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.’”
[Illustration: “CHOBEI WENT FORTH TO TRY AGAIN”]
So Chobei went forth to try again, and this time he sought in the
poorer streets. There young women were washing upon the steps, children
were playing upon the pavement, old women were talking in the doorways,
and to them all Chobei smiled and bowed, “May the sun goddess smile
upon you, honorable august Madame,” he would say with his most courtly
air. “That you and your honorable family are in good health is my wish.
It gives me pleasure to meet you. I am from a far street and I ask the
honor of your acquaintance. Have you any waste paper to sell?”
Although the good women understood, he might have left unsaid all his
remarks except the last. But they were pleased with his air, and they
ransacked their houses for waste paper. They called him the “Knightly
Waste-paper Man,” and soon he had a very good trade and earned many
_yen_, which Chohachi helped him carefully to spend. Then O Tsuiu San
and the little daughter whom the gods sent to them, were well cared
for.
II
One day the Knightly Waste-paper Man was crying his wares through the
streets when he saw a crowd about a man who had fallen by the way.
“’Tis but a starving beggar,” said one. But Chobei had learned much
in the days when he had walked the streets without a _sen_[10] in his
sleeves, and his heart was tender. He hurried to the beggar’s aid and
to his surprise found that he was no other than Bun-yemon, the ronin
who had helped him to escape from his home, when his lord was angry so
long ago. He caused him to be taken up and carried home.
That night Chobei talked long with Tsuiu.
“Gratitude is a sacred duty,” he said. “But for this ronin perhaps we
should have been murdered, and now that he has reached this low estate,
it is our place to help him, but how?” O Tsuiu San sighed.
“In all these years, my lord,” she said, “we have lived by the favor of
the gods, but we have saved nothing. How much should we give Bun-yemon?”
“Not less than twenty-five gold _rio_,[11]” said Chobei. “It is a
fortune! There is but one way in which we might obtain it. We might
sell Iroka.”
“Sell my daughter!” cried Tsuiu. “My lord, my lord!” and she wept
bitterly. Chobei wept also, but at last he said,
“It is terrible for me as well as for you, but do you not see that
there is no other way?”
“There is no other way,” said Tsuiu, to whom the will of her lord was
law.
Then they told Iroka all the story and she said,
“Honorable parents, there is no other way. Permit me to be sold, for it
is an honor for me to become a geisha for the debt of my parents.”
Therefore, with many tears, they sold Iroka and, as she was very
pretty, they obtained for her the sum of five and twenty gold _rio_.
This Chobei bore to Bun-yemon who refused to take it; but Chobei,
pretending to restore it to his own pocket, slipped it into a lacquered
box and departed. After he was gone, the wife of Bun-yemon found the
money, and her husband was very angry with her, that she had not
watched more carefully.
“This good fellow should never have given me the money,” he said. “He
is poor--only a waste-paper man. I will not take it for anything. You
must carry it back.”
“But I know not where he lives,” said the wife. “And since you have the
money, let me go to the pawnshop and redeem your jeweled sword, that we
may sell the sword for a larger sum. Then we can pay back Chobei and
still have something for ourselves.”
After much coaxing Bun-yemon at last consented to do this and redeemed
the sword. But the pawnbroker’s clerk was angry, for he had expected to
own the sword for the small sum which had been lent Bun-yemon. So he
accused Bun-yemon of stealing the money and officers came and carried
him to prison, setting a watch upon his wife.
She, however, determined to free her husband. The Machi-Bugyo of Yedo
was the most righteous of judges and she went straight to him, escaping
from the watchful eye of the officers when there was a fire in the
neighborhood and every one was much excited. She found the Machi-Bugyo,
as he was riding to inspect the firemen, and she knelt in the dust,
catching hold of his bridle rein.
“Most noble Machi-Bugyo,” she cried. “Honorably deign to listen. They
have taken my husband from me, and they accuse him unjustly. You, who
are the friend of the poor, save him!”
The Lord of the city listened, and, being of a good heart, he had
compassion upon the wife of Bun-yemon. He ordered the clerk of the
pawnbroker to appear before him, and also Bun-yemon. And Chobei,
hearing of the trouble, appeared and told that he had given the
twenty-five gold _rio_. Bun-yemon was therefore cleared from the charge
of theft.
“Go in peace,” said the Machi-Bugyo to him. “The master of the evil
clerk shall pay a fine of one hundred gold _rio_, because a master
should have only honest servants. The wicked clerk shall be put to
death, for he witnessed falsely against an innocent man. The gold shall
be given to Bun-yemon who must, with twenty-five _rio_, redeem the
daughter of Chobei.
“As for you, Chobei, you have done well in paying your debt of
gratitude at so great a cost to yourself; and your daughter is to be
commended for her obedience. Take this reward for you both,” and he
gave him a hundred _yen_. “Be dismissed, for I have spoken.”
Then were all happy, for Iroka was returned to her parents and Chobei’s
friend, Chohachi, was rewarded for his kindness of heart.
The whole matter soon coming to the ears of the Shogun, he commanded
the old lord of Chobei to forgive him and restore him to his home. Then
was Chobei, whom men again called Shindo, very happy, and he no longer
cried “Waste Paper!” through the back streets of Yedo. But there he is
not forgotten, for when the women gather to gossip they speak of him
with smiles, saying ever of him, “Isuzure wo kite mo kokoro wa nishiki
(coat of rags, heart of brocade).”
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Japanese coin equivalent to our dollar.
[9] Good-by.
[10] A Japanese coin equivalent to our cent.
[11] A Japanese ounce.
THE HUNTER AND THE PRIEST
There was once a hunter who dwelt in the village of Kyoto and sought
his game upon the mountain of Atagoyama. He was proud of being so
mighty a hunter, for he never came empty-handed from the forest; yet at
times he felt ill at ease. This was because he made a daily business of
killing, and so he was displeasing to the Buddha.[12]
To set his conscience at rest, therefore, he often made offerings of
rice and fruit to a certain holy priest who dwelt in a little shrine
upon the mountain-side.
The priest was very good. Studying the sacred books he dwelt in the
solitude of the forest. He was so far from the homes of men that he
would have fared ill had it not been for the visits of the hunter who
brought to him supplies of things to eat.
One day the hunter came to the temple.
“Honorable one,” he said politely, “I have brought you a bag of rice.
May each grain be a prayer for me.”
“Good friend,” said the priest, “I thank you, and in return I will show
you a miracle. For many years I have read and studied and reflected
upon the Holy Books and it may be that I am receiving my reward. Know
then, that each night the Buddha comes to me, here at the temple,
riding upon an elephant. Do you not believe? Then tarry and see.”
[Illustration: “I WILL SHOW YOU A MIRACLE”]
Speaking respectfully to the priest, the hunter said, “I long to see
this wonderful thing.” But in his heart he said to himself, “This thing
can not be true.”
Then he turned to the little temple boy and asked, “Have you seen this
marvel?”
“Six times I have seen Fugen Bosatsu and fallen before him,” said the
boy; and the hunter marveled again.
Dark and silent was the night, save for the wind spirit who swept
through the trees, now whispering softly, now moaning as if in pain.
Behind the clouds the moon hid herself, throwing now and again fitful
gleams across the little shrine at the door of which knelt the priest
and his acolyte. Behind them stood the hunter, his heart filled with
unbelief. No word was spoken and only a quick indrawing of the hunter’s
breath betokened his amazement as the vision came.
In the east arose a star, which grew and grew until the whole
mountain-side seemed light; and then there appeared a snow-white
elephant with six huge tusks. Upon his back was a rider, and as the
figures neared the temple, the priest and the temple boy threw
themselves upon the ground, praying aloud to the Fugen Bosatsu.
But the hunter had no prayer within his soul. This thing seemed to
him not holy but accursed, and, springing in front of the priest, he
set a shaft, drew his bow to the full, and sent his arrow straight to
the heart of the Buddha. Straight to the heart it went, clear to the
feathers of the shaft, and lo! a terrible cry rent the air. No longer
was there white light over the mountain. All was darkness.
“Demon in human form!” cried the priest. “Is it not enough that you
spend your vile life destroying God’s creatures upon the earth? To this
sin, must you add that of destroying Buddha himself?”
“Not so,” replied the hunter. “Be not so rash. Judgment of others is
far too great a sin for one so holy as yourself. Listen, and I will
explain what I have done. I have not destroyed the Buddha. You have
been deceived. Do you think it is possible that I could see Fugen
Bosatsu? I am a mighty hunter, stained with the blood of living
creatures. This is displeasing to the Buddha. Now then, would he reveal
himself to me? The boy too is but a lad, and why should he see holy
visions? You think because you have read and studied much, and because
you are of a pure life and a truthful tongue that the Buddha desires
to do you honor and reveal to you Fugen Bosatsu. No, good sir, for
were this true, you alone could see the vision and it would not be
vouchsafed to two sinful ones beside.
“Indeed, you saw not Fugen Bosatsu, but something deceiving and false;
and when the morning comes I will prove to you that I speak the truth.”
So when the morning broke in golden streams across the mountain-top the
hunter and the priest looked long and carefully, and they found a spot
of blood where had stood the vision of the night. Another and another
they found, forming a slender trail which led deep into the forest,
and ever the crimson trail grew larger and larger until at last they
found a pool of blood beside the body of a huge badger which lay dead,
pierced by an arrow.
“See,” said the hunter. “You have been deceived though you are far
holier than I. All your study can not teach you what I was taught by
common sense.”
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Buddhism does not approve the taking of life.
THE PRINCESS MOONBEAM
A woodman once dwelt with his wife at the edge of the forest, under the
shadow of the Honorable Mountain. The two were industrious and good,
but though they loved each other they were not happy. No children had
come to bless them and this the wife mourned deeply.
The husband pitied her and treated her very kindly, yet still she was
sad. As she gazed upon the snows of Fujiyama her heart swelled within
her and she prostrated herself and said, “Fuji no Yama, Honorable
Mountain, my heart is heavy because no childish arms encircle my neck,
no little head nestles in my bosom. From thy eternal purity send some
little white soul to comfort me!”
The Honorable Mountain spoke not; yet as she prayed, lo, from its
heights there sparkled and glowed a tiny light. Fitful and gleaming it
seemed, yet it had a silver radiance as of the moon.
The woodman’s wife beheld it, and she called to her husband eagerly,
“Come hither, I pray you. See the strange light which comes from Fuji
San. I seem to see a face smiling at me. It is the face of a little
child!”
Then her husband smiled at her fancy, but, because he loved her, he
said indulgently, “I will go and see what it is.”
“I thank you, my lord; go quickly!” she replied.
So, quickly he went to the forest, and as he neared a mountain stream,
with Fuji gleaming cold and white in the moonlight, he saw the strange
light, which seemed to hover and rest upon the branches of a tall
bamboo. Hastening thither he found there a moon child, a tiny, fragile,
fairy thing, more beautiful than any child he had ever seen.
“Little creature,” he said. “Who are you?”
“My name is Princess Moonbeam,” she answered sweetly. “My mother is the
Moon Lady, and she has sent me to Earth because every Moon Child must
do some good thing, else will its silvery light become pale and wan and
be of no avail.”
“Little Princess,” he said eagerly, “the best of good deeds is to
comfort a sad heart. Come home with me and be a child to my wife, who
weeps for children. Thus will your beams grow bright.”
“I will go with you,” said the little Moonbeam, and, rejoicing greatly,
he bore her tenderly to his wife.
“I bring you a treasure,” he said. “The Moon Lady sends you this beam
of light to lighten your sad heart.”
[Illustration: “LOVELIER GREW THE MOON CHILD EVERY YEAR”]
Then was his wife much overjoyed and she took the little creature to
her bosom and cared for her.
Lovelier grew the Moon Child every year and much she rejoiced the
hearts of her foster parents. Her hair was like a golden aureole about
her face. Her eyes were deep and tender, her cheeks were pale and
delicate, and about her there was a subtle and unearthly charm. Every
one loved her, even the emperor’s son, who, hunting in the forest, saw
her lighting up the humble cottage with her heavenly light. He loved
her dearly and she loved him, but alas! she could not marry him because
her life upon the earth could be but twenty years. Then she must return
to her home in the moon, for so willed her mother the Moon Lady.
At last the day came when she must go. Her parents wept, and could not
be consoled; and her lover, who was now the emperor, could not keep
her, although he besought High Heaven to spare her.
Her mother caught her up in a silver moonbeam; and all the way to the
Moon the little Princess wept silvery tears. As the tears fell from her
eyes, lo! they took wings and floated away looking for the form of her
beloved, the emperor, who might see her no more.
But the silver-bright tears are seen to this day floating hither and
yon about the vales and marshes of fair Nippon. The children chase
them with happy cries, and say, “See the fireflies! How fair they are!
Whence came they?”
Then their mothers relate to them the legend and say, “These are the
tears of the little Princess, flitting to seek her beloved”; and over
all, calm and eternal, smiles the Honorable Mountain.
THE SINGLE LANTERN OF YAMATO
There was a poor woman in Yamato who was very good. She prayed daily at
the graves of her parents, although she was very old. Daily she placed
there some grains of rice, although she was very, very poor. She went
to the temple whenever she was able, and prayed much. She was kind to
the poor and gave always to the hungry, so that often she went hungry
herself.
“It is better to be hungry than to grow hard of heart,” she said.
Now they made a grand temple in Yamato and all the people were proud
and gave to it many _yen_. They gave a lantern of bronze so wonderfully
fine that all men wondered, for the workmanship was delicate and
beautiful. The lantern makers had sat and wrought upon it for days with
matchless skill and patience. The stand was large and the light so
small as to seem but a mere glimmer of the light of the world.
Many lanterns were given to the temple and a rich man gave a thousand
large ones.
“All men shall see that I am of a generous heart,” he said proudly to
himself.
[Illustration: “SHE WENT TO THE TEMPLE AND PRAYED MUCH”]
The poor woman was grieved at heart.
“I have nothing to give,” she said. “The gods would accept nothing
that I have.” She looked carefully over her poor little house, but
alas! There was nothing any one would buy. She had only the barest
necessaries and these much worn and used for many years.
At last she bethought herself that she still possessed one thing which
she might sell. Her hair was yet long and black. It might not bring
much, but it would be worth something.
“I am too old to marry, no one cares how I look,” she said, smiling to
herself. “I will sell my hair to make a temple offering.”
So she sold it for a small sum, which happily she found was enough to
buy one little temple light. This she joyfully placed upon the shrine.
How tiny it looked beside the rich man’s great ones! Yet its light
seemed to her to warm her old heart into fresher life, and she was
happy.
That night there was a great festival in the temple. All the lamps were
lighted, from the great ones of the rich man to the tiny one which the
poor woman had placed there with such loving care.
The whole temple was aglow with light, and all the people praised the
rich man and said, “How generous he is! How great!”
But just as they were praising him and admiring the lights, there
sprang up a sudden fierce wind. It blew so wild a gust that the
light of all the great lanterns of the rich man went out, and all
was darkness. Yet not all--for lo! there gleamed through the gloom a
tiny light, as bright as the light of day. It was the little light of
the poor woman, which with its spark seemed to light the whole great
temple, and all the people wondered. Then they looked with care to see
whence came the little light and when they found it was the gift of so
humble a soul they marveled again. But the priest of the temple, who
was old and good and very wise, said, “Do not marvel! In the sight of
the All Knowing One, the poor gift of a good heart is more worthy than
all the splendor of the rich and proud.”
THE SOUL OF THE SAMURAI
Far upon a Western headland the pine trees waved their arms to the sea
and the sea god loved them and dashed his high foaming spray to send
them greeting. Giant _torii_[13] rose heavenward, that the Golden Crow,
the strange and mystic Hobo Bird, might rest there, in his swift flight
toward the sun god.
The sea flowed restless and proud at the foot of the cliffs and
the beach was soft and treacherous, and the sea god yearly claimed
a victim, when the air was heavy with the sweet scent of the wild
pittosporum.
O Nitta San was a great warrior. He fought for Go-Daigo the emperor and
was his faithful general. Many a battle he fought and won, though the
men of the Hojo Clan were many and strong and fought well. But when he
reached the headland of the pines, the soul of O Nitta San was heavy
within him.
“The men of the Hojo guard the sea with ships, they watch the hills
with archers,” he said to his head man. “They are as many as the waves
of the sea. Our fate is in the hands of the gods!”
“The favor of the gods must be won, O Nitta San,” said the head man.
“I am of small account, but let me throw myself into the sea, and
perchance the sea god may accept the sacrifice and smile upon you, my
master.”
“Not so,” replied O Nitta San. “I myself will appease the god of the
sea, that he may grant us a passage to conquer the city, for the glory
of my master the emperor.”
“Honorably the emperor will reward you,” said the head man bowing low,
but O Nitta San shook his head.
“I desire no reward,” he said. “Do you hear the chirp of that bird? In
a land where even the wild songsters of the forest cry ‘Chiu,’[14] do
not think a Samurai needs a reward.”
O Nitta San turned him to the cliffs, and he raised his hands to the
sea god and prayed long and earnestly. Then he drew from its scabbard
his sword, and lovingly he gazed upon its keen and shining blade. He
raised it toward the clouds and it gleamed in the moonlight like a
shimmering serpent.
“Beloved comrade, Soul of the Samurai,”[15] he cried. “Well have you
served me in many a fierce battle. You are a friend as well as a
servant. Now serve me once again and appease the wrath of the sea god!”
For a moment he lovingly laid the sword against his breast, then “God
of the Sea,” he cried aloud, “accept my sacrifice and care for the Soul
of the Samurai.” And so saying he cast far from him the sword.
[Illustration: “HE LAID HIS SWORD AGAINST HIS BREAST”]
It screamed through the air and smote the water, and a myriad sparkling
crystals rose into the air. They leaped to encircle the sword, as if
lovingly encrusting it with diamonds. It rose upon a wave, it fell, the
pearl-like foam covered it, and O Nitta San saw it no more.
But from the sea came a dull murmuring sound, and the waters rolled
back from the cliffs and a passageway appeared.
“Kompira has accepted my sacrifice,” cried O Nitta San. “We may pass
over in safety to conquest and glory.”
Then the army passed over at the edge of the cliff, and they fought a
mighty battle with the Hojo and took the city.
Go-Daigo was glad, and he greatly rewarded O Nitta San who was proud
and of a good heart fighting for the emperor.