people, and there was food to eat. He dwelt long in the shrine on the
hilltop, and his people were grateful to him, and made him many
offerings.
And to this day the camphor tree grows, with its small, pointed,
green-jade leaves, old, and strong, and fragrant, upon the hill of
Atami.
[Illustration: KWAN-ON, GODDESS OF MERCY]
THE INAO OF THE AINU
In the beginning of things the world was very hot. The mountains
breathed fire and smoke, even the snows were melted and the sun goddess
shone fiercely, with a cruel light. She scorched the food of the
people, and withered their flowers and trees.
But Okikurumi, a mighty fisherman, saw the sorrows of the Ainu and
grieved. He was of a kind heart, and all the people loved him. He was
tall and straight as a young bamboo, of gentle mien and thoughtful,
wise for the safety of the Ainu whom he loved.
When, therefore, the land was scorched with the heat, and folk were
starving, Okikurumi caught many fish and sent them to the Ainu by his
wife.
She was named Tureshi, and she lived but to do the will of her lord.
“Go thou to the Ainu,” he said, “take this basket of fish. Put it in at
the window of the chief man of the village and hasten back. I forbid
the Ainu to question you or to look at you. Go!”
“Yes, my lord,” Tureshi answered; and she girdled her kimono about her
and started upon her errand.
[Illustration: “OKIKURUMI WAS A MIGHTY FISHERMAN”]
Day after day she went to the aid of the suffering people. But they saw
her not, for Okikurumi had commanded them to refrain from gazing upon
the face of his wife.
At last, however, one man grew curious. He wished to see this forbidden
being. “She is either the most beautiful person in the world or else
she is so ugly that her husband feels shame to have her seen of other
men,” he said to himself. “In any case I will find out.”
Thus he spoke, being of an evil nature and all unmindful of the
benefits of Okikurumi. When Tureshi came to the window, therefore, he
lay in wait, while Kusa-Hitari[30] sang in the night. Catching Tureshi
by the hand he drew her into the house, and gazed upon her lovely
face. For she was the most beautiful of women, her husband’s joy and
pride. Then, she in great alarm fled from the Ainu to her husband’s
side, crying out to Okikurumi, “My lord, I have obeyed you, but send me
not again to these ungrateful people who disobey your commands. Their
wretched lives are not worth the saving.”
Okikurumi was full of wrath and he declared that, henceforth and
forever, the men of the Ainu should find food for their own women,
since Tureshi could not go to them without insult.
Then were the men of the Ainu very sad, and many of them died and their
chief men mourned.
So they took an _inao_[31] and set it up upon the sea shore. Its staff
was straight and slender, and its curls and tassels floated free in the
gentle breeze. By this they meant to worship the spirit of the sea and
implore him to bring them good fortune.
Then the sea spirit, who loved not Okikurumi, was pleased with the
_inao_ and sent them many fish.
But again there came a famine to the land of the Ainu, and it was worse
than any that had gone before. The children hungered, and the mothers
wept, and the old men set up an _inao_; but all was of no avail. At
last they sought a wise man, and he gave them good counsel, saying,
“Gather together all the crumbs which are left in the village, millet
and rice malt, and make a little cup of wine.” This they did.
“Pour it into six cups of lacquer,” he said, and this they did. And the
scent of the _saké_ rose upward, even unto heaven, and it was good.
The gods hastened from far and near to see whence came the delicious
smell. They drank of the _saké_ and it was very good. Then they danced
and sang and laughed in glee. And as they danced, one goddess pulled
out two hairs from a deer and cast them far away, and lo! from the
mountains came two herds of deer. Then another goddess plucked two
scales from a fish and threw them far into the river, and behold,
shoals of fish swam from the sea.
Then were the Ainu much rejoiced, and men went proudly forth upon the
mountains to hunt the deer; and others sought the river and caught many
fish. And from that day there was always fish and flesh in the land of
the Ainu, and there was no more famine.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] Cricket.
[31] Prayer-plume.
THE GOBLIN TREE
A Samurai dwelt in the Oni province and his name was Satsuma
Shichizaemon. He had a garden, the most beautiful of any in the
village. It was filled with flowering plants, and the shrubs had a
delicious fragrance which filled the air. Golden-hearted lilies floated
upon the tiny lake, dwarf pines waved their branches over the water’s
edge, and above all, dark and silent, towered a huge _enoki_, or goblin
tree.
This tree had stood there for centuries, and no one had dared to cut a
branch or even to pull one of its leaves.
Shichizaemon, however, was of a bad heart, and had no reverence for the
things of his fathers. He wished the view from his window not to be
hidden, and the _enoki_ stood between him and the valley. So he gave
orders to have the tree cut down.
That night his mother dreamed a dream. She saw before her a terrible
dragon-like monster whose forked tongue spit fire, and who said to her,
“Mother of Satsuma Shichizaemon, beware! Your son shall die and all his
house if he harm the _enoki_, for the spirits of the trees will not
suffer insult to the goblin tree.”
[Illustration: “THE DWELLING WAS LEFT DESERTED”]
Next day she told her son of her dream, but he only laughed at her, and
said, “If all the spirits of the earth and air and water were to come
to you in dreams, still I should make way with this tree.” Then he sent
a woodman to cut down the tree.
As the tall tree fell with a crash so loud as to frighten all the
household, Satsuma also fell to the ground.
“I am ill!” he cried. “The tree! The tree!” and he knew no more;
for he was dead. Soon too his wife fell ill, and then his mother.
Within a month there remained not one of all his people. Even the
servants disappeared from earth, all crying as their spirits departed,
“A-a-e-e-e-i! The tree! The tree!”
Long the dwelling was left deserted. Stagnant waterweeds fouled the
lake, and even the songs of the birds seemed mournful and sad. At last
it was remembered that there remained of the family of Satsuma but one
person, a nun named Tikem, who dwelt in the temple at Yamashira. They
sent to her saying, “O Tikem San, will you not come to the garden of
your kinsman, and remove the terrible curse which rests upon it?”
“I will come,” she answered.
She came to the dwelling of Satsuma Shichizaemon, her kinsman, and all
the people in the village watched in fear, lest the sickness of the
goblin tree should come upon her. But O Tikem San feared not.
She abode in the house calmly attending to her duties, and she was
well. Every day she went to the place where had stood the goblin tree,
and there she offered up prayers for the kinsman who had perished. And
there was no more curse, for the holiness of O Tikem San rested upon
the place like a gentle breath from heaven. And all the children of the
village played happily in the sunlit garden where once had been the
goblin tree.
THE MAN WHO BECAME A SERPENT
There was once a hunter who shot a great bear, and the beast ran from
him and entered a cave.
“I will go after it,” the hunter said to himself, “for, since it is
wounded, it will be easy to kill it when it is trapped in the cave.”
So he went into the cave, but could find no bear. He saw its tracks,
and they led down a dark passage which seemed to slope into the earth.
He followed this passage a long way, but found no bear. Suddenly he
came into an open space and saw before him a beautiful garden. It was
filled with wonderful trees such as he had never before seen, and some
of them bore strange fruits.
Now as there was no one to forbid, he plucked some berries and found
that they were good. But suddenly he was overcome with a strange
feeling, and gazing down upon himself, he saw that he was turned into
a horrible serpent. Struck with terror, he cried, “What fearful thing
has befallen me? I who was a man, ruler over all animals, even the
four-footed kings of the forest, am become the lowest of the low, even
a loathsome serpent.” He hung his head in shame, and crawled back
through the cave, and lay down at the foot of a huge pine tree.
[Illustration: “HE STOOD BESIDE THE BODY OF A HUGE SERPENT”]
Wearied and distressed, at last he fell asleep and dreamed a dream. In
his dream a woman appeared to him, who looked kindly upon him and said,
“I feel sorrow for you, unhappy youth. I am the spirit of the pine
tree, and you may hear me speak when the wind sweeps from Fuji San and
whispers through my pines. This thing has happened to you because you
ate the fruit of Fengtu,[32] of which no man may eat in safety. But you
can be saved if you will obey me. Climb to the very topmost branches of
this pine and hurl yourself down to earth. So you may return to your
true self.”
The hunter awoke and, remembering his dream, said, “It would be better
to be dashed to pieces than to remain alive and be a loathsome serpent.
I will throw myself down from the tree and may the gods help me.”
Gliding carefully up to the very topmost branch, he poised for a
moment, and then gave a mighty leap. He fell to the ground and for a
long time he knew no more.
When he returned to himself, he stood at the foot of the great pine
tree beside the crushed body of a huge serpent, and his own form
was once more the form of a man. Then was his heart full of a great
thanksgiving, and he straightway set up _inao_ beneath the kindly pine
tree.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] Hades.
THE LAUGHING DUMPLING
There was once an old woman who laughed at everything. She was a very
old woman, but she seemed young. That was because she laughed so much,
for the god of laughter made all the lines in her face pleasant lines.
She laughed at rain, she laughed at drought, she laughed at poverty.
She had never had a chance to laugh at wealth, for she was very, very
poor. She made rice dumplings to sell, and so she was called by the
people about her the “Laughing Dumpling.” Her name was really Sanja.
Sanja had but one wish. She never prayed to Juro-Jin[33] for good
fortune, or to any of the gods for wealth; but she wished above all
things to make the finest rice dumplings in all the city. She tried
and tried, and each time she made them better than the last; but she
never made them quite perfect, and so she was never quite satisfied.
She never had quite all the rice she wanted to work with; for she was
so poor that each grain seemed to her as dear as a piece of money to a
miser.
But still she tried and still she laughed. One day she sat in her
kitchen making her dumplings with her usual care. Her little house
stood at the top of a hill, quite outside of the city, and as she
worked and patted with her paddle, one of the finest of her dumplings,
it slipped and rolled right out of the door and down the hill.
“Dear, dear!” she cried, “that will never, never do! I can’t afford to
lose that dumpling. Perhaps I can catch it.”
So she sprang up and ran after it as fast as her feet would carry her.
But the dumpling had a good start, and she could not catch it. She saw
it ahead of her, and suddenly it bounced down a hole in the ground. She
ran after it, and before she knew it, her _geta_[34] slipped into the
hole and she dropped through.
“A-a-a-i!” she cried, “where am I going?”
She did not stop falling until her breath was almost gone. Then
suddenly she found herself in a place she had never seen before. The
trees and flowers looked strange, and she felt a little frightened and
very much alone. But as she looked about her her heart grew lighter,
for she saw a statue of Jizu and him she well knew. So she bowed
to him, and said, “Good morning, my Lord Jizu. Have you seen a rice
dumpling fall this way?”
“Good morning,” answered Jizu, with his very sweet smile. “Yes, I saw
a dumpling and it went past here, down the hill, skipping as if it had
legs.”
“Oh, thank you very much, then I must skip after it,” said Sanja.
“Not so,” answered Jizu, “do not go down there. An _Oni_[35] lives
there, and he may do you harm.”
“But I must have my dumpling,” laughed the old woman; and she ran on in
the direction the dumpling had taken. She had gone only a little way
when she came to another statue of Jizu. Being a good woman as well as
polite, she bowed to it very reverently, and said, “My good Lord Jizu,
have you seen a dumpling pass this way?”
“As if it had wings, it flew past me,” said Jizu, smiling upon her most
sweetly.
“Then I must hurry to catch it,” said the old woman.
But Jizu shook his head, “You must not think of that,” he said, “there
is an Oni below there who is most wicked. He does not like old women at
all, and he will surely be cruel to you if he does not eat you.”
“But I must have my dumpling,” said Sanja. “He’ll not eat me. I’m too
tough. Tee-hee-hee!” and she ran laughing on her way.
As she went along she thought she smelled her dumpling, and, as she was
very hungry, it smelled very good.
“If I ever catch that dumpling I will certainly eat every bit of it,”
she said to herself. “I will punish it for giving me such a chase.
Tee-hee-hee!” Then she felt a shadow across her face. She looked up and
saw another statue of Jizu.
“Most gracious Lord Jizu,” she said, smiling up into his ever smiling
face, “have you seen my dumpling pass this way?”
“Yes, it passed but a moment ago,” he answered, “but do not think of
searching for it, for the Oni who lives beyond is very fierce and
cruel, and he will certainly eat you. He is fond of dumplings, but he
is much fonder of human meat.”
“One who is as old as I am hasn’t any very fresh meat on her bones,
tee-hee-hee!” laughed Sanja. But as she spoke, she heard a terrible
noise and her face turned pale.
“Get behind me quickly,” said Jizu, “here comes the Oni. Perhaps you
may escape him if you hide behind me.”
O Sanja San crept quickly behind him. She found herself not so brave
as she had thought, and she did not feel at all like laughing. She hid
herself very carefully behind Jizu, and up came the Oni, very wild and
fierce.
“Good morning, Lord Jizu,” he said, “I smell meat!”
Even for the Oni, Jizu’s smile was the same, and he made answer, “Good
morning, Oni. Is it not dumpling that you smell? I saw one pass this
way not long ago.”
“No, indeed,” said the Oni, “it is not dumpling. I know one passed this
way, for I saw it. What I smell now is human meat!” and he sniffed and
sniffed until Sanja shivered. But for all her fear, she wanted very
much to laugh.
“I don’t smell it,” said Jizu, still smiling. “Are you sure it is not
rice dumpling? It seems to me that I smell a little of it about you.”
“That is not strange,” said the Oni with a grin; “for when I saw that
juicy dumpling rolling my way I caught it and ate it. It was good. I
wish I had the person who made it!”
O Sanja San was as angry as she could be at the thought of his eating
her dumpling. She was frightened, too, and she cowered closer in the
shadow of the Lord Jizu.
“What I smell now is meat, fresh human meat, juicy, young and tender!”
and the Oni sniffed again and smacked his lips very impolitely.
This was too much for Sanja. She could not help thinking of her
wrinkled, withered flesh, and how far from juicy, young and tender it
was. She laughed out loud, “Tee-hee-hee. Tee-hee-hee!”
The Oni’s ears were as good as his nose, and without a word he
stretched out a long, hairy arm behind Jizu, and pulled her forth from
her hiding place. She was frightened terribly, but still she laughed.
“Who are you?” demanded the Oni.
“I am the woman who made the dumpling,” she answered. “Why did you eat
it?”
“Because it was good,” said the Oni.
“You couldn’t eat me for that reason,” said Sanja.
“I don’t intend to eat you,” said the Oni. “You will come home with me
and cook. You needn’t be afraid. As long as you cook good dumplings for
me nothing will harm you.”
“Very well,” said Sanja politely, for there was really nothing else to
say.
The Oni put her in a boat and rowed away across a river to his castle.
There she cooked for him such dishes as he had never before tasted, and
they were good.
But when she came to make rice dumplings, the Oni said to her, “You are
a good cook, but you are wasteful. When you cook rice put but one grain
into the pot.”
“One grain!” she cried. “Tee-hee-hee! how could any one live on one
grain of rice?”
“I will show you,” said the Oni. “For though you are a woman and think
you know much, there are some things which I know better than you.”
Sanja was silent; but she tossed her head a little, and said to
herself, “How impolite he is! And how vain to think he could possibly
know more than I do!”
“Be sure you have your water boiling,” said the Oni. “Put one grain of
rice in the pot, then take this paddle in your hand and if you want
rice for ten persons stir ten times, in this way;” and he stirred the
paddle about in the water. “See!” and lo! the grain of rice burst into
ten pieces, and each piece into ten more, and each a perfect grain,
until the pot was filled.
Sanja fairly gasped with astonishment.
“This is a magic paddle,” said the Oni; “and with it you can cook every
thing, serve every one, and always have enough.”
So Sanja stayed with the Oni and cooked for him, and she gave perfect
satisfaction. The dumplings she made were always perfect, and the
rice pot was never empty, because of the magic paddle.
[Illustration: “SHE GAVE PERFECT SATISFACTION”]
All went very well until one day Sanja grew homesick. She felt as if
she could not stay with the Oni another day, and as if she would die if
she could not go home. She thought and thought about it; and the little
hut with its paper walls, and the cherry tree beside it seemed fairer
than all the fine castles of Oni Land. So, one day when the Oni had
gone off for a day’s hunting, she decided to try to escape. She stole
out of the castle and down to the river’s bank; and there she found
the boat in which the Oni had brought her. Quickly she got into it and
began to row. She had reached the middle of the river, when she heard a
loud cry from the shore. There was the Oni with all his friends, waving
their hands wildly and calling loudly to her, “Come back, Laughing
Dumpling, come back!”
She was afraid to go on and still more afraid to go back. She began to
row harder than ever when she saw what the Oni was doing. He and all
his friends stooped down and, making cups of their hands, they began
to drink the water of the river. They drank and drank, and soon there
was so little water left to float the boat that they could wade to her
across the river bed. She was so frightened that she could hardly
think. As they came nearer, however, she thought how funny they looked,
wading out from the reedy shore, and she laughed, “Tee-hee-hee!”
The Oni stopped and looked at her, “How strange that she laughs at
everything!” said one.
She laughed again, “Tee-hee-hee!”
“She shall not laugh at me!” cried her master; and he started fiercely
toward her.
The Laughing Dumpling was not going to be caught if she could help it,
for she felt that this was now no laughing matter. Wondering what she
could do to get away, she thought of the magic paddle which was tucked
in her belt, where she had always carried it. She drew it forth, and
reaching over the side of the boat she quickly stirred the waters.
Then, lo! they began to flow again. They flowed so fast that they
washed the boat right into the shore. They filled the river so quickly
that the Oni had to swim for their lives.
Sanja ran quickly away, as fast as she could go, past the three statues
of Jizu, up the hill and, with difficulty, up through the very hole
into which she had fallen.
When she reached home she sat down quite exhausted; but as soon as she
could get her breath she laughed until she cried.
“I ought not to have taken away the Oni’s paddle,” she said; “but he
ate my dumpling, and made me cook all these months without any pay. Now
I shall be able to make fine dumplings for all Kyoto. Tee-hee-hee!”
And so she did. For the magic paddle kept her always supplied with
rice, and everybody came to eat of the wonderful rice cakes and to see
the Laughing Dumpling.
FOOTNOTES:
[33] God of Good Fortune.
[34] Wooden sandal.
[35] A Japanese ogre.
THE SACRIFICE TO KOMPIRA
Yamato and his army came one day to Lagami, and then crossing the
mountain, they soon arrived at the Bay of Yedo.
“It will be easy to cross here,” cried the prince to his men. “The
distance is small from one shore to the other. There is no water here
to fear. We can soon conquer this obstacle.”
Kompira, god of the sea, heard the prince’s boast and was angry.
“I will show this proud fellow that he can not despise the least of my
children,” he said wrathfully.
Then he blew upon the waves, and they lashed themselves into foam. They
rose toward high heaven, and dashed against the ships of Yamato Take
until they were beaten upon the rocks and nearly overwhelmed. There
arose, also, a fearful storm; the lightnings flashed about the ships,
and the thunder roared, and all were sore afraid.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Kompira, “I wonder if these mortals now see my power!
They may well fear me, Kompira, the god of the sea!”
Yamato Take was sad. He gazed in the face of ruin.
“Behold,” he sighed. “This is the end of all my struggles. My ships
will be dashed to pieces upon the rocks. We shall all perish in the sea
or be taken prisoners by the enemy. The wrath of Kompira, great god of
the sea, is turned against me, for I have offended him. There is no
more hope.”
Then he laid his hand upon his second[36] sword; but his wife stayed
his hand.
“Not so, my lord,” she cried, raising her beautiful pale face toward
his. She loved him and was always with him, in peace or war.
She was very lovely, the Princess Ota Tachabana; and Yamato Take
listened when she spoke.
“Not so, my dear lord,” she spoke again. “Victory shall be yours. We
have but to appease the wrath of Kompira and all will be well. I,
myself, will be the sacrifice needed for your dear safety.”
With that she raised both her hands to the sea and prayed, “O Kompira,
great god of the sea, be not angry with my lord, for he is good. Send
him a fortunate issue, and accept my sacrifice.”
Thus crying, she stood poised for a moment upon the prow of the ship,
and then sprang into the sea.
[Illustration: “SHE SPRANG INTO THE SEA”]
Yamato gave a terrible cry and would have followed her, but his chief
men laid hands upon him and would not let him go.
The wind sank to quietness, the waves grew calm, the storm ceased, and
his headman cried, “My lord, the sacrifice is accepted. We may now pass
quickly in safety. Because she would wish it, rouse yourself to strife
and conquest.”
When morning broke, the ships were safely moored by the farther shore.
As Yamato stepped out upon the sand, the lapping waves cast at his feet
the comb of the princess, his wife. He picked it up and commanded that
at that spot a temple should be raised to her memory.
Then he made a great conquest for his lord the emperor, and his
soldiers boasted of him and said, “He is the greatest warrior in the
world, the Prince Yamato Take!”
But he was no longer proud. Instead, when men praised him, and honors
were showered upon him, he bent his head and said only, “Azuma! azuma!
wa ya!”[37]
FOOTNOTES:
[36] Every Samurai carried two swords, a long one to slay his enemies,
a short one to kill himself if about to be taken prisoner.
[37] “My wife, alas, my wife!”
THE TWO BROTHERS
There were once two brothers who were as different as day and night.
The oldest, Kurobei, cared only for himself and thought of nothing but
of what might advance his own interests. Moreover, he was very proud
and haughty. The younger brother’s name was Kazuma. He was gentle and
of a kind heart, and all the people loved him.
When therefore the father died, and the two brothers were left alone in
the world (their mother having been dead for many years), there were
those among the servants who said, “It is a pity that O Kazuma is not
the elder, to rule the house; for his rule would be one of kindness.”
Both Kurobei and Kazuma loved their father and had been dutiful sons.
Both had obeyed the old man and both had grieved at his death. They had
him buried with every token of respect and they wept at his loss.
“My father is no more,” cried Kurobei. “I must place offerings upon his
grave that all men may see that I hold him in respectful remembrance.”