L egends: What are they? An unverified story handed down from earlier times, especially one popularly believed to be historical. A body or collection.

Legends:

What are they?What are they?

• An unverified story handed down from earlier times, especially one popularly believed to be historical.

• A body or collection of such stories. • A romanticized or popularized myth of modern

times.

4.2: Students demonstrate understanding Of the concept of culture through comparisons of the cultures studied and their own

Legends:

How do they start?How do they start?

Legends:

Assignment-

Throughout the slide, after seeing each picture, write down the first word you think of.

You should have a specific number of words at the end…

La Llorona

Ayyy

Mis

Hijos

¿Dónde

Están

Mis

hijos?

La Llorona

• Don’t go down to the river, child,

Don’t go there alone;For the sobbing woman, wet

and wild,Might claim you for her own.

• She weeps when the sun is murky red;

She wails when the moon is old;

She cries for her babies, still and dead,

Who drowned in the water cold.

• Abandoned by a faithless love,Filled with fear and hate.

She flung them from a cliff above

And left them to their fate.

• Day and night, she heard their screams,

Borne on the current’s crest;Their tortured faces filled her

dreams,And gave her heart no rest.

• Crazed by guilt and dazed by pain,

Weary from loss of sleep,She leaped in the river, lashed by

rain,And drowned in the waters deep.

• She seeks her children day and night,

Wandering, lost, and cold;She weeps and moans in dark

and light,A tortured, restless soul.

• Don’t go down to the river, child,Don’t go there alone;

For the sobbing woman, wet and wild,

Might claim you for her own.

• A story that begins in a far-away time and a far-away place. A small little village, a pueblo, squatting in the

immensity of the wide wandering llanos, the plains that never stop, but ramble on and on to the horizon.

• The mist gathers in the low hollows under the dark trees... the changing, shifting shadows coalesce in the

form of a lady, a desolate, crying lady.• The figure glides closer,and a dismal wailing is first

heard as a faint echo, growing louder as the appartition comes nearer. The words are more distinct

now, and the villagers huddling in the safety of their houses shiver at the mournful cry of "Ayyyyy, mis

hijos....Ayyyyy, my children."

• This horrible, twisted and anguished soul was once a vivacious young woman. She lived with her parents:

tending the chickens and goats; washing clothes in the nearby creek; and gossiping with her friends in the plaza

of the little pueblo on Sunday afternoons. Her hopes were centered on marrying a young man who had a

piece of land and a house of his own. She would daydream as she pounded the clothes with a stone,

imagining her children playing and laughing around her. She would sew dainty little clothes for them and

eventually she would see them grow up and have their own children. She would be the "abuelita", the "little

grandmother", enjoying the rewards of a good life. Maria Dolores, for that was her name, had already singled

someone out, Silvio, a hard-working young man from the next pueblo. She had been flirting with him during the

Sunday promenades, and she was sure he would soon come courting.

• Alas, these simple dreams were soon to be shattered, the pieces lying in the dust of her sorrow. For one day, there

appeared in her pueblo a young man from the capital. Don Diego was the wastrel son of a rich hidalgo in Caracas. Like all

young men of his rank and position, he had drunk a little too much, flirted too hard, and eventually became involved in a

duel to the death. He was the better shot, and his father exiled him to the country until the sordid affair blew over. Thus, on a

day at the tag end of the summer season, Don Diego rode into the pueblo on a fine spirited Arabian horse with his servant following on a mule. His father had rented the best house

available, a not too pretentious dwelling, but still a grand house by local standards. Don Diego was left to his own devices, and

soon, his eye fell upon the innocent Maria Dolores. He watched as she walked to the creek, and as she gossiped with the other girls in the plaza, admiring her beauty and her figure. It was inevitable that she would notice him, and she felt a small

stirring of pride that his eye seemed to linger longer on her than on the other girls.

• Don Diego was not an evil man, but simply a rather shallow youth, bored in the rustic pueblo. He drank more than ever and

continued to ogle the young ladies on their walks. He finally convinced himself that he was enamoured of Maria Dolores, and that he needed her sweetness to mitigate his loneliness. The attentions and the fairy-tale quaility of being courted by a

rich young man from the city disarmed Maria Dolores completely. She was falling deeper and deeper in love with him, envisioning her elevation to his rank, the wonderful life

she would lead by his side. Thus, one dark night, the moon not yet risen, she slipped out of her parent's home, and quickly ran to the fatal encounter. The shame of what she had done was brought home to her when her father discovered her missing

and came to look for her. Furious at his daughter's indiscretion, yet afraid of the young hidalgo, her father stormed and ranted

until finally he had no other recourse than to disown Maria Dolores. Ayyyyy....through her tears, she still clung to her

lover, confident of his protection and love; and Don Diego was not loath to have the young beauty completely in his power.

Gathering her into his embrace, he led the weeping girl back to his house, entering and closing the door.

• So, Maria Dolores came to live with her Don Diego, and she was happy, even though the anticipated marriage had not yet taken place.

She knew it would happen, and was even more certain when she discovered she was pregnant. Ahhh.. such bliss as she imagined,

gently stroking the softlly swelling mound under her dress. Don Diego was not displeased. The advent of a child only enhanced his manhood

in his own eyes. Perhaps he truly did love Maria Dolores in his own fashion. He stayed with her. The first child was born, and then a

second. Life was continuing even though time seemed at a standstill. The isolated pueblo slumbered in the heat of the llanos, and Don Diego

was caught in its enthrallment. The children grew and were now toddlers clutching at their mother's skirts. Suddenly one day, a stranger

was seen riding into town, and inquiring about the residence of Don Diego. The villagers could tell that this man was from the city, and there

was an urgency in his manner that caused everyone to gather in the plaza, eyes fixed on the door's of Don Diego's house. Within, the two men closed the door of the library, and urgent tones were heard from within. After a long time, Don Diego called for his servant and ordered him to pack his things. Then he called Maria Dolores and taking her in his arms, he told her the sad news. His father was dying, and he had to return to Caracas immediately. Through their mixed tears, he vowed to return to her and the children as soon as possible. With that, he kissed her and the children, then mounted his horse, turning, and galloping off at a rapid pace. The dust still hung in the air as Maria Dolores closed

the door

• Time passed slowly in that remote pueblo. Maria Delores spent her time caring for her two children, laughing and playing with them, but always with a watchful air. She often arose and went to the door, vainly searching the dusty road for any sign of her lover. One lonely week grew into one lonely month, then two and three. Her

pacings became more frantic, her lamentations wilder and more vocal, and her appearance became haggard.

One night, in sheer desperation, she made a silent journey through the darkness to a hut along the river

bank. There, with trembling fingers, she pressed a gold coin into a gnarled hand, pleading for help in regaining her lost lover. The shadowy figure leaned closer to her, whispered instructions filled the dark night, and Maria

Delores sighed, crossing herself.

• Once again in her house, Maria Delores knelt on the floor as she arranged flowers and candles around a plaster

statue; an image of a woman in torment ... arms raised in supplication as flames devoured her body. After the

candles were lighted, Maria Delores began her prayers to this "lonely soul", "el anima sola", begging her help in

recovering her lost love. A shimmery haze filled the room, perhaps it was smoke from the candles or perhaps the undulations of the summoned spirit, but Maria Delores

did not see it, nor did she hear the faint breath that

begged her to be certain of her desires.

• Her prayers were heartfelt, the anguished petitions of a woman abandoned by her lover. She prayed for his return, not stopping to think about any consequences of such a plea. She vowed to never let the candles go

out and to always provide the "anima" with fresh flowers if only her lover would appear. Days and

weeks passed, and Maria Delores maintained her vigil. She grew pale and thin, and her children cried.

At last, one day, she heard the rattling sound of a carriage on the dirt road as it approached the house.

With a heaving bosom, she whispered a prayer of thanks, crossing herself and then rushing to the door. The carriage was there. She could hear the horses stamping and blowing, the jingle of their harness.

Such joy filled Maria Delores that she was glowing, a light emanating from her face that would warm the coldest heart. She opened the door, prepared to

embrace Don Diego, welcoming him home to her and their children.

Ayyyyyyyy...he was not alone! Another figure stood by him. Maria Delores, momentarily blinded by the harsh

sunlight, at first saw only a dim outline, but then gradually, details emerged. A

woman! A beautiful Spanish lady, a dama. Shivering in the heat, Maria Delores turned a searching face

towards Don Diego, seeing there her seeds of destruction. Don Diego

spoke, soft words meant to reassure her, but serving only to drive a sliver of

ice deep into her heart and soul. He had come to claim his children, to take them to the city. There, they would be

raised by his new wife.

• Maria Delores felt the first waves of oblivion rushing over her, but she fought them back. Summoning

strength from deep within, she pushed Don Diego backwards as she hurriedly retreated into the house,

barring the door. Gasping, she ran to the patio, gathering her children to her as she fled out the back. They stumbled across the fields, seeking the safety of the trees and the river. The shouts and cries of Don Diego followed her, driving her forward until the dark river bank halted her. She turned and knelt, drawing her children within the circle of her arms. Her terror was overwhelming. As the hunting party began to

encircle her, she drew a small dagger from her pocket and without a thought quickly stabbed first the boy and

then the girl. Their lifeless bodies sagged to the ground. Turning, a vicious look of revenge suffused her features as she threw the bodies of the hapless creatures into the foaming river. Alas, she was not

finished. With one last grating, hurting, rasping horrific cry, she drove the dagger deep into her heart.

• Too late, the horrified men stood around the supine figure, silent tears on their faces, prayers on their lips, too late to prevent the tragedy. The only thing left to do was to convey the bodies back to the pueblo. But the

children could not be found, even though a search party spent a day and night along the river. They had disappeared completely. Maria Dolores was laid to an uneasy rest. A suicide, she was not allowed within the "camposanto", the holy ground. Instead, her body was

wrapped in a white sheet and placed in a shallow, unmarked grave beyond the church wall.

• And Don Diego? Ahh, the properly desolate hidalgo and his wife returned to the city, soon to forget the

horrible tragedy.

• However, the story does not stop there.

• Not long after, the people of the pueblo began to hear a sighing, a crying, a

screaming at night that seemed to be coming from along the river. At first, parties

of men would rush to search the area, fearful that some woman had been hurt

and abandoned. They found nothing, just wisps of mist that hid the river from view.

Then villagers said the screams were from a wounded animal, or the hunting cry of a panther. However, no trace of anything

human or animal was ever found. Gradually, the sobbing and crying were heard closer and closer to the village.

People began to be afraid, and they, who knew everyone in the area, began to bar

their doors and windows at night.

Ayyy Mis Hijos……… ¿Dónde Están Mis hijos?

• Rumors began to drift in from other pueblos of children who were stolen from their homes in the night. At the time of the kidnappings, the figure of a woman was seen, dressed in

long, flowing white robes, her face contorted with grief. The apparition came from the river, and returned to the river, the echoes of her lamentations marking her passage. Her sad,

mournful wailings gradually gave way to drawn-out words. Her arms wrapped around a sleeping child, her form drifted out over the river before dissipating in the moonlight. And her

cries wafted back to the grief-stricken families, mingling with

the pleas of the desolated mothers:

Legends:

Count up your words.

You should have 45.

What are they?