A DUNGAN BOOKS PUBLICATION
JAPANESE FAIRY TALES
COMPILED BY
YEI THEODORA OZAKI
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO YOU AND TO THE SWEET CHILD-FRIENDSHIP THAT YOU
GAVE ME IN THE DAYS SPENT WITH YOU BY THE SOUTHERN SEA, WHEN YOU USED TO
LISTEN WITH UNFEIGNED PLEASURE TO THESE FAIRY STORIES FROM FAR JAPAN. MAY
THEY NOW REMIND YOU OF MY CHANGELESS LOVE AND REMEMBRANCE.—Y. T. O.
Tokyo, 1908.
This collection of Japanese fairy tales is the outcome of a suggestion
made to me indirectly through a friend by Mr. Andrew Lang. They have been
translated from the modern version written by Sadanami Sanjin. These stories
are not literal translations, and though the Japanese story and all quaint
Japanese expressions have been faithfully preserved, they have been told more
with the view to interest young readers of the West than the technical
student of folk-lore.
Grateful acknowledgment is due to Mr. Y. Yasuoka, Miss Fusa Okamoto, my
brother Nobumori Ozaki, Dr. Yoshihiro Takaki, and Miss Kameko Yamao, who have
helped me with translations.
The story which I have named "The Story of the Man who did not Wish to
Die" is taken from a little book written a hundred years ago by one Shinsui
Tamenaga. It is named Chosei Furo, or "Longevity." "The Bamboo-cutter and the
Moon-child" is taken from the classic "Taketari Monogatari," and is NOT
classed by the Japanese among their fairy tales, though it really belongs to
this class of literature.
The pictures were drawn by Mr. Kakuzo Fujiyama, a Tokyo artist.
In telling these stories in English I have followed my fancy in adding
such touches of local color or description as they seemed to need or as
pleased me, and in one or two instances I have gathered in an incident from
another version. At all times, among my friends, both young and old, English
or American, I have always found eager listeners to the beautiful legends and
fairy tales of Japan, and in telling them I have also found that they were
still unknown to the vast majority, and this has encouraged me to write them
for the children of the West.
Y. T. O.
Tokyo, 1908.
CONTENTS
JAPANESE FAIRY TALES.
Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all
as Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was
Fujiwara Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came
to change his name.
One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature
of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two swords,
took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and slinging his
quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when he came to the
bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the beautiful Lake Biwa. No
sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he saw lying right across his path
a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of
a large pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of
its huge claws rested on the parapet of one side of the bridge, while its
tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it
breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.
At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this
horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or walk
right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting aside all fear
went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch! he stepped now on the dragon's
body, now between its coils, and without even one glance backward he went on
his way.
He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him
from behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster
dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking man,
who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair streamed over
his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape of a dragon's head,
and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells. Hidesato knew at once that
this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered much at the strange
occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had
it transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing
mean? While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to
the man on the bridge and now addressed him:
"Was it you that called me just now?"
"Yes, it was I," answered the man: "I have an earnest request to make to
you. Do you think you can grant it to me?"
"If it is in my power to do so I will," answered Hidesato, "but first
tell me who you are?"
"I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters just
under this bridge."
"And what is it you have to ask of me!" said Hidesato.
"I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on
the mountain beyond," and the Dragon King pointed to a high peak on
the opposite shore of the lake.
"I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large family
of children and grand-children. For some time past we have lived in terror,
for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night after night it
comes and carries off one of my family. I am powerless to save them. If it
goes on much longer like this, not only shall I lose all my children, but I
myself must fall a victim to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and
in my extremity I determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days
with this intention I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the
horrible serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave
man would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw
me were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the
first man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at
once that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon me.
Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?"
Hidesato felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story, and
readily promised to do what he could to help him. The warrior asked where the
centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at once. The Dragon
King replied that its home was on the mountain Mikami, but that as it came
every night at a certain hour to the palace of the lake, it would be better
to wait till then. So Hidesato was conducted to the palace of the Dragon
King, under the bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the
waters parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp
as he passed through the flood. Never had Hidesato seen anything
so beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He had
often heard of the Sea King's palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the
servants and retainers were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent
building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The dainty goldfishes, red carp, and
silvery trout, waited upon the Dragon King and his guest.
Hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The dishes
were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks were of the
rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the sliding doors opened and ten
lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them followed ten red-carp
musicians with the koto and the samisen. Thus the hours flew by till
midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had banished all thoughts of
the centipede. The Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup
of wine when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if
a mighty army had begun to march not far away.
Hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the balcony,
and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls of glowing fire
coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King stood by the warrior's side
trembling with fear.
"The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes. It
is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it."
Hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of
the starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of
an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its
hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly towards the
shore.
Hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the Dragon
King.
"Don't be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me my
bow and arrows."
The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had
only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and fitting an arrow
to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.
The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead
of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground.
Nothing daunted, Hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of
the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the centipede
right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall to the ground.
The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When the Dragon King saw that even
this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to kill the centipede, he lost
heart and began to tremble with fear.
The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and
if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked across the
waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times round the
mountain and would soon come down to the lake. Nearer and nearer gleamed
fireballs of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet began to throw
reflections in the still waters of the lake.
Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human saliva
was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede. This was so
monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one creep with horror.
Hidesato determined to try his last chance. So taking his last arrow and
first putting the end of it in his mouth, he fitted the notch to his bow,
took careful aim once more and let fly.
This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its
head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it struck home to the
creature's brain. Then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine body stopped
moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred feet darkened to a
dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A
great darkness now overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the
lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the
world were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children
and retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened to
death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. At last the dreadful
night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The centipede was gone from
the mountain.
Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on
the balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to
fear.
Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato
pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating on the
water, which was dyed red with its blood.
The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came
and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the
bravest warrior in all Japan.
Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of
fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and roasted,
served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him, and the wine
was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To add to the beauty
of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake glittered like a liquid
diamond, and the palace was a thousand times more beautiful by day than by
night.
His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato
insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had come to
do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all very sorry to
have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged him to accept a few
small presents (so they said) in token of their gratitude to him for
delivering them forever from their horrible enemy the centipede.
As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish
was suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing
ceremonial robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they
were servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they
carried were as follows:
First, a large bronze bell. Second, a bag of
rice. Third, a roll of silk. Fourth, a cooking
pot. Fifth, a bell.
Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon
King insisted, he could not well refuse.
The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge,
and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the
procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the
presents.
The warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when
they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally
concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken shelter
somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught sight of him
they called to every one that he was approaching, and the whole household
turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing
presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.
As soon as the Dragon King's retainers had put down the presents they
vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him.
The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were
found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato had
no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was hung up, to
boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.
The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day for
the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less—the supply in
the bag was inexhaustible.
The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long
pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to Court
in at the New Year.
The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it
cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing—truly a very
economical saucepan.
The fame of Hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no
need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very rich
and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of Rice.
Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The
old man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his
wife was a regular cross-patch, who spoiled the happiness of her home
by her scolding tongue. She was always grumbling about something
from morning to night. The old man had for a long time ceased to take
any notice of her crossness. He was out most of the day at work in
the fields, and as he had no child, for his amusement when he came
home, he kept a tame sparrow. He loved the little bird just as much as
if she had been his child.
When he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it
was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach her
little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would open her
cage and let her fly about the room, and they would play together. Then when
supper-time came, he always saved some tit- bits from his meal with which to
feed his little bird.
Now one day the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the old
woman stopped at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made some
starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the bowl which
she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.
While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down
flew the pet sparrow, and bowing her little feathered head—a trick which she
had been taught by her master—the pretty bird chirped and said:
"It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out
for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg you to
forgive me! tweet, tweet, tweet!"
You see from this that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the
old woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked
her pardon so nicely. But not so.
The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with
her husband for keeping what she called a dirty bird about the house, saying
that it only made extra work for her. Now she was only too delighted to have
some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded and even cursed the poor
little bird for her bad behavior, and not content with using these harsh,
unfeeling words, in a fit of rage she seized the sparrow—who all this time
had spread out her wings and bowed her head before the old woman, to show how
sorry she was—and fetched the scissors and cut off the poor little
bird's tongue.
"I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it
is like to go without it! "And with these dreadful words she drove the bird
away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without the
smallest pity for its suffering, so unkind was she!
The old woman, after she had driven the sparrow away, made some
more rice-paste, grumbling all the time at the trouble, and
after starching all her clothes, spread the things on boards to dry in
the sun, instead of ironing them as they do in England.
In the evening the old man came home. As usual, on the way back
he looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see
his pet come flying and chirping to meet him, ruffling out her feathers to
show her joy, and at last coming to rest on his shoulder. But to-night the
old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear sparrow
was to be seen.
He quickened his steps, hastily drew off his straw sandals, and stepped
on to the veranda. Still no sparrow was to be seen. He now felt sure that his
wife, in one of her cross tempers, had shut the sparrow up in its cage. So he
called her and said anxiously:
"Where is Suzume San (Miss Sparrow) today?"
The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered:
"Your sparrow? I am sure I don't know. Now I come to think of it,
I haven't seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn't wonder if the
un-grateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!"
But at last, when the old man gave her no peace, but asked her again and
again, insisting that she must know what had happened to his pet, she
confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the rice-paste
she had specially made for starching her clothes, and how when the sparrow
had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she had taken her scissors
and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had driven the bird away and
forbidden her to return to the house again.
Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying:
"Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all my
starch?"
"How could you be so cruel? Oh! how could you so cruel?" was all that
the old man could answer. He was too kind-hearted to punish his shrew of a
wife, but he was terribly distressed at what had happened to his poor little
sparrow.
"What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume San to lose her tongue!"
he said to himself. "She won't be able to chirp any more, and surely the pain
of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her ill! Is there
nothing to be done?"
The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to
sleep. While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe,
a bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on
the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.
The next morning he rose early, as soon as ever the day broke,
and snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and
through the woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry:
"Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does
my tongue-cut sparrow stay!"
He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the
afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves are
the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there sure enough at the edge of the
wood he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He could hardly
believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet her. She bowed her
little head and went through a number of the tricks her master had taught
her, to show her pleasure at seeing her old friend again, and, wonderful to
relate, she could talk as of old. The old man told her how sorry he was for
all that had happened, and inquired after her tongue, wondering how she
could speak so well without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak
and showed him that a new tongue had grown in place of the old one,
and begged him not to think any more about the past, for she was
quite well now. Then the old man knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and
no common bird. It would be difficult to exaggerate the old
man's rejoicing now. He forgot all his troubles, he forgot even how
tired he was, for he had found his lost sparrow, and instead of being
ill and without a tongue as he had feared and expected to find her,
she was well and happy and with a new tongue, and without a sign of
the ill-treatment she had received from his wife. And above all she was a
fairy.
The sparrow asked him to follow her, and flying before him she led him
to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was
utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful place
it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored mats which
took the place of carpets were the finest he had ever seen, and the cushions
that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were made of the finest silk
and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes adorned the tokonoma [Footnote:
An alcove where precious objects are displayed.] of every room.
The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her
place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for all the
kindness he had shown her for many long years.
Then the Lady Sparrow, as we will now call her, introduced all
her family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape
gowns, brought in on beautiful old-fashioned trays a feast of all kinds of
delicious foods, till the old man began to think he must be dreaming. In the
middle of the dinner some of the sparrow's daughters performed a wonderful
dance, called the "suzume-odori" or the "Sparrow's dance," to amuse the
guest.
Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by
too quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to
wait upon him and to feast him and to dance before him.
But the night came on and the darkness reminded him that he had a long
way to go and must think about taking his leave and return home. He thanked
his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake
to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. He told
the Lady Sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her
in such a beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. It was his
anxiety to know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had
led him to seek her. Now he knew that all was well he could return
home with a light heart. If ever she wanted him for anything she had
only to send for him and he would come at once.
The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days and enjoy the
change, but the old man said he must return to his old wife—who would
probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time— and to his work,
and there-fore, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind
invitation. But now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived he would come
to see her whenever he had the time.
When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man
to stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they
at once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. These
were placed before the old man, and the Lady Sparrow asked him to
choose whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him.
The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose
the smaller box, saying:
"I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are
so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the small
one, which will be easier for me to carry."
Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate
to see him off, bidding him good-by with many bows and entreating him to come
again whenever he had the time. Thus the old man and his pet sparrow
separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all
the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the old wife. Indeed, she
only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put up with it all his
life.
When the old man reached home he found his wife even crosser than usual,
for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a
long time.
"Where have you been all this time?" she asked in a big voice. "Why do
you come back so late?"
The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he
had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to
him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow's
house.
"Now let us see what is in the box," said the old man, not giving her
time to grumble again. "You must help me open it." And they both sat down
before the box and opened it.
To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with
gold and silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their
little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and
put them down and handled them over and over again. The old man was overjoyed
at the sight of the riches that were now his. Beyond his brightest
expectations was the sparrow's gift, which would enable him to give up work
and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days.
He said: "Thanks to my good little sparrow! Thanks to my good
little sparrow!" many times.
But the old woman, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction
at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed
of her wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for not having
brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he
had told her how he had refused the large box of presents which the sparrows
had offered him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy
to carry home.
"You silly old man," said she, "Why did you not bring the large
box? Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much
silver and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!" she screamed,
and then went to bed as angry as she could be.
The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but
it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which
had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up
her mind, if possible, to get more.
Early the next morning she got up and made the old man describe the way
to the sparrow's house. When he saw what was in her mind he tried to keep her
from going, but it was useless. She would not listen to one word he said. It
is strange that the old woman did not feel ashamed of going to see the
sparrow after the cruel way she had treated her in cutting off her tongue in
a fit of rage. But her greed to get the big box made her forget everything
else. It did not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry
with her—as, indeed, they were—and might punish her for what she had
done.
Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which
they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole
family and relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old
woman. "How could she," they asked each other, "inflict such a heavy
punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by
mistake?" They all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient
under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if
ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved. They had not long to
wait.
After walking for some hours the old woman had at last found the bamboo
grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood
before it crying out:
"Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? Where is the
tongue-cut sparrow's house?"
At last she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst
the bamboo foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly.
When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at the
door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit,
after all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness
of the old woman in venturing to come to the house. The Lady Sparrow,
however, was a polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman,
remembering that she had once been her mistress.
The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she
went right to the point, without the least shame, and said:
"You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have come
myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall soon take my
leave if you will give me the big box—that is all I want!"
The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out
the big box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and
without even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow began to hurry
homewards.
The box was so heavy that she could not walk fast, much less run, as she
would have liked to do, so anxious was she to get home and see what was
inside the box, but she had often to sit down and rest herself by the
way.
While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open
the box became too great to be resisted. She could wait no longer, for she
supposed this big box to be full of gold and silver and precious jewels like
the small one her husband had received.
At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by
the wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine
of wealth. What she saw, however, so terrified her that she nearly lost her
senses. As soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful
looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as if they intended
to kill her. Not even in nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures
as her much-coveted box contained. A demon with one huge eye right in the
middle of its forehead came and glared at her, monsters with gaping
mouths looked as if they would devour her, a huge snake coiled and
hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and croaked towards her.
The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the
spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. When
she reached home she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all
that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in
the box.
Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her
at once, saying:
"Don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met
with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in
the future!"
The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented of her
cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her
husband hardly knew her to be the same person, and they spent their last days
together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the
old man had received from his pet, the tongue-cut sparrow.
Long, long ago in the province of Tango there lived on the shore
of Japan in the little fishing village of Mizu-no-ye a young
fisherman named Urashima Taro. His father had been a fisherman before him,
and his skill had more than doubly descended to his son, for Urashima was
the most skillful fisher in all that country side, and could catch more
Bonito and Tai in a day than his comrades could in a week.
But in the little fishing village, more than for being a clever fisher
of the sea was he known for his kind heart. In his whole life he had never
hurt anything, either great or small, and when a boy, his companions had
always laughed at him, for he would never join with them in teasing animals,
but always tried to keep them from this cruel sport.
One soft summer twilight he was going home at the end of a day's fishing
when he came upon a group of children. They were all screaming and talking at
the tops of their voices, and seemed to be in a state of great excitement
about something, and on his going up to them to see what was the matter he
saw that they were tormenting a tortoise. First one boy pulled it this way,
then another boy pulled it that way, while a third child beat it with a
stick, and the fourth hammered its shell with a stone.
Now Urashima felt very sorry for the poor tortoise and made up his mind
to rescue it. He spoke to the boys:
"Look here, boys, you are treating that poor tortoise so badly that it
will soon die!"
The boys, who were all of an age when children seem to delight in being
cruel to animals, took no notice of Urashima's gentle reproof, but went on
teasing it as before. One of the older boys answered:
"Who cares whether it lives or dies? We do not. Here, boys, go on, go
on!"
And they began to treat the poor tortoise more cruelly than
ever. Urashima waited a moment, turning over in his mind what would be
the best way to deal with the boys. He would try to persuade them to give
the tortoise up to him, so he smiled at them and said:
"I am sure you are all good, kind boys! Now won't you give me
the tortoise? I should like to have it so much!"
"No, we won't give you the tortoise," said one of the boys. "Why should
we? We caught it ourselves."
"What you say is true," said Urashima, "but I do not ask you to give it
to me for nothing. I will give you some money for it—in other words, the
Ojisan (Uncle) will buy it of you. Won't that do for you, my boys?" He held
up the money to them, strung on a piece of string through a hole in the
center of each coin. "Look, boys, you can buy anything you like with this
money. You can do much more with this money than you can with that poor
tortoise. See what good boys you are to listen to me"
The boys were not bad boys at all, they were only mischievous, and as
Urashima spoke they were won by his kind smile and gentle words and began "to
be of his spirit," as they say in Japan. Gradually they all came up to him,
the ringleader of the little band holding out the tortoise to him.
"Very well, Ojisan, we will give you the tortoise if you will give us
the money!" And Urashima took the tortoise and gave the money to the boys,
who, calling to each other, scampered away and were soon out of sight.
Then Urashima stroked the tortoise's back, saying as he did so:
"Oh, you poor thing! Poor thing!—there, there! you are safe now! They
say that a stork lives for a thousand years, but the tortoise for ten
thousand years. You have the longest life of any creature in this world, and
you were in great danger of having that precious life cut short by those
cruel boys. Luckily I was passing by and saved you, and so life is still
yours. Now I am going to take you back to your home, the sea, at once. Do not
let yourself be caught again, for there might be no one to save you next
time!"
All the time that the kind fisherman was speaking he was walking quickly
to the shore and out upon the rocks; then putting the tortoise into the water
he watched the animal disappear, and turned homewards himself, for he was
tired and the sun had set.
The next morning Urashima went out as usual in his boat. The weather was
fine and the sea and sky were both blue and soft in the tender haze of the
summer morning. Urashima got into his boat and dreamily pushed out to sea,
throwing his line as he did so. He soon passed the other fishing boats and
left them behind him till they were lost to sight in the distance, and his
boat drifted further and further out upon the blue waters. Somehow, he knew
not why, he felt unusually happy that morning; and he could not help wishing
that, like the tortoise he set free the day before, he had thousands
of years to live instead of his own short span of human life.
He was suddenly startled from his reverie by hearing his own
name called:
"Urashima, Urashima!"
Clear as a bell and soft as the summer wind the name floated over the
sea.
He stood up and looked in every direction, thinking that one of
the other boats had overtaken him, but gaze as he might over the
wide expanse of water, near or far there was no sign of a boat, so
the voice could not have come from any human being.
Startled, and wondering who or what it was that had called him
so clearly, he looked in all directions round about him and saw
that without his knowing it a tortoise had come to the side of the
boat. Urashima saw with surprise that it was the very tortoise he
had rescued the day before.
"Well, Mr. Tortoise," said Urashima, "was it you who called my name just
now?"
The tortoise nodded its head several times and said:
"Yes, it was I. Yesterday in your honorable shadow (o kage sama de) my
life was saved, and I have come to offer you my thanks and to tell you how
grateful I am for your kindness to me."
"Indeed," said Urashima, "that is very polite of you. Come up into the
boat. I would offer you a smoke, but as you are a tortoise doubtless you do
not smoke," and the fisherman laughed at the joke.
"He-he-he-he!" laughed the tortoise; "sake (rice wine) is my favorite
refreshment, but I do not care for tobacco."
"Indeed," said Urashima, "I regret very much that I have no "sake" in my
boat to offer you, but come up and dry your back in the sun— tortoises
always love to do that."
So the tortoise climbed into the boat, the fisherman helping him, and
after an exchange of complimentary speeches the tortoise said:
"Have you ever seen Rin Gin, the Palace of the Dragon King of the Sea,
Urashima?"
The fisherman shook his head and replied; "No; year after year the sea
has been my home, but though I have often heard of the Dragon King's realm
under the sea I have never yet set eyes on that wonderful place. It must be
very far away, if it exists at all!"
"Is that really so? You have never seen the Sea King's Palace? Then you
have missed seeing one of the most wonderful sights in the whole universe. It
is far away at the bottom of the sea, but if I take you there we shall soon
reach the place. If you would like to see the Sea King's land I will be your
guide."
"I should like to go there, certainly, and you are very kind to think of
taking me, but you must remember that I am only a poor mortal and have not
the power of swimming like a sea creature such as you are—"
Before the fisherman could say more the tortoise stopped
him, saying:
"What? You need not swim yourself. If you will ride on my back I will
take you without any trouble on your part."
"But," said Urashima, "how is it possible for me to ride on your small
back?"
"It may seem absurd to you. but I assure you that you can do so. Try at
once! Just come and get on my back, and see if it is as impossible as you
think!"
As the tortoise finished speaking, Urashima looked at its shell,
and strange to say be saw that the creature had suddenly grown so big that
a man could easily sit on its back.
"This is strange indeed!" said Urashima; "then. Mr. Tortoise, with your
kind permission I will get on your back. Dokoisho!" [Footnote: "All right"
(only used by lower classes).] he exclaimed as he jumped on.
The tortoise, with an unmoved face, as if this strange proceeding were
quite an ordinary event, said:
"Now we will set out at our leisure," and with these words he leapt into
the sea with Urashima on his back. Down through the water the tortoise dived.
For a long time these two strange companions rode through the sea. Urashima
never grew tired, nor his clothes moist with the water. At last, far away in
the distance a magnificent gate appeared, and behind the gate, the long,
sloping roofs of a palace on the horizon.
"Ya." exclaimed Urashima. "that looks like the gate of some large palace
just appearing! Mr. Tortoise, can you tell what that place is we can now
see?"
"That is the great gate of the Rin Gin Palace, the large roof that you
see behind the gate is the Sea King's Palace itself."
"Then we have at last come to the realm of the Sea King and to
his Palace," said Urashima.
"Yes, indeed," answered the tortoise, "and don't you think we have come
very quickly?" And while he was speaking the tortoise reached the side of the
gate. "And here we are, and you must please walk from here."
The tortoise now went in front, and speaking to the
gatekeeper, said:
"This is Urashima Taro, from the country of Japan. I have had the honor
of bringing him as a visitor to this kingdom. Please show him the way."
Then the gatekeeper, who was a fish, at once led the way through
the gate before them.
The red bream, the flounder, the sole, the cuttlefish, and all the chief
vassals of the Dragon King of the Sea now came out with courtly bows to
welcome the stranger.
"Urashima Sama, Urashima Sama! welcome to the Sea Palace, the home of
the Dragon King of the Sea. Thrice welcome are you, having come from such a
distant country. And you, Mr. Tortoise, we are greatly indebted to you for
all your trouble in bringing Urashima here." Then, turning again to Urashima,
they said, "Please follow us this way," and from here the whole band of
fishes became his guides.
Urashima, being only a poor fisher lad, did not know how to behave in a
palace; but, strange though it was all to him, he did not feel ashamed or
embarrassed, but followed his kind guides quite calmly where they led to the
inner palace. When he reached the portals a beautiful Princess with her
attendant maidens came out to welcome him. She was more beautiful than any
human being, and was robed in flowing garments of red and soft green like the
under side of a wave, and golden threads glimmered through the folds of her
gown. Her lovely black hair streamed over her shoulders in the fashion
of a king's daughter many hundreds of years ago, and when she spoke
her voice sounded like music over the water. Urashima was lost in
wonder while he looked upon her, and he could not speak. Then he
remembered that he ought to bow, but before he could make a low obeisance
the Princess took him by the hand and led him to a beautiful hall, and to
the seat of honor at the upper end, and bade him be seated.
"Urashima Taro, it gives me the highest pleasure to welcome you to my
father's kingdom," said the Princess. "Yesterday you set free a tortoise, and
I have sent for you to thank you for saving my life, for I was that tortoise.
Now if you like you shall live here forever in the land of eternal youth,
where summer never dies and where sorrow never comes, and I will be your
bride if you will, and we will live together happily forever
afterwards!"
And as Urashima listened to her sweet words and gazed upon her lovely
face his heart was filled with a great wonder and joy, and he answered her,
wondering if it was not all a dream:
"Thank you a thousand times for your kind speech. There is nothing
I could wish for more than to be permitted to stay here with you in this
beautiful land, of which I have often heard, but have never seen to this day.
Beyond all words, this is the most wonderful place I have ever seen."
While he was speaking a train of fishes appeared, all dressed
in ceremonial, trailing garments. One by one, silently and with
stately steps, they entered the hall, bearing on coral trays delicacies
of fish and seaweed, such as no one can dream of, and this wondrous feast
was set before the bride and bridegroom. The bridal was celebrated with
dazzling splendor, and in the Sea King's realm there was great rejoicing. As
soon as the young pair had pledged themselves in the wedding cup of wine,
three times three, music was played, and songs were sung, and fishes with
silver scales and golden tails stepped in from the waves and danced. Urashima
enjoyed himself with all his heart. Never in his whole life had he sat
down to such a marvelous feast.
When the feast was over the Princes asked the bridegroom if he
would like to walk through the palace and see all there was to be
seen. Then the happy fisherman, following his bride, the Sea
King's daughter, was shown all the wonders of that enchanted land
where youth and joy go hand in hand and neither time nor age can
touch them. The palace was built of coral and adorned with pearls, and
the beauties and wonders of the place were so great that the tongue fails
to describe them.
But, to Urashima, more wonderful than the palace was the garden
that surrounded it. Here was to be seen at one time the scenery of
the four different seasons; the beauties of summer and winter, spring and
autumn, were displayed to the wondering visitor at once.
First, when he looked to the east, the plum and cherry trees were seen
in full bloom, the nightingales sang in the pink avenues, and butterflies
flitted from flower to flower.
Looking to the south all the trees were green in the fullness of summer,
and the day cicala and the night cricket chirruped loudly.
Looking to the west the autumn maples were ablaze like a sunset sky, and
the chrysanthemums were in perfection.
Looking to the north the change made Urashima start, for the ground was
silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos were also covered with snow and
the pond was thick with ice.
And each day there were new joys and new wonders for Urashima, and so
great was his happiness that he forgot everything, even the home he had left
behind and his parents and his own country, and three days passed without his
even thinking of all he had left behind. Then his mind came back to him and
he remembered who he was, and that he did not belong to this wonderful land
or the Sea King's palace, and he said to himself:
"O dear! I must not stay on here, for I have an old father and mother at
home. What can have happened to them all this time? How anxious they must
have been these days when I did not return as usual. I must go back at once
without letting one more day pass." And he began to prepare for the journey
in great haste.
Then he went to his beautiful wife, the Princess, and bowing low before
her he said:
"Indeed, I have been very happy with you for a long time, Otohime Sama"
(for that was her name), "and you have been kinder to me than any words can
tell. But now I must say good-by. I must go back to my old parents."
Then Otohime Sama began to weep, and said softly and sadly:
"Is it not well with you here, Urashima, that you wish to leave me so
soon? Where is the haste? Stay with me yet another day only!"
But Urashima had remembered his old parents, and in Japan the duty to
parents is stronger than everything else, stronger even than pleasure or
love, and he would not be persuaded, but answered:
"Indeed, I must go. Do not think that I wish to leave you. It is
not that. I must go and see my old parents. Let me go for one day and
I will come back to you."
"Then," said the Princess sorrowfully, "there is nothing to be done. I
will send you back to-day to your father and mother, and instead of trying to
keep you with me one more day, I shall give you this as a token of our
love—please take it back with you;" and she brought him a beautiful lacquer
box tied about with a silken cord and tassels of red silk.
Urashima had received so much from the Princess already that he
felt some compunction in taking the gift, and said:
"It does not seem right for me to take yet another gift from you after
all the many favors I have received at your hands, but because it is your
wish I will do so," and then he added:
"Tell me what is this box?"
"That," answered the Princess "is the tamate-bako (Box of the
Jewel Hand), and it contains something very precious. You must not
open this box, whatever happens! If you open it something dreadful
will happen to you! Now promise me that you will never open this box!"
And Urashima promised that he would never, never open the box whatever
happened.
Then bidding good-by to Otohime Sama he went down to the seashore, the
Princess and her attendants following him, and there he found a large
tortoise waiting for him.
He quickly mounted the creature's back and was carried away over
the shining sea into the East. He looked back to wave his hand to Otohime
Sama till at last he could see her no more, and the land of the Sea King and
the roofs of the wonderful palace were lost in the far, far distance. Then,
with his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he looked for the rising
of the blue hills on the horizon before him.
At last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so well, and to
the shore from whence he had set out. He stepped on to the shore and looked
about him while the tortoise rode away back to the Sea King's realm.
But what is the strange fear that seizes Urashima as he stands and looks
about him? Why does he gaze so fixedly at the people that pass him by, and
why do they in turn stand and look at him? The shore is the same and the
hills are the same, but the people that he sees walking past him have very
different faces to those he had known so well before.
Wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his old home. Even
that looks different, but a house stands on the spot, and he calls out:
"Father, I have just returned!" and he was about to enter, when he saw a
strange man coming out.
"Perhaps my parents have moved while I have been away, and have
gone somewhere else," was the fisherman's thought. Somehow he began
to feel strangely anxious, he could not tell why.
"Excuse me," said he to the man who was staring at him, "but till within
the last few days I have lived in this house. My name is Urashima Taro. Where
have my parents gone whom I left here?"
A very bewildered expression came over the face of the man, and, still
gazing intently on Urashima's face, he said:
"What? Are you Urashima Taro?"
"Yes," said the fisherman, "I am Urashima Taro!"
"Ha, ha!" laughed the man, "you must not make such jokes. It is
true that once upon a time a man called Urashima Taro did live in
this village, but that is a story three hundred years old. He could
not possibly be alive now!"
When Urashima heard these strange words he was frightened, and said:
"Please, please, you must not joke with me, I am greatly perplexed. I am
really Urashima Taro, and I certainly have not lived three hundred years.
Till four or five days ago I lived on this spot. Tell me what I want to know
without more joking, please."
But the man's face grew more and more grave, and he answered:
"You may or may not be Urashima Taro, I don't know. But the
Urashima Taro of whom I have heard is a man who lived three hundred
years ago. Perhaps you are his spirit come to revisit your old home?"
"Why do you mock me?" said Urashima. "I am no spirit! I am a
living man—do you not see my feet;" and "don-don," he stamped on
the ground, first with one foot and then with the other to show the
man. (Japanese ghosts have no feet.)
"But Urashima Taro lived three hundred years ago, that is all I know; it
is written in the village chronicles, "persisted the man, who could not
believe what the fisherman said.
Urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. He stood looking
all around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed, something in the appearance
of everything was different to what he remembered before he went away, and
the awful feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps true. He
seemed to be in a strange dream. The few days he had spent in the Sea King's
palace beyond the sea had not been days at all: they had been hundreds of
years, and in that time his parents had died and all the people he had ever
known, and the village had written down his story. There was no use in
staying here any longer. He must get back to his beautiful wife beyond the
sea.
He made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand the box which
the Princess had given him. But which was the way? He could not find it
alone! Suddenly he remembered the box, the tamate-bako.
"The Princess told me when she gave me the box never to open it— that
it contained a very precious thing. But now that I have no home, now that I
have lost everything that was dear to me here, and my heart grows thin with
sadness, at such a time, if I open the box, surely I shall find something
that will help me, something that will show me the way back to my beautiful
Princess over the sea. There is nothing else for me to do now. Yes, yes, I
will open the box and look in!"
And so his heart consented to this act of disobedience, and he tried to
persuade himself that he was doing the right thing in breaking his
promise.
Slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and wonderingly
he lifted the lid of the precious box. And what did he find? Strange to say
only a beautiful little purple cloud rose out of the box in three soft wisps.
For an instant it covered his face and wavered over him as if loath to go,
and then it floated away like vapor over the sea.
Urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong and handsome youth
of twenty-four, suddenly became very, very old. His back doubled up with age,
his hair turned snowy white, his face wrinkled and he fell down dead on the
beach.
Poor Urashima! because of his disobedience he could never return to the
Sea King's realm or the lovely Princess beyond the sea.
Little children, never be disobedient to those who are wiser than you
for disobedience was the beginning of all the miseries and sorrows of
life.
Long, long ago, there lived an old farmer and his wife who had
made their home in the mountains, far from any town. Their only
neighbor was a bad and malicious badger. This badger used to come out
every night and run across to the farmer's field and spoil the
vegetables and the rice which the farmer spent his time in
carefully cultivating. The badger at last grew so ruthless in his
mischievous work, and did so much harm everywhere on the farm, that the
good- natured farmer could not stand it any longer, and determined to
put a stop to it. So he lay in wait day after day and night after
night, with a big club, hoping to catch the badger, but all in vain.
Then he laid traps for the wicked animal.
The farmer's trouble and patience was rewarded, for one fine day
on going his rounds he found the badger caught in a hole he had dug
for that purpose. The farmer was delighted at having caught his enemy, and
carried him home securely bound with rope. When he reached the house the
farmer said to his wife:
"I have at last caught the bad badger. You must keep an eye on him while
I am out at work and not let him escape, because I want to make him into soup
to-night."
Saying this, he hung the badger up to the rafters of his storehouse and
went out to his work in the fields. The badger was in great distress, for he
did not at all like the idea of being made into soup that night, and he
thought and thought for a long time, trying to hit upon some plan by which he
might escape. It was hard to think clearly in his uncomfortable position, for
he had been hung upside down. Very near him, at the entrance to the
storehouse, looking out towards the green fields and the trees and the
pleasant sunshine, stood the farmer's old wife pounding barley. She looked
tired and old. Her face was seamed with many wrinkles, and was as brown
as leather, and every now and then she stopped to wipe the
perspiration which rolled down her face.
"Dear lady," said the wily badger, "you must be very weary doing such
heavy work in your old age. Won't you let me do that for you? My arms are
very strong, and I could relieve you for a little while!"
"Thank you for your kindness," said the old woman, "but I cannot let you
do this work for me because I must not untie you, for you might escape if I
did, and my husband would be very angry if he came home and found you
gone."
Now, the badger is one of the most cunning of animals, and he said again
in a very sad, gentle, voice:
"You are very unkind. You might untie me, for I promise not to try to
escape. If you are afraid of your husband, I will let you bind me again
before his return when I have finished pounding the barley. I am so tired and
sore tied up like this. If you would only let me down for a few minutes I
would indeed be thankful!"
The old woman had a good and simple nature, and could not think badly of
any one. Much less did she think that the badger was only deceiving her in
order to get away. She felt sorry, too, for the animal as she turned to look
at him. He looked in such a sad plight hanging downwards from the ceiling by
his legs, which were all tied together so tightly that the rope and the knots
were cutting into the skin. So in the kindness of her heart, and believing
the creature's promise that he would not run away, she untied the cord and
let him down.
The old woman then gave him the wooden pestle and told him to do
the work for a short time while she rested. He took the pestle,
but instead of doing the work as he was told, the badger at once
sprang upon the old woman and knocked her down with the heavy piece
of wood. He then killed her and cut her up and made soup of her,
and waited for the return of the old farmer. The old man worked hard
in his fields all day, and as he worked he thought with pleasure that no
more now would his labor be spoiled by the destructive badger.
Towards sunset he left his work and turned to go home. He was
very tired, but the thought of the nice supper of hot badger soup awaiting
his return cheered him. The thought that the badger might get free and take
revenge on the poor old woman never once came into his mind.
The badger meanwhile assumed the old woman's form, and as soon as he saw
the old farmer approaching came out to greet him on the veranda of the little
house, saying:
"So you have come back at last. I have made the badger soup and
have been waiting for you for a long time."
The old farmer quickly took off his straw sandals and sat down before
his tiny dinner-tray. The innocent man never even dreamed that it was not his
wife but the badger who was waiting upon him, and asked at once for the soup.
Then the badger suddenly transformed himself back to his natural form and
cried out:
"You wife-eating old man! Look out for the bones in the kitchen!"
Laughing loudly and derisively he escaped out of the house and ran away
to his den in the hills. The old man was left behind alone. He could hardly
believe what he had seen and heard. Then when he understood the whole truth
he was so scared and horrified that he fainted right away. After a while he
came round and burst into tears. He cried loudly and bitterly. He rocked
himself to and fro in his hopeless grief. It seemed too terrible to be real
that his faithful old wife had been killed and cooked by the badger while
he was working quietly in the fields, knowing nothing of what was going on
at home, and congratulating himself on having once for all got rid of the
wicked animal who had so often spoiled his fields. And oh! the horrible
thought; he had very nearly drunk the soup which the creature had made of his
poor old woman. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" he wailed aloud. Now, not far
away there lived in the same mountain a kind, good-natured old rabbit. He
heard the old man crying and sobbing and at once set out to see what was the
matter, and if there was anything he could do to help his neighbor. The
old man told him all that had happened. When the rabbit heard the story he
was very angry at the wicked and deceitful badger, and told the old man to
leave everything to him and he would avenge his wife's death. The farmer was
at last comforted, and, wiping away his tears, thanked the rabbit for his
goodness in coming to him in his distress.
The rabbit, seeing that the farmer was growing calmer, went back to his
home to lay his plans for the punishment of the badger.
The next day the weather was fine, and the rabbit went out to find the
badger. He was not to be seen in the woods or on the hillside or in the
fields anywhere, so the rabbit went to his den and found the badger hiding
there, for the animal had been afraid to show himself ever since he had
escaped from the farmer's house, for fear of the old man's wrath.
The rabbit called out:
"Why are you not out on such a beautiful day? Come out with me, and we
will go and cut grass on the hills together."
The badger, never doubting but that the rabbit was his friend, willingly
consented to go out with him, only too glad to get away from the neighborhood
of the farmer and the fear of meeting him. The rabbit led the way miles away
from their homes, out on the hills where the grass grew tall and thick and
sweet. They both set to work to cut down as much as they could carry home, to
store it up for their winter's food. When they had each cut down all they
wanted they tied it in bundles and then started homewards, each
carrying his bundle of grass on his back. This time the rabbit made
the badger go first.
When they had gone a little way the rabbit took out a flint and steel,
and, striking it over the badger's back as he stepped along in front, set his
bundle of grass on fire. The badger heard the flint striking, and
asked:
"What is that noise. 'Crack, crack'?"
"Oh, that is nothing." replied the rabbit; "I only said 'Crack, crack'
because this mountain is called Crackling Mountain."
The fire soon spread in the bundle of dry grass on the badger's back.
The badger, hearing the crackle of the burning grass, asked, "What is
that?"
"Now we have come to the 'Burning Mountain,'" answered the rabbit.
By this time the bundle was nearly burned out and all the hair had been
burned off the badger's back. He now knew what had happened by the smell of
the smoke of the burning grass. Screaming with pain the badger ran as fast as
he could to his hole. The rabbit followed and found him lying on his bed
groaning with pain.
"What an unlucky fellow you are!" said the rabbit. "I can't imagine how
this happened! I will bring you some medicine which will heal your back
quickly!"
The rabbit went away glad and smiling to think that the punishment upon
the badger had already begun. He hoped that the badger would die of his
burns, for he felt that nothing could be too bad for the animal, who was
guilty of murdering a poor helpless old woman who had trusted him. He went
home and made an ointment by mixing some sauce and red pepper together.
He carried this to the badger, but before putting it on he told him that
it would cause him great pain, but that he must bear it patiently, because it
was a very wonderful medicine for burns and scalds and such wounds. The
badger thanked him and begged him to apply it at once. But no language can
describe the agony of the badger as soon as the red pepper had been pasted
all over his sore back. He rolled over and over and howled loudly. The
rabbit, looking on, felt that the farmer's wife was beginning to be
avenged.
The badger was in bed for about a month; but at last, in spite of the
red pepper application, his burns healed and he got well. When the rabbit saw
that the badger was getting well, he thought of another plan by which he
could compass the creature's death. So he went one day to pay the badger a
visit and to congratulate him on his recovery.
During the conversation the rabbit mentioned that he was going fishing,
and described how pleasant fishing was when the weather was fine and the sea
smooth.
The badger listened with pleasure to the rabbit's account of the way he
passed his time now, and forgot all his pains and his month's illness, and
thought what fun it would be if he could go fishing too; so he asked the
rabbit if he would take him the next time he went out to fish. This was just
what the rabbit wanted, so he agreed.
Then he went home and built two boats, one of wood and the other
of clay. At last they were both finished, and as the rabbit stood
and looked at his work he felt that all his trouble would be well rewarded
if his plan succeeded, and he could manage to kill the wicked badger
now.
The day came when the rabbit had arranged to take the badger fishing. He
kept the wooden boat himself and gave the badger the clay boat. The badger,
who knew nothing about boats, was delighted with his new boat and thought how
kind it was of the rabbit to give it to him. They both got into their boats
and set out. After going some distance from the shore the rabbit proposed
that they should try their boats and see which one could go the quickest. The
badger fell in with the proposal, and they both set to work to row as
fast as they could for some time. In the middle of the race the
badger found his boat going to pieces, for the water now began to
soften the clay. He cried out in great fear to the rabbit to help him.
But the rabbit answered that he was avenging the old woman's murder,
and that this had been his intention all along, and that he was happy
to think that the badger had at last met his deserts for all his
evil crimes, and was to drown with no one to help him. Then he raised
his oar and struck at the badger with all his strength till he fell
with the sinking clay boat and was seen no more.
Thus at last he kept his promise to the old farmer. The rabbit
now turned and rowed shorewards, and having landed and pulled his
boat upon the beach, hurried back to tell the old farmer everything,
and how the badger, his enemy, had been killed.
The old farmer thanked him with tears in his eyes. He said that till now
he could never sleep at night or be at peace in the daytime, thinking of how
his wife's death was unavenged, but from this time he would be able to sleep
and eat as of old. He begged the rabbit to stay with him and share his home,
so from this day the rabbit went to stay with the old farmer and they both
lived together as good friends to the end of their days.
The compass, with its needle always pointing to the North, is
quite a common thing, and no one thinks that it is remarkable now,
though when it was first invented it must have been a wonder.
Now long ago in China, there was a still more wonderful invention called
the shinansha. This was a kind of chariot with the figure of a man on it
always pointing to the South. No matter how the chariot was placed the figure
always wheeled about and pointed to the South.
This curious instrument was invented by Kotei, one of the three Chinese
Emperors of the Mythological age. Kotei was the son of the Emperor Yuhi.
Before he was born his mother had a vision which foretold that her son would
be a great man.
One summer evening she went out to walk in the meadows to seek the cool
breezes which blow at the end of the day and to gaze with pleasure at the
star-lit heavens above her. As she looked at the North Star, strange to
relate, it shot forth vivid flashes of lightning in every direction. Soon
after this her son Kotei came into the world.
Kotei in time grew to manhood and succeeded his father the Emperor Yuhi.
His early reign was greatly troubled by the rebel Shiyu. This rebel wanted to
make himself King, and many were the battles which he fought to this end.
Shiyu was a wicked magician, his head was made of iron, and there was no man
that could conquer him.
At last Kotei declared war against the rebel and led his army to battle,
and the two armies met on a plain called Takuroku. The Emperor boldly
attacked the enemy, but the magician brought down a dense fog upon the
battlefield, and while the royal army were wandering about in confusion,
trying to find their way, Shiyu retreated with his troops, laughing at having
fooled the royal army.
No matter however strong and brave the Emperor's soldiers were,
the rebel with his magic could always escape in the end.
Kotei returned to his Palace, and thought and pondered deeply as to how
he should conquer the magician, for he was determined not to give up yet.
After a long time he invented the shinansha with the figure of a man always
pointing South, for there were no compasses in those days. With this
instrument to show him the way he need not fear the dense fogs raised up by
the magician to confound his men.
Kotei again declared war against Shiyu. He placed the shinansha in front
of his army and led the way to the battlefield.
The battle began in earnest. The rebel was being driven backward by the
royal troops when he again resorted to magic, and upon his saying some
strange words in a loud voice, immediately a dense fog came down upon the
battlefield.
But this time no soldier minded the fog, not one was confused. Kotei by
pointing to the shinansha could find his way and directed the army without a
single mistake. He closely pursued the rebel army and drove them backward
till they came to a big river. This river Kotei and his men found was swollen
by the floods and impossible to cross.
Shiyu by using his magic art quickly passed over with his army and shut
himself up in a fortress on the opposite bank.
When Kotei found his march checked he was wild with disappointment, for
he had very nearly overtaken the rebel when the river stopped him.
He could do nothing, for there were no boats in those days, so
the Emperor ordered his tent to be pitched in the pleasantest spot
that the place afforded.
One day he stepped forth from his tent and after walking about for
a short time he came to a pond. Here he sat down on the bank and was lost
in thought.
It was autumn. The trees growing along the edge of the water
were shedding their leaves, which floated hither and thither on
the surface of the pond. By and by, Kotei's attention was attracted to
a spider on the brink of the water. The little insect was trying to get on
to one of the floating leaves near by. It did so at last, and was soon
floating over the water to the other side of the pond.
This little incident made the clever Emperor think that he might try to
make something that could carry himself and his men over the river in the
same way that the leaf had carried over the spider. He set to work and
persevered till he invented the first boat. When he found that it was a
success he set all his men to make more, and in time there were enough boats
for the whole army.
Kotei now took his army across the river, and attacked
Shiyu's headquarters. He gained a complete victory, and so put an end to
the war which had troubled his country for so long.
This wise and good Emperor did not rest till he had secured peace and
prosperity throughout his whole land. He was beloved by his subjects, who now
enjoyed their happiness of peace for many long years under him. He spent a
great deal of time in making inventions which would benefit his people, and
he succeeded in many besides the boat and the South Pointing shinansha.
He had reigned about a hundred years when one day, as Kotei was looking
upwards, the sky became suddenly red, and something came glittering like gold
towards the earth. As it came nearer Kotei saw that it was a great Dragon.
The Dragon approached and bowed down its head before the Emperor. The Empress
and the courtiers were so frightened that they ran away screaming.
But the Emperor only smiled and called to them to stop, and said:
"Do not be afraid. This is a messenger from Heaven. My time here
is finished!" He then mounted the Dragon, which began to ascend
towards the sky.
When the Empress and the courtiers saw this they all cried
out together:
"Wait a moment! We wish to come too." And they all ran and caught hold
of the Dragon's beard and tried to mount him.
But it was impossible for so many people to ride on the Dragon. Several
of them hung on to the creature's beard so that when it tried to mount the
hair was pulled out and they fell to the ground.
Meanwhile the Empress and a few of the courtiers were safely seated on
the Dragon's back. The Dragon flew up so high in the heavens that in a short
time the inmates of the Palace, who had been left behind disappointed, could
see them no more.
After some time a bow and an arrow dropped to the earth in the courtyard
of the Palace. They were recognized as having belonged to the Emperor Kotei.
The courtiers took them up carefully and preserved them as sacred relics in
the Palace.
Long, long ago there lived in Kyoto a brave soldier named
Kintoki. Now he fell in love with a beautiful lady and married her. Not
long after this, through the malice of some of his friends, he fell
into disgrace at Court and was dismissed. This misfortune so preyed
upon his mind that he did not long survive his dismissal—he died, leaving
behind him his beautiful young wife to face the world alone. Fearing her
husband's enemies, she fled to the Ashigara Mountains as soon as her husband
was dead, and there in the lonely forests where no one ever came except
woodcutters, a little boy was born to her. She called him Kintaro or the
Golden Boy. Now the remarkable thing about this child was his great strength,
and as he grew older he grew stronger and stronger, so that by the time he
was eight years of age he was able to cut down trees as quickly as the
woodcutters. Then his mother gave him a large ax, and he used to go out in
the forest and help the woodcutters, who called him "Wonder-child,"
and his mother the "Old Nurse of the Mountains," for they did not know her
high rank. Another favorite pastime of Kintaro's was to smash up rocks and
stones. You can imagine how strong he was!
Quite unlike other boys, Kintaro, grew up all alone in the
mountain wilds, and as he had no companions he made friends with all
the animals and learned to understand them and to speak their
strange talk. By degrees they all grew quite tame and looked upon Kintaro
as their master, and he used them as his servants and messengers. But his
special retainers were the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare.
The bear often brought her cubs for Kintaro to romp with, and when she
came to take them home Kintaro would get on her back and have a ride to her
cave. He was very fond of the deer too, and would often put his arms round
the creature's neck to show that its long horns did not frighten him. Great
was the fun they all had together.
One day, as usual, Kintaro went up into the mountains, followed by the
bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare. After walking for some time up hill
and down dale and over rough roads, they suddenly came out upon a wide and
grassy plain covered with pretty wild flowers.
Here, indeed, was a nice place where they could all have a good
romp together. The deer rubbed his horns against a tree for pleasure,
the monkey scratched his back, the hare smoothed his long ears, and
the bear gave a grunt of satisfaction.
Kintaro said, "Here is a place for a good game. What do you all say to a
wrestling match?"
The bear being the biggest and the oldest, answered for the others:
"That will be great fun," said she. "I am the strongest animal, so
I will make the platform for the wrestlers;" and she set to work with a
will to dig up the earth and to pat it into shape.
"All right," said Kintaro, "I will look on while you all wrestle with
each other. I shall give a prize to the one who wins in each round."
"What fun! we shall all try to get the prize," said the bear.
The deer, the monkey and the hare set to work to help the bear raise the
platform on which they were all to wrestle. When this was finished, Kintaro
cried out:
"Now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer
shall be umpire. Now, Mr. Deer, you are to be umpire!"
"He, he!" answered the deer. "I will be umpire. Now, Mr. Monkey and Mr.
Hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on the
platform."
Then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to the
wrestling platform. The deer, as umpire, stood between the two and called
out:
"Red-back! Red-back!" (this to the monkey, who has a red back in Japan).
"Are you ready?"
Then he turned to the hare:
"Long-ears! Long-ears! are you ready?"
Both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf
on high as signal. When he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare rushed
upon each other, crying "Yoisho, yoisho!"
While the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called
out encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or
the monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were
in danger of falling over.
"Red-back! Red-back! stand your ground!" called out the deer.
"Long-ears! Long-ears! be strong, be strong—don't let the monkey beat
you!" grunted the bear.
So the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried
their very hardest to beat each other. The hare at last gained on
the monkey. The monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a
good push sent him flying off the platform with a bound.
The poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as
he screamed angrily. "Oh, oh! how my back hurts—my back hurts me!"
Seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding
his leaf on high said:
"This round is finished—the hare has won."
Kintaro then opened his luncheon box and taking out a
rice-dumpling, gave it to the hare saying:
"Here is your prize, and you have earned, it well!"
Now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in Japan "his
stomach stood up," for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. So he said
to Kintaro and the others who were standing by:
"I have not been fairly beaten. My foot slipped and I tumbled. Please
give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another
round."
Then Kintaro consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle again.
Now, as every one knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by nature, and he
made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time if it were possible.
To do this, he thought that the best and surest way would be to get hold of
the hare's long ear. This he soon managed to do. The hare was quite thrown
off his guard by the pain of having his long ear pulled so hard, and the
monkey seizing his opportunity at last, caught hold of one of the hare's legs
and sent him sprawling in the middle of the dais. The monkey was now
the victor and received, a rice-dumpling from Kintaro, which pleased
him so much that he quite forgot his sore back.
The deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for
another round, and if so whether be would try a round with him, and the
hare consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. The bear came forward
as umpire.
The deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been
an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. Suddenly the deer
went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high declared
him beaten. In this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the other, conquering,
the little party amused themselves till they were tired.
At last Kintaro got up and said:
"This is enough for to-day. What a nice place we have found
for wrestling; let us come again to-morrow. Now, we will all go home. Come
along!" So saying, Kintaro led the way while the animals followed.
After walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a river
flowing through a valley. Kintaro and his four furry friends stood and looked
about for some means of crossing. Bridge there was none. The river rushed
"don, don" on its way. All the animals looked serious, wondering how they
could cross the stream and get home that evening.
Kintaro, however, said:
"Wait a moment. I will make a good bridge for you all in a
few minutes."
The bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what he
would do now.
Kintaro went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank. At
last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at the water's
edge. He took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his might, once,
twice, thrice! At the third pull, so great was Kintaro's strength that the
roots gave way, and "meri, meri" (crash, crash), over fell the tree, forming
an excellent bridge across the stream.
"There," said Kintaro, "what do you think of my bridge? It is
quite safe, so follow me," and he stepped across first. The four
animals followed. Never had they seen any one so strong before, and they
all exclaimed:
"How strong he is! how strong he is!"
While all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to
be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed
beneath him. He watched with great surprise Kintaro and his animal
companions. He rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when he
saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the stream to
form a bridge.
The woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all
he saw, and said to himself:
"This is no ordinary child. Whose son can he be? I will find out before
this day is done."
He hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them.
Kintaro knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being
followed. On reaching the other side of the river he and the animals
separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who was
waiting for him.
As soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a matchbox in the
heart of the pine-woods, he went to greet his mother, saying:
"Okkasan (mother), here I am!"
"O, Kimbo!" said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her
boy home safe after the long day. "How late you are to-day. I feared that
something had happened to you. Where have you been all the time?"
"I took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare,
up into the hills, and there I made them try a wrestling match, to see which
was the strongest. We all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the same place
to-morrow to have another match."
"Now tell me who is the strongest of all?" asked his mother, pretending
not to know.
"Oh, mother," said Kintaro, "don't you know that I am the
strongest? There was no need for me to wrestle with any of them."
"But next to you then, who is the strongest?"
"The bear comes next to me in strength," answered Kintaro.
"And after the bear?" asked his mother again.
"Next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the
deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other," said
Kintaro.
Suddenly Kintaro and his mother were startled by a voice
from outside.
"Listen to me, little boy! Next time you go, take this old man with you
to the wrestling match. He would like to join the sport too!"
It was the old woodcutter who had followed Kintaro from the river. He
slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. Yama-uba and her son were both
taken by surprise. They looked at the intruder wonderingly and saw that he
was some one they had never seen before.
"Who are you?" they both exclaimed.
Then the woodcutter laughed and said:
"It does not matter who I am yet, but let us see who has the strongest
arm—this boy or myself?"
Then Kintaro, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the old
man without any ceremony, saying:
"We will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whoever is
beaten."
Then Kintaro and the woodcutter both put out their right arms
and grasped each other's hands. For a long time Kintaro and the old
man wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other's
arm, but the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were
evenly matched. At last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn
game.
"You are, indeed, a very strong child. There are few men who can boast
of the strength of my right arm!" said the woodcutter. "I saw you first on
the hanks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that large tree to
make a bridge across the torrent. Hardly able to believe what I saw I
followed you home. Your strength of arm, which I have just tried, proves what
I saw this afternoon. When you are full-grown you will surely be the
strongest man in all Japan. It is a pity that you are hidden away in these
wild mountains."
Then he turned to Kintaro's mother:
"And you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to
the Capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai
(a Japanese knight)?"
"You are very kind to take so much interest in my son." replied
the mother; "but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and I fear
it would be very difficult to do as you say. Because of his great strength
as an infant I hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt
every one that came near him. I have often wished that I could, one day, see
my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no influential friend to
introduce us at the Capital, I fear my hope will never come true."
"You need not trouble yourself about that. To tell you the truth I am no
woodcutter! I am one of the great generals of Japan. My name is Sadamitsu,
and I am a vassal of the powerful Lord Minamoto-no- Raiko. He ordered me to
go round the country and look for boys who give promise of remarkable
strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his army. I thought
that I could best do this by assuming the disguise of a woodcutter. By good
fortune, I have thus unexpectedly come across your son. Now if you really
wish him to be a SAMURAI (a knight), I will take him and present him to the
Lord Raiko as a candidate for his service. What do you say to this?"
As the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother's heart was
filled with a great joy. She saw that here was a wonderful chance of the one
wish of her life being fulfilled—that of seeing Kintaro a SAMURAI before she
died.
Bowing her head to the ground, she replied:
"I will then intrust my son to you if you really mean what you say."
Kintaro had all this time been sitting by his mother's side listening to
what they said. When his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed:
"Oh, joy! joy! I am to go with the general and one day I shall be
a SAMURAI!"
Thus Kintaro's fate was settled, and the general decided to start for
the Capital at once, taking Kintaro with him. It need hardly be said that
Yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was left to
her. But she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in Japan. She knew
that it was for her boy's good that he should leave her now, and she must not
discourage him just as he was setting out. Kintaro promised never to forget
her, and said that as soon as he was a knight wearing two swords he would
build her a home and take care of her in her old age.
All the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer,
the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going away,
came to ask if they might attend him as usual. When they learned that he was
going away for good they followed him to the foot of the mountain to see him
off.
"Kimbo," said his mother, "mind and be a good boy."
"Mr. Kintaro," said the faithful animals, "we wish you good health on
your travels."
Then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from
that height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller
and smaller, till he was lost to sight.
The general Sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having
so unexpectedly found such a prodigy as Kintaro.
Having arrived at their destination the general took Kintaro at once to
his Lord, Minamoto-no-Raiko, and told him all about Kintaro and how he had
found the child. Lord Raiko was delighted with the story, and having
commanded Kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his vassals at
once.
Lord Raiko's army was famous for its band called "The Four
Braves." These warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest
and strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band
was distinguished throughout the whole of Japan for the dauntless courage
of its men.
When Kintaro grew up to be a man his master made him the Chief of the
Four Braves. He was by far the strongest of them all. Soon after this event,
news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken up his abode
not far away and that people were stricken with fear. Lord Raiko ordered
Kintaro to the rescue. He immediately started off, delighted at the prospect
of trying his sword.
Surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off its
great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master.
Kintaro now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was
the power and honor and wealth that came to him. He now kept his promise and
built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived happily with him in
the Capital to the end of her days.
Is not this the story of a great hero?
A STORY OF OLD JAPAN.
Many, many years ago there lived in Nara, the ancient Capital
of Japan, a wise State minister, by name Prince Toyonari Fujiwara.
His wife was a noble, good, and beautiful woman called Princess
Murasaki (Violet). They had been married by their respective
families according to Japanese custom when very young, and had lived
together happily ever since. They had, however, one cause for great
sorrow, for as the years went by no child was born to them. This made
them very unhappy, for they both longed to see a child of their own
who would grow up to gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and
keep up the ancestral rites when they were dead. The Prince and his lovely
wife, after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a
pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon (Goddess of Mercy at Hase), for
they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their religion, that
the Mother of Mercy, Kwannon, comes to answer the prayers of mortals in the
form that they need the most. Surely after all these years of prayer she
would come to them in the form of a beloved child in answer to
their special pilgrimage, for that was the greatest need of their
two lives. Everything else they had that this life could give them, but it
was all as nothing because the cry of their hearts was unsatisfied.
So the Prince Toyonari and his wife went to the temple of Kwannon
at Hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and
praying to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant them the desire of their
whole lives. And their prayer was answered.
A daughter was born at last to the Princess Murasaki, and great was the
joy of her heart. On presenting the child to her husband, they both decided
to call her Hase-Hime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was the gift of
the Kwannon at that place. They both reared her with great care and
tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty.
When the little girl was five years old her mother fell dangerously ill
and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. A little before
she breathed her last she called her daughter to her, and gently stroking her
head, said:
"Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though
I die, you must grow up a good girl. Do your best not to give trouble to your
nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will marry again and
some one will fill my place as your mother. If so do not grieve for me, but
look upon your father's second wife as your true mother, and be obedient and
filial to both her and your father. Remember when you are grown up to be
submissive to those who are your superiors, and to be kind to all those who
are under you. Don't forget this. I die with the hope that you will
grow up a model woman."
Hase-Hime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke, and
promised to do all that she was told. There is a proverb which says "As the
soul is at three so it is at one hundred," and so Hase- Hime grew up as her
mother had wished, a good and obedient little Princess, though she was now
too young to understand how great was the loss of her mother.
Not long after the death of his first wife, Prince Toyonari
married again, a lady of noble birth named Princess Terute. Very
different in character, alas! to the good and wise Princess Murasaki,
this woman had a cruel, bad heart. She did not love her step-daughter
at all, and was often very unkind to the little motherless girl, saving to
herself:
"This is not my child! this is not my child!"
But Hase-Hime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon
her step-mother kindly and obeyed her in every way and never gave any
trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that the
Lady Terute had no cause for complaint against her.
The little Princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies
were music and poetry. She would spend several hours practicing every day,
and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to teach her
the koto (Japanese harp), the art of writing letters and verse. When she was
twelve years of age she could play so beautifully that she and her
step-mother were summoned to the Palace to perform before the Emperor.
It was the Festival of the Cherry Flowers, and there were
great festivities at the Court. The Emperor threw himself into
the enjoyment of the season, and commanded that Princess Hase
should perform before him on the koto, and that her mother Princess
Terute should accompany her on the flute.
The Emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain
of finely-sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that His Majesty might see
all and not be seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to looked upon his
sacred face.
Hase-Hime was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished
her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. On this momentous occasion
she played well. But Princess Terute, her step- mother, who was a lazy woman
and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down in her accompaniment
and had to request one of the Court ladies to take her place. This was a
great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to think that she had failed
where her step- daughter succeeded; and to make matters worse the Emperor
sent many beautiful gifts to the little Princess to reward her for playing
so well at the Palace.
There was also now another reason why Princess Terute hated
her step-daughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to
her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying:
"If only Hase-Hime were not here, my son would have all the love of his
father."
And never having learned to control herself, she allowed this
wicked thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her
step-daughter's life.
So one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some
sweet wine. This poisoned wine she put into a bottle. Into another
similar bottle she poured some good wine. It was the occasion of the
Boys' Festival on the fifth of May, and Hase-Hime was playing with
her little brother. All his toys of warriors and heroes were spread
out and she was telling him wonderful stories about each of them.
They were both enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with
their attendants when his mother entered with the two bottles of wine
and some delicious cakes.
"You are both so good and happy." said the wicked Princess Terute with a
smile, "that I have brought you some sweet wine as a reward— and here are
some nice cakes for my good children."
And she filled two cups from the different bottles.
Hase-Hime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her step-mother
was acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little
step brother the other that had been poured out for him.
The wicked woman had carefully marked the poisoned bottle, but on coming
into the room she had grown nervous, and pouring out the wine hurriedly had
unconsciously given the poisoned cup to her own child. All this time she was
anxiously watching the little Princess, but to her amazement no change
whatever took place in the young girl's face. Suddenly the little boy
screamed and threw himself on the floor, doubled up with pain. His mother
flew to him, taking the precaution to upset the two tiny jars of wine which
she had brought into the room, and lifted him up. The attendants rushed for
the doctor, but nothing could save the child—he died within the hour
in his mother's arms. Doctors did not know much in those ancient
times, and it was thought that the wine had disagreed with the boy,
causing convulsions of which he died.
Thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child when she had
tried to do away with her step-daughter; but instead of blaming herself she
began to hate Hase-Hime more than ever in the bitterness and wretchedness of
her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an opportunity to do her harm,
which was, however, long in coming.
When Hase-Hime was thirteen years of age, she had already
become mentioned as a poetess of some merit. This was an
accomplishment very much cultivated by the women of old Japan and one held in
high esteem.
It was the rainy season at Nara, and floods were reported every day as
doing damage in the neighborhood. The river Tatsuta, which flowed through the
Imperial Palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its banks, and the roaring
of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow bed so disturbed the
Emperor's rest day and night, that a serious nervous disorder was the result.
An Imperial Edict was sent forth to all the Buddhist temples commanding the
priests to offer up continuous prayers to Heaven to stop the noise of the
flood. But this was of no avail.
Then it was whispered in Court circles that the Princess Hase,
the daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister at Court,
was the most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and
her masters confirmed the report. Long ago, a beautiful and
gifted maiden-poetess had moved Heaven by praying in verse, had
brought down rain upon a land famished with drought—so said the
ancient biographers of the poetess Ono-no-Komachi. If the Princess Hase
were to write a poem and offer it in prayer, might it not stop the
noise of the rushing river and remove the cause of the Imperial
illness? What the Court said at last reached the ears of the Emperor
himself, and he sent an order to the minister Prince Toyonari to this
effect.
Great indeed was Hase-Hime's fear and astonishment when her father sent
for her and told her what was required of her. Heavy, indeed, was the duty
that was laid on her young shoulders—that of saving the Emperor's life by
the merit of her verse.
At last the day came and her poem was finished. It was written on
a leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold-dust. With her father
and attendants and some of the Court officials, she proceeded to the bank
of the roaring torrent and raising up her heart to Heaven, she read the poem
she had composed, aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands.
Strange indeed it seemed to all those standing round. The waters ceased
their roaring, and the river was quiet in direct answer to her prayer. After
this the Emperor soon recovered his health.
His Majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the Palace
and rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo—that of
Lieutenant-General—to distinguish her. From that time she was called
Chinjo-hime, or the Lieutenant-General Princess, and respected and loved by
all.
There was only one person who was not pleased at Hase-Hime's success.
That one was her stepmother. Forever brooding over the death of her own child
whom she had killed when trying to poison her step-daughter, she had the
mortification of seeing her rise to power and honor, marked by Imperial favor
and the admiration of the whole Court. Her envy and jealousy burned in her
heart like fire. Many were the lies she carried to her husband about
Hase-Hime, but all to no purpose. He would listen to none of her tales,
telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken.
At last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her
husband's absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent
girl to the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to kill
her there. She invented a dreadful story about the little Princess, saying
that this was the only way to prevent disgrace falling upon the family—by
killing her.
Katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. Anyhow, he saw that
it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence of the girl's
father, so he placed Hase-Hime in a palanquin and accompanied her to the most
solitary place he could find in the wild district. The poor child knew there
was no good in protesting to her unkind step-mother at being sent away in
this strange manner, so she went as she was told.
But the old servant knew that the young Princess was quite innocent of
all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for her
outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. Unless he killed her,
however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress, so he decided to
stay out in the wilderness. With the help of some peasants he soon built a
little cottage, and having sent secretly for his wife to come, these two good
old people did all in their power to take care of the now unfortunate
Princess. She all the time trusted in her father, knowing that as soon as he
returned home and found her absent, he would search for her.
Prince Toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his wife
that his daughter Hime had done something wrong and had run away for fear of
being punished. He was nearly ill with anxiety. Every one in the house told
the same story—that Hase-Hime had suddenly disappeared, none of them knew
why or whither. For fear of scandal he kept the matter quite and searched
everywhere he could think of, but all to no purpose.
One day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his
men together and told them to make ready for a several days' hunt in
the mountains. They were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate
for their lord. He rode hard and fast to the district of the
Hibari Mountains, a great company following him. He was soon far ahead
of every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley.
Looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on one
of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a beautiful clear voice
reading aloud. Seized with curiosity as to who could be studying so
diligently in such a lonely spot, he dismounted, and leaving his horse to his
groom, he walked up the hillside and approached the cottage. As he drew
nearer his surprise increased, for he could see that the reader was a
beautiful girl. The cottage was wide open and she was sitting facing the
view. Listening attentively, he heard her reading the Buddhist
scriptures with great devotion. More and more curious, he hurried on to
the tiny gate and entered the little garden, and looking up beheld
his lost daughter Hase-Hime. She was so intent on what she was saying that
she neither heard nor saw her father till he spoke.
"Hase-Hime!" he cried, "it is you. my Hase-Hime!"
Taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own
dear father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly
bereft of the power to speak or move.
"My father, my father! It is indeed you—oh, my father!" was all
she could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve, and
burying her face burst into a passion of tears.
Her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all that
had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were not really
dreaming.
Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, and bowing himself to the
ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong, telling him all
that had happened, and how it was that he found his daughter in such a wild
and desolate spot with only two old servants to take care of her.
The Prince's astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. He gave up the
hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of the company galloped
ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and the step-mother hearing
what had happened, and fearful of meeting her husband now that her wickedness
was discovered, fled from the house and returned in disgrace to her father's
roof, and nothing more was heard of her.
The old servant Katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in his
master's service, and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to the
little Princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this faithful
retainer. She was no longer troubled by an unkind step-mother, and her days
passed happily and quietly with her father.
As Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the
Court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter Hase- Hime, and in a
few years the marriage took place. Hase-Hime lived to a good old age, and all
said that she was the wisest, most devout, and most beautiful mistress that
had ever reigned in Prince Toyonari's ancient house. She had the joy of
presenting her son, the future lord of the family, to her father just before
he retired from active life.
To this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of
the Buddhist temples of Kioto. It is a beautiful piece of tapestry,
with the figure of Buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from
the stem of the lotus. This is said to have been the work of the hands of
the good Princess Hase.
Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname
meant "Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he
was still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a
small fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his
time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was
about thirty-two years of age.
One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death
and sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him
very wretched.
"I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or
six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span
of a man's life is very short."
He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and
frugally henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished.
He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had
lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who, it was said,
lived to the age of five hundred This was the latest story of a very long
life record.
Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named
Shin-no- Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in
Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous
great wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for,
but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of
his Court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was
miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all.
When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as
he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him. He could
not get away from it. Ah—if only he could find the "Elixir of Life," he
would be happy.
The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all
if they could not find for him the "Elixir of Life" of which he had so often
read and heard.
One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the
seas there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits
lived there who possessed the secret of the "Elixir of Life."
Whoever drank of this wonderful draught lived forever.
The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to find
the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. He gave
Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great
quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take as presents to
the hermits.
Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to
the waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to
be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of the
elixir, and Jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god.
Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could,
to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He
remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits
live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the very high
peaks.
So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out on
his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land,
climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he
find.
At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a
hunter.
"Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the
Elixir of Life?"
"No." said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live, but
there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he is
chief of a band of two hundred followers."
This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish
it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he
decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshiped as the patron
god of the hermits in the south of Japan.
Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating Jofuku
to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so much to
find.
At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the door
of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud,
and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus:
"Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted.
You think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the Elixir
of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only allowed to
eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit must cut himself
off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from
every earthly desire. Gradually after following these strict rules, the
hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light
that he can ride on a crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting
his feet wet."
"You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are not
even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more sensitive
to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to go barefoot or
to wear only one thin dress in the winter time! Do you think that you would
ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life?"
"In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I
will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death
never comes—where the people live forever!"
Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made
of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there.
Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride
on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew
away over the mountains right out to sea.
Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew accustomed
to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for thousands of
miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it was a paper bird it
doubtless did not require any nourishment, and strange to say, neither did
Sentaro.
After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance
inland and then alighted.
As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of
its own accord and flew into his pocket.
Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the
country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about the country
and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite strange, and
different from his own land. But both the land and the people seemed
prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there and
took up lodgings at one of the hotels.
The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was a
stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that
was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Sentaro's sojourn
there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Sentaro obtained
his great wish and became a resident in the country of Perpetual Life.
Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and
sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and China and
told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where happiness and bliss
and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by
dying. This tradition was handed down for ages from generation to
generation—but none knew exactly what death was except that it led to
Paradise.
Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having
a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it
as something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long
lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called Paradise of
which the priests had told them centuries ago.
All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found
himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsyturvydom. Everything was
upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the land of
Perpetual Life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants
themselves, doomed never to die, would consider it bliss to find death.
What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food,
and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected.
Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed
to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed eagerly, hoping for death
to come so that they might go to Paradise.
But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this
strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying, only
found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of worse.
Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy would
have given all their money and all their goods if they could but shorten
their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any change to live on
forever seemed to this people wearisome and sad.
In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant
demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to
turn the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the
stomach.
Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served
up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about
selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never saw any one ill after eating
these horrible things, nor did he ever see any one with as much as a
cold.
Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow tired
of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death. He was the
only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live thousands of
years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business, and for the present
never even dreamed of going back to his native land.
As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first. He
had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with
his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance.
Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from
morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and
then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to
see his own land and his old home. However long he lived here, life would
always be the game, so was it not foolish and wearisome to stay on here
forever?
Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual
Life, recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing
to escape from death—and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his
own land again.
No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his
pocket. Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after
all these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough
for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew,
swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan.
Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back
and regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in
vain. The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the
ocean.
Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled
up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much frightened at the
thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save him. He
looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of
sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. While he was thus
struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards
him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Sentaro
was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near,
and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and
rescue him.
Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that
during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all
his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild dream. He was
in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly bewildered.
Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood
a messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke
to Sentaro:
"I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has permitted
you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you grew weary of
living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your native land so that
you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the
sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. Your desire for death was not
real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly and shouted for
help."
"It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find
the Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you—your life is not
austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home, and to
live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the anniversaries of
your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future.
Thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the vain
desire to escape death, for no man can do that, and by this time you have
surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring
happiness."
"In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you
to know—if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have pointed
out to you."
The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Sentaro
took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his old
home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful
life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house
prospered henceforth.
Long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. He was
very poor and sad also, for no child had Heaven sent to cheer his old age,
and in his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he died and was
laid in the quiet grave. Every morning he went forth into the woods and hills
wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the sky. When he
had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of the forest, and
splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into joints, would carry the
bamboo wood home and make it into various articles for the household, and he
and his old wife gained a small livelihood by selling them.
One morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and having found
a nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut some of them
down. Suddenly the green grove of bamboos was flooded with a bright
soft light, as if the full moon had risen over the spot. Looking round
in astonishment, he saw that the brilliance was streaming from one bamboo.
The old man. full of wonder. dropped his ax and went towards the light. On
nearer approach he saw that this soft splendor came from a hollow in the
green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to behold, in the midst of the
brilliance stood a tiny human being, only three inches in height, and
exquisitely beautiful in appearance.
"You must be sent to be my child, for I find you here among the bamboos
where lies my daily work," said the old man, and taking the little creature
in his hand he took it home to his wife to bring up. The tiny girl was so
exceedingly beautiful and so small, that the old woman put her into a basket
to safeguard her from the least possibility of being hurt in any way.
The old couple were now very happy, for it had been a lifelong regret
that they had no children of their own, and with joy they now expended all
the love of their old age on the little child who had come to them in so
marvelous a manner.
From this time on, the old man often found gold in the notches of the
bamboos when he hewed them down and cut them up; not only gold, but precious
stones also, so that by degrees he became rich. He built himself a fine
house, and was no longer known as the poor bamboo woodcutter, but as a
wealthy man.
Three months passed quickly away, and in that time the bamboo child had,
wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl, so her foster- parents did up her
hair and dressed her in beautiful kimonos. She was of such wondrous beauty
that they placed her behind the screens like a princess, and allowed no one
to see her, waiting upon her themselves. It seemed as if she were made of
light, for the house was filled with a soft shining, so that even in the dark
of night it was like daytime. Her presence seemed to have a benign influence
on those there. Whenever the old man felt sad, he had only to look
upon his foster-daughter and his sorrow vanished, and he became as
happy as when he was a youth.
At last the day came for the naming of their new-found child, so the old
couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and he gave her the name of
Princess Moonlight, because her body gave forth so much soft bright light
that she might have been a daughter of the Moon God.
For three days the festival was kept up with song and dance and music.
All the friends and relations of the old couple were present, and great was
their enjoyment of the festivities held to celebrate the naming of Princess
Moonlight. Everyone who saw her declared that there never had been seen any
one so lovely; all the beauties throughout the length and breadth of the land
would grow pale beside her, so they said. The fame of the Princess's
loveliness spread far and wide, and many were the suitors who desired to win
her hand, or even so much as to see her.
Suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the house, and made
little holes in the fence, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Princess
as she went from one room to the other along the veranda. They stayed there
day and night, sacrificing even their sleep for a chance of seeing her, but
all in vain. Then they approached the house, and tried to speak to the old
man and his wife or some of the servants, but not even this was granted
them.
Still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day after day,
and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so great was their desire
to see the Princess.
At last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless their quest was,
lost heart and hope both, and returned to their homes. All except five
Knights, whose ardor and determination, instead of waning, seemed to wax
greater with obstacles. These five men even went without their meals, and
took snatches of whatever they could get brought to them, so that they might
always stand outside the dwelling. They stood there in all weathers, in
sunshine and in rain.
Sometimes they wrote letters to the Princess, but no answer
was vouchsafed to them. Then when letters failed to draw any reply,
they wrote poems to her telling her of the hopeless love which kept
them from sleep, from food, from rest, and even from their homes.
Still Princes Moonlight gave no sign of having received their verses.
In this hopeless state the winter passed. The snow and frost and
the cold winds gradually gave place to the gentle warmth of spring.
Then the summer came, and the sun burned white and scorching in
the heavens above and on the earth beneath, and still these
faithful Knights kept watch and waited. At the end of these long months
they called out to the old bamboo-cutter and entreated him to have
some mercy upon them and to show them the Princess, but he answered
only that as he was not her real father he could not insist on her obeying
him against her wishes.
The five Knights on receiving this stern answer returned to
their several homes, and pondered over the best means of touching
the proud Princess's heart, even so much as to grant them a hearing. They
took their rosaries in hand and knelt before their household shrines, and
burned precious incense, praying to Buddha to give them their heart's desire.
Thus several days passed, but even so they could not rest in their
homes.
So again they set out for the bamboo-cutter's house. This time the old
man came out to see them, and they asked him to let them know if it was the
Princess's resolution never to see any man whatsoever, and they implored him
to speak for them and to tell her the greatness of their love, and how long
they had waited through the cold of winter and the heat of summer, sleepless
and roofless through all weathers, without food and without rest, in the
ardent hope of winning her, and they were willing to consider this
long vigil as pleasure if she would but give them one chance of
pleading their cause with her.
The old man lent a willing ear to their tale of love, for in his inmost
heart he felt sorry for these faithful suitors and would have liked to see
his lovely foster-daughter married to one of them. So he went in to Princess
Moonlight and said reverently:
"Although you have always seemed to me to be a heavenly being, yet
I have had the trouble of bringing you up as my own child and you
have been glad of the protection of my roof. Will you refuse to do as
I wish?"
Then Princess Moonlight replied that there was nothing she would not do
for him, that she honored and loved him as her own father, and that as for
herself she could not remember the time before she came to earth.
The old man listened with great joy as she spoke these dutiful words.
Then he told her how anxious he was to see her safely and happily married
before he died.
"I am an old man, over seventy years of age, and my end may come
any time now. It is necessary and right that you should see these
five suitors and choose one of them."
"Oh, why," said the Princess in distress, "must I do this? I have
no wish to marry now."
"I found you," answered the old man, "many years ago, when you were a
little creature three inches high, in the midst of a great white light. The
light streamed from the bamboo in which you were hid and led me to you. So I
have always thought that you were more than mortal woman. While I am alive it
is right for you to remain as you are if you wish to do so, but some day I
shall cease to be and who will take care of you then? Therefore I pray you to
meet these five brave men one at a time and make up your mind to marry one of
them!"
Then the Princess answered that she felt sure that she was not
as beautiful as perhaps report made her out to be, and that even if
she consented to marry any one of them, not really knowing her before, his
heart might change afterwards. So as she did not feel sure of them, even
though her father told her they were worthy Knights, she did not feel it wise
to see them.
"All you say is very reasonable," said the old man, "but what kind of
men will you consent to see? I do not call these five men who have waited on
you for months, light-hearted. They have stood outside this house through the
winter and the summer, often denying themselves food and sleep so that they
may win you. What more can you demand?"
Then Princess Moonlight said she must make further trial of their love
before she would grant their request to interview her. The five warriors were
to prove their love by each bringing her from distant countries something
that she desired to possess.
That same evening the suitors arrived and began to play their flutes in
turn, and to sing their self-composed songs telling of their great and
tireless love. The bamboo-cutter went out to them and offered them his
sympathy for all they had endured and all the patience they had shown in
their desire to win his foster-daughter. Then he gave them her message, that
she would consent to marry whosoever was successful in bringing her what she
wanted. This was to test them.
The five all accepted the trial, and thought it an excellent plan, for
it would prevent jealousy between them.
Princess Moonlight then sent word to the First Knight that she requested
him to bring her the stone bowl which had belonged to Buddha in India.
The Second Knight was asked to go to the Mountain of Horai, said to be
situated in the Eastern Sea, and to bring her a branch of the wonderful tree
that grew on its summit. The roots of this tree were of silver, the trunk of
gold, and the branches bore as fruit white jewels.
The Third Knight was told to go to China and search for the fire-rat and
to bring her its skin.
The Fourth Knight was told to search for the dragon that carried on its
head the stone radiating five colors and to bring the stone to her.
The Fifth Knight was to find the swallow which carried a shell in its
stomach and to bring the shell to her.
The old man thought these very hard tasks and hesitated to carry
the messages, but the Princess would make no other conditions. So
her commands were issued word for word to the five men who, when
they heard what was required of them, were all disheartened and
disgusted at what seemed to them the impossibility of the tasks given them
and returned to their own homes in despair.
But after a time, when they thought of the Princess, the love in their
hearts revived for her, and they resolved to make an attempt to get what she
desired of them.
The First Knight sent word to the Princess that he was starting out that
day on the quest of Buddha's bowl, and he hoped soon to bring it to her. But
he had not the courage to go all the way to India, for in those days
traveling was very difficult and full of danger, so he went to one of the
temples in Kyoto and took a stone bowl from the altar there, paying the
priest a large sum of money for it. He then wrapped it in a cloth of gold
and, waiting quietly for three years, returned and carried it to the old
man.
Princess Moonlight wondered that the Knight should have returned
so soon. She took the bowl from its gold wrapping, expecting it to
make the room full of light, but it did not shine at all, so she knew that
it was a sham thing and not the true bowl of Buddha. She returned it at once
and refused to see him. The Knight threw the bowl away and returned to his
home in despair. He gave up now all hopes of ever winning the Princess.
The Second Knight told his parents that he needed change of air for his
health, for he was ashamed to tell them that love for the Princess Moonlight
was the real cause of his leaving them. He then left his home, at the same
time sending word to the Princess that he was setting out for Mount Horai in
the hope of getting her a branch of the gold and silver tree which she so
much wished to have. He only allowed his servants to accompany him half-way,
and then sent them back. He reached the seashore and embarked on a small
ship, and after sailing away for three days he landed and employed
several carpenters to build him a house contrived in such a way that no
one could get access to it. He then shut himself up with six
skilled jewelers, and endeavored to make such a gold and silver branch as
he thought would satisfy the Princess as having come from the
wonderful tree growing on Mount Horai. Every one whom he had asked
declared that Mount Horai belonged to the land of fable and not to
fact.
When the branch was finished, he took his journey home and tried to make
himself look as if he were wearied and worn out with travel. He put the
jeweled branch into a lacquer box and carried it to the bamboo-cutter,
begging him to present it to the Princess.
The old man was quite deceived by the travel-stained appearance of the
Knight, and thought that he had only just returned from his long journey with
the branch. So he tried to persuade the Princess to consent to see the man.
But she remained silent and looked very sad. The old man began to take out
the branch and praised it as a wonderful treasure to be found nowhere in the
whole land. Then he spoke of the Knight, how handsome and how brave he was to
have undertaken a journey to so remote a place as the Mount of Horai.
Princess Moonlight took the branch in her hand and looked at
it carefully. She then told her foster-parent that she knew it
was impossible for the man to have obtained a branch from the gold
and silver tree growing on Mount Horai so quickly or so easily, and
she was sorry to say she believed it artificial.
The old man then went out to the expectant Knight, who had
now approached the house, and asked where he had found the branch.
Then the man did not scruple to make up a long story.
"Two years ago I took a ship and started in search of Mount Horai. After
going before the wind for some time I reached the far Eastern Sea. Then a
great storm arose and I was tossed about for many days, losing all count of
the points of the compass, and finally we were blown ashore on an unknown
island. Here I found the place inhabited by demons who at one time threatened
to kill and eat me. However, I managed to make friends with these horrible
creatures, and they helped me and my sailors to repair the boat, and I set
sail again. Our food gave out, and we suffered much from sickness on board.
At last, on the five-hundredth day from the day of starting, I saw far off
on the horizon what looked like the peak of a mountain. On nearer approach,
this proved to be an island, in the center of which rose a high mountain. I
landed, and after wandering about for two or three days, I saw a shining
being coming towards me on the beach, holding in his hands a golden bowl. I
went up to him and asked him if I had, by good chance, found the island of
Mount Horai, and he answered:"
"'Yes, this is Mount Horai!'"
"With much difficulty I climbed to the summit, here stood the
golden tree growing with silver roots in the ground. The wonders of
that strange land are many, and if I began to tell you about them I
could never stop. In spite of my wish to stay there long, on breaking
off the branch I hurried back. With utmost speed it has taken me
four hundred days to get back, and, as you see, my clothes are still
damp from exposure on the long sea voyage. I have not even waited
to change my raiment, so anxious was I to bring the branch to the Princess
quickly."
Just at this moment the six jewelers, who had been employed on
the making of the branch, but not yet paid by the Knight, arrived at
the house and sent in a petition to the Princess to be paid for
their labor. They said that they had worked for over a thousand
days making the branch of gold, with its silver twigs and its
jeweled fruit, that was now presented to her by the Knight, but as yet
they had received nothing in payment. So this Knight's deception was
thus found out, and the Princess, glad of an escape from one
more importunate suitor, was only too pleased to send back the branch. She
called in the workmen and had them paid liberally, and they went away happy.
But on the way home they were overtaken by the disappointed man. who beat
them till they were nearly dead, for letting out the secret, and they barely
escaped with their lives. The Knight then returned home, raging in his heart;
and in despair of ever winning the Princess gave up society and retired to
a solitary life among the mountains.
Now the Third Knight had a friend in China, so he wrote to him to get
the skin of the fire-rat. The virtue of any part of this animal was that no
fire could harm it. He promised his friend any amount of money he liked to
ask if only he could get him the desired article. As soon as the news came
that the ship on which his friend had sailed home had come into port, he rode
seven days on horseback to meet him. He handed his friend a large sum of
money, and received the fire-rat's skin. When he reached home he put it
carefully in a box and sent it in to the Princess while he waited outside for
her answer.
The bamboo-cutter took the box from the Knight and, as usual, carried it
in to her and tried to coax her to see the Knight at once, but Princess
Moonlight refused, saying that she must first put the skin to test by putting
it into the fire. If it were the real thing it would not burn. So she took
off the crape wrapper and opened the box, and then threw the skin into the
fire. The skin crackled and burnt up at once, and the Princess knew that this
man also had not fulfilled his word. So the Third Knight failed also.
Now the Fourth Knight was no more enterprising than the rest. Instead of
starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing on its head the
five-color-radiating jewel, he called all his servants together and gave them
the order to seek for it far and wide in Japan and in China, and he strictly
forbade any of them to return till they had found it.
His numerous retainers and servants started out in different directions,
with no intention, however, of obeying what they considered an impossible
order. They simply took a holiday, went to pleasant country places together,
and grumbled at their master's unreasonableness.
The Knight meanwhile, thinking that his retainers could not fail to find
the jewel, repaired to his house, and fitted it up beautifully for the
reception of the Princess, he felt so sure of winning her.
One year passed away in weary waiting, and still his men did not return
with the dragon-jewel. The Knight became desperate. He could wait no longer,
so taking with him only two men he hired a ship and commanded the captain to
go in search of the dragon; the captain and the sailors refused to undertake
what they said was an absurd search, but the Knight compelled them at last to
put out to sea.
When they had been but a few days out they encountered a great
storm which lasted so long that, by the time its fury abated, the
Knight had determined to give up the hunt of the dragon. They were at
last blown on shore, for navigation was primitive in those days. Worn
out with his travels and anxiety, the fourth suitor gave himself up
to rest. He had caught a very heavy cold, and had to go to bed with
a swollen face.
The governor of the place, hearing of his plight, sent messengers with a
letter inviting him to his house. While he was there thinking over all his
troubles, his love for the Princess turned to anger, and he blamed her for
all the hardships he had undergone. He thought that it was quite probable she
had wished to kill him so that she might be rid of him, and in order to carry
out her wish had sent him upon his impossible quest.
At this point all the servants he had sent out to find the jewel came to
see him, and were surprised to find praise instead of displeasure awaiting
them. Their master told them that he was heartily sick of adventure, and said
that he never intended to go near the Princess's house again in the
future.
Like all the rest, the Fifth Knight failed in his quest—he could not
find the swallow's shell.
By this time the fame of Princess Moonlight's beauty had reached
the ears of the Emperor, and he sent one of the Court ladies to see if she
were really as lovely as report said; if so he would summon her to the Palace
and make her one of the ladies-in-waiting.
When the Court lady arrived, in spite of her father's
entreaties, Princess Moonlight refused to see her. The Imperial
messenger insisted, saying it was the Emperor's order. Then Princess
Moonlight told the old man that if she was forced to go to the Palace
in obedience to the Emperor's order, she would vanish from the earth.
When the Emperor was told of her persistence in refusing to obey
his summons, and that if pressed to obey she would disappear
altogether from sight, he determined to go and see her. So he planned to go
on a hunting excursion in the neighborhood of the bamboo-cutter's house,
and see the Princess himself. He sent word to the old man of his intention,
and he received consent to the scheme. The next day the Emperor set out with
his retinue, which he soon managed to outride. He found the bamboo-cutter's
house and dismounted. He then entered the house and went straight to where
the Princess was sitting with her attendant maidens.
Never had he seen any one so wonderfully beautiful, and he could not but
look at her, for she was more lovely than any human being as she shone in her
own soft radiance. When Princess Moonlight became aware that a stranger was
looking at her she tried to escape from the room, but the Emperor caught her
and begged her to listen to what he had to say. Her only answer was to hide
her face in her sleeves.
The Emperor fell deeply in love with her, and begged her to come to the
Court, where he would give her a position of honor and everything she could
wish for. He was about to send for one of the Imperial palanquins to take her
back with him at once, saying that her grace and beauty should adorn a Court,
and not be hidden in a bamboo-cutter's cottage.
But the Princess stopped him. She said that if she were forced to go to
the Palace she would turn at once into a shadow, and even as she spoke she
began to lose her form. Her figure faded from his sight while he
looked.
The Emperor then promised to leave her free if only she would resume her
former shape, which she did.
It was now time for him to return, for his retinue would be wondering
what had happened to their Royal master when they missed him for so long. So
be bade her good-by, and left the house with a sad heart. Princess Moonlight
was for him the most beautiful woman in the world; all others were dark
beside her, and he thought of her night and day. His Majesty now spent much
of his time in writing poems, telling her of his love and devotion, and sent
them to her, and though she refused to see him again she answered with
many verses of her own composing, which told him gently and kindly
that she could never marry any one on this earth. These little
songs always gave him pleasure.
At this time her foster-parents noticed that night after night
the Princess would sit on her balcony and gaze for hours at the moon, in a
spirit of the deepest dejection, ending always in a burst of tears. One night
the old man found her thus weeping as if her heart were broken, and he
besought her to tell him the reason of her sorrow.
With many tears she told him that he had guessed rightly when
he supposed her not to belong to this world—that she had in truth
come from the moon, and that her time on earth would soon be over. On
the fifteenth day of that very month of August her friends from the
moon would come to fetch her, and she would have to return. Her
parents were both there, but having spent a lifetime on the earth she
had forgotten them, and also the moon-world to which she belonged. It made
her weep, she said, to think of leaving her kind foster- parents, and the
home where she had been happy for so long.
When her attendants heard this they were very sad, and could not eat or
drink for sadness at the thought that the Princess was so soon to leave
them.
The Emperor, as soon as the news was carried to him, sent messengers to
the house to find out if the report were true or not.
The old bamboo-cutter went out to meet the Imperial messengers. The last
few days of sorrow had told upon the old man; he had aged greatly, and looked
much more than his seventy years. Weeping bitterly, he told them that the
report was only too true, but he intended, however, to make prisoners of the
envoys from the moon, and to do all he could to prevent the Princess from
being carried back.
The men returned and told His Majesty all that had passed. On
the fifteenth day of that month the Emperor sent a guard of two
thousand warriors to watch the house. One thousand stationed themselves
on the roof, another thousand kept watch round all the entrances of
the house. All were well trained archers, with bows and arrows.
The bamboo-cutter and his wife hid Princess Moonlight in an inner room.
The old man gave orders that no one was to sleep that night, all in the
house were to keep a strict watch, and be ready to protect the Princess. With
these precautions, and the help of the Emperor's men- at-arms, he hoped to
withstand the moon-messengers, but the Princess told him that all these
measures to keep her would be useless, and that when her people came for her
nothing whatever could prevent them from carrying out their purpose. Even the
Emperors men would be powerless. Then she added with tears that she was very,
very sorry to leave him and his wife, whom she had learned to love as
her parents, that if she could do as she liked she would stay with them in
their old age, and try to make some return for all the love and kindness they
had showered upon her during all her earthly life.
The night wore on! The yellow harvest moon rose high in the
heavens, flooding the world asleep with her golden light. Silence
reigned over the pine and the bamboo forests, and on the roof where
the thousand men-at-arms waited.
Then the night grew gray towards the dawn and all hoped that the danger
was over—that Princess Moonlight would not have to leave them after all.
Then suddenly the watchers saw a cloud form round the moon—and while they
looked this cloud began to roll earthwards. Nearer and nearer it came, and
every one saw with dismay that its course lay towards the house.
In a short time the sky was entirely obscured, till at last the cloud
lay over the dwelling only ten feet off the ground. In the midst of the cloud
there stood a flying chariot, and in the chariot a band of luminous beings.
One amongst them who looked like a king and appeared to be the chief stepped
out of the chariot, and, poised in air, called to the old man to come
out.
"The time has come," he said, "for Princess Moonlight to return to the
moon from whence she came. She committed a grave fault, and as a punishment
was sent to live down here for a time. We know what good care you have taken
of the Princess, and we have rewarded you for this and have sent you wealth
and prosperity. We put the gold in the bamboos for you to find."
"I have brought up this Princess for twenty years and never once has she
done a wrong thing, therefore the lady you are seeking cannot be this one,"
said the old man. "I pray you to look elsewhere."
Then the messenger called aloud, saying:
"Princess Moonlight, come out from this lowly dwelling. Rest not here
another moment,"
At these words the screens of the Princess's room slid open of their own
accord, revealing the Princess shining in her own radiance, bright and
wonderful and full of beauty.
The messenger led her forth and placed her in the chariot. She looked
back, and saw with pity the deep sorrow of the old man. She spoke to him many
comforting words, and told him that it was not her will to leave him and that
he must always think of her when looking at the moon.
The bamboo-cutter implored to be allowed to accompany her, but this was
not allowed. The Princess took off her embroidered outer garment and gave it
to him as a keepsake.
One of the moon beings in the chariot held a wonderful coat of wings,
another had a phial full of the Elixir of Life which was given the Princess
to drink. She swallowed a little and was about to give the rest to the old
man, but she was prevented from doing so.
The robe of wings was about to be put upon her shoulders, but
she said:
"Wait a little. I must not forget my good friend the Emperor. I
must write him once more to say good-by while still in this human
form."
In spite of the impatience of the messengers and charioteers she kept
them waiting while she wrote. She placed the phial of the Elixir of Life with
the letter, and, giving them to the old man, she asked him to deliver them to
the Emperor.
Then the chariot began to roll heavenwards towards the moon, and as they
all gazed with tearful eyes at the receding Princess, the dawn broke, and in
the rosy light of day the moon-chariot and all in it were lost amongst the
fleecy clouds that were now wafted across the sky on the wings of the morning
wind.
Princess Moonlight's letter was carried to the Palace. His Majesty was
afraid to touch the Elixir of Life, so he sent it with the letter to the top
of the most sacred mountain in the land. Mount Fuji, and there the Royal
emissaries burnt it on the summit at sunrise. So to this day people say there
is smoke to be seen rising from the top of Mount Fuji to the clouds.
A STORY OF OLD JAPAN.
Long years ago in old Japan there lived in the Province of Echigo,
a very remote part of Japan even in these days, a man and his wife. When
this story begins they had been married for some years and were blessed with
one little daughter. She was the joy and pride of both their lives, and in
her they stored an endless source of happiness for their old age.
What golden letter days in their memory were these that had marked her
growing up from babyhood; the visit to the temple when she was just thirty
days old, her proud mother carrying her, robed in ceremonial kimono, to be
put under the patronage of the family's household god; then her first dolls
festival, when her parents gave her a set of dolls' and their miniature
belongings, to be added to as year succeeded year; and perhaps the most
important occasion of all, on her third birthday, when her first OBI (broad
brocade sash) of scarlet and gold was tied round her small waist, a sign that
she had crossed the threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind.
Now that she was seven years of age, and had learned to talk and to
wait upon her parents in those several little ways so dear to the
hearts of fond parents, their cup of happiness seemed full. There could
not be found in the whole of the Island Empire a happier little family.
One day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been
suddenly summoned to the capital on business. In these days of railways and
jinrickshas and other rapid modes of traveling, it is difficult to realize
what such a journey as that from Matsuyama to Kyoto meant. The roads were
rough and bad, and ordinary people had to walk every step of the way, whether
the distance were one hundred or several hundred miles. Indeed, in those days
it was as great an undertaking to go up to the capital as it is for a
Japanese to make a voyage to Europe now.
So the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for
the long journey, knowing what an arduous task lay before him. Vainly she
wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great for the
mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the wife's duty to take care
of the home.
All was ready at last, and the husband stood in the porch with
his little family round him.
"Do not be anxious, I will come back soon," said the man. "While I am
away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter."
"Yes. we shall be all right—but you—you must take care of yourself and
delay not a day in coming back to us," said the wife, while the tears fell
like rain from her eyes.
The little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the
sorrow of parting, and did not know that going to the capital was at all
different from walking to the next village, which her father did very often.
She ran to his side, and caught hold of his long sleeve to keep him a
moment.
"Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back, so
please bring me a present."
As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife
and smiling, eager child, he felt as if some one were pulling him back by
the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never
been separated before. But he knew that he must go, for the call was
imperative. With a great effort he ceased to think, and resolutely turning
away he went quickly down the little garden and out through the gate. His
wife, catching up the child in her arms, ran as far as the gate, and watched
him as he went down the road between the pines till he was lost in the haze
of the distance and all she could see was his quaint peaked hat, and at last
that vanished too.
"Now father has gone, you and I must take care of everything till
he comes back," said the mother, as she made her way back to the house.
"Yes, I will be very good," said the child, nodding her head, "and when
father comes home please tell him how good I have been, and then perhaps he
will give me a present."
"Father is sure to bring you something that you want very much. I know,
for I asked him to bring you a doll. You must think of father every day, and
pray for a safe journey till he comes back."
"O, yes, when he comes home again how happy I shall be," said the child,
clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the glad thought.
It seemed to the mother as she looked at the child's face that her love for
her grew deeper and deeper.
Then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them.
She set up her simple wooden spinning-wheel and spun the thread before she
began to weave the stuffs. In the intervals of her work she directed the
little girl's games and taught her to read the old stories of her country.
Thus did the wife find consolation in work during the lonely days of her
husband's absence. While the time was thus slipping quickly by in the quiet
home, the husband finished his business and returned.
It would have been difficult for any one who did not know the man well
to recognize him. He had traveled day after day, exposed to all weathers, for
about a month altogether, and was sunburnt to bronze, but his fond wife and
child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from either side, each
catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager greeting. Both the man and
his wife rejoiced to find each other well. It seemed a very long time to all
till—the mother and child helping—his straw sandals were untied, his large
umbrella hat taken off, and he was again in their midst in the old
familiar sitting-room that had been so empty while he was away.
As soon as they had sat down on the white mats, the father opened
a bamboo basket that he had brought in with him, and took out a beautiful
doll and a lacquer box full of cakes.
"Here," he said to the little girl, "is a present for you. It is a prize
for taking care of mother and the house so well while I was away."
"Thank you," said the child, as she bowed her head to the ground, and
then put out her hand just like a little maple leaf with its eager
wide-spread fingers to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming from
the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. No words can tell
how delighted the little girl was—her face seemed as if it would melt with
joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything else.
Again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time
a square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string,
and handing it to his wife, said:
"And this is for you."
The wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disk
with a handle attached. One side was bright and shining like a crystal, and
the other was covered with raised figures of pine-trees and storks, which had
been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality. Never had she seen
such a thing in her life, for she had been born and bred in the rural
province of Echigo. She gazed into the shining disk, and looking up with
surprise and wonder pictured on her face, she said:
"I see somebody looking at me in this round thing! What is it that you
have given me "
The husband laughed and said:
"Why, it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you
is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their
own form reflected there. Although there are none to be found in this out of
the way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the most ancient
times. There the mirror is considered a very necessary requisite for a woman
to possess. There is an old proverb that 'As the sword is the soul of a
samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman,' and according to popular
tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her own heart—if she keeps it
bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. It is also one of
the treasures that form the insignia of the Emperor. So you must lay great
store by your mirror, and use it carefully."
The wife listened to all her husband told her, and was pleased
at learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the
precious gift—his token of remembrance while he had been away.
"If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a
valuable possession, and never will I use it carelessly." Saying so, she
lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of the gift,
and then shut it up in its box and put it away.
The wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the
evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him. It
seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was
before, so glad were they to be together again, and this evening the father
had much to tell of his journey and of all he had seen at the great
capital.
Time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their fondest
hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of
sixteen. As a gem of priceless value is held in its proud owner's hand, so
had they reared her with unceasing love and care: and now their pains were
more than doubly rewarded. What a comfort she was to her mother as she went
about the house taking her part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father
was of her, for she daily reminded him of her mother when he had first
married her.
But, alas! in this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is
not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time,
and flowers bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this
family was broken up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle wife and
mother was one day taken ill.
In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it
was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days went by and
still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse, and the doctor was
puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor woman grew weaker day by day.
The father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl
never left her mother's side. But in spite of all their efforts the woman's
life was not to be saved.
One day as the girl sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with
a cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused herself
and taking her daughter's hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes.
Her breath was labored and she spoke with difficulty:
"My daughter. I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead,
promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and
dutiful woman."
"Oh, mother," said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you must
not say such things. All you have to do is to make haste and get well—that
will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself."
"Yes, I know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know
how greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. Do
not look so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state
of existence that I should die in this life just at this time;
knowing this, I am quite resigned to my fate. And now I have something
to give you whereby to remember me when I am gone."
Putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a
square wooden box tied up with a silken cord and tassels. Undoing this
very carefully, she took out of the box the mirror that her husband
had given her years ago.
"When you were still a little child your father went up to the capital
and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror. This I
give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this life, you are
lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the
clear and shining surface you will always see me—so will you be able to meet
with me often and tell me all your heart; and though I shall not be able to
speak, I shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may happen to you
in the future." With these words the dying woman handed the mirror to her
daughter.
The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back
without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day.
The bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief, and
they abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. They felt it to
be impossible to take leave of the loved woman who till now had
filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But
this frantic burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their
own hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. In spite of this
the daughter's life seemed to her desolate. Her love for her dead mother did
not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance, that everything in
daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind,
reminded her of her mother's death and of all that they had loved and shared
together. One day when her father was out, and she was fulfilling her
household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could
bear. She threw herself down in her mother's room and wept as if her heart
would break. Poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the
loved face, one sound of the voice calling her pet name, or for
one moment's forgetfulness of the aching void in her heart. Suddenly
she sat up. Her mother's last words had rung through her memory
hitherto dulled by grief.
"Oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift,
that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her— to see her. I
had nearly forgotten her last words—how stupid I am; I will get the mirror
now and see if it can possibly be true!"
She dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box
that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she lifted
the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. Behold, her mother's words
were true! In the round mirror before her she saw her mother's face; but, oh,
the joyful surprise! It was not her mother thin and wasted by illness, but
the young and beautiful woman as she remembered her far back in the days of
her own earliest childhood. It seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror
must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother telling her
again to grow up a good woman and a dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the
eyes in the mirror look back into her own.
"It is certainly my mother's soul that I see. She knows how miserable I
am without her and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see her she
will meet me here; how grateful I ought to be!"
And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her
young heart. Every morning, to gather strength for the day's duties before
her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to rest, did the
young girl take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection which in the
simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother's soul. Daily
she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's character, and was gentle and
kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father.
A year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household,
when, by the advice of his relations, the man married again, and the daughter
now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. It was a trying
position; but her days spent in the recollection of her own beloved mother,
and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be, had made the young
girl docile and patient, and she now determined to be filial and dutiful to
her father's wife, in all respects. Everything went on apparently smoothly
in the family for some time under the new regime; there were no winds or
waves of discord to ruffle the surface of every-day life, and the father was
content.
But it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and step-mothers are
proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not as her first
smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months, the step-mother began to
treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and
child.
Sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her step- daughter's
behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice
of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his affection for his
daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her the
more. The woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely
child than before. This did not please her at all, and she began to turn over
in her mind how she could, by some means or other, drive her step-child
out of the house. So crooked did the woman's heart become.
She watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in the
early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of which to
accuse the child to her father. The woman herself was a little frightened too
at what she had seen.
So she went at once to her husband, and wiping away some false tears she
said in a sad voice:
"Please give me permission to leave you today."
The man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of
her request, and wondered whatever was the matter.
"Do you find it so disagreeable," he asked, "in my house, that you can
stay no longer?"
"No! no! it has nothing to do with you—even in my dreams I have never
thought that I wished to leave your side; but if I go on living here I am in
danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned that you
should allow me to go home!"
And the woman began to weep afresh. Her husband, distressed to see her
so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard aright, said:
"Tell me what you mean! How is your life in danger here?"
"I will tell you since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as
her step-mother. For some time past she has shut herself up in her
room morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that
she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art, cursing me
daily. It is not safe for me to stay here, such being the case; indeed,
indeed, I must go away, we cannot live under the same roof any more."
The husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his
gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that by popular
superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of
another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily; but where
had his young daughter learned such knowledge?—the thing was impossible. Yet
he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed much in her room of
late and kept herself away from every one, even when visitors came to the
house. Putting this fact together with his wife's alarm, he thought
that there might be something to account for the strange story.
His heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child, and
he knew not what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter and try to
find out the truth. Comforting his wife and assuring her that her fears were
groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's room.
The girl had for a long time past been very unhappy. She had tried by
amiability and obedience to show her goodwill and to mollify the new wife,
and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding that she knew
generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. But she soon
found that her efforts were in vain. The step-mother never trusted her, and
seemed to misinterpret all her actions, and the poor child knew very well
that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not
help comparing her present unhappy condition with the time when her
own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago—so great a change
in this short time! Morning and evening she wept over the remembrance.
Whenever she could she went to her room, and sliding the screens to, took out
the mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother's face. It was the only
comfort that she had in these wretched days.
Her father found her occupied in this way. Pushing aside the fusama, he
saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her
shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her
father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak to her. She was
also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told
any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept it as the sacred secret of
her heart. So before turning to her father she slipped the mirror into her
long sleeve. Her father noting her confusion, and her act of
hiding something, said in a severe manner:
"Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is that that you
have hidden in your sleeve?"
The girl was frightened by her father's severity. Never had he spoken to
her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to apprehension, her color from
scarlet to white. She sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply.
Appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty,
and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told him was
true, spoke angrily:
"Then, is it really true that you are daily cursing your step-mother and
praying for her death? Have you forgotten what I told you, that although she
is your step-mother you must he obedient and loyal to her? What evil spirit
has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? You have
certainly changed, my daughter! What has made you so disobedient and
unfaithful?"
And the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should
have to upbraid his daughter in this way.
She on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of
the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the
death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear herself
somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his
anger. She put out her hand on his knee deprecatingly:
"Father! father! do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your
obedient child. Indeed, I am. However stupid I may be, I should never be able
to curse any one who belonged to you, much less pray for the death of one you
love. Surely some one has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you
know not what you say—or some evil spirit has taken possession of YOUR
heart. As for me I do not know— no, not so much as a dew-drop, of the evil
thing of which you accuse me."
But the father remembered that she had hidden something away when
he first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy
him. He wished to clear up his doubts once for all.
"Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me what
is that that you have hidden in your sleeve—show it to me at once."
Then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her
mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear
herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and laid it
before him.
"This," she said, "is what you saw me looking at just now."
"Why," he said in great surprise." this is the mirror that I brought as
a gift to your mother when I went up to the capital many years ago! And so
you have kept it all this time? Now, why do you spend so much of your time
before this mirror?"
Then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she
had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass.
But still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's
character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in
reality her own face, and not that of her mother.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I do not understand how you can meet the
soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?"
"It is indeed true," said the girl: "and if you don't believe what
I say, look for yourself," and she placed the mirror before her. There,
looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. She pointed
to the reflection seriously:
"Do you doubt me still?" she asked earnestly, looking up into
his face.
With an exclamation of sudden understanding the father smote his
two hands together.
"How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like
your mother's as the two sides of a melon—thus you have looked at
the reflection of your face ail this time, thinking that you were brought
face to face with your lost mother! You are truly a faithful child. It seems
at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, It shows how
deep has been your filialpiety, and how innocent your heart. Living in
constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in
character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do this. I admire and
respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think that for one instant I
believed your suspicious step-mother's story and suspected you of evil,
and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time
you have been so true and good. Before you I have no countenance left, and I
beg you to forgive me."
And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must
have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother's
treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and simplicity in the
midst of such adverse circumstances—bearing all her troubles with so much
patience and amiability—made him compare her to the lotus which rears its
blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the moats and ponds,
fitting emblem of a heart which keeps itself unsullied while passing through
the world.
The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while
been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had gradually
pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that went on. At this
moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to the mats, she bowed her
head over her outspread hands before her step-daughter.
"I am ashamed! I am ashamed!" she exclaimed in broken tones. "I did not
know what n filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with a
step-mother's jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating you so
much myself, it was but natural that I should think you reciprocated the
feeling, and thus when I saw you retire so often to your room I followed you,
and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror for long intervals, I concluded
that you had found out how I disliked you, and that you were out of revenge
trying to take my life by magic art. As long as I live I shall never
forget the wrong I have done you in so misjudging you, and in causing
your father to suspect you. From this day I throw away my old and
wicked heart, and in its place I put a new one, clean and full
of repentance. I shall think of you as a child that I have borne myself. I
shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and thus try to make up for all
the unhappiness I have caused you. Therefore, please throw into the water all
that has gone before, and give me, I beg of you, some of the filial love that
you have hitherto given to your own lost mother."
Thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of
the girl she had so wronged.
Such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she
willingly forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment's resentment
or malice towards her afterwards. The father saw by his wife's face that
she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the
terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and
the wronged.
From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in water.
No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually
forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her
step-mother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness were rewarded at
last.
Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in
the province of Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by
a cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. From time to
time many travelers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the
old women round the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the
girls washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings,
whispered dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to
the goblin's cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on
human flesh. No one dared to venture near the haunted spot after
sunset, and all those who could, avoided it in the daytime, and
travelers were warned of the dreaded place.
One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was
a belated traveler, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist
pilgrim walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to
crave for forgiveness of sins. He had apparently lost his way, and as
it was late he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the
haunted spot.
He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and
the evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very
anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night's lodging. He found
himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in vain for
some sign of human habitation.
At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees
in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer of a
single ray of light. He exclaimed with joy:
"Oh. surely that is some cottage where I can get a night's lodging!"
Keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as
quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a miserable-looking
little cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in a tumble-down
condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and grass pushed their way
through the gaps. The paper screens which serve as windows and doors in Japan
were full of holes, and the posts of the house were bent with age and seemed
scarcely able to support the old thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the
light of an old lantern an old woman sat industriously spinning.
The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:
"O Baa San (old woman), good evening! I am a traveler! Please excuse me,
but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have nowhere to rest
to-night. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend the night under your
roof."
The old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning,
rose from her seat and approached the intruder.
"I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have
lost your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately
I cannot put you up, for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation
whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!"
"Oh, that does not matter," said the priest; "all I want is a shelter
under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to let me
lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to walk further
to-night, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I shall have to sleep
out on the cold plain." And in this way he pressed the old woman to let him
stay.
She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:
"Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very
poor welcome only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the
night is cold."
The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off
his sandals and entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of
wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.
"You must be hungry after your long tramp," said the old woman. "I will
go and cook some supper for you." She then went to the kitchen to cook some
rice.
After the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the
fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim thought to
himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a kind, hospitable
old woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire died slowly down he
began to shiver with cold just as he had done when he arrived.
"I see you are cold," said the old woman; "I will go out and gather some
wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the house while
I am gone."
"No, no," said the pilgrim, "let me go instead, for you are old, and I
cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!"
The old woman shook her head and said:
"You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest." Then she left him
and went out.
In a minute she came back and said:
"You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens don't go
near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell you!"
"If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won't," said
the priest, rather bewildered.
The old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. The
fire had died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim lantern.
For the first time that night he began to feel that he was in a weird place,
and the old woman's words, "Whatever you do don't peep into the back room,"
aroused his curiosity and his fear.
What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him
to see? For some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept
him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep into
the forbidden place.
He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then
the thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if
he disobeyed her made him come back to his place by the fireside.
As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he began
to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful secret was in
the room behind him. He must find out.
"She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will
just have a peep before she comes back," said the man to himself.
With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all this
time in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily crept
towards the forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back the sliding
door and looked in. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. The room was
full of dead men's bones and the walls were splashed and the floor was
covered with human blood. In one corner skull upon skull rose to the ceiling,
in another was a heap of arm bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The
sickening smell made him faint. He fell backwards with horror, and for
some time lay in a heap with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight.
He trembled all over and his teeth chattered, and he could hardly
crawl away from the dreadful spot.
"How horrible!" he cried out. "What awful den have I come to in
my travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind
old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will show
herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!"
With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his hat
and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him.
Out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as he could from the
goblin's haunt. He had not gone far when he heard steps behind him and a
voice crying: "Stop! stop!"
He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran he
heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he recognized
the old woman's voice which grew louder and louder as she came nearer.
"Stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the
forbidden room?"
The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over
the ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that
if the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his
heart he repeated the prayer to Buddha:
"Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu."
And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind,
and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her hand she
carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked after him, "Stop!
stop!"
At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and
with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The priest
now knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story of whom he had
often heard but never believed to be true. He felt that he owed his wonderful
escape to the protection of Buddha to whom he had prayed for help, so he took
out his rosary and bowing his head as the sun rose he said his prayers and
made his thanksgiving earnestly. He then set forward for another part of
the country, only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him.
Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan,
a traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey and
showing off the animal's tricks.
One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to
send for the butcher the next morning.
The wife was very bewildered and asked her husband:
"Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?"
"It's no use taking that monkey round any longer, he's too old
and forgets his tricks. I beat him with my stick all I know how, but
he won't dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what
money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done."
The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for
her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in vain, the man
was determined to sell him to the butcher.
Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard ever word of
the conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he said
to himself:
"Barbarous, indeed, is my master! Here I have served him faithfully for
years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in peace, he
is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body is to be
roasted and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am I to do. Ah! a bright
thought has struck me! There is, I know, a wild bear living in the forest
near by. I have often heard tell of his wisdom. Perhaps if I go to him and
tell him the strait I am in he will give me his counsel. I will go and
try."
There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and ran
as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar was at home,
and the monkey began his tale of woe at once.
"Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in
great trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service
of my master, and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to sell
me to the butcher. What do you advise me to do? I know how clever you
are!"
The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey.
He thought for a little while and then said:
"Hasn't your master a baby?"
"Oh, yes," said the monkey, "he has one infant son."
"Doesn't it lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins the
work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my opportunity
I will seize the child and run off with it."
"What then?" said the monkey.
"Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master
and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and rescue the child and
take it home safely to its parents, and you will see that when the butcher
comes they won't have the heart to sell you."
The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did not
sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the morrow. His
life depended on whether the boar's plan succeeded or not. He was the first
up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. It seemed to him a very long
time before his master's wife began to move about and open the shutters to
let in the light of day. Then all happened as the boar had planned. The
mother placed her child near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house
and got her breakfast ready.
The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the
mats at the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise in the porch
and a loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from the kitchen to the
spot, only just in time to see the boar disappearing through the gate with
her child in its clutch. She flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair
and rushed into the inner room where her husband was still sleeping
soundly.
He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his wife
was making all that noise about. By the time that the man was alive to what
had happened, and they both got outside the gate, the boar had got well away,
but they saw the monkey running after the thief as hard as his legs would
carry him.
Both the man and wife were moved to admiration at the plucky conduct of
the sagacious monkey, and their gratitude knew no bounds when the faithful
monkey brought the child safely back to their arms.
"There!" said the wife. "This is the animal you want to kill—if
the monkey hadn't been here we should have lost our child forever."
"You are right, wife, for once," said the man as he carried the child
into the house. "You may send the butcher back when he comes, and now give us
all a good breakfast and the monkey too."
When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some boar's
meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and lived the rest of
his days in peace, nor did his master ever strike him again.
Long, long ago Japan was governed by Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto
(or Augustness) in descent from the illustrious Amaterasu, the
Sun Goddess. He was not only as handsome as his ancestress was beautiful,
but he was also very strong and brave, and was famous for being the greatest
hunter in the land. Because of his matchless skill as a hunter, he was called
"Yama-sachi-hiko" or "The Happy Hunter of the Mountains."
His elder brother was a very skillful fisher, and as he far surpassed
all rivals in fishing, he was named "Unii-sachi-hiko" or the "Skillful Fisher
of the Sea." The brothers thus led happy lives, thoroughly enjoying their
respective occupations, and the days passed quickly and pleasantly while each
pursued his own way, the one hunting and the other fishing.
One day the Happy Hunter came to his brother, the Skillful Fisher, and
said:
"Well, my brother, I see you go to the sea every day with your fishing
rod in your hand, and when you return you come laden with fish. And as for
me, it is my pleasure to take my bow and arrow and to hunt the wild animals
up the mountains and down in the valleys. For a long time we have each
followed our favorite occupation, so that now we must both be tired, you of
your fishing and I of my hunting. Would it not be wise for us to make a
change? Will you try hunting in the mountains and I will go and fish in the
sea?"
The Skillful Fisher listened in silence to his brother, and for a moment
was thoughtful, but at last he answered:
"O yes, why not? Your idea is not a bad one at all. Give me your bow and
arrow and I will set out at once for the mountains and hunt for game."
So the matter was settled by this talk, and the two brothers
each started out to try the other's occupation, little dreaming of
all that would happen. It was very unwise of them, for the Happy
Hunter knew nothing of fishing, and the Skillful Fisher, who was
bad tempered, knew as much about hunting.
The Happy Hunter took his brother's much-prized fishing hook and rod and
went down to the seashore and sat down on the rocks. He baited his hook and
then threw it into the sea clumsily. He sat and gazed at the little float
bobbing up and down in the water, and longed for a good fish to come and be
caught. Every time the buoy moved a little he pulled up his rod, but there
was never a fish at the end of it, only the hook and the bait. If he had
known how to fish properly, he would have been able to catch plenty of fish,
but although he was the greatest hunter in the land he could not
help being the most bungling fisher.
The whole day passed in this way, while he sat on the rocks holding the
fishing rod and waiting in vain for his luck to turn. At last the day began
to darken, and the evening came; still he had caught not a single fish.
Drawing up his line for the last time before going home, he found that he had
lost his hook without even knowing when he had dropped it.
He now began to feel extremely anxious, for he knew that his
brother would be angry at his having lost his hook, for, it being his
only one, he valued it above all other things. The Happy Hunter now set to
work to look among the rocks and on the sand for the lost hook, and while he
was searching to and fro, his brother, the Skillful Fisher, arrived on the
scene. He had failed to find any game while hunting that day, and was not
only in a bad temper, but looked fearfully cross. When he saw the Happy
Hunter searching about on the shore he knew that something must have gone
wrong, so he said at once:
"What are you doing, my brother?"
The Happy Hunter went forward timidly, for he feared his
brother's anger, and said:
"Oh, my brother, I have indeed done badly."
"What is the matter?—what have you done?" asked the elder
brother impatiently.
"I have lost your precious fishing hook—"
While he was still speaking his brother stopped him, and cried
out fiercely:
"Lost my hook! It is just what I expected. For this reason, when
you first proposed your plan of changing over our occupations I was really
against it, but you seemed to wish it so much that I gave in and allowed you
to do as you wished. The mistake of our trying unfamiliar tasks is soon seen!
And you have done badly. I will not return you your bow and arrow till you
have found my hook. Look to it that you find it and return it to me
quickly."
The Happy Hunter felt that he was to blame for all that had come
to pass, and bore his brother's scornful scolding with humility
and patience. He hunted everywhere for the hook most diligently, but
it was nowhere to be found. He was at last obliged to give up all hope of
finding it. He then went home, and in desperation broke his beloved sword
into pieces and made five hundred hooks out of it.
He took these to his angry brother and offered them to him, asking his
forgiveness, and begging him to accept them in the place of the one he had
lost for him. It was useless; his brother would not listen to him, much less
grant his request.
The Happy Hunter then made another five hundred hooks, and again took
them to his brother, beseeching him to pardon him.
"Though you make a million hooks," said the Skillful Fisher, shaking his
head, "they are of no use to me. I cannot forgive you unless you bring me
back my own hook."
Nothing would appease the anger of the Skillful Fisher, for he had a bad
disposition, and had always hated his brother because of his virtues, and now
with the excuse of the lost fishing hook he planned to kill him and to usurp
his place as ruler of Japan. The Happy Hunter knew all this full well, but he
could say nothing, for being the younger he owed his elder brother obedience;
so he returned to the seashore and once more began to look for the missing
hook. He was much cast down, for he had lost all hope of ever finding
his brother's hook now. While he stood on the beach, lost in
perplexity and wondering what he had best do next, an old man suddenly
appeared carrying a stick in his hand. The Happy Hunter afterwards
remembered that he did not see from whence the old man came, neither did
he know how he was there—he happened to look up and saw the old
man coming towards him.
"You are Hohodemi, the Augustness, sometimes called the Happy Hunter,
are you not?" asked the old man. "What are you doing alone in such a
place?"
"Yes, I am he," answered the unhappy young man. "Unfortunately, while
fishing I lost my brother's precious fishing hook. I have hunted this shore
all over, but alas! I cannot find it, and I am very troubled, for my brother
won't forgive me till I restore it to him. But who are you?"
"My name is Shiwozuchino Okina, and I live near by on this shore. I am
sorry to hear what misfortune has befallen you. You must indeed be anxious.
But if I tell you what I think, the hook is nowhere here—it is either at the
bottom of the sea or in the body of some fish who has swallowed it, and for
this reason, though you spend your whole life in looking for it here, you
will never find it."
"Then what can I do?" asked the distressed man.
"You had better go down to Ryn Gu and tell Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of
the Sea, what your trouble is and ask him to find the hook for you. I think
that would be the best way."
"Your idea is a splendid one," said the Happy Hunter, "but I fear
I cannot get to the Sea King's realm, for I have always heard that it is
situated at the bottom of the sea."
"Oh, there will be no difficulty about your getting there," said the old
man; "I can soon make something for you to ride on through the sea."
"Thank you," said the Happy Hunter, "I shall be very grateful to you if
you will be so kind."
The old man at once set to work, and soon made a basket and offered it
to the Happy Hunter. He received it with joy, and taking it to the water,
mounted it, and prepared to start. He bade good by to the kind old man who
had helped him so much, and told him that he would certainly reward him as
soon as he found his hook and could return to Japan without fear of his
brother's anger. The old man pointed out the direction he must take, and told
him how to reach the realm of Ryn Gu, and watched him ride out to sea on the
basket, which resembled a small boat.
The Happy Hunter made all the haste he could, riding on the basket which
had been given him by his friend. His queer boat seemed to go through the
water of its own accord, and the distance was much shorter than he had
expected, for in a few hours he caught sight of the gate and the roof of the
Sea King's Palace. And what a large place it was, with its numberless sloping
roofs and gables, its huge gateways, and its gray stone walls! He soon
landed, and leaving his basket on the beach, he walked up to the large
gateway. The pillars of the gate were made of beautiful red coral, and the
gate itself was adorned with glittering gems of all kinds. Large katsura
trees overshadowed it. Our hero had often heard of the wonders of the
Sea King's Palace beneath the sea, but all the stories he had ever
heard fell short of the reality which he now saw for the first time.
The Happy Hunter would have liked to enter the gate there and then, but
he saw that it was fast closed, and also that there was no one about whom he
could ask to open it for him, so he stopped to think what he should do. In
the shade of the trees before the gate he noticed a well full of fresh spring
water. Surely some one would come out to draw water from the well some time,
he thought. Then he climbed into the tree overhanging the well, and seated
himself to rest on one of the branches, and waited for what might happen.
Ere long he saw the huge gate swing open, and two beautiful women
came out. Now the Mikoto (Augustness) had always heard that Ryn Gu was the
realm of the Dragon King under the Sea, and had naturally supposed that the
place was inhabited by dragons and similar terrible creatures, so that when
he saw these two lovely princesses, whose beauty would be rare even in the
world from which he had just come, he was exceedingly surprised, and wondered
what it could mean.
He said not a word, however, but silently gazed at them through
the foliage of the trees, waiting to see what they would do. He saw
that in their hands they carried golden buckets. Slowly and gracefully
in their trailing garments they approached the well, standing in the shade
of the katsura trees, and were about to draw water, all unknowing of the
stranger who was watching them, for the Happy Hunter was quite hidden among
the branches of the tree where he had posted himself.
As the two ladies leaned over the side of the well to let down
their golden buckets, which they did every day in the year, they
saw reflected in the deep still water the face of a handsome youth gazing
at them from amidst the branches of the tree in whose shade they stood. Never
before had they seen the face of mortal man; they were frightened, and drew
back quickly with their golden buckets in their hands. Their curiosity,
however, soon gave them courage, and they glanced timidly upwards to see the
cause of the unusual reflection, and then they beheld the Happy Hunter
sitting in the tree looking down at them with surprise and admiration. They
gazed at him face to face, but their tongues were still with wonder
and could not find a word to say to him.
When the Mikoto saw that he was discovered, he sprang down lightly from
the tree and said:
"I am a traveler, and as I was very thirsty I came to the well in the
hopes of quenching my thirst, but I could find no bucket with which to draw
the water. So I climbed into the tree, much vexed, and waited for some one to
come. Just at that moment, while I was thirstily and impatiently waiting, you
noble ladies appeared, as if in answer to my great need. Therefore I pray you
of your mercy give me some water to drink, for I am a thirsty traveler in a
strange land."
His dignity and graciousness overruled their timidity, and bowing
in silence they both once more approached the well, and letting down their
golden buckets drew up some water and poured it into a jeweled cup and
offered it to the stranger.
He received it from them with both hands, raising it to the height of
his forehead in token of high respect and pleasure, and then drank the water
quickly, for his thirst was great. When he had finished his long draught he
set the cup down on the edge of the well, and drawing his short sword he cut
off one of the strange curved jewels (magatama), a necklace of which hung
round his neck and fell over his breast. He placed the jewel in the cup
and returned it to them, and said, bowing deeply:
"This is a token of my thanks!"
The two ladies took the cup, and looking into it to see what he had put
inside—for they did not yet know what it was—they gave a start of surprise,
for there lay a beautiful gem at the bottom of the cup.
"No ordinary mortal would give away a jewel so freely. Will you
not honor us by telling us who you are?" said the elder damsel.
"Certainly," said the Happy Hunter, "I am Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto,
also called in Japan, the Happy Hunter."
"Are you indeed Hohodemi, the grandson of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess?"
asked the damsel who had spoken first. "I am the eldest daughter of Ryn Jin,
the King of the Sea, and my name is Princess Tayotama."
"And," said the younger maiden, who at last found her tongue, "I am her
sister, the Princess Tamayori."
"Are you indeed the daughters of Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea? I cannot
tell you how glad I am to meet you," said the Happy Hunter. And without
waiting for them to reply he went on:
"The other day I went fishing with my brother's hook and dropped
it, how, I am sure I can't tell. As my brother prizes his fishing
hook above all his other possessions, this is the greatest calamity
that could have befallen me. Unless I find it again I can never hope
to win my brother's forgiveness, for he is very angry at what I have done.
I have searched for it many, many times, but I cannot find it, therefore I am
much troubled. While I was hunting for the hook, in great distress, I met a
wise old man, and he told me that the best thing I could do was to come to
Ryn Gu, and to Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, and ask him to help me.
This kind old man also showed me how to come. Now you know how it is I am
here and why. I want to ask Ryn Jin, if he knows where the lost hook is. Will
you be so kind as to take me to your father? And do you think he will
see me?" asked the Happy Hunter anxiously.
Princess Tayotama listened to this long story, and then said:
"Not only is it easy for you to see my father, but he will be
much pleased to meet you. I am sure he will say that good fortune
has befallen him, that so great and noble a man as you, the grandson
of Amaterasu. should come down to the bottom of the sea." And then turning
to her younger sister, she said:
"Do you not think so, Tamayori?"
"Yes, indeed," answered the Princess Tamayori, in her sweet voice. "As
you say, we can know no greater honor than to welcome the Mikoto to our
home."
"Then I ask you to be so kind as to lead the way," said the
Happy Hunter.
"Condescend to enter, Mikoto (Augustness)," said both the sisters, and
bowing low, they led him through the gate.
The younger Princess left her sister to take charge of the Happy Hunter,
and going faster than they, she reached the Sea King's Palace first, and
running quickly to her father's room, she told him of all that had happened
to them at the gate, and that her sister was even now bringing the Augustness
to him. The Dragon King of the Sea was much surprised at the news, for it was
but seldom, perhaps only once in several hundred years, that the Sea King's
Palace was visited by mortals.
Ryn Jin at once clapped his hands and summoned all his courtiers and the
servants of the Palace, and the chief fish of the sea together, and solemnly
told them that the grandson of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, was coming to the
Palace, and that they must be very ceremonious and polite in serving the
august visitor. He then ordered them all to the entrance of the Palace to
welcome the Happy Hunter.
Ryn Jin then dressed himself in his robes of ceremony, and went out to
welcome him. In a few moments the Princess Tayotama and the Happy Hunter
reached the entrance, and the Sea King and his wife bowed to the ground and
thanked him for the honor he did them in coming to see them. The Sea King
then led the Happy Hunter to the guest room, and placing him in the uppermost
seat, he bowed respectfully before him, and said:
"I am Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, and this is my
wife. Condescend to remember us forever!"
"Are you indeed Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea, of whom I have so often
heard?" answered the Happy Hunter, saluting his host most ceremoniously. "I
must apologize for all the trouble I am giving you by my unexpected visit."
And he bowed again, and thanked the Sea King.
"You need not thank me," said Ryn Jin. "It is I who must thank you for
coming. Although the Sea Palace is a poor place, as you see, I shall be
highly honored if you will make us a long visit."
There was much gladness between the Sea King and the Happy Hunter, and
they sat and talked for a long time. At last the Sea King clapped his hands,
and then a huge retinue of fishes appeared, all robed in ceremonial garments,
and bearing in their fins various trays on which all kinds of sea delicacies
were served. A great feast was now spread before the King and his Royal
guest. All the fishes-in-waiting were chosen from amongst the finest fish in
the sea, so you can imagine what a wonderful array of sea creatures it was
that waited upon the Happy Hunter that day. All in the Palace tried to do
their best to please him and to show him that he was a much honored guest.
During the long repast, which lasted for hours, Ryn Jin commanded his
daughters to play some music, and the two Princesses came in and performed on
the KOTO (the Japanese harp), and sang and danced in turns. The time passed
so pleasantly that the Happy Hunter seemed to forget his trouble and why he
had come at all to the Sea King's Realm, and he gave himself up to the
enjoyment of this wonderful place, the land of fairy fishes! Who has ever
heard of such a marvelous place? But the Mikoto soon remembered what
had brought him to Ryn Gu, and said to his host:
"Perhaps your daughters have told you, King Ryn Jin, that I have come
here to try and recover my brother's fishing hook, which I lost while fishing
the other day. May I ask you to be so kind as to inquire of all your subjects
if any of them have seen a fishing hook lost in the sea?"
"Certainly," said the obliging Sea King, "I will immediately summon them
all here and ask them."
As soon as he had issued his command, the octopus, the cuttlefish, the
bonito, the oxtail fish, the eel, the jelly fish, the shrimp, and the plaice,
and many other fishes of all kinds came in and sat down before Ryn Jin their
King, and arranged themselves and their fins in order. Then the Sea King said
solemnly:
"Our visitor who is sitting before you all is the august grandson
of Amaterasu. His name is Hohodemi, the fourth Augustness, and he is also
called the Happy Hunter of the Mountains. While he was fishing the other day
upon the shore of Japan, some one robbed him of his brother's fishing hook.
He has come all this way down to the bottom of the sea to our Kingdom because
he thought that one of you fishes may have taken the hook from him in
mischievous play. If any of you have done so you must immediately return it,
or if any of you know who the thief is you must at once tell us his name and
where he is now."
All the fishes were taken by surprise when they heard these words, and
could say nothing for some time. They sat looking at each other and at the
Dragon King. At last the cuttlefish came forward and said:
"I think the TAI (the red bream) must be the thief who has stolen the
hook!"
"Where is your proof?" asked the King.
"Since yesterday evening the TAI has not been able to eat anything, and
he seems to be suffering from a bad throat! For this reason I think the hook
may be in his throat. You had better send for him at once! "
All the fish agreed to this, and said:
"It is certainly strange that the TAI is the only fish who has
not obeyed your summons. Will you send for him and inquire into
the matter. Then our innocence will be proved."
"Yes," said the Sea King, "it is strange that the TAI has not come, for
he ought to be the first to be here. Send for him at once!"
Without waiting for the King's order the cuttlefish had already started
for the TAI'S dwelling, and he now returned, bringing the TAI with him. He
led him before the King.
The TAI sat there looking frightened and ill. He certainly was in pain,
for his usually red face was pale, and his eyes were nearly closed and looked
but half their usual size.
"Answer, O TAI!" cried the Sea King, "why did you not come in answer to
my summons today?"
"I have been ill since yesterday," answered the TAI; "that is why
I could not come."
"Don't say another word!" cried out Ryn Jin angrily. "Your illness is
the punishment of the gods for stealing the Mikoto's hook."
"It is only too true!" said the TAI; "the hook is still in my throat,
and all my efforts to get it out have been useless. I can't eat, and I can
scarcely breathe, and each moment I feel that it will choke me, and sometimes
it gives me great pain. I had no intention of stealing the Mikoto's hook. I
heedlessly snapped at the bait which I saw in the water, and the hook came
off and stuck in my throat. So I hope you will pardon me."
The cuttlefish now came forward, and said to the King:
"What I said was right. You see the hook still sticks in the
TAI'S throat. I hope to be able to pull it out in the presence of
the Mikoto, and then we can return it to him safely!"
"O please make haste and pull it out!" cried the TAI, pitifully, for he
felt the pains in his throat coming on again; "I do so want to return the
hook to the Mikoto."
"All right, TAI SAN," said his friend the cuttlefish, and then opening
the TAI'S mouth as wide as he could and putting one of his feelers down the
TAI'S throat, he quickly and easily drew the hook out of the sufferer's large
mouth. He then washed it and brought it to the King.
Ryn Jin took the hook from his subject, and then respectfully returned
it to the Happy Hunter (the Mikoto or Augustness, the fishes called him), who
was overjoyed at getting back his hook. He thanked Ryn Jin many times, his
face beaming with gratitude, and said that he owed the happy ending of his
quest to the Sea King's wise authority and kindness.
Ryn Jin now desired to punish the TAI, but the Happy Hunter begged him
not to do so; since his lost hook was thus happily recovered he did not wish
to make more trouble for the poor TAI. It was indeed the TAI who had taken
the hook, but he had already suffered enough for his fault, if fault it could
be called. What had been done was done in heedlessness and not by intention.
The Happy Hunter said he blamed himself; if he had understood how to fish
properly he would never have lost his hook, and therefore all this trouble
had been caused in the first place by his trying to do something which he
did not know how to do. So he begged the Sea King to forgive
his subject.
Who could resist the pleading of so wise and compassionate a judge? Ryn
Jin forgave his subject at once at the request of his august guest. The TAI
was so glad that he shook his fins for joy, and he and all the other fish
went out from the presence of their King, praising the virtues of the Happy
Hunter.
Now that the hook was found the Happy Hunter had nothing to keep him in
Ryn Gu, and he was anxious to get back to his own kingdom and to make peace
with his angry brother, the Skillful Fisher; but the Sea King, who had learnt
to love him and would fain have kept him as a son, begged him not to go so
soon, but to make the Sea Palace his home as long as ever he liked. While the
Happy Hunter was still hesitating, the two lovely Princesses, Tayotama and
Tamayori, came, and with the sweetest of bows and voices joined with their
father in pressing him to stay, so that without seeming ungracious he
could not say them "Nay," and was obliged to stay on for some time.
Between the Sea Realm and the Earth there was no difference in the night
of time, and the Happy Hunter found that three years went fleeting quickly by
in this delightful land. The years pass swiftly when any one is truly happy.
But though the wonders of that enchanted land seemed to be new every day, and
though the Sea King's kindness seemed rather to increase than to grow less
with time, the Happy Hunter grew more and more homesick as the days passed,
and he could not repress a great anxiety to know what had happened to
his home and his country and his brother while he had been away.
So at last he went to the Sea King and said:
"My stay with you here has been most happy and I am very grateful to you
for all your kindness to me, but I govern Japan, and, delightful as this
place is, I cannot absent myself forever from my country. I must also return
the fishing hook to my brother and ask his forgiveness for having deprived
him of it for so long. I am indeed very sorry to part from you, but this time
it cannot be helped. With your gracious permission, I will take my leave
to-day. I hope to make you another visit some day. Please give up the idea of
my staying longer now."
King Ryn Jin was overcome with sorrow at the thought that he must lose
his friend who had made a great diversion in the Palace of the Sea, and his
tears fell fast as he answered:
"We are indeed very sorry to part with you, Mikoto, for we have enjoyed
your stay with us very much. You have been a noble and honored guest and we
have heartily made you welcome. I quite understand that as you govern Japan
you ought to be there and not here, and that it is vain for us to try and
keep you longer with us, much as we would like to have you stay. I hope you
will not forget us. Strange circumstances have brought us together and I
trust the friendship thus begun between the Land and the Sea will last
and grow stronger than it has ever been before."
When the Sea King had finished speaking he turned to his two daughters
and bade them bring him the two Tide-Jewels of the Sea. The two Princesses
bowed low, rose and glided out of the hall. In a few minutes they returned,
each one carrying in her hands a flashing gem which filled the room with
light. As the Happy Hunter looked at them he wondered what they could be. The
Sea King took them from his daughters and said to his guest:
"These two valuable talismans we have inherited from our ancestors from
time immemorial. We now give them to you as a parting gift in token of our
great affection for you. These two gems are called the nanjiu and the
kanjiu."
The Happy Hunter bowed low to the ground and said:
"I can never thank you enough for all your kindness to me. And now will
you add one more favor to the rest and tell me what these jewels are and what
I am to do with them?"
"The nanjiu," answered the Sea King, "is also called the Jewel of the
Flood Tide, and whoever holds it in his possession can command the sea to
roll in and to flood the land at any time that he wills. The kanjiu is also
called the Jewel of the Ebbing Tide, and this gem controls the sea and the
waves thereof, and will cause even a tidal wave to recede."
Then Ryn Jin showed his friend how to use the talismans one by one and
handed them to him. The Happy Hunter was very glad to have these two
wonderful gems, the Jewel of the Flood Tide and the Jewel of the Ebbing Tide,
to take back with him, for he felt that they would preserve him in case of
danger from enemies at any time. After thanking his kind host again and
again, he prepared to depart. The Sea King and the two Princesses, Tayotama
and Tamayori, and all the inmates of the Palace, came out to say "Good-by,"
and before the sound of the last farewell had died away the Happy Hunter
passed out from under the gateway, past the well of happy memory standing
in the shade of the great KATSURA trees on his way to the beach.
Here he found, instead of the queer basket on which he had come to the
Realm of Ryn Gu, a large crocodile waiting for him. Never had he seen such a
huge creature. It measured eight fathoms in length from the tip of its tail
to the end of its long mouth. The Sea King had ordered the monster to carry
the Happy Hunter back to Japan. Like the wonderful basket which Shiwozuchino
Okina had made, it could travel faster than any steamboat, and in this
strange way, riding on the back of a crocodile, the Happy Hunter returned to
his own land.
As soon as the crocodile landed him, the Happy Hunter hastened to tell
the Skillful Fisher of his safe return. He then gave him back the fishing
hook which had been found in the mouth of the TAI and which had been the
cause of so much trouble between them. He earnestly begged his brother's
forgiveness, telling him all that had happened to him in the Sea King's
Palace and what wonderful adventures had led to the finding of the
hook.
Now the Skillful Fisher had used the lost hook as an excuse for driving
his brother out of the country. When his brother had left him that day three
years ago, and had not returned, he had been very glad in his evil heart and
had at once usurped his brother's place as ruler of the land, and had become
powerful and rich. Now in the midst of enjoying what did not belong to him,
and hoping that his brother might never return to claim his rights, quite
unexpectedly there stood the Happy Hunter before him.
The Skillful Fisher feigned forgiveness, for he could make no
more excuses for sending his brother away again, but in his heart he
was very angry and hated his brother more and more, till at last be could
no longer bear the sight of him day after day, and planned and watched for an
opportunity to kill him.
One day when the Happy Hunter was walking in the rice fields his brother
followed him with a dagger. The Happy Hunter knew that his brother was
following him to kill him, and he felt that now, in this hour of great
danger, was the time to use the Jewels of the Flow and Ebb of the Tide and
prove whether what the Sea King had told him was true or not.
So he took out the Jewel of the Flood Tide from the bosom of his dress
and raised it to his forehead. Instantly over the fields and over the farms
the sea came rolling in wave upon wave till it reached the spot where his
brother was standing. The Skillful Fisher stood amazed and terrified to see
what was happening. In another minute he was struggling in the water and
calling on his brother to save him from drowning.
The Happy Hunter had a kind heart and could not bear the sight of his
brother's distress. He at once put back the Jewel of the Flood Tide and took
out the Jewel of the Ebb Tide. No sooner did he hold it up as high as his
forehead than the sea ran back and back, and ere long the tossing rolling
floods had vanished, and the farms and fields and dry land appeared as
before.
The Skillful Fisher was very frightened at the peril of death in which
he had stood, and was greatly impressed by the wonderful things he had seen
his brother do. He learned now that he was making a fatal mistake to set
himself against his brother, younger than he thought he was, for he now had
become so powerful that the sea would flow in and the tide ebb at his word of
command. So he humbled himself before the Happy Hunter and asked him to
forgive him all the wrong he had done him. The Skillful Fisher promised to
restore his brother to his rights and also swore that though the Happy
Hunter was the younger brother and owed him allegiance by right of
birth, that he, the Skillful Fisher, would exalt him as his superior
and bow before him as Lord of all Japan.
Then the Happy Hunter said that he would forgive his brother if he would
throw into the receding tide all his evil ways. The Skillful Fisher promised
and there was peace between the two brothers. From this time he kept his word
and became a good man and a kind brother.
The Happy Hunter now ruled his Kingdom without being disturbed by family
strife, and there was peace in Japan for a long, long time. Above all the
treasures in his house he prized the wonderful Jewels of the Flow and Ebb of
the Tide which had been given him by Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the
Sea.
This is the congratulatory ending of the Happy Hunter and the Skillful
Fisher.
Long, long ago there lived an old man and his wife who
supported themselves by cultivating a small plot of land. Their life had
been a very happy and peaceful one save for one great sorrow, and this was
they had no child. Their only pet was a dog named Shiro, and on him they
lavished all the affection of their old age. Indeed, they loved him so much
that whenever they had anything nice to eat they denied themselves to give it
to Shiro. Now Shiro means "white," and he was so called because of his color.
He was a real Japanese dog, and very like a small wolf in appearance.
The happiest hour of the day both for the old man and his dog was when
the man returned from his work in the field, and having finished his frugal
supper of rice and vegetables, would take what he had saved from the meal out
to the little veranda that ran round the cottage. Sure enough, Shiro was
waiting for his master and the evening tit-bit. Then the old man said "Chin,
chin!" and Shiro sat up and begged, and his master gave him the food. Next
door to this good old couple there lived another old man and his wife who
were both wicked and cruel, and who hated their good neighbors and the dog
Shiro with all their might. Whenever Shiro happened to look into their
kitchen they at once kicked him or threw something at him, sometimes even
wounding him.
One day Shiro was heard barking for a long time in the field at the back
of his master's house. The old man, thinking that perhaps some birds were
attacking the corn, hurried out to see what was the matter. As soon as Shiro
saw his master he ran to meet him, wagging his tail, and, seizing the end of
his kimono, dragged him under a large yenoki tree. Here he began to dig very
industriously with his paws, yelping with joy all the time. The old man,
unable to understand what it all meant, stood looking on in bewilderment.
But Shiro went on barking and digging with all his might.
The thought that something might be hidden beneath the tree, and that
the dog had scented it, at last struck the old man. He ran back to the house,
fetched his spade and began to dig the ground at that spot. What was his
astonishment when, after digging for some time, he came upon a heap of old
and valuable coins, and the deeper he dug the more gold coins did he find. So
intent was the old man on his work that he never saw the cross face of his
neighbor peering at him through the bamboo hedge. At last all the gold coins
lay shining on the ground. Shiro sat by erect with pride and looking fondly
at his master as if to say, "You see, though only a dog, I can make
some return for all the kindness you show me."
The old man ran in to call his wife, and together they carried home the
treasure. Thus in one day the poor old man became rich. His gratitude to the
faithful dog knew no bounds, and he loved and petted him more than ever, if
that were possible.
The cross old neighbor, attracted by Shiro's barking, had been an unseen
and envious witness of the finding of the treasure. He began to think that
he, too, would like to find a fortune. So a few days later he called at the
old man's house and very ceremoniously asked permission to borrow Shiro for a
short time.
Shiro's master thought this a strange request, because he knew
quite well that not only did his neighbor not love his pet dog, but
that he never lost an opportunity of striking and tormenting him
whenever the dog crossed his path. But the good old man was too
kind-hearted to refuse his neighbor, so he consented to lend the dog on
condition that he should be taken great care of.
The wicked old man returned to his home with an evil smile on his face,
and told his wife how he had succeeded in his crafty intentions. He then took
his spade and hastened to his own field, forcing the unwilling Shiro to
follow him. As soon as he reached a yenoki tree, he said to the dog,
threateningly:
"If there were gold coins under your master's tree, there must also be
gold coins under my tree. You must find them for me! Where are they? Where?
Where?"
And catching hold of Shiro's neck he held the dog's head to the ground,
so that Shiro began to scratch and dig in order to free himself from the
horrid old man's grasp.
The old man was very pleased when he saw the dog begin to scratch and
dig, for he at once supposed that some gold coins lay buried under his tree
as well as under his neighbor's, and that the dog had scented them as before;
so pushing Shiro away he began to dig himself, but there was nothing to be
found. As he went on digging a foul smell was noticeable, and he at last came
upon a refuse heap.
The old man's disgust can be imagined. This soon gave way to anger. He
had seen his neighbor's good fortune, and hoping for the same luck himself,
he had borrowed the dog Shiro; and now, just as he seemed on the point of
finding what he sought, only a horrid smelling refuse heap had rewarded him
for a morning's digging. Instead of blaming his own greed for his
disappointment, he blamed the poor dog. He seized his spade, and with all his
strength struck Shiro and killed him on the spot. He then threw the dog's
body into the hole which he had dug in the hope of finding a treasure of
gold coins, and covered it over with the earth. Then he returned to
the house, telling no one, not even his wife, what be had done.
After waiting several days, as the dog Shiro did not return, his master
began to grow anxious. Day after day went by and the good old man waited in
vain. Then he went to his neighbor and asked him to give him back his dog.
Without any shame or hesitation, the wicked neighbor answered that he had
killed Shiro because of his bad behavior. At this dreadful news Shiro's
master wept many sad and bitter tears. Great indeed, was his woful surprise,
but he was too good and gentle to reproach his bad neighbor. Learning that
Shiro was buried under the yenoki tree in the field, he asked the old
man to give him the tree, in remembrance of his poor dog Shiro.
Even the cross old neighbor could not refuse such a simple request, so
he consented to give the old man the tree under which Shiro lay buried.
Shiro's master then cut the tree down and carried it home. Out of the trunk
he made a mortar. In this his wife put some rice, and he began to pound it
with the intention of making a festival to the memory of his dog Shiro.
A strange thing happened! His wife put the rice into the mortar, and no
sooner had he begun to pound it to make the cakes, than it began to increase
in quantity gradually till it was about five times the original amount, and
the cakes were turned out of the mortar as if an invisible hand were at
work.
When the old man and his wife saw this, they understood that it was a
reward to them from Shiro for their faithful love to him. They tasted the
cakes and found them nicer than any other food. So from this time they never
troubled about food, for they lived upon the cakes with which the mortar
never ceased to supply them.
The greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled
with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked leave to borrow the
wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too, sorrowed for the
death of Shiro, and wished to make cakes for a festival to the dog's
memory.
The old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor,
but he was too kind to refuse. So the envious man carried home the mortar,
but he never brought it back.
Several days passed, and Shiro's master waited in vain for the mortar,
so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough to return
the mortar if he had finished with it. He found him sitting by a big fire
made of pieces of wood. On the ground lay what looked very much like pieces
of a broken mortar. In answer to the old man's inquiry, the wicked neighbor
answered haughtily:
"Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and now
I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in it only
some horrid smelling stuff came out."
The good old man said:
"I am very sorry for that. It is a great pity you did not ask me for the
cakes if you wanted them. I would have given you as many as ever you wanted.
Now please give me the ashes of the mortar, as I wish to keep them in
remembrance of my dog."
The neighbor consented at once, and the old man carried home a basket
full of ashes.
Not long after this the old man accidentally scattered some of the ashes
made by the burning of the mortar on the trees of his garden. A wonderful
thing happened!
It was late in autumn and all the trees had shed their leaves, but no
sooner did the ashes touch their branches than the cherry trees, the plum
trees, and all other blossoming shrubs burst into bloom, so that the old
man's garden was suddenly transformed into a beautiful picture of spring. The
old man's delight knew no bounds, and he carefully preserved the remaining
ashes.
The story of the old man's garden spread far and wide, and people from
far and near came to see the wonderful sight.
One day, soon after this, the old man heard some one knocking at
his door, and going to the porch to see who it was he was surprised to see
a Knight standing there. This Knight told him that he was a retainer of a
great Daimio (Earl); that one of the favorite cherry trees in this nobleman's
garden had withered, and that though every one in his service had tried all
manner of means to revive it, none took effect. The Knight was sore perplexed
when he saw what great displeasure the loss of his favorite cherry tree
caused the Daimio. At this point, fortunately, they had heard that there was
a wonderful old man who could make withered trees to blossom, and that his
Lord had sent him to ask the old man to come to him.
"And," added the Knight, "I shall be very much obliged if you will come
at once."
The good old man was greatly surprised at what he heard,
but respectfully followed the Knight to the nobleman's Palace.
The Daimio, who had been impatiently awaiting the old man's coming, as
soon as he saw him asked him at once:
"Are you the old man who can make withered trees flower even out
of season?"
The old man made an obeisance, and replied:
"I am that old man!"
Then the Daimio said:
"You must make that dead cherry tree in my garden blossom again by means
of your famous ashes. I shall look on."
Then they all went into the garden—the Daimio and his retainers and the
ladies-in waiting, who carried the Daimio's sword.
The old man now tucked up his kimono and made ready to climb the tree.
Saying "Excuse me," he took the pot of ashes which he had brought with him,
and began to climb the tree, every one watching his movements with great
interest.
At last he climbed to the spot where the tree divided into two
great branches, and taking up his position here, the old man sat down
and scattered the ashes right and left all over the branches and twigs.
Wonderful, indeed, was the result! The withered tree at once burst into
full bloom! The Daimio was so transported with joy that he looked as if he
would go mad. He rose to his feet and spread out his fan, calling the old man
down from the tree. He himself gave the old man a wine cup filled with the
best SAKE, and rewarded him with much silver and gold and many other precious
things. The Daimio ordered that henceforth the old man should call himself by
the name of Hana- Saka-Jijii, or "The Old Man who makes the Trees to
Blossom," and that henceforth all were to recognize him by this name, and he
sent him home with great honor.
The wicked neighbor, as before, heard of the good old man's fortune, and
of all that had so auspiciously befallen him, and he could not suppress all
the envy and jealousy that filled his heart. He called to mind how he had
failed in his attempt to find the gold coins, and then in making the magic
cakes; this time surely he must succeed if he imitated the old man, who made
withered trees to flower simply by sprinkling ashes on them. This would be
the simplest task of all.
So he set to work and gathered together all the ashes which remained in
the fire-place from the burning of the wonderful mortar. Then he set out in
the hope of finding some great man to employ him, calling out loudly as he
went along:
"Here comes the wonderful man who can make withered trees blossom! Here
comes the old man who can make dead trees blossom!"
The Daimio in his Palace heard this cry, and said:
"That must be the Hana-Saka-Jijii passing. I have nothing to do to- day.
Let him try his art again; it will amuse me to look on."
So the retainers went out and brought in the impostor before their Lord.
The satisfaction of false old man can now be imagined.
But the Daimio looking at him, thought it strange that he was not at all
like the old man he had seen before, so he asked him:
"Are you the man whom I named Hana-Saka-Jijii?"
And the envious neighbor answered with a lie:
"Yes, my Lord!"
"That is strange!" said the Daimio. "I thought there was only
one Hana-Saka-Jijii in the world! Has he now some disciples?"
"I am the true Hana-Saka-Jijii. The one who came to you before was only
my disciple!" replied the old man again.
"Then you must be more skillful than the other. Try what you can do and
let me see!"
The envious neighbor, with the Daimio and his Court following, then went
into the garden, and approaching a dead tree, took out a handful of the ashes
which he carried with him, and scattered them over the tree.
But not only did the tree not burst into flower, but not even a bud came
forth. Thinking that he had not used enough ashes, the old man took handfuls
and again sprinkled them over the withered tree. But all to no effect. After
trying several times, the ashes were blown into the Daimio's eyes. This made
him very angry, and he ordered his retainers to arrest the false
Hana-Saka-Jijii at once and put him in prison for an impostor. From this
imprisonment the wicked old man was never freed. Thus did he meet with
punishment at last for all his evil doings.
The good old man, however, with the treasure of gold coins which Shiro
had found for him, and with all the gold and the silver which the Daimio had
showered on him, became a rich and prosperous man in his old age, and lived a
long and happy life, beloved and respected by all.
Long, long ago, in old Japan, the Kingdom of the Sea was governed
by a wonderful King. He was called Rin Jin, or the Dragon King of the Sea.
His power was immense, for he was the ruler of all sea creatures both great
and small, and in his keeping were the Jewels of the Ebb and Flow of the
Tide. The Jewel of the Ebbing Tide when thrown into the ocean caused the sea
to recede from the land, and the Jewel of the Flowing Tide made the waves to
rise mountains high and to flow in upon the shore like a tidal wave.
The Palace of Rin Jin was at the bottom of the sea, and was so beautiful
that no one has ever seen anything like it even in dreams. The walls were of
coral, the roof of jadestone and chrysoprase, and the floors were of the
finest mother-of-pearl. But the Dragon King, in spite of his wide-spreading
Kingdom, his beautiful Palace and all its wonders, and his power which none
disputed throughout the whole sea, was not at all happy, for he reigned
alone. At last he thought that if he married he would not only be happier,
but also more powerful. So he decided to take a wife. Calling all his
fish retainers together, he chose several of them as ambassadors to
go through the sea and seek for a young Dragon Princess who would be his
bride.
At last they returned to the Palace bringing with them a lovely young
dragon. Her scales were of glittering green like the wings of summer beetles,
her eyes threw out glances of fire, and she was dressed in gorgeous robes.
All the jewels of the sea worked in with embroidery adorned them.
The King fell in love with her at once, and the wedding ceremony
was celebrated with great splendor. Every living thing in the sea,
from the great whales down to the little shrimps, came in shoals to
offer their congratulations to the bride and bridegroom and to wish them
a long and prosperous life. Never had there been such an assemblage
or such gay festivities in the Fish-World before. The train of bearers who
carried the bride's possessions to her new home seemed to reach across the
waves from one end of the sea to the other. Each fish carried a
phosphorescent lantern and was dressed in ceremonial robes, gleaming blue and
pink and silver; and the waves as they rose and fell and broke that night
seemed to be rolling masses of white and green fire, for the phosphorus shone
with double brilliancy in honor of the event.
Now for a time the Dragon King and his bride lived very happily. They
loved each other dearly, and the bridegroom day after day took delight in
showing his bride all the wonders and treasures of his coral Palace, and she
was never tired of wandering with him through its vast halls and gardens.
Life seemed to them both like a long summer's day.
Two months passed in this happy way, and then the Dragon Queen fell ill
and was obliged to stay in bed. The King was sorely troubled when he saw his
precious bride so ill, and at once sent for the fish doctor to come and give
her some medicine. He gave special orders to the servants to nurse her
carefully and to wait upon her with diligence, but in spite of all the
nurses' assiduous care and the medicine that the doctor prescribed, the young
Queen showed no signs of recovery, but grew daily worse.
Then the Dragon King interviewed the doctor and blamed him for
not curing the Queen. The doctor was alarmed at Rin Jin's
evident displeasure, and excused his want of skill by saying that
although he knew the right kind of medicine to give the invalid, it
was impossible to find it in the sea.
"Do you mean to tell me that you can't get the medicine here?" asked the
Dragon King.
"It is just as you say!" said the doctor.
"Tell me what it is you want for the Queen?" demanded Rin Jin.
"I want the liver of a live monkey!" answered the doctor.
"The liver of a live monkey! Of course that will be most difficult to
get," said the King.
"If we could only get that for the Queen, Her Majesty would
soon recover," said the doctor.
"Very well, that decides it; we MUST get it somehow or other. But where
are we most likely to find a monkey?" asked the King.
Then the doctor told the Dragon King that some distance to the
south there was a Monkey Island where a great many monkeys lived.
"If only you could capture one of these monkeys?" said the doctor.
"How can any of my people capture a monkey?" said the Dragon
King, greatly puzzled. "The monkeys live on dry land, while we live in
the water; and out of our element we are quite powerless! I don't see what
we can do!"
"That has been my difficulty too," said the doctor. "But amongst your
innumerable servants you surely can find one who can go on shore for that
express purpose!"
"Something must be done," said the King, and calling his chief steward
he consulted him on the matter.
The chief steward thought for some time, and then, as if struck by
a sudden thought, said joyfully:
"I know what we must do! There is the kurage (jelly fish). He
is certainly ugly to look at, but he is proud of being able to walk
on land with his four legs like a tortoise. Let us send him to the Island
of Monkeys to catch one."
The jelly fish was then summoned to the King's presence, and was told by
His Majesty what was required of him.
The jelly fish, on being told of the unexpected mission which was to be
intrusted to him, looked very troubled, and said that he had never been to
the island in question, and as he had never had any experience in catching
monkeys he was afraid that he would not be able to get one.
"Well," said the chief steward, "if you depend on your strength
or dexterity you will never catch a monkey. The only way is to play
a trick on one!"
"How can I play a trick on a monkey? I don't know how to do it," said
the perplexed jelly fish.
"This is what you must do," said the wily chief steward. "When
you approach the Island of Monkeys and meet some of them, you must try to
get very friendly with one. Tell him that you are a servant of the Dragon
King, and invite him to come and visit you and see the Dragon King's Palace.
Try and describe to him as vividly as you can the grandeur of the Palace and
the wonders of the sea so as to arouse his curiosity and make him long to see
it all!"
"But how am I to get the monkey here? You know monkeys don't swim?" said
the reluctant jelly fish.
"You must carry him on your back. What is the use of your shell if you
can't do that!" said the chief steward.
"Won't he be very heavy?" queried kurage again.
"You mustn't mind that, for you are working for the Dragon
King," replied the chief steward.
"I will do my best then," said the jelly fish, and he swam away from the
Palace and started off towards the Monkey Island. Swimming swiftly he reached
his destination in a few hours, and landed by a convenient wave upon the
shore. On looking round he saw not far away a big pine-tree with drooping
branches and on one of those branches was just what he was looking for—a
live monkey.
"I'm in luck!" thought the jelly fish. "Now I must flatter the creature
and try to entice him to come back with me to the Palace, and my part will be
done!"
So the jelly fish slowly walked towards the pine-tree. In those ancient
days the jelly fish had four legs and a hard shell like a tortoise. When he
got to the pine-tree he raised his voice and said:
"How do you do, Mr. Monkey? Isn't it a lovely day?"
"A very fine day," answered the monkey from the tree. "I have never seen
you in this part of the world before. Where have you come from and what is
your name?"
"My name is kurage or jelly fish. I am one of the servants of the Dragon
King. I have heard so much of your beautiful island that I have come on
purpose to see it," answered the jelly fish.
"I am very glad to see you," said the monkey.
"By the bye," said the jelly fish, "have you ever seen the Palace of the
Dragon King of the Sea where I live?"
"I have often heard of it, but I have never seen it!" answered
the monkey.
"Then you ought most surely to come. It is a great pity for you to go
through life without seeing it. The beauty of the Palace is beyond all
description—it is certainly to my mind the most lovely place in the world,"
said the jelly fish.
"Is it so beautiful as all that?" asked the monkey in astonishment.
Then the jelly fish saw his chance, and went on describing to the best
of his ability the beauty and grandeur of the Sea King's Palace, and the
wonders of the garden with its curious trees of white, pink and red coral,
and the still more curious fruits like great jewels hanging on the branches.
The monkey grew more and more interested, and as he listened he came down the
tree step by step so as not to lose a word of the wonderful story.
"I have got him at last!" thought the jelly fish, but aloud he said:
"Mr. Monkey. I must now go back. As you have never seen the Palace of
the Dragon King, won't you avail yourself of this splendid opportunity by
coming with me? I shall then be able to act as guide and show you all the
sights of the sea, which will be even more wonderful to you—a
land-lubber."
"I should love to go," said the monkey, "but how am I to cross
the water! I can't swim, as you surely know!"
"There is no difficulty about that. I can carry you on my back."
"That will be troubling you too much," said the monkey.
"I can do it quite easily. I am stronger than I look, so you
needn't hesitate," said the jelly fish, and taking the monkey on his back
he stepped into the sea.
"Keep very still, Mr. monkey," said the jelly fish. "You mustn't fall
into the sea; I am responsible for your safe arrival at the King's
Palace."
"Please don't go so fast, or I am sure I shall fall off," said
the monkey.
Thus they went along, the jelly fish skimming through the waves with the
monkey sitting on his back. When they were about half-way, the jelly fish,
who knew very little of anatomy, began to wonder if the monkey had his liver
with him or not!
"Mr. Monkey, tell me, have you such a thing as a liver with you?"
The monkey was very much surprised at this queer question, and
asked what the jelly fish wanted with a liver.
"That is the most important thing of all," said the stupid jelly fish,
"so as soon as I recollected it, I asked you if you had yours with
you?"
"Why is my liver so important to you?" asked the monkey.
"Oh! you will learn the reason later," said the jelly fish.
The monkey grew more and more curious and suspicious, and urged
the jelly fish to tell him for what his liver was wanted, and ended up by
appealing to his hearer's feelings by saying that he was very troubled at
what he had been told.
Then the jelly fish, seeing how anxious the monkey looked, was sorry for
him, and told him everything. How the Dragon Queen had fallen ill, and how
the doctor had said that only the liver of a live monkey would cure her, and
how the Dragon King had sent him to find one.
"Now I have done as I was told, and as soon as we arrive at the Palace
the doctor will want your liver, so I feel sorry for you!" said the silly
jelly fish.
The poor monkey was horrified when he learnt all this, and very angry at
the trick played upon him. He trembled with fear at the thought of what was
in store for him.
But the monkey was a clever animal, and he thought it the wisest plan
not to show any sign of the fear he felt, so he tried to calm himself and to
think of some way by which he might escape.
"The doctor means to cut me open and then take my liver out! Why I shall
die!" thought the monkey. At last a bright thought struck him, so he said
quite cheerfully to the jelly fish:
"What a pity it was, Mr. Jelly Fish, that you did not speak of
this before we left the island!"
"If I had told why I wanted you to accompany me you would certainly have
refused to come," answered the jelly fish.
"You are quite mistaken," said the monkey. "Monkeys can very well spare
a liver or two, especially when it is wanted for the Dragon Queen of the Sea.
If I had only guessed of what you were in need. I should have presented you
with one without waiting to be asked. I have several livers. But the greatest
pity is, that as you did not speak in time, I have left all my livers hanging
on the pine-tree."
"Have you left your liver behind you?" asked the jelly fish.
"Yes," said the cunning monkey, "during the daytime I usually leave my
liver hanging up on the branch of a tree, as it is very much in the way when
I am climbing about from tree to tree. To-day, listening to your interesting
conversation, I quite forgot it, and left it behind when I came off with you.
If only you had spoken in time I should have remembered it, and should have
brought it along with me!"
The jelly fish was very disappointed when he heard this, for he believed
every word the monkey said. The monkey was of no good without a liver.
Finally the jelly fish stopped and told the monkey so.
"Well," said the monkey, "that is soon remedied. I am really sorry to
think of all your trouble; but if you will only take me back to the place
where you found me, I shall soon be able to get my liver."
The jelly fish did not at all like the idea of going all the way back to
the island again; but the monkey assured him that if he would be so kind as
to take him back he would get his very best liver, and bring it with him the
next time. Thus persuaded, the jelly fish turned his course towards the
Monkey Island once more.
No sooner had the jelly fish reached the shore than the sly
monkey landed, and getting up into the pine-tree where the jelly fish
had first seen him, he cut several capers amongst the branches with joy at
being safe home again, and then looking down at the jelly fish said:
"So many thanks for all the trouble you have taken! Please present my
compliments to the Dragon King on your return!"
The jelly fish wondered at this speech and the mocking tone in which it
was uttered. Then he asked the monkey if it wasn't his intention to come with
him at once after getting his liver.
The monkey replied laughingly that he couldn't afford to lose his liver:
it was too precious.
"But remember your promise!" pleaded the jelly fish, now
very discouraged.
"That promise was false, and anyhow it is now broken!" answered
the monkey. Then he began to jeer at the jelly fish and told him that
he had been deceiving him the whole time; that he had no wish to lose his
life, which he certainly would have done had he gone on to the Sea King's
Palace to the old doctor waiting for him, instead of persuading the jelly
fish to return under false pretenses.
"Of course, I won't GIVE you my liver, but come and get it if you can!"
added the monkey mockingly from the tree.
There was nothing for the jelly fish to do now but to repent of
his stupidity, and to return to the Dragon King of the Sea and to confess
his failure, so he started sadly and slowly to swim back. The last thing he
heard as he glided away, leaving the island behind him, was the monkey
laughing at him.
Meanwhile the Dragon King, the doctor, the chief steward, and all the
servants were waiting impatiently for the return of the jelly fish. When they
caught sight of him approaching the Palace, they hailed him with delight.
They began to thank him profusely for all the trouble he had taken in going
to Monkey Island, and then they asked him where the monkey was.
Now the day of reckoning had come for the jelly fish. He quaked all over
as he told his story. How he had brought the monkey halfway over the sea, and
then had stupidly let out the secret of his commission; how the monkey had
deceived him by making him believe that he had left his liver behind
him.
The Dragon King's wrath was great, and he at once gave orders that the
jelly fish was to be severely punished. The punishment was a horrible one.
All the bones were to be drawn out from his living body, and he was to be
beaten with sticks.
The poor jelly fish, humiliated and horrified beyond all words, cried
out for pardon. But the Dragon King's order had to be obeyed. The servants of
the Palace forthwith each brought out a stick and surrounded the jelly fish,
and after pulling out his bones they beat him to a flat pulp, and then took
him out beyond the Palace gates and threw him into the water. Here he was
left to suffer and repent his foolish chattering, and to grow accustomed to
his new state of bonelessness.
From this story it is evident that in former times the jelly fish once
had a shell and bones something like a tortoise, but, ever since the Dragon
King's sentence was carried out on the ancestor of the jelly fishes, his
descendants have all been soft and boneless just as you see them to-day
thrown up by the waves high upon the shores of Japan.
Long, long ago, one bright autumn day in Japan, it happened, that
a pink-faced monkey and a yellow crab were playing together along the bank
of a river. As they were running about, the crab found a rice- dumpling and
the monkey a persimmon-seed.
The crab picked up the rice-dumpling and showed it to the
monkey, saying:
"Look what a nice thing I have found!"
Then the monkey held up his persimmon-seed and said:
"I also have found something good! Look!"
Now though the monkey is always very fond of persimmon fruit, he had no
use for the seed he had just found. The persimmon-seed is as hard and
uneatable as a stone. He, therefore, in his greedy nature, felt very envious
of the crab's nice dumpling, and he proposed an exchange. The crab naturally
did not see why he should give up his prize for a hard stone-like seed, and
would not consent to the monkey's proposition.
Then the cunning monkey began to persuade the crab, saying:
"How unwise you are not to think of the future! Your rice-dumpling can
be eaten now, and is certainly much bigger than my seed; but if you sow this
seed in the ground it will soon grow and become a great tree in a few years,
and bear an abundance of fine ripe persimmons year after year. If only I
could show it to you then with the yellow fruit hanging on its branches! Of
course, if you don't believe me I shall sow it myself; though I am sure,
later on, you will be very sorry that you did not take my advice."
The simple-minded crab could not resist the monkey's clever persuasion.
He at last gave in and consented to the monkey's proposal, and the exchange
was made. The greedy monkey soon gobbled up the dumpling, and with great
reluctance gave up the persimmon- seed to the crab. He would have liked to
keep that too, but he was afraid of making the crab angry and of being
pinched by his sharp scissor-like claws. They then separated, the monkey
going home to his forest trees and the crab to his stones along the
river-side. As soon as the crab reached home he put the persimmon-seed in
the ground as the monkey had told him.
In the following spring the crab was delighted to see the shoot of
a young tree push its way up through the ground. Each year it grew bigger,
till at last it blossomed one spring, and in the following autumn bore some
fine large persimmons. Among the broad smooth green leaves the fruit hung
like golden balls, and as they ripened they mellowed to a deep orange. It was
the little crab's pleasure to go out day by day and sit in the sun and put
out his long eyes in the same way as a snail puts out its horn, and watch the
persimmons ripening to perfection.
"How delicious they will be to eat!" he said to himself.
At last, one day, he knew the persimmons must be quite ripe and
he wanted very much to taste one. He made several attempts to climb
the tree, in the vain hope of reaching one of the beautiful
persimmons hanging above him; but he failed each time, for a crab's legs
are not made for climbing trees but only for running along the ground and
over stones, both of which he can do most cleverly. In his dilemma he thought
of his old playmate the monkey, who, he knew, could climb trees better than
any one else in the world. He determined to ask the monkey to help him, and
set out to find him.
Running crab-fashion up the stony river bank, over the pathways into the
shadowy forest, the crab at last found the monkey taking an afternoon nap in
his favorite pine-tree, with his tail curled tight around a branch to prevent
him from falling off in his dreams. He was soon wide awake, however, when he
heard himself called, and eagerly listening to what the crab told him. When
he heard that the seed which he had long ago exchanged for a rice-dumpling
had grown into a tree and was now bearing good fruit, he was delighted, for
he at once devised a cunning plan which would give him all the persimmons
for himself.
He consented to go with the crab to pick the fruit for him. When they
both reached the spot, the monkey was astonished to see what a fine tree had
sprung from the seed, and with what a number of ripe persimmons the branches
were loaded.
He quickly climbed the tree and began to pluck and eat, as fast as he
could, one persimmon after another. Each time he chose the best and ripest he
could find, and went on eating till he could eat no more. Not one would he
give to the poor hungry crab waiting below, and when he had finished there
was little but the hard, unripe fruit left.
You can imagine the feelings of the poor crab after waiting patiently,
for so long as he had done, for the tree to grow and the fruit to ripen, when
he saw the monkey devouring all the good persimmons. He was so disappointed
that he ran round and round the tree calling to the monkey to remember his
promise. The monkey at first took no notice of the crab's complaints, but at
last he picked out the hardest, greenest persimmon he could find and aimed it
at the crab's head. The persimmon is as hard as stone when it is unripe.
The monkey's missile struck home and the crab was sorely hurt by the blow.
Again and again, as fast as he could pick them, the monkey pulled off the
hard persimmons and threw them at the defenseless crab till he dropped dead,
covered with wounds all over his body. There he lay a pitiful sight at the
foot of the tree he had himself planted.
When the wicked monkey saw that he had killed the crab he ran away from
the spot as fast as he could, in fear and trembling, like a coward as he
was.
Now the crab had a son who had been playing with a friend not far from
the spot where this sad work had taken place. On the way home he came across
his father dead, in a most dreadful condition—his head was smashed and his
shell broken in several places, and around his body lay the unripe persimmons
which had done their deadly work. At this dreadful sight the poor young crab
sat down and wept.
But when he had wept for some time he told himself that this
crying would do no good; it was his duty to avenge his father's murder,
and this he determined to do. He looked about for some clue which
would lead him to discover the murderer. Looking up at the tree he
noticed that the best fruit had gone, and that all around lay bits of
peel and numerous seeds strewn on the ground as well as the
unripe persimmons which had evidently been thrown at his father. Then
he understood that the monkey was the murderer, for he now remembered that
his father had once told him the story of the rice-dumpling and the
persimmon-seed. The young crab knew that monkeys liked persimmons above all
other fruit, and he felt sure that his greed for the coveted fruit had been
the cause of the old crab's death. Alas!
He at first thought of going to attack the monkey at once, for he burned
with rage. Second thoughts, however, told him that this was useless, for the
monkey was an old and cunning animal and would be hard to overcome. He must
meet cunning with cunning and ask some of his friends to help him, for he
knew it would be quite out of his power to kill him alone.
The young crab set out at once to call on the mortar, his father's old
friend, and told him of all that had happened. He besought the mortar with
tears to help him avenge his father's death. The mortar was very sorry when
he heard the woful tale and promised at once to help the young crab punish
the monkey to death. He warned him that he must be very careful in what he
did, for the monkey was a strong and cunning enemy. The mortar now sent to
fetch the bee and the chestnut (also the crab's old friends) to consult them
about the matter. In a short time the bee and the chestnut arrived. When
they were told all the details of the old crab's death and of the monkey's
wickedness and greed, they both gladly consented to help the young crab in
his revenge.
After talking for a long time as to the ways and means of carrying out
their plans they separated, and Mr. Mortar went home with the young crab to
help him bury his poor father.
While all this was taking place the monkey was congratulating himself
(as the wicked often do before their punishment comes upon them) on all he
had done so neatly. He thought it quite a fine thing that he had robbed his
friend of all his ripe persimmons and then that he had killed him. Still,
smile as hard as he might, he could not banish altogether the fear of the
consequences should his evil deeds be discovered. IF he were found out (and
he told himself that this could not be for he had escaped unseen) the crab's
family would be sure to bear him hatred and seek to take revenge on him. So
he would not go out, and kept himself at home for several days. He found
this kind of life, however, extremely dull, accustomed as he was to the free
life of the woods, and at last he said:
"No one knows that it was I who killed the crab! I am sure that the old
thing breathed his last before I left him. Dead crabs have no mouths! Who is
there to tell that I am the murderer? Since no one knows, what is the use of
shutting myself up and brooding over the matter? What is done cannot be
undone!"
With this he wandered out into the crab settlement and crept about as
slyly as possible near the crab's house and tried to hear the neighbors'
gossip round about. He wanted to find out what the crabs were saving about
their chief's death, for the old crab had been the chief of the tribe. But he
heard nothing and said to himself:
"They are all such fools that they don't know and don't care
who murdered their chief!"
Little did he know in his so-called "monkey's wisdom" that this seeming
unconcern was part of the young crab's plan. He purposely pretended not to
know who killed his father, and also to believe that he had met his death
through his own fault. By this means he could the better keep secret the
revenge on the monkey, which he was meditating.
So the monkey returned home from his walk quite content. He told himself
he had nothing now to fear.
One fine day, when the monkey was sitting at home, he was surprised by
the appearance of a messenger from the young crab. While he was wondering
what this might mean, the messenger bowed before him and said:
"I have been sent by my master to inform you that his father died the
other day in falling from a persimmon tree while trying to climb the tree
after fruit. This, being the seventh day, is the first anniversary after his
death, and my master has prepared a little festival in his father's honor,
and bids you come to participate in it as you were one of his best friends.
My master hopes you will honor his house with your kind visit."
When the monkey heard these words he rejoiced in his inmost heart, for
all his fears of being suspected were now at rest. He could not guess that a
plot had just been set in motion against him. He pretended to be very
surprised at the news of the crab's death, and said:
"I am, indeed, very sorry to hear of your chief's death. We were great
friends as you know. I remember that we once exchanged a rice- dumpling for a
persimmon-seed. It grieves me much to think that that seed was in the end the
cause of his death. I accept your kind invitation with many thanks. I shall
be delighted to do honor to my poor old friend!" And he screwed some false
tears from his eyes.
The messenger laughed inwardly and thought, "The wicked monkey is now
dropping false tears, but within a short time he shall shed real ones." But
aloud he thanked the monkey politely and went home.
When he had gone, the wicked monkey laughed aloud at what he thought was
the young crab's innocence, and without the least feeling began to look
forward to the feast to be held that day in honor of the dead crab, to which
he had been invited. He changed his dress and set out solemnly to visit the
young crab.
He found all the members of the crab's family and his relatives waiting
to receive and welcome him. As soon as the bows of meeting were over they led
him to a hall. Here the young chief mourner came to receive him. Expressions
of condolence and thanks were exchanged between them, and then they all sat
down to a luxurious feast and entertained the monkey as the guest of
honor.
The feast over, he was next invited to the tea-ceremony room to drink a
cup of tea. When the young crab had conducted the monkey to the tearoom he
left him and retired. Time passed and still he did not return. At last the
monkey became impatient. He said to himself:
"This tea ceremony is always a very slow affair. I am tired of waiting
so long. I am very thirsty after drinking so much sake at the dinner!"
He then approached the charcoal fire-place and began to pour out some
hot water from the kettle boiling there, when something burst out from the
ashes with a great pop and hit the monkey right in the neck. It was the
chestnut, one of the crab's friends, who had hidden himself in the fireplace.
The monkey, taken by surprise, jumped backward, and then started to run out
of the room.
The bee, who was hiding outside the screens, now flew out and stung him
on the cheek. The monkey was in great pain, his neck was burned by the
chestnut and his face badly stung by the bee, but he ran on screaming and
chattering with rage.
Now the stone mortar had hidden himself with several other stones on the
top of the crab's gate, and as the monkey ran underneath, the mortar and all
fell down on the top of the monkey's head. Was it possible for the monkey to
bear the weight of the mortar falling on him from the top of the gate? He lay
crushed and in great pain, quite unable to get up. As he lay there helpless
the young crab came up, and, holding his great claw scissors over the monkey,
he said:
"Do you now remember that you murdered my father?"
"Then you—are—my—enemy?" gasped the monkey brokenly.
"Of course," said the young crab.
"It—was—your—father's—fault—not—mine!" gasped the
unrepentant monkey.
"Can you still lie? I will soon put an end to your breath!" and
with that he cut off the monkey's head with his pitcher claws. Thus
the wicked monkey met his well-merited punishment, and the young
crab avenged his father's death.
This is the end of the story of the monkey, the crab, and
the persimmon-seed.
Long, long ago. when all the animals could talk, there lived in
the province of Inaba in Japan, a little white hare. His home was on
the island of Oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of Inaba.
Now the hare wanted very much to cross over to Inaba. Day after day he
would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in the
direction of Inaba. and day after day he hoped to find some way of getting
across.
One day as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards
the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming near
the island.
"This is very lucky!" thought the hare. "Now I shall be able to get my
wish. I will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea!"
But he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do
what wanted. So he thought instead of asking a favor he would try to
get what he wanted by a trick.
So with a loud voice he called to the crocodile, and said:
"Oh, Mr. Crocodile, isn't it a lovely day?"
The crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy
the bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when
the hare's cheerful greeting broke the silence. The crocodile swam nearer
the shore, very pleased to hear some one speak.
"I wonder who it was that spoke to me just now! Was it you, Mr. Hare?
You must be very lonely all by yourself!"
"Oh, no, I am not at all lonely," said the hare, "but as it was such a
fine day I came out here to enjoy myself. Won't you stop and play with me a
little while?"
The crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the
two played together for some time. Then the hare said:
"Mr. Crocodile, you live in the sea and I live on this island, and we do
not often meet, so I know very little about you. Tell me, do you think the
number of your company is greater than mine?"
"Of course, there are more crocodiles than hares," answered
the crocodile. "Can you not see that for yourself? You live on this small
island, while I live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the
world, so if I call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea you
hares will be as nothing compared to us!" The crocodile was very
conceited.
The hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said:
"Do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form a
line from this island across the sea to Inaba?"
The crocodile thought for a moment and then answered:
"Of course, it is possible."
"Then do try," said the artful hare, "and I will count the number from
here!"
The crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who hadn't the least idea
that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what the hare
asked, and said:
"Wait a little while I go back into the sea and call my
company together!"
The crocodile plunged into the sea and was gone for some time. The hare,
meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. At last the crocodile appeared,
bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles.
"Look, Mr. Hare!" said the crocodile, "it is nothing for my friends to
form a line between here and Inaba. There are enough crocodiles to stretch
from here even as far as China or India. Did you ever see so many
crocodiles?"
Then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water so
as to form a bridge between the Island of Oki and the mainland of Inaba. When
the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said:
"How splendid! I did not believe this was possible. Now let me count you
all! To do this, however, with your permission, I must walk over on your
backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or else I shall
fall into the sea and be drowned!"
So the hare hopped off the island on to the strange bridge
of crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile's back to
the other:
"Please keep quite still, or I shall not be able to count. One,
two, three, four, five, six. seven, eight, nine—"
Thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of Inaba. Not
content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles instead of
thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one's back:
"Oh! you stupid crocodiles, now I have done with you!"
And he was just about to run away as fast as he could. But he did not
escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this was a
trick played upon them by the hare so as to enable him to cross the sea, and
that the hare was now laughing at them for their stupidity, they became
furiously angry and made up their minds to take revenge. So some of them ran
after the hare and caught him. Then they all surrounded the poop little
animal and pulled out all his fur. He cried out loudly and entreated them to
spare him, but with each tuft of fur they pulled out they said:
"Serve you right!"
When the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the
poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had
done.
The hare was now in a pitiful plight, all his beautiful white fur had
been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain and
bleeding all over. He could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie on
the beach quite helpless and weep over the misfortune that had befallen him.
Notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had brought all this misery
and suffering upon the white hare of Inaba, any one seeing the poor little
creature could not help feeling sorry for him in his sad condition, for
the crocodiles had been very cruel in their revenge.
Just at this time a number of men, who looked like King's sons, happened
to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying, stopped and asked
what was the matter.
The hare lifted up his head from between his paws, and answered them,
saying:
"I had a fight with some crocodiles, but I was beaten, and they pulled
out all my fur and left me to suffer here—that is why I am crying."
Now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition. But he
feigned kindness, and said to the hare:
"I feel very sorry for you. If you will only try it, I know of a remedy
which will cure your sore body. Go and bathe yourself in the sea, and then
come and sit in the wind. This will make your fur grow again, and you will be
just as you were before."
Then all the young men passed on. The hare was very pleased, thinking
that he had found a cure. He went and bathed in the sea and then came out and
sat where the wind could blow upon him.
But as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened,
and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in his
agony and cried aloud.
Just then another King's son passed by, carrying a great bag on
his back. He saw the hare, and stopped and asked why he was crying
so loudly.
But the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one
very like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued
to cry.
But this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pityingly,
and said:
"You poor thing! I see that your fur is all pulled out and that
your skin is quite bare. Who can have treated you so cruelly?"
When the hare heard these kind words he felt very grateful to the man,
and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had befallen
him. The little animal hid nothing from his friend, but told him frankly how
he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had come across the bridge
they had made, thinking that he wished to count their number: how he had
jeered at them for their stupidity, and then how the crocodiles had revenged
themselves on him. Then he went on to say how he had been deceived by a party
of men who looked very like his kind friend: and the hare ended his long
tale of woe by begging the man to give him some medicine that would cure him
and make his fur grow again.
When the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards
him, and said:
"I am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember, it was only
the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles."
"I know," answered the sorrowful hare, "but I have repented and made up
my mind never to use deceit again, so I beg you to show me how I may cure my
sore body and make the fur grow again."
"Then I will tell you of a good remedy," said the man. "First go
and bathe well in that pond over there and try to wash all the salt
from your body. Then pick some of those kaba flowers that are growing near
the edge of the water, spread them on the ground and roll yourself on them.
If you do this the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and you will be
quite well in a little while."
The hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. He crawled to
the pond pointed out to him, bathed well in it, and then picked the kaba
flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them.
To his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white
fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done before
all his misfortunes.
The hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully
towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his feet,
said:
"I cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me! It is
my earnest wish to do something for you in return. Please tell me who you
are?"
"I am no King's son as you think me. I am a fairy, and my name
is Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto," answered the man, "and those beings who passed
here before me are my brothers. They have heard of a beautiful Princess
called Yakami who lives in this province of Inaba, and they are on their way
to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. But on this expedition I am
only an attendant, so I am walking behind them with this great big bag on my
back."
The hare humbled himself before this great fairy Okuni-nushi-no- Mikoto,
whom many in that part of the land worshiped as a god.
"Oh, I did not know that you were Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto. How kind you
have been to me! It is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow who sent
me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. I am quite sure that the
Princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will refuse to be the bride
of any of them, and will prefer you for your goodness of heart. I am quite
sure that you will win her heart without intending to do so, and she will ask
to be your bride."
Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding
the little animal goodby, went on his way quickly and soon overtook his
brothers. He found them just entering the Princess's gate.
Just as the hare had said, the Princess could not be persuaded to become
the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the kind brother's
face she went straight up to him and said:
"To you I give myself," and so they were married.
This is the end of the story. Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto is worshiped by the
people in some parts of Japan, as a god, and the hare has become famous as
"The White Hare of Inaba." But what became of the crocodiles nobody
knows.
The insignia of the great Japanese Empire is composed of
three treasures which have been considered sacred, and guarded
with jealous care from time immemorial. These are the Yatano-no-Kagami
or the Mirror of Yata, the Yasakami-no-Magatama or the Jewel of Yasakami,
and the Murakumo-no-Tsurugi or the Sword of Murakumo.
Of these three treasures of the Empire, the sword of
Murakumo, afterwards known as Kusanagi-no-Tsrugugi, or the
grass-cleaving sword, is considered the most precious and most highly to
be honored, for it is the symbol of strength to this nation of
warriors and the talisman of invincibility for the Emperor, while he holds
it sacred in the shrine of his ancestors.
Nearly two thousand years ago this sword was kept at the shrines of Ite,
the temples dedicated to the worship of Amaterasu, the great and beautiful
Sun Goddess from whom the Japanese Emperors are said to be descended.
There is a story of knightly adventure and daring which explains why the
name of the sword was changed from that of Murakumo to Kasanagi, which means
grass clearing.
Once, many, many years ago, there was born a son to the Emperor Keiko,
the twelfth in descent from the great Jimmu, the founder of the Japanese
dynasty. This Prince was the second son of the Emperor Keiko, and he was
named Yamato. From his childhood he proved himself to be of remarkable
strength, wisdom and courage, and his father noticed with pride that he gave
promise of great things, and he loved him even more than he did his elder
son.
Now when Prince Yamato had grown to manhood (in the olden days
of Japanese history, a boy was considered to have reached man's estate at
the early age of sixteen) the realm was much troubled by a band of outlaws
whose chiefs were two brothers, Kumaso and Takeru. These rebels seemed to
delight in rebelling against the King, in breaking the laws and defying all
authority.
At last King Keiko ordered his younger son Prince Yamato to subdue the
brigands and, if possible, to rid the land of their evil lives. Prince Yamato
was only sixteen years of age, he had but reached his manhood according to
the law, yet though he was such a youth in years he possessed the dauntless
spirit of a warrior of fuller age and knew not what fear was. Even then there
was no man who could rival him for courage and bold deeds, and he received
his father's command with great joy.
He at once made ready to start, and great was the stir in the precincts
of the Palace as he and his trusty followers gathered together and prepared
for the expedition, and polished up their armor and donned it. Before he left
his father's Court he went to pray at the shrine of Ise and to take leave of
his aunt the Princess Yamato, for his heart was somewhat heavy at the thought
of the dangers he had to face, and he felt that he needed the protection
of his ancestress, Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. The Princess his aunt came
out to give him glad welcome, and congratulated him on being trusted with so
great a mission by his father the King. She then gave him one of her gorgeous
robes as a keepsake to go with him and to bring him good luck, saying that it
would surely be of service to him on this adventure. She then wished him all
success in his undertaking and bade him good speed.
The young Prince bowed low before his aunt, and received her gracious
gift with much pleasure and many respectful bows.
"I will now set out," said the Prince, and returning to the Palace he
put himself at the head of his troops. Thus cheered by his aunt's blessing,
he felt ready for all that might befall, and marching through the land he
went down to the Southern Island of Kiushiu, the home of the brigands.
Before many days had passed he reached the Southern Island, and
then slowly but surely made his way to the head-quarters of the
chiefs Kumaso and Takeru. He now met with great difficulties, for he
found the country exceedingly wild and rough. The mountains were high
and steep, the valleys dark and deep, and huge trees and bowlders of rock
blocked up the road and stopped the progress of his army. It was all but
impossible to go on.
Though the Prince was but a youth he had the wisdom of years,
and, seeing that it was vain to try and lead his men further, he said
to himself:
"To attempt to fight a battle in this impassable country unknown to my
men only makes my task harder. We cannot clear the roads and fight as well.
It is wiser for me to resort to stratagem and come upon my enemies unawares.
In that way I may be able to kill them without much exertion."
So he now bade his army halt by the way. His wife, the
Princess Ototachibana, had accompanied him, and he bade her bring him
the robe his aunt the priestess of Ise had given him, and to help
him attire himself as a woman. With her help he put on the robe, and
let his hair down till it flowed over his shoulders. Ototachibana
then brought him her comb, which he put in his black tresses, and
then adorned himself with strings of strange jewels just as you see in the
picture. When he had finished his unusual toilet, Ototachibana brought him
her mirror. He smiled as he gazed at himself—the disguise was so
perfect.
He hardly knew himself, so changed was he. All traces of the warrior had
disappeared, and in the shining surface only a beautiful lady looked back at
him.
Thus completely disguised, he set out for the enemy's camp alone. In the
folds of his silk gown, next his strong heart, was hidden a sharp
dagger.
The two chiefs Kumaso and Takeru wore sitting in their tent, resting in
the cool of the evening, when the Prince approached. They were talking of the
news which had recently been carried to them, that the King's son had entered
their country with a large army determined to exterminate their band. They
had both heard of the young warrior's renown, and for the first time in their
wicked lives they felt afraid. In a pause in their talk they happened to look
up, and saw through the door of the tent a beautiful woman robed
in sumptuous garments coming towards them. Like an apparition
of loveliness she appeared in the soft twilight. Little did they
dream that it was their enemy whose coming they so dreaded who now
stood before them in this disguise.
"What a beautiful woman! Where has she come from?" said the astonished
Kumaso, forgetting war and council and everything as he looked at the gentle
intruder.
He beckoned to the disguised Prince and bade him sit down and serve them
with wine. Yamato Take felt his heart swell with a fierce glee for he now
knew that his plan would succeed. However, he dissembled cleverly, and
putting on a sweet air of shyness he approached the rebel chief with slow
steps and eyes glancing like a frightened deer. Charmed to distraction by the
girl's loveliness Kumaso drank cup after cup of wine for the pleasure of
seeing her pour it out for him, till at last he was quite overcome with the
quantity he had drunk.
This was the moment for which the brave Prince had been
waiting. Flinging down the wine jar, he seized the tipsy and
astonished Kumaso and quickly stabbed him to death with the dagger which he
had secretly carried hidden in his breast.
Takeru, the brigand's brother, was terror-struck as soon as he saw what
was happening and tried to escape, but Prince Yamato was too quick for him.
Ere he could reach the tent door the Prince was at his heel, his garments
were clutched by a hand of iron, and a dagger flashed before his eyes and he
lay stabbed to the earth, dying but not yet dead.
"Wait one moment!" gasped the brigand painfully, and he seized
the Prince's hand.
Yamato relaxed his hold somewhat and said.
"Why should I pause, thou villain?"
The brigand raised himself fearfully and said:
"Tell me from whence you come, and whom I have the honor of addressing?
Hitherto I believed that my dead brother and I were the strongest men in the
land, and that there was no one who could overcome us. Alone you have
ventured into our stronghold, alone you have attacked and killed us! Surely
you are more than mortal?"
Then the young Prince answered with a proud smile:—"I am the son of the
King and my name is Yamato, and I have been sent by my father as the avenger
of evil to bring death to all rebels! No longer shall robbery and murder hold
my people in terror!" and he held the dagger dripping red above the rebel's
head.
"Ah," gasped the dying man with a great effort, "I have often heard of
you. You are indeed a strong man to have so easily overcome us. Allow me to
give you a new name. From henceforth you shall be known as Yamato Take. Our
title I bequeath to you as the bravest man in Yamato."
And with these noble words, Takeru fell back and died.
The Prince having thus successfully put an end to his father's enemies
in the world, was prepared to return to the capital. On the way back he
passed through the province of Idum. Here he met with another outlaw named
Idzumo Takeru who he knew had done much harm in the land. He again resorted
to stratagem, and feigned friendship with the rebel under an assumed name.
Having done this he made a sword of wood and jammed it tightly in the shaft
of his own strong sword. This he purposedly buckled to his side and wore on
every occasion when he expected to meet the third robber Takeru,
He now invited Takeru to the bank of the River Hinokawa, and persuaded
him to try a swim with him in the cool refreshing waters of the river.
As it was a hot summer's day, the rebel was nothing loath to take
a plunge in the river, while his enemy was still swimming down the stream
the Prince turned back and landed with all possible haste. Unperceived, he
managed to change swords, putting his wooden one in place of the keen steel
sword of Takeru.
Knowing nothing of this, the brigand came up to the bank shortly.
As soon as he had landed and donned his clothes, the Prince came forward
and asked him to cross swords with him to prove his skill, saying:
"Let us two prove which is the better swordsman of the two!"
The robber agreed with delight, feeling certain of victory, for he was
famous as a fencer in his province and he did not know who his adversary was.
He seized quickly what he thought was his sword and stood on guard to defend
himself. Alas! for the rebel the sword was the wooden one of the young Prince
and in vain Takeru tried to unsheathe it—it was jammed fast, not all his
exerted strength could move it. Even if his efforts had been successful the
sword would have been of no use to him for it was of wood. Yamato Take saw
that his enemy was in his power, and swinging high the sword he had
taken from Takeru he brought it down with great might and dexterity
and cut off the robber's head.
In this way, sometimes by using his wisdom and sometimes by using his
bodily strength, and at other times by resorting to craftiness, which was as
much esteemed in those days as it is despised in these, he prevailed against
all the King's foes one by one, and brought peace and rest to the land and
the people.
When he returned to the capital the King praised him for his
brave deeds, and held a feast in the Palace in honor of his safe
coming home and presented him with many rare gifts. From this time
forth the King loved him more than ever and would not let Yamato Take
go from his side, for he said that his son was now as precious to him as
one of his arms.
But the Prince was not allowed to live an idle life long. When he was
about thirty years old, news was brought that the Ainu race, the aborigines
of the islands of Japan, who had been conquered and pushed northwards by the
Japanese, had rebelled in the Eastern provinces, and leaving the vicinity
which had been allotted to them were causing great trouble in the land. The
King decided that it was necessary to send an army to do battle with them and
bring them to reason. But who was to lead the men?
Prince Yamato Take at once offered to go and bring the newly
arisen rebels into subjection. Now as the King loved the Prince dearly,
and could not bear to have him go out of his sight even for the length of
one day, he was of course very loath to send him on his dangerous expedition.
But in the whole army there was no warrior so strong or so brave as the
Prince his son, so that His Majesty, unable to do otherwise, reluctantly
complied with Yamato's wish.
When the time came for the Prince to start, the King gave him a spear
called the Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree (the handle was probably
made from the wood of the holly tree), and ordered him to set out to
subjugate the Eastern Barbarians as the Ainu were then called.
The Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree of those old days,
was prized by warriors just as much as the Standard or Banner is valued by
a regiment in these modern days, when given by the King to his soldiers on
the occasion of setting out for war.
The Prince respectfully and with great reverence received the
King's spear, and leaving the capital, marched with his army to the
East. On his way he visited first of all the temples of Ise for
worship, and his aunt the Princess of Yamato and High Priestess came out
to greet him. She it was who had given him her robe which had proved such
a boon to him before in helping him to overcome and slay the brigands of the
West.
He told her all that had happened to him, and of the great part
her keepsake had played in the success of his previous undertaking,
and thanked her very heartily. When she heard that he was starting
out once again to do battle with his father's enemies, she went into
the temple, and reappeared bearing a sword and a beautiful bag which
she had made herself, and which was full of flints, which in those
times people used instead of matches for making fire. These she
presented to him as a parting gift.
The sword was the sword of Murakumo, one of the three sacred treasures
which comprise the insignia of the Imperial House of Japan. No more
auspicious talisman of luck and success could she have given her nephew, and
she bade him use it in the hour of his greatest need.
Yamato Take now bade farewell to his aunt, and once more placing himself
at the head of his men he marched to the farthest East through the province
of Owari, and then he reached the province of Suruga. Here the governor
welcomed the Prince right heartily and entertained him royally with many
feasts. When these were over, the governor told his guest that his country
was famous for its fine deer, and proposed a deer hunt for the Prince's
amusement. The Prince was utterly deceived by the cordiality of his host,
which was all feigned, and gladly consented to join in the hunt.
The governor then led the Prince to a wild and extensive plain where the
grass grew high and in great abundance. Quite ignorant that the governor had
laid a trap for him with the desire to compass his death, the Prince began to
ride hard and hunt down the deer, when all of a sudden to his amazement he
saw flames and smoke bursting out from the bush in front of him. Realizing
his danger he tried to retreat, but no sooner did he turn his horse in the
opposite direction than he saw that even there the prairie was on fire.
At the same time the grass on his left and right burst into flames,
and these began to spread swiftly towards him on all sides. He
looked round for a chance of escape. There was none. He was surrounded
by fire.
"This deer hunt was then only a cunning trick of the enemy!" said the
Prince, looking round on the flames and the smoke that crackled and rolled in
towards him on every side. "What a fool I was to be lured into this trap like
a wild beast!" and he ground his teeth with rage as he thought of the
governor's smiling treachery.
Dangerous as was his situation now, the Prince was not in the
least confounded. In his dire extremity he remembered the gifts his
aunt had given him when they parted, and it seemed to him as if she
must, with prophetic foresight, have divined this hour of need. He
coolly opened the flint-bag that his aunt had given him and set fire to
the grass near him. Then drawing the sword of Murakumo from its sheath he
set to work to cut down the grass on either side of him with all speed. He
determined to die, if that were necessary, fighting for his life and not
standing still waiting for death to come to him.
Strange to say the wind began to change and to blow from the opposite
direction, and the fiercest portion of the burning bush which had hitherto
threatened to come upon him was now blown right away from him, and the
Prince, without even a scratch on his body or a single hair burned, lived to
tell the tale of his wonderful escape, while the wind rising to a gale
overtook the governor, and he was burned to death in the flames he had set
alight to kill Yamato Take.
Now the Prince ascribed his escape entirely to the virtue of the sword
of Murakumo, and to the protection of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess of Ise, who
controls the wind and all the elements and insures the safety of all who pray
to her in the hour of danger. Lifting the precious sword he raised it above
his head many times in token of his great respect, and as he did this he
re-named it Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi or the Grass-Cleaving Sword, and the place
where he set fire to the grass round him and escaped from death in
the burning prairie, he called Yaidzu. To this day there is a spot
along the great Tokaido railway named Yaidzu, which is said to be the
very place where this thrilling event took place.
Thus did the brave Prince Yamato Take escape out of the snare laid for
him by his enemy. He was full of resource and courage, and finally outwitted
and subdued all his foes. Leaving Yaidzu he marched eastward, and came to the
shore at Idzu from whence he wished to cross to Kadzusa.
In these dangers and adventures he had been followed by his
faithful loving wife the Princess Ototachibana. For his sake she counted
the weariness of the long journeys and the dangers of war as nothing, and
her love for her warrior husband was so great that she felt well repaid for
all her wanderings if she could but hand him his sword when he sallied forth
to battle, or minister to his wants when he returned weary to the camp.
But the heart of the Prince was full of war and conquest and he cared
little for the faithful Ototachibana. From long exposure in traveling, and
from care and grief at her lord's coldness to her, her beauty had faded, and
her ivory skin was burnt brown by the sun, and the Prince told her one day
that her place was in the Palace behind the screens at home and not with him
upon the warpath. But in spite of rebuffs and indifference on her husband's
part, Ototachibana could not find it in her heart to leave him.
But perhaps it would have been better for her if she had done so, for
on the way to Idzu, when they came to Owari, her heart was
well-nigh broken.
Here dwelt in a Palace shaded by pine-trees and approached by imposing
gates, the Princess Miyadzu, beautiful as the cherry blossom in the blushing
dawn of a spring morning. Her garments were dainty and bright, and her skin
was white as snow, for she had never known what it was to be weary along the
path of duty or to walk in the heat of a summer's sun. And the Prince was
ashamed of his sunburnt wife in her travel-stained garments, and bade her
remain behind while he went to visit the Princess Miyadzu. Day after day
he spent hours in the gardens and the Palace of his new friend, thinking
only of his pleasure, and caring little for his poor wife who remained behind
to weep in the tent at the misery which had come into her life. Yet she was
so faithful a wife, and her character so patient, that she never allowed a
reproach to escape her lips, or a frown to mar the sweet sadness of her face,
and she was ever ready with a smile to welcome her husband back or usher him
forth wherever he went.
At last the day came when the Prince Yamato Take must depart for Idzu
and cross over the sea to Kadzusa, and he bade his wife follow in his retinue
as an attendant while he went to take a ceremonious farewell of the Princess
Miyadzu. She came out to greet him dressed in gorgeous robes, and she seemed
more beautiful than ever, and when Yamato Take saw her he forgot his wife,
his duty, and everything except the joy of the idle present, and swore that
he would return to Owari and marry her when the war was over. And as he
looked up when he had said these words he met the large almond eyes
of Ototachibana fixed full upon him in unspeakable sadness and wonder, and
he knew that he had done wrong, hut he hardened his heart and rode on, caring
little for the pain he had caused her.
When they reached the seashore at Idzu his men sought for boats in which
to cross the straits to Kadzusa, but it was difficult to find boats enough to
allow all the soldiers to embark. Then the Prince stood on the beach, and in
the pride of his strength he scoffed and said:
"This is not the sea! This is only a brook! Why do you men want so many
boats? I could jump this if I would."
When at last they had all embarked and were fairly on their way across
the straits, the sky suddenly clouded and a great storm arose. The waves rose
mountains high, the wind howled, the lightning flashed and the thunder
rolled, and the boat which held Ototachibana and the Prince and his men was
tossed from crest to crest of the rolling waves, till it seemed that every
moment must be their last and that they must all be swallowed up in the angry
sea. For Kin Jin. the Dragon King of the Sea, had heard Yamato Take jeer, and
had raised this terrible storm in anger, to show the scoffing Prince
how awful the sea could be though it did but look like a brook.
The terrified crew lowered the sails and looked after the rudder, and
worked for their dear lives' sake, but all in vain—the storm only seemed to
increase in violence, and all gave themselves up for lost. Then the faithful
Ototachibana rose, and forgetting all the grief that her husband had caused
her, forgetting even that he had wearied of her, in the one great desire of
her love to save him, she determined to sacrifice her life to rescue him from
death if it were possible.
While the waves dashed over the ship and the wind whirled round them in
fury she stood up and said:
"Surely all this has come because the Prince has angered Rin Jin, the
God of the Sea, by his jesting. If so, I, Ototachibana, will appease the
wrath of the Sea God who desires nothing less than my husband's life!"
Then addressing the sea she said:
"I will take the place of His Augustness, Yamato Take. I will now cast
myself into your outraged depths, giving my life for his. Therefore hear me
and bring him safely to the shore of Kadzusa."
With these words she leaped quickly into the boisterous sea, and
the waves soon whirled her away and she was lost to sight. Strange to say,
the storm ceased at once, and the sea became as calm and smooth as the
matting on which the astonished onlookers were sitting. The gods of the sea
were now appeased, and the weather cleared and the sun shone as on a summer's
day.
Yamato Take soon reached the opposite shore and landed safely, even as
his wife Ototachibana had prayed. His prowess in war was marvelous, and he
succeeded after some time in conquering the Eastern Barbarians, the
Ainu.
He ascribed his safe landing wholly to the faithfulness of his wife, who
had so willingly and lovingly sacrificed herself in the hour of his utmost
peril. His heart was softened at the remembrance of her, and he never allowed
her to pass from his thoughts even for a moment. Too late had he learned to
esteem the goodness of her heart and the greatness of her love for him.
As he was returning on his homeward way he came to the high pass of the
Usui Toge, and here he stood and gazed at the wonderful prospect beneath him.
The country, from this great elevation, all lay open to his sight, a vast
panorama of mountain and plain and forest, with rivers winding like silver
ribbons through the land; then far off he saw the distant sea, which
shimmered like a luminous mist in the great distance, where Ototachibana had
given her life for him, and as he turned towards it he stretched out his
arms, and thinking of her love which he had scorned and his faithlessness to
her, his heart burst out into a sorrowful and bitter cry:
"Azuma, Azuma, Ya!" (Oh! my wife, my wife!) And to this day there is a
district in Tokyo called Azuma, which commemorates the words of Prince Yamato
Take, and the place where his faithful wife leapt into the sea to save him is
still pointed out. So, though in life the Princess Ototachibana was unhappy,
history keeps her memory green, and the story of her unselfishness and heroic
death will never pass away.
Yamato Take had now fulfilled all his father's orders, he had subdued
all rebels, and rid the land of all robbers and enemies to the peace, and his
renown was great, for in the whole land there was no one who could stand up
against him, he was so strong in battle and wise in council.
He was about to return straight for home by the way he had come, when
the thought struck him that he would find it more interesting to take another
route, so he passed through the province of Owari and came to the province of
Omi.
When the Prince reached Omi he found the people in a state of
great excitement and fear. In many houses as he passed along he saw
the signs of mourning and heard loud lamentations. On inquiring the cause
of this he was told that a terrible monster had appeared in the mountains,
who daily came down from thence and made raids on the villages, devouring
whoever he could seize. Many homes had been made desolate and the men were
afraid to go out to their daily work in the fields, or the women to go to the
rivers to wash their rice.
When Yamato Take heard this his wrath was kindled, and he
said fiercely:
"From the western end of Kiushiu to the eastern corner of Yezo I have
subdued all the King's enemies—there is no one who dares to break the laws
or to rebel against the King. It. is indeed a matter for wonder that here in
this place, so near the capital, a wicked monster has dared to take up his
abode and be the terror of the King's subjects. Not long shall it find
pleasure in devouring innocent folk. I will start out and kill it at
once."
With these words he set out for the Ibuki Mountain, where the monster
was said to live. He climbed up a good distance, when all of a sudden, at a
winding in the path, a monster serpent appeared before him and stopped the
way.
"This must be the monster," said the Prince; "I do not need my sword for
a serpent. I can kill him with my hands."
He thereupon sprang upon the serpent and tried to strangle it to death
with his bare arms. It was not long before his prodigious strength gained the
mastery and the serpent lay dead at his feet. Now a sudden darkness came over
the mountain and rain began to fall, so that for the gloom and the rain the
Prince could hardly see which way to take. In a short time, however, while he
was groping his way down the pass, the weather cleared, and our brave hero
was able to make his way quickly down the mountain.
When be got back he began to feel ill and to have burning pains in his
feet, so he knew that the serpent had poisoned him. So great was his
suffering that he could hardly move, much less walk, so he had himself
carried to a place in the mountains famous for its hot mineral springs, which
rose bubbling out of the earth, and almost boiling from the volcanic fires
beneath.
Yamato Take bathed daily in these waters, and gradually he felt
his strength come again, and the pains left him, till at last one day
he found with great joy that he was quite recovered. He now hastened
to the temples of Ise, where you will remember that he prayed
before undertaking this long expedition. His aunt, priestess of the
shrine, who had blessed him on his setting out, now came to welcome
him back. He told her of the many dangers he had encountered and of
how marvelously his life had been preserved through all—and she
praised his courage and his warrior's prowess, and then putting on her
most magnificent robes she returned thanks to their ancestress the
Sun Goddess Amaterasu, to whose protection they both ascribed the Prince's
wonderful preservation.
Here ends the story of Prince Yamato Take of Japan.
Long, long ago there lived, an old man and. an old woman; they
were peasants, and had to work hard to earn their daily rice. The old
man used to go and cut grass for the farmers around, and while he was gone
the old woman, his wife, did the work of the house and worked in their own
little rice field.
One day the old man went to the hills as usual to cut grass and the old
woman took some clothes to the river to wash.
It was nearly summer, and the country was very beautiful to see in its
fresh greenness as the two old people went on their way to work. The grass on
the banks of the river looked like emerald velvet, and the pussy willows
along the edge of the water were shaking out their soft tassels.
The breezes blew and ruffled the smooth surface of the water
into wavelets, and passing on touched the cheeks of the old couple
who, for some reason they could not explain, felt very happy
that morning.
The old woman at last found a nice spot by the river bank and put her
basket down. Then she set to work to wash the clothes; she took them one by
one out of the basket and washed them in the river and rubbed them on the
stones. The water was as clear as crystal, and she could see the tiny fish
swimming to and fro, and the pebbles at the bottom.
As she was busy washing her clothes a great peach came bumping down the
stream. The old woman looked up from her work and saw this large peach. She
was sixty years of age, yet in all her life she had never seen such a big
peach as this.
"How delicious that peach must be!" she said to herself. "I
must certainly get it and take it home to my old man."
She stretched out her arm to try and get it, but it was quite out of her
reach. She looked about for a stick, but there was not one to be seen, and if
she went to look for one she would lose the peach.
Stopping a moment to think what she would do, she remembered an
old charm-verse. Now she began to clap her hands to keep time to
the rolling of the peach down stream, and while she clapped she sang this
song:
"Distant water is bitter, The near water is
sweet; Pass by the distant water And come into
the sweet."
Strange to say, as soon as she began to repeat this little song
the peach began to come nearer and nearer the bank where the old woman was
standing, till at last it stopped just in front of her so that she was able
to take it up in her hands. The old woman was delighted. She could not go on
with her work, so happy and excited was she, so she put all the clothes back
in her bamboo basket, and with the basket on her back and the peach in her
hand she hurried homewards.
It seemed a very long time to her to wait till her husband returned. The
old man at last came back as the sun was setting, with a big bundle of grass
on his back—so big that he was almost hidden and she could hardly see him.
He seemed very tired and used the scythe for a walking stick, leaning on it
as he walked along.
As soon as the old woman saw him she called out:
"O Fii San! (old man) I have been waiting for you to come home for such
a long time to-day!"
"What is the matter? Why are you so impatient?" asked the old
man, wondering at her unusual eagerness. "Has anything happened while
I have been away?"
"Oh, no!" answered the old woman, "nothing has happened, only I
have found a nice present for you!"
"That is good," said the old man. He then washed his feet in a basin of
water and stepped up to the veranda.
The old woman now ran into the little room and brought out from
the cupboard the big peach. It felt even heavier than before. She held it
up to him, saying:
"Just look at this! Did you ever see such a large peach in all
your life?"
When the old man looked at the peach he was greatly astonished
and said:
"This is indeed the largest peach I have ever seen! Wherever did you buy
it?"
"I did not buy it," answered the old woman. "I found it in the
river where I was washing." And she told him the whole story.
"I am very glad that you have found it. Let us eat it now, for I
am hungry," said the O Fii San.
He brought out the kitchen knife, and, placing the peach on a board, was
about to cut it when, wonderful to tell, the peach split in two of itself and
a clear voice said:
"Wait a bit, old man!" and out stepped a beautiful little child.
The old man and his wife were both so astonished at what they saw that
they fell to the ground. The child spoke again:
"Don't be afraid. I am no demon or fairy. I will tell you the
truth. Heaven has had compassion on you. Every day and every night you
have lamented that you had no child. Your cry has been heard and I am sent
to be the son of your old age!"
On hearing this the old man and his wife were very happy. They had cried
night and day for sorrow at having no child to help them in their lonely old
age, and now that their prayer was answered they were so lost with joy that
they did not know where to put their hands or their feet. First the old man
took the child up in his arms, and then the old woman did the same; and they
named him MOMOTARO, OR SON OF A PEACH, because he had come out of a
peach.
The years passed quickly by and the child grew to be fifteen years of
age. He was taller and far stronger than any other boys of his own age, he
had a handsome face and a heart full of courage, and he was very wise for his
years. The old couple's pleasure was very great when they looked at him, for
he was just what they thought a hero ought to be like.
One day Momotaro came to his foster-father and said solemnly:
"Father, by a strange chance we have become father and son.
Your goodness to me has been higher than the mountain grasses which it was
your daily work to cut, and deeper than the river where my mother washes the
clothes. I do not know how to thank you enough."
"Why," answered the old man, "it is a matter of course that a
father should bring up his son. When you are older it will be your turn
to take care of us, so after all there will be no profit or loss between
us—all will be equal. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should thank me
in this way!" and the old man looked bothered.
"I hope you will be patient with me," said Momotaro; "but before I begin
to pay back your goodness to me I have a request to make which I hope you
will grant me above everything else."
"I will let you do whatever you wish, for you are quite different to all
other boys!"
"Then let me go away at once!"
"What do you say? Do you wish to leave your old father and mother and go
away from your old home?"
"I will surely come back again, if you let me go now!"
"Where are you going?"
"You must think it strange that I want to go away," said
Momotaro, "because I have not yet told you my reason. Far away from here
to the northeast of Japan there is an island in the sea. This island
is the stronghold of a band of devils. I have often heard how they invade
this land, kill and rob the people, and carry off all they can find. They are
not only very wicked but they are disloyal to our Emperor and disobey his
laws. They are also cannibals, for they kill and eat some of the poor people
who are so unfortunate as to fall into their hands. These devils are very
hateful beings. I must go and conquer them and bring back all the plunder of
which they have robbed this land. It is for this reason that I want to go
away for a short time!"
The old man was much surprised at hearing all this from a mere boy of
fifteen. He thought it best to let the boy go. He was strong and fearless,
and besides all this, the old man knew he was no common child, for he had
been sent to them as a gift from Heaven, and he felt quite sure that the
devils would be powerless to harm him.
"All you say is very interesting, Momotaro," said the old man. "I will
not hinder you in your determination. You may go if you wish. Go to the
island as soon as ever you like and destroy the demons and bring peace to the
land."
"Thank you, for all your kindness," said Momotaro, who began to
get ready to go that very day. He was full of courage and did not
know what fear was.
The old man and woman at once set to work to pound rice in the kitchen
mortar to make cakes for Momotaro to take with him on his journey.
At last the cakes were made and Momotaro was ready to start on his long
journey.
Parting is always sad. So it was now. The eyes of the two old
people were filled with tears and their voices trembled as they said:
"Go with all care and speed. We expect you back victorious!"
Momotaro was very sorry to leave his old parents (though he knew he was
coming back as soon as he could), for he thought of how lonely they would be
while he was away. But he said "Good-by!" quite bravely.
"I am going now. Take good care of yourselves while I am away.
Good- by!" And he stepped quickly out of the house. In silence the eyes
of Momotaro and his parents met in farewell.
Momotaro now hurried on his way till it was midday. He began to
feel hungry, so he opened his bag and took out one of the rice-cakes
and sat down under a tree by the side of the road to eat it. While he was
thus having his lunch a dog almost as large as a colt came running out from
the high grass. He made straight for Momotaro, and showing his teeth, said in
a fierce way:
"You are a rude man to pass my field without asking permission first. If
you leave me all the cakes you have in your bag you may go; otherwise I will
bite you till I kill you!"
Momotaro only laughed scornfully:
"What is that you are saying? Do you know who I am? I am Momotaro, and I
am on my way to subdue the devils in their island stronghold in the northeast
of Japan. If you try to stop me on my way there I will cut you in two from
the head downwards!"
The dog's manner at once changed. His tail dropped between his legs, and
coming near he bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground.
"What do I hear? The name of Momotaro? Are you indeed Momotaro? I have
often heard of your great strength. Not knowing who you were I have behaved
in a very stupid way. Will you please pardon my rudeness? Are you indeed on
your way to invade the Island of Devils? If you will take such a rude fellow
with you as one of your followers, I shall be very grateful to you."
"I think I can take you with me if you wish to go," said Momotaro.
"Thank you!" said the dog. "By the way, I am very very hungry. Will you
give me one of the cakes you are carrying?"
"This is the best kind of cake there is in Japan," said Momotaro.
"I cannot spare you a whole one; I will give you half of one."
"Thank you very much," said the dog, taking the piece thrown to him.
Then Momotaro got up and the dog followed. For a long time they walked
over the hills and through the valleys. As they were going along an animal
came down from a tree a little ahead of them. The creature soon came up to
Momotaro and said:
"Good morning, Momotaro! You are welcome in this part of the country.
Will you allow me to go with you?"
The dog answered jealously:
"Momotaro already has a dog to accompany him. Of what use is a monkey
like you in battle? We are on our way to fight the devils! Get away!"
The dog and the monkey began to quarrel and bite, for these two animals
always hate each other.
"Now, don't quarrel!" said Momotaro, putting himself between them. "Wait
a moment, dog!"
"It is not at all dignified for you to have such a creature as
that following you!" said the dog.
"What do you know about it?" asked Momotaro; and pushing aside the dog,
he spoke to the monkey:
"Who are you?"
"I am a monkey living in these hills," replied the monkey." I heard of
your expedition to the Island of Devils, and I have come to go with you.
Nothing will please me more than to follow you!"
"Do you really wish to go to the Island of Devils and fight
with me?"
"Yes, sir," replied the monkey.
"I admire your courage," said Momotaro. "Here is a piece of one of my
fine rice-cakes. Come along!"
So the monkey joined Momotaro. The dog and the monkey did not get
on well together. They were always snapping at each other as they
went along, and always wanting to have a fight. This made Momotaro
very cross, and at last he sent the dog on ahead with a flag and put
the monkey behind with a sword, and he placed himself between them with a
war-fan, which is made of iron.
By and by they came to a large field. Here a bird flew down and alighted
on the ground just in front of the little party. It was the most beautiful
bird Momotaro had ever seen. On its body were five different robes of
feathers and its head was covered with a scarlet cap.
The dog at once ran at the bird and tried to seize and kill it. But the
bird struck out its spurs and flew at the dog's tail, and the fight went hard
with both.
Momotaro, as he looked on, could not help admiring the bird; it showed
so much spirit in the fight. It would certainly make a good fighter.
Momotaro went up to the two combatants, and holding the dog back, said
to the bird:
"You rascal! you are hindering my journey. Surrender at once, and I will
take you with me. If you don't I will set this dog to bite your head
off!"
Then the bird surrendered at once, and begged to be taken
into Momotaro's company.
"I do not know what excuse to offer for quarreling with the dog, your
servant, but I did not see you. I am a miserable bird called a pheasant. It
is very generous of you to pardon my rudeness and to take me with you. Please
allow me to follow you behind the dog and the monkey!"
"I congratulate you on surrendering so soon," said Momotaro, smiling.
"Come and join us in our raid on the devils."
"Are you going to take this bird with you also?" asked the
dog, interrupting.
"Why do you ask such an unnecessary question? Didn't you hear what
I said? I take the bird with me because I wish to!"
"Humph!" said the dog.
Then Momotaro stood and gave this order:
"Now all of you must listen to me. The first thing necessary in an army
is harmony. It is a wise saying which says that 'Advantage on earth is better
than advantage in Heaven!' Union amongst ourselves is better than any earthly
gain. When we are not at peace amongst ourselves it is no easy thing to
subdue an enemy. From now, you three, the dog, the monkey and the pheasant,
must be friends with one mind. The one who first begins a quarrel will be
discharged on the spot!"
All the three promised not to quarrel. The pheasant was now made
a member of Momotaro's suite, and received half a cake.
Momotaro's influence was so great that the three became good friends,
and hurried onwards with him as their leader.
Hurrying on day after day they at last came out upon the shore of the
North-Eastern Sea. There was nothing to be seen as far as the horizon—not a
sign of any island. All that broke the stillness was the rolling of the waves
upon the shore.
Now, the dog and the monkey and the pheasant had come very bravely all
the way through the long valleys and over the hills, but they had never seen
the sea before, and for the first time since they set out they were
bewildered and gazed at each other in silence. How were they to cross the
water and get to the Island of Devils?
Momotaro soon saw that they were daunted by the sight of the sea, and to
try them he spoke loudly and roughly:
"Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid of the sea? Oh! what cowards you
are! It is impossible to take such weak creatures as you with me to fight the
demons. It will be far better for me to go alone. I discharge you all at
once!"
The three animals were taken aback at this sharp reproof, and clung to
Momotaro's sleeve, begging him not to send them away.
"Please, Momotaro!" said the dog.
"We have come thus far!" said the monkey.
"It is inhuman to leave us here!" said the pheasant.
"We are not at all afraid of the sea," said the monkey again.
"Please do take us with you," said the pheasant.
"Do please," said the dog.
They had now gained a little courage, so Momotaro said:
"Well, then, I will take you with me, but be careful!"
Momotaro now got a small ship, and they all got on board. The wind and
weather were fair, and the ship went like an arrow over the sea. It was the
first time they had ever been on the water, and so at first the dog, the
monkey and the pheasant were frightened at the waves and the rolling of the
vessel, but by degrees they grew accustomed to the water and were quite happy
again. Every day they paced the deck of their little ship, eagerly looking
out for the demons' island.
When they grew tired of this, they told each other stories of all their
exploits of which they were proud, and then played games together; and
Momotaro found much to amuse him in listening to the three animals and
watching their antics, and in this way he forgot that the way was long and
that he was tired of the voyage and of doing nothing. He longed to be at work
killing the monsters who had done so much harm in his country.
As the wind blew in their favor and they met no storms the ship made a
quick voyage, and one day when the sun was shining brightly a sight of land
rewarded the four watchers at the bow.
Momotaro knew at once that what they saw was the devils' stronghold. On
the top of the precipitous shore, looking out to sea, was a large castle. Now
that his enterprise was close at hand, he was deep in thought with his head
leaning on his hands, wondering how he should begin the attack. His three
followers watched him, waiting for orders. At last he called to the
pheasant:
"It is a great advantage for us to have you with us." said Momotaro to
the bird, "for you have good wings. Fly at once to the castle and engage the
demons to fight. We will follow you."
The pheasant at once obeyed. He flew off from the ship beating the air
gladly with his wings. The bird soon reached the island and took up his
position on the roof in the middle of the castle, calling out loudly:
"All you devils listen to me! The great Japanese general Momotaro has
come to fight you and to take your stronghold from you. If you wish to save
your lives surrender at once, and in token of your submission you must break
off the horns that grow on your forehead. If you do not surrender at once,
but make up your mind to fight, we, the pheasant, the dog and the monkey,
will kill you all by biting and tearing you to death!"
The horned demons looking up and only seeing a pheasant, laughed
and said:
"A wild pheasant, indeed! It is ridiculous to hear such words from
a mean thing like you. Wait till you get a blow from one of our
iron bars!"
Very angry, indeed, were the devils. They shook their horns and their
shocks of red hair fiercely, and rushed to put on tiger skin trousers to make
themselves look more terrible. They then brought out great iron bars and ran
to where the pheasant perched over their heads, and tried to knock him down.
The pheasant flew to one side to escape the blow, and then attacked the head
of first one and then another demon. He flew round and round them, beating
the air with his wings so fiercely and ceaselessly, that the devils began
to wonder whether they had to fight one or many more birds.
In the meantime, Momotaro had brought his ship to land. As they
had approached, he saw that the shore was like a precipice, and that
the large castle was surrounded by high walls and large iron gates and was
strongly fortified.
Momotaro landed, and with the hope of finding some way of
entrance, walked up the path towards the top, followed by the monkey and
the dog. They soon came upon two beautiful damsels washing clothes in
a stream. Momotaro saw that the clothes were blood-stained, and that as
the two maidens washed, the tears were falling fast down their cheeks. He
stopped and spoke to them:
"Who are you, and why do you weep?"
"We are captives of the Demon King. We were carried away from our homes
to this island, and though we are the daughters of Daimios (Lords), we are
obliged to be his servants, and one day he will kill us"—and the maidens
held up the blood-stained clothes—"and eat us, and there is no one to help
us!"
And their tears burst out afresh at this horrible thought.
"I will rescue you," said Momotaro. "Do not weep any more, only show me
how I may get into the castle."
Then the two ladies led the way and showed Momotaro a little back door
in the lowest part of the castle wall—so small that Momotaro could hardly
crawl in.
The pheasant, who was all this time fighting hard, saw Momotaro and his
little band rush in at the back.
Momotaro's onslaught was so furious that the devils could not
stand against him. At first their foe had been a single bird,
the pheasant, but now that Momotaro and the dog and the monkey had arrived
they were bewildered, for the four enemies fought like a hundred, so strong
were they. Some of the devils fell off the parapet of the castle and were
dashed to pieces on the rocks beneath; others fell into the sea and were
drowned; many were beaten to death by the three animals.
The chief of the devils at last was the only one left. He made up his
mind to surrender, for he knew that his enemy was stronger than mortal
man.
He came up humbly to Momotaro and threw down his iron bar, and kneeling
down at the victor's feet he broke off the horns on his head in token of
submission, for they were the sign of his strength and power.
"I am afraid of you," he said meekly. "I cannot stand against you.
I will give you all the treasure hidden in this castle if you will spare
my life!"
Momotaro laughed.
"It is not like you, big devil, to beg for mercy, is it? I cannot spare
your wicked life, however much you beg, for you have killed and tortured many
people and robbed our country for many years."
Then Momotaro tied the devil chief up and gave him into the
monkey's charge. Having done this, he went into all the rooms of the
castle and set the prisoners free and gathered together all the treasure
he found.
The dog and the pheasant carried home the plunder, and thus
Momotaro returned triumphantly to his home, taking with him the devil
chief as a captive.
The two poor damsels, daughters of Daimios, and others whom the wicked
demon had carried off to be his slaves, were taken safely to their own homes
and delivered to their parents.
The whole country made a hero of Momotaro on his triumphant return, and
rejoiced that the country was now freed from the robber devils who had been a
terror of the land for a long time.
The old couple's joy was greater than ever, and the treasure Momotaro
had brought home with him enabled them to live in peace and plenty to the end
of their days.
Long, long ago in Kyoto, the people of the city were terrified
by accounts of a dreadful ogre, who, it was said, haunted the Gate
of Rashomon at twilight and seized whoever passed by. The missing victims
were never seen again, so it was whispered that the ogre was a horrible
cannibal, who not only killed the unhappy victims but ate them also. Now
everybody in the town and neighborhood was in great fear, and no one durst
venture out after sunset near the Gate of Rashomon.
Now at this time there lived in Kyoto a general named Raiko, who
had made himself famous for his brave deeds. Some time before this he made
the country ring with his name, for he had attacked Oeyama, where a band of
ogres lived with their chief, who instead of wine drank the blood of human
beings. He had routed them all and cut off the head of the chief
monster.
This brave warrior was always followed by a band of faithful knights. In
this band there were five knights of great valor. One evening as the five
knights sat at a feast quaffing SAKE in their rice bowls and eating all kinds
of fish, raw, and stewed, and broiled, and toasting each other's healths and
exploits, the first knight, Hojo, said to the others:
"Have you all heard the rumor that every evening after sunset
there comes an ogre to the Gate of Rashomon, and that he seizes all
who pass by?"
The second knight, Watanabe, answered him, saying:
"Do not talk such nonsense! All the ogres were killed by our chief Raiko
at Oeyama! It cannot be true, because even if any ogres did escape from that
great killing they would not dare to show themselves in this city, for they
know that our brave master would at once attack them if he knew that any of
them were still alive!"
"Then do you disbelieve what I say, and think that I am telling you a
falsehood?"
"No, I do not think that you are telling a lie," said Watanabe; "but you
have heard some old woman's story which is not worth believing."
"Then the best plan is to prove what I say, by going there yourself and
finding out yourself whether it is true or not," said Hojo.
Watanabe, the second knight, could not bear the thought that
his companion should believe he was afraid, so he answered quickly:
"Of course, I will go at once and find out for myself!"
So Watanabe at once got ready to go—he buckled on his long sword and
put on a coat of armor, and tied on his large helmet. When he was ready to
start he said to the others:
"Give me something so that I can prove I have been there!"
Then one of the men got a roll of writing paper and his box of Indian
ink and brushes, and the four comrades wrote their names on a piece of
paper.
"I will take this," said Watanabe, "and put it on the Gate of Rashomon,
so to-morrow morning will you all go and look at it? I may be able to catch
an ogre or two by then!" and he mounted his horse and rode off
gallantly.
It was a very dark night, and there was neither moon nor star to light
Watanabe on his way. To make the darkness worse a storm came on, the rain
fell heavily and the wind howled like wolves in the mountains. Any ordinary
man would have trembled at the thought of going out of doors, but Watanabe
was a brave warrior and dauntless, and his honor and word were at stake, so
he sped on into the night, while his companions listened to the sound of his
horse's hoofs dying away in the distance, then shut the sliding shutters
close and gathered round the charcoal fire and wondered what would
happen—and whether their comrade would encounter one of those horrible
Oni.
At last Watanabe reached the Gate of Rashomon, but peer as he
might through the darkness he could see no sign of an ogre.
"It is just as I thought," said Watanabe to himself; "there
are certainly no ogres here; it is only an old woman's story. I will stick
this paper on the gate so that the others can see I have been here when they
come to-morrow, and then I will take my way home and laugh at them
all."
He fastened the piece of paper, signed by all his four companions, on
the gate, and then turned his horse's head towards home.
As he did so he became aware that some one was behind him, and at the
same time a voice called out to him to wait. Then his helmet was seized from
the back. "Who are you?" said Watanabe fearlessly. He then put out his hand
and groped around to find out who or what it was that held him by the helmet.
As he did so he touched something that felt like an arm—it was covered with
hair and as big round as the trunk of a tree!
Watanabe knew at once that this was the arm of an ogre, so he drew his
sword and cut at it fiercely.
There was a loud yell of pain, and then the ogre dashed in front of the
warrior.
Watanabe's eyes grew large with wonder, for he saw that the ogre
was taller than the great gate, his eyes were flashing like mirrors in the
sunlight, and his huge mouth was wide open, and as the monster breathed,
flames of fire shot out of his mouth.
The ogre thought to terrify his foe, but Watanabe never flinched.
He attacked the ogre with all his strength, and thus they fought face to
face for a long time. At last the ogre, finding that he could neither
frighten nor beat Watanabe and that he might himself be beaten, took to
flight. But Watanabe, determined not to let the monster escape, put spurs to
his horse and gave chase.
But though the knight rode very fast the ogre ran faster, and to
his disappointment he found himself unable to overtake the monster,
who was gradually lost to sight.
Watanabe returned to the gate where the fierce fight had taken place,
and got down from his horse. As he did so he stumbled upon something lying on
the ground.
Stooping to pick it up he found that it was one of the ogre's huge arms
which he must have slashed off in the fight. His joy was great at having
secured such a prize, for this was the best of all proofs of his adventure
with the ogre. So he took it up carefully and carried it home as a trophy of
his victory.
When he got back, he showed the arm to his comrades, who one and
all called him the hero of their band and gave him a great feast.
His wonderful deed was soon noised abroad in Kyoto, and people from
far and near came to see the ogre's arm.
Watanabe now began to grow uneasy as to how he should keep the arm in
safety, for he knew that the ogre to whom it belonged was still alive. He
felt sure that one day or other, as soon as the ogre got over his scare, he
would come to try to get his arm back again. Watanabe therefore had a box
made of the strongest wood and banded with iron. In this he placed the arm,
and then he sealed down the heavy lid, refusing to open it for anyone. He
kept the box in his own room and took charge of it himself, never allowing it
out of his sight.
Now one night he heard some one knocking at the porch, asking
for admittance.
When the servant went to the door to see who it was, there was only an
old woman, very respectable in appearance. On being asked who she was and
what was her business, the old woman replied with a smile that she had been
nurse to the master of the house when he was a little baby. If the lord of
the house were at home she begged to be allowed to see him.
The servant left the old woman at the door and went to tell his master
that his old nurse had come to see him. Watanabe thought it strange that she
should come at that time of night, but at the thought of his old nurse, who
had been like a foster-mother to him and whom he had not seen for a long
time, a very tender feeling sprang up for her in his heart. He ordered the
servant to show her in.
The old woman was ushered into the room, and after the customary bows
and greetings were over, she said:
"Master, the report of your brave fight with the ogre at the Gate
of Rashomon is so widely known that even your poor old nurse has heard of
it. Is it really true, what every one says, that you cut off one of the
ogre's arms? If you did, your deed is highly to be praised!"
"I was very disappointed," said Watanabe, "that I was not able take the
monster captive, which was what I wished to do, instead of only cutting off
an arm!"
"I am very proud to think," answered the old woman, "that my master was
so brave as to dare to cut off an ogre's arm. There is nothing that can be
compared to your courage. Before I die it is the great wish of my life to see
this arm," she added pleadingly.
"No," said Watanabe, "I am sorry, but I cannot grant your request."
"But why?" asked the old woman.
"Because," replied Watanabe, "ogres are very revengeful creatures, and
if I open the box there is no telling but that the ogre may suddenly appear
and carry off his arm. I have had a box made on purpose with a very strong
lid, and in this box I keep the ogre's arm secure; and I never show it to any
one, whatever happens."
"Your precaution is very reasonable," said the old woman. "But I am your
old nurse, so surely you will not refuse to show ME the arm. I have only just
heard of your brave act, and not being able to wait till the morning I came
at once to ask you to show it to me."
Watanabe was very troubled at the old woman's pleading, but he
still persisted in refusing. Then the old woman said:
"Do you suspect me of being a spy sent by the ogre?"
"No, of course I do not suspect you of being the ogre's spy, for you are
my old nurse," answered Watanabe.
"Then you cannot surely refuse to show me the arm any longer." entreated
the old woman; "for it is the great wish of my heart to see for once in my
life the arm of an ogre!"
Watanabe could not hold out in his refusal any longer, so he gave in at
last, saying:
"Then I will show you the ogre's arm, since you so earnestly wish to see
it. Come, follow me!" and he led the way to his own room, the old woman
following.
When they were both in the room Watanabe shut the door carefully, and
then going towards a big box which stood in a corner of the room, he took off
the heavy lid. He then called to the old woman to come near and look in, for
he never took the arm out of the box.
"What is it like? Let me have a good look at it," said the old nurse,
with a joyful face.
She came nearer and nearer, as if she were afraid, till she stood right
against the box. Suddenly she plunged her hand into the box and seized the
arm, crying with a fearful voice which made the room shake:
"Oh, joy! I have got my arm back again!"
And from an old woman she was suddenly transformed into the
towering figure of the frightful ogre!
Watanabe sprang back and was unable to move for a moment, so great was
his astonishment; but recognizing the ogre who had attacked him at the Gate
of Rashomon, he determined with his usual courage to put an end to him this
time. He seized his sword, drew it out of its sheath in a flash, and tried to
cut the ogre down.
So quick was Watanabe that the creature had a narrow escape. But
the ogre sprang up to the ceiling, and bursting through the
roof, disappeared in the mist and clouds.
In this way the ogre escaped with his arm. The knight gnashed his teeth
with disappointment, but that was all he could do. He waited in patience for
another opportunity to dispatch the ogre. But the latter was afraid of
Watanabe's great strength and daring, and never troubled Kyoto again. So once
more the people of the city were able to go out without fear even at night
time, and the brave deeds of Watanabe have never been forgotten!
Many, many years ago there lived a good old man who had a wen like
a tennis-ball growing out of his right cheek. This lump was a
great disfigurement to the old man, and so annoyed him that for many
years he spent all his time and money in trying to get rid of it. He
tried everything he could think of. He consulted many doctors far
and near, and took all kinds of medicines both internally and externally.
But it was all of no use. The lump only grew bigger and bigger till it was
nearly as big as his face, and in despair he gave up all hopes of ever losing
it, and resigned himself to the thought of having to carry the lump on his
face all his life.
One day the firewood gave out in his kitchen, so, as his wife
wanted some at once, the old man took his ax and set out for the woods
up among the hills not very far from his home. It was a fine day in
the early autumn, and the old man enjoyed the fresh air and was in
no hurry to get home. So the whole afternoon passed quickly while he was
chopping wood, and he had collected a goodly pile to take back to his wife.
When the day began to draw to a close, he turned his face homewards.
The old man had not gone far on his way down the mountain pass when the
sky clouded and rain began to fall heavily. He looked about for some shelter,
but there was not even a charcoal-burner's hut near. At last he espied a
large hole in the hollow trunk of a tree. The hole was near the ground, so he
crept in easily, and sat down in hopes that he had only been overtaken by a
mountain shower, and that the weather would soon clear.
But much to the old man's disappointment, instead of clearing the rain
fell more and more heavily, and finally a heavy thunderstorm broke over the
mountain. The thunder roared so terrifically, and the heavens seemed to be so
ablaze with lightning, that the old man could hardly believe himself to be
alive. He thought that he must die of fright. At last, however, the sky
cleared, and the whole country was aglow in the rays of the setting sun. The
old man's spirits revived when he looked out at the beautiful twilight, and
he was about to step out from his strange hiding-place in the hollow tree
when the sound of what seemed like the approaching steps of several people
caught his ear. He at once thought that his friends had come to look for him,
and he was delighted at the idea of having some jolly companions with whom to
walk home. But on looking out from the tree, what was his amazement to see,
not his friends, but hundreds of demons coming towards the spot. The more he
looked, the greater was his astonishment. Some of these demons were as large
as giants, others had great big eyes out of all proportion to the rest of
their bodies, others again had absurdly long noses, and some had such big
mouths that they seemed to open from ear to ear. All had horns growing on
their foreheads. The old man was so surprised at what he saw that he lost his
balance and fell out of the hollow tree. Fortunately for him the demons did
not see him, as the tree was in the background. So he picked himself up and
crept back into the tree.
While he was sitting there and wondering impatiently when he would be
able to get home, he heard the sounds of gay music, and then some of the
demons began to sing.
"What are these creatures doing?" said the old man to himself. "I will
look out, it sounds very amusing."
On peeping out, the old man saw that the demon chief himself
was actually sitting with his back against the tree in which he had taken
refuge, and all the other demons were sitting round, some drinking and some
dancing. Food and wine was spread before them on the ground, and the demons
were evidently having a great entertainment and enjoying themselves
immensely.
It made the old man laugh to see their strange antics.
"How amusing this is!" laughed the old man to himself "I am now quite
old, but I have never seen anything so strange in all my life."
He was so interested and excited in watching all that the demons were
doing, that he forgot himself and stepped out of the tree and stood looking
on.
The demon chief was just taking a big cup of SAKE and watching one of
the demons dancing. In a little while he said with a bored air:
"Your dance is rather monotonous. I am tired of watching it. Isn't there
any one amongst you all who can dance better than this fellow?"
Now the old man had been fond of dancing all his life, and was quite an
expert in the art, and he knew that he could do much better than the
demon.
"Shall I go and dance before these demons and let them see what a human
being can do? It may be dangerous, for if I don't please them they may kill
me!" said the old fellow to himself.
His fears, however, were soon overcome by his love of dancing. In a few
minutes he could restrain himself no longer, and came out before the whole
party of demons and began to dance at once. The old man, realizing that his
life probably depended on whether he pleased these strange creatures or not,
exerted his skill and wit to the utmost.
The demons were at first very surprised to see a man so
fearlessly taking part in their entertainment, and then their surprise
soon gave place to admiration.
"How strange!" exclaimed the horned chief. "I never saw such a skillful
dancer before! He dances admirably!"
When the old man had finished his dance, the big demon said:
"Thank you very much for your amusing dance. Now give us the pleasure of
drinking a cup of wine with us," and with these words he handed him his
largest wine-cup.
The old man thanked him very humbly:
"I did not expect such kindness from your lordship. I fear I have only
disturbed your pleasant party by my unskillful dancing."
"No, no," answered the big demon. "You must come often and dance for us.
Your skill has given us much pleasure."
The old man thanked him again and promised to do so.
"Then will you come again to-morrow, old man?" asked the demon.
"Certainly, I will," answered the old man.
"Then you must leave some pledge of your word with us," said
the demon.
"Whatever you like," said the old man.
"Now what is the best thing he can leave with us as a pledge?" asked the
demon, looking round.
Then said one of the demon's attendants kneeling behind the chief:
"The token he leaves with us must be the most important thing to him in
his possession. I see the old man has a wen on his right cheek. Now mortal
men consider such a wen very fortunate. Let my lord take the lump from the
old man's right cheek, and he will surely come to- morrow, if only to get
that back."
"You are very clever," said the demon chief, giving his horns
an approving nod. Then he stretched out a hairy arm and claw-like
hand, and took the great lump from the old man's right cheek. Strange
to say, it came off as easily as a ripe plum from the tree at the demon's
touch, and then the merry troop of demons suddenly vanished.
The old man was lost in bewilderment by all that had happened. He hardly
knew for some time where he was. When he came to understand what had happened
to him, he was delighted to find that the lump on his face, which had for so
many years disfigured him, had really been taken away without any pain to
himself. He put up his hand to feel if any scar remained, but found that his
right cheek was as smooth as his left.
The sun had long set, and the young moon had risen like a
silver crescent in the sky. The old man suddenly realized how late it
was and began to hurry home. He patted his right cheek all the time, as if
to make sure of his good fortune in having lost the wen. He was so happy that
he found it impossible to walk quietly—he ran and danced the whole way
home.
He found his wife very anxious, wondering what had happened to make him
so late. He soon told her all that had passed since he left home that
afternoon. She was quite as happy as her husband when he showed her that the
ugly lump had disappeared from his face, for in her youth she had prided
herself on his good looks, and it had been a daily grief to her to see the
horrid growth.
Now next door to this good old couple there lived a wicked
and disagreeable old man. He, too, had for many years been troubled
with the growth of a wen on his left cheek, and he, too,
had tried all manner of things to get rid of it, but in vain.
He heard at once, through the servant, of his neighbor's good luck in
losing the lump on his face, so he called that very evening and asked his
friend to tell him everything that concerned the loss of it. The good old man
told his disagreeable neighbor all that had happened to him. He described the
place where he would find the hollow tree in which to hide, and advised him
to be on the spot in the late afternoon towards the time of sunset.
The old neighbor started out the very next afternoon, and after hunting
about for some time, came to the hollow tree just as his friend had
described. Here he hid himself and waited for the twilight.
Just as he had been told, the band of demons came at that hour and held
a feast with dance and song. When this had gone on for some time the chief of
the demons looked around and said:
"It is now time for the old man to come as he promised us. Why doesn't
he come?"
When the second old man heard these words he ran out of his
hiding- place in the tree and, kneeling down before the Oni, said:
"I have been waiting for a long time for you to speak!"
"Ah, you are the old man of yesterday," said the demon chief. "Thank you
for coming, you must dance for us soon."
The old man now stood up and opened his fan and began to dance. But he
had never learned to dance, and knew nothing about the necessary gestures and
different positions. He thought that anything would please the demons, so he
just hopped about, waving his arms and stamping his feet, imitating as well
as he could any dancing he had ever seen.
The Oni were very dissatisfied at this exhibition, and said
amongst themselves:
"How badly he dances to-day!"
Then to the old man the demon chief said:
"Your performance to-day is quite different from the dance of yesterday.
We don't wish to see any more of such dancing. We will give you back the
pledge you left with us. You must go away at once."
With these words he took out from a fold of his dress the lump which he
had taken from the face of the old man who had danced so well the day before,
and threw it at the right cheek of the old man who stood before him. The lump
immediately attached itself to his cheek as firmly as if it had grown there
always, and all attempts to pull it off were useless. The wicked old man,
instead of losing the lump on his left cheek as he had hoped, found to his
dismay that he had but added another to his right cheek in his attempt to get
rid of the first.
He put up first one hand and then the other to each side of his face to
make sure if he were not dreaming a horrible nightmare. No, sure enough there
was now a great wen on the right side of his face as on the left. The demons
had all disappeared, and there was nothing for him to do but to return home.
He was a pitiful sight, for his face, with the two large lumps, one on each
side, looked just like a Japanese gourd.
AN OLD CHINESE STORY.
Long, long ago there lived a great Chinese Empress who succeeded
her brother the Emperor Fuki. It was the age of giants, and the
Empress Jokwa, for that was her name, was twenty-five feet high, nearly
as tall as her brother. She was a wonderful woman, and an able
ruler. There is an interesting story of how she mended a part of the
broken heavens and one of the terrestrial pillars which upheld the
sky, both of which were damaged during a rebellion raised by one of
King Fuki's subjects.
The rebel's name was Kokai. He was twenty-six feet high. His body was
entirely covered with hair, and his face was as black as iron. He was a
wizard and a very terrible character indeed. When the Emperor Fuki died,
Kokai was bitten with the ambition to be Emperor of China, but his plan
failed, and Jokwa, the dead Emperor's sister, mounted the throne. Kokai was
so angry at being thwarted in his desire that he raised a revolt. His first
act was to employ the Water Devil, who caused a great flood to rush over the
country. This swamped the poor people out of their homes, and when the
Empress Jokwa saw the plight of her subjects, and knew it was Kokai's
fault, she declared war against him.
Now Jokwa, the Empress, had two young warriors called Hako and Eiko, and
the former she made General of the front forces. Hako was delighted that the
Empress's choice should fall on him, and he prepared himself for battle. He
took up the longest lance he could find and mounted a red horse, and was just
about to set out when he heard some one galloping hard behind him and
shouting:
"Hako! Stop! The general of the front forces must be I!"
He looked back and saw Eiko his comrade, riding on a white horse, in the
act of unsheathing a large sword to draw upon him. Hako's anger was kindled,
and as he turned to face his rival he cried:
"Insolent wretch! I have been appointed by the Empress to lead the front
forces to battle. Do you dare to stop me?"
"Yes," answered Eiko. "I ought to lead the army. It is you who should
follow me."
At this bold reply Hako's anger burst from a spark into a flame.
"Dare you answer me thus? Take that," and he lunged at him with
his lance.
But Eiko moved quickly aside, and at the same time, raising his sword,
he wounded the head of the General's horse. Obliged to dismount, Hako was
about to rush at his antagonist, when Eiko, as quick as lightning, tore from
his breast the badge of commandership and galloped away. The action was so
quick that Hako stood dazed, not knowing what to do.
The Empress had been a spectator of the scene, and she could not
but admire the quickness of the ambitious Eiko, and in order to pacify the
rivals she determined to appoint them both to the Generalship of the front
army.
So Hako was made commander of the left wing of the front army, and Eiko
of the right. One hundred thousand soldiers followed them and marched to put
down the rebel Kokai.
Within a short time the two Generals reached the castle where Kokai had
fortified himself. When aware of their approach, the wizard said:
"I will blow these two poor children away with one breath." (He little
thought how hard he would find the fight.)
With these words Kokai seized an iron rod and mounted a black horse, and
rushed forth like an angry tiger to meet his two foes.
As the two young warriors saw him tearing down upon them, they said to
each other: "We must not let him escape alive," and they attacked him from
the right and from the left with sword and with lance. But the all-powerful
Kokai was not to be easily beaten—he whirled his iron rod round like a great
water-wheel, and for a long time they fought thus, neither side gaining nor
losing. At last, to avoid the wizard's iron rod, Hako turned his horse too
quickly; the animal's hoofs struck against a large stone, and in a fright the
horse reared as straight on end as a screen, throwing his master to the
ground.
Thereupon Kokai drew his three-edged sword and was about to kill
the prostrate Hako, but before the wizard could work his wicked will
the brave Eiko had wheeled his horse in front of Kokai and dared him
to try his strength with him, and not to kill a fallen man. But Kokai was
tired, and he did not feel inclined to face this fresh and dauntless young
soldier, so suddenly wheeling his horse round, he fled from the fray.
Hako, who had been only slightly stunned, had by this time got upon his
feet, and he and his comrade rushed after the retreating enemy, the one on
foot and the other on horseback.
Kokai, seeing that he was pursued, turned upon his nearest assailant,
who was, of course, the mounted Eiko, and drawing forth an arrow from the
quiver at his back, fitted it to his bow and drew upon Eiko.
As quick as lightning the wary Eiko avoided the shaft, which
only touched his helmet strings, and glancing off, fell harmless
against Hako's coat of armor.
The wizard saw that both his enemies remained unscathed. He also knew
that there was no time to pull a second arrow before they would be upon him,
so to save himself he resorted to magic. He stretched forth his wand, and
immediately a great flood arose, and Jokwa's army and her brave young
Generals were swept away like a falling of autumn leaves on a stream.
Hako and Eiko found themselves struggling neck deep in water,
and looking round they saw the ferocious Kokai making towards them through
the water with his iron rod on high. They thought every moment that they
would be cut down, but they bravely struck out to swim as far as they could
from Kokai's reach. All of a sudden they found themselves in front of what
seemed to be an island rising straight out of the water. They looked up, and
there stood an old man with hair as white as snow, smiling at them. They
cried to him to help them. The old man nodded his head and came down to the
edge of the water. As soon as his feet touched the flood it divided, and a
good road appeared, to the amazement of the drowning men, who now found
themselves safe.
Kokai had by this time reached the island which had risen as if by
a miracle out of the water, and seeing his enemies thus saved he
was furious. He rushed through the water upon the old man, and it
seemed as if he would surely be killed. But the old man appeared not in
the least dismayed, and calmly awaited the wizard's onslaught.
As Kokai drew near, the old man laughed aloud merrily, and turning into
a large and beautiful white crane, flapped his wings and flew upwards into
the heavens.
When Hako and Eiko saw this, they knew that their deliverer was no mere
human being—was perhaps a god in disguise—and they hoped later on to find
out who the venerable old man was.
In the meantime they had retreated, and it being now the close of day,
for the sun was setting, both Kokai and the young warriors gave up the idea
of fighting more that day.
That night Hako and Eiko decided that it was useless to fight against
the wizard Kokai, for he had supernatural powers, while they were only human.
So they presented themselves before the Empress Jokwa. After a long
consultation, the Empress decided to ask the Fire King, Shikuyu, to help her
against the rebel wizard and to lead her army against him.
Now Shikuyu, the Fire King, lived at the South Pole. It was the
only safe place for him to be in, for he burnt up everything around
him anywhere else, but it was impossible to burn up ice and snow. To look
at he was a giant, and stood thirty feet high. His face was just like marble,
and his hair and beard long and as white as snow. His strength was
stupendous, and he was master of all fire just as Kokai was of water.
"Surely," thought the Empress, "Shikuyu can conquer Kokai." So she sent
Eiko to the South Pole to beg Shikuyu to take the war against Kokai into his
own hands and conquer him once for all.
The Fire King, on hearing the Empress's request, smiled and said:
"That is an easy matter, to be sure! It was none other than I who came
to your rescue when you and your companion were drowning in the flood raised
by Kokai!"
Eiko was surprised at learning this. He thanked the Fire King for coming
to the rescue in their dire need, and then besought him to return with him
and lead the war and defeat the wicked Kokai.
Shikuyu did as he was asked, and returned with Eiko to the Empress. She
welcomed the Fire King cordially, and at once told him why she had sent for
him—to ask him to be the Generalissimo of her army. His reply was very
reassuring:
"Do not have any anxiety. I will certainly kill Kokai."
Shikuyu then placed himself at the head of thirty thousand soldiers, and
with Hako and Eiko showing him the way, marched to the enemy's castle. The
Fire King knew the secret of Kokai's power, and he now told all the soldiers
to gather a certain kind of shrub. This they burned in large quantities, and
each soldier was then ordered to fill a bag full of the ashes thus
obtained.
Kokai, on the other hand, in his own conceit, thought that Shikuyu was
of inferior power to himself, and he murmured angrily:
"Even though you are the Fire King, I can soon extinguish you."
Then he repeated an incantation, and the water-floods rose and welled as
high as mountains. Shikuyu, not in the least frightened, ordered his soldiers
to scatter the ashes which he had caused them to make. Every man did as he
was bid, and such was the power of the plant that they had burned, that as
soon as the ashes mingled with the water a stiff mud was formed, and they
were all safe from drowning.
Now Kokai the wizard was dismayed when he saw that the Fire King
was superior in wisdom to himself, and his anger was so great that
he rushed headlong towards the enemy.
Eiko rode to meet him, and the two fought together for some time. They
were well matched in a hand-to-hand combat. Hako, who was carefully watching
the fray, saw that Eiko began to tire, and fearing that his companion would
be killed, he took his place.
But Kokai had tired as well, and feeling him self unable to hold
out against Hako, he said artfully:
"You are too magnanimous, thus to fight for your friend and run the risk
of being killed. I will not hurt such a good man."
And he pretended to retreat, turning away the head of his horse.
His intention was to throw Hako off his guard and then to wheel round and
take him by surprise.
But Shikuyu understood the wily wizard, and he spoke at once:
"You are a coward! You cannot deceive me!"
Saying this, the Fire King made a sign to the unwary Hako to attack him.
Kokai now turned upon Shikuyu furiously, but he was tired and unable to fight
well, and he soon received a wound in his shoulder. He now broke from the
fray and tried to escape in earnest.
While the fight between their leaders had been going on the two armies
had stood waiting for the issue. Shikuyu now turned and bade Jokwa's soldiers
charge the enemy's forces. This they did, and routed them with great
slaughter, and the wizard barely escaped with his life.
It was in vain that Kokai called upon the Water Devil to help him, for
Shikuyu knew the counter-charm. The wizard found that the battle was against
him. Mad with pain, for his wound began to trouble him, and frenzied with
disappointment and fear, he dashed his head against the rocks of Mount Shu
and died on the spot.
There was an end of the wicked Kokai, but not of trouble in the Empress
Jokwa's Kingdom, as you shall see. The force with which the wizard fell
against the rocks was so great that the mountain burst, and fire rushed out
from the earth, and one of the pillars upholding the Heavens was broken so
that one corner of the sky dropped till it touched the earth.
Shikuyu, the Fire King, took up the body of the wizard and carried it to
the Empress Jokwa, who rejoiced greatly that her enemy was vanquished, and
her generals victorious. She showered all manner of gifts and honors upon
Shikuyu.
But all this time fire was bursting from the mountain broken by the fall
of Kokai. Whole villages were destroyed, rice-fields burnt up, river beds
filled with the burning lava, and the homeless people were in great distress.
So the Empress left the capital as soon as she had rewarded the victor
Shikuyu, and journeyed with all speed to the scene of disaster. She found
that both Heaven and earth had sustained damage, and the place was so dark
that she had to light her lamp to find out the extent of the havoc that had
been wrought.
Having ascertained this, she set to work at repairs. To this end
she ordered her subjects to collect stones of five colors—blue,
yellow, red, white and black. When she had obtained these, she boiled
them with a kind of porcelain in a large caldron, and the mixture became a
beautiful paste, and with this she knew that she could mend the sky. Now all
was ready.
Summoning the clouds that were sailing ever so high above her head, she
mounted them, and rode heavenwards, carrying in her hands the vase containing
the paste made from the stones of five colors. She soon reached the corner of
the sky that was broken, and applied the paste and mended it. Having done
this, she turned her attention to the broken pillar, and with the legs of a
very large tortoise she mended it. When this was finished she mounted the
clouds and descended to the earth, hoping to find that all was now right,
but to her dismay she found that it was still quite dark. Neither the sun
shone by day nor the moon by night.
Greatly perplexed, she at last called a meeting of all the wise men of
the Kingdom, and asked their advice as to what she should do in this
dilemma.
Two of the wisest said:
"The roads of Heaven have been damaged by the late accident, and the Sun
and Moon have been obliged to stay at home. Neither the Sun could make his
daily journey nor the Moon her nightly one because of the bad roads. The Sun
and Moon do not yet know that your Majesty has mended all that was damaged,
so we will go and inform them that since you have repaired them the roads are
safe."
The Empress approved of what the wise men suggested, and ordered them to
set out on their mission. But this was not easy, for the Palace of the Sun
and Moon was many, many hundreds of thousands of miles distant into the East.
If they traveled on foot they might never reach the place, they would die of
old age on the road. But Jokwa had recourse to magic. She gave her two
ambassadors wonderful chariots which could whirl through the air by magic
power a thousand miles per minute. They set out in good spirits, riding above
the clouds, and after many days they reached the country where the Sun and
the Moon were living happily together.
The two ambassadors were granted an interview with their Majesties of
Light and asked them why they had for so many days secluded themselves from
the Universe? Did they not know that by doing so they plunged the world and
all its people into uttermost darkness both day and night?
Replied the Sun and the Moon:
"Surely you know that Mount Shu has suddenly burst forth with fire, and
the roads of Heaven have been greatly damaged! I, the Sun, found it
impossible to make my daily journey along such rough roads—and certainly the
Moon could not issue forth at night! so we both retired into private life for
a time."
Then the two wise men bowed themselves to the ground and said:
"Our Empress Jokwa has already repaired the roads with the
wonderful stones of five colors, so we beg to assure your Majesties that
the roads are just as they were before the eruption took place."
But the Sun and the Moon still hesitated, saying that they had
heard that one of the pillars of Heaven had been broken as well, and
they feared that, even if the roads had been remade, it would still
be dangerous for them to sally forth on their usual journeys.
"You need have no anxiety about the broken pillar," said the
two ambassadors. "Our Empress restored it with the legs of a
great tortoise, and it is as firm as ever it was."
Then the Sun and Moon appeared satisfied, and they both set out to try
the roads. They found that what the Empress's deputies had told them was
correct.
After the examination of the heavenly roads, the Sun and Moon again gave
light to the earth. All the people rejoiced greatly, and peace and prosperity
were secured in China for a long time under the reign of the wise Empress
Jokwa.
THE END.
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