JAPANESE FOLK STORIES AND FAIRY TALES
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: [Publisher's logo]]
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
Page
The Choice of the Princess 9
The Mirror of the Sun Goddess 17
The Sworded Falcon 22
The Phantom Cats 27
The Sword of the Clustering Clouds of Heaven 35
The Boastful Bamboo 40
The Angel’s Robe 46
The Moon and the Cuckoo 50
The Hang-The-Money-Up Tree 54
The Goddess of Green-growing Things 58
The Knightly Waste-paper Man 62
The Hunter and the Priest 73
The Princess Moonbeam 78
The Single Lantern of Yamato 83
The Soul of the Samurai 87
The Dream of the Golden Box 91
The Princess of the Sea 96
The Firefly of Matsui 104
The Mountain Rose 107
The Evil One and the Rat 112
The Painter of Cats 115
The Coming of Benten Sama 124
The Waterfall Which Flowed Saké 128
The Boy and the Spirits of Things 133
The Daughter of a Samurai 137
The Fishes of the Boiling Spring 144
The Inao of the Ainu 149
The Goblin Tree 154
The Man Who Became a Serpent 158
The Laughing Dumpling 162
The Sacrifice to Kompira 173
The Two Brothers 177
The Princess and the Fox Baby 183
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.
[Illustration: “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.
[Illustration: “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:
[1] “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.
[Illustration: “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.
[Illustration: “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.
[Illustration: “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.
[Illustration: “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!”
[Illustration: “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!”
[Illustration: “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.
[Illustration: “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.”
[Illustration: “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.