so long as he lived, did he smile when the sun-crested waves sparkled
and broke into diamonds before him, for he murmured to himself, “Oh,
Kompira, God of the Sea, deal gently with my offering, be kind to the
Soul of the Samurai.”
FOOTNOTES:
[13] An archway placed before certain shrines in Japan; originally a
perch for sacred fowl heralding the approach of day.
[14] Loyalty.
[15] In Japan, a title given to the sword.
THE DREAM OF THE GOLDEN BOX
Hojo Tokimasa had two daughters. Musako, the elder, was as beautiful as
the eight beauties of Omi. Her hair was as black as polished ebony, her
eyes were deep and dark and full of fire, her skin was smooth as ivory.
She was clever, too, as well as beautiful. But her sister Ume was the
favorite of her father.
Ume was sweet and gentle and her father thought to marry her well,
though she had not her sister’s beauty.
One night, Ume dreamed a good-luck dream, that a bird brought her a
golden box, and she told her sister, while she arranged the elder’s
ebon locks in the early morning.
“That is a dream of good omen,” said Musako. “Give it to me and I will
give you in return my golden mirror, into which I have so often gazed.”
Now little Ume did not wish to part with her good-luck dream at all;
but, more than anything in the world, she desired to share her sister’s
beauty. So she said, as she thrust a superb jade hairpin into place,
“I will give you the dream, fair sister, and may it bring you good
fortune; and so may I, gazing into your mirror, gain some of your
radiant beauty, for to you the gods have been kind.”
Musako smiled at the flattery, and thought much all day upon the happy
dream.
Late in the twilight, when the moon shone through the flowering plum
tree and the fragrance of the plum blossoms stole over the garden, and
the nightingale sang of love in the branches, there came a bold knock
at the castle gate.
When the gate was opened and the stranger bidden welcome in the name
of the god of hospitality, he spoke simply, “I am Yoritomo. The men of
the Taira pursue me, and Kiyomori, their chief, has slain my father and
many of my father’s house. You are my father’s friend. Of you I ask
shelter.”
“You are welcome,” said Hojo. “Abide with us until safety awaits you
without.”
Then Yoritomo thanked him and did remain. Ere long he sent his retainer
into Hojo’s presence to act as go-between, and ask him for the hand of
his daughter Ume. He had seen her. She was gentle and discreet. She was
the favorite of the old man, her father. Why should he not be adopted
into the family for her sake?
But his retainer desired ever the best for his beloved master. He had
seen the radiant beauty of Musako as she had walked in the arbor of
wistaria, herself a fairer flower, even, than the long purple racemes
swaying in the breeze. He decided in his own mind that the elder sister
was the one for his master.
[Illustration: “SHE ARRANGED HER SISTER’S EBON LOCKS”]
“The falcon may not mate with the dove,” he said to himself. “O Musako
San is far more beautiful than her sister and more clever. She will be
a better mate for my glorious master than the gentle dove her sister. I
shall request her hand of Hojo San.”
So he demanded O Musako San from her father, and that good man was much
distressed.
“Truly I should like to give my daughter to your master,” he said. “But
she is promised to a lord of the Taira Clan and I dare not break my
word to him.”
Then the retainer returned to Yoritomo very sad. He bore such glowing
accounts of the beauty and cleverness of O Musako San that Yoritomo’s
curiosity was fired, and by night he stole beneath the window where she
sat peering into the garden and wondering when the good-luck bird would
fly to her.
How fair she was! And when she saw the handsome youth who gazed so
ardently upon her, how kindly her eyes looked upon him! Yoritomo
determined that she and no other should be his wife. He stole her upon
her very wedding day, not, perhaps, without her father’s knowledge,
and through all the troubles of his career, she was his faithful wife.
But gazing into Musako’s mirror, the little sister grew fairer every
day, and she wedded a great lord and bore him many sons.
THE PRINCESS OF THE SEA
A beautiful princess lived in the depths of the sea. She was fairer
than any mortal maiden, and sweet as she was fair. Her voice was as
gentle as the sea waves lapping the strand, her sigh was as soft as the
sound of the wind through the reeds of the shore, and her laugh was
musical as the tinkle of water through the coral branches.
Her mother was no more, but her father, the old Sea King, adored
her and gave her all the treasures of the deep. Her necklace was of
coral, her girdle was of pearls, her hairpins were of curiously carved
tortoise shell, her kimono was embroidered with feathery seaweed, and
her floating _obi_ with delicate traceries of kelp, encircled her
slender waist.
The princess lived in a magnificent palace built of mother-of-pearl.
All the creatures of the sea had given to its adornment. Pearls gleamed
from its walls, amber pillars, like shafts of light, supported its
roof, while a million lights gleamed from branching corals. The walls
were tinted in exquisite colors and decorated with sprays of seaweed
floating in cool green waves in which the fish seemed really swimming,
so natural did they appear.
The princess did not always stay in this home, beautiful as it was. She
loved the fresh breath of the open sea. It brought the color into her
cheeks and made her happy. When she went forth she rode upon a dolphin,
who plunged through the sea foam and rode over the crested waves with
careless grace.
One day the princess mounted his back for a long ride. The next day
and the next she went again and always in the same direction. Then her
father noticed that she seemed sad, and he said to her, “Where do you
go each day, my daughter? Why is it that you do not stay at home?”
“It is lonely here, my father,” she answered. “I like to ride upon the
top of the waves, for there I can watch the strange beings who live
upon the land. You talk to me of marrying. Find me a sea-prince like
one of those mortals whom I have seen and I will marry him.”
“Whom have you seen?” demanded her father, much astonished, for he did
not know that she had ever seen a mortal.
“I know not his name,” said the maiden. “But I have seen him upon the
shore. He fishes there and I have heard many of the fishes say how kind
he is and how gentle. He is handsome, too. He fishes only for such
sea food as he must eat and he puts back into the water all those fish
which are not good for him to eat. Oh, my father! I love this youth!
He is so great and strong! Bring him to me!” and the little princess
clasped her hands together as she looked at her father.
But the Sea King was angry. “It is not fitting that you should think
such thoughts,” he said in high displeasure. “A sea princess should not
marry a mere mortal. Tarry at home henceforth! No more shall you go to
ride upon the dolphin!”
So the poor little princess stayed at home and pined. She missed the
fresh air of the upper sea and the sight of the blue sky, but above all
she missed the young fisherman. At last she grew weak and ill and her
father could endure it no longer.
“Are you pining still for that young mortal?” he asked one day; and she
replied,
“Oh, my father, unless I speak with him my heart will break!”
“Go to the shore where he fishes,” said the Sea King. “Change yourself
into a sea turtle and allow him to catch you in his net. You say he is
of such a wonderful kindness--well, Mortals do not eat such turtles;
and so if he throws you down upon the sands to die, I will rescue you,
but if he places you again in the water, I give my consent to your
bringing him here to my palace.”
This the wily old king said, thinking the fisherman would surely throw
the turtle aside; but the princess smiled happily, for she knew he
would prove kind.
Now Urashima, for that was the fisherman’s name, knew nothing at all of
all this. When therefore next day he found in his net a huge turtle, he
said to himself, “Well, my fine fellow, what a pity it is that you are
not eatable! You would make a good meal for my honorable parents were
you as good as you are big. But since you are not, run along home to
your friends,” and he dropped the turtle back into the waves.
What was his surprise to see rise from the sea and come toward him
across the crested waves, a huge dolphin, carrying on its back a sea
nymph fair as the dawn. She cast upon him a sun-bright glance and said,
“Come with me, oh Mortal! Come to the depths of my sea-girt home and
see my palace of emerald and pearl. I was that turtle which you cast
into the sea, for I took that form to see if you were of as great
kindness of heart as the fishes said.”
Urashima stood spellbound and stared at the vision of loveliness before
him.
“Come with me,” said the princess, again. “The coral caves await
you,--will you not come?”
[Illustration: “A DOLPHIN CARRYING ON ITS BACK A SEA NYMPH”]
“Not for all the wealth of the ocean would I leave my beloved home, but
to be with you, loveliest of sea nymphs,” cried Urashima, bewitched by
her beauty and loveliness.
He went with her to the depths of the ocean and there memory fell from
him, and he forgot his home. He thought only of the princess and basked
in the sunshine of her smile.
So they were married and lived happily, and even the old Sea King grew
to like Urashima and blessed him before he died.
Urashima had lived in the Dragon Palace of the Princess of the Sea
what seemed to him but a short time when memory came to him again.
He thought of his father and mother and of his little brothers and
sisters, and he grew sad. The princess watched him and her heart sank.
“He will go from me and not return,” she sighed. “Alas! alas! for
mortal love!”
Urashima at last said to the princess, “Beloved princess, I have spent
these months of our life together in happiness so great that I would
that it could last forever. I remember, however, my old home and the
dear ones I left there. Give me leave, therefore, to return to earth
for but a day, that I may see them once more. They know not where I
am. They know nothing of my happiness. Let me go, and quickly I will
return.”
“Alas, my beloved, you will never return,” she said. “Never more will
your deep sea home see you again,--that my poor heart tells me. But
if the yearning for home has seized you, I may not keep you here. Go,
but take this with you,” and she handed him a casket made of a single
pearl and set with a picture of the princess. “So long as you keep this
unopened you may return; but open it, and you will never see me again.
Farewell.”
So Urashima returned to earth bearing with him the little casket.
His home seemed strange to him. The village street was not what it used
to be; his father’s house no longer stood beneath the tall bamboo; he
saw no familiar faces. At last, puzzled and distressed, he asked a
passer-by if he knew aught of the people of Urashima.
“Urashima!” he answered in amazement. “He was drowned in the sea, many,
many years ago. His people all lie buried on the hill. Their very tombs
are lichen-grown with age.”
“Am I dreaming,” cried Urashima. “My Sea Princess, what have you done
to me?”
Then seizing the casket he gazed upon the face of the nymph and as
he did so a strange desire came over him to see what was within. He
opened it just a crack and a thin, gray smoke rose toward heaven, and
in the curling clouds he seemed to see the lovely form of the princess,
and her eyes gazed sadly at him. Then he looked down at himself in
wonder. From a stalwart youth he had become a white-haired old man;
and, weeping bitterly, he stretched forth his hands to the sea.
“Ah, my princess, farewell forever. Without thee I faint and die. Thy
love alone gave life,” and he sank down upon the sands and was no more.
He had been gone from earth a thousand years.
THE FIREFLY OF MATSUI
Shizoku of Matsui loved a maiden called Kennei-Botaru, for she was
bright and sparkling. Late one snowy night he was returning from a
wedding party when amidst the tiny snowflakes which were beginning to
fall, he saw a strange light flicker and flash before him.
“Kagaribo mo
Hotaru mo hikaru
Genji kama!”[16]
he exclaimed, wondering that the O-botaru (great firefly) should be
flitting about in winter snows.
As he gazed upon it, the creature flashed and darted toward him and so
annoyed him that he thrust at it with the stick he carried.
Hither and yon it flashed, like a will-o’-the-wisp until at last it
darted away into the garden of the house wherein dwelt his betrothed.
The next day he saw his beloved, and she said to him shyly, “Last
night I had a strange dream. I thought I had wings and could fly and
that I was flying through the night. It was cold and there was snow
in the air and I said to myself, ‘Where is my beloved that I may fly
to his breast and be warm?’ Then I saw you coming swiftly toward the
bridge with your lantern, though the moon shone bright in the heavens.
Then I flew to you, but you were not overjoyed to receive me. You
struck at me and drove me from you, and I fled in terror into the
garden where I hid myself in the heart of a plum blossom, and the
snow fell upon me and I was cold. Then I awoke and I was afraid, and
something whispered to me ‘His heart is cold to you as was the heart of
the plum blossom when the snow fell upon it!’ What means my dream?”
“Indeed, I can not tell,” he made answer. “But I know well you read its
meaning wrong. Were I to drive you from me and you to seek another,
then would your heart’s resting place be cold as was the plum blossom
of your dream. But trouble not yourself, beloved, for never shall I
drive you away,” and he smiled upon her and the heart of O Botaru San
was comforted.
[Illustration: “HE THRUST AT IT WITH THE STICK”]
FOOTNOTES:
[16] “Is that the glimmer of far festal fires,
Or the shimmering of the firefly?
Ah, it is the Genji!”
THE MOUNTAIN ROSE
Ota Dakwan was a noble _daimio_.[17] His castle was filled with
retainers who waited upon him, at his least word flying to obey his
commands. Men vied with each other to do him honor, bowing low before
him as he passed and saying “Behold Ota Dakwan, the Daimio!”
Young maidens blushed at his name and when the moon shone through the
lattice, sighed to the nightingale to sing the praises of this splendid
warrior.
Honors crowded thick upon him, but of it all he wearied and often
sought the forest, there to hunt in solitude. Where the great trees
spread their branches and the bamboos and the pines talked together he
spent many hours, returning to his castle at night, weary, but with his
game bag full.
Often people said to him, “What do you find so wonderful in the forests
of the hill country?”
“Sunlight and shade,” he answered, “everglade and waterfall, game to
hunt and no one to say me nay; above all, the mighty mountain, cool and
aloof as is the spirit of the great;” and at his answer men wondered.
One day Ota Dakwan hunted long upon the mountain-side, so long that he
wandered far from home and a great storm of rain came upon him, from
which there was no shelter. He was glad, therefore, when in a lonely
spot he saw a tiny cottage beside a grove of great bamboos, and he ran
to it for shelter.
Within was a young maiden who smiled upon him, but spoke not. She was
beautiful as a dream though poorly clad, and he said to her, “Will you
lend me a straw rain coat? for every tree in the forest sends down her
showers and I shall be drenched before I can reach my home.”
The maiden blushed deeply and without a word hastily left the room.
In a moment she returned, her delicate cheeks flushed pink, carrying
a _yamabuki_[18] blossom which she placed in his hand, still with no
word, only a sigh and a blush.
“What means this?” he asked, much puzzled. “I ask protection from the
rain and you give me a flower. Were you not as fair as the first cherry
blooms of spring, I could find it in my heart to be angry with you.
Speak!” But she only shook her head and sighed, and, angry at last,
he turned on his heel and left her, going forth into the rain, the
flower still in his hand.
[Illustration: “SHE RETURNED CARRYING A _YAMABUKI_”]
He, the adored of all Yedo, to be laughed at by a mere country maiden
who would not even speak to him! At this thought his heart rose within
him, but remembering how sweetly she smiled and how like a rose she
blushed, his anger melted away.
“She was as the flower she gave me, a mountain rose,” he thought to
himself. Then he raised the delicate blossom to his face and its
sweet scent was as the breath of morning, fresh and kind. The rain
ceased, and hurrying homeward he was met by his head man who greeted
him anxiously. To him he told his strange adventure, and the head
man said, “The poet says ‘the mountain rose has many petals but it
has no seed.’[19] The maiden meant to tell you in poetic vein that
she possessed no rain coat. She is the fair, dumb daughter of your
lordship’s keeper, and they are very poor.”
“They shall be so no longer,” said the daimio. “For one with so fair a
soul should have fairer surroundings, and one upon whom the gods have
laid a finger should have kindness from those of this world.”
Then he showed much kindness to her father, and to the maiden, sending
to them gifts of rice and tea and rich garments. And oftentimes,
when tired with his morning’s hunt, he would rest within the little
lonely hut, and Yamabuki would serve him a cup of tea with a shy grace.
Whenever he spoke to her it was with kindness and she would smile and
blush and sigh a little, while he murmured to himself, “The god of
silence laid his finger upon your lips, Yamabuki, little silent one.”
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Lord or knight.
[18] Wild rose.
[19] _Mino_, the Japanese word for “seed,” means also a rain coat.
THE EVIL ONE AND THE RAT
When the Spirit of Creation had finished his work, he came down from
Heaven and gazed upon what he had done.
He saw the mountains gleaming pure against the blue, the rivers winding
silvery to the sea, the rice fields lying warm and moist in the
valleys--and it was good. He gazed upon the trees waving in the wind,
the iris fields and the lotus ponds, the cherry blooms and the plum
blossoms, and he smiled well pleased.
Then the Evil One appeared to him and with a hateful voice said, “Do
not flatter yourself that you have done all well in this world. Indeed
you have not. There are many things which are neither pretty nor
useful. See how ugly this thistle is, and of what use is the bramble?
Had I made things I would have done much better.”
Then the Spirit of Creation was very angry. He thought a thing of wrath
and created a rat. It was large and fierce, and it quickly jumped into
the mouth of the Evil One and bit out his tongue. Then was the Evil One
in great rage and he uttered horrid cries and danced an evil dance
upon the grass. He thought to himself, “Since the rats are here, they
shall be made to be a torment to the earth,” and he made them increase
greatly until they overran the Land of the Ainu.
[Illustration: “HE DANCED AN EVIL DANCE UPON THE GRASS”]
At this the people were very unhappy. “Oh, Creating Spirit,” they
cried, “take away these pests, for they eat our grain and our rice,
they gnaw our huts, they frighten our children. Destroy them, oh kind
Creating Spirit.”
But the Spirit shook his head. “Not so,” he said, “I may not destroy
that which I have once made. But I will create another thing which
shall war with the rats, and so you shall be helped in your distress.”
He created straightway cats and the cats warred greatly upon the rats
so that they grew less. Then were the people pleased and rejoiced, but
an old man said to them, “Speak not evil of the rats, nor of anything
which the Creating Spirit has made. It must be that the Creating Spirit
is displeased when his works are spoken ill of, for he punished the
Evil One for so doing. Besides, everything created is of some use. Even
the rat bit off the tongue of the Evil One.”
THE PAINTER OF CATS
Once upon a time a long, long time ago there was a boy who was clever
and polite and kind, and it would seem as if he was a very fine boy
indeed. But he had one fault. He would draw pictures of cats.
Now that does not appear to be a very bad fault, but the trouble was
that Kihachi would not do anything else. He drew cats at school when he
should have been studying his lessons. He drew them when all the other
children were at play and when it would have been far better for him to
have been running and jumping.
When his brothers and sisters were sleeping peacefully at night upon
their wooden pillows, Kihachi would arise from his sleeping mat and,
stealing to the paper partitions of the little room into which streamed
the moonlight, he would draw cats. In the early morning when the sun
gleamed over the tiny garden and the dew lay like jewels upon the rice
fields, still Kihachi could be found drawing cats.
He drew large cats and small cats, mother cats and kittens. He drew
them even upon his clothes, and this caused his mother much annoyance,
though she was very patient. When, however, it came to pass that she
found a whole family of kittens playing their pranks, in pencil, upon
her own best _obi_,[20] she felt that something must be done.
“My lord,” she said to her husband, “this boy and his cats make me too
much trouble. I have done everything to cause him to stop, but to no
avail. I have even burned him with the _moxa_[21] but still he does not
cease. He says he can not. Our other sons are able to help you in the
field and our daughter is a great assistance to me in the household.
But Kihachi does not work, and his schoolmaster says he will not study.
He will do nothing but draw cats. What shall we do with him?”
“It may be that so strange a boy will grow up to be something quite
different from us,” said his father. “He is always agreeable. Every
morning he says most politely, ‘O hayo, O tat’ San, O hayo, O oka
San.’[22] It seems to me _Bot chan_[23] is not bad. Perhaps he would
make a good priest. Let us take him to the temple and see if he will
not there forget his cats.”
So they took him to the temple and the priest received them with
courtesy. “Enter, honorably enter!” he said, and they entered saying,
“We have brought to you our youngest boy in the hope that you will
graciously permit him to become your acolyte.”
The priest asked Kihachi many questions, very difficult ones, and these
he answered so cleverly that the old man said to the parents, “This
child is destined to be great. He is very clever. Leave him with me and
I will teach him all he needs to become a priest.”
So Kihachi stayed in the temple and he studied very hard. He liked to
get up early as the mists were breaking over Fuji San and the temple
bells were ringing in the dawn. He loved to sit in the twilight when
the flowers of the _yamabuki_ are mirrored in the still marsh waters.
He loved to pluck the primrose, flower of happiness, and to twine it
with the _nanten_[24] into wreaths for the shrine of Buddha. He liked
to read and to study the sacred books and he learned many prayers, but
still he liked to draw, and still he drew cats.
He drew them on the margins of the books, on the prayer rolls, on the
very _kakemonos_[25] of the temple, and this much displeased the good
old priest.
At last he could not stand it any longer and he called the boy to him.
Kihachi bowed very low, his hands and forehead touching the floor.
“Bot chan,” said the priest, “you will never make a good priest. You
may some day become a great artist, but you will never be anything
else. You had better go away from the temple and seek your fortune in
the world. Here is a bag of rice for you. Put it in a bundle of your
clothes, and go, and may good fortune go with you. I will give you one
last bit of advice. When darkness gathers, fear great places, seek
small shelter.”
Kihachi thanked the priest and went mournfully away from the temple. It
seemed to him as if he was always to be unhappy because of his cats,
but he could not help drawing them. He was afraid to go home, for he
knew his father would punish him for disobeying the priest. He did
not know what to do. At last he thought of a large temple in the next
village, and wondered if some of the priests there would not take him
for an acolyte.
“At least I can try,” he said, and hurried on, hoping to reach the
temple before night.