Long, long ago there lived in Kyoto a brave soldier named Kintoki. Now
he fell in love with a beautiful lady and married her. Not long after
this, through the malice of some of his friends, he fell into disgrace
at Court and was dismissed. This misfortune so preyed upon his mind
that he did not long survive his dismissal—he died, leaving behind him
his beautiful young wife to face the world alone. Fearing her husband’s
enemies, she fled to the Ashigara Mountains as soon as her husband was
dead, and there in the lonely forests where no one ever came except
woodcutters, a little boy was born to her. She called him Kintaro or
the Golden Boy. Now the remarkable thing about this child was his great
strength, and as he grew older he grew stronger and stronger, so that
by the time he was eight years of age he was able to cut down trees as
quickly as the woodcutters. Then his mother gave him a large ax, and he
used to go out in the forest and help the woodcutters, who called him
“Wonder-child,” and his mother the “Old Nurse of the Mountains,” for
they did not know her high rank. Another favorite pastime of Kintaro’s
was to smash up rocks and stones. You can imagine how strong he was!
Quite unlike other boys, Kintaro, grew up all alone in the mountain
wilds, and as he had no companions he made friends with all the animals
and learned to understand them and to speak their strange talk. By
degrees they all grew quite tame and looked upon Kintaro as their
master, and he used them as his servants and messengers. But his
special retainers were the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare.
The bear often brought her cubs for Kintaro to romp with, and when she
came to take them home Kintaro would get on her back and have a ride to
her cave. He was very fond of the deer too, and would often put his
arms round the creature’s neck to show that its long horns did not
frighten him. Great was the fun they all had together.
One day, as usual, Kintaro went up into the mountains, followed by the
bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare. After walking for some time
up hill and down dale and over rough roads, they suddenly came out upon
a wide and grassy plain covered with pretty wild flowers.
Here, indeed, was a nice place where they could all have a good romp
together. The deer rubbed his horns against a tree for pleasure, the
monkey scratched his back, the hare smoothed his long ears, and the
bear gave a grunt of satisfaction.
Kintaro said, “Here is a place for a good game. What do you all say to
a wrestling match?”
The bear being the biggest and the oldest, answered for the others:
“That will be great fun,” said she. “I am the strongest animal, so I
will make the platform for the wrestlers;” and she set to work with a
will to dig up the earth and to pat it into shape.
“All right,” said Kintaro, “I will look on while you all wrestle with
each other. I shall give a prize to the one who wins in each round.”
“What fun! we shall all try to get the prize,” said the bear.
The deer, the monkey and the hare set to work to help the bear raise
the platform on which they were all to wrestle. When this was finished,
Kintaro cried out:
“Now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer
shall be umpire. Now, Mr. Deer, you are to be umpire!”
“He, he!” answered the deer. “I will be umpire. Now, Mr. Monkey and Mr.
Hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on
the platform.”
Then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to
the wrestling platform. The deer, as umpire, stood between the two and
called out:
“Red-back! Red-back!” (this to the monkey, who has a red back in
Japan). “Are you ready?”
Then he turned to the hare:
“Long-ears! Long-ears! are you ready?”
Both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf
on high as signal. When he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare
rushed upon each other, crying “Yoisho, yoisho!”
While the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called out
encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or the
monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were in
danger of falling over.
“Red-back! Red-back! stand your ground!” called out the deer.
“Long-ears! Long-ears! be strong, be strong—don’t let the monkey beat
you!” grunted the bear.
So the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried their
very hardest to beat each other. The hare at last gained on the monkey.
The monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a good push sent
him flying off the platform with a bound.
The poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as
he screamed angrily. “Oh, oh! how my back hurts—my back hurts me!”
Seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding his
leaf on high said:
“This round is finished—the hare has won.”
Kintaro then opened his luncheon box and taking out a rice-dumpling,
gave it to the hare saying:
“Here is your prize, and you have earned, it well!”
Now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in Japan “his
stomach stood up,” for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. So
he said to Kintaro and the others who were standing by:
“I have not been fairly beaten. My foot slipped and I tumbled. Please
give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another
round.”
Then Kintaro consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle
again. Now, as every one knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by
nature, and he made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time
if it were possible. To do this, he thought that the best and surest
way would be to get hold of the hare’s long ear. This he soon managed
to do. The hare was quite thrown off his guard by the pain of having
his long ear pulled so hard, and the monkey seizing his opportunity at
last, caught hold of one of the hare’s legs and sent him sprawling in
the middle of the dais. The monkey was now the victor and received, a
rice-dumpling from Kintaro, which pleased him so much that he quite
forgot his sore back.
The deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for another
round, and if so whether he would try a round with him, and the hare
consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. The bear came forward as
umpire.
The deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been
an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. Suddenly the
deer went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high
declared him beaten. In this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the
other, conquering, the little party amused themselves till they were
tired.
At last Kintaro got up and said:
“This is enough for to-day. What a nice place we have found for
wrestling; let us come again to-morrow. Now, we will all go home. Come
along!” So saying, Kintaro led the way while the animals followed.
After walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a
river flowing through a valley. Kintaro and his four furry friends
stood and looked about for some means of crossing. Bridge there was
none. The river rushed “don, don” on its way. All the animals looked
serious, wondering how they could cross the stream and get home that
evening.
Kintaro, however, said:
“Wait a moment. I will make a good bridge for you all in a few
minutes.”
The bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what
he would do now.
Kintaro went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank.
At last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at
the water’s edge. He took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his
might, once, twice, thrice! At the third pull, so great was Kintaro’s
strength that the roots gave way, and “meri, meri” (crash, crash), over
fell the tree, forming an excellent bridge across the stream.
“There,” said Kintaro, “what do you think of my bridge? It is quite
safe, so follow me,” and he stepped across first. The four animals
followed. Never had they seen any one so strong before, and they all
exclaimed:
“How strong he is! how strong he is!”
While all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to
be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed
beneath him. He watched with great surprise Kintaro and his animal
companions. He rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when
he saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the
stream to form a bridge.
The woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all
he saw, and said to himself:
“This is no ordinary child. Whose son can he be? I will find out before
this day is done.”
He hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them.
Kintaro knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being
followed. On reaching the other side of the river he and the animals
separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who
was waiting for him.
As soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a matchbox in the
heart of the pine-woods, he went to greet his mother, saying:
“Okkasan (mother), here I am!”
“O, Kimbo!” said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her boy
home safe after the long day. “How late you are to-day. I feared that
something had happened to you. Where have you been all the time?”
“I took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare,
up into the hills, and there I made them try a wrestling match, to see
which was the strongest. We all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the
same place to-morrow to have another match.”
“Now tell me who is the strongest of all?” asked his mother, pretending
not to know.
“Oh, mother,” said Kintaro, “don’t you know that I am the strongest?
There was no need for me to wrestle with any of them.”
“But next to you then, who is the strongest?”
“The bear comes next to me in strength,” answered Kintaro.
“And after the bear?” asked his mother again.
“Next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the
deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other,”
said Kintaro.
Suddenly Kintaro and his mother were startled by a voice from outside.
“Listen to me, little boy! Next time you go, take this old man with you
to the wrestling match. He would like to join the sport too!”
It was the old woodcutter who had followed Kintaro from the river. He
slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. Yama-uba and her son
were both taken by surprise. They looked at the intruder wonderingly
and saw that he was some one they had never seen before.
“Who are you?” they both exclaimed.
Then the woodcutter laughed and said:
“It does not matter who I am yet, but let us see who has the strongest
arm—this boy or myself?”
Then Kintaro, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the
old man without any ceremony, saying:
“We will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whoever
is beaten.”
Then Kintaro and the woodcutter both put out their right arms and
grasped each other’s hands. For a long time Kintaro and the old man
wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other’s arm, but
the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were evenly matched.
At last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn game.
“You are, indeed, a very strong child. There are few men who can boast
of the strength of my right arm!” said the woodcutter. “I saw you first
on the banks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that
large tree to make a bridge across the torrent. Hardly able to believe
what I saw I followed you home. Your strength of arm, which I have just
tried, proves what I saw this afternoon. When you are full-grown you
will surely be the strongest man in all Japan. It is a pity that you
are hidden away in these wild mountains.”
Then he turned to Kintaro’s mother:
“And you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to the
Capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai (a
Japanese knight)?”
“You are very kind to take so much interest in my son.” replied the
mother; “but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and I fear it would
be very difficult to do as you say. Because of his great strength as an
infant I hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt
every one that came near him. I have often wished that I could, one
day, see my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no
influential friend to introduce us at the Capital, I fear my hope will
never come true.”
“You need not trouble yourself about that. To tell you the truth I am
no woodcutter! I am one of the great generals of Japan. My name is
Sadamitsu, and I am a vassal of the powerful Lord Minamoto-no-Raiko. He
ordered me to go round the country and look for boys who give promise
of remarkable strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his
army. I thought that I could best do this by assuming the disguise of a
woodcutter. By good fortune, I have thus unexpectedly come across your
son. Now if you really wish him to be a SAMURAI (a knight), I will take
him and present him to the Lord Raiko as a candidate for his service.
What do you say to this?”
As the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother’s heart was
filled with a great joy. She saw that here was a wonderful chance of
the one wish of her life being fulfilled—that of seeing Kintaro a
SAMURAI before she died.
Bowing her head to the ground, she replied:
“I will then intrust my son to you if you really mean what you say.”
Kintaro had all this time been sitting by his mother’s side listening
to what they said. When his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed:
“Oh, joy! joy! I am to go with the general and one day I shall be a
SAMURAI!”
Thus Kintaro’s fate was settled, and the general decided to start for
the Capital at once, taking Kintaro with him. It need hardly be said
that Yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was
left to her. But she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in
Japan. She knew that it was for her boy’s good that he should leave her
now, and she must not discourage him just as he was setting out.
Kintaro promised never to forget her, and said that as soon as he was a
knight wearing two swords he would build her a home and take care of
her in her old age.
All the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer,
the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going
away, came to ask if they might attend him as usual. When they learned
that he was going away for good they followed him to the foot of the
mountain to see him off.
“Kimbo,” said his mother, “mind and be a good boy.”
“Mr. Kintaro,” said the faithful animals, “we wish you good health on
your travels.”
Then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from that
height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller and
smaller, till he was lost to sight.
The general Sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having so
unexpectedly found such a prodigy as Kintaro.
Having arrived at their destination the general took Kintaro at once to
his Lord, Minamoto-no-Raiko, and told him all about Kintaro and how he
had found the child. Lord Raiko was delighted with the story, and
having commanded Kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his
vassals at once.
Lord Raiko’s army was famous for its band called “The Four Braves.”
These warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest and
strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band was
distinguished throughout the whole of Japan for the dauntless courage
of its men.
When Kintaro grew up to be a man his master made him the Chief of the
Four Braves. He was by far the strongest of them all. Soon after this
event, news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken
up his abode not far away and that people were stricken with fear. Lord
Raiko ordered Kintaro to the rescue. He immediately started off,
delighted at the prospect of trying his sword.
Surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off
its great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master.
Kintaro now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was
the power and honor and wealth that came to him. He now kept his
promise and built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived
happily with him in the Capital to the end of her days.
Is not this the story of a great hero?
THE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE.
A STORY OF OLD JAPAN
Many, many years ago there lived in Nara, the ancient Capital of Japan,
a wise State minister, by name Prince Toyonari Fujiwara. His wife was a
noble, good, and beautiful woman called Princess Murasaki (Violet).
They had been married by their respective families according to
Japanese custom when very young, and had lived together happily ever
since. They had, however, one cause for great sorrow, for as the years
went by no child was born to them. This made them very unhappy, for
they both longed to see a child of their own who would grow up to
gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and keep up the
ancestral rites when they were dead. The Prince and his lovely wife,
after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a
pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon (Goddess of Mercy at Hase),
for they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their
religion, that the Mother of Mercy, Kwannon, comes to answer the
prayers of mortals in the form that they need the most. Surely after
all these years of prayer she would come to them in the form of a
beloved child in answer to their special pilgrimage, for that was the
greatest need of their two lives. Everything else they had that this
life could give them, but it was all as nothing because the cry of
their hearts was unsatisfied.
So the Prince Toyonari and his wife went to the temple of Kwannon at
Hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and
praying to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant them the desire of
their whole lives. And their prayer was answered.
A daughter was born at last to the Princess Murasaki, and great was the
joy of her heart. On presenting the child to her husband, they both
decided to call her Hase-Hime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was
the gift of the Kwannon at that place. They both reared her with great
care and tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty.
When the little girl was five years old her mother fell dangerously ill
and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. A little
before she breathed her last she called her daughter to her, and gently
stroking her head, said:
“Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though
I die, you must grow up a good girl. Do your best not to give trouble
to your nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will
marry again and some one will fill my place as your mother. If so do
not grieve for me, but look upon your father’s second wife as your true
mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father.
Remember when you are grown up to be submissive to those who are your
superiors, and to be kind to all those who are under you. Don’t forget
this. I die with the hope that you will grow up a model woman.”
Hase-Hime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke,
and promised to do all that she was told. There is a proverb which says
“As the soul is at three so it is at one hundred,” and so Hase-Hime
grew up as her mother had wished, a good and obedient little Princess,
though she was now too young to understand how great was the loss of
her mother.
Not long after the death of his first wife, Prince Toyonari married
again, a lady of noble birth named Princess Terute. Very different in
character, alas! to the good and wise Princess Murasaki, this woman had
a cruel, bad heart. She did not love her step-daughter at all, and was
often very unkind to the little motherless girl, saying to herself:
“This is not my child! this is not my child!”
But Hase-Hime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon
her step-mother kindly and obeyed her in every way and never gave any
trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that
the Lady Terute had no cause for complaint against her.
The little Princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies were
music and poetry. She would spend several hours practicing every day,
and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to
teach her the koto (Japanese harp), the art of writing letters and
verse. When she was twelve years of age she could play so beautifully
that she and her step-mother were summoned to the Palace to perform
before the Emperor.
It was the Festival of the Cherry Flowers, and there were great
festivities at the Court. The Emperor threw himself into the enjoyment
of the season, and commanded that Princess Hase should perform before
him on the koto, and that her mother Princess Terute should accompany
her on the flute.
The Emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain of
finely-sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that His Majesty might see
all and not be seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to look upon
his sacred face.
Hase-Hime was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished
her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. On this momentous
occasion she played well. But Princess Terute, her step-mother, who was
a lazy woman and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down
in her accompaniment and had to request one of the Court ladies to take
her place. This was a great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to
think that she had failed where her step-daughter succeeded; and to
make matters worse the Emperor sent many beautiful gifts to the little
Princess to reward her for playing so well at the Palace.
There was also now another reason why Princess Terute hated her
step-daughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to
her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying:
“If only Hase-Hime were not here, my son would have all the love of his
father.”
And never having learned to control herself, she allowed this wicked
thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her step-daughter’s
life.
So one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some sweet
wine. This poisoned wine she put into a bottle. Into another similar
bottle she poured some good wine. It was the occasion of the Boys’
Festival on the fifth of May, and Hase-Hime was playing with her little
brother. All his toys of warriors and heroes were spread out and she
was telling him wonderful stories about each of them. They were both
enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with their attendants when his
mother entered with the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes.
“You are both so good and happy.” said the wicked Princess Terute with
a smile, “that I have brought you some sweet wine as a reward—and here
are some nice cakes for my good children.”
And she filled two cups from the different bottles.
Hase-Hime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her step-mother was
acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little step
brother the other that had been poured out for him.
The wicked woman had carefully marked the poisoned bottle, but on
coming into the room she had grown nervous, and pouring out the wine
hurriedly had unconsciously given the poisoned cup to her own child.
All this time she was anxiously watching the little Princess, but to
her amazement no change whatever took place in the young girl’s face.
Suddenly the little boy screamed and threw himself on the floor,
doubled up with pain. His mother flew to him, taking the precaution to
upset the two tiny jars of wine which she had brought into the room,
and lifted him up. The attendants rushed for the doctor, but nothing
could save the child—he died within the hour in his mother’s arms.
Doctors did not know much in those ancient times, and it was thought
that the wine had disagreed with the boy, causing convulsions of which
he died.
Thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child when she had
tried to do away with her step-daughter; but instead of blaming herself
she began to hate Hase-Hime more than ever in the bitterness and
wretchedness of her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an
opportunity to do her harm, which was, however, long in coming.
When Hase-Hime was thirteen years of age, she had already become
mentioned as a poetess of some merit. This was an accomplishment very
much cultivated by the women of old Japan and one held in high esteem.
It was the rainy season at Nara, and floods were reported every day as
doing damage in the neighborhood. The river Tatsuta, which flowed
through the Imperial Palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its
banks, and the roaring of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow
bed so disturbed the Emperor’s rest day and night, that a serious
nervous disorder was the result. An Imperial Edict was sent forth to
all the Buddhist temples commanding the priests to offer up continuous
prayers to Heaven to stop the noise of the flood. But this was of no
avail.
Then it was whispered in Court circles that the Princess Hase, the
daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister at Court, was the
most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and her masters
confirmed the report. Long ago, a beautiful and gifted maiden-poetess
had moved Heaven by praying in verse, had brought down rain upon a land
famished with drought—so said the ancient biographers of the poetess
Ono-no-Komachi. If the Princess Hase were to write a poem and offer it
in prayer, might it not stop the noise of the rushing river and remove
the cause of the Imperial illness? What the Court said at last reached
the ears of the Emperor himself, and he sent an order to the minister
Prince Toyonari to this effect.
Great indeed was Hase-Hime’s fear and astonishment when her father sent
for her and told her what was required of her. Heavy, indeed, was the
duty that was laid on her young shoulders—that of saving the Emperor’s
life by the merit of her verse.
At last the day came and her poem was finished. It was written on a
leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold-dust. With her father and
attendants and some of the Court officials, she proceeded to the bank
of the roaring torrent and raising up her heart to Heaven, she read the
poem she had composed, aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands.
Strange indeed it seemed to all those standing round. The waters ceased
their roaring, and the river was quiet in direct answer to her prayer.
After this the Emperor soon recovered his health.
His Majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the Palace and
rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo—that of Lieutenant-General—to
distinguish her. From that time she was called Chinjo-hime, or the
Lieutenant-General Princess, and respected and loved by all.
There was only one person who was not pleased at Hase-Hime’s success.
That one was her stepmother. Forever brooding over the death of her own
child whom she had killed when trying to poison her step-daughter, she
had the mortification of seeing her rise to power and honor, marked by
Imperial favor and the admiration of the whole Court. Her envy and
jealousy burned in her heart like fire. Many were the lies she carried
to her husband about Hase-Hime, but all to no purpose. He would listen
to none of her tales, telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken.
At last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her husband’s
absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl to
the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to kill her
there. She invented a dreadful story about the little Princess, saying
that this was the only way to prevent disgrace falling upon the
family—by killing her.
Katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. Anyhow, he saw that
it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence of the
girl’s father, so he placed Hase-Hime in a palanquin and accompanied
her to the most solitary place he could find in the wild district. The
poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her unkind
step-mother at being sent away in this strange manner, so she went as
she was told.
But the old servant knew that the young Princess was quite innocent of
all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for her
outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. Unless he killed
her, however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress, so he
decided to stay out in the wilderness. With the help of some peasants
he soon built a little cottage, and having sent secretly for his wife
to come, these two good old people did all in their power to take care
of the now unfortunate Princess. She all the time trusted in her
father, knowing that as soon as he returned home and found her absent,
he would search for her.
Prince Toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his wife
that his daughter Hime had done something wrong and had run away for
fear of being punished. He was nearly ill with anxiety. Every one in
the house told the same story—that Hase-Hime had suddenly disappeared,
none of them knew why or whither. For fear of scandal he kept the
matter quiet and searched everywhere he could think of, but all to no
purpose.
One day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his men
together and told them to make ready for a several days’ hunt in the
mountains. They were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate for
their lord. He rode hard and fast to the district of the Hibari
Mountains, a great company following him. He was soon far ahead of
every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley.
Looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on one
of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a beautiful clear
voice reading aloud. Seized with curiosity as to who could be studying
so diligently in such a lonely spot, he dismounted, and leaving his
horse to his groom, he walked up the hillside and approached the
cottage. As he drew nearer his surprise increased, for he could see
that the reader was a beautiful girl. The cottage was wide open and she
was sitting facing the view. Listening attentively, he heard her
reading the Buddhist scriptures with great devotion. More and more
curious, he hurried on to the tiny gate and entered the little garden,
and looking up beheld his lost daughter Hase-Hime. She was so intent on
what she was saying that she neither heard nor saw her father till he
spoke.
“Hase-Hime!” he cried, “it is you, my Hase-Hime!”
Taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own dear
father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly bereft of
the power to speak or move.
“My father, my father! It is indeed you—oh, my father!” was all she
could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve, and
burying her face burst into a passion of tears.
Her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all
that had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were not
really dreaming.
Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, and bowing himself to
the ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong,
telling him all that had happened, and how it was that he found his
daughter in such a wild and desolate spot with only two old servants to
take care of her.
The Prince’s astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. He gave up
the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of the company
galloped ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and the
step-mother hearing what had happened, and fearful of meeting her
husband now that her wickedness was discovered, fled from the house and
returned in disgrace to her father’s roof, and nothing more was heard
of her.
The old servant Katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in his
master’s service, and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to
the little Princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this
faithful retainer. She was no longer troubled by an unkind step-mother,
and her days passed happily and quietly with her father.
As Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the
Court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter Hase-Hime, and
in a few years the marriage took place. Hase-Hime lived to a good old
age, and all said that she was the wisest, most devout, and most
beautiful mistress that had ever reigned in Prince Toyonari’s ancient
house. She had the joy of presenting her son, the future lord of the
family, to her father just before he retired from active life.
To this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of the
Buddhist temples of Kioto. It is a beautiful piece of tapestry, with
the figure of Buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from the
stem of the lotus. This is said to have been the work of the hands of
the good Princess Hase.