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Full text of ' The Project Gutenberg EBook of Filipino Popular Tales, by Dean S. Fansler Copyright laws are changing all over the world.
Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it.
Do not change or edit the header without written permission. Please read the 'legal small print,' and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts.eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971.These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!. Title: Filipino Popular Tales Author: Dean S. Fansler Release Date: June, 2005 EBook #8299 Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule This file was first posted on July 4, 2003 Edition: 10 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII.
START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FILIPINO POPULAR TALES. Produced by Jeroen Hellingman Filipino Popular Tales Collected and Edited with Comparative Notes By Dean S. Fansler, 1921 Preface. The folk-tales in this volume, which were collected in the Philippines during the years from 1908 to 1914, have not appeared in print before. They are given to the public now in the hope that they will be no mean or uninteresting addition to the volumes of Oriental Maerchen already in existence. The Philippine archipelago, from the very nature of its geographical position and its political history, cannot but be a significant field to the student of popular stories.
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Lying as it does at the very doors of China and Japan, connected as it is ethnically with the Malayan and Indian civilizations, Occidentalized as it has been for three centuries and more, it stands at the junction of East and West. It is therefore from this point of view that these tales have been put into a form convenient for reference. Their importance consists in their relationship to the body of world fiction. The language in which these stories are presented is the language in which they were collected and written down,-English. Perhaps no apology is required for not printing the vernacular herewith; nevertheless an explanation might be made. In the first place, the object in recording these tales has been a literary one, not a linguistic one.
In the second place, the number of distinctly different languages represented by the originals might be baffling even to the reader interested in linguistics, especially as our method of approach has been from the point of view of cycles of stories, and not from the point of view of the separate tribes telling them. In the third place, the form of prose tales among the Filipinos is not stereotyped; and there is likely to be no less variation between two Visayan versions of the same story, or between a Tagalog and a Visayan, than between the native form and the English rendering. Clearly Spanish would not be a better medium than English: for to-day there is more English than Spanish spoken in the Islands; besides, Spanish never penetrated into the very lives of the peasants, as English penetrates to-day by way of the school-house. I have endeavored to offset the disadvantages of the foreign medium by judicious and painstaking directions to my informants in the writing-down of the tales. Only in very rare cases was there any modification of the original version by the teller, as a concession to Occidental standards. Whatever substitutions I have been able to detect I have removed. In practically every case, not only to show that these are bona fide native stories, but also to indicate their geographical distribution, I have given the name of the narrator, his native town, and his province.
In many cases I have given, in addition, the source of his information. I am firmly convinced that all the tales recorded here represent genuine Filipino tradition so far as the narrators are concerned, and that nothing has been 'manufactured' consciously. But what is 'native,' and what is 'derived'? The folklore of the wild tribes-Negritos, Bagobos, Igorots-is in its way no more 'uncontaminated' than that of the Tagalogs, Pampangans, Zambals, Pangasinans, Ilocanos, Bicols, and Visayans. The traditions of these Christianized tribes present as survivals, adaptations, modifications, fully as many puzzling and fascinating problems as the popular lore of the Pagan peoples.
It should be remembered, that, no matter how wild and savage and isolated a tribe may be, it is impossible to prove that there has been no contact of that tribe with the outside civilized world. Conquest is not necessary to the introduction of a story or belief.
The crew of a Portuguese trading-vessel with a genial narrator on board might conceivably be a much more successful transmitting-medium than a thousand praos full of brown warriors come to stay. Clearly the problem of analyzing and tracing the story-literature of the Christianized tribes differs only in degree from that connected with the Pagan tribes.
In this volume I have treated the problem entirely from the former point of view, since there has been hitherto a tendency to neglect as of small value the stories of the Christianized peoples. However, for illustrative material I have drawn freely on works dealing with the non-Christian tribes, particularly in the case of stories that appear to be native; and I shall use the term 'native' to mean merely 'existent in the Islands before the Spaniards went there.'
In the notes, I have attempted to answer for some of the tales the question as to what is native and what imported. I have not been able to reach a decision in the case of all, because of a lack of sufficient evidence. While the most obvious sources of importation from the Occident have been Spain and Portugal, the possibility of the introduction of French, Italian, and even Belgian stories through the medium of priests of those nationalities must not be overlooked. Furthermore, there is a no inconsiderable number of Basque sailors to be found on the small inter-island steamers that connect one end of the archipelago with the other. Even a very cursory glance at the tales in this collection reveals the fact that many of them are more or less close variants and analogues of tales distributed throughout the world. How or when this material reached the Philippines is hard to say.
The importation of Arabian stories, for example, might have been made over many routes. The Hindoo beast-tales, too, might have quite circled the globe in their progress from east to west, and thus have been introduced to the Filipinos by the Spaniards and Portuguese. Again, the germs of a number of widespread Maerchen may have existed in the archipelago long before the arrival of the Europeans, and, upon the introduction of Occidental civilization and culture, have undergone a development entirely consistent with the development that took place in Europe, giving us as a result remarkably close analogues of the Western tales.
This I suspect to have been the case of some of our stories where, parallel with the localized popular versions, exist printed romances (in the vernacular) with the mediaeval flavor and setting of chivalry. To give a specific case: the Visayans, Bicols, and Tagalogs in the coast towns feared the raids of Mindanao Mussulmans long before white feet trod the shores of the Islands, and many traditions of conflicts with these pirates are embedded in their legends. The Spaniard came in the sixteenth century, bringing with him stories of wars between Christians and Saracens in Europe. One result of this close analogy of actual historical situation was, I believe, a general tendency to levelling: that is, native traditions of such struggles took on the color of the Spanish romances; Spanish romances, on the other hand, which were popularized in the Islands, were very likely to be 'localized.' A maximum of caution and a minimum of dogmatism, then, are imperative, if one is to treat at all scientifically the relationship of the stories of a composite people like the Filipinos to the stories of the rest of the world. A word might be added as to the nature of the tales.
I have included only 'hero tales, serious and droll,' beast stories and fables, and pourquoi or 'just-so' stories. Myths, legends, and fairy-tales (including all kinds of spirit and demon stories) I have purposely excluded, in order to keep the size of the volume within reasonable limits. I have, however, occasionally drawn upon my manuscript collection of these types to illustrate a native superstition or custom. Columbia University, May, 1918. HERO TALES AND DROLLS.
Benton modern font free. Visit Prague and step into a postcard of romantic Bohemia- complete with gliding swans along the Vlatva river banks. Walk on cube-chiseled cobblestones and take in row after row of impeccably preserved, pastel-toned Baroque facades and spired medieval towers.
The architecture is especially rich since World War II spared the gorgeous cityscape from aerial bombing (Hitler saw Prague as a prospective arts capital of Nazi Europe ). Gaze up at an astronomical clock (the oldest still-functioning clock in the world at that), eat til the seems of your pants ride a little tighter, and keep an ear out for the ever enchanting, softly trilled Czech language. Sure Praha has its quirks: Segways rule over the Old Town Square, there’s the trend of serving warm camembert as an appetizer, people get away with smoking inside restaurants, and the 5-story club is an overhyped teen hangout. All in all though, I was proud to call myself a quarter Czech after our visit. Here’s what Anya and I got up to in “the golden city”. Photo from retrock.com Fair warning: the prices here are significantly steeper than Humana’s. Retrock carries vigilantly selected thrift clothing alongside high profile Czech designers.
No matter your budget, window shopping is worth a trip in itself. Items are grouped into imaginative altars that cast older pieces in a thrilling new light (and will have you swooning). There’s something here for everyone: Western fringe, traditional Hungarian patterning, futuristic stunner shades, kitschy cartoon crop tops, and racks on racks more. The Central Market The Central Market is a conglomerate of stalls organized by trade. There is a designated section for butcheries, bakeries, spice shops hung with garlands of dried peppers, and fruit and veggie stands piled with bushels of countryside produce.
Downstairs you’ll find a maze of picklers- they try to outdo one another in carving cutesy vegetable figurines that liven up jars of slimy and discolored peppers, olives and cabbages. If you’re seeking an authentic dining experience, march up to Bruni’s Deli on the top floor.You will probably get yelled at by a bitter old man while ordering your food (for leaning in too closely to the sanitary glass screens, for taking too long to place your order, etc. ) but hey, it adds to the charm. There’s an intimidating number of cafeteria-style tubs to choose from, loaded with variations of paprika-tinged grains (“Hungarian pasta”), sausages, stews, and cabbages.
You’ve got to be assertive to get served among the pressing tide of restaurant goers (the concept of a single-file line doesn’t exist here). Cheap Eats in General It ain’t hard to find a bite for a bargain around these parts. Let me nudge you in the right direction, though: Anker Klub Go here for a full-serviced brunch under $5.
Portions are hefty: a typical order comes with a basket of toast and eggs magically interwoven with slices of real ‘Murican bacon. As if you needed another selling point: it’s also the “Birth of The Cool”. Habo’s Look no further for a fresh-pressed waffle, smeared with a delicious creamy topping of your choice for $2.
That’s less than a Kit Kat at the corner store. You’re welcome. The Liberty Statue See the monuments lit up at night along The Danube I’d reserve this for your last night: it’s a beautiful way to say goodbye to Budapest.
Entertain yourselves along the way by staging photo shoots with the various bronze statues that guard the river front. Consider enhancing your artistic vision with swigs from a communal bottle of wine. The monuments are illuminated until midnight.
They’ll leave you speechless. The Chain Bridge is extra gorg in its necklace of lights, and gleaming Parliament is fit for a royal ball. I waved a lighter in the air for my Grandma Hronek. She’s 99.9% Hungarian (.1% MONGOLIAN) and in her late 80’s has never yet made it to the motherland. I absolutely sent her and a postcard with a picture of the Parliament, as well as a sachet of paprika. Stromae also filmed his gone-viral music video for Formidable at Brussel’s Central Station.It’s “about loneliness, and somebody who asks for a hand”and that person ultimately winds up incoherent (due to alcohol, a mental illness or otherwise) and on the street.
The lyrics are are tainted with caustic insults Stromae has personally received from the city’s homeless-including racial slurs like singe (monkey). It’s largely a song about trying to understand where the less fortunate are coming from, and acknowledging that something in the system is failing them. For the video, Stromae pretended to be wildly plastered at the tram stop to test the general public’s goodwill. He broke down passerby’s responses as 30% ignorance, 30% voyerism and 30% help”. He claims you’d get those same proportions anywhere in the world. They aren’t empty, that’s just white wine Saturday Night For dinner that balmy evening, we packed the bottles for a picnic on the banks of the Seine. Heaven is something like mouthfuls of baguette folded over with saucissons secs and a creamy cowsmilk cheese by the Seine – all washed down with red wine from plastic cups. This was prime time to have Girl Talk together: Anya debriefed stories from studying abroad in India, and Caitlin and I realized we both knew steel-drum playing Ben from AEPI and the controversial “Boom Slice” (yes that was somebody’s self-designated nickname).
Then it was off to a seedier part of town somewhere on the cusp of Montmartre for a housewarming party of sorts. Cain, a Texan with virtually no accent and a very sophisticated man bun, opened the doors to his new logement for a taco social. While kidney beans simmered in frying pans in lieu of frijoles authenticos, this was the closest I’ve come to Real Deal Mexican across the Atlantic. Cain managed a substantial turnout, too: there were more assistants tucked into his flat than there are in my entire Vaucluse region. Conversationally I spent most of my time hanging onto this guy Andrew’s every word. Andrew is a short midwestern with a quizzical brow and he’s simply fascinating: he almost got into a physical fight when a man littered in his hometown (yes, he badmouthed the offender as a “Litter Bug”), got handcuffed transporting 13 tons of mozzarella sticks across the Mexican border (for charity), and he possesses unparalleled knowledge of the lammergeier.
For now I hang in her terrace to use the internet and she usually engages me in sustained conversation. It can be difficult for us to understand each other (both of us not being native French speakers and all) but I’m grateful for the interactions. We mostly talk about food, her grandchildren and differences between France and California.
Eva’s treated me to a glass of loose leaf green tea accompanied with packaged lemon cookies. She also makes homemade soup regularly, and uses honest ingredients- just pureed vegetables with a dash of olive oil. It’s delicious and she’s already given me a jar of her extras! Tuesday market radiates out of the central square, Place Montfort, and overflows into parking lots and down just about every narrow pedestrian street. Granted I live in centre ville, the stalls begin a mere 3 minute walk from my doorstep.
Depending on which vendor you’re standing by, fantastic scents hang in the air: there’s the mouthwatering smell of poulet roti (spit roast chicken) spinning and dripping over golden potatoes, cool waves of lavender and the dry smokiness of cured meats. Tuesday Market also offers enormous batches of paella, with saffron rice as bright yellow as the Provencal bowls for sale (carefully painted with crickets and olive branches ). I gravitate towards the more charming and artisanal products but there are plenty of mass-produced belts, handbags, tablecloths etc. Out there, too. While I aesthetically adore Matisse, his Odalisque series made me uncomfortable.
There are a lot of portraits of topless “oriental” (according to Matisse) women reclining in seductive poses. I thought about colonialism and the perverse will to escape woefully monotonous French living through foreign women’s bodies.
Matisse didn’t push it as far as Gauguin, but something still felt morally out of whack. In certain moments the models slipped into the folds, curves and patterns of their surroundings: were their bodies merely decorative objects like the furniture and linens they posed with?
Was Matisse flattening their distinct cultural identities in the process? Still, they maintained a degree of agency: they looked out into the exhibition space with a sense of intent.
A couple of them met the viewer’s gaze directly, somewhat reminiscent of Manet’s revolutionary Olympia (but that’s a whole other can of worms). This was the most memorable Matisse on view for me. It’s essentially an installation. You enter it and given the title, assume that the piece is perhaps an encasing for water. Blue, amorphous and seemingly aqueous markings decorate some sort of cardboard-hued tiling. The rectilinear format of the pool alludes to the self-reflexivity of a canvas: both pool and canvas can contain a certain degree of medium (be it water or paint) but ultimately both are confined by (and reduced to) right-angled planes. Most of his writing on display resembled the upper left text There’s a section of the museum that allows you to creep on Matisse’s personal notes.
He planned future paintings by labeling quick ink sketches with the colors he would use for certain elements (an ochre path, for example). He also illegibly scrawled notes to Madame Matisse and friends. Without the museum’s typed French translations I wouldn’t have deciphered anything. Icarus As messy a scribe as he was, Matisse made an effort to tighten his handwriting when integrating text into finished artworks.
I never knew that Icarus ( the most iconic cutout from his Jazz series reads) has its own sentence.