JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES
JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES
JAPANESE FOLK STORIES
AND
FAIRY TALES
BY
MARY F. NIXON-ROULET
AUTHOR OF “WITH A PESSIMIST IN SPAIN,” “OUR LITTLE SPANISH COUSIN,” “OUR LITTLE ALASKAN COUSIN,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK ·:· CINCINNATI ·:· CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
Copyright, 1908, by
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London
Copyright, 1908, Tokyo
Japanese Folk Stories
W. P. I
TO
DR. ALFRED DE ROULET
CONTENTS
THE CHOICE OF THE PRINCESS
A beautiful princess lived in Inaba. She was called the Princess of Yakami, and was the loveliest princess in all the land. Her skin was like velvet, her hair was dark as night, and her eyes were as bright and soft as the stars. She was sweet as well as fair, but willful, and when they said, “Fair Princess, you must marry,” she replied, “The time has not yet come. I see nowhere in Inaba the man who may be my lord.”
At this the court was in despair. The Princess would not marry until she was quite ready,—that the counselors knew. They had not counseled the little, pretty, willful princess for nothing. Had the king, her father, lived it might have been different; but he was long since gone, and the queen mother could do no more with the princess than could the wise men of the kingdom. Early in her life the princess had learned that there was just one thing she could say which no one could answer. She had only to look very sweetly at whoever was trying to persuade her to do something, and then, with a dainty little smile, say simply, “But I don’t want to!”
That was all. No one, not even the wisest of the counselors, had ever found an answer to that. It was a strange state of affairs; for all the little princesses before had been gentle and sweet, and had done just what they were told.
The counselors at length proclaimed that all young men of proper age and rank should present themselves for the princess to look at and see if she liked any of them well enough to marry.
The news of this quickly spread everywhere. It was no time at all before the road to Yakami was seen crowded with youths. There were youths tall and short, fat and thin, handsome and ugly, and each hoped he would be the favored suitor.
Among others there came eighty-one brothers, each of whom had seen the picture of the princess and wished to win her. These brothers were of noble family, but the youngest was the only one who was really noble. He was as brave as Yositumé! Eighty of the brothers were ugly and jealous of one another. It seemed as if they could agree upon nothing in all the world except treating the youngest meanly. They despised him because he was so good and gentle, and never rude or quarrelsome.
The eighty-first brother never complained. He tried to please his brothers; and when he found that he could not, he stayed away from them as far as possible.
When, therefore, they went to wait on the princess, he lingered at the back of the train; for his brothers scoffed at him and made him carry their burdens, as if he had been a servant.
The eighty brothers went proudly ahead. As they toiled up a mountain-side they came upon a poor little hare stretched out upon the grass. All his fur had been pulled out and he was ill and wretched.
“Let me tell you what will cure you,” said one of the brothers, with a wicked laugh to his companions. “Go down to the sea; bathe yourself in the salt water, and then run to the top of the hill. The Wind God of the hilltop will cure you, and your fur will grow again.”
“Thank you, noble prince,” said the hare; and as the eighty brothers turned away laughing, he hurried to the sea shore.
Alas! the salt water hurt his tender skin, and the sun and wind burned him so that he cried out with pain.
The eighty-first brother, trudging along with his brothers’ bundles, heard the cry and hurried to see if some one was hurt.
“Poor little fellow!” he said, pityingly. “What is the matter?”
“Your voice is kind, your face is kind, and I feel that you have a kind heart,” said the hare. “Perhaps you can help me if I tell you my story.”
“I will gladly do so if I can,” said the eighty-first brother.
“I was born in the Isle of Oki,” said the hare. “When I grew up I longed to see the world, but I knew not how to reach the mainland. After a long time, however, I thought of a way. Great numbers of crocodiles were in the habit of coming to the beach to sun themselves. One day I said to them boastfully, ‘There are more hares in Oki than crocodiles in the sea.’
“‘Not so,’ said one of the crocodiles, ‘there are a great many more crocodiles.’
“‘Let us count,’ I answered, ‘and then both will be satisfied. I can count all of you crocodiles very easily. You have only to form a line from here to Cape Kita, and let the nose of one be at the tail of another, and I will run lightly across on your backs and count as I go. Then we shall know how many crocodiles there are.’
“‘But how shall we know about the hares?’ asked a crocodile.
“‘Oh, that we can decide later,’ I answered.
“So they did as I had said. They formed in a line, and I ran across. Their broad backs made a good bridge, but, alas, why did I not know enough to hold my tongue? As I jumped from the last crocodile to the bank, I cried, ‘I have fooled you well! I don’t care how many crocodiles there are. I only used you as a bridge to reach the mainland.’ But just as I said this, the last monster grabbed me with his teeth and tore off all my fur.
“GO AND BATHE IN THE FRESH WATER OF THE RIVER”
“‘You deserve to be killed,’ he said. ‘But I will let you go. In future do not try to deceive creatures bigger than yourself.’”
“Indeed, he was quite right,” said the eighty-first brother. “You were well paid for being deceitful; but I am very sorry for you.”
“Let me finish my story,” said the hare, hanging his head at this rebuke. “As I lay here, smarting with pain, a train of princes passed by. One of them told me to bathe in the sea and run in the wind. I did so, and that is what put me in this painful state. Now what can I do, for I can hardly bear my suffering?”
“It must have been my eighty brothers whom you met,” said the prince. “I must try to help you, since they have been so cruel. Go and bathe in the fresh water of the river. Then take pollen from the reeds and rub yourself with it. Your skin will heal, and your fur will grow again.”
“Thank you, most noble prince,” cried the hare. “You are as good as your eighty brothers are evil. You will find that I am not ungrateful,” and he hastened to the river.
Soon he felt quite well; and he hurried away, scarcely waiting to bid the prince good-by.
The eighty-first brother smiled to himself as he thought, “He is not so grateful as he pretended.” Then he went on to the court.
The hare, however, was already there. He had heard the talk about the wedding of the princess, and he saw how he could serve the one who had been kind to him.
One of the hare’s brothers was a handsome little fellow who had been given to the princess and who was a great favorite at the court. So the hare of Inaba hurried to this brother and told him his story.
“Now, to help my prince to wed your princess,” he said. “Two such kind souls should dwell together and make the world happier.”
“Trust me,” said his brother, who had grown wise since he came to the palace and had learned court ways.
So when the eighty brothers presented themselves before the princess, dressed all in their finest array, she received them scornfully and sent them all away.
“Your faces smile,” she said, “but your hearts are cruel, and I will have none of you.”
But when the eighty-first brother presented himself before her golden throne, she stretched forth her hand and said, “Good heart and true, I will share my throne with you and you alone!”
Then was the eighty-first brother glad; and all the people rejoiced and the little hare danced merrily on two legs and said, “You see now, dear Prince, that I am not ungrateful; for it is due to me that you are the Choice of the Princess.”
THE MIRROR OF THE SUN GODDESS
Many, many years ago, when the gods reigned in high heaven, the country of Nippon rose from the waters. Izanagi and Izananu, standing upon the floating bridge of heaven, thrust down a glittering blade. They probed the blue ocean and the drops from the sword’s point hardened and became islands; and thus was created the “Land of Many Blades,” the isles of Nippon.
Now Izanagi and Izananu were the highest of the gods of heaven, and they had two children, Amaterasu and Susanoo. Susanoo was made god of the sea, and his sister was the bright and beautiful sun goddess, whose name meant Great Goddess of the Shining Heaven.
She reigned happily from her bright golden throne for many years, but Susanoo, like many other brothers, was a tease, and he made his sister very angry with some of his tricks. She was quite patient with him, as elder sisters should be, but at last there came a time when she could no longer stand his naughty ways.
Amaterasu sent Susanoo one day upon an errand, for she wished him to find a goddess named Uke-mochi, who lived in the reedy moors. When Susanoo found her he was tired and hungry, and so he asked her for food. Uke-mochi took food from her mouth to give him and this made him very angry. “Why feed me with foul things? You shall not live!” he cried; and, drawing his sword, he struck her dead.
When he went home and told Amaterasu what he had done, his sister was in a great rage and left her brother in total darkness. She fled to the cave of Ameno and closed the entrance with a huge rock. Then was all the earth dark, for the sun goddess no longer shed her light upon men. So terrible was it upon earth that at last the other gods met together near the cave, to consult and see what could be done.
They tried in every way to persuade Amaterasu to come forth, but she sulked like a naughty child and would not shine upon them. At last they thought of a plan to entice the goddess from her cavern by means of an image of herself. So a mirror was made, very large and fine. It was hung upon a tree, just before the door of the cave, and a strong hempen cord was put in the hands of a god who hid himself beside the door.
A number of cocks were started to crowing, and the lovely goddess Uzumé began to dance to music from a bamboo tube. The gods kept time by striking two pieces of wood together, and one of them played a harp made by placing six of their bows together with the strings upward and drawing grass and rushes across them. Great bonfires were lighted, and a huge drum was brought for Uzumé to dance upon. This she did with so much spirit and grace that all the gods were delighted. They laughed with joy, clapped their hands, and fairly shook high heaven with their merriment.
“UZUMÉ BEGAN TO DANCE”
Amaterasu heard the noise and could not understand it. She was annoyed because the gods seemed to be having such a good time without her. She had thought that they could not possibly get along unless she let the light of her face shine upon them. She was naturally very curious to find out what it was all about. So she pushed open the door of her cave, just a little bit, and peeped out. There, by the light of the bonfires she saw Uzumé’s graceful dancing, and heard her sing,
“Hito futa miyo
Itsu muyu nana
Ya koko no tari.”[1]
“Why does Uzumé dance and why do the gods laugh? I thought both heaven and earth would be sad without me”, said Amaterasu crossly.
“Oh, no,” laughed Uzumé. “We rejoice because we have here a deity who far surpasses you in beauty.”
“Where?” demanded the sun goddess indignantly. “Let me see her!” and as she spoke she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror.
She had never seen such a thing before and was greatly astonished. She stepped outside her cave to see more plainly this radiant rival, when lo! the god who was waiting, seized her and drew her forth, quickly passing the rope across the cave door to prevent her return. Thus was the sun goddess restored to earth.
Footnotes
“Gods! behold the carven door,
Majesty appears! Rejoice!
Our hearts are fully satisfied!”
THE SWORDED FALCON
In the days of the Emperor Koan there lived near Koya a falcon which had wings and a tail of swords. It was far more dreaded than a porcupine of even the largest spines, and it used to lie in wait near the village of Koya to carry off people and eat them.
No one was safe from the ferocious bird. Little people, playing beneath the pines, happy in childish glee, were but tender morsels for the cruel bird. Women resting under the long racemes of the woodland wistaria, were attacked and dragged screaming to his nest. Even the men working in the rice fields would sometimes hear a cry of agony and see one of their number suddenly rise into the air in the clutches of the monstrous bird.
The villagers despaired of ever being able to rid themselves of this terrible creature. At last they sent a petition to the Mikado, urging him to send some one to deliver them from the pest.
“Behold!” they cried, “We, the subjects of Your Majesty, are in much fear and danger from this fierce creature, and we beseech you to save us, your humble servants.”
The Mikado sent to their aid the brave Prince Yashimasa; and the Prince tarried long in the village, for the bird was very wary and hid from sight. When the Prince went out to seek him, the falcon would disguise himself in various shapes. First, he would appear as a woman washing clothes beside the river; then he would become a tree growing beside a rippling waterfall; and again, he would look like a crane standing on the reedy shore.
It took so long to find the creature that Prince Yashimasa tarried for months in the house of Atago Shoji, a gentleman of the town. Thus it came about that he loved Atago’s daughter, the fair and gentle Shiragika, and the maiden returned his love. The two walked happily together in the iris-bordered meadows, and chatted long and cheerfully in the shade of the bamboo trees.
One day Prince Yashimasa found the nest of the falcon upon a hilltop and he cried, “Aha! my fine fellow! At last I have you! Soon I shall destroy you, and the village will no longer be in dread, but will rejoice greatly.”
He hid himself in a bamboo thicket, armed with his bow and arrows, and awaited the coming of the falcon.
“HE SENT HIS ARROW THROUGH ITS CRUEL HEART”
At last it came, fierce and terrible. Its eyes gleamed like twin stars, its tail spread like forked lightning, its wings of gleaming steel beat the air like flames of fire!
“It is indeed the sworded falcon,” said Yashimasa, and, aiming carefully, he sent his arrow through its cruel heart. The falcon dropped dead, and Yashimasa hurried to the village to tell the news.
Then all the people rejoiced, singing the victor’s praises. “Hail to the noble prince!” they cried. “He has delivered us from the evil claws and the cruel beak of this demon-bird! Greatly will our lord the Mikado reward him.”
But Shiragika wept and mourned, for now that her lover’s task was done, she knew that he must return to his home. He must go alone, for it was not fitting that she, a simple village maiden, should go with him to the Emperor’s court.
“Yashimasa,” she wept. “Farewell forever. Forget me and be happy!”
“Never!” cried Yashimasa. “As soon as I have told the Mikado of the success of my mission I will return to find you. Never will I forget you;” and he bade her a tender farewell.
She waited long and looked for his return, but he came not, for the Mikado sent him on other missions to far lands and he must obey. At last, with her kimono sleeves loaded with stones, she dropped gently to sleep in the great river. And as she sank to rest, she sighed, “Yashimasa! In its death, the sworded falcon pierced my heart!”
When Yashimasa heard of her death, he mourned her truly; and when he grew old he returned to Koya and died beside the stream where she had perished.
THE PHANTOM CATS
A ruined temple stood in a lonely wood. All about it was a trackless forest. The huge trees waved above it, the leaves in the thicket whispered about it, the sun goddess seldom shone upon it with her light.
Uguisu,[2] poet of the woods, sang in the plum tree near by. He sang the poet’s song to the plum tree which he loved:
“Send forth your fragrance upon the eastern winds,
Oh flower of the plum tree,
Forget not the spring because of the absence of the sun.”
Ruined though the temple was, it still held a shrine and hither came Wakiki Mononofu, a young Samurai.[3] He was a brave young soldier who was seeking his fortune in the wide, wide world. He had lost his way and wandered in the forest seeking the path, until at length he came to the little clear space where was the temple. A storm was coming up, and a palace could not have seemed more welcome to the young warrior.
“Here is all I want,” he said to himself. “Here I shall have a shelter from the storm god’s wrath, and a place to sleep and dream of glory and adventure. What more could be desired?”
Then he wrapped himself in his mantle, curled up in a corner of the sacred room, and soon fell asleep. But his slumber did not last long. His pleasant dreams were disturbed by horrid sounds, and waking, he sprang to his feet and looked out of the temple door.
There he saw a troop of monstrous cats which seemed in the weird moonlight like phantoms, marching across the clear space in front of the temple, and dancing a wild dance. As they danced they uttered horrid sounds, yells, and wicked laughs; and through these he could hear the words of a strange chant:
“Whisper not to Shippeitaro
That the Phantom Cats are near,
Whisper not to Shippeitaro
Lest he soon appear.”
Wakiki crouched low behind the door; for, brave as he was, there was something so dreadful in the appearance of the creatures that he did not want them to see him. Soon, however, with a chorus of wild yells, they disappeared as quickly as they had come. Then Wakiki lay down and slept again, nor did he waken until the sun goddess peered into the temple and whispered to him that it was morning.
“A TROOP OF MONSTROUS CATS”
By the morning light it was easy to find the path which the night’s shadows had hidden from him, and being very hungry he started out to seek some dwelling. The path led away from the temple, in an opposite direction to that from which he had come the night before. Soon, however, he came out of the forest and saw a little hamlet surrounded by green fields.
“How fortunate I am,” he cried joyfully. “Here are houses, and so there must be people, and people must have something to eat. If they are kind they will share with me, and I am starving for a bowl of rice.”
He hurried to the nearest cottage, but as he approached he heard sounds of bitter weeping. He went up to the door, and was met by a sweet young girl whose eyes were red with crying. She greeted him kindly, and he asked her for food.
“Enter and welcome,” said she. “My parents are about to be served with breakfast. You shall join them, for no one must pass our door hungry.”
Thanking her the young warrior went in and seated himself upon the floor. The parents of the young girl greeted him courteously. A small table was set before him, and on it was placed rice and tea. He ate heartily, and, when he had finished eating, rose to go.
“Thank you very many times for such a good meal, kind friends,” he said.
“You have been welcome. Go in peace,” said the master of the house.
“And may happiness be yours,” returned the young Samurai.
“Happiness can never again be ours,” said the old man, with a sad face, as his daughter left the room. Her mother followed her and from behind the paper partitions of the breakfast room, Wakiki could hear sounds as if she were trying to comfort the young girl.
“You are then in trouble?” he asked, not liking to be inquisitive, and yet wishing to show sympathy.
“Terrible trouble,” said the father. “There is no help! Know, gentle Samurai, that there is within the forest a ruined temple. This shrine, once the home of sacred things, is now the abode of horrors too terrible for words. Each year a mountain spirit, a demon whom no one has ever seen, demands from us a victim, upon pain of destroying the whole village. The victim is placed in a cage and carried to the temple just at sunset. There she is left and no one knows what is her fate, for in the morning not a trace of her remains. It must always be the fairest maiden of the village who is offered up and this year, alas, it is my daughter’s turn;” and the old man buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“I should think this strange thing would make the young girls of your village far from vain and each would wish to be the ugliest,” said the young warrior. “It is terrible indeed, but do not despair. I am sure I shall find a way to help you.” He paused to think. “Tell me, who is Shippeitaro?” he asked suddenly, as he remembered the scene of the night before.
“Shippeitaro is a beautiful dog owned by our lord the prince,” said the old man, wondering at the question.
“That will be just the thing,” cried the Samurai. “Keep your daughter closely at home. Do not allow her out of your sight. Trust me and she shall be saved.”
He hurried away, and having found the castle of the prince, he begged that just for one night Shippeitaro be lent to him.
“Upon condition that you bring him back to me safe and sound,” said the prince.
“To-morrow he shall return in safety,” the young warrior promised.
Taking Shippeitaro with him he returned to the village; and when evening came, he placed the dog in the cage which was to have carried the maiden.
“Take him to the ruined temple,” he said to the bearers, and they obeyed.
When they reached the little shrine they placed the cage on the ground and ran away to the village as fast as their legs could carry them. The young warrior laughed softly, saying to himself, “For once fear is greater than curiosity.”
He hid himself in the little temple as before, and so quiet was the spot that he could scarcely keep awake. Soon he was aroused, however, by the same weird chant he had heard the evening before. Through the darkness came the same troop of fearful phantom cats led by a fierce Tom cat, the largest he had ever seen. As they came, they chanted with unearthly screeches,
“Whisper not to Shippeitaro,
That the phantom cats are near,
Whisper not to Shippeitaro
Lest he soon appear.”
The song was scarcely ended, when the great Tom cat caught sight of the cage and sprang upon it with a fierce yowl. With one sweep of his paw he tore open the lid, when instead of the dainty morsel he had expected, out leaped Shippeitaro! The noble dog sprang upon the beast and shook him as a cat shakes a rat, while the other beasts stood still in amazement. Drawing his sword the young warrior dashed to Shippeitaro’s aid and to such good purpose that in a few moments the phantom cats were no more.
“Brave dog!” cried Wakiki. “You have delivered a whole village by your courage! Let us return and tell the people what has happened, that all men may do you honor.”
Patting the dog on the head he led him back to the village. There in terror the maiden awaited his return, but great was her joy when she heard of her deliverance.
“Oh, sir,” she cried. “I can never thank you! I am the only child of my parents, and no one would have been left to care for them had I gone to be the monster’s victim!”
“Do not thank me,” said the young warrior. “I have done little. All the thanks of the village are due to the brave Shippeitaro. It was he who destroyed the phantom cats.”
Footnotes
[2] The nightingale.
[3] Japanese word for soldier.
THE SWORD OF THE CLUSTERING CLOUDS OF HEAVEN
In the olden days the gods dwelt by the isles of the Land of Many Blades, and there they used the swords, To-Nigiri and Ya-Nigiri. These were magic blades, but they were not so keen and terrible as the sword of the Clustering Clouds of Heaven.
And this is the story of that sword:
Amaterasu, the sun goddess, had a superb sword, whose flashing blade was like a gleam of light. This sword she greatly prized, but a malicious dragon stole it away and carried it to his den. The goddess cried for aid to Susanoo, her brother, and he pursued the dragon. It was a horrible beast with eight heads and terrible claws, and it roared at the god with each of its eight mouths.
Susanoo was a crafty and clever warrior and he knew that he could conquer the dragon only by guile. So he gave him soft words and smiles.
“What a wonderful warrior you would make, Sir Dragon,” he said. “Had you but a sword you could conquer the world.”
“I am not without a weapon and that a magic one,” haughtily replied the great beast as he flapped his mighty tail. “Behold!” and as he spoke Susanoo saw that the magic sword was concealed beneath the dragon’s tail.
“I drink to your health, O Wonderful One!” he cried. “May you live as long as there is no one mightier.” And he offered him a huge draught of saké.[4]
“That is wishing that I may live forever,” said the dragon, and he drank off the saké at a single gulp.
“You have said it,” said Susanoo with a deep reverence, and he offered him a second cup for his second head. By the time the dragon had taken eight cups, one for each of his great yawning mouths, his heads were so dizzy that he did not know at all what he was doing, and so he lay down to rest under the cliff.
Then Susanoo crept up and quickly struck off one of his heads and then another, and another until only one was left. By that time the dragon was quite wide-awake and very much enraged. He rushed at Susanoo and would have devoured him had not Amaterasu seen her brother’s danger. She sent a gleam of dazzling sunlight into the dragon’s eyes so that he could not see where he was going. Then Susanoo cut off the last head, and seizing the magic sword, bore it in triumph to his sister. She placed it in a shrine for safe-keeping and there it remained for many a day.
It was not to rest there always, however, for another hero was to wield it, and this was Yamato-Daké, son of the Emperor Koan.
A terrible war was being waged with the savages in the eastern part of Japan, and Yamato went forth to conquer them, bearing with him the Sacred Sword. But the savages were not easy to overcome. They laid in wait in the bamboo thickets and sent showers of poisoned arrows upon Yamato’s men, who were sore afraid of them.
“A foe in the dark is as ten,” they cried. “We are beset by the eight-headed dragon of Susanoo!” and all of Yamato’s words of cheer and encouragement could scarce persuade them to go on to battle.
“How can we fight what we can not see?” they said.
The savages were well pleased and determined to destroy the whole army at once. They therefore placed a huge ring of brushwood around Yamato’s army and, setting fire to it, they marched away.
But Yamato prayed to the gods, and, drawing his magic sword, he cut and hewed the grass in front of the fire until it drove back the flames. Then there came a wind from heaven which fanned the fire until it swept back whence it had come and lo! it overtook the savages and burnt them until not one was left.
“YAMATO WENT FORTH TO CONQUER THEM”
Then Yamato-Daké returned home with great rejoicing and all the people met him with shouts.
“Hail to the Chief of the Sword of the Clustering Clouds of Heaven,” they cried. “For he has rescued us from the savages of the East.”
And Yamato hung up the sword at the Holy Shrine of Atsuta, where it rests to this day; and the Mikado said, “Henceforth shall it be called the Grass Mower, and it shall be one of the three precious things of the Mikados.”
But Yamato made answer, “As the deeds of the gods are greater than the deeds of men, call it not Grass Mower to honor Yamato, but still let it be known ever as the ‘Sword of the Clustering Clouds of Heaven.’”
Footnotes
[4] A Japanese liquor.
THE BOASTFUL BAMBOO
Beneath the gleaming snows of Fuji lay a great forest. There many giant trees grew, the fir, the pine, the graceful bamboo, and the camellia trees. The balmy azaleas and the crinkled iris bloomed in the shade. The blue heavens were fleecy with snowy clouds, and gentle zephyrs caressed the blossoms and made them bow like worshipers before a shrine.
Side by side there grew two bamboo trees. One of these was tall, strong, and stately; and he reared his haughty head to heaven and bowed not to the North Wind as he passed. The other was a slender bamboo, so slight and delicate that it swayed with every breeze, and moaned with fright when a storm swept down the wrath of the mountain.
The children loved the graceful bamboo, and named her Silver Mist; but the big bamboo looked down upon her with scorn.
“You bend and bow to every breeze. Have you no pride? It is not fitting that a bamboo should show fear. I stand straight and strong and bow to no one,” he said.
“You are going to be of some great use in the world, I am sure,” said the humble bamboo. “I am only fit to trim the houses for the New Year’s feast. But you will become a beam in some great house or, maybe, even in a palace.”
“Do not think I shall be only that,” cried the boastful bamboo with a scornful laugh. “I am indeed intended for something great. I think I shall be chosen for the mast of a mighty ship. Then will the wings of the ship swell with the breeze, and it will fly over the ocean and I shall see strange lands and new peoples. All men will behold me and will say, ‘See the stately bamboo which graces yonder junk!’ As for you, poor timorous one, you are not even brave enough to deck the New Year’s feast. You will be used to make mats for people to tread under foot.”
The slim little bamboo did not answer back. She only bent her head and cried bitterly. The flowers felt sorry for her and breathed their soft perfume about her to comfort her.
As the days went by the slim bamboo grew prettier, and the children loved her more and more. They played beneath her waving branches, they made flower chains and garlands and hung them from her boughs.
“See,” they cried in childish glee. “This is the Lady Silver Mist. Let us tie a flower obi[5] around her slender waist;” and they bound a girdle of flowers about her.
One day there came woodmen to the forest, and they chopped down many of the trees, trampling the grass and the flowers under foot. When they saw the big bamboo they said,
“Here is a tall, straight tree. It will do for a mast. We will cut it first.”
“Good-by,” said the boastful bamboo to the slender one. “I am going to see the world and do great things. Good-by, child, I hope you will not be used to make rain coats. When I am on the bright and beautiful sea I shall remember and pity you!”
“Good-by,” sighed his little comrade. “Good fortune go with you.”
The big bamboo was cut down, and the hillside saw him no more. When, however, the woodmen came to the little tree, they smiled to see it so beautifully garlanded with flowers and they said, “This little tree has friends.”
Then the children took courage and ran to the woodcutters and cried, “Pray do not cut down our tree! In all the forest we love it best. It is the Lady Silver Mist and it has been our playmate for many moons.”
“You must dig it up and bear it away if you wish to save its life,” said the chief woodman. “We are sent to this forest to clear it, so that a grand palace may be built upon the hillside where all is so fair and beautiful.”
“Gladly will we root her up and take her to our home,” answered the eldest child; and very carefully they dug her up, not destroying even a single root, for the woodman helped them, so kind was he and of a good heart.
They placed the slim bamboo in a lovely garden beside the sea, and she grew fair and stately and was happy. All around was calm and beautiful. The sea waves lapped the coral strand. By day, the sun shone on the tawny sands and turned them to gold; the sky was blue as a turquoise, and pearly clouds floated across it like shadowy angel’s wings. By night the moon goddess rose in silvery beauty and bathed the garden in light; it kissed the leaves of the bamboo, until the dew sparkled upon them like diamonds in a setting of silver.
Fragrant flowers bloomed at the bamboo’s feet: irises from their meadow home, azaleas, rare lotus lilies, and a fringe of purple wistaria wafting its breath in friendship upon her. Here she grew in strength and grace. All things were her friends, for she gave to all of her sweetness; and to the winds she bowed her head.
“Great North Wind,” she said gently, “how thou art strong!” And to the South Wind she said, “How sweet and kind thou art!” To the flowers she gave shade and to the children, who still loved her, companionship.
“THE GREAT BAMBOO, PROSTRATE UPON THE GROUND”
One night she shivered and bowed her head very, very low, for there came a storm from the sea, a storm so fierce and wild as to frighten her very soul. The waves of the sea tossed the white foam heavenward; they rose up in giant walls of fury until ships sunk in the troughs between and were dashed to pieces. The beach was strewn with wrecks, and when daylight came, Lady Silver Mist gazed upon the scene. She recognized her old friend, the great bamboo, prostrate upon the ground, while all around him lay bits of the junk over which he had reared his haughty head.
“Alas! my poor friend!” she cried. “What a sad fate is yours! Would that I could aid you.”
“No one can help me,” he replied with a moan. “Would that I had been made into a common coolie pole with which to push a country junk! Then might I have been useful for many years! No, my heart is broken, Silver Mist. Farewell.”
He gave a long shuddering sigh and spoke no more. Soon some men who came to clear up the wreckage, chopped the mast up for firewood; and that was the end of the boastful bamboo.
Footnotes
[5] Sash.
THE ANGEL’S ROBE
Once an angel bore to earth the soul of a child. She bore it to a little bamboo house beside a bamboo tree, and there it received a loving welcome. Many friends gathered around to greet the little newcomer as soon as they saw the kite[6] fly up from before the house. Dear little kimonos were given the baby. One was of the finest silk and embroidered with the crane and the pine; for these mean long life in Japan.
The angel loved the little child she had brought, and she tarried long at the window of the little bamboo house among the trees and flowers. She felt glad that she had brought the little one to such a happy home.
She had left her robe in the trees; for it had caught there in her flight, and she had not waited to remove it. A fisherman passing by, saw the beautiful, floating silk and, loosening it, he said, “This is a very pretty thing. I have never seen anything like it before. I shall take it to my sweetheart.”
The angel heard him as she floated through the air, and she cried, “I pray you, sir, give me back my robe! I may not return to heaven without it!”
“Do not return, fair one,” he replied, dazzled by her radiant beauty. “Stay here upon the earth and delight us all with your grace.”
“Not so, not so,” she cried in fear. “Know you not that an angel may not stay long on earth and live! Her beauty fades, her soul grows sick within her, and soon she is no more. Give me my robe and let me return, for I pine for the pearly gates and the golden streets.”
“I will return it if you will dance for me,” said the fisherman; and the angel consented.
“First give me my robe that my dance may be more perfect,” she said.
“No, no, my beauty,” he answered, “for then you will fly away and I shall never see you dance.”
“Fie upon you, base mortal! Deceit was born of man; the heavens know it not!” she said in displeasure.
Then the fisherman was much ashamed and gave her the robe; and she danced for him a dance of wonderful grace and beauty, such as mortal had never dreamed of before. He wished to gaze forever at the lovely, floating being. The moonlight shone upon her, bathing her in silvery light, beneath the feathery bamboo, with snow-capped Fuji above the clouds, calm and serene.
While she danced, visions of heaven came to the fisherman, and when she was wafted from his sight by a snowy cloud, he sank upon the ground and, covering his face with his hands, he wept bitterly, as he cried, “Alas! alas! Nevermore will things of earth seem fair!”
“SHE WAS WAFTED FROM HIS SIGHT”
Footnotes
[6] In Japan a kite is always sent up from a house where a little boy is born.
THE MOON AND THE CUCKOO
In the far years of the twelfth century the Lord Mikado was cursed with a terrible illness. All Nippon prayed to the gods. Men offered all their richest offerings to appease the wrath of heaven, but it availed them naught. His Majesty grew worse and none of the great men who came to him could divine the cause of his trouble.
Every temple was full of devotees. Each shrine had its worshipers, but Sorrow was the guest at every door. His Majesty grew worse and worse, and every night was stricken with a horrible nightmare.
At last it was noticed that each evening a dark cloud moved across the heavens and hung over the palace. From it shone two fiery orbs, gleaming fiercely. The priests prayed and threatened, but the brooding demon remained. At last a young warrior whose name was Yorimasa came forward and said, “Let me slay this horrid beast who, with his black breath and fiery eyes, threatens the life of our beloved emperor. If I fail I can but die and my life is the Mikado’s in any case. Let me go!”
“FROM IT SHONE TWO FIERY ORBS, GLEAMING FIERCELY”
“Go, and the gods go with you!” the priests replied, and Yorimasa went forth to conquer or to die.
He breathed a prayer to the great god Hachiman, his patron, and set a heavy arrow in his well-strung bow. Twang, went the bow string, and lo! the arrow brought the monster low. It was indeed a fiend, terrible enough to have destroyed the emperor, for it had the head of a monkey, the claws of a tiger, the body of a lion, and the tail of a mighty serpent.
Yorimasa was brave, however, and he made at the beast with his good sword. Nine times he plunged it into the ferocious monster’s breast, and at last it fell dead.
The emperor now promptly recovered, and wishing to reward Yorimasa for his bravery, he called him and said: “At the risk of your own life, you have saved that of your emperor. What will you have in reward?”
Yorimasa answered, “Most August One, my life was your own. Why should I not risk it to save that for which all Nippon would be honored to die? I claim no reward. In my heart is joy that I have served my emperor.”
“But I will reward you,” said the Mikado. “For I should be as just as you are generous. Here is the sword Shichi-no-O (the King of the Wild Boars) for since you can wield a sword so nobly, it is fitting that you have a noble sword, my brave Yorimasa. Two things delight the heart of brave men, love and duty, woman and warfare. Since you have been successful with the one, I will give you success with the other. It has come to my ears that you love Ajama[7] and that she loves you. Take her and may you be happy and may your children live and prosper and grow up to serve their emperor as their father has served his.”
Then Yorimasa bent low before him and thanked him; and a gentleman of the court composed a verse about Yorimasa, and sang a song to him in which he compared his rapid rise into favor to the cuckoo’s flight toward the crescent moon. But Yorimasa was as modest as he was brave and would not admit that he deserved any special praise. So he answered the poet’s song by singing these lines:
“Like the cuckoo
So high to soar
How is it so?
Only my bow I bent,
That only sent the shaft.”
But he and Ajama were soon married, and lived happily ever after, in the sunshine of the Mikado’s favor.
Footnotes
[7] Ajama, Flowering Sweet Flag. In Japan all women are named for flowers.
THE HANG-THE-MONEY-UP TREE
Once upon a time, nearly a thousand years ago, a man named Ononatakamura offended the Mikado and was sent into exile. His wife loved him dearly and wished to go with him, but, though she cried and begged to be allowed to do so, the Mikado would not permit her.
In her despair at being separated from her beloved husband, she made up her mind to go to the Sacred Shrine of Isé and pray for him. She stole quietly away to the foot of Mt. Hi-yei, but not being used to walking she soon grew weary and sat down to rest under a pine tree. It was a beautiful country that she looked upon. The hillside bloomed with flowers. The pines waved their green branches against the soft blue sky, and, serene and lofty, the mountains rose heavenward. A kind wind caressed her brow as she sat resting, and the murmur of the trees seemed to bring her comfort.
A farmer coming that way, she spoke to him saying, “Good day, kind sir. Pray tell me how far it is to the temple of Isé?”
“Twenty days’ journey,” he made answer, being a rude fellow and unkind. He wished to annoy her, for he knew well it was not so far.
“I WILL HERE MAKE MY OFFERING”
“Alas!” she sighed. “I shall never reach that sacred shrine! How then shall my dear husband be brought back to me! Surely the gods will hear the prayer of a faithful wife, no matter where she may be. I will here make my offering and my prayers, and the Eternal Kindness will hear.”
Then she hung some coins upon a pine tree, and prayed earnestly that the gods would bless her husband and take her to him.
The farmer heard her, but his heart was still hard, and when she went aside to rest he tried to steal the money from the tree. But the gods had heard her prayer, and the tree suddenly turned into a two-headed serpent which spit fire at the thief’s approach. The farmer was so terribly frightened, that he repented that he had been so unkind; and he took the woman by the hand and led her in safety to the shrine she sought.
Then were her prayers answered, for the gods softened the heart of the Mikado, and when one told him of the devotion of this good wife, he sent for her to come to his throne.
“So faithful a woman should have a reward,” he said. “What will you that I bestow upon you?”
“The return of my husband, Most Revered One,” she answered; and straightway he sent word to Ononatakamura to come back from exile.
Of the pine tree upon which the money had been hung they made a shrine. Whoever was ill of any complaint, and prayed there, was made well; and whoever besought there any favor of the gods was sure to receive it in abundance. And from that time the place was called the “Shrine of the Hang-the-Money-Up Tree.”
THE GODDESS OF GREEN-GROWING THINGS
Amaterasu, the sun goddess, loved the earth. So long had she shone upon it with her gracious light that it was to her as a beloved child and she wished for it all good things. When she found growing from the body of Ukimochi, whom Susanoo had slain in wrath, a mulberry tree, and also a silkworm, rice grains, barley and beans she said to herself,
“Behold, the gods make good to grow out of evil. From death comes life. The slaying of Ukimochi was a deed of wrath, yet from it will come peace to the people of the earth.”
She made barley and beans the seeds of dry places, and rice the seeds of moor and fen. Mulberry trees she planted upon the hillsides, and upon these she reared silkworms so that the art of silk-weaving might begin.
Having thus given to the world things of such usefulness and beauty, the sun goddess desired to have them cared for. So she commanded Susanoo to send to earth his daughter, Mihashirano. He obeyed and the daughter came down from heaven. But she could find no place to live, and therefore wandered for a long time to and fro in Nippon.
One day a fisherman named Sakino, who lived at Itsuku, one of the isles of the sea, was casting his nets near Okanoshima. As he fished he saw a curious boat with a bright red sail coming towards him. There seemed something strange about the boat; and Sakino waited until it sailed close to him. Then he beheld upon it the goddess Mihashirano, who spoke to him.
“Sakino,” she said, “long have I passed to and fro in the Isles of Many Blades, and watched by field and moor and hillside to see the life-giving seeds which Amaterasu bestowed upon you. Well nourished have they been and watched so that you have had much rice and barley. Now, wherefore have I not a shrine built in my honor, where men may come to bring thanks, and where I may dwell in peace?
“Go thou to the Mikado and request that he build for me a temple at Miyajima; then will I protect the Mikado’s land forever and ever.”
Sakino hastened to Kioto and revealed all this to the Mikado. At that time there was a great famine in the far provinces of Nippon, and the Mikado said, “The goddess is displeased with us, and so this famine has come upon my people. Hasten your return to Itsuku and build there a temple to do her honor. Here is much treasure; go quickly and build.”
“IT FLEW AHEAD OF SAKINO’S BOAT”
Sakino was delighted with this task, and he hurried homeward as fast as he was able. He could not at first decide which would be the best place for the temple, so he sailed around the islands seeking the loveliest spot. Then as he sailed a strange thing chanced; for from the very top of the mountain flew a huge bird, and it flew ahead of Sakino’s boat all the way. This he took as an omen, and he followed the bird closely until it stopped and hovered over a wooded hillside.
“Here we shall build the temple of Mihashiranohime-o-kami, the gentle goddess of the earth’s fruitfulness. We shall raise a temple to do her honor,” he cried. “The torii shall rise up out of the sea; the light-bearing pillars shall guard the entrance, and men shall come from far and near to see the shrine. Then shall they see how the Goddess of Green-growing Things is honored in the Land of Many Blades.”
This he did and the goddess dwelt happily in her abode, and there was no more famine in the land; for the shrine of the Goddess of Green-growing Things is to this very day honored in the isles of Nippon.
THE KNIGHTLY WASTE-PAPER MAN
I
There was once a young noble who was very poor. He was a Samurai who had offended his lord and so was obliged to leave his own province and travel in search of employment. It was very hard for him to find anything to do, for neither he nor his fair young wife had been taught to work.
“Alas! my bride! White as the lily art thou and tender as the carnation,—to what has thy love for me brought thee!” he cried.
But Tsuiu caressed him sweetly and said, “I am happy since my lord has taken me with him. The good-luck god will surely hear our prayers and we shall find a fortunate issue.”
Then was the soul of Shindo lightened and he strode along the highway gladly, and Tsuiu walked beside him, and the breath of the morning was sweet and kind. They walked for many hours and found no rest; but the music of the grass-larks was sweet and the sun was bright.
But when the shadows began to fall, and the fireflies to flit among the tall grasses, and the moon to creep slowly above the crest of the mountains, the little wife drew closer to Shindo San; for in her terror she saw robbers in every tree and bush.
“Be not afraid, my beloved,” he said, as he drew her within his sheltering arms. “See! here is a pleasant knoll beneath this sendai tree. Wrap yourself in my mantle. Pillow your head upon my arm. Then may the god of dreams send you a good-luck dream and may your slumber be sweet. I will watch!”
“I will obey, my lord,” said Tsuiu. She closed her eyes, and, holding the left sleeve of her kimono across her face, she was soon fast asleep.
Shindo watched and waited, his hand upon his sword; but he too was weary, and soon his eyes closed and his head drooped. He slept and dreamed that two huge dragons came out of the West and sought to devour them; and lo! as he cried aloud in terror for the safety of Tsuiu San, a greater Dragon came out of the East and devoured the first two, and he and his bride escaped.
Then he awoke suddenly and sprang to his feet, putting O Tsuiu San behind him, for robbers were upon him, and there were two. He drew his sword and fought fiercely, but they well-nigh overpowered him. He felt his strength fail. The blood was gushing from a wound in his arm. Suddenly there appeared upon the scene a ronin who quickly put to flight the robbers and saved the life of Shindo.
Then he and O Tsuiu San thanked the ronin very heartily, and finding the morning dawn at hand, and hearing the morning bell from a distant temple, they started on their way.
“Tell me first, whence you come and whither you go,” said the ronin. “For I well see that you are of better times, and that misfortune has brought you here.”
“We are in dire distress,” said the Samurai, “and I have scarce a yen[8] to buy rice for the breakfast of my wife.” Then he told all their story to the ronin, who, being of a good heart, was grieved at their sorrows.
“It is little that I can do for you myself,” he said, “since I am but a wanderer with nothing in my sleeves. But come with me and I will set you in the way of making a good but simple friend. Yonder are the towers and temples of Yedo,” and he pointed to the roofs of a city gleaming gold in the morning sun. “In a certain street lives a tradesman, a poor fellow, yet of a good heart. He bears the name of Chohachi. Seek him and tell him I commend you to his kindness. My road lies elsewhere. Sayonara!”[9]
Bidding good-by to the ronin, the two hurried on and finding Chohachi, he took them in and made them welcome. There they remained several days until O Tsuiu San recovered from her fatigue, and Shindo from his wound. Then Chohachi spoke.
“Honored One,” he said, “very welcome are you and yours to the shelter of our roof tree, but the rice pot holds not enough for four. Is there any way in which you are able to make the pot boil?”
“Good friend,” replied Shindo, “in the house of my fathers the rice pot ever boiled without assistance from me. I know no way.”
Chohachi knit his brows.
“Can the Honorable One teach the young men to fence?”
“Alas,” cried Shindo. “I have little skill as a swordsman. I fear I know not enough to teach fencing.”
“Can the Honorable One teach writing?” demanded Chohachi.
“Of that I know even less,” replied his guest, so mournfully that Chohachi hastened to reassure him. “Some way shall be found to boil the pot even if we have to hunt the magic paddle of the Oni.”
So the tradesman thought and thought.
“What can this dear fellow do?” he asked himself.
“It must be something of the easiest for he seems not to have much thought for trading. I have it! He shall be a waste-paper man! A boy or a simpleton could do that!”
So he purchased a light pole of bamboo with two baskets at the end, and a pair of bamboo sticks. He called the Samurai “Chobei,” for Shindo was too fine a name for a waste-paper man, and the Samurai was started in business.
The first day Chobei lost himself, and had to pay a man to guide him home. He had bought no waste paper and Chohachi laughed at him, and scolded, too, saying,
“Call out! No one will know what you want if you walk about the streets in silence like a monk!”
Chobei was anxious to do all things right, for it pained him to be depending upon the good trader, and it hurt him still more to think of little O Tsuiu San sitting all day over her embroidery, trying to earn a few coins with which to boil the pot.
So, in order to grow used to the sound of his own voice, he went to an open lot, where there was not a house in sight, and shouted, “Waste paper! waste paper!” all day until he was hoarse. The street boys thought he was mad, and they laughed at him and threw stones. Then he went home more discouraged than ever, and Chohachi, choked with laughter, explained again patiently,
“See, good Samurai, go into the back streets; rich people do not sell waste papers. Talk with the women, engage them with pleasant words and flattery, and then say, ‘Perhaps you have some waste paper to sell.’”