The Moon-Maiden
IT was early spring on the coast of Suruga. Tender green flushed the bamboo thickets. A rose-tinged cloud from heaven had fallen softly on the branches of the cherry tree. The pine forests were fragrant of the spring. Save for the lap of the sea, there was silence on that remote shore.
A far-off sound became audible: it might be the song of falling waters, it might be the voice of the awakening wind, it might be the melody of the clouds. The strange sweet music rose and fell: the cadence was as the cadence of the sea. Slowly, imperceptibly, the music came nearer.
Above the lofty heights of Fuji-yama a snow-white cloud floated earthwards. Nearer and nearer came the music. A low clear voice could be heard chanting a lay that breathed of the peace and tranquillity of the moonlight. The fleecy cloud was borne towards the shore. For one moment it seemed to rest upon the sand, and then it melted away.
By the sea stood a glistening maiden. In her hand she carried a heart-shaped instrument, and, as her fingers touched the strings, she sang a heavenly song. She wore a robe of feathers, white and spotless as the breast of the wild swan. The maiden looked at the sea. Then she moved towards the belt of pine trees that fringed the shore. Birds flocked around her; they perched on her shoulder, and rubbed their soft heads against her cheek. She stroked them gently and they flew away full of joy. The maiden hung her robe of feathers on a pine branch, and went to bathe in the sea.
It was mid-day. A fisher sat down among the pines to eat his dumpling. Suddenly, his eye fell on the dazzling white robe. “Perhaps it is a gift from the gods,” said Hairukoo as he went up to it. The robe was so fragile that he almost feared to touch it, but at last he took it down. The feathers were wondrously woven together, and slender curved wings sprang from above the shoulder. “I will take it home, and we shall be happy,” he thought.