HINDOO COMIC STORIES.

M. DE SACY has traced the migration of the Fables of Vichnou Sarına (Pilpay) from India, through the various nations of Europe: and we suspect that most of the stories which have delighted our childhood, whether under the name of Arabian, Persian, or Turkish Tales, are derived from Indian sources. Whatever may be urged against their invention of chess and decimal scale, nobody we suppose will dispute the right of the Hindoos to be regarded as the first inventors of apologue, or the possessors of the oldest and most numerous collections of domestic stories in existence. The well-known "Tutti-Namah" (Tales of the Parrot) have a Sanscrit original, and many of the tales in the Bahar Danush, the Persian Tales, and the additional volume of the Arabian Nights, translated by Dr. Scott, have been shown by a learned and ingenious writer in the Calcutta "Quarterly Magazine," to be mere rifacimenti of some Hindoo stories of which he has given translations. In the tales to which we have alluded, we perpetually discover the sources to which European, as well as Oriental conteurs have been indebted; and find not only the springs that nourished the luxuriant harvest of invention which sprung up in Europe on the revival of letters, but the apparent origin of many of the classical fictions. The Indian elephant filled with armed men, is the prototype of the Trojan horse. The huge birds of the Sanscrit tales, the Roc of the Arabians, is evidently the Phoenix of the Greeks, as well as the Griffin of chivalry. Not only are the Fabliaux traceable to Indian stories, but even Bondello and Boccaccio have borrowed from them some of their most diverting incidents. Not only are Queen Margaret of Navarre's Pentameron, the Gesta Romanorum, and the Disciplina Clericalis, largely indebted to the Sanscrit tales for some of their most amusing inventions, but even those stories which we reckon eminently English-Whittington and his Cat, for example-are derived from the same sources. The romantic tale of Edgar and Elfrida, which Hume has elevated into a historical fact, has been proved by Dr. Lingard to be a fiction of Gulielmus Malisburiensis, and to have been taken by him from an old ballad, of which all the incidents exist in a Sanscrit story. It is sometimes curious to trace the changes which a fiction has undergone in its transmission through many ages and nations. In an old Sanscrit tale, the hero and heroine are each presented with a red letter which is to fade when either becomes inconstant. The red lotus in the old romance of " Perceforest," and in Wieland's "Oberon," is a rose-in Amadis of Gau!, a garland-in "Des Contes à rire," another flower-and in Spenser the girdle of Florimel. In some old romances, (Tristan, Perceval, and La Mort d'Arthur) the test is a cup of red wine-as in Ariosto, and in La Fontaine who has copied him. But we have already, we think, bestowed enough of learning and tediousness on our readers, who are of course desirous that we should now, as Hamlet says, (or should have said) “leave our daninable prefaces, and begin" with our Hindoo Comic Stories.

The truth is, that the first sentence of our article, touching the migrations of the Fables of Pilpay, (from the Abbé Dubois's translation,* of which we have borrowed whatever is amusing in the present paper) suggested to us the preceding reflections on the migration of their fictions in general, which we now beg leave to conclude, and proceed to business.

Among the Hindoo comic stories at the end of the volume of which we have spoken, the adventures of the Gourout Paramarta are eminently ludicrous. Paramarta is a sort of Indian Abrahain Adams, without the sense or the learning which that inimitable creation of Fielding's wit always possesses, and sometimes chooses to display. His disciples, however, are at once profoundly stupid and malignant, and the disagreeable accidents which their superior perpetually encounters in consequence of their malice and their

* Le Pautcha Tantra, &c. Traduit par M. l'Abbé Dubois. Bro. Paris, 1826. Indian priest.

ignorance, make the subject of the story. There is a grotesque exaggeration of absurdity about the personages in this comic tale which sometimes reminds us of Rabelais; while the whimsical misfortunes of the worthy Gourou resemble in character those which befall Don Quixote. We must contrive to condense more than a hundred folios of the Abbé Dubois into three or four of our more crowded pages.

The Adventures of the Gourou Paramarta.

THERE was formerly a gourou called Paramarta*, who had five stupid 'disciples. One day as the gourou was visiting his district, he and his disciples arrived at a river, which they were about to cross, when Paramarta cautioned them not to advance until they should have ascertained whether the river was asleep or awake, as many tragic accidents had befallen those who had ventured to ford the stream when it was not in a state of slumber. One of the disciples, called Stupid, was sent forward to reconnoitre. He approached the stream cautiously, and thrusting in the lighted match of his cheeroot+ was alarmed to find the water bubble and hiss furiously. Alarmed at these phenomena, he hastened back to his master and brethren, who determined to repose themselves in the shade till the river should sink into sleep. After a long delay, the party saw a man on horseback cross the river without difficulty, and Stupid was again sent to the water-side to make his experiments in natural philosophy a second time. This wise disciple, taking the same match which the water had already extinguished, plunged it into the stream; and as no hissing followed, he concluded that the river was asleep for the nonce. Paramarta and his disciples then crossed the river; but when they arrived on the other side, one of them, named Idiot, took it into his head to count the party lest any of them should have been drowned; but he forgot to count himself. Alarmed at the result of his profound calculation, he recommenced it; but could still only make out five persons. He counted again and again; but as he still omitted himself in his reckoning, he was convinced that one of the number had been drowned in crossing the river.

This belief was shared by Paramarta and the other disciples, who, after uttering the loudest lamentations, began to pour forth curses against the devouring river, and prayed with peculiar energy that its waters might be set on fire. A traveller happening to pass that way, and witnessing this scene, asked them for an explanation of it; and the gourous detailed the affair at full length. The traveller seeing their excessive stupidity, and being resolved to take advantage of it, professed to be a sorcerer, and offered for an adequate reward to restore, by his charms, the defunct to life. Paramarta assured him that he only possessed forty fanous of gold, but offered him that sum on condition of restoring the lost member of their society to life. The pretended magician observed that the sum was very disproportionate to the service required; but that, under all the circumstances, he would accept Paramarta's offer. He then showed the group a huge stick which he held in his hand:-" All my magic power," said he, "lies in this stick; and it is from the end of this enchanted wand that the missing number must spring. You must range yourselves in a line, and each of you must allow me to apply a good blow with this stick upon his shoulders. On receiving the stroke, each must call out his name: at the same time I will count your number; and finally there will appear on the scene six persons-the number which there was before you crossed the river." He then made them stand in a line; and beginning with the gourou, he discharged on his shoulders a stiff blow with his magic wand. "Gently," cried the patient, "it is I-the gourou Paramarta."

"One," said the magician. Then giving Stupid a still harder blow on the back-Oh!" cried he, "my back is broken-it is I, the disciple Stupid." "Two," cried the magician; and continuing to apply smart strokes on the shoulders of the next three, he arrived at Idiot, who had made the erroneous

calculation. The sorcerer, giving him a heavy blow which laid him flat on the ground-"There," said he," is the sixth-that is the lost one, whom I restore to you in perfect health." Paramarta and his disciples, fully convinced of the wonderful powers of the traveller's magic wand, paid him the forty fanous agreed on; and without testifying the slightest wish that he should repeat the calculation of their number, they thanked him, and returned to their mata (convent).

The sight of the horse, on which the traveller crossed the river, had inspired the disciples of Paramarta with a strong desire to procure one for their gourou. The cow, which supplied the convent with milk, happened one fine morning to stray, and one of the disciples, called Dunce, was despatched in search of her, but without success. However, he said that the loss of the cow was a very trifling affair in comparison with a discovery he had madethat for a small sum of money he could obtain a horse of an excellent breed. On being desired to explain himself, Dunce thus spoke :-" In looking for the cow, I had occasion to cross a tank, on the banks of which some mares and foals were quietly grazing. I there saw a great number of heavy round masses of a greenish colour*, so large that one was a sufficient load for a man. After gazing on them for some time, I inquired of a labourer what they were? "What!" exclaimed he, as if surprised at my ignorance," don't you know a thing so common? These are mare's eggs !"—"Are they for sale, and what is the price of them?" I eagerly asked." They are not mine," replied he; but I can tell you that they are generally sold at five pagodast apiece; and if you like I will use my interest with the proprietor to let you have one of the largest at that price."" Now," cried Dunce, in conclusion," here is a fine opportunity for you to get a capital horse, which, as you have him in the egg, you can bring up to be very quiet."

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The account of Dunce was listened to by the disciples with applause. Paramarta having given him five pagodas, despatched him for an egg. On arriving at the tank, Dunce was rejoiced to find that the eggs were still there; and accosting the proprietor, he asked for one of the largest. "Ah!" cried the proprietor," are you aware that iny eggs are of a very peculiar quality, and that I sell them very dear?"-" Oh !" replied Dunce, it is not the first time in my life that I have bargained for mare's eggs. I know the price of them well; they are sold every where at five pagodas apiece."-" Five pagodas!" rejoined the proprietor; "I sell them in general infinitely dearer: however as you seem to be an honest fellow, I'll let you have one at that price; but you must keep the matter a profound secret, for I should be ruined if it were ever known that I sold them so cheap."

Dunce having promised inviolable secrecy, was allowed to carry off one of the largest pumpkins, which with great difficulty he lifted on his head. He then hastened homewards, but in passing under a tree, the branches of which descended very low, he forgot to stoop, and the pumpkin striking against a bough, Dunce lost his balance and fell on one side, while the pumpkin falling on the other, split into pieces. A hare, which happened to be lurk ing in a bush near which the pumpkin fell, frightened by the noise, scudded off instantly; and Dunce, seeing the egg split and the hare run at the same moment, cried out, "Ah, there goes the little horse, which has broken its shell. I must pursue him."

Regardless of the thorns which covered the country over which the hare had run, Dunce followed in ardent chase, till at last his failing strength, his legs torn by briers, his feet wounded by the pebbles, and his clothes torn in pieces, obliged him to give up the pursuit. On returning to the convent in this state, and moreover fasting, he was thus consoled by the gourou: "It is true, I have lost five pagodas, but I don't regret it; for as you say the little horse was so restive when young, what must he have been when he got his

teeth? I would not have mounted such an animal if I had got him for nothing. So think no more about the matter, my son."

Having been so unlucky in their horse, the disciples hired an ox, on which their master was to ride; but it happened one day that in crossing a desert, Paramarta, overcome by the heat of the sun, was compelled to repose himself under the shadow of the ox's body. In the evening the owner of the ox demanded an additional sum for the use they had made of his ox, pretending that he was only to be mounted, and not to be used as an umbrella. This Paramarta refused to pay, and the dispute was referred to the chief of the neighbouring village, who, on hearing the cause argued, related the following adventure:

"I was myself on a journey some years ago, and one evening I arrived at an inn where I intended to pass the night. This inn presented not only a place of repose, but in the keeper of it travellers found a person who for their money would cook their victuals. He was then preparing a ragoût so well seasoned, that the perfume which it sent forth filled all the room, and was highly agreeable.

"I should have been glad to have eaten part of it, but, not having money to pay for it, I could not satisfy my longing. I had brought with me my little portion of boiled rice, and, approaching the fire-place where the ragoût was preparing, I begged the cook to allow me to hold my bag of rice in the fragrant steam, in order that it might catch some of the odour, as I could not afford to pay for the substance.

"The cook, with more complaisance than generally belongs to his class, granted my request. I accordingly held my rice over the steam of the ragoût until it was withdrawn from the fire. I then retired to a corner and ate my rice, which, though it had only been seasoned by vapour, appeared to me excellent.

"Next morning, when I was about to proceed on my journey, the innkeeper stopped me, and in a determined tone insisted on my paying him for the vapours of his ragoût, with which I had seasoned my rice the preceding evening.

"What!' cried I, with equal astonishment and indignation, did ever any one hear of paying money for smoke?' I refused to pay his demand; and my adversary seizing me by the collar, swore he would not loose his hold till I had paid him for the steam of his ragoût. I still refused; and at last we mutually agreed to refer our dispute to the chief of the village, who fortunately was a very equitable person.

"This worthy man gave his decision on the point in the following terins: Those who ate of the ragoût shall pay in hard cash. Those who have only swallowed the vapours of it, should pay only with the smell of money.' "Then taking a small bag of money which he had about him, he approached my adversary, and seizing him with one hand by the nape of the neck, he rubbed his nose roughly with the coin, saying, Smell it, my good friend, smell it: take payment for the odour of your ragoût.'

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Enough, enough,' cried my adversary, you'll rub my nose off. I'm quite satisfied, and am ready to give a receipt in full.'

It is scarcely necessary to add that the gourou's affair is decided in the

same manner.

After this disappointment in the mare's egg, and the roguery of the owner of the ox, Paraniarta and his disciples resolved to travel on foot-the latter, however, still longing for a horse for the gourou. They arrived early one morning on the borders of a tank, on which a temple was built, and in front of the temple stood the image of a horse in baked clay, which, the tank being quite full of clear water, was perfectly reflected at the bottom. Idiot, who

* Figures of horses and other animals in baked clay are very commonly found about the Indian temples. They are generally offerings for the accomplishment of

some vow.

was nearest the water, gazed at this phenomenon in silence and wonder: as he gazed, a breeze arose, which agitated the water, and, as it moved, the figure of the horse seemed also in motion. Idiot observing that the clayhorse still remained motionless, while that in the water seemed to plunge and rear, felt convinced that the image in the water was a real horse; but to make quite sure of the matter, he threw a large stone into the tank, which augmented the agitation of the waves, and made the supposed horse rear, caper, and give other tokens of irritation. Idiot called Paramarta and the other disciples to witness the scene; and all of them seeing how the horse capered while the clay-horse stood quite still, agreed in Idiot's opinion, and began forthwith to consult upon the best method of catching him. As none of them would venture into the water to bind him with ropes, it was agreed that he should be fished up with a hook and line. For a hook they took a large reaping-hook, and they formed their line of the half-worn linen of the gourou's turban, and as a bait they wrapped up some boiled rice in a cloth, which they fastened to the hook. They then threw it into the water, to the bottom of which it sunk, and the hook caught the root of a tree which crossed the tank. Feeling some resistance, the disciples imagined they had caught the horse, and pulled with all their force to bring him to land, when the turban yielding to their efforts, snapped in the middle, and all our fishermen tumbled backwards, leaving their hook at the bottom of the water.

A worthy man, who happened to pass, and to whom they recounted their adventure, explained to them the cause of the phenomenon they had witnessed, and, after inviting them to his house, presented the gourou with a horse, of which the following is a brief description. He was twenty-five years old, he had but one eye, and one of his ears had been cut off close to his head; but these would have been but slight defects had he not been lame in one of his fore-legs, while the hind-feet were turned outwards, so that the two knees knocked together as he walked, and his legs formed an exact triangle when he halted.

On this noble steed, Paramarta prepared to ride homewards: but missing their way, the cortège got into a wood. As they advanced, a branch caught the gourou's turban, which fell on the ground; Paramarta concluded that his disciples would pick it up without orders: while they, seeing that the gourou said nothing about the matter, allowed it to remain where it fell. A short time afterwards, the gourou asked for his turban,—“Oh,” said the disciples, "we left it on the ground, as you gave us no orders to pick it up."Go quickly," replied the gourou angrily, "and fetch it me: and once for all I desire you will pick up whatever falls from the horse that ought to be picked up."."—"Oh!" cried they, " that is far too general a description. You must make us a detailed list." Accordingly the gourou wrote out a list, which he gave them, and pursued his journey.

On arriving at a ditch full of mud, Paramarta's horse being unable to clear it, fell, and his rider with him. The gourou called loudly to his disciples for aid; they came, but, instead of pulling him out of the wet ditch, one of them read the gourou's list aloud, thus:

:

"If my turban falls, you must pick it up. "If my girdle falls, you must pick it up. "If my shawl falls, you must pick it up.

"In a word, if any of my vestments or whatever I carry about me falls, you must pick it up."

Conforming themselves strictly to the letter of their instructions, the disciples then stripped their gourou quite naked, leaving him in the mud, declaring that his name was not in the list he had given them. Paramarta therefore finding entreaty useless, asked for the list, and wrote at the bottom of it in large letters :

"And if your master, the gourou Paramarta, falls, you must pick him up." The disciples then made no further difficulty, but lifted Paramarta out of