  published  in 
this  Journal  a  large  body  of  songs  from  the  region  of  the  southern 
Appalachian  Mountains.  Those  about  Jesse  James  are  in  Volume 
XXV  (1912),  pp.  145-150.  These  various  songs  and  fragments  es- 
tablish the  truth  of  the  claim  which  Professor  Perrow  makes  in  a 
personal  letter,  that  "there  is  a  group  of  independent  songs  current 
in  the  South  concerning  Jesse  James."  The  ballad  of  "Jack  Middle- 
ton,"  one  of  those  printed,  has  been  given  an  external  connection  with 
Jesse  James,  somewhat  as  the  B  version  of  No.  103  in  Child,  "Rose 
the  Red  and  White  Lily,"  has  been  brought  into  external  connection 
with  Robin  Hood.  But  it  is  not  known  to  me  that  any  song  about 
an  exploit  of  some  other  outlaw  has  been  transferred  to  Jesse  James. 
In  the  C  version  of  "Rose  the  Red  and  White  Lily,"  Robin  Hood 
and  Little  John  become  the  lovers  and  then  the  husbands  of  the  two 
girls.     My  conjecture  in  "The  Dial"  was  probably  too  bold. 

JOHNNY   SANDS. 

Belden,  No.  47,  summarizes  the  story  as  follows:  "Johnny,  after 
a  quarrel  with  his  wife,  wishes  he  were  dead.     She  agrees.     They 

*  [This  is  "Sally  and  her  Truelove  Billy,"  known  in  broadsides  (Harvard,  25242.17, 
vol.  vii, no.  55;  25242.25,  p.  87,  Pitts;  25242.27,  p.  281).  It  is  also  printed  by  Christie, 
Traditional  Ballad;Airs,  ii,  240-241  ("  The  Bold  Sailor");  by  Ashton,  Real  Sailor  Songs,  no. 
70  ("Sallyand  Billy");  and  by  Gavin  Greig,  Folk-Song  of  the  North-East,  Peterhead,  no. 
Ixxix  ("The  Sailor  from  Dover").] 

2  [As  to  Robert  Ford  and  James,  see  N.  C.  Goodwin,  Nat  Goodwin's  Book  (1914), 
pp.  284-285.] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  1 79 

go  to  the  river,  where  he  asks  her  to  tie  his  hands  and  push  him  in. 
When  she  rushes  at  him  to  push  him  in,  he  steps  aside  and  in  she  goes. 
She  begs  him  to  help  her  out,  but  he  answers,  'I  can't,  you've  tied 
my  hands.'" 

Perrow  has  printed  a  text  in  this  Journal,  xxviii,  174.  Pound,  p.  57. 
I  have  a  text  from  Indiana. 

Nearly  a  half-century  ago  I  heard  a  version  of  the  above  story 
recited  by  a  poet  of  western  Massachusetts  as  his  own  composition. 
Following  the  prayer  of  the  drowning  wife  for  help,  this  poem  ended 
with  these  words  from  the  husband: 

"I  would,  but  you  my  hands  have  tied. 
Heaven  help  you!"  ^ 

[The  Old  Woman  of  Slapsadam.]  ^ 

Shearin's  "The  Old  Woman  of  London,"  p.  10,  corresponds  very 
closely  to  the  following  song. 

While  the  agreement  of  this  ballad  with  that  of  "  Johnny  Sands," 
summarized  above,  is  striking,  yet  it  is  clear  that  the  two  stories 
should  be  carefully  distinguished. 

This  text  was  obtained  from  Mrs.  Martin  Trumpower  by  Miss 
Mary  O.  Eddy,  both  of  Perrysville,  O. 

I.  There  was  an  old  woman  in  Slapsadam, 
In  Slapsadam  did  dwell. 
She  loved  her  old  man  dearly, 
But  another  one  twice  as  well. 

1  [Though  founded  on  a  folk-tale,  the  song  of  "Johnny  Sands"  is  literary  and  hardly 
older  than  the  40's  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  achieved  enormous  vogue  in  this  country 
by  forming  part  of  the  repertory  of  the  Hutchinson  Family,  the  Continental  Vocalists,  and 
other  singing  "troupes."  It  may  be  found  in  many  books,  e.g., — The  Granite  Songster, 
containing  the  Poetry  as  Sung  by  the  Hutchinson  Family  at  their  Concerts,  Boston,  1847, 
PP-  55-56;  John  A  Sterry,  The  Continental  Vocalists'  Glee  Book,  Boston,  cop.  1855,  pp. 
66-68  (with  music);  I.  B.  Woodbury,  The  Home  Melodist,  Boston,  cop.  1859,  p.  49  (with 
music);  Charles  Jarvis,  The  Young  Folks'  Glee  Book,  Boston,  cop.  1856,  pp.  20-22  (with 
music);  The  Shilling  Song  Book,  N.  Y.,  Dexter  &  Co.,  cop.  i860,  p.  74;  Uncle  Sam's  Army 
Songster,  Indianapolis,  cop.  1862,  p.  17;  Dan  Kelly's  Songster,  N.  Y.,  Frederick  A.  Brady, 
cop.  1869,  pp.  55-56.  It  was  printed  as  a  broadside  by  J.  A.  Johnson,  a  noted  song- 
publisher  of  Philadelphia,  and  by  J.  Andrews  (ca.  1855),  N.  Y.,  list  S,  no.  26  (Brown  Uni- 
versity Library).  A  very  recent  occurrence  of  the  text  is  in  Delaney's  Irish  Song  Book 
No.  2,  p.  22  (N.  Y.).  Harvard  College  has  a  broadside  text  from  Ireland  (25242. 5. sM^-), 
and  at  least  two  from  England, — 25242.17,  vol.  v,  no.  195  (Ryle  and  Co.,  Seven  Dials); 
vol.  X,  no.  216  (J.  Bebbington,  Manchester).  I  have  copies  in  MS.  (one  from  Massa- 
chusetts), and  have  seen  a  copy  from  Michigan  (in  the  MS.  collection  of  Mr.  Bertrand 
L.  Jones).— G.  L.  K.] 

'  [There  is  a  copy  (in  MS.),  contributed  to  Child  by  William  Walker  of  Aberdeen  in  the 
Child  MSS.  (Harvard  College  Library),  vol.  ii,  p.  216  ("The  Wife  of  Kelso").  Another 
Scottish  copy  is  given  by  Gavin  Greig,  xii  ("The  Wily  Auld  Carle").] 


i8o  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

2.  She  went  unto  the  doctor's, 

To  see  if  she  could  find, 
By  some  good  means  or  other, 
To  make  her  old  man  blind. 

3.  She  went  and  got  some  marrowbone, 

And  fed  it  to  him  all. 
Says  he:  "Oh,  my  beloved  wife! 
I  can't  see  you  at  all." 

4.  Says  he:  "I'd  go  and  drown  myself, 

If  I  could  find  the  way." 
Says  she:  "I'll  go  along  with  you, 
For  fear  you'll  go  astray." 

5.  So  hand  in  hand  they  walked  along. 

Until  they  came  to  the  shore. 

Says  he:  "Oh,  my  beloved  wife! 

You'll  have  to  push  me  o'er." 

6.  The  old  woman  stepped  back  a  step  or  two, 

To  run  and  push  him  in; 
The  old  man  he  stepped  to  one  side. 
And  headlong  she  went  in. 

7.  The  old  man  being  tender-hearted, 

For  fear  she'd  swim  to  the  shore, 
He  went  and  got  a  great  long  pole. 
And  pushed  her  further  o'er, 

8.  And  now  my  song  is  ended; 

I  can't  sing  any  more. 
But  wasn't  she  a  darned  old  fool, 
She  didn't  swim  to  shore? 

THE  LADY  LE    ROY. 

The  following  was  taken  down  by  Miss  Pearl  P.  Payne,  Vermilion, 
S.D.,  from  Mrs.  Harriet  E.  Gray  of  Chicago. 

The  young  woman's  disguise  in  the  second  stanza  seems  to  be 
solely  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  a  vessel  from  her  own  father. 
The  captain  with  whom  she  sails  away  in  the  third  stanza  must  be 
her  lover,  "the  young  captain"  who  is  triumphant  at  the  close. 

1.  I  spied  a  fair  couple  on  old  Ireland['s]  shore, 
A-viewing  the  ocean  where  the  billows  do  roar. 
He  says:  "Dearest  Sally,  it's  you  I  adore. 

And  to  go  and  leave  you  grieves  my  heart  sore." 

2.  She  dressed  herself  up  in  a  suit  of  men's  clothes. 
And  straight  to  her  father  she  then  did  go. 

She  purchased  a  vessel,  paid  down  the  demands; 
But  little  he  knew  'twas  from  his  own  daughter's  hands. 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  i8i 

3.  Straight  to  her  captain  she  then  did  go. 
"Get  ready,  get  ready;  no  time  to  lose!" 
They  hoisted  their  top-sails,  their  colors  let   fly, 
And  over  the  ocean  sailed  Lady  Le  Roy. 

4.  But  when  her  old  father  came  to  understand, 
He  vowed  revenge  on  this  unworthy  young  man; 

And  as  for  his  daughter,  she  should  ne'er  be  his  wife. 
And  for  her  disobedience  he  would  end  her  sweet  life. 

5.  And  straight  to  his  captain  he  then  did  go. 
"Get  ready,  get  ready;  no  time  to  lose!" 
They  hoisted  their  top-sails,  their  colors  let  fly. 
He  swore  by  his  Maker  he'd  conquer  or  die. 

6.  They  had  not  been  sailing  o'er  a  week  or  ten  days, 

When  the  wind  from  the  northwest  blew  a  sweet  pleasant  gale. 
They  spied  a  ship  sailing,  which  filled  them  with  joy. 
And  they  did  hail  her;  she  was  Lady  Le  Roy. 

7.  It's  broadside  to  broadside  they  then  did  go; 
And  louder,  then  louder,  the  cannon  did  roar. 
Till  at  length  the  young  captain  he  gained  victory. 
Hurrah  for  the  thing  they  call  sweet  liberty! 

8.  "Go  back  to  old  Ireland,  and  there  let  them  know 
That  we'll  not  be  taken  by  friend  nor  by  foe. 

We  wish  you  much  pleasure,  long  life  to  enjoy; 

But  you've  lost  all  the  prospects  of  the  Lady  Le  Roy." 

THE  LAZY  MAN. 

No.  106  in  Belden's  list.     Barry,  No.  72.     Pound,  p.  58. 

This  was  obtained  about  1906,  by  Mr  O.  B.  Sperlin,  Tacoma, 
Wash.,  then  of  Kokomo,  Ind.,  from  the  singing  of  his  mother.  "  None 
of  the  people  who  used  to  sing  it  ever  saw  it  in  print."  I  have  a 
second  text,  also  from  Indiana. 

1.  Come,  all  my  good  people,  and  listen  to  my  song; 
I'll  sing  you  of  a  lazy  man  that  wouldn't  tend  his  corn. 
The  reason  why  I  cannot  tell. 

For  this  young  man  was  always  well. 

2.  He  went  to  the  fence  and  peeped  therein; 
The  chinkey-pin  bush  as  high  as  his  chin. 
The  weeds  and  grass  they  grew  so  high 
They  often  made  this  young  man  to  cry. 

3.  In  July  his  corn  was  knee-high; 
And  in  September  he  laid  it  by; 

And  in  October  there  came  a  large  frost, 
And  all  this  young  man's  corn  was  lost. 


1 82  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

4.  He  went  to  his  nearest  neighbor's  house, 
A-courting  as  you  may  suppose; 

And  in  conversation  this  question  came  around: 
Says  she:  "Young  man,  have  you  hoed  your  corn?" 

5.  This  young  man  made  a  quick  reply. 
"Oh,  no,"  says  he,  "for  I've  laid  it  by. 

It  ain't  no  use  to  strive  and  strive  in  vain, 
For  I  can't  raise  a  single  grain." 

6.  "Oh,  then,  kind  sir,  why  do  you  wish  for  to  wed. 
When  you  can't  raise  your  own  cornbread? 
Single  I  am  and  single  I  remain; 

The  lazy  man  I  never  will  maintain." 

THE   LITTLE   FAMILY. 

No.  38  in  Belden's  list.     Cf.  this  Journal,  xxv,  17. 

The  stanzas  given  below,  obtained  by  Miss  Mary  O.  Eddy  from 
Miss  Jane  Goon,  both  of  Perrysville,  O.,  were  "learned  at  school 
from  the  singing  of  other  children;"  they  may  well  be  derived 
from  a  published  poem. 

1.  There  was  a  little  family 

Who  lived  in  Bethany; 
Two  sisters  and  a  brother 
Composed  this  family. 

2.  With  prayer  and  with  singing, 

Like  angels  in  the  sky. 
At  morning  and  at  evening, 
They  raised  their  voices  high. 

3.  Though  poor  and  without  money, 

Their  kindness  made  amend; 
Their  house  was  always  open 
To  Jesus  and  his  friend. 

4.  And  thus  they  lived  so  happy, 

So  poor,  so  kind,  so  good. 
Their  brother  grew  afflicted 
And  drew  a  thrown  a  bed.  (?) 

5.  Poor  Martha  and  her  sister. 

They  wept  aloud  and  cried ; 
But  still  he  grew  no  better, 
But  lingered  on  and  died. 

6.  The  Jews  came  to  the  sisters, 

But  Lazreth  in  the  tomb, 
And  tried  for  them  to  comfort, 
And  drive  away  their  gloom. 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  183 

7.  When  Jesus  heard  these  tidings, 

Though  in  a  distant  land, 
How  quickly  did  he  travel 
To  join  this  lonely  band! 

8.  When  Martha  saw  him  coming. 

She  met  him  in  the  way; 
She  told  him  that  her  brother 
Had  died  and  passed  away. 

9.  He  cherished  and  he  blessed  her, 

He  told  her  not  to  weep, 
For  in  him  was  the  power 
To  wake  him  from  his  sleep. 

10.  When  Mary  saw  him  coming, 

She  ran  and  met  him  too. 
And  at  his  feet  fell  weeping, 
Rehearsed  the  tale  of  woe. 

11.  When  Jesus  saw  her  weeping. 

He  fell  a- weeping  too; 
He  wep  until  they  showed  him 
Where  Lazreth  was  in  tomb. 

12.  They  rolled  away  the  cover. 

He  looked  upon  the  grave, 
He  prayed  unto  his  Father, 
His  loving  friend  to  save. 

13.  Then  Lazreth  in  full  power 

Came  from  the  gloomy  mound. 
And  in  full  strength  and  vigor 
He  walked  upon  the  ground. 

14.  Now  if  we  but  love  Jesus, 

And  do  his  holy  will. 
Like  Martha  and  like  Mary, 
Do  always  use  him  well, 

15.  From  death  he  will  redeem  us. 

And  take  us  to  the  skies. 
Where  we  will  reign  forever, 
W^here  pleasures  never  die. 

THE   LITTLE   SPARROW. 

I  obtained  the  following  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew  from 
Mrs.   Ella  Taylor,   both   of  Warren,   Ind.     Shearin,  p.   26;  Belden 
No.  88. 

Why  a  faithless  lover  should  be  called  a  "  true  love,"  and  why  tl  e 
devoted  maiden  should  wish  to  fly  away  to  him,  are  not  made  clear. 


184  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

1.  I  wish  I  was  a  little  sparrow; 

I'd  fly  away  from  grief  and  sorrow; 
I'd  fly  away  like  a  turtle  dove; 
I'd  fly  away  to  my  own  true  love. 

2.  'Twas  but  last  night  he  said  to  me: 
"I'll  take  you  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea." 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  left  me  alone, 
A  single  maid  without  a  home. 

3 .  Oh  grief,  oh  grief!  I'll  tell  you  why: 
Because  she  has  more  gold  than  I ; 
He  takes  that  other  girl  on  his  knee, 
And  tells  her  what  he  don't  tell  me. 

4.  I  wish,  I  wish,  but  all  in  vain, 

That  my  true  love  would  come  back  again. 

But  then  I  know  that  will  never  be. 

Till  the  green,  green  grass  grows  over  me. 

THE   lover's   lament. 

The  following  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew, 
from  Mrs.  Ella  Taylor,  both  of  Warren,  Ind.  Sung  to  Mrs.  T.  by 
her  uncle  over  fifty  years  ago.^ 

1.  Once  I  did  court  a  lady  beauty  bright, 

And  on  her  I  placed  my  whole  heart's  delight. 
I  courted  her  for  love,  and  her  love  I  did  obtain; 
And  I  thought  she  had  no  reason  at  all  to  complain. 
And  I  thought  she  had  no  reason  at  all  to  complain. 

2.  But  it's  when  her  cruel  parents  came  to  know 
Their  daughter  and  I  together  did  go. 

They  locked  her  in  her  chamber,  and  kept  her  so  severe 
That  I  never  never  after  got  sight  of  my  dear. 
That  I  never,  etc. 

3.  Then  I  resolved  to  the  war  for  to  go. 

To  see  whether  I  could  forget  my  love  or  no. 
But  when  I  got  there,  with  my  armor  shining  bright, 
I  took  a  steady  thought  on  my  own  heart's  delight. 
I  took,  etc. 

4.  For  seven  long  years  I  served  the  good  king; 
In  seven  long  years  I  returned  home  again. 

With  my  heart  so  full  of  love  and  my  eyes  so  full  of  tears. 
Saying,  "How  happy  would  I  be  to  meet  with  my  dear! " 
Saying,  etc. 

^  [See  another  copy  in  this  Journal,  xxvi,  176.] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  185 

5.  Then  I  resolved  to  her  father's  house  to  go, 
To  see  whether  I  could  see  my  love  or  no. 

But  it's  when  the  old  man  saw  me,  he  wrung  his  hands  and  cried. 
Saying,  "  My  daughter  loved  you  dearly  and  for  your  sake  she];died." 
Saying,  etc. 

6.  Then  I  was  struck  like  a  man  that  was  slain; 
Tears  from  my  eyes  flowed  like  showers  of  rain; 
Crying,  "Oh,  oh,  oh!  such  grief  I  cannot  bear. 

For  my  true  love  is  in  her  grave,  and  I  long  to  be  there. 
For  my  true  love,"  etc. 

7.  Then  I  resolved  to  my  bed  for  to  go, 

To  see  whether  I  could  forget  my  love  or  no. 

But  it's  when  I  got  there,  all  the  music  I  could  hear 

Was  the  sounding  of  the  trumpet  and  the  thoughts  of  my  dear. 

Was  the  sounding,  etc, 

8.  It's  when  I  came  to  my  senses  again, 

I  took  a  pen  and  ink,  and  I  penned  down  the  same. 
Saying:  Come,  all  of  you  true  lovers,  come,  pity,  pity  me; 
Come,  pity  my  misfortune  and  sad  misery. 
Come,  pity  my  misfortune  and  sad  misery. 

MARY   O'    THE   WILD  MOOR. 

No.  47  in  Barry,  No.  29  in  Belden,  p.  12  in  Shearin,  p.  19  in  Pound.  See 
in  this  Journal,  xxvi,  355  n. 

English  texts:  Traditional  Tunes,  77;  English  Folk-Songs,  76. 
I  have  two  texts,  both  from  Ohio, 

One  night  Mary  comes  with  her  child  at  her  bosom  "wandering 
home  to  her  own  father's  door."  He  does  not  hear  her  call,  and  she 
dies  there,  "From  the  winds  that  blew  cross  the  wild  moor."  ^ 

MCAFEE'S   CONFESSION. 

The  following  song  is  printed  in  Lomax's  "Cowboy  Songs"  (New 
York,  1910),  pp.  164-166.  The  text  printed  below  agrees  better 
than  that  of  Lomax  with  the  summaries  of  Belden,  No.  24,  and  Shearin, 
p.  16.  See  Belden's  comments  in  "Modern  Philology,"  ii,  574;  and 
in  this  Journal,  xxv,  12.     Pound,  p.  34. 

1  [See  Helen  K.  Johnson,  Our  Familiar  Songs,  1881,  p.  305.  This  song  circulated  widely 
in  sheet  copies.  Harvard  College  has  the  following  English  broadsides  and  slips:  Pitts 
(25242.4,  vol.  ii,  p.  59);  W.  S.  Fortey,  Catnach  Press  (25242.5.6  [161]);  J.  Catnach  (25242, 
II. 5,  fol.  loi;  also  25242.17,  vol.  vii,  nos.  153,  169);  Jackson  and  Son,  Birmingham 
(25242.17,  vol.  ii,  no.  130);  W.  R.  Walker,  Newcastle-on-Tyne  (same,  vol.  iv,  no.  17); 
Cadman,  Manchester  (same,  vol.  v,  no.  54);  John  O.  Bebbington,  Manchester  (same,  vol, 
ix,  no.  42),  and  probably  others.  It  is  no.  140  of  the  broadsides  published  in  New  York 
by  H.  J.  Wehman  (Harvard,  25241.29),  all  of  which  were  still  in  print  and  on  sale  as  late 
as  1891,  H.  de  Marsan  published  it  in  New  York  as  a  broadside  about  i860,  list  3,  no.  72 
(Harvard  and  Brown  Libraries).  See  also  Shilling  Song  Book,  Boston,  Ditson,  cop.  i86ot 
p.  4I-] 


1 86  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

This  text  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew  from 
Mrs.  M.  M.  Soners,  both  of  Warren,  Ind.  The  mother  of  Mrs.  S.  sang 
it  to  her  almost  fifty  years  ago  in  Ohio.  Mrs.  S.  states  that  the  poem 
records  an  actual  occurrence,  and  that  her  mother  knew  Hettie  Stout 
well. 

1.  Draw  near  young  men  and  learn  from  me 
My  sad  and  mournful  history; 

And  may  you  ne'er  forgetful  be 
Of  all  this  day  I  tell  to  thee. 

2.  Before  I  arrived  in  my  fifth  year, 
My  father  and  my  mother  dear 
Where  [Were]  both  laid  in  their  grave 
By  Him  who  them  their  beings  gave. 

3.  No  more  a  mother's  love  I  shared, 
No  more  a  father's  voice  I  heard, 
No  more  was  I  a  mother's  joy, 

I  was  a  helpless  orphan  boy. 

4.  But  Providence,  the  orphan's  friend, 
A  kind  relief  did  quickly  send. 

And  snatched  from  want  and  penury 
Poor  little  orphan  McAfee. 

5.  Beneath  my  uncle's  friendly  roof, 
From  want  and  penury  aloof. 

Nine  years  I  was  most  kindly  served, 
And  oft  his  kind  advice  I  heard. 

6.  But  I  was  thoughtless,  young,  and  gay, 
And  ofttimes  broke  the  Sabbath  day. 
In  wickedness  I  took  delight. 

And  ofttimes  done  what  was  not  right. 

7.  Ah,  well  I  mind  the  very  day 
When  from  my  home  I  ran  away. 
And  feigned  [?]  again  in  wickedness, 
And  Satan  served  with  eagerness. 

8.  At  length  unto  me  a  wife  I  took, 
And  she  was  gentle,  kind,  and  good; 
And  now  alive  would  be  no  doubt. 
Had  I  not  seen  Miss  Hettie  Stout. 

9.  'Twas  on  a  pleasant  summer's  night, 
When  all  was  still,  the  stars  shone  bright. 
My  wife  was  lying  on  the  bed, 

When  I  approached  and  to  her  said: 

10.  "  Dear  wife,  here's  medicine  I  brought, 
Of  which  for  you  this  day  I  bought. 
My  dear,  I  know  it  will  cure  you 
Of  these  vile  fits.     Pray,  take  it,  do." 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  187 

11.  She  gave  to  me  one  tender  look, 
Then  in  her  mouth  the  poison  took, 
Then,  by  her  babe  upon  the  bed, 
Down  to  her  last  long  sleep  she  laid. 

12.  But,  fearing  that  she  was  not  dead. 
My  hands  upon  her  throat  I  laid. 
And  there  such  deep  impressions  made 
Her  soul  soon  from  her  body  fled. 

13.  Then  was  my  heart  filled  full  of  woe: 
Oh,  whither,  whither  shall  I  go? 
How  shall  I  quit  this  mournful  place? 
This  world  again  how  can  I  face! 

14.  I'd  freely  give  up  all  my  store. 

Had  I  ten  thousand  pounds  and  more, 

If  I  could  bring  again  to  life 

My  dear,  my  darling,  murdered  wife. 

The  follozving  was  said  on  the  scaffold: 

15.  Young  men,  young  men,  be  warned  of  me, 
And  shun  all  evil  company; 

Walk  in  the  ways  of  righteousness. 
And  God  your  souls  will  surely  bless. 

16.  Dear  friends,  I  bid  you  all  adieu; 
No  more  on  earth  shall  I  see  you. 

In  Heaven's  bright  and  flowery  plain 
I  hope  we  all  shall  meet  again. 

NOBODY  COMING   TO   WOO. 

"There's  nobody  coming  to  marry  me, 
There's  nobody  coming  to  woo." 

In  English  Minstrelsie,  ii,  120-122,  entitled  "Last  Night  the  Dogs  Did 
Bark,"  "a  song  sung  by  Mrs.  Jordan  before   1794."^ 

I  have  a  text  from  Kansas,  1897,  learned  in  Ohio  in  1835.2 

1  [See  garland,  "LochaberNo  More,"  Falkirk,  T.  Johnston,  1813,  pp.  7-8  (Harvard, 
25252.19,  no.  61);  garland  "The  Ewe-Boughts  Marion,"  Stirling,  M.  Randall,  ca.  1825, 
p.  3  (25276.19.  vol.i,  no.  4);  garland  "Five  Favourite  Songs,"  Newton-Stewart,  J.  M'Nairn, 
pp.  7-8  (25276.4,  no.  18);  garland  "An  Excellent  Collection  of  Popular  Songs,"  Edin- 
burgh (25276.43.5);  broadside,  J.  Kendrew,  York  (25242.5.7,  p.  74);  The  British 
Neptune;  or,  Convivial  Songster,  London,  Howard  and  Evans,  p.  5,  early  nineteenth  cen- 
tury (Boston  Public  Library);  Davidson's  Universal  Melodist,  1848,  ii,  406;  Robert  Ford, 
Vagabond  Songs  and  Ballads  of  Scotland,  i,  229-230;  8  N.  and  Q.,  i,  486,  ii,  477;  Gavin 
Greig,  Folk-Song  of  the  North-East,  no.  xviii.) 

2  [Printed  in  America  early  in  the  nineteenth  century, — for  example,  in  The  Columbian 
Harmonist,  N.  Y.,  1814,  pp.  7-8;  Songs  for  the  Parlour,  New  Haven,  1818,  pp.  33-34. 
The  popularity  of  the  song  on  the  American  stage  is  attested  by  the  imitation  beginning: 

VOL.   XXIX. — NO.    112.  — 13. 


1 88  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

AN    OLD    MAN    CAME   TO    SEE   ME. 

The  following  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew 
from  Mrs.  Jane  Taylor,  both  of  Warren,  Ind. 

1.  An  old  man  came  to  see  me,  and  his  name  I  will  not  tell; 
An  old  man  came  to  see  me,  and  I  liked  him  very  well. 

Chorus. 
An  old  man,  an  old  man,  an  old  man  soon  turns  gray; 
But  a  young  man  comes  so  full  of  love.    Stand  back  old  man,  get  away. 

2.  An  old  man  came  to  see  me,  a-sitting  on  a  stool. 

An  old  man  came  to  see  me,  the  blamed  old  sleepy  fool. 

Chorus:  An  old  man,  etc. 

3.  I  do  not  like  an  old  man,  I'll  tell  you  the  reason  why: 
He  always  lis]  so  slobbery;  his  chin  is  never  dry. 

Chorus:  An  old  man,  etc. 

4.  I'd  rather  have  a  young  man  with  an  apple  in  his  hand, 
Than  to  have  an  old  man,  his  house  and  his  land. 

Chorus:  An  old  man,  etc. 

5.  I'd  rather  have  a  young  man  with  his  jacket  made  of  silk, 
Then  to  have  an  old  man  with  forty  cows  to  milk. 

Chorus:  An  old  man,  etc. 
THE   soldier's  WOOING. 

I  take  the  title  from  Belden,  No.  84.  I  have  a  text  "learned  in 
Canada"  which  agrees  closely  with  that  printed  by  Barry,  this  Journal, 
XXIII,  447  et  seq.     Pound,  p.  14. 

The  story  resembles  that  of  "Erlinton"  (No.  8  in  Child). 

SPRINGFIELD   MOUNTAIN. 

This  Journal  has  given  full  information  about  the  origin  of  this 
song,  and  has  printed  19  versions  (xiii,  105-112;  xviii,  295-302;  xxii, 
366-367;  xxviii,  169).  Pound,  p.  19.  "Springfield  Mountain"  is  usu- 
ally sung  with  an  unintelligible  refrain,  but  this  takes  many  different 

The  dogs  began  to  bark, 

And  I  peep'd  out  to  seel 
A  handsome  young  man  was  hunting; 
But  he  was  not  hunting  for  me! 
This  is  known  as  "Nobody  Coming  to  Marry  Me."     It  is  published  "As  sang  by  Mrs. 
Poe,  with  unbounded  applause,  at  the  New  York  Theatre  "  in  The  Songster's  Repository, 
N.  Y.  (Nathaniel  Dearborn),  1811,  p.  74;  it  also  appears  in  The  Nightingale,  N.  Y.  (Smith 
&  Forman),  1814,  pp.  7-8,  and  doubtless  elsewhere.] 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  189 

forms.     This  Journal  has  never  printed  the  refrain  which  I  heard  in 
Berkshire  County,  Massachusetts,  about  fifty  years  ago. 

On  Springfield  Mountain  there  did  dwell 
A  lovely  youth  I  knew  full  well. 

Timmy-rye,  timmy-ray,  timmy-riddy-iddy-ay. 

It  seems  strange  to  a  Massachusetts  man  to  have  a  stammering 
version  of  this  song  turn  up  in  Professor  Lomax's  "Cowboy  Songs" 
as  "  Rattlesnake  —  A  Ranch  Haying  Song."     It  begins: 

A  nice  young  ma-wa-wan 
Lived  on  a  hi-wi-will; 
A  nice  young  ma-wa-wan, 
For  I  knew  him  we-we-well. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree! 

SWEET   SIXTEEN. 

Compare  No.  25  in  Newell,  "Games  and  Songs  of  American  Chil- 
dren" (New  York,  1903),  entitled  "When  I  Was  a  Shoemaker." 

This  amusing  action-song  follows  the  plan  of  "When  I  Was  a  Young 
Girl"  (Dorset),  sung  in  the  United  States  by  the  Fuller  sisters,  from 
Dorsetshire.^ 

This  text  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholomew  from 
Mrs.  Ella  Taylor,  both  of  Warren,  Ind.^  My  wife  remembers  taking 
part  with  other  children,  about  forty-five  years  ago,  in  Chicopee  Falls, 
Mass.,  in  singing  and  acting  a  song  somewhat  like  this,  as  a  game. 

1.  When  I  was  sweet  sixteen,  sweet  sixteen,  sweet  sixteen, 
When  I  was  sweet  sixteen,  'twas  this  way  I  went; 

And  that  way,  and  this  way,  and  that  way,  and  this  way. 
When  I  was  sweet  sixteen,  'twas  this  way  I  went. 

{Singer  pretends  to  he  curling  her  hair,  by  twirling  her  fingers  first 
one  side  of  her  head  and  then  the  other.) 

2.  When  I  had  a  beau,  had  a  beau,  had  a  beau, 
When  I  had  a  beau,  'twas  this  way  I  went; 

And  that  way,  and  this  way,  and  that  way,  and  this  way. 
When  I  had  a  beau,  'twas  this  way  I  went. 
{Places  the  index  finger  first  one  side  of  the  mouth  and  then  the  other.) 

1  [There  are  many  versions  in  Mrs.  Alice  B.  Gomme's  Traditional  Games,  ii,  362-374, 
457.  See  also  Mrs.  Gomme,  Children's  Singing  Games,  1894,  PP-  iSff.,  63-64;  Balfour, 
County  Folk-Lore,  vi,  117;  Folk-Lore  Journal,  vii,  218-219;  Folk-Lore,  xvi,  343;  Miss 
Burne,  Shropshire  Folk-Lore,  pp.  514-515;  Miss  M.  H.  Mason,  Nursery  Rhymes  and 
Country  Songs,  1878,  p.  42.] 

2  [I  heard  a  version,  practically  identical  with  Mrs.  Bartholomew's,  sung  by  a  New 
Hampshire  girl  some  forty-five  years  ago.  A  version  adapted  for  singing  (without  the 
movements)  was  published  soon  after  i860  by  H.  de  Marsan,  New  York,  as  a  broadside, 
list  17,  no.  91  ("When  I  was  Young"). — G.  L.  K.] 


190  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

3.  When  I  had  a  lover,  a  lover,  a  lover. 
When  I  had  a  lover,  'twas  this  way  I  went; 

And  that  way,  and  this  way,  and  that  way,  and  this  way. 
When  I  had  a  lover,  'twas  this  way  I  went. 
(Rubs  right  hand  over  left,  then  left  over  right.) 

4.  When  I  was  a  widow,  a  widow,  a  widow, 
When  I  was  a  widow,  'twas  this  way  I  went; 

And  that  way,  and  this  way,  and  that  way,  and  this  way. 
When  I  was  a  widow,  'twas  this  way  I  went. 
(Places  one  hand  over  the  eyes  and  then  the  other.) 

5.  When  mourn  year  was  over,  was  over,  was  over, 
When  mourn  year  was  over,  'twas  this  way  I  went; 

And  that  way,  and  this  way,  and  that  way,  and  this  way. 
When  mourn  year  was  over,  'twas  this  way  I  went. 
{Pretends  to  he  curling  the  hair  again.) 

THE   UNLUCKY  YOUNG   MAN.^ 

Shearin,  p.  35:  "He  exchanges  oxen  for  a  cow,  the  cow  for  a  calf, 
the  calf  for  a  dog,  the  dog  for  a  cat,  the  cat  for  a  rat,  the  rat  for  a 
mouse,  which  'took  fire  to  her  tail  and  burned  down  the  house.'" 

I  have  a  text  from  central  Kentucky,  where  it  is  well  known.  ^ 

VILLIKENS  AND  HIS  DINAH.' 

The  rich  Villikens  demands  that  his  daughter  Dinah  dress  herself 
to  be  married.  She  begs  in  vain  for  delay.  He  soon  finds  her  in 
the  garden  dead  from  "a  cup  of  cold  pison." 

I  have  a  text  from  Louisiana.     Miss  Pound  has  a  fragment,  p.  18. 

This  ballad  resembles  Professor  Shearin's  "The  Rich  Margent" 
[Merchant],  described  in  "The  Sewanee  Review"  for  July,  1911; 
but  the  ending  there  is  different.     "Felix  her  lover  [not  in  my  text 

1  [See  Halliwell,  Nursery  Rhymes,  ist  ed.,  1842,  nos.  4-6,  pp.  6-8;  2d  ed.,  1843.  nos.  6-8. 
pp.  10-12;  sth  and  6th  eds.,  no.  142,  pp.  92-93;  Mrs.  Valentine,  Nursery  Rhymes,  Tales 
and  Jingles,  no.  177,  p.  105;  (Rimbault)  A  Collection  of  Old  Nursery  Rhymes,  no.  19,  p.  24, 
with  tune;  Baring-Gould,  A  Book  of  Nursery  Songs  and  Rhymes,  no.  8,  pp.  17-18;  (\V.  A. 
Wheeler,)  Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  N.  Y.,  1877,  p.  80.] 

2  [Cf.  also  Perrow,  in  this  Journal,  xxvi,  143-144.] 

3  ["  Villikens  and  his  Dinah ' '  is  from  the  stage.  1 1  has  a  long  and  perplexed  history  which 
I  have  for  some  time  tried  in  vain  to  unravel.  The  published  accounts  are  imperfect  and 
contradictory.  Professor  Tolman's  copy  is  certainly  of  literary  origin,  and  was  first 
made  known  (so  far  as  I  can  discover)  in  Henry  Mayhew's  once  famous  farce,  "The 
Wandering  Minstrel."  The  most  celebrated  singer  of  the  song  was  Robson,  the  English 
comic  actor.  The  comic  song  in  question  has  often  been  printed  in  the  United  States. 
See,  for  example.  Christy's  Plantation  Melodies,  No.  5,  cop.  1856,  p.  11;  I.  B.  Woodbury, 
The  Home  Melodist,  Boston,  cop.  1859,  pp.  18-19;  Uncle  Sam's  Army  Songster,  cop.  1862, 
p.  24.  H.  de  Marsan  (N.  Y.)  issued  it  as  a  broadside  ca.  i860  (list  3,  No.  i),  and  it  was 
also  published  about  1890  as  a  broadside  by  H.  J.  Wehman  (No.  627).  Words  and  music 
may  still  be  had  of  music-dealers.  —  G.  L.  K.j 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  191 

at  all]  finds  Dinah  with  a  half-empty  cup  of  poison  in  her  stiffening 
fingers:"  — 

He  called  his  dear  Dinah  ten  thousand  times  o'er; 
He  kissed  her  cold  corpse  ten  thousand  times  more. 
He  drank  up  the  poison  like  a  lover  so  brave  — 
Now  Felix  and  Dinah  both  lie  in  one  grave. 

YOUNG  CHARLOTTE.^ 

Printed  in  Lomax,  "Cowboy  Songs"  (N.  Y.,  1910),  pp.  239-242. 
Belden,  No.  19.  Barry,  No.  58.  In  January,  191 1,  Mr.  Barry  had 
"13  versions  from  the  North  Atlantic  States."  Shearin  does  not 
record  it.     Pound,  p.  19. 

I  have  two  versions,  agreeing  almost  exactly  to  the  close  of  the 
shorter  one  of  seventy-two  lines.  The  longer  has  twenty  added 
lines.  It  came  to  me  from  Ohio  recently.  The  shorter  one,  taken 
down  in  Kansas  in  1897,  probably  came  earlier  from  Ohio.  It  ends 
with  the  words: 

Young  Charlotte's  eyes  had  closed  for  aye; 
Her  voice  was  heard  no  more. 

III.     HOMILETIC  BALLADS. 

The  preaching  instinct  is  very  characteristic  of  the  American  mind. 
Even  among  the  free  and  easy  "Cowboy  Songs"  collected  by  Pro- 
fessor Lomax,  there  are  some  striking  poems  of  a  homiletic  nature. 
"  McAfee's  Confession,"  printed  above,  might  with  some  fitness  be 
placed  in  this  group.  Nine  pieces  in  my  collection  plainly  belong 
here.     They  have  come  to  me  with  the  following  titles. 

1.  The  Death  of  a  Young  Woman.     A  version  of  ninety-two  lines 

was  taken  down  from  Miss  Jane  Goon,  Perrysville,  O.;  one  of 
fifty-six  lines  was  copied  by  Mrs.  Jonah  Simmons  Brown,  Warren, 
Ind.,  from  her  mother's  copy-book,  where  it  is  dated  Dec.  10, 
1842.     The  longer  form  begins: 

Young  ladies  all,  attention  give, 
You  that  in  wicked  pleasures  live; 
One  of  your  sex,  the  other  day, 
Was  called  by  death  from  friends  away. 

2.  Ingratitude:    The  Story  of  Asa  Trott.     See  below. 

3.  Lines  That  Was  Written  on  the  Death  of  Anna  Ross.     Learned 

by  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Anderson,  Warren,  Ind.,  some  seventy-five 
years  ago.     She  is  now  eighty-five.     I  cite  the  opening  lines: 

'  See  Mr.  Barry's  ful!  account  of  the  poem  and  its  author  in  this  Journal,  xxv,  156- 
168. 


192  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

A  while  before  this  damsel  died 
Her  tongue  was  speechless,  bound  and  tied; 
At  length  she  opened  wide  her  eyes, 
And  said  her  tongue  was  liberalized. 

She  called  her  father  to  her  bed, 
And  thus  in  dying  anguish  said: 
"From  meeting  you  have  kept  your  child 
To  pleasures  vain  and  wanton  wild." 

4.  To  the  Young  and  Proud. 

5.  A  Warning  to  the  Sinners. 

6.  A  Warning  to  the  Young. 

7.  Wicked  Polly.    See  below. 

8.  A  Voice  from  the  Dead. 

9.  A  Voice  from  the  Tomb. 

It  seems  well  to  print  two  of  these  pieces. 

WICKED   POLLY. 

Professor  H.M.Belden  printed  atex^of  theballadin  this  Journal  (xxv, 
1912,  18).  In  his  article  "An  American  Homiletic  Ballad"  ("Mod- 
ern Language  Notes,"  January,  1913,  pp.  1-5)  Mr.  Phillips  Barry 
printed  four  forms  of  the  poem  (one  of  them  that  of  Belden)  and 
some  related  ballads,  and  discussed  fully  their  nature  and  relationships. 
The  version  given  below  seems  to  be  in  some  ways  the  most  complete 
and  satisfactory  form  yet  obtained.  It  follows  somewhat  closely 
Barry's  A  text  throughout,  then  adds  the  last  five  stanzas  of  his  B 
text,  and  closes  with  a  general  stanza  that  is  not  in  any  one  of  his 
four  forms. 

It  was  obtained  by  Miss  Mary  O.  Eddy  from  Miss  Jane  Goon, 
both  of  Perrysville,  O.    I  have  a  second  version,  which  is  incomplete. 

1.  Young  people  who  delight  in  sin, 
I'll  tell  what  has  lately  been. 
There  was  a  lady  young  and  fair. 
Who  died  in  sin  and  despair. 

2.  She'd  go  to  parties,  dance  and  play. 
In  spite  of  all  her  friends  could  say. 
"I'll  turn  to  God  when  I  grow  old, 
And  he  will  then  receive  my  soul." 

3.  On  Friday  morning  she  took  sick; 
Her  stubborn  heart  begins  to  break. 
"Alas,  alas!  my  days  are  spent; 

It  is  too  late  for  to  repent." 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  193 

4.  She  called  her  mother  to  her  bed; 
Her  eyes  were  rolling  in  her  head. 
"When  I  am  dead,  remember  well 
Your  wretched  Polly  screams  in  hell. 

5.  "The  tear  is  lost  you  shed  for  me; 
My  soul  is  lost,  I  plainly  see. 

Oh,  mother,  mother,  fare  you  well! 
My  soul  will  soon  be  dragged  to  hell. 

6.  "My  earthly  father,  fare  you  well! 
My  soul  is  lost  and  doomed  to  hell. 
The  flaming  wrath  begins  to  roll; 

I  am  a  lost  and  ruined  soul." 

7.  She  gnawed  her  tongue  before  she  died. 

She  rolled,  and  groaned,  and  screamed,  and  cried: 
"When  thousand,  thousand  years  roll  round. 
With  flames  I  shall  be  still  surround." 

8.  At  length  the  monster  death  prevailed; 
Her  nails  turned  blue,  her  language  failed. 
She  closed  her  eyes,  and  left  this  world. 
Poor  Polly  down  to  hell  was  hurled. 

9.  It  almost  broke  her  mother's  heart 
To  see  her  child  to  hell  depart. 
"My  Polly!  Oh,  my  Polly  is  dead! 
Her  soul  is  gone,  her  spirit  fled." 

10.  Good  God,  how  did  her  parents  [moani]. 
To  think  their  child  was  dead  and  gone! 
"Oh,  is  my  Polly  gone  to  hell? 

My  grief  so  great  no  tongue  can  tell." 

11.  Young  people,  lest  this  be  your  case. 
Return  to  God  and  seek  his  face. 
Upon  your  knees  for  mercy  cry. 
Lest  you  in  sin  like  Polly  die. 

12.  Oh  sinners!  take  this  warning  far. 
And  for  your  dying  bed  prepare. 
Remember  well  you[r]  dying  day; 
And  seek  salvation  while  you  may. 

ingratitude:  the  story  of  asa  trott.^ 
The  following  poem  was  obtained  through  Mrs.  Pearl  H.  Bartholo- 
mew from  Mrs.  E.  A.  Thurston,  both  of  Warren,  Ind.     It  was  learned 

1  Supplied  from  Mr.  Barry's  B  text. 

2  [This  is  a  curious  rifacimento  of  the  celebrated  fabliau  of  La  Houce  Partie,  for  which  see 
Barbazan-Meon.  iv,  472  ff. ;  Montaiglon  and  Raynaud,  i,  82  ff.  (translated,  as  "  The  Divided 


194  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

by  Mrs.  T.  fifty  years  ago  from  the  recitation  of  her  father.  Stanza 
6  of  "The  Old  Bedquilt"  shows  that  the  piece  was  a  formal  compo- 
sition intended  for  print. 

Preface. 

This  little  story  tells  you  of  one  Asa  Trott, 

Who  paid  a  great  price  for  the  little  he  got. 

"Buy  truth,"  saith  the  Scripture;  so  truth  can  be  bought; 

And  wisdom  is  purchased  when  earnestly  sought. 

But  for  things  of  less  value  poor  Asa  took  thought; 

He  coveted  land,  and  he  gave  for  a  lot 

His  conscience,  his  comfort,  his  peace  every  jot; 

But  found  at  the  last  he  had  labored  for  naught. 

Poor  Asa,  he  found  "there  was  death  in  the  pot." 

With  conscience  insulted,  hard  battles  are  fought. 

Of  his  land,  Asa  wanted  at  last  but  a  spot 

Where  his  sins  and  his  sorrows  might  all  be  forgot. 

Take  warning,  my  friend,  by  poor  Asa  Trott; 

Nor  barter  your  love  for  what  satisfies  not. 

The  Old  Bedquilt. 

1.  The  autumn  winds  were  blowing  cold, 

The  summer  bloom  was  o'er; 
And  Mr.  Trott,  infirm  and  old. 
Entered  the  cottage  door. 

2.  With  feeble  step  and  wistful  look, 

Trembling  with  cold  and  age, 

He  tottered  to  the  chimney  nook, 

But  heard  a  voice  of  rage,  — 

3.  "I  hate  this  mean  old  elbow-chair, 

Forever  in  my  way. 
Say,  do  you  think  that  I  will  bear 
To  have  it  here  all  day?" 

4.  The  aged  man  with  tears  replies: 

"My  work  on  earth  is  done. 
But,  since  my  presence  you  despise, 
Where  shall  I  go,  my  son?" 

5.  "You  need  not  ask;"  said  Asa  Trott, 

"The  almshouse  is  in  view. 
Before  this  time  you  should  have  thought 
It  was  the  place  for  you." 

Blanket,"  by  Isabel  Butler,  Tales  from  the  Old  French.  1910,  pp.  iii  ff.).  ii.  i  ff-  (two  forms). 
For  the  general  story  see  Jacques  de  Vitry,  ed.  Crane,  p.  121  (many  references  at  p.  260), 
and  cf.  the  78th  tale  in  Grimm.  An  eighteenth-century  broadside  ballad,  "The  Slighted 
Father,  or  The  Unnatural  Son  justly  Reclaimed,"  belongs  with  this  group  of  stories.  It 
begins,  "A  wealthy  man  of  late,  we  hear."  Of  this  the  Harvard  College  Library  has 
several  copies  (25242.19,  vol.  i,  p.  59;  25242.4,  vol.  i,  p.  190;  25242.2,  fol.  6,  and  one  or  two 
more.) 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  195 

6.  My  little  reader,  think  of  that. 

Poor  grandpa  said  no  more; 
But,  taking  up  his  tattered  hat, 
He  staggered  to  the  door. 

7.  Beneath  a  naked  apple-tree, 

Whose  autumn  leaves  were  shed. 
He  sat  him  down,  and  on  his  knees 
Reclined  his  aching  head. 

8.  At  last  he  heard  a  gentle  sound; 

And  little  Thomas  said: 
"Why  sits  my  grandpa  on  the  ground? 
And  what  does  ail  his  head?" 

9.  "Alas,  my  son,  I  have  no  more 

A  place  to  call  my  own; 
And  I  must  join  the  pauper  poor, 
Supported  by  the  tov/n. 

10.  "But  I  am  very  cold,  my  dear, 

My  strength  is  nearly  gone. 

I  must  not  stay  and  perish  here; 

That  would  be  doing  wrong. 

11.  "Go  to  my  chamber,  little  son; 

(I  take  it  without  guilt, 
For  by  my  wife  those  seams  were  run) 
Go,  bring  my  patch-work  quilt." 

12.  With  swelling  heart  poor  Thomas  ran. 

Determined  now  to  know 

If  his  own  father  was  the  man 

Who  treated  grandpa  so, 

13.  Now  Asa,  in  a  sullen  mood. 

Was  posting  books  that  day; 
And  Tommie  said:  "'Tis  very  rude 
To  send  grandpa  away. 

14.  "Pray  tell  me  now,  what  has  he  done, 

That  you  should  treat  him  so?" 
Said  Madame  Jenny,  "Hold  your  tongue." 
Said  Asa,  "Let  him  go." 

Remorse. 

I.  To  grandpa's  chamber  Tommie  went, 
And  now  his  sorrows  found  a  vent 

In  bitter  tears  at  last. 
"But  grandpa  waits,"  he  sobbing  said; 
Then  snatched  the  quilt  from  ofT  the  bed. 
And  down  the  stairway  passed. 


196  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

2.  Then  close  to  father's  ear  he  drew, 
And  whispered:  "Cut  this  quilt  in  two; 

Grandfather  needs  but  half. 
You'll  want  the  other  half,  when  poor 
And  old  I  drive  you  from  the  door, 

And  at  your  sorrows  laugh." 

3.  The  father  started  with  surprise. 
"Oh,  Tommie,  if  you  e'er  despise 

And  treat  your  father  thus. 
May  Heaven"  —  he  paused  with  sudden  dread. 
And  felt  upon  his  guilty  head 

That  stern,  half-uttered  curse. 

4.  The  boy  had  raised  a  mirror  there; 
He  saw  himself  with  hoary  hair, 

Scorned  by  his  darling  son. 
Doomed  at  the  last  to  wander  forth, 
A  vagabond  upon  the  earth. 

Till  life's  last  sands  were  run. 

5.  And  conscience,  too,  held  high  its  glass; 
O'er  it  he  saw  a  spectre  pass. 

Fiendlike  ingratitude. 
It  changed  into  the  deathless  worm, 
Whose  fostering  [festering]  wo[u]nds  forever  burn. 

He  saw,  and  understood. 

6.  "Dear  Tommie,  take  my  hand,"  he  said; 
And  Tommie  to  the  garden  led 

Poor  Asa  bowed  with  shame. 
And  then  he  fell  upon  his  knees, 
Beneath  the  withered  apple-trees. 

And  called  his  father's  name. 

7.  That  father  raised  his  head  and  heard 
"Forgive!"     It  was  a  single  word; 

But  on  his  withered  face, 
A  smile  proclaimed  the  pardon  won; 
He  held  his  loved  but  long-lost  son 

In  close  and  warm  embrace. 

8.  'Twas  rapture  to  the  little  boy. 

And  angels  heard  the  sound  with  joy, 

When,  in  a  humble  tone, 
Repentant  Asa,  sad  but  calm. 
Said:  "Father,  lean  upon  my  arm, 

And  let  us  now  go  home." 

9.  Now  in  the  chimney's  warmest  nook 
Sat  grandpa  with  the  holy  book. 

His  countenance  serene. 


Some  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United  States.  197 

But  dimmer  grew  his  sunken  eye; 
A  cough  proclaimed  that  he  would  die 
Before  the  grass  was  green. 

10.  And  Asa  watched  him  day  by  day, 
And  wept  alone,  and  tried  to  pray 

That  God  his  life  would  save. 
But  still  the  old  man  weaker  grew, 
And  nearer  still  each  day  he  drew 

Unto  the  silent  grave. 

11.  He  saw  that  unto  Asa's  heart 
Remorse  had  sent  its  keenest  dart; 

And  so  he  sought  to  hide 
The  death-hue  of  his  withered  cheek; 
And,  when  [he  was]  extremely  weak. 

To  walk  he  vainly  tried. 

12.  But  grief  on  that  old  heart  still  fed. 
Although  its  last,  last  tear  was  shed; 

Life's  sea  had  been  so  rough. 
But  now  the  voyage  was  almost  o'er, 
Sweet  voices  from  the  spirit  shore 

Cried,  "Come;  it  is  enough." 

13.  But  through  the  long  and  dreary  night, 
And  through  the  day,  however  bright, 

Asa  was  by  his  bed. 
He  put  aside  his  snowy  hair. 
He  bathed  his  brow  with  tend'rest  care, 

And  propt  his  sinking  head. 

14.  'Twas  just  before  the  dawn  of  day. 
That  Asa  heard  him  feebly  say: 

"Forget  what  is  forgiven. 
Remember;  it  is  my  dying  prayer; 
Forget  the  past  and  meet  me  there. 

In  heaven,  my  son,  in  heaven." 
University  of  Chicago. 


198  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 


MORE    SONGS    AND    BALLADS    FROM    THE    SOUTHERN 

APPALACHIANS. 

BY  ISABEL  NANTON  RAWN  AND  CHARLES  PEABODY. 

[From  a  collection  of  songs  and  ballads  sent  me  by  Miss  Isabel 
Nanton  Rawn  of  Mount  Berry,  Georgia,  I  have  selected  the  following 
for  publication  now.  They  seem  in  large  measure  not  to  have  been 
published  before.     I  have  added  a  very  few  notes. 

The  songs  I-V  were  secured  by  Miss  Rawn  from  Ethel  Edward; 
Nos.  VI  and  VII,  from  Roxie  Gay.  The  references  to  Child  are  to 
the  Riverside  Press  edition  of  1000  copies. 

In  the  remainder  of  the  collection  are  interesting  versions  of  "The 
Old  Rich  Merchant,"  "Lord  Randall,"  and  "Barbara  Allen,"  with 
striking  variant  readings;  e.g.,  the  account  of  the  slight  of  Barbara 
Allen  is  thus  given: 

"Oh!  don't  you  remember  the  other  day, 

When  we  were  at  the  station, 
You  passed  your  hands  to  the  ladies  all  around, 

And  slighted  Barbara  Allen."— C.  P.] 

SONG  BALLET. 

With  this  song  compare  "The  Quaker's  Wooing,"  etc.  (Barry,  this 
Journal,  1905,  pp.  49,  ff.),  and  "Brown  Adam"  (Child,  iv,  374),  also 
the  crescendo  of  bribes  in  the  song  "  Oh!  Madam  I  will  give  to  you," 
etc.,  sung  by  the  Fuller  sisters. 

I. 

"Madam,  I  will  buy  you  a  paper  of  pins. 

This  is  the  way  my  love  begins 

If  you  will  marry  me."  , 

"Sir,  I  do  not  accept  your  paper  of  pins. 
This  is  the  way  our  love  begins. 
For  I  will  not  marry  you." 

"Madam,  I  will  buy  you  a  little  lap-dog 
You  can  take  with  you  when  you  go  abroad 
If  you  will  marry  me." 

"Sir,  I'll  not  accept  your  little  lap-dog. 

And  I  can't  take  it  with  me  when  I  go  abroad, 

For  I  won't  marry  you." 


Songs  and  Ballads  from  the  Southern  Appalachians.      199 

"Madam,  I  will  buy  you  a  black  silk  dress; 
It's  bound  around  with  golden  thread 


For  I  won't  marry  you." 

"Madam,  I  will  buy  you  old  black  cow  — 
You  can  milk  her  if  you  know  how  — 
If  you  will  marry  me." 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  accept  your  old  black  cow, 
I  can  milk  her  if  I  know  how, — 
For  I  won't  marry  you." 

"  Madam,  I  give  a  forekin  six 
Every  horse  as  black  as  pitch 


For  I  won't  marry  you." 

"Madam,  I  give  you  forekin  six- 
Every  horse  as  white  as  snow  — 


II. 

Soldier  life  is  a  dreary  life; 

It  robs  poor  girls  of  their  heart's  delight, 

It  causes  them  to  weep,  it  causes  them  to  mourn. 

For  the  loss  of  a  true-love  never  to  return. 

"Captain,  Captain,  tell  me  true. 
Does  my  sweetheart  dwell  with  you?" — 
"No,  kind  miss,  he  is  not  here. 
He  got  killed  in  a  battle,  my  dear." 

"Hand  me  a  chair  and  I  sit  down, 

A  pen  and  write  it  down. 

At  every  line  I  drop  a  tear. 

At  every  verse  cry,  'Willy,  my  dear.'  " 

"O  father!  O  father!  go  build  me  a  boat,^ 

That  I  may  on  the  ocean  float. 

I  hail  every  boat  as  I  pass  by, 

And  I  inquire  of  my  sweet  sailor  boy. 

It  on  rocks  went  as  I  passed  by, — 

There  I  let  your  true-love  lie." 

Compare  for  the  double  address  "Lord  Randall,"  etc.,  passim. 


200  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

III. 

This  night  is  almost  over, 

It  is  near  the  break  of  day, 
I  am  waiting  for  my  answer, 

My  love,  what  did  you  say? 

"If  an  answer  I  must  give  you, 

I  would  choose  a  single  life, 
For  I  never  thought  you  was  fit 

For  me  to  be  your  wife." 

"I  hope  the  ground  that  you  stand  on 

The  grass  will  refuse  to  grow, 
For  you  have  been  the  reason 

Of  my  heart  overflow." 

IV. 

Come  all  you  fair  and  tender  ladies,^ 
Take  warning  how  you  like  young  men, 
They  will  tell  you  some  lovely  story. 
Declare  they  love  you  true. 

Straightway  they  will  go  and  love  another, — 

That's  the  love  they  have  for  you. 

I  wish  I  were  a  little  sparrow 

And  had  wings  to  fly  and  fly 

Over,  and  when  he  talked  I  would  be  nigh. 

But  as  I  am  no  little  sparrow 
And  got  no  wings  to  fly, 
I  wish  I  were  instead  a  rabbit 
To  pass  my  troubles  by. 

"Wake  up,  wake  up,  you  saucy  sleeper! 
Wake  up,  wake  up,  for  it  is  almost  day! 
Come,  peep  your  head  out  at  the  window 
And  see  what  your  true-love  has  to  say! 

"Go,  then!  go,  then!  and  tell  your  mother 

If  you  my  loving  bride  will  be!"  — 

"Oh,  no!  I  cannot  tell  my  mother 

And  let  her  know  you  are  near. 

So  turn  away,  love,  and  cast'  another. 

And  it  will  be  the  last  I  will  trouble." 

1  For  such  "Come  all  ye's"  compare  Perrow  (this  Journal,  191S.  P-  160)  and  Child 
(Fair  Flower  of  Northumberland,  I,  p.  114.  35".  and  Tam  Lin,  II,  p.  349.  G.  i);  also  a 
fragment  remembered  by  me,  sung  by  an  Adirondack  guide  about  1880: — 

"Come  all  ye  fair  maidens,  a  warning  take  by  me, 
And  never  build  your  nests  within  a  hollow  tree." 

2  For  this  song  compare  Kittredge  (this  Journal,  1907,  p.  260).  The  last  six  lines  are 
interlopers.     The  ballad  is  mentioned  by  Louise  Pound  (this  Journal,  1913,  p.  354). 

'  For  "court." 


Songs  and  Ballads  from  the  Southern  Appalachians.      201 

"Then  go,  then,  my  love,  and  ask  your  father 
If  you  my  loving  bride  will  be."  — 
"Oh,  no!  I  cannot  ask  my  father, 
For  on  his  velvet  cloak  he  read(?)  ^ 

"All  in  his  hand  he  holds  a-weepin' 
To  slay  the  man  that  I  love  best. 
Oh,  don't  you  see  the  clouds  a-risin' 
To  hide  us  from  the  setting  sun?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  see  the  clouds  a-risin' 

To  hide  us  from  the  setting  sun. 

Oh,  won't  you  be  glad  when  we  are  blest 

With  the  pleasure,  and  we  both  become  as  one?" 

VI. 

"Come,  little  pink,  I  tell  you  what  I  think, 

I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  my  mind. 

You  remember  sitting  by  my  side 

Upon  the  mountain-top. 

You  promise,  promise,  to  marry  me. 

And  be  my  darling  bride." 

"It's  no  such  of  a  thing, 

It  never  was  in  my  mind. 

It's  no  such  a  thing. 

It  wasn't  in  the  bargain  ary  time. 

If  God  will  spare  me  until  the  sun  goes  down, 

I  will  buy  me  a  bottle  of  vinichar  wine 

For  to  wash  your  deceitful  face." 

VII. 

[Miss  Rawn  compares  the  following  ballad  with  "The  Bailiff's 
Daughter  of  Islington  "  (Child,  iv,  426).  See  also  Barry,  "  The  Love 
Token"  (this  Journal,  191 1,  p.  339).  —  C.  P.] 

A  pretty  fair  miss  all  in  the  garden, 
A  journeyole  (?)  soldier  passing  by. 
He  did  stop  and  kindly  address  her 
By  saying,  "Kind  miss,  will  you  marry  me?" 

"No,  kind  sir,  a  man  of  honor, 
A  man  of  honor  you  may  be. 
Would  you  impose  upon  a  lady 
Whose  bride  to  you  is  not  to  be?" 

"  I  have  a  sweetheart  cross  the  ocean. 
He  has  been  gone  for  seven  long  year, 
And  if  he's  dead,  I  hope  he  is  happy. 
Or  in  some  battle  being  slain. 
'  For  "rest." 


202  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore . 

"And  if  he  is  to  some  fair  girl  married, 

I  love  the  girl  that  married  him." 

He  run  his  hands  all  in  his  pockets 

And  pulled  out  rings  that  she  had  gave  him. 

Straight  down  before  him  she  did  fall: 

He  picked  her  up  all  in  his  arms, 

Giving  kisses  by  one,  two,  three. 

Saying,  "If  I  had  staid  there  seven  years  longer, 

No  girl  but  you  could  have  married  me." 
Mount  Berry,  Georgia. 
Cambridge,  Mass. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  203 


METRICAL   ROMANCES   IX   THE   PHILIPPINES. 

BY   DEAN   S.   FANSLER.    Ph.D. 

Forty  years  after  the  Spaniards  had  founded  a  permanent  settle- 
ment in  the  Philippine  Islands,  Cervantes  published  in  Spain  the 
first  part  of  the  "Adventures  of  the  Ingenious  Gentleman,  Don 
Quixote  de  la  Mancha,"  a  book  that  effectually  destroyed,  among  the 
cultured  classes  at  least,  the  taste  for  romances  of  chivalry.  Nearly 
three  hundred  years  later,  when  Spain  withdrew  from  the  isles  of 
the  Pacific,  nine-tenths  of  the  books  printed  in  the  Filipino  dialects 
were  either  religious  (prayers,  saints'  lives,  and  moral  tales)  or  ro- 
mantic and  fantastic  stories  of  the  type  ridiculed  to  death  in  the 
peninsula  by  Cervantes.  Until  the  American  occupation  brought 
the  freedom  of  the  press  to  the  Philippines,  the  reading-matter  of  the 
natives  was  largely  the  reading-matter  of  the  Spaniards  of  the  six- 
teenth century  and  earlier.  Nor  have  the  last  fifteen  years  accom- 
plished among  the  masses  any  decided  revolution  in  literary  taste.  The 
literature  of  modern  Spain  has  had  very  little  effect  upon  Philippine 
literature.  The  most  popular  single  book  in  the  Islands  to-day — the 
"Pasion,"  a  fourteen-thousand-line  metrical  account,  in  quintillas, 
of  the  life  and  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ  —  goes  back  to  a  Spanish  origi- 
nal of  the  early  seventeenth  century.  While  it  is  true  that  the  com- 
mercial presses  in  Manila,  Iloilo,  and  Cebu,  during  the  last  decade, 
have  been  printing  many  new  realistic  novels  and  plays  from  the 
pens  of  young  writers,  the  metrical  romance  continues  to  hold  its 
place.  The  stories  of  Rodrigo  de  Villas  (the  "Cid"),  Charlemagne 
and  his  Twelve  Peers,  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  the  Seven  Lords  of  Lara, 
and  a  number  of  others  based  upon  early  Spanish  history  and  legend, 
keep  appearing  in  larger  and  larger  yearly  editions.  The  enchanter 
Preston,  who  Don  Quixote  was  convinced  had  carried  off  his  beloved 
library,  must  have  deposited  it  in  the  Philippines. 

A  classification  of  sixteen  of  the  metrical  romances  current  in  one 
or  more  of  the  Philippine  dialects  will  show  the  wide  range  of  material 
treated,  and  will  give  Occidental  readers  some  idea  of  the  mental 
pabulum  of  the  ordinary  native.  Brief  synopses  of  those  stories  most 
interesting  from  the  point  of  view  of  literary  history  may  be  serviceable 
for  comparison  with  the  well-known  English  and  European  versions 
popular  centuries  ago,  but  unread  to-day  except  by  a  small  group  of 
specialists.  Before  the  classification  and  analyses  are  taken  up, 
however,  some  attention  might  well  be  given  to  the  form  in  which 
these  stories  are  presented  to  the  Filipino  reader. 
VOL.  xxix. — NO.  112. — 14. 


204  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

These  romantic  narratives  are  all  in  stanzaic  verse,  which  is  of 
two  types,  —  quatrains  of  twelve-syllable  lines  in  assonance,  and  quat- 
rains of  eight-syllable  lines  in  assonance.^  The  twelve-syllable  line 
is  much  the  more  common  of  the  two :  it  is  the  vehicle  not  only  of  the 
greater  number  of  the  metrical  romances,  but  of  most  of  the  saint- 
legends,  novenas,  and  other  religious  works.  The  common  generic 
name  for  the  type  of  stories  we  are  accustomed  to  term  in  English 
"metrical  romances"  is  corrido?  Among  all  the  Filipinos  the  word 
corrido  means  an  extended  narrative  of  the  life  and  adventures  of 
some  person.  In  Tagalog  the  term,  if  strictly  used,  is  applied  only 
to  poems  written  in  octosyllabic  lines;  those  in  alexandrines  ^  having  on 
the  title-page  Buhay  nang,  etc.  ("Life  of,"  etc.)  or  Salita  at  Buhay, 
etc.  ("Story  and  Life,"  etc.).  The  general  Tagalog  word  for  "poem" 
or  "song"  is  awit.  The  other  dialects  make  no  such  formal  distinction 
between  the  corrido  and  the  Buhay. 

The  Philippine  corridos  vary  in  length  from  a  few  hundred  to 
several  thousand  lines.  They  are  printed  in  pamphlet  form,  one 
tale  to  a  volume,  on  a  very  cheap  quality  of  paper,  and  sell  for 
the  small  sum  of  five  or  ten  cents.  As  a  result  of  the  perishable 
nature  of  the  booklets,  no  very  old  copies  have  survived  the  ravages 
of  mildew  and  bookworm:  the  oldest  copy  I  have  seen  was  dated 
1815.  This  fact  need  not  indicate,  however,  that  the  corridos  have 
not  been  popular  more  than  a  hundred  years.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  with  Barrantes^  that  probably  many  of  the  romantic  tales 
of  Spain  were  told  to  the  natives  by  the  soldiers  of  Legaspi  before  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century,  just  as  the  missionary  priests 
lost  no  time  in  introducing  to  the  Islands  the  "Pasion,"  the  saint- 
legends,  and  the  religious  plays  {autos  sacramentales) .  And  many 
of  the  metrical  romances  must  have  been  circulated  orally  or  in  manu- 
script long  before  they  were  put  into  print;  not  a  few  are  known  to-day 
only  in  small  restricted  areas  and  only  in  manuscript  form.  On  the 
whole,  we  are  probably  safe  in  concluding  that  the  corridos  have  been 
popular  for  three  or  more  centuries  among  the  Filipinos.  These 
stories  not  only  make  up  the  body  of  most  of  the  entertaining  reading 
of  the  lower  and  middle  classes,  but  they  also  furnish  passages  for 
quotation  and  recitation  on  every  conceivable  occasion.  The  lives 
of  such  heroes  as  Jaime  del  Prado  and  Bernardo  del  Carpio  are  sung 
by  the  small  boy  driving  the  cattle  to  pasture,  by  the  peasant  working 
in  his  paddy-field,  or  by  the  itinerant  beggar  travelling  from  one  town 

1  Rhyme  is  not  found  in  Philippine  poetry. 

2  Defined  in  Velasquez'  Spanish-English  Dictionary  as  "a  metrical  story,  usually 
sung  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  guitar,  in  fandango  style." 

3  The  Philippine  alexandrine  (twelve-syllable  line)  had  the  cesura  regular  after  the 
sixth  syllable.     As  in  the  French,  there  is  no  marked  iambic  rhythm. 

<  Vicente  Barrantes,  El  Teatro  Tagalo  (Madrid,  1889),  pp.  29-30. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  205 

fiesta  to  the  next.  Even  in  social  gatherings  the  apt  introduction 
into  the  conversation  of  moraHzing  or  didactic  lines  from  some  well- 
known  corrido  is  received  with  approbation.  In  the  duplo,  or  wit- 
combat  often  indulged  in  at  funeral  feasts,  the  winner  is  always  the 
person  who  has  at  his  tongue's  end  quotations  from  the  "Pasion" 
and  the  corridos,  that  are  most  appropriate  for  carrying  on  the  argu- 
ment proposed.  Besides,  these  stories  are  often  done  into  dramatic 
form;  and  no  town's  celebration  of  its  patron  saint  is  thought  complete 
without  a  comedia,  or  moro-moro  play.^ 

Of  the  metrical  romances  based  directly  upon  European  material, 
the  following  may  be  taken  as  representing  all  that  is  typical  of  the 
genre.     They  fall  into  seven  classes,  and  are  distributed  thus: — 

I.  Charlemagne    Romances: 

1.  Prince  Baldovinos. 

2.  The  Twelve  Peers  of  France. 

3.  Count  d'Irlos. 

II.  An  Arthurian  Romance: 

I.  Tablante  de  Ricamonte. 

III.  The  Constance-Saga  and  its  Variants: 

1.  Florentina. 

2.  Adela. 

3.  Maria. 

4.  Proceso. 

IV.  Classical  Romance: 

I.   Paris  and  Oenone. 

V.  Oriental  Didactic  Tales  with  Western  Modifications: 

1.  Alejandre  and  Luis  (a  variant  of  Amis  and  Amiloun). 

2.  Blancaflor  and  Floristo  (a  garbled  version  of  Floris  and  Blanche- 

fleur). 

3.  Prince  Erastro  (a  popular  form  of  the  Seven  Sages  of  Rome). 

VI.   Romances  based  on  Spanish  History  and  Legend: 

1.  Rodrigo  de  Villas. 

2.  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

VII.   Romances  based  on  Italian  Novelle: 

1.  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

2.  Gricelda. 

In  the  following  pages  the  first  three  of  these  have  been  treated, 

1  In  the  Philippines,  comedia  and  moro-moro  are  synonymous  terms.  They  signify 
a  long  play,  sometimes  continuing  for  three  nights,  in  which  is  represented  a  war  between 
Christians  and  Saracens  (or  Moros).  Kings,  princes,  and  dukes  fight  and  parade  in  great 
magnificence.  Needless  to  say,  the  Christian  is  always  victorious  in  the  end,  and  the 
Christian  prince  invariably  brings  about  the  conversion  of  the  Pagan  princess  with  whom 
he  is  in  love.     Most  of  these  plays  are  adapted  from  the  corridos. 


2o6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

"Bernardo  del  Carpio"  and  the  "Twelve  Peers  of  France"  are 
easily  the  most  popular  of  the  stories  just  enumerated.  To  test  a 
surmise  of  this  fact,  I  questioned  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  repre- 
sentative college  students.  One  hundred  and  four  replied  that  they 
had  either  read  in  their  dialects,  or  had  been  told  in  their  dialects, 
or  had  seen  acted  in  their  town  fiestas,  the  life  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio ; 
and  eighty-five  made  a  similar  report  on  the  "Twelve  Peers." 

As  to  the  authorship  of  the  corridas,  the  only  thing  certain  that 
can  be  said  is  that  most  of  the  versions  are  anonymous.  In  some 
instances  it  would  appear  that  Spanish  priests  acquainted  with  the 
dialects  had  written  the  tales.  The  large  number  of  Spanish  words, 
the  occasional  Iberian  turn  of  the  native  construction,  and  the  fre- 
quent references  to  biblical  and  classical  history,  point  to  this  conclu- 
sion. But  just  who  these  priests  were, —  if  priests  they  were,  indeed, — 
no  one  can  say.  Like  their  mediaeval  counterparts  in  England  and 
France,  the  stories  are  peculiarly  non-subjective;  and  at  no  time 
while  reading  them  do  we  feel  at  all  concerned  to  know  who  wrote 
them.  As  in  a  marionette  show  the  story  is  the  thing,  not  the  im- 
personal reciter  behind  the  scenes,  so  in  the  metrical  romances. 

I.  CHARLEMAGNE  ROMANCES. 
I.    "  BALDO VINOS." 

'''The  Story  of  the  Life  and  Adventures  of  Prince  Baldovinos  in 
the  Kingdom  of  Dacia  and  of  Princess  Sevilla  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Sansuena"  has  been  printed  in  the  Tagalog,  Pampango,  and  Ilocano 
dialects.^  The  three  versions  agree  in  the  main,  but  are  by  no  means 
of  the  same  length.  The  Talalog  contains  1182  quatrains  of  octosyl- 
labic lines  (4728  verses),  the  Pampango  990  (3960  verses),  and  the 
Ilocano  only  895  (3580  verses),  the  lines  in  this  last  version  being 
decasyllabic  (an  unusual  form)  instead  of  octosyllabic,  however. 
The  Tagalog  redaction,  as  the  most  detailed  and  comprehensive  of 
the  three,  will  serve  as  the  basis  of  our  analysis  of  the  story,  which 
carries  us  from  the  birth  of  Baldwin  to  his  treacherous  death  at  the 
hands  of  Carlomagno's  son  Carloto,  and  the  subsequent  punishment 
of  the  murderer.  According  to  Cervantes,  this  sad  tale  was  highly 
popular  in  Spain,  and  was  one  of  Don  Quixote's  favorites.^ 

1  A  student  from  Zambales  also  reports  that  he  has  seen  this  narrative  acted  on  the 
stage  in  his  province  as  a  comedia  in  the  Zambales  dialect. 

2  "And  presently  his  frenzy  brought  to  his  remembrance  the  story  of  Baldwin  and  the 
Meirquis  of  Mantua,  when  Chariot  left  the  former  wounded  on  the  mountain;  a  story 
learned  and  known  by  little  children,  not  unknown  to  young  men  and  women,  celebrated, 
and  even  believed,  by  the  old,  and  yet  not  a  jot  more  authentic  than  the  miracles  of 
Mahomet."  —  Motteux's  trans,  of  Don  Quixote,  Part  I,  chap.  5. 

And  a  few  chapters  farther  on  Don  Quixote  himself  says,  "I  swear  by  the  Creator  of 
all  things,  and  by  all  that  is  contained  in  the  four  holy  evangelists,  to  lead  the  life  that 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  207 

A  condensed  paraphrase  of  the  Tagalog  corrido,  which  may  be 
divided  into  four  more  or  less  distinct  sections  (although  no  formal 
indication  of  divisions  appears  in  the  text)  is  the  following: — 

[part   I.   EPISODE   OF    ESMELESINDA.] 

Baldovinos  was  the  son  of  the  King  of  Dacia  by  Arminda,  a  sister  of 
Carlomagno.  When  he  was  a  mere  boy,  his  father  the  king  died:  and  his 
mother,  thinking  to  educate  her  son  fittingly,  sent  him  to  live  with  his  uncle 
the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  who  soon  grew  to  love  him  as  a  son.  At  the  court 
of  the  Marquis,  Baldovinos  developed  every  admirable  trait,  and  by  his 
modesty,  bravery,  and  beauty,  won  the  praise  of  all.  The  Marquis  (who 
is  usually  referred  to  as  Donais  Urgel  —  i.e.,  Ogier  the  Dane  —  in  this 
version)  planned  to  marry  his  nephew  to  the  Princess  of  Sansuena  when  he 
should  become  of  age.  The  narrator  here  makes  an  abrupt  transition  and 
proceeds  to  tell  the  story  of  Esmelesinda,  the  wife  of  Guifero  and  the  aunt 
of    Baldovinos. 

One  day  Guifero  and  his  wife  were  hunting  in  the  forest,  and  after  a  long 
vain  pursuit  they  stopped  under  a  tree  to  rest.  Overcome  with  fatigue, 
Esmelesinda  dropped  off  to  sleep;  but  the  duke,  catching  sight  of  an  animal, 
gave  chase,  and  was  soon  lost  among  the  hills  and  trees.  By  a  curious 
chance,  an  army  of  Turks  happened  to  come  to  the  place  where  Esmelesinda 
was  lying;  they  took  her  captive  and  carried  her  off  to  Sansuena,  where  the 
Turkish  emperor  Balan  locked  her  up  in  a  tower,  expecting  to  convert  her 
and  to  marry  her  to  his  brother  Clarion.  While  a  captive  in  Sansuena, 
Esmelesinda  became  very  friendly  with  the  princess  Sevilla  (daughter  of 
the  King  of  Sansuena,  not  Balan),  to  whom  upon  request  she  explained 
all  the  details  of  Carlomagno's  court.  Her  account  of  the  noble  peers 
was  so  glowing  that  Sevilla  soon  fell  in  love  with  Baldovinos,  although  she 
had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him  before. 

Guifero  meanwhile  had  returned  to  his  Emperor's  court,  and  upon 
hearing  of  Esmelesinda's  capture  had  given  her  up  as  hopelessly  lost,  and 
had  sought  forgetfulness  at  the  gaming-table.  One  day,  however,  Car- 
lomagno so  shamed  the  faint-hearted  duke,  that  he  resolved  to  attempt 
the  rescue  of  his  imprisoned  wife.  On  Roldan's  famous  horse  he  succeeded 
in  reaching  Sansuena  in  a  short  time,  in  rescuing  Esmelesinda  from  the 
hands  of  the  Pagans,  and  in  finally  returning  safely  with  her  to  the  French 
Court. 

[part  II.    EPISODE   OF   CLAINOS   AND   SEVILLA,    WITH   THE   MARRIAGE  OF 

BALDOVINOS.] 

Clainos,^  King  of  Arabia,  disappointed  in  the  escape  of  Esmelesinda, 
wooed  Sevilla,  who  promised  to  become  his  wife  if  he  would  bring  to  San- 
suena the  heads  of  Roldan,  Oliveros,  and  Reinaldo  of  Montalban.  She 
proposed  this  test  merely  in  order  to  get  rid  of  her  suitor;  for  she  felt  sure 

the  great  Marquis  of  Mantua  led,  when  he  vowed  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  nephew 
Valdovinos,  which  was,  not  to  eat  bread  on  a  table-cloth,  with  other  things,  which,  though 
I  do  not  now  remember,  I  consider  as  here  expressed,  until  I  am  fully  revenged  on  him 
who  hath  done  me  this  outrage."  —  Ibid.,  Part  I,  chap.  lo. 

1  There  is  evidently  a  confounding  here  of  Clainos  and  Clarion. 


2o8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

that  he  would  never  succeed.  When  Clainos  arrived  at  the  French  borders, 
he  issued  his  challenge  to  fight,  and  the  Emperor  ordered  Roldan  to  go 
meet  the  proud  paynim.  But  Roldan  refused  because  Carlomagno  had 
made  some  derogatory  remarks  about  the  younger  Peers  in  a  former  cam- 
paign. Exasperated  by  the  refusal,  Carlomagno  quarrelled  with  the  young 
warrior,  and  finally  became  so  undignified  as  to  hurl  an  inkstand  at  his 
head.  To  save  the  situation,  Baldovinos,  a  mere  youth,  volunteered  and 
was  sent  against  Clainos.  For  nine  hours  the  fight  raged  and  was  undecisive, 
but  at  last  Baldovinos  was  overcome  and  made  captive.  Stirred  by  the 
sight  of  the  defeat  of  his  kinsman,  Roldan  rushed  to  the  field  and  cut  off 
Clainos's  head.  He  released  Baldovinos  and  ordered  him  to  carry  the 
Saracen's  head  to  Sansuena.  Baldovinos  reached  the  court  of  Balan 
safely,  and  there  he  proclaimed  his  name  and  the  death  of  Clainos.  When 
he  saw  Sevilla,  he  fell  in  love  with  her;  and  as  his  affection  was  already 
reciprocated,  all  that  the  young  couple  had  to  do  was  to  gain  the  consent 
of  their  guardians.  On  behalf  of  his  nephew  the  Marquis  of  Mantua 
willingly  asked  Almanzor  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter  Sevilla,  and  his 
request  was  as  readily  granted.  The  marriage  was  announced;  invitations 
were  sent  to  all  lands,  and  the  wedding  was  attended  by  kings  and  nobles. 
It  was  pompously  celebrated,  the  feast  lasting  many  days.  Baldovinos 
and  his  bride  then  set  out  for  France,  where  they  were  graciously  received 
by  Carlomagno. 

[part   III.    CARLOTO'S   TREACHERY    AND    THE   DEATH    OF    BALDOVINOS.] 

Carloto,  the  son  of  Carlomagno  and  cousin  of  Baldovinos,  was  stirred 
by  the  unsurpassed  beauty  of  Sevilla.  Lacking  courage  to  declare  his 
passion,  he  attempted  one  night  to  satisfy  it  by  force:  but  Sevilla  ordered 
him  out  of  the  house,  and  he  went,  plotting  the  death  of  her  husband. 
Sevilla  unfortunately  decided  to  keep  her  own  counsel  with  regard  to  Car- 
loto's  dastardly  attack. 

A  few  days  later  Carloto  invited  his  cousin  to  go  hunting,  and  Baldovinos, 
unsuspecting,  promised  to  go.  When  Sevilla  heard  of  the  engagement, 
she  urged  her  husband  to  break  it;  he  insisted,  however,  that  one's  word 
once  given  must  be  kept.  Accordingly,  after  preparations  had  been  made, 
the  two  cousins  set  out,  Carloto  accompanied  by  many  companions,  and 
Baldovinos  attended  by  only  his  squire  Celinos.  When  they  were  well 
on  their  way,  Carloto,  on  the  pretext  of  having  left  his  dagger  behind,  sent 
Celinos  to  fetch  it:  the  rest  proceeded  to  the  forest.  There  in  a  suitable 
place  Carloto  and  his  eighteen  followers  fell  upon  the  lone  Baldovinos, 
thinking  to  make  a  quick  end  of  him.  He  defended  himself  so  bravely, 
however,  that  though  mortally  wounded,  he  killed  all  eighteen  of  the  ac- 
complices. Carloto  escaped;  and  Baldovinos  was  barely  able  to  drag 
himself  to  the  bank  of  a  river,  where  he  burst  into  loud  lamentations. 

By  chance,  the  Marquis  of  Mantua  was  hunting  in  the  mountains  that 
day,  but  had  become  separated  from  his  men  and  had  lost  his  way  in  the 
thick  woods.  While  he  was  stumbling  down  a  rocky  ravine,  sounds  of 
complaint  and  distress  struck  his  ear.  After  listening  a  few  minutes,  he 
realized  whence  they  proceeded,  and  he  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  wounded 
man.  Baldovinos  recognized  his  uncle  finally,  and  poured  forth  into  his 
ears  such  a  tale  of  woe  and  treachery,  that  the  two  fainted.     There  is  no 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  209 

telling  how  long  they  would  have  remained  helpless  by  the  river-bank  had 
not  the  faithful  Celinos  opportunely  returned  from  his  wild-goose  chase 
and  revived  the  uncle  and  nephew  from  their  swoon.  Somewhat  restored, 
though  feeling  that  his  end  was  near,  Baldovinos  requested  his  companions 
to  take  him  to  the  cave  of  St.  Benito,  hard  by,  where  he  could  be  shriven 
before  it  was  too  late.  Between  them  Celinos  and  the  Marquis  managed 
to  carry  the  sinking  man  to  the  holy  place;  and  after  the  monks  had  con- 
fessed the  brave  young  peer,  he  commended  Sevilla  to  the  care  of  his  uncle, 
and  died. 

The  body  was  taken  to  Mantua  (it  seems  that  Baldovinos  was  fifteen 
days'  journey  from  the  French  Court  when  he  was  murdered),  where  the 
Marquis  solemnly  vowed  on  his  sword  not  to  comb  his  hair,  eat  at  table, 
or  manage  his  affairs,  until  he  had  avenged  the  death  of  his  favorite  nephew. 

[part    IV.    CARLOTO'S   TRIAL    AND    EXECUTION.] 

The  Princess  Sevilla  had  been  summoned  to  Mantua  by  a  letter  from 
the  Marquis,  explaining  what  had  happened  to  her  husband.  Bent  on 
vengeance  and  supported  by  the  Peers  at  Mantua,  she  organized  an  army 
and  set  out  for  France.  Don  Sancho  and  Don  Irlos  were  sent  ahead  as 
ambassadors  to  explain  Sevilla's  demands.  The  Emperor  received  the 
two  courteously,  and,  determined  to  give  the  Marquis  of  Mantua  justice, 
called  a  council,  at  which  Delfrindar  de  Ardinia  acted  as  chairman.  Eight 
councillor?  urged  the  IVIarquis's  claims,  and  eight  defended  Carloto.  Their 
long  arguments  and  subsequent  quarrels  so  angered  Carlomagno  that 
finally  he  took  justice  into  his  own  hands  and  ordered  that  Carloto  should 
be  executed. 

A  plan  of  Roldan's  to  rescue  Carloto  on  the  way  to  the  block  was  frustrated 
by  the  Emperor,  and  the  headstrong  intriguer  was  banished  from  France 
for  a  time.  Carloto  was  duly  beheaded,  and  his  body  left  exposed  and 
unburied  for  a  day.  The  Marquis  returned  to  his  home,  but  Sevilla  spent 
the  rest  of  her  life  in  a  convent. 

As  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  determine  when  the  corrido  of 
"Baldovinos"  was  first  printed  in  the  Philippines, —  whether  the 
story  is  fifty  years  old  or  two  hundred, —  the  question  of  the  dates 
of  possible  sources  is  not  our  starting-point.  Obviously  the  most 
convenient  storehouses  for  the  redactor  of  the  narrative  of  the  Marquis 
of  Mantua  and  his  nephew  were  the  various  printed  collections  of 
Spanish  ballads.^  The  Spanish  poems  covering  most  of  the  inci- 
dents presented  in  the  corrido  are  five  in  all.  Arranged  in  the  order 
in  which  their  narratives  appear  in  the  Philippine  version,  they  are, — 

1  The  three  most  important  old  collections  of  Spanish  romances  and  ballads  before 
Duran's  comprehensive  Romancero  General  are  the  Cancionero  de  Romances,  the  Silva 
de  Varies  Romances  (both  dating  from  the  second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century),  and 
the  Floresta  de  varios  Romances,  the  first  edition  of  which,  according  to  Pellicer,  was 
printed  at  Alcala  in  i6oS.  Among  Duran's  immediate  predecessors,  Jacob  Grimm,  with 
his  Silva  de  Romances  viejos,  is  probably  entitled  to  first  place.  The  stories  of  Baldovinos 
and  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  of  Gayferos,  and  of  the  Arabian  king  Calainos,  all  appear  in 
the  sixteenth-century  anthologies. 


2IO  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

1.  Romance  de  don  Gayferos  que  trata  de  c6mo  saco  a  su  esposa  que  estaba 

en  tierra  de  moros  (No.   173  in  Wolf  and   Hofmann's   Primavera   y 
Flor  de  Romances,  or  No.  377  in  the  Romancero  General). 

2.  Romance  del  moro  Calainos  de  como  requeria  de  amores  a  la  infanta 

Sebilla,  y  ella  le  demando  en  arras  tres  cabezas  de  los  doce  pares  de 
Francia  (No.  193  in  the  Primavera,  No.  373  in  the  Romancero  General). 

3.  Romance  del  Marques  de  Mantua  (No.  165  in  the  Primavera,  No.  355 

in  the  Romancero  General). 

4.  Romance  de  la  embajada  que  envio  Danes  Urgel,  marques  de  Mantua  al 

Emperador  (No.   166  in  the  Primavera,   No.  356  in  the  Romancero 
General). 

5.  Sentencia  dada  a  don  Carloto  (No.  167  in  the  Primavera,  No.  357  in 

the  Romancero  General). 

It  will  be  noticed  from  their  numbers  in  the  two  collections  that  the 
last  three  ballads  are  printed  consecutively  by  both  Duran  and 
Wolf,  and  form  a  trilogy  dealing  with  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,  Bal- 
dovinos,  and  Carloto.  All  the  five  ballads  just  mentioned,  along 
with  forty-four  others,  are  classified  by  Duran  as  "Romances  cabal- 
lerescos  de  las  cronicas  carlovingias."  The  first  has  really  nothing 
to  do  with  the  life  of  Baldovinos,  for  he  is  neither  mentioned  nor  re- 
ferred to  in  the  poem.  The  second,  which  tells  the  story  of  Calainos's 
rash  attempt  to  gather  in  for  Sevilla  the  heads  of  Roland,  Oliveros, 
and  Reinaldo  of  Montalban,  shows  also  how  Baldovinos  was  defeated 
by  the  Moor,  but  gives  no  hint  of  any  sentimental  relationship  ex- 
isting between  the  young  peer  and  Sevilla.  In  none  of  the  collections 
I  have  seen  is  the  Calainos  ballad  printed  as  a  Baldovinos  ballad. 
These  five  Spanish  poems  probably  furnished  the  Philippine  author 
with  most  of  the  events  of  his  corrido  beginning  with  the  second  half 
of  episode  i,  at  the  point  where  Guiferos  is  shown  as  having  given 
himself  up  to  gambling.  The  introductory  stanzas,  which  tell  of  the 
genealogy  of  Baldovinos  and  give  a  brief  account  of  his  early  life, 
might  have  been  taken,  in  part,  from  the  ballad  that  forms  the 
basis  of  episode  iii  (lines  172-182) ;  but  the  statement  that  the  Marquis 
of  Mantua  planned  to  marry  his  nephew  to  the  beautiful  though 
Pagan  Sevilla,  appears  to  be  a  crude  invention  to  prepare  the  way  for 
the  fact  that  Baldovinos  did  marry  her.^ 

'  English  readers  may  find  all  the  ballads  enumerated  above  translated  into  English 
verse  and  printed  with  the  original  Spanish  in  Thomas  Rodd's  Ancient  Spanish  Ballads, 
relating  to  the  Twelve  Peers  of  France  (2  vols.,  London,  182 1).  They  may  also  enjoy 
Cervantes'  inimitable  caricature  of  the  story  of  Melisenda's  rescue,  as  it  is  told  by  Maese 
Pedro,  the  puppet-showman,  in  Don  Quixote,  Part  II,  chapter  xxvi.  Rodd  (vol.  ii,  p.  44  f  •) 
prints  in  English  only,  unfortunately,  an  Ancient  Ballad  of  Prince  Baldwin,  which  tells 
how  Baldovinos,  pensive  and  sad  over  his  defeat  at  the  hands  of  Calainos,  sets  out  to  seek 
glory  for  himself  to  retrieve  his  lost  fame,  comes  to  Sansuena,  falls  in  love  with  Sevilla, 
and  by  his  feats  of  arms  wins  the  favor  of  King  Almanzor,  who  bestows  his  fair  daughter 
on  the  young  Prince  of  Dacia.  Rodd  does  not  say  whence  he  derived  his  English  version: 
he  merely  remarks,  "We  cannot  present  our  readers  with  the  Spanish  copy,  not  being  in 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  211 

2.    "the   twelve   peers   of   FRANCE." 

"The  Narrative  and  Life  of  the  Twelve  Peers  of  France,  Subjects 
of  Emperor  Carlomagno  until  Betrayed  by  Galalon  and  Killed  at 
Ronsesvalles"  is  extant  in  six  Philippine  dialects, —  Tagalog,  Pam- 
pango,  Bicol,  Visayan,  Ilocano,  and  Pangasinan.  These  versions 
are  practically  identical  in  content  and  length;  the  Tagalog  was 
probably  the  original  of  the  other  five.  The  Tagalog  romance,  the 
title  of  which  runs  as  follows, — "Salitaat  Buhay  nang  Doce  Pares  sa 
Francia  na  Campon  nang  Emperador  Carlo  magno,  hanga  nang 
ipagcanulo  ni  Galalon  na  nangapatay  sa  Ronsesvalles," — contains 
4628  verses  of  twelve  syllables  each,  and  in  spite  of  its  great  length 
is  one  of  the  best-known  romances  in  the  Islands. 

The  source  of  the  Philippine  metrical  accounts  of  the  lives  of  the 
Twelve  Peers  was  the  Spanish  prose  "Historia  del  Emperador  Carlo- 
magno," the  earliest  known  edition  of  which  is  that  of  1528.^  This 
Spanish  account,  in  turn,  was  a  re-doing  of  the  French  "Ferumbras." 
Each  subsequent  version  seems  to  have  followed  the  preceding  with 
remarkable  fidelity,  as  an  analysis  of  the  latest  popular  form  of  the 
story  (the  Philippine)  will  show. 

[synopsis  of  "doce  pares."] 

The  first  thirty-five  strophes  of  this  romance  narrate  an  episode,  com- 
plete in  itself,  of  how  Carlomagno  sent  assistance  to  Aaron,  ruler  of  Jeru- 
salem, who  had  been  attacked  and  taken  prisoner  by  the  non-Christian 
people  of  Zaragoza.  After  a  three-months'  march,  during  which  the  army 
lost  its  way  and  was  only  set  right  by  a  flock  of  birds  that  appeared  miracu- 
lously in  response  to  prayer,  the  French  forces  engaged  the  Zaragozans, 
defeated  them  decisively,  and  restored  Aaron  to  his  seat  at  Jerusalem. 

The  bulk  of  the  rest  of  the  book  covers  about  the  same  ground  as  the 
Middle  English  romance  of  "Sir  Ferumbras."  After  his  expedition  to 
relieve  Jerusalem,  Carlomagno  planned  to  invade  Alexandria.  While  the 
Peers  were  encamped  at  Mormionda,  Fierabras,  son  of  the  Pagan  ruler 
Balan,  sacked  Rome  and  Jerusalem.  Gui  de  Borgona  was  sent  as  ambassa- 
dor to  Rome  to  see  if  Fierabras  was  there  at  the  head  of  his  troops.  On 
his  return  to  France,  Gui  happened  to  meet  Balan  and  his  daughter  Florifes 
riding  in  a  carriage.  Although  the  meeting  was  but  for  an  instant,  the 
Peer  fell  violently  in  love  with  the  princess,  who  in  turn  was  not  indifferent 
to  him.  On  hearing  his  messenger's  report  to  the  effect  that  Fierabras 
was  not  in  Rome,  Carlomagno  ordered  Gui  to  prepare  a  large  army  and  to 
advance  on  that  city.     When  the  French  troops  reached  Rome,  Florifes 

our  collection."  Nor  have  I  been  able  to  find  it  in  the  Romancero  General.  It  is  not 
improbable,  however,  that  the  Philippine  author  knew  such  a  ballad  as  this,  and  used 
it  for  his  transition  between  episodes  ii  and  iii. 

1  No  less  than  fourteen  editions  of  the  Historia  up  to  the  year  1744  have  been  enum- 
erated by  Pascual  de  Gayangos  in  his  Libros  de  Caballerias  (Madrid,  1874),  p.  Ixiv.  The 
Spanish  text  I  used  in  comparing  the  Tagalog  Doce  Pares  with  its  prose  original  was  that 
issued  in  Madrid,  1772. 


212  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

herself  took  the  field  against  Gui,  who,  recognizing  her,  refused  to  continue 
the  battle.  Carlomagno,  angered  at  the  report  of  how  slowly  the  campaign 
was  proceeding,  ordered  Roldan  with  eight  other  Peers  to  capture  Rome. 
Corsubel,  brother  of  Balan,  supported  by  a  host  of  Pagan  soldiers,  went 
against  this  second  detachment  of  French,  who  were  partially  successful: 
Corsubel  was  killed,  but  Oliveros  was  severely  wounded.  The  young 
Peers  returned  to  France,  leaving  Rome  still  in  the  hands  of  the  infidels. 
These  half  victories  only  angered  the  Emperor  still  more,  and  he  resolved 
to  wipe  off  the  face  of  the  earth  all  non-Christians. 

Learning  of  Corsubel's  death,  Fierabras  went  to  Mormionda  to  take 
vengeance  on  Carlomagno  and  his  Peers.  Roldan  was  ordered  to  go  fight 
with  Fierabras,  but  he  refused  and  quarrelled  with  Carlomagno.  Oliveros, 
though  still  weak  from  his  wounds,  begged  permission  and  was  finally 
allowed  to  engage  the  Saracen.  After  a  long  struggle  of  many  hundred 
lines,  Oliveros  conquered  his  opponent,  who  promised  to  turn  Christian. 
But  the  Peer  was  then  set  upon  by  fifty  thousand  men  (who  sprang  from 
nowhere),  and,  in  spite  of  his  desperate  resistance,  was  taken  prisoner. 
Carlomagno  heard  Oliveros's  call  for  help  and  sent  troops  to  his  aid,  but 
succeeded  only  in  losing  four  more  Peers  in  the  struggle.  The  Turks  then 
retired  with  the  five  Peers  as  captives,  and  conducted  them  to  Balan,  who 
was  in  Turkey. 

The  prisoners  were  confined  in  a  foul  dungeon  under  Florifes's  tower; 
but  the  princess,  already  in  love  with  Gui,  took  a  special  interest  in  these 
French  knights,  and  fed  and  clothed  them  secretly.  She  even  went  so  far 
as  to  supply  them  with  arms.  She  told  them  of  her  love  for  Gui  de  Borgoiia, 
of  her  desire  to  become  Christian,  and  of  her  willingness  to  restore  to  Car- 
lomagno the  treasures  that  had  been  stolen  from  Rome. 

Meanwhile  Carlomagno  had  not  been  absolutely  idle.  He  sent  an  em- 
bassy of  seven  Peers  (all  he  had  left)  to  demand  of  Balan  the  return  of  the 
five  prisoners.  Balan  at  the  same  time  despatched  an  embassy  of  fifteen 
kings  to  propose  to  the  French  Emperor  an  exchange  of  the  five  Peers  for 
Fierabras.  The  two  embassies  met  near  the  Bi'idge  of  Mentible,  where,  a 
quarrel  arising,  the  Peers  killed  fourteen  of  the  kings.  One  escaped.  After 
cutting  off  the  fourteen  heads,  the  seven  proceeded  to  Turkey,  where 
Balan,  knowing  nothing  of  the  fate  of  his  ambassadors,  received  the  Peers 
graciously.  But  the  one  king  who  escaped  returned  home  on  the  night  of 
their  arrival  and  told  Balan  how  fourteen  of  his  messengers  had  been  slain. 
Wild  with  anger,  the  Turkish  Emperor  ordered  the  seven  Peers  bound 
in  their  sleep  by  three  thousand  soldiers,  and  on  the  following  day  determined 
to  put  all  twelve  of  his  captives  to  a  shameful  death.  But  Florifes  wheedled 
her  father  into  allowing  her  to  take  the  seven  to  her  tower  for  the  night, 
and  there  she  armed  them  as  she  had  armed  the  other  five. 

The  twelve  Peers  repulsed  every  attack  upon  the  tower,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  they  could  hold  out  indefinitely.  But  through  the  help  of  Marpin, 
a  famous  magician,  Balan  finally  succeeded  in  separating  Florifes  from 
her  magic  girdle,  which  was  supplying  the  besieged  with  food.  After  two 
days  of  hunger,  the  Peers  resolved  to  make  a  sortie  for  provisions.  In 
the  melee  that  ensued.  Basin  was  killed  and  Gui  de  Borgona  captured. 
Balan  resolved  that  Gui  should  pay  for  all  the  damage  done  by  the  Peers; 
but  when  the  next  day  the  captive  was  being  led  to  the  gallows,  his  com- 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  213 

panions,  in  two  lines  headed  by  Roldan  and  Oliveros,  rushed  out  of  the 
tower  and  rescued  him.  Thousands  of  Turks  were  killed.  The  eleven 
Peers  also  captured  twelve  horses  laden  with  food,  and  returned  elated 
to  their  stronghold. 

This  kind  of  existence  could  not  go  on  forever,  however,  and  the  besieged 
finally  resolved  to  send  word  of  their  plight  to  Carlomagno.  Ricarte  was 
agreed  upon  as  messenger.  After  much  fighting  he  managed  to  make  his 
way  through  hosts  of  Saracens  to  the  Bridge  of  Mentible,  where  the  porter, 
acting  on  orders  from  Balan,  refused  to  let  him  cross.  But  guided  by  a 
miraculous  white  deer,  Ricarte  found  a  way  to  ford  the  river,  and  in  a  few 
days  he  reached  the  French  Court. 

Carlomagno  resolved  to  conduct  in  person  the  rescuing-expedition;  and, 
accompanied  by  a  large  force  with  Ricarte  as  guide,  he  set  out  for  the  east. 
By  means  of  a  trick  proposed  by  Ricarte,  the  French  forces  managed  to 
get  past  the  Bridge  of  Mentible;  they  killed  the  guarding  giants  and  thou- 
sands of  Turks,  and  sent  a  defiance  to  Balan.  But  Balan  was  no  coward: 
he  determined  to  fight  to  the  last.  He  was  finally  overcome,  however, 
and,  though  Fierabras  and  Florifes  urged  him  to  become  a  Christian,  he 
remained  loyal  to  Mahomet;  hence  there  was  nothing  for  Carlomagno  to 
do  but  to  cut  off  the  head  of  this  obstinate  person.  Florifes  and  Gui  de 
Borgona  were  married.  They  decided  to  live  in  Turkey  with  Fierabras, 
as  Balan  was  dead.  After  a  two-months'  visit  with  the  young  couple, 
Carlomagno  and  the  rest  of  his  Peers  returned  to  France. 

The  remainder  of  the  romance  (187  strophes)  tells  of  Carlomagno's 
campaigns  in  the  south.  He  destroyed  the  infidels  in  Pamplona  and  Galicia, 
and  then  defeated  successively  King  x\igolante.  Prince  Furre,  the  giant 
Ferragus  (Roldan  performing  this  feat  after  Oger  Donais,  Reinaldo,  and 
Constantino  had  been  overcome  by  the  giant),  and  the  Kings  of  Cordova 
and  Sevilla.  But  through  the  treachery  of  Galalon,  whom  Carlomagno 
had  sent  to  demand  tribute  of  the  Pagan  king  Marsirios,  the  Peers  were 
overwhelmed  and  killed  at  Ronsesvalles.  Hearing  of  the  disaster  too  late 
to  send  any  aid  to  his  army,  Carlomagno  pursued  and  captured  Galalon, 
who  was  subsequently  executed.  After  giving  all  his  wealth  to  the  Church, 
the  great  Emperor  died  Feb.  16,  1012  (sic!). 

3.    "  COUNT   IRLOS." 

The  Philippine  romance  of  the  "Life  of  Count  Irlos  and  his  Wife, 
of  the  Kingdom  of  France"  circulates  only  in  the  Pampango  dialect. 
The  title-page  of  the  1902  edition  bears  the  legend,  "Exclusive  prop- 
erty of  Doiia  Modesta  Lanuza:  nobody  is  allowed  to  publish  this 
without  her  permission."  It  would  thus  appear  that  Seiiora  Lanuza 
herself  or  some  member  of  her  family  was  the  author  of  this  version, 
as  she  was  not  the  publisher. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  "Conde  Irlos"  is  a  Charlemagne 
story,  it  is  not  nearly  so  well  known  as  "  Baldovinos"  or  "  Doce  Pares." 
Possibly  its  unusual  length  (5008  octosyllabic  lines)  together  with  a 
paucity  of  adventures  accounts  for  its  unpopularity.  The  Spanish 
original  of  part  of  this  story,  "El  Romance  del  Conde  Irlos  y  de  las 


214  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

grandes  Venturas  que  hubo"  (Primavera,  No.  164;  Romancero  General 
No.  354),  is  one  of  the  longest  of  the  Castilian  romances  (1366  lines), 
and  forms,  observes  Duran,  "una  novela  caballeresca  completa." 
Duran  goes  on  to  say,  "Its  construction  points  it  out  to  be  one  of 
those  primitive  compositions  which  came  into  print  only  after  being 
altered  not  merely  by  oral  tradition  itself  but  also  by  poets  who  tried 
to  improve  on  it."  In  its  earliest  form  the  Spanish  story  was  a  romance 
viejo  popular;  but  the  printed  version,  remarks  Duran,  was  composed 
by  a  juglar  working  over  ancient  oral  tradition.  The  fortune  of  the 
story  in  the  Philippines  has  been  not  unlike  its  fortune  in  the  penin- 
sula; only  the  Pampango  author  began  with  the  printed  romance  in- 
stead of  oral  tradition,  and  in  his  (or  her)  attempt  to  improve  on  the 
original  increased  its  bulk  nearly  fourfold.^ 

[synopsis  of  conde  irlos.) 

Bencebais,  the  count  of  Irlos  and  nephew  of  Carlomagno,  inherited  vast 
estates  from  his  parents.  He  possessed  also,  in  addition  to  good  looks  and 
polite  manners,  an  indefatigable  zeal  for  the  cause  of  Christianity.  Through 
his  sword  he  won  for  his  uncle  seventeen  Pagan  kingdoms;  but  Carlomagno 
magnanimously  gave  them  to  Bencebais,  and  said  that  the  seventeen 
kings  should  be  his  vassals  and  his  only.  The  young  count  then  returned 
to  his  own  country,  where  he  enjoyed  himself  with  musical  entertainments 
and  hunting. 

The  next  one-fifth  of  this  long  story  tells  how  Count  Irlos  went  to  a  tourna- 
ment held  by  the  King  of  Italy,  and  won  as  his  bride  the  beautiful  Princess 
Elea.  Allarde,  King  of  London  and  one  of  the  disappointed  suitors,  on 
his  return  to  his  country  passed  through  Carlomagno's  dominions,  and 
issued  a  challenge  to  the  Emperor  and  his  Twelve  Peers.  But  as  the 
French  seemingly  paid  no  attention  to  his  boasts  (Roldan  again  proved 
refractory,  refusing  to  obey  his  Emperor's  orders  to  fight  the  audacious 
Saracen,  and  thereby  calling  down  on  his  own  head  the  same  ink-stand 
treatment  he  had  received  once  before  at  the  hands  of  the  enraged  Car- 
lomagno), the  King  of  London  proceeded  on  his  way,  vowing  vengeance. 

On  the  return  of  Count  Irlos  with  his  prize,  his  marriage  was  celebrated 
after  Elea  had  been  christened  Reducinda  Rosalina.  Not  long  after, 
while  he  was  enjoying  himself  at  his  own  estates,  a  message  from  the  Em- 
peror came  to  end  his  happiness.  He  was  ordered  to  prepare  an  expedition 
to  proceed  against  Allarde  in  order  to  recover  the  lost  fame  and  honor  of 
France.  The  Count  declared  the  order  to  be  cruel  and  unwise,  and,  full 
of  wrath  and  dissatisfaction,  he  went  with  his  troops  to  report  at  Paris. 
Leaving  his  wife  in  the  care  of  his  uncle  Don  Beltran,  and  telling  her  that 
if  he  did  not  return  within  nine  years  she  should  be  free  to  marry  again  and 
all  his  property  should  be  hers,  he  departed  with  ten  thousand  followers 
for  the  coast,  and  the  large  expedition  embarked  for  Allarde's  kingdom. 
While  on  board  ship,  the  Count,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  solemnly 
swore  never  to  return  to  France;  and  he  made  his  men  so  swear,  forbidding 

1  An  English  verse  translation  of  the  Spanish  Romance  del  Conde  Dirlos  may  be  found 
in  Rodd's  Ancient  Spanish  Ballads,  vol.  i,  pp.  167-275. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  215 

them  even  to  send  any  messages  home.  The  Count  and  his  men  achieved 
a  brilliant  victory  over  AUarde,  and  seventeen  years  passed  without  any 
word  being  sent  back  to  France. 

One  night  Count  Irlos  dreamt  that  his  wife  was  being  forced  to  marry 
some  one  she  did  not  love.  Jumping  to  his  feet,  he  ordered  the  trumpets 
sounded,  and  telling  his  men  that  they  were  to  return  to  France,  but  in- 
cognito, the  army  embarked  as  soon  as  preparations  could  be  made.  The 
Count's  beard  had  grown  so  long,  and  his  voice  had  so  changed,  that  he 
did  not  fear  discovery. 

When  he  reached  France,  he  proceeded  immediately  for  his  own  estates, 
where  he  was  astonished  to  see  on  his  palace  gates  the  coat-of-arms  of 
Celinos,  Roldan's  nephew.  Upon  making  inquiries  of  the  sentry,  he  learned 
that,  since  no  word  had  been  received  from  the  long-absent  Count,  Roldan 
had  circulated  the  report  that  the  Count  was  dead,  for  he  wanted  his  nephew 
Celinos  to  marry  Elea  and  come  into  possession  of  Bencebais'  wealth. 
Celinos  even  forged  letters  tending  to  prove  that  Count  Irlos  was  no  longer 
living.  Carlomagno  and  the  Peers  had  then  chosen  a  husband  for  Elea,  — 
the  crafty  Celinos,  —  but  through  the  influence  of  Don  Beltran,  the  Coun- 
tess had  obtained  a  respite  of  a  year  before  re-marrying.  It  was  during 
this  year  that  Count  Irlos  returned. 

Assuming  the  role  of  a  Persian  ambassador  bringing  news  of  the  missing 
count,  Irlos  called  on  Don  Beltran  that  night;  but  the  uncle  recognized 
his  beloved  nephew  under  the  long  beard.  Elea,  hearing  that  a  messenger 
had  arrived  with  news  of  her  husband,  entered  the  room;  and,  although 
she  did  not  recognize  the  Count,  his  heart  melted  with  pity  for  her  sadness, 
and,  proclaiming  his  name,  he  threw  himself  into  her  arms. 

There  still  remained  the  punishment  of  Celinos  and  Roldan.  The  next 
day  the  Count  with  his  faithful  followers  went  to  Paris,  and  after  making 
known  his  identity  asked  Carlomagno  to  remove  the  coat-of-arms  of  Celinos. 
The  treachery  of  the  young  peer  was  exposed,  and  he  was  finally  sentenced 
to  death.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  however.  Count  Irlos  went  to  Roldan 
and  offered  to  fight  him  and  all  the  knights  who  had  taken  part  in  the  trick 
against  him.  Carlomagno  was  unable  to  persuade  either  party  to  lay 
down  their  arms.  After  a  continuous  fight  of  four  months,  all  the  principals 
were  exhausted  and  worn  out.  It  was  only  through  the  intervention  of 
their  wives  that  peace  was  finally  restored. 

In  summary  of  the  Filipino-Spanish  treatment  of  portions  of  the 
Carlovingian  cycle,  five  striking  characteristics  might  be  emphasized. 

I.  Repetition  of  Situation. —  The  violent  quarrelling  of  Roldan 
with  his  Emperor  is  depicted  in  "Baldovinos,"  "Doce  Pares,"  and 
"Conde  Irlos."  Evidently  this  situation  appealed  strongly  to  the 
Philippine  redactors,  for  no  opportunity  is  let  slip  of  making  these 
two  kinsmen  appear  in  an  undignified  light.  In  each  case  Carlomagno 
loses  his  temper  and  hurls  an  inkstand  at  his  nephew.  Again,  the 
treachery  of  the  Emperor's  nephews  —  Carloto  and  Celinos  —  forms 
the  crisis  of  two  of  the  stories.  In  both  cases  the  nephew  is  put  to 
death  by  order  of  the  Emperor,  who,  according  to  Spanish  tradition, 
appears  to  have  been  blessed  with  not  a  few  renegades  among  his 
numerous  relatives. 


2i6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

2.  Depreciation  of  Roldan. —  In  "  Baldovinos"  and  "  Conde 
Irlos,"  Roldan  is  consistently  represented  as  headstrong,  quarrelsome, 
egotistic,  not  wanting  in  bravery  but  intensely  desirous  of  praise, 
jealous  of  the  older  knights  in  arms,  given  to  intriguing  against  the 
Emperor  when  his  edicts  do  not  suit  the  younger  man.  To  be  sure, 
he  is  not  a  national  traitor  like  Ganelon,  but  he  is  portrayed  in  both 
romances  as  plotting  to  save  a  rascal.  In  both  stories,  too,  the  Em- 
peror finds  it  necessary  to  banish  this  hot-headed  young  knight  for  a 
period  of  years.  It  is  only  natural  that  we  should  find  among  the 
early  Spanish  popular  poets  (and  in  this  respect  the  Filipino  redactors 
follow  the  Spanish)  a  tendency  to  abase  the  national  hero  of  a  neigh- 
boring conquering  country.  Nor  is  it  unnatural  that  we  should  find 
stories  springing  up  about  a  Spanish  hero  in  rivalry  of  Roldan.  Ber- 
nardo del  Carpio,  an  entirely  fictitious  personage,  but  reported  to 
have  been  one  of  the  generals  who  administered  defeat  to  Carlomagno 
at  Roncesvalles,  grew  in  proportions  and  fame  from  the  twelfth  century 
on  until  he  nearly  totally  eclipsed  Roldan  in  the  Peninsula,  and  con- 
sequently in  the  Philippines.     But  his  story  will  appear  later. 

Roldan,  however,  is  always  given  credit  for  extraordinary  courage 
and  skill  as  a  fighter.  His  bravery  is  proverbial.  Often  in  allusion 
his  name  is  found  coupled  with  that  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio.  Indeed, 
these  two  heroes  are  brought  together  in  the  story  of  "Bernardo  del 
Carpio;"  but  the  Spaniard  displays  Beowulfian  strength  in  his  arms, 
and  quickly  succeeds  in  getting  that  for  which  he  had  gone  to  France. 

3.  Extravagance  and  Lack  of  Restraint,  especially  when  the 
author  is  dealing  with  the  charms  or  prowess  of  a  Christian  knight. 
This  tendency  is  to  be  found  in  nearly  all  the  corridas;  and  in  the  case 
of  the  Carlovingian  romances  the  exaltation  of  French  heroes  means 
only  the  exaltation  of  Christianity  over  Paganism.  Filipino-Spanish 
admiration  for  Roldan  and  Oliveros  is  merely  admiration  for  knights 
of  the  Cross;  but  Bernardo  Carpio,  Rodrigo  de  Villas,  and  Gonzalo 
are  sung  not  only  as  destroyers  of  the  Crescent,  but  as  thoroughly 
national  heroes.  Patriotism  is  no  more  evident  in  the  "Chanson  de 
Roland"  than  in  "El  Cid."  It  is  to  be  expected,  consequently,  that 
where  Guiferos  puts  to  flight  three  thousand  Saracens,  Bernardo  will 
have  no  trouble  in  disposing  of  fifty  thousand. 

4.  Minor  Persons  as  Heroes. —  There  is  a  limit  even  to  exag- 
geration. Obviously,  in  order  to  enhance  the  virtues  of  the  national 
heroes  of  Spain,  patriotism  would  approve  the  recording  of  the  deeds 
of  Guiferos,  Baldovinos,  and  Count  Irlos  where  it  might  object  to 
the  exaltation  of  Roldan.  It  must  be  remembered  that  Roldan  is  in 
no  sense  the  hero  of  "Doce  Pares."  There  is  no  Filipino  romance  in 
which  he  is  the  leading  character. 

5.  Tendency  to  Elaboration  and  Recombination. —  We   have 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  217 

mentioned  the  fact  that  the  Spanish  story  of  "Conde  Irlos"  was,  in 
the  hands  of  the  Philippine  redactor,  expanded  to  nearly  four  times 
its  original  size.  Not  satisfied  with  the  story's  plunging  in  medias 
res  (that  is,  at  a  time  after  the  Count's  marriage),  the  Pampango 
author  must  tell  it  all  from  the  beginning,  even  if  he  has  to  manufacture 
the  details, —  Bencebais's  youth,  first  encounters  at  arms,  his  mighty 
conquests,  his  winning  of  his  bride,  and  the  wedding  ceremony.  Nor 
does  he  hesitate  to  interpolate  long  passages  later  when  he  has  begun 
to  follow  directly  the  Spanish  original.  "Baldovinos,"  too,  is  much 
longer  than  the  five  Spanish  ballads  on  which  it  is  based,  only  the  pro- 
portion here  is  about  5  to  3  as  against  4  to  i  for  "Conde  Irlos."  Fig- 
ures are  hard  to  give  in  the  case  of  "Doce  Pares,"  for  the  original  is 
in  prose;  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  nothing  important  has  been  omitted 
in  the  Philippine  version.  Moreover,  the  whole  scene  of  the  unex- 
pected meeting  of  Qui  and  Florifes  and  her  later  taking  the  field  against 
him  at  Rome  (a  passage  of  over  100  lines  near  the  beginning  of  the 
romance)  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  "Historia  del  Emperador  Carlo 
Magno." 

Space  does  not  allow  of  a  detailed  examination  of  the  Philippine 
variations  from  Spanish  originals  and  additions  to  them;  but  we  may 
unhesitatingly  conclude  that  such  variations  and  amplifications  tended 
toward  chronicle  completeness  and  away  from  the  dramatic  episodic 
structure  of  the  ballads.  Furthermore,  the  attitude  of  the  Philippine 
narrators  (and  of  the  Spanish  juglars,  too)  toward  the  matiere  de 
France  is  not  the  attitude  of  usurping  Moorish  heathenism,  but  of 
Spanish  national  militant  Christianity. 

II.   AN  ARTHURIAN  ROMANCE. 

"tablante  de  ricamonte." 

The  only  Philippine  representative  of  the  Arthurian  material  is 
"The  Story  of  Tablante  de  Ricamonte  and  of  the  Couple  Jofre  and 
Bruniesen,  in  the  Kingdom  of  Camalor  under  the  jurisdiction  of  King 
Artos  and  Queen  Ginebra."  This  romance  is  in  the  Tagalog  dialect, ^ 
and  contains  468  quatrains  of  assonanced  alexandrines.  It  is  un- 
doubtedly based  indirectly,  if  not  directly,  on  the  Spanish  prose  "Cro- 
nica  de  fos  muy  notables  caualleros  Tablante  de  Ricamonte,  y  de 
Jofre,  hijo  del  conde  Donason,"  the  oldest  known  edition  of  which 
was  that  issued  in  Toledo  in  1513.  The  most  accessible  reprint  of 
this  story  is  that  of  the  1564  edition,  and  may  be  found  in  Volume  VI 

1  The  title  reads,  "Dinaanang  Buhay  ni  Tablante  de  Ricamonte  sampo  nang  mag- 
asauang  si  Jofre  at  ni  Bruniesen  sa  caharian  nang  Camalor  na  nasasacupan  nang  Haring 
si  Artos  at  Reina  Ginebra:  Manila,  1902."  A  Pampango  student  saj-s  that  he  has  read 
the  story  in  his  own  dialect,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  one  else  who  has  seen  or 
heard  of  such  an  edition. 


21 8  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

of  the  "Nueva  Biblioteca  de  Autores  espanoles"  (Madrid,  1907). 
The  text  is  divided  into  twenty-six  chapters,  and  tells  the  story  of 
Jofre's  adventures  while  seeking  Tablante  de  Ricamonte,  who  had 
challenged,  defeated,  and  taken  prisoner  Arthur's  knight  Don  Milian. 
Jofre's  quest  brought  him  many  victories  over  strange  knights,  and 
secured  for  him  a  wife,  the  fair  Bruniesen,  niece  to  D.  Milian. 

Ticknor  dismisses  the  "Cronica"  with  merely  a  reference  to  the 
title.^  Menendez  y  Pelayo,^  however,  discusses  in  some  detail  the 
source  of  this  early  sixteenth-century  prose  Arthurian  tale.  He  says, 
in  part,  "The  remote  original  of  this  story  is  a  Provencal  poem  of 
the  thirteenth  century, '  Jaufre  e  Brunesent'  (pubHshed  by  Raynouard 
in  Vol.  I,  pp.  48-173,  of  the  'Lexique  Roman,'  Paris,  1844).  Brune- 
sentz  is  the  name  of  D.  Milian's  niece,  whom  Jofrc  marries  after  his 
victory.  In  the  Provencal  version  Tablante  is  called  Taulat  de 
Rugimon.  The  Spanish  prose  form  was  not  modelled  directly  on 
this  poetic  account,  but  on  a  redaction  in  French  prose,  attributed 
to  the  '  honrado  varon  Felipe  Camus.'" 

As  the  story  of  Tablante  and  of  Jofre  has  never  been  printed  in 
English,  I  may  be  pardoned  for  giving  it  here  in  some  detail.  (I 
follow  the  Tagalog  version.  The  numbers  at  the  ends  of  the  para- 
graphs refer  to  the  strophes  in  the  text.) 

One  day  when  King  Arthur  (Artos)  and  his  queen  were  at  the  window, 
they  saw  approaching  them  a  strange,  armed  knight,  who,  after  he  had 
drawn  nearer,  issued  a  challenge  to  fight  the  bravest  member  of  the  Round 
Table.  It  so  happened  that  just  at  that  time  all  the  knights  were  away 
except  the  sick  Don  Milan.  Arthur  proposed  meeting  the  stranger  him- 
self, but,  as  the  queen  would  not  hear  to  this  arrangement,  Don  Milan 
accepted  the  contest.  Naturally,  he  was  defeated;  and  the  stranger  knight 
carried  him  off  as  a  prisoner  to  Ricamonte,  where  he  was  given  fifty  lashes 
a  day  in  the  public  plaza,  as  an  insult  to  Arthur.  Thirty  other  knights 
were  also  at  that  time  confined  in  Ricamonte  as  prisoners  of  the  doughty 
Tablante.     (7-29) 

When  the  other  knights  of  the  Round  Table  returned  to  Camelot  (Cama- 
lor)  and  heard  of  the  disgrace  of  Milan,  they  were  unwilling  to  go  to  his  aid. 
A  young  squire,  however,  Jofre  by  name,  the  only  son  of  Count  Donason, 
presented  himself  before  the  king  and  begged  that  he  might  be  knighted  in 
order  to  avenge  the  insult  of  Tablante.  (Tablante  had  divulged  his  name 
after  D.  Milan  accepted  his  challenge.)  The  queen  seconded  Jofre's  re- 
quest, and  he  was  dubbed  "the  noblemost  knight  of  Queen  Guiniver  (Gine- 
bra)."      (30-43) 

Jofre  immediately  set  out  for  Ricamonte.  He  passed  the  night  in  a  wild 
forest.  On  the  third  day,  while  refreshing  himself  beside  a  silvery  stream, 
he  saw  a  horseman  approaching.  Although  attacked  suddenly  and  without 
a  word,  Jofre  was  victorious,  and  after  accepting  the  stranger's  explanation 
that  he  took  Jofre  for  Diedis,  his  brother's  murderer,  spared  his  opponent's 

1  History  of  Spanish  Literature,  4th  Amer.  ed.,  vol.  i,  p.  255. 
*  Origines  de  la  novela,  Tomo  I,  p.  clxxxiv  (Madrid,  1905). 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  219 

life  on  the  condition  (which  was  accepted)  that  the  vanquished  go  to  Camelot 
and  tell  the  king  and  the  queen  of  the  event.  At  the  king's  order,  Jofre's 
victory  was  recorded  among  the  marvellous  exploits  of  the  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table.     (44-65) 

That  night  Jofre  passed  at  an  abbey.  The  next  morning  he  entered  upon 
a  vast  plain.  After  a  two-days'  journey  across  this  treeless  and  desert  waste, 
he  saw  in  the  distance  a  lone  pine,  and,  hastening  toward  it,  found  a  lance 
leaning  against  the  trunk.  As  soon  as  he  touched  the  spear,  an  ugly  dwarf 
came  suddenly  from  behind  the  tree,  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
Not  many  minutes  later  the  Knight  of  the  Lance  rode  up  and  required 
Jofre  to  joust  with  him.  He  further  said  that  if  Jofre  should  be  vanquished, 
he  should  either  be  hanged  to  the  pine-tree  or,  if  he  asked  mercy,  should 
be  imprisoned  in  a  tower  hard  by.  In  this  second  encounter  Jofre  was 
victorious,  and  the  Knight  of  the  Lance  was  soon  hanging  at  the  end  of  his 
own  rope.  The  dwarf  begged  for  his  own  life  so  piteously,  that  Jofre  spared 
it  and  sent  him  back  to  Camelot  along  with  twenty  captives  rescued  from 
the  castle  of  the  Knight  of  the  Lance.  On  the  arrival  of  this  strange  dele- 
gation at  Camelot,  the  people  were  frightened,  thinking  they  were  to  be 
attacked;  but  the  dwarf  soon  explained  Jofre's  great  victory.     (66-123) 

Meanwhile  Jofre  continued  on  his  way  towards  Ricamonte.  About 
midnight  he  reached  a  monastery;  but,  receiving  no  answer  to  his  repeated 
summons  at  the  gate,  he  was  obliged  to  seek  his  rest  on  the  open  field.  He 
unlaced  his  helmet,  turned  his  horse  loose  to  graze,  and  was  about  to  make 
himself  comfortable  when  he  noticed  a  dark  figure  silhouetted  against  the 
sky.  It  approached,  and  proved  to  be  a  gallant  knight,  who  greeted  Jofre 
courteously.  The  stranger  said  that  they  were  not  far  from  the  enchanted 
house  of  the  giant  Malato,  in  Albania,  and  that  the  Castle  of  Ricamonte 
was  near.  Then  the  knight  told  Jofre  of  a  tournament  that  the  King  of 
Scotland  was  giving,  and  explained  how  they  must  go  to  reach  Scotland. 
They  had  to  proceed  to  Normandy,  where  they  were  to  cross  a  toll-bridge 
over  a  deep  river.  Poor  persons  were  charged  eighty  maravedies  for  the 
passage,  but  knights  desiring  to  cross  were  to  make  their  number  five  and 
fight  the  ten  knight-guards  of  the  bridge.  Only  if  the  five  succeeded  in 
defeating  the  ten  guards  and  ten  more  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  might 
they  be  free  to  cross  the  bay  between  Normandy  and  Scotland.     (124-143) 

At  daybreak  the  Courteous  Knight  shared  the  contents  of  his  wallet 
with  Jofre,  and  after  these  two  had  been  joined  by  a  warrior  called  Dio- 
medes,  they  set  out  for  the  bank  of  the  river  spanned  by  the  bridge  Perilous. 
Here  they  waited  until  they  were  met  by  two  more  knights.  Jofre  and  his 
companions  successfully  made  the  crossing  and  hastened  on  to  Scotland, 
arriving  on  the  day  before  the  tournament.  They  at  once  disguised 
themselves  as  peasants  and  for  three  days  they  kept  out  of  the  lists.  But 
on  the  fourth  day  of  the  tournament  Jofre  and  his  four  companions,  rein- 
forced by  five  other  fresh  knights,  entered  the  lists  together.  Their  opponents 
were  the  King  of  the  Hundred  Warriors  and  Galian,  escorted  by  thirty  of 
the  hundred  knights.  After  a  two-hours'  struggle,  Jofre  and  his  party 
triumphed,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Scotland.  Next 
Jofre  and  his  followers  triumphed  over  the  King  of  Ireland  and  his  forty 
warriors,  and  were  declared  the  winners  of  the  tournament.  On  being 
asked  his  name,  Jofre  told  it  to  the  King  of  Scotland  on  the  conditions  that 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  112. — 15. 


220  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

it  should  not  be  divulged  for  three  days  and  that  a  messenger  should  be 
sent  to  Camelot  to  inform  the  king  and  queen  of  their  knight's  prowess. 
(144-222) 

Jofre  now  set  out  on  his  return.  He  reached  the  continent  safely,  and 
then  came  upon  a  narrow  road  leading  to  the  beautiful  spot  Floresta,  where 
Bruniesen  lived.  Ignorant  of  where  he  was,  he  went  into  a  charming 
garden  to  rest,  and,  falling  asleep,  he  was  found  by  the  gardener,  who 
informed  Bruniesen  of  the  stranger's  presence.  She  sent  her  man  to  sum- 
mon Jofre,  but  the  man  soon  came  running  back  with  the  marks  on  him  of  a 
severe  drubbing.  Then  Bruniesen  herself  went  to  see  the  bold  intruder; 
and  instead  of  carrying  out  her  usual  order  of  death  upon  any  stranger 
found  in  her  grounds,  she  fell  in  love  with  Jofre,  who,  in  turn,  surrendered 
his  heart  unconditionally  to  the  fair  damsel.  He  begged  leave  of  absence, 
however,  to  finish  first  the  king's  business  in  Ricamonte,  and  promised  to 
return  to  Floresta  as  soon  as  he  had  defeated  Tablante  and  avenged  Count 
Milan.     (223-266) 

On  his  way  Jofre  met  a  woman  lamenting  the  loss  of  her  daughter,  who 
had  been  stolen  that  a  bath  in  the  blood  of  children  might  cure  the  giant 
Malato,  lying  grievously  sick  in  his  castle.  On  being  directed  to  the  giant's 
fortress,  Jofre  succeeded  in  killing  the  monster,  but  narrowly  escaped  the 
consequences  of  a  powerful  enchantment  that  the  dying  Malato  cast  over 
his  slayer.  Besides  the  woman's  daughter,  thirty  other  kidnapped  children 
were  rescued  and  restored  to  their  mothers.  Sayon,  the  giant's  servant, 
was  sent  to  Camelot  to  make  known  to  Arthur  this  exploit.     (267-308) 

In  the  mean  time  the  damsel  whom  Jofre  had  rescued  from  the  castle 
of  Malato  conducted  him  to  her  home  hard  by  the  Iron  Castle.  The 
maiden's  parents  welcomed  the  two  most  joyfully,  and  after  supper  the 
host  introduced  himself  as  Count  Rojano.  When  Jofre  said  that  he  was 
the  son  of  Donason,  the  old  count  was  doubly  glad,  for  he  had  been  a  knight 
in  arms  with  Jofre's  father  at  the  court  of  Arthur.     (309-320) 

The  following  day  the  young  warrior  set  out  for  Ricamonte  on  the  road 
shown  him  by  Count  Rojano.  At  noon  he  met  an  unarmed  knight  and  a 
young  girl  crying  bitterly.  They  were  brother  and  sister.  The  proud 
Knight  of  the  Bridge  had  insulted  the  two  and  threatened  to  carry  off  the 
maiden,  for  her  brother  was  ill  and  could  not  defend  her.  After  hearing 
their  story,  Jofre  resolved  to  avenge  them.  He  slew  the  proud  knight, 
and  requested  the  brother  and  sister  to  go  to  Camelot  and  proclaim  to 
their  majesties  Arthur  and  Guinever  his  recent  victory.     (321-350) 

That  same  afternoon,  Christmas  eve,  Jofre  reached  Ricamonte.  The 
prisoner  knights  were  greatly  amazed  at  the  sight  of  this  young  hero  seeking 
a  meeting  with  the  mighty  Tablante.  Tablante  received  Jofre  courteously, 
and,  admiring  the  youth  and  beauty  of  his  guest,  proposed  that  he  live 
with  him  at  Ricamonte  as  his  brother.  But  Jofre  replied  that  unless  the 
thirty  prisoner-knights  and  Don  Milan  were  set  free,  he  would  listen  to 
no  talk  of  peace.  As  Tablante  would  not  consent  to  these  conditions,  the 
two  determined  to  decide  the  matter  by  arms.  Accordingly,  on  Monday, 
the  following  day  but  one,  the  contest  took  place.  After  a  nine-hours' 
fight  Jofre  and  Tablante,  worn  out  and  exhausted,  mutually  agreed  to  rest 
a  few  minutes.  During  the  armistice  they  laughed,  ate  together,  and  told 
funny  stories,  like  good  comrades.     Then  the  struggle  was  renewed.     Just 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines. 


221 


at  sunset  Jofre  succeeded  in  giving  his  adversary  the  finishing  blow,  and 
Tablante  declared  himself  vanquished.  Jofre  then  proclaimed  his  name. 
All  the  prisoner-knights  were  released,  and  they  with  Tablante  were  sent 
to  Camelot.  Jofre  went  to  Count  Rojano's  house  to  have  his  wounds 
dressed.  When  his  strength  was  restored,  he  set  out  for  Camelot,  but 
stopped  at  Floresta  on  the  way  to  express  again  his  love  to  Bruniesen. 
(351-444) 

After  making  known  to  King  Arthur  and  Queen  Guiniver  his  affection 
for  the  fair  Bruniesen,  Jofre  requested  that  their  majesties  visit  Floresta. 
They  did  so,  were  charmed  with  the  lovely  owner  of  the  place,  and  brought 
her  back  to  Camelot,  where  she  was  married  to  Jofre.  After  the  ceremonies, 
the  thirty  prisoner-knights  and  Tablante,  at  Jofre's  request,  were  declared 
free.  Jofre  and  Bruniesen  spent  the  rest  of  their  lives  in  the  famous 
gardens  of  Floresta.     (445-468) 

Cervantes'  brief  criticism  of  "Tablante  de  Ricamonte,"  ironical 
though  it  may  be,  is  surely  accurate.  All  that  the  author  of  "Don 
Quixote"  says  is,  "A  thousand  blessings  on  the  author  of  'Tablante 
de  Ricamonte'  and  that  of  the  other  book  in  which  the  deeds  of  the 
Conde  Tomillas  are  recounted;  with  what  minuteness  they  describe 
everything."  One  needs  only  to  read  Chapter  IX  of  the  "Cronica" 
(=  Tag.  strophes  124-222)  to  appreciate  the  exactness  of  Cervantes' 
term  "minuteness."  As  the  great  Spanish  writer  implies,  "Tablante 
de  Ricamonte"  could  serve  excellently  as  a  guide-book  to  the  novice 
in  knight-errantry.  The  Tagalog  version,  condensed  as  it  is,  retains 
much  of  the  detailed  description  and  narration  of  the  original. 

Not  all  the  adventures  recounted  in  the  "Cronica,"  however,  are 
to  be  found  in  the  Philippine  form  of  the  story;  though,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  omissions  and  one  inversion  of  events,  the  two  ac- 
counts are  alike  in  the  main.  The  following  table  shows  approxi- 
mately the  corresponding  passages  in  the  Spanish  prose  "Cronica" 
and  the  Tagalog  "Tablante:" — 


Spanish.  Tagalog. 

Cap.  I strophes  1-29 

n 30-45 

III 46-58,  66 

IV 54-65 

V     67-104 

VI 105-123 

VII 
VIII 

IX  to  p.  475  b 124-222 

X Omitted 


Omitted 


225-267 


XI 
XII 

XIII Omitted 


Spanish.  Tagalog. 

Cap.  XIV strophes  268-297 

XV 298-300 

XVI 308-320 

XVII Omitted 

xviii 351-352 

XIX 321-340 

XX Omitted 


XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 

XXV 

XXVI 441  to  end 


353-416 

417-424 

correspond  roughly  to  425-440 


But  the  omissions  and  the  inversion  (events  of  cap.  xix  preceding 
those  of  cap.  xviii)  noted  above  do  not  constitute  the  most  vital 


222  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

variation  of  the  Tagalog  version  from  the  "Cronica."  It  is  in  his 
handling  of  the  adventures  of  Jofre  and  Bruniesen  that  the  PhiUppine 
redactor  overlooks  an  important  unifying  relationship:  in  the  "Cro- 
nica" Don  Milian  is  Bruniesen 's  uncle.  In  the  Tagalog  narrative 
the  fair  owner  of  Floresta  is  happened  upon  by  chance,  as  it  were, 
and  only  becomes  connected  with  Arthur's  court  by  her  marriage 
with  Jofre.  It  is  highly  probable  that  the  Tagalog  romance  of  "Tab- 
lante  de  Ricamonte"  derives  directly  from  some  eighteenth  or  nine- 
teenth century  Spanish  chap-book.^ 

III.   THE   CONSTANCE-SAGA. 

In  all  its  forms,  the  Constance-Saga  in  the  Philippines  rivals  in 
popularity  the  Charlemagne  series.  Besides  two  complete  printed 
versions  of  the  story, — "Florentina"  and  "Adela," — there  is  current 
among  the  Visayans  of  Panay  a  long,  very  popular  folk-tale,  "Es- 
trella;"  and  in  various  dialects  occur  three  printed  romances  showing 
unmistakable  influences  of  the  saga, — "Blancaflor,"  "Maria,"  and 
"Proceso."  Furthermore,  there  exists  in  Bicol  a  printed  account 
of  the  remotely  related  "Life  of  St.  Eustace."  In  many  another  tale 
is  to  be  found  the  theme  of  the  long-suflfering  calumniated  wife  sus- 
tained by  divine  aid:  but  the  six  secular  stories  just  mentioned  have 
more  than  general  similarities.  They  are  closely  allied  to  the  num- 
erous pathetic  narratives  of  the  Emare  or  Manekine  type.- 

The  typical  course  of  events  in  the  Constance-Saga,  as  determined 
by  Suchier  (pp.  xxiii-xxiv)  is  this:— 

An  emperor  (king),  after  the  death  of  his  consort,  conceives  a  passion 
for  his  only  daughter.  He  wishes  to  marry  her  (or  seduce  her).  The 
princess  refuses  him.  She  is  cast  away  (she  makes  her  escape)  in  the  forest 
(on  the  sea).  She  finds  refuge  in  the  palace  of  a  king,  who  marries  her 
against  the  wishes  of  his  mother.  During  the  absence  of  her  husband, 
the  new  queen  gives  birth  to  a  son  (two  sons).  The  mother-in-law  sub- 
stitutes for  the  letter  to  the  king  announcing  the  happy  event,  another 
informing  him  of  the  birth  of  a  monstrosity  (beast).  The  king  replies  that 
the  mother  and  her  offspring  are  to  be  well  cared  for  until  his  return.  A 
second  time  the  mother-in-law  exchanges  the  letter  for  a  forged  one,  ordering 
the  death  of  the  queen  and  her  infant.     Again  the  heroine  is  exposed  in 

1  Since  the  foregoing  was  written,  I  have  come  across  an  interesting  corroborative 
bibliographical  item  in  the  Catalogue  of  the  Ticknor  Spanish  Library  (Boston,  1879), 
p.  298.  In  vol.  ii  of  a  bound  collection  of  Relaciones  populares  en  prosa,  the  seventh  tale 
is  a  24- page  "  Historia  de  los  valientes  caballeros  Tablante  de  Ricamonte  y  Jofre  Donason. 
Nuevamente  reformada,"  issued  in  Valladolid,  1845.  I  have  not  seen  the  text  of  this 
nineteenth-century  Spanish  prose  version. 

^  H.  Suchier,  in  QEuvres  poetiques  de  Philippe  de  Remi,  Sire  de  Beaumanoir,  Tome  I 
(See.  des  anc.  textes  frangais,  vol.  xvii),  gives  very  useful  summaries  of  nineteen  literary 
European  versions  of  the  story  (pp.  xxv-liv),  besides  enumerating  forty-two  folk-tales 
treating  the  theme  (pp.  Iviii-lxv).  For  some  analyses  in  English,  see  Marian  R.  Cox's 
Cinderella  (London,  1893),  pp.  xliv-lxvi. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  223 

the  forest  (on  the  sea).  The  king  on  his  return,  having  discovered  all  that 
has  taken  place  during  his  absence,  punishes  his  guilty  mother,  and  is 
finally  re-united  with  his  family.  In  one  group  of  stories  the  heroine  cuts 
off  her  hand  in  order  to  rid  herself  of  the  importunities  of  her  father  (or  as  a 
punishment  she  is  deprived  of  her  hands).  The  hand  or  hands  are  restored 
to  her  subsequently  by  a  miracle. 

Analyses  of  the  several  members  of  the  Philippine  group  will  reveal 
how  nearly  some  of  them  approximate  the  outline  of  Suchier. 

FL.  "The  Life  of  Princess  Florentina  in  the  Kingdom  of  Germany," 
a  romance  in  octosyllabics  printed  and  current  in  Tagalog  (1804  lines), 
Visayan  (2476  lines),  Bicol  (2468  lines),  Pampango,  and  Ilocano. 

Alfonzo,  King  of  Germany,  had  a  pious  daughter  Florentina.  Her 
beauty  attracted  many  lords  of  high  rank.  Every  morning  she  prayed 
in  the  church  for  the  repose  of  her  mother's  soul.  Her  father,  falling 
in  love  with  her,  asked  her  hand  in  marriage,  but  she  rejected  his 
proposal  with  abhorrence.  Some  days  later  he  sent  his  servant  with 
a  present  and  again  asked  for  her  hand.  Florentina  accordingly  cut 
off  her  hand,  which  the  servant  carried  on  a  covered  tray  to  Alfonzo. 
Enraged,  the  king  had  his  soldiers  put  Florentina  into  a  chest  and  cast 
her  into  the  sea.  The  trunk  had  floated  many  days  when  an  angel, 
in  answer  to  the  princess's  prayers,  opened  the  box  and  healed  her 
wounded  hand.  Drifting  to  the  shores  of  Navarre,  Florentina  was 
rescued  and  cared  for  by  a  fisherman.  One  Sunday  the  minister  of  the 
King  of  Navarre  was  hunting  in  the  forest  and  happened  to  meet 
Florentina.  Falling  in  love  with  her  and  realizing  that  she  was  no 
common  person,  he  succeeded  in  abducting  her,  first  making  the 
fisherman  drunk.  In  his  home  he  attempted  to  win  her  favor,  but 
for  five  months  she  put  him  off,  begging  for  time.  The  minister's 
continual  absence  from  the  court  finally  caused  an  investigation  by 
King  Enrico,  who,  when  he  saw  Florentina,  was  immediately  smitten. 
She  accepted  him,  and  preparations  for  the  wedding  went  forward  at 
once.  Don  Pavio,  the  minister,  could  do  nothing;  but  he  planned  with 
the  king's  mother,  who  opposed  the  match,  to  overthrow  Florentina. 
For  some  months  Enrico  and  his  wife  lived  happily,  until  the  king 
was  called  out  to  fight  the  Moors  who  were  threatening  his  kingdom. 
Leaving  his  pregnant  wife  in  the  care  of  his  trusty  servant,  D.  Pascasio, 
he  went  to  meet  the  enemy.  During  his  absence  a  son,  whom  the 
mother  named  Federico,  was  born  to  him.  The  scheming  mother-in- 
law  intercepted  the  letter  of  good  tidings  to  the  king  and  substituted 
one  saying  that  the  queen  had  given  birth  to  a  monster.  And  the 
king's  reply  that  his  wife  and  his  offspring  should  be  given  every  at- 
tention until  he  returned  was  changed  by  the  queen-mother  into  an 
order  to  Pascasio  to  put  the  queen  and  the  infant  prince  to  death. 
Pascasio  disobeyed  the  command,  however;  he  spared  the  lives  of  his 
charges,  but  set  them  adrift  again  in  a  chest.  Florentina  and  her  son 
were  miraculously  preserved  from  starvation,  and  after  three  months 
the  chest  was  driven  by  the  waves  to  the  shores  of  Antioch.  A  guard 
at  the  port  rescued  the  two  unfortunates  and  cared  for  them  as  if  they 
were  his  own  daughter  and  grandson.     King  Enrico,  on  his  return  to 


224  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore . 

Navarre,  was  shown  the  letter  received  by  Pascasio,  and  on  investigating 
found  that  his  own  mother  had  forged  the  cruel  death-warrant.  He 
immediately  imprisoned  her,  and,  realizing  the  faithfulness  of  his  friend, 
left  his  kingdom  in  Pascasio's  charge  and  went  to  seek  his  wife  and 
child.  His  search  was  in  vain.  Seven  years  after  Florentina  reached 
Antioch,  a  proclamation  was  issued  that  Princess  Isabella,  daughter  of 
King  Fernando  of  Antioch,  was  to  wed  King  Enrico  of  Navarre,  and 
that  King  Alfonzo  of  Germany  was  to  be  a  witness  of  the  marriage. 
Florentina  immediately  formed  her  plans.  She  taught  her  son  to  say, 
"Father,  I  kneel  before  you,  bless  me!"  and  "Grandfather,  your 
grandson  kneels  before  you."  On  the  day  of  the  wedding  Florentina's 
benefactor  took  Federico  to  the  church,  and  pointed  out  first  Enrico, 
then  Alfonzo.  Both  rulers  were  astonished  at  the  child's  salutation, 
and  ordered  that  his  mother  be  summoned.  Naturally,  after  ex- 
planations were  made,  a  general  reconciliation  took  place.  On  reach- 
ing home,  Enrico  gave  the  crown  of  Navarre  to  his  faithful  Pascasio, 
then  went  with  his  wife  and  son  to  Germany,  where,  in  time,  Federico 
became   king. 

AD.  "The  Sorrowful  Life  of  Princess  Adela,  the  Daughter  of 
King  Clotardo  of  Hungary,"  —  a  metrical  romance  in  alexandrines, 
printed  in  Tagalog  and  Ilocano. 

Clotardo,  the  prince  of  Hungary,  led  a  vicious  life  as  a  youth.  Even 
after  he  became  king  he  continued  in  his  old  courses.  One  day  he 
saw  the  beautiful  Aldemira  and  was  immediately  captivated.  He 
soon  expressed  his  love,  and  after  some  resistance  on  the  lady's  part 
Avas  accepted.  But  the  new  queen's  married  life  was  far  from  happ3\ 
The  king,  more  passionate  than  ever,  sank  deeper  into  vice.  The 
tears  and  reproachful  countenance  of  his  wife,  instead  of  working  a 
reformation,  only  angered  him  the  more,  and  at  last  he  ordered  her 
imprisoned  in  solitary  confinement.  Her  food  was  passed  to  her 
through  a  barred  window.  While  in  this  lonely  state  she  gave  birth 
to  a  child,  whom  she  named  Adela.  When  Adela  was  but  three, 
Aldemira  took  sick  and  died.  The  child  was  cared  for  by  the  women  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  in  time  grew  to  be  a  beautiful  young  woman. 
One  day  while  hunting,  Clotardo  saw  the  maiden  and  expressed  his 
love  to  her;  but  she  knew  that  he  was  her  father,  and  refused  him. 
When  he  seized  her,  she  struck  him,,  and  her  dog  also  attacked  him. 
The  king,  however,  was  not  deterred.  A  few  days  later  she  refused 
him  again;  but  Clotardo  sent  word  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
she  was  to  be  his  queen,  and  he  gave  orders  to  prepare  for  the  wedding. 
In  her  despair,  Adela  thought  that  by  maiming  herself  she  should 
find  salvation.  Accordingly  she  cut  off  her  hands;  and  when  the  king 
at  the  ceremony  saw  the  bleeding  stumps,  he  left  her  in  wrath.  He 
ordered  her  to  be  bound  in  a  small  open  boat  and  cast  upon  the  sea. 
After  she  had  been  drifting  about  for  three  days,  she  saw  near  her  a 
floating  object,  which  soon  proved  to  be  her  faithful  dog.  The  poor 
animal,  nearly  dead  with  hunger  and  fatigue,  was  able  to  free  her 
from  her  bonds;  and  not  long  afterwards,  to  her  great  joy,  the  boat 
was  blown  to  the  shores  of  Provence.     When  she  had  been  revived 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  225 

and  fed  by  the  townspeople,  Adela  answered  freely  the  questions  of 
her  rescuers  and  told  them  her  life-history.  They  then  took  her  to 
the  ruling  count,  Conrado,  who  was  noted  for  his  kindness  and  charity. 
To  him,  too,  she  narrated  the  whole  of  her  sad  life.  In  his  palace  she 
found  a  welcome  asylum.  The  count's  interest  in  her  soon  grew  into 
love;  and  to  satisfy  his  mother,  who  objected  to  his  marriage  with 
Adela,  he  sent  an  embassy  to  Hungary  for  corroboration  of  the  out- 
cast's story.  Clotardo,  through  the  messengers,  gave  his  consent 
to  the  union  of  Adela  with  Conrado,  but  this  news  never  reached 
Provence:  a  storm  destroyed  the  ambassador's  ship  on  the  return 
voyage  and  all  the  members  perished.  However,  Conrado  married 
Adela  without  his  mother's  approval.  Not  many  months  after  the 
wedding,  the  count  was  invited  by  the  King  of  France  to  join  in  the 
Second  Crusade,  and,  feeling  it  his  duty  to  go,  he  left  one  day  after 
bidding  his  wife  an  affectionate  farewell.  During  his  absence  Adela 
gave  birth  to  a  son;  but  this  circumstance  only  increased  the  wrath 
of  the  count's  mother,  who  had  always  looked  with  disfavor  on  her 
son's  wife.  Finally  the  old  woman  grew  so  cruel  as  to  order  Adela 
bound  in  a  boat  once  more.  Accordingly  the  young  wife  and  baby 
were  again  set  adrift.  At  last  the  frail  bark  reached  the  shore  of 
Marsella  (Marseilles),  where  the  people  took  care  of  her  and  afterwards 
conducted  her  to  a  convent.  Because  of  her  piety  she  soon  became 
very  dear  to  the  prioress.  One  night  an  angel  appeared  to  Adela  in  a 
vision  and  restored  her  her  hands.  Meanwhile  the  Second  Crusade 
had  proved  to  be  entirely  successful.  Osmalic  and  Saladino  had  been 
defeated,  and  Jerusalem  had  been  entered  in  triumph  by  the  Christians. 
On  his  return  to  Provence,  Conrado  was  dismayed  not  to  find  his  wife. 
On  hearing  that  she  had  been  turned  adrift  on  the  sea,  he  at  once  set 
out  in  search  of  her,  accompanied  by  her  faithful  dog.  He  took  ship 
for  Marsella,  where  he  disembarked,  and,  upon  asking  a  young  child 
where  he  might  find  refreshment,  he  was  directed  to  the  convent. 
But  the  sagacious  dog  had  gone  on  ahead.  When  Conrado  and  his  party 
reached  the  nunnery,  they  found  the  animal  playing  with  its  mistress. 
Thus  Conrado  recognized  his  wife  despite  her  restored  hands.  The 
count  was  even  more  joyous  on  beholding  his  robust  son  Enrico. 
After  being  blessed  by  the  prioress,  the  united  family  returned  to 
Provence.  As  Conrado  had  learned  on  the  Crusade  that  Clotardo 
was  dead  (although  early  in  the  expedition  to  Jerusalem  the  Count 
had  fallen  in  with  the  King  of  Hungary,  who  mentioned  having  re- 
ceived the  embassy  from  Provence  and  having  sent  back  his  permission 
for  Adela  to  marry  Conrado),  the  Count  and  his  wife  soon  set  sail  for 
Hungary,  where  they  were  accepted  as  the  king  and  queen.  Enrico, 
who  was  only  fifteen  years  old,  was  left  to  rule  Provence.  He  made 
an  invasion  of  Tunis  without  delay,  completely  defeated  the  Moors, 
and  won  as  his  bride  the  Pagan  princess  Zoraima.  Before  marrying 
her,  however,  he  took  her  to  Hungary,  where  she  was  baptized  under 
the  name  Vicenta.  The  young  couple  then  returned  to  Tunis,  and 
there  reigned  happily  many  years. 


226  Journal  of  America7i  Folk-Lore. 

BL.  "The  Lives  of  the  Shepherdess  Blancaflor  and  of  Prince 
Floristo,"  which  will  be  discussed  later  as  a  variant  of  the  popular 
mediaeval  tale  "Floris  and  Blanchefleur,"  has  a  number  of  resemblances 
to  AD.  Without  giving  a  comprehensive  summary  of  the  story  at 
this  place,  I  will  merely  tabulate  details  similar  to  those  already  re- 
corded. 

Don  Carlos  Diaz,  King  of  Gran-Cayro,  fell  in  love  with  and  wooed 
the  shepherdess  Blancaflor,  to  whom  his  son  Floristo  was  secretly 
betrothed.  Blancaflor  rejected  the  king's  advances,  and  when  he 
tried  to  force  her  she  struck  him.  Humiliated,  he  ordered  her  man- 
acled and  imprisoned,  and  later  his  council  commanded  that  her  hands 
be  cut  off.  Floristo,  however,  defended  her  bravely,  and  displayed 
so  much  animosity  towards  his  father  that  the  young  prince  was  de- 
clared a  traitor  and  was  obliged  to  flee  the  country.  Blancaflor's 
punishment  was  commuted,  and  she  was  sentenced  to  be  locked  in  a 
chest  and  thrown  into  the  Durano  River.  For  days  and  nights  she 
felt  no  hunger,  and  finally,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  prayers,  an  angel 
disguised  as  a  hermit  rescued  her  and  carried  her  to  a  place  of  refuge. 
She  was  subsequently  captured  and  carried  off  to  Alexandria  by  the 
infidel  Balan;  but  she  resisted  all  his  overtures  and  was  consequently 
imprisoned  in  a  tower.  After  many  freaks  of  fortune,  Floristo  learned 
where  she  was,  gained  access  to  her,  and  lived  with  her  many  months. 
Before  their  child  was  born,  the  prince  left  Blancaflor,  promising  to 
solicit  the  aid  of  his  father  (with  whom  he  had  become  reconciled) 
in  securing  her  release  from  the  hands  of  the  Pagans.  After  Blancaflor 
had  given  birth  to  a  child,  Balan,  while  making  a  tour  of  the  castle, 
discovered  her  with  her  infant.  He  immediately  ordered  the  mother 
to  be  beheaded  and  the  child  burnt  to  death;  but  his  daughter,  Floripes, 
plead  for  the  lives  of  the  two,  and  the  sentence  was  commuted  to 
drowning  for  the  child  and  exposure  on  the  Durano  River  for  the  mother. 
Floristo,  warned  in  a  dream  of  Blancaflor's  danger,  arrived  in  force 
in  time  to  save  her  and  his  son.  Blancaflor  and  Floristo  were  subse- 
quently married  by  Pope  Gimeno,  brother  of  King  Carlos  Diaz,  and 
the  new  wife  was  reconciled  to  her  formerly  harsh  father-in-law. 

MA.  "The  Story  of  the  Life  of  Maria  ...  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Hungary,"  1905,  printed  only  in  the  Tagalog  dialect  (1312  alexandrine 
lines),  is  an  interesting  mixture  of  the  Cinderella  story  with  the  Con- 
stance-Saga. Two  oral  versions  of  the  life  of  Maria  taken  down  from 
the  mouths  of  Tagalogs  in  1903  have  already  appeared  in  English.^ 
The  collector,  Mr.  Gardner,  said  that  he  had  been  unable  to  trace 
any  printed  form  of  the  story,  although  he  searched  Manila  book- 
stores carefully  for  one.  The  earliest  Tagalog  text  of  MA  that  I  have 
seen  is  the    one  issued    in   1905.^      As  Gardner's  versions  are  easily 

1  Fletcher  Gardner,  Filipino  (Tagalog)  Versions  of  Cinderella  (this  Journal,  vol.  xix, 
1906,  pp.  265-272).  Mr.  Gardner's  analyses  are  followed  with  a  comparative  note  by 
the  editor  of  the  Journal,  who  points  out  the  relation  of  this  composite  story  —  Cinder- 
ella-fCatskin —  to  European  versions  (pp.  272-280). 

2  According  to  W.  E.  Retana,  however  (see  Aparato  Bibliografico,  Madrid,  1906, 
item  No.  4364),  the  first  edition  of  MA  was  issued  in  Manila,  1902,  by  the  press  of  A. 
Nam  &  Company. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  227 

accessible,  they  need  not  be  summarized  or  repeated  here:  we  shall 
simply  refer  to  them  as  GaA  and  GaB  for  purposes  of  comparison  with 
MA  and  PR  (see  below).     The  story  of  MA  runs  as  follows: — 

In  Hungary  there  lived  a  couple,  Juan  de  la  Costa  and  Dalida  Catala. 
They  had  a  beautiful  and  pious  daughter  Maria.  When  Maria  was  eight 
years  old,  Juan  began  to  court  Quicay,  a  handsome  wicked  woman 
with  two  daughters,  Serapia  and  Felisa.  Quicay  promised  to  accept 
Juan  as  her  husband  if  he  would  get  rid  of  Dalida:  so  one  day  he  took 
his  wife  out  in  a  boat  and  drowned  her.  Quicay  then  married  him, 
but  Maria's  life  became  very  hard  because  of  her  step-mother.  The 
little  girl  had  to  do  all  the  drudgery,  —  washing,  sewing,  cooking. 
One  day  when  Maria  was  drawing  water  from  the  well,  a  large  Crab 
appeared  before  her,  and  said,  "I  am  your  mother  whom  your  wicked 
father  drowned.  Bear  your  lot  with  patience."  For  many  nights 
after  that  Maria  was  late  reaching  home,  until  the  suspicious  step- 
mother by  spying  found  the  girl  talking  to  a  crab.  The  crafty  Quicay, 
feigning  illness,  told  Juan  that  the  only  thing  that  could  cure  her  was 
the  crab  in  the  well.  Maria  was  sent  to  catch  the  crab  and  cook  it. 
The  transformed  mother  told  the  daughter  to  obey  her  father,  but 
warned  her  to  save  all  the  refuse  and  scraps  and  to  bury  them  near 
the  well.  From  them,  said  the  Crab,  would  spring  a  tree  with  magic 
fruits  that  would  give  Maria  whatever  she  wanted.  Maria  obeyed 
implicitly.  One  day  when  the  maiden  was  washing  by  the  river, 
her  batia  (shallow  wooden  wash-tub)  floated  down  the  stream,  and  she 
was  in  despair.  Suddenly  an  old  woman  appeared  and  told  the  girl 
not  to  cry,  for  her  hatia  was  at  home  waiting  for  her.  Then  the  old 
woman  touched  Maria's  forehead,  and  a  star  shone  thereon.  Maria 
tried  in  vain  to  conceal  it,  but  its  brightness  could  not  be  hid,  and  made 
Quica/  all  the  more  jealous  of  her  step-daughter's  beauty.  A  long 
time  afterwards  the  promised  tree  grew  up  near  the  well;  and  Maria, 
remembering  the  injunctions  of  her  mother,  carefully  preserved  the 
fruits.  When  Maria  was  in  her  seventeenth  year,  King  Enrico  of 
Hungary  won  a  decisive  victory  over  the  Turks  under  Bajazet.  A 
great  mass  was  held  the  day  after  the  battle.  Quicay  and  her  daughters 
attended,  arrayed  in  their  best,  but  poor  Maria  had  nothing  to  wear. 
Then  a  thought  occurred  to  her;  she  remembered  her  magic  fruits. 
Left  all  alone  in  the  house,  she  spoke  to  them,  and  obtained  from  them 
rich  clothes,  jewels,  two  maids  as  attendants,  and  a  beautiful  coach. 
Then  followed  the  amazement  of  every  one  at  her  appearance,  the 
awakened  love  of  King  Enrico,  Maria's  sudden  flight,  the  loss  of 
the  slipper,  Enrico's  proclamation  that  he  would  marry  whomever  the 
slipper  fitted,  the  vain  attempts  of  Quicay  and  her  daughters,  the  dis- 
covery of  Maria,  and  her  wedding.  The  new  queen  graciously  took 
her  step-mother  and  step-sisters  to  live  with  her  in  the  palace;  but 
their  hatred  and  jealousy  only  increased.  Some  months  later,  Enrico 
was  again  called  to  defend  his  kingdom  against  the  Saracens.  While 
he  was  away  at  the  wars,  three  handsome  sons  were  born  to  him. 
1  he  wicked  Quicay  stole  the  infants,  put  three  newly-born  whelps  in 
their  place,  and  hired  a  man  to  carry  the  babies  to  the  mountains, 
where  they  might  starve;  but,  moved  with  pity,  the  agent  gave  them  to 


228  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

a  shepherd,  Urbino,  who  reared  them  as  his  own  sons,  naming  them 
Fernando,  Pedro,  and  Francisco.  In  time  they  became  skilful  hunters. 
Meanwhile  Quicay  was  trying  to  marry  her  daughters  to  two  nobles, 
Count  Ernesto  and  Marquis  Rodolfo;  but  these  lords  only  deflowered 
the  girls  and  abandoned  them.  Enrico,  on  his  return  from  the  front, 
was  terribly  angry  at  the  news  that  his  wife  had  brought  forth  puppies. 
He  ordered  her  cast  into  a  dungeon,  where  she  languished  many  years. 
When  the  three  princes  were  in  their  eighth  year,  King  Miramon  of 
Africa  invaded  Hungary  with  a  Pagan  horde  that  defeated  and  took 
prisoner  Enrico  and  his  nobles.  News  of  the  defeat  reached  the 
mountains,  and  Urbino  decided  to  go  to  the  war.  The  three  princes 
persuaded  him  to  take  them  along,  and  so  extraordinary  was  their 
fighting  ability  that  they  soon  rid  Hungary  of  the  infidels.  Enrico 
was  released;  all  the  prisoners  were  set  free.  When  Maria  saw  the 
youths,  milk  spurted  from  her  breasts  into  their  mouths.  By  this 
token  Maria  recognized  her  sons,  and  the  king  was  convinced  that 
treachery  had  been  practised  against  his  wife.  An  investigation  of 
the  affair  was  undertaken,  but  for  a  time  further  wars  distracted  the 
attention  of  all.  The  fleeing  Miramon  formed  an  alliance  with  Bajazet 
of  Turkey,  and  again  threatened  Hungary.  Enrico,  supported  by 
his  three  sons,  easily  met  this  attack,  almost  annihilating  his  enemies. 
After  a  nine-days'  feast  of  celebration,  Quicay  and  her  daughters, 
who  had  been  found  guilty,  were  dragged  to  death  by  fiery  horses. 

This  form  of  the  story  is  very  popular  among  the  Tagalogs.  Curi- 
ously enough,  the  next  romance,  which  closely  resembles  Mx'l  in  many 
respects,  and  was  published  only  four  years  after  it,  is  practically  un- 
known. 

PR.  "Life  of  a  Merchant,  Proceso  by  name,  and  of  his  Daughter 
Maria,  in  the  Kingdom  of  Hungary;  taken  from  a  historical 

SOURCE   and   carefully   RENDERED   INTO   VERSE   BY   ONE   WHO   IS   NEW 

AT  WRITING  ROMANCES.  MANILA,  1909."  This  poem  is  short  (1052 
alexandrines),  and  has  appeared  only  in  Tagalog.  Notwithstanding 
the  author's  declaration  as  to  his  source,  the  romance  has  little  of  the 
appearance  of  being  founded  on  history;  unless,  indeed,  the  "history" 
was  a  Spanish  chap-book.  The  following  is  an  abstract  of  the  story:  — 
In  olden  times  there  lived  in  Hungary  a  merchant,  Proceso,  and 
his  daughter  Maria.  When  his  wife  died,  the  question  of  giving  up 
his  trading  or  of  re-marrying  in  order  to  provide  a  home  for  his  little 
girl  troubled  him.  Finally  deciding  that  poverty  was  worse  than  a 
step-mother,  he  married  a  poor  widow,  V'^alentina,  who  had  two  daugh- 
ters of  her  own.  They  had  earned  their  living  by  sewing.  Soon  after 
his  marriage,  Proceso  went  to  England,  first  asking  Valentina  and  her 
daughters  what  they  wanted  him  to  bring  them  on  his  return.  They 
requested  beautiful  clothes  and  jewels.  Maria  was  not  asked  what 
she  wanted.  During  her  husband's  absence,  Valentina  abused  Maria, 
making  her  do  all  the  hard  work,  for  the  two  daughters  envied  their 
step-sister  her  beauty.  Again  Proceso  prepared  to  go  abroad,  and  this 
time  he  asked  Maria  along  with  the  others  what  she  should  like.     Maria 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  229 

said  that  he  might  bring  her  some  cigar  as  (a  cheap  vegetable).  Her 
choice  of  gift  raised  a  mocking  laugh  from  the  sisters.  One  day  King 
Enrico  saw  Maria  carrying  water  from  the  well.  He  was  struck  with 
her  beauty,  and  afterwards  he  watched  for  her  again.  Soon  his  in- 
terest grew  into  love.  He  found  out  her  home  through  a  soldier  set  to 
watch  her,  visited  the  house,  and  was  received  by  Valentina  and  her 
daughters,  inquired  for  the  "girl  of  the  well,"  saw  her  by  chance  in 
the  kitchen,  and  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  Maria  consented;  the 
marriage  was  celebrated  magnificently.  The  people  began  to  love 
their  new  queen.  Proceso  on  his  return  rejoiced  to  hear  of  his  daugh- 
ter's good  fortune,  but  Valentina  became  more  jealous  than  ever  and 
planned  Maria's  ruin.  Seven  months  after  his  marriage.  King  Enrico 
was  invited  by  the  King  of  Portugal  to  join  an  expedition  against  the 
Turks.  Before  leaving,  Enrico  secured  the  services  of  a  nurse  for 
Maria  in  her  approaching  confinement.  In  due  time  the  queen  gave 
birth  to  seven  princes,  but  Valentina  had  already  bribed  the  nurse 
to  exchange  the  offspring  for  puppies.  Ignorant  of  the  deception, 
Maria  thought  it  the  will  of  Heaven  that  she  should  bring  forth  whelps. 
The  seven  infants  were  carried  to  the  mountains  to  perish.  Enrico, 
enraged  on  his  return,  ordered  his  wife  shut  up  alive  in  an  iron  box  to 
die  of  starvation.  The  seven  princes  meanwhile  were  found  by  a 
hermit  (angel  in  disguise),  who  reared  them  on  nothing  but  vegetables, 
so  poor  was  he.  The  children  waxed  strong  and  grew  to  be  handsome 
youths.  One  day  the  hermit  found  a  large  sum  of  gold,  and,  thinking 
it  sent  by  Heaven  for  educating  the  boys,  appropriated  it.  When 
Enrico  declared  a  national  festival  of  seven  days,  beginning  Feb.  12, 
the  hermit  bought  seven  rich  suits  and  seven  handsome  ponies.  As 
the  holiday  drew  near,  he  instructed  the  boys  how  they  were  to  act  in 
the  coming  ceremonies.  He  told  them  that  they  were  the  sons  of  Enrico 
and  the  queen,  and  that  through  the  enmity  of  their  step-grandmother 
Maria  had  been  punished  but  was  still  alive.  They  were  told  to 
attend  mass  each  of  the  seven  days,  but  not  to  accept  the  king's  in- 
vitation to  the  palace  until  the  last  day:  then  they  should  refuse  to 
eat  with  the  king  until  he  took  Maria  from  the  box  and  seated  her  at 
the  table.  All  went  as  the  hermit  had  outlined.  The  queen  was 
found  alive  and  taken  to  the  palace  to  dine.  At  the  table  milk  flowed 
from  her  breasts  to  the  mouths  of  the  seven  boys.  The  king  recog- 
nized his  wife's  purity,  and  ordered  Valentina  and  her  accomplices 
to  be  dragged  to  death  by  fiery  horses.  The  sentence  was  executed. 
(The  last  eleven  strophes  contain  a  moralizing  application  of  the 
story,  —  a  sermon  against  envy.) 

Two  folk-tales  remain  to  be  taken  account  of, —  one  Tagalog  and 
one  Visayan.  The  Tagalog  narrative  of  "Amelia"  is  current  in  the 
province  of  Laguna;  the  other,  "  Estrella,  or  the  Unfortunate  Princess," 
is  a  favorite  among  the  Visayans  on  the  Island  of  Panay.  Briefly 
told,  the  stories  run  as  follows:  — 

Am  ("Amelia").  While  King  Baricanosa  was  away  on  a  hunt,  his  wife 
Amelia  gave  birth  to  a  child.  The  king's  sister,  a  bitter  enemy  of  the 
queen,  stole  the  infant  from  the  still  unconscious  mother,  bribed  a 


230  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

waiting-maid  to  substitute  a  suckling  pig,  and  to  cast  the  baby  into  a 
distant  forest  to  die.  The  king  on  his  return,  enraged,  ordered  Amelia 
buried  alive  up  to  her  neck  just  outside  the  window  of  the  dining-hall. 
She  was  fed  only  on  scraps  of  food  left  by  dogs.  The  abandoned 
infant  was  found  by  a  shepherd,  who  reared  the  child  as  his  son,  and 
named  him  Ereberto.  One  night  the  young  prince  was  disturbed  by  a 
vision:  an  angel  descended  from  heaven  and  told  him  to  go  to  the 
kingdom  of  Baricanosa  and  liberate  the  king  and  his  followers  from 
the  hands  of  the  Pagans.  Then  the  angel  touched  the  youth  on  the 
shoulder,  and  his  rustic  clothes  were  immediately  changed  to  shining 
armor.  Besides,  he  was  given  a  sword  and  a  dagger.  Thus  equipped, 
he  immediately  set  out  on  his  journey,  defeated  the  Pagans,  took 
possession  of  the  palace,  released  his  father  and  the  other  Christian 
captives.  A  great  feast  was  held  in  his  honor.  At  the  dinner,  Ere- 
berto's  hat  was  blown  from  his  head  and  out  of  the  window.  He 
ran  to  get  it,  and  saw  the  pitiful  figure  of  the  queen.  At  his  request 
that  the  poor  woman  be  delivered  from  her  punishment,  the  grateful 
king  ordered  Amelia's  release.  All  her  clothes  had  rotted  from  her 
body,  and  her  husband  ordered  new  garments  brought.  While  i\melia 
was  being  conducted  up  the  stairs  of  the  palace,  milk  streamed  from 
her  breast  into  Ereberto's  mouth.  At  the  same  time  an  unknown 
voice  sang,  relating  the  wicked  deeds  of  the  king's  sister.  The  king 
and  his  wife  were  reconciled. 
Es  ("Estrella").  Long  ago  lived  King  Carlos  with  his  little  motherless 
daughter  Estrella.  He  was  very  fond  of  his  child,  for  she  was  the 
picture  of  her  mother;  and  when  she  grew  up,  he  declared  that  he 
could  not  live  without  her.  One  day  an  old  beggar-woman  asked 
for  alms  at  the  palace.  The  kind-hearted  princess  ordered  food  pre- 
pared, and  when  it  was  ready  invited  Tecla  (for  so  the  beggar  was 
called)  to  eat  with  her.  The  king  was  much  surprised  to  see  his  daugh- 
ter at  the  table  with  the  poor  woman,  and  asked  for  an  explanation. 
Estrella  gave  it  and  left  the  room.  When  they  were  alone,  the  beggar 
warned  the  king  that  unless  he  separated  himself  from  his  child  she 
would  die  —  and  the  old  woman  related  her  history  to  the  king  (her 
story  is  not  given  in  my  abstract  of  the  tale),  and  persuaded  him  to 
follow  her  warning.  Consequently  the  king  ordered  a  splendid  palace 
to  be  built,  and  told  Estrella  that  she  must  live  in  it.  She  was  always 
sad  during  her  isolation,  for  she  missed  her  father.  The  king,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  gay,  thinking  that  his  daughter  was  happy.  One  day 
King  Carlos,  to  test  whether  Estrella  still  loved  him,  wrote  to  her, 
saying,  "If  you  love  me,  send  me  what  you  consider  a  most  precious 
gift."  Thinking  a  part  of  her  own  body  most  acceptable,  the  princess 
cut  off  her  right  hand  and  sent  it  to  her  father  in  a  box  of  gold.  King 
Carlos,  misinterpreting  the  sacrifice  and  believing  it  to  be  a  sign  of  his 
daughter's  hate,  determined  that  she  should  die.  He  ordered  her 
locked  in  a  trunk  and  taken  to  the  river.  There  the  chest  was  put 
into  a  little  boat  and  rowed  far  out  into  the  ocean,  where  it  was  thrown 
overboard.  Seven  days  passed  by,  and  the  floating  trunk  was  seen 
by  the  goddess  of  the  sea,  also  named  Estrella,  who  ordered  it  secured 
and  opened.  The  rescued  princess  lived  ever  afterwards  with  her 
namesake  the  goddess. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  23 1 

There  are  current  in  the  Philippines  other  oral  versions  of  the 
Cinderella  type  (without  the  Catskin  story  attached),  as  there  are 
likewise  a  number  of  printed  tales  in  which  the  long-suffering  and 
much-traduced  wife  is  the  heroine;^  but  these  may  be  dismissed  as 
having  no  vital  connection  with  the  Constance-Saga. 

The  stories  analyzed  above  fall  into  two  fairly  distinct  groups:  (I) 
FL,  AD,  Es,  BL;  (II)  MA,  PR,  Am,  and  GaA  and  GaB.  The  essential 
incidents  to  be  found  in  these  groups  may  be  tabulated  as  follows:  — 

A  king  desires  to  marry  his  daughter,  FL,  AD  (the  betrothed  of  his  son  BL). 
The  daughter,  very  religious,  refuses  with  abhorrence  the  offer,  FL  (even 

strikes  the  king,   AD,   BL). 
The  king,  on  reaching  the  palace,  despatches  a  servant  with  a  rich  gift 

to  the  princess,  and  asks  her  hand  in  return,  FL. 
The  princess  cuts  off  her  hand  (or  hands),  and  sends  it  (them)  to  her  father, 

FL,  Es  (Adela  does  not  send  her  hands  to  her  father). 
The  king  orders  his  daughter  placed  in  a  chest  and  cast  into  the  sea,  FL, 

BL,  Es  (in  a  boat,  AD). 
The  princess  floats  a  long  time  and  prays  incessantly,  FL,  BL,  AD,   Es. 
An  angel  opens  the  chest  and   miraculously  restores  the  heroine's  hand, 

FL  (in  AD  the  two  hands   are  restored  after  the  second  exposure). 
The  princess  is  rescued  by  a  fisherman,  FL  (townspeople,  AD;  goddess  of 

the  sea,  Es;  hermit,  BL). 
She  finds  herself  at  Navarre,  FL  (Provence,  AD). 
The  fisherman  cares  for  the  foundling  as  for  his  own  daughter,  FL. 
A  minister  of  the  king,  while  out  hunting,  happens  to  see  the  heroine,  FL 

(Saracen  amiral  sees  Blancaflor). 
He  falls  in  love  with  her,  believing  her  to  be  of  higher  rank  than  she  seems, 

FL,  BL. 
He  succeeds  in  kidnapping  her,  but  by  requesting  delay  she  is  able  to  resist 

his  offers,  FL,  BL. 
The  king  by  chance  sees  the  princess,   wooes  her,   and   marries  her,   FL 

(Adela  is  conducted  by  townspeople  to  the  palace  of  the  count  soon 

after  her  rescue). 
The  king's  mother  objects    to   her   son's  marriage  on  the  ground  that  the 

girl  is  of  ignoble  birth,  FL,  AD. 
The  king  later  goes  oft"  to  the  wars,  FL,  AD,  MA,  PR,  GaA,  GaB  (hunting, 

Am),  leaving  his  wife  pregnant  and  in   the  care  of   a  faithful   friend 

and  adviser,  FL  (paid  nurse,  PR). 
The    queen-mother    (step-mother)    plots    the    young    queen's    overthrow, 

FL,  MA,  PR,  GaA,  GaB. 
During  the  absence  of  her  lord,  the  heroine  gives  birth  to  a  son,  AD,  Am 

(three  sons,  Ma;  seven  sons,  PR)  and  names  her  offspring,  FL. 
The  faithful  friend  despatches  a  letter  to  the  king,  telling  him  of  his  good 

fortune,   FL. 
Substitution  of  a  forgery  by  the  queen-mother,  saying  that  the  queen  has 

given  birth  to  a  monster,  FL. 
The  king  replies  that  the  queen  and  her  offspring  are  to  be  taken  excellent 

care  of,  FL. 

^  For  example,  "Gricelda,"  "Gunlas,"  "  Beatriz  and  Ladislao." 


232  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  intercepting  of  this  letter  by  the  queen-mother,  who  substitutes  an 
order  for  the  faithful  friend  to  kill  both  the  queen  and  prince,   FL. 

The  faithful  friend  disobeys  the  command,  and,  placing  the  queen  and  her 
son  in  a  large  chest,  casts  them  into  the  sea,  FL  (Adela  is  cast  away  in 
a  boat  by  the  queen-mother). 

The  chest  (or  boat)  floats  three  months,  FL  (a  long  time,  AD);  but  the 
occupants  are  by  a  miracle  kept  from  starvation. 

Finally  the  chest  (or  boat)  is  washed  ashore,  and  the  queen  and  prince 
are  rescued,  but  they  conceal  their  identity,  AD,  FL. 

The  king  returns  from  the  wars  and  is  stunned  by  the  news  of  what  has 
taken  place  during  his  absence,  FL,  AD. 

He  imprisons  his  mother,  leaves  his  kingdom  in  charge  of  his  faithful  friend, 
and  sets  out  to  seek  his  wife;  but  he  does  not  find  her,  FL  (in  "Adela," 
the  heroine  appears  to  be  found  without  much  difficulty). 

The  king  and  queen  are  restored  to  each  other  quite  by  accident,  or  Provi- 
dence, some  seven  years  after  their  separation,  FL. 

In  Group  II  the  following  important  variations  from  Group  I  are 
to  be  noticed.  Whether  the  differences  are  studied  or  not,  it  is  im- 
possible to  say. 

("Cinderella"  opening,  ALA,  PR,  GaA,  GaB.) 

The  heroine,  of  ignoble  birth,  is  married  to  a  king,  GaA,  GaB  (of  Hungary, 

MA,   PR). 
The  new  queen's  step-mother   (sister-in-law)   causes   the  royal  offspring, 

born  during  the  absence  of  the  father,  to  be  spirited  away,  and  animals 

(a   pig,    dogs)    substituted   before   the   mother   regains   consciousness. 
The  queen  is  made  to  believe  that  the  animal  is  her  legitimate  offspring. 
The  prince  (princes)  is  taken  to  the  mountains  (forest,  seashore)  to  die. 
Found  and  reared  by  an  enchanter  (shepherd,  hermit). 
The  king,  on  his  return,  condemns  queen  to  terrible  death  (locked  up  alive 

in  an  iron  chest,  buried  in  the  ground  up  to  her  neck,  or  cast  into  a 

dungeon). 
The  queen's  life  is  miraculously  preserved  in  spite  of  her  tortures. 

{Many  years  later  the  king  meets  with  reverses  in  war  and  is  taken  prisoner 
by  the  Saracens,  MA,  Am. 
The  prince  (princes),  divinely  guided,  destroys  his  father's  enemies  and 
sets  him  free,  MA,  Am;  or 
r  The  king  declares  a  feast  in  celebration  of  victory.     The  princes  visit  the 
I  imperial  city  and  are  invited  to  dine  in  the  palace,  PR,  GaA,  GaB. 

Their  request  that  the  tortured  queen  be  released  is  granted. 
Milk  streams  from  the  mother's  breasts  into  the  mouths  of  her  offspring.^ 
The  wicked  step-mother  and  her  accomplices  are  torn  to  pieces  by  horses 
as  a  punishment  for  their  crimes  (nothing  is  said  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
king's  evil  sister  in  Am). 

Group  I  represents  the  saga  in  its  usual  form;  Group  II  appears  to 
be  a  later  modification.     The  Catskin  opening  is  lost,  and  the  Cin- 

1  This  identification  device  seems  to  be  native  to  the  Philippines;  it  is  found  in  the 
stories  of  a  non-Christian  tribe  of  northern  Luzon.  See  Faj^-Cooper  Cole,  Traditions  of 
the  Tinguian  (Publication  180  of  the  Field  Museum  of  Natural  History,  Chicago,  1915), 
pp.  118,  153. 


Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines.  233 

derella  motif  is  supplied,  furnishing  what  may  be  called  the  first  trial 
of  the  heroine.  After  the  beautiful  girl  of  ignoble  birth  marries  the 
king,  the  second  testing  comes.  But  it  is  her  child  that  is  exposed 
in  the  world  to  death:  she  herself  is  kept  at  the  palace  to  experience 
punishment  from  the  hands  of  her  misled  husband  on  his  return  from 
the  wars.  The  exchange  of  letters  is  omitted  altogether  from  these 
narratives.  In  Group  I  the  absent  king,  on  being  informed  by  mes- 
senger that  his  wife  has  given  birth  to  beasts  or  monsters,  immediately 
sends  back  word  that  she  and  her  offspring  are  to  be  given  every 
attention  till  his  return.  In  Group  II  he  is  shown  the  animals  them- 
selves, and  straightway  orders  a  terrible,  lingering  death  for  his  wife. 
The  denouement  of  the  stories  of  Group  I  is  the  recovery  of  the 
long-lost  wife  and  son,  and  the  establishing  in  the  queen's  mind  of  the 
innocence  of  the  king.  The  denouement  of  the  stories  in  Group  II 
is  the  recovery  of  the  princes,  and  the  establishment  in  the  king's 
mind  of  the  innocence  of  the  queen. 

As  for  the  sources  of  the  Philippine  analogues  and  variants  of  the 
Constance-Saga,  we  shall  have  to  be  satisfied  for  the  present  with  this 
general  observation:  The  stories  of  Group  I  are  probably  derived 
immediately  from  European  material  brought  into  the  Islands,  most 
Hkely  through  Spain;  the  stories  in  Group  II  seem  to  represent  a  devel- 
opment that  took  place  in  the  Islands  themselves,  and  resulted  either 
from  an  unconscious  misunderstanding  and  subsequent  confounding 
of  the  Constance  and  Cinderella  stories,  or  from  a  studied  departure 
from  the  fixed  traditions  for  the  purpose  of  emphasizing  some  particular 
phase  of  these  essentially  didactic  motifs. 

Only  in  one  case  —  the  story  of  Adela  —  can  we  point  with  any  reason- 
able certainty  to  a  particular  European  version  as  source, —  the  "His- 
toria  del  Rey  de  Hungria;"^  and  even  here  may  be  seen  the  usual 
modifications  and  variations  of  the  Philippine  redactor.  The  heroine 
of  the  "Historia"  is  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  Hungary.  Her 
father  loves  her  especially  for  the  beauty  of  her  hands;  consequently 
she  has  them  cut  off  and  sent  to  him  on  a  silver  platter  covered  with 
a  cloth  (cf.  PL).  Set  adrift  at  sea  in  a  small  boat,  she  finally  lands  at 
Marseilles,  where  she  becomes  the  wife  of  Peter  (Conrado,  AD), 
Count  of  Provence.  Learning  his  wife's  story,  the  count  visits  (sends 
messengers  to,  AD)  her  father,  the  King  of  Hungary,  who  receives 
his  son-in-law  warmly,  and  detains  him  so  long  at  the  court  that  the 
wicked  mother-in-law  —  through  the  usual  means  of  forged  letters 
(not  in  AD)  —  has  time  to  carry  out  her  plot  against  the  young  coun- 

1  A  Catalan  prose  tale  dating  from  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  published 
by  P.  de  Bofarull  y  Mascaro,  in  Documentos  literarios  en  antigua  lengua  catalana  (Barce- 
lona, 1S57),  pp.  53-79  (vol.  xiii  of  Coleccion  de  documentos  ineditos  del  archivo  general 
de  la  corona  de  Aragon). 


234  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

tess,  who  is  set  adrift  on  the  sea  again.  She  lands  near  a  convent  and 
is  admitted  by  the  abbess.  Five  years  afterwards,  by  the  grace  of 
God  and  the  Holy  Virgin,  she  recovers  her  hands.  Meanwhile  the 
count  had  returned  to  Marseilles,  but,  feeling  angered  against  his 
mother  for  her  treatment  of  his  wife,  had  determined  to  quit  his 
estates  altogether,  and  not  to  return  until  he  had  found  the  countess. 
After  thirteen  years'  quest  he  finds  her  at  the  convent  and  takes  her 
back  to  Marseilles. 

This  very  brief  abstract  does  not  do  justice  to  all  the  differences 
between  AD  and  the  "Historia:"  it  emphasizes  rather  the  points  of 
contact  between  the  two.  But  these  points  of  contact  appear  more 
significant  than  the  points  of  departure.  The  localities  and  personages 
are  practically  identical, —  Hungary,  Marseilles,  the  Count  of  Provence, 
the  convent,  the  abbess.  In  both  stories  the  mutilation  is  voluntary, 
both  hands  are  cut  off,  both  exposures  are  at  sea  in  a  boat,  the  vessel 
drifts  without  oars,  the  heroine  after  her  first  landing  tells  where  she 
came  from,  the  count  marries  her  against  his  mother's  will,  he  com- 
municates with  the  King  of  Hungary,  and  abandons  his  estates  to 
look  for  his  lost  wife.  Her  two  hands  are  miraculously  restored  in 
the  convent  after  her  second  expulsion.  The  thirteen  years'  separation 
in  the  "Historia"  corresponds  approximately  to  the  age  of  Adela's 
son  when  he  is  restored  to  his  father.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  more 
likely  than  not  that  the  main  outline  of  the  story  of  Adela  was  derived 
directly  from  the  "Historia  del  Rey  del  Hungria." 
Columbia  University,  New  York. 


MANILA:     1913. 


Imprenta  de  J.  Martinez 

Estraude  7.— Bioondo. 


VOL.  XXIX. — NO.   112.  — 16 


235 


236 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


yj^&A&g|jg?&&^^^fe&^«g?<g;g;A^^^^j&&g.<&^^jgl^&^^^X 


COBRIDO 

AT    BUHAY   NA    PINAGDAANAN 

PRINCESA  ioRENTINA 


SA  CAHARIANG  ALEMANIA. 


wH   Dios   na  Poong   mahal 
Hari  nitong  sangtinacpaa, 
ac6  po,i,  iyong  tulungan 
magsabi,t,  macapagsaysay. 

At   ieao  Virgeag  mariquit 
Emperadora  sa   langit, 
tulungan  mo   yaring  isip 
matutong  macapagsulit. 

lyo   pong  paliuanagum 
bait,   isip  cong    madilim, 
matutuhan  cong  sabihin 
buhay  na  ipagtuturing. 

Ng  panahong  una  una 
sa   Imperiong   Aleaiania, 
si  D.    Alfonsong    monarca 
may  anac  siyang  daiaga. 

Si  Piorentma   aag   ngalau 
pitong  princesang  maraagal, 
malaqui  ang    pagmamahai 
ng  amd  niya,t,  magulang. 


Ang  emperador  na   ito 
ualang  asaua  at  bao, 
pinagtatac-hang  to  too 
ng  tanang   mga  vasallo. 

Ipagparito  co  muna 
sa  princesa  Florentina, 
pagca-bata.i,   uaulila 
sa   mahal  na  in^  niya. 

Itong  princesang   marangal 
arao,  gabi.i,    nagdaras^l, 
naquiquinyig  arao-arao 
ng  misa,t,  di  naliliban. 

At   ang  caniyang   devota 
ang  Virgen  Santa  Maria 
ualang  ibang  gaua  siya 
cundi   magdasal  tuina. 

Sa  cariquitan  ay  saedal 
halos  matulad  sa  Arao, 
cun   tigna.i,  nacasisilao 
yaong  muc-ha  niyang   mahal. 


Princess  Florentina. 


237 


STORY 


OF    THE    EVENTFUL    LIFE 


OF 


PRINCESS   FLORENTINA 
OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GERMANY. 

[TRANSLATED    FROM    TAGALOG  INTO    ENGLISH    BY    DEAN    S.  FANSLER 
AND  SALVADOR  UNSON.] 


O  God!  great  Lord  of  all, 
King  of  the  whole  world, 
Help  me.  Lord, 
To  speak  out  and  to  narrate! 

And  thou,  beautiful  Virgin, 

Empress  in  heaven, 

Help  my  understanding 

That  I  may  relate  the  matter  easily! 

Do  thou.  Lord,  make  clear 
My  blind  judgment,  my  hazy  intellect, 
So  that  I  may  know  how  to  set  forth 
The  story  that  is  here  proposed. 

Once  on  a  time 
In  the  kingdom  of  Germany, 
Don  Alfonso,  the  ruler, 
Had  a  young  daughter. 

Florentina  was  the  name 
Of  this  illustrious  princess; 
Greatly  beloved  was  she 
By  her  father,  her  only  parent. 


For  this  emperor 

Was  a  widower,  without  a  wife. 

Highly  respected  was  he 

By  all  his  vassals. 

I  begin  (my  story)  first 
With  the  princess  Florentina: 
In  her  childhood  she  had  lost 
Her  noble  mother. 

This  excellent  princess 

Used  to  pray  morning  and  evening, 

Used  to  hear  daily 

The  mass  without  fail. 

And  her  particular  devotion 
Was  to  the  Holy  Virgin  Mary. 
No  other  interest  had  she 
But  to  pray  constantly. 

Great  was  her  beauty: 
She  almost  resembled  the  sun; 
That  wondrous  face  of  hers 
Was  dazzling  to  see. 


238 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  2  — 


Anjj;  cariquitan  ni   Diana 
ni  Floripes  mang  princesa, 
at  sampuo   ni   Bersabe  pa 
hull  mandin  sa  caniya. 

Marami  ang  nagsasadyi 
hari  at  prlncipeng  madia, 
duque,t,  caballerong  paua 
sa   pangangasaua  ang  tangca. 

Uald  cahiman  at  is5, 
na  tinanguan   ang  am^, 
at  cun  caya  gayon   pala 
ay  may  lihim   siyang  dal4 

Ini-isip   gabi.t,    arao 
nang  emperador   ha  raabal, 
ang  sinta  niyang  sinimp^n 
sa   princesa,i,  ibig  turan. 

At  ang  ninan^sa  bagd 
ng  emperador  na  am^ 
aag  anac  niyang  princesa 
can iy ang  maguing  asaua. 

Ay   sa   di   rin  mapiguilan 
ang  sintd  niyang    sinimp^n, 
naparoo,t,  linigauan 
sa  torreng   tinatahanan. 

Ng  maquita  ng  princesa 
ang  emperador  na  amd, 
sinalubong  agad    niya 
at  lumubod  capagdaca. 

Ay  ng  sa  amdng  matinguan 
na  luluh6d  sa   harapdn, 
agad   quinauit  sa  camay 
sa    silla.i,   nangag-upuan. 

Nag-uusap   ang  mag-am^ 
sa  quina-uupang  silla, 
anv  tud  ay  sabibin  pa 
pag-uulayao   nila. 

Dito   na  ipinahayag 
sinta  ng  amang    iningat, 
Florentina,i,   maquimatyag 
sa  aquing  ipahahayag. 


Tantong  mahabang  arao  na 
ang  hirap  cong  dinadald, 
ang   nasa  co,t,  aquing  pita 
icao  ang  maguing  asaua. 

Di  naman  maguing  mahalay 
sa  consejo,t,  cangino  man, 
at  ito.i,   caugalian 
at   utos  ng  catuiran. 

Si  Florentina.i,   naguicla 
halos  manao  ang  hiningd, 
amd   CO  po,i,  baquin   baga 
ganiyan   ang  iyong  badya. 

Ama  di  aco.i,  an^c   mo 
galing    tunay  sa  piiso   mo, 
baquin   baga  cun   paano 
ang   mga  uiniuica  mo. 

Di  bagay  sa   camahalan 
CO   p6  ang  uica  mong  iyan, 
ang   dapat   at   carampatan 
aco.i,  iyong  papurihan. 

Sa  Dios  ay  matacot  ca 
magbago   ng  ala-ala, 
Bayang  niyang  caloloua 
cundi   magsising    maganda. 

Ang  ama   nama,i,   sumagot 
Florentina.i,    huag  matacot, 
ipinag-uutos  ng  Dios 
ang  sacramentong  tibobos. 

Caya  maglualhdti  ca 
mag-isip,   mag-alaala, 
nasa  co,i,  di   mag-iiba 
na  ieao.i,  maguing  asaua. 

Hindi  masabi   ang   hapis 
nitoug  princesang  mariquit, 
nagtindig   nasoc    sa   silid 
emperador   nama.i,   nalis. 

Agad   lumuhod  sa  alta 
banal  na  si  Florentina, 
luha.i,  nanalong  sa  mata 
ng  laquing  tacot  pangamba. 


Princess  Florentina. 


239 


The  beauty  of  Diana 
And  of  Floripes/  the  princess, 
Together  with  that  of  Bersabe,^ 
Had  yet  to  yield  to  hers. 

Many  waited  upon  her  — 
Kings  and  princes  in  large  number, 
Dukes  and  knights,  all  of  them  — 
To  ask  for  her  hand  in  marriage. 

But  not  even  one 

Was  accepted  by  her  father; 

And  it  was  subsequently  discovered 

That  he  had  a  secret  in  his  heart. 

This  great  emperor 

Meditated  night  and  day 

On  the  love  he  had  carefully  guarded, 

Which  he  wished  to  declare  to  the  princess; 

For  it  was  indeed  desired 
By  the  emperor  her  father 
That  the  princess  his  child 
Should  become  his  wife. 

And  because  he  could  resist  no  longer 

The  love  he  felt  for  her, 

He  went  to  woo  her 

In  the  tower  where  she  lived. 

When  the  princess  saw 

The  emperor  her  father, 

She  immediately  went  to  meet  him 

And  knelt  before  him. 

And  when  the  emperor  saw 
Her  kneeling  there  before  him, 
He  raised  her  by  the  hand 
And  they  sat  down  in  chairs. 

Seated  in  chairs. 

Father  and  daughter  conversed  together; 

Great  was  the  pleasure 

They  felt  in  each  other's  company. 

Here  he  began  to  declare 
His  secret  love  for  her: 
"Florentina,  pay  attention 
To  what  I  have  to  reveal. 


1  The  Saracen  princess  who  marries  Gui  de  Borgofia 
*  I.e.,  Bathsheba. 


"For  many  long  days 

I  have  endured  anguish; 

My  wish  and  my  desire 

Is  for  you  to  become  my  wife. 

"It  would  not  be  wicked 

In  the  eyes  of  the  council,  or  any  one. 

For  it  is  customary 

And  is  sanctioned  by  justice." 

Florentina  nearly  fainted, 
She  could  hardly  breathe; 
"O  my  father!"  she  said,  "why 
Do  you  speak  like  that? 

"Father,  am  I  not  your  child. 
Sprung  straight  from  your  heart? 
Why,  then,  in  this  manner 
Do  you  speak  these  words  to  me? 

"Your  words,  my  lord,  are  not 
Appropriate  to  my  purity; 
It  is  right  and  fitting 
That  I  should  be  respected. 

"Have  fear  of  God; 
Change  your  intention. 
I  tremble  for  your  soul 
If  you  do  not  fully  repent." 

The  father  answered : 
"Florentina,  do  not  fear: 
The  true  sacrament 
Is  ordained  by  God. 

"Be  comforted; 

Think  and  remember 

That  my  intention  is  none  other 

Than  that  you  should  become  my  wife." 

The  princess  was  suffering 

Because  she  could  not  express  her  feeling; 

She  arose  and  went  to  her  room; 

The  emperor  also  left. 

At  once  the  devout  Florentina 

Knelt  before  her  altar; 

Her  tears  poured  forth, 

She  was  in  great  fear  and  distress. 

See  Baldovino. 


240 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


Tumauag  sa  Virgeng  mahal 
ito   ang  siyang   tiauraa, 
Virgea   aco.i,   itangcacal 
sa   tucs6,t,    capanganibaQ 

At  huag  ding   mapatuloy 
banta   ni  amang  di  ucol, 
at   nang   hindi  maparool 
ang   piiri  co,i,   ipagtangol. 

Mahanga,i,  ang  mamatay  na 
siyang   lalong  ibig   co   pa, 
huag  lamang  magcasala 
purl  co.i,    maalimura. 

Sabihin   pa   aug   pagtangis 
babaying   cahapis-hapis, 
sa  gutom   ay  nagtitiis 
at  di  nainom   nang    tubig. 

Ipagparito  co  muna 
sa   haring   caniyang   amd, 
di  isa  man  nagbabaua 
ang  sinta  sa  anae   niya. 

Nag-gayac  na  nang  regalo 
ipinadaia  sa  criado, 
it6  aniya,i,  dalhin  mo 
uicain  mong   padald  co. 

•  At  ang  sabitiin  mo,t,  turan 
ganti  niyang  ibibigay, 
ang  mariquit   niyang  camay 
ang  siyang  ndsa  co,t,   hintay. 

Ang  criado,!,  lumacad  na 
at  ang  regalo,i,   dinal^, 
naug  dumatiug   doon   siya 
tumauag   sa  princesa. 

Ang  uinica  niya.i,    ito 
tangAp  po  itong  regalo, 
ipinadaia  sa  iyo 
emperador  na   am^   mo. 

At  ang  cagantihang  hintay 
dito  sa   regalong   alay, 
iyang   mariquit   mong   camdy 
ang   nasa  niyang  hauacan. 


3  - 

Nang  marinig  nang  princesa 
bilin  nang  caniyang  ami, 
naghimatay   capagdaca 
sa  malaquing  hapis   nlya. 

Ano,i,  nang  mahimasmasan 
itong   princesang  marangal, 
lay   aniya  capalaran 
acLong  iyong   cararatnani 

O  Indng  Virgeng  marunong 
Inang  dating   mapag-ampon, 
flco   po.i,   iyo   ring   lingon 
amponin  mo,t,  ipagtangol. 

Cun   cahit  icaalis  man 
niyaring  maraual  na  buhay; 
huag  lamang   na  macasal 
sa  aquing   ama,t,   magulang. 

Sabihin   ang  hapis  bag4 
nang    abang  si   Florentina, 
aniya   ay  aquing  ama 
laqui   nang  iyong  parusa. 

Ang  guinau^  nang  princesa 
pinutol   ang   camay   niya, 
inilagay   sa  bandeja 
pinagbuting  tinaepan  pa. 

Bandeja.i,    pinacariquit 
at  tinaepan  nang  manteles, 
sari-sari  ang  colores 
doo.i,   pinagsalit-salit. 

Tantong   caliga-ligaya 
pagca-gaydc  nang   bandeja, 
ipiua-ibabao  niya 
telang   mahal   na  bordada. 

Tinauag  na  ang  criado 
ito  aniya,i,   dalhin   mo, 
na  ganti   co   sa   regalo 
sa  am^ng  panginoong  co. 

Ang  criado,i,  nalis  agad 
ang  tacot  ay  dill  hamac, 
dug6   ay  nangalalagUg 
sa  lupa  ay  nangagcalat. 


Princess  Florentina. 


241 


She  called  upon  the  Virgin 
And  opened  her  heart  thus: 
"Virgin  Mary,  save  me 
From  temptation  and  danger! 

"And  may  it  not  be  realized, 
My  father's  evil  design; 
That  my  virtue  may  not  be  lost, 
Protect  me! 

"Rather  death 

Would  I  much  prefer 

To  committing  sin  and 

To  having  my  honor  debased." 

Her  anguish  need  not  be  described, 
The  agony  of  this  woman  — 
Suffering  from  hunger  and  thirst 
Yet  unable  to  eat  or  drink. 

I  will  speak  now 
Of  the  king  her  father; 
Not  a  whit  diminished 
Was  his  lust  for  his  child. 

He  made  ready  a  present 
And  sent  it  by  a  servant: 
"  Deliver  this  to  her  and  say 
That  it  comes  from  me. 

"And  further  say  and  tell  her 
That  the  return  that  she  shall  make 
Is  her  beautiful  hand. 
I  desire  and  expect  it." 

The  servant  departed 

To  deliver  the  gift; 

When  he  arrived  (at  the  tower), 

He  announced  himself  to  the  princess. 

And  he  spoke  thus: 
"Accept  this  gift,  my  lady. 
Sent  to  you 
By  the  emperor  your  father. 

"And  the  expected  return 
To  be  made  for  this  gift 
Is  your  beautiful  hand, 
Which  he  desires  to  have." 


When  the  princess  heard 
The  charge  of  her  father. 
She  fainted  at  once 
Because  of  her  grief. 

When  she  recovered, 
This  beautiful  princess, 
"O  my  doom!"  she  sighed, 
"What  will  become  of  me?"  — 

"O  wise  Holy  Mother, 
Mother  always  sheltering. 
Turn  thy  face  towards  me, 
Shelter  and  protect  me! 

"If  notwithstanding  I  lose 

My  unworthy  life, 

(It  would  be  better)  than  to  marry 

My  father  and  parent." 

One  could  not  describe  the  grief 
Of  the  miserable  Florentina; 
She  spoke  thus:  "My  father, 
Great  is  your  punishment." 

What  the  princess  did 
Was  to  cut  off  her  hand; 
She  put  it  on  a  tray 
And  covered  it  up. 

Then  the  tray  she  carefully 
Covered  with  a  napkin 
That  had  many  colors 
Embroidered  upon  it. 

Very  beautiful  indeed 

Was  the  appearance  of  the  tray; 

Over  it  all  she  placed 

A  rich  embroidered  cloth. 

She  summoned  the  servant 
And  said,  "Take  this  with  you 
To  my  lord,  my  father. 
As  my  return  for  his  gift." 

The  servant  left  at  once 
With  great  fear  in  his  heart, 
Because  the  blood  was  dropping 
And  spreading  out  on  the  ground. 


242 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


-  4  - 


Capagdating   sa  harapan 
nang  emperador  na  mahal, 
ang   bandeja.i,   inilagay 
at  tambiug  niyang   binncsan. 

Hari   pong   panginoong  co 
ang    ganti   po    ay    narito 
Camay    ua   hinihintay   mo 
ngayon  po  ay  pagmasdan  mo 

Ay  nang  sa  amang  maquita 
Camay   na   na  sa   bandeja 
■nagtindig    capagcaraca 
an^  galit   ay   sabihiu    pa. 

Tumauag  na  nang   soldado 
hayo.t,   sundin    ang   utos  co, 
ang   tampalasang  anac   co 
sa   dagat    itapon    niny6' 

Isilid  sa  isang  caban 
ihulog   sa  caragatao, 
yaou  ang   dapat  at  bagay 
sa  an^c  cong  tampalasan. 

Ag^d    nangang  nagsipanao 
soldados    na    inutusan, 
humanap   sila   nang   caban 
ang   princesa.i,   pinarun^n. 

Qumuha  na  ang   princesa 
sa  caba.i,  isinilid   na, 
icao   po,i,   huag    maouicla 
utos   nang  hari   mong    ama. 

Tumangis   na   at   umiyac 
prince^ang  caniyang   anac, 
at  sa   cabang   nagagayac 
pinap6s6c  siyang   agad. 

Pinacabuting    tinacpan 
tuloy   namaug   sinusian 
at   sa   barca.i,    inilulan 
dinald  sa   calautan. 

Capagdaca.i,   inahulog 
cab6,i,  lumitao  lumub6g, 
princesang   na  sa  sa  loob 
sabibin  ang  pagcalunos. 


Gaua   lamang   ay  dumaing 
sa  Inang  mahal  aa  Virgen, 
at   siyang   nananaimtim, 
sa   puso   niya.t,   panimdim. 

Aniya  ay  devota  co 
Virgen   Inang  del  Rosario, 
paquingan  ang  alipin    mo 
na  tumatauag  sa   iyo. 

Sa  pagtauag  at  pagdaing 
taos   sa   puso,t,    panimdim, 
nanaog    ang   isang   angel 
siigo  nang  mahal  na  Virgen 

Princesa, i,   huag   matacot 
aco  ang  ^ngel   nang   Dios, 
dito   ay   pinapanaog 
sa    iyo.i,    pinatatanod. 

Sa  pagtauag  mong  mataman 
ay  tambing  nang  pinaquihgan, 
narito  at   aquing   taglay 
itoug   pinutol   mong   camdy. 

Ngayo,i,    isasauli  co 
it6ng   putol  na  camay   mo, 
at   utos   sa  aquin    it6 
In^ng    Virgeng   masaclolo. 

Loob   mo,i.   huag   magbaua 
sa  Virgeng  Santa   Maria, 
at   ngayo,i,  malapit   ca  na 
tabing   pasig  nang   Navarra. 

Sumaya  ang  loob  naman 
ni  Florentinang  marangal, 
at   ang  putol  niyang  camay 
ay   na-saoll   sa  lugar. 

Sa   aua   ng  Virgeng   In^ 
Poong  si  Santa    Maria, 
sinaguip  siya.t,   quinuha 
nang  isang    mamalacaya. 

Dinala   siya  sa  bahay 
princesa.i,    nalulupaypay, 
tuloy  namang   binihisan 
basang   damit  sa   catau^n. 


Princess  Florentina. 


243 


When  he  came  into  the  presence 

Of  the  great  emperor, 

He  presented  the  tray, 

At  the  same  time  lifting  the  cover. 

"O  king,  my  lord! 

The  return  is  here, 

The  hand  that  you  are  expecting. 

Look  now  upon  it." 

When  the  father  saw 
The  hand  on  the  salver, 
He  at  once  arose 
In  indescribable  rage. 

He  summoned  soldiers: 
"Hear  me  and  obey  my  orders. 
Take  my  insolent  daughter 
And  cast  her  into  the  sea. 

"Put  her  into  a  chest 
And  drop  her  into  the  deep  ocean; 
'Tis  what  she  justly  deserves. 
The  impudent  girl!" 

The  soldiers  who  had  received  the  order 

At  once  left; 

They  sought  out  a  chest 

And  went  to  the  princess. 

The  princess  was  seized 

And  put  into  the  chest; 

"Do  not  be  astounded  (they  said). 

This  is  the  order  of  your  father." 

The  princess  his  daughter 
Lamented  and  wept; 
Into  the  chest  all  ready  for  her 
They  placed  her  without  delay. 

They  carefully  closed  it 
And  then  locked  it  fast; 
On  a  boat  they  loaded  it 
And  took  it  far  out  to  sea. 

There  they  threw  the  chest  overboard. 
It  sank  and  rose  in  the  water; 
The  princess  inside 
Felt  very  great  terror. 


She  did  nothing  but  invoke 
The  Holy  Virgin  Mother; 
Her  heart  and  thought 
Were  ever  directed  toward  her. 

"O  Virgin  of  the  Rosary! 
I  am  thy  votary; 
Hear  thy  poor  slave 
Who  is  calling  upon  thee!" 

In  answer  to  her  entreaty  and  supplication, 
Which  truly  came  from  the  heart. 
An  angel  descended, 
Sent  by  the  glorious  Virgin. 

"Princess,  do  not  fear; 
I  am  an  angel  of  God, 
Sent  here 
To  guard  you. 

"Because  of  your  sincere  prayer. 
Which  was  heard  at  once, 
I  am  here,  and  have  with  me 
Your  hand  which  you  cut  off. 

"The  hand  that  you  sacrificed 
Now  I  will  restore 
At  the  command  given  to  me 
By  the  Virgin,  your  saviour. 

"Do  not  lose  faith 
In  the  Holy  Virgin  Mary; 
For  now  you  are  nearing 
The  coast  of  Navarre." 

This  illustrious  maid,  Florentina, 
Was  overjoyed  in  her  heart; 
The  hand  that  had  been  severed 
Was  restored  to  its  place. 

By  the  favor  of  the  Mother  Virgin, 
The  gracious  Saint  Mary, 
The  princess  was  saved,  and  rescued 
By  a  fisherman. 

The  princess,  unsteady  from  weakness, 

Was  taken  to  his  house; 

There  he  changed 

The  wet  dress  she  had  on. 


244 


Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 


-5- 


Siya.i,    inalagaaa   na 
matanding   mamalacaya. 
at  pinarang  anac  niya 
na  di   malingat  sa  mata. 

Tumauag  si    Florentiaa 
sa  matandang  paranc;  amn, 
alin   pong  lupa  baga 
itdng  quinalalag-yaa  iL 

Isinagot  sa  cauiya 
Jupa  ito  ng  Navarra, 
ang  haring  quiniquilala 
si   D.   Earicoag   masigl4 

Ng  maguing  tatlo  ng  buan 
ang  caniyang  pagca-tahan, 
sa   mamalacayang    bahay 
di  pagauin  ng  ano  man. 

Maraming  nacaquiquita 
sa  ganda  ni   Florentina, 
pauaug  nangaliligaya 
sa  diqait  ng  asal   niya. 

Maraming  nangagsasadya 
manga   matand4  at  bata, 
para-parang    natutua 
sa  diquit  niyang   sagana 

Isang   arao   ng    Domiago 
yaong  sa   baring  privado 
gumayae   siyang  nangaso 
casama   ay   isang   criado. 

Dito  nga  naquita  niya 
ang   diquit  ni    Florentina, 
ang  privado.i,  naligaya 
sa   eabutiban   at  ganda. 

Umibis  na  sa   cabayo 
itong   daquilang  privado, 
inutusan   na  ang  criado 
bilang  niyang  pa-aviso. 

Ng  sa  matandang   maquita 
inanyayahan    pagdaca, 
mangagsituloy    po   sila 
at  sa    babay   manbic  mtina. 


Tamanong  na  ang  matandd 
ano  p6  bag4  ang  sady6, 
cami  po,i,  cahiya-biya 
at  icm6   man  cami,i,   uala 

Ang    sagot  nitong-  privado 
uala  man  po,i,  aanbin  co, 
nuno.i,   macatan6ng  ac6 
sabibin   mo  ang  toto6. 

lyang  mariquit  na   diosa 
sino  ang   may   anac  bagd. 
sagot  ng  mamalacaya 
ay  amin  pong  anac   siya. 

Maniuala  po,t,  to  too 
na  nagmuld  sa  ptiso  co, 
ang  magsabi  po  sa  iyo 
ang  manga  cababayan  mo. 

Privado  ay    tumanong  pa 
sino   p6    ang  ngalan    baga, 
sag6t    ng    mamalacaya 
aba   pong   si   Florentina. 

Tantong   bindi    maniuala 
ang  privado  sa   matanda, 
itong  mariquit  na  tala 
lagdy   mabal  na  mistula. 

Ang  sa  privadong  nilalang 
ang  criado, i,   inutusan, 
mili  ng   alac,   tinapay 
masasarap  na  pulutan. 

Ano  nga.i,  sa  dumating  na 
ang   matanda, i,    natua  na, 
palibbasa,i,   ibig   niya 
siyang  dating  pinipita. 

Pina-lnom  nangang  tambing 
nitong  privadong   butibin, 
at  ang  labat  na  cacanin 
sa  matanda,i,  inihain. 

Ang  pag-inom  ay  sabihin 
na   bmdi   na   napapiguil, 
ang   nasapit  ay   nalasing 
sinungaban    ng  alipin. 


Princess  Florentina. 


245 


She  was  taken  care  of 

By  the  old  fisherman; 

She  was  treated  as  a  daughter, 

And  they  became  inseparable. 

Florentina  asked  the  old  man, 
Who  was  like  a  father  to  her, 
"What  land  is  this 
In  which  we  are?" 

He  answered  her, 

"This  country  is  Navarre; 

The  king  who  rules  it 

Is  the  brave  Don  Enrico." 

During  the  three  months 

Of  her  life  there 

In  the  house  of  the  fisherman 

She  was  not  allowed  to  do  any  work. 

Many  had  noticed 

The  beauty  of  Florentina; 

All  were  delighted 

With  the  graciousness  of  her  manner. 

Many  went  to  see  her, 
Both  old  people  and  young; 
They  were  all  charmed 
With  her  great  beauty. 

One  Sunday  it  happened 
That  a  minister  of  the  king 
Went  out  hunting 
Accompanied  by  a  servant. 

While  hunting,  he  saw 

The  beautiful  Florentina; 

The  minister  was  delighted 

With  her  good  manners  and  beauty. 

He  dismounted  from  his  horse. 
This  exalted  minister, 
And  ordered  the  servant 
To  announce  his  coming. 

When  the  old  man  was  aware  (of  the  visit), 

He  at  once  invited  (the  minister) 

To  enter  and  to  come  up 

Into  his  house  for  a  little  while. 

1  Icmo,  buyo-nut  and  betel-leaf  prepared  with 
as  a  mark  of  hospitality. 


The  old  man  asked, 

"What  is  the  object  of  your  coming? 

We  are  ashamed  to  say 

That  we  haven't  even  any  icmo.'"  ^ 

The  minister  answered, 
"It  really  makes  no  difference. 
Grandfather,  I  will  ask  you  a  question; 
Tell  me  the  truth. 

"That  beautiful  goddess. 
Whose  child  is  she?" 
The  old  fisherman  answered, 
"She  is  our  own  daughter. 

"Believe  me,  it  is  the  truth, 
Which  comes  straight  from  my  heart. 
You  may  have  it  verified 
By  your  fellow-townsmen." 

The  minister  asked  further, 
"What  is  her  name?" 
The  fisherman  replied, 
"She  is  the  lowly  Florentina." 

Verily,  the  minister  would 

Not  believe  the  old  man, 

Because  this  beautiful  star 

Seemed  to  be  of  royal  blood. 

This  was  the  wicked  plan  of  the  minister : 

He  ordered  his  servant 

To  get  from  their  larder  wine  and  bread 

And  tasty  cold  viands. 

When  the  things  ordered  came, 

The  old  man  was  delighted 

Because  they  were  the  things 

That  he  had  been  longing  for. 

The  old  man  was  ofi'ered  drinks 

By  the  gallant  minister, 

And  all  the  food 

Was  placed  before  the  old  man. 

He  drank  heavily  — 
He  was  unable  to  restrain  himself; 
The  result  was  that  he  became  drunk 
And  was  seized  by  the  servant. 

lime  for  chewing.     It  is  always  offered  to  visitors 


246 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


6  — 


Ng   malasing  ang  matanda 
ang  Sa  privadong  guinau^, 
sinuDgaban  alipala 
itong  mariquit  na  t^la. 

Sa  cabayo.i,   isinacay 
Dg  privadong  tampalasan, 
dinala  at  itinanan 
tuloy  sa  caniyang   bahay. 

Ipagsauli  co  muna 
sa  matandang  parang  ama, 
mana  nga,i,  sa  maguising  na 
ang  anac   ay    quiniquita. 

Sa  di  niya  masilayan 
an^c  niyang   minamahal, 
sabihin  baga   ang  lumbay 
hapis  na  di   ano  lamang. 

Aquing  ipagbalic  muna 
sa  buhay  ni   Florentina, 
pinipilit  naman  siyd 
sa  gauang  hindi  maganda. 

Sa  pagpilit  na  totoo 
ng  privadong  si  D.  Pabio 
ang  princesa.i,  na  pa  60 
at  sumagot  ng  ganito. 

Bunying  D.  Pabio  aniya 
hintay  maghunos  dili  ca, 
cacamtan  mong  ualang  sala 
caya  maquinyig  ca  muna. 

Hangang  aco,i,  naglulucsa 
sa   aquing  in^ng  nauaU, 
iyo  munang  ipabaya 
saca  mo  sundin  ang  nasa. 

Cuu  dumating  na  ang  arao 
termino  cong  hinihintay, 
na  hindi  na   mababalam 
mga  limang  buan  lamang. 

At  CUD  ito,i,   maganap  na 
ay  saca  pacasal  quita, 
caya  maglualb^ti  ca 
sa  sabi  co,i,  tumalima. 


Si  D.    Pabio.i,  na  pa  60 
ang   tua  ay  mago.t,   mago, 
lo6b   niyang   nagugul6,i, 
tumiuasay  na  totoo. 

Ala-ala,i,   sabihin  pa 
sa  mariquit  na  princesa 
tuina.i,    causap  niya 
salang  malingat   sa   mata. 

Hanga  ng   matahan  dito 
sa  bahay  nitong   privado, 
nalimutan  ng  totoo 
catungculan  sa  palacio. 

Nasiyasat  nang    consejo 
ang   privadong  si    D.   Pabio, 
na  tatl6  ng  buang  hust6 
na  hindi    naparirito. 

Anang  hari   ay   paronan 
na  cun   ano  ang  dahildn, 
isang  criado,i,   inutusan 
marali  ca,t,   iyong  tingndn. 

Ng  dumating  na   sa  babay 
ang  criadong  inutusan^ 
it6ng    dalaua.i,    dinatnan 
sa   silla.i,  nag-aagapay. 

Sinabi  na  ng   criado 
bilin  ng  baring  Enrico, 
ang  isinagot  ay  60 
at  paririyan   na  aed* 

Criado,),  ng  dumating  na 
tinanong  capagcaraca, 
ano   at  di  mo   casama 
si   D.    Pabio.t,   nasaan   pa. 

Ang  sag6t  nitong   criado 
pina-una  na  po  aco, 
siya  rao  po,i,    paririlo 
susun6d  sa  licordn  co. 

Si  D.  Pabio.i,  lumacad  na 
casama  si  Florentina, 
balang  tauong  macaquita 
pauang  nangaliligaya. 


Princess  Florentina. 


247 


When  the  old  man  became  senseless, 
What  the  minister  did 
Was  to  seize  at  once 
That  beautiful  star. 

She  was  lifted  on  to  the  horse 
By  that  profligate  minister; 
He  took  her  and  fled  with  her 
Straight  to  his  house. 

Let  me  now  consider  first 
The  old  man,  her  adopted  father: 
When  he  recovered  his  wits, 
He  looked  for  the  maiden. 

When  he  could  get  no  sight  of 
His  much-beloved  child, 
Indescribable  was  his  grief, 
His  sorrow  knew  no  bounds. 

Now  let  us  turn 
To  the  lot  of  Florentina; 
She  was  being  urged  to  do 
A  dishonorable  act. 

In  reply  to  the  urgings  and  threats 
Of  the  minister  Don  Pavio, 
The  princess  consented, 
And  answered  thus: 

"Illustrious  Don  Pavio,"  she  said, 
"Wait,  and  consider  the  matter; 
You  will  have  your  desire  without  fail. 
But  hear  me  first. 

"So  long  as  I  am  in  mourning 

For  my  dead  mother. 

Postpone  your  desire; 

Then  you  shall  have  what  you  wish. 

"When  the  day  comes, 

The  day  I  mean. 

It  will  not  be  very  long  — 

It  is  only  five  months  from  now. 

"At  the  end  of  that  time 
We  shall  be  married ; 
Be  considerate  of  me  (therefore) 
And  grant  my  request." 


Don  Pavio  assented. 

His  joy  was  beyond  all  bounds; 

His  fluttering  heart 

Calmed  down  truly. 

His  attention  to  the  beautiful  princess 
Cannot  justly  be  described: 
They  were  always  talking  together; 
Uncomfortable  was  he  when  she  was  out 
of  his  sight. 

During  the  time  that  she  lived 
In  the  house  of  this  minister. 
He  forgot  altogether 
His  duties  at  the  palace. 

The  council  noticed 

That  Don  Pavio,  the  minister. 

For  full  three  months 

Had  not  put  in  an  appearance. 

Accordingly  the  king  ordered 

One  of  his  servants  to  go  there 

To  look  into  the  matter. 

To  find  out  at  once  what  was  the  trouble. 

When  the  servant  who  had  been  ordered 
Arrived  at  the  house, 
He  found  the  two 
Sitting  side  by  side. 

The  servant  delivered 
The  message  of  King  Enrico; 
Don  Pavio  said,  "Yes, 
I  am  coming  at  once." 

When  the  servant  returned. 

He  was  at  once  asked, 

"Why  did  not  Don  Pavio  come  with  you, 

And  where  is  he?" 

The  servant  replied, 
"I  was  told  to  go  ahead; 
He  said  that  he  was  coming, 
That  he  would  follow  behind  me." 
Don  Pavio  set  out 
Accompanied  by  Florentina; 
Every  one  who  saw  them 
Was  greatly  pleased. 


248 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  7  — 


Lahat  ay   nagtatanungan 
cun  saan  galing  na  bayan 
carictd.i,   di   ano  lamang 
niyong   princesang   marangal. 

Ay  ano,i,   ng  dumating  na 
si  Pabio.t,  ni  Floreatina 
ang  hari  tantong  nagtacd 
sa  cariquitang  naquita. 

Pagdaca.i,  inanyayahan 
sa   silla.i,    naqui-agapay, 
at  agad   ng  hinandugan 
ng  sinta  ng  baring  mahal. 

Ang  sag6t  ni  Florentina 
6  daraquilang  monarca, 
anong  pangyayari  bag4 
mabai   ca,t,   aco   ay  mTura. 

Di  munti  po  bagang  balay 
sa  iyong   consejong  tanan, 
ang  tans6ng  libdg-libagan 
sa  diamante  ay  ipisan. 

Ualang  daang  mababago 
ang  sintang  bayin  sa  iyo, 
ang  sumansala  ma.i,  sino, 
iisa  itong  uica  co. 

Ang   baring  Enrico  bag& 
ang  ind.i,  nabububay  pa, 
siyang  malaquing  pagcontra 
sa   baring  pag-aasaua. 

Ang  ind,i,  tantong  aayao 
cay  Fiorentina.i,  macasal, 
sapagca.t,  ang    sabi.t,   saysay 
anac   ng  pescador  lamang. 

Palibbasa.i,  bari  siya 
uica.i,    di  magcaca-iba, 
arzobispo,i,  tinauag  na 
napacasal  capagdaca. 

Ay  ang  b41a  nitong  in^ 
ang  babala  ay  siya  na, 
iquiquita  co  ng  sala 
it<5ng  caniyang  asaua. 


At  bindi  co  tutugutan 
hangang  bindi  ipapatay, 
at  pangaco  cong  matibay 
cabit   anong  casapitan. 

Sabibin  ang  catuaan 
ng  boong  sangcabarian, 
para-parang   nagdiriuang 
ng  sa  baring  pagcacasal. 

It6  namang  si  D.   Pabio 
ualang  capalarang  tauo, 
di  nacaquibong  totoo 
tacot  sa  baring   Enrico. 

Bdla  ni   D.   Pabio  naman 
babanap  siya  ng  daan, 
bangang    di  maparusaban 
ang  reinang  lilo,t,   sucaban. 

Ipagparito  co   muna 
sa  bari,t,  mabal  na  reina, 
pagsasama,i,  sabibin  pa 
labat  ay  naliligaya. 

Palibbasa  ngani  guint6 
galing  sa  linao  na  dug6, 
baquit  uald  namang  quib6 
toto6ng   dunong   na  manuyo. 

At  bindi   magsabi    lamang 
dug6  niyang   pinagmul^n, 
ang   caniyang  binibintay 
cun  dumating  na  ang  arao. 

Pagsasama,i,    mabinabon 
mag-asaua,i,   nagca-ucol, 
dua  ng  Dios   na  Poon 
namulaclac  at  nag-usbong. 

Ay  ng  buntis  na  cagampan 
halos  manganic  na  lamang 
reino,i,  agad  na   dinatnan 
moros  na  mga  caauay. 

Ang  embajador  ng  moro 
nagtuluyan  sa  palacio, 
sinabi  cay  D,  Enrico 
na  sila,i,  may   dalang  bocb6. 


Princess  Florentina. 


249 


Each  one  was  asking  his  neighbor 
As  to  what  town  she  came  from; 
The  beauty  of  this  exalted  princess 
Could  not  be  concealed. 

Well,  when  Don  Pavio 
And  Florentina  arrived, 
The  king  marvelled  much 
At  the  beauty  he  saw. 

He  at  once  invited 

Her  to  be  seated. 

And  at  once  this  great  king 

Proffered  his  love. 

Florentina  answered, 

"O  mighty  monarch! 

What  will  be  the  result? 

You  are  noble;  I  am  of  humble  origin. 

"Not  inconsiderable  would  be  theindignity 
In  the  eyes  of  your  whole  council 
If  you  should  place  a  diamond 
In  a  crude  copper  setting." 

"Nothing  will  alter"  (he  said) 
"The  love  I  offer  you. 
W^hoever  tries  to  prevent  it 
Will  meet  with  failure." 

Now  King  Enrico's  mother 
Was  still  very  much  alive; 
She  was  strongly  opposed 
To  the  king's  marrying. 

The  mother  greatly  objected  to 
His  marriage  with  Florentina, 
For  it  was  said  that  she  was 
Only  the  daughter  of  a  fisherman. 

Because  he  was  king,  however, 
His  word  could  not  be  contradicted. 
The  archbishop  was  summoned, 
And  they  were  married  at  once. 

The  scheme  of  the  mother  now 
Was  carefully  to  look  for 
And  discover  in  his  wife 
A  cause  for  accusation. 


"And  I  will  not  stop 

Until  she  is  killed," 

She  promised  to  herself. 

Whatever  might  be  the  consequences. 

Great  was  the  rejoicing 

Of  the  whole  kingdom; 

Every  one  celebrated 

The  marriage  of  the  king. 

Now  Don  Pavio 

Was  entirely  out  of  luck; 

He  could  not  protest 

Because  of  his  fear  of  the  king. 

Don  Pavio's  design 

Was  to  find  out  a  way  [faithless, 

By  which    the   queen,    treacherous    and 
Might  be  punished. 

Let  me  refer  now  to  the  king 
And  to  the  illustrious  queen; 
Their  life  together,  you  must  know, 
Was  full  of  bliss. 

Because  she  was  pure  gold 

And  came  of  blue  blood; 

Furthermore,  she  was  sensible 

And  knew  how  always  to  please  him. 

Nor  would  she  say 

That  she  was  of  royal  blood; 

She  was  waiting,  in  fact. 

For  the  proper  time  to  come. 

Happily  they  lived,  [genial; 

Husband  and  wife:  they  were  truly  con- 
And  because  of  God's  favor 
Their  union  was  to  bear  fruit. 

During  her  pregnancy,  [finement, 

When  she  was  close  to  her  time  of  con- 
The  Moors,  their  enemies. 
Marched  upon  their  kingdom. 

The  ambassador  of  the  Moors 
Went  straight  to  the  palace. 
And  told  Don  Enrico 
That  they  had  brought  an  army: 


250 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


At  cuQdi   rao  ibibigay 
ang  cetro.t,   coronatig  mahal, 
tantong   ipag-uauasacan 
ang   Navarrang  caharian. 

Aog  sagot  ni  D    Enrico 
magtahau  ca   lilorjg   moro 
CUD  uala   na   ang   buhay   co 
inyo  ang  corona.t,  eetro 

Hayo  na  cayo.t,  maghintay 
sa  labas  nang   caharian, 
bucas  ay  ualaug  pagliban 
aco  ay   lalabas   diyan. 

Nagsi-alis   at  pumanao 
embagadang   iuutusan, 
ang  baring  Enrico  naman 
soldados  niya.i,   pinisan 

Ipinagayac    ang   hocbo 
ng  baring  si   D.  Enrico, 
ang  mga  piling  soldado 
casama  sa   ejercito 

Aco   ang  siyang    general 
ejercitong   palulual, 
sabibin  ang  catuadu 
ng  mga  soldadong  tanan 

Dumulog  na   sa  asaiia 
at  niyacap  capagdaca 
poong  co,t,   aquing  sinta 
aco  ay   paalam    muna. 

Lalabasin  co  sa  parang 
ang   mga  morong   sucaban, 
poong  coj,  buag  malumbay 
at   di   aco  mababalam. 

Nang  ito.i,   mapaquingan 
nang  reinang  sinta  at  biibay, 
sabibin   baga  ang  lumbay 
hapis  cadalambatian. 

Panginoon  at   esposo 
baring  mabal  D.  Enrico, 
paano  aniya  aco 
cun  aco.i,  papanauan  mo. 


Aco.i,   ipagsama  mo  na 
sa  moro.i,  maquipagbaca, 
buag   lamang    ma-ulila 
ang   iyong  sintang  asaua. 

At  cung   iyong  papanauan 
aco  rito  at    iiuan, 
ualang  sala.t,  mamamatay 
cun  sa   iyo.i,    mahiualay. 

Ang    sagot   ni  D.    Enrico 
paano   ang  pagsama  mo, 
guerra  ang  paroronan  co 
malaquing  lubbang  peligro. 

Cava  guiiio  co   at  sinta 
ay  buag  ca  ng  sumama, 
ang  cabuntisan   mong  dald 
tila  di  malalaon  na. 

Na  cun  icao  ay  manganic, 
cabit  aco.i,   na  sa  birap, 
magpadala  ca  ng  sulat 
at  ng  aquing  matalastas. 

Bayaning   si   D.    Pascasio 
siyang  paglalagacan  co, 
dito   sa  real   palacio 
mag-aalaga  sa  iyo. 

Siya,i,  para   cong  catauau 
susundin  ng  sino  pa   man, 
caya   sinta   co    at   biibay 
sa   lyo   aco.i,   paalam. 

Manga    soldadong   casama 
n^roo.t,  naghibintay  na, 
sa  Dios  catatauag  ca.t, 
sa  Virgeng  Santa  Maria. 

Rein  a  naman  ay  nan^usap 
ang   luba  sabay  nalagl^g 
diyata   sinta   co,t,   liyag 
iiuan   mo  aco,t,   sucat. 

Aco  at   icao  aquing  sinta 
uica  ng   bari  sa   reina 
cung  ualang  palad  aniya 
.di   na  quita   magquiquita. 


Princess  Florentina. 


251 


"If  the  sceptre  and  mighty  crown 
Are  not  surrendered, 
The  kingdom  of  Navarre 
Will  be  entirely  destroyed." 

Don  Enrico  answered, 

"Cease,  base  Moor, 

As  long  as  I  live, 

Sceptre  and  crown  shall  not  be  yours. 

"Let  your  people  wait 

On  the  borders  of  the  kingdom. 

To-morrow  without  fail 

We  will  meet  you  there." 

The  envoys  who  had  been  sent 
Left  and  disappeared; 
And  Don  Enrico,  the  king, 
Called  together  his  army. 

The  army  was  organized 

By  the  king,  Don  Enrico; 

The  very  best  soldiers 

Were  included  among  the  troops. 

"I  shall  be  the  commander 

Of  the  army  that  is  going  out." 

Great  was  the  satisfaction 

Of  the  men  (when  they  heard  that). 

He  went  to  his  wife 

And  fondly  embraced  her: 

"My  darling,  my  love, 

I  am  going  to  leave  you  for  a  while. 

"I  am  going  to  the  country 
To  meet  the  infidel  Moors. 
My  adored  one,  do  not  grieve, 
I  shall  not  be  absent  long." 

When  this  was  heard 

By  the  queen,  his  love  and  his  life, 

Her  grief  and  her  sorrow 

Were  beyond  all  bounds. 

"  My  lord  and  husband. 
Exalted  King  Enrico, 
What  will  become  of  me 
If  you  go  away? 


'  I  should  prefer  to  go  with  you 
And  fight  against  the  Moors, 
Rather  than  be  left  alone 
Your  beloved  wife. 

"And  if  you  go  away 
And  leave  me  here  behind. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  I  shall  die, 
If  I  am  separated  from  you." 

Don  Enrico  answered, 
"How  could  you  accompany  me 
When  I  am  going  to  war? 
There  is  very  great  danger  there. 

"My  dear,  my  beloved. 

Do  not  think  of  coming  with  me; 

It  seems  that  very  soon 

Your  period  of  pregnancy  will  be  over. 

"When  you  have  given  birth  to  a  child. 

Even  if  I  am  fighting. 

Send  me  a  letter. 

That  I  may  know  about  the  event. 

"To  the  brave  Pascasio 
I  will  entrust 
The  care  of  the  palace 
'And  of  you. 

'  He  shall  have  the  same  power  as  I, 
He  is  to  be  obeyed  by  all. 
And  so,  my  life,  my  love, 
I  must  leave  you. 

"The  soldiers  going  with  me 

Are  ready,  are  waiting. 

Pray  to  God 

And  to  the  Holy  Virgin  Mary." 

The  queen  spoke 

Through  her  falling  tears: 

"Is  it  possible,  my  love,  my  darling, 

That  you  are  going  to  leave  me  thus?" 

The  king  answered  the  queen, 
"You  and  I,  my  beloved, 
Unless  we  have  good  fortune. 
Shall  never  see  each  other  again. 


VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  112. — 17. 


252 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


Caya   quita  ay  mag-yacap 
para   ta    n*   pahimacas 
cuu   aco.i,    culangius  palad 
di  na  quita   magca-usap 

At   sa  pagyayacap  hag^ 
sing   ibig  na   mag-isiua, 
ay    naghimatly   ang  reina 
malaoag  hiadi    huminga. 

Nao'g  siya.i,  mahimasmasaa 
asaua.i,   uiyacap   naman, 
M-A  halos  hindi   bitiuaQ 
huat?   manao   sa    harapan. 

Sibihin  pa  aug    pagtaagis 
Dg  reinang  cahapls  hapis, 
hmdi    ibig   niyaag   malis 
ang   asanang   siata,t,  ibig. 

Ang  uica  ng   hari,i,   it6 
hiadi    mangyayari  pooag   co, 
na   di  ngayou  labasia  co 
yaong  mga   lilong    moro. 

Caya  ac6   ay  paalam 
asaua  cong  sinta.t,  buliay, 
Po6q   co,i,  pahintulutaa 
ac6,i,  hindi    mababalam. 

Ang    hari   ay   gumayac   na 
nagcoleto,t,    nagmanopla, 
tambor,  pifano,  trompeta 
ipinatugtog  pagdaca. 

Nanaog  na  nagtuluyan 
casama  ang   madlang  caual, 
malayo  na,i,   tinatanao 
ni  Florentinang  may  lumbay. 

Nang   di  na   matanao   niya 
ang  sinta   niyang   asaua, 
sa   silid   ay    pumasoc   na 
nanicluh6d    capagdaca 

O   Virgen   Tnaug  marangal 
Ink  ni  Jesus  na    mahal, 
ang  asaua   cong   pumanao, 
ipag-adyfi.  sa  caauay. 

PRINCB8A    PLORENTINA. 


lyo  rin    pong  ipag-adya 
sa  mga   morohg  cabaca, 
yaong   campon  ni  Mahoma 
mangatacot    at   maugamba. 

Ipagparito   co   naman 
sa   baring    Earicong   mahal, 
ang  parating  gunam-gunam 
asaua  niyang  miuau. 

Ang  manga  soldadong  sama 
para-parang  nagsasaya 
catuaa.i,    sabihin   pa 
calusod-Iugod  maquita. 

Biicod  na  ang  hari  lamang 
ang  may  dalaag  calumbayan, 
ala-ala   niyang  tunay 
ang    sa  reinang  cabuntis^n. 

Dito   itiguil  CO  mUna 
pinagdaanan   sa  guerra, 
ang   aquing   ipagbabadyd 
ang  napagsapit  ng  reina. 

l^ang  dumating  na  ang  oras 
ng  e^niyang  pangangando, 
aua  ng   Virgeag  marilag 
di  man   nagdaan  ng  hirap. 

Nang  malabas  na  ang  bata 
lalaquing   catua-tu4, 
ang  tanan  ay  nahahanga 
ng  cariquitang  sagana. 

Sa  cay  Pascasiong  maquita 
ang  reina  ay  nanganac  na, 
agad  gumaua  ng  carta 
sa  ,  hari,i,    ipinadala 

Tinauag   na  ang-  criado 
nit6  ngang  si  D.   Pascasio, 
magmarali   cang   dalhin   mo 
sa  hari  itong  sulat  co. 

Ang   nalalaman  sa  sulat 
hari  cong  lubhang  mataas, 
matoua  ca.t,  pasalamat 
sa  reinang  pagca-pangande. 


Princess  Florentina. 


253 


"Let  us  embrace 
As  a  sign  of  good-by; 
For  if  I  am  unlucky, 
We  shall  not  meet  again." 

And  while  they  were  in  each  other's  arms, 

Their  mutual  love  was  perfect; 

The  queen  fainted. 

For  a  long  time  she  ceased  to  breathe. 

When  she  recovered, 
She  embraced  her  husband; 
She  was  loath  to  release  him, 
Lest  he  should  leave  her. 

Great  was  the  grief 
Of  the  sorrowing  queen. 
Because  she  did  not  want  to  lose 
Her  beloved  husband,  her  soul. 

Then  the  king  said  to  her, 
"  My  adored  one,  it  will  not  do; 
It  is  impossible  that  I  should  fail 
To  go  against  those  faithless  Moors. 

"So  I  must  leave  you, 
My  wife,  my  love,  my  life; 
My  Goddess,  I  will  return 
Without  needless  delay." 

The  king  made  ready: 

He  donned  his  doublet  and  gauntlets; 

He  ordered  sounded 

The  drums,  fifes,  and  trumpets. 

Directly  he  set  out 
With  all  of  his  many  soldiers; 
Even  when  he  was  far  away, 
Florentina  was  gazing  after  him. 

After  her  beloved  husband 
Had  disappeared  from  view. 
She  went  to  her  room 
And  fell  on  her  knees. 

"O  Virgin,  sublime  Mother, 

Mother  of  Jesus  our  Lord, 

Save  from  his  enemies 

My  husband,  who  has  just  left  me! 


"Save  him,  I  pray  thee. 

From  his  foes,  the  Moors, 

Subjects  of  Mahomet! 

Fill  their  hearts  with  fear  and  terror ! " 

Let  me  turn  now 

To  Enrico,  the  noble  king; 

He  was  ever  thinking 

Of  the  wife  he  had  left  behind. 

The  soldiers  who  were  with  him 
Were  all  feeling  joyous: 
So  great  was  their  happiness. 
That  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  them. 

Unlike  all  the  others,  the  king 
Was  the  only  one  who  felt  sorrow; 
He  was  truly  concerned 
Over  the  condition  of  the  queen. 

Here  I  will  break  off 
Telling  about  the  war. 
And  will  turn  to  relate 
What  happened  to  the  queen. 

When  the  time  came 
For  her  to  give  birth  to  a  child, 
Because  of  the  mercy  of  the  gracious  Virgin 
She  did  not  suffer  greatly. 

The  child  that  was  born 
Was  a  handsome  boy; 
All  were  amazed 
At  his  great  beauty. 

When  Pascasio  saw 
That  the  child  had  been  born, 
He  at  once  prepared  a  letter 
To  send  to  the  king. 

Don  Pascasio  himself 
Summoned  a  servant: 
"Hasten!"  he  said,  "and  take 
This  letter  of  mine  to  his  Majesty." 

The  letter  read, 

"O  exalted  king! 

Be  happy  and  thankful, 

The  queen  is  already  delivered 


254 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  10  — 


Isang  lalaquing  mjiriquit 
calulad  mo   po,t,   cauangis, 
uala   taanding   caholilip 
parang  bituin  sa  larjgit. 

Aua   ng  Virgeng    inarilag 
mahal   na  reina.i,    malacas, 
di  man  nagdaan  ng  hirap 
sa  caniyang  pangangandc. 

Ipagparito   co    naman 
sa   criadong    inutusan, 
dumadn  at  nagpaalam 
sa  ink  ng  baring  mabal. 

Mana  ngani  ng   maquita 
dald  ng  criadong   carta, 
quinuba  na  capagdaca 
binucsan   niya.t,   binasa. 

At  ag4d  ng  pinalitan 
itong  sulat  na  binucsdn, 
saca  ang  ipinalaman 
catacot-tacot  maturan. 

Ang  nalalamdn   sa   carta 
niyong  tampalasang   ina, 
baring  daquilang  monarca 
matud   ca    at   magsayd, 

Asaua  mong  reinang  mabal 
nangandc  na  mabinusay, 
maluag  ang  pagdaramdam 
at  malac^s  aug   catau^n 

Isang  lalaqui  cun  ano 
na  dili  mapag-isip  co, 
ay  siyang  naguing   an^c   mo 
di  maquilala  cun  tauo. 

Anaqui.i,  macbing  na  bayop 
hicbura,i,  catacot-tacot, 
balabibo,i,  parang  manoc 
at  usa  mandin  sa   bimdoc. 

Di    maquilala    ang   muc-ba 
cun  bayop  6   tauo   caya, 
alamid  mandin  6  pusa 
hindi  sucat    maunaua. 


Ng  suraapit   na   ang  sulat 
sa  bari    ay   iguinauad, 
ng   mabasa,t,   matalastas 
ay   guinanti   niyang  agad. 

Ang   bari   sumulat    naman 
ng  sagot  na   catungculan, 
sa  sulat   na  nalalaman 
ganito   ang    pagcasaysay. 

D.   Pascasio   cong  catoto 
ang   bilin  co  ay  ganito 
cabit  bayop  ang   andc   co 
tautong  pacamabalin  mo. 

At   di  malalaong  arao 
darating  na  aco  riyan, 
mabalin  mo,t,    alagaan 
para  ng  aquing  catauan. 

Sinarban  na    itong  sulat 
sa   criado.i,    iguinauad, 
sabibin  ang  lumbAy  sindac 
bariug   Enricong  mataas. 

Capagdaca, i,    nalis    naman 
ang   criadong  inutusan 
ito  ay  nuling  nagdaan 
sa  ina  ng  baring  mabal. 

Quinuba    na   namang  agad 
ang    sa   baring  gauang.  sulat, 
palama.i,    ng  matalastas 
ay  pinalitan    ding   agad. 

Ganito  ang  pagcalagdy 
sa  cartang  ipinalaman, 
ang  utos  co,i,  sunding  tunay 
Pascasio, i,  buag  iliban. 

Itong  utos  co,i,   totoo 
capag  bindi  binunod  mo, 
diya.i,  capag  dinatndn   co 
capalit   ang  iyong  ulo. 

lyong  patayin  ang  reina 
sampo  ng  anac  nga  niya 
pagdamayin  ang  mag-in^ 
itong  utos  co,i,   talima. 


Princess  Florentina. 


255 


Of  a  handsome  boy, 

Who  looks  like  and  resembles  you; 

He  has  no  equal 

Except  the  stars  in  the  skies, 

"  By  the  mercy  of  the  gracious  Virgin 
The  exalted  queen  is  strong; 
She  did  not  suffer  much 
In  child-birth." 

I  turn  now 

To  the  servant,  the  messenger; 
He  went  over  and  took  leave 
Of  the  mother  of  the  king. 

When  she  saw  the  letter 

That  had  been  entrusted  to  the  servant, 

She  took  it  from  him, 

Opened  it,  and  read. 

She  at  once  substituted  another 
For  the  letter  she  had  opened; 
The  contents  of  it 
Were  fearful  to  relate. 

Thus  ran  the  letter 
Of  that  inhuman  mother: 
"King,  exalted  monarch, 
Be  happy,  and  rejoice! 

"Your  wife,  your  beloved   queen, 
Has  happily  given  birth  to  a  child; 
Easy  were  the  birth-pains 
And  she  is  doing  well. 

"A  male  child  —  but  what  it  is 
I  am  unable  to  make  out; 
I  cannot  determine 
Whether  it  is  human  or  not. 

"It  resembles  a  monkey, 

Its  countenance  is  fearful; 

It  has  the  feathers  of  a  chicken       [tains. 

And  the  hide  of  a  wild  deer  of  the  moun- 

"It  cannot  be  distinguished 
Whether  its  face  is  of  a  monster  or  man; 
Whether  it  is  wild-cat  or  tabby, 
One  cannot  say  for  certain." 


When  the  letter  arrived 
And  was  delivered  to  the  king,  [it, 

And  when  he  had  read  and  comprehended 
He  answered  it  at  once. 

The  king  straightway  wrote 

An  answer  that  was  likewise  an  order; 

This  is  what  the  letter  said. 

This  the  charge  he  had  to  convey: 

"Don  Pascasio,  my  friend, 
I  charge  you  with  this: 
Even  if  my  child  is  a  beast. 
Give  it  the  best  of  care. 

"It  will  not  be  many  days 
Until  I  arrive  there; 
Love  him  and  cherish  him 
As  you  would  me." 

He  finished  his  letter 
And  delivered  it  to  the  servant; 
Great  was  the  sorrow  and  dread 
Of  his  highness.  King  Enrico. 

The  servant,  entrusted  with  the  letter, 

Left  at  once; 

Again  he  stopped 

At  the  home  of  the  king's  mother. 

Again  she  easily  took  from  him 
The  letter  of  the  king. 
When  the  traitress  understood  it, 
She  at  once  changed  its  contents. 

This  is  what  she 
Substituted  in  the  letter: 
"Follow  my  order  faithfully, 
Pascasio,  without  delay. 

"  This  is  truly  my  charge; 
And  if  I  arrive  there 
And  the  order  is  not  carried  out. 
Your  head  will  answer  for  it. 

"  Have  the  queen  put  to  death. 
Together  with  her  child; 
Let  them  be  destroyed,  mother  and  child 
Remember  well  this  order  of  mine. 


2s6 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  11 


Ang    pagcatotoo  baga 
nitong   utos   cong   lahat   na, 
dito  ac6    ay   nagfirma 
baring   tunay   sa    Navarra. 

Ibinigay  na    sa   criado 
hayo  aniya,t,  dalbin  mo, 
ibigay   cay   D.    Pascasio 
itoQg  sulat  nang  bari   mo, 

Ang  criado, i,   lumacad  na 
sulat  ibinigay    niya, 
cay   D.   Pascasiong   mabasa 
natacot  siya.t,    naguicla. 

An6   cayd  ang  dahilan 
ng  sa   baring  cagalitan, 
baquin   at  ipapapatay 
reinang  ualang  casalanan. 

Ipinaquita  sa  reina 
itong  sulat  na   padald, 
pooQ   co,i,  Cuba  at   basa 
biningd  co,i,  mapapaca. 

Di    CO   masabi,t     masaysay 
sa   sulat  napapalamdn, 
na  cun  ano  ang  dabildn 
ng  sa  baring  cagalitan. 

Ano.i,  sa  reinang  matingnan 
aog   sa  sulat   na   palaman, 
nalunusan   at  nabapay 
at  mistula  mauding   patAy 

Aua    ng    Virgeng   Maria 
pinagsaulan    ng    bininga, 
sabibin  ang   lumbay    baga 
ng   caaua-auaug    reina. 

Anaug   reina   ay   ganito 
marangal   na    D.    Pascasio, 
marali  ugayong  sundin  mo 
utos   ng  bari    sa   iyo. 

Narito  ang  aquing   bubay 
at   di   CO  isinusuay, 
dapua.t,  ang  bingi  co  lamang 
aco  ay  iyong  paquingan. 


Diyata  earning   mag-ina 
pinanaugang  sentencia, 
laba  ng  anac  cong  is4 
na   di    nagcamit   guinbaua! 

Ang   sagot  ni   D.  Pascasio 
utos  ng  bari  umano, 
ito  po,i,   cundi  sundin  co 
capalit  ang   aquing  ulo. 

Cay6  nga  po  reinang  mabal 
pagsisi   nang  casalanan, 
ngayo.i,   hindi   maliliban 
itong   iyong  camatayan. 

Ang   reina, i,   agad  bumibic 
bininga.i,  balos   mapatid, 
sa  anac   siya.i,   lumapit 
quinalong  niya.t,   quinipquip. 

0   Federico   nang  mk 
bimbing  nang  tulog  mo  baga, 
uala  cang   bali-balisa 
bago   tayo,i,   may   sentencia. 

Malabis   na  camatayan 
Canitang    pagdaraanan, 
bangon  sa   pagcagulaylay 
tupdin   ta  ang   cabatulan. 

O    Earicong   aquing   sinta 
panginoon    nang   asaua, 
ano  bagaog   aquing    sala 
ganito  na   ang  sentencia. 

At  sampo  ng  iyong  supling 
na   sa   puso   mo,j,   nangaling, 
binatulan    mong  patayin 
iraramay  pa  sa  aquin. 

Aba  bunsong  Federico 
guising   na.t,   icao.i,   sumuso 
magaling   ding   lasapin    mo 
gatas  nang   abang   ina  mo. 

Pagca  ualang  palad  baga 
ng  bunso   co,t,  aquing   sintd, 
icao,i,   bucod    at   caiba 
na  sa  principeng  lahat   na. 


Princess  Florentina. 


^S7 


"  And  in  witness 
That  this  is  all  my  order, 
I  hereby  set  my  name, 
Enrico,  true  king  of  Navarre." 

She  handed  the  letter  to  the  servant: 

"Hasten  and  deliver  it; 

Give  to  Don  Pascasio 

This  letter  from  your  king." 

The  servant  set  out. 

And  delivered  the  letter 

To  Don  Pascasio,  who  on  reading  it 

Was  astounded,  was  fearful. 

What  can  be  the  reason 
Of  the  rage  of  the  king? 
Why  has  he  ordered  the  death 
Of  the  guiltless  queen? 

He  handed  over  to  the  queen 
The  letter  he  had  received: 
"My  exalted  lady,  take  and  read; 
My  breath  is  about  to  fail  me. 

"I  cannot  say  or  tell 
From  the  contents  of  the  letter 
What  is  the  cause  of  the 
Rage  of  the  king." 

When  the  queen  understood 
The  purport  of  the  letter, 
She  fainted,  she  fell. 
And  she  appeared  as  if  dead. 

By  the  mercy  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
She  recovered  her  breath; 
Indescribable  was  the  grief 
Of  the  unfortunate  lady. 

This  is  what  the  queen  said: 

"Worthy  Don  Pascasio, 

Obey  at  once 

The  order  the  king  has  given  you. 

"Here  is  my  life; 

I  do  not  resist: 

But  I  only  request  of  you 

To  hear  me. 


"  Can  it  be  that  we,  mother  and  child, 

Have  been  sentenced? 

Alas,  my  only  child, 

Is  he  not  to  enjoy  felicity?" 

Don  Pascasio  answered,  [to  it, 

"This  is  the  king's  order,  and  according 
If  I  do  not  obey. 
My  head  will  answer. 

"Therefore,  illustrious  queen. 
Repent  of  your  sins 
Now,  and  we  will  not  put  off 
This  your  death." 

The  queen  screamed; 

She  almost  lost  her  breath: 

She  went  to  her  child. 

Lifted  it  up  and  held  it  in  her  arms. 

"O  Federico!"  the  mother  said, 
"Sound  is  your  sleep. 
You  feel  no  uneasiness,  [sentence. 

Although  you  and    I   are   under   heavy 

"The  extreme  of  death 
We  must  suffer; 
Wake  from  your  slumber! 
We  must  suffer  the  sentence. 

"0  Enrico!  my  beloved, 

My  lord  and  husband, 

What  is  my  guilt. 

That  I  should  thus  be  condemned? 

"And  also  the  offshoot 
That  sprang  from  your  heart. 
Why  should  your  death  sentence 
Affect  him  also? 

"Ah!  Federico,  my  son. 
Wake  up  and  nurse  [mother! 

From    the   breast   of   your   unfortunate 
It  is  well  that  you  should  do  so. 

"In  dire  misfortune. 
My  son  and  my  beloved, 
You  are  distinguished 
Above  all  other  princes. 


258 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 


—  12- 


Di  mo  na  buDs6  natingnan 
ang   baring  am4,t,  magulaog, 
Federicong  aquing   buhay 
ualang   haogang  cahirapan 

Esposo  cong  D.  Enrico 
buhay  nang  caloloua  co, 
ano  baga,t,   ang  anac  mo 
sa  aqui,i,   iraramay    mo 

Di   ca  na  nagdaldng  habag 
dini   sa  bugtong   mong  anAc, 
di   mo  na  pinagsiyasat 
hatol   mo,i,  gay6ng   carahds 

Di  ca  na  nagdalang   aua 
baring  Enricong  daquila, 
earning  mag-ind,i,  capua 
binatulan  mo  nang  bigla. 

Yayacapin  at  bahagcdn 
anac   na    cabambal-bambal, 
ang  cataua.i,    parang  gulay 
nang  reinang  nalulupaypay. 

D.    Enricong  bunying   bari 
di  mo  na  baga  mabaui, 
ang   sentencia   mong   nayari 
at  nanagboy  namang  null. 

Cun   iyo  lamang  maquita 
ang  anac  mo  at  asaua, 
banta  co,i,    mababab^g    ca 
dangan   ang  ualang  aua  ca. 

Ang  bagsic  nang  iyong  hatol 
bindi   na  yata  maurong, 
at  uala   na    sa   panabon 
D.   Enrico.i,   ipatuloy. 

Di   aco  nabibinayang 
na    maalis   yaring   buhay, 
dapua.t,   buag  na   lamang 
ang   anac   mo,i,   idinamay. 

Panginoon   co,t,   asaua 
D.    Enricong   aquing  sinta, 
ano   bagang  aquing  sala 
ang  galit  mo,i,    ganito  na. 


Ito  ang  ganti  mo  baga 
nang  sa  iyo  ay  pagsinta, 
ang   big-y4n  mo  nang  parusa 
yaring  aba   mong   asaua. 

Sayang  ng  aquing  pag-irog 
6  baring   Enricong   bantog, 
at   ang   iyo    palang    loob 
ualang  pag-ibig   na   lubos 

Sayang  ng  aquing   pag-ibig 
sa   iyo   baring   mariquit, 
gayon  nang  icaoj,   umalis 
laqui  nang  aquing   pagtangis 

Di  mo  na  hinalagaban 
canitang  pag-iibigan, 
nang  aalis  ca.t,    papanao 
di   CO   ibig   mahiualay. 

Yaring   malaquing  pag-ibig 
sa  iyo  bari   cong   fenix, 
ay    bindi  mo  nababatid 
sampo  nang  birap   at   s^quit. 

Caya  sint^   co  at   buhay 
patauad   mo  ay    pacamtan, 
asaua  mo.i,    mamamatdy 
cami  sa  iy'o.i,   paalam. 

Patauad,   patauad   aco 
patauad  ang   asaua   mo, 
at  patauad    ang   anac  mo 
na   ualang  sala  sa  iyo. 

Cami   nanga  ay  paalam 
sa   iyo  sinta  co,t,  buhay, 
bendicion  mo,i    siyang  bintay 
niyaring  mag-inang  papanao. 

Paalam  baring   Enrico 
paalam   ang  esposa   mo, 
paalam   sinta.t,   buhay   co 
at  papanao  na   sa   mundo. 

Paalam  baring  marangal 
sa  Navarrang  cabarian, 
icao  naua.i,  magtagumpdy 
sa   mga  morong   caauay. 


Princess  Florentina. 


259 


"You  never  saw 

Your  father  and  parent; 

Federico,  my  life, 

There  is  no  end  to  our  misery. 

"My  husband  Enrico, 

My  life  and  my  soul, 

Why  is  it  that  you  are  condemning 

Your  child  with  me? 

"You  did  not  feel  any  compassion 
For  your  only  child; 
You  did  not  even  investigate 
Before  dictating  your  rash  sentence. 

"You  did  not  feel  any  pity, 

Exalted  King  Enrico; 

Mother  and  child  together 

Were  sentenced  without  consideration." 

Embracing  and  kissing 

Her  poor  little  child, 

Whose  body  was  tender  as  grass. 

The  queen  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting. 

"  Enrico,  noble  king, 

Could  you  not  revoke 

The  sentence  you  have  given?" 

Again  she  began  to  wail. 

"If  you  could  only  see 

Your  wife  and  child, 

I  think  you  would  feel  pity  for  them, 

However  merciless  you  might  be. 

"It  looks  as  if  your  severe  sentence 
Were  not  going  to  be  changed; 
There  is  no  more  time  for  delay, 
Let  Don  Enrico  be  obeyed. 

"  I  do  not  regret 

Losing  my  life. 

But  mercy!  do  not  seek  to  destroy 

Your  son's  life  also. 

"My  lord  and  husband, 
Don  Enrico  my  beloved, 
What  is  my  guilt, 
That  you  are  so  enraged? 


"Is  this  your  return 
For  my  affection  — 
That  you  should  punish 
Your  wretched  wife? 

"Wasted  is  my  affection, 

Far-famed  Enrico, 

For  it  is  now  revealed 

That  you  have  no  true  love  for  me. 

"Wasted  is  my  affection 

For  you,  exalted  king, 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  when  you  left 

Great  was  my  grief. 

"You  did  not  value 

Our  affcQtion  for  each  other; 

When  you  were  departing, 

I  was  loath  to  be  separated  from  you. 

"This  great  love  of  mine 
For  you,  my  phoenix, 
You  could  not  appreciate. 
Nor  my  suffering  and  anguish. 

"So,  my  love,  my  life, 
Grant  us  your  forgiveness! 
Your  wife  will  die; 
We  take  our  leave  of  you. 

"Forgive,  forgive  me. 

Forgive  your  wife. 

Forgive  your  child, 

Who  are  without  guilt  towards  you! 

"Grant  us,  then,  your  leave. 

You,  my  love,  my  life! 

Waiting  for  your  blessing. 

We,  mother  and  child,  shall  leave  you. 

"Farewell,  King  Enrico! 
Farewell  from  your  wife! 
Farewell,  my  beloved,  my  life! 
We  are  going  to  leave  this  world. 

"Farewell,  great  monarch. 
Of  the  kingdom  of  Navarre! 
May  you  prove  victorious 
Against  your  enemies  the  Moors!" 


26o 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  13  - 


Matiagh6y  tiama.t,  yacapin 
ang  anac  na  sinta.t,  guilio, 
buns6   icao   ay  gumising 
uala  cang  pani-panimdiin 

Gumising   ca  na   buns6   co 
at  imulat  ang  mata  mo, 
pagsauaang  titigan  mo 
muc-ha  ng   abing   ind  mo 

Oh   muc-hang  caaya-aya 
garing   mandia    ang   capara, 
ang  quilay  mo.t,  piiic-matd 
balangao  mandin   ng  sinta. 

lyang  dalaua   mong  camdy 
sa  liig   CO  ay  itangan, 
ng  may    pagcaguinhauahan 
ang   hininga    cong   papanao. 

Lumuhod  cay  D.   Pascasio 
ang   reina,t,    ang    uica,i,   ito, 
marangal   na  caballero 
aco   po  ay    paquingau   mo. 

Cun  mangyayari  aniya 
sa  iyo   ang  aquing   ola, 
yaring   andc    cong   iisa 
timauain   mo  sa   dusa 

Cahit  saang   caparangan 
ang  andc    co.i,   ipalagay, 
buag   pong  mamatay   lamang 
na  sa  aquin  ay  maramay 

Ito  lamang  D.    Pascasio 
ang  aming  ola  sa  iyo, 
cun   baga  calooban    mo 
timauain  ang  anac  co. 

Yaring   luha  co  sa   mata 
at   madlang  buntong  bininga, 
D.  Pascasio, i,  mahabag  ca 
sa  Dios    na   ala-ala. 

Nahapay  at  napalugmoc 
ang  reinang   luluhog-luhog, 
aog   luha   ay   umaagos 
Dg  tantong   calunos-lunos 


Ng  cay  Pascasiong  maquita 
lagay  at  asal  nang  reina, 
nahabdg  siya  pagdaca 
sabay  ang  liiha  sa  matd. 

Reina   pong  panginoong  co 
ano  pang   magagaua  co, 
utos   nang  hari  aimano 
buhay   co,i,   capalit   dito. 

Aco   po  ay  mararamay 
sa  iyo.t,   ipapapatay, 
caya   po   reinang  marangal 
pagsisi    nang  casalanan. 

Ay  ng  maringig  ng  reina 
sa  cay   D    Pascasiong  badyd, 
nahapay   na  naman  siya 
hinimatdy  capagdaca. 

Nang  siya,i,  mahimasmasan 
nang   bininga  sa  catauan, 
aniya.i,  6  Virgeng  mahal 
cami   po  ay  caauaan. 

Cami,i,  iyong  calarahin 
cay  Jesus  AnAc  mong  guilio, 
at   nang  aco,i,   patauarin 
sa  mga  gaud  cong  linsil 

Patauad   Amd  cong  Jesus 
yaring  salaring  tibobos, 
ang  alipin   mo   po,i,  cupcop 
ipag-adya  sa  demonios 

Panginoong    JesucristO 
patauad   ang   alipin  mo, 
caloloua.t,    catauan    co 
inihahain   sa   iyo. 

Hindi   masabi   ang  hirap 
ng   reinang   cahabag-habag, 
cataua,i,  di    na   mabuhat 
ang  paa.i,  di  mailacad. 

Ang  uica  ni   D.   Pascasio 
6  reinang   panginoon   co, 
ang   puso   co.i,   nanglolomo 
ng  pagcahabag   sa  iyo. 


Princess  Florentina. 


261 


Bewailing  and  embracing 
Her  beloved  and  darling  child, 
"Wake  up,  my  child!"  she  said, 
"You  have  no  sense  of  your  danger. 

"Wake  up,  my  child! 
And  open  your  eyes; 
Look  your  fill  at  the  face 
Of  your  miserable  mother! 

"0  face  lovely  to  contemplate! 
Like  unto  pure  ivory. 
Your  eyebrows  and  eyelashes 
Are  bows  of  Love. 

"With  your  two  hands 

Clasp  my  neck, 

In  order  to  give  relief 

To  my  breath,  that  is  about  to  fail  me." 

The  queen  knelt  before  Don  Pascasio 
And  spoke  thus: 
"Exalted  knight, 
Hear  me,  I  beg  of  thee! 

"If  it  is  possible  for  you 
To  grant  my  request. 
Deliver  my  only  son 
From  this  suffering. 

"In  any  jungle  whatsoever 
Cast  the  young  boy  away. 
Only  that  he  may  not  perish 
And  suffer  death  with  me. 

"This,  Don  Pascasio, 
Is  my  one  request  of  you; 
Perchance  you  may  be  willing 
To  spare  my  child. 

''These  tears  in  my  eyes. 
And  all  my  sighing,  together 
Take  pity  on,  Don  Pascasio, 
Think  on  God!" 

She  tottered  and  sank  to  the  earth, 

This  entreating  queen; 

Her  tears  flowed  so  freely 

That  any  one  would  have  had  compassion. 


When  Don  Pascasio  saw  [queen, 

The  state  of  mind  and  the  behavior  of  the 
His  heart  was  touched  at  once, 
And  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"O  queen!  my  lady, 

What  can  I  do. 

When  according  to  the  king's  order 

My  life  is  at  stake? 

"I  should  share  with  you 
The  penalty  of  death; 
Therefore,  exalted  queen, 
Repent  of  your  sins." 

When  the  queen  heard 
The  words  of  Don  Pascasio, 
She  tottered 
And  fell  in  a  faint. 

When  she  recovered 
And  her  breath  came  back  to  her, 
She  prayed  thus:  "Great  Virgin, 
Take  pity  on  us. 

"Intercede  for  us 

With  Jesus  Christ,  your  beloved  Son, 

So  that  I  shall  be  pardoned 

For  all  my  faults! 

"Jesus,  my  father,  forgive 
This  sinful  but  faithful  one! 
Succor  thy  slave 
And  protect  her  from  demons! 

"Jesus  Christ,  my  Lord, 
Forgive  thy  servant! 
My  soul  and  my  body 
I  commit  to  thee." 

The  suffering  of  the  wretched  queen 
Cannot  be  described; 
She  could  not  move  her  feet  to  walk, 
Or  raise  her  body  a  whit. 

Don  Pascasio  said  to  her, 
"0  queen!  my  lady. 
My  heart  is  touched 
With  pity  for  you. 


262 


Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 


14  — 


Aco  po,i,    nag-aalangan 
sa   isang    reina,i,    pumatay, 
ililihim    co  po  icao 
Dg  dito.i,   hindi  ca   datnan. 

Sag6t    naman   nitoDg   reina 
ay  D.    Pascasio   aniya, 
mga   loob   mong    paquita 
aco,i,   siyang  bahala   na. 

Sa  cay  Pascasiong  linalang 
humaDap    ng    isang   caban, 
ang   mag-ind  i,  inilulaD 
tinacpang    pinacatibay. 

Ano,i,    sa   maisilid    na 
itong  dalauacg  mag-ina, 
pagtaDgis  ay   sabihin   pa 
cahabag-habag    maquita. 

Ang  cabang    quinasisidlan 
dinala  sa  caragatan, 
pagdating    sa  calautan 
capagdaca.i,  binitiuan. 

Sa  ana  nang  Virgeng  liyag 
di  nacaramdam    ng  hirap, 
di  nagutom  di  napuyat 
itong   mag-inang  mapalad. 

Parating    nananalangin 
sa  mahal    na   Inang   Virgen, 
ng   sila.i,  caauaan  din 
calarahin   at   amponin. 

Sa  pagtauag  gabi.t,   arao 
sa    Virgeng   Inang  marangal, 
ng  mahustong  tatlong  buan 
ay  napadpad  itong  caban. 

Sa   dalampasigaug   sadya 
ng  reino   ng  Antioquia, 
ay  doon  napadpad    baga 
itong  dalauang  mag-ina. 

Itiguil   CO   muna  rito 
at  doon  co  ipatungo, 
sa  baring  cay  D.  Enrico 
ng  magtagumpay  sa  moro. 


Ang  bari  ay  nagbalic  na 
oui    ang  boong  victoria, 
tanang   ejercito    nila 
ang   tu4  ay  sabihin  pa. 

Sabihin  ang  catuaan 
nang  mga  soldadong  abay, 
para-parang  nagdiriuang 
pananalo  sa  caauay. 

Ng    dumating  sa  palacio 
ang    bunying   baring   Enrico, 
tinanong  si   D.    Pascasio 
cun   ang  reina  ay  maano 

D.    Pascasio.i,   natiguilan 
sa  tanong  ng   baring    mahal, 
anang   hari,i,   anong  bagay 
at  icao  ay  napamaang. 

Si  D     Pascasio.i,   lumuhod 
sa   monarcang   maalindog, 
sa  tanong  mo  baring   bantog 
aco,i,  hindi  macasagot. 

Ang  sulat  po  ay  narito 
na   dala  nang  iyong   criado, 
basahin   mo  na  poong   co 
siyang  magsabi  sa  iyo. 

Ay   ng    sa    baring   mabasa. 
ang  nalalaman   sa  carta, 
hinimatay  capagdaca 
hari.i,    naualang  hininga. 

Agad  nangang  dinaluhan 
nang  consejeros   na   tanan, 
ang   bari   ay   pinag-agao 
hangang  sa   mahimasmasan. 

At  nang   macaalam  tauo 
ang  baring   si    D.   Enrico, 
tinanong  si  D.    Pascasio 
sampo  nang  caniyang  criado. 

Sabihin  ninyong  dali   na 
sino  sa  inyong  dalaua, 
ang   gumaua  nitong  carta 
sa  reina,i,  nagpalamara. 


Princess  Florentina. 


263 


"I  am  somewhat  afraid 

To  put  a  queen  to  death; 

I  will  therefore  conceal  you, 

So  that  he  will  not  see  you  on  his  return." 

The  queen  replied: 
"Don  Pascasio,"  she  said, 
"I  shall  always  be  mindful  of 
The  kindness  you  have  shown  me." 

In  order  to  carry  out  his  plan, 
Don  Pascasio  looked  for  a  chest; 
In  it  he  put  mother  and  child. 
And  fastened  it  firmly. 

After  the  mother  and  child 

Had  been  placed  in  it. 

Their  lamentation  was  indescribable, 

And  was  most  piteous  to  hear. 

The  chest  in  which  they  were  put 
Was  carried  to  the  sea; 
And  when  they  were  far  from  shore, 
It  was  thrown  into  the  water. 

By  the  mercy  of  the  beloved  Virgin 
They  suffered  not  at  all: 
They  felt  no  hunger  and  lost  no  sleep, 
This  fortunate  mother  and  child. 

Often  she  called  upon 
The  exalted  Mother  Virgin 
To  be  gracious  to  them. 
To  protect  and  shelter  them. 

Night  and  day  she  prayed 
To  the  exalted  Virgin  Mother. 
After  full  three  months 
The  chest  was  blown  ashore. 

Not  without  design,  upon  the  coast 
Of  the  kingdom  of  Antioch 
Were  these  two,  mother  and  child, 
Carried  by  the  wind. 

I  will  stop  with  them  now 

And  turn  my  attention 

To  King  Don  Enrico 

Who  was  victorious  over  the  Moors. 


The  king  returned 

And  carried  victory  with  him: 

Great  was  the  rejoicing 

Of  the  whole  army. 

Great  was  the  joy 

Of  the  soldiers  who  accompanied  him ; 

Each  one  was  celebrating 

Their  victory  over  their  enemies. 

When  the  noble  Don  Enrico 
Arrived  at  the  palace. 
He  asked  Don  Pascasio 
How  the  queen  fared. 

Don  Pascasio  was  dumfounded 
By  the  question  of  the  king; 
And  the  king  said,  "Why 
Are  you  thus  astonished?" 

Don  Pascasio  knelt 

Before  the  happy  monarch,  [king, 

And  replied,  "Your  question,  illustrious 
I  cannot  answer. 

"Here  is  the  letter 

Delivered  to  me  by  your  servant; 

Read  it,  my  lord, 

And  that  will  clear  up  the  matter  for  you." 

After  the  king  had  read 
The  contents  of  the  letter, 
He  fainted  at  once 
And  ceased  to  breathe. 

All  the  councillors  immediately 
Rushed  to  his  assistance 
And  tried  to  revive  him. 
Until  he  recovered. 

When  the  King  Don  Enrico 
Was  restored  to  his  senses. 
He  thus  questioned  Don  Pascasio 
And  also  the  servant. 

"Confess  at  once 

Which  of  you  two 

Invented  this  letter, 

This  treachery  against  the  queen." 


264 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 


15 


Ang  sagot   ni   D.  Pascasio 
ac6  man   po,i,  patayin  mo, 
ualang  masabi  sa  iyo 
ang  gumaua   ay  cun  sino. 

Tinanong  ng  hari   naman 
ang   criadong  inutusan, 
ngayo,i,   pag  di  mo  tinuran 
capalit   ang   iyong  buhay. 

Ng  magmula  ca  sa  guerra 
saan   ea   nagdaan  muna, 
sinong  sa   iyo,i,   cumuha 
ng  sulat   na  iyong  dala. 

Sinabi   na  ang  totoo 
niyong   inutusang   criado, 
doon   po    nagdaan   ac6 
sa  iyong  inang   poong   co. 

Sa  aqui.i,   inagao  niya 
ang  sulat   na  aqiiing  dala, 
at  pinapag-antay   muna 
sa  silid   doon  binasa. 

Ng  sa  baring  mapaquingan 
ang  sa  criadong  sinaysay, 
aniya,i,  ito,i,  paraan 
ng  aquing   ind,t,   magulang. 

Ipinatauag   ang  ina 
cagalita.i,   sabibin  pa, 
ano   ay  ng  dumating  na 
ito   ang   uinica   niya. 

Baquin  ina   baquin  baga 
ang  galit   mo,i,  ganiyan   na, 
sa   reinang    aquing    asaua 
anac  co,i,  idinamay  pa. 

Yayang   dating  cabatulan 
ng  Dios   na  Poong  mabal, 
na  cun   ang  utang  ay  bubay 
bubay   rin    ang    cabayaran. 

Caya  ngay6n  ang  batql  co 
bilang  parusa  sa   iyo, 
matira  sa  calabozo 
bayad  sa  ca  sal  an  an  mo. 


Hangang  bindi  co  maquita 
ang  anac  co  at   asaua, 
ina  CO   ma.i,    magdurusa 
batol  ng  real  justicia. 

Asaua  co,i,   pinatay   na 
anac   co,i,   idinamay  pa, 
munti   bagang  laquing  sala 
nitong  guinaua   mo  ina. 

Ac6  man  ay  iyong  an4c 
na  sa  puso   mo,i,  nagbubat, 
justicia   nama,i,    marapat 
sa  may  utang  magpabayad. 

Ipinadala   ang  ini 
sa  calabozo,i,   magdusa, 
siyang  nayaring  sentencia 
consejeros   na   labat  na. 

Sabibin   ang  calumbayan 
ng   baring  lubbang  marangal, 
dabil   sa  bindi  dinatnan 
ang  asaua.t,   andc  naman, 

0161   ang  siyang   capara 
bubunto-buntong  hining^, 
balos   mapatid  mapaca 
sa   pigbating   dinadal^. 

Nasaan   ca  Florentina 
6   Federico   ng  ama, 
di  na   tayo   nagquiquita 
jay   abang  aba  co  bag^l 

Saan   co  caya  babanapin 
at  saan  co  dudulangin, 
ay   Florentina  cong  guilio 
cabiyac   niyaring   panimdim. 

Nasaan   ca  Federico 
siila  ng  mga  matd   co, 
saan   babanapin  cay6 
culang  palad   na  ama   mo. 

Capagdaca.i,    napalugm6c 
ang  hiuing&,i,   nangangapos, 
pinag-agao   ng  consejos 
sa  silid  ay  ipinasoc. 


Princess  Florentina. 


265 


Don  Pascasio  answered, 
"Even  though  you  kill  me, 
I  cannot  tell  you 
Who  wrote  this." 

Then  the  king  questioned 
The  servant  who  had  received  the  order, 
And  said,  "If  you  do  not  tell  the  truth, 
Your  life  will  answer  for  it. 

"When  you  came  from  the  battlefield, 

Where  did  you  stop  first? 

And  who  took  from  you 

The  letter  you  were  carrying?" 

The  servant,  who  had  been  commissioned. 

Told  the  truth: 

"I  stopped  over  there 

At  the  house  of  your  mother. 

"She  snatched  from  me 
The  letter  I  was  carrying. 
And  she  commanded  me  to  wait 
While  she  read  it  in  her  room." 

When  the  king  heard 

What  the  servant  had  to  say, 

He  said,  "This  was  the  wicked  scheme 

Of  my  mother,  my  parent." 

In  his  great  rage 

He  had  his  mother  summoned; 

And  when  she  came, 

He  questioned  her  thus: 

"Why,  mother,  why 

Was  your  hatred  so  great 

For  the  queen  my  wife, 

That  my  child  should  suffer  too? 

"Since  it  is  the  ancient  punishment 
Of  the  divine  Lord  God, 
That  if  you  owe  a  life, 
You  will  pay  a  life  for  it, 

"So  now  my  sentence 

And  my  punishment  for  you 

Is  that  you  shall  be  put  in  a  dungeon 

In  payment  for  your  crime. 


"Until  I  find 

My  child  and  my  wife,  [suffer 

Although  (you  are)  my  mother,  you  shall 
The  sentence  imposed  by  me. 

"My  wife  was  put  to  death; 
My  child  suffered  a  like  fate: 
This  is  no  small  crime 
That  you  have  committed,  mother. 

"Although  I  am  your  child 

And  sprang  forth  from  your  body, 

It  is  but  right  that  justice 

Should  make  you  pay  what  you  owe." 

The  mother  was  sent 

To  the  dungeon  to  undergo 

The  sentence,  (which  was)  ratified 

By  the  whole  council. 

Great  was  the  sorrow 

Of  this  most  worthy  king 

Because  upon  his  return 

He  had  not  found  his  wife  and  child. 

He  was  like  one  demented. 
He  was  continually  sighing; 
He  nearly  choked 
Because  of  his  extreme  anguish. 

"Where  are  you,  Florentina? 

0  Federico,  my  son ! 

We  have  not  seen  each  other. 

1  am  the  most  miserable  of  men. 

"Where  shall  I  seek 
And  where  shall  I  find  you, 
O  Florentina!  my  beloved. 
The  half  of  my  life? 

"Where  are  you,  Federico, 
Light  of  my  eyes? 
Where  can  you  be  found 
By  your  unlucky  father?" 

At  once  he  fell  to  the  floor 

And  lost  his  breath; 

The  councillors  straightway  raised  him 

And  carried  him  to  his  room. 


266 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  16 


Ng  s  ya,i,    mahimasmas^n 
ng   hininga   sa  catauan, 
nanangis   at   nanambitan 
olol   ang    siyang   cabagay. 

Ac6,i,   ualang  casalaoaa 
Florentinang   aquing  buhay, 
ang  lub6s   may  cagagaudn 
ang  ina   cocg  tampalasan. 

Ang  cahapisa.i,   sabibin 
hari.i,   halos  di  cumain, 
ang   bantd  sa   panimdim 
ang   asaua.i,   paghanapin. 

Aco  ngayon  ay  papanao 
iiuan  ang   cabarian, 
anhin   co  ang   camahalan 
tantong   uaUng   cabulub^n. 

Tinauag  si  D    Pascasio 
pili   niyang  consejero, 
ipinagbilin    ang   reino 
presidenteng  interino. 

O  D.  Pascasio   aniya 
ngayo.i,   ibahal^l   quita, 
presidenteng   icalaud 
dito  sa   reinong  Navarra. 

Susundin   ca,t,   igagalang 
lahat   eong    nasasacupan, 
at  ang   sa  iyo,i,   sumuay 
ay   agad.    mong  parusaban 

Caya   ang  tanong  sa  iyo 
ang  reina.t,  sampong  andc  co, 
cun  totoong  pinatay   mo 
sabibin   mo  ang  toto6. 

Sa  cay  D.  Pascasiong  badyd 
bari  po   ay   maquinig    ca, 
tuturan   co   pong  labat   na 
ang  napagsapit  ng  reina. 

Ang  sulat   ng   maquita   co 
dala  ng  iyong  criado, 
ang  catauan    co,i,  nanglomo 
at  nangatdl  yaring  buto. 


Ang  bibig  co.i,  di  mabucsan 
ayon  po   sa   reinang  mabal, 
sapagca  ang  nalalamdn 
ay   mabiglang   camatayan. 

Ibinigay   co   sa   reina 
at  siya  cong  pinabasa, 
manang  sa  matanto  niya 
nagbimatay  capagdaca. 

Ang  reina.i,  ng  pagsaulan 
ng  bininga  sa  catauan, 
agdd   niyang    linapitan 
anac  mong  camucba.i,  Arao 

Lalaquing    sadyd    sa  quias 
icao  rin  po  ang  catulad, 
pinasuso   at  niyacap 
luba.i,  bahd  sa  pag-iyac. 

Di  maubos  ang  pagtangis 
ng  reinang   cahapis  bapis, 
bininga.i,    balos    mapatid 
sa  andc  na  sinta.t,  ibig. 

Aco  po,i,  nagdalang  aua 
sa  reinang  luluba-liiba, 
sa   tacot   cong  di  cauasa 
sa    utos  mo  pong  gabasa. 

Nuba  na  aco  ng  caban 
ang   mag-ina,i,   inilulau, 
saca  po   aquing   tinacpa.t, 
dinala  sa   caragatan. 

Ng  anyo   ng  na  sa  laot 
ay  bigla  cong  inibulog, 
dinala  agad  ng  agos 
at  ng  along   matatayog. 

Hari  pagcarinig  nito 
sucat  na,  sucat  Pascasio, 
mamamatay    lamang  aco 
ngayon  din  aalis   dito. 

Aco,i,  magliligalig  na 
babanapin  co  ang  reina, 
jaba  ng  anac  cong  sintd 
na  di  nagquitang  guinhaua! 


Princess  Florentina. 


267 


When  he  recovered, 
And  was  able  to  breathe  again, 
He  lamented  and  raved 
Just  like  a  madman. 

"I  am  guiltless, 
Florentina  my  life! 
The  one  really  to  blame 
Is  my  wicked  mother." 

His  grief  was  so  great 

That  he  could  hardly  eat; 

He  was  always  planning  in  his  heart 

To  seek  for  his  wife. 

"I  shall  now  depart"  (he  said) 
And  leave  the  kingdom. 
What  should  I  do  with  royalty 
When  it  is  meaningless?" 

He  summoned  Don  Pascasio, 
His  favorite  councillor, 
And  left  him  in  charge  of  the  realm 
As  president  pro  tempore. 

"O  Don  Pascasio!"  he  said, 
"I  will  now  appoint  you 
The  second  in  rank 
In  the  kingdom  of  Navarre. 

"You  are  to  be  obeyed  and  honored 

By  the  whole  country; 

Punish  at  once 

Any  who  shall  disobey  you. 

"And  I  ask  you  one  question  — 
Tell  me  the  truth: 
The  queen  and  my  child, 
Did  you  really  kill  them?" 

Don  Pascasio  said, 

"O  King!  hear  me! 

I  will  tell  you  all 

That  happened  to  the  queen. 

"After  I  read  the  letter 

That  your  servant  brought  me, 

My  body  shook 

And  my  bones  trembled. 


"  Because  of  the  fate  of  the  queen 
I  could  not  open  my  mouth, 
For  the  letter  contained 
A  warrant  for  her  immediate  death. 

"I  handed  to  the  queen 
The  letter,  and  let  her  read  it; 
When  she  understood  it, 
She  immediately  fainted. 

"When  the  queen  recovered 
And  regained  her  breath. 
She  at  once  went  to  her  child, 
Whose  face  was  like  the  sun  — 

"A  boy  by  nature  handsomely  formed. 
Resembling  you  greatly,  my  lord; 
She  suckled  him  and  embraced  him, 
While  her  tears  fell  in  floods. 

"The  pitiful  queen 

Could  not  help  but  lament  continuously: 

Her  breath  nearly  failed  her 

On  account  of  her  dearly  beloved  child. 

"  I  took  pity 
On  the  weeping  queen. 
Because  of  my  great  fear 
At  your  rash  order, 

"I  obtained  a  chest. 

Put  mother  and  child  in  it; 

Then  I  closed  the  lid 

And  took  the  box  out  to  sea. 

"When  we  were  far  out  at  sea, 

I  straightway  had  it  cast  overboard; 

At  once  the  current 

And  the  high  waves  swept  it  away." 

After  the  king  had  heard  this, 
He  cried,  "Stop,  stop,  Pascasio! 
I  shall  die  if  I  hear  more. 
I  will  leave  this  place  at  once. 

"I  will  wander  about 

And  seek  the  queen. 

Alas,  my  beloved  child ! 

Who  hast  not  enjoyed  even  comfort. 


VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  112. 


268 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  17  — 


Abata  na  D.   Pascasio 
Dgayon   din   aalis  aco, 
icao  ay  iiuan  dito 
presidente  nitong  reino. 

Ang  hari  ay  lumacad   na 
0I6I  ang  siyang  capara, 
uala  isa  mang  casama 
cundi  ang   criado   niya. 

Ipagparito  co  naman 
sa  cay  Florentinang  buhay, 
sa  dagat  luliitang-lutang 
ng    Antioquiang  caharian. 

Ng  siya  ay  malapit  na 
sa  tabi   niyong    aplaya, 
tambing  ang  caba.i,    naquita 
ng  castellano  sa  fuerza 

Pagdaca.i,    ipinag-utos 
doon  sa  mga  soldados, 
saguipin  ninyo  sa  laot         ^ 
cab4n  manding  naaanod. 

Sinaguip  na  capagdaca 
sa  castellano,!,    dinald, 
ng  mabucs^n  ay  naquita 
iyong  dalauang  mag-in^. 

Malaqui  ang  pagtataca 
pagcaquita  sa  mag-ina, 
loob  piisOji,  naligaya 
agad   quinamayan   niya. 

Ang  uica  ng  castellano 
mahal  butihing  guinoo, 
baquin  po  nagcaganito 
at  saan  nagmulang  reino. 

Ang  sagot   ni    Florentina 
aco  po,i,  tauong  mura, 
doon  sa  bayang   Navarra 
itinapon  ng  asaua. 

Anang  castellano  naman 
dito  ca  na  po  sa  bahay, 
huag  cang  maalang-alang 
para  ng  andc  na  tunay. 

PEINCBSA    FLORENTINA. 


Ang  sag6t  ni  Florentina 
salamat  na  po  aniya, 
sa  mabuti  mong  anyaya 
cun  sa  an^c  ipapara. 

Ano  pa  ngani.i,  minulan 
ng   castellanong  marangal, 
ang.  Iub6s  na  pagmamahal 
di   pagauin  nang  ano  man. 

Ang   uica  ng  castellano 
sa  loob  niya  ay  ganito, 
itong   mag-ind,i,    banta  co 
galing  sa   dug6ng  guinoo. 

Sa   lagay  at  asal  niya 
doon   CO   naquiquilala, 
tant6  ngang  hindi  sasala 
galing  sa   dug6ng   magandd. 

Tumanong  si   Florentina 
sa  castellanong  maganda, 
dito.i,  sino  po  aniya 
ang  baring  quiniquilala. 

Agad  na  sinagot  naman 
ng  castellanong  marangal, 
ang  baring  iguinagalang 
si   D.  Fernando  ang  ngalan. 

May  an^c  siyang  princesa 
sacdal  ng   diquit  at  ganda, 
ang   ngala.i,  si  Isabela 
lahat  ay   naliligaya. 

Doo,i,  nangagcacapisan 
iba.t,    ibang   caharian, 
pangangasaua  ang  pacay 
cay    Isabelang   carict^n. 

Sa  caramihang  guinoo 
principe  at  caballero, 
pinili  ni   D.    Fernando 
ang  baring  si   D.   Eurico. 

Siya  niyang  tinangoan 
na  maguing  esposong  tunay, 
ni    Isabelang  timtiman 
an4c  niyang   minamahal. 

3 


Princess  Florentina. 


269 


"Remain  here,  Don  Pascasio. 
I  am  going  to  depart  at  once; 
You  are  to  stay  here 
As  president  of  the  kingdom." 

The  king  set  out 
Like  a  demented  person; 
No  companion  had  he 
But  one  servant  of  his. 

I  shall  speak  now 

Of  Florentina's  life: 

She  was  floating  in  the  ocean 

By  the  coast  of  Antioch. 

When  she  came 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  coast, 
The  chest  was  quickly  seen 
By  the  castellan  of  the  fort. 

At  once  he  ordered 

His  soldiers 

To  rescue  the  chest 

That  was  being  washed  about  ofT  shore. 

It  was  at  once  taken  hold  of 
And  brought  to  him; 
And  when  it  was  opened, 
They  found  the  mother  and  child. 

The  castellan  was  astonished 

To  see  the  mother  and  child; 

He  was  glad  at  heart, 

And  at  once  shook  hands  with  them. 

The  castellan  spoke: 

"  Exalted  lady, 

How  has  this  happened  to  you. 

And  from  what  kingdom  do  you  come?" 

Florentina  answered, 

"I  am  a  lowly  person 

From  the  kingdom  of  Navarre; 

I  was  cast  away  by  my  husband." 

The  castellan  then  said, 

"Remain  here  at  my  house; 

Do  not  fear, 

You  shall  be  treated  as  my  own  daughter." 

1  Between  this  stanza  and  the  following  a  lapse 


Florentina  answered, 

"I  thank  you,  sir. 

For  your  kind  invitation, 

If  you  will  include  my  son." 

From  the  very  beginning 
This  excellent  castellan 
Cherished  her. 
And  would  let  her  do  nothing. 

The  castellan  thought 

In  his  heart  thus: 

"This  mother  and  child,  I  believe, 

Have  royal  blood  in  their  veins. 

"I  can  judge 

From  their  appearance  and  conduct, 

Which  prove  unmistakably 

That  they  are  of  illustrious  birth." 

Florentina  asked 

The  kind-hearted  castellan, 

"  Who  here  is  the  king 

To  whom  you  all  owe  allegiance?" 

The  worthy  castellan 

At  once  made  answer, 

"The  king  to  whom  we  do  homage 

Is  Don  Fernando  by  name. 

"  His  daughter  the  princess 

Is  full  of  beauty  and  grace; 

Her  name  is  Isabella, 

She  is  the  delight  of  every  one."  ^ 

There  are  many  in  the  capital. 
Come  from  many  other  kingdoms; 
Their  intention  is  to  woo 
The  beautiful  Isabella. 

Out  of  this  multitude 
Of  princes  and  knights 
Don  Fernando  selected 
Don  Enrico,  the  king. 

He  was  the  favored  one, 
Chosen  to  be  the  husband 
Of  the  chaste  Isabella, 
The  king's  beloved  child. 

of  some  years  must  be  understood. 


270 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  18  — 


Ng  ito  ay   maalaman 
duque.t,  eaballeroDg  tanan, 
napasintabi  ng   galang 
at  sila  ay  napaalam. 

Si  Isabela,!,  tinauag 
ng  baring  lubhang   mataas, 
bnDs6  CO  ay  maquimat-yag 
sa  aquiog  ipahabayag. 

Sumag6t  si   Isabela 
magsabi  na  po  si  am&, 
ang  ando  mong  sinisinta 
susun6d  po,t,  tatalima 

Ang  uica  ng  hari,i,   ito 
6  Isabelang   buns6  co, 
aco  ngayon  ay  sundin  mo 
sa  sasabihin  sa   iyo. 

Si  D.  Enricong  maraogal 
sa  Navarrang  cahai-ian, 
dito,i,   ang  ipinaglacbay 
pangangasana  ang  pacay. 

Sa  naritong  caramiban 
duque.t,   caballerong   tanan, 
ang  napili  co,t,  nabirang 
si  D.   Enricong  marangal. 

Aco,i,   agad  napa-60 
sa  baring  cay  D,  Enrico, 
caya  anaqnin  bunso  co 
aco  ay  paayunan  mo. 

Sumagot  si   Isabela 
sa   baring    caniyang  ama, 
sun6d  po  aco,t,   talima 
sa   balang  loob  po  niya. 

Ang  bariji,  agad  nag-gayac 
cacasangcapaning   labat, 
sa  arzobispo,i,  sumulat 
na  siyang  magdesposadas. 

Aquin   munang  ipagbalic 
cay  Florentinang  mariquit, 
arao,   gabi.i,   tumatangis 
sa  birap  niyang  nasapit. 


Parati  niyang  ala-ala 
ang  sinta  niyang  asaua, 
ang  bagap  ng  loob  niya 
uala  camunti  mang  sala 

At  ang  na«oc  sa  acala 
sa  sinapit  na  d^lita, 
ang  nagpacana,t,  may  gaua 
ang  bienan  niyang  matanda. 

Hanga  ng  mataban   dito 
sa  babay  ng  castellano, 
andc  niyang  Federico 
minamabal   na  totoo. 

Lalaquing  sacdal  ng  diquit 
calug6d-lug6d   ang  tindig, 
ang  catulad  at  caparis 
si  Marte  6  si   Adonis. 

Nagsabi  ang  castellano 
na  sa  arao  ng  Domingo 
6  Florentinang  andc  co 
huag  acong  bintln  ninyo. 

Ang  sag6t  ni  Plorentina 
ay   baquin  po  caya  amd 
ano  ang  ligalig  niya 
sabibin    mo,t,   ipagbadya. 

Anang  castellano  naman 
may  malaquing  caguluban, 
ang  bari  naming  marangal 
ang  anac  ay    icacasal. 

Ang  tugon   ni  Florentina 
sinong  maguiguing  asaua, 
anang  castellano   baga 
yaong  bari  sa  Navarra. 

At  ang    mag-aanac  namau 
emperador   na  aleman, 
si  D.   Alfonsong  marangal 
pilit  na   dadalong  tunay. 

Ang  uica   ni    Florentina 
diyata  sa  lingo   ama, 
mabanga.i,  iyong   isama 
ang  anac   cong  sinisinta. 


Princess  Florentina. 


271 


iVhen  this  became  known 
Fo  all  the  dukes  and  knights, 
Fhey  courteously  begged  leave  to  go, 
\nd  took  their  departure. 

Isabella  was  summoned 
By  his  highness  the  king: 
'My  child,  pay  close  attention 
Fo  what  I  shall  say." 

[sabella  answered, 

'Speak,  my  honored  father; 

Fhe  child  you  love  [mands.' 

N'lW  obey,  and    remember  your   com- 

Fhe  king  then  said, 

'O  Isabella!  my  child, 

3e  obedient  now 

Fo  what  I  am  going  to  say. 

'The  illustrious  Don  Enrico 
"rom  the  kingdom  of  Navarre 
ias  come  here 
^s  a  suitor  for  your  hand. 

'  Out  of  the  crowd  here 
)f  dukes  and  knights 
selected  and  singled  out 
rhe  exalted  Don  Enrico. 

'At  once  I  accepted 
rhe  king,  Don  Enrico; 
)0  I  say,  my  child, 
^gree  with  my  choice." 

sabella  answered 
rhe  king,  her  father; 
'  I  obey,  and  agree  to 
iVhatever  are  your  wishes." 

\t  once  the  king  prepared 

\\\  the  furnishings  they  would  need. 

ie  wrote  to  the  archbishop 

Fo  come  and  unite  the  couple.^ 

'.  shall  now  return 

Fo  the  beautiful  Florentina: 

Day  and  night  she  wept 

Dn  account  of  the  suffering  she  endured. 


She  was  always  thinking 
Of  her  beloved  husband; 
In  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
He  was  not  a  whit  guilty. 

And  she  suspected. 
During  the  suffering  she  underwent. 
That  the  scheme  was  conceived  and  car- 
ried out 
By  her  old  mother-in-law. 

From  the  time  that  she  first  began  to  live 
In  the  house  of  the  castellan. 
She  dearly  loved  (and  trained) 
Her  child  Federico, 

A  child  of  great  beauty. 
His  form  was  a  delight  to  see; 
He  looked  like  and  resembled 
Mars  or  Adonis. 

The  castellan  (one  day)  said, 
"Florentina,  my  child, 
Next  Sunday 
Do  not  wait  for  me." 

Florentina  answered, 

"Why,  father. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this  change  of  routine? 

Say,  and  relate  it  to  me." 

The  castellan  answered, 
"Great  revelry  will  take  place 
Because  the  child  of  our  honored  king 
Is  about  to  be  married." 

Florentina  asked, 
"Whom  is  she  going  to  marry?" 
The  castellan  answered, 
"The  king  of  Navarre." 

"The  groom's- man 

Is  to  be  the  Emperor  of  Germany, 

The  great  Don  Alfonso, 

Who  will  take  part  without  fail." 

Florentina  then  said, 

"Perhaps,  father,  it  would  be  well 

For  you  next  Sunday 

To  take  along  with  you  my  dear  son, 


1  The  Tagalog  is  somewhat  obscure  here,  but  the  general  sense  is  clear. 


272 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


-^19- 


Ng  macapanood  naman 
fiesta  eg  caharian, 
at  ang  haring  icacasal 
sa   bata,i,   ituro  lamang. 

Aog  hari  sa  Alemania 
ituro   mo  rin  po  amd, 
ang  bahala  ay   icao    na 
na  inagdala  sa  caniya. 

Ang  sa  castellanong   uica 
ito,i>   nialaquing   hiuaga, 
cay  Florentinang  acala 
di  CO  sucat  mapaghaca. 

Ang  uica  ni  Florentina 
ano   cay  a   nariyan   na, 
ang  hari  sa  Alemania 
sampong   hari  sa  Navarra. 

Anang   castellano  naman 
nariya,t,   nagcacapisan, 
iba.t,  ibang  caharian 
mga    caballerong  tan  an. 

Paalam  muna   buDs6   co 
jnaraming  gagauin   aco, 
si  Federicong  anac  co 
sa  lingOji,  isasama  co. 

Ipatabas  mo  ng  chupa,t, 
casangcaparig   mahalaga, 
at  ibill  ng.  espada 
saca  susunduin  siya, 

Caya  paalam  na  aco 
FlorentiDa,i,  igayac  mo, 
at  sa  arao  ng  DOmingo 
ualang  pagsalang  totoo. 

Nanao  na  ang  castellano 
naparopn  sa  palacio, 
mag-in^  ni  Fcderico 
iniuan  na  niya  rito. 

Anang  ina,i,  parini  ca 
1}uns6,i,  tuturuan  quita, 
tandaan  mong   para-para 
sasabihin  cong   lahat  na 


Sumag6t  ca  Federico 
cun  icao  ay  matututo, 
uiuicain   co,i,  ganito 
saca  naman  uicain  mo. 

Aco  po  poon  co,t,  amd 
nahalic  sa  jyong  paa, 
ipagcaloob    po  niya 
ang   bendiclong  mahalaga. 

Ang  sagot   ni   Federico 
hayo.t,  matatandaan   co, 
anang  ink  ay  ganito 
uicain  mo,t,   paquingan  co. 

Aco,i,  nahalic  sa  p^d 
ng  poong  co,t,  aquing  am6. 
aco.i,  bendicionan  niya 
ng  bendici6ng   mahalaga. 

Ang  uica  ng  ind.i,  ito 
ganiyan  nga  Federico, 
buns6  oo.i,  tandaan  mo 
mga  aral  co  sa  iyo. 

At  ang  isa,i,  ito  naman 
ganito,!,  iyong  paquingan, 
bunso  co,i,  pacatandaan 
huag  mong  calilimutan. 

Lumuluhpd  po  sa  iyo 
nuno  itong  iyong  apo^ 
patauarin  ang  ina  co 
at  sampo  ni   Federico. 

Siya  mo  namaug   uicain 
-anang  ina,t,  aquing  dinguin, 
huag  mo    sanang  limutin 
ang  lahat  cong  mga  bilin. 

Cun  yaon  po  lamang  mk 
aquing   matatandaan   na, 
ang  uica  ni  Florentina 
hayo,t,   uicain  mo  muna. 

Lumuluhod   po  sa  iyo 
nuno  itong  iyong  ap6, 
patauad  po  ang  in^  co 
at  samp<5  ni  Federico. 


Princess  Florentina. 


273 


"That  he  might  have  a  chance 

To  see  the  festivities  of  the  kingdom. 

Point  out  to  the  child 

The  king  who  is  to  be  married. 

"Point  out  also,  father, 
The  King  of  Germany; 
Do  you  look  after  the  boy 
And  take  him  there  with  you." 

The  castellan  said, 
"This  plan  of  Florentina's 
Comes  as  a  great  surprise; 
I  cannot  make  it  out." 

Florentina  spoke  again: 

"  Do  you  think  that  they  are  here  now- 

The  King  of  Germany 

And  the  King  of  Navarre?" 

The  castellan  made  answer, 
"They  are  together  there  now 
With  many  knights 
From  other  kingdoms. 

"Good-by,  my  child! 
I  have  many  things  to  do. 
My  daughter,  I  will  take 
Federico  along  with  me. 

"Order  a  dress-coat 

And  all  the  other  paraphernalia. 

And  buy  a  sword  for  him; 

Then  I  will  come  back  for  the  lad. 

"So  farewell,  Florentina! 
Have  everything  ready, 
And  next  Sunday 
I  shall  surely  come." 

The  castellan  then  went  out. 
And  proceeded  to  the  palace; 
Federico  and  his  mother 
Were  left  behind. 

The  mother  said,  "Come  here, 
Child!     I  am  going  to  teach  you; 
And  you  must  remember 
Everything  that  I  say. 


"Answer,  Federico, 

So  that  you  may  learn: 

I  will  say  something. 

And  you  must  repeat  it  after  me. 

"  '  My  lord  and  father, 
I  kiss  your  feet; 
Grant  me 
Your  priceless  blessing!'  " 

Federico  said, 

"Go  on,  I  can  remember  it." 

The  mother  replied, 

"  Repeat  the  words:  I  want  to  hear  them." 

(He  said)  "I  kiss  the  feet 
Of  my  lord  and  father; 
Bless  me 
With  your  priceless  blessing." 

The  mother  continued, 
"Do  it  just  like  that,  Federico; 
My  child,  do  not  forget 
What  I  have  taught  you. 

"Another  speech  is  like  this: 
Listen  closely,  my  child, 
Remember  it  well. 
And  do  not  forget  it. 

"'Grandfather,  this  your  grandson 
Kneels  before  you; 
Forgive  my  mother 
And  also  Federico.'" 

[The  mother  said]  "I  want  to  hear 
You  repeat  the  words. 
It  would  be  well  for  you  not  to  forget 
What  I  have  taught  you." 

"If  it  is  only  that,  mother, 

I  shall  remember  it." 

The  mother  answered, 

"Go  on  and  repeat  it."  [grandson 

(Federico  said)  "Grandfather,  this  your 

Kneels  before  you; 

Forgive  my  mother 

And  also  Federico." 


274 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


-20- 


Anang  reiDa  ay  ganit6 
tatandaan   mo  buns6  co, 
ang  sagot  ni  Federico 
opo  aniya  ink  co. 

Ink  CO  cun  yaon  lamang 
di  CO  po  calilimutan, 
cahit  maguing   ilang  arao 
aquin  pong   matatandaan. 

Ng  dumating  ang  Domingo 
tinauag  si   Federico, 
guinayacan  nanga  rito 
damit   isang  caballero. 

Ng  masootan  ng  damit 
«ng   bata.i,  lalong  dumiquit, 
ang  catulad  at  caparis 
ang  balitang  si  Adonis. 

Niyon   ngang  masootan  na 
nang  sombrero  at  espada, 
lalong   dumiquit  gumanda 
calingas-lingas   maquita. 

Ang  uica  ni  Florentina 
ama.i,  bahala  icao  na, 
na  magturo  sa  caniya 
sa  hari  po  sa  Navarra. 

At  ang  emperador  naman 
na  si  D.   Alfonsong  mahal, 
ituro  mo  rin  po  naman 
ang  babala  na  po,i,  icao. 

Na  magsabi  at  magbadya 
ng  lalapitaqg  lahat  na, 
caya  nga  po  icao  am4 
ang  bahala  sa  caniya. 

Yao  na  ang  castellano 
easama  si   Federico, 
lacad  aniya  buns6   co 
cnmatiit  ca  sa  camay  co. 

Ano,i,  ng  macaalis  na 
€astellano,t,  an4c  niya, 
sa  silid  nama,i,  nasoc  na 
tumauag  sa   Virgeng  Ina. 


Aniya.i,  6  Indng  Virgen 
Inang  dating  maauain, 
aco  po  ay  iyong  dinguin 
niyaring   aquing  panalangin. 

Huag  mong  itulot  naman 
ang  asaua  co,i,  macasal, 
samantalang  aco,i,  buhay 
sa  aquin   din   maquipisan. 

Sapagca,t,   ang  asaua  co 
ay   ualang  salang  totoo, 
huag  nauang  tulutan  mo 
macasal  sa   ibang  tauo. 

O  Virgeng  aquing   devota 
maauaing   ualang  hanga, 
ang  cagalitan    ni  am^ 
mapaui  sa  loob  niya. 

Di  CO   maubos  sabihin 
ang  sa  reinang  panalangin, 
ang  aquin  munang  sahtin 
an^c   na  napasa  piguing. 

Ng  pumasoc  sa  simbahan 
ang  emperador   na  mahal 
at  sampo  ng  icacasal 
at  boong  caguinoohan. 

Dinala  si  Federico 
nitong  bunying  castellano, 
yaong  baring  daco  rito 
siyang  unang  luhuran  mo. 

At  ang  na  sa   icalaua 
na  hari  ring   may  corona, 
luhuran  din  capagdaca 
at  sa  Camay   humalie  ca. 

Si  Federico,!,  sumunod 
ng  sa  castellanong  utos, 
capagcaraca,i,  lumuhod 
sa  haring  Enricong   bantog. 

Aco,i,  naluhod  sa  pad 
ng   poong  co,t,   aquing  amd, 
aco,i,    bendicionan  niya 
ng  bendici6ng  mahalaga. 


Princess  Florentina. 


^7S 


Then  the  queen  said, 

"Do  not  forget  it,  my  child." 

Federico  replied, 

"Very  well,  mother,  I  shall  not. 

"Mother,  if  that  is  all, 
I  shall  not  forget  it; 
Even  after  some  days 
I  shall  still  remember  it." 

When  Sunday  came, 
Federico  was  summoned, 
And  he  was  clothed 
In  the  garments  of  a  knight. 

After  he  was  apparelled, 
The  child  was  even  more  handsome; 
He  resembled  and  seemed  to  be 
The  Adonis  of  well-known  fame. 

After  they  had  put  on 

His  hat  and  his  sword, 

He  was  still  more  handsome  and  lovely: 

He  shone  to  the  eye. 

Florentina  said, 
"Father,  take  care 
To  point  out  to  him 
The  King  of  Navarre! 

"And  also  the  emperor, 
The  exalted  Don  Alfonso, 
Be  sure,  likewise, 
To  point  him  out! 

"Tell  the  boy 

Which  ones  he  is  to  approach; 

And  do  you,  father. 

Take  good  care  of  him." 

The  castellan  left 

With  Federico, 

(And  said)  "Come  along,  my  boy, 

And  take  my  arm!" 

When  they  had  departed, 
The  guard  and  her  son, 
She  likewise  went  to  her  chamber 
And  invoked  the  Virgin  Mother. 


"O  Holy  Virgin!"  she  said, 

"  Ever  great  compassionate  Mother, 

I  pray  thee  hear 

This  my  prayer! 

"Do  not  permit 

My  husband  to  marry 

While  I  am  alive! 

May  we  be  united  again! 

"Because  my  husband 
Is  truly  altogether  blameless: 
Do  not  allow  him,  I  pray  thee, 
To  marry  any  other! 

"O  Virgin!  my  devotion. 
Merciful  without  end. 
Efface  from  his  heart 
The  rage  of  my  father." 

Without  staying  to  relate  in  detail 

The  petition  of  the  queen, 

I  will  hasten  to  speak 

Of  her  son  who  was  at  the  feast. 

When  the  mighty  emperor 
Had  entered  the  church, 
Together  with  the  betrothed  couple 
And  all  the  nobility, 

Federico  was  conducted  there 
By  the  worthy  castellan: 
"That  king  who  is  nearest  to  us 
Is  the  first  to  whom  you  are  to  kneel. 

"And  the  next  one. 
The  king  with  the  crown. 
Kneel  before  him  likewise 
And  kiss  his  hand." 

Federico  complied 
With  the  order  of  the  castellan, 
And  at  once  knelt  before 
The  illustrious  King  Enrico. 

"I  kneel  before  the  feet"  (he  said) 
Of  my  lord  and  my  father; 
Bless  me 
With  your  priceless  blessing." 


276 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  21  — 


Ng  maquita,t,  mapagmalas 
haring  EnricoDg  marillg, 
ang  luha.i,   agad  nalaglag 
si  Federico.i,   tinauag. 

QuinaloDg  agad   ang  bata 
na  tumutulo  ang  luha, 
si  Federico,i,   bumaba 
dumul6g  sa  ntinong  bigl4. 

Ano.i,  nang  siya.i,  maquita 
nang  hari  sa  Alemania. 
naguiclabanan  pagdaca 
sabay  ang  luha  sa   mat&. 

TiimatangLs  lumuluhog 
ang  bdtang  calug6d-lug6d, 
sa  paa  agad  lumub6d 
nang  emperador  na  bant6g. 

Lumuluhod  po  sa  iy6 
ntino  it6ng  iy6n   ap6, 
patauad  po  ang   in^  co  t, 
ap6  mong  si   Federico. 

Emperador  ay  nababag 
luha  sa  matai,  nalagldg, 
ang  tua,   hapis   at  sinddc 
sa  loob   bumabagabdg. 

Quinalong  na  at  sinapo 
ang  batang  si  Federico, 
at  tinatanong   cun  sino 
ang  may  anac  baga  rito. 

Ito.i,   malaquing  hiuaga 
ibig  cong  mapag-usisa, 
castellano.i,  pagsalita 
nang  ama,t,  ina  nang  bata. 

Sumagot  ang  castellano 
sa  emperador  Alfonso, 
ang  ink  po.i,  uala  rito 
at  natira  sa  bahay  co. 

Hayo  at  biglang  tauaguin 
ngayon  din  dito,i,  dumating, 
aquing  pag-uusisain 
ito,i,  hiuagang  magaling. 


Mga  mahal   aba  tayo 
at  magbalic  sa   palacio, 
Dgayo.i,  tatalastasin  co 
ang  am^.t,  ink  cun  sino. 

Sabihin  ang  capal  baga 
ng  madlang  tauong  sumama, 
manonood   na  talaga 
sa  hiuagang   napagquita. 

Di  naman  lubhang  nabalana 
malayo  pa,i,  natatanao, 
ang  castellanong  marangal 
si  Florentina^i,  caacbay. 

Reina  namang  lumalacad 
tala  manding  sumisicat, 
lialang  capara  nang  dildg 
sa  cagandahang  di  hamac. 

Ay  ano  nga.i,  nang  maquita 
ang  sinta  niyang  ^saua, 
hinimatay  capagdaca. 
ang  reinang  si  Fiorentina 

Dinampot   capagcaraca 
nit6ng  hari  sa  Navarra, 
niyacap  quinalong  niya 
ang  sinta  niyang  asaua. 

Aco,i,  ualang  casalanan 
sa  iyo  sinta  co,t,   buhay, 
ang  may  gaua,t,   may  laldng 
ay  ang  ink  cong  sueaban. 

Dito  sa  pagcalong  niya 
sa  sinta  niyang   asaua, 
hinimatay  capagdaca 
itong  hari   sa  Navarra. 

Ipagparito  co  naman 
sa  emperador  na  mahal, 
nagtindig  at   pinarunan 
ang  andc  ay  nilapitan. 

Ito  ang  uinica  niya- 
sa  harapan    ng  lahat  na, 
ito,i,   anac  co    aniya 
princesang  si   Fiorentina. 


Princess  Florentina. 


277 


When  he  was  observed  and  seen 
By  the  illustrious  King  Enrico, 
Tears  rolled  down  the  monarch's  cheeks, 
And  Federico  was  summoned  to  him. 

He  took  the  child  in  his  arms 
While  the  tears  were  flooding  his  face; 
Then  Federico  escaped  from  the  embrace 
And  went  to  his  grandfather. 

And  when  he  was  seen 

By  the  King  of  Germany, 

That  monarch  was  greatly  surprised, 

And  tears  diffused  his  face. 

Weeping  and  entreating, 
This  beautiful  boy 
Knelt  at  once  at  the  feet 
Of  the  renowned  emperor. 

(Hesaid)  "Grandfather,  this  your  grandson 
Kneels  before  you; 
Forgive  my  mother 
And  also  Federico." 

The  emperor  pitied  the  child; 
Tears  fell  from  his  eyes; 
Happiness,  sorrow,  and  surprise 
Disturbed  him  in  his  heart. 

He  raised  and  embraced 

The  child  Federico, 

And  asked 

Who  were  the  parents  of  the  boy. 

"  Here  is  a  great  mystery 

And  I  should  like  to  investigate  it. 

Guard,"  he  said,  "tell 

Who  are  this  child's  father  and  mother." 

The  castellan  answered 
The  emperor,  Don  Alfonso: 
"His  mother  is  not  here. 
She  is  living  at  my  house." 

"Go  and  summon  her 
To  come  at  once; 
I  want  to  find  out  the  truth 
Of  this  great  mystery. 


"  Nobles,  come! 

Let  us  return  to  the  palace! 

I  am  going  to  find  out 

Who  his  father  and  mother  are." 

Very  great  was  the  crowd 

Of  people  who  went  with  him 

With  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  end    [them. 

Of  this  mystery  that  had  appeared  among 

It  was  not  long 

Before  there  could  be  seen  from  afar 

The  faithful  castellan, 

And  Florentina  by  his  side. 

As  the  queen  walked  along, 

She  was  like  a  shining  star: 

Nothing  could  compare  with  the  brilliancy 

Of  her  extraordinary  beauty. 

When  she  saw 

Her  beloved  husband. 

She  immediately  fainted,  — 

The  queen  Florentina. 

She  was  at  once  lifted  up 

By  the  King  of  Navarre; 

He  took  in  his  arms  and  embraced 

His  beloved  wife. 

"Against  you,  my  life, 
I  have  committed  no  fault;  [crime 

The  one  who  conceived  and  executed  the 
Was  my  treacherous  mother." 

While  he  had  his  dear  wife 
In  his  arms, 
This  King  of  Navarre 
Fainted  straightway. 

I  will  speak  now 
Of  the  great  emperor. 
He  arose  and  went 
To  his  daughter. 

He  declared  before 
All  the  people  there, 
"This  is  my  child. 
The  princess  Florentina." 


278 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


—  22  — 


Aug  panaghoy   niya.i,   ito 
6   Florentinang   anae  co, 
patauad   yaring  amd  mo 
sa  naguing  sala  sa  iyo. 

Ipagparito   co  muna 
sa  dalauang    mag-asaua, 
aua  nang   Virgen   Maria 
pinagsaulan    nang   hiniDga. 

Ang  tua.i,   sabihin  pa 
nang   capisanang   lahat  na, 
samp6  nang    nacaquiquita 
nanguilalas  sa  canila. 

It6  muna,i,  aquing  lisan 
na  manga  pananambitan, 
samp>6  nang  tuang  quinamtan 
at  canilang  pagca-bubay. 

Napahint6  ang  abala 
pagcacasal  sa  canila, 
si   D.  Enrico,i,    nagbady^ 
sa   hari  sa  Antioquia. 

Sinabi,t,  ipinagsaysay 
sa  baring  Fernandong  mabal, 
daan   nang  pagca-biualay 
sa  asauang  sinta.t,   bubay 

Ang  tua,i,  sabihin  pa 
nang  hari,t,  consejos   niya, 
at  ang  daang   pagquiquita 
mapalad  na  mag-asaua. 

Catuaa.i,  ualang  hangan 
nang  guinoong  napipisan, 
sa  pagquiquitang  hinusay 
sa  Dios  na  calooban. 

Ualang  hangang  catuaan 
nang  booug  sang  caharian, 
para-parang  nangag-alay 
nang  pagcaing   bagay-bagay. 

Nang  it6  ay  matapos  na 
nangagpaalaman  sila, 
ang  magbienan    ay  nagsama 
no-ai  sa  cani-canila. 


Ng   dumating   sa  Navarra 
ang  dalauang   mag-asaua, 
tua  ay  ualang  capara 
boong   reinong  sacop  niya. 

Nagfiestang   nuli  nama.t, 
novenas  na  bagay-bagay, 
nag-uli  pang   isang  siyam 
sa   pagquiquitang   hinusay 

Saca   ang   sinunod    dito 
ng  baring   si  D.    Enrico, 
ang   corona   niya  t,    cetro 
isinalin  cay   Pascasio. 

Ito   ang  ganti  at  bigay 
sa  iyong  mabuting  asal, 
at  ang  isa  pang  dahilan 
asaua   co,i,    di  namatay. 

Cay  a   nuli  pang  nag  fiesta 
caharian   nang  Navarra, 
dahil  sa   pagcocorona 
ni  D.   Pascasicmg   masigla. 

Sjyam   na  arao  ang  gulo 
tanang    grandes   at  guinoo, 
tuing  gabi.i,   luminario 
doon  sa   loob   ng    reino. 

Ang   baring  si  D.   Enrico 
ang   reina.t,   si  Federico, 
naisipan   nilang    tatl6 
pa    sa  Alemaniang  reino. 

Ang  imperiong   Alemania 
nangatua.t,    nangagsaya, 
ang  manga  tauong   lahat   na 
nang   doo.i,   dumating   sila. 

Ang  emperador  Alfonso 
catuaa,i,   mago.t,   mago, 
sa  pagquiquitang  ganit6 
sa  reina  t,   cay    Federico. 

Ang  uica  niya,i,   ganit6 
sa  boo  niyang  consejo, 
yayang  ngayo,i,  naparito 
ang  manga  anac  co,t,  ap6. 


Princess  Florentina. 


279 


This  was  his  lament: 

"0  Florentina!  my  child, 

Forgive  your  father 

For  the  wrongs  he  has  done  you." 

As  for  the  husband  and  wife 
(Florentina  and  Don  Enrico), 
By  the  favor  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
They  recovered  their  breath. 

Indescribable  was  the  happiness 
Of  all  who  were  there; 
All  who  had  witnessed  the  scene 
Were  astonished  by  the  couple. 

Now  I  will  turn  aside 
From  the  relation  of  my  story,      [enjoyed. 
And  also  (will  pass  over)  the  pleasure  they 
And  their  life  thereafter. 

The  marriage  ceremony 
Was  at  once  stopped. 
Don  Enrico  went  to  see 
The  King  of  Antioch. 

He  related  to  the 
Noble  King  Don  Fernando 
How  he  had  been  separated 
From  his  beloved  wife. 

Great  was  the  joy 

Of  the  king  and  his  councillors 

At  the  way  in  which  [again. 

This  fortunate  couple  had   been   united 

There  were  no  bounds 
To  the  happiness  of  these  gentlemen; 
The  reunion  of  husband  and  wife 
Was  by  the  favor  of  God. 

Very,  very  glad 
Was  the  entire  kingdom: 
All  the  people  made  presents 
Of  food  in  great  variety. 

After  the  feast  was  over. 
They  took  leave  of  each  other: 
Son-in-law  and  father-in-law  both 
Returned  to  their  own  kingdoms. 


When  the  husband  and  wife 
Arrived  in  Navarre, 
Their  faithful  subjects 
Were  greatly  delighted. 

They  had  another  celebration, 
And  novenas  of  various  kinds; 
And  then  another  nine-day  prayer 
In  honor  of  the  happy  reunion. 

After  this  was  completed, 
King  Don  Enrico 
Bestowed  the  crown  and  sceptre 
On  Don  Pascasio. 

"This  is  the  reward 
For  your  good  judgment, 
Which  was  the  chief  means 
Of  saving  the  life  of  my  wife." 

Accordingly  another  feast 
Was  held  in  the  kingdom  of  Navarre 
On  the  occasion  of  the  coronation 
Of  the  diligent  Don  Pascasio. 

For  nine  days  there  was  revelry 
Among  the  grandees  of  the  kingdom; 
Every  night  there  was  illumination 
Throughout  the  realm. 

The  King  Don  Enrico, 
The  queen,  and  Federico 
Determined,  all  three  of  them, 
To  go  to  Germany. 

When  they  arrived  there. 
All  the  people 
In  the  German  Empire 
Made  merry  and  celebrated. 

The  Emperor  Alfonso's 
Delight  was  boundless 
At  seeing  together 
The  queen  and  Federico. 

He  spoke  thus 
Before  all  his  councillors: 
"Since  my  children  and  grandson 
Have  come  here, 


280 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


23  — 


Ang  aquing  talaga  ngayon 
yamang  tayo.i,  natitipon, 
sa  ap6  co,i,  ipuputong 
cetrong  pagca-emperador. 

Pagca,t,   acOji,  matanda   oa 
ibig  CO  naDg  magpahingd, 
caya  cayo.i,   manalima 
at  umayong  para-para. 

Sag<5t   ng  lahat  ay  it6 
ualang  susuay  sa  iy6, 
sapagca,t,   si  Federico 
tunay  mo  rin  poUg  apo 

Siya  ang   dapat    magmana 
imperio  ng  Alemania, 
sapagca.t,  malapit  siya 
sa  iyong  cetro.t.  corona 

Ipinutong  na  sa  ulo 
ang  corona  sampong  cetro, 
sa  principe  Federico 
anac   ng   baring  Enrico 


Ang  pinagparunan  co 
ang  nica  ni   San   Cirilo, 
ang  culang  ay  magpabusto 
yao.i,  siyang    lalong  docto. 


Ito.i,  siyang  naguing  banga 
ng  btibay  ni   Florentina, 
anac  ng  bupying  monarca 
sa  imperiong  Alemania. 

Caya    sino   mang   dalaga 
cay  Florentina.i,    pumara, 
sa  pagtatangol  ng  honra 
mabuti  ang   naguing  banga. 

At  buag  niny6ng  tularan 
ang  reinang  naguing  bienan, 
pag  lililo  sa  manugang 
namatay  sa  cabirapan. 

Pag  masamd  ang  pananim 
masam&  ang  aanibin, 
cun  mabuti  ay  gayon  din 
aanibin   ay  magaling. 

Ito,i,  siyang  catapusan 
corridong  aquing   tinuran, 
cun  sacali  at  may   culang 
punan  ng  naca-aaldm. 


J.  1^. 


=^s=^^s 


Princess  Florentina. 


281 


"I  have  decided, 
Now  that  we  are  all  together, 
To  bestow  on  my  grandson 
The  imperial  sceptre. 

"Since  I  am  old, 
I  desire  to  rest: 
Therefore  give  your  consent 
And  agree  to  it,  all  of  you." 

They  all  answered  thus: 
"No  one  will  disobey  you, 
Because  Federico 
Is  your  true  grandson. 

"He  should  inherit 
The  empire  of  Germany, 
Because  he  is  next  in  line 
For  your  crown  and  sceptre." 

On  the  head  of  Federico, 
Son  of  King  Enrico, 
The  crown  was  placed, 
And  he  was  given  the  sceptre. 


This  is  the  end 

Of  the  life  of  Florentina, 

The  daughter  of  the  famous  king 

Of  the  German  Empire. 

Any  maiden  whatsoever 

Who  will  follow  Florentina's  example 

In  preserving  her  honor 

Will  come  to  a  good  end. 

Do  not  imitate 

The  queen,  the  grandmother-in-law, 
Who,  because  of  her  treachery, 
Died  in  suffering. 

If  the  plant  is  bad, 
The  fruit  will  be  bad; 
But  if  the  plant  is  good. 
The  fruit  will  be  good. 

This,  then,  is  the  conclusion 
Of  the  corrida  I  have  related; 
If  there  has  been  any  omission. 
Let  it  be  supplied  by  those  who  see  it. 


I  take  as  my  authority 
The  words  of  San  Cirilo: 
That  if  there  is  any  gap. 
It  should  be  filled  by  the  wise. 


J.  M. 


End. 


282  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


AVOIDANCE  IN  MELANESIA. 

BY  ELSIE  CLEWS  PARSONS. 

Concerning  those  enigmatical  practices  commonly  described  under 
the  rubric  of  avoidance,  Dr.  Rivers  is  our  most  recent  contributor. 
In  his  "History  of  Melanesian  Society"  he  gives  us  new  facts  and 
new  interpretations. 

Brother-sister  avoidance  Rivers  notes  in  Guadalcanar  and  in 
Lepers'  Island.  In  Guadalcanar,  brother  and  sister  ^  may  not  say  each 
other's  name;  and  if  one  is  in  a  house,  the  other  may  not  enter.  If 
a  man  wishes  to  give  anything  to  his  sister,  he  must  put  it  down  and 
go  away,  and  the  sister  will  come  to  take  it.^  Of  the  practice  on  Lepers' 
Island,  Rivers  differs  in  his  account  from  Codrington.  According  to 
Codrington,  it  is  the  boy  who  leaves  home  to  go  to  live  in  the  club- 
house.^ According  to  Rivers,  it  is  the  girl  who  leaves  home.  She 
goes  to  live  with  her  mother's  brother.  After  this  separation,  if  sister 
and  brother  meet  on  a  path,  the  girl  will  get  out  of  the  way,  and  both 
will  look  down  to  avoid  seeing  each  other.  Never  do  they  mention 
each  other's  name  or  speak  of  each  other.  After  the  girl  is  a  mother, 
if  her  brother  calls  to  see  her  son,  she  will  leave  her  house  before  her 
brother  enters.  The  avoidance  continues  after  death,  the  survivor  not 
entering  the  house  where  the  corpse  lies,  but  mourning  outside.  In 
Lepers'  Island  there  is  also  a  trace  of  avoidance  between  brother  and 
brother.  "  If  a  man  is  one  of  a  crowd,  all  of  whom  are  laughing,  and 
the  brother  of  the  man  comes  on  the  scene,  the  man  at  once  leaves  off 
laughing  and  becomes  quiet."  ^  To  the  avoidance  between  mother 
and  son  on  this  island  as  described  by  Codrington,  Rivers  does  not 
refer.  In  the  Banks  Islands  there  is  no  definite  rule  of  avoidance 
between  brother  and  sister,  but  they  do  not  chaff  each  other.^  In 
Guadalcanar  a  father's  sister  may  not  be  touched  or  named  by  her 
nephews  and  nieces.     There  is  name  avoidance  of  this  relative  in  the 

1  Terms  of  relationship  I  use  throughout  in  the  individualist  or  so-called  "descriptive" 
sense,  not  in  the  classificatory.  Although  the  classificatory  system  prevails  in  Melanesia, 
both  the  authorities  I  cite — both  Rivers  and  Codrington — appear,  in  their  discussions  of 
avoidance,  to  be  using  the  individualist  terms  (compare,  however,  The  History  of  Melane- 
sian Society,  vol.  i,  p.  41,  Cambridge,  1914)-  It  is  regrettable  that  in  this  connection 
they  are  not  more  explicit. 

2  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  i,  p.  255. 

3  The  Melanesians,  p.  232  (Oxford,  1891). 

*  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  i,    p.  213. 

»  Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  36.  Hence  Rivers  suggests,  unw^arrantably  I  think,  that  a  greater 
degree  of  avoidance  may  have  once  existed  between  them. 


Avoidance  in  Melanesia.  283 

Banks  Islands  and  in  Pentecost,  and  of  the  mother's  brother  in  Guadal- 
canar. 

Between  relatives  by  marriage  there  is  avoidance  in  Reef  Islands 
(between  a  man  and  his  wife's  brother),  in  Santa  Cruz  (between  a  man 
and  his  mother's  brother's  wife,  between  a  woman  and  the  elder 
brother  of  her  husband  and  the  husband  of  her  younger  sister),  in 
Tikopia  (between  a  man  and  his  wife's  brother  or  sister  and  his  parents- 
in-law,  between  parents-in-law  and  son  or  daughter-in-law'),  in  Torres 
Islands  (between  a  man  and  his  parents-in-law,  name  avoidance  with 
all  his  wife's  relatives),  in  Banks  Islands  (between  a  man  and  his 
parents-in-law,2  his  brother's  wife  and  his  sister's  husband,'  and  name 
avoidance  between  a  woman  and  her  father-in-law),  in  Pentecost 
(between  a  man  and  his  wife's  sister).  There  is  name  and  touch  avoid- 
ance of  wife's  mother  and  husband's  father  in  Ysabel,  and  name  avoid- 
ance of  brother's  wife  in  Guadalcanar. 

In  his  theoretical  discussion  of  these  facts.  Rivers  holds  in  part  to 
the  incest  hypothesis,  and  in  part  to  an  hypothesis  of  group  hostility, 

—  a  twofold  interpretation  that  I  for  one  find  hard  to  follow.  Between 
avoidance  practices  and  the  potentiality  of  sexual  relations  there  is, 
he  says,  the  clearest  evidence  of  association ;  but,  bearing  in  mind  that 
avoidance  occurs  between  members  of  the  same  sex,  "customs  of 
avoidance  between  various  relatives  in  general  probably  had  an  origin 
depending  on  some  fundamental  feature  of  social  structure  in  which 
both  sexes  were  involved."  ^    This  "fundamental  feature,"  he  suggests, 

—  in  the  case  of  the  Banks  Islands,  at  any  rate,  —  is  the  condition  of 
hostility  between  the  exogamous  moieties.  But  he  probes  still  deeper. 
"If  this  suggestion  holds  good,  it  would  not  follow  that  the  avoidance 
has  been  the  consequence  of  this  hostility;  it  is  possible  that  both  are 
consequences  of  some  more  deeply-seated  condition."  This  condition, 
he  holds,  is  the  incoming  of  another  race,  and  marriage  between  the 
immigrant  men  and  the  indigenous  women. ^ 

By  this  method  of  stratification,  refractory  facts  are  conveniently 
handled.  Facts  that  withstand  explanation  by  the  incest  theory  are 
explained  by  the  group-hostility  theory,  and  vice  versa.  Take,  for 
example,  the  avoidance  of  the  wife's  parents  in  Torres  Islands  or 
Banks  Islands.     The  avoidance  of  the  mother-in-law  points  to  the 

1  If  people  are  joking,  and  the  son  or  daughter-in-law  of  one  present  comes,  some  one 
will  say,  "Do  not  laugh;  the  tantau  pariki  is  here"  (The  History  of  Melanesian  Society, 
vol.  i,  p.  344). 

2  As  to  his  father-in-law,  he  will  not  pass  him  sitting  down,  according  to  Rivers;  he  will 
not  step  over  his  legs,  according  to  Codrington.  Stepping  over  a  person's  legs,  at  any 
rate,  is  in  island  etiquette  a  liberty,  adds  Codrington  (The  Melanesians,  p.  43). 

'  With  this  brother-in-law  he  will  not  sleep,  observes  Codrington  {Ibid.,  p.  43). 
<  Mel.  Soc,  vol.  ii,  pp.  333,  334- 
'  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  135. 

VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  112. — 19. 


284  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

fact,  according  to  Rivers,  that  sexual  intimacy  with  her  was  once 
allowed,^  whereas  the  avoidance  of  the  father-in-law  points  to  the 
ancient  hostility  between  the  island  moieties. 

Incidentally,  let  me  ask,  since  these  exogamous  moieties  are  in  the 
Banks  Islands  matrilineal,  how  is  it  that  a  man  and  his  father-in-law 
belong,  as  Rivers  implies,  to  different  moieties?  If  they  belong  to  the 
same  moiety,  does  not  the  group-hostility  theory  of  their  avoidance 
practices  fall  to  the  ground?^  Unless  Rivers  has  made  a  slip  here 
that  it  were  a  bit  presumptuous  to  suspect  him  of,  he  must  have  in 
mind,  not  the  mere  dual  organization  of  the  Banks  Islanders,  but  the 
more  or  less  hostile  groups  whose  formation  he  hypothecates  upon  the 
arrival  of  those  immigrants  who  play  so  large  a  part  in  his  interpre- 
tation of  Melanesian  society  at  large.  But  here  another  difficulty 
besets  his  avoidance  theory.  It  is  obvious  that  a  custom  like  avoid- 
ance cannot  be  set  up  by  conditions  in  one  generation  only,  to  quote 
Rivers  himself;' and  yet  this  immigrant  theory  of  avoidance  would 
necessitate  that  one-generation  origin  —  unless  exogamy  was  based  on 
patrilineal  descent;  and  it  is  not,  it  is  matrilineal.  It  is  matrilineal 
now,  and,  I  infer.  Rivers  thinks  it  always  has  been  matrilineal.^ 
Matrilineal  exogamy  and  avoidance  developing  through  several  gen- 
erations of  hostile  sons-in-law  seem  to  me  two  utterly  incompatible 
facts  —  unless  the  stream  of  immigrant  men  was  unbroken  from 
generation  to  generation,^  and  the  descendants  of  immigrants  kept  to 
the  immigrant  attitude  of  hostility,  whatever  the  descent  of  the 
parent-in-law,  —  suppositions  hardly  tenable. 

Another  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  group-hostility  theory,  of  the 
theory  in  its  immigration  version.  Rivers  himself  recognizes;  i.e.,  the 
fact  that  the  woman  avoids  her  husband's  relatives,  as  well  as  he  hers. 
To  overcome  this  difficulty.  Rivers  suggests  that,  since  avoidance  by 
the  daughter-in-law  is  less  strict  than  that  by  the  son-in-law,  it  may 
be  due  to  a  mere  process  of  generalization.^  The  theory  of  avoidance 
by  the  daughter-in-law  stands  or  falls,  then,  with  the  theory  of  avoid- 
ance by  the  son-in-law. 

^  In  Torres  Islands,  Rivers  finds  corroborative  evidence;  in  Banks  Islands  he  does  not. 
Nevertheless  he  holds  to  the  incest  hypothesis  for  Banks  Islands.  Why,  may  I  ask,  does 
Rivers  not  apply  his  group-hostility  theory  to  the  Banks  mother-in-law?  She  is  avoided 
more  drastically  than  the  father-in-law,  and  she  belongs  to  the  moiety  other  than  her 
son-in-law's. 

2  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  ii,  p.  169.  Likewise  the  conclusion  drawn 
from  it?  —  the  conclusion  that  hostility  between  the  moieties  was  once  more  widespread 
(a  conclusion  which  is  at  best  a  bit  of  the  circular  fallacy  Rivers  himself  warns  against). 

'  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  335. 

^  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  354. 

^  Rivers  thinks  the  immigration  extended  over  long  periods,  but  he  does  not  argue  for 
unbroken  continuity. 

8  Mel.  Soc,  vol.  ii,  p.  334. 


Avoidance  in  Melanesia.  285 

As  for  the  contradiction  between  avoidance  as  the  outcome  of  hos- 
tility and  that  function  of  mutual  helpfulness  which  is  characteristic 
of  the  Melanesian  relationship  through  marriage,  Rivers  states  it,  but 
fails  to  support  his  analysis  of  it,  remarking  merely  that  the  coexistence 
of  hostility  and  helpfulness  is  just  what  you  might  expect  in  connection 
with  immigrants.  Perhaps  it  is,  and  yet  not  quite  for  the  psychological 
reasons  Rivers  implies.  We  are  apt  to  like  those  we  help  or  those  who 
help  us.  Is  the  Melanesian  so  very  different?  But  like  or  dislike 
would  play  little  part,  I  think,  in  any  relation  through  marriage  between 
indigene  and  immigrant.  The  feeling  would  be  rather  anxiety  in  each 
about  the  recognition  by  the  other  of  his  status.  Avoidance,  then,  in 
the  case  of  immigrant  sons-in-law  or  of  non-immigrant,  is  a  way  of 
asserting  status.     More  later  of  this  view. 

How  fares  the  incest  theory  among  these  Melanesian  facts?  The 
use  of  the  personal  instead  of  the  kinship  name  between  the  sexes 
indicates,  Rivers  believes  (and  on  good  evidence),  sexual  intimacy; 
and  so  where  there  is  name  avoidance  between  kindred  he  infers  a 
potentiality  of  sex  relations.  In  the  Torres  Islands  inference  is  un- 
necessary. There,  if  a  man  has  had  sexual  intercourse  with  his  wife's 
sister  or  mother,  he  must  to  the  day  of  his  death  address  her  and  speak 
to  her  by  her  personal  name.^  Ordinarily  in  these  islands,  however,  it  is 
not  only  the  women  relatives  of  his  wife  whose  names  a  man  may  not 
use;  but  the  male  relatives  too,  the  names  of  all  her  relatives,  are  taboo. 
Evidently,  although  name  avoidance  has  some  connection  with  sexual 
intercourse,  it  has  some  other  significance  as  well. 

May  it  not  have  the  same  significance  as  it  has  among  us?  The  use 
of  a  personal  name  is  an  assault,  so  to  speak,  upon  the  status  relation- 
ship. Among  us,  if  a  man  calls  a  woman  by  her  own  name,  it  does  not 
mean  that  he  has  been  sexually  intimate  with  her;  but  it  is  somewhat 
of  a  recognition  of  her  personality  apart  from  her  status,  and  it  is  a 
step  towards  a  personal  relationship.  And  so,  wishing  to  be  formal, 
as  we  say,  John  Smith  refers  to  his  wife  as  "my  wife"  or  "Mrs.  Smith." 
Jane  Smith,  in  her  turn,  may  even  address  John  as  "Mr.  Smith." 
Her  daughter  she  will  introduce  as  Miss  Smith ;  and  when  the  young 
man  who  has  been  introduced  begins  to  call  the  girl  by  her  "first 
name,"  making  no  reference  to  her  status  either  as  the  daughter  of 
Smith  or  as  one  of  the  unmarried,  he  thinks  he  knows  her  quite  well. 
And  he  does;  he  knows  her  better  in  one  way,  in  fact,  than  she  will  ever 
know  her  own  parents  or  her  grandparents,  —  senior  relatives  whom 
she  never  calls  by  their  personal  names.  Personal  names  are  disre- 
spectful of  or  indifferent  to  status  relationship:  hence  personal  names 
are  avoided  whenever  the  status  relationship  is  intact  or  for  the  time 
being  paramount. 

1  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  ii,  p.  132. 


286  J otirnal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

If  this  view  of  the  meaning  of  name  avoidance  between  kindred  ^  is 
acceptable,  it  is  obvious  that  the  custom  does  not  justify  in  itself  the 
inference  of  the  potentiality  of  a  sexual  intimacy;  although  it  may 
justify  the  minor  inference  that,  when  the  personal  name  is  used  con- 
trary to  custom,  sexual  intimacy  has  occurred.  The  use  of  the  per- 
sonal name  between  relatives  of  opposite  sex  may  indicate  that  the 
kinship  status  has  been  encroached  upon  by  sexual  intimacy.  A 
sexual  approach,  like  the  use  of  a  personal  name,  breaks  down  or 
precludes  a  status  relationship.^  It  is  therefore  natural  enough  for 
the  ignorer  or  violater  of  kinship  status  to  make  use  of  the  personal 
name.3  Let  us  not  forget,  however,  that  the  use  of  the  personal  name 
may  also  mean  that  no  status  relationship  has  ever  been  established.^ 

Name  avoidance  is,  then,  a  recognition  of  kinship  status,  of  the  status 
of  kinsmen  as  well  as  of  kinswomen,  and  among  both  particularly  of 
the  seniors.  Details  of  avoidance  practice  bearing  upon  seniority, 
Rivers  disregards;  and  yet  in  several  instances  they  raise  a  question. 
In  Santa  Cruz  a  woman  does  not  speak  to  her  husband's  elder  brother. 
His  younger  brother,  if  she  is  widowed,  she  may  marry.  Similarly  a 
man  may  speak  freely  to  the  younger  sister  of  his  wife;  the  elder  sister 
he  may  neither  see  nor  address.^  In  the  Banks  Islands  the  rules  of 
avoiding  a  wife's  parents  apply  also  to  a  junior  generation,  to  a 
brother's  wife  and  a  sister's  husband,  but  they  apply  less  strictly.^ 
Whereas  a  man  may  not  speak  to  his  wife's  mother,  and,  if  he  has  to 
pass,  must  not  go  near  her,  to  his  wife's  sisters  he  may  speak,  if  he 
speak  respectfully  and  avoid  certain  expressions  he  would  use  to  his 
wife.^  From  these  instances  and  from  instances  outside  of  Melanesia 
—  for  I  confess  I  cannot  free  my  mind  from  comparative  facts  as 
completely  as  Rivers  —  I  infer  that  avoidance  is  a  prerogative  of 
seniority,  —  one  of  those  many  observances  of  respect  exacted  in 

1  It  seems  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  orthodox  view  of  the  relation  between 
name  and  personality  supports  this  theory,  or  that  name  avoidance  occurs  between  those 
of  different  ranks  or  spheres.  When  a  new  status  is  created,  too,  name  avoidance  may  be 
in  order.  For  example,  in  the  Masai  covenant  of  brotherhood,  after  each  has  given  the 
other  the  ceremonial  red  bead,  the  covenanters  call  each  other  patureshi  ("the  giver  and 
receiver  of  a  bead")  instead  of  by  their  proper  names  (A.  C.  Hollis,  The  Masai,  p.  323, 
Oxford,  1905).  Herein  lies  the  explanation,  too,  of  taboos  on  naming  the  dead,  —  a  type 
of  name  aovidance,  we  may  note,  very  common  in  Melanesia. 

*  Unless  the  sexual  approach  is  destined  to  become  itself  a  status  relationship. 

^  Or  of  sexual  intimacy.  The  Navaho  and  the  Wahehe  marry  or  lie  with  a  mother-in- 
law  in  order  apparently  to  preclude  the  mother-in-law  taboo  (J.  G.  Frazer,  Totemism  and 
Exogamy,  vol.  iii,  p.  247,  London,  1910). 

*  Calling  the  wife's  sister  by  name  suggests  to  Rivers  sexual  communism,  whereas  to 
Codrington  it  suggests  merely  a  lack  of  familial  status  —  "she  is  nothing  to  him"  (The 
Melanesians,  p.  44). 

'  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  i,  pp.  222-223. 
'  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  169. 
'  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  133. 


Avoidance  in  Melanesia.  287 

primitive  society  by  seniors  from  their  juniors.     Why  the  seniors  ac- 
count it  a  prerogative  or  due,  I  shall  try  to  explain  later. 

Just  as  Rivers  appears  to  me  to  shirk  this  question  of  seniority,  so, 
I  take  it,  he  shirks  the  general  question  of  sex  relations  when  he  dis- 
cusses avoidance  on  his  incest  hypothesis.  "Customs  of  avoidance 
cannot  be  wholly  explained  on  these  lines,"  he  writes,  meaning  as 
indicating  potential  sex  relations;  "but  whenever  they  are  practised 
between  those  of  opposite  sex,  the  possibility  of  sex  relations  between 
those  who  avoid  one  another  is  implied,  though  in  many  cases  this  is 
only  one  of  a  number  of  implications."  ^  One  of  a  number  of  implica- 
tions: that  is  just  the  point.  Where  among  them  does  it  stand?  That 
it  is  an  implication,  one  readily  admits,  for  such  always  exists  in  early 
society  whenever  any  relation  between  a  man  and  a  woman  is  to  the 
fore.  Still  it  is  not  in  any  such  general  sense  that  Rivers  is  speaking  or 
—  unfortunately,  it  seems  to  me  —  thinking.  -' 

Sexual  intimacy  breaks  down  the  kinship  status;  but  unformalized 
it  also  tends  to  break  down  the  sex  status,  the  status  of  each  sex, 
ignoring  that  separation  of  men  and  women  so  characteristic  of  early 
society.  Respect  for  this  general  sex  segregation  influences  the  prac- 
tices of  family  avoidance.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  ethnographers  who  tell 
us  about  brother-sister  avoidance  do  not  also  tell  us  to  what  degree 
a  youth  associates  with  girls  other  than  his  sister.  The  avoidance  of 
his  sister  may  be  part  of  the  avoidance  of  girls  at  large;  and  the  eth- 
nographer may  accentuate  the  sister  avoidance,  because  in  his  own 
culture  he  has  seen  the  kinship  association  overcome  the  sex  shyness. 
Partly  overcome  it,  I  should  say,  not  wholly;  there  have  been  boys 
among  us  who  would  not  play  with  their  sisters  because  they  did  not 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  girls. 

But  I  would  not  suggest,  however,  that  in  primitive  culture  the 
accentuation  of  sister  avoidance  is  wholly  in  the  mind  of  the  observer. 
As  there  are  parents  among  us  who  are  troubled  if  Harry  or  Jack  plays 
too  much  with  girls,  is  entirely  too  much  with  his  mother  or  sisters, 
and  send  him  away  to  boarding-school  to  get  over  the  habit,  so  among 
savages  the  seniors  no  doubt  insist  upon  rules  of  conduct  that  will 
check  the  familiarities  of  family  life  and  break  up  childish  habits  of 
association.  By  separating  the  boy  fromx  his  sister  they  make  a  man 
of  him.  There  is  no  apprehension  of  incest  here:  it  is  merely  that  the 
women  relatives  are  to  form  no  exception  in  applying  the  general  rule 
of  manly  conduct,  avoiding  women. 

There  is  here,  if  you  like,  a  certain  measure  of  purposefulness  in  the 
brother-sister  taboos,  the  pressure  of  seniors  upon  their  juniors;  but  it 
is,  after  all,  a  far  more  instinctive  than  deliberative  kind  of  pressure, 
and  its  implications  are  far  less  legalistic  than  those  of  anti-incest 
theorizers. 

1  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  ii,  p.  154. 


288  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

In  discussing  the  brother-sister  avoidance  of  old-time  Fiji,  Rivers, 
let  me  note  incidentally,  surpasses  most  legalists.  Fijian  avoidance  was 
a  remedy,  he  argues,  against  the  laxity  induced  by  the  arrival  in  the 
island  of  outsiders,  and  the  consequent  general  lowering  of  moral 
standards.  It  was  a  reform  measure  against  a  late  tendency  to  incest. 
From  this  point  Rivers  generalizes  as  follows:  "So  far  as  sexual 
relations  are  concerned,  customs  of  avoidance  seem  to  be  due  to  a 
social  effort  to  limit,  and  later  to  abolish,  practices  which  were  at  one 
time  habitual."  ^     A  highly  legalistic  theory  indeed! 

In  so  far,  therefore,  as  Rivers  is  psychological,  he  is  rationalistic; 
but  he  seldom  strays  into  psychology.  For  explanation  in  general, 
he  looks  to  social  structure;  in  the  case  of  avoidance,  to  sexual  com- 
munism, exogamous  moieties,  and  conditions  due  to  immigration.  A 
given  relationship  he  would  explain  by  a  prior  relationship;  an  existent 
status,  by  a  pre-existent  status.  That  this  is  an  effective  ethnological 
method,  there  is  no  gainsaying;  but  at  times  it  has  limitations,  and 
some  of  its  most  striking  limitations  Rivers  demonstrates  in  his 
analysis  of  avoidance. 

Avoidance  can  be  explained,  I  think,  only  through  the  psychology 
of  sex,  of  age-class,  and  of  attitude  towards  new-comers.  To  sex  and 
seniority  I  have  referred ;  a  word  about  attitude  towards  new-comers. 
The  new-comers  I  have  in  mind  are  the  new-comers  into  the  family 
rather  than  into  the  group  at  large,  —  not  the  immigrants  Rivers 
refers  to,  but  the  new  members  of  the  family  to  whom  Tylor  refers 
in  his  well-known  discussion  of  avoidance.  The  son-in-law  or  the 
daughter-in-law  is  "cut,"  according  to  Tylor  .^  we  recall,  because  merely 
as  strangers  in  the  family  they  arouse  suspicion  and  irritation.  They 
are,  I  should  say,  embarrassing  or  disconcerting;  and  so  the  family,  in 
self-protection,  —  notably  its  senior  members,  —  makes  rules  for  their 
conduct,  particularly  rules  against  seeing  too  much  of  them  or  seeing 
them  at  awkward  moments.  This  familial  attitude  in  favor  of  an 
impersonal  relationship  is,  however,  much  less  deliberative  or  even 
purposeful  than  the  term  "cutting"  implies,  or  than  Tylor,  perhaps, 
wished  it  to  imply.  It  is  indeed  only  necessary  to  glance  at  the 
particulars  of  avoidance  to  appreciate  the  instinctive  character  of 
the  "rules,"  —  to  turn  your  back  on  a  man,  to  go  around  him,  not  to 
go  into  a  house  where  he  is,  not  to  look  him  in  the  eye,  can  behavior 
be  more  instinctive? 

A  sense  of  embarrassment  is  not  a  sense  of  hostility;  and  Tylor 
erred,  I  think,  in  not  distinguishing  the  two  feelings.  When  he  forsook 
the  psychological  explanation  for  the  social-structure  explanation,  he 
erred  again.     In  making  avoidance  dependent  upon  residence,   he 

1  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  ii,  p.  154- 

2  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute,  vol.  xviii  (1888-89),  PP-  247-248. 


Avoidance  in  Melanesia.  289 

developed  his  theory  along  a  line  not  substantiated  ^  by  the  facts.  The 
family  may  be  embarrassed  by  the  new-comer,  whether  he  or  she  lives 
with  them  or  not.  The  situadon  becomes  more  strained,  of  course, 
given  a  common  residence,^  and  the  avoidance  necessarily  more 
marked — just  as  Tylor  found  it  in  his  numerical  survey.  The  psy- 
chological part  of  Tylor's  theory  still  holds,  even  when  the  social- 
structure  part  of  it  falls  to  the  ground. 

But  there  is  more  to  the  avoidance  of  relatives  by  marriage  than  a 
means  of  holding  a  new-comer  at  arm's  length,  of  shirking  a  personal 
adjustment:  it  is  a  means  of  showing  him  his  place,  and  making  him 
recognize  the  family  status.  It  is  the  old  story  that  familiarity  breeds 
contempt.  There  we  have  the  real  key  to  the  relation  between  avoid- 
ance and  explicit  familial  rights  and  duties.  The  former  is  a  guaranty 
of  the  latter.  Formality  insures  the  fulfilling  of  obligations.  In 
Melanesia,  at  any  rate,  a  marked  avoidance  and  a  well-defined  status 
appear  to  go  together.^  From  this  point  of  view  is  to  be  considered 
not  only  avoidance  between  relatives  by  marriage,  but  avoidance  or 
quasi-avoidance  between  brother  and  brother  or  between  father  and 
son.*  Eating  together  or  joking  were  too  familiar,  too  "personal,"  too 
disregardful  of  the  status  relationship.^  Avoidance,  as  natives  them- 
selves say,  is  a  matter  of  respect,  an  upkeeping  of  family  dignity. 

Certain  variations  or  modifications  of  avoidance,  as  well  as  avoidance 
in  its  crasser  forms,  may  readily  be  understood  from  this  point  of  view, 
—  prescriptions,  for  example,  upon  conversation,  when  conversation 
is  allowed  at  all.  In  Tikopia,  brethren-in-law  may  be  conversed  with 
at  a  distance.     The  conversational  distance  between  a  Torres  Islander 

1  As  Frazer  in  part  points  out  (Totemism  and  Exogamy,  vol.  i,  p.  503). 

2  Or  given  immigrants  for  sons-in-law. 

'  Compare  the  coincidence  of  the  obligation  upon  the  Blackfellow  to  supply  his  parents- 
in-law  with  food,  and  his  avoidance  of  them.  Frazer's  inference  from  these  practices,  that 
the  Blackfellow  may  have  once  lived  with  his  wife's  parents,  appears  dubious,  and,  in 
support  of  the  essential  part  of  Tylor's  avoidance  theory,  uncalled  for  (Totemism  and 
Exogamy,  vol.  i,  pp.  504-505)- 

••  In  Banks  Islands,  father  and  son  do  not  eat  together,  because,  Rivers  suggests,  they 
belong  to  different  moieties,  —  hostile  moieties.  A  Reef  Islander  does  not  chaff  (bakada) 
his  own  brother  (Mel.  Soc,  vol.  i,  p.  230),  nor,  as  we  have  noted,  does  a  Lepers'  Islander 
laugh  in  the  presence  of  his  brother,  because,  according  to  Rivers  (Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  pp.  154-155) 
brothers  once  had  their  wives  in  common,  and,  he  adds  (unnecessarilj',  I  think),  the  tran- 
sition from  that  community  caused  constraint.  Neither  inference  is  incompatible  with  my 
theory;  but,  according  to  my  theory,  neither  inference  is  called  for.  Nor  let  us  forget 
that  formal  constraint  between  father  and  son  and  between  brothers  is  not  an  uncommon 
attitude  where  there  are  no  hostile  moieties  and  not  a  trace  of  sexual  communism. 

6  Between  the  sexes  as  well  as  in  the  family.  In  the  Reef  Islands,  for  example,  a  woman 
is  never  chaffed.  Were  a  man  and  woman  heard  to  joke  each  other,  they  would  be  sus- 
pected of  sexual  intimacy  (Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  230).  In  the  Banks  Islands,  in  Mota,  if  a 
woman  carried  the  poroporo  custom  too  far,  it  was  said,  she  would  have  to  be  taken  as  wife 
by  her  sister's  husband  (Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  45). 


290  Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore. 

and  his  mother-in-law  is  five  or  six  yards;  a  Banks  Islander  may  talk 
to  his  father-in-law,  but  he  will  not  poroporo  (chaff)  him  or  address 
him  or  his  wife's  sisters  familiarly ;  the  Torres  Islander  who  addresses 
any  of  his  wife's  women  reXdidves  familiarly  raises  a  suspicion  of  sexual 
intimacy;  restrictions  upon  chaffing  between  Banks  brother  and 
sister  we  have  already  noted.  Nor  does  a  Banks  Islander  chaff  his 
father's  sister.  In  this  connection  we  may  cite  the  manners  of  Lepers' 
Island  mother  and  mother-in-law  as  described  by  Codrington.  If  a 
woman  talks  to  her  son,  she  sits  at  a  little  distance  and  turns  away. 
She  speaks  to  him  in  the  plural,  in  a  distant  manner.  "Come  yeV^ 
she  calls.  To  her  son-in-law  she  refers  to  herself  in  the  plural.  "They 
want  Tanga  to  go  to  them,"  she  says,  meaning,  "  I  want  Tanga  to  come 
to  me."  ^  Let  us  compare  this  observ^ance  with  the  use  of  the  plural 
by  a  Fijian  brother.  As  "those  women  "  he  addresses  his  sister.  In 
Fiji  too,  we  may  note,  a  man  and  his  mother's  brother  always  speak  to 
each  other  in  a  slow  and  gentle  manner,^  —  a  mode  of  address  helpful 
no  doubt  in  maintaining  their  important  relationship,  the  notorious 
relationship  of  vasii.  These  variations  in  conversational  manners 
Rivers  not  only  does  not  undertake  to  account  for,  he  offers  no 
explanation  of  the  taboo  from  which  they  vary,  —  the  taboo  in  general 
on  conversation.^ 

Nor  does  Rivers  account  for  the  taboo  on  personal  names.  Name 
avoidance  in  general  I  have  already  discussed  on  my  own  hypothesis. 
A  word  about  teknonymy.  So  widespread  is  this  custom,  that,  to 
undertake  to  account  for  it  as  the  outcome  of  immigration,  seems  to 
me  a  little  absurd;*  and  even  Rivers  undertakes  it  half-heartedly.  It 
may  well  be,  he  thinks,  a  custom  known  to  the  immigrants  prior  to 
their  arrival.^  Accepting  the  immigration  hypothesis,  to  call  a  man 
the  father  of  his  child  might  well  be  a  recognition  of  his  paternity,  — 
a  recognition  of  the  status  he  as  a  new-comer  is  particularly  anxious 
about.  But  why,  then,  is  a  woman  also  called  the  mother  of  her  child? 
Because  teknonymy  is  not  only  a  part  of  the  system  of  avoiding  per- 
sonal names;  it  is  not  only  a  ready  device  of  that  system;  of  itself  it  em- 
phasizes the  status  relationship.  Emphasis  on  the  parental  relationship 
is  a  kind  of  buffer  against  any  personal  reference,  against  any  discon- 
certing *  reference. 

1  The  Melanesians,  pp.  45,  232.  In  Mota,  in  general,  respect  is  shown  by  using  a  dual 
pronoun  in  addressing  or  speaking  of  a  single  person. 

2  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  i,  pp.  291,  293. 

3  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  335. 

*  A  stricture  applicable  also,  of  course,  to  avoidance  practices  in  general. 

^  Ihid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  336. 

«  The  explanation  of  both  name  avoidance  and  person  avoidance  given  by  the  natives 
themselves  should  not  be  overlooked.  Avoidance  is  due,  they  say,  "  to  a  feeling  of  shyness 
and  respect,"  to  an  "inward  trembling"  which  prevents  their  mentioning  their  own  names 


Avoidance  in  Melanesia.  291 

Nowadays  when  a  Banks  woman  wants  to  be  disconcerting  or 
personal  (i.e.,  disrespectful  to  her  husband),  what  does  she  do  but  up 
and  flout  him  by  calKng  him  by  name.  "I  was  told,"  writes  Rivers, 
"that  there  are  no  less  than  three  women  in  the  district  of  Veverau 
.  .  .  alone  who  address  their  husbands  by  name,  thus  showing  that 
they  do  not  respect  them;"  ^  —  showing  too,  one  might  add,  that  the 
status  relationship  has  begun  to  break  down.  Whenever  that  happens, 
avoidance  taboos,  I  surmise,  are  neglected.  Let  me  cite  another 
striking  illustration  of  the  process  in  the  Banks  Islands.  "  It  is  a  sign 
of  the  times  that  children  now  sometimes  call  their  father's  sister  by 
name  in  order  to  annoy  her,  and  I  was  told  of  a  case  where  a  woman  was 
made  to  cry  by  her  nephews  and  nieces  treating  her  in  this  uncere- 
monious fashion," 2 

Is  it  rash  to  suggest  that,  as  in  the  breaking-down  of  status,  so  in 
its  building-up,  avoidance  may  have  played  a  special  part  and  been  a 
peculiarly  effective  instrument?  The  avoidance  or  pseudo-avoidance 
of  the  father  or  father's  sister  in  the  Banks  Islands  may  point  to  a 
comparatively  late  assertion  of  paternity — quite  in  accordance  with 
Rivers's  hypothesis.^ 

Our  theory  of  avoidance  as  a  means  of  establishing  status  —  an 
unconscious  means,  mind  you,  rather  than  a  conscious  means  —  our 
theory  should  not  overlook  the  icUts  of  the  avoidance,  so  to  speak, 
where  the  burden  of  responsibility  falls.  In  general  we  may  say  that 
he  who  is  the  more  anxious  about  the  recognition  of  his  status  is  the 
one  who  exacts  the  avoidance.  Its  negative  forms  he  may  practise 
himself;  but  its  more  positive  forms  he  exacts  of  the  other.  In  general, 
then,  we  expect  seniors  to  exact  a  positive  kind  of  avoidance  from 
juniors,  and  men  from  women.  When  women  are  the  seniors,  the 
practices  may  be  mixed.  As  for  new-comers,  the  more  positive  forms 
would  be  expected  of  them  too;  but  here,  again,  sex  might  be  a  com- 
plicating factor,  likewise  age,  likewise  special  intergroup  conditions. 

Do  the  Melanesian  facts  warrant  these  assumptions?  For  the  most 
part,  as  far  as  they  go,^  they  do  appear  to  —  with  a  few  cases  somewhat 
questionable.     In  the  Torres  Islands,  a  man  only  crouches  when  he 

also  (Codrington,  pp.  44-45).  A  Torres  Islander  would  be  "too  shy,"  Rivers  was  told, 
to  take  a  load  directly  from  the  shoulders  of  his  father-in-law  (The  History  of  Melanesian 
Society,  vol.  i,  p.  182). 

1  Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  41. 

2  Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  39. 

'  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  pp.  163-165. 

^  The  degree  of  reciprocity  in  avoidance  is  hard  to  estimate  from  the  usual  form  of 
statement.  The  ethnographer  observes  or  states  in  a  most  one-sided  way,  describing  only 
what  is  incumbent  upon  one  of  the  two  parties  to  the  practice.  His  phrasing  about  the 
practice  as  a  right  or  as  a  duty  is  also  misleading.  Even  Rivers  is  not  altogether  free  from 
these  failures  in  observation  or  statement,  probably  because  he  so  little  appreciates  the 
value  of  the  psychological  interpretation  of  avoidance. 


292  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

passes  his  mother-in-law;  whereas  the  mother-in-law,  even  at  a  greater 
distance,  goes  down  on  her  hands  and  knees.  Again,  and  this  fact  is 
less  explicable,  in  Pentecost,  where  avoidance  between  brothers-in-law 
is  not  reciprocal,  it  is  the  sister's  husband  who  is  taboo;  there  are 
prescriptions  against  going  behind  him  or  taking  anything  from  over 
his  head.^ 

For  the  psychological  theory  of  avoidance  —  in  Melanesia  and 
elsewhere  —  do  I  claim  too  much  in  submitting  that  it  explains  why 
seniority  figures  so  often  in  the  practice,  why  it  is  practised  between 
those  of  the  same  sex,  why  it  is  accompanied  by  definite  familial  rights 
and  duties,  why  it  may  be  modified  in  set  ways,  why  it  lapses  with  the 
neglect  of  family  feeling  or  ties,  why  it  is  not  fully  reciprocal,  —  all 
queries  which  the  incest  theory  and  the  group-hostility  theory  alike 
fail  to  meet  or  to  meet  fully? 
New  York. 

1  The  History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  ii.  p.  335-  The  taboo  about  the  head  is 
Polynesian,  Rivers  argues,  inferring  from  this  case  that  it  was  the  immigrant  Polynesian 
brother-in-law  who  objected  to  too  close  intercourse  with  his  wife's  brother.  From  my 
point  of  view,  it  was  the  immigrant  brother-in-law  who  was  more  concerned  about  his 
status  than  the  brother  of  the  indigenous  wife  was  concerned  about  his,  —  a  highly 
speculative  hypothesis,  indeed,  but  is  it  any  more  speculative  than  that  of  Rivers?  As 
it  taking  anything  from  above  the  head  of  another,  let  us  note  that  this  is  a  disrespectful 
act  on  the  part  of  any  junior,  according  to  Codrington  (The  Melanesians,  p.  43).  In 
Lepers'  Island  the  act  were  especially  disrespectful  to  a  brother  {Ibid.,  p.  45).  In  the 
Banks  Islands  the  act  is  taboo  to  a  woman  in  connection  with  her  parents-in-law  (The 
History  of  Melanesian  Society,  vol.  i,  p.  42).  Is  it  not  difficult  to  think  of  the  act  with 
Rivers  as  due  to  apprehensiveness  of  attack? 


The  Cherry-Tree  Carol.  293 

THE  CHERRY-TREE   CAROL. 

BY  JOSEPHINE   McGILL. 

Among  recent  additions  to  the  list  of  American  versions  of  British 
ballads  is  "The  Cherry-Tree"  (Child,  No.  54).  This  quaint  and 
beautiful  carol  was  found  by  the  present  writer  in  the  mountain 
region  of  Kentucky  near  Hindman,  Knott  County. 

The  text  is  based  on  an  apochryphal  story  in  the  Pseudo-Matthew 
Gospel,  XX.  The  earliest  English  version  is  to  be  found  in  the 
fifteenth-century  mysteries,  where,  as  in  all  English  versions,  the 
cherry-tree  figures.  In  some  Continental  versions  the  date-tree,  which 
has  the  authority  of  the  Apochrypha,  is  preserved  (see  Child). 

1.  When  Joseph  was  an  old  man. 

An  old  man  was  he, 
He  married  Virgin  Mary, 
The  Queen  of  Galilee. 

2.  As  Joseph  and  Mary 

Were  walking  one  day: 
"Here  are  apples,  here  are  cherries 
Enough  to  behold." 

3.  Then  Mary  spoke  to  Joseph 

So  meek  and  so  mild: 
"Joseph,  gather  me  some  cherries, 
For  I  am  with  child." 

4.  Then  Joseph  flew  in  anger. 

In  anger  flew  he: 
"Let  the  father  of  the  baby 
Gather  cherries  for  thee." 

5.  Then  Jesus  spoke  a  few  words, 

A  few  words  spoke  he: 
"Let  my  mother  have  some  cherries; 
Bow  low  down,  cherry-tree." 

6.  The  cherry-tree  bowed  low  down. 

Bowed  low  down  to  the  ground, 
And  Mary  gathered  cherries 
While  Joseph  stood  around. 

7.  Then  Joseph  took  Mary 

All  on  his  right  knee: 
"O,  what  have  I  done? 
Lord  have  mercy  on  me!" 


294  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 


8.  Then  Joseph  took  Mary  all, 

All  on  his  left  knee: 
"O,  tell  me,  little  baby, 

When  thy  birthday  will  be." 

9.  "On  the  sixth  day  of  January 

My  birthday  will  be, 
When  the  stars  in  the  elements 
Shall  tremble  with  glee." 

So  far  as  the  present  collector  knows,  this  lovely  antique  carol  has 
not  hitherto  been  tabulated  among  the  versions  of  British  ballads 
found  in  America.^ 

Significant  in  connection  with  the  last  stanza  is  the  fact  that  in 
certain  sections  of  the  Kentucky  mountains  Christmas  is  still  cele- 
brated on  January  the  sixth  (Old  Christmas). 
Louisville,  Ky. 

1  Professor  C.  Alphonso  Smith  reports  a  version  from  Miss  Ellen  Dana  Conway,  Spott- 
sylvania  County,  Virginia,  sung  by  an  old  negro  who  originally  belonged  to  a  family  in 
Orange  County,  Virginia  (Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society,  Bulletin,  vol.  ii.  No.  4,  March, 
1916).     The  first  stanza  only  is  printed: 

"Joseph  was  an  old  man, 
And  an  old  man  was  he. 
And  he  married  Mary, 

The  Queen  of  Galilee."  —  Eds. 


Annual  Meeting  of  the  Folk-Lore  Society.  295 


TWENTY-SEVENTH  ANNUAL  MEETING  OF  THE  AMER- 
ICAN  FOLK-LORE  SOCIETY. 

The  twenty-seventh  annual  meeting  of  the  American  Fo'.k-Lore 
Society  was  held  on  Dec.  30,  1915,  in  the  New  National  Museum  in 
Washington,  D.C.  The  Society  met  in  affiliation  with  Section  I  of 
the  Second  Pan-American  Scientific  Congress,  the  American  Anthro- 
pological Association,  the  International  Congress  of  Americanists, 
the  American  Historical  Association,  and  the  Archaeological  Institute 
of  America. 

A  meeting  of  the  Council  of  the  Society  took  place  at  noon  of  the 
preceding  day,  Dec.  29,  1915,  in  the  New  National  Museum  in  Wash- 
ington, President  Goddard  in  the  Chair.  Present:  Messrs.  Boas, 
Goddard,  Fewkes,  Lowie,  Peabody,  Tozzer,  also  Messrs.  Michelson 
and  Kidder.     At  this  meeting  the  Secretary  reported  as  follows: 

secretary's  report. 

The  membership  of  the  Society,  and  the  libraries  subscribing  to  the 
Journal,  present  the  following  statistics:  — 

1914-  ipis- 

Honorary  members 12  12 

Life  members 10  10 

Annual  members 333  389 

355  411 

Subscribing  libraries 149  162 

The  Secretary  announces  with  great  regret  the  death  of  Professor 
Frederic  Ward  Putnam,  a  past  President  and  the  President  of  the 
Boston  Branch  from  its  inception  in  1890  till  his  death 

Charles  Peabody,  Secretary. 

The  Secretary's  Report  was  accepted  as  read.  Reports  of  the 
Editor  and  the  Treasurer  were  then  read  and  are  here  given  in  full. 

editor's  report. 

During  the  year  191 5  four  numbers  of  the  Journal  were  issued. 
The  last  number  of  1915  will  be  devoted  to  Hispanic  folk-lore,  and  will 
be  issued  in  co-operation  with  the  Hispanic  Society  of  America. 

The  efforts  made  during  the  year  to  organize  work  on  French  folk- 
lore in  America  have  been  successful,  and,  thanks  to  the  co-operation 


296  Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore. 

of  Mr.  C.  M.  Barbeau,  beginning  with  the  year  1916,  the  Journal  will 
contain  material  on  this  subject.  Through  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Barbeau 
it  has  also  been  possible  to  increase  the  membership  of  the  Society  in 
Canada,  based  on  the  assumption  that  particular  attention  will  be 
paid  to  the  subject  in  question. 

The  preparation  of  the  index  volume,  which  is  in  the  hands  of 
Miss  M.  L.  Taylor,  has  proceeded  during  the  past  year.  Owing  to 
the  European  war,  the  printing  of  the  volume  will  have  to  be  somewhat 
delayed,  and  for  this  reason  it  seemed  desirable  to  extend  the  index 
over  the  first  twenty-five  years.  The  material  for  the  additional 
five  volumes  has  been  extracted  and  co-ordinated  with  the  preceding 
material. 

Since  the  Journal  has  been  so  developed  that  North  American 
Indian,  English,  French,  and  Spanish  folk-lore  in  America  are  all 
well  represented,  it  seems  desirable  to  take  steps  to  develop  the  field 
of  Negro  folk-lore,  which  heretofore  has  received  only  slight  attention, 
and  it  will  be  the  endeavor  of  the  Editor  to  devise  means  of  accomplish- 
ing this  object. 

Franz  Boas,  Editor. 


TREASURER  S   REPORT,    I915. 

RECEIPTS. 

Balance  from  1914 IS25.58 

Membership:  Boston  Branch 276.00 

Cambridge  Branch 150.00 

Canada  Branch 133.00 

North  Carolina  Branch 66.00 

Texas  Branch 51.00 

Missouri  Branch 18.00 

At  large 312.45     (1006.45) 

Publication  Fund 132.00 

Sale  of  Memoirs  and  Journals 649.75 

Hougliton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  melting  plates 18.48 

Charles  Peabody,  contribution  to  Index , 150.00 

Hispanic  Society 350.00 

Interest 18.60 

Total  receipts $2,850.86 


EXPENSES. 

The  New  Era  Company,  for  manufacturing  Journals  (4) $1,091.54 

Rebates  to  Branches 95.00 

Postage 1 5. 1 1 

Typewriting  and  clerical  work  for  Mr.  Remick 7.59 

Collections 2.38 

Miss  Taylor,  for  work  on  Index 150.00 

Amount  carried  forward $1,361.62 


Annual  Meeting  of  the  Folk-Lore  Society.  297 

Amount  brought  foi-ward $1,361.62 

Printing 3-00 

Total  expenses $1,364.62 

Balance  on  hand  Jan.  i,  1916 $1,486.24 

$2.850.86 

Audited  Feb.  5,  1916. 
A.  V.  Kidder. 

Alfred  M.  Tozzer,  Treasurer. 

Professor  Dixon  and  Dr.  Kidder  were  appointed  Auditors. 

The  Editor  was  given  authority  to  issue  during  the  ensuing  year 
six  numbers  of  the  Journal  and  a  Memoir,  subject  to  the  consent  of 
the  President  and  the  Secretary  consulting. 

The  President  was  authorized  to  appoint  Mrs.  Elsie  Clews  Parsons 
upon  the  Editorial  Board  to  assist  in  the  publication  of  material  on 
Negro  folk-lore. 

The  Treasurer  was  given  authority,  with  the  Secretary's  consent, 
to  enter  into  an  arrangement  with  Messrs.  G.  E.  Stechert  &  Co.,  for 
the  taking-over  of  the  collection  of  subscriptions  of  members  on  a 
ten  per  centum  basis. 

The  Council  became  a  Nominating  Committee,  and  prepared 
nominations  for  presentation  to  the  Society,  after  which  the  Council 
adjourned. 

The  nominations  prepared  by  the  Council  were  unanimously  elected, 
and  were  as  follows:  — 

President,  Robert  H.  Lowie. 

First  Vice-President,  G.  L.  Kittredge. 

Second  Vice-President,  J.  Walter  Fewkes. 

Editor,  Franz  Boas. 

Assistant  Editors,  G.  L.  Kittredge,  C.  M.  Barbeau,  A.  M. 
Espinosa. 

Permanent  Secretary,  Charles  Peabody,  Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,  Mass. 

Assistant  Secretary,  A.  V.  Kidder. 

Treasurer,  A.  M.  Tozzer,  7  Bryant  Street,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Councillors,  for  three  years,  Phillips  Barry,  C.  M.  Barbeau, 
A.  M.  Espinosa. 

The  Editor  moved  a  rising  vote  of  thanks  to  the  Secretary  for  his 
assistance  to  himself  in  securing  clerical  work.  This  was  given  to  the 
great  appreciation  of  the  Secretary. 

In  accordance  with  the  Resolution  adopted  Dec.  30,  1914,  at 
Philadelphia,  no  special  section  devoted  to  the  reading  of  folk-lore 
papers  was  announced  on  the  programme  (see  "Journal  of  American 
Folk-Lore,"  Jan.-March,  1915,  p.  loi). 


298  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  following  papers  were  announced  on  the  official  programme  of 
the  Nineteenth  International  Congress  of  Americanists. 

C.  Alphonso  Smith,  "Ballads  surviving  in  the  United  States." 

G.  G.  King,  "Two  Notes  on  Spanish  Folk-Lore." 

James  Mooney,  "The  Sacred  Literature  of  the  Cherokee." 

Phillips  Barry,  "The  Oracles  of  the  Saints." 

Sr.  Federico  Alfonso  Pezet,  "Notes  on   the  Folk-Lore  of    the 
Peruvian  Indians." 

Frank  G.  Speck,  "Herb  Medicine  Practices  of  the  Northeastern 
Algonkins." 

Charles  Peabody,  Secretary. 


Local  Meetings.  299 


LOCAL    MEETINGS. 

Kentucky  Branch.  —  The  Kentucky  Branch  of  the  American  Folk-Lore 
Society  held  an  open  meeting  in  Louisville  at  three  o'clock  on  the  afternoon 
of  April  21.  About  seventy-five  people  were  present.  The  following  pro- 
gramme was  given:  Presidential  address,  Professor  L.  L.  Dantzler,  Univer- 
sity of  Kentucky,  Lexington;  "Survival  of  the  Traditional  Ballad  in  Ken- 
tucky," Mrs.  Ewing  Marshall,  Louisville;  "The  Modern  Mountain  Song," 
Professor  John  F.  Smith,  Berea  College;  "Bad-Luck  Superstitions  in 
Kentucky,"  Professor  D.  L  Thomas,  Centre  College,  Danville;  "A  Note 
on  Folk-Wit,"  Professor  E.  C.  Perrow,  University  of  Louisville.  At  the 
close  of  the  literary  programme  a  business  meeting  was  held.  After 
routine  business  had  been  taken  care  of  and  thirteen  new  members  had  been 
received,  the  following  ofificers  were  elected:  President,  Professor  E.  C. 
Perrow,  University  of  Louisville;  Vice-Presidents,  Mrs.  Ewing  Marshall  of 
Louisville,  and  Miss  Alice  A.  Cassity  of  Mount  Sterling;  Secretary,  Professor 
D.  L  Thomas,  Centre  College,  Danville;  Treasurer,  Professor  John  F. 
Smith,  Berea  College. 

Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society. — The  following  are  the  ofificers  of  the 
Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society  for  the  year  just  begun:  President,  James  M. 
Grainger,  Farmville;  Vice-President  and  Archivist,  Dr.  C.  Alphonso  Smith, 
University;  Vice-Presidents,  E.  H.  Russell  (Fredericksburg),  Miss  Martha 
M.  Davis  (Harrisonburg),  Miss  Jane  Rutherford  (Richmond),  Evan  R. 
Chesterman  (Richmond),  Professor  W.  E.  Gilbert  (East  Radford),  Miss 
Juliet  Fauntleroy  (Lynch  Station);  Secretary- Treasurer,  Professor  Walter 
A.  Montgomery,  Richmond  College,  Richmond. 


THE  JOURNAL   OF 

AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE. 

Vol.  XXIX.— JULY-SEPTEMBER,  1916.— No.  CXIII. 


EUROPEAN    TALES    FROM    THE    UPPER  THOMPSON 

INDIANS. 

BY  JAMES  TEIT. 
I.    STORY   OF   SPIOLA.^ 

There  was  a  white  man  who  had  a  wife  and  daughter.  The  wife 
died,  and  he  married  another  woman,  who  also  bore  him  a  daughter. 
The  step-mother  was  always  angry  with  her  step-daughter,  and  ac- 
cused her  of  being  lazy.  One  day  in  the  winter-time,  when  there  was 
much  snow  on  the  ground,  she  told  her  to  go  and  pick  berries.  The 
girl  knew  that  no  berries  could  be  found  at  that  season ;  but  she  was  so 
hurt  by  the  nagging  of  her  step-mother,  that  she  said  she  would  go. 
She  put  some  food  in  her  basket  and  wandered  off,  saying  to  herself, 
"  I  will  continue  wandering  around  until  I  die."  After  a  time  she  saw 
the  smoke  of  a  lodge,  which  she  approached  and  entered.  Four  young 
men  lived  there,  who  were  her  relatives,  but  she  did  not  know  it. 
They  gave  her  food  to  eat,  and  asked  her  why  she  travelled  in  the  snow. 
She  answered  that  she  had  a  bad  step-mother,  who  always  scolded  her, 
and  had  sent  her  out  to  pick  berries  in  the  snow.  They  gave  her  a 
snow-shovel,  or  scraper  of  some  kind,  and  told  her  to  go  up  on  the  roof 
of  the  house  and  dig  away  the  snow.  When  she  had  removed  the 
snow  from  the  roof  of  the  house,  she  saw  that  it  was  covered  with 
earth,  in  which  grew  many  strawberries  of  large  size.  The  men  passed 
up  her  basket,  and  she  soon  filled  it  with  the  finest  strawberries.  When 
she  had  come  down  and  was  about  to  leave,  the  men  said,  "What  shall 
we  do  for  our  sister?"  She  answered,  "  If  by  any  means  you  can  help 
me,  I  shall  be  glad.  I  am  very  poor,  and  have  only  rags  to  wear." 
Now,  the  youngest  brother  told  her  to  spit;  and  when  she  spat,  the 
spittle  became  a  nugget  of  gold.     The  next  brother  made  shoes  for  her 

1  The  meaning  of  the  word  is  unknown.  The  story  is  also  called  "Who  spits  Gold," 
"The  woman  who  spat  Gold,"  "The  Woman  who  picked  Strawberries  in  the  Winter- 
Time,"  "The  Woman  who  was  said  to  hav-e  had  a  Cat  for  a  Child."  However,  the  com- 
mon name  for  the  story  is  "  Spiola  "  or  "Pibla." — J.  T. 

See  Johannes  Bolte  and  Georg  Polivka,  Anmerkungen  zu   den  Kinder-  u.   Haus- 
marchen  der  Bruder  Grimm,  vol.  i,  p.  99. — F.  B. 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.   113.  —  20.  301 


302  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

of  very  fine  material,  which  fitted  her  perfectly,  and  would  never  wear 
out.  The  third  brother  made  a  dress  for  her  in  the  same  way.  The 
eldest  brother  said,  "  I  will  make  a  robe  for  her  which  will  always  look 
well  and  new,  and  will  never  wear  out."  ^  As  the  brothers  in  succession 
made  their  awards,  each  article  in  turn  appeared  on  her  person,  while 
her  old  clothes  disappeared.  She  returned  home  with  the  basketful  of 
strawberries,  and  delivered  them  to  her  step-mother,  who  was  much 
surprised.  She  noticed  that  the  clothes  of  the  girl  were  all  changed 
and  of  very  fine  material,  and  that  she  had  the  power  of  spitting  gold, 
which  she  would  gather  up  and  put  in  a  sack.     This  made  her  angry. 

She  said  to  her  own  daughter,  "You  see  what  your  elder  sister  has 
brought  us.  She  managed  to  find  some  berries.  Go  and  get  some 
too."  She  told  her  secretly  to  follow  the  tracks  of  her  sister.  She 
would  then  be  sure  of  reaching  the  same  place,  and  learn  how  she  had 
obtained  the  strawberries,  the  fine  clothes,  and  the  power  of  spitting 
gold.  The  girl  took  her  basket  and  departed.  When  she  arrived  at 
the  house  of  the  four  brothers,  they  gave  her  food  to  eat,  and  asked 
her  why  she  was  travelling  at  that  time  of  year.  She  answered, 
"My  mother  ordered  me  to  go  and  gather  strawberries,  although  it  is 
winter-time  and  no  berries  are  to  be  found.  However,  my  sister  found 
some,  and  my  mother  said  I  could  get  some  at  the  same  place."  The 
men  directed  her  as  they  had  her  sister;  and  after  removing  the  snow 
from  the  roof,  she  found  strawberries  growing  profusely  underneath. 
When  she  had  filled  her  basket  and  was  about  to  return,  the  brothers 
said,  "What  shall  we  do  for  our  sister?"  The  youngest  man  asked  her 
to  spit,  but  she  felt  insulted  at  the  request.  She  was  vain  and  haughty. 
She  thought  they  were  fooling  her.  They  intended  to  help  her,  but 
became  disgusted  on  account  of  her  vanity,  and  decided  to  give  her 
nothing  good.  At  last  she  spat,  and  the  spittle  turned  into  a  toe-nail 
and  smelled  like  toe-nails.  The  other  brothers  refused  to  help  her  in 
any  way.  She  returned  with  the  strawberries,  and  gave  them  to  her 
mother.  The  latter  noticed  that  she  had  no  new  clothes,  and  felt 
disappointed.  She  asked  her  to  spit,  but  instead  of  gold  she  spat  a 
bad-smelling  toe-nail.     She  told  her  not  to  spit  again. 

One  day  the  chief's  son  was  passing,  and  saw  the  elder  girl  busy  wash- 
ing clothes.  He  liked  her  looks  and  her  dress.  His  father,  whom 
he  told  of  his  admiration  for  the  girl,  encouraged  him  to  visit  her  and 
make  her  acquaintance.  He  said,  "You  may  change  your  mind  when 
you  see  her  again."  The  young  man  visited  the  girl  and  held  some 
conversation  with  her,  during  which  she  coughed  and  spat  on  the 
ground  several  times.  He  returned  and  told  his  father  that  the  girl 
he  fancied  could  spit  gold  nuggets.     His  father  would  not  believe  it, 

1  Some  say  the  third  brother  "made  leggings"  and  "dress"  for  her;  and  the  eldest 
brother,  a  "robe"  and  a  "handkerchief  for  the  head  or  neck." 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      303 

and  went  to  see  for  himself.  During  his  conversation  with  her,  she 
spat  repeatedly,  and  picked  up  the  gold  nuggets  and  put  them  in  a 
sack  she  carried.  He  asked  her  to  spit  again.  He  picked  up  the 
spittle  and  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  really  gold.  Then  he  advised 
his  son  to  marry  her,  saying,  "She  is  a  valuable  woman,  she  is  worth 
many." 

Now,  it  was  reported  that  the  chief's  son  was  to  marry  the  girl  who 
could  spit  gold.  All  the  white  people  came  to  the  great  wedding.  At 
the  end  of  the  wedding  feast  the  bride  spat  out  much  gold,  so  the 
wedding  guests  carried  away  some  to  their  homes.  Thus  the  bride 
provided  them  all  with  presents,  and  became  renowned,  and  well 
liked  by  all. 

In  due  time  She-who-spat-Gold  became  pregnant.  When  she  was 
about  to  be  delivered,  her  husband  was  called  away  to  an  important 
meeting  in  a  distant  place,  from  which  he  could  not  return  for  a  month. 
The  chieftainess  asked  her  husband  to  request  his  mother  to  attend 
her  when  her  time  came,  as  she  had  no  faith  in  her  step-mother,  who 
might  use  the  opportunity  to  do  her  harm.  Her  husband,  how- 
ever, assuaged  her  misgivings,  and  insisted  that  her  step-mother, 
who  was  an  expert  midwife,  and  her  half-sister,  should  assist  her. 

When  ^  she  was  about  to  give  birth,  her  step-mother  made  a  hole  in 
the  floor,  placed  the  young  woman  over  it,  and,  when  the  child  was 
born,  she  cut  the  navel-string  and  let  the  infant  fall  through  the  hole. 
Then  she  put  a  cat  in  its  place;  and  when  the  mother  sat  up  and  asked 
for  her  child,  the  step-mother  put  the  cat  in  her  arms.  The  woman 
said,  "It  is  strange  that  I  should  give  birth  to  a  cat!"  The  step- 
mother said,  "Odd  people  have  odd  children."  The  young  woman 
reared  the  cat  as  if  it  were  her  own  child. 

Her  husband  was  disappointed  when  he  returned,  but  said  nothing. 
Again  the  woman  became  pregnant,  and  again  her  husband  was  called 
away  about  the  time  of  her  delivery.  She  was  again  attended  by  her 
step-mother,  who  dropped  the  child  through  a  hole  in  the  floor.  This 
time  she  gave  the  woman  a  snake,  telling  her  that  she  had  given  birth 
to  it.  She  added,  "How  strange  are  the  children  to  which  you  give 
birth!"  On  the  return  of  the  husband,  the  step-mother  told  him  that 
he  ought  to  kill  his  wife,  because  she  was  giving  birth  to  cats  and 
snakes.  She  told  him  that  he  ought  to  marry  her  own  daughter,  who 
was  a  good  woman,  and  would  give  birth  to  proper  children.  The  chief 
and  all  the  people  held  a  meeting,  and  decided  that  his  wife  should 
be  killed.  They  bound  her  with  iron,  took  her  in  a  canoe  to  the 
middle  of  the  lake,  and  cast  her  overboard. 

Now,  the  four  brothers  knew  what  was  happening,  and  were  there 

1  The  following  incidents  belong  to  the  group  of  stories  "  De  drei  Viigelkens"  (Bolte 

and  Polivka,  /.  c,  vol.  ii,  p.  380).     Here  belongs  also  the  incident  of  the  speaking  bird. 

F.  B. 


304  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore, 

under  the  water  to  intercept  her,  and  prevent  her  from  drowning. 
They  untied  her,  and  after  telHng  her  that  her  real  children  were  aHve, 
and  that  things  would  come  well  in  the  end,  they  transformed  her  into 
a  goose,  and  she  swam  about  on  the  lake.  The  chief's  son  did  not  like 
his  new  wife,  because  she  was  disgusting  and  smelled  nasty. 

Now,  She-who-spat-Gold  had  a  favorite  dog  called  "Spi5la,"  which 
she  had  not  seen  since  the  time  of  the  birth  of  her  first  child.  He  lived 
or  slept  underneath  the  house ;  and  when  the  step-mother  dropped  the 
baby  through  the  hole,  he  had  taken  charge  of  it.  He  licked  off  the 
blood,  got  some  white  cloth  to  made  a  bed  for  it  and  to  cover  it.  He 
had  gone  to  town  and  got  milk  to  feed  it.  Later  he  gathered  other 
kinds  of  food  and  fed  it,  thus  rearing  the  boy  successfully.  He  had 
done  the  same  with  the  younger  boy.  When  the  boys  were  large 
enough  to  run  about,  they  came  out  of  their  house,  and  often  played 
near  the  lake,  watching  the  goose,  which  frequently  approached  them, 
crying.  Spiola  had  to  go  on  trips  to  gather  food,  and  always  warned 
them  not  to  go  too  far  away  during  his  absence,  or  let  any  one  see 
them. 

One  day,  however,  the  old  step-mother  noticed  them,  and  tried  to 
capture  them;  but  they  disappeared  in  a  small  hole  under  the  house, 
;and  blocked  it  with  a  stone  from  the  inside.  She  made  up  her  mind 
to  poison  them.  She  scattered  some  fine  food,  which  the  children  ate 
lind  then  died.  When  Spiola  came  home,  he  missed  the  boys.  After 
a  while  he  took  their  scent,  found  them,  and  carried  their  bodies  into 
his  house. 

As^  he  could  not  resuscitate  them, he  started  off  to  the  Sun  toseekhelp. 
He  ran  continually  day  and  night,  for  Sun  lived  a  long  way  off.  On 
the  way  he  passed  an  old  horse,  who  asked  him  where  he  was  going. 
He  answered,  "To  the  Sun,"  but  did  not  stop  or  look  around.  The 
horse  shouted,  "Ask  the  Sun  why  I  am  growing  old!" 

At  another  place  he  passed  an  apple-tree,  which  in  like  manner  ad- 
dressed him,  and  called  on  him  to  ask  Sun  what  made  it  dry  up  and  its 
wood  turn  dead. 

Again  he  passed  a  spring  of  water,  which  also  called  on  him  to  ask 
the  Sun  why  it  was  drying  up.  After  running  many  days  and  nights, 
he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  earth.  There  he  saw  a  stretch  of  water, 
and  on  the  other  side  the  house  of  the  Sun.  He  jumped  into  the  water 
and  swam  across.  He  was  almost  exhausted  before  he  reached  the 
opposite  shore,  and  his  body  was  reduced  to  almost  nothing  but  bones, 
owing  to  his  arduous  journey. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Sun's  house,  an  old  woman,  the  mother  of 
the  Sun,  met  him,  and  asked  him  why  he  had  come  there.  She  said, 
"No  one  comes  to  see  us  unless  he  is  in  great  trouble  and  requires 

1  See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  pp.  2S2  et  seq.  The  following  part  of  the  story  be- 
longs to  the  cj'cle  of  the  youth  who  goes  to  get  three  golden  hairs  of  the  demon. — F.  B. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      305 

help  and  wisdom."  Spiola  told  her  that  his  two  foster-children  were 
dead,  and  he  had  come  to  ask  help,  so  that  they  might  be  restored. 
He  told  her  all  that  had  happened.  She  fed  him,  and  he  immediately 
began  to  gain  strength  on  the  good  food  used  by  the  Sun  people. 

The  old  woman  advised  him  what  to  do.  He  must  watch  the  Sun 
when  he  spat.  He  would  spit  twice,  —  the  first  time  for  the  elder  boy, 
and  the  second  time  for  the  younger  one.  Spiola  must  carefully 
gather  up  the  spittle,  and  keep  the  one  apart  from  the  other.  The 
questions  he  wished  to  ask  in  behalf  of  the  people  he  had  passed  on  the 
road,  she  would  ask  the  Sun  herself,  and  Spiola  would  hear  the  answers. 

The  Sun  spoke  of  the  dead  children,  and  spat  twice  on  the  ground. 
Spiola  gathered  up  the  spittle  carefully,  and  wrapped  each  separately 
in  thin  bark.  Sun  said  the  children  would  become  quite  well  if  treated 
within  four  days;  but  after  that  it  would  be  too  late,  for  their  bodies 
would  begin  to  decompose. 

Now,  the  old  woman  asked  Sun  the  questions.  She  said,  "A  horse 
wants  to  know  why  he  is  growing  old."  Sun  answered,  "  Because  he  is 
lazy.  He  feeds  too  much  in  one  place.  He  is  too  lazy  to  search  for 
good  nutritious  grass,  and  he  is  too  lazy  to  go  to  water  regularly.  He 
will  stand  for  days  in  one  place  rather  than  go  any  distance  to  get 
water."  She  said,  "The  apple-tree  wants  to  know  why  it  is  drying  up." 
Sun  answered,  "Because  it  is  too  lazy,  and  because  it  has  a  nail  in  its 
trunk.  If  it  removes  the  nail,  and  loosens  the  ground  around  its  roots 
and  spreads  them  out  to  gather  moisture,  and  prunes  off  the  dead  and 
useless  wood,  then  it  will  retain  its  youth ;  but  it  is  too  lazy  to  do  this." 
She  said,  "The  little  spring  wants  to  know  why  it  is  drying  up."  Sun 
answered,  "Because  it  is  too  lazy.  If  it  removes  all  the  dead  twigs 
and  leaves  which  choke  it  up,  if  it  makes  a  clean  channel  for  itself  to 
run  in,  and  drains  the  neighboring  moist  places  into  itself,  it  will  always 
run  and  be  healthy." 

Spiola  was  in  despair  when  he  learned  that  he  had  to  be  back  in  four 
days  to  save  the  lives  of  the  two  children.  It  had  taken  him  more 
than  double  that  time  to  reach  the  abode  of  the  Sun.  The  old  woman 
consoled  him,  and  told  him  he  could  reach  home  in  time  by  taking 
another  route.  She  said,  "You  will  start  early  to-morrow  morning, 
and  follow  the  Sun  on  his  journey.  You  must  travel  as  fast  as  you  can. 
The  way  he  takes  is  a  very'  straight  and  short  course,  and  you  may 
reach  home  in  one  day." 

Spi6la  started  the  following  morning,  and,  following  the  Sun's 
tracks,  he  arrived  at  home  about  nightfall.  As  he  passed  the  small 
spring,  the  apple-tree,  and  the  old  horse,  he  informed  them  without 
stopping  what  the  Sun  had  said.^ 

Now,  Spiola  rubbed  the  spittle  on  the  mouths  of  the  children,  and 

1  Some  say  they  acted  on  the  advice,  and  became  healthy  and  lived  a  long  time. 


3o6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

at  once  they  returned  to  life.  It  was  the  same  as  if  their  breath  had 
come  back.  When  they  became  alive,  each  boy  showed  a  luminous 
spot  on  the  forehead:  on  the  forehead  of  one  shone  a  sun,  and  on  that 
of  the  other  a  bright  moon.     Both  were  beautiful  to  behold. 

Spiola  told  their  mother  the  Goose  that  he  was  now  going  on  another 
journey  to  see  the  wise  Bird,^  and  she  must  warn  her  children  of  ap- 
proaching danger.  He  told  the  boys,  "When  you  hear  the  Goose  on 
the  lake  calling  loudly,  you  must  go  home  at  once  and  hide,  for  the 
people  may  see  you  and  kill  you  again."  Spiola  ran  with  all  swiftness 
to  the  house  of  the  Bird  who  talked  all  languages,  knew  the  future, 
and  never  told  a  lie.  He  dwelt  on  the  top  of  a  pinnacle  of  clear  ice  in  a 
snowy  region.  Spiola  rushed  at  the  cliff,  and  just  managed  to  cHmb 
to  the  top  of  the  ice  before  his  claws  had  worn  off.  He  told  the  Bird 
what  he  had  come  for,  and  asked  his  help,  for  every  one  believed  what 
he  said.  The  Bird  answered,  "I  know  your  need  is  great,  and  I  pity 
you."  Spiola  put  the  Bird  under  his  robe,  and  slid  down  the  ice. 
He  brought  him  to  the  children,  and  the  Bird  seemed  to  be  very  glad  to 
see  them. 

The  day  after  the  Bird  had  arrived,  the  father  of  the  boys  heard 
talking  underneath  the  house,  and  resolved  to  investigate  its  cause. 
Some  of  the  voices  were  like  those  of  children.  He  found  the  entrance 
to  their  abode,  but  was  unable  to  throw  down  the  stone  which  blocked 
.  it.  Spiola  removed  the  stone,  and  asked  him  to  come  in.  He  said, 
"The  passage  is  too  small.  I  cannot  pass  through."  Spiola  replied, 
"  If  you  try,  you  will  manage  it."  He  squeezed  through,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  himself  in  a  large  room,  well  kept  and  clean,  and  full  of 
many  kinds  of  food.  When  he  saw  the  Bird  there,  he  knew  something 
important  was  going  to  happen,  for  he  never  came  excepting  when 
required  to  settle  a  serious  difficulty  which  the  chief  himself  and  people 
could  not  decide  properly.  When  Spiola  told  all  that  had  happened, 
the  chief's  son  became  exceedingly  sorry  that  he  had  killed  his  first  wife, 
and  had  believed  her  step-mother.  He  told  his  father  what  he  had 
learned,  and  a  meeting  was  called  for  a  certain  day  to  inquire  into  the 
truth  of  the  matter.  Meanwhile  the  chief  gave  orders  that  the  toe- 
nail woman,  or  She-who-spits-Toe-Nails,  should  be  kept  a  prisoner  in 
her  house  with  her  mother.  The  doors  and  windows  of  the  house  were 
all  battened  and  nailed  up.  Now,  Spiola  went  to  the  lake,  and  called 
the  Goose,  whom  he  shook  until  her  goose-skin  fell  ofT.  She-who- 
spits-Gold  was  restored  to  her  natural  form.  She  and  her  sons,  the 
wise  Bird,  and  Spiola,  all  attended  the  meeting  when  the  people  were 
gathered.  The  Bird  told  the  true  story  in  all  its  details,  and  every  one 
believed  him.     He  praised  Spiola  for  his  courage  in  running  to  the 

1  It  seems  this  bird  was  old  and  lived  all  alone.     From  his  house  he  could  hear  and  see 
everything.     The  narrator  said  perhaps  the  bird  was  a  parrot,  but  he  did  not  know. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      307 

house  of  the  Sun  for  the  breath  of  the  children.  The  chief  ordered  the 
two  women  to  be  taken  out  and  hanged  publicly.  This  the  people  did. 
The  chief's  son  took  back  his  wife,  and  they  lived  thenceforth  in  a 
great  house,  which  was  richly  ornamented  with  gold  by  his  wife.  He 
became  chief  after  his  father,  and  his  son  became  chief  after  him. 


2.    STORY  OF  EIGHT-HEADS.^ 

This  story  is  a  combination  of  many  of  the  incidents  in  the  tale  of 
Snlnaz  and  Seven-Heads ^  and  that  of  the  Grizzly  Bear  boy  (SkElauna). 
It  contains  no  incidents  not  found  in  these.  All  the  adventures  occur 
in  the  underground  world,  into  which  the  lad  is  lowered  by  his  com- 
panions. Here  he  kills  several  monsters,  who  prey  on  the  people  on 
earth.  At  last  he  kills  Eight-Heads  and  rescues  the  chief's  daughters, 
who  are  hoisted  up  by  his  companions.  Thinking  they  might  kill 
him,  he  puts  a  stone  in  the  basket.  They  cut  the  rope,  and  there  is 
no  way  for  him  to  get  up.  He  finds  Bald-Headed  Eagle,  who  eventu- 
ally takes  him  up  on  his  back.  He  proves  himself  to  be  the  savior  of 
the  chief's  daughters  by  going  through  a  number  of  tests,  and  exhibit- 
ing tokens,  and  obtains  a  large  reward  for  the  killing  of  Eight-Heads, 
which  he  proves  by  showing  his  eight  tongues.  The  girls  recognize 
the  lad,  and  further  prove  that  he  is  their  deliverer.  He  marries  them, 
and  becomes  a  celebrated  chief.  The  incidents  narrated  in  the  first 
part  of  the  Shuswap  story  of  Snanaz  and  Seven-Heads  are  not  related. 

3.    STORY  OF  THE   THREE   BROTHERS  AND  THEIR  DOG.^ 

There  were  three  brothers  who  went  travelling.*  The  youngest  was 
still  a  small  boy,  and  the  eldest  carried  him  most  of  the  time.  They 
had  a  small  dog  that  followed  them.  They  met  a  horde  of  ants  mi- 
grating from  their  hill.  The  elder  brothers  thought  they  would  kill 
the  ants;  but  the  youngest  brother  advised  them  to  desist,  saying, 
"The  ants  are  our  friends,  and  will  some  day  assist  us."  They  trav- 
elled on,  and  came  to  a  gray  snake,  which  the  brothers  wanted  to  kill; 
but  the  youngest  told  them  not  to  do  so,  as  the  gray  snake  was  their 
friend.     They  met  the  striped  snake,  the  garter  snake,  the  bull  snake, 

1  Compare  also  the  following  story  of  the  three  brothers  and  their  dog,  which  contains 
another  version  of  Eight-Heads.  The  story  belongs  to  the  group  of  tales  of  "John  the 
Bear."— J.  T. 

See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  ii,  p.  297;  F.  Panzer,  Untersuchungen  zur  deutschen 
Heldensage,  vol.  i. — F.  B. 

2  See  James  A.  Teit,  "The  Shuswap"  (Publications  of  thejesup  North  Pacific  Ex- 
pedition, vol.  ii,  pp.  705.  754-755)-     Leyden,  E.  J.  Brill. 

'  Compare  the  preceding  story  of  Eight-Heads. — J.  T. 
See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  p.  134;  vol.  ii,  p.  21. — F.  B. 

*  The  narrator  had  forgotten  the  previous  history  of  the  boys,  the  reason  why  they 
went  travelling,  and  also  their  names. 


3o8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

and  all  other  kinds  of  snakes,  which  the  brothers  wanted  to  kill.  They 
desisted,  however,  at  the  request  of  the  youngest  one.  Last  of  all, 
they  met  the  rattlesnake.  The  elder  brothers  wanted  to  kill  it;  but 
the  youngest  told  them  to  desist,  as  it  was  their  friend,  and  some  day 
would  assist  them. 

Finally  they  came  to  a  village  of  people  who  were  in  dread  of  a  canni- 
bal called  Eight-Heads,^  who  lived  near  the  top  of  a  butte  in  the 
neighborhood.  They  told  many  tales  of  this  ferocious  monster.  Near 
the  butte  was  a  tree  which  many  people  had  tried  to  chop  down.  For 
a  long  distance  around  no  other  trees  grew.  As  soon  as  any  one  began 
to  chop  the  tree,  Eight-Heads  appeared  and  killed  him.  It  was  be- 
lieved that,  if  the  tree  were  killed,  Eight-Heads  also  might  die,  or  at 
least  would  leave  the  place.  For  this  reason  the  chief  offered  a  large 
reward  to  any  one  who  would  chop  down  the  tree,  and  a  still  larger 
reward  to  any  one  who  would  kill  Eight-Heads.  The  brothers  said 
they  would  go  and  try.  When  near  the  tree,  the  youngest  boy  called 
on  their  friends  the  ants  ^  and  snakes  to  come  to  their  assistance.  The 
snakes  encircled  and  entwined  the  tree,  thus  killing  it.  Eight-Heads 
appeared,  and  attacked  the  brothers;  but  the  youngest  drew  a  short 
sword,  and  cut  off  his  heads  one  by  one.  As  each  head  dropped, 
the  little  dog  licked  up  the  blood  until  the  ground  was  dry.  Thus  he 
killed  the  heads  and  prevented  them  from  joining  the  trunk.  Eight- 
Heads  had  been  decapitated  before,  but  always  came  to  life  again, 
because  the  heads  grew  on  to  the  body.  The  lads  returned  to  town, 
and  were  paid  the  reward,  after  the  chief  had  satisfied  himself  that 
both  the  tree  and  Eight-Heads  were  dead.  He  went  to  the  hill  and 
viewed  the  remains. 

4.  STORY  OF  bear-boy;  or,  jack  the  bear.' 

A  man's  wife  strayed  away  ^  in  the  mountains  or  woods,  and  was  met 
by  a  Grizzly  Bear,  who  took  her  captive  and  made  her  his  wife.  He 
locked  her  up  in  his  den,  which  was  a  cave  in  a  cliff,  and  would  not  let 

1  Also  called  Four-Heads  by  some. 

*  The  narrator  had  forgotten  the  role  played  by  the  ants.  He  said  this  was  a  long  and 
very  interesting  story,  but  he  had  forgotten  most  of  it.  He  was  not  even  sure  if  he  had 
related  correctly  any  of  the  incidents  given. 

«  This  tale  (from  two  informants,  an  old  man  and  a  young  man)  is  comparatively  full, 
it  seems,  as  it  contains  all  the  incidents  in  the  Utamqt  story  of  "Jack,"  also  known  as 
"The  Wonderful  Boy"  and  "Grizzly-Bear  Boy"  (see  Mythology  of  the  Thompson  In- 
dians, Publications  of  the  Jesup  North  Pacific  Expedition,  vol.  viii,  pp.  292-294),  and 
most  of  the  incidents  of  the  stories  of  Bear-Boy  and  Earth-Transformer.  Compare  also 
Mythology  of  the  Thompson  Indians,  pp.  358-360,  380,  and  390.  Also  known  simply  as 
"Jack,"  and  "Jack  the  Traveller,"  and  "Grizzly-Bear's  Son." — J.  T. 

See  note  i,  p.  307. — F.  B. 

<  Some  say  she  was  digging  roots. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      309 

her  out.  Her  husband  searched  for  her,  but  could  not  find  her. 
There  she  was  kept  by  the  Bear  for  many  years,  and  at  no  time  was 
she  allowed  to  go  out.  The  cave  had  four  doors,  each  of  which  con- 
sisted of  a  heavy  bowlder.  These  opened  and  shut  automatically  at 
the  approach  of  the  Bear. 

After  a  year  the  woman  bore  a  son,^  who  soon  grew  up  to  be  a  young 
man  of  extraordinary  strength.  He  also  was  never  allowed  outside. 
His  mother  told  him  her  story,  and  the  boy  promised  that  he  would 
set  her  free.  One  day  when  the  Bear  came  home,  the  boy  attacked 
and  killed  him.^  Then  he  donned  his  skin  and  approached  one  of  the 
doors,  which  mistook  him  for  the  Grizzly  Bear  and  let  him  out.  It 
was  about  to  close  again  on  the  approach  of  his  mother,  but  he  held  it 
open  by  main  strength  until  she  had  passed  through.  He  carried  the 
grizzly-bear  skin  with  him;  and  whenever  he  put  it  on,  he  became  a 
bear. 

They  travelled  to  his  mother's  home.  It  took  her  former  husband 
some  time  to  recognize  her,^  and  he  was  very  glad  to  see  her.  He 
thought  she  had  long  been  dead.  He  had  turned  very  old,  for  time 
went  faster  in  the  outside  world  than  in  the  Bear's  den. 

They  discussed  what  they  should  do  with  their  son,  and  agreed  that 
they  would  make  a  priest  of  him.  They  sent  him  to  school;  but  his 
schoolmates  always  abused  him,  making  remarks  about  his  size,  fingers, 
and  personal  appearance.  They  also  called  him  a  bastard  and  Bear's 
son.  At  last  he  became  angry  at  this  treatment;  and  one  day  he 
donned  his  bear's  slcin,  went  to  the  school,  and  killed  all  the  boys  ex- 
cepting three  of  the  best  ones,  who  begged  for  mercy  and  were  spared. 
They  said  they  would  be  his  servants  and  do  whatever  he  told  them. 

Bear-Boy,  or  Jack,  went  home  and  told  his  parents  that  he  intended 
to  travel  all  over  the  country,  but  before  leaving  he  would  procure 
sufficient  food  for  the  years  of  his  absence.  For  four  days  he  went 
looking  for  work.  He  had  taken  his  father  along.  Whenever  they  came 
to  a  house,  Jack  hid  himself,  and  only  the  old  man  applied  for  work. 
The  white  people  laughed  at  the  idea  that  the  old  man  should  be  able 
to  clear  the  large  trees  that  were  on  their  land.  At  last  they  showed 
the  old  man  the  fields  that  had  to  be  cleared,  and  named  the  amount 
they  would  pay,  and  said  he  might  try  it  if  he  wished.  Jack  had  a 
huge  axe  made  by  a  blacksmith,  and  with  this  he  chopped  down  all 
the  trees  in  one  day.  The  old  man  went  for  his  pay,  but  the  owners 
would  not  believe  that  he  had  cut  all  the  timber  until  they  went  and 
looked.     They  were  surprised,  and  asked  him  to  put  up  a  log-fence 

1  Some  say  she  ■w'as  pregnant  when  taken  away. 

2  The  narrator  said  he  had  forgotten  exactly  how  he  killed  him.  He  had  heard  more 
than  one  version. 

^  The  narrator  said  there  was  some  mark  by  which  he  recognized  her,  but  he  had  for- 
gotten.    He  thought  it  was  a  mark  of  some  kind  on  her  face. 


310  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

around  the  entire  clearing.  This  Jack  also  finished  in  a  single  day. 
Then  they  asked  him  to  pile  and  fire  all  the  trees  and  brush,  and  to 
pull  out  the  stumps.  These  two  tasks  Jack  accomplished  on  the  third 
and  fourth  days.  The  proceeds  of  these  four  days'  work  were  ample  to 
maintain  his  parents  in  food  and  other  necessities  for  several  years. 

Jack  joined  his  three  companions,  who  were  very  strong  men,  and 
half  bears.^  When  they  put  on  their  skins,  all  were  exceedingly  strong 
and  fierce.^  They  came  to  a  place  where  white  people  lived,  who 
wanted  a  large  tract  of  land  smoothed  and  levelled.  It  was  all  humps 
and  hollows.  The  four  strong  men  accompHshed  this  in  one  day, 
earning  a  large  sum  of  money.  Then  they  went  to  another  place, 
where  some  whites  wanted  a  large  tract  of  land  cleared  of  stones.  This 
they  also  accomplished  in  one  day,  earning  much  money.  They  went 
to  another  place  where  a  large  tract  of  land  required  ploughing,  and  to 
a  fourth  place  where  sowing  and  harrowing  were  required.  There 
they  earned  large  sums  of  money  in  like  manner. 

They  went  on  and  came  to  a  log-cabin,  which  appeared  to  be  in- 
habited, for  everything  was  neat  and  clean  inside,  and  cooking  had 
been  done  there  lately.^  Pots  and  pans  and  food  in  abundance  were 
there,  also  a  bed  and  chair  and  a  gun.  They  thought  they  would  stay 
there  for  a  time,  as  everything  looked  comfortable.  They  saw  no  one 
around,  but  thought  the  owner  of  the  cabin  would  appear  later.  Jack 
said  they  would  hunt  next  day  and  leave  one  man  behind  to  cook. 
The  youngest  one  staid  at  home.  While  he  was  cooking,  a  small  and 
very  ugly  man  ^  suddenly  appeared  in  the  cabin  and  ordered  him  out, 
saying  that  the  place  belonged  to  him,  and  that  he  would  kill  him  if  he 
did  not  leave.  A  quarrel  ensued,  in  which,  after  a  long  encounter,  the 
stranger  thrashed  his  antagonist  severely  and  then  left.  When  the 
others  returned  from  hunting,  they  found  their  friend  in  bed,  and  noth- 
ing cooked.  He  would  not  answer  their  queries  as  to  why  he  acted 
thus.     Jack  cooked,  and  they  all  ate. 

On  the  following  day  the  next  youngest  staid  behind  to  cook,  and 
the  same  thing  happened.  Then  the  eldest  one  remained  at  home, 
and  on  the  fourth  day  Jack  himself.  Jack  fought  with  the  mysterious 
stranger,  and  hurt  him  so  badly  that  he  ran  away,  leaving  a  trail  of 

*  The  narrator  had  forgotten  their  exact  names,  but  one  was  named  because  he  had 
power  over  earth  and  could  remove  it  with  the  greatest  ease.  In  the  same  way  another 
could  remove  stones,  and  the  third  had  power  over  trees  and  wood. 

2  From  here  the  story  is  very  similar  to  that  of  Earth- Transformer. 

'  Some  say  an  inviting  meal  was  cooked  and  ready  to  be  eaten.  The  man  who  owned 
the  house  was  a  cannibal,  who  used  it  as  a  trap  for  people  who  were  hungry  or  tired.  If 
they  ate  of  the  meal  or  rested  in  the  bed,  and  fell  asleep,  the  cannibal  killed  them  and  car- 
ried them  off  to  his  home  underground.  The  house  was  near  the  trail.  Jack  threw  out  the 
contents  of  the  dishes. 

*  Some  say  he  had  a  long  beard  and  long  nails,  others  say  he  was  of  a  dark  or  black  color. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      311 

blood.  Jack  cooked,  and  had  everything  ready  for  his  companions 
when  they  came  home. 

On  the  next  day  they  followed  the  tracks  of  the  wounded  man,  and 
found  that  they  led  to  a  covered  hole  in  the  ground.  They  discovered 
a  rope  leading  down.  They  shook  the  rope.  At  once  a  small  bell 
rang,  and  the  rope  moved  rapidly,  bringing  up  a  basket,^  which  stopped 
just  below  the  entrance  to  the  hole.  Jack  proposed  that  they  should 
all  go  down;  but  his  companions  were  afraid,  and  said  they  would  stay 
above  and  watch  until  he  returned.  If  anything  went  wrong,  they 
would  haul  him  up.  Jack  entered  the  basket,  which  immediately 
descended.  On  reaching  the  bottom,  it  stopped,  and  Jack  stepped  out. 
Here  he  saw  blood,  and  knew  it  must  be  from  the  wounded  man.  He 
followed  the  tracks,  and  came  to  a  house,  which  he  entered.  Here  he 
was  accosted  by  a  man,  who  was  lying  near  a  small  fire,  and  appeared 
to  be  sick.  When  Jack's  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he 
noticed  that  the  man  was  very  ugly  and  black,  and  had  a  big  wound  in 
his  side.  He  was  covered  with  soot.  The  man  arose  and  ordered 
Jack  out.  The  two  quarrelled  and  fought;  but  Jack  ran  him  through 
with  an  iron  spear  ^  which  he  carried,  and  killed  him. 

When  Jack  looked  around,  he  discovered  an  iron  door  which  led 
into  another  room.  He  forced  it  open  with  his  iron  spear.  Inside  he 
found  four  boxes  full  of  valuables.  One  contained  gold  coin,  another 
silver  coin,  another  bank-notes,  and  another  copper  coin.  In  another 
place  he  found  a  barrel,^  which  contained  ornaments  of  jewelry  and 
gold,  silver,  and  precious  stones.  The  jewelry  and  money  had  be- 
longed to  the  victims  whom  the  cannibal  had  killed.  The  bones  of 
these  people  were  scattered  about  in  the  outer  chamber.  Jack  found 
another  door  leading  into  a  third  chamber.  He  burst  it  open  and 
discovered  three  beautiful  girls,  who  were  overpowered  with  joy  to 
see  him.  They  said  they  were  daughters  of  a  chief,  and  had  been  held 
captive  for  several  years.  They  called  him  their  husband,  and  thanked 
him  for  liberating  them.  They  took  off  their  rings,  which  had  their 
names  inside,  and  gave  them  to  him  as  tokens  that  they  were  his  wives. 
They  also  said  he  might  need  the  rings  if  misfortune  should  befall  him. 
They  carried  the  money  and  jewelry  to  the  entrance.  Jack  put  one  of 
the  women  in  the  basket,  shook  the  rope,  and  she  was  hauled  up.  His 
friends  were  surprised  to  see  a  woman  appear  instead  of  Jack.  They 
learned  that  two  more  women  were  to  come  up.  When  the  last  one 
had  been  pulled  up,  the  three  men  thought,  "There  is  one  for  each  of  us. 
If  Jack  comes  up,  there  will  not  be  enough  women  for  all."  When 
the  basket  had  gone  down  again,  Jack  filled  it  with  money  and  jewelry. 
The  bell  rang,  and  the  basket  began  to  ascend.     When  half  way  up, 

1  Some  say  a  golden  bucket. 

2  Some  say  a  spear  tipped  with  iron,  others  say  a  staff. 

3  Some  say  a  box  or  trunk. 


312  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

they  cut  the  rope,  and  basket  and  all  fell  down  to  the  bottom.  They 
thought  they  had  killed  Jack,  and  were  sorry;  but  the  desire  to  have 
the  women  was  too  great  a  temptation. 

They  went  to  the  nearest  town,  where  the  chief  recognized  his 
daughters.  The  three  Bear  men  claimed  the  girls  as  their  wives, 
saying  they  had  liberated  them  from  a  cannibal  who  lived  in  the  under- 
ground world;  but,  as  the  women  declared  that  they  were  not  their 
true  liberators,  the  chief  refused  to  give  up  his  daughters.  He  said  if 
the  real  liberator  did  not  come  and  claim  the  women  within  a  year, 
then  he  would  marry  them  to  the  three. 

Jack  could  find  no  way  of  escape,  and  travelled  about  in  the  under- 
ground world  until  he  came  to  a  lake,  where  he  saw  a  Crane,*  who  was 
very  poor,  because  he  could  not  eat  properly,  owing  to  a  bone  which 
stuck  in  his  throat,  and  which  he  could  not  remove.  Jack  removed 
it  for  him.  Then  he  told  Crane  of  his  plight,  and  the  latter  promised 
to  help  him  in  reward  for  what  he  had  done.  Crane  told  him  where  to 
find  animals  and  fish,  and  Jack  went  hunting  and  fishing  every  day. 
He  fed  Crane  abundantly,  and  the  latter  began  to  get  fat.  After  he 
had  regained  his  strength,  he  told  him  he  would  try  to  fly  up  and  out  of 
the  hole.  He  said,  "I  will  test  myself  by  flying  with  a  load."^  Jack 
gave  him  a  load  of  paper  money,  with  which  he  managed  to  reach  the 
top.  When  he  was  stronger,  he  gave  him  a  heavier  load,  and  thus  in 
time  he  sent  all  the  money  and  jewelry  to  the  top.  Now  Crane  was 
very  strong,  and  thought  he  would  try  to  take  up  Jack.  He  told  Jack 
to  fill  four  hoofs  with  meat,  so  that,  if  he  became  exhausted  in  the 
flight,  he  could  be  strengthened  by  food.  Jack  did  as  directed,  and 
fed  Crane  when  he  became  exhausted.  When  Crane  approached  the 
top,  the  meat  was  finished,  and  he  began  to  sink  down.  Then  Jack 
cut  off  some  of  his  own  flesh  and  fed  it  to  Crane,  who  was  thus  enabled 
to  reach  the  top.  Jack  jumped  off  and  thanked  Crane,  who  now 
returned. 

He  went  to  town  and  bought  materials  and  hired  men  to  build  a 
house.  He  built  it  on  a  lot  which  he  bought  within  sight  of  the  chief's 
house.  The  women  recognized  him  frorn  their  window,  and  told  their 
father,  who  sent  for  him.  Jack  showed  the  rings  and  proved  that  he 
was  the  deliverer  of  the  women,  who  became  his  wives.  He  met  his 
companions,  and  gave  them  most  of  the  money.  To  one  he  gave  the 
copper,  to  one  the  silver,  and  to  one  the  bills.  He  gave  the  jewelry 
to  his  wives.  The  gold  he  kept  for  himself.  Now  he  bought  a  horse 
and  buggy,  and  drove  home  to  his  parents'  house  with  his  wives. 
There  he  built  a  fine  new  house,  and  lived  thenceforth  with  his  wives 
and  parents.     He  had  many  children  and  was  wealthy. 

1  Some  say  Bald-Headed  Eagle. 

*  Some  say  he  tried  a  stone  first,  and  flew  across  the  lake.  At  Crane's  request,  Jack 
placed  a  flat  stone  on  his  back.     It  was  nearly  too  much  for  Crane,  who  was  still  weak. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      313 

5-1 1.    STORIES   OF  JACK. 

The  narrator  stated  that  although  stories  of  Jack  were  rather  common,  he 
did  not  know  them  well.  Certain  persons  knew  them  and  related  them. 
Some  people  knew  certain  stories  better  than  others,  and  the  ones  they 
knew  best  they  generally  told  and  were  asked  to  tell.  Two  men  might 
have  a  number  or  even  most  of  their  stories  in  common,  and  would  relate 
them  nearly  alike;  but  each  would  have  certain  stories  he  knew  more  fully 
than  the  other,  and  a  few  stories  the  other  did  not  know.  Some  men  and 
women  had  knowledge  of  a  great  many  stories,  many  of  which  they  could 
relate  very  fully,  while  other  individuals  could  hardly  tell  a  single  story 
quite  fully.  Some  new  stories  were  introduced  by  men  from  time  to  time; 
and  some  old  stories  once  common  would  go  out  of  vogue,  and  lingered  only 
in  the  memory  of  a  very  few.  No  doubt,  a  number  of  stories  have  been 
lost,  and  others  have  been  changed  by  people  relating  them,  who  did  not 
know  them  well,  and  who  did  not  have  a  large  knowledge  of  stories,  so  that 
they  could  differentiate  between  details  of  stories  that  were  somewhat 
alike.  Thus  incidents  belonging  to  one  story  were  attached  to  another, 
and  different  versions  arose.  The  stories  of  Jack  (or  John)  have  been  told 
in  the  tribe  at  least  for  sixty  or  seventy  years;  how  much  longer  is  difficult 
to  say.  Some  people  considered  them  to  be  white  man's  stories,  although 
they  could  not  state  how  they  came  to  be  told  by  the  Indians.  Others 
considered  that  Jack  (the  hero  of  these  stories)  was  an  Indian  who  travelled 
to  the  country  of  the  whites;  and  therefore  the  scenes  of  most  incidents 
occurred  in  the  white  people's  country,  or  on  the  borders  thereof.  Some 
people  claimed  there  were  several  Jacks:  such  as  Jack  the  trickster,  as  in 
the  story  of  Jack  that  fooled  the  priests;  and  Jack  the  hero,  who  went 
abroad;  and  probably  others.  One  of  these  Jacks  was  also  a  grizzly  bear. 
Some  of  the  Jack  stories  were  told  at  great  length.  He  narrated  some 
incidents  of  the  trickster  stories,  the  only  one  he  knew,  but  he  said  there 
were  many  others  that  he  had  heard  but  forgotten. 

5.  Jack  and  the  Priest.'^ 

Jack  was  travelling  along  a  hillside,  and  saw  a  priest  coming  up  a 
trail.  The  priest  was  dressed  in  black,  and  was  riding  a  horse.^  He 
was  holding  a  book,  probably  the  Bible,  which  he  was  reading.  Jack 
thought,  "I  will  fool  him  and  get  his  horse."  He  ran  ahead  to  where 
the  priest  would  pass.  There  was  a  large  bowlder  there  on  a  very 
steep  part  of  the  hillside,  immediately  below  the  trail.^  Jack  put  his 
back  against  it,  and  pretended  to  be  holding  it  back.  He  pretended  to 
be  greatly  fatigued  by  the  effort.  The  priest  noticed  him,  and  asked 
him  what  he  was  doing.  He  said,  "Come  here  quickly  and  help  me! 
I  am  almost  overcome.     I  noticed  this  bowlder  was  about  to  roll,  so 

1  Nos.  S  and  6  were  related  by  one  informant. — J.  T. 

This  tale  is  of  particular  interest,  since  it  belongs  to  the  characteristic  Spanish- 
American  and  American  negro  rabbit  cycle.  See  Franz  Boas,  "  Notes  on  Mexican  Folk- 
Lore  "  (this  Journal,  vol.  xxv,  p.  250,  note  5). — F.  B. 

2  Some  say  a  black  mare,  others  say  a  mule. 
5  Some  say  near  a  bridge. 


314  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

I  ran  here  to  hold  it.  If  it  rolls  down  the  side-hill,  it  will  kill  the  people 
below."  ^  There  were  many  people  working  in  a  hay-field  directly 
below.  The  priest  jumped  off  his  horse,  and  ran  to  his  assistance. 
Jack  told  him  to  push  hard  against  it  with  his  back.  He  said,  "You 
can  hold  it  for  a  while.  I  am  very  tired.  I  will  take  your  horse  and 
run  up  the  hill  quickly  to  a  place  I  know,  where  there  is  a  block  of 
wood.  I  will  bring  it  back,  and  then  we  can  block  up  the  bowlder  so 
that  it  will  not  roll."  The  priest  assented,  and  Jack  rode  up  the  hill 
at  a  fast  pace.  When  he  was  out  of  sight,  he  headed  the  horse  to  a 
town  near  by.  There  he  saw  a  race  going  on,  and  at  once  entered 
for  it.  He  won  the  race  and  a  considerable  amount  of  money.  The 
people  said,  "That  horse  looks  just  like  the  priest's  horse;  but  it  cannot 
be  the  same,  for  the  priest's  horse  is  no  racer."  They  offered  to  buy 
the  horse,  and  Jack  sold  it  at  a  high  price.  Then  he  went  on  to  the 
next  town,  and  gambled  with  the  money.  He  had  a  good  time. 
Meanwhile  the  priest  began  to  sweat  and  tremble,  holding  the  bowlder. 
He  thought  he  felt  it  move  when  he  slackened  his  exertions.  At  last 
he  became  thoroughly  exhausted,  ran  to  the  side,  and  lay  down.  He 
found  the  bowlder  was  quite  stable.  He  had  no  horse,  and  walked 
back  to  town,  which  he  reached  very  tired  after  midnight.^ 

6.  Jack  and  the  Hat} 

Jack  was  passing  along  a  road  near  a  village.  He  saw  a  man  ^  com- 
ing who  was  wearing  a  very  fine  hat.  Jack's  hat  was  very  old  and 
shabby.  He  thought,  "I  will  get  that  hat."  He  defecated  on  the 
road,  and  covered  his  excrement  with  his  own  hat.  He  pretended  to 
hold  the  hat  down.  The  man  asked  him  what  he  was  doing.  He 
said,  "  I  caught  a  pretty  bird  on  the  road,  and  am  holding  my  hat  over 
it  so  that  it  may  not  escape.  The  bird  is  worth  money.  If  you  will 
hold  it  down  for  a  short  time,  and  loan  me  your  hat,  I  will  run  to  the 
nearest  store  and  get  a  cage  to  put  the  bird  in.  We  will  share  the  value 
of  the  bird.  Do  not  lift  the  hat  to  look  at  the  bird,  for  it  might  get 
away."  The  stranger  agreed,  and  Jack  ran  off  wearing  the  stranger's 
hat.  W^hen  he  came  to  the  store,  he  sold  the  hat,  getting  a  new  hat 
and  some  money  for  it.  The  stranger  at  last  got  tired  holding  down 
the  supposed  bird,  and,  lifting  the  hat,  saw  nothing  but  excrement 
underneath. 

1  Some  say  "it  would  spoil  or  block  the  road." 

*  Some  say  the  priest  called  for  help.  Coyote  (or  some  one  else)  came  along,  and  asked 
him  what  he  was  doing.  The  priest  told  him,  and  asked  him  to  hasten  and  help  him. 
Coyote  said,  "You  fool!  that  stone  does  not  move." 

'  I  have  heard  versions  of  this  story  in  Europe. 

*  Some  say  he  was  a  policeman,  others  that  he  was  a  chief. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      315 

7.  Jack  and  the  Church} 

Jack  was  travelling  along,  and  came  to  a  fine  church  which  the 
priests  had  just  finished.  He  defecated  near  it,  and  then  went  away. 
The  priests  and  the  frequenters  of  the  church  were  very  much  annoyed 
at  the  evil  smell.  They  discovered  the  source  of  the  smell,  but  knew 
not  how  to  get  rid  of  it.  They  all  held  a  meeting,  and  discussed  what 
they  should  do  about  it.  They  proposed  to  move  the  church  to  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  smell;  but,  as  this  entailed  much  money  and  labor, 
they  offered  a  reward  to  any  one  who  would  enlighten  them  as  to  the 
best  thing  to  do.  Jack  attended  and  claimed  the  reward,  telling  them 
that  the  proper  and  easiest  way  was  to  move  the  excrement,  and  not  the 
church.  Having  done  this,  and  there  being  no  more  smell,  he  was  paid 
the  reward. 

8.  Jack  and  the  Pot? 

Jack  travelled  along,  and  came  to  a  house  belonging  to  a  woman  who 
did  washing.  He  was  very  hungry,  and  said  he  would  fetch  water  and 
split  wood  for  her  if  she  would  feed  him.  She  fed  him,  and  he  staid 
with  her  for  a  considerable  time.  One  day  the  washerwoman  sent  him 
to  the  village  store  to  procure  an  iron  pot.  On  the  way  back  he  set 
down  the  pot,  saying,  "Let  us  have  a  race!  You  have  four  legs,  and 
ought  to  be  able  to  run  fast."  He  started  to  run  fast,  and  ran  some 
distance  before  he  noticed  that  the  pot  was  not  near  him.  When  he 
looked  back,  he  saw  the  pot  where  he  had  left  it.  He  thought,  "Per- 
haps it  is  because  it  has  four  legs  that  it  cannot  run."  He  returned,  and 
broke  off  one  leg.  "Now  we  will  race,"  he  said.  On  looking  around, 
he  saw  the  pot  still  there.  He  thought,  "Because  it  has  three  legs  it 
cannot  run."  Thus  he  broke  off  one  leg  after  another,  but  the  pot 
still  did  not  run.  Then  he  broke  it  up,  saying,  "Of  what  use  can  a 
thing  with  legs  be  if  it  cannot  walk  or  run?"  On  reaching  home,  the 
woman  asked  him  where  the  pot  was,  and  he  told  her  how  he  had 
broken  it.     He  said,  "It  was  of  no  use.     It  had  legs  and  could  not  run." 

9.  Jack  and  the  Fat,  or  Lard. 

Some  time  afterwards  the  washerwoman  sent  him  to  the  village 
store  for  a  tin  of  lard.  On  the  way  back  he  saw  a  clay  puddle,  which 
had  dried  up,  and  was  full  of  cracks.     He  said,  "O  my  friend!  you 

1  This  tale  is  known  to  some  of  the  Indians,  but  was  not  related  by  the  man  who  told 
the  preceding  two.  I  do  not  remember  from  whom  I  heard  it  first.  I  have  heard  it  lately 
among  whites  in  British  Columbia,  I  think  French,  but  do  not  remember  exactly. 

2  Compare  for  this  and  the  following  tale  the  Shuswap  story  of  Snanaz  (The  Shuswap, 
Publications  of  the  Jesup  North  Pacific  Expedition,  vol.  ii,  pp.  753  and  754).  Stories 
8  and  9  were  related  by  one  informant. — J.  T. 

See'  '  Der  gescheite  Hans"  (Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  p.  315). — F.  B. 


3i6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

must  be  sore  having  all  those  cracks!"  He  emptied  out  the  lard,  and 
smeared  the  cracks  until  all  the  lard  was  gone.  On  returning  home, 
the  woman  asked  him  where  the  lard  was.  He  told  her  he  had  come  on 
a  man  who  had  cracked  feet,  and  had  used  the  lard  for  smearing  them.^ 

ID.  Story  oj  Jack  the  Thief} 

Jack  and  his  two  brothers  set  out  to  travel.^  They  came  to  a  white 
man's  town  where  many  people  dwelt.  The  chief  asked  them  what 
they  wanted,  and  they  said  they  were  looking  for  work.  He  asked 
them  what  they  desired  to  work  at.  One  said  he  was  a  carpenter,  and 
would  do  that  kind  of  work;  the  other  brother  said  he  was  a  black- 
smith, and  would  work  at  that  trade.  Jack  said  he  would  not  work  at 
all.  The  chief  asked  him  what  he  would  do,  then,  and  he  answered 
that  he  would  steal.  The  chief  said  he  could  not  stay  there  if  he  was  a 
thief,  and  drove  him  out  of  town.  Jack  went  on  to  another  town, 
where  he  was  summoned  before  the  chief,  who  asked  him  what  he 
wanted  there.  Jack  said,  "  I  want  only  one  thing,  and  that  is  to  steal. 
I  do  not  work,  I  only  steal."  The  chief  said,  "I  am  glad  you  are  a 
thief.  I  can  employ  you."  He  was  an  enemy  of  the  chief  whom 
Jack  had  first  met.  He  told  Jack,  "  I  want  you  to  go  to  him  and  steal 
his  purse,^  which  he  keeps  in  his  house  guarded  by  soldiers."  Jack 
took  four  bottles  of  whiskey,  and  visited  the  soldiers,  who  were  glad  to 
see  him,  for  they  had  not  seen  anybody  for  some  time  and  felt  lonely. 
They  all  got  drunk  and  fell  asleep;  so  that  Jack  went  into  the  house 
and  stole  the  purse  without  difficulty.  Jack  returned  to  his  master, 
who  was  delighted  with  his  success.  He  said,  "You  are  a  good  thief." 
Now  he  sent  Jack  to  steal  the  ring  belonging  to  the  chief's  wife.  Jack 
went  to  the  window  of  the  room  where  the  chief  and  his  wife  slept.  He 
hid  below  the  window,  and  pushed  up  a  figure  of  a  man  that  he  had 
made,  so  that  the  chief  should  see  it.  The  chief  thought  it  was  a  robber 
looking  in  through  the  window.  He  took  his  gun  and  shot  the  figure 
which  Jack  let  fall.     The  chief  ran  outside  to  finish  off  the  robber; 

1  The  narrator  said  he  had  heard  two  more  incidents  in  the  story  of  Jack  the  Trickster 
besides  the  above,  but  he  had  forgotten  them.  One  was  of  Jack  fooling  a  policeman;  and 
the  other,  of  Jack  becoming  a  priest  or  acting  as  a  priest. 

*  Compare  later  part  of  ButcEtcS  and  White  Chief  story  (The  Shuswap,  Publications  of 
the  Jesup  North  Pacific  Expedition,  vol.  ii,  p.  735).  The  name  ButcEtca  is  undoubtedly 
Petit  Jean  of  French-Canadian  folk-lore. — J.  T. 

Compare  "Der  Meisterdieb"  (Briider  Grimm,  Kinder- und  Hausmarchen  [Gottingen, 
1843],  No.  192,  p.  478);  "Le  Franc  Voleur  "  (E.  Cosquin,  Contes  populairesde  Lorraine, 
vol.  ii,  pp.  271,  364). — F.  B. 

^  The  narrator  said  he  did  not  remember  the  beginning  of  the  story,  but  thought 
that  Jack  could  not  get  along  with  his  father,  because  of  his  propensity  for  stealing,  and 
playing  tricks. 

*  The  narrator  was  not  quite  sure  if  it  was  a  purse. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      317 

and  his  wife,  who  was  afraid,  ran  into  another  room.  Jack  quickly- 
entered  a  window  (or  door)  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  (or  room), 
and  stole  the  lady's  gold  ring,  which  was  on  the  bedroom  table.  When 
Jack  returned  with  the  ring,  his  master  was  surprised  at  his  success.^ 
The  chief  learned  of  Jack's  thefts,  and  sent  soldiers  to  watch  and 
catch  him.  He  was  captured  while  stealing  in  a  house,  and  was  ordered 
to  be  drowned.  He  was  sewed  up  in  a  stout  sack  loaded  with  rocks, 
and  four  men  were  ordered  to  carry  him  to  the  middle  of  a  bridge,  and 
throw  him  into  the  river.  They  carried  him  suspended  from  a  pole. 
When  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  they  put  him  down,  and 
said  to  one  another,  "We  will  go  to  the  saloon  first,  and  have  a  drink, 
before  we  drown  him."  When  they  had  gone,  a  man  crossed 'the  bridge 
driving  a  drove  of  hogs.  Jack  began  to  laugh  inside  the  sack.  The 
man  asked  him  what  he  was  laughing  about.  Jack  said,  "I  feel  so 
happy  because  I  am  going  to  the  land  of  gold  beneath  the  water." 
The  man  asked  if  he  might  go  too,  and  Jack  said  he  might.  The  man, 
at  Jack's  request,  opened  the  sack  and  let  Jack  out.  Jack  told  the  man 
to  get  inside,  and  he  would  go  for  another  sack  for  himself.  After 
sewing  the  man  in,  Jack  drove  away  the  hogs.  The  four  men  came 
back,  and,  thinking  Jack  was  still  in  the  sack,  they  threw  it  into  the 
river.  Jack  sold  the  pigs  in  town,  and  the  chief  heard  about  it.  He 
wondered  how  Jack  had  come  back  to  life,  and  ordered  him  brought 
before  him.  Jack  told  the  chief  he  was  very  glad  that  he  had  been 
thrown  into  the  water,  for  he  had  found  a  fine  country  below,  and  had 
driven  the  hogs  up  from  there.  He  added,  "They  did  not  throw  me 
exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  but  a  little  to  one  side.  Had  I  been 
thrown  exactly  in  the  middle,  I  should  have  driven  up  a  herd  of  oxen 
with  golden  horns.^  If  you  care  to  throw  me  exactly  in  the  middle 
next  time,  I  will  go  again."  The  chief  said  he  would  go  himself,  and 
drive  up  the  golden-horned  oxen.  He  ordered  his  men  to  sew  him  in  a 
sack  and  throw  him  in  mid-river.  This  they  did,  and  the  chief  was 
drowned.^ 

1  Here,  the  narrator  stated.  Jack  was  sent  to  steal  something  else  from  the  chief,  in 
which  he  was  also  successful,  but  he  had  forgotten  what  it  was. 

2  Some  say  with  golden  horns  and  golden  hoofs,  others  say  with  gold-tipped  horns. 

'  The  narrator  did  not  remember  any  more  of  this  story.  He  thought  there  was  some 
more.  He  thought  that  Jack  was  chosen  chief  in  place  of  the  late  chief.  Another  infor- 
mant stated  that  this  storj',  when  told  fully,  was  very  long.  The  story  ends  with  the 
election  of  Jack  as  chief  in  place  of  the  chief  who  was  drowned.  The  people  said,  "It  is 
well  our  chief  is  dead,  he  was  too  foolish.  Jack  is  very  smart,  and  we  will  elect  him  as 
our  chief."  Jack  was  given  the  chief's  wealth  and  his  wife,  and  acted  wisely  afterwards. 
He  gave  up  thieving. 


VOL.  XXIX. — NO.    113. — 21. 


31 8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

II.  Story  of  Jack  and  his  Brother.^ 

Jack  and  his  elder  brother  ^  lived  with  their  parents,  who  had  a  cook. 
They  were  enormous  eaters;  and  when  food  was  put  on  the  table,  they 
rapidly  ate  it  all  up,  so  that  their  parents  had  not  enough.  As  they 
grew,  they  ate  more ;  and  at  meal-time,  even  when  the  table  was  loaded 
with  food,  their  parents  had  only  eaten  a  few  mouthfuls  before  all  the 
food  was  finished.  Their  parents  made  up  their  minds  to  get  rid  of 
them.  They  told  the  cook  to  provide  them  with  a  large  lunch  each, 
take  them  to  a  rough  part  of  the  mountains,  and  leave  them.  Jack 
read  his  parents'  minds,  and  told  his  elder  brother  what  was  proposed. 
That  day  he  went  to  a  wise  and  friendly  old  woman  ^  who  lived  nearby, 
and  asked  her  for  advice.  She  gave  him  a  large  reel  of  thread  and  told 
him  what  to  do.  Next  morning  the  cook  provided  them  with  packs 
of  food,  and  told  them  he  would  take  them  to  hunt  grouse.  They 
followed  him;  and  as  they  went.  Jack  unrolled  the  thread  unobserved 
by  the  cook.  When  the  thread  was  almost  all  unrolled,  the  cook 
halted  in  a  wild  spot,  saying,  "We  will  camp  here  for  to-night.  I  am 
going  over  yonder  to  shoot  some  grouse,  and  will  be  back  before  dusk." 
As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  lads  followed  the  thread  back  to 
their  home,  and  arrived  there  shortly  after  the  cook,  and  just  as  their 
parents  were  going  to  eat.  Raving  left  their  lunch  in  the  mountains, 
they  were  very  hungry,  and  ate  up  the  supper  almost  before  their 
parents  had  commenced.  Their  parents  told  the  cook  to  take  them 
farther  away  next  time.  Jack  knew  what  they  had  arranged,  and 
went  to  see  the  old  woman  again.  She  gave  him  a  sack  full  of  fine 
powder,^  which  shone  both  by  day  and  by  night,  but  was  brightest  at 
night,  and  she  told  him  what  to  do.  On  the  following  morning  the 
cook  said  he  would  take  them  hunting.  As  they  followed  the  cook. 
Jack  sprinkled  the  phosphorescent  dust  along  the  way.  When  the 
sack  was  about  empty,  the  cook  said,  "We  will  camp  here.  I  will 
go  to  yonder  brush  and    shoot   rabbits.     Stay  here  until  I  return." 

1  The  narrators  of  this  and  the  following  story  of  Jack  agreed  that  there  were  several 
Jacks;  such  as  Jack  the  Bear,  Jack  the  Thief,  etc.  One  of  them  maintained  that  Jack  of 
this  story  and  Jack  the  Trickster  were  the  same  individual.  The  other  claimed  that  this 
was  not  correct;  but  he  believed  there  were  three  distinct  persons  of  the  name  of  Jack,  each 
having  a  different  role.  Compare  Utamqt  story,  Mythology  of  the  Thompson  Indians, 
pp.  291,  292;  Traditions  of  the  Thompson  River  Indians,  pp.  93-94;  The  Shuswap, 
PP-  735.  736,  757.  The  narrator  said  some  say  that  the  brothers  could  change  into  bears 
or  dogs;  but  he  was  uncertain  as  to  this,  and  was  not  sure  of  the  kind  of  animal  they  were 
said  to  change  into. — J.  T. 

See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  p.  124. — F.  B. 

2  The  narrator  had  forgotten  the  elder  brother's  name. 
'  Some  say  she  was  their  grandmother. 

*  Indian  name,  qotsqotsie'sEm.  Some  say  it  was  phosphorescent  wood,  or  like  the 
heads  of  matches.  Others  say  it  was  like  what  star-dust  might  be,  and  sparkled  like 
diamonds,  or  like  moonlight  on  frozen  snow. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      319 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  boys  ran  back  along  the  sprinkled 
trail.  When  they  were  about  half  way  back  in  a  rough  piece  of  coun- 
try, they  ran  into  a  very  large  flock  of  small  birds,^  and  chased  them 
hither  and  thither,  trying  to  catch  them.  In  this  way  they  lost  their 
trail.  They  searched  for  a  long  time,  but  could  not  find  it.  They 
wandered  on,  not  knowing  where  they  were  going.  They  descended 
from  the  mountains,  and  came  to  a  plain  where  they  saw  a  butte  with 
a  very  tall  pine-tree  growing  on  top.  They  went  there.  The  elder 
brother  tried  to  climb  the  tree,  but  he  became  dizzy  and  descended 
again.  Then  Jack  went  up,  reached  the  top,  and  looked  around. 
Far  away  he  saw  a  column  of  smoke,  and  called  to  his  brother  to  turn 
his  face  the  way  he  pointed.  Jack  descended,  and  they  travelled  the 
way  his  brother  was  facing.  At  night  they  camped,  and  sat  facing 
the  same  way,  so  that  they  might  not  go  astray.  The  next  day  they 
reached  a  large  underground  lodge.  They  were  almost  famished. 
Their  shoes  and  clothes  were  in  tatters.  They  found  an  old  woman 
within,  who  fed  them  and  then  hid  them  in  the  cellar  within  the  house. 
She  told  them  that  her  husband  was  a  cannibal.  The  cannibal  and 
his  wife  had  two  children  of  the  same  size  as  Jack  and  his  brother. 
Being  young  cannibals,  they  sniffed  around  Jack  and  his  brother,  and, 
when  they  were  in  the  cellar,  continued  to  sniff  about,  so  that  their 
mother  had  to  drive  them  away.  Towards  evening  the  cannibal  ap- 
proached the  house,  saying,  "Nom,  nom,  nom,  where  can  I  get  some 
meat?"  On  entering,  he  told  his  wife  that  he  smelled  game  within 
the  house;  and  she,  on  being  threatened  with  a  thrashing,  disclosed  the 
fact  that  the  boys  were  hidden  in  the  cellar.  Jack  told  his  brother 
that  he  would  influence  the  cannibal's  mind,  so  that  they  might  be 
spared.  The  cannibal  pulled  them  out  of  the  cellar,  and  was  about  to 
eat  them.  Then  he  hesitated,  and  began  to  look  them  over.  He  said, 
"They  are  too  thin."  He  put  them  back  into  the  cellar,  and  told 
his  wife  to  feed  them  well  and  give  them  a  good  place  to  sleep,  that 
they  might  get  fat  and  tender  quickly.  The  next  day  the  woman  made 
a  bed  for  them.  After  they  had  been  in  the  house  for  some  time,  the 
cannibal  told  his  wife  the  boys  were  now  fit  to  eat,  and  he  would  kill 
them  in  the  morning.  Jack  knew  his  intention.  He  made  the  can- 
nibal and  his  family  sleep  very  soundly  that  night.  The  lads  arose, 
and  placed  the  cannibal's  children  in  the  bed  in  which  they  themselves 
had  been,  and  put  logs  of  rotten  wood  in  the  bed  of  the  cannibal's 
children.  They  took  the  cannibal's  magic  staff  of  gold,  four  stones 
which,  as  he  learned  afterwards,  were  gold  nuggets,-  and  the  key  of  his 
door.  When  any  one  attempted  to  open  the  house-door  except  with 
the  proper  key,  a  bell  would  ring.     In  the  morning,  when  the  cannibal 

1  Some  say  grouse  of  some  kind. 

2  The  cannibal's  children  used  to  play  with  these.     Jack  afterwards  sold  them  for 
much  money. 


320  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

awoke,  he  immediately  went  to  the  bed  in  which  the  boys  used  to  sleep, 
and  killed  his  own  children,  whom  he  mistook  for  the  captive  boys. 
When  about  to  eat  them,  he  noticed  their  fingers,  and  thus  realized 
that  he  had  killed  his  own  children.  He  uncovered  what  seemed  to  be 
children  in  the  other  bed,  and  found  the  logs  of  rotten  wood.  The 
cannibal  gave  chase  to  Jack  and  his  brother,  who  by  this  time  were 
far  away.  When  the  lads  saw  that  they  would  be  overtaken,  they  hid 
themselves  in  the  roots  of  a  patch  of  tall  grass.  The  cannibal,  who 
had  lost  track  of  the  boys,  returned  in  another  direction.^  As  soon  as 
he  was  out  of  sight,  the  lads  ran  on.  Then  the  cannibal  found  their 
tracks  again.  The  boys  had  just  reached  a  broad  lake,  when  he  hove 
in  sight.  Jack  threw  his  staff  down  on  the  water,  and  they  crossed  it 
as  on  a  bridge.  When  they  reached  the  opposite  shore,  he  lifted  it  up, 
and  the  cannibal  could  not  cross.  He  shouted,  "I  will  forgive  you,  I 
will  not  harm  you,  if  you  will  only  give  me  back  my  staff!"  but  Jack 
stuck  the  staff  in  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  the  lake,  and  left  the  can- 
nibal crying. 

Not  ^  far  from  here  they  came  to  a  large  town  of  whites,  where  there 
was  a  chief  and  many  soldiers,  also  many  houses,  stores,  and  farms. 
The  cannibal  used  to  prey  on  these  people,  who  were  much  afraid  of 
him.  Here  Jack  and  his  brother  separated,  each  getting  work  on  a 
different  farm. 

Jack's  brother  became  jealous  of  him,  and  sought  to  accomplish  his 
death  by  putting  him  in  danger.  He  told  his  master  ^  that  Jack  in- 
tended to  steal  the  large  bell  belonging  to  the  cannibal.  Jack's  master 
heard  of  this,  and  asked  him  if  it  were  true,  adding  that  his  elder 
brother  had  said  so.  Jack  said,  "Very  well.  I  will  go  and  get  the 
bell.  You  will  all  see  it."  The  cannibal  kept  the  bell  on  a  wheeled 
vehicle  alongside  his  house.^  It  was  very  large. ^  Jack  went  at  night, 
and,  crossing  the  lake  by  means  of  the  staff,  he  soon  reached  the  can- 
nibal's house.  He  caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  on  the  cannibal,  his  wife, 
and  the  bell.  This  bell  could  hear  a  long  ways  off,  and  warned  the 
cannibal  of  danger  by  ringing.  Jack  ran  off  with  the  bell,  hauling  it  in 
a  wagon.  Just  as  he  had  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake,  the 
cannibal  arrived  at  the  shore.  Jack  drew  in  the  staff,  and  stuck  it  in 
the  ground.  The  cannibal  begged  for  the  staff,  saying,  "You  may 
keep  the  bell,  but  give  me  back  my  staff,  with  which  I  cross  water." 
Jack  left  him  crying,  and  proceeded  to  town,  where  he  displayed  the 
bell  to  all  the  people. 

1  Some  say  he  went  back  to  the  house,  where  he  learned  through  some  kind  of  telepathy 
where  the  lads  actually  were,  and  then  gave  chase  again. 

2  See  C.-Marius  Barbeau,  "Le  Conte  de  Parle"  (in  "  Contes  populaires  Canadiens," 
this  Journal,  vol.  xxix,  p.  70). — F.  B. 

'  Some  say  Jack's  master. 

*  Some  say  inside  the  house,  and  Jack  entered  the  house  with  the  key  he  had  stolen. 

'  Some  say  it  was  made  of  copper,  or  of  gold,  and  shone  like  a  star. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      32 1 

After  this,  Jack's  brother  circulated  the  story  that  Jack  intended  to 
steal  the  cannibal's  light.  His  master  asked  him  about  it,  and  he 
said  he  would  do  it.  He  took  with  him  three  small  sacks  of  salt. 
When  he  came  to  the  cannibal's  house,  he  looked  down  the  smoke- 
hole.  He  saw  the  cannibal  busy  boiling  a  large  kettle  full  of  human 
flesh,  which  was  now  almost  ready  to  be  eaten.  Jack  emptied  one 
sack  full  of  salt  into  the  kettle.  The  cannibal  had  a  large  spoon  with 
which  he  was  tasting  the  broth.  When  he  took  the  next  spoonful,  he 
found  the  taste  so  agreeable  that  he  forgot  to  eat  any  of  the  meat,  and 
drank  only  of  the  soup.  He  said,  "This  must  be  delicious  game  I  am 
boiling,  to  make  the  broth  so  nice."  Jack  wanted  to  make  him  go 
to  drink,  so  that  he  could  steal  the  light.  He  threw  in  the  other  sack 
of  salt.  The  cannibal  went  to  the  creek  to  drink,  but,  instead  of  leav- 
ing the  light,  took  it  with  him  attached  to  his  forehead.  Jack  ran 
down  to  the  trail  and  hid.  W^hen  the  cannibal  was  returning,  he  sud- 
denly jumped  up,  and  threw  the  salt  in  the  cannibal's  face  and  on  the 
light,  so  that  neither  of  them  could  see.  The  cannibal  was  so  much 
startled  that  he  ran  away,  and  in  his  hurry  and  blindness  struck  his 
toe  on  a  tuft  of  grass  and  fell  down  heavily.  The  light  rolled  off  his 
head.  Jack  seized  it  and  ran  off.  This  light  could  see  a  long  ways 
off,  and  told  the  cannibal  what  it  saw.  It  saw  farthest  at  night.  The 
cannibal  could  not  follow  Jack,  because  it  was  very  dark  and  he  had 
no  proper  light.  Jack  carried  the  light  to  town,  and  displayed  it  to> 
the  people. 

Next  Jack's  brother  told  that  Jack  was  going  to  bring  in  the  cannibal' 
himself.  His  master  asked  him  regarding  it,  and  he  said  he  w^ould  do 
it.  He  went  to  the  blacksmith  and  had  a  large  trunk  made  of  iron, 
with  a  lid  which  shut  with  a  spring.  When  it  was  finished.  Jack  went 
into  it  and  tried  it  with  all  his  strength.  He  found  the  box  was  too 
weak.  Therefore  he  ordered  the  blacksmith  to  re-enforce  it  with  heavy 
iron  bands.  He  placed  the  trunk  on  a  wagon,  to  which  he  harnessed 
a  fine  team,  and  drove  to  the  cannibal's  house,  crossing  the  lake  on  the 
magic  staff.  The  cannibal  came  out  and  admired  the  team,  wagon, 
and  trunk.  He  did  not  recognize  Jack,  and  thought  he  would  kill 
the  visitor  and  take  his  wagon,  trunk,  and  team.  The  cannibal  ad- 
mired the  trunk,  which  was  polished  and  looked  like  steel.  Jack 
opened  the  lid  to  show  him  the  inside,  which  was  decorated  with, carv- 
ings, pictures  in  colors,  and  looking-glasses.  Jack  proposed  to  sell 
the  trunk  to  the  cannibal,  and  asked  him  to  go  in  and  try  it.  The. 
cannibal  told  Jack  to  go  in  first.  Jack  went  in,  lay  down  at  full  lengthy 
and  claimed  that  it  was  very  comfortable.  The  cannibal  then  went  in» 
and  Jack  shut  the  lid  on  him.  The  cannibal  struggled  to  free  himself, 
and  at  times  nearly  capsized  the  trunk;  but  Jack  drove  him  into  town, 
where  he  stopped  in  the  square.     The  chief  and  soldiers  and  all  the 


322  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

people  flocked  to  see  the  cannibal  who  had  been  killing  them.  They 
lifted  him  off  the  wagon,  and  asked  Jack  to  liberate  him.  Jack  said 
if  he  liberated  him,  he  would  kill  all  the  people,  and  proposed  to  them 
to  light  a  fire,  and  to  roast  him  to  death  in  the  trunk.  Jack's  brother 
asked  him  to  open  the  trunk,  but  he  would  not  consent.  Jack's 
brother  said,  "There  is  no  danger.  See  these  hundreds  of  armed 
soldiers."  Jack  said,  "It  matters  not,  for  neither  arrows,  nor  bullets, 
nor  knives,  can  penetrate  him.  He  will  kill  everybody."  His  brother 
laughed.  Jack  said,  "I  will  give  you  the  key  of  the  trunk,  and  you 
may  open  it  in  four  hours  from  now."  The  whites  wanted  to  have 
some  fun  with  their  enemy.  When  Jack  had  been  gone  four  hours, 
and  while  he  was  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  distant  hill  overlooking  the 
town,  his  brother  opened  the  trunk.  The  cannibal,  who  was  in  a 
violent  rage,  killed  ever}^  one  of  the  people,  including  Jack's  brother. 
There  were  none  left.  After  this  Jack  travelled.  Some  say  he  turned 
foolish,  and  became  Jack  the  Trickster. 

12.    STORY   OF  THE   HORSE-RACER.^ 

Once  there  was  a  lad  who  was  the  son  of  wealthy  parents,  and  who 
kept  race-horses.  He  spent  all  his  time  training  his  horses  and  racing 
them.  He  lost  nearly  all  the  races  he  ran,  but  nevertheless  persisted 
in  racing.  Thus  he  gambled  away  all  his  parents'  ranch,  their  house, 
their  cattle,  sheep,  and  pigs,  etc.,  and  at  last  all  his  horses  and  his 
clothes,  and  even  his  parents  themselves,  and  his  brothers  and  sisters. 
He  then  left  the  country  and  travelled  east.  Naked  and  famished, 
he  reached  the  house  of  an  old  woman,-  who  treated  him  kindly,  fed 
and  clothed  him,  and  gave  him  advice  as  to  his  future  and  how  to  act. 
After  resting  there  for  some  time,  he  continued,  on  her  advice,  to 
travel  east,  and  came  to  the  house  of  a  wealthy  man,  who  had  a  ranch 
and  Uved  all  alone,  and  who  employed  him.  When  he  had  been  there 
some  little  tim.e,  his  master  told  him  he  would  give  him  a  horse  and 
send  him  on  an  errand  to  a  far  country,  and  that  it  would  take  him 
years  to  go  there  and  to  return.  He  had  sent  many  of  his  employees 
on  this  journey,  but  none  had  come  back.  They  had  all  disappeared 
or  perished.  He  wanted  him  to  go  to  a  chief  in  a  distant  land  and  get 
his  daughter.  He  could  gather  up  all  the  hundreds  of  horses  on  the 
range,  and  choose  the  one  he  thought  best  for  the  journey.  The  lad 
wenc  out  on  the  range,  and  whistled  or  called  to  the  horses.  They  all 
came  to  him,  forming  a  circle  around  him.  After  looking  them  over, 
he  selected  a  small  gray  ^  horse  with  long  hair.    He  put  a  halter  on  him, 

1  This  lad  is  sometimes  called  "Jack,"  sometimes  "Horse-Racer,"  and  sometimes 
"Loser"  or  "Gambler." 

2  The  narrator  had  forgotten  the  particulars  about  this  woman. 

3  The  color  of  the  horse  is  not  certain. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      323 

and  led  him  to  his  master's  stable.  The  master  went  to  look  at  the 
horse;  and  when  he  saw  that  the  lad  had  brought  in  an  undersized  and 
miserable-looking  colt,  he  told  him  he  would  never  be  able  to  accom- 
plish the  journey.  The  lad  said  it  was  his  choice ;  and  his  master 
answered,  "  Do  as  you  like."  On  the  following  morning  the  youth  led 
the  horse  out  with  only  a  piece  of  blanket  on  its  back  and  a  piece  of 
rope  for  a  bridle.  The  horse  had  told  him  to  do  so.  When  he  was 
out  of  sight,  the  horse  changed  into  a  large  and  noble-looking  steed, 
with  fine  saddle  and  bridle  ornamented  with  beautiful  trappings. 
The  horse  said,  "Use  only  a  willow  switch  on  me,  and  whip  me  lightly 
but  twice,  once  on  each  side."  Now  they  bounded  off,  going  faster 
than  the  wind,  the  horse  lighting  on  the  ground  only  here  and  there. 
They  rode  at  a  height  of  a  little  above  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees. 
Small  lakes  they  covered  at  one  bound.  Early  on  the  second  day  they 
were  within  sight  of  the  chief's  house.  The  horse  told  the  lad  how  he 
would  dance  and  show  off,  and  advised  him  what  to  do.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  house,  the  horse  pranced  around,  and  the  chief's  daughter 
came  out  and  stood  at  the  door  among  the  soldiers  watching.  The 
chief  also  came  out.  When  the  lad  came  up,  he  was  asked  where  he 
had  come  from.  He  said  he  had  travelled  a  long  ways  from  a  distant 
country,  and  was  going  to  another  country  beyond,  where  he  now  was 
to  engage  in  horse-racing.  The  chief  said  he  had  never  seen  such  a 
good  horse,  and  that  his  daughter  wished  to  ride  it.  The  youth  dis- 
mounted and  let  the  girl  ride.  When  she  had  returned,  he  mounted 
again,  and  said  to  her  that  the  horse  danced  very  prettily  with  two 
riders,  and  still  better  with  three.  The  chief  mounted  behind  the  lad, 
and  the  horse  danced  very  prettily.  The  girl,  who  wished  to  try  how 
it  felt,  asked  to  be  taken  next.  The  horse  danced  very  nicely,  and 
when  a  little  ways  off  it  began  to  describe  circles.  They  returned,  and 
the  chief  also  mounted  behind.  The  lad  said  the  girl  must  be  tied  to 
him,  so  that  she  would  not  fall  off,  as  the  horse  would  now  perform  his 
best  steps.  W^hen  they  were  some  distance  from  the  house,  the  horse 
reared  and  threw  the  chief.  Then  it  rushed  forward,  and  was  soon  out 
of  sight.  The  chief's  men  mounted  and  went  out  in  search  of  the 
couple,  but  they  could  not  find  which  way  the  lad  had  gone.  On  the 
second  day  at  noon  the  boy  returned  to  his  master's  house.  When 
they  came  near  the  stable,  the  horse  changed  to  its  former  appearance 
of  a  small  shaggy  colt.  The  boy  led  it  into  the  stable  and  took  the 
woman  to  the  house.  The  master  was  delighted  with  the  woman, 
and  surprised  at  the  speedy,  successful  journey.  The  woman,  how- 
ever, refused  to  marry  unless  she  had  two  wishes  fulfilled.  She  wanted 
to  have  her  work-bag,^  and  her  favorite  black  horse  which  had  strayed 
away  three-  years  before  and  was  lost.     In  her  work-bag  were  her 

1  Some  say  work-bag  and  toilet-bag.  ^  Time  uncertain. 


324  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 

needles  and  thread,  her  scissors,  her  comb,  and  her  looking-glass.  The 
master  asked  the  boy  to  help  him,  and  on  the  following  morning  the 
youth  started. 

When  he  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  chief's  house,  he  disguised  him- 
self and  his  horse.  Before  the  soldiers  at  the  gate,  horse  and  rider 
appeared  tired  and  poor.  The  chief  came  out  and  asked  him  if  he 
had  met  any  one  on  the  trail.  He  said,  "Yes,  a  longways  off  I  met  a 
girl  alone  near  thetrail,  who  was  crying  for  her  work-bag."  The  chief 
offered  him  a  reward  if  he  would  recover  her  and  bring  her  back.  The 
lad  said  that  she  would  not  believe  him,  and  would  not  accompany 
him  because  he  did  not  bring  her  bag.  The  chief  gave  him  the  bag, 
which  he  strapped  to  the  saddle,  and  soon  disappeared  out  of  sight.  On 
his  arrival  home,  he  delivered  the  bag  to  the  woman. 

On  the  following  morning  he  started  out  to  look  for  the  black  horse. 
He  reached  a  lake  at  the  foot  of  a  rough  mountain.  Here  the  horse 
told  the  lad  to  hide  and  wait.  The  black  horse  had  joined  a  band  of 
wild  horses,  that  ran  in  a  very  rough  and  distant  part  of  the  country. 
The  boy's  horse  promised  to  separate  him  from  the  herd  and  to  make 
him  swim  the  lake.  When  he  came  out,  the  lad  must  rope  him.^ 
The  horse  did  as  he  had  said,  and  the  lad  roped  the  wild  horse.  On 
the  following  day  he  arrived  home,  leading  the  black  horse,  which  he 
gave  to  the  woman.  Now  she  married  his  master,  and  the  latter  was 
happy. 

The  boy's  master  gave  him  the  horse  and  a  large  sum  of  money. 
Now  the  lad  returned  to  his  own  country.  When  he  was  near  home, 
the  horse  changed  to  the  form  of  a  shaggy  colt.  The  people  who  had 
won  everything  from  the  lad  welcomed  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  wished 
to  race.  He  said  he  would.  His  parents  watched  from  a  hill.  He 
raced  with  the  people,^  and  won  back  his  parents,  brothers  and  sisters^ 
stock,  ranch,  and  in  addition  almost  all  the  property  of  the  people, 
who  lost  many  horses  and  much  goods. 

{Another    Version.)^ 

This  story  is  told  in  the  same  way  as  the  preceding  one,  with  the  fol- 
lowing differences  and  additions.     The  tale  opens  thus:  — 

A  lad  who  was  very  fond  of  horse-racing  and  gambling  lost  all  his 
horses,  clothes,  and  all   he  had.     As  a  last  chance  of  winning  back 

*  Some  say  Jack's  horse  fought  with  the  black  horse  and  conquered  him. 

2  Some  tell  this  part  of  the  story  at  considerable  length,  but  the  narrator  had  forgotten 
the  detaUs. 

'  Called  by  the  narrator  "The  Boy  who  raced  Horses,"  "The  Boy  who  lost  All,"  and 
"The  Poor  Boy  and  his  Colt  [or  Pony]."  Compare  several  incidents  in  this  story  with 
Shoshone  (Robert  H.  Lowie,  "The  Northern  Shoshone,"  Anthropological  Papers  of  the 
American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  vol.  ii,  pp.  295-297). 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      325 

what  he  had  lost,  he  staked  his  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
lost  them  also.  He  was  so  ashamed  that  he  walked  away  naked,  not 
knowing  where  he  was  going. 

Almost  famished,  he  reached  the  dwelHng  of  an  old  woman,  who 
adopted  him  and  called  him  her  grandson.  He  lived  with  her.  He 
still  felt  disconsolate,  and  in  his  travels  one  day  wandered  farther  than 
usual.  After  crossing  a  mountain,  he  saw  a  shaggy  colt  in  the  valley 
beyond,  and  went  up  to  it.^  The  colt  spoke  to  him  kindly,  and  said  he 
might  put  a  halter  on  him  and  ride  him.  He  said,  "Try  me  in  a  race, 
but  you  must  never  whip  me  more  than  twice,  once  on  each  side." 
Four  days  the  lad  raced  the  colt,  and  each  day  he  ran  faster.  At  last 
he  ran  like  the  swiftest  wind,  and  the  noise  of  his  running  was  like  an 
approaching  storm.  He  grew  larger  and  stronger  as  he  ran.  At  the 
end  of  each  race  he  became  small  again.  Then  the  colt  invited  him  to 
go  travelling.  They  came  to  the  house  of  a  chief,  who  wanted  to  hire 
a  man  and  horse  to  perform  a  difficult  errand,  for  which  he  would  pay 
much  money;  but  he  did  not  think  the  horse  the  lad  rode  could  endure 
the  journey.  It  was  too  small  and  weak-looking.  The  lad  promised 
to  undertake  the  task. 

From  here  the  story  continues  in  the  same  way  as  the  preceding  one, 
up  to  the  time  when  the  lad  goes  to  bring  in  the  wild  black  horse. 

The  colt  told  him  he  would  go  after  the  black  horse  himself;  for  the 
latter  ran  in  a  very  rough  and  distant  part  of  the  mountains,  and  was 
very  strong  and  fierce.  The  colt  drove  the  black  horse  to  where  the 
boy  was.  It  was  a  running  fight,  the  colt  constantly  catching  up  and 
biting  the  other.  When  they  reached  the  place  where  the  lad  was, 
the  black  horse  was  nearly  exhausted.  The  colt  threw  him  to  the 
ground  and  held  him  down,  while  the  boy  put  his  halter  on  the  con- 
quered horse.     The  colt  had  told  him  to  do  so.  .  .  . 

After  the  lad  had  been  paid  by  the  chief,  he  rode  off  to  another  place, 
where  a  chief  lived  who  had  a  ^  daughter.  He  carried  with  him  the  gold 
he  had  received.  This  chief  had  several  race-horses,  which  were  the 
best  in  the  whole  country.  The  lad  rode  up,  and  challenged  the  chief 
to  race  with  him.  The  chief  laughed  at  the  poor-looking  colt  the  boy 
rode.  He  bet  one  horse  against  the  boy's  gold,  and  rode  one  of  his 
poorest  horses.  The  boy  won.  The  chief  bet  another  horse  against 
the  horse  he  had  lost  and  the  boy's  gold,  but  lost  again.  Thus  the 
chief  lost  all  his  horses  except  one.  This  was  his  best  horse.  He  bet 
his  daughter  against  all  the  horses  the  lad  had  won  and  against  the 
gold,  and  lost  as  before.  Thus  the  boy  left  there  with  a  wife,  many 
good  race-horses,  and  plenty  of  money.     When  he  reached  his  own 

»  Some  say  the  colt  was  staked  there.  *  Some  say  two  or  more  daughters. 


326  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

country,  he  was  met  by  the  people  who  had  formerly  beaten  him  in 
horse-racing.  They  saw  that  he  had  much  wealth,  which  they  thought 
they  would  easily  win.  They  asked  him  to  race  with  them,  and  he 
readily  assented.  All  the  people  assembled  to  witness  the  race.  The 
people  saw  that  he  had  chosen  the  colt  to  race  with,  instead  of  his 
good-looking  horses.  They  thought  they  would  easily  beat  him,  and 
ran  one  of  their  poorer  race-horses.  They  bet  heavily.  The  race 
was  to  be  around  a  mountain.  They  started ;  and  as  long  as  the  racers 
were  in  sight,  the  colt  was  far  behind.  The  people  laughed,  thinking 
they  had  already  won.  When  the  racers  were  about  to  disappear 
behind  the  mountain,  the  colt  told  the  boy  to  lay  on  the  switch  on  his 
left  side.  He  did  so,  and  the  colt  caught  up  with  the  other  horse.  He 
had  changed  into  a  large  and  magnificent  horse.  He  told  the  boy  to 
lay  on  the  switch  on  the  right  side.  Then  the  colt  bounded  to  far 
beyond  the  opposing  horse,  and  reached  the  other  corner  of  the  moun- 
tain. Here  he  changed  back  to  a  small  colt.  The  people  were  sur- 
prised when  they  saw  the  colt  come  into  view  first.  He  reached  the 
goal  first  and  won  the  race.  Then  the  people  ran  their  best  horses, 
and  bet  very  heavily,  but  the  boy  always  won.  Thus  he  recovered 
all  the  goods  and  horses  he  had  formerly  lost,  and  set  free  his  parents, 
brothers, and  sisters.  Besides,  he  won  nearly  everything  the  people  had, 
and  they  were  reduced  to  poverty.  Thus  he  became  a  wealthy  chief. 
Then  the  colt  told  him  to  take  him  to  the  place  where  he  had  first 
found  him,  and  turn  him  loose  there.  The  boy  obeyed,  but  felt  very 
sorry  at  parting  with  his  good  friend. 

13.  STORY  OF  THE  RACE  WITH  THE  TURTLES;  OR,  THE  TURTLES  AND 

ANTELOPE.^ 

This  story  was  told  by  two  men  exactly  as  related  of  the  Turtles  and  the 
Runner.^  One  informant  said  the  Runner  was  Antelope,  and  the  other 
said  he  had  heard  more  often  that  the  Runner  was  Coyote.  Some  people 
add  a  few  boastful  remarks  made  by  Coyote  to  Turtle. 

14.    STORY  OF  HAND-HAMMER,   WOOD-CHISEL,   BOIL,  AND   SPITTLE.^ 

Stone  Hand-Hammer,  Antler  Wood-Chisel,  Boil  (tsumtsum),  and 
Spittle  were  friends,  and  all  lived  together.  One  day  they  all  went 
together  to  gather  wood.  Hand-Hammer  and  Chisel  chopped  the 
tree.  Chisel  was  pinched  in  the  wood  and  killed.  The  other  three 
took  packs  of  wood  on  their  backs  and  started  for  home.  Hand- 
Hammer  lost  his  balance,  passing  along  the  steep  side-hill,  rolled  down 

^  See  Oskar  Dahnhardt,  Natursagen,  vol.  iv,  pp.  47-97. — F.  B. 

2  Mythology  of  the  Thompson  Indians  (Publications  of  the  Jesup  North  Pacific  Ex- 
pedition, vol.  viii),  p.  395. 

5  Some  say  mucus  of  the  nose  instead  of  spittle. — J.  T. 
See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  p.  135. — F.  B. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      327 

into  the  river,  and  was  drowned.  A  dry  needle  of  the  yellow  pine  blew 
down,  and  the  point  struck  Boil  in  the  eye,  bursting  him.  Spittle 
went  on,  and,  in  passing  over  a  piece  of  dry  ground,  dried  up.  Thus 
all  four  perished. 

{Another  Version.) 

This  story  is  the  same  as  the  preceding  one,  with  the  following  variations :  — 

The  four  people  reached  a  large  dry  tree  lying  on  the  ground.  Wood- 
Chisel  made  a  small  hole  in  it  and  inserted  himself.  Then  Hand- 
Hammer  jumped  on  top  of  him,  hit  him  on  the  head,  and  drove  him  in. 
They  had  been  accustomed  to  this  act  when  gathering  wood ;  but  the 
wood  always  split,  and  Wood-Chisel  got  free.  This  time,  however, 
the  trunk  of  the  tree  would  not  split,  and  only  splinters  came  off. 
After  driving  Chisel  in  as  far  as  he  could,  Hand-Hammer  found  that 
the  tree  would  not  split,  and  that  Chisel  was  held  fast.  He  tried  hard 
to  relieve  him,  but  did  not  succeed.  He  was  hot  with  his  exertions, 
and  went  to  the  river  to  drink.  W^hen  he  stooped  down  to  the  water, 
he  rolled  over  and  disappeared  in  the  river.  Boil  and  Spittle  said, 
"We  have  to  do  the  best  we  can.  Our  friends  Chisel  and  Hammer  are 
dead, — one  squeezed  to  death,  and  the  other  drowned."  They 
gathered  up  what  splinters  and  chips  they  could  find  and  started  for 
home.  Now  a  very  strong  Chinook  wind  started  to  blow,  and  dried 
up  Spittle  on  the  road.  Presently  a  dry  yellow  pine-needle  came  along 
borne  by  the  high  wind,  which  struck  Boil  and  pierced  him,  so  that  the 
pus  ran  out,  and  he  also  disappeared.  Thus  all  the  people  of  the  house 
died  on  one  day,  and  their  house  stood  empty. 

15.    COYOTE  AND   FOX.^ 

Coyote  and  Fox  were  companions.  Coyote  thought  himself  smarter 
than  Fox.  Fox  was  eating  cheese  when  Coyote  came  along.  Coyote 
asked  him  where  he  got  it.  Fox  said,  "Ask  me  that  after  you  have 
eaten  it."  Coyote  and  Fox  ate  the  cheese;  and  when  they  had  fin- 
ished. Coyote  asked  Fox  again.  Fox  told  him  that  he  had  stolen  it 
from  a  white  man's  store,  which  he  had  entered  through  a  hole.  Coyote 
proposed  that  they  go  to  get  some  more.  They  went  to  the  hole, 
through  which  Fox  passed  easily,  but  Coyote  could  hardly  pass  through. 
Inside  they  found  a  large  cheese,  which  Fox  invited  Coyote  to  eat. 
He  said,  "  I  eat  all  I  can  here,  and  then  pass  out  through  the  hole  carry- 
ing some  more."     When  Coyote  had  about  eaten  his  fill.  Fox  knocked 

1  Or  stor>'  of  Fox  tricking  Coyote.  The  narrator  stated  that  there  are  a  number  of 
incidents  of  the  Coyote  and  Fox  myth  in  which  Fox  gets  the  best  of  Coyote,  but  most  of 
them  he  had  forgotten. — J.  T. 

L.  Sudre,  Les  sources  du  Roman  de  Renart,  pp.  240  el  seq. — F.  B. 


328  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

over  a  tin  can,  and  then  ran  out  through  the  hole.  Coyote  ran  after 
him,  but  his  stomach  was  so  full  that  he  stuck  in  the  hole.  The 
store-keeper  ran  in  and  beat  Coyote,  who  finally  escaped  after  tearing 
the  skin  off  his  sides. 

Fox  ^  was  travelling,  and  saw  a  wagon  full  of  fish  driven  by  two  men. 
He  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  stiffened  out,  and  pretended  to  be 
dead.  The  drivers  saw  him  lying  near  the  road.  They  said,  "There 
is  a  dead  fox  with  a  fine  skin  worth  much  money."  One  of  them  jumped 
off,  picked  up  the  carcass,  and  threw  it  into  the  wagon  among  the  fish, 
saying,  "We  will  skin  him  when  we  get  home."  Fox  threw  out  fish 
here  and  there  along  the  road  while  the  backs  of  the  drivers  were 
turned  toward  him,  and  then  jumped  off  noiselessly.  He  gathered 
the  fish  up,  and  was  eating  them  when  Coyote  came  along.  Coyote 
asked  Fox  how  he  had  obtained  so  many  fish;  and  Fox  said,  "Ask  me 
that  after  we  have  finished  our  meal."  When  they  had  finished, 
Coyote  asked  again,  and  Fox  said,  "  It  is  a  very  simple  matter  to  catch 
fish  like  these.  You  must  choose  a  cold  clear  night  for  fishing,  make  a 
hole  in  the  ice,  and  put  your  tail  down  in  the  water.  After  keeping 
still  for  a  considerable  time,  the  fish  will  take  hold  of  your  tail,  and 
then  you  can  haul  them  out,  many  at  a  time."  The  first  cold  night 
Coyote  followed  these  directions.  After  waiting  a  considerable  time, 
he  thought  there  ought  to  be  many  fish  on  his  tail.  Then  he 
thought,  "I  will  wait  a  little  longer,  so  I  am  sure  to  catch  plenty." 
Coyote  tried  to  pull  his  tail  out ;  but  it  was  frozen  tight  in  the  ice,  and 
he  could  not  get  away.  Fox  came  along,  and  laughed  at  his  plight. 
He  said,  "How  smart  you  must  be  to  get  caught  in  that  way!  You 
cannot  even  catch  fish  the  way  I  do.  Don't  you  know  there  are  so 
many  fish  on  your  tail  that  they  hold  you  down?"  Coyote  strained 
again  to  pull  his  tail  out,  but  without  avail.     At  last  Fox  liberated  him. 

l6.    Ltjl^   AND    THE    FLOOD. 

There  was  a  chief  called  Lui  who  lived  in  the  country  somewhere. 
He  alone  knew  how  to  make  canoes;  and  therefore  some  people  think 
he  was  Kwonekwa,  and  lived  at  Lytton.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
country  were  bad,  and  therefore  God  sent  a  flood  to  drown  them. 
Lui  made  a  large  canoe,  and  all  the  good  people  embarked  with  him  in 
it.  There  were  very  many.  They  drifted  about  for  many  days,  and 
could  see  no  land.  They  were  tired  and  hungry,  and  anxious  to  see 
land.     Lui  sent  out  Swallow  and  his  brother  Martin  to  see  if  they  could 

1  Dahnhardt,  Natursagen,  vol.  iv,  p.  225. — F.  B. 

*  Compare  Mythology  of  the  Thompson  Indians  (Publications  of  the  Jesup  North 
Pacific  Expedition,  vol.  viii),  pp.  333  and  400;  also  preceding  story;  Lillooet  (this  Jour- 
nal, vol.  XXV,  p.  342).  This  story  is  of  biblical  origin.  Lui  is  probably  a  corruption  of 
Noah,  changed  a  little  to  conform  to  the  French  Louis,  a  name  familiar  to  the  Indians. 


European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson  Indians.      329 

find  and  bring  back  any  land.  They  returned  without  finding  any. 
Then  he  sent  out  Raven  and  Crow,  and  they  did  not  come  back. 
They  staid  away,  feeding  on  the  putrid  corpses  of  the  drowned  people. 
For  this  reason  Lui  transformed  them  into  birds  of  a  black  color; 
before  that,  they  were  white-skinned  people,  like  Lui  himself.  One 
night  the  canoe  grounded  on  the  top  of  a  mountain.  The  people  went 
ashore;  and  gradually,  as  the  flood  receded  and  the  earth  dried  up, 
they  left  the  mountains  and  spread  throughout  the  valleys  of  the 
country,  settling  here  and  there.  Lui  himself,  and  his  family,  are 
supposed  to  have  settled  at  Lytton.  From  these  survivors  of  the 
flood  all  the  people  sprang. 

Spences  Bridge,  B.C.  / 


330  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


EUROPEAN  TALES  FROM  THE   PLAINS   OJIBWA.i 

BY  ALANSON  SKINNER. 
I.  THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 

There  was  once  an  old  man  living  alone  with  his  wife.  They  had 
a  horse  and  one  dog,  a  spaniel.  They  hunted  and  fished  only  in  the 
big  lake.  Once  upon  a  time  they  could  not  get  any  fish  in  the  nets, 
and  they  were  very  hungry.  The  man  went  to  look  after  his  net  in 
the  morning,  and  found  a  jackfish  with  a  large  head.  As  he  was 
going  to  kill  the  fish,  it  said,  "Hold  on,  old  man!  Don't  kill  me  right 
away!"  The  old  man  stopped,  and  the  fish  told  the  old  man  to  take 
all  its  scales  off  and  not  to  lose  any,  and  to  go  and  put  these  in  the 
garden.  It  also  told  him  to  cut  off  its  fins  and  place  them  in  the 
garden,  to  cut  its  head  off  and  give  it  to  his  wife  to  eat,  half  of  its 
body  to  be  fed  to  the  dog,  and  the  other  end  to  the  horse.  He  told 
the  old  man  to  shut  the  stable,  but  not  to  look  at  it  for  four  days  and 
four  nights,  and  not  to  look  at  the  scales  for  four  days  and  four  nights, 
but  each  morning  after  that  he  could  look.  The  old  man  then  killed 
it  and  took  it  home.  He  told  his  wife  about  it;  and  she  asked,  "Is 
that  true?"  —  "Yes,"  answered  the  old  man,  and  repeated  all.  "We 
will  obey.  We  are  poor  and  hungry,  maybe  we  shall  have  good  luck." 
He  scaled  and  cut  the  fish  and  put  it  in  the  garden.  He  also  fed  his 
wife,  dog,  and  horse  as  he  had  been  told,  and  shut  the  stable.  For 
four  days  and  nights  he  could  not  sleep.  His  wife  became  pregnant; 
and  on  the  fourth  morning  she  had  two  sons,  and  the  old  man  was  glad. 
He  ran  to  the  stable,  and  found  that  the  mare  had  two  foals,  the  dog 
two  pups.  He  went  to  the  garden,  and  there  was  silver  money  where 
the  scales  had  been  placed.  There  were  two  fine  swords  where  the 
fins  had  been.  The  old  man  ran  in  to  tell  his  wife  what  had  happened, 
and  they  were  delighted.  After  that  the  old  man  caught  many  fish. 
Soon  his  boys  grew  up. 

One  time,  when  they  were  home  in  the  evening,  the  elder  boy  said, 
"Are  there  any  other  people  in  the  world?"  —  "Certainly,  there  are 
many  people."  —  "Where  can  I  find  them?"  —  "You  can  find  them 
anywhere."  The  youth  said,  "I  will  start  to-morrow  to  try  to  visit 
some  people."     He  left  his  sword,  and  told  his  brother,  "I  shall  take 

»  Collected,  1913,  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa  (Bungi),  on  the  Long  Plains  Reserve,  Mani- 
toba.—  A.  S. 

See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  Anmerkungen  zu  den  Kinder-  u.  Hausmarchen  der  Briider 
Grimm,  vol.  i,  p.  528.  —  F.  B. 


European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojihwa.  331 

yours,  and  leave  mine  hanging  here.  Do  not  touch  it!  If  I  have 
trouble  or  if  I  am  killed,  it  will  become  rusty."  Then  he  went  off. 
About  dinner-time  he  dismounted  and  drank  from  a  spring.  He  found 
silver  water;  and  when  he  dipped  his  little  finger  into  it,  it  became 
solid  silver.  He  put  some  of  the  water  on  the  horse's  ears,  and  they 
became  silver.  He  did  the  same  to  the  dog's,  and  also  on  his  own  hair. 
Then  he  started  off. 

When  he  came  to  a  large  town,  he  took  off  his  clothes,  found  some 
old  ones,  and  put  rags  around  his  finger  and  a  handkerchief  over  his 
hair.  He  had  a  little  box  in  which  he  put  the  horse  and  dog  after 
making  them  small,  and  hid  them  in  a  blacksmith's  shop.  The  black- 
smith looked  at  him.  "Where  are  you  from?"  —  "Is  there  a  town 
here?  I  am  very  poor."  —  "Oh,  come  in!"  The  blacksmith  fed  him. 
The  man  said,  "I  can  keep  you  here,"  and  engaged  him  to  do  the 
chores  in  the  house.  He  staid  there  a  w^hile,  when  one  night  the 
blacksmith  came  home  and  said,  "The  king  of  this  town  has  a  fine 
daughter,  and  she  is  going  to  be  fed  to  the  Windigo  that  has  eight 
heads.  He  eats  only  people."  —  "When  is  she  going  to  be  taken 
there?"  —  "To-morrow  morning." 

The  next  day,  after  his  work,  the  young  man  went  out.  He  mounted 
his  horse,  took  his  dog,  put  on  his  own  clothes,  and  rode  out  of  the 
city.  After  a  w^hile  he  heard  some  one  weeping  in  the  woods.  He 
turned  in  that  direction,  and  found  a  young  girl  who  was  crying. 
She  stopped  when  she  saw  him.  The  young  man  asked  her,  "Why 
are  you  crying?"  —  "There  is  no  use  telling  you." — "Oh,  no!  tell 
me!"  —  "Where  are  you  going?  There  is  no  use  telling  you."  — 
"Oh,  yes!  you  must  tell  me."  Then  the  girl,  seeing  that  he  was  a 
stranger,  said,  "I  will  tell  you.  I  am  going  to  yonder  bluff.  There  is 
an  eight-headed  manitou  there,  and  I  am  going  to  be  eaten  by  him."  — 
"Why?"  —  "He  wants  me."  —  "What  if  you  do  not  go?"  —  "Then 
he  would  devour  every  one  in  the  city.     Therefore  I  must  go." 

Then  the  youth  said,  "I  will  go  first.  You  can  go  when  I  come 
back."  —  "No,  no!  you  must  not  go.  I  am  not  going  there  for  life, 
I  am  going  there  to  die."  —  "If  that  is  so,  I  must  see  him  first."  — 
"Oh,  no!"  The  young  man  said,  "I  will  go  and  come  back.  You 
stay  here."  —  "Well,  go  on!  but  he  will  kill  you,"  and  she  gave  the 
boy  a  ring.  He  then  went  to  the  bluff,  and  saw  that  the  trees  were 
shaken  by  the  breath  of  the  manitou.  He  stopped,  and  said  to  his 
horse  and  dog,  "Try  as  hard  as  you  can  to  help  me,"  and  then  he  rode 
on.  The  horse  and  dog  sank  deep  into  the  soil.  The  boy  took  his 
sword  and  cut  off  one  head,  which  sprang  back  again.  Then  he  told 
his  dog  to  catch  it;  and  he  hit  the  monster  again,  cutting  off  another  of 
his  heads.  The  dog  seized  it  and  shook  it.  The  youth  cut  off  another 
one.  and  the  horse  kicked  it.     When  he  had  cut  off  four  heads,  the 


332  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

manitou  was  not  breathing  very  strongly.  Finally  he  killed  him. 
He  cut  out  all  the  tongues  and  put  them  in  a  handkerchief.  When  he 
came  back,  he  found  the  girl  waiting,  and  told  her  that  he  had  killed 
the  manitou.  He  told  the  girl  to  go  home  and  take  the  tongues  with 
her,  but  not  to  tell  who  killed  the  manitou.  "Give  the  tongues  to 
your  father,  and  say  that  a  young  fellow  did  it,  but  that  you  do  not 
know  who." 

The  blacksmith  was  working  at  home.  "Where  are  you  going,  — 
home?  No,  you  have  to  be  eaten  by  the  manitou."  —  "The  manitou 
has  been  killed."  —  "  Nobody  can  kill  him."  The  girl  showed  him  the 
tongues.  Then  the  blacksmith  believed  her,  and  asked  her  who  had 
killed  him.  "I  do  not  know,  he  is  a  youth."  —  "Go  home  and  tell 
your  father  that  I  killed  him.  If  you  don't,  I  will  kill  you."  The 
girl  agreed,  and  he  went  with  her.  Her  father  and  mother  asked  her 
why  she  had  come  back,  and  she  told  them  that  the  blacksmith  had 
killed  the  manitou.  She  called  him  in,  and  they  asked  him,  "How 
did  you  do  it?"  —  "I  hit  his  tongues." 

The  king  was  very  glad,  and  gave  the  girl  to  the  blacksmith.  The 
youth  went  home,  put  his  horse  back  into  the  box,  dressed  in  his  old 
clothes. 

There  was  to  be  a  four-days'  dance  before  the  wedding.  After 
three  nights'  dance,  the  blacksmith  was  very  glad,  and  told  the  boy 
that  this  was  the  last  night.  Then  the  lad  put  on  his  clothes.  He 
came  into  the  lodge  and  sat  down  by  the  door.  The  girl  knew  him 
at  once,  and  told  her  father  secretly  that  he  had  slain  the  monster. 
The  king  invited  him  to  a  better  place.  The  blacksmith  wanted  to 
go  out,  pretending  that  his  stomach  pained  him,  but  he  was  not 
allowed  to  leave.  He  was  locked  up,  taken  to  the  sea,  and  thrown  in. 
The  youth  married  the  girl;  and  the  king  gave  him  half  of  the  town, 
half  of  his  money,  and  half  of  everything  he  owned,  he  was  so  glad 
that  his  daughter  had  been  saved.  They  went  upstairs  into  their 
rooms.  There  was  a  window  at  the  top  on  the  east  side  of  the  house, 
and  from  there  could  be  seen  a  blue  fire  at  a  distance. 

"What  kind  of  fire  is  that?"  asked  the  youth. 

"Do  not  ask  about  it,"  said  the  princess,  "and  never  go  near  it." 

On  the  next  day  he  took  his  little  horse  and  dog  and  went  to  the  fire. 
There  he  saw  an  old,  long  house.  He  entered  the  first  room,  but  there 
was  no  one  there.  After  a  while  he  heard  some  one.  The  door  opened, 
and  a  white-headed  old  woman  came  in,  and  said,  "Grandchild,  hold 
your  little  dog,  he  will  bite  me.  I  am  cold."  —  "Warm  yourself, 
the  dog  will  not  touch  you."  —  "You  must  tie  him."  —  "I  have 
nothing  to  tie  him  with."  So  the  old  lady  gave  him  one  hair,  and 
said,  "  Nosis,  tie  him  with  that."  The  youth  did  so,  and  also  tied  the 
horse.  The  old  woman  had  a  cane.  She  touched  him  with  it  on 
the  feet,  and  he  died. 


European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa.  333 

One  morning  the  other  youth,  who  had  been  left  at  home,  saw  rust 
on  the  sword.  He  said  to  his  father,  "I  fear  brother  is  dead  some- 
where, for  his  sword  is  rusty.  I  must  go  and  try  to  find  him."  His 
father  consented,  and  told  him  to  be  careful. 

The  next  morning  the  elder  brother  left.  About  noon  he  found  the 
same  spring,  and  did  as  his  brother  had  done.  In  the  evening  he 
came  to  the  city  and  went  to  the  chief's  house.  The  girl  came  out  and 
kissed  him,  and  asked  him  where  he  had  been,  but  he  did  not  answer. 
They  had  supper,  and  he  thought  to  himself,  "That  must  be  my 
brother's  wife."  At  night  he  refused  to  go  to  bed.  Through  the 
window  he  saw  the  blue  fires.  He  asked,  "What  kind  of  fires  are 
those?"  —  "Why  did  you  not  go  over  to  see?" 

In  the  morning  he  went  there.  When  he  arrived  there,  he  saw  his 
brother's  horse  and  dog  tied  with  brass  wire,  lying  down  and  frozen 
to  death.  He  went  into  the  lodge,  and  saw  that  his  brother  also  lay 
dead  by  the  fire.  Soon  he  heard  some  one  coming.  An  old  woman 
appeared,  and  said,  "I  am  cold."  —  "Warm  yourself  by  the  fire."  — 
"First  tie  your  little  dog." 

He  refused  to  do  so,  and  finally  said,  "  Now,  granny,  make  that  man 
and  horse  and  dog  alive!  If  you  do  not  do  so  at  once,  I  shall  send  the 
dog  after  you."  —  "Nosis,  I  cannot  bring  a  dead  man  to  life."  — 
"You  have  to."  — "No." 

Then  he  set  his  dog  on  her.  The  dog  bit  her,  and  the  horse  kicked 
her. 

"Stop!  I'll  bring  them  to  life."  He  stopped  the  animals,  and  the 
old  woman  walked  forward.  The  youth  kept  away  from  her  cane. 
She  told  him  to  take  up  a  little  bottle  and  put  it  on  his  frozen  brother. 
As  soon  as  he  dropped  some  of  the  liquid  from  the  bottle  into  his  mouth, 
he  came  to.  She  did  the  same  to  the  dog  and  to  the  horse.  Then 
the  brothers  killed  the  old  woman.  They  took  the  bottle  away  from 
her  and  went  home.  As  they  rode  along  together,  the  elder  brother 
said,  "You  must  be  married.  Yes.  Your  wife  mistook  me  for  you, 
but  I  only  let  her  sleep  with  my  arm.     That's  how  I  found  out." 

The  younger  brother,  on  hearing  this,  became  jealous.  He  drew 
back  and  shot  his  brother  with  his  revolver.  He  also  shot  his  dog  and 
horse.  Then  he  went  home,  and  his  wife  was  glad  to  see  him.  She 
asked  him  why  he  refused  to  sleep  with  her  last  night.  "You  only 
let  me  have  your  hand."  Then  the  brother  began  to  sorrow  for  his 
brother.  He  took  his  horse  and  went  back  to  the  corpse.  There  he 
wept  over  his  brother.  His  little  dog  ran  around  the  dead  body, 
and  began  to  look  inside  the  coat.  There  he  found  the  old  woman's 
little  bottle.  He  put  some  of  the  liquid  on  the  wound,  and  thus 
brought  the  brother  back  to  life.  Then  he  dropped  some  on  the  dog 
and  the  horse,  and  they  all  came  to.  They  went  home,  put  their 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  113.— 22. 


334  Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore. 

horses  and  dogs  away,  entered  the  lodge,  and  sat  down.  The  younger 
one's  wife  saw  them,  and  was  unable  to  tell  them  apart.  On  the 
following  day  they  started  to  return  to  their  parents.  When  they 
came  to  a  forked  road,  they  decided  to  go  in  different  directions. 
The  elder  one  took  one  road,  and  said,  "I  will  go  this  way,  and  my 
name  will  be  God."  The  other  said,  "I  will  follow  the  other,  and  I 
will  be  the  Devil."     That's  the  end  of  it. 

2.     CINDERELLA.^ 

A  man  whose  wife  died  left  him  with  a  daughter.  He  married  a 
widow  with  two  ugly  daughters.  When  the  man  went  away,  his 
daughter  sat  in  the  corner  amid  ashes,  and  never  said  anything.  One 
night  all  the  girls  of  the  town  were  invited  to  a  dance.  The  old  woman 
said  the  youngest  could  not  go,  and  the  man  went  with  the  step- 
daughters. Their  shoes  would  not  fit,  so  they  cut  their  feet  to  make 
them  fit.  The  old  woman  tried  to  straighten  their  noses.  One  young 
man  thought  the  youngest  daughter  should  go.  He  jumped  in  his  rig 
and  asked  her  to  come  along;  but  she  said  she  had  no  clothes,  and 
that  her  step-mother  would  strike  her.  The  young  man  drove  home, 
got  some  good  clothes,  and  took  them  to  the  girl,  for  he  was  a  manitou. 
He  dressed  her  and  took  her  along.  When  the  people  saw  how  pretty 
she  was,  every  one  looked  at  her  and  admired  her.  She  danced  twice 
and  went  home.  She  had  a  little  box  given  her;  and  she  was  to  name 
whatever  clothes  she  wanted,  and  they  would  be  there.  When  she 
undressed,  the  clothes  all  disappeared  in  the  box.  When  they  came 
home,  the  homely  girls  scolded  her.  On  the  following  day  the  young 
manitou  came  in  and  talked  to  Cinderella.  The  homely  ones  were 
jealous,  and  tried  to  induce  him  to  pay  attention  to  them.  They 
were  very  angry  when  he  left.  They  wanted  to  do  away  with 
Cinderella. 

When  she  was  out,  they  found  her  box.  Then  they  sent  her  after 
the  water  that  sings.-  She  left  the  lodge  and  went  along  the  trail  on 
which  her  grandmother  lived,  who  said,  " Nosis,  where  are  you  going?" 
The  girl  told  her.  "You  can  get  it,  you  are  a  pretty  girl,  but  you  will 
be  twice  as  pretty  again.  After  you  have  dipped  it,  you  will  hear 
music.  Do  not  look  back,  but  go  ahead!"  She  obtained  the  water 
and  carried  it  home.  Her  sisters  were  not  able  to  look  at  her  on  ac- 
count of  her  shining  beauty.  They  asked,  "O  my  dear  sister!  how  far 
is  that  water?"  —  "Not  far."  —  "O  mother!  we  will  go  for  some 
to-morrow."  One  of  them  started,  and  came  to  the  grandmother, 
who  asked  where  she  was  going.  "I  am  going  to  get  the  water  that 
sings."  —  "Oh,  you  will  be  pretty  if  you  do  as  I  tell  you.  You  will 
hear  music,  but  do  not  look  back!"     The  girl  came  back.     She  said 

1  See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  I.  c,  vol.  i,  p.  165. — F.  B. 

2  Ibid.,  vol.  ii,  p.  380. — F.  B. 


European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa.  335 

to  the  grandmother,  "  Do  not  speak  to  me !  I  am  going  to  be  a  pretty 
girl."  —  "Oh,  then  you  will  be  five  times  as  homely."  Her  mother 
fainted  when  she  saw  her  daughter  coming,  trailing  her  nose,  which 
had  grown  enormously  long.  She  asked  her  pretty  step-daughter 
what  she  had  done,  and  beat  her.  The  girl  told  her  what  had  hap- 
pened. She  sent  Cinderella  off  into  the  bush,  where  there  were  wolves 
and  bears.  The  girl  knew  that  they  wanted  her  to  die.  Soon  she 
lost  her  way.     She  crawled  under  a  tree. 

Soon  a  young  hunter  came  by.  He  heard  something  under  the  tree, 
and  found  her,  covered  by  her  hair.  He  asked  her  if  she  was  lost. 
She  said,  "Do  not  come  near  me!  I  have  no  clothes."  The  hunter 
went  off,  got  some  clothes,  and  dressed  her.     He  took  her  home. 

When  her  step-mother  learned  about  this,  she  went  to  see  her,  and 
pretended  to  be  very  friendly.  She  kissed  her,  but  took  the  oppor- 
tunity to  take  away  all  but  her  old  clothes. 

Again  all  the  girls  were  invited  out,  and  they  left  the  pretty  one  at 
home.  When  all  were  gone,  the  girl's  grandmother  walked  into  the 
house,  and  said,  "Grandchild,  why  are  you  here?  You  are  pretty, 
you  ought  to  be  among  the  people."  She  found  the  box  of  clothes 
for  her,  opened  it,  dressed  the  girl,  and  took  her  to  the  dance.  The 
chief's  son  happened  to  be  there.  He  took  a  fancy  to  her,  took  her 
home,  and  married  her.  The  young  woman  had  a  baby,  and  her  step- 
mother was  nursing  her  while  her  husband  was  away.  The  old  womars 
stuck  a  pin  into  the  wife's  neck  and  made  an  elk  of  her,  chat  ran 
away.  Then  she  put  her  homely  daughter  in  her  place.  When  the 
husband  came  home,  his  mother-in-law  told  him  that  he  would  be 
surprised  to  see  that  his  wife,  owing  to  her  sickness,  had  turned  to  be 
the  ugliest  creature  on  earth.  The  young  man  said,  "I  do  not  care 
how  ugly  she  is,  as  long  as  she  is  alive."  The  mother-in-law  cooked, 
and  the  husband  came  in  and  kissed  and  hugged  his  pretended  wife. 
All  at  once  at  dinner-time  an  elk  walked  into  the  house  and  nursed 
the  baby,  then  walked  out  again.  Thus  it  came  nearly  every  day. 
The  husband  asked  his  false  wife  what  she  would  like  to  eat,  and  she 
said,  "I  should  like  to  eat  an  elk."  The  young  man  went  out,  shot 
the  elk,  and  broke  a  hind-leg  of  the  animal,  which,  however,  succeeded 
in  getting  away.  In  the  morning  the  elk  hobbled  in  and  nursed  the 
baby.  The  husband  liked  the  elk,  petted  her,  and  tried  to  bandage 
the  broken  leg.  By  chance  he  pulled  out  the  pin  from  the  neck,  and 
at  once  his  wife  stood  before  him  with  broken  leg.  He  said  nothing, 
but  went  out  and  ordered  his  soldiers  to  take  the  old  woman  and  her 
daughter  out  and  to  hang  them.  Then  his  wife  recovered.  They 
started  out  to  find  Cinderella's  father  and  her  other  sister.  They 
killed  the  latter  and  took  the  father-in-law  with  them,  and  they  have 
been  living  there  ever  since. 

At  the  last  dance  the  girl  lost  her  shoe,  and  the  chief's  son  found  it. 


33^  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

3.    TICON    (petit- jean). ^ 

Ticon  was  living  with  his  mother,  for  his  father  was  dead.  There 
were  two  kings  ruling  over  the  land.  Ticon  was  poor :  he  had  only  one 
cow  and  one  steer.  One  day,  in  a  rage,  he  killed  them.  He  skinned 
the  cow  and  stuffed  it.  Then  he  put  wheels  under  its  hoofs,  and 
dragged  it  to  town.  On  the  way  he  met  the  two  kings,  who  gave  him 
nine  beans  for  it. 

His  mother  was  vexed.     "  What  will  you  do  with  those?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  will  make  some  money  yet,"  he  replied.  So  he  got  a  lot  of 
pails  and  filled  them  with  dung,  loaded  them  into  an  ox-cart,  and 
started  for  town  singing. 

In  the  mean  time  the  kings  took  the  cow  home,  but  it  neither  ate 
nor  voided.  They  found  that  it  was  stuffed,  and  started  after  Ticon. 
Soon  they  met  him  with  his  load.  They  inquired  of  him  what  he  had, 
and  he  replied,  "Oh,  I  am  selling  good  syrup." 

They  bought  it  of  him  and  went  home,  one  driving,  the  other  walk- 
ing. The  one  on  the  cart  could  not  wait  till  he  got  home,  so  he  tasted 
the  syrup;  and,  as  soon  as  he  found  out  what  it  was,  he  spat  it  out. 
Then  he  said  to  his  comrade,  "Let  us  change  off  for  a  while!  You 
may  ride,  and  I  shall  walk."  Then  the  same  happened  to  the  other 
Icing.  "Hai!"  said  he,  "do  you  know  what  we  bought?  Why,  it  is 
dung!     Let  us  kill  Ticon  to-morrow!" 

Ticon  suspected  that  they  would  be  after  him,  so  he  took  a  bird's 
pluck,  filled  it  with  blood,  and  tied  it  about  his  mother's  neck.  "  Now, 
mother,  I  shall  pretend  to  kill  you  when  they  come,"  he  said. 

When  the  kings  approached,  he  stabbed  the  pluck,  and  his  mother 
fell  down,  all  bloody.  The  kings  were  horrified.  "Oh,  that  is  all 
right!"  cried  Ticon.  "I  can  make  her  alive."  So  he  blew  up  her 
back  with  a  bone  whistle.  "That  will  bring  any  one  to  life,"  he 
said,  "and  it  will  even  make  a  bad  woman  good!"  Then  his  mother 
sprang  up. 

The  kings  willingly  paid  him  a  large  sum  for  his  whistle.  That 
night  one  of  them  quarrelled  with  his  wife  and  killed  her.  His  children 
wept,  so  he  tried  to  bring  her  to,  but  he  did  not  succeed. 

However,  he  told  the  other  king  that  it  was  all  right.  He  tried 
it  too;  but  it  did  not  work  for  him  either,  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried. 
He  ran  to  his  friend,  and  cried,  "Hai,  I  have  killed  my  wife!"  —  "So 
have  I!  Let  us  make  a  bag  and  put  Ticon  in  it,  and  drown  him  in 
the  sea!" 

They  caught  Ticon  and  put  him  in  a  bag,  and  took  him  away  in 
a  wheel-barrow.  All  the  way  Ticon  was  singing,  "I  am  going  to 
heaven  to-day!"  After  a  while  they  stopped  for  a  drink;  so  they 
hung  the  bag  containing  Ticon  from  the  branch  of  a  tree.     While 

^  See  Bolte  and  Polivka,  I.  c,  vol.  ii,  p.  i. 


European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa.  337 

they  were  gone,  an  old  shepherd  came  along  and  heard  him  singing. 
He  asked  Ticon  why  he  was  so  happy.  Ticon  replied  that  he  was  going 
to  heaven.  Then  the  old  man  offered  to  change  places  with  him. 
The  kings  took  the  bag  out  to  sea  in  their  ship,  and  cast  it  overboard. 
On  their  return,  they  overtook  Ticon  driving  home  the  shepherd's 
flock.  "Why,  where  did  you  come  from?"  they  asked.  "If  you  had 
dumped  me  in  the  centre  of  the  sea,  I  should  have  had  better  cattle!" 
he  cried.     "O  Ticon!  what  will  you  take  to  put  us  there?" 

Ticon  had  them  make  two  bags,  told  them  to  get  in,  and  sing  certain 
songs.  He  told  them  that  when  they  were  thrown  overboard,  they 
would  meet  the  king  under  water,  who  would  give  them  cattle. 

Then  he  took  them  out  and  threw  them  into  the  sea,  saying,  "You 
will  never  get  any  cattle!" 

4.   TICON  WINS   THE   PRINCESS. 

A  youth  was  once  raising  his  younger  brother.  He  treated  him  well 
and  bought  him  clothes  to  wear;  but  the  little  fellow  destroyed  them, 
and  slept  on  the  floor  naked.  When  the  boy  was  nearly  grown,  his 
elder  brother  received  a  letter  that  said  that  the  king's  daughter  would 
soon  be  married.  She  would  accept  whoever  could  propose  a  puzzle 
that  she  could  not  solve.  Three  chances  were  allowed;  and  if  the 
princess  guessed  each  correctly,  the  propounder  would  go  to  jail. 
The  contest  was  to  take  place  four  days  later,  at  noon. 

In  order  to  get  there  on  time,  the  elder  brother  had  to  start  that 
night.  He  wondered  what  he  should  do,  as  there  was  no  one  to 
watch  his  younger  brother  Ticon.  Just  then  four  more  young  men 
came  up,  and  asked,  "Where  are  you  going?"  —  "Have  you  not  heard 
about  the  king's  daughter?"  They  decided  to  go  together,  but  to 
leave  Ticon  behind,  because  he  was  so  foolish.  All  that  night  the 
young  men  sat  up  inventing  puzzles,  while  Ticon  slept.  The  next 
morning  they  told  him  to  stay  behind,  while  they  all  set  out  together. 

The  young  men  walked  till  noon,  when  they  stopped  for  lunch. 
At  evening  they  discovered  that  Ticon  was  following  them.  He 
had  no  shirt,  only  an  old  torn  coat  that  he  had  to  hold  together,  and 
a  piece  of  tallow  that  he  carried  for  lunch. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  the  young  men,  one  of  another.  "Oh, 
well!  take  him  along.     W^e  shall  get  rid  of  him  somehow." 

When  camping-time  came,  they  saw  at  a  distance  a  long  lodge. 
They  dug  a  hole,  put  Ticon  into  it,  and  told  him  to  stay  there,  and 
not  to  come  to  the  house,  because  he  was  too  dirty.  They  promised 
to  feed  him. 

In  the  house  they  found  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two  girls.  These 
people  were  glad  to  see  the  young  men,  and  offered  them  food.  While 
they  were  eating,  in  came  Ticon.     While  he  was  eating,  he  had  greased 


338  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

himself  all  over  with  tallow.  The  girls  saw  him  at  once,  and  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  look!    Who  is  this?" 

Ticon  tried  to  scare  the  girls,  and  began  to  play  with  them.  They 
fed  him,  and  he  staid  all  night  with  them,  while  the  others  worked  on 
their  puzzles,  and  finally  he  went  to  sleep  on  the  floor.  Early  in  the 
morning  the  young  men  arose  and  left;  and  when  Ticon  woke  up, 
there  was  no  one  there.  As  he  opened  the  door  to  leave,  the  old  man 
stopped  him,  and  offered  him  food,  saying,  "You  will  overtake  them." 

After  Ticon  had  eaten,  the  old  man  gave  him  a  rag  which  was 
rolled  up.  "Now,  Ticon,  I  shall  give  you  this  rag,"  he  said.  "You 
will  never  be  short  of  food.  Count  the  number  of  people  whom  you 
want  to  feed,  and  then  unwrap  the  rag.  Always  tie  it  at  your 
shoulder." 

At  dinner-time  Ticon  caught  up  with  his  companions.  "Let  us 
eat  dinner  here!"  said  he.  He  counted  them,  unwrapped  and  spread 
his  rag,  and  it  was  covered  with  boiling  and  steaming  food. 

"You  stole  this  magic  rag,"  the  brothers  said.  "No,"  replied 
Ticon,  "the  old  man  gave  it  to  me."  After  dinner  Ticon  wrapped  up 
his  rag  and  tied  it  on  his  shoulder. 

Just  before  night  they  came  to  another  long  house,  similar  to  the 
one  they  had  found  before.  This  time  the  youths  put  Ticon  in  the 
haystack.  The  young  men  entered  the  house,  and  found  an  old  man, 
his  wife,  and  two  daughters.  Meanwhile  Ticon,  in  eating,  had  covered 
himself  all  over  with  grease.  Then  he  came  in.  The  girls  liked  him 
and  fed  him,  and  he  played  with  them,  while  the  young  men  wrote  all 
night.  Ticon  finally  went  to  sleep  on  the  floor  of  the  lodge,  and  the 
others  left  before  he  awoke.  When  Ticon  found  that  he  had  been 
left,  he  started  to  follow,  but,  just  as  he  was  going  out,  the  old  man 
stopped  him.  "Hold  on!  I'll  give  you  something,"  he  cried.  He 
took  a  little  bottle  and  shook  it.  Immediately  it  became  large,  and 
full  of  whiskey.     "No  one  will  ever  drain  it,"  said  the  old  man. 

At  dinner-time  Ticon  caught  up  with  the  others.  He  gave  them  all 
food  on  his  rag.  Then  he  took  out  his  bottle,  shook  it,  and  all  had  a 
drink.  When  Ticon  put  it  back  into  his  pocket,  there  was  none 
missing. 

At  night  they  came  to  another  long  house.  They  hid  Ticon  in  the 
haystack  and  went  in.  They  found  an  old  man,  his  wife,  and  two 
daughters.  Meantime  Ticon  greased  himself  as  before,  and  came  in. 
As  usual,  the  girls  liked  him  and  played  with  him,  and  he  slept  on 
the  floor  while  the  others  studied.  When  Ticon  awoke,  the  others 
had  already  gone,  and  he  started  to  follow;  but  the  old  man  stopped 
him  and  gave  him  a  small  fiddle,  saying,  "  I  give  you  a  fiddle  that  is 
heard  everywhere;  and  all  who  hear  it  will  dance,  and  cannot  stop 
while  you  play."     Ticon  took  the  fiddle  and  went  off.     At  noon  he 


European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa.  339 

came  to  town  and  found  the  others;  but  they  were  ahead  and  refused 
to  stop  for  him,  so  Ticon  fiddled,  and  they  all  danced.  Ticon  walked 
along  playing,  and,  though  the  others  tried  to  stop  him,  they  could 
not  do  so.  They  cried,  "O  Ticon!  you  stole  it;"  but  Ticon  replied, 
"No." 

After  dinner  they  locked  Ticon  up,  because  they  said  he  was  too 
stupid  to  go  to  the  palace.  They  left  him  in  an  old  stable  while  they 
themselves  went  to  the  king's  house.  Ticon,  however,  got  out  and 
followed  them.  He  peeped  through  a  crack  in  the  palace  door  and 
saw  all  the  others  sitting  there.  They  tried  and  lost,  and  were  put  in 
jail.  This  made  Ticon  angry.  While  waiting  there,  he  saw  an  egg, 
which  he  put  in  his  bosom.  He  saw  a  door-latch  and  took  that. 
Then  he  eased  himself  in  his  hat  and  took  that.  Then  he  smeared 
himself  all  over  with  grease,  and  went  in  laughing. 

"What  is  this?"  cried  every  one.  The  king's  daughter  was  much 
surprised.  Ticon  walked  right  up  to  her  and  handed  her  the  egg. 
"Cook  this  for  me,"  he  said.  "Give  me  something  to  cook  it  with," 
she  demanded.  "Cook  it  with  this,"  said  Ticon,  giving  her  the  stick. 
"Give  me  your  faeces,"  said  the  princess.  Ticon  handed  her  the  hat. 
"Here  they  are,  tied  up  in  this!" 

"You  are  beaten,"  said  the  king  to  his  daughter.  "No,  I  will  not 
marry  him,"  said  the  princess.     "He  must  go  to  jail." 

So  Ticon  was  put  in  jail.  "Here  comes  Ticon!"  said  his  brothers 
and  the  others  as  they  saw  him  enter.  Ticon  began  to  play*on  his 
fiddle. 

After  a  while  a  porter  came  with  dry  bread  and  water.  "Take  it 
out,"  said  Ticon.     "No,  it  is  your  food,"  he  replied. 

Ticon  threw  it  out  of  the  window,  and  told  the  porter  to  watch 
while  he  fed  the  people  in  jail.  He  counted  them,  opened  his  rag,  and 
there  was  a  fine,  hot,  steaming  dinner.  After  they  had  eaten,  he 
opened  his  bottle,  and  they  all  had  a  drink.  The  porter  was  aston- 
ished. Ticon  wrapped  up  his  rag  and  put  away  his  bottle.  Then  he 
fiddled,  and  they  all  danced.  The  officer  had  to  dance  until  he  was 
worn  out.  When  Ticon  stopped,  he  went  and  told  the  king  and  the 
king's  daughter  that  Ticon  had  thrown  away  all  the  dry  bread,  fed 
the  prisoners,  and  made  them  dance. 

The  princess  wondered  if  Ticon  would  sell  the  rag,  so  she  sent  the 
officer  to  ask  him.  Ticon  replied,  "Oh,  no!  I  will  not.  If  I  should 
sell  it,  these  poor  fellows  would  all  starve." 

When  the  officer  reported  this  to  the  princess,  she  told  him  to  go 
and  tell  Ticon  that  she  would  buy  it  at  any  price. 

"All  right,"  said  Ticon,  "provided  she  will  do  what  I  tell  her.  I 
am  going  to  say  to  her,  '  Come  here  in  your  night-dress  and  sit  on  this 
chair  for  five  minutes!'     That  is  all  I  shall  ask." 


340  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  king's  daughter  agreed  to  do  this:  so  she  came  and  sat  down, 
and  Ticon  looked  at  her  for  five  minutes.     Then  he  gave  her  the  rag. 

Presently  the  officer  came  for  the  bottle,  but  Ticon  would  not  sell  it. 
The  princess  then  offered  to  give  him  anything.  "If  she  will  do  my 
will,  I  will  sell  it  to  her.  I  am  to  sleep  all  night  outside  her  room  on 
the  roof." 

The  king's  daughter  agreed  to  this,  and  soon  had  the  bottle.  She 
next  sent  her  officer  over  to  try  to  get  the  fiddle.  Ticon  refused  at 
first,  but  on  her  second  attempt  he  agreed,  provided  he  could  sleep 
on  the  floor  in  her  room,  while  she  was  to  sleep  in  her  bed.  "  I  shall 
ask  her  three  questions  too,  and  she  is  to  answer  'No'  each  time." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  way ;  but  the  king  ordered  police  and  soldiers 
to  be  there  with  torches.  After  a  while  Ticon  asked,  "My  king's 
daughter,  are  you  going  to  have  light  all  night?" 

"No,"  replied  the  princess,  so  Ticon  ordered  the  lights  out. 

"My  king's  daughter,  are  these  policemen  to  be  here  all  night?" 

"No!"  So  Ticon  ordered  them  sent  out,  and  they  were  alone. 
The  king  heard  all  this,  and  said,  "She  is  beaten  again." 

Then  Ticon  said  to  the  king's  daughter,  "Am  I  to  sleep pn  the  floor 
all  night?" 

"No,"  said  she.     So  he  won. 

The  next  day  they  cleaned  Ticon  and  dressed  him  up,  and  he 
married  the  king's  daughter.     The  others  were  let  out  of  jail. 

American  Museum  of  Natural  History, 
New  York. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  341 


PLAINS   CREE  TALES. 

BY   ALANSON   SKINNER. 

The  following  stories  were  obtained  in  the  summer  of  1913  on  the 
Crooked  Lake,  Cowesess,  Sakimay,  and  adjoining  reserves  in  Sas- 
katchewan. They  were  mainly  narrated  by  Kene,  Andrew  and  Jacob 
Bear.  The  writer  owes  much  to  the  kind  assistance  of  the  Rev.  Hugh 
Mackay  of  the  Round  Lake  Mission. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  spelling  of  the  name  of  the  culture-hero 
is  not  always  consistent.  This  is  due  to  the  variation  of  pronunciation 
in  different  localities. 

The  stories  are  published  by  courtesy  of  the  American  Museum  of 
Natural  History. 

I.   TALES   OF  THE   CULTURE-HERO. 

(i)  The  Big-Skunk,  and  the  Origin  oj  Wisakejdk. 

Once  in  winter  there  was  a  big  camp  of  Indians.  There  was  one 
Indian  who  knew  about  the  weather,  and  he  said  that  Big-Skunk 
would  come  to  them.  He  warned  every  one.  "No  one  will  live," 
he  said.  "If  he  comes,  he  will  destroy  the  children."  So  they  sent 
one  man  out  to  see  which  way  Big-Skunk  was  coming.  They  asked 
the  birds  that  fly  and  the  little  beasts  that  run  on  foot,  wolves,  foxes, 
and  even  insects.     There  was  a  Mouse  who  volunteered  to  scout. 

"What  will  you  do  to  find  him?"  they  asked. 

Mouse  answered,  "I  shall  go  under  the  snow  from  our  camp,  and  I 
shall  rise  by  his  left  foot.     I  shall  be  gone  four  nights." 

The  prophet  then  said,  "Mouse  will  have  to  have  a  partner;"  and 
another  animal  said,  "I'll  go."     This  was  a  weasel  of  the  smallest  kind. 

"What  will  you  do?"  they  asked  Weasel. 

"  I  shall  do  the  same  as  Mouse.     I  shall  follow  him." 

"Ahau!  we  shall  be  gone  four  nights,  and  in  the  morning  at  dawn  I 
shall  be  here."  So  the  prophet  told  the  people  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves and  not  to  get  hurt. 

They  went,  fleeing  under  the  snow.  "Sew  all  the  children  in 
bundles,  and  we  will  flee,"  said  the  people.  So  they  gathered  food 
and  fled.  Away  they  went  under  the  snow.  On  the  third  night  the 
prophet  said,  "To-morrow  at  dinner-time  we  shall  find  tracks."  The 
Mouse  said  that  Skunk  knew  that  he  was  near,  and  told  Weasel,  "He 
will  know  you  too."  When  they  had  dinner,  they  met  Skunk.  He 
was  a  person.     While  eating,  the  Big-Skunk  made  a  huge  fire  to  dry 


342  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

his  moccasins;  and  as  the  snow  melted,  Mouse  and  Weasel  reached 
him.  The  fourth  night,  while  warming  his  feet,  Big-Skunk  said  to 
himself,  "I  believe  he  is  quite  near  by.  My  foot  trembles."  He  was 
afraid.  Mouse  just  then  reached  a  long  foot,  and  told  Weasel  to  look 
at  it.  Weasel  looked,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  really  long  foot.  They 
were  frightened,  and  fled  back  the  same  way  they  had  come.  Then 
Big-Skunk  dressed,  and  came  to  one  place  where  his  foot  had  lain, 
and  saw  the  hole  left  by  the  scouts  under  the  snow.  "Oh,  you 
dirty  things!  you  can't  beat  me,"  he  cried.  He  ran  along,  searching 
for  them.  He  broke  the  snow,  and  at  intervals  found  traces  of  the 
tunnel  by  which  they  had  come.  The  fourth  night  the  fugitives 
reached  home.  Mouse  and  Weasel  went  to  the  chief  and  told  him: 
so  he  cried,  "Waweihl  takwucetum, — dress  up,  every  one,  and  we 
will  flee!  Mouse  has  tracked  Big-Skunk.  He  will  destroy  the  chil- 
dren." 

They  went  to  the  roughest  hills  and  mountains.  "At  dinner  to- 
morrow he  will  get  to  our  old  camp,"  said  Mouse.  They  travelled  till 
they  came  to  a  crooked  creek,  crossed  a  mountain,  and  there  they 
camped.  The  prophet  called  a  council.  Mouse  and  Weasel  had  not 
been  able  to  overcome  Big-Skunk:  so  he  took  his  pipe,  and  asked  who 
would  try  next.  The  others  were  afraid;  but  Wolverene  came  for- 
ward, and  said  he  would  make  the  attempt. 

"What  can  you  do?"  asked  the  prophet.  "I  will  catch  him  by  the 
buttocks,  and  hold  him  until  some  one  comes  and  kills  him."  Lynx 
also  volunteered. 

"What  can  you  do?"  he  was  asked.  " I  will  catch  him  by  the  neck 
and  break  it,"  said  Lynx. 

Wolverene  said,  "There  is  a  beaver-house  near  here.  I  will  break 
it,  and  stay  in  it  and  watch  for  him.  I  will  fool  him.  I  have  a  charm 
with  which  I  can  fool  every  one." 

When  dinner-time  came.  Wolverene  broke  the  beaver-house,  and 
the  people  left.  Two  old  women  were  abandoned  in  the  flight.  One 
had  an  infant,  her  grandchild,  which  she  was  raising.  The  old  woman 
said,  "My  grandchild,  Big-Skunk  is  near  by.  I  shall  turn  your  back 
to  my  back,  and  we  shall  have  two  faces.  Tell  me  when  you  see  him 
coming.  He  will  look  like  a  man.  If  he  catches  us,  he  will  search  all 
over  our  bodies.  Do  not  move.  He  will  want  to  know  what  we  are. 
If  you  move,  he  will  kill  you.  After  he  has  gone  away,  we  can  flee. 
We  shall  cut  across  the  creek  towards  the  camp.  He  will  have  to  go 
farther." 

The  two  fled,  and  left  the  other  old  woman  behind.  After  a  while 
Big-Skunk  caught  up  to  her.  "Grandmother,  are  you  tired  out  and 
left  behind?" — "Yes,  my  grandchild,  I  am  tired  out.  I  cannot  go 
any  quicker.     My  legs  are  tired."     The  old  woman  was  frightened. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  343 

"Why  do  you  flee?"  Big-Skunk  asked.  "I  am  afraid  of  Big-Skunk. 
He  is  terrible  when  he  breaks  wind." 

Big-Skunk  passed  by,  and  destroyed  her  with  his  discharge.  The 
other  old  woman  saw  him  coming,  and  cried,  "There  is  one  thing  that 
used  to  pity  me,"  and  she  threw  away  her  whetstone.  "  Let  the  moun- 
tains become  as  slippery  as  that!"  she  prayed,  and,  behold!  a  slippery 
mountain  sprang  up.     Big-Skunk  came  to  it. 

"I  suppose  that  is  what  my  grandmother  is  trying.  I  cannot  get 
up.  I  can  beat  it,  though,"  he  cried ;  and  he  turned  around,  discharged 
his  fluid,  and  broke  it.     The  old  woman  heard  the  report. 

"The  tanning-tool  used  to  love  me!"  she  screamed,  and  threw  it 
behind  her.  Once  more  solid  mountains  grew  up.  Big-Skunk  reached 
them. 

"Oh,  my  grandmother  is  trying  hard!  She  thinks  I  am  weak!"  he 
remarked,  so  he  turned  around  and  broke  this  also. 

The  little  girl  onher  grandmother's  back  then  cried,  "He  is  coming!" 
and  both  fell  down  and  lay  as  though  dead.  Big-Skunk  came  up,  and 
said,  "One  of  my  grandmothers  is  dead  here  again.  My  grandmother 
is  very  poor  when  she  is  thrown  away  like  this.  I  do  not  know  what 
disease  she  has." 

He  turned  her  over  and  felt  of  her  over  and  over  again,  to  look  for 
the  wound  of  which  she  died,  and  in  so  doing  found  her  privates. 
"That  is  where  some  one  has  stabbed  my  grandmother!"  he  exclaimed. 
"That  was  a  large  flat  knife  with  which  she  was  stabbed!  They  are 
very  poor,  alas!  If  it  had  been  done  long  ago,  she  would  smell  bad," 
he  mused.  He  thrust  two  fingers  into  her  and  smelled  of  them.  "Oh, 
she  must  have  died  long  ago!  She  is  rotten  already,"  he  cried.  He 
tried  the  little  girl  next,  and  said  the  same  about  her.  Then  Skunk 
went  on.     As  soon  as  he  had  left,  the  others  got  up  and  fled. 

At  last  he  found  Wolverene,  who  was  working  around  the  beaver- 
house.  Wolverene  called  to  him,  "Let  us  dig  out  this  beaver,  brother- 
in-law!"  They  talked  and  argued  as  to  when  they  should  do  it. 
Big-Skunk  was  watched  by  Wolverene  all  the  time ;  and  as  soon  as 
Big-Skunk  turned.  Wolverene  bit  his  buttocks.  Big-Skunk  cried, 
"My  brother-in-law,  let  me  go!  You  are  delaying  me!  I  am  travel- 
ling!" 

Wolverene  had  the  best  of  him,  and  began  to  cry  through  his  teeth, ^ 
"Come  on,  I've  got  him  by  the  part  with  which  he  kills  us!" 

"Listen,"  said  all  the  people,  "to  what  he  says!" 

They  heard  it  distinctly,  and  ran  to  the  spot.  The)^  stabbed  Big- 
Skunk  with  their  knives  and  spears,  but  it  did  not  injure  him.  All 
this  time  Lynx  did  not  appear.  Big-Skunk  only  laughed  as  they 
chopped,  but  he  could  not  be  killed. 

1  Imitation  of  Wolverene's  voice  speaking  through  his  teeth. 


344  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Then  Weasel  cried,  "Where  is  Lynx?"  —  "Oh,  he  is  in  the  camp!" 
answered  the  people.     " Call  him!     I  cannot  hold  Skunk  any  longer!" 

They  ran  to  Lynx.  "Hurry  up!"  they  cried;  and  Lynx  answered, 
"I'll  try  first  to  see  what  I  can  do."  He  jumped  up  on  the  beaver- 
house.  When  half  way  up  the  house,  he  had  a  fit  and  could  not  go 
any  farther.  He  tried  four  times  before  he  reached  the  top;  and  he 
had  fit  after  fit  while  they  carried  him  to  the  place  where  Big-Skunk 
was.  Then  Big-Skunk  was  afraid.  "O  my  brother-in-law!  let  me 
go!  You  are  only  holding  me  for  nought.  Your  nephews  are  tired!" 
he  exclaimed. 

Lynx  climbed  a  tree,  but  he  had  three  fits  before  he  reached  the  top. 
"  Now,"  said  Lynx,  "  I  am  going  to  spring." 

The  people  cleared  away;  and  Lynx  pounced  and  bit  Big-Skunk  at 
the  back  of  his  neck,  till  he  got  hold  of  the  sinew,  and  Big-Skunk  fell 
and  was  stabbed.  Then  he  was  killed,  and  the  people  cut  him  up. 
Wolverene  let  go,  and  demanded  two  beavers  as  a  rew^ard.  He  said 
he  would  be  crazy  unless  he  got  them,  and  rolled  over  in  the  snow. 
The  men  singed  two  beavers  and  gave  them  to  Wolverene,  who  swal- 
lowed them.  After  that  he  recovered.  Wolverene  said,  "There 
would  be  no  people  alive  if  I  had  not  killed  him."  Big-Skunk  was  cut 
into  pieces  and  thrown  away.  "The  pieces  will  become  skunks," 
said  Wolverene.  After  that  one  could  see  little  skunks  running  in  all 
directions.  Wolverene  said,  "I  shall  leave  you  now.  I  shall  travel 
all  over  the  country."  As  he  left  the  place,  he  sang,  "  Mici  Cigak  oso 
niki  potea  potcwa  wo  Jiu  hti!"  ("I  closed  Big-Skunk's  buttocks, 
wo  hii  hu!'^) 

While  travelling  along,  he  met  ten  Wolves.  They  heard  him  as  they 
were  playing  in  the  night.  The  oldest  one  said,  "Listen  to  him,  my 
children!  I  believe  that  is  my  eldest  brother.  He  has  a  good  song. 
If  Big-Skunk  had  lived,  there  would  have  been  no  people.  Well, 
watch  for  him,  and  run  and  say  to  him,  'My  uncle,  what  are  you  say- 
ing?' and  do  not  hurt  him." 

The  Wolves  raced  to  him,  cornered  him,  and  Wolverene  fell  down 
and  arose  as  a  man.  Then,  behold!  he  was  Wisakejak!  The  Wolves 
told  him  their  father  wanted  to  see  hirn.  Wisakejak  went  to  them, 
and  asked,  "W^hat  do  you  want?" 

"  My  elder  brother,  what  were  you  saying?"  asked  the  old  Wolf. 

"Oh,  I've  cured  Big-Skunk's  buttocks,  and  now  I  am  travelling 
through  the  country.  I  shall  stop  and  camp  with  you  for  a  while. 
I  am  lonely,  for  I  am  all  alone." 

Some  time  later  Wisakejak  wanted  to  part  with  Wolf,  and  asked 
that  one  of  his  nephews  be  permitted  to  accompany  him.  Old  Wolf 
told  his  youngest  son  to  go  with  Wisakejak. 

Once  upon  a  time,  as  they  were  travelling  along,  Wisakejak  was  sad. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  345 

He  said  that  he  had  bad  dreams,  and  said,  "  My  nephew,  never  go  along 
the  lake-shore.     Do  not  run  on  the  beach." 

One  time  Wolf  was  thirsty.  He  forgot  Wisakejak's  instructions 
and  went  to  the  lake.  When  he  got  there,  he  became  crazy.  All  at 
once  Wisakejiik  found  that  Wolf  was  missing.  He  tracked  him  to  the 
lake.  Wisakejiik  went  about  weeping,  wailing,  "O  my  younger 
brother!  he,  he,  he!  —  Grass,  will  you  tell  me  where  my  nephew  went 
last?" 

"Well,  he  passed  here,"  said  Grass.  He  asked  every  living  thing 
till  he  reached  bare  ground.  Then  he  asked  the  Sun.  The  Sun  said, 
"There  is  a  little  harbor  near  by  with  a  sandy  beach.  There  are  four 
of  them  there;  that  is  where  they  are.  One  of  them  is  white.  That 
is  Lynx,  who  killed  your  nephew.  Just  about  dinner-time  the  four 
come  out  on  the  point  and  sleep." 

Wisakejak  went  to  the  place  at  once.  "I'll  be  a  stick  of  driftwood," 
he  said.  So  he  lay  on  the  beach.  Soon  the  White-Lynx  monster  came 
out,  and  said,  "Oh,  that  stick  was  never  there  before!  Wisakejak  was 
said  to  have  been  real  angry  when  we  killed  his  nephew!" 

Lynx  was  afraid  to  come  ashore,  and  went  back.  Next  day  Wisake- 
jak came  again.  This  time  he  turned  into  a  tree  on  the  beach.  Three 
Great-Lynxes  (mitci  pisiwuk)  came  out,  and  the  white  one  refused  to 
come  ashore.  "That  tree  was  never  there  before.  I  fear  it  is  Wisake- 
jak." The  others  said  it  had  always  been  there,  for  they  had  played 
with  it.  So  at  last  the  white  one  came  out.  They  put  their  tails 
around  the  tree  and  pulled  four  times,  so  that  they  nearly  overthrew 
Wisakejak.  In  the  evening  the  Lynxes  slept.  The  Sun  told  Wisakejak 
to  shoot  the  shadow  of  White-Lynx.  Wisakejak  thought  he  would 
miss:  so  he  decided  he  would  have  to  shoot  at  Lynx,  which  he  did,  and 
missed.  The  White-Lynx  came  again  next  day;  and  Wisakejak,  who 
was  still  there,  spanned  his  bow  again.  The  Sun  had  told  Wisakejak 
again  to  shoot  at  the  shadow;  and  Wisakejak  hesitated,  but  obeyed, 
and  hit  Lynx  under  the  foreleg.  Lynx  sprang  up,  and  fled  into  the 
water. 

Then  Wisakejak  went  on  weeping,  but  the  monster  White-Lynx  did 
not  come  back.  All  at  once  Wisakejak  heard  a  noise.  He  went  to  it, 
wondering  what  it  might  be;  and,  lo!  it  was  a  big  toad.  W'hen  he 
came  nearer,  he  saw  that  it  was  an  old  woman.  He  asked  her,  "Where 
are  you  going?" 

"Oh,  I  am  going  to  treat  the  White-Lynx,  whom  Wisakejak  shot 
between  the  ribs." 

"Oh!"  said  Wisakejak,  and  he  killed  her  with  a  blow.  He  skinned 
her,  put  on  her  skin,  took  her  rattle,  and  hopped  along.  He  hopped 
into  the  lake.  There  was  a  trail  under  the  water,  and  a  little  farther 
on  he  saw  tents.  The  people  were  weeping.  When  they  saw  him, 
they  said,  "  Oh,  our  old  grandma  is  coming  again ! " 


346  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

He  went  in.  On  entering,  he  saw  his  nephew's  skin  hanging  on  a 
pole.  Tears  came  into  his  eyes.  Then  he  entered  another  door,  and 
there  he  saw  White-Lynx.  He  saw  an  arrow  in  his  side,  and  saw  that 
White-Lynx  was  suffering.  He  walked  around  Lynx  and  went  near 
him.  Then  an  old  woman  said,  "Oh,  you  have  not  done  that  way 
before!" — "Oh,  I  have  to  act  differently  to-day!"  he  replied.  "I  am 
going  to  take  the  arrow  out  this  time."  He  had  a  pipe  filled.  "  Now, 
shut  the  door.  I  shall  smoke  and  take  out  the  arrow  now,  but  don't 
let  any  one  look  in."  When  this  was  done,  others  wondered  why  he 
wanted  the  door  closed.  Wisakejak  went  up  to  Lynx,  took  the  arrow- 
shaft  in  his  hands,  and  pushed  it  into  Lynx's  heart  as  hard  as  he  could. 
Then  he  seized  the  skin  of  his  nephew  and  fled,  tearing  off  his  toad-skin 
disguise.  The  others  were  pursuing  him.  When  they  had  nearly 
overtaken  him,  he  reached  the  shore.  Then  he  blew  on  Wolf  and 
brought  him  back  to  life.     They  went  about  together  once  more. 

About  spring  Wisakejak  knew  that  something  was  bound  to  happen. 
He  informed  all  the  animals  that  there  would  be  a  deluge.  He  ordered 
them  to  make  a  raft  of  logs.  They  lashed  them  together,  and  all  went 
aboard.  Then  rain  began  to  fall,  and  it  rained  continuously  for  twenty 
days.  On  the  fortieth  day  the  raft  was  floating  high  on  the  waters. 
All  kinds  of  animals  were  aboard,  —  moose,  deer,  bear,  and  others. 
As  they  were  floating  about,  Wisakejak  found  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
take  any  earth  with  him,  and  asked  all  the  animals  to  get  some.  He 
told  Fish,  but  he  failed.  Then  he  asked  Beaver,  but  he  failed;  then 
several  other  animals,  but  they  all  failed. 

At  last  he  asked  Muskrat  to  dive  down,  and  he  brought  up  a  little 
mud,  but  came  up  dead.  Wisakejak  then  resuscitated  Muskrat. 
When  the  earth  was  brought  up,  Wisakejak  blew  on  it  until  it  became 
land.  It  grew  larger  as  he  blew.  After  a  while  he  sent  Deer  to  run 
around  it.  Deer  ran  around  it.  Then  different  kinds  of  animals  ran 
around  it  three  times ;  the  fourth  time  he  sent  the  Wolf,  who  could  run 
very  fast.  When  the  Wolf  had  reached  the  north,  he  had  grown  so 
old  that  he  could  not  return. 

Wisakejak  said  to  him,  "The  north  country  shall  be  yours  to  live  in; 
and  if  any  one  asks  you  for  anything,  you  shall  give  it  to  him  right  in 
his  house.     You  will  pity  all  the  people  here  in  this  world." 

He  sent  his  nephew  to  the  Sun.  That  one  will  never  get  older  than 
his  age  was  then.  Wisakejak  had  saved  all  the  animals,  and  the 
earth  was  now  large  enough  for  all  of  them.  He  let  them  go,  and  went 
on  travelling. 

This  was  his  origin.  He  gave  himself  his  name  when  he  fell  down 
before  the  Wolves. 

"The  clubs  are  coming  down,  and  this  country  is  called  North 
America."  ^ 

1  A  typical  conventional  humerous  ending  for  a  story;  just  as  the  Menomini  say,  "And 
I  came  away,  and  didn't  get  anything  to  eati" 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  347 

(2)   Wisilkejak  deceived  by  Bear,  and  Tree-Holders. 

Wisflkejak  was  travelling,  when  he  met  a  Bear,  and  called  him 
Nicim.  He  admired  the  Bear's  little  eyes,  and  said,  "I  wish  my  eyes 
were  like  yours!  Can't  you  give  me  the  same  kind?"  —  "Oh,  yes, 
elder  brother!  This  is  the  way  they  are  made.  Have  you  any  glue?" 
—  "Yes,"  answered  WisQkejak.  "Boil  it  thick.  Now,  come  here 
and  lie  on  your  back!"  ordered  Bear. 

Wisdkejak  obeyed,  and  Bear  dipped  his  paw  in  the  glue  and  rubbed 
it  over  Wisiikejak's  eyes.  Then  he  did  the  same  again,  and  said, 
"Lie  still,  I  want  to  go  a  little  ways  to  defecate.  Lie  still  till  I  come 
back." 

WisHkejak  kept  quiet  for  a  long  time,  but  finally  called,  "O  my 
younger  brother,  come  back!"  There  was  no  answer:  so  he  shouted 
louder,  then  tried  to  open  his  eyes,  but,  alas!  they  were  glued  tight. 
He  fell  in  a  rage,  got  up,  walked,  and  soon  ran  into  a  tree. 

"What  sort  of  a  tree  are  you?"  he  inquired.  "Oh,  I  am  an  oak!" 
Wisilkejak  went  on  until  he  bumped  into  another  tree.  "What  sort 
are  you?"  —  "Oh,  I  am  a  pine,"  it  answered.  So  he  went  on,  running 
against  several  others,  until  at  last  he  came  to  a  tree  that  stood  on  the 
brink  of  the  water. 

"Oh,  what  are  you?"  he  asked.     "Why,  I  am  a  mountain  ash." 

When  the  poor  Wisukejak  heard  this,  he  thought  he  was  on  the  moun- 
tains. So  he  went  on;  but  he  fell  into  the  river,  because  the  tree  lied. 
He  played  in  the  river  until  the  water  softened  the  glue  and  opened  his 
eyes;  but  he  was  angry  in  his  heart  against  the  Bear,  and  said  to  him- 
self, "I  must  kill  him." 

So  all  summer  he  kept  asking  the  Ground,  "Where  did  Bear  pass?" 
but  Ground  said  not  a  word  until  late  in  the  fall,  when  there  was  a 
little  snow  on  the  earth;  then  it  said,  "Bear  passed  here." 

So  Wisilkejak  made  a  sweat-bath  there.  He  cut  down  willows,  and 
bent  and  covered  them.  The  Bear  liked  sweat-baths.  W'isilkejak 
found  him,  and  told  him  he  had  one,  and  Bear  thought  he  would  like 
to  try  it.  So  Wisilkejak  coaxed  him  in,  and  killed  him  in  the  bath. 
He  cut  him  up  and  cooked  him.  He  spread  out  the  meat,  and  said, 
"  Now,  what  a  fine  feast  I  am  going  to  have ! " 

Just  then  he  heard  a  noise,  and  listened.  "What  is  that?  I  thought 
I  heard  something."  He  tried  to  eat  again,  but  the  noise  disturbed 
him;  so  he  looked  up,  and  saw  one  tree  rubbing  against  another  and 
making  a  noise.  So  he  said,  "  I  must  stop  this  noise  before  I  can  eat." 
He  cut  off  some  fat,  climbed  the  tree,  and  tried  to  put  the  fat  between 
the  trees;  but  they  caught  his  hand,  and  he  was  stuck  there.  He  sat 
there  some  time  wondering  what  he  could  do.  He  had  to  stay  all 
night.     In  the  morning  he  was  very  hungry,  and  longed  to  get  loose 


348  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

and  to  eat  the  meat,  for  it  smelled  very  good.  He  saw  a  wolf  coming 
from  far  away,  and  called,  "My  nephew,  come  help  me  to  get  loose!" 
The  wolf  came,  sniffed,  and  smelled  something;  and  in  a  very  short 
time  it  ate  every  scrap  of  the  bear-meat  and  fled.  Just  then  the  wind 
began  to  blow,  and  Wisiikejak  was  released. 

(3)  The  Culture-Hero  becomes  a  Sivan. 

Wisiikejak  went  off  walking  again,  and  he  came  to  a  lake  covered 
with  swans.  It  was  moulting-time,  and  the  Swans  were  talking  to 
each  other.  Wisiikejak  called  to  them,  "Let  me  be  a  swan!"  and  the 
Swans  consented.  "What  age  do  you  prefer?  Do  you  want  to  be 
young  or  old?"  they  asked.  "I  wish  to  be  an  old  swan."  —  "Would 
you  Hke  a  broad  bill?"  asked  the  Swans.     "No,"  replied  Wisflkejak. 

The  Swans  said,  "You  should  have  said  so  long  ago.  We  have 
started  to  make  you  that  way  already."  Then  Wisiikejak  became  a 
swan  with  a  broad  bill.  They  soon  gave  warning  that  men  were  near. 
Wisiikejak  flew  off  with  the  flock.  He  looked  down,  contrary  to  in- 
structions, was  shot,  and  fell.  A  man  carried  him  toward  home;  but 
when  he  was  nearly  on  shore,  Wisiikejak  jumped  up.  When  Wisiike- 
jak fell,  he  struck  the  ground  beside  an  Indian  village,  and  with  such 
force  that  he  was  stunned.  He  had  resumed  his  human  form:  so  the 
Indians  came  out  and  staked  him  down,  spread-eagle  wise.  The  chief 
ordered  that  the  people  should  defecate  on  him.  At  last  came  an  old 
woman.  When  she  had  finished,  Wisiikejak  said  to  her,  "Grandma, 
whenever  they  finish,  they  untie  one  of  my  hands,  so  I  can  cleanse 
them."  The  old  woman  loosed  one  of  Nenapuc's  ^  hands,  whereupon 
he  snatched  up  a  stick  and  plunged  it  into  her,  loosened  himself,  and 
ran  away,  leaving  her  on  the  spit. 

(4)   The  Culture-Hero  is  deceived  by  Fisher. 

Wisiikejak  was  travelling  along  the  seashore.  The  ice  was  smooth, 
and  he  heard  a  sound  way  off.  He  looked,  and  saw  Fisher  coming, 
jumping  from  side  to  side  of  a  crack.  So  he  watched  for  the  little 
beast.  "What  are  you  doing,  my  little  brother?  Let  me  do  the 
same."  —  "All  right,  get  a  flat  stone,"  said  Fisher;  so  Wisiikejak 
brought  one.  Fisher  cut  his  backside,  took  out  his  intestines  and 
tied  a  stone  to  them.  Fisher  said,  "Jump,  and  every  crack  will  close." 
Wisiikejak  tried  to  do  so,  but  made  a  mistake,  and  said,  "Crack  will 
open,"  and  in  he  fell.  He  crawled  for  the  shore  with  his  guts  hanging 
out,  attached  to  the  stone.  At  last  he  reached  the  shore  and  went 
along  on  his  travels. 

1  Wisukejak,  frequently  called  Nenapuc  by  Cree  at  Broadview,  possibly  in  imitation 
of  Saulteaux. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  349 

(5)  The  Shut-Eye-Dance. 

It  was  fall,  and  fowls  were  flying.  "  I  am  bringing  you  a  'shut-eye- 
dance,  '  "  Wisukejak  called  to  them.  So  he  built  a  dance-tent,  and  in- 
vited birds  to  dance,  warning  them  to  keep  their  eyes  shut.  He  said  that 
if  they  opened  their  eyes,  they  would  turn  red.  The  ducks  and  geese 
obeyed.  All  the  fat  ones  came  nearer,  and  began  to  quack.  He 
ordered  them  to  give  the  same  response ;  and  all  obeyed  except  Water- 
Hen,  who  opened  one  eye,  and  saw  WisOkejak  killing  the  others.  She 
cried,  "Flee,  flee,  flee!  "  Wisflkejak  kicked  her,  making  her  buttocks 
assume  their  present  shape,  and  gave  her  a  red  eye  for  peeping.  Then 
he  travelled  on. 

(6)   Wolf-Tail  Blankets. 

It  was  winter.  Wisilkejak  saw  many  wolves.  "Nicim!"  he  called 
to  one,  "I  want  to  be  a  wolf.     Make  me  one,  and  I  shall  like  you." 

"What  age  do  you  wish  to  be,  —  a  young  or  an  old  wolf,  with  hair  on 
your  back  and  feet?"  He  desired  to  be  an  old  wolf,  and  so  he  was 
made  one  and  ran  on.  The  wolves  looked  for  a  camping-place,  and 
made  it  where  the  north  wind  blew.  Each  wolf  turned  two  or  three 
times  before  lying  down,  and  he  followed  their  example.  All  the 
others  went  to  sleep,  but  Wisilkejak  felt  very  cold.  His  teeth  chat- 
tered. He  cried,  "Cover  me,  brothers,  cover  me!"  So  they  all 
turned  and  put  their  tails  over  him;  and  he  was  soon  too  warm,  and 
pushed  their  tails  aside  because  they  discharged  flatus  on  him.  He 
threw  off  their  tails  and  ran  away,  because  of  the  foul  smell. 

On  the  following  day  they  all  went  hunting,  and  found  moose- 
tracks,  and  soon  saw  something.  One  of  the  Wolves  picked  it  up,  and 
it  w^as  a  fine  robe.  Wisukejak  begged  for  it,  but  was  refused.  Pres- 
ently he  saw  a  tooth  in  a  spruce-tree.     A  Wolf  said  to  him,  "Take  it!" 

"No,  what  should  I  do  with  it?"  answered  WisQkejak.  Therefore 
Wolf  took  it,  and  it  proved  to  be  a  long  spear.  Then  he  begged  for  it, 
but  was  refused.  They  came  to  the  place  where  the  moose  was,  but 
there  were  only  bones  there:  so  Wisfikejak,  disgusted,  gave  his  share  to 
Wolves.  "One  of  your  nephews  is  going  to  make  grease  by  pounding 
the  bones,"  said  the  old  Wolf,  "but  do  not  look  at  him." 

W'isOkejak  listened,  heard,  and  thought  he  would  look.  A  splinter 
hit  him  in  the  eye.  "Oh,"  Wolf  said,  "you're  peeping!"  —  "No,  I  was 
not,"  he  replied.  Soon  it  was  his  turn  to  pound  the  bones.  All  the 
Wolves  lay  down  while  he  pounded,  for  they  were  not  to  look.  They 
went  to  sleep.  Then  Wistlkejak  hit  the  one  who  hit  him  in  the  eye, 
and  kept  on  pounding  him  until  only  his  tail  could  move.  Wisilkejak 
then  resumed  his  journey. 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  113. — 23. 


350  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


/ 


(7)   The  Culture-Hero  and  the  Cannibal. 


Wisflkejak  travelled  on.  He  met  a  Cannibal;  and  they  went  on 
together,  looking  for  a  place  to  camp.  They  soon  found  one,  and  the 
Cannibal  sent  Wisukejak  to  cut  eight  sticks  to  roast  him.  WisOkejak 
brought  seven,  and  wept.  The  Cannibal  sent  him  for  another  stick; 
and  on  his  way  he  met  Weasel,  whom  he  begged  to  kill  the  Cannibal, 
promising  to  make  Weasel  pretty.  Weasel  went,  and  ran  into  the 
Cannibal's  backside.  Wisukejak  got  the  stick;  and  when  he  returned, 
he  found  the  Cannibal  dead,  for  Weasel  had  killed  him.  Wislikejak 
was  pleased.  Therefore  he  painted  Weasel  white,  with  a  dark  tip  on 
his  tail.     Then  he  weiit  on  travelling. 


(8)  The  Culture-Hero  outwits  Bear. 

As  he  went  along,  he  saw  a  Bear,  and  shouted,  "Who  is  that  with 
the  humped  back?"  Bear  heard  him,  and  asked,  "What  do  you  say?" 
• —  "Oh,  I  was  speaking  to  the  little  birds!"  replied  Wisilkejak;  and 
he  called  again.  Again  Bear  asked,  and  received  the  same  answer. 
At  last  Bear  understood  what  he  said,  and  chased  Wisflkejak,  who  ran 
away,  because  he  had  no  weapon.  He  ran  around  a  bush,  and  then 
he  found  a  horn:  so  he  turned  and  faced  Bear,  holding  it  on  his  head. 
Bear  fled,  and  WisHkejak  went  on  his  way. 

(9)  The  Deluge. 

While  he  was  travelling  along,  he  heard  a  noise,  and  turned  to  find 
the  waters  rising.  He  fled,  and  climbed  into  a  tall  tree.  The  water  rose 
to  his  neck,  and  he  could  see  nothing  but  water.  Then  he  discovered 
a  beaver  and  a  muskrat.  "Nishimfik,  come  here!"  he  called.  So 
they  came.  He  begged  them  to  dive  and  bring  him  a  little  mud. 
First  the  beaver  tried,  then  the  rat.  After  many  trials,  the  rat  got  a 
little  sand,  and  Wislikejak  formed  the  earth. 

(10)   The  Hero  and  his  Daughters.^ 

Wislikejak  travelled  on.  He  came  to  a  tent  filled  with  v/omen,  and 
cried,  " I  have  news,  people  are  dying!"  One  of  the  women  begged  to 
know  what  she  could  do  to  escape  death.  Wisukejak  told  her  to 
accept  him  as  her  lover.  He  had  children  by  all  of  them,  and  went  on, 
leaving  a  son  and  a  daughter.  He  told  the  women,  "I  shall  become 
sick  and  die.  Marry  our  daughter  to  the  first  person  who  comes 
along.  Bury  me  anywhere,  break  camp,  and  when  you  come  back 
you  will  only  find  my  bones."  But  he  deceived  them  and  only  went 
into  hiding.     The  people  came  back,  and  found  bones,  but  he  was  alive. 

1  I  have  heard  this  story  from  a  Sisseton  Sioux. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  351 

After  a  while  a  stranger  came  to  camp;  and  the  mother,  remembering 
her  husband's  command,  gave  him  her  daughter.  It  was  WisCkejak 
who  married  his  own  daughter.  He  went  off  to  hunt  with  his  own 
son,  calHng  him  brother-in-law.  His  wife,  when  hunting  lice  on  his 
head,  saw  a  mark  by  which  she  recognized  her  own  father.  Then  he 
was  driven  away.  He  went  south,  where  he  heard  children  laughing, 
and  asked,  "What  is  the  news  that  amuses  you?"  —  "Oh,  haven't 
you  heard?  Wisflkejak  married  his  own  daughter." 
So  he  went  on  south,  where  he  is  still  living. 

(11)   The  Hero  eats  his  own  Flesh} 

Wisakejak  was  travelling.  His  anus  annoyed  him  by  constantly 
breaking  wind  just  when  he  was  approaching  game,  and  thus  alarming 
the  quarry.  Enraged  at  this,  Wisakejak  heated  a  stone  and  sat  on  it, 
burning  himself  severely.  Later  on,  when  the  wound  began  to  heal, 
one  of  the  scabs  fell  off  in  the  snow.  Wisakejak  was  going  back  over 
the  same  ground,  and  he  found  it.  "Oh,  my  grandfather  has  been 
killing  game,  so  my  grandmother  has  plenty  of  smoked  meat,"  he 
said,  and,  picking  it  up,  he  began  to  eat  it.  A  little  bird  near  by 
was  convulsed  with  mirth.  "Oh,  Wisakejak  is  eating  the  scab  from 
his  anus!"  he  cried. 

Wisakejak  did  not  believe  it.  "No,  this  is  som-e  of  my  grandmoth- 
er's dried  meat,"  he  retorted.  But  the  bird  told  him  the  same  several 
times,  till  at  last  Wisakejak  hit  a  place  where  the  foul  taste  and  odor 
proclaimed  the  fact.  In  disgust  he  threw  the  scab  away  and  set  off 
on  his  travels  once  more. 

(12)  Wisagatcak  tries  to  seduce  a  Girl. 

Wisagatcak  believes  he  sees  a  girl  on  the  other  side  of  a  river, 
and  asks  the  Muskrat  to  carry  his  lariat  (i.e.,  his  membrum)  across. 
He  hurts  it  by  striking  the  stones  and  pebbles,  on  account  of  which 
the  gland  of  the  membrum  virile  is  thick.  The  girl  proves  to  be  a 
fresh-water  clam. 

(13)  Wisukejdk:    The    Magic   Arroiv. 

Wisllkejak  was  travelling,  when  he  heard  a  peculiar  noise  somewhere 
ahead  of  him.  Anxious  to  learn  what  it  could  be,  he  went  towards  it.. 
The  first  day  he  did  not  reach  it,  nor  was  he  successful  on  the  second,, 
but  on  the  third  he  found  a  man  making  an  arrow.  "That  must  be: 
an  important  weapon,  you  are  taking  so  long  to  make  it!"  cried 
Wisflkejak.     "Oh,  yes!  you  are  right,"  returned  the  stranger.     "This 

'  Andrew  Bear,  who  told  this  story,  could  not  recall  the  beginning.  It  probably  is 
the  conclusion  of  the  Shut-Ej'e-Dance,  judged  by  the  cycle  as  found  elsewhere. 


352  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

is  a  medicine-arrow.  When  I  am  finished,  all  that  I  shall  have  to  do 
is  to  shut  my  eyes,  wish  for  whatever  game  I  desire,  pull  the  bow- 
string, and  there  it  will  lie  before  me  when  I  re-open  my  eyes!"  — 
"Oh,  wa/"  exclaimed  Wisfikejak,  "how  truly  marvellous!  Do  give 
it  to  me,  my  little  brother!"  —  "Oh,  no!  I  want  it  for  myself,"  re- 
turned the  stranger,  who  was  a  manitou.  "Oh,  do  please  give  it  to 
me,  Nicim!"  pleaded  Wisukejak.  "Well,  I  will  do  so,  since  you  beg 
so  hard,"  said  the  stranger  at  last,  "  but  only  on  condition  that  you  will 
first  let  me  shoot  you  with  it  three  times."  —  "Yes,  let  it  be  so!" 
answered  Wisilkejak.  So  he  stood  up  and  permitted  the  stranger 
to  fire. 

"Oh,  wa!^'  cried  Wisiik^jak,  for  it  knocked  him  down.  A  second 
and  third  time  the  stranger  shot  at  him.  Poor  Wisiikejak  was  almost 
killed ;  but  the  arrow  was  his  at  last,  so  he  took  it  and  went  away.^ 

Presently  Wisflkejak  closed  his  eyes  and  thought,  "I  wish  for  a 
deer."  He  pulled  the  string  and  fired,  and,  lo  and  behold !  there  it  was. 
"  Oh,  this  is  a  fine  thing  that  I  have ! "  he  thought.  He  went  on  a  little 
farther.  "  I  wish  for  a  bear,"  he  thought,  and  fired.  Then  he  opened 
his  eyes,  but  the  arrow  never  came  back. 

(14)   Wisukejak  deceives  the  Buffalo} 

Wisiikejak  was  travelling  when  he  saw  two  bufi"alo,  —  an  old  bull 
and  a  young  bull.  The  buffalo  well  knew  WisQkejak,  and  they  were 
too  much  afraid  of  him  to  let  him  come  near.  As  Wisflkejak  was  only 
armed  with  a  butcher-knife,  he  resolved  to  capture  them  by  strategy. 
He  went  off  through  the  bushes,  carved  two  figures  of  men  out  of 
poplar-wood,  and  set  them  up  as  though  in  mortal  combat.  Then 
Wisfikejak  ran  to  the  buffalo. 

"Hail  actum,  my  little  brothers!"  he  cried,  "here  are  two  men 
fighting  on  your  account!  One  of  them  says  the  old  bull  has  the  most 
evil-smelling  membrum,  the  other  declares  that  it  is  the  young  bull. 
Only  let  me  smell  of  both  of  you  and  tell  them.  It  may  save  their 
lives!" 

Of  course,  the  buffalo  were  willing:  so  Wisiikejak  crawled  under  the 
old  bull  and  smelled  of  him.  "Why,  you  scarcely  smell  at  all!"  he 
said,  and  went  over  to  the  young  one.  He  crouched  under  him  as 
though  to  investigate,  but  instead  he  stabbed  him  and  thus  got  food. 

2.   WEMICUS. 

Once  an  old  man  was  out  hunting  with  his  son-in-law.  The  young 
man  was  afraid  of  his  father-in-law.     Therefore  that  night,   after 

1  Presumably  the  narrator  has  omitted  to  add  that  Wisukejak  was  enjoined  not  to 
shoot  more  than  three  times  in  one  day,  or  not  to  shoot  upwards. 

2  Told  by  Andrew  Bear. 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  353 

they  had  gone  to  bed,  he  changed  the  positions  of  their  clothes,  putting 
his  own  in  the  place  of  his  father-in-law's. 

After  a  while  the  old  man  got  up  to  attend  to  the  fire,  and  while 
doing  so  he  threw  what  he  thought  were  his  son-in-law's  garments  into 
the  fire.  In  reaUty  he  burned  his  own.  "Get  up,  son-in-law!"  cried 
the  old  man,  "it  smells  as  if  something  was  burning!"  —  "Oh,  yes!" 
answered  the  youth,  arising,  "it  is  your  clothes!" 

In  the  morning  the  old  man  told  a  story:  "Once  a  youth  and  his 
father-in-law  were  travelling  together.  Through  accident  the  elder 
burnt  his  clothes;  but  the  young  man,  who  had  two  pairs  of  moccasins, 
gave  one  pair  to  his  father-in-law."  —  "Oh,  no!  I  won't  give  you  any," 
retorted  the  youth,  and  he  started  home. 

The  old  man  heated  a  stone  and  endeavored  to  roll  it  before  him, 
that  he  might  melt  a  path  for  himself;  but  he  gave  it  up,  and  froze  to 
death. 

3.   MUDjiKIWIS. 

Once  upon  a  time  the  Indians  were  camping.  They  had  ten  lodges. 
There  were  ten  of  them;  and  the  eldest  brother,  Mfldjikiwis,  was 
sitting  in  the  doorway.  It  was  winter,  and  all  the  Indians  had  their 
side-bags  on ;  and  every  day  they  went  off  and  hunted  in  the  direction 
which  they  faced  as  they  sat.  MCidjikiwis  always  took  the  lead,  and 
the  others  foUow^ed.  Once  when  he  came  home  to  his  camp,  he  saw 
smoke  just  as  he  crossed  the  last  hill.  When  he  approached  the  lodge, 
he  saw  a  pile  of  wood  neatly  stacked  by  the  door.  He  himself  had 
always  cooked  the  dinner;  and  when  he  saw  it  ready,  he  was  very  glad. 
"There  is  surely  a  girl  here!"  he  thought.  "There  must  be  some  one 
who  has  done  this!" 

He  had  many  brothers  younger  than  himself.  "  Maybe  some  one  is 
trying  to  marry  them,  or  some  girl  wants  me!" 

When  he  arrived  at  the  lodge,  he  saw  a  girl's  pigeon-toed  tracks,  and 
he  was  delighted.  "Itis  a  girl!"  he  cried,  and  he  rushed  in  to  see  her, 
but  there  was  no  one  there.  The  fire  was  just  started,  the  meat 
cooked  and  ready,  and  water  had  been  drawn.  Some  one  had  just 
finished  work  when  he  came.  There  were  even  ten  pairs  of  moccasins 
hanging  up.  "Now,  at  last,  there  is  some  one  to  sew  for  us!  Surely 
one  of  us  will  get  married!"  he  thought,  and  he  also  thought  that  he 
would  be  the  fortunate  one.  He  did  not  touch  anything,  but  left 
everything  as  he  had  found  it  for  his  brothers  to  see. 

After  a  while  the  brother  next  to  him  in  age  came  in.  He  looked  up 
and  saw  all  the  moccasins,  and  he  too  was  very  glad.  Then  Miidjiki- 
wis  said,  "I  do  not  know  which  of  us  is  going  to  be  married.  A  girl 
has  just  left  here,  but  I  cannot  tell  who  she  is,  and  there  are  ten  of  us. 
One  of  us  is  loved  by  someone!"     They  soon  were  joined  by  the  third, 


354  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

and  then  by  the  fourth  brother,  and  the  fire  was  out  by  that  time. 
The  youngest  brother  was  the  most  handsome  one  of  the  family.  "  If 
one  of  us  should  marry,  MCidjikiwis,  we  shall  have  to  hunt  hard  and 
not  let  our  sister-in-law  hunger  or  be  in  need,"  he  said.  "I  shall  be 
very  glad  if  we  have  a  sister-in-law.  Don't  let  her  chop  wood,  she 
cannot  attend  to  all  of  us.  We  just  want  her  to  cook  and  mend  our 
clothes." 

At  night  they  were  all  crying,  "He,  he,  he!''  until  dark  came,  be- 
cause they  were  so  glad.  "I  cannot  attend  to  all  my  brothers,  and 
I  do  not  need  to  do  so  any  more  !"  cried  Miidjikiwis. 

The  next  day  nine  went  off,  and  left  the  youngest  brother  on  guard 
to  see  the  girl.  Mddjikiwis  came  back  first,  and  found  that  the  tenth 
boy  had  not  been  taken.  "Oh,  well!  leave  our  ninth  brother  next 
time,"  he  said.  "Then  we  will  try  it  once  more  with  our  eighth 
brother." 

Three  of  them  then  kept  house  in  succession,  but  the  woman  did  not 
come.  They  then  left  the  fifth  one,  and  said,  "  If  no  one  comes,  make 
dinner  for  us  yourself."  Soon  after  they  had  left,  some  one  came  along 
making  a  noise  like  a  rattle  (cicikwan),  for  she  had  bells  on  her  leggings. 

"Oh,  she  shall  not  know  me!"  said  the  youth.  "I  shall  be  a  bit  of 
eagle-down,"  and  he  flew  up  between  the  canvas  and  the  poles  of  the 
lodge.  Presently  the  girl  entered.  She  had  very  long  hair,  and  was 
very  pretty.  She  took  the  axe  and  went  out  to  cut  wood,  and  soon 
brought  in  four  armfuls.  Then  she  made  the  fire,  took  down  the 
kettles,  and  prepared  dinner.  When  she  had  done  so,  she  melted  some 
snow,  took  another  armful  of  wood,  and  started  another  fire.  After 
she  had  finished,  she  called  to  the  youth  to  come  down  from  his  hiding- 
place.  "Maybe  you  think  I  don't  know  you  are  up  there,"  she  said. 
So  he  came  down  and  took  a  seat  with  her  by  the  fire. 

When  Mildjildwis  came  home,  he  saw  another  big  pile  of  wood. 
When  he  came  near,  he  cried,  "He,  he,  he!"  to  show  that  he  was  well 
pleased.  "  I  could  not  attend  to  the  needs  of  my  brothers,"  he  shouted, 
"  I  could  not  cook  for  them,  and  I  could  not  provide  my  relatives  with 
moccasins ! ' '  He  entered  the  door  and  bent  down ,  for  Mudj  ikiwis  had 
on  a  fisher-skin  head-band  with  an  eagle-quill  thrust  in  behind.  As  he 
came  in,  he  saw  a  pretty  girl  sitting  there.  When  he  sat  down,  he  said, 
"Hai,  hat,  hai!  The  girl  is  sitting  like  her  mother."  He  pulled  off  his 
shoes  and  threw  them  to  his  youngest  brother,  and  received  a  fine  pair  of 
moccasins  from  his  sister-in-law.  He  was  delighted,  and  cried,  "Hai, 
hai,  hai!"  Soon  all  the  other  brothers  came  back,  all  nine  of  them, 
and  each  received  new  moccasins. 

Mfldjikiwis  said,  "I  have  already  advised  you.  Do  not  let  our 
sister-in-law  chop  wood  or  do  any  hard  work.  Hunt  well,  and  do  not 
let  her  be  hungry."     Morning  came,  and  Mfldjlkiwis  was  already  half 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  355 

in  love  with  his  sister-in-law.  He  started  out,  pretending  that  he  was 
going  to  hunt,  but  he  only  went  over  a  hill  and  stopped  there.  Then 
he  wrapped  his  blanket  around  himself.  It  was  winter,  and  he  took 
some  mud  from  under  the  snow  and  rubbed  it  over  his  forehead  and 
on  his  hat-band.  He  had  his  ball-headed  club  with  him,  which  had 
two  eyes  that  winked  constantly.  Soon  he  saw  his  sister-in-law,  who 
came  out  to  chop  wood.  He  went  to  speak  to  her,  but  the  girl  had 
disappeared.  Soon  she  came  back.  There  was  one  pile  of  wood  here, 
and  one  there.  MCidjikiwis  stopped  at  the  one  to  the  west.  He  had 
his  bow,  his  arrows,  and  his  club  with  him.  He  held  his  club  on  the 
left  arm,  and  his  bow  and  arrow  on  the  right  arm,  folded  his  arms  across 
his  breast,  and  was  smiling  at  her  when  she  came  up.  "  O  my  brother- 
in-law!     I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  she  cried. 

Then  Mudjikiwis  was  angry  because  she  scorned  him.  He  took  an 
arrow  and  shot  her  in  the  leg,  and  fled  ofT  to  hunt.  That  night  he 
returned  late,  last  of  all.  As  he  came  close  to  the  lodge,  he  called  out, 
"  Yohd,  yohcil  what  is  wrong  with  you?  You  have  done  some  kind  of 
mischief.  Why  is  there  no  wood  for  our  sister-in-law?"  He  went  in. 
"What  is  wrong  wuth  our  sister-in-law,  that  she  is  not  home?"  he 
demanded.  His  brother  then  said,  "Why  are  you  so  late?  You  used 
to  be  the  first  one  here." 

Miidjikiwis  would  not  speak  in  reply.  The  married  brother  came 
in  last.  The  young  brother  was  tired  of  waiting,  and  asked  each, 
"You  did  not  see  your  sister-in-law,  did  you?"  The  others  replied, 
"  Mfldjikiwis  came  very  late.     He  never  did  so  before." 

"  I  shall  track  my  wife,"  said  the  husband.  So  he  set  off  in  pursuit 
of  her.  He  tracked  her,  and  found  that  she  had  brought  one  load  of 
wood.  Her  second  trail  ended  at  a  little  lodge  of  willows  that  she 
had  made,  and  where  she  was.  She  cried  to  him,  "Do  not  come  here! 
Your  brother  Mudjikiwis  has  shot  me.  I  told  him  I  did  not  want  to 
receive  him,  and  then  he  shot  me  down.  Do  not  come  here!  You 
will  see  me  on  the  fourth  night.  If  you  want  to  give  me  food,  put  it 
outside  the  door  and  go  away,  and  I  shall  get  it." 

Her  husband  went  home,  as  she  commanded.  After  that  the  youth 
would  bring  her  food,  after  hunting,  every  night.  "It  is  well.  Even 
though  our  brother  shot  my  wife,  I  shall  forgive  him,  if  I  can  only  see 
her  after  four  nights,"  he  said.  The  third  night  he  could  hardly  stay 
away,  he  wanted  to  see  her  so  badly.  The  fourth  day  at  dawn  he 
went  to  the  lodge ;  and  as  he  drew  near,  she  cried,  "  Do  not  come ! "  but 
he  went  in,  anyway,  and  saw  her  there.  "  I  told  you  not  to  come,  but 
you  could  not  restrain  yourself.  When  your  brothers  could  not  attend 
to  themselves,  I  wished  to  help  them,"  she  cried.  So  he  went  home 
satisfied,  since  he  had  seen  her.  They  breakfasted,  and  he  started  out 
again  with  food  for  her.     She  had  gone  out,  for  he  found  her  tracks, 


356  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

little  steps,  dabbled  with  blood.  Then  he  went  back  home,  and  said 
to  his  brothers,  "  My  brothers,  I  am  going  to  go  after  my  wife." 

He  dressed,  and  followed  her  footprints.  Sometimes  he  ran,  and  at 
sunset  he  wanted  to  camp.  So  he  killed  a  rabbit;  and  as  he  came  out 
of  the  brush,  he  saw  a  lodge.  "He,  my  grandchild!"  called  a  voice, 
"you  are  thinking  of  following  your  wife.  She  passed  here  at  dawn. 
Come  in  and  sit  down!  Here  is  where  she  sat  before  you."  He  en- 
tered, and  found  an  old  woman,  who  told  him  to  sit  in  the  same  place 
where  his  wife  had  sat.  He  gave  her  the  rabbit  he  had  shot,  as  he  was 
really  hungry.  "  Oh,  my  grandchild  must  be  very  hungry!  "  she  cried, 
"so  I  shall  cook  for  him,"  said  the  old  crone.  Her  kettle  was  no  larger 
than  a  thimble.  She  put  in  one  morsel  of  meat  and  one  little  berry. 
The  youth  thought  that  was  a  very  small  allowance,  when  he  was 
really  hungry. 

"O  my  grandchild!"  the  old  woman  said  aloud  in  answer  to  his 
thoughts,  "no  one  has  ever  eaten  all  my  kettle  holds.  You  are  wrong 
if  you  think  you  won't  get  enough  of  this." 

But  he  still  thought  so,  and  did  not  believe  her.  After  the  food  was 
cooked,  she  said,  "Eat,  nosisl"  and  gave  him  a  spoon.  He  took  out 
the  piece  of  meat  and  the  berry;  but  when  he  had  eaten  it,  the  kettle 
was  still  full.  He  did  this  many  times  over.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  had  not  eaten  it  all,  yet  he  had  enough.  Then  the  grandmother 
told  him  that  he  had  married  one  of  ten  sisters. 

"They  are  not  real  people,"  she  said,  "they  are  from  way  up  in  the 
skies.  They  have  ten  brothers.  There  are  three  more  of  your  grand- 
mothers on  the  road  where  you  are  going.  Each  will  tell  you  to  go 
back,  as  I  advised  you;  but  if  you  insist,  I  will  give  you  two  bones  to 
help  you  climb  over  the  mountains." 

Now,  this  old  woman  was  really  a  moose,  and  not  a  human  grand- 
mother at  all.  "If  you  get  into  difficulties,  you  must  cry,  'Where  is 
my  grandmother? '  and  use  these  two  front  shin-bones  of  the  moose  that 
I  gave  you."  He  slept  there,  and  in  the  morning  she  gave  him  break- 
fast from  the  same  kettle.  W^hen  he  was  through,  she  said,  "Do  not 
walk  fast.  Even  if  you  rest  on  the  way,  you  will  reach  your  next 
grandmother  in  the  evening.  If  you  walk  as  fast  as  you  can,  you  will 
get  there  at  night." 

He  followed  the  trail  as  fast  as  he  could,  for  he  did  not  believe  his 
grandmother.  In  the  evening  he  killed  a  rabbit;  and  when  he  came 
out  of  the  brush,  there  stood  another  lonely  lodge,  as  before. 

"O  my  grandchild!  there  is  room  in  here  for  you  to  come  in,"  cried 
a  voice.  "Your  wife  passed  here  early  yesterday  morning."  Yet  he 
had  travelled  two  days.     '' She  came  in  here!" 

The  old  woman  cooked  for  him  in  the  same  way  as  his  other  grand- 
mother had  done.     Again  he  did  not  believe  in  her  kettle,  for  he  had 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  2>S7 

already  forgotten  about  his  first  grandmother.  This  grandmother 
was  older  than  the  first  one  whom  he  had  left,  and  who  was  the  young- 
est of  the  four  grandmothers  he  was  to  meet.  They  were  all  sisters. 
"Why  did  you  not  believe  my  sister  when  she  told  you  to  go  slowly? 
When  you  go  fast,  you  make  the  trail  longer.  Hau,  nosis!  it  is  a 
difficult  country  where  you  are  going,"  she  cried.  She  gave  him  a 
squirrel-skin,  saying,  "Use  this,  wo5w,  whenever  you  are  in  difficulties. 
'Where  is  my  grandmother?'  you  shall  say.  This  is  what  makes 
everything  easy.  You  will  cry,  and  you  will  throw  it  away.  You 
will  not  leave  me  till  the  morning." 

So  very  early  next  day  he  started  off.  He  went  very  slowly;  and  in 
a  few  minutes  it  was  night,  and  he  killed  another  rabbit.  When  he 
came  out  of  the  brush,  he  saw  another  lodge,  a  little  nearer  than  the 
others,  and  less  ragged.  The  old  woman  said  to  him,  "Your  wife 
passed  here  the  same  morning  that  she  left  up  there;"  and  this  grand- 
mother made  supper  for  him,  as  the  others  had  done.  This  time  the 
food  was  corn.  "Nosis,  your  last  grandmother,  who  is  my  sister,  will 
give  you  good  advice.  Your  wife  has  had  a  child  already.  Go  very 
slowly,  and  you  will  reach  there  at  night;  it  is  not  far  from  here.  It 
is  a  very  difficult  country  where  you  are  going.  Maybe  you  will  not 
be  able  to  get  there."  She  gave  him  a  stuffed  frog  and  some  glue. 
"Wherever  the  mountains  are  too  steep  for  you  to  climb,  cry,  'Where 
is  my  grandmother?'  put  glue  on  your  hands,  and  climb,  and  you  will 
stick  to  the  rocks.  When  you  reach  your  next  grandmother,  she  will 
advise  you  well.     Your  child  is  a  little  boy." 

In  the  morning  he  had  breakfast,  and  continued  on  the  trail.  He 
went  on  slowly,  and  it  was  soon  night,  and  he  killed  another  rabbit. 
When  he  reached  the  next  lodge,  nearer  than  all  the  rest,  his  grand- 
mother said,  "They  have  been  saying  you  would  be  here  after  your 
wife,  she  passed  here  four  days  ago  at  dawn." 

The  youth  entered  the  tent,  and  found  that  this  grandmother  was  a 
fine  young  girl  in  appearance.  She  said,  "To-morrow  at  noon  your 
wife  is  going  to  be  married,  and  the  young  men  will  all  sit  in  a  circle 
and  pass  your  child  around.  The  man  upon  whom  he  urinates  will 
be  known  as  his  father,  and  she  will  marry  him."  The  old  woman  took 
off  her  belt,  rolled  it  up  nicely,  and  gave  it  to  him.  "This  is  the  last 
one  that  you  will  use,"  she  said.  "When  you  are  in  trouble,  cry  out, 
'Where  is  my  grandmother?'  and  throw  the  belt  out,  and  it  will  stick 
up  there,  so  you  can  climb  up  to  the  top.  Before  noon  you  will  reach 
a  perpendicular  precipice  like  a  wall.  Your  wife  is  not  of  our  people. 
She  is  one  of  the  Thunderers." 

That  night  the  youth  camped  there.  In  the  morning  he  had  food. 
"If  you  manage  to  climb  the  mountain  somehow,"  his  grandmother 
said  to  him  before  he  started,  "you  will  cross  the  hill  and  see  a  steep 


358  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

slope,  and  there  you  will  find  a  nest.  There  is  one  egg  in  it.  That  is 
a  Thunderer's  nest.  As  you  come  down,  you  will  strike  the  last 
difficult  place.  There  is  a  large  log  across  a  river.  The  river  is  very 
deep,  and  the  log  revolves  constantly.  There  you  will  find  a  big  camp, 
headed  by  your  father-in-law,  who  owns  everything  there.  There  is 
one  old  woman  just  on  this  side.  She  is  one  of  us  sisters,  she  is  the 
second  oldest  of  us.  You  will  see  bones  strewn  about  when  you  get 
there.  Many  young  men  go  there  when  they  are  looking  for  their 
wives,  and  their  bones  you  will  see  l^ang  about.  The  Thunderer 
destroys  everything.  Some  have  been  cut  in  halves  when  they  tried 
to  get  over  the  cut-knife  mountain." 

When  the  youth  came  to  the  mountain,  he  took  first  the  two  bones, 
and  cried,  "O  grandmother!  where  are  you?"  and  as  he  cried,  she 
called  from  far  off,  ''He,  nosis,  do  not  get  into  trouble!"  He  drove 
the  bones  into  the  mountain  and  climbed  up  hand  over  hand,  driving 
them  in  as  he  climbed.  The  bones  pierced  the  rock.  When  he  looked 
back,  he  saw  that  he  was  far  up.  He  continued  until  the  bones  began 
to  grow  short,  and  at  last  he  had  to  stop.  Then  he  took  out  the 
squirrel-hide,  called  upon  his  grandmother  for  help,  and  threw  the  skin 
ahead.  He  went  up  in  the  air,  following  it.  All  at  once  he  stopped, 
and  his  nails  wore  out  on  the  rock  as  he  slipped  back.  Then  he  took 
the  glue  out  of  its  bundle.  He  cried  for  his  grandmother,  and  heard 
her  answer.  She  had  told  him  that  he  would  find  a  hollow  at  one  place, 
and  there  he  rested  on  a  ledge  when  his  glue  gave  out.  Then  he  called 
for  his  next  grandmother,  heard  her  answer,  and  cast  out  his  belt, 
unrolling  it.  Then  he  climbed  up  the  sharp  summit.  He  felt  of  the 
edge,  which  was  v^ery  sharp  indeed.  Then  he  became  a  piece  of  eagle- 
down.  "The  eagle-down  loved  me  once.  I  shall  be  it,  and  blow  over 
the  ledge,"  he  cried. 

When  he  got  across,  he  saw  the  Thunderer's  nest  and  the  two 
Thunderers  and  their  egg.  He  found  a  trail  from  there  on,  until  he 
came  to  the  rolling  log  that  lay  across  the  deep  river.  Then  he  became 
down  again,  and  blew  across;  and  though  many  others  had  been 
drowned  there,  he  crossed  alive.  He  went  on,  and  at  last  saw  a  small, 
low  lodge  with  a  little  stone  beside  it.  His  last  grandm.other  had  told 
him  to  enter,  as  this  was  the  abode  of  one  of  her  sisters.     So  he  went  in. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  nosis!  "  she  cried,  "they  said  a  long  time  ago  that  you 
were  following  your  wife.  She  is  to  be  married  right  now."  —  "Yes," 
he  said.  The  marriage  was  to  be  in  a  lodge.  He  went  there,  peeped  in, 
and  a  man  saw  him,  who  said,  "Are  you  coming  in?  Our  chief  says 
he  will  pass  the  child  about,  and  he  on  whose  breast  it  urinates  shall 
marry  its  mother."  So  he  went  in.  The  girl  saw  him,  and  told  her 
mother.     "Oh,  that  is  the  one  I  married." 

When  he  arrived  there,  Miidjikiwis  (not  the  youth's  brother,  but 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  359 

another  one,  a  Thunderer)  was  there  too.  They  took  the  child,  and 
one  man  passed  it.  Mddjikiwis,  the  Thunderer,  held  some  water  in 
his  mouth.  He  seized  the  child,  crying,  "Come  here,  nosisi"  and  spat 
the  water  over  himself;  but,  when  he  tried  to  claim  the  child,  all  the 
others  laughed,  as  they  had  seen  his  trick.  When  the  child's  real 
father  took  it  up,  it  urinated  on  him.  Then  all  went  out.  The  chief 
said,  "  Do  not  let  my  son-in-law  walk  about,  because  he  is  really  tired. 
He  shall  not  walk  for  ten  days." 

His  father-in-law  would  go  off  all  day.  Hanging  in  the  lodge  the 
youth  saw  his  brother's  arrow,  with  which  his  wife  had  been  shot. 
The  father-in-law  would  burn  sweet-grass  for  the  arrow  at  the  rare  in- 
tervals when  he  came  back,  for  he  v/ould  be  off  for  days  at  a  time. 
On  the  fifth  night  the  youth  felt  rested,  and  could  walk  a  little. 
Then  he  asked  his  wife,  "Why  does  your  father  smoke  that  arrow?" 
and  she  answered,  "Oh,  we  never  see  those  things  up  here.  It  is 
from  below,  and  he  thinks  highly  of  it;  therefore  he  does  so." 

On  the  sixth  night  he  was  able  to  walk  around  in  the  brush ;  and  he 
came  to  a  spring,  where  he  found,  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  a  rusty 
stain  with  which  he  painted  his  face.  He  returned,  and,  as  he  was 
entering,  his  father-in-law  cried,  "Oh,  that  is  why  I  want  a  son-in-law 
that  is  a  human  being!  Where  did  he  kill  that  bear?  He  is  covered 
with  blood.  Go  and  dress  it,"  he  ordered.  The  youth  was  frightened, 
as  he  had  not  seen  any  bear  at  all.  "You  people  that  live  below," 
his  wife  said,  "call  them  Mici  Pisi  [Giant  ranthers].  Show  your  ^"" ' 
brothers-in-law  where  it  is."  The  youth  took  his  brother-in-law  to 
the  spring.     "Here  is  where  I  found  the  Panther,"  he  said. 

The  ten  Thunderers  came  up  and  struck  the  spring,  and  killed  some- 
thing there.  After  that  the  youth  looked  for  springs  all  the  time,  and 
it  came  to  pass  that  he  found  a  number.  One  day  he  asked  his  wife, 
"Why  does  your  father  go  away  for  whole  days  at  a  time?"  and  his 
wife  said,  "There  is  a  large  lake  up  here,  and  he  hunts  for  fish  there. 
He  kills  one  every  day,  seldom  two.  He  is  the  only  one  that  can  kill 
them." 

The  next  morning  the  youth  went  to  the  lake,  and  found  his  father- 
in-law  sitting  by  the  shore  fishing.  The  old  man  had  a  peculiar  spear, 
which  was  forked  at  the  end.  The  youth  took  it,  and  put  barbs  on  it, 
so  that  the  old  man  was  able  to  catch  a  number  of  fish  quickly.  Then 
they  went  home.  When  they  arrived,  his  father-in-law  said,  "My 
son-in-law  has  taken  many  of  them.  I  myself  can  only  kill  one,  and 
sometimes  two." 

So  he  told  all  the  people  to  go  and  get  fish  and  eat  them  freely. 
On  the  following  day,  the  young  man,  according  to  his  mother-in-law's 
wish,  took  his  wife  to  fish.  They  took  many  fish,  and  carried  them 
home.  The  father-in-law  knew,  before  they  returned,  that  they  had 
caught  many. 


360  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  old  man  had  had  a  dream.  When  he  saw  how  the  youth  pre- 
pared the  spear  which  his  daughter  had  given  him,  he  said,  referring 
to  his  dream,  "My  dream  was  wrong.  I  thought  the  youngest  of  the 
ten  liked  me  the  best.  I  made  the  spear  in  the  way  I  saw  it,  not  as  this 
one  has  shown  me.  It  is  due  to  my  dream  that  it  is  wrong.  Your 
nine  brothers  are  having  a  hard  time.  Now,  my  sons,  your  sisters 
are  going  away  soon  to  be  married." 

For  nine  nights  the  youth  saw  a  dim  light  at  a  distance.  The 
father-in-law  said  to  him,  "Do  not  go  there,  for  a  powerful  being  lives 
there."  The  tenth  night,  however,  the  youth  disobeyed  this  injunction. 
When  he  reached  there,  he  saw  a  tall  tree,  and  a  huge  porcupine  that 
was  burrowing  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  The  porcupine  struck  the  tree, 
and  tried  to  kill  it  by  shooting  its  quills  into  it.  After  the  porcupine 
had  shot  off  all  its  quills,  the  youth  knocked  it  on  the  head,  took  two 
long  quills  from  the  tree,  and  carried  them  home.  Even  before  he 
got  there,  his  father-in-law  knew  what  had  happened.  They  were 
delighted,  for  they  said  that  the  porcupine  would  kill  the  Thunderers 
when  they  tried  to  attack  it.  The  father-in-law  went  out,  and  called 
to  his  sons  to  go  and  dress  the  porcupine  that  the  youth  had  killed. 
The  latter  gave  the  two  quills  to  his  wife,  though  his  father-in-law 
wanted  them.  The  father-in-law  said,  "My  children,  this  porcupine 
killed  all  our  friends  when  they  went  to  war  against  it.  My 
sons-in-law  below  are  miserable  and  lonely." 

The  eldest  of  the  daughters,  who  was  called  Mfldjikiskwe'wic,  was 
delighted  at  the  news.  "You  will  marry  the  oldest  one,  Mudjikiwis," 
she  was  told.  They  were  all  to  be  married  in  order,  the  eldest  girl  to 
the  eldest  brother,  the  youngest  to  the  youngest  one.  The  old  man 
said,  "MQdjikiskwe'wic  shall  take  her  brother-in-law  with  her  when 
she  goes  down  to  the  earth."  The  young  women  went  down.  Sh- 
swsh!  went  Mudjikiskwe'wic  (the  girl)  with  her  dress.  They  reached 
the  steep  place,  and  the  married  women  said  to  her  husband  that  they 
would  fly  around.  "  If  you  do  not  catch  me  when  I  fly  past,  you  will 
be  killed  here."  The  women  went  off  a  little  ways,  and  a  heavy  thun- 
derstorm arose,  big  black  clouds  and  lightning,  yet  he  saw  Mudjikisk- 
we'wic in  it.  She  was  green,  and  so  was  the  sun;  and  as  they  passed, 
she  shouted  once,  then  again  a  little  nearer,  and  again  close  by.  Then 
he  jumped  off  and  caught  her  by  the  back.  He  closed  his  eyes  as  he 
did  so,  and  did  not  open  them  until  the  Thunderer  w^ife  said,  "Now 
let  go!"  Then  he  found  himself  at  home.  He  left  the  girls  behind, 
and  went  to  the  lodge  and  opened  the  door  a  little. 

As  soon  as  he  was  inside,  he  said,  "My  brothers,  I  am  here!"  They 
were  lying  in  the  ashes  around  the  fire.  "The  Canada  Jays  always 
make  me  angry  when  they  say  that,"  they  retorted,  and  they  threw  a 
handful  of  ashes  towards  the  door.     "My  brothers,  I  am  coming!" 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  361 

he  said  again.  "Ah!  that  is  what  the  Crows  say  to  make  us  angry," 
retorted  the  rest,  and  they  threw  ashes  towards  the  door.  "My 
brothers,  I  am  coming!"  he  declared.  "Ah!  that  is  what  the  Chicka- 
dees say  to  make  us  angry,"  cried  they,  and  threw  ashes  once  more. 
Then  for  the  fourth  time  he  cried,  "My  brothers,  get  up!"  Then 
Mfldjikiwis  cried,  "Look  up!  See  who  it  is!  They  never  say  that 
four  times!" 

They  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  were  swollen  from  weeping  on  account 
of  their  brother.  They  were  covered  with  ashes.  When  they  opened 
their  eyes,  they  saw  their  fifth  brother  restored.  "Arise,  wash  your 
faces,  and  fix  camp ! "  said  he.     "  I  have  brought  sisters-in-law  with  me." 

Mildjikiwis  was  glad  to  hear  this,  and  he  and  the  others  began  to 
decorate  themselves.  They  took  white  earth  from  crawfish-holes, 
and  painted  their  faces  with  it.  Mfldjikiwis  seized  his  winking  war- 
club,  and  they  made  the  lodge  larger  by  spreading  the  poles.  Then 
the  fifth  brother  called  the  sisters-in-law,  and  they  all  came  in.  The 
fifth  son  told  Mtldjikiskwe'wic  that  the  youngest  of  the  sisters  should 
come  in  first,  she  herself  last,  although  it  would  have  been  proper  for 
the  eldest  brother  to  receive  his  wife  first.  "  Do  not  come  in  till  I  call 
you,  saying,  'Now,  come!  my  brothers  are  tired  waiting.'"  Miid- 
jikiskwe'wic  promised  to  obey. 

Mildj {kiwis  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  peeped  at  each  girl. 
He  saw  them  sit  by  his  brothers,  until  every  one  but  he  was  furnished 
with  a  wife.  Then  there  was  a  pause.  Mfidjikiwis  began  to  weep, 
and  he  sniffed  audibly.  At  last  the  fifth  brother  had  pity  on  him,  and 
called  the  girl  in.  She  came  in  with  a  swishing  sound  of  rustling 
clothing.     Then  Mudjikiwis  was  very  glad. 

"What  shall  w^e  feed  them  on?"  said  one.  "Let  me  seel"  said 
Mfidjikiwis,  and  he  took  his  winking  club  and  went  out,  and  clubbed 
a  bear  right  there.  "O  wife!  we  shall  have  a  meal  of  bear-meat!" 
he  cried.  Mddjikiskwe'wic replied,  "Oh,  you  are  hunting  my  younger 
brother!"  —  "Oh,  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  my  brother-in-law,"  retorted 
the  other. 

And  they  are  married  to-day,  and  live  where  the  sun  does  not  shine. 

4.   A   MITEWIWIN   TALE. 

Only  the  old  people  belonged  to  the  Mitewiwin,  and  they  could  not 
obtain  it  right  by  dreams.  Long  ago  people  did  not  have  it.  It  came 
from  the  east.  The  Cree  once  lived  across  a  river  from  the  Saulteaux. 
The  Saulteaux  were  going  to  have  a  Mitewiwin  ceremony,  and  the 
Cree  who  did  not  know  the  ceremony  crossed  to  witness  it.  There 
was  a  doorkeeper  of  the  lodge.  He  saw  them  peeping  in,  and  told  the 
old  man  who  was  leader.  The  old  man  was  glad,  and  said,  "We 
will  eat  them,  let  us  ask  them  in!"     They  did  so,  and  the  Cree  boys 


362  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

innocently  went  in.  One  boy,  who  wore  a  white  shell  about  his  neck, 
was  their  leader.  When  one  Mitewiwin  dance  began,  a  Saulteaux 
shot  one  of  the  boys,  and  he  fell  down  dead,  full  of  blood.  Their  leader 
was  frightened.  Then  the  dancers  shot  him,  and  brought  him  back 
to  life  with  a  shell,  singing,  "Ho-ho-ho-ho!" 

The  Cree  boys  never  had  seen  this  before,  and  wondered  what  would 
happen  next.  Soon  they  were  asked  to  perform;  so  they  made  big 
snakes  come,  and  all  the  performers  fled  except  the  servant  (Skaupe- 
wis),  who  could  not  flee.  Then  the  old  people  came  back,  sang  a 
Miteo  song,  and  the  Cree  bo^^s  did  the  same.  They  shot  the  old  man, 
and  he  fell.  At  first  they  refused  to  take  out  their  shell  arrows;  but 
the  Saulteaux  made  them  presents,  and  the  youths  did  so.  They  had 
various  kinds  of  bags,  but  the  Cree  boys  had  otter-skins.  The  Cree 
feared  that  their  boys  would  be  killed ;  but  they  came  home,  and  on  the 
way  they  found  two  sticks  and  a  drum  by  the  river.  First  they  went 
to  their  fathers'  lodges,  beckoned,  and  said,  "Cook  something!" 
Each  father  made  a  feast,  and  the  boys  taught  their  fathers  what  they 
had  seen.  The  boys  asked  one  another  what  the  old  man  on  the  other 
side  meant  when  he  spoke  of  eating  them.  "I  suppose  he  meant  to 
kill  us!  Let  us  kill  him  before  sunrise!"  they  said.  So  the  boys 
tried  to  kill  four  leaders  of  the  Saulteaux,  and  succeeded. 

Sick  persons,  women  and  children,  join  the  Mitewiwin  to  be  cured. 

5.   DWARFS. 

A  Cree  once  had  an  experience  with  the  Memegweciwflg,  or  dwarfs. 
His  nets  were  constantly  robbed  of  fish,  and  he  thought  that  it  must 
be  done  by  the  dwarfs.  One  day  he  and  his  companions  caught  them 
in  a  fog.  They  had  a  little  canoe  and  paddles,  and  were  stealing  fish. 
They  talked  through  their  noses;  but  the  Cree  could  understand  them, 
and  asked  them  not  to  take  any  more  fish.  The  Indians  gave  them 
some  meat  and  let  them  go.  The  Memegweciwflg  pointed  their  canoe 
right  at  a  cut  bank  on  the  river,  and  paddled  into  it.  Presently  they 
threw  back  the  meat,  and  were  heard  to  laugh ;  but  they  never  stole 
any  more  fish. 

6.  loud-voice's  medicine. 

The  old  chief  of  Loud-Voice's  band  used  to  go  naked  into  the  hills 
and  bring  medicines  to  the  people.  He  obtained  his  medicine  from  a 
spring.  Loud-Voice  once  took  his  son  to  the  spring,  which  is  located 
between  the  hills.  He  told  his  son  to  go  with  him,  but  the  young  man 
was  afraid.  Then  Loud-Voice  sang.  The  Horned -Snake  sent  up 
bubbles,  and  Loud-Voice  went  in  and  got  its  scales  for  medicine. 

Once,  when  the  Indians  were  camped  about  ten  or  twelve  miles  from 
Round  Lake,  in  January,  Loud-Voice  said,  "Let  us  go  back  to-morrow 
to  Round  Lake!     I  want  to  see  my  grandfather  for  the  last  time." 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  363 

The  band  went  back.  Ice  covered  the  lake,  but  on  the  following 
morning  they  heard  a  thunder-like  noise.  The  ice  broke  and  moved 
in  the  bay.  Then  great  brass  horns  appeared  above  the  surface,  and 
Loud-Voice  waded  in  up  to  his  neck.  The  Horned-Snake  told  him 
then  that  he  was  near  enough.  He  seized  its  horns  and  scraped  off 
some  scales  in  presence  of  all  the  people.  That  was  the  last  time 
that  Loud-Voice  ever  called  on  his  guardian. 

7.  loud-voice's  visit  to  the  other  world. 

Once  an  old  man  named  Loud -Voice  died,  but  came  back  to  life. 
He  found  a  wide  trail  which  led  to  a  fine  place  where  everything  was 
pleasant.  Loud-Voice  had  a  wife  and  several  children;  and  he  told 
them  that  he  always  met  his  brother-in-law  whenever  he  went  there, 
and  that  his  brother-in-law  coaxed  him  to  stay.  Once,  after  a  quarrel 
with  his  wife,  the  old  man  took  out  his  fire-bag  and  steel  and  went 
out.     He  said,  "Perhaps  you  will  miss  something  before  long." 

His  wife  told  her  sons  what  had  happened ;  and  they  looked  for  their 
father,  but  could  not  find  him,  though  they  heard  his  drum.  His  sons 
called  for  him  by  means  of  the  sound  of  the  water-drum  and  by  songs, 
while  they  prepared  a  feast  for  him.  Their  fourth  song  reached  the 
old  man,  who  was  with  his  brother-in-law.  The  ghosts  tried  to  keep 
him  with  them;  but  he  covered  his  head  with  a  robe,  became  a  snake, 
and  went  back  to  his  camp.  The  dead  brother-in-law  saw  how  old 
Loud-Voice  had  escaped  through  a  hole  in  the  earth.  He  too  became  a 
snake;  but  Loud-Voice  saw  him,  and  when  he  came  to  a  log,  he  turned 
into  a  fly.  The  brother-in-law  passed  him,  came  back  to  the  tree, 
and  again  passed  the  place,  weeping,  where  Loud-Voice  was  in  hiding. 

The  boys  were  singing  their  songs,  and  Loud-Voice's  wife  was  dan- 
cing, when  he  returned  in  the  shape  of  an  owl.  Nearer  and  nearer  he 
came,  and  alighted  on  a  lodge-pole.  He  could  not  come  down,  and  he 
cried,  "Put  grease  into  the  fire,  and  I  will  come."  They  did  so,  and 
he  cried,  "O  my  brother-in-law  that  kept  me!"  and  became  a  man 
once  more.     He  smoked,  and  then  asked  for  water. 

"The  ghosts  made  me  eat  too  much,"  he  declared;  and  he  vomited 
berries,  though  it  was  winter. 

The  Plains  Cree  do  not  believe  that  there  is  a  river  to  cross  in  order 
to  get  to  the  land  of  the  souls.  The  old  people  say  that  there  are  two 
kinds  of  souls.  One  leaves  the  body  and  goes  to  heaven,  the  other 
stays  near  the  body  after  death.  This  is  also  the  belief  of  the  Me- 
nomini. 

8.   A   WAR   STORY. 

A  few  real  akitcitau  went  out  to  fight  till  death,  and  one  of  them 
was  killed  whose  wife  was  very  handsome;  for,  as  a  brave  man,  he  had 


364  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

the  right  to  choose  among  the  girls.  A  good-looking  young  man  went 
to  the  widow,  although  she  was  older  than  he.  The  woman  said  her 
husband  had  been  handsome  and  strong,  and  that  she  did  not  care  to 
marry  again.  Therefore  the  chief's  son  was  ashamed,  and  went  off 
secretly  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  without  telling  any  one.  When  he 
reached  there,  he  found  a  well-beaten  trail  just  made.  He  saw  a 
Blackfoot  girl  coming  on  horseback,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  her. 
When  she  came  near  and  saw  him,  she  liked  him  at  once.  Therefore 
she  did  not  flee.  The  man  took  the  horse  by  the  bridle,  pulled  her 
from  the  saddle,  and  sat  down  beside  her.  Just  as  he  sat  down,  a 
youth  came  riding  up  to  them  unawares.  The  Cree  shot  the  young 
man  as  he  rode  up,  took  his  horse,  jumped  on,  took  the  girl  along,  and 
rode  home. 

About  sundown  he  saw  a  big  band  coming.  They  were  Blackfeet 
with  stolen  horses  on  the  warpath.  The  two  hid  in  a  bush.  The 
war-party  pitched  their  tents  and  went  to  sleep.  That  night  he  made 
signs  to  the  girl  to  wait  for  him,  took  his  knife,  and  walked  toward  the 
camp.  There  were  six  in  the  war-party.  He  cut  the  throats  of  all 
six  before  they  awoke,  took  their  horses,  put  on  the  saddles,  tied  on  the 
rifles,  cut  off  the  six  heads,  and  went  off.  On  his  way  home,  towards 
night,  he  met  twelve  more  Blackfeet  with  forty  stolen  horses.  He 
attacked  them  also  while  they  were  asleep.  Those  who  awoke  he 
killed  with  their  own  clubs.  He  took  their  horses,  and  fled  with  their 
guns  and  heads. 

On  his  way  home  he  camped  several  times,  came  to  a  high  hill,  and 
saw  two  men  on  horses  looking  about.  Then  he  hid  all  the  horses  in  a 
hollow,  and  went  towards  the  two  strangers.  When  near  by,  he  recog- 
nized them,  for  they  were  two  Crees  from  home.  "Your  father  is  so 
lonely,  you  would  not  know  him.  He  thinks  you  are  dead."  He 
asked  them  to  tell  his  father  that  he  was  coming  home  with  a  wife. 
They  started,  and  he  went  back  for  his  horses  and  his  wife,  and  all  his 
father's  men  and  women  rode  out  to  meet  him.  His  father  gave  him 
half  of  his  land  and  half  of  his  possessions,  and  the  youth  became  a 
chief,  —  the  greatest  of  all  the  chiefs  on  the  plains. 

9.    KICON.l 

Once  an  old  couple  lived  way  off  in  the  bush  near  a  lake.  They  had 
one  horse.  The  old  man  killed  many  fish;  but  once  for  four  days  he 
did  not  catch  any.  Then  he  caught  a  sucker  in  his  net.  The  fish 
spoke  to  him  as  he  was  about  to  kill  it.  "Hold  on!  do  not  kill  me! 
Cut  my  head  and  tail  off;  split  the  head  and  give  it  to  your  wife  to  eat, 
the  other  half  give  to  your  mare;  the  tail  split  in  two,  and  feed  it  to 
your  dog,  plant  the  other  half  in  the  garden."     The  next  day  the  old 

1  Petit- Jean,  a  European  tale  (see  p.  330,  note  i). 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  365 

man  went  to  his  nets.  They  were  overloaded  with  fish.  Hurrying 
home,  he  saw  that  his  wife  had  given  birth  to  two  boys,  each  bearing 
a  golden  star  on  the  forehead.  They  were  alike  in  every  way.  He  ran 
to  the  stable,  and  found  that  his  mare  had  two  spotted  colts  of  the 
same  color;  then  he  ran  to  his  dogs  and  found  two  little  spotted  pups. 
He  hurried  over  to  the  garden  and  found  two  swords  growing  on  a  bush. 
He  was  delighted,  and  gave  a  horse,  a  dog,  and  a  sword  to  each  boy. 

The  boys  staid  at  home  till  they  were  grown  up.  Ail  at  once  one  of 
the  boys  asked  where  all  the  people  were,  and  said  to  his  brother,  as 
he  hung  his  sword  over  the  door,  "I  am  going  to  search  for  people. 
If  a  spot  appears  on  my  knife  while  I  am  gone,  there  will  be  something 
wrong  with  me." 

He  travelled  until  he  saw  some  old  stumps,  passed  them,  and  soon 
saw  some  fresh  ones.  He  travelled  till  he  found  a  city.  At  one  end  of 
the  town  he  saw  a  shanty.  He  rode  up  to  it  and  found  an  old  woman. 
He  asked  her  why  the  town  was  draped  in  black.  The  old  woman 
replied  that  the  king's  last  daughter  was  to  be  fed  that  day  to  the  snake 
with  seven  heads.  So  the  youth  waited  with  Nokum,  his  grandmother. 
About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  saw  a  band,  led  by  a  woman, 
going  west  from  the  town ;  then  he  rode  through  the  bushes,  and  watched 
till  they  went  back,  leaving  the  girl.  He  rode  to  the  place  where  the 
girl  was,  and  spoke  to  her.  The  girl  said,  "Pretty  young  man,  go 
back,  this  is  the  last  of  my  days!" 

The  youth  told  her  to  mount  behind  him ;  then  he  took  his  sword  and 
spoke  to  his  horse  and  dog,  saying,  "Every  time  I  strike,  you  bite." 

He  waited  there  until  night,  when  he  saw  Seven-Heads  come. 
"Ah!"  said  the  monster,  "I  shall  have  two  meals  instead  of  one!"  — 
"You  will  have  to  work  for  them!"  replied  the  youth;  and  he  rode  up 
and  struck  at  the  beast,  while  his  mare  and  dog  each  bit  off  a  head. 
He  struck  again,  and  again,  until  he  struck  off  the  seventh  head. 
Then  the  girl  jumped  off  and  kissed  him.  "I  will  marry  you!"  she 
cried,  "but  shall  have  to  tell  the  story  of  this  adventure  to  the  king." 

The  youth  said  to  the  girl,  "I  will  take  the  seven  tongues,"  and  he 
wrapped  them  in  her  handkerchief.  He  ordered  her  to  go  home,  and 
told  her  where  he  staid. 

When  she  came  home,  the  king's  porter,  black  from  head  to  foot 
from  working  in  the  coals,  saw  the  girl,  and  asked  her  why  she  re- 
turned. She  told  him  that  some  one  had  destroyed  the  brute  that  was 
to  eat  her.  The  porter  said  he  would  kill  her  if  she  did  not  tell  the 
king  that  he  had  killed  it.  The  girl  was  frightened,  and  consented. 
Then  the  porter  caught  her  up  and  threw  her  in  the  coal-barrow,  and 
made  her  nose  bleed.  He  put  blood  on  the  shovel  and  the  picks,  on 
his  hands  and  feet,  and  then  took  the  girl  home.  The  king  came  out, 
and  saw  the  porter  with  the  girl  in  his  wheel-barrow.  She  jumped  out, 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  113. — 24. 


366  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

and  the  king  took  his  daughter.  When  he  heard  the  porter's  story, 
he  got  three  or  four  men  and  had  a  bath  made,  in  which  they  washed 
him  clean,  and  dressed  him  Hke  a  king,  ready  to  be  married. 

Meanwhile  the  girl  called  a  meeting  of  all  the  young  men  in  town, 
who  were  to  tell  the  stories  of  their  lives.  All  came  that  night,  and 
they  even  sent  for  the  youth  who  lived  in  the  shanty  outside  of  the 
town.  He  was  the  last  to  talk.  The  others  each  began  in  turn.  The 
porter  told  how  he  killed  the  seven-headed  monster  with  his  shovels. 
The  young  man  came  next.  He  went  before  the  king,  and  told  how  he 
had  come  to  town,  and  what  he  had  seen.  Now,  the  porter  was  fright- 
ened, and  wanted  to  go  out  and  urinate;  but  the  king  made  him  stay. 
The  porter  begged,  and  said  he  was  suffering;  but  he  was  compelled  to 
stay.  The  hero  told  how  he  killed  Seven-Heads,  and  showed  the  seven 
tongues  in  the  princess's  handkerchief.  Then  the  porter  was  taken 
out  and  burned  alive;  but  the  youth  married  the  girl,  and  they  had 
a  big  ball. 

All  at  once  the  groom  saw  a  little  light,  and  asked  the  bride  what  it 
was.  She  said  to  him,  "You  must  never  go  there.  A  bad  old  woman 
lives  there,  and  whoever  goes  never  returns."  But  her  husband  was 
anxious,  and  waited  till  his  wife  slept.  He  then  clothed  himself  and 
went  to  the  stable,  saddled  his  horse,  took  his  dog  with  him,  and  went 
off  toward  the  light.  He  journeyed  to  the  door  of  the  house  whence 
it  came,  and  an  old  woman  came  out.  She  told  him  she  was  afraid  of 
his  dog,  but  he  said  that  it  would  not  hurt  her.  She,  however,  con- 
tinued to  say  that  she  was  afraid,  and  at  last  she  persuaded  the  young 
man  to  tie  his  dog  with  a  hair  from  her  head.  He  reached  for  her  hair, 
and  then  and  there  he  became  a  tombstone  along  with  his  dogand  horse. 

At  that  time  his  brother  saw  rust  on  the  knife,  and  told  his  father 
that  his  brother  was  in  some  trouble.  He  mounted  his  horse  and  went 
to  look  for  his  brother;  and  soon  he  found  the  old  grandmother's 
house,  and  entered.  The  old  woman  gave  him  food,  but  he  asked  for 
his  brother.  The  old  Nokum  told  him  all  about  him.  She  said  she 
had  told  him  not  to  go,  but  that  he  had  gone  nevertheless.  She  added 
that  his  brother  had  married  the  king's  daughter.  The  other  brother 
rode  on  till  he  arrived  at  the  castle,  when  his  sister-in-law  came  out, 
ran  up  to  him,  kissed  him,  and  asked  him  where  he  had  been.  They 
were  walking  on  the  veranda,  when  the  boy  asked  her  about  the  light. 
His  sister-in-law  said,  "I  told  you  before,  you  must  not  go  there." 

Then  he  knew  his  brother  must  be  there.  He  w^ent  to  bed  with  his 
sister-in-law,  but  ran  away  when  she  went  to  sleep.  He  arose  quickly, 
went  to  the  stable,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  up  to  the  light.  The 
same  happened  to  him  as  to  his  brother.  The  old  woman  told  him  to 
tie  his  dog,  as  she  was  afraid  of  it.  He  guessed  that  his  brother  must 
be  there;  so  he  demanded  his  brother  of  the  old  woman,  threatening  to 


Plains  Cree  Tales.  367 

kill  her.  The  old  woman  brought  a  little  bottle  out  of  the  cellar,  and 
told  the  youth  to  put  some  on  the  stones  and  they  would  turn  back  to 
life.  He  killed  the  old  woman,  threw  her  into  the  cellar,  dropped  some 
liquid  on  the  stones,  and  revived  many  people  with  the  contents  of  the 
bottle.  He  also  revived  his  brother,  and  they  went  back  to  the  king's 
castle. 

It  was  morning,  and  they  walked  to  the  door.  The  brother-in-law 
asked  his  sister-in-law  which  was  which,  but  she  could  not  tell.  She 
took  both  in,  and  had  a  great  dinner,  to  which  she  invited  the  whole 
town.  Then  the  king  asked  for  the  father  and  mother  of  the  lads. 
He  gave  them  garments  and  horses  to  go  back  for  a  visit.  They 
started  for  home;  and  when  they  got  there,  their  parents  were  in  tears, 
thinking  them  dead.  They  even  found  their  parents  in  bed.  They 
took  them  back  to  the  city,  and  left  their  old  home  and  staid  in  the 
king's  castle. 

American  Museum  of  Natural  History, 
New  York,  N.  Y. 


368  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


OJIBWA  TALES  FROM  THE  NORTH  SHORE  OF  LAKE 

SUPERIOR. 

BY  WILLIAM  JONES.i 

1.  Skunk  and  Lynx.-  —  Skunk  was  wife  to  a  Lynx  who  wished  to 
eat  her.  She  knew  of  his  desire,  and,  after  wrapping  wood  in  a  blanket, 
to  represent  herself  asleep,  she  hid.  He  discovered  her  trick.  He  then 
tried  to  make  her  betray  her  place  of  hiding  by  doing  things  to  make 
her  laugh.  Failing  in  this,  he  began  to  slice  his  hams  and  belly;  then 
he  fell  into  the  fire.  After  he  had  been  rescued  by  his  wife,  he  was 
deserted  by  her. 

2.  Painted-Turtle  and  Bear. — A  Painted-Turtle,  on  falling 
from  a  log  while  asleep,  went  ashore,  where  she  came  upon  a  dropping 
of  some  blueberries.  This  she  later  fed  as  food  to  a  Bear  who  had  come 
to  visit  her.  Pleased  with  the  berries,  he  asked  where  she  got  them, 
and  was  told  "upon  the  slopes  of  yonder  hill."  On  his  arrival  there,  he 
learned  what  he  had  eaten,  whereupon  he  chased  after  her,  and,  over- 
taking her,  slew  her.  She  came  back  to  life,  however,  and  later 
killed  the  Bear  while  in  the  water.  She  broke  his  back,  thus  creating 
the  hump  on  the  backs  of  bears. 

3.  Snapping-Turtle's  War-Party.  —  Wishing  to  go  to  war,  Snap- 
ping-Turtle  called  for  followers.  He  refused  the  Moose  and  Bear,  but 
accepted  the  Painted-Turtles.  On  the  way  to  the  foe,  a  chief  of  the 
Painted-Turtles  dreamed  of  an  evil  fate.  He  made  known  the  dream, 
giving  it  forth  in  song;  and  for  that  he  was  killed.  The  dream  came 
true,  however,  and  the  war-party  was  destroyed.  Snapping-Turtle 
was  made  captive,  but  had  his  captors  fling  him  into  the  water, 
where  he  escaped.  Otter  was  sent  to  retake  him,  but  was  caught  and 
held  by  Snapping-Turtle  till  the  roar  of  the  Thunderers;  then  he  was 
released  to  return  whence  he  came. 

1  The  following  tales  were  found  among  a  large  mass  of  text  material  collected  by  the 
late  William  Jones  when  working  under  the  auspices  of  the  Carnegie  Institution.  The 
texts  are  being  published  by  the  American  Ethnological  Society  in  Volume  IX  of  the 
Publications  of  the  Society.  The  provenience  and  authorship  of  these  tales  are  not 
altogether  certain.  So  far  as  can  be  made  out,  Nos.  1-28  inclusive  and  No.  40  are  from 
Bois  Fort,  the  narrator  or  narrators  being  Wasagunackank  or  another  man,  or  both; 
No.  24a  is  by  Mrs.  Syrette  of  Fort  William,  Ontario;  Nos.  150,  19a,  29,  40a,  31-35.  37- 
39,  41-57,  are  by  Penassie  of  Fort  William,  Ontario;  No.  33c  is  by  G.  Kabaoosa,  No. 
58  by  William  Kabaoosa,  No.  59  by  Jacob  Thompson, — all  of  Garden  River,  Ontario; 
Nos.  60,  I-III,  are  by  Alex.  Pettier,  Manitoulin  Island;  Nos.  60,  IV-VI,  by  G.  Kabaoosa 
of  Garden  River.  Neither  the  provenience  nor  the  authorship  of  Nos.  30  and  36  is 
known.  Comparative  notes  on  the  tales  are  reserved  until  the  publication  of  Dr.  Jones's 
Ojibwa  Texts. — Truman  Michelson,  October,  1916. 

2  See  No.  41,  p.  385. 


Ojihwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      369 

4.  Snapping-Turtle's  War-Party.  —  Snapping-Turtle,  in  com- 
mand of  all  the  other  Turtles,  warred  against  the  Caddice-Fly,  but 
suffered  defeat.  He  was  made  captive,  but  was  later  given  freedom  to 
go  about  with  the  son  of  the  chief.  By  and  by  the  two  set  off  on  a 
journey.  They  travelled  afar,  across  the  sea.  There  they  beheld  the 
great  conjuring-lodge  of  the  manitous,  and  the  home  of  the  Thunder- 
Birds.  On  their  way  back  Snapping-Turtle  broke  faith  and  deserted 
his  comrade;  but  the  son  reached  home,  bringing  one  of  the  Thunder- 
Birds. 

5.  Snapping-Turtle  kills  Moose.  —  Snapping-Turtle  was  one 
of  ten  sons-in-law.  By  them  he  was  held  in  contempt  because 
of  his  inability  to  provide  his  share  of  the  food.  Driven  by  taunts, 
he  determined  to  kill  a  moose.  He  pursued  one  for  a  whole  year, 
finally  overtaking  it  in  the  water.  There  he  slew  it.  After  preparing 
the  meat,  he  floated  it  home.  Being  still  despised,  he  fought  with  his 
tormentors  and  slew  them. 

6.  The  Raccoon  and  the  Crawfishes.  —  A  chief  of  the  Craw- 
fishes got  up  a  war-party  to  go  across  the  sea  to  fight  Raccoon,  their 
hated  enemy.  They  found  him  lying  on  the  beach.  Believing  him 
to  be  dead,  they  thronged  about  and  all  over  him,  and  pinched  him, 
to  make  sure  he  was  not  alive.  As  he  was  only  feigning  death,  how- 
ever, up  he  sprang.  After  slaying  and  eating  many,  he  hastened 
after  his  companions,  who  also  joined  in  the  slaughter  and  fe:.st,. 
When  the  chief  got  back  home  with  a  few,  he  w^as  put  to  death, 

7.  Mink.  —  A  certain  Mink  was  a  useless  son-in-law  in  the  matter 
of  obtaining  food.  He  was  compelled  to  go  out  to  hunt,  but  he  could 
not  kill  a  single  thing.  At  last  he  succeeded  in  killing  a  ruffed  grouse, 
but  the  sight  of  it  only  angered  his  wife  all  the  more.  Then  he  w^ent 
away  for  good.  As  he  went  along,  he  met  with  another  Mink,  who 
joined  him.  In  time  they  came  to  a  to\^n,  where  they  were  received, 
and  told  of  the  passing  on  the  morrow  of  Nanabushu  in  company 
with  some  Geese. 

8.  The  Fox.  —  A  fox  once  killed  a  hare,  one  half  of  which  he  ate, 
and  the  other  half  he  cached.  This  other  half  was  found  by  a  Crow, 
who,  when  about  to  eat  of  it,  spied  Fox  coming  along.  Fox  caused 
Crow  to  laugh ;  and  when  Crow  laughed,  down  fell  the  piece  of  hare.^ 

9.  The  Council  of  the  Dogs.  —  The  Dogs  once  met  in  assembly 
to  smoke  and  elect  a  chief.  Failing  to  agree  upon  a  certain  one,  they 
fell  to  fighting,  whereupon  the  meeting  was  broken  up.  This  lack 
of  restraint  is  yet  the  nature  of  dogs,  and  it  accounts  for  their  un- 
fortunate state. 

10.  The  Ruffed  Grouse.  —  A  Ruffed  Grouse  angered  the  people 
because  he  refused  to  marry  a  woman  selected  for  him.     In  order  to 

*  Probably  based  on  the  well-known  ^sopian  fable. — F.  B. 


370  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

know  what  he  should  then  do,  he  was  made  to  fast.  In  the  mean 
while  the  mystic  power  of  some  bear-claws  and  of  a  snake-skin  was 
used  against  him;  but  he  finally  prevailed.  His  fast  lasted  eleven 
days,  and  these  are  marked  on  the  feathers  of  his  tail. 

11.  Little-Image  overcomes  the  Bears.  —  Little-Image  was  a 
manitou  from  the  sky-country  at  the  east.  He  came  to  earth  that 
he  might  deliver  the  people  from  the  monster  bears  that  were  devouring 
them.  They  were  racing  with  each  other,  and  lives  were  wagered  on 
a  race,  with  the  Bears  always  winning.  Little-Image  came  to  the 
people  at  a  place  where  they  were  fasting  for  the  power  of  speed  to 
outrun  the  Bears.  This  power  he  granted  them,  whereupon  the 
number  of  Bears  began  to  diminish.  Thereupon  they  tried  to  flee; 
but  the  Little-Image  slew  the  monsters,  and  the  rest  (the  smaller 
ones)  were  made  to  fear  the  people.     These  are  the  bears  of  to-day. 

12.  The  Moose  and  Man.  — A  young  Moose  was  disobedient  and 
careless.  He  began  to  wander  off  alone,  much  against  the  wishes  of 
his  parents.  Full  of  overwhelming  pride  in  his  own  speed  and  power, 
5ie  began  to  ridicule  that  of  human  beings.  Finally  he  did  violence 
to  the  visiting  soul  of  a  pipe  belonging  to  a  human  being.  That  was 
his  undoing,  for  on  the  morrow  he  came  to  learn  how  foolish  it  was  to 
vdespise  a  human  being.     He  was  humbled  by  a  human  being. 

13.  Soaring-Eagle  and  Otter. — Soaring-Eagle  was  reduced  to 
hunger  by  Nanabushu.  In  his  hunger  he  was  invited  to  a  feast  by 
some  one,  but  did  not  know  where.  One  evening  he  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  the  inviter  speeding  past  the  wigwams.  Going  in  pursuit, 
he  presently  found  himself  in  an  assembly  of  the  animal-folk,  feasting 
on  trout  given  by  the  Otter.  From  the  Otter  he  learned  how  to  obtain 
food.  He  was  to  tie  a  child  by  the  foot  with  a  cord,  and  then  let  it 
down  through  the  ice  into  the  water.  He  did  as  he  was  told,  but  took 
out  one  too  many  fishes.  On  this  account  he  lost  his  child.  Then  he 
went  back  to  the  waterfall  to  ask  the  Otter  how  he  might  recover  the 
child.  Entering  the  place,  he  continued  on  to  a  town  upon  the  floor 
of  the  sea.  There  he  recovered  his  child  that  had  been  captured  by 
the  chief  of  the  Fishes;  but  he  was  pursued  by  the  chief,  who  followed 
him  out  upon  the  ice.  There  he  slew  the  chief,  the  Great  Sturgeon. 
Then  he  gave  thanks  to  the  Otter.  He  was  then  able  to  bring  hunger 
upon  Nanabushu. 

14.  Mother-Earth.  —  Mother-Earth,  known  by  the  name  of 
Ottawa-Woman,  gave  birth  to  all  birds,  animals,  and  fishes.  Of 
these,  the  Ruffed  Grouse,  Hare,  and  Whitefish  were  the  most  filial. 

15.  The  Girls  who  married  the  Stars.  — The  Foolish  Maidens 
met  with  various  episodes:  their  dog  was  slain  by  the  wolves;  the 
elder  sister  was  nearly  killed  by  the  gray  porcupine;  they  went  up 
into  a  fish-hawk's  nest  and  were  taken  down  by  the  wolverene,  by 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      371 

whom  the  cider  sister  was  again  almost  slain;  they  were  visited  by 
Nanabushu,  who  tried  to  marry  the  younger  girl.  A  Mouse  told  her 
of  Nanabushu's  purpose,  whereupon  she  made  ready  to  flee  from  him. 
In  her  flight,  the  Mouse  was  killed  by  Nanabushu,  who  then  started  in 
pursuit  of  her.  The  girls  ascended  into  the  sky-country,  where  they 
became  wives,  each  to  a  star,  .  .  . 

The  Foolish  Maidens  came  out  upon  a  lake,  where  they  met  a 
Diver.  They  were  permitted  to  get  into  his  canoe.  Then  away 
went  the  three,  travelling  by  water.  On  the  journey  the  Diver's 
pretentions  drew  upon  himself  the  ridicule  of  the  maidens.  The 
arrival  home  of  the  Diver  was  received  with  much  ado.  A  dance  was 
given  at  the  Loon's.  To  it  went  the  Diver,  while  the  maidens  were 
left  in  the  care  of  his  grandmother.  On  the  following  night  the 
maidens  first  played  a  trick  on  him,  and  then  forsook  him  to  become 
wives  to  the  Loon,  whereupon  the  Diver  slew  the  Loon.  .  .  . 

The  second  part  of  the  story  is  taken  up  with  the  struggle  between 
the  Diver  and  the  Winter-Maker.  The  Diver  wandered  off"  alone  to 
a  swamp,  in  order  to  pass  the  winter  there.  By  his  shelter  came  the 
Cranes  and  Mallards  on  their  way  south.  With  him  they  left  a  young 
Crane  and  a  young  Mallard  to  be  cared  for  till  their  return.  Then 
came  the  Winter-Maker  to  destroy  him,  to  freeze  him,  to  close  the 
ice  over  him  when  he  went  down  into  the  water  to  get  fish.  Finally 
the  Diver  turned  on  the  Winter-Maker,  and  in  the  end  overcame  him. 

15  a.  The  Girls  who  married  the  Stars.  — The  two  Foolish  Maid- 
ens lay  awake  under  a  starry  sky,  and  wished  for  husbands  from 
among  the  stars.  When  they  woke  in  the  morning,  they  found 
themselves  with  husbands  and  in  the  sky-country.  They  escaped 
from  the  place  by  the  help  of  an  old  woman,  who  let  them  down  in  a 
basket  through  a  hole.  On  account  of  their  disregarding  a  command 
of  the  old  woman's,  however,  they  got  only  as  far  as  a  fish-hawk's  nest. 
From  there  they  went  the  rest  of  the  way  by  the  help  of  a  Wolverene, 
whom  they  later  deceived.  Then  they  met  with  a  Diver,  who  let 
them  into  his  canoe.  Being  vain  and  pretentious,  he  tried  to  pass  him- 
self off  as  He-of-the-Wampum-Beads,  the  Loon;  but,  much  to  the 
amusement  of  the  maidens,  he  was  always  laying  bare  his  many  short- 
comings. They  found  him  an  object  of  contempt  and  ridicule  at  the 
place  he  called  home,  whereupon  they  forsook  him  and  became  the 
wives  of  the  Loon.  Becoming  angered,  he  killed  the  Loon  by  putting  a 
red-hot  pebble  down  his  mouth  while  he  was  asleep.  The  Diver  fled 
out  to  sea.  An  attempt  was  made  to  capture  him.  The  sea  was 
sucked  dry  by  some  leeches;  and  while  he  was  being  sought,  he  cut 
the  leeches  with  the  flint  knives  which  he  had  tied  upon  his  feet;  and 
when  the  water  flowed  back,  the  people  were  all  drowned. 

16.  The  Origin  of  the  Seasons.  — The  animal-folk  met  in  assem- 


372  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 

bly  for  a  smoke,  because  the  winter  was  continuing  overlong.  It 
was  found  that  a  certain  being  was  detaining  the  birds  of  summer, 
thus  holding  back  the  spring.  The  Fisher  was  made  leader  of  the 
party  to  go  visit  the  one  delaying  the  spring.  In  the  party  was  the 
Otter,  who  went,  despite  the  wishes  of  all.  On  his  account  they  once 
had  to  make  two  visits  to  an  old  woman  before  they  could  obtain  food. 
Farther  on  an  old  man  supplied  them  with  food.  When  about  to 
arrive  at  their  destination,  they  resorted  to  a  stratagem.  The  Muskrat 
was  to  gnaw  holes  in  the  canoes,  and  the  Beaver  to  gnaw  the  paddles 
almost  in  two;  then  the  Caribou  was  to  cross  at  the  narrows  of  the 
lake.  The  Fox  was  to  bark  at  him ;  and  while  the  people  were  drawn 
off  in  pursuit  of  the  Caribou,  the  Fisher  was  to  make  a  rush  to  where 
the  birds  of  summer  were.  The  object  of  the  strategy  was  attained. 
The  Fisher  set  free  the  birds,  but  had  to  flee  for  his  life,  first  up  a  tree, 
then  off  into  the  northern  sky,  where  he  may  now  be  seen  in  the  stars  of 
the  Great  Dipper.  On  the  return  of  the  animal-folk,  it  was  decreed 
that  six  should  be  the  number  of  the  winter  moons,  because  six  was  the 
number  of  stripes  on  the  chipmunk's  back. 

17.  The  Robin.  —  The  malignant  power  of  a  song  sung  by  a  proud 
virgin  brought  about  a  thaw  which  destroyed  the  fishes  of  the  Robin 
and  his  grandmother,  Squaw-Duck.  With  power  given  him  by  his 
grandmother,  the  Robin  miraculously  caused  the  virgin  to  be  with 
child.  The  birth  of  the  child  angered  the  parents  and  distressed  the 
maiden.  In  a  trial  the  Robin  was  found  to  be  the  father.  When 
he  explained  how  it  came  about,  he  found  favor  with  the  parents. 
Attempts  to  kill  him  were  made  by  the  suitors,  but  he  prevailed  over 
them  all. 

18.  The  Birds  and  the  North  Wind.  —  The  first-born  sons  of  the 
bird-folk  played  ball  with  the  North  Wind  and  were  beaten.  The 
North  Wind  made  goal  at  the  west,  and  for  that  reason  the  wind 
from  the  east  brings  bad  weather;  the  next  goal  was  at  the  south,  and 
on  that  account  everything  flees  southward  when  the  wind  blows  from 
the  north.  Only  they  that  played  on  the  side  of  the  North  Wind 
do  not  go  away  in  winter. 

19.  The  Ten  Brothers  and  their  Heavenly  Wives. — Ten 
brothers  lived  at  one  place  together,  but  hunted  in  different  direc- 
tions. In  their  absence  would  come  a  maiden  and  put  their  dwelling  in 
order.  She  finally  became  wife  to  the  youngest;  and  this  aroused  the 
jealousy  of  the  first-born,  who  tried  to  slay  her.  When  wounded, 
she  was  discovered  by  her  husband,  whom  she  commanded  to  refrain 
from  seeing  her  for  ten  days.  Seeing  that  he  could  not  control  his 
desire  to  see  her,  she  took  on  the  form  of  a  bird  and  flew  westward. 
He  followed  after  her.  He  was  guided  by  the  trees.  He  was  fed  by 
miraculous  food  by  grandparents  who  warned  him  of  dangers  on  the 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.     373 

way.  He  overcame  the  difficulties,  and  regained  his  wife.  On  the 
return  home  with  her,  he  was  accompanied  by  her  nine  sisters,  each 
of  whom  became  wife  to  each  of  the  nine  elder  brothers. 

19  a.  There  were  eleven  brothers.  They  left  home  once  and  went  to 
hunt.  They  made  camp  at  a  certain  place,  and  hunted  from  there. 
They  would  return  of  an  evening,  and  each  time  find  the  lodge  clean 
inside  and  everything  put  in  order  there.  Food  was  cooked  and  the 
pallets  spread.  Some  one  must  have  come  in  their  absence,  they 
thought.  They  watched,  each  one  tr>ang  to  see  who  it  could  be  that 
came  and  did  these  things. 

It  was  the  youngest  brother  who  found  out.  He  came  to  the  lodge 
one  time  when  all  were  away,  and  found  a  girl  at  work  inside.  She 
was  young  and  pretty.  She  became  his  wife,  and  did  the  work  in 
the  lodge. 

The  oldest  brother  was  MStcigiwes.  He  was  not  at  all  pleased 
that  the  youngest  brother  should  find  the  girl  and  marry  her.  He  had 
designs,  and  bided  his  time  to  carry  them  out.  He  made  as  if  he  went 
away.  At  a  certain  place  he  stopped  and  watched  for  the  girl.  He 
saw  her  go  to  the  wood  and  stop  at  a  tree.  She  stopped  there  because 
she  wanted  a  dry  twig  at  the  top.  She  waved  her  arms  upward  toward 
the  twig,  and  down  to  the  ground  fell  a  good  supply  of  nice  dry  wood. 
She  started  homeward  with  the  wood  on  her  back;  but,  on  coming  near, 
she  was  shot  by  Matclgiwes.  He  had  overtaken  her  and  shot  her  in 
the  side,  under  the  arm.     She  fell  as  if  dead. 

The  younger  brother  came  home,  but  did  not  find  his  wife.  He 
asked  about  her,  but  no  one  knew.  He  went  forth  to  seek  her,  and 
at  last  found  her.  Then  he  was  sad,  and  wept.  Strange  to  say, 
however,  she  came  to  life.  Then  he  was  happy  once  more.  "I 
cannot  be  with  you  now  for  a  while,"  she  said.  "We  must  be  absent 
from  each  other  for  ten  days.  I  go  in  yonder  direction,  and  you  must 
not  come  there  in  all  that  time."     Thus  she  spoke,  and  went  away. 

The  youth  longed  for  his  wife,  and  could  not  stand  the  wait.  On 
the  eighth  day  he  found  himself  going  in  the  direction  she  took  when 
she  went  away.  By  and  by  he  saw  a  huge  bird  rise  and  fly.  He  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  its  flight.  On  the  way  he  came  first  to  a  place 
where  an  old  woman  lived.  She  tried  to  persuade  him  to  turn  back. 
He  kept  on,  and  came  to  a  second  old  woman,  and  then  after  a  time 
to  a  third.  The  old  women  urged  him  to  stop  and  go  back.  Keeping 
on,  he  came  to  the  dwelling  of  an  old  man.  He  too  begged  the  youth 
not  to  continue  on  his  way,  but  the  youth  would  not  listen.  Seeing 
that  his  words  were  of  no  avail,  the  old  man  gave  the  young  man  four 
pieces  of  copper.  Each  piece  was  half  the  length  of  an  arm,  and  had  a 
hook  at  one  end.     The  youth  took  the  gift  and  went  his  way. 

By  and  by  he  came  to  a  mountain.     It  was  steep,  with  a  sheer 


374  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

bluff,  and  it  went  high  up  out  of  sight.  At  the  base  lay  a  heap  of 
human  bones.  Skulls,  arm-bones,  leg-bones,  bones  of  all  kinds,  lay- 
scattered  about.  The  place  was  white  with  them.  He  wondered  how 
he  should  get  up  the  mountain.  He  thought  of  the  copper  hooks. 
He  took  one  from  his  belt  and  struck  the  wall  with  it.  Lo!  it  pierced 
the  rock  and  stuck.  He  tried  another,  and  it  stuck  too.  So  up 
the  mountain-side  he  went,  with  the  help  of  first  one  hook,  then  an- 
other. By  and  by  one  became  dull  and  would  not  stick.  This  he 
flung  aside  and  took  another.  By  and  by  he  had  but  one  hook 
left,  and  at  last  it  became  useless.  "What  shall  I  do!"  he  thought. 
He  looked  below,  but  he  was  ^so  far  up  that  he  could  see  nothing. 
He  looked  up,  and  the  wall  rose  upw^ard,  yet  out  of  sight.  "Perhaps 
my  bones  will  whiten  the  place  down  there  too,"  he  thought.  But 
at  this  point  his  power  came  to  him,  the  power  he  had  gotten  in  a 
fast.  "I  will  be  a  butterfly,"  he  thought,  and  a  butterfly  he  became. 
Up  he  fluttered,  keeping  always  close  to  the  wall.  He  got  to  a  place, 
however,  where  he  could  go  no  farther  as  a  butterfly.  "I  will  be  a 
duck,"  he  thought;  and  a  duck  he  was,  —  a  duck  that  shoots  straight 
up  at  the  rise,  and  then  flies  away.  He  found  himself  far  over  on  the 
mountain.  He  continued  on  in  his  own  form  till  he  came  to  a  narrow 
pass  across  an  abyss.  "  I  will  be  a  squirrel,"  he  thought,  and  a  squirrel 
he  was.  He  skipped  over  the  narrow  pass  and  came  to  the  other  side, 
where  he  became  himself  again. 

Walking  on,  he  came  to  a  dwelling  where  a  man  lived.  "  I  am  look- 
ing for  my  wife,"  he  said.  The  man  told  him  to  stop  with  him,  for 
on  the  morrow  would  be  a  contest,  and  the  prize  would  be  a  pretty 
girl,  who  would  go  to  the  winner.     The  youth  stopped  with  the  man. 

On  the  next  day  came  ijiany  to  try  and  get  the  girl.  They  gathered 
together  in  the  lodge,  arranging  themselves  in  a  circle.  The  youth 
came  first,  and  his  place  was  at  the  right  of  the  entrance.  The  next 
that  came  sat  beside  him  at  the  right.  Thus  they  arranged  themselves. 
By  and  by  the  girl  came  in,  and  all  admired  her  beauty.  As  for  the 
youth,  he  saw  who  she  was  and  knew,  yet  he  contained  himself. 

The  father  had  a  bowl,  and  in  the  bowl  was  a  bead.  "You  are  to 
pick  up  this  bead,"  he  told  them,  "with  the  under  side  of  the  tip  of 
the  forefinger.  The  one  who  succeeds  will  have  my  daughter  for 
wife."  Then  he  handed  the  bowl  to  the  one  sitting  at  the  left  of  the 
entry- way.  Around  it  passed,  and  strange  things  some  did  to  pick 
up  the  bead.  For  instance.  Rabbit  tied  a  string  around  his  claw,  but 
he  failed  to  pick  up  the  bead ;  and  Raven  rubbed  matter  from  his  eye 
on  his  claw,  but  the  bead  would  not  stick.  Thus  around  the  bowl 
passed  till  it  came  to  the  youth.  He  rubbed  namd'kwdni  (glue  made 
from  the  horn  of  moose  or  elk  or  deer)  on  his  finger,  and  the  bead 
stuck  fast.     That  made  him  winner,  and  he  gained  his  wife  back  again. 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      375 

He  was  for  taking  her  home  at  once,  but  she  persuaded  him  to 
stay  yet  a  little  while  longer.  She  wanted  time  to  find  her  sisters. 
They  all  came;  and  they  were  ten,  and  older  than  she.  She  wanted 
them  to  go  too,  so  they  all  went  along.  When  they  came  to  the 
narrow  pass,  the  wife  said  to  her  husband,  "We  will  become  birds  and 
fly  across.  You  climb  on  my  back,  and  I  will  carry  you."  Saying  this, 
she  and  her  sisters  became  birds.  As  she  spread  her  wings  to  rise, 
her  husband  climbed  on  her  back  and  hugged  her  close.  She  rose,  and 
so  did  the  sisters;  and  they  flew  over  the  pass,  and  on  over  the  moun- 
tain, and  down  into  the  lowland  beyond.  There  they  alighted  and 
became  themselves  again.  "Now,  you  all  remain  here  till  I  come 
back,"  said  the  youth.  So  he  went  to  the  lodge  and  found  his  brothers. 
They  were  glad  to  see  him  again.  "Make  things  ready,"  he  told 
them,  "and  have  the  lodge  look  nice  and  clean.  You  will  see  why 
when  I  come  again.  I  shall  not  be  gone  long."  They  did  as  he  bade 
them,  and  the  next  time  he  came  it  was  with  his  wife  and  her  ten 
sisters.  To  each  of  his  brothers  he  gave  a  w^ife,  Matclgiwes  taking  the 
oldest  girl,  and  the  next  eldest  brother  the  next  eldest  sister;  and  so 
on  down  with  the  rest,  according  to  age.  As  for  the  youngest  brother, 
he  already  had  the  youngest  sister. 

20.  Sun  and  Moon.  —  The  Sun  was  husband  to  the  Moon.  He  was 
absent  from  home  by  day,  and  she  by  night.  She  once  became 
angered  at  some  women,  and  slew  them.  This  displeased  her  husband, 
who  fetched  a  maiden  for  wife.  In  his  absence  the  Moon  tried  to 
kill  her,  but  was  slain  by  the  Wolves.  Then  the  maiden  became  the 
moon. 
I  21.  Red-Stocking. — The  cousin  of  Red-Stocking  became  enam- 
ored of  a  beautiful  maiden,  who  would  ascend  into  the  sky  when  he 
came  near.  He  finally  got  her  with  the  help  of  Red-Stocking,  who 
weakened  the  cord  by  which  she  ascended.  When  the  two  men  were 
once  away,  they  were  kidnapped  by  Man-with-a-Skull-for-a-Head  of 
the  underworld.     By  him  was  her  hair  removed.  .  .  . 

In  her  grief  she  wandered  off  alone.  She  was  discovered  by  the 
Sun,  who  restored  her  hair  and  took  her  to  his  home.  There  she 
beheld  a  woman,  the  Moon,  wife  to  the  Sun.  She  was  tormented  by 
the  Moon  while  the  Sun  was  away.  She  was  made  to  seek  for  lice 
on  the  Moon's  head.  Effort  was  made  to  let  her  slide  oft"  the  edge 
of  the  world.  She  was  made  to  swing  out  into  space,  but  each  time 
she  was  saved  by  her  dream-power.  Finally  she  called  on  the  Thun- 
derers to  slay  the  Moon.  For  this  the  Sun  was  pleased.  She  then 
became  the  moon,  and  was  beneficent.  Man-with-Skull-for-a-Head 
tried  to  retake  her,  but  was  driven  off  by  the  dogs  of  the  Sun.  .  .  , 

The  cousin  of  Red-Stocking  sought  to  recover  his  wife,  but  in  the 
underworld  he  was  made  a  hunch-back.     He  was  followed  by  Red- 


376  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Stocking,  who  overcame  Man-with-Skull-for-a-Head.  Then  all  the 
hunch-backs  were  restored  to  their  former  selves,  and  re-united  with 
the  wives  that  had  been  taken  from  them. 

22.  The  Snaring  of  the  Sun. — The  gnome  killed  a  chickadee, 
and  from  its  skin  a  coat  was  made  for  him  by  his  elder  sister.  Later 
he  killed  a  beaver,  and  from  its  skin  another  coat  was  made  for  him. 
This  coat  he  once  wore  in  a  fast.  It  was  scorched  by  the  Sun.  In 
anger  the  gnome  set  a  snare  for  the  Sun,  and  caught  him.  Fearing  lest 
it  should  always  be  night,  his  elder  sister  had  him  free  the  Sun.  To 
accomplish  this  he  had  to  get  the  help  of  the  Mole.  When  bigger,  he 
slew  a  raven,  and  a  coat  was  made  from  its  skin.  On  a  visit  to  some 
people  that  were  spearing  for  fish,  he  was  humiliated ;  but  he  compelled 
them  to  welcome  him  on  the  next  visit.  He  fought  with  and  defeated 
the  Bears-with-Heads-at-Both-Ends.  These  were  the  ones  that  had 
slain  his  parents.  He  hunted  for  beavers  with  the  Windigos;  and, 
when  taking  home  one  that  he  had  slain,  he  was  forced  to  fight  with 
the  Windigos.     In  this  struggle  he  was  again  victorious. 

23.  Tales  of  Windigos.  —  A  Windigo  once  came  to  a  family. 
He  was  feared  all  the  while  he  was  there;  yet  he  was  gentle  with  the 
children,  letting  them  dance  on  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and  singing  to 
them.  He  hunted  beavers  with  the  man,  driving  the  great  beavers 
out  of  the  mountains.  Then  he  went  away,  warning  them  that  he 
would  return  if  ever  they  ate  the  musk-glands.  The  sound  of  him 
could  be  heard  a  great  way  off,  on  the  farther  shore  of  the  sea,  where 
he  fought  with  a  manitou  woman. 

A  hunch-back  who  had  been  despised  by  the  people  was  called  upon 
for  help  against  a  Windigo  woman  that  was  coming  to  destroy  the 
village.  He  spurned  the  gifts  that  were  offered  him,  but  nevertheless 
went  to  meet  the  Windigo  woman,  and  slew  her. 

Two  men  driven  by  the  wind  came  to  a  shore,  where  they  became 
alarmed  at  the  sight  of  the  huge  footsteps  of  a  giant.  They  turned 
the  canoe  bottom  up  and  hid  underneath,  but  were  discovered  by  the 
giant.  While  in  his  keeping,  there  came  a  Windigo  who  desired  them. 
A  quarrel  arose,  whereupon  the  giant  had  his  dog  come  from  beneath 
a  wooden  bowl  and  slay  the  Windigo.  This  dog  he  gave  to  the  men 
to  take  home,  and  it  became  the  first  dog  among  men.    ^'^ 

24.  Mashos.  —  Mashos,  the  giant,  lived  with  his  two  daughters 
and  their  husband.  He  tried  in  vain  to  dispose  of  his  son-in-law. 
He  once  left  him  to  the  mercy  of  gulls  on  a  lonely  island ;  another  time 
he  left  him  to  be  devoured  by  eagles;  again  he  caused  him  to  fall  into 
the  water  to  be  seized  by  the  Great  Sturgeon ;  on  a  hunt  in  winter  he 
tried  to  prevent  the  youth's  return  home  by  burning  his  moccasins; 
trying  it  a  second  time,  he  burned  his  own,  and,  in  his  effort  to  get 
back  home,  was  frozen  to  death. 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      277 

24  a.  End  of  a  Mashos  Story.  —  The  children  came  out  upon  the 
sea,  where  they  met  the  giant  Mashos.  The  giant  kidnapped  the 
elder  brother,  and  took  him  home  to  become  the  husband  of  his 
younger  daughter.  Once,  while  hunting  ducks  with  the  giant,  he 
caught  the  sound  of  his  brother's  voice  telling  him  that  he  was  becom- 
ing a  wolf;  and  another  time,  while  canoeing  with  his  wife,  he  heard 
his  brother  say  that  he  had  become  a  wolf  entirely.  At  last  the  giant 
became  troubled  at  seeing  the  youth  entering  into  manhood,  and  so 
set  to  scheming  how  he  might  put  him  out  of  the  way.  First  he  took 
him  away  to  hunt  for  sturgeons,  and  then  abandoned  him  to  be  swal- 
lowed by  the  Great  Sturgeon;  but  he  failed,  because  the  Sturgeon  was 
reminded  of  the  blessing  he  had  bestowed  on  the  youth  while  in  a 
fast,  and  so  the  Sturgeon  conveyed  him  home  and  threw  him  up  on 
the  shore  before  the  arrival  of  the  giant.  Again  the  giant  took  him 
away  to  hunt  for  gull-eggs,  and  again  left  him  to  be  devoured,  this 
time  by  the  gulls.  He  failed  a  second  time,  because  the  youth  re- 
minded the  Great  Gull  of  the  blessing  he  had  received  from  the  bird 
when  in  a  fast.  As  a  result,  the  Great  Gull  carried  him  home  through 
the  air,  landing  him  there  before  the  arrival  of  the  giant.  Then  the 
giant  took  him  on  two  hunts  for  caribou.  In  the  night  he  burned  the 
youth's  moccasins,  and  then  left  him  behind  to  get  home  the  best  he 
could.  In  this  he  also  failed,  because  the  youth  reminded  the  rock 
of  the  blessing  it  had  granted  him  during  a  fast ;  and  so,  after  heating  it,* 
it  melted  a  path  in  the  snow  on  the  way  home.  His  brother,  the  Wolf, 
likewise  helped  him  home.  The  youth  got  back  on  the  giant  in  the 
second  hunt  by  causing  the  giant  to  burn  his  own  moccasins,  thus 
making  it  difficult  for  him  to  get  back  home;  but  the  giant's  daughter 
miraculously  sent  a  pair  of  moccasins  to  him,  and  that  enabled  him  to 
reach  home.  At  last  the  giant  tried  to  destroy  him  by  having  him 
coast  down  the  end  of  the  world;  but  he  failed  again,  for  the  youth 
reminded  the  cedar  of  the  blessing  it  once  had  granted  him  during  a 
fast,  and  that  kept  the  toboggan  from  going.  The  giant  thought  the 
sled  would  behave  in  the  same  way  for  him;  but  it  went  coasting  off 
forever  into  space,  and  he  with  it.  And  when  he  called  with  a  loud 
voice  for  his  canoe,  it  broke  away  from  its  cords,  and  came  to  its 
master. 

25.  The  Woman  whose  Heart  was  in  her  Little  Toe.  —  Bird- 
Hawk  disliked  a  woman  with  whom  he  lived,  and  so  left  her.  Angered 
at  this,  she  turned  into  a  bear  and  slew  many  people.  Following 
after  Bird-Hawk,  she  overtook  him,  but  was  beaten  in  combat. 
When  returning,  he  came  to  a  town  where  he  found  all  the  people 
dead,  slain  by  the  Bear.  These  he  brought  back  to  life  by  shooting 
arrows  into  the  air.  Coming  to  his  own  town,  he  found  only  his 
little  sister  alive.      She  was  badly  wounded,  and   was  aiiflictea  with 


378  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

sores.  From  her  he  learned  that  the  woman's  heart  was  hidden  in 
her  little  toe.  So,  placing  awls  before  her  door,  he  caused  her  death 
by  an  awl,  that  pierced  where  her  heart  was. 

26.  Filcher-of-Meat.  —  Filcher-of-Meat  was  late  in  arriving  at  a 
place  to  gather  gull-eggs,  on  account  of  his  son:  therefore  he  left  his 
son  there  on  the  island.  A  great  serpent  carried  the  son  across  the 
water.  On  reaching  the  shore,  the  Thunderers  took  the  serpent  into 
the  air;  but,  catching  a  drop  of  blood,  he  was  able  to  restore  the 
serpent.  On  the  way  home  he  was  given  food  that  replenished  itself. 
His  Mink  slew  a  grandmother  that  tried  to  feed  him  on  pus  (?).  He 
caused  two  grandmothers  with  awls  in  their  elbows  to  kill  themselves. 
He  avoided  a  pendant  Hne  of  shoulder-blades,  hung  for  alarm,  by 
passing  into  a  tunnel  made  by  a  pet  woodchuck.  Ignoring  the 
pompous  entry  into  town  that  his  father  had  prepared  for  him,  he 
went  at  once  to  where  his  mother  was.  He  restored  his  wife's  sight. 
Shooting  arrows  into  the  air  and  water,  he  brought  on  a  fire  which 
destroyed  all  his  enemies.  He  spared  his  father  on  the  promise  of 
good  behavior. 

27.  The  Journeys  of  Bobtail,  —  Bobtail  and  a  friend  journeyed 
westward,  where  they  beheld  strange  places  and  things.  Fishes 
carried  them  over  a  sea  to  another  country.  There  they  met  Nana- 
bushu,  who  accompanied  them  about  for  a  while.  Loons  conveyed 
them  across  another  sea.  Here  they  obtained  medicine  for  snake-bite. 
They  came  in  time  to  some  people  among  whom  they  obtained  wives. 
These  they  took  home. 

28.  The  Boy  stolen  by  the  Toad- Woman,  —  A  man  used  medi- 
cine on  a  woman  to  win  her  for  his  wife.  She  bore  a  son,  whom  she 
lost  when  seeking  for  fire-wood.  She  found  him  in  the  keeping  of  an 
old  Toad-Woman.  The  boy  had  grown  rapidly.  She  put  up  her 
lodge  near  by,  and  attracted  his  attention.  He  began  to  pay  court  to 
her,  when  he  learned  that  the  woman  was  his  mother.  Thereupon  he 
forsook  the  old  Toad-Woman,  and  went  home  with  his  mother. 

29.  Journey  across  the  Sea.  —  An  Ottawa  once  received  the 
visit  of  a  stranger  with  a  magic  war-club.  He  was  asked  by  the 
stranger  to  go  with  him  across  the  sea  in  quest  of  a  medicine  that 
would  cure  every  ill.  The  two  set  out,  and  crossed  the  sea  on  a  raft. 
It  was  found  that  a  great  Bear  was  keeper  of  the  medicine,  which  it 
had  in  a  bag  hanging  from  a  necklace  studded  with  wampum  beads. 
A  spell  was  worked  which  put  the  Bear  to  sleep,  and  then  the  bag  was 
taken.  The  men  made  their  escape  after  the  Bear  had  made  a  vain 
attempt  to  suck  in  the  water.  The  men  parted,  one  as  an  Iroquois, 
the  other  as  an  Ottawa. 

30.  Why  the  Lynx  squints.  — A  Lynx  was  once  advised  by  an- 
other to  go  to  the  top  of  a  mountain  and  see  the  fine  distant  view  it 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      379 

offered.     He  followed  the  advice,  and  in  looking  he  began  to  squint. 
He  has  worn  this  expression  ever  since. 

31.  Fisher  and  Otter.  — A  Fisher  once  was  curious  to  know  the 
cause  of  the  strange  noise  made  when  a  Raccoon  was  seen  pacing  across 
the  thin  ice  of  a  lake.  The  Raccoon  informed  him  that  it  was  a  piece 
of  ice  on  an  entrail  dragging  behind;  and  he  advised  the  Fisher  to  cut 
his  entrail  and  make  the  same  kind  of  noise.  The  Fisher  followed  the 
advice,  but  lost  nearly  all  his  entrails.  On  slaying  the  Raccoon,  he 
took  out  the  Raccoon's  entrails,  and  used  them  for  the  ones  he  had  lost. 

32.  Clothed-in-Fur.  —  Clothed-in-Fur  took  leave  of  his  elder 
sister  and  went  away.  He  came  to  a  place  where  some  games  were 
going  on,  and  was  made  to  join  in  the  play;  but,  being  annoyed  by 
the  Foolish  Maidens,  he  left  the  place.  They  followed  in  pursuit,  and 
a  magic  flight  ensued.  Four  times  he  made  his  escape.  Three  of  the 
times  were  by  the  help  of  leaves  wafting  with  the  wind, — once  by  a 
birch,  again  by  a  spruce,  and  then  by  a  poplar.  The  fourth  escape  was 
by  hiding  in  the  knot  of  a  tree  which  the  maidens  failed  to  open.  Being 
free  to  continue  his  way,  he  went  on  till  evening,  when  he  put  down 
his  pack  and  then  went  out  to  see  what  he  might  kill.  On  his  return,  a 
w^oman  was  there  and  his  camp  was  made.  He  took  the  woman  to  wife, 
but  on  the  morrow  she  failed  to  keep  up  with  her  pack.  In  an  attempt 
to  strike  her,  she  turned  into  a  wolf.  He  had  a  similar  experience 
with  other  women,  who  one  after  another  became  a  raven,  a  porcupine, 
a  Canada  jay,  and  a  beaver.  The  Beaver  remained  with  him  for  a 
while,  and  he  had  two  children  by  her.  He  lost  her  by  not  placing  a 
foot-log  over  the  dry  bed  of  a  brook;  for  the  omission  caused  a  river 
to  flow  by  when  she  came,  and  she  was  carried  down  stream.  He  found 
where  she  was,  but  failed  to  get  her  to  come  with  him.  By  another 
Beaver  woman  was  he  followed.  On  account  of  her  he  had  to  contend 
with  a  brown  and  a  white  bear  who  wanted  her  for  a  wife.  He  dis- 
played greater  conjuring-power,  and  so  finally  overcame  them.  Then 
he  went  back  to  his  former  wife,  and  dwelt  with  the  beaver-kind, 
living  the  mystic  life  peculiar  to  the  animal-folk. 

33.  The  Magic  Flight.  — There  was  a  man  with  a  wife  and  two 
children.  On  his  return  every  evening  from  the  hunt,  he  would  find 
his  wife  just  then  setting  out  to  gather  the  fire-wood  with  which  to 
cook  the  meal,  and  he  observed  how  much  she  had  been  neglecting  the 
children.  With  suspicion  aroused,  he  questioned  the  elder  boy,  and 
found  that  the  mother  was  in  the  habit  of  leaving  home  as  soon  as 
he  had  departed  for  the  hunt,  and  that  she  went  arrayed  in  gay  attire. 
On  the  morrow,  pretending  to  be  going  on  a  hunt,  he  went  and  lay  in 
wait  for  her.  To  his  surprise,  he  caught  her  in  an  unnatural  relation 
with  a  swarm  of  snakes.  At  once  back  to  his  home  he  went,  and  told 
his  children  what  he  had  seen  and  that  he  meant  to  slay  their  mother. 


380  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Then  putting  the  younger,  who  v/as  bound  to  the  cradle-board,  upon 
the  back  of  the  elder  son,  he  started  them  fleeing  westward,  telling 
them  the  way  to  go  and  what  to  do.  When  the  mother  returned, 
he  slew  her  with  an  arrow  in  the  heart,  then  flung  her  into  the  fire, 
and  had  a  hard  task  to  burn  her.  When  she  ceased  to  speak,  he  then 
fled,  going  in  an  opposite  direction.  The  children,  in  their  flight, 
came  to  a  grandmother  who  sheltered  them  over  night;  and  when 
she  put  them  on  their  w^ay  the  next  morning,  she  gave  them  an  awl 
and  a  comb,  and  told  them  what  to  do.  The  mother  was  twice 
about  to  overtake  them,  when  she  was  each  time  delayed,  — by  the 
awl,  which  the  boy  threw  and  produced  a  mountain  of  aw4s;  and 
by  the  comb,  which  gave  rise  to  a  mountain  of  combs.  This  enabled 
the  children  to  reach  another  grandmother  who  gave  them  shelter 
over  night.  When  she  sent  them  on  their  way  the  next  morning,  she 
presented  them  with  a  flint  and  some  punk,  and  told  them  where  to  go 
and  what  to  do.  Twice  again  the  mother  drew  nigh,  and  each  time 
she  met  an  obstacle,  —  first  on  account  of  the  flint,  which  made  a 
slippery  range  of  flint  mountains;  and  then  because  of  the  punk,  which 
set  up  a  huge  fire  from  one  end  of  the  world  to  the  other.  However, 
she  was  able  in  time  to  pass  these  barriers.  She  kept  on  in  pursuit 
till  she  came  to  a  river,  where  she  saw  a  Horned  Grebe  that  not  long 
since  had  conveyed  her  children  safely  to  the  other  shore.  She  was 
a  long  while  begging  to  be  taken  across  too;  and,  after  pretending 
reluctance,  the  Grebe  consented,  for  he  knew  that  she  would  not  com- 
ply with  the  request  that  she  should  not  step  over  him  on  landing;  and 
so,  on  account  of  her  failure  to  give  heed  to  the  request,  she  fell  to  the 
bottom  of  the  river. 

33  a.  The  Half- Red-Headed.  —  There  were  once  a  man,  his  wife, 
and  two  children  (a  boy  and  girl).  It  was  a  time  of  hunger,  and  food 
was  hard  to  get.  The  man  was  in  a  fast.  He  fasted  to  get  a  revela- 
tion, that  he  might  get  food.  Day  after  day  during  his  fast  he  went 
out  to  see  what  he  might  kill.  All  this  while  the  mother  was  living 
false.  She  would  wait  till  her  husband  was  gone,  and  then  she  would 
take  some  of  his  garments  and  go  out  alone  to  a  secret  place  in  the 
wood.  When  she  returned,  she  would  fetch  some  bear-fat,  which  she 
gave  to  her  children,  but  not  to  her  husband. 

Now,  the  little  girl  beheld  the  worry  of  her  father  as  he  wxnt  out 
day  after  day  to  get  his  family  food  and  returned  at  night  with  nothing 
in  his  hand.  "I  will  save  some  of  this  fat,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
"and  give  it  to  my  father  when  he  comes  home  to-night."  She  knew 
this  was  against  the  wishes  of  her  mother,  who  had  bidden  her  not 
to  tell;  but  somehow  before  she  knew  it  she  would  eat  the  fat,  till 
none  was  left.  Each  day  she  made  her  resolve,  and  each  time  she 
would  break  it  before  she  knew  it.     Finally  she  made  one  great  effort. 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      381 

She  put  the  fat  in  some  bark,  and  there  she  kept  it.  At  night  she  took 
it  to  bed  with  her,  and  waited  for  her  father. 

He  came  home.  He  noticed  his  child  lay  awake,  noticed  her 
restlessness.  By  and  by  she  went  over  to  his  couch,  this  when  all 
were  asleep,  and  gave  him  the  fat  she  had  enclosed  in  the  bark.  Then 
she  told  about  her  mother,  — when  she  would  depart  and  return,  and 
about  the  fetching  of  the  fat,  and  about  the  effort  to  keep  all  a 
secret. 

"I  knew  something  like  this  was  happening,"  the  father  said.  "I 
will  go  in  the  morning  as  if  to  hunt,  and  catch  your  mother."  In  the 
morning  he  went  off  as  if  to  hunt.  He  lay  in  hiding  and  watched  for 
his  wife.  By  and  by  he  saw  her  coming.  Angry  he  was  when  he 
beheld  her  in  his  garments.  He  saw  her  come  to  a  tree  and  tap  upon 
it.  "Come  out!"  he  heard  her  say.  "Did  I  not  tell  you  I  would 
come  at  this  time?"  Then  he  beheld  a  serpent-like  creature  come 
out  of  a  hole  and  crawl  down  the  tree.  At  the  ground  it  became  a 
man.  He  beheld  the  man  lie  down  with  the  woman.  He  was  angered 
ever  so  much  more  at  all  this,  and  so  he  slew  the  woman  and  burned 
her  up.     Then  he  went  home  and  told  his  children  what  he  had  done. 

One  day  his  little  boy  killed  a  chickadee.  "I  want  you  to  roast  it 
in  the  fire,"  the  father  said  to  his  son;  and  so  the  boy  roasted  the  bird. 
His  father  told  him  how  to  cover  the  ashes. 

Then  the  father  told  the  daughter,  "Now  I  want  you  to  sit  here  and 
watch  the  ashes.  A  man  will  come  and  ask  for  your  mother ;  and  when 
he  does,  you  must  point  down  at  the  ashes.  He  will  come  more  than 
once,  and  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you.  But  there  will  come  a  time  when 
you  must  flee,  you  and  your  little  brother.  I  give  you  this  flint.  .  .  . 
These  things  you  must  use  when  you  see  your  mother  come  up  through 
the  ashes.  Then  you  must  take  your  brother  upon  your  back  and 
flee.  When  your  mother  is  about  to  overtake  you,  fling  one  of  these 
things  behind  you.  Mind,  now!  do  not  fling  them  in  front  of  you. 
This  will  be  the  sign  when  you  have  come  to  the  end  of  your  journey. 
You  will  cross  a  lake  and  come  to  a  net.  In  the  net  will  be  some 
fishes  the  scales  of  which  will  be  ever  so  beautiful,  and  the  finest  of 
wampum  will  come  from  them.  As  for  me,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  help 
you  much.  I  shall  be  slain;  and  this  you  will  know  by  the  sight  of  the 
sky,  which  will  be  red  from  one  end  to  the  other."  Then  the  father 
left  his  children  and  went  away. 

By  and  by  a  man  came  and  asked  for  the  mother.  The  girl  pointed 
at  the  fire,  and  the  man  went  to  the  place  and  scratched  about  the 
ashes  till  he  turned  up  the  chickadee  roasted  almost  to  a  crisp.  The 
man  went  off,  and  after  a  while  returned.  Again  he  asked  for  the 
mother,  and  again  the  girl  pointed  to  the  fire.  The  man  went  to  the 
fire,  and  found  only  the  roasted  chickadee.  He  came  again  and 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  113. — 25. 


382  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

again;  and  each  time  he  asked  for  the  mother,  the  girl  always  pointed 
to  the  fire. 

By  and  by  the  girl  saw  something  rise  from  the  ashes.  She  looked, 
and,  lo!  it  was  the  burned  form  of  her  mother,  ghastly  and  weird  to 
look  upon.  Then  it  was  she  took  her  little  brother  upon  her  back 
and  fled,  as  she  had  been  commanded  by  her  father.  Her  flight  was 
always  easy,  except  when  she  forgot  the  command  of  her  father  and 
flung  his  gifts  in  front  of  her.  .  .  . 

Once  in  their  flight  the  girl  beheld  the  sky  all  red  from  one  end  to 
the  other.  Then  she  was  minded  of  her  father,  who  had  told  thus 
would  be  the  color  of  the  sky  when  the  manitous  should  kill  him. 

On  and  on  the  children  fled,  till  at  last  they  came  to  the  other  shore 
of  a  lake,  and  found,  on  their  arrival,  the  net  full  of  fish,  —  the  fish 
with  beautiful  scales,  from  which  beautiful  wampum  could  be  made. 
They  went  upon  the  shore  and  entered  the  dwelling  there.  They  found 
it  good  to  live  in,  with  all  kinds  of  things  to  eat.  And  thus  the  brother 
and  sister  lived  till  they  were  grown. 

One  day  when  the  brother  came  home  from  a  hunt,  he  beheld  a 
youthful  stranger  there.  He  saw  how  the  youth  looked  upon  his  sister. 
The  stranger  went  away,  and  again  he  returned.  Once  when  the 
stranger  was  gone,  the  brother  said,  '-'You  may  go  with  him,  sister, 
and  I  will  stay  here."  At  first  the  sister  would  not  listen  to  what  her 
brother  had  to  tell  her;  but  after  a  time  she  heeded  his  words,  and 
went  off'  with  the  youth. 

The  young  man  brought  his  young  wife  home.  When  his  father 
beheld  him  and  the  young  woman  he  had  fetched  for  wife,  he  was  in 
great  anger.  "  I  forbade  you  to  go  to  that  place  and  seek  for  a  wife," 
the  father  said.     "  Now  you  have  brought  doom  upon  us."  .  .  . 

The  father  said  to  the  brother  of  his  son's  wife,  "There  is  my  war- 
club.  Take  it  and  slay  us  all.  We  might  contend  with  you,  but  it 
would  avail  us  little."  So  the  young  man  took  the  war-club  of  the 
father  of  his  sister's  husband,  and  with  the  help  of  his  father  slew 
all  the  race.  The  father  really  had  not  been  slain,  although  he  was 
nearly  so.  He  had  revived  and  come  to  the  help  of  his  son.  They 
then  returned  to  the  land  of  mortals.  They  whom  they  had  warred 
against  were  the  Thunder  people. 

34.  The  Spirit- World.  —  According  to  the  people  of  old,  it  was 
common  for  the  dead  to  come  back  to  life.  From  such  the  people 
learned  the  nature  of  the  spirit- world.  It  lay  westward.  Dangers 
were  encountered  on  the  way.  They  were  blueberries  and  raspberries, 
a  log  over  a  swift  river,  dogs,  an  old  woman.  The  ghosts  dwelt  in  a 
town,  and  they  danced  at  night.  Food  offered  them  came  to  where 
they  were.  One  was  fitted  out  at  burial  as  if  for  a  journey;  and  when 
one  came  back  to  life,  it  was  because  one's  time  was  not  yet  up. 


Ojihwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      383 

34  a.  Journey  to  the  Spirit- World.  —  A  youth  once  fell  sick  and 
died.  He  took  the  road  of  the  dead  to  the  spirit-world.  On  the  way 
he  beheld  many  people,  old  and  young.  One  child  in  particular,  with 
a  cradle-board  upon  its  back,  he  tried  in  vain  to  overtake.  Farther 
on  he  came  to  a  river  of  roaring  rapids,  over  which  he  crossed  upon  a 
quivering  log.  Ahead  was  a  vine  of  wild  cucumbers  which  hung 
across  his  path,  but  which  he  passed  without  causing  them  to  rattle, 
and  thus  did  not  awaken  the  dogs  on  guard  farther  on  the  way.  And 
then  he  came  to  the  town  of  the  ghosts,  which  was  silent  by  day,  but 
alive  by  night.  On  coming  to  the  wigwam  of  his  grandmother,  he  was 
able  to  meet  many  former  relatives.  These  escorted  him  to  the  great 
dance  of  the  ghosts  whom  he  beheld  in  various  strange  forms.  The 
dance  ended  at  the  first  sign  of  dawn,  whereupon  in  every  direction 
departed  the  ghosts,  whistling  and  hissing  through  the  air.  At  the 
command  of  his  grandmother,  he  started  back  home.  On  the  way 
he  came  to  a  fire,  into  which,  after  much  hesitation,  he  leaped,  where- 
upon he  came  back  to  life.  His  return  to  life  again  caused  his  relatives 
to  wonder,  for  they  were  on  the  point  of  burying  him.  Then  they 
unwrapped  him,  whereupon  he  related  the  story  of  what  he  had  seen 
and  experienced.     The  youth  lived  to  an  old  age,  and  then  really  died. 

35.  Floating-Net-Stick.  —  Floating-Net-Stick  was  the  name  o^' 
a  man  who  was  chief  of  a  town.  During  a  famine  he  made  an  under- 
ground passage  connecting  the  sea  with  a  small  inland  lake,  and  by 
that  passage  the  fish  entered  the  lake.  The  passage  was  closed,  and 
the  people  were  provided  with  abundant  fish.  Later  the  town  was 
destroyed  in  a  thunderstorm,  and  Floating-Net-Stick  was  the  only 
one  to  survive.  By  the  help  of  a  black  metal  taking  on  the  form  of  a 
serpent,  and  having  the  Thunderers  waste  their  energy  upon  it,  he  was 
able  to  get  his  revenge;  then,  by  conjuring  with  shooting  arrows  in  the 
air,  he  brought  his  people  back  to  life  again. 

36.  The  Dwarfs  of  the  Cliffs.  —  A  man  of  Nepigon  Lake  who  was 
skilled  in  magic  song  and  healing-medicine  became  displeased  when 
another  man  undertook  the  same  sort  of  thing.  While  in  this  frame 
of  mind,  he  once  angered  the  dwarfs  dwelling  in  the  water  by  the  cliff's, 
because  he  chose  to  ignore  the  gift  they  made  to  the  people  in  response 
to  an  offering  they  gave.  Thereupon  they  stoned  him  to  death. 
Therefore  manitous  of  the  water  and  the  cliffs  shall  not  be  held  in 
light  esteem. 

37.  The  Thunder-Birds  and  the  Water-Imps.  —  At  Thunder 
Bay  (off  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Superior)  two  youths  fasted,  that 
they  might  learn  the  cause  of  the  rumble  among  the  clouds  upon 
Thunder  Cape.  After  fasting  eight  days,  they  set  out  upon  their 
mission.  The  rumbling  became  louder  the  higher  they  went;  and 
when  the  enveloping  cloud  opened,  they  beheld  two  big  birds  with 


384  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

their  young  brood  of  two.  Flashes  of  Hght,  as  of  fire,  were  seen  when 
the  birds  opened  and  closed  their  eyes.  One  youth  was  content  with 
what  he  had  seen;  but  the  other  was  curious  to  see  more,  and  in  an 
attempt  to  satisfy  his  desire  he  was  killed  by  lightning.  Thereupon 
the  Thunder-Birds  went  away  from  the  place.  One  was  seen  for  the 
last  time  upon  Thunder  Mountain  (McKay  Mountain).  After  the 
departure  of  the  birds,  the  people  ceased  to  be  afraid  when  paddling 
about  in  Thunder  Cape.  On  one  of  these  occasions  they  caught  sight 
of  the  water-imps  that  dwell  in  the  rocks  of  the  cliff.  In  form  they 
were  like  human  beings.  They  went  out  on  the  lake  in  a  stone  canoe, 
and  could  raise  a  thunder-storm  by  singing  a  magic  song.  When 
observed,  they  fled  at  once  into  the  caverns  under  the  water. 

37  a.  Off  toward  the  lake  is  a  mountain.  It  is  called  "Thunder 
Cape."  Clouds  always  hang  about  its  top.  It  was  common  report 
that  Thunder  dwelt  there,  for  the  sound  of  it  was  always  heard.  Two 
men  once  thought  that  they  would  go  and  find  the  Thunder  and  see 
what  it  looked  like.  So  they  blackened  their  faces  and  went  into  a 
fast.  In  due  time  they  set  out  for  the  mountain.  Coming  near,  they 
-decided  that  one  go  first,  and  the  other  afterward.  So  off  one  went. 
A  heavy  cloud  hung  over  the  top;  but,  strange  to  behold!  the  cloud 
parted,  and  the  man  saw  two  big  birds  with  a  brood  of  young.  Fire 
ilashed  from  the  eyes  of  the  big  birds.  The  man  had  a  good  look,  and 
everything  about  the  birds  was  clear  and  distinct.  Of  a  sudden  the 
cloud  closed  together,  and  the  view  of  the  birds  was  shut  off.  He 
retraced  his  steps  to  his  companion,  and  told  what  he  had  seen. 

The  companion,  of  course,  wanted  to  see  too.  He  went  up  alone 
to  look.  Presently  the  thunder  cracked.  The  man  went,  and  saw 
his  companion  dead,  killed  by  the  Thunder-Birds.  Then  he  came 
home  alone.  Indians  fear  to  ascend  the  mountain.  They  fear  the 
Thunder-Birds. 

38.  Clothed-in-the-Garb-of-a-Turkey.  —  Clothed-in-the-Garb- 
of-a-Turkey  was  reared  by  his  elder  sister.  On  becoming  a  young 
man,  he  took  leave  of  her  and  went  westward.  On  his  way  he  came  to 
an  old  man  who  fed  him  corn  that  replenished  itself.  By  the  old  man 
he  was  warned  not  to  look  back  when  he  heard  some  one  calling  to 
him.  He  failed  to  obey,  and  found  his  tempter  to  be  a  hunch-back. 
At  the  request  of  the  hunch-back  he  changed  garments  with  him, 
whereupon  each  took  the  form  of  the  other.  He  was  put  to  death 
and  thrown  into  a  river.  His  body  was  taken  out  of  the  water  by  a 
maiden,  and  by  her  help  and  a  sweat-bath  he  came  back  to  life.  He 
was  found  to  be  handsome,  and  so  became  the  husband  of  the  maiden 
and  her  elder  sister.  The  garments  were  returned  to  the  other  man, 
who  was  changed  back  into  a  hunch-back  on  putting  them  on.  The 
youth  was  a  famous  hunter,  especially  of  turkeys.  He  returned  to 
his  elder  sister  with  a  brother-in-law,  who  married  her. 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      385 

39.  Mink  and  Marten.  —  A  Mink  once  caused  a  Pike  and  a 
Pickerel  to  kill  each  other  in  a  fight.  And  there  he  lived.  In  the 
winter  he  met  with  a  Marten  who  was  to  live  with  him  and  share  the 
food;  but  the  Marten  was  selfish  of  the  food  he  got,  and  he  made 
sport  of  the  Mink.  So  when  summer  came  round,  they  parted  com- 
pany. 

40.  Forever-Bird.^  —  Forever-Bird  began  fasting  by  small  degrees 
and  at  an  early  age.  In  time  he  was  able  to  go  four  days  at  a  stretch. 
Then  he  began  to  gain  insight  into  the  mysteries.  After  he  could  fast 
eight  days,  he  began  to  learn  of  things  still  more  profound.  By  fasting 
he  gained  the  knowledge  that  was  of  help  to  him  in  after  life. 

41.  Skunk,  Cranberry,  Awl,  and  Moccasin.^  —  A  party  of  old 
women  —  Skunk,  Cranberry,  Awl,  and  Old-Moccasin  —  lived  to- 
gether. Skunk  provided  the  food.  Cranberry  burst  open  and  died. 
Skunk  married  a  Lynx,  who  then  hunted.  He  found  his  hams  delec- 
table, and  refused  his  wife  when  she  asked  for  something  to  eat.  On 
that  account  she  cast  him  off,  whereupon  he  froze  to  death.  His  place 
was  taken  by  a  Hare,  who  in  turn  was  slain  by  the  Lynxes.  When  the 
lodge  was  attacked  by  them  again,  the  old  women  saved  themselves 
thus:  Awl  flung  herself  into  a  lodge-pole  and  stuck,  Old-Moccasin  took 
humble  station  by  the  doorway,  and  Skunk  hid  in  a  hole  in  the  snow. 

41  a.  Aw'L  AND  Cranberry.  —  Awl  and  Cranberry  once  lived  to- 
gether in  the  same  lodge.  In  their  attempt  to  escape  from  an  attack, 
Awl  stuck  into  a  pole,  and  Cranberry  burst  itself. 

42.  The  Vagabond  and  the  Lynx.  —  The  Vagabond  once  came  to  a 
lodge  where  he  saw  some  mats  he  coveted.  He  stole  them  and  fled. 
When  pursued,  he  entered  a  hollow  tree.  By  magic  he  kept  them  from 
cutting  down  the  tree.  He  came  to  a  lake,  and  by  his  magic  he  made 
the  Great  Lynx  come  up  and  go  to  sleep.  Then  he  caused  the  lake 
to  freeze.  On  waking,  the  Lynx  saw  no  way  for  him  to  return. 
Then  he  called  upon  his  dream-power.  The  great  teal  came,  and  with 
it  thawing  weather.  The  ice  broke  up.  Then  the  Lynx  called  upon 
a  wind,  which  blew  the  Vagabond  away. 

43.  The  Deserted  Boy.  —  A  small  boy  murdered  his  playmates, 
and  the  people  of  the  village  moved  away  to  leave  him  to  his  fate. 
While  alone,  he  amassed  great  wealth;  and  a  youth  named  Taimisi 
went  with  others  to  where  he  was,  and  won  from  him  all  he  had.  The 
boy  who  had  been  deserted  tried  to  put  the  others  to  sleep  by  reciting 
tales,  and  then  set  the  dwelling  on  fire.  Then  Taimisi  roused  his  com- 
panions from  sleep,  and  they  started  away  with  the  goods.  With  a 
magic  badger  pouch  he  had  a  tunnel  made,  by  way  of  which  they 
made  their  escape.  What  they  took  with  them  was  a  symbol  of 
what  possessions  men  in  after  time  would  have. 

»  Variant  of  No.  58,  V. 

2  See  No.  i,  p.  368;  also  p.  326,  No.  14,  and  note. 


386  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

44.  Blue  Garter.^  —  A  small  boy  and  his  elder  sister  dwelt  to- 
gether till  the  boy  reached  manhood,  whereupon  he  took  leave  of  her. 
He  went  away  with  the  assurance  of  the  help  of  his  sister's  miraculous 
power  in  times  of  adversity.  After  a  time  he  began  to  regret  that  he 
ever  left  his  sister,  when  suddenly  he  met  with  a  maiden  whom  at 
once  he  loved  and  quickly  won  for  his  wife.  Before  he  could  lay  full 
claim  to  her,  however,  he  was  obliged  to  accomplish  in  a  short  period 
of  time  three  superhuman  tasks,  —  to  clear  up  a  forest  with  wooden 
tools;  to  dip  dry  the  water  from  a  pond  by  means  of  a  broken  vessel 
and  a  flower-cup;  to  trim  the  branches  of  a  pine-forest  with  wooden 
tools,  and  to  peel  the  bark  with  a  wooden-bladed  knife.  On  each 
occasion  he  gave  up  in  despair  before  setting  to  his  task,  and  each  time 
the  maiden  miraculously  appeared;  and  at  each  visit  she  drew  his 
head  down  upon  her  lap  and  looked  for  lice  there,  while  he  slept. 
Presently  she  woke  him  up;  and  each  time  he  beheld  his  work  finished, 
done  by  miracle.  This  success  won  the  partial  consent  of  the  parents. 
Fearing  the  death  of  her  husband,  the  girl  counselled  flight  while  her 
parents  were  asleep.  Before  departing,  she  put  some  beans  on  the 
eating-place,  and  caused  them  to  behave  merrily,  as  if  a  joyful  celebra- 
tion were  going  on.  In  the  course  of  the  night  the  mother  discovered 
that  the  couple  had  fled,  whereupon  she  sent  her  husband  on  two 
fruitless  pursuits,  and  finally  went  herself.  He  went  in  the  wind,  and 
she  in  a  thunder-storm.  But  the  pair  escaped  by  reason  of  the 
superior  magic  power  of  the  daughter,  —  first  by  turning  themselves 
into  pines,  again  by  becoming  ruffed  grouse,  and  finally  by  taking  on 
the  form  of  mallard  ducks  and  flying  far  out  on  the  water. 

45.  A  European  Tale.^  I, — Something  was  robbing  the  fields. 
Two  elder  brothers,  while  watching,  fell  asleep  at  the  critical  moment 
and  failed  to  find  the  robber.  Tasha,^  the  youngest  brother,  discovered 
it  to  be  a  bird.  He  shot  at  it,  and  then  pursued  it  through  a  hole  in 
the  world.  Coming  out  to  another  world,  he  was  taken  captive,  but 
was  released  with  gifts  on  telling  the  cause  of  his  pursuit.  With  these 
gifts  he  returned  home  and  gave  them  to  his  father.  He  was  accused 
by  his  brothers  of  having  stolen  the  goods,  and  so  by  them  was  thrown 
into  a  pit.  After  a  long  time  he  was  discovered  by  his  mother,  and 
was  taken  out  of  the  pit.  Arriving  at  home,  he  then  turned  the  silver 
over  to  his  brothers.  The  three  made  a  visit  to  where  Tasha  had 
obtained  the  goods,  and  they  came  back  with  more. 

H. — They  set  out  to  visit  a  chief  with  three  daughters.  The 
youngest,  being  a  glutton,  was  warned  not  to  eat  too  much.     Thinking 

1  A  European  tale  (see  "  De  beiden  Kiiniges-Kinner,"  Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  ii, 
p.  S16). 

*  See"Der  goldene  Vogel "  (Bolte  and  Polivka,  vol.  i,  p.  503). 
'  Petit-Jean. 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      387 

the  touch  of  a  passing  dog  was  a  warning  to  stop  eating,  he  ceased. 
In  the  night  he  was  hungry.^ 

46.  The  Woman  who  married  the  Dog.  —  A  proud  virgin  refused 
to  have  to  do  with  the  men  who  tried  to  woo  her,  and  they  made  her 
a  victim  of  a  joke.  Overcome  with  shame,  she  went  away  with  a  dog, 
which  she  later  married.  To  it  she  bore  a  puppy  and  a  boy.  By  a 
man  she  was  once  visited,  and  to  him  she  became  wife;  for  so  doing 
she  and  her  boy  were  slain  by  the  two  dogs. 

47.  The  Serpent  Lover.  —  During  a  period  of  hunger  a  man's 
wife  neglected  her  children  and  home,  and  had  unnatural  relation  with 
serpents,  and  for  that  reason  was  slain.  He  slew  all  but  the  head, 
which  later  killed  him.  When  pursuing  the  children,  it  came  to 
Kotagat  (?),  who  crushed  it  with  a  spear. 

48.  Magic  Power.  — A  man,  during  his  wanderings  inland,  once 
came  upon  an  old  hut.  The  person  living  there  gave  him  medicine 
to  kill  any  kind  of  game  he  desired.     It  was  potent  in  winning  women. 

49.  Magic  Power.  —  First  a  formula  how  to  win  a  maiden  by  use 
of  magic  paint  on  an  image.  Second,  a  method  of  stalking  game  by 
the  use  of  magic  paint. 

50.  The  Boy  taken  away  by  the  Sturgeon.  —  A  man's  son 
while  swimming  was  carried  away  by  a  sturgeon.  The  boy  was 
carried  about  in  seas,  in  rivers,  and  then  was  fetched  back  to  the  place 
whence  he  was  taken.  There  he  was  found  by  his  father,  whom  he 
told  of  his  wanderings. 

51.  The  Women  and  the  Great  Lynx. — While  three  women 
were  in  a  canoe,  the  Great  Lynx  tried  to  capsize  them,  but  by  means 
of  her  dream-power  one  of  the  women  was  able  to  break  his  tail  and 
beat  him  off  with  a  paddle.  It  was  this  same  monster  that  was  later 
killed  near  Sault  St.  Mary  for  having  taken  away  a  babe  on  a  cradle- 
board  and  killed  it. 

52.  The  Boy  and  the  Bear. — A  boy  too  frequently  chastised 
once  fled  into  the  forest,  where  he  was  pitied  and  cared  for  by  a  bear. 
He  lived  with  the  bear  for  a  year  and  learned  the  manner  of  life  of  a 
bear.     He  was  taken  home  by  it  and  given  power  to  obtain  bear. 

53.  The  Man  who  took  Revenge  in  Forai  of  a  Bear.  —  A 
certain  man  of  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Superior  took  offence  at  some 
insult  done  him  while  on  Mackinaw  Island,  and  returned  later  in  the 
form  of  a  witch-bear,  being  transported  through  the  air.  He  killed 
the  offenders,  took  out  their  tongues,  and  resumed  his  former  shape. 

54.  The  Sturgeon  and  the  Eagle.  —  Some  people  mistook  some- 
thing they  saw  in  the  water  for  a  horned  sturgeon.  Much  to  their 
merriment,  they  found  it  later  to  be  a  sturgeon  that  had  been  seized 
by  an  eagle  that  could  not  get  its  talons  off". 

1  Here  the  following  lines  have  been  crossed  out:  the  last  few  words  of  the  abstract 
are  illegible. 


388  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

55.  A  Hunting-Story.  —  The  hero  of  the  story  was  badly  mangled 
by  a  bear  which  he  had  wounded;  he  had  a  hard  time  going  down 
Nepigon  River  and  getting  to  his  people. 

56.  Stories  about  Fasting  Youths.  I.  —  A  man  urged  his  son 
to  fast  too  much,  and  the  boy  was  transformed  into  a  robin.  By  his 
song  he  now  forebodes  future  events. 

II.  —  A  man  urged  his  son  to  fast  too  long,  and  the  boy  was  changed 
into  a  bird. 

III. — A  woman  was  once  fasting  when  there  appeared  to  her  a 
human  being.  When  taken  to  his  home,  he  turned  out  to  be  a  beaver. 
She  became  wife  to  him,  and  lived  the  life  of  the  beaver  with  him. 
By  and  by  she  returned  home  and  told  of  the  attitude  of  the  beavers 
toward  human  kind. 

IV.  —  A  man  once  urged  his  son  to  fast  too  long,  and  on  that 
account  he  became  a  buffalo.  In  a  contest  with  the  manitou  buffaloes 
the  youth  had  to  call  on  his  grandfather  for  help.  He  had  to  fast 
again  to  regain  his  former  human  shape.     His  fast  had  been  in  vain. 

V.  —  Forever-Bird  fasted  till  he  was  able  to  go  eight  days  without 
eating.  Fasting  up  to  that  point,  he  was  given  knowledge  of  all  things 
on  earth,  in  the  sea,  and  up  in  the  sky.  He  was  taught  to  soothsay. 
He  had  a  vision  of  long  life,  and  a  vision  of  his  chieftainship. 

57.  Souls.  —  Souls  are  given  to  people  by  the  manitou  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world;  they  are  given  before  birth;  by  these  manitou  are 
infants  taught.  There  is  a  future  life.  To  gain  this,  one  must  live 
correctly. 

58.  Origin  of  the  Ojibwas.  —  The  story  is  told  of  a  Crane  that 
flew  about  over  the  earth  before  coming  to  Lake  Superior.  Flying 
everywhere  over  the  lake,  he  came  to  the  Sault.  He  saw  some  herring 
there,  caught  them,  and  ate  them  as  food.  He  fell  asleep  and  dreamed 
of  a  woman.  In  the  dream  he  gave  her  fish  to  eat.  He  woke,  and 
found  a  woman  lying  with  him.  He  and  she  lived  together.  They 
made  a  canoe,  and  used  that  to  travel  by  water.  They  hunted  deer  with 
the  bow  and  arrow.  They  used  the  flesh  for  food,  and  the  skin  for 
garments.  From  this  pair  came  the  Ojibwa  people.  ,  A  home  was 
made  on  the  south  shore  of  the  rapids,  and  it  was  called  Bowa'ting 
("rapids").  This  was  the  first  town  that  was  founded  by  the  Crane, 
and  it  became  the  centre  of  the  Ojibwa  nation  and  power.  The  head 
chief  of  all  the  Ojibwas  lived  at  this  place.  His  clan  was  the  Crane 
(adcidcak).  Wabangi  was  the  chief  when  white  men  came  to  the 
Ojibwas.  Bwanens  was  the  first  chief  to  plant  potatoes  at  Garden 
River.  Ma'konadowe  was  a  great  seer,  prophet,  warrior.  He  was 
conqueror  of  the  Mohawks.  Asin  was  another  great  chief  of  this  line. 
Songa'kamig  held  sway  over  a  wide  territory. 

Shingwa'kons    (Little    Pine-Tree)   is    William    Kabaoosa.       Tag- 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.      389 

wagane  is  George  Kabaoosa.  Pabamasinokwe  is  Sofia  Kabaoosa. 
These  are  brothers  and  sisters,  and  stand  in  the  eighteenth  generation. 
Tagwagane,  the  chief  after  whom  George  is  named,  was  chief 
when  America  and  England  were  at  war.  He  went  to  Niagara  at  the 
time,  and  made  an  agreement  with  England.  England  promised  to 
grant  presents  to  his  people  every  year  till  the  end  of  time.  A  round 
medal  was  given  him,  the  circular  object  denoting  that  the  friendship 
would  never  end. 

59.  War-Story,  Manitou.  —  Jacob  Thompson  of  Garden  River 
said  that  once  the  Ottawas  and  Otagamies  went  to  war  with  the 
Ojibwas.  The  Ojibwas  whom  they  went  to  fight  were  about  what  is 
now  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  The  Ottawas  and  Otagamies  were  coming  up 
in  their  bark  canoes.  They  came  in  great  numbers.  They  passed 
the  first  falls  in  the  journey  all  right.  They  had  yet  another  to  pass 
over.  One  man  was  noticing  the  canoes  on  ahead,  how  they  went 
swiftly  on  and  suddenly  dropped  out  of  sight.  He  felt  danger,  and 
gave  the  alarm.  With  great  effort  he  and  those  in  his  canoe  paddled 
out  of  the  current  and  pulled  inshore.  The  canoes  behind  followed 
example.  After  a  little  while  they  learned  that  all  who  had  gone  over 
the  falls  were  lost.  Then  they  returned  the  way  they  had  come, 
perceiving  how  useless  it  was  to  war  against  the  Ojibwas.  It  was  one 
more  example  to  show  people  that  obstacles  lay  in  the  way  of  those  who 
went  to  war  with  the  Ojibwas.  The  Ojibwas  were  ever  peaceful,  and 
never  fought  except  at  bay,  and  then  it  was  woe  to  the  enemy ! 

60.  Adventures  of  Nanabozhu.  I.  —  Once  some  men  went  to  see 
Nanabozhu.  He  lived  far  away.  They  had  come  for  various  things. 
One  man  asked  for  long  life;  another  asked  for  the  power  of  winning 
women;  a  third  asked  to  be  a  great  warrior;  and  a  fourth  asked  to 
be  a  great  hunter.  Nanabozhu  asked  the  man  who  wanted  to  live 
forever  to  come  and  sit  by  him.  The  man  did  so,  and  straightway  he 
turned  into  stone  and  yet  kept  the  form  of  man.  He  granted  to  each 
of  the  other  three  men  his  request,  and  they  became  what  they  desired. 

n.  —  Nanabozhu  was  once  on  a  journey.  He  had  his  family  with 
him.  His  children  were  ever  so  many,  and  it  was  great  trouble  to 
carry  them  and  his  big  kettle  too.  So  he  left  his  kettle  behind.  In 
time  it  turned  to  stone,  and  can  be  seen  this  day  at  the  eastern  end 
of  Manitoulin  Island.  It  looks  exactly  like  a  kettle.  It  is  always 
filling  with  water,  and  a  little  hole  lets  out  the  water,  so  that  it  never 
overflows. 

III.  —  Once  Nanabozhu  was  journeying  along  with'^his  family.  His 
children  were  ever  so  numerous,  and  they  were  more  or  less  of  a 
nuisance.  One  he  bade  to  sit  down,  and  straight^vay  it  turned  to 
stone.  There  it  has  remained  to  this  day,  and  can  be  seen  on  the 
north  shore,  near  Sarnia.     It  is  exactly  like  a  child  sitting  down. 


390  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 

IV.  —  Nanibozho  once  went  to  visit  his  brother  Moose.  He  was 
welcomed  by  Moose,  who  at  once  got  ready  to  give  him  food.  Moose 
had  his  wife  heat  some  water;  and  when  the  water  was  boihng,  he  cat 
off  a  piece  of  his  wife's  garment  at  the  back,  just  over  the  hips.  This 
he  put  into  the  kettle  to  boil.  Nanibozho  saw  the  act,  and  thought  to 
himself,  "What  an  easy  way  to  get  food!  Why  did  I  not  know  of  it 
before?     I  will  do  likewise,  and  not  be  in  want  of  food  hereafter." 

Moose  placed  the  food  before  Nanibozho  when  it  was  done  cooking, 
and  Nanibozho  found  it  excellent.  "I  am  going  home  now,"  he  said. 
"You  must  come  to  see  me,  too,  some  time."     So  off  home  he  went. 

One  day  Moose  said  to  his  wife,  "Let  us  go  visit  our  brother  Nani- 
bozho." The  wife  was  glad  to  make  the  visit.  She  wanted  a  change 
of  food,  and  thought  her  brother  would  of  course  have  something 
delicious.  So  to  Nanibozho's  they  both  went.  On  their  coming  to 
the  place,  Nanibozho  invited  them  in  and  bade  them  welcome.  He 
had  his  wife  heat  some  water,  and,  when  the  water  was  boiling,  cut 
off  a  piece  of  her  garment  at  the  back,  over  the  hip.  This  he  put 
into  the  kettle  to  boil.  He  cut  off  another  piece  over  the  other  hip, 
and  put  that  in  to  boil,  too.  Moose  and  his  wife  watched  the  act, 
and  thought  it  strange  that  Nanibozho  should  expose  the  nakedness 
of  his  wife  before  company. 

At  last  Nanibozho  thoughtthe  food  was  done  cooking,  and  so  dished 
it  out  to  his  guests,  but  they  could  not  eat  it.  The  buckskin  garment 
was  so  tough  that  it  wearied  one  to  chew  it.  Nanibozho  was  dis- 
appointed at  his  failure  to  treat  his  guests  royally.  Moose  laughed 
at  him,  and  took  it  upon  himself  to  get  some  food.  So  he  showed 
Nanibozho  how  he  did  it.  He  slowly  cut  away  the  skin  off  his  wife's 
hip,  and,  after  taking  out  a  nice  piece  of  flesh,  put  the  skin  back  on 
its  place.  Nanibozho  saw  it  was  done  so  well  that  the  wife  acted  as 
if  nothing  at  all  had  happened  to  her.  Moose  had  the  wife  of  Nani- 
bozho throw  out  the  water  in  the  kettle  and  put  in  some  more.  In  this 
fresh  water  the  flesh  was  cooked.  All  four  ate  and  were  happy. 
"  It  is  not  your  nature  to  get  food  this  way,"  Moose  said  to  Nanibozho, 
and  Nanibozho  saw  it  was  so. 

V.  —  One  time  Nanibozho  went  to  visit  his  brother  Squirrel.  Squirrel, 
of  course,  wanted  to  give  him  something  to  eat,  and  so  got  his  wife 
to  heat  some  water.  He  then  mounted  the  pole  over  the  cooking- 
place,  and  seated  himself  there  directly  over  the  pot.  He  took  out  a 
knife  and  began  to  slice  off  pieces  of  his  testicles.  The  pieces  fell  into 
the  pot  as  nice  little  pieces  of  fat.  Squirrel's  wife  stirred  the  pot  in 
the  cooking.  Nanibozho  saw  the  proceeding,  and  thought  to  him- 
self, "Why  did  I  not  know  of  it  before?  I  have  larger  testicles,  and 
so  can  supply  myself  with  ever  so  much  more  fat." 

In  due  time  the  food  was  done  cooking,  and  was  placed  before 


Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior.     391 

Nanibozho  to  eat.  He  found  it  excellent.  When  it  came  time  for 
him  to  go  home,  he  asked  for  a  visit  from  his  brother. 

"Let  us  go  visit  our  brother  Nanibozho,"  Squirrel  once  said  to 
his  wife.  Of  course,  she  was  glad  to  go.  When  they  arrived,  Nani- 
bozho had  them  enter  and  be  seated.  Then  he  had  his  wife  heat  some 
water.  When  it  was  hot,  he  climbed  up  over  the  kettle  and  sat  down. 
He  took  out  a  knife  and  began  to  cut  off  pieces  from  his  testicles; 
but  he  did  not  cut  himself  very  much,  before  he  fell  from  his  seat  and 
lay  on  the  ground  unconscious.  His  brother  Squirrel  revived  him, 
and  told  him,  "It  is  not  your  nature  to  get  food  in  that  way.  It 
belongs,  only  to  the  race  of  squirrels."  Thereupon  Squirrel  had 
Nanibozho's  wife  throw  out  the  water  and  put  in  other  that  was  fresh. 
When  it  was  at  a  boil.  Squirrel  mounted  the  pole  over  the  fire,  and 
sliced  off  pieces  from  his  testicles.  The  pieces  fell  into  the  kettle  as 
dainty  pieces  of  fat,  and  presently  nice  food  was  cooked  in  the  pot. 
Then  they  all  ate  and  were  pleased. 

VI. — Nanibozho  once  went  to  visit  his  brother  Meme  (Red-Headed 
Woodpecker).  Meme  had  his  wife  heat  some  water  while  he  went 
out  to  get  the  food.  Nanibozho  saw  his  brother  light  on  the  side  of 
a  tree  and  pound  upon  it  with  his  beak.  Up  the  tree  Meme  went, 
pounding  away  all  the  while.  At  last  he  gathered  a  big  supply  of 
worms,  which  he  fetched  for  his  wife  to  cook.  When  it  was  done 
cooking,  it  was  served  out  to  be  eaten.  Nanibozho  found  it  was 
delicious.  W^hen  he  started  away,  he  asked  that  his  brother  come  and 
visit  him  some  day. 

Meme  once  said  to  his  wife,  "Let  us  go  visit  Nanibozho."  She 
was  glad  to  go,  and  so  off  they  went.  When  they  were  come,  Nani- 
bozho had  them  enter  and  be  seated.  Then  he  bade  his  wife  heat 
some  water  while  he  went  out  to  get  some  food.  He  fixed  a  pointed 
stick  in  each  nostril  and  made  them  fast.  He  came  to  a  tree,  and  up 
he  climbed.  As  he  climbed,  he  pecked,  pecking  after  the  manner  of 
Meme.  The  more  and  harder  he  pecked,  the  deeper  into  his  nostrils 
the  sticks  were  driven,  till  presently  he  was  knocked  out  of  his  head, 
and  down  he  fell  unconscious  to  the  ground. 

Meme  came  and  revived  him.  "It  is  not  your  nature  thus  to  get 
food,"  Meme  said.  So  off  he  flew,  and  gathered  some  food  from  a 
tree.  He  fetched  it  to  Nanibozho's,  and  it  was  cooked  there.  The 
food  was  good,  and  all  were  pleased. 


392  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


THE  ZUNI    MO'LAWIA. 

BY  ELSIE  CLEWS  PARSONS. 

This  ceremonial  occurs  on  the  final  day  of  the  great  sha'lako  cere- 
monial. It  appears^  to  have  none  but  an  arbitrarily  chronological 
connection  with  sha'lako.  The  origin  myth  it  dramatizes  was  nar- 
rated to  me  in  answer  to  my  queries  about  one  of  the  fraternities,  — 
the  ne'wekwe,  or  galaxy.  It  was  narrated  by  an  aged  medicine-man 
in  that  fraternity.  A  variant  is  given  by  Mrs.  Stevenson .^  She  also 
gives  an  account  of  the  ceremonial.  Because  of  the  variations  in  the 
two  accounts  —  due  in  part  to  different  sources  of  information,  and 
in  part  too,  perhaps,  to  the  decadence  of  Zuiii  sacerdotalism  (during 
the  last  few  decades  that  decadence  has  been  notable  in  numerous 
particulars)  —  it  seems  worth  while  publishing  the  latter  account, 
its  data  gathered  twenty  years  or  more  after  the  former. 

THE   MYTH. 

The  atowa  awishtokyi  ("corn-maidens")  belonged  to  the  kya'kwemosi 
tlashi  {tlashi,  "old"),  the  head  rain-priest.  The  two^  children  of  the 
Sun  (the  twin  war-gods  ^)  wanted  intercourse  with  the  maidens,  and 
so  the  maidens  ran  away.  The  east-end  shiwanni  ("rain-priest") 
wanted  them  to  find  the  maidens.  They  called  the  Eagle.  He  went 
everywhere  and  looked  everywhere.  He  could  not  find  the  maidens. 
They  called  pipe,  the  Owl.  He  could  not  find  the  maidens.  They 
called  shokiapise,  the  Chicken-Hawk.  He  could  not  find  the  maidens. 
They  called  anela,  the  Night-Hawk.  He  could  not  find  the  maidens. 
The  west-end  people  then  came  to  the  kya'kwemosi  tla'shi.  He  said 
none  could  find  the  maidens  but  the  ne'wekwe.  They  sent  for  the 
ne'wekwe.  They  asked  him  to  find  the  maidens.  He  put  the  seed 
of  the  tlanitloko  ("cotton-wood  tree")  in  the  ground.  It  grew  up  to 
the  sky.  He  climbed  the  tree.  When  he  got  up,  he  saw  the  corn- 
maidens  hiding  in  the  ocean  under  the  wings  of  a  duck.     He  came 

1  But  until  we  know  more  about  the  meaning  of  sha'lako,  nothing  positive  can  be  said 
on  this  point.  All  I  could  get  from  my  principal  informant  was,  "That  was  the  way  it 
was  meant  in  order  that  the  mo'lawi  should  be  a  part  of  the  ko'ko;"  i.e.,  the  gods. 

*  The  Zuiii  Indians  (23d  Annual  Report,  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  1901-02, 
pp.  48-49.  51-54)- 

*  Subsequently  I  was  told  that  there  were  other  children  of  the  Sun  who  also  had 
designs  on  the  maidens. 

*  According  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  the  would-be  ravisher  was  Payatamu;  but  Payatamu 
is  another  name,  says  Mrs.  Stevenson,  for  Bitsitsi,  or  the  first  ne'wekwe,  he  who  goes  to 
look  for  the  maidens  {Ibid.,  pp.  48,  430). 


The  Zuni  Mo'lawia.  393 

down  and  went  in  to  the  a'shitvanni  {a,  plural  prefix).  They  asked 
him  if  he  had  found  the  maidens,  and  he  said,  "Yes."  They  asked 
him  where  the  maidens  were.  He  said,  "I  will  get  them  for  you  if 
you  do  exactly  as  I  say.  If  you  want  them  badly  enough  to  do  as 
I  say,  I  will  get  them."  They  agreed.  He  said,  "We  have  to  make 
six  plumes,  —  tliiptsin  ['yellow'],  tlian  ['blue'],  shilowa  ['red'],  k'ohan 
['white'],  pintopa  ['spotted'],  kw'in  ['black'].  To-morrow  morning 
have  them  prepare  your  meat.  In  the  evening  eat  until  you  are  full, 
and  drink.  Then  for  six  days  you  may  not  eat,  or  sleep,  or  speak 
to  one  another.  The  morning  after  your  first  night  of  fast,  I  will 
fast.  I  will  give  the  six  plumes  into  the  hands  of  the  pekwtn}  Each 
day  he  is  to  give  me  one.  The  first  day  he  will  call  in  the  Sand-Crane. 
This  one  is  to  prepare  me  for  my  journey.  Then  we  have  to  have  a 
rabbit,  because  rabbits  are  the  most  enduring  of  the  animals.  We 
have  to  kill  it  and  take  out  its  tongue.  When  I  put  that  in  my  mouth, 
we  shall  not  speak  any  more.  That  will  be  the  end  of  our  speech." 
The  next  morning  the  Sand-Crane  makes  the  stripes  around  the  ankles 
of  the  ne'wekwe,  below  his  knees,  around  his  hips,  around  his  wrists, 
around  his  shoulders,  on  his  face,  on  his  forehead.  His  hair  he  puts 
in  one  knot  sticking  forward  over  his  forehead.  In  the  knot  he  puts 
one  grain  of  corn  of  each  of  six  kinds.  He  puts  six  grains,  one  of  each 
kind,  over  his  stomach,  in  his  belt.  The  rabbit's  tongue  he  puts  in  his 
mouth.  The  ne'wekwe  goes  to  the  pekwtn.  The  pekwin  hands  him 
his  basket  of  plumes.  The  ne'wekwe  takes  the  yellow  plume.  Before 
sunrise  he  plants  it  facing  the  west.  He  returns,  and  they  are  in 
the  house  of  the  a'shiwanni  all  night.  The  next  morning  before  sun- 
rise he  takes  the  blue  plume  and  goes  beyond  where  he  planted  the 
yellow  plume,  and  plants  it  facing  the  west.  He  returns.  The  next 
morning  before  sunrise  he  takes  the  red  plume  and  goes  beyond  where 
he  planted  the  blue  plume,  and  plants  it  facing  the  west.  He  returns. 
The  next  morning  before  sunrise  he  takes  the  white  plume  and  plants 
it  beyond  the  red  plume,  and  facing  the  west.  He  returns.  The 
next  morning  before  sunrise  he  takes  the  spotted  plume  and  plants 
it  beyond  the  white  plume,  and  facing  the  west.  He  returns.  That 
night  the  a'shiwanni  almost  give  out.  The  next  morning  before 
sunrise  he  takes  from  the  pekwin  the  black  plume  and  plants  it  at  the 
door  of  the  house  where  the  maidens  live,  on  the  edge  of  the  ocean. 
There  are  four  rooms  in  this  house,  one  on  top  of  another.  Two 
White  Swans  live  in  this  house.  They  see  the  ne'wekwe  coming,  and 
tell  the  maidens,  saying  they  had  better  prepare  for  their  return- 
journey.     The  corn-maidens  say,  "We  are  not  going  ourselves,  because 

1  Or  rather,  as  it  was  explained  to  me  subsequently,  of  him  who  at  a  later  day  was  to 
be  the  pekwin.  My  informant  appeared  to  reason  as  a  kind  of  after-thought  that  at 
the  period  of  which  he  was  speaking  there  was  no  pekwin  proper. 


J9* 


Jomrmel  ef  Afmericam  F^ik-Lore. 


scad  An."    Eadi 
from  Imt  body*  aad 
cf  030,  eack  ear  Golared  Eke  Its 
bcfiore  tfae  £BC{ilac3e  aac 
dK  voMS  caa  griad;  awi  tke 


win 


xoeke  represeztta-th^es 

faatkcs  henctf ,  and 

tbeiB  mtozAzpe  fike 

aker.    They  pot  tbese 

ap.    TheK,  say  tbe 

tiiey  can  n^  on  tfaea- 

boes,  and  dot  v3  aake  tben  pretty  aad  vteite.* 

Aft£r  die  ue'wdtme  kad  pfe-'  '  ce  tbe  door,  die  oid-inao  Svaa 

ad  toe  oU  wu«aa  said  to  .-  -  -     Have  yoa  cosie?'*     He  anddfd 
"Have  j'm  mmt  for  die  oona-anideiis?"  tbey  adced,  aad  be  nodded 
ifMB  ^ak  to  tke  aaadens!"  tkey  said.    He  went 

^>  tke  f  ""  -"-—    -"'  -'-^-ace  descended  into  tke 

^i— iwJ  tbe  cxvc-fiaaadens.  and 

le  node-  r  tkenL,  and  ke  noddfd 

T^-      but  ae  ail  not  sla>-. 

^    at»*f  '«»^  «i8  Itscvt  *^**— ,  so 

-esaida<"»rkia|t 

-  -  head-    Al 

*he  Dock, 

ArTTviE:^  2X  «x,  die 

'--  -  .  :.         -  - -r   a 

He 
wes  t  Tbe 


" 


vj.      1  - 


a  prayer 


a»  are  oc^  very  happy, 
be  hripfd,  bccai. 
-rre.  taksag  ao  * 

•  0  go  OD ;  he  aiB  be 
he  has:' 


fc  -iix^  icy  -a^nfe  35^ 

a  iim  -»i^L-  -  -    -  - 

'tea  rJL'il  r  - 


Hft  -BOSS  aea-x  kSL  aa«i 


It -Wist  &4  cae  ncK 


?«• 


iiiBc  lie  aHoieis  Sve. 

iay  of  liie  511c  ;:  aai  Dec  1&.    IThsx 


crcst  rr  rerExerr  ir  td  fiiszac  A-i/axaawii., 

pot.  :^^5«f..  "  i'--  .  Jinknvsr : 

£  piace  an  ii>e  i3v^t  ibcim:  ^?=y  £  Time  gasr  of  rb?  :k"iciu    lis  jB:^;«r- 


rsires  piiace_     Tbr  c  :;h:%:!CT.Ts  mrt  lijsre.     BixsTsi  "wxriiKS  xfaei  none 
"'-^  ~    ?J:^  are 

■onder  ias  ^v«s,  bnr  .screes  ias  fy^Sds^     Tbs  vsht  Ijk  XerabC'  blimfcgt 


'     -    -  -  -  -  -  sdx 

cff  .04  ^le  .  Use  tntciswntfissf  vfcbf>  ^KrpcErs  T;r  kETc 

sorscr.'u."^  ro  say,    ICr*^  Sciv^ajsoc  '  -  Tr^acm, 

^  ScsJss:  i5  at -Jttininasi^ossk' 3srtt  ire  lis  rii.ui -~  ••■;  ».  ..^wt; 

t^rtr«*ariu?«»t^  «  ii»*  jJock  ^~ 

*  I^asirwa  is.  *s<e^i^  «^  l&s-  5»Si««<a9S:ai4>  ^tf  *  .arscjjcv§5»5ia: '  «  iter  it'kt  «r  jtn^ 


396  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

twenty-three  on  another.^  The  maidens  wear  the  regulation  dance- 
kilts,  fox-skins,  sashes,  and  moccasins.  Their  skirts  are  worn  over 
their  ordinary  trousers.  Their  ordinary  shirts  are  decorated  with 
favors  of  multi-colored,  store-bought  ribbons.  Their  hair  is  flowing, 
and  also  adorned  with  ribbons.  In  it  is  a  bunch  of  four  yellow  parrot- 
feathers.  Each  maiden  carries  a  wi/i^  and /e/iHwawg.^  Each  has  been 
dressed  by  her  ceremonial  father  (he  who  initiated  her  into  the 
ko'tikili)  and  the  man's  wife;  the  man  dressing  her,  and  the  woman 
doing  her  hair.  All  have  gone  out  to  a  small  ravine  on  the  southeast  * 
outskirt  of  the  town.^  Here  a  little  way  from  the  ravine  as  many 
girls  as  there  are  male  personators  of  the  corn-maidens  are  stood  in 
line,  each  girl  representing  a  personator.  The  girl  has  been  chosen 
by  the  ceremonial  father.  She  is  his  daughter  or  a  kinswoman  of 
his  wife.  The  girls  are  sprinkled  and  prayed  over,^  and  started  off 
to  run  a  race  to  the  ravine.  The  order  in  which  they  arrive  is  the 
order  taken  in  the  line  by  the  personators  of  the  corn-maidens.  It  is 
these  girls  who  supply  the  corn  and  the  melons  the  corn-maidens 
carry  in  to  the  plaza.  Until  this  year  they  carried  the  corn  and 
melons  in  a  basket  on  their  head.  This  year  the  corn  was  slung  in 
a  kerchief  or  cloth  across  their  neck  and  shoulders.^  Melons  were  not 
carried  at  all,  — a  singular  omission,  since,  although  there  is  no  men- 
tion of  melons  in  the  myth,  the  name  of  the  ceremonial,  mo'lawia, 
means  "melons  come."  It  is  at  the  ravine  that  the  pekivm  and  awan 
tachu  have  joined  the  corn-maidens. 

Two  or  three  minutes  after  the  group  had  entered  the  plaza, ^  I  saw 
Bitsitsi  and  Pautiwa  on  the  roof  of  he'iwa  kiwitsine,^  Bitsitsi  tapping 
the  thighs  of  Pautiwa  with  his  eagle-feathers  and  emitting  his  char- 
acteristic whistling  sound  as  Pautiwa  was  about  to  descend  the  ladder 
into  the  kitwitsine.     Bitsitsi,  with  great  deliberation,  followed  him 

1  The  Zuni  Indians,  p.  277,  footnote  c. 

2  Sacred  ear  of  corn  wrapped  with  feathers.  Every  initiate  into  the  ko'tikili  receives 
a  mili.     The  ko'tikili  is  the  fraternity  into  which  every  lad  is  initiated. 

*  Prayer-plumes. 

*  Not  kushilowa,  but  nearer  the  town  (cf.  Mrs.  Stevenson,  pp.  278-279). 

'  In  spite  of  protests,  a  Zuni  household  of  strong  sacerdotal  affiliations  has  lately  built 
a  new  house  near  by.  Recently,  when  the  American  storekeeper  wished  to  build  near 
hepatina,  a  great  outcry  arose  over  the  violation  of  that  sacrosanct  spot. 

*  This  year  by  Unidiwa,  a  man  of  the  aiyahokwe  clan.  According  to  Mrs.  Stevenson, 
it  was  a  aiyahokwe  man  who  held  office  for  life  who  chose  the  girls  (The  Zuni  Indians, 
p.  277,  footnote  c.     This  is  a  aiyahokwe  clan  office,  the  incumbent  chosen  by  the  clan. 

^  Because  it  is  much  easier  to  carry  in  this  way.  Little  innovations  of  this  kind  are 
verj'  significant,  I  think,  of  the  disintegration  of  sacerdotalism  in  Zuiii. 

8  Just  as  the  party  arrived  at  the  plaza,  the  roof  of  the  he'iwa  sha'lako  house  fell  in. 
Those  spectators  on  the  roofs  near  at  hand  hastened  over  to  the  place.  There  was  con- 
siderable commotion,  but  the  ceremonial  proceeded  without  a  moment's  break. 

»  The  pekwin  had  already  descended  into  the  kiwitsine. 


The  Zuni  Mo'lawia.  397 

down.  In  about  ten  minutes  Pautiwa  emerged  alone,  and  walked 
out  of  the  plaza  by  the  western  passage. 

As  Mrs.  Stevenson  states,*  Pautiwa  has  carried  a  gourd  jug  of 
water,^  the  neck  filled  with  grass,^  into  the  kiwitsine.  He  leaves  it 
there  to  be  carried  subsequently  by  the  elder  and  younger  brother 
bow-priests  and  one  of  the  a'shiwanni  to  hepatina,  and  poured  out 
there.  The  elder  brother  bow-priest  carries  the  gourd ;  the  younger 
brother  bow-priest  carries  a  cedar  brand  and  whirls  a  rhombus.  The 
grass  is  left  at  hepatina,  but  the  gourd  is  brought  back  and  left  on 
the  altar  in  the  kiwitsine.     The  gourd  belongs  to  the  a'shiwanni.'^ 

When  Pautiwa  enters  the  kiwitsine,  he  is  seated  by  the  pekwin, 
and  "smoked"  by  him  in  the  six  directions.  In  utter  silence  all 
present  sprinkle  him  with  meal. 

During  this  time  awan  tachu  ko'yemshi  has  been  standing  in  the 
plaza  at  the  head  of  the  line  of  corn-maidens.  As  soon  as  Pautiwa 
emerges  from  the  kiwitsine  and  withdraws  from  the  plaza,  awan  tachu 
leads  the  line  past  the  kiwitsine  ladder;  and  the  maiden  next  him  falls 
out  of  line,  sprinkles  with  meal  the  lower  rungs  of  the  ladder,  and 
ascends.  She  walks  to  the  northeast  corner  of  the  kiwitsine  roof, 
standing  there  facing  the  north.  Bitsitsi  emerges  from  the  hatchway. 
With  arms  crossed,  he  walks  at  his  usual  measured  pace  to  the  maiden, 
and  taps  her  thighs  with  the  eagle-feathers  he  holds  in  each  hand, 
emitting  at  the  same  time  his  whistle.  She  turns  as  he  taps,  making 
one  entire  revolution  and  a  quarter,  thereby  facing  the  northwest 
corner  of  the  kiwitsine.  Sprinkling  meal  ahead  of  her,  she  walks  into 
the  northwest  corner,  and  stands  facing  the  west.  Bitsitsi  follows, 
and  the  manoeuvre  of  turning  her  is  repeated.  In  this  way  she 
proceeds  to  the  southwest  corner  and  to  the  southeast.  In  each 
corner  she  stands  on  a  cross  of  meal  that  has  been  sprinkled  there 
some  time  earlier  in  the  day  by  the  pekwin.  In  the  southeast  corner 
the  maiden  has  been  turned  by  Bitsitsi  to  face  the  hatchway.  From 
it  the  kyakwemosi  tlashi  now  emerges,  and,  sprinkling  her  telikinawe, 
takes  from  her  shoulders  the  corn-filled  kerchief.  Passing  it  to  the 
kyakwemosi  tsana  ("little")  standing  half  way  up  the  ladder,  he  himself 
descends.  The  corn -maiden  walks  to  the  hatchway,  and,  tapped  by 
Bitsitsi,  descends.  Bitsitsi  follows.  In  silence  the  corn  is  passed 
from  shiwanni  to  shiwafini  and  put  down.  In  silence  the  maiden 
takes  her  seat. 

Meanwhile  in  the  plaza  awan  tachu  ko'yemshi  has  led  the  line  of 
corn-maidens  in  a  circle  back  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder.     He  breaks  the 

1  The  Zuni  Indians,  p.  279. 

2  Taken,  not  from  a  well,  but  from  "one  of  the  springs." 

'  Tosalu,  "or  any  other  kind  of  grass"  growing  around  the  spring. 
*  When  I  asked  the  meaning  of  this  little  rite,  a  rite  to  which  nothing  in  the  myth 
corresponds,  I  was  merely  told  that  "all  Zuni  ceremonies  are  for  rain  and  snow." 
VOL.   XXIX. — NO.    113. — 26. 


398 


Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore. 


single  revolution  twice  or  thrice,^  generally  moving  after  the  corn- 
maiden  has  reached  the  northwest  corner,  and  again  after  she  moves 
towards  the  southeast  corner.  He  completes  the  circle  after  she  has 
descended  into  the  kiwitsine;  and,  as  he  passes  by  the  ladder  up  to  its 
roof,  the  maiden  next  to  him  falls  out,  in  her  turn,  to  ascend  the  ladder 
and  repeat  the  rite  on  the  roof.  This  year  it  was  about  seven  o'clock 
when  the  last  maiden  had  entered  the  kiwitsine.  Awan  tachu  ko'yem- 
shi  does  not  enter  the  kiwitsine,  but  leaves  the  plaza,  his  part  in  the 
ceremonial  concluded. 

In  asking  for  the  meaning  of  this  rite  on  the  roof  of  the  kiwitsine,  — 
a  rite  that  does  not  seem  explicable  as  part  of  the  dramatization  of  the 
myth,  —  I  was  told  that  each  cross  represents  a  different  color  of  corn, 
and  that  the  maiden  is  calling  upon  the  colors  in  turn  for  health, 
good  crops,  etc. 

The  following  diagram  was  drawn  by  my  informant  to  show  the 

N 


W 


4- 

jb 

r 

a 

V 

-\-  - 

1-1  ■ 

e 

-1- 

a,  hatchway. 

b,  line  of  meal. 

c,  altar  facing  east. 

d,  miwachi  of  a'shiwanni  on  altar. 

e,  bench  where  maidens  sit. 
/,    pekwin. 

g,  ne'wekwe. 


h,  ceremonial  father  of  ne'wekwe. 

i,    Pautiwa. 

/,    a'shiwanni. 

m,  ko'mosona,  ko'pekwtn,  elder  and  younger 
brother  bow-priests,  all  sitting  with 
a'shiwanni,  but  in  just  what  position 
uncertain. 


positions  taken  within  the  kiwitsine.  The  crosses  in  the  corners  indi- 
cate the  crosses  on  the  roof  of  the  kiwitsine.  The  lettering  is,  of 
course,  mine. 

When  the  last  maiden  has  entered  the  kiwitsine,  the  ceremonial 
father  of  Bitsitsi  makes  a  prayer,  and  takes  the  whistle  out  of  Bitsitsi's 
mouth.     Bitsitsi   addresses   them   all.     For   the   first   time  all   may 

1  Formerly,  according  to  Mrs.  Stevenson,  he  stopped  four  times  (The  Zuni  Indians, 
p.  280).     This  is  correct. 


The  Zuni  Mo'lawia.  399 

speak.  The  pekwin  empties  the  kerchiefs  of  corn,  and  gives  them 
to  the  maidens.  Then  Bitsitsi  and  the  maidens  leave  the  kilvitsine, 
he  to  turn  to  the  east  the  plumes  he  has  planted  facing  the  west,  and 
they  to  deposit  their  plumes  at  kushilowa. 

On  their  return  to  the  pueblo,  the  heads  of  the  maidens  are  washed 
by  the  wife  and  household  of  their  ceremonial  father.  Bitsitsi  returns 
to  he'iwa  kiwitsine  to  receive  his  allotment  of  the  corn,^  and  to  have  his 
ceremonial  father  remove  the  corn  enmeshed  in  his  hair  and  in  his 
belt,  tie  his  hair  at  the  back,  and  remove  his  blanket.  Both  go  to  the 
house  of  the  ceremonial  father.  There  Bitsitsi's  top-knot  is  washed. 
They  eat  and  they  pray,  Bitsitsi  (or,  properly  speaking,  his  personator) 
returning  home  about  midnight. 

The  role  of  Bitsitsi  has  to  be  played  by  a  ne'wekwe,  and  every 
member  of  the  fraternity  is  supposed  to  play  it  once  at  least.  The 
role  of  the  ceremonial  father  of  Bitsitsi  is  not  taken,  as  one  might 
infer,  by  a  Sand-Crane  clansman,  but  by  any  ne'wekwe  who  knows 
the  prayers.  Of  interest  in  this  connection  is  the  fact  that  the  ne'mosi 
or  head  of  the  ne'wekwe  fraternity  must  be  the  child  of  the  Sand-Crane 
Clan;  i.e.,  his  father  must  be  a  Sand-Crane.^  The  present  ne'mosi  is 
himself,  however,  a  Sand-Crane  man,  and  the  child  of  the  Bear  Clan. 
In  this  year's  ceremony  he  took  no  part.  The  ne'wekwe  are  a  rapidly 
diminishing  fraternity.  I  surmise  that  as  a  result  of  their  diminution 
the  old  rules  of  office  are  difficult  to  follow;  and  I  also  surmise  that 
the  personator  of  the  ceremonial  father  of  Bitsitsi  was  originally  a 
Sand-Crane.^ 

New  York. 

*  The  corn  is  distributed  between  all  taking  part  in  the  ceremony.  I  note  incidentally 
that  the  a'shiwanni  have  fasted  one  day  and  one  night  before  the  ceremony. 

*  The  Zuni  clan  is  metronj^mic. 

'  I  have  since  learned  from  my  Zufii  informant  that  he  was.  The  year  Mrs.  Stevenson 
describes  the  ceremony,  the  part  of  the  ceremonial  father  was  taken  by  the  ne'mosi  (The 
Zuni  Indians,  p.  281). 

Since  writing  the  foregoing,  I  have  learned  that  when  the  gourd  is  in  the  kiwitsine,  it 
is  sprinkled  with  meal  by  all  present;  that  after  the  pekwin  smokes  Pautiwa,  he  deposits 
the  cigarette  on  the  grass  in  the  mouth  of  the  gourd;  that  the  elder  brother  bow-priest 
pours  the  water  of  the  gourd  into  the  stone  vases  at  hepatina;  that  he  and  his  two  com- 
panions plant  telikinawe  there;  that  the  ko'mosona  gives  the  bowl  of  medicine-water  near 
the  altar  (the  medicine-water  belongs  to  the  ashiwanni)  to  the  corn-maidens  and  the 
others  present  to  drink,  exchanging  terms  of  relationship, — lachumo-lalemo  with  the 
maidens,  tachumo-nanamo  with  the  bow-priests;  that  he  also  squirts  the  water  from  his 
mouth  on  those  present,  and  drinks  of  it  himself;  that  two  kopitlashiwantii  are  present 
in  the  kiwitsine;  that  they  and  the  komosona,  the  pekwin,  ko'pekwln,  ashiwanni,  bow- 
priests,  and  Bitsitsi  have  all  fasted  a  day  and  a  night  prior  to  the  ceremonial.  (See,  too, 
Stevenson,  pp.  277-282.) 


400  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


LOCAL  MEETINGS. 

West  Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society.  —  The  West  Virginia  Folk-Lore 
Society  was  organized  just  about  a  year  ago,  and  I  am  sure  hat  those 
interts  ed  in  such  things  will  be  glad  to  know  something  of  the  progress 
made.  The  wide-spread  interest  and  generous  help  from  persons  in  almost 
every  par  of  the  State  have  been  very  gratifying,  and  our  membership  list 
has  reached  the  number  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-six.  Monthly  reports 
of  the  progress  of  the  work  have  appeared  in  "The  West  Virginia  Journal 
and  Educator,"  in  which  are  printed  various  specimens  of  material  collected. 
Special  attention  was  given  throughout  the  year  to  the  traditional  popular 
ballads  of  English  and  Scottish  origin.  Much  valuable  matter  of  other 
sorts  has  been  secured;  but  stress  was  laid  upon  collecting  the  popular 
ballads  still  existing  amongst  us,  because  they  were  thought  to  be  the 
most  valuable  part  of  our  folk-lore,  and  the  part  likely  to  be  soonest  lost. 
Of  these  we  have  found  twenty-five,  most  of  them  in  good  versions,  but  a 
few  fragmentary.  They  are  as  follows,  the  figures  in  parentheses  represent- 
ing the  number  of  variants  in  each  case: 

Lord  Lovell,  Child  75  (3). 

The  House  Carpenter,  Child  243  (14). 

The  Miller's  Two  Daughters,  Child  10  (3). 

Dandoo,  Child  277  (2). 

The  Hangman's  Tree,  Child  95  (3). 

Six  Kings'  Daughters  or  Pretty  Polly,  Child  4  (7). 

Barbara  Allen,  Child  84  (5). 

Fair  Annie  and  Gregory,  Child  76  (3). 

Lady  Margaret,  Child  74  (2). 

The  Greenwood  Siding,  Child  20  (3). 

Young  Collins,  Child  85  (2). 

The  Jew's  Daughter,  Child  155  (9). 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Ellender,  Child  73  (5). 

The  Two  Brothers,  Child  49  (2). 

The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well,  Child  79  (7). 

Lord  Randall,  Child  12  (8). 

Henry  Martin,  Child  250  (i). 

Lord  Bateman,  Child  53  (2). 

Lord  Henry,  Child  68  (i). 

Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,  Child  201  (i). 

The  Seven  Sleepers,  Child  7  (i). 

The  Gypsy  Davy,  Child  200  (2). 

Home  Came  the  Old  Man,  Child  274  (2). 

The  Golden  Willow  Tree,  Child  286  (2). 

The  Three  Crows,  Child  26  (3). 

The  total  number  of  variants  of  the  above-named  twenty-five  ballads  is 
ninety-three. 

West  Virginia  has  developed  two  ballads  of  her  own  very  similar  to  the 
traditional  ballads.     They  are,  — 

John  Hardy  (3). 

The  Wreck  on  the  C.  &  O.  (7). 


Local  Meetings.  401 

A  detailed  report  of  other  material  gathered  is  not  feasible  at  this  time. 
Sufifice  it  to  say  that  we  have  received,  in  addition  to  the  ballads,  one 
hundred  and  seventy-seven  old  songs,  some  of  them  not  folk-material; 
fourteen  ghost-stories  and  witch-tales;  and  a  large  number  of  singing-games, 
counting-out  rhymes,  superstitions,  negro  melodies,  and  "spirituals,"  etc. 

The  officers  of  the  Society  are:  President  and  General  Editor,  John  Har- 
rington Cox,  West  Virginia  University,  Morgantown;  Vice-President, 
Robert  Allen  Armstrong,  West  Virginia  University,  Morgantown;  Secretary- 
Treasurer,  Walter  Barnes,  Fairmont  Normal  School,  Fairmont. 

Following  is  the  Constitution  adopted  by  the  Society: 

Section  I.  Name.  The  name  of  this  organization  shall  be  The  West 
Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society. 

Sec.  II.  Purpose.  The  purpose  of  this  Society  shall  be  to  collect, 
preserve,  and  publish  the  folk-lore  surviving  in  West  Virginia,  especially 
the  old  English  and  Scottish  popular  ballads. 

Sec.  III.  Membership.  Any  one  that  is  actively  interested  in  the  work 
and  promises  to  further  the  purpose  of  the  Society  may  become  a  member. 

Sec.  IV.  Officers.  The  officers  of  the  Society  shall  be  a  President,  a 
Vice-President,  and  a  Secretary-Treasurer,  whose  duties  shall  be  those 
usually  performed  by  such  officers  except  in  case  of  the  President,  who 
shall  be  also  Archivist  and  General  Editor.  The  term  of  the  officers  shall 
be  for  three  years  and  "  until  their  successors  shall  be  elected  and  qualified." 

Sec.  V.  Executive  Committee.  The  officers  of  the  Society  shall  con- 
stitute the  Executive  Committee. 

Sec.  VI.  Correspondents.  The  Executive  Committee  may  appoint, 
official  Correspondents  at  any  time  to  take  harge  of  the  work  in  the  various 
sections  of  the  State. 

Sec.  VII.  Annual  Meeting.  The  Annual  Meeting  of  the  Society  shall 
be  held  at  Morgantown  during  the  session  of  the  Summer  School,  unless  the 
Executive  Committee  shall  determine  otherwise. 

Sec.  VIII.  Special  Meetings.  Special  Meetings  may  be  called  by  the 
Executive  Committee. 

The  following  persons  have  been  appointed  Official  Correspondents:  John 
B.  Adkins,  Branchland,  Lincoln  County;  I.  O.  Ash,  Middlebourne,  Tyler 
County;  Wallie  Barnett,  Leon,  Mason  County;  Miss  Anna  Copley,  Shoals, 
Wayne  County;  G.  W.  Cunningham,  Elkins,  Randolph  County;  Miss  Maude 
Groves,  Deepwell,  Nicholas  County;  Miss  Lily  Hagans,  Morgantown,  Mo- 
nongalia County;  Rex  Hoke,  Second  Creek,  Monroe  County;  Mrs.  E.  A. 
Hunt,  Belington,  Barbour  County;  Mrs.  W.  M.  Parker,  Hinton,  Summers 
County;  George  Paugh,  Thomas,  Tucker  County;  Mrs.  Hilary  G.  Richard- 
son, Clarksburg,  Harrison  County;  Miss  Mabel  Richards,  Fairmont,  Marion 
County;  E.  C.  Smith,  Weston,  Lewis  County;  W.  H.  S.  White,  Piedmont, 
Mineral  County. 

All  persons  sending  in  contributions  will  have  their  names  placed  on  the 
membership  list.  Others  desiring  to  become  members  will  please  send  their 
names  to  the  Secretary-Treasurer.     There  are  no  dues. 

John  Harrington  Cox. 

Morgantown,  W.  Va., 
July  15,  1916. 


402  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


NOTES  AND  QUERIES. 

The  Story  of  No-Tongue.*  —  The  first  half  of  the  story  of  No-Tongue, 
a  Mandan  tale,  appeared  in  this  Journal  several  years  ago.  This  second 
part  completes  the  tale,  all  of  which  was  told  by  James  Holding  Eagle  of 
the  Mandan  tribe. 

No-Tongue  rested  in  the  village,  where  he  came  to  be  one  of  the  most 
important  men,  for  some  years  after  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  the 
chief.  Then  he  decided  to  go  on  a  war-party.  He  chose  only  a  single 
friend  to  accompany  him.  The  two  were  gone  from  home  but  a  short  time 
when  they  found  an  enemy,  whom  they  succeeded  in  killing,  and  whom  No- 
Tongue  was  the  first  to  strike.  After  this  adventure  they  returned  to  the 
village,  and  ran  around  ;  mong  the  houses,  shouting  what  they  had  done. 
Then  No-Tongue  was  greatly  honored  by  all  the  people  with  a  general 
celebration. 

After  a  few  months  No-Tongue  again  decided  to  lead  a  war-party,  and 
this  time  he  took  with  him  two  friends.  On  this  occasion  the  party  met 
and  killed  two  enemies,  and  returned  in  triumph  to  the  village,  where  they 
dashed  about  among  the  houses,  proclaiming  a  great  victory.  Again  all 
"the  people  rejoiced  and  honored  No-Tongue.  Then  he  invited  all  the  older 
ipeople  to  his  lodge,  and  announced  to  them  that  thenceforth  his  name  was 
!No-Tongue,  and  that  all  the  people  should  call  him  by  that  name.  Up  to 
T^that  time  his  name  had  been  known  only  to  his  sister. 

>Jo-Tongue  now  rested  for  some  time  in  the  village;  then  he  announced 
that  he  would  once  more  lead  a  war-party  This  time  he  took  with  him 
a  large  company  of  warriors;  and  the  party  was  again  successful,  killing 
three  of  the  enemy  and  capturing  their  horses,  which  they  took  back  with 
them.  They  arrived  within  sight  of  the  village  early  in  the  morning,  and 
all  rushed  triumphantly  in  among  the  lodges,  proclaiming  their  conquest. 
No-Tongue,  who  was  now  one  of  the  chiefs,  was  accorded  even  greater 
honor  and  praise  than  before,  and  the  whole  village  held  a  great  rejoicing. 

After  this,  No-Tongue  remained  quietly  at  home  until  all  the  talk  and 
praise  over  the  third  exploit  had  died  out.  Then  he  announced  a  fourth 
war-party;  and  all  the  warriors  of  the  village  flocked  to  join  him,  for  they 
all  remembered  his  great  success  on  former  occasions.  The  party  went 
forth,  and  met  with  good  fortune,  as  before.  This  time  they  found  and 
killed  four  enemies,  and  captured  their  horses,  which  were  led  back  in 
triumph  to  the  village.  No-Tongue  was  once  more  received  with  great 
rejoicing,  and  was  accorded  the  principal  place  in  the  village  by  all  the 
people. 

Now,  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  had  been  looking  down  on  the  village  all 
this  time,  and  had  seen  the  exploits  of  No-Tongue,  and  the  honors  that 
were  heaped  upon  him.  So,  after  the  return  from  the  fourth  war-party, 
the  Sun  said  to  the  Moon,  "That  son  of  mine  must  be  very  fat,  with  all 
the  praise  and  honor  he  has  received,  and  I  will  eat  him." 

And  the  Moon  asked,  "How  will  you  manage  to  eat  him?" 

The  Sun  replied,  "That  is  easy.  I  have  another  brave  son.  Him  I 
I  See  this  Journal,  vol.  xxvi,  p.  331. 


Notes  and  Queries.  403 

shall  have  come,  and  he  shall  defeat  and  slay  this  one,  whom  I  shall  then 
eat." 

That  evening,  when  it  was  dark,  the  Moon  came  to  No-Tongue  and  in- 
formed him  of  the  Sun's  plans. 

"Now,"  said  the  Moon  to  No-Tongue,  "your  father,  the  Sun,  wants  to 
eat  you,  and  he  is  going  to  have  another  very  brave  son  of  his  from  the 
Sioux  come  and  kill  you.  When  the  time  for  the  battle  arrives,  get 
another  warrior  to  dress  exactly  like  yourself  and  go  forth  to  meet  the 
Sioux.  Then  the  other  warrior  will  be  killed,  and  the  Sun  will  eat  him, 
thinking  that  it  is  you." 

Then  he  told  No-Tongue  to  dress  poorly,  paint  himself  white,  and  follow 
the  disguised  warrior  into  the  battle.  After  the  warrior  had  been  slain, 
No-Tongue  was  to  kill  the  Sioux  and  cut  his  head  off  at  once.  Then  he 
must  carry  the  head  home  to  his  lodge,  and  offer  it  a  corn-ball  to  eat  and 
a  pipe  to  smoke.     After  that  the  head  would  die,  and  he  might  throw  it  away. 

Soon  after,  the  battle  took  place;  and  all  occurred  as  the  Moon  had  said, 
and  No-Tongue  acted  as  the  Moon  had  directed.  When  the  battle  was 
over,  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  both  went  down  to  hunt  among  the  bodies, 
where  they  found  both  the  disguised  warrior  and  the  dead  Sioux  son.  The 
Sun  took  the  dead  Mandan  to  be  No-Tongue,  but  he  wondered  very  much 
how  the  brave  Sioux  had  come  to  be  killed.  The  Moon  told  the  Sun  to  take 
No-Tongue  and  eat  him,  while  the  Moon  himself  took  the  dead  Sioux  home. 
As  the  Sun  picked  up  the  supposed  body  of  No-Tongue,  he  was  greatly 
surprised.  "Oh,  say!"  he  said  to  the  Moon,  "this  one  is  too  light,  this 
cannot  be  No-Tongue.     He  would  be  fat  and  heavy." 

But  the  Moon  declared  that  it  was  No-Tongue.  So  each  went  home  with 
his  meat,  which  he  cooked  and  prepared.  However,  after  the  Sun  had 
prepared  his  feast,  he  found  the  meat  so  lean  and  tough  that  he  could  not 
eat  it.  Then  he  went  to  the  Moon's  house  to  get  some  of  his  meat;  but 
when  he  arrived,  the  Moon  had  already  eaten  it  all  up. 

The  next  morning  No-Tongue  dressed  himself  up,  and  took  his  place  on 
the  roof  of  his  lodge  before  the  Sun  was  up.  So  the  first  thing  that  his 
father,  the  Sun,  saw,  as  he  came  out  of  the  door  of  his  house,  was  the  figure 
of  No-Tongue. 

"It  certainly  is  No-Tongue,"  he  said  to  the  Moon,  who  had  not  yet 
gone  down  into  his  own  house.  As  the  Sun  said  this,  No-Tongue  turned  and 
faced  directly  toward  him,  and  he  cried  out,  "Yes,  it  is  No-Tongue.  I 
thought  he  was  dead,  but  here  he  is,  still  alive." 

"It  is  all  according  to  your  own  words,"  replied  the  Moon.  "You  said 
that  nothing  could  hurt  him,  so  now  you  see  that  even  you  yourself  cannot 
kill  him." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Sun,  "but  what  I  said  then  I  did  not  mean.  This  time 
I  shall  surely  eat  him." 

The  Moon  inquired  how  he  intended  to  accomplish  the  destruction  of 
No-Tongue  this  time. 

"Oh!"  answered  the  Sun,  "I  have  another  very  brave  son  among  the 
Cheyennes,  and  him  I  shall  have  come  to  kill  No-Tongue." 

That  night  the  Moon  once  more  visited  No-Tongue  in  his  lodge,  and 
told  him  what  the  Sun  was  planning.  He  told  No-Tongue  that  the  Sun 
had  decided  to  have  his  most  beloved  Cheyenne  son  come  to  kill  him; 


404  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

and  that  this  Cheyenne  was  very  powerful,  and  could  not  ordinarily  be 
killed,  because  his  father,  the  Sun,  kept  him  suspended  from  above  by  an 
invisible  cord  attached  to  the  top  of  his  head.  Through  this  cord,  life  and 
strength  continually  flowed. 

"You  must  be  on  your  guard,"  the  Moon  said,  "for  he  is  coming  to- 
morrow. He  will  be  dressed  exactly  like  you,  and  he  will  motion  toward 
you,  urging  you  to  come  and  meet  him.  When  he  does  this,  you  must 
advance  toward  him.  As  you  advance,  swing  and  throw  your  war-club  so 
that  it  will  go  just  above  his  head.  In  that  way  you  will  break  the  invisible 
cord  and  can  easily  kill  him." 

The  battle  took  place  on  the  next  day;  and  No-Tongue  was  in  the  fore- 
front, dressed  in  his  very  best  and  finest  clothing.  The  Cheyenne  appeared 
on  the  opposite  side,  dressed  exactly  like  No-Tongue;  and  the  two  at 
once  recognized  each  other,  and  advanced  to  he  meeting.  No-Tongue 
followed  the  Moon's  directions,  throwing  his  club  as  he  approached.  The 
aim  was  true,  the  cord  was  broken,  and  the  Cheyenne  fell  to  the  ground 
dead,  and  was  left  there,  while  the  rest  of  the  enemy  were  defeated  and 
dispersed.  On  his  return  from  the  pursuit,  No-Tongue  cut  off  the  head  of 
the  dead  Cheyenne,  and  took  it  back  with  him  to  his  lodge.  As  he  was 
returning,  his  father,  the  Sun,  came  to  him,  praising  him  for  his  bravery, 
and  asked  for  the  head.  No-Tongue  did  not  yield  to  his  pleading,  however, 
but  only  told  him  to  wait  a  while,  and  then  he  should  have  the  head.  So 
No-Tongue  went  on  to  his  lodge,  where  he  placed  some  corn-meal  in  the 
mouth  of  the  head,  and  also  made  it  smoke.  Then  it  was  really  dead,  and 
he  took  it  out  and  gave  it  to  the  Sun. 

On  receiving  the  head,  the  Sun  thought  that  he  would  bring  back  his 
beloved  Cheyenne  son  to  life.  So  he  wrapped  it  up  with  sage,  and  worked 
a  long  time  with  it,  moving  it  about,  but  all  in  vain. 

"I  wasted  time  and  waited  too  long,"  he  thought.  "It  is  no  use." 
Then  he  went  to  look  for  the  body  of  the  dead  Cheyenne,  but  the  Moon 
had  already  taken  that  and  made  a  feast  with  it. 

In  the  morning  No-Tongue  again  dressed  in  his  best,  and  placed  himself 
on  the  top  of  his  lodge  before  the  Sun  came  out  of  his  house,  so  that  once 
again  he  was  the  first  thing  to  meet  the  Sun's  eyes  as  he  opened  his  door. 
The  Sun  was  now  very  angry;  and  once  more  he  talked  to  the  Moon, 
saying  that  now  he  would  surely  have  No-Tongue  killed.  The  Moon  asked 
him  how  he  would  attempt  it  this  time. 

"  I  shall  have  Big-Voice  kill  him,  and  he  cannot  escape,"  answered  the  Sun. 

The  Moon  inquired  who  Big-Voice  was,  and  the  Sun  replied  that  Big- 
Voice  was  the  Thunder-Bird. 

That  night  once  again  the  Moon  secretly  visited  No-Tongue,  and  told 
him  of  the  Sun's  latest  plans.  He  told  No-Tongue  that  he  must  get  another 
friend  to  dress  in  his  clothes  and  sleep  in  his  bed  that  very  night,  while  he 
himself  must  go  into  some  obscure  old  woman's  lodge  and  conceal  himself 
in  a  corner  under  a  pile  of  blankets. 

As  soon  as  the  Moon  had  gone,  No-Tongue  found  a  friend  to  dress  in  his 
clothes  and  sleep  in  his  bed,  while  he  himself  hid  as  the  Moon  had  directed. 
He  had  been  hidden  only  a  little  while,  when  the  rain  started,  and  soon  after 
that  there  was  a  great  clap  of  thunder.  Then  No-Tongue  knew  that  the 
Thunder-Bird  had  killed  his  friend. 


Notes  and  Queries.  405 

After  the  rain  was  all  over,  No-Tongue  returned  to  his  own  lodge,  where 
he  found  the  dead  body  of  his  friend.  He  prepared  the  body  for  burial  in  a 
very  fine  way,  and  dressed  it  in  his  own  clothes;  then  he  told  all  the  people 
to  go  out  to  the  burial-scaffold  with  it,  and  make  a  great  mourning. 

Soon  after,  when  the  Sun  came  forth  from  his  lodge,  he  looked  toward 
the  village,  and  saw  the  finely  dressed  body  on  the  scaffold,  and  the  great 
crowd  of  people  about  it  mourning,  and  he  thought  surely  that  it  was  No- 
Tongue.  So  he  came  down  and  took  the  body,  and  once  more  prepared 
for  a  feast;  but  when  it  was  prepared  and  he  started  to  eat,  he  found  that 
he  had  a  very  lean  and  tough  morsel,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  No-Tongue 
must  have  changed  greatly. 

When  the  Sun  came  forth  again  on  the  following  morning,  his  eyes  once 
more  lighted  on  the  figure  of  No-Tongue,  finely  dressed,  and  posed  upon  the 
top  of  his  lodge,  and  he  saw  that  he  had  once  more  been  tricked. 

Toward  evening  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  met  again,  and  the  Sun  related 
how  No-Tongue  had  fooled  him  this  time.  He  told  the  Moon  that  none 
of  his  helpers  had  succeeded  in  killing  No-Tongue,  and  that  he  had  finally 
decided  to  take  the  matter  into  his  own  hands  and  dispose  of  No-Tongue 
himself. 

The  Moon  argued  with  the  Sun,  and  told  him  that  the  failures  had  all 
been  the  Sun's  own  fault,  that  he  had  promised  No-Tongue  a  long  and 
prosperous  life,  and  that  now  he  was  trying  to  break  his  own  promises.  But 
the  Sun  remained  firm  in  his  decision,  and  the  Moon  then  asked  him  how  he 
intended  to  overcome  No-Tongue. 

The  Sun  replied  that  he  would  turn  himself  into  a  huge  buffalo-bull 
with  its  sides  a  solid  mass  of  bone  where  the  ribs  usually  are,  and  that  he 
would  then  go  into  the  village  and  chase  No-Tongue  until  he  caught  him. 

The  Moon  again  sought  out  No-Tongue  in  the  night,  and  told  him  that 
the  Sun  himself  would  try  to  kill  him  on  the  morrow,  and  he  told  No-Tongue 
what  the  Sun  had  said.  Then  he  added  that  there  would  be  only  one  way  to 
kill  the  great  bull,  and  that  would  be  to  shoot  him  in  the  neck  near  the 
collar-bone. 

After  the  Moon  left,  No-Tongue  began  to  lay  his  plans  for  the  coming 
combat,  which  he  knew  would  be  the  most  severe  test  of  all.  A  little  way 
outside  the  village  there  was  a  ditch  or  wash-out  just  narrow  enough  for 
one  to  jump  over  it  in  a  very  long  jump.  No-Tongue  got  the  Kill-Deer, 
who  makes  the  boggy  water-holes,  to  come  and  make  a  soft  muddy  spot 
just  beyond  the  far  side  of  the  ditch,  at  a  spot  that  No-Tongue  had  selected. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  huge  buffalo-bull  wandered  into  the  village, 
and  began  running  about  among  the  houses.  The  men  swarmed  out  of  the 
lodges,  and  commenced  to  shoot  arrows  at  the  bull;  but  they  seemed  able 
neither  to  harm  it  nor  to  drive  it  away.  After  a  time  No-Tongue,  for  whom, 
of  course,  the  bull  had  been  searching,  appeared,  but  kept  at  a  distance 
from  the  bull.  Then  the  bull  pretended  to  be  lame  in  order  to  draw  No- 
Tongue  closer,  but  he  was  not  deceived.  Gradually  No-Tongue  worked 
toward  the  side  of  the  village  near  which  was  the  wash-out,  allowing  the 
bull  slowly  to  get  closer  to  him.  Then  he  started  to  run,  and  the  bull 
followed  at  full  speed.  No-Tongue  made  directly  for  the  ditch  at  the  spot 
selected,  and  leaped  it,  evading  by  a  sudden  turn  the  mud-hole  on  the 
farther  side. 


4o6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  bull,  in  its  mad  pursuit,  leaped  the  ditch  also,  but  did  not  see 
the  muddy  place,  and  landed  full  in  the  centre  of  it,  where  he  was  soon  mired 
down  and  helpless.  Then  No-Tongue  came  up  close  and  shot  the  bull  in 
the  neck  near  the  collar-bone,  one  arrow  on  each  side. 

When  the  bull  was  dead,  all  the  people  gathered,  and  wanted  to  cut  it 
up  and  eat  it,  and  No-Tongue  had  difficulty  in  persuading  them  not  to  do 
so;  but  he  told  them  that  it  was  not  a  real  bull,  but  a  great  spirit,  and  that 
it  would  be  very  dangerous  for  all  of  them  if  it  were  cut  up.  Then  he  told 
them  all  to  bring  large  bundles  of  brush  and  dry  sticks,  and  to  heap  them 
upon  and  around  the  dead  bull. 

When  a  great  pile  had  been  built  up  and  the  bull  was  completely  hidden, 
No-Tongue  set  fire  to  the  brush,  which  made  a  big  fire  and  a  tremendous 
smoke,  under  cover  of  which  the  Sun  escaped  from  the  body  of  the  bull, 
and  returned  to  the  sky. 

That  evening  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  met  as  usual,  and  the  Sun  told  how 
he  had  failed  to  kill  No-Tongue,  and  what  a  narrow  escape  he  had  had. 
He  added  that  he  had  finally  decided  to  let  No-Tongue  live,  and  to  molest 
him  no  further,  but  to  keep  his  first  promise.  So  now  No-Tongue  lived  a 
contented  and  quiet  life  in  the  village;  for  by  this  time  he  had  grown  past 
the  age  of  a  warrior,  and  was  becoming  old  and  losing  his  strength. 

One  day  a  long  hunt  was  decided  upon  in  the  village,  and  all  of  the  people 
were  to  go.  After  careful  preparations,  they  started  out,  and  with  them 
went  the  old  man  No-Tongue.  No-Tongue,  however,  was  not  very  strong; 
and  he  travelled  along  slowly,  so  that  he  was  soon  left  by  himself,  walking 
along  far  in  the  rear.  After  a  time  the  trail  came  to  a  high  hill;  and  when 
No-Tongue  reached  the  foot  of  this  hill,  he  sat  down  on  a  large  stone  near 
by.  Then  he  took  out  his  pipe,  filled  it,  and  was  ready  for  a  smoke.  As  he 
began  to  puff  on  his  pipe,  two  men  approached,  and  seated  themselves  one 
on  either  side  of  him  upon  the  large  stone. 

No-Tongue  recognized  the  two  men  as  his  two  fathers,  the  Sun  and  the 
Moon,  and  he  greeted  them.  Then  they  all  three  smoked  in  turn,  and 
discussed  the  past  life  of  No-Tongue.  The  Sun  declared  that  he  had 
fulfilled  his  promises,  and  made  No-Tongue  a  great  warrior  with  much 
honor  and  glory,  and  had  brought  him  to  a  full  and  prosperous  old  age. 
Then  the  Moon  told  of  all  his  part  in  helping  No-Tongue  toward  success 
and  honor,  and  he  told  how  the  Sun  had  tried  to  break  his  promises. 

The  three  sat  for  a  long  time,  talking  and  smoking,  and  then  the  Sun  and 
Moon  prepared  to  go.  Just  as  the  Sun  was  getting  up  from  his  seat  at 
the  left  side  of  No-Tongue,  he  thrust  the  point  of  his  elbow  against  No- 
Tongue's  breast,  penetrating  the  ribs  and  the  heart,  so  that  he  fell  over 
dead. 

"He  is  dead,"  said  the  Sun.  "It  is  better  so,  for  he  is  now  old  and  losing 
his  strength.     It  is  better  not  to  live  too  long." 

And  the  Sun  and  Moon  went  away. 

George  F.  Will. 
Bismarck,  N.  Dak. 

Two  Cheyenne  Stories.  —  The  following  relations  were  obtained  at 
the  summer  encampment  of  the  Southern  Cheyenne  in  1913  from  Felix 
Roman-Nose.  Felix  is  about  thirty-five  years  old,  I  suppose,  and  son  of 
the  late  chief  and  medicine-man,  Roman-Nose-Thunder.     He  speaks  English 


Notes  and  Queries.  407 

rather  well,  and  wears  his  hair  cut  short;  but  his  belief  and  habit  of  thought 
are  thoroughly  reactionary.  He  prefaced  the  tales  by  a  long  rambling 
discourse,  in  which  he  attempted  to  explain  the  advantage  of  the  white 
man  over  the  red  man.  He  said  that  "God"  gave  to  both  races  a  "law" 
a  long  time  ago,  "nobody  knows  when."  This  "law"  is  now  "buried, 
nobody  knows  where."  The  cardinal  principle  of  this  "law"  was  the  num- 
ber 4,  which  plays  so  important  a  part  in  Cheyenne  ceremonial.^  The 
Indian  has  adhered  to  this  law;  but  "while  the  Indian  slept,"  the  white 
man  tampered  with  it,  and  added  one  to  the  perfect  number,  "which  always 
comes  out  even,"  thus  making  five.  Hence  the  white  man's  advantage. 
Felix  said  that  this  advantage  was  not  gained  for  nothing.  He  declared 
that  money  troubles  arise  from  the  fact  that  our  monetary  system  is  based 
on  the  five-cent  piece,  and  not  on  the  number  4.  He  also  confided  to  us 
that  "all  these  floods  and  cyclones"  which  wreck  the  homes  of  white  men 
are  the  direct  result  of  this  tampering  with  holy  things,  and  a  punishment 
for  violating  the  "law"  and  meddling  with  the  sacred  number  4. 

These  stories  were  not  sought,  and  came  out  in  the  course  of  the  night's 
talk.  No  payment  was  made  for  them,  and  I  had  hopes  that  more  might 
be  forthcoming;  but  next  day  an  old  chief  rode  round  the  camp-circle, 
haranguing  the  people,  and  declaring  that  I  was  a  government  agent  sent 
to  spy  into  the  phallic  features  of  the  Sun-Dance,  then  being  performed. 
This  unfounded  rumor  caused  Felix  much  discomfort,  as  he  was  suspected 
of  having  told  me  too  much.  I  exonerated  him,  and  tried  to  dispel  the 
illusion  as  to  my  identity;  but  no  one  believed  me,  and  since  that  time  I 
have  been  unable  to  collect  more  material  of  this  sort. 

I.  How  the  White  Man  got  his  Beard.  —  White  man  was  going  up  a 
river.  He  was  hungry,  and  could  find  nothing  to  eat.  Pretty  soon  he 
came  to  a  grassy  bottom  where  the  grass  was  long  and  green.  He  saw  the 
green  grass,  and  thought,  "I  wish  I  was  a  buffalo,  so  I  could  eat  that  nice 
grass  and  satisfy  my  hunger!"  He  turned  off  and  went  over  the  hill. 
There  he  saw  buffalo  sitting.  He  went  toward  them,  crying  as  hard  as  he 
could.  The  four  Buffalo  asked  him  why  he  was  crying.  He  said  he  wanted 
to  be  a  buffalo,  so  he  could  eat  the  grass  and  satisfy  his  hunger.  One  of  the 
Buffalo  took  pity  on  him,  and  told  him  to  stand  still.  He  said,  "Stand  still 
where  you  are!  We  will  take  after  you  four  times;  and  the  fifth  time  we 
will  tip  you,  and  you  will  turn  into  a  buffalo."  White  man  said,  "All 
right."  The  buffalo  took  after  him  four  times;  and  the  fifth  time  the 
buffalo  tipped  him,  and  he  turned  into  a  buffalo.  Then  he  went  back  over 
the  hill  and  ate  the  grass  in  the  bottom,  and  satisfied  his  hunger.  Then 
he  lay  down  under  a  tree. 

Pretty  soon  another  white  man  came  up  the  river  and  saw  the  grass. 
He  was  hungry,  and  could  find  nothing  to  eat.  When  he  saw  the  buffalo 
under  the  tree,  he  began  to  cry  as  hard  as  he  could.  White-Man-Buffalo 
saw  him  coming,  and  asked  him  why  he  was  crying  so  hard.  He  said, 
"I  am  hungry;  and  I  wish  I  was  a  buffalo,  so  I  could  eat  this  grass  and 
satisfy  my  hunger."  White-Man-Buffalo  was  selfish  and  lived  alone.  He 
d  d  not  want  the  white  man  to  be  a  buffalo.  So  he  said,  "All  right.  Stand 
still  where  you  are!  I  will  take  after  you  four  times;  and  the  fifth  time  I 
will  tip  you,  and  you  will  turn  into  a  buffalo."     He  took  after  him  four 

1  See  Mooney,  "The  Cheyenne  Indians"  (Memoirs  of  the  American  Anthropological 
Association,  vol.  i,  Part  6,  p.  411). 


4o8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 

times;  but  when  he  went  to  tip  him,  the  white  man  ran  away.  Then  the 
White-Man-Buffalo  chased  him,  and  they  had  a  race.  There  was  fight,  for 
the  White-Man-Buffalo  outran  the  white  man.  At  last,  however,  he  tipped 
him;  but,  instead  o^ turning  the  white  man  into  a  buffalo,  the  White-Man- 
Buffalo  turned  into  a  man  again;  but  he  still  had  the  buffalo's  beard,  and  all 
white  men  have  had  it  ever  since. 

2.  Why  the  White  Man  has  Short  Hair.  —  There  were  two  big  camp- 
circles,  one  on  each  side  of  a  river.  In  one  camp-circle  lived  a  white  man 
who  had  married  a  wife  from  the  other  camp-circle.  One  day  he  said  to 
his  wife,  "  I  will  go  visit  my  brother-in-law  and  see  how  he  is  getting  along." 
At  the  same  time  the  brother-in-law  started  out  to  visit  the  white 
man.  The  white  man  did  not  know  this.  Pretty  soon  the  white 
man  met  two  girls.  They  called  him,  and  said,  "Come  on  over  here, 
white  man!"  He  did  not  want  to  go.  He  was  bashful  and  selfish,  and 
lived  by  himself.  He  said,  "No,  I'm  in  a  hurry.  I  can't  stop  to  talk 
now."  The  girls  kept  calling  him  and  beckoning  to  him.  So  pretty 
soon  he  went  over  to  them.  After  a  while  he  sat  down  with  the  girls,  and 
they  got  him  to  lay  his  head  in  the  lap  of  one  of  them.  Then  they  said  they 
would  louse  him.  But  he  said,  "No,  there  are  no  lice  in  my  hair."  The 
girls  had  some  hack-berries;  and  when  they  would  louse  him,  they  would 
crack  them  in  their  teeth,  and  pretend  they  had  found  lice  in  his  hair. 
All  the  time  he  was  saying  it  was  not  so,  but  finally  he  went  to  sleep.  Then 
they  played  a  trick  on  him.  They  got  cockle-burrs  and  stuck  them  into 
his  hair  as  tight  as  they  could,  close  up  to  the  head,  just  as  thick  as  they 
could.  Then  they  went  away,  but  not  before  brother-in-law  had  seen  the 
white  man  with  the  girls  as  he  came  over  the  hill. 

Pretty  soon  the  white  man  woke  up  and  felt  of  his  head,  and  found  it 
full  of  cockle-burrs.  He  didn't  know  what  to  do.  When  he  went  to  scratch 
his  head,  he  found  it  full  of  burrs.  So  he  cut  off  his  hair  with  his  knife 
close  up  to  his  head.  Then  he  started  home  again.  He  gashed  his  cheeks 
and  tore  his  shirt  and  cried.  His  wife  saw  him  coming,  and  sent  the 
children  out  to  meet  him.  They  ran  back  and  told  her  that  their  father  was 
crying  and  had  cut  off  his  hair.  She  went  out  and  asked  why  he  was  mourn- 
ing. He  told  her  that  his  brother-in-law  was  dead.  But  just  then  brother- 
in-law  came  along.  So  then  white  man  said  it  was  his  uncle  that  was  dead. 
But  the  brother-in-law  said  no,  his  uncle  was  alive.  And  then  he  told  how 
white  man  was  playing  with  the  strange  girls.  So  white  man's  wife  took  a 
club  and  drove  him  away.  Ever  since  that  time  the  white  man  has  lived 
alone,  and  always  wears  short  hair. 

Stanley  Campbell. 
University  of  Oklahoma, 
Norman,  Okla. 

A  PiEGAN  Tale.  —  During  the  stay  of  the  Piegan  delegates  at  Washing- 
ton last  winter,  I  heard  the  following  tale  of  their  hero  "Old-Man,"  which 
apparently  does  not  occur  among  the  published  collections. 

Old-Man  was  travelling.  He  heard  some  one  clinking  on  ice,  and  he 
saw  two  large  wolves  who  had  tied  large  rocks  on  their  tails.  When  the 
rocks  made  holes  in  the  ice,  fat  would  come  up;  then  they  turned  around 
and  ate  it  up.     So  the  old  man  saw  them.     He  was  pretty  hungry.     And 


Notes  and  Queries.  409 

he  was  crying,  "I  was  longing  to  do  the  way  you  were  doing."  So  the 
Wolf  told  him,  "  My  brother,  it  is  an  easy  matter."  Old-Man  had  a  long 
tail  too.  And  the  Wolf  told  him,  "You  tie  a  rock  to  your  tail  too.  You 
can  do  it;  but  do  not  do  it  more  than  four  times  a  day."  So  Old-Man 
started  off.  When  he  got  around  the  bend,  he  picked  up  a  rock  and  tied 
it  to  his  tail.  And  he  started  off  singing,  "Now  the  ice  should  crack." 
Then  the  ice  began  to  crack,  and  the  fat  began  to  come  out.  Then  of  course 
he  started  off.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  do  the  same  thing  over  again. 
Then,  after  the  fourth  time,  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  do  that  the  fifth  time 
to  see  what  will  happen."  Then  the  rock  broke  through  and  fell  into  the 
water.  The  night  was  so  cold  that  it  froze  up  on  him,  and  he  could  not  pull 
his  tail  out;  and  he  lost  his  tail,  and  became  bob- tailed.  And  he  said, 
"I  see!  The  rising  generation  are  going  to  all  become  bob-tailed."  That 
is  the  reason  we  do  not  have  long  tails  now. 

Truman  Michelson. 

PiEGAN  Tales  of  European  Origin.  —  From  some  recent  work  with 
the  Piegans,  it  appears  that  they  have  incorporated  a  fairly  large  body  of 
European  tales  in  their  folk-lore.  However,  they  are  fully  conscious  of 
the  fact  that  these  tales  are  European  in  origin.  It  is  of  the  highest  im- 
portance that  they  claim  that  some  of  these  are  old,  and  some  only  recently 
acquired.  A  few  are  not  specified  as  regards  age.  Tales  which  are  said 
to  be  old  are  "Seven-Heads,"  "Rabbit  runs  a  Race  with  Turtle,"  and  "Big 
Fool  and  Little  Fool."  Tales  only  recently  acquired  are  "Cinderella," 
"Blue-Beard,"  and  "Jack  and  the  Beanstalk."  Tales  whose  dates  are 
not  stated  are  "Joseph  and  Jacob:  How  his  Brothers  sold  him  to  the  Egyp- 
tians, the  Seven  Fat  Cows,  the  Seven  Lean  Cows,  and  the  Four  Ears  of 
Corn;"  the  interminable  adventures  of  "Little-John"  and  "Anthony."  ^ 

Truman  Michelson. 

The  Hawaiian  Hula-Dance.  —  In  the  death  in  August,  1915,  of  Nathaniel 
B.  Emerson,  M.D.,  the  territory  of  Hawaii  loses  one  more  of  that  older 
generation  of  native-born  foreigners  who  knew  from  childhood  the  language 
and  the  people  of  old  Hawaii,  and  interested  themselves  in  its  ancient  lore. 
Dr.  Emerson  was  a  constant  student  of  Hawaiian  folk-lore.  In  1898  he 
translated  the  "Hawaiian  Antiquities"  collected  by  David  Malo  in  the 
thirties;  his  translation  of  the  myth  of  the  volcano  goddess,  Pele,  and 
her  sister  Hiiaka,  appeared  just  before  his  death;  and  in  1909  a  study  of 
the  Hawaiian  hula-dsince.  was  published  as  Bulletin  38  by  the  Bureau 
of  American  Ethnology  in  Washington.  The  hula,  in  its  ancient  and  classi- 
cal form,  is  analogous  to  the  Japanese  Noh  dances  and  to  other  like  institu- 
tions throughout  the  South  Sea  Islands.  It  was  conventionalized  into  a 
real  school  of  dramatic  art.  The  object  of  this  note  is  briefly  to  outline 
the  facts  collected  by  Dr.  Emerson  from  the. old  Hawaiians  about  these 
ceremonial  dances,  as  the  practice  and  tradition  have  survived  into  modern 
time. 

A  hula  performance  consisted  in  a  series  of  dramatic  dances  accompanied 
by  song,  sometimes  by  rhythmical  instruments.     It  was  given  under  the 

1  The  informant  had  forgotten  the  names  of  these  last  two.  I  have  supplied  them, 
as  the  tales  correspond  extremely  closely  to  the  Fox  stories  of  Pitcica'^  ( =  Petit- Jean) 
and  Atwan^  ( =  Antoine)  (see  American  Anthropologist,  N.S.,  vol.  xv,  p.  699). 


4IO  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

patronage  of  a  chief,  often  to  celebrate  some  event,  like  the  birthday  of  a 
son.  It  was  dedicated  to  some  god,  generally  to  Laka,  the  goddess  of  co- 
ordinated movement,  and  was  bound  under  a  strict  decorum  to  rigid 
ceremonial  conventions.  Nevertheless  it  was  democratic,  in  that  any  one 
who  had  mastered  the  technique  of  the  hula  might  organize  a  company, 
seek  a  patron,  build  a  dance-house  (or  halau),  and  conduct  a  performance, 
the  success  of  which  depended  upon  the  real  skill  of  its  rendering,  and  was 
a  true  bid  for  popular  applause,  at  the  same  time  that  it  was  strictly 
censored  by  other  experts  who  acted  as  critics.  It  offered  opportunity  for 
individual  initiative;  for  each  master  of  the  hula,  though  held  closely  to 
convention  for  his  technique,  might  introduce  innovations  or  invent  fresh 
combinations.  Aohe  pau  ka  ikt  i  kau  halau  ("Think  not  that  all  wisdom 
lies  in  your  dance-house"),  runs  the  proverb. 

The  hula  company  might  consist  of  several  hundred  persons,  men  and 
women,  boys  and  girls,  with  a  retinue  of  followers  to  secure  and  prepare  the 
food-supply.  These  were  organized  into  a  small  community  governed  by 
the  /i«/c-master  and  his  under-ofificers.  They  erected  a  new  dance-house 
during  the  rehearsal  period,  and  dedicated  it  to  the  goddess  who  was  to 
inspire  the  dance,  whose  altar  and  emblem  were  set  up  within  the  hall. 
No  one  entered  without  the  password  or  "call-song"  {mele  kahea),  and 
the  answering  song  from  within;  no  one  joined  the  company  without  first 
offering  a  prayer  at  the  altar.  All  were  subject  to  the  hula-master.  As- 
sisted by  his  colleague,  called  the  "prop,"  he  trained  the  performers  and 
determined  the  style  for  each  dance.  He  was  responsible  for  the  business 
management,  acted  as  intermediary  with  the  gods,  and  imposed  the  fines 
for  breach  of  discipline.  Two  under-officers  chosen  by  the  student-body 
from  their  number  collected  these  fines,  performed  ceremonial  duties,  and 
called  off  the  dances.  Two  others  chosen  in  the  same  way  acted  as  aspergers 
to  sprinkle  all  who  entered  the  dance-house  with  sea-water  and  red  earth, 
preserve  order,  and  each  day  "feed  the  altar"  with  a  fresh  bowl  of  awa. 
Throughout  the  whole  time  of  rehearsal  there  were  required  an  ascetic  absti- 
nence and  frequent  bathing  to  keep  the  body  pure  for  the  habitation  of  the 
goddess.  Transgressions  were  punished  by  fines  of  pig  or  of  awa.  As  the 
time  drew  near  for  the  performance,  these  restrictions  became  more  rigid. 
All  must  go  out  with  head  covered  and  speak  to  no  one;  for  the  goddess 
was  now  taking  possession  of  the  worshipper  "to  inspire  him  in  all  his 
parts  and  faculties,  —  voice,  hands,  feet,  whole  body."  On  the  night 
before  the  ceremony  all  bathed  naked,  then  returned  to  the  hall  and  danced 
for  two  periods  before  they  slept.  At  daybreak  a  black  pig  was  dedicated 
by  laying  on  of  hands;  and  Avhile  the  feast  was  cooking,  the  hall  was  freshly 
decorated  with  vines  and  flowers  sacred  to  the  gods,  and  the  altar  rebuilt. 
At  the  feast  which  followed,  all  partook  ceremonially,  for  this  was  the  ai-lolo, 
the  "eating  of  the  brain"  of  the  goddess.  Once  more  the  master  exhorted 
his  pupils  to  take  heed  and  retain  in  the  memory  all  that  had  been  taught 
them.  Then  came  the  costuming,  which  required  a  ceremonial  song  for 
each  part,  —  anklets,  skirt,  and  wreaths  for  head  and  neck.  Clearly  the 
training  for  the  hula  included  some  valuable  lessons  in  self-restraint, 
religious  dependence,  and  group  action,  which  had  a  directly  educative  value. 

The  real  test  of  the  training  now  came  in  the  public  performance  which 
followed.     It  consisted  in  a  series  of  dances  chosen  from  a  not  very  varied 


Notes  and  Queries.  411 

repertory,  the  significance  depending  upon  the  grace  or  passion  of  the 
rhythmical  rendering  and  upon  the  novelties  hit  upon  by  the  /ft</a-master. 
The  company  was  divided  into  two  parts,  —  the  older  and  heavier,  called 
hoopa'a  ("the  steadfast"),  to  carry  the  accompaniment  (either  vocal  alone, 
or  vocal  and  instrumental);  and  the  olapa  ("the  agile")  to  perform  the 
steps;  but  this  distinction  did  not  always  hold.  Accent  upon  the  rhythm 
was  the  essential  thing  in  the  accompaniment.  David  Malo,  the  Hawaiian 
antiquarian,  mentions  only  nine  forms  of  hiila.  Dr.  Emerson  describes 
twenty-five,  thirteen  of  which  are  accompanied  by  an  instrument,  generally 
some  device  for  marking  time.  Three  kinds  of  drum  appear,  two  rattles 
(the  gourd  and  the  split  bamboo),  and  four  forms  of  concussion,  as  against 
two  vibratory  instruments  and  those  of  the  simplest,  —  the  "nose-flute"  and 
jew's-harp. 

From  these  instruments  some  of  the  dances  derive  their  name;  others,  from 
the  region  where  they  originate  or  the  story  they  tell.  Tradition  still  keeps 
alive  the  thrill  of  excitement  with  which  the  Hawaiians  some  four  hundred 
years  ago  heard  for  the  first  time  the  beating  of  the  great  pahu  drum  as  the 
canoes  of  the  pleasure-loving  chief  who  brought  it  from  the  south  passed  along 
their  coasts.  One  dance  is  explained  by  an  episode  in  the  myth  of  the 
goddess  Pele.  On  the  journey  to  fetch  Pele's  lover,  Hiiaka  sees  the  ghost  of  a 
maimed  woman  dancing  and  singing  on  a  rock.  In  pity  she  throws  her  a 
hala-iruit,  which  the  ghost  eagerly  holds  up  to  smell  as  she  sings  her  song 
of  thanks.  The  dancers  therefore  bend  their  arms  in  this  dance  to  represent 
the  maimed  ghost,  and  the  song  celebrates  the  attributes  of  Pele.  The 
mimetic  animal  dances  of  plover,  shark,  dog,  and  pig,  evidently  express 
emotional  ideas  of  which  these  animals  are  the  conventional  and  concealed 
•  symbol.  In  one  dance,  puppets  appear  worked  from  behind,  whose  char- 
acters —  that  of  a  big  braggart,  a  lean  smart  man,  and  their  two  lady-loves 
—  suggest  European  analogies;  their  realistic  action,  too,  is  unlike  Hawaiian 
tradition,  but  the  natives  claim  for  them  an  ancient  origin.  So  each  dance 
has  its  tradition,  although  more  than  one  song  may  be  sung  to  the  same 
dance  provided  only  that  the  emotional  tone  be  similar.  For  example,  a 
modern  song  in  honor  of  the  late  King  Kalakaua  is  sung  to  a  dance  originally 
belonging  to  an  ancient  hero.  The  dances,  too,  may  vary  in  make-up. 
The  same  dance  may  be  done  by  an  individual  or  by  a  group  to  the  number 
of  hundreds.  The  singers  and  dancers  are  not  always  dififerentiated.  Both 
sexes  take  part,  sometimes  dancing  separate  dances,  sometimes  together. 
The  hula-master,  therefore,  is  to  be  guided  by  his  own  taste  and  the  resources 
of  his  particular  company  in  making  up  his  programme.  The  master  also 
sets  the  emotional  style  of  delivery.  Some  songs  are  of  a  sacred  and  dignified 
nature,  celebrating  the  fame  of  ancient  heroes;  others  of  a  lighter  character 
are  love-songs;  of  still  lower  rank  are  those  sung  in  sport  or  derision.  So 
the  style  must  vary  to  suit  the  mood.  Dr.  Emerson  distinguishes  the  koi 
honua,  or  common  style,  from  the  bombastic,  in  which  the  voice  is  choked 
to  a  guttural  in  rendering  violent  emotion;  and  the  hoaeae,  or  sentimental, 
for  certain  love-songs.  In  the  olioli  the  characteristic  vibratory  trill  upon 
the  vowel-sounds  i  and  e  becomes  more  frequent,  as  in  ceremonial  wailing. 

So  far  as  the  pupils  are  concerned,  the  gestures  of  the  dance  and  the  words 
of  the  song  are  imposed  from  without.  The  master  teaches  first  the  ges- 
tures, then    the  accompanying    words,  but  not   the   idea  they  interpret. 


412  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  classical  dances  celebrated  the  deeds  of  some  demigod  or  hero  by 
dramatizing  an  incident  of  his  life  in  rhythmical  posturings  especially  de- 
signed to  call  up  particular  emotions.  But  the  dramatization  was  not 
realistic:  it  analyzed  the  story  through  a  strictly  conventionalized  series  of 
symbols.  Not  only  hands  and  feet,  but  the  head,  face,  and  body,  must 
be  trained  into  appropriate  and  expressive  co-ordinated  postures.  Thus 
the  undulatory  movement  of  the  outstretched  hand,  Emerson  tells  us, 
"represents  progress  either  walking  or  travelling;"  the  hand  turned  per- 
pendicularly marks  a  precipice  in  the  way,  which  is  climbed  by  an  upward 
lift  of  the  arm  and  inclining  of  the  hand.  Under  the  figure  of  the  precipice 
and  its  climbing,  however,  lies  an  emotional  idea  or  passion  of  which  this  is 
the  symbol,  and  which  forms  the  real  subject  of  the  dance.  Without  a 
recognition  of  this  double  symbolism,  the  hula  technique  can  by  no  means 
be  understood.  As  the  gestures,  so  the  words,  convey  a  second  meaning. 
A  pretty  description  of  natural  scenery,  rich  in  specific  local  coloring  and  in 
allusion  to  ancient  myth,  may  veil  a  passionate  love-episode,  a  compliment 
to  some  chief,  or  a  taunt  of  derision.  Because  of  this  artificial  form  of 
innuendo,  many  of  the  songs  quoted  by  Dr.  Emerson  are  to-day  unintel- 
ligible without  a  key.  Many  depend  not  only  upon  knowledge  of  an  his- 
torical allusion,  but  upon  some  specious  analogy,  either  of  sound  or  of  image, 
which  carries  the  trick  of  punning  and  metaphor  to  a  very  high  pitch,  and 
makes  an  art  of  riddling.  For  example,  a  certain  plant,  the  noni,  is  used 
to  produce  a  red  dye:  so,  when  the  unsuccessful  suitor  of  the  volcano 
goddess  wishes  in  revenge  to  ridicule  her  inflamed  eyes,  he  sings  about  a 
woman  pounding  no7ii.  This  hidden  symbolism  has  a  social  significance 
among  natives  of  the  South  Sea  as  well  as  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  To 
conceal  the  mind  from  the  common  people  by  veiling  language  under 
metaphor  is  a  mark  of  rank,  —  only  the  chief  can  detect  the  true  interpreta- 
tion, —  hence  the  Polynesian  stories  of  riddling-contests  which  suggest 
analogies  with  Greek  folk-lore.  Dr.  Emerson  thinks  this  excessive  artifice 
of  language,  shown  also  in  the  word-linking  and  other  plays  upon  words 
which  make  up  the  verse  form,  belongs  to  a  period  of  deterioration  from 
an  older  and  purer  art,  where  the  appeal  was  more  direct. 

The  volume  contains  a  full  description  of  the  general  form  of  each  dance, 
with  its  accompanying  instrumen,t,  and  a  detailed  account  of  the  cere- 
monial to  be  observed.  It  prints  authentic  texts,  with  translation  and 
notes,  of  the  songs  sung  to  each  dance.  The  subject  of  Hawaiian  music, 
the  theory  of  gesture,  and  of  emotional  style,  has  received  more  general 
treatment.  A  special  study  of  these  elements  is  much  to  be  desired.  It 
looks  as  if  the  dance  were  made  up,  like  a  sign-alphabet,  of  conventionalized 
physiological  reactions  to  special  emotional  suggestions,  perhaps  to  the 
excitation  of  rhythmical  beats.  Added  to  this,  the  ready  play  of  metaphor 
in  the  Polynesian  fancy,  stimulated  by  the  desire  to  aggrandize  social 
rank,  has  imposed  the  literary  form  of  the  accompanying  song,  and  no  doubt 
modified  both  gesture  and  symbolism. 

Martha  W.  Beckwith. 
Smith  College, 

Northampton,  Mass. 

Present-Day  Survivals  of  Ancient  Jewish  Customs.  —  The  Folk- 
Lore  Society  of  Missouri  is  naturally  concerned  with  the  various  customs 


Azotes  and  Queries.  413 

and  beliefs  current  among  all  the  people  of  the  State,  whether  they  be  the 
first  inhabitants  or  the  latest  comers;  but  very  little  is  known  to  most  of  us 
about  the  inner  life  of  the  people  who  have  recently  come  to  this  country 
from  other  lands.  There  is  a  promising  field  for  the  scholar  in  the  folk-lore 
of  the  immigrants  in  our  large  cities.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  legends 
and  customs  among  the  orthodox  Jews  in  our  country.  St.  Louis  has  a  large 
community  of  orthodox  Jews  who  have  emigrated  from  Russia,  Poland,  and 
Galicia.  Many  of  these  people  live  in  a  world  apart.  They  have  brought 
with  them  century-old  traditions,  which  color  their  lives  and  fashion  their 
thinking.  The  majority  of  their  practices  are  common  to  the  orthodox 
Jews  in  all  the  lands  of  the  earth. 

The  children  of  Israel  are  indeed  a  "peculiar  people."  For  nearly  three 
thousand  years  they  have  been  hurled  from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the 
other;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  degradation  and  indignity,  in  the  face  of  injustice 
and  hate,  they  have  lived  by  adapting  themselves  to  their  environment 
although  they  have  also  always  persisted  in  retaining  their  individuality 
in  spite  of  change.  It  is  this  two-sidedness  that  has  made  the  Jew  the 
miracle  of  history;  and  it  is  just  this  faculty  of  being  himself  and  imitating 
his  neighbor  which  makes  him  especially  interesting  to  the  folk-lorist. 

In  their  many  wanderings,  the  Jews  have  borrowed  customs  and  ideas 
from  other  people,  and  have  added  them  to  the  traditions  of  their  race. 
As  they  go  from  place  to  place,  it  becomes  increasingly  difificult  to  determine 
which  practices  are  Jewish,  and  which  have  crept  in  from  without.  Most 
of  the  customs  and  rites  among  the  Jews  are  so  old  that  it  is  well-nigh  im- 
possible to  trace  them  to  their  origin.  The  fact  that  they  persist  and  are 
still  practised,  however,  is  the  interesting  thing  for  us. 

By  far  the  greater  mass  of  their  traditions  and  ancient  practices  still 
clings  to  burial-ceremonies  and  mourning  for  the  dead.  From  early  Bible 
times  to  the  present  the  orthodox  Jews  have  buried  the  corpse  on  the  day 
of  death,  sometimes  a  few  hours  after  the  breath  has  left  the  body.  What- 
ever the  original  reason  for  this  practice  may  have  been,  it  has  continued 
in  spite  of  climatic  or  seasonal  changes.  Embalming  is  forbidden,  because 
in  the  final  resurrection  no  part  of  the  body  should  be  missing.  Cremation 
is  not  allowed,  for  the  same  reason.  The  resurrection  of  the  body  at  the 
final  judgment  is  a  real  thing  to  the  orthodox  Jews,  and  not  a  figure  of 
speech  or  an  allegory.  This  is  one  of  the  questions  on  which  the  reformed 
Jews  take  issue  with  their  orthodox  brethren. 

During  the  short  interval  between  death  and  interment,  the  body  is 
never  left  alone.  Some  watcher  sits  with  it  until  it  is  carried  to  the  cemetery. 
This  custom  is  found  among  many  other  races.  The  Jews  declare  that 
people  sat  near  the  dead  in  order  to  keep  away  the  birds  and  beasts  of  prey. 
The  most  beautiful  biblical  example  of  this  custom  is  that  of  Rizpah 
guarding  the  bodies  of  her  sons. 

The  simplicity  of  an  orthodox  Jewish  funeral  is  perhaps  its  most  striking 
feature.  With  the  exception  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  there  is  perhaps  no 
other  people  in  the  world  who  so  rigidly  adhere  to  plainness  of  burial. 
The  use  of  ornamented  coffins  is  prohibited.  Only  a  simple  pine  box  is 
allowed,  although  in  olden  times  cedar-wood  was  used.  Flowers,  music, 
processions,  funeral  orations,  are  all  unknown.  It  is  on  rare  occasions 
that  a  short  address  may  be  delivered,  and  that  only  in  the  case  of  a  man 
roL.  xxix. — NO.  1 13. — 27. 


414  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

unusually  pious  or  learned.  Even  in  such  cases,  however,  care  must  be 
taken  not  to  exaggerate  the  virtues  of  the  deceased.  The  body  must  not 
be  dressed  in  elaborate  garments,  but  a  simple  white  shroud  serves  for  rich 
and  poor  alike.  No  knots  are  made  in  the  thread  with  which  a  shroud 
is  sewed 

Funerals  are  never  held  in  the  synagogue  or  at  the  home,  but  always  in 
the  cemetery.  While  the  bier  is  being  carried,  it  is  placed  on  the  ground  at 
intervals  of  four  feet  until  the  grave  is  reached.  Charity  boxes  are  found  at 
every  orthodox  funeral;  and  all  who  come,  whether  relatives  or  friends, 
drop  into  them  money  for  the  poor.  The  Jews  are  buried  facing  the  east,  — 
that  is,  toward  Jerusalem,  —  and  the  tombstones  front  in  the  same  direction. 
It  is  seldom  that  any  articles  are  buried  with  the  dead.  Sacred  books  are 
sometimes  put  into  the  grave  of  a  rabbi  or  of  a  great  scholar,  but  never 
anything  else.  On  leaving  the  cemetery,  it  is  the  custom  for  people  to  pluck 
a  few  blades  of  grass  and  throw  them  over  the  shoulder.  It  is  believed  that 
this  is  a  survival  of  an  old  German  superstition  which  the  Jews  borrowed. 
It  dates  back  to  the  twelfth  century.'  Wailing  and  loud  lamentations  are 
customary  among  the  women  relatives,  both  at  the  funeral  and  later  in  the 
house  of  mourning. 

The  mourning-period  lasts  seven  days.  During  this  time  the  relatives 
of  the  dead  remain  in  the  house.  They  sit  on  the  ground  or  on  low  stools. 
This  is  a  survival  of  the  days  when  those  who  bewailed  the  dead  cast  them- 
selves upon  the  ground,  rent  their  garments,  and  threw  dust  and  ashes  on 
their  heads.  The  orthodox  Jews  of  to-day  cut  a  slit  in  the  outer  garment 
which  they  wear  during  the  week  of  sorrow  as  a  reminder  of  the  rent  gar- 
ments of  their  ancestors.  They  do  not,  however,  heap  dust  and  ashes  on 
their  heads.  The  wearing  of  black  is  not  mandatory,  but,  since  it  is  not 
expressly  forbidden,  the  practice  is  becoming  more  and  more  common  in 
this  country.  This  is  an  excellent  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  the  Jews 
adopt  the  customs  of  their  neighbors. 

Attention  has  been  called  to  the  similarities  between  mourning-customs 
and  those  relating  to  religious  worship.  For  instance,  the  shoes  are  removed 
during  mourning  and  also  in  the  synagogue  on  the  holiest  day  of  the  year, 
the  Day  of  Atonement.  This  practice  denoted  the  presence  of  holiness, 
for  in  the  Bible  the  voice  from  the  burning  bush  calls  to  Moses:  "  Put  off  thy 
shoes  from  oft'  thy  feet,  for  the  place  whereon  thou  standest  is  holy  ground." 
An  egg  is  eaten  on  the  return  from  a  funeral  and  also  at  the  Passover 
service.     The  egg  seems  to  be  symbolic  of  the  resurrection  and  of  eternal  life. 

The  orthodox  Jews  to-day  visit  the  graves  of  parents  and  ask  them  to 
intercede  with  God  in  behalf  of  their  children.  This  is  not  only  a  common, 
but  a  universal  practice,  since  all  orthodox  Jewish  prayer-books  (Russian, 
German,  Spanish,  etc.)  contain  special  prayers  to  the  dead.  The  departed 
father  or  mother  is  looked  upon  as  a  guardian-spirit.  It  is  usual  for  an 
orphan  girl,  just  before  her  marriage,  to  visit  the  grave  of  her  mother  and 
invite  her  spirit  to  the  wedding  to  bless  her  child. 

No  offerings  or  sacrifices  were  brought  to  the  graves  of  ancestors  among  the 
ancient  Hebrews.  There  is  no  evidence  of  food,  flowers,  or  animals  being 
brought  to  the  dead,  and  there  are  no  traces  of  such  practices  to-day. 

The  orthodox  Jews  never  throw  away  the  parings  of  their  nails;  they 
•  Jewish  Encyclopedia,  vol.  xi,  p.  599. 


Notes  and  Queries.  415 

either  bury  them  or  burn  them.  The  practice  is  first  mentioned  in  the 
Talmud,  about  two  thousand  years  ago. 

Sometimes  orthodox  Jews  change  the  name  of  a  sick  child,  or  add  another 
name.  They  believe  that  in  this  way  they  can  deceive  the  angel  of  death 
who  may  come  to  take  the  child,  for  he  may  not  be  able  to  identify  it  under 
its  new  name. 

A  Catholic  peasant  woman  in  Germany,  Herbert  Spencer  tells  us,  "in  pre- 
paring the  dough,  casts  behind  her  a  handful  of  flour,  and  throws  a  piece  of 
dough  into  the  furnace ;  when  she  bakes  little  cakes,  she  puts  some  fat  into  the 
pan,  and  the  first  cake  into  the  fire."  A  Jewish  housewife  always  throws 
a  piece  of  dough  into  the  fire  when  she  is  baking  bread.  This  practice  among 
Jewish  women  is  many  years  old.^  It  may  be  that  the  German  peasants 
learned  the  practice  from  the  Jews;  or  the  custom  may  go  back  to  some 
primitive  hearth-worship,  from  which  both  of  these  practices  may  be  parallel 
survivals. 

It  is  still  customary  that  a  younger  sister  must  not  marry  before  the  elder, 
although  this  rule  is  not  rigidly  enforced.  We  know  that  it  is  a  custom  of 
ancient  origin  through  the  Bible  story  of  Leah  and  Rachel. 

The  orthodo.x  Jews  of  Russia,  Poland,  and  Galicia,  observe  very  strictly 
the  following  custom:  Just  before  her  wedding,  a  bride  has  her  head  shaved. 
She  is  then  covered  with  a  kerchief,  and  is  led  under  the  wedding  canopy. 
During  the  remainder  of  her  life  she  wears  a  wig.  This  sacrifice  of  hair  is 
not  considered  an  offering  to  a  deity  or  to  a  spirit.  Whatever  its  original 
purpose  may  have  been,  the  Jews  have  a  very  sensible  explanation  of  it. 
A  woman's  hair  is  her  greatest  beauty.  After  marriage  she  should  not  ap- 
pear beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  because  she  might  attract  other  men. 
The  wig,  therefore,  serves  as  a  defender  of  virtue,  and  protector  of  the  home. 
It  may  be,  of  course,  that  this  rational  interpretation  was  invented  later  to 
justify  a  seemingly  superstitious  practice.  The  custom  has  died  out  in  the 
United  States,  however,  and  one  is  reminded  of  it  only  on  meeting  old 
women  who  still  wear  their  European  wigs.  The  blotting-out  in  a  few  years 
of  this  ancient  practice  illustrates  remarkably  well  the  adaptation  of  the 
Jews  to  a  new  environment  under  favorable  conditions.  They  clung  to 
this  usage  in  Russia  because  they  were  isolated  and  set  apart;  but  in  this 
country,  where  they  are  given  an  equal  opportunity  with  others,  and  where 
they  mingle  with  their  fellows,  they  are  gradually  dropping  the  character- 
istics which  make  them  different. 

Another  custom  which  is  slowly  dying  out  in  this  country  is  known  as 
"Tashlik."  This  is  the  ceremony  of  shaking  one's  sins  into  the  water. 
It  is  based  on  a  verse  in  the  prophet  Micah:  "Thou  wilt  cast  all  their  sins 
into  the  depths  of  the  sea."  On  the  afternoon  of  the  Jewish  New  Year 
the  more  extreme  of  the  orthodox  Jews  repair  to  some  stream,  where  they 
recite  prayers  and  shake  the  ends  of  their  garments  as  though  they  were 
casting  their  sins  from  them.  It  is  not  known  where  or  when  this  custom 
originated  Many  very  pious  Jews  have  ridiculed  it,  since  there  is  no 
religious  sanction  for  the  practice.  It  is  gradually  becoming  extinct  in  this 
country,  although  one  can  still  see  on  Manhattan  and  Brooklyn  bridges  in 
New  York  earnest  old  men  and  women  who  sincerely  believe  that  their 
transgressions  are  being  hurled,  Satan-like,  into  the  abyss  below.     Eads 

1  It  is  commanded  by  the  rabbis  in  the  Talmud,  and  is  a  reminder  of  the  tithes  of 
dough  which  were  given  to  the  priests  in  ancient  Israel. 


41 6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Bridge  in  St.  Louis,  too,  is  the  witness  of  a  like  scene,  and  the  waters  of  the 
Missouri  at  Kansas  City  undoubtedly  suffer  a  similar  pollution. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  most  important  of  the  religious  observances  of  the 
Jews  was  the  sacrificial  offerings  of  animals  in  the  Temple.  This  practice 
has  almost  entirely  been  abandoned.  The  only  survival  of  it  is  the  killing 
of  a  fowl  before  the  Day  of  Atonement  as  a  sin-offering.  The  bird  is  later 
eaten  to  break  the  fast  which  is  required, of  all  Jews  on  that  day.  But  it  is 
not  absolutely  essential  to  shed  blood  for  the  remission  of  sin,  for  a  sum  of 
money  may  be  offered  instead.  This  money  does  not  go  to  the  synagogue, 
but  to  the  poor. 

The  Pascal  lamb  which  used  to  be  sacrificed  at  the  Passover  is  represented 
now  by  a  roasted  lamb-bone  on  the  Passover  family  table;  or,  when  that 
is  not  available,  by  a  partially  burned  chicken-bone.  These  are  but  symbols, 
and  the  orthodox  Jew  recognizes  with  his  reformed  brother  that  "the  old 
order  changeth,  giving  place  to  new."  Another  custom  on  Passover  eve 
is  to  leave  the  door  open  for  Elijah  to  enter,  and  to  set  a  cup  of  wine  for  him 
to  drink.  This  has  been  interpreted  as  an  evidence  of  ancient  hospitality, 
since  any  stranger  who  came  in  for  food  and  shelter  might  be  Elijah.  Per- 
haps the  most  interesting  survival  in  the  Passover  ritual,  however,  is  the 
use  of  the  cumulative  chant  of  the  kid. 

"One  kid,  one  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim, 

One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  a  stick  came  and  beat  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 

One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  a  fire  came  and  burned  the  stick,  which  beat  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for 
two  zuzim, 

One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  a  water  came  and  quenched  the  fire,  which  burned  the  stick,  which  beat  the  kid, 
which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 

One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  an  ox  came  and  drank  the  water,  which  quenched  the  fire,  which  burned  the  stick, 
which  beat  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 
One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  a  butcher  came  and  killed  the  ox,  which  drank  the  water,  which  quenched  the  fire, 
which  burned  the  stick,  which  beat  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 
One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  the  angel  of  death  came  and  killed  the  butcher,  who  killed  the  ox,  which  drank  the 
water,  which  quenched  the  fire,  which  burned  the  stick,  which  beat  the  kid,  which 
my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 

One  kid,  one  kid. 

And  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  came  and  slew  the  angel  of  death,  who  killed  the 
butcher,  who  slew  the  ox,  which  drank  the  water,  which  quenched  the  fire,  which  burned 
the  stick,  which  beat  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  zuzim. 
One  kid,  one  kid." 

How  this  verse  crept  into  a  solemn  religious  ritual,  it  is  hard  to  say,  and  it 

is  equally  difficult  to  make  conjectures  as  to  its  source  and  date.^     The 

1  See  W.  W.  Newell,  in  this  Journal,  vol.  xviii,  pp.  33  ff. 


Notes  and  Queries. 


417 


words  are  Aramaic,  not  Hebrew;  and  the  tune  is  a  peculiar,  monotonous 
chant.  It  occurs  at  the  very  end  of  the  service.  Of  course,  the  Jews  have 
given  a  religious  and  allegorical  significance  to  this  simple  song.  To  some 
it  means  a  glorification  of  the  power  and  strength  of  God,  to  whom  all 
things  must  come  back  for  solution.  To  others  the  kid  represents  Israel, 
whom  God  the  Father  saves  from  all  his  enemies. 

In  spite  of  the  spiritual  interpretations  given  to  the  song,  the  Chasidim, 
a  sect  among  the  orthodox  Jews,  exclude  it  from  their  service  altogether, 
saying  that  it  is  childish  and  silly.  Since  this  sect  is  very  old  and  is  espe- 
cially noted  for  its  piety,  and  because  the  rhyme  is  at  the  very  end  of  the 
ritual,  it  is  perhaps  possible  that  the  song  is  a  later  addition.  The  fact  that 
the  name  of  God  is  not  given,  but  that  he  is  referred  to  by  one  of  his  at- 
tributes, —  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  —  is  an  indication  that  the  chant 
is  of  secular  origin,  since  the  Jews  never  use  the  name  of  God  in  non-religious 
songs  or  proverbs. 

Leah  R.  C.  Yoffie. 
SoLDAN  High  School, 
St.  Louis,  Mo. 

The  Cherry-Tree  Carol.  —  The  version  of  the  "Cherry-Tree  Carol" 
published  in  the  last  number  of  the  Journal  was  obtained  by  Miss  McGill 
from  the  singing  of  Mr.  Will  Wooten,  of  Knott  County,  Kentucky.  He 
learned  it  from  his  grandmother,  who  died  about  thirty  years  ago  at  a  very 
advanced  age.  She  came  from  North  Carolina,  and  her  people  were  from 
England.     The  music  follows. 


^ 


-I — ^—V^ — • — »         I 


:±i: 


When     Jo  -  seph     was 


old 


man.     An     old      man        was 


:r^ 


$ 


he. 


He     mar  -  ried  Vir  -  gin    Ma  -  ry,       The  Queen    of  Gal  -  i  ■ 


-?^— N- 


-N-«- 


— * — K^ 

3 

He     mar  -  ried  Vir-gin  Ma  -  ry,        The    Queen  of  Gal  - 1  -  lee. 


lee, 


Announcement. 
The  American  Folk-Lore  Society  is  about  to  resume  publication  of  its 
Memoirs.     Vol.  X  will  be  "Spanish-American   Folk-Songs,"  collected  by 
Miss  Eleanor  Hague.     It  will  be  pubHshed  towards  the  close  of  the  year. 


41 8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


REVIEWS. 

JOHANN  Jacob  Meyer,  Das  Weib  im  altindischen  Epos.  Ein  Beitrag  zur 
indischen  und  zur  vergleichenden  Kulturgeschichte.  Leipzig  (Wilhelm 
Heims),  1915.     xviii  and  440  pp.     18.5  X  25.5  cm. 

We  live  in  an  age  of  feminism,  and,  at  least  on  this  continent,  effeminiza- 
tion.  Books  on  the  life  of  women  of  all  peoples  and  ages,  comprehensive 
monographs  aiming  at  a  sort  of  general  ethnography  of  woman  or  at  a 
racial  description  of  female  beauty,  have  been  cultivated  like  mushrooms 
during  the  last  two  decades  or  so.  As  a  rule,  this  literature  is  light  ware, 
solicited  for  the  benefit  of  the  publisher,  and  designed  for  the  special  taste 
of  a  certain  class  of  readers.  Such  ulterior  motives  cannot  be  ascribed 
to  Mr.  Meyer's  book,  which  is  even  devoid  of  illustrations,  and  which  is  so 
scientific  and  ponderous,  that  the  plain  layman,  who  may  expect  to  find 
here  an  Indian  Ploss-Bartels,  will  soon  let  the  volume  slip  from  his  hands 
in  disappointment.  Despite  its  learned  character,  however,  Meyer's  pro- 
duction shares  certain  defects  with  the  books  above  characterized.  It  must 
be  patent  to  every  ethnologist  or  student  of  civilization  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  give  an  adequate  description  of  woman  within  any  given  social 
organization  without  picturing  the  latter  as  a  unit.  Nowhere  does  woman 
exist  by  herself;  but  she  exists  in  association  with  man,  parents,  and  progeny, 
and  in  the  surroundings  of  her  people  and  their  culture.  To  select  the 
exclusive  subject  "woman"  of  any  nationality  is  a  purely  journalistic 
venture,  not  a  scientific  task,  and  will  necessarily  lead  to  one-sided  and 
distorted  views,  and  shifting  of  correct  perspectives.  The  scientist  can 
view  the  history  of  woman  only  in  her  proper  setting,  as  a  member  of  society. 
In  deciding  on  his  title,  "Woman  in  the  Ancient  Indian  Epic,"  Mr.  Meyer 
has  merely  fallen  victim  to  the  modern  feministic  tendency:  in  fact,  he 
largely  deals  with  some  phases  of  social  organization  and  psychology  in  a 
certain  period  of  Indian  history,  of  marriage-rites,  married  life,  and  love, 
in  which  man's  function  is  as  important  as  that  of  woman.  A  disadvantage 
of  the  work  is  presented  by  the  author's  voluntary  limitation  to  the  two 
epics,  the  Mahabharata  and  the  Ramayana,  while  the  most  attractive 
types  of  Indian  womanhood  are  doubtless  portrayed  in  Buddhist  literature 
and  the  Sanskrit  drama.  KisagotamI,  to  which  Thiessen  has  devoted  a  fine 
monograph,  is  an  excellent  example  thereof.  Like  many  of  his  colleagues, 
Mr.  Meyer  lacks  the  chronological  sense,  and  does  not  even  discuss  the 
period  under  consideration,  nor  does  he  discriminate  between  older  and  more 
recent  portions  of  the  epics,  with  a  possible  view  to  disclosing  historical 
developments.  It  is  now  generally  assumed  that  the  Mahabharata  de- 
veloped from  the  fourth  century  B.C.  to  the  fourth  century  A.D.,  and  was 
completed  in  the  sixth  or  seventh  century.  Such  an  enormous  production, 
naturally,  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  unit,  nor  be  treated  as  a  uniform  source. 
The  general  reader  will  find  himself  at  sea  as  to  many  topics,  for  he  is  not 
even  told  what  the  Mahabharata  and  Ramayana  are.  A  brief  outline  of 
the  cultural  background  from  which  the  chapters  of  the  book  are  set  otf 
would  have  been  a  desirable  supplement.  Notwithstanding  these  stric- 
tures, it  cannot  be  denied  that  within  the  compass  of  his  self-imposed 


Reviews.  419 

limitations,  the  author  has  accomplished  an  earnest,  conscientious,  and 
creditable  piece  of  work.  His  book  is  essentially  documentary,  all  relevant 
texts  being  given  in  full  and  excellent  translations.  It  is  accordingly  a 
valuable  source-book,  which  will  render  good  service  to  the  sociologist,  and 
may  advantageously  be  used  as  a  text-book  for  a  seminar  course  in  Indian 
sociology.  A  stupendous  mass  of  comparative  material,  testifying  to  wide 
and  systematic  reading,  is  accumulated  in  the  footnotes.  The  author's  style 
is  not  always  smooth  and  pleasing.  The  neglect  of  their  mother-tongue  on  the 
part  of  many  German  writers  is  almost  disconcerting;  and  the  invasion  of 
the  written  language  by  flat  colloquialisms,  which  has  developed  during  the 
last  ten  years,  presents  a  sorry  spectacle.  In  a  learned  treatise  like  that  of 
Meyer,  we  should  hardly  expect  to  meet  such  slang  expressions  as  ahmiirksen, 
pisacken,  hcschummeln,  scharnickeln.  He  is  very  fond  also  of  Kraftaus- 
driicke  and  newly-formed  phrases  of  his  own  manufacture,  like  zurechtsdu- 
seln,  hineingesudelt,  Verwiinschungsvirtuose  (p.  299),  kannibalische  Freude 
("cannibal  joy,"  Ibid.),  olige  Weichtierhaftigkeit  (p.  388),  Vergottung,  etc. 
Such  extravagances  should  be  blotted  out  in  a  second  edition.  If  so  many 
Americans  with  a  good  knowledge  of  German  are  discouraged  by  German 
books,  it  is  primarily  due  to  such  affected  and  corrupted  originality  of  style, 
which  in  fact  is  not  style  at  all,  but  bad  taste  and  pretentious  mannerism. 
Though  we  may  look  upon  such  books  as  the  present  one  with  divided 
feelings,  it  must  be  conceded  that  they  have  also  a  decidedly  ethical  mission. 
They  are  good  antidotes  to  the  many  pretensions  of  the  modern-woman 
movement,  and,  in  particular,  are  apt  to  counteract  the  monstrous  dogma 
of  the  "  man-made  world,"  which  exists  only  in  the  imagination  of  the  super- 
feminists.  In  ancient  Egypt,  Palestine,  Persia,  India,  China,  and  Japan, 
the  world  has  been  shaped  as  much  by  woman  as  by  man.  Great,  noble,  and 
cultured  women,  versed  in  poetry,  the  liberal  arts,  and  diplomacy,  and, 
above  all,  the  greatest  of  all  arts,  the  art  of  living,  have  flourished  there 
during  all  ages  in  peaceful  and  harmonious  co-operation  with  man.^  The 
women  of  the  Orient  always  accepted  their  natural  position  at  the  side  of 
man  for  the  best  of  society,  serving  the  highest  ideals  of  their  countries. 
It  remained  for  the  modern  white  woman  to  discover  that  man  is  a  species 
different  from  her,  and  antagonistic  to  her  interests.  She  invented  the 
illusory  war-cry  of  the  struggle  of  the  sexes,  and  no  longer  is  inclined  to 
work  with  man,  but  against  him.  The  results  achieved  are  gloomy  enough, 
— industrial  slavery  of  women,  child  labor,  and  general  misery.  Let  the 
women  of  the  East  and  the  West  cast  votes  as  to  the  real  state  of  their 
happiness,  and  find  out  where  the  majority  of  happier  women  resides. 

B.  Laufer. 
Field  Museum  of  Natural  History, 
Chicago,   III. 

1  Sceptics  may  be  referred  to  Mabel  Bode,  "Women  Leaders  of  the  Buddhist  Reforma- 
tion" (Journal  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society,  1893,  pp.  517-566,  763-798);  Mrs.  Rhys 
Davids,  Psalms  of  the  Early  Buddhists,  I.  Psalms  of  the  Sisters  (London,  1909);  Miss 
A.  C.  Safford,  Typical  Women  of  China  (Shanghai,  1899);  M.  E.  Burton,  Education  of 
Women  in  China  (n.  d.). 


420  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  Mythology  of  All  Races.  In  thirteen  volumes.  L.  H.  Gray, 
Editor;  G.  F.  Moore,  Consulting  Editor.  Volume  I,  Greek  and 
Roman,  by  W.  S.  Fox.  Boston,  Marshall  Jones  Company,  1916.  lxii+ 
354  p.     63  pi.,  II  text  figs.     No  index. 

The  consulting  editor,  speaking  for  the  series,  calls  attention  to  the  fact 
that  "  a  comprehensive  collection  by  competent  scholars,  of  myths  from  all 
quarters  of  the  world  and  all  ages,  has  not  hitherto  been  attempted,"  and 
states  that  the  present  work  "  may  safely  be  pronounced  one  of  the  most 
important  enterprises  of  this  age  of  co-operative  scholarship."  Following 
him,  the  editor  introduces  briefly  the  several  authors  of  the  different  volumes, 
of  which  three  have  been  published,  under  the  following  titles:  II,  Teutonic; 
III,  Celtic,  Slavonic;  IV,  Finno-Ugric,  Siberian;  V,  Semitic;  VI,  Indian, 
Iranian;  VII,  Armenian,  African;  VIII,  Chinese,  Japanese;  IX,  Oceanic;^ 
X,  American  (north  of  Mexico);^  XI,  American  (Latin);  XII,  Egypt,  Far 
East;  XIII,  Index.  The  author,  in  a  third  preface,  mentions,  among  other 
things,  the  circumstances  which  limited  his  choice  of  myths  to  "  a  com- 
paratively small  fraction  of  those  which  are  logically  available." 

Exclusive  of  an  "  introduction  to  the  Greek  myths  "  (twenty  pages), 
the  work  is  divided  into  three  parts,  of  which  a  hundred  and  forty-eight 
pages  are  devoted  to  "  myths  of  the  beginning,  the  heroes,  and  the  after- 
world,"  nearly  as  many  to  "  the  Greek  Gods,"  and  twenty-two  to  "  the 
mythology  of  ancient  Italy."  There  follow  two  brief  appendices  on 
"  survivals,"  ten  pages  of  notes,  and  twenty  of  bibliography. 

The  principal  Greek  myths  are  extremely  well  told,  and  with  satis- 
factory detail;  as,  for  example,  the  story  of  Oedipus  (pp.  48-51), —  where 
one  perhaps  unreasonably  misses  mention  of  the  artificial  Sophoclean 
version  suggested  by  the  quotation  from  the  Oedipus  Coloneus,  —  or  that 
of  Heracles  (pp.  75-95).  Minor  myths,  as  that  of  Canace,  in  which  the 
reviewer  found  himself  momentarily  interested,  are  not  treated.  The 
book  will  not,  then,  serve  the  purpose  of  a  reference-work,  which,  indeed, 
the  irritating  absence  of  a  separate  index  renders  impossible:  it  is  rather  a 
book  to  be  read,  and  readable  it  certainly  is.  Its  charm  in  this  respect  is 
delightfully  enhanced  by  its  numerous  and  well-chosen  illustrations,  many 
of  them  in  colors,  and  many  of  them  refreshingly  new.  The  selection  of 
material  from  American  museums  (e.g.,  Plate  LXII,  the  Magna  Mater  in 
the  Metropolitan;  and  Plate  I,  the  Aphrodite  in  Toronto)  is  particularly 
happy. 

Any  spelling  of  Greek  proper  names  in  English  tends  nowadays  to  arouse 
subjective  criticism.  "Attike  "  (p.  73  and  passim)  offended  in  this  case, 
especially  in  view  of  the  author's  declaration  (p.  xxii)  that  "  the  established 
English  spelling  .  .  .  has  been  retained  ...  in  names  of  districts,  cities, 
islands,  and  bodies  of  water  to  which  frequent  allusion  is  still  made  in  English 
journalism  and  literature,"  and  in  view  of  his  use  of  the  adjective  "Attic  " 
in  the  same  paragraph.  At  "  Klytemaistra  "  one  confesses  to  being  shocked, 
whether  by  reason  of  its  correctness,  or  by  reason  of  the  author's  courage  in 
using  it. 

A  real  defect  in  the  book,  from  the  reviewer's  point  of  view,  is  the  scant 
treatment  afforded  the  mythology  of  Italy.  Small  though  it  be  in  com- 
parison with  that  of  Greece,  yet  it  would  seem  that  the  author  has  done 

1  Published. 


Reviews.  421 

not  quite  adequate  justice  to  the  researches  of  Wissowa  and  Fowler;  that  a 
very  considerable  expansion  of  his  brief  paragraph  on  Etruscan  mythology 
(p.  289)  is  suggested  by  his  own  Appendix  II,  in  which  he  reviews  Leland's 
"  Etrusco-Roman  Remains;"  and  that  such  myths  as  those  of  Evander 
and  Cacus  deserve  a  place  beside  those  of  Aeneas  and  Romulus. 

Typographically  the  book  is  commendably  clean,  and  its  make-up  is 
prepossessing.  It  will  be  royally  welcomed  by  any  who  wish  to  read  a  vivid, 
yet  carefully  authenticated,  version  of  the  great  stories  of  the  Greek  my- 
thology, splendidly  illustrated  by  ancient  artists,  from  Execias  to  the 
Roman  copyists. 

John  R.  Crawford. 

Columbia  University,  New  York, 
Nov.  I,  1916. 

The  Mythology  of  All  Races.  In  thirteen  volumes.  Louis  Herbert 
Gray,  A.M.,  Ph.D.,  Editor;  George  Foot  Moore,  A.M.,  D.D.,  LL.D., 
Consulting  Editor.  Volume  X,  North  American,  by  Hartley  Burr 
Alexander,  Ph.D.  Boston,  Marshall  Jones  Company,  1916.  xxiv+ 
325  Pm  33  pl-.  2  text  figs.,  map.     Large  8°. 

Professor  Alexander  has  presented  in  his  mythology  of  North  American 
Indians  a  useful  summary  of  the  vast  and  rapidly  increasing  body  of  myths 
that  is  being  collected  by  students  of  anthropology.  The  material  is  well 
digested;  and  in  eleven  chapters  the  principal  cultural  areas  of  our  continent 
north  of  Mexico  are  treated,  the  Eskimo,  the  forest  tribes,  the  Gulf  region, 
the  Great  Plains,  mountain  and  desert,  the  Pueblos,  and  the  Pacific  coast,  the 
last-named  in  two  divisions,  —  a  southern  and  a  northern.  In  a  summary 
like  the  present  one,  it  is  necessary  to  select  from  a  vast  and  varied  mass  of 
material;  and,  on  the  whole,  the  author  has  laid  particular  stress  upon  the 
cosmogonies,  concepts  in  regard  to  the  structure  of  the  world,  and  mythical 
history.  The  vast  mass  of  disconnected  animal  tales  have  received  less 
attention. 

In  his  introduction  the  author  sets  forth  his  general  views  in  regard  to  the 
significance  of  mythology;  and  on  the  whole,  his  discussion  of  the  meaning 
of  myths  as  interpretations  of  nature,  and  of  the  influence  of  borrowing,  is 
sane  and  conservative.  In  the  opinion  of  the  reviewer,  it  would  seem  that 
the  author  is  too  much  inclined  to  consider  mythology  as  a  reflex  of  his- 
torical happenings.  While  it  seems  quite  probable  that  historical  events 
may  have  influenced  mythology,  a  semblance  of  historical  appearance  is  so 
often  given  to  purely  fanciful  accounts,  that  this  kind  of  evidence  can  be 
utilized  only  with  the  greatest  caution  and  when  supported  by  other  facts. 
This  is  true,  for  instance,  of  the  author's  account  of  Cheyenne  history  and 
of  other  similar  cases.  The  animal  stories  which  the  author  discusses  as 
characteristic  of  the  Gulf  region,  and  which,  as  he  believes,  have  been 
carried  from  the  Indians  to  the  Negroes,  are  undoubtedly  of  Negro  and 
European  origin,  and  were  adopted  and  adapted  by  the  Indians  of  the 
Southwest. 

The  book  is  accompanied  by  a  copy  of  the  excellent  map  of  linguistic 
stocks  published  originally  in  the  "  Handbook  of  American  Indians  " 
(Bulletin  of  the  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology)  and  by  numerous  excellent 


422  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore . 

plates  illustrating  certain  phases  of  the  mythological  beliefs  of  the  people 
of  various  parts  of  the  country.  A  bibiliography  containing  the  more  impor- 
tant sources  is  also  given.  The  book  may  well  be  recommended  to  those 
who  wish  to  gain  a  general  insight  into  the  characteristics  of  North  Amer- 
ican mythologies. 

Franz  Boas. 
Columbia  University,  New  York, 
November,  1916. 


THE  JOURNAL   OF 

AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE. 

Vol.  XXIX.— OCTOBER-DECEMBER,  1916.— No.  CXIV. 


PORTO-RICAN   FOLK-LORE. 
RIDDLES. 

BY  J.   ALDEN    MASON. 
EDITED    BY   AURELIO   M.    ESPINOSA. 

As  part  of  a  general  survey  of  Porto  Rico  conducted  by  the  New 
York  Academy  of  Sciences  in  co-operation  with  the  Insular  Govern- 
ment, Dr.  J.  Alden  Mason,  now  of  the  Field  Museum  of  Natural 
History,  Chicago,  was  sent  during  the  years  1914-15  to  collect  the 
folk-lore  of  the  island.  Dr.  Mason  performed  his  task  with  great 
success.  He  obtained  an  extraordinarily  important  and  large  collec- 
tion of  Spanish  folk-lore,  which,  when  published,  will  be  of  great 
utility  to  Spanish  folk-lore  studies.  The  traditional  ballads  alone, 
of  which  there  is  a  very  good  collection,  are  worth  an  expedition  to 
Porto  Rico.^  This  is  even  more  true  of  the  folk-tales,  which  con- 
stitute the  most  abundant  and  best  Spanish-American  collection  of 
folk- tales  yet  collected.  The  collection  is  rich  also  in  coplas,  decimas, 
and  riddles.  Most  of  the  material  was  written  by  school-children 
from  nearly  every  municipal  district  of  the  island.  Without  this 
help,  such  a  large  and  important  collection  could  never  have  been 
obtained.  Spanish  folk-lorists  have  to  thank,  therefore,  not  only  the 
general  collector.  Dr.  Mason,  but  also  every  one  of  the  hundreds  of 
pupils,  teachers,  and  school  superintendents  who  lent  their  aid,  and 
in  particular  the  Porto-Rican  Department  of  Education  under  Mr. 
E.  M.  Bainter.  Much  of  the  material  was  also  written  by  adults, 
especially  from  the  towns  of  Utuado  and  Loiza;  and  a  little  was 
taken  in  phonetic  script  by  Dr.  Mason,  who  is  making  a  study  of 
Porto-Rican  phonetics. 

The  Porto-Rican  riddles  now  published  are  one  of  the  important 
parts  of  the  collection  above  mentioned.  The  collection  of  riddles 
is  the  second  in  importance  in  Spanish  America.  It  numbers  some 
800  riddles  in  some  1288  variants;  while  the  epoch-making  Argentine 

1  These  will  be  published  soon  in  the  Revue  Hispanique. 
VOL.   XXIX. — NO.    114. — 28.  423 


424  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

collection  of  Lehmann-Nitsche,  the  only  one  in  Spanish  America  that 
surpasses  it,  has  1030  riddles,  in  over  twice  that  many  variants. 

Lack  of  time  has  prevented  a  complete  comparative  study  of  the 
Porto-Rican  riddles,  which  will  be  made  in  the  next  Hispanic  number 
of  this  Journal.  It  should  be  said  at  once,  however,  that  a  study  of 
this  material  will  confirm  the  conclusions  reached  in  the  study  of  the 
New-Mexican  Spanish  riddles  in  the  last  Hispanic  number,  where  we 
made  a  comparative  study  of  the  New-Mexican,  Argentine,  Chilean, 
and  Peninsular-Spanish  riddle  collections.  Porto  Rico  was  in  closer 
relation  to  the  tradition  of  Spain  up  to  the  year  1898,  and  even  later, 
than  Argentina  or  Chile.  A  comparative  study  of  the  Porto-Rican 
riddles  will  show,  I  believe,  that  it  contains  about  the  same  amount  of 
traditional  Spanish  material  as  the  other  collections,  but  we  may 
find  more  of  the  more  recently  formed  riddles  of  Spain.  These  com- 
parisons can  be  made  easily,  since  we  have  in  all  these  collections  not 
only  the  problem  of  actual  difference,  due  to  new  changes  or  new  forms 
based  on  old  models  (see  my  notes  to  the  New-Mexican  collection), 
but  a  more  important  problem  of  language  and  versification,  which 
are  by  far  safer  guides  in  the  determination  of  the  age  and  source. 
Unlike  the  vast  majority  of  traditional  folk-lore  from  Spain,  the 
riddles  (and  also  the  proverbs,  and  to  a  great  extent  the  traditional 
ballads)  are  in  a  fixed,  stereotyped  form.  Thus  we  shall  be  able  to 
show  that  the  New-Mexican  riddles  —  which  are  the  oldest  in  source 
in  Spanish  America,  because  the  region  has  not  been  in  contact  with 
Peninsular  Spain  for  over  three  centuries  —  are  much  closer  to  the  old 
Spanish  forms,  both  in  language  and  metrical  structure;  and  that  the 
collections  from  Argentina,  Chile,  and  Porto  Rico  share  also  this 
antiquity  and  common  source  to  a  very  great  degree. 

A  small  number  of  the  Porto-Rican  riddles  have  not  been  printed, 
because  of  offence  to  good  taste,  defective  condition,  or  on  account 
of  evident  literary  source.  These  number  about  fifty.  A  few  which 
appeared  unanswered  are  printed  at  the  end  of  the  collection.  In 
the  present  publication  we  have  followed  the  same  classification  as 
we  employed  in  the  article  on  New-Mexican  riddles,  the  riddles  of  the 
first  or  general  part  being  arranged  in  alphabetical  order  to  facilitate 
references.  Section  D  contains  only  those  riddles  which  have  short 
anecdotical  explanations  after  the  riddle  is  given.  There  are  a  large 
number  of  folk-tales  in  the  Porto-Rican  collection  which  have  riddles 
(and,  indeed,  in  many  the  riddle  is  the  essential  and  important  part 
of  the  tale) ;  but  these  belong  properly  to  the  folk-tales,  and  we  have 
decided  not  to  include  them  here.  Many  of  those  folk-tales  are 
evidently  versions  of  the  old  European  riddle-tales ;  but  a  large  number 
are  new  creations,  with  traditional  elements  confused  and  mingled. 
In  a  special  cycle,  the  Juan  Bobo,  or  John  the  Simple,  tales,  the 
traditional  riddle-tales  have  been  especially  utilized. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  425 

The  riddles  are  printed  in  good  Spanish.  The  large  majority  of  them 
were  written  correctly  by  the  school-children  and  other  contributors. 
A  very  small  number  were  written  in  dialect  forms,  and  these  we  have 
corrected  to  conform  with  the  Spanish  orthography.  In  no  case, 
however,  have  the  riddles  been  changed  or  words  added.  Only  the 
orthography  has  been  corrected,  and  the  really  defective  riddles  have 
not  been  printed  at  all.  This  does  not  mean,  however,  that  all  the 
riddles  of  the  printed  collection  are  perfect.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  in 
several  cases  verses  have  been  omitted,  words  changed,  assonances 
and  rhymes  garbled,  and  wrong  answers  given.  Since  it  is  desired  to 
print  the  riddles  as  the  children  and  other  contributors  wrote  them, 
and  as  they  evidently  know  them  and  recite  them,  the  answers  have 
been  given  as  they  gave  them.  Many  riddles,  therefore,  although 
identical,  have  different  or  slightly  different  answers,  and  in  a  few 
instances  it  was  impossible  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the  answers 
as  given;  e.g.,  solsal  (written  also  zolzal,  zorzal,  sorsal).  The  col- 
lection of  Porto-Rican  riddles  here  published  is  therefore  a  real 
popular  collection.  Judging  from  the  conclusions  of  Lehmann-Nitsche 
with  respect  to  the  Argentine  collection,  the  Porto-Rican  collection 
is  about  from  sixty-five  to  seventy  per  cent  complete. 

AURELIO    M.    ESPINOSA. 

A.    RIDDLES   OF  A   GENERAL  CHARACTER. 

1.  ni  come,  ni  bebe 

y  siempre  esta  gordita. 
En  el  medio  del  mar  estoy;  j^^ 

no  soy  astro  ni  estrella, 

ni  tampoco  luna  bella. 

Adivina  lo  que  soy;  '*' 

no  soy  de  Dios  ni  del  mundo  (o)     A  orillas  del  agua  me  arriman; 

ni  del  infierno  prof  undo;  en  medio  del  mar  me  ponen; 

en  medio  del  mar  estoy.  en  la  agonia  me  hallo; 

La  letra  a.  llorando  me  desconsuelo, 

al  ver  que  no  puedo  entrar 

2.  en  el  reino  de  los  cielos. 

(a)     En  el  medio  mar  estoy, 

no  soy  de  Dios  ni  del  mundo,  /,x     r-       ,         ,.     ,  ,  ,    „ 

ni  del  infierno  profundo  (*)     E"  el  medio  del  agua  me  hallo, 
que  en  dondequiera  estoy.  a  orillas  del  agua  me  arrimo. 

Id.  llorando  mi  desconsuelo, 

por  ver  que  no  puedo  entrar 

(&)     En  medio  del  mar  estoy,  en  el  reino  de  los  cielos. 

no  soy  de  Dios  ni  del  mundo,  -'<*• 

y  vivo  en  lo  mas  profundo 

donde  no  se  oye  rumor.  5- 

(a)     Sin  ser  padre  de  Addn 
3*  principio  he  sido; 

En  el  medio  del  mar  principio  y  fin  del  alma 

hay  una  negrita,  he  sido  y  soy; 


426 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


y  aunque  en  medio  del  mar 
yo  siempre  estoy, 
se  oye  al  fin  de  la  tierra 
mi  sonido. 

La  letra  a. 

(b)     Sin  ser  padre  de  Adan 
principio  he  sido; 
y  soy  en  el  medio  del  mar 
posada; 

y  al  fin  de  la  tierra 
resuena  mi  sonido. 

Id. 


Soy  alguacil  de  las  damas 
y  ministro  singular; 
ando  cargado  de  varas 
sin  prender,  ni  castigar. 

Abanico. 


En  las  manos  de  las  damas 
casi  siempre  estoy  metido; 
Unas  veces  estirado 
y  otras  veces  encogido. 

Id. 


(a)  iCual  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
sin  tripas  ni  coraz6n, 

que  a  los  muertos  les  da  alivio 
y  a  los  vivos  da  sabor? 

La  Abeja. 

(b)  (iCual  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
sin  sangre  en  el  corazon, 
para  los  vivos  la  dulzura 

y  para  los  muertos  el  resplandor? 

Id. 

(c)  iCual  es  el  insecto  que  hay 
sin  tripas  ni  corazon, 

que  a  los  muertos  da  consuelo 
y  a  los  vivos  da  sabor? 


(d)     Por  el  aire  va  volando, 
sin  plumas  ni  corazon, 
al  vivo  dando  sustento 
y  al  muerto  consolacion. 


(e)     Por  el  cielo  van  volando 
sin  tino  ni  corazon 
al  vivo  le  dan  sustento 
y  al  muerto  consolaci6n. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Estudiante  que  estudiaste 
en  los  libros  del  amor, 
(Jcual  es  el  ave  que  vuela, 
sin  tripas  ni  coraz6n, 
que  a  los  muertos  da  consuelo 
y  a  los  vivos  da  sabor? 


Id. 


10. 

Soy  de  la  misa  precisa 
y  tengo  parte  en  la  gloria; 
soy  de  la  misericordia 
y  nunca  me  ven  en  misa. 


II. 

(c)     Fui  por  un  camino, 

encontre  a  una  perra  parida, 
y  por  irle  a  quitar  un  hijo 
por  poco  me  quitan  la  vida. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     Andando  por  un  camino 
me  encontre  una  perra  parida; 
por  irle  a  quitar  un  perrito 
me  quiso  quitar  la  vida. 


Id. 


12. 

(a)  En  el  monte  esta  un  palito, 
nadie  lo  quiere  sembrar, 

que  vale  la  onza  media 
a  cien  pesos  el  quintal. 

Achiote. 
(Vease  272.) 

(b)  En  el  monte  se  halla  un  arbol, 
nadie  lo  quiere  sembrar, 

se  vende  a  peso  la  onza 
y  a  cien  pesos  el  quintal. 

Id. 

13- 

Un  hombre  murio  sin  culpa, 
su  madre  nunca  nacio, 
y  su  abuela  estuvo  doncella 
hasta  que  el  nieto  murio. 

Adan,  que  fue  hecho  de  tierra. 

14. 

iQue  cosa  es  mks  admirada, 
que  nos  tragamos 
y  ella  nos  traga? 

El  agua. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


427 


15- 

Debajo  del  cielo 
lavo  los  campos, 
hago  ruido  en  los  paraguas, 
hago  correr  a  los  niiios, 
hago  ruido  en  las  corrientes, 
(iquien  soy? 

16. 


Id. 


(c)     Un  amigo  le  di6  a  otro 
lo  que  en  el  mundo  no  habia 
el  amigo  lo  tenia 
y  se  lo  cedi6  a  otro. 

El  agua  del  bautismo. 

(&)     Un  amigo  a  otro  pidi6 
lo  que  en  el  mundo  no  habia; 
el  amigo  se  lo  concedi6, 
pero  61  tampoco  lo  tenia. 


Id. 


(c)     Un  amigo  a  otro  pidi6 
lo  que  en  el  mundo  no  habia; 
el  amigo  se  lo  di6, 
pero  el  tampoco  lo  tenia. 


Id. 


Id. 


(d)     El  rey  le  pidi6  a  su  esclavo 
lo  que  en  el  mundo  no  habia; 
el  esclavo  se  lo  dio 
pero  61  tampoco  lo  tenia. 

17. 
En  el  cielo  no  lo  hubo; 
en  la  tierra  si  se  hall6. 
Dios  con  ser  Dios  no  lo  tuvo, 
y  un  hombre  a  Dios  se  lo  dio. 

Id. 
(Vease  90.) 
18. 

Muchos  olores  me  daban 
que  me  tenian  sin  talento, 
pero  se  lleg6  el  momento 
de  que  el  fuego  se  apagara. 

El  agua  florida. 

19. 

(a)     Agua  pas6  por  aqui, 
cate  de  mi  coraz6n; 
el  que  no  me  lo  adivine 
es  grande  borricon. 


Aguacate. 


(6)     Agua  pas6  por  mi  puerta 
cate  de  mi  coraz6n, 
a  que  no  me  la  adivina 
ni  de  aqui  a  la  oraci6n. 


(c)     Agua  que  pas6  por  mi  casa 
cate  de  mi  coraz6n; 
el  que  me  adivine  esta  adivinanza 
me  robard  el  coraz6n. 

Id. 
20, 

Agua  la  boca  a  cualquiera, 
caf6  se  puede  tomar, 
y  si  usted  lo  va  a  llamar 
tiene  que  decirle  t6. 


Id. 


21. 


Del  agua  sali6  mi  nombre, 
sin  haber  ningun  rescate, 
para  que  ninguno.acate 
que  mi  nombre  es  disparate. 

22. 

Agua  no  es, 
cate  no  es; 
abre  la  ventana 
y  veras  lo  que  es. 

23- 

Es  agua  y  no  es  catre. 

24. 

En  Francia  fui  fabricada 
y  en  Espaiia  fui  vendida, 
si  me  prendes  me  prendo 
y  si  me  sueltan  soy  perdida. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Aguja. 


25- 
Senor  Juan  va 
y  senor  Juan  viene, 
y  siempre  senor  Juan 
tieso  lo  tiene. 

26. 

(a)     Lami  y  torci 

y  por  debajo  te  lo  metf. 


(b)     Torci,  lami 
y  por  el  agujero 
te  lo  meti. 

27. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


En  los  cerros  terremotos 
que  nacen  los  hombres  llanos, 
con  el  a,  con  el  anden; 
tiene  cabeza  y  no  pies; 
tiene  barba  y  no  es  hombre, 
y  tiene  diente  y  no  come. 

El  ajo. 


428 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


28. 

Sabana  blanca, 
flor  morada. 
junto  de  la  casa 
de  la  pendejada. 


El  ajo. 


29. 

Chiquito  como  el  pufio 
y  tiene  pendejos  en  el  culo. 


Id. 


30. 
<iQue  es  lo  que  al  parir  la  madre 
se  muere? 

El  alacrdn. 

31. 

(c)     Un  hombre  chiquitito, 
cristiano  nunca  lo  ha  sido; 
Alvarez  tiene  por  nombre 
y  Coque  por  apellido. 

Albaricoque. 

(&)     Por  mi  nombre  traje  albores 
y  por  mi  apellido  coque; 
buen  adivinador  sera 
el  que  me  lo  adivinare. 


(c)     Albari  traigo  por  nombre 
y  Coque  por  apellido; 
el  que  me  la  adivinare 
le  regalare  un  vestido. 


Id. 


Id. 


32. 

(c)     La  Sefiora  Juana 

va  y  viene,  y  siempre  tiesa. 

La  aldaba  de  las  puertas. 

{b)     Don  Juan  va 
y  Don  Juan  viene, 
y  siempre  tieso  lo  tiene. 

Aldaba. 


(6)     En  Francia  fui  fabricado, 
en  Puerto  Rico  vendido; 
prendo  hombres  y  mujeres 
y  si  me  sueltan  soy  perdido. 


(c)     En  Espana  fui  nacido, 
en  Francia  fui  regalado; 
si  me  sueltan  soy  perdido 
y  si  me  prenden  soy  gallardo. 


Id 


Id. 


35. 

(a)     Verde  fue  mi  nacimiento 
amarillo  fue  mi  abril, 
tuve  que  ponerme  bianco 
para  poderte  servir. 

Algod6n. 

(6)     Verde  ink  mi  nacimiento 
amarillo  fue  mi  abril, 
y  bianco  me  he  de  quedar 
para  poderte  servir. 


(c)      Amarillo  fue  mi  abril, 
verde  fue  mi  madurez 
bianco  me  he  de  poner 
para  poderte  servir. 


Id. 


Id. 


36. 

Sabana  blanca  que  esta  tendida, 
el  vivo  la  est&  velando 
y  al  son  de  las  castaiietas 
las  tripas  le  van  halando. 

Id. 

37- 

{a)     Dona  Nica  estd  tendida 
los  perros  la  estdn  velando 
al  son  de  la  castaneta 
las  tripas  le  van  sacando. 

Id. 


33. 
De  noche  estoy  acostada 
y  de  dia  estoy  parada. 


34- 


Id. 


(a)     En  Francia  fui  fabricado 
y  en  Espana  fui  vendido; 
si  me  prenden  me  prendo 
y  si  me  sueltan  soy  perdido. 

Amier. 


{b)     Dona  Blanca  esta  tendida, 
los  perros  la  estan  velando 
al  son  de  la  castaneta 
la  tripa  le  estan  pasando. 


(c)     Dona  Nica  esta  tendida, 
los  perros  la  est&n  velando; 
al  son  de  las  castanetas 
las  tripas  le  estin  sacando. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


429 


38. 

Siempre  de  mf  dicen  algo, 
aunque  muy  humilde  soy, 
no  soy  senor  y  me  tratan 
con  la  nobleza  del  Don. 

Algod6n. 

39. 
Cien  damas  en  un  barranco, 
todas  visten  de  bianco. 


Id. 


40. 

iCual  es  la  planta 
que  hay  que  decide  algo 
para  despues  darle  el  don? 

41. 

Pelu  por  fuera 
y  pelu  por  dentro. 


Id. 


Id. 


42. 

Me  hallo  en  los  escritorios 
y  en  las  casas  de  comercio; 
todo  el  mundo  me  mira 
para  ver  lo  que  contengo; 
mi  vida  est4  limitada 
y  mis  dias  estan  contados 
para  cuando  voy  a  morir. 

El  almanaque. 

43. 
Es  arpa  y  no  toca 
es  gata  y  no  maulla. 


Alpargata. 


44. 

Es  alta  y  no  es  torre; 
es  misa  y  no  se  oye. 


Altamisa. 


45- 


(o)     Verde  fu6  mi  nacimiento 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 
y  a  la  hora  de  mi  muerte 
negrecito  me  quede. 

Amarillo. 

(b)     Verde  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 
cuando  me  vine  a  morir 
sequecito  me  quede. 

Id. 


46. 
(o)     Es  bianco  como  el  carb6n 
y  negro  como  la  leche, 
y  dulce  como  el  limon 
y  agrio  como  el  almibar. 


Amor. 


(b)     Es  bianco  como  la  leche, 
es  prieto  como  el  carb6n; 
es  dulce  como  el  melado 
y  es  agrio  como  el  lim6n. 


Id. 


47- 
Cogieron  a  la  clueca, 
la  mataron,  le  sacaron  el  huevo, 
se  lo  echaron  a  otra  gallina, 
y  sac6  el  polio  y  lo  cri6. 

Id. 

48. 
Tengo  un  amor  que  me  cela 
y  uno  que  me  da  dinero, 
y  otro  que  me  desengana. 


Id. 


49. 


Aurora  tenia  una  flor; 
mucho,  mucho  ella  sabia 
olerla,  y  su  fantasia, 
raro  parece  contarlo; 
adivina  sin  trabajo 
si  me  lees  de  arriba  abajo. 

_  Id. 
(Acrostico.) 

50. 
En  Napoles  esta  una  doncella 
que  hace  morir  al  que  la  ama; 
el  nombre  te  he  dicho  ya 
adivina  como  se  llama. 

Ana. 

51- 

Ana  me  llamo  por  nombre 
y  fe  por  condici6n. 
^A  que  no  me  la  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  la  oracion? 

Anafe. 

52. 
He  conocido  un  ant6n 
que  metido  en  dura  capa 
con  cuernos  que  casi  arrastra, 
no  como  los  del  mont6n; 
tiene  rojo  el  interior 
y  blanda  musculatura 
le  apellid6  como  natura 
y  asi  claro  se  llam6. 

Antocorto  del  mar. 


430 


Journal  of  A  merican  Folk-Lore. 


53. 

Me  visten  de  carne  muerta 
para  ir  a  prender  a  un  vivo; 
mi  derecho  ha  sido  tan  tuerto, 
que  no  prendo  sin  ser  prendido. 
Anzuelo. 

54. 
Hay  una  mata  en  el  mundo 
que  nadie  la  quiere  sembrar, 
que  una  libra  vale  un  peso 
y  cien  pesos  un  quintal. 

Anil. 

55- 
(a)     Un  irbol  con  doce  ramas, 
cada  rama  cuatro  hijos, 
cada  hijo  siete  hijos, 
cada  cual  tiene  su  nombre. 
Adivina  si  eres  hombre. 

Ano,  meses,  etc. 

(6)     Un  irbol  con  doce  ramas 
cada  rama  tiene  nidos, 
cada  nido  tiene  pajaros 
y  cada  cual  su  apellido. 


Id. 


(c)     Un  arbol  con  doce  ramas, 
cada  rama  cuatro  nidos, 
cada  nido  siete  pdjaros 
y  cada  cual  su  apellido. 


Id. 


{d)     Un  arbol  tiene  doce  ramas; 
en  las  ramas  cuatro  nidos, 
cada  nido  siete  huevos 
y  sacan  un  dia  primero. 

Id. 

56. 
Yo  soy  un  buen  mozo 
valiente  y  bizarro; 
gasto  doce  damas 
para  mi  regalo. 
Todas  van  en  coche 
y  gastan  sus  cuartos; 
todas  gastan  medias 
pero  no  zapatos. 

Aiio  y  los  doce  meses. 

57- 
En  el  cielo  esta  un  palo; 
ese  palo  tiene  doce  ganchos 
y  cada  uno  tiene  un  nombre. 

Alio. 


58. 

Un  padre  tiene  doce  hijos 
y  sesenta  nietos, 
la  mitad  blancos 
y  la  mitad  prietos. 

El  ano,  los  meses  y 
las  semanas. 

59. 

iCuil  es  el  hijo  mas  cruel 
que  a  su  madre  desbarata, 
y  ella  con  su  mana  y  traza 
se  lo  va  comiendo  a  el? 

Arado. 

60. 


Entre  dos  pelados 
un  mondado. 


61. 


Id. 


(a)     Cuando  yo  no  tenia  te  daba, 
ahora  que  tengo  nada  te  doy. 
Vete  a  donde  otro  que  no  tenga 

te  de, 
que  yo  cuando  no  tenga  te  dare. 
Apetito. 

ib)     Cuando  yo  no  tenia  te  daba; 
ahora  que  yo  tengo  no  te  doy. 
Busca  a  otro  que  no   tenga  que 

te  de, 
que  cuando  yo  no  tenga  te  dare. 

Id. 


62. 


En  el  monte  nace, 
en  el  monte  crece; 
cuando  se  deshace 
nadie  lo  apetece. 


Arbol. 


63. 

Cien  damas  en  un  castillo, 
todas  visten  deamarillo; 
solo  el  viejo  picador 
viste  de  verde  color. 

El  arbol  de  china. 

64. 

Es  arte,  es  torre,  es  misa 
y  no  se  oye. 

Artemisa. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


431 


65. 

(c)     El  que  lo  hace  no  lo  goza 
el  que  lo  goza  no  lo  ve. 
El  que  lo  ve  no  lo  desea 
por  bonito  que  lo  este. 

Ataud. 

(b)     El  que  lo  hace  no  lo  goza, 
el  que  lo  ve  no  lo  desea, 
el  que  lo  goza  no  lo  ve 
por  mks  bonito  que  sea. 

Id, 


(b)     Estudiante  que  estudiaste 
en  los  libros  de  Mahoma, 
me  dirds  c6mo  se  llama 
el  ave  que  vuela  y  no  hace  sombra. 

Id. 

70. 

Gracias  a  dios  que  comi 
lo  que  nunca  fue  sembrado, 
ni  fue  cocida  con  agua 
ni  con  candela  fue  asada. 

Id. 


(c)     El  que  lo  hace  no  lo  usa, 
el  que  lo  goza  no  lo  ve, 
el  que  lo  ve  no  lo  desea 
por  bonito  que  le  est6. 


66. 

(jQue  es  lo  que  no  se  ve 
y  no  se  desea? 


Id. 


Id. 


67. 

Soy  ave  pero  no  vuelo, 
del  extranjero  he  llegado, 
mi  corteza  es  dura  y  luego 
alimento  al  desmayado. 
Liana  soy,  me  han  embarcado; 
ahora  estoy  en  Puerto  Rico; 
tanto  el  pobre  como  el  rico 
todos  me  quieren  comer: 
para  que  sepan  quien  es 
mi  cutis  es  duro  y  liso. 

Avellana. 

68. 

(c)     Adiviname  buen  adivinador, 
adiviname  este  placer: 
icual  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
y  se  queda  sin  comer? 

El  Ave-Maria. 

(b)     Buen  adivinador, 
adiviname  este  placer: 
Icukl  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
y  se  queda  sin  comer? 


Id. 


69. 


(c)     Estudiante,  que  has  estudiado 
gramatica  y  filosofia, 
decidme  cual  es  el  ave 
que  vuela  sin  hacer  sombra. 

Id. 


71. 

iCual  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
sin  sangre  en  el  coraz6n, 
para  el  vivo  la  nobleza 
y  para  el  muerto  el  resplandor? 

Id. 

72. 
iCudl  es  el  ave 
que  no  tiene  plumas? 

Id. 

73- 
Sin  ser  un  auto  de  fe 
m6vil  soy  en  mi  carrera, 
por  la  larga  carretera 
de  toditos  me  aparte; 
mis  ojos  cristales  son 
y  mi  rebuznar  de  toro 
asusta  y  hasta  incomoda 
al  pacifico  viandante; 
si  no  se  quita  de  delante 
lo  revuelco  entre  el  arroyo. 

Autom6vil. 

74. 

(a)     Ba  trae  por  nombre, 
Cin  por  condici6n; 
el  que  no  me  la  adivine 
le  chupa  el  coraz6n. 


(b)     Ba  traigo  por  nombre, 
Cin,  por  condici6n; 
el  que  me  la  adivinare 
se  le  come  el  coraz6n. 


75- 
Alto  de  sin, 
bajo  de  altura; 
mucho  aposento 
y  puerta  ninguna. 


Bacfn. 


Id. 


Bambiia. 


432 


Journal  oj  American  Folk- Lore. 


76. 

(c)     Voy  vestida  de  remiendos, 
siendo  una  mujer  de  honor; 
miles  de  hombres  por  mi  amor 
salud  y  vida  perdieron. 
A  muchos  les  impongo  miedo; 
el  jab6n  nunca  lo  vi. 
Y  si  me  llaman  lavandera 
es  por  abusar  de  mi. 

Bandera. 

(b)     Voy  vestida  de  remiendos 
siendo  una  mujer  de  honor; 
muchos  hombres  por  mi  amor 
su  salud  y  vida  perdieron, 
a  nadie  le  impongo  miedo; 
el  jab6n  nunca  lo  vi, 
si  me  llaman  lavandera 
no  es  por  burlarse  de  ml. 


Id. 


(c)     Voy  vestida  de  remiendos 
siendo  una  dama  de  honor. 
Muchos  por  mi  amor, 
su  salud  y  vida  perdieron, 
a  muchos  les  infundo  miedo; 
el  jabon  nunca  lo  vi; 
aunque  me  Uamen  lavandera 
no  es  por  burlarse  de  mi. 


Id. 


(d)     Voy  vestida  de  remiendos 
siendo  una  mujer  de  honor; 
muchos  hombres  por  mi  amor 
su  salud  y  vida  perdieron; 
a  muchos  les  pongo  miedo; 
y  el  jab6n  nunca  lo  vi, 
y  si  me  llaman  lavandera 
es  por  burlarse  de  mi. 


Id. 


(e)     De  remiendos  estoy  vestida 
por  ser  mujer  de  importancia; 
anduve  la  Espaiia  y  Francia; 
jab6n  no  lo  conoci; 
y  no  se  por  que  serk 
que  me  llaman  lavandera. 
<iSera  por  mofa  de  mi? 


Id. 


(J)     De  remiendos  ando  vestida 
como  mujer  de  importancia; 
toda  la  Espaiia  yo  he  andado 
y  nunca  jab6n  conoci, 
a  mi  me  llaman  lavandera 
y  no  es  por  burlarse  de  mi. 


(g)     De  remiendos  ando  vestida 
como  mujer  de  importancia; 
anduve  en  Espaiia  y  Francia 
y  nunca  jabon  conoci. 
Y  si  me  llaman  lavandera 
serS.  por  burlarse  de  mi. 


Id. 


(h)     De  remiendos  voy  vestida 
siendo  dama  de  importancia; 
nunca  jab6n  conoci, 
y  si  me  llaman  lavandera 
no  es  por  burlarse  de  mi. 


77- 
(a)     Fui  lavandera  en  Espafia, 
fui  lavandera  en  Madrid. 
Y  yo  vine  a  Puerto  Rico 
y  tambien  aqui  lo  fui. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     Anduve  la  Espaiia  y  la  Francia 
y  el  jab6n  nunca  lo  vi; 
me  dieron  el  nombre  de  lavandera 
y  no  fu6  por  burlarse  de  mi. 

Id. 

78. 

(a)  Soy  por  muchos  apreciada, 
me  han  pintado  de  colores; 
he  causado  muchas  muertes 
y  empobrecido  seiiores. 

Baraja. 

(b)  Blanco  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
pintado  de  varios  colores; 
he  causado  muchas  muertes 
y  empobrecido  sefiores. 


Id. 


(c)     Verde  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
pintada  de  mil  colores, 
soy  causa  de  muchas  muertes 
y  empobrezco  a  los  seiiores. 


Id. 


(d)     Blanca  fu6  de  nacimiento, 
pintada  de  mil  colores. 
Tiene  muertes  a  su  cargo 
de  pobrecitos  seiiores. 


(e)     Blanco  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
pintaronme  de  colores, 
he  causado  muchas  muertes 
y  he  empobrecido  seiiores. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


433 


(/)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
me  pintaron  de  colores; 
y  causa  de  varias  muertes 
un  pobrecito  senor. 

Baraja. 

(g)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
me  vistieron  de  colores; 
causo  quimeras  y  riiias 
y  empobrezco  a  los  senores. 


(A)     De  tierras  lejanas  vengo, 
pintada  de  mil  colores; 
he  causado  muertes 
y  he  empobrecido  senores. 


(i)     Soy  un  rey  coronado, 
vestido  de  mil  colores; 
con  muchas  muertes  a  cargo 
he  empobrecido  seilores. 


(J)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
pintaronme  de  colores; 
he  causado  muchas  muertes 
y  he  enriquecido  senores. 


79- 

(o)     Corto  sin  tijeras, 
coso  sin  aguja; 
echo  el  tramo  largo 
y  ando  sin  ventura. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Barco. 


(b)     Corta,  corta  buena  ventura, 
que  corta  y  no  deja  costura. 


80. 


Id. 


Anifica,  qu6  animal  tan  fiero, 
Anifica,  qu6  fiero  animal; 
las  costillas  trasparentes; 
los  pasos  que  va  dejando 
no  hay  persona  que  los  cuente. 

Id. 

81. 

En  el  monte  nace 
con  mucha  frescura; 
echa  el  paso  largo 
y  anda  a  la  ventura. 

Id. 


82. 

Traigo  las  espaldas  a  rastro, 
las  costillas  transparentes, 
y  las  pisadas  que  yo  doy 
no  encuentro  qui6n  me  las  cuente. 

Id. 

83. 

Un  galin  por  su  camino, 
corriendo  su  desventura, 
cortando  lo  que  est4  sano 
y  cerr^ndole  sin  costura. 

Id. 

84. 

Nina  de  quince  anos 
que  corre  su  desventura, 
ni  se  corta  con  tijeras 
ni  se  cose  con  agujas. 

85. 
iQui^n  es  quien  va  caminando, 
que  no  es  dueno  de  sus  pies, 
que  Ueva  el  cuerpo  al  rev6s, 
y  el  espinazo  arrastrando, 
que  los  pasos  que  va  dando 
no  hay  nadie  que  se  los  cuente? 
Cuando  quiere  descansar 
entra  los  pies  en  su  vientre. 

Barco  de  vela. 

86. 

(a)     Una  olla  de  palo, 
las  piedras  de  agua; 
y  la  carne  dentro 
habla. 


Id. 


(b)  La  olla  es  de  palo, 
las  piedras  de  agua; 
la  carne  estA  dentro 
y  habla. 


(c)     Olla  de  palo, 
piedra  de  agua; 
con  gente  adentro 
conversa  y  habla. 


(d)     Olla  puesta, 
paila  de  agua; 
y  la  gente  adentro 
habla  que  habla. 


Barco. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


434 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(e)     Piedra  de  agua, 
olla  de  palo; 
la  carne  que  va  dentro 
es  la  que  habla. 

El  barco  en  el  mar  con 

la  gente  que  va  adentro. 


Cosido  y  descosido 
buey  pinto  es. 

Buey  barroso. 

88. 

(a)  Tu  en  coca  y  yo  en  cuclillas 
por  el  medio  te  hago  cosquillas. 

Baul. 

(b)  Tu  sentado  y  yo  en  cuclillas 
por  el  agujero  de  en  medio 

te  hago  cosquillas. 

Id. 

(c)  Yo  de  rodillas 
y  tu  en  cuclillas, 

y  en  la  media  de  la  hienda 
te  hago  cosquillas. 

89. 

Me  le  monto  encima 
y  no  es  mara villa; 
por  la  hendedura 
le  hago  cosquillas. 

90. 

(c)     En  el  mundo  no  lo  hubo, 
en  la  tierra  no  se  hall6; 
Dios,  con  ser  Dios  no  lo  tuvo, 
y  un  hombre  a  Dios  se  lo  di6. 

Bautismo. 
(Vease  17.) 

(b)     Lo  que  en  el  cielo  no  hubo 
ni  en  el  suelo  se  encontro, 
Dios,  con  ser  Dios  no  lo  tuvo, 
y  un  hombre  a  Dios  se  lo  di6. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(c)     En  el  mundo  no  lo  hubo, 
ni  en  el  ciplo  se  hallo; 
Dios,  con  ser  Dios  no  lo  tuvo, 
y  un  hombre  a  Dios  se  lo  di6. 

91. 
(a)     Al  romper  una  beata 
y  al  romper  una  caneca, 
es  el  nombre  de  mi  dama 
que  mi  coraz6n  penetra, 
y  al  caer  hizo  triz. 


Id. 


(b)     Con  la  B  de  una  beata 
y  al  romper  de  una  limeta, 
tiene  el  nombre  de  mi  dama 
sin  que  le  falte  una  letra. 
En  la  postrera  que  digo 
voy  diciendo  lo  que  es. 


(c)     Al  caer  una  beata 
y  al  romper  una  caneca, 
es  el  nombre  de  la  dama 
que  en  mi  coraz6n  penetra. 
Cay6  e  hizo  triz. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Beatriz. 


(d)     Al  nombrar  una  beata 
y  al  romper  una  caneca, 
es  el  nombre  de  una  dama 
qui  mi  coraz6n  penetra. 

92. 
Cien  aves  en  un  castillo 
todas  visten  de  morado. 

Berenjena. 

93- 
Por  triste  que  veas  el  arbol 
no  hagas  menosprecio  de  el; 
mira  que  ha  sido  buen  arbol 
y  puede  reverdecer. 

Berro. 

94. 

Yo  soy  al  rev6s  de  todo, 
viceversa  a  los  demas; 
coge  la  primer  mitad 
y  de  cleta  la  contraria; 
adivina,  es  necesaria. 

Bicicleta. 

95- 
(c)     En  el  monte  fue  nacido, 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado, 
un  palo  de  Caimitiro 
y  bonete  Colorado. 

Bijado. 

(6)     En  el  monte  se  ha  encontrado 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado; 
con  el  habito  negro 
y  el  bombito  Colorado. 

Id. 
96. 

(a)     Todo  el  ano  visto  de  pane 
de  superior  calidad; 
me  cogen  los  bandos  para  luchar; 
si  me  alisan  las  arrugas 
fdcil  soy  de  aceptar. 

Billar. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


435 


(&)     Todo  el  ano  visto  pano 
de  superior  calidad; 
me  cogen  las  bandas  para  luchar; 
y  si  me  alisan  las  arrugas 
ikcW  es  de  acertar. 

Billar. 

97. 
(c)     Dios  hizo  un  candil, 
del  candil  hizo  una  soga; 
estirada  nunca  alcanza 
y  doblada  alcanza  y  sobra. 

Boca  y  braze. 

{b)     Dios  me  ha  dado  un  tanque, 
para  ese  tanque  una  soga; 
extendido  nunca  alcanza, 
y  encogido  alcanza  y  sobra. 


Id. 


98. 

Cuatro  para  arriba 
y  cinco  de  golpe; 
con  palabras  de  Dios 
levanta  un  sacerdote. 


Bonete. 


99. 

Ni  es  de  carne,  ni  de  hueso, 
y  tiene  un  jeme  de  pescuezo. 

Botella. 

100. 

Es  hereje  y  sin  cabeza 
metido  entre  dos  solapas, 
tiene  ojos  y  tiene  patas, 
pero  nunca  va  a  la  iglesia. 


Juey.^ 


lOI. 


Animal  que  Dios  pinto 
por  pintar  su  maravilla, 
por  dentro  tiene  la  carne 
y  por  fuera  la  costilla. 


102. 


Tiene  patas  y  ojos  y  ve, 
y  sin  cabeza  Dios  la  de. 


Id. 


Id. 


104. 

Ni  tiene  manteca, 
ni  tiene  unto; 
tiene  la  boca 
y  el  culo  juntos. 


105. 


Buruquena. 


Cuando  canta  se  oye  a  una  legua, 
y  cuando  pone,  pone  una  fanega. 

Burro. 

106. 
jAdivinanza,  adivinanza! 
iCual   es   el   burro  que  no  tiene 
panza? 

El  burro  de  torcer  soga. 

107. 
(a)     Por  lo  de  debajo 
me  dan  cien  pesos; 
por  el  songuete 
me  dan  cuatro  pesos; 
y  el  dale  que  dale 
me  lo  dan  gratis. 

El  Caballo,  la  silla  y  el  fuete. 

{b)     Por  lo  que  llevo  entre  las  piernas 
me  dan  cien  pesos; 
por  el  quita  y  pon, 
un  doblon; 
por  el  saca  y  mete 
cuatro  reales; 
y  el  dale  que  dale  de  balde. 

Caballo,  silla,  freno,  chicote. 

108. 
Cuatro  patas  vendi  en  cien; 
ciento  vendi  en  diez; 
pasa  mano  en  dos 
y  dale  que  dale  en  tres. 

Caballo  y  silla. 

109. 
Entre  pierna  mil 
quita  y  pon  setenta; 
jurgalo  con  veinticinco 
y  sacaras  treinta. 

El  caballo,  el  jinete,  la 
silla  y  la  espuela  (?). 


103. 

Cosido  y  no  cosido, 
buey  pinto  es. 


no. 


Largo  y  peludo 
y  es  para  tu  culo. 
Buey  pinto. 

*  Cangrejo  de  mangles. 


Caballo. 


436 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


III. 
Una  casa  grande 
con  siete  aposentos; 
y  un  grano  de  arroz 
no  le  cabe  dentro. 


Cabeza. 


112. 

En  un  monte  muy  espeso 
sali6  una  cabeza  sin  cuerpo; 
tiene  bast6n  y  no  es  general, 
tiene  barbas  y  no  es  Capuchino, 
tiene  dientes  y  no  come. 

La  cabeza  de  ajo. 

113. 
(a)     Blanca  fue  mi  ninez, 
colorada  mi  mocedad; 
blanca  y  piieta  mi  vejez. 
Adiviname  que  serd. 


Cafe. 


(&)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
y  negro  me  estoy  poniendo 
cuando  me  voy  a  morir. 

(c)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
cuando  fui  m4s  grandecito, 
negrito  como  una  pez. 


{d)     Blanco  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
.   verde  fue  mi  mocedad; 
amarilla  mi  vejez. 
Adivina  que  serci. 


(e)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento 
y  de  verde  me  vesti; 
pero  como  me  ven  Colorado 
hacen  justicia  de  mi. 


114. 

(a)     Una  letra  consonante, 
una  virtud  teologal, 
se  ponen  en  un  instante. 
jQue  licor  tan  singular! 


(h)     Una  letra  consonante 
una  virtud  vi6  lograr, 
y  formar  en  un  instante 
un  licor  muy  singular. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id, 


(c)     De  una  letra  consonante 
y  una  vocal  tan  brevial, 
se  forma  en  un  instante 
un  licor  tan  singular. 


115- 
Colorada  es  su  mocedad, 
negro  en  el  fog6n 
y  gustoso  en  el  sabor. 


116. 
Fui  al  monte, 
puje  y  puj6, 
clav6  mi  estaca 
y  me  arrincone. 


Id. 


Id, 


Cagar. 


117. 


(a)     Me  monto  encima  de  ti 
menea  que  menea, 
gusto  me  doy,  leche  te  queda. 

Caimito. 

(6)     Tr^pome  en  ti, 
tu  te  meneas; 
gusto  me  da, 
y  leche  te  queda. 


(c)     Metertelo  quiero; 
gusto  te  doy 
y  leche  me  queda. 


Id. 


Id, 


118. 
A  tu  rodilla  me  hinqu6, 
derecho  te  la  meti, 
derecho  te  la  saque. 

La  caja  y  la  Have. 

119. 

(a)  Quien  la  hace  no  la  quiere, 
quien  la  ve  no  la  desea, 
quien  la  lleva  no  la  ve. 
cQu6  cosita,  qu6  cosita  es? 

Caja  mortuoria. 
(Vease  ataud.) 

(b)  Quien  la  hizo  no  la  goza, 
quien  la  goza  no  la  ve; 
una  cosa  tan  hermosa 

y  nadie  le  tiene  interns. 


(c)     El  que  la  hace  no  la  goza; 
el  que  no  la  hace  la  goza. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


437 


(d)     Quien  la  hace  no  la  usa, 
quien  la  usa  no  la  ve; 
y  por  bonita  que  sea 
quien  la  ve  no  la  desea. 

Caja  Mortuoria. 
(V^ase  ataud.) 

120. 

Estando  una  caja  rompida 
^con  qu6  se  podri  llenar 
que  pueda  mejor  pesar 
menos  llena  que  vacia? 

Una  caja  llena  de  rotos. 

121. 

Hago  las  veces  de  casa, 
con  todo  y  ser  de  papel; 
tengo  muchos  inquilinos 
y  no  les  doy  de  comer. 
Al  principio  estoy  repleta, 
pero  momentos  despues, 
asi,  paulatinamente, 
uno  y  otro  y  otra  vez, 
queda  mi  casa  vacia, 
sin  que  puedan  ya  volver, 
los  que  en  mal  tiempo  se  fueron 
a  sufrir  tormentos  crueles, 
a  convertirse  en  cenizas, 
a  ser  del  viento  merced; 
y  mi  casa  abandonada 
en  el  estiercol. 

iQuien  podra  acordarse?  iQui^n? 
La  cajetilla  de  cigarrillos. 

122. 

(a)  Largo,  largo  como  una  soga 
y  en  el  medio  y  en  la  punta 
una  carambola. 

Calabaza. 

(b)  Largo,  largo  como  un  camino 
y  en  el  medio  una  carambola. 
iQue  sera? 

Id. 


123. 

Sembr6  pepitas, 
nacieron  sogas; 
y  mas  tarde 
algunas  bolas. 

124. 


Id. 


Una  vieja  tecla  y  mecla, 
pare  los  hijos  teclo  y  meclo. 

Id. 


125. 

La  vaca  negra 
estd  acostada, 
y  la  lame 
la  colorada. 

Caldero  y  candela. 
(Vease  411.) 

126. 

Aguila  vete  a  volar 
y  deja  a  Lorenzo  solo, 
y  despues  no  vengas  a  llorar 
porque  muri6  Pedro  Bolo. 

Caldero. 

127. 

Una  vieja  en  cuatro  pies, 
se  alza  la  saya  y  se  sopla. 


Cama. 


128. 


(o)     Ar6n  me  Uamo  en  el  mundo, 
capitdn  de  antiguo  soy; 
mi  casa  en  el  agua  tengo 
y  mi  nombre  dira  qui6n  soy. 

Camar6n. 

(6)     Ar6n  me  llamo  en  el  mundo, 
capitdn  y  activo  soy; 
la  casa  tengo  en  el  agua 
y  el  nombre  dira  quien  soy. 

Id. 


(c)     Largo,  largo  como  una  soga, 
y  en  la  punta  (una)  carambola. 


Id. 


(d)     Largo,  largo  como  una  soga, 
y  la  punta  una  carambola. 


Id. 


(e)     Largo,  largo  como  una  soga, 
y  en  el  medio  una  carambola. 


Id. 


(c)     Mi  cama  tengo  en  el  agua, 
capitan  de  antiguo  soy; 
Aron  me  llamo  en  el  mundo; 
adiviname  quien  soy. 


Id. 


(d)     Ar6n  me  llamo  en  el  mundo, 
capitan  de  antiguo  soy; 
mi  casa  tengo  en  el  agua 
y  no  te  dire  quien  soy. 


Id. 


438 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(e)     Ar6n  traigo  por  nombre, 
capitcin  altivo  soy; 
mi  casa  en  el  agua  tengo, 
mi  nombre  dira  quien  soy. 

Camar6n. 

(/)     Ar6n  me  llamo, 
capitan  de  artilleria; 
tengo  mi  castillo  en  el  agua 
y  mi  nombre  doy  por  vencido. 


Id. 


(g)     Aron  me  llamo  en  el  mundo; 
tengo  mi  casa  en  el  agua 
y  no  la  puedo  sentir. 


Id. 


129. 


(o)     Es  cama  que  nadie  se  acuesta, 
y  seis  que  nadie  lo  baila. 

Camasey. 


132. 

(a)  Alia  arriba  en  el  cerro 
estk  un  palito; 

en  el  palito  hay  un  nido, 
en  el  nido  hay  un  huevo, 
en  el  huevo  hay  un  pelo. 
Halan  el  pelo 
y  chilla  el  huevo. 

Campana. 

(b)  En  el  medio  del  monte 
esta  un  palito; 

ese  palito  tiene 

un  ganchito; 

ese  ganchito  tiene 

un  nido; 

ese  nido  tiene 

un  huevo, 

ese  huevo  tiene  un  pelo. 

Halo  el  pelo  y  chilla  el  huevo. 

Id. 


(b)     Es  cama  y  no  se  dobla, 
y  seis  y  no  se  baila. 

Id. 

130. 

(a)     Largo  y  columpiado, 

con  los  pendejos  en  ambos  lados. 

Camino. 


(b)     Largo,  jorobado 
yerbas  a  los  lados. 


(c)     Largo  y  amartillado 
y  verde  por  los  costados. 


(d)     Largo  y  amarchitado, 
y  verde  por  los  lados. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(e)     Largo,  largo,  con  pelo  por  los 
lados. 

Id. 


(J)     Largo,  largo  y  jorobado, 
y  hecha  hijos  por  los  lados. 


Id. 


131- 

Mientras  mds  se  anda,  mas 
nuevo  es. 


(f)     Alia  arriba  en  aquel  alto 
esta  un  arbol; 
en  el  arbol  hay  un  nido, 
en  el  nido  hay  un  huevo, 
el  huevo  tiene  un  pelo. 
Hala  el  pelo  y  chilla  el  huevo. 


Id. 


(d)     En  la  iglesia  hay  una  torre; 
en  la  torre  hay  un  nido, 
en  el  nido  hay  un  huevo, 
en  el  huevo  hay  un  pelo. 
Halo  el  pelo  y  chilla  el  huevo. 


Id. 


(e)  En  el  medio  del  mar  hay  un 
palo; 
ese  palo  tiene  un  huevo, 
ese  huevo  tiene  un  pelo. 
Hala  el  pelo  y  chilla  el  huevo. 


Id. 


(J)     En  un  arbol  hay  un  nido, 
en  el  nido  hay  un  huevo, 
en  el  huevo  esta  un  pelo. 
Hala  el  pelo  y  suena  el  huevo. 


Id. 


Id. 


(g)     Alia  arriba  esta  un  pajaro; 
ese  pajaro  tiene  un  huevo, 
ese  huevo  tiene  un  pelo. 
Se  hala  el  pelo  y  chilla  el  huevo. 

Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


439 


Qi)     En  el  medio  del  rio  hay  un  palo, 
y  el  palo  tiene  un  huevo, 
y  ese  huevo  tiene  un  pelo. 
Se  hala  el  pelo 
y  chilla  el  huevo. 

Campana. 

133- 

Yo  he  visto  un  cuerpo  sin  alma, 
dando  voces  sin  cesar, 
puesto  al  sol  y  al  sereno 
y  en  ademan  de  bailar. 

Id. 

134- 


Una  vieja  con  un  diente, 
avisa  a  toda  su  gente. 


Id. 


135- 

En  la  ventana  soy  nifia, 
en  el  balc6n  soy  senora; 
en  la  sala  cortesana, 
y  en  el  monte  labradora. 

Candela. 

136, 

La  vaca  negra  esta  tumbada, 
y  viene  la  colorada 
y  la  lame  por  detras. 

Candela  y  olla. 

137. 
La  vaca  negra  esti  acostada, 
lamiendole  el  rabo  la  colorada. 

Id. 

138. 

En  el  mar  estd  una  congara, 
Que  pare  y  cria  con  grita.  {Sic.) 
La  cangosa. 

139. 

En  el  tronco  de  un  arbusto 
puse  mi  casa  invisible; 
pasaron  dias  y  me  puse 
a  mi  enemigo  visible, 
con  bastante  comestible, 
y  al  cabo  de  cuarenta  dias 
me  mude  como  debia, 
y  mi  casa  nunca  se  abri6. 
Si  me  conoce,  adivine, 
sin  juicio  y  sin  corazon. 

Cangrejo. 

VOL.  XXIX. —  NO.  114. —  29. 


140. 
Tengo  fuera  las  costillas, 
los  ojos  en  un  costado; 
ando  adelante  y  atrasado; 
tengo  piernas  y  rodillas; 
flacas  son  mis  espinillar, 
y  la  cabeza  invisible; 
doy  mordiscos  tan  terribles; 
tengo  la  boca  en  mis  manos; 
camino  de  noche,  y  claro 
que  de  dia  me  hago  invisible. 


Id 


141. 

A  que  usted  no  me  adivina. 
Es  animal  sin  cabeza, 
ojos,  bocas;  ocho  patas, 
pero  nunca  va  a  la  iglesia. 


Id. 


142. 

Sobre  molino,  molino, 

sobre  molino,  ventanas, 

sobre  ventanas,  luceros, 

sobre  luceros  montanas. 


143- 
Verde  en  el  monte, 
negro  en  la  plaza, 
y  coloradito  en  casa. 


Cara. 


Carb6n. 


144. 
Es  santo  y  no  se  adora ; 
es  caldo  y  no  se  bebe. 

Cardo  santo. 

145- 
En  el  monte  hay  un  palito, 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado; 
y  se  ha  visto  florecer 
con  botone'  Colorado'. 

Carpintero. 

146. 
En  el  monte  fui  nacido, 
y  en  el  monte  fui  criado, 
con  mi  chaquetoncito  negro 
y  mi  centro  Colorado. 


Id. 


147- 
(o)     Blanca  como  la  nieve, 
negra  como  la  pez; 
habla  sin  tener  boca, 
y  anda  sin  tener  pies. 


Carta 


440 


Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 


(b)     Es  blanca  como  la  leche, 
oscura  como  el  cafe, 
habla  sin  tener  boca, 
anda  sin  tener  pies. 


Carta. 


(c)  Blanca  como  una  paloma 
y  negra  como  una  pez, 

no  tiene  patas  y  anda 
no  tiene  boca  y  habla. 

(d)  Blanca  como  la  paloma, 
oscura  como  la  pez; 
habla  sin  tener  boca 
anda  sin  tener  pies. 


(e)     Blanca  como  la  leche 
y  negra  como  la  pez; 
habla  sin  tener  lengua, 
y  anda  sin  tener  pies 


(/)     Blanca  como  la  paloma, 
negra  como  la  pez; 
anda  sin  tener  pies 
y  habla  sin  tener  boca. 


(g)     Es  blanca  como  la  nieve, 
es  negra  como  la  pez, 
habla  sin  tener  boca, 
anda  sin  tener  pies. 

148. 
La  tierra  es  blanca, 
el  arado  es  negro; 
y  cinco  fueron  los  bueyes 
que  la  tierra  araron. 

149. 
Sibana  blanca, 
semilla  negra; 
uno  la  mira 
y  otro  la  riega. 

150. 
Anda  y  no  tiene  pies, 
habla  y  no  tiene  boca. 


151. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Sabana  blanca  esta  tendida, 
semilla  negra  se  va  por  encima, 
tres  que  la  riegan  y  dos  que  la 

miran. 

La  carta  y  la  tinta. 


152. 
Tiene  patas  y  no  anda, 
tiene  alas  y  no  vuela, 
tiene  ojos  y  no  ve 
tiene  boca  y  no  come. 


153- 
(o)     Cata,  toma  esta  mata 
y  llevasela  a  tu  madre; 
y  si  ella  te  pregunta, 
dile  que  de  Lina  es. 


Casa. 


Catalina. 


(b)     Toma,  Cata,  esta  mata, 
llevasela  a  tu  mam^. 
Dile  que  es  de  Lina. 
Junta  las  ocho  palabras 
y  sabras  lo  que  es. 


(c)     Toma  Lina,  Cata,  dale 
a  tu  madre  esta  mata; 
que  la  siembre  que  de  lino  es. 
Junta  estas  cuatro  letras 
y  sabres  lo  que  es. 


(d)     Cata,  toma  esta  mata, 
llevasela  a  Lina, 
y  dile  que  se  la  pase  a  Na. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


154- 
Entre  sabanas  de  Holanda, 
blanca  camisa  carmesi, 
pari6  la  reina  un  nino 
del  color  del  perejil. 

CeboUa. 

155- 
Delante  una  dama 
vestida  de  bianco; 
derecho  se  lo  meti 
derecho  se  lo  saque. 


Id. 


156. 
(a)     Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
sombrero  de  fino  pano; 
el  que  me  la  adivinare 
tiene  que  pensar  un  aiio. 


(b)     Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
sombrero  de  fino  pano; 
el  que  me  la  adivinare 
de  esclavo  le  sirvo  un  aiio. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


441 


(c)     Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
sombrero  de  rico  pano; 
el  que  me  lo  adivine 
le  sirvo  de  esclavo  un  ano. 

Cebolla. 

{d)     Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
sombrero  de  fino  pano; 
6sta  no  me  la  adivinas 
hasta  que  no  pase  un  ano. 


{e)     Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
pano  sobre  fino  pano; 
a  que  no  me  lo  adivinan 
ni  de  aqui  a  un  ano. 


(J)     Tela  sobre  tela 

y  sobre  tela  un  rico  pano; 
y  el  que  no  me  la  adivine 
tiene  que  pensar  un  ano. 


157- 
Sombrero  sobre  sombrero, 
sombrero  de  panania  fino. 


158. 

En  el  monte  fui  nacido, 
criado  entre  humildes  lazos; 
aquel  que  llora  por  mi, 
ese  me  hace  pedazos. 


159. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Me  pasan  de  arriba  abajo 
y  luego  me  tratan  de  pillo. 

Cepillo. 

160. 

Come  por  la  barriga, 
y  caga  por  el  espinazo. 


Id. 


161. 

iQue  sera  lo  que  no  sera? 
El  que  no  me  adivina 
ique  tonto  sera! 


162. 

Es  lejos  y  es  cerca, 
es  cerca  y  no  lejos. 


Cera. 


Cerca. 


163. 

Mientras  mas  lejos  m&s  cerca, 
y  mientras  m^s  cerca  m4s  lejos. 

Id. 
(V6ase  755.) 

164. 

Entre  tablita  y  tablita, 
me  hinco  de  rodillas 
y  hago  cosquillas. 

Cerradura  y  Have. 

165. 

(o)     Tengo  una  s4bana, 
y  no  la  puedo  doblar; 
tengo  una  china 
y  no  la  puedo  partir; 
tengo  un  dinero 
y  no  lo  puedo  repartir. 

El  cielo,  la  luna  y  las  estrellas. 

(6)     Mi  padre  tiene  una  sabana 
y  no  se  puede  doblar. 

Cielo. 

166. 

Verde  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
negra  fue  mi  mocedad; 
y  luego  me  visten  de  bianco 
para  Uevarme  a  quemar. 

Cigarrillo. 

167. 

(c)     Lo  meto  seco 
y  lo  saco  mojado, 
y  la  punta  colorada. 

Id, 

(b)     Lo  meto  seco  y  lo  saco  mojado, 
y  con  la  cabeza  colorada. 

Cigarro. 

168. 

Debajo  de  la  punta  especie 
labilis  nabilis  labadura 
de  cintabili. 
iQu6  serd? 

Cinta  de  enagua. 

169. 

(a)     Medio  moro  con  cabeza, 
sin  barriga  y  con  un  pie; 
traigo  todo  el  mundo  andado, 
y  hasta  a  mi  Dios  sujete. 

Clavo. 


442 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(b)     Tengo  cabeza  de  moro, 
ando  en  un  solo  pie; 
he  andado  todo  el  mundo, 
y  hasta  Jesus  sujet6. 


170. 

Entre  pared  y  pared 
esta  el  negrito  Jose. 


176. 

A11&  arriba  esta  una  fuente; 
nunca  le  Uueve  y  bebe  la  gente. 


Clavo. 


Id. 


171. 

De  la  tierra 
va  terrado, 

y  es  alto,  quema  lumbre, 
es  pisado  de  mujer, 
y  del  hombre  que  acostumbre. 

La  cocina. 

172. 

(a)  Largo,  largo  como  un  largucho, 
y  tiene  los  huevos  en  el  cucurucho. 

Cocotero. 

(b)  Largo,  largo  y  tieso; 

y  tiene  los  huevos  en  el  pescuezo. 

Id. 

173- 

(c)  Dentro  del  cuero  esta  el  pelo, 
dentro  del  pelo,  estk  el  hueso 
dentro  del  hueso,  esta  la  carne 
y  dentro  de  la  carne,  esta  la 

sangre. 

Coco. 

{b)     Primero  el  cuero, 
y  despues  el  pelo; 
y  despues  del  pelo 
la  carne. 

Id. 


Id. 


177. 


Con  palabras  de  santo  almorce, 
bebi  agua  ni  del  cielo 
ni  de  la  tierra. 

Coco.  (?) 

178. 

Por  la  calle  van  vendiendo  agua, 
carb6n  y  lena. 

Coco. 

179. 

Debajo  de  un  come,  come 
estaba  un  dorme,  dorme; 
cayo  el  come,  come, 
y  despert6  el  dorme,  dorme; 
se  levant6  el  dorme,  dorme 
y  se  comio  al  come,  come. 

El  coco  y  el  que  se  lo  come. 

180. 

Debajo  de  un  penon, 
Uorin  lloraba; 
si  la  pena  caia, 
Uorin  callaba. 

Coco  y  puerco. 

181. 

(a)     Andandoporuncaminomebaj4 
y  cogi  tres.^ 

El  cogitre. 

(6)  Andando    por    un   camino,    cogi 
tres. 
Adiviname  lo  que  es. 

Id. 


174. 

Mand6  un  muchacho  a  un  man- 
dado; 

primero  vino  el  mandado  que  el 
muchacho. 


175- 

Arriba  de  aquel  cerro 
hay  un  pocito, 
que  llueva  o  no  llueva 
siempre  est4  Uenito. 


Id. 


Id. 


(c)     Yo  iba  por  un  camino, 
encontre  cuatro 
y  coji  tres. 


182. 

(a)     Brinqu6  para  arriba 
y  cogi  tres. 


(b)     Brinque  para  arriba 
me  cai  y  cogi  tres. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


^  Pronounced  tre. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


443 


(c)     Brinqu6  arriba  y  cogi  tres 
Adiviname  lo  que  es.      > 

El  cogitre. 

183. 
Un  Castillo  muy  cerrado, 
sin  campanas  y  sin  torres, 
con  muchas  monjitas  dentro, 
haciendo  dulces  de  flores. 

Colmenas. 

184. 
Alii  arriba  en  aquel  alto 
vi  una  cerda  parida; 
por  quitarle  los  lechones 
en  poco  pierdo  la  vida. 

Colmena. 
(V6ase  abeja.) 

185. 
Coje  trencamp^n 
serpiente  en  borrasca; 
carabela  de  muerto,  . 
coqui  que  canta. 


El  coqui. 


186. 


(o)     En  la  ventana  soy  nina 
en  la  mesa  soy  senora; 
y  cuando  me  voy  al  monte 
soy  la  mejor  cantadora. 

Cotorra. 

(b)     En  el  monte  fuf  princesa, 
en  el  corredor  fui  dama, 
en  la  sala  sefiorita 
y  en  la  mesa  cortesana. 


Id. 


187. 
(a)     En  el  monte  vi  nacer 

lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado; 
tiene  la  flor  amarilla 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


(&)     En  el  monte  fu6  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado; 
tiene  la  capita  verde 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


(c)     En  el  monte  fue  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  fue  sembrado; 
su  cuerpo  viste  de  verde 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


Id. 


Id, 


(d)     En  el  monte  se  ha  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado; 
que  tiene  la  hoja  verde 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


(e)     Verde  lo  vf  nacer 

lo  que  nunca  fu6  sembrado; 
tiene  un  bot6n  amarillo, 
y  la  flor  es  colorada. 


(a)     En  el  monte  fuf  nacido, 
y  en  el  monte  fui  criado; 
tengo  las  alitas  verdes 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


(b)     En  el  monte  fu6  nacido 
y  en  el  monte  iu€  criado; 
y  las  alitas  son  verdes 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 


De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
predicando  en  un  serm6n; 
tengo  el  cuerpito  verde 
y  rojo  mi  coraz6n. 


190. 
Una  que  nunca  pec6, 
ni  supo  que  fue  pecar, 
muri6  Uamando  a  Jesus 
y  no  se  pudo  salvar. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


191. 
iQu6  cosa,  qu6  cosa 
tan  maravillosa  he  visto! 
Y  para  poderla  hacer  ver 
de  testigo  pongo  a  Cristo. 

La  cristiandad. 

192. 
En  el  monte  fui  nacida, 
y  remont6  tanto  el  vuelo, 
que  cai  mejor  clavada 
que  Jesucristo  en  el  cielo. 


Cruz. 


193- 


Id. 


(a)     De  siete  hermanas  que  somos 
la  mds  chiquita  soy  yo. 
iC6mo  vas  a  ser  la  mis  chiquita, 
siendo  la  mis  vieja  yo? 

Cuaresma. 


444 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(6)     De  siete  hermanas  que  somos 
la  primera  yo  naci; 
soy  la  de  menos  edad, 
<jC6mo  puedo  ser  asi? 

Cuaresma. 

194. 
Yo  VI  una  dama  bien  compuesta, 
corriendo  su  desventura, 
dejando  lo  que  se  cose 
y  cogiendo  lo  sin  costura. 

Culebra. 

195. 
Es  grande  y  es  chica, 
es  del  grande  de  un  lim6n; 
tiene  una  rosa  en  el  medio, 
y  depende  del  coraz6n. 

(La  flor  de)  cupey. 

196. 
Yo  vi  un  le6n  coronado, 
de  mil  colores  vestido; 
en  el  vientre  de  su  madre, 
comiendo  a  su  padre  vivo. 

Cura. 

197. 
Una  mujer  con  un  hombre, 
le  pueden  servir  k  Dios; 
y  dos  hombres  tambien  pueden, 
pero  dos  mujeres  no. 

El  cura  en  confesi6n. 


^Como    podra    un    hombre    hu- 

mano, 
sabiendo  la  ley  de  Dios, 
casarse  con  hija  y  madre 
siendo  doncellas  las  dos? 

El  cura  y  la  iglesia. 

199. 
Horma  en  saco, 
garabato  en  falla, 
y  en  Uegando  a  la  villa 
charrasco. 

Chicharrones. 

200. 
(a)     Cinco  damas  en  un  castillo, 
todas  visten  de  amarillo. 

Chinas. 

(6)     Cien  damas  en  un  castillo, 
todas  visten  de  amarillo. 


201. 

Cinco  companeros  juntos 
por  lo  regular  vivimos, 
y  cuando  nos  dividimos 
son  para  varios  asuntos; 
servimos  a  los  vivos 
y  a  los  difuntos; 

siempre  en  movimiento  estamos; 
de  una  parte  a  la  otra  vamos 
por  mandato  de  los  hombres, 
y  a  quien  servir,  no  te  asombres, 
ni  dejamos  de  ser  quienes  somos. 
Los  cinco  dedos. 

202. 

(a)     Veinte  varillitas 
en  un  varillal, 
ni  secas  ni  verdes 
se  pueden  cortar. 


Los  dedos. 


{b)     Siete  varillas 
en  un  varillal, 
ni  verdes  ni  secas 
se  pueden  cortar 


(c)     Cinco  varillas 
en  un  varillal, 
ni  secas  ni  maduras 
se  pueden  cortar. 


Id. 


Id, 


(d)     Diez  varillas  en  un  varillal, 
ni  secas  ni  verdes  se  pueden  cortar. 

Id. 


(e)     Ni  secas,  ni  verdes 
se  pueden  cortar. 


203. 


Id. 


Id. 


En  el  agua  soy  un  pez. 
Como  hombre  soy  en  tierra; 
mucho  huyo  de  la  guerra; 
no  me  sabes  definir. 
Sabra  Alemania  del  fin 
donde  llegue  poco  a  poco; 
ni  Francia  sabe  tampoco 
y  sabe  menos  Turquia. 
De  Rusia,  Inglaterra,  Hungria 
iCual  pensamiento  es  el  loco? 

Delfin. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


445 


204. 
Quien  quiera  gozar  del  fin 
que  se  tome  del  finado, 
no  la  cabeza  ni  el  rabo. 
Y  si  lo  viera  morir, 
claro  te  voy  a  decir. 
No  se  si  has  adivinado, 

Delfin. 

205. 
(fl)     Tengo  una  caja  de  huesos, 
y  no  la  doy  ni  por  cien  pesos. 

Los  dientes. 

(J)      Tengo  una  cajita 
llenita  de  yeso; 
el  que  me  la  adivine 
le  doy  cien  pesos. 


(c)     Tengo  una  cajita 
llenita  de  huesos, 
al  que  me  la  adivine 
le  doy  cien  pesos. 


{d)     En  el  medio  del  cielo 
tengo  un  cajoncito 
Ueno  de  huesos. 

206. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


No  tengo  ni  un  solo  pelo; 
soy  palido,  seco  y  justo. 
Valgo  poco  y  sin  embargo, 
mucho  valgo  y  mucho  gusto. 
Soy  para  el  hombre  precise, 
como  el  pan  de  cada  dia. 
Soy  su  bien  y  soy  su  alegria, 
y  le  sirvo  de  perjuicio. 
Soy  el  origen  del  vicio, 
y  de  la  noche  hago  el  dia. 

Dinero. 

207. 

iQui^n  da  lo  que  no  tiene? 

Dios, 

208. 
A  la  mar  me  tire  yo 
al  filo  de  una  macarela, 
para  sacar  medicina 
para  curar  a  mi  abuela. 

El  dolor  de  muelas. 

209. 
lC\ik\  es  el  numero  que  sumado 
y  multiplicado 
da  el  mismo  resultado? 

El  numero  dos. 


210. 

(a)  En  medio  del  cielo  estoy 
sin  ser  astro  ni  estrella, 
sin  ser  sol  ni  luna  bella; 
aci6rteme  usted  quien  soy. 

La  letra  e. 

(b)  En  el  medio  del  cielo  estoy; 
no  soy  astro  ni  estrella, 

ni  tampoco  luna  bella. 
Dime  qu6  soy. 


Id. 


(c)     En  medio  del  cielo  estoy; 
no  soy  astro  ni  estrella, 
ni  tampoco  luna  bella. 
Adiviname  lo  que  soy. 


Id. 


Id. 


(d)  En  medio  del  cielo  estoy, 
ni  soy  luna,  ni  soy  sol; 
adiviname  quien  soy. 

(e)  En  el  medio  del  cielo  est4, 

y  si  no  le  digo,  no  lo  adivinari. 

Id. 

211. 

(a)  Si  el  enamorado 
es  bien  entendido, 
sabr^  el  nombre 

de  la  dama  y  del  vestido. 

(Elena)  el  nombre, 
(morado)  el  vestido, 

(b)  Si  el  enamorado 

es  discreto  y  entendido, 

aqui  va  el  nombre 

de  la  dama  y  el  vestido. 

Id. 

(c)  Joven,  el  enamorado, 
si  eres  sabio  y  entendido, 
en  este  renglon  te  pongo 

el  nombre  de  la  dama  y  el  vestido. 
La  dama  (Elena)  y 
(morado)  el  vestido. 

{d)     Si  el  enamorado  es  joven, 
,ic6mo  se  llama  la  nina 
de  quien  yo  me  enamor6? 

El  nombre  (Elena). 

(e)     Si  el  enamorado 
es  bien  entendido, 
alli  va  el  nombre 
de  la  dama  y  del  vestido. 

(Elena)  el  nombre, 
(morado)  el  vestido. 


446 


Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 


(J)     Si  el  enamorado 
es  correspondido, 
alii  te  mando  mi  nombre 
y  el  de  mi  vestido. 

Elena,  morado. 

ig)     Galan,  el  enamorado, 
si  eres  sabido  y  entendido, 
en  ese  rengl6n  va  puesto 
mi  nombre  y  el  del  vestido. 


Id. 


(h)     Galan,  el  enamorado, 
si  te  muestras  entendido, 
aqui  va  el  nombre  de  la  dama 
y  el  del  color  del  vestido. 


Id. 


212, 


(a)  Mi  comadre  la  doncella, 
delgadita  de  cintura, 
tiene  las  unas  gastadas 

de  raspar  en  cosa  dura, 

Escoba. 

(b)  Maria  carrasposa, 
delgadita  de  cintura, 
tiene  sus  unas  gastadas 
de  rascar  en  cosa  dura. 

Id. 
213-  , 

(a)     Una  niiia  bien  vestida, 
toda  llena  de  embarazos, 
tiene  la  muerte  consigo 
y  un  niiio  la  lleva  en  brazos. 

Escopeta, 

0)     Una  cueva  muy  obscura, 
con  todos  sus  embarazos, 
la  muerte  lleva  consigo 
y  un  viejo  la  carga  en  brazos. 

Id. 

(c)  Una  dama  muy  obscura, 
llena  de  mil  embarazos, 
carga  la  muerte  consigo 

y  un  hombre  la  carga  en  brazos. 

Id. 

(d)  Una  dama  linda  y  bella, 
llena  de  mil  embarazos, 

la  muerte  carga  consigo 
y  un  hombre  la  lleva  en  brazos. 

Id. 

(e)  Una  casa  muy  obscura, 
llena  de  mil  embarazos, 
la  muerte  viene  con  ella, 

y  un  hombre  la  lleva  en  los  brazos. 

Id. 


(/)     Una  caja  muy  oscura, 
llena  de  mil  embarazos, 
la  muerte  lleva  segura 
el  que  la  carga  en  los  brazos. 


(g)     Una  dama  linda  y  bella 
la  muerte  carga  consigo. 


214. 

Cojo  mi  negrito, 
lo  subo  a  un  cerrito, 
le  halo  una  oreja 
y  se  saca  un  grito. 


215. 

(c)     Fui  al  monte, 
grite  y  grite; 
me  vine  a  casa 
muy  tranquilo. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     Fui  al  monte 
y  pegue  un  grito, 
y  vine  a  mi  casa 
calladito. 


Escopeta, 
Hacha, 


Escopeta. 


(c)  Yo  fui  al  monte, 
tire  un  tirito; 
volvi  a  casa 

e  hice  un  guisito, 

Escopeta  y  caza. 

(d)  Me  fui  al  monte, 
grite,  grite; 

y  me  traje  el  conejo 

de  siete  patillas  y  un  pie. 

Escopeta  y  paraguas. 

216. 

Senor  Juan  Nepomuceno, 
mande  usted,  senor  mi  padre. 
Vaya  en  casa  de  mi  compadre, 
Juan  Nepomuceno, 
a  que  me  mande  e    volcanico  es- 

candaloso 
para  hacer  un  acto  asesinato 
contra  los  pajaros  volatos, 
que  me  est&n  comiendo  los  piri- 

pipis, 
sobrinos  de  los  cocororos; 
y  si  acaso  no  entendiere, 
que  me  traiga,  .  .  . 

Escopeta. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


447 


217. 
(a)     Chiquitita  como  un  gallo 
y  aguanta  como  un  caballo. 

Escupidera. 


(6)     Chiquita  como  un  gallo 
y  aguanta  como  un  caballo. 


Id. 


Id. 


218. 
(a)     Sale  de  su  sepultura 
con  la  cruz  a  cuestas; 
algunas  veces  salva  al  hombre 
y  otras  la  vida  le  cuesta. 

Espada. 

(6)     Sale  de  la  sepultura 
con  la  cruz  a  cuestas; 
varias  veces  salva  al  hombre 
y  otras  la  vida  le  cuesta. 

Id. 

(c)     Sale  de  la  sepultura 

con  la  Santa  Cruz  a  cuestas; 
Unas  veces  salva  al  hombre 
y  otras  la  vida  le  cuesta. 

219. 
No  soy  pintor  ni  lo  he  sido, 
y  me  atrevo  a  retratarte, 
y  sin  pintura  pintarte. 
Lo  que  este  retrato  llora 
se  rie  vuestro  placer. 
El  alma,  nada  mks  falta, 
para  ser  otra  mujer. 

Espejo. 

220. 
Limpio,  claro  y  acrisolado 
es  mi  ser, 

y  aunque  soy  muerto, 
alma  parece  que  tengo. 
Si  se  rien  tambien  rio, 
si  lloran  hago  lo  mismo: 
solo  me  falta  el  hablar: 
en  lo  demds  soy  muy  diestro. 

Id. 

221. 

(a)  Un  galan  muy  bien  vestido, 
de  las  damas  muy  querido, 
nunca  ha  dicho  una  verdad, 
ni  en  mentira  lo  han  cogido. 

Id. 

(b)  Jovencito  muy  discrete, 
de  las  damas  muy  querido, 
que  nunca  ha  dicho  verdad, 
ni  en  mentira  lo  han  cogido. 

Id 


(c)     Una  dama  bien  compuesta, 
de  las  damas  bien  querida, 
que  nunca  ha  dicho  verdad 
ni  en  mentira  la  han  cogido. 


Id. 


222. 


De  todos  tamanos  soy, 
en  todas  partes  me  encuentro, 
desde  la  pobre  buhardilla 
hasta  en  el  rico  aposento. 


Id. 


223. 

En  el  camino  me  la  encontrd 
y  a  casa  me  la  llev6. 

Espina. 

224. 

fiste  era  mi  pensamiento, 
el  decirtelo  algun  dia. 
iCual  es  la  que  nunca  duerme 
y  que  siempre  estd  tendida? 

Estera. 

225. 

A114  arriba  hay  un  plato 
lleno  de  aceitunas; 
de  dia  se  recogen, 
y  de  noche  se  riegan. 

Estrellas. 

226. 

(a)     En  el  cielo  esti  un  Castillo 
todo  lleno  de  avellanas, 
que  de  dia  las  recogen 
y  de  noche  las  derraman. 


(b)     Dies  tiene  un  platillo 
lleno  de  avellanas, 
por  el  dia  las  recoge 
y  por  la  noche  las  derrama. 


(c)     En  el  cielo  hay  un  platillo 
lleno  de  avellanas, 
que  de  dia  se  recogen 
y  de  noche  se  derraman. 


(d)     AWk  arriba  en  aquel  alto 
hay  un  plato  de  avellana?, 
que  de  dia  se  recogen 
y  de  noche  se  derraman. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


448 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(e)     Tiene  mi  Dios  en  el  cielo 
un  platillo  de  avellanas, 
que  por  el  dia  las  recoge 
y  por  la  noche  las  derrama. 

Estrellas. 

(/)     El  hijo  del  rey  tiene 

un  platillo  lleno  de  avellanas, 
que  de  noche  se  derraman, 
y  de  dia  se  recogen. 


(g)  Tengo  dos  platos 
llenos  de  avellanas; 
por  el  dia  las  recojo 
y  por  la  noche  las  derramo. 


(h)     En  el  cielo  hay  un  platillo 
todo  cubierto  de  flores, 
por  la  noche  se  derraman 
y  por  el  dia  se  recogen. 


(?)     Por  la  noche  se  riegan 
y  por  el  dia  se  recogen. 


227. 
Tengo  un  dinero 
y  no  lo  puedo  repartir. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


228. 
Las  cinco  letras  vocales, 
anadi^ndoles  L  y  G, 
asi^se  llama  la  dama 
de  quien  yo  me  enamor6. 

Eulogia. 

229. 
Una  flor  en  una  tina. 

Florentina. 

230. 
En  el  monte  fui  nacido, 
criado  de  verde  altura, 
visitado  de  mujeres 
y  del  hombre  que  madruga. 

Fog6n. 

231. 
(a)     Un  tintin  con  dos  tintones, 
un  alacran  con  dos  culebrones. 

Freno. 


232. 

Largo,  larguero, 
Martin  caballero, 
calzas  coloradas 
y  penacho  negro. 


Fuego. 


233. 

Tiene  patas  con  que  anda, 
tiene  ojos  con  que  ve; 
tiene  boca  con  que  come 
y  cabeza  Dios  le  de. 

Juey.* 

234. 
En  un  sitio  muy  obscuro 
se  halla  un  animal  muy  atroz; 
tiene  ojos,  tiene  boca 
pero  cabeza  no. 


Id. 


235- 
En  el  monte  fue  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  se  sembr6; 
tiene  pata,  tiene  ojos 
y  menos  cabeza  no. 


236. 
Por  el  dale  que  dale 
Me  dan  tres  reales. 


Id. 


Fuete. 


(6)     Un  tintan  con  dos  tintanes, 
una  culebra  con  dos  alacranes. 

Id. 
^  Cangrejo  de  mangles. 


237- 
Alia  arriba  me  gritaron 
que  les  llevara 
cuatro  estrellas  y  un  pie. 

Fusil  y  relampago. 

238. 

Fui  al  monte  con  un  negrito, 
le  hale  un  pelo  y  se  saco  un  grito. 

Fusil. 

239- 
Adivinador  de  la  calabaza, 
digame  cual  es  el  ave 
que  pone  en  casa. 

La  gallina. 

240. 
(o)     Una  senora 
muy  asenorada, 
llena  de  remiendos 
y  sin  una  puntada, 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore, 


449 


(&)     Una  senorita 
muy  asenorada, 
con  tantos  remiendos, 
y  ninguna  puntada. 


La  gallina. 


(c)     Una  senora  muy  asenorada, 
llena  de  remiendos, 
y  sin  una  puntada. 


Id. 


241. 

La  desnudan  de  su  vestido, 
de  sus  costosas  labores, 
la  ponen  en  un  madero 
para  nosotros  pecadores. 


242. 


Id. 


Por  la  tarde  florecen  los  palos, 
y  por  la  mafiana  amanecen   las 

flores 
en  el  suelo. 

Las  gallinas. 

243- 
Va  al  monte  y  canta  y  canta, 
y  llega  a  la  casa  y  se  espanta. 

La  gallina. 

244. 
(a)     Pelu  esta  encima  de  pelao; 
hasta  que  pelao  est^  pelu, 
pelti  no  se  le  quita  de  encima  a 
pelao. 

La  gallina  y  los  huevos. 

(6)     Pelu  est&  sobre  mondado, 
y  hasta  que  mondado 
no  esti  como  pelu, 
pelu  no  se  quita 
de  encima  de  mondado. 

La  gallina  con  los  huevos. 

(c)     Peludo  esta  encima  de  pelado, 
y  peluda  se  ha  jurado 
de  no  levantarse 
hasta  no  sacarle 
pelo  a  pelado. 
La  gallina  echada  en  los  huevos. 

{d)     Peludo  est4  encima  de  pelado, 
y  jura  peludo  no  quitarse 
de  encima  de  pelado 
hasta  que  el  pelado 
no  saiga  peludo. 

Id. 


245- 
Naci  como  cristalino, 
me  cri6  como  redoma; 
de  la  carne  de  mis  huesos 
todo  el  mundo  se  me  antoja. 

(La  carne  de)  gallina. 

246. 
Uno  que  nunca  pec6, 
ni  nunca  supo  pecar, 
se  encontro  con  la  pasi6n  de  Jesus 
y  no  se  pudo  salvar. 

Gallo. 

247- 
(a)     Por  aqui  pas6  un  galan 
todo  vestido  de  tela; 
ni  es  cosido  con  aguja 
ni  cortado  con  tijera. 


Id. 


(b)     Por  aqui  pas6  un  galan 
con  un  h&bito  de  seda; 
no  cosido  con  aguja 
ni  cortado  con  tijera. 

248. 
En  la  tierra  se  ha  sembrado 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  nacido; 
en  la  cabeza  le  sale 
un  bonete  Colorado. 


Id. 


Id. 


249. 
Yo  pase  por  un  camino, 
y  la  vieja  me  dijo  "adi6s," 
y  la  moza  no. 

El  gandul. 

250. 
(a)     Es  garra  y  no  de  cuero, 
y  es  pata  y  no  de  vaca. 

Garrapata. 


(b)     Es  garra,  y  no  de  enagua, 
es  pata  y  no  de  vaca. 


(c)     Es  garra  pero  no  de  tigre, 
pata  pero  no  de  mesa. 

251- 


Id. 


Id. 


Buscacena  est&  en  la  piedra, 
est^  buscando  que  cenar; 
vino  la  cena  y  cen6 
y  se  volvio  a  su  iugar. 

La  gata  parida. 


450 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


252. 

Estando  la  cena  en  la  piedra 
esperando  que  cenar 
vino  la  cena  y  cen6 
y  se  volvio  a  su  lugar. 

La  garza  y  la  gata;  la  gata 
estaba  parida. 

253. 
(a)     Adivinanza,  adivinanza, 

iqui^n  ha  visto  un  gato  sin  panza? 
El  gato  de  la  escopeta. 

(&)     iCual  es  el  gato 
que  no  tiene  panza? 

El  gato  del  revolver. 

(c)     Adivinador  de  adivinanzas, 
^quien  ha  visto  un  gato 
sin  panza? 

El  gato  de  la  escopeta. 

254. 
(o)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral, 
todas  juntas  mean  par  a  par. 

Las  goteras. 


(&)     Cien  damas  en  un  Castillo, 
todas  orinan  iguales. 


(c)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral, 
lloran  de  par  en  par. 


{d)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral, 
todas  cantan  par  a  par. 


255- 
(a)     En  alto  estoy, 
moros  veo  venir; 
corona  de  rey  tengo, 
y  no  puedo  huir. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     En  altos  estoy, 
pillos  veo  venir; 
coronas  del  rey  tengo 
y  no  puedo  huir. 


(c)     En  altos  me  veo, 
moros  veo  venir; 
como  rey  tengo, 
no  puedo  huir. 


Granada. 


Id. 


(d)     Parada  en  un  alto  estoy, 
veo  los  moros  venir; 
corona  de  rey  tengo 
pero  no  puedo  huir. 


256. 

Naci  como  clavellina, 
me  cri6  como  redoma, 
de  los  huesos  de  mi  cuerpo 
todo  cl  mundo  se  enamora. 


257. 


Id. 


Id. 


Una  casa  con  siete  aposentos 
y  no  le  caben  dentro. 

Id. 

258. 

Tengo  una  casa 
con  tres  cuartos, 
y  los  tengo  todos  llenos 
y  no  me  cabe  otro  mis. 


Id. 


259. 

(a)  Verde  por  fuera, 
bianco  por  dentro. 
iQue  sera? 


La  guanabana. 


(b)     Verde  por  afuera, 
bianco  por  dentro, 
pepita  negra, 
con  su  espinito. 


(c)     Verde  por  encima, 
bianco  por  dentro 
y  pepita  negra. 
iQui  sera? 


260. 

(a)     Nuestro  senor  plant6 
un  irbol  en  la  tierra, 
con  el  pelo  por  dentro 
y  las  costillas  por  fuera. 


Id. 


Id. 


El  guano. 


Id. 


(b)     Mi  Dios  baj6  de  los  cielos 
para  hacer  una  maravilla, 
que  por  dentro  tiene  el  pelo 
y  por  fuera  las  costillas. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


451 


(c)     Jesucristo,  Rey  del  cielo 
enterr6  su  maravilla, 
que  por  dentro  ech6  el  pelo 
y  por  fuera  la  costilla. 

El  guano. 

{d)     Cuando  mi  Dios  vino  al  mundo 
a  pintar  las  maravillas, 
trajo  los  pelos  por  dentro 
y  por  fuera  las  costillas. 

Id. 

(e)     Cuando  mi  Dios  vino  al  mundo 
a  pintar  las  maravillas, 
puso  por  dentro  los  pelos 
y  por  fuera  las  costillas. 

Id. 

(J)     En  el  cielo  hay  un  pintor 
que  pinta  dos  mil  maravillas, 
por  dentro  tienen  la  lana 
y  por  fuera  las  costillas. 


Id. 


261. 


Cuando  mi  Dios  vino  al  mundo 
hizo  una  linda  amapola, 
hizo  un  4ngel. 

Id. 

262. 

Estaba  una  ninita 
sentada  en  un  balc6n, 
y  pasa  un  perrito  y  le  dice: 
jau,  jau,  alia  va. 

La  guayaba. 

263. 

(a)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral, 
todas  gritan  a  par. 

Las  guineas. 

{b)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral, 
todas  visten  par  a  par. 


(c)     Cien  damas  en  un  cercado, 
todas  visten  de  listado. 


Id. 


Id. 


264. 

Verde  fue  mi  nacimiento 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 
y  cuando  vine  a  morir 
estaba  negro  como  una  pez. 

El  guineo. 


265. 

Por  la  manana,  oro 
al  mediodia,  plata, 
por  la  noche,  mata. 


Id. 


266. 

Barriga  con  barriga, 
teta  con  teta; 

en  el  agujerito  de  en  medio 
hacemos  la  fiesta. 

La  guitarra. 

267. 

Una  joven  muy  discreta, 
cuatro  muertos  la  acompanan 
y  un  vivo  le  da  combate. 


Id. 


268. 

Una  mujer 
llena  de  embarazos, 
a  voces  viene  diciendo 
que  uno  la  lleva  en  los  brazos. 


Id. 


269. 


De  Santo  Domingo  vengo 
estirando  y  encogiendo; 
espintenme  las  gallinas 
que  yo  a  los  perros  no  les  temo. 
El  gusano. 

270. 

(a)     Me  Uevaron  al  monte  y  cante, 
vine  a  mi  casa  y  me  call6. 

Hacha. 

ih)     Fuf  al  monte,  alborot^,  alborot6, 
vine  a  mi  casa  y  me  arrincone. 

Id. 

(c)  Fui  al  monte  pique,  piqu6, 
vine  a  mi  casa 

y  me  arricone. 

Id. 

(d)  Fui  al  monte  piqu6,  piqu6, 

la  traje  a  la  casa  y  la  enganch6. 

Id. 

271. 

(a)     Va  al  monte  y  canta, 

y  se  viene  para  la  casa  calladita. 

Id. 


452 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(b)     Va  al  monte  grita,  grita, 
y  llega  a  su  casa  calladita. 


Hacha. 


(c)     Voy  al  monte,  pica,  pica, 
vengo  a  casa,  calladita. 


Id. 


272. 
En  el  monte  esti  un  patito 
que  nadie  lo  quiere  sembrar, 
se  vende  la  onza  a  medio 
y  a  cien  pesos  el  quintal. 

Hachote. 
(Vease  12.) 


lo 


273. 
que 


andando,   des- 


(a)  iQu€   es 

maya? 
No  gasta  manto  ni  saya. 
A  muchos  pone  en  afrenta 
y  al  matarla,  esta  contenta. 

Hambre. 


Id. 


(b)  No  gasta  manto  ni  saya, 
a  muchos  pone  en  afrenta, 
y  al  matarla  esta  contenta. 

274. 

(c)  Vi6  el  pastor  en  su  ganado 

lo  que  no  vio  el  rey  en  su  reino, 
ni  el  Papa  en  su  Santidad, 
ni  Dios  en  toda  su  vida. 

El  hermano. 

(Vease  300.) 

(6)     Dios  no  ha  visto 
lo  que  yo  he  visto. 

Id. 

(c)     Vi6  el  pastor  en  su  ganado 
lo  que  el  rey  no  vi6  en  su  silla, 
ni  el  Papa  en  su  Santidad 
ni  Dios  en  toda  la  vida. 

Los  hermanos. 
(Vease  300.) 

275. 

(a)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 

tabl6n  sobre  tablon; 

patita  de  geke  geke, 

cabeza  de  gongol6n. 

H  icotea  o  I  cotea   ( = J  icotea) . 

(6)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tablita  sobre  tablon; 
manita  de  teque  teque 
y  hocico  de  regod6n. 


(c)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tablita  sobre  tabl6n; 
manita  de  teque  teque, 
cabeza  de  culebr6n. 


(d)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tablon  sobre  tablon; 
patita  de  jiqui  jiqui, 
cabeza  de  culebr6n. 


(e)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tablon  sobre  tabl6n; 
carita  de  jique-jique, 
cabeza  de  culebr6n. 


(/)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tabl6n  sobre  tabl6n; 
a  que  no  la  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  la  oraci6n. 

(g)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
tablita  sobre  tabl6n; 
la  manita  de  tenge  tenge 
y  el  rabito  de  punz6n. 

(h)     Sobre  tablita,  tablita 
sobre  tablita  un  tabl6n; 
manita  de  tengue,  tengue 
y  rabito  de  punz6n. 

(i)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
y  sobre  tablita  un  tabl6n; 
manitas  y  culito  de  punzon. 

276. 

(c)     Es  hico  y  no  de  hamaca, 
es  tea  y  no  arde.^ 


(b)     Hico,  pero  no  de  hamaca, 
tea,  pero  no  del  monte. 


Hicotea. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 
Otra  version:  anda 


277. 
^Cual  es  el  hijo  que  muere 
para  que  despues  nazca  la  madre? 
El  hielo. 

278. 
Estudiante  que  estudi&is 
en  los  libros  de  Moises, 
(icual  es  el  drbol  que  hay 
que  echa  fruta  sin  florecer? 

Higuera. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


453 


279- 
Verde  fue  mi  nacimiento 
colorada  mi  juventud; 
para  yo  poder  morir 
negra  fue  mi  vejez. 

Higo. 

280. 

Sembr^  una  mata  de  maiz 
y  se  la  comi6  el  gorgojo; 
y  a  mi  me  est4  pareciendo 
que  se  te  seca  el  hinojo. 

Hinojo. 

281. 

No  soy  Dios  ni  pienso  serlo, 
ni  la  virgen  es  mi  madre; 
quitandome  el  ser  que  tengo 
soy  tan  Dios  como  Dios  padre. 

La  hostia. 

282. 

(o)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
hay  una  flor  amarilla, 
que  se  le  puede  presentar 
al  mismo  rey  de  Castilla. 

Huevo. 

(6)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
hay  una  flor  amarilla, 
que  camina  y  representa 
ante  el  rey  de  Castilla. 


Id. 


(c)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
esta  una  flor  amarilla; 
se  le  puede  presentar 
al  mismo  rey  de  Castilla. 


Id. 


(d)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
se  encuentra  una  flor  amarilla, 
que  se  le  puede  presentar 
al  mismo  rey  de  Castilla. 


(e)     Entre  peiia  y  pena  blanca 
hay  una  flor  amarilla, 
la  que  se  puede  comer 
el  mismo  rey  de  Castilla. 


(/)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
hay  una  flor  amarilla, 
y  se  la  dan  a  comer 
a  la  reina  de  Sevilla. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(g)     Entre  dos  paredes  blancas 
esti  una  flor  amarilla 
que  se  la  dan  a  comer 
a  la  reina  de  Sevilla. 


Id. 


283. 

De  dos  madres  fui  criado, 
de  un  solo  padre  engendrado, 
comido  por  una  culebra 
y  en  una  fuente  lavado. 


284. 

(a)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
encerrado  en  un  cajon; 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  corazon. 


(b)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
a  ver  a  mi  padre  Ant6n; 
traigo  el  habito  bianco 
y  amarillo  el  corazon. 


(c)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo 
de  predicar  un  serm6n; 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  corazon. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(d)  Desde  Santo  Domingo  vengo 
navegando  en  un  triguero, 

por  mi  padre  soy  un  cantor; 
traigo  los  ojitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  corazon. 

Id. 

(e)  Desde  Santo  Domingo  viene 
un  cura  muy  revestido, 

con  los  habitos  blancos 
y  el  corazon  amarillo. 


Id. 


(J)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
predicando  vengo  un  serm6n; 
traigo  la  cascara  blanca 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


(g)      De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
predicando  en  un  sermon; 
tengo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


Id. 


Id. 


454 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(h)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
navegando  en  un  ancon; 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 

Huevo. 


(d)     Licor  no  tiene  licor, 
ni  pluma  ni  ala  ni  pico, 
y  su  hijo  Licornico 
tiene  ala  y  tiene  pico. 


Id. 


(i)     De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
de  ver  a  mi  padre  Anton; 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


(J)     De  Francia  vengo  volando, 
siendo  mi  padre  un  cantor; 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


Id. 


Id. 


(k)     Fui  nacido  en  una  llanura, 
mi  padre  era  un  cantador; 
todos  mis  habitos  son  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


(0     Vengo  de  padres  cantores, 
y  aunque  musico  no  soy, 
traigo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


(w)     El  ninito  San  Anton 
tiene  los  hibitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


(w)     De  tierras  lejanas  vengo 
siendo  mi  padre  un  cantor; 
tengo  los  habitos  blancos 
y  amarillo  el  coraz6n. 


285. 
(a)     Licor  no  es  licor 

ni  pluma,  ni  ala,  ni  pico, 

y  su  hijo  liconico 

tiene  plumas,  alas  y  pico. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(&)     Cocolico  no  tiene 
pata  ni  cos  ni  pico, 
y  el  padre  Mecocoquico 
tiene  cos,  tiene  pata  y  tiene  pico. 

Id. 

{c)     Su  hijo  lico,  nico, 
que  tiene  pico, 
alas,  patas 
y  no  tiene  nada. 

Id. 


286. 

(a)     Barrilito  bomb6n, 

que  no  tiene  tapa  ni  tap6n; 
y  a  que  no  me  la  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  la  oraci6n. 


(b)     Calabacita  bomb6n, 
no  tiene  tapa  ni  tap6n; 
toda  la  hice  pedazos 
por  comerle  el  coraz6n. 


(c)     Calabacita,  calabaz6n, 
que  no  tiene  tapa  ni  tap6n. 


(d)     Calabacita  de  bomb6n, 
sin  tapita  y  sin  tap6n. 


(e)     Calabacita  de  bomb6n, 
sin  tapita  y  sin  tap6n. 


287. 

(o)     Blanquito  es, 
con  pan  se  come, 
en  la  sarten  se  frie, 
ique  sera? 


(b)     Blanquito  es, 
con  pan  se  come; 
en  la  sarten  se  frie 
y  la  gallina  lo  pone. 


288. 

Una  arquita  muy  chiquita, 
blanquita  como  la  cal; 
todo  el  mundo  la  sabe  abrir, 
pero  nadie  la  sabe  cerrar. 


289. 

Juana  Camacho 
di6  a  luz  un  muchacho, 
ni  muerto  ni  vivo, 
ni  hembra  ni  macho. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


455 


290. 
Alic6  no  tiene  alita, 
patita,  piquito,  ni  co; 
nace  alic6,  tiene  alita, 
patita,  piquito  y  co. 

Huevo  y  polio. 

291. 
(a)  Una  casa  sin  puerta  y  sin  ven- 
tana, 
sin  ninguna  brujeria, 
una  cosa  Uorando  en  ella, 
ipor  d6nde  se  meteria? 

Huevo. 

(6)     Una  casa  sin  ventana, 
sin  puerta  ni  brujeria, 
que  tiene  un  galan  adentro, 
ipor  donde  se  meteria? 


(c)     Una  casa  sin  ventanas, 
ni  puerta  ni  brujerias, 
teniendo  un  galan  adentro 
^por  d6nde  se  meteria? 


{d)     Una  casa  bien  cerrada 
sin  nada  de  brujeria; 
un  niiio  le  Uora  adentro; 
ipor  d6nde  se  meteria? 


Id- 


Id. 


Id. 


292. 

(a)      Mucho  m^s  alto  que  un  pino 
y  no  resisto  un  comino. 

Humo. 

(&)  iQue    es    mucho    mas    alto    que 
un  pino 
y  no  aguanta  ni  un  comino? 

Id. 


(c)     Es  alto  como  un  pino 
y  pesa  como  un  comino. 


293. 

Chiquitito  como  nada, 
y  tanto  tormento  que  da. 


294. 
En  el  suelo  estci, 
hace  marimiento; 
en  el  breve  instante 
est4  en  el  element©. 

VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  114. — 30. 


Id. 


Id. 


295- 
(c)     <?Qu6  es  lo  que  antes  de  nacer 
anda  el  hijo  por  la  calle? 

Id. 


(b)     Antes  de  nacer  la  madre 
sale  el  hijo  a  la  calle. 


(c)     Antes  de  nacer  la  madre, 
anda  el  nino  por  la  calle. 


296. 

Se  ech6  mi  nina  a  bailar, 
y  del  baile  sali6  prenada. 

297. 

(a)     Dofia  Blanca  estk  tendida, 
el  fraile  la  esta  mirando. 
Al  son  de  las  castaiietas 
las  tripas  le  van  colgando. 


Id. 


Id. 


Huso. 


(6)  Al    son    de    las  castanuelas, 
tripas  colgando  lleva. 


Id. 

las 
Id. 


Id. 


Largo  poco  mas  de  un  palmo, 
grueso  lo  que  puede  ser; 
se  carga  y  descarga 
en  mano  de  una  mujer. 

Id. 

299. 

Ni  soy  Dios,  ni  pienso  serlo, 
ni  Santa  Maria  es  mi  madre, 
que  en  llegando  al  ser  que  tengo 
soy  tan  Dios  como  Dios  Padre. 

La  iglesia. 

300. 

(a)  iQu6  vi6  un  pastor  en  el  monte, 
que  Dios  con  ser  Dios  no  lo  pudo 

ver? 

Su  Igual  (otro  pastor). 
(V6ase  274.) 

(b)  Vi6  un  pastor  en  la  montana 
lo  que  el  rey  no  vio  en  Espaiia; 
en  Jerusalen  ni  Dios, 

con  ser  Dios  lo  vi6. 

Id. 


456 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(c)     Vi6  un  pastor  en  su  cabana 
lo  que  el  rey  no  vio  en  Espana; 
en  jerusalen  ni  Dios, 
con  ser  Dios  lo  vi6. 

Su  Igual. 

{d)     El  pastor  ve  en  su  ganado 
lo  que  el  rey  no  ve  en  su  silla; 
ni  el  Padre  Santo  lo  ha  visto 
ni  Dios  lo  vera  en  su  vida. 


(e)     Dios  con  ser  Dios  no  veia, 
lo  que  el  hombre  pudo  ver 
el  rey  acaso, 
y  el  hombre  a  cada  paso. 


Id. 


Id. 


301. 
Cuando  me  suelo  enojar 
de  madre  salen  los  rios; 
hago  al  mas  fuerte  temblar 
y  eludir  mis  brios; 
en  el  fuego  viene  a  dar. 

EI  invlerno. 

302. 
Del    sorolabel    quitando    el     so- 

rola, 
queda  el  bel  de  Loiza  lo  primero; 
es  el  nombre  de  la  dama 
por  quien  vivo  y  por  quien  muero. 

Isabel. 

303. 
(jQue  fue  lo  que  no  naci6, 
pero  muri6, 

y  en  el  vientre  de  su  madre 
se  enterr6, 

quedando  su  madre  viva 
cuando  el  difunto  muri6? 

Jesucristo. 

304- 
Soy  mis  viejo  que  mi  padre, 
y  de  mucha  mas  edad, 
y  de  mas  capacidad. 
Esto  no  lo  cuenta  nadie. 


Id. 


305- 
Tengo  una  casa 
con  cuatro  aposentos, 
y  s61o  soy 
y  no  quepo  adentro. 


El  a  jonjoli. 


305'. 
Vease  100-102,  233-235. 


306. 

Tantos  y  tantos, 
y  todos  con  el  culo  bianco. 

El  junco. 

307- 
Justa  me  llaman  por  doquier, 
soy  alabada  sin  tasa, 
y  a  todos  parezco  bien; 
nadie  me  quiere  en  su  casa. 

La  justicia. 

308. 

Por  aqui  ha  pasado  un  hombre 
lo  mas  legal  que  se  cuenta, 
no  es  hombre,  que  es  animal; 
adiviname  esa  cuenta. 

El  lagartijo. 

309- 

Delante  de  Dios  estoy, 
entre  cadenas  metida, 
ya  me  suben,  ya  me  bajen, 
ya  estoy  muerta,  ya  estoy  viva. 
Lampara  del  Senor. 


310. 

Sale  de  cuatro  picachos 
y  les  gusta  a  los  muchachos. 

Leche. 

311. 
(a)     Entre  dos  paredes 
estci  una  nina  sentada; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est4  mojada. 


Lengua. 


{b)     En  medio  de  dos  penas 
esta  una  flor  colorada; 

.    llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  esti  mojada. 


(c)     Entre  cielo  y  cielo 
hay  una  dama; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  esta  mojada. 


Id. 


Id. 


Juey. 


(d)     Entre  dos  montaiias  blancas 
hay  una  flor  colorada; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  esta  mojada. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


457 


(e)     Entre  pared  y  pared 
hay  una  flor  colorada; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  esta  mojada. 


(/)     Entre  solapa  y  solapa 
estd  una  dama, 
que  llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est^  mojada. 


Lengua. 


Id. 


(g)     Una  senorita  muy  ensenorada, 
siempre  est4  en  su  casa 
y  siempre  esta  mojada. 

Id. 

(Ji)     En  un  cuarto  muy  obscuro 
hay  una  dama  encerrada; 
llueva  o  haya  seca 
siempre  estd  mojada. 

(z)     En  un  cuarto 
hay  una  dama; 
llueva  o  no  llueva 
siempre  estd  mojada. 


Id. 


(J)     Una  triguena  sentada 
entre  dos  paredes  blancas, 
llueva  o  no  llueva 
siempre  est4  mojada. 


(k)     En  el  medio  de  la  mar 
esta  una  nina  sentada, 
que,  llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est4  mojada. 


(/)     En  el  medio  de  dos  peiias, 
esta  una  gallina  echada; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est4  mojada. 


(m)     Debajo  de  una  cueva 
esta  una  pava  echada, 
que  llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est4  mojada. 


(n)     En  medio  de  dos  peiias 
esta  una  dama, 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est&  mojada. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(o)     En  una  cueva  hay  una  gallina, 
y  llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  estk  mojada. 

Id. 

312. 

(o)     Entre  pena  y  pena 
est4  una  palomita, 
que  aunque  llueva  o  haga  seca, 
siempre  esta  mojadita. 


(b)     Debajo  de  una  penita 
estk  una  pavita; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  esta  mojadita. 


(c)     Entre  tapa  y  tapa 
esta  una  lajita; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  est&  mojadita. 


{d)     Debajo  de  una  piedra, 
hay  una  lajita; 
llueva  o  no  llueva, 
siempre  estd  mojadita. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(e)     Alia  arriba  est4  una  pavita, 
llueva  o  no  llueva; 
siempre  est4  mojadita. 


(/)     Entre  laja  y  laja 
esta  una  lajita, 
que  siempre  estd  mojadita. 


313. 

Serpiente  maligna, 
feroz  y  ligera, 
que  nunca  se  aparta 
de  su  madriguera. 
Se  vuelve  y  rodea 
en  tal  condici6n, 
que  de  muchos  es  causa 
de  su  perdici6n. 


314- 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Importa  al  mundo  y  no  importa, 
rie,  llora,  ruega  y  manda, 
y  tiene  una  espada  blanda, 
que  dentro  de  la  vaina  corta. 

Id. 


458 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


315- 
Alia  arriba  (de)  aquel  cerro 
esti  mi  comadre, 
con  un  abaniquito 
dale  que  dale. 

Lengua. 

316. 

A114  arriba  en  aquel  monte 
tengo  una  cabrita  amarrada; 
escuchen  senores,  escuchen, 
y  oiran  como  estd. 


Id. 


317- 
Tengo  un  cercadito 
cargado  de  espeques, 
guardando  una  nina 
para  que  no  peque. 


318. 

(a)     Entre  medio  de  dos  penas 
esta  una  gallinita  echada; 
6yela,  buscala,  escuchala. 
iQu6  sera? 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     En  el  medio  del  mar 

hay  una  mata  de  margaritas. 
jOyela,  escuchala,  entiendela! 


Id. 


(c)     iOyela,  atiendela,  escuchala! 


Id. 


319- 


(a)     En  estrecha  carcel  encerrada, 
con  soldados  de  marfil, 
esta  la  roja  culebra, 
que  es  la  madre  del  mentir. 

Id. 

(6)     Guardada  en  estrecha  carcel 
por  soldados  de  marfil, 
esta  una  roja  culebra 
que  es  la  madre  del  mentir. 

Id. 

(c)     En  una  estrecha  circel, 
con  soldados  de  marfil, 
hay  una  sola  serpiente 
que  es  la  madre  del  vivir. 

Id. 


320. 

Yo  soy  un  hombre  moreno 
que  vengo  de  las  alturas, 
de  mujer  soy  pisado 
y  del  hombre  estremadura. 

Lena. 

321. 

Es  buena  para  otro 
pero  mejor  para  uno  mismo. 

La  libertad. 

322. 

(a)     Fui  a  un  cuarto 
encontre  un  muerto, 
hable  con  el 
y  le  saqu6  el  secreto. 


Libro. 


(b)     Entre  a  un  cuarto, 
me  encontre  un  muerto; 
hable  con  el 
y  me  dijo  su  secreto. 


323. 
Chiquito  como  un  gallo 
y  carga  mas  que  un  caballo. 

324. 
Con  dos  caras, 
y  con  una  lengua  sola. 

325- 
Tengo  una  casa  en  el  aire 
fabricada  con  el  viento; 
las  orillas  de  cristal 
y  de  algodon  el  cimiento. 

326. 

(a)     De  Isabel  quitando  el  bel 
y  de  Lucas  lo  postrero, 
adivina,  caballero, 
el  nombre  de  la  dama 
por  quien  yo  muero. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Lira. 


Luisa. 


(b)     De  Isabel  quitando  el  bel 
y  de  Lucas  lo  postrero, 
es  el  nombre  de  mi  dama. 
Adiviname,  companero. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


459 


327. 

Soy  de  la  providencia, 
en  el  cielo  soy  precisa. 
Tengo  la  parte  en  la  gloria, 
y  nadie  me  ha  visto  en  misa. 

La  luna. 

328. 

Tengo  cuernos,  mas  soy  mansa, 
e  infundo  tranquilidad, 
poetas  y  amantes  me  aman 
y  se  inspiran  en  mi  faz. 

Id. 

329- 
Tengo  una  china 
y  no  la  puedo  partir. 


Id. 


330. 

^Que  es  alto  por  alto, 
redondo  como  un  plato? 


Id. 


331- 
Alld  arriba  en  aquel  alto, 
hay  una  mata  de  rosa, 
para  cuando  mi  amante  pase, 
que  coja  la  mas  hermosa. 


332. 

Redonda  como  una  taza, 
y  va  conmigo  a  la  plaza. 


333- 
Por  aqui  pas6  un  galan 
todo  vestido  de  seda; 
ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  est&  aqui. 
(iQuien  sera  esa  doncella? 


334. 
En  una  piedra  de  acero 
tengo  mi  casa  metida. 
Si  yo  quiero  hacerlo 
hago  de  la  noche  el  dia. 


335- 

Pequenito  como  una  mota, 
y  llena  la  casa  hasta  la  boca. 


Id. 


Id. 


Luz. 


Id. 


Id. 


336. 

Chiquitita  como  una  bellota, 
y  llena  la  casa  hasta  la  boca. 

Id. 

337- 
Ando  con  mi  amo 
en  pueblo  y  campo; 
no  veo  la  luz  del  dia 
hasta  que  no  llego  a  casa. 

La  Have. 

338. 

Delante  de  tu  nobleza 
de  rodillas  me  hinqu6; 
derecho  te  lo  meti 
y  derecho  te  lo  saqu6. 


Id. 


339- 

Chico  como  un  gongol6n, 

y  guarda  la  casa  como  un  le6n. 


Id. 


340. 


(a)     Chico  como  una  pata  de  gallina 
y  guardo  cien  quintales  de  harina. 

Id. 

(6)  Chiquitita    como    una    pata    de 
gallina, 
y  encierra  cien  fanegas  de  harina. 

Id. 


(c)  Chiquitita    como    una    pata    de 
gallina, 
y  encierra  cien  quintales  de  harina. 

Id. 


341- 
Soy  de  la  congregaci6n, 
de  la  iglesia  m^s  precisa; 
no  tengo  parte  con  Dios, 
y  no  puedo  faltar  en  misa. 

La  Have  de  la  iglesia. 


342. 

Una  en  un  minuto, 
dos  en  un  momento, 
y  ninguna  en  un  siglo. 

La  letra'w. 


460 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


343- 
(a)     Alia  arriba  tengo 
mi  ganado  comiendo. 
Mientras  mis  yerba  le  doy 
mas  flaco  se  estci  poniendo. 

Machete. 

(Jb)     hWk  arriba  en  aquel  cerro 
tengo  una  vaca  comiendo; 
mientras  mas  pasto  le  doy 
mis  flaca  se  va  poniendo. 


349- 
Yo  soy  hombre  que  ha  venido 
de  las  haciendas  voluntarias. 
Con  el  vistuario  que  tengo 
mantengo  los  animales, 
y  caliento  los  fogales. 


Id. 


344.  ^ 
Fuf  al  monte,  pique,  pique, 
vine  a  casa  y  (la)  enganche. 

Id. 

345- 
Confusa  estoy, 
maravillada  me  hallo. 
iQue  vendra  a  ser  de  mi  la  suegra 
de  la  mujer  de  mi  hermano? 

Mi  madre. 

346. 
(o)     dCual  es  la  hermana  de  mi  tia 
que  no  sea  tia  mia, 
siendo  ella  hermana  de  mi  tia 
e  hija  de  mis  abuelos? 

Mi  mama.  Es  hermana  de  mi 
tia  e  hija  de  mis  abuelos  y 
no  es  mi  tia. 

(Vease  Seccion  D.) 

(6)     Mi  tia  tiene  una  hermana 
que  no  es  tia  mia. 

Madre. 

(c)     Yo  tengo  una  tia, 

mi  tia  tiene  una  hermana, 
y  la  hermana  de  mi  tia 
no  es  tia  mia. 

Id. 

347- 
Verde  fue  mi  mocedad, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
y  cuando  vine  a  morir 
fui  prieto  como  pez. 

Maduro. 

348. 
Alto  como  un  hombre, 
y  no  es  hombre; 
tiene  barbas  como  un  hombre 
y  no  es  hombre; 
y  tiene  dientes  como  un  hombre 
y  no  come. 

Maiz. 


Id. 

350. 
Cuando  chiquito  vestf, 
cuando  grande  me  desnudaron, 
y  para  mayor  trabajo 
por  la  ropa  me  guindaron. 

Id. 

351. 
Primero  fui  hombre 
y  despues  fui  mujer, 
y  para  volver  a  ser  hombre 
hube  que  echarme  a  arder. 

Maiz  (grano,  harina  y  zorullo). 

352. 
Planta  verde 
y  flor  morada; 
alrededor  de  la  cosa 
la  pendejada. 

Maiz. 

353. 
Una  vieja  seca  y  meca, 
pinta  y  rayada  y  media  hueca, 
pare  los  hijos  secos  y  mecos 
pintos,  rayados  y  medio  huecos. 

Malla. 

354- 
(a)     En  un  alto  fui  criado, 
tengo  la  sangre  en  los  pies, 
los  huesos  en  la  barriga; 
adiviname  lo  que  es. 
Si  te  hallas  descrupulente 
la  muestra  te  puedo  dar, 
tiene  cuero  como  res 
y  la  carne  regular. 

Mamey. 

(Jb)     En  un  alto  fuf  criado, 
tengo  la  sangre  en  los  pies; 
los  huesos  en  la  barriga; 
adiviname  lo  que  es. 

Id. 

355. 
En  el  monte  fui  nacido 
y  en  el  monte  fui  criado; 
tengo  el  nombre  de  cristiano, 
pero  no  he  sido  bautizado. 

La  Maria. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


461 


356. 
Naci  en  el  mundo  sin  padre 
y  en  el  monte  fui  criado. 
Soy  tan  amante  a  la  luz 
y  siempre  tan  desgraciado. 

La  mariposa. 

357. 
Tii  lo  tienes  hondo, 
y  yo  lo  tengo  largo; 
menea  las  caderas 
y  haremos  algo. 

Las  masa. 

358. 
M6ngalo,      Mongalo     estd     col- 

gando, 
Mingolo,  Mingolo  lo  estk  velando, 
si  M6ngolo,  Mongalo  se  cayera, 
Mingolo,  Mingolo  se  lo  comiera. 
La  mata  de  guineo  y  nosotros. 
(Vease  Seccion  D.) 

359. 
Soy  una  red  bien  tejida 
cuyo  nudo  no  se  ve, 
y  dura  toda  la  vida 
en  esta  red  de  pescar; 
unos  penan  por  salir 
y  otros  penan  por  entrar. 

Matrimonio. 

360. 

(a)  En  un  punto  y  un  instante, 
en  un  punto  fue  mi  ser; 

y  un  punto  vendre  a  ser 
porque  mi  vida  es  andante; 
sirvo  al  rey,  sirvo  al  tunante 
y  al  que  me  quiera  comprar, 
y  para  mentar  mi  nombre 
me  par  ten  por  la  mitad. 

Media. 

(b)  En  un  punto,  en  un  instante, 
en  un  punto  fue  mi  ser. 
Tengo  la  vida  que  darte 

y  sirvo  al  rey  y  al  tunante, 
y  al  que  me  quiera  ocupar; 
y  para  mentar  mi  nombre 
me  parten  por  la  mitad. 

Id. 

(c)  De  punto  a  punto  es  mi  ser 
y  ando  por  el  mundo  andante; 
sirvo  al  rey  y  al  mendigante 

y  a  todo  el  que  me  quiera  usar; 
y  el  que  me  quiere  nombrar, 
me  parte  por  la  mitad. 

Id. 


(d)  Mi  todo  en  un  punto  empieza, 
y  en  un  punto  ha  de  acabar; 

el  que  adivine  mi  nombre 
solo  dira  la  mitad. 

Id. 

(e)  Mi  ser  en  un  punto  empieza 
y  en  un  punto  acabara. 

El  que  adivine  mi  nombre 
s61o  dira  la  mitad. 


Id. 


361. 


(a)  Por   la   manana  cuando   yo   me 

levanto, 
pelu  por  fuera  y  pelu  por  dentro, 
saco  la  pata,  m^tola  adentro. 

Id. 

(b)  Pelii  por  fuera 
pelu  por  dentro; 
abre  el  agujero 

y  ensartalo  adentro. 

Id. 

362. 
Un  ano  te  doy  de  plazo, 
y  de  tregua  el  mes  que  viene; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivina 
si  yo  no  se  la  dijere. 

Memoria. 

363- 
Iban    tres    hombres    por    un    ca- 

mino; 
uno  era  ciego,  otro  era  manco 
y  el  otro  estaba  desnudo; 
el  ciego  vio  un  pez,  el   manco  lo 

cogi6 
y  el  desnudo  en  el  seno  se  lo  ech6. 
Mentira. 

364- 

(c)  En  el  monte  fui  nacida, 
debajo  de  verdes  ramas; 
ahora  me  estoy  mirando 
en  servicio  de  esta  dama; 
a  mi  me  dan  a  comer 

en  tazas  y  cominillos, 

y  yo  me  atrevo  a  jurar 

que  en  mi  vida  no  he  comido. 

Mesa. 

{b)     En  un  monte  fue  nacida 
y  ahora  la  han  traido  aqui, 
para  servirles  a  estas  da  mas. 
Ellas  me  dan  que  comer 
comidas  muy  regaladas, 
y  yo  les  puedo  jurar 
que  no  he  comido  nada. 


462 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(c)     En  el  monte  fui  nacida, 
vestida  de  verde  rama, 
y  ahora  me  encuentro  aqui 
al  servicio  de  estas  damas; 
ellas  me  ponen  a  comer 
y  yo  no  me  como  nada. 

Mesa. 

{d)     En  el  monte  fui  nacida 
con  mi  tronc6n  y  mis  ramas, 
y  hoy  por  mi  buena  suerte 
me  encuentro  en  frente  de  damas. 
Ellas  me  dan  de  comer 
y  yo  no  les  pido  nada. 

Id. 

(e)     En  el  bosque  fui  nacida, 
en  el  bosque  fui  criada, 
y  he  venido  aqui  a  esta  casa 
a  servirles  a  estas  damas. 
Ellas  me  dan  de  comer 
comida  muy  regalada, 
y  yo  me  atrevo  a  jurar 
que  no  he  comido  nada. 


Id. 


(J)     En  el  monte  naci, 
debajo  de  verdes  ramas, 
y  hoy  he  venido  aqui, 
al  servicio  de  esta  casa. 
Ella  me  did  de  comer 
en  platos  y  lozas  finas, 
y  nada  de  eso  me  gusta, 
porque  en  mi  vida  he  comido. 


Id. 


(g)     En  el  monte  fui  nacida, 
criada  entre  verdes  ramas; 
y  ahora  me  hallo  yo  en  servicio 
de  esta  hermosisima  dama. 

Id. 

(h)     En  el  monte  fui  nacida 
debajo  de  verdes  ramas, 
y  aqui  he  venido  a  esta  casa 
al  servicio  de  una  dama. 


(i)     En  el  monte  fui  nacida 
debajo  de  verdes  ramas, 
y  he  venido  a  esta  casa 
al  servicio  de  esta  dama. 


0)     En  el  campo  fui  nacido, 
debajo  de  verdes  ramas; 
y  al  hombre  de  mas  valor, 
lo  hago  andar  a  gatas. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


365- 
Yo  sola  soy  en  el  mundo, 
y  mi  Dios  no  me  engendr6, 
y  dichoso  se  ha  de  llamar 
el  que  diga  quien  soy  yo. 


M— . 


366. 

Ya  tocaron  las  campanas 
en  el  convento; 
corre  adivinador 
y  metete  adentro. 

Misa. 

367. 
fiste  es  un  4rbol 
que  tiene  doce  ganchos, 
y  cada  gancho  tiene 
un  nudo  y  cada  nudo  tiene 
su  apellido. 

Los  meses  del  aiio. 

368. 
En  el  medio  del  mar  hay  un  nido, 
y  en  el  nido  hay  doce  polios, 
cada  cual  tiene  su  nombre. 

Id. 

369- 
(a)     Digame  seiior  galan, 
que  yo  preguntarle  quiero, 
^que  quien  ha  visto  cortar 
primero  carne  que  cuero? 

La  molleja  (de  la  gallina). 

(6)     Dime  sabio  pensador, 
que  yo  preguntarte  quiero, 
^c6mo  es  posible  cortar 
carne  primero  que  cuero? 


(c)     Digame  seiior  galcin, 
lo  que  preguntarle  quiero. 
^C6mo  se  podr&  cortar 
primero  carne  que  cuero? 


Id. 


Id. 


(d)  Vengo  a  hacer  una  adivinanza 
que  me  la  hizo  marrero. 
^D6nde  se  ha  visto  partir 
carne  primero  que  cuero? 

Id. 

(e)  iDe  que  manera 
picamos  primero 
carne  que  cuero? 

Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


463 


Molino. 


Id. 


Id. 


370. 

Tu  alia  y  yo  aca, 
si  no  nos  meneamos 
no  haremos  nada. 


371. 
Un  pelo  largo, 
dos  como  el  puno, 
dindole  vuelta 
alrededor  del  culo. 


372. 

Somos  dos  hermanitos 
hu^rfanos  de  padre  y  madre; 
andamos  corriendo  el  mundo 
y  trabajamos  de  gratis. 


373- 
iCukl  es  la  planta 
que  muere  y  vive? 

El  morivivi. 

374- 
El  morro  esta  en  la  sabana 
con  el  negro  Francisco  Coy; 
y  al  que  me  lo  adivinare 
cincuenta  pesos  le  doy. 

Morrocoy. 

375. 
Morrongo  le  van  diciendo 
los  que  lo  llevan  en  brazos. 

Morrongo. 

376. 

(c)     iCudl  es  la  madre 

que  pare  mas  de  cien  hijos, 

y  sin  el  calor  de  ella 

en  el  mismo  dia  se  crian? 

La  mosca. 

(6)     iCudl  es  el  ave  que  pone 
cuarenta  huevos  al  dia, 
y  sin  calor  de  su  madre 
caminan  al  otro  dia? 

Id. 

377- 

iCukl  es  el  ave  que  pone 

doscientos  huevos  en  un  dia? 

Id. 


378. 
Chiquito,  chiquito 
me  cay6  detrds; 
61  a  los  tajos 
y  yo  a  las  trompadas. 


Mosquito. 


379- 
,jQui6n  es  el  hombre  humano 
que  con  sangre  se  mantiene; 
la  lengua  que  viene  hablando 
y  ningun  sabio  la  comprende? 

Id. 

380. 
Ojos  vivos,  ojos  muertos, 
gorras  al  viento; 
adivinamela  al  momento. 

El  muerto. 

381. 
En  el  monte  de  Gerita 
est4  una  almita  de  dos, 
que  no  la  abre  ni  la  cierra 
mds  que  el  poder  de  Dios. 

La  mujer  en  cinta. 

382. 
(c)     Por  aquel  camino 
vienen  dos, 
uno  se  moja 

y  el  otro  no.  Id. 

(V6ase  paraguas.) 

(b)     Por  un  camino  van  dos; 
a  uno  le  da  sombra 
y  al  otro  sol. 


(c)     Por  aqu61  cerro  van  dos; 
uno  se  moja  y  otro  no. 


383. 
En  el  monte  de  Ger6 
est&  una  hormita  de  do; 
ni  moro  ni  cristiano  la  abre 
mas  que  mi  Dios. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


384- 

Una  A,  con  media  luna, 
una  E,_con  luna  entera, 
y  una  N,  con  su  tilde, 
y  una  T,  con  su  tintero. 

La  mujer  con  su  tintero(?). 


464 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


385- 
Corral  redondo, 
vacas  al  fondo; 
cordero  manso, 
perro  rabioso. 


Mundo. 


386. 

iCnkX  es  el  animal 
que  Ueva  consigo  en  su  nombre 
las  cinco  letras  vocales? 

Murcielago. 

387- 
Adivinador  de  la  chanfuneta, 
dime  cual  es  el  ave  que  tiene  tela. 

Id. 


(b)     Viva  fue  mi  sepultura, 
sangre  y  carne  mi  comida, 
y  me  han  de  desenterrar 
para  quitarme  la  vida. 


Id. 


393. 

Una  nina  linda  y  profana, 

hace  su  casa  en  tierra  cristiana. 

Id. 

394. 
Los  ojos  tienen  sus  ninas, 
y  las  ninas  tienen  sus  ojos, 
y  los  ojos  de  las  ninas 
son  las  niiias  de  mis  ojos. 

Las  ninas  de  los  ojos. 


Estudiante  que  estudiaste 
libros  de  filosofia, 
^Cual  es  el  ave  que  vuela, 
que  tiene  tetas  y  cria? 
^  Id. 

389- 
iQue  es  lo  que  el  muerto  come, 
que  si  el  vivo  lo  come 
se  muere  tambien? 

Nada. 

390.1 

La  naranja  naci6  verde, 
el  tiempo  la  madur6; 
mi  corazon  nacio  libre 
y  el  tuyo  lo  cautivo. 

Naranja. 

391- 
Soy  una  sutil  tijera, 
pero  al  cortar  hago  ruido; 
tambien  llevo  atras  cosido 
lo  que  corto  de  manera, 
que  si  enciendes  una  vela 
nunca  veras  mi  puntada; 
corto,  coso  y  despues  nada, 
hilo  grueso  como  cable; 
adiviname  si  sabes; 
revientame  una  puntada. 

Navio. 

392. 
(o)     En  vida  me  sepulte, 

carne  y  sangre  es  mi  comida; 
me  sacan  de  la  sepultura 
para  quitarme  la  vida. 

Nigua. 


395. 
Mi  padre  es  un  carpintero, 
pero  no  de  los  mas  malos, 
que  form6  un  tinajero 
antes  de  nacer  el  palo. 

Nino. 

396. 

(a)     Torito  negro 
cay 6  en  el  mar; 
ni  yuntas  de  bueyes 
lo  pueden  sacar. 


Noche. 


(b)     Torito  negro 
cayo  en  el  mar; 
ni  perro  ni  gato 
lo  pueden  sacar. 


(c)     Torito  negro 
cay6  en  el  mar; 
ni  sogas,  ni  hombres 
lo  pudieron  sacar. 


{d)     PoUito  negro 
cay6  en  el  mar; 
ni  hembra,  ni  macho 
lo  pueden  sacar. 


(e)     Torito  negro 
cay6  en  la  mar; 
ni  cadenas,  ni  sogas 
lo  pueden  sacar. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id, 


1  This  is  a  copla  rather  than  a  riddle. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


46= 


397- 
(a)     Torito  negro  se  fue  k  banar; 
torito  bianco  lo  fue  a  buscar. 

La  noche  y  el  dia. 

(&)     Torito  bianco  cay6  en  el  mar; 
torito  negro  lo  fue  a  sacar. 

El  dia  y  la  noche. 

398-  _ 
(a)     Tengo  una  adivinanza 
de  dos  razones, 
que  de  nada  se  quita 
y  en  todo  se  pone. 

Nombre. 

{b)     Es  una  cosa  muy  menesterosa, 
y  en  todo  lugar  se  pone. 

Id. 

399. 
(c)     Cajita  cerrada 
de  buen  parecer, 
que  ningun  carpintero 
la  puede  hacer. 

Nuez. 

(&)     Hojita  verde  de  buen  parecer, 
ningun    carpintero  la  ha   podido 
hacer. 

Id. 

400. 
Cien  damas  en  una  barranca, 
todas  con  el  culo  bianco. 

El  name. 

401. 

(a)  Ultimo  soy  en  el  cielo, 
con  Dios  en  tercer  lugar; 

me  embarco  siempre  en  navio 
y  nunca  estoy  en  el  mar. 

La  letra  0. 

(b)  En  la  hostia  soy  primera, 
con  Dios  en  tercer  lugar; 
en  el  cielo  la  postrera, 
pero  no  existo  en  el  mar. 


Id. 


402. 
(a)     Soy  la  redondez  del  mundo, 
sin  mi  no  puede  haber  Dios; 
papas  y  curas  si, 
pero  pontifices,  no. 


{b)     Soy  la  redondez  del  mundo, 
sin  mi  no  puede  haber  Dios; 
papas,  cardenales,  si; 
pero  pontifices,  no. 

Id. 

403- 
Si  en  el  suelo, 
si  en  la  cama, 
juntamos  pelo  con  pelo 
y  el  pelo  queda  en  el  medio. 

El  ojo. 

404. 

Sibana  blanca  esta  tendida, 
pepitas  negras  le  bailan  encima. 
Los  ojos. 

405- 
Dos  cabritos  en  un  sart^n, 
ni  uno,  ni  otro  se  puede  ver. 


Id. 


406. 

Dos  damas  en  un  anden, 
ni  la  una  ni  la  otra 
se  pueden  ver. 


Id. 


407. 

Dos  niiiitas  van  por  un  camino; 
por  mucho  que  corren 
nunca  se  alcanzan. 

Id. 

408. 

Dos  hermanitas, 
ni  se  ven,  ni  se  visitan. 


Las  orejas. 


Id. 


409. 

En  medio  de  una  pena 
estan  dos  hermanas; 
nunca  se  ven 
y  siempre  se  hablan. 


410. 

tQue  es  lo  que  tenemos 
en  el  cuerpo, 
que  no  nos  hace  falta, 
ni  nos  deja  de  hacer? 


Id. 


Id. 


466 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


411. 

La  vaca  negra 
est4  acostada; 
por  debajo  la  lame 
la  colorada. 


011a  y  candela. 
(Vease  125.) 


412. 


La  vaca  negra  esta  acostada 
lami6ndole  el  culo  a  la  colorada. 

Id. 

413. 
iQue  es,  que  es, 
que  mientras  mis  grande 
menos  se  ve? 

La  oscuridad. 

414. 

iQu6  es  lo  que  Dios  no  ver4, 
ni  pensara  ver? 

Otro  como  el. 
(Vease  300.) 

415- 
lC\xk\  es  el  hijo  que  quema 
la  lengua  de  la  madre? 

Pabilo  (de  la  vela). 

416. 

Tengo  un  tio 
que  no  es  tio, 
hermano  de  mi  tio. 
iQue  ser4  mio? 


Mi  padre. 


417. 


Soy  del  prado  la  gigante, 
llevo  en  mi  seno  una  fuente; 
el  cansado  caminante 
bajo  mi  sombra  se  sienta; 
sus  fatigas  menos  fuertes 
mi  mecerse  no  le  alarma, 
y  con  alegria  del  alma 
el  rancho  cubro  del  pobre; 
el  que  dijere  mi  nombre 
es  quien  se  lleva  la  palma. 

Palma. 

418. 

Alto,  alto  y  tieso, 
y  carga  el  fruto 
en  el  pescuezo. 

Palma  de  coco. 


419. 

En  lo  mis  alto  viviente 
tiene  mi  Dios  una  fuente, 
ni  es  fuente  ni  es  corriente 
y  mana  agua  para  siempre. 

Palma  (del  coco) 

420. 

Largo  y  recio, 
y  los  huevos  los  llevo 
en  el  pescuezo. 

La  palma  y  los  cocos. 

421. 

(a)     En  el  monte  hay  un  arbolito 
que  estd  en  mala  condicion 
y  todos  los  aiios  pare 
una  hembra  y  un  var6n. 

Palma  de  yagua 

(6)     En  el  monte  esti  un  arbolito 
que  no  tiene  condici6n, 
pero  todos  los  aiios  pare 
una  hembra  y  un  var6n. 

Id. 
422. 
P6ngolo,  P6ngolo 
esta  goteando, 
Pingolo,  Pingolo 
esta  aparando. 

Palma  de  yagua  y  puerco. 

423. 

Jingili  Jingili  estS,  colgando, 
Jongolo  J6ngolo  esta  velando; 
si  Jingili  Jingili  se  cayera 
J6ngolo  Jongolo  se  la  comiera. 

La  palma  y  el  puerco. 
(Vease  Secci6n  D.) 

424. 

Largo  tiraba  y  corto  cogia, 
pie  Colorado  plato  ponia. 

Paloma. 

425- 
Quiero  comer,  dame  pan; 
el  vestido,  seiiora  Tallame, 
me  esti  demas,  quiero  quitarme, 
y  despues  sigo  mi  afan, 
y  mahana,  aunque  sea  vieja, 
te  me  cuelgo  en  las  orejas; 
adiviname  galan. 

Pantalla. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


467 


426. 

Espinazo  para  adelante 
y  barriga  para  atr&s; 
adiviname  seiior,  ique  sera? 

Pantorrilla. 

427. 

Un  covento  bien  cerrado, 
sin  campanas  y  sin  torre, 
con  sus  monjas  y  abadesas, 
haciendo  dulces  de  flores. 

Panal  de  abejas. 

428. 

Blanco  como  la  nieve, 
negro  como  la  pez, 
habla  y  no  tiene  lengua, 
anda  y  no  tiene  pies. 

Papel. 
(V6ase  carta.) 

429. 

(o)     (iQu6  es  lo  que  se  tira  al  suelo 
y  no  se  rompe, 
y  se  tira  al  agua 
y  se  rompe? 

Id, 

(jb)     Lo  tiro  en  el  agua  y  se  rompe, 
lo  tiro  en  el  suelo  y  no  se  rompe. 

Id. 

430. 

(a)     En  una  sierra  me  trepe, 
a  mi  amo  le  grite, 
que  me  trujera  la  capa 
de  siete  costillas  y  un  pie. 

Paraguas. 

(6)     A114  arriba  de  aquel  cerro 
a  mi  compadre  grite, 
que  me  trajera  un  cabrito 
de  siete  costillas  y  un  pie. 


(c)     Alia  arriba  en  aquel  cerro 
a  mi  compadre  llame, 
que  me  trajera  un  cochino 
con  cien  costillas  y  un  pie. 


{d)     A  la  torre  me  subi, 
de  la  torre  te  grite, 
que  me  tires  un  conejo 
de  siete  costillas  y  un  pie. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(e)  En  un  cerro  me  trep6 
y  a  mi  amante  le  grit6, 
que  me  trajera  la  cabra 
con  seis  costillas  y  un  pie. 

(/)     Me  asom6  a  la  ventana, 
a  mi  comadre  llam6, 
para  que  me  trajera  un  conejo 
con  siete  patas  y  un  pie. 

(g)     En  un  cerro  me  trep6, 
a  mi  amante  le  grit6, 
que  me  trajera  la  capa 
con  seis  costillas  y  un  pie. 

Qi)     En  un  cerro  me  subi, 
a  mi  amante  le  grit6, 
que  me  trajera  un  conejo 
con  diez  costillas  y  un  pie. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(i)  Alia   arriba  de   aquel    cerro    me 
trepe, 
y  a  casa  un  grito  pegu6, 
que  me  traigan  un  conejo 
con  diez  costillas  y  un  pie. 

Id. 

(j)     Al\k  arriba  me  gritaron 

Que  les  Uevara  cuatro  costillas  y 
un  pie. 

Id. 

(k)  Montis,     montie,     encontr^    un 
cabrito, 
con  diez  costillas  y  un  pie. 

Id. 

(/)     Alia  arriba  les  mand6 
que  me  mandaran 
siete  astillas 
y  un  pie. 

Id. 
431- 
Por  aquella  cuesta 
abajo  van  dos, 
uno  se  moja 
y  el  otro  no. 
El  paraguas  y  el  que  lo  llevaba, 

432. 
(a)     Una  madre  verrugosa 
y  un  hijo  enredador; 
una  hija  buena  moza 
y  un  nieto  predicador. 

La  parra,  el  sarmiento, 
las  uvas  y  el  vino. 


468 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(6)     Una  viejita  arrugadita 
entre  una  trampita. 
Pasa,  bobo,  ique  sera? 


(c)     Chiquita  y  arrugada. 
Pasa,  bobo,  ique  ser4? 


Pasa. 


Id. 


(d)     Una  viejita  arrugada, 

con  una  trencita  en  la  espalda. 


(e)     Una  viejeclta  arrugada, 
con  dos  palitos  atras. 
Pasa,  bobo,  lqu€  sera? 


(/)     Una  vieja  engarrunada 
pasa,  vol6,  Iqu^  serk? 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


433- 

Una  vieja  encarrujadita, 

con  un  bast6n  en  la  cabecita. 


434- 
(a)     Detr&s  de  la  puerta  esta, 
una  viejita  muy  arrugada; 
pasa,  bobo,  ique  sevk? 


(b)     En  aquel  cerro 

hay  una  viejecita  sentada, 
con  palito  en  la  mano. 
Pasa,  bruto,  ique  sera? 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


435- 
(a)     En  palio  vengo  amarrado, 
visitando  los  enfermos; 
mi  cuerpo  doy  por  comida, 
y  mi  alma  por  sustento. 

El  pastel.^ 


(&)     Debajo  de  palio  vengo 
visitando  a  los  enfermos. 


(c)     Bajo  de  un  palio  vengo, 
A  que  nadie  me  adivina; 
que  no  es  ningun  sacramento. 


Id. 


Id. 


437- 

(a)  Rondando  por  un  camino 
me  encontre  un  nino  sin  brazos; 
por  irle  a  comer  el  alma 

le  hice  el  cuerpo  pedazos. 

Patilla  (Sandia). 

(b)  Andando  por  un  camino 

me  encontre  una  nina  sin  brazos; 
al  tiempo  de  irla  a  coger 
toda  se  hizo  pedazos. 

Id. 
(Vease  473.) 

(c)     Yendo  por  un  camino, 
me  encontr^  una  nina  sin  brazos. 
Por  comerle  el  coraz6n 
toda  la  hice  pedazos. 

Patilla. 

{d)     En  el  camino  encontre 
una  nina  sin  brazos; 
por  comerle  el  coraz6n 
la  hice  toda  pedazos. 


Id. 


438. 
(a)     Rodillas  para  atris 
y  piernas  para  adelante; 
tirenle  senores, 
que  voy  al  instante. 

(6)     Rodillas  para  atrds 
y  corvas  para  adelante, 
cabeza  de  rey 
y  buey  de  alicante. 


Pavo. 


Pavo  real. 


(c)     Rodillas  para  atras, 
y  corvas  para  adelante, 
corona  de  rey, 
y  voz  de  alicante. 


Pavo. 


439- 

(a)     De  dos  paredes  muy  oscuras 
sale  un  hombre  dando  voces; 
ni  se  ve  ni  se  conoce 
y  su  nombre  dir4  quien  es. 

Pedo. 


(b)     Entre  dos  montes  feroces 
hay  un  hombre  dando  voces. 


436. 
Corvas  para  adelante 
y  rodillas  para  atras. 

Patas  (del  pavo). 

1  In  Mexico  the  answer  is  hostia 


(c)     De  una  cueva  muy  oscura 
sale  un  hombre  dando  voces; 
ni  se  ve  ni  se  ver4 
y  por  la  voz  lo  conoces. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


469 


440. 

Busnio  sali6  del  nido 
y  a  tu  ventana  lleg6, 
y  le  pregunt6  a  Santa  Ana 
que  que  fu6  lo  que  pas6. 

441. 


Pedo. 


(a)     iQuien  fu6  aquel  que  naci6 
sin  hueso  y  sin  coyuntura, 
que  fue  tanta  su  desventura 
que  cantando  se  muri6? 


Id. 


(b)     ^Quien  fue  aquel  que  naci6 
sin  hueso  y  sin  coyuntura, 
y  fue  tanta  su  ventura 
que  cantando  se  muri6. 


Id. 


442. 

De  Santo  Domingo  vengo, 
rodando  como  una  bola; 
at4jame  ese  cochino, 
que  me  ha  reventado  la  soga. 


443. 
Chiquito  como  una  uila, 
y  refunfuna. 


Id. 


Id. 


444. 

Chiquitito  como  un  arado, 

sube  al  cerro  y  tumba  ganado. 

Peine. 

445- 
Troncon  verde, 
monte  verdejo 
en  el  redonde 
de  la  crisma. 


Los  pendejos. 


446. 


(a)  iQu^  cosa  hay  en  el  mundo 
Que  no  se  puede  creer? 

Da  disgusto,  da  placer, 
va  al  cielo,  va  profundo, 
y  nadie  lo  puede  ver. 

Pensamiento. 

(b)  (iCual  es  la  cosa  del  mundo 
que  nadie  la  puede  ver? 

Da  tormento,  da  placer, 
y  se  remonta  a  lo  profundo? 

Id. 


447. 
Es  una  cosa  maravillosa 
que  estci  sobre  todas  las  cosas. 
(El  nombre  de  los)  persas  (?). 

448. 

(a)  Estando  quieto  en  mi  casa 
me  vinieron  a  prender; 

mi  casa  se  sali6  por  la  ventana 
y  yo  preso  me  quede. 

Pez  (en  la  atarraya). 

(b)  Estando  dentro  de  mi  casa 
me  vinieron  a  prender; 

mi  casa  se  sali6  por  la  ventana 
y  yo  preso  me  qued6. 

Pez. 

(c)  Muy  pequenita  en  mi  casa 
me  vinieron  a  prender; 

la  casa  salio  por  la  ventana 
y  yo  preso  me  qued6. 

Id. 

(d)  Estando  en  mi  casa  tranquilo 
vino  la  justicia  a  prenderme; 
mi  casa  sali6  por  la  ventana 

y  yo  preso  me  quede. 

Id. 

(e)  Estando  en  mi  casa  quieto, 
me  vinieron  a  coger, 

la  casa  se  salio  por  la  ventana 
y  yo  preso  me  quede. 


Id. 


449. 

En  un  monte  muy  espeso 

anda  un  hombre  sin  pescuezo. 

450. 
Veinte  vali6  por  primera, 
quince  por  segunda  vez, 
y  al  concluir  su  carrera 
con  quince  la  acompan6. 


Id. 


Id. 


451- 
Apunt6  a  lo  que  vi 
y  mate  a  lo  que  no  vi. 

Los  pichones  de  la  palma. 

452. 
Tres  en  el  dia, 
tres  en  la  semana; 
tres  en  el  mes, 
tres  en  el  ano, 
y  siempre  las  tres. 

Las  tres  piedras  del  fog6n. 


470 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


453. 
Tres  negritas  en  un  corral, 
una  sin  la  otra  no  puede  trabajar. 
Piedras  del  fogon. 

454- 
(a)     Espinazo  para  adelante, 
barriga  para  atr^s. 
Adiviname  que  sera. 

La  pierna. 

(Jb)     Espinazo  para  adelante, 
barriga  para  atris; 
tonto,  pierna,  caballo, 
iqu6  serd? 


Id. 


455. 
(c)     Tu  lo  tienes  Hondo, 
y  yo  lo  tengo  largo; 
menea  tu  culito 
y  hacemos  algo. 


El  pil6n  y  la  maceta. 


(Jb)     Largo  lo  tienes  tu, 
y  gordo  lo  tengo  yo; 
mis  culpas  ser&n 
si  no  te  lo  meto. 


(c)     Tu  con  tu  largo 
y  yo  con  mi  redondo, 
meneamos  las  caras 
y  hacemos  el  pronto. 

{d)     Tu  lo  tienes  largo 
yo  lo  tengo  Hondo; 
meneas  tu  cacHita 
siempre  Hacemos  algo. 


456. 
(g)     Pi  llaman  los  pollitos, 
miento  si  no  es  verdad; 
el  que  no  me  la  adivina 
bruto  animal  sera. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Pimiento. 


(6)     Pi  trae  por  nombre, 
miento  si  digo  verdad; 
el  que  no  lo  adivine 
es  un  burrito  animal. 


(c)     Pi,  dicen  los  polios. 
Miento  si  digo  la  verdad. 


Id. 


Id. 


id)     Si  por  primera  vez  miento, 
si  no  es  verdad, 
el  que  no  me  la  adivine 
bruto  y  animal  sera. 


(e)     Pi,  Hacen  los  pollitos, 
y  miento  si  no  es  verdad. 


(/)      Pi,  dicen  los  pollitos; 
miento  si  no  es  verdad; 
y  si  no  me  la  adivinas 
eres  perro,  burro  y  animal. 


457- 
(c)     Iglesia  cHiquita, 
gente  menudita, 
y  sacristan  de  palo. 

(6)     Gente  grande, 
y  gente  menudita 
y  sacristan  de  palo. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


U> 


Id> 


458. 

(a)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
bot6n  de  filigrana. 
A  que  no  me  lo  adivinas, 
ni  de  aqui  a  pasado  manana. 


Pifia. 


(&)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
bot6n  de  filigrana; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  pasado  maiiana. 


(c)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
bot6n  de  colombiana; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivina 
ni  de  aqui  a  pasado  maiiana. 


{d)     Bot6n  de  filigrana, 
de  filigrana  bot6n; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivina 
ni  de  aqui  a  por  la  maiiana. 


ie)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
bot6n  de  filigrana; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  por  la  maiiana. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


*  In  New  Mexico  the  answer  is  olla  de  frijoles  y  meneador. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


471 


(/)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
boton  de  filigrana; 
a  que  no  me  la  adivina 
hasta  pasado  maiiana. 


Pifia. 


(g)     Boton  sobre  boton, 
botoncito  de  avellanas; 
a  que  no  me  adivinas 
ni  de  aqui  a  pasado  manana. 


Id. 


(h)     Boton  sobre  bot6n  de  filigrana; 
a  que  tu  no  me  adivinas, 
ni  de  aqui  a  manana. 

Id. 

(i)     Bot6n  sobre  bot6n, 
boton  de  filigrana, 
a  que  no  me  la  adivinan 
de  aqui  a  tres  semanas. 


0)     Tablitas  sobre  tablitas, 
tablon  sobre  tabl6n; 
a  que  no  me  adivina 
de  aqui  a  la  oracion. 


459- 

(a)     Tablita  sobre  tablita, 
sobre  tablita  un  tablon, 
sobre  el  tablon  una  dama, 
sobre  la  dama  una  flor. 


(b)     Piiiita  sobre  piiiita, 
sobre  piiiita  piii6n, 
sobre  piiion  paiio  fino, 
sobre  paiio  fino,  flor. 


460. 

Que  cosa,  que  cosa 
tan  maravillosa, 
que  de  un  pino  verde 
nace  una  rosa. 
Y  de  una  rosa 
nace  un  pincel. 
Diga,  seiiorita, 
iqu6  puede  ser? 


461. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Una  bolsita  bien  remendadita, 
y  maldita  la  puntadita. 

Id. 


462. 
Andando  por  un  camino 
me  encontre  con  un  convento, 
las  monjas  vestidas  de  bianco; 
mas  arriba  dos  ventanas, 
mas  arriba  dos  espejos, 
y  doblando  por  una  esquina 
la  calle  real  por  donde 
se  pasean  los  caballeros. 

Piojos. 

463- 
(a)     En  el  monte  fue  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  fue  sembrado; 
echa  la  flor  amarilla 
y  el  bonete  Colorado. 

Pitahaya. 

{b)     En  el  monte  fue  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  fue  sembrado; 
ella  la  flor  amarilla 
v  el  violeta  o  Colorado. 


Id. 


(c)  En  el  monte  hay  un  bejuco, 
el  que  nadie  ha  sembrado; 

y  en  la  puerta  del  cogollo 
echa  un  bot6n  Colorado. 

(d)  Verde  yo  la  vi  nacer, 
aunque  nunca  fue  sembrada; 
echa  la  flor  amarilla, 

su  semilla  es  colorada. 


Id. 


(e)     Verde  la  vi  nacer 

la  que  nunca  fue  sembrada; 
tiene  la  flor  amarilla 
y  la  fruta  colorada. 

464. 
(a)     Oro  no  es, 
plata  no  es; 
abre  la  cortina 
y  veras  lo  que  es. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)  Oro  no  es; 
plata  no  es; 

a  que  no  la  adivinas 
de  aqui  a  la  oraci6n. 

(c)  Ore  no  es, 
plata  no  es, 
alza  la  cortina 

y  verds  lo  que  es. 


Platano. 


Id. 


Id. 


VOL.  XXIX. —  NO.  114.  — 31. 


472 


Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore . 


Platano. 


(d)     Oro  no  soy, 
plata  no  soy; 
abre  la  puerta 
y  verds  lo  que  es. 

465- 
S&bana  blanca, 
la  flor  morada; 
detr^s  de  la  cosa 
la  pendejada. 

466. 
{a)     Una  nifia  tan  decente, 
tuvo  un  hijo  por  la  frente, 
y  por  ser  su  parto  airoso, 
por  no  volver  a  parir, 
a  la  muerte  quiso  sufrir 
un  cuchillo  rigoroso. 

(La  mata  de)  plitano. 


Id. 


(6)     Una  nina  muy  decente 
pare  los  hijos  por  la  frente. 


Id. 


467. 
(iCuil  es  la  planta 
que  antes  de  parir  la  fruta 
deja  a  sua  hijos  criados? 

Platano. 

468. 

(a)  Blanquito  mi  nacimiento 
y  verde  mi  mocedad, 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 

y  cuando  me  vine  a  morir 
negrito  como  una  pez. 

Id. 

(b)  Verde  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
cuando  me  vine  a  morir 
todo  prieto  me  quede. 

Id. 

(c)  Verde  fue  mi  juventud, 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 

y  cuando  me  quise  morir, 
me  puse  como  la  pez. 

Id. 

{d)     Verde  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 
y  cuando  vine  a  morir 
fui  negro  como  una  pez. 

Id. 

(e)     Rojo  fue  mi  nacimiento, 
verde  fue  mi  mocedad, 
amarilla  mi  vejez, 
y  cuando  vine  a  morir 
negrito  como  una  pez. 

Id. 


(J)     Blanco  fu6  mi  nacimiento 
verde  fue  mi  mocedad, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
adivina  que  sera. 


(g)     Verde  fu6  mi  nacimiento, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
y  cuando  me  fui  a  morir 
tan  negro  como  una  pez. 


(h)     V'erde  fue  mi  juventud, 
amarilla  mi  vejez; 
y  cuando  me  fui  a  morir 
me  puse  como  la  pez. 


469. 

(a)     Blanquito  es, 
en  el  se  come. 
iQu€  sera? 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


{b)     Es  bianco  y  no  se  come, 
y  sirve  para  comer. 


Plato. 


Id. 


470. 

Sabana  blanca, 
semilla  negra 
dos  que  la  miran 
y  tres  que  la  riegan. 

La  pluma,  papel  y  tinta. 

471. 
Vestida  naci  con  mas  gentileza,. 
cortaronme  gente  mi  noble  cabeza ; 
ando  por  el  mundo  gimiendo  y 

Uorando, 
y  con  lagrimas  negras  yo  les  voy 
hablando. 

Pluma. 

472. 

Cortaronme  la  cabeza 
y  de  ella  me  hicieron  pies; 
me  andaron  de  tierra  en  tierra; 
adivina  lo  que  es. 


Id. 


473- 


(a)     Andando  por  mi  camino 

me  encontre  un  nino  sin  brazos, 
por  comerle  el  corazon 
le  hice  el  alma  pedazos. 

La  patilla. 
(Vease  437.) 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


473 


(&)     Andando  por  un  camino 
me  encontr6  un  nino  sin  brazos; 
por  comerle  el  coraz6n 
le  hice  el  cuerpo  pedazos. 

La  patilla. 

474. 
Mi  peludo  est&  echado, 
pelti  dice  que  no  se  levanta 
hasta  que  monde  no  eche  pelo. 

Pollito. 

475. 
Naci6  el  ardn  con  ti, 
sin  pata,  sin  cabeza,  y  sin  an. 
Y  volvi6  y  naci6  que  el  aran  con  ti, 
con  pata,  con  cabeza  y  con  ari. 

Polio. 
476. 
Es  puerto  y  no  se  embarcan; 
es  rico  y  no  tiene  ochavos. 

Puerto  Rico. 

477; 

Ramona  me  di6  un  consuelo, 
Basilia  se  disgust6; 
no  quiero  que  me  consuele 
disgusto  no  quiero  yo. 

Ribano. 

478. 
(a)     Cien  varillas  en  un  varillal, 
ni  verdes  ni  maduras 
se  pueden  cortar. 

Rayos  del  sol. 

(&)     Cien  damas  en  un  corral 
que  ni  secas  ni  verdes 
se  pueden  cortar. 

Id. 

(c)     Cien  varillitas  en  un  varillal, 
ni  verdes  ni  secas  se  pueden  cortar. 

Id. 

479. 
Mi  padre  en  Francia 
y  yo  aquf, 

me  hizo  una  guinada, 
y  yo  desde  aqui  lo  vi. 

Reldmpago. 
480. 
(a)     Soy  un  buen  mozo 
valiente  y  gallardo, 
gasto  doce  damas 
para  mi  regalo; 
todas  van  en  coche 
y  gastan  sus  cuartos 
todas  llevan  medias, 
pero  no  zapatos. 

Reloj. 


(6)     Tengo  doce  damas 
para  mi  resguardo, 
pero  no  zapatos. 

Id. 

481. 
Dios  con  ser  Dios  no  ha  podido 
ni  el  pastor  por  la  montana 
ver  lo  que  vi6  el  rey  de  Espafia. 
(Otro)  Rey  gobernando. 
(Vease  300.) 

482. 
(o)     Largo,  largo  como  un  camino, 
y  hoza  como  un  cochino. 

Rio. 

(6)     Largo,  largo  como  un  camino 
y  hoza  tanto  como  un  cochino. 

Id. 


(c)     Largo  como  un  camino, 
y  hoza  como  un  cochino. 


Id. 


(d)     Largo,  largo  como  un  camino, 
y  va  hozando  como  un  cochino. 

Id. 

483. 
De  padre  negro  naci, 
yo  soy  bianco  por  mi  suerte, 
y  como  yo  soy  tan  fuerte 
hasta  a  mi  padre  venci. 

Ron. 

484.  ^ 
(c)     Una  dama  entro  aqui 
y  un  gal^n  entr6  con  ella, 
y  la  dama  se  sali6 
y  el  galan  qued6  prefiado  de  ella. 
(Botella  de)  ron. 

(b)     Un  hombre  se  enamor6 
de  una  doncella  preiiada; 
la  doncella  se  despren6 
y  el  se  qued6  prenado. 


(c)     Un  galdn  se  enamor6 
de  una  preiiada  doncella; 
ella  se  desenpreiid 
y  61  qued6  prenado  de  ella. 

485. 
S&bana  blanca 
esti  tendida, 
torito  negro 
le  baila  encima. 


Id. 


Id. 


Ropa  y  plancha. 


474 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


486. 

Con  las  ultimas  letras 
de  cuatro  flores, 
se  celebra  el  dulce  nombre 
de  mis  amores; 
saca  la  cuenta: 
Azahar,  Jacinto,  Malvas 
y  Violeta. 


Rosa. 


487. 
Diez  monedas  me  entregaron 
mas  finas  que  un  reloj ; 
tienen  un  letrero  que  dice: 
guardame  que  soy  de  Dios. 

El  rosario. 

488. 
Ciento  cincuenta  doncellas 
son  hijas  de  quince  padres; 
Unas  le  piden  el  pan 
y  otras  le  piden  el  ave. 

Id. 

489. 
En  el  mar  esta  una  copa, 
en  la  copa  una  bebida, 
en  la  bebida  una  rosa, 
y  en  la  rosa  una  Maria. 

Rosmarino. 

490. 
(a)     iQue  cosa  tiene  el  molino 
precisa  y  no  necesaria, 
que  no  molera  sin  ella 
y  no  le  sirve  de  nada? 

Ruido. 

(&)     iQu^  cosa  tiene  el  molino 
preciso  y  no  necesario, 
que  no  molerci  sin  ello 
y  no  le  sirve  de  nada? 


(c)     Una  cosa  tiene  el  coche 
que  no  le  sirve  de  nada, 
ni  es  preciso,  ni  hace  falta, 
y  no  puede  andar  sin  ella. 

491. 
Un  coche  con  arn6s 
y  caballos  y  con  cochero, 
y  sin  eso  no  puede  andar. 

492. 


Id, 


Id. 


Id. 


iQnh  es  lo  que  Ileva  un  carro 
cuando  va  andar, 
que  no  puede  andar  sin  61, 
y  no  le  hace  falta? 

Id. 


493- 

(a)     En  el  mundo  ha  nacido 

lo  que  nunca  se  sembro, 

bajo  el  nombre  de  Dios 

y  nunca  fue  bautizado. 

Ruisenor. 

(6)     En  el  monte  ha  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  se  ha  sembrado, 
tiene  el  nombre  del  sefior 
y  no  ha  sido  bautizado. 


(c)     En  el  monte  fue  nacido 
lo  que  nunca  fue  criado, 
tiene  el  nombre  del  Senor 
y  no  ha  sido  bautizado. 


{d)     En  el  monte  fui  nacido, 
en  el  monte  fui  criado; 
traje  nombre  del  senor 
y  nunca  fui  bautizado. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


494. 
Soy  blanca  como  la  nieve, 
en  el  campo  fui  criada; 
como  a  los  perros  me  llaman 
diciendome:  sal,  aqui. 
El  mismo  rey  en  persona, 
no  puede  pasar  sin  mi. 

495- 
Me  dicen  "sal  de  mi  casa," 
como  si  yo  un  perro  fuera. 
No  hay  caballero  en  la  ciudad 
que  en  su  casa  no  me  quiera. 

496. 
En  casa  de  rey  Viruta 
me  dijeron,  "Sal  de  aqui." 
Siempre  me  est4  botando 
y  nunca  salgo  de  alii. 


Sal. 


Id. 


Id. 


497. 
(a)     Chiquitita  como  un  arador, 
sube  a  la  mesa  del  gobernador. 


Id. 


{b)     Chiquititita  como  un  arador, 
y  subiera  a  casa  del  gobernador. 

Id. 

(c)     Chiquitito  como  un  arador, 
y  sube  a  la  mesa  del  emperador. 
Sal  o  salero. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


475 


498. 

En  la  casa  del  rey  me  comen; 
no  pueden  estar  sin  mi 
y  me  botan  como  perro. 

Sal. 

499. 

Soy  moza  que  tengo  sal, 
digna  como  esposa  soy; 
en  la  caja  o  al  mar  voy; 
en  la  mesa  fina  soy; 
me  hallaras  siempre  muy  fina 
pero  no  me  lo  adivina. 

Sardina. 

500. 

(a)  De  siete  hermanas  que  somos, 
yo  la  primera  naci. 

Y  soy  la  mas  chiquita. 
iC6mo  puede  ser  asi? 

Semana  Santa. 

(b)  De  siete  hermanas  que  somos 
soy  la  menor  en  edad. 

He  nacido  la  mas  vieja 
(idime  bien  lo  que  sera? 

Id. 

(c)  De  siete  hermanas  que  somos, 
^c6mo  esto  va  a  ser  asi? 
siendo  yo  la  m^s  chiquita 

fui  la  primera  que  naci. 

Semana  chiquita  de  la 
cuaresma. 


501. 

Tengo  una  vaca  en  el  campo, 
que  mientras  mas  come 
mas  flaca  se  pone. 

Serrucho. 

502. 

Alto  lo  tiro, 
bajo  lo  espero; 
fuerte  te  amarra, 
dientes  de  acero. 

La  Sierra. 


504- 
(a)     Dicen  que  soy  rey 
y  no  tengo  reino, 
dicen  que  soy  rubio 
y  no  tengo  pelo, 
y  dicen  que  ando 
y  no  me  meneo 
y  arreglo  relojes 
sin  ser  relojero. 


(b)     Dicen  que  soy  rey 
y  no  tengo  reino; 
dicen  que  soy  rubio 
y  no  tengo  pelo; 
dicen  que  yo  ando 
y  no  me  meneo; 
compongo  relojes 
y  no  soy  relojero. 


(c)     Dicen  que  soy  rey 
y  no  tengo  reino; 
afirman  que  ando 
y  no  me  meneo; 
arreglo  relojes 
y  no  soy  relojero. 


(d)     Dicen  que  soy  rey 
y  no  tengo  reino; 
afirman  que  ando 
y  no  me  meneo; 
compongo  relojes 
sin  ser  relojero. 


(e)     Dicen  que  soy  rubio 
y  no  tengo  pelo; 
afirman  que  ando 
y  no  me  meneo, 
arreglo  relojes 
sin  ser  relojero. 


505- 
Soga  larga, 
paso  hondo, 
si  no  se  dobla 
no  llega  al  fondo. 


Sol 


Id 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


503- 

Por  el  quitip6n  un  doblo, 
y  por  el  que  llevo 
entre  las  piernas  un  mill6n. 

Silla  y  caballo. 


506. 

(a)     Es  sol  y  no  alumbra, 
y  es  sal  y  no  salada. 

Solsal  (sic). 


476 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


(Jb)     Entre  flor  y  flor  lechuga, 
entre  lechuga  una  flor; 
entre  la  flor  Nicolasa, 
y  entre  Nicolasa  el  sol. 

Solsal  {sic). 
La  hostia  {sic). 

507- 

Procedo  de  sol  y  luna, 
ambos  nunca  puedo  ver. 
Espiritu  no  es  mi  ser, 
sustancia  en  mi  no  hay  ninguna. 
A  veces  soy  importuna, 
otras  veces  favorable; 
y  soy  fija  ya  notable. 
Corro  y  ando,  mas  sin  pies. 
En  todas  partes  estare, 
y  siempre  soy  imparciable. 

Sombra. 

508. 

Una  negra,  al  parecer, 
con  el  mirar  se  mantiene; 
tiene  carne  y  no  la  tiene; 
que  la  carne  la  tengo  yo, 
y  es  la  que  mi  cuerpo  tiene. 


Id. 


509. 
Con  ser  ninguno  mi  ser 
muchas  varas  en  el  dia; 
suelo  menguar  y  crecer 
y  no  me  puedo  mover, 
si  no  tengo  compania. 


510. 

Es  una  figura 
que  de  mi  ser  se  mantiene; 
tiene  cuerpo  y  carne  no, 
porque  su  carne  soy  yo 
de  la  que  su  cuerpo  tiene. 


5". 

Nunca  podras  alcanzarme 
por  mas  que  corras  tras  mi; 
aunque  quieras  separarte 
siempre  iras  tu  junto  a  ml. 


512. 
Corri,  corrf, 
me  doble  y  no  la  cogi. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


513- 

Fui  al  mar  y  me  bane, 
toqu6  el  agua  y  no  me  moje. 

514. 
i  Glial  es  la  cosa  que  entra 
en  el  rio  y  no  se  moja? 
No  es  sol  ni  luna, 
ni  cosa  ninguna. 


Id 


Id. 


515- 
(c)     En  la  mano  soy  cortes; 
en  mi  lugar  desatento; 
soy  el  juguete  del  viento 
y  superior  a  un  Marques. 

Sombrero. 

{b)     En  mi  mano  soy  cortes, 
en  mi  lugar  desatento; 
soy  juguete  del  viento, 
soy  superior. 


Id. 


516. 

Toda  la  noche 
morra  que  morra; 
y  por  la  mailana 
te  zampa  la  porra. 


517. 

Si  quieres  aqui,  aqui, 
si  quieres,  en  la  cama, 
junta  el  pelo 
y  queda  lo  negro. 


Id. 


Sueno. 


518. 

Estaba  porque  la  vi, 
y  porque  la  vi  estaba 
sobre  la  pierna, 
y  sobre  la  pierna  estaba. 

La  taba  (de  la  rodilla). 


519. 
(c)     Chiquitita  como  una  pulga 
y  cria  orejas  como  mulas. 

Tabaco. 

{b)     Pequenito  mas  que  una  pulga, 
y  tiene  orejas  de  burro. 

Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


477 


(c)     Chiquitito  como  una  pulga 
y  tiene  orejas  como  una  mula. 

Tabaco. 

520. 

Del  color  de  mi  vestido 
tengo  yo  mi  coraz6n; 
no  soy  picaro  entremetido 
y  me  gasta  en  conversaci6n. 


Id. 


521. 

Largo  como  una  cuarta, 
sin  hueso  y  sin  coyuntura; 
c6gelo  nina  en  tu  mano 
y  m6telo  en  tu  hendedura. 


Id. 


522. 
Eres  clavel  y  eres  rosa 
eres  rosa  sin  abrir, 
eres  cachiporra  y  porra, 
barriga  de  tamboril, 

Tamboril. 

523. 
Las  tres  letras  vocales 
con  la  R,  S  y  T, 
tiene  el  nombre  de  mi  dama 
de  quien  yo  me  enamor6, 
y  en  la  postrera  que  digo 
voy  diciendo  lo  que  es. 

Teresa. 

524- 
Cuatro  vasos  Uenos, 
y  ninguno  se  derrama. 

Las  tetas  (de  vaca). 

525- 
(o)     Ar6n  se  llama  mi  nombre, 
sacerdote  en  tierra  soy; 
mi  casa  est4  sobre  el  agua. 
Acierteme  usted  quien  soy. 

Tibur6n. 

(b)     Ar6n  me  llamo  en  el  mundo 
capitan  y  activo  soy, 
mi  casa  tengo  en  el  agua 
y  mi  nombre  dice  quien  soy 


Id. 


526. 


Un  hombre  muri6  sin  culpa 
porque  Dios  no  lo  cri6, 
y  su  abuela  estuvo  doncella 
hasta  que  el  nieto  muri6. 

La  tierra. 


527. 

(a)  Dos  hermanas  diligentes 
andaban  a  un  compAs, 
con  dos  picos  en  la  frente, 
y  con  dos  ojos  atrds. 

Tijeras. 

(b)  Yo  y  mi  hermana  diligentes 
andamos  en  un  comp&s, 

con  las  piernas  hacia  adelante 
y  los  ojos  hacia  atr^s. 


Id. 


(c)     Dos  palomas  van  volando 
y  ambas  van  a  un  compis, 
el  pico  llevan  para  adelante, 
y  los  ojos  llevan  para  atras. 


Id. 


{d)     Tengo  en  mi  casa  guardado 
lo  que  no  quiero  prestar, 
tiene  las  puntas  para  adelante 
y  la  cabeza  para  atrds. 


Id. 


(e)     En  mi  casa  tengo 
lo  que  no  puedo  prestar, 
tiene  la  cabeza  por  abajo 
y  los  pies  para  adelante. 


Id. 


(/)     Tengo  en  mi  casa  guardado 
lo  que  no  quiero  emprestar, 
tiene  las  puntas  para  adelante 
y  la  cabeza  para  atras. 


(g)     Mi  comadre  la  negrita, 
mirala  que  linda  va; 
con  ojitos  para  atras 
y  las  patitas  para  adelante. 


Id. 


Id. 


{h)     Mi  comadre  la  negrita, 
tan  ligerita  que  va, 
con  las  patitas  para  adelante 
y  los  ojitos  para  atris. 


Id. 


(i)     El  diablito  de  la  negrita 
qu6  ligerito  va, 
con  las  patillas  para  adelante 
y  la  cabeza  para  atris. 

(J)     Ojos  para  adelante 
y  pico  para  atrS.s. 


Id. 


Id. 


478 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


528. 
Tengo  dos  puntas  en  la  cabeza; 
dos  ojos  en  los  pies; 
y  para  hacerme  trabajar, 
los  ojos  me  han  de  tapar. 

Tijeras. 

529- 
(a)     Junto  al  pie, 
junto  al  culo, 
metele  el  brazo 
y  s&cale  el  jugo. 


(&)     Pongote  el  pie 
junto  al  culo, 
metote  el  dedo 
y  sacote  el  jugo. 

530. 
^Que  se  dice  con  el  to, 
con  el  si  y  con  el  no? 


Tinaja. 


Id. 


Tocino. 


531- 
Toma  sol  a  tu  morada, 
te  enamora  ese  color 
ientiendes  el  tomasol? 
y  fijame  una  mirada; 
contesta  mujer  amada, 
como  quedaria  esa  flor. 

Tomasol. 

532. 
San  Juan  va  y  San  Juan  viene, 
y  San  Juan  siempre  tieso  lo  tiene. 
Trapiche. 

533- 
Una  madre  detras  de  un  hijo, 
un  hijo  detras  de  una  madre; 
ni  la  madre  alcanza  al  hijo, 
ni  el  hijo  alcanza  a  la  madre. 

Id. 

534- 
Tiene  los  brazos  en  la  cabeza, 
los  dientes  en  la  barriga, 
y  si  le  dan  que  comer 
suena  como  cosa  viva. 

Id. 

535- 
(a)     De  alto  suele  caer, 
con  salto  brinco  y  ligero; 
tiene  patas  y  pies  de  acero; 
con  capa  no  puede  bailar 
y  sin  capa  puede  bailar; 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar 
para  que  pueda  bailar. 

Trompo. 


{b)     De  un  alto  suele  bajar 
con  brincos,  saltos,  ligero; 
tiene  plumas,  pies  de  acero, 
sabe  escribir  y  bailar; 
con  capa  no  puede  estar, 
ni  sin  capa  estar  tampoco, 
y  para  volverse  loco 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar. 


Id. 


(c)     De  lo  alto  lo  vide  bajar 
con  prontitud  y  ligero; 
trae  su  pluma  que  es  de  acero, 
sabe  escribir  y  contar; 
con  capa  no  puede  andar 
y  sin  la  capa  tampoco; 
y  para  volverse  loco 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar. 


Id. 


(d)     De  alto  lo  vi  bajar 
a  un  bailador  muy  ligero; 
tiene  capa,  tiene  acero, 
sabe  escribir  y  bailar; 
sin  capa  no  puede  andar 
ni  puede  bailar  tampoco; 
y  para  volverse  loco 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar. 


(e)     Del  alto  suele  bajar, 
como  salta  y  brinca  ligero; 
tiene  los  pies  de  acero, 
sabe  escribir  y  contar; 
sin  capa  no  puede  andar 
ni  con  capa  andar  tampoco. 


(/)     La  capa  le  han  de  quitar, 
sabe  escribir  y  bailar; 
tiene  capa  y  tiene  acero, 
y  para  volverse  loco 
le  han  de  quitar  el  sombrero. 


(g)     Cota  me  dan  para  andar, 
para  andar  me  dan  cota, 
y  para  poder  andar 
la  cota  me  han  de  quitar. 


(h)     De  alto  viene  bajando, 
con  mucho  viento  y  ligero, 
en  la  punta  trae  acero, 
y  para  empezar  a  bailar 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


479 


{i)     De  lo  alto  vengo  bajando 
con  largo  tranco  y  ligero; 
cargo  pluma,  cargo  acero, 
y  mas  sin  igual, 
para  volverme  loco, 
la  capa  me  han  de  quitar. 

Trompo. 

(J)     Del  alto  vengo  bajando, 
con  largo  tranco  y  ligero; 
cargo  pluma,  cargo  acero, 
s6  escribir  y  contar, 
y  para  volverme  loco 
la  capa  me  han  de  quitar. 


{k)     Y  para  que  se  vuelva  loco 
la  capa  le  han  de  quitar. 


Id. 


Id. 


536. 
iCual  es  la  flor  que  tiene 
saya,  chaqueta,  camisay  pantal6n? 
La  Tulipa  doble. 

537- 
Con  T,  me  llamo  Teresa, 
con  U,  me  llamo  Urbana, 
con  P,  me  llamo  Pepita, 
con  A,  me  llamo  Americana; 
ajusta  esas  cuatro  letras 
y  veras  como  me  llamo. 

Tupa. 

538. 
(o)     Cuatro  losas, 
cuatro  telosas, 
un  pujavante 
y  un  espanta  moscas. 


(6)     Cuatro  telosas, 
cuatro  mamosas, 
dos  tenefantes, 
y  el  espanta  moscas. 


(c)     Cuatro  telosas 
cuatro  mamosas, 
dos  tira  mantos 
y  un  espanta  moscas. 


{d)  Cuatro  telosas, 
cuatro  mendosas, 
dos  puso  adelante 
y  un  espanta  moscas. 


Vaca. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


{e)     Cuatro  telosas, 
cuatro  mamosas, 
dos  pujabantes 
y  un  quita  moscas. 

Vaca,  (las  patas,  etc.). 

(/)     Cuatro  pelotas 
cuatro  mendosas, 
dos  pujavantes 
y  un  bota  moscas. 


{g)     Cuatro  mamosas, 
cuatro  telosas; 
un  miraba 
y  un  espanta  moscas. 


Vaca. 


Id. 


539- 
Dos  duro  —  duros, 
cuatro  dale  —  dales, 
un  espanta  moscas 
y  cuatro  manantiales. 

La  vaca,  (las  patas,  las  tetas, 
los  cuernos  y  el  rabo). 

540. 

(a)     Por  aquel  camino  va 
caminando  y  no  es  gente. 
Adivinalo,  prudente, 
que  el  nombre  qued6  ya  atr&s. 

Vaca. 

(6)     Por  un  caminito  va 

caminando  quien  no  es  gente. 

Adivina,  prudente 

que  el  nombre  lo  ves  atris. 


Id. 


541- 
Cuco  sobre  cuco, 
debajo  un  cuco, 
un  me  guarranche, 
guarranche  inche, 
garabato  empareje. 

542-^ 
(o)     Caballito  sin  tripas 
y  sin  panza, 
anda  la  villa, 
y  no  se  cansa. 


Id. 


Vapor. 


{h)     Un  caballito  sin  tripas 
y  sin  panza, 

anda  todo  el  mundo  entero 
y  no  se  cansa. 


Id. 


48o 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


543- 

Del  monte  sale 
con  gran  frescura, 
y  de  Espana  viene 
con  gran  donosura. 


544. 

Tira  tranco  largo, 
paso  regular. 


Vapor. 


Id. 


545. 
(a)     En  el  monte  nace, 
y  en  el  monte  crece; 
viene  al  pueblo 
y  todo  se  lo  merece. 

Vara  del  alcalde. 


(6)     En  el  monte  nace 
en  el  monte  crece, 
y  llega  al  pueblo 
y  todos  le  obedecen. 


(c)     En  el  monte  nace, 
en  el  monte  crece, 
sale  a  la  calle 
y  todos  la  obedecen. 


Id. 


Id. 


546. 

Lo  meto  seco 
y  lo  saco  mojado. 

Vaso  (o  copa  cuando  se 
mete  en  la  tinaja). 

547- 
(a)     Una  dama  entr6  aquf, 
un  gal&n  entr6  con  ella; 
ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  estk  aqui, 
no  se  dar  raz6n  de  ella. 


(6)     Una  dama  entr6  aquf, 
un  galan  entr6  con  ella; 
ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  estci  aqui, 
ni  s6  donde  estara  ella. 


(c)     Una  dama  entr6  aqui, 
y  un  galin  entr6  con  ella, 
ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  estd  aqui, 
ni  sabemos  que  fu6  de  ella. 


Vela. 


Id. 


Id. 


(d)  Una  dama  entr6  aqui, 
un  galan  entro  con  ella. 
No  se  ha  ido  ni  estk  aqui, 

ique  se  ha  hecho  de  esta  doncella? 

Id. 

(e)  Por  aqui  pas6  una  dama, 
un  galdn  iba  con  ella; 

ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  esta  aqui, 
<id6nde  estara  esa  doncella? 


(/)     Por  aqui  pas6  una  dama 
vestida  toda  de  seda; 
ni  se  ha  ido,  ni  esta  aqui, 
iqu6  diremos  de  ella? 


(g)     Una  dama  entr6  aqui, 
un  gal4n  entr6  con  ella; 
ni  se  ha  quedado 
ni  est^  aqui. 


548. 

(a)     Una  dama  muy  delgada 
y  de  palidez  mortal, 
que  se  alegra  y  se  reanima 
cuando  la  van  a  quemar. 


(b)     Una  dama  fina  y  p&lida 
de  estatura  natural, 
que  se  alegra  y  se  reanima 
cuando  la  van  a  quemar. 


549- 

Al  ver  una  senora 
me  caus6  la  risa. 
Le  vi  por  fuera  la  carne 
y  por  dentro  la  camisa. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


550. 

La  seiiora  desde  que  naci6 
mientras  m&s  grande  va  creciendo 
m4s  chiquita  se  va  poniendo. 

Id. 

551- 
Blanquito  como  una  vela, 
y  por  dentro  la  candela. 

Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore. 


481 


552. 
(a)     Una  vieja  larga  y  flaca 
va  chorreando  la  manteca. 


(&)     Una  vieja  larga  y  seca, 
chorreando  la  manteca. 


(c)  Una  vieja  larga  y  flaca, 
y  le  chorrea  la  manteca. 

(d)  Larga  y  flaca 
y  echa  manteca 
por  las  costillas. 


Vela. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


553- 
En  las  manos  soy  cortes, 
en  mi  lugar  desatento; 
soy  el  juguete  del  viento 
y  superior  a  un  Marques. 

Velo. 
(V^ase  sombrero.) 

554- 
Es  venta  y  no  se  vende, 
es  ana  y  no  es  gente. 

Ventana. 

555- 

(a)  Vi  sentada  en  un  balcon 
una  hermosa  Catalana; 
leele  el  primer  rengl6n 

y  verks  como  se  llama. 

Vicenta. 

(b)  Vi  sentada  en  un  balc6n 
una  rosa  catalana; 

lee  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  veras  como  se  llama. 


(c)     Vi  sentada  en  un  balc6n 
una  hermosisima  dama; 
deletrea  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  veras  como  se  llama. 


(d)     Vf  sentada  en  un  balc6n 
una  hermosisima  dama; 
estudia  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  verds  como  se  llama. 


(e)     Vi  sentada  en  una  silla 
una  hermosisima  dama; 
junta  las  cuatro  letras 
y  sabrcis  como  se  llama. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(/)     Vi  sentada  en  un  balc6n 
una  simpdtica  dama; 
16ele  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  veris  como  se  llama. 


(g)     Vi  sentada  en  el  balc6n 
una  preciosa  dama; 
estudia  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  veris  como  se  llama. 


(h)     Vi  sentada  en  un  balc6n 
una  senorita  blanca; 
deletrea  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  sabres  como  se  llama. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(i)     En  la  esquina  de  un  balc6n 
VI  sentada  a  una  dama. 
Exclama  por  el  primer  rengl6n 
y  dime  como  se  llama. 


0)     Vf  sentada  en  un  balc6n, 
a  una  hermosisima  dama. 
Lee  los  cuatro  renglones 
y  verds  como  se  llama. 


(k)     Vi  sentada  en  el  balc6n 
a  una  hermosa  primavera. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


556. 


iQue  es  lo  que  hay  en  el  mundo 
que  la  tierra  no  le  puede? 

Vidrio  negro. 

557. 
(a)     Chiquitin,  chiquitin, 
como  un  granito  de  anis; 
comeras,  comerds 
y  nunca  adivinards. 


(b)     Chiquiti,  chiquiti 
como  grano  de  anis; 
beberis,  beberas, 
y  nunca  adivinaris. 


558. 

(a)     Sopla  sin  alas, 
silba  sin  boca, 
Tu  no  lo  ves 
ni  lo  tocas. 


Viento. 


Id. 


Id. 


482 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


{b)     Vuela  sin  alas, 
silba  sin  boca, 
Tu  no  lo  ves 
ni  lo  tocas. 


(c)     Azota  sin  mano, 
silba  sin  boca; 
y  tu  no  lo  ves 
ni  lo  tocas. 


Viento. 


Id. 


559- 
(c)     Cien  damas  en  un  castillo, 
todas  visten  de  morado. 

Violetas. 


(6)     Cien  damas  en  un  prado, 
todas  visten  de  morado. 


(c)     Cien  damas  en  un  cercado, 
todas  visten  de  morado. 


560. 
En  el  monte  nace, 
y  en  el  monte  se  cria, 
y  entra  a  la  iglesia 
con  mucha  alegria. 


Id. 


Id. 


Violin. 


561. 


Ya  Uclides  esta  preparando, 
tia  lavando  el  negrito; 
si  yo  no  me  precipito 
la  mesa  me  est4  aguardando. 

Yautia. 

562. 

Cuatro  telosas, 
cuatro  mamosas, 
un  mirabal, 
y  un  espanta  moscas. 

Yunta  de  bueyes  y  el  arado. 
(Vease  vaca.) 

563- 
(a)     Estudiante  que  estudi^is 
en  los  libros  de  San  Juan, 
(icual  es  el  ave  del  monte, 
que  tiene  el  nombre  de  San? 

Zancudo. 

(&)     Estudiante  que  estudiais 
en  el  libro  de  San  Juan, 
<;cucil  es  el  ave  que  vuela 
que  el  nombre  tiene  de  san? 

Id. 


564- 
(a)     De  los  altos  montes  vengo, 
de  pegar  una  sangria; 
dejando  al  enfermo  sano 
al  punto  de  perder  la  vida. 


(6)     De  alto  vengo  volando 
a  pegarte  una  sombria. 
Al  malo  lo  pongo  bueno; 
regreso  a  perder  la  vida. 

565. 
(a)     Estudiador  que  estudiaste 
en  los  libros  de  Mahoma, 
dime  cual  es  el  animal 
que  vuela  y  no  hace  sombra. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


(b)     Estudiador  que  estudiaste, 
en  los  libros  de  Mahoma, 
me  diras  c6mo  se  llama 
el  ave  que  vuela  y  no  hace  sombra. 

Id. 

566. 

De  los  altos  montes  vengo 
a  pegar  una  sangria, 
a  sacar  la  sangre  mala 
y  dejar  sana  la  herida. 


Id. 


567- 
(a)     Brinco  de  la  cama 
y  caigo  encima  de  ti, 
si  no  te  lo  meto, 
iqu6  sera  de  mi? 


(b)     Salto  de  la  cama 
caigo  encima  de  ti, 
si  no  me  los  das 
^que  sera  de  ti? 


568. 
Mi  marido  me  dijo 
que  se  lo  metiera  todo, 
y  yo  se  lo  meti 
hasta  la  meta. 


569- 
Debajo  te  tengo, 
metertelo  quiero. 
i  Mai  rayo  te  parta 
si  no  te  lo  meto! 


Zapato. 


Id. 


Id. 


Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  483 

570.  573. 

Chiquito  como  la  mano  (q)     Todas  las  mujeres 

y  carga  tanto  como  un  caballo.  los  tienen  enteros, 

Zapato.  per  su  gusto  y  gana 
se  rompen  el  cuero, 

571-  y  quedan  colgando 
Una  casa  bien  compuesta,  sus  dos  companeros. 

de  pellejo  de  animales;  .  Los  zarcillos. 

Unas  hermanas  viven  en  ella 
para  librarse  de  males. 

Zapatos.      (6)     Todas  las  mujeres 
los  tienen  enteros, 

572-  y  por  su  gusto  y  gana 
Del  acero  lo  fabrican,  se  rompen  el  cuero, 

yerba,  nuestro  cuerpo  es;  Y  les  quedan  colgando 

andamos  de  dos  en  dos  sus  dos  companeros. 

y  con  la  punta  en  los  pies.  Id. 

Zapatos  y  medias. 

B.    RIDDLES  WHICH   INVOLVE  JESTS,    PLAY   UPON   WORDS,    ETC. 

574. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  una  vela  a  un  soldado? — En  que  llega  a  cabo. 

575- 
iEn  que  se  parece  un  cigarro  a  un  soldado? — En  que  asciende  a  cabo. 

576. 
iEn  que  se  parecen  las  policias  a  las  velas? — En  que  se  hacen  cabos. 

577- 
iEn  que  se  parecen  las  casas  a  los  hombres? — En  que  tienen  frente. 

578. 
iEn  que  se  parece  el  gato  al  cura? — En  que  caza  (casan). 

579- 
(jEn  que  se  parece  un  alfiler  a  una  vela? — En  que  se  prende. 

580. 

iEn  que  se  parece  Catafio  a  un  baile  de  Jibaros? — En  que  se  empieza  con 
punta  y  se  acaba  con  grandes  palos. 

581. 
iEn  que  se  parece  una  pluma  de  escribir  a  un  paraguas? — En  que  se  moja. 

582. 
^En  que  se  parece  el  sol  a  mi? — En  que  son  dos  notas  musicales. 

583. 
iEn  que  se  parece  un  periodico  a  una  iglesia? — En  que  tiene  columnas. 

584. 
^En  que  se  parece  Catafio  a  una  muiieca? — En  que  no  tiene  acueducto. 


484  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

585. 
iEn  qu^  se  parece  un  ladr6n  a  un  calvo? — En  que  no  tiene  pelo. 

586. 
^En  qu6  se  parece  San  Pedro  a  una  mazorca  de  maiz? — En  las  barbas. 

587. 
iEn  qu^  se  parece  el  Cristo  al  mori-vivi? — En  que  muere  y  resucita. 

588. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  el  cigarro  al  cerdo? — En  que  tiene  capa  y  tripa. 

589. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  la  escuela  a  la  cdrcel? — En  que  castigan. 

590. 
<iEn  qu6  se  parece  el  perro  al  hombre  casado? — En  que  le  ponen  esposa. 

591- 
iEn  que  se  parece  la  aguja  a  la  rosa? — En  que  se  deshoja. 

592. 
dEn  qu6  se  parece  un  vapor  a  una  aguja? — En  que  entra  y  sale. 

593- 
^En  que  se  parece  una  casa  al  cementerio? — En  que  tiene  paredes. 

594- 
iEn  que  se  parece  el  rio  a  un  muchacho? — En  que  crece. 

595- 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  la  noche  al  carbon? — En  que  es  negra. 

596. 
(J En  qu6  se  parece  el  sol  a  la  luz? — En  que  alumbra. 

597- 
iEn  que  se  parece  el  cerro  a  la  mujer? — En  que  tiene  falda. 

598. 
iEn  qu^  se  parece  el  seborruco  a  la  mujer? — Id. 

599. 
lEn  quk  se  parece  el  Olmo  a  un  fon6grafo? — En  que  tiene  records. 

600. 

iEn  qu6  se  parece  un  profesor  a  una  senora  en  cinta? — En  Iop  9  meses 
que  ejerce. 

601. 

<iEn  qu^  se  parece  la  ceniza  al  p&jaro? — En  que  vuela. 

602. 
iEn  que  se  parece  una  mesa  a  una  vaca? — En  que  tiene  cuatro'patas. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  485 

603. 
,jEn  qu6  se  parece  la  orquesta  al  do? — En  que  tiene  bajo. 

604. 
lEn  qu6  se  parece  la  ceniza  a  la  sal? — En  que  es  salada. 

605. 
^En  qu6  se  parece  el  gallo  al  trovador? — En  que  canta. 

606. 
^En  qu6  se  parece  el  zancudo  al  aji? — En  que  pica. 

607. 
^En  qu6  se  parecen  las  casas  de  los  pobres  al  tren? — En  los  anuncios. 

608. 
^En  qu6  se  parece  la  casa  del  pobre  al  tren? — Id. 

609. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  el  hacha  al  caballo? — En  que  se  desboca. 

610. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  un  carpintero  a  una  naci6n? — En  que  tiene  escuadra. 

611. 
,iEn  qu6  se  parece  una  fruta  a  una  plancha? — En  que  se  pasa. 

612. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  una  iglesia  cerrada  a  un  tisico? — En  que  no  tiene  cura. 

613. 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  la  candela  a  la  sed? — En  que  se  apaga  con  agua. 

614. 
(iEn  qu6  se  parece  un  tren  a  una  manzana? — En  que  no  es-pera. 

6i5- 
iEn  qu6  se  parece  el  Coamo  al  Pepita? — En  que  tiene  caldera. 

616. 
iA  que  se  parece  mas  un  perro  negro? — A  una  perra  negra. 

617. 
^Cu^l  es  el  animal  que  m&s  se  parece  al  oso? — La  osa. 

618. 
lC\xk\  es  el  animal  que  mis  se  parece  al  hombre? — La  mujer. 

619. 
iCuM  es  el  animal  que  mis  se  parece  al  gato? — La  gata. 

620. 
(iCual  es  el  hijo  que  nace  primero  que  su  madre? — El  cajuil. 


486  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

621. 
(iCual  es  el  pez  que  tiene  el  cuerpo  mas  lejos  que  la  cabeza? — El  bacalao. 

622. 

iCual  es  el  arbol   que  si  nunca   florece  por  la   noche  florece? — El  arbol 
donde  duermen  las  gallinas. 

623. 

^Cu^l  es  la  noche  mas  larga  de  todo  el  ano? — Noche  Buena. 

624. 

iCual  es  el  irbol  que  tiene  las  hojas  por  un  lado  blancas  y  por  el  otro 
negras? — Noche  y  dia. 

625. 

iCuil  es  el  irbol  que  tiene  la  mitad  de  las  hojas  negras  y  la  mitad  blancas? 
— El  tiempo. 

626. 

iCuk\  es  el  animal  que  no  tiene  huesos? — La  lapa. 

627. 
(iCual  es  el  santo  mas  chiquito  del  cielo? — San  Tito. 

628. 
iCukX  es  la  mata  que  tiene  nombre  y  apellido? — El  mori-vivi. 

629. 
iCual  es  el  palo  que  tiene  nombre  y  apellido? — El  laurel  sabino. 

630. 
iCual  es  el  animal  que  hace  sus  hijos  con  las  patas? — El  pato. 

631. 
iCucil  es  el  hombre  que  mas  crece? — EI  rio. 

632. 
iCual  es  el  animal  que  tiene  las  patas  en  la  cabeza? — El  piojo. 

633- 
iCual  es  el  animal  que  se  llama,  por  donde  se  amarra? — La  pata. 

634. 
lC\xk\  es  el  hombre  que  trabaja  mas  alegre? — El  Barrendero,  porque  ba- 
rriendo. 

635- 
iQxikX  es  el  animal  que  anda  como  gato,  caza  ratones  y  hace  todas  las 
cosas  que  hacen  los  gatos  y  no  es  gato? — La  gata. 

636. 
(iCual  es  el  animal  que  tiene  huesos  antes  que  la  carne? — El  juey. 

637- 
^Cual  es  el  padre  de  los  hijos  de  Sevedeo? — Sevedeo. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  487 

638. 
^Cudl  fu6  el  hijo  que  vi6  nacer  a  su  madre? — El  humo. 

639- 
iC\xk\  es  el  animal  que  carga  su  casa  en  la  espalda? — El  caracol. 

640. 
iCuil  es  el  animal  que  anda  con  la  casa  encima? — Id. 

641. 
iCnkX  es  el  animal  que  pone  mis  cerca  de  la  cocina? — La  galHna. 

642. 
iCual  es  el  mes  en  que  menos  hablan  las  mujeres? — Febrero. 

643. 
iCuiles  fueron  los  primeros  que  vieron  la  tierra  Americana? — Los  ojos. 

644. 
(jCuantas  plantas  hay  en  el  mundo? — Sin  cuenta. 

645- 
iCuintas  estrellas  hay  en  el  cielo? — Id. 

646. 
iQue  es  lo  que  se  echa  en  agua  y  siempre  se  holla? — Cebolla. 

647. 
^Que  es  lo  que  siempre  nos  acompana  en  la  claridad? — Sombra. 

648. 
^Que  es  lo  que  cura  y  no  es  cura? — El  medico. 

649. 
iQue  es  lo  que  se  pone  sobre  todas  las  cosas? — El  nombre. 

650. 

iQue  es  lo  que  cuesta  una  peseta  y  se  le  puede  estar  sacando  todo  un  aiio? 
— Almanaque. 

651. 
^Que  es  lo  que  largo  no  alcanza  y  corto  se  sobra? — El  brazo  al  comer. 

652. 
iQue  es  lo  que  se  echa  al  agua  y  no  se  moja? — Sombra. 

653- 
(iQue  es  lo  que  pasa  por  el  agua  y  que  no  se  moja? — Id. 

654- 
^Que  es  lo  que  anda  por  la  manana  en  cuatro  pies,  al  mediodia  en  dos  y 
a  la  tarde  en  tres? — EI  hombre. 

655. 
iQnk  es  lo  que  se  pone  en  la  mesa,  que  se  corta  y  no  se  come? — La  baraja. 

VOL.  XXIX. — NO.    114. — 32. 


488  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

656. 
^Que  le  dan  a  uno  para  comer  y  no  se  lo  come? — El  plato. 

657. 

^Qu6  es  lo  que  se  pone  en  la  mesa  para  comer  y  no  se  come? — El  plato, 
la  cuchara. 

658. 
^Qu6  es  lo  que  se  mete  en  agua  y  no  se  moja? — La  imagen. 

659- 
^Qu6  es  lo  que  se  sube  a  la  cama  antes  de  sublrse  la  persona? — La  sombra. 

660. 
iQvih  es  lo  que  se  cae  en  el  agua  y  no  se  moja? — Id. 

661. 
iQu6  estara  el  rey  haciendo  en  su  palacio? — Id. 

662. 
iQu6  es  lo  primero  que  hace  el  buey  cuando  sale  el  sol? — Id. 

663. 
iQvLh.  es  lo  primero  que  uno  hace  cuando  sale  para  ir  a  la  escuela? — Id, 

664. 
iQu6  es  lo  que  de  dia  chan,  chan,  y  de  noche  nada? — Las  chinelas. 

665. 
iQwh  cosa  es  que  mientras  m&s  se  mira  menos  se  ve? — La  obscuridad. 

666. 
<jQu^  es  lo  que  sirve  para  comer  y  no  se  come? — La  cuchara. 

667. 
^Qu6  es  lo  que  la  gata  tiene  que  no  puede  tener  otro  animal? — Gatitos. 

668. 
iQuk.  es  lo  que  no  se  gasta  nunca? — El  nombre. 

669. 
iQu6  fud  lo  que  hizo  Dios  que  no  acab6? — La  higuera. 

670. 
^Que  es  lo  primero  que  hace  uno  cuando  se  va  a  banar? — Mojarse. 

671. 
£Qu6  es  lo  mas  seguro  que  hay? — La  muerte. 

672. 
iQu6  es  lo  que  come  por  la  boca  y  echa  por  las  costillas? — El  molino. 

673. 
iQu6  es  lo  que  le  falta  a  un  zapato  despues  de  hecho? — Hacerle  el  otro. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  489 

674. 
iQuh  es  lo  que  se  hace  sin  pensar? — Pestanear. 

675- 
iQnk  es  que  antes  de  hacerla,  lo  es? — Pez. 

676. 
iQnk  potencia  es  la  que  carga  el  rabo  en  la  boca? — El  rio. 

677. 
iQu6  es  lo  que  se  corta  y  no  s^  por  donde  parte? — El  agua. 

678. 
iQvik  es  lo  vciks  duro  de  un  cerdo? — El  grito. 

679. 
^Qu6  es  mds  obscuro  que  la  noche? — La  pobreza. 

680. 
^Que  es  lo  que  mcis  huele  en  una  botica? — La  nariz  derboticario. 

681. 
iQue  es  lo  que  se  oye  y  no  se  puede  ver? — El  viento. 

682. 

iCu^l  es  el  colmo  de  un  carpintero? — Que  las  hijas  le  salgan  traviesas  y 
los  hijos  listones. 

683. 
lCuk\  es  el  colmo  de  un  dentista? — Poner  una  caja  de  dientes  a  la  boca 
del  Morro. 

684. 

lCuk\  es  el  colmo  de  un  sastre? — Hacer  mangas  para  un  brazo  de  mar. 

685. 
iCwkl  es  el  colmo  de  la  fuerza? — Doblar  una  esquina. 

686. 
iQnk  hay  en  el  medio  de  Ponce? — La  letra  w. 

687. 
iQvih.  se  encuentra  en  medio  de  San  Juan? — La  jota. 

688. 
iQnk.  es  lo  que  traspasa  el  cristal  antes  de  romperse? — La  vista. 

689. 
^Que  es  lo  que  entre  mas  se  le  saca  mds  grande  se  pone? — El  roto. 

690. 
Un  saco  lleno  de  que  pesa  menos? — De  agujeros. 

691. 
Un  sombrero  lleno  de  qu6  pesa  menos? — De  agujeritos. 


490  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

692. 

iQnk  cosa  es  y  es  de  entender,  que  mientras  mis  le  quitan  mas  grande 
es? — El  hoyo. 

693. 
£Qu6  es,  qu6  es,  que  mientras  mds  se  le  pica  menos  se  ve? — Pozo. 

694. 
iQu6  serk  lo  que  se  le  saca  y  mis  grande  es? — Un  hoyo. 

695.  / 

Un  calabozo  lleno  ide  que  pesa  menos? — De  agujeros. 

696. 
iDe  qu6  se  llenara  un  saco  que  pese  menos? — Agujeros. 

697. 
iQnk.  es  lo  que  se  dice  que  no  se  oye? — Lo  que  se  dice  con  el  pensamiento. 

698. 
<iQu6  hizo  Dios  mas  en  el  monte? — Palos  tuertos. 

699. 
iQu6  es  lo  tiltimo  del  fin? — La  letra  n. 

700. 
iQnk  es  lo  primero  del  principio? — La  letra  p. 

701. 
iQue  hizo  Munoz  Rivera  al  poner  el  primer  pie  en  la  tribuna? — Poner  el 
otro. 

702. 

(iPor  que  el  buey  se  babea? — Porque  no  puede  escupir. 

703- 
iPor  que  flota  la  bandera? — Porque  el  viento  sopla. 

704. 
iPor  que  es  que  el  perro  roe  el  hueso? — Porque  no  se  lo  puede  tragar  entero. 

705. 
(iPara  que  usan  los  campesinos  tirantes  colorados? — Para  aguantarse  los 
pantalones. 

706. 

iD6nde  se  quedo  Moises  cuando  se  apag6  la  luz? — En  la  obscuridad. 

707. 
^Con  qu6  pica  mas  el  pescado? — Con  aji. 

708. 
iC6mo  se  le  saca  la  leche  a  la  vaca? — Blanca. 

709. 
^De  qu6  (e)da(d)  vino  Dios  al  mundo? — De  la  uva. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  491 

710. 
lA  las  cu&ntas  vueltas  se  acuesta  el  perro? — A  la  ultima. 

711. 

^Por  qu6  es  que  si  el  pavo  se  va  de  la  casa,  si  no  le  van  a  buscar  no  viene? — 
Porque  el  pavo  tiene  una  aranita  que  la  produce  el  mismo,  y  cuando 
ella  quiere  comer  lo  pica,  y  el  pavo  se  cree  que  en  la  casa  lo  pican  y  se  va 
de  ella. 

712. 

iPor  qu6  las  palomas  no  dejan  el  palomar? — Porque  las  mds  viejas  siempre 
se  quedan. 

713- 
iPor  qu6  el  puerco  siempre  lleva  la  cabeza  baja? — Porque  se  acuerda  que 
su  madre  era  una  puerca. 

714. 

^Por  que  entran  los  perros  en  las  iglesias? — Porque  hallan  las  puertas 
abiertas. 

715- 
Cuando  Col6n  puso  el  primer  pie  en  tierra,  <iqu6  hizo  despu^s? — Puso  el 
otro. 

716. 
iQui^n  mat6  a  Cesar,  "bruto?" — Bruto. 

717. 
iDe  que  color  es  el  caballo  negro  de  Don  Pedro? — Negro. 

718. 
iEn  d6nde  es  donde  el  lech6n  no  tiene  manteca? — En  el  chillido. 

719. 
iD6nde  le  puso  Dios  la  mano  al  hombre? — En  la  muneca. 

720. 
<iC6mo  se  coge  un  lechon  para  matarlo? — Vivo. 

721. 

Para  Semana  Santa  ien  que  se  diferencia  el  entierro  de  Dios  con  el  de 
nosotros? — Dios  entra  en  la  iglesia  y  nosotros  entramos  en  el  cementerio. 


C.    RIDDLES  WHICH   INVOLVE  ARITHMETICAL   PROBLEMS. 

722. 

Un  pato  con  una  pata  en  un  corral. 
iCu^ntos  patos  y  patas  hay? 

Un  pato  cojo. 

723- 
Cien  murcielagos 
y  un  gorri6n, 
(icuintos  picos  y 
y  patas  son? 

Un  pico  y  ninguna  pata. 


492  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

724. 

Un  pato  con  una  pata  en  un  corral, 
(icuantos  patos  y  picos  en  el  corral? 

Un  pato  y  un  pico. 

725- 
^A  c6mo  les  tocan  doce  libras  de  carne  repartidas  entre  dos  cegatos 


(doce  gatos)? 


Seis  libras  a  cada  uno. 

726. 

El  zapatero  y  su  hija, 
el  sastre  con  su  mujer, 
comieron  de  nueve  huevos 
y  les  tocaron  a  tres. 

La  hija  del  zapatero  era  la  mujer  del  sastre. 

727. 

El  boticario  y  su  hija, 
el  medico  y  su  mujer, 
comieron  de  nueve  huevos 
y  les  tocaron  a  tres, 

Porque  eran  tres  personas.     La  mujer 
del  medico  era  la  hija  del  boticario. 

728. 

El  secretario  y  su  hija, 
el  sabio  con  su  mujer, 
comieron  de  nueve  huevos 
y  le  tocaron  a  tres. 

El  sabio  era  casado  con  la  hija  del  secretario, 
y  por  esta  raz6n  eran  tres  personas. 

729. 
Siete  patos  vi  andar, 
andaban  perfectamente, 
andaban  entre  la  gente 
con  una  sola  pata. 

Con  ellos  andaba  una  pata. 

730. 
Juntos  dos  en  un  borrico 
los  dos  andan  a  la  par; 
el  uno  anda  doce  leguas 
y  el  otro  una  nada  mas. 

El  minutero  de  reloj  que  ha  dado  doce  vueltas 
cuando  el  horario  ha  dado  una. 

731- 

En  un  cercado  habia  treinta  vacas, 
y  parieron  todas  la  misma  noche; 
amanecieron  treinta  y  un  becerros, 
y  ninguna  pari6  cuates. 

Una  vaca  se  llamaba  Ninguna. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  493 

732. 

Veinte  vacas  tienen  veinte  y  un  becerros 
y  ninguna  tiene  cuates. 

Una  vaca  se  llamaba  Ninguna. 

733. 
Se  dice  que  a  bordo  del  barco  en  que  vino  Col6n  a  America,  dos  de  los 
marineros  estaban  discutiendo  cu4nto  dinero  tenian.' — Si  tii  me  dieras  un 
centavo,  —  dijo  uno,  —  yo  tendria  el  doble  que  tu. —  Esa  no  seria  una  divisi6n 
justa, —  dijo  Pepe,  —  es  mejor  que  tu  medesun  centavo  y  entonces  quedare- 
mos  iguales.     ^Cu^nto  dinero  tenia  uno  de  estos  ricos  en  aquel  momento? 

Pepe  tenia  siete  centavos  y  el  otro  cinco. 

734- 
(a)   Pasaba  un  grupo  de  palomas  por  donde  estaba  un  gavilan  y  el 
gavilan  les  dijo: 

—  Adi6s  mis  cien  palomas.     Ellas  le  contestaron  diciendole: 

—  Nosotras,  la  mitad  de  nosotras,  una  cuarta  parte  de  nosotras,  otras 
tantas  como  nosotras  y  usted,  seiior  gavilan,  hacemos  el  ciento  cabal. 
^Cuantas  palomas  irian  volando? 

36  Palomas. 

(6)  Un  cazador  iba  cazando  y  vieron  unas  palomas  y  le  dijeron: 

—  Adios,  bando  de  cien  palomas. 

Ellas  contestaron:  —  Nosotras,  tantas  como  nosotras,  la  mitad  de  noso- 
tras, la  cuarta  parte  de  nosotras  y  tu,  gavilan,  componen  las  cien  palomas. 
(iCuantas  iban  volando? 

Id. 

(c)   Pas6  un  gavilan  por  el  lado  de  una  palomar  y  les  dijo: 
Adios,    cien    palomas.     Y   ellas    le    dijeron:  —  Nosotras  no   somos  cien 
palomas;    para  nosotras  ser  cien  palomas,  se  necesitan  nosotras,  otras  tantas 
como  nosotras,  la  mitad  de  nosotras,  la  cuarta  parte  de  nosotras  y  Vd.,  Sr. 
gavilin  hacen  un  ciento  cabal. 

iCuantas  palomas  habia  en  el  palomar? 

Id. 

735- 
Tres  libras  de  tabaco 
repartidas  entre  dos  padres 
y  dos  hijos. 
,iC6mo  se  explica  esto? 

Abuelo,  padre,  hijo;  eran's61o  tres  personas. 

736. 
Una  vez  habia  una  canasta  que  tenia  treinta  manzanas  y  las  repartieron 
entre  dos  madres  y  dos  hijas.     ,JC6mo  se  puede  hacer  eso? 

Una  madre  tenia  una  hija  y  la  hija  tenia  otra  hija.     La  abuela 
era  madre  y  la  hija  de  ella  era  madre  de  la  otra  e  hija  de  la  abuela. 

737- 
En  una  casa  habia  cien  vigas, 
en  cada  viga  cien  gallinas, 
y  en  el  medio  un  cap6n; 
adiviname,  cuintos  picos 
y  cuantas  patas  son. 

Ningunos. 


494  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

738. 

Subi  a  un  krhoX  de  naranjas, 
sin  naranjas. 

El  krhoX  tenia  una  naranja 
y  baje  con  naranjas. 

El  hombre  llevaba  una  naranja 
y  el  Arbol  tenia  una  naranja, 
y  el  hombre  cogi6  la  naranja 
del  drbol  y  baj6  con  dos  naranjas. 

739- 
Un  hombre  tenia  17  vacas.     Al  morir  dijo  en  el  testamento  que  al  hijo 
mayor  le  dieran  la  mitad,  al  menor  la  tercera  parte  y  al  del  medio  la  sexta 
parte.     ^C6mo  repartieron  las  vacas  sin  partir  ninguna  de  ellas? 

Cogiendo  una  prestada  que  hacen  18  vacas.  Al  mayor  la  mitad, 
o  sean  nueve  vacas,  al  menor  la  tercera  parte  o  sean  seis  vacas,  y 
al  del  medio  la  sexta  parte  o  sean  tres  vacas. 

740. 

Tres  cazadores  cazando, 
tres  palomas  van  volando; 
Cada  cual  mat6  la  suya 
y  dos  se  fueron  volando. 

Cadacual  era  el  nombre  de  uno  de  los  cazadores. 

741. 

En  un  drbol  habia  cien  pajaros.  Un  cazador  tir6  y  cay6  uno  muerto  al 
suelo.     iCuantos  quedaron  arriba? 

Ninguno,  porque  todos  se  fueron  a  volar  al  oir  el  ruido. 

742. 

Un  jugador  hizo  un  trato  con  San  Antonio  de  ir  a  jugar,  y  de  cada  carta 
que  acertara  le  pagaba  un  peso;  y  acert6  tres  cartas,  le  pag6  tres  pesos  a 
San  Antonio  y  se  fu6  bruja  para  su  casa.     iCuanto  dinero  llev6  a  la  jugada? 

Dos  Pesos  (?  sic!) 

743. 
(a)         Yendo  yo  para  Las  Mercedes 

me  encontre  con  siete  mujeres. 

Cada  mujer  llevaba  un  saco 

y  en  cada  saco  iba  un  gato. 

Entre  gatos,  sacos  y  mujeres, 

^cuintos  iban  para  Las  Mercedes? 

Yo  s6Io. 
{b)         Yendo  para  las  Mercedes, 

me  encontr^  con  siete  mujeres; 

esas  siete  mujeres  llevaban, 

siete  sacos  y  esos  sacos 

llevaban  siete  gatos. 

iCuantos  ibamos  para  las  Mercedes? 

Uno. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  495 

D.    RIDDLES  WHICH  INVOLVE   SHORT  ANECDOTES   OR   FOLK-TALES. 

744- 

De  una  madre  fui  nacido, 
de  un  solo  padre  engendrado, 
antes  de  nacer,  comido, 
y  en  una  fuente  banado; 
y  me  ha  quedado  el  resabio 
de  cantar  cuando  otro  llora;       * 
otro  cantor  me  encocora, 
y  luchando  en  fuerte  lid 
yo  naci  como  naci 
con  cascara  que  me  forra. 
[Huevos  comidos  por  una  culebra,  fueron  sacados  de  su  vientre  enteros 
y  echados  a  una  gallina  que  los  sac6.] 

745- 
De  dos  madres  soy  nacido, 
de  un  solo  padre  engendrado; 
por  ser  Dios  tan  poderoso, 
en  una  fuente  banado. 
[Cierta  vez  estaba  una  gallina  pr6xima  a  sacar.     Y  una  noche  vino  una 
culebra  tratando  de  arrebatar  los  huevos  a  esta.     Pero  el  dueiio  de  la  gallina, 
al  oir  el  ruido,  se  levant6  y  logro  librar  todos  los  huevos  a  6sta,  excepto  uno 
que  fu6  arrebatado  por  la  culebra. 

Como  las  culebras  cuando  se  tragan  uno  tienen  que  pasar  antes  por 
debajo  de  alguna  raiz  para  en  esta  forma  poder  romper  el  huevo,  cierta 
culebra  no  habia  logrado  todavia  pasar  por  debajo  de  alguna  raiz  y  antes 
que  lo  lograra,  el  duefio  de  la  gallina  la  encontr6,  matandola  y  logrando 
sacar  el  huevo  entero.  Lo  lav6  en  una  fuente  y  lo  ech6  de  nuevo  a  la 
gallina,  logrando  esta  sacar  un  hermoso  polio.] 

746. 

De  tres  madres  fui  nacido, 
de  un  solo  padre  engendrado 
antes  de  nacer,  comido, 
y  en  una  fuente  baiiado. 

fista  fue  una  culebra  que  se  trag6  un  huevo. 

747. 
De  dos  vientres  fui  nacido, 
de  un  solo  padre  engendrado; 
antes  de  nacer,  comido, 
y  en  una  fuente  banado. 

Un  huevo  tragado  por  una  culebra. 

748. 

iC6mo  puede  ser  que  un  hombre  humane 
debajo  del  poder  de  Dios 
se  case  con  hija  y  madre 
siendo  doncellas  las  dos? 

El  cura  y  la  iglesia. 


496  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

749. 
Domingo  de  Ramos 
y  la  Cruz 
cayeron  juntos 
en  Viernes  Santo, 
en  San  Juan. 
[Era  un  hombre  que  se  llamaba  Domingo  Ramos  y  tenia  una  hija  que  se 
llamaba  Cruz  y  estaban  en  San  Juan  el  Viernes  Santo,  y  se  cayeron  en  una 
calle.] 

750. 

(a)  De  antano  fui  hija, 
de  hija  fui  madre; 
crie  hijo  ajeno, 
marido  de  madre. 

[Una  hija  le  di6  el  pecho  a  su  padre  que  estaba  preso  y  no  le  daban  comida. 
(V6ase  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  xxviii,  p.  336,  adivinanza  155.)] 

(b)  De  antafio  fui  hija, 
y  de  antano  fui  madre; 
crie  al  hijo  ajeno, 
marido  de  mi  madre; 
adivina  buen  rey 

o  si  no  suelta  a  mi  padre. 

[Una  hija  que  le  di6  de  mamar  a  su  padre  preso.] 

(c)  Primero  fui  hija 

y  despues  fui  madre; 
adiviname,  seiior  rey, 
y  si  no  me  da  libre  a  mi  padre. 
[Era  una  hija  que  tenia  a  su  padre  preso;   no  le  daba  comida  al  padrey 
la  hija  le  daba  de  mamar  por  una  reja  de  la  carcel.] 

(d)  En  un  tiempo  fui  hija 
y  ahora  soy  madre; 
adiviname,  mi  buen  rey, 
o  saqueme  a  mi  padre. 

(Vease  750  c.) 

751. 

(a)  AWk  vienen  vuestros  padres 
maridos  de  vuestras  madres, 
padres  de  vuestros  hijos 

y  vuestros  maridos  mismos. 
[Dos  padres  que  quedaron  viudos  y  cada  uno  de  ellos  se  cas6  con  una  de 
las  hijas,  y  un  dia  salieron  a  pasear  y  cuando  venian  cerca  las  dos  mujeres 
sacaron  esta  adivinanza.] 

(b)  A114  vienen  nuestros  padres 
en  busca  de  nuestras  madres, 
a  ver  a  nuestros  hijos; 

y  son  vuestros  maridos  mismos. 
[Eran  dos  padres  que  tenian  dos  hijas  y  cada  uno  se  cas6  con  una.] 

(c)  A114  vienen  nuestros  padres, 
padres  de  nuestros  hijos, 
maridos  de  nuestras  madres 

y  vuestros  maridos  mismos. 

(V^ase  751  6.) 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  497 

752. 
(a)         Siete  mataron  a  Paula, 

Paula  muerta  mat6  a  siete, 
pas6  un  duro  sobre  un  blando; 
por  matar  a  lo  que  vi 
mate  a  lo  que  no  vi. 
[Paula  era  una  yegua  y  se  la  dieron  a  un  bobo  para  que  hiciera  un  viaje 
a  adivinarle  al  rey,  y  la  madre  para  que  no  fuera,  le  dio  tortas  de  casave 
que  contenian  veneno  y  61  en  vez  de  comerselas  se  las  di6  a  Paula  o  sfea  la 
yegua  y  ella  se  muri6  en  el  acto,  y  entonces  vinieron  siete  pijaros  y  comieron 
de  ella  y  se  murieron  tambi^n  y  pas6  un  duro  sobre  un  blando.     Era  que 
61  pas6  por  un  puente  y  por  tirarle  a  una  paloma  mat6  a  una  reina  que  61 
no  habia  visto  y  bebi6  agua,  ni  del  cielo  ni  de  la  tierra.     Fu6  que  as6  a  la 
reina  y  el  agua  que  echaba  se  la  tom6  y  no  era  ni  del  cielo  ni  de  la  tierra.] 

(&)         Cuatro  mataron  a  Paula, 
Paula  muerta  mat6  a  siete, 
pas6  un  duro  sobre  un  blando; 
le  tir6  a  lo  que  vi, 
y  mate  a  lo  que  no  vi, 
bebi  agua,  ni  del  cielo 
ni  de  la  tierra. 

Las  tortas  de  casave,  etc. 

753. 
Pan  mat6  a  Panda, 
y  Panda  mato  a  tres; 
un  duro  sobre  de  un  muerto 
cargando  a  tres. 
[Esto  es  que,  con  una  libra  de  pan  muri6  una  burra  y  cuando  cay6  mat6 
tres  pdjaros  y  el  duro  y  el  blando  son  el  rio  y  el  Anc6n.] 

754- 
Le  tir6  a  quien  vf, 
y  mat6  a  quien  no  vi, 
y  comi  de  lo  que  no  habia  nacido, 
y  bebi  agua  sin  ser  caida 
ni  manada  de  la  tierra, 
y  vi  un  muerto  cargando  tres  vivos. 
[Un  hombre  le  tir6  una  piedra  a  una  paloma  y  mat6  a  una  perdiz,  y  un 
huevo  que  tenia  la  perdiz;   bebi6  sudor  de  un  burro;   vio  a  un  burro  muerto 
en  el  rio  y  sobre  el  burro  tres  cuervos  comiendose  al  burro.] 

755- 
Mientras  mis  lejos  mds  cerca, 
mientras  mas  cerca  mds  lejos. 
[Cuando  alguien  se  pone  a  cercar  un  terreno,  mientras  mis  lejos  va,  mis 
tiene  cercado  y  mientras  mis  cerca,  tiene  que  ir  mis  lejos.]     (V6ase  163.) 

756. 
(a)         Ayer  se  mat6  la  liebre, 
hoy  a  la  olla  se  echo, 
aquel  que  mat6  la  liebre 
ha  diez  afios  que  muri6. 
[fiste  era  un  hombre  que  se  habia  ahorcado  hacia  10  afios,  y  existian  sus 
huesos  en  el  irbol  cuando  pas6  una  liebre  por  debajo  de  ellos,  se  cay6  un 
hueso  y  mat6  a  la  liebre.] 


498  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

(b)  Ayer  se  m<at6  la  liebre, 
ayer  a  la  olla  se  ech6, 

y  hoy  se  cumplen  siete  anos 
que  el  que  la  mat6  muri6. 

(V6ase  756  a.) 

(c)  Antier  se  mat6  la  liebre, 
y  ayer  tarde  se  comio; 
diez  aiios  tenia  de  muerto 
el  que  a  la  liebre  mat6. 

(Vease  756  a.) 

(d)  Ayer  se  mat6  la  liebre, 
y  ayer  mismo  se  guis6; 

y  el  que  la  mat6 
hace  siete  aiios 
que  muri6. 

(Vease  756  a.) 

757- 
Debajo  de  Cucam6, 
serpiente  en  Curac6, 
y  para  llegar  a  Madrid 
chirri-  chac6. 
[El  rey  decia  que  el  que  hiciera  una  adivinanza  mala,  se  casaba  con  su 
hija,  y  un  hombre  pas6  por  un  puente  y  habia  un  becerro  y  dijo,  "mee"  y 
el  dijo:  debajo  de  Cucame,  y  en  un  barril  habia  una  serpiente  y  dijo:  serpien  — 
te  en  curaco;   y  cuando  fue  a  llegar  a  Madrid  estaban  friendo  chicharrones 
y  el  dijo:  chirri-chaco,  y  se  cas6  con  la  muchacha,] 

758. 
Un  pescador  pescando  ^ 

una  lebrancha  pesc6, 
y  de  tres  dias  de  salada 
fresca  se  la  comi6. 

La  perra  que  se  llamaba  Fresca. 

759- 
(c)         Un  cazador  en  enero 
una  paloma  mat6; 
y  la  sal6  para  pascua 
y  Fresca  se  la  comi6. 

El  tenia  una  perra  que  se  llamaba  Fresca  y 
esta  se  comi6  la  paloma. 

ib)         Un  cazador  en  enero, 
una  paloma  mato, 
y  la  guard6  para  diciembre 
y  Fresca  se  la  comi6. 

La  perra  se  llamaba  Fresca. 

(c)         Un  cazador  en  diciembre 
a  una  liebre  mat6; 
la  sal6  para  el  verano 
y  Fresca  se  la  comi6. 

Id. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  499 

(d)  Estando  un  pescador  pescando, 
una  manchera  cogi6, 

de  siete  dias  de  salada 
y  Fresca  se  la  comi6. 

La  perra  se  llamaba  Fresca. 

(e)  Un  pescador  en  cuaresma 
una  lehancha  cogi6; 

a  los  quince  dias  de  muerta 
Fresquita  se  la  comi6. 

Id, 
760. 

Habia  un  hombre  que  vivia  en  la  finca  de  otro  y  tenia  un  novillo  que  lo 
queria  vender,  pero  el  dueno  de  la  finca  le  dijo  que  no  queri'a  que  lo  sacara 
tore  por  la  puerta,  y  el  comprador  lo  estaba  esperando.     tQue  hizo? 

Lo  castr6  y  no  lo  sac6  toro,  sino  que  lo  sac6  buey. 

761. 
Estando  Estela  pupila, 
bordando  una  estol  estila, 
en  tanto  estilar  cavila 
que  Estela  en  estol  estila. 
[Estaba  Estela  pupila  bordando  unas  zapatillas  encerrada  en  un  convento 
donde  no  veia  a  su  amante,  en  este  tanto  Uoraba  que  en  la  zapatilla  estilaba.] 

762. 
(o)         Tenga,  senora,  este  ramo 
de  las  manos  de  este  niiio. 
Es  su  hijo,  es  su  nieto, 
hermano  de  su  marido. 
[Naci6  un  nino  y  muy  pequeno  lo  mandaron  a  estudiar  fuera  de  la  ciudad. 
El  padre  muri6,  qued6  la  madre,  el  nino  se  cambi6  el  nombre,  vino  a  donde 
estaba  la  madre;   ella  lo  quiso,  se  casaron,  tuvieron  un  hijo;   cuando  naci6 
este  nino  le  pusieron  el  ramo  en  una  mano.] 

(b)         Tenga,  Senorita,  esta  rosa, 
que  se  la  da  este  niiio. 
Es  su  hijo,  es  su  nieto 
y  hermano  de  su  marido. 
[Una  mujer  tuvo  un  hijo  y  lo  abandon6.     Al  cabo  de  afios  voIvi6  el  hijo 
y  no  conociendo  a  su  madre  se  cas6  con  ella.     Ella  pari6  un  nino,  que  un 
dia,  cuando  todavia  no  andaba  le  dio  a  su  madre  una  rosa  y  le  dijo  ese  verso.] 

763- 
Bebi  agua  sin  ser  llovida 
y  carne  que  con  la  palabra 
de  Dios  fue  cocida. 

(Vease  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  vol. 
xxviii,  p.  336,  num.  156.) 

764. 
Tenga,  usted,  seiiora 
este  vaso  de  vino. 
Yo  vengo  montado 
en  quien  no  fue  nacido, 
y  su  madre  la  traigo 
en  el  puno  metido. 
[Era  un  joven  montado  en  un  potro,  y  la  madre  del  potro  se  muri6  y  de 
la  piel  hicieron  un  freno,  y  el  joven  lo  llevaba  en  la  mano,] 


500  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

765- 
(o)         Ap6ese,  senor  caballero, 
se  sentara  en  duro  y  blando, 
comeri  manjar  de  culo, 
bebera  sumo  de  entre  pierna; 
meta  usted  su  peludo 
dentro  de  mi  rascado, 
que  hace  quince  dias 
que  lo  tengo  talado. 
(V6ase  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  vol.  xxviii,  p.  338,  adivinanza  158.) 

(6)         Ap6ese,  gran  caballero, 
si^ntese  en  un  blandiduro, 
comera  manjar  de  culo, 
y  bebera  sumo  de  entre  pierna, 
y  meteri  usted  su  peludo, 
dentro  de  mi  bien  raspado, 
que  hace  diez  dias  que  lo  tengo  afeitado. 

El  soik,  el  huevo,  la  leche,  el  caballo, 
el  cercado  y  el  talado. 

766. 

(a)         En  una  ciudad,  en  tres  meses, 
pari6  una  mujer  seis  veces; 
cada  cual  pari6  seis  ninos, 
toditos  de  nueve  meses. 
Donde  vivia  esa  mujer  se  Uamaba  la  ciudad  Tres  Meses. 

(ft)         En  una  ciudad,  (en)  tres  meses, 
pario  una  mujer  tres  veces; 
cada  cual  pari6  tres  niiios, 
toditos  de  nueve  meses. 

Id. 

(c)         En  una  ciudad,  en  seis  meses, 
di6  a  luz  una  mujer  seis  veces; 
todos  bien  nacidos, 
toditos  de  a  nueve  meses. 

Id. 

767. 

Mejora  caballero, 
y  Felix  soy  Acosta 
de  mi  dinero. 

El  joven  se  llamaba  F^lix  Acosta  (y  la 
joven  se  llamaba  Ana). 

768. 

Sembr6  una  mata  de  alicantrones, 
en  ella  me  entraron  los  ladrones. 
Ladr6n  fui  yo  que  en  ella  entr6; 
alee  la  olla,  la  rosa  mire. 
jMal  me  haga  si  yo  la  toque! 
[Este  era  un  joven  que  se  queria  con  una  joven  y  se  ink.  a  ganar  dinero 
para  casarse  con  ella,  y  cuando  volvi6  ya  otro  la  habia  deshonrado  y  habia 
dado  a  luz.     £l  fue  a  su  casa,  al  cuarto  donde  estaba,  los  vi6  a  ella  y  al 
niiio  y  no  le  hizo  nada.] 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  501 

769. 

Ando  en  quien  no  fu6  nacido, 
ni  esperanza  de  nacer; 
su  madre  traigo  en  los  brazos. 
Adivina  lo  que  puede  ser. 
[Fu§  uno  que  andaba  en  un  caballo,  y  ese  caballo  fu6  sacado  del  vientre 
de  la  madre  antes  de  nacer.     Y  luego  pues  cogieron  el  cuero  de  la  madre  e 
hicieron  las  bridas  para  el  mismo  caballito.] 

770. 

Dos  pies  se  sent6  en  tres  pies, 
a  comerse  un  pie; 
vino  cuatro  pies  y  le  quit6  el  pie; 
volvi6  dos  pies  y  cogi6  el  pie 
y  se  sent6  en  tres  pies 
a  comerse  el  pie. 
[Un  hombre  compr6  una  pata  de  un  buey,  y  se  sento  en  una  silla  a 
comersela.     Luego  vino  un  perro,  y  se  la  quit6;    entonces  el  hombre  se 
levant6,  y  se  la  quit6,  y  se  volvi6  a  sentar  en  la  silla.] 

771. 

Una  mujer  sin  pecado, 
ni  hubo  pecado  jamas, 
muri6  diciendo  Jesus,  Jesus,  Jesus, 
sin  conseguirse  salvar. 
[Un  hombre  llamado  Jesus  tenia  una  hermosa  cotorra;    y  un  dia  lleg6 
una  lechuza  y  se  la  llev6  y  la  mat6.     Y  ella  por  mis  que  llam6  k  su  amo, 
no  consiguid  poderse  salvar.]     (V6ase  num.  190.) 

772. 

Un  drbol  alto  y  frondoso, 

que  de  la  tierra  nacio; 

una  mujer  con  su  aguja 

al  suelo  lo  derrib6. 
[Habia  cierta  vez  una  mujer  muy  laboriosa,  que  vivia  solita  en  su  humilde 
choza.  Cerca  de  la  choza  de  esta  habia  un  hermoso  drbol  de  Moral6n,  y 
ella  que  tenia  un  terror  pinico  a  los  temporales,  temia  que  algun  dia  hubiese 
uno  y  cayese  el  frondoso  cirbol  al  suelo  y  le  destruyera  su  humilde  choza. 
Como  ella  era  muy  pobre,  pues  alquilo  a  varios  hombres  para  que  lo 
derribasen  y  se  comprometi6  a  coser  varias  ropas  para  pagar  a  los  traba- 
jadores.] 

773. 
Naci6  San  Silvestre 
entre  un  rabanal, 
hermano  de  un  burro 
sin  poderle  negar. 
[Porque  tumbaron  un  4rbol  e  hicieron  un  San  Silvestre  y  un  burro  de 
torcer  soga.] 

774- 
Una  vez  que  yo  iba  por  un  camino  me  encontr6  una  joven  que  estaba  en 
un  balc6n  y  tenia  una  rosa  en  las  manos.     Y  le  pregunt6  su  nombre  y  me 
dijo  que  se  lo  adivinara.     Y  abajo  habia  una  tina  y  tir6  la  rosa  y  cay6 
adentro  de  la  tina.     Y  seguida  supe  el  nombre  de  la  joven. 

Florentina. 


502  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 


E.    RIDDLES  WITHOUT  ANSWERS. 

775. 
No  soy  de  cristal  ni  de  oro, 
de  papel  o  de  madera, 
y  sin  embargo  me  rompo. 
iQue  sera? 

776. 

Adivfname,  adivinador, 
adiviname  este  prodigio; 
cuando  mi  may  me  pari6 
ya  yo  criaba  a  mi  hijo, 
y  criando  yo  a  mi  hijo 
se  me  volvio  un  culebr6n. 

777. 
Alia  arriba  estaba  Polanco, 
remendandose  el  culo  con  hilo  bianco. 

778. 

Puerquita  soroco, 
encaja  tus  dientes 
y  menea  tu  rabito. 

779. 
Alfenique  una  de  juez, 
alusa  Martin  Carey. 

780. 

Fue  tan  grande  la  batata, 
que  sac6  Dona  Valentina, 
que  con  la  cascara  sola 
se  cobija  la  cocina. 

781. 

Tu  eres  el  garabato 
y  yo  soy  el  buey, 
ni  tu  sirves  para  nada 
ni  yo  tampoco. 

782. 

No  tengo  agua 
y  bebo  agua, 
y  si  tuviera  agua 
bebiera  vino. 

783. 
Una  dama  bien  compuesta, 
dentro  de  una  serrania, 
cinco  muertos  la  acompanan 
y  un  vivo  la  perseguia. 


Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.  503 


784. 

En  mi  casa  hay  un  drbol 
no  es  naranjo,  ni  laurel; 
echa  tres  frutas  en  el  ano 
y  ninguna  es  de  comer. 

785. 
Aguinaldo  nucvo  vino 
a  Puerto  Rico, 
una  cara  grande 
un  buen  hociquito. 

786. 

Pijaro  que  nunca  am6 
pone  los  huevos  en  nido  ageno, 
otro  pajaro  los  cria 
y  le  sirven  de  veneno. 

787. 

Fue  producido  en  la  tierra, 
y  se  remontd  a  lo  alto; 
apetecio  a  las  mujeres 
y  a  los  hombres  que  madrugan. 

788. 

tCu&l  es  una  fortaleza 
que  esta  llena  de  soldados, 
con  vestidos  colorados, 
huesos  y  sin  cabeza, 
de  real  insignia  bordado? 

789. 
Pitio  va,  Pitio  viene, 
y  en  el  camino  no  se  detiene. 

790. 

Sin  Have  ni  picaporte 
me  cierro  y  abro  en  un  tris; 
no  hay  dama  bonita  o  fea 
que  no  haga  aprecio  de  mi, 
aunque  parezco  pequeiio, 
no  lo  soy  tanto 

que  abarco  en  todos  mis  limites 
poi  lo  menos  un  pais. 

791. 

Alto  de  altin, 
bajo  de  altura, 
muchos  aposentos 
y  puertas  ningunas. 

792. 

Cuatro  pies  en  ciento, 
me  siento  en  diez; 
pasa  en  mano  en  cuatro 
y  polin  en  tres. 


VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  114 — ZZ- 


504  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

793- 
Cojo  a  mi  comadre, 
la  pongo  en  el  suelo; 
le  alzo  la  saya 
y  le  veo  aquello. 

794- 
Dos  hermanitos, 
muy  igualitos, 
al  llegar  a  viejecitos 
abren  los  ojitos. 

795. 
Hombres,  nifios  y  mujeres, 
los  que  de  letras  entendeis, 
ahora  quiero  que  me  digan 
doce  letras  que  aqui  veis: 
E,  F,  M,  A,  M,  G,  G,  A,  S,  O,  N,  D. 

796. 

Aunque  me  ves  chiquitita, 
y  mi  color  como  esclava, 
peleo  a  brazos  tendidos 
con  la  mas  hermosa  dama. 
Yo  la  pico  y  la  repico 
y  la  dejo  tan  picada 
que  cuando  me  aparto  de  ella 
siente  que  yo  me  vaya. 

797- 
En  el  monte  nace 
con  mucha  frescura; 
sale  a  la  plaza 
a  buscar  fortuna. 

798. 

^Que  es  lo  que  hace  falta 
para  apagar  una  luz? 

799. 
iQu^  es  lo  que  para  banarse  se  le  sacan  las  tripas? 

800. 
iCual  es  el  colmo  de  la  lecheria? 

Field  Museum  of  Natural  History, 

Chicago,  III. 
Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University, 
California. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  505 


NEW-MEXICAN  SPANISH   FOLK-LORE. 

BY   AURELIO    M.    ESPINOSA. 
X}     CHILDREN'S  GAMES. 

The  following  material  contains  only  the  games  of  very  young 
children,  —  children  from  three  and  four  to  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age. 
Games  of  children  of  older  ages  I  have  classified  with  the  games  and 
diversions  of  adults,  and  hope  to  publish  them  in  the  future.  In 
many  of  the  games  here  published,  however,  there  is  usually  a  child 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  or  even  an  adult,  especially  in  the 
games  where  a  leader  is  necessary,  to  guide  the  children  and  teach 
them  the  game.  All  the  games  given  below  are  very  popular  in  New 
Mexico  and  Colorado.  Most  of  them  are  played  in  the  evening,  just 
before  retiring,  by  the  children  of  a  single  family,  or  when  two  or 
more  families  are  together.  Those  involving  simple  actions,  such  as 
guessing,  counting-out  rhymes,  and  the  like,  are  often  played  by  adults 
and  children  together,  especially  in  the  same  family  between  children 
and  parents.  Most  of  the  games  in  the  material  now  published  are 
played  indoors;  although  some,  such  as  "La  Gallinita  Ciega"  (No. 6) 
and  "El  Coyotito"  (No.  15),  may  also  be  played  outdoors.  Nos.  3 
and  9,  and  perhaps  also  No.  8,  are  nursery  rhymes  and  nursery  games, 
since  there  are  always  two  who  take  part,  —  the  child  and  the  parent 
or  nurse.  Similar  games  may  have  been  classified  with  the  nursery 
rhymes.  The  difference  is  not  definite  in  some  cases,  and  I  have  not 
lost  time  splitting  hairs. 

A  comparative  study  of  the  children's  games  shows  that  the  material 
is  practically  all  traditional  Spanish  material.  The  various  Peninsular 
versions,  as  well  as  the  similar  versions  from  other  Spanish  countries, 
leave  no  doubts  about  this  matter. 

In  children's  games  we  find  many  repetitions  and  similarity  of 
rhymes,  so  that  confusion  is  quite  common.  I  have  tried  to  show  how 
some  of  the  games  have  been  contaminated  by  others,  especially  when 
the  games  were  somewhat  alike  or  involved  the  same  ideas,  such  as 
redeeming  forfeits,  paying  penalties,  etc.  In  some  cases  only  the 
last  part  of  a  traditional  Spanish  game  is  remembered,  and  it  is  played 
as  a  separate  gam.e.  To  this  class  may  belong  No.  17  ("Santiaguito 
de  Palo  ").  Since  all  these  games  are  very  old  and  have  been  preserved 
in  oral  traditions  for  perhaps  three  centuries,  such  contaminations  and 

1  See  this  Journal,  vol.  xxviii,  pp.  319  et  seq. 


5o6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

confusions  need  not  surprise  us.  There  exist  also  local  variations 
in  the  manner  of  playing  some  of  the  games.  The  children  of  the 
country  districts  are  the  ones  who  know  them  better.  Some  of  these 
different  variations  I  have  also  indicated,  together  with  variants  in 
the  accompanying  rhymes  or  words. 

I  have  always  been  impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  so-called 
"love-games"  (cf.  Newell,  "Games  and  Songs  of  American  Children," 
39-62)  are  not  common  in  Spanish  tradition.  In  our  New  Mexico 
collection,  only  one.  No.  5,  belongs  to  this  class.  They  are  rare  in  all 
the  Spanish  collections  which  I  have  examined. 

The  children's  games,  as  well  as  the  nursery  rhymes  which  follow, 
are  transcribed  in  the  standard  Spanish  orthography. 

I.    SESTA,   MAYESTA. 

(o)       Sesta,  mayesta, 
Martin  de  la  cuesta; 
que  dice  mi  padre 
que  azoten  la  cuesta 
con  un  cuero  duro 
que  esta  en  el  corral. 

Chorro,  morro, 
con  esta  me  corro. 

(b)  Sesta,  mayesta, 
Martin  de  la  cuesta; 
que  dice  mi  padre 
que  azoten  la  cuesta. 

Chorro,  morro, 
con  esta  me  corro. 

(c)  Sesta,  mayesta, 
Martin  de  la  cuesta; 
chorro,  morro, 

por  esta  me  corro. 

This  is  a  guessing-game.  The  child  who  is  doing  the  guessing 
strikes  the  fists  of  the  one  who  has  the  concealed  object  with  the  index- 
finger  of  the  right  hand,  alternately,  at  each  word  or  accent  group, 
until  the  object  is  found.  (See  "Revue  Hispanique,"  April,  1915; 
"Romancero  Nuevomejicano,"  No.  79;  B.  T.  P.  [  =  "Biblioteca  de  las 
TradicionesPopulares"],  11,145-146;  and  Rodriguez  Marin  [="  Cantos 
Populares  Espanoles"],  I,  50.) 

2.  LA  TUERTA  CULECA  (lA  TUTURULECA). 

(a)       La  Tuerta  Culeca 
pas6  por  aqui, 
convidando 
a  todos  sus  amos. 
Cucharas  alegres, 
esconde  tu  dedo. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  507 

When  only  one  finger  remains  visible,  the  leader  pinches  it  and  lifts 
it,  saying,  — 

—  jSe  lo  llev6  el  gavildn! 

(b)  La  Tuturuleca 
pas6  por  aqui, 
convidando 

a  todas  sus  amas, 
menos  a  mi. 
Cuchara,  salero, 
esconde  tu  dedo, 
que  te  pica  el  gallo. 

iSe  lo  llev6  el  gavilan' 

(c)  La  Tuerta  Culeca 
pas6  por  aqui, 

a  convidar 
a  todos  sus  amos. 
Cucharas,  saleros, 
esconde  tu  dedo. 

iAy,  qu6  se  lo  llev6  el  gavildn! 

(d)  Pin,  Serafin, 
Bocanor,  pasa  Rey, 
convidando 

a  sus  amos 
y  menos  a  mi, 
Cuchara,  salero, 
esconde  tu  dedo. 

iQue  se  le  Uevo  el  gavilin! 

This  is  a  game  for  very  young  children.  The  leader  is  older,  and 
seats  the  children  in  a  circle  on  the  floor  or  on  the  ground.  They  all 
place  their  hands  with  the  fingers  spread  out,  so  that  all  the  hands  form 
a  circle  in  front.  The  leader  then  strikes  the  fingers  of  the  circle  gently, 
and  repeats  at  each  stroke  a  word,  and  the  finger  of  the  last  word  is 
bent  under  the  hand.  This  is  repeated  many  times,  until  a  single 
finger  remains;  and  this  last  finger  is  the  victim  of  the  supposed  hawk 
that  pinches  it  and  flies  away  with  it. 

A  similar  game  is  given  by  Rodriguez  Marin  (I,  49).  The  New- 
Mexican  game  is  of  Spanish  origin  (see  also  Fernando  Llorca,  "Lo 
que  cantan  los  nifios  "  [Madrid],  p.  114,  "La  Pipirigaiia").  Although 
the  words  of  the  Peninsular  versions  are  a  little  diff^erent,  the  asso- 
nances show  that  all  these  versions  are  probably  from  the  same  original. 
For  other  European  versions  of  rhymes  for  counting  out,  see  also 
William  Wells  Newell,  "Games  and  Songs  of  American  Children," 
pp.  194-203. 


5o8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

3.  LANZA,   LANZA. 

(c)       Lanza,  lanza, 
dice  Francia 
que  le  piquen 
la  panza. 

(&)       Lanza,  lanza, 
dice  Francia. 
\Q\ik  te  pican 
la  panza! 

4.  PUNO,    PUNETE. 

The  children  form  a  column  with  their  fists.     The  second  from  the 

top  speaks  first. 

—  iQnk.  tienes  ai  (alii)? 

—  Puno,  puiiete. 

—  Quitatelo  de  ai 

y  pegate  en  la  frente. 

When  only  one  fist  remains,  they  continue,  — 

—  iQxxh  tienes  ai? 

—  Una  cajita. 

—  ^Y  adentro  de  la  cajita? 

—  Otra  cajita. 

—  i  Y  adentro  de  esa  cajita? 

—  Una  hormiguita. 

—  A  ver  si  pica. 

The  game  itself,  with  the  words,  describes  it.  In  the  end,  the  child 
who  has  a  fist  at  the  bottom  of  the  column  crosses  the  index  and  middle 
fingers  of  the  right  hand  over  those  of  the  left,  forming  a  very  small 
square  aperture,  and  has  an  opportunity  to  pinch  the  finger  of  whoever 
wishes  to  stick  a  finger  in  it,  to  see  if  it  bites  (a  ver  si  pica). 

Games  similar  to  this  are  very  common  in  Spain  and  other  countries 
(see  "  Juegos  Infantiles  de  Extremadura"  in  B.  T.  P.,  II,  149-151 ;  Ro- 
driguez Marin,  I,  p.  52;  and  Llorca,  op.  ciL,  p.  115).  The  American 
game  of  Club  Fist  (see  Newell,  op.  cit.,  p.  175),  which  has  similar 
versions  in  England,  Germany,  and  Denmark,  is  in  the  beginning 
essentially  the  same  game.  The  Spanish  game  from  New  Mexico,  as 
well  as  the  versions  of  Rodriguez  Marin  and  de  Soto,  do  not  end  in  the 
well-known  nursery  accumulative  tales.  These  accumulative  tales 
are  frequent  in  Spanish  countries  in  many  forms,  but  are  not  parts  of 
the  game  in  question.  (For  the  New-Mexican,  Californian,  and 
Peninsular-Spanish  accumulative  tales,  see  this  Journal,  Vol.  XXVII, 
pp.  222-226.) 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  509 

5.    EL   BURRO   TONTO;   OR,   EL  JUEGO  DE   ESCOGER   NOVIO. 

(o)       Este  burro  tonto 
del  calabazal, 
6chenle  la  silla, 
que  se  vaya  a  lenar. 

Si  me  caso  con  6sta 
se  enoja  6sta, 
etc. 

(b)       A  este  burro  tonto 
del  calabazal, 
^chenle  la  silla, 
que  vaya  a  lenar. 

Si  me  caso  con  6sta 
se  enoja  6sta, 
etc. 

This  love-game  has  all  the  marks  of  tradition,  but  I  have  found  no 
other  Spanish  version  that  is  similar  to  it  (see,  however,  Llorca,  op.  cit., 
98-100).  Such  games  are  common  in  all  European  countries  (see 
Newell,  op.  cit.,  pp.  39-62;  also  p.  109,  "Counting  Apple-Seeds"). 

The  little  girls  stand  around  in  a  circle,  and  one  by  one  the  boys 
appear. 

6.   LA   GALLINITA  CIEGA. 

A  little  girl  comes  out  blindfolded.     The  one  she  touches  first  is 

"it." 

(o)  —  iQue  andas  buscando? 

—  Cunquitos  para  mis  poUitos. 

—  (iMe  das  uno? 

—  No. 

—  iMe  das  dos? 

—  No. 

—  (iMe  das  tres? 

—  No. 

—  Mira  pa  arriba.     Corretin,  corret6n. 

(fi)  —  iQu^  andas  buscando,  Gallinita  Ciega? 

—  Cunquitos  pa  mis  poUitos. 

—  iQuese^  (que  es  de)  los  pollitos? 

—  Estdn  debajo  de  la  artesa. 

There  are  numerous  Spanish  versions  of  rhymes  which  accompany 
various  difTerent  or  similar  games.  In  B.  T.  P.  (Vol.  II,  p.  157)  we 
have  almost  similar  rhymes,  but  a  somewhat  different  game.  It 
seems  that  some  New-Mexican  games  appear  as  parts  of  older  Spanish 
games,  or  fragments  of  two  or  more  different  games.     Hiding-games 

»  Studies.  I,  §  104. 


510  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

such  as  the  one  above  mentioned  are  confused  with  others  of  entirely 
different  nature;  for  example,  New  Mexico  19.  Games  that  involve 
blindfolding  and  hiding  are  especially  subject  to  confusion. 

7.  JUEGO   DE    LOS   DEDOS. 

fiste  es  el  chiquito  y  bonito. 

fiste  es  el  senor  de  los  anillos. 

fiste  es  el  largo  y  vano. 

fiste  es  el  chupa  cazuelas. 

Y  este  es  el  mata  venaus  (venados). 

The  above  seems  to  be  also  a  traditional  rhyme.  A  very  similar 
version  from  Galicia  (Coruna)  is  given  in  B.  T.  P.,  IV,  157:  — 

Este  o  dedo  menifio, 
este  e  o  seu  sobrifio, 
este  o  mayor  de  todos, 
este  o  furabolos, 
e  yeste  o  mata  piollos. 

Coello  ("Jogos  e  Rimas  Infantis"  [Porto,  1884])  gives  a  similar 
Portuguese  version.  The  New-Mexican  venaus  have  the  meaning 
piojos. 

8.  JUEGO   DE   LOS   DEDOS. 

The  following  three  beautiful  New-Mexican  versions  are  all  tra- 
ditional, and  among  the  best  we  have:  — 

(a)  £ste  se  hall6  un  huevito. 
fiste  lo  ech6  a  frir. 
fiste  lo  mene6. 

£ste  le  echo  sal. 

Y  este  viejo  cuzco^  se  lo  comi6. 

(b)  fiste  se  hallo  un  huevito. 
fiste  lo  quebro. 

fiste  lo  frio. 
Este  le  ech6  sal. 

Y  este  viejo  gordo  se  lo  comi6. 

(c)  fiste  se  hallo  un  huevito. 
fiste  lo  quebro. 

£ste  lo  ech6  a  frir. 
fiste  le  ech6  sal. 

Y  este  viejo,  mata-piojos  se  lo  comi6. 

In  B.  T.  P.,  II,  126,  we  find  the  following  version  from  Extre- 
madura :  — 

Este,  compro  un  huevo. 
Este,  lo  puso  al  fuego. 
Este,  le  echo  la  sal. 
Este,  lo  prob6. 

Y  este  picaro  gordo  se  lo  comi6. 
*  Goloso. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  5 1 1 

A  similar  version  from  Merida  has  the  word  paloma  for  huevo.  In 
Rodriguez  Marin,  I,  p.  46,  we  have  an  Andalusian  version:  — 

Este  nino  pidi6  giiebo. 
Este  lo  puso  a  as4. 
Este  r  ech6  la  si. 
Este  lo  sason6 

Y  este  picariyo  gordo  se  lo  comi6. 

The  versions  from  Cataluna  given  by  Maspons  (see  Rodriguez 
Marin,  I,  p.  no)  are  quite  different.  I  have  a  California  version 
(Santa  Barbara)  directly  related  to  the  New-Mexican,  Andalusian,  and 
Extremadura  versions:  — 

fiste  mat6  un  poyito. 
£ste  puso  r  agua  a  calentar. 
fiste  lo  pel6. 
fiste  lo  guis6. 

Y  6ste  se  lo  comio. 

Llorca  (p.  12)  gives  two  versions,  —  one  similar  to  New  Mexico 
No.  7,  and  another  similar  to  New  Mexico  No.  8  and  the  California 
version. 

9.   ESTOS   PIECECITOS. 

Holding  the  child's  feet,  one  says,  — 

(a)  Estos  piececitos 
fueron  a  robar  meloncitos: 
Corre  el  uno,  corre  el  otro, 
corren  los  dos  juntitos. 

(b)  Estos  piececitos 
fueron  a  robar  meloncitos, 
en  la  huerta  de  su  papacito 
Corre  el  uno,  corre  el  otro, 
corren  los  dos  juntitos. 

A  version  very  similar  to  this  one  is  given  by  Rodriguez  Marin 
(I,  p.  44) :  — 

Estos  piececitos  ambos 
Fueron  a  coger  las  jabas; 
Bino  er  guarda  der  jaba 

Y  uno  corre  por  aqui 

Y  otro  corre  por  aya. 

ID.   JUEGO   DE   LOS  ANGELITOS. 

Pressing  one's  hands  over  the  child's  ears,  he  is  thus  lifted. 


512  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

—  iQuieres  ver  a  los  angelitos? 

—  Si'. 

—  Ora  los  vas  a  ver. 

—  iAy! 

II.   LOS   CIBOLOS. 

One  child  strikes  another  one  in  the  arm,  beginning  with  the  wrist 
(and  with  gradually  increasing  force). 

Cuando  vayas  a  los  cibolos,  no  me  traigas  carne 
de  aqui  [strikes  gently],  ni  de  aqui,  ni  de  aquf, 
ni  de  aqui,  sino  de  aqui  [strikes  hard,  near  the  shoulder]. 

We  have  another  traditional  version  of  this  juego  infantil,  the  game 
and  rhymes  of  "  La  Libra  de  Carne"  (Extremadura  version ;  see  B.T.  P., 
II,  130-131),  which  are  essentially  the  same  as  the  New-Mexican. 
A  version  more  like  the  New-Mexican,  however,  is  the  Andalusian  one 
("Folklore  Andaluz,"  168;  cf.  B.  T.  P.,  131,  note):  — 

Cuando  vayas  a  la  carniceria 
Que  te  corten  una  libra  de  carne, 
Pero  que  no  te  la  corten  de  aquf, 
Ni  de  aqui,  ni  de  aqui, 
Sino  de  aqui,  sino  de  aqui. 

Similar  rhymes  and  game  are  also  known  in  Catalonia  (cf.  p.  511; 
see  also  Llorca,  p.  15,  "La  Carniceria"). 

12.   LAS   INDITAS  DE   SAN   JUAN. 

Holding  the  child's  hands,  one  swings  back  and  forth,  saying  (and 
sometimes  singing),  — 

(c)       Las  Inditas  de  San  Juan 
piden  pan  y  no  les  dan; 
piden  queso  y  les  dan  un  hueso, 
y  les  cortan  el  pescuezo. 
Y  se  sientan  a  llorar 
en  las  trancas  del  corral. 

(Jb)       Rique,  rique,  rique  son. 
Las  Inditas  de  San  Juan 
piden  pan  y  no  les  dan; 
piden  queso  y  les  dan  un  hueso; 
y  se  sientan  a  llorar 
en  las  trancas  del  corral. 
Tan,  tan,  tan,  tan. 

These  rhymes  are  traditional,  and  were  probably  used  to  accompany 
the  old  Spanish  game  "Recotin  Recotan"  (or  "Recodin  Recoddn"), 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  513 

which  is  found  in  many  parts  of  Spain  (see  Rodriguez  Marin,  I,  Nos, 
81-83;  and  notes,  pp.  120-123).  R.  Marin,  No.  82,  is  very  much  like 
the  New-Mexican  version.  For  "Las  Campanas  de  San  Juan"  is 
substituted  "Las  Inditas  de  San  Juan."  The  New-Mexican  versions 
are  much  longer,  and  may  represent  an  older  version  (see  also  B.T.  P., 
II,  p.  124;  and  Llorca,  p.  14,  aserrando  [sawing]). 

13.  PARA  VALERSE  AL  COMPADRE  O  A  LA  COMADRE. 

Holding  one  another  by  the  little  finger  of  the  right  hand,  young 
people  say,  — 

(a)       Chiquigiiitito  de  flores, 
no  te  derrames, 
qu'  en  esta  vida  y  en  la  otra 
semos  compadres. 

Carret6n,  carret6n. 
El  que  se  vale  al  compadre 
y  a  la  comadre  y  se  desvale 
se  le  corta  el  coraz6n. 

ih)       Chiquigiiitito  de  flores, 
no  te  derrames, 
qu'  en  esta  vida  y  en  la  otra 
semos  compadres. 

Carretita  y  carret6n. 
los  que  se  valen  al  compadre 
y  a  la  comadre  y  se  desvalen 
se  les  rompe  el  coraz6n. 

14.  EL   COYOTITO. 

One  child  acts  as  mother,  and  leads  the  children  around  another 
child  who  sits  in  the  centre,  and  represents  the  coyote.  The  mother 
and  children  pinch  coyote  in  the  head,  and  say,  — 

Pepenando  pinoncitos, 
pepenando  pinoncitos, 
para  el  pobre  coyotito, 
para  el  pobre  coyotito. 
Etc. 

The  coyote  finally  becomes  angry  and  catches  one  of  the  children. 

15.  EL  COYOTITO. 

The  children  come  out,  as  in  No.  14. 

—  Mira  la  luna. 

[  Coyote  looks  at  the  moo?i.] 

—  M,  m,  m.     iQu6  piojero! 


514  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

{Then  all  scream:] 
—  Salta,  coyote, 
con  tanto  majote. 
[  Coyote  runs  away.] 

The  games  Nos.  14  and  15  are  similar  to  the  games  "Los  Pollitos" 
and  "Los  Pollitos  de  miel,"  from  Extremadura,  described  in  B,  T.  P., 
IT,  Nos.  12,  13.  The  coyotito  in  the  New-Mexican  game  takes  the 
place  of  the  lohito  of  the  Spanish  game.  The  second  part  of  the  game, 
the  capture  of  the  pollitos  by  the  coyote,  and  the  subsequent  paying 
of  a  ransom  to  get  them  back,  are  entirely  forgotten  in  the  New-Mexi- 
can games. 

16.   JUEGO  DO   COLORES. 

This  is  really  a  game  of  redeeming  forfeits,  the  forfeit  in  question 
being  the  freedom  of  the  child  made  prisoner  by  the  good  and  bad 
angels.  The  penalties  demanded  and  the  accompanying  rhymes  are 
part  of  game  No.  17,  which  is  an  entirely  different  game,  and  one  more 
widely  known  I  have  not  found  any  versions  of  Spanish  games  like 
these,  but  I  feel  certain  that  the  New-Mexican  games  are  traditional. 
It  is  quite  possible,  of  course,  that  game  No.  17  is  only  a  part  of  No.  16. 
The  paying  of  the  penalties  is  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  game  for 
young  children ;  and  naturally  this  part  would  be  more  often  repeated, 
and  finally  considered  a  separate  game. 

—  Voy  quebrando  bolitas  de  oro. 
Tan,  tan. 

—  (jQuien  es? 

—  El  angel  bueno. 

—  (iQue  quiere  el  angel  bueno? 

—  Colores. 

—  (iQue  color? 

—  Blanco  (0  lo  que  se  quiera). 

Here  the  child  m'ght  say  that  that  color  cannot  be  found,  and  the 
angel  asks  for  another  color  until  what  is  desired  is  found.  The  child 
that  bears  that  color  goes  to  the  side  of  the  angel.  The  angel,  or  the 
child  taken,  then  returns  as  a  second  angel,  and  a  similar  dialogue 
takes  place 

—  Voy  quebrando  bolitas  de  oro. 
Tan,  tan. 

—  iQmdn  es? 

—  El  &ngel  malo. 

—  iQue  quiere  el  Angel  malo? 

—  Colores. 

—  iQue  color? 

—  Colorado. 
Etc. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  5 1 5 

When  the  angels  have  all  the  children  on  their  side,  they  have  to  be 
redeemed  by  the  first  side.  The  angel  brings  them  on  his  back,  one 
by  one,  to  the  leader  of  the  other  side,  and  the  following  dialogue 
takes  place :  — 

—  Tan,  tan. 

—  (jQui^n  es? 

—  El  4ngel  bueno  {or  malo). 

—  iQnt  traes? 

—  Un  preso. 

—  iQue  delito  cometi6? 

—  Que  lo  halle  comiendo  queso  y  no  me  di6. 

—  Pues  la  sentencia  que  le  doy  es  que  le  den  dos  nalgadas 

(or  whatever  the  judge  may  wish). 

(See  the  following  game,  and  also  No.  18.) 

17.    SANTIAGUITO   DE    PALO.^ 

The  children  all  i-it  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  El  Santiaguito  de 
Palo  brings  them  one  by  one  to  the  Juez,  who  imposes  the  penalties. 
The  Santiaguito  de  Palo  is  usually  an  older  boy,  for  he  has  to  carry  the 
prisoner  on  his  back  to  the  judge  (see  Newell,  op.  cit.,  p.  143). 

(a)  —  Tan,  tan. 

—  (iQuien  es? 

—  El  Santiaguito  de  Palo. 

—  iQue  traes? 

—  Un  preso. 

—  iQue  delito  cometio? 

—  Que  lo  halle  comiendo  queso  y  no  me  di6. 

—  Pues  la  sentencia  que  le  doy  es  que  se  empine  y  le 

den  una  buena  nalgada. 

(b)  —  Tan,  tan. 

—  iQuien  viene  ai? 

—  El  Santiaguito  de  Palo. 

—  lY  que  trae? 

—  Un  preso. 

—  iQue  delito  cometio? 

—  Que  lo  halle  comiendo  queso  y  no  me  di6. 

—  Pues  la  sentencia  que  le  doy  es  que  brinque  como  sapo. 

18.    JUEGO   DEL   PANO    (DROP   THE   HANDKERCHIEF). 

(a)  —  iOnde  anda  tu  tata? 

—  En  el  Vallecito. 

—  <iQu6  te  fue  a  trai  (traer)? 

—  Un  cochinito. 

—  iLe  fue  bien? 

1  See  description  under  No.  i6. 


5i6  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

—  Como  la  miel. 

—  tLe  fue  mal? 

—  Como  la  sal. 

—  Pues  si^ntate  en  tu  lugar 
y  no  me  vuelvas  a  hablar. 
Etc. 

(6)  —  (jOnde  anda  tu  tata? 

—  En  el  Vallecito. 

—  iQue  te  trujo? 

—  Un  cochinito. 

—  iTe  fu6  bien? 

—  Como  la  miel. 

—  iTe  fue  mal? 

—  Como  la  sal. 

—  Pues  sientate  en  tu  lugar 
y  no  me  vuelvas  a  hablar. 

Rhymes  similar  to  these  are  recited  in  the  accompaniment  of  a 
Spanish  game  entirely  different  from  this  one  (see  B.  T.  P.,  II,  p.  i6i). 
A  study  of  Spanish  nursery  and  children's  games  shows  that  a  good 
deal  of  confusion  exists  in  the  modern  versions.  A  traditional  game 
is  forgotten ;  but  the  accompanying  rhymes  are  not,  and  these  are  then 
applied  to  an  entirely  different  game  or  to  a  new  one.  In  this  New- 
Mexican  game  ("  Juego  del  Pafio")  we  may  have  a  new  game,  one  simi- 
lar to  the  familiar  American  game  of  "  Drop  the  Handkerchief."  El 
Vallecito  is  a  small  village  in  northern  New  Mexico. 

19.    EL   REY   Y  LA   REINA. 

The  children  form  a  circle,  holding  hands,  and  two  of  them  speak. 

—  El  rey  y  la  reina  se  fueron  por  agua. 

—  tQuese  el  agua? 

—  Se  la  bebieron  los  pollitos. 

—  ^Quese  los  pollitos? 

• —  Andan  comiendo  huesitos. 

—  ^Quese  los  huesitos? 

—  Se  los  llev6  el  rey. 

—  (iQuese  el  rey? 

—  Se  i\xt  a  decir  misita. 

—  (iQuese  la  misita? 

—  La  envolvi6  en  un  papelito. 

—  (iQu6se  el  papelito? 

—  V0I6  al  ciclo. 

The  children  then  disperse  and  run  to  hide  themselves,  crying,  — 

Guel,  guel,  guel,  guel; 
que  te  pico  el  gallo. 
Nos  vamos  a  esconder 
en  las  lomitas  de  San  Miguel. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  517 

Each  child  has  been  given  the  name  of  a  fruit;  and  now  the  king 
calls  them  out  one  by  one,  and  takes  them  to  a  judge,  who  gives  each 
one  a  sentence,  as  in  game  No.  17. 

—  iQu^  te  gusta? 

—  Manzana. 

Manzana  is  taken  first,  and  the  others  follow.  The  end  is  almost 
identical  with  game  No.  17. 

—  Tan,  tan. 

—  iQuien  es? 

—  El  rey. 

—  lQu€  trae? 

—  Un  preso. 

—  iQue  delito  cometi6? 

—  Que  lo  halI6  royendo  un  hueso  y  no  me  di6. 

—  La  sentencia  que  le  doy  es  que  gruna  como  perro. 
Etc. 

For  similar  rhymes  see  B.  T.  P.,  II,  p.  137.  The  game  is  a 
long  one  and  seems  to  be  traditional.  The  end  is  again  a 
game  of  paying  penalties,  as  in  Nos.  16  and  17.  The  rhymes  of  the 
first  part  of  the  game,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Extremadura  version 
above  cited,  recall  the  accumulative  nursery-tales  "La  Hormiguita," 
"El  Aguila,"  "El  Zancudo,"  etc.,  versions  of  which  are  well  known  in 
New  Mexico,  California,  and  Spain  (see  this  Journal,  Vol.  XXVII, 
pp.  222-226). 

20.    AL   QUE    SE   LE    CAE    SE   LE    PRENDE. 

The  children  are  provided  with  long  sticks.  A  ball  is  tossed  up, 
and  the  game  is  to  have  the  ball  touch  some  one.  They  can  use  only 
the  sticks  in  hitting  the  ball. 

—  (jQuien  entiende? 

—  El  piojo  y  la  liendre. 
Al  que  se  le  cae  se  prende. 

—  iQuien  escucha? 

—  El  que  se  le  cae  se  la  embucha. 

—  Al  que  toca  la  pelota  le  dan  tres  veces  ella  con 
en  las  nalgas. 

21.    PARES   O   NONES.^ 

—  i  Pares  o  nones? 

—  Nones. 

—  Adivinates.     Ora  tu. 

22.   EL   BAILE   DEL  AGUELO. 

On  Christmas  Eve,  or  on  an  evening  two  or  three  days  before 
Christmas  Eve,  an  old  man,  called  El  Agiielo  (El  Abuelo),  visits  the 
1  See  Rodriguez  Marin,  I.  No.  80;  and  Newell,  op.  cit.,  p.  147. 


5i8  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

homes  of  all  people  who  have  children,  to  see  if  all  have  been  good  and 
have  learned  their  prayers.  Years  ago,  when  this  custom  was  common 
in  New  Mexico  and  southern  Colorado,  the  Agiielo  was  a  veritable 
scarecrow  for  small  children.  He  was  feared  more  than  anything 
else,  and  there  exist  stories  of  the  floggings  he  gave  to  bad  boys  who 
did  not  know  their  prayers  or  were  disobedient  to  their  parents.  I  do 
not  know  the  origin  of  this  custom.  At  all  the  homes  he  visited  he  was 
given  sweets  and  cookies,  which  he  carried  away  in  a  large  bag.  In 
this  bag  he  carried  away  also  incorrigible  little  children.  His  presence 
was  announced  by  a  hard  knock  on  the  door,  with  the  cry,  "/-E/ 
Aguelo!  I  El  Agiielo!  jAqui  viene  el  Agiielo!''  The  children  would 
then  appear  and  recite  their  prayers  to  him.  After  this  the  children 
and  the  Agiielo  would  form  a  circle;  and  all  would  dance  from  right  to 
left,  and  again  from  left  to  right,  singing  the  following  verses:  — 

(a)        Baila,  paloma  de  Juan  Turuntiin. 
Turun,  tun,  tun,  Turun,  tun,  tun. 

Baila,  paloma  de  Juan  Turuntiin. 
Turun,  tun,  tun,  Turun,  tun,  tun. 

(6)       Baila,  paloma  de  Juan  Durundun. 

Durun,  dun,  dun,  Durun,  dun,  dun. 

Baila,  paloma  de  Juan  Durundun. 

Durun,  dun,  dun,  Durun,  dun,  dun. 

In  case  El  Agiielo  was  not  well  satisfied  with  the  prayers  or  general 
conduct  of  some  child,  he  would  crack  his  whip  and  make  the  child 
dance  alone,  repeating  to  him  the  verses  in  a  threatening  manner. 
(See  also  this  Journal,  Vol.  XXII,  p.  lo.) 

23.  MATA   SECA. 

(a)       Atras  de  una  mata  seca 
esta  una  vieja  sin  tetas. 
El  que  hablare  y  se  riere 
se  come  las  cien  macetas. 

{b)       Atras  de  una  mata  seca 
esta  una  vieja  sin  tetas. 
El  que  hable  y  se  ria 
le  chupa  las  tetas. 

24.  MATA   SECA. 

Abajo  de  un  caj6n 
est4  un  viejo  capon. 
El  que  hablare  y  se  riere 
se  come  la  capazon. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  519 

25.^  ADIVINANZA. 

—  ^A  quidn  quieres  m4s, 
a  Din  gu'^  Adan, 

gu  a  Pata  Galdn? 

—  A  Pata  Galdn. 

—  iQu6  b^rbaro! 
£se  es  el  diablo. 

26.   EL  CAMINITO   DEL  CIELO. 

—  iPor  qu6  caminito  quieres  ir  al  cielo,  por  el  de  flores, 
o  por  el  de  espinas? 

—  Por  el  de  flores. 

—  iQu6  b^rbaro!     £se  es  el  camino  del  infierno. 

27. 

(a)  —  iQu^  estis  haciendo? 

—  Una  punta. 

—  ^Pa  qu6? 

—  Pa  picarle  el  —  al  que  me  pregunta. 

(b)  —  tQu6  est4s  haciendo? 

—  Una  punta. 

—  ,jPa  qu6? 

—  Pa  picarle  las  orejas  al  que  me  pregunta. 

28.   ADIVINANZA. 

—  iQn^  hay  de  la  empa-? 

—  nada;  toda  se  volvio  pastel. 

29.   EL   CUENTO  DEL  VIEJITO  Y   LA   VIEJITA. 

—  Un  viejito  y  una  viejita  tenian  una  escalerita  de  popote. 
Subi6  el  gallo  y  no  se  quebr6. 

Subi6  el  perro  y  no  se  quebr6. 
Subi6  la  cabra  y  no  se  quebr6. 
Subi6  el  viejito  y  no  se  quebr6. 
Subi6  la  viejita  y  no  se  quebrd. 
Subi6  el  becerro  y  no  se  quebr6. 
Subi6  la  vaca  y  se  quebr6. 
£Cual  pesaba  m^s? 

—  La  vaca. 

—  Alzale  la  cola  y  lambele  la  caca, 

XI.  NURSERY   RHYMES  AND   CHILDREN'S  SONGS, 
In  this  part  of  my  New-Mexican  Spanish  folk-lore  I  publish  all  the 
nursery  rhymes,  children's  songs,  children's  prayers  (in  verse),  mean- 
ingless rhymes,  play  on  words,  children's  ballads,  incantations,  etc.,  m 

1  The  questions  and  riddles  given  in  Nos.  25-28  belong  to  the  class  called  pegas  (Ro- 
driguez  Madn,  see  vol.  i,  pp.  411-414)- 
«  I.e..  6. 

VOL.  XXIX.—  NO.  II4-— 34 


520  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

my  possession.  Some  of  the  nursery  rhymes  and  prayers  have  already 
been  pubHshed  in  my  "Romancero  Nuevomejicano."  ^  I  now  publish 
the  complete  material.  Since  the  material  is  not  very  abundant,  I 
have  followed  no  special  order  or  arrangement;  although  I  have  tried 
to  put  together  the  nursery  rhymes  first,  secondly  the  parodies  on 
prayers,  then  the  popular  children's  coplas,  the  real  children's  prayers 
(in  verse),  the  trabalenguas ,  and  lastly  the  children's  songs  and  ballads. 
Practically  all  this  material  is  traditional,  and  is  derived  from  old 
Spanish  sources,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  comparative  notes.  It  serves 
again  to  corroborate  the  opinion  which  I  expressed  six  years  ago,  con- 
cerning the  character  of  all  my  New-Mexican  Spanish  folk-lore  material; 
namely,  that  it  is  Spanish  in  every  sense.  The  changes  that  it  has 
undergone  in  New  Mexico  are  the  natural  changes  that  are  to  be 
expected  in  material  that  has  been  preserved  in  oral  tradition  for  over 
three  hundred  years.  The  nursery  rhymes  and  children's  songs, 
therefore,  the  same  as  the  superstitions,  folk-tales,  proverbs,  riddles, 
children's  games,  and  other  materials  already  published,  again  give 
abundant  testimony  to  this  fact.  The  Indian  and  English  elements 
have  no  importance  whatever  in  the  development  of  New-Mexican 
Spanish  folk-lore.  If  here  and  there  one  is  able  to  detect  an  Indian 
or  English  influence,  they  are  very  rare  exceptions.  I  myself  have 
been  often  under  the  impression  that  a  certain  melody,  for  example, 
was  of  Indian  origin,  and  have  been  afterwards  agreeably  surprised  on 
discovering  that  the  same  or  a  similar  melody  is  well  known  also  in 
Spain,  Chile,  or  Argentina.  I  hope  that  in  the  future  folk-lorists  will 
publish  the  music  of  all  popular  songs,  nursery  rhymes,  and  even  of 
the  recitative  rhymes,  in  order  to  determine  the  character  of  Spanish 
nursery  melodies,  etc. 

A  word  should  be  said  about  the  term  "nursery  rhymes."  In 
Spanish  this  term  is  used  in  a  general  way,  applying  to  metrical  or 
non-metrical  compositions  of  children,  with  rhythm  and  assonance, 
rarely  rhyme.     Rhythm  is  often  the  most  important  factor. 


Periquillo  el  labrador 
muerto  io  Uevan  en  un  colch6n. 
El  colch6n  era  de  lana. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  una  rana. 
Y  la  rana  tenia  su  pico. 

I,  2.  See  Rodriguez  Marin  No.  i8o.  The  New-Mexican  versions  are  from 
the  same  original.  No.  2  is  longer  than  the  version  of  Rodriguez 
Marin.  All  three,  however,  are  evidently  traditional  versions  of  an 
old   Spanish   original.     The  variants  given   by   R.    Marin   for  the 

1  Revue  Hispanique,  April,  1915. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  521 

Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  burrico. 
Y  el  burrico  era  cerrero. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  carnero. 
El  carnero  era  de  un  viejo. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  pellejo. 
El  pellejo  era  Colorado. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  amortajado. 
La  mortaja  era  de  sayal; 
pinto  y  muy  largo  el  costal. 

2. 
iQuiquiriquf,  del  agua  son! 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  colch6n. 
El  colch6n  era  de  lana. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  una  rana; 
y  la  rana  era  trompico. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  burrico; 
y  el  burrico  era  cerrero. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  carnero. 
El  carnero  era  de  un  pato. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  zapato; 
y  el  zapato  era  de  un  viejo. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  en  un  pellejo; 
y  el  pellejo  era  Colorado. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  amortajado. 
La  mortaja  era  de  sayal. 
Muerto  lo  llevan  a  enterrar 
entre  cuatro  lagartijos, 
y  un  gato  de  sacristan. 

3- 

—  Manana,  domingo, 
se  casa  Benito 

con  un  borreguito. 

—  iQuien  es  la  madrina? 

—  Dona  Catalina. 

Peninsular  version  (notes,  p.  143)  are  more  like  the  New-Mexican 
verses  in  question.  New-Mexican  children  recite  these  meaningless 
rhymes  in  a  quick,  lively,  sing-song  fashion,  with  two  strong  accents 
in  each  verse,  in  the  third  or  fourth  and  in  the  last  accented  syllables. 
It  is  significant  that  each  of  the  three  versions  has  a  different  be- 
ginning. In  the  Spanish  version  the  protagonist  is  Periquiyo  el 
aguao  {aguador),  while  in  the  New-Mexican  versions  he  is  Periquillo 
el  lahrador  in  one,  and  in  the  other  we  have  the  name  and  trade 
omitted.  The  words  del  agua  son  are  absolutely  meaningless,  and  are 
probably  meant  for  the  words  el  agiiad  of  the  older  Spanish  version. 
The  version  of  Llorca  {op.  cit.,  126)  is  fragmentary. 
3,  4.  These  nursery  rhymes  are  also  traditional.  Versions  of  them 
have  been  found  in  Spain,  Argentina,  Venezuela,  and  Cuba.  See 
Rodriguez  Marin  I,  p.  56;   and  Notes  128-129;  B.T.P.  IV,  152;  Giro 


522  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

—  ^Qui6n  es  el  padrino? 

—  Don  Juan  Botij6n. 

—  ^De  qu6  hacen  la  fiesta? 

—  De  un  cadaj6n, 

—  iQuien  se  la  come? 

—  El  perro  pastor. 

4- 

—  Mariana,  domingo, 
se  casa  Benito 

con  un  borreguito. 

—  iQuien  es  la  madrina? 

—  Dofia  Catalina. 

—  (jQuien  es  el  padrino? 
Don  Juan  Botij6n. 

—  Piquenle  la  panza 
a  ese  viejo  barbon 
con  su  bastdn, 
Amos*  a  la  fiesta 
del  indio  Manuel, 

a  comer  tamales; 
y  chile  tamien. 

5- 
Dijo  el  gallo: 

—  Quiquiriqui. 
Cristo  naci6. 
Dice  la  oveja: 

—  En  Bel^n. 

—  Vamos  a  ver. 

—  No  es  menester. 

6. 

Chato,  narato, 
narices  de  gato: 
Subites^  al  cerro, 
narices  de  perro. 
Bajates^  al  plan, 
narices  de  gavildn. 

7- 

Nino,   nino,   nino, 

patas  de  cochino. 

Nano,   nano,    nano, 

patas  de   marrano. 


Bayo,  Romancerillo  del   Plata  (Madrid,   1913),  p.  89;  and  Llorca, 
p.  193.     The  name  of  the  madrina  has  remained  the  same  in  all  the 
versions,  Doha  Catalina,  but  that  of  the  padrino  has  various  forms. 
5.  See  Giro  Bayo,  Romancerillo,  p.  86;  and  Rodriguez  Marin  No.  124. 

1  Vamos.    See  Studies.  I,  §§  29.  178.  2  See  Studies.  II.  §  108. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  523 

8. 

Giieja  pelada, 
de  la  Canada. 
Guej'*  e  sandia, 
de  la  cieneguia. 

9. 
Antono;  retono, 
calz6n  colorau; 
camisa  de  juera,^ 
s —  atorau. 

10. 

—  (iQuien  te  pel6, 

que  las  orejas  no  te  cort6? 

—  El  burro  que  me  pregunt6. 

II. 

Santa  Maria: 
come  tortia.' 
Madre  de  Dios, 
dame  de  a  dos. 
Am6n: 
yo  como  tambi^n. 

12. 
Children  say  that  the  Indians  bless  themselves  thus :  — 

Perengiiengii^, 
per^ngiiencruz; 
sicala,  m&cala, 
Am^n  Jesiis. 

13- 
Padre  nuestro  que  est^s  en  los  cielos, 
Tu  cuidas  las  vacas  y  yo  los  becerros. 
Santificado  sea  tu  nombre, 
danos  licor  a  todos  los  hombres. 

10.  See  Rodriguez  Marin  No.  145;  Llorca,  op.  cit.,  187;  and  B.T.P.  IV,  162. 
The  last,  which  is  a  Galician  version,  is  more  like  the  New-Mexican. 

13.  See  Rodriguez  Marin  I,  pp.  125-126.  The  versions  of  R.M.  beginning 
Dominus  vohisco  and  Los  mdndamientos  del  pobre  are  also  known  in 
New  Mexico.  I  have  no  versions  in  my  collectanea,  but  remember 
having  heard  similar  rhymes.  The  rhyme  for  Orate,  Fratres,  was 
Ya  te  f regales. 

1  Studies,  I,  §87;  and  II,  §94.         ^  studies,  I,  §  100.  »  Ibid.,  §  158  (e). 


524  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

14. 
Por  la  senal 
de  la  santa  canal; 
comi  frijoles 
y  me  hicieron  mal. 

15- 
El  que  da  y  quita 
le  sale  una  corcobita; 
y  viene  el  diablo 
y  se  la  quita 
con  su  navajita.* 

16. 

Al  que  da  y  quita 
le  sale  una  corcobita; 
y  viene  el  diablo 
y  se  la  corta 
con  su  navajita.^ 

17. 
EI  que  escucha 
m —  embucha 
y  echa  m — 
en  su  cachucha. 

18. 

—  No  te  importa. 

—  Zampa  torta. 

19- 
El  burrito  esta  contento 
en  las  puertas  del  convento. 
Tii  te  comes  lo  de  afuera, 
y  yo  me  como  el  bastimento. 

14.  See  Rodriguez  Marin  I,  No.  90;  Ramon  A.Laval,  "  Oraciones,  Ensalmos 

y  Conjuros  del  Pueblo  Chileno"  (Santiago,  1910,  "Revista  de  Folk- 
lore Chileno"  Ij,  p.  99;  and  the  Catalonian  version  given  in  Rodriguez 
Marin  I,  Notes,  p.  125.  See  also  our  reference  to  No.  13,  above.  The 
parodies  of  prayers  are  very  numerous  in  Spanish.  A  parody  similar 
to  the  above  is  found  also  in  Portuguese  (see  Sylvio  Romero,  Cantos 
Populares  do  Brazil  [Lisboa,  1883],  II,  127).  The  New-Mexican 
version  is  evidently  incomplete. 

15,  16.     See  Rodriguez  Marin,  Nos.  156,  157;  and  B.T.P.  II,  22.     In  notes 

(p.  127)  R.  Marin  gives  Italian  versions.  The  New-Mexican  version 
lacks  the  traditional  beginning,  Rita,  Rita,  but  is  much  longer  than 
the  others. 

1  See  "New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.     IV.  Proverbs,"  No.  i  (this  Journal,  vol. 
xxvi). 


New- Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  525 


20. 
Entre  Mel6n  y  Melamba 
mataron  una  ternera. 
Mel6n  se  comi6  la  carne, 
Melamba  la  cagalera. 

21. 
Lagana  Pestana 
mat6  a  su  mujer, 
con  un  cuchillito 
del  tamano  d61. 

22. 

—  Dame  tortilla. 

—  Brinca  pa  arriba 

y  agdrrate  la  pajaria. 

23- 

—  Mam&,  tengo  hambre; 
yo  quiero  pan. 

—  Hija,  no  tengo; 
baila  el  cancin. 

24. 
Fuf  a  la  China, 
sin  saber  a  que, 
y  compre  un  chaquet6n 
del  tamano  de  ust6. 

25- 
Agua  si,  agua  no: 
agua  del  tanque^  no  bebo  yo. 
Porque  si,  porque  no, 
porque  mi  padre  me  lo  mand6. 

26. 
Vamos  pa  arriba; 
no  tengo  barriga. 
Vamos  pa  abajo; 
no  tengo  espinazo. 

27- 
Una  vieja,  murre  vieja, 
de  la  eda  de  Salom6n, 
se  echaba  la  teta  al  hombro, 
que  le  arrastraba  al  tal6n. 
De  las  tetas  de  esta  vieja, 
porque  eran  largas  y  aguadas, 
salieron  doscientas  reatas, 
arciones  y  cabezadas. 
I  Estanque.     See  Studies,  I,  §  203. 


526  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

28. 

Senora  Santa  Ana, 
senor  San  Juaquin, 
arroyi^  este  nino, 
se  quiere  dormir. 

29. 
San  Lorenzo, 
labrador, 
ruega  a  Dies 
que  saiga  el  sol. 

30. 
San  Lorenzo, 
barbas  de  oro, 
ruega  a  Dios 
que  llueva  a  chorros. 

31- 

Sol,  Sol, 
toma  este  diente 
y  dame  otro  mejor. 

32. 

Sana,  sana, 

culito  de  rana; 

si  no  sanas  hoy, 

sanaris  manana. 

33- 
Que  Dios  te  ampare 
y  un  perro  te  agarre. 

34- 
Padre  mio, 
San  Amador, 
todas  pollitas 
y  un  cantador. 

35. 
Oremos,  oremos, 
angelitos  semos; 
del  cielo  venemos.^ 

28.  See  Rodriguez  Marfn  No.  1027.     The  Spanish  version  is  recited  by  the 

child  himself,  before  retiring;  while  the  New-Mexican,  although  al- 
most identical,  is  sung  by  the  nurse  or  mother  on  rocking  the  child 
to  sleep. 

29,  30.     I  have  seen  no  Peninsular-Spanish  versions  of  these  rhymed  exor- 

cisms, but  Laval  has  published  similar  versions  from  Chile  (Oraciones, 

Ensalmos,  etc.,  p.  155). 

*  This  may  be  for  arroyad.  *  See  Studies,  II,  §  105. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore,  527 


Si  no  nos  dan, 
puertas  y  ventanas 
quebraremos. 

36. 
Santa  Bdrbara,  doncella, 
Ifbranos  de  la  centella. 

37. 
Santa  B&rbara,  bendita, 
que  en  el  clelo  estds  escrita 
con  papel  y  agua  bendita, 
Santa  Bdrbara,  doncella, 
llbranos  del  rayo  y  de  la  centella. 

38.  Oraci6n. 

—  <?Qui6n  en  esta  casa  da  luz? 
Jesus. 

—  iQui^n  la  llena  de  alegria? 
Maria. 

—  iQui^n  la  abraza  en  la  f6? 
Jos6. 

Pues  bien  claro  se  ve 

que  siempre  habra  contrici6n, 

teniendo  en  el  coraz6n 

a  Jesijs,  Maria  y  Jos6. 

39. 
iQui6n  ha  dicho  que  yo  he  dicho 
que  tal  dicho  he  dicho  yo? 
El  que  ha  dicho  que  yo  he  dicho 


36,  37.  See  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore,  vol.  xxiii,  p.  22;  Ram6n  A. 
Laval,  op.  cit.,  154-155;  B.T.P.  IV,  119;  and  Rodriguez  Marin  I, 
Nos.  998,  999.  All  these  versions  are  very  much  alike,  are  versions 
of  primitive  Spanish  originals,  and  give  testimony  to  the  custom  of 
invoking  the  aid  of  Santa  Barbara  against  thunderbolt,  lightning,  and 
earthquakes.  In  New  Mexico  there  exists  the  custom,  as  in  Chile, 
of  burning  palm  that  has  been  blessed  on  Palm  Sunday  at  the  time 
of  the  recitation  of  the  invocations.  The  invocations  to  Santa 
Barbara  are  evidently  traditional  and  very  old. 

38.  This  is  a  children's  prayer.  It  is  recited  alone,  or  more  commonly  as  the 
beginning  of  the  very  popular  Bendito  y  alabado  sea  el  Santisimo 
Sacramento  del  Altar,  etc.  In  an  old  Pastorela,  or  Nativity 
play,  found  here  in  California,  these  verses  are  part  of  the  opening 
scene,  when  the  shepherds  first  appear.  See  also  Ram6n  A.  Laval 
{pp.  cit.,  p.  128),  where  similar  verses  appear  in  a  different  prayer. 

39-42.  See  Rodriguez  Marin  I,  Nos.  191-199;  and  Notes,  pp.  146-147. 
These  rhymes  belong  to  the  class  called  in  Spanish  trahalenguas,  and, 
like  the  similar  rhymes  in  English  and  other  languages,  are  used  to 


528  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

que  tal  dicho  he  dicho  yo,  minti6. 

Si  yo  hubiera  dicho  que  tal  dicho 
habia  dicho  yo,  bien  dicho  hubiera  estado, 
porque  tal  dicho  lo  hubiera  dicho  yo. 

40. 

—  Pijaro  pinto,  peludo,  peripanzudo, 
^porque  tienes  tus  hijos,  pajaros 
pintos,  peludos,  peripanzudos? 

—  Porque  mi  nana  es  pijara  pinta, 
peluda,  peripanzuda. 

41. 

Atrip  de  una  mata  seca 
comi  miel  y  hierba  seca. 

Atris  de  una  mata  seca 
comi  miel  y  hierba  seca. 

42. 
De  Guadalajara  vengo, 
jara  traigo  y  jara  vendo. 
A  medio  vendo  la  jara. 
iQu6  jara  tan  barata  vendo! 

43- 
Uno,  dos  —  senor  Juan  de  Dios. 
Dos,  tres  —  senor  Juan  Andres. 
Tres,  cuatro  —  senor  Juan  Lobato. 
Cuatro,  cinco  —  senor  Jacinto. 
Cinco,  seis  —  senior  Monseis. 
Seis,  siete  —  seiior  Pericuete. 

44. 

Una  —  ti6  Juan  de  Luna. 
Dos  —  ti6  Juan  de  Dios. 
Tres  —  tio  Juan  Andres. 
Cuatro —  tio  Juan  Lobato. 
Cinco —  pega  un  brinco. 

45. 
Uno  —  tio  Bruno. 
Dos  —  ti6  Juan  de  Dios. 

teach  children  pronunciation  or  are  for  mere  amusement,  since  some 
of  them  are  well-nigh  impossible  to  pronounce  rapidly  and  correctly. 
No.  40  is  a  short  version  of  Rodriguez  Marin  No.  198. 
43-45.  These  three  versions  are  directly  related,  and  are  probably  variants 
of  the  same  Spanish  original.  The  Galician  version  from  Coruiia 
(given  in  B.T.P.  IV,  p.  160)  is  a  close  parallel  to  New  Mexico  45. 
This  last  is  evidently  a  faithful  version  of  the  original.  The  longer 
and  quite  different  rhymes  of  Rodriguez  Marin  (I,  Nos.  243,  244) 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  529 


Tres  —  ti6  Juan  Andr6s. 
Cuatro —  ti6  Juan  Lobato. 
Cinco  —  ti6  Jacinto. 
Seis  —  ti6  Mons^is. 
Siete  —  ti6  Pcricuete. 
Ocho  —  come  bizcocho. 
Nueve  —  alza  la  colita  y  bebe. 
Diez  —  ^Izala  otra  vez. 
Once  —  perrito  de  bronce. 

46. 

Contando  los  botones. 
Pobre,  Rico,  M6ndigo,  Ladr6n. 
Pobre,  Rico,  M^ndigo,  Ladr6n. 
Etc. 

47. 
Ya  el  tecolote^  no  baila 
porque  no  tiene  calzones. 
Manana  le  van  a  hacer 
del  cuerito  e  los  ratones. 

48. 
Ya  el  tecolote  no  baila 
porque  no  tiene  zapatos. 
Manana  le  van  a  hacer 
del  cuerito  de  los  gatos. 


are  of  entirely  different  origin.  Rhymes  similar  to  the  above  are 
found  in  nearly  all  European  countries.  See  Newell,  op.  cit.,  pp.  197 
fol. 
46.  These  rhymes  are  used  by  children  to  tell  the  future.  I  have  not  found 
any  similar  rhymes  in  the  folk-literature  of  any  other  Spanish  country. 
It  may  well  be,  however,  a  traditional  Spanish  rhyme.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  fact  that  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  Spanish  folk-literature 
which  I  know,  and  the  fact  that  in  New  Mexico  one  frequently  hears 
among  American  children  the  well-known  English  rhymes, 

"Rich  man,  poor  man,  beggerman,  thief, 
Doctor,  lawyer,  merchant,  chief," 

lead  one  to  the  supposition  that  the  New-Mexican  children  may  have 
composed  original  Spanish  rhymes  based  on  the  English.  If  this  is  true, 
it  is  a  very  rare  case  of  such  compositions.  Although  New-Mexican 
Spanish  has  already  been  influenced  in  its  vocabulary  and  syntax 
by  the  English  language,  the  traditional  folk-literature  and  customs 
and  ideas  are  yet  thoroughly  Spanish,  and  will  probably  remain  so 
forever.  See  my  Studies  in  New-Mexican  Spanish,  Part  III,  The 
English  Elements  (1914),  Chapter  I. 
47-56.  These  are  really  coplas  populares.  They  are  known  by  both  young 
and  old.  I  include  them  here,  because  these  are  very  popular  among 
children  of  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  of  age.  Nos.  51-53  are  connected, 
and  form  a  popular  cancioncilla,  or,  as  New-Mexicans  call  it,  cantadita, 

>  Buho. 


530  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

49- 
jAh,  qu6  recontento  estoy, 
porque  me  ha  hecho  mi  madre 
unos  pantalones  nuevos 
de  los  viejos  de  mi  padre! 

50. 
Me  asom6  por  la  ventana, 
a  ver  que  estaban  vendiendo: 
los  calazones  de  ti6  Suaso, 
hechos  un  vivo  remiendo. 

51- 

iQnk  esti  haciendo  e?a  paloma, 
sentadita  en  su  ventana? 

Esperando  a  su  palomo, 
que  le  traiga  la  manana. 

52. 
Tu  eres  mi  paloma  blanca; 
yo  soy  tu  palomo  azul. 
Juntaremos  los  piquitos, 
y  haremos  curucucii. 

53- 

iQnk  esta  haciendo  esa  paloma, 
sentada  en  esa  azotea? 

Mirando  a  los  sinverguenzas 
empinarse  la  botella. 

54- 
En  la  Villa  matan  vacas, 
en  la  Canada  ratones, 
y  ancase'  lo?  Riberitas 
retumban  los  alberjones. 

55- 
San  Pedro  tir6  una  piedra 
de  una  escalera  pa  abajo; 
y  le  respondi6  San  Pablo: 
—  No  tires  calvo,  carajo. 

56. 

En  la  ciuda  de  no  s^  onde 
adoraban  no  s6  que  santo. 
Le  rezaban  no  s6  que, 
y  le  ofrecian  no  sk  cuanto. 


and  its  melody  is  frequently  played  to  accompany  children's  dancing- 
parties.  Children  often  dance  and  sing  the  coplas  at  the  same  time. 
As  independent  coplas,  to  be  sung  on  any  occasion,  however,  all 
children  know  them. 

'  En  casa  de.     See  Studies,  II,  §  97. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  531 


57- 
Yo  me  enamord 
de  una  melindrosa, 
no  muy  bonita, 
no  muy  preciosa, 
ni  muy  graciosa; 
las  narices  tuertas, 
la  boca  en  un  lado, 
la  frente  sumida, 
los  ojos  apagaus. 

58. 
Tatacotes,  retefea, 
bigotes  de  salea; 
cuerpo  de  tabla 
que  no  sabe  con  quien  habla. 

59. 
Eres  como  Juan  G6mez, 
tu  lo  compras  y  tu  te  lo  comes. 

60. 

Jariru; 
sabe  mas  el  burro  que  tu. 

61. 

Jarirusa; 
calzones  de  gamusa. 

62. 

Tortillitas  pa  papi, 
tortillitas  pa  mama. 

Tortillitas  pa  papd, 
tortillitas  pa  mami. 

63. 
Mama,  mami, 
me  quiero  casar, 
con  un  soldadito 
que  sepa  marchar. 


59.  This  is  a  popular  dicho,  or  refrdn.  Children  make  use  of  it  when  some 
child  buys  or  is  given  something  to  eat  and  eats  it  all  himself,  without 
giving  part  of  it  to  any  one. 

60-61.  These  rhymes  show  how  even  New-Mexican  Spanish  children  amuse 
themselves  at  the  expense  of  their  English-speaking  friends,  whether 
these  be  Spanish  or  English.  Jariru  is  meant  for  the  current  American 
pronunciation  of  "  How  do  you  do?"  and  Jarirusa  for  "How  do  you  do, 
sir?"  For  many  more  plays  on  words  of  such  character,  used  by 
adults  in  anecdotes,  etc.,  see  this  Journal,  vol.  xxvii,  p.  144. 

62.  See  B.T.P.  II,  p.  121;  and  Newell,  op.  cit.,  p.  90. 


532  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

64. 

Corre,  muchacho, 
corre  a  caballo, 
que  la  gallina 
quiere  otro  gallo. 

Corre,  muchacho, 
por  la  azotea, 
que  la  gallina 
cacaraquea. 

Corre,  muchacho, 
corre  corriendo, 
que  la  gallina 
ya  estk  poniendo. 

65.   EL  TECOLOTE. 

—  Tecolote,  iDe  onde  vienes? 
Tecolote,  ,jDe  6nde  vienes? 

—  Del  Pueblo  del  Colorido. 
Del  Pueblo  del  Colorido. 
Vengo  a  trairte  esta  noticia, 
vengo  a  trairte  esta  noticia, 

65.  This  is  a  very  popular  New- Mexican  and  Colorado  cantadita,  both 
among  young  and  old.  Parents  often  hold  children  on  their  lap  and 
sing  it  to  them  or  with  them. 

The  version  which  I  give  is  from  Colorado,  and  I  first  had  thought 
that  it  was  common  only  in  Colorado  and  composed  there.  I  have 
no  version  from  New  Mexico,  but  I  have  been  assured  by  many  that 
it  is  well  known  in  New  Mexico  also.  How  it  happened  that  I 
collected  no  New  Mexico  version  I  do  not  know.  That  it  is  a  tra- 
ditional Spanish  folk-song,  however,  is  absolutely  beyond  doubt, 
as  the  following  version  shows. 

Our  version  has  some  changes  adapted  to  local  conditions.  In  the 
Chile  version  given  below  we  have  Vengo  de  la  mar  volando,  which  may 
belong  to  the  old  traditional  version,  while  the  New  Mexico  and  Colo- 
rado version  says  Del  Pueblo  del  Colorido.  The  city  of  Pueblo,  Col., 
is  meant.  Colorido  for  Colorado  (name  of  the  State)  is  common  in 
New-Mexican  Spanish. 

For  several  years  I  had  been  under  the  impression  that  this  popu- 
lar song  was  of  late  New-Mexican  (or  even  Colorado)  origin.  In 
the  summer  of  191 3  I  made  an  extensive  folk-lore  expedition  through 
Southern  California.  In  Santa  Barbara  I  found  a  Chilean  who  was  a 
regular  storehouse  of  folk-lore,  especially  poetry.  Among  other  mate- 
rials I  obtained  from  him  the  following  version  of  "El  Tecolote," 
which  settles  all  doubts  concerning  the  origin  of  this  popular  song. 
It  is  an  old  Spanish  cancioncilla,  although  it  may  have  suffered 
important  changes.    The  word  tecolote  is  American  (Nahuatl  source^'' 

1  See  Juan  Fernandez  Ferraz,  Nahuatlismos  de  Costa  Rica  (1892),  s.v. 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  533 

que  tu  amante  anda  perdido, 
que  tu  amante  anda  perdido, 

—  iQu6  bonito  tecolotito! 
iQu6  bonito  tecolotito! 

—  iCu! 

iCurucucu,  cu,  cu! 
jCurucucu,  cu,  cu! 

—  iQu6  bonito  tecolotito! 

—  iCu! 

—  ^Tienes  hambre,  tecolotito? 
iTienes  hambre,  tecolotito? 

—  iCu! 

iCurucucu,  cu,  cu! 
jCurucucu,  cu,  cu! 

—  (jTienes  hambre,  tecolotito? 

—  jCu! 


I  now  give  the  Chile  version.     My  reciter  affirms  that  he  learned 
the  song  in  Chile,  and  not  in  California. 

—  I  De  onde  vienes,  tecolote? 
I  De  6nde  vienes,  tecolote? 

—  I  Ay,  vengo  de  la  mar  volandol 

I  Ay,  vengo  de  la  mar  volandol     Iju,  ju! 

Vengo  buscando  a  mi  tecolota, 

vengo  buscando  a  mi  tecolota; 

y  ella  tambien  me  viene  buscando, 

y  ella  tambien  me  viene  buscando.     IJu,  jul 

—  Si  yo  fuera  el  tecolote, 
si  yo  fuera  el  tecolote, 
me  estuviera  en  mi  nidito, 
me  estuviera  en  mi  nidito; 
me  acabara  de  emplumar, 

me  acabara  de  emplumar.     iJu,  jul 

Ay,  del  golfo  de  la  mar, 

ay,  del  golfo  de  la  mar, 

salio  un  patito,  diciendo, 

salio  un  patito,  diciendo:  IJu,  ju! 

Ora  me  has  de  alimentar,  ay, 
ora  me  has  de  alimentar,  ay; 
no  cuando  me  este  muriendo, 
no  cuando  me  este  muriendo.     IJu,  jul 

The  tonadillas  of  the  New-Mexican  and  Chile  compositions  are 
also  very  much  alike,  and  reveal  a  common  source. 


534  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 

66.  EL   PIOJO   Y  LA  LIENDRE   I. 

El  piojo  y  la  liendre  se  quieren  casar 
y  no  se  han  casado  por  falta  de  pan. 
Responde  la  vaca  desde  su  corral: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas;  yo  pondre  el  pan. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  pan  tenemos; 
ahora  la  carne  idonde  hallaremos? 
Responde  el  lobo  desde  el  lobazal: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas;  yo  pongo  un  costillar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  carne  tenemos; 
ora,  quien  la  guise,  ^d6nde  hallaremos? 

— Responden  las  moscas  desde  su  moscal: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  iremos  a  guisar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  quien  guise  tenemos: 
ora,  quien  la  coma,  id6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  el  coyote  de  su  coyotal: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ire  a  zampar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  quien  zampe  tenemos; 
ahora,  quien  toque,  ^d6nde  hallaremos? 

—  Responde  el  grillo  desde  su  grillal: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ire  a  tocar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  quien  toque  tenemos; 
ahora,  quien  baile,  id6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  la  arana  desde  su  arafial: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ire  a  bailar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  quien  baile  tenemos; 
ahora,  padrinos,  ,id6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  el  rat6n  de  su  ratonal: 

—  Amarren  los  gatos,  yo  ire  apadrinar. 
En  la  primer  mesa  y  al  primer  vino 
sueltanse  los  gatos,  comense  al  padrino. 

(  Version  from  Socorro,  New  Mexico.) 

67.  EL   PIOJO   Y   LA   LIENDRE  II. 

El  piojo  y  la  liendre  se  van  a  casar 
y  no  se  han  casado  por  falta  de  pan. 
Responde  la  vaca  desde  su  corral: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  pondre  el  pan. 

66,  67.  These  are  really  traditional  Spanish  ballad-rhymes.  Version  66  was 
printed  in  my  "Romancero  Nuevomejicano"  (No.  27).  The  Taos 
version  T  received  lately  from  my  father.  Both  versions  are  wonder- 
fully well  preserved,  and  are  good  examples  of  the  vitality  of  Spanish 
tradition  in  New  Mexico.  For  real  traditional  New-Mexican  Spanish 
ballads  derived  from  Spanish  versions  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  see  my  "Romancero  Nuevomejicano."  Numerous 
versions  of  these  are  known  in  New  Mexico  and  California.  The 
only  complete  Peninsular-Spanish  version  which  I  have  seen  of  this 
traditional  composition  is  the  one  given  by  Rodriguez  Marin  (I,  No. 
179).     The  assonances  change  more  frequently  than  in  the  New- 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  535 

—  Albricias,  albricias,  ya  pan  tenemos; 
ahora,  dinero,  id6nde  hallaremos? 

—  Responde  el  becerro  desde  su  chiquero: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  yo  pondrt  el  dinero. 

—  Albricias,  albricias,  dinero  tenemos; 
ahora,  quien  guise,  id6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  la  chinche  desde  su  chinchal: 
— Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ir6  a  guisar, 

—  Albricias,  albricias,  qui^n  guise  tenemos; 
y  ahora,  qui^n  toque,  ,jd6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  el  grillo  desde  su  grillal: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ire  a  tocar. 

—  Albricias,  albricias,  quien  toque  tenemos; 
y  ahora,  quien  baile,  td6nde  hallaremos? 
Responde  la  arafia  desde  su  arafial: 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  que  yo  ir6  a  bailar. 

—  Que  sigan  las  bodas,  quien  baile  tenemos; 
y  ahora,  padrinos,  idonde  hallaremos? 
Responde  el  rat6n  de  su  ratonal: 

—  Amarren  los  gatos,  yo  ir6  apadrinar. 
Estando  en  la  boda  repartiendo  vino 
su^ltanse  los  gatos,  s6planse  al  padrino. 

(  Version  from  Taos,  New  Mexico.) 

68. 

fiste  era  un  gato, 
con  los  pies  de  trapo 
y  los  osjos  al  reves. 
(iQuieres  que  te  lo  cuente  otra  vez? 

Mexican  version,  but  both  versions  are  essentially  the  same.  In 
Notes,  p.  142,  R.  Marin  gives  fragments  of  other  Spanish  versions, 
one  of  which,  a  Sevillan  version,  seems  to  have  the  common  -a 
assonance,  as  in  the  New-Mexican  versions.  As  for  metre,  all  these 
versions  are  in  a  Spanish  twelve-syllable  metre,  composed  of  two 
hemistichs,  with  a  fixed  accent  on  the  fifth  syllable  of  each.  The 
caesura  is  in  all  verses  well  determined.  This  is  a  well-known 
Spanish  ballad  metre,  although  not  as  popular  as  the  famous  verso 
de  romance. 
68.  See  B.T.P.  IV.  159;  Rodriguez  Marin  I,  No.  63;  R.  A.  Laval,  Revista 
de  Derecho,  etc.  (Buenos  Aires,  1909),  vol.  xxxii,  p.  527.  This  is  a 
formula  which  probably  accompanied  a  longer  Cuento  de  nunca 
acabar.  Some  of  these  had  as  a  basis  a  long  folk-tale;  but  in  most 
cases  the  tale  itself  has  been  forgotten,  and  the  formula  alone  has 
remained.  The  New-Mexican  version,  however,  has  all  the  ap- 
pearances of  being  an  independent  nursery  rhyme.  See  also  my 
"Comparative  Notes  on  New-Mexican  and  Mexican  Spanish  Folk- 
Tales"  (this  Journal,  vol.  xxvii,  pp.  227-228). 
Leland  Stanford,  Jr.,  University, 

California. 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  114. — 35. 


536  Journal  oj  American  Folk-Lore. 


NEW-MEXICAN  SPANISH   FOLK-LORE. 

BY   BARBARA  FREIRE-MARRECO. 

[The  following  fragments  of  New-Mexican  Spanish  folk-lore  were 
collected  by  Miss  Barbara  Freire-Marreco  of  Oxford,  England,  in  the 
New-Mexican  Tewa  pueblo  of  Santa  Clara  in  the  years  191 1  and 
1913.  Although  the  collection  is  very  fragmentary,  it  is  very  im- 
portant from  various  points  of  view.  We  have  here  another  eloquent 
demonstration  of  the  vigor  and  vitality  of  Spanish  tradition  which  we 
have  emphasized  many  times  in  our  study  of  Nev/-Mexican  Spanish 
folk-lore.  The  Pueblo  Indians  of  New  Mexico  have  given  very 
little  to  the  great  traditional  treasure  of  Spanish  folk-lore  of  New 
Mexico,  —  in  fact,  nothing  at  all, — while  some  of  them  have  not 
only  learned  the  Spanish  language  and  accepted  the  religion  and 
customs  of  the  Spanish  people,  but  have  actually  absorbed  a  con- 
*  siderable  amount  of  Spanish  folk-lore  material. 

The  present  collection,  therefore,  opens  a  new  field  to  Spanish 
folk-lorists  in  New  Mexico  and  the  Southwest;  namely,  the  study  of 
the  Spanish  folk-lore  which  is  to  be  found  among  the  Indians,  —  not 
only  the  Pueblo  Indians,  but  also  other  tribes.  When  the  Indians 
were  under  the  control  of  the  Spaniards  and  in  close  association  with 
them,  the  Indians  must  have  continually  absorbed  Spanish  traditions, 
customs,  and  beliefs.  Since  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
however,  the  Indians  of  New  Mexico  have  been  instructed  in  English, 
and  the  old  Spanish  intercourse  has  decreased  greatly.  It  is  quite 
probable,  therefore,  that  the  Spanish  folk-lore  to  be  found  to-day 
among  the  Indians  who  know  Spanish,  and  among  the  New-Mexican 
Spanish  who  live  near  them  and  associate  with  them,  belongs  to  an 
older  stage  than  that  found  among  the  Spanish  New-Mexicans. 
Many  things  already  lost  and  forgotten  by  the  New-Mexicans  may 
be  yet  preserved  in  the  oral  traditions  of  the  Pueblo  Indians  of  New 
Mexico  and  their  New-Mexican  neighbors.  The  New-Mexican 
Spanish  fragments  of  Miss  Freire-Marreco  give  evident  proof  that 
one  may  find  important  folk-lore  surprises  in  this  field.  The  two 
traditional  ballads  alone  are  worth  an  expedition  to  the  Pueblo  of 
Santa  Clara.  — Aurelio  M,  Espinosa.] 

The  following  stories  (historias)  were  given  to  me  in  February, 
191 1,  together  with  a  number  of  more  strictly  Indian  tales,  by  Don 
Jose  Manuel  Naranjo  (since  deceased),  a  Tewa  Indian  of  the  Pueblo 
of  Santa  Clara,  Rio  Arriba  County,  New  Mexico.     He  told  them  in  a 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  537 

mixture  of  broken  Spanish,  Tewa,  and  English,  —  the  last  supplied 
by  his  wife, — which  I  was  not  then  competent  to  record  literally: 
I  am  therefore  obliged  to  use  the  English  version,  which  I  wrote  down 
immediately  after  hearing  each  story,  referring  to  him  on  all  doubtful 
points. 

A   STORY  ABOUT   SANTO   DOMINGO. 

Santo  Domingo,  before  he  was  a  saint,  lived  at  home  with  his  father 
and  mother;  and  they  were  very,  very  old,  and  so  small  that  he  kept 
them  in  two  cradles,  like  babies  [here  the  narrator  imitated  the  swinging 
of  a  Tewa  cradle,  which  is  suspended  from  the  roof  by  long  strips  of 
rawhide  or  cords],  and  fed  them  with  a  spoon. ^  On  Sundays  he  saddled 
his  horse  and  rode  to  mass,  and  tied  his  horse  to  the  Cross  [i.e.,  in 
the  plaza  between  the  church  and  the  cemetery]  and  went  over  to  the 
church  without  taking  off  his  spurs;  and  in  mid-mass,  as  soon  as  the 
padre  gave  the  blessing,  he  came  out  and  untied  his  horse  and  went 
home.  Then  he  came  back  to  his  house  and  found  his  little  father  and 
mother,  one  on  each  side  of  the  fire;  and  they  patted  his  cheeks,  like 
babies,  and  called  him  "tata." 

One  day  there  came  an  almitayo^  to  the  church.  {What  is  that? 
It  is  a  sort  of  man,  but  with  a  long  beard  down  to  the  middle  —  I  do 
not  know  exactly  whether  it  is  a  Mexican,  or  a  saint,  or  an  Indian,  or 
perhaps  something  that  God  made,  gtiisds  Dios  puso;  ^  he  is  not  in  the 
towns,  but  always  in  the  mountains,  going  about.  I  met  one  when  I 
went  east;  he  could  tell  whether  people  had  a  good  heart  or  not  — 
quisds  Dios  le  puso  tambien  a  ese  hombre.  He  had  a  little  dish;  and 
when  he  went  into  a  house,  he  used  to  mix  corn-meal  porridge  in  it 
and  divide  the  porridge  in  two  parts  with  a  spoon ;  and  if  the  owner 
of  the  house  had  a  good  heart,  they  both  went  on  eating,  and  the 
porridge  was  still  there.)  So  the  padre  asked  this  almitayo  to  find 
out  why  Santo  Domingo  went  out  from  mass  in  such  a  hurry.  So 
next  Sunday  in  mid-mass,  when  the  padre  had  blessed  the  people, 
Santo  Domingo  ran  out  and  went  home,  and  the  almitayo  followed  him. 
He  went  to  his  house,  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Pase,  sefior."  He  came 
in,  and  saw  the  little  old  parents,  and  Santo  Domingo  giving  them 
water  out  of  a  spoon.  The  almitayo  said,  "I  should  like  to  stay  here 
the  night."  —  "'Ta  giieno,  seiior,  'ta  giieno."  The  almitayo  lay  in 
the  inner  room,  but  all  the  night  he  was  praying.  Next  day  he  went 
back  and  told  the  padre  what  care  Santo  Domingo  took  of  his  old 
parents;  and  then  the  padre  made  him  a  saint. 

1  It  is  a  favorite  fancy  with  the  Tewa  Indians  that  ver>'  old  people  may  turn  into 
infants. 

*  That  is,  kermitano.      [The  regular  New-Mexican  Spanish  form  is  almitaiio.  —  A.  M.  E.l 
'  J.  M.  N.'s  regular  expression  for  a  prodigj'  or  freak  of  nature. 


538  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

THE    RICH   MAN   AND   JESUS    CHRIST. 

Once  there  was  a  very  rich  man,  Hke  a  rich  Mexican.  Jesus  Christ 
caxne  to  his  house,  dressed  in  rags  and  covered  with  sores,  asking  for 
the  crumbs  of  bread.  They  told  the  rich  man,  "There  is  a  poor  man 
at  the  door."  —  "Let  him  come  in."  But,  when  he  saw  the  sores  so 
ugly,  "To  the  door  with  him!" 

Jesus  Christ  went  further,  to  a  poor  man's  house;  he  knocked  at 
the  door.  "Pase,  seiior."  The  poor  man  and  his  wife  were  there. 
"Pase,  seiior;  pass  over  this  side;  sit  on  the  bedding."  —  "But  I  am 
covered  with  sores,  I  do  not  like  to  sit  on  your  white  sheet."  —  "Oh, 
sir,  what  does  that  matter?"  said  the  woman;  "I  can  wash  the  sheet." 
They  had  no  food  in  the  house.  The  poor  man  said  to  his  wife, 
whispering,  "Go  to  the  plaza  and  try  to  borrow  a  little  flour."  She 
came  back  with  a  little  flour  that  she  had  found,  and  made  tortillas. 
The  man  and  his  wife  sat  one  on  each  side  of  the  poor  man  and  fed 
him.  Then  Jesus  Christ  held  up  his  hands,  and  there  fell  from  the 
roof  maize  and  wheat  and  beans  and  chile  and  onions  and  all  sorts  of 
food.^  The  house  was  full.  And  from  the  rich  man  he  took  away  all 
that  he  had. 

A  certain  amount  of  Spanish  folk-lore  sayings  and  customs  might 
be  collected  from  the  Indians  of  the  pueblo. 

For  instance,  water  is  said  to  sleep  at  some  time  about  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  it  is  dangerous  to  touch  or  drink  agua  dormida. 
Therefore  people  avoid  stepping  into  a  stream  at  night;  and,  if  they 
desire  to  drink  about  midnight,  they  stir  the  water  in  the  tinaja  to 
wake  it  (recordar),  saying,  — 

Recuerda,  Maria 
recuerda,  Maria. '^ 

In  November,  Mexicans  from  Guchupange  come  to  the  pueblo  and 
beg  from  house  to  house  in  the  name  of  the  souls,  singing,'  — 

1  This  incident  —  that  a  supernatural  visitor  causes  showers  of  food  to  fall  in  the  house 
—  appears  in  the  Pueblo  Indians'  own  stories; 

2  [This  belief  is  found  among  most  New-Mexican  Spanish  as  well  as  among  many  other 
Spanish  peoples.  It  is  customary  in  New  Mexico  to  stir  the  water  at  night  before  drinking, 
as  Miss  Freire-Marreco  indicates;  but,  strange  to  say,  I  have  never  had  occasion  to 
observe  the  conjuro  here  recorded,  which  I  am  inclined  to  believe  is  very  old.  —  A.  M.  E.] 

'  [The  following  is  only  a  fragmentary  version.  The  more  complete  version  has  been  pub- 
lished in  my  "Romancero  Nuevomejicano"  (Revue  Hispanique,  April,  1915)1  No.  137:  — 

Oremos,  oremos, 
angelitos  semos, 
del  cielo  venemos. 
Si  no  nos  dan 
puertas  y  ventanas 
quebraremos. — A.  M.  E.] 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  539 

Oremo',  oremo', 
angelito'  semo', 
del  cielo  venimo', 
oremo',  oremo'. 

Things  borrowed  on  the  Day  of  the  Innocents  are  not  returned  with- 
out a  forfeit  paid  by  the  owner.^ 

A  Mexican  ciirandera  (now  deceased)  who  lived  near  San  Pedro  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  was  much  employed  by  the  Indians  of 
the  pueblo  of  Santa  Clara.  She  had  a  reputation  for  treating  cases  of 
difficult  labor.  I  have  heard  her  boast  that  the  child  was  usually 
born  as  soon  as  she  entered  the  house,  or,  if  not,  she  could  entice  it 
out  by  clapping  her  hands  and  calling  "/Nace!  inace!"  She  died  in 
1912. 

Mexicans  who  are  sick  sometimes  make  a  vow  to  dance  in  the 
Indian  dances  of  the  pueblo,  and  obtain  leave  {sacan  licencia)  from 
the  Indian  cacique  to  do  so.  In  other  ways  also  they  show  consider- 
able deference  to  the  Indians'  religious  ceremonies.  The  following 
anecdote  is  current  at  Santa  Clara:  A  Mexican,  who  is  still  living  near 
the  railway  between  Guchupange  and  Espanola,  once  in  his  youth, 
while  keeping  sheep  in  the  mountains,  came  upon  an  Indian  shrine 
with  freshly-laid  offerings.  On  his  return  home  he  told  his  friends 
that  he  had  seen  unas  brujerias  de  los  indios.  Some  time  afterwards 
he  was  crossing  the  same  hill,  when  a  sudden  storm  of  hail  overtook 
him  and  beat  him  almost  to  death.  When  he  told  his  father  what  had 
happened,  the  old  man  beat  him,  saying,  "You  ought  not  to  have 
slandered  the  Indians'  business;  they  do  these  things  for  the  benefit 
of  us  and  of  all  the  people  as  well  as  for  themselves."  ^ 

1  [A  regular  New-Mexican  Spanish  custom  and  superstition.  —  A.  M.  E.] 
*  [As  Miss  Freire-Marreco  points  out,  the  New-Mexican  Spanish  people  show  consider- 
able deference  to  the  Pueblo  Indians'  religious  ceremonies.  The  Indians  are  held  to  be 
Catholics,  although  it  is  generally  known  to  New-Mexicans  that  they  continue  many  of 
their  ancient  beliefs  and  superstitions.  In  this  connection  it  may  be  of  interest  to  note 
that  among  New-Mexicans  the  Indians,  whether  it  be  Pueblo  Indians,  Apaches,  or  any 
other  tribe,  are  greatly  feared.  They  are  all  considered  capable  of  being  brujos,  hechiceros, 
and  evil-doers.  The  Spanish  people  of  New  Mexico  have  mixed  very  little  with  the  native 
Indian  population,  and  have  taken  practically  nothing  from  their  language,  customs,  and 
beliefs.  The  Indians,  however,  have  evidently  not  only  learned  thp  language  of  their 
ancient  masters,  but  have  also  taken  over  many  Spanish  customs,  beliefs,  and  super- 
stitions. As  for  the  Pueblo  Indians,  many  of  them  know  Spanish.  Indeed,  some  of  the 
Indian  tribes  of  the  Southwest  who  speak  different  languages  or  dialects  still  employ 
Spanish  as  a  medium  of  communication  (see  H.  Eickhoff,  Die  Kultur  der  Pueblos  in  Arizona 
und  New  Mexico,  Stuttgart,  1908,  p.  35;  and  E.  P.  Salzer,  La  Cultura  Latino-Americana, 
Cothen,  191S.  P-  21). 

For  the  New-Mexican  Spanish  myth  of  the  Pueblo  Indian  monster  viper  (viboron) 
that  is  nourished  with  seven  living  children  each  year,  see  this  Journal,  vol.  xxiii  ("New- 
Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore,  I"),  No.  7.  — A.  M.  E.] 


540  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

It  is  customary  at  the  pueblo  of  Santa  Clara  to  hold  an  occasional 
velorio  during  the  winter  months.  An  Indian  family  decides  "to  have 
the  saints  in  their  house."  The  largest  and  best  room  in  the  house  is 
cleaned  and  whitewashed,  a  carpet  is  spread  on  the  floor,  and  on  the 
appointed  evening  the  fiscales  bring  the  crucifix  and  the  images  of 
the  saints  which  belong  to  the  ruined  church  of  the  pueblo,  and  arrange 
them  at  the  end  of  the  room  against  a  background  of  new  shawls, 
blankets,  and  imitation  Nottingham-lace  curtains  provided  or  bor- 
rowed by  the  hostess.  Candles  are  set  up  in  a  row  on  the  earthen  floor. 
At  nightfall  or  soon  after,  the  guests  arrive.  Most  of  them  are 
Indians  of  the  pueblo,  relatives  and  friends  of  the  host  and  hostess; 
but  a  few  vecinos  from  the  Mexican  settlement  of  Guchupange  are 
also  invited.  Among  these  are  certain  cantadores  paid  by  the  host, — 
Don  Apolonio  Vigil  (an  old  man  who  acts  as  cantador  at  all  the  Catholic 
functions  of  the  Indians,  besides  drawing  up  their  testamentos,  pleitos, 
and  compromisos) ,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  one  or  two  Mexican 
women,  who  also  possess  manuscript  books  of  songs.  The  company 
seat  themselves  on  the  floor,  the  cantadores  in  the  front  row,  facing 
the  saints.  One  of  them  produces  his  or  her  book,  asks  for  the  candle, 
which  is  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  begins  a  cdntico,  the  first 
verse  of  which  is  repeated  by  the  whole  company  as  a  chorus  after 
each  subsequent  verse.  When  the  cantador  has  sung  one  or  more  of 
these  cdnticos,  he  leads  the  company  in  reciting  a  few  prayers,  and 
passes  the  candle  to  another;  and  so  they  sing  in  turns  throughout 
the  night,  one  of  the  Indians  of  the  pueblo,  who  is  considered  to  be 
muy  castellano,  taking  the  lead  occasionally. 

About  midnight  the  host  begins  to  invite  the  guests  to  pass,  a  few 
at  a  time,  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  hostess  and  her  daughters  serve 
a  meal  of  stewed  mutton  and  boiled  rice  with  raisins  and  cinnamon. 
At  the  first  cockcrow  (a  la  madriigada)  some  of  the  company  rouse  up 
their  sleeping  children  and  go  home;  while  some  of  the  bachelors  build 
a  fire  outside  the  house,  and  sit  round  it,  singing  to  the  accompaniment 
of  an  Indian  drum;  but  the  cantadores  and  the  people  of  the  house 
persevere  until  daybreak.^ 

Cdnticos  of  great  length  are  sung  at  these  velorios.  I  heard  one  on 
the  miracles  of  San  Antonio,  of  which  I  obtained  the  following  frag- 
ment from  Seiiora  Perfilia  ,  wife  of  a  vecino  at  Guchupange, 

who  allowed  me  to  copy  it  from  her  manuscript  book. 

'  [This  is  a  very  good  description  of  a  New-Mexican  Spanish  velorio  de  santos.  The 
velorios  for  the  dead  are  not  different  from  this,  at  least  among  the  poorer  classes.  The 
supper  is  never  missing,  even  in  the  velorios  for  the  dead.  This  is  an  old  Spanish  custom. 
In  some  parts  of  northern  Spain,  notably  in  Asturias,  it  is  customary  to  celebrate  the  burial 
of  a  relative  with  a  sumptuous  banquet.  See  also  Biblioteca  de  las  Tradiciones  Populares, 
vol.  i,  p.  94.  —  A.  M.  E.] 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  541 

[Introductory  verse  missing.] 
y  si  mi  lengua  me  allude 
y  me  escucha  mi  auditorio 
le  cantare  sus  milagros 
al  glorioso  san  antonio 

[This  verse  is  repeated  as  a  chorus  throughout.] 
nacido  de  padres  nobles 
como  asi  lo  dire  yo 
Dona  Maria  de  tades 
y  Don  Diego  de  godo 

Pues  fue  nacido  en  Lisboa 
y  criado  en  la  misma  Plalla 
En  la  capilla  del  Rey 
la  fe  de  cristo  tomava 

Se  fue  a  predicar  a  Roma 
en  lenguas  de  portugu^s 
cuarenta  y  cuatro  naciones 
cada  una  entendio  pu  ley 

Fuese  a  predicar  a  Roma 
sin  hacer  falta  al  sermon 
su  espiritu  fue  a  Lisboa 
su  cuerpo  en  padua  qued6 

EI  Senor  le  Revelo 
que  a  su  padre  ivan  orcar 
For  un  falso  testimonio 
que  le  ivan  a  lebantar 

Se  va  Para  la  justicia 

y  luego  les  pregunt6 

Porque  van  a  orcar  a  este  hombre 

que  delito  cometio 

Le  responde  la  Justicia 
dando  su  sentencia  frene 
a  este  hombre  le  van  orcar 
Por  una  muerte  que  deve 

de  Parte  de  Dios  te  pido 
Saigas  de  esa  sepoltura 
que  Reclames  la  verbad 
y  nos  saques  de  esta  duda 

11a  sale  el  muerto  del  hoyo 
inclinado  a  san  antonio 
este  homl.>re  no  me  mato 
es  un  falso  testimonio 

Ya  la  preguntan  al  santo 
que  diga  quien  lo  mato 
y  el  santo  le  respondid 
eso  si  no  dire  yo 


542  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Ya  salen  atras  del  santo 
aver  donde  iva  a  parar 
bieron  que  sobre  una  Pena 
hay  se  puso  a  predicar 

Salgan  peses  y  animales 
y  aves  que  en  el  viento  escan 
todas  salgen  a  escuchar 
Milagros  de  san  antonio 
que  aqui  se  fan  acavar^ 

The  following  oracion  was  also  in  Perfilia 's  collection.     The 

distinguishing  mark  of  an  oracion  is  the  blessing  or  curse  at  the  end. 

Por  el  Rastro  de  la  Sangre 

que  Jesucristo  derama 

camina  la  birgen  pura  ^ 

en  una  fresca  manana 

Como  era  tan  demanana 
a  la  hora  que  caminava 
las  campanas  de  velem 
todas  tocavan  el  alva 

se  incontro  con  Juan  Bautista 
de  esta  manera  le  ablava 
no  ha  pasado  por  aqui 
el  hijo  de  mis  entranas 

Por  aqui  paso  Senora 
antes  que  el  gallo  cantava 
Sinco  mil  asotes  llebava 
en  sus  sagradas  espaldas 

Tres  clabos  lleva  en  sus  manos 
con  que  abia  de  ser  clabado 
y  una  corona  de  espinas 
con  que  abia  de  ser  coronado 

1  [Inasmuch  as  these  verses  of  the  Milagros  de  San  Antonio  are  a  copy  from  a  manu- 
script, we  have  printed  them  as  copied.  They  have  been  copied,  no  doubt,  from  another 
faulty  copy,  or  probably  from  one  who  knew  them  from  memory,  and  dictated  them. 
These  and  many  other  verses  which  sing  the  praises  of  San  Antonio  and  his  miracles  are 
well  known  in  New  Mexico  and  all  Spanish  countries.  Those  who  wish  to  compare  the 
present  interesting  manuscript  copy  of  "Dona  Perfilia"  with  the  original  verses  have  only 
to  purchase  the  novenas  de  San  Antonio,  where  the  milagros  are  found.  There  are 
two  well-known  versions  of  the  milagros  in  verse;  and  some  novenas  have  one,  while  other 
novenas  have  the  second  version.  Both,  however,  tell  the  same  story.  The  novenas  con- 
taining these  versions  can  now  be  obtained  from  any  Spanish  publishing-house  that  pub- 
lishes and  sells  religious  books.  I  have  in  my  possession  several  published  in  Mexico, 
Porto  Rico,  and  Madrid.  The  manuscript  version  of  "Doria  Perfilia"  is  based  on  what 
is  considered  the  older  version  of  the  milagros  de  San  Antonio,  known  by  all  New-Mexicans 
and  found  in  the  old  novenas.  In  the  recent  novenas  we  find,  as  a  rule,  the  second  and  more 
recent  version,  known  also  in  New  Mexico,  and  published  in  the  novenas  and  in  the  recent 
edition  of  Canticos  Espirituales  recogidos  por  el  Padre  Juan  B.  Ralliere  (Las  Vegas, 
N.  Mex.,  1913),  pp.  195-196.  —  A.  M.  E.] 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  543 

Un  madero  mui  pesado 
en  sus  hombros  lo  llevava 
El  peso  que  Rendia 
que  caiba  y  se  lebantava 

una  soga  en  la  garganta 
que  era  una  pena  doblada 
Cada  estiron  que  le  dava 
mi  Jesus  se  arodillava 

luego  que  oyo  esto  la  virgen 
luego  cayo  desmayada 
San  Juan  como  buen  sobrino 
luego  corrio  a  lebantarla 

lebantate  tia  mia 
que  no  es  tiempo  de  tardansa 
que  el  tormento  de  Jesus 
es  libertad  de  las  almas 

El  que  esta  oracion  resare 
todos  los  Viernes  del  ano 
saca  una  anima  de  pena 
y  la  suya  de  pecado 

Quien  la  hoye  y  no  la  aprende 
quien  la  sepa  y  no  la  encena 
El  dia  de  Juicio  sabra 
lo  que  esta  oracion  contiene. 

The  following  oracion  was  repeated  by  Juanita  Cisneros,  wife  of 
Jos6  Manuel  Naranjo  of  the  pueblo  of  Santa  Clara:  — 

En  el  monte  Lucia 
'staba  Madre  Maria 
con  un  libro  de  oro; 
la  mitad  rezaba, 
la  mitad  leia. 
.  .  .  vino 
su  hijo  unigenito. 

—  iQue  'stas  haciendo, 
mi  Madre  Maria? 

—  Que  no  duermo,  ni  leo, 
pero  soiie  un  sueiio; 

que  en  el  monte  Calvario 
estaban  tres  cruces, 
y  en  la  mis  alta 
'stabas  tii  clavao 
pies  y  manos. 

—  Verdad  sea,  Madre  Maria. 

El  que  rezare  esta  oraci6n 
tres  veces  al  dia 


544  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

hallard  las  puertas 
del  cielo  abiertas, 
y  las  del  infierno 
nunca  jamas. 
Amen  Jesus. 

[The  last  two  selections  are  real  traditional  Spanish  ballads.  These 
two  ballads  are  a  rare  and  valuable  find,  and  form  a  precious  addition 
to  the  "Romancero  Nuevomejicano,"  published  in  1915  in  the  "Revue 
Hispanique,"  It  is  noteworthy  that  the  first,  which  is  a  very  com- 
plete and  well-preserved  version,  was  found  in  manuscript  form, 
together  with  the  miracles  of  San  Antonio  and  other  devotional 
cdnticos  and  prayers.  The  second,  as  Miss  Freire-Marreco  indicates, 
was  recited  by  an  Indian  woman  of  the  pueblo  of  Santa  Clara.  These 
religious  ballads  are  evidently  still  preserved  in  the  oral  tradition  of 
the  New-Mexican  Pueblo  Indians,  as  well  as  in  the  manuscript  copies 
of  novenas,  prayers,  etc.;  and  it  is  very  probable  that  they  are  the 
versions  taught  to  them  by  the  early  Spanish  padres  who  christianized 
them  in  the  years  of  New-Mexican  colonization.  Further  search 
ought  to  bring  to  light  more  of  these  ballads  among  the  Pueblo  Indians 
of  New  Mexico,  and  probably  also  among  the  Spanish  New-Mexicans. 
I  venture  to  say  that  a  systematic  search  of  the  manuscript  copy- 
books and  papers  of  a  devotional  and  religious  character,  which  may 
be  found  among  the  Pueblo  Indians  as  well  as  the  New-Mexicans, 
will  reveal  more  ballads  of  this  character,  as  well  as  old  prayers, 
conjurations,  etc. 

Since  the  first  was  taken  from  a  manuscript  source,  we  have  printed 
it  as  copied.  It  was  copied  in  the  short  lines,  or  ballad  half-lines,  if 
we  consider  the  sixteen-syllable  verse  as  the  real  ballad  metre.  The 
assonance  changes  to  a-o  in  two  verses  only,  a-a  remaining  through- 
out. The  last  four  verses  seem  to  be  a  late  addition,  and  probably 
never  belonged  to  the  original  ballad.  They  appear,  however,  in  the 
Chilean  versions  mentioned  below.  In  the  Chilean  publication  of 
Ram6n  A.  Laval,  "Oraciones,  Ensalmos  y  Conjuros  del  Pueblo 
Chileno"  (Santiago  de  Chile,  1910;  reprint  of  "Revista  de  la  Sociedad 
de  Folklore  Chileno,"  pp.  86-91),  we  have  a  long  series  of  octosyllabic 
quatrains,  "Las  Alabanzas,"  which  the  author  says  constituted  a  long 
and  popular  prayer,  recited  and  sung  in  various  ways  by  the  faithful, 
often  in  dramatic  form;  and  among  these  verses  we  find  similarities 
to  the  New-Mexican  ballad.  It  seems  that  the  Chilean  prayer  was 
made  up  of  various  devotional  quatrains  taken  from  many  sources, 
some  from  ballads,  others  from  prayers,  etc.  None  of  the  verses, 
however,  are  exactly  identical  in  this  version  of  Laval.  In  the  version 
of  Laval  given  on  pp.  93-96,  on  the  other  hand,  we  find  various  verses 
that  are  almost  identical.     Verses  17  and  18  are,  — 


New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore.  545 

Por  el  rastro  de  la  sangre 
que  Jesucristo  derrama 
camina  la  Virjen  pura 
con  su  divina  conipana. 

Anjeles  i  serafines.  .  .  .   ( Chorus) 

Jesiis  Nazareno  esta 
pendiente  de  aquel  madero 
clavado  de  pies  i  manos, 
los  judios  lo  pusieron. 

Anjeles  i  serafines.  .  .  .   ( Chorus) 

Verses  13,  14,  of  this  version  recall  also  a  few  lines  of  the  New-Mexican 
ballad.  On  p.  141  of  the  work  of  Laval  we  find  also  a  ballad  from 
Chile  that  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  New-Mexican  ballad  as 
well  as  to  the  alahanzas  chilenas  above  mentioned.  It  is  a  different 
ballad,  however.  The  verses  above  mentioned  of  the  second  version 
of  the  alahanzas  chilenas  are  evidently  taken  from  an  old  version  of 
the  ballad  that  was  very  similar  to  the  New-Mexican.  A  somewhat 
different  but  more  complete  version  has  been  confused  with  another 
ballad  in  Chile  (Laval,  p.  146,  verses  15-29).  This  and  the  New- 
Mexican  version  may  be  versions  of  the  same  original.  In  any  case, 
the  New-Mexican  version  is  complete  and  well  preserved.  It  is  the 
only  version  of  this  ballad  that  we  have  in  complete  form.  See  also 
Julio  Vicufia  Cifuentes,  "Romances  Populares  y  Vulgares  recogidos 
de  la  Tradicion  oral  Chilena"  (Santiago,  1912);  and  Rodriguez  Marin, 
"Cantos  Populares  Espanoles,"  IV,  179.  For  more  details  see  also 
"Revue  Hispanique,"  December,  1916,  where  another  New-Mexican 
version  from  Taos  has  been  published. 

The  second  New-Mexican  ballad  of  Miss  Freire-Marreco's  collection, 
and  recited  by  an  Indian  woman,  is  not  a  complete  version,  but  a 
very  valuable  find  also.  In  the  important  publication  of  Laval  above 
mentioned  there  are  three  Chilean  versions  of  this  ballad.  These  are 
not  complete,  either.  All  three  versions  (pp.  136-138)  are  practically 
the  same.  The  third  has  two  additional  verses,  but  these  form  part 
of  what  seems  to  be  a  late  addition;  namely,  the  advice  at  the  end 
which  converts  the  ballad  into  a  prayer.  We  are  unable  to  obtain  any 
help  for  the  reconstruction  of  the  two  verses  which  are  indicated  as 
missing  in  Miss  Freire-Marreco's  copy.  Only  one  verse  seems  to  be 
missing  here,  probably  the  verse  of  the  Chilean  versions,  "Llega  su 
hijo  precioso,"  or  "Le  dice  su  hijo  precioso;"  while  in  the  first  four 
verses  of  the  New-Mexican  version  we  probably  have  one  too  many 
(see  also  Vicuiia  Cifuentes,  op.  cit.,  pp.  205-207). 

We  now  give  the  first  of  the  two  New-Mexican  ballads  in  corrected 
form. 


54^  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Por  el  rastro  de  la  sangre  que  Jesucristo  derrama 
camina  la  Virgen  pura  en  una  fresca  mafiana. 
Como  era  tan  de  mafiana  a  la  hora  que  caminaba 
las  campanas  de  Belen  todas  tocaban  al  alba. 
Se  encontr6  con  Juan  Bautista,  de  esta  manera  le  hablaba: 

—  ^No  ha  pasado  por  aqui  el  hijo  de  mis  entranas? 

—  Por  aqui  pas6,  seiiora,  antes  que  el  gallo  cantara. 
Cinco  mil  azotes  lleva^  en  sus  sagradas  espaldas. 

Tres  clavos  Ileva  en  sus  manos,  con  que  ha^  de  ser  clavado, 
y  una  corona  de  espinas,  con  que  ha^  de  ser  coronado; 
un  madero  muy  pesado  en  sus  hombros  lo  llevaba; 
tanto  le  rendia  el  peso^  que  caia  y  se  levantaba; 
una  soga  en  la  garganta  que  era  una  pena  doblada. 
Cada  estir6n  que  le  daba  mi  Jesus  se  arrodillaba. 
Luego  que  oyo  esto  la  Virgen  luego  cayo  desmayada. 
San  Juan,  como  buen  sobrino,  luego  corri6  a  levantarla. 

—  Levantate,  tia  mia,  que  no  es  tiempo  de  tardanza, 
que  el  tormento  de  Jesus  es  libertad  de  las  almas. 

The  remaining  verses  do  not  belong  to  the  original  ballad,  as  we 
have  already  indicated.  —  A.  M.  E.] 

Oxford,  Eng. 
*  Manuscript  llevaba.  2  Manuscript  habia.  '  Manuscript  El  peso  que  rendia. 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  547 


STORIES  AND  SONGS  FROM  THE  SOUTHERN  ATLANTIC 
COASTAL   REGION   OF   MEXICO. 

BY  WILLIAM  HUBBS  MECHLING. 

The  following  stories  and  songs  were  collected  during  the  winter 
and  spring  of  1914,  while  I  was  holding  the  fellowship  of  the  University 
Museum,  Philadelphia,  in  the  International  School  of  Archaeology 
and  Ethnology  in  Mexico.  I  was  at  the  time  engaged  in  studying  the 
Aztec  dialects  of  southern  Vera  Cruz  and  the  adjacent  portions  of 
Oaxaca.  I  cannot  say  exactly  where  or  when  they  were  taken  down, 
nor  can  I  give  my  data  concerning  my  informants,  because  my  original 
note-book  containing  the  stories  and  such  data  was  lost,  owing  to 
the  regrettable  Vera  Cruz  incident.  I  went  into  the  field  early  in 
January,  but  after  about  three  months  I  returned  to  Mexico.  For- 
tunately, I  left  a  copy  of  the  stories  with  Mr,  Gamio,  Inspector-General 
of  Monuments,  in  order  to  have  the  Spanish  revised  and  put  into  type- 
written form.  However,  during  the  troublesome  months  that  followed, 
they  as  well  as  some  of  my  other  manuscripts  were  lost,  but  were 
finally  recovered,  after  apparently  no  little  effort  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Gamio.  I  want  here  to  take  the  opportunity  of  publicly  thanking  him 
as  well  as  Dr.  Tozzer,  who  assisted  me  in  recovering  them.  On  my 
first  trip  of  that  year  I  visited  Tuxtepec  and  the  surrounding  country, 
inhabited  by  the  Chinantecs  and  Mazatecs,  as  well  as  the  Aztec  vil- 
lages of  the  Lower  Papalohuapam.  Since  I  did  not  secure  any  stories 
in  Spanish  from  the  Chinantecs  or  Mazatecs,  these  stories  must  come 
from  Tuxtepec,  Santiago,  or  Acula,  all  three  old  Aztec  towns.  In  all 
probability,  my  informants  were  Aztecs;  but  this  would  make  little 
difference,  because  all  the  Mexicans  of  this  region  are  more  or  less 
conversant  with  this  type  of  stories  and  songs. 

During  my  second  trip  that  year,  I  visited  the  Aztec  villages  in  the 
southeastern  part  of  the  State,^  and  received  a  fairly  large  number 
of  stories,  in  addition  to  folk  lore  and  songs;  but  unfortunately  one  of 
my  bags  was  stolen  just  after  the  Vera  Cruz  incident,  and,  as  I  have 
never  since  been  able  to  find  the  note-book  containing  that  material, 
I  suppose  it  must  have  disappeared  at  that  time.'^ 

1  San  Andres  Tuxtla,  San  Juan  Bautista,  Jaltipam,  etc. 

*  Just  as  this  paper  was  going  to  press,  I  had  the  surprisingly  good  fortune  to  re- 
cover my  trunk  containing  some  of  my  original  manuscripts,  and  have  thus  been  en- 
abled to  determine  the  place  where  I  obtained  some  of  the  following  stories,  as  well  as 
the  names  of  the  informants.  This  information  I  have  added  in  a  footnote  to  each 
story.  The  bag  containing  the  tales  and  linguistic  material  obtained  on  my  second  trip 
has  never  been  recovered. 


548  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

The  first  story  of  Coyote  is  not  very  different  from  a  story  I  secured 
in  Tuxtepec^  in  1912,  except  that  this  story  has  several  additional 
incidents.  Many  versions  of  it  have  been  reported  from  Mexico.^ 
In  the  third  tale  we  find  the  Fox  taking  the  place  of  Rabbit,  as  in 
Dr.  Mason's  version  from  the  Tepecanos  ^  and  in  the  New-Mexican 
version.  Doubtless  versions  of  the  other  stories  occur,  but  I  am  not 
aware  of  them. 

The  corridos  are  sung  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  guitar.  Through- 
out this  region  theMexicans  are  very  fond  of  dances  (bailes) ;  but,  as 
far  as  I  know,  they  always  take  the  same  form.*  The  owner  of  a  tienda 
decides  to  give  a  dance,  and  puts  up  in  the  road  outside  his  shop  a 
platform  about  eight  or  ten  feet  square,^  and  erects  a  ridge-pole 
running  in  the  same  direction  as  the  street.  In  Tuxtepec  the  platforms 
do  not  extend  all  the  way  across  the  street,  sufficient  room  being  left 
on  the  side  farthest  away  from  the  shop  for  an  ox-team  to  pass. 
Towards  evening  of  the  day  set  for  the  dance  a  canvas  roof  is  stretched 
over  the  ridge-pole,  and  benches  are  placed  on  three  sides  of  the  plat- 
form. About  nine  o'clock  the  dancers  begin  to  arrive.  The  men  who 
are  to  do  the  singing  and  playing  are  grouped  on  the  far  side  of  the 
road,  some  seated  on  the  benches,  others  standing  behind  them. 
The  women  alone  do  the  dancing,  and  are  usually  young,  most  of  them 
unmarried  girls.  They  are  all  dressed  in  their  best,  and  wear  heavily- 
starched  wide  skirts,  white  blouses,  and  usually  have  large  kerchiefs 
pinned  around  their  necks  with  the  wide  part  in  the  back  and  the  two 
ends  pinned  down  in  front.  The  effect  is  very  much  like  a  sailor's 
blouse,  except  that  it  is  triangular  instead  of  square  in  the  back. 
They  wear  no  hats,  but  pride  themselves  on  their  shoes,  which  they 
often  put  on  only  just  before  the  dance  begins.  One  man  strikes  up 
his  guitar  and  sings  a  verse,  and  the  dance  is  started.  Two  or  three 
women  step  on  the  platform,  and  with  a  peculiar  shuffling  movement 
move  slowly  back  and  forth,  bringing  their  heels  down  sharply  in 
time  with  the  trumping  of  the  guitars,  all  the  time  holding  their 
starched  skirts  out  with  their  hands.  Since  their  feet  alone  are  visible, 
it  is  very  difficult  to  see  how  the  step  is  executed;  but  it  seems  to  be 
done  with  the  hips  and  heels,  and  there  seems  to  be  scarcely  any 
movement  at  the  knee.  After  the  dance  is  started,  several  guitars 
are  played,  but  only  one  man  sings  at  a  time;  but  as  soon  as  he 
stops,  another   takes   up  a  new  verse.     Usually  one  man  will  sing 

1  "Stories  from  Tuxtepec"  (this  Journal,  vol.  xxv,  1912,  p.  199). 

*  For  a  discussion  of  the  distribution  of  this  story  see  Franz  Boas,  "  Notes  on  Mexican 
Folk-Lore"  {Ibid.,  p.  247). 

'  "Folk-Tales  of  the  Tepecanos"  (this  Journal,  vol.  xxvii,  1914,  p.  150). 

*  In  Tuxtepec  they  are  known  as  Huapargos.  One  usually  is  given  every  Saturday 
night. 

'  They  were  elevated  about  a  foot  above  the  road. 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  549 

only  two  or  three  verses  at  a  time;  and  since  they  sing  very  rapidly 
and  indistinctly,  it  is  difficult  to  follow  them.  They  are  usually  very 
ribald;  but  that  does  not  seem  to  disturb  the  women,  who  dance  on 
oblivious  to  it,  with  never  the  trace  of  a  smile  on  their  faces.  The 
steps  are  very  unattractive,  and  the  women  seem  to  have  little  grace. 
One  cannot  help  but  be  amazed  at  this  when  one  thinks  of  the  graceful 
dances  of  old  Spain. 

Behind  the  dancers  who  occupy  benches  is  always  found  a  throng 
of  the  poorer  peones,  usually  without  shoes,  but  wearing  broad- 
brimmed  hats.^  The  dancing  will  usually  last  for  about  fifteen  min- 
utes without  an  intermission,  and  then  it  will  begin  again  after  a 
short  intermission.  Meanwhile  the  keeper  of  the  tienda  is  very  busy 
seeing  that  everything  goes  smoothly.  For  him  it  is  purely  a  matter 
of  business,  for  he  must  make  enough  money  on  his  sales  to  cover 
his  outlay.  In  this,  however,  he  should  experience  little  difficulty; 
for  he  raises  his  prices  on  everything,  particularly  the  beer,  which 
is  double  in  price,  and  large  quantities  of  which  are  consumed.  Be- 
sides the  beer,  a  great  many  people  drink  agua  ardiente,  a  white  rum 
distilled  from  sugarcane.  As  these  dances  continue  until  three  or  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  considerable  amount  of  drunkenness  pre- 
vails towards  the  end.  The  verses  which  I  give  are  sung  on  these 
occasions,  but  they  seem  to  be  longer  and  more  of  the  ballad  type 
than  the  general  run  of  them.  I  regret  very  much  that  I  was  not 
able  to  take  the  tunes  down  on  a  phonograph. 

EL   CONE  JO   Y   EL  COYOTE. 

Una  vez  habia  una  viejecita  que  tenia  un  sembrado  de  frijol  y  un 
dia  un  conejito  le  hizo  un  dano  en  el. 

Para  evitar  que  se  repitiera  se  le  ocurrio  a  la  viejecita  hacer  un 
muneco  untado  de  alquitran,  para  colocarlo  por  donde  conejito  solia 
entrar  a  la  milpa. 

Una  noche  fue  conejito  a  la  milpa  y  por  el  lugar  donde  entro  se 
encontro  al  muneco  que  estaba  alii  parado.  Conejito  se  acerca  a  el 
y  le  dice:  —  Dejame  entrar  para  comer,  porque  tengo  hambre.  El 
muiieco  como  era  natural,  no  contesto  y  entonces  conejito  le  dio  una 
palmada  y  se  quedo  pegado  al  muiieco.  Conejito  le  dice:  —  Sueltame 
porque  tengo  otra  mano  para  darte  otra  palmada.  Y  como  el  muiieco 
no  contestaba  le  da  conejito  otra  palmada  con  la  otra  mano  y  quedo 
entonces  pegado  de  las  dos  manos  y  le  dice :  —  Sueltame  porque  tengo 
libres  otros  dos  pies.  Pero  el  muiieco  permanecia  mudo.  Entonces 
conejito  le  dio  un  golpe  con  los  dos  pies,  quedando  de  esta  suerte 

1  From  time  to  time  a  young  man  will  step  up  and  offer  his  hat  to  one  of  the 
dancers.  If  she  wears  the  hat,  he  knows  that  his  suit  is  accepted;  but  if  she  throws  it 
away,  he  knows  it  is  rejected. 


550  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

completamente  pegado  al  muneco.  Una  vez  mas  conejito  suplic6 
al  muneco  que  lo  soltara;  pero  todo  fue  en  vano,  el  muneco  prosigui6 
mudo,  y  conejito  pegado  a  el. 

Otro  dia  fue  la  viejecita  a  la  milpa  y  encontro  a  conejito  pegado 
sobre  el  muneco.  Dice  la  viejecita:  —  Lo  veras  conque  tii  comes  fri- 
joles.  Dice  conejito:  —  No  senora,  yo  estoy  aqui  porque  me  tiene 
agarrado,  no  quiere  soltarme,  porque  quiere  que  me  quede  aqui  para 
que  cuide  que  no  vayan  a  venir  los  animales  a  comer  frijoles.  En- 
tonces  la  viejita  lo  agarro  y  lo  metio  dentro  de  un  costal  y  cosio  la 
boca,  lo  dejo  alii  y  se  fu6  a  juntar  una  lumbre  y  metio  un  fierro  que 
llamamos  azador  para  calentar,  y  le  dice  al  conejito:  —  Ahora  lo 
vera  picaro  voy  a  meterle  este  azador  caliente  adentro  del  culo  dentro 
de  un  ratito. 

Vio  conejito  caminando  por  alii  a  tio  coyote,  le  hablo  y  le  dice:  — 
Ven  aca  tio  coyote,  quedate  aqui  dentro  de  este  costal  porque  viene  la 
viejita  con  una  muchacha  muy  bonita;  quedate  aqui  porque  tii  eres 
grande  y  yo  chiquito  y  la  muchacha  me  va  a  portar.  Y  salio  conejito 
del  costal  y  entro  tio  coyote.  Dentro  de  un  ratito  volvio  la  viejita  y 
dijo:  —  Picaro  conque  ya  ahora  estas  grande.  Dijo  tio  coyote:  — 
No  seriora,  yo  soy  grande  porque  yo  soy  el  coyote.  Aqui  me  dej6 
conejito,  porque  me  dijo  que  tii  me  ibas  a  traer  una  muchacha  muy 
bonita.  El  salio  del  costal  porque  €\  era  mas  chico  y  no  iba  a  poder 
mantener  a  la  muchacha ;  como  yo  soy  mds  grande,  podre  mantenerla. 
Dice  la  viejita:  —  Alii  llevo  la  muchacha,  ya  ves  ese  azador  caliente 
es  para  meterlo  dentro  de  tu  culo.  Tio  coyote  no  dijo  nada,  nada 
mas  oyo.  La  viejita  saco  a  tio  coyote  del  costal  y  no  pudo  quemarlo, 
porque  el  coyote  se  le  safo  de  las  manos  y  se  fue. 

Encontro  a  conejito  bebiendo  agua  en  una  laguna.  La  luna  estaba 
brillando  a  la  mitad  del  cielo.  Tio  coyote  le  dice  a  conejito:  —  Ahora 
picaro,  aqui  estas,  ahora  si  te  como.  Conejito  le  dice  entonces:  — 
Callate  hombre;  ayudame  a  beber  el  agua  de  esta  laguna,  para  comer 
un  queso  que  esti  adentro  de  ella.  Se  pusieron  a  beber  agua.  El 
coyote  bebia;  pero  el  conejo  nada  m4s  probaba.  El  coyote  revent6 
porque  ya  habia  bebido  mucha  agua.  Cuando  conejito  vio  reventar 
al  coyote  se  fue  a  un  zacatal.  Dentro  de  pocos  dias  le  encontro  otra 
vez  el  coyote  y  le  dice :  —  Ahora  picaro,  aqui  estas.  —  Callate  hombre 
—  dice  el  conejito.  Le  contesto  entonces  el  coyote:  —  Tirame  en- 
tonces un  zapote  maduro,  —  y  se  lo  tiro.  El  coyote  le  dijo:  —  Esta 
muy  dulce,  tirame  otro.  Y  volvi6  a  decir  la  tercera  vez :  —  Tirame 
otro.  Entonces  conejito  le  tiro  uno  verde  y  se  le  atoro  al  coyote. 
Conejito  aprovecho  esta  ocasion  y  se  fue  a  esconder  a  un  carrizal  y  alii 
puso  una  hamaquita.  Tocaba  con  una  jaranita  todos  los  diis  y  en 
uno  de  tantos  acudio  el  coyote  atraido  por  las  melodias  que  brotaron 
de  la  lira  del  conejo.     Y  como  lo  encontraba  tocando  le  dijo:  —  Ahora 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  551 

si  te  como.  —  Collate  hombre,  —  contest6  el  conejo,  —  quedate  aqui 
en  esta  hamaquita  con  esta  jaranita  que  mafiana  vendrcin  los  novios  a 
los  tiros.  Cuando  tu  oigas  ponte  a  cantar  bastante  y  a  tocar  y  tapate 
los  ojos  con  este  panuelo. 

Otro  dia  vino  el  conejo  y  prendio  el  carrizal  en  redondo  y  cuando  el 
coyote  oy6  los  tronidos  del  carrizal,  se  puso  a  tocar  y  a  cantar  y  se 
tapo  los  ojos  creyendo  que  eran  los  novios.  Al  rato  sintio  el  fuego  de 
la  lumbre  y  no  pudo  soportar  el  calor  del  fuego  y  se  destap6  los  ojos. 
Cuando  se  vio  en  medio  de  la  lumbre  tiro  la  jaranita  a  un  lado  y  sali6 
huyendo.  El  conejo  grito  por  otro  lado: — Ah,  coyote,  zapote 
atorado,  culo  chamuscado. 

Note.  —  The  episode  of  Rabbit  and  the  Tar  Baby  contains,  like  Dr. 
Boas's  Pochutla  version  and  my  previous  version  from  Tuxtepec,  the  element 
that  Rabbit  fools  Coyote  by  telling  him  that  he  is  detained  in  the  bag 
because  he  is  to  marry  a  girl  who  is  very  much  larger  than  he  is,  hence  the 
right  size  for  Coyote.  In  this  version,  as  in  one  of  my  previous  versions, 
the  field  is  a  bean-field;  in  Dr.  Boas's  version  (Pochutla)  it  is  a  chile-garden; 
and  in  the  New-Mexican  version  of  Professor  Espinosa  it  is  a  beautiful 
garden.  In  my  versions  there  is  only  one  tar  baby;  whereas  in  Dr.  Boas's 
there  are  four  (in  his  Chatino  version  there  is  only  one),  and  in  the  New- 
Mexican  version  three.  See  also  O.  Dahnhardt,  "  Natursagen,"  Vol.  IV, 
pp.  26  et  seq. 

The  second  episode  of  this  version  is  that  in  which  Rabbit  persuades  Coyote 
to  drink  up  the  lake  in  order  to  get  the  cheese  (the  reflection  of  the  moon), 
and  thus  kills  him.  This  episode  is  apparently  out  of  place;  for  it  should 
probably  come  at  the  end  of  the  story,  inasmuch  as  Coyote  dies.  The 
episode  occurs  in  my  second  version  from  Tuxtepec,  and  in  Dr.  Boas's 
Pochutla  version  (where  Coyote  gets  tired  and  gives  up  the  attempt);  it 
also  occurs  in  Dr.  Mason's  Tepecano  version  and  in  Professor  Espinosa's 
New-Mexican  version;  thus  being  common  to  them  all.  See  also  Dahn- 
hardt, /.  c,  p.  230. 

The  third  episode  of  this  version  tells  how  Coyote  induces  Rabbit  to  throw 
him  some  fruit,  which  Coyote  catches  and  eats;  but  on  the  third  occasion 
Rabbit  throws  Coyote  a  green  one,  which  sticks  in  Coyote's  throat,  thus 
enabling  Rabbit  to  escape.  This  episode  occurs  in  both  of  my  previous 
versions  as  well  as  in  Dr.  Boas's  Pochutla  version.  It  does  not  occur  in 
Dr.  Mason's  version. 

In  the  fourth  episode  Rabbit  persuades  Coyote  to  play  for  the  bridal 
party,  and  then  he  sets  fire  to  the  bushes.  It  occurs  in  both  of  my  previous 
versions,  in  Dr.  Boas's  Pochutla  version,  and  in  the  New-Mexican  version, 
but  not  in  Dr.  Mason's  version.  This  story  is  evidently  very  fragmentary, 
containing  only  four  episodes. 

EL  CAIMAN   Y  EL   CONEJO.^ 

Este  era  un  conejo  que  andaba  por  la  orilla  de  un  rio.  Le  habla  a 
un  caiman  que  andaba  en  la  otra  banda  del  rio  para  que  le  pasara, 

'  This  story  was  obtained  in  Tuxtepec  from  Mariano  Martinez. 
VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  114. — 36. 


552  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

porque  estaba  convidado  a  una  boda  de  un  sobrino  que  iba  a  casarse. 
El  caimin  se  resistia  porque  decia  que  estaba  muy  barb6n  y  el  conejo 
le  dijo:  —  Venga  aca  que  yo  lo  afeito.  Tio  caiman  se  convenci6  y  lo 
iu€  a  pasar  de  la  otra  orilla.  Comenzo  a  afeitarlo  pasandole  la  mano 
por  encima  de  sus  espaldas  y  le  dice:  —  iQue  ronosa  esti  tu  espalda! 
Entonces  tio  caimdn  le  dice:  —  iQue  dices  picaro?  Ahora  te  como. 
Entonces  el  conejo  le  dice:  —  No,  tio  caimdn,  digo  que  lisas  tienes  las 
espaldas.  Sigui6  nadando  el  caiman  para  el  otro  lado  del  rio.  Le 
dice  otra  vez :  —  i  Que  apestoso  a  zopilote !  Y  le  contesta  el  caiman : 
—  (iQue  dices  picaro?  Ahora  si  te  como.  El  conejo  le  dice:  —  Digo, 
que  hueles  mucho,  que  estis  perfumado.  Le  dice  el  caiman:  —  Ahora 
si  te  como.  Le  dice  el  conejo:  —  No,  mejor  me  comeras  alia  del  otro 
lado  del  rio,  porque  aqui  me  desperdicias.  Alia  aprovecharas  toda  la 
sangre  y  las  tripas. 

Llegaron  a  la  orilla  del  rio;  el  conejo  sal  to  a  tierra;  qued6  tio  caiman 
boca  abierta  con  los  deseos  de  comer  al  conejo.     El  conejo  burlandose 
de  tio  caiman  le  decia:  —  Adios  tio  caiman,  rofioso,  apestas  a  zopilote. 
Le  contesta  el  caimin:  —  No  tengas  cuidado,  picaro,  donde  has  de  ir 
algun  dia  nos  hemos  de  encontrar.     Se  fu6  el  conejo;  el  caiman  se 
informo  donde  vivia  el  conejo.     Lleg6  a  saber  el  caiman.     Llego  a  la 
cueva  del  conejo.     Se  escondi6  cuando  entro,  a  esperar  que  llegara  el 
conejo.    El  conejo  andaba  paseando.    Por  fin  se  fu^  a  su  casa  el  conejo. 
Por  su  viveza  se  le  ocurrio  saludar  la  cueva,  por  que  tenia  miedo  de  que 
alii  estuviera  el  caimin,  saludando  a  la  cueva  con  estas  palabras:  — 
Buenos  dias,  cuevita  mia,  buenos  dias,  cuevita  mia.     Valgame  Dios, 
qu6  tendrd  mi  cuevita.     Esta  cueva  siempre  me  habla  y  ahora  <iporqu4 
no  me  contesta?    Tio  caiman  adentro  de  la  cueva  oyendo  estas  pala- 
bras, pens6  y  dijo:  —  Esta  cueva  habla  con  el   conejo.     Y  contest6 
el  caiman:  —  Como  siempre,  mi  buen  conejo.     Entonces  el  conejo  le 
contest6:  —  Como  si  soy  tan  ignorante;  como  si  las  cuevas  hablan. 
El  conejo  comprendi6  que  tio  caimdn  le  contestaba  dentro  de  la  cueva. 
Sigui6  adelante  siempre  burlandose  del  tio  caimin.     Enojado  salio 
tio  caimdn  dentro  la  cueva  buscando  al  conejo.     Despues  que  pasa 
algtin  tiempo,  un  dia  baj6  el  conejo  a.  beber  agua  en  una  laguna  cuando 
vi6  a  tio  caimdn  que  lo  estaba  esperando.     Regreso  para  atras,  por 
miedo  que  le  tuvo  a  que  lo  agarrara.     Al  regresar  se  encuentra  con  un 
cazador.     Pens6  en  si  mismo:  —  Me  escape  de  uno,  pero  de  este  quien 
sabe.     Se  acerc6  el  cazador  le  apunta  al  conejo.     El  conejo  le  grita  al 
tirador:  —  No  me  mates;   quiero   hacer   una   consulta  contigo.     Se 
acercaron  los  dos  y  se  saludaron.     Despues  el   conejo  le  dice: — No 
me  mates  yo  te  llevar6  a  un  lugar  a  donde  haras  mucha  presa.     El 
cazador  traia  un  calabacito.     El  conejo  le  pregunt6 :  —  Pues  cuando  no 
hago  presa  me  dedico  a  castrar  colmenas  y  lo  que  traigo  aqui  es  miel. 
El  conejo  le  dice:  —  Pues  en  agradecimiento  que  no  me  quitaste  la 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  553 

vida,  adelante  hay  colmena  que  esta  muy  llena.  Se  fueron  y  al  llegar 
al  lugar,  el  conejo  dijo  al  cazador :  —  Aqui  esti  la  colmena.  El  cazador 
se  puso  a  descombrar,  donde  estaba  parado  el  pavo  y  dejo  el  cazador 
su  arma  y  el  calabacito  a  una  distancia,  y  el  conejo  como  ya  tenia 
pensado  hacerle  la  maldad  le  dice :  —  Tengo  ganas  de  beber  agua. 
Aqui  esperame  a  mi  regreso  te  llevare  al  lugar  donde  haras  tu  presa. 
Se  fue  el  conejo  para  donde  el  calabazo  con  miel.  Agarro  el  calabazo, 
se  baii6  con  miel,  revolcandose  sobre  las  hojas  secas  para  cambiar  su 
figura,  porque  sabia  que  tio  caiman  lo  agarraria  a  la  orilla  de  la  laguna, 
al  ir  a  tomar  agua.  Por  fin  llego  a  tomar  agua,  se  vio  con  tio  caiman 
y  se  saludaron.  El  conejo  le  dice  a  tio  caiman:  —  Buenos  dios,  tio 
caiman.  Tio  caiman  le  contesta:  —  Buenos  dias,  caballero,  (Iquien 
eres  tii.''  No  tengo  el  honor  de  conocerte. — Yo  soy  don  Jarasquin 
del  Monte.  Tio  caiman  le  contesta:  —  Tii,  como  don  Jarasquin  del 
Monte,  dame  raz6n  si  no  has  visto  un  hombre  que  tiene  orejas  largas, 
ojos  grandes  y  no  tiene  cola.  Le  contesto  el  conejo:  —  pues  ahorita 
lo  deje  almorzando  en  la  orilla  de  un  frijolar.  Dijo  tio  caiman:  — 
Necesito  tener  una  entrevista  con  el.  El  conejo  le  dijo: —  Pues  como  tii 
sabes  que  cuando  uno  almuerza  toma  agua  y  aqui  estas  en  buen  lugar 
que  puedes  aprovechar  la  oportunidad  de  hablar  con  el.  Tio  caiman 
le  dijo  entonces:  —  Le  esperar^,  —  y  se  despidieron.  Dijo  Jarasquin: 
—  Hasta  luego,  tio  caiman.  Le  contesto  tio  caiman:  —  Hasta  luego. 
Y  aqui  se  acab6  el  cuento. 

Note.  —  This  tale  usually  forms  part  of  the  Coyote-Rabbit  cycle.  It  is 
considerably  more  detailed  than  Dr.  Boas's  story  from  Oaxaca  and  the  New- 
Mexican  version.     It  does  not  occur  in  Dr.  Mason's  version. 

LA   ZORRA   Y   EL    COYOTE.^ 

Andaba  una  zorra  en  un  terreno  limpio,  buscando  que  comer,  porque 
tenia  hambre.  La  zorra  encuentra  a  un  coyote  y  le  habla:  —  <iQu6 
andas  buscando,  buen  coyote?  Este  le  dice:  —  Buscando  que  comer. 
La  zorra  le  contesta:  —  Yo  tambien  tengo  hambre.  Pues  yo  se  donde 
si  hay  tunas.  Vamos,  yo  corto  y  te  doy  a  comer.  El  coyote  le  dice :  — 
No  puedo  cortar  las  tunas.  La  zorra  le  dice:  —  Yo  las  corto  y  te  doy. 
Caminaron  la  zorra  y  el  coyote  al  tunal,  y  le  dice:  —  Tii  te  quedas  al 
pie  del  palo  y  yo  me  subire  al  nopal  y  corto  las  tunas.  Le  dice  el 
coyote:  —  Tirame  una  para  saber  a  que  saben  las  tunas.  La  zorra  le 
dice  al  coyote: — Te  tiro  una  tuna,  abre  la  boca.  Alia  te  va  una. 
El  coyote  abrio  la  boca  y  se  comio  una  tuna.  Le  parecio  buena  y  le 
dice:  —  Tirame  otra  tuna  que  esta  buena.  Y  le  dice  el  coyote  a  la 
zorra :  —  Si  me  tiras  otra  tuna  no  te  como.  La  zorra  le  tira  otra  tuna  con 
espinas  y  le  dice :  —  Abre  la  boca  y  cierralos  ojos,  ahi  te  va  una  tuna.     El 

1  This  story  was  obtained  in  Tuxtepec  from  Antonio  Guarnero  Gonzales. 


554  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

coyote  se  comio  la  tuna  con  espinas  y  se  enojo  con  la  zorra,  Se  fue  la 
zorra  a  buscar  mds  que  comer,  y  el  coyote  la  sigue  y  la  encuentra  en 
un  barranco,  f rente  a  una  pena,  y  le  dice  el  coyote ;  hoy  si  te  como.  La 
zorra  le  dice:  —  No,  buen  coyote,  yo  te  Uevo  a  donde  hay  totoles, 
gallinas  y  ansares  para  que  comas.  El  coyote  se  creyo  de  la  zorra  y 
se  quedo  deteniendo  la  peiia.  La  zorra  lo  engaiio.  El  coyote  eno- 
jado  se  fue  en  busca  de  la  zorra,  la  encontro  y  le  dice:  —  Hoy  si  te 
como;  y  la  zorra  le  responde:  —  No,  porque  vamos  a  comer  buenos 
totoles.  Se  volvio  a  creer  el  coyote  de  la  zorra,  y  se  lo  lleva  a  un 
gallinero,  donde  habia  gallinas,  polios,  totoles.  El  coyote  se  cree  y 
los  perros  lo  encuentran  al  coyote  y  se  enoja  porque  los  perros  se  aba- 
lanzan  sobre  el  y  lo  lastiman.     La  zorra  se  fue. 

Aqui  se  acabo  el  cuento  de  la  zorra  y  el  coyote.  Salgo  por  un  calle- 
j6n  y  entro  por  otro.     Ciientame  otro. 

Note.  —  In  this  story  we  find  the  Fox  taking  the  place  of  the  Rabbit. 
The  first  episode  of  this  story  is  the  same  as  the  corresponding  episode  on 
p.  550.  The  second  incident  is  parallel  to  the  one  discussed  in  this  Journal 
(vol.  XXV,  p.  250,  note  5;  vol.  xxix,  p.  313,  No.  5).  The  last  one  is  evidently 
a  brief  version  of  the  tale  of  the  deceived  wolf  who  intends  to  steal  children. 

EL   GALLEGO,   DEL   INDIO   Y  DEL   CONEJO.^ 

Este  era  un  gallego  que  iba  a  camino  acompaiiado  de  un  indio  que 
era  su  paje.  A  poco  andar  llegaron  a  una  hacienda.  En  esa  hacienda 
estaba  un  vaquero  crdeiiando  a  una  vaca.  El  gallego  tuvo  ganas  de 
tomar  leche  y  mand6  al  indio  que  preguntara  si  queria  vender.  Le 
contesto  el  vaquero  que  si,  y  le  pregunto  que  cuanto  queria.  El  indio 
le  dijo:  —  iCuantas  medidas  das  por  tres  centavos?  El  vaquero  le 
dijo:  —  Un  cajete.  E^  gallego  y  el  indio  se  tomaron  toda  la  leche; 
entonces  el  vaquero  le  dijo:  —  Cuidado,  sefior  gallego,  que  la  leche 
empreiia.  El  gallego  le  contesto:  —  iQue  va  a  emprenar!  Estoy 
acostumbrado  a  tomarb.  Sigui6  su  camino,  acompaiiado  del  indio. 
Corta  distancia  caminaron,  cuando  sintio  retortijones  de  barriga,  y  le 
dice  al  indio:  —  Indio,  bien  nos  lo  dijo  el  vaquero  que  la  leche  em- 
preiia; creo  que  voy  a  parir.  Y  entre  mds,  mis  le  molestaban  los 
retortijones  de  barriga.  Mas  adelante  al  lado  del  camino  vio  un  hoyo. 
Se  bajo  el  pantalon  y  comenz6  a  parir.  En  este  hoyo  por  casualidad 
estaba  metido  un  conejo.  Este  salio  del  hoyo  todo  sucio  de  escre- 
mento;  con  las  orejas  le  toc6  las  nalgas  al  gallego.  El  gallego  salto 
de  susto  y  de  gusto,  porque  dio  a  luz  un  hijo.  El  conejo  huyo  espan- 
tado  y  el  gallego  lo  llamo :  —  Ven  hijo  de  mi  corazon,  ven,  te  llevare  a 
que  te  conozcan  tus  abuelitos.  El  conejo  se  escondio  entre  las  hierbas. 
Entonces  el  gallego  le  dijo:  —  Ya  que  no  quieres  venir,  toma  este 
par  de  pesos  para  que  compres  tus  pafiales. 

*  This  story  was  obtained  in  Tuxtepec  from  Mariano  Martinez. 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  555 

Un  cazador  que  cazaba  un  venado  por  ese  lugar,  estaba  oyendo  al 
gallego  lo  que  decia  al  conejo.  El  cazador  dejo  al  venado  y  se  fijo 
donde  boto  los  dos  pesos,  para  recogerlos. 

El  gallego  se  fue  muy  contento  y  decia:  —  Gracias  a  Dios  que  ya 
sail  del  compromiso.  El  cazador  que  estaba  escondido  observandolo 
corrio  a  buscarlos  para  recogerlos  y  dijo  muy  contento:  —  Yo  soy  el 
conejo  y  comprar^  mis  pafiales. 

EL  LEON,   EL  TIGRE   Y   EL   CAMINANTE.  ^ 

En  una  ocasion  dicen  que  un  caminante  emprendio  un  viaje  muy 
dilatado  por  caminos  muy  lobregos  y  tuvo  que  pasar  por  la  falda  de  un 
cerro.  Pues  alli  no  tenia  amparo  mas  que  el  de  Dios,  porque  ninguna 
gente  caminaba  por  miedo  a  las  fieras,  Pues  en  esa  ocasion  un  tigre 
que  andaba  cerca  del  camino  le  salio  al  encuentro  y  lo  agarro.  A  los 
gritos  que  daba  el  caminante  salio  un  leon  del  monte  y  valiente  y  vencio 
al  tigre.  Luego  despues  el  leon  se  llevo  al  hombre,  agarrindole  la 
mano  para  su  cueva.  —  jToma  alimento!  —  le  decia  el  leon,  —  no 
tengas  miedo,  soy  tu  libertador.  Oyeme  lo  que  te  voy  a  decir.  iHa- 
bra  fiera  mas  valiente  y  que  tenga  mas  fuerzas  que  yo?  Tii  puedes 
responder,  o  que  te  lo  diga  ese  tigre  cobarde.  Yo,  yo  solo,  Rey  poderoso, 
domino  en  todo  el  monte.  Cuantas  veces  la  onza  y  el  oso  con  su 
sangre  el  tributo  me  han  pagado.  Los  despojos  de  pieles  y  cabezas, 
los  huesos  que  blanquean  este  lugar,  dan  el  mis  claro  aviso  de  mi  valor 
y  fuerzas. — Es  verdad  —  dijo  el  hombre  —  soy  testigo;  los  triunfos 
miro  de  tu  fuerza;  contemplo  a  tu  nacion  que  te  tiene  miedo;  me 
libraste  y  venciste  a  mi  enemigo.  Por  todo  esto,  seiior,  con  tu  licencia, 
deja  que  te  diga:  solo  tu  eres  digno  del  trono;  eres  bueno,  eres  amable; 
porque  senor,  el  monarca  que  es  bueno  con  su  pueblo,  es  dichoso,  y  hoy 
comprendo  que  tu  no  eres  orgulloso  con  tu  poder,  no  eres  como  el 
tigre,  sangriento  y  cruel.  Pues  asi  son  los  poderosos  humanos,  unos 
nobles  como  tu,  y  otros  tiranos  y  cruele?  como  el  tigre,  que  aniquilan 
sin  compasi6n  al  hombre  pobre  y  humilde. 

CORRIDO   DE   MACARIO   ROMERO. 

Voy  a  contar  estos  versos 
Con  carino  verdadero, 
Para  recordar  del  hombre 
Que  fue  Macario  Romero. 
Era  amigo  de  los  hombres, 
Los  queria  de  coraz6n; 
Por  un  amor  lo  mataron, 
Lo  mataron  a  traici6n. 
Macario  Romero  dijo: 

^  Obtained  in  Tiixtepec  from  Mariano  Martinez. 


556  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

—  Oiga  mi  General  Plata, 
Consigame  una  Hcencia 
Para  ir  a  ver  a  mi  chata. 
El  General  Plata  dijo: 

—  Macario,  ique  vas  a  hacer? 
Van  a  quitarte  la  vida 

Por  esa  ingrata  mujer. 
Macario  Romero  dijo, 
Al  pasar  por  la  garita: 

—  Y  voy  a  ver  a  mi  chata, 

Y  a  mi  nadie  me  lo  quita. 
Jesusita  Llanos  dijo: 

—  Papa  alia  viene  Macario. 
Desde  lejos  lo  conozco 

En  su  caballo  melado. 
Don  Vicente  Llanos  dijo: 

—  i Jesus!     (jQue  plan  le  pondremos? 
Vamos  formando  un  baile, 

Con  eso  lo  mataremos. 
Llego  Macario  Romero 

Y  lo  invitan  a  bailar. 
Como  a  los  cinco  minutes 
Se  empezaron  a  tirar. 
Macario  Romero  dijo: 

—  Acabenme  de  matar, 

Que  all^  esta  el  General  Plata, 
Que  es  el  que  me  ha  de  vengar. 
El  General  Plata  dijo: 

—  Ahora  si  han  qucdado  bien, 
Ya  mataron  a  Macario, 

Me  mataron  a  mi  tambi6n. 
Jesusita  Llanos  dijo, 
Cuando  recogio  el  sombrero: 

—  (jPara  que  quiero  la  vida 
Sin  mi  Macario  Romero? 
Con  esto  ya  me  despido 
Porque  can  tar  ya  no  puedo; 
Ya  cantamos  el  corrido 

De  ese  Macario  Romero. 

Note.  —  This  is  a  short  but  spirited  version  of  the  well-known  popular 
Mexican  and  New-Mexican  Spanish  ballad  of  Macario  Romero.  The  two 
New-Mexican  versions  published  in  the  "  Revue  Hispanique"  ("  Romancero 
Nuevomejicano,"  Nos.  42  and  43)  are  much  better  and  more  complete. 
Antonio  Castro  Leal  (in  "Cuba  Contemporanea,"  1914,  p.  241,  note)  says 
that  this  popular  ballad  is  a  national  Mexican  ballad.  I  have  in  my  pos- 
session several  Mexican  versions  of  the  ballad.  None  are  any  longer  or 
better  than  the  New-Mexican  versions  already  published  in  my  publication 
above  mentioned.  —  A.  M.  E. 


Stories  and  Songs  from  Mexico.  557 

VERSOS. 

Una  calandria  en  un  huerto 
Lloraba  sus  agonias. 
Asi  que  ya  me  veas  muerto, 
Podras  decir:  Vida  mfa, 
Ahora  si  me  sali6  cierto, 
Se  acab6  quien  me  queria. 

Si  muerto  me  llegas  a  ver, 
Voy  a  pedirte  un  favor, 
Que  te  vayas  a  poner 
Sobre  mi  tumba  una  flor, 

Y  a  nadie  des  a  saber 
Que  fui  tu  primer  amor. 

EL   CARPINTERO. 

Se  rompio  mi  tinajero 
De  un  amor  que  tanto  quise. 
Como  era  falsa  madera, 
EI  tronc6n  tom6  podrice'. 
jMal  haya  la  casa  ajena! 
Por  eso  no  es  bueno  engreirse. 

DECIMA. 

Cada  vez  que  pienso  en  ti, 
Se  me  mueve  esa  compasi6n: 
De  ver  que  tu  querido  fui, 
Me  atormenta  esa  pasi6n. 
Dime,  icon  qu6  coraz6n 
A  tal  cosa  te  atreviste? 
(iNo  viste,  no  conociste. 
Que  esto  se  habia  de  saber? 

Ahora  si  me  quieres  ver 
Con  esos  ojitos  tristes, 
Anda  perfida  e  inconstante, 
Tu  de  mi  te  acordaris, 

Y  despues  sola  diras, 

Cual  traidora  y  falsa  amante 
Tu  mala  hidra  penetrante. 
Solo  tii  la  reprobaste. 
Primero  me  idolatraste 
Toda  llena  de  ilusion; 
Si  tenias  mala  intenci6n, 
Dime  ipara  qu6  me  amaste? 

VERSOS. 

Me  han  dicho  que  tienes  otra 
Que  es  mas  bonita  que  yo. 
Mds  bonita  si  sera, 
Constante  como  yo,  no. 


558  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Al  pie  de  un  hermoso  roble 
Hizo  fuego  mi  fortuna; 
Cambiaste  oro  por  cobre, 
El  mar  por  una  laguna. 

Si  me  desprecias  por  pobre, 
Si  por  pobre  no  merezco, 
Lo  que  otra  por  rica  alcanza, 
Advierte  trigueno  mio, 
Pobre,  pero  de  importancia. 

Aunque  yo  en  tu  amor  crei, 
De  todito  me  arrepiento. 
Nuestro  amor  lleg6  hasta  aqui; 
Todo  se  acab6  al  momento. 
Ya  nada  sientas  por  mi, 
Que  yo  por  ti  nada  siento. 
Harvard  University, 

Cambridge,  Mass. 


El  Folk-Lore  de  Guatemala.  559 


ALGUNAS    OBSERVACIONES    SOBRE    EL   FOLK-LORE    DE 

GUATEMALA. 

POR  ADRIAN   RECINOS. 

I.  LOS   CUENTOS   POPULARES. 

La  fantasia  del  pueblo  guatemalteco  es  muy  rica.  Los  libros  de  los 
indios,  compuestos  en  la  6poca  de  la  Conquista,  contienen  gran  can- 
tidad  de  fabulas  y  leyendas  netamente  populares,  de  origen  heroico  y 
religioso.  Aparte  de  6sto,  las  razas  actuales,  que  son  muy  numerosas 
todavia,  conservan  y  se  trasmiten  de  padres  a  hijos  cuentos  y  leyendas 
muy  interesantes. 

Pero  lo  mas  litil  para  el  estudio  del  Folk-lore  de  este  pais,  son  los 
cuentos  de  la  poblacion  blanca  o  mestiza.  Existe  una  gran  variedad 
de  cuentos  para  entretener  a  los  niilos,  fundados  todos  en  aventuras 
her6icas  de  principes,  amores  de  princesas,  brujas,  animales  fantasticos 
y  fabulas  en  prosa  en  que  intervienen  animales  salvajes  y  domesticos. 

EL   CADE JO. 

El  cadejo  es  un  monstruo  que  se  aparece  de  noche  en  los  caminos 
y  en  las  calles  obscuras  de  las  poblaciones,  asustando  a  los  viajeros, 
a  los  enamorados  y  trasnochadores.  Espanta  a  las  caballerias,  que  al 
verlo  arrojan  al  suelo  a  los  ginetes,  y  hace  ahullar  a  los  perros. 

Tiene  el  cadejo  la  figura  de  un  perro  negro  o  bianco,  segiin  la  lo- 
calidad,  con  los  ojos  encendidos  como  ascuas  y  el  pelo  largo,  lanudo  y 
enredado. 

El  pueblo  cree  sinceramente  en  la  existencia  de  este  monstruo  fan- 
tistico  y  es  muy  comiin  oir  la  frase:  "Me  salio  el  cadejo,"  equivalente 
de  mal  exito  en  una  empresa,  el  ser  descubierto  un  ladr6n  por  la 
justicia,  que  seria  el  cadejo,  etc. 

Hubo  hace  algunos  arios  un  bandido  llamado  "Bambita,"  que  habia 
cometido  robos,  asesinatos,  violaciones  y  delitos  sin  fin,  sin  poder  ser 
cogido  por  la  justicia.  Pero  una  noche,  en  el  pueblo  de  Amatitlan, 
atraido  por  la  musica  y  algazara  de  una  fiesta,  se  acerc6  a  un  barrio 
obscuro  y  al  volver  una  esquina  vio  delante  de  si  al  mismisimo  cadejo 
que  le  miraba  con  sus  ojos  de  fuego.  Ver  al  cadejo  y  ponerse  a  temblar 
de  pies  a  cabeza,  fue  todo  uno,  y  su  terror  tan  grande,  que  no  penso 
en  escapar  y  en  el  mismo  lugar  fu6  encontrado  por  una  patruUa  de 
policia  que  lo  arresto.  Fu6  juzgado  y  conto  la  aparicion  del  cadejo. 
Despues  fue  fusilado. 


560  Journal  of  American  Folk- Lore. 

De  la  misma  familia  del  Cadejo,  son  el  Sombrer6n  y  la  Mula  sin 
cabeza,  que  las  gentes  credulas  creen  que  salen  de  noche  y  persiguen 
a  los  hombres,  anunciandoles  series  males  y  hasta  causindoles  la 
muerte.^ 

LA   CIGUANABA. 

Asi  como  el  Cadejo  es  el  fantasma  macho  que  espanta  a  los  tran- 
seuntes  que  se  aventuran  durante  la  noche  por  los  barrios  lejanos  de 
las  ciudades,  la  Ciguanaba  es  el  fantasma  hembra,  una  especie  de 
sirena  de  hermosura  extraordinaria  y  de  luenga  cabellera,  que  se  suele 
ver  por  la  noche  tambien,  cerca  de  las  fuentes  piiblicas  y  de  los  rios. 
Atrae  con  su  belleza  y  con  su  canto  a  los  hombres  y  los  lleva  a  perecer 
en  los  barrancos  y  montanas,  o  los  ahoga  entre  el  agua  de  los  rios. 

La  Llorona  es  un  nombre  diferente  para  el  mismo  fantasma.  Es  el 
nombre  castellano  de  la  Ciguanaba.  Ciguanaba,^  en  lengua  india  de 
Guatemala,  significa  "Mujer  desnuda." 

Tambien  se  llama  Ciguamonta'  en  algunas  regiones,  nombre  que 
ademas  se  aplica  a  un  pdjaro  de  la  familia  de  los  Cuclillos. 

Una  copla  popular  indica  la  causa  por  la  cual  la  Ciguamonta  o 
Ciguanaba  vaga  de  noche  por  las  fuentes  y  siempre  Uorando.     La  copla 

dice  asi :  — 

"  Lloraba  la  Ciguamonta 

La  muerte  de  su  marido, 

que  si  no  se  hubiera  muerto  .  .  . 

tal  vez  estuviera  vivo."* 

LA   TATUANA. 

La  Tatuana  es  una  mujer  historica,  que  existi6  en  realidad  en  Guate- 
mala, pero  que  ha  pasado  a  formar  en  las  filas  de  los  fantasmas  con 
que  se  asusta  a  los  nifios  para  obligarlos  a  dormir  o  a  estarse  quietos. 

Se  asegura  que  la  Tatuana  fu6  una  bruja,  que  cometia  toda  clase  de 
maleficios  y  con  este  motivo  fue  denunciada  ante  la  Inquisici6n,  que 
residia  en  la  ciudad  de  Guatemala,  la  Antigua,  Capital  de  la  Colonia. 

Fue  llevada  a  la  c4rcel  y  encerrada  con  todas  las  seguridades  que 
parecian  necesarias  para  impedir  la  fuga  de  tan  peligrosa  mujer. 

Pero  el  tribunal  y  los  carceleros  no  contaban  con  el  poder  maravilloso 
de  la  bruja,  quien,  al  quedarse  sola,  pinto  con  carb6n  un  buquecito  en 
la  pared  de  su  calabozo  y  embarcandose  en  61  se  escap6  de  la  prisi6n. 

II.   LOS  CANTOS  DE  NOCHE-BUENA. 

El  pueblo  de  Guatemala  celebra  la  Navidad  no  solo  como  una  fiesta 
del  hogar,  sino  tambi6n  como  la  fiesta  del  Nifio  Jesus. 

*  Comparese  la  malora  de  Nuevo  Mejico,  esta  revista,  vol.  xxiii,  p.  8. — A.  M.  E. 

*  Mexicano  moderno,  ciuanauac,  "concubina." 
'  Ciuamontli,  "nuera." 

*  Comparense  la  llorona  de  Nuevo  Mejico  y  la  calchona  de  Chile,  esta  revista,  op.  cit., 
p.  9.— A.  M.  E. 


El  Folk-Lore  de  Guatemala.  561 

La  Noche-Buena  se  hace  un  altar,  el  "nacimiento"  espanol,  con 
montanas,  ri'os,  lagos,  caminos  y  pueblos  y  con  hombres  y  animales, 
imitacion  en  miniatura  del  mundo  verdadero,  como  estaba  la  noche  en 
que  naci6  Jesu-Cristo.  En  el  centro  del  "nacimiento"  hay  una  ca- 
bana y  en  ella  Jos^,  Maria  y  el  Nino-Dios,  rodeados  de  una  mula  y 
un  buey,  segun  la  tradici6n  biblica. 

Cerca  de  la  media  noche  se  reunen  alrededor  del  nacimiento  chicos 
y  grandes.  Se  reza  la  "Novena"  del  Nino,  o  sean  las  oraciones  a  el 
dirigidas  y  ios  ninos  cantan  los  villancicos,  coplas  populares,  muchas 
veces  incorrectas,  pero  llenas  de  ingenuidad  y  sencillez.  Hemos 
recogido  las  siguientes:  — 

Zagales  y  pastorcitos, 
al  Nino  vamos  a  ver, 
con  pitillos  y  tambores 
mostrando  nuestro  placer. 

Los  pastorcillos  del  Valle 
venimos  a  conocer 
al  Mesias  que  ha  nacido 
en  el  portal  de  BeI6n. 

Pastores,  pastores, 
vamos  a  Belen, 
a  ver  a  Maria 
y  al  Nino  tambi6n. 

Sigue  otra  parte  de  las  oraciones  y  despues,  con  distinta  musica, 
alegre  y  ligera,  y  tocando  pitos  y  tamborcitos  a  ratos,  vuelven  a  cantar 
los  muchachos  y  muchachas :  — 

Sandalitas  quiere  el  niiio 
para  comenzar  a  andar. 
Hdganselas  bien  hechitas, 
no  se  vaya  a  tropezar. 


Quk.  bonito  el  naranjito 
copadito  de  azahar, 
donde  se  sienta  la  Virgen 
con  su  aguja  y  su  dedal, 
a  coserle  los  panales 
al  ninito  Baltasar  (!) 

El  pueblo  no  se  preocupa  mucho  de  la  exactitud  en  las  ideas,  ni  en 
las  palabras.  En  esta  copla  hasta  olvida  el  nombre  del  Niilo  y  le 
llama  con  toda  frescura  Baltasar  para  cumplir  con  la  rima,  aunque 
confunda  a  Jesiis  con  el  rey  que  vino  de  Oriente  para  adorarlo.  En 
cambio,  ese  "naranjito  copadito  de  azahar"  es  un  verdadero  sujeto 
po6tico. 


562  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Otro  genero  de  coplas  se  cantan  al  Nino  como  hacen  las  madres 
con  sus  propios  hijos,  con  el  objeto  de  adormecerlo.  A  esta  clase  per- 
tenecen  las  siguientes,  que  pueden  oirse  la  Noche-Buena  dirigidas  al 
Nino  Jesus  y  todos  los  dias  del  aiio  dirigidas  a  los  nifios,  hijos  del 
hombre :  — 

Seiiora  Santa  Ana, 
Senor  San  Joaquin, 
escondan  al  Nino 
por  el  tacuazin.  ^ 

—  Sefiora  Santa  Ana, 
(iPor  que  llora  el  Nino? 

—  Por  una  manzana 
Que  se  le  ha  perdido. 

—  Que  no  llore,  pues 
yo  le  dare  dos, 

una  para  el  Nino 
y  otra  para  vos. 

La  Virgen  lavaba, 
San  Jose  tendia,^ 
y  el  Nino  lloraba 
del  frio  que  hacia. 

A  este  mismo  grupo  pertenecen  las  siguientes  estrofas  que  se  cantan 
a  los  niiios  para  que  se  duerman:  — 

Ru  ru,  ninito, 
cabeza  de  ayote,^ 
si  no  te  dormfs, 
te  come  el  coyote. 


Dormfte,  ninito, 
que  viene  gud-gud;  * 
si  no  te  dormis, 
61  te  comera. 


Dormite,  ninito, 
que  tengo  qu6  hacer, 
lavar  tus  panales, 
sentarme  a  coser; 
una  camisita 
que  te  has  de  poner, 
el  di'e  *  tu  santo 
al  amanecer. 

1  Didelpkis  virginiana,  Kerr,  mexicano  tlacuatzin. 

*  Tendia  {la  ropa  lavada).  ^  Calabaza.  *  El  perro.  '  El  dia  de. 


El  Folk-Lore  de  Guatemala.  563 

III.  COPLAS  POPULARES. 

El  ingenio  del  pueblo  se  manifiesta  principalmente  en  los  cantares  y 
coplas  amorosas,  ya  sueltas  o  combinadas  en  forma  de  romances  de 
varias  estrofas.  La  regla  general  es  que  las  estrofas  sean  independientes, 
de  manera  que  cada  una  de  ellas  pueda  cantarse  separadamente. 

Todas  las  coplas  que  se  insertan  a  continuaci6n  se  cantan  acompana- 
das  de  guitarra  y  muchas  veces  sin  otro  acompanamiento  que  la  voz 
de  los  companeros  de  trabajo  o  de  los  amigos  del  cantor. 

Por  lo  general,  en  las  fiestas  populares  cada  concurrente  canta  una 
copla,  estableciendose  una  competencia  en  la  cual  se  hace  derroche 
de  ingenio  y  toman  parte  hombres  y  mujeres.  Las  copas  de  licor  no 
escasean  en  estas  reuniones. 

Una  de  las  coplas  guatemaltecas  mis  conocidas  es  la  siguiente:  — 

Ayer  pas6  por  tu  casa 
y  me  tiraste  un  lim6n; 
el  lim6n  cay6  en  el  suelo 
y  el  zumo  en  mi  corazon. 

Otra  dice: 

Con  el  bord6n  del  amor 

voy  cayendo  y  levantando 

y  como  el  bordon  conoce  (el  camino) 

solito  61  me  va  llevando. 

A  veces  toma  parte  toda  la  concurrencia  haciendo  coro  al  cantor  con 
una  estrofa  conocida  de  todos,  que  se  suele  cantar  al  principio  y  mas 
comunmente  al  final.  El  cantor  principal  es  casi  siempre  un  joven 
que  se  dirige  a  su  novia,  presente  en  la  reunion,  o  un  amante  desdenado, 
que  quiere  cumplir  el  precepto  de  castigar  el  desden  con  el  desden. 

Colocado  en  el  centro  de  la  reunion,  el  cantor  alza  la  voz  y  dice  para 
empezar,  las  palabras  "jBomba,  bomba!"  seguidas  de  algun  pensa- 
miento  picaresco.     Porejemplo:  — 

i  Bomba,  Bomba 
Cachinflin  y  cuete!^ 
Que  para  quererte  a  vos 
No  es  menester  alcahuete. 

La  siguiente  es  una  Bomba,  popular  en  la  regi6n  de  la  Verapaz:  — 

Soy  nacido  entre  las  flores 

y  criado  en  el  cardo-santo, 

y  son  tales  las  mujeres 

que  echan  de  cabeza  a  un  santo. 

iPara  que  son  tantos  brincos 

estando  el  suelo  parejo? 

Con  esta  mi  modo  y  seaca  ^ 

antes  que  me  dejen,  dejo.  .  .  . 
1  Cachinflin  y  cuete.     Cueie  es  vulgar  de  cohete;  cachinflin,  la  parte  del  cohete  que  lleva 
la  polvora. 

*  Seaca,  contraccion  de  se  acabo. 


564  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Ya  las  muchachas  bonitas 
Ya  no  quieren  dar  un  beso; 
y  las  que  son  feototas 
hasta  alargan  el  pescuezo. 

Y  asi  me  voy  despidiendo 
de  la  arena  los  terrenes; 
que  no  hay  como  I'aguardiente 
para  ablandar  corazones. 

Coro. 

A  mi  no  me  quema  el  sol! 
A  mi  no  me  quema  el  gas! 
A  mi  no  me  quema  el  fuego, 
ni  el  aguardiente,  ni  el  aguarrds!" 

Otras  coplas  comienzan  con  el  mismo  verso,  o  concluyen  con  las 
mismas  palabras  en  forma  de  estribillo.  Juzguese  del  efecto  de  las 
siguientes,  que  canta  el  pueblo  en  varias  regiones  del  pais:  — 

Las  muchachas  de  este  tiempo 
son  como  las  guayabitas, 
que  apenas  les  dicen  —  mi  alma, 
van  cayendo  maduritas. 

Las  viejitas  de  este  tiempo 
ya  no  se  ponen  listones, 
porque  tienen  las  trencitas 
como  colas  de  ratones. 

Las  viejitas  de  este  tiempo 
ya  no  se  ponen  aritos, 
porque  tienen  las  orejas 
que  parecen  huacalitos. 

M4s  arriba  venden  quesos, 
mas  abajo  chicharrones, 
en  la  cabez'e  las  viejas^ 
hacen  nido  los  ratones. 


Dicen  que  ya  no  me  quieres 
porque  te  he  dado  mal  pago; 
volveme  a  querer  de  nuevo, 
que  un  clavo  saca  otro  clavo. 

Dicen  que  ya  no  me  quieres 
porque  no  te  he  dado  nada: 
Acordate  de  los  palos 
de  la  semana  pasada. 

*  Cabez'e  contraccion  de  cabeza  de. 


El  Folk-Lore  de  Guatemala.  565 

Todavia  puedo  anadir  otras  coplas  sueltas,  o  combinaciones  de  dos 
o  mas,  con  el  mismo  o  diferente  metro,  que  en  materia  de  libertades 
poeticas  el  pueblo  las  usa  todas.     Veanse  las  siguientes:  — 

Todos  dicen  que  soy  feo, 
que  tengo  cara  de  coche;^ 
s61o  mi  negrita  dice 
que  soy  su  huele-de-noche.  ^ 


i  Dicen  que  borracho  vengo! 
jPor  Dios  que  no  tengo  nada! 
Y  si  borracho  viniera, 
a  nadien  le  pido  nada. 


Quisiera  ser  guacamaya,' 
pero  de  las  mas  azules, 
para  pasarme  contigo 
sdbado,  domingo  y  lunes. 


Ni  mi  madre,  ni  mi  padre, 
ni  San  Antonio  bendito, 
no  me  han  podido  evitar 
que  yo  chupe  mi  traguito. 


Mi  mujer  y  mi  caballo 
se  me  murieron  a  un  tiempo. 
iQue  mujer  ni  que  demonio! 
mi  caballo  es  el  que  siento. 


Mi  caballo  era.  tan  gordo 
que  parecia  una  bola, 
con  una  matadurita 
desde  la  cruz  a  la  cola. 


La  que  se  casa  con  calvo 
tiene  su  pasion  entera: 
de  dia,  cruz  y  calvario, 
y  de  noche,  calavera. 


Dicen  que  no  nos  queremos 
porque  no  nos  ven  hablar; 
a  tu  corazon  y  al  mio 
se  lo  pueden  preguntar. 

Cuando  te  quise 
fue  por  el  pelo. 
Ora  pelona, 
ipa  qu6  te  quiero? 

1  Cochino,  cerdo. 

2  Huele-de-noche,  planta  que  florece  de  noche  y  emite  una  fragancia  deliciosa. 
'  Macaw. 


566  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

Me  quisistes,  yo  te  quise, 
me  adorastes,  te  adore, 
me  quemastes  la  canilla,^ 
yo  tambien  te  la  queme. 

Me  quemastes  la  canilla 
como  quien  no  dice  nada, 
pa  que  la  gente  me  diga: 
jAdids,  canilla-quemada! 

Guatemala, 

Noviembre  de  1916. 

1  Enganastes. 


Members  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society.  567 


OFFICERS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE  SOCIETY  (1916). 

President,  Robert  H.  Lowie. 

First  Vice-President,  G.  L.  Kittredge. 

Second  Vice-President,  J.  Walter  Fewkes. 

Councillors.  For  three  years:  Phillips  Barry,  C.-M.  Barbeau,  A.  M.  Espinosa.  For 
two  years:  R.  H.  Lowie,  E.  K.  Putnam,  A.  M.  Tozzer.  For  one  year:  Roland  B.  Dixon, 
Mrs.  Zelia  Nuttall,  A.  L.  Kroeber.  Past  Presidents:  H.  M.  Belden,  John  A.  Lomax, 
Pliny  Earle  Goddard.  Presidents  of  Local  Branches:  Charles  Peabody,  A.  M.  Tozzer, 
E.  C.  Perrow,  Miss  Mary  A.  Owen,  Haywood  Parker,  Reed  Smith,  Clyde  Chew  Glass- 
cock, James  M.  Grainger,  John  Harrington  Cox. 

Editor  of  Journal,  Franz  Boas,  Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Permanent  Secretary,  Charles  Peabody,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Assistant  Secretary,  A.  V.  Kidder,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Treasurer,  Alfred  M.  Tozzer,  Peabody  Museum;  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Auditing  Committee,  Roland  B.  Dixon,  A.  V.  Kidder. 

MEMBERS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE  SOCIETY 

(for  the  YEAR  I916). 


HONORARY  MEMBERS. 


Juan  B.  Ambrosetti,  Buenos  Ayres,  Argen- 
tina. 

Ven.  John  Batchelor,  Sapporo,  Japan. 

Francisco  Adolpho  Coelho,  Lisbon,  Portu- 
gal. 

Sir  James  George  Frazer,  London,  E.C., 
England. 

Henri  Gaidoz,  Paris,  France. 


Edwin  Sidney  Hartland,  Gloucester,  Eng- 
land. 

Friedrich  S.  Krauss,  Vienna,  Austria. 

Kaarle  Krohn,  Helsingfors,  Finland. 

Giuseppe  Pitre,  Palermo,  Italy. 

Paul  Sebillot,  Paris,  France. 

Sir  Edward  Burnett  Tylor,  Oxford,  Eng- 
land. 


LIFE   MEMBERS. 


Eugene  F.  Bliss,  Cincinnati,  O. 
Seth  Bunker  Capp,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Hiram  Edmund  Deats,  Flemington,  N.J. 
Joseph  E.  Gillingham,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Archer  M.  Huntington,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Paul  Kelly,  London,  England. 


Frederick  W.  Lehmann,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
The  Due  de  Loubat,  Paris,  France. 
Miss  Mary  A.  Owen,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Mrs.  Elsie  Clews  Parsons,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Felix  Warburg,  New  York,  N.Y. 


ANNUAL  MEMBERS. 


Boston  Branch. 


President,  Charles  Peabody. 
First  Vice-President,  Alfred  V.  Kidder. 
Second  Vice-President,  Helen  Leah  Reed. 
Secretary,  Mrs.  J.  W.  Courtney. 
Treasurer,  Samuel  B.  Dean. 

Miss  Aldrich,  Auburndale,  Mass. 

Miss  Maude  Allen,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Monroe  Ayer,  Boston,  Mass. 

F.  N.  Balch,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  E.  D.  Bangs,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Jacob  A.  Barbey,  Jr.,  Brookline,  Mass. 

Miss  Laura  Barr,  Boston,  Mass. 

Phillips  Barry,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

C.  C.  Batchelder,  Boston,  Mass. 

VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  1 14. — 37. 


Mrs.  H.  W.  Bennett,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  F.  D.  Bergen,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Miss  Eleanor  Bigelow,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Dr.  Clarence  Blake,  Boston,  Mass. 
C.  P.  Bowditch,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Louise  Brooks,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Abby  Farwell  Brown,  Boston,  Mass. 
H.  Addington  Bruce,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Mrs.  William  M.  Butler,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Mary  Chapman,  Springfield,  Mass. 
Miss  Ellen  Chase,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Mrs.  A.  E.  Childs,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  S.  Adams  Choate,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Rosa  Churchill,  New  Britain,  Conn. 
Miss  M.  Anna  Clarke,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Otto  B.  Cole,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  G.  A.  Collier,  Boston,  Mass. 


568 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


Mrs.  Joseph  W.  Courtney,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Ralph  Adams  Cram,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  S.  H.  Crocker,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Robert  Cushman,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Samuel  B.  Dean,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Grace  Donworth,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Marie  Everett,  Boston,  Mass. 
Professor  Charles  E.  Fay,  Medford,  Mass. 
Frederick  P.  Fish,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Miss  Margaret  Fish,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Emma  J.  Fitz,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Mary  E.  Foster,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Robert  Gorham  Fuller,  Dover,  Mass. 
Mrs.  F.  W.  Gaskill,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Thomas  G.  Girer,  Chicago,  111. 
Marshall  H.  Gould,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  J.  M.  Graham,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  John  Chipman  Gray,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  H.  A.  Hall,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Alice  M.  Hawes,  Boston,  Mass. 
H.  D.  Heathfield,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Louise  Hellier,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  C.  A.  Hight,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Lee  Hoffman,  Portland,  Ore. 
A.  Marshall  Jones,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Rebecca  R.  Joslin,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Marion  Judd,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Fred  Kendall,  Boston,  Mass. 
Miss  Louise  Kennedy,  Concord,  Mass. 
Dr.  Alfred  V.  Kidder,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Mrs.  David  P.  Kimball,  Boston,  Mass. 
Delcevare  King,  Boston,  Mass. 
Professor  George  Lyman  Kittredge,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass. 
Miss  Lucy  A.  Leonard,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Mrs.  M.  V.  Little,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Jared  Lockwood,  Boston,  Mass. 
James  Longley,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Daniel  Lothrop,  Boston,  Mass. 

Ralph  Lowell,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Alexander  Martin,  Boston,  Mass. 

Albert  Matthews,  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Bee  Mayes,  Boston,  Mass. 

Dr.  S.  N.  Merrick,  Wellesley,  Mass. 

Miss  Elizabeth  Miller,  Brookline,  Mass. 

Miss  Sophie  Moen,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  J.  N.  Moore,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

W.  E.  Murdock,  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Mary  L.  Neff,  Brookline,  Mass. 

Dr.  Horace  Packard,  Boston,  Mass. 

Mrs.  William  A.  Paine,  Boston,  Mass. 

Dr.  Sarah  E.  Palmer,  Boston,  Mass. 

Dr.  Charles  Peabody,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Thomas  E.  Penard,  Arlington,  Mass. 

Miss  Georgiana  Pentlarge,  Boston,  Mass. 

Dr.  Emily  F.  Pope,  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Caroline  Pousland,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  W.  G.  Preston,  Brookline,  Mass. 

Mrs.  F.  W.  Putnam,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Henry  E.  Raymond,  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Helen  Leah  Reed,  Boston,  Mass. 

Eliot  W.  Remick,  Boston,  Mass. 

Miss  Dora  Roberts,  Boston,  Mass. 

Dr.  B.  L.  Robinson,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Miss  Fanny  Russell,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Miss  Mary  E.  Selmes,  Cambridge,  Mass. 


Mrs.  Joseph  L.  Smith,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  H.  N.  Sheldon,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  W.  P.  Shreve,  Brookline,  Mass. 
Mrs.  Winfield  Scott  Shrigley,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  J.  F.  Spofford,  Brookline,  Mass. 
J.  B.  Stetson,  Ashbourne,  Pa. 
Mrs.  James  J.  Storrow,  Boston,  Mass. 
Dr.  Julio  Cesar  Tello,  Lima,  Peru. 
A.  R.  Tisdale,  Boston,  Mass. 
Professor  A.  M.  Tozzer,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Dr.  F.  H.  Verhoef,  Boulevard,  Mass. 
Mrs.  C  W.  Ward,  Brookline.  Mass. 
Miss  S.  L.  Warren,  Boston,  Mass. 
William  Whittemore,  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  J.  C.  Whitin,  Whitinsville,  Mass. 
Ashton  R.  Willard.  Boston,  Mass. 
Mrs.  W.  V.  Wolcott,  Boston,  Mass. 

Cambridge  Branch. 

President,  A.  M.  Tozzer. 
Vice-President,  Mrs.  E.  F.  Williams. 
Treasurer,  Carleton  E.  Noyes. 
Secretary,  Mrs.  W.  Scudder. 

Professor  Irving  Babbitt,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

C.  F.  Batchelder,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

C.  T.  Carruth,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Dr.  George  H.  Chase,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Allen  H.  Cox,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  Roland  B.  Dixon,  Cambridge, 
Mass. 

E.  B.  Drew,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Arthur  Fairbanks,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Arthur  Fairbanks,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  M.  L.  Fernald,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  W.  S.  Ferguson,  Cambridge, 
Mass. 

Professor  Edward  W.  Forbes,  Cambridge, 
Mass. 

Professor  J.  D.  M.  Ford,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  W.  H.  Graves,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Franklin  Hammond,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  William  Fenwick  Harris,  Cam- 
bridge, Mass. 

Professor  Alfred  Hoernle,  Cambridge.  Mass. 

Dr.  E.  A.  Hooton,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Allen  Jackson,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  A.  E.  Kennelly,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Francis  Kershaw,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  Kirsopp  Lake,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  H.  S.  Langfeld,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Miss  Margaret  A.  Leavitt,  Cambridge, 
Mass. 

Professor  L.  S.  Marks,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

G.  N.  McMillan,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  W.  A.  Neilson,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  A.  O.  Norton,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Richard  Norton,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Carleton  E.  Noyes,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

James  A.  Noyes,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Dr.  W.  J.  V.  Osterhout,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Dr.  Charles  Peabody,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Mrs.  Charles  Peabody,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Professor  R.  B.  Perry,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Dr.  Benjamin  Rand,  Cambridge,  Mass. 


Members  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society. 


569 


Professor    F.    N.    Robinson,    Cambridge, 

Mass. 
Mrs.  W.  S.  Scudder,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Professor  A.  M.  Tozzer,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Miss  Bertha  Vaughan,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Dr.  E.  R.  O.  von  Mach,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Hollis  Webster,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Professor  K.  G.   T.  Webster,  Cambridge, 

Mass. 
Mrs.  Walter  Wesselhoeft,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Miss  Margaret  White,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Emile  F.  Williams,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Professor    C.    H.    C.    White,    Cambridge, 

Mass. 
Professor  H.  L.  White,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Miss  Sarah  D.  Yerxa,  Cambridge,  Mass. 


Missouri  Branch. 

President,  Miss  Mary  A.  Owen. 

Vice-Presidents,  J.  L.  Lowes,  W.  L.  Camp- 
bell, Miss  Goldy  M.  Hamilton,  Miss 
Lucy  R.  Laws. 

Secretary,  H.  M.  Belden. 

Treasurer,  C.  H.  Williams. 

Professor  H.  M.  Belden,  Columbia,  Mo. 
Dr.  A.  E.  Bostwick,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Professor  W.  G.  Brown,  Columbia,  Mo. 
Dr.  W.  L.  Campbell,  Kansas  City,  Mo. 
Miss  Eva  W.  Case,  Kansas  City,  Mo. 
Miss  Jennie  F.  Chase,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Mrs.  Louise  N.  Fitch,  Columbia,  Mo. 
Mrs.  M.  B.  Gissing,  Farmington,  Mo. 
Miss  Rala  Glaser,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Miss  Goldy  M.  Hamilton,  Kirksville,  Mo. 
Mrs.  C.  P.  Johnson,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Miss  Lorraine  F.  Jones,  Kirkwood,  Mo. 
Miss  Lucy  R.  Laws,  Columbia,  Mo. 
Professor  J.  L.  Lowes,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Miss  Ethel  M.  Lowry,  Columbus,  Kan. 
Mrs.  John  R.  Moore,  Macon,  Mo. 
Miss  Mary  A.  McCoU,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
E.  C.  McCormick,  Columbia,  Mo. 
W.  Roy  McKenzie,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 
Miss  M.  A.  Owen,  St.  Joseph,  Mo. 
Miss  Ethel  G.  Sprague,  Kirkwood,  Mo. 


North  Carolina  Branch  and  Folk-Lore 
Society. 

President,  Haywood  Parker. 
Secretary  and  Treasurer,  F.  C.  Brown. 

Mrs.  Mary  Parker  Battle,  Rocky  Mount, 

N.C. 
Professor  F.  C.  Brown,  Durham,  N.C. 
Charles  Bruce,  Richmond,  Va. 
Gen.  Julian  S.  Carr,  Durham,  N.C. 
Mrs.  T.  E.  Cheek,  Durham,  N.C. 
Professor  E.  V.  Howell,  Chapel  Hill,  N.C. 
Logan  D.  Howell,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Frank  M.  Lawrence,  Mount  Vernon,  N.Y. 
Professor  N.  W.  Walker,  Chapel  Hill,  N.C. 


Texas  Branch  and  Folk-Lore  Society. 

President,  Dr.  C.  C.  Glasscock. 
Vice-Presidents,    Miss     Junia     Osterhout, 

Miss  L.  B.  Harrison. 
Secretary-Treasurer,  Dr.  Stith  Thompson. 

Miss  Lilia  Casis,  Austin,  Tex. 

Mrs.  L.  B.  Harrison,  Dallas,  Tex. 

Miss  Ima  Hogg,  Houston,  Tex. 

T.  G.  Lemmon,  Dallas,  Tex. 

Mrs.  Lipscomb  Norvell,  Beaumont,  Tex. 

Mrs.  J.  W.  Parker,  Pecos,  Tex, 

F.  C.  Patten,  Galveston,  Tex. 

Dr.  L.  W.  Payne,  Austin,  Tex. 

Professor  J.  E.  Pearce,  Austin,  Tex. 

E.  R.  Rotan,  Waco,  Tex. 

Mrs.  Oscar  M.  Suttle,  Corpus  Christi,  Tex. 

Dr.  Stith  Thompson,  Austin,  Tex. 


Members  at  Large. 

Hon.  L.  J.  Allard.  Quebec,  P.Q. 

Dr.  H.  Ami,  Ottawa,  Ont. 

Arthur  Amos,  Quebec,  P.Q. 

Miss  H.  A.  Andrews,  New  York,  N.Y. 

C.  M.  Barbeau,  Ottawa,  Ont. 

Dr.  S.  A.  Barrett,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Laurent  Beaudry,  Ottawa,  Ont. 

John  Bennett,  Charleston,  S.C. 

Charles  J.  Billson,  Martyr  Worthy,  Hants, 

England. 
Professor  Franz  Boas,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Remi  Bolduc,  Beauce,  P.Q. 
Hon.  P.  Boucher  de  la  Bruere,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Mrs.  John  G.  Bourke,  Omaha,  Neb. 
Professor  H.  C.  G.  Brandt,  Clinton,  N.Y. 
Professor  A.  C.  L.  Brown,  Evanston,  III. 
Philip  Greely  Brown,  Portland,  Me. 
S.  A.  R.  Brown,  Denver,  Col. 
Professor    Edward    S.    Burgess,    Yonkers, 

N.Y. 
President  W.  S.  Campbell,  Norman,  Okla. 
Hon.  J.  E.  Caron,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Rev.  Emanuel  C.  Charlton,  Heath,  Mass,. 
Stewart  Culin,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
P.  T.  Curry,  Danville,  Ky. 
Miss  Natalie  Curtis,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Senator  L.  O.  David,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Hon.  J.  L.  Decarie,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Robert  W.  DeForest,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Gaspard  Deserres,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
George  E.  Dimock,  Elizabeth,  N.J. 
Dr.  George  A.  Dorsey,  Chicago,  III. 
Dr.  A.  G.  Doughty,  Ottawa,  Ont. 
L.  H.  Elwell,  Amherst,  Mass. 
Professor    Aurelio    M.    Espinosa,    Leland 

Stanford,  Jr.,  University,  Cal.    ^       ^_^ 
Dr.  L.  Farrand,  Boulder,  Col.         ■'^'■>- 
Rev.  A.  F.  Fehlandt,  Ripon,  Wis.  "'    ^''  ^ 
Professor  J.  W.  Fewkes,  Washington,  D.C. 
Hon.  C.  A.  Ficke,  Davenport,  lo. 
Miss  Alice  C.  Fletcher,  Washington,  D.C. 


570 


Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


Professor  E.  M.  Fogel,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
W.  G.  Fuller,  Sturminster  Newton,  Dorset, 

England. 
Hector  Gaboury,  Ottawa,  Ont. 
Miss  Emelyn  E.  Gardner,  Ypsilanti,  Mich. 
Alfred  C.  Garrett,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Dr.  Joseph  Gauvreau,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Charles  Gendron,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
L.  P.  Geoffrion,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Leon  Gerin,  Coaticooke,  P.Q. 
Dr.    Pliny    Earle    Goddard,    New    York, 

N.Y. 
Dr.  G.  B.  Gordon,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Monseigneur    Amedee    Gosselin,    Quebec, 

P.Q. 
Hon.  Sir  Lomer  Gouin,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Dr.  George  Bird  Grinnell,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Miss  Louise  Haessler,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Dr.  Stansbury  Hagar,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Miss  Eleanor  Hague,  New  York,  N.Y. 
P.  Casper  Harvey,  Hays,  Kan. 
Mrs.  Dwight  B.  Heard,  Phoenix,  Ariz. 
J.  C.  Hebert,  Montmagny,  P.Q. 
Mrs.   S.   T.   Henry,   Great  Neck  Station, 

L.L,  N.Y. 
E.  W.  Hensinger,  San  Antonio,  Tex. 
Fred.  W.  Hodge,  Washington,  D.C. 
B.  B.  Holland,  Memphis,  Tex. 
Miss  A.  B.  Hollenback,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
Professor  W.  H.  Holmes,  Washington,  D.C. 
Walter  Hough,  Washington,  D.C. 
Mrs.  T.  J.  Hoover,  London,  England. 
J.  F.  Huckel,  Kansas  City,  Mo. 
Dr.  H.  M.  Hurd,  Baltimore,  Md. 
Institut  Canadian,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Professor  George  P.  Jackson,  Grand  Forks, 

N.Dak. 
Dr.  A.  Jacobi,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Sir  L.  A.  Jette,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Mock  Joya,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 
Robert  L.  Junghanns,  Bayamon,  P.R. 
Hon.  John  C.  Kaine,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Mrs.  John  Ketcham,  Chenoa,  111. 
H.  E.  Krehbiel,  New  York  N.Y. 
Professor  A.  L.   Kroeber,  San  Francisco, 

Cal. 
Col.   George  E.  Laidlaw,   Victoria  Road, 

Ontario,  Can. 
Gustave  Lanctot,  Ottawa,  Ont. 
Monseigneur  E.  Lapointe,  Chicoutimi,  P.Q. 
Hon.  Gardiner  Lathrop,  Chicago,  111. 
Laval  University  Library,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Laval  University  Library,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Walter  Learned,  New  London,  Conn. 
Rev.  Lionel  Lindsay,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Edward  Lindsey,  Warren,  Pa. 
C.  Lombardi,  Dallas,  Tex. 
C.  A.  Loveland,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 
Dr.  R.  H.  Lowie,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Benjamin  Smith  Lyman,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Professor  J.  M.  Manley,  Chicago,  111. 
Aime  Marchand,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
J.  Alden  Mason,  Chicago,  111. 
William  H.  Mechling,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Hon.  Honore  Mercier,  Quebec,  P.Q. 


Rev.  F.  C.  Meredith,  Maebashi,  Gumma 

Ken,  Japan. 
Rev.  Dr.  M.  A.  Meyer,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 
Benjamin  Michaud,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Truman  Michelson,  Washington,  D.C. 
Miss  Julia  Miller,  Davenport,  lo. 
Hon.  W.  G.  Mitchell,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Montreal  City  Library,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Montreal  Civic  Library,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Louis  Morin,  Beauce,  P.Q. 
Victor  Morin,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Lewis  F.  Mott,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Mrs.  John  Lloyd  McNeil,  Durango,  Col. 
Ernest  Myrand,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Rev.  James  B.  Nies,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
Rev.  Arthur  H.  Noll,  Monterey,  Tenn. 
Professor  G.  R.  Noyes,  Berkeley,  Cal. 
Rt.  Rev.  D.  J.  O'Connell,  Richmond,  Va. 
Miss  Orr,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Professor  A.  S.  Pease,  Urbana,  111. 
Monseigneur   Francois    Pelletier,    Quebec, 

P.Q. 
George  H.  Pepper,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Hon.  N.  P.  Perodeau,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Antonio  Perrault,  Montreal,  P.Q. 
Professor  E.  C.  Perrow,  Louisville,  Ky. 
Mrs.  T.  L.  Perry,  Asheville,  N.C. 
Harold  Pierce,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Professor  Edwin  F.  Piper,  Iowa  City,  lo. 
Miss  Louise  Pounds,  Lincoln,  Neb. 
Principal  of   Normal  School,   Chicoutimi, 

P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Hull,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Jacques  Cartier  Normal  School, 

Montreal,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Joliette,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Laval  Normal  School,  Quebec, 

P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Nicolet,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Rimouski,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Ste.-Anne  de 

Bellevue,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  St.-Hyacinthe, 

P.Q. 
Principal    of    Normal    School,    St.-Pascal, 

Kamouraska  Co.,  P.Q. 
Principal  of  Normal  School,  Three  Rivers, 

P.Q. 
Principal   of    Normal   School,    Valleyfield, 

P.Q. 
Edward  K.  Putnam,  Davenport,  lo. 
Miss  E.  D.  Putnam,  Davenport,  lo. 
Professor  Robert  Ramey,  Norman,  Okla. 
Mrs.  J.  Otey  Reed.  St.  George,  S.C. 
L.  A.  Richard,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Mrs.  Thomas  Roberts,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Geza  Roheim,  Budapest,  Hungary. 
L.  S.  Saint-Laurent,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Dr.  E.  Sapir,  Ottawa,  Can. 
Professor  M.  H.  Saville,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Jacob  H.  Schiff.  New  York,  N.Y. 
Dr.  D.  C.  Scott,  Ottawa,  Ont. 
Rev.  H.  A.  Scott,  Sainte-Foy,  P.Q. 
J.  B.  Shea,  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 
Professor  W.  P.  Shepard,  Clinton,  N.Y. 


Members  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society. 


S7i 


Henry  W.  Shoemaker,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Dr.  Arthur  Simard,  Quebec,  P.Q. 

Joseph  Simard,  Quebec,  P.Q. 

Dr.  Joseph  Sirois,  Quebec,  P.Q. 

Alanson  Skinner,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Professor  C.  Alphonso  Smith,  Charlottes- 
ville, Va. 

Professor  Reed  Smith,  Columbia,  S.C. 

Societe  St.-Jean  Baptiste  de  Montreal, 
Montreal.  P.Q. 

Dr.  H.  J.  Spinden,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Taylor  Starck,  Northampton,  Mass. 

Simon  G.  Stein,  Muscatine,  lo. 

H.  S.  Stiles,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Dr.  John  R.  Swanton,  Washington,  D.C. 

Hon.  L.  A.  Taschereau,  Quebec,  P.Q. 


Professor  J.  M.  Telleen,  Cleveland,  O. 
Cyrille  Tessier,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Hon.  J.  A.  Tessier,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Professor  D.  L.  Thomas,  Danville,  Ky. 
Professor  A.  H.  Tolman,  Chicago,  111. 
Dr.  Arthur  Vallee,  Quebec,  P.Q. 
Lee  J.  Vance,  Yonkers,  N.Y. 
Miss  H.  N.  Wardle,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

F.  W.  Waugh,  Ottawa,  Can. 
Professor  Hutton  Webster,  Lincoln,  Neb. 
Miss  Juanita  Wiley,  Lancaster,  S.C. 

G.  F.  Will,  Bismarck,  N.Dak. 
W.  J.  Wintemberg,  Toronto,  Can. 
Dr.  Clark  Wissler,  New  York,  N.Y. 
Miss  Loraine  Wyman,  New  York,  N.Y. 


572  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 


LIST  OF  LIBRARIES,  COLLEGES,  AND  SOCIETIES,  SUB- 
SCRIBERS TO  THE  JOURNAL  OF  AMERICAN  FOLK-LORE 
FOR  THE  YEAR  1916. 

Adalbert  College,  Cleveland,  O. 

Alabama  Department  of  Archives  and  History,  Montgomery,  Ala. 

American  Geographical  Society,  New  York,  N.Y. 

American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  New  York,  N.Y. 

American  Philosophical  Society,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Amherst  College,  Amherst,  Mass. 

Athenaeum  Library,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Boston  Athenaeum,  Boston,  Mass. 

Brooklyn  Institute  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 

Brown  University,  Providence,  R.I. 

Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  Washington,  D.C. 

Cambria  Free  Library,  Johnstown,  Pa. 

Canadian  Institute,  Toronto,  Can.  (in  exchange). 

Carnegie  Free  Library,  Allegheny,  Pa. 

Carnegie  Library,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

Carnegie  Library,  Hastings,  Neb. 

Carnegie  Free  Library,  Nashville,  Tenn. 

Carnegie  Library  Oklahoma  City,  Okla. 

Carnegie  Library,  Pittsburgh,  Pa.  ' 

Carnegie  Public  Library,  Fort  Worth,  Tex. 

Chicago  Normal  College,  Chicago,  111. 

City  Library,  Manchester,  N.H. 

Clark  University,  Worcester,  Mass. 

Coburn  Library,  Colorado  Springs,  Col. 

Columbia  University,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Congregational  Library,.  Boston,  Mass. 

Cornell  University,  Ithaca,  N.Y. 

Cosmos  Club,  Washington,  D.C. 

Dartmouth  College,  Hanover,  N.H. 

Eastern  Kentucky  State  Normal  School,  Richmond,  Ky. 

Education  Department,  Toronto,  Can. 

Emeline  Fairbanks  Memorial  Library,  Terre  Haute,  Ind. 

Enoch  Pratt  Free  Library,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Forbes  Library,  Northampton,  Mass. 

Free  Library  of  Philadelphia,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Free  Public  Library,  Jersey  City,  N.J. 

Free  Public  Library,  Louisville,  Ky. 

Free  Public  Library,  Newark,  N.J. 

Free  Public  Library,  New  London,  Conn. 

Free  Public  Library,  Sacramento,  Cal. 

Free  Public  Library,  San  Diego,  Cal. 

Free  Public  Library,  San  Jose,  Cal. 

Free  Public  Library,  Santa  Barbara,  Cal. 

Free  Public  Library,  Stockton,  Cal. 

Free  Public  Library,  Worcester,  Mass. 

Geological  Survey  of  Canada,  Ottawa,  Can. 

Grossherzogliche  Biblothek,  Weimar,  Germany. 

Hackley  Public  Library,  Muskegon,  Mich. 

Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Hispanic  Society,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Houston  Lyceum  and  Carnegie  Library,  Houston,  Tex. 

Howard  Memorial  Library,  New  Orleans,  La. 

Hoyt  Library,  Saginaw,  Mich. 

Indiana  State  Normal  School,  Terre  Haute,  Ind. 

The  John  Crerar  Library,  Chicago,  111. 

Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Kansas  State  Normal  School,  Emporia,  Kan. 

Lehigh  University,  South  Bethlehem,  Pa. 


Members  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society.  573 

Leland  Stanford,  Jr.,  University,  Palo  Alto,  Cal. 

Library  Association,  Portland,  Me. 

Library  Company  of  Philadelphia,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Library  of  Congress,  Washington,  D.C. 

Library  of  Parliament,  Ottawa,  Can. 

Mechanics'  Library,  Altoona,  Pa. 

Mercantile  Library,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Michigan  State  Normal  College,  Ypsilanti,  Mich. 

Minnesota  Historical  Society,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Musee  d'Anthropologie,  Petrograd,  Russia. 

Nebraska  Legislative  Reference  Room,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

Newberry  Library,  Chicago,  111. 

Normal  School  Library,  Indiana,  Pa. 

Northwestern  University,  Evanston,  111. 

Ohio  State  University,  Columbus,  O. 

Ontario  Historical  Society,  Toronto,  Can. 

Peabody  Institute,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Peabody  Museum,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Pennsylvania  College,  Gettysburg,  Pa.  , 

Pennsylvania  State  College,  State  College,  Pa. 

Philippines  Library,  Manila,  P. I. 

Pratt  Institute,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 

Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N.J. 

Public  Library,  Boston,  Mass. 

Public  Library,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 

Public  Library,  Buffalo,  N.Y. 

Public  Library,  Butte  City,  Mont. 

Public  Library,  Cambridge,  Mass-. 

Public  Library,  Chicago,  111. 

Public  Library,  Cincinnati,  O. 

Public  Library,  Cleveland,  O. 

Public  Library,  Denver,  Col. 

Public  Library,  Des  Moines,  lo. 

Public  Library,  Detroit,  Mich. 

Public  Library,  Fall  River,  Mass. 

Public  Library,  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 

Public  Library,  Haverhill,  Mass. 

Public  Library,  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

Public  Library,  Kalamazoo,  Mich. 

Public  Library,  Kansas  City,  Mo. 

Public  Library,  Lexington,  Ky. 

Public  Library,  Lynn,  Mass. 

Public  Library,  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

Public  Library,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Public  Library,  New  Bedford,  Mass. 

Public  Library,  New  Orleans,  La. 

Public  Library,  New  York,  N.Y. 

Public  Library,  Okmulgee,  Okla. 

Public  Library,  Omaha,  Neb. 

Public  Library,  Peoria,  111. 

Public  Library,  Portland,  Me. 

Public  Library,  Providence,  R.I. 

Public  Library,  St.  Joseph,  Mo. 

Public  Library,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Public  Library,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Public  Library,  San  Francisco,  Cail. 

Public  Library,  Seattle,  Wash. 

Public  Library,  Spokane,  Wash. 

Public  Library,  Syracuse,  N.Y. 

Public  Library,  Toronto,  Can. 

Public  Library,  Washington,  D.C. 

Reynolds  Library,  Rochester,  N.Y. 

Rice  Institute,  Houston,  Tex. 

Royal  Anthropological  Institute,  London,  England. 

State  College  of  Washington,  Pullman,  Wash. 

State  Historical  Library,  Madison,  Wis. 


574  Journal  of  American  Folk-Lore. 

State  Historical  Library,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

State  Historical  Library,  Topeka,  Kan. 

State  Library,  Albany.  N.Y. 

State  Library,  Augusta,  Me. 

State  Library,  Columbus,  O. 

State  Library,  Concord,  N.H. 

State  Library,  Des  Moines,  lo. 

State  Library,  Harrisburg,  Pa. 

State  Library,  Indianapolis,  Ind.  . 

State  Library,  Lansing,  Mich. 

State  Library,  Sacramento,  Cal. 

State  Library,  Springfield,  111. 

State  Normal  School,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

State  University  of  Iowa,  Iowa  City,  lo. 

State  University  of  Kentucky,  Lexington,  Ky. 

Stockton  Free  Public  Library,  Stockton,  Cal. 

Swarthmore  College,  Swarthmore,  Pa. 

Trinity  College,  Hartford,  Conn. 

University  Club,  New  York,  N.Y. 

University  of  Arizona,  Tucson,  Ariz. 

University  of  British  Columbia,  Vancouver. 

University  of  Chicago,  Chicago,  111. 

University  of  Illinois,  Urbana,  111. 

University  of  Kansas,  Lawrence,  Kan. 

University  of  Maine,  Orono,  Me. 

University  of  Michigan,  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 

University  of  Minnesota,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

University  of  Missouri,  Columbia,  Mo. 

University  of  Nebraska,  Lincoln,  Neb. 

University  of  North  Carolina,  Chapel  Hill,  N.C. 

University  of  Oklahoma,  Norman,  Okla. 

University  of  Pennsylvania,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

University  of  South  Carolina,  Columbia,  S.C. 

University  of  South  Dakota,  Vermilion,  S.D, 

University  of  Texas,  Austin,  Tex. 

University  of  Virginia,  University,  Va. 

University  of  Washington,  Seattle,  Wash. 

Vassar  College  Library,  Poughkeepsie,  N.Y. 

Washington  and  Jefferson  Memorial  Library,  Washington,  Pa. 

Washington  University,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Wesleyan  University,  Middletown,  Conn. 

Western  Illinois  State  Normal  School,  Macomb,  111. 

Western  State  Normal  School,  Kalamazoo,  Mich. 

West  Virginia  University,  Morgantown,  W.  Va. 

Wooster  College,  Wooster,  O. 

Yale  University,  New  Haven,  Conn. 


Subscribers  to  the  Publication  Fund  (iqi6).  575 


SUBSCRIBERS  TO  THE  PUBLICATION  FUND  (1916). 

Charles  P.  Bowditch.  Miss  Amelia  B.  Hollenback. 

Philip  Greely  Brown.  -                           Edward  Lindsey. 

Miss  Alice  C.  Fletcher.  Rev.  J.  B.  Nies. 

Mrs.  John  C.  Gray.  Harold  Pierce. 

Miss  Eleanor  Hague.  S.  G.  Stein. 


INDEX  TO  VOLUME  XXIX. 


On  account  of  the  diversity  of  matter  contained  in  the  "Journal  of  American 
Folk-Lore,"  a  certain  amount  of  classification  of  the  contents  seems  desirable.  In 
consulting  the  index,  matters  pertaining  to  the  following  subjects  should  be  looked 
up  under  those  headings. 

Ballads,  Music, 

Etiology,  Rhymes, 

Games,  Songs, 

Incidents  and  objects  in  myths,  Superstitions, 

Indian  tribes.  Tales. 


Algunas  observadones  sobre  el  folk-lore  de 

Guatemala,  559-566. 
"Amelia,"  229,  230. 

American     Folk-Lore     Journal,     libraries, 
colleges,  societies,  subscribers  to,  572. 
American    Folk-Lore    Society,    announce- 
ment by,  417. 
local  meetings,  299,  400,  401. 
officers  and  members,  567. 

—  elected  at  annual  meeting,  299. 
report  of  Editor,  295,  296. 

—  of  Secretary,  295. 

—  of  Treasurer,  296,  297. 
societies  in  affiliation  with,  295. 
subscribers  to  the  Publication  Fund,  575. 
Twenty-Seventh  Annual  Meeting,  295- 

298. 
Boston  Branch,  ofiicers  and  members,  567. 
Cambridge  Branch,  officers  and  members, 

568. 
Kentucky  Branch,  local  meetings,  299. 
Missouri  Branch,  officers  and  members, 

569- 
North  Carolina  Branch  and  Folk-Lore 

Society,  officers  and  members,  569. 
Texas    Branch   and    Folk-Lore   Society, 
officers  and  members,  569. 
American    Museum    of    Natural    History, 

acknowledgment  to,  341. 
"Ancient  Ballad  of  Prince  Baldwin,"  210. 
Angel  of  death,  Jewish  attempt  to  deceive, 

415- 
Arthabasca,  Canada,  folk-tales  from,  i. 
Arthurian  Romance,  An,  217-222. 
Avoidance  in  Melanesia,  282-292. 

Bainter,  E.  M.,  of  the  Porto-Rican  Depart- 
ment of  Education,  423. 
"  Baldovinos,"  205-210. 

Carloto's  Treachery  and  the  Death  of 

Baldovinos,  208. 
Carloto's  Trial  and  Execution,  209. 
Episode  of  Clainos  and  Sevilla,  with  the 

Marriage  of  Baldovinos,  207,  208. 
Episode  of  Esmelesinda,  207. 


"Baldwin  and  the  Marquis  of  Mantua,"  a 

favorite  of  Don  Quixote,  206,  209. 
Ballad,  New-Mexican,  546. 

of  Macario  Romero,  555,  556. 
Ballad-rhyme,  Spanish,  534,  535. 
Ballads  appearing  in  the  Philippine  version 

of  the  corrida  of  "Baldovinos,"  210. 
developed  by  West  Virginia  Folk-Lore 

Society,  400. 
list  of  homiletic,  191,  192. 
—  of    popular  traditional,  collected    by 

West     Virginia     Folk-Lore     Society, 

400. 
rare  and  valuable  find  of  two,  544. 
trilogy  of,  210. 
(Child): 

Bonny  Barbara  Allen,  160-162,  198. 

Captain  Wedderburn's  Courtship,  157, 
158. 

Fair   Margaret    and   Sweet   William, 
160. 

Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf-Knight,  156. 

Lamkin,  162—164. 

Lord  Lovel,  160. 

Lord  Randal,  157. 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet,  159. 

Our  Goodman,  166. 

Sir  Hugh,  or.  The  Jew's  Daughter,  164. 

The  Twa  Brothers,  158. 
(ChUd,  Variants) : 

Barbara  Ellen  (84),  161,  162. 

False  Lamkin  (93),  162-164. 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Elender  (73), 

159- 
Perry  Merry  Dictum  Dominee   (46), 

157.  158. 
The  Jewish  Lady  (155).  165. 
The  Jew's  Maiden  (155),  166. 
Two     Little  Boys  a-going  to  School 

(49).  158. 
(homiletic):  191-197. 

Ingratitude:  the  Story  of  Asa  Trott, 

T91,  193-197- 
Lines  that  was  written  on  the  Death  of 

Anna  Ross  191,  192. 


577 


578 


Index. 


Ballads  (homiletic) : 

The  Death  of  a  Young  Woman,  191. 
Wicked  Polly,  192,  193. 
(modern,  from  United  States): 
An  Old  Man  came  to  see  me,  188. 
Ballad  of  the  Three.  167,  168. 
Common  Bill,  171. 
Dog  and  Gun,  1 71-173. 
Father  Grumble  (3  versions),  I73-I77- 
Jesse  James,  178. 
Johnny  Sands,  178-180. 
McAfee's  Confession,  185-187. 
Mary  o'  the  Wild  Moor,  185. 
Nobody  coming  to  Woo,  187,  188. 
Springfield  Mountain,  188,  189. 
Sweet  Sixteen,  189,  190. 
The  Bramble  Briar,  168. 
The  Butcher's  Boy,  169,  170. 
The  Garden  Gate,  177. 
The  Irish  Lady,  178. 
The  Lady  Le  Roy,  180,  181, 
The  Lazy  Man,  181,  182. 
The  Little  Family,  182,  183. 
The  Little  Sparrow,  183,  184. 
The  Lover's  Lament,  184,  185. 
The  Old  Woman  of  Slapsadam,  179, 

180. 
The  Rambling  Boy,  170. 
The  Soldier's  Wooing,  188. 
The  Unlucky  Young  Man,  190. 
Villikens  and  his  Dinah,  190. 
Young  Charlotte,  191. 
(from  Southern  Appalachians) : 
A  Pretty  Fair  Miss  all  in  the  Garden, 

201,  202. 
Come,  all  you  Fair  and  Tender  Ladies, 

200. 
Come,  Little  Pink,  I  tell  you  what  I 

think,  201. 
Madam,  I  will  buy  you  a  Paper  of 

Pins,  198,  199. 
Soldier  Life  is  a  Dreao'  Life,  199. 
This  Night  is  almost  over,  200. 
Wake  up,  wake  up,  you  Saucy  Sleeper, 
200,  201. 
(from  Spain): 
Romance  de  don  Gayferos,  210. 
Romance  del  moro  Calainos,  210. 
Romance  del  Marquis  de  Mantua,  210. 
Romance  de  la  embajada  que  envio 

Danes  Urgel,  210. 
Sentencia  dada  a  don  Carloto,  210. 
Banks  Island,  avoidance  in,  between  rel- 
atives by  marriage,  283,  286,  290.' 

of  wife's  parents,  incest  theory 

for,  held  by  Rivers,  284. 
—  rule  of  avoidance  in,  282,  283,  289. 
Barbeau,    C.-Marius,    Contes     Populaires 

canadiens,  1-136. 
Beauce,  Quebec,  folk-tales  collected  in,  i. 
Beckwith,    Martha    W.,    in    Notes    and 

Queries,  409-412. 
Beliefs  absorbed  by  the  Indians  from  the 

Spanish,  536,  539. 
"Bernardio  del  Carpio"  a  hero  among  all 

Filipinos,  204,  206,  216. 
Blood  of  children,  bath  in,  220. 


Boas,   Franz,   version   by,   of   the  tale  of 

Rabbit  and  the  Tar  Baby,, 551. 
Bolduc,  fivelyn,  Un  Conte  de  la  Beauce, 

137-140. 
Bomba,  rhymes  from  Guatemala,  563. 
Booklets  of  the  Filipinos  published  in  cheap 

form,  204. 
Bride,    Jewish   explanation   of   custom    of 

shaving  head  of,  415. 
Bridge  Perilous,  terms  for  crossing,  219. 
Broadsides,  song-books,  magazines,  etc.,  in 

which  songs  and  ballads  have  appeared, 

156-173.  177-179.  184-194.  200. 
Brown    University,    Harris    Collection    of 

"songsters"  in,  155. 
Buhay  and  corrido,  distinction  between,  204. 

Cadejo,  a  spirit  in  the  form  of  a  dog,  559. 
Campbell,  Stanley,  in  Notes  and  Queries, 

406-408. 
Canadian-French  tales,  combats,  jealousies, 
and  rivalries  in,  20,  21. 

enchantments,  etc.,  in,  17-20. 

form  and  style  of,  6-8. 

fraud  and  deception  in,  22-24. 

introduction  to,  4-6. 

local  subjects  in,  14. 

metamorphosis  in,  16,  17. 

monsters  and  mythical  people  in, 

12,  13- 

preface  to,  1-3. 

supernatural  protection  in,  14-16. 

talismans,  charms,  etc.,  in,  9-12. 

themes  and  mythological  features 

of,  8,  9. 

travels  in,  24,  25. 

Cancioncilla,  530,  533. 

Cdnlico  on  the  miracles  of  San  Antonio,  541, 

542. 
Carloto's  Treachery  and  the  Death  of  Bal- 

dovinos,  208,  209. 
Carloto's  Trial  and  Execution,  209. 
Carlovingian  cycle,   characteristics  of  the 
Filipino-Spanish : 
depreciation  of  Roldan,  216. 
extravagance  and  lack  of  restraint,  216. 
minor  persons  and  heroes,  216. 
repetition  of  situation,  215. 
tendency  to  elaboration  and  recombina- 
tion, 216,  217. 
Cedar-brand  whirled  by  bow-priest  in  the 

Mo'lawia,  397. 
Cervantes,   Adventures   of   the    Ingenious 
Gentleman,  Don  Quixote  de  la  Man- 
cha,  time  of  publication  of,  203. 

effect  of,  on  Filipino  literature,  203. 

criticism    by,    of    "Tablante    de    Rica- 
monte,"  221. 
Chant  of  the  Kid,  significance  given  to,  by 

Jews,  417. 
Charity-boxes  at  funeral,  414. 
Charlemagne  romances: 
Baldovinos,  206—210. 
Count  Irlos,  213-215. 
The  Twelve  Peers  of  France,  21 1-2 13. 
Charm  to  procure  invisibility,  10. 
Charms  in  Chinese  folk-lore,  9-12. 


Index. 


579 


Chasidim,  the,  exclude  from  their  service 

the  Chant  of  the  Kid,  417. 
Cherry- Tree  Carol.  The,  293,  294,  417. 
Cheyenne  sacred  number,  407. 
Cheyenne  Stories,  Two,  406-408. 
Children,  manner  of  recitation  of  rhymes  by 

New-Mexican,  521. 
Christ  brings  abundance  out  of  nothing,  538. 
covered  with  sores,  driven  away  by  the 
rich  man,  538. 

fed  and  entertained  by  the  poor 

man,  538. 
Christianity  and  Paganism  in  the  plays  of 

the  Filipinos,  205. 
Christmas  scarecrow  of  New-Mexican  and 
Colorado  children,  518. 
songs  from  Guatemala,  560-562. 
Ciguamonta,  a  female  spirit,  560. 

name  of  a  bird,  560. 
Ciguanaba,  a  female  spirit,  560. 
Cisneros,  Juanita,  537,  543. 
Codrington    and    Rivers    at    variance    on 
brother-sister  avoidance,  282. 
on  the  manners  of  Lepers'  Island  mother 
and  mother-in-law,  290. 
Colorado,  Christmas  custom  in,  517,  518. 
nursery-rhyme     of.    El    Tecolote,    532, 
533- 
"Colorido"    for   "Colorado"    common   in 

New-Mexican  Spanish,  532. 
"Comedia,"  signification  of,  205. 

synonymous     with    moro-moro    in     the 
Philippines,  205. 
Concealment  by  veiled  language  a  mark  of 

rank, 412. 
Constance-Saga,  The,  222-234. 
Constance-Saga,    course   of   events   in,    as 
determined  by  Suchier,  222. 
in  the  Philippines: 
Adela,  224,  225. 
Blancafior,  226. 
Florentina,  223,  224. 
Maria,  226-228. 
Proceso,  228,  229. 

incidents  in,  231,  232. 

sources  of,  233. 

Coplas  -popular es,  Guatemala,  563-566.    See 
also  Rhymes. 
whose  melody  is  used  for  a  dance  ac- 
companiment, 530. 
Copy-books  of  a  devotional  character,  of 
the  Puebio  Indians,  probable  reward 
for  search  among,  544. 
Corn  distributed  among  all  taking  part  in 

Zuni  ceremony,  399. 
Corn-Maidens  children  of  rain-priest,  392. 
for  dramatization,  choice  of,  395. 

dress  of,  396. 

movements  of,  after  falling  out  of  line, 
397.  398. 
"Corrido,"  meaning  of,  among  Filipinos, 
204. 

in  Tagalog,  204. 

Corrido  de  Macario  Romero,  555,  556. 
Corridas,  uncertain  authorship  of,  206. 

sung  to  accompaniment  of  guitar,  548. 
Costuming  for  the  Hawaiian  hula,  410. 


"Count  Irlos,"  213. 

synopsis  of,  214,  215. 
Cox,  John  Harrington,  report  by,  of  West 

Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society,  400,  401. 
Cradle  of  the  Tewa  hung  from  the  roof  by 

long  strips  of  raw-hide,  537. 
Cree  marries  a  Blackfoot  girl,  364. 
Cremation  among  Jews,  413. 
Culture-Hero    Tales   of   the    Plains    Cree, 

341-352.     See  Tales. 
Curse    at    end    of    New-Mexican   Spanish 

prayer,  542. 
Custom  of  German-Catholic  peasant- women 

when  baking,  415. 
Customs  absorbed  by  the  Indians  from  the 

Spanish,  536,  539. 
Jewish : 

—  as  to  place  of  burial,  414. 

—  as  to  simplicity  of  burial,  413,  414. 

—  at  funerals,  414. 

—  at  Passover  service,  414. 

—  during  mourning-period,  414. 

—  for  a  younger  sister  not  to  marry 
before  an  older,  415. 

—  in  synagogue  on  Day  of  Atonement, 
414. 

—  of  asking  parents  at  their  graves  for 
their  intercession  with  God,  414. 

—  of  burning  or  burying  parings  of 
nails,  415. 

—  of  burying  facing  the  east,  414. 

—  of  burying  on  day  of  death,  413. 

—  of  fasting  on  Day  of  Atonement, 
416. 

—  of  killing  fowl  as  a  sin-ofifering,  416. 

—  of  leaving,  on  Passover  eve,  food 
and  drink  for  Elijah,  416. 

—  of  orphan-girl  before  marriage,  414. 

—  of  removing  shoes  during  mourning, 
414- 

—  of  shaking  one's  sins  into  the  water, 
415- 

—  of    shaving   head    of   bride   before 
wedding,  415. 

—  of  throwing  piece  of  dough  into  fire, 
when  baking,  415. 

—  of  watching  by  dead  body,  413. 

—  on  leaving  cemetery,  414. 

—  on  return  from  funeral,  414. 

—  use  of  the  cumulative  Chant  of  the 
Kid,  416. 

Dances,  Hawaiian,  409-411. 
Mexican,  548.  549. 

Dancers,  dress  of  Mexican,  548. 

Day  of  Atonement,  custom  on,  in  syna- 
gogue, 414. 

Day     of     the     Innocents,     New-Mexican 
Spanish  superstition  relating  to,  539. 

Death  in  Melanesia,  continuance  of  brother- 
sister  avoidance  after,  282. 

Decima,  557. 

Diagram  showing  positions  taken  in  Zuiii 
rite,  398. 

"Doce  Pares,"  synopsis  of,  211-213. 

Don  Quixote,  effect  of,  on  Filipino  literature, 
203. 
favorite  story  of,  206. 


S8o 


Index. 


Don  Quixote,  oath  taken  by,  207. 
Dorchester,  Canada,  folk-tales  from,  1. 
Dramatization  of  Zuni  Myth,  395-399. 

Eagle,  James  Holding,  The  Story  of  No- 
Tongue,  402-406. 
Eagle-feathers,  tapping  of,  accompanied  by 

a  whistling-sound,  396,  397. 
Egg  symbolic  of  the  resurrection  and  of 

eternal  life,  414. 
Embalming  among  Jews,  413. 
Emerson,  Nathaniel  B.,  eminent  student  of 

Hawaiian  folk-lore,  409,  411,  412. 
Episode  of  Clainos  and  Sevilla,  with  the 

Marriage  of  Baldovinos,  207,  208. 
Episode  of  Esmelesinda,  207. 
Espinosa,  Aurelio  M.,  introduction  by,  to 
New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore  col- 
lected by  Miss  Freire-Marreco,  536. 
introduction  to  Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore, 

423-425. 
New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore,   505- 

535- 
version  by,  of  the  tale  of  Rabbit  and  Tar 

Baby,  551. 
(editor),    Porto-Rican    Folk-Lore,    423- 
504. 
"Estrella,  or  the  Unfortunate  Princess," 

230. 
Etiology: 

origin  of  the  present-day  bear,  370. 
origin   of   the  hump  on   back   of   bear, 

368. 
why  the  crow  is  black,  329. 
origin  of  the  dog,  376. 
why  the  dog  lacks  restraint,  369. 
why  an  east  wind  brings  bad  weather, 

372. 
origin  of  the  marks  on  the  tail-feathers  of 

the  rufifed  grouse,  370. 
why  the  lynx  squints,  378. 
why  manitous  of  the  water  and  the  cliffs 

command  high  esteem,  383. 
why  the  gland  of  the  membrum  virile  is 

thick,  351. 
why  men  have  not  long  tails,  409. 
origin  of  the  ne'wekwe,  394. 
why  a  north  wind  makes  everything  fly 

southward,  372. 
origin  of  the  Ojibwa,  388. 
why  the  raven  is  black,  329. 
origin  of  the  seasons,  372. 
why  the  water-hen  has  a  broad  back  and 

red  eyes,  349. 
why  the  weasel  is  white  with  a  dark  tip  to 

his  tail,  350. 
how  the  white  man  got  his  beard,  407. 
why  the  white  man  has  short  hair,  408. 
why  the  Zufii  girls  rub  flour  on  their  faces 
as  they  grind,  394. 
European  material,  metrical  romances  in 

Philippines  based  on,  205. 
European  Tale,  A,  386. 
European  Tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa, 

330-340. 
European  Tales  from  the  Upper  Thompson 
Indians,  301-329. 


Fables,  Canadian-French,  25,  26,  141,  142. 

Fables,  Tales,  and  Formulas,  Canadian- 
French,  141-151. 

Fairy-tales,  Canadian-French,  25-93,  I37- 
140.  142-145. 

—  ending  for,  136. 

—  Romanesque,  1 12-136. 

Fansler,  Dean  S.,  Metrical  Romances  in  the 
Philippines,  203-234. 
(translator).  Story  of  the  Eventful  Life  of 
Princess  Florentina  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Germany,  235-281. 
Filipinos,    classification    of    the    metrical 
romances  of,  205. 
favorite  heroes  of,  204,  206. 
Floods  and  cyclones  accounted  for,  407. 
Floresta,  gardens  of,  220,  221. 
Folk-lore  of  Indians  knowing  Spanish,  and 
of   the   New-Mexican   Spanish,    com- 
pared as  to  age,  536. 
steps    taken    for    the    preservation    of 
Canadian,  2. 
Folk- Tales,  Canadian,  95-122,  148-150. 
Folk-tales,     best    collection    of    Spanish- 
American,  423. 
Formulas    by    repetition,     in     Canadian- 
French  tales,  151. 
for  beginning  of  Canadian-French  tales, 

6. 
for  ending  of  Canadian-French  tales,  136. 
Fournier,  Achille,  narrator,  2. 
Freire-Marreco,     Barbara,     New-Mexican 

Spanish  Folk-Lore,  536-546. 
Funeral,  egg  eaten  by  Jews,  on  return  from, 
414. 
never  held  in  synagogue,  414. 

Games,  classification  of,  505. 
New-Mexican  Spanish  children's,   505- 
519- 

time  and  place  for  playing,  505. 

Adivinanzas  (pegas),  519. 

Al  que  se  le  Cae  se  le  Prende, 

517- 
El  Baile  del  Agiielo,  517,  518. 
El  Burro  Tonto;  or.  El    Juego 

de  Escoger  Novico,  509. 
El  Caminito  del  Cielo,  519. 
El  Coyotito,  513,  514. 
El  Cuento  del  Viejito  y  la  Viejita, 

519- 
El  Rey  y  la  Reina,  516,  517. 
Estos  Piececitos,  511. 
Juego  de  los  Angelitos,  511. 
Juego  de  los  Dedos,  510,  511. 
Juego  del  Paiio,  515,  516. 
Juego  do  Colores,  514,  515. 
La  Gallinita  Ciega,  509. 
La  Tuerta  Culeca,  506,  507. 
Lanza,  Lanza,  508. 
Las  Inditas  de  San  Juan,  512. 
Los  Cibolos,  512. 
Mata  Seca,  518. 
Para  Valerse  al  Compadre  o  a 

la  Comadre,  513. 
Pares  o  Nones,  517. 
Pufio,  Punete,  508. 


Index. 


581 


Santiaguito  de  Palo,  515. 
Sesta,  Mayesta,  506. 
Gamio,  Manuel,  Inspector-General  of  Mon- 
uments in  Mexico,  547. 
Garment,  slitting  of  the  outer,  by  orthodox 

Jews  in  week  of  sorrow,  414. 
Goddess,  body  kept  pure  for  habitation  of, 

during  the  rehearsal  of  the  hula,  410. 
Goddess  Pele,  episode  in  myth  of,  gives  rise 

to  a  hula  dance,  411. 
Gonzales,  Antonio  Guarnero,  553. 
Gourd  in  kiwitsine,  disposal  of  contents  of, 
399- 
of  water  filled  with  grass  carried  to  the 
kiwitsine,  397. 
Grass  thrown  over  shoulder  on  leaving  the 

cemetery,  414. 
Group-hostility  theory  of  avoidance,  dif- 
ficulties in  the  way  of,  284. 
Guadalcanar,  avoidance  in,  of  a  father's 
sister  and  her  nephews  and  nieces,  282. 
brother-sister  avoidance  in,  282. 
Guatemala,  Christmas  songs  from,  562. 
lullaby  from,  562. 
rhymes  from,  563-566. 
tales  from,  559,  560. 
Guitar    the    musical    instrument    for    a 
Mexican  dance,  548. 

Hand,  symbolism  of  movement  of,  in  the 

hula,  412. 
Harris  Collection  of  "songsters"  in  Brown 

University,  155. 
Hawaiian  Hula-Dance,  The,  409-412. 
He-who-goes-to-look-for-the-Corn-Maidens, 

movements  of,  395. 
Hospitality  of  Jews,  ancient  mark  of,  416. 

of  Tagalog,  245. 
Housewife,  Jewish,  throws  piece  of  dough 

into  the  fire  when  baking,  415. 

Icmo,  a  preparation  of  buyo-nut  and  betel- 
leaf,  offered  by  the  Tagalog  to  visitors 
as  a  mark  of  hospitality,  245. 
Immigration,  conditions  due  to,  a  cause  for 

customs  of  avoidance,  288. 
Incidents  and  objects  in  myth: 
adder,  55. 

alligator,  hidden  in  rabbit's  hole,  hears 
him  talking,  and  answers  him,  552. 

—  is  deceived  by  rabbit,  who  has  covered 
himself  with  honey  and  leaves,  553. 

angel  appears,  225,  226,  229,  230. 

—  rescues  Florentina,  and  heals  wounded 
hand, 223. 

Antoine  cuts  off  heads  of  four  giants,  70. 

—  marries  the  princess,  70. 
aperture,  deep,  37. 

arms  waved  upward  bring  a  supply  of 

dry  wood,  373. 
arrow  that  furnishes  whatever  is  wished 

for,  352. 
arrows  shot  into  air  bring  back  life,  379, 

383. 

—  shot  into  air  and  water  cause  fire,  378. 
ashes  of  roasted  chickadee,  ghastly  form 

from,  382. 


ass  discharges  gold  and  silver,  92,  93,  95. 
awl  escapes  from  an  attack  by  sticking 
into  a  pole,  385. 

—  in  elbow,  378. 

—  raises  mountains,  380. 
badger  pouch,  magic,  385. 
Baldovinos,  death  of,  209. 

—  education  and  character  of,  207. 

—  falls  in  love,  208. 

—  marries,  207. 

—  victorious  when  assailed  by  Carloto 
and  his  aides,  208. 

bank-notes,  311,  312. 

basket  raised  and  lowered  by  rope,  311. 

bead  in  bowl,  picking-up  of,  as  a  test  for 

obtaining  wife,  374. 
bean-field,  549. 
bear,  back  of,  broken,  368. 

—  glues  the  eyes  of  Wisukijak,  347. 

—  keeper  of  medicine,  378. 

—  killed  in  sweat-bath,  347. 

—  talking,  25. 

bear-claws,  mystic  power  in,  370. 
bears-with-heads-at-both-ends,  376. 
beaver-skin,  coat  from,  376. 
bell,  large,  319,  320. 
belt,  magic,  143-145. 

—  to  assist  in  climbing,  357,  358, 
Big- Voice,  the  thunder-bird,  404. 
bird  convulsed  with  mirth,  351. 

—  pursued  through  a  hole  in  the  world, 
386. 

—  wise,  306. 
Bird-Hawk,  377. 

birds,  from  whose  eyes  flashed  fire,  384. 

—  miraculous  appearance  of,  in  answer 
to  prayer,  211. 

birth  of  Wisakejak,  344,  346. 
blacksmith,  331,  332. 
boils  burst  by  dry  pine-needle,  327. 
bottle  containing  magic  liquid,  333. 

—  never  empty,  338-340. 
box,  magic,  334,  335. 

boy  cared  for  and  taught  by  bear,  387. 
Break-Mountain,  84-87. 
Break- Wood,  84-87. 
buffalo,  407. 

bull,  collar-bone  of,  the  vulnerable  spot, 
405- 

—  feigns  lameness,  405. 

—  talking,  32,  33. 

butterfly  assists  in  crossing  mountains, 

374- 
cane,  magic,  causes  death,  332. 

—  of  iron,  34. 

cannibal  fattens  bo3's,  319. 

—  impenetrable,  322. 

—  imprisoned  in  trunk,  321. 

—  kills  his  own  children,  320. 

canoe,  good  people  saved  in,  from  flood, 
329- 

—  grounds  on  top  of  mountain,  329. 
cards,  biblical  interpretation  of  spots  on, 

134- 
cat,  large  white,  46-48. 

—  substituted  for  infant,  303. 
caterpillar,  talking,  27,  28. 


582 


Index. 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  continued: 
cedar  blessed  youth  in  a  fast,  377. 
chain,  cut,  breaks  enchantment,  67. 
charcoal-burner,  43-45- 
chariot,  iron,  75. 
chateau  of  crj'stal,  60. 

—  of  gold  and  silver,  32. 
chickadee,  form  from  ashes  of,  382. 

—  enrages  man  with  its  cry,  361. 

—  roasted,  381. 
chickadee-skin,  coat  from,  376. 
Chicken-Hawk    searches  for   the   corn- 
maidens,  392. 

chief  gambles  with  lad,  and  loses  all,  even 

his  daughter,  325. 
church,  315. 

Clothed-in-the-Garb-of-a-Turkey,  384. 
clothes   and    jewels   from    magic    fruit, 

227. 

—  old,  disappear,  302. 

club,  magic,  90-93,  95,  147,  148. 

—  winking,  355,  361. 

coat,  beaver-skin,  worn  in  fast,  376. 

cockle-burrs,  man  tricked  with,  408. 

coin,  gold,  silver,  and  copper,  311. 

colt,  small  and  shaggy.  323,  325,  326. 

comb  raises  mountain,  380. 

conception  by  virgin,  372. 

contest  for  hand  of  princess,  337. 

conversation  for  an  hour  with  the 
princess,  50. 

cook, 318. 

copper  hooks  as  a  gift,  373. 

cord,  invisible,  suspension  from,  404. 

corn  that  replenished  itself,  384. 

corn-maidens  fiee  from  the  twin  war- 
gods,  392. 

—  hide  in  ocean  under  the  wings  of  a 
duck,  392. 

—  representatives  of,  in  shape  like  an  ear 
of  corn,  394. 

—  return  on  the  rainbow,  395. 

—  taken  to  the  rain-priest,  394. 
cottonwood-tree,  seed  of,  planted,  392. 
coyote  deceived  by  promise  of  marriage, 

551- 

—  desiring  to  marry,  is  induced  by 
rabbit  to  enter  bag,  in  which  he  is 
held,  550. 

—  drinks  up  the  lake  to  obtain  the 
cheese,  551. 

—  in  feasting  on  fruit,  gets  a  green  one, 
which  sticks  in  his  throat,  551. 

—  plays  for  bridal  party,  551. 

—  tail  of,  frozen  in  ice,  328. 

—  with  full  stomach,  stuck  in  hole,  328. 
Count  Irlos  dreams  of  unhappiness  of  his 

wife,  215. 

—  ordered  on  war  expedition,  214. 

—  returns,  after  seventeen  years'  ab- 
sence, in  time  to  save  his  wife,  215. 

crab,  talking,  227. 

cracking    of    hack-berries    in    place    of 

cracking  of  lice,  408. 
crane,  312,  371,  388. 
crow  changed  to  black,  329. 

—  enrage   men  with  its  cry,  361. 


crow,  laughing,  lets  fall  the  hare  he  had 

stolen  from  fox,  369. 
curate  drowned  in  place  of  servant,  102. 

—  fooled  by  his  servant,  99-102. 
dance  of  the  ghosts,  383,  411. 
daughter  of  chief  delivered  to  wealthy 

ranchman,  323. 

—  of  the  king  doomed  to  be  given  to 
Seven-Heads,  42. 

prepares  table  for  the  giants, 

144. 

dead  can  return  to  life,  382,  383. 

death  completed  by  feeding  with  corn- 
meal,  and  smoking,  404. 

—  from  red-hot  pebbles  put  down  mouth, 

371- 

—  yields  to  Pipette,  107. 

deer,   miraculous  white,  shows  how  to 

ford  river,  213. 
devil,  107-1^10. 

—  foiled.  III. 

—  offers  help  to  woodcutter's  wife,  108. 

—  promises  not  to  take  Pipette,  107. 
diamond,  yellow,  89. 

diver  an  object  of  contempt  and  ridicule, 

371- 

—  slays  the  loon,  371. 

dog  asks  help  of  the  bird,  306. 

—  bears  two  spotted  pups,  365. 

—  faithful,  discloses  wife  to  husband, 
225. 

—  the  first,  376. 

—  helps  youth  in  killing  monster,  331. 

—  resuscitates  children,  306. 

—  slays  Windigo,  376. 

—  takes  care  of  infants,  304-306. 

—  with  two  pups,  330. 

dogs  provide  raiment,  food,  and  money, 

62. 
doors  open  and  shut  automatically,  309. 
dream-power  brings  thaw,  385. 

—  thwarts  Great-Lynx,  387. 
dreams,  three,  of  hunters,  135. 
dress,  fine,  by  magic,  56,  57,  62. 

—  invisible,  72,  73. 

drink  supplied  by  magic  bottle,  338,  339. 
duck  in  journey  over  mountain,  374. 
dwarfs  angered,  383. 
eagle,  bald-headed,  307. 

—  brings  news  of  the  princess,  52. 

—  searches  for  the  corn-maidens,  392. 

—  talking,  27,  28,  87, 
eagle-down,  354,  358. 

.  eagle-feathers  shaken  emit  a  whistling- 
sound,  394. 
earth  formed,  350. 
Eight-Heads,  307.  3o8. 
elk  nurses  baby,  335- 
enchantment  broken,  67. 
entrails  of  raccoon  appropriated  by  fisher, 

379- 

Esmelesinda  captured  by  Turks,  im- 
prisoned in  Sansuena,  but  finally 
rescued  by  Guifero,  207. 

excrement,  314,  31S.  336,  339- 

fairy,  friendly,  49-Si.  56,  57.  I43.  146, 

147- 


Index. 


583 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  continued: ' 
fairy,  wicked,  49. 
fast  of  six  days,  393. 
fasting  for  the  power  of  speech,  370. 

—  to  gain  insight  into  mysteries,  385. 

—  to  look  for  thunder,  384. 

—  too  long,  results  of,  388. 
fat  enclosed  in  bark,  381. 

father  to  be  chosen  by  urination  of  child, 

357-359- 
feats  of  strength,  309,  310. 
fiddle,  73-75,  80,  81,  86,  87. 

—  magic,  338-340. 
file,  72.  73- 
finger,  gilded,  37. 

fins,  fish,  to  be  put  in  garden,  330. 
fire,  blue,  332,  333. 

—  brought  on  by  shooting  arrows,  378. 
fish  procured  during  a  famine  by  a  pas- 
sage from  the  sea  to  a  lake,  383. 

—  tells  fisherman  how  to  dispose  of  all 
its  parts,  330. 

fisher  in  stars  of  the  Great  Dipper,  372. 

fisherman  promises  child  to  the  Devil,  no. 

flail,  82. 

flight,  magic,  379,  380. 

flint  makes  a  range  slippery,  380. 

Eloating-Net-Stick,  383. 

flood,  328,  329. 

—  survivors  of,  329. 

Florentina  and  Enrico  re-united  by  their 
child,  224. 

—  immured  in  iron  chest,  cast  into  the 
sea,  223. 

—  sends  hand  on  a  tray  to  Alfonzo,  223. 
flowers  of  gold  and  silver,  54,  55. 

food,  miraculous,  372. 

—  replenishing  itself,  378. 

—  supplied  by  magic  girdle,  212. 

by  magic  rag,  338,  339, 

forever-bird,  385,  388. 

fortune  and  family  won  back,  324,  326. 
fountain  of  gold,  37,  38. 
fox  induces  coyote  to  hold  up  a  rock,  554. 
to  steal  chickens,  554. 

—  pretends  to  be  dead,  328. 

—  teaches  coyote  how  to  fish,  328. 

—  throws  a  prickly-pear  with  spines  into 
coyote's  mouth,  553. 

friends  prove  treacherous,  312. 

frog,  stuffed,  and  glue,  to  assist  in  climb- 
ing mountains,  357,  358. 

Galician  and  Indian  buy  milk,  and  are 
told  that  it  will  not  agree  with  them, 
554- 

—  finds  a  rabbit,  and  calls  him  son,  554. 
gardener  supplied  with  food  by  king's 

daughter,  39,  40. 
ghost  dancing,  411. 
ghost-dance  ends  at  dawn,  383, 
giant,  33-36,  86,  87.     See  also  Mashos. 

—  cuts  off  heads  of  own  daughters,  80. 

—  furious  at  losing  his  soup,  144. 

—  trapped,  76. 

—  tries  in  vain  to  destroy  youth,  377. 

—  with  seven  daughters,  79. 
giants  in  the  king's  forest,  96. 

VOL.  XXIX. — NO.  114. — 38. 


giants  playing  cards,  68. 

gift,  meaning  of,  misinterpreted,  230. 

girdle,    magic,    suppHes    food     to    the 

besieged,  212. 
girl,  transformed  into  goose,  304. 

—  who  could  spit  gold,  301-304,  306. 
girls,  captive,  311. 

gnome  sets  snare  for  sun,  376. 

—  victorious  over  Windigo,  376. 

good  deed  rewarded  by  a  place  in  heaven, 

112. 
goose,  306. 

grass  tells  of  wolf  passing  by,  345. 
grebe,  horned,  takes  children  over  river, 

380. 
Green-Peas  foils  all  efforts  to  destroy  him, 

lOI. 

grizzly-bear  makes  woman  his  wife,  308. 
Gui  de  Borgona  falls  in  love  with  Princess 

Florifes,  211. 
gull,  great,  blesses  youth  in  a  fast,  377. 
hack-berries,  sound  of  cracking,  like  that 

of  cracking  lice,  408. 
hair,  dog  tied  with,  332. 
Hand-Hammer,    stone,    drowned,    326, 

327. 
hands  restored  by  angel,  225,  234. 
hat,  314. 

head  dipped  in  fountain  of  gold,  38. 
heart  in  little  toe,  378. 
hen  lays  golden  eggs,  146-148. 
He-of-the-Wampum-Beads,  371. 
hogs,  drove  of,  317. 
hooks,  copper,  as  stepping-stones  over 

mountain,  374. 
horned-snake,  scales  of,  for  medicine,  363. 
horse,  black,  37,  38,  43,  323-325- 
by  magic,  42. 

—  dancing,  323. 

—  helps  youth  in  killing  monster,  331. 

—  most  beautiful,  46. 

—  receives  advice  from  the  sun,  305. 

—  red,  42,  43. 

—  small,  with  long  hair,  322. 

—  talking,  38-41.  304.  323-326. 

—  white,  37^41. 

appears  by  magic,  42. 

promises  help,  38. 

house  without  supports,  in  the  air,  140. 
hunch-back,  375,  384. 

—  slays  Windigo  woman,  376. 

hunter  takes  the  two  dollars  the  Galician 
leaves  for  the  rabbit,  556. 

husbandmen  forced  to  drink  strong  solu- 
tion of  salt,  138. 

—  play  trick  on  John,  138. 

infant  princess  believed  to  be  a  gift  from 
heaven,  114,  116. 

rescued  by  a  poor  old  man  and  his 

wife,  114. 

infants  reared  by  dog,  304. 

interview  between  the  corn-maidens  and 
He  -who  -goes  -to  -look  -for  -the  -Maid- 
ens, 394. 

—  between  Old-Man-Swan  and  He-who- 
goes-to-look-for-the-Maidens,  394. 

jackfish  with  large  head,  330. 


S84 


Index. 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  continued: 
jay,  Canada,  enrages  men  with  its  cry, 

360. 
jewelry,  311,  312. 
John,  by  a  trick,  brings  the  queen  back 

to  the  king,  139. 

—  leaves  a  field  of  oats  where  were  only 
weeds  and  brambles,  138. 

—  redeems  the  marsh,  137. 
kettle  always  full,  356,  357. 

—  of  Nanaboshu,  389. 

Kicon  (see  Little-John)  marries  the  prin- 
cess, 366. 

Kill-Deer,  the  maker  of  water-holes,  405. 

king  asks  the  hand  of  his  daughter  in 
marriage,  223. 

—  marries  spectre,  65. 

—  tries  to  kill  Little-John,  82-84. 
kings  duped,  336,  337. 
knowledge  gained  by  fasting,  385. 
lard,  316. 

Latin  words,  the  three  best,  135. 
laziness  denounced  by  sun,  305. 
leeches  suck  the  sea  dry,  371. 
life   and   strength   transmitted   through 
cord,  404. 

—  how  to  gain  future,  388. 

—  restored,  373,  377,  384. 

light  on  forehead  of  cannibal,  321. 
lion  rescues  traveller,  555. 

—  talking,  25.  27,  43. 

liquid  with  power  to  restore  life,  333, 

367- 
Little-John,  32-53.  S7-6i,  70-87.  89-93, 

137-140,  143-145. 

—  a  skilful  mariner,  59. 

—  as  chef  to  the  princess,  53. 

—  as  cowherd  and  swineherd,  32-36. 

—  as  hostler,  37-40. 

—  as  merchant,  89-93. 

—  becomes  invisible,  143,  144. 

—  betrayed,  50,  51,  60. 

—  carried  by  eagle  to  Seven-Mountains, 
52. 

—  delivers  the  princess  from  the  four 
giants,  60. 

from  prison,  49. 

—  descends  into  the  font  of  gold,  37. 

—  despised  and  plotted  against  by  his 
two  brothers,  71-75. 

—  gets  the  fiddle  of  the  giant,  74. 
the  seven-league  boots,  72. 

—  in  disguise  of  king,  75. 

—  in  the  king's  family,  58. 

—  kills  Seven-Heads,  43,  145,  365. 

—  marries  the  princess,  37,  41,  45,  48,  61, 
76,  87,  140,  145,  366. 

—  overcome  with  sleep,  50,  51. 

—  proves  ability  to  earn  living,  82-84. 

—  receives  his  patrimony,  58. 

—  summoned  to  room  of  princess,  53. 

—  thrown  out  by  whale  on  an  island,  60. 

—  victorious  over  his  brothers,  46-48. 

—  wins  in  battle,  39-41. 

logs  of  wood  exchanged  for  children,  319. 
Lynx  kills  Big-Skunk,  344, 
magic  power,  386,  387. 


magician,  37,  38,  54,  59,  60,  87-92,  332, 
333- 

—  restores  life,  333. 

maidens,  foolish,  adventures  of,  370,  371, 

379- 
mallard,  371. 
man  as  witch-bear,  387. 

—  hungry,  seeing  abundance  of  long 
sweet  grass,  wishes  to  be  a  buffalo,  407. 

—  yields  to  persuasion  of  girls,  408. 
manitou,  370. 

—  eight-headed,  killed,  332. 

—  provides  clothing,  334. 
Man-with-Skull-for-a-Head  removes  hair 

of  a  beautiful  maiden,  375. 
mare  with  two  foals,  330,  365. 
marriage  at  the  point  of  the  sword,  32. 
martin  finds  no  land,  329. 
Martineau  and  the  flies,  96. 

—  kills  three  giants,  97. 

—  traps  the  unicorn,  98. 
Mashos  as  kidnapper,  377. 

—  frozen  to  death,  376. 

—  tries  in  vain  to  dispose  of  his  son-in- 
law,  376. 

medicine  for  snake-bite,  378. 

—  to  cure  every  ill,  378. 

men,  figures  of,  carved  out  of  poplar- 
wood,  352. 

mind-reading,  318,  319. 

Minette  recites  a  story  of  sequence,  135, 
136. 

mole  helps  to  free  sun  from  snare,  376. 

monsters,  12,  13. 

moon  betrays  sun,  403-405. 

—  feasting  on  dead  body,  403,  404. 

—  advises  No-Tongue,  403-405. 

—  reflected  in  pond,  said  to  be  a  cheese, 
550. 

—  slain,  375. 

moose,  fall  of  the  pride  of,  370. 

—  front  shin-bones  of,  to  overcome  dif- 
ficulties, 356,  358. 

mother  of  birds,  animals,  and  fishes,  370. 

—  transformed  into  crab,  227. 
mountain  scaled,  374. 
mouse,  371. 

—  as  scout,  341. 

—  tracks  through  snow,  and  finds  long 
foot  of  Big-Skunk,  342. 

mud  grows  larger,  and  becomes  land,  346. 
muskrat  brings  up  mud,  346,  350. 
Nanabushu,  370,  371,  378,  389-391. 

—  fails  in  trying  to  imitate  his  brothers, 
390,  391. 

napkin,  magic,  94. 

Night-Hawk     searches     for    the    corn- 
maidens,  392. 
north  country  the  land  of  the  wolf,  346. 
North-Wind  plays  ball,  372. 
nose  grows  so  as  to  trail,  335. 
No-Tongue,  402-406. 

—  cuts  off  Sioux  head,  feeds  it,  and 
throws  it  away,  403. 

—  in  Sioux  disguise,  403,  404. 

—  killed  by  a  thrust  from  Sun's  elbow, 
406. 


Index. 


58s 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  conlinued: 
nuggets,  gold,  319. 
obstacles  to  cause  delay,  11,  38,  39,  343, 

380,  381. 
oil,  boiling,  35. 

otter  teaches  how  to  fish,  370. 
Old-Man,  by  curiosity,  loses  tail,  409. 
owl  searches  for  the  corn-maidens,  392. 
oxen,  golden-horned,  317. 
paint,  magic,  387. 

Painted-Turtle  breaks  bear's  back,  368. 
parents  desert  children,  68. 
pass,     narrow     mountain,     crossed     by 

squirrel,  374. 
path   through   snow  melted   by   heated 

rock,  377. 
patrimony  and  relatives  gambled  away, 

322,  324. 
pebble,    red-hot,    put    down    mouth    of 

loon,  371. 
pelts  exchanged  for  dogs,  61. 
penknife,  silver,  27,  29. 
pig,  suckling,  exchanged  for  infant,  230. 
pigeon-eggs  in  body  of  lion,  30,  31. 
pine-needle,  dry  yellow,  327. 
pipe  of  human   being,   violence  to   the 

visiting  soul  of,  370. 
Pipette,  very  old,  tires  of  life,  107. 
plume,    black,    planted   at   door   of   the 

house  of  the  corn-maidens,  393. 
plumes,  five,  planted  facing  the  west,  393. 
porcupine  tries  to  kill  tree,  360. 
possessions  of  man  symbolized  in  Ojibwa 

tale,  385. 
pot,  iron,  315. 

prayer-plumes  turned  to  face  east,  394. 
priest  fooled,  313,  314. 
prince  grants  each  of  three  sisters  their 

wish,  113,  114. 

—  invites  poor  travellers  to  dine,  123. 

—  recognizes  his  child,  115. 

Prince    of    the    Green    Sword    becomes 

speechless,  65. 
princess  delivered  from  prison,  49. 
from  Seven-Heads,  43,  365. 

—  guarded  by  four  giants,  59. 
by  little  dog,  69. 

—  in  blue  cloud,  50. 

—  in  white  cloud,  51. 

—  makes  known  her  deliverer,  54. 
Princess  Adela  cuts  off  her  hands  rather 

than  marry  her  father,  224. 

and  her  son  set  adrift  on  sea,  225. 

Princess  Florifes  aids  French  prisoners, 

212. 

marries  Gui  de  Borgona,  213. 

takes  the  field  against  Gui.  212. 

Princess   Sevilla   of   Sansuefia   enters   a 

convent,  209. 

falls  in  love  with  Baldovinos,  207. 

princesses  prisoners  in  a  subterranean 

vault,  86. 
punk  causes  huge  fire,  380. 
purse,  316. 
pursuit  in  a  thunderstorm,  386. 

—  in  the  wind,  386. 

rabbit  about  to  be  burnt,  550. 


rabbit  burns  coyote  in  reeds,  551. 

—  caught  by  Tar-Baby,  549. 

—  deceives  coyote  with  green  fruit,  551. 
a  hunter,  552. 

—  disguising  himself  with  a  covering  of 
honey  and  leaves,  deceives  alligator, 
553- 

—  escapes  from  the  bag  in  which  he  is 
imprisoned,  by  enticing  coyote  into  it, 

551- 

—  induces  alligator  to  carry  him  across  a 
river,  551. 

—  located  in  reeds,  pretends  to  make 
music  for  a  marriage,  551. 

—  offers  to  shave  alligator,  552. 

—  on  account  of  theft  of  hunter,  does  not 
get  the  two  dollars  the  Galician  left 
for  him,  556. 

—  pretending  he  is  to  marry  a  girl,  in- 
duces coyote  to  take  his  place,  550. 

—  pretends  that  moon  seen  in  pond  is  a 
cheese,  550. 

—  scolds  the  alligator,  and  pretends  to 
have  praised  him,  552. 

—  sets  fire  to  the  bushes,  551. 

—  talks  to  his  hole,  552. 

—  throws  green  zapote  into  coyote's 
mouth,  and  escapes,  550. 

raccoon  advises  fisher,  379. 

—  feigns  death,  369. 
rag,  magic,  338-340. 

rain  for  twenty  days,  346. 

rainbow  carries  back  duck  and  the  corn- 
maidens,  394. 

rain-priests  obey  children  of  the  sun,  and 
receive  a  little  boy  for  companion,  394. 

raven  changed  to  black,  329. 

raven-skin,  coat  from,  376. 

Red-Stocking,  375,  376. 

return  of  one  dead  to  life,  reason  for,  382. 

ring,  331. 

—  divides  without  visible  cause,  44. 

—  gold,  316,  317. 

robin  causes  conception  by  virgin,  372. 
rock  blesses  youth  in  a  fast,  377. 
room,  locked,  entrance  into,  forbidden, 

117,  118,  120. 
ruffed  grouse  fasts  eleven  days,  370. 
sack,  magic,  103-105. 

—  of  fine  shining  powder,  318. 

—  wanted  neither  in  heaven  nor  below, 
104,  105. 

—  wrong  man  in,  317. 

St.  Peter  allows  Pipette  behind  the  door, 
107. 

refuses  entrance  to  Pipette,  107. 

salt,  321. 

—  sack  of,  72,  73. 

—  strong  drink  of,  138. 

sand-crane  prays,  and  loosens  all  tongues, 
394- 

—  prepares  the  ne'wekwe  for  his  journey, 

393- 
scales,  fish,  to  be  put  in  garden,  330. 
sea  crossed  by  help  of  fishes  and  loons, 

378. 
search  for  earth  after  deluge,  346. 


586 


Index. 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  continued: 
serpent  restored  by  drop  of  blood,  378. 
seven-headed  dragon,  145. 

—  snake,  365. 
Seven-Headsdemandssacrificeof  two,  43. 

—  tongues  of,  43,  45,  365. 
seven-league  boots,  71,  72,  75,  80,  81. 
shoulder-blades  hung  in  line,  378. 
sight  recovered  magically,  26. 

—  restored,  378. 

sisters  and  nurse  of  princess  leave    her 

infant  to  die  on  strand,  114. 
skin  of  grizzly-bear,  309. 
skunk  rescued  from  the  fire  by  lynx,  368. 

—  wife  to  lynx,  368. 

sky  red  from  one  end  to  the  other  a  sign 
to  daughter  of  death  of  father,  381,  382. 
sleep  prohibited  for  six  days,  393. 

—  sound, caused,  319,  320. 
slipper,  owner  of,  marries  prince,  57. 
sucker  directs  fisherman  how  to  dispose  of 

him,  365. 
snake  substituted  for  infant,  303. 
snakes  kill  tree,  308. 
snake-skin,  mystic  power  in,  370. 
songs  at  dinner-table  of  prince,  123,  124. 
son-in-law    substitutes    his    clothes    for 

those  of  his  father,  353. 
sons,  two,  born  to  fisherman,  330. 
souls,  whence  they  come,  388. 
speech  prohibited  for  six  days,  393. 
spirit- world,  dangers  encountered  on  way 

to,  382,  383. 

—  lies  to  the  west,  382. 

—  way  to,  guarded  by  dogs,  383. 
spittle  dried  up,  327. 

—  transformed  to  gold,  301. 
into  toe-nails,  302. 

spot  on  sword  omen  of  misfortune,  365. 
spring,  the,  held  back,  372. 
spring  of  silver  water,  331,  333. 
squirrel-skin  to  remove  difficulties,  357, 

358. 
staff,  magic,  of  gold,  319-321. 
stepmother,  bad,  301-304,  334,  335. 

—  cruel,  54-57. 

—  jealous,  227,  228. 
storm,  unparalleled,  67. 
stove  appears  by  magic,  32. 
stranger,  mysterious,  310. 
stratagem  to  get  possession  of  the  birds 

of  summer,  372. 
strawberries  picked  under  snow,  301,  302. 
strength  through  skin  of  bull,  33. 
sturgeon  blessed  youth  in  a  fast,  377. 

—  carries  away  boy  while  swimming,  387. 

—  great,  chief  of  the  fishes,  370. 

—  with  the  talons  of  an  eagle,  387. 
substitution  by  trickery,  loi,  102. 

sun   and    moon,   conversation  between, 
402-406. 

—  escapes  from  body  of  bull,  406. 

—  helps  the  dog,  305. 

—  instructs  Wisakejak,  345. 

—  plots  against  No-Tongue,  402-406. 

—  snared,  376. 

—  spittle  of,  life-giving,  305. 


swallow  brings  back  no  land,  329. 

swans,  white,  announce  to  the  corn- 
maidens  the  coming  of  He-who-goes-to- 
look-for-the-Maidens,  393. 

switch,  magic,  106,  143-145. 

sword,  rust  on,  an  omen  of  disaster,  331, 
333- 

swords,  two,  grow  on  bush,  365. 

syrup  of  dung,  336. 

tablecloth,  magic,  146-148. 

tallow,  337-340. 

tanning-tool  raises  solid  mountains,  343. 

Tar-Baby,  549. 

tasks,  superhuman,  to  win  wife,  386. 

tent,  by  magic,  32. 

thaw  brought  about  by  song  of  a  virgin, 
372. 

thread,  reel  of,  318. 

"Thunder  Cape,"  384. 

thunder-storm  raised  by  magic  song,  384. 

Ticon  (Little-John)  and  a  shepherd  ex- 
change places  in  a  bag,  337. 

—  marries  the  princess,  340. 

—  outwits  the  princess,  340. 
Ti-John.     See  Little-John. 
toads,  four  large,  46-48,  55. 
toad-woman,  378. 

Tom  Thumb  pushes  giant  into  box,  and 
kills  him,  82. 

saves  his  brothers  from  giant,  80. 

tongues  of  monster,  332. 

—  seven,  in  handkerchief,  365,  366. 
trail  lost,  319,  335. 

—  made  longer  by  haste,  357. 
transformations,  16, 17,  29,30,  46,47,  56, 

57,  60,  65-67,  80,  88.  89. 
trap  of  cannibal,  310. 
traveller,  rescued  by  a  lion,  recognizes 

him  as  the  king  of  animals,  555. 
treachery  of  queen-mother,  223. 
tree,  apple,  receives  advice  from  the  sun, 

305- 
talking,  304. 

—  Cottonwood,  grows  up  to  sky,  392. 

—  knot  of,  for  hiding-place,  379. 

—  mountain-ash,  347. 

—  oak,  347. 

—  pine,  347- 

—  tall  pine,  319. 

—  with  magic  fruit,  227. 
trunk  with  spring-lock,  321. 
truth  safer  than  falsehood,  142. 
twin-boys,  each  bearing  golden  star  on 

forehead,  born  to  poor  fishman,  365. 
unicorn  in  king's  forest,  97. 

—  trapped  in  the  church  ruins,  98. 
vagabond  protects  himself  by  magic,  385. 
value  of  strength  in  our  defences,  141. 
viper  nourished  with  seven  living  children 

each  year,  539. 
virgin  conceives  miraculously,  372. 
wampum  from  fish-scales,  381,  382. 
war-club,  magic,  378,  382. 
washerwoman,  315. 
water,  spring  of,  receives  advice  from  the 

sun,  305. 
talking,  304. 


Index. 


587 


Incidents  and  objects  in  myth,  continued: 
water  that  sings,  334. 

—  turns  to  silver  whatever  it  touches, 

331- 

weasel  as  scout,  341. 

—  kills  the  cannibal,  350. 

whelps  exchanged  for  infants,  227,  229. 
whetstone  makes  mountain  slippery,  343. 
whistle,  bone,  with  magic  power,  336. 
White-Man-Buffalo,  407,  408. 
wife  and  daughter  of  giant  in  oven,  74. 

—  of  the  sun,  375. 

—  unfaithful,  379,  381. 

—  won  by  medicine,  378. 
wig  from  sheepskin,  38,  39. 
wind,  strong  Chinook,  327. 

Windigo    drives    great    beavers    out    of 
mountains,  376. 

—  warns    against    eating    musk-glands, 
376. 

—  with  eight  heads,  331. 

winter  moons,  number  of,  decreed,  372. 
Winter-Maker  overcome  by  diver,  371. 
Wisakejak.     See  Wisukejdk. 
Wisukejak  as  a  broad-bill  swan,  348. 

—  as  an  old  wolf,  349. 

—  in  toad-skin,  345. 

—  marries  his  own  daughter,  351. 
wolf  brought  back  to  life,  346. 

—  obtains  fat  in  winter,  408. 

—  talking,  25. 

wolverene  bites  Big-Skunk,  343. 
woman  and  snakes  cohabit,  379,  387. 
— •  as  wife  of  beaver,  388. 

—  old,  and  child,  placed  back  to  back  to 
form  two  faces,  342. 

and  spectre,  63H58. 

women,  three  young,  39,  41. 
wood-chisel,  antler,  squeezed  to  death, 

326,  327- 
woodchuck  makes  tunnel,  378. 
woodcutter  imposes  on  wife  an  impossible 

task,  108. 

—  overhears  devil's  name,  109. 
wool,  skein  of,  to  mark  way,  77. 
work  done  by  one  unknown,  372,  373. 
work-bag,  323,  324. 

youth,  jealous,  kills  younger  brother,  333. 

—  mistaken  for  his  brother,  333. 
Indian  tribes: 

Aztec,  547. 

Blackfoot,  364. 

Cheyenne,  403,  404,  406-408. 

Chinantecs,  547. 

Cree  (Plains),  341-367. 

Mandan,  402-406. 

Mazatecs,  547. 

Ojibwa,  368-391. 

Ojibwa  (Plains),  330-340. 

Otagamies,  389. 

Piegan,  408,  409. 

Pueblo,  536. 

Salteaux,  361,  362. 

Sioux,  403. 

Tepecano,  548. 

Tewa,  536-538. 

Upper  Thompson,  301-329. 


Indians,  absorption  by,  of  Spanish  tradi- 
tions, customs,  and  beliefs,  536,  539. 
and     Spaniards,     intercourse    between, 

decreased,  536. 
European  tales  from  the  Plains  Ojibwa, 
330-340. 

from  the  Upper  Thompson,  301- 

329- 
religious  ballads  preserved  in  oral  tradi- 
tion of  New-Mexican  Pueblo,  344. 
—  Spanish  rhyme  used  by,  for  blessing 
themselves,  523. 

Indigene  and  immigrant,  natural  anxiety 
felt  by,  285. 

Instruments  to  be  heard  in  the  hula,  411. 

Intercession  with  God  asked  for  at  graves 
of  parents,  414. 

International  Congress  of  Americanists, 
Nineteenth,  papers  announced  on  the 
ofificial  programme  of,  298. 

International  School  of  Archaeology  and 
Ethnology  in  Mexico,  547. 

Islet,  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 

Israel,  tithes  of  dough  given  to  priests  In 
ancient,  415. 

Jack  of  the  Thompson  Indians,  ideas  of  nar- 
rators concerning,  318. 

"Jaime  del  Prado,"  a  hero  among  all 
Filipinos,  204. 

Jew,  charity  bestowed  by,  at  funeral,  414. 
two-sidedness  of,  413. 

Jewish  customs,  ancient.     See  Customs. 

Jofre  and  Tablante,  contest  between,  220. 
knight  of  Queen  Guiniver,  218-221. 

Joliette,  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 

Jones,  William,  Ojibwa  Tales  from  the 
North  Shore  of  Lake  Superior,  368-391. 

Kamouraska,  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 
Kinsmen,  name-avoidance  a  recognition  of 

the  status  of,  286. 
Kittredge,  George  Lyman,  annotation  by, 

on  Songs  Traditional  in  the  United 

States,  156-179,  185-194. 
Knight  of  the  Bridge,  220. 
Knight  of  the  Lance,  219. 
Knight-errantry,  guide-book  to,  221. 

La  Prairie,  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 

Laka,  the  goddess  of  co-ordinated  move- 
ment, 410. 

Lake  Superior,  Ojibwa  tales  from  the  north 
shore  of,  368-391. 

Lanct6t,  Gustave,  Fables,  Contes  et  For- 
mules,  141-151. 
narrator,  3. 

Language  a  guide  in  determining  the  age 
and  source  of  Porto-Rican  and  New- 
Mexican  Spanish  riddles,  424. 

Law  given  by  God  to  white  men  and  red 
men,  407. 

Leal,  Antonio  Castro,  on  the  ballad  of 
Macario  Romero,  556. 

Leduc,  Antoinette,  narrator,  3. 

Lehmann-Nitsche,  collection  by,  of  Ar- 
gentine riddles,  424. 


588 


Index. 


Lepers'  Island,  brother-brother  avoidance 

on,  282,  289. 
manners  of  mother  and  mother-in-law  on, 

290. 
Libraries   containing   broadside   copies   of 

songs,  etc.,  159-162,  166-172,  177-179, 

185-187,  194. 
"Life  of  a  Merchant,  Proceso  by  Name,  and 

of  his  Daughter  Maria,  in  the  Kingdom 

of  Hungary,"  228,  229. 
"Life  of  Princess  Florentina  in  the  Kingdom 

of  Germany,  The,"  223. 
"Lives  of  the  Shepherdess  Blancafior  and  of 

Prince  Floresto,  The,"  226. 
Loiza,  Spanish-American  folk-lore  material 

from,  423. 
Love-games  infrequent  in  Spanish  tradition, 

506,  509. 
Love-making  at  a  Mexican  dance,  549. 
Love-suit,    token   of   acceptance   of,   in   a 

Mexican  dance,  549. 
Lytton,  B.C.,  survivors  of  flood  settled  at, 

329- 
Lullaby  from  Guatemala,  562. 
Macario  Romero,  555,  556. 
McGill,  Josephine,  The  Cherry-Tree  Carol, 

293,  294,  417. 
Mackay,  Hugh,  of  the  Round  Lake  Mission, 

assistance  from,  341. 
Magic.     See  (under  Incidents)  badger  pouch, 
belt,  bottle,  box,  cane,  club,  dress,  drink, 
fiddle,  flight,  food,  girdle,  horse,  napkin, 
paint,    rag,    sack,    sight,    staff,    stove, 
switch,    tablecloth,    tent,    thunder-storm, 
tree,  vagabond,  war-club,  whistle. 
Mahabharata,  time  of  completion  of,  418. 
Malo,  David,  Hawaiian  antiquarian,  411. 
Man,  white,  has  tampered  with  God's  law, 

407. 
Marquis  of  Mantua,  oath  taken  by,  209. 
Martinez,  Mariano,  551,  554,  555. 
Masai  covenanters,  change  of  name  by,  286. 
Mason,  J.  Alden,  collection  by,  of  Spanish- 
American  riddles,  423. 
Porto-Rican  Folk-Lore.     Riddles,  423- 

504- 
study  by,  of  Porto-Rican  phonetics,  423. 
version  by,  of  the  tale  of  Rabbit  and  the 
Tar-Baby,  551. 
Mechling,    William    Hubbs,    Stories    and 
Songs    from    the    Southern    Atlantic 
Coastal  Region  of  Mexico,  547-558. 
Melanesia,  avoidance  in,  282-292. 

of  name  and  place  explained  by 

natives,  290. 

of  naming  the  dead,  286. 

a  prerogative  of  seniority,  286,  289. 

psychological  theory  for,  285,  288, 

289,  291,  292. 
"rules"  of,  self-evidently  instinc- 
tive, 288. 

between  relatives  by  marriage, 

283. 
continuance  in,  of  brother-sister  avoid- 
ance after  death,  282. 
Melanesian,    mutual    helpfulness    a    char- 
acteristic of,  285. 


Menominee  believe  in  two  souls,  363. 
Metrical  Romances  in  the  Philippines,  203- 

234- 
Mexican  dance,  arrangements  for,  548. 

—  dress  of  those  participating  in,  548. 
love-making  at,  549. 

—  placing  of  men  who  play  and  sing  for, 
548. 

profits  made  by  giver  of,  549. 
Mexico,  International  School  of  Archaeology 

and  Ethnology  in,  547. 
Michelson,  Truman,  in  Notes  and  Queries, 

408,  409. 
Mitewiwin,  cures  performed  by  admission 

to,  362. 
"Mo'lawia,"  meaning  of,  396. 

a    ceremonial    dramatizing    the    origin 

myth,  392. 
Monsters  and  Mythological  People,  12,  13. 
"Moro-moro,"  signification  of,  205. 
Mota,  manner  of  showing  respect  in,  290. 
Mother-in-law,    avoidance    of,    in    Banks 

Islands  more  drastic  than  avoidance  of 

father-in-law,  284. 
Mourning-period,  length  of,  among  Jews» 

414. 
Music  (notation): 

The  Cherry-Tree  Carol,  417. 
Myth,  The,  392-394. 

Mythological  subjects  in  popular  Canadian- 
French  tales,  8-25. 
Myths  and  tales,  Canadian  Christian,  102— 

112. 

Name  of  God,  use  of,  by  Jews,  417. 
of  sick  child  changed  by  Jews,  415. 
use  of  personal,  a  step  toward  intimacy, 
285. 
Name-avoidance  explained  by  natives  of 

Melanesia,  290. 
Naranja,  Jose  Manuel,  narrator,  536. 
Narrator  of  Jack  stories,  statements  by, 

313- 
New-comers  into  family  a  cause  for  customs 

of  avoidance,  288.  . 
New-Mexican  and  Chile  tonadillas,  533. 
ballad,  546. 

children,  recitation  of  rhymes  by,  521. 
folk-lore   material,   testimony  as   to  its 

Spanish  source,  520,  529. 
riddles,  antiquity  of,  424. 
Spaniards,  deference  shown  by,  to  reli- 
gious ceremonies  of  the  Indians,  539. 
Spanish  customs,  538-540. 

—  sayings,  538. 

—  superstitions,  538,  539. 

New-Mexican  Spanish  Folk-Lore,  536-546. 

New-Mexican  Spanish  JFolk-Lore.      Chil- 
dren's Games,  505-519. 

New-Mexican    Spanish    Folk-Lore.        XI. 

Nursery  Rhymes  and  Children's  Songs, 

519-535- 
New  Mexico,   Christmas  custom  in,   517, 

518. 
Spanish  folk-lore  of,  not  enriched  by  the 

Pueblo  Indians,  536. 
New  Year,  Jewish,  afternoon  of,  415. 


Index. 


589 


New  York  Academy  of  Sciences  in  a  general 
survey  of  Porto  Rico,  423. 

Notes  and  Queries,  402-417. 

Numbers,  mystic,  8,  9. 

Nursery  and  children's  games,  modern  ver- 
sions of  Spanish,  show  confusion,  516. 

"Nursery-rhyme,"  Spanish,  520. 

difference  in  use  of  Spanish  and  New- 
Mexican  version,  526. 

Ojibwa  a  peaceful  tribe,  389. 

noted  chiefs  among,  388,  389. 
Ojibwa   chief   makes   an   agreement   with 

England,  3S9. 
Ojibwa  Tales  from  the  North  Shore  of  Lake 

Superior,  368-391. 

Parsons,  Elsie  Clews,  Avoidance  in  Melane- 
sia, 282-292. 
The  Zufii  Mo'lawia,  392-399. 
Paschal  lamb,  roasted  lamb-bone  substi- 
tuted for,  416. 
"Pasion"  popular  in  the  PhOippines,  203. 
Passover  ritual,  survival  of,  416. 

service,  egg  eaten  at,  414. 
Patry,  Paul,  narrator,  2. 
Peabody,  Charles,  and  Isabel  Nanton  Rawn, 
More  Songs  from  the  Southern  Ap- 
palachians, 198-202. 
Pelayo,   Menendez  y,    on  "The  Story  of 

Tablante,"  218. 
Peninsular  Spain  and  New  Mexico  out  of 

touch  with  each  other,  424. 
Pentecost,  avoidance  in,  between  relatives 

by  marriage,  283,  292. 
Perfilia,  Sefiora,  selection  from  manuscript 

book  of,  541-543. 
Person-avoidance  explained  by  natives  of 

Melanesia,  290. 
Philippine  dialects,  "The  Twelve  Peers  of 
France"  in  six,  211. 
stories  analyzed,  231,  232. 
Philippines,  literary  taste  in,  203. 
metrical  romances  in  the,  203-234. 
popularity  in,  of  "Pasion,"  203. 
Tagalog,  with  parallel  translation,  of  the 
"  Story  of  the  Eventful  Life  of  Princess 
Florentina  of    the    Kingdom   of    Ger- 
many," 235-281. 
Piegan  Tale,  A,  408,  409. 
Piegan  tales  of  European  origin,  409. 
Plains  Cree  Tales,  341-367. 
Poetry,  rhyme  not  found  in  Philippine,  204. 
Porto-rican  Folk-Lore.     Riddles,  423-504. 
Porto-Rican  folk-tales  with  the  riddle  as  an 
essential  element,  424. 
riddles,  important  collection  of,  423. 
—  traditional  Spanish  material  in,  424. 
Porto  Rico,  a  collection  of  folk-lore  from, 
made  in  1914-15,  423. 
Insular  Government  of,  in  co-operation 
with    the    New    York    Academy    of 
Sciences,  423. 
Prayer  copied  from  manuscript,  542. 
repeated  by  Juanita  Cisneros,  543. 
Spanish   children's,    appears   in   an   old 
Nativity  play  found  in  California,  527. 


Prayer-plumes  planted,  395. 
turned  from  west  to  east,  399. 

Present-Day  Survivals  of  Ancient  Jewish 
Customs,  412-417. 

Prince  Baldovinos,  three  versions  of  the 
story  of,  206. 

Procession  in  single  file  of  the  pekwin, — 
He-who-goes-to-1 00  k-f  or- the- Corn- 
Maidens,  the  senior  of  "delight- 
makers,"  the  "director-general,"  and 
the  corn-maidens,  395. 

Proverb,  Hawaiian,  410. 

Pueblo  Indians  contribute  slightly  to  the 
Spanish  folk-lore  of  New  Mexico,  536. 

Quebec,  folk-tales  collected  in,  i,  2, 
Queen-mother,  perfidy  of,  223. 

Rabbit  the  most  enduring  of  animals,  393. 

Rain-priests,  three,  394. 

Rawhide,   strips  of,   used   for  suspending 

cradle  from  roof,  537. 
Rawn,   Isabel  Nanton,  and   Charles  Pea- 
body,  More  Songs  and  Ballads  from  the 
Southern  Appalachians,  198-202. 
Recinos,    Adrian,    Algunas    observaciones 
sobre  el  folk-lore  de  Guatemala,  559- 
566. 
Reef  Islands,  avoidance  in,  between  rela- 
tives by  marriage,"  283. 
Resurrection  among  orthodox  Jews,  413. 
egg  symbolic  of,  and  of  eternal  life,  414. 
Reviews: 

Boas,  Franz,  Alexander's  North  Ameri- 
can Mythology,  421. 
Crawford,    John    R.,    Fox's    Greek   and 

Roman  Mythology,  420. 
Laufer,  B.,  Meyer's  Das  Weib  im  altin- 
dischen  Epos,  418,  419. 
Rhymes  from  Guatemala,  563-566. 
from  New  Mexico: 

Nursery  and  children's,  519-535. 
El  piojo  y  la  liendre  I,  II.  534,  535. 
El  Tecolote,  533. 
from  Tuxtepec,  Oaxaca,  Mex.,  557,  558. 
El  Carpintero,  557. 
Decima,  557. 
Spanish,  used  among  children  in  deriding 

greediness,  531. 
for  teaching   children   pronuncia- 
tion, 527,  528. 

in  ridicule,  531. 

Riddles,  Argentine  collection  of,  by  Leh- 
mann-Nitsche,  424. 
collection  of  Spanish-American,  in  Porto 

Rico,  by  J.  Alden  Mason,  423-504. 
from  Spain  in  a  fixed,  stereotyped  form, 

424. 
in  combination  with  Porto-Rican  folk- 
tales, 424. 
of  a  general  character,  425-483. 
source  of  Porto  Rican  and  New-Mexican 

Spanish,  how  determined,  424. 
which    involve    arithmetical    problems, 
491-494. 

jests,  play  upon  words,  etc.,  483- 

491. 


590 


Index. 


Riddles  which  involve  short  anecdotes  or 
folk- tales,  495-501. 
without  answers,  502-504. 
See  Games. 
Rimouski,  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 
Rivers,  avoidance  theory  of,  284. 

on  brother-sister  avoidance  of  the  old- 
time  Fiji,  288. 
on  cause  of  avoidance  practices,  283,  287. 
Rizpah  guarding  the  bodies  of  her  sons,  413. 
Romances,  metrical,  of  the  Filipinos  classi-. 
fied,  205.     See  also  Tales. 
Arthurian,  217-222. 
Charlemagne,  205,  206-217. 
Roman- Nose,  Felix,  Two  Cheyenne  Stories, 

406-408. 
Rum  distilled  from  sugarcane,  549. 

Sacerdotalism,  decadence  of  Zuni,  392,  396. 

Salutation  of  child  re-unites  parents,  224. 

San  Antonio,  cantico  on  the  miracles  of. 
541.  542. 

Santa  Clara,  velorio  held  at  pueblo  of,  540. 

Santa  Cruz,  avoidance  in,  between  relatives 
by  marriage,  283,  286. 

School-children  of  Porto  Rico,  aid  given  by, 
in  collection  of  Spanish-American  folk- 
tales, 423. 

Scotland,  tournament  by  King  of,  219. 

Sex  relations  in  Melanesia,  287,  288. 

Shroud  of  a  Jew,  no  knots  in  thread  with 
with  which  it  is  sewed,  414. 

Sioui,  David,  narrator,  2. 

Sioui,  Prudent,  narrator,  2. 

Skinner,  Alanson,  European  Tales  from  the 
Plains  Ojibwa,  330-340. 
Plains  Cree  Tales,  341-367. 

Song  Ballet,  198-202. 

Songs  and  Ballads  from  the  Southern  Ap- 
palachians, More,  198-202. 

Songs,  Hawaiian  hula,  varying  nature  of, 
411. 
modern,  167-191. 

—  British  collections  of,  156. 

older,  with  variants,  and  annotated,  156- 

166. 
originated  in  America,  list  of,  167. 
Songs   Traditional   in   the  United   States, 

Some,  155-197. 
"Sorrowful    Life    of    Princess   Adela,    the 
Daughter  of  King  Clotardo  of  Hun- 
gary, The,"  224,  225. 
Souls,  beliefs  concerning,  363,  388. 
Spanish  ballad-rhymes,  534,  535. 
children's  prayer,  527. 
number  of  this  Journal,  423-592. 
people  of  New  Mexico  fraternize  little 

with  the  Indians,  539. 
rhyme  in  which  the  Indians  bless  them- 
selves, 523. 

—  used  by  children  in  deriding  greedi- 
ness, 531. 

in  ridicule,  531. 

for   teaching    pronunciation,    527, 

528. 
Spanish-American  folk-tales,  collection  of, 
made  in  1914-15,  423. 


Spirit-world,  Ojibwa  beliefs  concerning,  382. 
Stories  and  Songs  from  the  Southern  At- 
lantic Coastal  Region  of  Mexico,  547- 

558. 
Story  of  the  Eventful  Life  of  Princess  FIo- 

rentina  of  the  Kingdom  of  Germany, 

235-281. 
Tagalog  cover  for,  235. 
Tagalog  titlepage  for,  236. 
"Story  of  the  Life  of  Maria  ...  in  the 

Kingdom  of  Hungary,  The,"  226-228. 
Story  of  Tablante  and  of  Jofre,  218-221. 
Suchier,  events  in  Constance-Saga  outlined 

by,  222. 
Sugarcane,  white  rum  distilled  from,  549. 
Superstitions,  in  Guatemala,  559,  560. 

New-Mexican  Spanish,  538,  539. 
Symbolism,  hidden  significance  of,  among 

natives  of  the  South  Sea,  412. 
Synagogue,  funeral  never  held  in,  414. 

"Tablante  de  Ricamonte,"  217-222. 

oldest  Spanish  edition  of,  217. 
"Tablante"  and  "Cronica,"  table  of  cor- 
respondences between,  221. 
Tagalog  "Tablante,"  probable  derivation 

of,  222. 
Tagalog.     See  Philippines,  also  Tales. 
Tale  from  Beauce  (Quebec),  137-140. 
Tale  of  Rabbit  and  the  Tar-Baby,  differences 

found  in  different  versions,  551. 
Tales,  accumulative  Spanish,  not  found  in 
combination  with  games,  508. 

Canadian-French,  customary  beginnings 
for,  6. 

endings  for,  6,  136. 

formula  for  repetition  in,  151. 

Tales  (Canadian-French): 

L'ane,  la  serviette  et  le  baton,  93-95. 

Antoine  et  Josephine,  68-70. 

Baton-tape,  145-148. 

La  bete-a-sept-tetes,  142-145. 

Cacholet,  108,  109. 

Les  cartes  du  nomme  Richard,  134. 

Cendrillon,  55-57. 

Le  corps-sans-ame,  27-31. 

Les  deux  magiciens,  87-89. 

Le  diable  et  la  bougie,  no. 

Dom  Jean,  137-140. 

Le  dragon  de  feu,  31-36. 

L'eau  de  la  fontaine  de  Paris,  122-124. 

Les  gascons  et  I'ceuf,  135. 

Gilbert  et  le  roi,  148. 

Jean-Parle,  117-121.     See  also  Ti-Jean. 

Larrivee  et  son  sac,  102-105. 

Le  conte  du  loup,  141. 

Le  loup  et  le  renard,  141. 

Martineau-pain-sec,  95-98. 

Le  conte  de  monsieur  Michel  Morin,  125- 
132. 

Minette  m'a  vole  mes  roulettes,  135,  136. 

Parlafine  ou  Petit- Poucet,  76-81. 

Le  conte  de  Parle,  70-76.     See  also  Jean- 
Parle. 

Les  paroles  de  fleurs,  d'or  et  d'argent,  54, 
55- 

Le  petit  Bonhomme-de-Graisse,  149,  150. 


Index. 


591 


Tales  (Canadian-French),  continued: 

Petit-Jean-Petit-Bois,  82-84. 

La  petite  Capuche-Bleue,  84-87. 

Pipette,  105-107. 

Le  conte  de  Pois- Verts,  99-102. 

Le  prince  de  I'Epee-Verte,  61-67. 

Les  quatre  vents,  57-60. 

Le  reve  des  chasseurs,  134,  135. 

Le  revenant,  iii,  112. 

Les  secrets  du  lion,  de  I'ours  et  du  loup, 
25.  26. 

Les  sceurs  jalouses,  112-116. 

Ti-Jean.     See  Little- John  and  Parle. 

Ti-Jean  et  la  chatte  blanche,  45-48. 

Ti-Jean  et  le  cheval  blanc,  37-41. 

Ti-Jean,  les  chevaux  et  la  bete-a-sept- 
tetes,  41-45. 

Ti-Jean  commercant,  89-93. 

Ti-Jean  et  la  princesse  des  Sept-Mon- 
tagnes-Vertes,  49-53. 

Ti-Pierre  et  Jacqueline,  132,  133. 

Zacharie,  150. 
Tales  (Cheyenne): 

How  the  White  Man  got  his  Beard,  407. 

Why  the  White  Man  has  Short  Hair,  408. 
Tales  (Cree,  Plains): 

Big-Skunk,  The,  and  the  Origin  of  Wisa- 
kejak,  341-346. 

Culture-Hero,   The,    and  the  Cannibal, 
350. 

Culture-Hero,  The,  becomes  a  Swan,  348. 

Culture-Hero,  The,  is  deceived  by  Fisher, 
348. 

Culture-Hero,  The,  outwits  Bear,  350. 

Deluge,  The,  350. 

Dwarfs,  362. 

Hero,  The,  and  his  Daughters,  350. 

Hero,  The,  eats  his  own  Flesh,  351. 

Kicon  (Petit- Jean),  364-367. 

Loud- Voice's  Medicine,  362. 

Loud- Voice's  Visit  to  the  Other  World, 
363. 

Mitewiwin  Tale,  A,  361,  '362. 

Mudjikiwis,  353-361. 

Shut-Eye-Dance,  The,  349. 

War-Story,  A.  363,  364. 

Wemicus,  352,  353. 

Wisagatcak  tries  to  seduce  a  Girl,  351. 

Wisukejak  deceived  by  Bear,  and  Tree- 
Holders,  347. 

Wisukejak  deceives  the  Buffalo,  352. 

Wisukejak:  The  Magic  Arrow,  351,  352. 

Wolf- Tail  Blankets,  349. 
Tales  (from  Guatemala) : 

El  Cadejo,  559. 

La  Ciguanaba,  560. 

La  Tatuana,  560. 
Tales  (Mandan): 

Story  of  No-Tongue,  The,  402-406. 
Tales  (from  Mexico).     See  Tuxtepec. 
Tales  (New-Mexican  Spanish  [Tewa]): 

Rich  Man,  The,  and  Jesus  Christ,  538. 

Santa  Domingo,  A  Story  about,  537. 
Tales  (Ojibwa): 

Adventures  of  Nanabozhu,  389-391. 

Awl  and  Cranberry,  385. 

Birds,  The,  and  the  North  Wind,  372. 


Blue  Garter,  386. 

Boy,  The,  and  the  Bear,  387. 

Boy  stolen  by  the  Toad-Woman.  The, 

378. 
Boy  taken  away  by  the  Sturgeon,   The, 

387. 
Clothed-in-Fur,  379. 
Clothed-in-the-Garb-of-a-Turkey,  384. 
Council  of  the  Dogs,  The,  369. 
Deserted  Boy,  The,  385. 
Dwarfs  of  the  Cliffs,  The,  383. 
European  Tale,  A,  386. 
Filcher-of-Meat,  378. 
Fisher  and  Otter,  379. 
Floating-Net-Stick,  383. 
Forever-Bird,  385. 
Fox,  The,  369. 
Girls  who  married  the  Stars,  The,  370, 

371- 
Half-Red-Headed,  380-382. 
Hunting-Story,  A,  388. 
Journey  across  the  Sea,  378. 
Journey  to  the  Spirit-World,  383. 
Journeys  of  Bobtail,  The,  378. 
Little-Image  overcomes  the  Bears,  370. 
Magic  Flight,  The,  379,  380. 
Magic  Power,  387. 
Man  who  took  Revenge  in  Form  of   a 

Bear,  The,  387. 
Mashos,  376. 

Mashos  Story,  End  of  a,  377. 
Mink,  369. 

Mink  and  Marten,  385. 
Moose,  The,  and  Man,  370. 
Mother-Earth,  370. 
Origin  of  the  Ojibwas,  388. 
Origin  of  the  Seasons,  The,  371,  372. 
Painted-Turtle  and  Bear,  368. 
Raccoon  and  the  Crawfishes,  The,  369. 
Red-Stocking,  375. 
Robin,  The,  372. 
Ruffed  Grouse,  The,  369. 
Serpent  Lover,  The,  387. 
Skunk  and  Lynx,  368. 
Skunk,   Cranberry,  Awl,  and  Moccasin, 

385- 
Snapping-Turtle  kills  Moose,  369. 
Snapping-Turtle's  War-Party,  368,  369. 
Snaring  of  the  Sun,  The,  376. 
Soaring-Eagle  and  Otter,  370. 
Sturgeon,  The,  and  the  Eagle,  387. 
Sun  and  Moon,  375. 
Ten  Brothers,  The,  and  their  Heavenly 

Wives,  372-375- 
Thunder-Birds,    The,    and    the    Water- 
Imps,  383,  384. 
Vagabond,  The,  and  the  Lynx,  385. 
War-Story,  Manitou,  389. 
Why  the  Lynx  squints,  378. 
Windigos,  Tales  of,  376. 
Woman  who  married  the  Dog,  The,  387. 
Woman  whose  Heart  was  in  her  Little 

Toe,  377. 
Women  and  the  Great  Lynx,  The,  387. 
Tales  (Ojibwa,  Plains): 
Cinderella,  334.  335- 
Ticon  (Petit- Jean),  336. 


592 


Index. 


Tales  (Ojibwa,  Plains),  continued: 

Ticon  wins  the  Princess,  337-340. 

Two  Brothers,  The,  330-333. 
Tales  (Piegan): 

Old-Man,  408,  409. 
Tales  (Philippine): 

Adela,  224-225. 

Amelia,  229,  230. 

Baldovinos,  207-209. 

Blancaflor  and  Floristo,  226. 

Count  Irlos,  214-215. 

Estrella,  230. 

Florentina,  synopsis  in  English,  223,  224. 

—  Tagalog   version    in    facsimile,   with 
parallel  English  translation,  235-281. 

Maria,  226-228. 

Proceso,  228,  229. 

Tablante  and  Jofre,  218-221. 

Twelve    Peers    of    France,    The    (Doce 
Pares),  211-213. 
Tales  (from  Tuxtepec,  Oaxaca,  Mex.): 

El  caiman  y  el  conejo,  551-553. 

El  conejo  y  el  coyote,  549-551. 

El  Gallego,  del  Indio,  y  del  conejo,  554. 

El  leon,  el  tigre,  y  el  caminante,  555. 

La  zorra  y  el  coyote,  553. 
Tales  (Upper  Thompson): 

Bear-Boy,  Story  of;  or.  Jack  the  Bear, 
308-312. 

Coyote  and  Fox,  327,  328. 

Eight-Heads,  Story  of,  307. 

Hand-Hammer,  Wood-Chisel,  Boil,  and 
Spittle,  Story  of,  326,  327. 

Horse-Racer,  Story  of  the,  322-326. 

Jack  and  his  Brother,  Story  of,  318-322. 

Jack  and  the  Church,  315. 

Jack  and  the  Fat,  or  Lard,  315. 

Jack  and  the  Hat,  314. 

Jack  and  the  Pot,  315. 

Jack  and  the  Priest,  313,  314. 

Jack  the  Thief,  Story  of,  316,  317. 

Lui  and  the  Flood,  328,  329. 

Race  with  the  Turtles,  Story  of  the;  or, 
the  Turtles  and  Antelope,  326. 

Spi6la,  Story  of,  301-306. 

Three  Brothers  and  their  Dog,  Story  of 
the,  307.  308. 
Tatuana,  a  witch-spirit,  560. 
Teit,    James,    European    Tales    from    the 

Upper  Thompson  Indians,  301-329. 
Test  given  to  be  rewarded  with  hand  of 

Sevilla,  207. 
Tewa  cradle,  manner  of  suspending,  537. 
Thiboutot,  Narcisse,  narrator,  2. 
Ticknor    Spanish   Library,    Catalogue   of, 

222. 
Tikopia,  avoidance  in,  between  relatives  by 

marriage,  283,  289. 
Tolman,  Albert  H.,  Some  Songs  Traditional 

in  the  United  States,  155-197. 
Tombstone   of  Jew,  direction    of    placing, 

414. 
Tonadillas  of  New  Mexico  and  Chile,  533. 
Torres  Islands,  avoidance  in,  between  rel- 
atives by  marriage,  283,  290,  292. 


Torres  Islands,  incest  theory  held  by  Rivers 

for    avoidance   in,   of   wife's   parents, 

284. 
—  incest  theory  in,  for  name-avoidance, 

285. 
Traditions  absorbed  by  the  Indians  from  the 

Spanish,  536,  539. 
Training  for  the  hula,  410. 
Transformation,  227,  301,  302,  304,  323, 

324,  326,  329,  331,  335,  345,  348,  349. 

354.  363.  366,  372,  374.  375.  377.  379. 

381,  384,  386-389,  405,  407,  408. 
Tribes.     See  Indian  tribes. 
Tuxtepec,  Oaxaca,  Mex.,  a  dance  usually 

given  in,  every  Saturday  night,  548. 
rhymes  from,  557,  558. 
tales  from,  see  Tales. 
Twelve  Peers  of  France,  The,  211. 
Tylor,  theory  of,  on  customs  of  avoidance, 

288,  289. 
use  by,  of  word  "cut,"  288. 

Unson,  Salvador  (translator).  Story  of  the 
Eventful  Life  of  Princess  Florentina  of 
the  Kingdom  of  Germany,  235-281. 

Utuado,  Porto  Rico,  Spanish-American- 
folk-lore  material  from,  423. 

Valleyfield,  (?)  Can.,  folk-tales  from,  i. 

Velorio,  description  of,  540. 
preparations  for,  540. 

Versification  a  guide  in  determining  the  age 
and  source  of  Porto-Rican  and  New- 
Mexican  Spanish  riddles,  424. 

Versions,  various,  of  the  tale  of  Rabbit  and 
the  Tar-Baby,  differences  in,  551. 

Versos,  557,  558. 

Victoria  Museum,  thanks  for  help  from 
anthropological  section  of,  4. 

Vigil,  Apolonio,  canlador  at  the  Catholic 
functions  of  the  Indians,  540. 

Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society,  299. 

Wailing  at  funeral  of  Jews,  414. 
Water,  sleeping,  538. 

stirred  at  midnight  by  Spanish  wishing  to 
drink,  538. 
Wedding  of  orphan-girl,  spirit  of  mother 

invited  to,  414. 
West  Virginia  Folk-Lore  Society,   Consti- 
tution adopted  by,  401. 

officers  of,  401. 

official  correspondents  of,  401. 

organized,  400. 

Wig  as  a  defender  of  virtue,  415. 

Will,  George  F.,  in  Notes  and  Queries,  402- 

406. 
Women,  avoidance  of ,  in  Melanesia,  287. 
Words,  play  upon,  in  Hawaiian  Hula  dance- 
songs,  412. 

YoflSe,  Leah  R.  C,  in  Notes  and  Queries, 
412-417. 

Zuni  Alo'lawia,  The,  392-399. 


GR 

1 

J6 

V.29 
cop.  2 


The  Journal  of  American 
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