arms round the neck of a gentle-eyed stag. Soon after dawn, the deer
came to awaken the sleeper, and, with a farewell kiss to his mother
and a morning caress to the stag, Kintaro sprang on his back and was
carried, with swift bounds, up mountain side, through valley and
thicket, until the sun was high in the heavens. When they came to a
leafy spot in the woods and heard the sound of falling water, the stag
grazed among the high fern while Kintaro bathed in the foaming
torrent.
Thus mother and son lived securely in their home among the mountains.
They saw no human being save the few woodcutters who penetrated thus
far into the forest, and these simple peasants did not guess their
noble birth. The mother was known as Yama-uba-San, "The Wild Nurse of
the Mountain," and her son as "Little Wonder."
Kintaro reigned as prince of the forest, beloved of every living
creature. When he held his court, the bear and the wolf, the fox and
the badger, the marten and the squirrel, and many other courtiers were
seated around him. The birds, too, flocked at his call. The eagle and
the hawk flew down from the distant heights; the crane and the heron
swept over the plain, and feathered friends without number thronged
the branches of the cedars. He listened as they told of their joys and
their sorrows, and spoke graciously to all, for Kintaro had learned
the language and lore of the beasts, and the birds, and the flowers,
from the Tengus, the wood-elves.
[Illustration: Kintaro reigned as prince of the forest, beloved of
every living creature.]
The Tengus, who live in the rocky heights of the mountains and in the
topmost branches of lofty trees, befriended Kintaro and became his
teachers. As he was truthful and good, he had nothing to fear from
them; but the Tengus are dreaded by deceitful boys, whose tongues they
pull out by their roots and carry away.
These elves are strange beings: with the body of a man, the head of a
hawk, long, long noses, and two powerful claws on their hairy hands
and feet. They are hatched from eggs, and, in their youth, have
feathers and wings: later, they moult and wear the garb of men. On
their feet are stilt-like clogs about twelve inches high. They stalk
proudly along with crossed arms, head thrown back, and long nose held
high in the air; hence the proverb, "He has become a Tengu."
The headquarters of the tribe are in the Ōyama mountain, where lives
the Dai-Tengu, their leader, whom all obey. He is even more proud and
overbearing than his followers, and his nose is so long that one of
his ministers always precedes him that it may not be injured. A long
grey beard reaches to his girdle, and moustaches hang from his mouth
to his chin. His sceptre is a fan of seven feathers, which he carries
in his left hand. He rarely speaks, and is thus accounted wondrous
wise. The Raven-Tengu is his chief minister; instead of a nose and
mouth, he has a long beak. Over the left shoulder is slung an
executioners axe, and in his hand he bears the book of Tengu wisdom.
The Tengus are fond of games, and their long noses are useful in many
ways. They serve as swords for fencing, and as poles on the point of
which to balance bowls of water with gold-fish. Two noses joined
together form a tight-rope on which a young Tengu, sheltered by a
paper umbrella and leading a little dog, dances and jumps through
hoops; the while an old Tengu sings a dance-tune and another beats
time with a fan. Some among the older Tengus are very wise. The most
famous of all is he who dwells on the Kurama mountain, but hardly less
wise is the Tengu who undertook the education of Kintaro. At
nightfall he carried the boy to the nest in the high rocks. Here he
was taught the wisdom of the elves, and the speech of all the forest
tribes.
One day, Little Wonder was at play with some young Tengus, but they
grew tired and flew up to their nest, leaving Kintaro alone. He was
angry with them, and shook the tree with all his strength, so that the
nest fell to the ground. The mother soon returned, and was in great
distress at the loss of her children. Kintaro's kind heart was
touched, and, with the little ones in his arms, he swarmed up the tree
and asked pardon. Happily they were unhurt, and soon recovered from
their fright. Kintaro helped to rebuild the nest, and brought presents
to his playfellows.
Now it happened that, as the hero Raiko, who had fought so bravely
against the _oni_, passed through the forest, he came upon Little
Wonder wrestling with a powerful bear. An admiring circle of friends
stood around. Raiko, as he looked, was amazed at the strength and
courage of the boy. The combat over, he asked Kintaro his name and his
story, but the child could only lead him to his mother. When she
learned that the man before her was indeed Raiko, the mighty warrior,
she told him of her flight from Kyōto, of the birth of Kintaro, and of
their secluded life among the mountains. Raiko wished to take the boy
away and train him in arms, but Kintaro loved the forest. When,
however, his mother spoke, he was ready to obey. He called together
his friends, the beasts and the birds, and, in words that are
remembered to this day, bade them all farewell.
The mother would not follow her son to the land of men, but Kintaro,
when he became a great hero, often came to see her in the home of his
childhood.
The peasants of the Ashigara still tell of The Wild Nurse of the
Mountains and Little Wonder.
The Vision of Tsunu
[Illustration: _The Vision of Tsunu_]
When the five tall pine trees on the windy heights of Mionoseki were
but tiny shoots, there lived in the Kingdom of the Islands a pious
man. His home was in a remote hamlet surrounded by mountains and great
forests of pine. Tsunu had a wife and sons and daughters. He was a
woodman, and his days were spent in the forest and on the hillsides.
In summer he was up at cock-crow, and worked patiently, in the soft
light under the pines, until nightfall. Then, with his burden of logs
and branches, he went slowly homeward. After the evening meal, he
would tell some old story or legend. Tsunu was never weary of relating
the wondrous tales of the Land of the Gods. Best of all he loved to
speak of Fuji-yama, the mountain that stood so near his home.
In times gone by, there was no mountain where now the sacred peak
reaches up to the sky; only a far-stretching plain bathed in sunlight
all day. The peasants in the district were astonished, one morning, to
behold a mighty hill where before had been the open plain. It had
sprung up in a single night, while they slept. Flames and huge stones
were hurled from its summit; the peasants feared that the demons from
the under-world had come to wreak vengeance upon them. But for many
generations there have been peace and silence on the heights. The good
Sun-Goddess loves Fuji-yama. Every evening she lingers on his summit,
and when at last she leaves him, his lofty crest is bathed in soft
purple light. In the evening the Matchless Mountain seems to rise
higher and higher into the skies, until no mortal can tell the place
of his rest. Golden clouds enfold Fuji-yama in the early morning.
Pilgrims come from far and near, to gain blessing and health for
themselves and their families from the sacred mountain.
On the self-same night that Fuji-yama rose out of the earth, a strange
thing happened in the mountainous district near Kyōto. The inhabitants
were awakened by a terrible roar, which continued throughout the
night. In the morning every mountain had disappeared; not one of the
hills that they loved was to be seen. A blue lake lay before them. It
was none other than the lute-shaped Lake Biwa. The mountains had, in
truth, travelled under the earth for more than a hundred miles, and
now form the sacred Fuji-yama.
As Tsunu stepped out of his hut in the morning, his eyes sought the
Mountain of the Gods. He saw the golden clouds, and the beautiful
story was in his mind as he went to his work.
One day the woodman wandered farther than usual into the forest. At
noon he was in a very lonely spot. The air was soft and sweet, the sky
so blue that he looked long at it, and then took a deep breath. Tsunu
was happy.
[Illustration: On a plot of mossy grass beyond the thicket, sat two
maidens of surpassing beauty.]
Now his eye fell on a little fox who watched him curiously from the
bushes; The creature ran away when it saw that the man's attention had
been attracted. Tsunu thought, "I will follow the little fox and see
where she goes." Off he started in pursuit. He soon came to a bamboo
thicket. The smooth slender stems waved dreamily, the pale green
leaves still sparkled with the morning dew. But it was not this which
caused the woodman to stand spellbound. On a plot of mossy grass
beyond the thicket, sat two maidens of surpassing beauty. They were
partly shaded by the waving bamboos, but their faces were lit up by
the sunlight. Not a word came from their lips, yet Tsunu knew that the
voices of both must be sweet as the cooing of the wild dove. The
maidens were graceful as the slender willow, they were fair as the
blossom of the cherry tree. Slowly they moved the chess-men which lay
before them on the grass. Tsunu hardly dared to breathe, lest he
should disturb them. The breeze caught their long hair, the sunlight
played upon it.... The sun still shone.... The chess-men were still
slowly moved to and fro.... The woodman gazed enraptured.
* * * * *
"But now," thought Tsunu, "I must return, and tell those at home of
the beautiful maidens." Alas, his knees were stiff and weak. "Surely I
have stood here for many hours," he said. He leaned for support upon
his axe; it crumbled into dust. Looking down, he saw that a flowing
white beard hung from his chin.
For many hours the poor woodman tried in vain to reach his home.
Fatigued and wearied, he came at last to a hut. But all was changed.
Strange faces peered curiously at him. The speech of the people was
unfamiliar. "Where are my wife and my children?" he cried. But no one
knew his name.
Finally, the poor woodman came to understand that seven generations
had passed since he bade farewell to his dear ones in the early
morning. While he had gazed at the beautiful maidens, his wife, his
children, and his children's children, had lived and died.
The few remaining years of Tsunu's life were spent as a pious pilgrim
to Fuji-yama, his well-loved mountain.
Since his death he has been honoured as a saint who brings prosperity
to the people of his native country.
Princess Fire-Fly
[Illustration: _Princess Fire-Fly_]
Deep in the pinky petals of a lotus bloom that grew in the castle
moats of Fukui, in Echizen, lived Hi-O, the King of the Fire-Flies. In
this beautiful flower his daughter, the Princess Hotaru, passed her
childhood exploring every shady nook and fragrant corner of the
bell-like palace, listening to the buzz of life around, and peeping
over the edge of the petals at the wonderful world which lay
mysteriously beyond. Hotaru-Himé had few youthful companions, but, as
she daily bade her father farewell, she dreamed of the time when she,
too, would fly abroad, and her brilliant light would attract universal
admiration.
Gradually, a beautiful sheen o'erspread her body; night by night it
became brighter, until at last her home, in the hours of darkness, was
as a globe of coral wherein shone a lamp of gold. So glorious was her
light that the stars paled before it, and the bright sickle moon
withdrew behind a cloud from jealousy.
Himé was now allowed to fly from her home, to loiter among the
pleasant rice fields, and to explore the indigo meadows which lay far
off on the horizon. She had no lack of friends and would-be lovers;
thousands of insects, attracted by her magic light, came and offered
their homage, but Himé never forgot that she was of royal blood, and,
while she haughtily thanked her many suitors, none found a way into
her heart.
[Illustration: But the Princess whispered to herself, "Only he who
loves me more than life shall call me bride."]
One evening the Princess, seated on a throne formed by the heart of
the lotus, held her court. Soon the faint roseate petals of the flower
were thronged with a host of ardent lovers. But the Princess whispered
to herself, "Only he who loves me more than life shall call me bride."
The golden beetle laid his fortunes at her feet, the cockchafer wooed
her in passionate words, the dragon-fly proudly proffered his hand,
and the hawk-moth humbly, yet persistently, addressed her. Countless
other insects gained audience, but her answer was ever the same, "Go,
and bring me fire, and I will be your bride."
One by one they took wing, enraptured by the hope of success, and
unconscious that they were all bent on the self-same errand. The
hawk-moth entered the Buddhist Temple and circled round and round the
tall wax lights, until, in an ecstasy of love, he flew into the flame,
exclaiming, "Now to win the Princess or meet my death!" His poor
singed body fell heavily to the ground. The beetle watched intently,
for a moment or two, the log fire crackling on the hearth, and then,
regardless of his fate, boldly caught at a tongue of flame he hoped to
carry to Himé--but his end was that of the hawk-moth. The dragon-fly,
notwithstanding his sunlit splendours, could not fulfil the bidding of
the Lady of the Lotus Bloom; he also fell a prey to her imperious
command. Other lovers there were who tried to steal from the diamond
his heart of fire, who winged their way to the summit of Fukui, or
sped to the depths of the valleys in search of the talisman that was
to make Himé their bride. The sun rose in morning splendour over
untold numbers of dead bodies, which alone remained to tell of the
great devotion that had inspired the lovers of Princess Hotaru.
Now tidings came to Hi-Maro, a Prince of the Fire-Flies living hard
by, that the Princess Hotaru was exceedingly beautiful; whereupon he
flew swiftly to her home among the lotus flowers. Even as, with a
flood of golden light, he entered, the charms of Himé were not dimmed.
One look passed between the youth and the maiden, and then each felt
that a great love filled their hearts. Hi-Maro wooed and wed, and for
many years lived happily with Hotaru-Himé in the castle moats of
Fukui.
Centuries have passed since Hi-Maro won his bride, and still the
dazzling fire-fly Princesses send their insect lovers in search of
fire.
The Sparrow's Wedding
[Illustration: _The Sparrow's Wedding_]
In the heart of a forest of pine-trees that lay in a remote corner of
the Land of the Dragon-Fly, dwelt Chiyotaro, a prosperous sparrow, who
was honoured and beloved alike by his family and friends. He had many
beautiful children, but not one with manners more distinguished, or
heart more true, than Tschiotaro. He was the life of the little
household; merry as the summer-day is long, and talkative as only a
sparrow can be.
Tschiotaro would fly afar through the woods, and across the
surrounding plains; indeed, at times, he would even come within sight
of the towering peaks of the Matchless Mountain. With the first
whisper of the approach of sundown, he would wing his way homeward, to
delight the loved ones in the pine forest with the story of his day's
adventures. Laughter and sounds of glee echoed through the twilight,
as the sparrow family listened to Tschiotaro's chatter. Then came the
hush of night, and there was silence in the depths of the wood.
One sunny morning Tschiotaro chirped his farewell, and flew off he
knew not whither. At last, he alighted in the shadowy bamboo grove
where Kosuzumi, the tongue-cut sparrow, dwelt. Truly the gods had
favoured him in guiding his flight to this spot. Kosuzumi was
beautiful, but her daughter Osuzu was even more lovely. She was
blithe, warm-hearted, and winsome; simple, too, was the maiden whose
days had been spent in the cool shade of the bamboo thicket.
Tschiotaro had only to see her to love her. At first, it is true, he
was a little shy, and hopped around the beautiful one with mute appeal
in his tiny sparkling eyes; but when he saw that Osuzu smiled and
peeped coyly at him, he grew bolder, and even ventured to address her.
Little by little the talk became more animated: reserve vanished, and
mutual confidences passed. Tschiotaro and Osuzu had, in truth, entered
the Garden of Bliss, which is known in the feathered world of Japan as
_Okugi_. Time sped apace, and the hour of parting came all too
quickly. Tschiotaro assured Osuzu that he would soon return. As he
travelled through the summer air, laden with the fragrance of myriad
flowers, a deep joy filled his heart and added zest to his flight.
Osuzu, happy in her new-found love, was rocked peacefully to sleep by
the swaying of the bamboo branches in the soft breeze.
Tschiotaro lost no time in making known to his father his love for
the beautiful daughter of Kosuzumi, and declared that she, and none
other, should be his bride. The old one heard the news with surprise.
Rich and respected as he was, he could not permit his son to marry the
first maiden with whom he fell in love; but as Chiyotaro sat
contentedly in a quiet nook of his rustling home, his love for his
son, and the desire to see him happy, outweighed all other
considerations. He said, "If Osuzu be good and true, I will not refuse
to give my consent." Even before he heard that Osuzu belonged to a
family honoured far and wide, that her home was dainty, and that her
mother was the famous tongue-cut sparrow, Chiyotaro had determined
that nothing should cloud his son's happiness.
After the lapse of a day or two, Tschiotaro's glowing story was
confirmed by the wise ones among the sparrows. Father and mother were
content, and, according to old custom, an envoy was despatched to the
parents of Osuzu with a formal offer of marriage. The family in the
bamboo thicket, after due deliberation, consented to meet Chiyotaro.
All went well. The wedding day was speedily fixed, and all manner of
preparations were made for the auspicious event.
The home that was to shelter Tschiotaro and Osuzu was built with the
greatest care in the upper branches of a beautiful cherry tree, whose
pure white petals in blossom-time would lend fragrance and peace to
the happy retreat. Many were the gifts which arrived to adorn, and add
comfort to, the new abode. Sparrows from far and near vied with one
another in the delicacy and variety of their offerings, until the
dwelling was wondrously enticing.
Just before the wedding day, Osuzu rejoiced at the arrival of rare
gifts from her beloved Tschiotaro. An _obi_ of dewdrops, which held in
them the secrets of the sun; a head-dress, fashioned of the slender
petals of a mountain flower; and tiny moss sandals, so soft and
exquisite that she donned them at once for very love and pride; these
and many other gifts did Tschiotaro bestow. Nor were Osuzu's parents
unmindful of their duties. A grand robe of ceremony, woven of the
pinky blossom of the peach, as well as _saké_ and luscious fruit, were
sent to Tschiotaro.
The morning of the marriage dawned. By the time the sun touched with
glory the peak of Fusi-yama, the sparrow families were busy preparing
for the day's festivities. Long ere the purple shadows had lifted from
the valleys, the wedding procession had assembled from copse, and
hedgerow, and woodland. Never before had such a concourse of sparrows
been seen. Tschiotaro was widely beloved, and the beauty of Osuzu had
become noised abroad.
On arrival at their new home, the bride and bridegroom sipped thrice
of the three cups of rice wine which consecrated their union, and
afterwards the whole company drank freely to the health and well-being
of the newly wedded pair. Sounds of revelry and rejoicing lasted until
the late evening; and long after the sun had bade his daily farewell
to the cherry grove the sparrows still chattered and twittered.
As the moon, with her attendant maidens, rose slowly in the heavens,
the festal sounds died away and silence reigned.
Tschiotaro and Osuzu spent many happy years of wedded sparrowhood.
They had children fair and graceful as themselves, and never had cause
to regret their loving union.
The Love of the Snow-White Fox
[Illustration: _The Love of the Snow-White Fox_]
In Idzumo, the Province of the Gods, are many foxes. There the wicked
Ninko, in league with the _oni_, prowls about at nightfall and carries
away the souls of little children, he robs the poor man of his rice
and millet, and bewitches the maidens who cross his path. There, too,
is his enemy the Inari fox, who is kind of heart. The Inari loves the
children, and warns the anxious mothers when Ninko is near; he guards
the store of the peasant, and comes to the aid of maidens in distress.
Many centuries ago, there lived a young Inari fox. She was snow-white,
and her eyes were keen and intelligent. She was beloved by all the
good people for miles around. They were glad if, in the evening, she
knocked softly with her tail against the window of their hut; when she
entered she would play with the children, eat of their humble fare,
and then trot away. The god Inari protected those who were kind to
her. The Ninko foxes hated her.
There were hunters in the country of Idzumo who thirsted for the blood
of the beautiful white fox. Once or twice she nearly lost her life at
the hands of these cruel men.
One summer afternoon, she was frisking about in the woods with some
young fox friends, when two men caught sight of her. They were fleet
of foot and had dogs by their side. Off ran the white fox. The men
uttered an excited cry and gave chase. Instead of going towards the
open plain, she made for the Temple of Inari Daim-yojin. "There surely
I will find a safe refuge from my pursuers," she thought.
Now Yaschima, a young prince of the noble house of Abe, was in the
temple, deep in meditation. The white fox, whose strength was almost
spent, ran fearlessly up to him and took refuge beneath the thick
folds of his robe. Yaschima was moved with pity, and did all in his
power to soothe the poor frightened creature. He said, "I will protect
you, little one; you have nothing to fear." The fox looked up at him,
and seemed to understand. She ceased to tremble. Then the Prince went
to the door of the great temple. Two men hastened up to him and asked
if he had seen a pure white fox. "It must have run into the Temple of
Inari. We would have its blood to cure the sickness of one of our
family." But Yaschima, faithful to his promise, answered: "I have been
in the temple praying to the good god, but I can tell you nothing of
the fox." The men were about to leave him, when, behind his robe,
they spied a white bushy tail. Fiercely they demanded that he should
stand aside. The Prince firmly refused. But, intent on their prey, the
men attacked him, and he was obliged to draw his sword in
self-defence. At this moment Yaschima's father, a brave old man, came
up; he rushed upon the enemies of his son, but a deadly blow, which
Yaschima could not avert, struck him down. Then the young Prince was
very wroth, and, with two mighty strokes, he felled his adversaries to
the ground.
The loss of his beloved father filled Yaschima with grief. He did not
break out into loud lamentation, for the sorrow lay too near his
heart.
[Illustration: With two mighty strokes, he felled his adversaries to
the ground.]
Then a sweet song fell on his ear. It came from the temple. As he
re-entered the sacred building, a beautiful maiden stood before him.
She turned, and saw that he was in deep trouble. The Prince told her
of the snow-white fox, and the cruel hunters, and the death of his
father whom he loved. The maiden spoke tender words of sympathy; her
voice was so soft and sweet that the sound brought comfort to him.
When Yaschima learned that the maiden was true, that her heart was as
pure and beautiful as her face, he loved her, and asked her to be his
bride. She replied, very gently, "I already love you. I know that you
are good and brave, and I would solace you for the loss of your
father."
They were wed. Yaschima did not forget the death of his father, but he
remembered that his beautiful wife had then been given to him. For
some time they lived happily together. The days passed swiftly.
Yaschima ruled his people wisely, and his fair Princess was ever by
his side. Each morning they went to the temple, and thanked the good
god Inari for the joy that had come to them.