ALL OVER THE WORLD
by Vicente Rivera, Jr.
ONE evening in August 1941, I came out of a late movie to a silent,
cold night. I shivered a little as I stood for a moment in the narrow street,
looking up at the distant sky, alive with stars. I stood there, letting the
night wind seep through me, and listening. The street was empty, the houses on
the street dim—with the kind of ghostly dimness that seems to embrace sleeping
houses. I had always liked empty streets in the night; I had always stopped for
a while in these streets listening for something I did not quite know what.
Perhaps for low, soft cries that empty streets and sleeping houses seem to
share in the night.
I lived in an old, nearly crumbling apartment house just across the
street from the moviehouse. From the street, I could see into the open
courtyard, around which rooms for the tenants, mostly a whole family to a
single room, were ranged.
My room, like all the other rooms on the groundfloor, opened on this
court. Three other boys, my cousins, shared the room with me. As I turned into
the courtyard from the street, I noticed that the light over our study-table,
which stood on the corridor outside our room, was still burning. Earlier in the
evening after supper, I had taken out my books to study, but I went to a movie
instead. I must have forgotten to turn off the light; apparently, the boys had
forgotten, too.
I went around the low screen that partitioned off our “study” and
there was a girl reading at the table. We looked at each other, startled. I had
never seen her before. She was about eleven years old, and she wore a faded
blue dress. She had long, straight hair falling to her shoulders. She was
reading my copy of Greek Myths.
The eyes she had turned to me were wide, darkened a little by
apprehension. For a long time neither of us said anything. She was a delicately
pretty girl with a fine, smooth. pale olive skin that shone richly in the
yellow light. Her nose was straight, small and finely molded. Her lips, full
and red, were fixed and tense. And there was something else about her. Something
lonely? something lost?
“I know,” I said, “I like stories, too. I read anything good I find
lying around. Have you been reading long?”
“Yes,” she said. not looking at me now. She got up slowly, closing the book. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” she said. not looking at me now. She got up slowly, closing the book. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you want to read anymore? I asked her, trying to smile,
trying to make her feel that everything was all right.
“No.” she said, “thank you.”
“No.” she said, “thank you.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, picking up the book. “It’s late. You ought to be
in bed. But, you can take this along.”
She hesitated, hanging back, then shyly she took the book, brought it to her side. She looked down at her feet uncertain as to where to turn.
She hesitated, hanging back, then shyly she took the book, brought it to her side. She looked down at her feet uncertain as to where to turn.
“You live here?” I asked her.
“Yes.”
“What room?”
She turned her face and nodded towards the far corner, across the
courtyard, to a little room near the communal kitchen. It was the room occupied
by the janitor: a small square room with no windows except for a transom above
the door.
“You live with Mang Lucio?”
“You live with Mang Lucio?”
“He’s my uncle.”
“How long have you been here? I haven’t seen you before, have I?”
“I’ve always been here. I’ve seen you.”
“Oh. Well, good night—your name?”
“Maria.”
“Good night, Maria.”
She turned quickly, ran across the courtyard, straight to her room,
and closed the door without looking back.
I undressed, turned off the light and lay in bed dreaming of
far-away things. I was twenty-one and had a job for the first time. The salary
was not much and I lived in a house that was slowly coming apart, but life
seemed good. And in the evening when the noise of living had died down and you
lay safe in bed, you could dream of better times, look back and ahead, and find
that life could be gentle—even with the hardness. And afterwards, when the
night had grown colder, and suddenly you felt alone in the world, adrift,
caught in a current of mystery that came in the hour between sleep and waking,
the vaguely frightening loneliness only brought you closer to everything, to
the walls and the shadows on the walls, to the other sleeping people in the
room, to everything within and beyond this house, this street, this city,
everywhere.
I met Maria again one early evening, a week later, as I was coming
home from the office. I saw her walking ahead of me, slowly, as if she could
not be too careful, and with a kind of grownup poise that was somehow touching.
But I did not know it was Maria until she stopped and I overtook her.
She was wearing a white dress that had been old many months ago. She
wore a pair of brown sneakers that had been white once. She had stopped to look
at the posters of pictures advertised as “Coming” to our neighborhood theater.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound casual.
She smiled at me and looked away quickly. She did not say anything
nor did she step away. I felt her shyness, but there was no self-consciousness,
none of the tenseness and restraint of the night we first met. I stood beside
her, looked at the pictures tacked to a tilted board, and tried whistling a
tune.
She turned to go, hesitated, and looked at me full in the eyes.
There was again that wide-eyed—and sad? —stare. I smiled, feeling a remote
desire to comfort her, as if it would do any good, as if it was comfort she
needed.
“I’ll return your book now,” she said.
“I’ll return your book now,” she said.
“You’ve finished it?”
“Yes.”
We walked down the shadowed street. Magallanes Street in Intramuros,
like all the other streets there, was not wide enough, hemmed in by old, mostly
unpainted houses, clumsy and unlovely, even in the darkening light of the
fading day.
We went into the apartment house and I followed her across the court. I stood outside the door which she closed carefully after her. She came out almost immediately and put in my hands the book of Greek myths. She did not look at me as she stood straight and remote.
We went into the apartment house and I followed her across the court. I stood outside the door which she closed carefully after her. She came out almost immediately and put in my hands the book of Greek myths. She did not look at me as she stood straight and remote.
“My name is Felix,” I said.
She smiled suddenly. It was a little smile, almost an unfinished
smile. But, somehow, it felt special, something given from way deep inside in
sincere friendship.
I walked away whistling. At the door of my room, I stopped and
looked back. Maria was not in sight. Her door was firmly closed.
August, 1941, was a warm month. The hangover of summer still
permeated the air, specially in Intramuros. But, like some of the days of late
summer, there were afternoons when the weather was soft and clear, the sky a
watery green, with a shell-like quality to it that almost made you see through
and beyond, so that, watching it made you lightheaded.
I walked out of the office one day into just such an afternoon. The
day had been full of grinding work—like all the other days past. I was tired. I
walked slowly, towards the far side of the old city, where traffic was not
heavy. On the street there were old trees, as old as the walls that enclosed
the city. Half-way towards school, I changed my mind and headed for the gate
that led out to Bonifacio Drive. I needed stiffer winds, wider skies. I needed
all of the afternoon to myself.
Maria was sitting on the first bench, as you went up the sloping drive that curved away from the western gate. She saw me before I saw her. When I looked her way, she was already smiling that half-smile of hers, which even so told you all the truth she knew, without your asking.
Maria was sitting on the first bench, as you went up the sloping drive that curved away from the western gate. She saw me before I saw her. When I looked her way, she was already smiling that half-smile of hers, which even so told you all the truth she knew, without your asking.
“Hello,” I said. “It’s a small world.”
“What?”
“I said it’s nice running into you. Do you always come here?”
“As often as I can. I go to many places.”
“Doesn’t your uncle disapprove?”
“No. He’s never around. Besides, he doesn’t mind anything.”
“Where do you go?”
“Oh, up on the walls. In the gardens up there, near Victoria gate.
D’you know?”
“I think so. What do you do up there?”
“Sit down and—”
“And what?”
“Nothing. Just sit down.”
She fell silent. Something seemed to come between us. She was
suddenly far-away. It was like the first night again. I decided to change the
subject.
“Look,” I said, carefully, “where are your folks?”
“You mean, my mother and father?”
“Yes. And your brothers and sisters, if any.”
“My mother and father are dead. My elder sister is married. She’s in
the province. There isn’t anybody else.”
“Did you grow up with your uncle?”
“I think so.”
We were silent again. Maria had answered my questions without
embarrassment. almost without emotion, in a cool light voice that had no tone.
“Are you in school, Maria?”
“Are you in school, Maria?”
“Yes.”
“What grade?”
“Six.”
“How d’you like it?”
“Oh, I like it.”
“I know you like reading.”
She had no comment. The afternoon had waned. The breeze from the sea
had died down. The last lingering warmth of the sun was now edged with cold.
The trees and buildings in the distance seemed to flounder in a red-gold mist.
It was a time of day that never failed to carry an enchantment for me. Maria
and I sat still together, caught in some spell that made the silence between us
right, that made our being together on a bench in the boulevard, man and girl,
stranger and stranger, a thing not to be wondered at, as natural and inevitable
as the lengthening shadows before the setting sun.
Other days came, and soon it was the season of the rain. The city
grew dim and gray at the first onslaught of the monsoon. There were no more
walks in the sun. I caught a cold.
Maria and I had become friends now, though we saw each other
infrequently. I became engrossed in my studies. You could not do anything else
in a city caught in the rains. September came and went.
In November, the sun broke through the now ever present clouds, and
for three or four days we had bright clear weather. Then, my mind once again
began flitting from my desk, to the walls outside the office, to the gardens on
the walls and the benches under the trees in the boulevards. Once, while
working on a particularly bad copy on the news desk, my mind scattered, the way
it sometimes does and, coming together again, went back to that first meeting
with Maria. And the remembrance came clear, coming into sharper focus—the
electric light, the shadows around us, the stillness. And Maria, with her
wide-eyed stare, the lost look in her eyes…
IN December, I had a little fever. On sick leave, I went home to the
province. I stayed three days. I felt restless, as if I had strayed and lost
contact with myself. I suppose you got that way from being sick,
A pouring rain followed our train all the way back to Manila. Outside my window, the landscape was a series of dissolved hills and fields. What is it in the click of the wheels of a train that makes you feel gray inside? What is it in being sick, in lying abed that makes you feel you are awake in a dream, and that you are just an occurrence in the crying grief of streets and houses and people?
In December, we had our first air-raid practice.
I came home one night through darkened streets, peopled by shadows. There was a ragged look to everything, as if no one and nothing cared any more for appearances.
I reached my room just as the siren shrilled. I undressed and got into my old clothes. It was dark, darker than the moment after moon-set. I went out on the corridor and sat in a chair. All around me were movements and voices. anonymous and hushed, even when they laughed.
I sat still, afraid and cold.
“Is that you. Felix?”
“Yes. Maria.”
She was standing beside my chair, close to the wall. Her voice was small and disembodied in the darkness. A chill went through me, She said nothing more for a long time.
“I don’t like the darkness,” she said.
“Oh, come now. When you sleep, you turn the lights off, don’t you?”
“It’s not like this darkness,” she said, softly. “It’s all over the world.”
We did not speak again until the lights went on. Then she was gone.
The war happened not long after.
At first, everything was unreal. It was like living on a motion picture screen, with yourself as actor and audience. But the sounds of bombs exploding were real enough, thudding dully against the unready ear.
In Intramuros, the people left their homes the first night of the war. Many of them slept in the niches of the old walls the first time they heard the sirens scream in earnest. That evening, I returned home to find the apartment house empty. The janitor was there. My cousin who worked in the army was there. But the rest of the tenants were gone.
I asked Mang Lucio, “Maria?”
“She’s gone with your aunt to the walls.” he told me. “They will sleep there tonight.”
My cousin told me that in the morning we would transfer to Singalong. There was a house available. The only reason he was staying, he said, was because they were unable to move our things. Tomorrow that would be taken care of immediately.
“And you, Mang Lucio?”
“I don’t know where I could go.”
We ate canned pork and beans and bread. We slept on the floor, with the lights swathed in black cloth. The house creaked in the night and sent off hollow echoes. We slept uneasily.
I woke up early. It was disquieting to wake up to stillness in that house which rang with children’s voices and laughter the whole day everyday. In the kitchen, there were sounds and smells of cooking.
“Hello,” I said.
It was Maria, frying rice. She turned from the stove and looked at me for a long time. Then, without a word, she turned back to her cooking.
“Are you and your uncle going away?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he not tell you?”
“No.”
“We’re moving to Singalong.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, anyway, I’ll come back tonight. Maybe this afternoon. We’ll not have to say goodbye till then.”
She did not say anything. I finished washing and went back to my room. I dressed and went out.
At noon, I went to Singalong to eat. All our things were there already, and the folks were busy putting the house in order. As soon as I finished lunch, I went back to the office. There were few vehicles about. Air-raid alerts were frequent. The brightness of the day seemed glaring. The faces of people were all pale and drawn.
In the evening, I went back down the familiar street. I was stopped many times by air-raid volunteers. The house was dark. I walked back to the street. I stood for a long time before the house. Something did not want me to go away just yet. A light burst in my face. It was a volunteer.
A pouring rain followed our train all the way back to Manila. Outside my window, the landscape was a series of dissolved hills and fields. What is it in the click of the wheels of a train that makes you feel gray inside? What is it in being sick, in lying abed that makes you feel you are awake in a dream, and that you are just an occurrence in the crying grief of streets and houses and people?
In December, we had our first air-raid practice.
I came home one night through darkened streets, peopled by shadows. There was a ragged look to everything, as if no one and nothing cared any more for appearances.
I reached my room just as the siren shrilled. I undressed and got into my old clothes. It was dark, darker than the moment after moon-set. I went out on the corridor and sat in a chair. All around me were movements and voices. anonymous and hushed, even when they laughed.
I sat still, afraid and cold.
“Is that you. Felix?”
“Yes. Maria.”
She was standing beside my chair, close to the wall. Her voice was small and disembodied in the darkness. A chill went through me, She said nothing more for a long time.
“I don’t like the darkness,” she said.
“Oh, come now. When you sleep, you turn the lights off, don’t you?”
“It’s not like this darkness,” she said, softly. “It’s all over the world.”
We did not speak again until the lights went on. Then she was gone.
The war happened not long after.
At first, everything was unreal. It was like living on a motion picture screen, with yourself as actor and audience. But the sounds of bombs exploding were real enough, thudding dully against the unready ear.
In Intramuros, the people left their homes the first night of the war. Many of them slept in the niches of the old walls the first time they heard the sirens scream in earnest. That evening, I returned home to find the apartment house empty. The janitor was there. My cousin who worked in the army was there. But the rest of the tenants were gone.
I asked Mang Lucio, “Maria?”
“She’s gone with your aunt to the walls.” he told me. “They will sleep there tonight.”
My cousin told me that in the morning we would transfer to Singalong. There was a house available. The only reason he was staying, he said, was because they were unable to move our things. Tomorrow that would be taken care of immediately.
“And you, Mang Lucio?”
“I don’t know where I could go.”
We ate canned pork and beans and bread. We slept on the floor, with the lights swathed in black cloth. The house creaked in the night and sent off hollow echoes. We slept uneasily.
I woke up early. It was disquieting to wake up to stillness in that house which rang with children’s voices and laughter the whole day everyday. In the kitchen, there were sounds and smells of cooking.
“Hello,” I said.
It was Maria, frying rice. She turned from the stove and looked at me for a long time. Then, without a word, she turned back to her cooking.
“Are you and your uncle going away?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he not tell you?”
“No.”
“We’re moving to Singalong.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, anyway, I’ll come back tonight. Maybe this afternoon. We’ll not have to say goodbye till then.”
She did not say anything. I finished washing and went back to my room. I dressed and went out.
At noon, I went to Singalong to eat. All our things were there already, and the folks were busy putting the house in order. As soon as I finished lunch, I went back to the office. There were few vehicles about. Air-raid alerts were frequent. The brightness of the day seemed glaring. The faces of people were all pale and drawn.
In the evening, I went back down the familiar street. I was stopped many times by air-raid volunteers. The house was dark. I walked back to the street. I stood for a long time before the house. Something did not want me to go away just yet. A light burst in my face. It was a volunteer.
“Do you live here?”
“I used to. Up to yesterday. I’m looking for the janitor.”
“Why, did you leave something behind?”
“Yes, I did. But I think I’ve lost it now.”
“Well, you better get along, son. This place, the whole area. has
been ordered evacuated. Nobody lives here anymore.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Nobody.”
Juan Manalaksan
Narrated
by Anicio Pascual of Arayat, Pampanga, who heard the story from an old
Pampangan woman.
Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a brave and
powerful datu who had only one son. The son was called Pedro. In the same place
lived a poor wood-cutter whose name was Juan Manalaksan.
Pedro was rich, and had no work to do. He often diverted himself by
hunting deer and wild boars in the forests and mountains. Juan got his living
by cutting trees in the forests. One day the datu and his son went to the
mountain to hunt. They took with them many dogs and guns. They did not take any
food, however,
for they felt sure of catching something to eat for their dinner.
When they reached the mountain, Pedro killed a deer. By noon they had become
tired and hungry, so they went to a shady place to cook their game. While he
was eating, Pedro choked on a piece of meat.
The father cried out loudly, for he did not know what to do for his dying son. Juan, who was cutting wood near by, heard the shout. He ran quickly to help Pedro, and by pulling the piece of meat out of his throat he saved Pedro’s life. Pedro was grateful, and said to Juan, “To-morrow come to my palace, and I will give you a reward for helping me.” The next morning Juan set out for the palace. On his way he met an old woman, who asked him where he was going. “I am going to Pedro’s house to get my reward,” said Juan. “Do not accept any reward of money or wealth,” said the old woman, “but ask Pedro to give you the glass which he keeps in his right armpit. The glass is magical. It is as large as a peso, and has a small hole in the centre. If you push a small stick through the hole, giants who can give you anything you want will surround you.” Then the old woman left Juan, and went on her way.
As soon as Juan reached the palace, Pedro said to him, “Go to that
room and get all the money you want.” But Juan answered, “I do not want you to
give me any money. All I want is the glass which you keep in your right
armpit.” “Very well,” said Pedro, “here it is.” glass, he hurried back home.
When Juan had received the
Juan reached his hut in the woods, and found his mother starving. He
quickly thought of his magic glass, and, punching a small stick through the
hole in the glass, he found himself surrounded by giants. “Be quick, and get me
some food for my mother!” he said to them.
For a few minutes the giants were gone, but soon they came again
with their hands full of food. Juan took it and gave it to his mother; but she
ate so much, that she became sick, and died. In a neighboring village ruled
another powerful datu, who had a beautiful daughter. One day the datu fell very
ill. As no doctor could cure him, he sent his soldiers around the country to
say that the man who could cure him should have his daughter for a wife. Juan
heard the news, and, relying on his charm, went to cure the datu. On his way,
he asked the giants for medicine to cure the sick ruler. When he reached the
palace, the datu said to him, “If I am not cured, you shall be killed.” Juan
agreed to the conditions, and told the datu to swallow the medicine which he
gave him. The datu did so, and at once became well again. The next morning Juan
was married to the datu’s daughter. Juan took his wife to live with him in his
small hut in the woods. One day he went to the forest to cut trees, leaving his
wife and magic glass at home. While Juan was away in the forest, Pedro ordered
some of his soldiers to go get the wood-cutter’s wife and magic glass. When
Juan returned in the evening, he found wife and glass gone. One of his
neighbors told him that his wife had been taken away by some soldiers. Juan was
very angry, but he could not avenge himself without his magical glass. At last
he decided to go to his father-in-law and tell him all that had happened to his
wife. On his way there, he met an old mankukulam, who asked him where he was
going. Juan did not tell her, but related to her all that had happened to his
wife and glass while he was in the forest cutting trees.
The mankukulam said that she could help him. She told him to go to a
certain tree and catch the king of the cats. She furthermore advised him,
“Always keep the cat with you.” Juan followed her advice. One day Pedro’s
father commanded his soldiers to cut off the ears of all the men in the
village, and said that if any one refused to have his ears cut off, he should
be placed in a room full of rats. The soldiers did as they were ordered, and in
time came to Juan’s house; but, as Juan was unwilling to lose his ears, he was
seized and placed in a room full of rats. But he had his cat with him all the
time. As soon as he was shut up in the room, he turned his cat loose. When the
rats saw that they would all be killed, they said to Juan, “If you will tie
your cat up there in the corner, we will help you get whatever you want.” Juan
tied his cat up, and then said to the rats, “Bring me all the glasses in this
village.” The rats immediately scampered away to obey him. Soon each of them
returned with a glass in its mouth. One of them was carrying the magical glass.
When Juan had his charm in his hands again, he pushed a small stick through the
hole in the glass, and ordered the giants to kill Pedro and his father, and
bring him his wife again. Thus Juan got his wife back. They lived happily
together till they died.
Juan the Poor, Who became Juan the King. Narrated by Amando
Clemente, a Tagalog, who heard the story from his aunt. Once upon a time there
lived in a small hut at the edge of a forest a father and son. The poverty of
that family gave the son his name,–Juan the Poor.
As the father was old and feeble, Juan had to take care of the
household affairs; but there were times when he did not want to work. One day,
while Juan was lying behind their fireplace, his father called him, and told
him to go to the forest and get some fire-wood. “Very well,” said Juan, but he
did not move from his place. After a while the father came to see if his son
had gone, but he found him still lying on the floor. “When will you go get that
fire-wood, Juan?” “Right now, father,” answered the boy. The old man returned
to his room. As he wanted to make sure, however, whether his son had gone or
not, he again went to see. When he found Juan in the same position as before,
he became very angry, and said,-”Juan, if I come out again and find you still
here, I shall surely give you a whipping.” Juan knew well that his father would
punish him if he did not go; so he rose up suddenly, took his axe, and went to
the forest. When he came to the forest, he marked every tree that he thought
would be good for fuel, and then he began cutting. While he was chopping at one
of the trees, he saw that it had a hole in the trunk, and in the hole he saw
something glistening. Thinking that there might be gold inside the hole, he
hastened to cut the tree down; but a monster came out of the hole as soon as
the tree fell. When Juan saw the unexpected being, he raised his axe to kill
the monster. Before giving the blow, he exclaimed, “Aha! Now is the time for
you to die.” The monster moved backward when it saw the blow ready to fall, and
said,–
“Good sir, forbear, And my life spare, If you wish a happy life And,
besides, a pretty wife.”
Juan lowered his axe, and said, “Oho! is that so?” “Yes, I swear,”
answered the monster. “But what is it, and where is it?” said Juan, raising his
axe, and feigning to be angry, for he was anxious to get what the monster
promised him. The monster told Juan to take from the middle of his tongue a
white oval stone. From it he could ask for and get whatever he wanted to have.
Juan opened the monster’s mouth and took the valuable stone. Immediately the
monster disappeared. The young man then tested the virtues of his charm by
asking it for some men to help him work. As soon as he had spoken the last word
of his command, there appeared many persons, some of whom cut down trees, while
others carried the wood to his house. When Juan was sure that his house was
surrounded by piles of fire-wood, he dismissed the men, hurried home, and lay
down again behind the fireplace.
He had not been there long, when his father came to see if he had
done his work. When the old man saw his son stretched out on the floor, he
said, “Juan have we fire-wood now?” “Just look out of the window and see,
father!” said Juan. Great was the surprise of the old man when he saw the large
piles of wood about his house. The next day Juan, remembering the pretty wife
of which the monster had spoken, went to the king’s palace, and told the king
that he wanted to marry his daughter. The king smiled scornfully when he saw
the rustic appearance of the suitor, and said, “If you will do what I shall ask
you to do, I will let you marry my daughter.” “What are your Majesty’s commands
for me?” said Juan. “Build me a castle in the middle of the bay; but know,
that, if it is not finished in three days’ time, you lose your head,” said the
king sternly. Juan promised to do the work. Two days had gone by, yet Juan had
not yet commenced his work. For that reason the king believed that Juan did not
object to losing his life; but at midnight of the third day, Juan bade his
stone build a fort in the middle of the bay. The next morning, while the king
was taking his bath, cannon-shots were heard. After a while Juan appeared
before the palace, dressed like a prince. When he saw the king, he said, “The
fort is ready for your inspection.” “If that is true, you shall be my
son-in-law,” said the king. After breakfast the king, with his daughter,
visited the fort, which pleased them very much.
The following day the ceremonies of Juan’s marriage with the
princess Maria were held with much pomp and solemnity. Shortly after Juan’s
wedding a war broke out. Juan led the army of the king his father-in-law to the
battlefield, and with the help of his magical stone he conquered his mighty
enemy. The defeated general went home full of sorrow. As he had never been
defeated before, he thought that Juan must possess some supernatural power.
When he reached home, therefore, he issued a proclamation which stated that any
one who could get Juan’s power for him should have one-half of his property as
a reward. A certain witch, who knew of Juan’s secret, heard of the proclamation.
She flew to the general, and told him that she could do what he wanted done. On
his agreeing, she flew to Juan’s house one hot afternoon, where she found Maria
alone, for Juan had gone out hunting. The old woman smiled when she saw Maria,
and said, “Do you not recognize me, pretty Maria? I am the one who nursed you
when you were a baby.”
The princess was surprised at what the witch said, for she thought
that the old woman was a beggar. Nevertheless she believed what the witch told
her, treated the repulsive woman kindly, and offered her cake and wine; but the
witch told Maria not to go to any trouble, and ordered her to rest. So Maria
lay down to take a siesta. With great show of kindness, the witch fanned the
princess till she fell asleep. While Maria was sleeping, the old woman took
from underneath the pillow the magical stone, which Juan had forgotten to take
along with him. Then she flew to the general, and gave the charm to him. He, in
turn, rewarded the old woman with one-half his riches. Meanwhile, as Juan was
enjoying his hunt in the forest, a huge bird swooped down on him and seized his
horse and clothes.
When the bird flew away, his inner garments were changed back again
into his old wood-cutter’s clothes. Full of anxiety at this ill omen, and
fearing that some misfortune had befallen his wife, he hastened home on foot as
best he could. When he reached his house, he found it vacant. Then he went to
the king’s palace, but that too he found deserted. For his stone he did not
know where to look. After a few minutes of reflection, he came to the
conclusion that all his troubles were caused by the general whom he had
defeated in battle. He also suspected that the officer had somehow or other got
possession of his magical stone. Poor Juan then began walking toward the
country where the general lived. Before he could reach that country, he had to
cross three mountains. While he was crossing the first mountain, a cat came
running after him, and knocked him down. He was so angry at the animal, that he
ran after it, seized it, and dashed its life out against a rock. When he was
crossing the second mountain, the same cat appeared and knocked him down a
second time. Again Juan seized the animal and killed it, as before; but the
same cat that he had killed twice before tumbled him down a third time while he
was crossing the third mountain. Filled with curiosity, Juan caught the animal
again: but, instead of killing it this time, he put it inside the bag he was
carrying, and took it along with him. After many hours of tiresome walking,
Juan arrived at the castle of the general, and knocked at the door. The general
asked him what he wanted. Juan answered, “I am a poor beggar, who will be
thankful if I can have only a mouthful of rice.” The general, however, recognized
Juan. He called his servants, and said, “Take this wretched fellow to the cell
of rats.” The cell in which Juan was imprisoned was very dark; and as soon as
the door was closed, the rats began to bite him. But Juan did not suffer much
from them; for, remembering his cat, he let it loose. The cat killed all the
rats except their king, which came out of the hole last of all. When the cat
saw the king of the rats, it spoke thus: “Now you shall die if you do not
promise to get for Juan his magical stone, which your master has stolen.”
“Spare my life, and you shall have the stone!” said the king of the rats. “Go
and get it, then!” said the cat. The king of the rats ran quickly to the room
of the general, and took Juan’s magical stone from the table. As soon as Juan
had obtained his stone, and after he had thanked the king of the rats, he said
to his stone, “Pretty stone, destroy this house with the general and his
subjects, and release my father-in-law and wife from their prison.” Suddenly
the earth trembled and a big noise was heard. Not long afterwards Juan saw the
castle destroyed, the general and his subjects dead, and his wife and his
father-in-law free.
Taking with him the cat and the king of the rats, Juan went home
happily with Maria his wife and the king his father-in-law. After the death of
the king, Juan ascended to the throne, and ruled wisely. He lived long happily
with his lovely wife.
“Edmundo.” In Villa Amante there lived a poor widow, Merced by name,
who had to work very hard to keep her only son, the infant Edmundo, alive. Her
piety and industry were rewarded, however; and by the time the boy was seven
years old, she was able to clothe him well and send him to school. Her brother
Tonio undertook the instruction of the youth. Edmundo had a good head, and made
rapid progress. (7-41) One day Merced fell sick, and, although she recovered in
a short time, Edmundo decided to give up studying and to help his mother earn
their living. He became a wood-cutter.
At last fortune came to him. In one of his wanderings in the forest
in search of dry wood, he happened upon an enormous python. He would have fled
in terror had not the snake spoken to him, to his amazement, and requested him to pull
from its throat the stag which was choking it. He performed the service for the
reptile, and in turn was invited to the cave where it lived. Out of gratitude
the python gave Edmundo a magic mirror that would furnish the possessor with
whatever he wanted. With the help of this charm, mother and son soon had
everything they needed to make them happy.
At
about this time King Romualdo of France decided to look for a husband for his
daughter, the beautiful Leonora. He was unable to pick out a son-in-law from
the many suitors who presented themselves; and so he had it proclaimed at a
concourse of all the youths of the realm, “Whoever can fill my cellar with
money before morning shall have the hand of Leonora.” Edmundo was the only one
to accept the challenge, for failure to perform the task meant death. At
midnight he took his enchanted mirror and commanded it to fill the king’s
cellar with money. In the morning the king was astonished at the sight, but
there was no way of avoiding the marriage. So Leonora became the wife of the
lowly-born wood-cutter. The young couple went to Villa Amante to live. There,
to astonish his wife, Edmundo had a palace built in one night. She was
dumfounded to awake in the morning and find herself in a magnificent home; and
when she asked him about it, he confided to her the secret of his wonderful
charm. Later, to gratify the humor of the king, who visited him, Edmundo
ordered his mirror to transport the palace to a seacoast town. There he and his
wife lived very happily together.
One
day Leonora noticed from her window two vessels sailing towards the town. Her
fears and premonitions were so great, that Edmundo, to calm her, sank the ships
by means of his magic power. But the sinking of these vessels brought misfortunes.
Their owner, the Sultan of Turkey, learned of the magic mirror possessed by
Edmundo (how he got this information is not stated), and hired an old woman to
go to France in the guise of a beggar and steal the charm. She was successful
in getting it, and then returned with it to her master. The Sultan then invaded
France, and with the talisman, by which he called to his aid six invincible
giants, conquered the country. He took the king, queen, and Leonora as captives
back with him to Turkey. Edmundo was left in France to look after the affairs
of the country.
Edmundo
became melancholy, and at last decided to seek his wife. He left his mother and
his servant behind, and took with him only a diamond ring of Leonora’s, his
cat, and his dog. While walking along the seashore, wondering how he could
cross the ocean, he saw a huge fish washed up on the sand. The fish requested
him to drag it to the water. When Edmundo had done so, the fish told him to get
on its back, and promised to carry him to Leonora. So done. The fish swam
rapidly through the water, Edmundo holding his dog and cat in his breast. The
dog was soon washed “overboard,” but the cat clung to him. After a ride of a
day and a night, the fish landed him on a strange shore. It happened to be the
coast of Turkey. Edmundo stopped at an inn, pretending to be a shipwrecked
merchant. There he decided to stay for a while, and there he found out the situation of Leonora in this wise. Now, it
happened that the Sultan used to send to this inn for choice dishes for
Leonora, whom he was keeping close captive. By inquiry Edmundo learned of the
close proximity of his wife, and one day he managed to insert her ring into one
of the eggs that were to be taken back to her. She guessed that he was near;
and, in order to communicate with him, she requested permission of the king to
walk with her maid in the garden that was close by the inn. She saw Edmundo,
and smiled on him; but the maid noticed the greeting, and reported it to the
Sultan. The Sultan ordered the man summoned; and when he recognized Edmundo, he
had him imprisoned and put in stocks. (314-350) Edmundo was now in despair, and
thought it better to die than live; but his faithful cat, which had followed
him unnoticed to the prison, saved him. In the jail there were many rats. That
night the cat began to kill these relentlessly, until the captain of the rats,
fearing that his whole race would be exterminated, requested Edmundo to tie up
his cat and spare them. Edmundo promised to do so on condition that the rat
bring him the small gold-rimmed mirror in the possession of the Sultan. At dawn
the rat captain arrived with the mirror between its teeth. Out of gratitude
Edmundo now had his mirror bring to life all the rats that had been slain.
(351-366) Then he ordered before him his wife, the king, the queen, the crown
and sceptre of France. All, including the other prisoners of the Sultan, were
transported back to France. At the same time the Sultan’s palace and prison
were destroyed. Next morning, when the Grand Sultan awoke, he was enraged to
find himself outwitted; but what could he do? Even if he were able to jump as
high as the sky, he could not bring back Leonora. When the French Court
returned to France, Edmundo was crowned successor to the throne: the delight of
every one was unbounded. The last six stanzas are occupied with the author’s
leave-taking.
Groome
summarizes a Roumanian-Gypsy story, “The Stolen Ox,” from Dr. Barbu
Constantinescu’s collection (Bucharest, 1878), which, while but a fragment,
appears to be connected with this cycle of the “Magic Ring,” and presents a
curious parallel to a situation in “Edmundo:”-”… The lad serves the farmer faithfully,
and at the end of his term sets off home. On his way he lights on a dragon, and
in the snake’s mouth is a stag. Nine years had that snake the stag in its
mouth, and been trying to swallow it, but could not because of its horns. Now,
that snake was a prince; and seeing the lad, whom God had sent his way, ‘Lad,’
said the snake, ‘relieve me of this stag’s horns, for I’ve been going about
nine years with it in my mouth.’ So the lad broke off the horns, and the snake
swallowed the stag. ‘My lad, tie me round your neck and carry me to my father,
for he doesn’t know where I am.’ So he carried him to his father, and his
father rewarded him.” It is curious to see this identical situation of the hero
winning his magic reward by saving some person or animal from choking appearing
in Roumania and the Philippines, and in connection, too, with incidents from
the “Magic Ring” cycle. The resemblance can hardly be fortuitous.